#and also i have like seventy wips

[ghosttotheparty]

@thorniest-rose this is ur fault your tags on part one made me emotional so here’s one more part <3 love u also i added it as chapter two of broken brain <3

cw: tics; self-deprecation

“Hey, baby.”

Eddie looks up from where he’s sitting at the kitchen island, his legs crossed on his seat in front of him, setting his pen down.

“Hi.”

“How’re you?” Steve asks softly, taking off his vest and dropping it on the countertop, coming close.

“Having a rough day,” Eddie says, the words barely out of his mouth before his chin jerks to the side, turning his head sharply. He closes his eyes, sighing heavily, and before he can open them, Steve is sliding his hands over Eddie’s neck gently, rubbing it tenderly. Eddie moves slowly, shifting to face Steve, and before he can lean into Steve’s torso, his hand flies out and hits Steve’s hip hard. Eddie flinches, pressing his hand to the spot carefully.

“Sorry.”

“‘S okay,” Steve murmurs, one of his hands pushing through Eddie’s hair. Eddie’s stomach twists, and he huffs quietly, closing his eyes. “What is it?”

Eddie shakes his head, opening his eyes to look up at him.

Steve touches his face, his fingers brushing over his cheek, over the rough, sensitive skin of his scar, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

“What is it?” he asks quietly.

Eddie exhales, turning his cheek into Steve’s palm, feeling the tension leave his body.

“…How are you not tired of me?” he asks after a moment.

Steve blinks, his expression hardening, but his hands remain soft on him.

“What do you mean?” he asks in a small voice.

“I just…” Eddie shrugs weakly. “Feel like you should be fed up with me by now,” he half-jokes, but Steve frowns, his fingers trailing over Eddie’s jaw.

“Why would you think that?” he asks quietly, like he’s offended.

Eddie blinks at him, his eyes stinging a little bit. His hand tightens on Steve’s hip, one of his fingers holding loop of his jeans.

“I keep hitting you,” he says weakly. It happens often. Not as often as his whistling, or his head jerking, his eyes squeezing shut or rolling to the ceiling, but often. When they’re on the sofa, when they’re hugging, when they’re just talking. Eddie wants to cry every time, but Steve doesn’t even acknowledge it, except for the occasional it’s okay.

“You can’t control that, babe,” Steve says adamantly.

“I know, it’s just…” Eddie looks away, frustrated. “I keep hurting you.”

“I think you think you hit a lot harder than you do.”

“Steve,” Eddie says seriously, tugging at his belt loop, looking up at him. “I almost smacked you in the face the other day.”

“You redirected,” Steve says lightly, shrugging.

“Steve.”

“Do you want me to be mad at you?”

“I…” Of course he doesn’t. But it feels like Steve should be mad at him. Or at least annoyed. “I don’t know.”

“Well I’m not,” Steve says firmly, holding his chin. “Ever. Okay?”

It doesn’t make Eddie feel better. He exhales, looking down, at the blue ink on the top of Steve’s thigh, rough doodles on his jeans from when he gets bored at work.

Steve sighs, pushing Eddie’s hair back before he lets go of him, moving so Eddie’s hand falls from his hip, and he pushes Eddie’s sketchbook out of the way, looking at the drawing on the open page. It’s an unfinished sketch, messy and not very good at all in Eddie’s overly humble opinion, but Steve smiles at it.

“‘S good,” he says softly as he pulls himself up onto the counter. Eddie watches him, watches the muscles of his arms flex, and his cheeks flush with warmth when Steve reaches for the armrests of his chair and easily pulls him closer, between his legs.

Eddie looks up at him, that familiar feeling settling in his chest, and he reaches his hands up, setting his arms across Steve’s legs, holding his hips again.

“Talk,” Steve says softly. “What’s going on in that head of yours?” He touches said head, runs his fingers through Eddie’s hair, scratches at his scalp. Eddie wants to cry.

Eddie sighs, leaning to rest his cheek on Steve’s knee, closing his eyes.

“Just…” His shoulder jerks slightly. He ignores it. “I don’t know. Kinda crazy you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

“Why would I ever get sick of you?” Steve asks softly, playing with Eddie’s hair. “Hm?”

“Because I keep hitting you,” Eddie says sullenly, letting go of Steve’s hips. “Because I… throw things and hit things and I’m… noisy.” He pushes Steve’s shirt up with one hand, the other falling under the island, untucking it and pressing his hands under the fabric to Steve’s skin. “I interrupt. I’m annoying.”

Steve pulls his hands away and untucks the rest of his shirt, holding it up with one hand so Eddie can trace his scars softly, gazing.

“You’re not annoying, Eddie.”

Eddie doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t believe him, and Steve can tell.

“Eddie, baby, look at me.”

Eddie looks at him without lifting his head. His vision is obstructed by his hair, and Steve gently moves it out of the way.

“You are not annoying,” he says again, softer, his eyes shining earnestly. “I know you can’t control it.”

“That just makes it more annoying,” Eddie grumbles.

“No, it doesn’t.” Steve’s fingers drag through his hair.

Eddie exhales, looking back at where his hand is tracing Steve’s scars.

“You’re annoyed by it,” Steve says, and Eddie nods against his leg. “I’m not, Eddie.”

Eddie is quiet, a tingling starting on his shoulders like he’s going to shiver, and he tenses.

“Alright, Eddie, look at me,” Steve says, his voice shifting, tapping Eddie’s cheek to prompt him to lift his head. Eddie does, muttering a soft, “Hold on,” and looking away. He pushes his shoulders back, closing his eyes, and Steve waits quietly, patiently, until Eddie’s head jerks back violently, and his shoulders shrug up suddenly. A second passes before Eddie drops his head, sighing and relaxing.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Eddie shivers before he looks up at him tiredly, and Steve leans down, holding his face between his face, looking into his eyes.

“I need you to, like, really listen to me, okay?”

“Okay,” Eddie breathes.

“When I say that you’re annoying,” Steve says, still looking into his eyes, “or obnoxious, or any of those things, I don’t mean it. I’m just teasing. And if you don’t like it, or if it hurts you, I’ll stop.” He looks so earnest that Eddie almost hurts. “And when I say those things,” Steve says slowly, carefully and intentionally, “I’m talking about how you act with the kids, usually. When you’re…” He shrugs, smiling softly. “Immature and chaotic. But even though I tease, I love when you act like that.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows.

“Even though it riles them up?”

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “Because they get to just be kids when you’re fucking around with them.”

Oh.

Eddie smiles softly.

“And,” Steve continues, “when I say those things, I am never, ever talking about your tics. You understand me?”

Eddie nods weakly, his eyes burning.

“You are not annoying to me, Eddie,” Steve says softly, leaning down and leaving a careful kiss on his lips. “I promise.”

“Don’t you get tired?” Eddie asks, exasperated. Steve looks at him.

“What do you mean?” Steve asks quietly.

“It’s constant, Steve,” Eddie says, his eyes burning. “And you just… put up with it, you— you’re always getting me ice, or holding my hand still, or getting pillows for me, or…” He exhales, looking up at Steve desperately. “You’re always taking care of me.”

“I like taking care of you,” Steve says adamantly. Eddie looks away, holding back an eyeful. “Eddie, I’m serious, look at me.”

Eddie looks up at him. His lips are pressed together, his eyes shining with some unreadable, desperate emotion.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes.

Steve leans down and kisses him, holding his face between his hands so his cheeks are squishing under his palms, sucking softly on his lower lip, slow and careful like everything he’s ever done with Eddie.

He pauses when they part, their foreheads pressed together, breathing a little hard, holding Eddie close. Eddie slides his other hand under Steve’s shirt. His skin is warm. His scars are rough, the skin thick and sensitive, tender evidence of his survival. Eddie likes to kiss them.

“I love you,” Steve whispers.

Eddie’s eyes open. His breath escapes him, and it’s like his bones melt. He slumps, squeezing his eyes shut as the words wash over him, his hands squeezing Steve’s sides softly.

“Really?” he chokes, pulling away after a moment. Steve’s eyes are tear-filled.

“Really really,” he says softly. Eddie blinks tears back, sliding his hands over Steve’s sides.

“I don’t get tired of taking care of you,” Steve murmurs, looking at Eddie’s face, his thumb brushing over his trembling lip, “because taking care of you, and helping you, and looking after you is… me loving you.” He pauses for a moment, letting their foreheads touch. “And I don’t ever get tired of loving you.”

Eddie’s whole body hurts.

He chokes Steve’s name weakly, his voice broken, almost squeaking, too high and small for it to even be understood, but Steve just kisses him even though he can’t kiss back, because tears are streaming down his cheeks, over Steve’s fingers.

