fluffyfrolicker

dear creator letter for ao3's femslash ex '18

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 21 Aug 2018 15:04:39 GMT

first of all, hi, i do not know you, you are a beautiful human even if i do not know you, i hope this will be fun for you. whatever you write, you rock.

DNWs: large age differences (unless otherwise specified). non con, dub con, slut shaming, victim blaming, coming out stories. entirely helpless women, lack of female agency. alpha/omega things. men calling women baby, eww. hopeless endings. traditional two-and-a-half-children-and-a-wife-fence happy endings.

likes, in no order whatsoever: women, girls, all ages. dancing, clubbing, huntwoman/queen dynamics. self-destructive and destructive behavior, substance abuse, gender/sexuality explorations. fluid sexuality, crashing heteronormativity and the patriarchy. adultery, always give me adultery. morally dubious girls. power dynamics. queen bee plotlines. queens. social events, social hierarchy. school environments. couples (especially soon-to-be-couples-still-in-denial) explored from a 3rd person's pov. threesomes and moresomes. if you give me anything about an established/almost established three/moresome with actual relationship negotiations and discussions, i will cry from happiness. fairytale references. snobs. women/girls as gods, esp teen girls as gods. not necessarily literally speaking. domesticity. girls in power. millenial romances. aromantic girls. repetitions. parallel structures. circular endings. self-awareness. smoking. girls with guns. physicality. non-spectacular sex. monster girls. blood. girls covered in blood. girls in pantsuits. girls in pantsuits covered in blood. girls in pantsuits smoking. lipstick. dragons. poetic shit. smut. girls writers. girls journalists. girls pirates. mob girls. unhappy wives of any age. socialites. non-traditional families. found families. sad marriages. bad mothers. good love triangles. heists and cons and capers. make up and clothing as armors and weapons. metaphorically or literally. roadtrips. bed sharing. clothes sharing. hooking up in shabby motels. comfortable unspoken acts of intimacy. competence porn. stepsibling or sibling incest AUs.

+ sidenote: I am really truly okay with any AU you might feel inspired to write for any of the women.

general ~inspirational shit:

This is not about love as in caring. This is about property as in ownership.

Another thing is no matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.

Masha, listen to me. Cosmetics are an extension of the will. Why do you think all men paint themselves when they go to fight? When I paint my eyes to match my soup, it is not because I have nothing better to do than worry over trifles. It says, I belong here, and you will not deny me. When I streak my lips red as foxgloves, I say, Come here, male. I am your mate, and you will not deny me. When I pinch my cheeks and dust them with mother-of-pearl, I say, Death, keep off, I am your enemy, and you will not deny me. I say these things, and the world listens, Masha. Because my magic is as strong as an arm. I am never denied.

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast. You will always run away with her. You will always lose her. You will always be a fool. You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear. You have already done all of this and will do it again.

Well, when you think you love somebody, you love them. That's what love is. Thoughts.

I don’t let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I’ll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.

Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, but it's better if you do.

When I say girlhood I mean to bleach and bind and braid. I mean that soft gape-mouthed mirror face. I mean the slight, tight discomfort of hair scraped into a ponytail lifting the skin of the forehead. I mean pleasure-pain. I mean knowing how to hurt. I mean the fixed quality of attention bestowed by your best friend as she grips your chin to apply your lipstick, half-sensual half-ritual all hush, like communion. Sad as Sunday night television. I mean following those flow-charts in teen magazines that tell you which movie star you’re going to marry, looking for clues about the unknown quantity of yourself. I mean the sense of waiting for upheaval. I mean having an itchy soul. I mean girls are cruellest to themselves. I mean a fire in a dollhouse.

Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does.

specific pairings/fandoms:

marvel 616 — kate/america

+ bless these bantering queer girls/queens, powerful but so young and yet having to learn how much power they actually have and what they can do with their power, being each other's comfort and source of FUN and wisdom, and just, uh, teen girls are gods, just sayin'

questionable content
bubbles/faye

+ OH MY IS THIS NOT THE CUTEST SHIP TO HAVE EVER. I WANT THEM TO BE SLOW AND CAREFUL WITH EACH OTHER BECAUSE THEY FEAR THE OTHER IS GOING TO BREAK. I WANT IT TO BE AWKWARD AND ALSO NOT, AND I WANT THEM TO BE GENTLE AND KIND. BUT I ALSO WANT WHATEVER YOU WRITE, SO.

hp — hermione/pansy, pansy/ginny, bellatrix/narcissa, astoria/narcissa, bellatrix/narcissa/andromeda

+ in general, with my HP girls hermione/pansy and pansy/ginny, i like ginny as a slytherin, social-ladder-climbing pansy, awkward-but-fierce hermione; i think of slytherin girls as fiercely protective of their own, in their own ways, so there's that. i'd adore sth in hogwarts and also post hogwarts, setting up their lives in the aftermath of the war. as far as the black women are concernced, bellatrix/narcissa and bellatrix/narcissa/andromeda, i adore the black family, it seems such a beautiful (horrible) premise of nobility, and duty vs freedom and individuality, in a magical setting, with three sisters who probably are capable of being both the best supporter and the most horrifying enemy to each other. and as far as astoria/narcissa is concerned, i honestly do not usually enjoy age differences, but this seems like a fun pseudo ~mentorship dynamic to explore.

original work — queen of magical land of rainbows and happiness/evil sorceress who kind of digs it despite herself, goddess who ended the world/apocalypse survivor, all-female pirate crew/stowaway, confused gardener/earth goddess who is flirting by making her garden grow like crazy, captive to be sacrificed to a foreign goddess/foreign goddess, nature witch/city witch, goddess seeking to end the world/her devoted high priestess, female mob boss/female undercover detective

+ i have no further words, all of these sound amazing, have fun if you choose any/all of them

dw — thirteen/river song, thirteen/rose tyler

+ i am immensely looking forward to a female doctor, so would like to see your take on the femaleness of the doctor, does it mean anything for the doctor, or is gender meaningless for time lords? whatever you think about this, i really enjoy alex kingston, who plays river, so any situation with them interacting will be great. tho to be fair, this pairing has a lot of power disparity, so i don't mind if you explore that as well. and i hardcore shipped both nine and ten with rose, so i'd be v interested in anything with rose/13, whether it's an au where rose originally only starts traveling with the doctor when the doctor is 13, or just they find each other again.

got — daenerys/sansa, yara/ellaria, cersei/daenerys, yara/daenerys

+ all of these women are fabulous. i think having control/ruling is v. important for all of them, in different ways, so i'd love you to explore that, and their mutual attraction with each other.

gg — paris/rory

+ this ship is a gift, or would have been if it had been canon, but i love the banter and the friendship and i think that could translate into a v. dynamic relationship

killing eve — eve polastri/villanele | oksana astankova

+ women trying to kill each other while looking at each other like they are god's gift to earth is my jam. do w/e with these, my beauties and beasts who know that this is one and the same.

portal — chell/glados, caroline/glados, caroline/chell

+ wow i honestly just adore all these so much and have no clue what to tell you about what i would enjoy about them specifically, god speed if you decide to write this <3 but i also would be v. interested in you exploring caroline/chell dynamics.

+ if you want to crossover any of the pairings listed here with any other fandom/pairing in their setting or an entirely different setting, i am also all for it. let your muse take you where she may.

this is the end of the letter, i hope it helps in some way or another

dear femslashex2017 writer letter

fluffyfrolicker — Mon, 14 Aug 2017 09:33:44 GMT

first of all, dear writer, you are a rockstar already. whatever you do, i'll love it. i'll try to write down some general likes and DNWs, which will hopefully result in me not having to repeat myself too much in my specifics.

~~obviously I like women, so I will not go into that too much~~
~~but really, women are so great~~

DNWs: large age differences. non con, dub con, boys if not really necessary, or if i mention some specific boy i'd like, slut shaming, victim blaming, coming out stories. entirely helpless women, lack of female agency. alpha/omega things. men calling women baby, eww. hopeless endings. traditional two-and-a-half-children-and-a-wife-fence happy endings.

