#I had a whopping 8 fics this year

[squidpro-quo]

for Ao3 wrapped: 10, 18, and 19? 👀👀👀

10. What work was the quickest to write?

I'd have to say The Three Muses! Mostly because the word count is so low that it has to be the quickest or else I did something wrong ^^; I want to do more drabble-length ones like that actually, it was so fun to just get into words what ideas the art gave me without worrying about fleshing it out into a full world or story, just the pure vibes

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Definitely Gaku! I love him, he's my favorite little wet cat to rotate in my brain, but fuck if he's not complicated to write sometimes. The mental gymnastics it takes to untangle his motivations between the daddy issues and the need-to-impress but also the rebellious streak and that righteous honesty, it makes me constantly have to go reread and rewatch his scenes to try and keep his voice clear (well, as clear as I can make it, it also always threatens to spiral me into the eternal question of translational integrity and how closely can we really experience the story through so many degrees of removal but that's a jar of existentialism for another day).

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

I watched Queen Charlotte: A Bridgerton Story and I had some thoughts on Reynolds and Brimsley that I haven't gotten out of my head yet. So ideally I'd like to pin down what I want to explore in their relationship, and find some catharsis writing a fic for them.

Mostly I want to write about their first meeting, how they got past that first huge step of broaching the subject of their interest, and also something about statues and servants and metaphors thereof, maybe I'll convince my siblings to give it a watch and use that as an excuse to experience it anew with fresh eyes.

Thanks so much for asking!! I initially thought I wouldn't have much to say and that I hadn't written much, but after actually checking on ao3, I realized I'd written more than I thought, so it was nice to look back ^^

[stereopticons]

Fic Writing Review 2024

Thanks for the tag, @kiwiana-writes

Rules: Feel free to show whatever stats you have. Only want to show Ao3 stats? Rock on. Want to include some quantitative info instead of stats? Please do this. Want to change how yours is presented? Absolutely do that. Would rather eat glass than do this? Please don’t eat glass but don’t feel like you have to do this either.

Words and Fics (fics written in 2024 only)

24,701 words published to ao3, which is a little less than half of last year’s total, but there was a lot of life happening this year that made writing difficult.

My writing tracker only lasted until April so I don’t honestly know how many words I’ve written, but I did work on several things that are still WIPs.

I’ve published in two fandoms: Schitt’s Creek and RWRB.

Most recent drop: you can call me, call me, any time, aka kinktober day 10, published in November lol.

Longest published fic: stronger than iron, stronger than steel at a whopping…3714 words lol.

Longest WIP remains indie band Patrick which is just over 29k

Top Fics by Kudos (fics written in 2024 only)

you can call me, call me, anytime [firstprince, E, 500 words]

head in the clouds but my gravity’s centered [firstprince, E, 1.1k]

bells will ring, the sun will shine [firstprince, E, 861 words]

love just leaves you bruised [david/patrick, T, 1.4k]

I don’t wanna play if I’m gonna lose (but I don’t wanna lose ‘cause I didn’t play) [firstprince, M, 1.4k]

Miscellaneous Data From My Unhinged Spreadsheet about 2024 fics

The fic with the highest percentage of private bookmarks is you can call me, call me, anytime which is a little surprising.

Out of 14 published fics, 11 were E, 1 was M and 2 were T, which is a very different distribution than usual, but that’s because 10 of the 14 fics were kinktober lol.

I wrote David/Patrick, Alex/Henry, and June/Nora. Also started a Stevie/Alexis kinktober fic that I have yet to finish.

1 title came from canon, 1 didn’t have a source, and the other twelve were from the following artists (1 each): The Bens, Mariah Carey, Billy Joel, Regina Spektor, the Neighbourhood, MUNA, Chapterhouse, The Dixie Cups, West Side Story, Noah Reid, Matt Nathanson, and Blondie.

Highest kudos to hits ratio is a long winter of indifference

I published 8 fics in October, 2 in November, and one each in January, February and March. Not publishing anything in April broke a 2.5 year streak of publishing at least one fic per month (October 2021-April 2024) and I had a lot of feelings about it.

My average fic length this year was 1,645 words.

Stats specifically about Kinktober

Ten total fics and 13,792 words published so far - hoping this updates before the end of the year.

Five were David/Patrick, 4 were Alex/Henry and 1 was June/Nora

3 were David POV, 2 were Patrick POV, 3 were Alex POV, and 1 each were Henry and June POV.

Longest was I feel dizzy, I feel sunny, I feel fizzy and funny and fine, because apparently I have a lot to say about Patrick in lingerie, which is very valid of me tbh.

Shortest was you can call me, call me, anytime, which was epistolary.

Most popular by hits was head in the clouds but my gravity’s centered. Least popular by both hits and kudos was I know it gets hard just to breathe sometimes (I’m never gonna forget your name) which was breathplay so that’s fair.

The Rest of 2024

I have an exchange fic to finish and also am really hoping to finally get the exes to lovers fic finished. Potentially other kinktober fics, and maybe if I’m really on a roll, either the black swan au or the pretty princess fic. We’ll see!

Tagging people who either may want to participate or maybe are just interested? Idk.

@hippolotamus @blackandwhiteandrose @rosedavid @ninzied @indestructibleheart

@mostlyinthemorning @filet-o-feelings @carolrain @tyfinn @jamilas-pen

@rmd-writes @welcometololaland @lizzie-bennetdarcy @jettestar @thesleepyskipper

@ships-to-sail @beaiola @likerealpeopledo-on-ao3 @chelle-68 @missgeevious

@dinnfameron

[energievie]

My personal tradition over the past three years has been to answer this set of questions because it was fun to see which answers had changed and which ones stayed the same. This year I'm switching it up, so if you guys - and ANYONE else, for that matter - would like to play, please go ahead ☺️ Blank set of questions under the tag.

Tagging @suzy-queued @gallawitchxx @roryonic @blue-disco-lights @look-i-love-u @theprinceandagcd @sparklepocalypse @sam-loves-seb @lupeloto @wehangout @firenati0n @callivich @ian-galagher @celeritas2997 @alexclrmontdiaz @deathclassic @palepinkgoat @whatthebodygraspsnot @mmmichyyy @deathclassic @em-harlsnow @catgrassplantdad @crossmydna @isabellehemlock @laviejaguardia @sindirimba @notherenewjersey @asamandra @whatthebodygraspsnot @ms-moonlight-inn @transmurderbug @twinklyylights @kiwiana-writes @darlingian @sgtmickeyslaughter @creepkinginc @burninface @jrooc @lingy910y @mybrainismelted and ANYONE else who'd like to play 😎

1. How many words have you written this year?

39,154 (excluding Galladrabbles, WIPs and the story for the Masquerade).

2. How many works did you publish this year?

Including the story for the Masquerade that will get posted by the end of the week, 15.

3. What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

Retrograde - a Firstprince AU where they're both immortal and only realise it a century and a half later, when they meet again completely by accident. I just stumbled upon the prompt and I couldn't get it out of my head.

4. What work of yours has the most hits?

Ready for this to be (Firstprince, college AU) - almost 5.7k hits. It probably helps that it was posted back in January 😝

5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Waiting for Magic - simply because there's no pairing and I wrote it over 3 years ago for what was supposed to be a collab that eventually fell through. It's for The Old Guard, centred on one character and his alternate origin story and I wasn't expecting anyone to even leave a kudos, let alone comment.

6. Favorite title you used.

Either "Watch out for me" or "With our backs against the world" - can't really decide 😅

7. If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

My go-to has always been Glass Animals but funnily enough, this year there aren't two fics with titles from the same artist 😅

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

Firstprince - I'm in a phase 😜

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

Yeah, no, not playing favourites. If I write for it, it means I love it.

10. What work was the quickest to write?

A matter of time (The Gentlemen (series), post-canon), my entry for Level Up! Granted, it's only 1.2k words but I remember just breezing through it.

11. What work took you the longest to write?

Probably Swimmin' in my mind (Siena dream) - it's among the longest and it was also part of the Gallavich Gift Exchange, so I paid closer attention to a lot of aspects I normally disregard because I wanted it to be as close to perfect as possible.

12. How many WIPs do you have in your docs for next year?

Four, theoretically, though one of them is just two fragments of dialogue.

13. What’s your longest work of the year?

Swimmin' in my mind (Siena dream), at a whopping 6,649 words 😅

14. What’s your shortest work of the year?

Excluding all Galladrabbles, With our backs against the world, at exactly 900 words.

15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

Definitely a Firstprince one-shot that's a sort of sequel for the first story I ever wrote for this pairing and which I'm planning to post for the Hey, Sweetheart event.

16. What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Getting Together ❤️

17. Your favorite character to write this year?

Henry - he's such a fascinating character, made up of a whole slew of contradictions.

18. The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

Henry 😅 Despite my ease at slipping into formal and very formal English, his voice felt really intimidating at first and made me second-guess all my sentences and turns of phrase.

19. What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

I don't know, tbh. The Old Guard 2 is coming out, so there's a high chance I revisit my roots (i.e. Book of Nile and Kaysanova) but honestly, anything might draw my attention enough for me to want to write a story.

20. Which work of yours have you reread the most?

Retrograde - see above 😁 It's part of the triad (together with a Gallavich story and a TOG one).

21. How many kudos in total did you get this year?

3,616 🥰

22. Which work has the most comments?

Watch out for me - 23 😁

23. Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Nope, not this year.

24. Did you write any gifts this year?

Yes - Swimmin' in my mind (Siena dream) was for the Gallavich Gift Exchange.

25. Did you receive any gifts this year?

Yup, from the lovely @dynamic-power for the same event ❤️

26. What’s your most common category?

Friends to lovers 😁

27. What do you listen to while writing?

White noise, exclusively.

28. Favorite work you wrote this year?

How many times can I mention Retrograde without turning into a broken record? 😆

29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Mm, this one's so difficult! I'll say... this exchange from And let us fall:

‘How come you've never asked me out?’

Crash. Reboot.

‘I'm sorry?’

‘You should be,’ Alex chuckles somewhat humourlessly. ‘You can't possibly think I'd have said no.’

Suddenly, what's going on here? seems incredibly appropriate.

‘Alex, if this is your idea of a joke–’

‘Not in a million years, sweetheart!’ he murmurs and Henry is too tipsy himself to hold back the gasp and the shudder and the way his suddenly-too-dry throat clicks when he swallows.

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

College AUs - hadn't written any before this year and now I find it very hard to stop because I've completely fallen in love 😅

---

How many words have you written this year?

How many works did you publish this year?

What work are you most proud of (regardless of kudos/hits)?

What work of yours has the most hits?

What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?

Favorite title you used.

If you use song lyrics, which artist’s songs did you pull from the most?

Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

What work was the quickest to write?

What work took you the longest to write?

How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

What’s your longest work of the year?

What’s your shortest work of the year?

What WIP are you taking into next year with you?

What’s your most common “Additional Tags” tag?

Your favorite character to write this year?

The character that gave you the most trouble writing this year?

What’s one pairing you want to explore next year?

Which work of yours have you reread the most?

