#And I've been wanting to share it with you guys for TEN THOUSAND YEARS

[anincompletelist]

[ vol i | vol ii | fic rec fridays ]

hi all! :D happy december! I've read so many amazing fics this past month and the tbr list just keeps on growing! I wanted to share some here so they don't get lost in the shuffle!

as always, please remember to leave kudos and a comment if you enjoyed the fic or show support in other ways, and be kind! mind the tags and if you come across something you dislike, please kindly (and quietly) move on.

that said, happy reading and enjoy! <3

in no particular order --

(i would stay forever if you said) don't go | @coffeecatsme | T+ | 6k

The words echo in his head, unbidden. The words from another life, practically another universe, shoved inside the small walls of a gilded cage, hidden in a room in London with shuttered windows and locked doors. A boy’s voice Henry still remembers ten years later, when he doesn’t quite remember what he had for lunch the day before. A boy’s voice on a phone that understood him better than every member of his family, even an ocean, a continent, three thousand miles away. A boy’s voice that told him in no uncertain terms that it was okay if he wasn’t okay, that allowed him to pave a path until he was. To open a new shelter in New York City, Henry needs to interview a host of potential lawyers to hire. He doesn't expect one of them to be the boy that saved his life ten years ago.

(mind the tags!)

a rich and complex tapestry | @everwitch-magiks | E | 8k

When Alex first hooks up with Henry, he's expecting a fun one-night-stand and maybe the occasional booty call. He does not expect to get so completely pulled into Henry’s orbit that it forces him to reevaluate everything he thought he knew about his sexuality. And he's not sure if it makes it better, or way worse, that Henry is actually a professional at all this stuff — what are the odds that Alex would hook up with the one guy on campus who hosts his own radio show about sex? 'Sleeping With Henry' is about to gain one devoted listener.

outta luck to spend | potentiallyunloveable | T+ | 9k

“Nora ignorin’ ya?” a voice says from beside him, and Henry startles, turns to his left, is suddenly frozen. The man who’s slid into the seat next to him, silently, without Henry noticing, is quite possibly the most beautiful man Henry’s ever seen in his life. He’s got the widest smile, sweet dimples, soft brown skin and impossibly long eyelashes. He’s wearing a fucking Stetson, and Henry feels like the wind’s been knocked out of him. Or: Henry (lost, hopeless) meets Alex (bright, hopeful), in a bar in Texas.

(mind the tags!)

everything's growing in our garden | @matherines | T+ | 7k

That night, in the safety of his hotel room on the outskirts of the Olympic Village, Henry couldn’t catch his breath. He coughed and coughed, feeling like he was choking on nothing, but there was a scratching sensation in his throat that he just couldn’t shake – until a single blue petal flew past his lips, landing in the porcelain bowl of the sink. After an hour of painstaking Googling, he learns that it’s a Texas bluebonnet. He also learns what the fact that he’s coughing up petals means – the beginning stages of Hanahaki Disease. Rare, but not unheard of, according to the NHS website he browses in an incognito tab. Common in royal bloodlines (thank you, inbreeding). "Only curable if the afflicted’s love is requited with a declaration," he reads, and slams his laptop closed with a bitter laugh, wet with tears. "A surgical procedure removing the afflicted’s capacity for love may be performed if the love remains unrequited. Otherwise, the condition is terminal." So, then. He has no chance.

ocean waves | seafloor | E | 10k

Henry Fox wakes up with a toothache one morning, and has a lot of feelings about certain things for days afterwards.

while you were sleeping (I fell in love) | @kill8a | M | 3k

As their relationship progresses, Alex notices that Henry’s sleeping habits start to progress as well. Notably, more naps, less insomnia, and a knack for falling asleep at any hour of the day.

So I Will Weather The Storm | @sparklepocalypse | E | 9k

They’re in the air twenty minutes before the next report comes in, this time over their headsets. “Patient is located on the eastern side of Sgòr Gaoith. He reports a sudden snow squall came up, and he lost his footing and took a fall. He’s conscious and reports no major injuries, but he’s stuck on a ledge and can’t make it back to the trail. Patient is wearing a red jacket and a black knit cap and states his name is – ” there’s a burst of static over the radio. “Please repeat the patient’s name,” Henry says into the headset mic as Schlosser programs the mountain’s location into the GPS. There’s a bit more static, and then the dispatcher states, “Alexander Claremont-Diaz.” (Or, a movieverse canon divergent AU wherein Henry is in the RAF and Cakegate still takes place, but the PR campaign doesn't happen – and two months after Cakegate, Alex does something dumb on a mountain in Scotland.)

crawl | ironwords | E | 6k

“Well,” Alex says. He swallows, mouth dry. Closes his eyes, takes the hand not in Henry’s and runs it along his tummy, up and up to his bottom rib and then up over that as well. The skin is soft, but the bones under them are hard, firm under Alex’s palm; his fingers dance over the spaces and grooves, feeling along the edges of bone and dipping into the empty space between. Deep breath: in, out. In again, hold it for a few seconds, then out. Then: “I want to, like. Be in you.” Oh wow. Nice one, Alex. Awesome phrasing. Fucking great job.

'til the walls did crumble and | @ninzied | E | 5k

So much for using the wrong fork at dinner. He’s pretty sure this is a thousand times worse. Hundred-thousand? Nora could give him the exact number. Also, he’s pretty sure there’s still buttercream on his ass. (Or, Alex has his bisexual awakening in a bathroom at Buckingham Palace, and also finds leftover cake in Henry’s hair. The two things are not not related.)

Moon Bride (To Have and To Hold) | satinbirds | M | 7k

When the man is brought before him, it’s as if the whole world stops. Clad in delicate gossamer, his apparent frailty is accentuated by the sheer fabric. It is likely a cheap attempt to entice him, yet it only elicits displeasure from the king. He already wishes to dress this fragile figure in the veil of his people, cover him from invidious and lustful eyes.

It's Called Tact, Fuck-Rag! | @largepeachicedtea | E | 12k

Texas had been an odd choice, some might say. Henry thinks it's perfect. College is a time to go crazy, after all. (A Scream AU)

(mind the tags!)

Aftercare | @whimsymanaged | M | 2k

When Alex has an intense hookup without aftercare, he finds himself on his best friend Henry’s doorstep in desperate need of looking after.

--

that's all for now!! hoping to get some more free time this month to read once I finish up some wips! be kind to one another this holiday season, and happy reading! :D

-- sarah / anincompletelist xx

[cyclogenesis]

life updates ✨

today i'm going to swim UP from the depths of the rejection sensitive dysphoria i've been absolutely drowning in lately and i'm going to WRITE and POST this update despite the fact that i want to delete it all already because nobody cares (shut up rsd!! i fucking told you!!!!) so, anyway~~

today i'm going to write the four remaining netgalley book reviews i'm behind on from last year, and in between i'm going to answer comments and feel engaged with as a human instead of the...fantasy npc simulacrum of a daughter/granddaughter | void of a content machine | middling and wildly rejectable acquaintance i've been feeling like lately. when interactions make me feel bad i'm like oh man i hate feeling bad. feeling bad is the worst and it happened because of an interaction. it is therefore logical to isolate myself from the sources of hurt and avoid interactions. and i'm correct tbh but also that is objectively a bad idea. and i know that because i've done it before. i know my own stupid patterns. argh!!

it's just that the bad interactions make me feel like i'm standing at the edge of a cliff and i have vertigo and i'm swaying and dizzy and i know i'm going to fall. but i'm stuck there. i'm stuck in the moment before falling, in this miserable in-between space. and it's like god. get me out of here!!

i'm going to call grammy today. i should have already called her this week. she went into the hospital on saturday night because she's in too much pain and they let her out monday morning with a new treatment plan. i talked to her sunday and she sounded good. i'll be going back to fresno next week for her 86th birthday.

