#i have NO clue if the second piece is readable i will be honest

[pyrriax]

I don't know if you've gotten this one yet but 28 I think? the favorite line/passage one!!!

Ask game!

28. Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

Oo this is so hard to choose.... I'm giving myself two, one from something published and one from something unpublished.

Published: Excerpt from Chapter 25 "Broken Hourglass" of Where the Dust Settles

[...] Somewhere along the way, he'd yanked his hand away from Accius, taking quick steps back, away from them, away from the thing he wants so desperately to run from. Back toward the only thing he even knows anymore. Back toward the constant of insecurity. At least, until his back hits one of the stone walls, and the air leaves his lungs. Panic makes his head swim and constricts his thoughts to the uncertainty and bad and blood. Blood on his tongue, flesh in his mouth, red clouding his vision and stinging his eyes. So much for not crying until he was safe again. [...]

Unpublished: Excerpt from "I'm Sure Silence Should Hurt Less Than This" from the Anhedonia AU

[...] The dog bites him that night, draws blood and threatens to tear out a chunk of his flesh, teeth puncturing deep enough he worries this won't heal without taking a heart with it. The dog has many hearts, more than Ro has ever had. Its earned those hearts, one way or another. Perhaps this is how it does it. Tonight he was supposed to meet with Zam and Spoke, to discuss something he can't remember with blunted teeth buried in his forearm. He won't be leaving tonight, and they'll ask where he was. He'll ignore their messages for another few weeks, until they stop trying. The dog growls and bites down harder, enough to bring tears to Ro's eyes. But instead of flinching away and trying to yank his arm from its mouth, he reaches out with his other hand and pets its head, promises he isn't going to hurt it. Its fur is softer than he expected, smooth and shedding more than it should. It thrashes for a moment, and he regrets treating it with such kindness. There will always be a dog in Ro's apartment, one that bites and snarls and wants him dead on the days he says too much. On the days he craves to leave this shell of a home behind and see if anyone would dare to take him in, it looks at him with the placid eyes of a dead dog, and he doesn't leave. If he leaves like Zam did, abandons the dog in favor of a new place, then the dog will escape the prison he's made of his home. [...]

I swear I'm normal about dogs as a metaphor/allegory. Also these are both pretty recent but also these are stuck in my head. The one from WTDS especially. Pandora will always have a special place in my heart because he's so fucking horrible and I love him to death.

[the-magnus-backlogs]

Statement of Suzanna Harkness regarding a manuscript she reviewed for publishing.

Statement taken direct from subject, 27th December 1993.

You wind up stumbling down a lot of weird rabbit holes when you work for a small press long enough. Niche genres you’d really rather remain oblivious to, arts majors trying to break the mould by submitting something they swear up and down you’ll have ‘never seen before’. Never mind if it’s actually legible, but that’s…that’s another matter, I guess. I’m not here to talk about the subpar sci-fi erotica or whatever, I’m here because I found something weird.

I’d like to say right off the bat that I’ve got a strong stomach. Wouldn’t have lasted this long in the company if I didn’t. We only publish a couple hundred books a year, but we take in all sorts around here. Sometimes it feels like our only real submission requirements are ‘unmarketable to the general public’, and it seems like anybody with a half-baked idea is willing to try their luck at tossing their unedited manuscript into the ring.

That’s where I come in. Wading through the mountains of unusable garbage, hunting for hidden gems. I’ve even found a couple, but mostly it’s just about finding something readable. Or something we can pass off as being readable for those rare readers capable of ‘comprehending the author’s artistic vision’. Yeah, the marketing team winds up throwing phrases like that around a lot.

Maybe I’m being unfair. I was a lot more patient about that sort of thing when I started. So preoccupied with not coming across as judgemental, but I’ve worked in publishing over ten years now.

It used to be more common for us to get manuscripts sent in through the post, back then. Nowadays it’s pretty much all done online. A couple we get from literary agents, but most are just emailed in by aspiring writers who stumbled across our site, usually after receiving their rejection letters from the two dozen publishing houses that show up above us on pretty much any search engine.

Every once in a blue moon, though, a manilla envelope will find its way onto my desk. Some bright spark who thinks they’re above using a laptop decides to send their manuscript in the old fashioned way. Sometimes it’s just a precaution in case we somehow miss the half dozen emails they’ve already sent out to every listed staff member on the site. Hell, sometimes it’s written by typewriter.

