#I have so many wips right now that I should probably uh finish those first lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

estrellami-1 · 1 year ago

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Hell yeah @finntheehumaneater I love these!!!

1. How many works do you have on ao3?

59, but I have 73 here on Tumblr, only two of which are cross-posted to ao3. I do have plans to cross-post more, though!

2. What’s your total ao3 word count?

479,413. Probably somewhere in the 750k range , maybe edging on 1M, with everything on Tumblr. I guess we’ll see if I ever get around to cross-posting!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Right now it’s pretty much solely Steddie, but I’ve done some Solangelo recently. So ST and PJO.

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Oh, geez. Okay. On ao3 it’s home is people, not a place in first, but I’m not sure if that counts because I really just collabed on the last chapter. Fics that I wrote alone, in order it’s No Emergency Here, Falling, The Peter Parker Card, Behind the Screen, and Looking Up. I’m not even going to try to figure out what it is here on Tumblr, but I’m fairly certain my top two (both with 4k notes) are If I Should Stay and Falling.

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I definitely do my best to, but I’m sure there are some commenters I’ve left high and dry. If that’s you, I’m sorry! I promise I love you!

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest end?

I honestly don’t write angst much—I prefer happy endings, please—but I think that honor would have to go to Ever Gotten Your Heart Broken?.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uh… like everything else I write, pretty much? Idk. Maybe Falling, or maybe Day 7 of Steddie Week 2023.

8. Do you get any hate on fics?

I think maybe I have once? Honestly I can’t remember. But if your life is so miserable the only pleasure you can derive is from making other people feel bad about themselves, I pity you. I don’t take it personally.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

No, I’ve tried I think once and sent it to Awesome Best Friend so we could both laugh about how objectively terrible it was. 😂 think about a sex scene with two guys where the words “dick” and “cock” were never used. I think I used “member”. I can’t remember. But I’m thinking about trying again soon, so I guess we’ll see!

10. Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I’m not opposed, but the opportunity hasn’t ever really presented itself; I don’t read a lot of it, so I don’t write it. I know for a minute I was discussing a Marvel x Leverage crossover with a friend, and in the works I have a Marvel x PJO crossover, but that may very well never see the light of day.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge!

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Once again, not to my knowledge!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Define co-written. I think the closest I’ve ever gotten to a published work is home is people, not a place, but I know I’ve got a few Google docs with some friends. I haven’t even looked at those in at least a month, though; even longer for some others!

14. What’s your all-time favorite ship?

Honestly, it changes. At this very moment, it’s Steddie and platonic Stobin. I was obsessed with Stucky for years, but I’ve loved Percabeth for the longest. Solangelo is a more recent obsession; that started just before Steddie, if I remember correctly.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish, but don’t think you ever will?

Hmm… I’m tempted to say If I Should Stay to be funny, but I’m going to finish that one. In the works I have a deaf!Steve fic that I’m currently very excited about, but I’m waiting to finish iiss. I also have a fae!Steve one that’s in the same boat.

16. What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue. Definitely. If I could do an entire fic that’s just dialogue, I probably would.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Probably action. How is it I can read it all the time, yet have no idea how to write it?

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Uh. No thoughts? I’ve done it a few times; usually Spanish, sometimes Italian or Russian, maybe German or Romanian at one point? I typically try to stay canon-compliant, so it’s very rare that I write anything in a language I don’t understand. But I do sometimes, and yes, I’ve had to use the Forbidden Google Translate, but if a speaker leaves a comment saying “actually that would be said this way,” then I’ll change what I wrote.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Percy Jackson and the Olympians. It was terrible, I was 12 and had access to Wattpad. 0/10 do not recommend. Thankfully I never posted any of it! If you’re looking for the first fandom I ever posted something for, that would be Marvel.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Oof. They’re all my babies, don’t do this to me!

…Falling. Hands down. Nothing will ever compare. It’s my Magnum Opus and all that.

This was so fun!! Open tag for whoever wants to do it! ❤️

20 Questions for Fic Writers

I was tagged by the ever wonderful @slavicviking. Thank you SO much!! I kept seeing everyone do it and wanted to, but I wanted to be tagged so thanks!! :D

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

30, and 29 of them are Steddie fics lol

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

138,437, holy smokes. Steddie really got me writing!

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Steddie. I won't even pretend it's Stranger Things because I'm not nearly as hype about the show as I am just Steddie so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Class of '85

Assuming Makes an Ass of You (And Me)

Bad News First, Eddie

Shovel Talk(s)

The Interview

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yes. I didn't at first, but I respond to every single comment I get now. Either to thank them for commenting, or answer the musings people have, or just to respond with a heart so they know I saw/read their comment and appreciate it. 'Cause I do. I appreciate every comment I get, even if it's just a lil heart emoji or them saying the word 'kudo'.

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I don't do angsty endings. Angst with a happy end or bust!! However, I did post this lil thing about Steve thinking about karma and the balance of the universe and how he's happy to give up all the good things he has in life if it means Eddie will get them instead.

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

They all have happy endings but I'm gonna go with Bad News First, Eddie simply because of how sad the beginning is.

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not that I'm meant to see, but Tumblr's tag system is garbage so sometimes you come across a post not meant to been seen. Saw people trash talking The Interview before the last chapter was out, and seemingly having missed the 'unreliable narrator' tag.

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Not typically. I've written suggestive themes and one explicit BJ but for the most part, no. If I wrote longer, chaptered fics I might write more smut, but I just write oneshots where it's because I had a specific scene in mind, or minor conversation to have, and I don't ever just want to write smut for the sake of smut.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Nope. Never crossovers. I will do other media AU but it will never be about including the characters of a different media. I just want the worldbuilding from a different show/movie sometimes.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not to my knowledge. How do you even go about learning if your fic was stolen??

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

No.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Kinda??? @rebelspykatie wrote an angsty lil thing that made me sad, so I wrote the start of how it could be fixed, and @steviesummer wrote the wonderful ending. We didn't plan to write the fic together but I think we did an awesome job.

Also I am always down to colab/co-write a fic. I've never done it before but might be fun to do!

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Steddie. Obvy

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Oh this questions just here to drag me through the mud, huh? I have a very ambitious Outer Worlds-esque AU I've planned out but starting the writing process has been.... hard. It may never see the light of day and I'll be sad forever about it.

16. What are your writing strengths?

I don't know? Never really thought about it.

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

Being able to tell a long-form story. I just don't have the patience/capabilities at the moment to tell an entire story instead of just the scene that's in my mind.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

Oh. Can't say I have given it much thought. The only fic I've written with another language in it was a conlan (Tolkien elvish), and it wasn't in dialogue. So I can't say I have any thoughts in particular about this.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Digimon. I loved Digimon Adventure as a kid an as a little girl, I was sad that their wasn't more Hikari in the show. So I wrote my own fic that featured her and Tailmon becoming best friends with my self-insert and her digi-partner, which was Wizarmon reborn.

20. Favorite fic you’ve written?

Oh, that'd be Porcelain Steve. A completely self indulgent fic with the fairy tail element to it. I had so much fun writing it!

This was fun!! I'm gonna tag: @i-less-than-three-you @nburkhardt @afewproblems @skepsiss @finntheehumaneater @steddierthings @rebelspykatie and @steviesummer (sorry if you've already been tagged/done this)

#tag game #fic writing #fic tag game #writing tag game #author tag game #i don’t know how to tag this #friends!

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buc-eebarnes · 2 years ago

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WIP WEDNESDAY - PART 1

This one is a snippet from a Yancy x ISWM fic I've been working on since June. I do wanna finish it at some point, but the brainrot hadn't been active til now.

“So where did you say these prisoners came from?” You ask Mark as the two of you make your way to the docking bay, ready to receive a small group of inmates meant to pay off their community service hours. Apparently, Mark had gotten a call the night before regarding a shipment of people (and isn’t that unsettling, you think bitterly) who had been approved to work allotted service hours before the ship departed for voyage.

Mark checks his datapad. “Uh, Happy Trails Penitentiary. When I was on the phone with the Warden, he seemed really intense. And I mean—” he gets close to your face, eyes wide for comedic effect, “—really intense. It’s like he’s always paranoid or something.”

“Hmm.” You rack your brain for the name. “Happy Trails.” It sounded incredibly familiar. Where had you heard that before…?

The elevator dings, and you both step out onto the docking bay, still no shuttle in sight. The Marmota should be the one bringing the inmates in.

“What else did this, uh, Warden say?”

He shrugs. “I think the Warden mentioned that they were convicted felons. He didn’t really send any files or a briefing on how to handle these people for a few weeks. Hey, maybe they’re mild-mannered.

His eyes light up, gently elbowing you on the side. “Oh yeah, I found the best spot to watch the lunar eclipse in a few days. I can bring the ship around orbit if needed.”

You beam at him gratefully. Ever since you were little, you loved watching eclipses, and this upcoming one was no different. You’d confessed this bit of yourself to Mark one time when you were training for the Space Academy, in the dark of the night when you roomed together, him on the top bunk and you on the bottom.

The computer comes over the intercom. “Shuttle Marmota incoming. Please clear the docking bay for landing.”

You and Mark position yourselves right before the area marked as a protective border. “Moment of truth, huh?” he whispers out of the corner of his mouth as the shuttle comes into view. You let out a chuckle.

The shuttle docks, albeit a little imperfectly (Carlos narrowly escaped injury this time around), and you hold your breath in anticipation for what was to come. You don’t know who would be on the other side of the doors, but you hold true in your heart that you would treat the prisoners right, whoever they were.

First is the steam. The exterior doors always let out steam—you should probably talk to someone in maintenance about that. It’s hard to tell how the prisoners are all lined up, and you and Mark wave the smoke away as best as you can.

Second is the distinct silhouette of about six or so people. There weren’t too many of them for you to handle, which is great. Maybe this amount would be manageable.

Lastly, as the smoke clears away, is the incredibly familiar face of a friend who you hadn’t seen in years. At first, he doesn’t notice you, too busy waving away the smoke with a pinched expression, but you’d know those tattoos anywhere.

You feel your heart flutter in a way it hasn’t for a while. He coughs and coughs but soon enough, he looks up, and you think you might have the same slack-jawed expression that he does. The corners of his lips tilt up in surprise, and you can’t keep the elated grin off your face.

“Well,” he clears his throat, and your heartbeat staccatos. “Fancy seeing youse here, doll.”

“Yancy?”

He smiles toothily, stomping down the ramp to pick you up and swing you around. You let out a startled noise, clutching him tightly. It’s been years, fuck—it’s been years—

You don’t realize you’re crying until he sets you down and starts fretting over you.

“No, no, none of dat,” he soothes, wiping the tears away. “No need to cry over me!”

“Oh my god,” you sniffle unattractively, “are you real?”

“Real as can be.”

Other voices call out your name, and you peek around Yancy’s broad shoulders (you’ve nearly forgotten how he looked up close), fingers twitching in place, and the rest of Yancy’s crew step off the shuttle ramp, swarming around you with happy grins and open arms. You return each and every one of their hugs, even ruffling the hair on Heapass’s head.

“You guys,” you nearly start crying again, “I can’t believe you’re here. What—how did the Warden allow this?”

Tiny shrugs. “Yancy started singing about space. One thing led to another, and the Warden had us shipped off here.”

“It’s true,” Yancy squeezes your middle. “Maybe we can do it again for youse. An encore!”

“I think I’d like that,” you say, memorizing each and every one of their faces. It’s been so long.

Someone clears their throat, and your head whips around to see Mark with an impassive expression on his face. Something about it makes you freeze, and you see how his eyes, as well as the crew’s, are trained on you and Yancy.

“Captain,” he says stiffly. “Would you like to introduce us?”

He’s being odd. You stare, confused.

“Sure,” replying tentatively, you slide your hands off of Yancy’s shoulders. Mark’s eyes catch the movement. “Mark, this is Heapass, Tiny... I met them during a brief stint in prison.” You gesture to the others around you.

Mark’s eyebrows shot up. “You were in prison?”

You shug. “For like. Two hours. Unfounded reasons. And this is Yancy,” you pat said person’s chest. “He helped me get out.”

“Of…prison?”

You nod earnestly. “It’s insane. He actually knew the way out—it was a wild fuckin’ ride.”

“Huh,” he replies, and doesn’t offer anything more than that. You wonder about his odd behavior again, but instead of dwelling on it too much at the moment, you shrug it off.