A small sob escapes Eddie, and Steve pulls him into a hug, running his hands over his head as he buries his face in Steve’s belly. Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s waist, his hands pressing into the small of his back, against his warm skin. Steve’s hands are shaking as they run through his hair.

Eddie’s shoulders jerk as he cries, just once, and Steve’s hands smooth over them gently, sweetly, gathering his hair back.

“Eddie, baby,” Steve's voice says softly, and Eddie feels like he’s surfacing from under cold water, gasping for breath, like his lungs are breathing properly for the first time in his life.

“I love you too,” he chokes, lifting his head and looking up at him. His vision is blurry with tears. He can still see Steve’s smile. “I love you so much.”

Steve laughs softly, sniffling, leaning down to kiss him chastely.

Eddie squeezes his eyes shut, trying to breathe evenly, focusing on the feeling of Steve’s hands running over his cheeks, wiping his tears away. His head shakes slightly, but Steve doesn’t move his hands. He leans down to kiss his forehead.

“God,” Eddie exhales, holding his hips above the waistband of his jeans. “Thank you, Stevie.”

“You don’t have to thank me, baby,” Steve whispers. “You don’t have to apologize and you don’t have to thank me.”

He leans down and kisses his lips gently, murmuring a soft I love you, and Eddie reaches up, sliding his hands over Steve’s shoulders, over his cheeks, pulling him down to kiss him harder. After a moment he remembers that he’s sitting, and without pulling away, he stands, kicking his chair back noisily, one of his hands pushing into Steve’s hair as the other clutches at the small of his back. Steve’s legs wrap around his waist, and he tilts his head to kiss him deeper, holding Eddie’s face like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

They’re both breathless and panting when they part. Steve’s fingers dance over the sides of Eddie’s neck, over his scars, making him shiver. (It’s a nice shiver.) They press their foreheads together, sharing breaths, eyes closed.

Steve pulls away after a moment, caressing Eddie’s cheeks.

“I’m not gonna get tired of you, Eddie,” he whispers. “You’re stuck with me, baby.”

Eddie laughs softly, sniffling and nuzzling his face into Steve’s cheek.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

[landwriter]

Hi, hello,

I'd like to hear something about the skin wip

Hi, hello! Skin is my actual Lighthouse AU after someone sent me this super funny ask registering their displeasure with my choice of fandom for the Seventies SF AU, named Lighthouses. I'm very easily encouraged. Even when being discouraged for something I'm not actually doing. I laughed about doing one and then went and wrote in Untitled 1:

Lighthouse Keeper AU - Hob is lighthouse keeper, Dream is human or else eldritch sea creature - or SEEMS human but is a selkie/changeling who will return? Either star-crossed romance or like, gothic romance - lots of gay sex and desire and the sea, old-timey language, lanterns, etc, wailing wind, Forbidden Acts Isolation, alienation from other men, being Slightly Off, loneliness, exploring where you shouldn’t Hob fucks selkie who is also Dream?? Why would Dream be lighthouse keeper? Maybe he murders them but like, Hob found his skin or something and he has to pretend to be a human lighthouse keeper Hob finding journal entries suggesting imminent and terrifying demise of former keepers, can link them to Dream in some way

I also wrote 'all dialogue should be in iambic pentameter' but we'll pretend I didn't.

What can I say about it? I think it can be best described by the fact I scrolled through the WIP as it is now, a collection of scraps and research curios and a couple half-written scenes, and came across:

Beware the shore on haar and hoolan night, beware the sea of star-lost whalers’ plight

Which I have no, and I mean NO recollection of writing, but has no results when I google it. That's sort of the energy I want for the whole thing. Gothic horror fever dream. Claustrophobia and a locked-room mystery. Men driven to terror and mad loneliness and violence. Letters that arrive too late. Thievery and suspicion and revenge. Greed and possession. Becoming/loving the monstrous.

Some of the notes I evidently left myself that don't read as unhinged at allllll under the cut, if you want to read more about it still:

Smalls lighthouse - great oak stilts slime!!! rocks!! smoking! salt water wind, stabbing kind of rain, the way wind buffets first and moisture on it secondary, white waves, seabirds hanging in the air like mobile above a crib, carving with a knife, bleeding - nicking finger, dream looking over as he sucks it - is whittling the selkie/monster form alcohol maybe something weird where dream refuses alcohol and hob finds out something wrong with their water supply - dream is just drinking saltwater hob giving season of the mists style toast sailors have used tobacco pouches made from sealskin ‘where did you put my skin? where did you put my skin?’ bonding over lost sons hob sends pigeon or message otherwise thanking for relief, noting supply shortage, or smthn. days later gets message back being like, no relief sent. protean forms - changing easily - from god proteus - a protean selkie?? Fiddler's Green is an after-life where there is perpetual mirth, a fiddle that never stops playing, and dancers who never tire. In 19th-century English maritime folklore, it was a kind of after-life for sailors who had served at least fifty years at sea. important that lighthouse is decaying, used to be nice, now is not gothic theme of ascent/descent with ladder images of death etc claustrophobic, sunless environment, action at night or in fog - no sun imagination over reason

I've never done gothic before and I'm super excited to explore it with this story! I'm going for something like, old and musty smelling, sort of The Terror, lighthouse-edition, except with less death and more monster-fucking. A sluttier The Lighthouse (2019).

[unculturedmamoswine]

Fiddauthor Recs

Ya want a Fiddauthor rec list??? You got it. This is just some fiddauthor I have in my bookmarks, in no particular order. I’m not adding warnings, so pay attention to the tags and such. If a fic is a WIP, I’ll let you know. And please DO add your own recs in comments or reblogs, especially if you know of fics that aren’t on AO3!

 If you read these fics, please consider leaving kudos and comments for the authors!

We’re Still Here by hellmandraws

Not fic, but a fan comic starting with college fiddauthor and going all the way through post-series. So great and really worth a read!

rumination: a guided tour by gesso (1.9k words)

Author’s summary: For all the words, expressions, languages he knows; for all the intelligence, experience -- sometimes it's just easier to show, rather than tell. And maybe that means using the mindscape to just pull up very specific memories in a certain order. Because Stanford Pines would much rather take the most convoluted route possible, especially if that means he can avoid plainly talking about his emotions (past and present). [Unlike the other drabbles in this series, this is not complete, and cuts off kind of abruptly at the end of the draft I have]

This fic is sooo worth a read. Technically a WIP, but don’t let that dissuade you.

Somnus Idigus by Abyssalzones (2k words)

Author’s summary: It's hard to sleep, still, nearly a full year after Bill's defeat. Ford manages to be coaxed to bed by kind words and gentle hands, and wonders just what he did to deserve this kind of understanding. (AKA: Ford has nightmares, keeps trying to put off sleep, Fiddleford manages to lovingly wrangle him to bed.)

Sooo sweet! The exact kind of post-canon snuggly Fiddauthor fic I need in this world!

Intricate Rituals by HazelnutofFortune (1.5k words)

Author’s summary: “Fiddleford,” Ford says. He hates asking for help. 

“Mmm?” Fiddleford asks, looking up, scalpel still raised. 

“ Um, could you show me how to get at that big clump next to the Aorta?” How humiliating. Why did he even ask. Except-

“Well, sure,” Fiddleford sets down the heart and takes Ford’s a little gingerly. My heart is in his hands, Ford thinks. Fuck. 

Extremely cute! A WIP! College Fiddauthor and Ford is soooo smitten.

Jersey Boy by Fordtato (110k words)

Author’s summary: Ford does not want to be at Backupsmore University. He should be in California, at West Coast Tech, showing the world that he's more than a freakish waste of space from Jersey; showing the world that he's more than the scrawny, brainy half of a dynamic duo. He's angry, sure, and he's sure-as-fuck tired of being just one-of-two-Stans.

But who isn't angry right now? The world is in turmoil, they're sending our boys to Vietnam and if it wasn't for this stupid school, Ford would have probably been sucked into the draft himself.

But then he meets Fiddleford Hadron McGucket, and everything is different now.

A slowburny fic that really digs into the historical side of college Fiddauthor. It doesn’t shrink away from the tougher, uglier stuff that being a poor, gay, Jewish college student in the seventies would mean for someone. Features an angry, confused Ford who is having a Hard Time. Also has a whole host of interesting OCs! Also a WIP. This fic takes a turn or two that I really didn’t expect and I’m very excited to see where it goes, as the author is on record saying that they WILL finish it.

if you love me, come clean by Athgalla (105k words)

Author’s summary: This is pretty much just a collection of various moments and possible events throughout Fiddleford and Stanford's relationship that I felt like exploring, starting with their first proper meeting in college on to post-Weirdmageddon events.