You know typewriters require special paper to print? Special ink, too. They probably spend more writing the damn thing than they’ll ever see in royalties, but to each their own, I guess. I even got one handwritten, once. The idiot sent a follow-up a month later anxiously asking if he could have it back if we weren’t going to consider it because it was his only copy. Can you imagine? Mailing off the only copy of your handwritten manuscript to some backroom small press without any insurance.

By comparison, this manuscript was relatively normal. It had been typed, I think. The paper was…I guess it was sort of crumpled, but I didn’t think much of it at the time. The postal service isn’t always the most careful about this sort of thing, and it wasn’t really packaged properly. Just shoved loose in a box and shipped out.

It was pre-bound. Just a bundle of papers held together with a few strands of red string. A little unusual, but not exactly throwing up any red flags. Even when I started reading it, I didn’t know. How the hell could I have?

It was good, though. Maybe that should have been my first clue. The prose dragged on a bit, but hey. There are plenty of successful writers out there who probably could have benefited from a harsher editor. They made up for it, in my opinion. Even just skimming those first few pages, I was hooked. Didn’t even really realise it when I was due my lunch break. I was so focused on that damn book.

The visuals were the thing. Plenty of writers can pour out half decent prose, but something about this writer…they had a way of making it feel real, you know? All the little touches, the scenes they crafted from the ground up. It felt…it felt like I couldn’t stop reading. Even if I’d wanted to, and trust me, back then I didn’t.

I didn’t leave my office that day. Barely noticed it when the phone rang, ignored all my emails. I really, really thought we’d accidentally stumbled on a gold mind. Not just a passable debut novel, but an honest to god genuine talent.

The funny thing is, I can’t even really remember what it was that drew me in. Couldn’t tell you what genre it fell under. The plot itself was practically non-existent. A girl who dreamed of being a dancer and crept out of her house to practice under the moonlight in a clearing in the forest behind her house.

Then, one blissful night, illuminated by the full moon, the forest provided her with a partner. The partner.

Nothing too out there, right? Your basic fantasy-romance type stuff. Pretty tame compared to a lot of what we publish, but I was enthralled from the first description of their first dance. Barefoot and so light on her feet her toes barely skimmed the dew-slick grass. They loved each other, and in that moment, I think I understood that. Really knew what it was to love someone so much you’d offer them your still beating heart if it would mean holding onto them for just a second longer.

Except it wasn’t love. Not really. It was an obsession.

I couldn’t stop devouring page after page as their budding romance grew and spiralled, twisting into something unrecognisable. Those whispered words of I can’t live without you became their mantra as they clung to one another so tightly they left bruises on one another’s skin. Soft kisses turned sharp as they came to understand what it was to need to consume and be consumed. They needed one another in a way neither could truly provide. Not really.

In their despair, they begged the forest to offer them a solution, and it gave them one. A way to lie in the sweet summer meadow forever, and in their glee they didn’t think to ask what it would cost.

Not until they began to rot, anyway.

My memories around here get a little hazy, or maybe the words were just less clear. The writing seemed…hurried towards the end, but the couple didn’t seem to mind much when the insects began to burrow through their skin and make their homes inside. They had so much love to give, literally brimming with it. As sickening as it was, it sounded almost…fond. Like the writer truly wanted to give them the happy ending they deserved, but somehow couldn’t think of anything more befitting than allowing their decaying corpses to be infested with creepy crawlies.

It was sick. The concept was sick. Everything about it was sick, but even now I can’t truly convey how vividly they described it. The picture they painted was so clear. Even the affection the insects lavished upon them as they crawled and burrowed through their decaying flesh. It was…God, it used to make me sick just thinking about it, you know that?

Because it wasn’t enough that I had to read it. That I physically couldn’t tear my eyes away. I had to see it. The idea of it…It got its hooks in deep.

By the time I got to the end, I was at a loss for what to do with the manuscript. On the one hand it was probably one of the best written pieces we’d ever received, and there are plenty of twisted readers out there looking for something to churn their stomach.

Somehow it didn’t feel right to publish it, though. I’ve read body horror before, but this…It wasn’t right. I couldn’t…I couldn’t just inflict that on people. How do you make someone understand, truly understand, when they’re signing up to read something that won’t ever let them go? How do you make them understand that the words they’re paying you to read will imprint themselves against the backs of their eyelids? That they’ll grow and spread and fester.

