this week in writing


For @ransomweek - March 28: “Remember that time…”

warnings: senior year nostalgia, oblivious pining, excessively soft bromance

“Okay,” Lardo said, taking another swig from the bottle of gin they’d been passing around. “Worst class you’ve ever taken?”

The noise of another kegster, not their last together but frighteningly close to it, thrummed through the floor of the attic. Sometime after midnight Nursey and Chowder had started trying to go through various Haus rules, proper kegstand procedure and ratios for tub juice, with the Tadpoles like Holster and Ransom had done for the past two years, and Ransom had found himself hit with senior-year nostalgia again. It was the kind of weird, happy-sad ache that pulled from under his ribs and made him want to hold onto everything tighter.

He was going to graduate in May. He’d been accepted to med programs at Emory and UPenn, and he was waiting to hear back from a couple other schools. His future wasn’t some nebulous concept any more; it felt real. It felt too close. It was so much easier just to melt back against his bed, next to his two best friends, and to soak up the way their words seemed to roll around the room and fill it up completely.

Holster snorted and leaned against Ransom, reaching around him for the bottle but not moving away once he had it. “International Finance Theory with Professor Lawrence.”

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“but you don’t look autistic”
i know, it’s shocking
i’m sure you were expecting scaly green skin
or another pair of eyes hidden beneath my bangs
but take a look
two legs, two arms, on pair of eyes
i look just like you
i look like a human
because that’s what i am
autism does not have a costume
our wardrobe isn’t embroidered with puzzle pieces and the color blue
funnily enough
like everyone else on this earth
people with autism are all different
our experiences are not stagnate across the globe 
and just because i can disguise my stims
doesn’t mean i am more or less autistic than someone who cannot
and believe it or not
saying that is not a compliment

autistic people can have jobs
we can be loved by someone other than our family members
we can drive
and go shopping
not all of us are nonverbal
and while most of us cannot handle the horrors of eye contact
and certain stimuli
  once again
we’re all different
try not to act so surprised when we’re able to appear just as neurotypical as you

“oh, so you’re like Rain Man?”
if this is your way of implying that you can drop a bunch of toothpicks on the ground and then ask me how many there are
kindly fuck off

“autism is a disease and i’m sure they’ll find a cure for you”
we are not sick
we are not suffering
illnesses are contagious
you can’t catch autism
it isn’t going to spread if you get too close to me
this isn’t rocket science
it isn’t that hard to understand
you either have autism
or you never will
and more importantly
there is nothing about us that needs to be cured

instead of listening to a fear mongering
hate spreading
poor representation
harmful group that markets itself on our existence and feels the need to “fix” autistic people
why not just listen to autistic people instead?
—  Five Myths / Things You Should Know About People with Autism
(cc, 2017)
late night at sea

an: day two of fluffy mini ficlet week continues with a little parents!cs! <3 for my love @swans-and-pirates.

She’s barely three weeks old when, in the middle of the night with her little lungs wearing out from all of the screaming and tears, Killian makes the decision to bring her out to the Jolly.

Emma, just as tired and fed up with the hours of trial and error, agrees to go, grabbing everything she can think she might need out on the ship before she slips into her shoes and cradles the baby against her chest, trying fruitlessly to stop her cries.

“She’ll be alright,” Killian assures her. “If she’s anything like her father, the sea will calm her.”

He’s right.

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Strength and Guidance

Part One of One Dance (A Check Please Soulmate AU where songs sung by your soulmate get stuck in your head) Also on AO3

Read Polyfarms companion fic here

For @ransomwee Prompt: Celebration.

Justin is a junior in high school. He knows exactly three things about his soulmate. One, she’s around his age. Two, she’s definitely American. Three, she has a thing for musical theater. 

Ever since puberty. Everybody stares at me. Boys, girls. I can’t help it baby.

Justin, or Ranser as his hockey team knew him, sighs. He’s knee-deep in a practice SAT test. He knows his soulmate is American, so that’s where he’s planning to go for university. Even if they don’t end up at the same school, it’ll be exponentially easier to find her if they don’t have an international border between them. 

