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possiblypeachy · 5 years

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tea & schemes (8.)

―; summary: Florence grapples with far too many feelings and, as always, Lissie comes to the rescue.

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 4.8k

―; warnings: light swearing.

―; A/N: flor is too lovely for all of this and i just want her to be happy guys im :(( but also, can we start a felicity marlowe fanclub?? please leave applications below to become an official member bc everyone should love her she’s like a rockin’ older sister.

also, if i was okay with writing like 6k word chapters they would’ve kissed in this one so keep an eye out in the next chapter people

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11

― ❊ ―

The walk back to Florence’s home was filled with light, cheerful conversation but brushes against the shoulder and moments of her simply studying Jacob’s face seemed far more frequent. Or were they like this usually? Florence was unsure; she’d begun to overwhelm herself inside her own mind, though she kept Jacob none the wiser. The last thing that she could afford right now was him, of all people, digging through her conscious.

“-- and I was trying to enjoy a pint but along comes Evie with this huge bloke’s head in her hands and she just slams him into my table. I tell you, beer in the eyes is painful but not as painful as the splinters that man had to pull out of his face.” Jacob grimaced, gazing into as though he was envisioning the wound’s that very moment. Then hazel eyes met hers, amusement mirrored in both of their eyes. “So, the moral of that story is to never go drinking with my sister.”

“Such a shame, that.” Florence’s brows drew together in faux disappointment. “To think, I was going to invite your sister down to the pub this weekend.”

“Without me?”

She shot him a little wink, a finger coming up to tap her nose. “Girl talk, Jacob; you wouldn’t understand.”

He huffed out a laugh, taking a familiar turn into her street. “I’m not sure Evie would either.”

Florence’s gaze fixed to the profile of his face for a moment too long, just watching the curl of his lips and the jovial light flickering in his eyes. Why did she find it so impossible that he actually wanted to spend time with her? Remnants of Thomas prickled at her heart, despite Jacob’s work to remove them. The thought that she might allow herself to fall fully for this man-- this assassin-- only for him to break her again terrified her more than Florence would like to admit. Yet, his presence had been lingering on her mind for longer than she’d previously realised.

His eyes dragged from the bunting strung above her street to her and the worried little crease between her eyebrows. Florence appeared to be in another world entirely. “Flor? Are you alright?”

She blinked once, then again, before refocusing on the world around her. A gentle smile tugged her lips upwards and she nodded. “Yes, of course. I was just thinking…”

… that I’d very much like to kiss you.

… of how you always seem to make me feel at ease.

… about you.

“... that we should perhaps part ways here, lest Freddy interrogate the both of us. You know how he is.”

Jacob chortled, nodding, his brows raised. “Indeed I do.” There came a little sigh, hardly noticeable, though gave the impression that he was almost sad that their time together had come to a close. The smile she gave him said the same.

Something heavy hung above their heads.

“Well, thank you for today, Jacob. There’s nothing like watching someone you know beat a crowd of grown men up.” Florence breathed out a laugh, shaking her head slightly.

There was a softness to Jacob’s face; the curve of his lips was gentle, the glint in his eyes screamed of something more than a simple care, and his gaze studied each of her features-- from that little mole on her bottom lip to the hump in her nose to the strands of mousy hair that had taken to resting on her forehead. The arm that had been hooked around hers moved forward but he paused before putting his hand on her hip. Instead, below her sight, Jacob’s hand balled into a loose fist-- a sign of a change of heart. “Florence,” her full name, “look, I really--”

Her hand came to his shoulder to stop him, heart roaring her ears. “I should really be getting inside, Jacob.” Ah, Christ Almighty, he looked like a kicked puppy. It was near indescribable how much her heart wanted her to push forward embrace him, tell him of all the tangled worries occupying her mind, but that very mind insisted that Florence had to make sense of it herself first. So, as to appease her heart enough to allow her a few hours of restful sleep tonight, she rolled up onto the tips of her toes, placed a hand to one of his cheeks, and gave a featherlight kiss to the other. She muttered a soft “Visit me again soon.” before turning and hurrying into the safety of her own home.

