[profile icon made by the illustrious locksleyss.]
reposting from this in response to a q about my favorite fic writers in case anyone missed it the first time, because, i mean can i just get a hell yeah for this fabulous writer here?
miladiarchers—what can I say about this one? You’ve all read Not Quite Whole and Accidental Listener, no fewer than five times at the very least I’m sure. It’s nothing short of a visceral experience. Her words are physically damaging; they cut like knives, crush your lungs and leave you breathless, stop your heart only to start it again, and then stab you in the back once your guard is down. But it’s the kind of pain you become addicted to and wow, the withdrawal period has been brutal. She writes fearlessly and unforgivingly, and all I want is more more more.
5. Share one of your strengths.
I’m pretty good at wording things in an unconventional way, I suppose.
12. Is there an episode above all others that inspires you just a little bit more?
Yes! The Best way to reconnect with Regina for me, if I’ve spent some time away from writing her POV, is to re-watch her scene with Snow in “Bleeding Through,” and then accompany her to the forest for some Robin smoochies.
And then if I want to get in touch with the angst, I listen to the score for Rumbelle’s wedding, and watch Robin and Regina kiss for the last time before they head into the diner. (And then if I really, really need to feel pain that day, I’ll watch the Marian reunion scene too. But that’s pretty rare.)
Finally, for adorable banter inspiration, their meet-cute in Storybrooke always does the trick. And the moment when she lets him read the letter. That’s probably my favorite OQ scene. (I totally cheated in answering this question. Sorry.)
28. Share three of your favorite fic writers and why you like them so much.
Aw, man. This answer does such a disservice to all the fic writers out there whom I love to bites, but here’s three for you off the top of my head:
Everything that could possibly go wrong that day does.
“Isn’t it bad luck for you to see me right now?” she hums when he has her against the wall, and he turns his attention away from her pulse point to grin crookedly up at her.
“Well, if I recall correctly, the saying only holds if you are wearing your wedding dress.”
She arches an eyebrow to rival his own and he shrugs, smiles. (Henry had had rather a lot to say on the matter of weddings and their traditions in this land when he’d first requested permission to marry his mother.)
“And you, my darling,” Robin continues, eager to end this discussion so he can get back to ravishing her neck, “are not wearing your wedding dress. In fact…” His palm relinquishes its hold on her breast and travels down her side to cup her bare bottom, giving it a gentle squeeze, and she nestles her hips further into his in retaliation. “I’d venture to say you’re quite the opposite of wearing anything at all.”
“I wonder how that happened,” she mutters, but he’s already dragging smiling lips across the skin of her collarbone, and her head lolls back into the wall, any last protest she might have had dying into a quiet moan as he hooks a hand behind her knee and drags her leg up around his waist. His hips roll, pressing his hardness more snugly between her thighs, and his mouth fuses with hers, hot and impatient, because if this day goes anything as planned, they won’t be alone again for quite some time and the thought drives him absolutely mad.