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[whiskeykneat]

Fortune's Favor [1/3]

Warning: this fic deals with mature topics. Please do not keep reading unless you are comfortable with dark fics. TWs are tagged, but it includes implied rape and prostitution. The rating is 18+. // Summary: Some things are done for love, and some for coin.

[[MORE]]

One: A Little Maid of Rome

Nineteen. Twelve. Fourteen. Eight. Twenty-five. Three. Eleven.

This is how it begins: with the smallest girl in Lupa Silvia's scholae tagging along to a taverna with Diantha, the eldest. Dido is nine and Diantha is twenty-two, and anyone who looks at them would know them for sisters, though they are not.

See, says Diantha, scorn in her voice. You could be like them if you hadn't been raised in the scholae. You have much to be grateful for.

The taverna girls are bare-breasted, their nipples painted red. They have gold chains that glint in the sunlight, and dark eyes that swallow up the shadows along the Aventine. Don't stare so much, says Diantha. Remember who we are, Dido.

Diantha is there to meet her boyfriend, a blue-eyed man who used to be in the army and now is an enforcer on the Aventine. He does not have eyes for anyone except for Diantha. His name is Iskander, and he pats Dido on the head and gives her a sweet.

Dido sits with two slaves shelling walnuts while Diantha goes upstairs with him, and swings her feet on the bench before a gray kitten hops into her lap.

Some things are done for love, chick, and some for coin, the cook says, turning Dido's attention from a big man grunting in the corner over a girl with sad eyes. Don't look.

The sad-eyed girl straightens her tunic and sits down at the table as though nothing has happened. Pop, pop, crack. Her knuckles are skinned and there is a fresh bruise along her jaw. What are you looking at? she hisses at Dido.

When Diantha and Iskander emerge from upstairs, it is nearly dusk, and Iskander hires them a litter. He and Diantha do not want to let go of each another's hands. Dido sits in the litter with the gray kitten, and cannot make out their whispers.

Some things are done for love, chick, and some for coin.

When Diantha climbs inside the litter, she smells of yeast and wine, and she lets Dido fall asleep in her lap.

•••

Thirteen. Seven. Twenty. Five. Fourteen.

When Dido is twelve, Diantha disappears from the scholae. Dido looks for her everywhere, and asks everyone. But no one will tell her anything.

It's better not to know. Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to. Sura is one of the scholae's best courtesans, or she was, before a client put her eye out. Lupa keeps her on because Sura still brings custom, though the other girls whisper it is because she is a Pythia, and can see both future and past with the dead eye.

But Sura does not frighten Dido.

I see such things for you, Dido, she whispers, her voice low and musical as a newly strung cithara. Light, and darkness... like two sides of the same coin.

Do you know where Diantha is? Dido pleads. As Sura turns her face away, a tear falls from the dead eye.

•••

Three. Twelve. Eighteen. Seven. Three. Three. Six.

It's none of your concern, Dido. Do I not give you enough to fill your days with? Lupa taps her stylus on the table in irritation. Diantha has left us. That is all you need to know.

But she wouldn't leave without saying goodbye. Dido hates the petulance in her tone, she hates how she sounds like a child. She wants, and does not want, to be a woman. A courtesan like her mother, celebrated throughout the Republic. But what did that ever get a woman besides sorrow behind painted lids and coins to pay the ferryman?

Dido wears silks, not gold chains and rouge. She speaks six languages, and knows the lines of all the great poets. She will never stand in the shadows of the Coliseum, her body a coin, between her legs the road to Elysium.

•••

Fifteen. Four. Eight. Twelve. Seventeen. Nineteen.

Lupa will not let Dido out of the scholae, not until she stops asking about Diantha. By that time, her first moon blood has come, and more serious training is required. She is needed in the scholae, now. She is a woman, and women do not run barefoot in the street, or climb plane trees.

Diantha did. But Diantha is gone, now, faded into the dust and silence like the little idol of Pandora she kept at the household shrine. She opened the box...

One night, just after Volturnalia, when the moon is red and round as a pomegranate, the entire scholae is woken by someone pounding at the door. Dido almost does not recognize Iskander when she sees him, for he looks like a man grown old before his time.