I dream about that dancer in the moonlit meadow. The descriptions of her actual appearance were relatively scarce, but I can still see her face when I close my eyes. I see her intertwined with her dance partner, caked in a mossy fungus that failed to disguise the living hive crawling beneath their skin. I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins, anymore. Not even sure if I could tell them apart looking at them, what with their withered skin being so covered in filth and grime.

That damned book made it sound like something beautiful, but their beauty decayed with their childish notions of romance. They chose to become hollow husks of themselves to make room for the love they could no longer contain, but that’s…that’s not love. It can’t be…right?

So why can’t I stop thinking about the way their fingers intertwined before rigor mortis set in and cemented their bond forever?

I can’t concentrate on anything else anymore. At first it was just a niggling seed of doubt at the back of my mind, but it’s grown so much since then. That image burrowed so deep inside my mind turned its hungry mouth towards the parts of me which were most vulnerable, eating and eating and eating and eating until I could think of nothing else.

I don’t know why I never thought to burn it. Maybe I was worried it would make it worse. Maybe it felt too much like sacrilege. I never read it again after that first time, though I considered it often. It sat on my desk while my other assignments lay scattered around it, disregarded without a second thought. After all, there was no room left in my mind for anything else anymore. Every other passage I tried to read just seemed so…dry. So false. I used to get so invested in the lives of paper people, but now I know what true love is, how could the half-baked notions of romance ever compare?  I tried at first, but by the end I just…stared at it. Waiting.

Maybe if I’d tried to destroy it…Too late now, I suppose. I never let it see the printing presses, but I did let it go in the end. Some old man came in asking for it specifically. Something about it being a collectable.

I don’t know how an unpublished manuscript could be considered a collector’s item, and frankly I didn’t ask. I’m not sure if I even really cared about what he’d do with it by that point. Did it bother me that I might be condemning him to share my fate? It doesn’t now, I know that much.

It’s…I was hoping this might help me clear things up, but I just couldn’t see any of it straight. I can’t see anything, anymore. Not really. It may have started in my dreams, but once I let her in…They’re everywhere, now. I saw him in the faces of my colleagues before the press finally let me go… I don’t remember how long ago now. I think the power company cut the power at some point. It doesn’t matter now.

The funny thing is, I really thought they cared about me. They did, at first. I think. It all sort of blurs together, but I remember how they used to talk about me when they thought I couldn’t hear. The nervous looks they’d send me when I zoned out at my desks. Then they staged their first intervention, and I saw it. I saw her. It was the man I saw painted across the features of everyone I knew, in the arches of eyebrows and slants of cheekbones, but it was her I saw reflected in their eyes.

It was her I saw in the mirror, before they ran out of space inside my skull, and the maggots took my eyes…or maybe I imagined that part too.

I’m pretty sure it’s too late for me now, but when I heard about you guys I figured it was worth a shot. I’m full of it. Whatever that feverish contagion that claimed the couple was. That sickly, rotting thing they mistook for love. I can feel it now. I can understand it now and it’s so much. Already I’m on the brink of bursting with it, I think.

I just can’t wait to share.

[smolkiwii]

Can I have a small oneshot of Bakugou and the reader being soft late at night, maybe they can’t sleep so they’re drinking tea or something idk man, please and thank you!

Hi!! Thank you for requesting! I tried to do the best I can so I hope you enjoy it! The reader is as gender neutral so hopefully that isn’t an issue! Anyways enjoy ❤️ ( also soft!bakugo with tea gives me life!!)

(I love this artist and how she draws the boys!! Anyways back to the story ;v; )

Bakugo Katsuki X Reader// A blessing in Disguise

When it came to you and Bakugo, people would’ve thought you guys were going to split off or one of you was going to kill the other. It was actually quite the opposite to be honest. You could handle his bad temper and you knew exactly what to do when he got like this. Even though you weren’t as strong as him you still had a great quirk for helping him out (even if he does get upset about it after). Your quirk was called sleepytime. You had the ability to touch someone’s temple and within 5 seconds you could put someone to sleep but, it doesn’t late for a long time.