“Guys,” you say to the group at large. “Welcome to the Invincible. This is my Head Engineer, Mark. He’s the life and soul of this ship. He built it!” You step towards him and face the group again, clasping his shoulder. “If it weren’t for him, I don’t think I’d be able to do half the things I’d dream of doing. He’s the best I could ask for.” You beam at him, trying to get him to be his goofy self again. You think you see a crack of it in his facade. Maybe he’s just like this when new people are around?

No, that doesn’t make sense. You’ve seen him interact with new people before.

“Nice,” Yancy says, smiling politely. Mark, still impassive, jerks a thanks, then turns to you, not meeting your eyes.

“Would you mind doing the tour yourself, Captain? Something came up, and I gotta go check it out.”

You haven’t even finished saying, “Oh, okay—” before he walks away, your hand falling limply to your side. His cold demeanor bothers you. You haven’t seen that surface since the warp core.

Swallowing a lump, you turn to the group with a strained smile, clapping your hands.

“So! Who’s ready to see the rest of this spaceship?”

yancy 🥰🥰🥰

#juls rambles #my fic #ahwm yancy #head engineer mark x the captain #wip wednesday #mpcu

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eliemo · 4 years ago

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Something Long and Stupid

Summary: Remus knew he wasn't a good person. He was Deadpool, a killer for hire, "the merc with a mouth." He'd come to terms with what he was a long time ago. He didn't need Spiderman to remind him of what he was.

He didn't need Virgil to come into his life and make him question it for the first time

TWs: Violence, threats, strong language, blood

Notes: Superhero au, Spiderman Virgil, Deadpool Remus, enemies to lovers Dukexiety

New project that nobody asked for. I know I should finish my ongoing wips before starting a new one but I do not control the hyperfixation.

(Part 1) (Part 2)

When Virgil kicked Remus in the chest and sent him hurtling off the building into an active construction site, Remus found himself thinking about how they’d met.

Honestly, it hadn’t started off much better. Spiderman was a piece of shit who thought he was so much better than Remus just because Deadpool killed some people every now and then.

Well, that had been the first impression anyway. They hadn’t exactly started off on the right foot.

Remus had been doing his job, thank you very much, he was a mercenary for hire, it wasn’t like he’d been going after a gang of strangers for fun. And he certainly hadn’t needed help.

There were three of them and one of him, just some standard thugs that had been causing a bit too much trouble for people with more money to spend, their names already set to pay for Remus’s rent this month.

He’d unsheathed his swords, (guns would make it over too quickly, and what was the fun in that?) letting the assholes get their hopes up by grabbing for their own weapons and then—

Then all his targets were all suddenly covered in webs, firmly plastered to the nearest wall with threats and screaming that Remus ignored in favor of whirling around, slicing the air with his blades.

“Hey, what the fuck?”

Spiderman was half hanging off the wall, stepping back down onto the ground when he saw Remus staring. “You’re welcome,” he called, like Remus had asked for him to come in ruin is fun.

Remus scoffed, because rude. You don’t just steal someone’s kill like that. But at least they were immobilized now, which meant shooting them and getting the day over with would be a piece of cake. The webs weren’t budging no matter how frantically they kicked.

He yanked his gun from his belt to do exactly that, only to have another web (seriously, fucking spider webs had no business being this strong) wrapped around his wrist, another pulling the pistol right out of his hand.

“Uh, motherfucker?” Remus took a step back, furiously grabbing at the lingering webs with his bare hands, grimacing at the way it clung to his leather. “Jeez, you want me to decapitate them instead?”

“They’re already down,” the asshole said, like Remus hadn’t noticed. “Back off, Deadpool.”

Remus didn’t have time to be surprised that Spiderman knew who he was, far too busy wanting to run over and punch him right in his stupid masked face. “Ok, clearly you don’t know my deal. Move it, Webs.”

“Then you don’t know mine,” he said, masked eye staring blankly from underneath the hood over his suit. “I’m not letting you murder defenseless people.”

“They’re not fucking defenseless.”

“They’re not breaking free,” the spider said. “The cops will take whoever I capture for them. Call them and leave.”

Remus scoffed and tightened his hold on his sword, wondering if he really wanted to get into a fight with Spiderman in the middle of the afternoon. It was only fucking Tuesday, he was too tired to deal with this shit. “And they can take them in body bags. Give me my gun back.”

Remus was a good foot taller than him, and loaded with about three times as many weapons, but the masked asshole didn’t seem bothered in the slightest. God, he was probably smirking under his suit.

“I finished the fight, I get to decide.” He turned around, his back to Remus like he didn’t even care. “Maybe try to be faster next time.”

“Oh, fuck right off with that,” Remus snarled. “Fuck off. Fuck off and suck a fat dick, you fucking—”

“Either you walk away, or I leave you tied to the wall.”

“Kinky,” Remus smirked, even if Spiderman couldn’t see it under his own mask. “But fat fucking luck. No way in hell am I letting some bitch in black and purple spanx steal my kill.”

Spiderman actually had the audacity to sigh, like he was dealing with a petulant child. “Nobody’s getting killed.”

“You know, I’ve got more than one gun,” Remus said, mentally calculating how fast he’d have to move to shoot every single person in this alleyway. “I’m playing nice. Get out of my way.”

“You’re not shooting someone who can’t fight back.”

“Oh, are you the moral police?” Jesus, Remus wanted to punch this guy. “Man, fuck off. It’s none of your business.”

He grabbed for his other gun, only to immediately feel something wrap around his waist and legs, yanking hard and lifting him into the air. He shouted something he really hoped no pedestrians were close by enough to overhear, doing his absolute best to give Spiderman his coldest glare as he was slammed against the brick wall, upside down, held firmly down by fucking spider webs.

“Oh, you bitch.”

Remus twisted and thrashed, and while he could feel the webs giving way already it would be a good few minutes until he was free. That fucking asshole.

“Next time I see you I’m cutting off your spider ass and hanging it on my fucking wall!”

Spiderman ignored him, and Remus watched as he grabbed the thugs Remus was supposed to kill and one by one swung them out of the alleyway before disappearing completely.

That whore.

It hadn’t been long, unfortunately, until they’d met again, and Remus had of course tried to punch the asshole right in the head.

They’d ended up on the same rooftop, which was even worse because Remus came up here to relax. Spiderman had just been sitting there, legs dangling over the edge as he watched over the city, looking almost peaceful with his hood down and the sun beating against his mask.

So Remus had immediately vaulted over and swung at him as hard as he possibly could.

And then he’d missed, because of course Spidey had to have fucking inhuman reflexes, which was bullshit. He’d ducked away and managed to jump to Remus’s side before Remus even registered that his fist had met nothing but air.

“Can you leave?” Spiderman asked, so unbothered it only made Remus angrier. “I’m busy.”

“Doing what?”

“Making sure people don’t get killed,” he said, moving back towards the ledge. “You should try it sometime.”

Remus crossed his arms, watching the vigilante in disbelief. “You get that I’m a mercenary, right? You’re surprised by the killing thing?”

“I’m not,” he said, and he still wouldn’t even look at Remus. “But I’m stopping it when I can.”

“Oh? So you’re ruining a small business?” Remus threw his arms out and turned towards the ledge overlooking the bustling city. “Spiderman doesn’t support small businesses, you heard it here first, folks!”

Spidey was staring at him now, and Remus had a sneaking suspicion he would not appreciate the look he was being given if the mask was taken off. Asshole.

“I don’t support killing people, Deadpool.”

“Sucks,” Remus said. “You should’ve stayed out of the way. If I wasn’t so kind and generous I would have shot you.”

“You mean if you hadn’t been tied up and defenseless,” Spiderman corrected, and Remus was right back to wanting to punch him. “You’re lucky I didn’t get you arrested.”

Remus dramatically put a hand to his chest and gasped, walking along the roof’s edge. “Oh no. What ever would I have done? I’d be defeated! My one weakness. C ops.”

Spidey didn’t respond, but he did get up and move away when Remus got a bit too close to where he was perched on the ledge. Ha .

“Maybe I should have called the cops on you, Spidey,” Remus added. “They’d finally catch the masked menace. Some jail time might humble you.”

“I’d be fine,” Spiderman said. “I wasn’t the one tied to a wall.”

Remus hopped back onto the roof with a growl, grimacing at the reminder of how long it had taken to get those webs off his suit. “Yeah, don’t do that shit again. Seriously, I can and will end you.”

“Get in line behind half the city, Deadpool.”

Remus scoffed, something he apparently did a lot of whenever talking to Spiderman, and followed him across the rooftop. “Man, your ratings are shit. At least I don't act like a hero.”

It was hard to see, barely noticeable, but Remus saw Spidey’s shoulders tense, just a bit. Apparently he’d struck a nerve. Good.

“I don’t act like anything,” he said, and it was just a little less cocky than before. “I’m just trying to help people.”

“Oh, so you’re playing hero.” Remus grinned, moving until he was crouched right in front of the vigilante. “Ooh ooh, let me guess...you’re in college. You’re ...22. Maybe 23, or 24. You got these big bad powers one day and figured you were the only one in the whole wide world who could protect the people who couldn’t protect themselves.”

Spidey didn’t answer, just looked at him with that blank, unamused stare, so Remus continued. “Or were you born with them? Doesn’t seem like it, you’ve only popped up in the last two or three years—”

“It’s none of your business,” Spiderman cut in, and Remus smirked. “And you’re wrong, for the record.”

“Oh I am, am I?” Remus asked, amused despite himself. “If nobody wants you, why are you even trying?”

Spidey was tense now, and doing a real bad job of hiding it. “Maybe I don’t give a shit what people think.”

“Right.” Remus didn’t need to see the guy’s face to know that wasn’t it. “You do realize how much money you could make with those powers, right?”

“I don’t care,” he said. “I’m fine doing what I’m doing.”

Remus looked him over, he’d seen spidey all over newspapers and on TV before, but this was the first time actually talking to him in person, besides the other day when the asshole had ruined his afternoon. Honestly, it was kinda underwhelming. He expected the suit to be higher tech, at least.

“Are you broke?” he asked. “You seem broke. I could make you a way better mask, by the way. It looks like shit.”

“I’m sure,” Spidey said, completely ignoring his generous offer. Rude. “And how much do you get paid for killing people?”

“A lot.”

Spiderman hummed nonchalantly, no longer looking at Remus. “Well, I’m glad it’s worth it.”

“It is! I sleep like a baby in my king sized bed.” And yeah, that was a little bit of a lie. Barely.. He wasn’t living that luxuriously, New York was expensive as shit, but based on his tech he was way better off than Webs.

“That’s wonderful,” Spiderman said and damn, apparently the masked menace was capable of being a sarcastic bastard as well as a cocky asshole. “You done pretending now? Can I go?”

“I’m not pretending anything.”

“Yeah, ok.” Spiderman was back to sounding arrogant, and Remus couldn’t remember why they were talking instead of fighting to the death. “I know you sleep like shit.”

Remus actually laughed, humorless and cold, because what the fuck?

“Oh yeah?”

“Nobody kills for a living if their life is going great,” Spidey said. “What horrible trauma pushed you to that decision?”

Oh, this motherfucker. This piece of shit. He was so dead when Remus could catch him off guard.

“Nobody puts on a costume and fights crime when half the city wants him dead if his life is going great, either.” Remus smirked, moving to try to get Spidey to look at him again. “At least I get money for it. No student loan debt at 26 is pretty nice.”

He probably shouldn’t have given the vigilante that was quickly turning into his sworn enemy his age but eh. What was he gonna do, kill him? Remus didn’t stay dead.

“That’s great,” Spiderman said. “And all it cost was people’s lives.”

“Yep!” Remus hoped it came out cheery enough to piss him off a little more. “Think of it this way, Spidey. They’re gonna die anyway.”

Spiderman immediately straightened up and stalked to the other end of the rooftop, clearly wanting the conversation to end. Mission accomplished. “Jesus Christ.”

“It’s true!” he called, just to drive home the fuck off a bit more. “Someone would have gotten to them eventually.”

“They’re still people, Deadpool.”

Remus shrugged. “Good people don't get hits put on them.”

“Maybe not,” the vigilante agreed. “But good people don’t murder in exchange for money, either.”

Remus barked another laugh at that, more genuine this time because... yeah? Duh. “No shit. I never fucking said I was a good person.”

“You’re lucky you haven't killed anyone innocent yet.” And goddammit there was that ‘hero’ shit again that made Remus want to throw up. He’d just been starting to have fun, too.

