#fics that will send me to literary jail

[morverenmaybewrites]

A Crown of Bone Preview

Pairing: Changeling! Reader x Fae Lord! Zhongli

Imagine being a changeling child and living your life in quiet yearning. 

It is a life of hollow hunger and a longing for something you cannot quite name. 

You had been found in the dead of winter, or so your mother tells you, a half-fey child abandoned in a snowbank. She has told you this story many times before. Sometimes in fond reminiscence, more often in hushed whispers, her eyes fearful and haunted as she recalled your unnatural stillness, the way the snowflakes that landed on your skin did not melt, 

You don’t answer whenever she tells these stories; she is already frightened enough. You do not tell her that while you had been found during winter, your first memories were of spring. 

Except it is not the spring of Snezhnaya, where you had been raised. It is not the cold sun, finally rising after months of not showing its face. Nor is it the first tentative buds of snowdrops, pushing their way up from the melting snow.

The spring you remember is brilliant, bursting with vivid color. You remember walking underneath trees whose leaves were the color of fire, you remember the taste of wine against your tongue. 

And sometimes, in those odd moments between dreaming and waking, you would remember seeing the gold of someone’s eyes and the curve of black, gleaming bone. 

You do not mention this to your mother, who is already half-afraid of you. Nor to your father, who gazes at you with a resigned sort of acceptance. 

Instead, you keep it to yourself, tucked away against the curve of your ribs, right next to your slow-beating heart. A secret that is half-yearning and half-memory: someone had left you there in that snowbank, and there are days that you think that they did not do so willingly. 

[suna-reversed]

HQ boys finding out you’re a smut/fanfic writer

(Warnings- suggestive content! Mild language!)

divider used

- gets all pouty/ bitter while reading particular “thirsts” or you fangirling over characters headcanons sent in by other people

- However, that changes as soon as you suggest that you can actually try some of the stuff you write about in the bedroom 

BOKUTO, Atsumu, Iwaizumi, Lev, Terushima, Daishou, MEIAN (6’5 man-baby istg), Kuroo

- AN ABSOLUTE STUTTERING FLUSTERED MESS who’s a little scared

- Apologises for some reason and you’re just like- ???

- “You are an amazing writer baby and I support you...but I would still want to apologise for making you feel like you had to resort to such means.”  

- low key thought smut writing was the literary equivalent of an onlyfans- PLSSGGSDH

ASAHI, Yamaguchi, Deadchi, KAGEYAMA, Goshiki, Kita, Aran, Ennoshita

- SUPER EXCITED ABOUT IT

- Wants to read every single one of your works, and for you to discuss your ideas with them going ahead

- would try to show off your blog to all their teammates and friends 

- “BABE NO- DON’T SEND IT TO YOUR MOTHER-” 

Hinata, NISHINOYA, Tanaka, Koganegawa,  BOKUTO (after he’s recreated every single writing of yours. you’re too slumped to even stop him from putting it on his insta story)

- Looks at you like (-_-)

- Starts pointing out typos & technicalities

- “I do not think it is possible for a human to attain pleasure in such a position.” 

- “Why are they all having unprotected sex? Is this some kind of alternative universe where no one gets pregnant?”

- “‘cunny’ is not a real word-”

TSUKKI, Kunimi, Aone, USHIJIMA, Akaashi, Kita (is genuinely trying to help), OSAMU (shuts up as soon as you show him a food-play fic yikes), Hirugami, KUROO

-  Has a wholeass tumblr/AO3/EVEN WATTPAD account where they write smut that is 10 times filthier than yours 

Sugawara (you can’t tell me otherwise), OIKAWA,  Ennoshita, TENDOU (some really messed up stuff but somehow always has the fluffiest endings), Sakusa (writes smut which always contains some kind of “purification” or “cleaning” um yeah- NE ways don’t put sanitiser up your cunnies ladies), Akaashi (writes those classic erotica fics that have such fancy words that they end up killing the mood instead)

- “It’s okay”

- “It is?”

- “Yeah, it's just like when I play the choose-your-own story hentai games”

- “I’m sorry you play what now-”

KENMA, Suna

- *cries the next time you sleep together because he can’t match up to “Toji Fushiguro’s thick phat tiddies”* 

TAKEDA

- *publicly replies with the “go to horny jail” meme every time you upload something new*

SUNA , Kuroo, DAICHI , Ushijima (tendou told him it’s how you show appreciation on Tumblr), Oikawa, Osamu, UKAI

[robininthelabyrinth]

Countless Roads - Chapter 4

Fic: Countless Roads - Chapter 4 - Ao3

Fandom: Flash, Legends Pairing: Gen, Mick Rory/Leonard Snart, others

Summary: Due to a family curse (which some call a gift), Leonard Snart has more life than he knows what to do with – and that gives him the ability to see, speak to, and even share with the various ghosts that are always surrounding him.

