#hops pov

[arbitersart]

Had some thoughts on the structure of recent life series seasons and went into english major mode. Thought it was worth sharing here too!

[arkarti]

Hi! Can you show us Willy’s jealous face over y/n?? Pretty please

He doesn't get jealous, he just likes... standing in the shadows

[gayofthefae]

Two options:

Mike's speech made her angry and helped

Mike's speech didn't make her angry, Max's choking made her angry and helped. Mike's speech affected nothing and wasted time.

Not looking great, guys.

[svtskneecaps]

i'm still stuck on the purgatories so here's a list of purgatory 2 moments simply off the top of my head that deserve to be remembered:

aimsey ducking all of axolotl team alone in a cave with literally half a heart

goose gang fucking descending on the raccoon base and absolutely wrecking shop

ethan crankgameplays clutching up for team panda during the capture the flag game by being the only one hanging out in the center and periodically checking the chests, earning them a shitton of flags and clutching multiple rounds

crow team's egg taking 0 damage

pac doxxing goose gang's egg in the last second

shelby shubble as the last member of her team online writing a letter to aimsey and sharing the world's most devastating ten minutes before her team was eliminated with one of the eye creatures (coco? i forgot lol)

badboyhalo absolutely fucking DEMOLISHING the battleship event on like 2 hours of sleep and a dream

wuant(?) stealing a tv from the battleship event and then playing portuguese ice age on it for the crows lmfao

tubbo djing for his team while waiting for the time for a goose gambit

theguill CRASHING THROUGH THE FUCKING CEILING of the raccoon team's hidey hole like the fucking kool aid man in a last effort to save his team and 4v1 or 5v1 ing team raccoon; he lost but that was such an epic fucking moment

theguill and etoiles pvping and each hyping the other's skills the entire time

seapeekay escaping cellbit and baghera and then stealing their boats and rocketing past to tease them about it; that shit was iconic

kenny going mad with power collecting sand on literally day 1

the english speaking squirrels taking actual physical notes on portuguese phrases (i think)

lgbtiba

i may add more this is an off the top of my head list but like got DAMN i like these events :D i like them a lot

[royalarchivist]

Forever: Wow so, the vanilla eh, don't have the- the Eggs with a glock?

Phil: Yeah they don't have Eggs with glocks, yeah.

Forever: Yeah yeah yeah, that should be a- a nice addition.

Phil: You know, I was thinking that, and I might pitch it, I might pitch it to Mojang. Hey Chayanne you can get out with this. There you go.

Forever: What do you think about, like a baby zombie with a glock?

Phil: [Sighing heavily into his microphone] I would hate that. I would hate that so much.

Forever: [laughs]

Phil: YOU KNOW I WOULD. You know I would! Stop mocking me! [laughs]

Forever: I don't know what you're talking about! What's your problem with baby zombies? They're so fun and cute.

[Phil cracks up and Forever cackles]

Phil: Chat, that was literally the equivalent of, "Haha you're so funny and sexy, haha."

[enigmaticexplorer]

Writing Advice: Third Person Point of View - The Problem with Head-Hopping

A personal pet peeve in fanfic—and even some published books, unfortunately—is an author head-hopping.

I understand that not everyone learned about writing point of view in primary school, and many fanfic writers are new to writing and might not even realize they're writing head-hopping.

So, this post is an educational means for those who are interested in learning how to improve their writing.

I'm going to give a quick overview of point of view, a breakdown of third person point of view, and how to spot head-hopping in your writing.

What Is Point of View?

Point of view (POV) is the perspective (voice) from which a story is narrated.

There are three POVs.

First person

Second person

Third person

Third Person: Limited vs. Omniscient

In third person POV, the author is narrating the story through third-person pronouns (she, he, they).

Third person POV is subdivided into two categories: third person limited and third person omniscient.

Third Person Limited

In third person limited, the narrator is an external observer who knows the thoughts and feelings of ONE character at a time.

Here's an example from R.F. Kuang's, The Poppy War, page 341:

The Cike were stretched to their limit, especially Rin. Each moment not spent on an operation was spent on patrol. And when she was off duty, she trained with Altan.

