Gen Mini-Fic Exchange

Round 11: Poll

kwritten — Thu, 14 Jul 2016 17:52:35 GMT

Since there was zero interest in the "Fallen Ladies" prompt/poll - let's try this round again and start from the very basics. I'm also interested in knowing if there's anything you'd like to see come from the comm in the future - a theme, a fandom, an event - whatever is in your noodle that you'd like to see happen, I'm always open to new ideas to shake things up!

(Revised) Round 11 Schedule:
Thursday, July 14th: Theme Poll Opens
Monday, July 18th: Round Poll Opens
Wednesday, July 20th: Sign ups Open
Monday, July 25th: Assignments Mailed
Sunday, August 21st: Assignments Due
Monday, August 22nd: Free-For-All Opens

View Poll: Round 11: theme

[Round 11: Our Fallen Ladies] Poll

kwritten — Tue, 05 Jul 2016 18:45:13 GMT

In honor of a particularly bad year of television, I'm proposing a gen round focused on women who love women. Even in fandom, there's a lot of emphasis on lesbians being defined by their relationship or sexuality. I know that there is a lot of shippyness in fandom anyway - and smut - but it would be particularly nice if these characters could be celebrated in a gen-fashion.

The most important rule this month will be: I am alive. Let's celebrate the lives and hobbies and personalities and friendships of these fantastic ladies.

Here is the schedule for Round Eleven:
Polls Open: Tuesday, July 5th
Sign-Ups Open: Friday, July 8th
Sign-Ups Close: Monday, July 11th
Assignments Mailed: Monday, July 11th
Stories Due: Wednesday, July 27th
Free for all: Thursday, July 28th --- Sunday, July 31st

Here let's have a Poll to Begin

View Poll: round 11: wlw

Yes, that list only goes back to 2010. Yes, I realize that means that many of fandom's faves (Tara, Zena, Marissa, etc.) are not included on that list. PLEASE NOMINATE THEM. It's a small comm - chances are if two of you really want to write about *insert lady here*, I can make that happen.

High Heels Are The Worst

happyg_rl — Tue, 28 Jun 2016 02:48:20 GMT

Title: High Heels Are The Worst
Fandom: The Royal Tenenbaums (Wes Andersen)
Character: Margot Tenenbaum
Rating: T
Word Count: ? (using a basic notepad to write this so idek)
For:clockwork_hart1 , who prompted "a dark night in town/in the middle of the road" as a general prompt.

Click, click, click...

Four inches.

Click, scrape, click clack...

Whatever dastardly, pushy saleswoman that had persuaded her to purchase these ridiculous, 4-inch (gorgeous, strappy, navy blue) heels probably deserved to be tortured.

click, click, pl-unk!

The fashionably, albeit impractically dressed, woman stepped off the deserted curb into a shallow, murky puddle that had collected near a drain.

The recent rain had left its earthy there-ness that Margot Tenenbaum had always felt deep within her bones and veins, but could never describe to anyone else. It clung to the sides of buildings and faded, striped awnings and seeped into the pavement. It beaded on the fur of her coat. She could taste it when she breathed in deep, deep enough to feel the weight of the humidity in her lungs and make her feel almost like drowning and crave a cigarette. The time after a rain made her feel so much more alive and also very small. One pound of her heart, pushing blood up to her ears and pushing her closer to the earth and the rain and the whole fucking universe. It was infuriating, honestly.

She glanced down at her soaking wet foot in the puddle and sighed. Now she had no chance of returning the offending shoes.

(Not that she would have. There was no pushy saleswoman, she had bought them online along with a dozen other pairs she had never worn.)

Margot lifted her foot out of the water gingerly and glanced up and down the dark road. No one was around at this time of night, but one could never be too careful. She pulled a very old, metal cigarette case from the inside of her coat along with a cheap, Bic lighter. Opening the case with a satisfying click , she was midly perturbed to find only two Virginia Slims nestled inside. She took one out and put the case back in her pocket.
She took another look up the deserted street. She could hear cars in the distance, since she wasn't very far from a main road. But this little avenue was hidden away, tucked between larger and more aspiring roads with brighter lights and higher foot traffic.

Most of the buildings on the street were near the same height, but they varied from one to the next as though none of the architects wanted to copy another. Three or four of the buildings were boarded up with large "CLOSED" signs hanging over the doors, covered in violently bright graffitti. The sidewalks were old and cracked with a few weeds and stubborn flowers sticking up between. The road itself seemed newer, as it only had one pothole in front of the antique furniture shop. A single, slighty bent orange cone warned unsuspecting travelers of the large chunk missing from the road.

A classic laundromat squatted in the middle of the opposite road. It was mostly made of giant windows and plaster, and brandished four or five neon signs indicating that it was closed, that it was a laundromat, that a single load only cost a dollar, and that ice-cold Coca-Cola was sold inside. The bright reds and blues clashed with pink and green, and fought for attention with purple and yellow. It was certainly the brightest shop on the road, but it wasn't what kept snagging Margot's attention.

As she brought the cigarette to her lips and lit it, she shifted her gaze to a strange, life-sized box that sat right on the sidewalk where the avenue curved and became another street. A bright, yellow light inside illuminated a caricatured puppet. A fortune teller, with long black hair pulled back under a flowery, silk scarf. Her ears had large, gold hoop earrings that matched the chains of gold and brass that hung around her neck. Her jaw, nose, and cheeks were sharp, casting long shadows across her face that furthered her mysticism. Though the light inside was meant to attract children with loose change or complying parents, it did more to illuminate the entire street than the flickering street lamp above Margot's head.

She breathed out forcefully and watched the smoke swirl and stick to itself and the air, thanks to the humdity and electric charge given by the recent storm. It traveled down the road lazily and wrapped itself around a telephone pole before dissipating. Margot took a few more steps down the road, listening to her heels clacking on the pavement and echoing off the tall walls around her. She stopped suddenly and looked to her left. A large window displayed positively wretched vintage dresses on mannequin busts.

(There were some things even Margot wouldn't wear, though she had been told many time that she could probably get away with wearing anything from denim on denim, a burlap sac, or bubble wrap, to name a few.)

But Margot wasn't looking at the dresses. She was staring at her reflection in the dark glass and watching herself stand there. She raised the cigarette to her lips again and breathed in, making her cheeks suck in on purpose. As she pushed the smoke out, it encircled her and fell around her shoulders. She didn't like the way it looked in the glass - like she was an advertisement or a model showing how glamorous smoking could be. She turned away from the glass, but didn't put out her cigarette.

She told herself that she might remember this little street and visit it again. She told herself that nights back at home were weird, and she would be staying up all night anyway, so it would make more sense for her to be wandering someplace she now knew, rather than loitering on the roof like she always did. She told herself this little road was peaceful, timeless, ageless, adorable, homely. She told herself she fit in here late at night, when the rain was so there and the neon and fortune teller's lamp forced her to see the smoke trailing up from the end of her cigarette and lilting this way and that.

But as she pulled her well-worn fur coat closer to herself and started to click-clack the way she had come, she knew she wouldn't come back.

Scenerygasm: Masterlist

kwritten — Sun, 26 Jun 2016 21:42:11 GMT

clockwork_hart1 wrote verdant [sw, rey, g for happyg_rl
happyg_rl wrote high heels are the worst [tennenbaums, margot, t] for clockwork_hart1
kwritten wrote delayed for kwritten

Making this post curled up in my armchair watching once more with feeling and wishing there was a way to reach inside my body and pull out my reproductive organs. PM me if you need anything and consider the free-for-all open to anyone and everyone. XOXO

round 11: verdant [sw, rey]

clockwork_hart1 — Mon, 20 Jun 2016 18:12:56 GMT

fic: verdant
fandom: star wars
characters: Rey
rating: g
prompt: for happyg_rl who wanted desert before sunrise, rain, possibility, and footprints and who got... this.

She wakes up and flicks the cabin lights on, a slow crawl of light shuddering out towards the darkness and everything, even the stars, still obscured through the glass.

