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[jesbelle-writes]

[jesbelle-writes]

Guys. Guys! GUYS! Nonnie sent me pics!

It's my pseudonym in The Font, just like D.C. freakin' Fontana!

Look how chonky! (Dang, but I'm verbose.)

This is so cool. Thanks again for sending me the pics, Nonnie. And thanks for your kind words about my fic!

(The person who made this wanted to remain anonymous, but they said I could post the pictures, so here I am.)

hi! i absolutely love your fics and was wondering if it would be okay to print your work for personal use? i would not be using any illegal means like lulu but print and bind by myself. i understand completely if youre not okay with that, and again, love your work <3

Go wild! You have my express permission to turn my fic into a physical objects or objects. I'm really honored that you want to do this to tell the truth. Like I'm a little misty here. Gonna brag about this to my family.

And I'd be pretty excited to see a pic when you're done -- no pressure though.

[jesbelle-writes]

hi! i absolutely love your fics and was wondering if it would be okay to print your work for personal use? i would not be using any illegal means like lulu but print and bind by myself. i understand completely if youre not okay with that, and again, love your work <3

Go wild! You have my express permission to turn my fic into a physical objects or objects. I'm really honored that you want to do this to tell the truth. Like I'm a little misty here. Gonna brag about this to my family.

And I'd be pretty excited to see a pic when you're done -- no pressure though.

[jesbelle-writes]

I got a very nice ask about Mary Sue's outfits so I thought I'd do a little dump of the stuff in my reference file.

This dress is from (I believe) an old Montgomery Wards catalog. It was also available in black and it was the basis for the gown that Letitia lends Mary Sue.

This was more or less The Nightie, you know the one.

And as a bonus --

-- here's the guest house. It's a real place in Hollywood that happened to be for sale while I was writing.

[jesbelle-writes]

Hello! I’m reading “Mary Sue Saves The Galaxy” and I’m enjoying it immensely. As someone who’s been daydreaming about what it must have been like to live through the early zine and con era of Star Trek fandom it was really exciting to me to stumble across the fic. I just have a question about Mary Sue’s clothes (lol). She references several times her “Bailey” outfit and this reference is just flying right over my head. What does this mean, please? Thanks.

Hey!  I’m glad you’re enjoying it!  Bailey Quarters was a character on WKRP in Cincinnati and the epitome of bookishly sophisticated style when I was a wee lass.

This is the outfit I remember her best in  --

And this is her with her hair up, and tbh it’s still hair goals --

eta: the actress is Jan Smithers.

[jesbelle-writes]

My curse is that I have so much bottled up oc lore but can only talk about it when someone asks very specific questions about my characters

[jesbelle-writes]

Just a head’s up.  I posted “I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues” and “We Go Together” on AO3.  I feel like “The Gift” is more of a scene that belongs in a longer work, so I’m just going to leave it on Tumblr only.

[jesbelle-writes]

Thank you so much for this sweet rec!  (she says calmly while her brain jumps around like a caffeinated Jack Russell terrier screeching, “A rec!!! OMG!! OMG!! This is not a drill!!!”

#ade recs fic: The Best of 2020

It’s a bit of a tradition, and because 2020 was A YEAR, the annual rec list is a) a bit shorter and b) at the beginning of 2021. But duh, we all made it through 2020, and I guess we all agree on one thing: Ao3 (and fandom) was a bright spot in such dark times.

Hold Me Fast and Fear Me Not by JesBelle: Sherlock Holmes is a monster. Moriarty is a faerie. Mrs. Hudson is neither a teapot nor your housekeeper. And John Watson is just trying to keep up. (BBC!Johnlock, explicit, 42k)

This story has everything: it’s a dark fairytale, which means magical realism, transformation, and lots of secrets. It also has one of the best texting between Harry and John Watson in all of BBC SHERLOCK fanfic. Have I mentioned the amazing world-building? And the poetic language, and - don’t know if it’s true - the husband as a beta. Overall gorgeous, and so hot.

