#fic navel gazing

[pie-of-flames]

Writing pattern game

Rules: Share the first line of your last ten published works or as many as you are able and see if there are any patterns! (from most recent to least recent, starting from the top)

Interesting idea. Tagged by @theoldmixer. Thanks! Hope this isn't too embarrassing, lol.

And Still They Lead Me Back (John/Paul) “Okay, George, I’m taking a break,” Paul said as he put down his guitar. 

One Sweet Dream (John/Paul) It’s intense and overwhelming and Paul can’t believe it’s happening.

Mother's Milk (Succession, Roman & Shiv) High above the Met lobby teeming with tourists, Roman signals the waiter.

In The Night Garden (John/Paul) “Paul,” meows the ginger cat resting his head on Paul’s stomach.

A New Mascot (OFMD, Ed/Stede) Ed squints at the sun.

Everything She Had (MCU, Wanda Maximoff) Pillowy blossoms float above her as Wanda walks under budding branches. 

Tea and Sneezes (OFMD, Ed/Stede) Ed had to pull in a few favors.

Roys Don't Do Emotions (Succession, Kendall, Shiv & Roman) A dusty driveway, the air thick with words said and unsaid.

Dark of Night (The Old Guard, Andy/Quynh) The cell was close, pitch-black air, unrelenting cold stone walls, infested, matted hay.

The Woman in the Café (The Old Guard, Andy/Quynh) The woman sits at a café table, coffee cup in front of her, legs crossed, elegant in black high-heeled boots.

Observations: Mostly boring. A lot have the same rhythm. I don't think about the first line too much but I probably should. Also this makes it obvious that so far, without even thinking about it, I've only written Paul POV.

I completely lost interest in writing from 2016 to 2023, as demonstrated by the fact that the last 5 are drabbles shorter than 250 words, three from May '22 and the last two from April/May '21. I only wrote two drabbles between Aug. 2016 and 2021. It's no coincidence that that those were the years of the Trump presidency. I have to go all the way back to April 2016 to find anything over 1000 words. Thank you, Beatles, for inspiring me again. I thought I was done.

Not tagging anyone. Would love to see anybody do it.

[dreadfutures]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Thanks, Brood!

I just want to say it's been really awesome to see everyone's self recs on my dash. <3 I feel like just a few years ago there was way more self-negging around all of us and it makes me feel warm and fuzzy when my friends and mutuals and acquaintances are proud of their hard work and creativity! I will be sure to spread that around in more inboxes too :)

My own five favorite fics that I've written are:

it ends, or it doesn't | A Felassan Fic written by youworeblue / @dreadfutures | illustrated by @adurna0-art Rating: T | Genre: Mystery | Length: 45k, complete

My favorite story I've written so far. Dragon Age with a Knives Out flavor. I can't give it a better pitch than @anneapocalypse did here, particularly: "Both a thrilling and tightly-paced murder mystery, and a moving and thoughtful piece about personal and cultural identity, confronting the past, and looking to the future." (Thanks, Anne 😭)

Chrysalid Rated: G | Cillian & Solas | Chapters: 9/9

An origin story for how Cillian, the DAI MP character who appears in like, maybe 2 war table missions, learned the path of the Arcane Warrior. A love letter to the monarch butterfly migration.

Death is an Open Door Rated: T | Male Mahariel & Nonbinary Mahariel | Length: 8k

Mahariel steps through an eluvian to begin the journey we hear about in passing during DAI. This was a gift for @ammoniteflesh about both of our Mahariels and how they are mirrors of each other.

the road seems too wild for mixing it with blues Rated: G | F!Lavellan x Solas | Length: 5k

Pure fluff, a happy ending for Lavellan and Solas in a world they're committed to improving together, on the ground, one interaction at a time. But in this fic? They just get to enjoy that world, together, without any pressures upon them.

And I debated whether to put Walkers of the Lonely Path or Comrades in Arms, Brothers in Broken Chains, or…my other favorites on this list... but DPDF is definitely in my top favorite fics I've written, so:

Dead Pasts and Dread Futures Rated: E | FLavellan x Solas, Gen | Length: 600k (incl. TBG: 900k, ongoing)

As the world ends, Ixchel is resurrected under mysterious circumstances and is sent back in time to the Conclave. Ixchel is furious, convinced of her own futility, and yet she cannot give up again. These are the stories of how she gets better.

more rambling about each of these...

it ends, or it doesn't | A Felassan Fic Stories about looking at the past (your own, in general, or in one's culture) and grappling with the good and the bad and trying to find the merit, strength, and identiy that resonates with you? They're my favorite to read, personally, and those themes find their way into most things I write. I feel like I really Did It in this one. And the inspiration for the story had me warm and fuzzy the whole way through: he environments had me looking at photos of the golden hills of my home as well as some of my favorite castles and temples across the world. I love writing a broken Felassan and his relationship to the ancient elves and to modern elves of all flavors. And the process of writing this in my own way and going back and forth with my artist partner for the fic was wonderful.

Chrysalid Cillian discovered the path of the Arcane Warrior by meditating in ruins; when the Breach appeared in the sky, he felt called to lend his skills to the fledgling Inquisition. That’s all we know of his path, as a background NPC in Dragon Age: Inquisition, who appears solely in a war table mission and in the Multiplayer addition. But how did he really get trained as an Arcane Warrior? Honestly. This was Divine Inspiration at its finest. It was summer; I was missing my college town, where monarch butterflies go as a colony on their migration, stopping there to rest. I kept seeing a few of them flying by my current location on their way south. And I had the whimsical thought: isn’t that magical? Then I thought: sure, magical butterflies would work for a story. But what do they lead to? I loved the experience of writing this, I love the idea I had, I love rereading it, and closing my eyes and thinking about the locations.

Death is an Open Door I was so excited to get matched with Faust for our fanfic server's annual OC Swap event, because any time I heard about Ghila Mahariel, I couldn't help but IMMEDIATELY think about how our Mahariels would interact together. Their relationships to Morrigan and Kieran; their different relationships to their Blighted blood and what the future holds for them; their different relationships to the Dalish religion; their different relationships to the possibility of a cure for the Blight. I really got a chance to dig into the dreamy, fairy tale quality that I love to write the most, AND both body and psychological horror which I also love. AND I got to write an actual Dalish fairy tale, basically, inside it all, which is some of my favorite stuff to write. And Faust liked it, and it always makes me feel so happy and warm and fuzzy to reread a fic where I know I managed to make someone (via their OC) feel seen/special in any way at all.

the road seems too wild for mixing it with blues PURE SELF INDULGENT FLUFF. I love building cities and cultures within them, and I was trying to capture a specific kind of summer getaway/stranger in a new place vibe that I love so much when I get to experience it myself. It transports me right to that: to the place I based Cumberland on, to the exact temperature of the nights, to the exact cafe that has that drink and those donuts. I smiled a lot while writing it and I smile a lot while rereading it. Appreciating each other, and every moment of living, and the world that they get to be in - that's what I want, in the end, for Ixchel and Solas.