Assignments Sent!

kwritten — Thu, 09 Jun 2016 16:38:57 GMT

I gave sign-ups a couple of extra days to see if anyone else would wander in, but have decided to cut it. If you forgot or were just too nervous to do an official prompt/exchange - don't forget that there's always the Free For All week at the end of the month and for this round, any fandom in the original poll.

If you did sign up, you should now have your assignments in your inbox. Please contact me (genficmini.mods/gmail) if you have any questions/concerns or are going to be late or default for any reason.

A reminder of the schedule::

Round Eleven:
Poll Opens: Wednesday, June 1ST
Poll Closes: Friday, June 3RD
Sign ups Open: Saturday, June 4TH
Assignments Mailed: Tuesday, June 7TH Thursday, June 9TH
Stories Due: Friday, June 24TH
Free for all: Saturday, June 25TH -- Thursday, June 30TH

[round 11: scenerygasm] sign ups!

kwritten — Sun, 05 Jun 2016 02:29:55 GMT

This month we will be focusing on scenic descriptions and making sure that the setting is important to the story in some way. You'll have the option in your sign-up for four possible prompts, but you must submit at least two: A general prompt, a fandom-specific prompt, and an optional 2nd-fandom-specific prompt. Please include the setting/scene that you'd like your author to focus on. (Of course, as with anything, you can tell your author to surprise you!)

Available Fandoms:
ANIMATED DISNEY FEATURE FILMS
MARVEL CINEMATIC UNIVERSE
STAR WARS (FILMS)

Here is the schedule for Round Eleven:
Poll Opens: Wednesday, June 1ST
Poll Closes: Friday, June 3RD
Sign ups Open: Saturday, June 4TH
Assignments Mailed: Tuesday, June 7TH
Stories Due: Friday, June 24TH
Free for all: Saturday, June 25TH -- Thursday, June 30TH </big>

And now for the rules:

+ Let us know if you can only write for one fandom in your sign-up. (this shouldn't be a problem this month, because everyone pretty much agreed, but just in case...)
+ No slashing, no canon-pairings, no popular fandom-pairings. No exceptions.
+ There is no upper limit, but you have to write at least 500 words.
+ You have about two weeks to finish your assignment.
+ If for some reason you cannot write your story, or it's gonna be late, let us know as soon as you can.
+ During the Free For All period, anyone can post any fanworks for the theme/fandom***; as long as it follows all the comm rules! (So if you can't sign up - or think you don't have time and then end up with a writing bug or plot bunny - you can still participate!)
*** this month: any of the fandoms from the poll are acceptable for the free-for-all :)

Name:

Prompt One: General Prompt
Setting:
Three elements you'd like included:
Two things you don't want:
Range of ratings you'd like to read:

Prompt Two Fandom-Specific:
Setting:
Three elements you'd like included:
Two things you don't want:
Range of ratings you'd like to read:

optional
Prompt Three:
Setting:
Three elements you'd like included:
Two things you don't want:
Range of ratings you'd like to read:

Prompt Four:
Setting:
Three elements you'd like included:
Two things you don't want:
Range of ratings you'd like to read:

Other Considerations?
Crossovers okay?

Name:
Email address:
My 100% honest opinion of this round:
What I'd like to see for Round 12:
Up to three things you absolutely cannot write:
Are you comfortable with crossovers?
Anything else you can't write?

Anything else you'd like to add?

And let the games begin! I hope everyone enjoys this round and that it is as fun for you as I keep imagining it will be in my head, lol.

♥

lj-cut>

[round 11: scenergygasm] poll!

kwritten — Wed, 01 Jun 2016 17:09:00 GMT

Hello hi hi good morning what's up how are you how's it going good to see you!!!

Welcome to Round 11: Scenerygasm

Ostensibly this month we will be focusing on descriptions and making sure that the setting is important to the story in some way. For the first time ever I'm offering up the theme before we vote on the fandoms bc (a) why not? and (b) this feels like the kind of theme that would change what you'd want to write &hearts

Here is the schedule for Round Eleven:
Poll Opens: Wednesday, June 1ST
Poll Closes: Friday, June 3RD
Sign ups Open: Saturday, June 4TH
Assignments Mailed: Tuesday, June 7TH
Stories Due: Friday, June 24TH
Free for all: Saturday, June 25TH -- Thursday, June 30TH

So here we go with the poll!

View Poll: scenerygasm

Round 10: The final kiss of a lover's fist

crookedspoon — Tue, 31 May 2016 21:07:24 GMT

Title: The final kiss of a lover's fist
Fandom: Injustice: Gods Among Us
Characters: Kate Kane, Harley Quinn, implied past Harley/Joker
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 1126 (unedited)
Warnings: Domestic abuse.
Notes: Written for kwritten's prompts "a mistreated lady/ladies, the run-away scenario, bad diner food, and no fluff or dub/noncon. Erm, this is as yet unedited, because I didn't have time to really get into it, but I really liked the prompt and wanted to play! I hope I can be excused. kwritten, if you'd like to have this gifted on AO3 anyway, I'd be more than happy to do that.

Summary: Kate receives a distress call from an old ally who had turned rogue during the last year of their battle against Superman.

Round 10: Sharp Edges, (Anya, Amy Madison, PG-13)

punch_kicker15 — Mon, 30 May 2016 19:46:46 GMT

Title: Sharp Edges
Author: punch_kicker15
Rating: PG-13
Characters/Relationships: Anya, Amy Madison. Gen.
Summary: AU Post Hell's Bells: When Anya meets Amy Madison at a diner, grievances are aired, and Sunnydale will never be the same.
Word count: 1237
Notes: Written for kwritten who wanted a mistreated lady/ladies, the run-away scenario, bad diner food, and no fluff or dub/noncon. So sorry this is late! The whole month of May got away from me.
Warnings: Neither Anya nor Amy are feeling particularly charitable towards the Scoobies.

Sharp Edges

[masterlist] round 10: girls only

kwritten — Tue, 24 May 2016 18:22:12 GMT

punch_kicker15 wrote sharp edges, BtVS, pg13, 1237w for kwritten
kwritten wrote if Icarus had only known you, Arrow, g, 1101w for punch_kicker15

Open Season Submissions:
final kiss of a lover's fist, Injustice: God Among Us, pg13, 1126 by crookedspoon

round 11's voting cycle will begin on Wednesday, the 1st

[round 10: girls only] if Icarus had only known you

kwritten — Tue, 24 May 2016 18:15:58 GMT

fic: if Icarus had only known you
fandom: Arrow
characters: Laurel, Thea, Moira, Sara
rating: g
prompt: for punch_kicker15 who wanted 1) A female character who was killed off in canon, 2) An AU where she survives, 3) spring without violence or another lady dying
setting: sometime in an alt-s3 in which everyone is alive and (mostly) happy(ish) - hope you like it sweetie!

“Picnics,” Thea said with a wrinkled nose, “are incredibly lame.”

With that sage pronouncement, she stretched out her long, thin legs with a sigh and readjusted her head on Moira’s lap, craning her neck a bit to try to access the shade cast by her mother’s wide old-fashioned gardening hat. Ignoring her daughter, Moira leaned back and popped a cherry tomato into her mouth.

Laurel giggled slightly as Thea glared up at the bright sun now shining directly into her face.

“I agree,” Sara replied, half a beat too late. “This whole set up is a bit too Sound of Music to be cool.” She waved her hand at the red-and-white-checkered picnic blanket and L. L. Bean wicker basket as if they were somehow offensive and then leaned her face back to the sun, closing her eyes and smiling to herself.

Laurel’s stomach lurched a bit at the sight of all three of them, faces turned towards the sun, each in their own moment of peace and self-contentment. Moira, always the sphinx, almost seemed knowledgeable in a ragged thrift-store hat and shorts. Thea, eyes squinting into the sun, refusing to move or to close her eyes, always fighting and always determined, in a battle between a mortal and the sun – Laurel would put her money on Thea. Sara, not-a-ghost, legs crossed like a mystic, hair trailing down her neck, face turned up to the sun as if she was drinking in the light and for a moment Laurel wondered (as she often wondered) if Sara’s thirst would strip all the light from the world and the only thing left for her sister would be the shadows.