Note that this paragraph—the entire book, actually—is from Rin's POV. We have access to Rin's feelings, thoughts, and observations throughout the book, while also seeing how other characters are acting.

But we are only in Rin's head. We do not have access to the thoughts and feelings of other characters. This is third person limited POV.

Third Person Omniscient

In third person omniscient, the narrator is an all-knowing observer who has access to the thoughts, feelings, and experiences of ALL characters in the story.

Here's an example from Jane Austen's, Pride and Prejudice, page 104:

As they drove to Mr. Gardiner’s door, Jane was at a drawing-room window watching their arrival; when they entered the passage she was there to welcome them, and Elizabeth, looking earnestly in her face, was pleased to see it healthful and lovely as ever.

Notice how we have access to both Jane and Elizabeth's 1) physical locations, and 2) thoughts. Even though Elizabeth is in a carriage and Jane is inside a house, the narrator is all-knowing and can narrate both of them at the same time.

The problem I see from many fanfic writers: they attempt to write in third person omniscient when they're actually writing shoddy third person limited, constantly switching between the POVs of multiple characters.

This is called head-hopping.

Head-Hopping vs. Omniscient

Head-hopping is when an author shifts between the POVs of multiple characters without a scene break. Meaning, the author is inside Character A's head but abruptly—and randomly—shares the thoughts, feelings, and/or observations of Character B.

Here's an example:

Kathy arrived at the cafe in hopes of showing Brittany her completed sweater. It was the first time she had knitted and she was eager to share her hard work with her best friend. Brittany took one look at the sweater and cringed. She hated it, but she didn't want to hurt Kathy's feelings. She didn't know what to say.

In this example, we are inside both Kathy and Brittany's heads. Both characters have distinctive voices, and because of this, the narration of the story is inconsistent.

It's jarring to read, and pulls you out of the story.

Here's the same example written through omniscient POV:

Kathy arrived at the cafe with the intent to show Brittany her completed sweater. After hours of hard work, the opinion of her best friend was important. At Kathy's approach, Brittany observed the sweater in her friend's hand and wrinkled her nose. The sweater was hideous.

In this example, we are inside the head of the narrator. The narrator is telling the story through its voice, rather than the individual voices of Kathy and Brittany.

Remember: Omniscient means the reader is inside the NARRATOR's head, not the characters'.

The Scene Break to Denote POV Switch

Back to my definition of head-hopping: Head-hopping occurs when a writer suddenly switches POV without a scene break.

Like the first example of Kathy and Brittany—there is no scene break between their thoughts. If the author wanted to write from both Kathy and Brittany's perspective, the author would have to include a physical break to alert the reader to a switch in POV. See below:

Kathy arrived at the cafe in hopes of showing Brittany her completed sweater. It was the first time she had knitted and she was eager to share her hard work with her best friend. ~~~~~~~~~~ Brittany took one look at the sweater and cringed. She hated it, but she didn't want to hurt Kathy's feelings. She didn't know what to say.

The squiggly lines demonstrate a switch in POV, and the scene would then continue in Brittany's POV. [Please note that a single paragraph space (as seen in the first example of Kathy and Brittany) is not a scene break. It is a paragraph break, and therefore cannot be used to demonstrate a switch in POV.]

You can write multiple POVS throughout a story. These will all be in third person limited POVs.

For example, each chapter in Rick Riordan's Heroes of Olympus series is dedicated to ONE character. Throughout that chapter, the reader is inside the head—reading the thoughts, feelings, and observations—of that singular character.

Individual chapters can also have multiple POVs (again, these are third person limited POVs). These are denoted by a divider or additional paragraph space.

For example, Timothy Zahn's Thrawn switches between the POVs of multiple characters in each chapter. The switch between his characters' POV is shown by an additional paragraph space.

Why Should You Care about Head-Hopping?

If writing head-hopping makes you happy, then keep at it. It's fanfic, and most readers are so desperate for content they don't care.

But, if you're interested in improving your writing, here are a few reasons why head-hopping is problematic:

It's jarring to the reader, and takes them out of the story. Frequent head-hopping can confuse readers as they struggle to keep track of whose perspective they are currently experiencing. It disrupts the flow of the narrative and can make it challenging for readers to form a strong connection with any one character.