How many kudos in total did you get this year?

Which work has the most comments?

Did you do any collaborative works this year?

Did you write any gifts this year?

Did you receive any gifts this year?

What’s your most common category?

What do you listen to while writing?

Favorite work you wrote this year?

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Biggest surprise while writing this year?

[aliendes]

One More Day (S.Coups) - Teaser #2

Here is teaser #2 for One More Day with S.coups! warnings below the cut. This fic is a WHOPPING 33.3K words (almost 10k more than the original) with an added smut scene! One More Day is scheduled to be posted on Dec. 20 KST!

word count: 33.3k~ (final fic)

warnings (final fic): su*cide attempts and past mentions (DO NOT READ IF THIS TRIGGERS YOU), smoking cigarettes, drinking, cursing, asshole brother Joshua (it gets better I promise), hospitals, smut, p in v unprotected sex, fingering f receiving, oral f receiving, breeding kink (is it a des fic without it, really), creampie, cum play, low-key dirty sex but in a super romantic and loving way lol.

“Holy shit!” you gasped, nearly throwing your cigarette, when you saw a figure walk out from between the trees lining your property and the one next to it. It was a man you didn’t recognize. You squint your eyes slightly to try and see better in the dark. He stepped closer to your with both hands raised in front of him as a way to placate you.

“Sorry! I’m sorry! I -” he started, but trailed off almost like he forgot what he was going to say. You raised a brow at him, still unsure of the stranger. “I’m Choi Seungcheol, I live next door. I promise I’m not a creep or anything, I just noticed you standing out here for a while and wanted to make sure you weren’t locked out or something, I - I, yeah that sounded creepy. I’m sorry.” He rushed out the last words, looking almost sheepish. 

Cute.

You stood there for a second too long, and Seungcheol, as you now knew him, looked almost like he was about to bolt back in the direction he came. “I - I’m sorry, I’ll g-”

“No, it’s ok.” You let out a deep sigh and chuckled darkly, no humor to be found. “You just startled me, is all.” You said with what you hoped was a small smile. It wasn’t, Seungcheol noted, but he didn’t care, just glad you were responding at all.

Another beat passes, “... so are you alright - did you need help?” He drawled, unsure of where the conversation was headed. 

“No, no. This is my par- mine- my house. Well, not my permanent house, but you probably already knew that.” You stuttered. He must’ve realized the house next door to him was vacant 11 months out of the year, right?

 “Ah yeah, I kind of figured that out.” he took a hesitant step forward. When he saw you weren’t running for the hills, he slowly made his way into the illumination provided by the floodlights on the back porch. You took in his features now that you could see them better. He had bleach blonde hair that looked a little fried, but that suited him nicely, large, doe-like brown eyes, and plump, cherry-like lips that were more than a little distracting. Had you not been in a crippling depression, you may have thought he was pretty handsome, you may have shot your shot with this pretty neighbor. He ran his hand through his yellow  locks, “This house is usually empty, I only notice it occupied around this time of year. I’m assuming it’s your vacation house? You said it’s your parents place, right?” He took hesitant steps up to the deck.

So he caught that. Damn. “Was.” You stated simply. “It was my parents place. It’s mine now, I come here alone.” Seungcheol knew that. He’s lived next door for 8 years now, on and off. Every Christmas for the last few years, you’d been alone. He wasn’t a creeper, but he did notice you smoking those nasty cigarettes out on this very deck, alone, every single year. He remembers you used to come here with someone. A boyfriend maybe? It wasn’t his place to ask. 

He’s at the bottom of the steps that lead up to your deck, looking up at you with an unreadable expression. Pity? No, there’s no way he knows what’s going on in your mind. He hesitates a moment before - “Are you ok?” 

The question catches you off guard. Were you ok? You knew the answer was a big, fat no. But was that something you should share with him? A near stranger? Aside from the obvious questions you had, when was the last time someone asked you that? You couldn’t remember anyone caring enough about you in the last few years to even utter those words to you. The only people you interacted with were your coworkers, who didn’t give a shit about your personal life. All your boss cared about was that you got the job done, not about your emotions. You almost wanted to trust this man, share with him how you’re feeling, God knows you need it. You’ve been staring at him for too long, he must think you’re crazy now. You shake your head slightly to rid yourself of the thought. “Yeah. Yeah I’m good.” You mutter, looking anywhere but his eyes. 

[f1nalboys]

Memory - Sinclair Brothers

fic based off of this little idea i had <3 just the boys when they were younger!

WORD COUNT: 3050

WARNINGS: angst, general sadness underneath happy moments, abuse mention/slight description, emotional/physical/mental abuse, neglect, young!sinclairs, pre-movie, not a warning but vincent signs but idk if i make it super clear all the way through it, dead animal mention, animal cruelty? the animal is dead but just incase, underage drinking, things could be ooc but they’re kids so, twins are 13 about to turn 14 and lester is 8

Vincent sat at the edge of the forest, chin resting on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs. His mask was off, placed gently beside him on his jacket to keep it off of the ground, and his hair had fallen into his face. It stunk of his house, of his mothers perfume, and he swore it was smothering him just like she was. “Vincent!” Lester’s voice calls out for him from within the forest and he looks up from his shoes (Bo’s old ones he had given to Vincent after he grew out of them) and couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

His younger brother, a whopping eight years old since yesterday, comes sauntering out of the forest covered head to toe in dirt, a big gap-toothed grin on his face. “Hey, Lester.” Vincent signs slowly, grinning wider at the intense look Lester has while watching his hands move. Lester was starting to get the hang of understanding Vincent’s signing so long as he kept it slow. Vincent can remember just a few years ago when Bo and Vincent would fight in sign at night as to not wake their parents and Lester would sit perched on the edge of the bed, hands clasped together in his lap and his mouth open in awe as he watched how quickly the boys hands’ moved.

“Hiya!” When he’s a few feet from Vincent, Lester takes one final large hop, landing just in front of his older brother. Gravel goes everywhere and Lester giggles, kicking at the rocks under his feet slightly. Vincent notices the hole beginning to form in the front of his shoes and makes a mental note to find a pair around the house for him. “Where’s Bo? Up at the garage?”

Both boys turn their heads to the right, looking over at the garage further down in town. They couldn’t see anyone but Vincent knew that’s where Bo was because that’s where he always was these days. Vincent couldn’t help but feel slightly jealous of the time Bo spent with Charlie, the mechanic. He had grown used to his brother being by his side, kicking and screaming and hollering every second, and his absence was noticed immediately. To some, like his parents, his being gone was good. But to Vincent, it wasn’t. He knew Bo, knew that he wanted out of this town and out of this life.

He wanted to get away from it all and that meant Vincent too.

Not that Vincent blamed him; quite the opposite, actually. He grew up in close quarters with Bo, saw the way he was strapped to his high chair for hours on end until his wrists bled only for it to happen the next day and then the next. He saw the bruises and cuts that littered his body when he’d get ready for bed. He heard the things his parents said about Bo to his face and he sure as hell heard what they said when he was gone. He wanted Bo to go, but not without him.

“Knew it!” Lester says, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “What’s up with ‘ya, Vin? Thought you was with momma today?” Vincent cringes at the reminder and Lester instantly stops moving, sensing it. The kid had a good read on people’s emotions, always ready to listen or help when someone, even his mom or dad, were feeling down. Vincent can’t remember the last time he did that for Lester. “Somethin’ happen?”

Vincent nods and Lester flops down in front of him, sitting criss-crossed. Lester waits for him to sign and, after shaking away the feeling of being silly, he does. “Momma got mad because I’m still not good at the sculptures. She’s getting weaker and she needs me to help her but I can’t. I’m bad at it.” His face scrunches up slightly, head tilting down further. He was embarrassed.

Here he was, 13 going on 14, telling his problems to his little brother, a kid who doesn’t need to know about how mom threw Vincent’s sculpture of her against the wall of the basement, shattering the wax into a million shards in tune with his already broken heart. He doesn’t need to know the details, he decides as his hands fall back into his lap. Lester had been spared from both their parents' rage (for the most part) thus far but only because they were too preoccupied directing that anger at him and Bo. Especially Bo.

“Well, that ain’t true, Vin! You’re awesome at all that stuff!” Lester says and Vincent knows Lester believes that, but he also knows it’s not true. He was alright at art, at sculpting things from his mind, things he had seen in movies or read about in books, but he wasn’t good at the realistic stuff, not like his mom. “Is it ‘cause of the… real stuff?”

“You know about that?”

“Yeah,” Lester is sheepish as he admits it, looking away from Vincent and down to the dirt ground underneath him. “Snuck down one night while momma and daddy were talkin’ to you and Bo about it. I ain’t telling anyone, don’t worry!”

“Lester,” Lester wonders for a brief second how Vincent was able to get his disappointment across as well as he did without speaking, but he simply thins his lips into an apologetic half-smile. “Don’t tell them you know.” There’s an unspoken sentence there that hangs in between them both. Or else they’ll hurt you. Lester holds his pinky out and Vincent’s lip curves upwards as he does the same, hooking his around his little brothers. “It was about that.” He signs when he lets go and Lester nods, eyebrows furrowing together.

Vincent can practically see the gears turning in Lesters little head and he can hear the ‘ding!’ of a lightbulb go off. “Oh, I know! Why don’t you practice!” Vincent waits for Lester to elaborate, not moving a muscle even when Lester jumps up in excitement. “C’mon! I gotta show ya’ somethin’!”

Lester holds his small hand out to his older brother and Vincent takes it, following behind him into the woods without a single question. Even if this was nothing, which Vincent was seven hundred percent sure it wasn’t, the distraction would be nice. He hadn’t been out here in a while.

The last time he had, it had been with Bo. It was a year or so ago, back when Bo and he were attached at the hip, as if the surgery hadn’t worked, and they had gotten grounded and sent to bed with no supper. Bo had suggested they sneak out and Vincent agreed; he’d follow Bo anywhere. That ‘anywhere’ ended up being the middle of the woods, just beside the creek. “I go here when I needa get the hell outta the house.” Bo had said to Vincent, his voice quiet.

The woods had been dark and it had seemed like every noise was amplified, making Vincent’s skin crawl. The flashlight he was holding wasn’t strong enough, just seemed to make the shadows jump out more, make them take the shape of the bullies at school and at home. “Bo, I’m scared.” Vincent had signed to him and Bo had just laughed, slowing his pace down to walk beside his brother.

“Ain't nothin’ to be scared of, Vince.” He said when they finally made it to the spot by the creek that Bo had set out for. “You and I are the scariest sons of bitches these woods have seen. I’ll protect ya, anyways. Just like I always do.” Bo then showed Vincent the bottle of whiskey he had stolen from their fathers a few weeks back and had grinned when Vincent took a sip without a fight. “See! You’re a man!”

It only took another small swig of the liquor to have Vincent feeling different and he stopped there, remembering how his dad got when he drank too much. Bo stopped too, tucking it back into his backpack and hiding it underneath his jacket. Then they sat there, staring off back into the town, the lights from houses flickering off as the minutes ticked by. Vincent had tapped Bo on the shoulder and when he looked at him, he started to sign.

