#i'm wording on a doc for once!

[mollymarymarie]

When I read about the "great purge" of 2002 or 2012 (I wasn't on Tumblr or FF. net during this time, I was literally just EMAILING my fanfic out to my friends lol), it always blows my mind how they say so many fics were just... lost.

I get that some of those were "orphaned" fics where the author wasn't available anymore or wasn't going to bother uploading anywhere else. But. Otherwise. Like. what.

What do you mean you don't have backups of backups saved on illegally downloaded word processors. What do you mean you wrote the whole fic on a browser and didn't save it anywhere else. What do you mean.

[radioves]

its quite shrimple actually

[meownotgood]

chapter one word count = 34k, chapter two word count = 36k

that means finally, 70k word count in total 🫡

[blood-mocha-latte]

paper, kneel, garrulous, bashful, impinge - a baberoe drabble

for an ask from @whollyjoly <3 || request an edit/drabble || sometimes, you just think of the church scene in the breaking point episode of band of brothers and think hm, baberoe

The choir stops singing after about two hours.

Gene listens closely the entire time, not so much to listen to the sound of the melody but for the words; for any trace of his Grandmére, his Mére, Renée. For the language of home.

They sing, and they sing, and then they stop; filing out of the church to rest in the ruins of their town, marred by war like a victim of smallpox is scars.

A young girl, the last one to file out of the large, wood-chipped doors of the candlelit church, turns to look over her shoulder at them, one last time. A blonde braid swings over her shoulder as she does. Gene accidentally catches her eye and nods to her. She nods back, face solemn, eyes dark. She can’t be more than twelve.

The echoing singing is replaced by the soft murmurs of exhausted men, and Gene slides down the wooden pew, over to where Lip sits, slouched over, blood still crusted in his hair and brow. 

“Sir.” He greets softly, and Lip jolts, only slightly. It makes Gene almost relax, slightly; the idea that the man who’s been with them for the longest and the bravest finally feels safe enough to let his guard down.

He looks up from a piece of paper, a stubby pencil held in one hand, and Gene nods, tangling his fingers together in front of them, a long-forged habit of warmth that isn’t exactly needed, anymore. Lip nods back.

“Doc.” He says. “How’s…” He somewhat trails off, eyes shifting to take in the men, lounging across pews, sleeping on each other's shoulders. He huffs, looks back down at the paper, and crumples it up before shoving it into his pocket. “Well, how’s everyone? How’re you?”

“Just fine.” Gene says, and doesn’t feel like elaborating. He nods to the pocket. “What’re you workin’ on?”

Lip blinks before humming, dropping the hand holding the pencil into his lap, staring down at it. “Nothin’ much.” He mutters, thoughtful. “Just… just a list. I made one for Captain Speirs, but.” He rolls the pencil across his palm. “I figured I’d make another.”

Gene watches his profile, wonders if he should bother patching up the cut that runs jagged across his temple and decides against it. It won’t need stitches, anyways, and he can always clean and bandage it in the four or five hours they have before they have to move out. 

He can do that, now. Procrastinate. Not much, but enough. Enough to be comforted by it.

“Try an’ get some rest, Sir.” Gene murmurs, and slides as quietly as he can out of the pew and down the polished, wooden steps. Lipton hums, and Gene knows that he didn’t really hear him.

He wanders rather aimlessly, after that, pacing the lengths of the pews only once before coming to a stop at the end opposite Lip. He leans against the short wall that supports the stairs. 

He should be exhausted, he doesn’t know why he isn’t. He’s just… warm, chest soft with a relief that’s tainted by apprehension. Sore and aching, but not caring. He never truly cared about that, anyways. Not when it’s him, that’s sore and aching.

“Heya, Doc.” Says a soft voice, and Gene knows who it is before he turns around to look. 

“Edward.” He says, and feels the side of his traitorous mouth quirk up when Heffron groans, overexaggerated but still exhausted.

“Awe, you’re killin’ me, Gene.” He says, and Gene huffs, quiet enough that Heffron can’t hear, and turns around, resting against the wall. Heffron rests against the pew, slouching backwards, knees spread. His grin is crooked, bright. “Patch me up, and then kill me anyways. That’s just cruel.”

Gene, against his better judgment, doesn’t tamp down the smile Heffron’s words invoke. He trods up the few steps to the pew Heffron rests at quietly. He doesn’t bother sitting at the pews, already crowded by men laying on them like beds, by men who need them more than he.

He kneels next to Heffron, instead, before leaning against the pew and crossing his legs under him. “Yeah, well.” He says softly, and doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t know where to go, from there. What to say. Heffron hums, like he does.

