#the urge to write a ficlet based on this

[meroshrine]

behold greenflower but theyre in my ninjago movie au

Lloyd found a stick bug and wanted to show it to Brad (he doesn't know Brad is scared of insects)

[forlorn-crows]

Oh Crow, may I humbly submit a ficlet request? Please, please, please could I please have a ficlet about Mountain shedding his antlers. -Ghoulette Anon

@ghouletteanon it has become apparent to me that every time im sad, i write about creechur mountain being sad. hmmm, will i ever unpack that?

Every year, without fail. He should know what to expect by now, but every time it’s like pulling teeth. Shedding almost adds insult to injury, always immediately following the earth ghoul’s seasonal (usually taxing) rut. It starts with a dull ache that radiates from the base of his horns all the way through to his temples. Much like a headache that refuses to ebb, it’s a steady pressure that blooms at any time of day and doesn’t stop until the shed is over. After a few days, the itching starts—sharp and insistent, a need barely satiated even by the deepest reach of quintessence. The sensation nearly drove him insane the very first time and had him pressing his horns to the stone abbey walls until the sound of cracking marrow filled his ears. He was inconsolable the moment he saw himself in the reflection of the nearby window panes, eyes wild and red-rimmed, hair knotted around the bases of two freshly-shorn off horns. He looked bald, for lack of a better term. Juvenile. Wrong. 

Mountain’s used to it now, after many years. Even with the playful teasing from his packmates. He admits he does look a little funny until the regrowth starts. It’s all worth it when he gets their undivided attention when the velvet forms, the soft and addicting texture keeping them coming back to pet and caress him, rubbing their cheeks against his horns like kittens.

This shed though? This shed has him wanting to flee to the woods and never come back. Immediately within the first forty-eight hours, his right horn dropped. Which would be a relief if the pain hadn’t migrated to the left and lingered, the damned thing refusing to drop for three days. It’s the fourth day now, and Mountain sits slumped over at the kitchen counter, throbbing head buried in his arms. The cool of the granite helps some, but the itching sensation makes his ears twitch and his claws dig into his own arms. 

“Are we still a unicorn today, big guy?” Dew’s voice is surprisingly quiet, but grating nonetheless.

“Leave me alone,” Mountain groans, tightening the grip of his arms around his ears. Thankfully, there’s no retort from the fire ghoul. Mountain grumbles through another wave of itchiness, fighting the urge to grind his forehead into the edge of the counter. 

“Do you want coffee or tea or anything?” Dew asks softly somewhere in front of his head. He hears the little ghoul rummage around in the cabinets, followed by the clink of two mugs being set on the counter. 

Mountain shifts his head slightly to peek at him over his arm. Dew looks at him expectantly, but not impatiently. If he squints hard enough, he can see the concern start to furrow his brow. “Tea,” he rasps. Dew doesn’t have to ask what kind, he knows. 

“‘Kay,” he says easily. He fills one of the mugs with water, a chunky beige one that Mountain frequently uses. Dew plucks a teabag from the tin, the scent of orange peel and chai already wafting over. 

Mountain hums approvingly, but the sound quickly becomes another groan as the itching sensation grows. His ears pin back low and he grabs frustratingly at his scalp. 

“Can I help?” Dew asks in a small voice.

“Don’t touch me,” Mountain snaps. He immediately regrets it, seeing the way the fire ghoul flinches. “Sorry, I didn’t mean—”

“It’s okay,” Dew reassures him. “You’re hurting.” He reaches out his hands across the counter, palms up, beckoning Mountain to inch forward. The earth ghoul lifts his head with great difficulty and shuffles close enough for Dew to take his head in his hands. Mountain winces when his fingers roam his face and move towards the base of his horns. 

Dew traces the outline of the one already shorn. “Does this one hurt?” Mountain makes a noise in the back of his throat, not daring to shake his head no. “Just this one then,” Dew answers for him. 

“Yeah. Kinda want to just yank it off at this point,” Mountain says sadly. The fire ghoul frames the base of the still-attached horn with both of his hands, pressing feather-light. A slow bloom of warmth begins to radiate from his fingertips, seeping right into his skull beneath the pedicle. 

“Oh,” Mountain chokes out; the heat relieves the gnawing itch almost immediately, leaving only hints of a dull irritation. He has to catch his head in his own hands, the weight of it increasing ten-fold as his eyelids droop with the sudden onslaught of relief. “That is . . . so much better,” the earth ghoul practically purrs, tipping his head further into Dew’s hands. 

“I’m glad,” Dew smiles. He removes one of his hands briefly to slide the mug in front of Mountain, dropping the tea bag in and wrapping his hands around the pottery. The earth ghoul trills happily when the smell of simmering spices fill his nostrils, Dew’s fire quickly bringing the brew to life. Steam soon caresses his face, bringing with it its relaxing aroma. 

Dew shifts the mug slightly closer and removes his hand. “Don’t faceplant into it,” he teases. He moves to take his other hand from Mountain’s head, but the taller ghoul lets out a low growl in protest. “Okay, okay,” Dew laughs, “a little longer.”

[gaslightgallows]

September 2023 Writing Round-Up

I just checked my tags, and I haven't done one of these since… three years ago. Exactly three years ago yesterday (9/29/20), to be precise. Which was pretty much when my mental health and my personal life started to crumble in earnest, and it took my desire to write for public consumption along with it.

Most of what I did for the rest of 2020/2021 were either struggling to finish works in progress (and largely failing) or archiving stuff from my LJ days. I didn't post anything in 2022. I was still writing (a lot) but it was either for Patreon (…fuck, right, I have a Patreon) or it was personal, not meant to be shared.

And then Good Omens came back and ended up being really fucking relevant to my life, and @meldanya44 was there urging me to get back into writing for other people besides her. I think it was a good idea, over all. ♥

So… yeah. Thanks, Good Omens fandom, for reminding me that writing is meant to be shared, and that I am a prompt-based lifeform. (I'll be putting up a new prompt list tomorrow, if anyone wants an artisanally crafted bespoke ficlet of their very own.)

Anyway, here's what I did in September:

Authorial Intent (G, one-shot): Michael’s plan to erase Aziraphale from the Book of Life has certain… flaws. A revision of the final season of S2 Ep6, where the Metatron does not make an appearance. (Actually posted at the end of August but this is my list and it counts. Written very shortly after I finished S2 for the first time. Effervescing with joy.)

Put Out the Stars (T, currently a one-shot, planning to continue): Crowley stole the photo of himself and Aziraphale from the shop a long time ago. (Inspired by one of @fellshish's asks. Angst angst angst… with more to come!)

An Invisible Wound (T, one-shot): “I almost killed you tonight.” “I almost got you killed tonight.” Their first kiss, soft and futile, is in 1941. (Bittersweet canon-compliant 1941 truthers unite.)

After the Rain (T, one-shot; for @meldanya44): The Second Coming has come and gone, and Crowley was calling him ‘angel’ again. (Wonderful quiet post-series fluff.)

Like Petals in a Storm (M, currently a standalone but working on a sequel; for @meldanya44): Between the discorporation and the almost-execution, Aziraphale’s having a bit of trouble keeping body and soul together. (My reputation-mandated 'one partner helps another bathe' fic.)

The Taste of Salt (G, one-shot; for @iamhisgloriouspurpose): The lingering taste of ox ribs are bitter and rich in Aziraphale's mouth, and he isn't sure what he believes anymore. (Continues the 'I'm not taking you to Hell, angel' scene in the Ep2 minisode. Nice and angsty. No one seems to like this one and I'm not sure why.)

Pipe Dream (G, one-shot; for @unwholesome-gay): All Aziraphale has ever wanted is to give heaven back to Crowley. (Domestic fluff about Aziraphale buying the South Downs cottage for Crowley. Fun fact: I struggled to write this and finally posted it in dismay and tried to forget about it. And then my inbox exploded with HEARTS, so I guess it wasn't as bad as I thought.)