“I’m sorry for not protecting you.”

“What’re you talkin’ about, Vince?”

“From mom and dad.” Bo’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t stop Vincent and he’s glad because he keeps going, whiskey running through his veins. “I should stand up to them for you. It ain’t fair the way you get treated, the way they make you out to be bad. You aren’t bad. You’re better than me, that’s for sure.”

“Now, stop that.” Bo says dryly. “You know I ain’t better than you. Everyone knows it.”

“You are,” Vincent emphasizes, almost like he’s desperate for Bo to really understand him. “You take care of people. You don’t have to defend me from the kids in school but you do. You don’t have to take the blame for me so mom and dad don’t hurt me. You don’t have to make sure Les and I are taken care of.”

“You’re my brother.”

“And you’re mine.”

Bo huffs but through the dimmed flashlight beam Vincent can see his words have struck him. He hopes its in a good way. “Guess I am pretty cool,” He deflects, grinning at his brother. Vincent smiles back; he’d take what he could get from Bo. Bo looked back over at the town, now completely dark. “Imma get us outta here, Vince. You, me, Lester; we ain’t getting stuck in this rotten place, not if I have anything to do about it.”

After that night, Bo seemed to change. He was quieter, more subdued. He stayed out at the garage, learning about cars and how to fix them, how to drive them. It was a part of the plan to get them all out of there but the longer it went on and the longer Bo would stay out, the less certain he was about his brother's intentions on taking them with him.

He knew who he was without his brother. He was a freak. He was the one to target, to pick on and make cry and make hurt. He was the thing to point and laugh at because there was no one around to defend him.

Without Bo, Vincent was nothing. It was selfish to want Bo back and he would end each prayer he made asking for Bo to stay with him with an apology. To whom exactly, he wasn’t sure. Maybe God for bothering him with such requests. Maybe Bo for asking for it knowing how it would hurt him. Maybe himself for not believing in his own abilities to survive.

Every prayer and apology went unanswered.

“Here we are, Vin!” Lester’s voice brings Vincent barreling back to reality. He was no longer in his bedroom, waiting for the creak of the floorboard to signify his brother's return, but instead deep in the forest, just by the creek. He recognizes the surroundings immediately. Swallowing hard he walks over to Lester who was standing a few feet away, shifting his weight foot to foot in excitement. “Lookit!”

Vincent finally reaches his younger brother and looks down at where he was pointing and tilts his head. There was a dead squirrel. “A… squirrel? You wanted to show me this?” He knew Lester was into dead animals and roadkill, knew he had a strange fascination with them, but he had never dragged him twenty minutes deep into the woods to show him one before.

“Yeah! Its not all mangled, not like the ones I find out on the road!” Lester waits for Vincent to understand and when he gets nothing but a shrug of the shoulders he deflates slightly. “I…I figured you could use it to practice. Y’know, momma surely didn’t start with people, I figured if you had something smaller to work on, you could get the tech… technique down, right?”

“You know what, Les?” Vincent bends down, grabbing a stick just next to him and using it to carefully lift the corpse of the squirrel up, surveying the damage. He swallows down the bile rising up his throat and the goosebumps raising on his flesh at the sight of it. Vincent looks up, dropping the stick and looking into Lester’s hopeful eyes. “I think that just might work.”

--------

It didn’t look right. His mother had gone to bed early and his father was surely drinking himself to death, so when Vincent and Lester got back to the house as the sun was setting, they had the basement all to themselves. “Can I watch you, Vin? Oh please, please, let me! I wanna see how you do it!” Lester had pleaded, hands clasped together and bottom lip jutted out. Vincent laughed at the sight of Lester fluttering his lashes at him and had agreed.

Hours later, well past both boys' bedtimes, Vincent had finally finished the last layer of wax, had smoothed it out carefully like he had done to his own figures hundreds of times before. It looked off, though. Too thin in some places, too thick in others, not enough detailing here and there and almost too much in other parts. Vincent grunts, arms folded tightly across his chest. Lester stood beside him, head tilting side to side like an art critic in one of the movies Vincent had seen before.

“It looks so cool!” Lester finally says, looking up at Vincent with a large grin. Vincent shakes his head, lifting his hands to begin to tell Lester everything that was wrong with it, when Lester shakes his head. “Can I keep it, Vin? It’s awesome! It looks just like a wax sculpture but you’d never know the real thing was underneath!”

“You really wanna keep this thing? I could try to make a better one…” Vincent questions and Lester nods quickly, eagerly, hand reaching out to drag along the tail of the squirrel lightly. “Well… if you’re sure you want it, then yeah, go ahead.”

Lester hugs Vincent tight, his little arms barely wrapping around the broadening frame of his brother and Vincent hugs him back, heart swirling with warmth. “Oh, thank you Vincent! You’re the best big brother ever!”

“What about me? Am I chopped liver or somethin’ Les?” Lester and Vincent turn, still hugging each other, and see Bo at the bottom of the steps, leaning against the walls with a fake frown on his face. He was wearing mechanic overalls a size too big but his name was embroidered right there on the front pocket. “I see how it is, kid.”

Lester giggles, letting go of Vincent and running over to Bo, grabbing his hand and pulling him over to the table where Vincent’s sculpture sat. “Lookit! There's a real squirrel under this, ain’t that cool Bo? Don’t touch!” Bo gasps in shock when Lester swats at his hand. “You’re all greasy! I don’t want this to get messed up! Vinny made it for me, he’s lettin’ me keep it, can you believe that?”

“Don’t hit, you little brat!” Bo says but there’s no venom behind his words. Vincent watches with bated breath as Bo leans down and tilts his head, much like Lester, as he looks it over. Vincent can see every damn flaw on the thing and he’s sure Bo can too. Bo looks over at him with a cocked eyebrow. “You made this with a real squirrel?”

“Yeah,” He signs sheepishly. “Lester thought it would help me get better if I practiced with this stuff.” Bo nods, eyes trailing off towards the corner where most of Vincent's current projects sat and he hones in on the shards covering the floor. His eyes darken when he looks back at Vincent. “It was momma. I messed up the sculpture.”

Bo sucks his teeth harshly, lips thinning into an angry line. “Sure as hell ain't true; your shit’s better than momma’s half the time and that squirrel ain’t an exception.” Lester gasps at the swear word and Bo stifles a laugh with a cough. “Sorry, Les, forgot you were here. Don’t go repeatin’ that now, alright? Not till you’re older. Now,” He picks Lester up and the young boy yawns, resting his head onto his shoulder and Bo nods his head for Vincent to grab ahold of the squirrel. “Let’s all get to bed before we get in trouble.”

After tucking Lester in his bed and placing the squirrel on his small bookshelf beside the small collection of animal bones he had begun to collect, Bo and Vincent silently settle into their own beds. “Vince? You up?” Bo asks in the darkness and Vincent lets out a soft grunt in acknowledgement. “I meant what I said about your shit being better than mommas.”

Vincent doesn’t know what to say, so he remains quiet. Bo sighs, turning over in bed so his back was no longer turned from his brother and he stares at him, waiting. “Thanks, Bo. She’s really good, though. I’m not good at the…stuff she wants us to do. No one else knows about it but us.”

“I know.” Bo hates it too, but he knows better than to disagree with his mom. He’s quiet for a minute and right when Vincent thinks he had fallen asleep, Bo starts to talk again. “I’m getting a car fixed up. Gonna be able to leave soon.”

“Really? All of us, or just you?”

“All of us.”

A million questions run through his head. Where would they go? What would they do? Where would they stay? What would happen to their mom and dad? Bo knows the questions he has but he doesn’t have any answers. Vincent grunts again and the two boys fall silent. They could leave. Really leave. He could make his own art, Bo could learn about music, Lester could do whatever he wanted. They could figure it out. They could get out from the iron rule of their parents and be who they wanted to be, do what they wanted. They could be free.

All three boys fall asleep with smiles on their faces. All three boys dream of a fire in the House of Wax.

[summerongrand]

20 questions for fic writers

I was tagged by the wonderful and talented Lana @cfr749. She’s a gifted writer and has 19 works with a WHOPPING 354,235 words on Ao3!!!!!! She’s a gem, a fandom OG (I think), and began writing Chenford since before they were canon. I like to read an author’s fics in chronological order and am reading hers this way. There’s a charm about reading pre-canon works in this fandom because it’s like time traveling and seeing a shipper’s heart through their writing and their belief in this ship that may or may not come true. And Lana on top of all of that has a way of combining words in a way that tugs at the essence of human emotion. Go read her fics!!!

1. How many works do you have on Ao3? I’m honored to be recognized as a fic writer despite having zero works on Ao3. Lana was incredibly thoughtful to tag me and I *think* it’s because she saw some tags where I mentioned that I write fic. Noticing small things like that is one of the many reasons why she is an awesome human being.

2. What’s your total Ao3 word count? Currently 0. In total, I have around 80,000 words that I haven’t shared yet. 

3. What fandoms do you write for? The Rookie.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

I’ll use this space to preview 5 fics in various stages of planning:

1. Psych professor Lucy and student Tim. Tim is married and Lucy’s in a relationship, so Chenford will be riding down Angst Avenue for a while … even as they ride their s/o’s.

2. Psych professor Lucy and student Tim. A companion story to the first.

3. Tim meeting Lucy’s grandma. There are a few OCs in this one including Lucy’s grandma. This is planned as a one-shot with potential for more chapters. I’m currently “face casting” Lucy’s grandma, so if anyone has suggestions, feel free to send them my way.

4. Soulmates AU. I have five separate Google docs with five separate ideas of how I want to write this. I’m leaning towards writing this from a historic angle where there’s a huge geographic separation between Lucy and Tim.

5. Found family goes on vacation. Patrice or the Thorsen family owns a huge resort up in the mountains (because of course they do). Our favorites spend a few days of fun up there. Thinking of writing Chenford as either having a secret relationship or in a pre-relationship. I just returned from a vacation in the mountains and this was in no way inspired by that. Nope.

5. Do you respond to comments?

If someone takes the time to comment on my stories, I definitely will reply.

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

My fics will always end happy because Lucy Chen deserves for Tim Bradford to give her the world.

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

Psych professor Lucy/student Tim is the only one that has an ending so far. But dunno yet if I’ll keep that ending.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

No, because I currently don’t have any fics on Ao3.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Psych professor Lucy/student Tim is my first fic in over 20 years and first foray into smut. They just wanna bang … their s/o’s and each other.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

As a kid, I wrote a fic where BSB, NSync, Britney, Christina, Mandy Moore, Jessica Simpson, O-Town, A*Teens, etc. all stayed in a hugeass chalet and performed sets. BSB and NSync kept throwing shade and snowballs at each other.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Nope.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated? 

No.

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

Not yet.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Chenford!