It makes it harder for readers to truly immerse themselves in your story. Consistent use of a single POV allows readers to immerse themselves in the story's world through the eyes of a specific character. Head-hopping disrupts this immersion by constantly pulling readers out of one character's perspective and into another's.

It hinders character development. When the narrative constantly shifts between characters, there may not be enough time or focus on any one character's growth and development.

It takes away the emotional impact of the scene. Head-hopping can prevent readers from fully empathizing with or understanding any particular character's emotions, motivations, and inner conflicts.

Even well-established authors struggle to write omniscient without head-hopping. It's a nuanced subject that can be confusing to understand and difficult to overcome.

Again, this post is simply to inform writers about third person point of view and the subtle differences between its subdivisions. It’s not an attack on fanfic writers.

[dudja]

POV: your favorite coworker was late #comedy #funny #work #memes #meme #katemckinnon #Masterminds

[teapot-of-tyrahn]

I humbly request an Esmp 1 Pearl (vs Xornoth maybe?)

Galaxy Duo ftw!

The Ruler of Gilded Helianthia had always loved to fight. Xornoth knew this well. The Farmer Queen had an unquenchable thirst for battle, a yearning for a challenge, a gallantry which had made her fearless and puerile when they'd first met. Even when it had sent ravagers, vexes, illusionists, strays, blazes… even when her Empire had begun to burn to the ground around her, rooftops ablaze and every crevice filled with craters, she had still treated it all as a game. As if his attack was nothing more than a sparring session, a brief skirmish, a squabble. Xe had thought her to be fatuous, at first, foolish for trying to provoke a demon which could fling her thousands of blocks into the air at the flick of a wrist into one-on-one combat, a reckless ruler with a death wish. He had thought her taunts had been nothing but ridiculing reviles —  “Ooh, baby zombie! The most threatening thing so far-", “Xornoth, can you come around more often? Like, I’m having a great time right now!” —  the likes of which had gotten under xir skin more than it wanted to admit… but that wasn't the case. She hadn't been deriding it: worse. She had been humouring them. She sincerely hadn't been taking him seriously. She hadn't been afraid. Not of death; not of xem, not of lava, heights or sorcery. She was fearless. All she cared about was having a fun fight. In some ways, Xornoth respected this. In others, however, he wanted to take advantage of it. Like xe had taken advantage of his other underlings' lust for power, it was hoping they could distort her adversarial nature into bloodlust for his own gain. It didn't seem like it would be a difficult stretch to turn her vigour into vindictiveness. Unfortunately, despite xir and Sausage's efforts, it had been for naught. The Moon's morality had been surprisingly unshakeable, her loyalty to her alliance impossible to subvert or suborn. It was a shame, really; it would have loved to have such a powerful Emperor in their arsenal, but alas, it hadn't been meant to be. The Sunflower Queen hadn't been entirely nugatory, however. The Mythland Arena Massacre truly had been a spectacle. The only thing he regretted about the event is that it had to be a ruse. Truly, it would have loved to fight her again, to test both of their mettle and mold. But he had bigger plans to attend to. Plans xe couldn't allow The Ruler of Smallholding to interrupt. And, so, it had to get her out of the way. They wouldn't kill her, though, no; after all she had done for it? That would be unjust. She deserved a reward for her assistance. And xe knew the perfect one. He'd give her exactly what she had wanted. The Ruler of Gilded Helianthia had always loved to play games. The Ruler of Gilded Helianthia had always loved to fight. And, so, it would send her to a play a game where she could fight to her hearts' content, where she could really be challenged. A game of a death; a game to the death. A dream come true for her… almost too literally. A dream she wouldn't know was true. Sweet dreams, Farmer Queen. Watch out for the boogeymen beneath your bed.

— — —  i can't be the only one INSANE about how xornoth was CANNONICALLY implied to be responsible for sending esmp1 pearl to last life / the life games ,,,,, that he trapped her in a coma, a sleep that lasted so long that when she woke up her kingdom filled with cobwebs ,,,,,, ANYWAY GALAXY DUO FTW !!!

[astrobei]

anonymous prompt: “this isn’t byler but do you think you could write some hopper trying to achieve some step-son stepfather bonding time with a reluctant Will?”

