#shippy ficlet

[jessicas-pi]

it has occurred to me that it is truly preposterous that I, the Maker Of A Ridiculous Number Of AUs, have never yet played that ask game that's like "send me an ask with a character pairing and an AU and I'll write 3 sentences"

anyway, send me an ask with a character pairing (or just some characters) and an AU and I'll write probably way more than 3 sentences

[cuubism]

It’s 3pm on a rainy Wednesday, and Hob is sleepily grading student papers, when Death of the Endless appears in his flat, lies quietly down on the couch, and rests her head in his lap.

Hob stares down at her for a long moment, hands aloft in indecision, because this is not... something they do. By now he can say he calls Death a friend, and they get drinks together sometimes and chat, but this...

“Everything alright, love?” he asks, finally resting a hand on her shoulder.

“I don’t mean to disturb your peace,” Death says quietly. The TV Hob’s left on as background noise—some silly cooking show—nearly drowns out her voice entirely.

“Nothing peaceful about trying to find nice ways to tell my students they can’t write for shit,” Hob says, pushing his papers away. He can’t see Death’s face well like this, but he doesn’t like the uneven sound of her voice, not when she’s usually so level. “Disturb away.”

After a long moment in which they both just listen to the TV program host blather on about crumpets, Death says, “I am not affected by deaths.”

“…Alright,” Hob says, though he’s not convinced.

“I am…” Death continues, but trails off on a breath like a whistle of cold wind. “May I... stay here awhile?”

“‘Course.” Hob carefully pets at her head, strokes her hair. Worry is building, but he doesn’t think Death needs him to pull her words out of her the way he sometimes has to with Dream. She will speak when she’s ready. “Do you want to hear some truly fascinating attempts at historical analysis? Or is peace and quiet what you’re looking for?”

“You can speak if you wish,” Death says, still in that quiet tone.

So Hob tells her about some of his students, the ones who truly seem to have some promise in the field, and the others who he’s pretty sure are just mangling their papers together from sentences out of one of those AI things, if the originality is anything to go by. It’s disappointing but does make for humorous reading. Though really, Hob’s not sure whether to laugh or despair when he has to read lines like War has negative effects on people in an actual university academic paper. Wow, you don’t say.

He does manage to get a few chuckles out of his friend, but none with her usual humor and enthusiasm, and eventually he trails off, and they listen quietly to the background noise of the TV.

“Is there anything I can do?” Hob asks quietly.

“Can you control the future, Hob?” Death asks, a rhetorical question without any of her usual lightheartedness.

“Can’t even control the present,” Hob says. He just keeps his hands on her, one on her shoulder, one on the top of her head. Grounding, he hopes. And he thinks on what she’d said.

Hob knows that Destiny is the only Endless that operates in the future, but he has wondered, now that he understands them a bit better, if Death may not have a foot in that direction as well. She must know, some way, how to be where she must when she must.

Death has never seemed overly burdened by the past, even though history is a tower of bones a hundred miles high. Hob had asked, once — do all those terrible things ever bother you? you were there for them all —and all she had said was, “It has already happened,” with neither pleasure nor pain, just acceptance.

The future is another matter entirely.

“Is something going to happen?” he asks.

“I will not burden you with knowledge that is not yours to carry,” Death says.

So, that’s a yes.

“Maybe I could do something about it,” Hob suggests, though he suspects where that query will lead.

“You could not.”

“What about you, then?”

“That is not my place,” she says, though she sounds less certain about it than she usually is when discussing her function.

“You sure?” Hob asks.

“Were I to change fates for some, what excuse would I have for not doing so for all? Unfair things happen hourly, and always will. If I upend the balance, there is no telling how things would tip out of control down the road.”

It must be hard, Hob thinks, to be so powerful and yet so powerless.

“You did spare me,” he points out.

Death huffs, almost a laugh. “In truth, I shouldn’t have done that. Although I suspect Destiny had it written in his book for other purposes entirely.”

