#I got a new job and I’m trying to clear my wips before I start

[gibbouschild]

>:/

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dirty Work 11

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as bullying, familial discord/abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You start a new gig and find one of your clients to be hard to please.

Characters: Loki

Note: Alright, another double duty day.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!)

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

Her name is Leslie. The nurse with her graying brown hair and square jaw arrives just before eight. You tell her your father’s still in bed as you show her around; you go through the meals you prepped in the fridge and where his meds are and everything else. Still you feel like you’re forgetting something.

“I’ll go get him up,” you say.

“Miss, that’s my job,” she insists.

“Oh.”

“Don’t you worry, I’ve got twenty years under my belt. I’m certain you can see,” she touches the silver along her hairline, “we’ll get him up and at ‘em.”

“Mm, well.. He… isn’t much of a morning person. He can be a bit grumpy,” you warn her.

“That’s for me to worry about. I earn my money, hon. You look like you’re in a hurry,” she puts a hand on her hip, “you can call me and check in, huh? I know it’s hard when you’ve been a caretaker for so long. It’s not easy handing over the reins.”

You falter. Caretaker? You never really thought of it like that. You’re his daughter. You care for him sure, but that’s just what you do. It isn’t the control, it’s feeling like you’re pawning him off on someone else. Like you’re shrugging off responsibility.

“I just… worry about him,” you say.

“That means you’re a good daughter,” she praises, “now off with you. Look at you, all dressed for work. Promise, we’ll send an update at lunch time. By then, I’ve usually got a handle on things.”

You pout and wet your lips with the tip of your tongue, “thank you.”

“It’s my job, and I love it,” she assures you.

You feel a little better as you put your shoes on and say a final goodbye. You can’t help but be nervous. What if she calls you before you can even get to work? What if your dad chases her off? He can be downright nasty when he means to.

You head off with your big leather bag, your body on autopilot as your mind races a thousand miles ahead of you. Everything happened so fast. Your phone call turned into an email and a quick placement. You can’t believe how simple it all was. That’s what puts you on edge. Nothing is ever that easy.

You shudder as you step onto the bus. There’s worry behind you and before you. Certain not to be late again, you take the earlier route. It’s a different driver. The whole change throws you off.

You get to the stop well before your shift begins. You saw a cafe just before the last stop. You teeter, wondering if you have time, or even the money. Your first check cleared and you’ve doled it out almost to the cent. Just a little left for yourself.

You retrace the route to the cafe nestled beside the park and the library. The residential area borders on the more elite properties like Mr. Laufeyson. You can only dream of living in a neighbourhood like this, where you can walk without looking over your shoulder.

The cafe is mostly empty as you enter. You don’t really go to places like this. There’s been a few times you got a tea from MacDonald’s but nothing like this. You look at the menu handwritten in chalk and squint as if trying to solve a puzzle.

“What are we looking at today, miss?” The barista greets. You can’t find the teas anywhere.

“Erm, I wanted some tea, please,” you step up to the counter.

“Sure thing. What kind?” She points to the little board beside her till. Oh.

You read the options; they all sound fancy but you prefer what you know. 

“Earl grey, please,” you order.

“Of course. Would you like a fog or plain?”

“Um, I… don’t know,” you cringe.

“No worries, fog is a latte, we steam it up and all that.”

“Uh,” you rub your neck, “I guess I could try it.”

“Alright, plain dairy?”

“Milk, yeah,” you confirm awkwardly as you dig out your coin purse.

You wait patiently after paying. Your cheeks are on fire and you take your drink with a thank you before fleeing. Another place you don’t fit. You inhale the scent of the tea but don’t taste it as the temperature burns your hand through the cardboard.

You already regret the indulgence. You don’t know why you had the thought. The idea of being so early put you off and lingering outside like a creep didn’t sound any better. You set off back towards the Laufeyson abode and blow the steam away as it sleep through the small slotted lid

The gate code, the pathway along the side of the house, the flapping birds and buzzing bees, the smell of pollen and the rustle of leaves. You leave the spring behind you as you let yourself in the back door into the grey silence. You leave your shoes on the mat and wander down the hall.

You’re met by a shadow that appears from around the staircase, almost as if expecting you. You slide to a stop in only your socks as Mr. Laufeyson wears his usual discerning expression. You grip the cup tight as foam seeps through the slot. He looks you up and down.

“That does not belong in the library,” he taps the lid.

You stare at the cup. You should’ve thought about that. You can’t have that around the nice furniture and all those books.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson, of course,” you accept.

“So…” he glares at the cup.

“Er, Mr. Laufeyson, may I have this in the kitchen? I’m early–”

“Very well,” he allows. “I need to be mindful of time today, yes.”

You nod and retreat, surprised as he follows you into the kitchen. You set your bag at your feet and rest the cup on the counter. You take off the lid to let the heat out.

“I am to be away. I’ll need a bag packed,” he instructs, “your duties will continue in my absence, yes?”

“Mr. Laufeyson,” you put your hand to the side of the cup.

He sighs as he glances at the tea again, “finish that then report to me. I’ve a list.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

He leaves you just as abruptly. You turn to the foamy tea and frown. You’ve not even begun the day and somehow it feels like you’ve already messed up.

🧹

The suitcase awaits you at the door of Mr. Laufeyson’s room. You near and stop before the leather bag, reminded of your venture beyond that door. The disaster of your entry and frantic flight that followed. 

You try to shake it off as you grab the suitcase, the list pressing against the handle as it crinkles. You enter and peer around the space. The deja vu nearly chases you out. You cross to the bed and put the bag on top, flipping it open to begin the task.

You want this done as quickly as possible, just as Mr. Laufeyson directed. You smooth out the paper to find his long cursive in neat lines. You can admire the artistry of his hand. Your own writing would look juvenile in comparison.

In the bathroom, you gather up the noted toiletries into a pouch that matches the luggage. It feels intrusive but you try not to think. It’s simple, like an inventory. Nothing deeper than that. The rich scent wafts from the little vial of cologne as you slip it through the zipper, clinging to your fingertips even as you seal it up.

You take the little bag into the room and start on gathering the clothes. A number of shirts and slacks, socks and briefs, ties and cuff links, even shoes. There is no specification of which ones. You slide open the closet and peruse the varying dark shades, only a few crisp white shirts to break the tone, though the ties and pocket square have more diversity.

You’re overwhelmed by the selection. Your own dresser contains as many shirts and pants as you can count. Your newly bought work clothes have proven troublesome as you don’t have anywhere to store them. His own wardrobe is extravagant in both quality and quantity when compared to your own.

You take out a deep blue shirt. It’s satiny and sleek. You’re not sure it’s fit for a family visit. You can assume that’s where he’s off to, though he didn’t confirm it outright. He just handed you the list and shooed you away.

You trade it for a plainer fabric but a similar hue. You take out three as noted on the page and lay them out neatly. Next the trousers. Those will have to match the tops. You hadn’t thought of that though the list is more helpful in this manner; only two pairs, one brown and one black. 

Right, but what shade of brown? Tan or dark or somewhere in the middle. Or those ones with the light blue plaid pattern. It’s a bit warm for wool so definitely not that. No tweed either. You grab a black pair and turn back to solve the riddle of what shade of brown to choose.

As you move the hangers slowly over the rod, a scuff from the hallway interrupts your browsing. You don’t look over as you assume it’s own Mr. Laufeyson on his way to his study. You’re surprised as instead he sweeps into the room without announcement, muttering to himself as he does.

“One thing after another,” he murmurs as he tugs on his tie, tearing it loose completely to toss it towards the bed. You’re completely stunned by his entrance, “I swear…”

He nears as if you aren’t even there, his long fingers fleetly unbuttoning his shirt. You blink and back away, averting your eyes from the wet spots spattered across the evergreen linen. You clear your throat and scuttle towards the bed.

“Sorry,” you babble as you try to sidle past him. Flashbacks of that day tinge your memory once more. This time the bed does not obscure your sight.

“You will have someone tend to that damnable sink,” he demands.

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you answer without looking back as you hurry to the door.

“Not this moment, you’re not done packing,” he snaps, “where are you going?”

“Mr. Laufeyson, I just–” you peek at him as he unbuttons his cuffs and rips the shirt down his shoulders. You get a glimpse of his muscles chest and thick arms, “I can come back.”

“You will finish what you started,” he shakes his head as he dumps the shirt onto the bed and turns to face the closet. His back is just as finely formed. You try not to notice as you put your focus to the floor. “I only need a new shirt.”

He flicks through the hangers and pulls out a new piece, shaking it out before slipping his arms into it. You return to the bed and pick up the list. The brown slacks. He doesn’t budge as he buttons his new shirt. 

“I do intend to leave today so do not tarry,” he girds.

You flinch and near him. He does not move as you come up to the closet and grab the first pair of brown pants you see. He catches your hand, squeezing it around the hanger as he tisks.

“Not those ones,” he guides your arm as he rehooks the hang on the bar. He draws your grasp off and leads it to another pair, “these will do.”

He lets you go as your hand tingles. As his shirt remains only half-buttoned, it feels strangely intimate. You take the pants and swiftly back away. You go to the bed again and focus on fitting everything into the bag.

You sense him lingering behind you. You hear his fingers work at the buttons then the soft tuck of his shirt tails into his pants, the clink of his buckle as he adjusts his belt. You take the list again, half-pretending to read it. 

“I put thought to it,” he stands at the foot of the bed, watching you. The weight of his gaze is like the blazing heat of an open fire. It makes you want to melt. “The gazebo. I would like to have an assessment. If it proves salvageable, then let it be restored.”

You nod as you turn to find the socks noted on the list in the small drawer of the tall dresser. You count them out and spin back. He lowers himself onto the bed, bending one leg up as leans on one hand.

“Have a carpenter in and have them leave an estimate. We’ll review on my return.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson,” you gulp.

He makes no move to leave. He remains, his gaze unwavering. Is this some test? Is it suspicion? You peek over as he pulls his arm back and tugs his cuff over the black and blue watch. Does he think you’ll secret away a silk tie or a pair of socks?

You keep on, with no other option. You have nothing to prove, you know you’re an honest person. You move the pouch into the bag as he hums thoughtfully. You keep your hands moving as you try to fit everything neatly inside. 

You look up at him, steeling yourself as you find his green eyes pinpointed on you, “Have I forgotten something, Mr. Laufeyson?”

You stop your hands, clutching tight the fabric in them. He smirks and his eyes fall down. You follow them and find yourself grasping a pair of his briefs. Your lips part and you quickly tuck them in with the rest.

“No, I think you’ve been quite thorough,” he slithers and rises from the bed, “I will be off in an hour, I expect to find my bag by the door.”

“Yes, Mr. Laufeyson.”

[aristocratic-otter]

Thank you to @artsyunderstudy, @alexalexinii, @alleycat0306, @bookish-bogwitch, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @cutestkilla, @facewithoutheart, @aroace-genderfluid-sheep, @j-nipper-95, @iamamythologicalcreature, @wellbelesbian, @nightimedreamersghost, @angelsfalling16, @larkral, @rimeswithpurple, @prettygoododds and @fatalfangirl for the tags over the last week. You all are writing such interesting things! So many brilliant AUs (my favorite!)

Welp, I'm still on seven WIPs, though I'm on the last chapter of two of them, so there's hope of that dropping soon. Here's a snip from each (except the secret one).

From my WIP where Simon is a Tiktok dancer (among other things):

Snow steps cautiously closer and looks down at the screen of my phone. He’s silent while the video plays, and then gestures for me to play it again. I do. After the second play-through, he steps back. Then he lifts his hands in imitation of the clay character in the video, and lets them flow through the motions the character made. I nod. He’s got the motions down perfectly, even if he’s not got the speed or abrupt pauses. He’ll learn, though. 

From: The Snow Fox (new chapter up tonight!):

“Let the boy go, Redcoat,” I growl. Best not let him know I recognise him. He’s never seen me, as me, before. Though I’ve seen him several times over the last year, from the protection of various disguises. 

Tarleton’s hand twitches towards his pistol, so I jerk my gun at him. “I’d hold still if I were you, Redcoat,” I state casually, as if we two were just having a conversation. “I’ve really got no reason to keep you alive, but if you try for that gun, I’ll definitely have a reason to see you dead.”

From Stars, Flowers, and Children:

 I start by cutting away all the extra length that’s getting in his way. But then I spend a long time with my comb detangling his sun bleached curls and trimming them until he’s got a head full of bouncy sunshine. 

Simon lets me do what I want. In fact, I find that when I finally set down the comb and snips, he’s snoring gently, having fallen asleep as I worked on his hair. So I take a risk and indulge myself by running my hand through his curls, pulling each one straight and then releasing it to coil back against his skull. He sighs in his sleep and I freeze, but all he does is press his head back against my hand and mutter, “Don’t stop, feels good.” 

From Westward Son:

I can’t help but smile at Simon’s machinations. “Got plans, have you?” I tease. 

His eyes glint in the light from the fire I’m still holding. “Do you blame me?”

I snort. “No. I’d almost certainly be plotting along the same lines if it were me waiting.”

From To Heal a Broken Mind

“I am thinking about it,” I admit. “My mind just has the capacity to do both.”

He laughs gently and lifts his arm up from where it’s encircling my rib cage. He brushes my hair out of my eyes and leans forward, letting his lips brush against mine. “I must be doing a shit job if you can think about more than my mouth on your skin right now,” he whispers. 

I shudder. He’s got a point.

From Saving Simon Snow (new chapter this week!)

Simon pulls back so abruptly that I’m dizzy. “Baz,” he says urgently, “do you still hate me?”

It takes me several seconds to recover my wits enough to understand the question. I’m still fighting the urge to pull his gifted mouth and tongue back to my neck when I realise what he’s asked me. 

My mouth opens and closes uselessly for a moment before I sigh. 

“Simon,” I croak, and then pause to clear my throat. “Simon, I never hated you.”

Tagging for Wednesday, or any day you want to join in:

@bazzybelle, @carryonsimoncarryonbaz, @cosmicalart, @confused-bi-queer, @dragoneggos, @erzbethluna, @frjsti, @hushed-chorus, @ic3-que3n, @ileadacharmedlife, @ivelovedhimthroughworse, @jasonfunderberkerthefrogexists, @krisrix, @letraspal, @messofthejess, @moments-au-crayon22, @moodandmist, @mostlymaudlin, @raenestee, @thehoneyedhufflepuff, @theearlgreymage, @tea-brigade, @whogaveyoupermission, @whatevertheweather, @yellobb-old.

[thebreakfastgenie]

Oh shit I forgot to send an ask for the wip game so if you're still doing it elaborate on "seeing ghosts" please?

