NORTH STAR BY A MILE. that fic was such a surprise! it came about because my insane perfectionism that's slowly been ramping up over the years was preventing me from writing ANYTHING, and suddenly i was like "you know what? fuck it. we are going to write like we're 14 and we are going to post every chapter as it's finished and we are going to do this ENTIRELY FOR FUN without at ALL trying to craft something Perfect." i really don't know how i feel about it because it's still such a bab, but writing it makes me feel the same way i did when i was writing the braveryverse, and i really, really love that.
also north star is so so hugely spuffy and i don't think i ever expected to be writing a slow burn spuffy fic. ever. i generally tend to stay in my lane. but because i am so so deeply uninvolved in deeper spuffy circles, it's kind of a fun vacation to write for a ship where i'm not thinking about them on the same level as i analyze giles and jenny -- especially because my writing chops mean that i STILL WRITE THEM REALLY WELL. it's such an ego boost.
so, tumblr terminated my blog meacats (my principal side blog, emmaswanchoosesyou, is still up but I obviously can’t access it at present). I’ve sent in a ticket to support and it’ll hopefully be restored soon, but I’ve started this as a backup. I just wanted to let people know that I haven’t deleted, nor have I blocked anyone. I won’t be creating much content here, but at least it’s something if I do have to start over. I know this has happened to a few other people in fandom today.
Tagging some folks, and hoping they’ll signal boost. @squidproquoclarice @somekindofflowergirl @gotta-love-garcy @wingedlioness @seethelovelyintheworld @bleekay @prairiepirate @capitaine-odette @ussjellyfish @gray-autumn-sky @handfulofgimme @annytecture @phiralovesloki @rahirah @kathubs @sambethe @sirjohnsmythe @oldshrewsburyian @womanaction @brooke-to-broch @feliciacraft
So, uh, I--and it was totally me and not someone whispering their ideas to me--had this idea for a prompt--Dido the cat interrupting Sadie and Arthur while getting busy?
Inspired by joking that Sadie and Arthur are going to unfortunately learn the lesson of all parents/pet parents that closing your bedroom door for some privacy is essential.Also because Queen Dido makes no apologies and will always get what she wants.~~~~~~~~~~September, 1901 Barranca, Nuevo ParaisoHe’d admit he’d been a late bloomer on some things. Didn’t learn to read or write until he was fourteen, nearly fifteen. Learned to ride that same year. Learned to shoot when he was seventeen and Dutch finally deemed his temper and patience sufficient for it. Been an indifferent hunter until circumstances forced him to pay hard attention on that at nearly thirty-six. Hadn’t much learned to think for himself, to give loyalty where it was truly earned, until that same time. Love–well, learning that took him even longer. He was still learning that, truth be told. But if he’d give himself credit for something, it was that once he got going, he made for one determined and fast learner to make up for where he’d lacked.And Sadie, she was one damn powerful motivation. He sometimes still woke wondering how it could be that he was alive, that she’d chosen to be with him of all the men in the world, even to the point of marrying him. But that ring on his finger was tangible proof that it wasn’t some dream. This was his life, and those bleak moments of doubt and wondering, they came on less and less.This was some tangible proof too, made on the regular in this bed. Wheat-blond hair spread across the pillow, hazel eyes intent on him. The clutch of her hands on his shoulders, the press of those strong thighs on his hips, urging him on. The golden glow of her skin cast in lantern light, the rosy blush spreading across her throat and shoulders. The way she said his name, and that soft, low little sound she made she usually made soon before she came. The look of her, the sound of her, the sheer incredible feel of her–every time he thought it couldn’t get better between them, somehow it did. Maybe he still had some things to learn.He liked it fierce and wild as much as anyone, but tonight, it was slow and sweet between them, and were he to be honest, that was probably how he liked it best. He leaned down to kiss her, needing that as much as anything else about this.Just at that moment, he got a bit of a shock realizing that there were three in this bed when he