Fanfiction writer for the Hetalia fandom, specifically USUKUS. There will be NSFW content on this blog. Requests are welcome only when I ask for them. No, TCWAD is not discontinued. No, I do not know when TCWAD will update. Conversation and questions always welcome.
Somewhere along the way fanart become worth more than fanfic to fandom.
Artists have Patreon accounts where people pay real money to view their art early or to access special pictures like scraps or tutorials.
Whereas writers are expected to produce more and more, faster, for nothing in return. No one wants to see our “scraps” and writers who do provide Tips and Tricks often get crap for “policing” how people write.
And it falls into the prevailing notion that somehow writing is something easy, something anyone can do.
This isn’t an attack on fanartists. You deserve to receive some sort of compensation and accolades for your work. And so do fanauthors.
Writing fic is hard work. Yes, anyone can type out a story, same as anyone can pick up a pencil to draw, but what makes the difference, what makes a good piece is the experience and talent of an author. It’s all the stories no one saw, it’s all the writing books we’ve read, it’s the classes we have attended, all rolled into a package that works weeks, months, years to bring the fandom their fic. Yes we write for ourselves but we also write to contribute to fandom - just like artists do.
We’re just the same - artists and authors - and we deserve the same respect for our work.
Summary: Alfred shares his latest discovery from the surface with Matthew, who isn’t such a fan of dry land…. or the prince Alfred keeps talking about.
AO3
“He’s not even that good looking,” Matthew said, draping himself on a large, flat stone and pulling at the sea grass growing around it. “There are better looking two-legs”
Alfred huffed as he yanked the heavy chest out from between the gnarled stands of eroding rock where he’d hidden it. They formed a small, shallow cave, big enough to hid his collection in, but small and ordinary enough that no one would ever go looking inside of it. It was his favorite spot, close enough to the surface that the light came through warm and bright, and far enough away from the palace that he could have his privacy. It felt safe and secret.
“Don’t start with me again. And don’t call them that.”
“Well there are.”
Matthew wasn’t trying to be mean, Alfred knew. He wasn’t at all curious about the world above the waters. Alfred had convinced him to go with him to the surface during the day once, and Matthew hadn’t been very impressed. He’d said it was dry and ugly and too bright. But Alfred saw so much beauty, so many new things to discover. Instead of responding to Matthew’s comment, he opened his treasure box and reverently dug through the contents.
“He doesn’t even look like he can swim very well,” Matthew added.
Summary: Alfred shares his latest discovery from the surface with Matthew, who isn't such a fan of dry land.... or the prince Alfred keeps talking about.
AO3
“He’s not even that good looking,” Matthew said, draping himself on a large, flat stone and pulling at the sea grass growing around it. “There are better looking two-legs”
Alfred huffed as he yanked the heavy chest out from between the gnarled stands of eroding rock where he’d hidden it. They formed a small, shallow cave, big enough to hid his collection in, but small and ordinary enough that no one would ever go looking inside of it. It was his favorite spot, close enough to the surface that the light came through warm and bright, and far enough away from the palace that he could have his privacy. It felt safe and secret.
“Don’t start with me again. And don’t call them that.”
“Well there are.”
Matthew wasn’t trying to be mean, Alfred knew. He wasn’t at all curious about the world above the waters. Alfred had convinced him to go with him to the surface during the day once, and Matthew hadn’t been very impressed. He’d said it was dry and ugly and too bright. But Alfred saw so much beauty, so many new things to discover. Instead of responding to Matthew’s comment, he opened his treasure box and reverently dug through the contents.
“He doesn’t even look like he can swim very well,” Matthew added.
“He doesn’t have to,” Alfred snapped, then took a breath to calm himself. If he got too defensive, Matthew would tease him and threaten to tell about his crush. “He has his… ship,” he said grandly, savoring the word Gil had taught him for the human’s large wooden shadows that sat on top of the waves.
“They fall off sometimes and drown,” Matthew stated plainly, not even looking up as he braided strands of sea grass together before muttering under his breath, “He looks like he would drown.”
“I wouldn’t let that happen, I would save him.”
“You’d get in trouble with Papa.”
“He wouldn’t have to know. And you wouldn’t tell him, either,” Alfred said through his teeth, but Matthew seemed unfazed by the implied threat. He simply flipped his tail a few times, silver scales flashing a faint purple as the light hit them. Then he noticed what Alfred had in his hand.
