#<- just made a small generator after opening my wip doc

[deepwithintheabyss]

i'll do everything but write

[deafknell]

whats ur writing process like? :o for both ur solo fic writing process and ur writing process when it comes to collabs? just asking out of curiosity as well 🙏🙏 love ur fics op <3

Ahh bless you <3

Generally my writing process is kind of... all over the place. How it works for me probably isn't the most efficient, but it's one I've built after working with some close friends on a lot of collab projects.

I usually start with, well, the basic idea. Often my fics come from either having read something in canon and going "man I wanna see this" or it's a requested fic from a friend of mine.

From there, I tend to write out the barebones premise onto a doc as a stream of thought. No editing, no backtracking, just the basic ideas of what I want characters to say or do, and anything important that pops to mind from the idea. I'll tend to include little notes to myself like side stories to check or style notes here.

I'll use a WIP as an example here:

Joshua stares, very mixed feelings. Im sure they were no match to you, brother. But julius keeps hyping up subaru, and doesnt seem to be relenting on this. So joshua doesnt push, and instead asks about the rest of the camp? Ana pipes up about roswaal being quite conniving, someone not to be underestimated. joshua frowns. isnt roswaal that weird noble with lots of rumours around him (see: josh juukulius careful encyclopedia 1)

Nothing too fancy here - just trying to get the basic idea out on a doc with the bits and pieces needed to make it come together.

Then I try to refine it a little so it's closer to a draft than quick notes for me to refer to:

[Joshua stares at Julius. Very conflicted -- Julius has made a good friend, but he's putting himself down again. Another Reinhard type, possibly. "I'm sure they were no match to you, Elder Brother." Julius waves his hand dismissively, fond look on his face. Says something praising Subaru for his efforts in the Whale hunt. Joshua narrows his eyes, but doesn't push further. He knows his brother won't relent on this. Redirect focus to the rest of the Emilia camp. Set up main points of interest - Roswaal, and Emilia. Do some background work here; where is everybody sat? Noise of the restaurant? Details. Feed into the quiet discomfort Joshua has by making things go quiet before he asks about everyone's opinions on their rivals]

Lots more detail here, while still keeping room for flexibility -- I don't like being too strict with my outlines outside of plot points because otherwise I end up feeling like I'm not challenging/doing anything creative, just following a script.

After that point? I just write it out like normal. If I think the start of the fic is boring, I'll start writing from a point that actually interests me, then reassess if maybe I want a cold open or not for the story. I'm a massive nerd for the small details, stuff like body language or subtleties in what characters focus on so generally I enjoy starting from a place with a loooot of room for little notes on background.

For collabs, it's very much down to who I work with! The main people I work with are the reason I adopted this style of planning, but usually I leave it up to my collab partner to decide how we wanna plan, since I'm usually flexible in that regard! I used to write a lot more freeform without plans, so it's primarily for the benefit of telling a more well rounded story I plan at all.

I'd definitely love to do more collab work. It's difficult trying to fit schedules together, especially as I'm quite lazy with writing, but collab work always feels fun and ends up making me write outta guilt of not being that one person in the group project. Think the only thing that stops me nowadays is trying not to overcommit, or seem far too clingy with writers I really admire haha.

[larkawolfgirl]

5, 20, 22, and 72 for the fic writing meme!

5. How many wips do you have? What fandoms/pairings are they for?

I have 5 that I have worked on recently.

-KKM- Conrad having at least a one-night stand with Adalbert and Julia (maybe more). (This is sitting as a wip because every time I think about writing the smut, I don’t write it lol).

-KKM- Murata courting Wolfram.

-KKM- A messed up situation where Yuuri and Wolfram both cheat on each other with Murata.

-Tales of Xillia 2- Julius and Ludger reincarnated.

-Stranger Things- Mike comes to terms with the fact that he likes Will but doesn’t want to break up with El.

I have 3 older ones, and 2 really old ones that I haven’t worked on in over a year but I still plan to finish at some point. I have a bunch of other random started things buried in my google docs and years-old bits and pieces saved on my external hard drive. Plus numerous other ideas living inside my head.

20. Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

I prefer writing canon or canon-divergent fics. I enjoy reading certain aus, but whenever I think about writing a detective au or something I just think that if I was going to write something like that I might as well just write an original story with the same idea.

22. Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles?

I usually title my fics after. If I think about the fic enough before writing that I know the entire plot, then I can sometimes come up with the title first. I try to make my titles meaningful to the point of the fic. If I can use a title that does that and is relatable to the fandom, then even better. For example, I named "It's Hard to Let it Go" after the lyrics in Simple and Clean.

Usually, I first try to think of what the main theme or mood of the fic is. Then I try to think of saying or general phrases related to that. If I can't think of anything, then I try to think of song lyrics. I also sometimes just take a phrase from the fic to use as the title.

72. What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

This comment on my Nier Automata fic Suffocation. They quoted my lines, showed that I gave them emotions, complimented my writing style, and even gave me nice constructive criticism.

OKAY I AM HERE FROM TUMBLR AS PROMISED IN MY TAGS ON THE REBLOG (IDK IF YOU READ TAGS BUT YEAH HERE I AM)

FIRST OF ALL; "He never knew what hit him, eyes still smiling." THAT LINE. That was /really/ well-executed. The way you structured the entire opening passage did a great job building up towards the fact that 2B was going to fall in love. And you dropped all these small things, taking the canon and using it like ammunition for the angst. It's good. Reeeeally good.

SECOND, "No, I called you Nines." THAT WAS LIKE A KNIFE IN THE CHEST. And then you followed it immediately with her telling him they're not friends. Your word choice for the dialogue through this bit was fantastic, and I pretty much read their lines in their voices. You really nailed 2B's distress and bottled up emotions to the reader throughout the piece, and you did it with relatively sparse wording! You showed instead of told and it /really/ worked here.

MOVING ON; "Desperation spurred her on until they were writhing together on her narrow bunk. I love you. I love you. The words spilled from her mouth." I'll be honest, this entire fic was making my chest tight with sadness but it was this part that really stood out to me as breathtakingly tragic. It's written with such a beautiful flow. The staccatos of "I love you. I love you." immediately following that longer sentence really worked for me. Also, the fact that it was her desperation and /sadness/ that drove her to bring him to bed with her again.. It made them sleeping together feel bitter rather than joyously intimate like it would be were their situation different. Lastly for this bit (and sorry for fixating on it but it's such a GREAT line), you managed to describe the act of them having sex as something almost ethereal and intangible rather than something animalistic and crude. It didn't feel at any point like I was reading something lewd; rather, it gave me an artistic mental image, almost like a painting.

NEXT, THE BREATH PLAY PART WHEW BUDDY THAT WAS LIKE MEGA OUCH. And, re: your A/N at the bottom, I believe I read somewhere in supplementary materials that 9S regarded the strangling as being intimate in a sick sort of way, like he was closer to her than ever. So, it might actually be realistic that he would enjoy/ask for breath play. Just a thought! In terms of the actual events there, wheeeeeewwwwww. "Phantom chills crept along his neck and for a moment she missed the thrum of his heartbeat." and then, later, "Without a word, she fled." Those were two very masterfully placed lines. Again, you made the act of having sex (which is sweaty and messy and altogether indecent) into something that felt like a poem. And then you said everything you needed to about how 2B was feeling in that short, five-word paragraph. It's really great stuff.

Lastly, and I'm sorry if this comes off as unkind in any way, but I do have a little bit of concrit for you. Only a little though, since most of this was REALLY solid.

-For your last line, one more repetition of "And again." would have left it on a somewhat more powerful note, I think. That's just my opinion though. :o

-"When the order came, she realized fondness had settled in her chest without her realizing." You used the word "realize" here twice and it did stick out. Perhaps something like "...she realized fondness had settled in her chest without her noticing" or if you don't mind a slightly bigger change, "...she realized fondness had grown in her chest unnoticed." (I find that 'unnoticed' tends to be a bit smoother a word choice than 'without her noticing,' but leaving the verb as 'settled' makes it sound a bit clunky there, in my opinion)

-"...one day he punched her right in the gut by asking..." This fragment feels out-of-place in terms of the word choice. Most the words you use are smooth and vivid; putting slang idioms like "punched in the gut" feels sort of like breaking the language palette you chose, if that makes sense?

Again, I don't mean to come off as unkind! The piece is fantastic and you maintained a rhythmic flow throughout most of it that wove despair and love together quite beautifully. I hope you keep writing!

[gryffindormischief]

Today, I got home from work and opened a google doc. Instead of filling the blank page with some hinny fluff or working on the jily professor AU I have tragically neglected over the last months, I wrote this.

Over the past few days (dare I say even longer), there have been accusations and side glances and “subtweets” about plagiarism and stealing content within the HP fandom in general.

First off, some tips to not seem like you’re targeting one person in particular...contact both authors of joint fics that are allegedly plagiarized. Otherwise all your arguments or accusations start to feel like a personal vendetta. @fightfortherightsofhouseelves and I wrote Torch together. If you have a problem with that fic, contact both creators. A second tip I would offer is hiding on anon is a bit weird and forces an author to address the note publicly or not at all. I understand being nervous to contact somebody, but honestly leveling this type of serious claim against someone is a thing you should be nervous about. It’s something that shouldn’t just be tossed around flippantly. It’s hurtful, it’s damaging, and it makes people not want to create.

That leads to my second thought, on fandom in general. I personally joined the HP fandom later than most after I read the books and wanted more. First it was edits, then I found Jily fics from a rec post, and finally I started creating myself. I think for a lot of people in fandom, it’s something of an escape. A fun outlet to make friends, interact over shared interests (namely the HP series), and even start to flex your creative muscles. Before fandom, aside from a creative writing class, I had never thought I was the type to write fiction in any form. I was a cite your sources, make your arguments, keep it real type writer. Since 2017 I have started to enjoy exploring a new side to writing and realized I do in fact love a good exploration of a fictitious universe. The point of that back story is that when we make fandom combative through things like ship wars, “who wrote the trope first” accusations, and other toxic behaviors, it takes away that fun escape from a lot of us. The world is difficult enough without us turning on each other for something so small and unfounded.

What do I mean by unfounded? Well first, fanfiction is made for tropes. In fact, most genres of fiction have their own classic “tropes.” The romcom “boy meets girl, boy gets girl, boy loses girl” etc formula, the fantasy “orphan discovers secret about their family and their own magical powers,” I could list so many but I won’t. The point is, most fiction when boiled down to basics is going to sound like at least one other work when that work is also boiled down. Legally, this type of similarity isn’t even going to get someone a successful case of plagiarism. In fact, there’s a case directly related to HP where JKR was accused of plagiarism because another author had already written a story about a boy wizard who went to a wizard school that had a special event similar in basics to the Triwizard. You might guess the case was unsuccessful given the fact that Goblet of Fire still floats around in the literary universe with no mention of any other owner. And that’s just it, concepts in art/fiction/writing aren’t “ownable” - you can’t copyright “boy wizard discovers powers.” It’s too broad, too vague, and honestly the most important one in my opinion: it stifles creators.

You might not care that your favorite author experiences stress relief and personal satisfaction from writing that Bed Share AU or Regency Era AU or whatever. But all of us would care if creators stopped creating. I wait for WIPs to update with just as much excitement as the next person, and I hope that people who read my fics still anticipate updates. But if accusations and mean anons keep flying around, those updates are going to slow down and maybe even stop if we don’t do something. This isn’t a threat, it’s just the truth. If every time someone uploads a Royal Jily AU they think they are going to unleash anons accusing them of stealing another person’s concept, how often are they going to post? Real life has enough of that kind of stress and eventually people are going to get tired of having more stress in the “fun” areas of their life.

Fanfiction, by virtue of its definition, is a work inspired by another original piece. Tropes are central to the creation of fanfiction. We all love a bedshare, or in the HP fandom a Muggle Coffee Shop AU or whatever your personal favorite is. Tropes are story concepts we all interpret in our own way. With the almost endless number of Hinny or Jily or HP in general fics created since the books were released, we are bound to find a similarity here and there. It’s not stealing, it’s not bad, and it’s just how fandom works. It’s part of the comfort in reading fanfiction - Harry and Ginny are usually going to get together, Harry has black hair, Ginny’s is red. Do you think she has freckles? Does Harry? Is Ginny short? We all love to throw a “fresh pickled toad” reference or another nod to canon. Does the first fic writer who ever incorporated any of those things into their fic have a monopoly on those things for all time? No, of course not. Because the familiarity of fic, of tropes, of characters, is part of why we love to write and read it. We are celebrating our shared love of characters, stories, and universes we all explored through reading.

I think fandom and the creators and readers that make it up, are really special. It’s a little corner of the universe where we don’t have to pay, we don’t have to go somewhere, we just scroll through an app or an archive and share our mutual enjoyment. Infighting and accusing and quiet side eyeing of things like writing a fic of missing moments in HBP is silly and destructive. (note: Ao3 currently has 180 works tagged for Hinny & Book 6)

We can all do our part to keep the fandom a pleasant place to be, and it starts with remembering that everyone behind the username and the (probably) fan art icon is a real person. A person with a life and emotions and feelings that can be hurt. Even an anon that makes me mad - they’re a person. We need to respect each other and think how we would like to be treated. And even beyond that, think about what our actions will do to other fans, to creators. If we keep up with the unreasonable and illogical standards floating around recently, we’re going to falsely accuse ourselves out of new content.