A trail of ants excavated a Frito Sara had thrown at Thea during a game of Scrabble earlier in the afternoon. They all agreed that Scrabble was the worst game for a picnic – too many small pieces – but everyone vetoed charades, much to Sara’s obvious disappointment.

“I don’t think the Von Trapps ate chevre-stuffed mushrooms on their picnics,” Moira mused.

“Weren’t they like millionaires?” Thea raised one leg to scratch under her knee. Since childhood, she’d been determinedly ignoring the fact that she was allergic to grass. She still rolled down every hill on Oliver and Tommy’s heels. Still threw herself into soccer and field hockey, wearing long socks and pretending that she wasn’t itchy from head to toe.

Laurel had heard so many stories about Thea as a freckle-faced kid trailing after her brother that it sometimes almost felt like she had been there, and watched her stretch out – get taller and thinner and brittle. It wasn’t so different from watching Sara grow up, maybe.

Maybe all little sisters were intrinsically the same. Maybe they all disappeared right under your nose no matter how much you tried to watch them every moment. Maybe they reappeared fierce and terrifying and stronger than their elders.

Maybe that’s what being a girl meant.

Moira caught Laurel’s gaze and smiled at her. If it turned out Moira could hear other people’s thoughts, Laurel wouldn’t even blink. She smiled back, shy and still slightly uncomfortable.

There was a moment when she knew just what to say to Moira, leave me alone and a healthy dose of bitterness had tasted so good on her tongue.

(Things she’s learned never to admit to anyone:
1. How delicious anger feels running through her veins.
2. How blissful a drink feels at the end of the day.
3. How the constant gnawing of an empty stomach feels like proof she’s alive.)

There were more moments when she didn’t know what to say to Moira. I’m sorry, wasn’t false and wasn’t true and she wasn’t prepared to negotiate that kind of gray. Congratulations, wasn’t true and wasn’t false and she wasn’t prepared to expose herself that way.

(Anyway, did it matter? Didn’t she know everything Laurel didn’t say regardless?)

There’s something uniquely tragic about the understanding between women who love the same man.

“Can you believe this day?” Moira scanned the horizon, eyes skipping right up the nearly cloud-less, deep blue sky.

“It’s supposed to rain later,” Sara inserted into the lingering silence.

“Like we need any more rain,” Thea spit out sarcastically.

An unreasonably cold winter had turned into a particularly wet spring. Today had been the first dry, warm day in months. Probably a bit too cold for the shorts and sundresses they had all pulled on in a rush that morning, Laurel kept catching herself rubbing away goosebumps on her arms, but it was too beautiful a day to resist.

Moira had cancelled all her meetings that day and enlisted Sara in helping her drag Laurel and Thea out of work and class (respectively) (though Laurel would bet that Sara found Thea far from a classroom). Moira Queen could, apparently, request the personal use of anyone for the day without many people batting an eye.

There had been quite a bit of grumbling, but the Queen estate was actually perfect for a day like today. Dark clouds hugged the horizon behind Moira’s head, but never seemed to move closer to them. Laurel was glad she had come, grateful in an odd way that she had been included in Moira’s impromptu decision to play hooky.

Tonight, Sara would put on a mask and pretend to be on a normal date with her girlfriend and Laurel would know better. Tonight, Oliver would disappear in the middle of his mother’s event and they’d all pretend not to notice ~~or care~~. Tonight, Thea would scrape her nails down the back of a stranger in a darkened corridor and maybe Tommy would try to stop her or maybe Laurel and she’d probably sit between them at a diner while they force-fed her black coffee and ignored news reports about the man in green. Tonight, Moira would smile and thank her guests for their well-wishes and yes, she is feeling much better after her trip to the Italian spa and no one would know about the scar across her stomach. Tonight, Laurel would pretend to eat more than she did and drink less than she did and be less angry than she actually felt and smile more than she wanted and pretend not to care that no one noticed.

But now. Now in the sunshine and with a light breeze tugging at Sara’s hair and Moira’s ridiculous hat and Thea’s harsh laugh and a smile that felt real on her lips, now felt better than yesterday and tonight and tomorrow.

Now didn’t feel like running or hiding or chasing or bitterness at all.

And it tasted good.

[mod post] apology

kwritten — Fri, 15 Apr 2016 15:17:44 GMT

Hey guys.

Things that are the worst: mostly just me.

I'm terrible.

Well, I'm dealing with a ton of RL stuff and this comm completely slipped my mind. I haven't been online in weeks bc my new schedule is such a mess. If you've peeked at my tumblr: that's a queue and also my Instagram, which I only update so that extended family doesn't start calling me or thinking I'm dead.

:)

By next month, everything should be much more manageable for me and we'll do another round.

However, I want to take this opportunity to do a bit of an overhaul/rethinking of what this comm does and how it functions.

This comm has changed greatly in terms of participants since we began and as such, I want to touch base with those of you still interested in contributing - esp in terms of what you want.

I've been considering abandoning the "three fandoms per round" option because I find that it is scaring authors away? In which case, I'm not sure the best way to proceed.

Please, please, please if you have any suggestions or things that you want from this comm that you haven't been getting, let me know in the comments to this post. If you like the three fandoms option, if you preferred the nominations option, if you don't want the theme, if you want to vote on the theme, etc - please tell me everything. If you have a list of complaints as long as your arm, write it all down and leave it here. If you like how things are going please tell me.

I'm not doing a poll for this because partly I'm worried that I'm not asking the right questions.

~~Please bear with this momentary bout of self-doubt.~~

And again, I apologize for my absence.

And a special note: little happyg_rl has lost her internet. And apparently her router. It's a ridiculous little bit of drama and she's quite frustrated. RL has not been kind to the Bell sisters and I'm passing on her apology as both the family representative and your friendly neighborhood mod.

ROUND 9: Finding the Sunshine, PG/FT, Tonks for kwritten

snogged — Sun, 03 Apr 2016 14:22:53 GMT

title: Finding the Sunshine
fandom: Harry Potter
characters: Tonks, Fleur Weasley, Astoria Greengrass
rating: PG/FRT, for alcohol use
word count: 759
recipient/prompt: for A Very Potter Round of multi_genfic
Name: Kels
Theme 1: Fix-it
Three elements you'd like included: Tonks-is-alive, motherhood, bonding with other ladies/moms
Two things you don't want: mourning, heavy emphasis on the kids themselves
Range of ratings you'd like to read: any/all
beta: angelskuuipo
setting: After book 7, Tonks-is-alive.
summary: Tonks spends the summers at the Shell Cottage.

Finding the Sunshine

[Round 9: A Very Potter Round] Masterlist

kwritten — Wed, 30 Mar 2016 19:36:39 GMT

So it's been an interesting month behind the scenes and I'm putting the masterlist "up" now so that it is here, but for those of you that needed extra time, don't worry just get it in when you can.

kikimay wrote Tea and Lost Letters; G / 2,511w for happyg_rl
kwritten wrote 57 G / 988w for kikimay
snogged wrote Finding the Sunshine PG / 759w for kwritten
happyg_rl wrote Delayed for snogged

[potter round] 57; oc/oc; for kikimay

kwritten — Wed, 30 Mar 2016 19:23:10 GMT

fic: 57
fandom: harry potter
characters: Pat, Qetsiyah (original characters)
word count: 988
rating: G
recipient: for kikimay who wanted House Politics post 2nd war, boundaries, interaction between people of different houses, cold
summary: the path to Hogsmeade is cold, maybe it is just the memories

The trek to and from Hogsmeade was always cold. Even when the sun was shining bright through the trees and the birds were insisting that it was late spring and summer was around the corner. With or without wind, with or without sun, the air brought a chill down Pat’s spine every time she linked arms with her friends and they all trooped off towards a day of butterbeer and chocolate frogs.

Pat raised her shoulders to her ears and brought her arms in closer to her body, trying to conserve her body heat.