Hell yes! Ironically, this one doesn't have any actual ghosts, or even any actual deaths... It's called seeing ghosts as a placeholder because in the opening, Trapper feels like he's seeing ghosts from his past. I'm usually not totally wild about the "Trapper thought Hawkeye was dead" trope, but this is my spin on it.

Trapper went home and started working as a general surgeon at Boston Mercy Hospital. Shortly after, he learns that Hawkeye is dead; this will most likely use the device of Trapper trying to write and having his letter sent back during The Late Captain Pierce, though that involves some creative liberties as mail would have been forwarded to the next of kin. If I can think of something succinct, I may use a different device; maybe Trapper had a chance encounter with someone who just got back from Korea who told him about the death certificate but didn't know it was false. Maybe he tried to use an official army channel for some reason and was informed Hawkeye was deceased. I don't know. Why he thought Hawkeye was dead isn't important, it just has to be believable.

Trapper is good enough to be chief of general surgery, but he doesn't have any interest in pursuing it. He's sort of keeping his head down, doing good work, and focusing on his girls. He's still married to Louise. He's a little depressed and because of the circumstances he hasn't really dealt with his grief over Hawkeye's supposed death. He's friendly with his coworkers and good friends with one of them. He very rarely talks about Korea, but mostly because none of them were there and they don't understand. Two years later, he's forced to attend a reception for the newly hired chief of thoracic surgery. He has no interest in the pomp and circumstance of it, and he's on edge because he's thinking about how it should be Hawkeye starting a job like this. And then his friend tells him the new chief of thoracic surgery served in Korea. This snippet is a rough draft, but it gives you the general idea: “He’s a Beacon Hill Winchester,” Pete replied, and this time there was no question that he intended it as an insult. “Blue blood. Sounds like a total drag to me. You might get along with him better,” he added thoughtfully.  Trapper frowned. Pete’s description didn’t sound like someone he would get along with. He sounded like someone whose shoes he would fill with paint while he was in the OR, if the thought of it didn’t make him miss Hawkeye terribly.  “Why?” “He served in Korea.” Pete said. He lowered his voice. “Actually, I heard he only got this job because one of his army buddies called in a favor with Bob Harwell.”  “Figures,” Trapper muttered. “Who’d you hear it from?” “Tony Maxwell. He said the board was all set to go in a different direction, then Bob gets a call from a Major Houlian.”  Trapper nearly spat out his drink.  “Hot Lips Houlihan?” he blurted out before he could stop himself.  “When I knew her, she went by the name Margaret,” said a new voice.  Trapper and Pete both turned, finding themselves face-to-face with the guest of honor. It was clear from his face that he’d heard everything, but he seemed unbothered. He extended a hand.  “Gentlemen. Charles Emerson Winchester III.”  Trapper couldn’t respond, still trying to process the shock of this man knowing Margaret Houlihan.  Pete shot him a lock.  “Indeed,” Charles said, smirking.  Pete shook the offered hand.  “Pete Dillinger. I’m the head of general surgery.”  He dropped Winchester’s hand, and shot Trapper another look. Trapper knew a warning when he saw one. He took the hand Pete had dropped.  “John McIntyre,” he tried to keep his voice even, but his eagerness betrayed him. “How do you know Major Houlihan?”  Trapper knew this didn’t have to mean anything—Margaret could have been transferred after he left—but that didn’t stop his heart from pounding in his chest.  “We served together in a putrid corner of hell,” Winchester said dryly.  “The 4077th!” Trapper exclaimed before he could stop himself.  “Yes,” Winchester said, surprised.  “I was there for a year!” Trapper explained excitedly. “Right at the beginning. I guess we missed each other.” 

Charles doesn't connect John McIntyre with Trapper until much later, because even though Hawkeye did talk about Trapper occasionally, Charles didn't really care. What follows is a series of misunderstandings and Trapper and Charles having two very different conversations. Trapper assumes since they had the same specialty, Charles replaced Hawkeye. Trapper says his closest friend at the 4077th died and Charles, having not been there for The Late Captain Pierce but knowing the previous CO was killed, assumes he's talking about Henry. Charles mentions his annoying bunk mates and Trapper assumes he means whoever replaced him (BJ) and Frank. This continues until Charles finally says the name Pierce:

"Benjamin Franklin Pierce?" "His friends called him Hawkeye. I did not."

At which point Trapper is like I have to go to Maine right now immediately. He gets reasoned down to going home, telling his wife what's going on, and packing a bag first. It probably ends with Hawkeye opening the door and seeing Trapper.

The main conversation is just really, really hard to write. All the dialogue has to have a passable double meaning.

[little-peril-stories]

2024

It's the time of year where many of us think about the future and what's to come. I don't really do New Year's resolutions, and I've never done a real list of goals before. But as I'm thinking about what 2024 will bring, I'm feeling for the first time the desire to lay out my goals - or, at the very least, create a to-do list.

It might be interesting to see how much I overestimated my ability to get stuff done next year. 😅

No pressure to read this, it's largely for myself!

The Queen of Lies

Continue posting semi-regularly. Given the way the first half of the school year has gone, I figure that's probably the best I can do.

Rewrite Act 3. I'm actually so excited for this, and it's all planned out! But it's still not written, even if a lot of the juicy dialogue is sandwiched between bullet points of what happens.

Edit it...eventually. Perhaps in the latter half of the year. Or perhaps that's a 2025 job. Who knows?

angsty heist wip

Reveal the title. Coming sooner than you think.

Post the WIP intro early. TPOT's came when it was about half posted, and TQOL's came only a day before Chapter 1. I think I'll mix it up for angsty heist wip. Nobody peek on my drafts and see how long the wip intro has been chilling there. 😅

FINISH WRITING THIS DAMN BOOK. It's just got to happen. I've hit 2/4 POV character's midpoints, and the delicious confrontation/finale still needs to be written. It's all the good stuff!

Figure out posting plans. It's not coming until TQOL is done, so this is a very vague and fluid goal.

Book 1

Review beta feedback thoroughly.

Make a concrete plan for what I actually want to change and what I don't.

Apply feedback.

Reread and edit for typos/little things.

Do a second beta round.

Start preparing query materials in earnest.

Book 2

lol. start it again? postpone to 2025? who knows. low priority.

The Prince of Thieves -- the journey to self-publishing

Okay, real talk: the list below is long. I've never done any of this before, so I have NO clue of what's realistic and what's not. Is all of this possible in the year 2024? Maybe not. Is that okay? It's gonna have to be! The point of it isn't to marry myself to this list or else I've FAILED, but to have a clear idea of what commonly needs to be done in order to self-publish a novel. If some of the stuff doesn't happen, well, so be it! I’m also quite aware that the list below is not exhaustive. There are probably a million things I haven’t thought of!!

DONE - ISBN account made and approved

DONE - decide on pen name. Finally!

Beta stuff! Send it off, wait for feedback, review feedback, and then apply it. I'm almost there.

Attempt cover design. I am 73% confident in my ability to do it well. With an artist AND a graphic designer/marketer in my family, I think I've got a team who can help me with the technical/Photoshop stuff.

Hire cover designer if failure. (Definitely a possibility.)

Decide on book format/interior design elements. Pretty confident I can do this myself. 96% sure.

Make an author website. For realsies. (aaahhhhhhhhh)

Increase social media presence. Try not to cry about the existence of TikTok. Try not to get in my own head about this. The truth is the thought kind of makes my skin crawl but I also understand how it is is pretty much a necessity.

Learn marketing and create a marketing plan. I got this. probably. maybe. ennnhhhh.

Consider character/scene art commissions. I am uncertain about this one. Finances will determine whether this happens or not.

Cry a lot and be okay with that. I think I'm going to struggle a lot with this whole process. And you know what? That's all right. I will learn a lot. And even if it's scary...well, that will make it all the more rewarding in the end. 💕

[notasapleasure]

I'm asking aLL THE FIC WRITER MEMES!!! in reverse order from current WIP back through your published works

Omg thank you, you mad man! But you know now I’m wondering just how much homework you set your actual students… ^^;

So I’ve chosen to interpret this in a very literal way. I started with the bottom ask and applied it to the current WIP, and worked backwards through my fics as I went up the list. I didn’t answer any of the ones that needed a trope or ship picking, but am still open to being asked if anyone wants!

★ what was the scene you most wanted to write in [fic]? what was the hardest scene to write?

(Whumptober 2022 day 31: Comfort | Bedside Vigil | “You can rest now.”) The whole thing is really just one scene, but it really did epitomise the eternal problem with writing Francis/Jerott, which is how do you get them to stop being smart with each other and just. Open up a little? Of course this opening up is also the scene I want most to write at any given time. Though any and all Jerott whump makes my horrible little gremlin brain happy, so to be able to include various flashbacks to times Jerott was having an even worse day was fun. And Francis feeling guilty about the kiss in Anemone was also fun >:} But I think finishing this one was hard. I wanted to push for more intimacy between them but that isn’t where either of them is at this point, but Francis’ care for Jerott even in his disappointment – AND VICE VERSA – is honestly one of my favourite things about Checkmate, so it was trying to do that justice while keeping them in-character.

✿ did anything major change when you started writing [fic] to when you finished?

(Only Ever Just One Night). I initially thought I’d write follow-up chapters. I had a mean little desire to whump Brasso and have Cassian get him out of a Situation. But it would have meant Plot, which I never fully managed to figure out, and then I got distracted writing lead-up smut to the friends-with-benefits situation instead. But on the whole what’s posted wrote itself really easily – it’s often the way with my first fic in a new fandom, all the initial impressions and headcanons come gushing out before I can start making problems for myself by overthinking.

☉ what do you do when you get stuck writing?

Ahhh, sulk? Nah, it doesn’t happen too often, and usually I manage to knuckle on through. A tried and tested method is a two hour bath lol. Lock the door, turn my music on, nothing to do except figure out that tricky bit of bridging. Usually results in fewer words than it feels like, but gets me through sections I’m struggling with. Also just leaving gaps and continuing to write the bit I want to write, knowing I can go back and join things together later. Making a playlist to remind myself of vibes helps, too.

✄ what’s your editing process?

I re-read quite a lot and tinker with things as I go. I quite like editing (good job as I do it all day), and I like seeing things come together, but I am awful at kill your darlings. I’m writing for fun so I just leave it all in – ‘sure this might not be relevant relevant but it adds fLAvourrrr!!’ I will stick a bunch of line-breaks in or use highlighting/bold to remind myself that a section doesn’t read well or needs adding to, though, and try to go back and figure it out before I let myself continue much further.

✦ what was your easiest fic to write & your hardest?

Some of the Whumptober days were like pulling teeth and I think it shows. I think the sweet spot is when I have a pretty clear idea of vibes and outcome and it’s not had the chance to outgrow containment – some scenes (e.g. the chapters at the summer house in Inchoate) lie in wait in my head and when I get to that part of the fic they practically write themselves (sometimes it’s nice stuff, sometimes it’s DDDNE, but it’s basically kind of scene or action with a concrete beginning and ending). But often fitting these scenes in – what comes just before and after – is a nightmare. And like. Yeah ok, I could just write one-shots of the scenes I want to write without the thousands and thousands of words of context but – and you might have noticed this – I am a CONTEXT FIEND. In terms of stand alone fics it’s like I said above about Only Ever Just One Night – fresh in a new fandom and determined-to-get-my-thoughts-down fics are usually dead easy to write.

✎ how do you think readers would guess a fic was yours if you posted anonymously?

Ah this one’s easy: it would be LONG. Probably at least three times as long as it needed to be. For a long time very little would happen, but the minutest detail of everyone’s body language would be described and everyone would probably be in denial about their emotions/circumstances. Most likely they would fuck nasty about it.

♡ pick a fic and I’ll pick a comment that made me really happy

(Escape Velocity) Well OF COURSE I am happy the person it was dedicated to left lovely comments. But especially where you picked up on Brasso being worried about flying in ships because he knows how to take them apart, and even more especially the idea of Cassian ‘stealing’ Brasso temporarily at the moment it’s paralleling the light on Kassa’s face when he leaves Kenari :’) it’s especially pleasing when readers pick up on stuff like that.

▵ pick a fic and I’ll tell you my favorite line

(Counting on You) Still a wip, so subject to change, but I’m very pleased with ‘something crueller than punishment - the certainty that Cass is loved’ and utterly delighted that @elwenyere picked it out in a comment <3

♫ send a fic and i’ll make a 3-5 song playlist for you

(Brassian saga au) Thankfully I already have a 3 hour playlist for the vibes, so to cherry pick some essentials, here we go…

Kate Bush – Get Out of My House Sam Lee – The Devil & the Huntsman Björk – Pagan Poetry Nikniume – Nonantzin Anna B. Savage – Crown Shyness

[tauforged]

realized i took these pictures maybe an hour ago before getting ready for bed so i got back up to get more. the alveo on the right is definitely looking happier (i wanna say that one is the “electric stars”, while the crankier looking one to the left is called “lilypad”) but hopefully i’ll be able to find a nicer spot for the other one too because it’s a very pretty coral once it’s opened up and i’d love to see it doing well

the scoly is also looking better than it was when i took these too LMAO it’s not sucked back into its skeleton as aggressively anymore. placement is still a WIP as i’m trying to find a good place to set it up where it won’t get too much light but won’t get swallowed up by faster growing corals either

forgot to get pics of the frosted joker acan (left) and ricordea florida ultra (far right up in the top corner) earlier also. they’re settling in nice and cozy! a lot of the zoas in that right pic are closed up cuz i was bothering them earlier trying to clean up some algae growth but they’re starting to perk back up

the filter feeders also did a lovely job clearing the water back up already, so i can actually get a decent pic of that flame scallop for once!! they hate bright lights so mine managed to wedge himself into a crevice in the bottom of the hardscape and is very hard to see. he looks happy though! and that coral barnacle on the right there is still one of my favorite critters and all time, i’ve yet to ID the coral it’s in with any confidence but tbh i don’t even care. i bought it for the barnacle and im so glad it’s doing well

the pom pom crab made a friend since i took its photo earlier… i wonder what crabs gossip about. detritus maybe

it’s very hard to make out but you can see the second pom pom tucked away underneath one of the zoa frag rocks in this pic!! sadly, the third one didn’t survive acclimation, and neither did the trapezia crab i’d been hoping i could get to host in the pocillopora… but i’ve got some more interesting critters on the way to make up for it :3 it’s a surprise though

also a pic of my mini carpet anemone even though it’s not new at all because it is just such a stunner. goes to show you CAN find some real gems even in a mediocre looking petco tank if you’re crazy enough to say “i’ll take it” after the guy working there admits that he has no idea what that is or when they got it!

i cannot get over how utterly gorgeous this rainbow pocillopora is. excuse the cloudy tank water i just fed microalgae for my flame scallop so everything’s a bit yucky looking

[jennagrinsoverml]

Do you have any recs for the reversed lovesquare? So like Ladybug likes Chat, Adrien likes Mari?