Huh. Well, that’s probably something Hob shouldn’t think on too hard for the sake of his own sanity.

“Well, I’m certainly not complaining about it,” Hob says, and Death chuckles.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks, when they’ve been sitting for another few minutes in silence.

“I… do not have many friends,” Death says. Common family trait, then, Hob thinks. Not that it’s really so surprising. Death is very personable, but most of her interactions with people are, well… fleeting. And it can’t be easy to make normal friends, when you’re as expansive a being as one of the Endless.

“Stay for a while then,” Hob says. He pulls a blanket over her and tucks it around her shoulders. “Until you have to go.”

“Thank you, Hob,” says Death, still sounding incredibly weighed down by her function, but given a slight reprieve, perhaps.

Hob rubs her shoulder and thinks about these endless creatures he’s chosen to love. Do they have anyone else to worry about them? He doesn’t think so. It’s just Hob, and he doesn’t think that’s anywhere close to enough, but he’ll just have to do his best.

“Any time, love,” he tells her, and means it.

[sukea69]

the jutsu are larger than life, larger than can possibly be useful. madara's susanoo'o stands as tall as the mountains, and hashirama claps his hands together and shapes the living wood around him to meet it.

on the changing landscape of the battlefield, the soldiers flee, senju and uchiha alike, to battle on kinder, less living terrain.

madara breathes fire and the grass and the trees seem to be made of it, a new plane of reality where flame grows from the earth, and between it all, the shoots of living things start to grow, charred from the moment of their creation and completely undaunted.

in the middle of the chaos and the fire and the twisting, tangling vines, there are two small men.

"Hashirama." madara says, and theres a smile in his tired voice.

"Madara!" hashirama greets him. he waves exuberantly.

there's always enough time for a moment alone with a friend.

[frankenjoly]

"i've got us tickets for that concert/movies/exhibition you wanted to go to" + bram & aya

“I got us tickets for that concert you wanted to go to.” Bram said, and he had barely finished speaking when Aya replied with a big gasp.

“SAY WHAT.”

“Well, being awake in the middle of the night was definitely easier for me than it is for at least most humans, so I managed to make the purchase fairly quick.” The girl opened her mouth, then closed it, and after repeating the motion a couple of times more an actual response came.

“Didn’t doubt that, but I’m surprised you could handle buyin’ anythin’ online, lemme tell you.” Because it was her saying so, Bram merely chuckled.

“I could say I prevailed no matter the obstacles, and it would not be inaccurate, but also the full truth is I enlisted Kunikida-san for help. So, technically, this is a present from both of us since I couldn’t have done it without him.”

“Oh? So Kuni-chan will be comin’ with us?” Through the conversation, a distinct glimmer had started appearing on Aya’s face, which only became even more apparent as time passed. Even if it flickered briefly. “Wait, lemme guess. He’s busy as hell that day, as he usually is, so he’s gonna make it up to me some other time.” Bram offered her a nod as an affirmative answer. “And you know when and what it is.” He nodded again. “But you won’t tell me.” Then, with that, there came a third and final nod. “Oh, c’mon!”

“I solemnly promised to maintain it a secret, and I intend to keep my word to him, especially after he aided me.” He then smiled, softly. “Besides, what I can do is assure you it will be worth it. Trust me, my princess.”

“I do.” Now it was her time to nod, and shortly after a mischievous smile appeared in Aya’s face. “That doesn’t mean I won’t try to get some hints from Kuni-chan himself, though.”

“Neither can I prevent you from d

oing so.”

(Also on ao3.)

[wrencatte]

I wrote something for the spyscrapper anniversary collection @voidcat-senket put together!!

a soft place to land

(by aracae)

A hot day on Koboh leads to a shared shower and a realization - sometimes it's nice to be taken care of.

Word count: 3, 766

Rated M

If Bode had to pick something hate about Koboh, he would have to pick the heat. Forget the raiders and the Imperials. He’s never spent much time on desert planets and if this is what he has to look forward to, ignoring this isn’t a desert planet at all, no thank you.