Diantha! he howls, sobbing on the step, and in the lantern's light Lupa's face is monstrous and strange, like a mask from a Greek tragedy.

Get you gone! Lupa points, and from the shadows, Dido sees the guards coming. Iskander tears at his tunic and hair, he fights them tooth and nail.

Diantha! he shouts. Where is she?

She has left the scholae, Lupa says, smooth and soft, her voice seductive. Dido can see Iskander's resolve begin to crumble before the woman who has enchanted poets and senators alike, and whose machinations made empires rise and fall. You will not find her here. Go, now.

Come, little one. Sura is in the hall, and she draws Dido away from the step before she can run into the street and after Iskander, all the way to the Aventine, where he will be found in a ditch come dawn, his pockets slit and his throat cut.

•••

Thirty. Six. Twenty-two. Eleven. Seventeen. Seven.

The years pass, and Dido grows more beautiful. Sometimes she can see Diantha when she looks in the glass, and sometimes a stranger's face. She learns how to please a man with conversation, and all the arts of love. Yet, she does not care.

There is a hole inside of her whenever she thinks of Diantha's hand in hers, or of the plane trees, or of the sea.

But one night, Dido slips from her cage and goes down to the Aventine, where the taverna still stands, among the cramped and towering insulae. She asks for the old cook at the back door, and a boy cutting his fingernails with a long knife says, Who are you?

I am Diantha's sister, says Dido, and something in the boy's face goes slack and sad at the mention of the name. Diantha, who loved Iskander.

It is then that she learns of Iskander's fate, and takes her own into her hands.

The boy's hands are rough and callused, he is the cook's grandson, who works at the taverna and runs messages for soldiers and senators. Someday I will join the Legion, he says, and see the might of Rome.

She returns to the Aventine again and again, she cannot stay away. The boy's name is Titus, it tastes like sunlight in her mouth. When he presses Dido up against the stone wall of the taverna, he says, I do not wish to force you.

If there is love, what of it? She walks home, in her head a song, not knowing which path she trods, only that on the morrow Titus will buy her from the scholae, and take her by the hand, and together they will sail from Rome in a boat made of plane tree and pitch to the ends of the Republic, and beyond all mortal ken.

Dido has forgotten that her body is a coin.

They find her lying on the steps of the scholae come morning, and Lupa Silivia locks her in the storeroom.

We will not speak of this, nor tell anyone. When you come out of this room, you will be Xanthe, trained as a courtesan in Athens. Oh, do not cry. This is what you were born to do. If not for the love of your mother, I should not have kept you...

•••

Ten. Twenty. Thirty. Fifty. One. One. One.

Before Xanthe can make her debut, Lupa Silvia sells the scholae to another woman, Lena, a retired courtesan. Lupa Silvia takes most of the girls, save one.

Take this one, she is of no use to me anymore, Lupa Silivia says of Xanthe, who feels as though she has been slapped in the face. Just like her mother.

I will never let a man hurt any of you again, Lena vows, but Xanthe knows it is a promise Lena cannot keep.

Some do it for love, the old cook at the taverna had said, all those years ago. And some for coin. But she forgot to say that some do it for hate, or for pain.

She never sees Titus again.

Thirteen. Seven. Five. Three. One.

[whiskeykneat]

A choices fic I just wrote. Dark!Fic.

Choices Flash Fic! DarkFic; Tobias x F!MC

Angels in Hell

@choicesflashfics #36. Uses prompt #2, "You’re allowed to fall apart a little."

A/N: I started writing this before I thought to grab a prompt, and it went to dark places. It was supplied to be a Harper x Ethan, but F!MC started talking... That's it. This fic is dark and I'm not sure why it came out, since it seems like the first chapter rather than a one shot. // Words: 1150 // Pairing: light f!mc x Tobias, acor MC x Antony (implied) // implied age gap relationship.

I always knew I'd end up working for the Outfit, from the time Uncle Tony caught me with a plastic stethoscope in my hands, to the day that Uncle Sam signed my soul over to the combat medical corps.

We need good people... like you, Chiara. You're the brains and Sy is the brawn. There will always be a place for the both of youse in the Outfit.