I honestly don't tend to read a lot of reverse love square. I'm not a fan of the life-swap and personality-swap tropes I often see if paired with, so I steer clear of those. I have come across a few amazing fics, however, so without further ado:

Cards Against Ladybug's Identity by @coffeebanana

A game of Cards Against Humanity and a little too much vodka on her eighteenth birthday results in Marinette spilling a few too many secrets. And maybe Adrien has a couple confessions of his own if he can work up the nerve.

Season 4 spoilers (Mostly Gang of Secrets, Optigami).

One-shot. This is one where they've fallen for the other sides of each other. Also, it's HILARIOUS. From the moment Alya plays her card, I was cracking up, and I didn't stop as it got more and more ridiculous lmao. They're all (except Alya really lol) just so dumb and it's fantastic and amazing and there's an identity reveal and just read it!

be your july by Reiaji

Two years after leaving home, Adrien has a room, a loving found family, and a thankless job with Audrey Bourgeois, the only figure in fashion with enough clout to bypass his father’s blacklisting.

He also has a zero percent success rate when it comes to courting Marinette Dupain-Cheng, Audrey’s relentlessly brilliant protégé.

With two miraculouses in the mix, it all gets a little complicated.

Multi-chapter. This fic is a canon divergence where Marinette went to New York in Style Queen and Adrien leaves home/Gabriel when he's legally able. This is after she's returned and they're both adults here. The love square has always been reversed, and each chapter focuses on a different side of the new square, showing how these changes have impacted the different dynamics. It's absolutely gorgeous, and the way Adrien is so earnest and heartbreakingly insecure shapes the story and hurts in the best way. Also the identity hijinks asdfghjkl

tell me something i don't know by @carpisuns​

Do you think it still means something? To love someone, even if the universe said you had to?

The odds of having a soulmate are about negative one billion (or something like that). But somehow, like they always have, Marinette and Chat Noir find themselves together. They’re ready to finally tell each other everything, but it turns out that even soulmates have to keep secrets, and they can only be together if they vow never to touch.

Multichapter. Warning: this is a WIP! But it’s SO GOOD and SO CLOSE to being finished. This is set an indeterminate amount of time in the future, and though it focuses on Marinette’s feelings for Chat, and Adrien’s feelings for Marinette, it’s more of an expansion of the love square than a true reversal, and it hits on all of the different dynamics. I’m obsessed with this one and try to read the updates as soon as they’re posted.

I Would Give You Some Violets by @mikauzoran

She loves me a little...a lot...madly...not at all. Chat can never be sure with Marinette, and while she says she has a crush on someone else, there are times when he can't help but believe that she returns his feelings. If only he could gather the courage to reach out...

A series of interconnected Marichat drabbles.

Multi-chapter. So my absolute, absolute favourite trope of all time is mutual pining. And this fic has AMAZING mutual pining. I felt like I was going to explode as I was reading it, which is something I look for in a fic lol Aside from the delicious tension between them, there's also really great explorations of parental relationships, especially Adrien's relationship with Sabine.

balancing act by @fictionalinfinity

“Besides, being Ladybug always came first. It came before school, friends, and sometimes even family. Now it had to come before her health. Marinette had a duty to Paris. She wouldn’t let them down.”

Or, being both Ladybug and the Guardian starts to take its toll on Marinette.

-

the epilepsy au literally no one asked for

Multi-chapter. Oooh boy. A fic where Marinette has epilepsy and the symptoms are woven into the existing canon in such a believable and organic way. The characterizations are AMAZING, and the conflict is just so completely believable and absolutely heart-wrenching. This starts out with traditional love square post-season 3, and then we slowly get to watch the reversal happen.

[dramaticvhs]

part two of my favorite teen wolf fics in no particular order

please read tags! some things on this list will not be for everyone.

part one here part three here

( fics with ⭐️ beside them are some I reread constantly )

Untangled by silentdescant

(stetopher, explicit, 31k) ⭐️

Before heading to college, Stiles gets a summer job as a deckhand on the Hale family yacht, and he has a burning desire to embrace his new adulthood and lose his virginity. He’s disappointed to find that the two most attractive and unattached men on the yacht, Captain Chris Argent and rich lawyer Peter Hale, are already in a secret relationship with each other, and he doesn’t want to come between them. Luckily for him, they’re more than happy to have Stiles between them, and they introduce him to their kinky dynamic and invite him to explore his own sexual interests with them.

Written/finished for WIP Big Bang 2021. Banner and chapter headers by Tarvera.

Evenly Matched by alocalband

(sterek, mature, 3.1k)

Stiles gets turned into a fox. Somehow this impacts Derek's life just as much as his own. (post 3b)

choke me like you hate me, but you love me by ash_mcj

(sterek, explicit, 8.7k)

“How long do you think I have to live?” Stiles whispered urgently.

“Ten,” Derek’s voice said, his voice lethally composed.

Stiles jumped and turned to see him standing at the top of the spiral staircase. “Ten what?”

“Nine,” Derek replied.

“You should probably run,” Erica advised.

[or: Stiles scratches Derek's Camaro and it leads to an impromptu run for his life through the Preserve - but it ends with him pinned to Derek's mattress, so Stiles calls it a win]

(Teen Wolf Bingo Square: Beta Shift Sex)

To Feel Your Heart as It's Keeping Mine by Vendelin

(sterek, teen and up, 8.5k)

Stiles and Derek have been dating for four months, when Derek gets in an accident and loses all his memories from the past year and a half. Now, he’s once again the Derek Stiles used to despise, and even worse, Derek thinks that he still hates Stiles’ guts.

I've Got it Bad, Got it Bad, Got it Bad by RedRidingStiles

(sterek, mature, 47k)

“Woah are those real?” Stiles found himself saying as he reached out and squeezed the man’s (it was a man and not a brick wall Stiles’ brain supplies) bicep which was bulging under the guy’s shirt. Stiles hasn’t even looked at the man’s face too preoccupied gasping at the tone muscles in front of him.

“Something tells me you’re the infamous Stiles.”

“Stiles, yes that’s my name, well it’s not really my name that’s too hard for anyone to pronounce so it’s just Stiles. Or you know, some colorful names the lower IQs of this place like to make up. But Stiles, you can call me Stiles.” Stiles rambles on, watching the man try to suppress a grin and failing. He has a gorgeous smile that made his bunny teeth present and his eyes crinkle and Stiles thinks he might be a little bit in love.

“Nice to meet you Stiles, why don’t you take a seat.” The man, Stiles doesn’t even know his name and he’s already starting to plan their wedding, says with a nod to the already full classroom. Stiles hasn’t even heard the bell ring. Huh.

“But I didn’t get your name,” Stiles replies.

“Mr. Hale, I’m your new English teacher.”

Fuck.

Words Cannot Espresso How Much You Bean to Me by isthatbloodonhisshirt

(sterek, teen and up, 68k) ⭐️

“You’re late,” Derek informed him coldly, jaw clenched. He barely even moved his mouth to speak. This guy was seriously scary.

And because Stiles was suicidal, he said, “No, I’m Stiles.”

The look he got could’ve curdled milk. Stiles even noticed that Derek’s muscles were tensing, arms bulging even more and wow this guy was scary and hot but mostly scary holy shit.

“You’re not funny,” Derek informed him coldly.

Stiles shrugged. “I think that’s a matter of opinion.” so

Bare My Soul for the Taking by anonymous

(chris/stiles, teen and up, 4k)

When Stiles Stilinski showed up on his doorstep, proof of his family's wrongdoing clear on her face, he considered slamming the door in her face.

He didn't though, and he both hated and loved his decision to let her in.

5 times stiles kissed the wrong hale and the one time he got it right by bilinskibutt

(stiles/hales [endgame sterek], teen and up, 11k)

The titles says it all.

5 times Stiles kisses the wrong Hale, and the one time he gets it right.

You’re a Dream (You’re my Nightmare) by emsmittens

(steter, teen and up, 5.7k)

Nightmares were no fun things and Stiles knew that personally. After the nogitsune, the spark believed that he would only have normal, human nightmares for the rest of his life.

That wasn't the case. Now he had to go to the one werewolf he didn't know if he trusted: Peter.

Written in Red by gryvon

(steter, mature, 5.4k) ⭐️

Peter had given up hope of ever finding his soulmate until the red string on his finger leads him to a four-year-old. He's going to Hell. Or jail. Or both.

Exemplary Behavior by Triangulum

(steter, teen and up, 2.1k)

“Dude,” Stiles hisses, kicking Scott in the shin, as if they both aren’t watching the scene unfold in front of them. “That’s Peter Hale!”

“Peter?” Scott asks, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Peter,” Stiles hisses. “The one who killed those people like six years ago! God, he’s hot.” Stiles cranes his neck to get a better view of Peter’s face. Peter glances over their way with a smirk, winking at Stiles, before turning back to Derek.

“He’s a serial killer!” Scott hisses.

“...Think he takes requests?”

“Stiles!”

OR

Derek's shady uncle gets out of prison.

life's for the living by pprfaith

(stetopher, teen and up, 21k) ⭐️

Chris doesn’t know what to do.

Considering the life he’s lived, it’s certainly not the first time he’s felt that way, but that doesn’t help him one lick right now because he absolutely does not have the first fucking clue what to do.

He shoots a look into the passenger side footwell of his truck and hopes for inspiration.

Or: Chris saves a baby werewolf and tries desperately not to move on. One of these things is doomed to fail.

Secrets by allfandoms93

(sterek, explicit, 37k)

Stiles is just a high school junior crushing on the senior Derek Hale. But they're both keeping secrets.

Just You and Me by Triangulum

(steter, mature, 2.5k)

Stiles is less than amused. College was supposed to be a mix of frantic studying, taking 8:00 a.m. classes and regretting it, and driving back to Beacon Hills every other weekend to see his dad and Peter. He was supposed to be pulling all-nighters fueled on candy and energy drinks, making new friends, and flying through his prerequisites as fast as humanly possible. He'd planned for that, he'd been ready.

He hadn't been ready for Peter to dump him.

OR

From TFLN, "FYI telling a guy you're glad his dick isn't big after giving him a bj is NOT a compliment"

This Is Going To Be A Three 'Dude' Conversation by Dusk

(stanny, mature, 1.8k)

"Dude," Jackson said, and Danny stopped what he was doing, because when Jackson started sentences with 'dude', he was either about to share something deeply personal or about to try and get them expelled for excessive pussy jokes, and Danny had problems with both of those options.

You Taste Like Glitter by dizzzylu

(stanny, teen and up, 4.2k)

There was a time in Danny's life when he'd have sworn he had better things to do than sit in a club and check out the latest guy his ex is trying to hook up with. That is not the case tonight.

(written for the prompt: Danny sees Stiles at a gay bar and asks him to dance to make his ex jealous, only things get a little out of hand when he realizes Stiles is really into it and is not so straight as Danny thoughtat the Everybody Loves Danny Fanworks Fest)

Give to me your leather by decideophobia

(sterek, teen and up, 6.4k)

“I didn’t drive the car,” Derek answers with a faint smirk. Stiles is about to start ranting when Derek hands him a black helmet that’s dangling from his arm. Frowning Stiles takes the helmet and it’s only then that he notices that they’re standing next to a big black motorcycle.

bigger, longer and uncut by drunktuesdays

(sterek, explicit, 4.9k)

Derek walks away, because he’s learned that sometimes he’s never going to be able to join in on the joke, and this conversation is just making him have more questions. Like, why is Stiles so obsessed? Is he grossed out by uncut cocks or does he like them? Is Stiles cut? His face starts heating up the way it always does when he starts thinking about Stiles like that and he ducks into the shower, manfully ignoring the new round of laughter from downstairs.

weak knees and sweaty palms by kim47

(stanny, teen and up, 3.3k) ⭐️

Okay, so it's possible Stiles has never been on a real date. One where both parties were aware of and agreeable to the fact.

It's also possible he's a little nervous.

Roadside Assistance by autoschediastic

(sciles, explicit, 3.7k)

"Ow, okay, what part of ow are you not getting? God, is this how you cuddle?"

"I'm not trying to cuddle you," Scott says, rooting determinedly around. "I'm trying to keep you warm."

Stiles gives him a long look. A really, really long one, because sometimes Scott needs the time to chug his way around to a conclusion.

"Oh," he says.

Begin As You Mean to Go on by tryslora

(stiles/derek/jackson, teen and up, 2.6k)

Jackson should be glad to be back in Beacon Hills. Yeah, he's still dealing with the aftermath of his breakup, but the pack is back together (even some he didn't think would be possible to be there). He's surrounded by pack (are they really his) and has a place to stay (with Derek & Stiles, who are Together). But he's also touch-starved and feeling like he's just one extra person that's not really needed. Listening to Derek and Stiles, and dealing with Stiles's innuendo, isn't helping anything. Because they don't mean it, right?

The Mending That You Need by torakowalski

(sterek, explicit, 3.8k)

“He’s not my boyfriend, Stiles. He’s a man from a club. I couldn’t call him, if I wanted to.”

[wandaromanova]

Little Sister

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Warnings: one cuss word, minor BW spoilers

A/N: hello! i’d like to note that this takes place sometime before the events in the Black Widow movie! if you haven’t seen the movie yet, please skip over this story and come back later if you’d like! happy reading <3

anon requested: hiii i have a fluff request after seeing bw haha: could you do nat x fem reader where they're laying in bed snuggling, and r asks her about her family and nat tells her and r notices how cute she looks when she's talking about yelena and it's so soft and ahhhh

Summary: Natasha tells her girlfriend about a piece of her past that she never talks about; her sister.

Word Count: 2K

| masterlist | request rules/guidelines | wips |

please do not repost or try and take ownership of my work. reblogs, likes, and comments are always welcome. <3

Natasha Romanoff has lived a lot of lives. She has been through more than most.

Nat had been taken as an infant by an organization that trained little girls to become lethal assassins.

She was psychologically conditioned to become a killer, having taken more lives than she could count.

Eventually, Natasha had managed to break free from the cage she was forced into and was recruited as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent; it was a new start for her, an opportunity to compensate for the red in her ledger.

So, Natasha took her job seriously, saving as many people as she could, even more so when she became an Avenger; one of earth’s mightiest heroes.

Natasha found something in the team that she never really had before; a family. She found a home within the dysfunctional team she had been recruited into.

Not only did Natasha find a family within the Avengers; she also found the love of her life.

Natasha hadn’t even considered the possibility of ever finding love.

For starters, the Red Room had instilled the concept that love was nothing but a distraction; a liability.

She had been taught that love was for children and it was nothing but a weakness that needed to be avoided at all costs.

She was quite literally programmed to be emotionally closed off and to always have her guard up. Letting someone into her heart was a risk she didn’t want to take.

