#fanfiktion

😂

OKAY, Dankeschön 😁

Ich mariniere etwas vor mich hin und vielleicht, vielleicht kommt da mal was - ich stecke gerade viel zu tief in meiner Fic, aber langsam ist Land (Ende) in Sicht 🫠

„Gottlosen Smut im Wohnmobil“, ich sollte mal recherchieren wie sehr so ein Ding wackeln kann 😅

Hello Hello :D

Dem hype kann ich mich nur anschließen! Ich freue mich schon mega drauf richtig mit der Story anfangen zu können und bin auch mega gespannte wie meine Hirngrütze so ankommen wird XD

Und natürlich können schon jegliche Fragen dazu gestellt werden ✨ ich labere auf jeden Fall sehr gerne darüber XD wie man unschwer erkennen kann *hust*

Also primär will ich mich ja auf die Halbgötter in der Titanen Armee fokussieren und ein bisschen deren Erfahrungen im zweiten Titanenkrieg darstellen und begleiten. Deswegen wird die Story auch nach dem ersten Buches ansetzen und parallel (mit den ein oder anderen Anpassungen bc well its still a fanfiction and i have some headcanons) zu den Büchern laufe.

Aber da das alleine ja nicht unbedingt ein richtiger Plot ist (und ich gerne eine "more doomed" Situation erschaffe als sie sowieso schon vorhanden ist) gibt es einen Fokus auf 6 Halbgötter (2 von mir und 4 werden als HC gesucht), welche mehr oder weniger auf der Suche nach 3 gewissen von den Göttern verstoßene, vergessene oder verfluchte halbgöttische Mythen sind mit deren Hilfe sie sich erhoffen über den Olymp zu triumphieren ohne dass Luke Host für ein Jahrtausende alten Problem spielen muss...

Wattpad, all of them discontinued as far as i know:

(A/n: i was planning on uploading/publishing here but the author’s on the app (probably abandoned?) but i’m not risking a copyright claim but it’s definitely in the works)

English by Maize12345:

Summary/blurb: Nolan is alpha, Simon is bird lord, Ariana is Queen, Jam is general, and Winter ended up on the council all are way more responsible but their kids are just as mischievous as they were. What will they do when a banished pack member comes back to try and steal Nolan's spot as alpha by kidnapping one of his kids?

(I couldn't think of spouses so there will only be mention of one parent also this is my first fanfic so please go easy on me comment if you like it and want to hear more all old characters and places do not belong to me all new characters do seeing as I made them)

Russian by Brandashmyg:

Summary/blurb: An ordinary sanatorium where our main characters headed.

Winter isn't thrilled about this idea at all. She'd rather stay at the shelter than here. Charlotte, however, is more open to the idea and tries to be supportive of her friend. But who knew that simple roommates, conversation, and being together would lead to such interesting events.

((Yes, this is a Winter/Charlotte fanfic. I see them as good friends in the book, and if they had been given more pages, there would definitely be some hints of romantic feelings. The Simon/Ariana pairing would also be a possibility.))

Blurb/summary: Ariana and Simon... They were too young, they didn't realize their feelings. But when they lost touch, Webster realized she'd lost a huge part of herself, a part of her life. They were never destined to be together again, but she believed the day would come when they would meet again. Even if that day were her last.

German by Laucherbauch

Blurb/summary: Celeste's sister Rosa has discovered that the Beast King was not only an Animox but also a powerful wizard. He was the direct descendant of Slytherin and the Master of Death. Rosa tries to find the Hallows and thus gain power over both worlds

Next, Ao3, German exclusive:

(A/n: probably gonna reference/use their fics as inspo for my Wolves Den re-rewrite because i’m a chud)

To protect you by the amazing The_jade_papercrane:

(I honestly can’t help looking back at their fics when looking for inspo or for a fun and quick read, bravo! This is their second one)

Blurb/summary: A lick in Nolan's head at the end of The Howling of the Wolves

(A/n: Both of their fics are cross-posted on FanFiktion.de, which has exclusively German fics (which i have some reservations about thinking of publishing/uploading my English fics on other sites like these bc of copyright and that I’m a white-washed bilingual person who can’t read or write in other languages that isn’t English (i can only speak my native language, unfortunately, writing? Reading? Not so much), and i will state that fact loudly with all the shame)

Links:

To protect you:

Promises to be broken:

Next, Mitternachtssnack and Cynosure by sunsoybeans.