General likes, in no order whatsoever: women, girls, all ages. dancing, clubbing, huntwoman/queen dynamics. self-destructive and destructive behavior, substance abuse, gender/sexuality explorations. fluid sexuality. adultery, always give me adultery. morally dubious girls. power dynamics. queen bee plotlines. queens. social events, social hierarchy. school environments. couples (especially soon-to-be-couples-in-denial) explored from a 3rd person's pov. threesomes and moresomes. if you give me anything about an established/almost established three/moresome with actual relationship negotiations and discussions, i will cry from happiness. fairytale references. snobs. women/girls as gods, esp teen girls as gods. not necessarily literally speaking. domesticity. i am perfectly fine with crossovers with all my requested characters/ships. i would, always, kill for a good amy pond/dawn summers/elena gilbert/allison argent fic. girls in power. millenial romances. aromantic girls. repetitions. parallel structures. circular endings. self-awareness. smoking. girls with guns. physicality. non-spectacular sex. monster girls. blood. girls covered in blood. girls in pantsuits. girls in pantsuits covered in blood. girls in pantsuits smoking. lipstick. dragons. poetic shit. smut. girls writers. girls journalists. girls pirates. mob girls. unhappy wives of any age. socialites. non-traditional families. found families. sad marriages. bad mothers. good love triangles. heists and cons and capers. make up and clothing as armors and weapons. metaphorically or literally. roadtrips. bed sharing. clothes sharing. hooking up in shabby motels. comfortable unspoken acts of intimacy. competence porn. stepsibling or sibling incest AUs.

general inspiration shit:

This is not about love as in caring. This is about property as in ownership.

Another thing is no matter how much you think you love somebody, you'll step back when the pool of their blood edges up too close.

Masha, listen to me. Cosmetics are an extension of the will. Why do you think all men paint themselves when they go to fight? When I paint my eyes to match my soup, it is not because I have nothing better to do than worry over trifles. It says, I belong here, and you will not deny me. When I streak my lips red as foxgloves, I say, Come here, male. I am your mate, and you will not deny me. When I pinch my cheeks and dust them with mother-of-pearl, I say, Death, keep off, I am your enemy, and you will not deny me. I say these things, and the world listens, Masha. Because my magic is as strong as an arm. I am never denied.

You will always fall in love, and it will always be like having your throat cut, just that fast. You will always run away with her. You will always lose her. You will always be a fool. You will always be dead, in a city of ice, snow falling into your ear. You have already done all of this and will do it again.

Well, when you think you love somebody, you love them. That's what love is. Thoughts.

I don’t let on to everyone,
but lean close, and I’ll whisper:
My mother was raped by a holy swan.
You believe that? You can take me out to dinner.

Lying is the most fun a girl can have without taking her clothes off, but it's better if you do.

Specific ideas for specific fandoms/ships:

HP

likes in general:
- slytherin!girls (canon or not), especially slytherin!ginny. i like the idea that, in their own way, on their own terms, slytherin girls are actually very protective of each other and kind to each other, though it's not maybe what a hufflepuff would call kindness - but maybe it is, you know? take this as you will.
- threesomes and moresomes and relationship negotiations
- anything dealing with these girls/women handling their post!war lives

specific pairings:

Luna Lovegood/Pansy Parkinson/Ginny Weasley, Cho Chang/Daphne Greengrass/Ginny Weasley, Pansy Parkinson/Daphne Greengrass/Astoria Greengrass
- all of these scream cruel intentions AU to me

Katie Bell/Angelina Johnson/Alicia Spinnet
- with these three, i'd mostly like to see something fun, maybe quidditch related, but it doesn't have to be, some slice-of-life cozy without-them-noticing-friendship-growing-into-romance

Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy/Andromeda Black Tonks
- honestly whatever you want to do with this, i will be so terribly pleased with it. i like my black girls/women dark, that's how they are. if you could include their troubles with the family ~legacy and how they deal with it, that would be the best

Astoria Greengrass/Daphne Greengrass
- sibling incest is the best incest

Gossip Girl
all these women are great. i also like sage, though she is not on any of the list. and the first, fake ivy, so if you want to include them, that's great. also carter baizen. whatever you want to do with carter baizen, i'm always up for him being willing to destroy himself for whatever he thinks is a good reason that week. as long as he remains a supporting character, i'll like him. as part of a threesome/foursome, that's also cool.

Vanessa Abrams/Blair Waldorf
- mostly, i want to see them bffing. an AU of gg where vanessa and blair become BFFs instead of dan and blair would be terrific
Jenny Humphrey/Blair Waldorf
- their power struggle was a thing of beauty, i would love to see something with that. but all sorts of AUs are great, as long as the dynamic between them stays
Vanessa Abrams/Georgina Sparks/Blair Waldorf
- mostly, I just think georgina and blair would compete to see who can corrupt vanessa first/faster/better. this also screams cruel intentions AU to me
Georgina Sparks/Blair Waldorf/Serena van der Woodsen
- i'd like something pre-series perhaps, young, exploring, in the Hamptons

Georgina Sparks/Blair Waldorf
- they would fight gloriously, which i take to mean they could also kiss and fuck gloriously

original work

detective/detective
- it doesn't have to be plot heavy, but i'm interested in two female detectives navigating their lives and having the same career. it can be plot heavy if you want it to.

medusa/blind woman
- this just seems brilliant. do with it what you will.

mobster's daughter/undercover cop
- i like brats and princesses and girls aware of their power, and a mobster's daughter would have some power over another mobster, even if it's an undercover cop.
DO NOT WANT: a ~tragedy filled reveal that this mobster is actually an undercover cop, and i don't want this to turn them into star crossed lovers, i don't want this to be an insurmountable obstacle. i'd much rather they just scheme and plot together, be it to run away from this world of their entirely, be it to become law abiding citizens, be it to remain law-breaking citizens.

starship captain/chief engineer
- i just love girls with different perspectives on things having to work together for the same cause. plus, this screams fun banter and competence porn

warlord princess/sorceress princess
- guh, my babies. different upbringings, different viewpoints, different morals, such a beautiful clash of things. teaching each other about sorcery/fighting would be great. aware that their inheritance really needs to dictate the life they choose, but unsure what to do

witch/female knight
- similar to warlord princess/sorceress princess, different viewpoints. i'd especially like to see them working together to coordinate an attack/a defense/some sort of strategy. fun banter and competence porn are the best, again.

crossovers

dawn/rory/paris
- three writers in love with each other. i mostly see this as a very aromantic threesome, but do with that what you will. i'd love to also see if this could work as an open relationship - them trying out dating/hooking up with other people but still coming back to each other at the end of the day and talking about it. these girls are all about talking, in my mind at least. also, i think of all three as very ambitious, and i love that about them.

dawn/elena
- beautiful girls too good for this world, created so their bodies and blood could serve someone else's purpose, who have to deal with that and continue and carve their own destinies for themselves, spectacular

dawn/ginny
- i see these two, esp ginny, as very brave and stubborn and ambitious and frank and direct, i think this ship would be a beauty to behold

amy/dawn
- again, writer girls, who got destroyed by the world and need to stitch themselves back on their own, or with each other's help

allison/dawn
- my archer girl teaching dawn how to fight with a bow and arrow. dawn teaching her about magic and sumerian. laughing at the silly boys in beacon hills and hanging out with all the other flawless girls in beacon hills

elena/laurel
- laurel teaching elena how to fight. elena teaching laurel how to fight. elena learning about superheroes who fight for good. laurel learning about vampires. i mostly see this as happening in star city. elena a journalist who is investigating who black canary is, who falls in love with laurel and black canary simultaneously. picking out fighting clothing and accessories together, and going shopping. THIS IS ALL SO GOOD Y'ALL

marvel 616
kate bishop/america chavez
- superhero teen girls are the best really.

questionable content
bubbles/faye
- OH MY IS THIS NOT THE CUTEST SHIP TO HAVE EVER. I WANT THEM TO BE SLOW AND CAREFUL WITH EACH OTHER BECAUSE THEY FEAR THE OTHER IS GOING TO BREAK. I WANT IT TO BE AWKWARD AND ALSO NOT, AND I WANT THEM TO BE GENTLE AND KIND. BUT I ALSO WANT WHATEVER YOU WRITE, SO.

this is the end of the letter, i hope it helps in some way, if not, i am sorry.

i love you still among these cold things (amy, writing, eleven)

fluffyfrolicker — Wed, 17 Feb 2016 09:06:36 GMT

i love you still among these cold things | doctor who | amy (writing, eleven) | 500 words | for clockwork_hart1 who prompted

refusal to confront them directly
does not make you a lesser warrior
pick up your pen
unleash upon them your paper monsters
(fight the good fight.)

oh, and, i stole the title from neruda.