Without further ado, on to the tragically star-crossed nerds!

iylmcc spans Ford and Fidds’s first meeting through post-series. It’s so interesting, and so sweet, and has so many wonderful details! Just a great take on their relationship that you deserve to read, dear reader. Treat yourself!

Maybe It’s Not Too Late by GinAndShatteredDreams (main fic is 82k words, whole series is 110k)

Author’s summary of the main fic: Overall: A post-weirdmageddon asexual Fiddauthor fic in which revelations occur, a confession goes awry, some unfinished business reemerges in the form of a raging pterodactyl, and chaos ensues. (vaguely romantic - hugs/hand holding/cuddling/comfort, no kisses - just adding that so I don't disappoint anyone who's hoping for it - or maybe for the sake of people (like me) who sometimes like to read something without ;))

(Edit - No romantic kisses. There's a forehead kiss between family members at one point.)

*It would probably be good to mention that most of this was written before the journal came out and even after, I tried to keep true to the ideas formed before reading it with one exception that is noted later.

So as you can tell, I linked you the whole series. A both super angsty and very sweet fic with wonderful asexual post-series Fiddauthor! I’ve never read anything quite like it, totally check it out.

Romance is Overrated and Living Confusing by 3HobbitsInATrenchcoat (25k words)

Author’s summary: Stanford and Fiddleford started out as college roommates and over the years grew into something more than friends but just to the side of what others would consider a "normal relationship." But honestly, is it really anyone's business what they are as long as they care deeply for each other?

Scenes from Stanford's life as he tries to figure out where he fits in a world built for romance and traditional family dynamics.

This fic is restricted– you need an AO3 account to read it. Also, it’s part of a series, but the other fic is Stan-centric so it’s not a part of this rec list. Aaaand also it’s a WIP. Okay, with that out of the way, this is another Ace!Fiddauthor fic, which you know I’m all about! This fic is more about college and research-aged Fiddauthor, and it’s as delightfully fraught as you could hope. The author also does a cool thing regarding Fiddleford’s time in Oregon, while still keeping it canon-compliant. My hat is off to them.

To Struggle For Dreams And To Hunger For More by Voidfish (8k words)

Author’s summary: “Am I gay?” Ford reads the quiz out loud, before clicking to begin. To his frustration, most of the questions are simply asking him if he has had sex with men (he hasn’t), if he wants to (he isn’t quite sure), or if he ever will (the jury is still out). Nothing defines attraction, no one clarifies if the burn in his stomach is love or gastrointestinal issues, and nothing leaves him feeling any better on the subject.

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Stanford Pines has never loved a woman but, he realizes with a painful jolt, he can’t say with certainty he’s never loved a man.

Aaaaaa I love this fic. I love it sooo much. Post-series and Ford is trying to figure out his sexuality and his feelings for Fidds. Plus a scene where he comes out to Stan! Just a delight.

And Shifty Makes Three by Sarelle (13k words)

Author’s summary: Ford Pines and Fiddleford McGucket deal with the ups and downs of relationships and parenthood in 1970s Oregon. A task not much aided by the fact they have to keep secret the true identity of their shapeshifting alien grub son, from friends, family and the Feds.

Based on WDW's Shiftyverse, can be read as a standalone.

I fucking LOVE this fic!! Aaaaa the little details about Ford and Fidds and their relationship! Their alien son!! This fic is so up my alley it’s bonkers.

queer clan in the middle of the woods by toosolidcuuj (series is 23k words)

Author’s summary of the series: *to the tune of "our house" by madness* queer clan in the middle of the woods, queer clan in the middle of the

Canon-divergent AU in which Stan and Ford make up, adopt an alien, and gradually amass an extended queer family.

This is ALSO a Shifty-adopting fic! With Fiddauthor! This one also has Stan, and focuses a lot on Stan and Ford fixing up their fraternal relationship in addition to the Fiddauthory bits. I haven’t reread it in a hot second but I remember it being very fun but also taking Shifty’s trauma quite seriously, which I thought was interesting and cool to read.

(There's a) Half moon rising in southeastern skies by orphan_account (17k words)

Author’s summary: A series of memories, all compiled in convenient cinema-reel format. It’s all here, folks, the good, the bad, the sexy, the emotionally distressing. Next to nothing left out.

Sad that this fic was orphaned– I love it. It’s in second person, and I’m all about that! Fiddleford looking back at his fractured memories post-series and also reconnecting with Ford. Absolutely wonderful characterization. Author, if you’re out there, I love this fic!! I hope you are happy with it in your heart!!

Syncing Phases by toosolidcuuj (5k words)

Author’s summary: Stan has gone his whole life never imagining he had a twin, let alone an android twin who can shoot cannons out his hands, makes money appear out of thin air, and has a close relationship with a werewolf named Fiddleford McGucket. Even more surprisingly, FORD needs Stan's help erasing a world-ending computer virus. But BILL has allies in many places, leaving the Stans uncertain who they can trust.

WIP. This fic is SUCH a fun and interesting concept!! Only child!Stan, Werewolf!Fidds, Robot!Ford??? Yes, please! A totally unique fic that is so fun to read!

[averseunhinged]

wip wednesday! i am returned from the pits of lung ick and doom.

this is for @purplesigebert and @trueromantic1, but idk if this is remotely what you had in mind. it veered off to angstville a teensy bit along the way. it's also klaus/caroline/stefan in its soul, but stefan's hella dead. so.

it's sort of a sanctuary/the librarians/warehouse 13 theme fusion in which caroline is a research librarian in a sentient, extradimensional library. no magic babies. klaus still went to new orleans and got all grabby hands over it. the entire cast of tvd, minus caroline, died at the end of season 5 when the other side collapsed and took mystic falls with it.

He was silent on the stairs as they descended and remained that way as she lead him through the rabbit's warren of echoing hallways lined with closed, barred doors, part of the Library's natural defense system.

At the first checkpoint, she finally broke. “What do you want, Klaus? You did not donate enough to get an all-access pass just for a tour of the Bodleian from me. You don't need a tour of the Bodleian. You probably helped build the Bodleian.”

“I like the hair," he ignored her question. "The glasses. Very clever. Makes you look older. Authoritative.”

“And don't start with the flirting." She pulled her flexible ID chip in its retractable holder with more snap than necessary and held it out to the reader. A row of tiny lights turned green and the door unlocked with a muffled click. She opened the door and felt the distant brush of the Library greeting her, soothing despite its natural inclination to grumpiness and her own Original-induced temper. "I haven't just made myself look older. I'm seventy-four. I have more degrees than anyone can fit at the end of my name and a gaggle of grad students waiting for me. I have a warlock's extensive estate scheduled to begin arriving from Cumbria this afternoon," she opened the door, ushering Klaus through, "in distressingly soggy condition, because he was well over two hundred years old and absentminded about preservation."

He trailed after her at an easier pace than her own, forcing her to slow down if she didn't want to leave him behind. “That sounds like an interesting challenge.”

“Are you making small talk? What the hell, Klaus.”

"I—" he tilted his head toward her, as though to hear her better, but his arms were perfectly still at his sides, hands wooden, “—yes. I am attempting to draw you into conversation about your work."

Caroline once had to remove a dead witch from the Bodleian proper during Trinity reading week in nearly an hour of awkwardly harrowing Weekend at Bernie's reenactment. At one point, she'd had to hurl the body behind a display case to help a first year in crisis over a missing source article that had, nevertheless, been referenced in four subsequent sources. She'd still never been so relieved to see the last checkpoint before the entrance to the Library as she was with Klaus at her side.

She placed her hand in the center of the door's intricately carved medallion and waited for it to acknowledge her. The Library skimmed over Caroline's being, lazy from decades of connection and more than comfortable with her presence. It was less gentle with Klaus, if his sudden, pained breath was any indication, but the door warmed under her touch, a golden glow spreading molten into the runic array, seeping out to the edges until the door shimmered away to nothing, leaving the entrance of a circular, brass cage.

"Interesting," he murmured, discomfort brushed aside by fascination. She'd always enjoyed that about him. It had never been the promises and the gifts and the flattery that made her wish he hadn't been otherwise impossible. His curiosity, the variety of interests and depth of knowledge, had been like no-one she'd ever known. She remembered every conversation she'd ever had with him, a claim that couldn't be shared with anyone else she'd known briefly nearly a century prior.

She stepped into the cage and beckoned him with a hand to her left side. "Coming?"

"What is this, exactly?" he questioned, even though he did as she'd indicated.