Is that because of Mama? I asked as I stood in front of Uncle Tony's desk and watched him swallow his grief along with his Campari, gold rings glittering. The shadow of two days beard was heavy on his jaw, and I yearned to reach out, to touch him, but instead crumpled the acceptance letter to Edenbrook in my pocket into a smaller and smaller ball, trying to keep my breathing steady as I watched him, the hero of my girlhood, the master of us all.

He set the glass down on his desk, the sound of it like the funeral bells that had gonged as the hearse pulled away from the cathedral steps in Little Italy, and I felt my throat tighten too. I swallowed my grief with my wine, clinking his glass in a toast. To her, then. I would always live in her shadow, until I could prove my worth.

Uncle Tony's eyes glistened wetly. Arin was a good woman. Bellissima... my tiger. You remind me of her, Princess. That blonde hair, and those eyes... Dio in paradiso, but she was a hurricane. And you are her very image...

Even though he'd married Octavia, I knew Mama had been the love of his life. Uncle Tony would have died for her, and nearly did. That was why I gave him my pledge of loyalty, right there in that room. A pledge for love, the kind that lasts beyond the grave.

And when I returned, I was no longer Chiara Valentine, Arin Valentine's little princess, but Chiara Valentine, combat medic and fast tracked through medical school due to all the strings pulled by Uncle Tony. It wasn't that I couldn't have done it on my own recognizance, but time was a luxury we didn't have after Doc Claudius had gotten his brains blown out by the Family, out in Drakovia. And Sy was in the clink. Again. For stealing cars from some gang in LA, connected to the Yakuza.

The Campari on the desk turned into the Negroni at the bar, and I was staring up into the golden eyes of my boss's and biggest mistake's biggest rival, the one and only Dr Tobias Carrick.

"Valentine." His upper lip curled, and I itched to smack the smugness right off his face, but I'd probably break a nail. After all, I was the Brains. I'd never fought anyone closer than fifty paces in my life, and we'd been in a tank. "Am I really that ugly, little princess, or do you scowl like that at all the plebs?"

If it were up to me, men like him would be six feet under, but I'd promised to hold my peace on mob soil, and the last thing Uncle Tony needed was a war with the Irish. Not that he'd do it for my sake -- it had been Mama who held his heart, and always would. So when I opened my mouth, what came out next surprised me. "I lost ... I lost someone. Today... it's the anniversary of her death."

"Bartender!" Tobias waved down the hipster serving white claw spritzers to the masses. "Get us a bottle of -- what's your poison, princess?"

"Limoncello." I didn't have to hesitate when the bartender slid the bottle down, and poured us two, on the rocks.

He prepared to knock back the entire glass when I caught him on the sleeve, for a moment looking thrown off his game, like he'd never seen a woman before. "Whoa there, Princess."

"Do you know what they say, Dr Carrick? They say that only the dead have seen the end of war. That's Plato. And don't call me princess." That's Antony's name for me.

"You’re allowed to fall apart a little." He touched my cheek gently, and it was only then that I realized I was crying. "Was it... a patient?"

What could I tell him? Of Afghanistan, and the starless desert skies that seemed to reach into the abyss, or of that single moment when my life changed forever? Or of how my life now seemed laid out before me in a single straight line with only a few stops along the way, Chicago to Afghanistan, to Boston and soon, soon, sooner than anyone could ever know, back again.

A pledge for love, the kind that lasts beyond the grave.

"She's been dead a long time." I wiped my cheek angrily with my sleeve, streaks of mascara coming away on it. "My mother. She died, and no one ever figured out what it was that killed her. That's why I'm here, really." I had never admitted the truth out loud before, to anyone.

Antony had come to find me at the barracks. I'd been barely eighteen, and one year in the army already. We'd drunk Limoncello til midnight, Arin Valentine's favorite drink, and we'd held one another and wept. In the morning, he'd left me with blood still drying on the sheets and an ache in my heart that no amount of Limoncello would ever ease.

A pledge for loyalty, until I stepped out of her shadow and proved my worth.