Jacob watched after her with wide eyes and parted lips. It was rare that Jacob Frye was speechless but, for a few moments, his brain was completely incapable of comprehending words. Was he blushing? His own hand came to his cheek and he frowned slightly. Maybe.

Bloody Hell.

London does have its surprises.

---

“A letter came for you while you were out, Florrie” was the first thing she heard as she walked in the door. Freddy, from the lounge chair, glanced over the newspaper he had been reading and to his sister, furrowing his brows at the red tinge to her ears and neck and the otherwise lost look in her eyes. “You look flustered.”

Florence hung her shawl beside the door and tucked a few strands that had come loose from her bun behind her ear. “Oh, it’s…” Eyes flickered over to the letter on the tea table before flitting to Frederick, giving him a reassuring smile, “... it’s nothing. I think Lissie made my corset a smidge too tight this morning and, well,” Her lips pursed and her brows rocketed toward her hairline, “I’ve already told you how overwhelming Willard can be.”

Freddy hummed, uncomfortable with the thought of a man being so shameless with his sister. The newspaper flopped at one corner when he gestured to the letter now in her hands. “What’s that about, then? Is it mother and father?”

She tapped the back of the envelope with her thumb for a second or two, having vaguely recognised the handwriting as most certainly not her mother’s, before tearing it open. It was an invitation to meet again the day after the next from--

“Willard. He’s asked to meet with me again.” She muttered, scanning over the contents of the letter.

Freddy frowned. “Couldn’t he have asked you that at the library?”

Ah, shit.

“He had to leave on ‘important business’ earlier than I expected so he must’ve just forgotten.” Florence had a talent for lying through her teeth, though whenever it was to her brother she did feel the need to pray to the Lord above at the same time.

Freddy was quiet for a few moments then sighed. Florence held her breath. “No doubt his ‘important business’ was--” The pitch of his voice heightened somewhat and it drew a smile up from his sister, “-- ‘collect my latest pomade shipment, make a fancy speech to parliament, plot the demise of Frederick Abberline.’”

She snorted, folding the letter back up and balancing it between her middle and ring fingers. “I’m sure he’s arranging the hitmen as we speak, dear brother.”

Freddy shrugged and raised his eyebrows in response, a motion that said “probably” before letting his eyes drift back to the newspaper. Florence paused for a few moments in her place, toying with the letter. She needed to speak with Lissie.

“When you see her next, can you tell Lissie to come up to my room? I’d like to get out of this corset and into a nice bath.”

“Of course.” Frederick gave her a little farewell smile as his sister made her way towards the staircase.

Lissie was something of an agony aunt and, goodness, did she need someone’s ear to chew off. In fact, merely thinking of it made her hands shake and breathing heavy. Even the gentle meowing of Duncan behind her bedroom door did very little to calm her nerves.

A gentle knock came to the door and Florence didn’t even have a chance to answer before the figure of Lissie bumbled through the door. She had two cups of tea in her hand and a concerned glint in her eyes; she already knew that Florence was worrying. Felicity was a good woman and Florence appreciated her very much.

Without a word, Lissie passed a cup to Florence and she began to blow over the surface of it, steadying it when the older woman took a seat on the bed beside her. There was a slurping noise-- how did she drink it while it was still so hot?-- then Lissie settled the tea into her lap, turning slightly so she could take Florence in fully. “What’s the matter, dear--”

“I like him.” She blurted out, honey eyes flickering from her tea to her maid. There was a look of desperation there-- as if she was hoping that Felicity could simple somehow magic away that clenching of her heart.

Lissie furrowed her brows. “You like who?”

“Jaco-- Mister Frye. We’ve been spending more time together recently and I-- and we--” Florence held her breath, keeping eye contact with Lissie for a few moments, before finally sighing. “He almost kissed me.” There was a pause. “I almost kissed him.” Another. She threw one hand up into the air and the cup of tea in her other hand wobbled dangerously. “I don’t know-- I don’t know! I just--”

“Lovely!” A hand came to Florence’s shoulder. “Lovely. Calm down.” Lissie’s smile was so kind that Florence actually felt her shoulders relax. Blue eyes met hers and, to reassure Lissie, she gave her a little nod. “It’s fine. He’s not a bad bloke, is he?”

