#this fic made me quit writing last February after editing it

[pamwritessometimes]

British Invasion

Soldier Boy x (British)fem!reader

Summary: Soldier Boy is forced to attend a lavish gallery opening for an emerging artist, expecting nothing more than a typical evening of pretentious small talk and overpriced art. But when he gets to know the artist herself, he quickly realizes they might share more than one thing in common.

proofread & edited on 8/21/24

Warnings: unprotected SMUT (be smarter), pet names, some 60s slang, breeding kink if you squint, terrible writing, AmE and BritE use is varied based on the characters

Word Count: around 4.7 k

Author’s Note: This is my VERY first fic I have written since I was a teenager. English isn’t my first language, so I apologise for any mistakes. Please be kind. 🤍 All kinds of feedback are appreciated!

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May, 1962.

He tried his best to understand what he was looking at. The colours danced in a confusing symphony - deep red lines flashing across the canvas, yellow streaks breaking through the tainted blue background. It was an odd mix of serenity and unease, a puzzle that felt both ambiguous and crystal-clear. Not that he had any expertise in art, he was a superhero, after all. Analyzing abstract paintings was hardly part of the job description. Thank God and Vought for that. He didn't even know why he was there in the first place, stripped of his imposing suit, which at least gave him the semblance of authority. “This will do wonders for your image. Supporting some up-and-coming artists is exactly what we need to repair that reputation you seem so determined to destroy.” 

“Yeah, fuck that.” he thought, scanning the room until his eyes landed on a tray of champagne glasses amidst the other hors d’oeuvres. At least there was free booze. He swiftly grabbed a glass, downed it in one go, and swapped it for another. He barely noticed the presence next to him when he stood back to pretend to interpret the same painting he had been looking at for the last fifteen minutes. 

"Do you like it?" a voice with a soft British lilt called out from his right. He turned to see the source—a striking beauty with (Y/H/C) hair styled in a classic beehive. Her makeup was flawless, with bold eyeliner and red lipstick that enhanced her gorgeous features. The elegant black dress she wore hugged her curves in all the right places, and for a moment, he felt his already tight pants grow even more uncomfortable. "You’ve been staring at it for quite a while."

He quickly gathered himself, a charming smile sliding into place as he responded with feigned confidence. 

"I do, yeah. I really like the... uh, colors and how... this line curves," he replied, trying his best to sound like he knew what he was talking about. “It… makes one feel uncertain and… and certain at the same time.”

“Does it?” she asks, her sceptical eyes glued to the canvas. "To me, it just brings back memories of a February night when I drowned my sorrows in a cheap bottle of rum after finding out I didn’t get into RCA."

His brows furrowed as he looked at the girl next to her taking a sip of her champagne. “You painted this?” he asked. She just nodded in response, her eyes still fixed on the framed painting. “Busted” she chuckled awkwardly. He looked back at the artwork once more and it suddenly all made sense. It was a testament of chaos, the rage and unsettle she must have felt when creating it. Plus, being drunk while creating something? That, he could understand. “I’m (Y/N)... (Y/L/N). But I believe you figured that out.” she said as she nodded to the signed painting.

He smiled and nodded. “Benjamin,” came the reply. “But please, just call me Ben.”

She nodded and smiled at him. “So, Ben… What brings you to London?”

“I'm here for work.” he replied casually. It wasn't a complete lie, per se. He could tell the truth, she will learn it soon anyway. But for now, he just wanted a normal conversation, free from the weight of being America’s Greatest Hero. Just for a couple of minutes.

“I see” she said as she eyed him with great attention to every detail of his appearance.  His dirty blonde hair was slicked back with a sophisticated touch, and his tailored suit and slacks fit him impeccably. "Are you some kind of actor?" she asked finally.

“Among other things.” his tone playful, reflecting on the fact that he enjoyed her not recognizing him. “Why?”

"I was just wondering," she shrugged, finishing the last sip of her drink. "When I first saw you, I thought, ‘He’s either a soldier, a businessman, or an actor.’ Your physique suggests military, but then I took a closer look at your suit, and– may I?" she asked, lifting her hand toward his jacket. With a nod, she touched the fabric. "As I suspected. Kid mohair. No soldier I know could afford that. So, that left businessman or actor. Now, here comes my first observation: your athletic build. If you were an accountant or something like that, you probably wouldn’t be this fit. So, my conclusion? You’re an actor." She smiled, clearly pleased with her deductive reasoning.

He chuckled, clearly amused by her careful observation. “You are quite the observer, aren’t you, sweetheart?” he asked.

That she was. Her favourite hobby was studying people. Every little feature, every line and detail that made them unique. Later, she would capture those fascinating subjects in drawings from memory. Any details that became hazy would be filled in by her imagination. She did the same to him; just memorising his lines (though the nickname almost made the whole process cease).

“So this whole happening… is it all for you?”

She just scoffed. “They say it is” she started, though her face was soaked with clear annoyance. “But I believe it’s more for my agent. He said he found great patrons for this current collection. They want me to go overseas for a potential business proposition.”

At the mention of that, Ben's eyes gleamed with a mischievous spark. The Vought executives had briefed him on their plans to renovate the entire Tower. Stronger foundations, new levels, and, of course, fresh furnishings and decor. That was the real reason he was here in the first place. For whatever reason, Vought wanted (Y/N)'s artwork to grace the Tower's walls. He’d flown in with some executives to evaluate her latest collection, to decide whether it was worth the investment. It wasn’t his decision, of course; he had no real say in the final call. But to the public, he was the face of Vought, their most powerful representative, so his presence was required by his superiors.

“Miss (Y/L/N), it is time” the aforementioned agent’s voice cut through their conversation. She took a deep breath before turning to face the charming looking man in his early thirties.

“I’ll be there in a minute, Greg.”

Greg then nodded and smiled at the two. “I see you met one of your patrons already.” he said as he nodded towards Ben. “It’s an honour to have you here, Soldier Boy. I hope you enjoy your time in our country.”

Ben nodded, a smug grin spreading across his face as he kept his gaze locked on (Y/N), who now wore an expression of stunned realisation. She had only just realised who she had been casually conversing with. “I’m enjoying it so far, very much,” he replied, his voice dripping with satisfaction.

“Alright, Miss (Y/L/N), please say goodbye to the gentleman and follow me.” Greg interjected, his tone formal and clipped, as if he were conducting some high-stakes business transaction.

She swallowed the urge to roll her eyes at the mannerism of the whole conversation. That was one of the many things she hated about the art society she was part of. The pretentious idiosyncrasy and the sense of being loftier than the others. If she had the resources to fund her own artistry, she would leave it all behind. But unlike her peers, who all came from money, she wasn’t that fortunate. Her parents, God bless them, did everything they could to support her, but it was never enough for her to break free. Now, under the thumb of Greg—THE Gregory Alcons, the most influential artist agent in the region—she had little choice but to play along.

Still a bit flabbergasted by the previous revelations of Ben’s identity, she managed to compose herself and glanced at his green orbs. “It was nice meeting you, Soldier Boy. I hope to see you around,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt.

As she turned to follow Greg, Ben couldn’t tear his eyes away from the way her hips swayed in that sinfully tight black dress. If he didn’t know better, he might just think it was all for him. 

(Y/N)’s speech was a drag. Even she knew that. Every word was scripted, every pause rehearsed, her smile a mask. Like a goddamn politician–she often thought to herself. Nonetheless, her official duties of the gathering still didn’t end, but she could now move around more freely, trying to charm the people gathered in the museum, occasionally sipping on champagne to look for that blitzed state she was so eager to reach. She just wished she had something stronger. During her museum circles, she heard some speeches that she couldn't care less about. Mostly influential old hags talking nonsense about the importance of art patronage and trusting the vision of an artist... She also heard Soldier Boy's brief speech, but she was too occupied to talk to the other guests, she couldn't stop and listen to it.

The smooth jazz tunes created an atmospheric scene, adding to the illusion of sophistication. The guests seemed to be amazed by it all–the champagne, the music, the elegant attires, the modest speeches… yet, she couldn’t care less. This wasn’t her world. It was all a grand performance, and she felt like an imposter in the spotlight of her own art exhibition. She was chatting with a man in his early to mid-seventies about the long-term consequences of giving freedom riders a platform to talk when a familiar rumble cut though the conversation.

“Can I borrow Miss (Y/L/N) for a minute?” 

Relief washed over her as she turned to see Ben—no, Soldier Boy—in his full supe attire, helmet and all (he certainly just finished his speech duties, too). If she had to pretend to share one more of the old man’s bigoted views, she might have committed murder. Soldier Boy was by far her greatest conversation partner tonight, and probably the most tolerable person in the room, which speaks for how entertaining the gathering is. The elderly man tried to hide his disappointment, but reluctantly let her go. 

“Wow,” she muttered, taking in Soldier Boy’s imposing presence. “Now, this is the Soldier Boy I’ve seen in the telly.” Her voice dropped to a sheepish tone. “And… sorry for not recognising you earlier.”

“Can’t say it didn’t hurt,” he replied with a smirk “But it’s also nice knowing that it’s the suit that most people recognize, not my face.”

(Y/N) offered Soldier Boy another small, apologetic smile before letting her eyes drift across the room. The jazz band was playing a smooth set that impressed the crowd but grated on her nerves. The soft melodies and gentle horns just didn’t resonate with her. If she had her way, she’d have had her friends, Gerry & The Pacemakers, play instead—something with real energy, something raw. But, of course, that wouldn’t have flown with Greg or the rest of the stuffy art crowd. They were too wrapped up in their own pretentiousness to appreciate anything that didn’t fit their narrow idea of ‘classy’.

She took another sip of champagne, but it did little to ease her frustration. She felt trapped, stuck in a night that was supposed to be hers but felt like anything but. All she really wanted was to be with real people, having real conversations, and listening to music that made her feel alive. Instead, she was here, pretending to enjoy the company of people who saw her as nothing more than a name to drop at their next social event.

“You’re not exactly enjoying this, are you?” Soldier Boy’s voice cut through her thoughts, bringing her back to reality. His tone was amused, but there was a hint of genuine curiosity there too.

She looked up at him, surprised he noticed. “Is it that obvious?” she asked with a slight smile.

“To most people here? Probably not. But I can tell,” he said with a shrug. “You’re too real for this crowd.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “How about we get out of here?”

(Y/N) hesitated, glancing around the room filled with guests who were supposed to be admiring her work. “I wish I could go somewhere more fun. But this is my show. Not mine mine, obviously, but I can't just disappear,” she said, sighing. “Plus, Greg would kill me if I bailed.”

Soldier Boy smirked, undeterred. “I’m not saying ditch the whole thing, just take a break. Clear your head, get away from all this for a few minutes.” He paused, lowering his voice. “You deserve that much, don’t you?”

She bit her lip, tempted by the offer. The idea of stepping away, even just for a little while, was more appealing than she wanted to admit. Especially with such a handsome-looking bastard. “And where exactly would we go?” she asked, intrigued.

His smile widened, a mix of charm and mischief. “Trust me,” he said, offering his arm. “You’ll like it better than this place.”

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She would lie if she said she didn’t see this coming. She was more than a bit tipsy, but who is she to fool? She would’ve followed Ben to the staff restroom sober, without any question. She needed to release some tension, and he was more than happy to oblige. His calloused thumb was drawing invisible circles on her swollen clit as his cock pounded in and out of her juicy, tight hole. 

“Fuck, sweetheart–” he growled into her ears as his other hand was leaning on the counter, trapping her body between the cold surface and his heated body. It was all quick, filthy, but –oh so needed. Her watery eyes were locked on his reflection in the mirror as she observed both his ecstasy-filled pupils and her rather dishevelled appearance. Either of her boobs were bouncing with each harsh thrust of his hips, stark contrast to that tight black dress that still clung to the rest of her body.

How they ended up like this was both a blur and a logical consequence of their desire. One moment they were talking, and the next, they were stumbling into the restroom, hands all over each other. Soldier Boy’s strong body pressed her back against the door, his lips crashing against hers with a fierce hunger. She didn’t hold back, kissing him with just as much intensity. She melted into his lips and wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him coser. She gasped softly as his tongue swiped against her lower lip, asking for entrance. She granted it, his tongue slipping past her plush lips and exploring her mouth while her hands were busy finding a way to rip off his tactical vest. Fuck, why does a supe suit has to be so complicated? 

He soon noticed her efforts to undress him, so he leaned back for a moment with that same smug grin he always seemed to wear, and began to take his suit off. She hurried to do the same when Ben’s voice commanded her to stay put. “That dress stays.” he said, his voice low and sultry. “Couldn’t tear my eyes off of you, you know that? Wearing a dress so fuckin’ tight… swaying your hips like you did… was it all just to drive me crazy, huh?” he asked as he got rid of her suit, now standing in front of her in his naked glory. 

She swallowed hard once his member sprang free–erected, the fat tip leaking with pre-cum. She obliged to his requests by rolling the skirt of the dress up to her perky butt. With delight, he discovered that she was wearing black panties with delicate lace trimming, which was overall already ruined by her soaked cunt. He growled at the sight, grabbing the base of his cock to pump himself a couple of times. She was about to pull her panties down, when he spoke up again. “Those also stay.”

“You are having many commands just for a little hookup” she remarked as she leaned her body closer to his, her palms replacing his on his shaft. Her hands were soft against his skin, his dick twitched by the touch. She pumped him a few times before stopping and releasing him completely. He let out an annoyed huff that quickly turned into a satisfied moan when he felt her hands once more around his cock, now coated with her saliva to add more to the pleasure and to prepare him to enter her already weeping pussy. 

Soldier Boy swiftly gripped her hips and spun her around to face the sink and the mirror above it, returning them to the position they’d just been in. “You’re a real tease, aren’t you?” he growled, his voice thick with desire. She could feel the need in his tone, matching the flame that burned inside her. He lifted one of her legs, giving himself better access, and she braced herself against the counter, anticipation running through her veins. “You're so beautiful. A beautiful tease.” he kissed a line along her spine.

“Yeah…you are just as much of a—” before she could finish the sentence, she felt the tip nudge at her entrance after pulling her panties to the side. It was that moment she finally came to terms with how huge he was. Seeing it, palming it wasn’t enough. Feeling the head of his cock spreading her folds was a whole other sensation. Before he would properly enter, he asked. “You sure you want this?” She couldn’t help but moan, her mind completely taken over by anticipation. Not trusting her voice, she just nodded fervently and pressed herself against him more. That was all Soldier Boy needed. He took a shaky breath and eased himself into her dripping cunt. The only sound in the room was their mingled, sinful noises that escaped both their mouths.

“Fuck….so tight…so fuckin’ wet…” Ben growled as quietly as he could. They were still in that museum, just a few rooms away from the exhibition. As much as he wanted people to hear them, he knew she would probably prefer their affair to stay hidden. 

He kept one hand on her hips, guiding her movements, while the other slid up her stomach, to her exposed breast, his fingers gently tracing over her sensitive nipple. The way it bounced at every thrust, every movement, and how the nipple hardened at his touch… Soldier Boy was known for his supe stamina, but he was already on the edge of coming undone. She was closely behind, her moans and gasps were music to his ears in a sinful symphony as she clenched her hands around the edge of the sink.

“Ben…please…”

“What? What do you need, honey?” he cooed.

“Please… h-harder.” it was more of an incoherent muffled cry than a plea. But he understood nonetheless. He ceased his speed, his hips clashing against hers in a relentless motion. He groaned, his body moving supernaturally fast, his grip on her hips almost bruising on her sensitive skin. 

His mouth attacked her neck, finding her sweet spot, the one that seemingly made her go feral. He sucked and bit that one spot like a madman, being on the mission to elicit as many sounds from her as he could.

“Fuck…baby, youre gonna kill me.” he mumbled into her neck. He felt he was nearing his climax and he needed to make sure she was there with him. He redoubled his efforts, his body moving against hers in a rhythm that was both brutal and beautiful. “You are squeezing me so fuckin’ tight. Shit, I can feel your pretty little cunt trying to push me out.” he said and delivered a brutal thrust to the hilt, burying himself inside for a moment. “Fuuuuck.”he said as he stopped to feel her convulsing pussy. He could feel she was close too. 

His voice, his words and the way his twitching cock was balls deep inside of her made her go feral. “Soldier Boy, I…please… I need to–” his fingers stopped their ministrations on her nipples and found their way to her sensitive bundle of nerves.

“What do you need, honey? Do you want to come? Do you want to soak this big, fat cock, huh?” he asked as he began to move again slowly, his gaze locked at hers in the mirror. Fuck, she looked even more phenomenal than at the grand hall. Her neatly made beehive now a bit more messy, her red lips were a bit smudged, her eyes hazy…Truly a sight to behold. When she didn't answer, he delivered a harsh slap onto her clit. “I asked you a question. Do you want to soak my dick, baby?” he asked and buried himself to the hilt once more, his own climax nearing the edge, too.

“Fu–Yes! Please, let me come on your cock, please, make me squirt all over you… please…” she urged, looking at his reflection.

Her words made her already aching shaft twitch deep inside of her, and with a throaty rumble he set a ruthless pace. His cock was laced with her wetness, the sight making Ben go ferocious. “I’m gonna come into this tight little pussy. I’m gonna pump my load into you. Fuck, come with me, baby, soak my dick.”

Their breath hitched almost at the same time. His fingers were still working their wonders around her clit. Her pussy almost pushed him out when she came, her cum gushing over his shaft. While he made sure to ride her orgasm out, she felt him spilling his seed deep into her hole, dribbling out from her down to his balls. His slowled his pace, but the strength didn’t cease, making sure he fucked his white hot cum back inside of her. 

Once they both came down their highs, they found their eyes going back at their reflection. His satisfied grin, her spent expression, their mingled, joint bodies… Besides being absolutely filthy, there was something more behind that scenery…

After catching their breaths, Ben slipped out of her, quickly pulling her panties back to their place to hold up his cum. He saw her panties being soaked with his climax, which elicited a moan from him. “Now that’s a sight, darling.”

She just laughed breathlessly and rolled her skirt back down, putting her tit back into the confinement of that dress. “That was… just what I needed. Thank you.”