Sure, said curse also means he’s going to die sooner rather than later, just like his mother, but in the meantime Len has no intention of letting superheroes, time travelers, a surprisingly charming pyromaniac, and a lot of ghosts get in the way of him having a nice, successful career as a professional thief.

A/N: This is a new chapter (chapter 5 on Ao3) 

———————————————————————————-

The first time it happens, it's – kind of funny, actually. In retrospect, anyway.

"Don't you dare touch him," Mick growls from where he's standing by the door, glaring at where they’ve got Len all tied up. They being some Santini Family assholes who hired Len and Mick for a small job - nothing big, the main guy said, just need it done quick, don't want to get the Family name involved - and then decided they didn't feel like paying some freelancers for work they apparently should've been doing themselves. Sadly for them, Len's just smart enough not to have brought the goods with him and had no intention of giving said goods up until they coughed up the cash for them.

Damnit, Len hates Family jobs. They shouldn't have taken it, he knows that, but it'd been such an easy job...

"And what exactly are you planning to do about it?" the main Santini asshole drawls, smug and confident now that he's got his people with him.

"You'll touch him over my dead body," Mick says.

"Fine," the mobster sneers, and shoots Mick dead in the chest, the force of it making Mick stagger backwards and fall down to the floor.

"You fucking little – " Len shouts from the chair he's been tied to, eyes wide with terror, worried half to hell because he has no idea what happens when you make a ghost as solid and real as he's made Mick and then that stupid ghost goes and gets himself shot.

"Enough!" Santini snaps. "Or you're going to get a bullet yourself, Mr. Snart – "

"I told you," Mick rasps, and the entire room turns to look to see him standing back up. Mick makes a big production out of it, too, dragging his limbs up like he's in pain, like his joints are creaking, clutching at his chest, but he gets up, eyes fixed on Santini. "You'll touch him over my – dead – body –"

Santini shoots, but Mick takes a step forward. Another shot, another step.

The third bullet clicks to an empty chamber, and Santini just breaks, turning tail and running, each and every one of his men with him.

"You okay?" Len asks the second the last one is gone. He knows ghosts don’t feel things the way the living do, but he’s given Mick a lot of life over the years…

"Huh? Oh, yeah, sure, I’m good. Stings like a Lisa special, nothing worse than that."

Lisa had once expressed her frustration with Mick by squeezing a lemon at him when he'd just cut his hand open in the kitchen and had been bleeding a little - more out of habit than anything else. Mick is never going to let her live it down.

"But you're okay?"

"All good, boss."

Len shakes his head, starting to grin. "Well," he says, biting his lips to keep from laughing. "Guess now they know you meant it about it being over your dead body."

Mick snorts.

The next time, they try shooting Mick in the head.

Of course, that doesn't work either - Mick confirms that lots of life or not, dead men don't feel pain the same way the living do, so it's all the same to him - but it does bring up some logistical issues.

Mick wisely plays dead until Len gets them to go away, because there's reputation and then there's revelation, and the whole gang that tried it unanimously flip their lids in a most satisfying way the next time Len walks in, Mick trailing behind him, same as always, and both of them playing dumb as rocks about the whole alleged – it's their new favorite word after a stint in prison and the justice system - the whole alleged murder thing.

Len's gotten Mick some damn fine fake papers, too, so the Fed threw them into the same prison, too. It was a learning experience.

Not one Len's all too eager to repeat. Mick got into fight after fight on Len's behalf, even with Len felling a few overly touchy guys personally. Next time, he's going to send Mick floating out the wall and get a quicker exit that way.

Mick's quasi-solid virtually all the time now, which Len likes. People think he's a living person, which in fairness is probably why they try to kill him.

Len's pretty sure he's doing the ghost thing wrong, that he's not supposed to give a ghost another life like this, a life made out of his own life, but he figures if he really wasn't supposed to do this, he wouldn't be able to use his feelings about Mick for the extra boost he needs to keep him solid so often.

Love really is the most powerful force. Who woulda thought it?

Other than literally the entire literary world, anyway.

Len still doesn't like it when Mick 'dies', though, whether the cause is an angry mobster or a hail of police bullets, so he starts doubling down on his plans, working on them all day and night so that they don't go wrong and Mick isn't called upon to protect him.