and i just keep thinking about how i'll be there when the new ethel cain record comes out. and so i'll tuck up into the guest room when grammy goes to bed at 8pm and i'll listen to this hour and a half long record. (ten thousand prayer hands emojis go here.) and the last time i was out of town for a record i was excited about it was boygenius in 2023 and so i listened to it for the first time in another guest room, my friend's in new york, and that's where i heard letter to an old poet for the first time and got weepy. and then i listened to it walking through central park on a cold sunny april morning and felt alive and lovely.

but ethel cain is good fresno music. and i'll be able to listen to it all the way through twice on the drive back home. another bright sharp association for art to carry.

i remember this guy i passed on the street in paris. he was homeless (i think?) and frustrated from being ignored for whatever he was asking (i am not as good at french as i would like to think i am) and he ended up yelling "j'existe! j'existe!" at the passers-by. yeah, man. yeah.

my therapist told me to make a list of things i'm grateful for and that i'm looking forward to in the new year. i'm grateful for a lot. when it comes to things i'm looking forward to, i landed on strange new worlds coming back and also, in case it's not clear, the new ethel cain record. (perverts available january 8th!!!)

but i cannot escape the fact that my grandmother is going to die. and also she hit me with the christmas surprise that she changed her will to make her cousin executor (good, my mom was going to be useless and frankly i was afraid she was going to screw me and take everything) so now what was going to be split two ways between me and my mom will also be shared with him and another cousin (a really pleasant fuck-you to me to equally cut in an eighty year old man who lives with his son and doesn't have, you know, student loans or anything). the assets are basically life insurance, a bunch of furniture none of us really have the room for, and however much we can get for her house, which she owns but which is also a mobile home in fresno.

anyway, assuming it's enough that i can convince myself the expense is justifiable, i will be getting that money and flying the fuck out of here. going to greece, see ya. i have a list of islands. i started leaving the country for my birthday in 2023 in part because after rejecting me in favor of my parents in nov 2021, grammy then didn't call me on my birthday the following year after a lifetime of having done so. in fact, she did not call me until twelve days after. this hurt me so badly that i decided to be in a drastically different timezone for every following birthday, because then nobody needs to call anybody. nine hours ahead at the palace of versailles and not really worried about it. thanks. you'd really think my coping mechanisms would have me better at speaking french by now.

so, yeah. i guess i'm looking forward to getting money from my grandmother dying. certainly my therapist will be interested to hear that. frustratingly, i have reached the end of the duolingo greek course and am now just doing the daily refresh lessons which are not great and seem mostly invested in me being able to say and write useful phrases like "ο πυροσβέστης είναι ανίκανος να τρέξει" (the firefighter is incapable of running) and "η καλύτερη άμυνα είναι μια καλή επίθεση" (the best defense is a good offense). recommendations for other apps with good greek courses including writing are of course welcome. which is to say. are there any

writing is still helping. so there's that!

[tanadrin]

i've kind of gotten sucked into the back catalogue of the podcast Mormon Stories, specifically the episodes where they have like honest-to-god egyptologists and archeologists and such on and they take apart mormon apologia piece by piece. because it would be fairly easy (and fairly accurate) to simply ignore this particular subgenre of apologism--not only are the foundational myths of mormonism patently absurd to almost everybody who grew up outside the faith, mormon apologists specifically have only the tiniest little wisps or shreds of reassurance to offer their fellow believers.

like, mainstream christian apologism has been working for two thousand years to produce a parallel body of knowledge--hell, it didn't even used to be "parallel," it was simply the default assumption in most of christendom for most of that period--and can not only draw on a much longer history, but does so in the defensive interpretation of what are (in part) much older events. and the debunked mythology of abrahamic religions accreted gradually, heavily steeped in a local geographic context. there actually were persians and egyptians and babylonians and stuff! nobody got basic facts about what food crops were available in the region wrong, because the people who wrote this stuff had lived there for centuries! you can't dig a posthole in the middle east without turning up artifacts suggestive of that history, because that history is (while false) authentically local.

the book of mormon isn't like that. the book of mormon is insane. it's what you get talking to a guy you met in a bar at 2 am who wants to tell you about the stuff he half-remembers from history channel ancient aliens specials he saw ten years ago, because that guy occupies approximately the same social niche joseph smith did, and also people knew even less about archeology (to say nothing of the archeology of the americas) back in the 1830s. and yet these guys like hugh nibley and kerry muhlestein get up and try to defend this account, writing stuff that makes your average christian fundamentalist apologist look like a paragon of scientific integrity.

what baffles me isn't the rank and file mormons raised in the religion who might know little else. what baffles me are the people who are thoughtful enough to engage with real archeology, to understand the nuances of just how completely nonsensical the mormon version of ancient history is and how indistinguishable recent mormon history is from, like, scientology-level cult shenanigans, and yet who still consider themselves mormons and affiliate with the religion. like i get that religion isn't all about truth claims. there's social and cultural and emotional and all kinds of other elements that bind members of a religious community together. but "mormon" isn't an ethnic group. so far as mormons have a unique culture outside the religion itself it is, as far as i can tell, 1) the shared misery of the mission experience, 2) giving your kids slightly goofy names, 3) getting married really young, and 4) not drinking or smoking. and clearly you care to a certain extent about the truth claims, or you wouldn't have these (very interesting!) discussions on your podcast with archeologists about those claims.

anyway, it's a very weird phenomenon!

[forever-fixating]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @onthewaytosomewhere. This week I'm sharing a one-shot I've been working on. I was possessed by the demon that is Nicholas Galitzine who bombarded my poor fangirl heart with both Mary & George and The Idea of You trailer. I haven't been the same since, and I refuse to admit just how many times I've listened to that fucking song. (Spoiler alert: it's a lot.)

Anywho, I was inspired by that kiss in the trailer (Anne, Nick, I am just a simple bisexual person. You can't just DO SOMETHING LIKE THAT and expect me to have a normal response!!!) and the wonderful story Clean Slate by smc_27 on AO3 and of course, my fandom bestie @priincebutt The Story of Us to add my own popstar age-gap AU into the mix. I hope you enjoy this nonsense as much as I enjoy writing it. Should be ready soon. Toodles!

The band joined them twenty minutes later, and Alex announced, “I am starving. Are you ladies hungry?”

Henry stood as the girls giggled and nodded. They followed behind as the group headed outside to a large black SUV. The girls joined June and Nora in the middle section, and Alex grinned, “Guess you’re stuck in the back with me, Uncle Henry.”

Henry rolled his eyes as Cash opened the door for them. “Henry is fine, thanks.”

“Yes, he is.”

Henry’s heart skipped several beats as he climbed inside the SUV. Was this man hitting on him? He suddenly felt flushed and tugged off Pez’s jacket, trying to calm his racing heart and mind. He scooted against the other door for some distance, only for Alex to move to the center of the seat, their knees grazing each other. Henry, grasping for any semblance of control, called out, “Seat belts, girls!”

June and Nora turned to look at him, and June said, “They’re all buckled up. My mom drilled that into me and Alex’s brains growing up.”

“You two look cozy,” Nora said with a smirk.

Henry gave a nervous chuckle and said, “I’m just happy to be somewhere quieter. I don’t know how you all do it night after night.”

“I thrive on it,” Alex replied, leaning back into the plush leather seats. He looked at Henry through eyelashes that didn’t seem real outside of fiction. “Doesn’t matter if it’s ten people or ten thousand…being surrounded by a sea of people all there to see you. It’s out of this world.”

Henry relaxed into his seat as they pulled away from the stadium, Alex’s cologne filling his senses. It was spice, leather, and a hint of something floral—pure intoxication. The girls chattered in front, and Alex asked, turning his body toward Henry, “So what do you do when you’re not busy being the best uncle ever?”