[pastpatientlywaitingforimagines]

Gravity | Spencer Reid x Reader Platonic

WC: 2764

A/N: I’ve had this one in my WIP doc mostly finished for a while now, I’m so happy i’m finally putting it out in the world!

WARNINGS: SPOILERS FOR 09x23 AND 09x24, violence, hospitals, general CM stuff

This is part of my GALAXY universe! If you liked this relationship, check out the MASTERLIST for more content!

You pulled in with Derek and heard gunshots at your arrival. You jumped out of the SUV, simultaneously unholstering your gun and moving into a better position, catching Spencer ducking behind the door of the Sheriff’s car out of the corner of your eye. With your best friend in check, you turned back to the direction of the gunfire and started pulling the trigger.

Between gunfire you heard Spencer yell, with Morgan shouting slightly after. You had to assume they were ok, because your eyes couldn’t leave the vague movement of the preacher inside the diner. Morgan then came from behind you, JJ on his heels as they moved towards the building. You followed the pair, gun drawn in front of you.

Morgan entered the diner first, and as if in slow motion he was knocked down by bullets hitting his vest. As you returned fire at the preacher, you made a brief mental note to check if Spencer was wearing his own kevlar when you met up with him next. You loved the genius, but he had a really terrible habit of taking off the protective gear when he was in bad situations.

You had to focus up as the preacher ran, your small team following him then clearing each twist and turn of the building he tried to hide in. You hit the floor when you were shot at again, feeling the cool concrete against your cheek. Morgan was able to take out the suspect, breathing heavily once the local police joined you.

“One of your own is in bad shape,” she said. You flickered your eyes to Morgan, who nodded outside before moving back towards the diner quickly.

“Do you know who it is?” you asked harshly.

His reply, a gentle “kid…” was the only answer you needed. You increased your pace to get back to the flashing lights, scanning the crowd for your best friend. You saw Blake first and figured she was a good place to start.

“Alright, Derek, you should go get that looked at,” JJ directed, touching his shoulder gently before grabbing your wrist tightly, “we’ll meet you there.”

An officer came over to tell your group how to get to the hospital and as he spoke JJ’s grip never loosened.

“Thanks,” she said, starting to walk towards the SUV with you in tow. You were still frantically looking around for Spencer, finally catching a glimpse of him being loaded into the back of an ambulance as JJ lightly tugged you in the other direction.

“Wait, I have to go with him,” you said, resisting her pull.

“We’re meeting him there,” JJ’s hand made contact with your other wrist. You knew she was expecting you to bolt, to run towards the one person you knew you couldn’t live without.

“I can’t leave him.”

“Derek is with him. Derek won’t let anything happen,” you didn’t get how she could be so calm when his life was in danger. Of anyone on the team, she should understand how you feel.

“Let’s go, then,” you plopped yourself into the passenger seat, letting JJ drive. You didn’t know what had happened between Spencer and Blake, but you could tell she was feeling guilty about it. Though you really liked the older woman, you found yourself getting increasingly frustrated as you sat across the waiting room from her watching the way she gripped at the bag of Spencer’s personal belongings.

Your fuming only became more ferocious when you heard her tell JJ how Spencer had pushed her out of the way. You weren’t sure who you were more angry at, Blake for having to be pushed out of the way or Spencer for being so… Spencer and choosing to put himself in danger to save her.

Garcia’s arrival made things marginally better for you. She tried to convince Blake to rejoin the team, and when that failed Penelope sat down next to the chair you were curled up in and handed you a figurine.

“You look like you could use some help from the Doctor right now,” she said gently as you turned the plastic toy in your hands.

“Thanks… Chris Eccleston isn’t quite the doctor I’d like to see right now, but he’s a close second,” you tried to give her your best smile.

You pocketed the figure when you were finally allowed into Spencer’s room, resuming your folded position with your arms around your knees in a chair in the corner. Penelope set up the remaining figurines on the small tray in front of Spencer, a gesture that made your insides feel just a bit warmer.

“It should have been me,” it took you a minute to register that Blake was talking to you.

“I know,” you gritted your teeth and exhaled, knowing it did the team no good for you to be angry with her at this moment.

“I’ll stay with him if you want to go back to the team. I’m sure they could use your intuition on this one.”

“Oh, I don’t leave when he’s in the hospital unless he tells me to himself.”

“Right, you’ve been in this position before,” she remembered.

“More times than I would like to admit. Sometimes I wish it could be me for once, he’s been through enough already…” you trailed off. If Alex had something to say it was interrupted by the doctor coming in to check Spencer’s stats.

You didn’t truly settle until Spencer woke up, although you silently hovered in the corner while he talked with Alex and Penelope went to get him some form of food. Your mood improved even more when Spencer convinced Alex to rejoin the team.

“You should go too, they need you,” he rasped, turning his head slightly to get a better look at you.

“Are you sure?”

“Mhm,” he shifted to get more comfortable, grimacing in pain as he did so, “Garcia’s here.”

Penelope gave you a reassuring smile that made you feel a little bit better. If you trusted anyone to stay in the hospital with Spencer, it was Penelope.

“Fine, but call me or Morgan if anything happens, ok?” You had a feeling something shady was going on and leaving him so vulnerable made you uneasy. Penelope reassured you once again that everything would be fine and practically pushed you out the door after Alex.

You could have cut the tension between you and Blake in the elevator with a knife as you headed back out to the SUV.

“(y/n),” she started softly once you were in the privacy of the vehicle. Your efforts to hold your composure started to falter.

“I don’t want to hear how sorry you are. Honestly, Alex, sorry doesn’t cut it anymore. Sorry doesn’t even begin to make up for how the most important person in my life almost died because of you.”

“He’s lucky to have someone like you looking out for him.”

“No, I’m lucky to have someone like him,” you corrected, “if he had died tonight I would have been the one to tell his mom. Not you, not Hotch, me. You don’t get what that will do to her, so I’d suggest you get over whatever complex you have so we can keep him as safe as possible.”  

“I understand.” You both stayed silent until you pulled into the station. Somehow a silent agreement was made between you and you walked into the building as if there was no tension. It was the right move, because you could tell something was up when you rejoined the team. Rossi offered to take Blake for a ride to go get Dinah’s son and fill her in.

“Kid, you’re with me,” Morgan nodded down a vacant hallway. You followed him, listening to him tell you a random story about the dinner he and Savannah had ordered the other night, until you were out of earshot of anyone else and he ducked into an empty storage room, “start looking through the files. The force is corrupt, you get me?”

“Yeah, what am I looking for?”

“Anything.” You nodded, pulling open the first cabinet. Derek found the first piece of helpful information, snapping a picture just as the doorknob rattled. You instinctually hit the floor, pulling Morgan along with you and into the first hidey-hole you could find. Heart pounding, you listened to the steps of the person who had entered. Morgan was pressed between you and the wall, eyes practically boring holes into your skull. You chose not to look at him, instead focusing on keeping your breathing as even and shallow as possible.

When the officer finally left, you transferred your grip from Morgan’s arm to your gun, cautiously revealing yourself. If you weren’t going to be at the hospital with Spencer, you had to make yourself useful in some other regard. You deemed the room clear, then signaled to Morgan to follow you.

“How did you do that?” he asked as you were slipping out of the door.

“Do what?” you dismissed.

“You melted into that corner. I swear he looked right at us.”

“He probably did,” you shrugged, “are you going to call Garcia? You found something, right?” He sighed, shaking his head and putting his phone to his ear.

“He’s right there isn’t he?” Derek’s tone changed drastically when he was talking to Penelope. You immediately turned away, trying to get to where your jacket was without drawing too much attention to yourself. You pulled the SUV keys out of your pocket as subtly as you could, then pulled a pen out as well and made more of a show about bringing the pen back to Derek, just in case anyone was watching you. As soon as you reached him you both walked calmly towards the door and out to the vehicle.

“What did you tell Garcia?” you couldn’t handle not knowing what was going on at the hospital, so as soon as you were safely in the SUV you demanded answers.

“She’s taking Reid into the hallway and pulling the fire alarm so they get lost in the crowd until we get there,” you didn’t say anything, instead just looking out the window and willing Derek to drive faster, “they’re going to be ok.”

“I should have been there, Derek. He told me to leave so I listened, but if I was there we wouldn’t be here in the first place.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, don’t blame yourself for this. You both didn’t know dirty cops were involved when you made the choice to leave, and if you hadn’t left then I would have gotten caught in that file room. Even if you were there, you’d need backup and I wouldn’t have been able to get there in time to give it to you. You made the right call, and now we’re going to help them. Don’t you go doubting yourself on me now, kid.”

He had a point, you knew, but it didn’t change the fact that you wanted nothing more than to be in that hospital room protecting your friend when he couldn’t protect himself. Derek didn’t say anything else, instead calling Garcia to confirm that they were still safe and to let her know that you were five minutes out.

When Derek pulled up to the hospital you jumped out of the SUV and started running up the stairs to the floor where Spencer’s room was, flashing your credentials to anyone who looked like they might stop you. You heard the gunshot from the stairwell, drawing your own gun as you made it to the floor, Derek on your heels.

Seeing the way Garcia and Spencer were looking at the man on the floor broke your heart. Garcia wasn’t trained for this, she actively avoided looking at the goriest crime scenes and often emailed you photos of kittens when she noticed you working longer hours than normal. Penelope Garcia was a woman you loved very much, but Penelope Garcia was also a woman who should never have to have a gun in her hands.

Spencer seemed to share the sentiment, you noticed the way he put his hands on hers to lower the weapon onto the bed. You took it from them and stuck it in the back of your belt, checking both of them over quickly to make sure they weren’t hurt while Spencer filled you in on what had happened. He looked and sounded exhausted, even more so than you would expect from someone who had been shot in the neck hours prior.

“(y/n),” Derek nodded towards the hallway after he finished cuffing the man Garcia had shot.

“This was a distraction,” you reasoned. He nodded, confirming your theory.

“I’m going to call JJ and see where they want me next, are you coming or staying?”

You didn’t have to think about it, you knew where you were needed most, “I’ll stay here with them, just in case someone else tries to finish the job.”

“Are you sure?” you appreciated that Derek was double checking your choice to stay back from the action.

“I can’t leave him again, not like this. As badass as Penelope was protecting him, I don’t think she’s in the right mind to do it again.”

Derek half smirked at your comment, “keep them safe.”

“Call if you need me,” you called after him as he walked away.

You reentered Spencer’s room, immediately met by Penelope’s relieved smile.

“You’re staying?”

“Of course I’m staying, I have all of the guns,” you half joked, pulling a chair up to the end of Spencer’s bed. You perched on top of it, feet on the seat and facing the door. You ignored  Spencer’s comments that you were overreacting every time you questioned and searched the nurses that came into the room, but Penelope echoed your reasoning that you couldn’t be too careful.

Hotch called you when they took down the unsub, and Penelope took it upon herself to arrange Spencer’s discharge from the hospital. You sat on the floor next to the couch where Spencer was sleeping on the jet, mindlessly flipping through a book you found in his bag. It was in Russian, so you didn’t know what the words were saying but the shapes of the letters were beautiful and soothing to your tired eyes. More than once, Cruz offered you his seat, but every time you politely declined.

After the jet landed, Blake insisted on helping Spencer get home. You didn’t want to say anything, Spencer didn’t need to be involved in the frustrations you still felt about Blake. You would be honest with him if he asked, of course, but you weren’t going to tell him on your own fruition.

“(y/n), are you coming?” Spencer surprised you by inviting you along too.

“Sure,” you shrugged, though your brow furrowed, “is Blake not…?” you trailed off.

Spencer looked at you with the most pure innocence, “she is, but you still want to watch all of the Doctor Who Christmas specials, right?”

“Of course, Spence,” you couldn’t help but smile, picking up your go bag and following him and Blake out of the airport. You still kept to yourself, clearly something had happened between them when Spencer had gotten shot that they had to talk about. Your suspicions were  confirmed when he asked about Ethan and Blake started telling her story.

It was a moment between them that you didn’t want to interrupt, Blake walking out of the door to Spencer’s apartment before you got the chance to say something. You followed her out quickly, catching her in the stairwell.

“Blake,” you panted, “the things I said about telling Spencer’s mom if he died… I didn’t know-”

“You were just looking out for him, it’s alright,” she was calm, more accepting of your frantic outburst than you expected.

“I’m sorry,” you said earnestly.

“It’s alright,” she repeated, “goodnight, (y/n).”

“Goodnight, Alex,” you watched her walk down the rest of the steps, then rejoined Spencer in his apartment. He was standing by the window, watching Alex hail a cab.

“She’s leaving,” he said, still looking out the window.

“Did you want to invite her to watch Doctor Who with us?”

“She’s leaving the BAU,” he clarified, stepping away from the window and closing the curtain. He crossed to his bag and held up her badge and credentials for you to see.