(Y/N) glanced at her reflection in the mirror, cheeks flushed, her breath still unsteady from the intensity of what had just happened. She watched as Soldier Boy straightened up and casually began putting his suit back on. There was something about his calmness, his complete lack of urgency, that made her heart race all over again. He caught her eye in the mirror and flashed that mischievous smirk she was starting to find dangerously attractive.

“M’just happy to help the artist out,” Ben shrugged, the smirk never leaving his face. His voice was playful, but his gaze was laced with something deeper, something that made her pulse quicken. As he fastened the last strap of his vest, he turned to her, an eyebrow raised in challenge. “Don’t you… wanna get out of here? For real?”

(Y/N) bit her lip, torn between the temptation of escape and the nagging responsibility of the exhibition. The thought of ditching this pretentious gathering for something—anything, really—more genuine was almost irresistible. But despite her wild child tendencies, she was still aware of her responsibilities. “Ben, I still have this exhibition,” she said, her voice softening. “I can’t just leave. Greg would have a heart attack if I walked out right now.”

Ben chuckled, stepping closer until he was just inches away. “And you care about that?” he asked, his tone low and teasing, but with a seriousness beneath it. “You really wanna stick around, playing nice with assholes who wouldn’t know real art if it smacked them in the face?”

She hesitated, knowing he was right. Everything about this night felt wrong, but she still felt trapped by the expectations that came with it. “It’s not that simple,” she murmured, almost to herself. “This is my career.”

He reached out, gently tipping her chin up so she had to look at him. “You’re not one of them, you know that,” he said, his voice firm but not unkind. “You don’t belong here, with these people who only care about what you can do for them. You deserve more than that. Plus, you’ve already got that deal with Vought. Why would you care about any other guests?”

His words hit her harder than she expected. He wasn’t just trying to lure her away for some fun; he was calling out what she had been trying to ignore all night. She sighed, feeling the weight of the evening press down on her again. “But where would we even go?” she asked, though the resistance in her voice was fading.

“Anywhere you want,” Ben replied, his eyes lighting up with the possibility. “Somewhere where you can breathe, where you don’t have to pretend.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “You said you wanted fun tonight. Let’s go find it.”

She looked at him, really considering his offer this time. The idea of leaving it all behind, even just for a night, was more tempting than ever. She knew it was reckless, maybe even career suicide, but there was a part of her that didn’t care anymore. Not tonight. Tonight, she wanted to feel alive.

Slowly, she nodded. “Alright,” she said, her voice stronger now. “Let’s get out of here.”

Ben’s smirk widened, satisfied. “Atta girl,” he murmured, taking her hand in his. He pulled her toward the door, and as they slipped out of the restroom, a thrill shot through her. She was leaving behind everything that had been weighing her down all night, walking away from the people and the pretence, and into something unknown but undeniably exciting.

As they made their way through the back halls of the museum, she felt a strange sense of freedom. The further they got from the exhibition, the lighter she felt, like she was shedding a skin she’d outgrown long ago. She didn’t know where Ben was taking her, but for the first time in a long time, she didn’t care. She was done pretending.

And as for Soldier Boy... maybe coming to this exhibition wasn't such a bad idea after all.

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Thanks for reading. <3

[wannab-urs]

Gin's 2023 sappy post

It's hard for me to believe that at the beginning of this year, I didn't know a single one of my best friends in the world existed. But it's true!

How we got here

I'm not quite sure exactly when I started looking up Pedro Pascal on Tumblr, but it was sometime after February. I'd watched Game of Thrones and Oberyn was my favorite character, but I was in one of my periods of not being on Tumblr (I've had this account for about 10 years, but it's seen many fandoms and I haven't always been active).

I watched the first few episodes of The Last of Us that had come out - I was 3 episodes behind I think - and immediately looked up Joel Miller on Tumblr. How could I not? Anyway, give me ten minutes on this hellsite and a middle aged man with a huge imdb and watch me develop a hyperfixation.

So then I looked up interviews. I watched basically every interview this man ever did, but I remember that the Lie Detector interview and his appearance on the Talk Easy podcast are really what did me in. I went from admiring this man as an actor and thinking he's pretty to basically being in love with him.

Anyways....

I didn't mean to start reading fanfic? I come from the world of Destiel on AO3. I never wrote it, I just read copious amounts of it. I'd never read reader insert, much less straight reader insert, and I'd never written a word of anything even resembling a fanfiction.

But I found @prolix-yuy, @frannyzooey, @joelscruff, @fuckyeahdindjarin, and @ezrasbirdie (check the spreadsheet, y'all are at the very top!) and I was hooked.

Then I read Psychomanteum by @whatsnewalycat and Celestial Navigation by @write-and-buried and was inspired to parade my trauma around in a Dieter shaped trench coat: AGOY was born.

@beskarandblasters is the first person I really talked to on here. In fact, Kel is the one who introduced me to most of my friends on here. And we've been harassing each other on the daily since. I hope to 🦵 her in real life someday soon ❤️. I love you, bitch. You mean the world to me.

I could never ever ever list all of my dear friends I've made on here. Seriously, there are so many of you that mean the world to me. But I'm gonna list a few.

My cannibal crew @pr0ximamidnight and @atinylittlepain, without whom Love as Violence Dave (starving season), Head up his Ass Javi (in the a.m.), and the later editions of loser druggie Dieter (AGOY) would not exist - or at least they wouldn't be as good as they are.

My darling soup snake, the loml, my spider twin, my forever partner in making bitches cry (it's us, we're bitches, making each other cry in an endless loop) @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin. #1 AGOY stan forever, you may love my own magnum opus more than I love it. Thanks for listening to me scream about every pedro boy on the planet and thanks for screaming right back at me. I love you.

The random college student I found by accident, decided to take under my wing, and then was subsequently taken under their wing bc it turns out they have more fandom experience and life advice than I can ever hope to have @idolatrybarbie. Bea, my darling, thanks for always letting me bitch, for showing me fics I never thought I'd be into (The Santa Claus AU Frankie Morales Free Use Kink, anyone) but that I often was into, for encouraging my writing, and for being fucking real with me.

The pedrostories crew, but especially @pedrorascal - I love screaming about Pedro with you at... 2:30 in the morning my time (we love time zones!). Thanks for letting me be a terrible mod for your fic archive blog and never getting mad at me for not doing my job. And for being a wonderful, kind, amazing person all the fucking time.

I'm being so serious when I say I could list at least 20 more people. People who brightened my day with a reblog or a message. Or who wrote a fic I still think about at least once a week. Or who made a gifset that is permanently etched into my brain. People I talked to in discords and most likely trauma dumped on and they listened and they cared and they let me hold their trauma in return. I love you guys so fucking much.

Conclusion

I never could have imagined I'd be a writer and run a fic rec blog at 24. Especially not for Pedro Pascal Characters. But here we are -- and I can honestly say it has been the highlight of my year. And I bought a house this year.

I have so many new friends and a new hobby (I never wrote at all before this) just because I wanted to Fuck That Old Man. Incredible.

[anneapocalypse]

Writing Wrap-up and 2024 Goals

It's a weird year to be doing a wrap-up, because I did not post a whole lot this year and I'm not sure I even set any goals last January thanks to having covid and being sick and exhausted for weeks, which still kind of feels like it threw off my whole year even though that sounds dramatic. Whatever. I've moped enough about it being a bad year for writing; now, I want to look forward.

2023 Wrap-Up

In case you'd like to read the one fic I did post this year, it's "Before You Go", a Loghain/Maric fic for Dragon Age (3022 words, rated E), which I am still quite happy with! And though it's not writing, I also made a podfic of RosellaWrites' gorgeous fic "let them not make me a stone (and let them not spill me)" (and if you're not interested in podfic you should still go read Rosella's fic, seriously, it's great).

While November 2022 was the last time I made substantial progress on A Hero Sleeps in Gwaren (my Briala/F!Tabris longfic for Dragon Age), I did make a few attempts to chip away at the draft this year. I didn't keep any records of what progress I made, but lucky for me Scrivener has a writing history feature that can at least give me a ballpark, and... it says I added 17,326 words to the draft this year (all in the first half of the year), which, not gonna lie, seems unreal to me. The first half of this year is mud in my head, so the fact that I did in fact get some writing done is really encouraging.

Over the summer, FFXIV started to really consume me as I had finished ARR by that point and my investment in the story was growing, and I also started taking a more active leadership role in my tiny free company, and so for the back half of the year I've mostly been writing little snippets about my Warrior of Light Ariane and her adventures and relationships, some of which may become part of actual fics later. This totals out to about 19,500 words at the moment.

So I only posted about 3000 words, but in total I wrote almost 40K this year. Is that a fantastic year, no... but honestly, it's a lot better than what my brain has been telling me I've accomplished this year, which is nothing. :P So I'm glad that I sat down to actually find the numbers!

Onward and upward.

So what's next?

2024 Goals

Fandom:

Finish one longfic.

Write and post a one-shot.

Do one exchange.

Original:

Outline an original novel.

Write a poem.

Send out one piece.

Tentatively my immediate plans are to get started outlining and then writing my Ariane/Haurchefant fic. I'm on the fence about February. On the one hand, it would be great to come back to my Briala/F!Tabris longfic for Femslash February, but on the other hand there's a high probability I'm going to be playing Endwalker by that point and I have no hope of keeping my head in Dragon Age during that time, so it's probably best not to commit to it. Dragon Age fic might be best saved for after I've caught up on MSQ when there are (hopefully) a few months still left to wait for Dawntrail and I can take a little break to let it marinate while I work on something else. My enthusiasm for the Briala/Tabris fic has not waned despite the long hiatus, and just yesterday I was reading bits of the draft and getting excited again, so I do hope to finish that this year and get to share it with you.

The alternate candidate for February is either keep working on the Haurchefant fic or in the case of a miracle in which I actually finish it this month (hah!), move forward with the next one I have planned, an Urianger/Moenbryda. That's unlikely but we'll see. I know I still have things to learn about Urianger in Endwalker, which I'm very excited for.

As for what exchange(s) I might do this year, I'm not sure yet! I haven't seen any announcements yet that Chocolate Box is running this year. Black Emporium and FemslashEx are both strong candidates for me. We'll see where I am when those roll around, or maybe something else will catch my eye!

Edited to add: Oh, yeah, also at some point we're supposed to get that final season of Red vs. Blue. I have a few outstanding projects in RvB but the main one that really matters to me is Radio Silence, my Carolina lost years fic. I'd love to use the series' send-off as a kick in the pants to finally finish that one, whenever that happens. We'll see!

Finally, I am making a conscious effort to reclaim my writing time, which traditionally has been the morning between 9 and noon because that's when my mind is the sharpest, but over the past I basically let that slip entirely and be taken over by either housework or gaming, just writing on the fly when something came to me. I'm not morning gaming anymore unless it's for a good reason (timed event I need to catch, etc, which is rare, and finishing yesterday's roulettes is not a good enough reason because the queues are slower in the morning and it just ends up eating more time than it needs to, they happen every day, it's fine).

On to 2024. Looking forward to it.

[screadingchallenge]

Behind the Keyboard, Volume 34

Behind the Keyboard is a series of interviews with different Schitt’s Creek fanfic authors. The series will last as long as there is interest (from authors) and capacity (from me). If you are an author from the Schitt’s Creek fandom who would like to participate, send a DM to this account.  

Each author was given ten questions. The first five questions are the same for every author, the last five will vary.

Let’s meet our next author:

(Yes, it's me. I was strongly encouraged that I had to do this.)

@mostlyinthemorning / houdini74

How many fics have you written?

131 under my houdini74 name. 

When did you publish your first fic on AO3?

February 1, 2019

Describe your writing process from “Oh, I have an idea” to pushing publish on AO3. 

If it’s a short fic, I usually just start writing and hope I don’t get tangled up. For the long fics, I usually do what I call a ‘spark sheet’ which is throwing out all the ideas I want to put into the fic. This can be anything from bits of dialogue to scene descriptions to plot points. Then I take that mess and try to organize it into a rough outline. And then I start to write. As I go along, I’ll inevitably stir up new ideas that I want to incorporate, so those get dropped into the outline. Once I have a first draft, I do several rounds of edits. First, I go through and build out all the scenes wherever they need it - this usually adds 10-25% of my total word count. Then I do an edit to clean-up my word usage and tighten up the flow/even out the rough spots. Finally, I do a grammar check. Then I send it to my lovely betas and they catch more things. After that, I post it to AO3.

Tell me about your most recent fic? What do you love about it? Is there anything you think you could have done better?

My most recent fic is The Feelings Closet which is a meta-crossover fic where David and Noah have a conversation. I love that it’s different and a little bit weird (which is probably my brand). I might have built out the ending a bit more, but I’m happy with where it landed. 

What advice would you give to someone who’s thinking about publishing their fic for the first time?

Be brave. I often think that if the Schitt’s Creek fandom hadn’t been so small when I started that I might not have had the courage or the motivation to write anything, which would have been a huge loss of something that I love doing. So be brave! This is a great fandom to put yourself out there - it’s fairly small and it has the best, most supportive readers. 

Where do you get your ideas?

I get asked this a lot (which probably says something about the level of weird I’m involved in), and I don’t really have a good answer. I read a lot of magic/fantasy themed books, so I’m definitely drawn to ideas that are out of the ordinary, but really, there’s just part of my brain that wants to take normal things and make them different. I love things that are out of the box, and I definitely get a little happy boost if I can figure out how to twist an idea into something that’s never been done before. 

Tell me about a story that you wish you could write but that you’re not quite ready to tackle.

I really want to write a Miss Marple style murder mystery (or maybe magicky-Miss Marple???), but I haven’t had the headspace to plot it out in the way I’d like. Sebastien will be the victim, obviously. 

Is there someone(s) who has made your writing better? In what way?

I have to give a shout-out to @missgeevious who has been my beta since Sometimes Home is a Person, and who not only catches all of my misplaced commas, but is also the biggest cheerleader and idea-bouncer there is. She’s a star and my words would be worse without her. 

What is the favorite scene you’ve ever written?

This changes a lot, depending on what I’ve written recently, but one of my current favorites is the opening scene to Chapter 8 of my most recent long fic, No Mountain High, No Valley Low where David and Patrick are reunited. It’s a spin on canon (which I love doing), and it’s got some good feels and my favorite-ever characterization of Rachel.

What does a successful fic look like to you?

I wish I was pure enough to say that a successful fic is one that makes me happy. Which is true…to a point, because I love validation as much as the next person. So, a successful fic to me is one that tells the story I wanted to tell and that other people respond to. It shouldn’t shock anyone that I do track a lot of stats about my fics and look for certain benchmarks. No, I’m not going to say what they are. 

[ailendolin]

ThemThere Thursday - 04 - BBC Ghosts

Title: Knowledge [AO3]

Characters: Thomas/Nigel, Walter, Julian, Fanny, Alison

Prompt: A fic about Nigel being upset when he is called unintelligent and Thomas comforting him. - Prompt sent in by a lovely anon.

A/N: I struggled quite a lot with this fic and to be honest, I think it could have probably used another round of editing but I promised to post it in February so here it is, anon. I hope you enjoy it!

Prompts are open, so if you want me to write a story for you just send me an ask with the fandom, characters and your prompt. I’m writing for Ghosts, Yonderland, Horrible Histories and Bill at the moment.

————

Knowledge

“Why would you say that?”

Thomas only managed to catch the end of the conversation as he strolled into the common room but the tone of Nigel’s voice –fragile and hurt – was enough to set alarm bells ringing in his head.

“What’s going on?” he asked warily, looking from Nigel to Walter and finally to Julian. When no one said anything, he looked back at Nigel and managed to catch a glimpse of his trembling lower lip before he bit down on it, hard enough to draw blood were he alive. Then, with one last hurt glare aimed at Walter, Nigel turned around and left without another word. Thomas stared after him, surprised by both Nigel’s sudden departure and the longing he felt to follow him and soothe the frown on his face with a gentle touch until he was smiling again.

“Well, that’s that sorted,” he heard Julian mutter behind him.

Filled with an anger he normally reserved for that traitorous cousin of his, Thomas rounded on him. “What the hell did you say to him?”

Julian instinctively took a step back and held up his hands in defence. “Don’t look at me. I’m just an innocent bystander here.”

Thomas scoffed. As if. Still, he turned the force of his glare onto Walter who glared right back at him and crossed his arms in front of his chest, not looking intimidated at all.

“What?” he asked haughtily. “Are you his guard dog now?”

“Just answer the question,” Thomas ground out, biting down on the urge to rise to the taunt.

Walter rolled his eyes but pointed at a game sitting on the table next to them. “We found this game and after Julian here kindly explained it to us, I told him it’s not the sort of thing Nigel would enjoy. That’s all. Happy now?”

“Certainly not, sir,” Thomas all but growled. He glanced down at the game – Trivial Pursuit. It was the first time he’d seen it around the house. “Why wouldn’t Nigel enjoy this game?”

“Because,” Walter said in a tone that made Thomas want to push him through the nearest wall, “it’s a game for clever people. And Nigel, as I’m sure you’ve noticed, is not the brightest candle on the cake.”

He flashed Thomas a sweet smile that made Thomas want to punch him in the face and then push him through the nearest wall. “You know that’s not true.”

Walter outright laughed at him. “Oh, isn’t it?”

“No,” Thomas insisted. “You know very well that we’ve been studying together twice a week for months now and–“

“Studying,” Julian muttered under his breath. “Is that what they call it now?”

“Yes, studying!” Thomas said indignantly. “Ask Lady Button! She’s been teaching us all about mathematics – isn’t that right?”

He turned to Fanny, silently begging her to come to his aid. She let out a sigh but nodded. “I have indeed. And I can tell you it’s neither of their fortes.”

Thomas frowned.

“Alison!” he said, turning to her for help when she came into the room. “Tell them!”

She looked between him and the others, a little lost. “Uhm, what exactly should I tell, Thomas?”

“Tell them about the lessons! With Nigel!” he said, waving his arms as if that would somehow make her catch up faster.

“Oh!” Alison said, realisation dawning on her face. “Yeah, I’m laying out different books for them every week.”

Thomas gestured at her as if to say, “See?”

“So what?” Walter said, looking unimpressed. “Doesn’t mean you read them.”

Feeling his blood boil with barely suppressed anger, Thomas decided a different approach was in order. “What’s the last book you’ve read, then, sir?”

Walter clenched his jaw – the first sign that Thomas was getting under his skin.

