#me this week: actually let me write a ficlet for this other prompt i still have in my inbox

[des8pudels8kern]

57 - 83, correspondence in a haunted house :3

Codywan, warning for Order 66 and all that implies. Apologies to @ilthit; I know these aren't your blorbos. And apologies to everybody whose blorbos they are for the angst.

---

The hut looks utilitarian from the outside, in the ugly way all buildings designed for hostile environments do - a squat, ugly thing, trying to protect life in the Tatooinian deserts that are so unforgiving to it. It reminds Cody of the war, of efficiently designed ships and makeshift shelters. Obi-Wan always hated the war, despite excelling at it.

"This isn't the kind of place I expected you to settle down in."

Cody's voice is hoarse. Who's to say from what. Lack of use. Too much of it.

"And yet, you found me." Obi-Wan's words flow the same way they always did, smooth like honey and crisp like fresh water, despite his having spent the last however kriffing many years as a hermit with no one to talk to but his personal demons.

Tatooine in general is nothing like the places Obi-Wan used to be most at ease, back when they worked together. He was at home in the lively cityscape of Coruscant, and enjoyed sojourns on planets teeming with green, living things.

"Cody, I-"

His voice is closer now. Cody didn't hear him move.

"Still not one for materialism, I see."

He slowly makes his way through the main room, stepping around sparse furnishings and careful to keep his eyes off the sleeping area.

"Well, a nexu can't change its stripes."

Obi-Wan is in front of him again, as if by magic, or some Force trick. There's a softness in his voice, and it sinks into Cody's gut like a vibroblade.

"I thought I changed." He stares at the ground because he can't look up at Obi-Wan, and he can't look back at the bed.

"Oh darling, that was never you."

"It still is me. I shouldn't have come. I should have stayed away."

"I've missed you."

Obi-Wan's feet shuffle into view, soft cloth coots and soft leg wrappings silent where Cody's beaten armour creaks with each breath he takes.

To be fair, they are rather heaving breaths.

"I've missed you too. Once I could again."

He's through the kitchen, now. There's a pantry to his left, and a bathroom to his right. That's the extend of the hut; there's nowhere else to go.

Obi-Wan stays in front of him, even as he turns around.

"I mourned you. I thought I killed you. When I heard rumours that you were still alive, I couldn't help myself."

There's a side door in the kitchen. He should go there instead of back to the living area. That's where the bed is.

"Cody, dear. You came all the way to see me. Won't you look at me? I promise, all that could happen already has."

He can hear the ventilation unit running to the side. Despite its reassuring hum, Cody can't breathe properly.

"I thought I was safe for you."

"Calm yourself, Cody. You are safe for me now."

They are standing close enough now that, underneath his armour, the hairs on Cody's arms stand on edge.

Cody gives up and looks up. He never could help himself, or he wouldn't have come in the first place.

Obi-Wan's eyes are blue, so blue, and the skin around them is lined with crow's feet and sorrow. Even now, the smile they crinkle with is sad.

"There you are, darling," he says. He's so close, and yet his breath doesn't cool the sweat on Cody's face.

Nothing more does happen as Cody looks at him and Cody, Cody finally gets to see him.

It already has, after all.

Through Obi-Wan, blue, blue, blue like the sky and just as untouchable, he can make out the shape of the corpse tangled in the sheets, a curl of steam still rising from the blaster hole C-2224 put between his eyes.

Good soldiers follow orders, the Jedi are traitors, and Cody sinks to the ground while the illusion of the man who paid for his mistake asks him to breathe.

[tennessoui]

democratic fic part one

here she is!!!! as a quick refresh, i posted a poll of fic prompts and asked everyone to vote as to which one i would write. the prompt that won (by a pretty narrow margin) is "GFFA universe, reverse age, Sith apprentice Obi-Wan and Senator Anakin". this is ~3k to set everything up, and i'll post two polls later today that will guide the next part of the fic! i'll pin a post with links to all ficlets and polls to my front page for the time the story runs, so people can find things easily - please enjoy and, when the polls are up, please vote!!!

(3k)

The chancellor’s secretary types every letter of every word with deliberate intent, methodical and precise. Each time her finger hits a key, a loud clunk reverberates around the quiet front office.

Anakin is sure that the secretary tampered with it somehow to make it so loud. He has no idea as to why a person would do such a thing, but she had to have.

Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk.

Anakin hadn’t slept well last night. He’s been nursing the beginnings of a headache since dawn, and it’s only gotten worse as the day drags on. All of his kindness and patience was spent before he even stepped foot into the Senate building, and the chancellor’s secretary is currently dancing on his last nerve with each kriffing clunk of her type-writer.

The air around him—the Force—warps and shivers. Anakin’s headache blooms into itself properly, and he gives into the urge to rub at his temples with one hand. Of all the days for the Chancellor to request his presence for afternoon lunch, it had to be this one, when all Anakin actually wants to do is find a dark area and lie down. 

The Force trembles again, reverbrating around the small waiting room with such intensity that Anakin straightens, skin crawling. It’s like the Force is screaming at him in a language he doesn’t speak. 

He’s on edge, but he doesn’t know why. 

Stars, he doesn’t need a fancy lunch with the chancellor. He needs a dark room to take cover in and Force-suppression cuffs locked on his wrists so he can focus on something other than nebulous, useless warnings.

And he needs this blasted headache to subside, or someone’s going to—

“Excuse me,” a soft voice breaks the stillness of the room, and—miracle upon miracles—makes the clunk of the type-writer halt. “Is this the Chancellor’s office?”

The Force rings one final time and then goes quiet, like it’s disappeared all together.

“Yes,” the secretary tells the newcomer. “But he’s currently in a meeting. Do you have an appointment?”

Anakin closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the wall behind him. It’s not a posture befitting that of a Senator of his stature or age, but he’s weary down to his bones.

“I don’t, no,” the soft voice says, something like amusement curling around the syllables. There’s the rustle of fabric, and then the quiet sound of fingers tapping against the edge of the secretary’s desk. “Actually, I believe my grandfather is currenttly meeting with him. I was asked to join at the end to introduce myself. What benefit the Chancellor will receive by meeting a failed Jedi and boy from Serenno, I hardly know, but my grandfather is an ambitious man. At least when it comes to his grandson.” The speaker lets out a small laugh, more breath than sound. It makes the secretary giggle. 

Anakin hadn’t known they were capable of making that sound. She hasn't so much as smiled at Anakin before, and he sees her several times a week.

He rolls his head to the side and opens his eyes a crack to look at the newcomer.

Ah.

Well, that explains the giggle.

There’s a boy leaning against the secretary’s desk, head tilted as he dimples down at her. He’s tucked a piece of his auburn hair behind his ear so that his profile is unobstructed to Anakin’s gaze. More of the strands cascade to his shoulder, shining red-gold in the light of the waiting room. His eyes are a pale blue, his skin pale as well. His nose is narrow and proud, but it’s his smile that’s most mesmerizing. That or the twinkling of gold jewelry wrapped through his hair, dangling from his ear and neck. Gold powder is smeared across his eyelids and over his cheeks.

Whatever he may say, the boy does not look like just a boy from Serenno. And he certainly looks as far from a Jedi as it’s possible to be. 

Poor girl, Anakin thinks with a slight smirk of his own as he lets his eyes fall closed again. If he were ten years younger and the boy was staring at him like that, he thinks he’d be similarly affected.

“May I have your name?” the secretary asks. “I’ll comm the Chancellor.”

“Oh, thank you,” the boy murmurs. “That would be quite superb.”

Superb. Honestly.

“I am Obi-Wan Kenobi,” he adds. “My grandfather is Count Dooku.”

“Yavi,” the secretary gives her own name, even though Kenobi had not asked. She sounds incredibly winded.

“Pleasure,” Kenobi tells her; there’s a slight shift in his tone, its volume, like he’s turned his head. The Force trembles. “I’ll wait here. Do me a favor though: if they sound like they’re still talking about tax exemptions and resource management for Serenno, spare me, please. I’d rather sit out here with the lovely company than in there listening to two old men arguing about water law.”

The secretary giggles once more and resumes typing, this time probably typing out the comm number of the Chancellor.

Soft steps signal that Kenobi has taken his leave of the secretary. 

Fabric whispers as the air shifts slightly and the boy settles into the seat next to him. 

Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk.

“I was including you when I spoke of the lovely company in this room, sir,” the boy says softly, just for him.

“Do you always flirt with everyone you meet?” he asks, stubborn enough to keep still and not engage the boy, arms crossed over his chest and eyes closed. He is tired. His head hurts.

Though—the headache has lessened, actually now that he’s thinking about it. It feels like half the pressure around his mind has disappeared.

The boy breathes out a laugh and shifts. “Senator, do you always assume everyone is flirting with you?”

“You called me lovely,” Anakin points out rather roughly. Lovely. He can’t think of the last time anyone has called him that.

He is a man of forty years with more wrinkles on his face than laughter lines. He is a senator that is feared in the Chambers. His temper and incredibly high standards ensure that he cannot keep an assistant for more than a few months.

Lovely.

“You are incredibly bright in the Force,” Kenobi says. “It is almost blinding, but…pleasant to brush against.”

As if to illustrate his point in the physical plane, his sleeve whispers against the bare skin of Anakin’s bicep as he moves slightly.

“It is lovely,” the boy finishes. A moment passes, and Anakin can hear the smile in his voice. “And besides, I never flirt with someone whose eyes I cannot see.”

Anakin turns his head to look incredulously at Kenobi, realizing a beat too late that in doing so, he has opened his eyes and engaged the boy.

Up close, Kenobi’s smile is boyish and disarming and devastating.

“Hello there,” Kenobi says, two deep dimples framing the curve of his lips. “My name is Obi-Wan. I would have yours, Senator.”

Anakin’s mouth is opening, tongue moving almost against his will. Certainly not with conscious thought. “Anakin Skywalker.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan repeats. “It’s lovely to meet you.” He holds out his hand, pale and elegant, slightly limp as if he requires Anakin’s help in holding it up.

Anakin is going to reply, mouth already open to once more protest the adjective even as he reaches out to take his hand, but the sound of a door sliding open interrupts him.

In the blink of an eye, Kenobi is on his feet, hands falling behind his back and pale blue sleeves engulfing that delicate skin. Anakin turns to look as well and rises to his feet at the sight of the Chancellor.

He is a good head taller than Kenobi, he notices and then dismisses the thought just as quickly as it occurred to him.

“Chancellor,” Kenobi murmurs respectfully, dropping into a deep bow. Anakin cannot remember the last time he bowed before the Chancellor, but then Palpatine has been his friend and mentor figure since he first donned the robes of a Senatorial aide. They are past empty shows of respect.

“This must be your grandson, Count Dooku,” Palpatine says, approaching Kenobi and holding out the back of his hand in a pantomime of the same gesture Kenobi had just shown Anakin.