“What are those?”
Alfred swam to him, twisting and turning just for the joy of it. He had been thrilled to have another item to add to his collection, especially such an odd looking one. It was two clear disks held together by strange, bent, thin metal. He held it out for Matthew to take, but Matthew clutched his grass braid to his chest and shook his head.
“It’s what I wanted to show you. One of the two-leg— humans— dropped it yesterday. Slid right off his nose when he was looking over into the water. They wear it on their face.”
“Why?”
“I think it makes them see better, look.”
Matthew refused to take the thing, so Alfred simply shoved it onto his face, tucking the funny hooked ends over his ears so the clear parts sat in front of his eyes. The jostling caused Matthew’s golden hair to fluff and float in front of his face, and he sat still, like the treasure might come alive and bite him. When nothing happened, he sighed, squinting and unimpressed.
“Well it doesn’t really work down here. You have to be out of the water,” Alfred explained, taking the object off his nose and going to return it to his box, a little sad that Matthew hadn’t thought it was interesting. “Come up with me next time and see!”
“I won’t. I hate it up there.”
“You’re such a baby.”
“Am not,” Matthew whined, tying the grass braid off and using it to keep his hair out of his face. He stuck his tongue out at Alfred, and Alfred responded in kind, then turned back to his collection.
He picked up his favorite possession, an oval shaped metal thing that opened and shut like a clam. On the outside the metal looked like some kind of coral, but different, softer and rounder. Gil said it was called a flower. Alfred clicked it open carefully, and brushed his fingers along the image inside. There was a piece of the clear stuff like on the face decoration he’d shown Matthew, but this disk was covering a drawing of the human Alfred couldn’t get out of his head. He had a pretty face, boyish but stern, with intense eyes and brows, and a mouth that was almost frowning. He looked serious and important, but there was something about his expression, a little spark of something mischievous that Alfred loved.
“I hope one of them drops the shiny tubes next. I see him using one, sometimes. The man, their leader. The handsome one.”
A prince, Alfred had heard him called, but still didn’t know his name. He ran his finger tip around the edge of the image.
“The ugly one,” Matthew corrected.
Alfred frowned and took one last look at the drawing. The little clear disk kept the sea water out mostly, but Alfred had noticed a tiny bit seeping in the last time he’d opened it. He knew if he kept looking at it, it would be ruined one day, so now he didn’t look at it unless he was feeling particularly desperate. He gently shut the metal flower clam and settled it carefully back into the box.
“I’ve seen him looking through it up to the far-lights when it’s dark. Gil says they’re called stars. I think the tube helps you see them better. I want to see them.”
“Why?”
Alfred didn’t know how to explain himself in a way that wouldn’t sound silly. He didn’t know how to articulate the ache in his chest that he felt whenever he looked up through the water at the sky, or spied on the pale sandy beaches, or watched the ship go by on its way to somewhere Alfred couldn’t even imagine. He didn’t know how to explain that he was drawn to the prince not just because he happened to think he was handsome, but because he was a symbol of all the places Alfred couldn’t go, the things he didn’t even know he hadn’t seen. The world was so much wider than just water, and the prince got to see it all, and Alfred wanted to see it with him.
“Why not?” was all he could muster, and it sounded childish.
“You’re going to get hurt chasing all these things. Everything is perfect down here, why do you want to ruin it?”
Again, he knew Matthew wasn’t trying to be cruel. He cared about Alfred, and Alfred knew Matthew worried about him. But it broke his heart to have his interests, his desires, dismissed so casually. Alfred’s eyes and chest burned as he shut the chest and started dragging it back to its hiding place.
“It might be perfect for you, but I hate it!”
“You don’t mean that,” Matthew said, kinder and softer now that he could probably hear the upset in Alfred’s voice. Even that felt too much like being babied and condescended to, and it made Alfred feel worse.
He finished hiding his treasure, and whirled around to Matthew, closing the distance between them in a flash and jabbing a finger in his face as he shouted, “I do! It’s awful and boring and I’d rather live up there with them than be stuck down here with all you cowards.”
“Alfred!”