“You know I can’t read,” he ground out.

“Exactly,” Thomas said. “But guess what? Nigel can because our lessons also double as reading exercises. So how dare you say he’s not clever enough to play this game but you are.”

For a moment, it looked like Walter would be wavering but then he fixed Thomas with another glare and said in a low, dangerous voice, “You know, the only reason Nigel spends time with you is because he fancies you. Studying is the last thing on his mind.”

The room abruptly fell silent. Thomas gaped at Walter in open-mouthed shock as he tried to make sense of what he’d just heard. Nigel fancied him. Could that be true?

Of course not, he quickly admonished himself. Walter was just messing with him and yet–

And yet, Thomas’s heart was hammering wildly against his chest at the mere thought of being loved by someone like Nigel – kind and gentle as the morning dawn. He could not imagine what he had possibly done to gain Nigel’s affections but if Walter spoke the truth, then Thomas had been terribly blind for the longest time.

Still, he refused to believe that Nigel spent several hours every week pouring over books with him out of love alone. He had seen the way Nigel’s eyes had lit up with pure happiness the first time he’d managed to read a sentence on his own. He revelled in learning, Thomas was sure of it. Their lessons might have started out as an attempt to gain his affections, if Walter was to be believed, but somewhere between reading up on the Palaeolithic and Heroic Age of Antarctic Exploration they had become so much more.

With that in mind, Thomas straightened his waistcoat and met Walter’s eyes. “I feel sorry for you, sir, that even after spending centuries with him, you clearly do not know him at all.”

He turned his back on Walter and walked out of the room without waiting for a reply. The moment he was out of sight, he steadied himself on the wall and took a deep breath, still reeling from the revelation that Nigel might like him – might actually see beyond the gunshot wound and clunky poetry and cherish the hurt heart beating underneath. Thomas knew, of course, that Nigel had been infatuated with him once – all the villagers had been thanks to that terrible misunderstanding over the portrait. But Thomas would have never, not even for a second, thought that this infatuation could have grown into something deeper over time, something that went beyond the mere appeal of his physical appearance.

Walter might have lied, he reminded himself and in the same moment realised it didn’t matter because the closeness that had developed between him and Nigel as a result of their study sessions was undeniably real. It was its own kind of love, born from a mutual desire to explore the past and understand the world, and Thomas couldn’t imagine living without it now. He did not need it to be sealed with a kiss to know its worth.

It was that quiet love that sent him first down and then up the stairs in search of Nigel. When he couldn’t find him in the basement, he went to the library – the very place where they had spent countless of hours pouring over maps and books and filling the silence with soft murmurs. There he found Nigel in what Thomas used to call his Sighing Place. He was sitting curled up by the window and staring so forlornly at the world outside that Thomas was painfully reminded of the many times he had sat there doing the same, and how miserable he’d felt every time he sought solace here.

Clearing his throat softly, he mimicked knocking on one of the shelves to announce his presence.

“Knock knock.” Nigel sighed in reply, making him falter. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude. If you’d rather be alone …“

He gestured at the door behind him, leaving the sentence hanging. Nigel let out another sigh, one that sounded more weary than annoyed, and hastily wiped a hand over his eyes before he uncurled from his position and finally looked at Thomas.

“No, I’m sorry. Please … stay,” he said and gestured to the empty space beside him.

Thomas flashed him a small, relieved smile and crossed the room. The moment he took his seat Nigel stretched out his legs so his toes were resting lightly against the soft fabric of Thomas’s breeches. The casual intimacy of the gesture made Thomas’s heart flutter in a way it probably wouldn’t have an hour ago.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel unwelcome,” Nigel said, so quiet Thomas had to strain to hear him. “I’m just … so angry right now. But not with you, though, Thomas. Never with you.”

Their eyes met and Thomas itched to reach out and wipe away the regret he found darkening Nigel’s gaze. “You have every right to be angry – and to feel hurt.”

Nigel sighed. “They told you, then?”

When Thomas nodded, he looked down at his hands and let out another sigh.

“I don’t know why I thought this would change anything,” he said dejectedly and gestured at the book on the table which currently showed a picture of Alexander von Humboldt’s Chimborazo map.

“Maybe you’re looking at it the wrong way,” Thomas suggested carefully. When Nigel looked up at him, he said, “Books can aid in education, yes, but they don’t make you smarter. They merely help you hone what is already there.” He paused to offer Nigel a small smile. “You might not see it but you’ve always been brilliant, Nigel.”

Nigel ducked his head. “It doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know,” Thomas said softly. “But that doesn’t mean it is not true. You know so much more than you give yourself credit for. Just take the boiler for example–“

“I just happened to be there when it was installed,” Nigel murmured.

“No,” Thomas argued, “you happened to be curious enough to pay attention and smart enough to understand the mechanics.”

Nigel considered this.

“I suppose so,” he said reluctantly.

“And don’t forget your knowledge of plants and herbs,” Thomas went on. “I’m fairly sure no one in this house knows more about them than you do. Well, Mary might have,” he conceded, “but she’s–“

He broke off, feeling his throat close up. It had been months since Mary had moved on and yet Thomas still found himself unable to comprehend the suddenness of her departure and the silence she’d left behind in her wake.

He cleared his throat. “Anyway, my point is: knowledge can come in many shapes and forms, and from all kinds of sources. Books aren’t the end all, be all. They certainly weren’t for me.”

“Really?” Nigel asked.

Thomas nodded. “I was taught to write by my tutor and learned how to dance from my mother; my grandmother taught me all the ways to tell a story and thanks to Robin I now look up at the night sky and see more than stars. We learn so much from the people around us, Nigel. Every single day. It might not be the conventional form of learning but it is a form of it nonetheless. The knowledge we gain from those around us is just as important as the one found inside these books, perhaps even more so because it is always piece of someone else – a memory to be held dear.”

The corner of Nigel’s mouth twitched into a faint smile as his eyes grew distant. “Old Nan was the one who taught me everything I know about herbs. She found me in the fields one day uprooting weeds. Gave me a lecture right then and there as she often did when she came across children doing something careless. Apparently, I was the first one who actually listened.”

“The start of your apprenticeship,” Thomas smiled.

“Yeah,” Nigel said softly. He remained lost in the past for a moment longer before he blinked the memories away and returned to Thomas and the present. “I haven’t thought about her in a very long time. She’d always had faith in me, you know? She and my parents. Everyone else? Not so much.”

“Everyone? Or just Walter?” Thomas asked. Nigel’s shrug was answer enough. “Why does he have it in for you?”

Nigel buried his face in his hands. “He caught me kissing his younger brother once.”

Thomas’s thoughts came to an abrupt halt. While this wasn’t proof that Nigel had feelings for him, it was proof that Nigel wasn’t averse to the idea of being romantically involved with men, and hearing him say it out loud made what had previously been nothing more than an abstract possibility suddenly, undeniably real. Unwillingly, Thomas thought about Nigel kissing a nameless figure – perhaps behind a barn, or behind the cover of a tree –and felt his face heat up. He imagined gentle fingers entangled in dark hair and lips pulled up into a smile as sweet as snowdrops in spring as two bodies pressed as close together as possible.

His voice came out embarrassingly hoarse when he asked, “I suppose Walter wasn’t happy about that?”

“God, no,” Nigel groaned and dropped his hands. “He nearly broke my arm when he forced us apart.”

He tried to laugh it off but Thomas could tell the memory still stung. “What happened next?”

“Ned was sent away to some distant cousin or something – I can’t quite remember now – so that was the end of that.”

Thomas gave him a long look.

“Was it?” he asked.

Nigel shook his head.

“No,” he sighed. The single word seemed to carry the weight of the world. “Walter, he – he made it his mission to make my life as miserable as possible from that moment on. He kept quiet about what had happened, of course – to protect Ned’s reputation, you know? But he did his best to ruin mine.”

“And no one ever said anything? Came to your defence?” Thomas asked quietly.

Nigel shrugged. “Walter did it so subtly they didn’t really notice. He’d say things like, ‘Better check the number of potatoes he’s given you – you know Nigel’s not so good with numbers,’ or, ‘Are you sure you want that salve of his? He might have mixed up the ingredients. Clumsy, our Nigel, isn’t he?’ He always laughed it off, mind, but the words still stayed in people’s memories. And once you’ve got a reputation for being unreliable and stupid, well …”

He left the sentence hanging and Thomas’s heart ached with sympathy. He knew a thing or two about reputation, about how difficult it was to stare it in the face and keep going in spite of it, and wished Nigel hadn’t felt its painful sting. “Did you ever see Ned again?”

“Once or twice, when he came to visit,” Nigel said quietly and looked down at his hands. “He always kept his distance, though, and I kept mine. It was better that way.”

Thomas wondered how often he’d told himself that, how many nights he still lay awake and dreamt of kissing those lips again and being held in his lover’s embrace just one more time.

“One good thing came out of the whole mess, though,” Nigel went on, his voice a little lighter now. “Ned had been far away when Mick brought the plague to our village.”

He never stopped loving him, Thomas realised when he saw the soft smile, gentled by centuries of grateful relief for that small mercy, on Nigel’s face. He suddenly found it hard to imagine that Nigel could ever love him the way he loved Walter’s brother – across space and time and with a fierceness not even death could diminish. How could he have possibly touched Nigel’s heart so profoundly, and without meaning to?

The answer was he hadn’t. Walter had lied, just as Thomas had feared all along. It was a sobering realisation.

“Sorry,” Nigel said sheepishly, pulling him from his thoughts. “You’re not here to hear my sob story.”

“It’s not a sob story,” Thomas said, trying his best to ignore the way his heart ached with a loss he had no right to feel. “It’s your life, Nigel.”

“Well, yes,” Nigel acknowledged. “But it’s probably not what you expected to hear so … thanks for not turning your back on me because of the – you know.”

Thomas was no stranger to the fear and wariness in his eyes. He had seen them in the Captain’s more often than he could count and also mirrored in his own, a long time ago. He supposed men like them had never had it easy. There was a reason, after all, why he had chosen to focus his attentions so firmly on the female form after his mother had caught him looking at their stable boy a little too longingly, why the Captain had let his lieutenant go even though it broke his heart and why Nigel had done the same with Ned. Following hearts like theirs had always been dangerous, and as someone who had never gotten the chance to kiss a woman and always been too afraid to kiss a man, Thomas admired Nigel for his courage to reach for what he wanted, consequences be damned.

Feeling he owed him a little courage in return, he placed his hand on top of Nigel’s and let his heart speak for him for once. “Nothing could ever make me turn my back on you, Nigel. Least of all love.”

The words were meant to be reassuring, or so Thomas told himself, but when their eyes met it suddenly felt like they were hovering on the edge of something. Thomas’s heart began to beat faster in his chest as hope flared up within him against his will. He found himself tipping forward, desperate to reach for a love he fiercely hoped was real so he could hold onto it and keep it safe in whatever way he could.

Instead, he pulled back his hand and dropped his gaze, paralysed by the scars Isabelle’s rejection had carved into his soul.

He was such a coward.

“Thank you,” Nigel said quietly, blissfully unaware of his inner battle. “You have no idea what that means to me.”

Thomas wanted to take his hand in his again and tell him how terrified he was of the hope he felt blooming in his heart, but the words got stuck in his throat until he conceded defeat and, changing the subject, said, “How about we put an end to the bullying once and for all and challenge Walter and Julian to a game?”

“What, right now?” Nigel asked, surprised.

“No time like the present,” Thomas said and stood up. “Let’s show them who’s clever.”

Later, after their triumphant win, they would find their way back to the library where Nigel would lean his head on Thomas’s shoulder and reach for his hand in silent gratitude. Thomas, in a moment of bravery that made his stomach clench, would turn his hand around in Nigel’s gentle grasp to interlace their fingers, just like he’d wanted to earlier. Nigel would smile at him and squeeze his hand, and this time Thomas would not pull away.

[hklnvgl]

(tagged by the lovely @ailec-12 ✨)

I posted 1,471 times in 2022

48 posts created (3%)

1,423 posts reblogged (97%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@flitwickslittlebrotha

@charactershoesfic

@werewolffeelings

@bloody-wonder

@grrrrrr-argh

I tagged 884 of my posts in 2022

Only 40% of my posts had no tags

#trc - 243 posts

#tdt - 206 posts

#mdzs - 111 posts

#pynch - 79 posts

#d - 54 posts

#aftg - 32 posts

#greywaren spoilers - 32 posts

#fic - 17 posts

#greywaren - 15 posts

#ask - 13 posts

Longest Tag: 138 characters

#i also want to check the country of others by leïla slamani out from my library so whenever i do that i'm pushing it to the top of my list

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Rules: List the first lines of the last ten (10) stories you published. Look to see any patterns you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any. Then tag some friends.

i was tagged by both @flitwickslittlebrotha and @kelliealtogether thanks!!! 💕

the real hawk: Ronan knocked, and then knocked again with more force.

est quaedam flere voluptas: On some hidden level, Adam wanted to be the kind of person to effortlessly enjoy parties.

Yiling’s apples: There were plenty of homeless people in Yiling.

overflowing: Sirius regretted many things.

little dolls for sale: It wasn’t the first time Ronan had thought about it.

enormous are the groves: Adam poured himself out of his car, barely pausing to close the door after him.

into silence: It was Blue, Gansey and Henry’s fourth going-away party.

the plum tree flower: Adam inhaled deeply when he got the door open.

arm as a pillow: Declan didn’t technically live with Jordan.

stars parting: The nightmare wasn’t special.

all in all i'm pretty happy with these first lines! so much that some of them doubled as summaries 🙃 i'm not sure who's been tagged already so i'm just gonna tag @of-stars-and-moon @ailec-12 @parakeatswrites and you guys can ignore me if you've done it already 💛

10 notes - Posted February 21, 2022

#4

ages ago (i'm super late sorry 🙃) @andrea-lyn tagged me to do this! 💛 (thank you lovely!!)

Rules: it’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2021. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

when the world is one color (pynch, 2k). so this is the first of the many one shots i managed to write and post last year and i'm very happy with how it turned out! aka how to combat being cold with hugs (missing scene, post-trk, pre-epilogue)

but for their voices (pynch, 5k). this was very exciting to write bc it was fun to explore adam's thought process in this cdth-inspired au. aka adam is not unkowable if you stare at him long enough (different meeting au, college)

a persimmon (pynch, 1k). oh dear i struggled so hard to finish this little piece bc there were many different things i wanted to include, but i'm quite happy with the result! aka adam panics bc he's horny (missing scene during ch. 39 of trk)

the puppeteer (pynch, 3k). i made myself cry while writing this one. aka once upon a dream (sickfic, mi-adjacent)

yiling’s apples (mdzs, 2k). i've fallen hard for their story so i had to write something for it. aka why does everything important happen in yiling (pov outsider, gen)

tagging @ailec-12 @of-stars-and-moon @cheeeryos @behindtheatlantic @parrished @catboyadamparrish @flightspathfic @kelliealtogether @parakeatswrites 💛💛

12 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

#3

back in march (😅😅) the lovely @ailec-12 tagged me in this game! i'm super late but 🤷‍♀️

rules: tag 9 people you would like to know/catch up with

Last Song: can't remember as usual 🙃

Last TV Show: twenty-five twenty-one (yes it's destroyed me thanks! 🥺)

Currently Watching: crash landing on you (it's a rewatch!)

Currently Reading: you are not like other mothers by angelika schrobsdorff and i'm listening to beloved by toni morrison's audiobook

tagging @ive-garden @creativefiend19 @kelliealtogether @of-stars-and-moon @parrished @sleepy-skittles @purgatorybfs @catboynecromancy @cheeeryos 💛

12 notes - Posted August 3, 2022

#2

Describe yourself with ONLY pictures you have! You cannot download or search new pictures.

i was tagged by @parakeatswrites @kelliealtogether and @behindtheatlantic 💕💕💕

See the full post

13 notes - Posted August 22, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

writing prompts 💖

it's been a hot minute since i last opened prompts and i don't really have lots of time in my hands to write but i think having little things to serve as inspiration is exactly what i need to get back to my usual writing rythm! so. please send me a pairing and a prompt and i'll write a little one-shot 💕 (i'm mainly in the mood for writing pynch and wangxian but if you wished to see any other pairing just send it my way and i'll see if i can write something for it!)

thanks @ailec-12 for helping me compile this lovely list of prompts! 💛

50 Angsty Questions Prompt List

more questions

dialogue ideas

kiss prompts

more kisses

100 dialogue prompts

bad things happen bingo

minifics

anon asks are of course welcome as well! 🥰 thank you!

14 notes - Posted August 23, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[evangelines-book]

!!! Alright, before we get onto the intro post, i need to say something — This blog is technically considered a ‘Secondary’ blog, which if you’re new to tumblr, that means that this was not the first blog that was created and is not the main one associated with my account. So this means I won’t be able to like posts, follow people back, or send asks to people without using anon! If you’re wondering why I made this my main blog, my blog that is considered the ‘Primary’ blog of this account, is old and cringey from 2013, and that’s super embarrassing and it’s not being used my big sister, but I didn’t want to delete it, as it holds lots of memories. So yes, please don’t be offended if you follow me and I don’t follow you back. If I don’t block you and I do interact with you, then it means that I do consider you a mutual!!!

Last Edited : 25/12/23 (D/M/Y)

Alright, on with the actual intro post !

Who am I? My name is Maya, pronounced my-uh not Maiya.

What are my pronouns? I go my She/Her pronouns.

How old am I? I’m 19 years old, turning 20 on the 7th of February.

MORE UNDER POST CUT !!

What do I do? On Tumblr I write fanfiction, do art, and tons more fun stuff! I’m in Uni, studying History! I don’t talk about that much here though, if that’s what you’re after.

What do I post about? I post mainly about Nanny McPhee, and that was the main thing I intended to post about on this blog, though this may change later on. I will also be posting about The Maze Runner quite often, as I’ve loved the books since I was a kid. I might even do a few fic rec posts for Nanny McPhee, The Maze Runner and anything else I might start posting about.