felt the sudden weight on his back, the silken brush of fur, and the pressure of those big paws kneading against him, a low rumbling demand for attention.Sadie noticed the sudden hitch in things, and looked up at him. She reached up, one hand touching his cheek. “You go somewhere else there?” That happened sometimes, in him or in her, dark memories of far less pleasant things taking the reins for a moment. Maybe it always would. But they got by.He shook his head, admitting sheepishly, “Nah. Ain’t nothing like that. It’s–ah–Dido sneaked in. She’s sitting on me right now.” She’d been married before. If there was some kind of notion of how one dealt properly with this kind of thing, he’d truly love to hear it. Sadie’s eyes went wide, and she let out a whoop of laughter, burying her face in the crook of his neck to muffle the sound, and for a moment he had her laughing and Dido purring, and trying to not just crack up himself, but losing that battle and starting to laugh. It startled Dido enough that she gave an irritated mrrrp and hopped down off his back. Sauntered up towards the pillows and gave them both a very annoyed look with those big green eyes. Sadie reached out and gave Dido a pat. “Guess you’d better focus on the other pussy for now.”That did it, and he ended up laughing so hard it almost hurt. God, it felt good to be able to laugh without worrying about hacking up a lung. That was a feeling that would never lose its wonder for him either. “Well,” he said, when he could breathe again, “just about.” He kissed Sadie one more time and reluctantly pushed away from her, settling down beside her with one black-furred miscreant cat between them very visibly pleased with herself, thank you very much, for having gotten the attention she’d demanded. “After all, yours ain’t got claws.”Sadie gave him a knowing smile, brushing her hair from her eyes. “No, but like this one, she does get upset at being neglected.”He gave her back a smirk of his own. “Oh, does she? I promise I’ll make it up to her later.” Reaching out, caressing Dido under the chin while she rubbed up against his side, he sighed. Yeah, he still had some things to learn, and here was one of them. “One thing I do know for damn sure. We gotta remember to close the door next time.”
For the Christmas prompts....Garcy and snowed in "omg we have to repopulate the earth"? Yessssss, I'm so ready for Christmas/winter fic season.
It’s after Thanksgiving and that, lovely folks, means I can launch wholeheartedly into the Christmas spirit! Starting with my Christmas prompt-a-thon!
Story below the cut.
Lucy peered outside the cabin window. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“The radio said six inches, at least,” Flynn called from the kitchen.
…crap.
The only reason–the only reason–she was up on this godforsaken mountain in the middle of nowhere was that Grandpa Ethan had gifted it to her in his will. He’d been the only member of her biological father’s creepy, awful family that she’d liked. He’d made the holidays after Dad had passed and Mom had insisted Lucy get to know her ‘real’ family bearable.
From now on, she was going back to spending Christmas with the Wallaces–her adoptive dad’s brother and his wife and kids–and Amy. And Mom could just put that in her pipe and smoke it.
But it was a couple weeks before Christmas and she’d been stressed as all get out with grading papers before the holidays, and so Amy had suggested that she go and check out the cabin that Ethan had left her.
“You need a break,” she’d said. “You can fly out, take a couple weeks of relaxation by yourself, then fly back to see us for Christmas.”
But what if the snow wasn’t melted enough in a few days when her flight left? What if she couldn’t get to her family in time for Christmas? She wanted to see her cousins, see Sarah’s new baby, ask Amy about this boy she’d been going on about. What if she missed it?
Of course, insult on top of injury, she was now stuck with Garcia Flynn.
Flynn lived a bit down the mountain and had, somehow, become friends with Ethan when he would retreat up here to paint or whatever it was. Lucy didn’t see how, since Flynn was the single grumpiest person she’d ever met. She’d hated asking him to come and help her fix her sink, but there was no one else around, and now…
Now it was looking like nuclear winter out there, and Lucy wasn’t about to make Flynn tramp through snow like this and possibly freeze to death. So she was stuck with him.