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I started writing psych professor Lucy/student Tim over six months ago and I honestly don’t ever want to finish writing that fic. But that's also partly why I haven't shared it yet. The story keeps evolving which makes the front end still a work in progress.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I can’t comment on my strengths as a fic writer because I haven’t gotten any feedback on my fics in over 20 years. But I guess I have a lot of cultural awareness and this helps with characters as diverse as what is on The Rookie. For example, I'm aware that when Colin O’Neil (Mel’s bro) drinks, his face turns tomato red. He wrote about it in an Instagram post. Same thing happens to Melissa and to a lot of other East Asians but there are ways to circumvent redness with pills and such. So yeah, with that tidbit in mind, there's a scene in one of my fics where Tim clocks Lucy’s tomato red flush after a night of drinking.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Transferring complex plots onto a page. It makes sense in my head but it may not make sense to readers.

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

Haven’t written dialogue in another language but I’m not against it either. I know enough Spanish to be comfortable writing in it without butchering it. I'm so game for Lucy to speak Chinese to Tim and Chenford kids, but I don’t know if I can pull it off. I can try though!

19. First fandom you wrote for?

S Club 7.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Professor Lucy/student Tim. 

--

Thanks again for the tag, Lana!

I'm tagging @onlyforchenford (because I'm an instigator and would love to read her fics), @poppypickle, @goodgirlssayiloveyoutoo @rememberthismomentx, @lovemesomechenford, @randomlittleimp, and @sailorslut111 (apologies if y'all have already done this and I missed it)!

[usmsgutterson]

Achilles Heel - Givenson

okay!! I posted an excerpt from this initially more than a week ago now and it's just evolved ever since. I was gunning for angst and landed somewhere in hurt/comfortville instead but I'm happy with that so I'm posting this!

Fic type - the tone of this one is kind of hard to explain--it's like if angst and comfort had a child of neutrality

Warnings - there's a couple things--alcoholism and it's adverse affects are discussed a bit (for context, heart attacks, seizing and liver failure are mentioned, with heart attacks being a focal point in every single chapter of this fic and also just generally) and Tims time in the military is discussed at least a little. There's one offhanded mention of a psychotic break, and cigarettes and smoking are also semi-present in this chapter and will make a few minor reappearances throughout the fic in it's entire. This bad boy is also really long (with a word count of a bit more than 5k for this chapter and a minimum of such in the other chapters as well.

When Tim hears the words: "I never woulda pegged you for a smoker. When'd you start?" it's 7:30 am on a morning in early October. Kentucky is falling into autumn while simultaneously riding out the last coattails of summer, and he's sitting in a coffee shop parking lot with fifteen minutes to go until Rachel wants him in the office on a new case.  

He recognizes the voice instantaneously without meaning to, but—how could he ever forget that voice, really? Even a little more than a decade gone by, that voice is one of the most distinctive voices Tim has ever heard.  

"When the fuck did you get into Lexington?" he asks a Raylan that is eleven years older than he was when he left. His hair is a lot lighter than the medium-dark brown Tim remembers, and the beard he's sporting is a shade of grey that looks almost white, but he looks good. Too fucking good for a guy of 56. He asks the question while he taps out the last of his cigarette, takes the last drag of it before flicking it off into the nearest empty parking spot with a nature so careless it almost seems natural instead of practised.  

The remark makes Raylan laugh. "Last night," he says. "Rachel wanted me in nice and early. I’ve never much made a habit of waking up before even the sun, but—”  

"She's Rachel," Tim nods. He's worked with her since he started with the Marshals. They've been working together for a whopping sixteen years now, and Tim loves her more with every day that passes. She’s like a sister to him at this point, which does come with working with someone for more than two thousand days, but she knows him as well as Art does and she's always just been innately good at her job and easy to work with. Letting her in was easy and he's not lived to regret it yet, doubts that he ever will. “I get it.”  

He remembers, and does not miss, the early mornings that came with being the office newbie, but he’s been a chronic morning person since he first got out of ranger school. The only beef he has with early mornings in correlation to his work is that he doesn’t really have time to go for a run, unless he plans on skipping breakfast or waking up earlier.  

He’s up for six thirty, has been every single day since ranger school, no matter how much or how little sleep he’d gotten the night before, and he usually just goes for his runs in what he sleeps in—a pair of sweatpants and a shirt that’s not usually more than a size or two too big. He runs for five or so miles in the usual half an hour-ish it takes and then runs back from whence he came, showers, gets dressed, has coffee and a decent breakfast in him by the time he’s leaving the house at 8:30 so he can start for close to nine.  

He’s been up since 4:30 on the dot today, though, and the coffee is such a necessity that it hurts somewhere deep in his chest, although coffee has tended to bring out chest pain lately anyway.  

“You doin’ all right?” Raylan asks. “You’re lookin’ a bit faint there. Late night?”  

A smirk crosses Tims face in the last half a second before memories of one of the only gay bars in the area and a guy that looked like Raylan but was so painfully mediocre flash across his minds eye.  

“Somethin’ t’ that effect, sure,” Tim shrugs. It hadn’t been a late night, per se.

He’d gone to the bar after getting off work at nine even though he’s spent the last six weeks sober as a nun. He had a few cokes and a club soda and eventually softened up enough to let a Raylan lookalike by the name of Mitchell flirt his way into getting Tim to agree to going back to his place. A tad more of the flirting and some off-kilter sex that just left Tim wanting later, it was 4:30 and Tim was waking up after having slept only three hours because he can’t--won’t--let himself let anyone else in, and especially not someone who could, rather convincingly, play Raylan in the lifetime movie about his existence.

He slipped out of Mitchells apartment without leaving his number, or his real name—he'd told Mitchell his name was Justin, for anonymities sake, if his stone cold sober memory serves him right—or much of an otherwise trace behind. He went home, changed out of the jeans and t-shirt he’d worn to Mitchells place and into a pair of loose fitting gray sweats and a black long sleeved shirt before making himself his first coffee of the day and going for his run.  

The run that usually lasted an hour both ways ended up lasting him an hour and a half—he loved to run to clear his head and he ran an extra mile and a half before turning around and running the same distance back home. He made it home for six thirty, took his time with his shower and decided to treat himself to his second coffee from the coffee spot he liked that was close to the office both because he needed more caffeine and because their bagels were cheap but still delicious.  

“Never thought you the type,” Raylan says. “I mean—”  

“it’s been over a decade,” Tim nods. “You probably don’t know me as well as you used to anymore.”  

The only person who he will ever let know him as deeply as he can be known is dead. He died when Colton Rhodes pulled the trigger, and the one person who got as close as Mark did was never meant to have gotten that close to begin with.  

Tims words seem to touch a nerve, almost, but Tim decides to be nonchalant. He takes a sip of his coffee and looks at the parking lot through the front of his car.  

“I hate it, but you’re right,” Raylan laughs. “Sorry I didn’t keep in touch.”  

Tim looks at Raylan—really looks at him, studies him like he used to study his targets whenever he had an assignment, and sees what appears to be anguish masked poorly by indifference, covered up with a laugh so false that it almost feels like a bullet to the gut.  

“So am I,” Tim says. “How’ve you been? Hows Miami?”  

“Its Miami,” Raylan shrugs.  

“You and Winona work out?” It’s more of a sore spot than Tim would care to admit on an ordinary day, but Raylan Givens is in Lexington. This day is not ordinary.  

Raylan laughs nervously. “You were a sniper in the rangers,” he says. “Tact should be a talent of yours.”  

“It is,” Tim shrugs easily, grins just a tad. “Just not with you.”  

“Well to answer your question, no,” Raylan says it like it doesn’t hurt him to admit, but Tim knows that it bruises his ego just enough to make him close to humble. “What about you? Any prospects?”  

“Never,” Tim says. “I’m not really one for relationships. They never work out.”

“They do on occasion,” Raylan rebuts.  

“Did becoming a father make you inherently more optimistic or just inherently more stupid?” Tim asks, the sarcasm dripping in his tone in such a way that allows the question to seem like sarcasm was the whole intent of the question, rather than for it to be an insult, which Tim knows it is somewhere deep.  

“Ah,” Raylan sighs easily, smirking that smirk that Tim will never cease to find incredibly difficult to even so much as mildly disdain, let alone hate. “You’re still an asshole? Oh, some things just never change much, do they?”  

Tim flexes his hands to stop himself from reaching for his pack of Marlboros and his lighter.  

He checks his watch, takes another sip of his coffee. “See you at the office, dipshit,” he says. He hears Raylans laugh as he pulls out of his spot and drives away, needing to breathe the air he’s had more than a decade to get used to—air absent of Raylans presence.

He gets to the office a whopping total of two minutes earlier than necessary, heads straight for Rachels office.  

“Let me guess,” he says. “Boyd Crowder has escaped the lovely Harlan County Penitentiary and we’re charged with finding him?”  

“Precisely,” Rachel says, heaving in a sigh. “Only if he comes down this way, though, which he might if he thinks Ava is still here.”  

“Why the fuck would he ever--” Tim starts, pausing to think and just long enough to enter her office fully, shut the door and sit down on the couch across from her desk “It’s Boyd. Even if he’s smarter than to think she’d ever come back ‘round these parts as a goddamned fugitive, he’s at least considered the possibility.”  

Rachel smiles, tight lipped, professional but just a touch sarcastic, like always. “I like it when you use that brain of yours to actually think,” she says. “You’re on the lead, Raylans takin’ second.”  

Tim can’t help his facial expression—he and Rachel have worked together for a decade and a half now, with Tim having joined the service when he was almost thirty and her having been in the service for fourteen years by the time he was joining. He doesn’t try to hide the mild discomfort he feels at the thought of taking lead or working with Raylan again and she, in turn, has the decency not to stifle her sarcastic chuckle or soften the hardened glare that she sports in his direction for the following fifteen seconds.  

“I know you don’t wanna do this,” she says. “I dunno which part you hate more—takin' lead on this case or workin’ with Raylan again, but c’est la vie, Tim.”  

Tim shrugs, defensive air coming to him before he can stop it. “I don’t hate takin’ lead on a case,” he says. “Actually--I love it. If you want to put me on lead for the next several task forces we have to pull out of our asses, be my motherfuckin’ guest, I just don’t understand why you’d make me lead and Raylan second when Raylan is the one who knows Boyd the best out of just about anyone in Kentucky.”  

He and Boyd have had a limited number of interactions, all things considered—the time where Boyd used Tim and Rachel to save his own ass and then shot a gun while his hands were cuffed behind his back, as well as the time Tim played Scrabble against him and was about five minutes out from losing when Raylan walked back in are the first of their interactions to come to mind—and it makes very little sense to have him on lead when Raylan and his “we dug coal together” shtick know Boyd better than Tim ever wants to.  

“I was given a very strong suggestion not to make Raylan lead,” Rachel shrugs. “Manpower in Miami is stretched so thin that losing Raylan to this taskforce is the Miami equivalent of losing 1/3rd of their damn population, apparently. Dan was hesitant to send him down here and doesn’t want him gone longer than a month or two.”  

Tim shrugs. “Boyd is a hell of a lot smarter than to risk his own skin comin’ down here, even if he thinks Ava’s somehow holed up here without gettin’ caught,” he says. “Ava is smarter than to come down here, too. She wouldn’t risk it, I don’t think. Too afraid Boyd’d come lookin’ to bother.”  