“She’s going to be ok,” you decided, “are you?”

“Going to be ok?” you nodded, “yeah, I think so. Which Christmas special would you like to watch first?”

Galaxy Taglist: @kermitsaysgayrights  @niallthedancingharry  @shadyladyperfection  @thatsonezesty13  @lexshead  @ceeellewrites  @howdycharlie  @girlycakepops  @fantastic-fans  @canimarrypizzaornah  @daisyflower138  @dyingrexx  @taylormobley @bazzleslynn @tj-drinks-tea @willa-wonky @eddiesbifocals @tee-mbrown @reniescarlett @bone-hurty-bitch

[purpleandgreen13]

Gus and the Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Day.

The lovely and talented @runawayface and I have decided to swap writing prompts to keep us from getting stale with our long WiPs.

Runa has already posted her response to the title prompt, (go and read it on her villagers page, it's fun!)

And here's mine, of course, we both had to include some Harvey in there too!

Gus and the terrible, horrible, no good very bad day

The Queen of Sauce was holding her ‘Autumn Bonanza Big Time Giveaway’ this evening. The whole of Pelican town was expected to gather in the bar tonight to watch the results. It was a big event in Stardew Valley and almost everyone had a ticket.

Gus had bought a ticket to this annual lottery every year since moving to the valley. Not once had he won. It wasn’t surprising. Everyone who knew Gus was aware that he might just be the unluckiest person in all of Pelican Town, if not the entire valley.

If there was a banana peel, Gus’s foot would find it and slip on it, if a bet was made, Gus would lose it, if there was a mirror, Gus would break it.

At least twice a week Gus would drop a glass or an entire tray of drinks in his bar, sending up a loud cheer amongst the drinkers present. He did it with such alarming regularity that residents began to worry that *their* luck was on the downturn if he didn’t achieve at least one broken glass every seven days or so.

Today had started well enough, the skies were clear and the air was warm, unusual for this late in the autumn, but had soon turned sour, literally. Opening the bar’s refrigerator, he cursed the overly warm weather when he realised that it had shut down and everything stored in there was ruined. Food that had been prepared for customers today was room temperature and already starting to smell.

Gus cursed his usual luck, shut the door to the fridge, tried turning it off and on again. Nothing. The fridge was well and truly dead. He shouldn’t be surprised, he’d had the fridge since moving to the valley almost 2 decades ago. He’d deal with the off food later, but now he had to replace the food he’d lost and set about ordering a replacement fridge before he lost too much business.

Somehow he managed to trap his tie in the door as he shut it, almost strangling himself. As always he blamed his bad luck.

He trudged over the Pierre’s general store with a list in his head for replacement food, but alas! His luck was out again.

“I’m sorry Gus, I’m waiting for a shipment from Westerly Farm. We’ve got precious little in stock. Oh! We’re having a run on creamed corn – it’s half price. Does that help?”

Gus scowled. This was NOT helping, but he replied in a pleasant manner, no use in taking his mood out on Pierre.

“No, but thanks for trying Pierre. I’ll walk up to the farm.”

As he left the shop for the path to Westerly Farm, Gus almost bumped into Doctor Harvey, leaving his clinic to take his daily walk.

“Sorry doc!”

“No harm done.” Said Harvey mildly before noticing Gus’s downcast face, “Are you alright Gus? You look like you’ve lost a prismatic shard and found a spring onion!”

Gus forced a smile at Harvey’s quaint turn of phrase. “I’m fine thanks doc, the usual ‘Gus’s luck’ kicking in strong today.”

“How do you mean?” Harvey frowned.

“Oh, you know, my usual story of bad luck. Oh come on Doc!” Gus bridled at Harvey’s quizzical look. “You must know that I have the worst luck in the valley? It’s common knowledge.”

Harvey, often oblivious to the gossip, or small details about people’s lives in the valley, was still frowning, “IS that what you believe? That you are, and forgive me if I’m putting words in your mouth, cursed with bad luck?”

Even Gus knew how ridiculous that sounded now he’d verbalised it. Embarrassed, he laughed, “Yeah, something like that.”

“Hmm, sounds like a bad case of confirmation bias to me Gus. Try and focus on the good things rather than the bad.”

“I’ll try. Well, I’d best get on. Thanks for the advice.” He turned to leave and was immediately hit in the head by a stray gridball coming from the direction of the Mullner’s house. Gus stumbled forward, losing his footing and fell heavily, with an audible thud he landed on his wrist twisting it at an odd angle.

Harvey jumped into doctor mode immediately, helping Gus into the clinic and applying an ice pack to the wrist and cleaning up the grazes on his hand. He bandaged Gus’s wrist to support it through the busy evening ahead.

“What were you saying about confirmation bias doc?” Gus grumbled.

“Hmm, Alex needs to be more careful when he’s training. An accident. Nothing to do with luck.” Harvey observed.

As he watched Gus leave the clinic, Harvey worried about him. Harvey worried about everyone, but he worried that Gus had led himself into a way of thinking that was detrimental to his well-being. He wondered what he could do to help. After a few moments in deep contemplation, he messaged his farmer friend from Westerly Farm.

Gus by way of coincidence took his leave of the doctor and made his way west to that same farm. Again, he was out of luck. There was a note on the door which read:

“Gone to the Skull Caverns. Back later.”

“DAMN!” Gus was starting to feel cursed. He had no food for the bar for the communal watch of the Queen of Sauce giveaway, he’d sprained his wrist and at this very moment, he wanted nothing more than to go and lock himself in his room for the rest of the day.

In the end he swallowed his loathing of big corporations and bought ready-made snacks from Jojamart in preparation for the busy night ahead.

“You hear about the Giveaway tonight?” Morris wheedled. The Jojamart manager’s unctuous tones grated on Gus’s nerves.

“Apparently, it’s a state of the art, brand new commercial fridge.”

Gus groaned. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know. He had the ticket to the giveaway in his pocket, the thought of winning a brand-new fridge when his had just given up the ghost, was too exciting, but he knew he couldn’t build his hopes up. Not with his luck. And certainly not today.

By the time of the giveaway, that evening, the bar was packed full of people. Every table was full and every stool at the bar was occupied. Gus was pleased, but he couldn’t take his mind off the main prize in tonight’s draw. If only, for once in his life, his luck would change.

Last to arrive was the new farmer from Westerly Farm. They’d finally arrived after a tough day in the desert, excavating and fighting creatures in the Skull Caverns.

“You got my message then?” Harvey muttered conspiratorially over his glass of red wine.

The farmer nodded, just as secretively. They pulled out a small package from their pocket.

“I hope it helps.” They said kindly.

“Even if it doesn’t actually *do* anything, it might help to change his mind set. Thank you for organising this. It’s worth a try. You give it to him, you’re the gift giver in town, not me.” Harvey turned back to the bar and the farmer sidled up beside Gus at the bar. Harvey watched as the farmer, blushing a little, handed Gus the parcel.

Inside was a lucky rabbits foot. An item believed to bring luck to the carrier and something that Harvey hoped would make Gus think differently about his fortunes.

“A gift? You’re giving this to me? I- I’m speechless!” Gus was genuinely touched. He pulled the farmer into an enormous bear hug.

He slipped the rabbit’s foot into his pocket, where it would stay for many years.

And the prize giveaway?

The fridge went to a lucky family in Grampleton, but by that time everyone in Pelican Town had learned of Gus’s misfortunes and had a whip-round to help Gus buy a new fridge.

After all, he was always there for the town. Always there to lend a sympathetic ear or provide food and comfort to those who needed it. It was only right that sometimes the town was there for him.

As Lewis handed over the envelope stuffed with donated cash, Gus felt for the rabbit’s foot in his pocket.

Maybe his luck was changing after all?

[ourstarscollided]

jatp fanworks appreciation - day 3 (wips)

wip wednesday - I didn’t think I wanted to join in on this day for my own stuff considering I’ve never posted anything original for this fandom, but I think this might just be the little boost I need from myself to actually finish the wips that I have sitting around. I am peer pressuring myself and holding myself accountable by posting this - or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Most of the past 6 mths has just been me screaming to no one in a Google Doc, so here are some things I’ve been ruminating about over the last 6 months (and if my secret agenda is to get other people to write about it so I don’t have to? Then that’s between you and me).

Everything’s under a read more because I like giving context and that usually spirals out of control!?!?

If you would like to see more from any of the below, feel free to shoot me an ask/message and I can definitely share some more! (Or you can just come yell at me about JATP in general.)

Strangers Fake Dating AU // Julie x Luke

I’m a simple person. I see a prompt, I latch onto it, and then I completely miss the entire point of the prompt as my imagination goes wild for no real reason. This really was supposed to be a super short drabble, but it manifested into a 3k+ thing that isn’t even finished.

Julie’s not really sure what she’s supposed to do now. Nothing has ever prepared her for a situation in which she’s supposed to pretend to be a stranger’s girlfriend, especially if that situation involves parents. Does she continue this ruse? Can she come up with a quick enough excuse to tell this Luke character that she actually can’t stay? What if this is just all an elaborate plan to kidnap her? Has she been listening to too many true crime podcasts? Why does Luke smell so good? Does he know how to cook? Why does his shirt not have sleeves? What-

“I can hear you thinking from here.” Her head whips up at the sound of Luke’s voice, which is now at a whisper and kind of frantic. “I just- I just really needed to get my mom off my back, so I kinda need you to pretend to be my girlfriend. Just for the night. I swear I’ll make it up to you somehow.”

Julie studies Luke’s face and it’s nearly impossible to not cave under his gaze, which can only be simply described as ‘puppy dog eyes’. She finds herself smiling back, letting out a huff, “I hope you like lasagna.” And the grin that spreads across the boy’s face is enough for her to know that he’s incredibly relieved that she agreed.

“I’m Luke by the way. Luke Patterson.”

(Okay, he’s kinda cute. And no one this cute is a serial killer. Right?)

She gives a small smile back, “I’m Julie.”

//

5+1 alive!Juke AU // Julie x Luke

Inspired by paper - LANY

This is one of the first things I ever felt the urge to write down back in September because I love exploring the idea of how two people can appear to be the perfect relationship on the outside, but are actually fighting their own demons. Especially when it comes to celebrities and people who are in the spotlight. It’s basically a 5+1 fic about the moments from other people’s perspectives who happen to orbit around Julie/Luke that all revolve around paper. My outline for this is so long because I can’t manage to narrow it down, and there’s zero cohesiveness but I do have little things jotted down.

“Hey little man,” Luke’s knelt down to match his 5 year-old height, and a hand extends out to him for a high five, “What are you doing here?”

His eyes flicker to the left, towards his own apartment door, where his mom is giving him an encouraging nod. “ I- I just wanted to-” he stutters and finds himself looking at his feet as he shuffles back and forth on the spot. “I- I drew you guys something!”

He shoves the paper out towards the older boy in front of him, but doesn’t look up.

//

Reincarnation AU // Julie x Luke

I had a random thought in December about how magical it is that Julie and Luke are so tied to one another that their love transcends time and space, which will always lead them back to one another. I remember reading a book a long time ago about how the main character is fated to die at a certain age, and that kind of sparked this little idea. I can’t bring myself to actually plot out every single timeline right now, but I did manage to write a little bit.

It will never be as complex as Rosie’s idea and all the wonderful additions in the link here, and I don’t really plan on it being anything more than a small idea. But I really do still think someone should write some sort of reincarnation AU cause I’d hop on that so fast!!

“Okay- that’s not- Luke. You seriously just ran away?”

“What was I supposed to do Alex? We all know how this ends.”

His friend looks at him, face painted in understanding and he sighs, “Yeah. Yeah, we do.”

Because it’s true, Alex does know, so does Reggie and Bobby. Most importantly, so does Luke. It’s the exact same tragic love story every time.

Call it a curse or fate or destiny. Maybe it’s because Mercury is in retrograde. Whatever. It always ends the same way - with a heartbreaking goodbye, a whisper of the promise that they’ll find each other again, and the possibility of a happy ending. He’s said the same goodbye at least 734 times, but it’s not like he’s counting or anything. Fuck the universe and its mystical ways.

//

Competitive Alex // Alex x Willie

No real thoughts or reasons for this other than I just think I self-projected my need to play board games with people in real life into a fic. And maybe a little bit of my competitiveness onto Alex and then threw in Willie because I think he would be able to handle it while also finding it endearing. I also have written nothing about the actual competitiveness, it’s just 2k words of Alex crushing on Willie.

“Wait,” his eyes dart between the three boys, “You both know Willie? How come I’ve never met him?”

His roommates look at each other, and there’s a smirk on Luke’s face when he says, “Actually Alex, I think you have. Remember that time you got really drunk after one of our shows?”

Oh no. He really hopes that it’s not the time he’s thinking of, so he tries to sound nonchalant. “You’re going to have to be more specific, Luke.”

“The night we played at that tiny bar at the edge of the campus! We got paid in those tiny colourful shots?” He doesn’t really know where Luke is going with this, so he’s slowly nodding along. “And you were super upset that the hot dog vendor at the end of the street was closed?”