Henry shrugged, looking down at his hands holding the leather jacket. “My life is quite dull. I volunteer at a youth shelter, help my best mate at his art gallery, and write.”

“Oh? Anything I’ve read?”

Henry hesitated. It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by his work. He had it on good authority that, past the smutty allure, his fans genuinely connected with the characters of his books. But the subject matter was decidedly graphic and not something he wanted to discuss around his twelve-year-old nieces. Finally looking at Alex again, he said dismissively, “Probably not. I write for myself and a small but passionate audience.”

Alex was undeterred. “Try me. I read constantly, especially when I’m on tour. If anything, it will give me something new.”

“Fine,” Henry replied, rolling his eyes. “My most popular series is probably Dark Olympus. As a queer teen, I was obsessed with Greek mythology and-”

“Wait,” Alex said suddenly, his eyes widening, “you’re George St. James?”

It was Henry’s turn to be surprised. “Wait, are you seriously saying you read that series?”

“Dude, I’ve read everything you’ve ever written, even the straight stuff! The Beast was part of my bisexual awakening!” Alex exclaimed. He leaned forward, smacking the back of the seat, and said, “Nora, June! This guy is George St. James.”

The two women spun around, June saying, “No way! Oh my God, I just finished rereading Blood on the Tide from your Crimson Sails series. I’m obsessed! Please tell me you’re working on another book soon because I need it like yesterday.”

“Seriously,” Nora seconded, her curls bouncing as she nodded. “We’ll give you whatever you want if you give us advanced copies.”

Henry must be in a coma, and this was some bizarre dream his drug-addled mind conjured before his siblings pulled the plug. How else could he be sitting in an SUV with one of the most popular bands in the country, who are apparently fans of his books? Penelope and Grace turned their heads as well, Grace giggling, “Are you talking about Uncle Henry’s smutty books? Our mum says we aren’t allowed to read them.”

“With good reason,” Henry said sternly, looking at his bemused nieces. He returned his attention to the trio and said, baffled, “I’ll get with my agent? God, this is so bizarre. I can’t believe you’ve read my books.”

“It’s all Alé’s fault,” Nora said, winking at the singer. “When he finds something he likes, his little ADHD brain latches onto it and falls down an obsession rabbit hole.”

“Shut up, Nora,” Alex said through clenched teeth. The calm and confident veneer from earlier was shattered, and Henry marveled at how alarmingly human Alex was then. But, to Henry’s immense frustration, that made him all the more charming and attractive. He needed to get a grip. This was nothing. It wasn’t ever going to be anything. This was just three very kind young popstars sharing a meal with two fans and their awkward-as-dog’s-bullocks uncle, and that was it.

Again: Nicholas Galitzine, this is all your fault.

Cover Art because I'm a nerd and enjoy having art for my stories on here:

[dimancheetoile]

hey guys, it's Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome Awareness Month

I've been living with this disease my entire life, it took me ten years after my initial questions to finally get diagnosed, only to find out I had a rare genetic disease with no cure, no treatment, a degenerative tendency that makes it harder to deal with every single day as your body gives out on you.

Please share this around and consider donating to fund research. The Ehlers-Danlos Society is a trusted entity that does almost monthly conferences and talks to explain in excruciating detail how EDS affects every aspect of your life from your heart function to your ability to work or even your risks during pregnancy and labour and how you're almost guaranteed to pass on this fucking curse to any child you suffer through birthing.

The EDS Society is super transparent about all the research they do and how your donations help, because it sure as fuck isn't gov funded research that cares about finding a solution for us. After all, it's a rare disease so if they find a cure, it won't make them a lot of money to give it to the couple thousands to dozens of thousands of us that live in every country.

For the entire month, I'll be doing simple portrait commissions to donate money to the research done by the EDS Society. If you want something in exchange for your donation, then either DM me or send me an email at amako.sama.ff@gmail.com and provide references for your OC or fanart you'd like a portrait of. Check out my art tag to see my style or my pinned post for my commission info where there are examples as well.

If you also suffer from EDS, you can use May to tell your story, raise awareness, fundraise (you can even get a t-shirt from EDS Society if you raise $60 or more) and in general, help people know more about this, help families better care for their EDS loved ones, and be a positive impact on this community. Use the #MyEDSChallenge or #MyHSDChallenge (depending on your diagnosis) on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook or Tiktok and the Society will reblog your stuff. There are also 31 prompts for you to post about, which you can find on the website. If you want to hear a little about my own story, I have an ehlers-danlos syndrome, disability, disability awareness and EDS hashtags on my blog for you to go through.

Again, reblogs are very much encouraged and appreciated. Please help raise awareness for this burden we have to live with, knowing our own community has to do its scientific research because no one cares about us.

[alexanderflowerbird]

DAY 11

I will admit to you guys, I haven't done any writing today mostly because I have discovered a new phone game where I take care of fish tanks that is so soothing on my brain I've been pouring a few hours into it for the last few days. I used to love, love, love keeping fish, and fell off of it when I moved in with my exes, in a space that just wasn't conducive to taking good care of a tank. My last fish tank not only was in very poor condition with the fish inside living in what could arguably be considered pond water in a glass box, but also I had to abandon that tank and the fish inside when I fled from my exes. I still feel very sad about it sometimes, I don't have the space to keep fish where I live now either and I miss it, but this little phone game with its little digital fish makes me feel a ghost of the same feelings I had caring for real fish and that's been so nice it's been pretty distracting.

Luckily, I'm well ahead of my quota as far as writing goes, so I do have an excerpt for you! My writing group has been making rounds reading each other's work to get caught up over the last couple of days, and it's been so, so nice to see everyone analyzing and clapping and sharing the things they love about each other's work. It can be very easy to get into writing in a group and forget that the group part of it is reading other people's work with attention and care, but thankfully, I selected a group of people to do this writing challenge with that have shown up and understand the assignment perfectly. Life can be very busy and stressful, and it's easy to just decide to do this kind of work alone, painfully slowly, and uncertain if it's worth the trouble in the first place. Having a community to push back those dark, difficult feelings about making art is really vital, at least it is to me. I know there are writers out there who must conduct their creation in utter solitude, and that's okay too. I'm only glad that I've surrounded myself with creatives who care as much about other people creating as they do their own work. My excerpt is another section from chapter 1 of Blood Sun Territory. I'm very pleased with it, and I've gotten such lovely feedback that makes me feel very proud. I hope you're enjoying reading about it, even in these disjointed, separate chunks.

Taglist: @theskeletonprior @badscientist @tragedycoded @thelittlestspider

If you'd like to be part of my taglist, please interact with this post

The last part of the journey hits Malachi in an uncomfortable way, making his stomach twist and his chest feel tight. His things, forgotten from ten years back, are returned to him along with a booklet about resources he can use as he enters the world again, utterly unsupported with barely anything to his name. He tests the aging leather of his old wallet. It has a red rose patch on one side, a rose that is poorly replicated in a tattoo on his wrist. He hadn’t even realized that this was where the inspiration for a rose had come from, but he sees it now, the memory of seeing his wallet without truly contemplating it thousands of times. He’d chosen a rose on a whim because Cedar, a strange, lanky guy from a few cells down had gotten the itch for a new artistic profession and tattooing had become his obsession.

 He’d made a very questionable set up, but people felt his desire was legit and worth investing in because he’d spent what little money their labor in prison allowed him to buy little alcohol wipes from the commissary, a notably expensive endeavor because they didn’t want the inmates huffing the alcohol to get high. With those collected little wipes he’d carefully sanitize his needles right in front of his ‘customers’, never mind the ink was from dozens of stolen pens and the process itself had to be broken into several sessions so no one got caught getting tatted. Malachi had thought it was charming. Cedar was the sort of artist that was desperate to share his work, to make something of it. He had had a portrait done by the man at one point, but all of the portraits along with Cedar’s pilfered pencils had been confiscated after a few weeks of people talking too openly about his skill for capturing people’s likeness. The tattooing had similarly been shut down by the wardens within a month’s time, but Malachi had been one of the lucky, dedicated customers to get a tattoo that was complete. It’d faded badly, but he doesn’t regret it and now, he realizes, the rose he’d asked for from Cedar was a memory resurfacing. A ghost of his former life, an image that served as part of his identity accidentally because the wallet went with him everywhere before lock up and that rose, red, thickly lined, boringly americana, had made the wallet recognizably his. 