He swam away as fast as he could, dodging rocks and coral, startling peaceful schools of fish and not at all caring who saw him in his tantrum. He swam until he came upon the darkened mass of a kelp forest, and settled himself in a swaying nest of the slick, cool stuff. He rubbed at his eyes and gazed up at the milky, wavering shafts of light coming through the brown and green, serene and insulated. Matthew would probably go back to the palace and tell their father about his running away, not because he wanted to get him in trouble, but because he was worried. He might not understand Alfred, but he never told on him about his collection or his visits to the surface.
He would have to go back soon. He was a prince himself. There was a certain way he had to act, certain responsibilities. But for the moment, Alfred sighed, imagining the human prince’s face once again, and hoping the shadow of a ship would soon pass by.
Human AU, high school (though I never get specific about their ages)
Summary: Arthur’s given Alfred a ride home many times. But today ends up a little different. Okay, a lot different.
AO3
“Thanks for the ride, again. I swear I’m gonna get my license soon. Just as soon as I, y’know—“
“Stop having a meltdown every time you turn the car on?”
Arthur had said it with a smile, but Alfred fiddled with his baseball cap, wringing it in his hands and flipping it a few times.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
From his hunched shoulders and flat tone, Arthur could tell that he’d struck a nerve. For all his boisterous, outgoing ways, Alfred could be quite sensitive. Arthur was still learning to navigate that
“Don’t apologize, I was only teasing. You’ll be ready when you’re ready.”
“Hmm.”
“And I like driving you,” Arthur added, hoping it sounded casual enough.
Human AU, high school (though I never get specific about their ages)
Summary: Arthur’s given Alfred a ride home many times. But today ends up a little different. Okay, a lot different.
AO3
“Thanks for the ride, again. I swear I’m gonna get my license soon. Just as soon as I, y’know—“
“Stop having a meltdown every time you turn the car on?”
Arthur had said it with a smile, but Alfred fiddled with his baseball cap, wringing it in his hands and flipping it a few times.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
From his hunched shoulders and flat tone, Arthur could tell that he’d struck a nerve. For all his boisterous, outgoing ways, Alfred could be quite sensitive. Arthur was still learning to navigate that
“Don’t apologize, I was only teasing. You’ll be ready when you’re ready.”
“Hmm.”
“And I like driving you,” Arthur added, hoping it sounded casual enough.
Alfred still didn’t look at him, but he relaxed and hung his hat on his knee and set to fiddling with the air conditioning. The familiarity was nice, and at least he wasn’t trying to control the radio like he usually was.
Arthur smiled to himself as he saw Alfred lean his head against the window out of the corner of his eye. The picturesque neighborhood melted around them, neat houses indistinguishable and uninteresting in the bright afternoon heat, but still charming in their own cookie cutter way.
“I could teach you, if you like.”
Alfred snorted at that and righted himself in his chair before slumping down and trying to get both his feet on the dashboard. He knew Arthur hated that, and Arthur knew he was being goaded.
“Yeah, right. Like I’m gonna take lessons from the guy who drives on the wrong side.”
“Oh, please. Do you see me doing that now? My driving credentials are all-American, thank you very much,” Arthur quipped, and reached across to smack Alfred’s leg down.
“Sure, sure, but it’s in your blood.” Alfred took one foot off the dash, but kept his far one up, daring Arthur to reach for it without swerving the car. “I’ll take my chances with dad. Or Matt. Not sure which one will be less yelling, honestly.”
“I’ve never heard your brother say anything above a whisper.”
“Yeah, well, that’s because he’s still terrified of you. He doesn’t have a problem whoopin’ up on me.”
“Terrified? Why?”
Alfred slumped further down, and put his baseball cap on backwards, low over his forehead like he was trying to hide his eyes. Arthur waited patiently for an answer, but Alfred took his phone out and started scrolling and typing, or at least pretending to. Arthur was going to repeat his question, when Alfred interrupted.
“Because he has a little crush on you.”
“What, really? Since when?”
Alfred made an irritated sound and sat up, taking his foot off the dash and tossing his phone into his backpack. He pulled his jeans down at the knees where they had bunched up and took far too long smoothing them, then looked at the mirror on the visor on his side and set to fixing his hair and hat.
“Since forever? Don’t act surprised. Everyone has a crush on you,” he said while fussing over his reflection, sounding bored.
“No, not everyone.”
Not you, Arthur thought, and then felt incredibly stupid for having thought it.