When Natasha gained her independence from the organization, she had to do a lot of self-discovering. She had never been able to be her own person, but now that she could, she quickly learned that she didn’t even know herself.

However, it was Natasha’s insecurities that truly turned her off from the entire idea of love.

How could any ever possibly love her? She thought she was a monster for the things she’d done. She has done the unspeakable since ever she was a child.

What if she wasn’t enough? What if her baggage was too much for someone else to carry? She didn’t want to be a burden. She didn’t want to have to protect someone, just to fail them like she had failed so many others.

Natasha was positive that no one would ever be crazy enough to love her.

Little did she know, she would end up finding someone crazy enough to do so; you.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

When the Avengers were formed, you were extremely nervous about it.

All of the files that you’ve read on your new teammates were unbelievable; they were all phenomenal in their own rights. A super-soldier, a god, a genius, a trained-spy.

You were a spy yourself, so you knew exactly who Natasha Romanoff was. She was a S.H.I.E.L.D legend, the best of the best.

You were more nervous about meeting her than anyone else. What if she judged you? What if she didn’t think you were good enough to be an agent, let alone an Avenger?

Not only was she your superior, but she was also your crush. Yeah, you’d never even met the woman before, but you were crushing on her hard.

She was drop-dead gorgeous, but also quite literally a deadly force. Natasha could easily take down anyone she wanted to, and honestly, you wanted to be one of those lucky people.

When you met Natasha for the first time, you were a flustered mess. The redhead found it amusing, how your cheeks turned a bright shade of red and you stumbled over your words as you praised her work.

Natasha never told you this, but she was immediately smitten the moment she laid eyes on you.

There was a kindness and positivity that just radiated off of you and it was extremely contagious.

You were this beaming ball of light that lit up the darkest parts of her soul.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You got to know Natasha extremely well while being on the team. From observing her closely and paying very close attention to her actions, you had managed to pick up on little things.

She didn’t put any creamer or sugar in her sugar; opting for strong, black coffee.

She was kind of a clean freak. If she saw something out of place, she would be quick to put it in the correct place or position.

When she was happy, she would let a small smirk cross her features. When she was annoyed, she would raise her eyebrows.

When she was stressed out or angry, three little creases would appear on her forehead as her eyebrows would knit together tightly; a subtle frown on her face.

Of course, when you began dating the redhead, you didn’t really have to survey her so closely anymore because she’d tell you things herself.

No matter the circumstances, Natasha would always come to you and rant about it. Whether it was about how shitty a mission went or how she beat Clint’s ass during training; you were the only person she wanted to tell.

Natasha had opened up to you, something she never did with anyone. She told you all about her past.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

You had some knowledge of Natasha’s previous life, considering it was in her files, but you didn’t realize just how horrible her childhood truly was.

The Red Room, the heavy weight of guilt that rests on her shoulders, the nightmares that forced her to relive the murders she committed, her time as a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, and becoming an Avenger.

She’d go on and on about her road to redemption or ‘clearing the red out of her ledger.’

Natasha was terrified when she told you about her demons. She figured you were going to leave her the second she finished talking, waiting for you to get up and walk out the door, but you didn’t.

So, you completely caught her off guard when you pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, placing a soft kiss onto her temple, the redhead relaxing in your embrace.

“You’re the strongest person I know. It’s not your fault, you were forced and conditioned to do the things you did.”

Natasha focused on the sound of your voice and took in your words as you softly caressed her red locks with one hand.

“Baby, the amount of respect I have for you is immeasurable. I applaud you for turning your life around for the better. I’m so fucking proud of you.”

Your words had brought tears to Natasha’s eyes, which was a rare occurrence.

She was expecting you to run for the hills, but you chose to pull her closer instead.

In that moment, Natasha knew she never had to be afraid of love again.

You were the most understanding and accepting person she’d ever met.

You would never judge her for her worst mistakes; Natasha had found the one for her and she wasn’t ever going to let go.

•❅──────────────── ‎⧗ ────────────────❅•

Now, a few months later and a year into your relationship with the Russian, you were both lying in bed and cuddling.

You were both watching a movie when a particular scene came on. It was of a family gathering around a Christmas tree, children excitedly opening up presents with gleeful smiles across their faces.

“You know, my sister and I got to take pictures with a Christmas tree once.” Natasha spoke, her eyes fixated on the screen.

You looked up at her in shock. You didn’t know that Natasha had a sister. She told you that she didn’t even so much as know her parent’s names.

Natasha looked down and noticed your confused expression. She reached for the remote on the bedside table and paused the movie before returning her gaze to you.

“There was a mission I was assigned to in Ohio, as a kid. I was assigned to play the daughter of two other Russian spies, Alexei and Melina. It wasn’t just me though, there was a little girl who was assigned as my younger sister. Her name is Yelena.”

Natasha had a reminiscent, happy smile on her face as she recalled the brief period time of her childhood. She looked absolutely adorable as she rambled on about this part of her childhood.

“We took photoshoots of various holidays to make our family look more realistic. My favorite one was Christmas. Even though I knew they were just empty boxes, I wanted to rip open every single one.”

Natasha let out a small giggle at the thought. Even though she had a smile on her face, you could feel and hear the underlying tone of sadness in her voice.

“Yelena and I would spend hours outside, just playing together. Swinging on the swing-sets, looking up at the stars, bending over backward, and getting into a ridiculous competition to see who could hold the position the longest… I always let her win.”

You could see the fondness in her eyes, the longing. It warmed your heart that there was a small glimmer of light in Natasha’s past. There was at least a sliver of hope that she clung tightly onto throughout her time in the Red Room.

“After 3 years, the mission ended. Yelena and I were sent back to the Red Room and were torn apart from one another.

Natasha’s breathing grew heavier as she recalled the unfaithful day. The sight of her sister being taken, and not being able to do anything to help her; still haunted the redhead to this day.

“There were so many men with guns and armor, they literally ripped us away from each other. I was eleven and she was only six.”

Your heart sunk at your girlfriend’s words as her smile dropped. She tore her eyes away from yours as she blinked rapidly, fighting back tears, but failed. You reached your hand up to her cheek and wiped away the fallen droplets.

“I haven’t seen her since. I’d like to think that she found a way out and got a life of her own; a nice, happy life.”

Natasha placed her hand on top of yours before looking down at you once more. You sent her a soft smile when she let out a shaky breath.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I knew that the it was all fake, but it was still the best part of my childhood. It was real to me.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You nodded your head at her words. She took a brief pause, trying to regain her composure, before continuing.

“Even if we have no true relation to one another, and even if I haven’t seen her in years, she is still my little sister.”

Natasha finished off with a big gasp as sobs wracked her body. You sat up from her embrace and pulled her into your arms, just like you had many times before.

You rubbed her back soothingly as she cried into your shoulder, her tears hitting the exposed skin.

“She sounds amazing, baby. I’m really happy that you had some sort of happiness back then and I hope one day you get to see her again.”

You whispered and Natasha pulled away from the hug, still in your arms as her emerald eyes surrounded by a sea of red, a result of her crying.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“I doubt she’d even want to see me. I didn’t even try to find her. I’m a horrible sister! I-“

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

You immediately pressed your lips against hers, effectively getting the Russian to calm down. You broke the kiss when her breathing slowed.

“Honey, of course, she’d want to see you again. Like you said, you guys are sisters. I’m positive that it was just as real to her as it was to you.”

You reassured your girlfriend, her eyes a pool of worry and guilt. You rubbed your thumb against her waist, the material of your her hoodie beneath your touch.

“From what you’ve told me about the Red Room, it would’ve been impossible to find her. Stop beating yourself up over it. You’re the best, and I’m totally not biased or anything.”

Natasha let out a small chuckle at that and you smiled at her, wiping away the last of her tears. She collapsed into your hold further, shoving her face into the crook of your neck.

“Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you. I love you so much.”

Natasha’s words came out muffled as her face pressed further into your skin.

“You never need to thank me for anything. I’ll always be here for you, Natty.”

You hugged her as tight as you possibly could, her cold skin meeting your warmth. Natasha let out a small sigh at the feeling.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

“Wherever you go, I go.”

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ

───────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────────

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[thestarrynightslover]

He Has a Thing for the Mice

Pairing: Jay Halstead x Reader

Word count: 2,514

Warnings: Slight angst.

Summary: (y/n) works as a tech consultant at Intelligence and, even though the team guarantees her that she is one of them, Jay doesn’t seem to agree with that.

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of the One Chicago shows, or its characters, also not associated with it in any way or know anyone involved with it.

A/N: So… I finally managed to finish a WIP!! But I do have faith that it will be better from now on. Thanks for all the mind-blowing support, and feedback is appreciated, as usual! 💕

(y/n) = (your name) (y/l/n) = (your last name) (y/n/n) = (your nickname)

| masterlist |

It had been six months since you first started working with the Intelligence Unit 𑁋 in the CPD 𑁋, as a tech consultant. At first, it was obvious that you weren’t very welcome there. All the officers just kept side-eyeing you all day long. Every single day. It was like they were expecting some big betrayal from you at any given moment and simply couldn’t risk sleeping with one eye open.

As time passed, though, they started warming up to you. And you, to them. You began to understand that, them being such a tight group, they had a hard time trusting outsiders. Also, that they’d already lost a handful of team members, for one reason or another, so it was plausible that they wouldn’t wanna get attached to someone new right away. And, you’d learnt that the last person who had that job, long before you even considered moving to Chicago, was detective Halstead’s best friend, who had gone back to risking his life for the army overseas.

That’s also how you accepted that, if he was ever going to warm up to you 𑁋 like the others had 𑁋, he’d do it on his own time. No point in pressuring him. Even though sometimes you really wanted to do so, you wanted him to like you. But not just because you two worked together and that would make for a good environment. You wanted him to like you because he was so kind. Caring. Funny. Smart. Cute. And you wanted that kind of guy to like you the same way you were realizing you liked him.

But, if you were being reasonable, it wasn’t about to happen any time soon. Nor should it happen, really. Over that half-year that had passed, you’d also learnt that that job was actually pretty cool. You were using your abilities for something truly good, for once. So, if Jay Halstead ever came to like you the same way you liked him… Whatever the two of you decided to do with that information could really jeopardize your spot there.

Not that you were a cop, you knew you weren’t. But, on your very first day, the sergeant had made it pretty clear that his rules, all of them, applied to you just as much as they did to everyone else.

What started to threaten that certainty you had was the way the detective talked to you on that morning: “Hey, uh, (y/n),” he started saying while walking over to your desk, “could you try and see if you can get any hidden information on our suspect? You know, that little magic you work out?” Jay finished his question with an amused look on his face: raised brows, twinkling eyes, a small smile on his lips. As cute as he looked, that whole behavior made you very confused. Was Jay Halstead really being friendly with you? That mere possibility was enough to send your mind into a spiral of thoughts, which made the detective start calling out for you. “(y/n)?” He questioned, already panicking a little, afraid that you were ignoring him on purpose. Of course, that didn’t make any sense but he always got super nervous when you were around, which was why he tried to keep you at a safe distance. “(y/n)?”

“Oh my God, I’m sorry!” You couldn’t believe yourself at that moment. What were you? A teenager? “I’m so so sorry, detective! I just, uh… Got a little distracted. Could y- you repeat?” You weren’t looking in a mirror then but you knew for a fact that you were blushing. Hard.

“Ah, no worries. And please, call me Jay.” He told you, making your heartbeat race even faster. “Uh, I asked you if you could get any hidden information on our suspect? You know, that stuff us, cops, usually let slide…”

“Ah, right! Yeah, yeah! Sure, thing, detec- Jay.” You said, making him chuckle a little bit. So cute. You motioned towards the other monitor, to do what you were asked, but suddenly stopped yourself as you felt eyes on you. “Can I, uh, help you with anything else?” You asked Jay, who was just standing there staring at you.

“Oh! No, no! Thanks!” He quickly answered, looking like he was trying to decide whether or not he should keep talking. "It's just that you, um, you reminded me of Mouse a little bit."

"Um… Is that your friend? The one who used to work here?" You shyly ask, not knowing if it was a good idea to pry like that.

"Yeah! That's right. So, I assume someone here has told you about him?"

"Yes, they mentioned a few things. Said he was great. Now I'm just… Trying to live up to the standard." You confessed, suddenly remembering that that was Jay's best friend you were talking about. So, in order to correct your previous statement, you started rambling and ended up only burying yourself deeper: "I mean, not live up as in replace him or anything. More like be as good as. For the team. You know because we need to-"

"Hey, hey," he called out, laughing and raising his hands in front of his chest. "Relax. It's okay. I understood what you were trying to say. Besides, as a replacement to Mouse, you’re not bad at all.” The detective finished his reassurance with a wink, leaving an astonished version of you behind.

It was only much later on that day that you decided to just shrug off any mixed signals you might’ve been exchanging with Jay. Adam and the ladies had made it clear that you were all invited for a mandatory night out at Molly’s. Which meant you and the group were going there straight from the district, you being absolutely determined to drink your feelings 𑁋 and your day, really 𑁋 away. So that’s what you did and, considering that you didn’t have too much alcohol resistance… It was safe to say that things started to get pretty blurry pretty fast. 

Before you could stop yourself, you were dancing and chatting with every guy that showed up in front of you and wasn’t a certain good-looking detective. All of which wasn’t going by unnoticed on Jay’s end. He could tell you were avoiding him, he just had no idea why. It seemed to him like you two could get along fine 𑁋 not that he didn’t want it to be more than just fine 𑁋, he wanted a lot more than that but, after all he’d been through, he simply wasn’t sure he should make a move. And now… He really wasn’t sure.

That was until he spotted you struggling with a guy that seemed to be getting a little too handsy for your comfort. It was beginning to cause a scene but most of the familiar crowd was either gone or too distracted to help you.

“Hey, do we have a problem here, buddy?” You jumped a little as you felt Jay’s warm hand in the small of your back. He had a smug smirk on his face and his voice was filled with condescendence as he eyed up the guy you’d been trying to get rid of for the past minutes.

“Uh… Who the hell are you?”

“None of your business. Now, why don’t you just walk away from her, huh?”

“Well, I don’t see how this is any of your business.” The guy replied, maintaining his asshole stance.

“Well, the minute you started sexually harassing this woman you made it my business,” Jay said, lifting the side of his shirt just enough so that the dickhead could see his badge.

“Wow- relax, man! That’s not what was happening here! Besides she didn’t even accuse me of any-”

“Yeah? So, if you wanna keep it that way, I suggest you start walking away.” Hearing that, the guy just stood there, as if not believing the detective. “Now.” And that was the cue the idiot finally took to leave you alone.

“Thank you, Jay. Really.” You started saying after you turned to face him. “But you didn’t have to do that. I could’ve handled it.” You didn’t mean to sound rude or anything, it was just the truth.