She turned away from the window to find Flynn leaning against the doorframe like Google Earth was taking pics, wiping his hands on a towel. “Well, silver lining, your sink’s all fixed.”
“Would you like some hot chocolate?” she blurted out. “As a thank you. For the sink. And because you’re stuck here.”
Flynn sauntered–the handsome idiot never walked anywhere, he sauntered–past her to the window. He whistled softly. “Wow. Yeah, that’s a doozy.”
“It looks like we’re the only two people on earth.” She’d never seen snow like this before.
“Oh no, guess we’ll just have to repopulate the earth then,” Flynn replied, giving her a lopsided smile.
Lucy felt her gut tighten and warm, and she had to look away. Moments like these she treasured more than she probably should have, those moments where Flynn was soft with her and teased her.
She just wished they weren’t inevitably followed by Flynn shutting down like a malfunctioning robot.
“Guess we’ll have to,” she said lightly. “Never took you for a family guy.”
Flynn coughed uncomfortably. “I… I was, once.”
Oh no. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t–”
“You didn’t know, it’s fine.” Flynn looked out at the snow. “We were driving in the snow, hit a patch of black ice. My wife was driving… I tried to get the wheel but we flipped. My daughter, Iris, where the–the impact hit her, she died instantly. Lorena… I tried, everything, but she, um, it only took a few minutes. They said I was lucky, just had a broken leg.” Flynn’s voice sounded like it was scraped from the back of his throat. “Lucky.”
“Garcia.” She’d never used his first name before, but it felt appropriate. She put her hand on his arm. “I’m so, so sorry.”
He glanced down at her hand, and for a moment she thought he’d remove it, but then he… he put his hand over hers. He went back to looking out at the snow. “It’s not your fault. It was two years ago now. Ethan was really good to me, during that time. Told me about a boyfriend of his, back in the ‘50s. When the guy died of lung cancer–chain smoker, apparently–Ethan couldn’t go to the funeral. He knew he’d give himself away, crying too much, and they were just supposed to be work colleagues.”
“He–he never told me.”
“He told me about you. I think he… he didn’t want to burden you. Said you made everything else worth it.”
Lucy’s eyes stung. She knew her grandfather had loved her, but it both soothed and hurt her to be reminded of it, now that he was gone. Flynn saw her wiping her eyes and made a noise of dismay. “Now I’m the one who has to say I’m sorry.”
“No, no, it’s good.” She laughed a little. “I’m glad he had a friend like you. I’d… I’d like to be friends, too. If you want.”
Flynn looked at her with such softness, this besotted smile on his face, that her breath caught. “Lucy. You think that’s why I’m here? Because I owed your grandfather something? Some sense of obligation?”
“I mean… we didn’t exactly get off on the right foot.”
“You showed up without a proper winter coat, what was I supposed to do?”
“Maybe not lecture me about it while grumbling about how I was going to die from idiocy?”
“I’m here because I like you,” Flynn blurted out. He dropped his hand and looked down at the ground, like he couldn’t bear to say this while looking at her. “I really. Like you.”
Lucy stared at him, at his long lashes and dark eyes, at his strong jaw, the hint of stubble, the slightly crooked nose, the soft, slightly flopping hair. She’d known from the start that Flynn was handsome. Had, perhaps, had a few late-night thoughts about getting him to shut up in very creative, naked ways. But she’d never dared to think…
“So when you said we should ‘repopulate’,” she said, taking a small step closer and sliding her hand up his arm to cup his jaw, “you were serious?”
“I mean, not about the–I assume you have some kind of, ah, protection, I didn’t–” Flynn looked up and saw that she was trying to hold in laughter. He rolled his eyes. “I’m just digging a bigger hole for myself, aren’t I?”
“Just wanted confirmation you were actually flirting with me.” She got up on her tiptoes. “Because I really like you too.”