As it turns out, in some weird subversion of all of Jim Hopper’s expectations, teenage girls are a hundred times easier to figure out than teenage boys.

El had been a bit of a blank slate at first. She liked Eggo waffles and daytime TV and when Jim put his records on, she didn’t complain. Maybe she just didn’t know that there were other types of music out there, but as far he was concerned, there wasn’t much worth knowing about that wasn’t Jimi Hendrix anyway.

And then things started falling into place a little. El liked Eggo waffles, but she liked them most with the kinds of toppings on top that he wasn’t supposed to technically be eating anymore– whipped cream and candy and enough sugar to induce a heart attack twenty years early.

She liked the daytime TV just fine, but she liked it better when he watched it with her, telling her what all the unfamiliar words meant. Word of the day, he’d said as a joke, when she’d asked what infatuated meant. The irony of that wouldn’t hit him for another year or so.

She liked Jimi Hendrix okay, but he suspects that she actually just liked watching him dance around to the records more than she did any guitar riff, no matter how captivating they might have been. He doesn’t blame her. He’d never claimed to be a good dancer, but he sure could be an entertaining one.

So this is where he stands, currently. Teenage girls are fine. Teenage boys are, actually, a mystery beyond comprehension.

Or maybe it’s just Joyce Byers’ teenage boys that are hard to figure out.

Yeah. That’s probably it.

Jim’s sure he hasn’t been like this when he was younger. He’d been very straightforward about his interests: his dad’s vinyl collection of 50’s rock ‘n roll, the chocolate milkshakes at the local diner, and cutting class to smoke with Joyce Byers under the east wing stairs.

Some of these more so than others, maybe, but they’d been very simple interests all the same. Nicking Marlboros from his dad’s jacket pocket when he wasn’t looking, then slipping them into Joyce’s waiting fingers as she slid into the stairwell next to him. He’s pretty sure his dad knew where the cigarettes had been going, and he’s also pretty sure he didn’t care.

“What are you smiling about?”

Seventeen-year-old Joyce vanishes in a puff of stale smoke, and suddenly, she’s here in front of him again. The real thing this time, not a hazy, memory-worn apparition– faded cotton shirt, plaid flannel pajama pants. Smiling down at him, holding a pan of scrambled eggs in one hand and a spatula in the other.

Jim raises his eyebrows. “Nothing.” He shakes his head as she spoons eggs onto his plate. “I just– I haven’t seen you smoke in a while.”

Joyce huffs out a small laugh as she slides into the chair next to him. It’s early, barely seven in the morning. The kids don’t usually get up until well into the midmorning on summer days like this, so early mornings are for them and them alone. “I’m trying not to. El doesn’t like the smell.”

“Oh. She told you?”

“Will did.”

“Ah.” He takes a careful sip of his coffee. “What about Will? He doesn’t mind it?”

He can’t see Joyce’s mouth behind her mug, but her eyes are definitely smiling. “He doesn’t like it either. He just stopped saying so after a while.”

“Yeah, that sounds like him.”

Joyce laughs again, this time as she squirts a generous dollop of ketchup on her plate. “What, you didn’t kick the habit when you were locked up?”

“Oh, no,” Jim chuckles. “No way. I thought I would, for a while, but– it’s true, you know, what they say about cigarettes being worth as much as gold in there.”

“Really?”

They don’t talk about Russia much– at least not out here. Not in the morning, not after a good night’s sleep, not in the kitchen, where things are supposed to be happy and warm and filled with light. This isn’t the place for it– for things that are dark and cold and desolate, for monsters or funerals or death.

He clears his throat. “Hey,” he says instead, “listen, I was thinking.”

“Oh, yeah? About what?”

“I was thinking, maybe,” he starts, speaking more into the inside of his mug than to Joyce, now. “Maybe I’ll take Will out for the day. Do something together.”

If Joyce is surprised at all, it doesn’t show. “Yeah? To where?”

“I hadn’t thought that far ahead,” he admits, and she gives him an amused look. “I wanted to ask you first.”

Now she looks surprised. “What? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Jim shrugs, “he’s your kid! I didn’t want to cross any boundaries, or–” He trails off at the look on her face. “What?”