“Oh, you could have? Because, from where I was standing, you were in trouble.”

“In trouble?” You ask him in disbelief. “I wasn’t in trouble. Just because I’m not a cop, doesn’t mean that I can’t defend myself, detective.” Hearing that, he seemed to realize what he’d just said.

“I- I’m sorry.” His eyes were so filled with worry at that moment that you couldn’t keep looking directly at him. But he just searched for your eyes until you gave in. “I’m sorry, (y/n). I really am. I didn’t mean that, I don’t think that. At all! I just-”

“You just wanted to help.” You finished his sentence whilst stifling a yawn with the back of your hand. “I get it, Jay. I do, don’t worry. I’m just really tired now. Think I’mma head home.”

“Right.” He muttered, still concerned about how you were leaving things with each other. “So, how about I take you home, hum?” He offered with a peace-making grin on his face, which you eyed suspiciously. “And all I’m really offering here is a cab paid for, I promise! Besides, I think I should get going too, so if we split… You know, at this time o' night, it's cheaper and safer. For both of us.” You were so tired at the moment that there didn’t seem to be any energy left in your body for bickering over a stupid cab.  

"Okay, then, let's split the cab." You finally agree, making his smile grow even bigger. So you two make your way outside, where you get on the first available cab you can find. Jay, obviously, making you give the driver your address for the first stop. Which you weren’t so reluctant in agreeing with, to tell the truth. But you hadn’t imagined that, on the way to your apartment, you’d end up falling asleep with your head on the detective’s shoulder, him caressing your hair. 

After a few minutes in the car, you were completely knocked out, which made him take it upon himself to struggle with you and your purse to make sure you got safely carried inside your house. Being the smart, resourceful person he is, Jay manages to pay the driver, get you both inside and gently put you in bed. The only thing was that, at that point, he was so tired that, somehow, he ended up climbing in there and falling asleep by your side.

The next morning, when you wake up, you turn your back to meet Jay's gorgeous sleepy face and, thinking that you were just in a very good dream, you start kissing him, who responds by kissing you back. Until you realize that it is actually happening.

"Wait a second, are you real?" You ask him, already feeling the embarrassment reach your cheeks.

"Uh, yeah, I think so? I mean, last time I checked..." Hearing that, you can’t help but start to panic a little. Watching you looking down at your fully clothed bodies and just becoming more confused, Jay decided to explain: "Oh, no! Don't worry about it! Nothing happened between us, until now anyway..." Seeing your horrified face, he added: "I just brought you home but, since you fell asleep in the cab, I brought you inside. And I guess I must've been so beat that I ended up falling asleep here, too. But I should have found a way to go home, I'm sorry." He finished the story, shooting you an apologetic look.

"No, no, that's okay... You were helping me and it was super late. It was only fair that you'd stay here. I'm the one who's sorry about, um, kissing you. I guess... I just thought that I was still dreaming." The second the words leave your mouth, you regret it, as he just smirks at you, eyes twinkling.

"So, you dream about me a lot, do ya?"

"No, I don't. That is not what I said. That is not what I said at all."

"No?" He playfully asks you, who quickly gets out of the bed. "Okay, maybe not... But it was implied."

"No, it wasn't." You say, not missing how he was crawling on the bed, towards where you were standing up.

"It was so implied." He continued teasing, already out of the bed and walking in your direction.

"That's- that's not even a thing. So implied." You ramble a little, feeling your body press against your bedroom wall because of all your walking backwards to get away from him.

"You know what? That doesn't really matter. Because," he was so close to you, and you didn't have any more room for an escape. Was he always that hot? The answer was an emphatic yes and you knew it. You'd spent so much time thinking about what those strong arms could do to you... "It was clearly implied." And that's when he kisses you. Roughly. Sweetly. Passionately. All in once. How was that even possible? There was a reason why you didn't want him to kiss you, you knew there was. But how could you remember it, when all you could think was: oh my God, oh my God, oh my God?

"No, Jay-" You managed to breathe out, his mouth pressing hot, wet, kisses to your neck. "We can't do this." You said a bit more firmly, pushing him from you a little.

"Why not? Is it because we work together? If it is, you should know that a lot of people have done it before. Besides, you're not a cop. So our relationship wouldn't put each other's lives in any danger." You kept your eyes on the floor, as you couldn't bring yourself to look at him just yet. But, hearing him say that... 'Our relationship'... Made you smile and look up at him. "Just- just give me a chance, that's all I'm asking for. One chance to prove to you that, not only we can do this, but, also, that we should do this.

"Okay... One chance." He kisses you right on the spot, as soon as you say that. "Okay! That was not what I meant when I said I’d give you a chance!"

"Of course not! Besides, that's definitely not how I'm using my chance. I'll present my plan to conquer you tomorrow night, at eight o'clock."

"Oh, so you're already willing to decide things for me? Just like that?" His smile was beaming so brightly at the moment, that it could have blinded you.

"Yeah, just like that. Cause I know we’ll have plenty of time for you to be the boss of me." Jay states, not even giving you any time to giggle, as he starts kissing you again. Only pausing to say: "But, for now..." And you can't even pretend to want him to stop kissing you anymore.

[seventhfracture]

Okay so I got that question again, so we’re doing a full post;

How do you post so much?

Now, there are plenty of ways to run an A03 account, but these are some of the assumptions I am operating under. I’m not saying all of these are factually 100%. These are just the delusions under which I operate. So; -Chaptered fics gets more reviews overall (on average) -Long oneshots take longer to get any reviews (because people need to finish reading them) -People like serialization (look at Dracula Daily) -People like regular updates (it becomes a routine event they can look forward to) -People like completed fics (and if you consistently finish fics, they are more willing to try a new project because they trust you’ll finish it) -Updating the same story, more than once a week, becomes too overwhelming for readers -Quality editing = a pleasant reading experience

Now, from those Rules of Engagement, a couple of clear goals emerge- 1 if you start posting it, you’ve got to regularly update it 2 if you start posting it, you’ve got to finish it

Okay, so what are our options? Well, I could start a WIP and post the first chapter. I could write as I go, posting every week. And some people do this exceptionally well. But I find this very stressful. It means every week, without fail, I have to write 5-10 pages of content and edit it for posting regardless of whatever else happens in my life or job. This doesn’t give me a lot of wiggle room. It also doesn’t give me much time to decide on a new project before I finish the old one.

So what do I do?

I write in bulk. In advance.

Let’s take “Black Diamond” as an example. Check this out; Started writing- 26th January 2022 Finished writing- 1st February 2022 (16 Chapters) Started posting- 5th April 2022   Will finish posting- 18th July 2022

Now you’ll notice a few things about this. Firstly, because all of “Black Diamond” is already written I can do a second draft and improve overall quality before I even start posting. Secondly, posting it in chapters assurers every week I have something to post. Thirdly, this breaks the editing up so that every week I only have to edit a few pages for posting.

Finally, doing it this way means between April and July I have three months worth of content already done so I can spend that time writing new things. Things to replace “Black Diamond” when it finishes posting. Likewise, because “Black Diamond” couldn’t start posting immediately (because I had other projects ongoing at the time) this means I have even more time to write. And, sure enough, between original short stories and fanfics I have completed roughly 11 other projects between the 1st February when I finished writing “Black Diamond” and 20th May (today).

This system makes it very hard for me to run out of content suddenly. It helps me plan ahead and it also lowers the amount of stress every week. Most importantly it means I can have more fun writing. Because, if I hit a block or run out of inspiration, I can take a week off! No one will notice because I have other fics still posting. I can go on vacation. I can take two weeks reading or watching other things to generate new ideas. I can experiment with a big risky project and, if it fails? It’s fine! But if it works? I’ve got a cool new project that takes new risks!

[duckprintspress]

How can I write quickly?

I (hi, I’m @unforth) have been asked frequently over the years how I write a lot quickly. I’m a pretty fast writer - for example, I wrote the 5600 words of my May Trope Mayhem fill from yesterday in under 2.5 hours. 

First, a little of my personal history for context. I’ve always written, starting from when I was able to string letters into (very poorly spelled) words and (horrible un-grammatical) sentences. When I started trying my hand at serious, professional-level fiction writing, I joined a community called novel_in_90, which was founded by the author Elizabeth Bear. The purpose of novel_in_90 was “to be NaNoWriMo but more realistic.” Instead of 50,000 words in 31 days, it was 67,500 words in 90 days, or 750 words a day. I participated in multiple rounds of novel_in_90 starting in mid-2005, and in 2007 I completed my first (godawful) novel. When I started, even writing a couple hundred words of day took me forever, but it got easier with time. 

During those same years, I also got a job that required I do professional writing on a deadline: I was a grant writer, and I only got paid when the grants won. That often meant working fast under high pressure, culminating in the weekend I wrote and edited an entire 40 pages grant that was due on Monday. I think, if I hadn’t had a solid foundation of “regular daily plodding writing,” I’d not have been able to marathon when the moment came...and it came because I had to, not because I wanted to. However, I learned a valuable lesson: I could. Subsequently, I found that, when I had the time and space and was rested enough to use my brain, I could bust out a huge amount. Like, I wrote an entire 150,000 word novel in 17 days.

My personal record is about 200,000 words in one month (it was the month I wrote that novel; I wasn’t tracking when I did that so I don’t know exactly), 25,000 words in a day, and I’ve topped out around 3,000 words an hour. I do know people who can do more...but not many.

Not everyone will be able to do this. Flat out, I MUST preface the rest of this post by saying that. Some people will find that writing fast fits their brain, and for others, it just won’t, and that’s okay. Fast doesn’t equal better, and it isn’t inherently “good” to write fast. Furthermore, even for those who can write fast, not everyone will find the same strategies helpful. I can share what works for me. Try out one item, some items, or all of these - if writing faster is something you want to be able to do, which it certainly never has to be. Use what works for you, and discard the rest.

Sit in your chair, put your fingers on your keyboard or touch screen, and write. You can’t write 1,000 words in half an hour until you write one word, however long that one word takes. I know saying this is obvious, but I’ve been asked “how can I write fast” by people who struggle to write at all...fast can’t be your priority until you’ve got a foundation of just writing. (Honestly...fast should never be your priority, but it might be helpful to you regardless, which can make it worth learning.)

Start small. Set an achievable goal, and make yourself meet that goal (daily, weekly, whatever) come hell or high water, no matter how long it takes you. Keep the goal small at first; you’re not trying to torture yourself, you’re trying to build a skill. If you set the goal high enough that you consistently fail, you’re not teaching yourself anything. And, if you find the goal IS too high...lower it. There’s no shame in working within your limits. Think of it like starting a new work out regimen: you wouldn’t try to run a 10k at a record time if you can’t run a mile slow. Treat your fingers and your brain the same way you’d treat your legs and joints. Give them time to grow, learn, and improve before you try to push yourself.

Trying to write daily is worthwhile if you want to work on your writing speed, because you’ll be forced to try to fit it in as you’re able - that might be ten minutes in your morning, or an hour in your evening, and it might vary from day to day, but making it daily means you have to fit it in somewhere.

Building skills takes time and isn’t easy. For some people, it will come easier than for others, and even when you’re fast, going from “I can write words fast” to “I can write damn good words fast” takes practice and dedication and accepting constructive criticism - speed alone will never be worth more than writing well.

Having a community can help. Ya’ll will check in on each other, cheer each other on, remind each other that missing a day or a goal isn’t the end of the world, and keep each other’s spirits up. If you don’t know other writerly folks online, I recommend Weekend Writing Marathon ( @weekendwritingmarathon ) as a good place to start (I used to be a mod there). Once you’re trying to work up to larger word counts in a day, remember that even writing fast will take minutes or hours. You can’t write 2,500 words in an hour if you don’t set an hour aside. Make sure you’re giving yourself the room and time you need to succeed.

You will probably never be able to do high, rapid word counts every day, every week, every month. The best runners in the world don’t run marathons every day. Set realistic long term goals.

Work on projects where you have a clear idea of where you’re going. I’m not saying “pantsers” can’t write fast, because of course they can, but if you want to write fast, and well, and coherently, to create a first draft that’s in pretty good shape, you’ll do better if you have a good sense of what you’re trying to accomplish with your story. That doesn’t mean you need to do all your world building up front, or have a complete outline (I never have either). All you really need is what happens next. I tend to plan projects - and write them - one full scene at a time, with only a vague idea what’s going to come after. (I’m personally a “plantser,” and the strategies in this post will likely be most effective to other plantsers.)

Visualize ahead of time what you’d like to write...but don’t get too attached to what you visualize. When I go to bed, I plan the next scene I’m going to compose, often to the least detail. I then forget all of it overnight, at least all the specifics, and I’m left with a general sense and shape of what’s to come. You’ll never be able to replicate the “perfect” dialog you pre-conceive, so give up on trying to. Instead, play through the scene and think about the emotional beats you want to hit and plot points you want to forward. If you keep that in mind, you’ll be able to get the words out faster than if you’re agonizing over every word or regretting the “oh-so-great” idea that you’ve since forgotten. 

Practice different work styles. If writing every day doesn’t work for you, try instead saying, “this is my writing day each week,” and aim for a lot that specific day, and write little or nothing other days. Try writing at different times of day and on different days, fitting it into your schedule. If you’re beating yourself up for not writing when you “should,” it’ll be that much harder to succeed, so instead, as I said for point 2 - set a reasonable goal that fits your life and working style, fitting it around your other responsibilities, and push yourself within that framework, instead of trying to shoehorn into a style that you “think you should” use to succeed. 

Track your word counts, and take notes on how much you did and what project you were working on. If you’re also experimenting with different times of day and different days, make sure you note that too. I personally use a simple Excel sheet (well, Google Sheets, now) - column one is the date, column 2 is “starting word count,” column 3 is “ending word count,” column 4 is “=column 3 - column 2”, column 5 is notes. Pay attention to when you succeed at writing faster, and when you don’t, and consider what factors might have played into your success...and then try to replicate those factors next time you’re doing a sprint. Control as many variables as you can while you’re “training.”

If you find social media distracting, trying getting a web browser extension that prevents you from connecting to websites for a set period of time.

If you find you tend to dither before starting, I find it helpful to run through everything that I might do to procrastinate (check my social media! grab a snack! make some tea! set up my playlist! check my social media again! finish making the tea! check my social media for what I swear will be the last time!), and when I’m done, it’s like, well, I’ve done all those things, I’ve got no choice left, time to write, no excuses left.

If you find you struggle with picking up a WIP, try leaving off in the middle of a sentence at the end of a session, one where you know exactly how it ends - or, leave off mid-paragraph, or when you are positive you know what happens next (and I mean literally next, as in the very next sentence.) It’s much easier to “pick back up” when your first words are super clear. (Do not do this if you think there’s any chance you’ll forget or end up in a situation where you won’t return to your WIP for months!) 