"Do you want to get out of here?" Tobias rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw and held out a hand. "We can just walk, Chiara. You look like you need some air. I won't talk about old business tonight, and it's not a trick, I... I promise."

I took his hand, Dio in paradiso, heaven and hell. Eyes as gold as the sunless desert sands. "You can talk about it all you want, Tobias." I don't care if we win, after all, a snap of the fingers, a pouch filled with thirty pieces of silver, a handshake in a back room, that grant will end up lining the pockets of Edenbrook instead of Mass Kenmore, whether Tobias Carrick likes it or not.

I'll be going back to the Outfit, my mother's daughter, back to Antony. For I owe so much more to him than blood. Life and loyalty, and a love that never dies.

"Valentine?" Tobias waited by the door, jacket thrown over one shoulder, looking at me with a troubled question in his eyes. If I slid off the stool now, I'd have to make that choice. I'd have to face the truth about what drove me to this place, to Boston, to Edenbrook, and to stare at my own reflection in a glass of Limoncello as I counted the stars like the drops of blood in a vein, all the way down the bloody years.

Blood on my hands, blood on the sheets, washed clean by my tears.

Demoni in paradiso, angeli all'inferno.

Only the dead have seen the end of war.

[whiskeykneat]

Part II of One More Saturday Night

Underthorne, Everlark, Clato

Rating: M for smut

Summary: Madge makes a startling discovery that could destroy her perfectly planned future, while Katniss takes another step closer to her dream of being a crack reporter. Meanwhile, the boys go to hell Nam.

AO3 || FFN (pending)

[whiskeykneat]

Don't piss off your local orc paladin.

[whiskeykneat]

https://picrew.me/image_maker/197122

My DnD Druid, Naivara, a high elf with a dark past and bloody secrets.

[whiskeykneat]

Someone asked me a while ago for resources on Black Victoriana

1. This amazing interactive map From the Equiano Centre includes information on Black Victorians from all walks of life:

Politics and the Arts

Samuel Coleridge-Taylor

Henry Sylvester Williams

Celestine Edwards

William Cuffay

Ira Aldrige

Fanny Eaton

Miss LaLa

Jan Tzatzoe, Andriess Stoffles, James Read, Sr, James Read Jr an

Duse Mohamed Ali

John Archer

John Alcindor

T J Thompson

George Polgreen Bridgtower

Mrs E V Kinloch

Robert Wedderburn

William Davidson

Mary Prince

Mary Seacole

Working Life in London

Cook

Coloured Man Servant Wanted

Valet or travelling servant

Indoor servant

An Ayah in Streatham

An Ayah in Pall Mall

Butler

West Indian Nurse

Donald Adolphus Brown

Colin R Graham

John S Phillips

Maria Laurence

Marginal Life in London

Caroline Maisley

Susan Hayes

Mary Matthews

Francis Branco

Billy Waters

Joseph Johnson

John Nzipo

Seamen waiting to see the doctor

A Female Vagrant

The Elite & middle class

Sarah Davies

Victoria Randle

The Smith Sisters

Young London

A Mulatto Boy

The Williams Children

Jane Jefferson

Prince Dejatch Alamayu

Two girls from Sierra Leone

Sports

Walter Tull

Bill Richmond

Tom Molineaux

Sam Robinson

Harry Sutton

James Wharton

Visitors to London

Fisk Jubilee Singers

Ida B Wells

Paul Laurence Dunbar

James Chuma

Abdullah (David) Susi

Sarah Remond

Students

Sir Samuel Lewis

John Mensah Sarbah

James Africanus Beale Horton

John Thorpe

2. Although this Powerpoint handout is liberal with the Comic Sans and is a bit simplistic, it’s actually an amazing guide to Victorian Art featuring Black people, and asks some very thought-provoking questions for anyone considering writing about Victorian England. (PDF)

3. Black Victoriana: a book full of historical truth bombs, edited by Gretchen Gerzina.

4. ‘Lyrics of Sunshine and Shadow’: The Doomed Romance of Two Black Victorian Writers.  (Paula J. Giddings, professor at Smith)

5. The story of Saartje Baartman, from the Baartman Centre for Women

[whiskeykneat]