Joyce ducks her head, smiling softly. “No, that– that’s sweet, Hop. If he’s okay with it, then I’d love for you two to do something together.”

“Really? You think he would?”

“I–” Joyce starts, and then gets a contemplative look on her face. “You know he adores you, right?”

“Please,” Jim snorts, “he’s a sixteen year old boy. He doesn’t adore anybody.”

“Except–”

“We don’t talk about Wheeler before noon, Joyce,” Jim interrupts, and then Joyce is throwing her head back in another laugh. It’s a nice look, Jim thinks, maybe not as privately as he’d like. He’s sure she can tell exactly what’s on his mind.

“Okay! Sorry! But yes, of course. Go have a day out, just the two of you.”

“Okay,” he agrees, then takes a sip of coffee. “Okay. Sounds good.”

—-

The issue here is that given Joyce Byers’ infamous overprotectiveness, he’d thought acquiring her blessing to have a bit of adoptive father-adoptive son bonding would have been the hard part. And now he’s standing in front of Will’s room, hand raised to knock, feeling just about as jittery as he had when he had to give the Wheeler kid the shovel talk. 

Both times.

Now or never, Jim, he thinks, because for all of his bravery fighting monsters and Russians and that time he broke his own ankle and ran through miles of snow on foot, this doesn’t compare. This is Will. This is Joyce’s kid. And he doesn’t know why that makes him so nervous, but it does.

You can do it. It’s just a teenage boy.

He sighs, and raises his fist.

“Yeah?” Will’s voice is faint from behind the door. “Come in.”

“Hey,” Jim says, and then steels himself, gathering every remaining bit of courage in his body to say, “you got a minute to talk?”

Will raises his eyebrows. “Sure,” he says. It’s wary, cautious. He sits up further, from where he’d been reclining back on his pillows. “What’s up?”

It doesn’t take a genius to see that he’s on edge. Jim supposes maybe this is a bit out of the blue, so he tries to relax, tries to make sure his body language reads I come in peace. “What are you reading?” he tries, nodding towards the book in Will’s hands.

“Um.” Will turns it over, looks at the cover like he has to remind himself. “It’s Slaughterhouse Five. Jonathan gave it to me,” he says slowly.

Jim lets out a low whistle. “Damn. That’s impressive, kid. Is it any good?”

Will shrugs. “It’s okay so far. I just started though.”

Jim doesn’t know enough about Slaughterhouse Five to keep this conversation going with any merit, so he figures maybe he should just cut to the chase. “Hey, listen,” he starts, and Will’s eyebrows creep a little farther up his forehead. “I was thinking of spending a day out. Go for a drive, grab some lunch. You want to tag along?”

“Oh,” Will says. “Um.” He holds up his book. “I was thinking of getting ahead on this, actually.”

Jim Hopper has braved Russian prisons, secret labs, an underground dimension, his own faked death, and being stood up by Joyce Byers. This is fine.

“Okay,” he says, “that’s fine. No worries.”

“Sorry,” Will adds for good measure, still half-upright on his bed and looking very much like he does not want to be having this conversation.

“Seriously,” Jim says, already backing out into the hallway. “It’s okay. Have fun with the book, kid.”

—-

“He hates me, Joyce.”

Joyce shoots him a look as she climbs into the passenger seat of the car. “He does not hate you, Hop. Maybe you just caught him off guard.”

Jim groans, putting the car in reverse. “I knocked before I went in!”

“Jim.”

“What?”

Joyce pulls the cigarette out of his mouth and drops it into the ashtray. “Please don’t smoke in the car,” she chides. And then, “Well, what did you say to him?”

“I asked him about his book, and then if he wanted to tag along with me while I–”

“Okay, I’d say that caught him off guard a little.”

“How?” Jim exclaims, and then Joyce laughs.

“I don’t know! Will’s just– he needs a second, okay, Hop? Don’t take it personally. I promise he does not hate you.”

“Okay,” he grumbles, as they turn the corner past the high school. “One more shot, and then I’m accepting the fact that both your kids hate me.”