If you find you struggle to maintain continuity across multiple writing sessions, try rereading what you wrote the previous day before you proceed. Resist the urge to edit it!

Avoid stopping when you get stuck, even to do research. Don’t know a fact? Add a comment to your manuscript flagging the relevant text, “LOOK THIS UP LATER.” Can’t think of a word? Put in something you can use the “find” function on easily (I personally use “XX” since there are no words that have a double x in them) and so you can come back later, search for your chosen placeholder, and fill in the blanks. Not sure how a scene ends but know the next scene? Jump ahead.

That said, if you really don’t know what happens next, you don’t do yourself any favors by pressing on. As I’ve said previously, speed alone should never be your writing object. It’s better to slow down, consider your plot, figure out where you’re going, and then write, than to just plow ahead - or at least, that’s better if you want a manuscript you’ll actually be able to use for something at a later point. If you’re truly just practicing, you can also say “screw it, who needs coherence?” and keep going. I’d personally never have finished my first novel if I’d spent a lot of time worrying about making the pieces fit together and yeah, it’s a mess, but it’s a mess I wrote instead of a mess I got stuck on and never completed.

Don’t move the finish line. If you’ve set the goal of 500 words a day, don’t beat yourself up if you get 550 because you think you think you could have done more. If you say you’ll write five days a week, don’t get mad because you DID have time the sixth day but chose to use it on something else. If you make yourself feel like shit when you succeed, what’ll happen when you fail? And when you’re comfortable and really think you’re ready, change the goal - reassess every month, say, and up your goals. While working for speed, trying upping your word count goal without changing the amount of time you allot for working.

Your need to adhere to the above suggestions will change over time. Once, I always had an outline; now I often don’t need one. Once, I wouldn’t let myself stop even to use a thesaurus; now, I find I can look up words without breaking my flow or significantly slowing myself down. This is not an “all or nothing” prospect, nor is it a “do things the same way forever once you’ve found one (1) thing that works” prospect - you’ll experiment, and find strategies that work for you, and then at some point, your needs will change, and you’ll experiment more, and find new strategies that work for you, on and on, as your skills grow. 

To reiterate: writing fast should never be your objective in and of itself! Greater writing speed will come with practice and as a general side effect of improving your craft. Simply being able to write fast is useless; being able to write fast and well will enable you to get more of your ideas out there, so if that’s something you’d like to accomplish, focus on building your general skills and training yourself to be able to use those skills rapidly and in tandem with each other to produce decent writing, in a first draft, at a decent speed.

Once you try, you may find none of this works for you! That’s okay. That’s good! You tried, which means you learned something about yourself and your own writing style, and that too will help you to improve. Keep experimenting, keep learning, and find what does work for you - and accept that no two writers will ever be the same, and one of those differences will be writing speed. Some writers will never write fast, and that’s doesn’t make them any less awesome or valid. And some writers will always write fast, and that doesn’t make them inherently awesome or valid. Only with a suite of skills that suit your individual life, personality, work style, writing capabilities, goals, etc., will you succeed as a writer (for various, personalized definitions of the word “success”); speed is only one of those potential skills, and not one that’s particularly important in my opinion...yet I still get asked about it fairly often, so here we are, these are my suggestions

Go forth, and write some words! <3

[labomi]

carrot cake

summary: you and satoru treat yourselves to some sweets after completing a mission

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader

words: 976

genre: romance, fluff

warnings: description of food

notes: ahh i feel bad i didn’t post anything last week but i haven’t finished any of my wips yet so here’s a short fic that was already up on my ao3. it’s written with the same universe/reader in mind as my other one-shot which you can read here for context. i promise i’ll have some new content soon!

“Oh, Satoru. Look!” You pointed at the giant carrot cake smothered with cream cheese frosting in the display window. It was nestled among a variety of other delicious-looking desserts that would surely satisfy any sweet tooth. “I think I want a slice of that!”

The two of you had just finished up a mission exorcising a suspected Grade 1 curse that was terrorizing a hospital. Satoru handled it easily without any issues which gave you two plenty of time to spend the rest of the night enjoying the city. There were clear perks in chauffeuring around the strongest jujutsu sorcerer.

After going on numerous assignments together, it had become a tradition for the two of you to celebrate a job well done by heading to a local cafe and indulging in desserts together. Satoru always seemed to look forward to the post-mission activities and you were happy to tag along, especially because he always paid for everything.

Satoru quirked an eyebrow in surprise. “No strawberries today?” He knew how much you adored any desserts that included strawberries. A beautiful strawberry cake glistened in the display case right next to the carrot cake you were eying.

“I’m trying to broaden my taste horizons,” you announced with a huff, trying to ignore how the strawberry cake seemed to be calling your name. “Don’t question me!” Satoru chuckled while you waved over the employee and signaled you were ready to order before you changed your mind.

“I’ll have a slice of the carrot cake please!”

Satoru ended up only ordering a cup of hot tea for himself, claiming he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry.

The cafe was relatively empty. It was a Tuesday night, and there were only a few other people seated inside. They seemed to be local college students judging from the numerous books surrounding them as they furiously typed away on their laptops. You found a small table in the back corner of the cafe far away from all the other patrons. Satoru brought over the tray, and you were unable to stifle your squeal of excitement.

Satoru sat down across from you and immediately ripped open five packets of sugar and dumped them in his tea. He used a small wooden stick to stir the drink and help the sugar dissolve.

“It amazes me how you never get a cavity,” you commented.

“Well that’s because I’m perfect,” Satoru purred. 

You crumbled up a napkin in a ball and threw it at him, but it predictably slowed down to stop in front of his face before he snatched it with his hand.

“Hey! That wasn’t very nice of you!” Satoru whined, but you ignored him and focused on your cake. The slice looked absolutely divine. Grabbing a fork from the tray, you immediately dug in with a big bite and a hum of pure joy.

“It’s so good,” you mumbled with your mouth still full. “We have to come back here again!”

Satoru nodded and sipped on his tea, eyes completely focused on you. During these moments, he was quite thankful he always wore sunglasses. It hid his current line of vision, and he preferred that you didn’t know exactly where he was looking. Every day, Satoru was extremely thankful that managers at Jujutsu High had to wear a black suit and tie. He was particularly grateful to whoever tailored your specific uniform. They deserved a raise.

You always looked prim and proper during a mission but afterward, you had a bad habit of immediately loosening your tie. It was the one part of the outfit you complained about. Satoru got Yaga to tell you it wasn’t necessary to wear a tie if it was uncomfortable, but you insisted on wearing the entire outfit to match the other managers. You were stubborn like that.

Satoru quietly watched as you continued to devour the slice of cake. Your tie was already loosened and sloppily hanging around your neck. He thought you looked even hotter like this.

“Hey! Are you listening to me?” You waved your hand in front of Satoru, trying to grab his attention.

He grinned behind his cup of tea. “Nope!”

You sighed. “Of course you weren’t. I was saying that if we have time off next week we should go watch a movie! We haven’t gone to the theaters in a while, and I know how much you like going.”

“Yea, that sounds good,” Satoru replied, resting his head on his hand with a soft smile. 

You looked at him strangely. Satoru was acting weird. He was quiet tonight. And he was never quiet. The man would normally be talking your ear off about something completely random like the power structures of early Rome or the separation of the church and state.

Why is he acting like this?

You grabbed another piece of cake on your fork when you finally realized what was wrong.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized to Satoru, feeling a little ashamed. “I’m being rude. I forgot to ask if you wanted a bite.” 

“Yeah, I’ll try some,” Satoru smirked. Before you could offer your fork to him, he reached out his hand and swiped a thumb across the upper corner of your lips. He removed a glob of frosting from your face that you had failed to notice. You sat there frozen as Satoru brought the thumb to his mouth and licked it clean.  

“You’re right. It’s good.”

You could feel the heat starting to creep into your cheeks.

“Satoru,” you warned quietly, nervously looking around the cafe to make sure no one else saw the gesture. He loved when you got flustered like this. Especially in public.

“What?” the sorcerer asked innocently. “You had a little something on your lips. What kind of friend would I be to let you walk around like that in public?”

You threw another napkin at him.

[fabulouspotatosister]

is it still you?

summary: getting left behind is never easy. being found is even harder.

word count:  6,127

gif(s) by: @gabrielokun, @elenaglbert​

a/n: hello there, everyone! welcome to my first proper fic since the school year started! you might have seen this on that wip title game i did a little while back, and here it is! thank you to @penguinwithitsarseonfire​ for reminding me that this idea even existed and inspiring me to write it :0 hope you’re all doing well lovelies!

~ o ~

“Amy, I’ll be fine.”

Amy rested against the console, one delicate eyebrow raised as she watched you hover by the Doctor’s side. You were watching him tinker with something on the console, but you could still feel Amy boring holes into you. “Right, just in case we forget the last time you said you were gonna be fine - remind me again why you’re the one doing this?”

“Because I’ve done it a bunch of times!” You glanced up at Amy, then shrunk back at her piercing gaze. You were definitely being judged. You swallowed the urge to say “sorry, mom”. “Reconnaissance. Right, Doctor?”

“Right,” the Doctor replied, sounding slightly distracted. He was peering at what looked like an earbud through a magnifying glass. His coat lay abandoned, flung carelessly over one of the chairs in the console room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and a pair of large circular goggles rested over his face as he worked. He was cute, but you’d never say that to his face. “I’ve tracked the weapon to this planet, but they’re a hivemind - if they see me, they’ll raise an alarm. I need you to be my eyes and ears.”

“Aye aye, captain,” you said cheerfully, raising a hand to your forehead in a mock salute. “Racked up your fair share of enemies, huh?”

“Oh, you know me.” The Doctor poked at the earbud-thingie with a sparking device. “I’m like James Bond.”

“You wish you were like James Bond,” Amy piped up. 

“Oi!” The Doctor looked up, indignation written over his face even through the huge goggles. “I’d make a great spy.”

Amy grinned at you. Something dangerous glittered in her eyes. “You’d trip over those laser things and set off a bomb with those limbs of yours.” 

The Doctor made a frustrated noise, and buried his nose in the magnifying glass again. 

“Okay, maybe not James Bond,” you said. You let your hand rest on his shoulder, trying not to jostle him as he started connecting some very thin wires. “I think you’ve got the gadgets down, though. You’d be the Quartermaster.”

“The man in the chair,” the Doctor muttered. 

“Yeah, the man in the chair,” you repeated. Absentmindedly, you let your hand wander, travelling down his back slightly. The Doctor went still. “You’ve got a very important job.”

“...Yep.” The Doctor’s voice was strained. 

“Okay, enough, lovebirds,” Amy said. She raised a finger before the Doctor could protest against the “lovebirds” comment. “Is she gonna be gone long?”

“Hopefully not,” the Doctor answered. “Just long enough for me to find out where they’ve landed so I can shut off their queen. It shouldn’t be too far. Twenty minutes, tops. And - aha!”

The Doctor grinned widely at you, pushing the goggles off his face. “That should do it. Look -” He plucked the earbud from the console and beamed at it. “Your very own communicator. Brand new! You don’t even need your phone.” It gleamed silver as he turned it over in his hands. “It links up directly to the TARDIS so we can hear you twenty-four-seven. Or seventy-two seven here.”

“It’s beautiful,” you said, and if it was possible, the Doctor beamed brighter. You reached out to take it, but the Doctor moved forward before you could snatch it from his hand.

“Hang on, let me,” the Doctor said softly. He leaned down, brushing his hand against your hair, and you shuddered. Some kind of heavy silence fell over the two of you as he tucked a piece of hair behind your ear and gently pushed the communicator in - it fit snugly, almost like it was made for you. Which it was. When he spoke again, his voice was hushed. “There we go.”

Amy met your gaze. Lovebirds, she mouthed.

Shut up, you mouthed back. 

The Doctor ran to the other side of the console, picking up the telephone and quickly punching in some numbers. There was the whining sound of feedback in your ear. He tapped the receiver, and the soft tap tap tap felt like someone tapping directly on your brain. “Can you hear this?”

“Loud and clear.” He tapped again, and you winced. “Ow.”

“Sorry,” the Doctor said. He raised the phone to his lips and spoke again, but quieter. The sound sent shivers down your spine, and you tried not to visibly tremble. “It doubles as a tracker, so I’ll know exactly where you are.”

“Useful,” you squeaked out. Amy waggled her eyebrows at you, and you didn’t have the strength to tell her to stop. “Anything else?”

“Nope!” the Doctor said, setting down the phone with a thunk. “Alright! I think you’re all set, mission control.”

You frowned. “I thought you were mission control.”

The Doctor opened his mouth, as if to say something, but caught himself. He settled on smiling instead, the corners of his lips turning up meekly. “My mistake. You’ve been mission control before, I just…”

“Yeah, when you lost the TARDIS with me in it,” you said, giving him the gentlest smile you could muster. “Remember that? Good times.”

The Doctor hummed in reply. He shifted in place, staring at you, his hands hanging limply by his sides. In the dim, yellowish light of the TARDIS interior, you couldn’t tell if he was blushing or not. He stood there for a moment, his lips slightly parted, seemingly lost in thought.

“Hey,” you ventured. The Doctor jumped at the sound of your voice, his gaze darting up to meet yours. “You okay?”

“Always,” he said quickly. “I’m just seeing you off. That’s what I’m doing.”

He was not, in fact, just seeing you off. This was typical Doctor behavior - he was dodging the question. It was almost frustrating, but the way he looked like he was pouting took the edge off the frustration a little bit. But only a little bit. “Are you worried?”

“Me?” The Doctor pulled a confident face, the one he put on when he wasn’t. “Never.”

If you weren’t looking at the Doctor, really looking at him, you would have believed him. But then there was rule one - after some time, the Doctor had turned into an open book for you. The way he stood, very still when he was usually bouncing off the walls, told a different story.

You met his eyes, and something shifted. His face morphed, from confident to bittersweet, to an expression that looked almost mournful. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Oh, bugger it,” the Doctor muttered under his breath. 

“Doctor - oh!”

He grabbed your arm and pulled you towards him, pulling you flush against his chest. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and squeezed. He dipped his head down onto your shoulders, his face disappearing into your neck. Amy whistled, but you didn’t hear her - you were too busy focusing on feeling the Doctor’s lips on your skin, and his breath, warm against it, and - well -

“I wasn’t expecting that,” you gasped out.

The Doctor didn’t reply - just squeezed tighter. This face was most definitely a hugger, but they were mostly short and sweet. Little celebratory hugs. These hugs were reserved for certain moments, and certain people. 

“I’m the man in the chair, of course I’m worried,” he finally muttered. “It’s sort of my job.”

“You’ll keep me safe,” you said. You leaned back, and the Doctor lifted his head to look at you. “Mission control, remember? You’ll be there to guide me.”

