#lets say they're in the other chapters of this hypothetical fic

[christaspirit]

Danny blinked in surprise when he checked his email.

That one fanfic he started reading a year ago that had been abandoned two chapters from the supposed finish... had updated.

It had been a year since it had update when he first read it, Danny had even considered not subscribing, but the author hadn't said anything before about abandoning it, and had even said in his notes that he was eager to finally post the last two chapters.

Then nothing.

Danny shrugged, and opened the fic.

-

Sorry for not updating. Thought my dad didn't love me, did some stupid stuff, got blown up, wandered around brainless for a bit, but now I'm back! The last two chapters have been written for the last 2 years, I am so sorry about the delay.

Anyway, I hope you have a blast reading this chapter! Next one will be up tomorrow, and this fic will finally be done!

-

Danny stared.

Did... did this guy imply that he had been blown up?

Danny frowned.

Huh.

---

Jason grinned as he read through the comments. Some people seemed to have noticed what he implied, others were clearly confused.

He spotted a new commenter, one he didn't recognize, and chuckled at the commenters joke.

PhantomNotBill087:

I sure had a *blast* reading this latest chapter. Glad your back, hope your visit to the realm beyond wasn't too long!

Jason clicked the profile, deciding to check it out, and scrolled down to find the list of fics the user had written.

He clicked on one that seemed intresting, and sat down to read it.

About an hour in, he came across an author note, and frowned.

-

Sorry about the delay! There was an incident with some loose wires and an improperly placed button and I landed myself in the hospital for 3 weeks! (actually, I blame my friend). Honestly, that was too much time, I only half-died! After that I had trouble doing much of anything... I have been banned from holding any glassware at school ever again!

Anyway, updates should hopefully return to normal.

-

The Ao3 author curse was real.

But as Jason continued reading, the Author's notes got weirder and weirder.

-

My friend changed the lunch schedule at school and a lunch lady got PISSED. My heart stopped. Genuinely. Anyway, here's the update!

-

Sorry for the delay, had to spend the night keeping an eye on a gorilla for extra credit. The zoo apparently didn't know the gorilla was a girl, and I have now saved the species. Also, a weird poacher guy showed up and long story short he thinks I'm interesting and spent the night chasing after me. Thank goodness my friend managed to get him stuck on a different schedule.

-

Srry for the delay, my parents dragged me and my sister to their college reunion. Met their old college friend. Dad thinks they're friends, I think he's a fruitloop (he wants to make out with my MOM! EW!) Also, he's a jerk, and nearly killed my dad.

-

Yikes. Thought my parents were getting divorced for a hot second. Nope, just the anniversary of my aunt's divorce! And luckily, I got my dad the present he got my mom and didn't stay in jail for unjust reasons!

-

Sorry for the delay, I got his with a beam and was out of my mind with a crush (it wasn't real. I think). Also, my friend beat everyone on a test cause he was the only one who studied, everyone else went to a concert.

-

Ever have a sibling so nosy that she tries to get on you for being stressed? And doesn't know what the stressor is? Also, the school counselor SUCKED, everyone was so depressed! Honestly, I'm glad my sister tore her a new one.

-

Sorry for the delay. I lost a bet and had to eat my bully's underwear. It was gross, and I didn't get any writing done.

-

My sister got a crush on a jerk! I can't believe her! This guy doesn't even act human!

-

Update on the sister situation: they are no longer dating, and I weirdly had my parents on my side AGAINST my sister.

-

My town hates me. This is bad. They also aren't getting my name right, so I'm changing my username here. But I did make a new friend!

-

I got a girlfriend!

-

I no longer have a girlfriend. Her boyfriend found out. She was using me as a rebound. Also, she wasn't who I thought she was.

-

Ever done those flour sack babies? Yeah, don't. They suck. Shocker. I also got a C. Everyone in the class failed cause their babies became cookies. Well, except my friend. She got an A. Her teammate, my other friend, failed though. He'd been in charge of the flour sacks, and left them alone. His mom made the cookies.

-

Might miss next update, fruitloop put a bounty on my head.

-

There is no longer a bounty on my head.

-

Sorry for the delay, I was temporarily forced to join the circus, be part of a thief gang, and my friend almost died. Luckily she didn't get as close as I did.

-

All of the adults in my town left for a bit. Turns out they got mind controlled, and so me and my classmates had to save them from a pirate kid.

-

Sorry for the delay. My town was temporarily in another dimension. Then I was unconscious for a bit. I think fruitloop stole from my parents. Also! The whole town doesn't hate me anymore, and they know my name!

-

Note to self, never cheat on a test. It will have bad consequences, and destroy the future.

Also, apparently, my sister knows my secret.

-

My friend entered a beauty pageant to get my attention, I accidentally declared her the winner, she caused a revolution, then I actually declared her the winner. Thus, all the girls at my school hate me. Sigh.

-

Fruitloop has crossed a line, and now I have a cousin/sister/something, idk. Kinda worried, cause she just took off as well. I wish I could spill the blackmail I have on him, but he'd spill his blackmail he has on me! Really worried about my little... ugh, she said cousin at first so lets go with that.

-

Sorry for the delay, and apologies for the weirdness the last few days, that may have been my fault. Luckily, nobody learned the truth anymore, so that's good! And school's out!

-

I'm pranking Fruitloop

-

He decided to become mayor in retaliation. I can't go to my favorite resteraunt anymore! The burgers there were to die for! Ugh!

-

He's still mayor, blegh, but he's not enforcing the strict rules anymore. Teen can enter our local burger joint once more!

-

Sorry for the delay. A plant monster took over my town and possessed everyone in it (he declared my friend his DAUGHTER, eugh!). He's gone now, so we're all good.

-

I am now rich. I don't trust the government though.

-

I am no longer rich.

-

Sorry for the delay, the whole town overslept. Also, help, what do I do? I just realized I have a crush on my friend! And I think she likes me back? Gah!

-

I'm gonna miss the next update, sorry, my class is going camping.

-

I'm back. We ran into wolves. Kids went missing. Anyway, here's the chapter!

-

My little cousin came back and she's really sick. We fixed the problem (for now at least), and my ex-almost girlfriend doesn't think she's evil, so I think we made a temporary truce. But Fruitloop tried to kill my little cousin, and nearly got away with it! I need to do something about him soon.

-

Hi sorry for the delay the world almost ended.

-

Oh, I didn't mention last update, but me and my friend are dating now! And I think fruitloop is gone.

-

Time itself started to fall apart at the seams, so we had to reset it. Sorry for any fuzzy memories of the last month and a half-ish?

Fruitloop is also apparently not dead. He's doing better apparently? Still don't really trust him, but he's also now the guardian of alt. me so...

-

Jason was a little worried. Who the [redacted] was this kid?

...he should probably check with someone in the Flash family about time getting reset. If that was true, then the other stuff...

Yikes.

What did he mean the world almost ended?

DP x DC Prompt #58

Jason has been writing fanfiction ever since he got access to a computer. They weren't always the most popular, especially since he was writing fics about classics, but that's not why he wrote them. He wrote them for himself.

However, since he always had Robin stuff going on, his author notes had become something of a meme at this point. No one really believed him anymore when he apologized for late updates due to breaking his arm in three places or anything like that.

Then, he died. He had been two chapters away from ending his story, damnit.

But it's fine, he's back now. He apologizes for late update since he, ya know, died and finishes that story. Then, he finds out there's another author out there with notes ... very similar to his own. And a lot of humor about his own death.

Maybe PhantomNotBill087 and him had a lot more in common than being fic writers.

[cetaitlaverite]

Hypothetically speaking, if Daniel didn't die and he and Freddie were still together, possibly even engaged, but Freddie still somehow met Rosie, how do you think Freddie would react to meeting Rosie, and how would Rosie react to meeting Freddie?

this is such an interesting question (and, funnily enough, someone else also asked me the exact same thing - pictured above because i don’t want to leave that other anon out - so i’ve been thinking about it for a while). i think the big thing about freddie and rosie's story is whether you think they're the kind of soulmates who will meet each other in every lifetime and thus there's no universe in which they don't end up together, or if you think they're the kind of soulmates who come together once in a million lifetimes and the stars had to align to bring them together. i'm not sure, personally, which one i think is more plausible.

realistically, daniel has to die for freddie and rosie to cross paths. i'm a firm believer in everything happening for a reason, and freddie meeting rosie is the reason for daniel’s death. whether freddie and rosie might live a million different lifetimes and daniel dies in all of them or whether this lifetime is the only one they work out in - as i said, i don't know (i'm open to hearing thoughts, though!!!). but for fun let's imagine an alternate universe where daniel doesn't die. walk with me here.

in the fic freddie leaves the airfield she was assigned to originally, the airfield daniel flew out of, because she couldn’t stand to be there anymore after he died. so she’d still be there if daniel hadn’t died. but for the sake of this au, let’s say it’s a similar situation to cecelia’s; she gets transferred away from the airfield for some small infraction. in cecelia’s case it was for flirting with her pilot boyfriend over the radio, so let’s say it was that. so now she’s at thorpe abbotts.

there is the issue of daniel having been preparing to propose right before he died, which was in march 1941, so chances are by august 1943 when freddie meets rosie she would’ve been married. but let’s say that she wants to hold out until they can have a proper wedding where she can invite all her friends and family instead of just immediate family, so they have a long engagement. because there’s no wiggle room if she’s married.

everything else happens in the same way as normal. freddie goes home on leave for a few days and comes back and speaks german over the radio to a confused messerschmitt pilot to lure him in which has all the other w/ops lording her as a war hero when they go to the officers’ club that night. millie and bucky want her to drink beer, she wants to drink lemonade, the only person who buys her lemonade is rosie. what i think might happen in an au chapter 1 is as follows:

“Excuse me, ma’am,” spoke a voice from behind Freddie. It wasn’t a voice she recognised, and she liked to think with all of her accumulated experience talking to both the pilots and the radio operators over the radio she recognised voices rather well.

Turning, she found a pair of earnest blue eyes and a well-groomed moustache, a shy smile tilted above a proffered glass.

“Hi,” Freddie greeted in a chirp.

“Hi,” the man - one of the new pilots, by the looks of his insignia - replied. He shook his head a little bit, as though to clear it. “I hope you don’t mind, ma’am, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation and I thought - well, here’s your lemonade.” He offered the glass to her again.

