Let's be honest, Thanksgiving ACTUALLY became a thing so that people had an excuse to go in your inbox and tell you that they're thankful for you. 😌😌 idk if you know but I AM thankful for you though and ily 💖💕💞. (Yes I know Thanksgiving was ages ago but I made my OWN Thanksgiving just for you sooo)
Reverse that! Noooo I’m thankful for you!
Like RoD, Mother of the Year was probably a standalone that did better than expected. (We all remember the posts when it was announced about how bad it was going to be and now its “god tier.”) They never planned to make it a series and the pacing kinda gave it away. They would have drawn out the romance for one and Guy would be around but his storyline would have been stretched and pushed to the side and book 1 would have been MC vs Vanessa.
Like I said before I’d rather have one damn good book and that be it than a forced sequel for a cash grab.
I’d love to see them bring it back as a little holiday special or short epilogue book vs a full book.
Day 5!!!!!! I LOVE LOVE YOUUUUUUUUU 💞💕💘💖🥰
You’re the cutest and I see you on your page fighting the good fight. I’m so proud of you! Here’s a little something that might put a smile on your face…
“Regency area, you said?” Edmund squints, the place sounded familiar enough. “Isn’t that like, somewhere in New England? Maybe that’s where he grew up.”
Briar turns towards her husband, laughing. “No babe, not area. Era.”
Edmund turns away from the window, tilting his head like a confused puppy. “Regency area, that’s what I said.”
“No. Ed. Era.” Briar pronounces it slowly and exaggeratedly, holding her mouth open after she finishes.
“Why do you keep saying area like that?”
Briar exhales in a burst before taking a long deep breath. This whole story was entirely improbable and fantastical that Emma understood why Edmund was struggling with the most preposterous portion of it: the fact that Ernest Sinclaire was somehow a time travelling Regency gentleman.
“I’m not saying area, Eddie. I’m saying era, like Ernest is from another time.”
Edmund glances back out the window, taking in Mr. Sinclaire truly and not in passing. “Oh, so you’re saying he’s a time traveller… like Keanu Reeves or Nick Cage.”
Briar’s shoulders relax and she releases the remainder of the breath she is holding. “Exactly.” Once the word leaves her lips, the entirety of what Edmund just said hits her. She straightens back up, her head cocked to the side and brow knotted in sheer confusion. “Wait, what?!”
Here are the steps:
1. Followers send numbers to your ask (For Example, “ 6 “)
2. You shuffle your music 6 times (The number that was sent to you)
3. You tell your followers what song you landed on (Do this by answering the Ask)
4. Followers send you a line from that song (First line submitted shall be used)
5. You write a drabble using the line from that song as your prompt
6. Repeat and Enjoy!
Visit @prompt-bank for more prompts!
This looks so fun!
Fics you plan to continue next year.
There’s a few. I’ve got so much of Heir Apparently written and I need to organize it into something worth reading. There’s also something I haven’t talked about too much called A Gentleman’s Wardrobe. Fluffy ABCs abound for Ernest x Alex, Regency Chanevi, and maybe a few others (like Levi, ugh I love him)…
There’s so many WIPs in my folders and ideas in my head I sometimes have no idea where to start.
since it’s december, i thought i’d make a little end of the year ask meme for fanfic writers and readers! reblog and ask away
- favorite fic you wrote this year
- least favorite fic you wrote this year
- favorite line/scene you wrote this year
- total number of words you wrote this year
- most popular fic this year
- least popular fic this year
- longest completed fic you wrote this year
- shortest completed fic you wrote this year
- longest wip of the year
- shortest wip of the year
- fandom you enjoyed writing for the most this year
- favorite character to write about this year
- favorite writing song/artist/album of this year
- a fic you didn’t expect to write
- something you learned this year
- fic(s) you completed this year
- fics you’ll continue next year
- current number of wips
- any new fics to start next year
- number of comments you haven’t read
- most memorable comment/review
- events you participated in this year
- fics you wanted to write but didn’t
- favorite fic you read this year
- a fic you read this year you would recommend everyone read
- number of favorites/bookmarks you made this year
- favorite fanfic author of the year
- longest fic you read this year
- shortest fic you read this year
- favorite fandom to read fic from this year
*feel free to specify fandoms or a fic depending on the question.
She should’ve stopped him the second she heard the series of short, curt, impatient knocks on the front door of the apartment but he was much too quick for her. She glances at the clock on the living room wall. Two hours late.
Evelyn extracts her hands from the warm dough, gathering a dish towel in her hands to clean the sticky remnants and flour dusting around her wrists.
“Wait Levi, I’ll get it. It’s—”
“Guy.” The single syllable was steeped in years of resentment, distaste, and anger. However, the moment he hears the scraping of Emelie’s chair along the floor behind him, he straightens, pulling his shoulders back and allowing a smile to cross his lips.
“How’s the research going there, Rocket?” Levi calls over his shoulder, “Looks like you might have to wrap it up soon.”
Emelie huffs audibly, looking up from her tablet and a bunch of scribbling in a notebook. “But I haven’t even found anything about how you’d bake bread in space.” She glances over Levi’s shoulder, making eye contact with her dad. “Oh, hi dad.”
The weekend pickup had gotten to be so common for her that the excited moment of Guy’s arrival had waned to nothing more than a greeting like this.
Guy glances about the apartment, likely judging its state, which was far from clean, but they were baking. He doesn’t even look at Emelie when he asks, “Is your stuff all ready to go, Emelie?”
She mumbles, slipping from the chair and grabbing her bag. “But Levi was just about to show us how to braid the challah.” The last word was impeccably and precisely pronounced, even though the rest of her sentence caterwauls. She grumbles her protestations as she shoves her tablet, a gift from her father, and fancy leather notebook, also a gift, into it.
Guy groans, the noise irritated and techy, before he snaps to Evelyn, the dish towel still balled in her hands. “You started an activity?”
“You were late.” Evelyn whispers the last word, looking pointedly at Emelie as she hunched over her bag to zip it up.
“Come on, Guy.” Levi wears a mischievous smirk as he steps back into the apartment, inviting Guy in. His voice holds a devil-may-care note as he continues, “It’ll be five minutes. Tops.”
Emelie hurries over the the kitchen counter, eagerly watching the several lumps of dough, already laid out to be maneuvered into shape.
Evelyn stifles a gasp as Levi steps up behind her, his chest pressed into her back and his chin resting on her shoulder. He moves Evelyn’s hands through the first few motions of it, his hands lifting a bit off of hers with each pass. Eventually he no longer holds her wrists and his hands float down to her waist.
“Just like that.”
I got no idea what this is even for, I just can’t stop writing little Levi moments.