So be kind. And don’t lose your mind. Just remember. That I’m your baby.

Allow me to kiss your hand, be your man,” Ranser interrupts. “You know, I’ll understand…You see where I’m from, WC, I’m from Nigeria,” he murmurs. “Omo, you know say na criteria.” 

Justin doesn’t know what skipping ahead in a song does to the music inside his soulmate’s mind. But he’s not one for singing,really. He finds the songs that suit his message and sticks lyric-less songs otherwise. Many reactionary music genres nowadays were mainly instrumental to resist the idea of finding soulmates through consumerism. It’s not that he didn’t care about his soulmate. But it’s one less thing to worry about if he has separate music for communicating with her and for enjoying for himself. Afrobeat has been particularly effective in balancing out her more…exuberant tunes. 

He can’t fault her for her love of Lady Gaga, but priorities take precedent over fun time. As if she understands his protests, the music dies down. Justin takes a deep breath, resuming his test. He can only hope she doesn’t do this during the real exam time. Although most administrators were understanding, it was a three strikes policy for singing during an exam. 

If there’s one thing Justin’s learned about his soulmate, it’s that she sung everything she felt. 


“What if I got a double major in music and economics?” Adam, or Birker, asks his teammate, Hobbs, one movie night his last year in Juniors. 

Hobbs eyes him incredulously. “Why?” 

Adam shrugs, “my soulmate listens to a lot of cool music.”

“So? Fucking congrats,” he snarks. 

“No man, it’s like,” Adam gestures with two hands at the space in front of the coffee table. “Most of the stuff they like isn’t pop and doesn’t even have lyrics. Which fucking sucked when we were younger, right?”

“Sure,” he concedes. 

“I learned how to play the piano and some other instruments so I could figure out what songs they were — and now I have all this musical knowledge that I won’t be able to use ever again.”

“Because…” Hobbs prompts. 

“Because when I find them, what the fuck do I need to know this shit for anymore? If they like something, they can just show it to me.” 

Hobbs rolls his eyes, “be a music major. Become a fucking teacher why don’t you?”

“You think I could handle that?” Adam inquires seriously. 

“I think your other option is to get famous writing music, and fat chance of that ever happening,” Hobbs chirps.

“Thanks, you’re helpful,” Birker rolls his eyes dramatically. 

“I don’t get why you’re going to college anyway,” Hobbs jabs him in the ribs. 

“I’m not doing the draft, bro,” Adam reminds him curtly. 

“Oh c’mon,” Hobbs eggs him on, “what’s the worst that could happen?”

“I miss my chance to meet my soulmate in college, I spend four years in fucking Syracuse before I get called up. I retire at 32 if I’m lucky with no degree or skills.”

“Except music,” Hobbs chirps. 

“Except music,” Adam parrots. 

Brownie comes back with a bowl full of popcorn and a bag of Twizzlers. “What’d I miss?”

“Birker’s whinning about his soulmate again,”  Hobbs replies.

“What else is new,” Calvin shouts from the kitchen. 

“Can we start the fucking show already?” Adam shouts back.

“Yeah,” Calvin comes running in, hopping onto the first body he sees (Adam).

Adam frowns when Calvin won’t get off his lap. “I really hate you sometimes.”

“Taking your way in the world today takes everything you’ve got. 
Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot,” the four boys chorus. 

“Man, I hope for your sake she’s funny,” Brownie tells Birker. 

Adam laughs hollowly. He’s very convinced that his soulmate’s a dude. Which is fine, Adam’s as bi as the day is long. The way Calvin looks back at him pointedly, reinforces his suspicions that he’s not the only queer guy on the team.

Which is exactly why he’s going to Samwell. It was one of the queerest schools in the country. He had no assurance that his soulmate will find him there. But at the very least, he can have four years away from the quite chaos of hockey. The NHL was still ignoring the fact that a good third (or more) of their players weren’t straight. The press was constantly writing soulmates off as “platonic”, and Adam was not about to put up with that any time soon. He wanted to go to school, do something he loves, and fall in love. Why was that too much to ask for?