Kenobi brushes his lips against the back of his hand before straightening.

“Well-trained,” Palpatine remarks, an odd, appraising tone note coloring his tone. “I understand there is no blood relation between you two?”

“No, Chancellor,” a white-haired man replies, slipping out from the Chancellor’s shadow to stand at the midway point between Kenobi and Palpatine. He looks stern, Anakin thinks. His lips have turned down into a frown naturally, accentuating the wrinkles around his mouth. His eyes move over Kenobi in a way Anakin can only call disinterested, detached. “Adopted.”

“What generosity,” Palpatine murmurs, tucking his hands into the balloonish sleeves of his robes. “How many years have you been living with the Count, Obi-Wan?”

“Ten years, sir,” Kenobi replies easily. “He adopted me when I was thirteen.”

“Ah,” Palpatine says. His voice is silky. “If I am not mistaken, thirteen is the age that Jedi Initiates are asked to leave the Temple if no Jedi Master has requested to take them as their padawan, yes?”

The muscles in Obi-Wan’s back tense and shift. “That’s correct, sir. I was on Bandomeer working in the Agricorps when Count Dooku found me.”

“If only he had expressed interest in training you sooner, when he was a Jedi Master and you an Initiate!” Palpatine remarks, tilting his head.

“You must be mistaken, sir,” Obi-Wan replies, sounding rather sheepish, as if he cannot believe his own gall at correcting the Chancellor of the Republic. “Count Dooku is not training me at all. Our relationship could not be further from that of a Jedi Master and Padawan.”

Palpatine’s eyes flash with something unreadable. “But of course,” he finally murmurs. “I was only referring to your Court education. I apologize if my wording…pressed against a bruise.”

The Count clears his throat with a smile. It looks like it pains him. “No harm has come to myself or my grandson. There is no need for an apology, Chancellor.”

Anakin shifts and thinks of interrupting. The conversation is awkward, simmering with some emotion that Anakin cannot place. His headache is back in full-force.

“Your generosity knows no bounds, Count. How long will you be on Coruscant during this visit?” The Chancellor asks, turning his head to look at the Count.

“That depends on my grandson, your Excellency,” Dooku tilts his head, and Obi-Wan shifts and then smiles.

“I requested this trip, Chancellor,” Obi-Wan says. “It has been a decade since I last stepped foot on Coruscant, and I found that I missed it. Though I feel as if I have been rather rudely confronted by the reality that I may never have known the real Coruscant—after all, I lived in the Jedi Temple. Markedly different from the rest of the planet, I fear.”

“Ah,” the Chancellor replies. “So this is a trip fueled by nostalgia. How excellent.”

“Obi-Wan has his sights set on politics,” Dooku adds wiith a slight roll of his eyes. “Do not let him fool you. We’ve rented an apartment a sector away from the season. He is hoping to find a temporary placement within the Senate.”

“Oh?” The Chancellor says. “How…ambitious. Do you have your eye on any senator specifically? I believe both from Serenno have aides already.”

“I am Stewjoni by birth,” Obi-Wan says. “Their coalition in the Senate is powerful, and I believe Senator Aaerul is in want of an aide. If I cannot entice him into taking me, I will look elsewhere.”

For the first time since the Chancellor arrived, Obi-Wan tilts his head in Anakin’s direction, flashing his blue eyes and deep dimples.

“Perhaps Senator Skywalker would be willing to take me,” he purrs.

Anakin is, of course, aghast at the boy’s brazenness. “Unfortunately, I am not currently in need of an aide. Perhaps Senator Bail Organa, from Alderaan.”

Kenobi’s smile slips seamlessly into a small pout. “That is unfortunate,” he agrees with a sigh.

Palpatine’s eyes narrow as he glances between them. “Yes, I believe Senator Aaerul would be a worthwhile placement, young one. And I wish you all the best. Now—”

“Senator,” Obi-Wan says, eyes focused on Anakin’s face with such intensity that Anakin must look back at him. “How long have you lived on Coruscant?”

Anakin blinks. “Twenty-five years.”

“Would you say you know the planet well?” The boy’s head tilts, his hair a waterfall of golden autumn as it spills over against his shoulder. 

“Yes, I suppose,” Anakin replies, tearing his eyes away from his hair to focus on his face.

“I am sure you are a busy man, Senator, but I would be quite obliged if you would accompany me around the sector. If you had the time. Perhaps on a day without a Senate assembly?”

Anakin can feel his eyebrows raise. “I would be terrible company.”

“We have been over this,” Obi-Wan’s eyes become slits with the force of his smile. “I think you are lovely.”

“I—” Anakin swallows and tucks his hands behind his back. His eyes dart to look over at the two older men, both of whom are watching carefully with great interest. He does not want to engage this fae of a boy, unsure where that could lead, where it would end. 

But the idea of rejecting him once again in front of his grandfather and the Chancellor of the Galactic Republic makes Anakin feel rather…uncomfortable. He is not a heartless man. 

He sighs, barely even noticing that his headache has faded to almost nothing. Perhaps it’s that release from pain that makes him give in. Perhaps he is just weak to a pair of earnest blue eyes.

“I…will see if there is time in my schedule,” he says, and Obi-Wan beams at him.

Lovely, the word echoes in his mind, though it is surely not Anakin who has thought it…probably.

“Thank you, Senator,” he murmurs, hands clasping in front of his chest. “I will give you my comm sequence, you’ll let me know when you have time?” 

“Yes,” Anakin agrees grudgingly. “That is what I’ve said.” He slips his comm from his tunics and presents it to Kenobi. The boy takes it with another smile and enters his comm sequence with a flourish. 

“Brilliant,” Obi-Wan says, passing it back. “I look forward to it.” 

“Obi-Wan, we should take our leave,” Dooku says before Anakin can respond. “I believe the senator is overdue for lunch with the Chancellor.” 

“Thank you,” Anakin dips his head automatically. He has, after all, been waiting for over an hour.

“Oh, apologies, my dear boy,” the Chancellor says, sounding startled. He lays a hand over Anakin’s arm. Anakin barely contains the urge to raise his eyebrows. The Chancellor has not called him dear boy since he turned thirty. “I did not even notice the time. We were too engaged upon tax exemptions on Serenno.”

Without conscious thought, Anakin’s eyes dart to Obi-Wan. The boy gives him a wink and a small smirk. Unbidden and to his utmost surprise, Anakin feels a responding smile twitch at the corner of his own lips.

“Chancellor, it was a pleasure to meet you,” the boy bows once more to Palpatine before he moves to the side, allowing Dooku to brush past him. “Anakin, I look forward to your comm.”

The gall of the boy. It’s almost impressive how brazen he is.

 The pair take their leave, Obi-Wan throwing one more smile over his shoulder at Anakin, as if he cannot help himself.

The waiting room is still and quiet for several long moments in their absence. Anakin feels sort of like he’s been bludgeoned over the head.

“Senator, please,” Palpatine recovers first, a thoughtful look on his face as he gestures for Anakin to follow him into his office. “I feel there is much to discuss.”

Anakin cannot help himself from looking back at the door Kenobi has just left through, though logically he knows that no one will be there to catch his glance. 

The only thing that greets him is the dour expression on Palpatine’s secretary’s face and the sound of her fingers on the keyboard as she resumes typing.

Clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk-clunk.

[tinytalkingtina]

WIP weekend

Whew this was a heck of a week work-wise, looking forward to getting some writing done this weekend!

Updates:

Hoping to post the next chapter of my witch and dragon au next weekend, finally got over a block in some dialogue between Big Boy and Eddie! Time for these two to talk through the consequences of their actions and panic

I'm about halfway through each of the three smuttysteddie prompts I'm doing, plotted it out so they're mostly for prompts that are later in the month to give myself as much time as possible

@little-annie and I fleshed out our steddie role reversal AU a bit more this week, so I wrote out additional dialogue for my introductory Track star runner!Eddie ficlet. Poor Tommy, doomed to have homoerotic tension with his best friend in every universe.

Send me an emoji in an ask, and I'll send you 3-5 sentences from that WIP!

🐲 Witch and Dragon Steddie Chapter 5

🏃Role reversal (metalhead Steve + track star Eddie au)

🚗 Free Show and Therapy (Smutty steddie September ficlets)

Spicy excerpt from 🚗 under the cut (18+ content below, minors beware. Also contains spoilers for the first Die Hard movie)

“Can you touch me again now? Please? If I’m going to get arrested for public indecency I want at least one orgasm out of it.” Steve huffed out a laugh. “Stay still for me, and maybe I will.” He slowly undid the zipper on Eddie’s jeans and wiggled down his briefs to leave him bare-assed on the passenger seat. As asked, Eddie obediently kept the squirming to a minimum, even if he gave another whimper at the exposure. His dick on the other hand, gave an interested twitch, already half hard. Steve held out his hand. “Spit.” Even in the darkness, he could make out how red Eddie’s face was as he did so. He reached down and gave a few solid pumps while rubbing his thumb over the head, not letting up until Eddie was fully hard. “Here’s the rules for tonight. I’m going to keep doing this right up until you’re about to blow it. But you’re not going to come. Not until the credits roll. When you get close to the edge, I want you to be good and tell me, okay?” It took Eddie a few seconds but he did finally nod. Steve grinned at his wide-eyed stare. This was going to be fun. Thirty minutes later, the German terrorist leader shot someone. Steve wasn’t entirely sure they were actually terrorists, but the finer details of the plot were kind of a lost cause at this point. And Eddie definitely wasn’t in a state to concentrate on anything besides what was happening in the car.

[cricketnationrise]

Congratulations on 500 followers, babe! It's awesome that you're doing another ficlet fest. Here's my prompt:

Time: 1:30 a.m.

Location: Hollywood

Character: Alicia Zimmermann

Song lyrics: "Another name goes up in lights; you wonder if you'll make it out alive" from "The Lucky One" by Taylor Swift

Rating: T

HI BABE <3 I love this prompt, and I hope you like where it led me! There's never enough Alicia content, so I was really excited for the excuse to write some. 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here!

🏒🏒🏒🏒

1:30am, hollywood

Alone in the back of a taxi, finally hidden from the view of the cameras, Alicia lets her head fall back against the headrest with a heavy sigh. 

It’s been a long time since award shows were fun, since after parties were anything other than an obligation pushed onto her shoulders by her agent. Tonight had been especially harrowing: enough meaningless small talk to make her want to tear her hair out, not enough food, and toast after drunken, incomprehensible toast. It was hard to believe that Alicia had ever liked the crush of people; that she had, at one point, craved this part of being an actress. More and more, her perfect idea of a late night features a warm body next to hers, a cup of chamomile, and a delightfully trashy romance novel—not backhanded compliments and uncomfortable shoes. 

Above all, Alicia is tired.