Outside of his wallet, there isn’t much of note. Old clothes that tell him that at one point he’d been a little bit thicker, more full, more settled in his body than prison food ever allowed him to be. A set of keys that go to a car that’s been impounded and an apartment long made empty. There’s a folded up piece of paper too, crunchy like a dead leaf and off color with its time in some dark, dank box, but when he manages to get it open it’s both a resource and another aching injury on his heart. It’s a list of names and phone numbers. He likely had meant to bring it with him into prison and had been denied or had forgotten in his despair that he’d made such a precaution, he doesn’t remember the details, but he’s grateful to his past self for trying.

 It’s his friends, the ones that had said they’d stick by him even though they all eventually faded off, his lawyer’s name and number, and some of Felina’s family members because at one point he’d been filled with rage by the idea that he might not be able to get ahold of her and was determined to keep some avenues open to make sure she and his daughter were safe. Felina’s number isn’t on the list, not because she’d told him while fighting back tears that she was done with him and he could go fuck whoever he wanted in prison, but because he remembers her number even now, by heart. 

He reviews the numbers, questioning who he might call, who might pick up, if the numbers are even valid anymore, but before he can really make a decision about it he’s being told to get changed and get out. That’s all. Get changed. Get out. He puts himself in the old clothes, a tacky dark red t-shirt with a pair of double neck guitars crossed over each other, flames bursting from behind them, along with a red and black flannel. Dark jeans, blue socks that were likely Felina’s, he thinks, beat up, barely salvageable boots, a wallet chain he dutifully decides not to use because god help him he looks like a teenage dirtbag instead of a grown man enough as it is. When he regards himself in the mirror in the bathroom, it’s a fun house clash of who he is at 33 and who he was at 23, a costume of youth poorly fitted on a body that hasn’t known this sort of fashion liberty in so long it hardly remembers it. It is jarring, to have clothes on that are his, but to look upon himself and say most of all in his heart ‘this isn’t me’. It isn’t. It’s a little like seeing a ghost, a horror movie one that might reach out grab him at any moment. He doesn’t look for long, and shudders as he goes out of the bathroom.

When he is delivered to ‘out’ with the loud buzz of gates and the quiet shuffling of other men in their own ghost outfits taking their first free breaths, he assesses the list of names and numbers again. Some of the people around him have the pleasure of being picked up by family, by lovers, by old friends. There’s an envy on the air that could be cut with a knife and Malachi feels it just as much as any other man that’s instead making their way towards the property buses to be carted out to the nearest local bus stop. There’s plenty of men like him, after all. Men with nobody to come get them, men who got left behind or didn’t have anybody to take care of them in the first place. 

Malachi knows as well as any one of them to have a stiff upper lip about it, so he goes and gets on the bus, having made his decision about who to call once he can get to and afford a payphone. As it departs, curving its bulk around the stationed cars of loved ones and joyful reunions, many eyes trail the scene with voracious resentment. Malachi does too, watches until he can’t see it anymore. He knows that he will have to neatly fold that hurt up and put it to bed before he faces Felina. It’s his own fault he’s on this bus and that there’s no one who woke up today and had excitedly circled on their calendar the date of his emancipation. He can’t be angry at her. He hurt her, he did this, he owes her contrition and whatever else she wants from him. He can’t come into Mercedes life after ten years of nothing as a harbinger of conflict. He wants to believe that Felina would have given Mercedes a good, peaceful life, had protected her from the worst things… he doesn’t want to be something that his baby girl needs protecting from, so he can’t be angry, not when he gets there, not when he sees them again.

[antebunny]

random observations about kudos/hits ratios on ao3

so i've been reading fic on ao3 since uhhhh about 2016? 2015 maybe? and writing since 2018 ish. during those years i've made a few observations about common ao3 reader/author behaviors. i thought i'd share them with the obvious caveat that i am limited to the fandoms i've been in and my own personal experiences

One-Shots

generally the standard for one-shots is a 1/10 kudos/hit ratio. meaning if a fic has 3,000 hits, it has at least 300 kudos.

if a fic has a kudos/hit ratio below 10%, it probably has an unsatisfying ending. i almost never see the ratio lowered for poor writing quality.

the exception is fics tagged Unhappy Ending or Hurt No Comfort. those get less hits but the people reading know what they're getting in to. those fics will generally stay within a 10% range.

generally fluff one-shots or fics that are all comfort, no hurt have the highest ratios of any category of fics, sometimes reaching as high as 20%.

Multi-Chaptered Fics

these fics are damn lucky if they reach 10% lmaooo

this is a gradient of sorts, though. complete fics with 2/3 chapters have a much higher chance of being near a 1/10 kudos/hit ratio, while those decade-long 400k 50 chaptered epics are probably near 1%.

based on how ao3 hits work, i would guess that this is because there's a higher chance of ao3 registering another hit even if the reader is just reading the latest updates.

basically, a 2-chapter fic started and finished within two weeks has a very good chance of being above the 10% ratio. that really long fic you spent a week reading three years ago which made you feel like you just ran a marathon? not a chance.

a brief tangent into chapter lengths: a higher length correlates with higher quality. i want to emphasize (actually, i want to tell twelve-year-old self this, but 12 y/o me is beyond our help now) that quantity does NOT make quality. just because you can squeeze an extra thousand words into chapter 3 doesn't make the story any better. however, in general, the writing quality of a 30k fic with 3 chapters will be higher than that of a 30k fic with 30 chapters.

there are exceptions! i once read a very long fic with very long chapters where the writing was, for lack of a better descriptor, extremely childish. the author mostly rotated the same ten verbs around and around for 100k. also sometimes you read a 400-word one-shot that mentally destroys you for weeks.

of course, at the end of the day none of this matters. i wrote a barely decent 42k 5-chapter fic which is somehow over the 10% ratio. i cannot for the life of me understand why this is. it's not good, you guys. it's really not. on the other hand, i wrote a 37k one-shot which is below the 10% ratio. the kudos/hit ratio has not changed how i view the quality of those fics, it just convinced me that some of y'all have no taste.

these really are just random observations i've made from my six ish years putting fic on the good old Archive. it's not meant to be a reading guide, just something that makes you go "huh."

[whinlatter]

Q&A: Yet another writing ask

responding to these writing asks in a bumper post so as not to clog dashes, hope this is ok!

7. Your favourite ao3 tag - @celestemagnoliathewriter

(Give me that sweet sweet sad canon compliant post-war content)

8. How slow is a slow burn? - @celestemagnoliathewriter

Millennia. Eons. Civilisations rise and fall, new continents are formed, in the passage of ten thousand ice ages.

9. Thoughts on cliffhangers. - @celestemagnoliathewriter

Love em. Dangle me off that cliff, baby!

20. Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you? - anon

I do tend to work actively on one main project (right now, that's Beasts, a sprawling fic that is really living up to its name in my mind lol), and then sometimes tinker with or sketch out new projects on the side either just as the idea comes and I need to scribble it down, or to give my brain a refresh and a holiday away from the main project. I tend to write a lot every day (one of the few perks of the flexibility grad school life because it sure as hell isn't the job prospects and material security amirite), so need the variation to break it up a bit. The Dean fic I shared in response to this ask is a good example of a consciously different fic I let myself pick up and play with as a reward for making progress on my main project (sorry Dean - always the guy to pick up and play with, never the main man...) I don't have hundreds though, only ever three or four, of extremely varying quality.