-- and if you have ever loved him, it is here and now, when his hair is still shining brown on his head, and his suit is still torn into pieces and you haven't allowed him to ruin you --

yet

-- you are a star, and you are magnificent, and you fit a whole lot of nothing into the next twelve years of a life without the sky, some wounds perpetually fresh at the tip your tongue. fish fingers and custard, and a ruined childhood. it would make a good title for the story you might never write, because stories are the first thing you had to let go off, when you let go of --

-- you start writing again, fourteen years, two unexplained absensences and one elopement later. because it is, it is an elopement, even if you have no plans of ever marrying him. my life in your hands, he will curse you some time in the future, masking it as a blessing, as if you had any space left in your lungs that could contain such naive thoughts, as if --

(was it worth it?)

-- you write with blood and tears, on paper, on laptops, on your skin, on the insides of your aging body that will never again yield anything other than words. he did that to you, too, and still does - leaves you to save yourself, leaves you to -- leaves you

-- which, in the end is why you write, which in turn is how you write. he would understand - maybe, you qualify to yourself carefully, lungs slowly filling with air. perhaps. for the oldest runaway in the universe, whose adventures are as much as an excuse for a lack of life as they are adventures, you are not sure he would quite understand writing instead of running. then again, after all this time, you are something he has never been, which in itself is a well of wisdom he will never have access to --

-- you are human, you are --

-- so, writing, you begin your tale, and the words stratch your skin with blood, is a lot like running.

(shut up, of course it was.)

-- in the end, none of your novels begin with running, or writing. one of them, though, ends --

-- a beautiful boy, standing on a beautiful meadow, his heart a heap of dust in his hands, that used to be a girl, that used to --

-- and if you have ever loved him, it is here and now, while his tears are still gleaming golden on his cheeks, and his suit is not yet stained with grass, when you have long ago allowed yourself to ruin him.

fem!february comment!ficathon

fluffyfrolicker — Sun, 31 Jan 2016 23:24:39 GMT

fem!february comment!ficathon

[If you want to promote, there's the banner above + other lovely banners in this thread.]

RULES: shamelessly stolen from upupa_epops and slightly adapted.

0. These will mostly be the same as last year's rules, I believe.
1. I thought much about this last year, trying to decide what's too strict and what isn't, and then I figured out that the one thing I'd like us all to have in mind is just this: this is a celebration of women. So prompt and write whatever you think'll celebrate women: gen, f/f, f/m, polyamory, poetry, prose, AUs, fix-its, whatever strikes your fancy.
2. Prompt as much as you wish, but make a separate comment for each prompt. The more prompts, the better, trust me.
3. When you fill a prompt, please leave a comment here (link, title, warnings, prompt). Art, fic, fill with whatever.
4. Feedback is much appreciated, but you knew that already.
5. Have fun!
6. Since this is a fem!february (I'm soooo good with names) ficathon, it'll last all through February, and on March 1st or February 29th, I'll post what I hope will be a shiny pretty masterlist filled with links to wonderful women!celebrating fic.

poll time is a fun time: the december-fic-event

fluffyfrolicker — Wed, 07 Oct 2015 11:13:52 GMT

yo, people of the internet, or more likely: my f-list. i've been thinking and i've decided i want to do SOMETHING ficcy for december. it'll be the end of the year and i occasionally get ~sentimental about all sorts of things in december, so why not celebrate the end of the year with writing fic. i'll elaborate on what i have in mind in the next paragraph, and please, ask any questions in the comments if you have any.

as some of you have noticed, i'm prone to random bursts of organizing ficathons, but i think they attract only some of the people and often end up being the same thing all over again, ~~not that i mind, really, i adore our things~~ but i also thought it might not be bad to mix it up a bit?

if anything from the poll needs clarification, please ask, i'm not sure if anything's at all clear, and i'd REALLY love your input on this, because i'd like to do something for you guys that'll be fun for all of us.

also, if you have some general wishes for fic/december-fic/problems with my past ficathons, say so here, please! (no one ever writes me hermione fic!, there's not enough siblings, i wish someone would write me kate bishop, i wish the fic was longer/shorter/written backwards), anything, really!)

View Poll: december fic event poll

eta: i, for some reason i don't remember and now think foolish, didn't make the results viewable to anyone. but don't worry, i don't want to manipulate anything, i'm just LJ-incompetent, i'll post the results when it seems wise to close the polls.

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 06 Oct 2015 11:01:19 GMT

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 29 Sep 2015 11:54:26 GMT

Gods & Monsters ficathon
[click on the picture]

fic: of gods, or falling (gg, jenny, blair)

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 29 Sep 2015 11:53:06 GMT

of gods, or falling | gossip girl | jenny, blair | ~1k words. vague bulimia. for this AMAZING ficathon y'all should go visit.

it ends, well -- does anything really end, ever?

these days, she's not sure.

jenny humphrey is fourteen and she's lying on her bed in her fuzzy yellow worn out pijamas, propped up on her elbows, browsing through some pictures of girls from constance. she's going to be a freshman here soon, and a little research seems like a good move on her part.

there is one picture in particular that grabs her attention, it's from months ago, when serena van der woodsen was still on the upper east side and not mia. serena's in the picture, posing for whoever took the photo. she's eating ice cream and smiling and and her hair seems to shine more than jenny thought humanly possible until now. but even though it's serena's who catches jenny's attention, she's not what keeps it. on the photo, just behind serena (always just a little behind, jenny'll learn later) is a girl sitting on the stairs. she's not smiling, she's not eating ice cream. she's just looking at serena, an intriguing lack of expression on her face. the photo's caption says these two are best friends and that the brunette's name is blair waldorf.

after jenny turns off the laptop, she spends twenty minutes trying to emulate the coldness in the brunette's eyes.

jenny humphrey is fourteen (almost fifteen, really. if you ask about her age these days, she'll tell you she's almost fifteen.) and she's lying on her bed in her fuzzy yellow worn out pijamas and she thinks she could be a better blair waldorf than blair waldorf herself is. (it's this that'll obviously be her downfall. or her rise to victory. there's nothing in between on the upper east side.)

(jenny wouldn't want there to be, anyway.)

jenny humphrey is still fourteen when she blinks one day, pineapple yoghurt from her spoon dripping on blair waldorf's hair and that's when she realizes she's in the middle of a war with blair waldorf.

(always her full name, never just the prickly consonants of her first name, all or nothing, and blair is, has always been blair waldorf, either more or less than that would make her sound less royal, more human, and that might make jenny reconsider the carelessly cruelly intentional dropping of the yogurt on blair waldorf's carefully treated curls and she needs to be able to do this.)

(what she also doesn't realize or does realize and ignores, it's hard to tell, is that if blair waldorf can't be beat, blair can.)

(jenny is stealing (for the first time) and she is caught (not for the last time) and when the police asks her name, blair waldorf spills from her tongue, the name that creates gold, the name that destroys everything in its wake, and jenny is sure they will have to know she is lying - how would anyone believe her to be blair waldorf?)

(no one knows she's lying.)

(either that or it's the other way around, the timeless story of the hunter becoming the prey and the princess becoming the queen and the name rolls off her tongue even easier the next time she practices saying it in front of her mirror.)

jenny humphrey is still fourteen (wondering if she'll always be fourteen, if someone's placed a curse on her that she'll never escape, will always just have a room with a garage door in it, in a loft with stolen dresses and a sowing machine that never magically pricks her finger and lulls the kingdom into a magical dream, will always be just short of fifteen, just short of a queen, just short of immortality.)

jenny humphrey is still fourteen and sometimes she is blair waldorf, and sometimes she is serena van der woodsen, and she is all these people (royals, queens, goddesses) so much, she is sometimes not herself. she has dresses she hasn't sawn and people she hasn't had to blackmail into spending time with her and nate smiles at her without putting hands on her, unless when she asks him to; and creating things out of nothing, isn't that's what gods are for?

jenny humphrey is still fourteen, but she is immortal, and if you ask about her age these days, she'll smile and maybe it'll be magical and you'll go order her a martini without her having to as much as point her finger in the right direction.

jenny humphrey is immortal.

(jenny humphrey doesn't know yet what immortality is. she only knows what it tastes like.)