“Ya know, back in Philly, my sister got all these fancy ass books. Ass-tin, or somethin’. Jane. ‘Ya know?” Gene hums. He leans his head back against the wood of the pew, lets the light of the candles comfort him. Heffron shifts, as if leaning closer to him as he continues. “Well, it was only… maybe a week, before I enlisted? And I was ramblin’ about… somethin’ stupid. I don’t remember what. But it was pissin’ my sister right the fuck off, see, ‘cause I kept talkin’ over her.”

Gene huffs, and resists the urge to close his eyes. He can imagine that. Can imagine Heffron with a sister, with a family. Talking a mile a minute, so fast and with accents so thick that Gene wouldn’t be able to tell what in the hell any of them are saying. Heffron shifts again, and Gene can hear his breathing, soft and steady, if a bit rapid.

“Anyways, you know what she called me? This one foot nothin’, eleven year old kid?” Heffron didn’t wait for Gene to respond. “She called me garrulous.” Heffron puts strain on the word, and laughs softly afterwards; that same laugh that Spina has. That Bill had, when he was here. It has to be a Philadelphian thing, Gene thinks. The soft, cackling laugh like your mouth is coming right off your face.

“Garrulous.” Gene says, trying the word out. He doesn’t know what it means, exactly, but it seems nice. Heffron chuckles again, and Gene doesn’t jump when the back of his hand brushes across the shell of his ear, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of Gene’s jacket.

“That’s how you said my name.” He says, softly. More hesitant than anything he’s said before. Almost bashful. “The first time. That’s how you said it. All… all slow.” Gene blinks, and, finally, gives into the urge to close his eyes. He almost leans further into the hand, but stops at the last second.

“Slow?” He asks, and Babe hums, tapping light fingers against his shoulder. 

“Yeah.” He says, then pauses. “Like… like you’re tasting what you say. Really thinkin’ about it.”

I don’t think. Gene thinks. I just run. And move. And find. And—

“‘S one of my favorite things about you.” Babe says, voice so quiet it’s like he’s telling a terrible secret. Gene wants to curl against that voice, never wants to open his eyes again. 

They’re in a church, under the benevolent eyes of Him, and although that never stopped anything from happening before, Gene feels like it would, this time. The soft tapping, five points of near-holy connection between him and Heffron, Edward, Babe, seems to say something. 

Seems to say, it’s gonna be fine, eventually. Seems to say, the scars you dream of won’t haunt you’re waking moments, sometime soon. Seems to say, don’t let the bright stars and dark night be ruined by the sinful impingement of blood.

Gene likes to think that he can feel Babe’s rough fingertips gently against the bare column of his throat, across his temple before he drifts off; lightly but more restful than almost all of his time in France.

He’ll get up, soon. Probably in an hour or two. Keep a careful eye on the men. On Babe.

(Babe, Babe, Babe—)

For now, he lets himself rest on holy ground, with a near-holy man talking softly over the absent echoing of lost screams in his head.

[zoanzon]

Yeah, so, for the last most-of-a-year I've had a particular project I've been working on to back up all my electronic writing - from the half-dozen places it's been scattered, content going back to early 2016 - into a single fucking repository.

I'm not done yet - still got over 500 sticky notes of stuff to import from my phone - but as of today...

I broke the million-word mark.

It wasn't a New Year's resolution last year to do anything like this, but yeah if you want to set yourself a resolution for this year to do something like, oh I don't know, 'back up a copy of everything 'I' (ie you) have written so it doesn't get lost to the void one day'...

Consider this you sign it's a goal you can pull off.

[silverstark]

Losing my mind. I had to re-upload my latest update to "Most Devoted" 3 or 4 times due to formatting issues. Then finally I gave up and just went through the rich text editor on Ao3 fixing the errors one by one. I'm looking up how to prevent this from happening and I'm getting solutions like "export/convert document 1-2 times and use HTML" like what?? Is this why Evernote is so expensive? Do I have to learn HTML so I can post fanfic now?

[synonymroll648]

10pm and i’m trying to speedrun writing so. send me a 👀 to get a sokeefe fic snippet :)

[lilbittymonster]

I'm almost at 500 words in one sitting i feel unstoppable

[wereh0gz]

Wish my ocs were from pre-established media so I can be insane abt them with other ppl. But alas. They are my ocs and for there to be media of them I need to make it myself

[rocketonthemoon]

Pictures of Us 2.0???