Cal thrives in it, for all that he burns instead of tans (and started peeling literally day one), because the sun is always shining, and the nights are clear as can be with a million and one stars in sight. It’s nice to see him so happy after all the shit he’s been through.

Now, if only he would stop showcasing his happiness by climbing everything, Bode would be grateful, really. It’s like dealing with a loth-cat with a permanent case of the zoomies sometimes. Bode blinks and Cal’s gone, halfway up a cliff before he has a chance to register what he is, and isn’t, seeing.

[givehimthemedicine]

There was a place where I used to have to stay. When I was bad.

The little room that was all cold floor. Where I would be alone in the dark for so long that I would miss people. Even though people were bad.

I would sit in the corner and try to think what a soft place would be like. I would lean my head on the wall and.. if I stayed in the same place, the tile would get warm there.

And to sleep I would try to pretend the warm place was... somebody. Like there was such a thing as somebody who would be nice to me.

I thought about that when I got in your bed that night. And you made me comfortable. And you read to me.

And I put my head on you.. and you were warm and soft and nice to me. And I was not alone.

(excerpt from do not cry because I know not everyone reads elmax fic but the sleepover scene torments me and I want to make sure you all suffer too)

[paigemathews]

I am once again trying to wrangle my brain for creativity like my sister trying to wrangle her toy poodle for a haircut, so! As we all know: it's February, a.k.a, the month of ~LOVE~ and I wanna write shit so!

I will be: writing short snippets (a la this, this, and this) for every pairing I get in my asks. I am locking the perfectionism in the closet for the month, because I'm gonna fucking answer these I stg.

You: submit pairings. That's literally it. It can be romantic or gen, but please make sure to indicate which. This can range from canon deep love to the most crack shit ever. (Except for incest, I don't want to write it so I'm not.) It can include up to four people for romance pairings, and I don't currently have a limit for gen pairings. Please submit each pairing in a different ask; there is no limit to how many asks you can send. If there's a specific vibe or AU that you want, feel free to add it in bc I'll probably roll with it, but the only thing I guarantee is the pairing.

And this is open until probably end of February so please feel free to go apeshit, okay bye ✌

[cheetahsprints]

Prompt #6: Garden

Inspired by this post

• Sonadow Prompt Fills •

• Ambience Music •

*

Shadow waited. He scarcely glanced at the meteors passing through the endless sky.

Telling the passage of time was impossible.

The garden was not immune to its effects, though. That was the only sign. The flooring became cracked by some more persistent weeds that ate their way to the center. They crawled over Shadow's shoes until he couldn't see them anymore... those shoes that had been a gift from the Professor, the idea from his dear Maria. The columns faded and the paint chipped away. The robots that tended to the garden went defunct since no one came to repair them. As a result, the plants eventually wilted. Through all of that, Shadow barely moved more than a statue, aside from actions that were involuntary.

“Let’s play a game,” Maria had said, poking the dark red gemstone embedded in his chest. “You will stay here and stand very still. I’ll be back soon!”

So, he had waited. She hadn’t really explained the rules, he had soon realized upon reflection. However, it didn’t matter. He didn’t want to lose. He didn’t want to disappoint. He had to play the game the correct way, even though he knew she would never actually be angry with him.

He was the Ultimate Lifeform, designed to protect and heal. He could do such a simple thing as stay and stand very still. It was child’s play... literally.

He didn’t need food, but he eventually missed the taste and the feeling of being full. Enough time passed that his mouth grew dry and his tongue thick, without water. His muscles ached. He wouldn’t grow sick. He wouldn’t age. He wouldn’t perish like all of the flowers.

He missed their beauty, the rainbow of colors. He missed Maria’s voice, her fond looks, her laugh, everything. He missed the Professor too, because he didn’t appear either. No one appeared. The garden was theirs, him and Maria. The other scientists didn’t know about its existence.