She contemplated sending an owl to her brother, studying Physics at a prestigious Muggle University and the apple of her parents’ eye. He hated and loved her letters. The owls were hard to explain to his roommate, the scraps of parchment and her sloppy handwriting (six years and she still hadn’t fully mastered the art of a quill despite her best efforts, she had just completed the typing program her father had brought home on the evening that she received her Hogwarts letter – in one hand, a printout telling her parents that she could type at 70 words per minute and in the other a letter that made the weeks of practice no longer pertinent). According to her brother, most undergrads received an email or two from their siblings back home for the first semester and then communication had a way of petering out. Daily owls perching in his window or letters popping up regularly would make him appear odd.

Rick hated to be perceived as odd.

He took after their Muggle step-father in that respect.

“I’m no Squib, Patty,” he’d declared at the ripe old age of eleven, when his letter did not appear and he found Pat crying under her bed. “I’m a Muggle through and through.” In his mind there was a clear distinction between being a wizard lacking their magic and a Muggle that didn’t need it, and he never took kindly to anyone implying he was not enough. And then he’d dragged her outside to play football in the garden until their mother complained about the state of her roses.

Pat wondered what he’d say, if she asked him about the air, would he talk to her about cells slowing down, about the butterflies that after thousands of years still veer to the left to avoid a mountain peak that no longer exists, about magnetic hotspots? Would he sit down and type out a clear and concise letter explaining the science of the world and lament her limited Wizarding education (his favorite topic)? Would he send more books, foreign and strange and thick, and quiz her on the contents of them over the holiday with that broad smile on his face?

Would he understand that when she wrote it’s cold in this space that what she’s saying is five years ago I ran through a tunnel that is just below my feet and my friends died and the world ended and now I’m walking through the grass above it but the air remembers and it is always cold?

“You always bundle up like it is the middle of winter,” Qetsiyah remarked, falling in step with her.

Pat shrugged, looking up for the first time to realize that the other girls from her room in the Gryffindor tower had run ahead, their laughter and hoots of joy muffled and at odds with her current train of thought.

The Ravenclaw’s hip bumped up against Pat’s, and it felt easy, comfortable, like they’d walked this route together a thousand times.

Pat glimpsed the dark line of a tattoo behind Qetsiyah’s ear as the wind blew her dark hair around her head. She knew what it was without looking too hard.

They walked in silence, Qetsiyah’s hips bumping against Pat’s occasionally.

The things that she knew about Qetsiyah wouldn’t win her a round on Jeopardy or anything. She knew Qetsiyah was one of the few Muggle-born Slytherins, and that her family emigrated from South Africa when she was a toddler. When she was angry or scared her accent slipped out and it was beautiful and harsh. She liked bright colors, and maybe liked to be different and stand out but Pat couldn’t say for sure. She had a soft laugh and could duel better than anyone in her year. She was shorter than Pat and almost as broad.

But no one had hips like Pat.

She blamed her great-grandmother for that, a diminutive witch from India with a rear-end she sometimes had to slide sideways through narrow doorways and an incomprehensible Scottish accent only her children and husband could correctly interpret.

Pat figured Qetsiyah knew even less about her. And that was fine. Most of the seventh years kept to their own Houses.

They parted ways at Hogsmeade, Qetsiyah re-joining her dorm-mates and Pat doing the same. Pat lifted her hand out of her pocket, unsure whether to hug the other girl or wave or what, but feeling instinctively as though her hands needed to do something. Qetsiyah’s eyes caught on the small black number tattooed on Pat’s right hand between the second and third knuckle and she instinctively reached up to touch her own on the back of her neck.

Pat tried to think about the warmth of the day and the smell of fresh baked pies wafting over from the new stall in the town center. Buried deep in the part of her brain that told her the air on the path to Hogsmeade was always cold, stayed the memory of Qetsiyah’s small hand in hers, the two of them clutching each other as they ran through an underground passage, the sound of death and fighting and screams nipping at their heels, and tears running down their cheeks.

Five years later, not saying something meant never saying anything and maybe they weren’t strangers, but they weren’t nothing.

Or something like that.

author's note: according to the wiki, there were 50 unidentified Hogwarts deaths in the Battle of Hogwarts. Pat and Qetsiyah (and presumably other survivors) have tattoos of the number "57" - I rounded up a bit and took some creative license. This could EITHER be the death toll, OR the number of younger students that made it through the secret passageway together. It's up to you to decide which number hits you more strongly.

Round 9. Tea and Lost Letters: Lily to Marlene

kikimay — Thu, 24 Mar 2016 02:00:45 GMT

I'm posting now with the permission of the mod XD

fic: Tea and Lost Letters: Lily to Marlene
fandom: Harry Potter
rating: gen
characters: Lily Evans (And Marlene McKinnon)
word count: 2.511
recipient: happyg_rl who asked "tea, rambling letters, snide remarks" + historical theme
a/n: I really hope you like this! I tried to do my best with the rambling and the snide remarks (LOL, I had to search for the translation because I didn't know the meaning of snide) James Potter is mentioned, just to keep this thing "historically accurate" and such and to make fun of his name. Also other people, important for Lily's story, are mentioned.

These are the letters Lily Evans sent to her bestfriend Marlene McKinnon from 1971 to 1981.

~~I cried~~

July 26, 1971

Moonlight White tea

Dear Marlene,

I’ve just received the package containing the “Moonlight White” tea. Thank you so much for sending it, it’s a delicious blend! I’ve tasted it in the early morning, just like you suggested, and it was a great way to start the day.

Thanks again!

Your classmate,

Lily Evans

****************************************************************************************

August 11, 1971

Blueberry Nights

Dear Marlene,

The blend with raspberry and blueberry is definitely the sweetest of them all. Thank you for telling me in your letter! Otherwise I would have put too much sugar in it and I wouldn’t have appreciated the blend at all.

The holidays are going well, thanks for asking! Although I do miss Hogwarts sometimes. (Not as much as Sev. Being out of Hogwarts is a real torture for him!)

Here there isn’t very much to do. Mom is busy with the cutting and sewing for our neighborhood – she started this job few years back, to collect a bit of money. Dad hasn’t got his permission to go on holiday yet, so we’re stuck here. But I’m sure we’ll go to the beach before the school starts again!

My grandparents own a house in Cornwall and and we go every year for the last week of summer. It’s a really nice place. I wish I could show you.

Anyway, to kill some time and make money for our new swimsuits, Tuney and I helped at the local church. We cleaned out some old shelves in the basement and organized the new church library, while saving some ancient volumes they kept hidden since forever.

And, can you believe it? I found an old copy of “History of Magic” there, buried in the basement shelves under a pile of rubbish! I thought you said Wizards valued their privacy. It doesn’t seem wise to leave such important books all around the churches in the city!

In any case, I immediately hid the book and didn’t mention it to Tuney. Imagine how she would have taken the news if she only had known!

I hope you’re having fun. I miss you very much and I miss our classmates. Luckily Sev is here with me!

I’ll write to you very soon!

Your classmate,

Lily Evans

P.S.: It’s odd that I hadn’t thought of this before, but do Wizards have a religion? Do you believe in Jesus?

Also, if you can send me more of this tea, please. It seems to be the only thing that manages to sweeten Tuney these days.

Thanks again!

****************************************************************************************

December 26, 1972

One Thousand and One Nights

Dear Marlene,

Merry Christmas to you and to all your family! It was nice of you to send a gift for us. Mom liked it a lot.

This “One Thousand and One Nights” blend is especially welcome on these cold nights. As the orange scent wafts through the room I’m reminded of spring and feel even warmer.

We’re visiting my grandparents to celebrate the new year. I’m really excited. I know I promised I’d write but don’t worry, I’ll send lots of postcards!

I look forward to seeing you again in January. I’m sure that this is our year. Go, go Gryffindor!
Lily

P.S.: attached to this letter you’ll find a little gift from us. Mom chose pink wool because I told her it’s your favorite color, but she’d edged it with Gryffindor red and gold. I hope you like it. See you soon!