"You know it doesn't hurt me, right? Not really?" Mick asks from the poker game he's set up with a handful of friendlies: the nun who's waiting to see her last student graduate, the thirteen year old who died in a car accident on the way to hear his favorite band, the prostitute that got killed by a serial killer (Len's working on IDing the bastard in his spare time), and a grandmother with wicked children who wouldn't let her see her grandkids.

Grandmother or not, Sun-hui is kicking everyone's asses as usual. Tyrice is staring at her with an expression of awe – Len's got the feeling that the kid's going to be moving on pretty soon if he can convince Sun-hui to attend that concert with him.

(Len underestimates exactly zero of his friendlies - sure, they protect him from the unquiet dead, but Tyrice has a tendency to cause accidents on the street corner where he'd died and Sister Bea has a way of guarding her church schoolkids from trouble that includes nearly giving them heart attacks when they start to do something she considers stupid.)

"I know it don't hurt you," Len replies, not for the first time. "Makes me all queasy, though."

"Awwwww," Daniela says. “You’re such adorable snugglekins.”

"Shut up."

"Find the guy that beat my face in, and I will."

"I'm working on it!"

"Len – " Mick starts.

"Mick, if it makes you feel better, you can think about it as me not wanting to go back to jail, okay? If no one catches us, there's no problem."

"Fine, fine."

"Your plans are getting much better," Sun-hui says approvingly. "You leave very little trail behind you, like a ghost."

"Aw, thanks," Len says, grinning at her. He would never have understood Sun-hui in life, due to the language barrier that vexed her, but the dead all speak the same language.

He's not entire sure what language that is – he's pretty sure it ain't actually English – but that's what he knows, so he hears it in that, or else he just understands it regardless. Len vaguely recalls his mom saying something about how the curse of Babel didn’t apply to the dead, but the specific mechanics aren’t really that interesting to him – they can talk, he can listen, that’s all that matters.

“Plus your plans got much better since your old man got sent away,” Tyrice says, kicking his heels. He’s pretty short. Maybe he regrets not getting tall? Len should offer him some help with that. “Good-for-nothing dickwad.”

“Well, yeah,” Len says, because it’s not untrue. He’d resisted getting rid of his father at first, either by making a heist go wrong or via Mick’s preferred method of just up and torching the fucker, but that'd been because of Lisa, who needed to stay in a good school for her skating and grades. Once his dad fucked up her ankle right before a big skating competition because he needed spare cash, Len saw red.

He’d been able to sweet-talk the old lady down the street into signing up for fostering and then agreeing to take in Lisa for the remainder of her schooling once Lewis was on his way to prison for a good long time.

Having said old lady’s husband around – and said old lady being a devout spiritualist, or whatever the hell you call people that pay fake mediums too much money, much to her deceased husband’s concern – had really helped.

Besides, if her boo-boo told her the money was better used on taking care of Lisa than on all those mediums, who was she to object?

(Boo-boo. Really. Len is so glad he and Mick aren’t over-the-top smoochy like that.)

All things considered, it worked pretty well.

His remaining concerns about leaving Lisa with the old lady were misplaced: Mrs. Crabtree was officially Lisa’s favorite person ever, being a proper old grandma type, and Lisa chased the fake mediums who sought Mrs. Crabtree out for an easy mark away with a baseball bat, which in turn meant Mr. Crabtree felt comfortable moving on, which made everybody happy.

But since that skating scholarship didn’t look like it was going anywhere anymore, not since Lewis, that still left the question of somehow paying for Lisa’s continued schooling. It turned out high school was fine and all, being public, but college? College is an expensive pain in Len's ass, but he was determined that Lisa would go. Mrs. Crabtree certainly couldn’t help pay for it, living off her pension as she did, and neither Len nor Lisa would ever ask for her to. Now that Len knew that Lisa was somewhere safe, though, he could devote himself to dealing with that little problem.

With his dad gone, Len could recruit his own crew and hunt up some game of his own, and what glorious game it was: high end jewelry transports, art museums with shitty security, history museums with even shittier guards, fashion designer outlets where they carted away bags of dresses, much to the complaints of his crew until they found out they could sell that shit to a copy-cat place for very near the price of gold…

Okay, sure, it didn't work perfectly all the time – he spent a good few of Lisa's teenage years in prison – but after he got out again, he went right back at it, saving up the money for Lisa’s college and grad school and whatever else she wants in life. Two solid years of it, travelling the world, and it was fun and all, but Len’s not going to lie, he’s damn happy it’s over. Now that he’s had time to try all the different variations, he definitely prefers taking his time and planning out the perfect heist instead of doing them all rapid-fire like he has been.