The Patience of Angels, Chs 1-4 (M, multi-chapter WIP): An old enemy is on the hunt for the demon known as Crowley, and it will take all the powers of one very protective angel to save him. But in keeping Crowley safe, Aziraphale will uncover more of the terrible truths of Heaven than he ever wanted to know. (The longfic I first conceived of in 2019 and then never got around to finishing enough to post, and am now trying to revise the HELL out of in real-time because the original version doesn't work anymore. I love this fic with a burning passion and hope it finds an audience someday… which it probably will if I can update it, y'know, more often than once a month…)

Fics Posted: 8 Word Count: 28,182

I'm never going to be as prolific as I was when I was in the MCU fandom and had a much less-hectic job, but I'd call that a decent comeback. Thanks, everyone. ♥

[awkwardtickleetoo]

hello everyone!!

so a little while ago mushie made a concept most centered around sap’s thighs/hips with small hcs of what george, dream, and karl would each do if they had access to them, and i decided to write small little ficlets/drabbles about those concepts!!

the george one is abut 750 words, the dream one is about 780 words, and the karl one is actually exactly 1.1k words because… i simply cannot help myself when it comes to karlnap i must write for forever with them im sorry i must

based on this post from @mushiewrites

enjoy!!

------

(lee!sapnap with ler!george)

“NOHOHOHO!” Sapnap’s shrill scream rang against the walls of George’s office, falling on deaf ears despite his efforts to get through to his assailant. “GEOHOHORGE, STOHOP–” He demanded, though the desperation of his raspy laughter made him sound significantly less threatening than he’d hoped for.

“Hmmm… nah,” George denied, grabbing Sapnap’s hips when he threw his body to the side. “Nope! I’m not done with you yet, you little idiot.” He lightly scolded, harshly pulling Sapnap back towards him and digging his thumbs into the crease of his hips and thighs. Sapnap squealed, his hands flying forward from where they were yanking at George’s wrists, grabbing onto his forearms to steady himself.

“WHYHYHYHY!?” Sapnap replied, still just as confused about his situation as he was when the attack started– barely two minutes prior, when he knocked on George’s bedroom door and pushed it open after receiving a text from the older man asking for his help with a project.

It only took a few seconds of him being in the room for George to act on his sudden crazed urge to destroy him. Before Sapnap knew it, George’s hands were latched onto his hips, squeezing around the bones, over his upper thighs, and now, digging harshly into the spot where his hips and thighs met with a special kind of cruelty Sapnap had been the victim of many times before at the hands of the elder, reserved for when he truly wanted Sapnap to suffer.

“WHAHAHAT– whahat dihihihid I DOHOHO?!” Sapnap continued when he was given no response, feeling his knees grow weaker the longer George’s stupid thumbs kept digging into such an incredibly sensitive spot.

“What did you do? Oh, nothing. I just haven’t tortured you like this in a while, I’m worried you’re forgetting your place,” George explained casually, as if he was just explaining what he had for breakfast that morning, and Sapnap could feel his mind reeling at the response, his breath catching in his throat and making him feel dizzy.

“WHAHAT– thehe f-FUHUHUCK–“ Sapnap struggled, in disbelief at what he was hearing. His hands jumped down to George’s wrists again, before he felt his knees give out on him entirely and buckle underneath him. He whined through this laughter when he felt himself falling, grabbing onto George’s shoulders in an attempt to keep himself standing, but George wasn’t about to let him off that easily.

He took a small step forward, leaning more into Sapnap, and he suddenly shot his hands up to his sides to give two quick squeezes. George returned to drilling into his previous spot immediately after, but the squeeze worked exactly as he intended it to and nearly folded Sapnap in half. He yelped once again, jerking forward into George, losing his footing and sinking down to the ground. George followed him down, even as he fell onto his back and curled his legs to his chest, worming his hands in between his thighs and hips to continue his cruel, merciless digging.

“NAHAHAHA! GEOHOHORGE, PLEHEHEHEASE!” Sapnap begged, shaking his head wildly, pulling desperately with unsteady hands at George’s wrists, one last helpless attempt to get him to relent and stop the borderline evil tickling technique.

He could feel his chest burning with every breath he took, his lungs begging for air, begging for a break, begging for any kind of reprieve, but that feeling never came. He could feel the tears welling up in his eyes, even as he kept them squeezed shut, and he could feel how red and hot his face was from how hard he was laughing.

“PLEHEHEASE– OKAHAHAY! OKAHAY, OHOKAY, MEHEHERCYHY, PLEHEASE!” Sapnap conceded, hitting George’s forearm with the tips of his fingers rapidly to get him to pay attention. George giggled above him, pulling his hands away from the smaller man’s hips and resting them gently on his knees while he caught his breath. After what felt like hours of recovery, he asked, “Whahahat… whahat the fuhuhuck… was thahat fohohohor…”

“It wasn’t for anything. I already told you that, stupid. I just felt like destroying you,” George explained, just as casually as he had the first time. Sapnap groaned again, trailing off into a whine at the end, slamming his hands over his face and curling up on his side. George giggled again, sitting cross legged on the floor and rubbing his hand up and down Sapnap’s back to help soothe him through his residual giggles as he calmed himself down from the torture he’d been put through.

------

(lee!sapnap with ler!dream)

“Dreheam!” Sapnap giggled, feeling the butterflies rise up in his chest as he pressed his back into the wall behind him. He pinched his elbows into his sides, his fingers still curled up into fists, prepared to reach out for Dream’s wrists at any time. His shoulders stayed tense as well, and he shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut through his happy giggles. “Drehehe– thihihi– yohou–“

“What’s wrong?” Dream asked, voice low and teasing, rumbling through both of their chests and vibrating against the inside of Sapnap’s ribcage due to the way Dream was looming over him and leaning into his space. Sapnap giggled again, tensing his arms more, pressing himself further against the wall.

“Juhuhust–!” Sapnap protested further, his hands finally shooting forward and gripping harshly onto Dream’s forearms when the taller man rested his knee in between Sapnap’s thighs. The smaller man gasped, his eyes shooting down to the offending limb, forced to stand up on his toes as Dream pushed his thighs further out. “Dr- Dreheheam! Stohohohop! Let- lehet me dohown!”

“I can’t! It’s not my fault you’re so tiny!” Dream defended, making Sapnap gawk at him in disbelief before falling into sudden bright giggles as hands found their way back to his hips, squeezing just above the bones. Dream giggled along with him, looking down at him fondly as Sapnap continued to let out squeaks and strained chuckles the more Dream’s long fingers curled and squeezed around his hips.

“I– ah! Ihihit’s nohot like ihit’s my– hehe– fahahault ei-eitheher–!”

“Shhh,” Dream interrupted Sapnap’s response, making Sapnap scrunch up his nose and shake his head through his laughter. “I’m busy.”

“Y-yohohou ahare noho-OHOT– NOHO, DREHEHEAM!” Sapnap’s laughter grew much more frantic when Dream yanked his arms out of Sapnap’s grip and reached down to pinch and scratch at his inner thighs, Sapnap moved his hands to Dream’s shoulders, needing some way to steady himself so he didn’t lose his balance completely. “DREHEAM, stohohop! Nohoho, oh my gohohod, Dreheam, dohohon’t!” Sapnap pleaded, looking up at Dream in a last ditch effort to reason with him.

The smirk he was met with in response told him all he needed to know.

“Too late, I’ve already started,” Dream said with a smile, leaning in to speak closer to Sapnap just as he had done earlier, his voice still rumbling through Sapnap’s bones, making his chest feel just about as rattled as if someone had dumped a box of rainbow sprinkles inside his body.