Dead Pasts and Dread Futures People are probably really tired of hearing me talk about this one, and I feel the most self conscious about it, but. It really is one of my favorite things I've made. I genuinely love rereading it, I have loved writing it, I still love writing it. I think it comes across more shippy when it gets talked about but to me the core of it is Ixchel's relationship to hope, her own personhood, and to her friends (originally there were so many more & pairings before the tag limit was a thing, because man. They all have pretty big arcs with her) (like to the point where sometimes I feel bad for not being More Overwhelmingly Solavellan, as opposed to spending like 20 chapters at a time on Ixchel's relationship to a single other person, which it feels like I do a lot…). I started writing it as an outlet for feelings I couldn't contain or, what I thought at the time, survive. I was trying to tell myself a story that things could get better, at a time when I didn't really believe it myself. Hope is a choice. Belief is a state of being. - And I had the strength to find neither at the time. But since then I have managed to heal a lot through this fic, I have had lots of fun chasing down story beats that just interest me, incorporating teensy bits of lore and weaving them into the bigger tapestry of Thedas, and most of all, meeting so many people because of this fic. :)

[lugarn]

[roselightfairy]

How about DVD commentary on some hurt/comfort bleeding into angst from Ripples in the long, long stream? This bit, in particular:

“Is that better?” came the elf’s voice, as though from a great distance through the rushing of blood in Gimli’s ears.  “Do you need” – Gimli took a shaky breath, trembling with relief.  “Yes,” he said, letting the leather fall from between his teeth.  Gingerly he lifted his arm and rotated it in a slow, careful circle – the pain was not entirely gone, but so much reduced from what it was that he felt almost drunk with it.  “Thank you.” “Of course.”  Legolas was rummaging in their pack now, searching for the spare roll of bandages they had taken to carrying with them.  “Here.”  Gimli sat passive, his frustration drained away with the pain, and allowed Legolas to wrap his arm and secure it carefully to his body.  “We will get you to a healer as soon as we return.  I think any deeper exploration here had best be postponed for now.” “Mmm.”  Gimli closed his eyes as Legolas swept a hand over his forehead, all his irritation fled at the elf’s gentle touch.  “I trust you.” “That is because you have singularly poor judgment.”  Legolas laughed, but his voice was tight.  “You are bone white, love.” “Well, nothing can be done for that until we return to Ithilien.”  Gimli did not open his eyes, but he smiled at the sound of his husband’s laugh.  “The sun will cure me soon enough, but summer is a ways off yet.” “Faultlessly spoken, and yet entirely wrong.”  Legolas sighed, but his lips pressed against Gimli’s hairline and his hand was still cool against Gimli’s sweaty brow.  “As always.”  Without looking, Gimli could feel Legolas moving around him to sit beside him on the boulder.  “We will just sit here until you recover your strength, then, and then we will turn towards home.” His voice was obstinate, as though preparing for an argument – but in truth Gimli would not complain at cutting their expedition short.  In truth, he still felt a bit shaky; his body did not seem to recover from shocks like this as quickly as it had when he was younger.  I am too old for this, he would have jested if it were another of his dwarven companions at his side now – and the words were hovering at the tip of his tongue before he remembered who sat beside him and clamped his lips around them.

I love them <3. Thank you!

Ooh ooh ooh thank you so much! This is the first time anyone has ever sent me an ask for this and I so appreciate it hehehe.

Okay, so as the DVD starts to roll, I do the overall commentary on the episode, which was that I was in the mood for a very specific sweet spot of hurt/comfort: I wanted it to be injury, requiring some kind of improvised solution, kind of random, but not so serious that it would lead to Big Angsty Feels. I settled on "dislocated shoulder," which was partly inspired by a scene from Thundera Tiger's "While the Ring went south" in which Gimli dislocates a shoulder while the two of them are trapped together. The difference is that in that fic they are enemies at each other's throats, and in mine they are, uh, married, haha.

Gingerly he lifted his arm and rotated it in a slow, careful circle – the pain was not entirely gone, but so much reduced from what it was that he felt almost drunk with it. - I had definitely read descriptions of dislocated shoulders before, but I did do some very basic research on the motions required to re-set a dislocated shoulder and how it feels afterwards.

“We will get you to a healer as soon as we return. I think any deeper exploration here had best be postponed for now.” My biggest biggest challenge in short fics like this is feeling like I have to do a huge setup for everything, and then realizing that I don't need to write the entire backstory of how they got where they are. I think (though it's been awhile), I was imagining that Gimli had dragged Legolas out to do some exploring in part of Aglarond that they hadn't really been working on much, or some other cave system, and is kind of at the point where he shouldn't be doing this anymore but isn't ready to admit it. Hence the "deeper exploration" bit.

Gimli closed his eyes as Legolas swept a hand over his forehead, all his irritation fled at the elf’s gentle touch. I just love when they touch each other gently! I just love it. The hand over the forehead, brushing back hair, soothing - You know. The inherent eroticism of a forehead.

Legolas laughed, but his voice was tight. Just - my favorite thing about writing Gimli physical h/c is that I get a side of Legolas angst, which I think anyone who has read ANY of my L/G stuff knows is my favorite thing in the world.

In truth, he still felt a bit shaky; his body did not seem to recover from shocks like this as quickly as it had when he was younger.  I am too old for this, he would have jested if it were another of his dwarven companions at his side now – and the words were hovering at the tip of his tongue before he remembered who sat beside him and clamped his lips around them.

And this last bit is one of those things I love most about writing fics like this - so often I start out with a scene I just want to play around with, and then I accidentally stumble into the real truth of it after several hundred words. Initially all I wanted was a little bit of h/c, and it wasn't until I got to this point that I realized what the story was really about - Gimli slowing down, not quite ready to admit it to himself, but forced to do so in a way that neither he nor Legolas can deny - one they can both feel, but aren't quite ready to say aloud to each other.

One of the time periods in their lives that I'm interested in is how their lives must have changed once Gimli really did start to slow down, once the challenge of their situation became a little too much for him, and how they must have navigated that. It's something I want to explore at some point, but haven't figured out how exactly to do it - so little peeks like this might have to do for now.

Thank you so much for asking! It was so fun to revisit this little fic, and I'm so glad that you enjoyed it enough to ask for the DVD commentary! :) <3

And anyone else is welcome to send in a passage, as well!

[mylittleredgirl]

20 questions for fic writers

thanks @annerbhp for the tag! i really enjoyed reading her answers too!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

215

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

646,705 (average of 3k per fic, which sounds about right)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

stargate atlantis most often, followed by sg-1, various star treks, and the x-files (with other miscellaneous fandoms on demand for exchanges and gifts).

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

No Sooner Met (voyager, janeway/chakotay)

Career Day (sg-1, mini!otp)

Next Chapter (the good place, chidi/eleanor)

First Date (voyager, janeway/chakotay) editor's note: man my title game was weak in my voyager era

Occupational Hazards (the good place, chidi/eleanor)

it's so funny to spend my online time in small or inactive fandoms and look at statistics because i'm like yeah... i'm kind of a big deal... people know me... i have many leather-bound volumes... and not a single one of my fics crack 300 kudos (& very few over 100). the person i reblogged from topped out over 9,000! what's it like to write long fics for popular fandoms? is it cool?

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

i do now! and it's awesome! for a long time i was intimidated by praise and had a hard time responding, but my brain works now and i really enjoy exchanging comments that turn into long threads of headcanon back-and-forth and sometimes new friends.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

oh god PLEASE let me unburden my soul about Twilight (sga, john/elizabeth). it's so uncharacteristically hopeless for me -- far future fic, complicated family dynamics, elizabeth has dementia and john is estranged from their son... really no one is having a good time. i think it's interesting and a cool departure from my usual writing style, but it's also a big sad mess.

i still feel sooooo guilty about these two thousand words of misery that i REGULARLY think about writing a sequel where john and his son fix it with time travel and mend fences. like i lie awake at night worrying about these characters because one time in 2007 i didn't give them a happy ending and suggested john might not break the bad father generational cycle. normal fic writer behavior.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Weaving Loose Ends (sg-1, sam/jack)! i love happy and hopeful endings but i think of all of them, this one is the most resolved and least complicated.