Not to mention, now that the heat’s passed in Central and they’re mostly looking for him in Europe and the coast cities instead, it means that he gets to come home and settle down, and best of all that he’ll get to see Lisa again regularly instead of just talking to her on the phone like it’s been the last two years.

Lisa is twenty now – starting a bit later than the rest, yes, but money takes time and she's not so far behind that people would really notice. College freshman, thanks to the fudging of her high school record that he paid for to make sure she got to go anywhere she wanted, though she still picked Central City Uni so that she could live in her own apartment but still come back to Mrs. Crabtree’s for her laundry and to hang out, apparently.

College.

Lisa.

Man.

Len doesn’t even know what to do with that.

Like, he's been dreaming of it and planning it and counting on it, but now that she's actually enrolled, it's all weird.

He hasn’t been much of a brother these last few years, he feels – he’d been in and out of prison until she was seventeen, and he’d spent her last three birthdays out raising money for her. Len took care of Lisa as long as he could, and when he realized he couldn’t, he got her where she needed to be, but it’s not the same as really being there, even though Lisa assures him that between the near-daily phone calls and the week-long visits he tried to arrange at least once every three months, she never felt like he was too far away.

Still not the same, and he’s gotta admit, he’s feeling a bit insecure about it. Which, he suspects, leads to his current overreaction now that she’s coming to crash with him for her very first spring break.

Len spends a whole week cleaning up the place he’d acquired in anticipation of Lisa's arrival, and he never cleans.

"Why are you so worried?" Sun-hui asks, even as she supervises his (deplorable) cleaning attempts. "Your sister loves you, and will be happy anywhere."

"She's a college student now," Len says, focusing on his scrubbing. "I don't know, there's a difference."

"Nah, man," Tryice says. He’d finally gotten his concert, but he’d decided to wait on Sun-hui reaching her own goals before agreeing to pass on. "Still your sister. My big bro went to college, but he was still the same coming back." He pauses. "Smoked more pot, though."

Len gives Tyrice a dirty look, then sighs. "Well, s'long as it's just pot, we'll be fine."

"Yeah, crack's the bad stuff," Tyrice says all too wisely.

"Pssh, heroin. Now that's a college kid killer – and I should know," Julie says. She's new - died of an OD before flying home for Christmas, now waiting for next Christmas to go back and say goodbye to everyone, and she’s become best buds with Daniela, which is good since Sister Bea has finally moved on by now.

Kiki, another new one, a soft-spoken too-late-regretted suicide, nods in agreement.

“Very bad,” she says solemnly. Nora – a sad-looking woman in her late thirties who’d gotten stabbed in the chest and never saw her beloved eleven-year-old grow up – covers her mouth to hide a smile at Len’s expression.

"Well, I think meth – " Daniela starts.

"Will you all stop talking about drugs!" Len finally yells. "Lisa's not on any! So shut up!"

They all smirk at him, but fall silent. They usually listen to him, Len's found, especially when he means it. He's not sure if it's because they all want something from him or because he actually has some power over them, but he's been trying not to think about it too hard.

He's not a necromancer, damnit. His job is to help fix the world by doing his own special part of the spiritual cycle of life, just like the bacteria that eat the body of the dead, except he helps clean up the ghostly realms instead of the forest.

Julie thinks the metaphor is awful, and Nora agrees. Mick kind of likes it, though.

Speaking of Mick, he's been too quiet.

"Mick?" Len calls, but no, nothing. "Go check if something's on fire," he tells the ghosts, shaking his head.

"Nothing's on fire," Mick grumbles, walking through the door to the kitchen. The open door, for once; he’s getting better at pretending to be living on instinct. "I went grocery shopping and didn't want to holler back from the porch."

"Groceries?"

"If we're gonna impress your sister like you so obviously want to, we're gonna need some food,” Mick says like it’s obvious. “College students eat like pigs when the food’s free.”

Len sighs and looks down at the half-scrubbed floor. "I'm not gonna impress her either way," he says. "I'm a high school dropout with a criminal record – "

"Who raised her from childhood," Mick says skeptically. "Who got that criminal record paying for her schooling. Who got your dad put away on charges of theft and murder that'll keep him there for a few years at least, so that he won't find you guys when he gets out. Nah, nothing impressive there at all."

"But – "

"Lenny. It'll be fine. Relax."