Tired of the run around, tired of the hustle, tired of spineless directors and co-stars that didn’t bother to learn their lines. Tired of constantly getting her picture taken, tired of being hounded by the press, tired of being critiqued on everything from her outfit to her choice of project. Tired of the endless travel, tired of remote filming locations, tired of never being in the same time zone as her apartment for more than a week at a time. There just has to be a way for her to have more control over her career. Surely she’s paid her dues by now.

At least her taxi driver isn’t trying to make conversation, or ask for an autograph—either option was liable to send Alicia over the edge tonight. She frowns as they pass a billboard for a new movie, starring some girl she’s never heard of. Blown up to larger than life, it’s impossible to miss the excitement in the starlet’s eyes, the yearning for more. Alicia feels tears gathering in the corner of her eye and looks away hurriedly—when was the last time she had felt like that?

She still loves acting, is the thing. Still loves throwing herself into a character, really connecting with their desires and fears, breathing life into someone who would otherwise just be words on a page. Still loves becoming someone new. But everything else that comes along with being an actress makes her want to scream.

Finally at her hotel, Alicia pays the driver and makes it up to her room in a haze of exhaustion and general torpor. She changes into pajamas and brushes her teeth on autopilot. It's only as she’s reaching over to turn the bedside light off when she notices the red blinking light of the answering machine. 

It’s probably her assistant. Maybe her agent. Both of them have been in constant contact on this press tour, keeping her in the loop on travel changes and adding more “quick appearances” to her schedule that end up being several hours and completely draining. But if she doesn’t check it, she’ll miss something important. With a defeated groan she checks the machine, tension leaching out of her when a man’s voice comes from the speakers instead of any of her all-female team’s strident tones. 

Hi, euh, hello, Alicia? This is Bob Zimmermann, we met last week at that terrible premiere?

Alicia actually finds herself grinning as Bob’s Quebecois accent and stumbling words spill out into her hotel room, his genuinely hesitant and careful words wrapping around her like a blanket. She didn’t know him from Adam at the premiere party, but a shared eye-roll during the director’s meandering thank you speech prompted her to wander over once it was done. The warmth in his brown eyes was reason enough to keep talking to him after introducing herself.

The message rambles a bit about how awful the movie was (he’s not wrong, it positively reeked of studio interference) and a bit about how his hockey team did this week before he clears his throat. The change in tone has her listening with bated breath. 

I know timing is going to be an issue for both of us, but I really enjoyed talking to you last week, and I’d love to take you to dinner and get to know you sometime— Sometime soon, eh?

He leaves the number of his hotel for the next two days and his pager number before saying goodbye. Still grinning, Alicia scribbles down both numbers and turns off the machine. She turns the light out and settles into bed with his voice echoing in her head and thinks. 

A single, unlooked-for message, the possibility of a date with an interesting man, and Alicia feels lighter. And more determined than ever to make some career changes — she wants to love her job again, just as much as Bob loves hockey. And she’s been around long enough, has enough clout, that she really thinks she can change her job to suit her desires. 

Resolved to sit down with her agent as soon as she’s in the same city again, she closes her eyes, replaying Bob's message in her mind as she drifts into sleep. 

Bonne nuit, Alicia.

[practically-an-x-man]

For Talk Shop Tuesday: Where/How do you do most of your fic planning? In the shower? Listening to music? etc.

Hm.... that depends.

For most of my longfics, I tend to marinate on them for a while before I even get ready to write them up. The plots do tend to round themselves out once I start writing and get a feel for how the story falls together, but I never start something without at least having an idea about the beginning and the ending. I don't have a particular spot for this "marination" process, they just tend to float around in my brain for a while before they surface.

Catch and Release is a good example of this, actually. I watched No Way Home in theatres on an early premiere, and started coming up with the first flickers of ideas on the drive home. Then I watched it again with my family, and a few more details came to me: Ophelia, a version of Doc Ock, who is pulled into the multiverse, who gets sent back but manages to open it again later. I started writing it earlier in the "marination" process than I normally would, since I wanted to jump on the No Way Home hype before it died, but I still knew where I wanted to go with it. Charybdis as a character was a late add, though: the momentum was starting to fade after Ophelia got back into her own universe, so I decided to introduce a new villain to pick the action back up.

For my oneshots/ficlets/etc., it's a much shorter process. Sometimes I can come up with the idea and get the fic written in the same day - whether that's from a prompt, or just from my own head. Fresh ideas usually happen while I'm either driving or walking my dogs, any time I can let the back of my mind churn while the front of my mind is occupied. Vestalia was that way, actually: I came up with it around 2:30 PM while I was walking my dogs, and by 11 PM that same day I had it fully written, edited, and posted.

When it comes to prompts, I usually come up with the idea as quickly as I can and mark it down, so then I can focus on getting that idea polished rather than getting distracted by alternatives.

Deep Freeze, for example. I got the ask and immediately spun the whump wheel: hypothermia. Okay, Eris is going to get trapped in a freezer, and Rick's going to be with them, so it's a mix of physical and emotional whump. Done. I set that up in my tumblr drafts and copied it over into my Eris document... and then I couldn't get my brain to start writing it. It's 95 degrees out, and it's fucking hard to think about characters freezing to death when you're busy sweating your ass off. So I focused on other things for a couple weeks, read some books and starting playing this new RPG, and then the rest of the scene fell together in my head one day. I answered the ask two weeks after it was sent in, but it only took me two days to actually write the fic itself.

[eilinelsghost]

20 questions for fic writers

Thanks very much to @sallysavestheday and @thelordofgifs for the tag! I don't think I've ever done this one before, so let's give this a try.

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? 27

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? 164,434

3. What fandoms do you write for? Only the Silmarillion

4. What are your top five fics by kudos? - Atandil (part 1 of the series by the same name) - Atanatárissë - Grief in All Her Guises (Atandil part 2) - In Memory Untarnished (Atandil part 8) - Ye Shall Render Blood (Atandil part 4).

5. Do you respond to comments? Yep! I think I have responded to all of them, but I'm sorry if one fell through the cracks there. Comments are honestly a huge part of what keeps me writing and I want to make sure they know I've seen and appreciate them.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending? Probably In These Holy Waters? Though I got a lot of screaming in the comments on A Heady Fragrance of Honey also, so I'll drop that in as an honorable mention.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending? Feeling convicted about how hard this is to find a happy one lol. I think probably By Any Other Name, which was a little Finrod/Bëor fluff piece I wrote for @actual-bill-potts last year.

8. Do you get hate on fics? Not so far. Or wait, maybe? There was a weird anon about one of the sentence prompt ficlets on here awhile back where Bëor was having a lot of intentional "accidental-innuendos," but I don't think I'll dignify that by calling it fic hate.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind? I wrote two (here and here since they're posted anon), but not sure if I'll try my hand at that again or not. It was really a really helpful exercise to work past a lot of baggage I still had from growing up in a very conservative family where shame was the prevailing attitude toward anything related to sex. But I don't know that I'll write more - it's very out of my comfort zone 😂

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written? I'm not sure what a crossover is, so that probably means no?

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? Yes! One of the aforementioned smut pieces was just translated a couple months ago.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before? Not so far, but @actual-bill-potts and I periodically joke about co-writing a modern Finrod/Bëor AU so who knows what might happen :)

14. What’s your all time favorite ship? Surprising no one but myself (I was initially a hater and reread the Athrabeth to prove to myself it was impossible...and came out of that with a series that's 135k and counting), it's Finrod/Bëor.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will? Probably this Dior Eluchíl idea. I'm very attached to it, but I think I may have permanently stalled on it.

16. What are your writing strengths? Worldbuilding and dialogue, I think? But I'm horrible at listing strengths (looking at you dreaded resume process), so it may be something entirely different. These are the ones I feel most confident about, at least.

17. What are your writing weaknesses? Humor, believable flirtation, battles, politics, trade strategies etc etc etc

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic? I do this occasionally in Atandil, but I tend to like it less for full dialogue and more for passing words - if Balan is hearing Finrod say something to another Elf in order to stress the otherness, or if they each fall back on words in their own tongue when not finding the right one in the other's. I think full dialogue would be a struggle for me.

19. First fandom you wrote for? Silm - first and only!

20. Favourite fic you’ve written? Oh god. Uh. I do not know. I'm particularly fond of Darkly the Sundering Flood - one of the few I was genuinely pleased with from the get- go (normally I have a 1-2 week hate period after I post anything). But And Still the Light Returns is also a top contender from Atandil because I really enjoyed exploring the parent-child dynamics between Balan and both his sons. Also because of the duck story. I dearly love the duck story.

Thanks so much for the tag! I've been out on a work trip for the last week and not on Tumblr much, so I have no idea who has been tagged in this so far...just ignore this if you've already had one. 😂 Tagging @that-angry-noldo, @searchingforserendipity25, @outofangband, @melestasflight, and anyone else who would like to join in!

[incandescentflower]

For the fic prompts, 48 (trembling lips) please, Bai Lang/Jin Xun'An. Also, thank you for these, you're awesome <3

hey there @maastika, thanks for being patient. You sent this before the last episode and even then I had an idea what I wanted to do with this, but I wanted to see how they addressed it in the series and then well, they kinda didn't, and then I got lost to how I felt about it and how I wanted to write about it.

Anyway, this is supposed to be a ficlet, so I am going to share a piece of what I wrote based on this prompt and then I am going to later link a longer fic and post that on AO3 once I'm finished. So, it might change a bit, but you've been waiting a while and I didn't want you to think I wasn't going to fill this. Thanks for the prompt. I hope you like this.

cw: canonical mention of physical abuse and trauma

perfectly broken*

“I need to hold you tonight,” Bai Lang said, moving his hand lightly down Jin Xun-An’s arm as they left his parents’ house. “Will you come stay with me?”

Jin Xun-An gave Bai Lang a smile. It was the one he had been using lately, a little tighter around the eyes. “Sure,” he said, making the right turn that would take them in the direction of Bai Lang’s apartment. 

Bai Lang still wasn’t completely certain what transpired between Jin Xun-An and his father. Both Jin Xun-An and his mother seemed to imply it was serious while still making jokes about it. It was kinda the way jiejie threatened Jin Xun-An to treat Bai Lang well. Or maybe like when she sometimes threatened Bai Lang for any number of reasons. She really did punch Jin Xun-An that one time, and apparently had done worse when they were in college together. She had never actually hit Bai Lang besides a playful slap so he really wasn’t sure how serious it was. 

Bai Lang handled the topic the same way he did when a customer brought up something serious at the bar. He just went with the flow, making sure to follow Jin Xun-An and his mother's lead on how he should react.

Bai Lang wanted to ask more questions, but any time he even mentioned it, Jin Xun-An still simply said it was all just a plan he had enacted. He knew he was forcing a reaction out of his father. He had expected what happened. It was no big deal. It would never happen again. Don’t dwell on it. Don’t worry about it. Don’t think about it. 