(blair knows all of it, the creaks and creases, the aftermath of a party, the deafening silence, the never ending cold.)

gossip girl, she helps. for fun, most likely. both of them (all of them) know blair (waldorf)'s not been brought down for good yet. but she's in the ground, mud and ashes, and it's jenny's time to be a phoenix now.

jenny humphrey is immortal when she finds blair (waldorf) in her bathroom on her knees, a sacrifice to aphrodite and to athens, and probably to the whole pantheon, a prayer, please, let me be.

the bathroom is beige and pink, and clean and sacred. blair flushes and brushes her teeth.

what do you want, little j

her voice is monotone, tired, like a useless routine act she has to go through.

jenny knows, because jenny knows the pains of speaking too much, too soon.

jenny pulls out her phone, a reflex, a habit, and stops, and considers.

this is it, the look behind the scenes. this is the aftermath of the party, when the (fallen) gods disgorge ambrosia after having consumed it, the landing that comes after the fall that comes after flying.

she doesn't want to be here.

jenny humphrey is fourteen. she'll tell you this if you ask her, maybe sometimes she'll stare at you if you're being weird or annoying, but if you seem alright, and kind, she'll probably be kind in return.

jenny humphrey is fourteen, and she only ever calls blair waldorf blair, and she is always kind to her, because immortality is tiring, and it is not being alive, and jenny humphrey is fourteen and she knows goddesses need to shed their skins sometimes, and be alive, too.

fic updates

fluffyfrolicker — Sat, 19 Sep 2015 09:58:01 GMT

as i come above the waterline for a second or two to inhale some non-exam air, i bring you the fics i had written for me AND those i wrote for the two exchanges i participated in on ao3, the rarepairfest and notprimetime. ENJOY.

WRITTEN FOR LIL OLD ME

The Firedrake

GALS, this story is crazy. ginny weasley, f/f/f sex+relationship+romance shit. and because the author noticed i listed dragons in my likes, the entire setting, the bar/hotel is dragon themed. bless.

The Box Controls the Magic Mirror

Abed & Annie & Shrek/fairytales. read this shit, yo. it's great. Abed looks for a way Annie could be a princess.

MY STUFF. ok so i volunteered to pinch hit 3 times in these 2 exchanges (twice for the same person, lol ♥) so there's 5 fics.

sharing spaces

the streets of fire (1984) (aka that movie no one's watched or cared about ever, that i adore), mccoy/tom cody, post-movie.

“Look, this Bonnie and Clyde thing, I’m not cut out for it.”

“What, you anti guns now?”

“No. The Clyde part. I do a mean Bonnie when I have to.”

[a car, a motel, an apartment]

guys, this is the longest one-shot i've ever written, over 3k words, i know it's not a lot, but it's a lot for me, so yay.

cooking, cohabitation & boys falling off stools

gossip girl | dan/nate sort of cohabitating in brooklyn.

i have to say, this was a WEIRD-ASS experience. i've never written slash before, and it was such an unusual experience, trying to look at a boy through another boy's eyes and i completely blanked out for a while trying to answer a question "how does it happen that a boy decides to kiss another boy?" basically, femmeslash & women 5eva for me, it seems. though i don't think it turned out bad, all in all.

competitive recycling

community | britta/jeff. the post-s6 fic i wanted to read somewhere, even though it's done a bit differently that the one i had in my head and wanted to read when s6 was over. "We should do a recycling themed party," she suggests. The Dean loves the idea, because he gets to wear a costume. Jeff hates it, and laughs. What else is new.

(waiting for) upheaval

gilmore girls | paris (& rory).

"Aren't there laws against these kinds of things?" Rory picks up almost immediately.

"What kinds of things?"

"Waking up innocent citizens at 3 am."

"It's 3:18 and actually, I'm pretty sure that would be too much legislation, even for you liberals."

"You're a liberal, too, Paris."

"Not at 3:18 I'm not. At 3:18 I'm just a person who wants to sleep."

make me

~~i may love all the other fics i've written for these exchanges, but this one's my baby.~~

community | abed/annie. There is a game of sorts, that Abed and Annie play.

becoming

fluffyfrolicker — Sat, 22 Aug 2015 10:42:30 GMT

becoming | harry potter | ginny weasley | a retelling of the battle of hogwarts in which harry dies | 300 words | for the narrative bingo card, square retelling. the title i stole from btvs.

harry's corpse is looking straight at her from its position on the ground. she'd probably shout something like "could someone, please, just close his eyes" if she wasn't in the middle of a war. wars call for priorities. this means she doesn't cry. this means she steps over harry's corpse because it's the closest way to voldemort. her mother shouts something, somewhere to her right. hermione is running towards neville and ron. ginny's glad her hair is in a ponytail, it might get in her way if it wasn't. voldemort has her back to her. so silly of him, even if he is fighting off mcgonagall. the ones you destroy always come back. he should have picked up on that somewhere during his many lives. though, it's easier for her this way, so she doesn't want to complain about it. she catches hermione's eyes on the left of her. she thinks hermione understands, even if she doesn't say anything. "we'll clear the way," she offers, and goes off, running again. a deatheater body falls on the ground. ron is bleeding, and neville's helping him get up. hermione and luna are fighting another deatheater. it's a funny name. ginny takes a deep breath. she'd close her eyes if she wasn't scared that would lead to not opening them again.

she's not one for theatrics. she still calls out for him. she wants to look at him when he dies.

"riddle," she shouts, standing now in place, wand ready. her father cries out in the distance.

she looks at his eyes.

"you?" he spits out.

"me."

"avada kedavra," one of them shouts.

voldemort's body falls.

victory, it turns out, is mostly a bunch of people just standing still. she closes her eyes. opens them again.

she walks over to what used to be the boy who lived.

she kneels down.

she closes his eyes.

fic: come nightfall you'll be waltzing through my door (dan/blair, chapter 3)

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 18 Aug 2015 18:46:47 GMT

title: come nightfall you'll be waltzing through my door (part 3). part 1 part 2
fandom: gossip girl
characters: dan humphrey, blair waldorf
pairings: dan/blair, implied chuck/blair, implied serena/dan
wordcount: ~2100(/7200)
rating: NC-17
disclaimer: i don't own gossip girl or the title of this fic
warning: i wrote this. it has internal monologues and something masquerading as plot and nothing much ever happens.
for: ever_neutral and vergoldung who wanted adultery. (who doesn't, really)
a/n: PART THREE, a year or so after part 2. also, i have to say, this is definitely the most self-indulgent porn i've ever written. english-majors-slash-wannabe-writers are the best/worst kind of people, tbh.

in the previous chapter:

She turns her back to him then and she's wearing black lingerie and he always loved it when she wore black lingerie and her naked legs still look as fantastic as they always have when she’s walking away from him. She walks to his room and he follows.

(He shouldn’t.)

(It doesn’t matter. He does it anyway. He was always going to do it anyway.)

Her fingertips pull away from his and she sashays into his bedroom, a perfect picture of confidence and determination; the way she doesn't look back to check if he is following, her hips ocean waves even out of water. In his mind, she's never needed water. He does this as easily as ever, following her lead. He bends down, abandons his shoes and socks in the living room and he follows. The wooden floor is warm below his toes and he would like to be able to call it cold - it would have seemed more fitting, Sir Humphrey of Brooklyn walking through ice and cold to get to the Princess and save her. His life is still not a fairytale, though, so he gets warm toes, he gets creaky wooden floors instead of magnificent fairytale landscapes. He gets to need to be saved instead. As he crosses over the threshold of his room, she stops and turns around to face him, her hands on her hips and then crossed over her chest and then wrapped around her shoulders. Titanic was sunk by less than Blair Waldorf.

"You alright?" he asks, voice softer than he intended it to be. He worries and he's not sure he should. She untangles her arms from herself and nods, "Shut up and kiss me Humphrey." and he's nineteen again, nineteen and in love with Blair Waldorf and this, this is everything.

The floor is still warm beneath his fingers.

He wonders briefly what she'll taste like, he didn't concentrate on her taste the last time, his senses and basic brain function mostly brought down on their knees by her, but he'll make it count this time, make note of the hypnotizing silkiness of the skin of her back where his fingers linger carefully, ready to escape at the first sight of Blair changing her mind, Blair waking up and smelling reality and seeing this for what it is - fraud, deceit, trickery, he can list the words and their synonyms in his head, it comes with ease after this much practice at playing at being a writer.

It's only a few seconds later, when she abandons his lips and kisses his chest that he realizes he is talking out loud, liaison, fling, affair.

She plays her part well, still, she pauses for an infinitesimal moment and he lowers his lips to her neck and she pushes him onto the bed.

"You taste - " he starts, his voice breathy. Her hands are on the zipper of his pants, pulling down,

"Yes, Humphrey?" she prompts.

"Refined," he manages.

"Refined? For a man of as many novels as you," her voice lilts, teases. He removes her hand from his zipper than, leaves his pants half unzipped and half pulls half pushes her onto the dark blue sheets with a new found determination. He motions for her to lie down and she does, so he takes a second to take in the sight of her, legs, cheeks, smile, eye roll, all she's ever been. He doesn't take off her panties, not yet, but lowers his lips down to her and hallowed, his voice is husky, now, his fingers are tracing the outline of her panties and he's sure he can hear both of their heartbeats clearly and Blair's shallow breathing. He hooks his finger to the edges of her panties and pulls them towards him, off her legs and feet and gently lowers them besides them.