The Sky is Full of Fiddles by agirlsname: It’s 1895 in the heart of Swedish folk music and dance. During certain weekends, boys are allowed to visit girls at night, wooing them with fantastical poems. If a girl lets a boy into her room they can share a bed all night, fully clothed, to talk and eat caramels together.John is seventeen and looking for a girl to marry like everyone else. He’s very surprised when another boy suddenly stands outside his door, wanting to share his bed… (BBC!Johnlock, teen, 25k)

You can read the story for Sherlock Holmes and John Watson, and I am confident that most of the readers clicked on the fic because of the pairing. However, I am also confident that in the end, a lot of them stayed and were in awe of the beauty of Swedish folklore, its history and culture, present and past. I, personally, love it when natives tell their stories, because fandom is and should be diverse, and this story reminds you why.

How To Unfold a Heart by @elwinglyre: To Sherlock’s dismay, John’s return to Baker Street with Rosie is only temporary. Sherlock’s daily visits to Regent Park with John and Rosie illuminate his lost childhood memories and missed opportunities. But with each trip to the park, Sherlock also feels a growing sense of hope. That is until the past horrors return unexpectedly in a cryptic note folded in the shape of a heart. To decipher the message, Sherlock must uncover the nature of the hearts around him, including his own. (BBC!Johnlock, explicit, 25k)

This has allllll the goodies: pining!Sherlock (also obvious!Sherlock, clueless!Sherlock, besotted!Sherlock, and have I mentioned pining!Sherlock), slow burn, BAMF (and OMG, Sherlock LOVES it), some fluff, a bit of parent lock (you’re going to loooove this Rosie, pinky promise!), and most importantly: READ ALL THE NOTES <3 The queer ballad, the queer swans <3 It’s a queer Romantic Comedy at its best. 

Forever Turning Corners by @discordantwords: Exactly one year and four days after Sherlock Holmes flung himself from the top of Barts Hospital, John Watson buys himself a bottle of good scotch and a train ticket. The train ticket is an impulse, the scotch is not. (BBC!Sherlock, mature, 9k)

Arthur Conan Doyle’s “Silver Blaze” brought me into this fandom ca. 25 years ago, so it was elementary (ha!) to read this twist on the canon story. It’s not Doyle, but it’s own transformation and it’s glorious: on point, quick-paced, and with a twist that is almost as surprising as “the curious incident during night-time”. Oh, and Reichenbach-ANGST, another (instant) classic.

Putting up Shelves by @khorazir: Sherlock claims to be an expert at putting up shelves. John gets the totally wrong idea. DIY, awkwardness and some soul-searching ensue. And some shelves are put up… (BBC!Johnlock, mature, 11k)

This is so precious. It’s charming and funny and romantic and a bit sexy - the perfect mix. I’m always in favour of word games, so I was grinning a lot. As for the IKEA adventure, I guess everyone has a tale to share about their manuals.

Speaking of manuals: Sherlock’s drawings <3 I think I spotted them on tumblr before. Fantastic! My favourite is the first, even I cannot say why.

That he picked up the design of a manual to illustrate his feelings and wishes for their relationship is so Sherlock. In a good way, very good way.

This is partly c+p of my own comment, and I’ll repeat it as often as needed until everyone reads the story and admires the art. AMAZING!

And last but not least, my absolute favourite, and if you aren’t teary-eyed at the end of the first story… I don’t know anymore. 

Fairy Lights by @vtsuion: A cold winter’s night in Sussex brings a mystery beyond even Holmes’s powers of deduction. Also, a Holmesian fairy tale. (ACD!Johnlock, gen, 4k)

This one is pure poetry, and it’s like a comfy blanket and some hot tea/coffee, and just all the warmth you can imagine - and a touch of magic, you know of the childhood memories kind: winter but only the quietness and peace. 

It’s the very rare pieces you want not only to print out but to be read as a good-night-story because it’s… eerie. 

[jesbelle-writes]

I have a couple spones fics.  100 (Human) Years covers sick, angst, and fluff.  I’ve even got a Johnlock retelling of Beauty and the Beast if that would blow your hair back.  JesBelle’s works on AO3

Hey everyone! I need your help!!! I am working several 12 hour overnights and will need fanfiction to read to stay awake! Please recommend your favorite Spones angst, sick, fluff, etc fanfiction to keep me awake at night! Double points if you wrote it! HELP A FELLOW TREKKIE PLEASE

(Will also accept any combination of McSpirk, good omens, destiel, or John lock)

[jesbelle-writes]

The Gift

After his failed attempt to reach kohlinar,  Spock found that the rhythms of life aboard the Enterprise were somehow different.  He had reached a hard-won détente between his Human emotions and his Vulcan logic, and it cast a new light on even the most familiar of rituals – such as the one now playing out in Kirk’s quarters.