“Nohoho, Dreheam, nohohoho!” Sapnap whined, protesting more frantically now, but letting himself fall forward to press his face into Dream’s shoulder when the pinching fingers and scratching nails returned to his thighs. He attempted to close his legs, to squeeze his thighs together to dislodge the cruel hands, but with Dream’s leg between his it was impossible for him to get anywhere. He was completely trapped, barely able to shift his legs at all, only able to push himself further forward into Dream or backwards into the wall, neither option really assisting him much. “DREHEHEAM! Plehehease, I cahahan’t!” He pleaded, trying to reach one hand down to bat at Dream’s, but finding he would have to lean down too far and almost lose his balance in order to even reach him properly. He settled on burying his face in Dream’s shoulder, gripping his bicep tightly with one hand and resting the other on the knee between his own legs. “Thihihihis is so STUHUPIHIHID!”

“Is it stupid? I think it’s adorable.”

“DREHEHEHEAM!” Dream laughed at his response, but he could hear the strain on his voice and feel the way his squirming– the little amount he could do– was growing more desperate, and he knew it was time to bring this to a close���

…but he really didn’t want to.

So, instead, he slowed his hands down and brought them up to hold Sapnap’s sides, giving him a few seconds to breathe and pulling back his leg so the smaller boy could stand on flat ground again. Then, after he seemed relaxed enough, Dream suddenly leaned down and wrapped his arms around Sapnap’s hips, quickly picking him up off the ground and throwing him over his shoulder.

“OH, FUCK– DREAM?!” Sapnap yelped, grabbing onto Dream’s shoulders for stability, both boys giggling when Sapnap was suddenly thrown onto Dream’s bed, the older boy kneeling between his thighs and looming over him in seconds. “Oh, NO! Dream, no, don’t do anything, I know what you’re planning, don’t do anyth–ING, FUCK, NAHAHAHA–!” He tried to plead, but Dream simply latched his hands back onto Sapnap’s inner thighs, squeezing up and down until the boy was lost in desperate laughter once again.

------

(lee!sapnap with ler!karl)

“I’ll be right back, I have to go make a call really quick,” George began, pushing himself off the couch and walking towards the stairs.

“Bro thinks he’s important,” Sapnap teased in response.

“It’s Dream, idiot.”

“Oh, so bro’s just in love.”

“Bleh,” George mocked, sticking out his tongue and scrunching up his nose as he did so.

“Bleh,” Sapnap bit back, making the older boy smile before he scampered up the stairs. Sapnap chuckled at their behavior, turning to settle back into his spot on the couch.

Whatever Sapnap had expected when he turned around, it was not Karl sitting practically on top of him, his face a few inches away from Sapnap’s. He jumped, not expecting Karl to be that close to him, his eyes widening as he took in Karl’s wide smile and adoring eyes.

“Uh… hi?” Sapnap began, locking his phone and putting it down on his lap.

“Hi, handsome,” Karl said back, his smile widening as his head cocked to the side slightly, offering no additional explanation.

“Uh… whatcha doin’?” He asked in confusion, pulling his legs in, unable to do anything about them being pressed against Karl’s chest.

“Just looking at you.” Karl shifted closer, pressing Sapnap further into the corner of the couch, essentially trapping him there as he rested his hands on Sapnap’s knees and his chin on the back of his hands. Sapnap giggled, feeling a soft blush rise to his cheeks, nervous butterflies fluttering in his tummy, the way they always did when he was around Karl.

“O… kay?” Sapnap questioned, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. Karl moved his hands forward, sliding them up Sapnap’s thighs, pushing the legs of his shorts up and gently trailing his nails over Sapnap’s skin, dragging them up and down, from above his knees to the bottoms of the newly exposed legs of his boxers. He flinched at the feeling, giggling nervously. “Hehehey, wha–what is thahahat fohor?”

“Just wanna,” Karl explained unhelpfully, giggling as Sapnap bit his lip and looked anywhere but at Karl. “I like when you get all nervous like this. It’s cute. You don’t get like this with anyone else.”

“Ihihihi– thahaha–” Sapnap giggled, and he had no doubt his face was bright red with how much it was burning. His knees pushed further against Karl’s chest, but Karl only used this to his advantage, forming his hands into more firm claw shapes and scratching his nails more deliberately, over the tops and outsides of his thighs. Sapnap gasped, jumping at the new sensation, his toes curling against the couch cushion underneath him as he let out a soft whimper. “Ihihit’s juhuhust ‘cahause it's yohou…” He said, his voice growing whiny at the end, feeling the cogs in his brain turning slower as Karl clouded his mind with warmth and fogginess.

“Yeah?” Karl questioned, chuckling softly as Sapnap nodded. “Well, aren’t you just the cutest little thing ever?” Karl teased, earning a groan from the boy in front of him.

“Okahayyy, shuhuhut uhuhup, thahat’s enohough from yohohou,” Sapnap protested with a dramatic eye roll, pushing up against the couch to try and get himself out of the corner he was trapped in, but Karl seemed to have other plans. Suddenly, there were hands attached to the tops of his thighs once more, now squeezing up and down the length of them and migrating up towards his hips. Sapnap’s jumping and flinching increased heavily, his legs shaking under Karl’s hands, one hand reaching out to Karl’s arm for support and the other coming up to cover part of his face. “NAHA– Kahaharl, nohohoho!” Sapnap shook his head as he protested, and Karl looked at him with wide eyes and a smile– an expression Sapnap barely caught through the half-second or eye contact he gave Karl before looking away again.

“This is good, isn’t it, angel?” Karl asked, making Sapnap whine again. He pushed further, pressing in just enough for Sapnap to feel it once he reached the junction between his hips and thighs. Sapnap squealed and jumped, sliding down the couch slightly, throwing his head back against the pillows and squeezing his eyes shut. “Oh, that’s a bad spot for you, sweet boy, I know it is.”

“SHUHUHUT UHUHUP?!” Sapnap complained, reaching down to pull at Karl’s wrists when they squeezed there a few more times before moving up to the spot above his hips. “NOHOHO, Kahaharl, plehehehease!” Sapnap pleaded, jolting again, pushing himself against the back of the couch enough to tilt the hat on his head to the side.

Karl pulled his hands back and broke into laughter himself, resting his hands on the sides of Sapnap’s thighs again and leaning his forehead against his knees. Both boys were lost in hysterical laughter for what felt like hours, leaning in to each other and catching their breaths only to fall into more giggles seconds later. Sapnap threw his hands over his face, hiding his blush as much as he could, until Karl softly pulled his wrists down to uncover his face again.

“Nohoho, Karl–” Sapnap whined, but he kept his hands away when Karl let them go to fix the boy's hat for him. He giggled again, biting his lip as he looked up at Karl. “Thahank you…” He said bashfully, sliding himself back up so sit cross-legged in his original position in the couch.

“Of course, cutie. Gotta make sure my little man is all happy,” Karl said as he cupped Sapnap’s blushing face, and Sapnap’s smile grew wide enough to scrunch up his face as he giggled again.

“Are you guys done being annoying now? Is it safe for me to sit down again?” A voice came from behind them, and both boys whipped around to see George standing at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, shoulder against the wall as if he’d been waiting a while.

“H-how much did you see?” Sapnap asked, feeling the embarrassment creep in again, only slightly calming when Karl’s hand began to play with the hair in the back of his head to soothe him.

“Enough,” George said as he walked over and plopped himself down on the couch. “All I’ll say is that I found that spot first. So I'm winning,” He finished, casually taking out his phone and scrolling like nothing had just happened. Sapnap whined, leaning forward and hiding his face in Karl’s neck, throwing his arms around his waist and pulling him in close. Karl giggled, wrapping his arms around Sapnap as well, continuing to play with his hair as they both relaxed back into the couch.

[unclewaynemunson]

Hi!!! I have mildly reigned in my Clarkson music thoughts:

I think Wayne would be pretty set in his ways with the music he likes. Country, bluegrass, folk music. All very acoustic-based. Lots of lyrics about travelling and wandering. Songs that are probably very sad too.