"A lift," she answered and swung the curved gate around, completing the circle, "of sorts. Or so we refer to it. It's really a gateway, but people get a little nervous when you start talking about dimensional travel."

Any further questioning was cut off when the brass cage sparked with the same light as the door had, spreading until its occupants were engulfed. Caroline breathed through the lurching tremble of distortion and the squeezing yank in every direction, the terrifying weightlessness of momentarily ceasing to exist in time or space.

When reality reasserted itself, Klaus was crouched, one hand on the ground, gasping. Caroline stood primly, hands clasped in front of her.

"Welcome to the Library," she stated, impassive as any bored tour guide. "The Bodleian entrance was created during World War II, the result of a casual agreement between adversaries to avoid destroying key universities."

Klaus gritted out her name as he stood, unsteady and even paler than typical, veins darkening around his eyes.

Caroline ignored him, staring straight ahead. "I've learned things, gone places, met people even your millennium couldn't have shown you." She unfolded her hand to gesture around in a smooth, practiced motion to the rotunda's warm brass and red-toned wood structure, its mercurial filigree detailing and shifting aurora of the dome above. "Don't make the mistake of thinking I'm still that little girl you tried to tempt away into the woods."

That barb was one that clawed into him. "It was not like that." He looked away from her, eyes darting around the room without truly seeing, in an attempt to control his temper. "Don't make it sound so tawdry." Caroline slowly turned her entire body to stare at him, unimpressed. He shut his eyes for a moment, longer than a blink, but not long enough to give the impression that she wasn't his entire focus. He made a small, beseeching move towards her, and his eyes were as intense as they'd always been, begging some question she’d never known the answer to. "That afternoon was the happiest I can remember being."

When she laughed, it was an ugly sound. "Good for you. If you'll follow me, I'm afraid you'll have to endure a morning of dull administrative tasks. You are, of course, welcome to leave at any time."

“I'm sorry, Caroline!” he called out after her. He sounded strained and desperate. She halted, lungs seizing and abdomen clenching. “I'm sorry they died.”

Every day. She missed them every day. She missed Bonnie's tenacity. Her quiet grace. Elena's wild, foolish bravery and deep well of compassion. She missed Matt's honesty. His so human morality. Enzo and his halfway-to-crazy attempts to help her grow up, whose death broke her heart far more than she would have expected. She missed her mom's steady practicality. Those moments of kindness bridging the gap between them that never quite went away. Her father, Tyler. They hadn't been very good at loving her in the end, but they had loved her. That’s what she remembered.

She even missed Damon. Sometimes. A little bit. Maybe.

“I'm sorry Stefan died,” he continued, and that one hurt.

Stefan. Stefan. Stefan of the gentle touches and soft, encouraging words. The late-night-early-morning whispers to each other in her bed, forehead to forehead, cuddled up as close as two people could be. Who preferred being the little spoon and understood how afraid she was to love him, because he was just as afraid to love her back. After all, they knew the people they loved would always, always leave them.

Her best friend. Her almost lover. She took care of him, even when he thought she shouldn't. He protected her, even when it was from himself.

Last one standing was a dog shit bonfire of a title to hold.

And he was sorry.

“Don't talk about Stefan.” She walked away from him. Her heels sounded like bullets as they struck the floor. “You don't have the right.”

[jerzwriter]

Any day...

Book:                   Open Heart (Post Series)

Pairing:                Tobias Carrick x F!MC (Casey) Feat: Bryce Lahela

Rating:                 Teen

Category:            Fluff

Summary:   Casey & Tobias share a simple morning as they wait for their first baby's arrival, which is only a short time away.

Words: 797

A/N: ME: Work on your WIPs only. You have a zillion WIPs out there. ALSO ME: OMG, My pretend people's baby is going to be born a week from today! I need to write something about this! And here we are. lol | @aprilchallenge - Family, Love, Kiss

It was 7:00 AM on an unseasonably warm Boston morning; the mercury was already reaching the low seventies. If these were normal times, Casey would have blamed the heat for waking her at such an ungodly hour on a day she didn’t have to work. But that wasn’t what had her stirring today, and normal… that was about to take on new meaning. She wrapped one arm protectively around her belly as the other pushed against her bolster pillow for support.

“There,” she gasped with relief, reminding herself that, very soon, getting out of bed would no longer require a plan of action.

She wondered where her husband was for a moment, but then the scent of butter and cinnamon filled her senses, and it seemed to elicit a kick from the alien that had invaded her body. With a soft chuckle, she lovingly rubbed the spot that had just been pummeled. 

“So, do you like French toast too, little one?” she asked. “I figure you’re going to either love it or hate it since Mommy’s eaten so much these past few months. I’m sure Daddy’s sick of making it, even if he won’t admit it.”

She cautiously descended the stairs, startling her husband, who was preparing a breakfast tray in the kitchen.

“Case!” He blurted. “What are you doing out of bed?”

“You expect me to stay up there when it smells this good down here?” She winked. “Do you even know me, sir?”

Tobias tilted his head with a smirk. He found her utterly adorable, even when he was about to give her a tongue-lashing.

“I was about to bring it up to you, wise ass. Now, you’re a brilliant doctor, Casey. So what part of bed rest did you not understand?”

“I’m an exceptional doctor! So outstanding that I know bed rest is a relative term, dear.”  She plopped into a chair at their kitchen table, motioning for Tobias to bring her the delectable breakfast he had prepared. “And you know that, too. The doctor said partial bedrest, not all day, every day.”

With a sigh, Tobias placed the breakfast before her, “You can’t fault me for looking out for you and our baby.”

After he sat beside her, she gently touched his wrist to reassure him. “I know. And you know I won’t do anything to endanger us either.”

“I know,” he squeezed her hand with a grin.

“I can’t believe I’m on bed rest!” Casey pouted. “I wasn’t planning on this. Then again,” she chuckled. “We hadn’t planned any of this, did we?”

“No, we didn’t. Just like you and I meeting was unplanned, what did that card I gave you on the night of our elopement say?”

“You’re the best thing I never planned,” Casey beamed.

“That’s right. Life happens, but we’ll face it together. I don’t love you being on bed rest, but everything else has been pretty awesome.” He bent over and kissed Casey’s belly, then moved up to tenderly kiss her lips. “I know you’ve got to keep her cooking in there a little longer, but I really can’t wait to meet her.”

“She’s going to keep us on our toes,” Casey smiled, nuzzling her head into Tobias’s shoulder.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he simpered. “We’re going to be all right, you know.”

Casey looked up at him with joyful eyes, more at peace than he had seen in her in some time. “I know,” she said confidently. “It’s you and me.”

“Do you think the baby will wait until her due date?” She asked.

“If she’s as impatient as her Mom and Dad, not a chance. That reminds me, I have to talk to Bryce. He’s starting the birth date pool at work. They won’t let me bet because I have insider knowledge. Can you imagine the audacity?”

“And he wonders why he’s not Godfather?” Casey laughed.

“Yeah, but we should make him Godfather for number two. You know, to make up for you destroying his washing machine.”

“Me!” Casey hollered. “If I remember correctly, you were at least fifty-percent responsible for that, Dr. Carrick.”   

“Yeah,” he chuckled, “but it was fun, and he did get a new washer out of the deal.”

“That he did,” Casey nodded.

“Now let’s finish your breakfast before it gets cold, then back to bed, or I’m calling your doctor to rat you out.”

“Ugh, you would,” she teased, shoveling the last of the French toast into her mouth. “You know, we’re going to be OK, T.”

They looked at each other for a long moment, taking the time to enjoy the simple perfection of it all.

“I know,” he said, kissing her forehead. “In fact, we’re going to be better than OK. We’re going to be amazing.”

Permatags: @a-crepusculo @animesuck3r @annoyingmillenialnewbie @crazy-loca-blog @doriopenheart @differenttyphoonwerewolf @fayeswiftie @gryffindordaughterofathena @genevievemd @inlocusmads @jamespotterthefirst @jennieausten @kingliam2019 @liaromancewriter @lucy-268 @onikalover @openheartforeverinmyheart @potionsprefect @quixoticdreamer16 @rookiemartin @secretaryunpaid @socalwriterbee @sophxwithers @tessa-liam @trappedinfanfiction @jerzwriter-reblogs-asks @choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

OH: @annfg8 @binny1985 @coffeeheartaddict2 @mysticalgalaxysstuff @ofmischiefandmedicine @peonierose @youlookappropriate

Tobias Only: @icecoffee90 @kyra75

[harpywritesfic]

wip tag game!

yay i love these! i love talking about my wips (this is the only way some of them will see the light of day) so thanks @space-mermaid-writing for the tag! this is also a good push to go in and organize my megadoc a bit.