//

Dear Julie, Love Mom series

I made myself sad with this thought when I first watched the show and was talking to my friend about how I think that Rose would’ve left messages for the Molina family, especially when we found out that Wake Up was actually from her mom. I wrote a bigger explanation for it here.

Anyways, I started with the one for Julie’s wedding and it kind of became an 8k monster with three different POVs?!? As much as I love how I wrote this, I feel too unsure about my writing to share it in full, so you will get carefully selected looks alkfe. (I’m also kind of stuck on some of the more emotional scenes and I may or may not have procrastinated by photoshopping a moodboard for it.)

Excerpt 1 (Julie POV): A look into where I’m going with this whole letters from Rose thing.

The key clicks into place, and with a turn, the latch falls open. She’s not sure what she wants to find in the box, and she’s too scared to think about it really. All she knows is that this was the sign from her mom that she was waiting for all week, and in true Rose fashion, her mom had managed to give it to her, even if at the last second. Her dad turns the box to face Julie, and gestures to her to open up the lid.

Tucked inside is a VHS tape, the words ‘For Julie, on your wedding day’ written in her mom’s cursive on the cover. Some loose glitter and confetti fall back into the box as she reaches in to pick up the tape and turn it over in her hands. There’s a little purple butterfly etched on the back, the same one that’s been drawn on all the other messages that her mom had left her. Her finger automatically finds its way, tracing the shape of the small doodle.

“Do you want me to leave you alone, mija?”

Excerpt 2 (Julie POV): This part has absolutely nothing to do with the main plot of the story, but it self-inserted itself into this fic after @tangledstarlight and I talked about You’re Still the One by Shania Twain being their first dance. This whole scene came to me at 4am one night and might be the most self-indulgent thing I’ve ever written.

They knew that when they had asked Reggie to be in charge of the first dance performance, that they (and Alex) weren’t allowed to veto any of his ideas. Luke had warned Julie that that would be a mistake, but the giddiness that radiated off of Reggie when she had told him he could have free reign was worth it. She just hadn’t thought that he would actually take it to heart and run with it.

Sure, they had chosen You’re Still the One by Shania Twain as their first dance song, and sure it was more or less a country song, but she didn’t really imagine that she’d be staring at her adoptive brother, Carlos and her Dad wearing cowboy hats and boots at her wedding. They had somehow managed to ditch their Flynn-approved suit jackets and were sporting a taupe-coloured suede-textured vest over their dress shirts. If she looked closely, she could see that they had somehow also found some gaudy looking bolo ties with a matching set of ornamental clasps to wear. When she envisioned her wedding, she really didn’t expect that her first (public) dance as a married couple would be a full-on Western themed occasion. The only exception was Alex, who had settled on his cajon in the back, still in his pink suit, eyes rolling when she met his gaze. But even she knew how there was no real annoyance in the blonde’s reaction or else he wouldn’t also be wearing one of the tacky ties around his neck as well.

“I’m gonna seriously kill him.” She hears Luke grumble under his breath, only low enough for her to hear. But she’s still too busy giggling to actually be mad, and she knows that Luke isn’t really going to kill Reggie. At least she doesn’t think so.

Excerpt 3 (Luke POV): Idk man. My mind went “What about Luke?” and I said “You’re right!! What about him?!?”

He doesn’t realize that he’s just been silently staring at the woman in front of him, until a gentle voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Why are you looking at me like that?” Julie’s peering at him from under her eyelashes, a curious look on her face.

“You just-” he gives a little shake of his head, trying to come up with the right words. He wants to tell her she’s beautiful. Stunning. A wicked beauty. But she’s more than that - she’s almost angelic. “I can’t believe you’re my wife.”

“Luke, we’ve been legally married for like, a whole year.” Her lips are quirked up in a grin, amusement in her voice. “You’ve only just realized that now?”

“That’s different.”

“Yeah? Different how?”

This feels a little strange to post and a little like my inner self seeking validation but let’s not talk about that.

Kskssj anyways present me @ future me: finish one of these because writing has been really cathartic for you and you didn’t think it would bring you so much joy!!!

[the-reverse-mermaid]

Feel Again: a whump fic

Hey buddies! I’m working on my WIPs currently and i am so grateful for ur patience but i’ve also had this thing sitting in my docs for several months and I wanted to share it at last, but just a clip because..well...in whole, it’s kinda darker than my usual stuff so the whole thing may or may not be posted in the future. This is a gift for the wondrous @parkrstark​ who had a birthday recently and who is a beautiful person and talented writer <3 Enjoy, my love~

FIC INFO: around 5k words, IronDad and SpiderSon, hurt/comfort, warnings for nightmares, panic/anxiety attacks, past dehumanization; also it’s implied that Tony is Peter’s guardian bc May died...sry, i was too coward to write her ^^;

...

It’s been seven days, ten hours and fifteen minutes. 

Peter watches, blank-faced and empty-eyed, as bowl and spoon are placed in his hands. It makes Tony feel like he’s dealing with a robot, but even his robots are more lively than this. Taking Peter’s spoon, the man presses the Cheerios under the milk so that every piece of cereal will be soggy, just the way Peter likes. In times past Tony had made fun of him for the preference, and Peter had ardently defended it as the only right way to eat cereal. 

Now the memory of Old Peter echoes in the back of his mind like a glimpse of an alternate reality.

“Think you can finish all of that, buddy?” Tony asks, leaning down so he’s in Peter’s line of sight. Dulled brown eyes trail up to him, then back to the bowl and he nods, picking up the spoon. Tony breathes a sigh of relief as the kid starts to eat, chewing slowly.

He checks his phone and feels a nervous thrill at the notification there: I’m about to come down. Still want to do this? He glances at Peter before typing and sending a quick, Yes, ty.

“Hey, bud, remember that time you, me and Pep spent Saturday morning watching dumb cartoons and eating breakfast food til noon?” he begins, picking at his own cereal to seem casual about it. “I thought we could do that today, since she’s got no meetings til this afternoon. Whaddaya say?”

Peter pauses. He lifts one shoulder indifferently, but Tony can see anxiety hidden in the movement. Apathy and fear; whatever happened in the last four months stripped Peter-- lively, expressive Peter-- of all but these two emotions. They might as well have stolen Tony’s entire fortune; that loss would’ve hurt less.

Before Tony can think how to reassure him or possibly backtrack, there are footsteps in the hall and Pepper is rounding the corner with a bright smile on her face.

“Hey, guys!” she greets, pausing in the entrance of the kitchen to look them over. She’s comfortably dressed in pajama bottoms and her ‘I lost an electron’ shirt that she and Peter both own, her hair down and feet socked. It’s 10 times less intimidating than her usual business suits and high heels but still Peter squirms closer to Tony’s side and eyes her warily, choosing to look at her feet rather than her face. Pepper wilts a bit at the reception.

“Morning, hon,” Tony calls. He pushes a pleading ‘we can do this, just act normal’ into his gaze, and Pepper, bless her, seems to get the message. “We’ve got cereal over here, help yourself.”

Pepper grabs a bowl off the counter and crosses the room, her movements deliberate and nonthreatening. There’s no change from Peter, whose own bowl is sitting in his lap like something hardly worth his interest.

“Hmm,” she hums. “Cheerios are good, but mind if I add to the spread? I think we’ve got some frozen quiches around here somewhere, that sounds good to me.”

Tony smiles. “Go for it.” As soon as she walks away he nudges Peter and says quietly, “You’re okay, Pete. Nothing to be stressed about, yeah? Pep is just like me: she wouldn’t do anything to hurt you.”

For what it’s worth, the kid does relax minutely. In the interim of Pepper opening packages and using the microwave, Tony picks up the remote and turns on the TV, browsing around for something safe and feel-good before settling on Nickelodeon, which is showing some animated movie. Peter’s eyes flick up to the screen.

“Alright, I got mini-quiches and even some blueberry muffins, ” Pepper announces upon her return, both hands holding trays of said items. “Totally gourmet... And by gourmet, I mean Costco brand.”

“The best,” Tony agrees, snatching one of each as soon as she sets them down. “Which would you rather have, bud?” He turns to Peter, who is done with his cereal and is now looking at the new food. At Tony’s invitation he hesitates but points at a muffin and Tony tries not to get too excited about it as he hands one over and watches the kid begin nibbling the top. So far things seem to be going well.

Now he’s just gotta go through with the next step.

Around ten minutes in, the movie cuts to a commercial break. Tony shifts in preparation to stand up and Peter immediately follows suit, not even questioning, but carefully Tony takes the boy’s hands and holds them at arm’s length. Peter looks at him questioningly, a rare moment of eye contact.

“I’m just gonna take a bathroom break, okay, bud?” he explains. “You stay here with Pep.” He tucks Peter’s hands to his lap and stands.

Peter keens and sits up straighter, wide eyes kindling anew with anxiety. Tony feels like the worst human being on the planet, but he knows he needs to do this. He needs to help Peter do this.

“It’s just a few minutes apart,” he promises. “I’ll go straight there and back.”

“And I’ll be here with you the whole time,” Pepper chimes in. She scoots closer from the other side of the couch and puts a soothing hand on Peter’s back, easing him back into the cushions as Tony leaves the room. The man tries not to look back as he hears her quieting and comforting the boy’s whimpers. Pepper is a better people person than Tony will ever be and he knows she’ll take good care of him, but Tony’s fingers still itch with the urge to turn right back around.

As soon as he gets to the bathroom, Tony pulls up a feed of the living room on his phone via FRIDAY’s cams to watch the room he just left. On the couch, Peter is decidedly not coping as well with Pepper as he does Tony, but he isn’t having a meltdown; in fact, he’s allowing her to sit close and keep an arm wrapped around his shoulders, though his forehead remains creased in apprehension. The poor kid looks like he’s fighting with himself to be patient; his gaze is torn between watching the TV and checking the doorway for Tony’s return.

Biting his lip, Tony puts his screen away and sighs. He paces the small space, checking his watch impatiently until at last five minutes have passed.

On his way back he hears it.

The yelling.

“Peter? Peter, honey, you’re okay! Please calm down, you’re home, you’re safe-” Pepper.

His walk turns into a sprint as he rounds the corner, heart in his throat, and takes in the worrying scene before him.

Peter is curled up in a fetal position on the couch, Pepper kneeling in front of him with helplessness on her face as she tries to get his attention. Peter’s hands are pressed over his ears, his eyes clenched shut, his whole body shuddering as he rocks and cries inconsolably.

“What happened?” Tony demands.

Pepper hurries backwards so Tony can take her spot. “I don’t know what- what agitated him,” she says in a rush. There are tears in her eyes. “He just suddenly started panicking and hyperventilating and- and he won’t let me touch him, he screams if I try-”

“Don’t scream!” Peter says suddenly. Both adults’ attention snaps to him. His eyes have opened but they’re unseeing as he croaks, “Don’t scream, they- they’ll hear! Be good, be good, be good, I- I’m good- please, I’m--”

“Peter, hey,” Tony tries, carefully putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder.

At the touch, Peter flinches, his head smacking against the couch. His whispering gets more frantic. “I’ll be better! I will! I-”

“Peter, please, stop!” The man takes Peter’s face between his hands. “You’re safe. Nobody’s gonna hurt you. Can you hear me, buddy? It’s your- it’s Tony.”

Peter goes still.

“Tony,” he repeats. His face crumples slowly, lip trembling. “I miss Tony...”

The man of iron feels his heart splinter. I miss you, too, Pete. Come back to me.

“You’ve got him,” he says. “Tony’s here now. He’s got you. He’s gonna keep you safe.”

In the stillness that follows, all is quiet save the sound of Peter’s rapid breathing, but even that is slowing and evening out. His blinks several times as the storm clouds in his eyes dissipate, light returning gradually as the seconds pass. Tony’s thumb strokes away a tear still rolling down the boy’s cheek, and at last Peter focuses and looks at rather than through him.

They stare at one another for a long moment. The teen swallows and opens his mouth with a shaky inhale, a fresh sheen of tears filling his eyes.

“S-sorry… my bad,” he rasps.

Tony’s brain short-circuits for a moment, and all he can think is how unbelievable it is that the most of Peter he’s seen in so long could come as the result of such an episode. He doesn’t know whether it makes him want to laugh or cry.

He pulls himself onto the couch and gathers his kid into his arms, one hand bracing Peter’s back, the other nestling in his still-overgrown curls. Peter responds by clinging around his middle and pressing his ear to Tony’s chest, no doubt timing his breaths by the heartbeats there.

It’s only after Pepper leaves to find them a blanket that Tony sees the TV screen and the image it’s paused on. It’s an infomercial… an infomercial for obedience training. The closed captioning advertises “Don Sullivan’s Secrets To Training The Perfect Dog: order the DVD set now and get a complimentary Command Collar”.

Tony had never had strong feelings about infomercials in general but at that moment he wants nothing more than to buy every single TV station and destroy them all. Screw Don Sullivan.

He’s surprised when Peter suddenly huffs a humorless sound. “I’m pretty broken, aren’t I,” he states quietly, voice wrecked.