Some musicians: early Bob Dylan, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, Patsy Cline, Gram Parsons/The Byrds, James Taylor.

He’d be pretty chuffed at the idea of a bunch of his faves forming The Travelling Willburys. They released their first album in 1988 (which Eddie buys him).

I don’t know why I’m envisioning Scott as liking a lot of female singer-songwriters from the 70s and that’s where there would be an overlap with Wayne’s music tastes. Like Wayne loves learns that Scott likes Emmylou Harris and Linda Ronstadt. He likes Carol King and Joni Mitchell the most.

Buuut I also think Scott would be into more contemporary stuff for the time, considering he’s a middle school teacher so he overhears a lot of music talk and has needed to confiscate a Walkman or two in his time!

Talking Heads, Peter Gabriel. I could totally see him liking the techo-whatever (I don’t know music terms) of groups like Devo too.

I'm now resisting the strong urge to write a ficlet of Scott making Wayne a mixtape!

Anyway, I'll stop. Hope this was okay 💖

Okay so it took me a while until i actually had time to answer this with the attention it deserves but THANK YOU I LOVE EVERYTHING ABOUT THIS. I will now be obsessively thinking about Scott giving Wayne a mixtape bc holy shit that is the most adorable thing ever i am screaming into my pillow!!! He'd be all embarrassed about it like "i know it's something silly that all my middle schoolers do but those songs made me think of you and i wanted to share them with you" (idk if they're already officially together or still in that awkward are-we-dating-or-not phase but eddie would be watching this interaction from the couch like 👀👀👀👀👀👀 and tease wayne about it for the next 100 years. i would devour any fic about this tbh)

And i'm so glad you agree with me about Wayne being a James Taylor sad country bluegrass man! I can also definitely picture them listening to Joni Mitchell together i love that for them <3 There are for sure some artists in this list that i'm gonna have to check out, so thank you so much for sending me so many great and well thought out ideas ily! <333

[caityjay13]

First, Best

I want @orchisailsa to know I am sharing this explicitly because of her tags on that post where I mentioned I was writing this but this bit has been scrapped (along with the first 2k of words that fell out of my brain when I was first gripped by the Urge of this particular wip) but I really like it so I wanted to share it. Will probably throw it up on AO3 eventually, but for now, have a random SNW-based, ADHD Jim snippet.

Ficlet beneath the cut!

When Captain Pike accepted a position with the admiralty, everyone expected that his first officer would take command of the Enterprise. No one could have been more surprised than James Kirk himself to receive the offer.

“Sir,” he began, still trying to school his features from whatever gobsmacked expression they must have taken. Jim had been finalizing the next month’s duty rosters in his quarters on the Farragut when Pike had called. He glanced down at the PADDs strewn across his desk and tried to wrap his mind around how drastically his life was about to change. Maybe. Probably? Again. He cleared his throat and looked back up at the man on the screen, waiting patiently with an amused quirk to his mouth that Jim entirely failed to notice. “Don’t get me wrong,” he continued, “I would be… hugely honored—thrilled, really—but…”

“You’re gonna ask about Una,” Pike interrupted, saving Jim from his uncharacteristic scramble for words. “Don’t worry. We talked about it, and she agrees with me. She’s actually planning on taking command of the La Palma—said she liked whipping cadets and hopeful up-and-coming XOs into shape, wanted a change of pace from deep space missions.” Pike’s smirk spread into a grin as he watched Jim’s forehead crease with the effort of processing this information. “And I’ve already floated the idea past your captain, who would be sorry to lose you, but agreed that you’d be a great fit for the position.”

Jim blinked. Looked back down at the PADDs on his desk. When had all this communication happened? He’d only been First Officer of the Farragut for five years—six? six years, wow—and now… Jim had dreamed of commanding the flagship, certainly, but his first command? He’s not even thirty-five! Sam would have a field day. Oh, shit, would he have to be his brother’s commanding officer? Sam had been thinking about settling down somewhere, so that might not be a problem—

“James.”

Jim’s head jerked up. He tugged at his uniform and smoothed out his face, which had flushed with embarrassment at being caught spiraling. “Sorry, sir. Thank you, sir. I would be. I think. I mean, yes. I would be honored.”

Pike chuckled in that disarming way he had. “At ease, Commander. You deserve it. Besides,” he continued, “it’s not like the change will happen overnight.”

“Of course, sir,” Jim nodded. He was still running through scenarios and possibilities in his head.

“Jim,” Pike’s expression had sobered somewhat. Jim focused on him intently, trying to shut out the noise in his mind. “Do you believe in fate?”

The unexpected question brought all the spinning gears in Jim’s head to an abrupt halt. Though he gave it due consideration, he didn’t have to think long before knowing his answer.

“In all honestly, no, sir, I do not.”

The image of Captain Pike in the viewscreen gave an enigmatic smile. “Neither do I,” he said. “Though I think, if you don’t mind my saying so, that this may be your destiny.”

[chrismerle]

came up with a couple OCs on a whim, decided to use them for writing one shots/super short fiction. they are not going to be written or posted in any sort of chronological order or on any sort of schedule, and many of them will be inspired by prompts I find or am given. I don't describe what either of them look like in any detail in this ficlet, and I plan on doing that in another ficlet so I won't fully describe them here, but to help with your imagination: Ragnarok is basically Frankenstein's vaguely-reptilian centaur creature while Adam is, like, an anime-style dog man. Frankensteinian horror paired with Just Some Guy with dog ears slapped on top. anyway, this one is set pretty early in their story chronology, but not quite the BEGINNING. it's based loosely on the prompt 'I had to be brave or else I wouldn’t be the only one affected.' editing consists solely of me rereading it once while distracted by Youtube.

Adam hasn’t really spoken since they got back to Ragnarok’s flat. Ragnarok knows he can—he did a bit as Ragnarok pulled him out of his call, and he bit out a few words in the glimpses of Alabaster’s strange little show-and-tell Ragnarok managed to steal—but his words have all dried up for now.

Instead, he’s sitting on the floor, huddled in the corner. Ordinarily, Ragnarok might assume it’s because none of his furniture was chosen with bipedalism in mind, but not just now. Just now, he’s pretty sure Adam is just trying to pretend the world isn’t so big.

Ragnarok leaves him to it and putters around his daily routine, as if it had never been interrupted and as if that interruption isn’t watching him from the corner with eerie, wolf-like eyes. Ragnarok feels those eyes on him the entire evening.

Eventually, with the flat still smothered in silence, Ragnarok climbs onto the couch and falls asleep. It takes a bit longer than usual; falling asleep is a bit strange when he knows there’s someone else there, silent but staring. Even so, sleep does eventually creep over him, restless and uncomfortable though it is.

When he wakes up the next morning, Adam is still watching him.

“Why did you get me out?” Adam asks abruptly, the words pushed out in a rush the second Ragnarok shows any signs of life.

“G’morning to you, too,” Ragnarok grumbles, mentally beating back the urge to exclaim, ‘He speaks!’

“Someone had to,” he replies once it’s apparent Adam isn’t going to say anything else until he has an answer, “and it certainly wasn’t going to be Alabaster.”

“But no one actually had to, is the thing,” Adam says, and it turns out today he has all of the words. “I wasn’t hidden. He paraded me around in public; it was a key part of his advertising. Either it wasn’t illegal, or he was so sure he could hide any illegal aspects as to render them irrelevant.” He tips his head to the side, canine ears finally partially standing up from where they were hidden in his hair. “So, no, someone didn’t have to help.”

Adam doesn’t re-ask his question, but it’s still pretty obviously hovering in the air between them, hanging heavily enough that Ragnarok can’t justify ignoring it.

“Sometimes our decisions don’t just impact us,” Ragnarok reasons. “Once I knew you existed, any choice I made to not get involved would also necessarily involve you.” He shrugs and finally climbs down from the couch, four sets of talons settling on the carpet. “Sometimes you’ve gotta be brave because you don’t want the alternative on your conscience.”

