The Librarians are well aware that Real Person Fiction (RPF) does not appeal to all readers of fan fiction. However, some readers do enjoy it and there is an entire stack of RPF here at the Library that is worth sharing in the form of an author catalog. If you’re interested, keep reading below the cut!
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The Librarians are well aware that Real…' was posted
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I owe @holdhertightandsayhername my soul for reading this ahead and telling me I had something. It has been a while, but I’m so happy to be with them again. Just one more chapter left! X
There is something about wedding
planning that turns reasonable and considerate people into wankers, with a
tendency for cannibalization of their own kin.
We didn’t want to wait too long, so Jamie and I were perfectly
content with the idea of a winter wedding. The first seven days of our
engagement were blissful, wrapped as we were in the shockproof cover of a
foreign country, rather like an undisturbed couple embracing inside a snow
globe.
However, after our return to the reality of our common days, real life
insisted on being meddlesome.
It started with Jamie being promoted at work. When he shared the
news upon arriving home, a grin so large on his face that I’d come to associate
mostly with wickedness between sheets, I’d arboured hope that it meant more
desk duties and less time soaking in waters hell-bent on killing him.
I peppered him with kisses (“I’ll
allow for some well-deserved gloating now, Duck”), proud as if I had
trained him myself (industriously) to
become a legendary rescuer. Soon enough I’d realize it meant exactly the same physical hazards that
kept me awake at night in his absence, but longer hours doing bureaucratic work
and being even more involved in recruit training.
That meant that a task devised for two committed partners quickly
became a source of lonesome frustration for me.
We had just managed to select and book a venue for the wedding,
before things went completely mental. It was a small estate embedded within an
old forest leading to Aberdeen’s majestic shoreline, which combined enough
elements of our history and joint alchemy to feel like us.
Even with that major decision laid to rest, there was still an
infinite list of tasks to be perused and accomplished, that I tried to handle (somewhat ungracefully) as best as I
could, although it made me feel like I was carrying the weight of a massive
block to build a revered pyramid all on my own.
That particular week, we had vouched to take some serious “us” time, dealing with wedding cake
tasting, honeymoon debating and flower ogling (and subsequent sneezing and eye-watering). When I woke up with a
feeling of crushing dread one morning, only to receive a call from Jamie
telling me he had been chosen to do some interforce cooperation in the Bering sea for a couple of weeks (his voice sorrowful, but not entirely
capable of hiding a distinct sense of awe and excitement), I darkly
contemplated the yellow sapphire of my engagement ring for a few minutes and
dragged myself to a long shower.
The manager of the venue (a stout woman with a vigorous taste for
expensive perfume) animatedly discussed the merits of lemon frosting versus
chocolate ganache, but I couldn’t concentrate enough to coax my tasting buds
into surrender. As I blindly glanced through the window, revealing leaden skies
and biblical rain - some part of me wondering if Jamie had touched down in
Alaska -, I distractedly speared and nibbled on a piece of the cake closer to
my elbow.
The oily, rich and slightly smoky taste of nuts filled my mouth
instantly.
“What destroys a man more quickly than to work, think, and feel without inner necessity, without any deep personal desire, without pleasure — as a mere automaton of duty?”
Tori