june fic roundup
My personal jury is actually still out on the concept of the fic roundup, for weirdo neurotic reasons, but here's the thing. I have never in the history of ever written enough fic over the course of a month to warrant a roundup. So, it's a thing for me, and I might never do it again, but I am doing it now. So, in order:
Follow Your Shame. Tony/Pepper, sort of. R. 1,000 words. No matter how many times they dance, she'll never sleep with Tony Stark. Pretty fucked up, if I do say so myself.
Successful Secrets of the Sexual Kind. Tony/Pepper, NC-17. 2,819 words. Five times they don't have sex, and think about it anyway. I wanted to write porn. Then it got a little heartbreaking.
Turning Your Orbit Around. Ensemble gen, PG-13. 848 words. Five Terribly Inappropriate Gifts Tony Stark Has Given. Utter, utter crack. So much fucking fun to write.
People Who Know My Sins. Tony/Pepper, PG-13. 1,971 words. Dancing is not in her job description, but neither is mopping up blood at 4 in the morning. She does it anyway. UST, hi. I honestly thought I was writing fluff, this time, and then I read it. God, these two.
The Mathematics of Betrayal. Tony/Obadiah, R (actually, probably NC-17 on general principle). 965 words. Fifteen minutes is a very long time. The Tony/Obie noncon on the couch. Not a nice story by any stretch of the imagination, but I actually think it's one of the better things I've written. I'm still too close to it to say, I think, but I maybe like it as much as I like Nine Adulteries.
God, I haven't written like this in ages. I... am about to get weird! I am having so much fun in this fandom right now. I'd forgotten what it was like. I'd forgotten it was even possible. (I remember quite clearly, sitting in the hospital, talking to some shrink, and she asked me if I got any joy out of the things I liked doing, and I stared at her for a long time and then I laughed and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't actually think of anything I enjoy doing." When she asked me what I used to enjoy doing, I couldn't remember. It was just gone.) I was afraid, I think; I was so sick for so long and my depression was such a huge part of me and my writing that I was worried that once I got better, I wouldn't be able to write. I think that kept me from even trying to get better for a long time. Then, once I was better (and this is recent, so so recent for me), I was worried. What if I can't do it. What if the words aren't there. So I didn't try. But, you guys, the words are fucking there, and I'm happy, and I didn't remember what it was to be happy. It's not just fandom, obviously, but I'm happy, is all I'm saying, and also, yay fandom. So much fucking love. I'm a little high on it.
Follow Your Shame. Tony/Pepper, sort of. R. 1,000 words. No matter how many times they dance, she'll never sleep with Tony Stark. Pretty fucked up, if I do say so myself.
Successful Secrets of the Sexual Kind. Tony/Pepper, NC-17. 2,819 words. Five times they don't have sex, and think about it anyway. I wanted to write porn. Then it got a little heartbreaking.
Turning Your Orbit Around. Ensemble gen, PG-13. 848 words. Five Terribly Inappropriate Gifts Tony Stark Has Given. Utter, utter crack. So much fucking fun to write.
People Who Know My Sins. Tony/Pepper, PG-13. 1,971 words. Dancing is not in her job description, but neither is mopping up blood at 4 in the morning. She does it anyway. UST, hi. I honestly thought I was writing fluff, this time, and then I read it. God, these two.
The Mathematics of Betrayal. Tony/Obadiah, R (actually, probably NC-17 on general principle). 965 words. Fifteen minutes is a very long time. The Tony/Obie noncon on the couch. Not a nice story by any stretch of the imagination, but I actually think it's one of the better things I've written. I'm still too close to it to say, I think, but I maybe like it as much as I like Nine Adulteries.
God, I haven't written like this in ages. I... am about to get weird! I am having so much fun in this fandom right now. I'd forgotten what it was like. I'd forgotten it was even possible. (I remember quite clearly, sitting in the hospital, talking to some shrink, and she asked me if I got any joy out of the things I liked doing, and I stared at her for a long time and then I laughed and said, "I'm sorry, but I can't actually think of anything I enjoy doing." When she asked me what I used to enjoy doing, I couldn't remember. It was just gone.) I was afraid, I think; I was so sick for so long and my depression was such a huge part of me and my writing that I was worried that once I got better, I wouldn't be able to write. I think that kept me from even trying to get better for a long time. Then, once I was better (and this is recent, so so recent for me), I was worried. What if I can't do it. What if the words aren't there. So I didn't try. But, you guys, the words are fucking there, and I'm happy, and I didn't remember what it was to be happy. It's not just fandom, obviously, but I'm happy, is all I'm saying, and also, yay fandom. So much fucking love. I'm a little high on it.