#writing a random novel that will never see the light of day and seeing where it goes is really fun

[beaconfeels]

I’m feeling indecisive about my November writing plans, so clearly the only sensible thing to do is create a poll ;)

[astaroth1357]

A Brutally Honest Description of How Each Brother SHOULD Text Each Other

Lucifer

That bitch who corrects your grammar and typos.

"Is it 'who' or 'whom,' MC? You can do better."

Always formal, full sentences, good punctuation, with little typos.

Only changes when he's solo texting Diavolo where suddenly they're sending each other text spam and multiple emojis like gossiping schoolgirls.

Mammon

I swear, his texts should be basically unreadable. Not because he can't write, but because he never reads over for mistakes before hitting send.

Typos, misspellings, missing words, the whole works. Sending messages through only emojis would arguably be more coherent.

Very big fan of voice chat because his brothers make fun of his illegible texts.

Only person who can reliably decipher whatever he says and never gets on his case about it is, surprisely, Lucifer. But he's had to read it for so many years that he barely even notices the flaws anymore. His mind fills in the gaps.

Levi

VERY BIG FAN OF ALL CAPS but to express excitement.

Could write you a novel but will send you an internet link to what he's talking about instead.

Sends random sentence fragments when too excited because his thumbs get away from him and he'll accidently hit "Send" twelve times in a row.

Texts exactly how he speaks. Included his many Levia-isms which are just keyboard smashes or random ass onomatopoeia like "bluforgal"

Satan

ANOTHER BIG FAN OF ALL CAPS because to express ANGER.

Can write you a novel. Will write you a novel. And will squeeze it all into one or two texts max.

Run-on sentences galore. Man has never met a comma he doesn't immediately take in like a starving Victorian orphan.

Likes taking aesthetic pictures of his books, coffee, rain, and cats. Mostly cats. You would think he has to immediately report each one he sees to MC like an endangered species.

Asmo

The living god of emojis. He has ones downloaded that you've never even imagined before. Incredibly hyper-specific ones like "man bent over stop sign puking on ground."

The kind of person who will ALWAYS answer the questions "How are you" or "Where are you" with an immediate selfie. Even in the tub.

Comes up with brilliant hot-takes while drunk and spams them at you at 3 in the morning.

While send selfies and aesthetic pics to you first for approval before posting them to Devilgram. He expects detailed critique on image quality, filter usage, pose, composition, lighting-

Beel

I feel like Beel just matches whatever energy you give him, sometimes for no reason.

If you text him: WHAT IS THE GROCERY LIST THIS WEEK? You'll get back:

EGGS.

CHEESE.

TOMATO.

The only big difference is Belphie because those two can send each other messages that are just "Uh-huh." "No." "No way!" for an hour and come away with a complete conversation.

Belphie

Abbreviation king. If he can skip out on writing out the whole word, he'll do it by any means necessary.

Sometimes he doesn't even bother finishing people's names and uses initials like he speaks in code.

"M wnt 2 🛒 store"

"Wtch out, Lu is 😡"

Falls asleep texting often so messages can be perfectly fine one minute, then turn into a garble of letters the next.

Voice chats his dreams to MC like an audio-diary. Since he naps often, they may get 5 to 10 of these rambily messes sent to them a day.

[physalian]

In Defense of Fanfiction (Or the perfect starting point for your original novel)

Fanfic gets a bad rap pretty much everywhere except Tumblr. It’s misunderstood and misrepresented by its average works, seen as juvenile and cringey, or a banal point of contention between a famous person or piece of media and its fans.

Outside of fanfic that writes about real people, especially smut fics of real people, I support the art wholeheartedly. Fictional characters are one thing, but personally, caricaturing a celebrity’s life for public consumption and writing or drawing them in compromising content without their consent is a little weird. You do you. Don’t like, don’t read, as they say.

Fanfic is the perfect starting point for a few reasons:

It places you in a creative box and forces you to work within those constraints

It does all the worldbuilding and character concepts for you

It lets you write way outside your comfort zone

When published and receiving feedback, it boosts your self-confidence

It's incredibly flexible

It’s practice. All practice is good practice

—

Behold your creative box

When I was little I had no idea the majority of fanfic was shipping fics. I always pictured and looked for canon-divergent alternate universes. Like, what if X happened in this episode instead of Y? What if this character never died?

Fanfic demands you work within someone else’s canon, whether it’s an OC in the canonical world, or the canonical characters in an AU. These are like little bowling bumpers saving you from the gutter, but also keeping you on a straight-ish path toward the pins.

The indecisiveness of too many choices can be too intimidating when you’re first starting out. You want to be a writer but you have no idea where to begin, what genre to pick, what characters you want to chronicle, what themes you want to explore.

Even if it sits on your computer never to see the light of day, you still got those creative juices flowing.

Pre-packaged worldbuilding

Sometimes all we want is to get to the good stuff. Maybe I want to write a story about elemental magicians but Last Airbender already exists and I just want to play in a pre-existing sandbox. So I write some OCs into that world and have a free-for-all.

I don’t have to come up with my own lore, world history, magic system rules and mechanics, politics, geography—any of it. I get to just focus on the characters.

Even if you’re writing an AU, like say a coffee shop AU, you don’t have to think about brand new characters, you can just think “What would M do?” and go from there. The trade-off is your readers will expect canonical characters to behave in-character, but I think it’s worth it.

Stretch beyond your comfort zone!

Do you hate writing action scenes? Go practice with a shonen anime fic. Need work on dialogue? Write some high-fantasy fic, or a courtroom drama. Practice a fistfight by watching fistfights and writing what you see, and do it over and over again until what you read makes you feel like you're watching what’s on screen.

But beyond that—practice genres that you aren’t super familiar with. If you’re new to fantasy, write fantasy fic. Or a mystery novel/show, thriller, comedy, satire, adventure, what have you. The nature of fanfic still gives you those “guardrails” and you can get some brutally honest feedback on how you’re doing.

And, of course, the realm of M-rated romance and smut fics. I haven’t because I think I would die of embarrassment if I tried and I never intend to include sex scenes in my works anyway, but if you do want to, use the internet as your test audience. Post it on a throwaway account if you’re nervous.

Build that self-confidence!

The fandoms I used to write for are super dead, so it’s insane how I still get email notifications that so-and-so liked my fic to this day. Comments are as elusive as ever, but random strangers on the internet telling me they liked my work is a magical reassurance that my writing isn’t actually awful.

Random strangers on the internet are, as we all know, beholden to no moral obligation to be kind to your little avatar face, or be kind to be polite. So a rando taking the time to like my work or even leave a positive comment can feel more honest than one of my friends telling me what they think I want to hear.

I tend to avoid the more present aspects of fandom like online communities, forums, social media, what have you, so I get a delayed and diluted aspect of any given fandom through completed works. Which means, in general, I get to avoid the worst and most toxic aspects of fandom and get to sift through positive feedback and critique.

Even if your fanfic isn’t written with stellar prose, it’s fanfic. We don’t expect Pulitzer-prize winning content. And if your work isn’t up to snuff, people are more likely to just ignore it than put you on blast (at least in my experience, I never got a bad comment or a “flame” in the old FFN days).

Fanfic doesn’t care about the rules of published literature

On the one hand, try not to practice bad habits, but with this point I mean that your layout, punctuation, formatting, paragraph styles, chapter length–all of it is beholden to no rules. I get as annoyed as the next reader with giant blocks of paragraphs, or the double-spacing between pages of single-sentence paragraphs, but if the story’s good enough I might ignore it.

There’s more than just straight narrative fics, though. People write “chat” fics, or long streams of text and group chat conversations. The scene breaks can come super rapidly–I’ve seen fics with a single sentence in between line breaks to show the passage of time. And without the polish of a traditionally published novel, I’ve never seen a purer distillation of author voice in any medium more than fanfic.

All practice is good practice

Even if it’s crack fiction, or a one-off one-shot, or something meant to be lighthearted and straightforward and free from complex worldbuilding and intricate plots. It really helps break writer’s block when you can shift gears and headspaces entirely and you can get relatively instant feedback to keep you motivated.

Beyond that, the “guardrails” help you stay consistent as far as character growth and personality if you struggle with designing rich characters.

The most recent fanfic I wrote was just a couple years ago, for a dead fandom I didn’t think would get any traffic whatsoever. It wasn’t my original works, but the feedback on that fic gave me the kick in the butt I needed to get back into writing more seriously.

—

In short, I support fanfic. I may not be proud of my earliest fics' prose now, but I am proud that they walked so I can now run.

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

What Is Love

I swear I am getting around to all the requests, it's just the random writing bugs that attack when I least expect it

Summary: You and Astarion question what love is

What is love?

Astarion watches you from behind the flickering flames of the campfire with doubts creeping into his mind. After centuries of pretending, he can't quite tell the difference between real love and a fake performance.

You turn to look at him, a soft smile gracing your features when you notice him staring at you and he turns away, blushing shyly. You smile even wider, a small laugh slipping through the gaps between your lips and excuse yourself from the conversation, making your way over to him.

What does it mean to love someone?

Is it to think about them? He thinks about you, yes, but it's not with each and every waking moment, the opposite of the romance novels he's read. He's afraid he isn't loving you enough, if at all, because he doesn't think about you with his every waking moment, and it gnaws at him from the inside.

Is it to know their every little detail? He knows of your every oddity, your likes and dislikes, your daily routine, but he also knows almost the same for the others. It's a habit he's formed over the centuries, noting the little details of those around him so that he can lure them in, survive Cazador's wrath, and he starts to wonder if he's doing all this purely because it's a habit or because he genuinely wants to get to know you better.