The Doctor peered at you. “You trust me,” he said quietly, like he couldn’t believe it.

“After all this time, how could I not?” You gave him another soft smile. “You’re trusting me to do this, I’m trusting you to keep me safe.”

“Just -” The Doctor sighed, ragged, and squeezed his eyes shut. When they opened, they were filled with a familiar concern. “Promise me you’ll be careful. I can’t lose you too.”

The last part was nearly a whisper. The sound of his voice tugged at your heart. 

“You won’t,” you said, pulling away from his embrace. Disappointment flickered in the Doctor’s eyes as you stepped backwards towards the doors. “Ever.”

“Okay,” the Doctor said. He looked you over, his expression turning serious. “Ready?”

You nodded. “On your signal, captain.”

A grin slowly spread across the Doctor’s face, childlike. “Captain. I like the sound of that.”

Amy ran up to you, pulling you into another quick hug. She looked just as concerned as the Doctor when she pulled away, holding your face protectively. “Seriously, be safe, alright? I don’t want to be stuck with him without you.”

“Noted,” you replied, and Amy brightened.

“My company isn’t that bad, is it?” the Doctor asked. 

“It’s unbearable,” you joked, and the Doctor pouted. Amy laughed, you laughed, and eventually the Doctor joined in too, chuckling quietly under his breath.

The TARDIS doors swung open slowly, and a gust of cold air burst through them. You walked backwards, waving your fingers at the two in a two-fingered salute, and creeped quietly through the doors.

The first thing that startled you was the smell. The familiar smell of wet grass. A light drizzle fell on your skin, and you looked up. The sky was dark and full of stars - in the distance, you could see the faint lights of flickering street lamps and lit up windows. You could hear the faint sounds of people chattering and cars passing through the night. All of these things were things you knew -

“Doctor, we’re not in the right place,” you said, tapping your earpiece. 

A feedback whine, then the Doctor’s voice, loud and clear as if he was beside you. “What? No, the coordinates were right, I checked -”

“Check again.” Something felt off. You took a hesitant step backward, your back resting against the TARDIS doors. “This is Earth.”

“No, it can’t be,” the Doctor said, incredulous.

“I can see houses in the distance,” you said, “human houses. Unless this is a really convincing simulation, I’m really sure we’ve just landed back on my home planet.”

“Why’d you send us here, old girl?” he asked quietly, probably to the TARDIS. You could faintly hear the TARDIS hum and beep in reply. Then, sharply: “What?” 

"Doctor?” you asked. You tried to keep the fear from creeping into your voice.

“Come back inside, quickly,” the Doctor snapped. 

The urgency in his voice scared the hell out of you, and you straightened, whirling around to face the doors. The handles rattled, but the doors didn’t budge. “I can’t,” you gasped. 

“They’re not locked.” The Doctor’s voice sounded strange through the earpiece. It was getting fuzzier, the ends of his sentences tapering off into silence. “I’ve unlocked them, you should be able to get inside -”

You moved to try again… and your hand passed right through the door handle. You stumbled forward, shocked, and stared at your hand like it was the one that had turned transparent. Then the air started shimmering, and you heard the beautiful wheezing and singing of the TARDIS’s engines -

It was leaving you behind.

“No, no -” Your voice was like molasses in your mouth. You pressed yourself against the doors. They were still solid, still there. The door handles were impossible to grab now, just a faint image in the air, and a sob crawled up your throat. “Doctor, don’t leave!”

A yell ripped through the earpiece, and you winced - the Doctor only ever raised his voice when he was furious. You curled your fists and pressed them against the doors. 

“This can’t be happening, this -” Another strangled noise. It sounded like a sob, and your eyes blurred with tears. “Stay put,” the Doctor said, his voice trembling with emotion. 

If you imagined hard enough you could feel him on the other side of the door. “Okay,” you replied shakily, and sniffed. 

“I’ll come find you.” The Doctor sounded like a broken man. Your name falling from his lips sounded like a promise. “I -”

His voice cut off, and the TARDIS was gone.

You pitched forward and didn’t even bother to put up a fight - your knees buckled underneath you, and you fell onto your knees in the wet grass. Sharp rocks dug into your skin. You could barely feel their jagged edges. You looked up at the night sky as the drizzle slowly eased into a rainstorm, and suddenly your home planet had never felt so alien before. 

“Doctor?” you whimpered, your voice impossibly small. It was foolish, thinking the Doctor could hear you, but you didn’t care - “Doctor, can you hear me?”

Nothing. You were soaked now, raindrops running down your face and blurring with your tears. Biting back another sob, you tried again. “Please - come back, okay?”

The silence was deafening. 

You didn’t know how long you had spent in the rain. Long enough for the lights in the windows to shut off, one by one; long enough for chattering and the sounds of passing cars to quiet down; long enough for the rain to fall even harder than before. Long enough for you to stop shivering from the cold, and long enough -

Long enough for something to block the onslaught of the rain. Blearily, you looked up at the face of a young woman in a police uniform, holding an umbrella over the both of you.

“Ma’am, are you alright?” she asked softly. The tone of her voice was enough to make you start bawling again, as if you hadn't spent the last hour just crying your eyes out. “You shouldn’t be out here in the rain.”

“I know, I just -” How could you explain this to her? “I’m lost,” was what you settled on. 

The woman’s face brightened in a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, I'm here to help."

You nodded, bringing yourself to your feet. The policewoman held out her hand for support, and you wrapped your hands around her arm. You didn’t trust your legs to keep you upright right now. “Sorry, weird question, but - where am I?”

She probably thought you were drunk. That was a better alternative than the truth. “Sheffield,” the policewoman replied.

You hoped she was ready for an even weirder question - “What year is it?”

 A year passed. Settling in was easy enough - thankfully, you had your wallet and phone on you when you arrived back on Earth. All it took was a quick call back home, some trips back and forth to move your things, some paperwork, and you were officially a Sheffield citizen. 

You kept the earpiece. Found a way to wear it around your neck like some kind of ornament. It looked pretty enough, but it was hard to move on when you had a reminder of him resting like a weight on your heart everyday. 

You had tried talking into it on some days, on rainy days that reminded you of the day you were left behind. Sometimes, if you listened hard enough, you could hear faint conversation, sometimes laughter.

Maybe he’d forgotten. Maybe he’d found another companion. Maybe he had gone off to find that Clara girl. It was none of your business now, and yet -

You could’ve gone back to your actual home. But it was so hard to leave - it was hard to leave when the Doctor’s last words had been stay put. Your rational brain tried to convince you that he could find you wherever you were, but there was just something that was keeping you from leaving. 

Yasmin Khan was the policewoman’s name, and she was your very first friend in Sheffield. She’d been the one to help you adjust, and had been the one to help you find a job - as a receptionist in a hospital. 

It was a little funny, working with doctors when none of them were him.

A bolt of lightning lit up the sky. You turned to look out your window - there was no rain, and yet the rumbling sound of thunder echoed across the land. Absentmindedly, you brushed your fingers against the earpiece. It was worn now, from all the constant sentimental holding. 

Your phone chimed. A weather forecast - scattered thunderstorms, it read. And your lock screen - a still image of you and the Doctor that Amy had taken, once upon a time. You were on your tippy toes, adjusting the Doctor’s bow tie with an exaggerated focused look on your face, while the Doctor just stood there, flustered.

They say take a picture, it lasts longer. You still had pictures of all your travels. They felt like tourist pictures, posing in front of alien architecture and making silly faces at otherworldly flora and fauna. They lay buried under pictures of paperwork and cute kids that came into the office, but they were still there.

A year. It would be seconds to him, but an eternity for you - and you couldn’t live an eternity hanging on to just memories of him. Your finger hovered above the delete button.

Sorry, Doctor, you thought. The mere idea of just deleting pictures made you feel sad, then you sniffed indignantly. You had to move on some time, and if it could be now, then -

Knock knock knock!

“Who is it?” you called. There was shuffling behind the door, and a hushed argument. “Hello?”

“Hello!” That voice sounded familiar - it was Grace, Grace Sinclaire, who used to be a nurse and someone that you worked with and who was notoriously really nice - “It’s me! Could you open up, love?”

“Coming!” you called back. You ran a hand through your hair and rubbed your face, wondering why she would be at your door at this hour when she should have been heading home with Graham -

You swung the door open and very nearly dropped your phone.

It was Grace, alright - Grace and her grandson Ryan, who was carrying an unconscious woman in his arms.

“Grace, what the -” you floundered. “What’s going on?”

“We need your help,” she said, and gestured to the woman in Ryan’s arms. “Can we come in?”

You were gaping now, craning your neck to try and get a good look at this woman’s face. “You need to take her to A and E, not to my house! I can drive you there, if that’s what you need -”

“I said that too,” Grace said slowly, like she was bracing to drop a bomb on you. “But right before she fell, she said -”

“Said she didn’t trust anywhere that was just initials,” Ryan finished, glancing down at the woman and then back to Grace, who gave you a sympathetic look. “She said your name.”

You swallowed. How -

“No.” An incredulous smile spread across your face, and you shook your head. “No, you’re kidding.”

“It’s true,” Ryan said. 

“...I don’t know this woman,” you said nervously.

“She knows you,” Grace said, almost pleading. “Please, love.”

There was no reason for them to be lying - the shell shocked expression on Ryan’s face was enough to tell you that he was absolutely telling the truth, whether you liked it or not.

And something that the Doctor had taught you - never refuse a call for help - echoed in your brain.

“Put her on the sofa,” you said quickly. “I’ll go get blankets.”

A few minutes later, you had a stranger lying limply on your sofa. 

She didn’t even make a noise when she was laid down. You laid a floral blanket over her middle, and it settled over her clothes - clothes that were obviously too big for her. The sight rang a bell in the back of your mind, of a night where a man climbed out of his broken ship in a past life’s clothes, clumsy and new -

There was a pull to her that you couldn’t resist. You sat down near her, gently taking her head in your hands and guiding it onto your lap like it was second nature to you. Her skin was warm, almost flushed, blonde hair falling over a surprisingly beautiful face.

Grace crouched down near the woman. “Do you know her?”

You stared at the woman’s face. Your answer would have been no, but now you weren’t so sure. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from her even if you tried - and you were trying. Very hard.

Your hands found their way into her hair, and soon you were running your fingers through it like it was the most natural thing to do. “I don’t know.”

“You look like you do,” Grace’s voice was soft. “You look at her like you’ve known her all your life.”

Your head shot up, and Grace just shrugged. She had a small smile on her lips as she reached for the woman’s arm.

“How do you know that?” 

“I can tell,” Grace said simply. “That’s how Graham looks at me, sometimes.”

There was a beat of silence as she took the woman’s pulse, then she gasped - “Ryan - look.”

The woman’s skin was glowing gold. 

“Whoah,” Ryan said. The woman’s eyebrows were pinched together, a small crease forming between the two of them. Gold patterns swirled under her skin, pulsing like starlight, and you jerked your hands away from her like she would burn you. 

Grace looked up at you, her eyes wide. “She’s got two separate pulses.”

The woman’s arm fell limply at her side as she exhaled - golden dust fell from her lips, floating around like a miniature star in the room. You followed it with your eyes, your mouth hanging open for what must have been the third time that hour.

“Oh my God, what is that?” Ryan asked, moving out of the way.

Grace stared. “I have no idea.”

But you had an idea. You knew. Only one person did that. Only one alien did that. If this was who you thought she was, then -

Suddenly, the woman shot up, sitting bolt upright, breaking you out of your racing thoughts - she clutched her collarbone, gasping, eyes wild and searching. “Who woke me up? I’m not ready - still healing, still -”

Still healing. Your mind was still reeling, still trying to pick up the pieces - her voice was so painfully familiar, and now you knew why. You reached out, placing your hands on your shoulders to soothe her. She startled under your touch.

“You’re alright, you’re fine,” you soothed. A part of you was saying that to yourself. “You’re safe, yeah? Look at me.”

The woman whirled to face you, and you shrunk back. Her eyes were striking, green flecked with yellow and brown. It looked like a galaxy.

“Safe - you…” The woman breathed, staring into your eyes. She stared for what seemed like forever, her gaze locked onto yours, searching your face for something. Then something shifted - her eyebrows quirked up, then pulled down, her face morphing from shocked to confused to mournful. 

“Oh,” the woman said. “Oh no, I’m too late, am I?”

Too late for what? you wanted to ask, but the woman had shot up again, crouching like a bird on the sofa.

"Can you smell that?” she asked, then stopped, one hand coming to press against her collarbone. “No, not smell. Not hear. Feel. Can you feel…” She trailed off, her expression serious. “Stay still, Ryan.”

“What is it? What’s the matter?” he asked quickly. The woman leapt forward to pull down Ryan’s shirt slightly. She exhaled, a worried noise, and spun to face the others.

“Show me your collarbones,” she said, a touch of authority in her voice. Everyone else in the room pulled down their shirts slightly, and you gasped. Small glowing dots, pulsing with a magenta light. You’d only ever heard of those kinds of devices, whispered in the dark alleyways of alien cities, hidden under layers of conspiracy.

“Oh, you’ve all got them,” the woman breathed out, eyes wide.

“So have you,” Ryan pointed out, and the woman looked down. Another blinking light on her collarbone. She made a face.

“Yeah, I have. Okay.” The woman inhaled sharply, straightening her posture, preparing to give bad news. You knew that posture. “Really sorry. Not good news. DNA bombs.”

You rose slowly from your chair. “What?”

The woman cocked her head towards you as she walked in a circle around everyone else, her hands behind her back. “Microimplants which code to your DNA. On detonation, they disrupt the foundation of your genetic code, melting your DNA.”

“But -” you spoke, and everyone’s eyes were on you. “But those are illegal in almost every galaxy, right?”

An unspoken how did you know that hung in the air, but the woman just nodded, her lips pressed together grimly. She reached out to press against Ryan’s glowing dot. “Right.”

Ryan’s eyes widened. “How did we get them?” 

“Nevermind that, are they gonna go off?” Graham asked. 

The woman grimaced. “Quiet. I’m trying to think, it’s difficult -” Her expression changed, her eyes big and searching and so very new. “Brain and body still rebooting, reformatting… oh, reformatting! Can I borrow that?”

“Yeah, I guess so, but what for?”

The woman had reached over and grabbed Ryan’s phone. She was tinkering with it, her brows knit as she focused. “That creature. On the train. When you two came onboard, it zapped us all with these. Simple plan to take out witnesses. Very clever.”

“Merciless,” you piped up.

“But clever,” the woman continued. The phone beeped a few times, and the woman gasped, then held it up proudly. “I reformatted your phone!”

“No! All my stuff’s on there,” Ryan groaned, but the woman just grinned. 

“Not anymore!” She said cheerfully. 