“So Bones – your birthday’s coming up...”  Kirk opened this conversation just as he had every year about this time.

“I don’t want a big fuss,” said McCoy, with the same frown as usual.

“How about a little fuss then?” asked Kirk, the customary amused smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

“I suppose I could tolerate it, if I had to,” came the reply.

And so some small celebration would be agreed upon.  A place and time would be chosen for a quiet round of drinks; Scotty, Chapel, Uhura, Sulu, and (now that was no longer “the kid”) Chekov would be invited; and they’d all spend a quiet evening getting mildly inebriated and swapping reminiscences.  Spock would attend, of course.  McCoy was his friend, after all.

But this year, Spock couldn’t shake the feeling that something special was in order – something to acknowlege the shift he sensed in his relationship with McCoy.  He couldn’t really name the nature of that shift – it was different somehow to the way his other relationships had changed – but he felt a need to take some kind of action nonetheless.

He wanted to give McCoy a birthday present.

His mother had explained gift-giving to him when he was a child.  She had provided him with an exhaustive lesson on the rituals and obligations involved, including a list of the types of gifts that would be considered appropriate to each occasion.

“But sometimes,” she said, “a person wants to give a gift from the heart – something that shows how much regard they have for another person. The best gifts on these occasions are something the recipient can experience.  A happy memory is worth a thousand objects.”

Spock understood that these “little fusses” that Jim put together were exactly that – another in a collection of happy memories for McCoy.  Spock wanted to give McCoy something like that.

The bulk of his meditation time was dedicated to solving the puzzle of how to do that.

He considered the activities that McCoy engaged in during his rare breaks from work. He spent the bulk of his time simply “hanging out” with Spock or Jim or Christine.  He enjoyed reading a genre of books he called “dimestore trash” that Spock had no idea how to even begin to obtain.  And he enjoyed music.

Music seemed promising.  McCoy’s tastes were eclectic, but Spock had a good ear and he was reasonably certain that he could find something that would please McCoy.

It was in this frame of mind that he noticed the humming.

There was a little snippet of a tune that McCoy hummed when he was trying to unravel any particularly thorny problem.  Spock had heard it hundreds of times when sharing laboratory space with McCoy.  It had long ago been relegated to the background noises of the lab.

It was a pretty tune, and obviously a favorite.  He asked Dr. Chapel about it that afternoon.

“You mean the one that goes hum de dum dum dum hum de dum dum dum?”  She mangled it completely, but it was still recognizable as the same tune, if only barely.

“Yes,” said Spock.  “Do you know the title of the piece?”

“Sorry, no.  I asked him about it once.  He got really self-conscious and said it was just something his mother used to sing.  Then I didn’t hear it for about a month.”

Jim was no help.  “I don’t spend much time in the lab,” he pointed out.  “And his mom was some kind of music historian, so she probably knew a lot of obscure songs.”

Spock made a recording of himself playing the tune on his lyre and fed it into the ship’s computer, but it matched nothing in the database.  Finally, he sent the recording to the library at Memory Alpha and waited.

The answer came almost fourteen hours later – a song from the mid-twentieth century, lost for nearly 200 years before it was discovered in an archive on the North American continent at a place called Muscle Shoals.

The tune was sweet, and the song was short.  But the lyrics...

If Spock had searched for years, he couldn’t have found a song more suitable. He decided that the piece should be performed live.

“It’s beautiful, Spock.  Where did you find it?” asked Uhura.  “It’s just so… Dr. McCoy, isn’t it?”

“I believe it is a favorite of his,” said Spock.  “I would like to play it at his birthday.  I was hoping that you would agree to sing it.”

“I’d love to, but I think you should do it.  It would fit your range.”

“My musical range, perhaps.  It is a very emotional piece,” said Spock.

They practiced the song every night.

McCoy’s birthday was in the forward observation lounge.  It was busy tonight, and when Spock picked up his lyre and Uhura stood next to him a hush fell over the crowd.  

“If I needed you Would you come to me, Would you come to me, And ease my pain?” sang Uhura.

“If you needed me, I would come to you, I’d swim the seas For to ease your pain.”