Why did I make this blog? The Nanny McPhee fandom is very devoid of well-written and structured fanfics, and has little to no art! I really love this movie, and I want to provide some from of media for it, as I know there are some fans who are struggling to find some. I doubt this blog will gain any popularity, but I know there are some fans out there dying to get some content. I just want to give this fandom some media, character analysis posts and expand the universe of Nanny McPhee! I want to explore the characters thoughts and feelings, they’ve all been through so much. And I know lots of younger people are getting into Nanny McPhee and watching it for the first time because of Thomas Brodie Sangster, and they have come to Tumblr to look for some fan content on it.

A few notes : I am autistic, and got diagnosed when I was 15! Sometimes I may be a little inactive on this blog, but that’s because I am so busy IRL right now, lol. I do take requests, but I may not do all of them.

Link will go here when I have posted the first panel.

What are my current projects? I may make a stand-alone post for this, but right now I’ll keep it here.

Currently I am qorking on :

- An AU of Nanny McPhee, in a fanfic format with some possible artwork!

Link will go here when I have posted the first chapter. (HINT: Very Soon!)

- A small comic of the domestic life after the events of Nanny McPhee.

Where am I from? I’m British 🇬🇧, and have lived in England my whole life.

I believe that is the end of my intro post, I do hope you will stick around !!!

— Maya xx

[loudlooks]

Close Shave

Is Tiva Fic Amnesty still a thing now that Ziva’s officially back? BTW, I’m totally ignoring the “not every fic needs to be published” rule here, consider that a warning.

I don’t remember what time frame I pictured this in, maybe season 5 or 6? As usual, no plot. Loosely inspired by a scene from The X-files (which unfortunately wasn’t even MSR, except in my imagination).

Also on FF and AO3

Word count: 1805

A yank on the drawer handle revealed his electric shaver. Grabbing it with one hand, rubbing the scruff on his chin with the other, he looked up just in time to see Ziva roll her eyes.

“What?”

“Imagine if I shaved my legs at my desk,” she replied testily.

He raised an eyebrow and grinned widely, only mildly disappointed he hadn’t come up with that image before. “Nobody would get any work done,” he said as his eyes wandered to where her legs were hidden behind the cold, hard metal of her desk.

She turned towards her computer screen, but he caught the corners of her lips twitch ever so slightly.

“Think of the cleaning crew, Tony,” she said flatly.

Ignoring her comment, he tried to remember what her bare legs looked like while hitting the power button on his shaver. Silence greeted him and he pushed the switch once more.

Nothing.

Resisting the urge to smack it on the side of his desk, he muttered, “Damn it, I charged you yesterday.”

Turning the electric razor over and over in his hand, vigorously  pressing the button a few more times—surely it will work this time—he looked up when Gibbs dumped two items on his desk before heading to the elevator.

He picked up Gibbs’ straight razor and opened it carefully. As the blade glinted in the fluorescent light overhead, he met Ziva’s eyes across the bullpen, and deadpanned, “I think the boss wants me dead.”

She was beside him in a flash, admiring the lethal piece of steel with an eager smile. “I have not used one of those in years.”

“Why did you use a…” He stood up, pushing images of slit throats and blood stains to the back of his mind. “You know what, I don’t wanna know.” He grabbed the shaving gel and pointed it at her. “If I’m not back in ten, call Ducky and tell him to bring a body bag.”

He tried to walk around her, but Ziva stopped him with a finger to his chest. “I am very good with knives, I could give you a shave.”

Staring down at her smiling face, he raised an eyebrow. The gleam in her eyes both worried and excited him. He bit down a smile as angry hornets seemed to take up residence in his stomach.

“Someone’s an eager beaver.” He regretted the words as soon as they left his lips, images of her strong tan legs, and a skimpy bikini bottom flashed to the forefront of his mind.

She tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, it only made him want to stay in her personal space even longer. Accepting her offer would achieve just that. “Fine,” he said with a calmness he didn’t feel.

Her smile turned mischievous and his brain to mush; he’d always had a soft spot for her dangerous side. It haunted him in his dreams, and occasionally his nightmares.

She grabbed a small towel from her backpack, and almost speed-walked towards the men’s room. He followed her like a puppy—who’s the eager beaver now—his gaze focused on the sway of her hips.

The way she barged into the men’s room like she owned the place sent a tingle down his spine. She kind of did, he supposed, other agents always scattered like roaches afraid of the light when she walked in there.

“This isn’t going to be perfect,” Ziva said as she dumped the towel next to the sink, turned on the hot water tap, then grabbed a stack of paper towels from the dispenser. “But it will be fun.” Her gaze flicked down his body, briefly landing on his lips on the way up.

His smile wavered, then he grimaced into the mirror and rubbed his hands over his cheeks. “I don’t want to end up like Leatherface.” He ignored her look of confusion—as well as the disappointment in himself for once again skirting around their obvious physical attraction—and continued, “Isn’t it ironic that I trust you more with a razor sharp blade against my throat than behind the wheel of a car.”

She roughly pushed him aside with her hip, stepped in front of the sink and glared at his reflection. He patted his cheeks again, making sure that laser sharp look hadn’t rendered a shave unnecessary.

After soaking the towel with hot running water and wringing it out, she handed it to him, and told him to cover his face. He briefly complained about how ridiculously elaborate she was making things, but complied after she raised an eyebrow and tested the sharpness of the razor on a paper towel.

His face and ears warmed exponentially with each passing moment of awkward silence. “I feel like an idiot.” The towel covering his face only half responsible for his mixed feelings.

“Good.”

The hint of amusement in her voice was barely audible, but enough to release the tightness that had settled around his heart. A second later, Ziva pulled the towel away, made room next to the sink and easily lifted herself onto the countertop. As soon as she grabbed hold of his tie, pulling him in between her legs, any sense of awkwardness evaporated. He scanned her face intently, looking—hoping—for...for what exactly? The lingering smell of her shampoo heightened his senses, and he wondered, not for the first time, when she had started getting under his skin quite like this.

Ziva seemed unaffected, preoccupied with lathering up shaving gel in the palms of her hands.

Clinging to the belief that he had gotten better at reading her than even Gibbs, he hoped for a look, he’d settle for a glance—one of those furtive, yet exposed glances she sometimes sent him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention.

And there it was, so fleeting he would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been fixated on her every move. Unaware, her gaze immediately followed what her hands were doing—spreading the gel evenly all over his two-day stubble.

Emboldened by the evanescent look, he smiled faintly and placed his hands on either side of her legs. She narrowed her eyes at a spot close to his ear, fussing with the gel too long for it to be anything other than a distraction.

“Stop smiling,” she said quietly.

His smile widened, she briefly closed her eyes, then met his. “Tony.”

It never seized to amaze him how much she could say with just one word, his name. Not quite an admonishment, more of an acknowledgement, a “not now, but maybe later”.

She held the razor up, and he knew she was right; there wasn’t time to get into any of this now, he had to be clean-shaven and dressed to the nines in half an hour. Why was their timing always off?

He sighed and relaxed his face so she could get to work.

Pulling the skin taut with one hand, she placed the edge of the cold blade against his cheek with the other. “I haven’t done this in a while.”

His eyes flashed to hers. Was she talking about the shaving or that thing between them that they weren’t talking about? The mischievous grin appeared again, only this time it annoyed him more than anything else. He was tired of maintaining the status quo, evading his feelings with humor and banter.

As she moved the blade downwards in slow, even strokes that he could barely feel, he considered the possibility of having read her wrong. Maybe their physical closeness, the intimacy of trusting her to run a blade over his face and throat, had clouded his judgement.

“How attached are you to your sideburns?” She wasn’t even trying to hide the teasing in her voice.

His skin tingled as sweat began to form, frustration building as feelings of doubt settled deep down inside. “Can you stop joking.”

She looked at him with raised eyebrows. “That’s rich coming from you.”

“Hey, I joke to deflect.” Ziva narrowed her eyes. “And, occasionally out of boredom,” he conceded.

She lowered her hands, busied them with cleaning the blade, then looked at him decisively. “I know.” Inhaling deeply, she placed to razor on his other cheek. “Let us  just get this over with.”

Did she mean the shave, or the conversation they had been avoiding for years?

Her hands moved expertly over his face as his drifted to her thighs on their own volition. She stilled her movements, a beat passed before her gaze met his. Open and exposed she bit her bottom lip, then got back to work.

He didn’t dare move his hands until she rinsed the blade and carefully placed it aside. His fingers squeezed gently, feeling the strong muscle underneath the rough denim as she held his gaze.

She dabbed his face clean with wet paper towels, avoiding his gaze again, a myriad of emotions  washing over her eyes, eventually settling on fear.

“It will be dangerous,’ she said gravely.

It took him a moment to realize she was talking about the undercover op, not them. He grinned and squeezed her thighs reassuringly. “You’ll have my back.”

Shaking her head vigorously, she said, “No, Tony, I will be in the van down the road, it could take minutes before I…”

Smoothing her fingers over his cheeks,  her thumbs briefly caressed his lips and she made eye contact.

He smiled gently. “I’ll be careful, I’m gonna want another shave like this.”

She released a breath, fear fading from her eyes as she leaned in closer. Her lips touched his tentatively at first, then firmly. Claiming him, giving him a reason to be extra careful.

The sound of the door handle barely registered in his mind, and was swiftly followed by Ziva’s warm hands on his chest, pushing him backwards as she slid of the countertop, turned and smoothly wiped up some spilled water with a paper towel.

From the corner of his eye he saw the door open and a familiar figure walk in. Briefly looking at Ziva in the mirror, he noticed a light blush on her cheeks.

“Oh, hey, boss,” he said lightly.

Gibbs looked at him with scrutiny, then a gave a small nod. “Nice job, Ziver.”

She turned around, blush gone, that mischievous look that always stirred up the hornets’ nest in his stomach firmly in place. Smiling smugly, she looked from him to Gibbs, and said, “It’s not every day I have the opportunity to put I knife so close to DiNozzo’s throat.”

Gibbs smirked and walked past them without a second glance.

Feeling overly confident he winked at Ziva before quickly gathering his things, and catching up to her at the door. He glanced back at Gibbs, then opened the door for Ziva and whispered, “That was a really close shave.”

[sleepyowlwrites]

Sleepy's 2021 writing wrap-up accompanied by a little salt but mostly cheerful exhaustion

this event was hosted by @ecwrenn thank you darling. I think I'm late but I only like being early to work. and this is not that.

I don't keep any kind of proper track of my word counts or progress, mostly because I don't really care - I know that I wrote this year and that's good enough for me, word counts are not a motivator - but also because I am disorganized and scramble around afterward of anything to clean stuff up.

here is a very general assessment of the writing that I did this year.

January - I wrote some poetry and meandered around in Youth Story (then temporarily titled Project: Black Rose) and Anxiety Story.

February - I existed, I think. it was around this time that I played (find the word) tag with Maybe Sorcery a lot. also somewhere in here I think we became soulmates but I'm not sure. that might've happened earlier.

March - I made a new wip intro for Anxiety Story (the title is Every Other Star is Silent) and promptly didn't work on it (the wip) for the rest of the year. this is fine. it's a heavy wip and I wasn't up for it. then I made a way-too-early-I-don't-know-what-I-was-thinking wip intro for Magick Story (the title is Spider Silk). I have worked on this wip but only in the worldbuilding department.

April - I did Camp Nano and wrote 21,079 words. it felt great. I tried to do the same in May.

May - I did not write 20K, 15K or even 10K. I started to suspect that I was experiencing some creative burnout. (not quite. I was, at the time, enjoying making doodle art of other writers' wip titles. that was fun and easy.) instead it turns out I was just having a WRITING BURNOUT and subsequently-

June - I didn't really do any writing until the very end of this month was I fell in love with a character and decided to write a study fic of him. and then I did that. after editing it's now at almost 8K. so that's cool.

July - finished that above fic, worked on Youth Story. at some point I made an intro that I worked very hard on. it's already not up-to-date so it's gone now, bye-bye. I have an informal one that works a lot better, and character intros! I worked on those in-

August - still loved that character so I wrote a sequel to my first fic, which is currently being slowly edited and sits at nearly 11K. the character intros were all created and gradually released in-

September - which was a funky month because my sister got married. this has nothing to do with my writing but it happened. by the way, I've been writing poetry all year. most of it is not up on tumblr, but I'll share almost anything in a find the word tag. seriously. I get a little crazy with those things.

October - it actually took me until this month to finish that sequel fic. by this time I have also created 200 wip title arts. also also I've been writing this ridiculously complicated crossover fic in my friend's dms and that makes it into find the word too. also also also I turned 28. hooray.

November - I was very busy at work and wrote poetry and did some tags and eventually realized that I would have to be on hiatus since I couldn't really write or post like I wanted to. oh right, at some point I decided I was finished with Youth Story draft 0. it's at like, 26K? I can't check right now because the docs are closed. I feel like my laptop just sneaky updated because why else would they be closed? unless a ghost did it.

December - I did almost zero writing because I worked overnights at work and just got more and more exhausted as the month went on. I wrote three? four? tiny flash fics and a tiny bit of poetry and then Christmas happened. and just finished happening, for me.

to sum up, I've written probably approximately 55K this year, which I believe is less than last year but whatever! I don't care. I wrote things, and they meant something to me, and also to some other (wonderful) people who said very nice things in tags and such and that's all I want, really. I just want to write things and enjoy it, and I did. so 2021 was not my favorite, but it had good in it. some of it I made by myself, some of it I shared with others, and some of it YOU - writeblr - gave to me. Thank You.

Love, Sleepy

[bettsfic]

february pinned: the real & the ideal

in this month’s edition of my lowkey writing-related newsletter, in addition to my writing-related post roundup and consultation availability, i have short story recommendations for you and an essay on the nature of reality in fiction! 

if you want to receive my lowkey writing-related newsletter directly, you can subscribe here.

in other news, i finished two fics this month:

digging for orchids (hualian, 43k, explicit, fake marriage au)

let ruin end here (hualian, 8k, mature, neighbors au)

full newsletter below the cut, or you can read it here.

oof,

what a month. january is already a rough time. throwing in a pandemic, a coup, and an economic revolution spearheaded by reddit just seems unfair. as for me personally, the spring semester came at me fast and even though it’s only week 2, i am already buried in grading. which i realize is my fault, considering i’m the one who assigned homework.

so after hearing your feedback, i thought i’d make this newsletter even more writing-related by writing more about writing. this month i’ll start off by talking about the nature of reality in fiction in a segment i call “been thinkin a lot about.” more on that below.

new resource

i’ve compiled a folder of PDFs of the short stories i teach most often, which is to say, the stories i like enough to re-read every semester. most of them are literary fiction but a few veer into fantasy, sci fi, and horror.

i know before the MFA, i didn’t really know what a short story was. like i knew, abstractly, the concept of a short story (it is as it sounds), but i could only list a couple i’d ever read as an adult, and i hadn’t read anything that had been published in the last decade. i remember wondering why i was even being asked to care about short stories. who writes short stories? who reads them? apparently, a lot of people. short storyists are a lot like fanwriters in that they make no money and when you talk about your writing in public, people give you that “why would anyone waste their time with that?” look.

so here’s why i was asked to care about short stories: a good short story gives you the entirety of a world in a very condensed space. moreover, it can sometimes leave you as satisfied as a novel in a fraction of the reading time. all the stories i’ve compiled here are ones that stuck with me, that i find myself recommending over and over to writers who want a good example of developing character, or weird narration, or establishing stakes.

if you’re a writer considering publication or an MFA in creative writing, i highly recommend familiarizing yourself with short stories, if for no other reason than to get the feel for them so you can write some of your own. if you can get a few short story publications under your belt, it’ll be easier to open doors when you’re ready to query agents for a novel. also, short stories make a great writing sample for grad programs, workshops, fellowships, residencies, and grant funding.

if you want to check out more short stories but have no idea where to start, the 2020 best american short stories just dropped in november, or if you want a cheaper one, used copies of 2019 and earlier are available on thriftbooks. if you want an overview of the history of the (american) short story, there’s also the best american short stories of the century. fair warning, though, while it’s more diverse than expected, it’s still a bit heavy on dead-white-dude writing.

content warning: the stories in the above-linked folder may depict instances of sexual assault, suicide, and/or abuse. i have not labeled them individually with warnings but i hope to soon, as well as provide a catalog with summaries.

i’m also still working on my essay and novel recs. more to come on that hopefully next month.

writing-related posts

how i quit my banking job to do a creative writing MFA

how i learned to read faster/stop subvocalizing

how to write when you have no time or energy to write

my experience writing fic in small/dead fandoms (aka fics that will probably not get any traffic)

how to describe facial expressions

how to ask for help from your professors

how to navigate tenses during flashbacks

how to separate yourself from your work

how (and why you might want to) write a shitty first draft

why you should consider making the climax the inciting incident

for a complete list of my writing-related posts, check out this masterdoc (which i still need to update it with the past few months’ posts).

stuff i’m into rn

i’m about halfway through the rhetoric of fiction by wayne c. booth which has more or less become my narrative bible. it’s a little dated (1961) but it tackles banal writing adages that are somehow still believed, like “show don’t tell” and whatnot, and breaks them down with amazing insight, clarity, and research. it’s a bit of a dense text so i’m only reading a few pages a day, i think the first time i’ve ever let myself read something so intentionally slowly. now i’m kind of obsessed with doing things slowly. reading slowly, writing slowly, cooking slowly. i even drive slowly, because it’s so rare to go anywhere at all, and i want to enjoy it. also, it’s very snowy where i am. also also, the battery died in my car this month and i really have to make it a point to drive more often.

february availability

i have 2 openings for initial writing consultations in february! if you’re interested, please fill out this google form.

you can learn more about my services on my carrd.

been thinkin a lot about

compulsory reality in fiction. many of us have probably received feedback along the lines of, or thought to ourselves as we read, “that’s not realistic.” many of us believe, consciously or not, that fiction that is more “realistic” is inherently better than fiction that is less “realistic.” for some of us, real means a saturation of details, the clear depiction of the surfaces of things. reality is found in the rendering thereof; if you can “see” it, it’s real. for others of us, it might be the development of complex characters and their growth across a narrative. and for yet others, reality is subtlety, or misery, or the idea of “slice of life,” a term i don’t think means anything, because aren’t all stories a slice of a character’s life? what would a story that’s not a slice of life look like? you’d either have to take away the “slice” part and render a whole life, which is impossible, or you’d have to take away the “life” part and create a dead story, which may be possible, but why would you want to? even if you wrote a story about a rock, the rock would be brought to life by virtue of being written about.