(I honestly relate to what they wrote in their notes in mitternachtssnack, so imma (try to) fix those plot-holes in my PJO x Animox AU series. Also I craved pancakes after reading that. For Cynosure, i think it’s honestly that Simon’s the main protagonist in the first five books and author favouritism (and to be fair, Simon is also my favourite character so, i’m biased but i try to include/expand more Nolan and his character in my fics, along with everyone else, because i like him too (two examples, aka my two very shameless plugs but i deserve to be a bit proud of my work, you can skip this until you see the red “plug is done” line:

(Meanwhile—though I couldn’t be certain of the details but i could tell—Nolan stood alone in Malcolm's office, listening to the echo of his brother's footsteps fade down the hallway. He should go after him. He should apologize. He should do something.

He should go after him. He should apologize. He should do something.

Instead, he sat down in Malcolm's chair, put his head in his hands, and tried to remember how to breathe.

The office smelled like Malcolm—cedar and something sharp, like the pine cleaner they used in the pack's training quarters. It was the opposite of Simon's scent, which Nolan had become intimately familiar with over the past two months. Rosewater and amber and something sweet, like the apple pastries the kitchen served on Sundays. Simon always smelled like he'd just stepped out of a garden, even when he'd been rolling in the pit sand.

Nolan hated it. He hated that he noticed. He hated that he could pick Simon's scent out of a crowd, his he watched Simon put on and fix his stupid-looking hairlip, that his head turned automatically when Simon laughed at something one of his friends said, that he'd started cataloging the small things without meaning to.

The entire school knows you like your friends more than you like me.

He hadn't meant to say that. Or maybe he had. Maybe that was the problem—he kept meaning to say things, and then they came out wrong, and then Simon looked at him with those blue eyes—their blue eyes—and Nolan felt like a stranger in his own skin.

His hands were shaking.

He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes until he saw stars. The darkness behind his lids was easier than the empty office. Easier than the silence where Simon's voice had been.

She chose you, Nolan. She chose to stay with you.

The words hit him like a physical blow, even now, even with Simon gone.

She sent me postcards and visited once a year if I was lucky, and you got to have her. Every. Single. Day.

Nolan's breath caught. He thought about his mother's rare visits, the way she'd hold his face in her hands and look at him like she was memorizing him, the way her eyes would go distant sometimes when she thought he wasn't watching.

He'd always assumed she was thinking about the war. About the bird kingdom. About Orion. About the day she’d precedent him.

He'd never considered—not once—that she might be thinking about Simon.

Don't you dare stand there and act like I'm the one who had it easy.

Nolan's face was wet. He didn't remember starting to cry. He wiped his cheeks with the back of his hand, angry and ashamed and so tired he could feel it in his bones.

He thought about the way Simon had looked at him when he'd said I hate you. Not angry. Not hurt. Just... tired. Like he'd heard it before. Like he'd expected it.

Who even are they? Mynx and Asp? Your real family?

Simon hadn't answered—not really. He'd just looked at Nolan with something that might have been pity, and said, You don't know anything about my life before this.

And he was right. Nolan didn't know. He didn't know what Simon's apartment looked like before they stripped it down, or what his favorite food was, or why he flinched sometimes when people raised their voices. He didn't know who Mynx was—though he'd gathered she was female, gave Simon a hairclip he probably never took off, probably their age, probably terrifying based on the way Simon said her name. He didn't know who Asp was—though that one came out softer, sadder, like a bruise that hadn't healed.

He didn't know anything. And he'd used that ignorance like a weapon.

I hate you.

Nolan stared at the closed door and wondered if Simon would ever come back through it. Wondered if he'd ever look at Nolan without that carefully blank expression. Wondered if they'd ever be anything other than strangers who shared a face.