RULES: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! Then tag as many people as you have WIPs. (i don't even know that many people so no :))

Most of my longer wips are in their own documents, but the smaller ones live in what i call the megadoc. basically it's all of them in one big house until they're grown enough to move into their own place. I usually separate them out once they break a page and start getting unwieldy. trouble is, the whole thing is unwieldy now that it's so large. seventy-five pages of wips. i'm not counting the really small ones bc all they are are snippets.

under a readmore because there's 40

Independent fics:

Occupational hazards (snail mail exchange fic)

Three for the price of one (nsfw, aka the tentacle fic)

Hacked your phone

Masters of communication

You need to eat

NOT dating

metal and bone (whumptober 2022)

thread and blood (sequel to metal and bone)

Megadoc fics: (newest to oldest. newer is better)

ANOTHER self-indulgent fic

Battle of the proposal dates

Harpy has a headache

Wow! An abandoned wip!

Stop breathing i don’t like it

Dirt nap averted

He’s just like me fr fr

Drpepperony tag team

Car rides are for the uninitiated

concussion roomate

Uh. praise kink (nsfw)

owie

Dum-e is now an ESA

Cat Curse

Dead rats

The old sex pollen thing (nsfw)

Now you care?

Pre dawn breakdown

truth or dare without the dare

Prompt #1257

My own prompt :)

prompt 1229

BTHB: chronic pain

donut ship has dry ice

road rash and bruising

BTHB- twisted ankle

silly string

what is love? baby don't hurt me

ily, goodnight

hazy

alien flu

stephen got kidnapped again

long day

blood magic

good boyfriend

teatime

hacked ur phone

i don't know

have a seat

feel free to ask for more than one!

i'm tagging @darkkitty1208 and@hithertoundreamtof23! no pressure ofc :)

[kazoosandfannypacks]

🏀 🎃 🦚 for the mutuals ask game, please!

🏀: Share a line from your latest WIP

I'm in the middle of a ton of wips right now, but Skyguy suggested I share a line from the fic where I give Sabezra the Obitine backstory:

 "We're sorry to have to do this, ma'am," a voice on her other side said as she felt a gag wrap around her mouth, "we just gotta make this look like a kidnapping. Which, I guess, technically, it is anyways, since you didn't come with us willingly like your mom asked us to. Uh anyways…."  "Padawan Bridger," the other voice whispered sharply, "mind being a little quieter while we're staging a kidnapping?"  "Yes, Master."

🎃: Hogwarts House?

If you're accepting hybrid houses, it's Grifflepuff. If not, while I'm online I feel more like a Hufflepuff, but irl I'm a bit more of a Griffindor.

🦚: Share your first OC

I talked about Seventy here, but I also have a ton of Lego Nexo Kinghts OCs I made up for the Nexo Knights fic I wrote as a teenager. Almost all the knights in that universe had names based on the weapons they use, so I ended up researching medieval weaponry from different countries to name them! The ones I came up with were Bludj Eon, Scim Tarman, Zway Hander, and Callum 'Cal' Tropington, though if you read the fic, you'll find that one of them isn't technically an oc 🤐

Mutuals ask game!

[goddesspharo]

Any sneak peaks WIP for Can’t fake what you can’t break up with? 👀 I’m on the edge of my seat for how you are going to finish this story, it’s so amazing and heart wrenching (please also give Bradley his comeuppance) 🥰🫨🙈🤩

Thank you, anon! The first three parts came so easy for me, but with the final chapter, I've been writing it all out of order with sections that I'm not 100% sure will even make it into the final product all because I can't seem to write the immediate beginning of this last chapter (even though once I do, I know it'll be way easier to write the rest). BUT your ask DID give me an idea how to use one of the sections I just wrote the other night in it (a comeuppance, if you will) so thank you for that! As for a sneak peek, I don't want to give too much away but here's a bit that will probably make it in there:

"This popped up in my iPhone memories the other day. Apparently, Janet at the Viva Las Vegas Wedding Chapel was new to the job and didn't realize that she wasn't supposed to take video until we paid the extra seventy-five." Nat gasps with faux scandal. "You deprived us of having documentation of these precious memories just to save seventy-five bucks?" Jake rolls his eyes and hits play on a short video. In it, Jake and Natasha are at the reception desk, clearly three sheets to the wind already, when the camera catches them at the tail end of a game of Rock, Paper, Scissors that Nat has won judging by the way she pumps her fists in the air like she just made it onto the Olympic podium. "The Blues Brothers can suck it!" she laughs in Jake's face. "The Elvis Hound Dog package wins!" "You're such a sore winner," Jake whines with the same dopey expression on his face that he still gets when Natasha does something exceedingly charming. It's the way he's looking at her right now on the couch when it dawns on her with mortifying clarity that it is her fault that they got married by Elvis. "Get ready for a lifetime of losing, Bagman," Natasha cackles on the video before drawing Jake in by his collar to give him a sloppy smooch. Jake presses his palms against both sides of her face before kissing her like he's rehearsing for the altar. Offscreen, someone shouts at Janet to stop filming if they haven't purchased the media pass, but Janet still manages to get footage of Nat's foot popping behind her before she stops recording. Natasha groans as she drops her face into her hands. "I told you it was your—" "The Blues Brothers is not a classier theme. This is still your fault, Bagman." Jake pulls her hands away from her face and asks how she figures that. "You don't kiss a woman like that and then expect her to say I don't."

[ilovedthestars]

*puts on a different costume* trick or treat!!!

hello, mysterious new stranger! have a treat!

this was the original concept that i wrote down for this wip, which is creatively titled "gurathin"

[what if: that “i had nowhere else to go” trope, except mb is like “i’m turning to my worst enemy…” and gurathin is like “wtf i’m not your worst enemy get inside i’m calling an ambulance”]

i don't remember why i had that thought but it was funny and then i started writing it and it was still funny but also Dramatic. it's like, pretty close to complete, except i never figured out why Murderbot would have gotten stabbed on Preservation Station for reasons that didn't involve everyone on the station being VERY aware that it had happened, and obviously gurathin was gonna ask about that and i didn't have an answer. anyway. enjoy.

---

It’s late, and Gurathin has been sitting in this chair with a book open in his lap for a few hours now. He’s just thinking that it’s really probably time to go to sleep, as soon as he finishes the next few pages, when he’s interrupted by the gentle ping of a feed message reaching his augment. SecUnit: Can I come in He frowns, and glances towards the door to his apartment, although he’s in his bedroom and there are a few walls in the way. He knows SecUnit doesn’t need the rest period that most of the station is taking right now, but it usually spends this time in its own room, watching serials in its head or whatever else it does to keep busy. The fact that it’s out and about could mean nothing, but nonetheless, it’s…worrying. Gurathin: Are you outside? It’s the middle of the night. SecUnit: I know SecUnit: I don’t want to wake Mensah up SecUnit: But I kind of need help He drops his book onto the chair behind him without marking his place. Gurathin: I’m coming. When he pulls open the door to his apartment, SecUnit is outside, leaning against the corridor wall. Not casually—more like it needs the support if it’s going to stay on its feet. It has one hand bracing it upright and the other pressed to its side. There’s something on the side of its face that looks like blood. “Did you murder someone?” Gurathin says, and then sees the dark drops on the floor and the dark wet sheen on its hands and its shirt where it’s holding its side. “For the love of—What the fuck happened? Get inside.” It tries to push itself away from the wall, and sways. Gurathin grabs its elbow and steers it through his door. It collapses against the wall again as soon as it’s inside. There’s a glazed look in its eyes, and its mouth is pressed tightly shut. Gurathin shuts the door. “I can’t fucking believe—Why aren’t you in Medical?” Did it actually murder someone? He can’t imagine why it would come to him, unless it’s trying to hide. “Not that bad….” SecUnit mumbles. It’s dripping a terrifying quantity of blood on his floor. He is not buying its insistence that this is okay. “What’s your performance reliability?” Its lips twitch, and he wonders if it just suppressed an automatic canned response. “Fine,” it says. That is not a good sign. “What is it?” he insists. It hesitates. “Seventy…” It sees his face, and reluctantly corrects itself. “Sixty-eight.”

[kiki-shortsnout]

Thanks for the tag @magicaltear Sorry it took me so long to respond! 😊😊

How many works do you have on AO3?

Too many,🤣 seventy-nine at the moment, but it’ll be eighty soon, once I finish this new mammoth story!