Ragnarok waits for a moment, but Adam just regards him in skeptical silence, disbelieving but nevertheless all talked out. Ragnarok gets it, though. It was a lot when he first got out, too.

He heads into his tiny kitchen, leaving Adam still curled in the corner. Ragnarok supposes he’ll need to actually order some regular chairs finally.

[birlwrites]

2023 writing roundup!

i did this last year, so here i am attempting to make this a tradition. once again, i'm basing this on ao3 because i don't want to go through all my documents looking at timestamps of edits lol. it's been a year of a lot of changes in my life, but the one thing that always stays the same? FANFICTION

here's what i did this year:

posted the follow-up getting-together chapter of sun and shadow, my soft regulus-centric pjo au

got even more niche than rosewater with a sirius/barty ficlet in which they run into each other when they're both out after curfew

wrote a rosewater fake dating AU in a week when i definitely should have been working on a final essay

got into seer regulus for the first time with let me living die

started a messy ex-death-eater-regulus and healer!sirius first war fic featuring regulus who survives the cave and inadvertently reveals himself as a traitor in the process

brief diversion into another fandom with another installment in my 'jean and andrew are roommates, neil lives across the hall' series for AFTG

got more into seer regulus with lachrimae (5 chapters posted, 16 drafted!)

continued digging myself deeper re: niche ships with a sirius/barty 5+1 companion fic to evocatio, because why not

and finally… continued writing ttdl! i've posted a little more than 100k words on that this year, bringing the total to a little over 250k, not counting the prologue. goddamn

right now, i'm in a marathon session of 'trying to finish lachrimae,' and ttdl will probably be on a hiatus until that happens because i'm on a roll - after that, i'll start posting lachrimae updates on a weekly basis and keep chugging along with ttdl!

in 2024: keeping up with ttdl and lachrimae, perhaps finally writing that wedding fic in the promise of series, more ykiybtib when the urge strikes, and probably a return to original fiction - i have something in mind that i want to start when i finish lachrimae, as it seems that i can kind of hold 2 long stories in my mind at a time. if you like my hp stuff, and especially if you like let me living die and lachrimae, i think you'll like this story ajlgshkjdf - it'll mess around a lot with the question of 'if you love someone so much that you reset time to undo their death, what happens afterward?'

i'm sure i'll write more random ficlets as well, and we'll see where the year takes us - perhaps i'll even finish ttdl and move on to the next fic in the series!!

[anjelicawrites]

Should I fight the urge to write a ficlet based on this quote from the movie Labyrinth? "I ask for so little. Just fear me. Love me. Do as I ask, and I shall be your slave", for Aemond?

[orcelito]

OK so I have an inkling of an idea for a trigun ficlet. A one-shot, really. Not really any plot, but I just have the urge to write my own interpretation of Weird Plant Shit. Like for how much ppl tag this stuff as xeno, most of it's honestly pretty tame. Which kinda makes sense, considering a lot of this is being based off of the plants in stampede, which While uncanny are not NEARLY the amount of inherent horror of the plants in the manga. There's some FREAKY shit going on there. So like. You know. What if I took more inspiration from That for Vash's freaky shit?

[suppuration]

DVD commentary ask! First thing that came to mind for me.

-

The problem wasn't that Kevin had woken up half covered in fur.

The problem was that Kevin was missing an eye. That woke him up real good. More asymmetry. Swell.

Hard smells filled the entire stretch of the tunnel, a bouquet of cold surfaces, jagged corners, hard edges. Objects that, even from the other side of the space, smelled coarse, smelled polished. Stuffy, prickly organic sterility. Never before had he just felt like the place was filled with useless, crowded junk. He felt like he was suffocating, and sat up, drawing in a good solid few breaths, only for the sensation he was hallucinating to evaporate before he could fully process it.

At least this one's got some muscle, he thought to himself. The relief remained only temporarily, when he noticed his nose was also gone. But he'd inhaled through more than just his mouth. A large, clawed hand aped about the left side of his face and he palpated several slits. His sense of smell could see the hand as he pawed at himself. So that's what this thing's good for, he thought. Mangy mutt. But then the slits seemed more like flaps, and his pinky finger traced one only to dip underneath it.

Oh, the things he suffered through, as his body sought equilibrium amid the supersaturation of energy from that weird watch. In exploring what he'd woken with, he was equal parts comfortable and disgusted. The compound of olfactory perception and ocular vision was more disorienting than trying to process the smells in the first place, like having in one contact lens except worse. Ultimately he wished the mutation had taken both eyes, if it was going to take any. He squinted shut his one, useless eye and took in cyclical, rhythmic breaths, snuffled attempts to adjust to the sheer sensory depth as he groped about the living space. He could smell everything.

A series of urges lit a wanderlust in him, and he investigated the tunnel further down the way. The darkness no longer impeded his exploration. Restless. Destructive physical energy. Need to bite things. Chew. He rested onto all fours, and despite the disparity of the length of his limbs, he fell effortlessly into a sweeping gait, the mutated arm bearing the body weight. Run. Swing. Man, this thing was fast. And strong. Getting his heart pumping like this was great.

But he halted. He could feel his toenails scraping the insides of his boots. The alien energy must not have been done. The dream he'd been having must have woken him up in the midst of the changes setting in. He kicked off the boots and left them where he'd stopped, and ran his hands over his knees and ankles, seeing he'd gotten digitigrade legs again. Free.

And he sprinted off again like he was possessed, tongue hanging out in delirious bliss. When they weren't completely psychologically destroying him, the mutations made him feel alive, truly alive, surges of raw power. Maybe this wave would be the first full shift, and it would grip him completely.

I keep forgetting you have this series saved sdfsf <3 For those who hadn't seen it, the ficlet accompanies this pic:

What I was thinking when I wrote it: I tried to encapsulate with each TF sequence the full sensory experience, and balance that against the mental toll it caused.

Why I wrote it in the first place: I liked Kevin's whole deal, but I really wanted to explore what it must've been like for him each time he experienced another of the alien mutations. We only really see Tetramand and Pyronite, and then the chimeric mashup.

What's going on in Kevin's head: He's experienced several different alien forms prior to this point, but this one's not making him miserable. It's weird, but not bad.

Context against the larger body of work: I had originally planned to write out snippets for all ten base aliens. A few S2-4 aliens seemed like they'd be fun to write for him, too. But, I think I only ended up doing three or four before I hit an unrelated bad headspace and dropped the project.

Awful puns: Well, for starters, it's called "Little Snot."

And so on: Uhh. 1. Vulpimancer was not originally one of my fav 10!OG, but doing this piece gave me an appreciation for the race. 2. The olfactory input description was inspired by one of my favorite passages in Roadside Picnic. When I think "garbage data sensory input," or any other form of inability to process one's senses, I immediately think to that passage.

Thanks for the ask <3 Sorry it took me two weeks to actually reply...!

[gerec]

1, 8, 10, 22, 25!

1. What’s something new that you tried in a fic this year? How did it turn out and would you do it again?

I wrote a new pairing I never would have thought to do in a million years lol but the idea came to me and now I am obsessed! For some reason, I want to write a whole series based on The Innocence We Lose, about Erik as a young, trophy omega spouse and how he has to learn how to navigate New York high society in the 50s/60s.

8. Did you write for a new fandom or ship this year?

I don't know if I'm boring or just set in my ways but I rarely if ever switch fandoms (have done it only once), and even for those that I actively read (Bagginshield, OFMD) I don't have any urge to write for any of my favorite pairings? Can't explain it, though within the X-Men fandom I'm always trying out new pairings lol.

10. What fic made you feel the happiest to work on?

I'm always happiest with the current fic I'm writing (which in this case is the SM fic I'm trying to finish and post before the new year).