8. Do you get hate on fic?

nope. oh!!!! there was the one time when i caused Big Drama in a corner of the Dancing With The Stars fandom by turning people's headcanons into rpf, which everyone liked until one included porn. people got so heated with each other over this one smut fic (doxing! splinter factions! a fandom schism!) but somehow no one was ever actually mean to me. i didn't even get blocked or banned for my rpf transgressions, i was just standing there at the eye of the storm. so... i guess the answer is still no??

9. Do you write smut?

yes! i should probably write more, though. it has been all slow and gauzy the past few years, somebody should really get railed pretty soon.

10. Do you write crossovers?

nope.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

i don't think so. happily toiling in obscurity.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

back in the x-files days i think someone translated some of my doggett/reyes fics for a spanish archive, so those might still be out there.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

no i haven't!! i am really not doing well collecting my fic writer girl scout badges here!!

14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?

john sheppard/elizabeth weir my beloved.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but probably won’t?

i have 10k of an sg-1 episode-by-episode soulmate fic that started really strong and i would love to share someday, but i lack staying power so it will surely just go to seed in my dropbox forever!!

16. What are your writing strengths?

hopefully character complexity and dialogue. dialogue is interesting in fanfic, because the dialogue on many TV shows is really different than how real humans speak (it's scripted to be clearer, more concise and direct, uninterrupted, etc), so it's a fun challenge to balance that and get something that sounds both in-character and realistic.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

long fics!

the big related weakness is that i find it incredibly difficult to keep writing on a fic after i show it to anyone (as a sneak peek, or because i want feedback / encouragement / brainstorming help). i lose steam on my own, but posting or inviting other people into the process is like pouring sugar in the gas tank. why is that!! how do i fix this!!!

and i don't know if this is a "writing weakness" or an "egregious personal character flaw" but i sure did finish an exchange fic this year literally forty seconds before reveals, so that's... pretty bad.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

SO SCARY aughhhh my fear of Being Wrong really nukes me here. it doesn't even have to be a real language. it's like the ghost of JRR Tolkein himself is standing over my shoulder telling me that if i don't backwards engineer an entire proto-latinate space language instead of just chucking words into google translate and calling it Ancient i'm committing unpardonable sins.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

star trek! first internet-published fics were x-files, but first limited-print-edition fics were xeroxed hand-bound voyager stories my sister and i would give as "gifts" to family friends (and then stand there staring at them while they read the first few pages and told us how clever and creative we were and promised to "read the rest later").

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

new answer! i have always answered this before with ain't no sunshine (sga, john/elizabeth) or career day (sg-1, mini!otp), but i think i really stuck the landing this year on pieces (sga, john/elizabeth). which, incidentally, is the one i finished forty seconds before reveals so i'm definitely not going to learn anything from that narrow escape.

tagging @ussjellyfish if you haven't already done this one, @coraclavia, @havocthecat, @lonesomehighways, and anyone else who made it through this long post and would like to do it!

[longeyelashedtragedy]

lately i've acquired a lot of treasured mutuals who happen to also be really good writers (some of you have been mutuals for a long time, but most no) and so the answers to all these fic ask games have been really fascinating and have got me thinking.

for a while now i've been in a weirdly dark period about writing. i'm not saying this to self-deprecate, but i've been really frustrated by everything i write and have started thinking of myself as a mediocre writer and storyteller, and don't see a way out of it. i think the problem is that the stories i want to tell and the stories i wind up telling are two entirely different things. part of me has always felt too repressed to write the unhinged things i think, because the written word holds a disproportionate amount of weight in my life and it's like...if i write this thing, it's like a Written Contract and everyone will think it represents me entirely?

but also--people's answers have gotten me thinking about why i write. i think my primary objective is different, even, than creating or storytelling. i think it's a vestige of being a kid who essentially couldn't use the spoken word for communication because my life when i wasn't with my family was dominated by fear--with complex trauma i was terrified of other people, and terrified to be away from the "safety" of my family, so i'd spend most of my days at school or social activities just dissociating or having panic attacks and literally never speaking. thus the written word became the only way i could truly, safely communicate and say everything i wanted to say. plus, i always felt so, so, terrifyingly different from everyone else around me (well--i was) and even as i got older, i felt like i always had a different interpretation of things than the norm, and that was so frustrating, because i had opinions and thoughts i was too terrified to express.

i write because i want to communicate with you--i want you to know how i'm feeling about the world, about the characters--i want you to know how i think they think and feel, because i often put something of myself in them, so i'm telling you the things about me i was too afraid to say otherwise, or trying to find a more palatable way of helping you see the world as i do, because how else would i ever have done it otherwise?

maybe there's no room for the true creativity or envelope pushing because i'm still out here trying to make you understand me. do i still need this? (to use writing for that purpose--should i try to push myself to write for another purpose?) or is my writing doing something important for people? something to think about.

[danpuff-ao3]

The Making of Contempt

Is anyone tired of hearing me talk about this yet?

TOO BAD.

Ahem.

To talk of my pride and joy, I must first speak of Shame and Denial.

No. Really. They're 2 fics called Shame and Denial.

Shame has been one of my favorite fanfics for many, many years. Rarely, if ever, have I seen its like. A torrid teacher/student affair of which Harry is deeply ashamed. He's embarrassed by Severus. He is humiliated thinking of what his peers will think and say.

To me, this is quite human, and so real considering Harry's age in the story (a teenager), Severus' reputation (not good), and their history (really not good.)

In many stories, Harry is the Boy Wonder. He is the paragon of all that is good and righteous. His moral compass never fails. Not Harry Potter's! (And y'all are really expecting too much from a deeply traumatized child, let me tell you.)

No shame, btw (ba-dum-tsst.) I understand why people see the appeal in a model hero. I just don't myself. I deeply craved more of this messed up Harry. The one who doesn't always think and feel and do the right thing. The one who is selfish, sometimes. And cruel, sometimes. One who can really hurt someone he cares about, even if he doesn't mean to.

And the angst potential, c'mon!!

Then we get to Denial. Here, Harry is desperate. Here, Harry wants to love Ginny, and make his life work the way it should. Here, Harry is confused. In denial, even. (I am hilarious, aren't I?) (Oh so clever, Self, excellent work.) Harry doesn't really understand himself. He makes mistakes. Life is a bit of a jumbled mess, and so is he. Again, Harry hurts people he cares about. And he goes to Severus not with the purest or most selfless of intentions. Here Harry is again focused on himself, and his own wants and needs. Severus isn't his first choice, not at first.

And Severus, well...in both of these stories, Severus takes what he can get.

The pattern you may see is my undying devotion to deeply flawed, tragically human characters. I've seen enough characters at their best; to really know someone, you have to see their worst alongside it. I don't often see odes to the darkest, dirtiest parts of human nature. But to me, to love something, you must love all of it.

For better, or worse.