Bai Lang had no recollection of his parents ever punishing him that way. Jiejie made it seem like it wasn’t their way. But Bai Lang knew it was how plenty of other parents discipline their kids, although not always extending to their adult kids.

All Bai Lang really knew is that he finally had a little more of an idea of what was happening in those weeks when Jin Xun-An went missing and he felt terrible about it. He recalled Jin Xun-An saying that he stayed away because otherwise if he had seen Bai Lang, he would want to stay with him. Bai Lang really hadn’t understood what that meant, until Jin Xun-An's mother gave him some hints. Bai Lang couldn’t do anything about what happened then, but he could be there for Jin Xun-An now.

They barely got into Bai Lang’s apartment before he wrapped his arms around Jin Xun-An’s shoulders and pulled him into his chest. He squeezed him as tight as he could, wanting to hold on as much as possible. 

They had spent one night together since Jin Xun-An had said their "separation period" was over. Bai Lang would have preferred to not let Jin Xun-An out of his sight, but he had to work late the other nights. 

Jin Xun-An was sure to come to see Bai Lang during the day and he called Bai Lang each night before he went to bed. He did seem to understand how unsettling the whole thing had been for Bai Lang. But now Bai Lang couldn't help but feel like Jin Xun-An was yet again the unsettled one. 

“How about you take a shower and I’ll make you something to eat?” Bai Lang suggested, hoping that might help Jin Xun-An relax a little.

“We just ate Bai Lang. I’m fine.”

He pressed his nose into the crook of Jin Xun-An’s neck and simply indulged in the feeling of their skin pressed against each other. “What if you take a shower and then we can have some dessert?” his voice got higher at the end because he knew he was being silly and he wasn’t sure if Jin Xun-An was ready for silly yet. 

But Jin Xun-An laughed and it sounded more normal, unrestrained and loose. “Okay, okay,” he said, kissing Bai Lang softly.

Bai Lang puttered around the kitchen after he heard the shower turn on. He had some dishes to put away. And oh right, he had done some laundry that needed folding. He was glad he remembered that as it dawned on him that all the clean towels were there and Jin Xun-An would need a few. 

He skipped to that task, pulling out a few fresh towels from the dryer and slinging them over his shoulder. He got to the bathroom and rapped on the door, but the water must have been too loud because he wasn’t answered. Bai Lang stepped in and called “Xun-An, I have some clean towels for you.” 

But Jin Xun-An wasn’t fully in the shower when Bai Lang poked in and he caught a quick glimpse of the bare skin of Jin Xun-An’s back before he stepped inside the shower and closed the door. “Just leave them there,” he called back. 

Bai Lang was unable to move for a moment. He had difficulty processing what he saw. Jin Xun-An’s back was covered with marks. They were in various stages of healing - purples, scarlets and yellows, but they all were most definitely bruises.

Bai Lang suddenly felt nauseous. The room was hot and steamy and the world felt like it was closing in on him. He pushed off the sink and out the door, where he slid against the wall and tried to take full breaths.

It didn’t feel real. Bai Lang started to wonder if he'd imagined it. Afterall, he had been with Jin Xun-An just a few nights before. But they had been completely in the dark, Jin Xun-An was actually the one to turn the lights off, and by the morning he was up and dressed before Bai Lang even woke up.

He continued breathing deeply, something that he had found helped him focus whenever he started to feel the world spin. He made his way to his bedroom and grabbed the Xun-An pillow tight. Too many things filled his thoughts as he tried to wrap his mind around what he saw. He now understood Jin Xun-An’s reactions when Bai Lang had touched him the brief time they saw each other during that three week period. He had been hurt, hurt enough that Bai Lang touching him caused him pain.

He dropped his head between his legs. It was chaos in his mind. He had no idea how long it was before Jin Xun-An came into his bedroom, wearing Bai Lang’s clothes. 

“Bai Lang,” he said, pressing his hand to Bai Lang’s back. “Are you alright?”

“Are you?” he finally said, glancing up at Jin Xun-An.

He looked confused when Bai Lang met his eyes. “I saw your back when I brought you the towel. How could…I don’t understand, Xun-An.”

“It’s nothing, Bai Lang. It looks so much worse than it is.”

“Is that why you didn’t want to see me? When you said you would want to stay with me was it because…,” Bai Lang stopped, taking a breath. “Because you were being hurt like that?”

“I didn’t want you to worry,” Jin Xun-An said, now sitting down next to Bai Lang on the bed and rubbing his back.

“You think I wasn’t worried already? Jin Xun-An, we said we would be there for each other, we said we’d do these things together. I thought you were figuring something out for yourself. I thought I was giving you space for you. But you were deciding something for the both of us, just like you asked me not to do.”

“That’s not–,” Jin Xun-An started, but let out a slow breath. “Okay, yes. You’re right. I shouldn’t have done that. I didn’t even think.”

“You were hurt because of me,” Bai Lang said, his voice sounding tiny, like he might almost disappear. “I told you, the people who love me get hurt. Look what happened.”

“No, Bai Lang, no. That’s not true. That isn’t what this is.”

“Isn’t it? Didn’t you say you did this for me? How can I even stand that? I was the reason for it and can’t do anything to fix it. How is that different from my parents?”

Bai Lang was trying to hold back the tears, but they were coming wet and hot. It wasn’t even right that he was having these feelings about this. It was Jin Xun-An who was hurt, not Bai Lang. But he couldn’t push it away, how he felt. He could only try to keep it together. 

“You’re right. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to react like this. I didn’t want you to hate my father. I didn’t want you to try to convince me not to do it.” Jin Xun-An gripped Bai Lang’s arm tightly. “Yes, I wanted this for you, but I did it because I wanted it for us. I wanted it and I decided I was fixing this for you. But the truth was I was fixing it for myself.”

He let his head drop, pressing it against Bai Lang’s chest as he grabbed a hold of Bai Lang around his waist, and dragged him closer. “I’m sorry, Bai Lang. I should have talked to you.”

Bai Lang wiped the tears from his face and let his arms drape over Jin Xun-An’s folded body. “Don’t, Xun-An. You’re the one who was hurt. I can’t even imagine how that feels.”

“It’s really nothing, Lang Lang,” he said into Bai Lang’s shirt.

He grasped Jin Xun-An’s shoulders and pulled him up so that Bai Lang could look at him. “I think you were so determined to do this, you might not realize how significant this is yet,” he said. “You get this look on your face when you talk about it, like you’re a blank wall. I’ve never seen you like that before." Bai Lang worried at his lips, he needed to find some sort of grounding. "I’m not going to push about this situation anymore, but I want you to let me see your back right now.”’

Jin Xun-An’s brow furrowed at the suggestion. “Lang Lang, what good will it do? You’ve already seen it.”

“I want you to show me, Xun-An. It feels like a secret you were hiding. I need you to let me see.”

The look in Jin Xun-An’s eyes shifted at this. It was a bit frightening, how deeply sad he suddenly looked. Vulnerable. Jin Xun-An had only once looked this way since Bai Lang had known him, the day Bai Lang denied his feelings for him. The reaction he saw in Jin Xun-An’s eyes that day was a shadow of this. It had been so painful for Bai Lang to see then and it was nothing in comparison to how he looked now.

Jin Xun-An seemed resolved to do what Bai Lang asked. He slowly shifted to face away from Bai Lang and pulled his newly acquired t-shirt over his head. Bai Lang winced at the full view of Jin Xun-An’s back. Bai Lang was grateful that Jin Xun-An couldn’t see his reaction. He knew that would only make whatever Jin Xun-An was feeling worse.

None of the marks looked particularly fresh. There were strange long abrasions, the accompanying bruises appeared to be fading, but they were all still strikingly obvious. 

“Do they still hurt?” Bai Lang asked, taking his finger and tracing around the spots, careful not to accidentally press on the marks. 

“Not really,” Jin Xun-An said. “Not like before.”

Before. Bai Lang curled his finger up instinctively, recoiling as if he had accidentally slipped and caused Jin Xun-An pain. But Jin Xun-An didn’t move. He sat there quiet and steady.

“Would it be okay to touch you them?” Bai Lang asked.

“Yes,” Jin Xun-An said, his voice sounding as if he was confused as to why Bai Lang was asking this. 

Bai Lang shifted forward. He knew he couldn’t do much at this point. But he wanted Jin Xun-An to know that he saw him, he witnessed this and he loved him all the same. Bai Lang's lips trembled as he pressed kisses lightly to each spot. He continued to move his lips over every patch of skin, making sure to cover every part of Jin Xun-An’s back that showed any sign of injury.

Bai Lang still had his moments when he had stepped back during their initial relationship, when he still wasn’t quite sure how to be close to another person. He teased Jin Xun-An or he wiggled out of his embrace to find his grounding and then he would come back when he felt comfortable again. Bai Lang could manage it if they came together gradually. 

But then Jin Xun-An pulled away. And Bai Lang ached with how much he missed him. He wasn’t going to hold anything back anymore. He couldn’t bear it.

“At some point after my parents passed,” he said, still touching Jin Xun-An lightly, “I had decided I wouldn’t let my sister know how I felt. She had enough to deal with. She lost her parents too. So I would do what I could to put on a strong face for her.”

He gently pressed his cheek to Jin Xun-An’s back, tracing the lines on his skin with his index finger. “But do you know what that did? It just made me push away things that I didn’t want to feel and push her away along with it. I didn’t know how much I was holding back until I shared it with you. You’re the reason I have faced so many things. But now it feels like you’re the one hiding.”

Jin Xun-An let out a hollow breath and his body shivered. His hand reached behind him, grasping Bai Lang’s arm. It was firm, solid, like Jin Xun-An was anchoring himself by holding onto him.

Bai Lang moved so that he could bring his leg around Jin Xun-An’s body on the bed and wrap himself around Jin Xun-An, fully offering his arms for Jin Xun-An to hold on to. “You don’t have to fix everything for me,” he said into the back of Jin Xun-An’s neck.

“I love you for all you are, for every little bossy piece of advice, every caring gesture, every moment you make me feel like I’m the only person in the world for you. I don’t love you because I expect you to fix everything for me. I love you because you made me feel like I didn’t need everything fixed to be okay.”

Jin Xun-An turned at this, now facing Bai Lang, his hands still holding on tightly to Bai Lang's arms. His eyes were shimmering and damp. "I hold on too hard," he said, hanging his head. "I want you to feel like I would protect you from anything."

"I feel safe with you because I know there's nothing we can't handle together. But I need to know that you won't shut me out again."

"I understand now how that made you feel. I promise I won't do that again. It's just hard with my father to explain. I didn't know how to help you understand."