He was handsome, this pilot who had bought her lemonade when no one else would. Not handsome like Daniel, who was all fair haired and boyish, crooked toothy smiles and mischievous eyes, but handsome in a gentle, mature way. Dark hair, striking eyes, soft smile, he was the kind of handsome which would have made Freddie’s heart flutter if she wasn’t engaged. Well, it fluttered, because whilst she was taken she wasn’t entirely immune to the charms of other men, but his handsomeness didn’t fluster her as it might have if she had been single.

“Oh,” Freddie said, accepting the glass of lemonade from him with a bright smile. “Thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”

He smiled again and she smiled back. “Nothing at all, ma’am.” 

She didn’t make to say anything else and he didn’t either, but he lingered as though he wanted to. Freddie considered him for a moment, in all his earnestness, and decided to take pity on him. He was sweeter than most of the American airmen she’d met at Thorpe Abbotts so far. “I’m Freddie,” she introduced herself.

The man smiled wide, less uncertain and more, just, happy. Like the sound of her name had solved his life’s biggest problems. “Nice to meet you, Freddie,” he answered her. “I’m Rosie.”

“Rosie,” Freddie repeated with a nod and a smile. “That’s a nice name.”

Rosie smiled wider. She had dimples. “Thank you, ma’am. Comes from my last name - Rosenthal.”

Freddie laughed to herself. “You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am’. Just Freddie is fine. That’s how everyone knows me.”

“Alright,” Rosie conceded. “Freddie it is.”

Freddie couldn’t seem to look away from his eyes. She was sure she’d never seen eyes so blue. Even in the warm, low lighting of the officers’ club they were somehow still glowing, bright and kind and alive. 

“So, uh,” Rosie started, with a certain degree of awkwardness. “They said you were on leave?”

“Yes,” Freddie confirmed, taking a sip of her lemonade. “I went home for three days, to Oxford.”

“That must’ve been nice,” he replied. He hated how he suddenly had so very little to say. She must have thought he was so, so boring.

Freddie couldn’t help it. She giggled at the awkwardness.

“Yes,” she replied again. “Yes, it was wonderful. Strange to be home, to be sure - I haven’t visited since Christmas - but it was especially lovely to see my dogs again. I don’t get any letters from them, see.”

Rosie chuckled lightly, nodding along with her, relieved at the release of the uncertainty. “Right,” he said. “They’re not big on writing letters, then?”

“They’re dogs of few words,” she agreed with a grin.

“How many do you have?” he questioned next.

“Dogs?” Freddie wondered. “Two. The big one’s Bruno and the little one’s Earnie, both boys. A German Shepherd and a Westie.”

“What are they like?”

Her eyes glinted. “Trouble.” She loved talking about her dogs.

“I always wanted a dog,” Rosie confided in her, tilting his head to the side and slightly down to let him meet her eyes more easily. “But where I’m from, in Brooklyn, we always lived in an apartment. No pets allowed.”

Freddie gasped. “That’s tragic.”

Rosie grinned. “I know. Someone oughta fix that rule.”

She sipped on her lemonade, nodding, contemplating. Instinctively, her eyes found the floor. 

Rosie watched her, tapping his fingers against his glass of beer. 

He opened his mouth to say something more - desperate to say something, anything, really, that might get her to smile again. Those dimples of hers - if he hadn’t signed up to go to war already he knew he would’ve enlisted just on their behalf.

But whatever he was about to say never made it out. It was for the best, probably, since he couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t have been something incredibly forward, some grand statement about her startling prettiness which she was bound to have heard a million times before. Instead, he was swiftly cut off by Millie, returning from the bar with two pints of beer, one in each hand. “Fred, I got your beer, and you are going to like it, god damn it, even if I have to pour it down your throat myself.”

Freddie rolled her eyes as she turned to Millie and watched with a faint grin as realisation dawned on her face. “Oh.”

“I have lemonade,” Freddie declared, holding up her glass for her to see. She took a sip from it to punctuate her statement and also to prove a point; if she said she didn’t want to drink beer then she wouldn’t be drinking beer.

Millie laughed, her eyes flicking between Freddie and Rosie. “Is that right? And who do I have to blame for it?”

“That would be me, ma’am,” Rosie answered, and Freddie noticed a glint in his eye.

“Rosie,” Millie replied with a tut. “Now why would you do that? You’ll only encourage her!”

Rosie shook his head with a light little laugh. “I just figured war heroes should get to choose what they have to drink, otherwise what’s the point of being one?”

Millie laughed along with Rosie’s joke and Freddie smiled to herself. This was the kind of man she wanted to see Millie with; sweet, thoughtful, a gentleman. Too many times she’d caught Millie’s eyes lingering on bolder, colder Americans who were so excited to be away from home for the first time, in spite of the circumstances, that they bulldozed their way through women like it was their job. But Rosie wasn’t like that, Freddie could tell. He had really listened to everything she’d said, had hung onto her every word even though they weren’t terribly interesting. He’d look after Millie, she was sure. And so she took her leave.

Freddie gave Millie’s arm a squeeze as she turned and beelined for the piano in the corner, setting her lemonade down on top of it before taking a seat at the bench. She lifted the key cover with all the reverence of someone who had never touched a piano before, smiling as she brushed her fingertips noiselessly across the keys, and laughed when she heard Bucky call out, “Fred, play Blue Skies!”

“I don’t know that one!” Freddie called back, which everyone knew was a bare-faced lie because she’d played it once before. The first time Bucky had requested she play it she had done so all too readily and consequently been confronted with the horror of a drunken, out of tune, up close rendition performed by one Major Egan himself. Never again, she had vowed as she reluctantly finished playing the tune. But her refusal had never stopped Bucky from asking.

Instead, while Jem hurried across the room to turn the gramophone down, Freddie started to play Stardust by Artie Shaw, which wasn’t quite romantic enough to make Millie give her a hard time for her lack of subtlety but which still had a certain air about it which always made couples want to dance.

“Fred, come on!” Bucky called, shaking his head playfully. “We want Blue Skies!”

“You’ll get what you’re given and like it, Bucky Egan!” Freddie called back, speeding up the tempo of her playing just a little bit to appease him into quiet.

It didn’t take long for Freddie to lose herself in her music - it never did. And over by the bar all conversation between Rosie and Millie had ceased. Rosie hadn’t replied to Millie as soon as he’d seen Freddie sit down at the piano, in fact, and he’d been mesmerised ever since.

She must have been some kind of angel, he thought, his lips hanging slightly agape, a warm flush high in his cheeks. With her eyes closed and her fingers moving fast across the keys, a soft smile on her face as she filled the club even to its most secluded corners with her beautiful music, there was no possible way she was a human being the way everyone else was a human being. There was no way she’d been born into the same world he had.

Millie was far from oblivious to Rosie’s infatuation. She had wondered, in fact, when she’d first met Rosie a few days ago while Freddie was back in Oxford, whether the two of them might hit it off. But there was, of course, one minor detail in the way of what she was sure had the potential to be nothing short of a fairytale.

“Rosie,” Millie said softly, hoping to draw his eyes to her.

Her efforts were to no avail. While Rosie hummed back at Millie, letting her know he was listening, his eyes were still firmly fixed on Freddie at the piano, on how she was giggling as Major Egan started trying to sing along to her instrumental.

Millie sighed and stepped in front of him so he’d have no choice but to look at her. “Rosie, she’s engaged.”

Rosie’s attention was not quite so hard pressed elsewhere anymore. “What?”

Millie nodded. “To a man she’s been with since she was fourteen. He proposed two years ago.”

“Then why ain’t they married?”

Millie wanted to laugh at his defensive tone of voice. He was clearly so invested already.

“Because Freddie wants to invite all her friends and extended family to the wedding and that just isn’t possible in wartime.”

Rosie stared at Millie silently for a moment, lost for what to say, before his eyes ventured over her shoulder to Freddie at the piano, finishing off her song and smiling shyly at the applause.

It couldn’t be, he thought, that she was going to spend her life with someone else. He barely knew her, true, but he’d always believed in his own convictions. He’d had girlfriends and some of them his mother had wanted him to go all the way with, but he knew himself and he’d always believed that when he met the right person he would just know. And he knew. With Freddie, he knew. She wasn’t supposed to be getting married to some childhood sweetheart, not when there was no one else for him.

“They’re having… some trouble, at the moment,” Millie said suddenly, diplomatically. She was frowning a little bit when Rosie looked back at her, as though she wasn’t entirely sure she believed she should be telling him this. “She’s been thinking about becoming a translator but he hates that she speaks German - she’s half-Austrian, see. And it’s been causing a bit of a rift. And she mentioned to him off-handedly that she’d like to teach their future children German, too, and he didn’t like that at all.”

Hope started to swell in Rosie’s heart like warm air in a balloon.

“But Fred -” Millie spoke abruptly, sensing the change in Rosie, “- she’s loyal. And I won’t tell you she doesn’t love him. All I’m saying is -” Millie sighed and ran a hand down her face, smudging her lipstick as she went. “All I’m saying,” she repeated as she glanced over her shoulder at Freddie, “is that it would take a lot to turn her head. So don’t get your hopes up or anything.”

His hopes were already up. How couldn’t they be? He had never before met anyone and been so immediately sure that they were supposed to be in his life for the long haul.

She was it for him. He knew it. He couldn’t explain how he knew it but he knew it, as he’d always trusted he would. With her warm brown eyes and her lemonade, her dimples and her talking about her dogs, he’d been smitten. But with her sitting at the piano and playing Artie Shaw so effortlessly, so elegantly, with that gentle smile on her face? Oh, he was head over heels. There was no possible version of his future which didn’t have her at its centre. There was no alternative. Her or no one. Absolutely only her.

Freddie was playing a different song now, a classical song Rosie didn’t recognise but which had filled the dance floor with couples. And her shoulders swayed as she played it. It was less like she was pressing down keys and playing a song from memory and more like she was carefully extracting from her heart whatever story the piano wanted to help her tell.

Yeah, Rosie thought, she’s the one for me.

As though she could feel the weight of that decision, could feel how Rosie had just tied himself to her, Freddie opened her eyes and met his, inexplicably, across the room.