Is it the way he always looks to you first, as if asking for your approval before he does anything, to see if you laugh at his jokes? He feels frozen in place every time your eyes meet, but the way the corners of your eyes crinkle as you smile never fails to help him relax. He loves it when your gazes connect, for it means you're looking at him as much as he's looking at you. Each time he turns to look at you, he feels his undead heart thunder in his chest, his throat tightening, but why he feels this way he still isn't sure.

What does it mean to love someone?

Is it the way your gaze always searches for him, constantly wanting to know where he is and how he's doing? Whenever you return to camp for a rest, the first thing you do is look for a glimpse of his silvery-white hair, and when you do catch a glimpse of it a smile forms on your face. Your feet always carry you towards him, as if attracted by some unknown force until you're a hair breadth's distance away from him, and then your lips part, letting words spring forth.

Is it the way you feel the need to tell him everything that happened that day, whether he was right there by your side or not? You light up whenever you talk to him, your heart soaring when he partakes in the conversation as well, a genuine happiness flooding through you along with the desire to keep the conversation going. Talking to him brings you so much joy that you just have to do it every day, even if it's just telling him about the most mundane of things. Still, he lends you his ears, even if it's a topic he couldn't care less about.

Is it the way you look forward to spending time with him, even if said time is used to just sit next to him in silence? You cherish each and every moment spent with him, whether it be fighting alongside him, patrolling the area with him, or simply just reading a book with him. It's the quiet moments that stand out the most, where the only sound that permeates the air is the quiet rustling of pages and the sound of your breathing. It's peaceful, a rare thing to come by with amidst a rowdy party of companions, and you enjoy his company, what's not to love about such moments?

How does one love someone?

How does he know whether his actions are genuine or not? He's afraid they aren't, he's afraid that all of this is a lie, that what he feels isn't love for you but some…twisted feeling he's been telling himself is love. He doesn't want to mislead you, doesn't want to get your hopes up for nothing, at least not anymore, not when he doesn't need to seduce you for shelter.

How does he know he's doing any of this because he loves you? For all he knows it could be because you're the first person to truly care for him. He could be looking out for you because he doesn't want to lose you, because he wants to see your smile again, to hear your voice again, just like how close friends would, right? He could be gifting you your favourite things because he knows it will make you happy, because said thing made him think of you. He loves it when you smile, when you laugh, it makes him feel…good. He made someone else happy, he made you happy, and it makes his chest feel lighter.

How does he know he wants to spend the rest of his life with you? He loves your company, loves spending time with you, always looks forward to your morning greetings, the gentle kisses you exchange when no one else is looking, the way your fingers intertwine with his hair. He wants you by his side, that he knows, so that he can spend all the time in the world with you, so maybe yes, maybe he does want to spend the rest of his life with you.

How does one love someone?

How do you know that he loves you? You watch the way he always tries to sit next to you with a small greeting, noticing how his arm brushes against yours each time and you try to brush it off but thoughts still nag away at you. You let the touch linger a little longer than it needs to, hoping to discreetly convey back to him your feelings but you don't know if he can tell.

How do you untangle the mess that is the feelings bubbling inside you whenever you feel his skin brush against yours, whenever he looks at you, whenever he praises you? You're not sure how to describe the feeling, or how to act on it, so you continue whatever you've been doing so far, and hope he catches on. You turn to the others for advice, and they tell you to confront him directly with those feelings, but you're too afraid of losing this relationship you have with him and so you keep your words to yourself.

How do you fully open your heart to someone, be vulnerable, be laid bare? You carry heavy burdens, dark secrets, as do the rest of your companions, and everyone respects each other's boundaries, so you've never had to tell anyone anything. Still, he opened his heart to you, spilling his dark secrets and trusting you with them. You want nothing more than to return the favour, but the words struggle to fall from your lips. You're afraid of how he will react when he sees you for who you truly are, afraid that he will reject you even though you have no reason to think as such.

How do I tell you I love you?

He smiles when you sit next to him, his name rolling off your tongue. You tease him for staring and he shoots back a retort, flashing you one of his signature grins before unveiling a gift he's prepared.

He watches as you slowly unwrap it, inhaling sharply when you see what lies inside. He watches as you look up, eyes shining with pure joy as you thank him ecstatically, and he saves the moment in his memories.

You watch as a soft genuine smile makes its way onto his face and feel your heart melt. Your fingers linger on the wrapping paper he so delicately folded to contain his gift to you and you wonder when he had the time to find it. He clearly overheard you telling Shadowheart about wanting this for a long time, and decided it was worth his time and effort to gift it to you.

You watch as his eyes light up when you thank him, telling him how much you love his gift and decide you want to create more of such moments. You want to see him happy as much as possible, you want to see him smile like that, you want to see the corners of his eyes crinkle as he laughs.

His fingers brush against yours for longer than necessary as he leans over to take the wrapping paper back and neither of you comment on it.

Maybe you don't need to tell him explicitly yet. Maybe what you have is more than enough for now. Maybe it's everything you need.

Maybe, this is what love is.

[fellow-human-writer]

On writing motivation and writer's block (+ a special piece of my own writing)

So, for a self-proclaimed writer, I haven't been doing very well with my writing lately. It's been well over six months now since I last wrote anything of substance (I spent two weeks writing a chapter every day and burned myself out, but that's a story for another day). Right now, it's hard to not feel a bitter sense of guilt about it all. Where has all my motivation gone? How dare I call myself a writer? Maybe I should just forget about it. I'd never make it anyway. But then, I remember one particular piece of writing I produced over 9 months ago, some time before hitting my big wall. A seemingly random fragment from chapter 9 of my semi-abandoned WIP. Perhaps it will read as nothing special to you. I won't claim it to be perfect, or even great writing. But to me, it is hope. I showed it to my one and only beta (more like alpha) reader at the time, who'd been keeping up with my novel-writing endeavors, and they told me that these paragraphs had evoked deep feelings in them. That they were beautiful. It won't have that effect on everyone—hell, it won't have it on most people. But, at the very least, I made one person feel something beautiful with my writing. I know that. And is that not what this is all about? As long as I can make one person feel, maybe it's all worth it after all. I will keep calling myself a writer. I won't give up. And I guarantee, you reading this right now have the ability to make people feel too, no matter what. Be strong, friend. I will be rooting for you. I want to share that special fragment of mine with you all. It's out of context, given that it's from chapter 9 of a novel, but I think it can mostly stand on its own. One crucial piece of worldbuilding first: The main trait this fantasy world has is that its two continents (gigantic floating islands/landmasses) are situated in such a way that the one on top (the "highlands") block most of the light/sky for the residents of the one below (the "lowlands"), which is where our POV character currently is, going through some magical trial or other (you'll see!) Without further ado, here's said piece of writing. I hope at least one of you out there who randomly came across this post enjoys it :]

Leiden looked up. The base of the highlands couldn't be more than a couple dozen paces away. From so up close it felt even more oppressive than usual. He noticed a second plaque, inlaid in the roof of the tower, where he was standing. There was more to the trial, as he suspected. After reading its contents, however, he felt confused. ‘I'm glad to see you make it here. Your task is simple: Feast upon the beauty of the sky.’ He looked up again. It would be hard to feast upon what wasn't there. If he looked to the sides, he could just barely make out the thin lines of sky visible beyond the highlands. It didn't feel like enough to exactly feast upon. For the sake of trying something, he lied down with his back to the stone. He had enjoyed cloud watching, back when he was above. Even though there were only rocks on top of him, he wrapped his hands behind his head, and tried to remember the feeling of admiring the sky. He closed his eyes and pictured a summer afternoon, with an open sky decorated by a few lonely clouds. What was the point of this trial? Maybe it had once been possible to see the sky from here. Had the highlands not always been above the lowlands? Perhaps it was all part of the trial. Slowly, those complicated thoughts ran out of steam, and Leiden became fully involved in his personal sky, and his little clouds. It was nice. It had been a while since he'd felt like he could afford to take a moment to just relax. He saw shapes of all kinds in the clouds, as they swirled and morphed and danced with the wind. Sometimes the sun peeked from behind, bathing him in rays of light. He realized there was no need to limit himself to one kind of sky. A wave of darkness swept over the azure background, and small brilliant dots started to cover the sea of black. The moon stood out amongst them all, shining with borrowed light. It seemed larger than usual, like it was stretching to cover Leiden's view to the fullest extent it was capable of. For a moment, within himself, Leiden stopped feeling alone as he became part of a whole. He was a blade of grass, swaying in the dirt, surrounded by acres of grassy fields. He was a star, shining with the endless power of the sun; a speck, part of a map of dots where each one represented wonders beyond a human’s capability to understand. He was everything, and yet he was nothing at all. It was a realization that often eluded a species defined by their willingness to work against nature. What separates a human from an eagle, soaring through the clouds; or an ant, working hard for the good of its colony? What makes us so different from a flower, helping the bee produce its food in exchange for having their lineage continued? Are we so different from a gust of wind, ephemeral in its passing, yet meaningful all the same? Leiden felt like a mote of dust, suspended in a beam of light. Visible only as long as the sun shined, yet always there. He floated in the air, no longer supported by the steady stone beneath him. Well done, child, a voice said. He was so surprised by the voice that he snapped out of his daydreaming. He opened his eyes and realized that he really was floating—or he had been, until the free fall started.