“No, of course not. Jacob is… well, he’s really charming. He’s not a huge gentleman but he doesn’t have to be. I just--” Florence glanced to the corner of the room, where Duncan was watching them both, then back to Lissie. “I just think I really like him.”

That smile curled at Felicity’s lips and Florence stifled a laugh of disbelief. Before she could say anything though, Lissie was already speaking, “Oh, to be young and in love.”

“You’re lucky I need you, Felicity Marlowe.”

Lissie grinned, crow’s feet appearing at the corners of her eyes. “I know, I know. But,” The same hand that had been on her shoulder moved to her lap, giving Florence’s thigh a reassuring squeeze beneath her skirts, “you seem quite smitten with this Jacob fellow and, from the sounds of it, he likes you enough too. Is he why you’re always out?”

Florence took a sip of tea, avoiding the answer to the question for as long as she could, and flinched when it burnt her tongue. She swallowed once, with brows pulled downwards, then answered a simple: “Yes”.

“Do you enjoy yourself with him?”

A pause. “Yes.” Honey eyes met blue ones, remnants of the day swimming about in them. “Did you know he took me to a fight club today? I watched him fight; he’s the champion there.”

Lissie’s fingernails tapped along the ceramic cup and her lips pursed for a moment. “So, why is it such a dilemma that you fancy him, then?”

There was the real question. Why did it bother her so much that she liked someone-- liked him? It wasn’t like Jacob had done any wrong by her yet. In fact, he’d gone out of his way to make her happier. And, the way he had looked at her: as though she was everything that existed in the world at that moment. God, it made Florence’s throat tighten and heart swell.

“I should be looking for a wealthy husband. I need someone my father would benefit from.” Lissie looked unconvinced. Florence looked panicked. “Freddy wouldn’t approve either.”

Felicity set her tea down and held her hands out. Florence did the same and placed her own hands in the maid’s grip. A thumb glided over the back of her palm as an effort to comfort. “Firstly, you have never been concerned with such tripe. My Florence would rather die than marry into wealth.”

Florence’s lips curled into one of those smiles that said: “You’re right but I don’t want to admit that I was wrong”.

“Secondly,” One of Lissie’s hands came up to raise Florence’s gaze back to her, “in the politest way possible, fuck your brother.”

Florence frowned. “I’d prefer not to.”

Felicity groaned, rolling her eyes and giving a slight pinch to the back of Florence’s hand. “Hush, you terrible woman.” She huffed out a laugh, allowing Lissie to continue. “Freddy would disapprove if you got with the son of Queen Victoria herself. He might yap on about you needing to marry a ‘good man’ but all he cares for is your happiness, lovely. He’s probably just worried about Jacob’s intentions.”

Florence sighed, teeth gnawing at her top lip. She was right. Lissie was always right.

“What is it that’s really worrying you?”

That clenching in her chest began again but it was sadder this time-- scared. When she looked back up to Felicity, there were the beginnings of tears in her eyes. “I’m frightened he’s going to break my heart or--or--” One fell down the curve of her face and Lissie was already pulling Florence into a hug, burying the younger’s face into her own shoulder, “-- if he might leave me because I’m too b-boring and I--”

A gentle ‘shh’ came to stop her blubbering and stuttering. “Florence, lovely, you’re one of the most interesting, lively women I’ve ever met and anyone would be blind to not see the same.” Florence hiccuped into her shoulder, pulling away slightly to rub her eyes. At the same time, Felicity’s hands cupped her cheeks to ensure that Florence was looking at her. Red circled honeyed eyes, lashes thick and dark with tears. Lissie frowned slightly and moved forward to plant a kiss on her forehead. “If he’s gotten into your heart, it’s because he tried. I reckon Jacob wants you as much as you want him.”

God, he had tried. Jacob was so kind to her-- so willing to help her outside of this little box she’d been put in by her class. He wasn’t afraid to show her new things in fear that it’d ‘ruin her innocence’. He’d tell her horribly lewd jokes because they made her do that silly snort of hers. He, despite his sister’s words of concern, always went out of his way to see her.