“You might actually be right on that front,” she says. “I hope you are. You remember how much of a damn fuss those two kicked up back in the day?”  

It’s not often that Tim reminisces—he hates thinking about the past that is riddled so much with Raylan and Mark that it can induce a hangover unlike anything he’s ever experienced, even absent of booze—but he lets himself reminisce a little bit. The Boyd Crowder case had been a long time coming by the time they finally put Boyd away and Raylan didn’t have a means of screwing it up.  

He and Rachel have been getting along like a house on fire since they started working together, back when Art would pair the two of them up before Raylan had even come around, but their bond had strengthened throughout the six years that Raylan and his reign of terror masqueraded about Kentucky. It’s easy to let her see bits and pieces of who he is because she is the closest thing that Tim has to family worth their salt.  

“I do,” he says. “Damn it—the Crowders and associates and the fuckin’ Bennett clan. Part of me yearns for those days on occasion.”  

Rachels lips upturn in a reminiscent smile. “What, you miss when they were shootin’ people left’n right? I don’t.”  

“I miss being busy all the damn time,” he confesses. “Our criminals nowadays ain’t like they were back with the turn of the 2010s.”  

“You’re sayin’ you want a Boyd Crowder wannabe runnin’ around Harlan like he owns it?”  

Tim shrugs. “This Boyd Crowder wannabe had better be more efficient at blowin’ shit up than Boyd was,” he says. “Or at least do it more often. I miss bein’ so busy it was hard to sleep at night, mostly, but bickering with Boyd was entertaining on the rare chance he wasn’t directing all of his verboseness at Raylan.”  

Rachel laughs, dry and easy. “You’re so lucky I love you enough not to transfer you down to Arlington,” she says. “I don’t blame you for it—we had very different versions of Boyd Crowders heyday, but I miss it on occasion too. Mostly late at night, after a few too many.” 

Tim knows the six years they had with Raylan were vastly different—Tim was drinking his liver into a premature death every night, going to see Dave Alvin with dates or guys from his military days who’d turned into such, then later fucking around with Mark and Raylan and knowing full well his heart would probably not make it through the ordeal.  

Rachel was repeatedly hurt—first her ex brother in law turned into a fugitive and had to be arrested while in a pizza joint, then her marriage fell apart and she had to keep it together without losing her entire goddamned mind just so that Art wouldn’t walk back his decision with regards to having her be the chief once he retired, and in between that whole mess, Boyd Crowder and those he kept in his employ or worked with shot at her repeatedly. Even if they missed, being shot at still fuckin’ sucks.  

“Yeah?” Tim laughs. “I thought since you became the chief, you’d be like all chiefs before. Take up a taste for Pappy Van Winkle.”  

“I’ll take my fridge cold Modelo over Pappy, thank you,” she says. “Time check?”  

Tim glances up at the clock, high up on the wall behind Rachel. “Time check says quarter to eight,” he says. “You see Raylan?”  

“Late, as usual,” she laughs. “Missed him, but I didn’t miss that. Assuming we’ve got at least two more minutes til he graces us with his presence, if you don’t tell me you’ve been to the VFW this week, I will use my gun and shoot you my-fuckin'-self, right here in this office.”  

Tim hasn’t been in a few weeks if not a full month, but Rachel, decidedly, does not need to know that. He nods.  

“I’ve gone twice a week since the incident,” he says. “Meet with a therapist every Wednesday and Friday.”  

“Good,” she nods. Tim fights a sigh of relief when he finds she believes him, that she doesn’t see through the lie that several of his buddies from his ranger days would see right through in maybe half a second. “You scared the shit out me, you know that? I don’t want that happening again.”  

Tims lips form a line before he can stop himself. “I’ll do my best.”  

“Have you been drinking?”  

“Not a lick,” Tim says. That, at least, is the truth. “Not since the incident. Too scared to drink after that.”  

“Is the booze still in your fridge?”  

“Yeah,” he doesn’t see the point in dumping it—one day, be it in that week or that month or in the next few months, he won’t be so scared to touch the booze and even if it means going all in right out the gate, it’s an odd little creature comfort that he’s not ready to let go of yet.  

“Tim,” Rachel says, tone authoritative and well meaning. She’s weirdly good at it—finding the balance been friend and boss. Tim finds it admirable. “You gotta do somethin’ with it before it expires—don't you dare drink, though.”  

“I’ll dump it one of these days,” he says. “Just--not yet.”   

“I know you well enough to know you’re not lyin’ to me,” she says. “The minute you start, though? And the minute I sniff it out? You’re going on a leave of absence and you ain’t comin’ back til you’re stone cold sober. I liked you as you were back when Boyd was in the shit with the heroin and the Dixie mafia, but I like you not drunk off your ass or hungover a hell of a lot more than I liked the version of you that drank every fuckin’ night. Don’t make me dislike you, Timothy.”  

Tim smiles, gentle and easy and a little more sarcastic than he really means to be. “Yes Ma’am,” he says. “I promise not to do anythin’ out of line that would affect my ability to work. You have my word on that.”  

“You’re lucky I know your word means somethin’,” she says. “You scared the shit out of me six weeks ago, and while I’ve tried to forget about it, it ain’t happened yet. I don’t let myself do it often—you're a big boy and if you can’t take care’a yourself at forty-five with a decade of military experience under your belt? There is not an ounce of hope left for you—but I’m lettin’ myself do it now because I can afford that. You scared me half to death, Tim, and if I ever find you like that again I’m gonna hold you liable for my psychotic break.”  

“I know,” he says. “Stop worrying. I’m okay now, and I’m going to stay that way.”  

“You’d fuckin’ better, Tim. I don’t take too kindly to being scared like that.”  

Like a curse brought down onto Kentucky, Raylan takes that moment to open Rachels office door.  

“Sorry I’m late,” he greets. “Tell me what’s what.”  

- 

Eleven hours later, it’s seven o’clock on the dot and Rachel, Raylan, and Tim still feel like they’ve gotten nowhere. Apart from the assembly of the task force—which includes the likes of Rachel, Raylan, Tim, Dunlop, and a few newbies that joined the Marshals after a good and long half-decade or so in the Marines—and coordinating a press release that Tim will have to talk in during the following day informing locals about Boyds current escapee status, they have nothing.  

No leads as to his whereabouts, no confirmed information from the CI that used to work closely with a few of Boyds buddies, nothing. They’re at a dead end and Rachel tells them to go home, to come back in no later than half past eight, and Tim is grateful for it as he leaves, his thoughts blurrying somewhere between the ride in the elevator and the short walk between the bottom floor of the courthouse and his truck.  

He sits in his truck for a long couple of minutes, drums his fingers against the steering wheel because he doesn’t want to go home but otherwise doesn’t know what to do with himself.  

He could grab dinner, but grabbing dinner completely alone still feels more pathetic than not. He could go home even though he doesn’t want to and make it worth it by stopping at a grocery store on the way and picking up a pint of Ben and Jerrys, and then eating it in one sitting whilst some western he’s seen a thousand times before plays monotonously in the background.  

He could go to a bar, just like he did the night before. He could order a coke or a water and then let someone flirt their way into seducing him, just like he did the night before, but he’d really rather not.  

He realizes, as his eyes move to his hands and he finds his fingers still drumming against the steering wheel, that he effectively has nothing.  

So he drives for a bit, takes a left turn and then goes straight only to take right and somehow, he finds himself at home anyway.  

He checks the landline that he’s had for fifteen years and will probably never give up, is unsurprised to find a message from the counselor he used to see at the VFW twice a week.  

“Hi, Tim, this Alexander calling again, just to check in,” the voicemail starts. “I just—your number is still listed and you haven’t come around in a month. I’ve been wondering about you, is all. The VFW will always have your back, as will the people in it. I’m not saying you have to come back, per se—you're a lawman, I can’t force you to do shit—but I’m saying that we’ll be here for you, if you let us or want us to be. Call me back whenever you feel like it, okay? If you ever feel like it at all. If you don’t, that’s just fine, too.”  

He doesn’t call back even though some part of him kind of wants to. Instead, he goes to the bathroom, pulls his jeans off of his body and lets the Henley he wears follow suit. He tosses them into the dirty laundry basket that’s been building for a week and bends to get to the dryer so he can pull out a pair of joggers and a Carhartt sweatshirt that’s as old as his time in the Marshals service.  

He grabs a towel and a fresh pair of boxers before finally taking his boxers off and tossing them into the dirty laundry basket just as he'd done with the rest of his day clothes.

He showers, keeps the water so cold that it almost turns the tips of his fingers purple and lingers in the shower a little longer than what’s necessary. He stays under the water until he gets sick of it and only afterwards does he step out, reaching for the towel he’d grabbed and using it to towel dry his hair before he wraps it around his waist.  

He gets dressed faster than he means to, slipping his boxers and sweatpants on at the same time and not even bothering to grab a shirt to wear under his sweatshirt, just slipping it on over his torso and rolling the sleeves up to the elbows.  

He heads back to his living room, checks his voicemail again.  

“Hey, Tim—it's Raylan. Are you okay? Rachel seemed on edge with you today, and she told me about an incident,” Raylans voice comes through the speaker and Tim almost hates him for it. “Refused, vehemently, to give me specifics though. I hate it when she does that, but—anyway. Are you doin’ all right? I think we’re due in to catch up about now, how’s dinner sound?”  

There’s silence for a beat, one breath in and another out before Raylan sighs. “Look--I know you’re not answering this landline is probably because you’re busy but if you aint, meet me at Magdelenes for eight on the dot.”  

For a few seconds, he considers it. He even goes so far as to check his watch, sees that it’s barely half past seven.  

He flops onto the couch that is so old now he’s surprised the legs haven’t sccumb yet to dry rot, stares at his ceiling as he considers.  

The way he sees it, he has two options. He can go and suffer through a dinner with Raylan for an hour, pointedly avoid the questions about the incident and narrowly beat around the bush by giving Raylan enough non answers that he takes it back to Rachel.  

The other option is that he makes the ten minute drive down to the VFW, which is always open til midnight on Fridays. He can see if Alexander has a slot at the time or wait it out until he has one, go to one of the AA meetings across the road in the meantime and then after he’s done at the VFW, he can treat himself to a greasy pizza from Antonios and eat it while he watches a western before he goes to bed a little earlier than normal.  

He gets up into a proper sitting position, sighs and puts his head in his hands. “Damn you, Alexander,” he says. 

He gets up, shuffles his way into his running shoes and grabs his car and apartment keys.  

Between the company of Raylan Givens and a trip to the VFW, for the first time in his life, Tim has chosen the motherfucking VFW. If Art could’ve seen it coming, Tim is sure he’d’ve died on the spot.  

- 

“You still drinkin’?” Alexander Moreno is a guy that’s fifty-three, tops. He’s starting to go grey on the sides of his head and his skin is very clearly weathered by the sun, but he’s only therapist that Tims gotten through the VFW that has actually understood him. “I mean—you look sober, and you’re actin’ it, but—answer the question for politeness sakes.”  

