#winchilsea

[shannonselin]

The Duke of Wellington’s Shooting Adventures | Shannon Selin

Despite his skill as a military commander, the Duke of Wellington was not particularly adept at handling a gun.

[cafecliche]

Was tagged by @winchilsea to post the first line of my WIP (thank you!!) I’m gonna cheat and share a partial scene-in-progress: The gala runs late enough that the cab Victor booked has come and gone. Yuuri doesn't understand enough Russian to grasp Victor's side of the phone conversation, but he can hear the tight exhaustion through his polite, questioning tone. 

Victor switches to English as he hangs up. "They didn't get far," he says. "Should only be ten more minutes."

"Okay." Yuuri shivers. The new suit, he has to admit, looks nice. But it might as well be paper against the wind.

"Do you..." Victor doesn't quite manage to hide a heavy swallow. "Want to go back inside?"

Yuuri means to be diplomatic. Victor's been diplomatic all night. If Yuuri's face is stiff from fake-smiling, Victor's must be in actual pain. What slips out of Yuuri's mouth instead is, "I never want to look at any of those people ever again." With a bark of a laugh, Victor slots himself behind Yuuri and rests his forehead against Yuuri's shoulder, wrapping the front of his coat around both of them. "I'm giving up my sponsorships," he mutters. "All of them. We'll live with your parents. We'll work at the inn. I'll learn to fold fitted sheets. I'll do anything." "Don't say that." Yuuri brings up his hand to sift through Victor's hair. "What if we meet an eccentric billionaire who loves skating and hates people.” "That could be us one day," Victor says dreamily. "Sponsoring talented young skaters on the condition that they never invite us to parties." "Here's your money," Yuuri says. "Never talk to us again." Victor giggles into his shoulder and wraps them tighter against the chill.

[badamore]

“Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you’ve written, then pass on to at least five other writers.” 

tagged by @winchilsea, thank you! all of these are going to be yoi, surprising absolutely no one. i tag @kixboxer, @queerryouta, @daswarschonkaputt, @cutthroatpixie, @cafecliche​

1. with a boy like that it’s serious

‘I’m dating Viktor,’ Yuuri says, nervous despite himself.

‘Seriously?’ Yurio demands. ‘I thought the two of you were already married.’

this is one of the fics written during the early episodes that i like to look back on and laugh about, because then episode 7 happened and god. we did not know. we did not Know what was coming

2. the pathway like the back of my hand

He goes in through the inn’s restaurant, nodding at the regulars crowded round the TV. Makkachin knows by heart the sound of Viktor’s key turning in the lock. He barely has time to open the door all the way before he’s greeted by an armful of poodle, pawing excitedly at his thighs.

‘Good day, Vicchan?’ Toshiya asks as Viktor hangs his coat up beside the door.

Viktor says: ‘Yes, very good.’

alternate ending where viktor retires, which isn’t really an alternate ending because i wrote it between episodes 11 and 12 and was SO SURE he wasn’t going to come back to skating, lmao. i like this bc i enjoy writing skater groupchats, and also this is part of a series and the ending to that series of fics, and i feel like it is a Good Ending. it was satisfying for me

3. begin to be half of what you think of me

‘You know we’re getting married regardless of whether I win a gold medal, right?’

‘Please.’ Viktor’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip. His eyes are dark, his voice dense with scorn. He’s very pretty when he cries. ‘Obviously you’ll win your gold medal. Trust me, I’m Viktor Nikiforov.’

so that previous one was the last in a fic series about viktor and this is the last fic in another series about yuuri, which makes me v happy as it soothes the need to be Tidy & Balanced. it’s post-season 1 in st. petersburg and heavily features team russia

4. stay awake with me awhile

It’s not a cure. It’s like — a thread pulling taut, that’s all. It feels a little less empty. That’s all.

bpd viktor fic. people tell me in the comments this made them emotional and that they related to it hard, which means a lot to me. also deliberately in non-chronological order, which could have gone so wrong, but thankfully it apparently didn’t

5. shaking the expression, making it mine

Phichit cups his hand over the phone and whispers: ‘Can you do the speech?’

And then Viktor inhales, and clears his throat and goes, ‘I love you, my honey, my darling, my sunshine child,’ and goes on to list all the wonderful things Phichit’s done in the past nine years until Phichit feels a lot better, like he’s charming and good and likeable.

And by Friday he’s fine.

university au where phichit & viktor are best friends. this was so fun!!!! so fun. i would not do a fic exchange or challenge like this again, bc the deadline got a little tight, but i'm happy with what came out of it

[burqablog-blog]

Alas! a woman that attempts the pen, Such a presumptuous creature is esteemed, The fault can by no virtue be redeemed. They tell us we mistake our sex and way; Good breeding, fashion, dancing, dressing, play, Are the accomplishments we should desire; To write, or read, or think, or to inquire, Would cloud our beauty, and exhaust our time, And interrupt the conquests of our prime, Whilst the dull manage of a servile house Is held by some our utmost art and use.

By Lady Winchilsea who was born in 1661. Found in 'A Room of One's Own' by Virginia Woolf

[littlecarmesina]

Reading now...

[...]

Alas! a woman that attempts the pen,

Such an intruder on the rights of men,

Such a presumptuous creature, is esteemed,

The fault can by no virtue be redeemed.

They tell us we mistake our sex and way;

Good breeding, fashion, dancing, dressing, play

Are the accomplishments we should desire;

To write, or read, or think, or to inquire

Would cloud our beauty, and exhaust our time,

And interrupt the conquests of our prime;

Whilst the dull manage of a servile house

Is held by some our outmost art, and use.

[...]

Read the poem

The Introduction

By Anne Finch, Countess of Winchilsea (1661-1720)