[queenofbaws]

💖🎶🐀 for Blood of the Covenant, Water of the Womb, please and thank you!! :-)

well oh my good golly gosh, don't mind if i do! ;)c hehehe

💖 What is your favorite moment in this WIP?

hmmmMMM this one's tough, because we haven't gotten to my fav part(s) yet and i don't want to spoil things, soooOOOOOOO here's what i'll say >:)

since blood of the covenant, water of the womb is TECHNICALLY the series and not just oooone lil' old fic........my favorite moment in all in the family is jack watching chris, caleb, and kaylee pop their skin for the first time; my favorite part of like wringing blood from a stone WILL involve a big family argument where too much is said by literally everyone involved*; and there may or may not be two additional (hypothetical) fics where my fav moments involve travis making the mistake of meeting his heroes(?) and a certain someone from bobby's past coming to family dinner

HYPOTHETICALLY. hypothetically. :)c

🎶 Do you have any other WIP related things, like moodboards, character portraits, playlists or similar?

I DO!!!!!! outside of the little mini-moodboards i make to promo each chapter, i have a sideblog - @hacketthouse - that's sort of like...a "living" moodboard, if you will, in that i'm always adding stuff to the queue over there! it's really just a bunch of stuff that matches the vibe i'm going for with the whole series. it's moodier/more serious stuff than the things i tag 'the hacketts' here on my main, so just don't expect the same goof-em-ups over there, hehe

i also have a spotify playlist i listen to while writing! it's very very long, there's a lot of weird choices i've made on it, but it's what gets me in the groove when i sit down for a long writing session in north kill ;)

and while i keep TELLING MYSELF i'm going to eventually make a big old edit with the whole fam-damily and the character traits i imagine they have (similar to the promo materials from the quarry), alas, my self-confidence with edits is still pretty low, so...i haven't scrounged up the courage to do that yet, but maybe one of these days!!

🐀 Name three reasons why this WIP is great at being insert genre here.

i think blood of the covenant, water of the womb is great at being a buddy comedy because heheheh nah, i HOPE blood of the covenant, water of the womb is good at being a horror series because

most of the horror isn't coming from the monsters at all, but just the deeply, deeply troubled family foundation and subsequent idea of morality they're working with, which i think is kind of the real horror of the quarry if i'm being honest

there really aren't any "good guys," or at least not traditional ones; just those who have a vague idea of what they're up against and those who most certainly DON'T

so much of these stories is inspired by my own family, and like. this BETTER be halfway decent horror, okay, because please let me get SOMETHING out of what these people have been putting me through lately 🤣🤣🤣

random wip asks!

[elizaviento]

Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine (Part 12 of ?)

(Stardew Valley — Shane/Female Farmer/OC)

This chapter is rated mostly SFW — 3452 words. Just the tiniest bit of dirty talk.

Note: :)

(FYI: Additional chapters of Green on the Vine — Strawberry Wine can be found in the Stardew Valley Fic Masterpost link in my blog description.  Or, you can click the #green on the vine strawberry wine tag in this post, within my blog, to access all additional chapters.)

*****

"Hey, man – your girlfriend just walked in," Sam said, rounding the corner as Shane slashed open the top of a cardboard box with his dulling boxcutter.

"What?" Shane pinched his brow as the younger man emerged through the gloom of the back stockroom.

"Yeah, she's talking to Morris, and she looks, I dunno, kinda pissed?"

Shane sighed, unsure if he wanted to address the girlfriend comment or wonder aloud why Morris would be talking to her. He decided on the former.

"She's not my girlfriend," he mumbled, retracting the blade of the boxcutter and shoving it in the back pocket of his uniform shorts. And, technically, she wasn't. At least, not yet. Payday loomed ahead, Friday seeming like years away instead of days, and he planned to buy the biggest, dumbest bouquet he could afford.

"Whatever you say, my man," Sam replied with a chuckle. "Anytime she's ever come here, it's to find you, so…" The younger man shrugged, a lopsided grin finishing the sentence for him. "Want me to go see what they're talking about?"

"No," Shane responded, pushing past Sam to crack the stockroom door just enough to catch sight of Kristen and Morris standing next to Claire's register. The cashier, as usual, stood glassy-eyed and nearly nodding off while the tense conversation unfolded mere feet away. Shane knew that Kristen had a hand in the store manager's transfer to Pelican Town several years prior, but the stance they displayed hinted at something a little more complicated.

"Think he's hitting on her?" Sam asked. Shane figured it was a lousy attempt at a joke, but the insinuation caused his hackles to rise, and he flushed, overwhelmed by an emotion he couldn't quite name but recognized as a mixture of protectiveness and jealousy.

"It's questionable if Morris is even human," Shane replied, eyeing the man as he loomed over Kristen. "I doubt he has the capacity to love anything other than Joja."

Sam snickered as he approached Shane and peered through the crack above his head. "I think she can take him. Wanna bet?"

Shane scoffed but couldn't deny that the mental image of the farmer socking his shitty boss in the jaw almost had him standing at half-mast. But just when he was about to turn down that hypothetical bet, his walkie-talkie crackled to life, startling him enough to slam the stockroom door closed as if he and Sam had been caught witnessing something untoward.

"Shane Davis, you're free to go to lunch. Oh, and you have a guest at the front of the store. Best not keep her waiting."

"She ain't your girlfriend, my ass," Sam laughed, clapping the shorter man on the shoulder. "Damn, can't believe Morris is actually letting you go to lunch, too."

"Yeah," Shane agreed. "Can you finish unpacking these while I'm gone?"

"No problemo, pal."

"For real this time," Shane amended, narrowing his eyes. "Morris will blame me if he comes back here and finds they aren't."

Sam nodded, well aware that their manager seemed to harbor some sort of a grudge against his co-worker. "Yeah, man. Promise."

Shane thanked him and cautiously exited the stockroom, peering left and right as if he would be ambushed by Morris or a bothersome customer at any second. Finding the coast clear, he made his way toward the front, hugging the outside wall until he reached the row of cash registers and cut across them toward Kristen from the side.

Stepping out into the noonday sunshine hand in hand with the farmer felt surreal on a level that Shane had never experienced but also more natural than he could have imagined. Despite his protests that he wasn't ashamed of the townsfolk knowing they were involved, he caught himself scanning the immediate vicinity for wandering eyes and whispering voices. Shame still had nothing to do with his misplaced caution. Well, at least not for himself. 

Shifting his eyes to the side as they strolled, Shane attempted to absorb how Kristen's hair shone like fire in the sun and how her freckles darkened ever so slightly. The sway of her hips as she walked, the chiffon of her sundress swishing around her thighs with each step. The red tinge of her lipstick and how it reminded him of lip prints on a shot glass while fat snowflakes coated cobblestones under the moonlight. 

"You look really pretty today," he said, glad that the statement sounded as normal as he rehearsed it in his mind.

"Oh… thank you."

She blushed – actually blushed – and Shane was suddenly teleported back to 7th grade, starry-eyed and cooing over the prettiest girl in class. A girl who would ultimately end up his girlfriend but would break his heart weeks later. A girl who would, despite teenage angst, remain his best friend. A girl who would honor that lifelong friendship by making him the godfather of her beloved daughter only months before she died. 

When Shane opened the door to the Saloon — holding it open for Kristen so she could enter first — he was relieved that Emily's smiling face was the only one staring back at them. This early in the day, traffic was sparse regardless, but the lack of other patrons meant he could pretend they were all alone.

"Gus is pulling your pizza from the oven now!" Emily said, fetching a couple of glasses from below the bar. "Take a seat, and I'll bring it over soon!"

Kristen made way toward their usual spot, but Shane gently tugged her toward the corner booth instead, heart fluttering when she caught his eye and smirked.

"This is cozy," she remarked, settling in on his opposite side. The plastic bag she'd been carrying crinkled as she sat it beside her, and his imagination soared with what could be inside.

"Uh — yeah," he agreed as Emily approached, sat two glasses of water down in front of them, and left without a word. Shane's eyes briefly followed the waitress until she turned and shot him a knowing wink. "Thanks for ordering the food."

The farmer stared at him for several endless seconds before replying, "Thanks for letting me hold your hand on the walk over here." Her own hand landed on his bare knee under the table, inching slightly upward, nails lightly scraping through his leg hair. Shane flinched reflexively, unprepared and never expecting such a bold move in public. "Last night was so sexy."

Shane's eyes darted toward the bar and then around the remainder of the deserted Saloon, paranoia creeping up his spine like a slithering swamp creature no human had ever laid eyes on. When he found Emily casually slicing their pizza and loading a tray with the pan and plates, he relaxed, if only slightly.

"Kriss."

"Sorry," she said, retreating her hand. Shane found himself regretting such a prudish response when the warm print of her palm cooled almost instantly. He suppressed a shiver even as he noticed the burn again spreading across her cheeks. "I guess something about you makes me feral."

The confession shot a lightning bolt straight to Shane's dick, and he felt it twitch like the fingers of a reanimated corpse in a bad zombie flick. He was momentarily speechless, still astounded that a woman like her could find anything sexy about a guy like him.

"Babe, I'm barely keeping my shit together here," he said, attempting to soothe her silly insecurities. "I'm grateful for the pizza, but uh —" he took another cursory glance at their surroundings, calculating he had just enough time to utter the filth sitting on the tip of his tongue before Emily was in earshot, "— I'd be just as happy eating your pussy for lunch."

"Oh, fuck off," she giggled, covering her face as Emily slid the tray between them.

"One supreme pizza with extra cheese and peppers!" the waitress announced, shattering the sexual tension like she was wielding a sledgehammer. 

The remainder of their time in the Saloon was spent with leisurely conversation not unlike what they'd usually shared, interspersed with Kristen bumping his foot under the table playfully, her hand finding its way back to his knee, and the occasional sexually suggestive remark that had Shane feeling slightly delirious. He couldn't recall the last time the buds of a full-fledged relationship had begun to bloom, petals unfurling slowly and then all at once, displaying proudly for all to see. Even while serotonin spiked his brain and giddiness bubbled in his chest, he knew he could just as easily fuck it all up – crush the sprouting bud under his heel and grind it into the dirt without even realizing, akin to stepping on an ant unfortunate enough to cross his path on his routine stroll to work.

"Hmm, you ready to go back?" Kristen asked. Her hand had finally sought his under the table, their fingers interlocked, merged in the invisible void between them.