“It’s still not your business.”

“It will be,” Spidey said, perched on the ledge in a way that would make Remus dizzy if he cared. “Stick to killing criminals and we'll be fine.”

“Oh?” Remus followed, smirking in a way that would probably get him punched if he took off his mask. “Are you gonna come get me if I’m not good?”

“That’s my job.”

“Aw, don’t worry,” Remus teased. “I’ll wear something sexy for you.”

“Gross.”

“Love you too, Spider Babe!”

Spidey scoffed, responding with a gloved middle finger when Remus winked. Remus watched a web shoot from his wrist, and suddenly Spiderman was gone, swinging across New York rooftops, leaving Remus to try to figure out how he was getting down.

Remus honestly hadn’t expected to see him again. He was fucked in the head, but he didn’t have any plans to lose control and start killing everyone in sight. He was an asshole, but he wasn’t a villain Spiderman needed to spend time tracking down. New York was busy enough for both of them already.

He did plan on chucking the nearest heavy object at him if he ever saw Spidey swinging past. That never ended up happening. Not that he cared. He didn’t miss him.

He expected to catch a glimpse of him eventually, maybe close enough to yell a few lighthearted threats or call him names, but nothing as entertaining as the argument on the roof.

What he hadn’t expected, was to run right into the masked menace while walking home in the middle of the night.

Remus had just finished a job, something standard and quick, and after wiping the blood from his blades he’d decided to take the long way home. The sun had set, the night air was crisp and relaxing, and it helped Remus forget about the blood stains he needed to wash away.

He’d been cutting through sidestreets, mentally mapping out how to get back to his place. He turned a corner into an alleyway, and—

And there was Spiderman, hunched over himself and leaned against the wall like he’d been using it for support, shaking, gasping, and completely drenched in deep red blood.

Remus froze, and Spidey did too as soon as he registered Deadpool standing just a few paces away, the two of them staring silently for what felt like an eternity.

“Dude,” Remus said when he found his voice. “What the fuck happened to you?”

Spiderman was clutching at his chest, black and purple suit barely able to hide the red stains, leaned heavily against the brick wall as he watched Remus warily. “Nothing.”

“Don’t be stupid. Whose blood is that?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he snapped, and his voice was wavering. “Keep walking.”

Remus took a step forward, frowning at the way the vigilante went tense against the wall. He ignored it. “Whose blood is it?” It came out more of a command than a question this time.

“Mostly mine,” Spiderman said, and Remus could see it pooling around his gloves now that he was closer. “It’s fine.”

“Why’re you bleeding?”

“None of your business. Go home.”

Remus tried to get a better look from where he stood, well aware that approaching might not be the best idea right now. “Was it a gun or a knife?”

“It was none of your business and you need to go away.”

Remus watched him, incredulous, because the idiot was barely standing and losing way too much blood way too quickly, and he was pretty sure Spiderman didn’t have Remus’s whole immortality deal.

“You really want to bleed out on the street like some street thug?”

The vigilante hesitated, and Remus listened to the way his breathing was turning into awful sounding wheezes. “I’m...not going to bleed out. I’m fine.”

“Oh, yeah?” Remus challenged, probably a bit more aggressively than was needed for someone who looked like they were about to keel over. “Walk over to me then.”

He’d expected the lack of response, but even though the eyes built into the suit were practically lifeless (he really should get him some more advanced goggles. He’d be a lot more approachable if his eyes weren’t so blank) Remus could still see his whole body tense in fear.

“No,” he said, low and trembling. “Fuck off.”

“Spidey, this isn’t a joke.” Jesus, that was a lot of blood. “You’re gonna bleed out.”

“And you can throw a party—”

“Fucking come here.” He hadn’t meant to snap, but he wasn’t going to just stand here bickering with the city’s hero until he dropped dead. But Spidey still shook his head, pressed even further against the wall now, and Remus sighed. “Fine.”

Remus took a few steps forward, initially planning on prying his arms away to get a better look at the wound, but Spiderman flinched back, trying to scramble away like Remus was coming at him with a weapon.

Well, Remus supposed that made sense. He had threatened to kill him a couple times last time they spoke.

“Chill it, Spidey.” Remus crouched a bit, suddenly painfully aware of how much taller he was, carefully holding his hands out. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

“I don’t believe you,” he shot back. Which...yeah, fair. “I know you want to.”

“Does it look like I have a knife in my hand?” Remus asked. “No. Chill out and let me see.”

Spidey didn’t pull away when Remus took his shoulders, but he did flinch as soon as Deadpool touched him, probably involuntarily. Remus ignored it, focusing instead on figuring out where the blood was coming from. It was almost impossible in the dark lighting, especially up against the black suit.

“It’s...not that bad,” Spiderman rasped. “Seriously.”

Remus wasn’t buying that for a second. “What happened?”

“I was stupid, that’s what happened,” Spidey said, arms still wrapped firmly around himself. “It...there were five of them and one of them got lucky with a knife.”

“Jesus, fuck.” Remus pulled back, trying to figure out what to do. “You are stupid. Where?”

He only hesitated a moment. “Uh, my chest. I heal fast.”

“Jesus. How fast?”

Spiderman shrugged, then obviously regretted it when it pulled at the stab wound. “Hopefully fast enough,” he said. “I’ll be fine tomorrow or I’ll be dead.”

“Jesus,” Remus said again, because what the fuck else was he supposed to say? “Sit down. Jesus Christ.”

Spidey thankfully did as he said, though Remus suspected it had more to do with the fact that he couldn’t keep himself standing anymore rather than actually following instructions.

He wasn’t fighting anymore, almost limp as Remus took his wrists and moved them to his sides, but he did look like he was ready to bolt the second Deadpool made one wrong move.

Like he wouldn’t fall right on his face and hurt himself worse if he tried.

Remus could see the source of the blood now, a deep gash across his upper chest that had apparently sliced the black and purple suit like butter, still gushing crimson with each passing second.

Shit.

“Alright, uh.” This wasn’t his expertise in the slightest. Other than digging out some bullets, Remus didn't have to tend to his wounds. “I don’t think I have any fabric or...oh, your hoodie. Hand it over.”

Spiderman stared, and if he didn’t hurry up and get with the program Remus was going to knock him out and handle this himself. “Why?”

“Because you’re bleeding out. Give it.”

Spidey at least had the sense to listen and carefully peel the hoodie away from his suit, sliding it down his arms even as his gloved hands shook violently. Remus couldn’t help but wince at the noise Spiderman tried to choke back, because that had to hurt like a bitch.

“Maybe, like...lay down?” Remus suggested. “Yeah, do that. It’ll help.”

Spidey still hesitated, even as the blood continued to flow and he started to slide down against his will. “I...need to see what you’re doing.”

Remus sighed, bunching up the hoodie and pressing it firmly against the wound, ignoring the strangled gasp that came from the vigilante. Blood was quickly soaking through the cloth, and Remus just pressed harder.

“I’m just putting pressure on it to stop the bleeding,” Remus said. “If I wanted to kill you I’d leave you here. If it stops bleeding you’ll heal, right?”

The only answer he got was another wet, trembling gasp when Remus pushed harder, Spiderman’s blood soaking into his gloves. It took a second for him to realize he was grasping at Remus’s wrists, his hold weak.

“H-hopefully,” Spidey managed, and he really didn’t sound great. His eyes were drooping, and Remus figured the biggest danger right now was letting him fall asleep. “Or, you know. I’ll die.”

“You’re not gonna die,” Remus said without thinking. “I’m gonna stop the bleeding, you’re gonna heal with whatever weird powers you have, and then you’ll be less of a careless idiot next time.”

A few moments passed without an answer, and for once Remus wasn’t entirely sure how to fill the silence. The only sound between them was Spiderman’s labored, ragged breathing, which at least sounded a bit less shaky and faint as Remus continued to press down.

“What are you doing?” Spidey asked eventually, catching Remus completely off guard with the stupid question. “Why are you...trying to help?”

Remus wasn’t trying to do anything. He was helping. The city’s beloved hero would have been dead five minutes ago if he hadn’t managed to interrupt Remus’s perfectly nice, peaceful walk.

He hadn’t even really thought about it. Remus was an asshole, a murderer for a living, but he wasn’t stupid. He wasn’t the guy who was going to leave New York’s savior to bleed out in an alleyway.

Besides, he’d been the first person Remus had been able to have a somewhat entertaining conversation with in months.

“Somebody’s gotta save everyone,” he eventually settled on, still pressing hard against the wound. “And I refuse to be the city’s only mouthy vigilante.”

Another beat of silence, and for a moment Remus thought he might have fallen asleep. “I don’t...save anyone. And I’m not mouthy.”

“You do,” Remus argued. “And you are.”

“I don’t,” he snapped, and at least he didn’t seem inclined to argue about the mouthy thing. “You do your job better than I do.”

Remus took a moment to look over the bleeding hero. He was weak and trembling, and probably dangerously pale and clammy under that suit. The blood flow had definitely slowed, but it hadn't stopped. There was a good chance he wouldn’t remember a damn thing Remus said to him tonight.

And if he did, it’s not like he really gave a shit, anyway.

“I’m a mercenary,” Remus said. “Anyone can kill someone. It takes something a lot stronger to save them. So shut up and stop being self deprecating.”

Spiderman shuddered when Remus carefully peeled back the bloody hoodie, leaning in to get a better look at where they were at. Either he was just that good at fixing stab wounds, or Spidey’s healing powers were gradually starting to kick in.

Remus decided to go with the former. He deserved it.

“I got someone killed tonight,” Spidey said, quiet and unbearably sad. “She...she died because I wasn’t fast enough, and I didn’t—”

“You can’t save everyone.”

The vigilante pulled his hands away from Remus’s wrists, like he’d just realized he was holding them. “I should have tried harder.”

Remus sighed. “You tried hard enough. You did fine.”

That was apparently the end of the conversation, Spiderman falling back into silence as Remus went back to making sure he didn’t start bleeding all over the place again. He didn’t have anything on him to properly clean it up, he wasn’t sure he even owned a first-aid kit, but Spidey’s breathing was starting to even out, and after about ten minutes or so the blood stopped flowing completely.

“You, uh...you good?”

“I’ll be fine,” Spiderman said, and it didn’t sound like a desperate lie this time. He still looked like shit, but he was able to slowly sit up on his own. “Not dying this time. Just...still hurts.”

They were plunged back into silence, slightly less tense than before but no less uncomfortable. Remus eventually relinquished his hold on the hoodie when Spidey was able to carefully take it from him.

Right, he was fine now. Remus didn’t need to stay, it wasn’t his business anymore. It hadn’t been his business to begin with.

“I...owe you,” Spiderman said, almost like it was strange for him to admit. “So, thank y—”

“Don’t thank me, Spidey.” God, this had been a mistake, hadn’t it? “Seriously. Just buy me a pizza sometime and we’ll call it square.”

Spiderman stared for second, unsteady hands holding his own hood to his chest, but the small laugh that escaped at least sounded genuine, and no longer quite so pained.

“Ok,” he said. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Remus hesitated before standing, not really sure if it would be more rude to leave or stay at this point. Spiderman probably didn’t want a mercenary for hire standing over him while he was wounded, whether Remus had saved his life or not.

Remus was still just as far from a hero as the villains Spiderman fought, and both of them had a reputation to keep.

“You sure you’re ok?” Remus asked. “I can like...stay. Or call you an ambulance or...something.”

“I’m good,” Spidey said, sitting up with a small hiss of pain until he was propped up against the wall, breathing still heavy. “You stopped the bleeding, I’ll live. You can go home, Deadpool.”

“Right.” He carefully stepped around the vigilante, still keeping a close eye on his chest to make sure the bleeding didn’t start again. “Just don’t die after all my hard work. My gloves are fucking soaked.”

Spiderman scoffed, but it was more good natured and light than it had been the last time they talked. “You got it.”

Remus kept walking down the alley, only turning around once more before turning the corner at the end. “And don’t forget my pizza, Spidey!”

#spiderman virgil #deadpool remus #superhero au #spiderman au #spideypool #dukexiety #virgil sanders #remus sanders #enemies to lovers #enemies to friends #violence tw #sex jokes #remus being remus #blood tw #injury #sanders sides #fanfiction #writing

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bluejayblueskies · 2 years ago

Note

Hi, I hope I'm not too late to ask some Weird Writer Questions cause they sound fun! Number 24, 19, 13, and 17 (that last one for whisky would be cool but all your WIPS are lovely so pick whichever you want!) hope you have a nice day Jay!!

weird questions for writers!