"I'm not sure I can understand, Xun-An," Bai Lang said. "But that doesn't matter. All I can do is accompany you and be there for you." He slid his finger under Jin Xun-An's chin at the final sentence and raised his eyebrows in a little tease. "A wise dental expert once told me that."

Jin Xun-An smiled, this time wide and true. It made Bai Lang's heart burst open. Jin Xun-An took Bai Lang's hands and held them between his and said, "Those are some wise words."

"Despite what my sister says, sometimes I do actually listen, even to bossy advice."

Jin Xun-An gave Bai Lang a mocking shove and then grabbed his collar, pulling him to meet his lips. It was a kiss that said I promise, a kiss that said I'm sorry, a kiss that said I will stay by your side no matter how hard it gets.

And they would come back to that promise between them, the words that were said, as things in life grew complicated and difficult because above all they had promised they would be there for each other.

*(title based on song lyrics that tati used in a mtyl edit that you should check out here)

[dreaminghour]

Hayden/Ewan RPF - Sounds from above

Event: @domaystic Fandom: Star Wars RPF Rating: Teen and Up Prompt: 26 Sounds from above Ship: Hayden/Ewan Disclaimer: References to real people are used fictitiously. Do not share this with them! Context: Present day. Ewan is visiting Hayden on his farm. Follows the timeline of my other RPF ficlets, but you don’t necessarily need to read those to understand this. You can find them here on my blog. Words: 830

It's almost three o'clock, which is to say Ewan has only been asleep for an hour or so. He wakes slowly, resisting. Above him he can hear floorboards creaking and at first he doesn't think much of it, brushing off thoughts of Hayden being up at this hour, until he realizes… Hayden's office is on the ground floor, the bedrooms are on this floor, above him is unknown.

Dim light is shining up from the ground floor when Ewan finally decides to go investigate. He can hear boxes being pushed around as he walks to the end of the hallway.

Hayden looks up as soon as Ewan steps into the attic and smiles ruefully.

"Don't tell me I woke you," he says in a low, apologetic voice.

"You did," Ewan says, "but I could have told you to fuck off. I'm much more curious what you're doing up here at three in the morning."

"Sorry," Hayden says, letting the box lid flop shut. "I was just doing some stuff in my office and I had this thought…" He bites his lip, looks down, and somehow Ewan knows exactly what he isn't saying.

"You were writing?" he asks.

"Rereading, actually." Hayden laughs softly, still not meeting Ewan's eye. "And there's something in the book which I have so I wanted to find it again."

"A CD?" Ewan asks, recognizing the album art after a moment. "Isn't that—?"

"Led Zeppelin Four?" Hayden says, passing Ewan the CD and packing the other CDs back into the box. "Yeah, you gave it to me."

And for a moment Ewan is transported to the emotional climax of a conversation where he'd decided it was imperative he introduce his new co-star to one of the best rock albums ever made.

This moment feels like a mirror of it, except Hayden is the one handing him the CD and his expression is nothing like the wide grin Ewan must have been wearing back then. He can't say what it is about it, but there's some sort of expectation in Hayden's gaze.

Sure enough, when Ewan flips the case open, written in his scrawl, it says 'For your edification, my very young apprentice.'

Ewan barks out a laugh as he flips the case closed again and turns it over to remind himself of the track-list. "That's not a line from the movie is it?"

Hayden shrugs and pushes the box away from him. But when Ewan goes to hand the CD to him, Hayden doesn't put it back. Instead, he stands up and when he meets Ewan's eye at last, he just asks, "Want some tea?"

And Ewan knows by now that Hayden doesn't mean a proper brew, but something with freshly picked mint, valerian or lavender, so he says, "Yes."

Hayden is still in his day-clothes, meanwhile Ewan is wearing what he's been borrowing from Hayden for the last week: plaid sleep bottoms, an old shirt. He's a little cold, standing in slippers in the open kitchen, but the tea warms him up and he asks, "What were you reading?"

"Oh just the manuscript," Hayden replies with practiced casualness. "Since you were asking about it, I was looking at it. I have this horrible habit of rereading it every time I pull it out."

"That's good, isn't it? Means it's worth reading."

"Yeah except I worry I'm torturing myself." He's staring at his mug resolutely. "I tried not to make it about… Rachel, but there's still things that feel inexorably connected to her. I was trying to work through my feelings about mourning a relationship… Not mourning our relationship. Does that make sense?"

When he looks up, his gaze is sharp, belying the soft smile and laugh lines. He looks at Ewan like it matters entirely too much what Ewan says. Ewan's opinion shouldn't matter in this. But the CD still lies on the counter.

"Yes," Ewan says quietly; too quietly, he clears his throat and takes a sip of his tea. It's sweet and fresh.

"So if you decide you don't want to read it, or if you start and can't finish it, no hard feelings. You can just put it back on my desk and I won't mind."

Ewan tries to reply lightly, tries to make it sound like it isn't a big deal, "But I do want to read it," he says.

"Okay," Hayden says, nodding, "okay," and goes back to his office as though this is the middle of the afternoon and not the middle of the night, leaving Ewan alone in the kitchen.

It takes a long moment, perhaps longer than it should, and then Hayden is passing Ewan the dog-eared and pen-marked copy of the manuscript he found snooping in Hayden's desk. It's hole-punched and bound so that it doesn't fall apart. It's thick, several hundred pages. But Ewan says goodnight and takes it upstairs.

He doesn't fall asleep until the sun is gracing the horizon with a thick orange tongue.

[syneilesis]

Things I've learned and realized writing the fics for Inky's one-week challenge:

I'm a very slow writer; I genuinely struggle writing at least 500 words in one sitting. On good days, I can do 200 words. Inspired, maybe more. Ficlets like ekphrasis and others take me an entire day to finish. It's probably because I start writing with only a vague idea of how to go about it, or I only know the mood but not the details. I'm self-aware enough to be cognizant of my strengths and weaknesses, and I tend to stick to what works for me.

I've always wanted to write lengthy fics! But I never was the kind of writer who could hit more than 10k-word one-shots. My style doesn't lend to that kind of length. When I saw Inky's challenge and read that the max word count per entry is 500 words, I thought to myself, Ooh, I think I can do that. Regardless of the prompts -- though they help too; dialogue and AUs lend to a broadness that appeal to my rigid brain. A 500-word fic means in most cases a one-scene fic. Which frees my mind of context necessary to establish a setting. I don't have to come up with an elaborate backstory and/or explanation why this detail is like this, that detail is like that -- AUs as a trope can fill in the missing pieces to make your fic coherent.

My first fic entry was something that I plan on writing in the future, so it's easy to write it, but it still took me longer (but still within the range of my speed). My second, third, and fourth, I tried something a bit different: I used StimuWrite, an app that helps you focus on writing -- it's also known as a writing tool useful for people with ADHD.

It has a simple UI, with a word count goal and emojis that appear whenever you type words. I chose these settings: darker background (it doesn't hurt the eyes) and typewriter sfx for that legit typing feel. I may put in a bgm from youtube or something, but sometimes I just want to listen only to the sounds of typewriter keys.

I tried StimuWrite before, but it didn't work for me. I gave it another chance this time, and oh lord it's very effective???!???!!!!! I finished 3 fics in under a day. So last Sunday I wrote give or take 2,000 words, which truly blew my mind. As an aside, I recommend you try StimuWrite; it might be effective for you too.

Because of that surprising writing streak, I continued using the app for the rest of the fics. And that writing streak persists! I feel relieved, I feel elated, I feel like I can do this. It's as if my brain loosened up enough to let me do what I want. I'll definitely use StimuWrite in my other fics too --

-- with some conditions, of course. All I know right now is that it works for me if I have a target word count in mind (under 600) and that it's only concentrated on a single scene. So I could focus on one scene whenever I open up the app. But that means that I have an outline of my fic, which isn't a problem for me because I like the mental exercise of outlining. I hope that this would help me come November, as I'll participate in Nanowrimo with my original story project.

Another point I've realized is that limiting yourself with a word count improves your editing skills. I do edit and revise my fics -- but they're mostly in the sort of 'i'll delete this passage because it no longer fits' and 'i'll rephrase this because it sounds awkward'. But in the cases of my sixth and seventh event fics, I had to pare them down because I exceeded the word count requirement. Initially I was reluctant to remove passages but I had to. So I did. I removed some bits and details of the story but rephrased others to still fit them in. I have to shorten some scenes -- and this is revelatory to me somewhat -- which is actually effective for fast-paced action scenes that needed fewer words but with the largest possible impact. Sometimes, shorter is better. It made me productive, for one.

Anyway, this got long wtf? I don't even know if I was coherent about it. There are still a lot of things I'd like to improve on -- such as relying less on my crutch words and metaphors. I haven't the opportunity to read a lot lately, so I need to try at least one page a day. The book I'm currently reading has been sitting on my desk for months. Back then, when I said I wouldn't make a list of read books per year to stop pressuring myself, I didn't mean not to read books at all lmao.

I don't know how to end this post so here's a gif of a puppy on a bowl:

[nocompromise-noregrets]

4, 10, 12, 18, and 21 for the fic asks!

wheee, thank you! <333333

4. How many WIPs do you have right now? Hmmmm *counts on fingers* Well, there's Break You But You'll Mend and All I Want Is You, as always, plus I still have four prompts to write for Writers' Pride Month Bingo, there's a couple of winter prompts I still haven't finished, there's the one about the Twins making their choice after the end of the War of the Ring, so...about nine or ten? Oh god.

10. Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting? I actually didn't expect a kiss in the cold and dark to get the response it's had - I certainly didn't expect to be writing more in that 'verse, and yet here I am :D

12. Do you have a playlist for your current WIP(s)? Share it! I'm not really much of a one for playlists - I can never think what to put on them, although I am an absolute music nerd. I've made, I think, a grand total of two playlists on Spotify over the years, one for my Bard/Bofur series Ace of Spades (which is here), and one for the trip my work friend and I took to Sheffield to see Def Leppard the other week. Other than that, I tend to let Spotify shuffle tracks for me these days, I haven't really got the mental energy for anything else. I tried making a playlist for my original novel Two of a Kind, years ago, and it still only has two songs on it. XD

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic? Ooooooh. Always very hard to pick, as I've written so much these days I've forgotten most of them, but here's something that rather stuck with me from a kiss in the cold and dark, to the extent that I eventually wrote a ficlet about it:

Bard nodded, he did have some faint memories of Thranduil, lying on his back in the park with his hair like a cloud all round his head, complaining bitterly about how intense his dad was being about his exams as he smoked one of the cheap cigarettes one of them had bought, a mostly-finished can of white cider held casually between his long fingers.