“Negative,” Tim says. “I haven’t touched booze in six weeks, one day and about fourteen or so hours, even though I do think my math might be a little off.”  

Alexander laughs. “Why the fuck’re you countin’ for?” he asks. “Sobriety is usually a choice, but for you, doesn’t seem like it is--no sober person would keep a count that specific. Days, months, weeks, yeah. Hours? never, unless they're at the very beginning. Is it a choice?”  

“No,” Tim confesses. “It’s not. I had—well—my boss and I are calling it The Incident.”  

“What happened?”  

“Oh, you know, normal shit,” Tim shrugs, defaulting back to sarcasm. “Up until six weeks ago, I was bein’ real reckless. I didn’t care about my liver, my kidneys, my heart—none of it, and so I was doin’ as I’ve always done.”  

“Drinking your vital organs into the earliest grave you can manage,” Alexander nods. “You’n the booze, Timothy. You have the worlds most devastatingly one-sided love affair. What did all this drinkin’ lead to?”  

“Rachel and I were going to do a stakeout the next day, and she’d agreed to come’n grab me from my apartment because my truck was in the shop for the week,” he says. “She found me on the tail end of a bender so bad I’d had a heart attack, seized and gone very briefly into acute liver dysfunction. She found me layin’ in the bathtub with vomit all over my mouth mid seizure. Made me promise to stay away from the booze and to go to the VFW for therapy and meetings.”  

“How long had you been drinking when you passed out?”  

“I got off of work late—eleven, if I’m remembering right. I thought I could have a few’n then go to bed, but I had to eat and didn't feel like cooking so I had to stop for half an hour to grab food from the pizza place that just opened up. I’d been drinking at midnight and she’d said she come get me for 6:30. I was still drinking at five that morning because I couldn’t fall asleep.”  

“What do you think triggered the bender?”  

“The--the anniversary of my first kill in the rangers is next week,” he laughs tiredly. “Six weeks ago it was the anniversary of when I first took the ASVAB. Any of those dates trip me right the fuck up, make my PTSD do something awful.”  

“Have you been on leave ever since?”  

“No,” Tim laughs. “Took a few days’n I was back in the office, but it was really difficult to convince Rachel to let me. I don’t do well with time off and I never have, and recovering from the closest to death I think I’ve ever gotten outside of an active zone of combat is apparently no goddamned exception.”  

“Figures,” Alexander says. “Are you okay, since?”  

“My liver is workin’ normally again even though drinkin’ coffee makes my chest hurt now,” Tim sighs. “Can’t drink the booze in my fridge but every time I think about it I think about just chugging all of it and then leaving the rest to nature because dumping it feels like a waste of money, and I just—shit, Alexander. Where have I been going wrong?”  

“Before I speak my mind, do  you want me to sugar coat this or be blunt?”  

“Blunt,” Tim says. “Hate it when people sugarcoat shit.”  

“Okay,” Alexander nods. “You’re screwed by nature a little, I think—your father died when you were what, eighteen? Because he got so drunk that he’d gone through every single half full bottle of booze in his collection, and then he went and did a goddamn wheely into a ditch. Your mother is currently in a nursing home dealing with dementia and she left the house to you because your brother is just as bad as your father was, and your sister is a criminal defense attorney livin’n working in Miami who hasn’t seen or talked to you or your mother in well over a decade. Alcoholism runs in your family by nature, and yeah, you had a heart attack, sure, but at least dyin’ of a heart attack is less embarrassing than doin’ wheelies on a busy street’n getting your car into the bottom of a ditch, Tim.”  

He makes an annoyingly fair point and Tim hates it.  

“There are worse ways to die,” Tim says.  

“And better ways, too,” Alexander nods. “Yeah. The good thing is that just like death, there are better ways to live than using alcohol as a crutch and I’m thinkin’ it’s time you realized that.”  

Tim glares at him, though the gesture is so half hearted it’s obviously so, and it makes Alexander laugh a little.  

“Glare at me all you wish,” he says. “You know that I’m right about this. You know you need to keep comin’ to these sessions because you ain’t been in the military for seventeen fuckin’ years now but you walk around with all that trauma fresh as a daisy in your head.”  

“It ain’t trauma, Alexander.”  

“Fuck me if it ain’t trauma,” Alexander laughs dryly, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You worked infantry from the age of 18 to 21, correct? Then you were a ranger til ya hit 26, then you went through the sniper school and were a sniper til you left at 28. That there is a decade of seein’ combat. You don’t do what we did and come out untraumatized, Tim. That ain’t how it works. You kill as many people as you did, no fuckin’ way to leave without at least a little bit of scarring.” 

Tim heaves in a sigh, lets his shoulders slump. “You, Alexander Moreno, are no fun,” he declares.  

Alexander laughs. “I had a drinkin’ problem too,” he says. “After I drank, I transitioned from booze to ciggies, which, judgin’ by the pack I can see pokin’ out the pocket of your joggers, so have you. After I got over cigarettes I left that shit behind entirely. You ever take up reefer, though, I ain’t gonna judge you. Lots of the guys here have prescriptions that they get filled because of chronic pain or other issues.”  

“That’s comforting,” Tim says. “I just—fuck, you know?”  

Tim checks his watch. He sees that it’s quarter to nine and realizes that he’s somehow been sitting across Alexander for a full hour when it barely feels like it’s been fifteen minutes.  

“When you were comin’ down here at first, you came down twice weekly,” he says. “I’m gonna do the nice thing and assume this ain’t a one-time visit.”  

Tim heaves a breath in. “I’d very much like to stop lyin’ to my boss, so it’s not,” he says.  

“All right,” Alexander nods. “Instead of Wednesdays and Fridays like we used to, we’re gonna do Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. Forty five minutes Monday because Mondays are inherently disgusting and an hour and fifteen Wednesday and Friday, though I’m gonna put you in my last two hour time slots so that if you need more time, we have it. You finally comittin’ yourself to mental wellness?”  

He has a general hatred for that kind of language—therapy language feels superficial, at best, and is agitating at worst, but he nods. He lets Alexander use that language because some part of him believes maybe it does play a role in getting better somehow. 

Alexander stands and naturally, Tim follows suit. He extends a hand and Tim takes it assuming he’s just going to shake hands, but Alexander pulls him into a bro-hug instead.  

Tim has never really been much for physical contact but he decides that it’s fine because the idea that he wants to get better is sticking for the first time in his life. He’s not just saying it for the sake of saying it but instead is saying it with the intent to keep to his word.  

“I’ll see you Monday,” Alexander says. “Eight on the dot, right?”  

“Eight should work best with my schedule,” Tim nods. “Thanks.”  

Alexander smiles as Tim makes his way to the door, fully intending to go home and knock out until four so he can run for longer than he usually does and get to work on time.  

“Yeah,” Alexander says. “You take care of yourself in the meantime, all right?”

“Either get busy livin’ or get busy dyin’,” Tim rebuts, some part of him hating the way that the words sound when they come out of his mouth. “I’ve committed and I really don’t need to piss my boss off again, so I don’t have much choice.”  

Alexander barks a laugh and Tim hears it as he leaves, the sound echoing in his mind even after he's left.

[donovankinard]

my year of fic writing vs 2023

in 2024, i wrote and posted a total of 260,063 words. that's 170,154 more than in 2023! my largest non-compilation fics were heartbreak to the third degree at 51,515 words, he bought a ring (and he found the one) at 16,600 words, and why do we climb, to fall so far? at 3,761 words.

115 works were posted over the year, in seven different fandoms. all up, that's 69 more published works than in 2023, and 4 more fandoms!

in total, people visited my works 58,329 times this year, which is 40,642 more hits than in 2023.

in 2024, i received 4,482 kudos, which is 3869 more than the previous year. my top-kudosed fics were i love lying next to you, could do it for eternity at 228, what if it's meant to be? at 192, and heartbreak to the third degree at 175.

this year, i had 269 comment threads, which is 147 more than last year. my top-commented fic was heartbreak to the third degree with a whopping 75 threads.

my works and series were bookmarked 865 times this year - that's 702 more separate bookmarks than in 2023.

in 2024, i have 98 user subscriptions, as well as 268 work and series subscriptions - that's 179 more than last year.

my top non-fandom tags were: Whump, used 20 times, Death used 14 times, and How Do I Tag used 12 times. (unfortunately, a very real struggle).

this year, my top fandom was 9-1-1 TV, with 77 works to its name. i also wrote 22 works for 9-1-1 Lone Star, 2 works for Red, White and Royal Blue, 15 works for One Direction, 6 works for Hamilton: An American Musical, 2 works for the Marauders universe, and 1 work for Station 19.

in 2024, i wrote for too many pairings to count, but my top pairing was Evan "Buck" Buckley/Tommy Kinard with 33 works. i wrote 22 works that were completely romance-free, and my top gen pairing was Evan "Buck" Buckley & Eddie Diaz with 15 works.

my personal favourite fic that i wrote this year would be left my past life on the ground, think i'm more alive somehow, a tommy kinard begins fic. it was 3,534 words long, and received 155 hits, 17 kudos and 3 comment threads.

this year, i took part in 12 events; 8 were fandom-specific events, and 3 were monthly challenges. i completed 5 of the ten events - whumptober, eddie diaz week, tommy kinard week, bucktommy positivity week r2, and jeddie riaz week. two of the events will carry over into 2025.

so overall, in 2024 i was more productive, more successful, and more diverse with my writing. here's to 2025 being another year of motivation, inspiration and creation!

[bears-ao3-blog]

(TF2 x TLOU) Dead Mann Walking - Prologue: When All Hell Broke Loose

(Edit: Small Clarification - You do NOT need to know anything about The Last of Us to read this fic!! I made sure to write this in a way that did not make that a requirement. Ok love you bye)

Chapter 1

CW: Implied Violence, Explicit Violence, Injury, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Mick didn't remember anything about Australia. No surprise, he wasn't even a year old when they moved to Massachusetts. The only pieces of his country of origin that he really carried with him were his shoddy accent - compromised by its mix with a Southern drawl - and borderline stereotypical phrases, both of which he picked up from his parents, of course. 

He was young – barely pushing on two years old – when  it  happened; when monsters emerged from the confines of their own homes, ripping the ones they love to shreds with snarls and howls and sobs. He didn't even remember the day of the outbreak, but he knew plenty. His parents were gentle souls, but they were also honest ones. So, when he asked, they told; even when the answers were far from pretty. They would often combat the grim knowledge they’d have to bestow on their only son with times before the infection. Tales of potlucks and kids playing in the street. Tales of stores filled to the brim with anything you could ever need one hundred times over. Tales of birthdays. Of his own birth. His short childhood before everything happened. 

He often wondered what his room looked like at the time. What color the walls were. What sort of childish paraphernalia littered it. He wondered what his favorite toy was. He wondered what it was like to live without that constant fear of death and destruction of not only yourself but the people you care about. Sometimes it provided solace but, more often than not, it simply made him sad.  