He often wondered if he was playing the game right. Games usually ended before too long. Did he misunderstand something? Surely, it couldn’t hurt to give her a call and check… they could restart with more clarity…

Then, something new happened, finally, just before his decision was set into motion. A screen flickered on and disrupted the emptiness. It revealed a hedgehog with bright green eyes, a peach muzzle, blue quills, and a deep blue gem in his belly, the first face and splash of color that Shadow could feast his eyes upon in an unfathomable amount of time. His jovial voice caressed Shadow’s ears and lit the feeble embers inside of him. He spoke about harmony, about change, about freedom, friendship, and love.

He spoke about Maria Robotnik’s sacrifice to save the Earth.

He was ignorant of Shadow’s rage. He didn’t see Shadow punch the communicator to bits, bellowing with betrayal and agony. Shadow felt he was such a fool to have happily listened and watched her drift away.

The carefree blue idiot would feel Shadow’s fury when he descended to Earth, intent on destroying it. He and his silly little friends took a beating for having been there when Maria had gone on without him. Shadow was halted when he found out from the pink hedgehog that Maria’s greatest wish had been to protect the Earth and that was the purpose Shadow had originally been created to serve. However, the entity Black Doom had wanted to use Professor Robotnik’s resources for the destruction of worlds and later an organization of Earthlings wanted to weaponize his creations.

Shadow deflated into confusion and sorrow.

Sonic held him as he broke down and cried, feeling like a forgotten toy by the one he had loved most. He felt inexplicably safe in Sonic’s arms. He was a near stranger, yet it felt like Shadow was done waiting and had finally come home.

“She wanted you to stay safe,” Sonic reassured warmly. “She didn’t want anything to happen to you, and she probably hoped you’d get the idea and leave on your own, or that she’d be able to return to you when the danger passed. I’m so sorry, Shadow.”

“Thank you... Sonic...”

Perhaps, in time, his love could take a new form.

*

[lumeha]

Today's ficlet has decided to take bigger proportions, so, instead of trying to write something else, I'm counting it as a ficlet but not posting it because it's not done

It's just half of a first draft for a fic ??

[grollow]

Grimm put up a good fight😌for the prompt asks I would like to see him and Hollow with something from a series of "firsts". IE, first kiss, first hand hold, first time accidentally setting one of the Dirtmouth houses on fire, ect ect. Just one of those things will do, anything ya want! I like fluffy "first" prompts 💖💕

I'm not back from my mini hiatus but I wrote this in record time and I don't know if you see my Ao3 updates or not so I wanted you to see it. <3

b u r n || AO3

If there is anything that I have learned, in all of my years, throughout lifetime after lifetime after lifetime, it is that nothing ever truly stays buried.

Not truths. Not lies. 

And most certainly not a hurt so deep that I find myself impressed it hasn’t a smell. 

It is a tangible thing, the way that it clings to its every motion. It is a myriad of shadows and regret and it drips off it. I am reminded, continuously, of the great sheets of water carried by the devastating storms that blow in parts of the wastelands beyond. 

Those are places it has never seen; that few, if any, in this kingdom have. 

I would invite it to come with me, if I thought it would accept. It will not. 

Its place is here, in this dying kingdom that moulded it from the fathomless void below. An artisan, that Wyrm – I cannot deny that part of me is jealous at the sheer marvel of creation his vessels are.

I have a favourite one, though, and it is not my summoner.

It is instead the creature that my summoner rescued, when it scaled the Godseeker’s mountainous challenge in order to blot the sun from the sky.

I should be more bitter, perhaps. My Ritual remains incomplete. I do not know if it will return and that is a problem for me. The child remains dormant in the charm, left in my tents, awaiting its return – and I am distracted instead by its birth-cursed sibling, pock-marked with scars and peppered with burns that Soul should long have healed.

I do not think it can channel anymore.

This is, perhaps, the source of its predicament: it is standing in front of its old prison and assaulting my senses all over again with a depth of feeling that makes me question the merit in the Wyrm’s so-called foresight. If my eyes can see the cloak of regret that it wears, surely his could have as well if he’d but known to look.