The downfall of your quirk is you’re unable to use it on yourself when you need to. This meant you needed to find remedies when you couldn’t fall asleep and it seemed like nothing was working. Bakugo noticed your struggle so his best way to try and get closer to you and maybe start something was by helping you out. He suggested tea to you and you’ll never forget the many times you were in the kitchen with him when you couldn’t sleep or he couldn’t sleep and you both would make tea for each other.

Now, many years later, you were in the same dilemma. Bakugo hadn’t gotten home and you were sitting on the couch channel surfing because you couldn’t fall asleep. You wanted to make tea for yourself but you like it when Bakugo makes it for you. He has been extremely occupied with paperwork as of late and it’s been stressing him out a lot so the majority of the time when you greeted him his energy was so depleted he would just hug you and quietly stay like that until his little energy battery recharged itself. The simple things like that is what you loved about Bakugo the most; the caring and soft side of him that he would only show in front of you and maybe a few friends who he has been able to stay in touch with after you guys graduated.

You heard the doorknob rattle a bit and you turned your head to see your fiancé enter the house clearly tired. You got up to hug him and he hugged you back while giving you small sleepy kisses on your shoulder and neck. “K-katsu! N-not now baby.. we need to get you ready for bed! “ you said as you urged him to take off his hero gear. You would help him with it but there were some things he had on his hero gear that were too heavy for you. “Why the hell did you stay up again?” He asked you. You didn’t want to tell him that you couldn’t sleep but you were too readable that he knew when he saw the bags under your eyes from restless nights. You were also a pro hero and after graduation a lot of help was required for you in very high tense situations so you would be working night and day. “I’ve been trying to sleep I really have but it is a lot harder than you think. “ you said trying to clue him in on something. He knew what you meant and he knew that only he made it in the best way but, he wanted to hear you say it for yourself. “Well then, Im not sure how I could possibly help you out. If you want my help all you need to say is the magic word. “ he said smirking as he began to walk towards the shower. You followed behind him and you pouted because sometimes you wish he didn’t do this but he does it because he loves you. “please can you make me tea...?” You mumbled. He looked at you and continued his little game, “ I couldn’t hear you love, what did you say?” He said clearly hearing you the first time but he couldn’t help himself but to mess with you. “Please katsu. Can you make me tea? “ you said looking at him with the big puppy dog eyes he couldn’t refuse even if he tried. He smiled and stripped his shirt off as he was getting ready to take a shower to clean the dirt and grime all over him. “I’ll make you tea once I get out, okay princess?” He said and kissed your forehead. You grinned and left to go into the kitchen to grab the two mugs you guys had made a while ago.

The mugs you guys had were these puzzle piece mugs that you guys had painted to look like your hero outfits but on the back there a small little secret for you both. You both had done B + (your first name initial) to signify that you would love each other no matter what ( even if that did mean putting your initials on a mug). You rub the mug thinking on the memory fondly and you laugh when you thought about how your classmates would bombard you with questions about what you guys had made. He was so much more ill tempered back then but since graduation he has calmed down a fair bit and things have changed for the better. “What are you laughing at?” Bakugo asked you. You turned to see him already out of the shower with his pjs on and him rubbing his head with the towel to make sure it has dried off. “Oh, nothing just thinking about the good old days..” you said to him. He gave you a soft smile and came over to the kitchen to grab the tea and kettle to start making tea for you both. “Go sit down baby I’ll make this and when it’s ready you can come back to invade my kingdom.” He smirked and smacked your butt. You yelped but you proceeded to go sit down on the little island you two had. You didn’t have a super big house or a fancy apartment but you had a simple 2 bedroom apartment with some space in the living room and kitchen. You both wanted someplace where you could bring friends over and if the time ever came to where you would have kids, then you would have a space for them.

Once bakugo finished making the tea he put the teabags in to begin steeping and he looked back at you. You had your head on the counter and you looked at him admiring his every feature not even realizing he has long since turned around to face you. “ Oi, earth to y/n!” He said waving his hand in front of you. You blinked and looked at him a small blush forming on your face. “Wh-what do you want?” You said looking away. He put your mug in front of you with the tea that would solve your long forgotten problem. “Your tea. Did you not want it anymore??” He asked you as he took a small sip from his. You shook your head and drank the tea. For those few minutes you two had some silence as you both finished your tea. It was supposed to help you both sleep and it’s been a wonderful remedy so far.