He sat in Malcolm's chair until his tears dried and his breathing evened out. Then he stood up, smoothed down his uniform, and walked out of the office with his head held high.

No one needed to know he'd been crying.

No one needed to know he'd been the one to break first./For a long moment, Nolan pressed his ear to the door of his own room to the bathroom, the wood cold against his cheek, barely breathing.

He'd come back to the Alpha section early, hoping to avoid Malcolm—hoping to have a few minutes alone before dinner. Instead, he'd heard Simon come in—heard the lock click, heard the low murmur of voices. He'd crept closer, heart pounding, telling himself he was just checking. Making sure Simon wasn't plotting something else. Making sure he wasn't going to leave again.

The bathroom door was cracked. Just a sliver. Just enough.

The scent hit him first. Roses. Vanilla. Something spicy underneath. It was Simon's smell—the one that clung to their shared space, that followed him through the halls.

He'd noticed it before, of course. Everyone had. Simon's scent was distinctive in a way that most Animalgams' weren't—not when they were in human form, at least. Most of them smelled like nothing in particular. Soap, maybe. Laundry detergent. The faint musk of whatever they'd eaten for lunch.

But Simon smelled like a garden. Like something cultivated, intentional. Like someone who had been taught to take care of himself in ways that Nolan had never even considered.

Nolan had heard the others talk about it, when they thought he wasn't listening. "Why does he smell like that?" "Like what?" "Like... flowers. Like he fell into a perfume factory." "Maybe he did. Maybe that's why he's so weird."

They didn't understand. None of them did. The scent was Simon. It was the only thing Nolan had ever been able to identify about his brother that wasn't tangled up in their shared face, their shared blood, their shared, terrible legacy.

He'd crept closer, pressing himself against the door, straining to hear. The wood was old, thick, but he could make out words if he concentrated. Simon's voice was easy—he spoke clearly, enunciating like someone who'd been taught to be understood. The mouse's voice was harder, higher, but Nolan could follow it if he tried.

They were arguing about something. Product. Heat. Whether Simon had singed his hair last time.

Nolan didn't understand half of what they were saying.

The mouse—Felix—had a sharp tongue. He insulted Simon's technique, questioned his choices, complained about someone named Mynx with a vehemence that suggested deep and personal history, and asked about Asp like a news reporter on the newest, hottest case.

"She's not that bad," Simon said, his voice muffled.

Nolan's brow furrowed. Mynx. Simon said that name a lot. When he was stressed. When he was sad. When he touched that stupid hair clip.

Mynx. The one Simon said with a mixture of exasperation and affection, like he was complaining about someone he loved more than anything. Mynx definitely had opinions about hair—hers and Simon especially, Nolan noted that. But who is she? He wondered. Why do you say her name like that—soft, like it hurts? A friend? An imaginary friend? An animal.

Simon's laugh filtered through, soft and surprised. "She would hate that I'm using her curling wand without asking."

Curling wand? Nolan's brow furrowed. He'd seen Simon's hair before—the soft waves, the way it curled around his ears. He'd assumed it was natural.

Apparently not.

He listened as Simon and Felix argued about product, about technique about Mynx. He listened as Simon's voice went quiet, sad, when Felix asked about Asp.

And Asp. That was the other name. He'd heard Simon say that name a hundred times. In the dining hall, in the hallways, in his sleep. Simon said that name softer, sadder. Like a wound that never stopped bleeding. Like someone he'd lost, or someone who'd left him. He'd never known what it meant. A person? A place? A memory?

"He didn't even say goodbye or anything. He just… left."

Nolan's chest tightened.

Who left? Who hurt you?

Simon never said.

He never said anything, not really. He dropped names—Tigris, Mynx, Asp, Coy, Taz and so many more; all names that sounded like a mix of someone’s name and an animal’s—like breadcrumbs, leading nowhere, explaining nothing. He talked about them like they were still here, like they mattered, like they'd shaped him into someone worth being.

But he never explained.