(you're absolutely not too late--thank you for messaging! i hope you have a nice day as well 🥰)

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

for prep work, i used to (pre-tma and a little bit into the beginning of writing for tma) jump right into multichapter stories with a vague premise and no clue of the actual plot or ending, but i found it's easier to actually complete multichapter stuff if i have an outline and an idea of where i want the story to go, lol who knew? so my prep work now consists of, at minimum, a rough outline of the entire story arc from beginning to end, but usually a chapter-by-chapter outline of major story beats, approximate scenes, etc.. for whisky, i jumped in with a rough story arc and then made the chapter-by-chapter outline around chapter three when i started to get bogged down in 'what scene should i do next?' details. i usually don't do any prep at all for one-shots, since they're typically 1-2 scenes, but for longer ones i may throw together a quick bullet list of where i want the story to go

and i do not like outlining alkdsgjsag. it's probably my least favorite part of the writing process. (i'm currently for example avoiding fixing my whisky outline, which i need to change the last chapter for slightly due to a piece of lore i added contradicting my current ending.) i think it's because outlining requires the most decision-making about my story and the most critical thinking about, 'okay, what do i actually want to say and when do i want to say it.' i'm always much happier when i have the outline because it's so much better to write with one, but the process of making it? detestable lol.

(more below the cut because i got predictably long-winded with this)

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

this answer got very long, so buckle in and bear with me lol:

i started writing very young (perhaps second or first grade?) partly because my father is a copywriter and thus encouraged it and partly because i read so many books as a child. my elementary school had this anthology that you could submit to starting in third grade, and i remember writing short stories for it (that always ended up being too long--turns out i had chronic 'can't shut up' disease even at the tender age of 8).

getting into middle school, i started to write longer things. it's hard for me to remember exact dates, but i know i finished my first novel-length story around ... 7th grade? it is Extremely Bad by virtue of being written by somebody who had only experienced the world for ~12 years, but it's also probably one of the most out-there things i've ever written in terms of plot so i still give it a solid 5/10. (i can elaborate on it if people are interested! an in-depth discussion of it is just a bit beyond the scope of this particular question lol).

(i also wrote several stories that could best be described as uh. RPF between me & my best friends and their middle school crushes. including a whole entire trilogy with novella-length stories. but we're not going to talk about those XD)

i started and did not finish uhhh probably 20-30 other original stories between the years of 2011 - 2017, most of which are also not very good but that taught me a lot about creating characters, worldbuilding, writing styles and SPAG, and other things that helped me develop as a writer. there are a few that i do genuinely want to pick back up someday, but it's hard to get motivated to write original stuff and is much easier to simply write an AU and stick my blorbos in as characters. i think 2017 is the last time i can really truly say i actively worked on original stuff, since i fell into writing mostly fic after i graduated high school.

i wrote fic in high school too--mostly supernatural, sherlock, and doctor who stuff, because i was very much into superwholock--and most of it is still on my ao3. occasionally, people will jumpscare me by commenting on one of my old spn fics because i genuinely forget that people still might read them lol. i started my fic publishing journey on quotev though, and a little bit on wattpad and ff.net, before moving to ao3 in 2015 and never looking back. my stance on my old writing is that even though i've generally moved on with my life and cringe a bit when i look at it, i did write it once upon a time and liked it then, so i won't take it down and/or disown it. i'm sure in 10 years i'll look back on the stuff i wrote now and cringe too. so it goes.

i took a break from writing for ~ 3 years when i went to college, with the exception of the one (1) voltron fic i wrote that i am still quite proud of. (a multichapter fic i finished without making anything remotely close to an outline! wow!). tma will always be so incredibly dear to me because it reignited my desire to write (like. with a blowtorch. i have written over 610k words since summer 2020 when i started listening to tma, which 12-year-old me would have gone nuts over), and so far, i'm still going strong!

i think i have much better writing habits than i had when i was younger. i try to make an effort to do it every day, even when i'm tired or not really feeling it, even if the words are absolute garbage, even if it's nothing related to my current projects, rather than just riding the tide of motivation. i'm hoping that that means i won't be giving it up anytime soon (i certainly have many more plans for malevolent fics in the future including at least one more involved multichapter fic riffing off episode 20 👀) and i'm also hoping that i can jump back into original stuff with a fresh perspective and new ideas. who knows!

13. What is a subject matter that is incredibly difficult for you write about? What is easy?

the subject matter i have the most difficulty with is, funnily enough, romance arcs. i understand point A (characters meet and become friends) and i understand point B (characters are dating) but the stuff that comes in between??? it's a black box for me alskdjga. something happens there, but i (aro) could not tell you what it is. as such, i always feel like any romance arc i attempt in a multichapter fic has terrible pacing, where the characters are falling in love too quickly, deciding to declare their feelings too abruptly, etc.. i'm struggling with this a lot right now in ten thousand flowers in spring, and i'm glad people are leaving positive comments on the most recent chapter because i feel like the romantic pacing is all over the place but i genuinely do not know how to fix it. whisky doesn't suffer from the same issues for some reason. i think because both arthur and john are arospec, so i'm not technically writing a romance? john is very much in romantic love with arthur, but arthur is not--though as in canon, john is Arthur's Person Who He Cares About So Much. idk, i think their canon relationship is so intricate and complicated that i'm just going *shrug* about the whole thing and not worrying about it.

in terms of what's easy, i have a really easy time with fantasy--and, if that's too broad to be considered subject matter, then specifically the worldbuilding involved with fantasy. so i guess that would be fantastical environments? basically, i like a lot that there's no rules other than the ones that i create for myself, so i can do whatever the hell i want and it's correct because that's just how it is in this world! (see, again, ten thousand flowers in spring). of course, i still do research and think about what i want my world to look like, because going 'that's just how it is!' isn't a replacement for that and i don't want to be a lazy writer, but the flexibility is soooo nice. (i, for example, am not looking forward to researching how gangs actually work for whisky and will thus likely just. make some stuff up and hand-wave it away as being 'yeah that's just how the memphis gangs work, don't worry about it,' though i will also make an effort to learn the general structure of stuff.)

17. Talk to me about the minutiae of your current WIP. Tell me about the lore, the history, the detail, the things that won’t make it in the text.

hghhh the forbidden whisky lore 👀 there's a lot i can't say for fear of spoilers, but there is some stuff that probably won't make it into the story that isn't spoilery!

John was born on December 26, 1981 and is as of the most current whisky chapter 41 years old

Arthur was born on April 2, 1986 and is of the most current whisky chapter 37 years old

Arthur began touring around 2004 when he was 18 years old (he was recruited straight out of college/sixth form). However, he didn't begin composing professionally until 2005 and likely didn't get major movie gigs until closer to 2008. He was classically trained on the piano from a young age, though never on a university level, and his compositional and performance style has both popular and classical influences.

Arthur was born in the UK, recruited from the UK, and moved to LA as part of his contract. He met Bella in LA (so in this AU, Bella is American), and Faroe was born on November 13, 2006.

John started his pre-club career in 2002 at age 20, and quit that job and purchased the club around September 2016 at age 34.

Arthur wasn't lying in chapter one when he said that he comes to the club because he likes the wallpaper :) and John was not lying in chapter two when he said the club doesn't have wallpaper :) [this bit will make it into the fic, but i wanted to include it here anyway]

i also have a diagram of john's club that i keep forgetting to include in the end notes:

[ID: A sketched diagram of John's club. It is a square building with a front door on the bottom right side and a door to the basement on the upper right side. Along the left from bottom to top are John's office, the kitchen/food storage area, and the bathrooms. The backstage area lines the entire back wall, and in front of it is the stage, with doors on either side to access the backstage, a grand piano on the stage, and curtains separating the stage from the backstage. There are tables scattered across the main floor, and a wall with archway cutouts separates the main floor from the kitchen and John's office. Along the front wall is the bar, with seating in an L shape that leaves hallway space for John to access his office. The seat closest to John's office is labeled 'Arthur's seat.' A coat closet is in the bottom right corner. /End ID]

is this acoustically sound? don't ask me, i haven't finished that class yet alsdkjgsag. john has acoustic panels in the back to adjust the absorption of the room, i've made it canon XD

in terms of history, i genuinely don't remember where i got the idea for whisky from--i think i was just rotating piano player arthur in my mind one day, went 'hey what about famous arthur?', then went 'well what is john doing?', remembered how much i love small music clubs, and the rest is history. the entire second half of this fic (approx. ch. 8 onward) as well as john's backstory was not part of the initial concept at all, and i very much fleshed it out as i went while writing the first ~3 chapters. i think it's all fully fleshed out now though (excepting the little bit from the last chapter that i have to fix) and i am very excited for chapter 9 in particular :3

there is a scene that i really want to write that won't make it into the main story because it a) will only work from arthur's pov, and i want to keep whisky strictly john's pov, and b) because arthur is a smart dude and even though the scene would be very cool, it would 100% clue arthur in on some crucial things too early on. so alas, it will probably remain as an unrelated oneshot should i choose to write it in the future. (though it's also a scene that works better if the audience doesn't know what's going on either,,,,, but that could spoil them for things too soon as well because you all are also smart cookies, so,,,, much to consider)

aaaand for fun, here's an excerpt from the next chapter:

Buy him flowers, Lilly had said. Right, okay—which fucking ones? Does it matter? John feels like it matters, but he doesn’t have the first clue as to why or what the right choice would be. Is it weird to buy somebody flowers when they’re standing right next to you? That feels like something you get beforehand and then bring as a gift. Should he have planned ahead? Why is his heart beating so fucking loud in his ears?

#ask #puzzleglum #this is. so many words 😅#thank you for asking!! 💜

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staysaneathome · 3 years ago

Text

The Lonely Boy

(A second part to the Entity-swap WIP, where the swap is the places the Entities hold in the world rather than the people who serve them) Jon is cold, and tired, and hungry.

But he’d rather be all of those things than back in The Collection.

He stays away from libraries, from universities and schools, from police stations and research institutes, from everywhere that has learning and investigating and knowing. They call to him, sing to his mind with the promise of knowledge and answers, and that’s how he knows they’ll betray him.

That’s where the man found him the first time, after all.

He compromises with large bookstores and cafes, places of learning that have become diluted over the years with the need to turn a profit, making them safer for him while still making the pouding, watching thing in his head go quieter. Plus the staff usually derive more satisfaction from letting him sleep outside of their places of work and sneaking him food and water on the sly than in turning him over to the management that treats them so poorly.

He learns quickly that he’s in London, capital city of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland.

It’s something of a blessing to be left in a city this size.

That when he gives in and guiltily Asks someone the Right Question to satisfy his cravings for stories, he can disappear back into the crowd much more easily than he could back in Bournemouth, or in some of the tiny villages down south or up north The Collection passed through.

Nobody really looks twice at another kid left alone and homeless in this place.

He learns quickly that he’s not alone here.

He goes into the house because it’s pouring and he’s soaked to the skin. It takes him far longer than it should to realize that the wet schlurp schlurp schlurp noise is coming from the inside rather than outside.

The Hive wears a red dress and smiles at him when he screams at the sight of her. But she stops smiling very quickly once he Asks, “Where did you first hear the Song?”

She tells him, each word torn from her lips, exposing her essence to him, filling in a way none of his other meals have been before. He’s so transfixed, he doesn’t notice her attempt to bring him down with her. He’s lucky, really, that the silver worms could only get to his leg before she collapsed, unmoving and pale, and that there were so many sharp things left around the discarded house.

He’s more careful after that, limping on the leg that the Watcher told him how to bandage properly.

Not long after his first ill-fated encounter with servants of other fears, he finds another one.

Jon’s looking for a place to spend the day so nosy people like irritable old people and police officers won’t ask him why he’s not in school. It’s most difficult to do now it’s late autumn, when most other children are safely sequestered away in various schools. Luckily London has a tendency to attract school field trips, so if Jon just hovers around the edges, most people assume he’s part of that other, larger group of screaming children even if he isn’t in uniform and are more likely to overlook him that way. He’s just found one such group in a large park that he can use as protective coloration, content to much on the contents of an unopened packet of prawn cocktail crisps someone threw away as the kids on this school trip gorge themselves from colorful lunchboxes and chase each other around the playground they’re too old for.

