![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
self care via fic writing memes
Rules: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!
(My g-drive is a tangled mess of out-takes & random ideas & things that I add 20 words a day. These are the ones that are more than a paragraph long & not yanked from something else... Also, I’m adding fandoms/pairings because my writing brain flits around like a butterfly)
1. in the mood (MCU, Darcy/Steve)
2. makes me howl like a silver moon do (ST: Discovery, Pike/Tyler)
3. kick at the darkness til it bleeds daylight (TOG, Joe/Nicky)
4. Bulletproof Love (H50, Kono/Danny/Steve)
5. The Dragon’s Thief (original - but you can prob guess the fandom/pairing that it grew out of from a snippet)
6. before I’m dead (MMM, Midge/Lenny)
7. Female Ghostbusters (MCU, Clint/Natasha)
8. sweet like sugar (daddy) (TOG)
9. immovable object meet irresistible force (original - ibid)
10. Darcy in space (MCU/GotG)
11. after the dust (MCU, Clint/Darcy)
12. the companion & the operative (original, ibid)
13. three weeks in the black (Solo, Han/Lando)
...ok, stopping now!
no subject
no subject
Here's a snippet:
"Tea," Nicky tells Copley, more to keep the man from hovering than anything. "With sugar and milk." Nile makes a face when she realizes it's for her, but settles when Nicky assures her it's just to tide her over until they can get real food for her. "Joe," he calls, reaching out and finding Joe's arm, warm and solid and familiar, without even having to look. He never forgets how fortunate he is to have found his way to Joe all those years ago, but today, now, he is ever more aware of how the universe has granted him favor. "We need food, all of us, and my bag still should be in the car."
Andy makes a face at that, because, yes, Nicky's medical bag is for her. So is the tea, actually--it will help settle Nile's jitters, but the sugar and but fluids will benefit Andy a thousand times more--but Nicky will fight that battle when he gets to it. Joe grunts an affirmative, and leaves with a touch to Nicky's face.
Before too many seconds have passed, Nicky can hear him and Booker snapping and snarling at each other, but then the front door slams and Booker is standing in front of him, one of the backpacks Nicky keeps in the back of every car and safe house in his hands, and Nicky realizes that Joe has gone to take care of the food himself, for many of the same reasons that Nicky is still standing here, filthy and bloodstained, preparing to start an argument with the most stubborn person he has ever known.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
Snippet:
...but mostly, Kono spent the better part of a week living in the waiting room with Steve. He was the one who let her sleep on his shoulder; the one who was waiting for her when she came out from seeing Danny for the first time and couldn't stop shaking; the one who had her back when the doctors said they were lifting the induced coma.
Steve and Kono--they were the ones standing next to his bed when Danny first woke up, and again, later, when he could recognize them, and if the first thing he said was for Kono not to lose any more sleep over him, that he hated she was so scared on account of him and to knock it off, the very next thing was telling Steve how much he still didn’t appreciate the Aneurysm Face.
Kono saw the way Steve looked at Danny and how hard he held onto Danny's hand as he was going to sleep, as hard as she was hanging onto Danny’s other hand, and the light bulb went off. She’d seen partners all her life and she knew how close and important the relationship was. This, what was between Steve and Danny--it was so much more than that.
There was a second light bulb, too: this one was all about how that didn’t matter to Kono, not at all. She had never really been jealous of Steve or the time and energy Danny devoted to him. Part of that, she thought, was because she'd met them as a pair, and they were never anything but that, even as she and Danny eased their way into an actual, honest-to-God relationship. Mostly, though, it was about Danny, and how he never made her feel like she was second-best. She thought he did the same thing with Steve, too, which was pretty much just how Danny rolled.
So, no, it didn’t matter that Steve felt more for Danny than could be explained by their partnership. Love wasn’t something you threw away, not when it was real and true, no matter what wrapping it came in. Kono just had to make sure the other two knew that, too.
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
"What the hell is this?" Lando said, throwing the box on the bunk with a lot of energy for a guy who'd been half-dead a week ago.
"So much for afterglow," Han muttered, which, yeah, was a dodge, but still the damn truth. He hadn't even gotten a shower and if the look on Lando's face meant anything, a lot of yelling was going to happen before he did. "It's a box of stuff, okay? Not all of us have closets and closets of wardrobe. Some of us just keep our crap in a box."
It was the only stuff Han had, which he thought went without having to be said.
"No," Lando snarled. He dumped the box out onto the bunk and snatched the lone pair of pants out of the mess, and seriously, Han should have known better. He didn't need any of the shit in that box, but no, he just couldn't dump it, could he? "This."
"What do you think it is?" Han snarled back. Fuck the shower; he wasn't having this conversation naked. Without looking at Lando, he got out of bed and grabbed at the pants he usually wore.
"I think it's a Corellian bloodstripe."
"You'd be right."
"Is it yours?"
"Is it--?" Han somehow managed not to take a swing at him--or at the bulkhead. "Fuck you, yes, it's mine."
"You were awarded the Corellian bloodstripe and you keep it in a box?"
Han shoved the memories--the humiliation of being stripped of his rank, the crashing sense of knowing he'd just fucked himself--and Qi'ra--over, the screaming hell of the infantry brigade--back in their own corner of his brain and hissed, "I guess I do."
no subject
no subject
When it did happen, it was an ordinary night, a summer Thursday, and Lenny had called to say, There's this kid in from L.A., playing the Bitter End. He was cool and diffident enough that Midge literally could not stop her mouth. A date, Mr. Bruce?, she'd asked, but at least she'd gotten the exact right, arch tone so he could crack back, If you say so, Mrs. Maisel. Midge tore through her closet for close to an hour and ended up studiedly casual in a black sleeveless shell and black cigarette pants, accessorized only with a slash of crimson lipstick and a four careful touches of Shalimar extrait (one behind each ear and one on the underside of each breast.) She took more black, chiffon this time, and wrapped it around her face, covering her hair and tucking the tails of the scarf into the collar of her shell, finished it all with Chanel sunglasses in deference to the low, slanting sun of late July. Antonio went out and flagged her a cab from the front of her building, and then Lenny was waiting for her outside the awning on Bleecker Street, clear-eyed and sleek even in a casual slouch against a light post.
"Late, as usual, Miriam," he said by way of greeting, straightening up and reaching over to open her door.
"Good thing you told me to be here an hour before anybody would even dream of taking the stage," Midge answered as she took his hand and stepped out of the cab.
"Two, actually," he said with that lazy, slow smile, his eyes skimming over her and lingering just long enough to make her feel like he not only knew she was wearing the lightest of outfits--no girdle, no slip, and a bra so sheer that wearing nothing at all looked less provocative--but that he deeply approved of her selections.
"Then I'm right on time."
"Only if you move that cute ass right on inside." He went to drop the last of his cigarette, but let her intercept him and finish it herself.
"Very classy." She got one good drag off what he'd left, and then eyed him through the drifting smoke.
"What if I told you the bartender is holding your martini and there's a rumor of hot canapes in the kitchen?"
"Moving," Midge said, letting him settle a hand low on her back and guide her in the door.
They got a table off to one side and Midge laughed so hard at the wordplay the kid could pull out that she gave herself a stitch and was whining pathetically when he came back to the table to shake Lenny's hand.
no subject