“Jonathan doesn’t hate you either,” Joyce says, but she looks like she’s fighting back a smile. “He just– he doesn’t show affection like that.”

“They hate me,” he repeats, accelerating down the backroad. “They both hate me.”

—-

Attempt #2 goes better. Somewhat.

“Hey,” Jim says as he walks through the door the next evening. Will is curled up on the couch, sketchbook open on his lap. He looks up as the door opens, startling slightly, then relaxes.

“Oh. Hey, Hop.”

Hey, Hop, he thinks. That’s better than Hello, Chief.

“Is your mom home?”

Will shakes his head and looks back down. “She’s at the Wheelers’. She’s having, um. Wine night. With Mike’s mom.”

“Oh, okay.” Jim pauses. “Hey,” he starts, and Will looks back up. “Listen, I don’t suppose you want to watch a movie or something tonight?”

Will blinks. “A movie?”

You’ve come back from the dead, Jim, he thinks. This is just a sixteen year old boy. He shrugs. “Yeah, you know, everyone’s out for the evening. Thought we could make a night of it, just us two.”

“Um.”

“You can pick,” Jim offers, tossing his hat on the kitchen table. “I won’t judge your taste, I promise.”

Will’s lips twitch upwards at the corners, ever so slightly. “I have good taste,” he protests, and Jim shrugs, like sure! Okay! “But I can’t today. Um. Sorry.”

“Oh. Big plans tonight?”

“Actually,” Will starts, pursing his lips. “Mike and I are grabbing dinner soon.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. It’s a bit of a low blow, getting passed over for the Wheeler kid, but it’s fine. Jim can roll with the punches. “Huh. Anywhere good?”

Will shrugs, but he looks like he’s on the verge of a smile. “Just the diner on Main Street.”

“Oh, the diner,” Jim laughs, pulling out a chair. “I used to go there every day when I was your age, actually. Best milkshakes on this side of Indiana.”

“Yeah?” Will puts his pencil down. “What was your order?”

“Ham and cheese. And a chocolate milkshake,” he answers immediately. He dreamt about those milkshakes, thought about them during long, cold nights behind bars, nothing but prison-grade gruel to fill his stomach. Comfort food. The kind of memory you hold on to longer than you’d expect.

“I get ham and cheese too,” Will says, and then he looks a bit surprised at himself, like this was something he didn’t mean to say. “Except I get, um. I get strawberry instead.”

Jim pretends to think it over. “Strawberry’s good,” he admits, “but not good enough.”

“Hey!” Will says, laughing. “Come on. Chocolate is so boring.”

That feels like a win, even if it’s a small one. He’s smiling before he realizes it. Making light banter over milkshake flavors shouldn’t be this exciting, not for someone like him, not for someone who’s been through what he has, but–

“You need a ride?” Jim holds up his car keys, still clutched in one hand. “I can drop you off.”

The smile fades slightly from Will’s face. “Oh, um. Mike’s picking me up, actually. In, like, ten minutes?”

“Wheeler can drive?”

“He got his license last month,” Will says, picking at a loose thread on the blanket. Jim’s first instinct is to protest– something about that’s not safe, and I don’t know if that’s the best idea, but he bites his tongue.

If Mike Wheeler can kill monsters, he can drive a car just fine. Probably.

“Okay,” he says at last, standing up and grabbing his hat. “Have fun, kid. Tell Wheeler to drive safe. Five under the speed limit. It’s my buddies on patrol tonight, remember.”

Will looks like he simultaneously wants to laugh and groan. “Yeah. Yeah, thanks, Hop. I’ll tell him.”

“Have a milkshake for me,” Jim says, then slinks off to his room.

Okay. That could’ve gone worse.

—-

“Okay, I don’t think he hates me.”

Joyce gives him a look like see? “I told you he doesn’t hate you,” she says, reaching across him for the olive oil. “What did you say this time?”

“Something about watching a movie,” Jim says. “I was– God, okay, Joyce, can you take over the onions for me?”

Joyce laughs, and says, teasing, “Broke your way out of a prison but chopping onions is too much?”

“This is why I don’t cook,” he says, then makes his way over to the record player in the corner of the living room. “I’ll take over music duty.”

“Sure,” Joyce calls. “You don’t cook because of onions.”