It’s then that he spots him.

There’s a boy in the playground. He’s round and soft-looking and see-through, wearing the same uniform as the others. He’s picking at the splinters on the balance beams he’s sitting on. Thin fog wisps around his ankles.

His eyes are very large and liquid as his head suddenly whips around and he stares up at Jon, blink-blink-blinking like he’s gazing at the sun.

He’s obviously a servant of the Forsaken, but unlike the Hive he doesn’t seem like he’s about to hurt Jon for seeing him. He’s still feeling full from the stories he pulled from a man who stank of alcohol last night, so he’ll hold off on Asking anything for now. He tentatively nods his head to the soft-looking boy. “Hello,” He mutters through a mouthful of crisps.

“You’re very pretty.” The boy tells Jon, almost absent-mindedly. Then his mouth snaps shut and he goes ridged like he’s stuck his finger in a power socket. He’s got a bit more color to him now, like he’s been brought into focus.

Jon stares at him. Stares down at his mismash of clothing pulled from bins. Then back at the boy. “No I’m not. Are your eyes working?”

The boy sputters, high-pitched. “Wh-I-um, um? I-I, I think so?”

Jon shoves another handful of crisps into his mouth. “What’s the best animal?”

”U-uh,” The boy stutters, twisting his fingers together. “I-I don’t know? I, I like fluffy ones, like there was a nice spaniel I met earlier that made friends with me, and, and some kinds of spiders can be very cute and fluffy, did you know, like tarantulas?”

Jon doesn’t disguise his shudder. Obviously this boy has something wrong with his tastes if he thinks things like spiderscan be cute and things like Jon can be pretty. “Cats are the best animal, obviously.”

”O-oh.” The boy says timidly. “W-well, I like cats. Too. Um. Sorry. Who are you? Are you here with your parents?”

He curls in around his crisps, feeling uncomfortably small. “No. They died when I was small. I’m on my own now.”

“I-I’m sorry.” The boy gets up from the balance beam and drifts closer, fog faintly eddying around his heels. “My dad left, a while ago now. So it’s just me and my mum. But she’s not well, and I dunno what I’d do if she—if she—” He takes in a deep breath, shakes his head like a dog shaking off water, and sticks a hand out. “A-anyway. My name’s Martin. Martin Blackwood. Nice to meet you.”

Jon eyes the hand, then wipes off one of his own on his too-big, stained trousers. Martin Blackwood is warmer than he expected, but cooler than a normal human should be. Maybe the Forsaken doesn’t have as tight a grip on him yet?

”Jonathan Sims.” He recites mechanically, a little rusty with introductions. Then, desperate to break the awkward silence and cover up his discomfort, Jon does the worst possible thing he could do. He Asks a Question.

“Why is the Forsaken attached to you?”

And he stares in horror as Martin’s large, liquid eyes go soft and unfocused. “There were all these adults in for this careers day thing, at my school, like firemen and lawyers and things. And one of them was this tall ship captain, like out of a storybook. And he kept talking about his ship and how even if his crew had nobody on land, they could enjoy hard work alone out on the waves, and it felt like he kept looking at me while he said it, and—”

”Stop.” Jon clamps his hands over Martin’s mouth, pretending he doesn’t feel the Watcher’s flare of anger as Martin’s eyes come back into focus and he tenses up. “I-I’m sorry, I, I didn’t mean to, I—”

”Di-did you do that?” Martin breathes. “H-How did you do that? That was amazing, it, it was like I was right there…” He’s fully solid now, like someone has turned the colors on him all the way up. He has very nice colors.

“It’s not.” Jon mutters, sourly. “The Watcher lets me pull stories out of people, to, to feed it. Like how the Forsaken makes you go invisible—“

”I can go invisible?!” Martin all but yells, covering his mouth when several other kids look over and snicker.

”Yeah?” Jon raises an eyebrow. “It’s the entity of the fear of being alone. Didn’t you notice the fog and people ignoring you?” ”Lots of people ignore me anyway.” Martin says, far too matter-of-fact for comfort, and gaze fixated on the fog around his feet. He leans down and drags his hands through it, giggling as it swirls away from him. “It’s kinda tickly?”

Jon opens his mouth to say something, but he’s interrupted as his stomach growls loudly.

Jon looks down at where his prawn crisps fell in his rush to stop Martin and mourns. He’d been looking forward to finishing those… ”U-um. You can have half of my sandwich, if, if you want it.” Martin says, pulling a squashed, cling-wrapped object that the Watcher tells him contains cheese and bread within. “And you can tell me more about these fear things?”

They end up talking so long, Martin’s teacher has to come over to shout at him that it’s time for the school trip to leave. She looks suspiciously at Jon, so he quickly makes himself scarce as Martin scrambles over to where all of his classmates are lines up in disorderly rows.

Jon hides behind a tree and watches Martin’s school trip leave the park.

Martin Blackwood sticks near the back of the class, even as some other kids keep pushing him every time he slows. When he spots Jon, he smiles widely, and waves his hand. Like Jon’s a friend of his, or something.

Against all logic, Jon tentatively waves back.

Martin can’t come into London often, of course. He lives too far away, up north, and he and his mum aren’t the richest people in the world, from what Jon will later gather. Train rides are a luxury that it’s pushing it to afford, and he’s got to take care of his mum into the bargain. And it’s not like he can send Jon emails or text messages or letters, given that Jon has very limited access to electronics and no address to send post to.

But somehow, against all odds (and likely using the Forsaken more than is probably healthy), Martin does make the trip down to see Jon, always waiting for him in that playground where they first met.

And Jon gets used to dropping by the park several times a week, just in case Martin’s there.

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galacticlamps · 3 years ago

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Tagged by @the--highlanders ! Thanks!

How many works do you have on AO3?

What’s your total AO3 word count?

76,200

(oh what a nice even number - I should try to mess that up as soon as possible, shouldn’t I?)

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

Aw man is this intentionally worded to be really hard to answer? I get that it says ‘written’ and not ‘posted’ but then what constitutes a ‘fandom?’ I definitely wrote fics for stuff I was interested in long before I even knew the word ‘fic’ - I did it throughout my childhood, and then in high school, and while I didn’t do it as much in college, it still happened from time to time. So a lot of the books/movies/tv shows/plays/musicals I wrote things for aren’t really fandoms, and frankly, I had to check my old folder just now to even remember some of them existed. I’ll just list the ones that I know for sure had fandoms, since that’s more fun (and embarrassing), right?

Obviously Doctor Who, classic and modern, Torchwood, Sherlock Holmes (ironically more of these seem to be about the books, but yes, I will admit, some for that tv show too), Les Mis, a couple different Marvel comics & movies, Good Omens, hell, I even found a Night Vale fic in there just now.

And I know there are other older things not even in that folder, some of which never made it to a computer at all, so if I had to ballpark a number I’d probably say around 25ish but really, who knows?

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Across the Gap

On the Spot

Expectations

Shards of Memories & Fragments of Glass

Itemized

(this was fun, I’d never noticed Ao3 even had a stats page until now lol)

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to! Sometimes I take a long time to do so but for the most part, I usually get around to it. The rare exception would be if I first saw the comment when I was super busy/distracted and then felt like way too much time passed before I noticed it again, that it might be awkward if I said something at that point.

I do genuinely enjoy hearing what people think, but I’m also weirdly terrified of making anyone feel like they have to reply to my comments. I know that’s probably a little strange, but it’s actually a large part of why I made this Ao3 account in the first place - my original one, from high school, is followed by some long-time friends of mine who aren’t interested in this fandom, some of whom are involved in art & writing professionally. The thought of anyone like that reading something I wrote out of friendliness or even just curiosity and potentially having to pretend they liked it for the same reasons stressed me tf out, so I like having this virtually anonymous one because I can relax knowing that anyone who reads or interacts with something I wrote has probably done so only because they wanted to, rather than feeling obligated, and there’s no pressure on them to be nice to me about it if anything I write or post annoys them - so I really hope nobody who does just know me as an anonymous blog has ever worried about offending me by not replying to something, trust me, I’m perfectly happy with it!

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

I don’t think I’ve really written any angsty endings? I guess the answer would have to be Reckless just because it involves the characters arguing about sad/weighty things and there isn’t really any solution to those issues - but even then I think I ended it with a kind of acceptance that stops it from really qualifying as angst? I also set it in the the same universe as other fics, so maybe that doesn’t even count as an ending? Am I that bad at ending things on angst? Lol

Do you write crossovers? If so what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

Obviously none of the fics I’ve posted are crossovers but I’m trying to think now if any of my WIP’s are - I’ve definitely poached setting/premise ideas from other media, but in terms of actual crossovers . . . I’ve got a few cross-era or cross-Doctor, a few involving Torchwood, but that’s already the same universe, so the only thing that’d qualify as a true crossover would be some vague pieces of a fic where Jamie, Zoe, and Two end up on the Enterprise, since I think the 60s series of Star Trek and Dr Who feel kind of compatible, don’t they? In fact, aren’t there like officially licensed crossover comics or something? Or did I make that up? Idk, and the ideas are very loose, so it’s not much of a WIP either

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Nope, never

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I’ve never written smut, but I’m wondering if it’s possible that could change soon. There’s a longish multi-chapter fic I’ve been working on for a frankly embarrassing amount of time, and the plot does call for a sex scene at one point towards the end, but I can’t seem to make up my mind on how - uh, I guess the word is explicit? - it should get. I know I could easily do a fade to black/implication thing, but it’s kind of a source of contention and anxiety for the characters, so to skip over writing the actual scene and just revisit them afterwards rings of “and they slept together and now everything’s fine!” which feels kinda cheap to me - in this context, anyway - and not the right payoff for a long fic that’s otherwise more of an interpersonal drama/slightly a period piece, if I had to place it in a genre. I feel like my aversion to actually writing the scene might just be prudishness I should get over, or maybe just self-doubt, because I know I’d rather have a well-written, funny, character-development-supporting sex scene than nothing at all, but since I’ve never had any interest in writing a scene like that before, I don’t know if I can do it well, and I also don’t want to ruin a fic I’m otherwise proud of by doing it badly... ugh I have to figure this out

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

I seriously doubt it

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope

What’s your all time favorite ship?

I mean, it’s gotta be Two & Jamie. I’ve shipped things before with varying levels of investment, but I’ve never been able to use the term ‘otp’ in a literal sense until I came across them, and now it’s already basically gone out of fashion, go figure!

What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

I’m not sure if I have one? My WIP doc is huge, but I don’t actually intend to get around to finishing everything in it, so I’d like to think that anything I’ve currently singled out to complete can actually get done.

That said, I do have a few AU’s that I don’t really plan to finish, but it might be cool if I could. Two of them are for all the main + some supporting characters of the Second Doctor’s era - one’s a modern day school teachers AU, and the other is a typical fantasy/fairy tale AU. Another is just Two/Jamie, based on Doctor Faustus (specifically the Marlowe play version) but right now there are two different versions of the ending coexisting in my head. I’ve written parts of scenes & some gen. backstory for all of those ideas, but I don’t know if I’ll ever try to finish them, or what form a finished product would even take - a series of one-shots set in the same universe? one long multi-chapter fic with some kind of overarching plot? And the amount of context/worldbuilding a big AU like these would require might not make them very appealing fics for people to read, so maybe it is better if I just keep them to myself, since in my head I already know what’s going on in those worlds lol.

What are your writing strengths?

I honestly don’t know. I haven’t had a creative writing class since middle school, and since then I’ve only ever shown creative writing to others in a fandom context, so it’s been a while since I’ve discussed it or gotten critical feedback. I suppose when I work in other arts or even academic writing contexts, people usually say I’m kind of insightful or at least detail oriented, which might just be another way of saying I overthink things, but I like to imagine I’m decent at finding little points of interest to expand upon.

What are your writing weaknesses?

If you’ve read this far I feel like you must know what I’m about to say: I do not know how to be concise.

