All That You Love Will Be Carried Away -- UPDATE

So the third fic in the ATYLWBCA trilogy, that may be found if sought, has a new Chapter 8. 

After years.

YOU’RE WELCOME :D :D :D

I cannot express in words how fucking delighted I am that dracula daily is a thing

like, this book is one of my favorite inadvertently hilarious works of classic horror lit and now EVERYBODY GETS TO ENJOY IT and I am so pleased 

:D

hailvady replied to your post: all that you love will be carried away, volume III

iiiiit’s BACK :D 

all that you love will be carried away, volume III

...HAS ANOTHER NEW CHAPTER

enjoy that may be found, if sought chapter 7 on AO3

One of the first things General Hux had ever learned about the art of war, or at least the art of not dying in war, was the concept of posting a sentry; he’d been four and a half years old at the time. It was in fact partly due to the fundamental nature of this understanding that Hux’s numbers were so remarkably high, compared with the majority of his fellow commanding officers: people under Hux’s orders tended to come back, often in one piece, because he was so insistent on multiple layers of security.

It was also why the frigate Vindice -- which had begun its life as a standard Imperial Navy Razor-class, but was almost unrecognizable under the modifications added by Nova’s specialists -- was parked so far out from the rest of Hux’s mismatched but growing fleet. The rest of the ships were neatly stashed behind one of the Frey’s Hope moons, as safe as Hux could make them, and he had stationed sentries at neat intervals in all directions, heavily cloaked and with their sensors’ gain turned up to eleven. Paranoia was, after all, a trait selected for.

man I love AO3 stats

I wish I could export them into Excel instead of having to manually enter the numbers, but now I’ve got the data for the top five fics by word count, by hits, by kudos, by comment threads, by bookmarks, and by subscription. I will, when time shall serve, enjoy immensely making a whole bunch of charts and graphs. 

This is precisely the kind of thing I cannot do at all with my real-world publishing stats; it would make me crawl all the way under the bed and demand to be shot. For the fic it’s different: I know the fic is good, the fic is in fact pretty damn great, the fic is popular within the audiences it’s aiming for, and I like seeing how different stories perform relative to one another and what that tells me about the changing preferences or interest of fandom. Given that I basically took 2018 off fic writing, there’s a huge extra “who are you again?” variable which I can’t really correct for, but I still like to see the patterns of interest. 

Boys on the Radio chapter 10 is up

On AO3. :D :D :D

Again, not posting the full text here because it’s loooooong, but here’s the opening: 

Hux has never in his conscious awareness been this happy for this long before. It’s beginning to freak him out, a little, the way he just kind of goes on wanting to smile like an idiot every time he thinks of Ren: in the green-lit darkness of his car’s front seat, all black and white and silver and intensity, and the next morning, still real and just as beautiful in daylight, stealing a kiss as he settled in for the ride to school. They’d walked in together, as they had been for weeks now, not holding hands with an effort, and the whole day had seemed strange and weirdly pleasant. For the first time in his high school career, he doesn’t actually have the answer to one of Wilton’s questions ready and armed before the teacher asks it, and the class stares at him -- and somehow, he cannot quite work out how, he doesn’t care.

(He has the answer within a second or two, of course. But there had been that pause, that telling little pause, while he searched for it, and that is sufficiently unlike him to pique other people’s interest. The fact that he looks better than he has in months, despite the hollow cheeks -- that he has color in his face, without the pinched exhausted bitter expression usually parked there -- also does not go unnoticed.)

At lunch Phasma stares at him and then at Ren and then at him again, and smiles. “Fucking finally,” she says. “I thought you guys were never gonna get around to it, I knew right from the start when he wouldn’t shut up about how annoying you were all the way through lunch. With gestures.”

“There were not gestures,” Hux protests. “Well, maybe small ones. Anyway, you were super annoying,” he adds to Ren, who is bright pink but also smiling.

“So were you,” Ren says. “Incredibly,” and it sounds somehow sweet. He thinks of the piercing sweetness of a strawberry Pop-Tart offered as an olive branch, and feels his own face go warm.

more Boys on the Radio snippets

Because I can, dammit.

That afternoon in the shop Hux comes in to find Ren glowering at a whole row of posters for the Snowflake Ball which some enterprising member of the student government has stuck along one wall. The graphic design concept relies heavily on Zapfino and raster clip-art files which have, regretfully, not benefited from 100x enlargement.

Hux sighs and fetches a red Sharpie to make the necessary corrections to the spelling, as he has done to all the other dance posters he has encountered, adding in neat block capitals C-. SEE ME. “You think they’re trying to tell us something?” he says. “Like, maybe they want us to show up to this horrific little shindig?”

“I dunno,” says Ren. “Too subtle for me. Is there seriously a goddamn student band called The Guavian Death Gang?”

“Yes,” says Hux, delicately. “And there is another band called Kanjiklub, and apparently both of them will be playing at the Snowflake Ball, because anything else would have showed favoritism on behalf of the organizers. And they will play Wonderwall. Possibly at each other.”

“You are not making me want to go to this,” says Ren. “You are making me want to nuke this from orbit. Let’s not go to the winter formal, Huxley.”

guess who has two thumbs and is writing Boys on the Radio again

THIS CHICK

For the first time in his high school career, he doesn’t actually have the answer to one of Wilton’s questions ready and armed before the teacher asks it, and the class stares at him -- and somehow, he cannot quite work out how, he doesn’t care.

(He has the answer within a second or two, of course. But there had been that pause, that telling little pause, while he searched for it, and that is sufficiently unlike him to pique other people’s interest. The fact that he looks better than he has in months, despite the hollow cheeks -- that he has color in his face, without the pinched exhausted bitter expression usually parked there -- also does not go unnoticed.)

At lunch Phasma stares at him and then at Ren and then at him again, and smiles. “Fucking finally,” she says. “I thought you guys were never gonna get around to it, I knew right from the start when he wouldn’t shut up about how annoying you were all the way through lunch. With gestures.”

still having way too much fun

it’s bizarre getting to write fic again and I love it

and also these assholes

god I love working on the fic again

I’ve missed it so much and real life has kept getting in the way, but we have the next bits plotted out and all I have to do right now is write mil-SF technobabble and I like doing that