"Not really. But I'm sure Morris will call me soon if I don't."

"You still coming over after?" she asked, peeking at him from below her lashes. Shane thought she looked so heart-achingly beautiful just then and wondered how he had ever managed to contain himself since he'd laid eyes on her in this very Saloon over two years ago.

"Yeah, babe." He felt breathless, as if his chest would cave in at any second, lungs deflated. He hated wondering what label to assign to her now. Hated wondering what label she'd assigned to him. They were two grown adults; it shouldn't be this complicated, right? All he knew for sure was that if he couldn't latch his mouth to the soft expanse of her inner thighs again soon, he'd implode. "Want me to bring anything?"

"Just yourself," she replied, releasing his hand so she could root around in a hidden pocket of her sundress. Shane scrambled when she tossed a wad of crinkled bills on the table, attempting to pull his worn leather wallet from the back of his shorts pocket. "Don't! I told you this was my treat. If you're up for it, you can take me out for a real date this Friday."

"Huh?" He was acutely aware of how moronic he sounded as the word left his mouth, still flustered from feeling like a freeloader.

"Harvey got me an appointment with that surgeon in Zuzu on Friday afternoon. Wanna come with? I'd rather someone drive me than take the bus."

"I have to work, Kriss," he answered, rubbing the back of his neck. For some reason, he felt ashamed. A deadbeat stock boy doesn't usually get days off when he has a little mouth to feed.

"You've been full-time at Joja for what, 3 years now? More? You have paid time off, Shane. Knowing Morris, he probably tries to guilt you into never taking it."

"Uh —" he floundered, realizing she was absolutely right and feeling even more imbecilic because of it.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure you get this Friday off."

"Kriss, you can't just run in and start fighting my battles," he said, harsher than he'd intended. Her brow furrowed, and her eyes squinted the way they did when she was about to challenge him. "I'll ask him. Whatever you said earlier might still have him ruffled enough to agree."

Her gaze pitched to the side as she wrapped her fingers around a loose curl that had escaped the braid flowing down her back. Unease blanketed Shane like a shroud, all too familiar with her visual cues of distress. 

"Fine," she relented, albeit reluctantly. "But if he gives you shit, let me know, Okay? I mean it."

"Morris always gives me shit. Why are you so concerned about it now?"

His tone had shifted to sharp and accusatory while questions swirled in his mind. Why had she left Joja? And what the fuck was up with this sudden feud with Morris? She continuously dodged the subject, and Shane never felt the need to press because it wasn't his business. But now that she insisted on inserting herself in such an invasive manner, he felt he was owed an explanation. 

"I'm sorry, you're right," she yielded with a dispirited sigh. "I'm just feeling protective of you, I guess. I don't like the way he treats you."

Shane sucked a ragged breath between his teeth, the hostility slithering between his ribs swarmed away by a kaleidoscope of butterflies pummeling their tissue paper wings against his rapidly beating heart.

"It's alright." He shuffled in the booth, fidgeting while his mind scrambled to come up with something more substantial to say. "I'll put in the time and let you know."

Figuring that was an acceptable middle ground, he stood and motioned for her to follow, boldly taking her hand as soon as she was by his side despite a smattering of townsfolk who had also wandered in for lunch. He was planning to formally ask her to be his on Friday anyway, so fuck it.

❦❧🍓❦❧

"Shane, we have a truck delivery scheduled on Friday. You can't request time off at the last minute," Morris chided as Shane stood on the opposite side of his desk with a PTO request slip in hand.

"I already asked Sam if he'll cover, and he said yes. What's the problem?"

Rolling his eyes, Morris snatched the slip from Shane's hand and scanned it quickly. "You didn't provide a reason for requesting time off. That's required per Joja policy."

"Uh. A friend needs a ride to the city for an appointment. She can't drive right now," Shane answered. Morris' obvious obstinance for the sake of it was already wearing on his patience. 

"Ah, I see. Mrs. Jarret?"

"Who?" Shane asked. He was quickly transitioning from irritated to agitated.

"Oh," Morris scoffed, a smug expression replacing stern disappointment. "I guess you don't know your friend so well, after all, hmm? I meant Ms. Wynand."

"Okay…" Shane hedged, wondering where this little display was leading.

"I knew her rather well prior to my transfer. Perhaps she can tell you the tale sometime. Perhaps on Friday. Your time off request has been approved." With an exaggerated flourish, Morris signed his name to the slip, ripped off the carbon copy on the back, and handed it to Shane, a crooked grin splitting his face nearly in two. "Now get back to work."

The remainder of Shane's shift was spent scowling at cans of artificial green beans and bottles of yellow sports drink suspiciously resembling piss. One by one, he shoved them on the shelves, hardly aware of Sam skirting by occasionally with rock music blaring so loud through his headphones that he could be heard from a mile away. By 5 pm, Shane's jaw ached, and his head throbbed from grinding his teeth for hours on end, stewing over the cryptic bullshit hanging between Morris and his would-be girlfriend like a stationary pendulum. One tap and it would swing to and fro, shattering the illusion he'd caught himself in like shards of mirrored glass.

You're doing it again. You're trying to sabotage something good by assuming the worst. It's not like they fucked or something.

Determined not to let his sour mood ruin the rest of his evening, he clocked out, avoiding his co-workers, and briefly considered a stop at the Saloon for one beer. Maybe two.

You really want her to taste alcohol on your tongue when you kiss her? he thought, even as his feet itched to take the familiar path toward the Stardrop. Or would you rather get whiskey dick instead? Yeah, that'll be real fucking smooth…

Admitting to himself that he was, indeed, planning to take Kristen to bed as soon as he walked through the door, he recalculated his trajectory — a straight shot from the footbridge, through town, past the bus stop, and right into her arms.

Having something else to focus on, his previous doomsday broodings fell by the wayside, replaced by an old song he'd mainly heard through the crackling of FM radio as a teenager. The lyrics looped in his mind while visions of a girl with mocha skin and glossy raven hair pressed record on her tape deck, imprinting the song on a cassette tape that Shane would wear out over the years. A memory of that same girl donning a wedding dress, dancing to those lyrics with a handsome man on her arm and Shane smiling from the sidelines. Sometimes… sometimes, it didn't hurt to see them again, if only in his memories. Sometimes remembering them felt like coming home.

Uncharacteristically unburdened when he knocked on the farmer's front door, Shane inserted the key into the knob directly after. He figured Kristen would always chide him for knocking when he could enter at any moment, but that simply felt intrusive.

"Hi," she said, catching him off guard. She was standing just far enough from the door that it didn't smack her in the face when he opened it. He first noticed that she looked deathly pale, almost as pale as when he and Harvey had found her semi-unconscious in the kitchen just 4 days prior. Next was that both of her hands were tucked behind her back as if she were hiding something.

"Hey," he replied. Kristen took a measured step back, just enough to allow him room to close the door behind him and stand eye to eye, approximately a foot apart. "What's uh — is everything okay? You look sick."

Her eyes widened in response, her expression resembling a mix of panic-stricken and terrified, and Shane felt as if he were suddenly doused in pure adrenaline, fight or flight gripping him by the balls. Naturally, he was a fighter.

"Well, I do feel like I'm about to barf, so…" She trailed off into a giggle that sounded forced, as if someone were holding a loaded gun to her temple.

"Kriss, what the —"

Before he could finish, she flung one of her arms forward from behind her back, the soft crinkle of tissue paper reminding him of when Marnie stuffed gift baskets and bags with the useless garnish. Only now, it was delicately wrapped around a gigantic bouquet of flowers and thrust inches from his nose.

"I know this tradition is dumb and outdated," she began, voice wavering. Shane gently pressed the back of one hand against the bundle and slowly pushed it to the side so he could see her face, now splotched with red patches as a blush attempted to force its way to the surface. "But, I don't know. I think it's kind of sweet and romantic. I asked Pierre to bring his nicest one, but I didn't realize it would be so big. Sorry. But it's beautiful!"

She stopped babbling then, her eyes locked with his, still holding the bouquet toward him. Shane opened his mouth to reply but only gaped like a fish, literally stupefied.

"What's wrong? Do you hate it?" she asked, face crumpling the way Jas' did when she was two seconds from sobbing. "Oh god, it's too much, isn't it? This is pathetic."

Shane shook his head, still unable to articulate the barrage of emotions beating him senseless. He wanted to say so many things. He wanted to tell her that she was on the fringes of every thought that occupied his mind, no matter how fleeting. He wanted to tell her he never thought he could find true friendship again until she came crashing through his life like a wrecking ball. He wanted to tell her that the mere notion of losing her now or ever made his throat constrict like he'd swallowed a handful of wasps. But instead, he plucked the bouquet from her hand, tossed it on the tea table next to the door, and pulled her into a kiss. Tender yet yearning, his fingers tangled in her hair, pulling it loose from the braid as strands slipped between each digit. The farmer responded in kind, cupping the back of his neck with her good hand while the other settled on his hip. 

"Does this mean you'll be my boyfriend?" she asked teasingly when the pair finally parted. The color had returned to her face, filling in between the dusting of freckles that he loved so much, relief softening her features until her eyes appeared almost doe-like.

Boyfriend.

Instead of recoiling from the juvenile term for a romantic partner, he rolled it around in his mouth like a piece of hard candy, allowing the sweetness to coat his tongue. Maybe it wasn't so bad after all. 

"Yeah, babe," he answered, regarding her with adoration in his eyes. "I'll never understand why you chose me, but I'll be your boyfriend. I'll be whatever you want."

***** End Note: (:

[cryingoverspilledmilks-blog]

Kismet

Fandom: The Glass Scientists

Current rating: T

Chapter: 1

Title: Fugue

A/N: This fic is sort of a canon-divergent, wish-fulfillment drabble piece that started as a lot of different fics i wrote that i discovered had scenes that would fit better together as a single fic, and so i took snippets from those and stuck them together and whittled the whole mess down into something more manageable. Lots of late night editing sessions for something I'm doing for free, but I was motivated to finish this by someone being so very enthusiastic in the tags on the WIP excerpts I posted, which was honestly such a delight to wake up to. Thank you so much btw @greedycanine I really appreciate that boost and I hope I meet your expectations in the full chapters :)

The comic has updated several times since I began writing this, and I did add some non-canon elements (for instance, that Lanyon Knows, which is a common enough trope in this fandom and one that I enjoy immensely.)