Usually when I’m writing a fic, I put down the dialogue first on its own, leaving out the action of the scene and whatever plot/context led there, even if I’ve already figured all of that out. But then when I go to add those things in, they’re always longer than I wanted them to be. I don’t mind writing something long, but I don’t want my fics to be a slog to get through either, and there can be a point at which the stuff I’ve added for context overwhelms the stuff that I wanted the fic to be about in the first place, so it becomes a structural/proportion issue too. I haven’t completely given up on any fics because of this yet, but there’s one I’ve been struggling with for a couple months now - probably because I’m even second-guessing myself on which scenes need to be written out and which can just be referenced like a recap. Hopefully I figure that one out soon.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

((this is karma isn’t it? i posted a fic last week with two words of gaelic in it and was worried about that and now this is karma))

In general, I don’t want to do it. I feel like you’ve gotta have a really good grasp of a language to write dialogue & speech patterns for someone who’s a native speaker, and since I’m far from fluent in any language the characters I write for are, I wouldn’t feel confident writing any significant amount of dialogue in, say, Gaelic.

As a sidenote, though, I kinda love it when other people do it, particularly for Jamie. Irish (Gaeilge) and Scottish (Gàidhlig) are both languages I’ve wanted to learn for a long time, because my family’s fresh out of living speakers of either & I think that’s a shame, but I started with Irish and at the moment I’m still very much learning it. As different as they are, it still helps me understand parts of lyrics or texts that I come across in Gàidhlig fairly frequently, so when it comes up in a fic I get to feel like I’m being responsible and practicing, and it’s great when I can actually understand what’s being said.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I’m gonna go with Harry Potter even though that’s probably not a perfectly accurate answer - it’s almost certainly the first thing that has a fandom that I ever wrote for, but it was in a notebook when I was a kid and never something that I even typed on a computer, much less posted online or shared with other members of a fandom. But even then, I’m sure it wasn’t the first pre-existing fictional universe I ever set an original story in, because I did that a lot when I was a kid, it’s just hard to remember those clearly or on any kind of timeline.

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

I’m very partial to Across the Gap, so I was pleasantly surprised to see that ranked first on the kudos thing above - but I’ve also got a soft spot for So Merrily We’ll Sing. It’s so self-indulgent it feels silly saying ‘it was so easy to write!’ but I guess having a fic that’s already just 100% headcaonons and fluff tied together by a song you really love does prevent it from being much of a labor (I also managed to refrain from making that one unnecessarily long, so that’s another win there)

tagging @terryfphanatics and anyone else who wants to do it - sorry I’m bad at remembering whose tumblr goes with whose Ao3 account, but I really would be interested to read this if anyone else feels like answering them!

#oh boy that was long #sorry #also sorry if the 13 is really big for some reason #i dont know how it got that way so i dont know how to change it #it doesnt look like that when i edit the post only when i save it #not fic but fic talk

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knightfire · 3 years ago

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Fanfic Writer Interview

@umbreonix tagged me but I have no idea who I should tag, so.. 😅 *cough*

How many works do you have on AO3?

15 on AO3 Plus innumerable (aka more than 10) wip that I keep not posting

What’s your total AO3 word count?

If I added this right… 193,085

How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

On AO3? Two: Hazbin Hotel and Bob’s Burgers. Off of AO3? Almost literally everything I have ever had more than a passing interest in has ended up with a little ficlet about it😬

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Regular-Sized Romance (why is that still up?)

Failures, of the Mutual Kind

A Chance in Hell

On the Use of Metaphors in a Downpour

The Mistletoe Incident

Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

I try to as much as I can. If I miss what I feel like is the appropriate “window” to reply for some reason, I get paralyzed over the idea that I have waited too long and now it’ll be weird

What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

Actually on AO3 or just in general? The angstiest one in general is still living in my email account and is probably never going to see the light of day

On AO3? I really don’t think I have any angsty ending ones? ACIH is probably the closest one. I tend to like angsty beginnings and middles more than endings 😅

Do you write crossovers? If so, what’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I guess On-Air maybe technically counts as a crossover since it’s got characters from HH and HB, and thematic elements from The Matrix? I have an unfinished Lupin III story knocking around that I started just for fun that was eventually meant to turn into a crossover, but the first half has been languishing for a while

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really? Annoyance, maybe. Like “why would you do this?” 😅

Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Nah. Smut honestly doesn’t inspire much of anything in me. I mean good for the folks who do it/enjoy it or whatever, but it’s nothing that I feel anything for

I can and will do pages of teasing/flirting/etc, but being suggestive is as far as I am personally interested in going with what I write

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No 🤣

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Never, no 😅

What’s your all time favorite ship?

Currently? RadioHusk. It’s definitely the thing I have produced the most content for of all time (most of which is still unposted)

Whats a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

The vast majority of the stuff I do is just to amuse myself, and well.. that means there’s a lot of abandoned wip stuff knocking around. I pick fandoms back up sometimes though, so who knows? I may eventually finish most of them.

For RH though, the first little amuse-myself story I did will probably never be finished just because it’s been so long and I have gone in a totally different direction with the characters since then. Alastor was sleezier, Husk was angrier, and the hotel was the latest set for the ongoing big mind game between them

A few concepts from it have surfaced in the things that have followed, though

What are your writing strengths?

Uh.

Well, I like scenery and mood, and I try to give some sense of them so that anyone reading can maybe picture what I’m trying to describe. Feelings are really important to me too, and I hope that emotion comes through properly

What are your writing weaknesses?

I get bogged down in minutiae very easily, and have a hard time knowing when to edit stuff down to keep it moving well. The perspective I write in sometimes sounds “flat”, but also I tend to write scenarios that are 1000% more dramatic than they need be. I mean there’s more than that but those are the main ones that come immediately to mind

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

When I use other languages, it’s more “punctuation” than dialogue. A word, two or three tops, because I feel like it’s inevitable that it sounds like Google translate if I use more. I usually avoid presenting a conversation in another language, but that’s just me

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

Ever, with written words instead of making up a story in my head? Maaaaybe Hey Arnold? (It might have been Angry Beavers?)

What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

That’s.. hard to answer. Favorite has a lot a qualifiers tbh. Maybe Mis-Match-Made, just because it’s been so many things and the ever-changing au nature of it means it’s touched on a lot of things that I don’t think I’d get an occasion to visit otherwise without a dedicated story made JUST for getting into those concepts.

#tag game

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bard-llama · 3 years ago

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PWP WiP Snip: Iorveth/Roche

I fell asleep on @useless-empty-brain before finishing my new PWP, so I figured I’d share a snip, that what they have something to read today!

Iorveth’s face was twisted into a snarl as he stared down at the duty rosters for his Scoia’tael and tried to figure out how to ensure that they stopped losing people to the Blue Stripes, led by Vernon fucking Roche.

He hated Roche, hated everything that Roche stood for and everything that Roche was. But, he had to admit, the man was damn good at what he did.

The problem was ‘what he did’ was kill Iorveth’s men. Far too many had been lost of recent and Iorveth knew they blame laid entirely with him. He hadn’t prepared them well enough, hadn’t been able to make them understand that you could never underestimate the Blue Stripes.

Individually, each Blue Stripe commando posed a significant threat. But when brought together by a man who seemed to be able weave battle plans specifically tuned to enhance each of his commandos, they became even more deadly.

That was Roche’s strength. He understood his people down to their core. He knew how they thought and what their habitual openings were and he used that knowledge to give them every edge possible.

It was kind of amazing, honestly. Like, it was absolutely horrible that Roche led the Blue Stripes so effectively that Iorveth was losing too many people. But from one commander to another – Roche was impressive.

“It’s a shame such skill serves the enemy,” Iorveth lamented. Then he was startled by a knock against his window and then a young elf cartwheeling into his office. “Rinn! Wha–?”

She waited until she was standing in front of him on the other side of his desk to raise her fingers and sign her answer. If you’re done daydreaming about him, your dh’oine just crossed the perimeter into the forest.

“Alone?” Iorveth asked in surprise. And then her words really hit him and he flushed brightly. “I was not daydreaming! And he’s not my dh’oine!”

Uh huh. Rinn looked supremely unimpressed. You know, you’d probably be less agitated if you just got laid already.

Iorveth let out a choked croaking noise, face burning. “You – what – that is beyond inappropriate for you to care about.”

If you decide you wanna get a leg over, Rinn continued, entirely remorseless, he’s at the ruins of Cáelmewedd. I’m gonna nap for the rest of my shift. If you want someone to watch him be stupid enough to enter the forest, you’ll just have to go see yourself.

With that, she yawned and walked out his door. Iorveth sputtered, not entirely certain what had just happened. Rinn was an agent of chaos, always eager to encourage mischief, but she took her work seriously. She knew she was one of the only spies that could tail Roche without getting caught. If she was quitting in the middle of her shift, then there had to be a good reason. And sure, she’d put it crudely, probably just to make him blush, but she couldn’t actually mean that. Roche was his enemy, there was no way he would be ‘getting a leg over’ with Roche!

Roche was dangerous. And Rinn was asking him to take over for her, which meant it was serious.

Iorveth nodded to himself. He should go to Cáelmewedd immediately. He was wearing only light armor, having dressed down with the expectation that he would not be going out this evening. If he’d had time, he would’ve pulled on the gambeson and mail and all that – but he didn’t have time. It would have taken time for Rinn to return to base to report, and if Roche had been without a Scoia’tael shadow for nearly half an hour, there was no telling what kind of damage he might have done. No, Iorveth needed to leave now.

Decided, he grabbed a few more daggers and his swords and was off, climbing out through his window and jumping to the nearest tree branch. Because it was faster, obviously, not because he didn’t want to announce that he was going after Vernon Roche. Alone.

Ciaran was definitely going to kill him for this later. But there hadn’t been time to gather back up and Iorveth and Roche had always stood on equal ground in a fight. Sometimes Iorveth lost and sometimes he won, but even though he’d never managed to kill Roche, he could fight Roche off.

Once he reached the ruins of what used to be a beautiful bathhouse, he drew his blades, creeping silently around the perimeter, searching for his prey.

Except Roche didn’t seem to be anywhere in sight and Iorveth was growing frustrated, not thinking to watch his footing–

And then he was falling down into a bath with a huge splash, leaving him breathless and struggling to his feet. His sodden clothing weighed him down and that distracted him long enough to draw a proper breath – except then he caught sight of Vernon Roche. Vernon Roche, who apparently came to actually bathe in the elven baths, because he was entirely naked and Iorveth sputtered, distracted by all the skin on display.

Which was why he was completely unprepared for Roche to charge at him, shoulder hitting his solar plexus and pushing him back into the water. He couldn’t breathe and Roche’s warm hands held him under the water and–

Then he was being pulled back up, mind fuzzy even as he sucked in precious oxygen. He had just a moment to meet Roche’s dark eyes and then Roche was pushing him under again. The water over his head turned his vision hazy, but he couldn’t seem to look away from Roche’s body.

He’d only ever seen Roche in battle before. He knew from spy reports that he dressed more casually in his personal life, but every time they’d met, Roche had been wearing layer upon layer of armor. Iorveth hadn’t even known what Roche’s hair looked like before this.

That was the only reason he was getting so fixated. He’d never seen a naked dh’oine from up close before and Roche had always seemed so much bigger in battle, but even if Roche was a lot more scrawny without all those layers, he was still as competent as ever, one hand tight around Iorveth’s throat, holding him under.

Iorveth tried to struggle, but he just couldn’t get enough air, and instead of the fear and hate he should feel in this moment, he just felt – calm. Restful, almost, with his mind hazy and focused entire on Roche. He knew there was some reason he wasn’t supposed to give into those feelings, but it had been so long since he’d been able to turn off his brain and–

Roche pulled him up again, tugging him forward into Roche’s body in an unexpected flood of warmth, so startling after the cool water. Iorveth sucked in air greedily, slumped against Roche and not particularly interested in moving again ever.

“Iorveth?” he heard Roche ask vaguely, but he felt overcome with a lassitude and he found he didn’t quite care about anything at all, as long as Roche’s warmth remained wrapped around him.

He wasn’t sure how long he spent like that, clinging to Vernon Roche, but eventually he became aware enough to remember why that was super weird. He stiffened and the hands that had been stroking his back pulled away.

“Iorveth?” Roche asked, gripping his shoulders and pulling him away from Roche’s chest.

Iorveth grumbled, not enjoying the way he was suddenly cold everywhere that Roche had been touching him. “What?”

“Uh,” Roche cleared his throat, then grabbed Iorveth’s thighs and stood up, twisting to seat Iorveth on the bench next to him.

Iorveth blinked, unreasonably disappointed to lose that strong touch against his thighs. “You should fuck me,” he blurted, flushing as he realized what he’d said. He didn’t take it back, though.

Roche stared at him with wide eyes, adam’s apple bobbing as the dh’oine swallowed. “Only if you get naked, too,” Roche said, seeming almost surprised at himself even as he uttered the words.