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,127,841, holy hell!🤯

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently, Marvel, although I am starting to slide into the Star Trek fandom, late as always. I’m working on a long retelling of the Wrath of Khan fic from a Spirk perspective.  I did use to write for Final Fantasy XV a while back, and I’d like to revisit that someday. I’m also eyeing up the My Hero Academia fandom and Yuri On Ice.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

OO, interesting question, for some reason I just cracked my knuckles in excitement.🤣

Stringless – 2,044

Betwixt – 2,023

Obstacles and Opportunities -1,523

Counterfeit Boyfriend – 1,368

Ternion- 1,299

You know what, I’m really surprised by number four if I’m honest. I was always under the impression that one hadn’t done very well, as usually the fics people talk to me about are Stringless, Betwixt and Love, Dreams and Coffee Machines. It’s a pleasant surprise, but I’m a little shocked!

5. Do you respond to comments? Yes, I try to respond to them all, sometimes things get in the way, and I forget, but I’ll always respond, it might just take a while! But I do appreciate all of them and the kudos, and occasional screams in my Tumblr inbox. It really does act as a motivation for more stories!💞

6.What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Oh, this one is easy. It’s Without You, it’s the only really sad story I’ve written. I mean, I love putting angst in my writing, but this is the one where Tony was dealing with his grief of losing Stephen, and he doesn’t get him back.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I think all my fics have happy endings if I’m honest.💞

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Yes, unfortunately, they tend to range from: Why are you writing about this couple? Why aren’t you writing about the couple you just did? I don’t like reading about this pairing. I’ve recently had a few saying my writing is awful, or my take on a story is awful.

I think that’s the risk you take with posting things online, which is saddening as I don’t think people always appreciate how much work, effort, time goes into any creation, be that art, fics, or mood boards. I’ll be honest, it can drag you down at times, and it has made me want to quit a few times, but the fandoms I’m in are incredibly supportive and welcoming, so I try not to let the few bad comments overwhelm the positive ones I have.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I think most of my fics have smut in, unless they’re the small prompt pieces I worked on, and I write all kinds, to enhance the plot, without a plot, multiple partners, solo self love.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I haven’t no, but I I do have a request sitting in my inbox for a IronStrange/ Star Trek crossover which I really want to work on!

11.Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Back before my AO3 days yes, and when I confronted the writer about it they were very apologetic and took it down. I’ve had people take my stories and post them on Goodreads and I’ve had to fight with them several times to take down

12. Does not exist apparently

I’m not even 100% I exist if I’m honest.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I haven’t, I’ve worked with artists on stories before and that’s been incredibly fun.

14.What’s your all-time favourite ship?

I’ve had loads, but the one I’ve written for the most is IronStrange, although I enjoy writing for FrostIronStrange more.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I actually have a half-written JohnLock one sitting on my laptop, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get back to it. I love the idea and I love writing it, but I don’t know if I can get their voices quite right and I keep losing faith in it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I’ve always been told it's my characterisations and emotive writing, which are huge compliments.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

I would say it’s writing action/fighting scenes, I always leave a place card saying ‘Write fight scene here’ and go back to it at the end. I just…find writing them tedious and I don’t think I always get the movement right, or the stakes, if that makes sense?

I struggle with pacing too sometimes….like I want to get to the good bits of the story and skim over the other bits.

18.Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

The only other language I know is French from what they taught at school, and unless you want me to write a story where I need to order stationery and tell you where the library is, it’d better if I just stuck with English.😂😂

If I did need dialogue in another language, I’d reach out to an author who I knew could speak the language.

19.First fandom you wrote for?

Beyblade, way back in the olden days…..or actually, maybe it was Lord of The Rings?

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I’ll always have a soft spot for Stringless because it was the first IronStrange I’d ever written and I was so nervous about writing for Marvel and posting it, and Ternion because again, I’d never written a poly couple and I was really anxious about writing Loki.

But the fic I enjoyed writing the most was Betwixt. I was devastated when I finished writing that because I’d poured my soul into it. I wrote it on pieces of scrap paper during meetings, I stayed up late working on it, and I got up early to write it. I always enjoy the stories I work on, but that one holds a special place in my heart.

I’m desperate to write a sequel for it.

Tagging @the-elle-kat @atypical-snowman @jeromesankara @xoniarainforest and anyone else who wants to play!

[ohblackdiamond]

For the wip game, please

Life and life only - what was the appeal of Victoria Medlin as a pivotal character and love interest over, say, one of Paul's better known past dalliances?

And in similar vein, what attracted you to the idea of writing Paul as a merman?

Thank you!

aw, thanks so much for the questions!

i picked victoria because she is one of the few women paul dated that he doesn't talk about at all in his book. i've only even read one interview from the nineties where he was even asked about her (his only response in the interview is "she killed herself," and then the interviewer changes the subject)-- it's not impossible there are more out there, but that's the only one i could find.

i find the omission interesting because, well, paul doesn't omit very many people from his autobiography and he has a tendency to drag almost everyone he does mention in there (even bruce the mensch managed to get complained about! paul said he farted a lot!). so my feeling is victoria was excluded for a reason-- either she was too painful for him to discuss or he thought talking about her was a little too exposing, or both. let me preface by saying paul has zero obligation to write/talk about any former lovers. however, i don't buy it being a case of her being overall insignificant to his love life-- otherwise, why dedicate his solo album to her (and j.b. fields') memory-- and why the dedication with no last name?

also, she just had that strange, sad aspect to her eyes in the youtube clips of her commercials and her few movie appearances. i liked her.

as far as the second question, what made me attracted to the idea of writing paul as a merman was it allowed me to explore aspects of paul's life that very rarely get written about. through the lens/conceit of being a mer, i was able to go in in a more frank way regarding his microtia and his isolation (i think social isolation as a child isn't something that people tend to focus on that goes a long way to explaining why paul stanley is the way he is) and relationship with julia.

i think i actually started writing the story when the rachael and julia allegations were starting up, and i remember thinking to myself, basically, that his relationship with julia was and always had been dysfunctional, but not in that particular, horrible way that was being claimed. obviously in my story it's very, very heavily fictionalized, but i wanted to look at the resentment julia might feel over having a brother with microtia and feeling that he was petted/spoiled/was hampering her at least in part because of it.

also, i just like mermaids in general and always have. it doesn't mean much (it doesn't mean anything), but paul and ace both wrote water-themed songs ("hard luck woman," "torpedo girl"), and both had weird near-drowning incidents in the seventies. ace has trouble walking, due to poor coordination, being kind of pigeon-toed, and, at the time, inebriation, but wouldn't it be more interesting if it was because he was actually a merman? and yeah, at this point, paul's stiff walk is probably because of his knee replacements, but wouldn't we rather it be from him being a merman, too?

the original fic was supposed to be an ace/gene/paul love triangle of sorts (not quite) where ace and paul were both mers, but paul had already landlocked and ace was about to. that might have been a more popular fic given it was slash all the way instead of het, but, well, i wanted to write one with victoria instead, haha.

thanks for the questions! really made me think!

[chayscribbles]

chayscribbles’ monthly writing update ☆ april and may 2023

i didn't do one last month so we get a double feature today!

☆ STATISTICS.

words written: 6 214 in april; 9 425 in may

projects worked on: once again only wrote for Andromeda Rogue but did a lot of plotting and planning for The Gemini Heist

proudest accomplishment: i've resisted chucking everything i've ever written into a shredder

books read in both april and may: A Rival Most Vial be @ashen-crest; Planetfall by Emma Newman, and Rogue Protocol (Murderbot Diaries #3) by Martha Wells

☆ GENERAL COMMENTS.

i went super hard in the beginning of april, burned out majorly for several weeks, then went hard again in the last 2 or so weeks. april ended in the middle of my burnout so that's why i didn't have an update last month. it just didn't seem worth it.

i'm also trying to make a soft return to writeblr! it's not working.

more specific wip-related comments + featured excerpt below.

☆ COMMENTS: ANDROMEDA ROGUE (draft 2)

this might be a stretch but the 2 year (2 year?????!?!?!!) anniversary of me finishing the first draft of AR1 is coming up on June 13th... so wouldn't it be grand if i finished the second draft by then? a guy can dream.

right now this draft is sitting at nearly 73K, which means i've almost reached the wc of draft one. and i still have a few more chapters to go!

unfortunately i've also left all the Hard Parts up until now becuase i love to make myself suffer!!!! pray for me y'all.

☆ COMMENTS: THE GEMINI HEIST (planning, i guess?)

well the good news is that i actually have the skeleton of an outline! i have 7 acts and a vague idea of what happens in each of them!

the bad news is i can't seem to get myself to actually write any of it! all i've been doing is anything EXCEPT writing. backstory developing, worldbuilding, creating menial lore... but not a single word added to my draft. when will my suffering end.

i did post a fun drawing + worldbuilding thing tho, if you missed it!