anyway. i think the word “real” is a shitty word for the same reason “slice of life” is a shitty phrase: everything is real and therefore nothing cannot be real. slices of life are all we know because we are alive and cannot truly perceive not being alive; reality is also all we know, and any depictions beyond reality are thus made real because they have been depicted.

so the “goal” for fiction to be “realistic” seems to me to be a false one. all fiction is real because it exists and no fiction can be truly real because it’s only a facsimile of reality. not to get all “this is not a pipe” but writing is just making squiggles, and we as a community of English-knowers agree that certain squiggles correspond to certain sounds, and certain sounds together make words which conjure meanings. and words put together into sentences into paragraphs conjure even more complicated meanings. and when those paragraphs are woven into narrative we create yet more and more complicated meaning.

every time you write anything — a text message, an email, a tweet, a fanfic — you are taking the infinite abstraction of your own cognition, narrowing it into a single concept, and representing that concept with patterns in the form of sounds represented by letters and given meaning with words, so that the infinite abstraction of your own conscience can be fractionally witnessed by the infinite abstraction of someone else’s. and even though we can’t definitively prove for ourselves that any other thing possesses a consciousness, writing shows us the shape of someone else’s mind, and tells us we are not alone.

and yet we still expect writing to be “real.”

have you ever read a story where a character sneezed? like just, a description of a sneeze for the sake of it, with no purpose or function in the plot? if not, is it because our characters aren’t real enough to sneeze, or because the sneeze isn’t relevant to their plight? what would a written sneeze look like, and why would somebody want to write it? moreover, why would somebody want to read it? that leads me to wonder, do we depict reality in the service of narrative, or narrative in the service of reality? in other words, do we write to portray reality (sans sneezing), or do we depict reality to constrain our writing, the way one might request bumpers when bowling so as not to fall in the gutters?

i’ve never read an artful rendition of a character pissing or shitting, either, even when those things are related to a character’s plight and circumstance — stories involving long road trips, living in the woods, being kidnapped. the only exception i can think of is when those things are eroticized (we do not kinkshame here in this lkwrnl), the same way it’s rare to find detailed sex writing that isn’t for the purpose of reader arousal. are there just some things about the nature of being human that are too intimate, too complex, or too boring to write?

once i wrote a murder that takes place in a small fictional midwestern town in the 90s (for the ~aesthetic), and it went uninvestigated by said town’s police force. early readers repeatedly commented along the lines of, “that’s not realistic.” and i thought, no, if anything, the incompetence of police is too realistic for the heightened reality i’m trying to render. have you ever heard of a cop solving a murder that didn’t come with an obvious suspect or immediately found evidence? i haven’t. that doesn’t mean those cases don’t exist, but i definitely think they’re less likely than mass media has us believe, and the average small-town police force has far less motivation (and possibly training) to solve crimes than we think.

i started working on the above-mentioned novel in 2016, and my goal was to depict a reality that hovers above the surface of plausibility. in this novel, which is based on macbeth, a preteen girl, mercy, becomes jealous of the love her best friend elisa shows to her father. mercy decides to get her older and very unstable brother to kill him. naturally the deed goes awry, but it does occur, and the cleanup is far messier than anticipated.

is it plausible for a 12 year old girl to plot and execute the murder of her best friend’s father? no. is that what this book is about? yes. a book about a 12 year old girl who has a perfectly healthy relationship with her best friend and who has no feelings toward her bff’s father one way or another is probably far more “realistic,” but that’s not the book i’d want to read and certainly not the one i want to write. my goal of a heightened reality is what henry james calls the intensity of illusion, the thing that allows a reader, through the witness of one’s distilled cognition into language, to exit physical, knowable reality, and enter a new and unknown reality. and isn’t climbing to that higher place, that intensity of illusion, the purpose of fiction? if it’s not, what is?

the best feedback i got on the aforementioned murder scene was from one of my professors, who, of the perfect calm of all children involved, said, “they just shot a guy. at least one of them would be freaking out.”

he was totally right, but it opened up a lot of questions for me. by what standard did he reach that conclusion? was it something in the chapter itself, was it his personal understanding of the work of narrative, or was it the logical conclusion of the slim plausibility of the scenario? moreover, where did i come up with the idea that all of my preteen characters would commit a murder and proceed to be very chill about it? if an implausible scenario begs the expectation of emotional distress, would it be more compelling to buy into that expectation or deviate from it? is it even my obligation to be compelling when i can never have a cogent grasp of the personal tastes of my audience?

that brings me to what appears to be reality’s opposite: idealism, the state those of us who write fanfic are often trying to achieve. we’re working in an entire genre of ideals, of happily ever afters, of hurt that is always followed by comfort, of glossily rendered sex during which everyone orgasms and no one has to pee afterward. we fix broken texts and continue incomplete ones. sometimes, we want to make existing things better, deeper, more complicated. but all the time, we want to make a text more than what it is.

some see this process, this drive for the ideal, as antithetical to realism, and i think that’s part of the reason fanfiction and other idealistic genres (romance, etc.) get a bad name — the assumption that more real (which for some means more miserable) is better, and therefore its opposite, the ideal, is worse. for them, i have this quote from vladimir nabokov:

For me a work of fiction exists only insofar as it affords me what I shall bluntly call aesthetic bliss, that is a sense of being somehow, somewhere, connected with other states of being where art (curiosity, tenderness, kindness, ecstasy) is the norm.

the ideal, aesthetic bliss, the intensity of illusion. these are all phrases that boil down to the same thing: you the writer get to define the constraints of your own reality. you get to choose if your world even complies with the known laws of physics. and if it doesn’t, you get to choose which ones to break, and why to break them. you get to choose if your stories take place in a real house in a real town on a real day. if you wrote a story that takes place on september 11, 2001, would the events of that story be shaped by the events of that actual day, or are you writing a better world where 9/11 doesn’t happen? consider the consequences of both: why might you want to write reality? why might you want to write ideality? how do these things shape your identity and goals as a writer?

no matter where a work falls on the real-ideal spectrum, you have to accept that prose itself will only ever be a verisimilitude of reality and therefore an interpretation of it, one that might be interpreted differently by a reader. in writing and everything else, you can never have complete control over what others perceive. it’s like giving someone cash as a gift. they might buy themselves something nice with it, or they might spend it on groceries. the point is, eventually we all have to let go of our realities.

[tomiokai]

Between The Pages || Spencer Reid

Masterlist

{not my gif, originally posted by @toyboxboy​}

A/N: Honestly there are so many cafe AU’s and it’s crazy how I’ve read so many of them. But per usual I wanted to write my own version with my own twisty twist. This fic has literally taken me so long to write! I just sometimes couldn’t find the motivation to write it and then I’ll just abandon it for a period of time and I HATE writing two fics at a time because I personally can’t do it because, I’m a control freak and everything needs to be in order so if you’re a writer and you can write two fics at a time, please teach me, you’re so gifted. IMPORTANT! Spencer had to go to prison and got out around February and May but this fic is set around the Christmas season so just roll with it. Fake dates. They aren’t real!! If you are not happy with this AU, the door is that way. ——> Also I write in Canadian English so some of the words might look weird. 

Summary: Y/n works at a very unique cafe, it’s a cafe plus a library, where there are shelves of the most classic books to the new poorly written rom-coms. A perfect, warm, and cozy place, to read, study, or even to hang out. Spencer Reid was one of the usual there and he may or may not have swept Y/n off her feet over the years. A poorly written rom-com following the lives of Y/n and Spencer Reid. Anti prison to post-prison Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Category: Fluff

Warning: Fluff. Angst if you squint. 

Word Count: 7.3k

_

November 30th:

‘Between The Pages’ was quite the most unusual name for a cafe, I had thought when I first started working here. The cafe was a cozy little building sandwiched between two bigger buildings, bringing all the attention it deserved away from it, but that’s how I had liked it. Only the usual elite that know about this place and a few drop by’s once in a while ever enters the small building, everyone who comes into the shop falls in love with it immediately, giving them a sense of home. The insides of the shop gave you old fashion tiny cute library vibes. The walls were covered in bookshelves full of books ranging from the classics to the very new ones that I would bring in every time I made my way to the book shop eight streets down. Through the door to your left was the display case for all the delicious baked goods and the counter where you place your order and pay. Where the door was, there were two windows and on one side there was a small comfy couch with a small wooden coffee table in front of it and the other had two couches facing each other with a coffee table in the center (the couples hot spot). Smack in the center of the room was a big round table where the college girls like to camp out for their study sessions, and around the room were numerous armchairs and giant fuzzy bean bags. The area was filled with warm colours, dark greens, dark reds, beiges, and browns. Small plants and succulents hung out around the windowsills and tables giving the area a nice nature vibe. 

Memorizing each and everyone’s orders was my very special skill. The usuals were a group college girls (a new set every four years) that come for their study sessions every Friday and Saturday, a group of teen boys that storm the bakery section of the cafe once a week during their lunch break, a nice middle-aged lawyer that stops by every morning for coffee, which might I add had given me his business card, says if we ever needed help we should call him, two young couples that regularly have double dates, a few other individuals, and a very nice looking man around my age. He was my favourite customer, he came to the shop almost everyday ordering a single large cup of coffee with milk and loads of sugar, but when it became fall his coffee would be switched to a pumpkin spice latte. 

Between The Pages have become my home the second I graduated college. The little old lady who owned this shop had taken me in as a daughter of her own, and I had my own room above the shop. I was a writer at heart, I loved writing stories that I would usually share with the bunch of college girls and my colleague Chloe who might also be my best friend. The life I’m living in was humble yet the best, I couldn’t think of another way to live. This shop gave me time to pursue my love of writing and interact with some of the best people I have ever met. I earn enough money that I am comfortable with, and live a life nicely, considering if I wasn’t here I would be nowhere. Let’s just say all my living known relatives are all gone after an explosive fire at a family reunion I had not attended in my Junior year of College.  Call it lucky but unlucky. 

Today was a quiet day, Thursday. The group of teen boys had already passed by causing Chloe and me to rebake today’s special treats again. Chloe was a wedding photographer (she’s here usually 60% of the time) but she also loved hanging out with me so much so that she got a job here with me after the year we graduated from college. We were literally joint to the hip together, ever since grade three when I first threw up on her because she showed me a disturbing picture of a giant spider with wings. We were in each other’s same classes, had millions of sleepovers, and we even went to the same college together. She lived in the room right beside mine, so yeah we are literally joint to the hip. I baked the sweets and made the drinks while Chloe usually took care of the sandwiches, wraps, and organizing everyday menu items. 

“I noticed that your boyfriend didn’t come today,” Chloe said as she grabbed out a freshly baked tray of cookies. 

“For the last time Chloe, Spencer isn’t my boyfriend,” I said rolling my eyes as I snatched a cookie off of her tray. 

“Ugh yeah, you guys literally look in love every time you see each other.” Chloe shot back. 

“Not true” I snapped.

“Not to mention your crippling crush on the guy.” Chloe sang with a smug lip on her lips. 

My eyes flew open and scanned the empty cafe. “You’re lucky no one’s here,” I said flipping her off. 

“Just watch Y/n. I better be your wedding photographer.” Chloe laughed stacking the freshly baked cookies in a perfect tower in the display case. 

“Not happening as much as I want it to happen.” I laughed back biting into the cookie in my hand.

 For the past few years, Spencer was the only person I had a crush on, he was always here and it just felt as if we had known each other for years, which isn’t a lie considering I have worked in this cafe since senior year of college and he started coming not long after. We got along very well and we always talked in the morning when he waited for his coffee. We knew so much about each other yet so little. 

“Is it okay if you run this place a few more hours on your own? I have some unfinished wedding photos to edit, one being editing the mother in laws white dress to another colour,” Chloe said as she removed her apron.

“How does one not know to never wear white to a wedding that’s not theirs, but yeah sure,” I responded pulling out a stool from under the counter. 

I watched as Chloe made her way to the back room where the staircase was and turned back around pulling out my laptop to the horror story I was currently writing. 

As I typed chapter twelve of my story the little bell on our shop door rang and my head turned to the grandfather clock in the corner and saw it was two hours before closing and then to the door. 

There stood Spencer, unusual to say the least he usually comes in the mornings. He was in dress pants with a dress shirt and a purple tie, unusual again, but as always his hair was tousled around wore a huge smile on his pink lips, travel bag hanging from his shoulders, and book in hand. 

“Hey!” I called brightly hopping off the stool I sat on. 

“Hey Y/n,” Spencer said back as he made his way to his favourite seat at the back of the room. 

“The usual?” I asked. 

“You know it,” Spencer answered sitting down and opening his big book. 

I smiled as I got out Spencer’s favourite mug, a simple black mug with a single purple stripe running through the middle of the cup. It always amazed me how fast he was able to read, spending basically seven seconds on each page. 

I poured Spencer’s coffee into the mug and added milk and loads of sugar into it. I picked the mug up and grabbed a slice of strawberry cheesecake and a fork and slowly made my way to where Spencer was seated. 

“Here I said, setting the mug and cheesecake onto the small coffee table in front of him. I then made my way to sit in the armchair right across from him. 

Spencer looked at the cheesecake and then at me quizzically. 

“It’s on me,” I said, realizing.  

“Oh no I can’t do that,” Spencer said, pulling out a few extra bills and holding them across the table for me. 

“No, really it’s on me.” I laughed pushing his hand back to him. 

Spencer closed his book and set it on the table and picked up the slice of cheesecake the fork and took a bite. “This is some good cheesecake.” He pointed out.

“Thank you,” I said with a smile. “Hey, you usually come here bright and early in the mornings. What's with the sudden change?” I asked out of curiosity. 

“Oh, I just got off from a long day of work and wanted to come here and relax,” Spencer answered, taking a sip of his coffee. 

“Wow, we’ve known each other for literally years now and I still don’t know what you do for a living, mind as I ask,” I questioned watching him. 

He set his coffee down and answered, “Oh I work for the FBI, I’m a profiler. What about you? Any other jobs other than here?” He asked out of curiosity.

“Wow, very impressive..” I laughed. Spencer joined in. “This is actually my only job, aside from another thing,” I responded. 

“Well, since I told you that I’m an FBI agent, will you tell me YOUR very secret job?” Spencer spoke.

“If I tell you, you have to keep it a secret,” I responded arching an eyebrow.

Spencer exaggerated his thinking face, looking up to the ceiling then back to me with a grin, “I will,” he said. 

“Well, I’m an author. But you won’t find my books by searching my name, I have a pen name.” I said as I stood up. I ran to a nearby shelf and took out one of the hard copy books and ran back. I hid it behind my back and spoke again. “Remember, secret,” I said sternly.

“Secret,” Spencer repeated, bringing his fingers to his lips to ‘seal’ his lips. 

I laughed as I pulled the book from behind my back and handed it to Spencer. 

Spencer scanned the book and looked back up at me with a shocked look on his face. “This is one of my favourite modern-day books,” Spencer exclaimed.

My face immediately lit up and I asked, “Really?”

Spencer nodded his head eagerly. 

I leaned back into my chair and whispered. “Wow, for a guy who reads like 100 books a month, he actually thinks mine is really good.” 

 Spencer broke out in a laugh and said, “I actually have the first edition copy of this,” placing the book onto the table. 

I sat back up straighter this time and exclaimed, “I’m actually writing a new horror book right now and my writing has improved a significant amount after I was done reading one of Shakespeare’s books.”

“Mind if I take a peak?” Spencer asked, finishing his cheesecake. 

I mocked him and looked to the ceiling with a finger on my cheek “thinking really hard’. “No.” I laughed.

“Why not, I won’t tell.” Spencer jokingly pleaded.

“Still no,” I laughed, “but once it’s finished I’ll let you have the first copy before I officially launch it.”

“I better be first to read it, I’m like your biggest fan.” He laughed. 

“False,” I answered, “my biggest fan is actually a lady named Penelope Garcia that sent me a huge gift basket, with a letter that proclaimed her love for my books.” 

“Wait did you say, Penelope Garcia?” Spencer asked looking shocked.

“Yeah. Is something wrong?” I asked.

“No, no, nothing wrong,” Spencer laughed, “She’s actually my colleague.”

“What a small world,” I responded amazed. 

“Yeah, now I have to fight her for number one fan,” Spencer said with amusement in his voice.

“Oh we’ll have to see Agent Reid,” I joked. 

“Actually it’s Doctor,” Spencer corrected. 

“Wait but you’re an agent,” I stated.

“Yes, but I’m titled doctor,” Spencer said matter of factly. 

“Alright Doctor Reid,” I laughed. 

We sat together discussing multiple things with each other and we just clicked. Lucky for him, he got me to spill a little on the new book I was writing and even gave me a few ideas from some of the cases he has dealt with. I asked him about his job and he immediately started talking joyfully, he really loved his job. He also talked about his team a lot.  

“Hey lovebirds,” I heard someone call. My head whipped around towards the counter and glared at Chloe so hard.

“We’re just talking,” I called back with annoyance dripping from my voice. I turned back around towards Spencer and saw that he was very flustered, his cheeks were all rosy and red. This made me blush seeing him blush. “I’m sorry for my friend, she’s a little crazy in the head,” I whispered the last part.

“No, no that’s fine,” Spencer laughed. He had found it amusing.  

Ring, Ring. 

Spencer pulled out his phone and held up a finger to his lips. His face was blank throughout the whole conversation, at times his demeanor would stiffen. After his phone call, he started chugging the rest of his coffee, and putting his satchel on, “I’m really sorry, duty calls,” He said.

“Hey wait, here I’ll pack some sweets for your team.” I got up quickly scurrying towards the desert display.

“Oh no you don’t have to do that,” Spencer said, a small smile on his lips. 

“No, no I insist, we’re closing in like 5 minutes anyways, we can’t let these go to waste,” I answered, grabbing out a light purple desert box and placing multiple chocolate chip cookies,  slices of pie and cake into the box. I closed it up and ran back over to Spencer and handed the box to him. His hands brushed against mine when he took the box from my hands and butterflies erupted in my stomach. 

I bit my lip and smiled, “See you, hopefully, tomorrow,” I said.  

“Maybe. Unless the case is going to be overnight, thanks for the sweet, it was really sweet of you.” Spencer responded with a wink pushing the door to the shop open.