Florence’s heart calmed down a little bit.

Maybe this all wouldn’t be so terrible after all.

Through a small sniff and her hands coming up to wipe away the moisture on her cheeks, Florence sighed but it sounded somewhat like a laugh. “That sounds terribly dirty, Lissie.”

Obviously pleased with how Florence had stopped crying and now had the beginnings of a smile playing at her lips, Felicity released her face and grinned, pointing an accusing finger. “I’ve seen the bloke’s shoulders-- nice and broad. Don’t lie to me and tell me you haven’t thought about him above--”

“Felicity Marlowe!” Florence slapped the maid’s arm, stifling a naughty little giggle. There was a wonderful sense of joy in the genuine smile of someone who had just been sobbing. It was their emotion in its rawest form-- walls torn down by the breakdown moments before. Despite her eyes and the red around them, light shone in her pupils eyes again. “Just go and sort me out a bath, please.”

“What? So you can think of all his muscles alone?”

Florence shot her a sharp look but the dimple in her cheek made an appearance, her head shaking. “No.” Then, a playful little smile graced her features and she glanced away briefly. “So I can plan on how I’m going to kiss him.”

Lissie’s grin was proud. “That’s the spirit.”

---

The park she’d been due to meet Willard in was quaint enough, with a little gazebo in the centre that a band played in. It was mid-morning, so the soft chirps of birds accompanied this melody, which calmed Florence’s heart to some degree, she supposed. In the light of the rising sun, it wasn’t difficult to spot Willard’s golden crown of hair. The mottled sun painted gorgeously against tanned skin and, when he heard the small clicks of her footsteps, he turned, green eyes appearing almost icy in the light.

“Dear Florence!” He stood from the bench he’d been sat on and took a few steps towards her. His head bowed and his hand took hers, placing a featherlight kiss upon the back of it. “I hope nothing terrible happened to your brother, hm?”

Florence’s smile was courteous and sweet but the sickness in her stomach remembered Willard and his feelings toward Freddy-- how he planned to use her. “Well, you’ll be pleased to know that he was fine.” Willard raised a brow, asking her to elaborate. She did, hooking her arm through his so they could walk together, “He had ripped my favourite dress accidentally and had begun to panic far too much-- the poor sod. Oh, sorry for the language. I’m--”

For once, Willard seemed to smile genuinely, breathing out a laugh. “It’s charming, Florence; you shouldn’t apologise. I have siblings, so I know it’s not always so easy to refer to them nicely.” He had leant into her somewhat to say this, as though it was a little known secret. Much to her own surprise, a little grin tugged at her lips. “If you’d like, I can put some money in toward reparations? I would hate for you not to feel as gorgeous as you always look.”

Here start the compliments again.

“No, it’s fine; I’m unsure on if I’d even fit into it anymore. I’ve had it for far too long so it’s about time I chose another.” Did Florence have actually have a preferred dress? No. She chose all of her dresses because she knew that she’d look good in them. There was no purpose in her having one particular ‘favourite’.

“Well, perhaps you should make the one you’re wearing now your new favourite. If I might say, blue is a beautiful colour on you. It really brings out the paleness of your skin.”

Great. She supposed blue couldn’t be her favourite colour anymore.

Florence’s previous thought that her conversation was going quite swimmingly with Willard, although brief, flew completely out of the window. In an effort to hide her growing grimace, she turned as if to look at the birds in the trees above them. “Thank you, Willard. I’ll keep that in mind.”

They walked in silence for a while, following a path lined with flowers. The quiet was welcome for a time until the realisation that Willard was never quiet for this long hit Florence across the face. She finally shot a glance toward him to find him looking less-than-happy with the world.

“You seem troubled, Willard. Is there something you wish to speak with me about?”

His eyes met hers after a few moments. Then, he gestured for them to sit on the bench just beside the gazebo. “What is your opinion of me, Florence?”

Genuine confusion washed across her expression. “Nothing bad, Willard. You’ve only been nice to me. Why?”