Steely Dan crackles to life as he turns around. “Oh, yeah,” he grins, “this is it. This is the good stuff.”

“Jim,” Joyce laughs. “What– are you supposed to be dancing?”

Hey, he’s said it before. He’s not the best dancer, but he’s definitely an entertaining one. “Times are hard,” Jim croons along, and Joyce’s laughter grows. “You’re afraid to pay the fee–”

“You’re awful,” Joyce shakes her head, even as Jim grabs a hold of her hands. “And– Hop, my hands are all onion-y.”

He ignores her. “When you need a little bit of lovin’–”

“Ew,” comes a voice from the hallway, and Jim turns around.

“Hey, hon,” Joyce says absentmindedly, dropping his hands and wiping hers on the towel. Onion, she mouths at him. “What’s going on?”

Will shoots him a bit of a strange look. “Sorry. I was just wondering when dinner was going to be.”

“Twenty minutes?” Jim offers, then grins. “Thirty if your mom tries to put me back on onion duty.”

Will crinkles up his nose and turns in the direction of the living room. “What are you playing?”

“I don’t wanna do your dirty work,” Jim belts out in response. Joyce and Will stare, identical dumbfounded expressions on their faces. “Steely Dan?” Jim offers.

Nothing. Apparently he’s dating into a family with zero taste.

“Sorry,” Joyce shrugs. “It’s cute, though!”

Cute! He squints in Will’s direction. “You too?”

Will mirrors Joyce’s shrug. “Sorry. It’s not really my thing.”

“Oh? What’s your thing, then?”

Will stands up a bit straighter. “I don’t know,” he says. “Um. I like The Cure. Stuff like that.”

“The Cure,” Jim muses. “That band, you got the, uh. You’ve got records of theirs, right?”

“Yeah,” Will smiles, then moves forward to sit down at the table. “Jonathan gave me some of his older ones when he left for college so I started, uh. I started collecting them.”

Okay. Okay, he can work with this.

Over Will’s shoulder, Joyce shoots him an impressed look and a thumbs up. You got this, she mouths, and then, aloud: “Hey, I just remembered, guys, I’ve got to go deal with the laundry. Just a second.”

Will frowns. “The laundry isn’t going right now.”

“Okay, then I’ve got to run a load. Be right back,” Joyce says, and then she flashes him another thumbs up and she’s gone, off down the hall.

There’s a moment of silence. Will looks around the kitchen– at the pasta boiling on the stove, the dishes in the sink, the wooden grain of the table. “Okay,” he says after a moment, “I think I should–”

“Hey,” Jim blurts out, “why don’t you, uh. Why don’t you bring one of your records out? You can have a turn.”

Will stops, halfway out of his seat. When he speaks, it’s quiet, a little pleased. “Yeah?” 

Jim nods, spreads his hands out. “Show me what you got.”

Will comes back a couple minutes later with a record in his hands. “Um,” he starts, “so this is their newest one, they released it a couple months ago.”

The red of the cover looks vaguely familiar. Jim’s sure he’s seen this one around in the record shops, something like that. “Very interesting,” he says, as Will drops the needle carefully onto it. “This is, uh–”

He knows the band, of course. He’s not that out of touch. But Will’s mouth twitches as he says, “The Cure,” and then, “um. This is one of my favorites so far.”

Jim doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t the guitar. Drums, coming in steady and insistent. He lets out a low whistle. “Alright, wow. Didn’t take you for a rock fan, kid.”

To his surprise, Will smiles. A real smile. “Yeah,” he says, standing awkwardly by the record player. “Jonathan got me into them when I was younger. Um. I guess he liked stuff that had loud guitar and drums and stuff so, you know, I also– I like that stuff too.”

“Loud guitar,” Jim snorts. “Yeah, that sounds like your brother.”

“My dad– um,” Will says, hesitantly. “Lonnie. He hated loud music. The drums and the– I think that’s why Jonathan listened to it so much.”