The flaws in this one might not be as glaring as my over-anxious mind anticipates, but if you notice them, I probably have too. It is likely best read as a self-contained hypothetical with hints of canon plot woven in. It's a bit messy, but I think it may be enjoyable nonetheless.

Here is the first part of this great beast. It consists mostly of a conversation, beginning with some emblematic Jekyll and Hyde mirror-bickering. I thought it would be interesting to explore one of those moments where Hyde has something insightful to say, even if it's something of a means to an end for him.

The font changes are something of a fanfic guilty pleasure for me, but they're also a tool I love to use to show who's speaking and how, without necessarily using a dialogue tag every other line, especially when we have two characters who have the ability to communicate both in ways only they can hear and in ways others can.

Hope all of that works for y'all. Happy reading :)

Chapter 1: Fugue

“Are you ready to let me back out yet? Believe it or not, hanging over your shoulder all day does get old.”

"Not now."

“Why not?”

"I don’t want you getting involved in this. We've just made it through into the thickest of this whole ordeal. There’s still too much at stake."

“Ugh. That’s how you see every situation you can’t directly micromanage. It’s like the whole of your world is always resting oh-so-precariously on the head of a pin, ready to be upset by the slightest deviation from your expectations. Lighten up just this once, won't you?"

Henry sighed heavily at that and slid his finished page to the far side of the desk, thinking better of his initial impulse to reply. Pulling a fresh sheet of paper into view and dipping his pen into the inkwell again, he continued to write, attempting to ignore the familiar but currently disembodied speaker.

“Don’t act like you can’t hear me all of a sudden," the voice grumbled impatiently.  "You know, I’ve noticed something lately, Henry. You always insist on framing our situation as though you’re the most responsible party between the two of us, but you never seem to have any really substantial backup plans on hand, in case those delicate matters you like fussing over so much go awry. You never give yourself a real margin of error, despite the fact you're always angsting over what could go wrong.”

Ink pooled slightly on the page under Henry’s pen as he paused, scoffing at the insinuation that he’d been anything but diligent. “And you do?” he prodded back sarcastically, speaking aloud this time, his voice firm but quiet. He was rather aware of precisely how audible he was behind his office door. It was more risky to communicate this way, but he seemed to have an easier time filtering himself when he wasn’t trying to speak internally, and that was important when he was dealing with his incorporeal counterpart.

The lengthy mirror standing off to one side drew his eye when he heard the reply.

“Oh, I always figure something out, one way or another. Surely you know that better than anyone.” 

Henry rolled his eyes at the hazy silhouette that suddenly could be glimpsed in the mirror’s reflection of the opposite wall. “Abandoning every situation that doesn’t go your way and playing hopscotch all over the city’s rooftops is not a backup plan,” he muttered bitterly, composing the end of a follow-up letter for a prospective sponsor before setting the page aside to let the ink dry.

“It can be, if you’re clever enough," the shadow replied. "Also, you're one to talk about giving up easy. Just a few weeks ago I watched you nearly forfeit your whole operation just because Lanyon told you he didn't think things looked sound after you passed out mid-speech. Face it, you’re all or nothing when it comes to solving problems. What is that about?”

Another exasperated sigh as Henry spared another glance at the shadow in the mirror. "Can we not do this right now? You only ask these questions because you already know what gets under my skin. You don't really care about the answers, do you?"

When the shadow spoke next, it was with a mockery of a hurt tone, the dark shape leaning back slightly. A silhouetted hand rested against an approximation of the chest, in a gesture best described as theatrically wounded.

"Why, you insult me, dear doctor. I'm only curious, for both of our sakes, being as close as we are," came the snidely-sweet reply.

Henry narrowed his eyes. “Do you honestly expect I could believe you truly care about what happens to me? After all you've put me through? You take such joy in my misfortune. Really, you can drop the saccharine nonsense, Hyde."

Letting the name slip from his mouth was a mistake, but wouldn’t be costly this time since they were alone- and he only uttered it the one time, Henry reasoned quickly. It was mostly to try to quell the dread in his stomach at the prospect of someone in the hall happening by as he said it out loud, in an otherwise perceptibly empty room.

Hyde vanished from the glass, only to reappear, more thoroughly illuminated, in the empty air near the desk, looking slightly more like a person than an apparition now, as well as irritated.

“I’m trying to tell you that you might actually benefit from trying things my way. Be a little more spontaneous. Roll over the bumps in the road, instead of just counting on things going the right way the first time, every time. It was funny to watch you flounder at first, I must admit, but honestly it's just getting old. I wonder what would happen if you switched things up and proved me right," he paused briefly, noting Henry's contemplative expression.

"And another thing!" Hyde exclaimed, pointing at the ceiling for emphasis. "You told me you'd let me out after the exhibition, then not at all, and now here you are again running yourself uselessly into the ground. The bourgeois types you find yourself groveling to yet again are notoriously hard to satisfy. Why should you have to rush if they already know what you and the others are capable of?"

Stretching a little as Hyde went on, Henry stopped a moment and glanced out the window with a pensive look in his eye.

“That's one of the few times you’ve been right about something, amongst all those snide remarks.”

“Hey!” Hyde sounded affronted at first, then did an almost comical double-take. "Wait, you agree with me?"

“I can certainly see what you mean, even if I can't abide by that advice in the same way you might,” Henry began. “We need everyone's projects to come together smoothly if we're to maintain what good standing we've managed to acquire with our sponsors. They have high hopes and even higher expectations after the splash everyone made at the exhibition. We would need to plan for every eventuality within reach of what we set out to do, but… I do miss things while trying to account for the unexpected, don’t I? Always, something unforeseen gets in my way.” Henry turned in his seat and reached into the cabinet above, pulling out a leather-bound notebook tucked behind a row of vials. Flipping to the first clean page, he dipped his pen into the inkwell once more. "Somehow the fact you managed to worm your way back to the front of our mind to pester me once again is not one such surprise.."

Hyde furrowed his brow in displeasure, rolling his eyes at Henry's little jab. “Of course it isn't. Did you really think I could be held down so easily? You made it harder for me to take over the body on my own, but I'm still here." he paused for a moment. "How long is this going to take?" 

“Not quite as long as you seem to be concerned about. I just have to jot down some…alternatives so I remember them while the subject is fresh,” Henry spoke mildly, but his expression was disgruntled and contemplative.

Hyde rolled his eyes, and did not look at Henry's page, whose looping, slanted script looked far too dull for him to devote attention to at this hour, restless and bitter as he was.

Henry went on, "I'm still upset about that stunt you pulled on the stage, but I'm certain you figured that out already. It was cruel even by your usual standards."

“Cruelty is the very thing I'm made for, but now that you mention it, I actually did you a favor by dragging you down into the dark and the quiet," Hyde spat."You're just addicted to working until you pass out. It's a real fuckin' problem."

As he grew more impatient, the East-London drawl that Hyde had picked up since his creation was seeping further into his inflections. Beneath that, there was a slight but distinct lilt which gestured toward shared memories of Glasgow, making an uncommon cocktail of tones that were unmistakably signature to him. Like so many things about Hyde, Henry noticed, it produced a quality both familiar and foreign. It was, fittingly enough, a faintly haunting thing to witness, a reminder of just how right Hyde always was about the extent of their connection.

Henry squinted his eyes shut as if to abandon that train of thought, trying to remain bearably numb to the reality of being forever stuck arguing with a living distillate of the most confusing parts of himself. “If I'm doomed to be addicted to anything at all, as you say I am, I'd much rather it be something useful,” Henry replied coldly after a moment, the page under his pen nearly full.

Hyde paused, nose wrinkled in defensive chagrin. "I don't concern myself with counting the ways I can be used by others. At least my addictions don't rely on people telling me what to do," he muttered. "Are you done yet?"

Henry shook his head in stiff silence, much to Hyde’s dismay. He gave a frustrated groan. “You can pick this up tomorrow! It’s getting close to evening by now, and you always take so much longer with these things than you say you will."

Once the page was dry and flipped over, there was no reply but the continued, now noticeably forceful scratching of Henry’s pen. His brow was creased with irritation, a deepening frown on his face. 

Hyde growled in frustration. “Jekyll!”

Henry grit his teeth, snapping a look over at Hyde that was a mixture of anger and anxiety. "Must you be so childish?! Don't think I don't know what you're doing by now, I am not as much of a fool as you seem to think. Why should I go out of my way to let you out again, when you have proven time and time again that you don't know how to keep your excursions from ruining everything I strive for?"

He could not stop the impatient edge from entering his voice, as much as he'd wanted to avoid raising it tonight. As he spoke, Hyde's features twisted into a mask of indignation and rage.

"You don't know the first thing about ruin! Try being in my position for a change- less than nothing, a ghost of a ghost! And for what? You have no idea how lucky you really are. My entire existence is eaten up by watching another man live a life I could do so much more with if I was given the chance!"

Jekyll shut the notebook with a forceful swipe of his hand down against the desk, eyes downcast. "I would love to see you try living my life for once," he replied flatly, "If perhaps you weren't so preoccupied with immediate gratification, maybe I'd even trust you with making an attempt."

"Perhaps if we had any more of that potion of ours made, I would be able to seriously debate if I wanted to take you up on that. But I am mostly stranded now, and it isn't my fault I wound up that way. You're the one who made that call." Hyde shot back, moving phantom-like toward the doorway that led to the other portion of the office, where many of their experiments had taken place. 

Jekyll tucked the notebook into a drawer under his desk, slamming it closed in irritation. "Not your fault? I had to destroy it. You would have found some way to get your hands on it when I was needed most, because that is what you always do! You didn't give me another choice!"

Hyde's image distorted slightly for a moment, like smeared paint on canvas, before resolving itself, as if reacting physically to emotion. "There is always another choice! This is what I'm talking about. All or nothing. We are two parts of a whole, you know that. Or, at least you ought to by now."

His voice, as well, seemed faintly doubled, the translation of a will to be heard. "You need me around, you know you do, even if you can't admit it. How many times have you watched me indulge in what you couldn't? How many times have you deliberately sent me into the world to voice the thoughts you must otherwise claim to revile? How much benefit have you reaped from our cooperation? You can't keep me locked away forever. You will always need the outlet I provide."