“Bye!” I yelled back as he left through the door.

I turned away from the door with a big smile forming on my pink lips. I walked over to the table where we sat and picked up the mug, fork, and plate and carried them over to where Chloe was washing the dishes. 

“Dude you’re whipped.” Chloe laughed, drying the wet dishes. 

“I know,” I responded with a big smile still on my face. 

-

December 1st:

It was early in the morning and I was down extra early to bake pastries and cakes, the sign was switched to open and Chloe was sitting criss-cross applesauce by the special menus board drawing cute little cartoons. After I put in the last tray of danishes into the oven I started up the coffee pot for the early birds. Mornings at Between The Pages were always calm and peaceful, Chloe and I would both wake up, do our parts and not talk till 11:00 am enjoying each other's silence, then the morning guests were always calm and nice too, we would exchange some friendly words, I would give them their coffee and they’ll wave goodbye and leave. Here at the cafe, there's no such thing as a lunch rush so that's a big weight lifted off Chloe and I’s shoulders. 

As I was frosting the danishes the bell that hung on our door rang. I looked up from my frosting to see Spencer in a black suit walk in, my face immediately lit up but then dropped when a blonde female walked in right after him. The female had pretty blonde hair that was in loose curls with small butterfly clips on either side of her head and perfectly cut bangs, she wore a pretty light pink dress with black lace on it, over top of her dress she had a cute white cropped cardigan. Never would I have expected her to be his type, but no one’s judging, I personally loved her style, although I was jealous of her. Maybe they're just friends. Hopefully. 

I put on the best smile that I can manage and walked to the cash register and quietly waited for them to walk to me. Before I could register what was happening the blonde lady rushed up to me with a squeal and excitedly said, “Hi, I’m Penelope Garcia, Spencer’s coworker, you must be Y/n, Spencer was talking about. Oh and thank you so much for the sweets yesterday! The whole team loved them.” 

Spencer was talking about me?? That was what hit first, then reality. “Nice to meet you and yeah I am Y/n, and I’m glad you liked the treats!” I happily said back. I already liked her completely leaving my jealousy behind me. I turned to Spencer next and smiled even bigger, “Hey Spencer. You want usual?” 

“Hey Y/n, yeah the usual,” Spencer responded smiling back at me.

“And you Penelope?” I turned back to her. 

“Oh I’ll take a french vanilla with whipped cream and mini marshmallows please,” Penelope responded. 

“Hey! I’m Chloe!” Chloe cheerfully explained coming up from behind me and wrapping her left arm around my shoulder. “I’m Y/n’s best friend!”

“Hey, Chloe.” Spencer and Garcia said at the same time, causing everyone to laugh. 

“Chloe, could you get their drinks for me?” I asked walking to the back table to pick up a dessert box.

“Yeah sure,” She said to me then turned back to Spencer and Penelope. “Just a moment.”

I picked up the desert box and started placing two dozen danishes in it. They were  strawberry, blueberry, and chocolate cream danishes. I closed off the box and walked over to Penelope and Spencer. “On the house, for the team,” I said handing the box to Spencer with a wink. 

“Y/n! This is too nice of you, here let me pay.” Spencer rumbled reaching for a few more bills from his wallet.

“Spencer no, it's on the house,” I laughed, pushing his hands away. 

“Are you sure Y/n?” He asked.

“YES,” I exclaimed. 

“Oh you're the sweetest Y/n,” Penelope squealed joyfully, as Chloe handed them their drinks.

 “Be safe!” I called to Spencer and Penelope as they walked out the door of the cafe.

“We’ll try.” They responded together before disappearing around the corner. 

My heart pounded in my chest as I stared at the closed door, my mind never leaving the picture of Spencer smiling in my mind. How was I supposed to do anything if all I could think about is Spencer Reid? That stupid adorable smile of his whips me up every time. I snapped myself out of my trance and picked up my piping bag filled with creamy cream cheese icing and resumed icing the uniced danishes. 

The morning came and went in a blur, regular customers and newcomers here and there, the danishes were a hit and sold out fast with the coffee ordered. I was currently mixing some brownie batter when my favourite group of college girls walked in, they took their usual afternoon seats at the center round table and started pulling out their laptops, textbooks, and homework. 

“Usuals?” I asked as I already started their lattes and mochas.

“As always!” Cherry White, one of the blonde girls replied, rapidly typing on her laptop. 

After I poured their drinks into mugs for the girls I brought the mugs to their table. Their heads were all buried inside their textbooks and laptops studying feverishly. I placed all their orders by each girl and watched as they intently worked. Papers and pens were already scattered everywhere in a short time, laptops open and bright as the clicking of the keyboards filled the warm homey air. 

“Studying for midterms, girls?” I asked as I placed the last girl's coffee by her hand. 

A few of them responded with a quick ‘yup’ and went straight back to their studies.

I went back to baking my brownies while daydreaming about Spencer. The thing’s I would let that man do to me, I thought as I placed the brownies into the oven. 

I pulled out my own laptop and continued from where I left off from yesterday night, the chapter I was currently working on was almost done and I had used some of Spencer’s great ideas. Trying my best to focus on the task at hand my mind just kept slipping away to Spencer and the conversations he and I had had yesterday night. 

“Look!” I heard Darcy Shawma, a cute Asian girl with braces say. She was pointing to the windows by the front of the shop. Following her fingers' direction, I find soft snow falling from the afternoon sky. I sighed in awe as it was the first snowfall of the season indicating it was the perfect time to start baking Christmas sweets. 

Ditching chapter 13 of my book, I pulled up a new search tab and began scavenging google for the best Christmas baking recipes. As I searched I could already just taste the delicious gingerbread in my mouth and the sweet smell of sugar cookies. This had reminded me that I needed to get the annual Christmas tree out soon. This year I had already decided that I would get Spencer Reid a Christmas present. We’d known each other for so long now I just thought it would be a good idea. 

For the rest of that night, I surfed the net for yummy Christmas treats to bake and possible presents for Spencer. 

-

December 2nd:

The next day Spencer was a no show. Not thinking much of it I assumed he was away on a case as usual. Chloe and I started putting up the Christmas decorations. 

-

December 6th: 

He hadn’t showed up again for the fifth day in a row now. It could just be a long case, nothing to be too worried about. The book was going great. I was now halfway done. 

-

December 13th: 

Now I was getting worried. He never in his life has done this. He never not came back after a week. I didn’t have any contact with him so I had no way to know whether he was out on a very long case or he got hurt or if he got tired of the place or oven ME. 

-

December 14th:

I had gone full panic mode. When he hadn’t shown up in the morning I had a whole meltdown on Chloe’s shoulder. She tried telling me maybe he was just away on his own holiday but I didn’t believe her because every year he would tell me. 

-

December 16th:

To cope with Spencer being gone for so long I decided to start decorating gingerbread houses. They turned into piles of gingerbread frosting and candy, they looked as if they were going to be a part of Halloween rather than Christmas. They failed big time. That afternoon the group of College girls came by and they had gotten me a present! I was shocked and very flattered that they thought of me. They explained that it was their senior year of College and that next year they would be leaving, they noticed that I was constantly typing on my laptop that they had gotten me a brand new and updated laptop. The rest of the afternoon we hung out and decorated the leftover gingerbread houses together before they left for their holiday vacation with their families and friends. 

-

December 20th: 

Once again I had another meltdown but this time there were no witnesses, we had closed down for the holidays and Chloe was off in New York with her family. She invited me to come with her but I politely declined and stayed behind in case Spencer came. The book was finally done and the first rough copy was printed. After the holiday’s I would bring my book to my publishing company and they could take care of it from there. As for the first copy as promised, I tied the stack of paper that formed a story with a single red ribbon running horizontally and vertically across the book with a pretty bow in the center for Spencer. It was the best gift from my heart. Along with the first copy of my book, I wrote Spencer a letter of confession where I poured my heart out about my feelings for him. 

Dear Dr. Spencer Reid,

Merry Christmas! You’ve been gone for a really long time. I hope you’re doing alright! It’s so unusual not to make your daily coffee loaded with sugar. Chloe started asking about you too. We miss you, you know? 

I miss you.

We’ve known each other for so long now. Ever since I graduated from University you started coming here too. You fell in love with the place just like I did, I could tell by the expressions on your face. Ever since that day you started coming every possible day possible. I baked a strawberry cheesecake today in hopes the smell will attract you back. Sadly it didn't. 

When you walk in through that door everyday my day immediately gets 100x better. Your smile literally radiates serotonin to me. (Please don’t correct me on that, I know that’s impossible.) I really miss your smile, your voice, and your everything really. I wish you would walk through that door right now. 

By now you have probably picked up that I like you, I make it very obvious. I LIKE YOU SPENCER REID. There I said it. Chloe has been egging me on for forever to tell you. The day you walked through that door I fell for you hard, I was young and naive but even now that I have grown into an intelligent woman I still like you, you’re something else, Spencer. 

I hope this doesn’t affect our friendship, Spencer. I really like what we have right now but if it could grow into something more I would love that. 

Bottom line I think I love you, Spencer. God, I don’t think. I do! I love you so much! My heart hurts when I don’t see you, it hurts me when I think about you getting hurt or even seeing you with other girls. I love you, Spencer. I hope you’re safe and you’re having a good Christmas. 

With unhealthy amounts of love, Y/n Y/l/n.

-

December 25th: 

He didn’t come again. I left his gift leaning on the glass of the cafe with Spencer’s name written in loopy holiday cursive indicating it was for him and that he’d know it was for him and pick it up if he decided to walk past. He didn’t. For Christmas that year, I sat at the armchairs by the fireplace drinking hot cocoa and eating gingerbread cookies while watching SpongeBob cartoons on my new laptop. To be honest it was a sad way to spend Christmas. 

-

December 31st:

The cafe was re-opened up again. Spencer’s gift was tucked inside a cabinet where I kept my personal things downstairs. He still didn’t come. The worry was now burning inside me. I thought about just showing up at the FBI and asking for Spencer, but he and I weren’t anything. I had no reason to be there. 

-

January 5th:

My book was now officially launched. I tried holding it back for as long as I could but the due date was fast approaching and I had no choice but to publish it. The copies sold out fast and I already got new fan mail. I may have promised Spencer he would be the first person to read it but he was late and never showed up but he would still have the first-ever copy if he ever came back I suppose. Chloe also got back!

-

January 17th: 

The teenage boy’s stormed the bakery. The college girls finally return. The old lady, Granny Lizzie I would call her that owned the shop passed away sadly.

-

January 20th:

It was a sad day, it was Granny Lizzie’s funeral. I inherited the cafe in her will. 

-

January 29th:

Snowstorm. 

-

February 7th:

Chloe’s birthday! We shut down the cafe for three days and she and I flew out to LA together to celebrate her birthday. Lots of drinking. Maybe even a hookup. 

-

February 14th:

Chloe got asked out. No Spencer. Valentine day dates overflow the cafe. Red velvet cheesecake cookies, big hit. 

-

February 26th:

Started on a new book. More mental breakdowns. I really missed Spencer. Snow is gone now.

-

March 4th:

 Discovered one of the couples got divorced and no longer came to the cafe. Bummer they were really nice. 

-

March 20th: 

Rain. Closed off early to lay in the rain on the top of the roof. Relaxing. Cried for Spencer. 

-

March 26th: 

Spencer! 

-

10 minutes until closing.

The bell to the cafe rang and I boringly glanced at the door, not a single interest in me. I hadn’t seen Spencer in so long I gave up in hope. A tall man appeared in the doorway, he had longish curly hair and wore a tight black suit with a purple tie. It took me a moment to realize who it was.

“SPENCER!” I yelled as he approached the counter; the way he walked and carried himself changed, he no longer had a doubt in his steps, his strides were now confident and long. He carried himself with confidence and security and looked like he didn’t have a care in the world, he was more relaxed now and not uptight and stiff. 

My whole mood changed completely, I was no longer sad or bored and was now full of energy and excitement. Ditching the register I ran around back to get to the other side of the counter. As soon as I was close enough to Spencer I jumped into his arms and squeezed him tight. Immediately he responded and hugged me tight and held my weight. 

“Where were you?” I whispered, not letting Spencer go. 

“I was in prison,” He whispered back, his voice cracking. 

“Wait what?” I asked in disbelief but that wasn’t enough for me to let go of him. It didn’t matter. 

“I was framed for murder,” He responded no hesitation. 

I immediately relaxed again and melted away in the hug. 

“I missed you!” I grumbled, finally pulling away from the hug. 

“I know, I missed you too,” Spencer whispered. 

“Can I just kiss you!” I blurted out suddenly. 

Not needing to be told twice Spencer immediately captured my lips in his. His lips were what I had imagined soft against mine, and moulded perfectly into mine. The kiss was sweet but also hungry yet still gentle, his hands held my waist as mine tangled into his soft curls. It was probably the best kiss I have ever had. Scratch that it was the best kiss I’ve ever had. 

“I have something for you,” I whispered, pressing my forehead against his, our nose tickling each other. 

“Mhm, and what’s that?” He asked, smiling. 

“Go grab a seat,” I responded, already running around the corner to get Spencer’s very late Christmas present. 

Swinging open the cabinet door excitedly, I grabbed my wrapped gift for Spencer. 

Gripping the three-month-old gift tightly, I made my way quickly back to where Spencer was sitting. Our spot, I would like to say. 

“This is for you,” I said, handing him the gift with a wide smile. “You were supposed to receive it on Christmas,” I finished with a shrug. 

“You didn’t have to Y/n,” Spencer said, unwrapping the gift.

“I definitely had too,” I reassured with a warm smile.

“Y/n is this what I think it is?” Spencer asked, picking up the first-ever copy of my semi-new book. 

“Mhm, as promised Spencer you get the first copy, even though you weren’t able to be the first one to read it.” I shrugged. 

“This is great! I don’t mind, it was something both of us couldn’t control,” Spencer responded, picking up the letter I had written for him. 

“Read it!” I exclaimed.

Spencer nodded and unfolded the perfectly folded letter. It barely took him a minute to read the letter, it looked as if he just scanned the letter with his eyes but in reality he definitely memorized it. After his eyes landed at the bottom of the page he slowly looked back up to meet my eyes. 

“I love you too,” He breathed. 

“I’m s-sorry can you say that again, I heard you the first time, I just need to re-hear you again to make sure,” I stuttered happy tears escaping my eyes. 

Whipping the tears away Spencer leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Y/n Y/l/n I love you.”

“This is probably the best thing that has happened to me ever since my Junior year of University.” I happily cried. 

“Me too,” Spencer said.

“Does this mean we’re together?” I asked suddenly. 

“Yes, this does,” He responded.

“Good. I’ve waited for this for so long,” I breathed. 

“All throughout prison you were the only thing I thought about, other than getting out and trying to stay alive,” Spencer said.

“That’s flattering yet scary,” I responded with a light chuckle. 

“I guess it is,” Spencer responded. 

-

April 5th:

“SPENCER, WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING! THE DRY INGREDIENTS AND THE WET INGREDIENTS NEED TO BE SEPARATE,” I yelled as I dumped burnt to crisp cinnamon buns down the garbage shoot. They were like pieces of black coal that were steaming a very unpleasant smell. 

“I forgot!” Spencer yelled back, unsuccessfully cracking an egg. 

There were three more hours until opening happened and baking was not being done. Well, it was being done, just very poorly. Spencer asked to come over very early in the morning to help me bake, he had reassured me that he would be helpful but right now he’s not really living up to his promise. 

Two batches. That’s it, two good batches was all we got out of a dozen.  

“I thought baking was easier,” Spencer puffed, ditching the eggs and plopping down onto a stool. 

“It’s just math and science Spencer,” I laughed. 

“Well it’s complicated,” He pouted. 

“Oh, boo-hoo,” I mocked, rubbing my eyes, fake crying. 

-

May 21st:

Chloe got engaged! So her date went well I would assume. I’m so excited, the weddings going to be so amazing!

-

May 30th:

CHLOE ASKED ME TO BE HER MAID OF HONOUR!!!!!!! It’s party time bitchessssss. 

-

June 3rd:

“SURPRISE!” Was the first thing I heard walking in through the doors of the cafe. Looking around the whole cafe was decorated in streamers and balloons for my birthday. 

“You guys! You didn’t have to do this!” I exclaimed. 

“But we did!” Spencer said kissing my cheek. Taking my hand in his he spoke again, “Come meet the team.”

I immediately stiffened at the thought of meeting Spencer’s team. He most likely noticed this and gave my hand a small squeeze. “Don’t worry they’ll love you,” He reassured. 

“I’m counting you on that,” I whispered. 

-

July 25th: 

Chloe’s wedding is today! The day was perfect and sunny for a beach wedding, everyone who was invited to their wedding flew out to California for their beach wedding. The groom’s name was Ricky Polern and he was actually a pretty nice guy, funny, and respectful. 

I brought Spencer with me as a plus one to the wedding and Spencer gladly came with me. Although I had to push some buttons with his team to drag him with me. 

The wedding was spectacular and everyone had lots of fun, the food was great, and fortunately, there was no case to steal Spencer away from me. Spencer and I even had our first slow dance together. He looked so handsome in the dim light and he had told me I was the one he wanted to grow old with. I cried tears of joy. 

I caught the bouquet! 

-

August 7th: 

David Rossi invited me over to dinner to get to know me better, it was VERY scary at first but he ended up loving me. Chloe was also finally moved out, it was very sad but we promised to call everyday.

-

August 22nd: 

Spencer proposed! I think I might die of happiness. I will die of happiness. 

-

“Spencer, what are we doing out here on the roof so late at night?” I asked as Spencer dragged me onto the roof. 

“I have something to show you!” Spencer excitedly responded. 

Spencer had set up a table with red table cloth and vanilla-scented candles with perfectly placed table utensils. All of it seemed so cliche but it was adorable coming from Spencer. 

Spencer pulled out a seat for me to sit at and I chuckled and gave a little curtsy before sitting.  Pushing me in gently making sure he didn’t push me in too much he ran over to his side of the table and sat down too. “So do you like it?” He asked.

“Spencer this is great,” I answered.

Spencer’s smile widened and he looked as if he was a child again and he had just discovered he was going to DisneyLand.

Pulling out a very delicious looking strawberry cheesecake out of a picnic basket, Spencer set it down between us and said, “I have successfully backed a strawberry cheesecake for you Y/n just like how you baked one for me.”

