Oh my lovelies, Wednesday is upon us again, and that means I should be posting a chapter of ADA tomorrow and I am here with the sad news that I am not going to be posting a chapter of ADA tomorrow. The lack of a chapter buffer in combination with the season of daycare colds (and apparently daycare stomach bugs as well) have overtaken me. I've written a lot of the next section, but I'm feeling a bit on the edge of safety about it, and so it's not coming out to play quite yet.
Have I said before that I've been learning a lot about myself as a writer as I write ADA? I have! It's been so valuable and enriching and rewarding, and one of the things I learned is that I probably shouldn't post things as I'm writing them because #1) As a discovery writer, it's very challenging to periodically find myself locked into a narrative arc that I feel like needs pacing help and feel like I want to resculpt several chapters to do that and I just...can't (I know I can, it's fanfiction, there aren't rules, but I don't feel like I can) #2) good fucking god, my addiction-prone brain is not capable of coping with the intermittent-reward-granting casino that is feedback. I love feedback, I love everyone's comments, and if you've commented or kudosed or reblogged any of my words, you are a gift and have made my day brighter in immeasurable ways. But fucking hell, it's a lot harder for me to write when I'm thinking about when that next dopamine surge is going to hit.
So, okay. Some words. These words are...Agatha/OFC. ADA'ers you know who I'm talking about. This is for an offshoot story, because when you suggested I write ADA Smut, I immediately knew I was going to write Svea/Agatha. Sorry, Snowbaz ADA smut may get its moment, but that moment is not today. Svea POV:
The first thing I noticed about Agatha was the line where her jaw slopes into her neck, the interplay of tendons and skin and bone: the sternocleidomastoid, the hyoids, the styloid process. When she tucks her golden hair behind her ear, it's like the world lifting the clouds to reveal its most precious landscape.
Every body, every being, is a demonstration of the perfect shape of the universe. Every child, every tree, even every mal, is a punch through probability and into reality. Each and every one of us is magic incarnate.
Not that I want to pull every body flush with mine and make it pant and gasp and scream.