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meet me in the stars

Dedication: For InuKag Week 2017 Day 6: Stars

Summary: Kagome never realized how much she equated the stars with the gold in Inuyasha’s eyes until they were gone.

Pairing: Inuyasha/Kagome

Warning: n/a

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the same songs with the same old rhymes

For @ransomweek

Prompt: in the open air 

Also on AO3

Justin Oluransi wasn’t the greatest with surprises. He was a plan man. Everything in his life could be narrowed down to a cleverly crafted eight-point plan. He expected his day to go quite normally: wake up at five; go for a run with Adam; have breakfast with Adam; do pre-round for the patients he’s following; do round with the attending; write up progress notes and orders; get lunch; go to lecture; follow up on labs; finish notes from earlier; study and finish orders; go home and have a nice relaxing dinner with Adam; watch Brooklyn 99 until they both decide that they’re tired and go to sleep.

He hadn’t planned on coming home to find Larissa Duan sitting in front of his apartment. She’s huddled in on herself, knees hiding her face. But her signature purple beanie and the duck keychain attached to her bag give her away.

“Lardo?” He says hesitantly. Frankly, he’s a little worried she’s a figment of his imagination (or worse, dead).

Larissa sniffles, unfolding her legs. Her eyes won’t meet his; they’re fixated on the rips in her jeans. Her eyes are listless. It occurs to Ransom that it’s November. Although Baltimore hasn’t seen its first big snow of the season, the wind is still brutal and unrelenting.  He debates picking her up himself, but remembers that Lardo hates being manhandled without permission.

“Do you want to come inside?” Justin flinches at how condescending his tone is. How mechanical and pseudo-empathetic it’s become. Like Larissa’s his patient instead of one of his best friends. She was one of his best friends.

Lardo doesn’t seem bothered, however. She rises with a graceful dexterity that reminds Justin of the afternoons when she and Eric would see who could balance more random shit on themselves until they caved (Bitty won most of the time).  As Justin unlocks the door, he wonders how Larissa found them (and when had hockey nicknames slipped off his lips like a tainted memory).

She slips in quietly behind him. He murmurs something about tea; she nods hastily, dropping her bag next to the couch. It’s green like the one back at the Haus. Adam had been sentimental when they found it on Craigslist.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he calls out as he turns on the stove.

As he fills up the kettle with water, Justin contemplates texting Adam. He doesn’t have a game until tomorrow, so he should be on his way back anyhow. It wasn’t easy figuring out where to settle down. Baltimore had been something of a compromise. The commute was a bitch for Holster, but he had an apartment in Arlington for nights when the drive was too much or a roadie was set to leave early. They were both happy with the careers they’d chosen. They were in love. If Adam scored a puck bunny every now and then, it was good their foreplay for later.

He doesn’t have the slightest idea why Larissa’s here. It’s been three years since they graduated. Everyone tried to keep up the first year, when Bitty was captain and the Frogs were juniors. Ransom and Holster had hardly heard from any of them in two years. There was a text in the group chat every now and then. But life went on, and the earth kept spinning.

Justin doesn’t realize that he’s staring out into space (and generally in Lardo’s direction) until he finds her staring back at him. Her scowl is hardened yet exhausted. As if she’s lost all the vigor and fight he used to love about her. He maintains eye contact longer than he assumes is polite. Ultimately, Larissa caves, going back to scrolling her phone as she curls more in on herself on the couch.

The kettle shrieks behind Justin. He scours the cupboard for the Jasmine tea mix he remembers Lardo sending as an apartment warming present (back when they’d first moved here, but that was two places ago). He puts that and the water into an infuser, letting it sit while he goes to attend to his house guest.

“We have a guest room around the corner,” he points out the general path. “There’s fresh towels in bathroom.”

