5, 15, 29 for AO3 wrapped!
5. What work of yours got more feedback than you expected?
Well, uh...Practice Kissing has wracked up a stupid amount of attention in just a few weeks (thank you @buggachat kajfdsjkfb the power of your reblogs is unmatched).
I suppose I could also say all of your flaws and all of my flaws (are laid out one by one), but I was sort of expecting that one to do well because it was a post-s5 finale fic.
15. What WIP are you taking into next year with you?
everything i know (brings me back to us)
Probably Not The Best Idea
Plus like, a lot I haven't actually started posting yet. And maybe some others I forgot to list?
29. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?
This question is impossible to answer--how do i pick just ONE?!--but something from Say Something is probably a safe bet...
Drawing in a shaky breath, Adrien kept wandering. A quick glance at Marinette confirmed she was still talking to Alya, and it felt like too much effort to interrupt.
Instead he tried to focus more on the physical world around him. He let his fingers brush against damp tree bark when neared the fence. He honed in on how moisture from the grass stuck to the ends of his jeans, seeping slowly through the soles of his shoes.
His father would have hated that—both the wet footprints he’d bring home and the way he probably looked ridiculous right now. Unbecoming of an Agreste. The thought made the ghost of a smile curl in Adrien’s mind.
Because at least this moment was entirely his own. Even if it only came from his desperate attempts to cling sanity, he could safely say nobody made him squint up at the sun peeking through the trees until his eyes watered and he almost crashed into a bush. Nobody told him to sit down in the middle of the lawn, to weave his fingers through the blades of grass.
He did it anyways, feeling a semblance of peace spread through him as the dew soaked through his jeans. It didn’t push all the other things away, didn’t suddenly stop his fears from slipping in and out of the cracks in his facade. But it was something. It pushed his blinding panic to the background. And when Marinette walked over to join him, he no longer felt like pulling away.
“The grass is wet,” he warned as she sank down next to him.
“I don’t care.” He thought he heard a smile in her words, but he didn’t turn to see it.
His eyes were fixed on the fistful of grass he pulled at experimentally. He didn’t want to rip it free, but there was something soothing about tugging it to the breaking point and letting it go free, watching the mound of soil collapse before he moved onto a new patch.
This snippet is very personal to me, I guess. Because it's very much inspired by times I've used outside to ground myself. Feeling trees and grass. An inexplicable need to sit down. Or to walk around aimlessly, because I just don't want to stop. Looking up at the sky as I walk because...it makes me feel childlike? Free? And mostly just...wanting to physically feel things as I wander.