Ah, but perhaps that is unkind of me: we are ever slaves to sentiment and it is not uncommon for someone to see what they wish to see. I am no stranger to such concepts. I see what I want to with it as well. I see a creature with potential to be so much more. I see pain that can find closure, if guided by deft hands. I see a strength unmatched by any that I have ever beheld, and I am at once enamoured and intimidated. I do not spook easily but it seared and burnt without breaking.

It is impressive.

It is also trying with abject futility to do something with sticks that I can only guess the purpose for. 

“Hello, my friend,” I greet it  softly and I stay out of its reach.

Sneaking up on someone who has hurt for so long and with no relief is not wise. Sneaking up on someone with a particular grievance with those who have an affinity for dreams is even less so. I give it the space it requires.

It turns back to me. I can make no emotion out in its mask and that is by design. Its siblings are both the same, although the spider’s tones when she speaks have plenty of inflection - more than enough to deliver intent. 

I wonder what it thinks of me. What it beholds when it looks upon another… vessel of a fashion. We are not entirely different in that regard, but the origin and motivations between our natures are worlds apart.

It watches me with an intensity that I find at once daunting and incredibly fascinating.

This is not our first meeting. The spider dragged it out of the Black Egg and to my tents. I am more qualified to help deal with injuries wrought in dream than any other and, as loathe as she was to admit it, I was the best option that she had for help. We bandaged it together and she never let her eyes leave mine. She introduced the two of us and when the deed was done, she took it away. I assume to a house in Dirtmouth. I did not ask.

I am not exactly welcome by the locals.

I saw it descend into the well when I was talking to the steeds. I will not lie: I followed out of curiosity for its purpose.

This place must bring back a lot of memories for it. It has, after all, known very little else and every other place that it spent time is long gone.

I let my gaze go up to the Temple. It is carved in the husk of a great void beast and enchanted with seals that, even in their darkened state, are impressive. There are tangled veins of withered, dead infection: brown and mottled instead of the sickly orange-gold that I know was once here. The pustules yet remain, hanging off the building as a macabre reminder of the prisoner’s previous state.

I think that it should not be here. 

My opinion, however, is not one that it has any obligation to listen to.

“What are you doing?” I ask, and I close the distance once I am sure that I have not startled it. I have practice dealing with people who have been badly traumatised. My Troupe is often alluring to individuals of that nature. It is no different in that regard. 

It holds up a stick for me to see and then looks down again. I cannot shake the feeling that the motion is one born of shame. It was supposed to not think or feel, I recall – to be truly empty, to be the perfect shell its sire needed. It is none of those things, and it is embarrassed by that. Hence the weight worn over it, a mantle to be crushed beneath.

I do not understand its meaning. Perhaps I am not meant to.

“Does your sister know that you are here?”

It does not answer. Not in a nod or a headshake, though I am fully aware it is capable of both. It stares instead at the stick in its hand. 

There are rocks beneath its hand on the ground, and they have clearly been moved there from their previous positions.

I know what I am looking at.

“Are you attempting to make a fire?” I ask, my hands lacing together under my cape. When I stand this way, I appear smaller. It is much bigger than I am, but both hunched and crouched, I practically tower over it and there is something in its demeanour that suggests it would rather itself disappear as well. 

A broken thing, the Hollow Knight. 

I am given an answer in the form of a nod and I allow myself to chuckle.

“To burn the Temple?”

Another nod. 

I hold my hand out, then; it is an invitation. 

“How big of a fire would you like?” 

It cocks its head to the side. It does not know if it can trust me. In fact, it probably thinks that it should not. After everything it has been through, I cannot fault it. It does take my hand and let me help it stand and I consider that to be a victory.

Its head inclines toward the building. I cannot see where it is looking, not really, beyond the structure, but my feeling is that it probably…

… wants quite a large one.

Or at least, I would want a very large pyre indeed, if I were confronted with a place that housed my worst memories.