Lucy wanted to state for the record that what the man lost in attitude he more than made up for in the making out department. And in the groping department. And in the… you get the idea.
“What do you mean, you’re bringing a guest?” Amy asked over the phone the next morning, when said phone lines were actually working again. “Who? When? How?”
“You’ll find out when we get there,” Lucy laughed, lying on her stomach in bed. Flynn was lying beside her, tracing patterns along her back. “I just wanted everyone to know for food and stuff.”
“I am mining you for information, Lucy, don’t think you’ll escape me,” Amy warned.
“I love you too. See you in a couple days.” She hung up, and looked at the man beside her–the one who had a very innocent, placid look on his face, like he hadn’t had his tongue (and other things) between her legs an hour ago. “What on earth are we going to do for two days?”
Flynn grinned up at her, softly brushing the hair out of her eyes. “I’m sure we can think of something.”
Mmm, love me some prompts. How about Lucy 'fessing up to not experiencing "abject horror" at the idea of sleeping with Flynn? And maybe him being a dumbfounded idiot about it?
Their new safe house isn’t bad, as far as secret, off-the-grid government black sites go. It isn’t above ground, and in fact it has even less sunlight than the bunker, but there are sun-replacement lamps (yes, they suck), more space, a few more amenities, and furniture from this millennium, rather than the seventies-thrift-store aesthetic that the bunker had going on. There is enough space for everyone to have their own room, and it doesn’t feel like living in a tiny metal trash compactor with your weird time-traveling family and their interpersonal problems. (Well, the weird time-traveling family just comes as part of it, but at least you can get away from them here.)
In other words: Lucy doesn’t have to bunk up on the couch any more, if she doesn’t want to. Or find alternative lodgings from her own bed. And yet. It’s barely three nights after they’ve settled in that she finds herself in Flynn’s room. It seems oddly the most comforting of them all, though she doesn’t know why that would be.
(Maybe it’s just because it’s him. He’s still the easiest to talk to, and his eyes are the softest when he looks at her, and it feels like sinking into a warm bath, her aching muscles finally eased, when she’s alone with him.)
(She prefers not to think about that.)
They have had a drink or two, though they’re not drunk, and the main perk of this awful job remains the apparently plentiful supply of alcohol. They’re sitting on Flynn’s bed, talking about – she doesn’t even know what – when she blurts out, “It wasn’t abject horror. By the way.”
Flynn cuts off in the middle of his sentence, blinking at her as if trying to figure out what language she was just speaking. “What?”
“That time when I woke up in your bed and you said it was a look of abject horror on my face at…” It occurs to Lucy halfway through that this is potentially a very mortifying conversational avenue to be going down and she should U-turn out of it, but something keeps her plunging forward. “I just – I wasn’t – I didn’t want you to think I was horrified at – you know. The… idea. Of… us.”
Flynn keeps staring at her like a concussed warthog. It doesn’t look to be horror on his face (ironically), but there is a clear expression of existential terror, or the fear that he’s said something wrong or been too obvious. “Oh,” he says at last, rubbing his mouth as if to hide a shy smile or – well, it definitely looks like the smile, even as he glances down. “I suppose that’s – that’s good to know.”
“Yes.” Lucy clears her throat. “That was just… what I was going to say there. All right?”
“All right.”
(She is deeply relieved when he suggests another drink, and she ends up staying the night, and it’s not horror on her face at all when she wakes up, and the softness in his eyes makes this entire nightmare world a little less so.)
mearcats replied to your post “*screams into the void* Children, never go to grad school. Not even...”
*sets down the applications I've been working on, again*
I started my PhD program 10 years ago and I’m still not finished because academia is a garbage nightmare and there is absolutely no meaningful oversight or accountability for tenured graduate faculty.
I’m very lucky in that I have a permanent job in academia (non-tenure track but full time with good benefits and it’s not bad at all) but graduate school is a goddamn dumpster fire, and academia as a whole is not far behind it in awfulness.