22. What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again? - @turanga4

Ah man, there's nothing like it. Just want those sweet babies to find their way to each other every time. Also it's so nice to have been thinking about characters for so many years and still be learning and seeing new things in their dynamic by exploring them in ninety thousand different scenarios. It's actually kind of a joke how much canon-compliant Jily fic I've been mainlining atm and every time being like, how will these two crazy kids ever find their way to each other?! Like girl bffr

Thank you all so much for these, I had a blast responding to them!

[fragileizywriting]

Izy please I need you to tell me more about dl!juleka, I've been thinking about her for days. We know she thinks of Mari as a sort of mother figure, obvi she sees Luka as her brother and loves him forever but what does she think of Adrien? Does she also see him as a brother? Older brother you mess with?? Younger brother you also mess with but in a different way?? What does she think of the dl trio kids when they come around? How does she fit in that family dynamic? /1

/2 like does she help take care of the babies? Does she teach em cool tricks or pranks? Does she tell them stories???? I bet she has the best stories. Do the kids see her as an older sister ?? Please I'm so full of thoughts and feelings about this familyyyy

i'm so late to answer your question i'm sorry! i wanted to answer today but i got distracted by [gestures vaguely] bad feelings. i will do my best to answer the first part tonight before bed and get to the second part tomorrow!

i haven't decided what type of relationship she'll have with adrien because it's kind of a bit of a mixed bag. i think it'll be super unique to them both; she's never interacted with a guy outside of luka (though to be fair, calling luka a guy in this context is an understatement) and meanwhile adrien's never interacted with a child. i think adrien is going to learn a great deal about how children work and how to take care of them, even though jules is pretty self-sufficient. she has needs, because she's a First but also because she's blind and because she's also a child, and this isn't something he was expecting at all. he certainly never imagined a little girl to show up in their lives, fully articulated and all.

i think both jules and adrien aren't used to sharing in the way they have to. maybe they get on each other's nerves in a brother/sister way that her and luka don't get up to. i'm thinking maybe their relationship is similar to some moments between power/denji? the two of them bite and scuffle over food, seating arrangements, books...

this ask has made me think about something a bit off tangent-- just something small, miniscule, where maybe marinette is remaking jules's bed because she kinda fucked up the sheets the night before because she had a nightmare and kept tossing and turning, and marinette is putting on a new pillow case and stuff and jules is sitting on the bed waiting and she's just listening to marinette hum, and she goes:

"mei mei?"

"yes, my love?" marinette answers off-handedly. when jules doesn't reply, just simply smiling to herself, marinette stops moving her hands. "jules? what's wrong?"

"nothing," jules responds. "i just waited a long time to hear you say that. it's nice to finally be able to hear it, you know?"

and marinette starts tearing up, because she's a baby, she's a little girl, who loves so unconditionally. she fell and she's in pain and things hurt but she still smiles when she's happy and her laugh is so cute and adorable and sometimes eats off of luka's fork when she wants to try something but doesn't want to commit.

"oh," marinette whispers, just loud enough for her to hear. "how long did you wait to hear my voice?"

"since i read your book!"

"since before i was born, huh?"

"it's worth it. so, so worth it. lukas's book says that you sound like stars. adrien's book always mentioned your accent whenever you spoke french but i never realized how much i'd love it until i heard it. it kept me a lot of company."

millions and millions of years, waiting? how could she do it? marinette has only spend a few tens of thousands, and that's enough for her to never want to go through it again. how did jules manage, knowing that a family waited for her down here, but she needed to wait until the right moment?

marinette can't help herself, pulling jules in for a hug. tears running down her face as she tucks the little angel close and kisses her bangs. "never again, okay? you and i are staying together. the whole family is. i promise."

"okay," jules whispers. marinette can feel wetness bleeding onto her shirt. "forever."

[nancypullen]

Fiona

We're back! We're home and I'm sorting through hundreds of photos, trying to choose how I can share the highlights of the trip without burying you in vacation pictures and boring you to death. Ireland was wonderful. What a beautiful country and what incredibly kind and friendly people! I think small talk is the national sport. You will not meet a stranger in Ireland. The weather during our trip was about what we expected it. Ireland is a rainy country, and even when it's not raining, it's rarely sunny. A year has 8760 hours and Ireland averages 1100 to 1500 sunny hours per year. I don't mind that a bit, I love a moody sky. We had two rainy days, both cleared by mid-afternoon. We had several days that started with fog and just a barely there misty rain, again clearing by afternoon. And we even had three days of actual partly sunny or outright sunny weather. The hottest, sunniest day was luckily when we took a ferry out to Inisheer (Aran Islands), so that worked out perfectly.

The point of all that weather talk is to introduce Fiona. That's what I named my Irish hair. I tried to control her, but she was wild and free. There was no amount of product that could tame her and no tool in my arsenal was strong enough to break her spirit. You guys, I walked around looking like a clown. Not exaggerating. You know that in the 15 years that I've posted on this blog, a healthy portion of the content has been ruining/fixing/complaining about/laughing at my hair. The universe gave me the gift of blarney, but not the blessing of good hair. If a picture is worth a thousand words, allow me to illustrate.

American hair...

Irish hair...

My husband was unaware that he was vacationing with Diana Ross. Does anyone remember that episode of friends where they all went somewhere in the Caribbean and Monica's hair exploded?

Yep.

I thought I was prepared. I expected the rain and packed my anti-curl and anti-frizz products. They were no match for the constant misting and wet fog.

Yes, I did wear a lot of black on this trip. Perhaps I knew there'd be a funeral for my dignity. I swear, I started each day with a plan to subdue her, but Fiona roared back and refused to be vanquished. You have to respect a spirit like that. She was a worthy opponent, stronger and more determined, and I feel no shame in admitting defeat. Okay, now that we have all of that nonsense out of the way, I'll get down to the business of sharing beautiful Ireland with you. My favorite spot was Dingle. I could have stayed a week there. I've got too many pictures so I'll sift through them and try to hit just the highlights. I have so much to tell you, from scary cliffside driving and interpreting the Irish language, to my search for a green vegetable. Ten days of beef, potatoes, and bread made Mickey very happy. My body was craving greens. I did find some beautiful salads - a smoked salmon salad in Dingle, and this beauty in Galway.

I wanted to marry that salad. Rocket greens, beet root, crispy crown of goat cheese, walnuts, a drizzle of honey....it was perfection on a plate.

But enough about food, I'll leave you with a view of yet another castle. They were everywhere. We'd be buzzing along toward the next village and just on the roadside, beyond a field of sheep or sitting in a cove - a castle! This is Dunguaire Castle, located in Kinvara. It had closed for the season on September 30th so we didn't go inside, just roamed the grounds. I'd planned to add pretty music to the video, but decided to leave in the original audio. There we were, not a car in sight, so we pulled over to explore the castle. Across the road was a field of sheep and donkeys. Peaceful, bucolic...until I took my phone out.

That donkey had a lot to say. I couldn't understand him though, it was all in Irish. Alright, back later with more. I promise it will be prettier and more interesting. SO MUCH to share! Stay safe, stay well, stay tuned! XOXO, Nancy

[vizowrites]

Ya know when I got into the helluva boss amd Hazbin hotel Fandom I was not expecting to come out with ships but like Blitzstrike just wiggled in there and there isn't enough content about them out there!

Anyway if you are still taking hc how do you think striker would react to blitzo getting hurt on a job either seriously or minorly? Or heck how would he react to robofiz talking to blitz like he does in looloo land?

