#let me write

I have a four-day drive ahead of me. Which means that for a significant portion of this journey I will be trapped in a moving vehicle with nothing to do except stare out the window, bother my sister, and (when she inevitably falls asleep) try not to perish of boredom.

So I had a thought.

What if I use the time to plot and write some little one-shots?

I don't want to work on my ongoing fics because those require the last remaining scraps of my brain and I would like to give them said brain. But I also don't want to stop writing entirely.

So. Give me things.

Characters. Prompts. Scenarios. Weird little ideas you've had rattling around in your head. Something you would love to see my take on. You can send them here, or anonymously through my ask box if you prefer to remain mysterious and avoid all accountability.

I am completely open to characters I haven't written before. A Knight of the Seven Kingdoms, HotD, GoT - bring me your Westerosi problems.

I am very much open to darker, angsty, fucked-up, emotionally devastating, morally questionable nonsense. Give me grief. Give me obsession. Give me people making terrible decisions. Or let it rain smut! I'm not picky!

I just want to think about something else for a little while.

THANK YOU!!!

For both Secret Affair and the one shot Im working on.

To be loved is not just a hand held in passing,

not just a smile offered because politeness demands it—

it is the quiet thunder of someone’s eyes finding you

in a crowded room where you thought you were invisible,

their gaze unpeeling your layers

like the ocean revealing shipwrecks

long buried under salt and silence.

To be seen is to be named without words,

to be recognized the way the stars recognize each other

across centuries of distance,

their light crossing impossible gulfs

just to whisper, I know you.

It is someone pressing their ear to your chest

and hearing not just the beating of a heart

but the storms, the cracks, the earthquakes

that built the rhythm in the first place.

To be loved is to be held

in the memory of someone else’s bones,

to be mapped like constellations

on the inside of their eyelids,

to be remembered even in the dark,

even in absence, even when

you are nothing but a trembling shadow

on the wall of their thoughts.

To be seen is to have someone notice

the way your voice trembles on certain syllables,

the way you flinch when doors slam,

the way you guard your laughter

like a rare bird afraid of hunters.

It is someone saying:

I saw that. I see you. You don’t have to explain.

To be loved is to be carved into another person’s time,

to be granted a corner of their breath,

a share of their exhaustion,

a piece of their midnight silence.

It is to be given not just what they have,

but what they don’t—

their strength when they are weak,

their tenderness when they are frayed,

their light when their own world goes dim.

And so the truth coils around itself:

to be loved is to be seen.

To be seen is to be loved.

There is no border between them,

no clean line separating sight from devotion.

One is the flame, the other the glow.

One is the hand reaching, the other the hand grasping.

One says I see you as you are,

the other replies and I still stay.

And in that infinite loop,

where love and sight consume each other,

we are finally whole.

Not perfect. Not unbroken.

...