21. Have you ever deleted an entire scene after spending hours laboring over it? If so, why? No - that's not how I write. Once it's written, that's how it happened, I can't change it. Very occasionally I'll rephrase, and quite often I'll add or alter individual words when reading over, but I don't draft or edit in the way that other people appear to do. I write what the characters tell me to write, I read it over and make a few small necessary alterations, my fabulous beta @lemurious checks everything for me and then I post. I could never delete a whole scene, especially if I'd spent ages on it. For better or worse, whatever's been written stays there.

aaaa, thank you so much for asking! <333333 if anyone else wants to ask me questions about fic, please feel free!

[isabellehemlock]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love 💗

Hi Sarah!  I hope you know that I saw that one reblog where you shared you dyed your hair with rainbow colors? (hopefully I'm not misremebering?) - anyways, so now I think of you with magical unicorn vibes gloriousness anytime I get a notification from you 🦄

Thank you so much for this fun ask!!  So cute, and hopefully no one minds me sharing more details about each piece I picked - only because I know I genuinely enjoy hearing about the creative process and what an author got out of it, or their essential “why’s” so I’m gonna list seven from the TOG fandom (because no joke, I calculated it, 96% of my stuff on ao3 is TOG lol), and with three bonus ones from other fandoms - because I have some 86 works listed on AO3 (though plenty are fanarts), but yeah, I just couldn’t narrow it down more than that lol.

In no particular order: 

Their souls were knit together (and he loved him as himself) 

I sort of consider this one my magnum opus of all the pre-canon JoexNicky pieces I had written before then.  It’s like each and every fic/meta/post/research piece led me to this one that I embarked on in the fall of 2021 (and even with some academic and religious studies, still spent a few extra weeks on research just to ensure I had a few key pieces in place).  I’m a history nerd at heart, what can I say lol.  The religious symbolism is thick and they fall in love slowly, so then, sprinkle in some historical contexts from Genova, Tunisia, Constantinople, and Crete, and it sort of snowballed to 88k in three months lol.  But there are definitely scenes from it that I’ve re-read several times over, because yeah, it just speaks to me on multiple levels, and I’m glad it seemed to resonate for a few others as well ❤️

Called you by name 

This was one of those pre-canon ficlets I was referring to just above, and looking back, I think this could easily be a sort of soft sequel for TSWKT (even though I wrote CYBN beforehand) - but it’s essentially an existential one-shot, stand alone of Nicky returning to his home land about two centuries after he had left it.  I projected a lot, but in the end it’s about faith but also the freedom to label your own identity.  I still look back at it fondly.

The Returning 

This is more of a drabble piece, based on a tumblr prompt, that I wrote for Nile - which is still one of my favorites.  Nile is a character I would have loved to explore more about/through/with due to me being a military brat, and my father being a wounded vet (my father had his TBI 20 years ago this August, and for all intents and purposes, died that day).  Between that, and her faith, there were actually quite a few meta posts I had wanted to write up, but I kept it personal to a few friends instead after seeing some discourse.  So, writing a canon adjacent Nile, instead of the modern au’s I had been doing up until then, and finally explore even some of that?  Yeah, deeply personal and I’m glad I had the opportunity to 🥹

Pwimo 

For personal reasons, but I still get a giggle out of it 😎

Precious Days 

I think some of my favorite pieces are the ones that I make with others (whether that’s by a prompt suggestion, plotting together, making a fic based on art, or vice versa - and I’m so grateful for people who allowed me to sort of practice with them before deep diving into fandom events lol).  Now most of my fandom collabs have been art (but also podfics??  Who am I lol) - but yeah, this was one of those giggling with a friend in DM’s over plot ideas kind, that I still look back on fondly.  I was grateful for the opportunity to write something as a birthday gift, but also have some fun trying a different trope, and looking at it from a different perspective/lens that I normally tend to write in.  It was like this fantastic experiment, dedicated as a gift, but somehow still resonated with several readers, and it’s also one of the few fics of mine that I sometimes re-read scenes from.

Promises, promises 

One of my absolute faves because I got to explore one of my favorite subjects - interfaith dialogue - through the whole team, in this modern au, which was also a bit of a rom-com <333  Some scenes and dialogues were projected from my own experiences, and discussions, and though niche as heck, also resonated with some fellow LGBTQIA+ religious readers 💒

Bonus - other fandoms: 

Miracoli

Should we call it TOG-adjacent?  Lol.  I adored writing Daan and Paolo, and the found family trope was THIQ within this FIC yo.  Plus, getting to write a teenager, and a preschooler?  And exploring those dynamics of building a family together?  Yesh, please - there are so many scenes from this one that I re-read just to bask in the serotonin because it’s probably one of the sweetest fics I’ve written, uplifting, romantic and soft 💕

Mixing It Up 

My Steddie fic!  I binged ST, resonated with Eddie Munson hard, and projected some aceness onto their potential dynamics.  I’ve received some of the sweetest “I feel seen” comments with this one, and some are saved on my phone on days when posting anxiety tells me not to bother.  Write the stories your teen self would have loved to read, because I guarantee there are others out there who it will speak to, too.

Pretty Ballads Hide Bastard Truths 

This was one that has fallen on the back burner due to other fandom events/projects but I promise it’s outlined and ready to resume come late summer.  Like, it’s on my list - I’m itching for it!  I adored Calanthe x Eist’s scenes in the first season, and I wanted to devour more of it, and with some loving encouragement I was glad to dedicate this one to Claz.  It’s still one of my favorites for the worldbuilding, and little nods to canon throughout, but just that exploration of growth, healing, and coming together over the years that has yet to leave my brain.  I’m looking forward to finishing it and allowing the story to come full circle.

Thanks again Sarah ~ looking forward to passing this one on soon 🤗

[freewayshark]

"you are the good in my life." for the prompts 💚

Sorry this took so long, I kept trying to not go the angsty angle for some reason but I was destined to so idk why I fought it lol, hope you like

The steady beep of hospital machinery shouldn’t be familiar enough to be comforting, but when Buck’s opening his eyes for the first time after being sure he was closing them for the last, it’s a hell of a sound.

He hasn’t managed to get his eyes all the way open before he coughs, a weak thing, but one that burns his chest and throat. He groans, his newfound consciousness awakening a bevy of aches and pains.

“You’re awake,” someone says next to him, voice full of awe and relief. It takes a second for his brain to catch up and realize it’s Eddie, but when he does he relaxes, pains forgotten.

“You’re ok,” he rasps, his voice rough. He remembers his mask getting cracked, letting in enough smoke to choke him, but apparently still keeping enough out to land him in a room instead of a drawer downstairs.

But more importantly he remembers Eddie, separated from him by a wall of fire. Eddie’s side had an exit, unlike Buck’s, but the last thing Buck remembers before passing out was Eddie on the other side of the flames, trying to get to him.

“Did you save me?” he murmurs, and Eddie cups his face with a hand, and Buck tilts into his palm immediately.

“Lucy and Ravi did, actually. Chim dragged me out and they brought a hose in, then carried you out,” Eddie explains. Buck forces his fuzzy vision to focus on Eddie’s face. He wants to reach up and rub away the furrow between his brows, but that feels like it would require energy he doesn’t have, so instead he creeps his hand across his own chest to grip Eddie’s wrist.

“Just glad you got out. Glad we both did,” he says, trying to reassure, and Eddie nods, but his gaze is a million miles away.

“Two weeks, Buck,” Eddie says, his voice cracking, and Buck’s heart sinks because of course he knows the significance of two weeks, and why invoking it seems to be breaking Eddie apart.

“I’m ok, Eddie,” he says, but he’s not sure Eddie even hears him.

“When you—when you collapsed. All I could do was wonder if that was it. If two weeks were all we’d been allowed. And I couldn’t decide if it would be better or worse if we’d never had those two weeks at all,” he shakes his head. “As if either answer would leave me any less destroyed.”

“Eddie, I made it, though. We’re going to have a lot more than two weeks,” Buck says, squeezing Eddie’s wrist with weak fingers. This time he gets through to him, because Eddie finally looks him in the eyes, those gorgeous browns wide and shining.

“You are the good in my life, Buck. So I need you to stay in it,” Eddie says, voice shaky with emotion.

Buck can already feel the pull of unconsciousness again, but he musters what strength he can and uses it to tug Eddie down for a sweet kiss. When their lips part Eddie stays in his orbit, pressing their foreheads together.

“I plan on it,” Buck says, as close to a promise as he can give.

Eddie grips Buck’s hand like a lifeline. “I’m going to ask you to marry me,” Eddie whispers.

Buck’s lips curl up into a smile. “Right now?”

“No. But soon. You deserve a ring, and a good speech, and a location that’s not a hospital room.”

“I don’t need any of those things.”

“But I want to give them to you.”

“Ok,” Buck agrees, his eyes growing heavier. “I’ll say yes. Whether you asked me right now, or in a week, or a month, or a year. You could’ve asked me after our first kiss and I would’ve said yes. I’ll always say yes.”

Eddie kisses him again, smirking at the little whine Buck lets out when he backs away to sit in the chair next to the bed. He doesn’t release his hand though, and Buck doesn’t feel any shame for the way he clings to it.

“Get some rest, sweetheart. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Eddie promises, and Buck easily lets sleep claim him, knowing Eddie will stay with him, holding his hand.

Send me prompts from this list and I’ll write a ficlet ❤️

[cricketnationrise]

oh my gosh the fest is getting so fancy!! congrats on 500, babe you deserve it SO MUCH!!

7:32 pm

Faber Rink (with this and the time i was thinking during a game but do whatever works in your perfect brain!)

Dex and/or Nursey

OK Go - another set of issues; specifically "So keep your head down / Keep your hands where I can see them now / This'll all be over soon"

T or M

🤍🤍🤍

HELLO DARLING

now that i'm back from hawaii and through a tough week of work catch-up, i finally had time to write whats been swirling around in my brain since i got your prompt. did i nail the vibes of the song? possibly not, but this is where my brain went, so i hope you like it anyway 💜🦗

want your own ficlet? followers can request their own prompt using these guidelines through Jan 31, 2024 (5 more days!) I WILL write every one, promise.

7:32pm, faber

“Dex.” The sound of his name jerks him out of his memories of last night.

“What?”

“It’s time, dude,” Nursey says, holding his fist out for their customary pre-game elaborate handshake. As always, he’s infuriatingly chill. Or chill-looking, which is more than Dex has ever managed on a normal day, let alone right before a playoff game the day after he hooked up with one of his best friends.

“You sure we should be doing this?” Dex pants as Nursey mouths down his neck.

“So sure. Now shut up.”

Dex smirks. “Make me, Nursey.”

Nursey ceases his assault on Dex’s neck long enough to smirk back at him before he pulls Dex in by the back of his neck for a furious kiss.

Under the half-burned out fluorescent lights of the tunnel, no one is beautiful. Like, objectively. But Nursey — glorious, stunning, radiant Nursey — manages to defy the odds. And he still has his gloved fist held out, waiting for Dex to do something, anything; anxiety starting to creep in at the edge of his green eyes.