Usually after you drank your tea with him he would get all cuddly and lovey dovey. If you guys were out in public you tried to keep your love life a secret. You didn’t want any more prying eyes wondering about your relationship with the Infamous Katsuki Bakugo. “Babe... come to bed with me..” your loving fiancé said to you as he held his hand out. You guys put your cups in the sink and began to head to the master bedroom where you two slept. It’s interesting to think that you are going to be doing this for the rest of your life eventually and you hoped it would never go away. You crawled into the bed and put the covers over you as bakugo began to go into the bed as well. He grabbed your waist and pulled you close to him making sure that you didn’t move. “Stay here... please.” He said softly. You smiled and turned around so you could properly cuddle him. You looked up into his beautiful crimson eyes and said “ I don’t plan to leave anytime soon.” You two soon fell asleep in each other’s embraces and the last thing you thought before falling into your slumber was that when you met bakugo it was because you wanted tea and he offered to help and now you guys are getting married soon. tea is like this small blessing in disguise when you think about it. Tea brought you together and now it’s bringing you closer than ever before.

I hoped you enjoyed it!! I tried my best to make him not too ooc but hey soft!bakugo is best boi! Anyways if you guys want more don’t forget that my ask box is always open and I’m expanding my realm to Harry Potter!!

Ask box: Open

Requests: Open

[scfrankles]