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White Shines and Red Scatters

ᴿᵉᵈ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵇᶫᵒᵒᵈ
ᵂʰᶦᵗᵉ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵇᵒᶰᵉ
ᴿᵉᵈ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ˢᵒᶫᶦᵗᵘᵈᵉ
ᵂʰᶦᵗᵉ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ˢᶦᶫᵉᶰᶜᵉ
ᴿᵉᵈ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢᵉᶰˢᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵇᵉᵃˢᵗ
ᵂʰᶦᵗᵉ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ʰᵉᵃʳᵗ ᵒᶠ ᵃ ᵍᵒᵈ
ᴿᵉᵈ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵐᵒᶫᵗᵉᶰ ʰᵃᵗʳᵉᵈ
ᵂʰᶦᵗᵉ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᶜʰᶦᶫᶫᶦᶰᵍ ᶜʳᶦᵉˢ ᵒᶠ ᵖᵃᶦᶰ
ᴿᵉᵈ ᶫᶦᵏᵉ ᵗʰᵉ ˢʰᵃᵈᵒʷˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ᶠᵉᵉᵈ ᵒᶰ ᵗʰᵉ ᶰᶦᵍʰᵗ
ᵂʰᶦᵗᵉ ˢʰᶦᶰᵉˢ ᵃᶰᵈ ʳᵉᵈ ˢᶜᵃᵗᵗᵉʳˢ
ᴸᶦᵏᵉ ˢᶦᵍʰˢ ᵗʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵒᵒᵗ ᵗʰʳᵒᵘᵍʰ ᵗʰᵉ ᵐᵒᵒᶰ

It was most unusual for anything to disturb Kisuke’s slumber, because once asleep, he slept like the dead. Yoruichi, by contrast, was known to be a night owl and an early riser. More often than not, he’d found himself awakened in the morning by a cold, wet cat-nosing, or in the middle of the night by a warm, wet kiss. But something – or someone – else had awakened him tonight, something he couldn’t yet quite identify.

Moonlight streamed in through the window of the upper room, washing the floor and bedsheets with a pale, ghostly glow, creeping across the contours of Yoruichi’s side, as she lay with her back to him. The first trimester of pregnancy was taking its toll; she was more tired during the day, more prone to sleeping soundly at night.  And he suspected that having to refrain from transforming to cat form was taking an awful toll on her napping pattern. So he was rewarded with a rare treat: the sight of a sleeping, human-shaped Yoruichi.

He’d always thought she was beautiful. That was a given. He couldn’t recall a time when he’d thought otherwise, even as a boy. Her golden eyes, striking against her dark skin; her lustrous black hair… even when she’d cropped it short, it still crowned her head luxuriously. He was glad she’d grown it long again. His hand couldn’t resist reaching out and twining it around his fingers, letting the strands slip through them like silk. Her skin, too, gleamed in the moonlight, sleek and smooth like satin, and he was strongly tempted to wake her with a caress, if only he didn’t believe, just as strongly, that her rest was more important. Well then… he’d simply have to avoid waking her, as he stealthily moved closer to drape a warm, possessively affectionate arm around her waist, burying his nose and lips in her hair, pulling her close against his chest, and resting his palm just below her navel.

And then he felt it again, the tingling presence that had awoken him. With a growing, comprehending smile, at last he knew what it was he was sensing: a faint, yet undeniable, scattering of crimson reiatsu so similar to his own that he might have mistaken it for Benihime; yet somehow… other. It did not emanate from within himself. It was coming from her.

And in that moment, she became more beautiful to him than he thought was possible, because of what grew within her: a manifestation of their whole lives, their whole love, compressed into one tiny point, vibrant and pulsing with life.


Fanfiction Recommendations Mar. 22- Mar. 29

Originally posted by blackewhitelover

Here are some of the amazing fics that I’ve read and been tagged in this past week. Thanks to all the great writers that write wonderful fics for us. 

Please feel free to tag me in your work- I love it!



Winchester Sister/Daughter





Diamante for Eve Moneypenny


                                              Loyal, skillful 

                                Shooting, recovering, befriending

                        Field agent, backup, bodyguard, secretary

Report reading, bureaucracy-and-bullet braving, Bond aiding-and-abetting,  

                                         Trustworthy, reliable


Title: Reapers and Keepers ch 2
Day/Prompt: Reminiscent/New Life for @bokuakaweek
Rating: T+
Warnings: N/A
Side Pairings: TBA
Summary: “Bo, what are you talking about?”