Thank you sincerely for taking the time to read it. It means a lot. I would love to hear what more people think of it. I'm still severely lacking as a writer, but I'm proud of it. It's more poetic than what I usually produce. That's all for today, friends. I hope you have a wonderful day. Good luck on your writing endeavors! We'll make it through, together <3

[applestorms]

DN ask game: how about 18 and 23 (23 I will amend to 'one of your current favourite moments,' in case you are me and hate choosing favourites in any kind of absolute way haha)

CACKLES oh you know me so well =3=" original ask game

18. what do you think about Wammy’s House?

MY GOD. what do i NOT think about wammy's house. i feel like i've already talked a bit on wammy's house in Various Essays, but i suppose to coagulate some of those kinda random thoughts...

it Fucks those kids up. by nature of what wammy's house Is, i don't think it's possible for a single kid to get through it w/o getting at least a little fucked up. that goddamn orphanage is releasing a Storm of incredible messed up little geniuses on the world and the world will never recover. you can't create a fucking organization based around concepts like Live Up To The World's Greatest Detective or Never Ever Use Your Real Name (guess that's probably KIRA motivated, but still) without screwing over the sense of identity of an entire generation. nobody's doin it like them fr.

i really really really like the idea that people toss around about KIRA = god of the new world, therefore -> L = god of the old world, and i think wammy's house maps onto that idea super well as a kind of cult of the old god. something something greco-roman mystery cults, L as a void player homestuck classpect-wise, the Secrets and Idolization inherent to that entire entity. oh yeah it's all comin together rubs my hands eviley.

i saw someone say the LABB murders novel was bad the other day and almost cried because i personally Adore that book, for the additional naomi characterization + beyond moments yes, but also for the extra lore it establishes about wammy's and L more generally. having actual Generations within the house is so fucking fascinating by how you can break it down, especially when you try to fit L into it and maybe have a generation where he was interacting with the other kids during his kinda Rise to Power. i definitely think beyond and L interacted quite extensively at the very least (headcanon basis for that mostly, i just like the idea + it explains why he even got the idea to emulate him so closely), and the existence of A in and of itself is such a fascinating mystery, i love seeing how people mess with the idea of them in different ways.

also everyone go read heirs and spares for fantastic light-at-wammy's house content that almost reads like some of the best earliest parts of the promised neverland and also has some great L and light childhood worsties content. go go

also kira bless time speaks for writing that entire timeline where light and L go live at wammy's and traumatize mello w/ their horrible terrible flirting that is fucking saving me. i am so Desperate for more lawlight interacting with wammy's content i have no idea why that sets my brain off so bad but it Just Does. etc etc L negligent parent King for the win, i need to see near and L have the most horrible terrible psychological battles monologuing so loud it stinks up the entire damn room while mello and light are beating each other with bats in the background. please. lord.

also also roger's characterization in the seals are good series is unironically my accepted characterization for him now whoops. btw i don't think i have many Deep Thoughts on watari, he's kinda just a shitty old man philanthropist to me :/ though i do find him more interesting and Paternalistic with a good L genderbend.........

23. what was your favorite moment and why?

you said current favorite so honestly... ok i'll limit myself to two.

FAVORITE SCENE OF ALL TIME: LIGHT DYING. ez. specifically in the manga. there is legitimately no better scene in the entire series. this fucking panel haunts my dreams it's so goddamn Good

there is nothing i love more in this world than watching light yagami bloody and pathetic crawling on the floor and begging for his life only to die like every other criminal he killed. his fear is so Palpable it literally makes me sick. i've read this final sequence, like ch.105-107 but especially this last bit so many goddamn times istg it's burned into my eyelids LIGHT YAGAMIIIIIIII. also his laugh in the anime is fucking incredible in both dubs 10/10 no notes you killed it fellas

FAVORITE SCENE AT THIS MOMENT: been thinking a Lot about both naomi and matsuda lately and their various notable scenes, oddly. i think i need to reread his entire comedy of errors during yotsuba again alskjfskjd and also check out naomi's death again esp in conjunction with LABB murder stuff?? idk. they're both characters that i feel i haven't talked much about (also kiyomi, thought i've been getting Thoughts on her LMFAO thank you forever @kiyomitakada) so i wanna get my image of them cleared up more in my head. also all of the SPK too, halle especially. damn i guess that's a whole lot of moments actually :P WHATEVER.

anyways ty for the ask <33

[britt-kageryuu]

Leo was a bit bored and rambling. Though the audience and chat were enjoying him talking. His model was dressed in a white shirt with a blue flannel overtop it, bluejeans, sneakers, and his mask with one gay tail, and one pride tail. His model is seated in a version of his train car.

"I don't really understand those ASMR videos, or those voice packs I heard other VTubers do. While I get that some of them are kinda like those audio dramas that are published for popular amime/manga, games and light novels, it's still just a bit weird." He pauses to grab something, which was apparently a book.

"Like in the back of this book is the scripts for a couple audio dramas for this one series. They're from the main girls fiance's pov, but when he talks to her, they didn't record her talking. You just have his thoughts on what she's saying. Actually give me a sec." Leo mutes his mic, and the audience can see he's doing something.

After a few minutes he turns the mic back on, and starts talking with a slightly different tone to his voice, "Hey, sorry if I kept you waiting! I got caught up in traffic... Oh you just got here? You're not just saying that to make me feel better are you?" Leo's model has a bit of a playful look, and he switches the background to a park with sakura trees in full bloom. "I hope you don't mind us having a picnic instead of going to that anime café. They were booked full. But hey the weather is nice, and I made us some lunch." His model holds up a big fancy stacked bento box.

"What?! You didn't think I could cook? Just because I don't do the fancy stuff like my brother, doesn't mean I can't cook. Trust me, you'll love this. But first let's find a place to set up our picnic... Oh you like this spot?" Leo pauses, and then switched back to his train car.

When he started talking again he was back to his usual tone, "Okay, that wasn't that bad, but it's got to be a pain in the butt to write this stuff out, or improve it in a way that sounds natural if a bit cliche. That was just me rehashing some popular romance story tropes, and I couldn't get very far before I started to kinda hit a road block." Leo pauses to take a drink of his tea, "Maybe I could get Dee to try reading some stuff like this. Maybe frame it as, 'I bet you can't read this in a non flat voice!' Or something." He starts to read over the chat, and scrolls back to about where he started to read off his quick script, just reading some of the reactions.

"While this will definitely not be a big thing, and we might never do this again, it would be interesting to see you guys reaction to us posting a couple videos like that. No Promises Though!! We may be creative, but we do have day jobs." Leo continues to read through the chat, before something catches his attention.

"What in the name of Pizza Supreme does that mean? Is that some new thing, or slang? I'm gonna look this up real quick." Leo then goes down a rabbit hole of searching, and kind of forgot he was streaming, and the audience if just listening to his random mumbling about whatever it was he looked up, and then got sidetracked by.

----------------

Masterpost

Really I personally don't fully understand ASMR. The closest I ever got, was listening to a song while reading, and the song just kinda resonated with how I was reading the story, and I got a shiver up my spine.

[optiwashere]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤️

Aww, thank you, mormo! What a fun lil game 💜

My favorite of my Asheera (Tav)/Shadowheart stories:

I have to start with the first fic of my Shadowheart/Asheera series, of course. It Is the Wound She Gave Me is a rather dark place to start off this story, but I think it makes the sweetness later taste all the better. Note: heed the tags!

The follow-up (with a breather between now!) to that first fic in the series, Like I Am Safe Again, is one of my favorite things I've written for the fandom, for sure! Using lost time and dissociation to explore some of Shadowheart's memory issues combined with what happens in Wound was just so... fun is not the right word, but as a writer I enjoyed digging deep into Shadowheart's brain here. Also, having the fic before this from Asheera's POV makes Shadowheart's misunderstanding of her own recent memories that much more tragic.

OK, so there's a theme here. Quelle surprise. After focusing mostly on Shadowheart and her memories, To Sever the Thread is a fic that I adored writing to more deeply explore Asheera's POV this early on. The Gauntlet is an event in canon that is super important in my interpretations of both the relationship between Asheera and Shadowheart as well as the way that Asheera's oath permeates so much of her life. One day I'll write that alternate ending...

I do have to recommend my currently ongoing multichapter fic for Asheera/Shadowheart, Blades in the Night. It's one of the more action-heavy things I've written for the fandom. Honestly, it's basically a full fantasy novel written as a sorta road trip that gets interrupted by Sharran assassins. It's also quite smutty, extremely introspective—my favorite!—and stitches together what post-canon life is like for these two. Even after the Netherbrain is defeated, there's still a few hanging threads (more Asheera backstory stuff throughout, as well)

My completed modern/band AU, Nightsongs. What if Shar was Shadowheart's abusive ex, and what if they were in a metal band together? What if their van breaks down in some shitty little town outside of a big city, and what if Shadowheart finds more than what she expected in some random mechanic working on their van?

I wanna cheat a little bit, so here's my favorite non-Asheera/Shadowheart stories under the break...

The Wind Blows So Light is an epistolary between Aylin and Isobel while they both assume the other one is dead. A sort of call-and-response letter exchange where neither writer ever expects a response. There is a happy ending.

I don't think I've written a Karlach/Shadowheart fic as good as Burning Hands. Writing Karlach's POV is not my usual, and couching it in T4T smut that explores bodies in an affirming, loving way was a completely unique thing that I'll likely never replicate.

I have a habit of being mean to Nocturne in my Nocturne/Shadowheart fics, but I really love how Fragrant is My Many Flower'd Crown turned out! Unrequited love and pining, my beloathed and beloved in equal miseries.