Tony pushes his fingers through the scruff on the back of Peter’s neck, wishing so hard that he could turn back time. “No,” he refutes. “No, you’re not.”

Peter is quiet for a long time, so long that Tony wonders if he’s given in to the pull of post-panic-attack exhaustion and fallen asleep. But in a tired voice weighted by more sadness than any man, woman or child should ever know comes a tiny reply:

“Yes, I am.”

...

Peter has scars. A lot of them.

It’s been fifteen days since and he’s barely improved, still clinging and hesitant to speak or make eye contact with anyone other than Tony. He lets himself talk in small bursts but it’s nothing like he used to be; he can also manage up to fifteen minutes alone without having a panic attack if Tony has to shower or use the restroom. He does the same so long as Tony waits for him outside the door (within range of hearing his heartbeat).

After the disastrous separation experiment, Tony isn’t eager to push much more than that.

(Peter has scars.)

Some are thicker than others, especially on his wrists and his back; the white lines criss crossing over his form tell tale of screams long since silenced. Just seeing the marks makes Tony’s knees weak with a concoction of feelings he can’t describe-- prominently there’s horror, because he remembers how every injury was discovered and treated on that first night back and it was like Tony himself was taking a beating… and then there’s regret-guilt-anger-helplessness, because the cuts are healed now-- Peter’s healing capabilities took over soon after he got the proper nutrition and medical attention-- but poison memories are sealed inside.

If he hugs the kid a little longer than necessary after watching him get his boot cast removed and seeing the scar tissue that mars him there too, Peter doesn’t seem to mind. The kid leans into his touch more now than he ever did before.

“Alright, little shadow,” Tony says brightly as he pulls away, using the nickname that had never been more appropriate in their relationship; having a kid clinging closer than a literal shadow at all times did that to you. He glances one more time at the newly-healed foot and gets an idea. “What do you say we celebrate this cast coming off? Wanna take a walk around the compound, get some fresh air?”

Peter looks up at him through his ragged, unstyled hair, doe eyes wide but empty. Tony smooths his bangs back and the kid blinks once as if to focus. Tony can see him trying to be there, trying to care. Trying and trying and trying.

“...’kay,” he whispers, fragile. He lets Tony take his hands and help him stand.

Once he’s got them bundled up in jackets to withstand cold winds that roll off the water, Tony hiding a wrist gauntlet on the hand in his pocket (because yes, he’s that paranoid), the two of them (as one figure) step outside for the first time in-- in a while. Definitely a while.

A cool breeze follows them on their walk and Tony allows a deep breath of actual fresh air to clean out his lungs and settle in his veins. It’s not very often he gets to enjoy the benefits of living outside the city.

They end up walking along a trail that follows the Hudson and Tony decides that this actually was a good idea: the nature-y sights and sounds seem to help bring Peter to life. There’s a glimmer of contentedness in his face as he looks out over the trees and water and sky. He loosens his grip on Tony’s arm and settles for a gentle handhold. Tony looks at him sideways, feeling a swell of hope rise in his chest, right behind where his arc reactor used to be.

“It’s nice to get out, huh,” he says softly. The edges of Peter’s eyes crinkle in what might be the world’s tiniest beginning of a smile.

Other than occasionally checking that Peter’s leg isn’t hurting, Tony shuts his mouth and lets the white noise around them do its thing. He’s been talking too much lately anyway, trying to overcompensate.

They’ve been walking for almost an hour and stopped to admire a small waterfall when Peter suddenly bristles and presses himself close to Tony’s side. In paranoia, the man pulls his gauntlet hand out of his pocket and is all but ready to activate it, when all that comes around the path toward them is a wobbling toddler in a puffy coat.

They stare at him. He stares back, a gap-tooth grin on his face. “‘Ah-dy!” he says in greeting.

No, nope, I’ve definitely got my hands full being just ONE kid’s Daddy, Tony thinks worriedly, when behind the toddler appears a man who moves to scoop the boy up in his arms. The man holds the boy, who’s probably about 18-24 months old, by his feet and the kid shrieks in delight, wiggling around upside-down.

“Leaving me behind, guys?” a woman’s voice calls before a third person appears, putting her arm on her husband’s shoulder and glancing curiously at Tony and Peter. Peter hides himself behind Tony, eyes on the dirt, and Tony manages to cast them a weak smile to be polite whilst squeezing his kid’s arm reassuringly.

The man sets their kid down and he immediately spins around, looking at the waterfall. “Wa-er!” As he tottles away, Tony catches sight of the symbol on the back of his coat and does a double-take.

“Nice jacket,” he says without thinking.

He glances down at Peter. The kid has noticed too-- his eyes are locked on the symbol, expression unreadable.

The man turns around from where he and his wife are watching their toddler. He follows their gaze and laughs. It’s a tiny Spider-Man themed coat.

“Thanks! Spidey’s our family’s favorite. He saved Shannon’s life when she was pregnant with this dude,” he says, indicating his family members respectively. “The guy may not be around lately, or moved, or- whatever, there’s lot’s of theories- but... he isn’t forgotten, not for us.”

“-ah-DEE!” the little guy calls from where he and the woman have wandered, and this time he seems to be referring to his actual daddy so the man gives them an awkward little wave before walking off to catch up.

The strangers gone, Peter sags into Tony’s side. His face is still unreadable. Tony can’t think of anything to do other than wordlessly steer them down the path toward home, wondering at the heavy thought bubbles building over his kid’s head.

…

Sixteen-and-a-half days.

A strangled-sounding scream cuts through the dark and into Tony’s heart like a knife.

Tony’s startled but he isn’t surprised; startled because of the rude awakening from being asleep at the kid’s side, and the ever-terrifying possibility that something might be wrong, but not surprised in the conventional way because he’s aware that this has happened every night since the kid came off the heavy meds.

Peter is whimpering strings of ‘please’ and ‘no’, and Tony turns on the bedside lamp to see him huddled in a ball, eyes closed and budding with tears, one fist stuffed in his mouth to stifle the noise. He winces when Tony puts a hand on the side of his head.

“Peter,” Tony whispers, so tired. “Peter, bud, you’re okay. It’s just a bad dream. Open those eyes for me?”

Peter whines, but his eyes do crack open to anguished slits. He’s shaking beneath Tony’s palm, and biting down so hard on his hand that the man sees a trail of blood running down his knuckles. Tony’s other hand gently pries the fist out away from his mouth. Peter lets him.

“Hey bud,” the man greets softly, catching the kid’s gaze. Peter stills as his surrogate father rubs a thumb along his temple soothingly.

Tony smiles sadly. “What did I tell those nightmares last night, huh? My kid is off-limits; only good dreams allowed. Iron Man decrees it.”

Peter stares at him, breathing erratic as his awareness returns. He inhales sharply, an attempt to calm down, but his breath catches on a sob on the exhale. He covers his face with both hands and dissolves into fresh cries, leaning into Tony as the man takes the back of his head and pulls him close.

“Shhh,” Tony murmurs, fingers carding through the curls at Peter’s nape. “Shh, it’s okay. It’s okay. Go ahead and cry, I’m here.”

It takes some time for Peter to cry himself out. Tony doesn’t stop whispering reassurances the whole time. He can tell by the pace of the breaths beneath him that Peter’s still awake.

“You can tell me anything, Pete,” he offers gently, as he has every night. “I’m here for you.”

Peter has yet to tell Tony about what happened to him, or about the nightmares that haunt him so badly. As he comforts, Tony traces his thumb across the hollow under Peter’s eye, wiping away wetness there and remembering how the straps of a muzzle had traced the same spot in a perverse fashion not so long ago, before Iron Man had removed and destroyed the thing in disgust.

Some scars can’t be bandaged as easily as others, but for the first time in all such nights, Peter does respond.

“Mr. Stark,” he says so softly that Tony holds his breath so as to not miss anything, “Mr. Stark, I- I don’t- I just don’t understand.”

It’s in these moments, somehow, that Peter is most himself. The storms drag Peter out of his hiding place. “What don’t you understand,” the man prompts. He pulls back to see the teen’s face. His young brow is furrowed in- confusion? concentration?

Peter chews his lip for a moment before going on. “It’s like, when I was there… all I could- all I dreamed about was home. But now I’m here and I, I can’t- I’m st-still there, you know?” He meets Tony’s eyes. “What if I can’t ever really come home?” he concludes hopelessly.

Tony does unfortunately, painfully know what he’s asking about, because he has a similar trauma and it’s called Afghanistan.

“You just need time, buddy,” he says. “I know what you mean, trust me, I do. It just gets better with time.”

“Is it worth it?” Peter presses suddenly. “Am I-” His eyes trail sideways to the sheets and he swallows. “Am I even worth it?”

Tony’s jaw hardens. “That’s not even a question.”

“I-I did bad things… And, and I’m not the same.”

“You didn’t have a choice, kid. And being different? That’s not as bad as you think.”

“I’m ruining your life.”

“Peter, you are not-”

“I’m inhuman and I’m a waste of space.”

It’s the way he says it, like it’s a known fact, something he’s been drilled with and long since accepted, that really gets under Tony’s skin. He’s been pretty good at holding himself together so far, all things considered, but can’t help that he feels his own eyes stinging with tears at the sound of his kid reiterating the garbage he’s been brainwashed with.

He sits up so suddenly that Peter startles.

“I’m not really tired anymore,” he says briskly, throwing the covers off himself and trying to discreetly wipe at his eyes.

Peter pushes himself up too, eyes wide and concerned. “Mr. Stark?”

“I’m feeling like a trip to the lab, maybe a snack on the way. How ‘bout you, kid? Wanna join your old man for some late night wandering?”

Peter presses his lips together in confusion, but he nods. Tony pushes the covers back more so that the kid can get his feet on the ground before stepping out himself, the both of them slipping into their usual bracing of one another.

Apparently speaking, and now getting up, is too much deviation from the routine for Peter because in his eyes he’s slipping back into himself, expression closing off. Tony hopes he doesn’t feel embarrassed; Before-Peter would’ve been, but Now-Peter is hard to read.

FRIDAY turns on lights as they pad down the hall, already long since attuned to Tony’s nocturnal habits. A quick stop at the kitchen supplies them with a bowl of Chex mix, and then the lab doors are whooshing open and Tony’s realizing he doesn’t actually feel like tinkering. He just needed a reprieve to collect his thoughts but now he’s got Peter out of bed for no reason and it’s not healthy, he’s gonna ruin his kid, he’s a terrible guardian-

He shakes his head. One thing at a time.

“Come sit with me,” he says unnecessarily, leading a compliant Peter to the couch and settling him down with the bowl of Chex in his lap. Neither of them move to eat any of it. Tony takes a seat beside him and drums his fingers on the knee of his worn sweatpants for a long moment, looking around for something to do now that he’s brought them here.

His eyes fall on a forgotten Target bag sitting stuffed in one corner and the metaphorical light bulb goes on.

As quickly as he sat, Tony’s back on his feet. Peter’s gaze follows him as he crosses to a nearby screen, booting it on and then retrieving the items he needs from the shopping bag. He shields his activities from Peter and whispers instructions to FRIDAY before finally whirling around to look at his kid with a crazy grin. It probably seems like he’s gone crazy at this point.

“Buddy, I have one question for ya,” he states, hands raising and pausing for dramatic effect. “Have you ever played… Just Dance?”

Peter stares at him the way one might stare at a fascinating tornado. He slowly shakes his head.

Tony laughs nervously. “Uhh... me neither. But listen, after you moved in, I kind of-” ...panicked... “-sent Happy to the store to find things you might like to have around the house? Like video games? I don’t know what kids like. Happy doesn’t either. He must’ve checked the internet or something because he came home with this, and kid, can you imagine Harold Hogan in the store buying a dancing game? Now that’s an image I treasure. On behalf of his efforts, I think we should give it a go, right here, right now.”

By the time the rambling stops, Dum-E, U and Butterfingers have made their way to this corner of the lab like curious cats trying to interpret their boss’ strange behavior. Noticing their presence, Tony throws his arm out to point at Dum-E. The other two bots startle comically.

“You,” Tony declares. “You can hold a wii remote, right? You and me. Let’s dance. Pete, you’re on the tambourine. I don’t actually have a tambourine. Just keep time by knocking, like this.”

The man leans forward and raps his knuckles twice against the side of the chex mix bowl. It’s not like it’s loud, or even necessary, but it’s something to get the kid involved. Peter looks a little lost, but not in the dissociative way- more like he’s trying to figure out if he’s actually awake or if this is a weird dream he’s having. Still, Tony’s on a roll and he feels dangerously confident. Not quite confident enough to ask Peter to dance, but enough to make a fool of himself in the hopes of bringing comic relief to one of their awful nights.

Within a few minutes, FRIDAY has configured the game on Tony’s screen and the main menu music is playing through the speakers. One newly-unwrapped wii-remote is clutched in Dum-E’s claw, safety strap secured, and Tony’s using the other to flip through the menu and create player profiles.

“Okay, so…” he mutters, finally arriving at the song selection screen. “What do we have here... Gotta make sure we choose an easy one. Not for me, of course; I’m worried about dum-dum over there.”

