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definitely-not-an-alb · 3 years

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fanfic tropes! identity porn, friends to enemies to lovers, hurt/comfort, coffeeshop au (don't have to answer them all, pick what you like). hope work went by quickly :)

Ahhh! Thank you, anon!

Identity Porn

How likely am I to write it: Identity porn isn’t really a narrative kink for me, so I wouldn’t go out of my way to put it into anything, if it didn't come up naturally. Or if it would be funny.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: I don’t really have a lot of fandom I could do identity porn for, too, so that's the next problem I have. RoL doesn't go for it much, and neither do TMA or Witcher or SGA. In the MCU/marvel comics I'm kind of only invested in Characters that just superhero under their legal name, zero fucks given in all canons I'm aware of, so oops there. Hannibal, maybe? Hannibal might work. Altho I prefere season 2 era, with everyone vague degrees of aware of each other's bs and scheming like petty murder divas.

Friends to enemies to lovers

How likely am I to write it: Very unlikely. I think the only thing with this dynamic I like is Hannibal, as in, both Hannigram and Clannibal and Clannigram, but I don't think I'd really seek it out in fic or write it. I don't even know why, I should be into The Drama Of It All, but I'm just not.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: Like I said, Hannigram/Clannibal/Clannigram, if it's something that retells an arc. I don't really do Ironstrange, but enemies to lovers or friends to enemies to lovers might be the only way I would, probably. They just don't get along in canon, and I DO NOT UNDERSTAND why people ship it so much. Also why is their Doc always ooc. Enough moaning, I'll stop, I'll stop. Have fun ya'll, but stop the goddamn cross/mass-tagging. There shouldn't be that much Ironstrange in the gen tag, ya hear me?

hurt/comfort

How likely am I to write it: VERY LIKELY. Hmmmmmm give me that good hurt/comfort.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: Basically everything, lol. All my faves are idiots who need to be shipped with therapy and tortured with hugs. The Bev & Thomas fic is very hurt comfort-y, as is the Nonromantic-Soulmates WIP. Yes I know I never finish anything, shhhh. There's also an unfinished Strangewong fic in my drafts that's technically sick!fic (I MEAN ... what else lmao) and involves cuddling and soup and being sad about Endgame, so. Which, btw, is THE ONLY reason I will ever acknowledge that dumbassery masquerading as plot. To mine it for FRIDGE HORROR *evil laughter*. And then hand out soup.

coffeeshop au

How likely am I to write it: Relatively unlikely? I don't really do fluff without plot (and I'm down with emotions as plot or snapshots that reveal something halway and sideways), and incidentally the only version of this trope I ever started would need a Graphic Violence tag lol. (If it wasn't LANGUISHING IN MY DRAFTS.) So I think I might be doing this trope wrong. Also doesn't help that I have experience manning a beer-counter / drink station, so I fall hard in the camp of 'that's an awful place for cute/fluffy shenanigans, have ya'll ever worked customer service lol'-camp. I see the appeal, but I also ... don't.

What characters/ships/fandoms would I write it for: Like I said, the only one I ever started was low-key a joke, because I don't do the trope and the fandom didn't have (and still doesn't have) one, and also because, you know. Graphic violence.

Have the first four or so paragraphs of the very unfinished RoL Demi-Monde Coffeeshop ... pre-canon canon divergence. Is there even a tag for that kinda thing? Anyways. I think the best part about this is getting to write a snotty totally-an-adult!!!-Peter who has zero respect for anything and thinks Thomas is the most ridiculous person he ever met. No graphic violence yet, only canon-typical ableist language.

There’s a lot of reasons people hate working in customer service; The bad pay, the atrocious hours, the customers, the service.

I did about two year of it, first on-and-off positions in some retail shops around where I grew up, punctuated by getting dragged along to my mother’s cleaning gigs, and then later, about a year in a not-actually-fancy Coffee House near Russell Square. And I figured afterwards my stint in customer service and retail had, at the very least, taught my younger self some much needed humility and compassion.

I’m kidding, of course. It just confirmed the suspicions I held towards my fellow humans. Especially the kind that start magic duels in public.

Now, I worked in a Coffee House, not a coffeshop, which meant Management got to price everything even more ridiculous then the rest of the world, we played wannabe-jazz elevator music instead of pop and our clientele wasn’t weird and crazy but more slightly bizarre and very deranged.

Like that one vaguely East-European guy who thought combining windowpane and paisley was a grand idea and who we – that’s the staff – did certainly not call Dracula, or the posh black lady who came to pick up her coffee before heading into the City every morning, except for that one time when, I swear on my dad’s record collection, she was wearing a diving suit under her costume, and of course Mister Stranger-Danger, who was the reason younger cousins didn’t get to do their homework behind the counter any more.

Of course we got your everyday stroll-by white girls and hipsters, but our regulars where, as far as I could tell, decidedly posh, but mostly not yet fully upper class, and also completely batshit looney, is what I’m saying. No offence to actual crazy people, because they certainly don’t dress that badly.