“In the night forlorn The morning’s born And the morning shines With the lights of love.”

Spock spared a glance toward McCoy, but Jim was seated between them, blocking his line of sight.

“You will miss sunrise If you close your eyes And that would break My heart in two.”

Spock tried twice more to catch a glimpse of McCoy to no avail.  It wasn’t until the final chorus that he saw him.  

McCoy looked stunned, overcome, but with what emotion, Spock couldn’t tell. There were, however, most definitely tears in his eyes.

The song ended to enthusiastic applause and several people came to pay their compliments – mostly to Uhura.  McCoy was among them.  He took Uhura’s hand in his and said, “Thank you so much, Nyota.  That was lovely.”  He nodded toward Spock.  “You played that… very well – as usual, Spock.”  He raised his glass toward the others. “I want to thank y’all for coming tonight.  I know the night’s still young, but I’m not so much, and I’ve just had a week and a half of long shifts.  So if y’all’ll excuse me, I’m going to head on out and get some shut-eye before I have to deal with the next torn rotator cuff or targ bite or what-have-you.”

There followed the usual well-wishing and congratulations as McCoy left.  Spock, feeling unsettled and having no desire to feel unsettled in public, picked up his lyre and retired to his own quarters…

… where he was surprised to find Dr. McCoy leaning against his desk.

“I used my medical code,” said McCoy.  “I hope you don’t mind.  I promise I’m not planning to make a habit of it.”

Spock nodded. “I apolo--”

“I’m sor--” McCoy shook his head.  “You got nothing to be sorry for.  Just… let me say my piece and I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Go ahead.”

“Thanks.”  McCoy took a deep breath.  “I… what you did tonight, Spock – that was the nicest, most thoughtful gift I’ve ever gotten.  I couldn’t say this with a bunch of people around, but I need you to know what it meant to me.

“My mama used to sing me that song when I’d have bad dreams.  She’d come sit on my bed and… stroke my hair… and sing that song.  And it worked every time.

“She sang a lot of songs.  She had a beautiful voice and she played guitar.  She made a lot of recordings of those songs, and after she died, I’d play them all and pretend she was still there – just in the other room, singing.  Well, I was just kid...  

“Anyway she never got around to recording that one.  So I’d sing it to myself when the bad dreams woke me up.  I forgot most of the lyrics.  I forgot what it sounded like when she sang it.  I forgot what her fingers felt like in my hair.  But it always made me feel better.

“I guess I got used to singing it.  It was the tune I’d whistle in the dark, and it became the thing I turned to whenever the going got even a little rough.

“That’s what you gave me tonight.  You gave me back her song.  I don’t have words for that.”  McCoy swiped at the tear that had fallen onto his cheek.  “If you weren’t a Vulcan I’d hug you.”

Spock didn’t know what to say.  He was experiencing a rush of emotions too powerful and too complex for him to even name, let alone express, not that he wished to express them.  He didn’t even want to experience them.

Did he?

“And on that note,” said McCoy, standing up,  “I’ll just see myself out.”

“Leonard.”

McCoy had nearly reached the door when Spock put out his hand to stop him.  He took him by the wrist, his fingers curling around the warm, soft skin above McCoy’s pulse.

The sensation cut through some of the turmoil in Spock’s mind.  This was… good?  It was… fitting.

It was right because Spock had wanted to touch McCoy, hadn’t he?  He’d wanted to give a gift that would touch McCoy’s heart.

And now he was touching his skin and that was also what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

He pulled McCoy closer, put his arms around him, held him.  And holding was also what he’d wanted.

And then McCoy’s arms wrapped around his waist…

...and there.  This is what it is to fit, thought Spock.  This is what it is to be exactly where he belonged.

McCoy drew back a little, enough to look Spock in the eye.  “You sure?”

Spock nodded.  “I am now.”

And then he kissed him.

Just a little note -- the song is “If I Needed You” by Townes Van Zandt.  I’ve used it in fics before because it gives me serious Bones vibes.  I actually had this scene in mind for one of those fics, but ended up using something else, so now you get it here.

[jesbelle-writes]

I Guess That’s Why They Call it the Blues

“What are you drinking, Doctor?”

McCoy lifted his head a few inches off his folded arms and examined the three-quarters empty bottle next to his elbow.

“’S…”  He squinted at Spock standing in the doorway of his private quarters, then squinted at the glass still clutched in his right hand.  “’S… blue.”