I love these characters (Harry and Severus) so much, and their relationship so much (my beloved OTP, my precious Snarry); I have explored them in many scenarios. And what I always feel like I never have enough of is digging into the depths of them. Digging into the gutters of their hearts and minds. Digging up blood and bones as much as heart and soul.

And thus....Contempt.

The first inklings of this story came to me long ago. Maybe the day I read Shame for the first time. That was so long ago, I can't quite recall. But that fic planted within me a burning need for more. I longed for more stories like it; more of the characterizations and the dynamic it provided me.

It was quite vague at first. Harry is ashamed of Severus; Harry hurts Severus; Harry, imperfect in heart and mind; Severus is mean and ugly, and I must be unforgiving with it. Then, the details came. Student/teacher affair. Severus' appearance. The scene in Severus' quarters. The stripping. The desperate kiss. Harry trying so hard to keep in mind all of Severus' faults, and the full catalogue of them only reinforces to Harry how madly in love he is.

There is more to the story. I've been dreaming of it for quite a long time. I know how the whole story plays out, really; beginning to end. Their end, mind you, not the story's end.

The past couple of years I've felt more called to this story, but I kept putting it off. I always had other projects, and this project...This project was the project. I was a bit scared of it, I think. Intimidated by the depth of it, and intimidated by my love of it. It would have to be perfect. And I didn't know what I would do with myself if I couldn't pull it off.

Then...Snarry-a-Thon 2022. I decided to self-prompt. And my self-prompt would be the story of my soul, at last. I figured I would need an external source to really give me the push I needed. Besides, I always wanted to participate in Snarry-a-Thon at least once.

To put it mildly, writing for Thon was hell. H e l l. My poor, dear friends had to listen to me whine near daily.

Oddly, the end came to me first. I was in the shower when it happened. The very last paragraph fully formed. I had figured out where, exactly, to end the story. The perfect open ending that I'm oh so fond of. Let me tell you, I leapt from the shower and ran out into the living room, naked and dripping wet, to grab my phone and type it up immediately. I was not losing that train of thought for anything on Planet Earth.

(Yes, my partner was Most Pleased by the view.) (Also: yes, I was very embarrassed once the madness loosened its grip on me and I realized what a scene I'd caused.) (And: yeah I did go back to finish my shower.)

The beginning was a little harder, but not by much. I got myself swept up in Harry's rage and humiliation and thus was born: One day, he’s going to hex Snape’s giant nose off of his stupid face. He’ll rip the nasty, greasy hair right out of his head.

Maybe it's not the nicest mental image, but it's interesting, no?

I found that Harry's awareness of his feelings spooked him; amped everything up to 110%. That boy is a total mess. Confused, guilty, ashamed, angry, relieved, overjoyed; torn between hate and love and terrible longing. Love doesn't cure him, doesn't fix him, doesn't uplift him. Love is terrifying. And awful. And much too much.

Perhaps you can see what gave me such trouble. Harry, my POV character, is a mess. How am I, the writer, meant to easily navigate said mess?? His heart in shambles, his mind in knots; what on earth was I meant to do? But I felt like such a failure for not unwinding it all so quickly and easily; a failure for all the trouble it gave me. This story had been heavy on my heart and mind for years and years. Shouldn't I have it all figured out?

It wasn't only that, of course. The intensity of the emotion was overwhelming. I'm quite an emotional person, easily swept up by passions and terrors. Many times I sat, paralyzed by the depth of feeling. When your heart is full to bursting or breaking, how are you meant to think of words at all, let alone put them down?

Every word was hard won, and ripped from flesh and bone. I pried it from my soul with teeth and nails. It was an agonizing process.

This feels quite dramatic and embarrassing to say out loud, but I really was quite distraught. Caught up, and seemingly useless for it.

Then: the word count.

Oh boy, the word count.

My friends can tell you about my word count and I. Foolish me thinking I could manage this whole story in a few thousand words. (Spoiler: I did not. It's 20,400 words.)

I specialize in ficlets, okay? I've written many a short fic in my time! I know how to pack a punch in very few words. But this? This story was not content with a few thousand words. It demanded more and more from me.

And, really...how was I meant to do Harry's mindset any justice in fewer words?

The story needed to be longer, yet it overwhelmed me. And I feared it was too many words. That the story was dragging. That readers would be bored. That it rambled too long. But I couldn't hack off more words and maintain the integrity of this story. Contempt needed to be what it ended up being, regardless of all my fretting.

I battled my own perfectionism. My own messy emotions. The mess that was Harry. The bitterness that was Severus. The twisted, misshapen shackles of their love. The deadline. The word count. The immense pressure and vulnerability in telling this story. The fear that it would appeal to no one; that all the messy, flawed characterizations would turn people off. That people would actively hate the story that I loved so much.

Writing is so deeply personal. Sharing it is more so. And I've never felt such horror sharing a work as I did in sharing Contempt.

That story is my pride and joy. I don't know that I've written anything better. And I feel so incredibly accomplished that I successfully told that story. It really is so very special to me.

And every bit of kindness left on that fic means the world to me, truly. To everyone who's read it and left me kudos and comments, from the bottom of my heart I thank you. I know I've replied to every comment, but let me say it again: thank you. It really means more than you know.

This fic was a great labor of love. I could not be more pleased with the outcome. It was worth all of the hair pulling and banging my head into walls. The fact that so many people have seen my vision and it spoke to them is just...truly, truly indescribably wonderful.

Thus: why I can't shut up about this fic. How am I meant to shut up about something I love so much????

[exitvelocities]

on fandom and writing.

so that meme about showing how many fandoms you've written for is going around bsky and i assume twitter and here's mine:

the way i put it on bsky is that my purview is narrow and my start up cost is high. two of those (yowapeda and all out) are only in there as part of multi-fandom drabble dumps from the bygone saso days; chyf and oofuri i did at least write short (<1K) pieces for chocolate box. the last three are the main fandoms i've produced for in the last decade or so. daiya for about three years 2014-2018, bad buddy from late 2022-mid 2023 or so, and now mlc from april 2024 on.

i hope i'll be able to hold on to mlc for longer than i was bad buddy but i think i will -- i've been able to find enough community that i think it will stick for a while. part of that is the leap of faith that is the dihua discord server, but finding any cdrama friends at all has been a journey since my old circles are all dwrp and sports anime.

fandom for me is inherently a social activity or i would just stay in my corner and enjoy by myself like i do for most things; the main thing that motivates me to become active in a fandom is the desire to talk to someone about it. the desire to write may or may not be there without having someone to talk to, but even a little bit of encouragement goes a long way, so just someone saying "yeah i'd read that" was enough to get me to commit to my usual fic meme bullshit and that, i think, also helped find some more people to talk to, or at least interact with on some level.

i'm actually a very introverted person but i've been spending a lot of energy trying to foster a friendly environment on the server and hopefully in this space, though i can't see how well that's working as clearly. i gather the energy to throw myself at new people approximately once a decade lol so it's a little surprising that i'm managing so quickly after flaming out in my last fandom but mlc and dihuas in particular have been really welcoming.

anyway, this was supposed to be a post about writing. writing is pretty difficult for me in many ways, but it's also just. sort of what i do. so if i love something enough to want to talk to another human about it, it's not a stretch that i'll eventually want to create for it too. granted, for me, this is often expedited if i get bitten by the ship bug. i did actually watch mlc when it aired last year, but didn't really look into fandom or fic for it until earlier this year and sort of got delayed-reaction thunderstruck by dihua, which has so many elements that i love in a ship. the tension! the fondness! the trust and knowing! i should have known i was a goner but i didn't until i was falling headlong.