Jekyll's head began to ache a bit the longer he considered Hyde's point. It was true, he knew, that he found a secret kind of fulfillment in watching things he could never partake in play out vicariously from behind Hyde's eyes. This was a fault, really, or at least he thought so. However, a fault that he had not managed to shake off, for the better part of fifteen years. It would take a lot of willpower to break a habit like that after so long. That was partly why he had destroyed the potion to begin with. He knew Hyde was probably right, that he was not really strong enough to resist the temptation of such freedom.

Technically, the potion could be recreated if it was necessary, though it was always an arduous process. They had needed to do that many times over a decade and a half. But Jekyll had cut himself off from that last ready-made batch as a last desperate bid for control, and had thought never to make it again.

Thinking about how much work still needed to be done before the lodgers' new project deadlines was a miserable uphill battle. Even now, deep down, he wanted to be somewhere else tonight, doing anything besides wearing himself out, cooped up in the office for the umpteenth time. Acknowledging that, even privately, felt like a betrayal of a higher caliber than even Hyde's, but the thought persisted even still.

He sighed. "Well...be that as it may, you are still an enormous liability. And, besides which- what do you even want me to do? What remained of that batch of the potion is gone now."

Hyde paused, and his expression shifted, from anger to mild disbelief, and finally into a smug, cheshire smile. "Well, I have been thinking about that, and I realized- it's not all gone," he moved toward the tall, solid wooden cabinet against the far wall of the office. It was the one Jekyll kept things that were risky to have visible behind glass (copies of the will written in his name, for instance.) It was also, Jekyll realized with dawning horror, where Hyde kept his physical set of clothing tucked away when Jekyll was in control. 

Among them was a tattered overcoat, with two stolen vials of HJ-7 tucked into the inside pocket.

Enough for exactly one last night on the town before the potion would have to be remade entirely. A final obstacle in the way of true control. A pacifying bargaining chip to buy himself more time before the pair of them would argue like this again.

Hyde seemed to recognize the way Jekyll's eyes shifted in thinly-concealed conflict, bordering on panic, and if it was possible, his grin widened.

"You remember the night I went to Blackfog, don't you, Jekyll?"

[bthump]

Let’s say, hypothetically (and i hope nones asked this already), that griffith reacted to guts leaving in a self destructive way that didnt necessarily throw him in a fuckin dungeon for a year (say, self repressed even more) so when guts comes back a year later griffith is still griffith but so much more fucked up emotionally, how do you think that would have worked out? And for guts, i cant tell what exactly made him come back? Did he find a dream (i dont think it was implied anywhere?) or did he think it enough to just be with griffith and the hawks again even if it means not being dear to griffith?

Second question first: Guts actually came back because he heard that the Hawks were exiled from Midland and hiding in the woods and being lead by Casca, and went to investigate. He intended to stay to help rescue Griffith and then leave again to continue pursuing his own dream, inviting Casca with him as long as she doesn't get in the way of his goal. Then, when they discovered that Griffith was permanently disabled and needed a caretaker, and Guts internalized that fact, he did decide it was enough to just be with Griffith and the Hawks again. This is suggested in his "Why do I only see these things after they're done and gone?" internal monologue in chapter 71, where he finally acknowledges that he shouldn't have left at all. Plus he directly tells both Judeau and Casca that he wants to stay to take care of Griffith now, while they both tell him to leave.

And now for the first question:

Honestly if it was just a year later, Guts was coming back to visit or whatever, then I think it would be... painfully polite and awkward lol. Guts hasn’t fulfilled his dream and is therefore not Griffith’s equal yet, so he’s not expecting to be bffs with him. And Griffith’s fucked up emotions take the form of extra aloofness imo, so he would treat Guts pretty much exactly how Guts might expect to be treated, but wouldn’t actually want, ie politely and distantly. In this scenario I see Guts leaving again to keep working on the dream.

I think what could be an interesting premise for like, a slowburn fic on the other hand, is if Guts comes back when he thinks he has successfully fulfilled his dream and become Griffith’s equal - say it’s five years later. He’s become the best swordsman anyone knows of, he’s killed a few apostles probably, he’s feeling pretty good about his skills, his dedication, and his achievements. So he goes back to Midland to visit Griffith, who’s now king maybe, and Griffith smiles coldly and politely when he sees him, is perfectly courteous, offers him a room to stay in, and excuses himself to deal with king stuff.

So still painfully polite and awkward, but now Guts is thinking to himself, what gives, he did what he was supposed to do. So he tries to get closer to Griffith, and maybe eventually directly confronts him and they have it out.

(Hm, an actual plot could be that Midland is facing Ganishka’s empire-building army and Guts returns both to be Griffith’s cool warrior bff and to help him out, and this would force them to work together and interact.)

Anyway so you get some days/weeks/months of strained awkwardness, Guts’ attempts to bridge the gap and demonstrate his worthiness, Griffith’s incredibly mixed feelings because he still loves Guts but he’s afraid of that vulnerability, throw in some moments where Griffith’s true feelings shine through and give Guts super mixed signals, like eg Griffith saving his life again or defending him to an asshole nobleman or something, it eventually leads to Guts thinking he’s still not good enough and planning to leave again after the war or something, or possibly just giving up on the idea that he could ever be Griffith’s equal, before a climactic event happens which proves Griffith’s feelings and forces a confession or something and they finally talk and make out.

[autisticandroids]

i wanted to ask you if dean ever finds them in that fic idea (where they're living/getting therapy elsewhere) and just imagining that, like the kind of morbid horror of even the concept of him hunting them down high key reminded me of the feel of reading early chapters of with understanding (i hope this isn't upsetting i just mean you've created a setup that fills me with so much dread) because dean would be like i have to find cas, i have to SAVE cas and that would be cas' worst nightmare

(referring to this) oh don't worry, i had with understanding in mind when formulating the trapped, claustrophobic feeling of the original. part of the purpose of "i fold in half so easily" is to explain the ways in which canon and with understanding are the same story. okay so this is an interesting question. i'm not really sure what dean is doing after cas leaves here - cas literally sneaks out in the middle of the night, no note or anything, so it's plausible that dean could feel abandoned and slighted, in which case i don't think he would look for cas, he would just seethe and wait for cas to return. it's also plausible that he's worried for cas' safety, in which case he would look for cas, he'd be tearing up the united states. the question of whether or not sam stays is also relevant. one of the basic premises of "i fold in half so easily" is that sam is on the sort of perpetual cusp of moving out, so sam feels more empowered to defy dean, and at the same time, dean feels capable of letting go of sam because he feels that he has cas absolutely, in every way imaginable. if sam has already actually left when cas leaves, dean would go insane and he probably would chase down cas after a month or two of sulking. but if sam was still there dean would just like. lock him down. no leaving for him. but there is a crucial element of that hypothetical sequel, which is: jack actually wants to reconcile with the winchesters. no matter what they (and especially dean) have done, they were still an integral part of his childhood, and he at least wants to see them. cas having to navigate that is very fun for me. because the thing is that cas isn't exactly afraid of dean, not now that he's no longer part of dean's household. he understands that if dean presents a physical threat to himself or jack he could handle that. he's afraid of being confronted with dean and all of the guilt and shame tied up in his relationship to dean. he feels like if he is forced to acknowledge dean's physical existence he will fall apart into shards of glass. and he is also deeply, deeply ashamed of how much he misses the good parts of his relationship with dean: approval, affection, sex, an authority figure who he could devote himself to, the fundamental simplicity of living for dean. he's afraid that he'll end up doing whatever dean says, because even though he's chosen jack now, he is still an angel divided, and he fears he will be torn in two. so i think it's much more interesting to have cas agree to this proposition, because he is taking jack's lead.

i also think that's interesting in terms of control because cas spends the whole of "i fold in half so easily" relinquishing control entirely because he can't handle it, and i think that part of the beginning of his rebuilding his relationship with jack would involve like. cas rebuilding his ability to make choices and trust his own judgement. but i think if jack was really insistent about seeing the winchesters again i don't know if cas would be able to really say no to that because he's still so inclined to distrust himself and reticent to exercise agency.

i think that this meeting would take place like. long before cas is emotionally ready, because cas is bad at saying no and worse at monitoring his own feelings, and would certainly retraumatize him. i also love imagining cas nervously approaching a payphone and dialing dean's number and dean being all excited on the other end and cas feeling all warm and fuzzy for a moment because he missed me. and then suddenly feeling very afraid and slamming the phone down.

[fanboyzuko]

Fanfic ask. nr 8

what’s your relationship with constructive criticism and feedback like? do you seek it out? how well do you take it?

huh this is an interesting one and at first I thought I didn't have that much to say in response, but I've been thinking so bare with me for a long rambling answer.

So here's the thing, let me say I've been writing and sharing my writing for a long time, either through roleplaying on GaiaOnline (showing my age here, eh?), with friends, or fanfiction. And I'll be honest, I'm very good at forgetting things. I have a horrible memory. So while I'm sure I've had plenty of experience with constructive criticism and feedback, I literally cannot remember past my experiences before LTF when I was writing heroaca fics and even that is hazy and vague.

Thus, this is less an answer of what I actually do or have done, but mostly in hypothetical to define my current opinions.

For starters, let me go on a tangent that I've seen discussed in creative circles and beyond fairly often that I think is important to bring up. The internet has a horrible relationship with boundaries. All too often we can see instances of randos being too familiar, horribly rude, to downright cruel to others while online. And when it comes to creative content on the internet, some try to defend their behavior behind "constructive criticism."

But for a good majority of constructive criticism to actually be constructive, I'm of the belief there needs to be a pre-existing relationship of some sort between the creator and the one delivering the constructive feedback. While working on LTF I'm constantly going to my dear friend and beta, Morgan, for their thoughts and opinions about story beats, character development, plot lines, etc etc. I know they want the best for my story, and understand my intentions/where the story is going, and trust wholeheartedly in anything they have to say to me. There's times where they say I need to rewrite a line or two, or that I need to add something more to a scene, and I can go back and immediately see how right they are and that doing so elevates the story.