Thank you to @educatedinyellow for tagging me! How many fics have you written? On AO3 there are 149 listed. On DA, which is mainly original fics… er, 580. That does give rather a false impression though - about 100 are six word stories of varying quality, many of my ACD Holmes 60 word stories are crossposted there singly, and my 60 ACD Holmes clerihews are there too. There’s some other pieces that overlap with what’s on AO3, there’s poetry as well and a bit of non-fiction stuff. And of course on both sites I specialise in microfiction which doesn’t take long to write. Where do you share your writing? On AO3, LJ, DW and DA. What is your pseud? SCFrankles/scfrankles everywhere. Though I do also use maiden_aunt as a secondary pseud on AO3 for my Dear Ladies fanfics. Simply because I fancied having another name. Where/when do you usually write? I usually write at home, in the dining room (because it’s got a table) or sitting up in bed. And I suppose I do generally write in the evening after work. I am at my best in the morning and early afternoon though. I find it hard to concentrate and come up with ideas when I’m tired. I write best on my days-off, when I’ve had a good night’s sleep and I know I’ve got the whole day ahead of me. In terms of planning stories I often do that while walking or having a lie down. What is your favorite fanfic that you’ve read? I’ve rather fallen out of love with reading Sherlock fanfics but back when I was reading a great many of them, my favourite hands down was What to do When Your Flatmate is Homicidal by hyacinth_sky747. It is can’t-catch-your-breath-please-make-it-stop funny (there is a bit with John doped up on painkillers and writing a blog entry that I shall forever remember fondly - I’m laughing just thinking about it). But it also addresses the unpleasant and sad aspects of the world without any abrupt changes in tone. And it’s a story always full of hope and love. I’d love to be able to write like that. I do sometimes talk about ‘humorous stories’ and ‘serious stories’ as though it’s impossible to combine the two aspects but the best comedy always has a serious aspect too. Not that I make a habit of it, but the first time I ever stood up in front of a group of people and made them laugh was at my elder brother’s funeral. My fics tend to ignore real life altogether and be silly but I would love to write stuff that stares life in the face and makes you laugh anyway. Another fic I’d like to mention is the ACD Holmes fic Literary Shortcomings by rachelindeed - and not just because Rachel was the one who tagged me. Rachel wrote this as part of the summer 2015 round of ACD Holmesfest, with me as the recipient. It’s a beautiful, beautiful fic and I still love it. But I’ve chosen it here because I think it illustrates so well the possibilities of amateur writing, and the creativity in fandom. I can’t see there being much of a market for a story written in this particular microfiction form - it’s too left-field. I couldn’t see anyone ever writing something like this in the hope of selling it or a publisher ever commissioning someone to write something like this. Rachel wrote it for, I assume, her own artistic satisfaction and in the hope of pleasing me, the recipient, and the others taking part in the fest. Beautiful and experimental things that perhaps the professional world would ignore get to exist and flourish in the amateur world. What is your fave fic that you’ve written? Nothing really stands out as my favourite overall. I am quite proud of my longer Dear Ladies fics, my Without a Clue and Whitehead Holmes fics, and my collections of ACD Holmes 60s. And of course there is Watson’s Diary and my infamous ACD Holmes/My Fair Lady fusion… What inspired you to start writing fanfic? Er, it’s kind of a long story… I was a fannish kind of kid but I had absolutely no connection with fandom in any sense growing up - no fanzines or anything like that. And I came relatively late to using the internet - I first used it in 1999 when I was about 30. I absolutely loved it and from then I went online as much as I could, using computers at local libraries, but still no involvement with anything fandom related. And to be honest I had rather a skewed idea about what fanfiction was all about, as outsiders tend to do. In 2010 I joined DeviantArt. A couple of years later, we finally had a computer at home, series 2 of Sherlock had aired and I had just rewatched the series on DVD. And I felt the urge for more. I was looking forward to series 3 (hollow laughter) but it was a long way off, so I decided to investigate the Sherlock fanart and fanfics on DA. And I found a few perfectly nice and competent fics, and a fic that was off the scale badly-written but still oddly readable. And then I found Harry Knows Best by hbomb90. And I was blown away by it. Here was a writer writing prose at a professional level. At that point she was the best writer I’d come across on DA (it took me another couple of years to find the talented original fic writers there). And I wondered if she had other fics elsewhere on the internet. I Googled her name which took me to a rec list on LJ. So I did find more fics of hers but of course it led me to other Sherlock fics and other writers too. And those fics led me to other fics. I wasn’t paying too much attention at first to sites but  LJ and AO3 came up more and more. I did spend an awful lot of time on AO3 waiting for ivyblossom’s The Quiet Man to update so that encouraged me to explore the site. Like all kinds of fiction, with fanfiction you get all levels of writers. There are beginners, the competent, the experienced and the just plain talented. But I was just amazed by how many extraordinary stories there were online, written for fun and absolutely free to read. This was entirely out of my sphere of experience up to then. Good literature came in a book that you had to buy or borrow from a library. You became a writer only when a publisher graciously bestowed that title upon you. ‘Amateur work’ meant poorly written work. It was utterly amazing to me the quality of some of the work I was being presented with. And that you could talk to these talented writers! It wasn’t always a one way relationship. It changed my worldview - it really did. Essentially I thought, crikey, I want to be in that gang. Fandom was full of such creativity and, paradoxically, originality. But on a more minor note I also wanted to try new forms of microfiction and was very taken with 221Bs. Then I met someone on DA who was writing ACD Holmes 60s. I started writing them on DA on my own but was eventually brave and joined sherlock60 on LJ. And that was my proper entry into fandom - I found my niche in the ACD world. I think perhaps most of my Sherlock fics have a generic feel to them - I was essentially just reworking what I’d read. But I think writing ACD fics I found my own style a bit more. Though - I’ve said it before - I think I’m a good writer but I don’t think I’m a particularly good fanfic writer. Because although I enjoy discussing the source material that doesn’t really translate into the urge to write fiction about my thoughts. I think fanfiction is essentially about making closer examinations of the internal workings of the characters. I like writing stories in which people slide corpses down staircases on tea trays. What is your favorite trope to read? According to AO3, it’s ‘first time’. Which doesn’t surprise me. Though ‘angst’ is then joint second with ‘humor’, which really, really does. What is your fave trope to write? Not really a trope, but humour. What is the best piece of writing advice you’ve ever read/heard/would like to share? This is a difficult one to answer. Maybe adding on to the excellent advice I’ve read as part of other people’s answers - try not to compare your writing to others’ too much. I sometimes think someone is funnier than me, someone’s writing is lovelier, someone’s writing is better technically, someone’s writing is more insightful. And it’s generally true. But as a reader on AO3, I have 8 pages of subscriptions. Readers don’t just pick the top three best writers to read for the rest of their lives and ignore all the others. I read the work of many different writers because I enjoy them in many different ways. As a writer I try and remember to take pleasure in what makes my work mine. What is your favorite feedback you’ve received as an author? I had my answer ready even before I was tagged! On The Case of the Deceased Marmalade Thief, bubblesbythebeach commented: If a fic was ever going to be described as "shenanigans", this is the one and I for one am delighted Me too, kid. Me too… Anyone who sees this and wants to have a go, consider yourself tagged!