“It’s just that there have been… unsavoury rumours going about with concerns to my intentions with you.” Willard shifted in his seat so that he might hold her hands. Florence allowed him to, upholding that look of bewilderment. “I simply hope for this to be the start of something grander and I would hate for you or your family to think of me in a bad light.”

What did he know? What had he heard?

“What rumours might those be?” The speed of her speech made her seem panicked but, if he had picked up on it, he didn’t comment.

Willard frowned. “After Sergeant Abberline arrested my brother, some people have this sick idea in their minds that I’m out for revenge. What my brother did--” He swallowed, appearing quite disgusted. A terrible feeling began to stir in Florence’s stomach. “What he did was… horrible and I am ashamed to have the same blood as the wretched man.”

Was he lying? He must be. A barrage of doubt slammed into her. Maybe he was being truthful and the note was a set-up of some kind. But, on the other spin of the coin, perhaps he’d noticed he’d lost the note and wanted to cover up his tracks. There was a flashing memory of the look in his eyes when Jacob introduced himself. None of the puzzle pieces were connecting and Florence was beginning to feel quite light-headed.

She blinked once. Then, twice. Her hand came up to tuck a few curled strands of brown behind her ear in an effort to self-comfort. “I have never thought such a thing and nor has Freddy.”

“I’d still feel horrible to just leave it at that; I feel like I must prove that I’m not the creator of some dastardly plan. So,” Was that a shy smile? From Willard? “I’d like to invite you and your brother to dinner at my manor at the end of this week.”

What had she done to the Lord above for Him to invoke such wrath upon her?

Florence felt like her body had frozen, bar the heavy swallow she took. Dinner wouldn’t be… so bad. Yet, there was this pang in her chest that told her that living this double life-- split between being this Florence for Willard and the real Florence to Jacob-- would be her downfall but she felt that she had very few options in the matter.

“That sounds lovely, Willard. I’ll be sure to tell my brother when I return home. Speaking of which--”

“Oh, don’t say you must leave, dear.”

Florence’s lips tugged into a sad smile, patting Willard’s shoulder to comfort him. “-- I must leave to go home. Our maid is due to do the shopping soon and I must go with her; my cat has a very specific diet.”

Willard huffed out a laugh at this and stood up with her. “Well, I look forward to seeing you again this weekend. Do say ‘hello’ to this diva cat of yours from me, too.”

At that, Florence grinned and said her goodbyes. Beneath her, her feet went a little faster than usual.

---

The door was unlocked when she got back, Freddy obviously having forgotten to lock it on his way out to work. As soon as she stood on the creaky floorboard near the entrance, the door closed behind her, Florence let out a heavy sigh, shoulders relaxing somewhat. She set her little purse down on the little table beside the coat rack but stays there to lean on it for a small while, simply gathering her thoughts.

Her opinion on Willard was much like a metronome; sometimes, he was delightfully charming and today told that he had at least some sense of humour but, other times, he was like the wolf to her rabbit-- ready to consume everything she had ever stood for in a grapple for power. It made her feel weak either way; she didn’t want to kneel for any man.

Her breathing was deep and slow-- an attempt to comfort-- and one of her hands had begun to work on undoing the bun on her crown. Florence had had enough of today and it was barely the afternoon. She would write her parents another letter, read, and wait for Freddy to get home; she didn’t have the emotional energy for much else.

“A person may be proud without being vain. Pride relates more to our opinion of ourselves, vanity to what we would have others think of us.”

Florence jumped, all of her muscles tensing in one go to look toward the source of the voice.

There was Jacob, all amused at the sight of Florence so surprised, holding Pride and Prejudice in his hands. “Who knew books could have such profound words? Now I know where your fancy vocabulary comes from.”

Florence, despite her racing heart, laughed softly, shaking her head. With a brow raised, other hand out to ask for the book back, she asked: “How did you get in, Jacob?”

He took a few steps forward, around the lounge chairs, to give her the novel. “That maid of yours-- Lissie, was it?-- let me in just as she was leaving.”