That’s why I didn’t even bat an eyelash when one day someone walked into the shop who was either a time-travelling noir-spy or a runaway extra from Downton Abbey.

He was a white guy, in that inexplicable past-40 age range where I can’t tell their age for the life of me, with a side sweep that must have been held in place with actual pomade, and dressed in one of those sleek looking, old suits with the broad, deep lapels and incredible narrow waists. To round off the impression that he’d come over, lean homoerotically close and tell me the name of the Kraut’s informant any moment now, he’d draped a Burberry over his arm and lugged an actual, honest to god walking cane around the city. It seemed impractical to me, but who am I to judge people’s fashion choices; I’m only the barista.

He also had that stiff demeanour about him, which I’d taken as a sign of something shifty going on anywhere else. Here, in seven out of ten cases, and even more with posh dudes, it meant that he longed to order something utterly ridiculous, with a long name, six ingredient and maybe some speculoos dust uptop, but didn’t have the courage too. Honestly, the way grown men start acting once there’s pumpkin spice on the menu is hilarious – you’d think we’re selling sex toys under the table.

#ask games #Ask game #anon #rivers of london #since there's you know actual fic in here

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hauntedandmurdered · 5 months

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| SNIPPET • CAN'T STOP THINKING ABOUT YOU (CLANNIBAL)|

[...] "Clarice," he said urgently, as if he had the gift of reading her mind. "Don't hang up. You'll regret it."

"Are you in my house, Dr. Lecter?" Starling asked with all the self-control she could muster to restrain her rage. She switched off the light in the kitchen and went back into the living room, where she was greeted by the first rays of the dawning sun.

"I can feel your presence here and now, ex-FBI Agent Starling. You’re so close. You know what's even better? I can even smell you. L' Air du Temps, very seductive. When we first met, you avoided spraying yourself with a fragrance. Do you remember? My memories of that day are more vivid than ever."

Suddenly Starling could hear his unmistakably velvety voice twice, and it certainly wasn't due to the residual alcohol from last night's Whisky.

Her eyes darted feverishly around the room until they lingered on a slender figure by the curtain. She felt a pang in her chest that almost robbed her of her senses. The phone slipped from her hand. She had often imagined her reunion with Dr. Lecter in her dreams; most often she had fantasized that she would meet him when he was put back behind bars. She would have visited him as an act of courtesy and asked him about his condition, told him about Buffalo Bill and much more. He would have reminded her with amusement that he had always followed the downfall of her career with great interest. [...]

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hauntedandmurdered · 5 months

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LIONS BLEED HONEY (FF)

Surprise, surprise! I've been thinking about writing a sequel for my Clannibal story "Can't stop thinking about you" for a while now and just today I finally got to finish it. What you can expect: tragedies, moments to tear your hair out, to grin and to languish. (At least I hope so; kudos & feedback on my drafts is always appreciated! :))

There you go:

A snippet to tease you:

“Try to rest, Clarice. It’s midnight. Get some asleep”, he pleaded her, caressing her cheeks gently with his palms and wrapping her in his coat as if she was some sort of holy being. As they chased through the darkness together, space and time increasingly blurred into a viscous substance. Although Hannibal was supposed to be devoting his undivided attention to the road, Starling felt that he kept glaring over at her repeatedly. At some point, tiredness caught up with her and she probably owned it to none less than Hannibal that she was finally able to fall asleep. For the first time in ages, the lambs didn't dare to haunt her with their agonising screams. He was the wolf that chased the sheep away. As soon as he bared his teeth, they retreated into the barn.

When Hannibal and Starling entered their hotel room shortly before dawn the next day, he carefully lowered her to the floor. Her legs were still wobbly as hell, but with the help of his strong arm around her waist, she managed to keep her balance.

“I’m all right”, she insisted when he gave her a concerned sideways-glance.

“You think you have to pretend to be strong in front of me, don’t you? Life has taught you the hard way that you have to swallow your pain not to let the past catch up with you. But you don't have to, dear. You can be weak with me. I would never use a sign of weakness against you but help you process it, Clarice. You and I, together we can be so much. We can be unstoppable.” With that, he led her to the bathroom. Evidently, he hadn't missed the opportunity to choose a motel with lavish facilities. In addition to a shower with milky, opaque glass, the room was equipped with a bathtub and two washbasins as well as a toilet and mirrors. Overall, the whole suit exuded an unmistakable retro 70s flair which was certainly very much to his taste. He brought his lips close to the sensitive spot behind her ear, tracing her shoulders with his palms from behind.

“Take a bath. Wash away all the memories. It’s about time for a turn.”

#clannibal #clarice starling #hannibal lecter #silence of the lambs #anthony hopkins #hannibal x clarice #hannibal 2001 #dr hannibal lecter #horror classics #jodie foster #i can't help myself #Writing Clannibal smut stories is therapy #I enjoyed writing – hopefully you're goibg to enjoy reading judt as much #ao3 author #ao3 #writing #writers on tumblr

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