Omg, wow!! These are so good 😍

KATNISS AND PEETA’S OUTFITS: BOOK ONE

I started this series with “interview before the games” and finished book one’s outfits with “interview after the games” (let’s say that was intentional). When I started (that was September 2020) I was sure I would finish this series very quickly. Lol. I still nowhere near the end. But at least “Hunger Games” is done! That was painful to look at my first illustrations (some of them I had to redraw completely) and I needed to make it look like a series so I fixed some things. I tried to do this “fixing” not very dramatic at some cases (like the first interview one, which I still kinda like, but I completely changed the way I draw Peeta since then so I didn’t know what to do with him lol) but hell, sometimes I thought it was easier to redraw everything. And I think I would have done if I wasn’t so lazy and always tired and I actually really want to draw new stuff. So here it is, all at once. All the (described at least in one word) Everlark Outfits from the first book!

THE REAPING

To my surprise, my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me. A soft blue thing with matching shoes. <...> “Of course. Let’s put your hair up, too,” she says. I let her towel-dry it and braid it up on my head. <...> the elaborate braided hair my mother did for the reaping <...> silky braids. / chapter 1 /// We know nothing about Peeta’s clothes. But I assume it should be something like this. Casual. Classic. Light brown/beige.

THE TRAIN

I peel off my mother’s blue dress and take a hot shower. I’ve never had a shower before. It’s like being in a summer rain, only warmer. I dress in a dark green shirt and pants. At the last minute, I remember Madge’s little gold pin. For the first time, I get a good look at it. It’s as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wing tips. I suddenly recognize it. A mocking jay. <…> I fasten the pin onto my shirt, and with the dark green fabric as a background, I can almost imagine the mockingjay flying through the trees. <…> I put the green outfit back on since it’s not really dirty, just slightly crumpled from spending the night on the floor. <…> I slept in the elaborate braided hair my mother did for the reaping and it doesn’t look too bad, so I just leave it up. / chapter 3 /// Again we know nothing about Peeta’s outfit, but. But ok, it must be something casual and comfortable soooo… sweatpants?

THE OPENING CEREMONY

I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies. I’m in a simple black unitard that covers me from ankle to neck. Shiny leather boots lace up to my knees. But it’s the fluttering cape made of streams of orange, yellow, and red and the matching headpiece that define this costume. Cinna plans to light them on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets. <…> My face is relatively clear of makeup, just a bit of highlighting here and there. My hair has been brushed out and then braided down my back in my usual style. <…> Despite this morning’s revelation about Peeta’s character, I’m actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. / chapter 5

TRAINING

When I’m dried and moisturized with lotion, I find an outfit has been left for me at the front of the closet. Tight black pants, a long-sleeved burgundy tunic, and leather shoes. I put my hair in the single braid down my back. This is the first time since the morning of the reaping that I resemble myself. No fancy hair and clothes, no flaming capes. Just me. Looking like I could be headed for the woods. It calms me. <...> Haymitch and Peeta come in, bid me good morning, fill their plates. It makes me irritated that Peeta is wearing exactly the same outfit I am. I need to say something to Cinna. This twins act is going to blow up in out faces once the Games begin. <...> “One last thing. In public, I want you by each other’s side every minute,” says Haymitch. We both start to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. “Every minute! It’s not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training.” <...> The other tributes are gathered in a tense circle. They each have a cloth square with their district number on it pinned to their shirts. While someone pins the number 12 on my back, I do a quick assessment. Peeta and I are the only two dressed alike. / chapter 7 /// To be honest the previous version was a lot closer to book description (more tight pants and shoes obviously made from leather and here there are just leather sneakers), but hell, Cinna, Portia, what was wrong with you when you’ve created training outfits? Tight pants? For sword training?! Long sleeve? It’s damn July!