“Stand back, if you please,” I request, and it is obedient: it complies by taking enough steps back that I wonder if it is running. It is not. It watches me.

What kind of performer would I be, if I did not give it a worthy show?

I held my hand above my head and offered it a very satisfying snap. The fire on the building ignited in the same moment: crackling flames, dancing freely up the sides in a scarlet that put my eyes to shame. 

I drop my hand to my side and look back over my shoulder. It creeps closer, until it is at my side, but it is spellbound. I do not need to see its eyes to know that they are trained on the dancing light consuming the shell. Burn. Burn.

“Bigger?” I ask and I smile. It nods without looking my way and I curve my wrist; I pull my fingers closer and the roar of the flames becomes louder yet still.

The shell is strong. It is not particularly vulnerable to heat and yet with enough effort –

I heard it crack. I heard the top of the shell – the de facto roof, really – cave in and embers fell into the middle chambers. From there, it was only a matter of time until the inferno took hold.

“There is catharsis in saying goodbye to the things that have caused us pain,” I tell it and it does not look at me. I move over to the side, so that I am close enough to touch, and then lean my head over to rest against its side. “I would be your friend, if you would allow me.”

It does not look at me. I did not expect it to.

I also did not expect its hand to snake down and lace its fingers with mine, but it does: it curls them into the spaces where mine are.

I smile wider. With my free hand, I coax the flames to dance ever higher for it to watch. They crackle and offer a very satisfying pop.

It will not take long to burn it to ash.

I will stay with it until then. I have ever loved having a rapt audience. 

[ladylynse]

Dipper x janna

Eyes part 3 word :curse

I actually didn't write part 3 of this fic, mostly because I try not to do more than one direct continuation of a particular fic because I don't want to write a story in three sentence chunks. (At that point, I typically only continue them as part of an exchange or a thank you or a giveaway or whatnot. Sometimes an idea will get into my head and I'll write something, but I've been beating those ideas back with a stick because I am desperately trying to finish up some of my ongoing WIPs.)

However, there's plenty that can be done with 'eyes' and 'curse' as a prompt, so.... Have another take on the idea. Variations on a theme are always fun, aren't they?

-|-

Janna blinked, but the apparition—seemingly little more solid than a fading rainbow and just as translucent—did not obligingly vanish; instead, the girl grinned as she noticed Janna’s gaze and rose from her makeshift seat on the edge of the tombstone.

“I’d say welcome to the club,” she drawled, “but you don’t want to be part of this club, because the benefits stink more than Dipper’s feet in the morning.”

Janna glanced at Dipper, who was completely oblivious to all of this as he frowned down at the page of his spell book, and was about to open her mouth to ask questions when the ghostly girl continued, “We’ve got three days before the curse claims you and you stop seeing remnants and fade to join me in limbo, but I want to get out of it and back to you guys before that happens, so I’ll start by telling you what didn’t work for me and then we can figure out how to tell Dipper I’m not any more dead than Grunkle Ford ever was.”

-|-

see more fics | crossovers 

[primalvessel]

@confluxium liked for something shippy so I had to write our boys i love them so much holy shit.

The soft patter of bare feet, the thud of their weapons meeting, heavy breathing and the soft swish of their clothing. A flurry of motion and the Miqo'te let out a grunt, dropped his lance and then his lover was above him, weapon at his throat.

The Miqo'te's tail lashed beneath him, his expression one of acute frustration and when Safiri extended a hand to help him up once more, Maru swatted it away and got up under his own power.

"No!" he snapped, tail lashing. "I can do it."

The room was sparse but for the pair of them as they trained, intent on building the feline back up to the point that he could compensate for the partial absence of sight. And over and over again, Maru failed to keep a blow from landing on his blind side.

After hitting the floor one more time, he lay there, breathing heavily and refused to rise again.

When it became clear that the Miqo'te was done, Firi sighed softly and eased himself to the ground beside the downtrodden feline and reached for one of Maru's hands to gently touch their fingers.