“Spencer you didn’t have too! This is so amazing.” I exclaimed, examining the perfectly baked sweet. 

“It took me a few tries but I did it,” He admitted. 

“What matters is that you did this for me,” I said reassuringly with a warm smile tugging at my lips. 

“Hey could you cut the cake, I need to do something,” Spencer said, handing me a small cake knife before he disappeared out of my sight. 

“Spencer, this has great texture,” I explained cutting into the fluffy cheesecake. 

“Y/n turn around,” I heard Spencer say from behind. 

Not giving it much thought I did. What I saw surprised me completely. Spencer was on one knee and in his hands was a beautiful dark purple velvet box and in it sat a beautiful diamond ring. The ring had a thin silver band and a beautiful perfectly round diamond. 

“I know this is really early in our relationship Y/n, but it feels like I’ve known you for my whole life. You’re the one person that makes me happier than the books I read and you make me feel so special. Your kind, beautiful, smart and you love everyone you meet. That day you met my team they loved you so much Rossi told me to marry you and when you caught the bouquet I knew I had too. Y/n Y/ln will you marry me?” He proposed smiling up at me.

At that moment I fell in love with Spencer all over again, to have him say those things warmed my heart to the fullest. I felt tears in my eyes when I answered, “Yes! Yes! Yes! I would love to marry you!” I cried.

Spencer gently slipped the ring onto my finger and jumped up and brought me into a big hug. Without much thought I crushed my lips onto Spencer and wrapped my arms around the back of his neck. This kiss we shared was beyond special as our bodies pressed together and our lips moved in sync. 

“I love you so much,” I whispered, pulling away.

“I love you more,” Spencer said, reconnecting our lips. 

-

September 1st:

I asked Chloe to be my maid of honour! She said yes! 

-

September 16th: 

I met Spencer’s mother and she was the sweetest person alive, she and I started the planning for the wedding. 

-

September 30th:

Wedding dress shopping!! 

-

October 1st:

Spencer and I had the best time together decorating the cafe with Halloween decorations. It was his favourite holiday and he was definitely living up to the Halloween spirit.

-

October 28th:

It’s Spencer's birthday! The team called me up in secret and we planned a secret birthday party for Spencer. He admitted he figured out we had planned a party for him because he knew we were sneaking around, but he still loved it. Everyone had fun and very very drunk.

-

October 31st:

Spencer unfortunately couldn’t spend Halloween with me this year, he was away on a case. But he promised he would make up for it when he got back.

-

November 15th:

Spencer and I were finally getting married. The wedding was beautiful, nothing grand but it was spectacular. The dress I wore was beautiful but simple, it was sleek and fit me well hugging all my curves and was floor length. Spencer looked very handsome standing at the altar as I was walked by Rossi to him.

The wedding vows were said and both Spencer and I had no hesitation. When we kissed the whole crowd cheered for us. The night was magical the best I’ve ever had, we danced the night away and in the end we took a jet to Sydney Australia for our honeymoon. But not before Chloe took mass amounts of photos of Spencer and me and rubbed the fact that Spencer and I did get married in my face.

It was great. 

-

December 25th: 

Spencer and I had our first Christmas together, it was also the day I told him I was pregnant. He was very excited. We were ready for children.

-

Somewhere in the future:

We had twins, Amelia and Claira Reid! Spencer is the best father ever, he loves his girls so much and would do anything for them. 

We ended up moving in together in a small beautiful house in the same neighborhood as Rossi, who treated them like they were his own grandchildren. I retired from the cafe and became a full-time author writing horror novels. Cherry White and her best friend Rossa Lenney ended up caring on the legacy and I passed on the cafe to her and her best friend. 

As cliche as it sounds, Spencer and I had a happily ever after. 

[sabraeal]

2020 Creator’s Self-Love Extravaganza

Boy howdy, but it has been a year. So much so that I felt the need to dig up this meme so I can lavish myself with a little TLC, ‘cause you know what? I deserve it! And so do you. This year has been tough, and even in the best of times it can be a real struggle to remember that, instead of being your own worst enemy, you should strive to be your best cheerleader. Remember to be kind instead of cruel, to forgive rather than condemn yourself. Creativity is hard, and it is always a journey, never a final destination, so let’s take a moment and sight-see where we’ve been this year, yeah???

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2020. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

I was tagged by @bubblesthemonsterartist!

1.) With Ribs Laid Open - As many of you know, way, WAY back in 2018, when I was heavily pregnant with my second child, I hit 500 followers and decided to make a raffle for requesting fics which were supposed to be posted during my February-May hiatus after giving birth. This was a great idea pretty much right up until after the raffle winners was announced, since only a week or two later, my grandfather got massively ill, I got EVEN MORE heavily pregnant, and the great complex of shitty 2019/2020 occurred. I’d managed to finish Tender Concessions right at the turn of the new year due to Winter Challenge, which handled two of the promised fics, and this one ended up being the very first raffle fic I promised without a challenge helping me along. I’d been working on it off and on since the request was made, never quite getting it to sit right up until I started working on it at the end of 2019. It was not only a great personal accomplishment, but the daemon AU is really one of my favorite ones I’ve done, and getting to write Obi and Od Ana’s backstory was something I’d been dying to do since I posted Creatures of a Brief Season.

2) Sic Semper Monstrum - I started this fic in 2018, and it’d actually been an idea I’d had way back in 2016 when I first watched Pac Rim. It’s an AU I’ve always really enjoyed, and I really love how it’s turned into this ensemble piece, rather than strictly a ship fic (and I’m sure anyone who has read Seven Suitors knows how much I really love getting to do ensemble elements). But this year it had sort of an added meaning to me-- I’d promised vfordii I’d write this fic for her birthday at the end of December, but December is my MOST PACKED month, so she’s used to getting her present late...and then it got later. And later. And suddenly I was in the hospital because OH YEAH, I’d just been actively dying for about a year. It was actually when I was in the hospital recuperating that I realized my issue with the chapter I was working on-- I’d been trying to make it Zen POV, when it was very, very obviously meant to be Kiki’s. And when I got out, this ended up being the first fic I posted post-recovery. And then I added another chapter to it only a few weeks later! And it’ll be one of the first fics posted in 2021 (sorry, v). So this one really holds a big place in my heart right now, if only because it really came with me on my whole medical journey.

3) Seven Swipes for Shirayuki - As I’m sure plenty of you are aware, Seven Suitors was the fic I was known for for about...forever. It’s actually only within the last year or two that people have read something else of mine first, and the sequel tends to be the first thing most people ask about. But it was also my first posted fic EVER, and the first long form story I’ve completed in years, and so it holds a very special place in my heart. So trying to tell the modern version of it was utterly nerve-wracking. After all, a lot of Zen’s shenanigans wear a lot better on a prince than an American billionaire. It’s been slow to start, but I have to say...I’ve impressed myself with how the adaptation is going. I have a LOT of funs plan for it, but the biggest hump was really getting through the break up scene since it was always going to be...intense. And then I did it, in a way I really liked! And going forward, I’ll get to do a lot more tinder shenanigans, and a lot less heartbreak (mostly >:3c).

4) The Daisy Chain - I have...an embarrassing amount of fics that are sitting, untouched, with only one chapter left to go. Or at least, I pretend they do. But it was ACTUALLY true for Daisy Chain, so getting the opportunity to wrap up one fic I’d been working on since 2017 was...amazing. It was a lot of blood sweat and tears to get this finished, but I’m so happy to have completed something I started so long ago.

5) The Lone Wolf Survives - This is the fic I did not want to write. I’m not a fan of A/B/O; in fact I’m generally annoyed by it because it uses WRONG WOLF DYNAMICS and like, BAD SCIENCE, and though when it’s done good it’s GREAT, it’s usually done terrible and UGHHHH. So when I realized I needed to do it for bingo I...complained. A lot. The most. There was much wailing and gnashing of teeth. But I eventually settled on the plot of this fic, letting it be canon-but-not, and it just...worked. And I’m ultimately proud that I pushed myself out of my comfort zone, and now may torture you with the smut that has not yet happened, ah ha ha ha >:3c

For tagging, I choose... @claudeng80, @infinitelystrangemachinex, @aeroplaneblues, and @k-itsmaywriting

[sheliesshattered]

So. The next thing I’m writing, I can’t actually talk about.

Not that that’s going to stop me from trying. :D

The Whouffle Discord server I help to run, Clara’s Diner, is doing a fanworks gift exchange for Valentine’s Day, and we’re not supposed to say who we’re making gifts for, it’ll all be a surprise in ~7 weeks from now. Which is super fun! I’ve never actually done a fanfic/fanwork gift exchange before, but I think the end result will be a blast! We’ll be giving and receiving gifts, and getting to enjoy everything everyone else made too, so I expect a bunch of really cool stuff is going to come out of this.

Shortly before Christmas, those of us who have decided to participate got the name of the person we’re each creating for. Given the timing, and that I hadn’t quite finished writing First Christmas at that point, I was like ‘welp, that’s something to think about another day’ and kind of put it in the back of my mind -- but knowing, of course, that Valentine’s Day sneaks up on me every year. 

(In non-covid years, it’s always the same week as GallifreyOne, and I know when I’ve tried to make a complete costume after Christmas in time for Gally, the 7 weeks between Christmas and mid February always just fly by.) 

So I absolutely didn’t want to put off, but I also didn’t know exactly what I wanted to make for my gift recipient. I knew it would definitely be fanfic, because I’m not overly thrilled with either my drawing or video editing skills, but beyond that I was just sort of waiting for inspiration to strike. 

Now that I’ve had a couple of days to recover from Christmas and the final push to get First Christmas written, I spent a little time this morning poking around the Tumblr and AO3 of the person I’m writing for, and came up with a couple of possible directions that I thought might maybe lead somewhere. I do a lot of my best writing planning in the shower, so with those ideas in mind, I went off to wash my hair. 

By the time I was out of the shower, I had not only settled on an idea, I also had the whole story arc sketched out in my head, and huge chunks of dialogue floating around waiting to be put down on paper. I told Jack that I was “way up in my head” -- my code for “please don’t try to talk to me, I’m basically a walking gdoc until I can get this stuff out of my head and onto the page” -- made some tea, and sat down to get as much of it written down as I could before I started to lose the specifics.

Somehow, I looked up to find that three hours had passed and I’d written just over 3000 words, big chunks of dialogue for the beginning and every major beat through to the end, more or less. And poor Jack had been almost completely silent for three hours straight, and had to let out some steam just as soon as I said I was out of words, lol.

I worried I was burned out after finishing both Time And Relative Dimension and First Christmas in the last month, but all of a sudden I’m feeling much better about getting the fic done in time, and really excited about the story I’m spinning up. At this point, I expect the entire thing to be between 6k and 7k words, but we’ll see if it ends up expanding on me as I get the rest of the story filled in. My plan is to do #process thoughts updates as I write, but keep the details of the storyline and the title under wraps until the fic has been gifted in February. Can’t wait for you guys to see this one, especially the giftee! :D

[sugarcoated-eloquence]

Targets (K. Howard)

SOMEONE convinced me to write some Howard angst. (I’m looking at you, @sweetestrequiems​) Soooo.... here it is! This is a short fic I wrote this weekend, and I will put a trigger warning: it does mention Howard’s past with men, while not in detail, it is mentioned. And yes, there’s a tiny snippet of Parrlyn for you hoes.

Part 1 of a new series I will be writing.

I would put a taglist but I have literally ONE friend on SIX tumblr and I already tagged them. <3 ya, Kit.

Edited taglist: @patdfobmcr-yt

Take care of yourselves, kiddos, and enjoy! (Fic is below one of my favorite gifs of Aimie.)

February 13th. How fitting that the young Katherine Howard died the day before Valentine’s day. This was the first year she would be alive again for the date and her mind was not being very kind to her. The brunette had been a little off-kilter for weeks. Sure, she had nightmares often but the night terrors and screaming trickled in about a week before, the other queens taking shifts to wake her from them. Because of this, Kit was exhausted. She looked it, her acting showed it, hell even her dancing was slightly behind everyone else’s. The usual night consisted of one of the others sleeping in the small armchair across from Howard’s bed, the thrashing and screaming usually being enough to wake them so they could calm her down.

Most of the time, the nightmares were only about some of the abuse she endured... all the times she had been taken advantage of, for lack of a better term. But more and more lately the name Thomas was being cast out in her fits of nightly terror. Thomas Culpeper. The last man Howard ever mentioned, the last man she ever thought of loving... the final word to escape her mouth was his last name.

Luckily, though, on this particular evening, the anniversary in fact, the gals decided to all hang out and watch a movie. A good night-off tradition, a time to sit and laugh and keep their mind off of what made them all similar. A good distraction from Henry and the past. They had settled on a random Hallmark channel romance, perfect for Valentine’s day. Everything was calm, for once. Kit fell asleep rather quickly into the movie, a result of all of the late nights. She curled up into her oversized sweatshirt and rested her head on Boleyn’s shoulder.

Anne looked to Seymour, smiling. “She likes me better.” She mouths, a large smile decorating her face and a devilish glint entering her eye. Jane rolled her eyes in response and then pointed to the television, a way of telling Boleyn to be quiet. Anne simply puts an arm around Kit’s shoulder and continues to watch. She had to admit, it was corny as all get out. Kit was surprisingly still, but on the inside, hell was raging. Every few minutes or so her nose would twitch, or she’d let out a slightly bigger breath than usual, so the girls weren’t thinking much of it. It was different than usual, a calmer beginning to the storm that was about to happen. Stormy, almost like the day itself.

She could see the glint of the axe. Almost too shiny in the cold, dark, February morning. She had spent the night before laying her head on a stone, figuring out just the right way to stretch her neck, her right cheek red by the time she was done. She knew she would face towards Henry, so he would have to see the pain in her eyes one last time. And now, standing there, hands bound behind her back, two men keeping her from moving, Howard felt weak to her knees.

She stirs, ever so slightly, a small whimper rising from her small frame. Anne tightens the embrace, shushing her softly. Better to stop things early.

She could see Henry, stone faced, but not looking directly at her. Cold eyes in a revenge filled body. She’s pushed forward, but falls, quickly being pulled back up and helped up to the scaffold. The stone was larger than the one she had been given, dull and wet with the small bit of rain that was falling.

Kit still hated dark, rainy days. She shifts, unconsciously pulling out of Anne’s embrace and curling up more, hands going to her neck. It was the same thing every night, they always found her small as can be, hands around the neck.

Anne looks to Jane, who’s focused on the movie. “Ahem.” She points to Howard. “Let her be.” Jane responds, knowing that some nights it was better to just let Kit go through the motions.

She didn’t cry, not until she finally laid her head on the freezing stone. She remembered looking at him, and he wasn’t even looking at her, not until she got to the end of her begging.

More stirring.

Though she had been stripped of her title, she knew Thomas was there. With every bit of courage she could muster up, she pushes the statement past her pale, quivering lips. “I die a queen, but would rather die the wife of a Culpeper—“ Her own statement is broken by her voice cracking, and she’s said enough.

“No—“ Her legs kick slightly, hitting Anne. “Okay, no, I’m waking her.”

She closes her teary eyes just before the axe blade cuts through the crisp air, and then Anne is shaking her awake, tears and screams coming from the small girl. “Kitty, it’s me, it’s okay!” Anne says softly, knowing how volume could sometimes rattle the girl even more. Howards screams again, heaving breaths shaking her body and tears flowing from her eyes. Jane gets up at this point, turning the movie off and turning all of the lights on. “THOMAS!!” Kit snaps awake, crying and quite roughly pushing Anne away from her. It doesn’t physically hurt her, but Anne is a little touchy at the fact that Kit rejected her. Nonetheless, she just sits down on the floor, ready for when Howard needs her. Jane rushes to the couch.

“Shhh… Kitty, its okay. It was just a dream. He’s not here.” The calming, motherly voice chimes softly, but Howard won’t listen. “It wasn’t a dream, it HAPPENED! I’M SICK OF IT!” She sobs, and Anne goes to take her hand, but she flinches away, hopping up and pushing past the cluster of women around her. She walks nearly out of the room.

“Don’t—“ A breath. “—touch me!” She stands away from them, still breathing heavily and hugging herself. Anne is pretty hurt furthermore by Kit’s rejection, a few tears welling up in her dark green eyes. Parr pulls her aside, while Jane goes to handle Howard. “You know it isn’t you, right, love? She’s struggling, we all have… Remember how bad your nightmares got a while back? And today, of all days…” She wipes one of Anne’s tears and kisses her forehead quickly. “It’s okay, love.” Anne nods and shows a small smile.

Jane wraps a blanket around Kit, much to the girl’s dismay, shushing her and gently rubbing her back, getting her to sit down at the kitchen table. She kneels in front of the shaking girl. “Kitty, sweetie, I need you to take some deep, deep breaths for me. Look at me, okay? Look in my eyes.” Kit reluctantly does so, eyes wet with tears and full of anxiety and fear.

“It won’t go away.” She sniffles, letting out a huge sigh and hugging her knees to her chest. “He’s everywhere, Jane. He’s absolutely everywhere and so is every other one and I’m just—“ She takes a breath, knowing getting worked up now would just worsen it. “I feel like there’s always someone there. I feel like there’s a target on my back, Jane—” She starts to cry at the end of the statement, falling apart. Jane pulls her into a momma hug. “Shhhh… I’m here… None of us are going to let anything happen to you.”

Kit nods into Jane’s shoulder, Anne and the other girls entering the room quietly. “I’m so tired—“ It’s muffled, her small body shaking with sobs, and Anne has to turn away for a moment to gather herself. It hurts to see her cousin crying. Parr takes her hand and she turns back, kneeling down to where Jane was sitting. “I’m here too, Kitty. I’ll always be here.” Kit moves to hug Anne and Jane goes to get her some tissues.

“I’m so sorry Anne— I didn’t mean to be rude I’m just—“

“Shhhh… it’s okay. He hurt you. He hurt all of us. We will never get mad at you for feeling the way you do, I promise.” She pulls out of the hug, holding Kit’s face in her hands and wiping her tears. “He may have had the upper hand then, but now, we choose our stories. We get to rewrite it.” She nods, and Kit nods along with her. “I don’t wanna see my best gal cry over some fat, old toff.” She pulls her into another hug. It seems at last, the young Howard had finally found some form of peace.