For a LONG while now I have been wanting to put Pictures of Us up on Ao3. But given that it's been ten-ish years (oof) since I started writing those ficlets and drabbles I've been wanting to rewrite/update the collection to my more recent style. But honestly I'm not sure any more because I don't know the Sailor Moon characters as well as I used to. So probably, if I ever get around to it, I'll just copy/paste them all as they used to be and have the collection live over on a site that isn't currently in mortal danger of imploding at any moment.

(also hi "new" followers I did actually write this (tumblr tag here))

[lisbonsteresa]

oh ok 😵‍💫

[bejeweledmp3]

tell me why i'm considering opening the doc and writing fanfiction during my lunch break. ON MY PHONE

[clumsyclifford]

hi bella!!!! i feel like it's been a while since i've been here this is crazy. anyway does happy or blush appear in your wip? -hazel

what's UP hazel maybe it has been a hot minute but i guarantee you both of those do appear just give me a moment to do a search

happy from 5sos doc A (9 results, surprisingly less than i anticipated)

“You’re full of shit,” Ashton informs Calum, a silly smile on his face. But it grows a little, warming up, and he adds earnestly, “I’m really glad you’re on our team this summer. I’m happy I met you.”

doesn't appear in 5sos doc B, which is. maybe says something about that fic plot. or probably just says that i definitely havent written enough of it lmao

happy from teen wolf doc (14 results!)

Scott shakes his head. “Stiles, what’s going on with you?” “Why do you think something is going on?” “Well, you’re…” Scott gestures, but can’t bring himself to finish the sentence the way he means to. Happy. Energetic. A lot like old Stiles.

blush from 5sos doc A (7 results, again surprisingly low)

Luke laughs. A blush colors his cheeks. “Stop complimenting me. You’re not being very convincing about not trying to seduce me.”

blush from 5sos doc B

Luke ponders this. "I guess so." He finishes his first mac and cheese and Michael swaps it out for the other one, fresh out of the microwave. Luke looks gratefully up at him. "Would you come with me?" Michael swallows. "Uh…" "I don't know anyone else and I don't know where anything is," Luke says, blushing. "But never mind. Sorry."

amazingly blush is nowhere in my teen wolf doc. my docs are surprising me left and right today huh

send me a word and i’ll search for it in my WIP!

[asterdeer]

substack but for your beta readers, one chapter a week, easy to get feedback, you get to feel like charles dickens doing serial fiction, is this anything

[tiredassmage]

Whadda heck are words? What’s dialogue? I’m struggling. Leo’s poor decisions on Nar Shadaa continue to be unraveled by our non-local agent adksfnlsaf

This is doing numbers on me emotionally and also cause good stars above how do people flirt I’ve suddenly never seen a romance in my life Tyr go easy on me dude (Cipher Nine kisses you and diagnoses you with Emotions, Would You Like to Talk About Them? more at 11?)

When he returns to the room, Leo’s curled up with one of the pillows, a hand twining idly in a long lock of dark hair with unfocused dark eyes settled somewhere along the wall.

Tyr props a shoulder in the doorway and flashes a grin. “Miss me?”

Leo blinks, brought back into the present before he smiles and tosses his hair back over his shoulder. “You stayed.”

Tyr bluffs a light huff of laughter. “‘Course I did, gorgeous,” he teases as he saunters over. “Y’don’t find goods like this just anywhere, right?” He momentarily caresses Leo’s ass before he falls back into bed with him, Leo rolling onto his back to let Tyr straddle him again.

Tyr brushes his hair back from his eyes. “Hey,” he says softly, “Wha’s a matter? Somethin’ on your mind?”

Leo shakes his head, but his gaze remains elusive. Tyr works fingers gently through his hair for a few more moments, carefully teasing out knots he comes across. Leo’s fingers tangle in his shirt at his sides, twisting slowly a few times until the fabric is pulled more taught across his back.

Tyr stops and looks back down at him. “If you’re uncomfortable, just say the word,” he says. “You owe me nothing, Captain.”

Leo’s head shakes again. “It’s… It’s not…”

Tyr’s hands settle on either side of his head, just enough to brace himself. “Drinks catchin’ up with you, handsome?”

Leo’s nose screws up in a mild frown that pulls a faint breath of a chuckle out of Tyr. He settles beside the smuggler, resting against one arm. “D’you wanna talk?”

Leo’s frown wavers for a moment as he shuffles to face him. “Awfully uh… awfully accommodation’ for a man I picked up at a cantina.”

Tyr offers him a softer smile before he reaches out and traces a finger softly down Leo’s nose. “Troubles are a credit a piece, Captain,” he says. “Sometimes cheaper. They ain’t so easy to solve, though.”

[oldyears]

can they make a me that does not violently procrastinate every single day. like oh my god girl