Posts tagged my fanfiction

Posted 2 weeks ago

Delicate Boy In The Hysterical Realm - alienchrist - Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan [Archive of Our Own]

It occurs to me that a few people on tumblr might be interested in hearing when I update this. 0:) This is Erwin/Armin, extremely NSFW, full of terrible, terrible things.

I’ve kept relatively quiet about how hard I’ve been working on this fic (about 7 months now), because it’s pretty embarrassing. Somehow, so much more than other stuff I’ve written, which is routinely terrible, both in execution and subject matter. But I decided I’d go ahead and post about it anyway, finally, since I’ve started to become aware of the small but mighty WinMin community on tumblr

I began working on this story as a way to escape from an extremely stressful situation back in August, and in a way I sort of feel like it’s a friend I turn to when I’m feeling bad.

I also sort of feel like I’ve written almost 30k on the premise of prostitute!Armin and if you think I’m trash for that you’re right. I belong in a garbage can.

Anyway, Chapter 7 is up!

Posted 10 months ago

mirrorshards:

why is no one shipping you

Armin tries to find a spot of quiet away from the other cadets when he can, resting in the grass. His eyes are closed but he’s not sleeping so much as trying to remember passages of books and their tiny, intricate illustrations, attempting to reassemble years of reading into one coherent sum. The blow that laid him down this morning during training probably knocked an entire chapter out of his head, but this is still where he wants to be. Where he should be, even if it kills him.

When he hears Eren approach he assumes he’ll be treated to a lecture. Fair enough. He’ll let his friend drag him up to spar or drill or whatever. Armin is exhausted, but Eren indomitable  For Eren, Armin will always be prepared to give to his last. He has to, just to keep up.

"There you are. Sleeping?"

"Eren, I—" Armin sits up, readying embarrassed excuses, but is surprised to see Eren smiling.

Eren sits, and pats his thigh. Blinking a little, Armin settles his head on Eren’s thigh. He smells like grass and leather, metal and sweat.”Comfortable?”

A lifetime ago Eren often slept like that, passed out against Armin or Mikasa. After awhile, they started refusing pillow duty: Eren was difficult to rouse when he slept and no one wanted to end up in a puddle of drool.

"It’s alright," Armin says, almost apologetic when he settles between Armin’s legs instead of propped up against them. Eren is playing with Armin’s hair. It’s a ticklish feeling that almost makes Armin laugh. "You’re in a really good mood…" Armin tries not to sound worried, but how can he not be a little concerned? Eren’s not exactly the champion of cheerfulness.

"It’s a beautiful day. Like I saw sunlight for the first time in ages. Do you know what I mean?"

For the longest time Armin thought he would never be warm again: whole stretches of ugliness where the world was nothing but gray streaked with rust red, where the sky reflected nothing but grief and hunger. It’s not that Armin gave up on the sun completely. Giving up is impossible with Eren around. But Armin realizes he has been living like the light is gone from the world.

He looks up at the little rays of sunlight slipping through Eren’s hair and thinks, Ah, there it is. It was there all along, wasn’t it?

Eren is leaning in so close their noses nearly touch. His fingers are still in Armin’s hair. Armin’s heart is pounding. Their lips might touch in a fraction of an inch, in the work of half a second.

Armin is so warm he almost forgets how cold it’s been.

"I think I do," he laughs.

Posted 10 months ago

The Songfic Shuffle Drabble Game!

reimagineyourotp:

DA RULES:

1. Pick your OTP or OT3 (of course).

2. Put your music player on shuffle.

3. Write a drabble to each song that plays. You have only the length of the song to write it.

4. Do ten and post (or, really, however many you’d like).

Extra rule that I added ‘cause I’m a cheater and this stuff shows up on my iTunes: If there is a song/track you cannot possibly write to (like Christmas carols (unless you do have an idea for those) or a track from an audiobook), you can skip it. If you must.

This is a lot harder than it sounds, believe me. Hence the above cheater rule. Also, if, once you get started, you think of a song you really, really, really want to write a drabble to, go for it.

DEFINITION OF DRABBLE FOR THOSE WHO DON’T KNOW (‘CAUSE I DIDN’T AT FIRST): A ficlet that averages 100 - 500 words. Can be more or less.