Nolan hated that. He hated not knowing. He hated the way Simon's voice softened when he said Mynx, the way it went sad when he said Asp. He hated that there were people out there—people Simon loved, people who loved Simon—that Nolan would never meet, never know, never understand.

He wanted to know. He wanted to knock on the door, to push it open, to demand answers. But he couldn't. He was the enemy. The twin who hated him. The one who'd called him a traitor in front of the whole school.

He wanted to be one of them.

The thought hit him like a physical blow, and he pressed his forehead against the door, his eyes squeezed shut.

He wanted Simon to talk about him like that. He wanted Simon's voice to go soft when he said Nolan. He wanted to be a name Simon carried with him, a warmth in his chest, a reason to keep going.

But he wasn't. He was just the brother Simon didn't want, the twin who hated him, the enemy who shared his face.

Nolan listened to Simon laugh—soft and surprised, like he hadn't expected to find something funny—and felt something crack open in his chest.

He didn't know what he was doing here. He didn't know what he wanted.

But he couldn't make himself walk away.

He soon heard Simon humming.

Nolan pressed his ear to the door, barely breathing.

The sound was soft, barely audible over the crackle of the curling wand and the rush of water in the pipes. A tune Nolan didn't recognize—something slow, almost sad, with a melody that seemed to drift in and out of focus.

Simon was humming.

Nolan had never heard him hum before. He hadn't known Simon was the kind of person who hummed while he worked, who talked to mice, who spent what felt like hours but only minutes on his hair and called it "maintenance."

The bathroom door was old, the wood worn smooth in places. Nolan had pressed himself against it so many times over the past two months that he was starting to learn the grain. He knew where the hinges creaked. He knew where the light leaked through. He knew that if he held his breath and tilted his head just so, he could hear everything.

He shouldn't be doing this. He knew he shouldn't be doing this. But he couldn't stop.

He saw Simon in the mirror, his reflection sharp and clear. The curling wand in his hand. The careful way he wrapped a strand of hair around the barrel, held it for a count of ten, released.

The curl that emerged was perfect. Springy. Defined. Nothing like the flat, limp waves Nolan's own hair fell into when he didn't bother with it.

Nolan watched as Simon picked up another section of hair, wrapping it around the wand with the same careful precision. His hands were steady. Confident. This was someone who knew exactly what he was doing.

Who had taught him?

The question burned in Nolan's chest. Who had taught Simon to do this—to take care of himself like this, to treat his own body like something worth tending?

He thought of the shelf.

They'd brought boxes from the apartment—his clothes, his books, his toiletries, the fairy lights and that creepy plushie that made Nolan’s hair stand. Malcolm had stood in the doorway, watching, while Simon unpacked.

"You'll need somewhere to put all this," Malcolm had said, gesturing at the bottles and jars Simon was arranging on the counter while a handful of the Pack sorted through the boxes.

"I know." Simon said monotonously, walking past Malcolm and picked out a box, “There’s a shelf from IKEA in here. Three levels.”

"I can have someone—"

"I'll do it."

Malcolm had blinked. "You'll... do it?"

Simon had looked up at him, his eyes dry and red-rimmed. "I said I'll do it."

The shelf had been in the back of a closet, still in its box, forgotten. Darryl must have bought it years ago and never gotten around to assembling it. Simon had dragged it to the bathroom, ripped open the box, and spread the pieces across the floor.

The instructions weren't in English.

He hadn't cared. He'd spent three summers at Camp Half-Blood, where nothing was in English and everything was trying to kill you. A bookshelf in a foreign language was nothing.

He'd put on his safety glasses—the ones Maya had bought him after he'd nearly put an eye out with a rogue nail—and gotten to work.

Malcolm had tried to help. Of course he had. He'd stood in the doorway, shifting his weight, offering suggestions that Simon ignored. At one point, he'd picked up the instruction manual and stared at it, his brow furrowed.

"This isn't English," he'd said.

"I know."

"Or German. Or Spanish.”

"I know, probably Swedish, or Norwegian."

"Simon, how are you reading this?"