And nope. As awkward as it may be right now, Dex cannot stand being the cause of such a thing. Not after they’ve both worked so hard to come out the other side of their fights to be friends.

He forces a smile on his face and meets Nursey’s glove with his own.

Dex shivers with every scrape of Nursey’s stubble on his chest. He’s flying high right now, every place he and Nursey are skin to skin feels like there’s a current running through them.

“Mm, Nursey more, please…”

“Comin’ right up,” Nursey winks before biting down just above Dex’s abs. The sharp sting of pain only amplifies all the pleasure coursing through his body. He doesn’t even care if Nursey leaves a bruise — he kind of wants him to, actually.

“Ready to smash it out there tonight?” Dex asks, forcing his voice to remain steady, to project Captain Dex as hard as he can. If he thinks about last night for too long, he’ll probably forget how to skate.

“You know it, Poindoodle,” Nursey says. They step through their handshake, as in sync now as they are on the ice, as they were last night — no, not now. Dex focuses on the movements, the routine that the two of them have built together over four years.

“Fuck, Will—” Nursey’s words are cut off with a groan as Dex swallows around him, tasting Nursey’s release on the back of his tongue. He thinks the jolt of smug satisfaction that goes down his spine is justified. 

After all, no one but Dex reduced Nursey to just moans and curses and his fucking name.

The handshake ends, as it always does, with pulling each other close for a totally-platonic-not-at-all-wishing-to-be-real back-slapping hug. As it always does, the hug lingers. On both of their parts. Dex wishes he had words for once, but they’ve never been his thing.

Nursey has no such hang ups, and whispers in Dex’s ear instead of pulling back.

“We’re gonna win this game tonight, and then we’re gonna celebrate at the Haus with our teammates. And then we’ll keep celebrating in your room, just the two of us. If you want to?”

Dex pulls back just far enough to meet Nursey’s gaze.

“Derek— please, so close—”

“Easy, I got your back, just let go,” Nursey murmurs before reapplying his mouth to Dex’s cock.

Dex shudders as Nursey swirls his tongue around the head and falls headlong over the edge with a shout.

“I do want.”

“Well then, lets go fuck Harvard up, shall we?” Nursey’s eyes are sparkling, brighter than the stars Dex sees out in the forests of Maine.

Dex knows they still have a lot to talk about, but at this moment he just knows they’re on the same page. He grins, wider than he usually lets himself.

“After you.”

[poppypickle]

Fic Masterlist

I’ve been meaning to do this for a while now, so here’s a masterlist of all the fic I have written for The Rookie (Chenford), Avengers (Clintasha), The Hunger Games, Harry Potter, and Community. As Hamilton would say: What is a legacy? Making hot fictional characters bang in your fics, obviously.

The Rookie (Tim/Lucy)

I Can’t Help Myself - Complete, 11k

Tim and Lucy figure things out with a little help from the Mid-Wilshire gang. Featuring silly group texts, Angela playing matchmaker, and Chenford doing Wopez wedding errands.

Come A Little Closer - Complete, 30k

Tim and Lucy make a bet about who can seduce the other person first. Mutually assured seduction occurs.

Want You To Stay - Complete, 50k

Co-written with @cfr749​. Things *happen* after Tim and Lucy leave the hospice in 4x09. A Season 4 canon divergent AU.

Break Up With Him - Complete, 6k 

Lucy’s got a boyfriend and Tim is jealous. So jealous he maybekindasorta acts like a fool at Angela’s wedding.

Got Me Addicted - Rated E, 1.5k

The dirty PWP version of Lucy having a boyfriend and Tim doing something about it at Angela’s wedding.

Bang Bang (Look What You Started) - Rated E, 9k

What if Tim and Lucy actually gave into all their Season 1 chemistry?

Made You Wait - One-shot, 4k

Lucy goes undercover and Tim pines.

Ain’t It Just Like Love To Find Us - One-shot, 1.5k

Another Wopez wedding dance fic, because there can never be enough.

Broken Over You - One-shot, 1.7k

Lucy stops by Tim’s place to say goodbye to Kojo before she goes undercover.

Chenford Fic Week Series - Rest Your Head On Me, My Dear - 53k

I had this crazy idea to do ALL of the Chenford Fic Week prompts, but to break up each day into a different period of time in their lives. So I started writing, and realized pretty quickly that I’m actually a very slow writer and couldn’t possibly finish 42(!) prompts. But I kept running with the idea, and luckily some AMAZING collaborators decided to join in on the fun. We didn't quite finish all of the prompts, but I think the spirit of the original idea was still achieved.

Most of these ficlets can loosely exist in the same ‘verse, and are meant to paint a full picture of Tim and Lucy’s lives and their relationship.

July 11: Tim and Lucy as children  July 12: As adults before the meet each other July 13: The rookie/TO days July 14: Post-rookie/TO — close friends and very flirty, but they are not *officially* together yet July 15: All AU ‘verse! Lucy is a famous pop star and Tim is her new head of security July 16: Tim and Lucy finally admit their feelings for each other July 17: Married Chenford 🥰

Avengers (Clint/Natasha)

Let Me Tell You a Story About War - One-shot, 10k

Natasha goes to Clint right after the Snap. Some things change. Some things stay the same.

Let's Show 'Em - One-shot, 1.5k

Clint had told Natasha that wearing her full tactical jumpsuit was overkill, but Lila had insisted it was absolutely necessary. And Natasha was nothing if not a pushover for the favorite bonus niece.

Or, Lila Barton has a score to settle.

Just Come Home - One-shot, 2k

Monsters and magic and multiverses…

And somehow he’s ended up living in the version of life where Natasha Romanoff is dead.

Or, Clint attempts to cope.

Run Away Now - One-shot, 3k

Clint Barton has a fianceé and Natasha doesn't know what to do with that.

Somebody Save Me (From the World You Left) - One-shot, 2k

Prompt: Cooper always knew about his father's and Aunt Nat's relationship.

The Hunger Games

Let Me Name The Stars For You - One-shot, 10k

Gale/Johanna. This is the story of how the Hawthorne family puts Johanna back together again. Or maybe it's the other way around. Post-Mockingjay.

Kaleidoscope Heart - Complete, 10k

Gale/Johanna. Two bruised and battered souls figure out how to rebuild. Post-Mockingjay.

i’m five years too old to lie to myself and call it honor - One-shot, 500 words

Gale-centric. Based on the prompt: “Angry, and half in love with her, and tremendously sorry, I turned away.”

The Old Familiar Sting - One-shot, 4k

A series of vignettes that take place the night before Katniss leaves for the Quarter Quell. Featuring Gale/Katniss, Peeta, Haymitch, and Mrs. Everdeen.

Stranger - One-shot 1.5k

A missing scene between Gale and Katniss. Takes place after their kiss, but before Katniss leaves for the Victory Tour.

Harry Potter (Harry/Hermione)

Could You Leave Me With A Scar - One-shot, 1.5k

Harry/Hermione. Hermione Granger's got scars. Five vignettes from Hermione's life.

This Is My Winter Song To You - Ficlet, 800 words

Harry/Hermione. 'I could have loved you,' she wants to tell him. 'If given half the chance.' Takes place after Ron returns and destroys the locket.

let us go then, you & i - Ficlet, 300 words

Prompt: Harry/Hermione - movie!verse - "I'll come with you"

Community (Jeff/Annie)

The Song Remains The Same - One-shot, 3k

Jeff/Annie. It's like deja vu on steroids - the other timelines begin to seep into Annie's subconscious. Spoilers for Remedial Chaos Theory.

[hurtsprincess]

The Rest That’s Still Unwritten

Hi folks! 👋🏻

Today I wanna establish a new category / posting-series on this blog, and as you can guess from the title (...if you know, you know 😉), this will be all about yet unwritten stories. Or to be exact: About my many, many drafts, unfinished works and raw concepts 🤓

Cause there really are a lot of them by now! Since I started writing Carlando-fanfiction in 2020, I’ve had so many cool ideas for stories, long or short, that I sadly just cannot realise them all anymore by now - the old problem of ‘so many projects, so little time’ that probably every creative mind knows… 😬

However, even if I personally love them all, there are nonetheless some ideas that I don’t think will ever overcome the state of just ‘vibing’ with them in my head. For whatever reason, I just don’t see me actually writing them - let it be plot holes, unanswered questions, too high efforts or that I just don’t “feel” them anymore to really take on the writing journey. (Especially with the longer projects!)

But because I like these basic ideas nonetheless and feel pretty bad for leaving them in my “not now”-folder and would rather want to somehow appreciate them - I thought, why should I not write them down in a shortened form and share them with you still? 🤓

As something somewhere between what you call a ‘prompt’ and a ‘ficlet’ here or the like - sorry, I’m not good with internet slang, haha 🙈 But just something that will give you a little movie in your head and that you might enjoy still, even if it’s not properly narrated - and that also allows me to clear my mind of the many open tabs 🙈

...and yeah, that is exactly what will happen in this category 🤗

(Oh, by the way, if you happen to like one draft a lot and want to turn it into an actual story, please feel free and do it!! ♥ Just please credit me for the idea and of course send me the link later if you publish it, cause I’d definitely LOVE to read your take on them! 🤩🤩)

…so, enough of explanations - let’s get started with the first story that I will not write! Which is also the most recent idea on my list, since it is the continuation of my latest one-shot “Red like Love / Rot wie die Liebe”.

I know I said in the notes that I won’t write a part 2, because these scenarios have been done often enough meanwhile (in my eyes) - but that doesn’t change that said scenario just won’t leave my head anymore ever since, haha. Because I do have a clear vision of what will happen next… 👀

So I decided to word it, for everyone else who might want to know, too. But, warning: If you haven’t read the actual OS yet and don’t want any spoilers, then please don’t click on the cut and read the main story first! ☝🏻

#1 Red like Love / Rot wie die Liebe Part II

We’re picking up right where the original story has ended: With Lando standing on Carlos’ doorstep, breathless from his flight from the Lola Lounge, and desperate to talk to his now ex-teammate.

Carlos, in turns, is of course massively confused - considering both the time (somewhat middle of the night) and the unexpectedness of their reunion, since the two of them had not really seen each other ever since the departure from their last race as teammates together in Abu Dhabi. Of course they had in a way taken notice of each other during the testing week, but only briefly and from afar, as they both had been busy with their respective, now different teams. So they had not talked really ever since December, and neither texted or communicated at all in any other way than liking each other’s Instagram posts and viewing their stories, in order to keep up with what the other one is doing. Because after all, they do not hate each other. Of course they don’t. They used to be best friends before Carlos’ last day at work, and even more. They have just never talked about it, but they have never argued or the like.

And probably that dynamic, combined with the surprise effect and the rest-sleepiness in his head, is the reason why the Spaniard doesn’t yell at him what the f he is doing here so late at night, waking him up and everything, but steps back from the door and actually invites Lando in - albeit still in massive confusion over this situation. Is he maybe only dreaming the whole thing…?