according to ao3 i've produced about 16K of mlc fic since april of this year. now, i know that's not a not for some, but to contrast my highest production year was 24K in 2015, so, for me: quite a lot! especially within that time period. i'm slowing down now/it's getting harder again but i don't plan on stopping so we'll see what my count is by the end of the year.

like many writers, i battle with self-confidence and mlc fic in particular has been a weird struggle for me. my writing hallmarks from previous fandoms have been atmosphere and poetics, succinct characterization, and imagery. for mlc fic i feel like i'm at 1 out of 3. i think (hope!) my character work is still good, but i feel like my writing for this fandom has been so plain. i want to write pretty things for this ship! i will keep trying. i may just need to eat more poetry and spend more time violently throwing myself around when trying to write, but hopefully i will manage at some point.

this post actually started with me thinking about why i choose to make my fic meme/drabble dumps chaptered rather than posting them individually when visibility/feedback/attention are unfortunately so important to me. every kudos, comment, tag comment, reblog, rec, etc really means a ton. writing is something that takes up a ton of energy and sometimes it can feel like you're pouring a whole lot of it out and not getting any in return and, for me at least, that's what burn out feels like. at the same time, like. in the end you're always writing for yourself so you sort of have balance that with how feedback or lack thereof makes you feel.

fic meme does get posted separately here on tumblr so maybe with that i get a little best of both worlds? i don't do it on ao3 because it would just straight up make me feel crazy to have literally 100+ 300-700ish word long ficlets scattered across my account over the decade, all needing titles, so my need to have things organized and in their place wins out over the need for validation there.

i don't know where i was going with this anymore tbh, but thanks if you read it! also thank you thank you thank you so much to those of you who take the time to read and respond to fic in some way, whether it's reblogging with tags, leaving comments, or just hitting the kudos button. i really can overemphasize how important these thing are as a fic writer.

[selfproclaimedunicorn]

So I'm 14k into chapter 12 & I actually physically cannot tell how far plotwise I am into it. Like...I feel like I have to be half way, but also this part of my outline is so vague/vibes based that I have no way to know how much goddam waffling I'm gonna do

[billsfangearring]

5 Things You Never Get Tired of Writing

HAHA thank you for the tag, @squidgilator! This is a ridiculous thing to do when I only have two published fics—one of which is only 150 words—and two WIPs, but anything for you 😘

rules: list five things you never get tired of writing. it can be tropes, themes, characters, phrases, whatever brings you joy. then tag five people!

Proceeding to ignore the existence of my ficlet because it's nothing like the rest of my writing—

Friends to Lovers/pining. I enjoy reading Enemies to Lovers and Strangers to Lovers too, but for my own writing I'm all about complicated feelings for one of the people who knows you best.

Interiority. I think in internal monologue with no visuals, so this one's purely a reflection of how I experience the world and conceptualize a story. It also cuts down on dialogue.

Non-standard narrative structures. So far everything I've written has a nonlinear narrative, multiple POVs, or both, because I love to torture myself, no, I mean my writing process is chaotic, no, I mean I think it's interesting to explore the limitations and biases of a character's perspective.

Regret/uncertainty. My POV characters do a lot of second-guessing of themselves and their instincts, which absolutely doesn't say anything about me, and I'm here for the angst.

Atmosphere. I'm all about the ✨vibes✨ so this one is a must! I want my descriptors to add something to the story's mood.

Tagging @everythingbutcoldfire @the-dream-team @perverse-idyll and anyone else who wants to join in! <3

[jomiddlemarch]

First Words Meme

Tagged by the incredible @tortoisesshells...

Rules: post the first lines of your 10 most recent fanfics.

1. Aleksander had thanked every Saint he could think of and a few he’d probably invented when he took that first bite of Alina’s showstopper and tasted too much tsaoko and not enough fennel. (If I'm going to do something, I'll do it properly or not at all, Shadow and Bone)

2. “I think you must carry the entire weight of the world on your shoulders,” Alina said, resting her hands lightly on Aleksander’s broad back. (Though it to body first repair, Shadow and Bone)

3. “The Thornton place is to let,” Helen said. (through the whisky mists, ch. 21, All Creatures Great and Small, only picking the last of the 21 drabbles to increase variety here)

4. “You may have needed me. I never needed you.” (Can have no way but falsehood to be true?, Shadow and Bone)

5. “Here,” Audrey said, holding out a cup of tea in one hand and an old-fashioned hot water bottle wrapped in a bit of worn toweling. (Friendship is really the finest balm, All Creatures Great and Small)

6. “Plausible deniability? Plausible deniability, Alina?” Aleksander said, his voice tight and the utter absence of any nickname or endearment was not lost upon her but she knew enough not begin with anything resembling an apology. (what it is to be a thin crescent moon, Shadow and Bone, Ch. 30)

7. After the coup, after the treaties were signed and the pacts, the embassies established, after General Kirigan was installed as First Minister of the Council and seven additional training centers were set up to correspond to the most populous regions of Ravka, Erriot’h and Tris were told to exchange their crimson keftas for the pale brown that had been chosen for the Tvarynysts, that cadre of Healers who’d been found to have a particular affinity for animals. (a life of endless interest and variety, Shadow and Bone x All Creatures Great and Small)

8. “Darrowby—yes, all right, of course. I’ll tell them, straightaway,” Mrs. Hall said, setting down the telephone and looking at it as if it were a creature she had never seen before. (We shall new shadows make the other way, All Creatures Great and Small x Shadow and Bone, and yes, I’ve used this title more than once...)

9. “‘Lustrous?’ Again? How did I even, this is going to kill me—” Alina broke off, squinting at the screen as if she could arrange her eyes and eyelids in some way that would make the passage she’d been laboring over for the past hour read how she needed it to. (All shall love me and despair, Shadow and Bone)

10. “I’ve a confession to make, Anne-girl,” Gilbert said, pitching his voice just loud enough to catch her attention without risking waking Jem, who’d finally settled down to sleep in her arms after a fractious afternoon cutting his second tooth. (it is always that eternal poetry of Christmas night, Anne of Green Gables)

BONUS ROUND, from my open tab WIP:

11. “On leave Thursday next. Taking 4:15. Will need extra rations,” James read the telegram aloud again, holding the flimsy paper in his hand, though he might as well have left it propped on the mantle as he knew the words by heart. (untitled All Creatures Great and Small fic)

Tagging @orlissa @vesperass-anuna @aquitainequeen @asteraceae-blue @nervousladytraveler @oldshrewsburyian @kivrin and anyone else who wants to play!

[roselightfairy]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤️

Aww, I love this! Okay, thank you so much and thank you for the chance to do some navel gazing!

Also... my AO3 has 144 stories on it. When did that happen? For a question like this, I want to pick for quality of writing, but I'm finding myself going back mostly to the stories that either really stretched or defined me as a writer, or simply the ones that were a really memorable experience to write . . . which unfortunately means mostly my longer fics, as so many of the shorter ones were written in a single flurry that I barely remember after the fact! Even though there are some shorter fics that I think are better than the longer ones. So let's get started.