“Yes, everyone. Literally everyone.”
“Hmm,” was all Arthur could manage. He couldn’t process that and drive, and be this close to Alfred all at once.
“Hmm,” Alfred repeated in a mocking, serious tone, and then fell silent again.
They were passing the big park near Alfred’s house now. It was a popular hang out spot, soccer pitch on one end, a baseball diamond on the other, and a playground made of neon plastic on the far side. But no one was out now. It was too hot, the fields wilted and dusty, and the plastic playground nearly molten and shimmering. It was lonely in a beautiful way, and made their little metal pod of air-conditioned togetherness seem suddenly smaller and more intimate. Arthur’s rumination was interrupted as he caught Alfred looking at him out of the corner of his eye. He had lolled his head back on the rest and turned his face toward Arthur, studying him with an expression that was so blank it was clear he was thinking something. Arthur wasn’t sure he wanted to know what.
“Why are you staring at me?”
“Cuz there’s nothing better to look at. All the grass is dead.”
It was hardly a come-on, but something about it made Arthur feel awkward and restless.
“Well, I’m better than dead grass, at least.”
“Infinitely.”
It was said so precisely that Arthur could imagine the shape Alfred’s lips made around the word without having seen it. He didn’t know what had gotten into him suddenly to make him think like that, and it didn’t help that Alfred was still looking at him lazily. Arthur decided to ignore it and focus on the road. It seemed to work, and Alfred went back to sitting normally and looking out the window. Somehow that also wasn’t what Arthur wanted.
They rounded the corner of Alfred’s street, and Arthur slowed down more than he had to just to get a few more seconds in. He parked against the sidewalk of Alfred’s house and turned to look at Alfred, forcing a cheerful expression.
“Well. Bye.”
His voice sounded wrong to himself, and apparently to Alfred as well, who looked at him strangely and half laughed as he gathered up his backpack.
“You’re so weird.”
“How am I weird? I just said goodbye.”
“You just are. The weirdest.”
Arthur could tell he meant it as something close to a compliment, but it didn’t feel very much like one as his face heated up. Alfred waited for him to reply, and when nothing came he rolled his eyes and put his arm out for as much of a hug goodbye as could be managed in a car. This was usual, at least, and Arthur didn’t think twice about the clumsy side-squeeze. It was uncomfortable and quick, the side of Alfred’s glasses banging against Arthur’s cheek, Arthur’s seatbelt clicking and straining and tightening him back into his seat.
Then, as they pulled apart, with all the casualness in the world, Alfred brushed his lips against Arthur’s. It took a moment for Arthur to even register the action, it had felt so natural, a predictable extension to their hug. And Alfred wasn’t even questioning it, turning immediately to open the car door and get out.
“Bye,” he said, and Arthur couldn’t reply.
Alfred stepped out of the car and got his backpack on, facing away from Arthur’s mounting crisis, and he was just about to step up onto the sidewalk and close the door when he went stiff.
“Oh.”
Slowly he turned around and ducked his head back to look into the car, Arthur still frozen with his seatbelt straining to pull him back. Alfred was confused and smiling and he sat on the curb and leaned against the open door.
“Oh, shit.”
“I—“
“Yeah?” Alfred was smiling. Arthur had no clue what his own face was doing.
“I—“
“What? You what?”
“I… don’t know.” Arthur had to laugh because it was the truth, and because he was so nervous and giddy that some sort of sound just had to come out of him.
Alfred beamed at him for another few seconds, then stood up and stepped back, slamming the door. It shocked Arthur into sitting upright, broke the spell and made him put his hands on the steering wheel as if he was going to drive away right that moment. He watched as Alfred walked around the front of the car, and then stood next to Arthur’s side. He bent over and rapped his knuckles against the glass.
“Unroll the window.”
“Why?”
“Just do it.”
Arthur did as he was told, unsure of what was going to happen, hoping for nothing and everything. A hot blast of air hit him as Alfred braced his forearms on the bottom of the window frame, then reached one hand out to guide Arthur’s face to his and kiss him again. It was absolutely on purpose this time, and Arthur didn’t have the sense to let go of the steering wheel, twisting weirdly over this shoulder to let himself be kissed. Alfred’s hand moved from his cheek to back of his head, half caress, half trying to pull him closer, and Arthur let himself relax into it.