The image of Felicity’s dirty little smile came to the forefront of her mind and Florence bit back a grin. “If Freddy had come home, you’d have been killed.”

“Oh, yes-- because your brother is capable of murdering me.” Jacob narrowed his eyes at her, snark dripping from his voice, and plonked himself down onto the nearest chair, playing with the fabric beneath him. Florence sighed, amused, but said nothing more, going to hang up her shawl. Jacob soon noticed the tension in her movement and the tiredness in her eyes. “What’s got you in a twist, lovely Flor?”

Of course he’d notice. He noticed everything. That feeling arose again when she turned to look at him, concern in those hazel eyes, but she swallowed it. “I met with Willard again today--” The slight frown Jacob adopted was nearly missable, “-- and he’s invited both me and my brother to dinner this weekend.”

He made a mock ‘ooh-la-la’ noise, despite there being a little part of him that hated the whole idea. “Sounds like a date. Perhaps he’s courting you and you don’t even know it.”

“Oh, I know it; he makes it all too obvious. I just don’t want to be… courted.” Florence paused, rolling her shawl in her hands. “Not by him, at least.”

Jacob’s little grin never left but there was something in his eyes as he asked: “Did you have anyone else in mind?”

Blood rocketed through her veins. She could hear it in her ears-- feel her pulse in her neck. Their gazes locked for a moment too long and his expression softened into one reminiscent of the other evening. Florence broke the moment by dragging her eyes away. “The only thing I have on my mind is alcohol; I need to relax.”

“I could help with that.” Briefly, she looked back to him only to be met with a cheeky wink. Her shawl flew through the air and landed on his face, muffling his chuckling.

“You’re terrible, Jacob.” Try as she might, she was unable to keep the dimple in her cheek away, facing away from him for a few moments so he didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing her laugh. When Florence finally looked back to him, he was still grinning, now wearing her shawl like a pretty scarf. “You can stay and share some wine, if you’d like--”

“No, no. Certainly not.” He stood up, shuffling around the table to get to her. “Come on.”

She frowned, confused. “What?”

“You’re not going to drink wine and mope at home. If you want to drink, we’re going to go to the pub.”

“Jacob--”

One of his hands were already on the doorknob, tugging the door open. The other he held out toward her like an invitation. “I won’t hear it. It’ll cheer you up.”

Florence bit her cheek, arms crossed beneath her chest, unconvinced.

“I want to see you happy again-- like the other night.”

Felicity’s word from earlier echoed about her head. Jacob did only want to make her happy.

Florence’s resolve broke in the form of a tilt of her head and a little smile. “Fine.” She placed her hand in his and he helped her step out of the door. “You have to give me my shawl back.”

Jacob, closing the door behind him, hummed. “You know what?” The hand that wasn’t holding hers stroked the fabric of the shawl. “I don’t think I want to.”

Her jaw dropped in mock offence and he half-shouted when her hand came up to try to pull the damned thing from his shoulders. “Give it back to me, Jacob; that thing cost me a pound!” Florence’s words came out through laughter, drawing attention to the pair of them from people strewn about the street.

“Alright, alright! I’ll give it back--” She went to grab it again and he leant away. That gooey feeling in his centre returned when she pouted, “-- if you promise to hold my hand on the way there.”

Florence sighed. “People will talk.”

“Damn them.”

She frowned-- thoughtful. Then, honey eyes melded with hazel.

Damn them.

“Deal.” Jacob didn’t have a moment to react when she tugged it off of his shoulders and draped it over her own. “Thank you.”

He stared at her for a little too long, the beginnings of a certain smile curling at his lips. “I think it looks better on you, anyway.”

Florence gave a little grin, unable to keep the red twinge away from her ears.

Their fingers stayed interlocked for the short journey there and Florence, it seemed, had underestimated how much more it made her love him--

Like him.