That Minthara/Karlach smut fic I wrote after seeing some amazing fanart is one of my favorites! I was really happy to see that so many people enjoyed the candle imagery in it as well. Link to fic here (fanart link inside!)

Writing a Minthara/Lae'zel fic for Kinktober on a whim turned me into a fiend for that rarepair. Honestly, they might be my canon/canon OTP, and that's a crying shame considering how few fics there are of the two of them. Link to the fic (heed the tags!)

[fanboyswhore9]

Bookish Encounters

Pairing: Darry Curtis x Y/N/Darry Curtis x Fem!bookworm reader

Summary: Darry goes to the bookstore with Ponyboy and meets the person he never would’ve expected to be interested in.

A/N: For @outsidersweek I decided as the Darry girl that I am, I decided to write my first Darry fic on Tumblr. It’s a tiny bit inspired by my own fanfic on Wattpad called “I Should Tell You”

The bookstore had always been a place of comfort, where the smell of paper and the sound of quiet rustling pages created an almost magical atmosphere. On this particular day, the air felt charged with a strange anticipation. You wandered through the aisles, fingers trailing over the spines, pausing occasionally to flip through pages of random books, savoring the feel of the worn paper.

Then, you spotted it—a novel you’d been wanting to read for months. You felt a little thrill as you reached for it, your fingers barely brushing the spine… just as another hand appeared, reaching for the exact same book. “Oh!” you said, laughing softly in surprise as you looked up at the stranger who’d interrupted your book hunt.

He was tall and broad-shouldered, with striking blue eyes that held a mix of apology and intrigue. His strong jawline and serious expression softened as he looked down at you, clearly as surprised as you were. He pulled his hand back a little awkwardly, smiling in a way that made his whole face light up.

“Sorry about that,” he said, his voice deep and steady. “Didn’t mean to steal it from you.” “No worries,” you replied, laughing a little. “Seems we’ve both got good taste.” You gave him a playful smile, feeling oddly at ease despite the unexpected encounter.

He smiled back, a faint flush coloring his cheeks as he nodded toward the book. “It’s all yours. I can always find it another time.” You raised an eyebrow, feeling the thrill of a friendly challenge. “Oh, please—you were here first. I insist.”

And so began a lighthearted standoff, each of you politely nudging the book toward the other, sharing smiles that became easier with every word. Finally, you relented, nudging it back toward him with a grin. “Alright, alright. You win.”

He accepted it with a small smile, glancing at the cover as though seeing it for the first time. Before he could say anything, you pulled a pen from your bag, opened the cover, and scribbled down your phone number with a flourish.

“There,” you said, closing the book and handing it back to him. “If you like it, give me a call. I’ll have a whole list of recommendations for you.”

He looked a little surprised but clearly pleased, his blue eyes meeting yours with a warm sincerity. “I’ll hold you to that,” he replied, a hint of a grin on his face. “I’m Darry, by the way.” “Y/N,” you replied, feeling a rush of excitement as you exchanged names. You lingered just a moment longer, the warmth of his gaze leaving a lasting impression, before you walked away with a smile. As you left the store, you couldn’t help but glance over your shoulder, feeling the undeniable spark of something special.

————————————————————————

It was late in the evening, and you were curled up with a book, trying to shake off the memory of the guy from the bookstore. You’d just about convinced yourself that you’d never hear from him when your phone suddenly rang. Your heart raced as you glanced at the caller ID, seeing an unfamiliar number.

“Hello?” you answered, trying to keep your voice calm. There was a slight pause, followed by a familiar voice, deep and warm. “Hey Y/N? This is Darry. From the bookstore.

You felt a rush of excitement and relief, smiling as you leaned back into the couch. “Darry! I wasn’t sure if I’d ever hear from you.” He chuckled, and you could almost hear the smile in his voice. “Yeah, I figured I’d better not keep you waiting too long. I actually started reading the book. Figured I should put some effort in before I called.”

You laughed, delighted that he’d taken it seriously. “Oh yeah? How’s it going so far?” “Not bad, actually,” he admitted, sounding a little surprised. “I thought it’d be different, but… you were right. I think I might actually be getting into it.”

You spent a few minutes talking about the book, sharing your thoughts and favorite parts. The conversation flowed naturally, and soon you found yourselves moving beyond books, diving into stories about your days and sharing little pieces of your lives. He told you about the Curtis household, about raising his brothers, about the gang that felt more like family than friends.

“I guess I’m just used to keeping everyone in line,” he said, his voice warm but carrying a hint of the weight he bore. “It’s a lot sometimes, but they’re all I’ve got.” You listened, sensing the quiet strength and loyalty in his words, admiring the way he cared so deeply. Finally, after what felt like only minutes but was nearly an hour, he cleared his throat.

“So… would you maybe want to meet up sometime?” he asked, his voice hesitant, almost shy. “For coffee or something?” Your heart skipped a beat, and you smiled, feeling a quiet thrill. “I’d love that.”

“Great,” he replied, the warmth in his voice making you feel completely at ease. “How about tomorrow evening? There’s a little café around the corner from the bookstore.” You agreed, and as you hung up, you felt a quiet sense of excitement settle over you, the beginning of something you hadn’t even known you were looking for.

————————————————————————

The next evening, you arrived at the café a few minutes early, nerves fluttering in your stomach. The café was softly lit, its cozy atmosphere welcoming and warm. You glanced around, and there he was—already seated by a window, looking out at the street with a faint smile on his face.

When he saw you, his face brightened, and he stood to greet you. “Hey,” he said, his voice a little lower than usual, as if he were nervous too. “Glad you could make it.”

“Me too,” you replied, smiling as you took the seat across from him. You ordered coffee, and soon the conversation started to flow, first about the book, then moving on to other topics. You found yourself sharing stories about your favorite books, your love for quiet moments like these, and the thrill of finding a new story. Darry listened with a deep, focused attention, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Books were never really my thing,” he admitted, a touch of humor in his tone. “But I get it. My family… they’re my anchor. They keep me grounded, give me a reason to keep going.” His words carried a depth and honesty that took you by surprise, and you could see the weight he carried, the responsibility that shaped his life. “That’s a lot to carry,” you said gently. “Do you ever feel like it’s too much?”

He hesitated, then nodded. “Sometimes. But it’s worth it. They’re my brothers, you know? And the gang… they’re like family, too.” Without thinking, you reached across the table, placing your hand on his, offering a silent reassurance. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know.” The warmth of your touch seemed to reach him, and he gave you a grateful smile. “Thank you, Y/N. It’s been a long time since I felt like I could… just be myself.”

The hours slipped by as you shared stories and laughter, the world outside fading away. By the time you left, you both knew that this was something special, the beginning of a connection that neither of you had expected.

————————————————————————

Over the next few weeks, your connection with Darry deepened. He often showed up at your door late in the evening, sometimes carrying a book you’d recommended, sometimes with coffee or a box of donuts. You’d settle in together, sharing quiet conversations that stretched into the early hours of the morning.

One night, he arrived with a book in hand, looking both a little embarrassed and proud. “Thought I’d give this one a shot,” he said, holding up the novel you’d mentioned last week. “Figured it’d give us something to talk about.”

Touched, you invited him in, and the two of you curled up on the couch, reading together in companionable silence. Occasionally, he’d ask about a passage, and you’d discuss it, sharing thoughts and ideas that felt as comfortable as they were enlightening. It was a quiet intimacy, a bond that didn’t need grand gestures or declarations.

As the night grew later, you leaned against him, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm draped around you. “You know,” he murmured, breaking the silence, “I never thought I’d have this. Something just for me.” You looked up at him, his blue eyes softened in a way you hadn’t seen before. “What do you mean?”

He took a deep breath, his voice barely above a whisper. “I spend so much time worrying about everyone else… I didn’t think I’d find something that was just for me. But with you… it feels different.”

You reached up, gently brushing your hand against his cheek. “You deserve this, Darry. You deserve to have something that’s just yours.” He leaned down, his lips capturing yours in a gentle, lingering kiss that felt like a promise. When he pulled back, he smiled softly. “Thank you. For everything.”

————————————————————————

When Darry mentioned he wanted you to meet his friends and family, you’d felt both excitement and nervous anticipation. He’d told you bits and pieces about the gang, and it was clear how much they all meant to him. Now, as you walked up to the Curtis house, the sounds of laughter and conversation spilling through the open windows, you couldn’t help but feel the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

Darry greeted you at the door, his reassuring smile easing your nerves as he took your hand. “You ready?” he asked, his voice low and warm. “As ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, trying to mask your nervousness with a smile.

The second you stepped inside, you were met with a whirlwind of energy. The living room was filled with the gang, their laughter and voices creating a warm, chaotic welcome. As soon as they noticed you, Ponyboy’s face lit up, and he nudged Johnny beside him with a grin.

“It’s her!” Pony whispered, a little too loudly, his excitement palpable. Ponyboy practically bounded over to you, a wide grin on his face as he extended his hand. “You’re the bookstore girl! Darry’s been talking about you.”

You laughed, taking his hand. “That’s me. And you must be the famous little brother I’ve heard so much about.” Pony’s cheeks flushed, and he looked pleased as he shook your hand. “Guess Darry’s been talking about us, huh?”

Before you could respond, another voice chimed in. “So, Y/N,” came the playful tone of Two-Bit, who had appeared beside you with a smirk. “Nice to finally meet the girl who’s got Mr. Serious here picking up books instead of weights.”