Hi Love!! So I hope you don't mind that I just screenshotted your 2nd ask and added it into the first BUT I wanted to do it because the answer I have covers them both and is also kind of sort of a little surprise announcement to everyone here: These exact things that you asked for are things that I'm tackling in my first ever multichapter BlitzStrike fanfic [currently outlined to be a MINIMUM of 15 chapters] that I'm calling: Lightning Strikes Twice <3 <3

Lightning Strikes Twice is actually a part [the main part] of what I'm calling "The LST Series" [The Lightning Strikes Twice Series]. It focuses on the headcanon you just described here where Striker was the one that gave Blitz those horseback riding lessons when Blitz ran off on Verosika to Wrath and maxxed out her credit cards. HOWEVER, due to usual Blitz relationship shenanigans, they end up breaking up after a few years together and kinda go their separate ways for a number of years--during which time Blitz does everything that he does in canon [adopting Loona, starting up I.M.P., stealing The Grimoire from Stolas] and basically takes things back full circle to the canon series of events. But--just when he least expects it--Blitz finds himself with an unexpected visitor crashing in on him in the middle of the night: none other than his ex, Striker. This leads to more shenanigans happening, now in conjunction with the canon timeline as it plays out, annnnnnd I feel like to describe this in any more detail would just be completely spoiling everything so I'll stop here hahahahaha!! :D

The only other things that I will note real quick are that: 1. Striker's reaction to Blitz getting hurt AND Striker's reaction to hearing RoboFizz say The Thing to Blitz are both in this fic and 2. There will be at least one prequel oneshot [titled "Riding Lessons"] that features the first meeting between Blitz and Striker in the Wrath Ring for those horse-riding lessons, and the possibility for sequels that can have a little bit more of a 'pick and choose' thing about them so that readers themselves can decide for themselves how they want the story to end individually. So far I can say I have one shorter multichapter fic planned as a sequal, and at least one or two oneshots that don't in any way HAVE to be read in conjunction with Lightning Strikes Twice, but they can still exist as an optional additional part of the canon if people want them to. <3 <3

I hope that answers your questions, Love!! And I hope that you'll give the fic a read as soon as it gets posted!! I have full outlines for 12 of the 15 chapters, and have most of the first chapter already written and ready to go. I'm planning to post the first chapter once I manage to get at least halfway through writing up chapter two, though ideally I'd like to get both of the first full two chapters written before I post anything officially--I'm just guessing that I'm going to run out of patience at some point. :D <3 <3

[nonegenderleftpain]

To all the new, young MCR fans out there who are just finding them during this tour - you will never know what it was like to be a fan back before and during the hiatus.

And that's a good thing.

I have been following My Chemical Romance since I was ten years old. MCR was the band that the freaks liked. The band that young queer kids were called fags and dykes for liking. Someone once called them the "poster child for suicidal depression," and they aren't wrong. We watched the band struggle with drugs and drinking and idolized how much they were able to do while blackout on tour, because if they could do something so powerful at such a disadvantage, then maybe we could, too. We watched the popularization of "guyliner," because having a term for men wearing makeup could make it an ironic fashion statement instead of a deliberate choice that would get you left bloody and unconscious on the floor of a gas station bathroom. We watched these guys destroy themselves, and we saw ourselves in them because we were destroyed, too. We wanted to believe that we could be just as important, no matter how broken we were, and we found shared experiences at concerts and cafeterias and skate parks and libraries, with other fucked up kids that wanted to listen to the guys that didn't care if people called them gay. The guys that made out on stage to the jeers of thousands of people and got bottles of piss thrown at them but kept doing it anyway. The guys that played with gender and sexuality and everything on the fringes of acceptability, in their lyrics and their performance and the way they treated each other.

This was important. It was life-saving. It provided a comparatively safe space in an unsafe cultural environment for the freaks to find comfort in. It was also hugely and dangerously unhealthy.

I've talked at length to my friends about how healing and lifechanging this tour has been for me, and I want to illuminate that for these young fans that are falling in love with MCR like I did when I was their age. When we were kids, most of our heroes were already dead. They died young, had tragic lives, and we saw ourselves in them. I fully believed MCR would end up the same way. It would have been so easy to be martyrs - to die young and beautiful. Gerard said it himself, back in the day, that MCR was destined to die young in a car crash and stay beautiful forever, and I think he truly believed that.

So they broke up. And, like a miracle, things started to change. They got clean. Got married. Had kids. Not just Gee, but the lot of them. They aged out of the 27 club, and then out of their 30s, and they only seemed to continue to thrive. Today, in 2022, Gerard Way is 45 years old. He has wrinkles. He has a daughter who is older now than I was when she was born. And they are touring again.

The cultural change from when I was a teenager to now, when you guys are, is monumental. It's insane. It's fantastic. Back in the day, Gerard made some occasional comments about playing with gender presentation (that all us trans people, including those of us that didn't even know yet, hunted down and cherished and kept in our chests for safekeeping), but the idea of doing something so flagrant as headlining Riot Fest in a dress was ludicrous. It would have gotten him booed (still did, even now). It could have gotten him killed. The fact that Gerard Way has stepped on stage three separate times this tour in a dress (so far! it's not over!) is such an incredible, monumental change from when I was a kid and I am so, so happy for you to be experiencing it as kids.

I had a cry about this at a P!ATD concert in 2018, after seeing preteens running down the halls in pride flags, and I feel even more strongly about it now than I did then. That you're able to talk openly about Gerard's gender performance without fear, that you're able to hear them go by he/they pronouns, that you're able to interact with other young fans in the wake of MCR's revival in a safe environment and take in the messages that are at the core of what they stand for? These are beautiful fucking things.

You can't know what it was like, growing up with MCR back in the day. But you get to know what it's like to grow up with them now. Cherish that. In Detroit, Gerard told us to take our meds, and reminded us that we made it. They made it. They fought through the hard parts, fought the demons, and came out the other side better for it. As you watch them put those demons to rest from concert to concert, know that there are older fans cheering you on, so fucking happy to see you sharing this experience with us, and so excited to see what way this changes you. We know it changed us.

[doccywhomst]

Martha Jones is my favourite companion. She deserved better from Ten. Which other Doctor(s) do you think would have been great for Martha to travel with?

oh my GOD, okay, it's happening- everybody stay calm, everybody stay CALM, stay FUCKING CALM

first doctor: initially, he's all hee hee hoo hoo wacky space granddad, but then he's always telling her to stay in the tardis and stand here and go there and wait and- she doesn't listen to a word of it. they don't mesh

second doctor: he radiates lethal amounts of crackhead energy and she isn't quite sure how to navigate that. might have to pair her with a slightly more down-to-earth doctor

third doctor: yeaaaah baby, now we're cooking with nitro-9. he's always saying stuff like "i'm a doctor of everything, miss jones" and "i have thousands of years of experience, miss jones" and then he immediately gets his shit wrecked and martha launches in to rescue him like

fourth doctor: she's had to tell him off once or twice for sheltering her, but he got the message pretty quick and now they're constantly running head-first into danger. in fact, out of the pair of them, martha is the sane one. four is at the controls and she's like

fifth doctor: martha has family problems. that's established. i think she'd love to travel with five's posse of queer youth, if for no other reason than to get a lot of hugs and cool outfits. i want this now

sixth doctor: if he acts the fuck up, he gets smacked the fuck up, and he learned that almost immediately. now they have an unsurpassed mutual respect for one another. no strained relationship, no thin ice. just vibes. martha does have a love-hate relationship with the coat, though

seventh doctor: when they click, they click, but when they clash, they clash hard. they're both too stubborn for each other and it can create a Difficult Working Environment. i love seven but i'm not sure they'd play nice

eighth doctor: oh. oh ho ho. oh my god. can you even begin to imagine? his stories are so insane and terrifying, and his character is such a liminally-dwelling cryptid - i think she'd sense him in her vicinity like how birds sense tsunamis. at first, she's like "haha, this pretty guy is so silly, he's making me pancakes!" and then he does Something and she's like

ninth doctor: sad bitches UNITE. this is lonely hearts solidarity. they sass each other to death out of spite for the world and then share a snuggie, pull out their VHS copy of The Notebook, and drink a pina colada with two straws

tenth doctor: we know how that went down….