If I received an anon here on Tumblr, or a random commenter on my fic giving my suggestions of things to change in my story, I would probably, mostly ignore them. If there's a story element someone doesn't like, or thinks lands wrong, or have things to say about my prose itself, I might think about their critiques some. Might go back and see if I find any validity to what they're saying, but ultimately probably wouldn't change a thing. It's my fanfiction and I'm writing it for fun and enjoyment, the fact that others also get fun and enjoyment out of it is an added bonus.

The exceptions to this mindset are actual mistakes. I had a one-off character a few parts back in LTF that I introduced with their name spelled one way, and then spelled it wrong the rest of the chapter. Neither I nor Morgan caught that WHOOPS. Someone pointed it out in the comments and gosh was I thankful for that note and ran in to edit the chapter then and there lol Just had something similar with a plot point last week too ahha Things like that I'm super thankful for because they're helpful quickfixes!

Another exception would be anything that falls into the realm of insensitivity or perpetuating harmful stereotypes. I'm just one person who's lived just one life, and while I do my best to expand my views and thoughts to lives of which I could never personally experience, I know I still run the risk of getting something wrong, especially while working on an ATLA fic that tries to expand on the worldbuilding of a show made by USAmericans inspired by Asian and circumpolar cultures. I've created so many characters, expanded on minor characters, tried to give more depth to the history and practices of the nations. Somewhere in there or in the future, I wouldn't be surprised if I misstep. I'd welcome any critique on those aspects, and would definitely work to fix anything insensitive or wrong in my portrayals.

So tl;dr I seek concrit from people I trust, appreciate quick fixes, and would say a big YIKES at myself if I fucked up depictions of gender/race/culture in LTF but would be glad someone had the knowledge to correct me.

If anyone else would like to inspire some rambling lol

[not-poignant]

Hi Pia! Do you prefer to have fic questions/praise directed towards your ao3 or tumblr? Or both? I’ll sometimes leave a comment on ao3 but direct most of my questions and direct love to your tumblr. Does it make a difference for you? Do you prefer one method of interaction over another?

Hi anon!

Tbh, I generally prefer whatever the other person is most comfortable with, because I don't want people making themselves do things they don't want to do.

For me personally, I will say that I never come to Tumblr when I'm feeling down to read say, love or praise. But I do often go to AO3 to read AO3 comments. I think it's because asks are constantly disappearing into the annals of time, they can't be found easily, they can't always be searched for, and frankly, I get some strange ones - 99% of the hate I've gotten comes through Tumblr anon asks, and about 1% comes through AO3.

As a result, AO3 is the place I go (when I remember) when I'm feeling down or insecure about my writing. I'll reread comments of people enjoying chapters. In that sense, yes it can make a difference to me. Does that mean I want everyone to use only AO3? No. Tumblr asks are a different vibe, and there are some folks who even leave comments on AO3 and then send asks here for example, or who only like one or the other.

I enjoy responding to AO3 comments more than Tumblr asks overall mostly because they are generally more positive, and from a 'everyone gets to enjoy this together' they're more likely to be seen I think by other readers in the future. I have readers of Game Theory who are just reading it this year, who can see all the old comments and enjoy them! It's like peering into a time capsule before people knew Gwyn was Unseelie, for example. But can we easily go back and read the asks I was getting? Nope. It's really hard and fiddly and annoying.

But Tumblr gives me the chance to offer responses to things in ways that AO3 doesn't. Here I can give longer, more thoughtful responses to characterisation, worldbuilding, hypothetical and writing method questions that don't just go to one person, but go to everyone (especially if it's an anon). That gives everyone here a chance to get in on that, reply, interact, like the post etc. And that's special to Tumblr. And honestly, I would not have a Patreon now, if it wasn't for the Tumblr supporters who suggested it in the first place.

So it's like...anon, honestly, if it's from a 'I want Pia to remember this praise' perspective, then AO3 is best. But if it's 'I want to ask a question and I want everyone to see it' then here is great. And also, if you want to share praise and want a whole bunch of people to see it at once, and share in that love too, here is good as well! There's pros and cons to both, you know?

I actually keep meaning to remind people I have a Tumblr more often on AO3 but I forget - I've stopped doing it as much since the Tumblr Purge. But honestly, I still really do enjoy it here. I just think asks are overall more laboursome here. Because frankly, I just wouldn't respond to an AO3 comment in the same way as I do here. AO3 comments don't get reblogged and don't get shared with complete strangers - the only people reading them are the people who clicked on that story. Tumblr is a different space, and so I feel it needs a different response.

At least sometimes anyway. :D

(Also Tumblr lets me use gifs sometimes sdfkljas and I like that).

[pocketramblr]

I was wondering if you could tell me what collections are and what should I do if my fic has been requested to be added to one?

Uh so a collection is a group of fics that can have a lot of different uses

Organize all the fics for an event like a contest or big bang in one spot, so it's easy for someone to find them all

Create a group of similar fics, this can happen in fandoms who are waiting for the tag wranglers to make something a filterable tag- the bnha fandom had a "OfA Is Revealed" collection and the batfam fandom a "Red Hood vs Robin fight goes different" collection, before there were tags for those tropes

Create a group of fics that share an au- let's say hypothetically, Gentry writes Anyone. Then Moon writes a crack "missing chapter" of Anyone, then Katydid writes a oneshot au inspired by Anyone, then I write a roleswap Anyone oneshot. We could all put those in a "Anyone Verse Collection" rather than a series, since they're inspired by each other but aren't one continuous story.

I've seen a discord server that put every fic that gets rec'd in it in a collection, so it's easier to navigate and filter them all and avoid double reccing, instead of just scrolling up in the rec channel forever

One person's favorites of a certain theme, like "Dadzawa fics that don't bash Toshi", or "Various Fantasy Aus", or "Short and sweet oneshots for when I have a bad day" or "fics that heavily impacted how I characterize someone", rather than using bookmarks which they might not do for whatever reason, finding a collection better suits their purpose

Personally, when I get a request to add to a collection, I just take a few minutes to scroll through it and decide if I want to approve or not. Sometimes I say yes, sometimes I say no- usually if I feel it doesn't actually fit the theme or if I dislike the other fic premises and don't wish to be associated with them.

[trevorendeavors]

A. How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

"Hexsquad Among Humans: Perils of a Realm Beyond the Boiling Isles" was first born out of a Drabble about the hex squad trying peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, so the first title it went by was "Peanut Butter Jelly Time" or something similar (my outline document still goes by "Peanut Butter Outline). Other titles I considered were "Have you ever known the terror of a vacuum cleaner? - and other perils of the human realm" and "The Human House" (suggested by my beta @camomile-t). Eventually, I decided on a mishmash of some of the titles.

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

A better question is, "Which of my stories aren't inspired by personal experience?" Nearly everything I write is spurred by a personal experience of my own or of someone close to me.

C: What character do you identify with most?

Probably Luz and Hunter. Segwaying from last question, I wrote Luz's nonverbal episodes based on my own, and Hunter's inability to accurately assess social cues based on my own social shortcomings.

D. Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

There currently exist two HAH (the short acronym of my fic) playlists, one by yours truly and the other by my beta @edenihira. My personal playlist is more vibes-based than lyrics based. That is, the music there is suited to the emotional atmosphere of the fic as opposed to containing relevant lyrics. Some of the songs in my personal playlist do contain themes I don't feel like sharing here, so here's Eden's playlist: https://open.spotify.com/playlist/45bxXIDAGy3wBRnTkGlz0q?si=3d8fdf47603d4e6b

Individual songs from my playlist that fit well include: Life by Mother Mother, Hold Me by Erby Burnfield, Don't Know Who I Am by Rebecca Roubion, the pattern by the Narcissist Cookbook, and Far From Home by August James. I also enjoy listening to the Madoka Magica OST and the Backrooms OST while writing this.

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

HAH is very unlikely to get a sequel because it doesn't have a set end in mind (Update after Thanks to Them - the end will likely be at the end of this episode, but I'm not entirely sure). This started from a peanut butter jelly Drabble, and I'm just writing this insofar as I have the inspiration to write.

But hypothetically? It'd probably focus on the adult lives of the Hexsquad, possibly in a "Bad End" AU where they're permanently stuck in the human realm.

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

Taken from Chapter 3: The Wounds. The context is that Camila is tending to Hunter's wounds. Bolded words indicate Luz using her phone to text (she's nonverbal in this scene, and uses her phone to talk to the others).

“Let me guess,” he allowed himself a slight chuckle. “‘It hurts me more than it hurts you’?” He said it like it was some known and easily relatable inside joke. Like adults who joked about ‘workin’ hard or hardly working,’ or kids who teased each other for weird hairstyles, niche interests - for basically existing really. Amity in particular seemed to recoil at Hunter’s attempt at humor.

Once it was abundantly clear that no one was ‘in on it,’ he cleared his throat. His half-formed smile flattened back into a serious line. “I’m sorry. I spoke out of turn.” The words sounded so brittle coming from him.

Camila continued to stare in disbelief. “It hurts me that someone would ever use that line with you.”

She means that. Luz backed up her mom, much to the protest of her aching hand. I know what you’re thinking and she’s not like that. She flashed the phone at Hunter, who read the message. He opened his mouth, closed it, and refrained from saying anything more. Flapjack nuzzled his hand, encouraging him to pet him. He did, and Luz saw the tension in his shoulders drop a little. 

Earlier, she had to confront Hunter on something (and very firmly at that) but she still shows sympathy and compassion for when he's physically hurting - that is unconditional, as it should be with any parent. What I strive to do in writing Camila is depicting a parent who is flawed but trying to do her best. I'm aware of the younger audience that likely encounters my fics, so for them I write a mom who is strong but still compassionate.

And personally, fuck any adult who says "It hurts me more than it hurts you." That's not possible. Like, sure, you, the adult, who is in complete control of the situation and the punishment, who has a fully formed frontal cortex (responsible for impulse control) and biologically predisposed to better emotional regulation, you are hurting more than the child who has no control of the situation, limited control of their emotions, and limited ability to judge and contemplate the validity of the authority figure before them? Yeah, no, screw that.

Of course, having never been a parent, I am limited in my ability to write them. Thus, I occasionally seek out the help of those who are as well as my own family. I also write on the unfortunate experience of frequently having to pick up the shambles of younger friends whose parents (and emergency mental health services) are best, flawed and lacking and at worst, atrocious and abusive. So, I write what I wish those parents had done better.