Darry rolled his eyes, looking torn between embarrassment and amusement. “You guys don’t have to make a big deal out of this.” “Oh, but we do!” Two-Bit said, patting Darry’s shoulder with a grin. “Because it’s not every day Darry finds himself a girlfriend.”

You laughed, glancing up at Darry with a smile as he looked at you, a faint blush on his cheeks. Before you could respond, Dally, who had been lounging on the couch with his usual air of cool detachment, raised an eyebrow. “Girlfriend, huh?” he said with a smirk. “She’s gotta be brave to put up with you, Curtis.”

Darry sighed, giving Dally a look that was part amused and part exasperated. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.” Johnny, who’d been sitting quietly beside Ponyboy, gave you a warm, welcoming smile. “They’re just giving you a hard time,” he said gently. “We’re all glad you’re here. Darry… he seems happier with you around.”

There was a sincerity in Johnny’s words that touched you, and you could see the bond they all shared, the way they looked out for each other like family. “Thank you, Johnny,” you replied, your voice soft. “That means a lot.” Ponyboy, grinning like he’d just uncovered a secret, leaned toward you. “So… Y/N, does this mean Darry’s gonna start hanging around the bookstore more?”

Dally chuckled, his smirk widening as he added, “Yeah, better watch it, Y/N—next thing you know, he’ll be quoting poetry.” Two-Bit’s eyes lit up with a mischievous glint. “Now that I’d love to see! Darry Curtis, the poetry lover. Just imagine it… reciting Shakespeare to his girl.”

The room erupted in laughter, and Darry shook his head, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “You guys are unbelievable.” But despite his exasperated tone, you could tell he didn’t mind. The gang’s teasing felt more like a welcoming ritual, an invitation into their tight-knit circle. They continued to chat with you, peppering you with questions, trading playful barbs with Darry, and sharing stories that had you laughing until your sides hurt.

At one point, Johnny leaned over to you, his voice low and sincere. “You know, you’re really good for him, Dhwani. I can tell. He’s… different since you came around. Lighter.” You gave Johnny a grateful smile, feeling a warmth spread through you. “Thank you, Johnny. I’m really glad to be here.”

Two-Bit, who had overheard, grinned and clapped his hands together. “Good! Because we’re not letting you go now. You’re part of the gang.”

Darry shook his head, his smile soft as he watched you fit so easily into his world. By the time the evening wound down, you’d shared stories, laughter, and a feeling of belonging you hadn’t experienced in a long time.

When it was finally time to leave, Darry walked you to your car, his hand slipping into yours. His gaze was filled with a quiet pride as he looked at you. “They really like you,” he said softly, his voice carrying a sense of relief and happiness. “They… I’ve never seen them warm up to anyone this fast.”

You squeezed his hand, smiling up at him. “I like them too, Darry. They’re like… they’re family. Just like you are to them.” Darry’s expression softened, his hand reaching up to gently brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “Thank you,” he murmured. “For fitting in so well. For… making this feel so right.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, his arm wrapping around you as you stood together in the quiet night, feeling a sense of peace and belonging. In that moment, you knew you hadn’t just found a place in Darry’s heart but also within the family he’d built with the gang—a family that was now yours, too.

————————————————————————

As the weeks turned into months, your relationship with Darry continued to deepen. You became an inseparable part of his life, sharing everything from quiet mornings to late-night conversations, the moments woven together like the pages of a cherished book.

One evening, Darry picked you up with a quiet, almost nervous energy. You’d been together for a while now, sharing countless late-night conversations, shared moments, and quiet support that had grown into something neither of you had anticipated. Tonight, though, there was something different in his eyes, a soft, contemplative look that made your heart beat just a little faster.

As he drove, he held your hand, and the comfortable silence wrapped around you both, punctuated only by the soft hum of the radio. You’d come to love these drives with Darry, the way he could make everything else fade away, leaving only the warmth of his hand in yours and the quiet assurance that you were exactly where you were meant to be.

Eventually, he turned onto a familiar, winding road, pulling off into an open field just outside of town. He parked the truck, then came around to help you out, his touch lingering as he guided you toward a small hill covered with soft grass. Above you, the stars stretched across the sky in a brilliant display, their light casting a gentle glow over the landscape.

Darry spread out a blanket, and the two of you lay down side by side, your shoulders brushing as you both looked up at the endless sky. The cool night air wrapped around you, and you felt a sense of peace settle over you, the kind of calm that only seemed to exist in moments like these.

“It’s beautiful out here,” you murmured, resting your head on his shoulder. “Do you come here often?” He nodded, his gaze fixed on the stars. “Yeah… whenever things get too heavy. This place reminds me that there’s more to life than just… everything I’m carrying.”

You turned to look at him, sensing the quiet strength and vulnerability in his words. You knew how much weight he carried, the responsibility he felt for his brothers, for the gang, for everyone he loved. But here, in the quiet of the night, he was just Darry—your Darry—and you felt a fierce protectiveness for the man who had spent so much of his life taking care of everyone else.

“You don’t have to carry it all alone, Darry,” you said softly, reaching over to take his hand. “I’m here for you.” He looked at you, his blue eyes filled with an emotion so deep it took your breath away. His hand tightened around yours, and he let out a quiet sigh, as though he’d been waiting for someone to say those words all his life.

“You’ve already made it easier,” he whispered, his voice carrying a quiet gratitude. “I never thought I’d find someone who’d want to stay, who’d see me… for more than just what I do for everyone.” You moved closer, your hand resting on his cheek, your thumb brushing gently along his jawline. “You’re so much more than that, Darry. You’re kind, and strong, and you deserve to have someone who sees all of you.”

He held your gaze, his expression softening as he leaned down, capturing your lips in a gentle, lingering kiss that spoke of promises and unspoken feelings. When he pulled back, he smiled, a quiet warmth filling his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest.

The two of you lay there in silence, wrapped in each other’s embrace, staring up at the stars as the night stretched on. It felt as though time had slowed, each second a moment suspended between the past and a future that you could finally see taking shape. Here, under the vast expanse of the sky, you both found something rare and precious—a love that was as steady and enduring as the stars above.

After a while, Darry broke the silence, his voice low but filled with a quiet certainty. “Y/N… I want to build something with you. A life, a future… something that’s ours.”

Your heart swelled, and you turned to look at him, finding only sincerity in his gaze. You could see it, too—the mornings, the late nights, the laughter, the quiet, steady love that would carry you both through whatever life had in store. In his arms, you felt a sense of belonging you hadn’t known you were missing.

“I want that too,” you whispered, your hand still in his, your fingers entwined. “More than anything.” He pulled you closer, pressing a kiss to your forehead as the two of you settled back onto the blanket, wrapped in each other’s warmth. The night sky stretched endlessly above, and you knew that, no matter where life led, you would face it together. This was your new beginning, a chapter of love, belonging, and the quiet assurance that you had finally found your home in each other.

And as you lay there, side by side under the stars, you felt a quiet certainty settle over you—a knowledge that this was just the start of the story you’d write together, a love that would last a lifetime.

[13eyond13]

my online fandom experience in 2007-2008:

-First learned about Death Note by randomly seeing L in an AMV on Youtube in late 2007 and being intrigued by how he looked. Have never watched an anime in my life but wanting to know more about this emo lookin' dude. Found some website where I could stream it, immediately getting spoiled for his death by somebody in the comments on episode 1 (the 2000s was RAMPANT with gleeful spoiler trolls, these were the days of people driving by Harry Potter midnight grand opening lineups for the new books to scream SNAPE KILLS DUMBLEDORE type shit)

-Binge-watched the whole show in a couple of days. Immediately haunted by the "what if"s of Lawlight and start reading fanfiction.net fics about it. Wrote a gushing review on a fanfic and start talking in emails with the writer who writes back to me. I think at the time the most popular Lawlight fic on the site was Poison Apple by RobinRocks (which I didn't read, because I didn't like reading AUs back then, nor did I like the idea of mixing Death Note with Disney princess imagery... my absolute fave fic was Coexistence is Boredom by sakurazukamori6, which was still being updated at the time)

-The Another Note novel and the How to Read 13 were already out, so most of the stuff the fans know now about the characters was already known and being used in the fan stuff by then. I bought the entire manga set at my local bookstore and read the first five volumes of it, but not the rest (because back then I was one of the people who lost a lot of interest in the plot once L was dead)

-Got invited to follow a popular fanfic writer's Death Note LiveJournal where people are doing most of the things you see them doing here, analysis and shipping and fic and memes. However a lot of the journals and communities were private and accessible by invite only, so I only ever saw stuff there as it was filtered through the journal of that one welcoming fandom friend I made

-Got into random private email conversations with the odd fan once I start posting my own fics on ff.net (I wrote one of the very first Beyond Birthday fics). At some point I remember a girl who called herself diane-chan from somewhere in South America emailing me a doujinshi she had scanlated (I think it was called Taikutsu by Balgus REC) and emailing some pics and penpal like letters back and forth. Connecting with other fans was a very slow and individual-like experience compared to something like connecting over social media is now. There wasn't much of anything like online group chats taking place in real-time, per se. I suppose MAYBE you could create one on MSN Messenger or something, but the experience of being in a fandom in general online was just much more fragmented and based on personal individual relationships, I think. Unless you were meeting up with people in person at conventions or something...