Did this for Zevris (Zevran/Fenris). I completely cheated and listened to some songs more than once. Behind the cut: Canon-typical violence, drunkenness, AUs, slavery.

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Posted 1 year ago

Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the character’s heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, lots of awful puns, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

msbarrows:

brennacedria:

lucienfairfax:

(fanmail/ask is probably a better idea)

My published stuff is all here.

This sounds like an intriguing idea. All mine can be found on my AO3 if anyone wants to give this a shot.

I’d love to do this, check out my fic here.

(Source: ltsashakaidanovsky)

Posted 1 year ago

Dragon Age Big Bang

Story Title: Enough

Author: alienchrist (superbilliam on tumblr)

Artists: eyeofmantorok

Pairing(s): Zevran Arainai/Male Surana, Zevran Arainai/Jethann, Anders/Male Hawke (background)

Rating: M for mature

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, character death, mild mention of sexual abuse, trichotillomania, ELF FEELINGS

Author’s Notes: Thank you to my beta, otherpromise for her help and encouragement. My hands were the last on this fic, all mistakes are mine.

Summary: Fenris meets the strange-mannered Hero of Ferelden, Orion Surana, and unexpectedly joins his cause of elf sovereignty. As Zevran helps prepare the elves of Kirkwall for a potential uprising, he forms a close bond with someone very similar to himself.

Link to story, by alienchrist

Link to cover art, by eyeofmantorok

Posted 1 year ago

Damaged [fanfiction]

Blanked-out memories, his reason for leaving the Dalish, and a predatory merchant prince. A dark little story about Zevran’s past, and his hope for the future when he gives away the golden earring.


WARNINGS: Explicit/graphic content. Child abuse, child sexual abuse, rape, coercion, sexuality with dubious consent, gore, violence, blood and excessive elf sadness probably. Also available on AO3.

There were rooms in the brothel that didn’t exist to Zevran as a child. Blank spots in his mental map, doors he never looked at as he walked past them. These rooms were huge in their nonexistence, like great empty mouths gaping wide to suck in light, time, and memory. He could not remember them. He did not think they were strange. When someone pulled him by arm, dragged him by the hair or even led him by the hand into one of those rooms, he could not recall it afterward. The strength of these rooms’ strange spells was such that they even stole the moments that brought him inside them. Zevran remembered the bawdy songs, the clink of glasses and the slurred secrets of workers. He remembered the time one of the human children stole a string of pearls, and being beaten so soundly for the crime, sneaky, dishonest elf that he was. He couldn’t sit right for weeks.

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Posted 1 year ago

askbroodyelf:

Commission for cypheroftyr.

Rockstar Fenris and Violinist Anders.

—————————

Want to commission me? Go here.

This was their moment.

After months of practice and a year of bickering collaboration, the concert with Anders went on. Mostly because of Hawke, of course. She kept telling them to stop being such babies and let the music speak for itself. She was right. She was always right. Fenris hadn’t wanted to sing, and then he hadn’t wanted to write lyrics, and when he agreed to both the result was their first chart-topper. They changed their name from Hawke & the Companions to just the Companions, so people could stop calling Fenris Hawke.

"It’s fine," Hawke said, "This was never about being famous."

She said the same thing when she squared off with Mr. Shok from the record company and won. “This was never about money.”

Apparently that’s the hook she used to cadge Anders, a friend of hers since she moved into Kirkwall those many years ago. “He’s really good at the long-suffering artist thing,” she said with a grin over their weekly takeout and brainstorm session, reaching for some glazed chicken with her chopsticks. “Apparently he hasn’t had a real job since he left the symphony in a fit of passion. His place is almost as big a dump as your old place was. He’s really big on mage awareness, so he dedicates all this time and every space coin he has to these charities.”

"You know," Fenris grumbled, "How I feel about mages."

"I know we’re the biggest damned thing in Thedas since Andraste, and we have to keep innovating when everyone expects us to get boring or fail," Hawke said, mouth pressed into a no-nonsense line. "And I know that I’m the leader of this band, and I made the call. He’s an amazing musician, and there’s enough money out there for all of our causes."

Hawke was usually the smiling, joking around type. That’s why when she got serious - or when she busted out a few intense rhymes during the bridge of a song instead of a bass solo - people were always surprised. When she got serious, nothing could stand in her way. She’d won the argument about letting her girlfriend Merill tour with them, and she’d win this argument too. But that didn’t mean Fenris had to like it.