He wondered what life was like for Dell; before his grandpa was infected and he had to blast the old man's brain to bits with his own shotgun. Before he joined their family. He wondered if he was happy before the outbreak. For Mick, it's all he's ever known. His parents used to joke about how there's no reason to feel homesick anymore because things then weren't too different from the deep Outback. The isolation. The danger. The need to fend for yourself because there's no help around for miles. They used to say it was almost nice; "Like we're right back at home!"   

Mick knew it was all bullshit. They never would have immigrated to America in the first place if they wanted to live in a place like that. His parents’ experience proved fruitful, however, and it was their teachings that served as the only reason Mick and Dell had been able to survive so long on their own. Mick felt guilty that Dell wound up being stuck taking care of him. The man had barely been on the cusp of being a legal adult when everything happened. When his parents… 

He doesn't like to think about it, despite the watch on his wrist being a constant reminder. Just another piece of them to carry. It had been his dad's since before the outbreak. Cheap but effective. It even had a small hinge that revealed a compass underneath the timepiece. The images of those trembling, weathered hands pressing the cool metal into his own; that hoarse voice of his father’s telling him "Keep it. Reckon I'm not gonna be around ta use it meself."; his mother wrapping him up in a hug with trailing tears and quiet sobs; Dell adding another two to his list of “guardians I’ve had to shoot dead”: it's something he won't ever be able rid his mind of. Watching your parents die right in front of you is something no seven-year-old should ever have to go through, but that’s just life. The timepiece didn’t even work anymore, but Mick still got plenty of use out of the compass with the hours him and Dell spent scanning maps, looking for their next town and praying it hadn’t been stripped to nothing; praying they got to survive another week. 

And then, a whopping 8 years later, they finally ran out of luck. It had been a tough winter. The snow had been insistent, blanketing and pillowing every square inch of land their tired eyes could see. The chill was extra bitter, nipping at their skin, their flesh, their blood ; their resolve. The two very quickly began to feel the effects of improper sleep and nutrition once the shivers began to wrack their frames, desperate to find any sort of reprieve. They had miraculously stumbled across a town so small it may as well have been a village, and further on, an abandoned taxidermy shop. Mick remembered the beady little eyes of every creature in that old building, strewn about. Some half-hanging off the wall, some littering the floor; the pungent scent of chemicals that still lingered in the air despite none of them being put to use for over a decade, if not longer. He had asked Dell if they could find somewhere else to sleep for the night, but it was so, so cold, and the shop was the most insulated, even if that didn’t say much. So, they pulled out their thick blankets and plopped right onto the ground, and in mere minutes the two were out, the promise of safety from the elements and the things that went bump at night finally letting their bodies surrender to slumber. 

A slow, drawn out, crooning “Oh Mickyyy~. Time to wake uuupp~” had roused Mick from his deep sleep, and he had awoken to two lifeless, black orbs right in his face, surrounded by the old, grimy fur of a dead raccoon. It had scared him so badly he screamed, and in his panic, he had kicked the possessor of the dingy taxidermy, Dell, right in the leg with such force it had sent his kneecap right out of place with a sickening pop. Dell’s snickers were swiftly replaced by his own scream as he collapsed to the floor, holding his leg and breathing through his teeth. Mick’s blood ran cold and before he even had a chance to fully wake up he was scrambling over, his hands cupping the air around the other’s knee, horrified at what he had just done. Dell had just kept saying “its alright, Stretch. It’s alright. I’ll be ok, I’ll be alright. It’s alright-“ in that soft, comforting voice and it just made Mick angrier at himself. And then Mick heard it. That drawling croak that had been a source of white-hot dread time and time again: the clicking of a clicker. Dell and Mick had both looked straight at each other with wide eyes, and the two of them fell dead quiet in a rigid tensity. But it was too late, the damage had been done. The croak turned into a screech, and Mick realized in terror that it wasn’t just one. It was multiple infected. Mick looked over at the small window of the door and he watched as three figures sprinted towards them, janky and uncoordinated. Air was sucked into his lungs in a jarring motion as fear iced his bones over, freezing him in place. They were already so close- 

Dell had shot up, using the wall behind him as leverage, and grabbed Mick, tugging him close to harshly whisper as he began dragging the younger across the room. He kept nearly tripping on the taxidermized animals beneath his feet with his lame leg in his urgency. 

“We need to get the fuck outta here, now! Cmon, let’s g-“ 

The already weak door proved to be a meager safeguard as it easily broke off its hinges as the weight of 3 bodies slammed against it, the infected crashing onto the floor with cries and groans on top of the sad piece of wood. Mick barely had time to look around before a vertigo overtook him and he was being thrown into the back room across the hallway, his shoulder painfully nicking the doorway. Mick cried out quietly as his heavy knapsack thudded into his chest, his arms barely making it in time to catch it. He looked up to see Dell already turning to face his three opponents and wielding his gun and machete with a grim but determined look on his face. Mick felt his heart drop and bile rise as Dell turned back around and shouted. 

“Go! Run until ya can’t run anymore, ya hear me? Run! ” 

Mick would never forgive himself for his cowardice. He listened. He ran. He ran until he couldn’t anymore. And when he couldn’t, he walked. And when he couldn’t, he dragged himself until he saw the geometric outlines of man-made buildings once more. He collapsed as soon as he saw the figures of watchmen looking over at him.

He had stumbled across the Boston Fortress.  

He was finally safe for the first time in his life. 

And it had cost him everyone. 

[cardigains]

Thank you for the tag @ameerawrites!!! I'm sorry it took me so long to get my life together and answer it.

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

20! Though I do have another ao3 hidden away out there which would bump me up to a whopping 35.

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

442,367

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Currently it's exclusively tlou though I do have a handful of shorter Stranger Things fics on my ao3 as well.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

of wounded minds

all i needed was someone (when the whole wide world was young)

your words mean nothing so take 'em back (i don't wanna be carrying this weight on my shoulders) 

i hope that we make you proud ('cause this town's just an ocean now)

Leather Jacket

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to!! I am really behind in all things fic right now in life, but I'm working on making my way through and responding (even if the comments are literally months old. Sorry everyone)

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

Anyone feel free to call me out if this is a bold-faced lie, but I think almost every single fic I have ever written has a happy ending. I am obsessed with happy endings. Bring on the angst for 90% of the story, but it doesn't end in some degree of comfort I am OUT.

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

Literally any of them but personally I think it's my follow up fic to Next Door Neighbor AU used to wish i was anything to anywhere (to anyone)

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Nope! A fact which I am very grateful for.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I don't!

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Personally I can't ever combine fandoms. Characters of one world belong in that world. They can't just be commingling all willy-nilly like that!

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes, a very long time ago.

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

I haven't!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

I...I don't think I can answer that question

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

There's some extra chapters to go along with my Wounded Minds epilogue fics that I've started, but I don't know if I'll ever finish them to be honest.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think when I'm in the zone for writing the answer is definitely dialogue. Who knows if it's any good, but it comes the most naturally.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Descriptions

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

I know SOME Spanish, but I know the Duolingo version of it so like, I don't trust myself to do much beyond a few phrases. Thankfully I have a few friends who speak some Spanish too so I would probably ask for help :)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I would like to preface this by saying I was 12 but...High School Musical

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

That's an impossible question. I have love and pride in varying degrees and for varying reasons for so many fics that I have written throughout the years. Even the ones that weren't good I know helped me improve over time! So, just gonna give this question a big ol' PASS.

In return I tag anyone who wants to do it. Just tag me in it because I would love to see your answers!

[goldheartedsky]

tagged by my beloved @ongreenergrasses for this writer's ask so here we go!!

1) how many works do you have on AO3?

Right now, 192, though some of them are art. So if we're talking strictly *fics*, then I think around 180?

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

a whopping 1,012,726!!!! 😵‍💫

3) What fandoms do you write for?

Right now it's almost entirely TOG, but I have written for Captain America, Agent Carter, Wolf, Close Enemies, and there are a few orphaned hockey RPF fics written by me floating around Ao3 🫣

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Carry the Field, When All The Boys Can’t Be Men, Fireproof, Lines in the Sand, and Tripping On Stars which, honestly I kind of expected, though it does bum me out that none of my AndyBooker fics made it into the top 5

5) Do you respond to comments?

almost always unless it's like... real weird or an emoji that I don't know how to respond to hahah

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

I might have to go with Beginning to Feel the Years, solely because it's so open ended with the angst. I really love angst with a happy ending because I love a little ray of hope through the clouds, but the morning after this fic is just going to be so hard, no matter what.

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

I really gotta hand it to North Star for the softest ending in the world. I said fuck the haters and gave Andy a husband, 2 kids, and a picket fence with zero regrets

8) Do you get hate on fics?

not usually, people tend to save that for Tumblr, but I did get a little whining on Change Your Ticket when I started redeeming Francesca the way she deserved.

9) Do you write smut?

the fact that this is even a question and not an automatic yes is so funny. Of course I write smut. Raunchy smut, romantic smut, angsty smut, you name it, I've written it.

10) Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Other than old Bandom crossover fics, I don't think so! I think the only thing that might count as a crossover fic is the MajidxManuel Wolf/Close Enemies fics

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

NO thank god 🥲

12) have you ever had a fic translated?

I have not, but I've gotten a few podfics done by @cookiemom6067

13) have you ever cowritten a fic before?

no, but I'd honestly love to cowrite one!

14) What’s your all time favorite ship?

As much as I want to say it's AndyBooker, I really gotta give it up to Steve/Bucky. They were the blueprint for a lot of my shipping patterns now.

15) What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Everything gets finished eventually, though it might take me a bit right now

16) What are your writing strengths?

Other than my smut writing skills, I think either dialogue or handling a lot of tough topics with nuance. People in fandom right now love their black and white subjects and I am all about that grey matter.

17) what are your writing weaknesses?

action sequences, without a doubt.

18) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I tend to either keep it to small little pieces of dialogue in latinized form (especially with stuff like Arabic/Yiddish) but with Prodigal Son, I really wanted the language to be a little symbolic of how othered Ilan feels. Because most people can't read Hebrew, keeping it in its original form felt the most isolating. If you're not Jewish and know Hebrew, you won't know what Ilan's saying unless you *try* to translate it, which is more than what he gets in the fic.

So I think it can be an interesting plot device, depending on how you use it.

19) First fandom you wrote for?

Harry Potter but I was like...12 and that fandom got abandoned quick ahahah

20) Favorite fic you’ve written?

FAVORITE? Oof I usually say the Cherry Wine fics or North Star, but I'm gonna broaden my answer this time and offer a couple little one shots. I REALLY love Color Him Father just because I love the idea of transmasc!Booker, and then the one I love that doesn't get enough love is From Adam’s Rib, my golem!Winter Soldier fic

tagging @druckkugelschreiber @quinbi @captain-grammar and @shatterthefragments, as well as anyone else who wants to do this!

[boatemlag]

8, 9, 11 and 12 for writer’s wrapped!