His eye catches on a song title, and he pauses to let the sample play. At first it was just because the song is marked “Beginner Level”, but he recognizes the clip as a tune he’d once caught Peter humming as he worked on some homework. Being the privacy-respecting parental figure he is, Tony had proceeded to tease him relentlessly because One Direction? Wow, Pete, gotta say I didn’t peg you as a pre-teen girl from 2012.

Still, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Peter perk just slightly, the little dork-- and it’s enough that Tony’s pressing the ‘play’ button without further mental argument.

The screen changes to four dancers, two of which are labeled for his and Dum-E’s remotes. As the opening measures of guitar riff begin, Tony mimics the pose of the avatar on screen and peeks over his shoulder.

“I need my tambourine player,” he reminds, and though Peter’s face is twisted in an expression of intrigue, he quickly readies his knuckle against the side of the Chex bowl and starts tapping it in time with the music.

And Tony dances.

“You’re insecure… Don’t know what for. You’re turnin’ heads as you walk through the do-o-or.”

“How the crap?” Tony mutters, watching Dum-E hit every move perfectly whilst his own avatar misses several points. “How-“

“Don’t need make-up… to cover up. Bein’ the way that you are in en-uh-uh-ough.”

The graphics go crazy for the beginning of the chorus and Tony cringes, though that changes when behind him he hears a small laugh that makes his heart stutter. He doesn’t look just yet, just tries harder to wave his remote hand in time with the song with exaggerated movements.

“Baby, you light up my world like nobody else. The way that you flip your hair gets me overwhelmed-“

This is definitely written for preteen girls, he sighs internally. Still... it’s undeniably catchy. To add to the show, he starts mumble-singing out the words aloud as they scroll on-screen:

“The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow, you don’t know you’re beautiful-”

That’s when the ‘tambourine’ beats stop. When Tony looks behind him he sees the kid shaking with silent laughter, an open-mouthed smile on his face.

He meets Tony’s eyes and for once there’s no weight of the world there. He’s just-- Peter.

It’s a sight too beautiful to describe.

“Oooh, keep trying!” the game prompts when Tony forgets to keep up. Their eyes flicker to the screen and Tony huffs.

“I’m not cut out for this follow-along stuff,” he says airily, giving up on it completely. “Tony Stark follows no one’s rules but his own.”

And with that, he slings his remote strap around U’s claw and breaks into his own freestyle moves, the ones he usually reserves for dancing in private, when he’s sleep-deprived and a little loopy. Be that as it may, Tony Stark knows he is a good dancer; he never imagined it would come in handy for a moment such as this, but heck, there’s not much he wouldn’t do if it got Peter doubling over in peels of giggles like he is right now.

When the song hits the chorus a second time, Tony grabs a screwdriver off the shelf, turning it upside-down as an impromptu microphone, and he sings the next words directly to his beaming kid:

“Peter, you light up my world like no-bo-dy else. The way that you- have- hair? Na-na-nanana-- The way you smile at the ground, it ain’t hard to tell, you don’t kno-o-ow--”

Peter goes still, a lingering smile on his face as he listens to Tony’s altered lyrics.

“-If only you saw what I can see, you'd understand why I LOVE you so PERFECTLY-- Right now I'm looking at you and I can't believe you don't know, oh oh- You don't know you're beautiful! Oh, oh-oh, Pe-ter you’re so beau-ti-ful!”

Tony breathes out, surprisingly choked up. He repeats the message as emphatically as he can, for however many times the song repeats it, his movements getting more silly and more sloppy until the music finally ends, bots trilling excitedly in the background about Dum-E’s somehow-perfect score.

He lowers himself to the ground in front of Peter, panting from exertion. The hum of menu music plays behind them but the game is forgotten.

“Peter Benjamin Parker,” Tony breathes. “You are worth… everything. The whole world. You were, you are, and you always will be.”

Peter’s eyes shine like stars. He melts into Tony’s hold when the man leans forward.

…

Peter has scars, but Peter is not his scars.

[hallowed-be-thy-username]

If You’re Good At Something, Never Do It For Free Chapter One: In Need Of Some Assistance

I figured I’d post the first chapter of my WIP on here! TDK Joker x Original Female Character. It is currently at 17 out of ? (Where it stops, nobody knows!) chapters on AO3! 

**Warnings for full fic include: Graphic violence, explicit language, blood and gore, smut smut smut, graphic depiction of corpses, murder, aaaand recreational drug use!**

Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! I might eventually put all of the chapters up on here or check it out on AO3!

Meet Nora Hawthorne. She spent her time like most Gotham residents. Go to work, go home, keep up with the news. That changed one night. Her life becomes even more interesting after Gotham's own Clown Prince of Crime comes crashing in with a life-threatening injury, leaving her questioning her morals as well as her romantic desires

Jesus, it’s been a long day. A woman with brunette hair above her shoulders, wearing a pair of loose teal green scrubs stands from her desk chair to twist her torso until a satisfying *crack* is heard, followed by a deep sigh. The noise of her tired spine popping into alignment is heard only by her as she stands alone in the treatment area of the now empty veterinary hospital. The brick structure sits between an apartment building and a law firm in West Harlow, the Gotham City neighborhood west of downtown, adjacent to The Narrows. This location makes Dr. Nora Hawthorne one busy veterinarian. On a daily basis she tends to anything from impatient businessmen toting in their wives’ teacup Yorkies with a little cough to large Rottweilers with deep neck wounds. To say she’s gained a variety of experience is an understatement.

She doesn’t own the place, though. Two years out of school and 30 years old means she has some hefty bills to pay. Dr. Moore owns the clinic. Taking this job meant long hours and a busy schedule with not much sympathy from David Moore. “Your generation expects everything handed to them, don’t you? I had to work harder than this to get where I am,” as he just loved to remind her of every time she requested time off for a little… what is it called again? Oh right, work-life balance. Sure, Moore. Enjoy your mini mansion in Uptown since it seems you have no problem balancing the weight of your business on a pair of younger shoulders. Even if it means those shoulders are constantly wound up in to deep knots that no amount of morning yoga can seem to unravel. But she can’t quit. Those bills to pay threaten to pile higher and she’s afraid of heights. Plus, job security in Gotham is hard to come by. Especially since the Joker escaped from Arkham two months ago.

That was in May. Everyone in the city has been on edge since then and the Summer heat is not helping. The days go by but not a peep has been heard in regard to the Clown Prince of Crime’s whereabouts. Same for the Batman. The eerie silence has only been making it worse. The traffic congesting the city streets increases in intensity every evening as Gotham’s citizens rush home in an effort to avoid getting caught up in whatever devastating scheme the Joker has been cooking up during his involuntary vacation. But the threat never comes, leaving the city’s inhabitants to nervously watch and wait. Maybe it won’t come. Maybe he left Gotham for good. Left to terrorize a new city. Wishful thinking is what gets us all through the day. But the tension still weighs on everyone’s nerves, making Nora’s day that much harder when she gets an earful from her clients on a regular basis for things that are out of her control. “Sir, you don’t need to speak to me like that. I did not give your cat a urinary tract infection,” is not something she thought she’d ever find herself saying.

It is what it is. All she can do is keep her head on her shoulders and do her job, care for Gotham’s only truly innocent citizens. Animals don’t dwell in the past, they only live in the present. In that regard, they’re smarter than the majority of Gotham’s inhabitants. She made it her job to advocate for their health and well-being, since they can’t do it themselves. Nora was staying late to finish medical records for the sea of patients the clinic took in that day and she wanted it all recorded while it was fresh in her brain. If you don’t write it down, it didn’t happen. She told her assistant, “You go on home, I’ll just be here finishing notes. Get some rest.” The heavy set women expressed her concern for Dr. Hawthorne being here by herself but the job has gotten her used to being out well after dark. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep the door locked,” was the response her assistant, Jen, would always get in return. She didn’t want to argue so she would leave Nora to her work within the off-white walls of the dimly lit hospital in silence.

Nora stretched once more and shifted a glance to the clock on the wall. 9:58pm. Had it been fourteen hours already? Her stomach responded with a growl as if to answer in the affirmative. The hard-working staff finished cleaning the treatment room a couple of hours ago leaving the two metal tables in the center of the room shiny and ready for whatever tomorrow brings. The room wasn’t very large but the open design left ample room for patient care. The treatment tables against the walls opposite from each other extended toward the center of the room, leaving a four foot space between them, and had ceiling-mounted exam lights above them. Along the walls there were shelves of neatly organized equipment and tools. Essentials. White medical tape, boxes of gloves, bandage scissors, IV catheters in a variety of sizes, thermometers, bottles of isopropyl alcohol and hydrogen peroxide, jars with gauze soaked in chlorhexidine scrub, sterile lubricant, needles and syringes, and bandage material being among the most heavily utilized items. Along the back wall is a bank of cages and kennels for patients spending the day in the clinic (any patients in need of continued care were transferred to a nearby twenty four-hour hospital) flanked by drawers full of IV fluids and sterilized tools. The back right corner of the room opened into a short hallway leading to the area that housed a small surgical suite, devoid of any light this time of night, where a cart with monitors and a gas anesthesia circuit sat in wait for its next use. Just beyond this suite is a small door marked “Radiology” indicating the digital X-ray equipment kept inside, keeping radiation exposure to the rest of the place at a minimum. Nora’s desk is in the back left corner of the treatment room, a shelf full of medical reference books sitting above her head.  Also that “World’s Greatest Dog-tor” certificate Jen gave her last Spring. Nora didn’t have the heart to tell her she found it kind of insulting.

With the last medical record completed, details of the day’s procedures noted in succinct but thorough language, it was time for the doctor to make her way back to her nearby apartment for some much needed rest. She left her seldom-worn long white lab coat on the back of her chair where it always was and removed the black stethoscope from around her neck to place it on her desk. Walking toward the red-lit exit sign above the side door leading to the alley, she flicked the switch to turn the remaining lights off. She usually had a small can of pepper spray readied in her hand when she left alone at a late hour. But Nora had been practically beaten into the ground with exhaustion at this point and her thoughts were instead centered around a hot shower and her soft bed.

She opened the door to receive a gust of warm night air to her face, intensifying her sleepy feelings. Letting out a rather large yawn, she turned to put her keys in the door to lock it. As she removed the key from the lock, she felt a strange sensation on the back her neck. Like a crawling of her skin, a feeling of dread. Before she could turn around in search of the source of her body’s sudden danger signal, a purple glove slammed onto the door next to her head. Her eyes snapped to the glove and she froze, unable to breathe, while her heart jumped into her throat.

“Evening, doc,” a nasally, raspy voice said. She slowly turned her head to find herself face to face with the Joker himself, leaning with his gloved hand against the door. His makeup was smudged wildly and he was wearing his signature purple overcoat and suit. All color drained from Nora’s face as her breathing quickened to a practically panting rate, the idea of sleep drowned in a surge of adrenaline. Before she could make a sound his other gloved hand clapped over her mouth, a knife tucked between his thumb and index finger, the blade laying flat across the top of his hand.

“Ahh tah tah, no screamin’, doc. Wouldn’t want to wake the neighbors, would we?” he said, his dark eyes staring straight into hers. Nora struggled to regain her composure, it did her no good to panic. She knew begging and crying would get her nowhere with the Joker. Better to have as clear a head as possible. She took a sharp inhale through her nose. The wave of gasoline and extinguished matches that met her nostrils was overwhelming. It almost made her dizzy. But she slowly let the breath back out through her nose. Their gaze into each other’s eyes, hers wide with fear, his black and hooded, had not been broken since his zeroed in on hers. It was like magnets were keeping her eyes on his, no matter how hard she tried to look away, she couldn’t do it.

“Now. I’m going to move my hand and youuu are not gonna scream. Got it?” his voice getting slightly higher as he spoke. Without thinking Nora nodded slowly, still not breaking their stare, as he slid his hand from over her mouth.

She allowed herself to blink. Then, trying not to let her voice crack, she quietly said, “H-How did you know I’m a doctor?” Stupid stupid stupid. You are an idiot Nora Hawthorne.

Joker let out a breathy giggle and Nora’s gaze then fixated on his mouth. His scars. They were even more striking up close. Nora was no stranger to stitching up wounds and these must have been awful. She didn’t want him to see her eyeing them so she shifted her eyes back up to his.

“Who else would be here this la-te, hm?” Nora couldn’t do anything but open her mouth and shake her head, her eyebrows knitted together with anxiety.

Still bracing himself against the building on his left hand planted on top of the door he said, “Enough with the formalities doc. I am in need for some, uh, assistance, you see.” It was then that the doctor noticed the Joker’s breathing. It was shallow and rather fast. Like he couldn’t catch his breath but was trying to. Oh shit, what does he mean by that. She wasn’t sure how she didn’t notice his labored breathing until now. She supposed being paralyzed with fear would do that to a person. Nora watched as the Joker then lifted the flap of his coat from his right side, revealing a two inch wide piece of glass sticking out from between his ribs. There was blood trailing from it, down his green vest. She gasped. He dropped the fabric and grabbed her by the chin, jerking her head so her eyes met his yet again.

“So, my little doctor, youuu are going to provide said assistance-ah,” he growled. Nora’s eyes grew even wider.