“There’s like… a kid!”

“What kid?”

Akaashi heard some steps and turned to come face to face with rooster-head who was looking down the hallway on both sides. He seemed to completely look past Akaashi.

“There’s… no one here, Bo.”

Moriel - General - Fluff

I was heartlessly accused of being unable to write fluff without infinite amounts of angst and pain by a certain Moriel Queen (*cough* @abookandacoffee *cough*). Thankfully, Korean-Dramas came to my rescue. 

The One Where Nobody Dies

Summary: In which Azriel is terrible at texting back, Morrigan continues to endure the idiocy of her dysfunctional family, Cassian becomes The Bride of Spring, Amren cannot maintain long-distance relationships with goats, and Rhysand is barely mentioned.

Special Guests Include: Flower Crowns, Polygamous Nymphs, and most dangerous of all, Vegetarians.

Tags: Letter-writing, Comedy, Fluff

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Ayahina Week Day 4 (March 29th):  Training / Protection

Summary: Hinami has a little plan to mess with Ayato through the guise of training together. Basically Ayato being completely and hopelessly caught in her little game. (2k words) 

I almost wanted to make this smut but I doubt the Goats would appreciate them fucking in the training room. Maybe some other time. Ayato is a horny and hormonal teenager. I also realize my title ended up being the prompt, therefore the inverted commas. 

“If I get you down you win. If you get me down, I win,” Hinami says, her arms crossed with a playful smirk. Ayato stares at her for a long moment, before turning to his bag with a wide and visible sneer. Watching his side profile, Hinami scowls, stamping her foot playfully. “Ayato-kun!”

“You can’t even take me on at your strongest. What makes you think you can take me on right now after one year of rotting in a ghoul prison with nothing but books and a pathetic stew?” he asks. He pulls out his bottle, takes a long swing and returns it. As he heads on to the weights, Hinami steps in front of him, holding her hands out to her side in an attempt at obstructing him.

“Hinami,” he sighs, resting a hand on his hip. “You’ll get thrashed.”

“Training. Now. I didn’t dress up for nothing,” she says and he has to hold in the urge to burst out in laughter at her statement. Really? Dressing up for training? She is such a girl. But as his eyes scan her from top to bottom, he has to admit that she looks pretty good and ready. Her body looks tough under the purple tank top she is wearing— though he can’t really tell if it was fats, muscles or a mixture of both. She was wearing a pair of black shorts and it’s so rare to see her in anything that isn’t a skirt or a dress. But even without her usual clothes exhibiting her usual ultra-feminine look, Hinami looks downright adorable as she leans her body forward, crosses her arms and stares at him with her cheeks puffed out.

“Come on, just once! Pretty please, Ayato-kun?” 

He can’t say no to that look. He just can’t.

“Alright, alright,” he sighs. Hinami giggles victoriously, grabbing his arm to pull him to the middle of the room. She steps away from him, making some distance between them before taking on a prepared stance, legs parted and her arms raised in front of her face. Ayato watches her in silence for a moment, resisting the urge to laugh.

“What are you doing?” he sighs.

“I’m getting ready to fight,” she says. “The first person to pin the other down on the mat wins.”

“And then? What do I get?”

Hinami pouts slightly, probably from his assumption that he’s going to win. “The loser has to listen to the winner for the rest of the day and become their slave!”

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What you can do

File a complaint with the BBC.

I don’t know how much use it will be but they need to know that they’re giving money to people who at this point purposefully shit on a certain portion of their audience in the cruelest fashion imaginable. So I feel like it’s reasonable to let them know that what Mofftiss just did on Sherlock is not ok.

You’ll have to answer a couple of questions before you can write your complaint and unfortunately that has a word limit so make it precise and to the point but I guess it’s better than nothing?

Click on Make a Complaint.