She only liked him.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed syndicate #ac: syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x reader #jacob frye x oc #frederick abberline #florence abberline #evie frye #writing #THEY'LL KISS SOON #I PROMISE #but please enjoy this little cheek kiss for now #and also the beginnings of jealous!jacob

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carraville · 6 years

Text

year in fic review (2017)

using the wonderful @neyvenger ‘s template! everyone should do this i wanna read <3

Year at a glance: Total number of completed stories: 25 (26 if u count hockey) Total word count: 146929

Overall Thoughts:

Looking back, did you write more fic than you thought you would this year, less, or about what you’d predicted? LOTS MORE it’s probly bc i wrote a hella lot while jumping from train to train traveling all of Europe, and probly bc i gave up on school by mid-sem last year, and probly bc the only thing i can do at work that looks like i’m still doing work when i’m not is write

What pairing/genre/fandom did you write that you would never have predicted in January? The fuCKING GERMS i blame it on germs like i 100% would never have thought i’d write 16k of thomasfips who does that also joemilly??? but i luff

What’s your own favorite story of the year? i dont have one i love and hate them all equally... i guess strangeways here we come just bc i took so damn long to write it and tbf i didn’t write a lot of carraville this year so it was kind of like my One and Only

Did you take any writing risks this year?

writing a lot of people I didn’t know how to write, writing about a lot of Big Things (particularly on the bridge between starshine and clay) that i wasn’t sure about, writing a lot of aus i’d never done before, writing ??? PORN???? even tho ive never banged anyone in my life

Do you have any fanfic or profic goals for the new year? all 12 months of football prompts! hopefully! and writing more new ships and meeting more people and reading good fic also finally doing all my historical aus bc if there’s one thing i’ve learnt this year, it’s not to give a shit what other people want and just write what u want even if no one is going to read it xoxo

From my past year of writing, what was…

My best story of this year: from a writing perspective i think an die nachgeborenen just bc it was the most? complete, i guess? and plotty? like if i changed the names and pretended it wasn’t creepy i could probably send it for rejection

My most popular story of this year: strangeways, here we come i guess cos i published it around that time the r*dditors were sneaking around lmao

Story of mine most under-appreciated by the universe, in my opinion: the wonder of my world cos it’s niche and manc but!!!!!!! i love my mancs

Most fun story to write: fuckin. 30 Shades Of Red

Story with the single sexiest moment: The Anonymous Present That Appeared For Sab’s Birthday That Doesn’t Exist

Most “holy crap, that’s wrong, even for you” story: Again, The Anonymous Present that Doesn’t Exist

Story that shifted my own perceptions of the characters: I’m pretty set when it comes to characters, I guess, because I only like writing when I understand them, but maybe Aubade bc I’d never written Iker till then and I really liked how it turned out

Hardest story to write: summer sang in me a little while bc it was a) wrestling with a Lot of Football feelings that I didn’t know how to talk about, b) wresting with trashbag xabi alonso and what I thought of him vs. what other people thought of him, c) writing ships and people I had 0 idea about

Biggest surprise: i like germs! wtf

Highlights + Wrap-up: ok I TRIED TO PICK DIFFERENT ONES FROM ALL FIC

Favorite Opening Lines (3):

when the world was ours

There's a crunch. There's a crunch and it's over.

the setting sun is sweetest last

When all the hands have been shaken and hugs exchanged someone presses a microphone into his hands and he fumbles, not quite sure how to put what he's feeling into words. Eventually he settles for something about looking towards the final on Saturday and he sees David from the corner of his eye shaking his head, almost as if to say: god, Gaz, how do you manage to make everything about United when this should be about you.

In the end, it's simple.

cheesed to meet you

Philipp calls Thomas first, because he always calls Thomas first.

"I didn't do it," Thomas says immediately, with the kind of well-practiced plausibility that only comes from doing the things he says he hasn't done.

Favorite Closing Lines (4):

yes, yes, we are magicians

You jog back to the halfway line. Your face must be shining under the lights, and you wonder if mum's in the crowd, smiling. Let's go to Wembley some day. Rooney rolls the ball to you and you're off again, no marcus's ball scribbled into the patchy leather, no divots and pot-holes in a sandy, well-worn pitch.

You're nineteen years old and going to the Euros.