INTERVIEW BEFORE THE GAMES

The team works on me until late afternoon, turning my skin to glowing satin, stenciling patterns on my arms, painting flame designs on my twenty perfect nails. Then Venia goes to work on my hair, weaving strands of red into a pattern that begins at my left ear, wraps around my head, and then falls in one braid down my right shoulder. They erase my face with a layer of pale makeup and draw my features back out. Huge dark eyes, full red lips, lashes that throw off bits of light when I blink. Finally, they cover my entire body in a powder that makes me shimmer in gold dust. <...> I can feel the silken inside as they slip it down over my naked body, then the weight. It must be forty pounds. I clutch Octavia’s hand as I blindly step into my shoes, glad to find they are at least two inches lower than the pair Effie had me practice in. <...> My dress is entirely covered in reflective precious gems, red and yellow and white with bits of blue that accent the tips of the flame design. The slightest movement gives the impression I am engulfed in tongues of fire. <...> The dress hangs in such a way that I don’t have to lift the skirt when I walk, leaving me with one less thing to worry about. <...> Peeta looks striking in a black suit with flame accents. While we look well together, it’s a relief not to be dressed identically. / chapter 9

ARENA

Cinna does my hair in my simple trademark braid down my back. Then the clothes arrive, the same for every tribute. Cinna has had no say in my outfit, does not even know what will be in the package, but he helps me dress in the undergarments, simple tawny pants, light green blouse, sturdy brown belt, and thin, hooded black jacket that falls to my thighs. “The material in the jacket’s designed to reflect body heat. Expect some cool nights,” he says. The boots, worn over skintight socks, are better than I could have hoped for. Soft leather not unlike my ones at home. These have a narrow flexible rubber sole with treads though. Good for running. I think I’m finished when Cinna pulls the gold mockingjay pin from his pocket. I had completely forgotten about it. [Katniss] + a bright orange backpack. + silver sheath of arrows and a bow, already strung [Peeta] + I agently unzip his jacket, unbutton his shirt and ease them off him. + I hand Peeta my knife, since whatever weapons he once had are long gone, and he slips it into his belt. / chapter 10 thank goodness this one was already redone lol

VICTORY CEREMONY

Cinna comes in with what appears to be an unassuming yellow dress across his arms. <…> slips it over my head. I immediately notice the padding over my breasts, adding curves that hunger has stolen from my body. <…> Venia helps me into a pair of flat leather sandals and I turn to the mirror. I am still the “girl on fire.” The sheer fabric softly glows. Even the slight movement in the air sends a ripple up my body. By comparison, the chariot costume seems garish, the interview dress too contrived. In this dress, I give the illusion of wearing candlelight. <…> My hair’s loose, held back by a simple hairband. The makeup rounds and fills out the sharp angles of my face. A clear polish coats my nails. The sleeveless dress is gathered at my ribs, not my waist, largely eliminating any help the padding would have given my figure. The hem falls just to my knees. <…> He looks so clean and healthy and beautiful, I can hardly recognize him. But his smile is the same whether in mud or in the Capitol and when I see it, I take about three steps and fling myself into his arms. He staggers back, almost losing his balance, and that’s when I realize the slim, metal contraption in his hand is some kind of cane. <…> His shirt is made of the same yellow material as my dress, but Portia’s put him in long black pants. No sandals, either, but a pair of sturdy black boots he keeps solidly planted on the stage. / chapter 27

INTERVIEW AFTER THE GAMES

When Cinna comes in, he shoos them [prep team] out and dresses me in a white, gauzy dress and pink shoes. Then he personally adjusts my makeup until I seem to radiate a soft, rosy glow. <…> Then Peeta’s there looking handsome in red and white, pulling me off to the side. / chapter 27

[whiskeykneat]

This is an appreciation post for the fanfic authors who aren’t included on rec lists

For the fanfic authors who don’t get art of their fics

For the fanfic authors who can’t get to 1000/500/100 hits

For the fanfic authors who don’t get comments/reviews

For the fanfic authors who write for small fandoms

For the fanfic authors who write rarepairs or gen fics

For the fanfic authors who get hate for the ships/characters/fandoms they write

For the fanfic authors who write in English despite it not being their first language

For the fanfic authors who don’t write in English

For the fanfic authors who don’t think anyone reads or likes their work

For the fanfic authors who aren’t big name fans

For the fanfic authors who don’t get requests in their inboxes

For the fanfic authors who can’t write stories that are more than a thousand words

For the fanfic authors who only write one ship

For the fanfic authors who are just starting

For the fanfic authors who have been writing fic for years

For the fanfic authors who use fanfic to practice writing

For the fanfic authors who write self-insert fics

For the fanfic authors who write about their OCs

For the fanfic authors who write to vent or cope

For the fanfic authors who are just waiting for their big break

Keep creating, I love you ❤️

[whiskeykneat]

Gendrya AU: princess and the pauper

She’s always been the one in trouble for the wrong reasons, the one the press loves to call wild. But in this city no one knows who she is and she’d like to keep it that way.