“Yes,” said Spock.  “I had observed as much myself.”  He picked the bottle up from McCoy’s table and held it under his nose.  “It’s not Romulan ale.”

“Nah,” agreed McCoy, draining about half the remaining contents of his glass. “Goes down too easy for that.”

Spock capped the bottle and returned it to the cupboard near the table.

“Hey!” McCoy protested.  “You can’t just… just… waltz on into a man’s private quarters and… and just confishcate his… his blue stuff.” Another thought occurred to McCoy.  He sat up straight in his chair. “There isn’t an emergency, is there?!  There’s anti-in… anit-intok… sobering-up medicine in my kit.”

“There’s no emergency, Doctor.  Although, if you like, I can administer the anti-intoxicant.”

“No.  God no.” McCoy slumped back into his chair.  “Worsht hangover of my life – taking that stuff after the fact.”  He rubbed his face.  “Prob’ly in for a doozy anyway.”

Spock was inclined to agree.

McCoy held up his glass and peered at Spock through it.  “Color’s too light to be that stuff Jim likes.”

“Antarean brandy.”

“Thass the one. This one’s the same color as your shirt.  Or my shirt.  ‘S a good color on you.  Very… fetching.”  He set the glass back on the table.  “Why are you here, Spock?”

Spock chose to ignore the comment about the relative attractiveness of his uniform. “You missed our appointment.  We were to play chess in the Officer’s Lounge.”

“Oh,” said McCoy.  “Sorry.  Musta slipped my mind.”

“You were, perhaps, preoccupied,” said Spock.  “You received a communication from Natira of Yonada today.”

“Got it on the firsht try,” said McCoy, holding up his glass and pretending to toast Spock before finishing its contents.   “Did you come to help me drown my sorrows?”

“I was unaware that you had a reason to grieve.  Is Natira unwell?”

“Nah.  Fid as a fittle.   Gonna get married.”

“And this pains you?” asked Spock.  “I was under the impression that your… attachment... to her was not a permanent one.”

McCoy shrugged.  “’S not that.  I’m glad she’s happy.  Couldn’t happen to a nicer gal.  I just...”

Spock waited.

“’S just… I kinda wish I was happy too.”

“Leonard...”

“Pfffft.  I’m getting maudlin.  Better get to bed.”  McCoy stood, weaving precariously as he tried to navigate his way from behind the table. Spock reached out a hand to steady him.

McCoy looked at the hand on his upper arm as if wondering how it got there.

“Awww…  You’re always so sweet when you think I’m hurting,” said McCoy.

“My apologies,” said Spock, standing up straighter and withdrawing his hand from McCoy’s person.

“No,” said McCoy, grabbing Spock’s hand.  “Don’t be sorry.  ‘S nice. ‘S...”  Suddenly Spock felt a wash of emotions – affection, gratitude, sadness, comfort – emanating from McCoy.  The emotions stopped abruptly, and Spock understood that McCoy had purposely shown him this.  Spock hadn’t even been aware that McCoy possessed the skill to do so.

“B’sides,” McCoy went on, “I don’t think I can make it to the bed myself.”

“How did you learn to do that?” asked Spock.

“Book,” replied McCoy, lurching toward the door.  Spock put an arm around his waist and guided him toward the sleeping section of the room.  “Mast’ring the Craft of Vulcan Tel’pathy,” McCoy announced.  “It wasn’t bad.  Very suc… sussy… sussint… not wordy for something a Vulcan wrote.  Wanted to learn how to block, mostly.”

Spock eased McCoy onto the bed and proceeded to pull his boots off.  “You believed I would invade your privacy?”

McCoy laughed. “Nah.  Knew I was gonna be your doctor.  Jim told me.  Knew I’d have to touch you.  Didn’t want it to be weird for you.”  McCoy frowned.  “I probably just made it weird for you.”

“Not at all, Doctor,” said Spock as he pulled the thin cover over McCoy.  “You should rest now,” he advised.

“Essellent idea,” said McCoy, rolling over onto his side.  “Get th’ lights, willya?”

Spock went to the panel by the door and turned the lights to their dimmest setting.

“Thanks,” called McCoy.  “I meant it, you know.  Blue’s your color.”

“Goodnight, Doctor.  Sleep well,” said Spock, though some irrational part of him was thinking, “It suits you more.”