Jane sets a box of tissues down on the table and tidies up the living room area, straightening the crooked couch from when Howard shoved off of it. After a little bit, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the girls disperse, and Anne and Kit go to their shared bedroom, leaving the blanket on the floor next to the chair. She picks it up and folds it, mumbling to herself. Tonight wasn’t the night to grill them about cleaning. It would be better just to keep the peace. At last, it was silent, and the worst day of Katherine Howard’s life was finally drawing to an end.

[klcthebookworm]

2020 My Year In Fic

2020 Fiction Word Count:

86691 / 126531 words. 69% done!

Insights To Not Forget:

So I had a beautiful plan that I was going to reset and hit the ground running for 2021. See Year Zero is Reset Year.

Covid-19 was officially found in my state March 9, 2020, and life found unforeseen territory.

March 24th, I had to adjust to working at home. June 1st, back to working in the office and commuting daily. November 30th, we're back on a modified work from home/office plan (day at home, next day commuting in). I haven't gotten sick and I haven't passed on covid-19 to anyone else. For 2020, that is the biggest win anyone can have. 1.83 million people (to date) didn't get that win.

Would I have forgotten about my buckle down and reset plans without a global pandemic distracting me? Quite likely, I tend to forget all my plans every year. In fact, the writing business plan that I made to cover the year (I use it below for all the goals of the year), the printed version is on my filing cabinet and covered with so many other notes, I can't read the plan. (Removed the notes). This is for 2019. I never printed out 2020's?

And you can see by the total words written, I came under what I wanted to write. Let's see what I accomplished this year.

Stories I Posted:

Star Wars: Sororal Lineality: Aftermath: Word count = 3309. The Fic Whining Circle was getting stories ready for May the Fourth. I decided that this story would be perfectly short to get it up and started writing on May 2nd. I didn't get it finished for May the Fourth, but put it up on Revenge of the Fifth. And then it turned out to be the only story I posted in 2020.

Stories I Finished:

Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences: Word count = 126,607 (31,008 written previously + 49,572 written in 2019 + 46,027). The first draft was finished on July 28th, and it took the rest of the year to get my first edits polished to a second draft for my beta to go over. Now I need to go prod her so I can start posting in 2021.

Star Wars: Sororal Lineality: MJ-0002: Word count = 5664 (387 written in 2019 + 5277). I finished this short story as planned after I finished Unexpected Consequences and before I picked up the next novel. I hope to post it after Unexpected Consequences, but I may need to use it for a May the Fourth story.

Stories I Didn't Finish:

Strix: Forget the Sun: Word count = 31,146 (26,588 written previously + 4279 written in 2019 + 279 written in January) I took a very tiny stab at this novel in January and promptly lost it to work on other things.

Star Wars: Looking For Home Future Timeline: Word count = 7598. So at the end of February, I got stuck on giving the Sequel Trilogy Trio better movie(s) and started writing detailed notes on a future story that will probably never been written. I had already put Rey and Poe Dameron in the sketchy future of the Looking For Home so I needed to figure out how to add Finn. I got stuck with the Third Act, and probably need to declare it has to be a trilogy to get the resolutions I want. Maybe I need a Death Star.

Star Wars: Everybody Lives But Maul: Another plot bunny developed during the year. Mara Jade was given to Darth Vader to annoy him so he would eventually murder her, but he bonds with her instead. So Palpatine orchestrates that Lady Vader's path crosses Maul's on Tatooine. Only Luke Skywalker and Biggs Darklighter ruin the planned outcomes, and Mara remains on Tatooine for her safety. I really don't know if it will be a novel or something else yet.

Star Wars: Everybody Lives But Maul: Prologue: Word count = 1385. So far all I have written in this AU is the scene of the adoption of Lady Vader. I don't know where this scene will end up in the finished work.

Star Wars: Rescue the Farmboy: Mission on Mimban: Word count = 22,882 (8093 written in 2019 + 14,789). After writing "MJ-0002," I came back to Mission on Mimban from the beginning. Still working on it.

What I Think About My Stories:

My favorite story this year: Star Wars: Unexpected Consequence. I can't wait to turn this one lose on the readers.

Story most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: Star Wars: Looking For Home: Future Timeline. I really need to spend some more brain time on this one if just to find a conclusion that makes me happy.

Most fun story: Everybody Lives But Maul. I really wasn't expecting to write it accept the idea would not leave the muse alone and then this happened:

KLCtheBookWorm: I really don't know what to do with Vader and Leia... unless he goes into her cell deactivates the IO droid and "Now Princess can we discuss waging war against Palpatine? Because he orchestrated my first family's death, has tried to kill my daughter, and your rebellion has made her flee her safe haven so he will potential see her again. He will not have her or my grandson." Sithspit, why does the muse want to rewrite OT constantly? JediMordsith: lolol Hmmm.... that could be interesting. Or he could go to Bail. "I will give you your daughter back if you help me get mine back." KLCtheBookWorm: YOU GAVE ME MORE PEOPLE TO HELP LIVE! JediMordsith: Bail convinces the rest of the Rebel leaders to work with Vader to take down the Emperor because he knows what a father's love is. KLCtheBookWorm: I always consider Alderaan's destruction a fixed point in time But the conversation between Bail and Mon Mothma. "You wanna do what now?"

Yeah, at that point I will write it.

Stories I wrote that I never thought I'd write: Star Wars: Everybody Lives But Maul. Technically I haven't really started the narrative, but really, Muse, was not expecting yet another rewrite of the OT. This one is the third, after Rescue the Farmboy and Sororal Lineality.

Hardest story to write: Star Wars: Looking For Home Future Timeline. I have never gotten stuck in which I couldn't finish off an outline. And this is so stuck.

Biggest disappointment: Strix: Forget the Sun. I did not even try for NaNo during the pandemic. (Huge props to everyone who did). I'm considering to do NaNo in April instead in 2021 to finish this novel.

Biggest surprise: I only posted ONE THING! I'm not beating myself up for any of the results of 2020 because it was garbage year, but I honestly didn't plan to leave my readers hanging so hard. On the plus side, they will have at least 30 weeks of new content to read in 2021.

What's your favorite piece of dialogue you wrote this year? From Star Wars: Sororal Lineality: Aftermath.

Luke opened his eyes to Leia’s suspicious face. “She was arguing with Threepio. I went the other way.” “So she couldn’t put you back in the medbunk.” Leia bounced to her feet and helped leverage him out of his seat. “You are going right back to it and staying in it until we reach the Fleet, Commander.” “Aye, aye, Colonel,” Luke replied with less than the banter he normally did. He leaned heavily on Leia, more than he should. Lando finished locking down the controls and followed behind them. “Colonel? Not a General?” “Not a General yet,” Luke responded with a wheezy laugh.

It took a while to figure out what Leia's military actual rank is based of costumes and plot actions in Empire Strikes Back. Major Bren Derlin didn't get a yes from Leia because she loves the two men out in the cold, but because she out ranks him.

What's your favorite piece of description or narration you wrote this year? From Star Wars: Soroal Lineality: MJ-0002.

The last one she dared to open was a recording. Her memory replayed on the screen: a child’s best dress colored green as the recorder tilted down, followed by looking back at the sad adults in the shadows of the shuttle’s lights. She heard the woman’s quavering voice, “Please, don’t take my baby.” Then the gnarled hand extended from the sleeve of the black robe and a tiny hand took it, and the recorder turned to the lit hatch at the top of the ramp. Mara's surroundings registered in waves after that. Her glutes were tingling as she shifted from sitting in a collapsed position on the floor. The floor was cold stone. The recording was playing on a loop above her head. She hadn’t fainted because she wasn’t flat on her back. She climbed up to her feet and shut off the playback. Now the title of the file burned into her retinas, Primary Memory Imprint for Murdering Judges Clone Line.

I can't wait to share this story with readers.

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would, less, or about what you predicted? Oh I came in under what I had aimed for, only writing to 69% of my goal that I set from what I wrote in 2019. But 2020 was a garbage year so I'm not beating myself up over word count results. As I went through the year though, I noticed that August and September were totally spent on just editing and no new words. That means I need to watch the schedule in 2021.

Did you take any writing risks this year? What did you learn from them? I have officially started the write a series of short stories and keep them under 7500 words. I need more practice writing short, which is why I plotted Sororal Lineality this way.

Did you meet last year's goals?

That's a no, and boy, how is it a no. 2021 Goal is to not have Leeloo laugh at me.

The goals from my unprinted 2020 one-page business plan are:

Use Ali Luke's Two Year Novel Plan to finish the Strix series

January - May 2020: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's first draft = Nope, not done yet.

June - October 2020: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's second draft = Nope.

Writing Star Wars AU fanfics

Finish Unexpected Consequences' first draft = Done

Start writing Sororal Lineality = Two stories done out of 28

Finish Rescue the Farmboy: Mission on Mimban's first draft = Nope, but I am currently writing it.

Send Unexpected Consequences to beta reader = Done

Send Sororal Lineality stories to beta reader = Done

Edit Unexpected Consequences = In Progress

Edit Sororal Lineality stories = Done

Post regularly to Intentionally Left Blank, Dreamwidth, Discipline Under Fire, Tumblr Random Thoughts, Pillowfort = Do once a week on Saturdays = I haven't been doing this at all. Tumblr posts happen when I'm home but usually reposting and not anything I have written.

BookWorm's Library website maintenance = Work on once a week on Sundays = Really need to do this

Make sure the software is up to date once a month

Add any files that need adding

Add Media Center to BookWorm's Library = Work on once a week on Sundays = Hasn't happened yet

Create section

Make artwork

Code section

Upload files

Add more fanfics to AO3

Upload Zackverse in story order = Nope, not yet

Upload Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences when edited on Ao3 = In Progress

Upload Sororal Lineality stories when edited = In Progress

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: Liberation to FF.net and the Library when finished = Oops, forgot about this

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: One More Service to FF.net and the Library when finished = Oops, forgot about this

Post Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences to FF.net = In Progress

Post Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences to Library = In Progress

My daily writing plans to help the above list of goals get done:

Write 600 daily words. Can be split among the projects. I'm making the yearly goal to reach whatever number I actually reach on December 31st.

Write and edit every day.

Schedule website updates and fanmix work on the weekends.

Work in meditation time with Brain FM.

Use my Kanban Flow checklist consistently.

Don't let chores pile up now that you have two jobs plus writing to do.

Reward myself when goals are reached throughout my Reset Year.

Do you have any goals for the coming year? The goals from my 2021 one-page business plan are:

Use Ali Luke's Two Year Novel Plan to finish the Strix series

April - August 2021: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's first draft (I'm going to push myself to get it done in by treating April as NaNo, but more time is available if I need it)

Sept. - Dec. 2021: Finish Strix: Forget the Sun's second draft

Writing Star Wars AU fanfics

Finish Unexpected Consequences' third draft

Finish Rescue the Farmboy: Mission on Mimban's first draft

Edit Rescue the Farm: Mission on Mimban to second draft

Send Rescue the Farm: Mission on Mimban to beta reader

Finish Rescue the Farm: Mission on Mimban third draft/li>

Finish Sororal Lineality: Miha first draft

Edit Sororal Lineality: Miha to second draft

Send Sororal Lineality: Miha to beta reader

Finish Sororal Lineality: Miha third draft

Writing Zackverse

Work on Hyrueliana's overhaul

Post regularly to Intentionally Left Blank, Dreamwidth, Discipline Under Fire, and Tumblr Random Thoughts = Do once a week

BookWorm's Library website maintenance = Work on once a week on Sundays

Make sure the software is up to date once a month

Add any files that need adding

Add Media Center to BookWorm's Library = Work on once a week on Sundays

Create section

Make artwork

Code section

Upload files

Add more fanfics to AO3

Upload Zackverse in story order

Upload Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences when edited on Ao3

Upload Sororal Lineality: MJ-0002 on Ao3 on May 4th

Reload Sororal Lineality: Aftermath on Ao3

Upload Soroal Lineality: Miha to Ao3

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: Liberation to the Library

Upload Rescue the Farmboy: One More Service to the Library

Post Star Wars: Unexpected Consequences to Library

Upload Looking For Home: My Home Is You to the Library

Upload Looking For Home: Outcast to Library

Upload Sororal Lineality: MJ-0002 to the Library

Upload Sororal Lineality: Aftermath to the Library

Upload Sororal Lineality: Miha

Update FF.net profile of where newer stories are now

My daily writing plans to help the above list of goals get done:

Write 600 daily words. Can be split among the projects. I'm making the yearly goal to reach whatever number I actually reach on December 31st.

Write and edit every day.

Schedule website updates and fanmix work on the weekends.

Work in meditation time with Brain FM.

Use my Kanban Flow checklist consistently.

Don't let chores pile up now that you have two jobs plus writing to do.

Here's to 2021. We'll get through it together.

[starlitshores]

Harry Potter & the Death of the Author.

First, and most importantly: I stand in solidarity with trans women and trans men. I hope you know that you are an integral part of our community, that you are loved and welcomed and needed, and that so many of us see and celebrate you. I hope you are safe and happy and loved at home, but if home is a tough situation for you, know that there will be a time when a found family will embrace you. We’re waiting for you. You matter and you belong.

tl;dr beneath the cut: HP fandom oldbie good memories. Queer adolescence. JKR = evil TERF. Emma Watson and Daniel Radcliffe are great. Death of the Author.

There has been so much going on this month, and this may seem trivial in comparison to all of that, but J.K. Rowling continuing her TERFy nonsense during Pride Month really hit me in the gut.

Harry Potter has been an overwhelmingly positive force in my life.

I am Fandom Old. I have been extremely invested in Harry Potter since early 2000. I was given a paperback of Philosopher’s Stone for Christmas when I was 12, right before getting Mono and reading PS, CoS and PoA 5 times each while stuck at home. Goblet of Fire was my first queer reading. (Harry was rapidly becoming obsessed with Draco Malfoy!) I joined FictionAlley in 2001 and still remember the old SCUSA ship names and why H/D was “SS Guns ‘n’ Handcuffs” because I beta’d chapters of Irresistible Poison for Rhysenn. I made my first LJ account in February 2003, back when you needed an invitation. Hell, a fandom friend gave me the invitation for my first Gmail account when it was still in beta and everyone had Hotmail accounts with 1MB of space.

I wrote fics with my best and now oldest friend who I met in Armchair Chat on a Sunday afternoon. We later became Armchair mods and people recognised us for the first time at a meetup at Woody’s on Church Street. In my second year Romantics lecture I made a friend because of Harry Potter who ended up being a light in my life and whose wedding I was meant to attend this summer. She introduced me to two of my best friends in London, who I consider family. I was in the room in Toronto when we all found out (and panicked) about Strikethrough. I was there on the sidelines when the idea for AO3 was formed, when it was created, when we were forced to migrate away from LJ and it fractured our community.

I’ve participated in and moderated con panels. I had a kickass time with some kickass ladies in hotel rooms in Chicago and Orlando (you know who you are!). That time I crossed the border at Sarnia and was directed to a Tim’s down the road? Car full of HP girls and luggage (and alcohol). I did drunk karaoke with Libba Bray and almost threw up on Veronica Roth’s amazing yellow leather jacket after that hell ride at Universal. Chris Rankin and I enjoyed Starbucks and a post-con pre-flight chat in the Orlando airport lounge. I attended the press preview of HP7:P1 in London and my students were super jealous.

I have original Sherant and reallycorking pencil sketches. I have SO MANY BUTTONS and a baseball T that is now 16 years old which says “Because every hero needs a dragon.” There are handwritten beta edits on paper printouts of Beautiful World by Cinnamon in a box in my parents’ basement. I am still friends or friendly with people on both sides of That Wank. Yeah You Know Which Wank I’m Talking About.

Over those many years I made a lot of friends, several of whom I’ve kept in touch with even though we’ve all grown up and are well into our 30′s or 40′s and have real jobs and partners and kids and stuff these days. I’ve chatted with a few of them in the last few days and yeah, we’re feeling fucked up.

At 11, at 14, at 18, at 21, at 25, JKR’s pen was all over my life. Her stories very literally shaped me as a person. And though as an adult I have grown to understand that her stories are deeply problematic, they -- along with Buffy and Lord of the Rings, and Queer As Folk, and The L Word -- were my gateway into queerness. So yes, her TERFy bullshit felt like betrayal the first time around. Now she’s attacking us AGAIN during PRIDE month? WHY?

JKR is a grown fucking adult who got rich off of writing stories for and about vulnerable adolescents, and then should have stopped talking.

Adolescence is the time when kids are learning about and starting to accept who they are and it’s fucking scary for a lot of them when they realise they’re queer. Back before she was opening her big mouth on the regular, her books gave me a safe space to figure myself out when I didn’t fit in anywhere else. But now she won’t stop opening her mouth. And for what? To tell every trans kid who ever read her books that they don’t matter to her and that she doesn’t believe in them.

Those kids are us. Our friends. Our family. Our students. Our colleagues. Our teammates. Our partners.

And that, J.K. Rowling, makes you evil. Evil for using your platform to hurt those kids. Evil for doing it during the time of year they’re meant to feel supported and celebrated. Evil for deciding that you’re somehow a member of our community and somehow a more pure member of our community who is allowed to pass judgement on us because “I have a lesbian friend [who is also a TERF]”. Evil for crying victim when someone calls you out, claiming TERF is a slur and aligning that with misogyny in one of the most hypocritical white liberal woman temper tantrums I’ve seen all week. And that? That is saying something because there’s been a whole lot of that shit this week.

The support of Emma Watson and Daniel Radcliffe means a lot to me. Hearing them affirm wholeheartedly that trans women are women (and trans men are men) and that they stand in solidarity with the queer community in clear opposition to the TERF who gave them their careers? I can’t speak to how trans fans feel right now, but yeah, that means a lot to me.

So. What to do. Well, I was there when the last book was released and we collectively agreed to ignore the epilogue. (Epilogue? What Epilogue?) In our little corner of the fandom the last line of the series was: “I’ve had enough trouble for a lifetime.” I think that’s quite fitting. I’m advocating for us to embrace the Death of the Author.

She may have put it out into the world but we made it ours.

It is ours. We don’t need her anymore.