****************************************************************************************

June 29, 1975

One Thousand and One Nights, Moonlight White Tea, Earl Grey

Dear Lene,

The OWLs were really exhausting. As you correctly guessed, I’m still roaming in the house like the Ravenclaw ghost, with no strength to even lift the teapot. (Yes, I’ve got your package! You’re a life saver!)

Petunia’s been a real pest. She’s saying that I am being a total drama queen. She seems to think that all it takes to turn a pumpkin into a carriage is to swish a wand and chant bibbity bobbity boo. (Muggle reference; I’ll explain later). I’d love to see her trying to brew one of Slughorn’s recipes.

And now I’m bitching, yes.

But I don’t know if I’m more pissed at Petunia, who keeps ranting on and on about how easy magic should be, or Severus. And speaking of Severus, no, there is no chance in hell I’ll go back on my decision. Bloody no, Lene. It amazes me that you of all the people are asking, but maybe you just want to know if I’m well and at peace with myself after telling Sev to go to hell.

Well, I am and I don’t have regrets.

There comes a time in life when one must say goodbye to the people who keep messing with their lives and it’s right and it’s necessary, even if it hurts. And no one can ever go back, Lene. Remember this very well because it’s something that I know for truth: you can never, ever go back.

Maybe it’s better this way.

I’m gonna take a huge cup of tea and add chocolate and orange pieces to it. I love you very much.

Yours,

Lily

****************************************************************************************

July 11, 1975

Earl Grey

Dear Lene,

James Rotter just sent me a letter. Do you know anything about that?

I only ask because you mention both him and Sirius in your last letter. Sirius I don’t mind. He’s cute and he brought all those Led Zeppelin records to school. He’s sort of cool. Do you think he’d like some tea blends?

In any case, the classic Earl Grey does have something about it. I’ve sent you a package with it and that vanilla blend you adore. I hope you have fun at your uncles’. Write me!

Kisses,

Lily

****************************************************************************************

August 17, 1976

Mint Tea

Dear Lene,

I’m exhausted! The moving has been more difficult than I expected. Half way through it, we noticed that we messed up with the kitchen; the fridge was just too big to be placed in the corner of the room. It wasn’t looking good. So we had to move it near the counter, but that implied moving also the table and trying to fit somewhere that wooden thing my aunt Rose gave us for Christmas.

It was really exhausting, especially with this heat, but eventually we succeeded. Now we own a beautiful new home near the town centre.

Mom always dreamed to live in a place closer to her workplace. It wasn’t easy and we couldn’t afford some expensive single houses in the neighborhood. But now we’re here and I think we’re going to enjoy our strategic position!

At the end of the whole ordeal, I made the mint tea you sent me and it was a great idea. Mint just feels so nice, its scent fills the nostrils like a balm. Also, matching with ice cream is really advisable.

I can’t wait to see you again! And absolutely yes: you can come and stay here next week! Are you joking? My mother will be ecstatic to have you!

P.S.: today I saw a guy who looked just like James Blotter. I burst out laughing in the street and I almost dropped the box with all the dishes I had to carry upstairs. Remember what you wrote about him? Unbelievable!

With great affection and still reeling with laughter,

Lily

****************************************************************************************

July 14, 1978

Lady Strawberry

Lene, Lene, Lene …

James Trotter gave me a ring and I might have accepted it?

!!!!!!

I await for your most wise advice.

(But impatiently! Don’t take your time!)

Lily

****************************************************************************************

September 29, 1978

Assam

Lene,

You can never go back in time, I know that now.

And I’m happy.

I’m married and I’m happy!

But I’m also

Your Lily

****************************************************************************************

January 30, 1979

Green tea and Detox mix

Dearest Lene,

Thank you, thank you and thank you for your gifts! I love you so much.

The blends with fennel and herbs are a blessing from Mother Earth right now. Pregnancy is truly an horror movie experience.

(Remember this October, when we went to the cinema to see that new movie, Alien? I keep using the scene you know to threaten Babes Potter. He’s currently hiding in the loo begging for mercy. He’s indeed a traumatized man!)

The baby is growing stronger and faster that I could have ever imagined. It’s a strange thing to contemplate that soon he will come to the world and will have his own identity: his own eyes and the hands and arms. All his. For now he’s mine and mine alone, and his still developing body is boundless inside me.

I know you were worried and I’m sorry that I behaved like that when you asked me to go to the clinic with you. I know that your intentions were good, that you only want to protect him. I know that you’re scared that the prophecy is about my child.

But I don’t want to give up this baby! I can’t! He’s part of me, he’s my future and I won’t give him up just because people are scared and there’s a mad wizard running around, doing whatever the hell he wants.

I can’t tolerate orders, and I can’t tolerate how these men, how this war, is terrifying us. It’s robbing us of our most important right: our freedom.

Lene, we can’t be afraid. We can’t give up our freedom.

This Wizarding World, so proud of its own origins and traditions, barricades itself in a pointless secrecy and that leads to suffocating terror. It’s so clear for me now and I understand how an evil like this can grow up among our people. But isn’t this another reason to be proud of your own freedom, to fight for a better future? And why all this clinging to the past when it’s gone?

We should be free to live and love and raise our children in a different kind of society.

And these Death Eaters ... these idiots! They don’t even know what they’re talking about! Aren’t they ashamed to bow their heads - like sheep, like stupid sheep - before a man who couldn’t care less whether any of them live or die? And yes, this is the rant of a woman in hiding, bound to her house to protect her family, but in this I’m still more free than many of them.

Also how can these stupid-ass walking-testicles fear a supposed leader who believes in the prophecies of a woman with sherry on her breath every Friday afternoon?

I’m so done. But I won’t give up. You can only move forward.

Thanks again for the tea and I hope to see you soon, hopefully for your birthday.

I love you, Lene. Don’t forget it.

Your Lily

****************************************************************************************

August 1, 1980

Rajastan

He’s finally here. You should see him.

How I would like to hug you just for a moment, Lene. I feel so alone. I hope Dumbledore manages to organize a safe meeting in the next weeks, because you really have to see him.

His name is Harry.

Lily

****************************************************************************************

November 24, 1980

I’m so incredibly lonely.

****************************************************************************************

March 13, 1981

Blueberry tea

Oh Lene, how I miss your tea and letters!

I know what Dumbledore said, but I brought some blueberry blend and I believe you’re going to love it.

Yesterday I was listening to the Muggle radio. There’s an old German song called “Lili Marleen”. And I know that the name is written differently and it’s supposed to be just one name, but it feels like your name and mine combined together. The thought warmed my heart.

I took Harry in my arms and we danced to the music. He made the cutest faces! He smiled at me the whole time, because he absolutely adores dancing and being carried around, but at one point I think he got so disoriented that he had to squeeze his eyes shout and “reset” all his sensory buttons. It was adorable! And it was the most fun I had in weeks.

I miss you very much,

Your Lily

P.S.: He’s got my eyes!

****************************************************************************************

July 22, 1981

Romeo & Juliet

Dearest Lene,

I just heard the news. Even knowing that you can never respond, I had to write, but now my hand is trembling so that I can barely read the words I’ve put down. I’m sorry, so incredibly sorry. Was this the future we were so eager to be a part of, our magnificent progressive fate, our childhood promises?

Remember when we were taught our first spells and they told us to expect greatness from our lives? Such glory we would have bought to the Wizarding World, how many wonderful creatures we would see, how many new potions we would breed …

We couldn’t even hold our wands properly! Yet our teachers’ words spurred us to improve and to picture a wonderful path that would open to welcome and let us rise to the skies.

Now the only thing opening for your body is cold ground.

I’m crying. Even James’s words feel so pointless. I just keep thinking: they killed you! They killed you and your family. They destroyed everything.

The world that was supposed to protect us has abandoned us. Everything is crumbling beneath our feet.

Most of all, I can’t stop crying at the thought that you died without even seeing him, without having seen my Harry.

Such a stupid thought, Lene! And yet.

He’s mine and you should have been here to see him and hold him and see me. You needed to be here.

But you’re mine too and I will never forget you. Never ever.