"Solemn", he goes on, and his tongue reaches out and touches her then, silk and steel, his tongue slow and delicate. Blair whimpers and Dan smiles.

"Ecclesiastical", he goes on, changes pace, presses harder, and Blair is louder.

"Transcendent", he finishes.

"Fuck", Blair exhales, and he's trailing his tongue up her stomach, over her ribs, under her breasts.

"I'm on the pill", she says. She doesn't look him in the eyes, but he takes off his pants anyway and she pulls him into her.

"Merciless", he mouths to the skin below her ear.

"Euphistic", his tongue in her mouth, his whispering goes on.

"Magniloquent", she turns them over, and she's on top of them now. (She's always been on top of them.)

"Prurient", he smiles. She's dictating the tempo now, and he's closer to home with every thrust.

"Por - tentous", his voice fails him, just a little, and it's her turn to smile now.

"Iniquitous". His hands are on her hips now, helping her, his hips finding hers, and she places her hands in his and he lets out

"Arcane", and her fingers dig into his hands and she moans and he comes. (He's always been as easy as that.)

The first drops of Paris evening rain start dropping on the open windows, a fitting soundtrack perhaps, raw and unassuming. Neither of them bothers to get up and close them. Dan is sweaty and so is she, though he likes the look better on her than on himself, the sweat making her skin glisten.

She's lying on her back, arms above her head, breathing getting deeper, which is good, he's always liked his ability to make her relax, ease into whatever life throws at them. He leans over her and kisses her cheek then, and rolls himself off the bed. He has some mid-quality French wine in his fridge and he gets out two glasses out of his kitchen cupboard. When he comes back into his room, she's put on his black bathrobe.

He'd like to say he doesn't think of Serena at that moment, that everything is so pure and true that he doesn't have the heart or the mind to bring into this moment Serena making him try on the bathrobe in the store and insisting on buying it even when he kept rolling his eyes, doesn't bring back the light touching of her skin against his later that night, when she made him put on the bathrobe and make them pancakes at two in the morning and danced with him in their kitchen to -- he doesn't remember what exactly, but something upbeat, something catchy -- something Serena.

"Serena bought that - " he stops himself from something, he's not sure how that sentence made it out of his mind to his lips, and he doesn't like that. He looks away from Blair, he should not be saying this to her. He's not sure why exactly he stops himself, though he could think of plenty enough reasons to do it.

Blair leans on the windowsill and he would have written her to roll her eyes then even if she hadn't done it herself.

"I'm not a child, Humphrey. Or an idiot. I didn't forget you're married to her. Or that I'm married."

"I know, it's just -- maybe I did."

Blair doesn't react further, not in any way he picks up on anyway, and he likes to think he would have picked something up if it had been there. But still, when her gaze falls on the glasses in his left and then on the wine in his right hand, he takes a breath to stop and look at her mostly unobserved: there's street light behind her back, she is a silhouette now more than anything else, a immaculate homage to every femme fatale that ever was. Hints of skin lit and visible, a waist so slim underneath the tied knot of the belt of his bathrobe, her body seemingly so small and fragile, he is not sure he would believe her able of any significant movement at all if he had done felt it on himself.

All the scene's missing is a strong red glow of a cigarette, but he's almost sure not even he's ready to be that much of a cliche.

She's sitting on the windowsill, legs crossed, a bare foot left dangling in the air, and it's only when he focuses on setting the glasses and the bottle on his nightstand and opens the drawer to search for a wine opener does she say

"I hate him," with a voice so small his throat clenches and he can't breathe.

He stops moving.

"Did he - ?"

"Still such a pedestrian, Humphrey. No, he doesn't hit me. Really, it's as if a man needs to hit a woman to make her hate him. I think he might even love me."

Dan's fingers move and feel the wine opener.

"Maybe not all of us, I mean, maybe I wasn't supposed to actually, you know, marry my soulmates. Maybe not all souls can handle that."

He gently places the wine opener on the bottle. He's careful not to say it. He opens the bottle.

"Did you? Marry yours?"

He pours wine into the first glass. A drop misses the glass. Tires screech outside. A woman curses.

"I don't know."

He brings her a glass, and she takes it, and moves to her right, making room for him to sit down next to her.

He brings the glass near his lips, but she still hasn't moved hers. He's about to ask something, and he lowers his glass, just as she raises hers and empties all of it in seconds. (Blair Waldorf's always been thirsty. Mostly, her problem was just that she didn't know what she was thirsty for.)

"I couldn't think of anything I'd like to toast to," she says as an explanation.

He kisses her shoulder because it's safer than saying it.

He guesses he did it too gently, too nicely, or some other thing Blair's occasionally not known how to handle, because she leans over to set their glasses on the floor and then she unties the bathrobe and straddles him. She bites his ear, hard, and pushes her hips into his. She takes both his hands and places them on the upper window frame and he holds steady, he's not sure he entirely trust her not to make him fall. But he lets her go on anyway, nods in response when she stops to look at him, and then she touches him again, takes his cock into her hand and pushes it inside herself and holds herself up by putting one arm around his neck for balance. Her fingers dig into the skin of his neck, and she is going to leave bruises, he's sure.

"No, not enough - " she says then, and takes his hands off the window and points to the floor.

"Down," she says.

He lies down without saying anything.

She's so beautiful and determined when she sits down on his face, he feels himself harden. She's soft, and a bit sharp, and a step away from breaking him. Body, soul, whatever. This is Blair.

He tries holding her hips up, for better balance, but she pushes his hands away and he lets them fall to his sides.

So he flattens his tongue, and he makes circular motions. He stabs her and penetrates her. He breathes, he kisses, he makes pauses, he builds a rhythm, he worships.

She doesn't look at him when she comes. It's alright, maybe - he's not really sure she wants her to see him anyway, not like this, not when his all his wounds are bleeding again and he doesn't know how to bandage hers.

"My life sucks," he says when she's rolled off of him and onto the floor, the bathrobe spread around her, her nipples in line with his eyes.

There's not much poetry to this. He'd like there to be poetry.

She laughs then, her whole body shaking, her palm on her forehead, scooping hair away from it.

"You're an Upper East Sider, Dan. Of course it does."

She gets up, unceremonious, and it worries him he can't see any noticeable change on her now that she's up and walking again, especially when he's not sure if his legs would allow him to get up now, even if he wanted to. Isn't there supposed to be something, he's wondering. Something of significance, something painting on her body a trace of this night, of him. Something at least a bit permanent. She doesn't provide any explanation before walking out of the room, but when she comes back, she's carrying something in her hands.

"Jenny said I couldn't go to Paris without these," Blair says and holds up a pack of Gauloises cigarettes and a lighter.

Dan laughs, heartily. He can't remember the last time he's laughed like this.

"What?" Blair asks, but he waves his hand and says, "Nothing."

"Everything's perfectly alright."

Blair puts two cigarettes between her lips and lights one, and then the other. He thinks she's seen two many movies, and this is an old move, but he won't tell her that. She hands one cigarette to him and inhales hers.

They sit on the floor, backs against his bed, eyes set on the awakening Parisian streets, Blair's hand on his thigh.

The floor is still warm.

i'm a p.i.m.p.

fluffyfrolicker — Sat, 15 Aug 2015 07:59:05 GMT

buffy_genfic
round two signups are live! (click banner)

go, write willow fic, the prompt for this round is GREAT

also, reminding you about:

an AU comment ficathon
[click on the picture]

go, write, prosper!

dear fandom growth exchange author letter

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 11 Aug 2015 07:56:25 GMT

eta:

dear author.

i'm a jerk, i'm sorry, i forgot i didn't add a letter to my sign-up :/

however, i hope that if you still need help with finding inspiration/direction for whatever you have cooking for me that i am sure will be WONDERFUL, here it is, and i hope you enjoy it ♥

general likes;
+ + Women. Independent women. Queens. Men as their loyal huntsmen. Gen. Relationships. F/F and F/M especially, but M/M too. Polyamory as well. Love in all shapes and forms. Power disparity. Happy endings and not so happy endings and repetitions, I love repetitions. Contrasting use of language and structure. Parallel structures. Witty dialogue. A lack of grand, be-all-end-all revelations. Adultery. Hurt/comfort and smoking and substance use and abuse and destructive and self-destructive behavior. Guilt. Self-awareness and people being performative and aware of clichés. Clichés turned upside down and clichés played straight. Character studies. Gender role exploration. Guns. Women with guns. Fluff. Poetic sentences. Intentional vagueness. Words. Fairytale AUs/references. Physicality. Sex. Exploration of sexuality. Non spectacular sex. Touching. Hands. Blood. Plot, occasionally. Doom, gloom and personal growth.