Right, Jim thinks. Lonnie Byers, an infamously giant piece of work. That checks out. And then, another smaller voice pipes up with You’re the chief of police, Jim. You can get away with–

“Oh, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,” the song croons, “your tongue’s like poison–“

Will’s eyes widen. “Um,” he says, fiddling with the player. “Um, actually, let’s– I like this other song too, so–”

Jim bites back a laugh. “I like it,” he says, which isn’t a lie. It could grow on him. “The guitar. It’s nice.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” Jim nods, and then, as the second song starts to pick up– “Will.”

“Hm?”

“Is this a love song?” he grins. “Your second favorite is also a love song?”

“I– no,” Will splutters, immediately turning a brilliant scarlet. “‘Just Like Heaven’ is not a–”

“–I kissed her face and kissed her–”

“Lots of kissing in these songs,” he points out, and Will groans.

“Oh my God, it’s not–! The album is literally called Kiss me, Kiss me, Kiss me–”

Jim grins. Teenage boys are complicated, maybe, but you can count on them all getting flustered the same way. “I’m just teasing, kid. Could you go get your mom, please, because this sauce is about to burn and I don’t trust myself with it.”

“I wouldn’t trust her with it either,” Will mutters, even as he peers around the corner into the hall. “Mom?”

If Joyce hears him laughing, then– whatever. Jim gets a pass. It was for a good cause.

[albatris]

tomorrow....... full rewrite of my alex chapter

it's a short chapter so it shouldn't take long but I gotta get in the alex headspace (anxiety)

[suchawrathfullamb]

I will seriously curse you if you rec me fics that head hop

[bbyboykit]

Ficlet inspired by this post by @wikitpowers

Kit looks up at the mirror and smiles. When Dru had come to him with a bottle of hair dye he had been very skeptical, but it looked good on him if he said so himself.

He walks out of the bathroom to model his new hair for Dru herself, who had put purple streaks in her hair before they dyed his to show him it wasn't a big deal. "It looks just like I pictured it! Ty is going to love it, I'm sure!"

Kit blushes at the exclamation and rubs the back of his neck. "I sure hope so. Remember our deal if he doesn't though."

Dru rolls her eyes at him. "Yeah yeah, we'll dye it back if it's too much for your boyfriend." She smiles. "You really do look good though, I think my brother is gonna love it."

Kit smiles, a little reassured. He definitely wouldn't mind keeping it for a few months if Ty liked it, his opinion was important to Kit after all.

(Also tagging @librarianafterdark and @a-bi-cat-with-books since y'all are my Shadowhunter friends!)

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hello :) With povs, can you have two different characters’ povs in the same chapter or space ish (third person)? Like could you have one character’s feelings and thoughts shown and then in the next paragraph it’s the others thoughts and feelings? I’m not really sure and I’ve been struggling over this for a while, as well as if you think writing in past or present tense is better for certain writing? I don’t know if any of that made sense but thank you and have a lovely day! :)

It depends on what POV you're using.

The one I think you're looking for is using a third person omniscient narrator. The story is told outside of the perspective of any of the characters, and the narrator knows all and sees all and care share this with the reader. E.g. they can head hop, revealing one character's emotions and thoughts and than another.

Examples of third person omniscient stories include Tolstoy's War and Peace, Lord of the Flies by William Golding, The Book Thief by Marcus Zusak and Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel.

If you were writing in first person or third person limited...don't head hop. The entire point of first person is that it is limited to the 'I' character and so head-hopping would not make sense, because your 'I' would have no way of knowing what other characters are thinking and feeling unless they are a telepath. The same concept applies in third person limited, as while it is slightly more distant than first person, it is still within one character's POV.

With that said...while you can't head hop for paragraphs in first person or third person limited, you can switch to a different character in a different chapter and so have multiple POVs throughout a book that way. But doing it within a few paragraphs when you are not otherwise using an omniscient narrator will confuse your reader.

Present and also has pros and cons.

The key point with POV is to be consistent with whatever you choose.

[jojossillywalk]

me, knowing damn well that you don't actually need much more than that gym bag and practical skills to travel like polnareff was doing: fucking moron carries 19 bags of hairspray and nothing else, methinks

[willosword]

man. what a terrifying situation to be put in

[fitpacs]

WHY DID NOBODY TELL ME ABOUT THE FITPAC AWKWARD BLUSHY VALENTINE’S DAY CONVERSATION TODAY