For several, long, silent minutes, Maru just lay there and caught his breath. Singular gaze on the ceiling, he was glad for it when Safiri didn't push for anything further.

Eventually Maru rolled onto his side, towards his lover and buried his face Safiri's hip, fingers digging into the fabric of the shorts the Hyur was wearing. He felt his lover's fingers slide into his hair and begin to scritch and in response, his breathing hitched and left him in a shudder. His grip tightened and he curled tighter against Safiri's side until the Hyur lay with him and curled around him.

They lay like that for a half-bell, more, until Maru was finally ready to face his altered world once more.

[lurking-latinist]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Doctor Who (1963) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: The Doctor & The Doctor's TARDIS Characters: First Doctor (Doctor Who), The Doctor's TARDIS, Susan Foreman Additional Tags: POV TARDIS, Ficlet, Telepathy Summary:

She wanted to see the universe, so she stole a Time Lord and ran away....

[frankenjoly]

Not really like that

yosano & chuuya + “let’s drink wine and trash talk our co-workers”

“Let’s drink wine and trash-talk our coworkers.” Chûya said, as if they hadn’t been drinking for a while already, to which Yosano’s answer was giggling a little.

“But our own or each other’s? ‘Cause I’m betting the next round on how you have a new complaint about Dazai.” Her words made Chûya groan, which evidently confirmed her hunch. Not like it was difficult to guess, though.

“There won’t be a bet, I mean, that bastard manages to make one wanna complain in record time.” After those words, Yosano instantly went from giggling to snorting.

“You’d make great buddies with Kunikida and Sigma, hope you know that.” In their similar reactions to his antics, and in actually and deeply caring about him despite how much tired they claimed to be. But… that may be a conversation for another time, she didn’t want to talk about that while getting drunk; it could either sour things up or make them engage in drunken bickering. Sure, maybe the latter wasn’t necessarily unwelcome, but Yosano would rather have the rambling be about any other topic.

“Ah. Hell if I do.” 

(Also on ao3.)

[eriexplosion]

I do not WANT to do my silly little tasks at work. I want to rotate clones in my mind like half a dozen rotisserie chickens.

Anyway I'm thinking of polybatch again AMA.

[power-chords]

Can you please explain your dialogue theory of fanfiction?

In short, that dialogue, more than anything, makes or breaks a fanfic. What do posts like "He would not fucking say that" and "They would NOT have communication skills that good" have in common? Talk. Characters expressing themselves to one another. The faithful recreation of identifiable speech patterns is weighted heavily in the evaluation of a fic's quality. By "speech patterns" I do not just mean the semantic content of a given character's expression, but idiosyncrasies of style and slang, vocabulary and idiom, even gesture, musicality, and rhythm.

Of course believable dialogue is far from the only thing that makes a good fanfic Good. And there are forms of fic writing, particularly highly abbreviated ones like drabbles and ficlets, that in practice tend to de-emphasize its significance. But if we are talking about the romantic, erotic shippy stuff that is the meat and potatoes of online fandom, dialogue does the heaviest lifting short of the consummation itself. Arguably more so! It's the real keystone to the catharsis, and often the catalyst for it. Is there a confession occurring? A provocation? An evasion or ultimatum? Zoom out, big picture: What is the most potent and fundamental mechanic for developing complexity, tension, and transformation within a relationship, getting it to go from one thing to another? Making these two idiots talk to each other! Often clumsily and indirectly and maladaptively, at the worst possible time and in the worst possible situation, about anything or everything but what they should be — but talk they usually do.

What makes fanfic specifically so challenging and rewarding in this regard is that the talking is as much a feat of translation as invention, because both reader and writer are working off an existing model. Liberties taken with plot, form, and even narrative voice have wider buffer zones; you can get creative with circumventing the events of canon while still conforming to its emotional and substantive essence.

But the training wheels come off the moment you open your mouth to speak in another character's voice. And man, nothing will break a reader's immersion quite like he would not fucking say that.