+ general dislikes;
+ Gender inequality. Non-con and dub-con, if not well handled. Women pushed to the sidelines because of men. Slut shaming, victim blaming. Endings that lack hope.

random likes i'm thinking of atm
+ Dragons. Smoking. Boys in suits. Boys in suits covered in blood. Lipstick. Florence + the Machine. Dragons. Girls.

"When I say girlhood I mean to bleach and bind and braid. I mean that soft gape-mouthed mirror face. I mean the slight, tight discomfort of hair scraped into a ponytail lifting the skin of the forehead. I mean pleasure-pain. I mean knowing how to hurt. I mean the fixed quality of attention bestowed by your best friend as she grips your chin to apply your lipstick, half-sensual half-ritual all hush, like communion. Sad as Sunday night television. I mean following those flow-charts in teen magazines that tell you which movie star you’re going to marry, looking for clues about the unknown quantity of yourself. I mean the sense of waiting for upheaval. I mean having an itchy soul. I mean girls are cruellest to themselves. I mean a fire in a dollhouse."

Water does not resist. Water flows. When you plunge your hand into it, all you feel is a caress. Water is not a solid wall, it will not stop you. But water always goes where it wants to go, and nothing in the end can stand against it. Water is patient. Dripping water wears away a stone. Remember that, my child. Remember you are half water. If you can’t go through an obstacle, go around it. Water does."

fic: the making of (persephone, background persephone/hades)

fluffyfrolicker — Sun, 09 Aug 2015 21:30:20 GMT

the making of | greek mythology | persephone (+ hades) | for the multigen-fic narrative bingo | square alliteration ~~please let us pretend this counts as alliteration~~

at the end of all the stories, after all the happy endings, there is a place where all things go to die.

this is where she resides.

hades is, yes, certainly.
among other things that he is,

(out of rock and darkness and something similar to being cold)

he is what is called false advertising.

persephone made sure of that.

persephone, though --
she is not false.

- what creates itself can never be false.

and boy, was persephone

(out of fruit and desire and something similar to fire)

not false.

the first time she came down into death (bare feet, warm toes slowly feeling the cold rocks around them, not enough air in her lungs) she was young.

she is not young anymore.

blood runs in rosy rivers here,
and sand sifts through slits in all her soft dresses,
and grey is the color of most things in the dark.

it is always dark here.

she learns that later.

(before that: she cries in her room, soft and suffocating, and when she steps out again, she has intent so much it seeps from her eyelashes.)

she walks to him, and slits his throat with a silver dagger.

she stares at their red silhouettes in the water.
he laughs.
she laughs.
he doesn't die.

for a while, this.

and then not.

she'd grow to hate repetitions
if they weren't almost all she has.

(out of the rivers of red and the dark of the rocks and the memory of the sun on her skin)

(out of the sighs of their last breaths, and the first ever sounds of newborns, and with her hands always steady)

(into a myth, into a goddess, persephone makes herself -

into a woman.

AU august comment ficathon

fluffyfrolicker — Wed, 05 Aug 2015 11:19:21 GMT

+ Kelsey made me write a BtVS/tVD/DW/TW crossover tMI fusion. now I want everyone to write all the AUs; so, pretty much 107% Kelsey's fault

[If you want to promote, there's the banner above + maybe other lovely banners in this thread.]

rules; shamelessly stolen from upupa_epops and slightly adapted.

1. every fandom/character/ship is fair game, as long as it's an AU. a short guide to AUs, for clarification; (stolen from various internet sites & adapted slightly)

AU fic = alternate universe fic.
there HAS to be canon divergence/difference of some kind. examples of AU fics;
(not claiming these are all the kinds of AU fics there could be, but I think naming some and explaining will help. of course, if you're unsure about something, please ask away.)

fix-it fics: something didn't go the way you wanted in some part of the canon? write it differently. allison argent could have lived. elena gilbert could have turned vampire in 3x11. annie edison could have left greendale in season 1. poison ivy could have kissed harley quinn (any time they share a scene, tbh).

contextual reassignment: "take the characters from a series and place them in another time, place, or situation" Gossip Girl on an alien planet. HP in Ancient Egypt. Friends in the wild west.

crossover: mix of two or more different canons. Buffy becoming a Jedi and hanging out with Obi-Wan. the Gilmore Girls moving to the Upper East Side and having fun with the Gossip Girl Characters.

2. make a separate comment for each prompt. and don't be shy, prompt.
3. when you fill a prompt, please leave a comment here (link, title, warnings, prompt).
4. feedback is much appreciated, but you knew that already.
5. have fun!

fluffyfrolicker — Fri, 31 Jul 2015 11:56:41 GMT

means no one gets left behind | leverage | hardison + elliot + parker, nate, sophie | ~320 words | multigenfic narrative bingo, square scene shift

It's a slow work day. Nate and Sophie are out scouting, and no one really expects them to come back to the office today, which means three of them are there, for some or other reasons. Parker's sitting cross legged on the conference room table, working on a new harness when there's a shout, a loud and sudden "What?" coming from Hardison's office. Parker jumps off the table and she's in the office as quickly as humanly possible, but no one's there other than the boys.

"The one ring to rule them all? Gandalf the White? Frodo Baggins!"

Elliot waves his hand dismissively. "I heard all those words before."

"So, you have seen them?"

"Nah. Slept with a girl who was a fan."

"Damn, bro. Parker, li'l help, please?"

"I saw the movies. I don't remember much. But that white haired dude was very flexible."

"Oh, and that you remember, of course."

Parker shrugs, and Elliot smiles, and Hardison looks determined.

~*~*~

When Nate & Sophie come back from their evening out scouting, Sophie taking off her shoes and then earrings as she walks through the apartment, and Nate grumbling something under his breathe, they're only slightly surprised when they see three figures, asleep, stretched out on the sofas and couches of the living room. The TV's not on, but Sophie quickly notices three Lord of the Rings DVDs on the coffee table, and one DVD box open and the DVD from it missing. She motions for Nate to be quiet, and he rolls his eyes in response, eternally pretending he's not glad to have all of them hear and that it's all just a giant bother. But he tells her he's going to sleep and sees take a blanket that seems to have fallen on the floor and he places it over an uncovered Hardison. Parker stirs, and Nate tiptoes to his room.

Sophie smiles.

fluffyfrolicker — Fri, 31 Jul 2015 11:34:45 GMT

the life and times of | arrow, tommy (mentions of oliver, laurel, thea) | ~265 | for the multigenfic narrative bingo, square anaphora

tommy falls in love with oliver,
tommy falls in love with laurel,
tommy falls in love with thea.

tommy loses his mother,
tommy loses his brother,
tommy loses his father.

tommy has oliver,
tommy loses oliver,
tommy has oliver.

tommy gets lonely,
tommy gets sad,
tommy does shots.

tommy looks at thea,
tommy talks to thea,
tommy dances with thea.

tommy gets drunk with thea,
tommy kisses thea,
tommy pretends not to remember this with thea.

tommy misses oliver,
tommy misses oliver with thea.
tommy misses.

tommy gets lonely,
tommy gets sad,
tommy does shots.

tommy feels young,
tommy feels old,
tommy feels tired.

tommy is young,
tommy is old,
tommy is tired.

tommy wants to be loud,
tommy wants to be quiet,
tommy wants to be heard.

tommy want to do something,
tommy wants to matter,
tommy doesn't want to disappoint.

tommy gets lonely,
tommy gets sad,
tommy does shots.

tommy helps oliver with his club,
tommy helps laurel with her dad,
tommy helps thea with school.

tommy smiles at oliver when oliver doesn't look at him,
tommy smiles at laurel when she cries and doesn't look at him,
tommy smiles at thea when she cries and shouts and doesn't look at him.

tommy puts on suits when need arises,
tommy goes out when need arises,
tommy comes back home when need arises.

tommy is polite,
tommy is kind,
tommy smiles back.

tommy resents oliver,
tommy forgives oliver,
tommy loves oliver.

tommy jumps into a building,
tommy catches on fire,
tommy saves laurel,
tommy dies.

tommy was polite,
tommy was kind,
tommy smiled back.

fluffyfrolicker — Fri, 31 Jul 2015 11:10:08 GMT

move on | teen wolf | lydia (mentions of scott, stiles, kira, malia. allusions to allison.) | 250 | for the multigen narrative bingo, square allusion

A girl that walks just right past her some mornings in the school hallway, when Lydia's standing by her locker, she has dark hair and a loose braid.