But on the other hand, he apparently is also glad to see him again so unexpectedly - or at least does it look like that to Lando. In the way that he watches him come into the room, with a faint shimmer of anticipation and… hope? in his chocolate-brown eyes.

And also from how his ex-teammate, who still looks strange to him in his Ferrari-shirt, is not  interested in small talk when Lando nervously makes a first comment about that this is a nice room - even if his own one, two floors down, looks pretty much just the same. The typical medium business suite that they stay in wherever they go for a race.

But in this moment, it feels so much smaller and narrower and just more… intimate, especially in the only very dim lighting - obviously, Carlos has only switched the night lamp on his bedside-table on when he has made his way to the door.

Maybe the abrupt waking is also the reason why he is not interested in having a casual chit-chat about hotel interior, but shuts it down instantly. “You did not really come here to talk about my room now, did you?”, he asks, a litte passive-aggressively, and from his face, it is beyond doubt that he would then get but angry.

Which Lando definitely doesn’t want.

Shaking his head, he says: “No, no, of course not-”

And when he sees the hopeful, begging, unspoken ‘then what…?’ in Carlos’ eyes, this is the last call that the younger one needs to speak out the truth that he has been carrying with over the whole winter: “It’s just- I- I miss you.”

Three words which hit Carlos like a thunderbolt, catching him so off-guard that he cannot even reply anything - but Lando doesn’t wait for his reaction either. As it seems, once he is talking about this, he can’t stop anymore; and so he tells Carlos everything.

That he is aware that he has never said it explicitly and has, even more, denied it even in this one press conference. But that he does miss him. That he has known it before that he would, but that he was too afraid to admit it even to himself. Because he was too scared of kicking something off  in his mind that would change everything and that he could never un-think again.

But the truth is, he misses Carlos. Every time he sits in the briefings or has to do social media content, which used to be so much fun last year when they were doing their shenanigans, or just comes to the track and sees a different number than 55 in the other side of the garage.

He misses Carlos, and- he says that he can’t really narrow down why either, but he just wanted  to let him know that.

But no, that is not true - the younger one knows exactly WHY he wanted him to know.

Because he also misses him beside him in the far too big hotel-bed at nighttime. He misses feeling his palms roaming over his skin, misses kissing him, misses sharing things with him that nobody else does. Misses him, in every aspect of his life.

However - these feelings appear to be one-sided, given how Carlos stands there and just… looks at him when he’s finished. Stares at him with wide eyes from shock, speechless, motionless.

As a result of which Lando suddenly is very aware of what he has just done here.

“S-sorry. That was weird-…”, he mumbles and makes moves to turn around and take flight from the suddenly even smaller, far too small hotel room. “I better go-”

But ere he could reach his hand out for the handle, Lando feels a grip on his wrist, and before he knows, he finds himself with his back against the door and Carlos right in front of him, staring him down with the intensity of a supernova in his eyes.

“Is that true?”, he wants to know, with his voice so low in awe that it scratches, and his face as serious as never before. “You… miss me?”

And blame it on the intensity of the moment and how close they are suddenly again, but even though he at the same time is embarrassed for his break-out, Lando can’t lie. Can’t deny it.

No more.

Carlos would see it anyway in his face, as close as they are.

So the younger one just nods, slowly; his voice hoarse from honesty. “Y-yeah…” He gulps. “A lot…”

His eyes insecurely scan Carlos’ mien for any reaction, but only for a second - cause already in the next moment, Lando finds himself pressed against the door and involved in a stormy kiss when Carlos downright desperately pushes his lips onto his.

The Briton has reckoned with everything, but not with that, but of course he does not complain - within seconds, the switch from ‘anxiety’ to ‘enjoyment’ in his brain is flicked and he without thinking returns the kiss.

It’s only for a few seconds, until Carlos once more breaks away to breathe a — by now rather superfluous — “I miss you too…” against his lips, before their mouths are locked again and they are kissing like they used to throughout all the last year; as if they had never stopped, as if December and the unevitable goodbye has never happened - but at the same time, the feelings hit so much deeper than back then.

Cause between the kisses that they share, still at the room door, Carlos tells him in chopped portions that he has been through just the same. That he has missed him all the way. That he has only understood how much he means to him — that he has always been more than just his teammate, his muppet friend, his bed neighbour — when they have been about to be separated. That he has wanted to say it and has so often in the last weeks of the season been close to do so, but that he has never dared it in the end.

Because he has been too scared that Lando wouldn’t feel the same, given how reserved the younger one has always acted when someone has addressed the topic of the team-change.

But in his overwhelm over hearing all these beautiful words from Carlos’ mouth, the younger one also doesn’t know any hold-back anymore and clears it all that up. That this has only been for self-protection. That he has had such a feeling as well, but that he has not wanted to deal with it. Has wanted to prevent the chaos that it would cause in his head, if he’d admit to himself that he is not only bisexual or ‘curious’, as he has first thought when they have started going to bed together - but that he has somehow caught actual feelings for Carlos. More than he has ever felt for anybody.

So he has just pushed every glimpse of that down, filed it under nostalgic sentimentality in the view of the upcoming end of their time together, and just tried to put on a brave front. Cause as long as you don’t think about it, it’s not true, right?

But the visit to the strip club has brought his so strainedly kept-up facade of self-betrayal to crack, and made the whole issue — the truth — impossible to ignore it any further.

Admittedly, Carlos makes big eyes of surprise when he hears that his always so innocent and younger-looking friend has been to a strip club - but this is not the time to crack jokes. Because only his experiences there, even if they do indeed sound very amusing, have made Lando realise what he feels.

What he has always felt.

“I- I guess I love you, Carlos…”, he whispers and even if a part of him still cannot believe that this is actually happening — that he is actually saying this to him —, these words feel so damn right on Lando’s tongue.

And even better do they sound in his ears, when Carlos returns the magic phrase…

Latest from then on, they both do not know any reservation anymore, and neither does one of them bother about the late hour and the exact circumstances. The only thing that matters to them are each other, about so unexpectedly being united again and to get over to the bed, in order to have it a little more comfy for the obviously following making-out-session…

Originally, this is where I saw the story ending for me: With the two of them in bed, cuddling up close and just glad over having the respective other one. I only wanted to make Lando utter a affectionate, cheeky comment like “Red suits you, by the way”, concerning the new team colours on the Spaniard and because he has not actually congratulated him on being able to wear them yet — to throw a bridge back to the beginning and the title.

But, you know, just an overall sweet, happy ending scene.

But! After an involuntary inspiration from a lovely reader (…you know who you are ♥), the scene developed further in my head and I saw Carlos giggling a “Thank you” before my inner eye - and then how the two of them exchange a look of the ‘are we thinking the same?’-kind. Yes, they are. And so, Carlos will slowly move his hands to get rid of this shirt - and then will give Lando an exclusive demonstration of what an enjoyable private dance is like… 😁 😏

And with these images in your head, I’ll leave you for now - this is really it for this story now 😉 Hope you liked the little add-on and see you next time, for the next unwritten story ♥

[eilinelsghost]

Finrod/Balan, 7?

Ok @actual-bill-potts (I know this is you 👀) here's a silly lil ficlet for your prompt request! It's our boys having fun, so it's the opposite of everything I normally write and consequently have probably done a rather poor rendering 😂 But I owe you some happy Finrod and Balan after throwing only angst your way this whole time. So:

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“Heru Findaráto,” he said in parting, rising as he finished the morning meal. He saw the twitch of the other’s fingers about the cup in his hand, the quizzical shift of his brows. Gildor too glanced at him in mild surprise, and Balan smiled, then dipped a bow to the others around the table and made his way out to the corridor and the wide terrace beyond.

He grinned as he looked over the river before him, the steep highlands rising on either side, and wondered whether he could maintain the dance throughout the full day. He had nearly fallen into laughter already at the first bewildered expression, and there were nine names still to manage.

It was a relief to spend these weeks on Tol Sirion. Nargothrond was home, settled and known, comfortable and predictable, but Balan missed the wind’s sharp sting, the expanse of sky. Nóm knew this, of course, and so brought him on every journey from the caverns, no matter how trivial, and their sojourns on this isle were ever Balan’s favorite. One could see all the vale of Sirion from this tower. He looked out, giddy and refreshed—the balance weight placed on the opposite scale, countering the badger’s dens with the flight of the hawk. 

He filled his lungs with the autumn air, grateful that there was another week yet before their return. Another week of the valley’s winds, of the dawn pouring through the windows, drenching the bed in light, of waking to see it dance through the pool of gold spilling over his pillow. How well he looked in the morning’s sun! It was rare that Balan woke before him, never in the caverns and only at times when the strange bed of travel roused him early, but he savored each instance.

And how he had shone that morning in the rays from the window, half-dressed and perched at the foot of the bed, his voice tripping through the chamber like a mountain’s stream, bright and breathless, unexpectedly shy.

Ai, disregard my words. You needn’t call me so if it sits poorly with thee. It was a frivolous request. Leave it be. Twas an indulgence only…only I would have thee say it once, if thou wouldst, that I might know its sound in thy voice… Nay, thy face is an eloquent picture on the suggestion, I retract my words. I should not—

Balan had kissed him to stem the torrent, the porcelain face cupped within his palms, the babbling tongue quieted beneath his own. Then he pulled away and smiled, kissed him lightly on the tip of his nose, and wandered back toward his own chamber in their ever-present charade of secrecy.

Ingoldo. He let it roll upon his tongue as he looked out over the valley. The name suited him, he reflected, the syllables warm and vibrant. It tasted of him. 

Well. He had waited years. Nóm could be teased for a day.

And so he had named him Findaráto at the morning meal. 

Firindil he was when they crossed the courtyard, Nóm once again as they carried apples to the tower’s stables. He was Felagund when they conferred with Edrahil and charted out plans for the goods to be carried back to the city. 

Atandil he called him in the midst of his laughter, bright-eyed and merry when Orodreth observed the cut of his tunic had shifted distinctly toward the Atani fashion.

Artafindë he named him in the solemn dignity of council. 

Finrod as they processed into the banqueting hall.

Edennil as the evening meal dissolved into song.

Then with his lover perched once more on the foot of the bed, his hair hanging loose and his laughter drifting through the star-kindled air, Balan wandered by and brushed a kiss across his cheekbone. “Angolodh,” he whispered, and his own laughter tugged at his lips.

Finrod tripped him at this and caught him about the waist, pulling him back onto the bed as their laughter spilled out in full and they fell across the linen in a tangled pile. Balan looked up at him, his eyes dark as the night, dancing, alight with mischief and mirth. “Ingoldo,” he murmured at last, and drew him into his arms.

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(now on AO3 also)