Iorveth licked his lips, lust and want flooding through his veins like fire. He grabbed the hem of his tunic and tried to pull it off, but the wet fabric kept getting stuck to him and when he tried to pull it off over his head, he just got stuck in it, vision blocked and arms tangled in the cloth.

There was a soft chuckle and then warm hands were touching him again, shifting Iorveth’s arms until they could pull the clothing off.

Blushing slightly at his show of ineptitude, Iorveth looked up to meet Roche’s judging gaze – only Roche was much closer than he’d expected, close enough that he could clearly see that there was no judgement in those hazel eyes.

He swallowed hard, feeling almost like he was under a spell, under the sway of the man whose lips parted, and his own mouth fell open on instinct.

“Iorveth,” Vernon murmured, almost close enough that Iorveth could feel the shape of the word.

Close enough that, when Iorveth’s tongue darted out to wet his lips, it dragged over Vernon’s lips too. Vernon made a soft sound and Iorveth felt suddenly desperate, reaching out to tangle his fingers in Vernon’s hair and pull him closer. Vernon’s heat pressed along his front and Iorveth shuddered, kissing Vernon properly.

Vernon moaned, low in the back of his throat, and Iorveth had never given much thought to kissing, but somehow he never wanted to stop kissing Vernon. So when Vernon pulled away, a whine escaped him before he could think about it.

Smiling softly, Vernon kissed the corner of his mouth, then dropped down to the ground, kneeling on the cold tile of the bathhouse ruins. Iorveth gaped down at Roche, awe and something else coursing through his heart. Vernon cupped the back of his right calf, signalling for him to raise his leg.

Iorveth obeyed automatically, and Vernon slipped his boots off, first his right, then his left.

Wearing only his hose and underwear, Iorveth’s arousal was more than obvious – thighs wet with slick and his cock bulging against the material. He flushed, feeling like he should be embarrassed to want this so transparently, but Vernon just licked his lips and knelt up to hook his thumbs in the hose, stroking Iorveth’s hips.

“May I?” Vernon asked, mouth close enough to breathe hot air over Iorveth’s cock.

Iorveth swallowed and nodded.

Moving slowly, Vernon pulled down his hose, once again signaling for him to lift one foot at a time. Now only his underwear stood between Vernon’s mouth and his genitals.

Except the sight of the green lace and silk panties was clearly a surprise to Vernon and the dh’oine froze for a moment, glancing up at him. He blushed fiercely, wanting to pretend that he didn’t know why Vernon had stopped. He just… liked feeling pretty. He wore enough layers of armor that normally, his habit of casually wearing beautiful lingerie underneath his clothing would never be discovered. But here, here where he’d worn only a tunic and hose, his perversity was on full display.

He cleared his throat, something sour roiling in his belly. So of course that was the moment he realized that when Roche had been holding him under, his bandana must have come off. Which meant his scar was on full display.

Stiffening abruptly made Roche look up at him with an expression that surely couldn’t actually be concern. Why would his enemy be concerned over him? Horror would make more sense. Roche had just discovered that his mortal enemy wore panties, as if some pretty silk could hide his ugliness and gods dammit, Iorveth wanted to not care what anyone thought, but this was Vernon, and his opinion mattered.

“Iorveth?” Vernon – Roche – the dh’oine’s voice was soft as he rose to his feet and yes, it really did appear to be concern in his eyes.

Iorveth’s throat clicked as he swallowed, feeling nauseated at the confused jumble of emotions in his belly.

“If you’ve changed your mind,” Ver – Roche said, giving him an opening to leave.

Except… he… didn’t really want to leave. He didn’t understand why Roche might want him, why Roche wasn’t reeling back in horror from his scar. But… looking into Roche’s eyes, it was clear that horror was nowhere amongst the things he was feeling.

Iorveth’s lips parted, “I haven’t.”

Roche – or should it be Vernon now? – wrapped warm hands around Iorveth’s hips, thumbs rubbing into the skin again. He pulled Iorveth closer to him, leaning in to kiss the corner of Iorveth’s mouth again.

A soft sound escaped Iorveth and he tilted his head until their lips were sliding together properly. His fingers found their way into Vernon’s hair again and when his hips bucked, their cocks brushed against each other, making them both moan.

“Fuck,” Iorveth panted, shoving Vernon back to sit on the bench again. Then he crawled into Vernon’s lap, grinding his panty-covered cunt against Vernon’s cock.

“Oh!” Vernon gasped, head falling back, relaxing into Iorveth’s grip on his hair. “Iorveth.”

His name was whispered breathlessly and Iorveth immediately decided that that was the best way it had ever been said.

He rocked his hips, dragging his cunt along the length of Vernon’s cock, and even through the material of his panties, he was getting Vernon wet.

Shuddering, he used his grip on Vernon’s hair to pull the other man in for another kiss. Vernon returned the kiss passionately, like he was putting everything he was in Iorveth’s hands. And Iorveth had no idea what to do with that, but he was helpless to resist the urge to kiss back, meeting him with just as much hunger.

Vernon’s hands slid up his back, one tangling in his hair and the other cupping his face so very sweetly and Iorveth could do nothing but lean into the touch as they kissed and kissed and kissed.

Gods, he could happily kiss Vernon forever.

He was still grinding against Vernon’s cock, but everything that wasn’t Vernon’s kiss sort of faded into the background and Iorveth had no idea how close he was until Vernon pulled away to nip a line of kisses across his jaw.

“Come for me,” Vernon growled in his ear and his hips bucked, muscles seizing as he did as ordered, pleasure overcoming him in hot licks of fire.

#rorveth #iorveth x roche #pwp #wips #my fics #the witcher

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hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

Text

okay so I saw this amazing post by @deardmvz and it reminded me that I had a similar wip laying around somewhere and she requested I finish it!! so here it is!!

Billy thought it would be a breeze, taking a road trip to Tennessee with Steve sounded like nothing compared to the thirty some odd hours he’d spent in the car from California to Indiana.

But twice on the way down the Camaro, on her last leg after repairs, had threatened to give up on them, the brakes getting testy until he had to pull over and give her a rest. It was the summer, and the a/c kept cutting out. Everyone seemed to have the same idea as them, and the roads were packed.

With the car giving them trouble, Steve refused to let him go any more than five over before he started gripping the seat and demanding he slow down, so what had been supposed to be a six hour trip turned into closer to ten.

So much for an easy trip.

By the time they were finally rolling into town, of course struggling to find a parking space anywhere near their destination, Billy was already dreading the drive back to Hawkins.

Because the only reason they were even here was because Steve had a craving for some taffy he’d gotten as a kid when he was down south visiting his grandma, so the minute they popped into that little candy shop and got what they were here for, they’d be back on the road within the hour.

This was a tourist trap kind of town too, 3D movie theaters and putt-putt courses and tacky museums galore, so he seriously doubted they would even be able to afford much more than a little bag of candy if they tried to stick around.

It’s decidedly worth it though, having spent all that time in the car, because he gets to see Steve all excited like, acting just like a kid again as he drags him through the crowded streets, stopping at the window of the candy shop with a smile pressed against the glass. Excitedly, he declares, “It’s still here!”

So Billy tries his best to return the smile and not let his grimace at the unexpected difficulty of the trip or the frankly ridiculous prices the place was charging for candy show. He remembers how he’d felt when he realized he would never have a cake from the local bakery back in his hometown for one of his or Max’s birthdays again, so he’d let Steve have this. Even if it cost ten bucks for a pound of taffy logs.

He buys himself a bag of cordial cherries too, figures he might as well get a little something out of it if the trip was going to be such a pain. The smile that Steve gives him when he has his own purchase at the checkout doesn’t go unnoticed either.

With their mission achieved, Steve practically skips back to where they’d left the Camaro in a pay-to-park lot a few blocks over. He stops at the drivers side door, hooks two fingers through the handle. “So who’s driving?”

“Uh-uh. You’re not taking my baby anywhere buzzed on sugar.” Steve pouts, but he doesn’t argue. Just circles around the other side and gets comfortable in the passenger seat.

Billy’s glad, because he doesn’t think he would’ve made it the whole way back home with Steve ‘drives like his late grandma’ Harrington behind the wheel.

Not too long into the ride back it’s already starting to get dark. It’s much quieter this time around, much calmer too, with the roads seeming to clear out as the sun disappears behind the mountains.

Were it not for the occasional crinkle of a candy wrapper, Billy probably wouldn’t have even known Steve was still awake, the way he was leaning so far back into his seat.

But in the same way that Steve’s back seat driving on the way up had made him feel tense, the silence makes him feel jittery, and the dark makes him paranoid. The prospect of at least another four hours in the car makes him feel trapped.

He reaches over and turns the radio on to distract from the emptiness, probably pushing the dial a bit more aggressive than was necessary, and a talk show, some sad sap call-in station where you overshare with the dj and they dedicate you a song that’s supposed to make you feel better, fills the silence, drowns out the irritating sound of tires on pavement.

He isn’t paying any attention, he’d turned it down as far as he could and still be able to hear it, so he must have missed something, because Steve sits bolt upright, bringing with him the previously reclined seat with a creak of the springs to exclaim, “Oh my god, Bill.”

He glances over at Steve for the briefest of seconds before his eyes quickly flick back to the road ahead, his heart skipping for just a second when he realizes he hadn’t been watching. “The taffy not as good as you remember it?”

“No it totally is. It’s our song, it’s on the radio.” His sounds like he’s going to burst from excitement as he explains himself and cranks the volume way high. Definitely too much sugar.

Though it’s not quite as extreme as Billy usually keeps it, it's still loud enough it takes a moment for his ears to adjust and recognize what is indeed the piano intro to what Steve had declared ‘their song’, of which he insists, “You gotta sing it babe.”

The concept of having a song was a fairly recent one, something that had been decided when Billy had started moving his things into Steve’s place, and he’d found some old record albums of his mothers that he’d kept hidden in his room for years.

Most of them were warped and scratched so badly they skipped through entire songs until they were unrecognizable as music. Others were covered in so many layers of dust and dirt they’d have needed hosed off before even thinking about putting them in their player.

Among the very few records still undamaged after being moved and stored for far too long were Farewell Andromeda, Electronically Tested, and a 45 of Don’t Go Breaking My Heart/Snow Queen.

John Denver was so not their speed, and Mungo Jerry was just a little too far out there for their tastes, so they kept the 45 and trashed or gave away most of the rest, if the sentimental value wasn’t too strong.

That little record was the sort of middle ground of their tastes, though neither would have ever fessed up about the soft spot for old pop to the other were it not for finding that old single under Billy’s bed, but from then on they’d spun it in Steve’s old console player more times than anyone should have been able to stand.

Over time, in the storage side of the player, they amass quite the collection of similar albums, more Elton John, ABBA, and god, Billy would never admit this to anyone, but goddamn Bees Gees, both on vinyl and cassette, but Don’t Go Breaking My Heart/Snow Queen forever held a special place in their hearts, and in their music rotation.

Everytime it came on the little battery radio in the kitchen or either slipped it into the player, it was tradition that they’d drop whatever they were doing and sing along with Elton and Kiki.

Just because, the romantic that he was, Steve had decided it was their song.

And honestly, Billy couldn’t argue with that, for obvious reasons the lyrics were special to the both of them, and the song was designed to be insanely catchy anyways, but right now he was busy driving, focusing all his attention on every dark corner of the road ahead. “‘M drivin’ Stevie.”

“Pleeease?” Steve glances between the radio and Billy with those puppy dog eyes of his, and offers a pointless bribe, just to help make his case. “I’ll give you a taffy.”

“Alright, alright.” Billy didn’t care about taffy, in all truthfulness he thought it was disgusting, definitely not a treat worth a minimum six hour drive for, but even watching the road he could see the expectant look in his boyfriends eyes from the passenger seat, so it didn’t take much convincing.

They’d missed the first few lines while they were debating it, so he tells Steve, “You start it then.”

With a smile that made it worth it, he does. He turns the volume up even higher and jumps right in on Kiki Dee’s “You take the weight off of me”

That was the indisputable rule Steve had established the very first time they’d played the record, that he would always sing Kiki’s parts of the song, and Billy Elton’s. Billy still didn’t really know exactly why that was, but he didn’t see a reason to argue.