He had almost gotten the hang of it when Alfred changed the angle completely and it caught him so off guard the his hand slid off the steering wheel and smacked against the horn. The short, sharp blast startled them both, and Arthur clutched his hands to his chest. Alfred had backed away from the noise and was now standing in the middle of the street, facing away with his hands on top of his head, shoulders visibly shaking with laughter.
He gathered himself and returned to Arthur’s window, leaning over into it again. Arthur shamelessly moved toward him again, not at all ready to talk about what had happened, but completely ready to be kissed again. Alfred let him get close, but didn’t make a move.
“Bye. Thanks for the ride, again,” he said, crisply and carefully, and Arthur got the thrill of watching his mouth do it. Embarrassingly, Arthur leaned in and Alfred stood up and stepped back.
“Drive safe.”
He patted the roof of the car twice and then walked into the house, never once looking back, but a clear smile on his face. Arthur watched him go, feeling starved and satisfied and utterly confused.
It was nearly ten minutes before Arthur could trust himself to drive.
A/N: Something glitched on the original fic, and when you pressed “keep reading” it led to….nothing.
So here it is again. Those of you that reblogged the original post (thank you, btw), be advised that your reblog will no longer work. No idea what happened. Sorry about that.
See, anon, I did save it. And I didn’t quite do the prompt, but what else is new?
Rated M, obviously.
AO3
The first picture was totally innocent.
Just a full body shot, taken in the bedroom mirror, a half smile half obscured by England’s phone as he stood in stereotypical selfie position. Shoes, pants, collared shirt, sweater. Nothing out of the ordinary other than that he’d sent America a selfie at all.
Cute!, he texted back, adding an amount of emojis that he was sure would get him a swift and snarky response.
But several minutes passed and America’s phone screen stayed black and faintly fingerprint smeared, balanced on his thigh under the conference table. He was supposed to be paying attention, probably, but this was one of those times where listening was more likely to piss him off than anything else. It was safer to tune out his handlers at this point. He kind of missed the days when he could get away with dozing off and miss nothing. Right now he was missing England more, desperate for this meeting to end so he could get back to their vacation.
“I love this part,” America exclaimed with a giggle that promptly turned into a congested gurgle.
He shifted with agitation, lifting his head up off of England’s lap just enough to cough– a horrible, wet sound. Obviously out of breath, he settled back down, engrossed once more in the television screen.
All England could do was rub his back soothingly, feeling how much he was burning up even through the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. America insisted he wasn’t sick, just that he didn’t “feel good”. There were hardly many reasons to these days, England supposed. It all added up, or bottling it away like America tended to do added up.
“Let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place…”
He’d tried to mask it with his usual annoying cheerfulness, but even for all his super strength America hadn’t been able to keep up the facade for more than a couple of days. Coughing, sneezing, body aches, chills; it had all proven too much to cover up.
Not that England minded the chance to play nurse. It was a good excuse to be more outwardly doting than he was usually inclined, without the fear of being teased for it. But it hurt his heart to see America miserable.
“I love this part,” America exclaimed with a giggle that promptly turned into a congested gurgle.
He shifted with agitation, lifting his head up off of England’s lap just enough to cough– a horrible, wet sound. Obviously out of breath, he settled back down, engrossed once more in the television screen.
All England could do was rub his back soothingly, feeling how much he was burning up even through the thick fabric of his sweatshirt. America insisted he wasn’t sick, just that he didn’t “feel good”. There were hardly many reasons to these days, England supposed. It all added up, or bottling it away like America tended to do added up.
“Let the stormy clouds chase everyone from the place…”
He’d tried to mask it with his usual annoying cheerfulness, but even for all his super strength America hadn’t been able to keep up the facade for more than a couple of days. Coughing, sneezing, body aches, chills; it had all proven too much to cover up.
Not that England minded the chance to play nurse. It was a good excuse to be more outwardly doting than he was usually inclined, without the fear of being teased for it. But it hurt his heart to see America miserable.
America laugh-wheezed again at the chaos on-screen, and England let himself be distracted by it for a moment. It had been difficult for England to sit through America’s little movie musical marathon and enjoy it, being so worried and trying so hard not to be overbearing in his attentions every time America so much as twitched. One film blended into the next, and though they were charming, England wasn’t nearly as gripped by them as America. At least he knew the words to most of the songs in Singin’ in the Rain.
