fiction masterlist

[extemporally]

FICTION MASTERLIST

I don't know, I just thought it was time! Stories are arranged by fandom, and then by date. Newest stuff on top -- I don't make any promises for the early things. (My definition of "early" changes from time to time, but a good delineator would be July 2009.)

Disclaimer: I don't know any of the people in these stories, and the events contained within are fiction. No offense intended.

bandom
The Road To (girl!Ryan/Z | PG | 6149 words | May 2010)
Don't Mind Taking A Photograph (Ryan/Z | PG | 1326 words | April 2010)
A Midwinter Visit (Jon/Ryan | PG | 1572 words | April 2010 | sequel to The Bluebird Boy)
The Bluebird Boy (Jon/Ryan | PG | 6192 words | April 2010)
Just Saying It Could Even Make It Happen (Butcher/Sisky | PG | 2623 words | December 2009)
Dreaming of Places (Where Lovers Have Wings) (Ryan & Brendon gen | PG | 2962 words | December 2009)
Five Times Ryan & Spencer Fought (Ryan & Spencer & Brendon gen | G | 2800 words | July 2009)
here far too long (to understand the modern world) (Ryland & Suarez gen | G | 747 words | April 2009)
A Passport To Follow You Home (Ryan & Spencer gen | PG | 1325 words | March 2009)
Something To Do With My Hands (Ryan/girl!Spencer | NC-17 | 1200 words | February 2009)
One Of England's Finest (Brendon/Jon, Ryan/Spencer | G | 22000 words | February 2009)
Tweed Skirts May Be A Problem (girl!Ryan/girl!Spencer | NC-17 | 3300 words | January 2009)
Gentlemen Take Polaroids (Ryan/Keltie, Brendon/Spencer | G | 2400 words | December 2008)
Then Came A Baby Boy With Long Eyelashes (Pete/Ashlee, gen | G | 1200 words | December 2008)
Calling With Your Questions (Brent gen | PG-13 | December 2008)
The Beginning Is The End Is The Beginning (Ryan & Spencer gen | PG | December 2008)

figure skating
The Secret (Johnny/Evan | NC-17 | 1900 words | July 2010)
No Cars Go (Mirai & Evan gen | G | 3380 words | July 2010)
Near Kinkaku-ji (Johnny/Stéphane, Shizuka/OMC | G | 4803 words | July 2010)
Jesenice (Johnny/Stéphane | NC-17 | 2522 words | July 2010 | co-written with alexthegreat)
Hide Your Passions In Between (Eva Rodríguez/Sasha Cohen | NC-17 | 4683 words | June 2010 | cowritten with preromantics)
I Love You, I Hate You (Johnny Weir gen | G | 1997 words | June 2010)
Year of Gaga (Johnny/Evan | PG | 2492 words | June 2010)
Two Kinds of Presence in the World (Johnny/Stéphane | PG | 1014 words | May 2010)
An Arrangement of Convenience: or, Dirty Love (Johnny/Evan | NC-17 | 4179 words | May 2010 | cowritten with alexthegreat)
The Form Will Hold You (Johnny/Stéphane | NC-17 | 3721 words | May 2010 | sequel to Aptly Laced)
Aptly Laced (Johnny/Stéphane | NC-17 | 5242 words | April 2010)
Curiouser Things (Have Been Known To Happen) (Johnny/Evan | R | 5500 words | April 2010 | sequel to Locker Room Adventures (Aren't Usually Like This)
Locker Room Adventures) (Johnny/Evan | R | 2722 words | April 2010)

Or you can just look at the fic tag. Commentfic, chatfic, and other ficletty things I don't title has a notfic tag.

Comments

[harborshore.livejournal.com]

I mean, not that i haven't read all of these. *grins* But awesome! Idk if you want it on top of your journal like some people have, but if you do, you want to edit the entry posting date so it's in the future, if that makes sense.

[extemporally.livejournal.com]

:D It is on top! It just appears on people's flists anyway, which is odd.

[nova33.livejournal.com]

Oh my goodness, you have written way too much! I am terribly jealous.

[lemniciate.livejournal.com]

Look at you and your productivity! :o Totally envious.

[preromantics.livejournal.com]

\o/ I love masterlists. Especially by people whose writing I really like, because I end up reading things I'm not even in the fandom for. Although I'm in both your fandoms, so.

<3

[dangerously-tor.livejournal.com]

My endiings source is from this:

Communion; Jeanann Verlee
I know a boy who called his girlfriend’s body a “crime scene.” Dad, my body is a crime scene. My body is lint and gasoline and matchstick. My body is a brush fire. It’s ticking, Dad, a slow alarm. I have rain boots. Lots of them. It isn’t raining anymore. The words are coming back, Dad. The way they fit and jump in the mouth. I want ice cream and long letters. I want to read long love letters but I don’t think he loves me. I think I’m used up. I think I’m the grit under his nails, the girl who looks good in pictures. I don’t think he loves me. I think they broke me, Dad. I think I drink too much and it’s because they broke me. I heard about two girls recently, two women crushed like cherries in a boy’s jaw. It opened me, Dad. My body is melted wax, it is ripe and stink and bent. It is a mistake. I walk like an apology. I don’t hate men, Dad, I don’t. I want a washing machine. I want someone else to do the dishes, someone to walk the dog. I have a hornet in my head, Dad. A hornet. She’s an angry bitch – she hurls herself against my skull. She stings. And stings. I know I don’t make sense, Dad. This is the problem. I’m a sick girl, a crazy wishbone. I have razors under my tongue. I’m sorry I cut you, Dad, I’m so—so sorry. I gave you a card for Father’s Day once, it said you were my hero. You are. Your laugh is a thunderclap, you love like surgery. I think they broke me, Dad. I can’t erase their faces. I want to swim, Dad. Remember when I used to hopscotch? I used to make you laugh. My feet are hot. The bottoms of my feet are scorched sand, August asphalt. My body is a slug, a mob of sticky wet rot. No one touches me anymore because I’m rot. Because my body is a spill no one wants to clean up. They cracked me open, Dad, I know you don’t want to hear about it. You don’t want to hear how they scissored me, how they gnawed me like raw meat. No one wants to hear how they made me drink lemon juice, how they kicked the dog, how they upturned the furniture, no one wants to hear how my skin turned to a dark thick of purple and black and lead. I watch the homeless a lot, Dad. I watched a man with a cup of coins and chips of skin carved out of his face. He had freckles. He needs medicine, Dad. He needs to stop the hornet. My body is a hive. I am red ants and jellyfish. A yellow sickness. My body is a used condom in an alley in Jersey City. I don’t think he loves me, Dad. My body is a fetus in biohazard tank. A Polaroid pinned to a corkboard in Brooklyn. I think I’m hurt, Dad. I think I was the tough girl for too long. My body is a wafer, a thin, soft melt on a choir boy’s tongue.

[extemporally.livejournal.com]

♥ thank you.

[oddishly.livejournal.com]

Li you are being terribly remiss in not updating this to include your masterpiece.




I mean I'm just saying.