☆ FEATURED EXCERPT.

i'm pretty sure i posted this excerpt from AR already a loooong time ago... but it's gotten a small upgrade ever since. you see, back when i first wrote it, i didn't know how long the gang's trip would take. but then i developed a standardized formula to calculate travel time and just happened to end up with the funniest possible result... which lead to this.

Valyan, meanwhile, plopped themself into the co-pilot’s chair. 

“How long have you been able to do that?” they asked, eyes sparkling. “Why don’t your powers look like the Hepplings' from the Order of the Vine? Is it just the healing thing you can do, or can you do other things? Like use the plants as a lasso, or—”

“Look, kid,” Finneas interrupted, “here’s the deal. If you leave me alone for a few hours, I’ll answer every question you have about my… powers. Okay?”

Valyan narrowed their eyes. “How many hours is ‘a few’?”

“Um… seventy?”

“Nice try. That’s about how long it’ll take us to get back to Sayntagnesia. And it’s actually sixty-nine hours.” They grinned. “Nice.”

Of course that would be the one fact they’d remember. “You got me. How about six?”

“Deal.”

☆ TAGLISTS. let me know if you want to be added/removed to any of them.

general taglist:

@nicola-write @dgwriteblr @the-orangeauthor @onomatopiya @quilloftheclouds @ashen-crest @writeblrfantasy @celestepens @stardustspiral @pepperdee @extra-magichours @avi-why @lefttigerobservation@chazzawrites @bardolatrycore @innocentlymacabre

andromeda trilogy taglist:

@bebewrites @nicola-writes @dgwriteblr @the-orangeauthor @onomatopiya @akindofmagictoo @quilloftheclouds @nora-theteawriter @ashen-crest @corpsepng @writeblrfantasy @chaylattes @toboldlywrite @celestepens @stardustspiral @pepperdee @cheerfulmelancholies @extra-magichours @writeouswriter @cilly-the-writer @lefttigerobservation @rose-bookblood @drowsy-quill @chazzawrites @cynic-and-chief @enchanted-lightning-aes @aesa @outpost51

gemini heist taglist:

@florraisons @akindofmagictoo @cream-and-tea @nicola-writes @memento-morri-writes @antique-symbolism @rose-bookblood @afoolandathief @pepperdee @avi-why @zonnemaagd @chazzawrites @analogued @enchanted-lightning-aes @innocentlymacabre @kahvilahuhut @celestepens @cilly-the-writer @extra-magichours @onomatopiya @outpost51

[landwriter]

WIP Game 📝

Tagged by @im-not-corrupted and @that-banhus. Thank you pals!

rules: list your WIPs and describe them

Because I do not hate myself and also am on mobile I will only list the WIPs I am actively working on! Have only been able to write for the first time this month like, this past weekend, but here’s the three I went to immediately:

Lighthouses - the seventies san francisco humans AU! 20K from a Spotify wrapped prompt and still not done! the timeless tale of an oblivious homosexual moving to The Big City and falling in love with his new (off limits) best friend that he’s in a writing course with. ft. near misses, attempted feelings confessions via Literary Reference, falling in love over landline, the chest hair agenda, furtive jacking off, cigarettes, and a surprise virginity kink. Guest starring all the historical queer ephemera I can squeeze into it! which is. a lot

Oaths - my ongoing longfic (ok it’s longfic for ME, just bog-standard novella length for fandom at large) about bandit Hob and cursed elphin twink Dream, aka Gloam’s Excuse To Go On About Landscape, set in 1539 in Selkirkshire. Now with trochaic tetrameter! THANKS, Banhus (but really.) A historic AU based on the ballad Tam Lin with a historically & regionally accurate amount of belief in the existence of fairies and the supernatural. May seem like a love story or adventure. Is actually just 50k+ on the concept of going home. Currently working on trying to make people cry buckets at the last chapter

Shaper of Forms - haven’t talked about this one yet anywhere (incredibly) but @softest-punk caused it back in January and if I ever finish this and publish it you can forward your complaints directly to them. Part paean to queer sex and part uncomfortably personal dissertation on the enormous joy and persistent devastation of being human and existing in an imperfect body. Bones and blood and grieving and envying flowers and all that. Horribly earnest.

I hope this whets y’all’s appetite because knowing something I’m working on is at all anticipated is such an enormous motivation!!!

tagging @moorishflower @delta-pavonis @teejaystumbles @hardly-an-escape and anyone who wants to share!!

[bumblingbabooshka]

I literally haven't watched voyager but your art is making me go insane over tuvok and tpel.. What If Your Other Half Was Lost In Space Further Than Anyone Has Gone Before.... what if someone who was as close as another distinct person could be was also as far away as anyone can be... im scuttling up walls

YESSSS you understand~!!!!! I'm wild about these two and forever mad their relationship isn't explored even a little in the show v_v but I'll take Tuvok's devotion and run with it. Vulcan relationships are so interesting to me and Tuvok being The Vulcan...the most Vulcan main Vulcan & having a wife and kids whom he cherishes deeply (despite the commonly held belief/portrayal of Vulcans as being so cold and detached) and whom he's been ripped away from through strange and unexpected circumstances....AAAGH. Tuvok is so interesting to me. He's like...the type of Vulcan that would be an antagonist in other star trek series. He's traditional and unapologetic and has stated explicitly a hatred of humans in the past. He even says he literally opposed Spock at one point. Yet here he's ostensibly a main character~!! And he's not a villain...he's a family man. I wonder endlessly about him. How does he deal with it? How does it feel to be so far away from everything you knew? He has children he thinks about constantly. Just because he's Vulcan, fully Vulcan and traditionally Vulcan, (he isn't The First Vulcan to do jack shit and he isn't half Romulan or Human or anything like that) doesn't mean he isn't a person. He is! And he has a family he loves - not in spite of being Vulcan but because he is Vulcan. He has no shame about it. If anything he takes pride in that aspect of himself because being a husband and a father is an intrinsic part of his identity. You can't communicate with your literal Other Half anymore after seventy~ years of constant sharing and communication...You're suddenly, painfully, cut off from such a big part of how you communicate with others and live your daily life. Can he sense, faintly, his wife and children? He certainly can't communicate with them anymore. Is the silence deafening? it must be so uniquely lonely. Interestingly lonely. Like. Interesting enough to have maybe an episode about it or for it to be mentioned or explored in literally ANY WA-

Here's a WIP I decided I was never gonna clean up or finish for your trouble~!! Tuvok/T'Pel....they really make my heart ache <3

[nymphith3690]

Hazbin Hotel Fanfic

An excerpt from a longer WIP

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alastor Centric. Not Beta-Read.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

New Orleans and Hell weren’t so different, actually. Hell was hot, humid, unbearable, perhaps, to a lesser demon.

Alastor had, ah, special training in such situations. Of course, it wasn’t completely the same. The nip of a Louisiana winter, snapping to a freeze overnight and then back to seventy the next day, was a trial upon itself.

The closer you got to the center of hell, or, in this case, where the ring of pride dared to almost cross the ring of wrath, the hotter, the more humid it became.

The more memories of home began to surface.

The more you started to regret the trek.

An understandable deterrent for most sinners.

Alastor stood in front of the unassuming metal gate. Unlike the majority of fences in pentagram city, where they had large spikes on the ends for deter nets, this one was smooth, polished, black steel.

The gate was open, welcoming, but the wafts of hazy, disillusioned air sifting through the divide was anything but.

Oh well, Alastor was never one to allow discomfort to keep him from his errands, and a troublesome chore this one was, indeed.

The overlord stepped through the gate, smiling brightly through the sudden burst in humidity. It was like stepping inside to the greenhouse Rosie built, which, to be completely candid, was an apt description.

This was, after all, the only complete garden in hell.

“Hello?” He stepped further on the property. “Anyone there?”

As Alastor stepped further into the garden, the more the harsh red gravel beneath his feet turned into crinkled brown grass. The sky of pride washed everything, from the already maroon roses to the white lillies in red.

In the distance, he could hear a stream, or, at the very least, moving water. Not so dissimilar to that of a slow river, but there was also a faint noise that was just barely noticeable. The water was moving erratically, oddly, as if some-

Ah. As if someone were swimming inside it.

“I don’t like to be kept waiting, you know,” he called out, walking slowly towards the sound of the stream. “I have a radio show to begin in about an hour! Time ticks ever more.”

A moment, two.

Alastor felt his eye twitch, his smile stretching even more.