8. Pairing you wrote the most for this year?

looking only at ao3 statistics, the answer would be kazuscara, with a whopping 2 fics! i think it may be tied with desert duo, all things considered, which is not shocking, but i actually wrote so little slash fic this year in general. so much more gen

9. Favorite pairing you wrote for this year?

oh gosh. probably pearl & sausage? i know i didnt list sausage as my favorite character to write this past year but thinking back on it ive written sausage so much this year. im quite fond of my sausagevoice development. so e1!sausage&pearl, e2!sausage&false, etcetc etc. he just has such interesting relationships!

other than that its gonna be desert duo ^^; i just find them so chewy

11. What work took you the longest to write?

in terms of days it took? by this point you must be hungry for God, which i had been working on since.... maybe august?

in terms of hours straight spent in the doc? i call grief my night-wound

i think this may be identical to my response for fave work but . shrug.

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

depends what you count as wips and what you count as "WILL NEVER SEE THE LIGHT OF DAY"?

3 for the crying yes risk joy au (joel&cleo, bigb/cleo, fh/dduo), a kzsc exchange fic that will be posted next week, a koiflan (touhou) for a personal exchange, the fake history paper im writing for empires, a gem/scott fic, a last life apocalypse oneshot, a magic mountain hermitcraft twoshot, an astral express sunday oneshot, and i have other plans that arent even started yet. so thats... 9+? 10+? im bad with numbers. oh geez

[nervestatic]

ao3 wrapped!! template by @spicedrobot, tsym for making and sharing it <3 i filled it out a little clumsily but i'm really proud of how much i've written this year and wanted to celebrate it

the fics mentioned in this are i've got this sentimental heart that beats, a ghoulcy 5+1 things fic, and get all the sighs and moans just right, a shane x farmer hookup and one of my first real forays into writing smut. both were really special to me and i had a lot of fun writing them <3

more comparisons, fun facts, acknowledgements, and stats under the cut!

in 2023, i only wrote 10,534 words, spread out over 5 fics. that's an average of 2,106 words per fic!

compared to 2024, where i wrote a whopping 43,722 words over 17 fics! that's an average of 2,571 words per fic.

my total word count from my time on ao3 is 267,931 words, which is the length of 6 and a half novels! in total, i've received 172,110 hits on my fics, which seems like a frankly insane number that i can barely even comprehend.

i also recieved my first two ever gift fics this year-- the phenomenal something borrowed, something blue, from my dear friend @serenescribe, and one of many sleepless nights, from the lovely @crossfire-krypt. my heart is so full of love and joy for both of these fics, i am eternally grateful that they were gifted to me.

a huge thank you to everyone who read my writing, and an even huger thank you to @balquida for being my number one beta reader and helping me publish so many bangers this year.

in 2024, i bookmarked 64 fics across a total of 34 fandoms! 18 of those fics (28%) were for Dragon Age, with 8 of them being for Dragon Age II specifically. this was the year of varrichawke for me and it absolutely shows. across those 64 bookmarks was a grand total of 1,665,362 words, which is nowhere near the total of what i read, but is still frankly a crazy amount.

last but not least, my favorite fic i read this year was the words i'm leaving out by solshine, because i love purple!mage!hawke and idiots who can't communicate to save their damn lives.

here is to another great year of reading + writing fic!

[penvisions]

dev's 20 questions for writers

loved these questions! interesting to take a look into, thank you so much to those that have tagged me even if they've been lost in the shuffle of things ♡♡

1. how many works do you have on AO3?

19 in total!

2. what's your total AO3 word count?

oof, it's a whopping 606,304 (most of which were this year and last as i've only recently gotten back into writing)

3. what fandoms do you write for?

at the beginning it was one piece / naruto and then hannibal and supernatural, but now it's strictly PPCU (pedro pascal cinematic universe)

4. top five fics by kudos?

accents can be tricky || it's only certain words || return the favor || of beskar and kyber || by the grit of sandpaper

5. do you respond to comments?

i try to!! i get easily overwhelmed on the tumblr side of things but i do try by best to at least do a few hearts or an overall thank you for the response and interaction on something c:

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

as of right now, it's a wip that is pre-outbreak! tommy miller x reader

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

all of them! i try to do happy endings bc i need that in my life and feel like the characters deserve it beyond words

8. do you get hate on fics?

unfortunately, yes. i received a lot on the first couple chapters for {of beskar and kyber} and {garnish} and a looooot on {by the grit of sandpaper} it is what it is, i try not to let it get to me, but sometimes it does. but at the end of the day, i write for me and share it with y'all bc i want to, it's a simple solution to just stop sharing if it grows or gets out of hand (even if i'd rather not do that)

9. do you write smut?

i do indeed, some of it is really tame while some of it is truly unhinged lol

10. craziest crossover?

i'm in the process of trying to do a cross over with din djarin into the world of the southern reach trilogy but i dunno if it will ever see the light of an internet page

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

again, yes unfortunately. both {garnish} and {gone to the dogs} has been copy and pasted

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

i don't think so beyond translating things i've written myself from spanish to english

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

i haven't! but super interested in doing so

14. all time favorite ship?

joel miller x reader!! but honestly, if characters make each other happy or feel loved, then i want that for them. jess and nick in new girl, katniss and peeta in the hunger games to name the top two

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

again, probably my pre-outbreak! tommy miller and maybe {buckles and barley} i have a lot of ideas for both and they seem daunting atm

16. what are your writing strengths?

details!! c:

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

dialogue and pacing of story lines

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

amazing, love it, top tier

19. first fandom you wrote in?

one piece!

20. favorite fic you've written?

{by the grit of sandpaper} and {of beskar and kyber}

np taglist: @joelsgreys @frenchiereading and anyone else who wants to play along!

[bohemian-nights]

cry about it 💋

Kudos to you for not using anon to send this 👏🏽Although perhaps I reserve commending you for your bravery when you’ve seemingly created a new tumblr with no posts or likes to send this, but I’ll play ball with those stats.

1. Everyone knows that Dettles is not a popular ship(which makes it all the more hilarious that people continue to harass us). Even Alysmond, which has an abysmally low number of fics, has almost 5x the number of fics than us on Ao3:

2. Dumbnyra, your ship, received a massive, and I do mean massive, surge in popularity thanks to HOTD.

And if you don’t believe me, go to Ao3(since that’s the metric you want to use) and look for fics dated from December 2013(when The Princess and the Queen first came out) to July 2022(right before the show aired in August). When you’ve done that you’ll find a whopping 63 fics written over the course of 8 years(the first fic was written in January 2014):

It was only after the show started to air in August 2022 that you guys actually started shipping it in mass, going ham, and writing a little over 2,200 fics for them over the course of the last five months of that year. It’s because of the show that your ship has reached the top 100 Ao3 ships:

Note that I included 2021 stats as a comparison.

If HOTD had never aired your ship would still have less than 100 fics on Ao3.

3. Which brings me to my last point, even when Dettles happens on the show, Daemon and Nettles will never reach anywhere close to Dumbnyra’s level of popularity.

You’re probably thinking damn right it won’t, but why is she saying this? She’s supposed to disagree with me and look the fool.

Well, you see the ships that are highlighted in purple in the Ao3 ship stats from 2021-2023? Those are all the ships with Black women that have broken the top 100 ships on Ao3. As you can see, ships with Black women let heterosexual Black women(that’s a whole other issue representation matters, but it’s clear y’all are only comfortable with women who aren’t a threat) are not very popular due to the inherent anti-Blackness(in this case misogynoir) of fandoms.

I could link you with several articles on this subject, but I’ll leave you with this one and call it a day cause I’m not educating an uneducated overly grown person. Google is free. If you choose to still be uneducated and ignorant that’s a you problem.

So while Daemon and Nettles will see a surge in popularity when Maidenpool finally happens, we will never reach Dumbnyra, Alysmond, or insert any other white ships, popularity.

That’s not because our ship is inherently inferior or not canon(if you look at those stats canon has nothing to do with anything). It’s because y’all don’t like Black women and you especially don’t like seeing Black women being in relationships with your white male faves. You’ve literally admitted to this one two many times.

Please know that this was a courtesy response. If you send me so much as a single ask like this one again I’m blocking you and reporting you for harassment.

Now you and your cronies can run along now. Go back to crying about, gang stalking, and harassing someone else who ships something that doesn’t even have 1/10 of the popularity of yours…

[mysterypond]

20 Questions for Fic Writers

Tagged by @hxhhasmysoul and @subdee

Going to do a hxh specific one here since that's what y'all are here for, then I'll do a more general one on 98

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

69- hxh

98-total

2. What’s your total ao3 word count? 340,320 total

3. What fandoms do you write for?

HxH - 2021-2023

Ensemble stars - 2023

Everything else is just one-offs

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

5) There Were Two Beds -killugon fluff

4) AITA for asking my fiancé not to sleep in dirt?  -hisoillu crack

3) Time x Goes x On -killugon fluff

2) From Me x To You - my killugon letters fic

1) Would Kira have gay sex? - with a whopping 15,103 kudos this fic blows everything else out of the water and contributes to more than 50% of any of my overall fic statistics except for word count. I call it Fics Georg. It is an outlier and should not be counted.

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

Always. I appreciate the effort people put into commenting, so typically I try to respond with the same effort level as they put in.

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

Probably Re x Do or Judgement x Day tbh

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

Uhhh From Me x To You is probably a good one,

8. Do you get hate on fic?

All the time lol. If you ever see comment moderation on one of my fics just assume something bad happened there.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes and no, I usually use nsfw fics on this account for nsfw humor or as a backdrop for introspection. I don't expect anyone to get off reading them but if you can, more power to ya.  

10. Do you write crossovers?

No

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yep! Multiple times lmfao

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yep

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

@amagiis and I wrote this one :3 written in the moonlight and painted on the stars 

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

For hxh.... probably Paridling. @jyuanka has a chokehold on me for this ot3 xD if you want an introduction go read A History 

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

Actually if y'all are curious I'll just drop two here

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1gY8AqF9L7O6vCunl-r5HLLZ6Vv6XF5u8F6aDzDmIWHo/edit?usp=sharing - Pre-canon Ging/Cheadle meeting

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1QCG2tmuK2D_6skO261llt4H2ihisC9H2QpXPat2vd8c/edit?usp=sharing - this was going to be my hxhbb23 fic before I got nuked by irl stuff and then took an indefinite hiatus from writing hxh fic, I'm just like togashi lol maybe I'll finish this one in 4 years

16. What are your writing strengths?

Tbh I feel I'm skilled at most aspects of writing but the ones I would stay outshine the others are my wordplay and my dialogue.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Biting off more than I can chew. I seldom finish the multichapters I plan, which is why I usually wait until I finish writing it to post.

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

I do it all the time if applicable idc. I'm trilingual, and know bits and pieces of like another 4, I'll throw translations into the notes but I don't see why people get annoyed with it. There's plenty of fics on ao3 lol.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

pokémon... in like, 2007....

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

Five x Star x Service  - pariging coffee shop au.

I usually only like "aus" (excluding canon divergence stuff, I typically enjoy that) if I write them xD

Anyhow, I tag.... the people I mentioned earlier lol @amagiis & @jyuanka and anyone else who wants to do this :3 y'all can @ me and say I tagged if u feel awkward about it