I brought tea for Harry’s upcoming first birthday. It’s a new blend, Romeo & Juliet, and it’s sweet and you would have loved it. We’re going to drink it to your memory and someday Harry will know everything about bravery and your patience.

In a few years, when he’ll be able to understand, I’ll tell him about my classmate who used to send me tea. So many letters between us, so much tea. It was so beautiful and it won’t be lost. I saved all your letters and I will keep them forever, don’t worry. Just like the memories of those days we spent learning new spells, sharing secrets and dreaming about the future.

I can’t stop crying now, but I have to. Soon Harry will wake up and I’ll need to be there for him.

This feels like saying goodbye and I won’t say it. I won’t. I can’t do this without you!

I made myself a cup of tea.

I’m sending you this last letter. I hope that you’re safe now, wherever you are.

I kiss you goodbye, my darling. This drink will never taste the same without you and I’m sure that your sacrifice won’t be vain, that those who did this to you – all of them, the killers of our world – will pay eventually and that everything will be fine in the end.

I just wish we could turn back time.

[round 9: harry potter special]

kwritten — Mon, 29 Feb 2016 02:03:24 GMT

After weighing the pros and cons and trying to figure out how to kick off 2016, I've decided to put my modly hat on and declare March a Very Special Potter Round.

Round 9: A Very Special Potter Round sign ups live!

Here is the schedule for Round Nine:
Polls Open: Monday, February 29TH
Sign-Ups Open: Saturday, March 5TH
Sign-Ups Close: Thursday, March 10TH
Assignments Mailed: Friday, March 11TH
Stories Due: Sunday, March 27TH

View Poll: Theme Poll, Round 9

Modly Notes
+ I know that I teased at a January round and didn't deliver, but we're really back for REALS this time and I hope you guys are still interested! (lol @me I always get SO DISTRACTED by Fem-February I totally forgot that I wanted to reboot in Feb, whoops? Hope you were all out enjoying the femslash!)
+ Usually themes aren't up for votes, but I thought it would be fun to do this time, hope that's cool?

[january] round 10?

kwritten — Tue, 05 Jan 2016 22:31:48 GMT

Welcome to 2016!!

View Poll: let's get started?

november hiatus

kwritten — Tue, 03 Nov 2015 06:44:18 GMT

I'm so sorry to do this, guys - but I just can't feasibly mod an exchange this month. So! Go forth and be good little nano humans or whatever, take a break if you need to. You are wonderful and beautiful little fairy creatures and I adore you. I'm so sorry, see you in December!

[master post] high school is hell

kwritten — Wed, 28 Oct 2015 09:09:51 GMT

lynzie914 wrote the people on their knees (tvd/btvs; dawn&elena; teen; 1300) for kwritten
kwritten wrote a duel at sunrise (tvd; ensemble; teen; 1600) for lynzie914

And so that closes Round 8! As usual, the community is now open to anyone who would like to post a fic (of at least 300w) for the current theme! Round 9 poll will go up on the 1st of November :)

[fic] a duel at sunrise

kwritten — Wed, 28 Oct 2015 09:02:21 GMT

fic: a duel at sunrise
fandom: tvd
characters: the whole gang is here vicki, matt/tyler, elena/damon, jenna/alaric, jeremy/anna, bonnie/caroline, stefan(/vicki)
word count: 1600
recipient: for lynzie914 who wanted someone else (known) as the doppelganger, mirrors, fighting fate without character bashing or love triangles
summary: imagine a tvd in which elena isn't the doppleganger

“So do you guys think that like, there’s really such a thing as doppelgängers?” Vicki stumbled into the Gilbert house, held up between Matt and Bonnie on either side.

“You’re drunk, Vick,” Elena shot over her shoulder, dashing through the hallway ahead of the others to start a pot of coffee… or five. “I’m going to kill Tyler this time, I swear,” she muttered under her breath as she entered the kitchen, causing Jenna to raise her eyebrows at her from the kitchen counter, her elbows on a stack of books and papers.

“Did you bring home the whole party?” she asked with a smirk, her eyes full of worry that seemed to be always present these days. Waking up one morning and finding herself the sudden guardian to two teenagers was enough to warrant having a little doubt most mornings, even without the strange things that seemed to surround her niece’s group of friends.

Normal, ordinary teenager weirdness was one thing. Her niece dating a vampire and having a witch for a best friend and a werewolf throwing all the neighborhood parties were a completely different ballgame. Consoling a crying girl through a gay confessional with ice cream was much easier if said girl wasn't a vampire in love with a witch, there's just no guidebook for that scenario. She was going to write a how-to book for parents of teenagers that find themselves embroiled in the supernatural. It would probably have a small but dedicated readership. Maybe she could pass it off as fiction. How to Parent a Teenage Vampire Magnet she scrawled in the upper corner of one of the pages she had cluttered the kitchen counter with and smiled to herself.

“Just the unreasonably drunk half,” Elena rolled her eyes, putting the coffee pot under the tap.

“I resent having to clean up after your friends and their drunk sisters,” Damon quipped as he slid the back door open, a pile of jackets and shoes in his arms. “What is it about drunk girls that shoes are always suddenly unnecessary the minute they get into my car?”

Jenna rubbed her forehead, “I’m the world’s worst aunt. Your mom should never have left me in charge of you. Next time you walk through the door, you’ll be a pregnant crackhead and I won’t even have noticed.”

Damon lifted an eyebrow, “Something you want to tell me, babe?”

Elena flicked him with water and ignored them both.

“If you’re a bad guardian, what does that make me?” Alaric said from the kitchen table, peering out into the living room where Vicki was now dancing on the coffee table as Bonnie and Matt tried ineffectually to convince her to sit down. “Something tells me this is not the way most educators spend their Saturday evenings.”

Damon clapped his hand down on his friend’s shoulder and leaned over to whisper something in his ear that Jenna was very glad no one else could hear. Well… she wasn’t sure exactly what he said, but she already had a headache blossoming over her left eyebrow and there was a nine out of ten chance that anything Damon had to say for Alaric’s ears alone wasn’t something she wanted to hear.

“Have I failed you?” Jenna turned to Elena in desperation. “I mean, should there be more rules? Do you need more boundaries? I’ve failed to provide you with boundaries.”

Elena hugged her aunt and kissed her on the cheek, “You are perfect.”

“Anyway,” Caroline said, strolling into the kitchen, “we’d all still be drinking regardless. At least we have somewhere to bring Vicki when she’s on a bender to get free coffee into her system without getting a lecture about something we’re just going to do anyway.”

“Just think about all the stories you tell about sneaking out when you were our age,” Elena pointed out teasingly.

Vicki took this opportune moment to lean over the back of the couch, with her hands flung into the air, to exclaim, “NO BUT THINK ABOUT IT!?”

They all stared at her, silent.

Except Damon, who was smirking down at his phone.

“Think about what?” Jenna finally asked, wishing the moment she opened her mouth that she hadn’t. There are certain rules in life, don’t feed the squirrels because they definitely will attack if tempted, and don’t ask Vicki Donovan to explain her drunken theories at two in the morning.

Don’t ask any Donovan to explain their drunken theories at any point after eleven pm. Eleven was the Donovan limit. Jenna knew this from deep and extensive experience.

“What if you have a twin – out there, somewhere. And then you MEET them. And you have to like… battle or something to prove which one is the evil one and which one is good.” Vicki punctuated this speech with flailing arms, nearly tipping off the couch in either direction at least twice.

Bonnie wrinkled her nose, “I think doppelgängers and evil twins are two different constructs.”

Vicki slumped, “Okay well. Which one do I have to fight? Because I am too drunk to fight anything and I don’t really want to deal with it tonight.” Which was actually a pretty reasonable and self-aware observation for her to make. Thankfully, she didn’t immediately turn and try to fight Matt instead.

Caroline turned to Jenna, bored with the current conversation, “Where’s Jeremy anyway? Usually this is when he comes down from his dungeon upstairs and interprets Vicki’s crazy ramblings?

“He’s …” Jenna frowned.