22. Share an excerpt from your favorite scene

This excerpt from It's Complicated (Not My Baby Remix), a remix of one of @widgenstain's hilarious ficlets that I made angsty lol. I just...love the tension in this scene and how fucking awkward everybody is after Charles shares Erik's memories of what happened (basically Erik is knocked up post DOFP and it could be Charles OR Logan's):

It seems unnecessary, and maybe just a little uncharitable, though it’s probably the least he deserves given the feelings his future self had developed for Charles…

---chess board works well enough as a peace offering, and the apology goes further to soften Charles’ ire. The tension between them shifts to something less hostile, more heated if no less intense, and Erik thinks – hopes – that it’s enough. He wants, anyone but especially Charles to touch him; it’s been so long since he’s felt the warmth of a human being---

---less gentle than he remembers, but at least he isn’t angry anymore. He works Erik open with his fingers, clumsy and a little desperate himself; two people who’ve forgotten how to be intimate with each other (anyone) in their years apart. Charles presses him against the sink in the plane’s tiny washroom, one arm around his waist, and Erik almost cries at being held – feeling alive – after so much time alone. A tear falls down his cheek when Charles pushes in; it’s so good and overwhelming and painful and he wants—

---clear it was a one-time thing; Charles doesn’t even look at him before locking himself in his hotel room with Hank. It’s not enough – will never be enough, but especially now – and the need burns under Erik’s skin. He's eager to feel alive; make himself believe he’s really here and not still staring at four concrete walls—

---doesn’t know Logan and that’s just as well – better, no feelings, no regrets; all he wants is to be touched. He offers the man a drink, another, and another, until they’re both more amenable to the other’s company. From there, Erik only has to palm Logan until he’s hard as a rock; until Erik leads him to the bed and climbs onto his hands and knees, pushing his trousers down and offering…anything, everything if only Logan would just—

The room is silent as a tomb when they pull out of Lehnsherr’s memories; Logan doesn’t think he’s the only one with no words to express what he’s thinking and feeling at the moment.

25. What did you use to write? (e.g. writing programs, paper & pen, etc.)

Always at my desk in front of a large monitor and in MS Word. Have tried writing on a laptop and in other programs but nothing else works for me lol.

2023 In Review - fic writer asks

[faelune-home]

FFXIVWrite 2023 #29: Contravention

(A/n: I did have to pull more from the synonyms for this word, leaning more on frustration and obstruction than the original word, but I managed to get one more Yuri based ficlet here, meeting another scion~. Depending on the next prompt, I can either cap this off with her meeting the twins, or it'll be a cliffhanger for a piece of writing outside the month.

But I've appreciated that I've been able to do so much with fleshing out Yuri here, even being based in post-Endwalker. It's been fun to expand her character in this way with the new lore I have for her and seeing how she interacts with everyone else. Left a hint in case I could feature Yuri into the Twelve raid story, but I'll have to see how it goes in 6.5.

Word count: 1264)

The levels of red tape involved in getting a single book was ridiculous.

“I know you can’t let me in, I’m not even saying I could go and collect it myself, I’m saying you or one of these mammet things can go and get it,” Yuri huffed, words clipped as she tried to keep her calm against the librarian at the desk.

“I’m sorry, but we need the archon present to authorise entry to the archives. Verbal permission via linkpearl can’t be verified,” the librarian said, at least trying to look apologetic.

G’raha was out in Aldenard on a personal errand, however he’d called back asking for a few books for what he was working on, even if just to have Yuri relay the information back via linkpearl. Most of them were available on the public floors, however one was apparently logged in to private archives reserved only for archon access.

“What about if I get Krile to come and collect it?” Yuri tried.

“I’m afraid that wouldn’t suffice. While Miss Baldesion has special access to certain non-public sections due to her organisation and the research they do, she still wouldn’t be allowed into the archive in question since she isn’t an archon. I’m sorry.” Yuri’s hands balled up tight as she fought against the urge to scream, the note paper in her hand with the books she needed getting crumpled up as well.

“May I collect it on her behalf? I require entry to the archives for some of my own research as well.” Yuri spun around at the new voice, surprised at whoever seemed to be willing to help her.

She’d met Y’shtola briefly while the woman was passing through the Annex, in a chat with G’raha about some manner of travel information from what little Yuri could understand. As with most of these “former Scions” - a term she was beginning to think was more for appearances than reality - Y’shtola had come and gone as quickly as she’d appeared, off with her own work to keep her busy, so yuri really didn’t have a full read of the woman beyond what Fhara had told her.

Which was admittedly sparse, even Fhara had to admit.

“She’s very stern and focused. Less for joking around, really.”

“I would appreciate that, thank you so much,” Yuri said, pushing the memory aside and bowing deeply. Y’shtola simply offered a polite nod and a smile in response.

“I’ll not be long collecting my own things. Please wait for me here,” she said, turning to the little worker mammet waiting beside her and marching off with it.

Yuri picked up the book pile she’d already collected and laid on the main desk while she’d been trying to get help from the service, and slumped herself in a chair near the railing. The long drop deeper into the earth always unnerved and fascinated her in equal measure, the sight of busy students and researchers milling about contrasting against the lurch in her stomach at just her far down it all went.

She just had to wait. She opened a book on top of the pile and started sifting through it to find what G’raha needed.

~~

She’d mostly gotten lost deep into the second book, partially baffled by the heavy jargon and terminology that made her reread several paragraphs a few times but also fascinated by the subject matter on its own, when footsteps caught her attention and jolted her from her reading. Y’shtola had a small bundle of books under her arm and was already taking one to hand over to Yuri.

“My apologies for the wait. I had to have the mammet deployed to find a misplaced book,” Y’shtola said, only the slightest tail lash to show her frustration.

“I didn’t even notice the time. I just went on with reading up on what G’raha needed. I may have gotten a bit invested in this one,” Yuri replied, holding up her open book. Y’shtola’s clouded eyes skimmed the page, and then down the spines of the pile on Yuri’s lap.

“Hmm, old religious folklore and history, and the gods through the eras,” she pondered, “Our Eorzean fables have caught your attention then?” They began walking together, side by side.

“A little bit. It is still mostly for G’raha’s benefit…”

“Still, better to nurture that curiosity. Learned information is always new to someone out there, whether a growing child or different cultures coming into contact. If you wish to know more, mayhap G’raha would permit you to join him on his expedition?”

“I wouldn’t wish to impose,” Yuri shook her head, shivers going through her as they passed the threshold for the library into the outdoors, the snow beginning to fall gently.

“It’s never imposing. Especially with the nature of this endeavour he and Fhara are undertaking, from what I’ve gathered about it.” Yuri didn’t respond, only a slight grimace as she seemed to think about it. Curiosity made her want to say yes, but the desire not to overstretch herself while she’s still new to the Students held her back.

“Do consider it. Opportunities don’t just arrive to you without help. Even your father had to broach the topic of your joining to Krile and G’raha,” Y’shtola said.

“I will…” Non-committal, but better than nothing. They continued along in comfortable silence, along the path and into the Annex. Krile was in the main lobby, chatting with Ojika upon their arrival.

“Ah, welcome back. And good to see you, Y’shtola,” she greeted them, “You managed to get those books for G’raha, I see.”

“With some difficulty for one,” Yuri grumbled, “I’m glad Y’shtola showed up to help.” upon Krile’s confused expression, a sly smile crossed Y’shtola’s face.

“I don’t believe he realised one of his requested books wouldn’t be attainable for someone that wasn’t a qualified archon.” The silent shakes of her shoulder and Yuri’s frustrated grimace made Krile sigh, slumping forward.

“Oh dear. I’ll have to let him know for future, though it is difficult to verify these things while out in the field. Especially if things get shuffled without warning, or maybe even misplaced.”