-Ships didn't have ship names like Lawlight back then! It was either called L/Light or Light/L, because whichever name came first in the pair indicated who you liked as the top (or the "seme;" people would often say "seme" or "uke "rather than top or bottom back then). They were treated almost like two totally different ships, and you definitely had to tag your fics accordingly or else people would get mad (I am very glad that ship names now exist)

-Omegaverse didn't exist back then either! That was a whole new world I had to get familiar with once I got back into this fandom around 2016 lol (and I still have never really fully got onboard tbh)

-Watched the occasional fan videos on YouTube, often things like Windows Movie Maker slideshows set to music with fanart of the characters or cosplays and the like

-It used to be REALLY hard for me to find clips of the show to use or edit or anything like that. The English dub still wasn't out yet anywhere I could watch it when i was into the show in 2008, but I remember hearing L and Light's English voice clips and thinking that L's was great and Light's was a bit cringe in comparison to the Japanese one. I wanted to watch it again but I didn't want to have to have an internet connection at all times to watch it, so I bought some shitty ripped illegal DVD of the Japanese dub on eBay from China, and it came with extremely lolworthy broken English subtitles (stuff like Light reading that passage out loud in class and the subtitles saying "the wisdom of the sheepus"... that one is burned into my brain)

-Trying to connect with other fans in person about it was not really possible for me where I lived? Being into anime was considered extremely cringe at my school at the time. And other people I knew who had watched or read Death Note either simply weren't that interested in it anymore to the same degree, or were usually straight dudebros who were only into it so far as to think about which character was smarter than which

ANYWAY I say all this just to reminisce, and I will always enjoy how easy it is to connect and share the content with the other fans like it is nowadays, because I remember the days when that was much more difficult hahaha

[queenofbaws]

random bits and bobs about fuck no: the movie: the au because as i'm trying to shift into finishing some wips, it keeps popping up in my head...

does that mean i have a fuck no: the wip in process?

maybe.

is it a fuck no: the oneshot?

probably.

will any of these little details ever see the light of day in actual writing?

who's to say.

but here they are anyway. reader beware, i mention some chronic medical stuff in here, so if that's not your jam, you're in for a scaaaaaare. also this IS a climbing chrash or chris/ashley/josh au, so if that's not your jam either, HOO BOY.

the little underground indie horror studio everyone's favorite garbage pail kids start gets named Hidden Basement Workshop - something that, at first blush, just seems like a sly nod to josh's whole deal during the prank...and it is that, but it's also a fun signature that includes all their initials: HBW, hartley, brown, washington.

after the whole blackwood pines fiasco, josh needs a bunch of reconstructive surgery that leaves him with some facial scarring, but what really gets him (because it's MY au and i get to project wherever i WANT) is the onset of fibromyalgia once he's out of the hospital; chris sustains a fairly rough knee injury that causes him to favor his other leg and wear a brace on and off; and ashley develops migraines and some slight vision issues that necessitate her wearing glasses. they were indoor kids before the pines...after the pines, they're even more so.

this is where the scheming begins.

when the titular movie actually comes into play, or at least an early version of it they can pitch, the gang splits up responsibilities fairly evenly: ashley is, of course, the one to write the damn thing, but josh is the one to adapt it into a screenplay before handling most of the practical effects, and chris handles sound mixing/visual effects/editing. once they blow up and hire more bodies, things change, but their core roles never shift tooooooo much.

josh and ashley simply cannot work in the same room together. it doesn't matter if they're working on different projects. it doesn't matter if they're both wearing headphones. nothing matters. they just can't do it. they're always antsy the other one is looking over their shoulder and waiting to throw their two cents in, so they have to work separately.

chris does not have this issue. in the slightest. once chris is in the zone, a category 5 hurricane could be happening behind him and he'd have literally no idea.

everyone who doesn't know better assumes that they get their OH SO CREATIVE ideas from their combined history - josh's dad being in the horror movie business for years and years, chris being chronically online and familiar with game/tech development, ashley inhaling stephen king novels even before she could walk - but everyone in the know will tell you they're just vultures, plain and simple, buying the rights to any story they sniff out through the grapevine and turning it into something terrible.

josh and conrad/julia's parents were always buddies, but they fell off for a bit after hannah and beth went missing. that is, until (surprise) josh hears a really strange story over family dinner one night and calls the conman himself to "catch up." they spend a very strange night talking about pirates and sexy, sexy grandma zombies.

barely a week later, conrad handles the pr for hbw and the rest of the gang who found themselves kidnapped from the duke that night now find themselves significantly richer than they used to be. significantly.

they don't pick up new employees every time they hear about and snatch up someone's story, but...it happens. taylor and daniel eventually join on to help with stunts and blocking. mark gets offered a position as director of photography and leaps at the opportunity.

nothing - literally N O T H I N G - supernatural/paranormal EVER happens to them again...unless you count the eerie way they're able to track down stories of weird shit happening to other people ;)c

the three of them wear converses to every. single. movie premiere of theirs. it drives conrad up the fucking wall.

the garage of their place is just used for josh to make the worst, most gruesome props mankind has ever seen, so woe betide anyone who goes in there thinking it's the door to a bathroom or the laundry room. woe. betide.

eventually they decide they need a pet and end up adopting the angriest, mangiest, most torn-up old fighting tomcat they can find at the animal shelter. he's grey (sort of), is totally blind in one eye, and will let ashley and josh pet him, but only chris is given the honor of holding him for any amount of time. he swears he even heard him purr once! they name him jack and no one can ever decide if it's a joke or a memorial. probably it's both.

[salamanderflamewing]

Blood Sweat & Tears

Summary: In this world, all fantasies of magic, elves, and orcs are real.... the only thing is, it may not be exactly as one would think, elves starting large tech corporations, orcs becoming 5-star chefs and dragons transporting cargo across the world. In a world like a beautiful clock, there is the beautiful face and the inner gears. These inner gears are what allow the beautiful face to function... but the faces treat the gears poorly and ultimately all those gears turn into a version of Robert Rubert Grimly. A cynical white-collar worker who is addicted to cigarettes and caffeine products, living paycheck to paycheck barely having enough time to even have a social life outside of his cat Charlotte.

Introduction (for author): First and foremost I have never ever done this before, but I have a passion for storytelling and anime, I dream of being some form of mangaka/comic creator. I chose to progress through writing a light novel and then making comics from the light novel.  I personally have this really big story that I have decided to put on the back burner for a while to practice my story writing skills first. This story is one that will be for practice, I'm not sure how long this story will be but I hope to have it run for close to ten chapters. (If people really do like the story I may make the story a bit longer). This is an in-progress story so there will be updates, but keep in mind I go to school and have a job, so the updates may be infrequent. but without further ado please enjoy  

Chapter one: 

Waking dread 

It was a morning like everyone else's, and the main character followed suit. Unlike most stories about extravagant heroes and villains, this is about a character like ourselves: someone who has to hold down an office job to pay his rent for a shitty apartment. Robert wakes up finally feeling good in his body. He sits up in his bed after bringing the comforter off of him CRACK “Great there goes the back again”. He groans and reaches for the water on his nightstand while rubbing his eye, which causes all of his over-the-counter medication to fall off his nightstand and spill onto the ground. “Fuck, Great there goes what little happiness I felt for today” he muttered as he scrabbled out of bed to pick up all that he spilled. It didn’t take long to put up but it cost him his morning joy. Once he finally got the last pill, he stood up and did his huge morning stretch, grabbing his wrist and extending it over his head, followed by large crackling sounds. Robert stays there staring off into nothing for a while thinking about the day he may have at work. “Will it be another day where my ass of an orc boss gives me another 50 reviews to go over or will I finally get lucky”

Sighing to himself, he realizes it's unlikely and moves to open the blinds to see out his second-story window. Outside the window, Robert sees human kids playing heroes and villains beating up some of the other species' kids in the park, A variety of Teenagers playing on their P.M.C (Portable magical consoles) while waiting for the bus, and a bunch of dwarves smoking pixie dust.  “Why does it always feel so dull… like even the bloody sky is grey” “Cuz it's full of smoke from your company dumbass” “Right, I'm contributing to it… GReAT”. Robert finishes his dreadful ponder and puts on his white muscle shirt and socks without bothering to change out of last night's underwear. 

He walks by 5 employee group photos, a record of the past five years and some of the random nic nacks his mom gives him every year from her vacation spots. Without regard for anything Robert went right into the kitchen and started his coffee and was greeted by his cat Charlette jumping onto the shiny countertop and meowing. Robert smiled softly for a moment while petting Charlette “Sometimes you know you're the only thing in this world that makes me smile” he sighed while the coffee maker was bubbling in the background. As the coffee maker was finished he took a sip of his black espresso, while grabbing his tablet and cigarettes. 

With his coffee and cigs, he walked to the balcony, and Charlotte followed suit. He placed down his coffee, cigs, and tablet then fed Charlotte. Charlotte was chewing softly as Robert was smoking and reading the news with the occasional sip of coffee. Robert read slowly, First were the updates on how his company was making international moves which always reminded him of how shitty his job was. Then were some of the new song releases from the pop star Tinky Twink which he only listened to due to it reminding him of the freedom he had in high school while he jammed to nightcore. Lastly, he was reading about some of the newly discovered artifacts of history, some of them were ancient heroes ' weapons and some of them were the skulls of the old demon kings Apparently… it was just an extension of the myth of the generational heroes and demon kings, no matter how much the archeologists claimed these artifacts had traces of their mana, no one had the source code for it which in this society meant that it did not exist. 