[jesbelle-writes]

We Go Together

Federation Ambassador Spock had been in meetings all day, and days on Iaraen lasted nearly twice as long as those on Vulcan.  A Vulcan requires little sleep, but even Spock was beginning to weary of the negotiations that seemed to move at a pace as glacial as the planet itself.  So when he saw McCoy sihouetted against a window on the far end of the hall, he excused himself from the minor dignitary who had been taking advantage of yet another “little informal get-together” to explain for the third time the importance of the mines on the second-largest of Iaraen’s moons and crossed the hall to join his husband.

The ice-covered landscape was not a scene that Spock would have expected to catch McCoy’s eye.  And yet, Leonard’s attention was so wholly captivated by the scene beyond the glass that Spock startled him when he brushed the hand that was resting on the sill.

The face he saw in Leonard’s mind was one he hadn’t thought of in decades.

“Zaribeth?”

“It’s the snow, I suppose,” answered Leonard, shaking his head slightly as though that might dislodge the image.   “I see you got away from the mines somehow.  Tell me it’s time for bed.”

“I believe we can take our leave now,” said Spock.  “The Prime Minister retired nearly an hour ago.”

“Great.  Let’s skedaddle while the skedaddling’s good – before someone else decides to bend your pointy ear about the wonders of their widget manufacturing plant.”

That earned Leonard a raised eyebrow of mild disapproval that might have fooled anyone else, but Leonard just grinned.

“Very well, Doctor.”  Spock gestured toward the door and they proceeded to politely eel their way out of the party.

Back at their rooms, Leonard stripped out of his formal tunic and tossed it on the back of a nearby chair.  “You know,” he said, turning toward Spock, “I’m sorry if I brought up a bad memory back there.”

“You are referring to what happened on Sarpeidon?”

“Yeah.”

“There’s no need to apologize,” said Spock.  “I have no emotions, positive or negative, about Sarpeidon or Zaribeth.”

“None at all?”

“Should I?”

“You loved her.”

“I was infatuated with her.  I was not myself, as you pointed out.”

Leonard squinted at Spock as if examining him through a magnifying lens.  “I don’t believe you.  I was there, Spock.  I saw the way you looked at her when you left – like she was holding a piece of you.  Now you say you don’t feel anything?”

“As I told you then, my mind regained its normal function when we returned to our time.”

“You just suppressed it all, and haven’t thought about her since?  Is it really that easy for you?  You never think about what happened to her – about her life, alone in that place?”

“I have accepted what your Human mind cannot.  She is dead.  She was dust before the time of Surak, before the end of your Iron Age.  To you, her suffering goes on in some other place.  To you, she still has hope. To me, she is gone, and my power to change her fate ended when I chose to go through the portal with you.”

Leonard was silent for a moment.  He glanced toward the snow falling outside their window.  “If I’d gone through the portal without you…” he said, looking back toward Spock, “...when you tried to push me through… Would you have followed?”

“No.”

Leonard sighed and nodded.  “I didn’t think so.”

“I would have come to regret that decision,” said Spock.

Leonard’s expression could only be described as “mulish.”

Spock reached out and took Leonard’s hand.  “Before you rashly left the cave, looking for the portal on your own, I entertained the idea that… in time… the three of us might… share a bed.”

“The three of us? Really?”

“It would have been the most efficient means of keeping you warm.”

Leonard laughed. “Very efficient.  Completely logical.”

Spock pulled Leonard closer, putting his arm around Leonard’s waist.

“The emotions I felt then were so powerful.  I was in love with them as much as I was in love with Zarabeth.  But I knew her only for a handful of hours. Love, as I understand it, is a thing that is proven in time.”

“So -- no regrets?”

Spock’s mouth did something that could almost be described as a smile.  “We go together.  Always.”

Leonard’s mouth did something that could most definitely be described as kissing his husband.

[jesbelle-writes]

I’m doing this now.

So, on my other side blog, the one dedicated to my ongoing Building Every Town From Heroes of Might and Magic III in Minecraft project, I made a post about how I was getting into writing and probably wouldn’t have much time for Minecraft for awhile.  

That was nearly 4 years ago.  

I didn’t touch this project in all that time.

‘Cuz I was writin’.