Anders didn’t like it either. Their rivalry became the stuff of tabloid legends, though Isabela seemed to delight in attempting to draw attention from their fights by always being sighted with someone new on her arm. Their contempt seemed to tap into a new well of creativity, and Fenris wrote some of his most beautiful, heart-rending yet resentful lyrics yet. The vocals he laid down were chilling. He had everything to be proud of, and Anders’s stuff worked well too. They established long ago they would never even be in the studio at the same time together. Which is why Fenris objected strongly to rehearsing with him.

"He’s just a guest musician," Fenris growled the first time Anders showed up with his violin. He looked patently out of place in his neo-boho ‘I so obviously tried to make this outfit looked like I got it out of the dumpster but actually it’s from Urban Outfitters’ gear, with the rest of the band in ripped jeans and tight T-shirts. Hawke was on the phone with her mother again, probably trying to troubleshoot something stupid her uncle did. "Why is he here?"

"Hawke asked me to be here," Anders said with a curl of his lip, "Or did you not know? You’re the only one with a problem with mages in the band, and I’m really appealing to the mage demographic."

"That’s not the only reason Hawke risked pissing Fenris off," said Varric from the doorway. "For once in your life, you had to be early, huh blondie? You’ve interfered with my whole manager thing showing up before I had a chance to smooth things over."

"Something tells me that Fenris doesn’t do much smoothing," Anders scoffed.

"No, he’s more of the rough-and-tumble type," Isabela couldn’t help but interject, caressing and then slapping the curve of her guitar as if it were a lover’s shapely buttock.

"We do not," Aveline said from behind her drum-kit with her band-mother voice, "have time for this."

But Fenris and Anders made time. Anders passive-aggressively tweeted ‘not naming names’ complaints about Fenris during practice. Fenris went on a popular talk show to call Anders a hipster and a wannabe who only talked about mages to make himself feel important and to divert attention from the role of mages in Tevinter slavery. Anders responded in a volley of vehement tweets calling Fenris a hypocrite and hostile as a rabid dog. And it went on from there. Many rehearsals exploded in loud arguments that ended with Varric or Hawke threatening to knock their heads together.

Fenris loathed Anders. His single-mindedness toward his message, the way he always cherry-picked the things he heard other people say and the manipulative way he conducted his politics.

But he was an amazing musician. Fenris came to grudgingly respect that, and even admit that having Anders play with them added an element of - dare he say it - magic - to their sound. While Fenris drew upon all of his anger and loneliness to sing, Anders seemed almost serene. He all but seemed to glow with a dreamy light, even at his most furious. They would be a sight to behold in concert, so long as they managed not to full-out brawl in the green room.

The concert was one of their biggest yet. They would be broadcasting live to arenas and theaters all over Thedas. Hawke had been explicit in her wishes that everyone should be able to hear them, which is why the arena was equally as filled with elvhen fans and Fereldans as it was nobles from Kirkwall who could afford new T-shirts and box tickets. Varric worked on getting priority seating for dwarves, too, in spite of their reputations for getting drunk and rowdy.

Fenris liked drunk and rowdy, actually. He was far from the touchy-feely type, but he missed stage diving. A former slave being lifted high above everyone’s heads, and the rich nobles and dangerous mages paying for the privilege to do so.

These arenas were an entirely different experience. This wasn’t just rowdiness, sharing a beat and a feeling and getting sweaty under the lights. Hawke had made herself unpopular with the Chantry for her ‘bigger than Andraste’ quips, but listening to the crowd chant and stomp for them, scream their names, Fenris had to agree. It wasn’t blasphemous. This was like a religious experience.

"I’ve never played a crowd like this before," Fenris heard Anders murmur from behind him. They were on the edge of the stage, just out of sight behind the curtain.

"Not exactly a symphony crowd, eh?"

"…I can handle it," Anders said, expression darkening.

And he could.

Music was the only magic Fenris could ever accept. That was one of the first lessons Hawke taught him. ABC, then piano keys.

When he sang, it was like nothing else in the world existed or mattered. In the delirium and glitter of the lights, Fenris heard something as sweet as a nightingale, threading through the his phrases and lifting his voice to new places.

Anders and his violin.