How dare she-

“-you come into my garden,” a voice hissed, a whisper that did nothing to hide the rage. “And have the audacity-“

A vine launched itself forward, out of a nearby rose bush, and pierced itself against the other wall of greenery. Thorned leaves, dripping with a viscous yellow liquid, hung just a bit above the tip of Alastor’s nose.

Interesting.

“The audacity,” the demon seethed, an extended hand appearing from the edge of the hedge, towards the direction of where Alastor had assumed the stream was. “The nerve-“

“Well, dear, I can assure you that I would not be this far from Pentagram City if it was not warranted. Now, could you please remove your vine and step out, we can have a chat.”

The demon didn’t speak, the hand shaking minutely as the vines retracted, slithering along the grasses and towards the other demon. More vines joined the first, wrapping together and cooking like snakes in the bayou.

Finally, after nearly a minute, the demon strapped out. Alastor stared upon the grey skin of the humanoid. Most of the skin was covered by a floor length beige dress, the bottom stained by red mug, with sleeves down to the wrists.

The demon had long, dark brown hair that fell in ringlets around her face, and it was at that moment that Alastor realized the rumors were true, and the guardian of the Garden of Eden, protected by the overlord Zestial, was not even an demon at all.

Light radiated off of the woman’s flared wings, pointed and stretched, giving wind of her obvious stress.

“Ah, hello, Eve. My name is-“

“I know who you are. What do you want, Radio Demon?” She hissed.

Alastor began to take a step forward, but the coiled vines at the angel’s feet tensed again, waiting to strike.

“No need for all of that, dear, I am here to simply talk.”

“I don’t talk with demons-“

“-isn’t the definition of a demon a soul who is tormented by hell? And if you’re here,” he drawled. “Then you, miss Eve, are one of us.”

The vines lunged forward, thorns poised to strike. Alastor side stepped the attack, but they curved as they passed, causing his eyes to narrow.

Well that is a slight annoyance.

Alastor snapped, and his shadow lunged forward, cutting through the vines and stopping the flimsy attack.

Eve looked on, dismayed, her fists balled at her sides, and her wings flapped once, twice, just enough to throw herself up in the air- out of reach.

“You-“

“- I am an Angel! I am Eve, first woman, the wife of Adam-“

Tsk tsk.

“-Adam traded you for her- Isn’t that why you’re down here anyway? Damned to remember your sins by being cursed to this garden?” Alastor held up his hand, a tad peeved over being interrupted so much by the Angel. Her grief and obvious terror was not enough of a reason to be rude.

“And even then, it’s only been for the past, what, seven years? So, Miss Eve, it begs the question what in Lucifer’s name happened to curse you down here, and why she is up there.”

“I say all of this, dear, because it has become apparent we have a common enemy!”

“…Adam?”

“I have no use to talk of a dead man, Miss Eve. No, I am referring to Lillith.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N:

Welp. Should I continue it? I’d love to hear your thoughts.

[woodenpicador]

woodenpicador: the masterlist (updated July 2023)

ao3 | twitter

I write fanfiction, primarily but not exclusively for Yellowjackets (2021). I've written a few multichapter fics and a few one-shots. I also post headcanons, rewatch notes, and so much more on Twitter. I'm hoping to use this space more!

Fics beneath the fold....

Yellowjackets (2021): Multichapters

natural habitats (13 chapters, WIP)

“Look, here’s the deal.” Nat leans forward and plants her hands on the table. “If we do this, you tell nobody, okay? Not Van, not Laura Lee, not Taissa or Lottie or Misty fucking Quigley, do you understand me?”

Shauna frowns, but says nothing.

“That means you don’t tell Jackie, either,” Nat says. “If that’s going to be a problem, then let me know and we can both start rehearsing for the spring musical now.”

Natalie Scatorccio is having a bad year. She’s not sleeping, her mom’s new boyfriend sucks, and a blown history test might bench her for the season. Luckily, Coach Martinez has an idea:

Tutoring.

From Shauna Shipman.

Fuck.

(shaunanat, alternating POV, novel-length WIP, E)

mes beaux amis (4 chapters, complete)

“It’s a party.” Jackie shouts a honeyed rupture into Shauna’s eardrum. “Have fun!”

Yeah, like Shauna Shipman can refuse Jackie Taylor much of anything.

Watching the best friend you’ve ever had constantly break up and get back together with a guy takes a toll on you. Especially when they like to celebrate their reunions by sucking face in front of everyone.

Shauna Shipman gets by with a little help from her friends.

(Or: Jeff is Shauna's worst reaction, but not her first.)

(shauna POV, angst/drama, explicitish, pre-canon, ~55k words - shauna/jackie, shauna/mari, shauna/tai, shauna/van, shauna/misty, shauna/lottie, shauna/nat, shauna & laura lee)

versez le sang (2 chapters, complete)

Shauna has done the math, knows her life expectancy tops out at seventy-eight or so—and that’s not accounting for what havoc has been wrought on her insides by nineteen months of scrounging, scavenging, praying, and all the horrible things that live in the spaces between those words. She’s got about fifty-six years of exactly this to go, give or take. She can do it. She has to. It’s no more than she deserves, no less than she owes.

She lasts a month.

Everyone said marrying Jeff Sadecki was a mistake, but they were wrong. Shauna Shipman doesn’t make mistakes. She doesn’t make anything.

Shauna breaks.

(Or: Shauna invites cataclysm in pursuit of closure.)

(shauna POV, angst (very dark), explicit, post-rescue (2001), ~23k words - shauna/jackie, shauna/jeff, shauna/tai, shauna/van, shauna/misty, shauna/lottie)

Yellowjackets (2021): One-Shots

demodocus on the radio

Shauna Shipman disappears two weeks before her wedding. This surprises no one.

What might surprise people is that she surfaces in the middle of the day at a dive bar in the East Village owned by Natalie Scatorccio.

(shauna POV, angst, explicit, post-rescue (2001), ~18kwords - shauna/nat shauna/jackie (past))

practice makes perfect

"What do you think about painting?”

In which Van Palmer has to fulfill her Fine Arts requirement, and learns something about herself (and Jackie Taylor) in the process.

(van POV, slice-of-life/romance, T, pre-canon, ~6k words - tai/van, shauna/jackie (background))

still life

In the attic, before Tai leaves to find help, it's just her and Shauna and the secrets between them.

(tai POV, drama, M, missing scene (post-1x06 - saints), ~2.7k words - shauna & tai, tai/van (background), shauna/jackie (background))

for all debts public and private

Nat and Shauna glare at Lottie. She wants to mark it as another point in support of her plan, but the intensity gives her pause.

“Fine, I’ll spill. You two have been at each other’s throats for days. Normally, whatever—go with God and may the Force be with you—but in case you haven’t noticed, we’re in sunny Trenton, New Jersey, to play state championship soccer.” Lottie leans forward. “And when you guys are fighting, you fucking suck at it.”

A misplaced ball sparks a feud between Shauna and Nat that threatens to derail the team’s championship hopes.

Lottie has a plan to get them to kiss and make up.

(lottie POV, sex comedy, E, pre-canon/canon divergence AU, ~17.4k words - lottieshaunanat, lottielee, jackieshauna)

gifts of the magi

Teamwork makes the dream work, but recognizing individual excellence is just good leadership.

Two times that Shauna Shipman is Lottie Matthews's most valuable teammate.

(shauna POV, horror, E, canon compliant through 2x02, ~6.9k words - shaunalee, shaunamari, shaunalottie)

closet cases

Have you seen her?

She hasn’t, she won’t, she never, ever will. She has finally done what her mother demanded and shed those pesky extra pounds and all she had to do was cut out half of herself and give it up to Jeff Sadecki and Providence, Rhode Island. All she had to do was become her mother in all the ways she never wanted.

Jackie’s anesthetic won’t fit in a row of pill bottles, of course, but a shoebox isn’t that much bigger.

Seven months after her world falls apart, Jackie Taylor returns to Wiskayok.

(jackie POV, drama, E, no crash AU, ~27.3k words - jackieshauna)

Other Fandoms

pro hac vice (She-Hulk (2022))

Matt Murdock needs help on a case; Jennifer Walters doesn't mind taking a cross-country flight on short notice.

Hey, it's (almost) Christmas.

Written for the 2022 Yuletide Fic Exchange.

(jen POV, casefic, T, 5.5k words - jen/matt, nikki/mallory (implied))

Towards Grace (Perry Mason (2020))

Alice runs. Set during chapter 8.

Written for the 2020 Yuletide Fic Exchange

(alice POV, T, ~1.6k words)

Metas of Note

Yellowjackets: A Not-So-Brief and Hopefully Canon-Accurate Explanation of the 1996 WHS Yellowjackets Soccer Team