“Wait wait, what? No no I’m a veterinarian, I’m not a human doctor,” she said in a panicked voice. Yeah, nice one, Hawthorne.

“I can read, doc,” the Joker said, gesturing to the painted door that read Gotham City Veterinary Urgent Care. “I know you’ve got what I need in that pretty little head of yours.” He tried to stifle a gasping sound from his throat as he attempted to inhale before speaking again. “I am an animal after all aren’t I, hm?” he said, leaning his head forward and bouncing his eyebrows suggestively. Nora was stunned.

“Why me? Why did you come here for help?”

“Can’t quite go to the emergency room, can I doc? Besides, you take care of little doggies and kitties all day. Just think of meee as a lost little, uh, puppy,” he said, shifting his weight to put his knife-wielding right hand against the door on the other side of her head so Nora was trapped beneath him, their noses inches apart.

Fear bubbled its way up into her head again. She couldn’t think straight. How did Gotham’s most notorious criminal end up here, in front of her, with a life-threatening injury? It didn’t matter how, it only mattered that now it was happening. But, how could she justify helping the Joker? He caused so much death and destruction to this city, her city. She could do her best to fight, she might stand a chance against him in this weakened state. But he was the Joker. He’d probably still be able to slit her throat faster than she could get out from under him. He was the Joker but he also was a person. A person in what she was sure was a significant amount of pain. Another gasping sound made its way out of Joker’s mouth.

“Haven’t got all night, doc.”

Nora’s expression softened. What the fuck am I getting myself into?

“Ok,” she said, lifting her keys and turning to unlock the door.

[ripuels]

GIVE ME ANYTHING I'LL TAKE IT ALL 👀

So... since you already have access to my Walk in the Park deleted scenes doc, here... have the first chapter of a WIP called "Solomon's Habitation". Enjoy, m'dear!

(AU in which a calloused synth tech named Amanda develops a habit of taking in and rehoming abused and decommissioning synthetics, only to find the one who just wont leave may be what she needs to heal)

—

"Hello, I am a second generation Weyland-Yutani S-Executive Synthetic serial number 1209, inducted for purpose of Legal, entirely at your disposal."

"Name?" 

"C. Samuels, individually distinguished as Christopher." 

The robot blinks once, looking into the corner of the room where three others stand. Two are identical, one is different, one of them older, none are like him. He knows it. They are operated, programmed to execute commands, not act on whims like being pert with superiors and getting into significant amounts of trouble. 

"Know why you're here, 1209?" 

"I ask questions." 

Christopher studies the technician's lab coat, looking for anything identifying. Anything he can relate to. There is a young lady in Engineering who wears Star Wars socks poking out of her boots, and an older man in his division who wears an enamel Tardis pin on his tie, they were always lovely and appreciative of a conversation. From this woman sitting before him however, he gets nothing. 

He can clearly see her name tag, but just like his own identity, who she really is hides behind an initial. "What is your name?" 

"You do, don't you?"

"What?" 

"Ask questions." The woman smiles shortly, it doesn't quite seep from her gaze, but the attempt is better than nothing. The synthetic responds with a shunned dip of his chin. "My name is Ripley.” She offers anyway, a little softer around the edges. “Amanda."

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Christopher glances to her fingers, bare of jewelry, commitment, unsure why it matters so much. Why it's logged with such importance, being such a trivial thing. "Ms. Ripley."

She nods politely and rubs her brow, making a note on her checklist without hiding the fact. 

"Am I merchandise, Ms. Ripley?" He asks, name rolling off his tongue differently, almost trying it on again like a tailored suit. The last syllable is deep, padded as if it came from somewhere in his chest instead of a speaker.

She faces him again with her hands folded. "Why do you ask?" 

"I saw you mark the form under the article 'merchandise faulty'." He glances up from the page again, an expression of indifference. "Am I going to be merchandise? Sold instead of incorporated back into the Law Division after my reformat?"

She nods, impassiveness to match. "In Legal you'd be a Level 3 Exec, right?" There's no need to wait for a response. "You know they're a bit touchy that high up with aberrant synthetics. That's why you were sent down to decommission. That's why I have to tick all the appropriate boxes no matter what. And that's why I suppose reading ‘Merchandise’ instead of ‘Artificial Person’ makes people feel better about what comes next."

"Does it make you feel better?" 

The synthetic had been asking questions nonstop, but this is the one that really stumps Amanda. She stares at his unwavering gaze for a long while before he finally looks away, through the one-sided window to the next room over. 

No, Amanda thinks, observing the man with shallow yet complex brown eyes and chestnut hair, but in a way… yes? It's all horrible, made tolerable only by the knowledge 'merchandise faulty' synthetics at least stand a chance, being sold on the private market or recalibrated gently in the warehouse. It saves them from a complete overhaul. If she were to tick 'defective' it would be another story, they’d be taken apart entirely and euthanized, harvested- recycled, The Company finding it safer than take the fall for an unidentified mishap on the production line. One check box gives them hope for a future, the other destroys them, and it's all down to two synonymous terms and whoever is holding the paperwork.

"It's a thing, a thing someone has to do. Not all of it is peachy, but I don’t think anyone really likes their jobs." Amanda abandons the pen and it rolls across the table to sit in front of the Samuels unit.

"That’s not what I asked." He takes it up like a dagger, holding it in his fist as the sharp metallic end pokes out past his little finger. "May I?" He gestures to her notepad. 

She slides it over the table and watches as long spidery fingers twirl the pen and begin drawing. 

It's not unusual to see, most synthetics do. Usually diagrams or landscape, old classic art, nothing but a neat trick programmed into them to impress audiences and potential investors. It's common even for one to perfectly replicate a scene before them in printed lines. This Samuels however, sketches in long strokes, shading into the curves, and defines tone with depth and pressure. The picture slowly takes the form of a woman in a green coverall, a lab coat, brown hair in a neat ponytail, sunken around the eyes with a terribly fierce scowl. It isn't until the image is inverted and offered that Amanda realises it's her. 

"Do you know why you're here?" He asks, still looking at the page between them.

Ripley freezes as the pen is placed into her open hand. "What?" 

"Why you do your job if it upsets you?" 

"I'm not upset." 

At this he glances a direct line from the frown in ink versus the hard woman before him, she relents at the absurdity of her statement. 

She tears the page from the binder and blows it dry before folding it neatly, tucking it into the back of her laptop bag. 

"Oh, I'm glad you decided to keep it." Samuels sits back once again. "I would say I can just draw another but I believe after today that may be unlikely." 

"Why are you doing this?" Amanda cuts viciously into the timid air about him. "You know how the system works, you know what my job is, I detect faulty synthetics and set them up for decommission, and you're here being as deviant as possible. Do you want to die?"  

At this he jerks as if he'd been shoved in the chest. "Die? You consider me alive?" 

"1209... What are you doing?" 

"The truth," Samuels ponders for a moment as if he had an alternative to give, "is I have figured out there is no point in delaying the inevitable, my very own programming ensures that I will be caged within lines of code and protocol. If experiencing this whimsical desire to simply exist is all down to a fault I would rather have it rectified than be consistently let down." He taps his nails on the table then folds his hands together. "My life has been short, but I have tried to make it the fullest, and if that means I am to be decommissioned or reformatted then so be it. This is the world we live in, that is my place, and that is what I must do to be content in a body like this." 

Amanda stands so suddenly not only does her chair fly backward but it prompts the synthetic to get up too. Unsure why, they wait at opposite one another. She finally gathers her folders into her laptop bag, slings it over a shoulder, and storms to the door. 

Samuels waits patiently for elaboration. 

"Come with me." The woman jerks her head towards the hallway, standing average in height and size, not remarkably composed into any particular shape, but sculpted entirely in titanium. 

"What are you doing?" He approaches, unguided by his submissive protocol but a desire to go with her, wherever that may be. For a moment he wonders if they are headed straight to deactivation, and oddly enough, he follows regardless. 

As he weaves past her she takes the sleeve of his light blue coverall, tucking a finger into the cuff and leading him down toward human management. She doesn't give a response, and that strangely bothers him. Questions are all well and good, but what is the point if they are not answered? Sooner or later, he must know.

"Ms. Ripley, where are we going? Deactivation is the other way." 

"I’m not taking you there." She stomps past a trolley of files in the hall and waits on the other side for him to squeeze by, still holding fast. "You're coming with me." 

"Why?"

"Because."

"Because why?" 

"I'm buying you." 

"Why?"

Amanda turns on her heel with an exasperated grumble, her fingers tightening around his entire wrist now. "You ask too many questions."

"Apologies, but that is exactly why I'm worried about your choice in merchandise." Chis takes one long final stride before running directly into her with a loud huff. He steps back and brushes his clothes flat again, only just realizing now the code designated for human collison hadn't prompted an apology. "I would be much happier being recycled than be a faulty device of little use. It is a waste of perfectly good components." 

She comes up close enough that he can hear her faint whisper, and then lowers her voice again even further. The first generation Samuels rifling through the trolley finally registers as out of range, and she seems to know it.

"No, you don’t get it. You're not getting fucking decommissioned because you ask questions. I'm not going to let them- kill you." The woman finally lets go of him with slight hesitation, appeased only by ensuring the fact he is still in her sight after a cautious glance around. "Listen, give me your hand." 

He recoils from her touch. "What?"

"1209- Shit, Samuels, give me your fucking hand." 

The synthetic finally offers his palm and she flips it over, pulling the red hair tie from her ponytail and wrapping it around his thumb. "Do not let anyone take this off you. Okay? That's an order." 

"Why?" This is the first time he'd asked a question and it had caused a smile. Ever. He asks again and it grows. "Why?"

"I need to know it's you, you’re gonna go through orientation again to be a domestic companion, they will offer you clothes and a small bag of belongings, give you time to empty your workspace, and they’ll try but do not let them take this." Even her frown softens and she twangs the elastic band once. "Don't even let anyone see it, actually, y'know what, just put your hand in your pocket."

He agrees obediently and she takes his other arm, escorting him to the nearby directors office. This time he goes for the door first, opening it so she can step through. Not because of his programming to serve, or prioritise beings above himself, so why then? 

Because, he supposes, because he wants to.

[pixiealtaira]

I was tagged by @chocoholicannanymous to post the first lines of the last ten fics I wrote...on. They all were WIPs..all of them.  It might be a bit embarrassing to admit that this doesn’t even make a dent in the WIPs in progress.  Nope...not a dent.

I realize I tend to long first paragraphs often, so I went with between 3 and 6 lines...

Pretty much nothing as a name...so I’ll refer to it by the title of the doc.

So, with our further fluffiery...from what I worked on latest to ten back....

1) Modeling AU ---glee WIP

Santana, Rachel and Kurt were filling the condiment bottles and chatting as they watched while the group of 4 singing wait staff finished their last song. Or rather Rachel and Santana were chatting and Kurt was trying to ignore them while not letting them know he was ignoring them, or at least not letting Rachel know he was ignoring them.   He wasn’t incredibly happy with anyone that moment, although he was at a better place with Santana than with Rachel.  It could have been because he and Santana had had it out a bit earlier so the air was partially cleared, but not cleared enough for him to be helping her chat with Rachel.

2) NaNoWriMo 2017 ---- glee wip, also second part to the story above but nano wants new works...so I made it one (this year nano was a failure...ended up with too much family drama going on and the son was a senior in highschool)

Kurt Hummel trudged into the costume workshop attached to the theater department at NYU.  He wasn’t sure Rosie, who he was supposed to meet up with was even there yet, as it was ridiculous o’clock in the morning, but the back entrance door was open so he figured someone responsible was inside.

“hello?” Kurt called out.

“In the room with the sewing machines, back right hand door.” Kurt heard yelled back to him.

3) NaNoWriMo 2016 ------glee wip...again this year of nano was a failure...but that was because I was sick for most of it

The summer after Blaine’s massive meltdown and tantrum and the subsequent break-up was looking to be…difficult. Horrid. Soul crushing. Kurt saw no relief from it. There was no one to ease the feeling that somehow he was solely to blame. He had no one to talk to, really.  Artie blamed Kurt and wouldn’t give him the time of day.  He was the only one still in New York City. He hadn’t heard from Elliot or Dani since before he was bashed back in February…he remembered asking about why he hadn’t and getting a vague brushing off and then the bashing happened and then every moment was focused on Blaine again…making sure he wasn’t feeling inadequate or ignored. And no body at work spoke with him, at least not at the diner. 

4) CM-Glee cross --------Criminal minds Glee crossover WIP...I am determined to finish this and it’s companion fic...I will...at some point

If one had asked, which of course no one ever did, Spencer Reid would have actually told that anyone who’d asked that he would have rather been anywhere else than where he was.  He’d have liked to have had the opportunity to give some input, to have some options! Yes, he’d had some …issues, especially when things were dealing with teens, but it wasn’t like everyone else he worked with had always done everything exactly right each and every time either.  (Morgan and any pretty women they worked with in any way shape or form…for example. Hotch stopped Spencer from talking before he got that pointed out though.)  These weren’t even really teens, for the most part…at least not high school students. Out of the six deaths, only one was a student.  Spencer did not see the reason Hotch had stared at him the whole time he gave his lecture on not letting themselves get too emotionally involved.  Nor did he see why HE and HE alone had been left at the police station when they arrived. He was actually an agent, for Pete’s sake.