Anyway, now I’ve got pretty much all of the people I live with here pretty much all of the time, and I just can’t get enough time to myself to form a coherent thought, let alone write it down.  I’m not complaining.  I glad that we can afford to do the sensible thing and stay the hell home.  But I need some kind of creative outlet, and there’s only 3 more towns to go, so...

Hopefully it won’t take 4 years for me to get to a place where I can write on the regular again, but for now, Minecraft just doesn’t require the concentrated concentration that writing does.

(If the textures look odd, it’s because I’m using Painterly Pack by Rhodox)

[jesbelle-writes]

WIPs

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Send me an ask with the title that most intrigues you and interests you and I’ll post a little snippet of it or tell you something about it!

Tagged by @gailbsanders.  Thank you!  I’ve barely written since last November and it was fun to peek into my WIP folder.

a wip I shouldn’t be working on

forward (johnlock)

another sherlock

tumblr spones prompt

your lips come as some surprise

tin man fic

[jesbelle-writes]

Forgive the self-indulgence, but here’s a scene from my Galaxy Quest fic where the protagonist and Alex Dane (Alan Rickman’s character) are talking about Jane Austen.

“Well, of course you’d say that,” he says.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. Just that I can spot a woman who gets off on Masterpiece Theater a mile away,” he says.

I can’t deny it, but I roll my eyes anyway.

“I’d pay good money to see you as Henry Tilney,” I say.

“Really? I don’t know if I’m smooth enough for Henry Tilney. I’m more of a Fitzwilliam Darcy.”

“No, you’re not,” I say. “You’re not awkward even if you don’t like crowds of people.”

“Edward Ferrars?”

“Hardly.”

“Colonel Brandon, then.”

“Definitely not,” I say. “Colonel Brandon least of all.”

“No? Why least of all?”

“Because there’s no way that Miss Marianne Dashwood could hear you read more than three lines of a sonnet before she creamed her petticoats. She’d be all ‘Willoughby who?’ and up and marry you on the spot. Poor Eleanor would have to carry the rest of the story by herself.”

alan rickman didnt deserve being known as snape for his legacy 😔

[jesbelle-writes]

I have made so many Alan Rickman references.

Is it weird if I write a modern AU and put in some references to the actors that play the characters? Like the kind of stuff that you'd get from interviews, I integrate some small references from those into my modern AU of the character they play.

Seems pretty normal to me 🤷‍♀️

[jesbelle-writes]

I’m putting this on my writing sideblog because it’s giving me some writerly nostalgia tonight.  (Also spoilers for 100 Years.) At the end of The Voyage Home, it appears that Spock and Sarek have begun to heal the rift between them, and here --- not so much.  Over 85 years passed between those two scenes.

A big difference between writing Spock and writing McCoy is that we know where Spock comes from, and we know where he ends up.  Anything can happen in 85 years, so long as he ends up fitting into the glimpse we get of him through Sarek here and the events of “Unification I - II.”

Either Spock and Sarek never managed to build on the promise of ST IV, or something happened to cause a new rift.  Perrin says that they publicly fought over the Cardassians, and I chose to interpret that as an event that opened a new rift between Sarek and his son -- or, at least, reopened the old one.  I even speculated that Sarek may already have been suffering the onset of Bendii Syndrome when they argued.

85 year is a nice chunk of time to fill up with whatever stories I felt like.  I wrote scenes where Spock and Sarek discuss the Khitomer treason and the occupation of Bajor and Sarek’s second (or third, depending on how you want to count it) family with Perrin.  I let them have a pretty nice 85 years of... mutual respect anyway.  

But this episode broke my heart, because eventually this was where it would end up.  They wouldn’t speak again, and even though Spock would know, through his meld with Picard, that Sarek had loved him, he’d never know if Sarek understood that he’d been loved in return.

So, the TNG episode Sarek. If you haven’t seen it, there are some content warnings for terminal illness and dementia, because that’s what the episode is about. And it’s real sad, and I feel like a lot of people discount it when talking about Sarek as a character, so here goes.

First, a very brief summary.

The episode starts with Picard and Riker going to greet Sarek, who is completing one last mission before retirement. He’s been working on a treaty with the Legarans for 93 years, and he’s the only one they’ll talk to. He’s accompanied by his current wife Perrin (also Human), a Human chief of staff, and a Vulcan personal assistant named Sakkath. 

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