“God, she was so beautiful,” America murmured as Debbie Reynolds turned her tear-stained face toward Gene Kelly.
England made a noise of agreement. This part of the plot was most predictable of all. Crying, running to one another, passionate embraces, romantic kisses, fade to black, credits; tidy and satisfying. That was what America loved about them, he’d confessed once. Everything always turned out all right in the end. Maybe not perfect, or totally happy, but right. England could understand the craving for that, at least.
“What now?” he asked when the DVD player returned to its menu.
“Mary Poppins?”
“Seriously? The books are better.”
“Yeah, yeah,” America rolled onto his back so he could look up at England, “but Julie Andrews is the best. And she’s smokin’ hot in it.”
England scoffed and brushed wayward hairs off of America’s sticky, flushed forehead.
“I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that’s the fever talking.”
“No way. Totally my type.”
“And what’s that?”
“Old fashioned, English, and kinda mean.”
A brief scuffle ensued, America laughing and dodging and wiggling about as much as he could lying down while England pinched and prodded at his sides with a pretend dour expression. Their play ended abruptly as America shot into a sitting position and hacked miserably into the elbow of his sweatshirt, struggling to catch his breath between fits. England gave him space, a gentle hand on his back the only comfort he could offer until the coughing subsided.
With a heavy breath, America slouched back into the sofa, head lolling on the top edge. He looked exhausted, but managed a smile despite it all, and England ached to kiss him. Instead he brushed the hair off his forehead again, this time trailing his touch down to his cheek.
“I’m okay,” America answered before England could ask. “It’s just—”
“I know.”
“Everything’ll get better.”
“I know.”
“It has to.”
England nodded, unconvinced, but needing to agree. He gave America a final pat on the cheek, and America took his hand and kissed it, holding it briefly to his chest before letting it go.
“Mary Poppins it is, then,” England said, attempting a touch of cheerfulness in his voice as he busied himself with locating and putting in the DVD.
America sniffed and tried to stifle a few rumbly coughs.
“Could you make tea first?”
“Goodness, you must be feeling terribly if you want tea,” England teased.
America slouched down farther and put his feet on the coffee table with a grin.
“I was going to make a ‘spoonful of sugar’ joke, but I do actually want some.”
England rolled his eyes and smacked America’s feet as he walked past. But with a secret smile he stopped behind the sofa and placed a careful kiss on the top of America’s head.
He could hear America humming along to the opening credit music from the kitchen, punctuated by the occasional sniffle. England did his best to put aside his worry, now looking forward to that predictable ending, however at odds with reality it seemed.
“Chim chiminey, chim chiminey, chim chim cher-ee, a sweep is as lucky as lucky can be…”
I’m in a writing group with around 40 people and one of the common reasons people don’t post their work is because “no one ever comments on it, so no one is reading it” which blows because their work is amazing and instead it’s sitting in storage.
Yeah, I recently cut down on fandoms that didn’t give back and prioritized ones that do. I only have so much time, and I’ll just write fic for my own enjoyment if the fandom doesn’t bother to take care of its content creators. I don’t have time for a selfish, deeply unpleasant fandom which does everything it can to make people feel unwelcome, like some high-school clique. Especially not when I’m one of the main content creators putting tons of work across several areas and getting nothing back for it.
I can honestly say that one person commenting and being nice can make the difference between an author moving on and staying in a fandom. It can be the difference between your favorite WIP being dropped or not, or even inspire your favorite authors to keep writing your OTP. Same with artists, vid makers, etc. Leave anon notes if doing so otherwise will make you feel anxious, but letting artists/writers/vid makers know they’re appreciated may be what keeps the content you love still coming.
I wish you'd write a fic where Arthur and Alfred travel the world y'know, doing what boyfriends do
Aww man I kinda wrote the prologue to that kind of fic here with Coming True, and I’m still really tempted from time to time to write out their adventures. Maybe not moment by moment, but little snapshots of their time. Idk. That fic isn't that popular, but every now and then I get a comment about continuing it.
Until I buckle down and do this thing for real, this is where I’ll put all the links to the scattered bits I churn out. I’ll keep it up to date, and have a link to this post on the My Stories page on my blog.
Yay?
These will be in chronological order of the plot (I swear there is one), not the order they were published.