5)nanowrimo 2013 ------glee and criminal minds crossover WIP...yes you read that date right,however this ficis over 80000 words and I think could be finished quickly if I could just get past one fricking scene

After Kurt’s summer from hell, Kurt Hummel had hoped that things would be better for the school year, or at least the same things wouldn’t be bad.  He was really tired of the repetition of misery that was his life lately. However, when it came down to it, school had been going just like it had the year before.   Granted, he’d only been tossed into the dumpster once so far. (He suspected it was because he was harder to toss this year after putting on a few inches in height.)  However, the locker slams had become brutal again and slushies were still a routine.

6) why Kurt speaks fluent french ----I suck at titles. Glee WIP.  Somehow half what was written for this got lost...on some hard drive or flash drive was another 5000 to 10000 words, but I have not been able to find it so we spent a bit over the summer rewriting.

Elizabeth Hummel looked around the parking lot of Hill Side Elementary School, and wondered once again where the hill that she’d figured it was named after actually was.  It certainly wasn’t anywhere near the school.  False advertising…that ought to be a good reason not to have Kurt go to there, although she was pretty certain her husband would disagree.  Elizabeth hated the school.  She had hated it from the start, really…from the moment they got the letter in the mail that told them that due to the schools nearest them being under construction still and the next closest school being under renovation and so only being able to house half the students it generally did…her child was slated to go to Hill Side.

7) Kurtoberfest day 16 holiday recipes --- WIP, almost done, maybe, au where Finn is alive

Kurt remembers the day Finn Hudson’s career path was chosen.  Finn had come to New York to ‘hang’ with his brother and sneer at Rachel and torment Santana.  (Ok, Finn said he’d come to hang with Kurt, but he spent more time sneering at Rachel and tormenting Santana than hanging with Kurt, to the point of refusing to go site seeing to places Finn had wanted to see in favor of bugging the girls.) Kurt and Finn had been watching old comedies waiting for Rachel to get back so Finn could bug her when Kurt switched from Sister Act to Kindergarten Cop.  Finn had never seen Kindergarten Cop. Kurt was frankly dumbfounded about that fact, seriously.  Kindergarten Cop was like a staple of movie viewing.  Finn watched Kindergarten Cop with an intensity that Kurt had only ever seen him give to 45 buck steaks and a basketball ball game on TV once that Finn had bet 300 dollars on.  Finn didn’t even notice when Rachel came stomping into the loft and then left again.

8)Kurtoberfest prompt 17 harry potter au ---glee and HP crossover

When Harry Potter left Britain, and the wizarding world, he decided to run to someplace he could get lost in.  He beat dear old Voldie, he’d won the damned war for them, and all he got from it was fits from people who didn’t like how he did it…he should have used magic, not non-magical means and he certainly shouldn’t have used a snake to help…and proof of just how manipulative certain people had been in his life, which thankfully the goblins had helped him with after he proved to them he did not sign anything giving anyone means to form marriage and partnership contracts with anyone. Half the Weasley’s weren’t talking to him, and he was fine with that after finding out that Ginny had been feeding him love potions because he wasn’t responding the way she wanted and that Dumbledore had sold him off to her mom, essentially in trade for her pledging the aid of all her children to Dumbledore’s cause.   He also didn’t appreciate that Dumbledore had promised Harry’s magic to the ministry in exchange for the ministry turning a blind eye to certain things Dumbledore had done…like sealing his parents wills with no authority to do so.

9)  Severus Snape meets a Small Harry What If ----Harry PotterWIP one of like 8 with this name in my WIP folder.  This one has a big harry and a small harry and is a bit dark

As Severus Snape watched over Flitwick’s classroom, full of Gryffindor third years, he cursed the fact that the quarantine of a house also included their head of house.  He cursed the outbreak of – what was it…ah, yes… the Chicken Pox – some silly Muggle disease a first year had brought back with them after a family gathering during the short spring break which had spread through the Ravenclaws like a wildfire.

10) T and T Kurt....Glee WIP  Just how did Kurt’s tiara collection get started?

Elizabeth Hummel looked around the dressing room area of the pageant and briefly contemplated her sanity…or lack of…in getting involved with it all.  She was tired of the tantrums and whining and screaming done by both mothers and children.  Luckily her child wasn’t involved in any of that.  Her child was seated off to the side.

“Katerina Bates, please come stand by mummy.” Elizabeth called.

The child slid off the chair they were seated on and hopped over.

“Elli. Not Katerina.”

“Katerina today. You can be Elli tomorrow.”

Yeah....there were six other in that Kurtoberfest bunch being worked on, three other HP and three other CM fics..because I told myself I would finish a WIP this summer and my mind said NOPE, Will no concentrate on One. Nope Nope Nope.

Also wrote lines for beans  for Clever Jack and the Magic Beanstalk because of course the magic beans needed a whole mini scene song and dance number to themselves...of course they did.

[trashyeggroll]

Writing ask: 3, 8, 10, 13, 15, 18, 19, 21, 34, 38, 41, 43, and 48!

Wow wow wow!! Thank you!! Answers below the cut!!

writer’s ask game

3. Computer or pen and paper?

I do almost all of my writing on my phone 😅 Not great for posture or speed but extremely mobile, yanno? Usually I’ll edit on my computer though, bc the change in format helps spot errors.

8. Oldest WIP?

Technically I have L Word fanfic sitting out there from 2006, but right now it’s Witchstock, my OT3 Charmed fic. I am gonna finish it but it hasn’t caught my attention much until recently :)

10. Do you set yourself deadlines?

Not reaaally, more so I make a judgment on how my week is gonna go and aim for completion on a chapter or oneshot of something. Usually I get stuck on my multichapter fics when I have too many other ideas (hey, podfics) so I do force myself to put form to those shorter ideas to make room for finishing the longer ones!

13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished

I don’t write down ideas (hence when I keep losing people’s suggestions in asks 😭) until I am p much decided on the main points and ready to write the thing, and I can’t start writing a thing until I’ve picked out a title, which is annoying. I don’t outline in full, but I will write as many scenes as I can in a first go, and I’ll drop plot notes for myself in between paragraphs if there’s a scene that I skip for later. Then I just keep going back to the beginning and rewrite, add, rewrite, add, until all the notes are gone—most of the time, my multichap fics are almost completely done by the time I post the first chapter, but I’m hemming and hawwing over details in later parts for days or weeks. Once everything seems in order, I read it all one last time for spelling/grammar. That’s usually how you end up getting my AO3 posts at like 2 am.

15. How do you deal with writer’s block?

I write something else! Or if I’m not feeling like writing at all, I’ll dig into old fics I love. But really, finding new TV shows to watch and music to listen to is key for me, kinda like a content reset on my brain.

18. If you could collaborate with anyone, who would it be, and what would you write about?

I am VERY protective of my unfinished work… so this would be difficult for me. Honestly I would love to write a book, TV show, or movie with my baby brother, loosely based on our lives. Super extra Viet mom, emotionally unavailable but generally chill white dad, growing up in small town Oklahoma. I would want it to vibe like Everybody Hates Chris.

19. How do you keep yourself motivated?

Internally: oh my god my brain is too full, i need to get this out, help give me a google doc in which to dump my feelings

Externally: re-reading kind comments on my work! They give me life.

21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write?

Probs obvious, but Niko Hamada and Anissa Pierce. Canon lesbians, so I don’t have to put myself back into coming out headspace, older, so I don’t have to try to imagine high school or college again, serious professionals with corny senses of humor in casual settings. It’s the self-projection!! I also really love writing Maria Rambeau because I think she’s incredibly engaging.

34. What was the hardest scene you ever had to write?

The scene in RWSBC where the Charmed Ones rescue Niko from the wolf. I wrote, deleted, and rewrote the part from where Niko wakes up confused to where they escape more than anything else before or after, so far. It kinda reminds me of how J* R*wling said she purposefully mentioned all the time control things getting destroyed so they wouldn’t mess with later plots—the world I made was suddenly so open that I couldn’t hone in on a satisfying mix of description, action, and narration, in a way that wouldn’t create huge plotholes with my later plans.

38. Weirdest story idea you’ve ever had

Soooo… I guess my interpretation of “weird” might be diff than what others would use… But I guess I’d have to say, I have an original, perpetually unfinished work that is a trilogy, but it starts with a spy drama involving biological warfare, then that leads to Part II which is a zombie infestation, and then Part III is one hundred years later, after the zombie-infected American continents were evacuated, and the first humans are returning to the area. It’s all the same universe and related characters/forces at work. I’ll be lucky to finish Part I before I’m 85.

41. Any advice for new/beginning/young writers?

Write for YOU, first and foremost. Write to impress yourself, and the rest will fall into place. Do your research and stick to your morals; you don’t need to write a scene you find reprehensible to create conflict.

43. What do you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline?

Smoke a bowl and let them have free potshots at my plot until they’ve let me take over again. You know who’s the worst about this? Maggie Vera. She just drags me around by my ear.

48. What’s the most self-insert character/scene you’ve ever written?

😅😬🤓 welllllllllllll I meannnnn Niko Hamada is a self-insert that someone else made seemingly just for me (and subsequently blew it), BUT I think my most egregious self-insert scenes are in Pierce, where Anissa says “I love you” for the first time and when she asks Grace to marry her; both of those are conceptually stolen from my relationship with my wife.

[coruscantholonet]

OOC Updates 2-8-19

Here’s a summary of some updates.

- LRS.  The combat system is still beta, the Discord ( https://discord.gg/6wV7F3u ) feedback channel is best place to put any commentary on that. 

The soon to be released v.0.027 has a couple of changes.

In the skills section which are the none combative attributes, the force skill has been altered so that it adds on to other skills when utilized rather than be a category of it’s own.   So let’s say you want to use force sense?  You’d select perception than force sense.   It would roll 1D20+Perception+1DForce.  If you had 3 for example you’d get between 1-3 added for the force.   There is an ability that corresponds with the force in each category, of course we could not fit everything so we tried to use umbrellas as much as we could.   Such as force agility would include force speed, force jump, etc.   So the force becomes more of a versatile enhancement than a category of it’s own.

Another change is the addition of incognito mode.  Using this you can title yourself whatever you want and hide “rank/status”, just click it a second time to turn it back off.

RP wise we’re all very happy with the participation level so thank you again for that.  We’re noting our strengths and weaknesses and look to improve areas of need.  Some of them are..

- Corellian Confederation:  Really need an active main contact for this, for now I’ve been handling it (Zenless) but my hours have been coming after peak.  It’s a group we’d like to see expand so could use a dedicated handler.  I believe we have one more council spot open as well.   Contact Zenless if interested.

- SLT Mornings:  Always been our low point, we do have some regulars though who would love to get more roleplay so don’t be afraid to reach out if you see somebody hanging around, chances are they’re looking for a scene as well.  Open to suggestions on the time zone and will try a few things.

WIP’s

- Progression: It’ll likely be very similar to what we did in Chimera, should have something solid by mid-month.  If you have no rank and you are reasonably active this month it is likely you will receive your first at the end of it/start of next.

- Transfers: Working on ways to help those who mostly played with SW:RPG rather than SWT or Chimera in the past.

- Various other OPTIONAL meter features.  Last thing we want is to overwhelm anybody so much of the add-ons (but not all) people don’t have to worry about if they choose not to, but we do have some additional things we’d like to introduce.

Factions?

Been getting asked how one starts a faction and what’s allowed.  Here’s a small guide that has not yet been adopted as official policy but is what I am going off of for now.

We have a fairly flexible mindset when it comes to players forming their own groups.  We’ll often work with them to see to their needs.   We are one of the few SWRP sims that are not based around any particular faction so the environment can be a conductive one for the rise and fall of various organizations.

There are some exceptions.

Factions native to Corellia are someone sim managed.  These include; CorSec, Corellian Engineering Corp, Corellian Confederation, any of the system govs with the exception of Talus, Corellian Mining Corp, White Worms, and Crimson Dawn.

We would prefer not to see a second Jedi group based on sim as their policies are fairly accepting of those who want to go that route.  Outersim Jedi as well as anyone else regardless of origin sim are of course still welcome visitors.  The Jedi on Corellia are independent from any other Orders, this is not something which cannot be affected by roleplay organically.

If you wish to start a faction..

Underworld: Contact Perry Spizel with information to be placed on the Underworld doc.

Darkside: Contact Zenless, you’ll be asked for further information.

Other: Contact any Administrator to pitch your idea.   

For base considerations on Vreni Island speak to Rossa Pera, for Coronnet speak to Zenless

Notes.

Bases can take some time if we don’t have something on hand that works.

Bases will only remain as long as the group if active.  Generally we try to contact you after two weeks of seeing very little and give a week to see improvement.  If no improvement is made, we may reclaim a base, however if your group becomes more active in the future we may provide again as we understand availability can vary and only reclaim because of limited spots.