As Robert was finishing his Cig and was putting it out  Charlotte jumped onto his lap with a cheerful expression he gave her some wonderful pets and whispered “Thank you, sweety now I can charge some of my social battery before having to head to work.”.  He started to swipe to a different news source while petting Charlotte; Centur mail, “Mmm interesting might as well” As soon as he opened it there was a large headline written in bold “ The badlands are approaching” Sigh… “Here we go again Hopefully it isn’t going to affect my way to work” he began to read it in depth, and the further he went the more dread and annoyance he felt… first it was the fact that some of the war vets lost contact in the frontlines and then it was the fact that the countries were refusing to work together and causing a number of these beasts to be released into cities and national airspace even going as far causing some delivery dragons to be brought down.  As Robert felt the life be sucked out of him he looked at Charlotte and felt at least a little bit of peace again. 

SPLASH… mid-sip of coffee both Charlotte and Robert were spooked out of their seats by a sparkly blue liquid being poured down from the balcony above them. Immediately as Robert realized what was happening he ran to the side of the balcony where it came from looked up and screamed “ HOW MANY TIMES DO I HAVE TO TELL STEWERT STOP POURING YOUR STUPID PSEUDODRAGONS BARF DOWN THE SIDE OF THE BUILDING MY CAT KEEPS EATING IT AND IT FUCKING STAINS THE FUCKING TILES” Robert finished and waited for a response for a few moments…. SPLAT Stwert poured yet another bucket full of pseudodragons barf right into Robert's face then flipped him off… Speechless from what just happened Robert picked up Charlotte brought her inside, blocked the cat door, and went into the bathroom to wipe his face off. 

Looking in the mirror he could see the wrinkles around his eyes that he started to get after so many weeks of working overtime, his lifeless bloodshot blue eyes, and his short straw-like hair. Finishing cleaning off his face he took the mythical grade dragon eye drops that he keeps by the dozen and leaned back dropping at least 5 or more drops in each eye. Walking he trips over the dirty clothes that he hasn’t washed in at least a month going back into the kitchen where he pops in 2 pieces of toast for himself. While he waited he tended to Charlotte cleaning off her fur and giving her a treat for her good behaviour. 

He quickly buttered his bread and began eating one while putting on his tux for the day and finished the other while packing his bag. Once he finished he gave Charlotte a few more scratches and said “Be back soon, hope you get comfy and enjoy your naps” Charlotte meowed in response with a gleeful tone. As he walked out he noticed that the mailbox next to his door was filled to the brim with envelopes… sigh... “That stupid geezer still hasn’t notified the tenet”.  He walks over to the room next door 69 as he walked over he practically tripped over all the garbage and trash. Catching himself he holds his breath puts on his most presentable “work face” and knocks exactly three times… about 2 minutes go by and no one answers so he knocks again… another 2 minutes go by… no answer and no he was about to knock again but this time mid anger he was greeted by a huge orc that was the full height of the doorway and had the belly about the width of it. A few seconds passed and the smell finally hit him Robert's nose was on fire from how disgusting it was. In a deep guttural groan, the orc said

 “What's the issue, human”  

Robert sighed and spoke clearly with a stern face “ Firstly please refrain from calling me “human” and second I asked you politely to tell the mailman your new address” 

The orc looked at him in disgust and spoke sharply “ Firstly I don’t care about your feelings and secondly, I already did you slow-brained punk” 

Now clutching his nose bridge in tension Robert let slip an ounce of aggression under his breath “Well maybe if you actually took out your garbage he would come to the door” 

Now looking angry the orc furrowed his brow looking like he was about to attack and said “What did you just say to me”

Robert shook it off like nothing “Oh sorry I didn't mean anything.” 

The orc looked at him and slurred out “No I heard what you said… how could you say that man you know I have been going through a hard time lately” The orc began to cry as he finished… “at least get a fucking job then asshole, I’ve heard from the neighbours that you have been breaking their doors and stealing from them. We even got you on footage yet the useless police won’t do anything about it”  Robert sighed “Sorry man I've had a rough morning Sewert from upstairs threw his dragon puke down the side of the building again”  The orc stopped crying and stuttered out “Jusstt... Be careful dude I almost squashed you because I thought you were threatening me” “You thought I was threatening you!!! I’M NOT EVEN HALF YOUR SIZE Why on earth would I want to attack you I WAS EXPECTING YOU TO FUCKING JUMP ON ME… why on earth do I have to live in this god-forsaken place”.  Robert looked up at him and muttered softly somewhat mockingly “alright dude, just please fix the issue” as he handed him the mail while noticing Robert’s company seal for interviews. So he pauses and

[pineapplerightsideupcake]

maybe kinda random but you give good advice so I wanna hear your thoughts. I feel really lonely due to living in a small town, not being able to make friends in hs bc my toxic parents never let me go anywhere. I have 2 irl friends that I love and appreciate but they work a lot so we rarely text or see each other bc they’re always so busy/tired. I wish I had more friends so I wouldn’t feel so lonely. I’ve tried dating apps, online spaces, etc but nothing worked. And if I made a (online) friend they’ve ghosted me for whatever reasons. I’m trying so hard to stay positive but I really hate my life (being stuck in a toxic household tryna save money in this economy…) not having anyone to have meaningful connections with makes it worse. Idk what to do. These days I’ve been thinking a lot about s*icide even tho I’m a coward and won’t do it. The only thing that makes me feel better is disassociating and pretending like I’m someone else or in a different situation. But I can’t do that forever…. I could go more in depth but I don’t wanna burden you. I’m wondering how can I make friends and actually feel like life’s worth living?

If you’re in your early twenties, I have good news! No part of your life will ever be as hard as it is right now. I’ve been right where you are. Depressed and lonely and suicidal. I felt like there was no escape. But there is light at the end of the tunnel.

My first bit of advice is that nothing external is going to fill the emptiness in you. It’s a wound that needs to heal and self love and fulfillment have to happen before anything else can. And those words look big right now because we don’t do a good job of talking about how to achieve them in little ways. Ways you can start today.

First pick the easiest thing to motivate you to do something regularly. Therapy is a good start, but for me my healing began when I started cleaning my (actually my dads) house. Cleaning was something I kinda liked and it wasn’t scary because I didn’t have to leave the house. I started by just picking a shelf to organize. Then one thing to scrub. Eventually I was proud of my spotless house and wanted to do things like cut fresh flowers for a nice table. I wanted to go to the store and get a fancy snack or a nice candle. I walked my dogs everyday and being in nature was profoundly healing for me. I picked the things I could do even when I was miserable.

Where you can start is the easy places for you. Maybe you’re more like my sister and need to pour that effort into your job. Or maybe you need to build things like my other sister. Maybe you’re close to a grandparent and can schedule a weekly dinner. I have a friend that started writing fanfiction, then her own novel. I have another friend that works on cars. That started with just tinkering with his own.

And none of those things have to be huge on day one. If you paint, just swirl colors or doodle on day one. If you write, write a paragraph. Do a 100 piece puzzle. Listen to music. Cry if you have to. Forgive yourself for the days you can’t do anything. If you’re self medicating with alcohol/weed/cigarettes try and cut back a tiiiiny bit.

But kids from disfunctional families are set up to fail. Children have very little autonomy to begin with and we spend the first 18-21 years of our lives having life be something that happens TO us. This is even worse in dysfunctional families where you have to sort of float with the current just to survive. Then they push us out the door and say “go live” without any instruction. All your skills and coping mechanisms are built around enduring life and not around building one.

And that’s the big secret. You have to build your life but you also get to. Fill it with things you love and enjoys and prune out the things that stress you out.

And lastly, the way to make friends is the same way you ask someone on a date. Luckily unlike a date, most people are JUST AS DESPERATE FOR A FRIEND AS YOU! People have never been lonelier. My secret is I go out, I do activities. I tell friends to invite other friends, then befriend them. If I run into an old childhood playmate, or college pal or old classmate I follow up on those half baked plans to “get coffee sometime”. Family can be included here too. Maybe you have a chill sibling or cousin.

DnD has been great for me. People hear I DM and so many people are like “oh I’ve always wanted to play” so I invite them! A low stakes way to find a new friend is to talk about a really fun thing you’re doing around coworkers/acquaintances and when someone makes this face 🥺 you say “why don’t you join us/me!”

Or do what my autistic best friend did and I quote “find one really loud but nice extrovert and don’t blast their huge social group with your autism until after you’re their party healer” which is a silly way for me to say that making one friend leads to others.

I could go on and on here but this is an essay already. Hope this helps and isn’t just a stream of consciousness.

[zrllosyn]

WIP Favorite Lines

OUGHGHGH BUDDY IM SORRY I DO NOT CHECK MY MENTIONS ENOUGH BUT!! @hideyseek THANK YOU FOR TAGGING ME!! These are from literally all my documents so. God knows when they will see the light of day. (never)

Rules: a line you think you've struck gold with in your WIP(s)

Most of these aren't necessarily 'gold' but i do like them very much. Also i do obscenely short sentences a lot, so uh. Some of these are two.

Also there is a lot of them so i am putting them under the cut (i write too much random stuff)

COFFEE SHOP - Lobotomy Corporation AU

Its A and Garion character shenanigans, where they hate each other's guts but they've been isekaied and now only know each-other. I think its SO funny. Its a fic for me.

It also brought him curses. Like the one that had walked in through his store's front door.

CORVO LOOPS - Mlp loops but dishonored

Its, for me. Corvo is an anchor and is looping, he goes THROUGH it. This one is where samuel wakes up but this line is so out of context.

"Your halls are a mess corvo, how many damn swords do you intend on collecting--"

UNTITLED - BNHA oc fic

I have this bastard oc I call Thrones bcs he's angel themed, and he's originally and Iruma-kun OC? But i put him into BNHA and it surprisingly works lmao.