Finding a Voice - I mean, how can I not say this one? This fic, like a lot of my older work, has some passages and scenes that I think are so good I can't believe I wrote them, and some that make me cringe to look back on - but how can I not pick it, when it's the story that probably defines me most as a writer? It's the story that allowed me to stake out my own headcanons and gave rise to hundreds of thousands more in the same world. And, like all my LOTR stuff, I do want to return to it someday soon. <3

Ever Changing, Ever Climbing - still the longest thing I've ever written, and the thing I worked on for the longest time. I lived in the world of this story and these characters for almost a year, and probably came the closest I ever have to what non-fanfic authors experience when coming up with their own characters, because I got to make so much of it up! It similarly has bits that make me cringe, especially when I realize how much more deeply other people have thought about Mirkwood worldbuilding and how much lore I straight-up got wrong, but I think it also has some of my best prose and my best romance writing. And siblings. I got to write baby Legolas in this! And also I just love Laerwen so much and love that I got the chance to write her an origin story, so that it doesn't all exist only in the background of my head.

Only Through Surrender - come on, this is my current obsession; I was never not going to put it on the list! But in some ways, this is exactly the inverse of the previous story. I wrote this faster than I've ever written anything this long, and it's the most daring thing I've ever written in terms of plot. The romance is almost a subplot, which I don't know that I've ever done satisfactorily, and it's an AU, which is not something I'm great at sustaining, and even though I don't know that the writing style overall is my best work, I think that the structure and pacing of the story - and the things I did with characters - are pretty good, all things considered! The only non-LOTR fic on this list.

Velle - in terms of "fun to write," this story might be the very top of all of them. This was @deheerkonijn's and my early-covid project (we actually started it a couple months before, but I think working on it saved us in those early telework days of stress and angst); it's a form of storytelling neither of us had tried before, combining both of our skills, and it's probably the most rigorously edited and densely-packed thing I've ever written. We went over and over and over this story with a fine-toothed comb, making sure the writing and the art worked perfectly together, and we liked it so much we printed it as a physical book! *smooches my copy gently*

Having moved out of the most iconic ones, I wasn't sure what to pick for the last! This became a bit of a toss-up, but I wanted to have a shorter fic represented, so: the hunter's heart, the hunter's mouth. This is my only fic with a Richard Siken title, so I figured it was fitting given that he's everywhere right now. ;) Inspired by the title, this is one of my more deliberately poetic fics, and I had a lot of fun with the writing. It's also some of my more daringly explicit work! (still does not include any words for certain aspects of anatomy)

Thanks so much again for sending me this ask! So sorry for how much I ramble when talking about myself! ;) Off to go pass it on!

[dreamerinsilico]

Tired: Going to work (despite being listed as on vacation on the schedule) to try to desperately get done at least a few more of the things I originally planned to finish before the holidays

Wired: Taking today off like I planned, to finish getting ready to travel tomorrow

Inspired:  Actually spending today writing self-indulgent fanfic

[peachesofteal]

Through Me (The Flood) - secret baby fic Simon Riley / female reader - 18+ request(s): sick fics (1/2) and mama's body image

He pulls you under the covers in the marigold shadow of your bedroom as soon as Orion goes down.

You’re not as bold as you have been over the phone, reverting back to his shy, sweet kitten, bashful in his arms as he sucks marks into your neck, hands drifting down your spine and over your hips to fill his palms with plush curve of your ass.

“Missed you, mama.” You smile softly, hiding your face in his chest.

“Missed you too.” He tries to map you with his fingers, stroking them over your thighs, your shoulders, pulling your fingers to his mouth and dotting his lips across each knuckle. Maybe, if he does it enough, he'll never forget what you feel like.

You're wearing another one of your sleep shirts, oversized, stretched, frayed, a thin veil shielding you from him, and when he slips underneath the hem tracing up towards your navel, you stiffen in his arms, muscles tense like a deer in headlights. "What is it?" You don't answer, gaze holding steadfast and forward, directly at his chest. Fear bristles, worming its way into his gut instincts. He sits up. "What's wrong? Are you dizzy?"

"N-no, I'm fine. I feel... fine." Your body tells a different story, curled forward, still tense, like you're trying to protect your ribs.

"What's going on?" You shake your head, wet track of a tear shining in your cheek in the dark. His anxiety, his fear, won't let him tread carefully any longer, steel backed demand slipping free like he's speaking to one of the sergeants. "Talk to me."

"I don't look the same!" You blurt, and then try to roll out of the bed, away from him. "I don't feel the same, either. I'm kind of... squishy, stretched out because your kid is a giant. And I gave birth to him, you know... he wasn't easy." His grip loosens momentarily, and you seize the opportunity, feet landing on the carpet and trying to stand.

He snatches you around the waist so fast and yanks, tugs you back to the bed and shifts your weight so you're pinned underneath him. "Simon!"

"Look at me." He rubs his nose against yours, keeping your wrists pinned above your head, his thighs bracketing yours. "You did give birth to our baby, honey. You, and this body, grew him, took care of him, kept him safe. I love this body, mama. I loved your body the first night I met you, and-"

"Exactly." You snap, nose tipped up. "You loved the way I used to look and I definitely don't-" His brows lower, and he cuts you off with his mouth, stealing a long kiss before pulling away.

"Don't interrupt me. I did love your body then, but I love how you look now, even more," to drive his point home, he presses the length of his hard cock against where it's nestled between your legs, and your eyes go wide, "this body had my baby, mama," He dips low, closing his mouth over your t shirt and nipple, teasing with his teeth before releasing, "this body feeds my baby," he releases your hands, trailing his down your ribs and over your belly, where he holds you still, "this body is proof you belong to me, that you're mine, and I'd worship every inch of it, if you'd let me. It's okay if you don't love yourself or how you look right now, because I'll do it for you until that changes." Your eyes are half lidded, smart mouth parted on words stolen.

"I-" Orions cries, echoing from his room, and Simon kisses your shoulder.

"I'll get him."

"What if it's RSV?" He keeps his voice low, hand still covering the back of Orion's head, pacing a small pattern across the kitchen. He's been holding him all morning, too unnerved to be separated from him or put him down for even a second, and now he's sleeping on Simon's chest, tiny fingers and fist curled up in the neck of his shirt.

"I don't think it's RSV. We haven't really gone out much, and he doesn't have a high fever."

"But his snot is green." There's a monster curled up in the farthest reaches of Simon's heart. A cold, black thing that's pulling the strings in his head and making his blood pressure skyrocket. His baby is sick. What if it's serious? What if he doesn't get help in time?

You tuck your fingers inside the corner of his arm, and lay your head on his bicep. "Green snot is also a symptom of a common cold, which babies get a lot." You rub Ry's back and press the back of your hand to his cheek. "His fever isn't very high, and he doesn't have much of a cough. I think we're okay for now."

"Maybe we should take him in, or call the pediatrician again and-"

"Simon, hey." Your hand drifts to his back now, rubbing up and down his spine, like he needs soothing. Well, that's not right. He should be comforting you. You and the baby, he should be taking care of you, making sure you're both- "Dr. Marsh said as long as his fever doesn't spike, he's not sleeping too much, and he doesn't start wheezing, then we're okay to keep him here at home. He's okay, okay? Babies get sick. But we're here with him, and we're going to make sure he's okay. Right?" He closes his eyes, rolling your words around in his mind, your reasoning gaining ground and hooking into him, holding him steady. You're levelheaded right now, steadfast, and he loves you for it, allows himself to lean on it, just a little bit.