She held the phone to her collarbone - there was a loud zap, then she was knocked back against the wall like she had been thrown. She looked up at everyone, gasping. 

“That nap did me the world of good. Very comfy sofa,” she said, breathless. She glanced down at the phone, gasped again, and then scrambled to her feet. She yanked her coat from one of your chairs, and headed for the door - “Come on, keep up!” 

Everyone stopped to stare at each other, then quickly turned to follow. You took a few steps forward, the woman still drawing you towards her - “Wait, let me come with you -”

The woman turned to face you, already halfway out of your door. She shook her head. “No.”

You frowned. “No?”

She stared for another moment, and you saw it - the familiar gleam of concern, of protectiveness that you had seen at least a billion times in another face. The way her mouth dragged downward and her eyebrows knitted together, an expression somewhere between angry and worried. Your breath caught in your throat, your outstretched hand frozen in place. 

“I’m not putting you in danger again,” the woman said, determined. “I don’t know why. Think I’ll find out later. But you -” Her gaze burned you, with eyes that seemed so old and so new at the same time. “You have to be safe,” she continued. “Please. Stay put.”

It sounded like a promise. The woman glanced down at your hand while you lowered it, drawing it close to your chest.

“Okay,” you said. “Go. I won’t keep you.”

The woman nodded. “Thank you.”

And then she was gone, driving off into the night with everyone else. 

You didn’t rest easy that night. Lightning flashed and crackled across the sky without any rain. You jumped every time the sky lit up - too on edge to be calm at all, too confused to try and get some rest - your hand thumbing the silver earpiece that still hung around your neck, strangely warm to the touch.

“This can’t be happening, this - stay put -”

“Please. Stay put.”

“Doctor,” you whispered. 

 Grace’s funeral was a few days after that.

At first glance, it didn’t seem like a funeral. The place was covered in balloons. There wasn’t a hint of melancholy in the air - the sun was shining bright through the windows of the church, not a single cloud in sight. No sign of the lightning from the days before. It was almost like the world had moved on.

You decided not to sit in the front. Tried not to think about the Grace that had brought the Doctor to your doorstep. Tried not to think about you had never thanked her for bringing her back to you. Instead you thought about happy, knowing Grace, and hoped that she could hear you, wherever she was now.

You found Ryan standing near the doors of the church. He was waiting - your heart clenched at the sight. Steeling yourself, you moved to comfort him -

And you stopped in your tracks. The Doctor walked up to him slowly, her hands in her pockets. Ryan glanced at her in acknowledgement. 

“What time did your dad say he’d get here?” the Doctor asked softly. 

Ryan kept on looking out, searching. “Two hours ago.”

“If he said he’ll come -” That was the Doctor, always trying to comfort -

“He says a lot of things,” Ryan said, gruffly. “He’s never been the best at being reliable. I mean how can he not be here? She’s his mum. She would have wanted him here.”

The Doctor nodded, pursing her lips. She kept that empathetic look in her eyes as she gazed up at him, not knowing what to say. That was another familiar thing that hurt. She still was so kind, still out to help others in need.

“I want him here,” Ryan finished. 

That was you, once upon a time. But things had changed, and you weren’t the one that left.

The Doctor’s gaze flickered to where you were, standing just a few feet away. Your eyes met for a second, and something passed over the Doctor’s face. Recognition. Her mouth opened like she wanted to call out for you, her mouth forming over the syllables of your name - 

You turned on your heel and walked away before she could see the tears forming in your eyes.

The door shuddered in its frame as you slammed it behind you. Stupid, getting emotional over her when you were supposed to be moving on like she had - your hands clamped onto the earpiece, gripping onto the small device like it was a lifeline. You hadn’t noticed that you were shaking, or that you had fallen on your knees onto the floor. You took in quick, shallow breaths, blinking the tears away like your life depended on it.

The earpiece was cold in your palms. You tried to let the feeling ground you, but even just remembering what it was made you nearly tip over the edge -

Knock knock knock.

“Yes?” Your voice was rough, and you coughed. “So - sorry, who is it?”

There were some hushed voices. 

“Isn’t it so weird how they know each other?”

“Not the strangest thing anymore, after what’s happened.”

“Hush, both of you.”

Then - a soft call of your name, warm and everything you’d ever needed. 

“It’s me," the Doctor said. “Could you open the door?”

You stilled, not trusting your ears. This wasn’t the triumphant reunion that you had wanted for the past year. That fantasy had faded over time. And yet there was a spark of hope in your chest, threatening to set everything alight.

The Doctor spoke again, her voice impossibly gentle and impossibly the same. “Listen -” Her voice cracked, and you bit back a sob - “I know it’s been some time, but I am so so sorry -”

That was it. You rose to your feet, red eyes and runny nose be damned, and flung the door open.

“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “No, don’t start.”

The Doctor’s beautiful new eyes widened a fraction. 

“Hello to you too,” she said quietly. She wasn’t as tall as she used to be - in fact, she was much shorter, so you didn’t have to crane your neck as much to take a good look at her face. She was dressed differently too, finally out of her raggedy clothes and into a new outfit that you’d say was cute, but never to her face. 

You blinked up at her, sniffed, and crossed your arms over your chest. “Don’t apologize.”

The Doctor frowned slightly. “I have to, I left you behind for - oh!”

You grabbed the Doctor by her new suspenders and pulled her against you so she was flush against your chest. You buried your face in the crook of her shoulder, throwing your arms around her neck. Someone - you weren’t sure who - maybe it was Ryan - whistled, but you didn’t hear him.

It took a moment for the Doctor to let her hands rest against your back. Maybe this face wasn’t much of a hugger. But she didn’t let go, and leaned in closer so her chin rested on your shoulder.

“Let me say sorry,” she whispered. “I promised I would keep you safe, promised I’d come back for you. You trusted me, and I let you down.”

“I didn’t think you were gonna come back,” you mumbled. You shifted, letting your cheek rest against her skin. “I thought you’d left me forever and I thought - I thought -”

“Hey,” the Doctor soothed, pulling away. She brought one hand up to rest on your cheek, her thumb delicately brushing tears away, and you sniffed again. You probably looked ridiculous. “I’m here. I’m sorry I took so long.”

You nodded. “Is it still you?”

The Doctor grinned, and the way it lit up the world around her made your heart do flips. “‘Course it’s still me.” She looked down at the earpiece resting against your chest and raised her eyebrows in surprise. “You kept the communicator.”

“I - I couldn’t throw it away,” you stammered, shrugging, “sentimental value. Or I just missed you. Maybe both.”

“Oh, you,” the Doctor said, her eyes glimmering. “You won’t need it anymore.”

Your hands shot up to grab it. You raised an eyebrow at the Doctor, whose grin was just growing wider and wider. You couldn’t help it - you let a smile slip onto your face. “Why is that?”

“Because I want you to come with me. Again.” The Doctor leaned backwards on the balls of her feet, and tucked her hands firmly back into her pockets. 

You felt like you’d just been kicked in the chest - all the air was suddenly gone from your lungs. Every last bit of eloquence that you’d had disappeared in an instant, and all you could manage was, “Uh.”

The Doctor smiled, a kind of nervous, polite smile. “What do you say?”

You could - take her hand and fly away with her again, like nothing had ever happened. Your gaze moved to behind her, where Graham, Ryan, and Yaz stood. They had seen this face before you did, and maybe - just maybe - 

“I can’t. Besides,” you gestured to the three of them, “you don’t need me anymore.”

The Doctor turned to face the three of them, and when she turned back to face you there was an intensity in her eyes that you weren’t a stranger to. The Doctor’s brows furrowed, and you curled in on yourself - that was something the Doctor never liked, when people put themselves down - but you thought it was the truth. 

The Doctor shook her head.

“Yes, I do,” she said simply. She leaned forward to press her lips against your forehead. It still felt magical. “I always have. Always will.”

She peered down at you, looking you right in the eyes, and you tried to find any sign that she was lying. Any sign that this was some kind of trick, some kind of fluke. 

But there she was, her voice gentle and earnest, one hand outstretched to take you back.

You took her hand and her lips quirked up just slightly. That same spark of hope instantly blossomed into a fire, comforting like a hearth on a cold winter evening. 

She led you outside, let you cross the hidden gap between a normal life and a life with her, again. Ryan, Graham and Yaz smiled as you stepped through, your hands intertwined with the Doctor’s.

“No ship, but at least I’ve got you,” the Doctor said cheerfully. Your head shot up to meet her sheepish expression, and you breathed out a laugh.

“The TARDIS? Really? Again?”

“Yep,” she replied, popping the “p” sound. You sighed deeply, but you couldn’t wipe the smile from your face. 

“Oh, you definitely know each other,” Yaz said, her eyes wide with amazement.

“Well? Just like old times,” the Doctor said. “Ready?”

“Aye-aye, captain,” you chirped, and the Doctor laughed.

And when all of you got spat out in the middle of space, in the split second between life and death, you met the Doctor’s gaze and grinned. Perhaps nothing had really changed at all. Perhaps this was just a new chapter.

Geronimo. 

[blancamz]

“It’s Over Isn’t It” Reanimation progress

Honestly one of my favourite parts about animating is posting the WIPs online. Here’s the step-by-step of how I went about doing my reanimation for the end section of “It’s Over Isn’t It” from the Steven Universe episode Mr. Greg.

1) Idea and Prep

I was flicking through Steven Universe: Art & Origins. I think at the time I must’ve been between jobs or bored or something, because it came into my head to do a bit of animation based on the pilot style SU. I’ve always been quite fond of the pilot style, especially Pearl’s David Bowie / LaRoux look. The little tux design by Hellen Jo was quite snazzy as well, so I decided to have a go at doing a segment of “It’s Over Isn’t It”, using these designs.

I traced the turnaround from the book in Clip Studio Paint and approximated Jo’s design to it. At first I had the colour turnaround, but did the low-colour turnaround with the heads to give me a better idea of where the lines are and proportions of the body. I also get a clip of “It’s Over Isn’t It” and trim it down to the section I want to do.

This is a long one so strap in.

2) Sketch Pass

I’ll be using gifs that show the first 100-130 frames of the animation, because the full segment is 22 seconds long.

Very very loose animation of what I’m going to be doing with this segment, done in Adobe Animate. I have a video of the real segment in the corner of the stage and audio in the timeline, and closely reference them for layout and acting.

I’ve decided I want to go really nuts with the animation. Lots of angles on her face, smooth movement, secondary animation / follow-through on her various clothing elements. Technically her earring’s supposed to be on the other side but I want to animate that flailing around dangit, so I change it so it faces the camera.

3) Rough Pass

I tidy up the rough I did somewhat. It’s still very rough, but Pearl is better proportioned and the motion is more complete. I get a better idea of how she moves by focusing on drawing keys (the most important drawings) and breakdowns (drawings that help you figure out the motion a little bit, without full animation). I have Pearl, her suit, ruffles and earring on separate layers so I can turn things on and off or lower their opacity as needed.

4) Tiedowns

At some point between the rough and tie-down phase I realized that I’d been animating at 30fps instead of 25fps like I’d meant to, so I had to end up shifting all the roughs I’d been doing. Bad news: having to wrestle with getting the timings I’d so carefully planned out in the rough to still look good. Good news: I have to animate and clean up 5 fewer frames per second, so that’s 110 fewer drawings to worry about. Yussssss. For reference, the above clip has now gone from 132 frames to 107.

During the tiedown phase, I go over the roughs and more carefully try to match the proportions in the turnaround. I keep a flattened version of the first frame of animation to use as reference thoughout to prevent morphing. Sometimes when you’re animating, things will get bigger or small as you re-draw them, so it’s good to have a base drawing to refer back to and make the sizes stay consistent.

At this point I’m way more aware of reasons behind the big design change for Pearl between the pilot and the show. She’s so dang skinny and tall with that extra poof of hair up top that she’s really annoying to frame up. If you want to keep all of her in the frame, there’s going to be tons of empty space.

I also find that my turnaround isn’t enough reference for Pearl’s awkwardly-shaped head. I snap me a bunch of screenshots of pearl’s head from different angles and collate them into a big sheet.

5) Inbetweening

Inbetweening, aka filling out all the gaps in the timeline between the keys and breakdowns. If you’ve done your keys and BD’s well, inbetweening can be a pretty straight-forward.

But I’ve got like a million bits of secondary animation to content with, which means this still takes a significant amount of time. The hair and ruffles have to move a little later than the rest of the body, and some parts of the ruffles have to move at a different rate from the rest. I’m trying to animate like there’s wind since Pearl’s on top of a tall building. I keep animating until it feels good enough.

This is what my timeline and stage look like in Animate by this point. The animation is mostly on 2s, with some 1s, 3s and 4s thrown in when needed.

6) Cleanup and Colour

I did the cleanup in Toon Boom Harmony. As a program, I like it was more than Animate, even though it isn’t without it’s flaws. But it’s also really dang expensive. Fortunately, by this point I’d been working on the upcoming Deadendia series for Netflix. What with the pandemic, we were working from home and the studio gave me a license for Toon Boom. So I exported my frames from Animate, put ‘em in TB and started cleaning up.

I’ve found that cleanup is something that’s often offloaded to new or less experienced artists at studios because blah it’s just tracing the rough animation. But you’ve got good cleanup and bad cleanup, and a good cleanup artist will compensate for flaws in volume and have a good, clear and natural line.

I’m not terribly fond of doing cleanup myself. I feel I tend to end up rushing, which leads to sloppy work. I tried really hard to keep up a standard here.

7) Comping

a.k.a. Compositing, the final layering of the various elements before exporting a film. Another stage I don’t quite care for because of its nuances. Also drawing backgrounds.

I admit that I’m not very good at drawing backgrounds or environments. I tried to do the one for the second shot of this animation, since it was acutally really important. In shots 1 and 3, you don’t really see the ground or even the railing that Pearl is leaning on, but 2 is a wide shot. My first attempts at it were unfortunate. Fortunately my husband @joe-sparrow is both good at backgrounds and good at imitating the style and colour palette of the show. He volunteered to do the BGs and I accepted. See mine vs. his:

So yeah, get me some nice backgrounds, put the animation on top, then fiddle with a couple of elements in the comp to give things a little bit more depth. During this stage, errors that had happened during the animation progress that I hoped would just go away became annoyingly obvious, so there was a fair bit of going back to fix them.

So that’s how I done made this animation. I started April 2018 and posted in on January 1st 2021, so that’s over 1.5 years it took me to do these 22 seconds of animation. However, I wasn’t working on it continuously through that time. Sometimes I’d be working on it every day, other times I’d not touch it for weeks or months at a time. It really depended on how busy or whatever I was at the time. I think if I’d been working on it non-stop, it still would’ve taken me at least like 2-3 months to finish it.

If you made it to the end of this post, I hope you found all this information interesting.

Happy drawing.

It’s over, isn’t it.