I also want to ad a caveat for those parents whom I know are trying but, due to their own trauma that they're trying to manage, are limited in their success - those occur too.

As an additional side note, for those worried about the Huntlow content in my fic, Camila and Hunter's platonic bond is going to take as much (if not far more) prevalence in the fic.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

A combination of both! I write mostly chronologically, but some scenes get flip-flopped around in terms of order, and some are mixed around. Sometimes I'll write two scenes and then bridge them later.

H: How would you describe your style?

In terms of writing? Oh boi. It's similar yet different to my speaking style, which is a combination of academic formalities, internet slang, and quirks picked up from other languages I know. I work as an academic writing tutor and honestly? Spare for a few writing conventions, my fic and academic styles are basically the same.

As for plot, I tend to be very dialogue-focused. I love exploring character interactions and I love writing altered mental states (drunkenness [not in this fic I don't think], dissociation, panic attacks, among others). Something about pushing the human (or in this case witch) mind to its breaking point is just so fascinating to me.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

I have a tendency to write too much angst, so at times I need to dial it back some so that the reader doesn't grow numb to it, ya know?

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].

Not applicable bc as mentioned earlier, HAH has no set ending.

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

Aaaaand that would be spoilers!

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

For this fic in particular, Writing the chapter usually takes a few weeks and so does the revision process. This fic is the one I put the most professional effort into. Other fics of mine like Possible to Pretend just get a quick once-over before posting.

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

Ehhhh those are probably spoilers.

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

Honestly yes. There's this fic idea I have called "Wrong End of the Splash Zone" (dubbed the Goop AU by bon on discord). I got the idea from the "Luz Wittebane" AU on tiktok, in which Luz was secretly evil the whole time. My friends and I dubbed it poor in writing, so I devised an alternative. In it, Luz, is the one who gets splashed by Belos goop and as a result, slowly becomes possessed by him. I've written dribbles on the concept and drawn fanart for it, but I don't have the spoons to make it into a full on AU.

O: How do you begin a story—with the plot, or the characters?

I begin with a half-assed drabble that I tell myself is just gonna be for funsies and then get way too involved.

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

It's a hybrid of both. Usually a drabble at the start, then I'll go back and plan a little, write some more (while only loosely adhering to the outline) then go back to the outline when I get stuck.

Q: How do you feel about collaborations?

I almost never collaborate. I sometimes have beta-readers, and sometimes I expand on others' ideas, but I rarely ever collaborate from the start. Even in RPs (which I haven't done in a while) I like to direct more than be directed. I guess I prefer more clearly defined roles of either "I'm leading this" or "I'm going off of your original idea."

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

Oh, a good plenty. @camomile-t, @edenihira, @doyouhearthunder, @noelle-holi-gay, and @a-town-called-hometown come to mind.

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

I can't resist "Luz Noceda Needs a Hug" - she's just such a fun character to traumatize!!!

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

I will personally arm-wrestle anyone who writes Camila as a purely bad (and not just flawed) mom, especially after the recent ep.

U: Share three of your favourite fic writers and why you like them so much.

Oof, top 3? Why ya gotta be so narrow? Other fic artists I hadn't already mentioned include @thunderpetal, and @phoenixparadox

Cam: succinct and minimalist yet descriptive writing.

Eden: excellent angst. Oh the "oh shitshitshitshit" moments I've had with their writing.

Thunder: master of suspension and buildup

Holigay: Incredibly versatile with both cheesy campy gay romance that has me squealing, a belly-busting sense of humor, and a knack for angst.

A-town: absolutely incredible surrealism and uncanny visuals depict horror while rarely using blood.

Thunderpetal: fundamentally understands character interactions between Luz and Amity on a profound level, as if knowing them in person.

Phoenix: Normally I don't get invested in others' ocs but I fucking love Phoenix's TOH ocs.

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

Oh that's a tough one. I would probably finish some unfinished fics. For some reason, I particularly like writing works based off my friend Eden's. Their writing is like a well-crafted statue that I can't help but want to paint on. That is, it's great on its own, and it inspires me to expand on it even more.

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

It really depends. I think I skew more general.

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Luz and Hunter are my favorites to whump, but everyone gets a little suffering here and there :D

Y: A character you want to protect.

... also Luz and Hunter.

Z: Major character death—do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can't tolerate?

I usually only go for canon deaths if I do read those. As for the most recent death in the TOH universe, I'm not totally decided on that one...

FanFic Ask Game

A: How did you come up with the title to [insert fic]?

B: Any of your stories inspired by personal experience?

C: What character do you identify with most?

D: Is there a song or a playlist to associate with [insert fic]?

E: If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it be about?

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it.

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

H: How would you describe your style?

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

J: Write or describe an alternative ending to [insert fic].

K: What's the angstiest idea you've ever come up with?

L: How many times do you usually revise your fic/chapter before posting?

M: Got any premises on the back burner that you'd care to share?

N: Is there a fic you wish someone else would write (or finish) for you?

O: How do you begin a story—with the plot, or the characters?

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an "architect" or a "gardener"? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the storu unfold as you go?)

Q: How do you feel about collaborations?

R: Are there any writers (fanfic or otherwise) you consider an influence?

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist?

T: Any fandom tropes you can't stand?

U: Share three of your favourite fic writers and why you like them so much.

V: If you could write the sequel (or prequel) to any fic out there not written by yourself, which would you choose?

W: Do you like more general prompts, or more specific ones?

X: A character you enjoy making suffer.

Y: A character you want to protect.

Z: Major character death—do you ever write/read it? Is there a character whose death you can't tolerate?

Transcribed from @stylinbreeze60's post.

Feel free to send me a letter(s) (or any question really! xD)

[tumblunni]

Today's HMM KINGDOM HEARTS THOUGHT

Shadow Globs!

What on earth are Shadow Globs?

They've appeared in various games but were only named in 358/2 Days where they were a mission objective one or two times. It seems they're just a catchall name covering any "destroy this generic badly textured button blob thing to stop the infinately spawning enemies", which is kind of a standard action rpg thing so yeah. But really when you think about it, how do they fit into the kingdom hearts universe?

The manga tried to explain them a lil bit by saying they're "collections of dark energy that hasnt taken form", somehow theyre summoned just by grudges and greed and stuff. It show captain hook turning his own treasure chests into heartless by accident cos of just how much darkness he has, and the queen of hearts creating so many shadow globs that her whole castle is sculpted from them and it falls apart when they "hatch". Also seriously they "hatch"?? I guess this is how you get the some heartless who were never human? Cos that was always confusing how some of them arent human, and also how sometimes a human can turn into a heartless witout being killed by a heartless, just dying normally while being really evil, or sometimes apparantky turning heartless while still alive and then for gaston his heartless split off from him and he still existed separately and just WHY ARE THE RULES NOT CONSISTANT LOL! Especially with how emblem heartless are all meant to originate from xehanort's experiments yet several heartless have appeared who are classified as emblem not pureblood despite not being made by xehanort or made by one of the xehanort-made heartless infecting someone else LIKE WHY DO SOME OF THEM JUST POOF UP EMBLEMIZED WHEN HE NEVER TOUCHED THEM

Kay thats enough rambling about Confusion lets get to Headcanons That Might Make Sense Of One Slightly Small Thing

Shadow globs!! Are heartless babs!! This is my thinking now! If we widen the origin of heartless a little more vague then itd avoid a lot of the questions, honestly if theyd introduced them as "they come from negative emotions" first BEFORE "they come from being killed by one of them" then it would have been a lot less confusing. Its just confusing to retcon their origins to be less specific in the sequel, lol!

So yeh my thought is that some heartless werent originally a dead person, they can be summoned from any place where too many dark feelings gather. Those places would have a shadow glob appear, and its like a baby heartless egg. Lots of enemies swarm around them because they instinctively want to protect and nurture the new shadowlings, and of course the glob sunmons new enemies because it hatches thos babs. But they just happen to be very globby eggs like a frog, i guess. Srsly its actually a real chapter in the manga that the queen of hearts did goddamn masonry with shadow globs squished into brick shape, and then her castle went all wibble wobble jelly cos she was being so evil that it made the babbies grow up too strong and healthyful. Luxord had to battle her to save her cos she refused to believe her cool new aesthetique castle was dangerous, and then she ended up getting a crush on him after he swooped in and rescued her princess style and gave her a new castle made of cards. IT WAS WEIRDLY CUTE!!! Petition to give luxord cute shippings with every other card themed villain ever. (I love the person who did fic of him x dr facilier!)

ANYWAY i felt sad for the shadow bebby tho.

Also i headcanon that the Possessor enemy is the shadow bebbys! Cos in the main series you only fight it in various artificially power enhanced forms- it possessing armoured doors and a combo form of a hundred of them into a boss. But in khux you do get to fight them individually and theyre actually the only enemy weaker than Shadows! So maybe that means theyre "less evolved" so to speak, and Shadows are only the weakest form of HUMANOID heartless? Thatd explain why their design is more complex than Darkballs and Operas and etc yet theyre less powerful. Shadows are essentially just an alternate appearance of Possessors that retains a few stray traits of the creature they used to be when they were alive. Also darkballs are totally the "default form" of non-human heartless, they make SO MUCH sense as an evolution of possessors consideribg everythin about their design and all. And lots of other pureblood heartless look like either a design that evolved from a Shadow or a Darkball, and we even have the canonical case of Dark Thorn which looks just like a darkball with chains and great hair until it hits its second form. Also it possesses stuff! We dont see other darkballs doing that but that seems to be a pretty canon evidence that posessors are a weaker version of the same thing!

Also just posessors and darkballs are two of my alltime favourites so i want an excuse to draw them as a cute fambly. And the shadow glob = egg headcanon has so much more fambly potential!! It means that heartless could actually reproduce without killing, so hypothetically non evil heartless are slightly more plausable. Look i know the whole premise is that theyre pure evil creatures but theyre so damn cute!! Also imagine some evil villain creating a shadow glob through their evilness and being all "oh no im a parent" and then cute scenes of goofyness with them trying to look after their mischievious new darkball bebs~ Or even could be heartwrenching, like what if mother gothel was being an abusive mom to all her heartless minions too, and her sacrificing them in battle could be a truly evil moment?

Look i just really like the darkballs okay theyre just really round and softd and DESERVE MORE