"Right."

"Why don't you let me take him? You've been holding him for six hours. Go... take a shower, or something. Or eat. I want you to clear your head, relax a little bit." He lifts Orion into your arms, but shakes his head at your suggestions.

"I don't need-"

"Please. For me?" Refusals die on his lips just like that, and he nods.

The shower does Simon a world of good. His head does feel clear, and he's more focused, more rational, as he dries off and pulls a pair of sweats out of his bag.

Everything is fine. Babies get sick. You're right. His fever isn't even that high.

The lights are dim in your room, where you're on your side, half propped up, Orion on his back in front of you. You smile at Simon as he crosses the distance, leaning over to press a kiss to your head. "Feel better?"

"Yeah, thank you. Sorry I uh, lost it a bit."

"You were worried." You pat the opposite side, next to the baby, and he lays down, big hand on Ry's stomach. "It's the first you've seen him get sick, of course you're going to lose it a little bit." Your choice of words make him wonder, and he cocks his head.

"Has he been sick before?"

"He had a cold around four, five weeks. I was a mess." Your lips split into a shaky smile. "He was miserable, wouldn't eat, wouldn't sleep. Couldn't breathe through his nose. I took him in right away, cried the entire time, but he didn't even have a fever. Just a cold." You shrug. "They told me if he does develop a fever, then it could be bad, and to bring him back in immediately. I spent the next two days watching him every single second, even when he was asleep in his crib, making sure he was still breathing. Checking his temperature every hour." You sigh. "Here, let's do this." You encourage him to roll onto his back, pulling the sheet up over his chest to his shoulders. "You run too hot." You tease, before carefully scooping Orion up and placing him on Simon's chest, still asleep. "This way, you can keep an eye on his breathing and his temperature and I," the words are cut off by a yawn, "can get some sleep right here. Okay?" He stares at you for a long minute, love and obsession and appreciation twisting him up until he's reaching over and cupping your cheek.

"Thank you mama."

[luveline]

Hiiiiii!!!!!!! I recently got back into criminal minds and devoured all ur hotch fics like a MANIAC (you write. So unbelievably well. Im also in love w ur tasm peter stuff, you are just such a good writer thru and thru) and that one request where Jack calls reader mom for the first time really stuck w me so I was wondering if maybe I could request smth of the opposite? Like not-so-single mom!reader and hotch have been dating for a while and her lil girl calls him dad for the first time :3 🖤🖤

thank you for requesting! 💌 —your daughter calls Hotch dad for the first time. fem, 2k

“Come in, come in!” Hotch says, the door held ajar by his arm, forcing you to squeeze in and save the heat. “Quickly, honey, please, get out of the rain.” 

Sarah bursts in through the door and away from the rain, her vinyl coat covered in raindrops, her boots wet with mud. “Aaron!” she says, pulling it into something softened and excited at once, though her ‘r’s are weak, closer to ‘w’s. “I missed you.” She jumps from one foot to the other. 

He makes sure you’re safely inside before he abandons you. It’s not very kind to you, but he can’t help himself. “Sarah,” he says, without your daughter’s sweetness but heavily fond, “I missed you more, honey. How many days has it been?” 

“Four!” she says, holding up four fingers as Hotch grabs her by the waist. 

He doesn’t mind her wet coat, working an arm around and beneath her to shuck off her muddy shoes. They topple to the ground to unveil damp socks. 

“Oh, no, your socks are wet. I did all the laundry while we were waiting, I have some warm ones for you in the dryer. Should we get you out of this coat?” 

“Where’s Jack?” you ask. 

“Eating. He was starving, couldn’t wait.” 

You kick your shoes off and gather them with Sarah’s to line up by the door. Hotch takes off Sarah’s coat with some one-armed manoeuvring, aware of her smiley gaze following his every move. 

“I,” you say, pressing a swift kiss to his cheek, cold lips to his rough skin, “am gonna go to the toilet really quickly. Hi, handsome.” 

He savours your kiss and watches you go. He owes you a better greeting, he missed you just as much as he missed your girl. For now, he wipes the cold from Sarah’s cheeks and stations her comfortably on his navel. 

He loves her like his own. He’s privileged to get the opportunity, and it’s hard not to feel that low level of awe whenever she’s around, because she loves him the same way. Sarah waits for him to smile before she wraps her arms around his neck, long enough to twine her fingers in the short hair she finds there. 

It’s funny to love someone you had no hand in bringing into the world, but no less real. He’d do anything for Sarah. I miss you doesn’t cover it, but it’s a start. “I missed you,” he murmurs, not well-versed in baby talk but always willing to try for his kids. “It’s so nice to see you. Jack missed you too, should we go see him? I can change your socks.” 

He ushers her back enough to see her. She has such loving eyes, not shy at all as she nods her head. “Can you make crackers?” 

He beams. “Oooh, yes. Crackers and cheese and apple slices, I know what you want, honey. It’s ready for you in the kitchen.” 

Things weren’t easy at first for either you nor Hotch. He works too much, and you both have priorities that can’t be shifted, but the connection between you was easy. Love, undoubtedly, pretty much the moment you met, even if it scared him. He never thought he’d get a second chance and he’s not sure you thought you’d find yours either, and yet loving you has been as helpless as loving your daughter. He doesn’t have a choice and he doesn’t want one. 

In this time, you’ve found routine. He’s introduced the idea of moving in together and you’re excited for it, though concrete plans haven’t been laid. There’s a lot of questions and no need to rush into answering them yet. He has no intentions of letting you go now —Hotch will do anything it takes to keep his small family. 

Today, right now, that’s crackers. 

“Sarah!” Jack says when he sees them, jumping off of his chair to climb on top of it. He holds his hands out and Hotch leans down with a loving laugh to let his son hug her. “You’re back!” 

“I’m back,” she agrees. 

“Do you want some of my sandwiches? Daddy made me two.” 

“Yes!” she says, wiggling to be put down and given what he’s promising. 

Hotch fights to take her to the sink and wash her little hands, to her horror and whining. He says, “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, sweetheart, but you gotta wash your hands before you eat.” 

He puts her in her own chair, and it is Sarah’s chair, outfitted with a big pillow so she can see the table and marked by a pink star sticker, putting a placemat in front of her. Jack quickly pushes one of his sandwiches towards her. “There you go.” 

“Thank you, Jackers,” she says. 

Hotch smiles. Despite their different interests and ages, they’re quick to get along. 

He shouldn’t pry while you’re in the bathroom, but he worries about you. “Honey?” he calls up the stairs. 

“I’m just changing!” 

“Yeah? Can you bring some socks for Sarah, please?” 

You shout back something incomprehensible. He returns to the kitchen, where Sarah looks over the chair with pleading eyes and asks, “Crackers?” a piece of lettuce stuck to her chin. 

“Ah,” he says showfully, turning to the fridge to grab the plate of crackers, sliced cheese, and apples he’d Saran wrapped an hour ago. He peels off the wrapping and places it in front of her. “Here, sweetheart. Do you want anything else? Maybe some chips?” 

She laughs and grabs a piece of apple without answering him. 

“What about you, sweetheart? Drink?” he asks Jack. 

“Yes please, daddy.” 

Hotch makes Jack a cup of orange juice and Sarah a sippy cup, hers diluted some with water. He places them down in front of the kids, crouching between their chairs, intending to stay and chat. “How’s that?” he asks, tilting his head to the side to listen for your light footsteps on the stairs.  