He was beautiful under the spotlight, even in that goofy bow tie, the too-formal get up he insisted on wearing to the rock show. In that half-second gap between the end of their first encore song and the tsunami of applause, Fenris looked at him and fell totally in love.

Not with Anders and his stubble and his politics and his stupid bow tie, but with the beauty he could only express with his instrument. With the poetic elegance that every word he spoke seemed to try to erase.

Hawke wrote Merill dozens of love songs, though the Companions no longer played them very much. “Words are rubbish,” she often told Fenris when she was in her cups, “If everyone could just be the person they are when they’re singing or playing, the world wouldn’t be such a mess. Words get in the way.”

Later, Fenris would simply say he was caught up in the moment, the adrenalin rush, the intense camaraderie of a huge, diverse crowd brought together by a single love. He would not exactly be lying.

He looked over at Anders who was smiling only a little. He looked ready to cry.

He thought about how he once got blackout drunk at an after-show party and reportedly, Anders insisted on being the one to take him back personally, to make sure he didn’t choke on his vomit and die.

Words get in the way.

It came as easily as sliding his hand down the mic stand. He put his hand on Anders’s neck, pulled him closer and kissed him.

The din of the audience was overwhelming, but what bowled him over was the silent truth of Anders kissing him back. It was their moment. The kiss was as fragile and momentary as a soap bubble, though it left a lingering giddiness when it burst and they pulled away at the same moment.

The fans would debate for years what they said to one another just moments after that. Anders was shocked, both of them were smiling.

"If there weren’t billions of witnesses," Anders said through a smile of clenched teeth, "I’d probably punch you on the jaw. In fact I might kill you."

Fenris smirked. “Just shut up and play.”

So they did.

Posted 1 year ago
Soubi’s breath tickles Ritsuka’s skin. His lips are warm and dry against his knuckles. For a moment the ground upends and Ritsuka is certain their feet will slip off the grass and they’ll go hurdling into the blue autumnal sky.
Heat floods Ritsuka’s face. His heart hammers so loudly in his ears he’s not sure he would hear himself if he shouted.
Soubi is trouble. He breaks rules Ritsuka wasn’t even aware of minutes ago. And he does it with such an annoying expression: submissiveness, satisfaction, faint amusement.
Surely Seimei never allowed this.
Maybe that’s why Soubi is so thrilled.

Soubi’s breath tickles Ritsuka’s skin. His lips are warm and dry against his knuckles. For a moment the ground upends and Ritsuka is certain their feet will slip off the grass and they’ll go hurdling into the blue autumnal sky.

Heat floods Ritsuka’s face. His heart hammers so loudly in his ears he’s not sure he would hear himself if he shouted.

Soubi is trouble. He breaks rules Ritsuka wasn’t even aware of minutes ago. And he does it with such an annoying expression: submissiveness, satisfaction, faint amusement.

Surely Seimei never allowed this.

Maybe that’s why Soubi is so thrilled.

Posted 1 year ago

Dio was haunted in every sense of the term, though he did everything in his power not to show it. It really wasn’t so bad, this thing some people called survivor’s guilt, if they called it something other than sad and being unable to let go of the past. Some of these ghosts woke him up in the still, black night, gasping for breath and covered in sweat. He banished such ghosts with loud laughter, jokes and silly photographs, with impressive aerial stunts and shoveling cake into his mouth by the forkful.

He was alive. They were not. He liked rubbing it in.

There was one ghost Dio always allowed to linger. He imagined the gentle wind as fingers in his hair. On those days he thought he would lean over an edge and fall, he was sure there was a hand in his, pulling him away.

When the memories of that ghost wakened him, he let it stay, and tears soaked his pillow. Sometimes he reached out, wishing to put his hands around his hips and hold onto something steady. In those moments, he wanted to curse the ghost.

But he could never bring himself to tell it to leave his side, in spite of the pain. Perhaps that meant he was never truly moving on, but perhaps he didn’t need to. He never wanted to lose that sense of steadiness and direction, the safety and love.

It was not a ghost of a person but of a promise. I will always remain at your side.

Dio whispered to the wind, “As long as you’re here, I’ll never let you go.”

Posted 1 year ago

The headphones were a little overtly flashy for Seimei’s taste.

Nisei took every moment to himself to listen to them, even though Seimei was probably right: he should’ve picked sound quality over looks.

The bass is muddy, but vindicating.