“I’m rather surprised he didn’t whisper his little levitation enchantment over his linkpearl just to sneak you in. Or even an invisibility spell at that,” Y’shtola hummed, eyes still sparkling. At that, Krile broke into a smile.

“I can only assume he’s forgotten or realised he couldn’t get away with it a second time, even by proxy through another person,” she said, amusement peeking in her face.

Yuri could only look between them in confusion, clearly recognising it was a shared memory for them both but uncertain how to broach asking for details. Beginning to think she should shuffle off and continue her requested work, Krile glanced at her and said, “I do believe we’ll need to enlighten Yuri as to this little story. Though I daresay it may colour her perception of G’raha.”

“Far be it from me to dismiss his efforts and achievements, but he could certainly manage that on his own eventually,” Y’shtola said, shaking her head, “But better you share the tale than I. You no doubt have more stories to regale anyway.” Krile’s little smirk grew wider.

“Oh I do. Come now, we’d be better settling down if we’re going to be sharing tales. Ojika, would you be a dear and prepare us some tea?” he nodded, hopping off his chair and head off. The ladies headed for the main hall, Yuri being guided with chatter building on either side of her, curiosity growing equal to her confusion.

[brynnmclean]

I was tagged in a first-lines-of-fic meme by @eisoj5​!  I’m pretty sure I’ve done this before (can’t remember my tag), but it’s been a long time!

Rules: share the first lines of ten of your most recent fanfics and tag ten people. If you have written fewer than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway!

Tagging: @ladytharen, @rain-sleet-snow, @dwarveslikeshinythings, @niennawept, @allatariel, @incognitajones, @aadmelioraa, @moriondors, @heymacareyna, and @moonatoms!  And like Josie did once, I’m saying it’s totally cool if you post the first lines of chapters instead of separate fics.  Also no pressure, obviously! <3

My first lines under the cut!  I’m partial to #9 for some Current Project reasons.

1. late night arrival - May 2019, Rogue One, 1k, complete

Their transport arrives late back on base, late enough that Jyn isn’t surprised there’s no one waiting to meet her in the hangar. Melshi nudges her when he catches her looking around out of habit and tells her Cassian probably got told to stop hovering around like a grim-faced shadow, which earns him a solid punch in the arm. She pulls it, but Melshi makes a show of wincing and shoving her away with a huff of laughter.

2. guilt goes away if you let it -  January 2020, Rogue One Black Sails AU, 500+, the start of a Ficlet Collection because I don’t write long fics but I do have ideas that take up residence in my brain

The letters feel hot beneath his coat, even through his shirt, the inner pocket fabric, and the protective leather keeping Galen’s words safe from the water.

3. it was inevitable - January 2020, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy, 200+ ficlet in a collection so technically complete

Finn wakes up after Starkiller and knows what he has to do.

4. before the fords - May 2020, Rogue One LotR Grey Company AU, 400+ ficlet in a collection… who knows if I’ll write a full separate AU fic, but I do love the idea!

The night was dark and cold, the full moon shrouded by clouds, but the Company rode together and rode hard as they had through the many leagues from the Angle onward to… wherever they were now, Jyn thought, exhaustion weighing her down in her saddle.  They had thought Halbarad would have called for a rest a ways back, but Chirrut had urged Baze to bring the two of them up beside their Chieftain’s Second so that he could pass on news up ahead.

5. first flush of hope to carry the grey away - May 2020, Rogue One, 1k, complete

It goes bad fast, the way it sometimes does in a city ready to blow, a match flicked on a trail of fuel and sparking the firefight.  Cassian dodges the first punch aimed for his face, but takes a hit from a glass someone throws at his back, and chaos descends where there could have been something else—not clean, nothing is clean in this grimy cantina full of shadows and sharp teeth and knives—that’s a knife in that informant’s hand, the blade catching the light as it arches toward Cassian and slices into his side.

6. far from a hearth-fire - November 2020, Brothers of the Wild North Sea which is a slash romance novel that I devoured, saw there was no fic for, and then decided I needed to fix that!!! 2k, complete

The dream came to him again, the one of the warrior in the storm. Fenrir stumbled out of the angry Sea, his arms reaching for the man beside him, dragging him onto the shore. Rán’s fury howled in waves crashing onto rocks, but Fenrir knew in the drumbeat of his heart that the man clutching him back, shuddering with cold and yet warm with life—that man was his to steal from her, his to hold.

7. the far away shore - November 2020, Brothers of the Wild North Sea, 2k, complete

“So,” Tekla said, setting a heavy tankard of ale down next to Fenrir and then thunking down onto the dock beside him. “Who is he?”

8. I took a break from writing fic through basically all of 2021, but that was because a ton of my creative energy was going to my Akallabêth TTRPG Campaign.  Anyway, I’m going to cheat a little and do a quote from the first scene of Session #7 (out of 35 and counting!) from May 2021 which was when I think things really began to click in for my players.  I have all these titles and headers for my notes / recaps and this section was called “Sails & Sea-Monsters”.  The whole session overall was called “The Whale & the Corsair”.  I write little bits of prose to set up a scene, so here are the first two sentences:

Morning arrives with the rolling of fog along the Sea, a hazy cloud blanketing the ship.  It’s gloomy and oppressive, heavy veils shifting through the sails, the wind lifting the canvas but failing to bring more than a vague glow of sunlight.

9. fell in love with the fire long ago - last updated December 2022, Silmarillion / Rings of Power Uncorrupted Mairon AU, 11k (!), my current project and WIP that I am calling a ficlet collection so that I don’t scare myself out of writing a long fic

Mairon goes when the storms subside, when Ulmo sends word to the other Valar that he and Uinen have brought Ossë back. He doesn’t tell Aulë why he leaves the Forge early, but some measuring glow in the Smith’s golden eyes tells Mairon he knows Mairon's mind. He sees the dark corners of his heart.

10. grant a name to a buried flame - February 2023, Silmarillion / Rings of Power Uncorrupted Mairon AU, 3k, complete

“Well, I can’t fault your taste,” Mablung says, swiping the flask of wine from Celeborn’s hands and taking a healthy pull. Celeborn scowls half because he’d been saving that, damn it, and half because he knows Mablung doesn’t mean his taste in wine.

[eruverse]

Finally after 638682 years I have published a new fic!! I want to write more short fics/ficlets as they suit my writing style more.

Pairing: Mongolia/Turkey

Rating: T

Summary: And yet it's this simple and fleeting moment that draws the heart true.

The pipe is an unmatched beauty of interwoven pattern, carved in utmost care by what was undoubtedly one of the best artisans of their age. Mongolia runs his fingers over every dip and rise of it, admiring the ways in which the humble ivory base is elevated to excellence. Turkey peers at him with obvious interest as he leans against the parapet of a rooftop overlooking the city, smiling contentedly as if a generous ruler toward his beloved subject.

“Do you like the pipe? I will give it to you.”

Mongolia raises one eyebrow and fights the urge to sigh at his cheekiness. “Yeah, no. How expensive is this precisely? Where did you acquire it from? This must be a very valuable antique.”

Turkey shrugs elegantly. “How would I know. It was already in my possession. Either it was gifted to me by one of my very many guests and allies, or it was one of the war spoils. I had a lot from my neighbors, as you undoubtedly know.”

Curious, Mongolia inspects the pipe again to glean any semblance of historical background from it. His mind is drawing up a blank. “How about that. Perhaps Persia.”

Turkey chuckles. “Mayhaps. I delivered his ass to him so many times, after all. Now now, he’s not important. Where is the tobacco you gave me?”

Mongolia presses the jar into his waiting hand; with how careless Turkey could be with his possessions, he is in fact protecting it so the wooden container wouldn’t fall on its butt and chip itself. All the more so because he handcrafted it himself; he invented the unique design, chose the best wood and cut it, carved it with simple but tasteful patterns, and painted it to perfection. With all of Turkey’s carelessness with inanimate objects, however, he is never unappreciative about any gift; he cherishes the thoughtful attention as much as the value in the material itself. That Mongolia likes the pleasure in Turkey’s face is the reason why he gifts him many of his handicrafts. 