So he does his line, “Oh honey when you knock on my door” and Steve gives him the biggest smile he can muster, as though he wasn’t expecting him to actually join in, and goes straight into his next with all the more enthusiasm. “Ooh, I gave you my key”

Ooh, nobody knows it

When I was down

I was your clown

Ooh, nobody knows it

Right from the start

I gave you my heart

Oh, I gave you my heart

Billy’s been known to get super into the whole thing, dancing like a goof, using anything he can find as a microphone just to get a rise out of Steve, but there’s a definite lack of that enthusiasm this time around.

It’s not that he doesn’t care about doing things like this like this with Steve, quite frankly, just the fact that they were even to a point in their relationship to have something as cheesy as their own song meant the world to him. He just was feeling, a little off.

So don't go breaking my heart

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Steve definitely catches it, he’s the master at being able to tell when Billy’s not feeling his best. He calculates, and waits until the next break in the song to put his hand on Billy’s thigh. To let him know that the lyrics are directed at him. To remind him of the reason why they ever picked a damned Elton John song to be theirs.

And nobody told us

Because nobody showed us

And now it's up to us babe

Oh, I think we can make it

So don't misunderstand me

You put the light in my life

Oh, you put the spark to the flame

I've got your heart in my sights

It’s like an unspoken conversation, carried out entirely through the touch of Steve’s skin against his, the few seconds of eye contact Billy’s willing to allow before he’s back to watching the road, through the song on the radio that was theirs.

Ooh, nobody knows it

When I was down

I was your clown

Ooh, nobody knows it

Right from the start

I gave you my heart

Oh, I gave you my heart

Ever since being discharged from the hospital, no matter how hard he tried to appreciate being alive and what not, Billy still had moments like these where he was distant, only engaging with part of himself. It made him feel ungrateful, selfish. Like he didn’t deserve it.

Don't go breaking my heart

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Now that he really thought about it, he’s guessing the only reason Steve had even made him drive all the way to Tennessee for a bag of candy they could have just bought at the dollar store was because he knew it was one of those days.

Ooh, nobody knows it

When I was down

I was your clown

Right from the start

I gave you my heart

Oh, I gave you my heart

It’s certainly the reason he’s belting his heart out in the passenger seat of Billy’s car to a lame old pop song, and it’s at least, in some small part, the reason why Billy’s heart feels so full at the sight of it.

Don't go breaking my heart

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my

Don't go breaking my heart

Don't go breaking my

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Don't go breaking my

I won't go breaking your heart

Don't go breaking my heart

Don't go breaking my

The song fades out before it’s over, the last few lines of the chorus cut off by a dj on a time schedule, but they finish it anyways, shouting over each other and the next song as it begins to play.

Steve dissolves into a fit of giggles, and Billy’s sure if he wasn’t driving he’d kiss the life out of him right then.

The radio gets turned back down to just background noise, and Steve gets settled back in again. He keeps humming to himself from where he’s settled back against the door in his reclined seat. It’s most likely an unconscious action, he does that a lot when he's drowsy, but it’s successful in keeping the tension out of the car.

At least, Billy doesn’t feel even half as on edge about the estimated three hours still left before they’d be back in Hawkins as he did before.

Because even if it started a little shaky, he was glad to have spent the day with nobody but Steve. No nosy teenaged brats refusing to mind their own business, no bosses calling them into work, no doctors appointments or friends dropping by for unannounced visits.

It was just him and Steve and the open road, and EJ and Kiki Dee, and a little bit of expensive candy, that helped too.

#harringrove #billy hargrove #steve harrington #billy x steve #ej writer #story by ej!#geez louise this took forever #literally like the busiest weekend of my life kicked off the minute I started trying to write this #but here it is finally!! hope it’s a little coherent because Im not rereading this for the thousandth time #my initials are literally ej it’s destiny that I’d be an elton john stan #so obviously this fic was going to happen eventually #dearly sorry if the formatting of this is off I’m posting this from mobile and mobile tumblr is very not nice to my formatting #I’ll fix it next time I’m on desktop I promise

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scribeofred · 3 years ago

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Thanks to @onereyofstarlight for the tag!

1. What fandoms have you written for?

This is embarrassing but I actually had to look at both FFnet and AO3 because I couldn’t remember all of them. TRON: Legacy, Assassin’s Creed, Star Wars, Lord of the Rings and the Hobbit, Sherlock, Final Fantasy VII and XV and Kingsglaive, Voltron: Legendary Defender, Merlin, Skyrim, and, of course, Thunderbirds. I have a couple other fandoms that crop up in various wips, including a Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover that I really should finish.

2. How many works do you have on AO3 &/or FFNet?

FFnet has 45, and AO3 has 41. There’s also a couple stories lurking on tumblr, notably a final chapter for Reflection.

3. What are your top 3 fics by kudos on A03 &/or Favs on FFNet?

AO3 dominates in this area, if I can use a word like “dominates” for stories that have less than 125 kudos each haha. Oh well, the numbers don’t matter!

1. 118 kudos on tell the shades apart (my world is black and white)

2. 94 kudos on Reflection

3. 91 kudos on The 43rd Hour

4. Which 3 fics have the least kudos & Favs?

Again on AO3:

1 kudos on I Am You (And You Are Me)

5 kudos on The Dragonborn Chronicles

6 kudos on cynosure

5. Which Fic has the most comments and which has the least?

Reflection has the most at 29 threads, and I Am You (And You Are Me) has the least at zero.

6. Which complete fic do you wish had gotten more attention?

Lodestar, definitely. Sure, it’s for something of a rarepair, but they aren’t that rare, and I just really really like the way the story came together. On the other hand, of course my unfinished Merlin fic has gotten probably the most attention, because that’s just the way it goes, eh?

7. Have you written any crossovers?

None that I’ve published! I have various crossovers lurking in mostly unfinished states, including the aforementioned Tom Swift/Thunderbirds crossover, and an Assassin’s Creed/Thundeerbirds crossover that is very good and I should also finish. There’s an Expanse/Thunderbirds fic lurking in my brain that I may or may not ever commit to paper, who knows. I’ve also very vaguely toyed with a Batman/Thunderbirds crossover, in the sense that “nebulous” is too strong a word for the kind of toying I’ve been doing.

8. What is the craziest fic you’ve written?

I don’t really write crazy or crack or humor in general, so probably the closest thing to “crazy” is On the Lam, which was the result of wanting to throw Scott and Penelope toward an Egyptian stud farm. It ended up being the host for a bad joke about that, courtesy of one @thebaconsandwichofregret, who consistently gives some of the best dialogue advice I’ve ever encountered.

Actually, the true answer is probably a chapter in Glimpses into a Supernova, maybe the one about blood? It seems bonkers when I think back on it now, but I admittedly haven’t read it in many years. Possibly I am misremembering. Glimpses has some weird ones, though.

9. What’s the fic you’ve written with the saddest ending?

It’s a tossup between The Painting and a place where the water touches the sky. The former deals with a prior off-screen death; the latter is (maybe??) an on-screen death. People seemed upset by it, at any rate. I said it was ambiguous!

10. What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

“Happy” is probably a matter of perspective? Depends on the overall reading experience and the ending within that context. Either septet or Three Towels and a Tracy, they’re both pretty fluffy overall.

11. What is your smuttiest fic?

protoinstincts, which I completely forgot I wrote and then rediscovered like a year later and realized “hey, this is actually pretty good” and you know what, despite it not being overly spicy, it is pretty good.

12. Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not hate, per se, but someone left a review on Less Than Nothing saying they “didn’t like” that I “wrote the story as a series of drabbles.” Cool, I didn’t write the story for you, random guest reader, and the back button exists, friend 😂 It didn’t bother me on a personal level because I wrote the fic for an audience of one (incidentally, not myself and rather the recipient of a secret santa event), but I was mad because the reviewer had no way of knowing where I was at as a writer, and I know from longtime observation how that kind of comment can crush less experienced or confident writers.

Don’t leave flames, kids, you don’t understand the power your words have. Don’t like, don’t read.

13. What is the nicest comment you’ve received?

The nicest? Goodness. Hmm. I’d have to go hunting to find the nicest, but in recent memory, @ayzrules sent me a couple passages from Spanish texts she’s been studying that reminded her of my writing, and I was honestly so touched by the fact that she even thought to make such comparisons, much less mention them to me. Taking the time to familiarize yourself with someone’s style until you can make comparisons between it and someone else’s work is so much more meaningful to me personally than a basic “Nice story!” or “Loved this!” type of comment ever could be. <3 Ayz <3

14. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I’m aware of, but I’ve never gone looking on any sort of copycat site or whatever either.

15. How many fics do you have marked as incomplete?

Two. First is The Dragonborn Chronicles, which is a retelling of Skyrim from Lydia’s perspective via her journal, to complement the in-game journal. It’s a slog of a style to write, though, even for someone who loves writing first person and doesn’t really want to write a lot of dialogue, and the outline is huge, and the story will be many times more huge, and just. Some day. Some day.

Second is tell the shades apart (my world is black and white), which has always been unfinished because the outline itself is over seven thousand words and the fully written story would undoubtedly land between 100,000 and 200,000 words, and there’s no way I’m writing that. I’ve always meant to upload the outline, but I got kind of self-conscious about the way I formatted it, and ugh I just haven’t bothered. One day, one day, right?

Moral of the story is I’m intensely a short story writer, and I’ve really found myself settling into that role over the last couple years. Better a clipped, punchy short story than a bloated slog of an epic.

16. Which of the WIPS will most likely be finished first?

Literally no one knows that. I wrote 95% of the observable entropy of a closed system over five years ago, and then I proceeded to pull it out roughly once a year and write and rewrite various endings until last month, which was when I finally figured out how I wanted to end the story. septet, too, languished for about five years before I finally remembered it existed and managed to wrangle an ending. Endings are hard, man. So are those third plot points. Terrible creatures, those, bog me down every time.

17. Which WIP are you looking forward to finishing?

Uh... mm. See. If I were looking forward to finishing any of them, I’d be actively working on them. At this moment, writing fic isn’t exactly high on my list of priorities, but I am also coming off a four-day idle game bender, so I still feel like I haven’t quite reengaged with myself as a living person. Give me another few days and I might have an answer.

(I am always most looking forward to finishing this ridiculous Ignis-drives-the-Audi-R8 fic that’s been languishing in my wips for literal years. As mentioned above, third plot points. Killer, man.)

(oh and also the working-titled the art of murder. Scott and Penny attend a private art auction. Things don’t go to plan. It, too, is stuck at the third plot point. I know, I know I have a problem, shush.)

18. Is there a WIP that you’re considering abandoning?

Any wip has the potential to be revived—this year and the old wips I’ve unearthed, dusted off, finished, and posted have been proof of that. I don’t intentionally permanently abandon anything for that reason, some stories just probably will remain dusty old wips forever because I didn’t actually need or want to write the full story for one reason or another.

19. Which complete fic would you consider rewriting?

Now that’s an interesting question. Hmm! Honestly? None of them. Once I finish a story, I’m not inclined toward rereading it again any time soon, to the point of years in some cases, and I feel like I’ve moved on from the stories I wrote one, two, five, eight years ago in the actual writing sense. They’re finished stories, and on top of that are relics of their time, which doesn’t mean the stories don’t have any ongoing significance on a reading level—I just don’t have any interest in rewriting those particular stories. I’ve gotten them out of my head, to the point of not remembering at least a third of them on demand anymore, and I don’t have any desire to “retell” those exact stories. I do tend to tighten the wording and fix perceived errors/weaknesses whenever I do end up rereading an old story, and I usually silently update the AO3 version if I make any significant changes because AO3 makes it a breeze to update a posted fic. I might do FFnet too if I’m feeling up to it or have the time.

20. Which complete fic is your favourite?

Once upon a time I would’ve said Holding On, but I honestly find it kind of unbearably melodramatic now. the observable entropy of a closed system is equally melodramatic, as it was written in the same era, but at least it has the excuse of being told in second person and via a style that is a half step away from being poetry. Possibly I will reread it in a few years and find it equally obnoxious and overly dramatic, but it received some shockingly positive comments, which I wasn’t expecting at ALL, and I’ve been honestly blown away by the amount of praise it’s received. <3 to everyone who’s said anything about it!

21. What’s your total published word count?

141,000 on AO3, 160,000 on FFnet, but technically the light of my life SS wrote fifty thousand words of each. It’s too late for math.

I tag @velkynkarma, @lurkinglurkerwholurks, @writtenbyrain, @thebaconsandwichofregret, and anyone else who wants to play!

#tag games

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