“With his new girlfriend,” Alaric called over, before turning back to Vicki and continuing his lecture on just what the specific differences where between doppelgängers and evil twins.

Elena began filling mugs with coffee, a perfect assembly line in front of her on the counter, “Jeremy’s on a date?”

“My brother is coming to town for a visit,” Damon beamed at the room and absolutely no one in particular.

“You have a brother?” Matt called from the floor in the living room, somewhere behind the couch and hidden from view.

“You’ve met my brother,” Elena said gently, as she leaned over the back of the couch and handed him a cup of coffee. “He’s kinda your friend sometimes. When your boyfriend isn't being a dick to him for no reason whatsoever.”

“So…” Vicki wrinkled her forehead and stole the coffee out of Matt’s hands before he had a chance to take a drink. “The weird girl that I saw at the party tonight, am I going to have to challenge her to a duel to the death?”

“Unlikely,” Alaric replied solemnly.

“Wait,” Bonnie held up her hands to silence everyone. “Vicki what are you talking about?” Bonnie could always be counted on to demand logic even when everyone around her was incapable of speaking without slurring or walking without stumbling.

“My evil twin that I apparently have to duel by the light of the dawn,” Vicki explained with the patient solemnity that only the very inebriated could accomplish.

“So what’s the scoop on little Gilbert’s new flame, she a hottie?” Damon said as he sat down next to Alaric. He prided himself on getting to the root of any issue, and at that moment the unknown girl out there in the night seducing the young and impressionable Jeremy Gilbert was the most pressing in his mind.

Alaric pinched the bridge of his nose, “I try not to make it a habit to check out teenage girls, Damon.”

“She’s super cute,” Jenna answered with a grin. “I wish he’d like… actually really introduce us.”

“I’m pretty sure that what you saw was just your reflection, Vicki,” Bonnie was explaining patiently.

“God, Bonnie. Why don’t you ever support me? You can’t be my second if you keep this up.”

“Second for what?”

“Elena you’re scrappy, be my second for my duel at dawn against my evil twin?”

Elena grinned wolfishly, “Sure thing Vick.”

“Why are you taking this seriously?” Bonnie threw herself onto the couch with a huff.

“Because it’s two in the morning and everyone in this room is three sheets to the wind,” Caroline said, curling up on the couch next to Bonnie, resting her head against her shoulder. After a moment, Bonnie rested her cheek against Caroline’s head and relaxed.

“Except me,” Damon said cheerfully, grabbing Elena by the hand as she walked by him and pulling her to his side. “I was a good and faithful designated driver.”

“No,” she countered, her fingers carding through his hair. “You just have a higher metabolism than anyone else. Kinda makes you the asshole.”

Bonnie muttered something that sounded suspiciously like fucking straight people but may have been fucking vampires before tipping Caroline’s head back for a kiss. Everyone very studiously tried not to stare as Bonnie and Caroline began making out. In a little while, Jenna would splash some cold water on them, but if she moved too soon Bonnie was likely to retaliate in a not-so gentle fashion.

At times like these, no one liked to point out to Bonnie that her girlfriend was, in fact, a vampire. It just wasn’t worth the magickal hangover.

“Hey did you know there’s a weird guy making out with Vicki on the front porch?” Jeremy asked, suddenly standing in the kitchen, a small girl with dark hair clinging to his elbow, staring at them with a bemused expression. He looked over at Vicki, “Hey… how did you?”

Damon looked up, “Weird guy on the porch? Did he have a vaguely Clark Kent vibe to him? Dudley Dooright superior air?” He blinked and pointed to the girl on Jeremy’s arm, “Hey… wait a minute…?”

The doorbell chimed.

Everyone looked at the door, Bonnie’s eyes narrowing and Damon’s smile growing suspiciously hard.

“Oh for crying out loud,” Vicki huffed. She tripped wobbly over to the door and flung it open. In the doorway stood a tall man with his arm wrapped around a girl identical to Vicki.

“I CHALLENGE YOU TO A DUEL!” Vicki screamed before anyone could react.

The man in the doorway raised his eyebrows, “That isn’t going to go well for you.”

round eight: the people on their knees (elena&dawn)

lynzie914 — Wed, 28 Oct 2015 03:21:25 GMT

title: the people on their knees
fandom: btvs/tvd
characters: dawn, elena, and some alaric
rating: teen
word count: 1300ish
recipient: Kelsey, who wanted; dawn & elena (saltzman-sisters or not), lipgloss vs. stilettos, trade secrets
a/n: I hope you like this and it resembles something like what you wanted. ~~also just under the wire. didn’t think that was going to happen. i’m so behind I think i’m in august or something.~~

Their new school is private, all plaid skirts and ties and knee socks.

(Dawn chooses green knee highs to pull over her long leg.

Elena chooses blue.)

Everything else is up to them, although they’re warned not to push the leniency the school allows. They’ll be consequences, the principle says, as if he can see something about them that no one else can. They smile and politely nod.

It’s not their first new school, it’s not their first time being the new girls, its old hat, never staying in one place for too long. Alaric says one year is too long to stay in one place and they nod their heads in agreements, like good daughters do.

(They are not his daughters. They are not related, not the Saltzman Sisters, they are not his little girls.

They are not girls at all, in any sense of the word. Not anymore. Maybe never.

They are a found family, made of blood and energy and want and loneliness and too many other things to count.

They are a family though. They’ll be one forever.)

“It’s a new day, a new life.” One of them says.

Alaric probably. He doesn’t practice at positivity.

All the things he’s done, he has never set anything on fire. Never burned his life (what was left of it) to ash.

He runs from it instead, one of them says when they’re in a particularly bitter mood.

(They don’t take it back.)

They enter their new school, hand in hand, Elena and pink lip gloss shining and Dawn’s long legs made longer by the stilettos that she wears over her green knee socks.

They attract attention and the two turn to each other and smile.

Lights shift and the crowd takes them in (the new girls, they are always the new girls, even when they’ve been there for months), one glance and you can see an angel and a devil hanging onto one another, giggling and conspiring over things to come. Things only the two of them know. Secrets and smiles melding together.

But the light shifts and it’s hard to tell which is which.

Dawn and her coal lined eyes and her black stilettos that look like they could kill. Or Elena and the way that her lips shine and her eyes shine a little darker, each drawing you in, begging to be kissed. Begging for more.

The lights shift and one is an angel and one is a devil and someone whispers ‘the devil was an angel before he fell from grace’.

Elena and Dawn don’t try to make new friends.

(Why try when they stumble towards you anyways? When their eyes follow your every move?)

They don’t need to. They never need to.

The other students flock to them. To the new girls. The Saltzman Sisters and their mysteries. Their dark eyes and dark hair and the way Dawn’s eyes turn green in the right light and Elena’s teeth look a little sharper.

They flock to them, offering up flyers for parties, numbers to get all the latest gossip and party info, and ‘call me and we can…’ and the ‘we should totally…’ and both girls smile.

Not pretty smiles.

Pretty smiles don’t belong to girls like them.

They belong to girls that really would be the Saltzman Sisters and not the made up ones, pretending to be them. Pretending that Alaric is their father and not their friend that just looks older than them.

(They are a family you see, but a found one.

Two girls who are forever stuck at the age of eighteen and vampire who pretends he’s a man but will never stay in one place for more than a year.

They are a family. They run once every year and they have one rule. Never get too close to anyone outside of these walls.)

One of the girl’s from their new school texts and texts until she convinces Elena and Dawn to come out to the newest club nearby.

“It’s all the rage.” She says like that’s not something they’ve heard before. Usually it’s not.

They switch; colors, shoes, lip gloss.

Elena is in green, her short skirt paired with her black top, and her sister’s stilettoes on her feet. (They bought them in Pairs she thinks.) Her eyes are not lined in coal because she can’t manage it like Dawn can.

“It’s a secret.” Dawn winks (again and again over the years), as she applies it to her eyes.

She wears blue that night, a dress too tight for Alaric’s liking, and so dark in the right light it looks black, and a shimmering lip gloss that entices and draws others in.

