#goatherd!simon

Hello all, and thank you for the tags @whogaveyoupermission, @j-nipper-95 and @aroace-genderfluid-sheep!

I think I’m finally coming out of a long pain flare (yaaaaay!) and it’s absolutely beautiful where I live atm. Everything smells like flowers and the ocean. This morning my husband and I fed birds, and we saw a pair of Eurasian nuthatches. Absolutely delighted to be back in this part of Britain.

Presently, I have a new(ish), secret(ish), short(ish) fic with a beta! Meanwhile, I’m shaping up What Remains After The Storm with help from another set of betas. Chapter 7 should drop tomorrow, and I’m so excited for all of you to see the art @erzbethluna has done for it. I always say something like this but it makes me swoon <3

Here are six sentences from the upcoming chapter.

We’re secreted within stone walls, beneath a tree that bursts through the broken roof. By ‘we’, I mean myself, Snow and almost two dozen goats, all huddled close for warmth. Outside I hear the sea rumbling in chorus with the cries of the gulls. Nearer to hand, magpies engage in raucous chatter.

The sea. Oberon, how I’d love a saltwater bath right about now.

Hellos and no-pressure tags below the cut!

Hello, fandom buddies! I'm not sure how long it's been since I've updated but thank you to everyone who's kept tagging me. Seeing what you're all working on always pumps me up.

What Remains After The Storm continues to come along well enough. The publishing hiatus not only means I should be able to start publishing weekly by the end of March; it also takes some of the (entirely self-inflicted) pressure off. It seems that, for me, publishing as I write is not a good fit.

I don't know if I've said this before buuuut I struggle to find six sentences. Maybe this is a problem specific to WRATS. It's tricky to find something that works without context and avoids spoilers.

BUT. Today I have precisely six sentences that are spoiler-free. Simon's POV, and he's reflecting on how he and Baz spent their time when they were younger.

[Baz] was dressed nicely, too. Not super-fancy, but it was dyed a deep crimson and it all fit him just right. Though he was always taller than me, he really looked taller than me, in those clothes. And his hair was getting long by then–hanging loose about his jaw after a day of gallivanting, but somehow, somehow, still good to look at. He looked regal. Grown-up.  

I’d thrown a clod of mud at him. 

Hello tags below the cut!

Hola folks! And thank you to @larkral @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @thewholelemon @confused-bi-queer and @artsyunderstudy for the tags! If anyone else has tagged me and I've missed it, let me know. My tumblr is playing silly buggers and I'm trying to get it resolved. (This also partly explains my recent poor engagement--sorry, folks!)

Update for What Remains After The Storm

Still loving writing this fic, though I've realised it would be a better reading experience if I could publish a chapter weekly. However, presently I can't do so. Thus the fic will be on a publishing hiatus until I can near-as-hell guarantee a weekly update schedule. That should be early April. Sorry to those of you who've been reading along so far, but hopefully this will make for a much better reading experience.

Anyway, some many sentences of mer!Baz marvelling at Simon the goatherd.

He’s about to brave a cliff to satisfy my monstrous hunger. No hesitancy, no disgust. He’s just… doing it.

I’m forced to remember he’s an exceptional climber. When we were children, the mussels in this area were swollen and sweet. No one else could reach them. No one but Snow. I would crane my head over the cliff edge, just one more head amongst the peering goats, watching him scamper down and fill a string bag. We’d boil them over a fire and gorge ourselves.

That was many years ago. Now, Snow is stronger. Broader. His hands cleverer. He’d climb that cliff with more confidence than I’d presently have getting to my feet. If he could carry me up a cliff face, fetching breakfast must be child’s play.

He had been magnificent. Arms braced as he bore our weight, hands digging deep into in the rockface. When I’d woken and grappled at him, his stomach had been as hard as rock.

Hello tags below the cut!