Simon hadn't answered. He'd just kept assembling, his hands moving with a competence that surprised even him. The Hermes cabin had taught him to build things—not just to take them apart, but to put them back together, better than before. Travis and Connor had called it "creative destruction." Chiron had called it "an essential skill for any young hero."

Simon had called it survival.

He'd finished the shelf in under an hour. It wasn't perfect—one of the screws was slightly crooked, and the top shelf listed to the left—but it held his things. His bottles and jars and vials.

He'd arranged everything carefully, the way he'd seen Maya do a hundred times. Tallest bottles in the back, shortest in the front. Labels facing out. The spiced apple perfume—Maya's gift, from a trip she'd taken with her dad—in the center, where he could reach it easily.

Nolan had watched the whole thing, something tight and painful lodged in his throat. He'd never seen anyone work like that—with such focus, such care, such quiet competence. Simon hadn't bragged. Hadn't asked for praise. Hadn't even seemed to notice he was being watched.

He'd just... done it. Because it needed to be done. Because no one else was going to do it for him.

Nolan had hated him for it, a little. For being so capable. For not needing anyone.

But mostly, he'd wanted to be in that room. He'd wanted to hand Simon the drill, to hold the shelf steady, to be part of something that Simon was building.

He hadn't. He'd just watched from the doorway, silent and still, until Simon finished and closed the bathroom door.

Now, as he listened in, he pressed his palm flat against the door, feeling the wood grain bite into his skin.

I don't know you, he thought. I don't know anything about you.

But I want to.

He didn't know how to say that. Didn't know how to knock on the door and ask Simon to let him in, to let him know, to… be anything, other than the Alpha Prince.

Didn't know how to be a brother when he'd spent his whole life being an heir.

So he just stood there, listening, and pretended he wasn't there at all.)

(The shameless plug is done!)

Blurb/summary: Simon and Nolan bake pancakes. And get to know each other a little better.

Blurb/summary: Excerpts from the first volume of the second row, from Nolan's perspective.

Next, FanFiktion.de:

There’s a bit too many fics for me to talk abt (and i’m so tired rn, it’s almost midnight while i’m writing this and my eyes are twitching like crazy, so there’s a very low chance of me actually talking abt the fics there today, bc that’d be a whole separate post for my sake) but as far as i know it’s quite popular to write fics on, with about 25 fics as of now, compared to Ao3’s 11 (including mine) and Wattpad’s 4 (there was an Animox RP fic on Wattpad if i remember correctly but it was probably taken down)

Link to the fandom there:

LET ME THINK ABOUT IT (22. + 23. Juni 2024)

Der „besondere“ Abend im Eclipse ist vorbei und damit auch die schöne Auszeit alleine zu Zweit. Die lieben Kollegen kommen jetzt nach Paris und die Vorbereitungen für die Show laufen ganz nach Plan. Etwas planlos verläuft dagegen das neue Miteinander von Joko und Klaas…

Behind the scenes: Das Bild ist kein Photoshop. Also schon Photoshop. Aber made by Florida… Circus Halligalli, Staffel 5, Folge 13 (Folge 75 vom 01.06.2015) am Ende 😏

Hinweis: nach eine re-Upload zählt Joyn anders: Es ist jetzt die Folge „MiniHalligalli mit Evil Jared“, Staffel 3 Folge 13…

1: JK im Supermarkt

2-3: JK im Buchladen mit Moomin-Büchern auf Englisch

4: Klaas und Erdbeerjoghurt

5: JK und Plüsch-Moomins

6-9: JK im Klassenzimmer im Stadtmuseum, natürlich sehen Klassenzimmer heute nicht mehr so aus

Thematisch geht es diesmal um Harry Potter Slash Fanfiction bzw. Smut, um Schoethe und um Slash allgemein.

Teilnehmen können alle Interessierten, egal ob Studi oder nicht. Wir freuen umso mehr, je mehr Personen dabei sind, denn das hilft, die Forschung an und mit Fanfiction in Deutschland bzw. an der Uni Frankfurt zu stärken!

Für den Zoom-Zugang, schreibt mir einfach eine kurze Nachricht :)