“Thanks, daddy,” Jack says. 

“Thank you, daddy,” Sarah echoes, reaching for him. Hotch offers his hand, startled, not quick enough to hide it. She doesn’t pay any mind to his expression, pleased to have her hand held and her big plastic plate of crackers to munch on. 

“Why’d you look like you’ve seen a ghost?” you ask, passing him Sarah’s socks, and rounding the table to stand by Jack's other side. “Hi,” you add, ruffling Jack’s hair, “look at you, gorgeous, you got your hair cut.” 

Hotch rubs Sarah’s knuckles, trying to phrase it, not sure how to tell you with the kids still there. Will Sarah feel embarrassed if he brings it up so swiftly? Will she feel like she’s done something wrong? Will you? 

“What’s wrong?” you ask. 

He decides to present you with the situation. He’s not manipulative, but clever. “Mommy got your socks, too. Can we take these cold ones off, is that okay?” 

“Yes, please,” Sarah says.

You watch in confusion. Hotch gives you a quick look. Trust me for a second. 

He eases the socks off of her feet, laughs when she laughs at his tickling, even if he’s not quite sure how to feel. Happy, he gives her toes a squeeze and bunches a sock up to pull it over her heel and up to her ankle. “One,” he says, repeating the process with the same tenderness. “Two. There we go, all warm again, Sarah.” 

“Thanks, daddy.” 

You breathe in. 

Sarah puts some cheese on a cracker and offers it to Hotch, who eats it while you summon him away with silent parent talk. He kisses her forehead and wipes it clean as he goes. 

“Did she do that when I was upstairs?” you ask quietly. 

Hotch knows you. Loves you, but knows you intrinsically. He knows just by looking at you that you’re happy, but you’re worried about something, and it’s not hard to guess what it is: he might not want Sarah to call him daddy, and telling her not to might break her heart, and yours too. 

“She did.” 

“She’s never… expressed that interest to me.” 

“Sometimes they think about things more than we know.” Jack still surprises him as he did when he was a toddler.

“She just loves you,” you say. 

“I love her. She can call me whatever she wants to.” 

You hold his wrist, taking a step closer to him. “Are you sure?” 

“Of course I’m sure.” He murmurs now you’re close, ducking his head to yours, two halves of the same heart looking at one another’s hands. “I love her more than anything in the world. I want to make her crackers for the rest of my life.” Hotch puts his index finger to the soft skin under your chin. “Maybe by tomorrow she’ll forget she called me daddy and she’ll never say it again, but… I want her to. Is that okay?” he asks. 

You lean up to kiss him and you nod into his lips, which makes it hard but not impossible to kiss back. “She loves you so much,” you say quietly. You’d only wanted a quick peck. 

He might’ve said he loves her more than anything, but there’s a level on which he holds her and Jack where you sit too. He loves you. You made Sarah who she is all by yourself, and you’re so lovable standing in his reach. You’re perfect. 

Maybe he’s feeling sweet because Sarah called him daddy. 

“I think Jack confused her,” he says. 

“Maybe. You are, you know, her dad. You do everything a dad would.” 

Hotch slots his leg between yours and leans back to force you into his favourite kind of hug. You laugh slowly, hug the same, your arms sliding up over his shoulders to wrap behind his head, your hand cupping his hair. 

He closes his eyes and feels your waist. 

“You don’t have to worry,” he says. 

“I don’t worry about you and Sarah, I know you love her. I guess I just worry about us. Not that you don’t love me, Aaron.” 

“Big changes,” he guesses in a whisper. 

“Big changes.” 

He encourages you away to hold your face. He hopes that waiting with you in quiet for a while can explain it better than words. 

Your shoulders finally relax. 

[iannmin]

00:00 — s.mg | 송민기

word count: 0.7k pairing: newlywed mingi x pregnant reader

a/n: wrote this fic because it felt like something mingi would actually do :(((( feel free to leave a comment! love you atinys <3

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You’re in the kitchen, preparing for Chuseok. The rich, savoury aroma of doenjang jjigae fills the air, mingling with the subtle scent of sesame oil from the side dishes you’re making. The bubbling broth and rhythmic chop of the knife create a soothing backdrop as you work.

As you reach for another piece of tofu, you feel a sudden yet delicate flutter in your belly—a sensation so gentle it almost feels like a dream. Your hand instinctively moves to your stomach, pressing lightly against the fabric of your cardigan. A soft gasp escapes your lips, a mix of surprise and joy. Just then, Mingi’s hurried footsteps approach, and the sliding door to the kitchen opens with a soft thud. He appears in the doorway, concern etched on his face. His eyes quickly find you, and when he sees your hand on your belly, he rushes over, his movements quick but careful, as if afraid to disturb you. “Jagiya, are you okay?” he asks, his voice thick with worry, brows furrowing.

You smile softly, reaching up to straighten his brows. “I’m fine, the baby just kicked, that’s all.” Relief washes over his features, quickly replaced by awe. “The baby… kicked?” he repeats, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with wonder and disbelief. You nod and guide his hands to rest gently on your belly. His palms are warm and slightly rough from working on his music all day, a comforting contrast to the delicate fluttering within.

Mingi’s hands are tentative at first, his fingers lightly grazing your stomach as if afraid to press too firmly. He bends closer, his breath warm against your skin. Then, with a playful whisper, he murmurs, “Fix on”. Almost immediately, the baby responds with a gentle kick, a soft nudge that makes Mingi’s eyes widen in surprise. His gaze locks on the spot where he felt the movement.

The unexpected response makes you both burst into laughter. You exchange a look of sheer disbelief, the joy and wonder in your eyes mirroring each other’s. “Did you feel that?” you ask, laughing as you try to catch your breath. “I did!” Mingi exclaims, his voice filled with amazement. “I can’t believe it. Our baby actually responded!”

You both laugh, the sound light and full of happiness. The sheer joy of the moment makes it feel like time stands still, the laughter echoing through your small kitchen, mingling with the comforting aroma of the stew. Mingi’s fingers continue to trace the spot where the baby kicked, his touch tender and full of awe. He leans in, pressing a soft, lingering kiss just below your navel. His breath is warm against your skin, and you can feel the depth of his emotion through that simple gesture.

But then, his protective instincts kick in. Mingi straightens up, concern replacing the wonder in his eyes. “You’ve been standing too long,” he says firmly, guiding you toward the dining table. “You need to rest. I’ll take care of the stew. Please, just sit down and relax.” 

“Mingoo, it’s just a little kick,” you laugh softly, trying to ease his worry as he helps you sit. “I’m not going to break.” He’s already grabbing a cushion from the couch and carefully placing it behind your back, then lifting your feet to set them on another cushion on the floor. “You need to take it easy,” he insists, his tone softening. “I’ll get you some yulmu-cha. Something warm and good for you and the baby.”

Watching him move about the kitchen with such care, your heart swells with affection. “You’re amazing, you know that?” you say softly as he hands you a steaming cup of tea. Mingi kneels beside you, taking your hand in his. “I just want to make sure you are safe…both of you are safe,” he says, his voice heavy with emotion. “I want to protect you, to take care of our little family… always.” Who knew that such a tough-looking man was actually a softie?

You laugh, light and full of love, and rest your head on his shoulder in a teddy bear hug, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your small apartment and the love that fills it, you know that everything will be alright—as long as you have each other, you have everything you need.