Pencils look like arrow heads, if you look at them from the right angle, and the right kind of intent.

Skirts are a thing that hurts sometimes, too.

Scott gets a kind of empty look in his eyes at times, that he doesn't let linger for long. Stiles is there to pat him on the back then, or provide a new piece of intel on Derek's current whereabouts, or have a joke up his sleeve. All of these work, and none of these work, not really.

Lydia thinks of dying her hair, thinks of cutting her hair shoulder-length, thinks of learning how to shoot a bow.

She does none of these things.

Compensation never works. Replacements are just things that are similar, but never similar enough.

Kira asks. Malia, if Malia asks, she asks Stiles, not Lydia, so Lydia doesn't know if Malia asks.

Lydia tells Kira when Kira asks, and lets Kira hold her hand when she cries.

Lydia gets up in the morning and braids her hair sometimes.

Scott doesn't talk to her about it, but she knows he feels guilty.

(Lydia doesn't talk to him about it, but he knows she feels guilty.)

Lydia has her hair cut.

Lydia's hair grows out.

The thing to learn from this is, things go on.

Or at least the alive ones do.

fic: the fear in your skin (qc, hannelore)

fluffyfrolicker — Wed, 29 Jul 2015 13:21:19 GMT

the fear in your skin | questionable content (web comic) | hannelore | ~680 | square: setting shift

~~kelsey let's not pretend we both don't know that this is mostly for you, since i don't think i know anyone else who reads qc~~

When you think about yourself, and mostly you do this when there is nothing else left to think about, you think that if anyone asked you to describe yourself to them by comparing yourself to any paraphernalia, you would like very much to tell them that you are one of those expensive, special pens: you know the type: you can use them in outer space and they work outside down, unlike all the other pens. You like the comparison and you're proud of coming up with it.

No one ever asks.

Your name is Hannelore Ellicott-Chatham and when your father sits in a white, metal chair next to your bed, as he's been known to do, though on an admittedly rare occasion, he tells you that the first thing you ever knew how to say properly was your name. From all you know about child development, this doesn't sound like the truth to you and it wouldn't sound like the truth to anyone with the knowledge of your full name. (There are not many who can say they have that knowledge.) But still, the idea is sort of poetic and it's neat, and you like it, so you decide to keep it.

Well - you do not keep it, really, because you're not sure how one would go around keeping words. If you type or print them, one neat letter after the other, H-a-n-n-e-l-o-r-e-E-l-l-i-c-o-t-t-C-h-a-t-h-a-m, because you practiced your penmanship until you reached the optimum levels of roundness of your Os and the straightness of your Ts - the words belong to the computer screen then or to the paper and a bit to your pen, for a few moments at least. And if you say the words out loud, they belong to the air around you and to the ears of the person listening (you, always you) but this is only fleeting too.

And if the vowels that make you sometimes seem to stall on your lips while forming you, well, that's alright too. Maybe it means you are slow, which is not necessarily bad, everything you like will always last longer and you try to like things, like Station recommends. Or maybe your lips are trying to keep this truth a secret, if that's what it is anyway. (It's not. But it's neat, which is as close as you think you'll get.)

You want to be everything when you grow up. You are nine, you know about these things. About growing up and doing grown up things and doing many other kinds of things. Or at least, this is something you like to think or at least think about, on those frequent quiet mornings and mid-days and afternoons and evenings and nights, when you're lying on your bed, looking at your ceiling looking back at you.

Station tries playing some music for you once.
Music is invisible cosmic falling all over you.

Everything here is always clean and you slip on the freshly polished tiles that one time, just after dawn. Your blood drips on the tiles and this is the reddest thing you've seen in your life. You scream until your father is awake and comes to get you.

You think sometimes you would like to be a dragon when you grow up. You had this picture book with a dragon when you were five and you read it every night for a month.

You think about these things. There's a lot of time to think when you're nine and live on a space station and sometimes you don't remember things because you've been sedated for weeks on end.

You read, though. This you can do. Books are safe, they're just words and words won't hurt you. You read about space and the planets and the stars and cosmic dust and Earth. You read about dragons, all books you can find.

There are some things all books about dragons have in common. All dragons are dangerous. All dragons are survivors. All dragons escape their cages.

You are eighteen when you first come to Earth.
You want to spread your wings.
You want to breathe fire.

multigenfic narrative bingo table + fills

fluffyfrolicker — Wed, 29 Jul 2015 11:35:17 GMT

description	alliteration (greek mythology, persephone)	poetry	simile	spoken word
retelling (hp, ginny)	focus on object (hp, draco + hermione)	anaphora (arrow, tommy)	dialogue	metonymy
parallel	bathos (dcu, harley)	NARRATIVE BINGO CARD 2	high prose	sensual description (skins, michelle)
setting shift (qc, hanners)	allusion (tw, lydia)	repetition	allegory (trc, blue)	personification
asyndenton	pathetic fallacy (tvd, caroline + katherine)	hamartia (gg/dw, serena)	innuendo	scene shift (leverage, gen ot5)

stories | the raven cycle | blue | ~260 | square: allegory

Her mother used to tell her stories when she was little. ("You're still little", Maura would say to this, and it would be a little bit true.)

She'd like to be able to say she remembers a little more of them than she, in fact does, but she really doesn't.

She remembers a little, though.

But at night, while her body is asleep but her mind is still working, she connects the dots of the stories more successfully than in her waking hours, and then she dreams out the tales she can't tell aloud.

She dreams of the three rats, a mice and a squirrel who went searching for an ancient block of sacred cheese and drowned in the river that meandered around a talking tree.

She dreams of a mother rat gone missing. Of rats dying. Of ghost church rats on church paths and identical white carriages. Someone somewhere, calling out for a Jane.

She dreams of the three brown mice, a pale mouse and a blue mouse being hunted by the neighborhood green furred cat that flies around wearing a mantle. She has her front paws on the blue mouse when Blue awakens.

Blue gets up resolutely then, and glad that she's never been a psychic.

Maybe the story ends with the mice still alive, and maybe it doesn't.

But she calls Gansey anyway, and he calls everyone else, and they meet at Monmouth in an hour, and when she sees her boys all in one place, in one piece and five smiles, she forgets all about childhood stories. A little.

knowing god | skins (uk) | michelle (really background tony and jal) | ~330 | square: sensual description (lol, apparently i suck at sensuality)

The bathroom mirror is foggy and she traces her fingers across the damp glass. She can see herself now, well, most of her face and upper body anyway. She takes a moment to just stop and inhale the various fragrances in the air, a bit of her peach nail polish, a bit of her lime shampoo and a bit of her vanilla and rose shower gel, and as easy as that, the world seems just a bit softer, a bit slower. She leans to her left to her stereo and presses a button and skips to the next song, more fitting for this moment, stiller and gentler than the previous one, more like Sunday nights that ended with her falling asleep on the couch with Jal after watching trash, rather than Friday nights that began with Tony knocking on her door to pick her up and whisk her away somewhere. And sure, it's Friday afternoon, and Tony will be here to pick her up in a few hours; but that'll be then, and this is now. Would be silly to mix the two, when they're not to be mixed. A girl sings about life over the tripping chords of an acoustic guitar, and Michelle opens the bathroom cupboard and takes out a new razor. She sits on the edge of the tub and stretches her left leg in front of her, the right one on the floor for balance. The skin of her legs is clean and still wet, and patch after patch, as she passes the razor over her skin is softer, better. Michelle has always loved shaving. As easy as a well chosen skirt and soft, long legs, she could be ruling the world this time tomorrow. She loves the feel of her skin under her fingers, loves to feel for herself the difference between the shaven and the not yet shaven parts of her legs, a silent prayer to herself, for herself.

While Michelle shaves her legs, she knows God is a woman.

rehearsals | dcu | harley quinn (mention of joker, v. implied joker/harley) | 250 words | square: bathos ("an abrupt transition from a lofty style or grand topic to a common or vulgar one")

If she could align the bomb with the rhythm of her heart, she would.

Tick. Tick.

Joker. Joker would know what to say right about now. Something witty, something smooth, something Joker. She is not Joker. She does not want to be Joker.

Harley. She wants to be Harley. The cool girl. The smart girl. Harley. The girl who built the coolest, smartest bomb Gotham City has ever seen. The girl who was the coolest, smartest bomb Gotham has ever seen.

In Gotham City's police profile of her, she guesses, somewhere in the first ten sentences about her, somewhere after her estimated height and weight and before the mention of her latest sighting, there's a bullet that says "Joker's girlfriend", probably with a question mark, "Joker's girlfriend?" because she doesn't think they think of Joker as someone who could have a girlfriend, and maybe they don't think of her as someone who could be a girlfriend.