His writer’s block is shot to hell when she whirls in to the coffee shop like a snow storm to hide from the paparazzi. A secret princess lost in the city for 24 hours? His story will write itself.

[whiskeykneat]

Send me some!

send me a made-up fic title and i'll tell you what i would write to go with it

[whiskeykneat]

Bittersweet Requiem

Pairing: Gale x Madge

Historical AU (1920s). Rated M

Summary: A man must wear a suit only two times in his life -- once for marrying, and once for burying.

This is one of those times.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35438851/chapters/88336927

[whiskeykneat]

☕️( for the ask thing)

Do you do warmup sketches before drawing? (any to share?)

Always! Sketch of Sansa :

artist ask game

[whiskeykneat]

A strong start. 

[whiskeykneat]

asks for fanfic writers

drop a number and a fandom in my askbox and I’ll answer:

things that inspire you

things that motivate you

name three favorite writers

name three authors that were influential to your work and tell why

since how long do you write?

how did writing change you?

early influences on your writing

what time are you most productive?

do you set yourself deadlines?

how do you do your researches?

do you listen to music when writing?

favorite place to write

hardest character to write

easiest character to write

hardest verse to write

easiest verse to write

favorite AU to write

favorite pairing to write

favorite fandom to write

favorite character to write

least favorite character to write

favorite story you’ve ever written

least favorite story you’ve ever written

favorite scene you’ve ever written

favorite line you’ve ever written

story you’re most proud of

best review you ever got

worst review you ever got

favorite story/poem of another author

hardest part of writing

easiest part of writing

alternate title for (insert story title)

alternate ending for (insert story title)

alternate pairing for (insert story title)

single story or multi-part story?

one-shot or multi-chaptered story?

canon or AU?

do you reread your own stories?

do you want to be published some day?

which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series

one song that captures (insert story title)

do you plan or do you write whatever comes to your mind?

would you ever write a sequel for (insert fic title here)

do you write linear or do you write future scenes if you feel like it?

share the synopsis of a story you work on that you haven’t published yet

share a scene of a story that you haven’t published yet

how many unfinished ideas/stories are you working on at the same time?

three spoilers for (insert story title)

writing advice

open question to the writer

[whiskeykneat]

OOoohhh the players on those app game ads suck so bad!!! The way they're fucking up that lady's outfits on her Prince date! The way they're dumping lava on the man in the dungeon! Ooooh I just can't stand it!

[whiskeykneat]

A piece of wax dripped from the candle in front of him. As he stared at it, he noticed a copy of Romeo and Juliet lying out on a nearby table. "I know this book,“ he said as he held it to the light. “It’s one of Belle’s favourites.” A smile formed on his face at the memories of her reading it to him. “For never was a story of more woe, than this of Juliet and her Romeo.“ The bookkeeper stared at the Prince curiously. "Do you have feelings for her?"  "What?” “You heard me. You come from nowhere just to see her. You stand up to her suitor. You know the name of her favourite book. Did you come here because you care for her?”

The Prince put the book down, hesitating with his response. “Yes. But—”

“Say no more.” The old man waved a hand in front of him. “I am willing to offer you a room in my shop tonight. But only on the condition that you’ll help me get Belle out of here.”

(Excerpt from Chapter 8 of A Prince in Disguise, which explores an AU where the newly redeemed Beast/Prince saves Belle from an unwilling marriage to Gaston without revealing his true identity. Artwork courtesy of the very talented @drawnby27emilys)

[whiskeykneat]

A warrrior with abundant osteoptimism and one more skeleptical re: bone toughness.