So you may have noticed that my AO3 page has been kind of a wasteland for a few years. Several reasons for that, some big, some small. The biggest one I've learned is that I've had writer's block for essentially 6 fucking years because I was on hormonal birth control to deal with menstrual nonsense and said BC caused a brain fog that sapped my ability to write.

So, I guess I should thank my doctor for retiring this year because I was too lazy to transfer my prescription and therefore went off the BC. And then...I wrote 20k in less than two weeks. And it kept going. I've written 50k since the beginning of August, which are my old pre-BC numbers. And even more than that, I wasn't HATING what I wrote and it wasn't a struggle to put every single word on the page.

And then it clicked.

(I did have a full crying meltdown as I realized what had happened and what those six years took from me. Having your brain fight you for every fucking word when you consider writing to be part of your identity is excruciating.)

When I started writing fic again, it was for an old comfort show I watched when it was first airing. Watching the show nowadays is...a trial. It's amazing how fast Season 1 of Dawson's Creek goes when you fast-forward through every scene where Dawson's annoying. But I liked the Pacey/Joey ship and it appealed to me enough to come up with stories for it.

The twist is that the Frea_O name has a lot of history and some shame attached to it in my mind. So I made up a new fandom identity. Within posting two stories on the new profile, I remembered that building up a full online identity is exhausting and I'd rather be writing than putting in that work.

So here we are: I've transferred the two stories back to my Frea_O name. Pacey Witter's Guide isn't the first story I started writing (it started off as a joke I was sending to @obishenshenobi, the kindest woman on this planet and a true and genuine friend), and then it became a whole cute little story, the kind I'd write in a day and post on the internet.

The other two stories are The One Who Got Away (which is an epistolary AU until it isn't) and So What (a rockstar AU that will have a different name when I figure it out).

Definitely not too late! The friendship calculator was a Stardew Valley thing because I was tooling around with some challenge runs (Get the statue of perfection as fast as I can was that particular one). As for Chapter 01.docx, I just opened it and it turns out it's a restart of a story I've been tooling with on and off for years but have never posted publicly. And I've been writing on it for so long that attitudes in Hollywood (where the story takes place) have majorly shifted about queer actors. So the story doesn't entirely work anymore, but it was a hell of a lot of fun to kick around. Going to change some names and post a bit of it under the cut.

Vormir?

I thought my hatred couldn’t get any deeper after Infinity War. TURNS OUT I WAS A NAIVE FOOL. My friend has pointed out that the soul stone is a manpain generator and I agree with them.

Natasha fastidiously removed her sunglasses and set them off to the side. The clear patches they left around her eyes stood out, as the rest of her face was absolutely covered in whipped cream. Carefully, she folded her arms over her chest. “I have seen you kill a fly with a dart in your sleep without opening your eyes. You have made impossible shots every day, sometimes while drunk, just for fun. And you expect me to believe that you thought it was Kate coming through the door, realized too late it was me instead, and that’s why you hit me with a cream pie? In the face?”

Clint opened his mouth, and then shut it with a click. “Ah, yes?”

Natasha leveled a look at him that she had once used to make a dirty politician beg for his mother.

“Okay, you’re right,” Clint said. “It wasn’t an accident.” 

Wisely, he ducked.

“Nice place you got here.” Jennifer strolled in with her hands in her pockets, only recoiling a little when Cassie hugged her, hard. “Oof. Wow. We just saw each other yesterday, let’s not go crazy.”

Cassie stepped back, coughing at the smell of patchouli. “Jennifer, it’s been two years.”

“Has it? Oh. That’s the problem with the crazies. Time is meaningless.”

Time had dictated their lives for what felt like centuries. But Cassie didn’t argue. “Cole’s back,” she said like it was a simple thing, and not the earth-shaking moment that had made her finally feel whole.

“I know that. Who do you think drove him up here? I mean, it took Otter Eyes like a full five minutes to realize he had no way to get here and no money so…”

“He didn’t mention that.” He was passed out upstairs, no doubt wiped out by the splinter that had literally ported him back into existence.

Jennifer gave her a lascivious look. “I’d say he was a little busy.”

Cassie laughed. “I’ve missed you, too.”

“’Kay. He wasn’t expecting me to wait around, but, eh, I’ve got time.” Jennifer flicked her hand through the back of her own hair. She seemed far less of a pressurized container for mania than Cassie remembered. She couldn’t tell if the passage of the years had dulled her memories, or if Jennifer truly had mellowed. Primes did tend to disassociate less as they grew older, she knew. And the timeline had fixed itself, which meant that Jennifer might not need to plug in so intimately and intensely. But even mellowed, she still bristled and crackled, pacing around Cassie’s living room, picking up knickknacks, setting them down, running her fingers across picture frames. “Nice place. Homey. Expected more minimalism from you, Doc.”

“A house like this calls for something more rustic. Speaking of, you should check the room at the top of the stairs. On the right.” She added the last bit quickly, knowing Jennifer would happily burst into the left room and wake James up.

“What is it? Some kind of sex dungeon?” Jennifer asked, not bothering to climb the steps quietly.

“Yes, I keep all my dungeons on the second story. Just open the door.”

Jennifer gave her the patented okay weirdo look that Cassie had always felt was unfair, and pushed the door open. She paused in the doorway, brow furrowed. “It’s a guest bedroom. So what?”

“It’s the Jennifer guest bedroom. Yours any time you want it,” Cassie said.

Jennifer stared at the room, her face blank. Or it would have seemed blank to anybody else, but Cassie had seen her at every level from rock bottom to absolutely floating. She saw the tremor in Jennifer’s jaw as she no doubt took in the wallpaper Cassie had picked out (yellow and sunny), the 90s girl group posters on the wall in the corner, the professional drafting table and set of charcoals set off to the side.

But in true Jennifer fashion, she said, “You know I’m rich, right? Like gonzo rich. I have like nineteen houses.”

“Nineteen houses and one room, then.” Cassie shrugged.

She knew well enough to brace herself before Jennifer could tackle her and send them both tumbling down the stairs. And she was pretty sure the other woman called her a dweeb, but coming from her, that was an I love you too. Missing James had felt like aching for a phantom piece of her soul. Missing Jennifer had been like mourning a sister.