eleventh doctor: like with the second doctor, i think he's slightly too rabid and alien for martha to deal with. he's always bouncing off the walls and spinning in circles and diverging neurologically and she just needs someone consistent to throw her tether around. we need a shoulder to cry on, STAT

twelfth doctor: unrivaled. unmatched. undefeated. they meet and she's like "you're the most fucked up old man i've ever met (affectionate)" and he's like "you're the most practical and level-headed person in my life (derogatory)" and they hit it off splendidly

thirteenth doctor: similar to eight. martha can feel the extremely disturbing and eldritch miasma that thirteen emanates and is immediately put off by it. nothing against thirteen, but martha gets within twenty feet of her and this warning message pops up in her brain

in conclusion, i love martha very much and she's a bamf

[alexanderflowerbird]

DAY 3

Today's been a busy day for me, to be honest! I sat down to write late, but outside of that I had work, and then I went to the mall to treat myself a little bit. I've been thinking about my writing all day, but sometimes thinking about it and sitting down to do it are entirely divorced from each other. I'm sure plenty of fellow writers can empathize with that; most of the time thinking about my writing gets me excited to write, I think of phrases or scenes or moments that I MUST get down and that gets my ass in a seat ready to write, but occasionally thinking about it doesn't spur me into action like that. Today's one of those days I suppose. I have been struggling with a sort of malaise for a while now and that effects my creative process too, so today I feel a little bit sad, and I've been busy, and I'm not as motivated as usual. That hasn't stopped me though, because frankly, very little manages to stop me when I decide I'm going to do something lol So I've written today. Nearly a thousand words, the scene I got out is 929 words, but I have my buffer to make up for the 71 I've missed today and plenty more than that. I can already tell that being part of a writing group is what's going to get me through this. My friends have been talking today about what they're going to work on, and it's given me a feeling of support and responsibility. They're working hard, they're creating amazing art, I want to create art with them, too. My husband has been making time to write even while he's working and driving a ton, so how can I let a little rain clouds and business slow me down? I didn't. I got this. So here's an excerpt for you. CW for F-slur

“How many times I gotta tell you, Malachi? She don’t wanna see you. Haven’t wanna see you since you got locked up. What’s so hard to understand, ah?” Esteban seems to think that he’s gotten better at lying since when they were kids, that ten years time has changed him in a way that makes him more difficult to read. It hasn’t. Even after all this time, Esteban is still the sort of guy that gets loud when he’s trying to hide something, that can’t quite make eye contact like a dog who’s eaten something he shouldn’t. Malachi has endured an hour of this, of trying to gently pry Esteban’s jaws open and get him to spit out the truth with counter points to his arguments. He isn’t looking to try and move back in with Felina, he just wants to see her. He owes her apologies and it’s not for Esteban to say what she does or doesn’t want. He deserves to see his daughter. How would Esteban feel if his little girl went away and he never got to see her again? Esteban has only recently had a daughter, one of three, and while that argument hits him in a way that seems to break down his resolve, he still won’t crack and tell Malachi what it is he’s so determined to hide. 

“I thought we were friends, Esteban. Friends for life.” This is an underhanded tactic, but Malachi’s running out of options. He pours beer from the pitcher they’re sharing into Esteban’s cup for effect, topping it off before trying to meet the other man’s eyes. Esteban groans and leans back in his seat, running his hands down his face. He’s being reminded that when they were kids they made promises to each other they both took very seriously, that they’d sealed those promises in blood drawn by their matching pocket knives. It’d been stupid of them, but it was boy shit, boy shit that kept them sewn together for life, especially when Malachi a couple years later knocked up his sister and more than that, married her. Malachi feels bad to call upon those old promises. 

It’s clear Esteban doesn’t know all the reasons why Malachi and Felina split; he thinks Felina doesn’t want to associate with a criminal, that she’s gone off these last ten years to put young, dumb love behind her. Esteban wouldn’t have met with him if he knew the rest, and as selfish as it is to think of it in this way, that gives Malachi some hope. Felina could’ve told her whole family she’d married a faggot, that he’d been talking to men behind her back, had saddled her with a child, married her before the eyes of God only to prefer ass fucking. She hadn’t though; she’d left that out. Malachi can understand why in his own, pitiful way. She didn’t give a shit that he liked men, she gave a shit that he didn’t love her, not the way she wanted, not the way she loved him. No point in ensuring that every man in her family would want Malachi’s head on a spike as soon as he got out of jail. Esteban thinks he was a stupid kid who made a mistake. 

Esteban had nearly been part of that mistake, if he hadn’t been in the middle of having his first baby, starting a car shop, trying to get his life right the old fashion way. He’d been tempted, Malachi remembers, but ultimately had said no, and Malachi is sure that there’s something like guilt that’s brought him to this bar to meet with Malachi. Guilt and the blood bond of young boys, boys who had sisters and always wanted a brother. 

“We are man, you think I’d be here after you broke my sister’s heart if I didn’t call you my friend? I should whoop your ass, but I bet you got that plenty in prison. I’m telling you though man,” Esteban hesitates, groans again and takes a long swig from his beer. “Where she’s gone you don’t wanna go. I don’t even go out there, I don’t know why she’s out there with Mercedes ‘cept she went a bit nuts after you left. I know you wanna see Cede, but man… just wait a couple years?” As soon as he says it he knows it’s a stupid and unfair request, his voice pitching up and his shoulders shrugging. Malachi looks across at him with open disapproval and he scoffs. 

“Man… Fine. Fine! You wanna know so bad? Love your kid that much after ten years in the lock up? Fine. I’ll fucking tell ya and I’ll tell you this too, when you decide it ain’t worth it in the end?I won’t judge you for it.” Esteban is scaring Malachi a little, but he hides it. Where the fuck did Felina take his baby girl? It scares him too, that this might be another thing that’s his fault, that wherever she is, whatever danger is there, she went running towards it because he fucked Felina up and left her on her own. 

“I’m not going to decide that. It’s worth it, Esteban. It’s worth it to see them, to see my little girl, and make right with Felina.” Malachi says solemnly. Esteban laughs at him, and Malachi feels his anxiety expand, the scenarios he’s imagined to punish himself crawling over each other to combine into some new terror he’d somehow failed to think of. 

“You ever heard of the Blood Sun Territory, down south?”

[drarrily-we-row-along]

A Small Thank You

So one year ago today, I had a super shitty day at work, in a long string of super shitty days at work. I'd stopped writing for the other fandom I'd been in because some people hadn't been very nice, and I just really wanted to do something creative. Something just for me.

One year ago today, I wrote this little ficlet and posted it, telling myself that if people weren't kind, I could just take it down. I couldn't have imagined what the past year has brought me in this fandom.

First and foremost, it's brought me so much joy. I've loved getting to know so many fantastic people, it's been a profoundly humbling and meaningful experience to have so many people interact with my writing. This blog went from having one solitary follower to currently having 1672 followers- a fact that is continuously absolutely inconceivable to me.

In the past year I've written: - 218 fics - 398,284 words

If you'd told me when I started this, I would not have believed that I was capable of that.

My fics on AO3 have gotten 41,195 kudos and had 331,296 hits. And this is to say nothing of the literal tens of thousands of notes that have been left on my things on Tumblr (but aren't easily trackable like they are on AO3).

And honestly, that ^ is the reason that I've been able to do this. You guys are amazing, your love and support has carried me through so difficult times. Writing fics for the past year and sharing them with all of you is one of the coolest things I've ever been able to do.

You have blessed me more than you can imagine and I am so thankful for all of you and for all of the joy that you have brought me.

So thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for all of the joy and love. <3 Happy one year anniversary.

[studiojeon]

bitterness in goodbye | jjk

this is part of my troubled outsiders series. sadly, you can't read this as a stand alone (meaning: feel free to check the previous parts ♡)

| summary | - You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.

warnings: none (?) i mean chaeryeong insults jungkook which is an atrocity in itself but-

contents: we diving into the angst my friends. jungkook is an innocent, kind hearted soul, i promise. oc's got the feels (out oct. 1) for jk. idol!jungkook × student!reader.

author's note: I EDITTED THIS FROM MY PHONE DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW FUCKING ANNOYING THAT IS? also, thank u for the amount of support i've been receiving lately, i appreciate everyone lots. feel free to ask away or suggest anything btw, i would love to write for any prompts you guys come up with. 💞💗💖💘💓💕

words: 1.57k

playlist: honey by halsey

Four weeks later, the receptionist of your apartment complex hands you over a cardboard box with the hoodie Jungkook and you had talked about that day on the Han River. Jungkook kept pestering you to please please please send him your address for confidential purposes, which you knew had to do with his determination to literally provide anything that catches your eye right away. You assumed it was a sensitive topic for the boy whether people had purposefully taken advantage of his money before, so you didn’t dare to say anything when the man asked you for your size literally two hours after he dropped you off, scared to either reject his solidare intentions or piss him off for bringing unwanted memories back. In  your defense, your personality type keeps oscillating between INFP and INFJ so it’s only natural that you take extra care to make sure those around you have as much peace of mind as possible in your presence. 

As pretty and comfortable the piece of soft clothing is, an important factor is missing, something that you can’t recreate buying two of the same size and color, and that is Jungkook's escence and how good it looks on him in comparison to anyone else in the world. Meaning, you didn’t like it as much as you thought initially would. And it absolutely did not have to do with the fact that your short stature made you look like a toddler who stole their dad’s jacket.

Still, in order to show Jungkook how much you appreciate his gift, you bring it to work the next day, and the rest of the days after that, with the excuse that with winter rolling around you needed something to keep you warm in the office. Jungkook doesn’t miss the opportunity to confirm your assumptions regarding your appearance whenever he barges into your office randomly throughout the week, arguing that ”you look so adorable” and doesn’t stop for two weeks more, until he gets used to seeing you wearing something you shared with him. Which doesn’t help ease your growing romantic feelings for him whatsoever.

Because yeah, you liked Jeon Jungkook, just like every human being with eyes and sexual desires, except, you didn’t just like him in a superficial way, and that’s where the problem with him resides. Though you are sure everyone has fallen in love with the endearing boy at some point - especially the excluded and invalidated women of society - you can’t help but place some blame on you for allowing yourself to be swooned so goddamn easily. Your mom had said to you at some point to be wary of the way some men would talk to you when you grew up, their intention usually being getting inside your pants, which has happened to you more times than you'd like to admit. And with the argument that she knew you better than anyone, she claimed you would comply right the second someone talked sweet to you; you despised the fact that was the case with Jungkook (and Jungkook only), although he had never shown any sexual innuendos. What your feelings could do to your relationship with Jungkook and your rather chill lifestyle scared you to death, shiver me timbers and all that shit, having romantic feelings for someone else is embarrassing, especially when your chance with them has been scratched out the second you laid eyes on them.

Jungkook sits on your couch, legs spread on your thighs as you two pretend to watch some series on netflix. “I don’t buy for a second the act you’re putting on right now.” he speaks randomly after staring at your deep-in-thought state for a few minutes and laughs when you snap at him for not letting you overthink in peace. “What’s going on?”

Truth is, you don’t fucking know. A few hours before he arrived at your place (you had to pick him up at the dorm and sneak the both of you through the subterranean parking lot, because god forbid someone saw Jungkook arriving at some chick’s dorm on a saturday afternoon) you swore you would be able to conceal whatever emotional turmoil you had going inside of you without compromising your regular behaviour around the man, but when push comes to shove, it’s impossible to keep yourself from wondering how far you could go before that special someone found out what was going on inside of your head.

Jungkook’s phone rings in his pocket with some annoying tone he had downloaded illegally from youtube the same day the company had handed over the device as a gift for him (you still were a little bitter over how they neglected the rest of the staff but you also knew it was kind of impossible for the human kind to just gift a-thousand-dollar-phones to almost five hundred people out of solidarity). “Hyung?” he picks up, still wary of your unusual behaviour, concerned eyes looking at you. “No, uh- i’m with Yugyeom right now.” and your heart shatters into a million pieces.

You have been suspecting for a while that Jungkook is being hesitant to introduce you to his social circle. Although, you’ve tried your best not to take it personal, it is getting harder to resist the urge to ask him what the fuck is up with that. The fact that Jungkook had to lie about the person he was hanging out with broke your ego; he could’ve just said he was with a friend, right? You suddenly feel like you’re fifteen again, when the guy you liked would love you in the dark but pretend he didn’t know you in the light. 

Holding your tears back, you gently push him off and make your way towards the bathroom in the most nonchalant way you could. This is your fault for falling for the nice popular guy in the first place, you remind the reflection staring back at you. Still, as bad as it hurt, there was no way you were going to cry over a stupid boy, let alone when he was literally sat on the next room. He can go fuck himself if he thinks he can just toss this behind as if nothing ever happened.

You text Chaeryeong instead.

“chaery bom bom: i swear to god i gonna throw hands the next time i see the bitch.

chaery bom bom: like who the hell does he think he is? fucking squidward looking asshole.

chaery bom bom: he ain’t even that cute bub, you’ll get over him. i know jinyoung wouldn’t treat you like this”

You sigh. Chaeryeong has been enamored with the idea of you and his former company colleague from GOT7 since the day she met the guy (which was somewhere around ten years ago), and although he was all that, you didn’t like his quiet and cold aura, it intimidated the fuck out of you (Jungkook was the entire opposite of that).

You spray on some perfume just to have an excuse as to why you randomly ran to the bathroom when Jungkook’s inquiring eyes stare as you sit back on the couch, which is exactly what he does. “You done with your call?” you ask, bitter.

Jungkook frowns, a bit taken aback by the sudden question but still unaware of the way his words had made you feel, not even sensing the hostile change in your mood. “Yes, it was one of our managers. He was wondering if I could come back to reshoot some...-thing.”

Okay, now you kind of understand as to why he lied in the first place and to say you feel guilty is an understatement. “I supposed he backed down once you mentioned you were hanging out with Yugyeom.” playfulness makes its appearance on your tone and Jungkook rolls his eyes at you, tongue poking on the inside of his slightly red cheeks.

“Sorry for that” he moves closer and cuddles your arm, like a sad guilty puppy. “It’s just- I don’t want them asking questions''.

You understand. He is a very reserved and private person after all. It took you a bit to crack him open yourself. Plus, you kind of share that trait with him, you’d hate it too if people were constantly on your nerves for the people you decide to hang out with. 

And that’s all it takes to forgive him. Not very cash money of you.

“You better not pull that shit again, though” you shift in his hold and he looks up at you. One look into your eyes and he knows what you mean. “I’ll kick you out.”

After nodding, Jungkook resumes his concentration on the series you picked out for him. Due to your short attention span, you are very picky about what you invest your time in, especifically with audiovisual pieces of media, so Jungkook trusts you whenever you recommend something on very rare occasions. As a matter of fact, Jungkook was busy attacking your kitchen counters for snacks (which you didn’t have) when you mentioned Money Heist. “Munch on some grapes instead” you suggested to soothe his disappointment.

You can’t help but feel a little sad when Jungkook doesn’t refrain from cuddling your arm after pleading to forgive him. You wish you could cuddle him instead, that he would lay his head on your chest as you play with his soft hair, but you recognize there are some things you just can’t have.