Turkey unfastens the jar to scoop some of the tobacco up, and fills the pipe still held in Mongolia’s careful hand with it. That, and Turkey’s expectant gaze tells Mongolia that he means for him to have the smoke. He starts: “Oh.”

Turkey raises one eyebrow at that (though he can’t do it the way Mongolia does). “What is it? Have you stopped smoking for good?”

Mongolia doesn’t even take the time to think. “I’ve cut it by a lot, but never fully stopped.” He went from being a chain smoker who burnt through two to three packs a day to just one or two cigarettes when he feels really, really stressed, which isn’t actually that common an occurrence. In fact Mongolia smokes more often around friends instead; it is a means for social bonding for him just like a bowl of vodka and a playful wrestling. The same pattern would often apply whenever Turkey visits him, where they would enjoy exotic brands of tobacco together. Never rushing, always relishing.

Sharing a pipe, however, is new. 

“This is most perfect for savoring, after all.” Turkey drawls, and Mongolia agrees. He tamps down into the bowl to flatten the leaves, prompting Mongolia to give it a test go after he is done. When all is good, Turkey produces a match and lights it with deft fingers; the first blazing burn between them quickly dies into a soft glow, almost too weak perhaps — and yet it’s this simple and fleeting moment that draws the heart true. These light touches to be relished in and nurtured, just like the finest carving from the hands of the most skilled artist. 

The first heady smoke in his mouth feels just like a deep kiss; his tobacco in Turkey’s pipe, mingling and working harmoniously together. He has half a mind to inhale it straight to his lungs, but it burns so good for him not to savor it right on his tongue and palate. He passes the pipe to Turkey after he’s enjoyed his round, only to closely watch the man’s enticing lips close around the mouthpiece and draw in a new kiss. He wonders then what kind of tobacco Turkey usually smokes at home, how it would taste. He gets just a hint of it every now and then whenever they have their way with each other, but Turkey is a man who only smokes leisurely and not as an addict. And perhaps, like him also, he prefers to smoke with others. 

They continue to nurture that gentle ember between them. At one particular moment Mongolia would draw the smoke further up his lungs as he gazes closely into Turkey’s captivating eyes, and Turkey would plant a small kiss on the pipe’s mouthpiece while he slips one leg under Mongolia’s. They would speak and laugh about all kinds of nothing inbetween, but never with the ember set aside unattended. And never would it die out; Mongolia and Turkey would lean closer into each other as the sun dips further and the sky of Ulaanbaatar grows dim, with their soft ember glowing brighter and ever hotter. It has grown from a weak spark that passes between them and into an all-encompassing fire that soars up from their bellies. 

The last of dried leaves finally turned into ash as the daylight leaves the city. 

Turkey sets the pipe aside without looking as his eyes have settled on Mongolia’s, easy but feverish. Mongolia, too, can only think of the man before him and the heat blossoming between them. 

He smirks. “So, what now?”

Turkey steps closer into his embrace, wrapping one arm around Mongolia’s thick waist. Mongolia is tempted to pinch his ass at that, but instead settles at pressing their hips flush and crossing one leg over Turkey’s.

Turkey whispers before capturing Mongolia’s lips in a searing kiss: “As always, we can’t be full just with appetizers.”

[polikszena]

Ficlet Advent Calendar 2022 - December 1

I know I’m starting this with a delay, but last Sunday we presented our sketch show, so I was preparing for it during the entire weekend, and now I’m catching up with myself. At least the show went very well. :)

Title: The letter Fandom: Downton Abbey Characters: Mary Crawley, Cora Crawley Word Count: 827 Rating: Teen and up audiences Summary:   After her divorce, Lady Mary Crawley isn't looking forward Christmas this year, but then she receives mysterious letter on the 1st of December. Notes: Sets after Downton Abbey: A New Era, based on that headcanon of mine that after getting fed up with Henry’s absence, Mary decides to end their marriage as it does not seem to work anymore. Also, I decided to post the chapters separately, because it’s easier to tag them that way, so apologies for the spam.

December 1 - The letter

Looking at the calendar, Lady Mary Crawley let out a sigh. Contrary to the previous years, she wasn’t looking forward to Christmas at all. She didn’t feel the slightest excitement to think about the enormous tree in the hall or her children’s face when they would see it or when they would rip the paper off their presents. The only thing she felt was a slight annoyance and exhaust. 

Having the whole family around, including Edith, parading around the house, showing off her perfect marriage, the Bransons, Aunt Rosamund, then Isobel, and all would be very-very sorry for her and would lament Henry’s absence. (Not that he was home during Christmas in the last few years.) On the top of that, Papa invited the Marquis of Montmirail as well, his almost-brother, which meant more people to pity her. And that was the last thing Mary needed right now.

No-one said divorce would be a piece of cake, she knew that, but she wasn’t expecting it to be this this hard. Even though it was much easier to obtain it, society still wasn’t prepared for people deciding to end a marriage that wasn’t working anymore. Especially women. Ever since she had stopped being Lady Mary Talbot, the invitations to dinner parties, balls or other social events became more and more rare, and whenever she hosted something, only half of the invitees came, or not even half of them. Sometimes people invited Mama and Papa, but not her. It was humiliating.

Not only she wasn’t good enough for Herny to choose her over race cars, but she wasn’t good enough for the high society either. All because she had got fed up with her husband’s absence. Wasn’t marriage about being there for each other? It certainly wasn’t about him being away on some car race while Tom was getting married or Granny passing away. This was even worse than the times when Edith wrote that horrible letter to the Turkish Embassy. But this time it was only a divorce! Nobody died! Being rejected by both Henry and society was too much to bear.

When she entered the drawing room that morning, she found her mother holding a letter. Mary felt the urge to turn around and walk away. She didn’t want to know about another event she wasn’t invited to.

“Mary darling, this is for you,” Cora handed her the green envelope, and she raised a brow as she wasn’t expecting a letter from anyone. She couldn’t even recognise the handwriting on it.

“Thank you, Mama,” she said, sitting down on the armchair, then she opened the letter.

Dear Lady Mary,

I received the news about your marriage, and I have to admit, it surprised me. But I’m not here to gloat, or to pity you. I happen to know that divorce is not easy, especially not for a woman, but I also know how strong and brave you are, and if anyone can go through it with her head held high, it’s you.

What is this about? Mary wondered. Does this person think I need a lawyer? I already have one!

It takes a lot of courage to get out of a marriage – been there, done that -, and even the strongest need some encouragement, a few good words, a little bit of fun to ease the pain of the divorce and help you move on. And this is why I’m writing these letters to you. This is the first one of the twenty-four you will be receiving from me until Christmas. This will be my present to you. However, I will not tell you who I am until then, because I don’t want you to think I’m doing this because I have an agenda. I just want to cheer you up a little, just to make these times a little more bearable. I’m looking forward to writing all these letters to you; tomorrow you will receive the second one.

Until then I remain, yours sincerely, Christmas Ghost

When Mary put down the letter, she didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t even sure if that anonymous Christmas Ghost was serious. Perhaps the whole thing was just a joke. Still, the idea of someone writing twenty-four letters to her just to cheer her up warmed her heart, making her wonder who that might be. Someone from the estate? Anna, maybe? But why would she do such thing, seeing her every day? Could it be Tom and Lucy? That would make sense, she thought to herself. But how would they know what a divorce could feel like?

“Who wrote to you?” Cora asked.

“I don’t know, it doesn’t say,” Mary replied. “I either have an anonymous friend or the whole thing is just a joke. Probably it’s the latter,” she added with a small shrug.

However, next morning she felt genuine excitement when she saw a green envelope on the tray when Greg the footman brought in the post.

(Read it on AO3)