Tick,
tick,
tick.

Or boom?

Boom.

"For my next trick - " Harley motions toward herself, motions towards the bomb, motions back to herself, looks at herself looking at herself in the mirror, looks.

" - I'll make the bomb go boom."

Tick,

tick,

tick.

"Explosions always make things better."

Tick.

"Everyone knows that."

Tick.

"Now would be a good time for the last round of applause."

"BOOM!"

*

The tiny cartoonish drawings of people in the bottom of her mirror don't applaud.

The unfinished bomb does not go off.

Harley laughs.

Gotham gets to live another day.

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 28 Jul 2015 01:21:15 GMT

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 21 Jul 2015 17:47:27 GMT

falling | gg/dw fusion | serena as the doctor, blair/nate/dan/carter as companions | multi_genfic bingo card #2, square "hamartia", which google tells me is the tragic error of the tragic hero in Greek tragedies. sorry for spamming today, i only have internet on my phone atm and editing posts is a bitch, so i keep making new posts, sorry.

there's only one thing in the entire universe,

all of time and space, all the parts that were and those that never will be,

that she thinks is her error.
flaw.

slight
lapse in judgment.

she does it every time, though, and probably that's the part that makes it so
damn
tragic.

first there is blair.

she went to the beginning of the universe once and there was dust there in shape of a girl. she is telling you this so you understand that this universe began with a girl, so she had no other option than to do the same.

blair had a sly smile,
a hollow laugh
and faraway eyes,
and serena's fingers were young
when they entwined with hers.

nate, nate came next.
nate had a honey smile,
an honest laugh
and soft eyes,
and serena's fingers were sure
when they entwined with his.

they were never lovers, no, neither of them. that's too plebeian for a time lord (too raw, too true, too careless).

though -

that doesn't mean she didn't
love
all of them.

after nate, there was dan.
dan had a knowing smile,
a somber laugh
and encouraging eyes,
and serena's fingers were excited
when they entwined with his.

by the time dan left, she should have learned not to fall in love with them so easily,

and not to need them so desperately

and to be on her own.

oh, well.

carter has a sad smile,
a careless laugh
and reckless eyes,
and serena's fingers are greedy
when they entwine with his.

there's only one thing in the entire universe, all of time and space, all the parts that were and those that never will be, that she thinks is her error.

but her hair still shines golden in the sun,
she still smiles and she still laughs,
and there are still fingers entwined with hers, and

she cannot for the life of her remember what that error is.

fic: in need (hp, draco + hermione)

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 21 Jul 2015 16:16:19 GMT

in need | hp | draco + hermione | multi_genfic bingo card #2, square "focus on object". Don't know how well this fits the prompt, tbh. Also for xx_pinkstar who I think is the person I talked to, a billion years ago, about our mutual need for a draco + hermione being BFFs during HBP. this is it, sort of. enjoy, everyone.

The books are identical. Same size, same leather binding, and Hermione's first part is to make them look like the History of Magic textbooks to anyone else. That way, the chances of someone noticing them or taking them into their hands were slim.

The second part, well, it's a simple spell to do, really, in that way that things become simple when one knows them in their sleep and when one's worked to know to do them in their sleep like she has, because one of the reccurring nightmares of hers during her first year, even after the mountain troll and the beginning of her and Harry and Ron, the so called Golden Trio, was being expelled out of Hogwarts. So she worked, and she studied, and now she can, and she does.

She has different sorts of nightmares, though, these days.

When she tells Draco this, he doesn't laugh at her, but she doubts that has a lot to do with her. He doesn't laugh these days, no matter what happens around him.

So she buys the notebooks and then there is a sleepless night, and then the notebooks aren't mundane anymore.

"Here", she extends her hand shily to him. "You can write in here. No one will be able to read it but me, if you want me to."

His eyes are red, and he nods slightly and his skin is white and she thinks she can almost see how tired his body is through this thin skin of his. She's careful not to touch him, though - touching is for other people. She ponders for a moment if perhaps he is making her more cruel just by sharing air with her, and she wonders if he thinks the same of her, and whether she is making him dirtier by the simple act of sharing his air.

Well, it doesn't matter anyhow.

He doesn't write in the notebook that night, or the day that follows. But soon, his thin handwriting starts appearing in her duplicate of the notebook. She opens the notebook when it becomes warmer to touch, the signal of new writing, and she is pleased with this as she watches the letters form on the page in front of her. The spell seems to be functioning. At least she still has that.

"i don't sleep anymore. don't know how to."

"try a potion? or talking to someone?"

"no. and i talk to you."

"then talk."

Time passes. Hermione stares at her notebook. No new words appear. The notebook gradually becomes cold again. Oh, well. Happens.

She dreams of a battle that night. Ron stepping in front of Harry and her to stop the curse from hitting them. His body falls to the ground in slow motion. Harry's body follows in a matter of minutes, and she stands there, frozen. Her hands shake as she writes out the nightmare in the notebook, on the same page, after "then talk".

At least no one will ever be able to say Hermione Granger didn't take her own advice.

He writes back almost immediately. "at least you didn't die", he writes. "in all my dreams, He kills me", Draco continues.

She snorts.

"I know, how predictable", more letters appear, and this might be the first light-hearted thing she's heard him say in a month, it's almost a joke even.

She draws a smiley face, and closes the book.

Talking to a sort-of-friend, even if mostly through a book, well, it's better than not talking.

It feels like progress.

fic: all the sins you never had the courage to commit (tvd, caroline + katherine)

fluffyfrolicker — Tue, 21 Jul 2015 11:29:08 GMT

all the sins you never had the courage to commit | tVD | caroline + katherine | for lynzie914's prompt you will always be fond of me. i represent to you all the sins you never had the courage to commit AND for multi_genfic's narrative bingo, card 2, square "pathetic fallacy".

"It's a pathetic fallacy", Caroline's lips say.

Every sentence is performative because every sentence creates the truth. Caroline's brain knows this, because Caroline's legs carried it over themselves on admissions day and her right hand signed them all into a lit class. Caroline's legs stretch in the last fall sunlight falling into their room through the open window and the sun smiles back at them.

"What is?" Katherine asks. Katherine came to her room in the middle of the semester. Her mouth said "I need a place to crash", and Caroline's shoulders shrugged, "don't mess with my calendar", Caroline's lips begged or demanded or neither, and Katherine's body threw itself on the now empty bed. Caroline's roommate's body walked out of the dorms a week ago, but never made sounds explaining her departure.

"You are", Caroline's hand sprays a hair straightening spray on Caroline's hair and her hair, stretched itself in response to the spray, which looks like a golden retriever's back throwing itself on a meadow of yellow daisies and the golden retriever's legs stretching themselves, reaching for the sky. Caroline's hair is always reaching for the sky, too.

"A natural or inanimate object with human emotions attributed to it."

Katherine's mouth wants to say something, wants to say "All doppelgangers are", but Katherine's brain stops it. It brings bad memories.

Katherine's legs then spring into action, since the rest of the body is temporarily unsure what to do, and they walk out of the room. Katherine's hair flips itself over her shoulder, which is an ingrained act of self defense or maybe offense or both, and Katherine's skin smiles as Katherine's hands slam the door behind them.

Caroline's eyes roll in their sockets, annoyed or maybe intrigued and actually, definitely both.

Caroline's brain is unsure what's going on, but Caroline's heart burns a bit. Katherine is the closest to Mystic Falls her eyes have seen in years.

Caroline's calendar is full but feels empty, and remains so until Katherine comes back.

"You're more heroic, more human than me. That's why I made you," Katherine's defeated eyebrows don't say when Katherine comes back.

"You're more cunning, more monster than me. That's why I want you to stay."

Caroline's fingertips stop this from spilling out of Caroline's body, because some truths are meant for staying inside, but her fingertips offer Katherine's fingers a pastel pink post-it which reads MOVIE NIGHT WITH KAT and Katherine's fingers place the post it on Thursday at 11 pm.

There are two bodies standing in front of the calendar in the dorm room, fingertips touching, fingers entwined, together, home.

art for not just a girl but a work of art, written by lynzie914

fluffyfrolicker — Sun, 21 Jun 2015 23:59:27 GMT

Art for lynzie914's WONDERFUL Caroline story which you should all go and read here, it's called not just a girl but a work of art. I tried to reflect the story and the title in the art. Both the story and the art were created as part of this round of heroinebigbang. Enjoy!

~~icons to come~~