They go out and dance. The thumping music in the background more interesting than the inane chatter that comes from around them.

(“God, we’re total snobs.” Elena says once years ago.

“I would have hated us when I was in high school.” Dawn says, “Though, I also would have hated the popular crowd that wants to be our friends now too…”

“So we’ve always been snobs?”

“But with hearts of gold.” Dawn grins and she looks nothing like the sister from her past, all blonde hair and pink lips and a heart of gold that really existed under all that armor she wore before there was no longer a reason to wear it.

But then Elena promises that she’s nothing like the brother that Dawn has never met. That dark hair and a pension for dying was all the two shared.

Now she had Dawn to share that with.

“Snobs with hearts of gold,” Elena smiles, “No wonder everybody wants to be our friend.”)

They dance and they dance, mostly with each other because rule number one, but they both wander, find other dancing partners, hips swaying and grinding and lip gloss shining and dark eyes enticing.

They lead their dance partners away, giggling and pretending to be the eighteen year old girls they look like, and take them out to the back of the club.

“Why are we out here?” One of the girls asks before Elena sinks her fangs into her neck and then suddenly there is only silence as the girl’s heart rate increases in fear and everything else shuts down.

Fear does that sometimes. It stops everything but the heart, and Elena will finish feeding before that stops too.

Dawn is somewhere else in the alleyway, hidden behind boxes and trashcans. It’s not a romantic setting but Dawn can only imagine the things that have happened there.

“You know what’s interesting about people?” Dawn says, playing with the cross that the other girl was wearing.

Catholic school, she remembers, they were in Catholic school this time.

“I…”

“It’s that everyone, everything, is made out of matter, out of energy.” Dawn continues, “Every single one of you.”

She opens her mouth, her mouth lingering close to the other girl’s, as slowly a green energy comes through. Dawn takes it in and it swirls around and it makes her feel full, makes her feel right again.

Two thousand years old energy in the form of a girl and still she needs more to live on. Once she had an anchor, something that kept her going, now she needs more. If she wants to stay Dawn, if she wants to stay a girl, wants to be human, wants blood in her veins.

“Done?” Elena asks and she’s wiping blood off her mouth and it shouldn’t look so normal.

But Dawn has seen it hundreds (maybe more) times before.

“Yep,” Dawn says looking at the slumping girl in front of her. “Do your thing.”

Elena smirks and saunters in front of the other girl, Dawn’s stilettos click, click, clicking across the pavement.

She places her finger under the other girl’s chin and forces her to look her in the eye.

“You won’t remember any of this. You’ll remember the new girls from school and you’ll remember drinking too much and then you’ll remember going home.” She says, “Everything else is just a haze.”

“Everything else is just a haze.” The girl repeats and then she starts out of the alley and on her way home.

Elena grabs Dawn’s hand, tugs at it. “I’m still hungry.”

She drags her sister back inside to hunt.

[sign ups] Round 8: High School is Hell

kwritten — Mon, 05 Oct 2015 03:16:52 GMT

edited 10/8: signups will be open until the end of the day on the 10th to see if more authors are willing to come play this round

Welcome to Round 8!
Thanks to everyone who voted for the fandoms this month.

The (optional) theme for this month is:
Ritual Inversion
In ritual inversion, the rules of society are reversed or ignored. (source)

Rather than just a simple 'Halloween' theme, I though it would be more interesting to stretch the box a little bit. You can interpret this however you want - a character acting in a way different than their norm (ala Willow in "Dopplegangland"); the rules of the universe being switched around for one day/month/year because ~magick (or whatever); the actual writing of your story altering halfway through; be creative!

Since 2/3 of the fandoms for this month are ones that pop up here on a regular basis, I strongly encourage you to take this month and stretch your wings as you write, push yourself! try something new! hop out of your own box!

It is up to writer this month to come up with their own interpretation of the theme, which means that it is up to you to push yourself and push the prompts into new, maybe unforeseen, directions! Which means that the theme is NOT part of the request-signup. Any inversions that authors do will be up to their discretion during their writing process.

I know you all can do this!

The available fandoms for this round are:
Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Vampire Diaries
Sabrina, the Teenage Witch

round 8 live!

Here is the schedule for round eight:

Polls Open: Thursday, October 1ST
Sign-Ups Open: Monday, October 5TH
Assignments Mailed: Thursday, October 11TH
Stories Due: Tuesday, October 27TH

And now for the rules:

+ Let us know if you can only write for one fandom in your sign-up.
+ No slashing, no canon-pairings, no popular fandom-pairings. No exceptions.
+ There is no upper limit, but you have to write at least 500 words.
+ You have twenty days to finish your story.
+ If for some reason you cannot write your story, or it's gonna be late, let us know as soon as you can.

+ For this round: crossovers for ONE prompt are okay! but you must include a second prompt in only one fandom as well

mod note: Kelsey has a monstrous cold and so may not be as quick with the answering of questions this month as usual, please just be patient with me. And pray to whatever spirit, goddess, or forest nymph you ascribe to that this blows over quickly!

[round 7] She is (topanga)

happyg_rl — Fri, 02 Oct 2015 01:24:58 GMT

fic: She is
fandom: Boy Meets World
characters: Topanga, The Matthews
word count: 624
recipient: kwritten
a/n: I took the prompt and went way too far with it?? sorry!!! ~~(also i may be projecting A LOT with this sorry again)~~

She preferred to linger in the eye of the storm: the kitchen. The hustle and bustle of everyday activities grew hushed around her (as if it knew better than to disturb her). The room itself seemed more alive while she occupied it. It breathed, it sighed, it faintly sang. Beams of light were liquid gold when they fell and tumbled down her curls. The air charged with electricity when she argued passionately. It was warmer wherever she was or touched, and her scent steeped into the furniture and tiles for days (if she were ever gone for more than a night).

They could feel without saying that the house felt off without her in it. She stands at the sink filling a vase with water for her flowers on a Monday. She sits at the table writing furiously, whether for school or pleasure no one is quite sure, on Thursday. Saturday finds her standing at the island pouring herself some juice and spilling it because her nose is deep within a Dostoyevsky or Tolstoy or a newspaper. Something about her presence felt good. Felt right.

They wouldn’t call it a routine, but it was almost tradition in the way they each interacted with her. A light squeeze on her shoulder. A quick joke or tease (effortlessly given back with twice the wit). A compliment. A kiss on the cheek or forehead. An invitation for dinner. Menial and meaningful gestures that seemed to mean everything and nothing all at once.

Her company was not only welcomed, it was cherished. She smiled easily, laughed too loud, and always helped out after dinner. She could wax poetic for days about a lecture she heard or sit and listen to a woe or trifle. Topanga was early morning questions about life and school and friends. Late night discussions about life and stress and tears. Anytime proposed philosophies or ignored book recommendations or that song she just can’t get out of her head.

She had slowly left her mark wherever she tread. Report cards and school pictures plastered to the fridge that nobody finds odd and everyone knows who put them there. A bowl of milk she left out for a stray cat a week ago that’s starting to curdle. A wet towel used after a surprise thunderstorm strewn across the back of a chair that will probably cause the paint to peel but no one seems to care. An aluminum water bottle sitting in the drying rack that she tried once and opted for something softer with a spout she can chew on when she’s nervous.

(It’s not that she was never home. Though she rarely returned home to find them worried about her whereabouts.)

(It was no secret she felt more at home with the Matthews. It was no secret they all felt more at home with her around.)

She always remembers where the good snacks are hidden and how long it takes for the sink to get hot, but she sometimes forgets about the loose cabinet that tends to snag arm sleeves or the fact that [mother] moves the table when she mops so it’s not always in the exact same place. She knows the ceiling is high enough for a balloon bouquet but the door isn’t quite wide enough. She knows that the plants in the window need to be watered every day but father tends to do it every other day.

She knows what it feels like to need advice and have someone walk in and find her at the table with red eyes and a hot cocoa.

But the Matthews know what it feels like to walk downstairs and find nothing more than a vase of dead flowers and a cold, tucked-in table.