Every blade of grass here is the exact same height.

in this story we belong to ourselves

Liverpool is. A river that runs before two men who used to have numbers on their backs and now have a house no longer empty. A stream of memories and breaking apart and going again. The Mersey, quiet, grey, flowing gently through the Narrows and out into the great big sea, ever so slightly out of reach.

Variation IX

He says I've missed you, mate.

I say You know, I thought you might.

He says I hope you missed me too.

I say Well of course, otherwise where would I go for Christmas this year?

And then he starts laughing and I start laughing and we laugh and laugh and don’t stop until he kisses me again.

yes, there will be song

You step back and turn, take the steps two at a time. Somewhere outside Anfield there's a man with a shirt that's as as red as the names on the back. He's got a scarf around his neck like a docker, and he presses his face to the Shankly gates like he's kissing a trophy. Make us dream, he whispers, a secret he's never told anyone else, his heart heavy and his eyes tired but his body trembling with a belief too full for words. Above him, the sky is golden.

Favorite Lines From Anywhere (5):

strangeways, here we come

It's weak against Paraguay, it's tired against Paraguay, but the England fans are singing and they have to listen. Countries are not clubs. This sinks deeper than loyalty, at once more insular and more ubiquitous than Liverpool or United could ever be. There are little flags hung up in Sainsbury's, strangers with their arms round each other in pubs, the radios of an electronics store tuned in to Radio 5 Live. Come on England. Bandied about like a mantra, a swear word, a secret password offered by old hands who brace themselves for more disappointment with a nudge and a wink. England always - a host of words go here, crash out , fuck up , lose , but -

Believe rises above them all. Maybe it's delusional. Maybe it's arrogant. Beckham takes a free kick that delights and astonishes the way his free kicks do and it ends up in the back of the net. Every four years St George goes back up and people who still remember '66 are bought a pint, and for every we'll go out at the group stages there's an underlying thread of god help me, we might win this yet, because what is hope if not alive?

Come on England. The cup awaits you and is yours.

sekrit yuletide fic

In his dreams he doesn't leave. Salvador Iglesias Sr. doesn't die and Chava doesn't become a dickhead. He keeps the number on his back and the band around his arm. He doesn't cheat on Ximena, but he tells her, and they part as best friends. In his dreams they win the championship. And again the next year, and again the one after that. Each time Potro scores the winning goal and Moi runs to him to celebrate and Potro kisses him for the whole world to see, over and over, until their lips are numb and all they know are themselves.

summer sang in me a little while

Why are you still here? you ask him. It is easier that way. He turns to you, dark circles under his eyes, and doesn't reply. Only reaches over to tangle his calloused fingers in your hair, rests his forehead against yours. This time you are the one who leans forward to kiss him, immersing yourself in the warmth of his skin. You taste his blood. You taste the salt and iron of his blood.

the wonder of my world

What makes a club? Love, belief, hope - and someone to attach it to, the player everyone grows up watching, whose name is instantly recognisable to the point that you don't have to mention who he plays for next. Who pours his soul into the game and hammers his heart onto the crest. You don't get that kind of player very often. United were lucky to have three.

So here. The last musketeer. He's not looking at the crowd anymore, just the middle distance. Still the thousands sing. Love, belief, hope, and memories. Ryan might never run again but Paul realises that it doesn't matter. It's that he's already run. And in a hundred years from now someone might pull up a grainy youtube video and watch the number eleven on the left wing and fall in love, all over again. The way he was meant to be loved. Ball at his feet. Red.

an die nachgeborenen

"I don't need a plan," Thomas says, like he's talking to a child. "That's the beauty of it. All I have to do is wait and see what happens. It's only – " he smiles again, wan, quiet. "Well. You know."

The refrain arcs, jagged, through Philipp's head.

"I promised you wouldn't die."

"I won't." Thomas stands up, leaves a hand on Philipp's shoulder. His palm is still warm. "I'm invincible, didn't I tell you?"

And with a single, chipper whistling note, he hits the exit button and slips out, the door closing immediately behind him with a gentle click .

Fic Goals for 2018:

i wna write gifts that people will like :> aka MORE NICHE BULLSHIT

#my fic #self indulgent trash xoxo

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