The mental blocks he had placed in the way of his quirk vanishes like tissues in water, melting away and he feels his light burn.

TRAVEL - Blind Griffin AU fic

Look, the visual novel is really fun, and I like time travel. This one is parallel universes though, and its about grief.

She stares at the empty lot that was her lab and home, and represses a long, long sigh. 

DARE - Nobunagun Fic

Sio and Adam have gender shenanigans. Aka cross-dressing, but it comes with gender revelations and I love that for them.

"I bet I'd make a better lady than you, at least." Adam scoffs, smiling with all teeth. "Im prettier than you even as a guy."

TOMMOROW, TODAY - Houseki No Kuni Time Travel Fic

this one is on AO3, but the recent chapters i just havent been feeling, sadly. I liked this bit i wrote though.

 Phos tries to argue, the hollow ache in their chest filling their form in a tingling vibration that makes their very form feel like its about to start ringing— and the sky shatters.

UHHH I TAG. FRIENDS. FEEL FREE TO NOT DO THIS. TBH, SORRY IF THIS IS LIKE. SOMETHING YOU'VE BEEN TAGGED IN BEFORE

i am mainly tagging yall from the discord soz

@ajitated @13threbagel @filly-serenity @ravenatural @bubblegumbeech @princessfanonanona

[belphegor1982]

Can I have a director's cut on "Loopy," please?

You didn’t specify a part so I went with ALL OF IT. Prepare yourself :P

(Sorry it’s so late, I’ve been working on it for the past couple of weeks - you’d think I could’ve got this out for the actual Groundhog Day, but nope, had to finish it the day after 😅

Loopy

Plop… plop.

Okay, so this story came into being because of the 2014 Short Story Speed-Writing Challenge, which is a thing that happens (or at least did happen in the 2000s-2010s, I’m ashamed to say I haven’t been paying this fandom the attention it deserves lately) in the Hogan’s Heroes fandom, especially on a little FFnet forum called Forum XIIIC. Basically, you have two weeks within set dates to write a story 1k to 4k words long, which has to start with (or have) one of the prompts from a list that could go from “first lines of a novel” to “random lines from existing HH fics”. I think that particular year was the “existing fic” line. (EDIT: it was − namely ML Miller Breedlove’s Gone Fishing.) for some reason I latched onto it and it collided with the “Carter experiences a Groundhog Day Loop” idea I’d been jotting down notes about a while ago. That’s why I love these fandom events − you never know what they’re going to inspire from you!

I’m assuming that anyone reading below the cut has already read the fic, so heads up, I’m just gonna drop spoilers for plot twists here and there :D

The night breeze shook a couple of drops from recent rain into the river from overhanging branches. Aside from that and the rustling of trees, the woods were absolutely quiet. The sort of quiet heroes complained of in adventure books.

Carter never saw the point in complaining when things got quiet. But then I’m not a hero, am I.

Of course he is, but since he’s also Andrew J. Carter, he won’t believe it in a hundred years.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Carter turned back from the bridge in the near distance and frowned. “I wasn’t sleeping, Newkirk.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to tell with you.”

It’s weirdly difficult for me sometimes to write Newkirk & Carter banter, because unlike with LeBeau, insults and digs roll off Carter like water off a duck’s back, but that doesn’t mean Carter is stupid, either. He’s oblivious, sure, and cheerful and easy-going, but sometimes Newkirk’s barbs do get to him and he’s like “Hey!” (and sometimes − though rarely − he’ll dish right back, leaving Newkirk with his mouth open like a big dog who’s just been karate-flipped on his back by a mouse :D)

“Cut the wisecracks,” Colonel Hogan said in a loud whisper. “Kinch, do you see anything?”

“All clear, Colonel.”

“Then let’s go. And keep your eyes and ears open, fellas.”

I had to be careful with the dialogue, since it would’ve been really easy for the repetition to make it annoying. It starts pretty generic, and it’s the repetition and differences that keep the reader’s interest (hopefully). But also I had a lot of fun with parallels and contrasts, like for example Newkirk’s “Wake up, Carter!”

Retrieving a downed flyer was never a walk in the park, but at least they wouldn’t have to search in every bush or under ever fern to find him. An Underground agent had called on the radio with crucial information, as well as the fact that he was currently hiding an English Lieutenant recently escaped from Stalag V. Sandman (said agent) checked out, and Hogan had agreed to meet in order to retrieve the pilot.

Carter followed Kinch, Newkirk and Hogan across the bridge to the rendezvous point nearby, with LeBeau bringing up the rear. Below them, the waters ran pitch-black despite the half-moon light.

Sandman emerged from a bush half a dozen yards from the river bank and signalled them.

“There are seven stories,” he said.

“As there are seven days of the week,” Hogan replied evenly. That made just about as much sense as the first part as far as Carter was concerned. Sometimes he wondered where the guys who thought up those codes got them.

From fairy tales in canon, pretty consistently! Which makes it a challenge for fic writers to find fairy tales to allude to that haven’t been used in the show or in other fics. Here, “There are seven stories, as they are seven days of the week” is from Ole Lukøje, Hans Christian Andersen’s tale of the Sandman. It’s about the Sandman telling stories to a little boy to take him to sleep; if he’s good, he’s getting good dreams, and if he’s bad, he gets nightmares. I pulled that thread throughout the story in little nods, like the seven stories/days of the week that almost became seven loops. In the end, I ran out of room and inspiration, so there’s six of them, but if you squint and include the first part there are seven :D

Sandman smiled.

“Hello, Papa Bear. Good to finally see you in person.”

“I’m told you might have something of mine?” said Hogan, shaking his hand. As if on cue, a broad-shouldered guy in a RAF uniform stepped out from behind a tree and saluted.

“Flight Lieutenant Charles Hickman, sir. May I say, I was warned that this might happen, but it’s a mite peculiar all the same.”

Usually I try to flesh out OCs better than this, but Sandman and Flight Lieutenant Hickman didn’t really need more than they got. (I really laid on the Britishness thick with Hickman, too.) At least you gradually find out more about Sandman as the story goes on?

Hogan raised an eyebrow. “‘This’ meaning your capture, or our little Travellers Aid Society meeting?”

“Truthfully, sir, both.”

“Here,” chimed in Sandman, handing Hogan an envelope. “Every troop movement between Hammelburg and Düsseldorf for the past three weeks.” His face grew sombre. “People died for this information. I hope you will make good use of it.”

This is particularly cynical in the light of the later reveal, huh? People died, yeah − because he must have seen personally to some of them.

“We will,” said Hogan solemnly. “In the meantime, you –”

“Wait,” LeBeau interrupted. “Do you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“I don’t know… something in the bushes. Maybe just an animal or –”

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

All hell broke loose.

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!” means “Stop! Freeze/Don’t move!”

Amidst the gunfire, the shouting and the muzzle flashes that made his eyes water, Carter counted a dozen Gestapo. They had shouted their warning, and now they were firing at anything that moved – and at, he saw with a mounting horror that made his hands shake and his bile rise in his throat, at least two bodies that didn’t move. Before he had time to find out who it was, he stumbled, shuddered, and fell to his knees; pain that hadn’t been there (or maybe he hadn’t paid attention to it) a second ago flared through his chest, leaving him limp and light-headed, barely aware that the blood running down his front was not a good sign.

As he fell headfirst into the cold earth and the shredded leaves, the terror vanished, and he was numb, indifferent to what was happening to him – the pain was fading, too – his only thoughts for Hogan, Newkirk, LeBeau, Kinch, hoping they could make it through.

Look, you can’t exactly say that Carter is self-effacing, but he’s definitely not as in-your-face a character as Hogan, LeBeau or Newkirk, or even Kinch, for all that he’s quiet. When explosives are off the table he doesn’t seem to be as self-confident as the others, and it just felt right to go that extra little step and have him be self-sacrificing as well. Like, the guys were okay before I got here, they’d be okay without me. (except NO THEY BLOODY WOULDN’T BE!)

Something fell against him with the weight and finality of death.

Carter didn’t live long enough to know whose corpse it was.

Yeah, I deliberately kept the first ending as vague and brutal as possible. At this point the reader should be confused and horrified, maybe more the former than the latter. And then...)

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

“W—what?”

I’m alive!?

And there you are – back to the beginning! That’s why the repetition of “plop... plop” and “Wake up, Carter” was essential. Only these two sentences, mind you – Carter reacts differently every time.

Carter ran a shaking hand across his chest, looking for the bullet wound, his heart thumping wildly. The blasts from the German machine guns were still echoing in his ears, along with the chilling moans of men about to die – including his own, he realised with a jolt – and the smell of blood-soaked earth overpowered everything else.

Nothing like some small but visceral details to pull you into a story!

But everything was quiet, normal. No Gestapo, no machine guns, just the busy silence of nightlife going about their business, the wind in the branches, and the “plop” of raindrops falling into the river.

In case the reader’s forgotten where the “plop plop” came from :o)

The bridge stretched before them. Kinch was scanning their surroundings for anything suspicious, apparently finding nothing of the sort.

Maybe Carter had been day-dreaming.

But it had felt so real…

The first snap back has Carter doubt it actually happened. Because honestly, by Occam’s Razor rules you’re not gonna jump straight to a Groundhog Day loop situation − you’re going to think you had a very vivid hallucination.

“Carter, are you all right? You’re so pale you’re practically glowing in the dark.”

Aww, Newkirk cares behind the snark 💖

“Cut the wisecracks,” Colonel Hogan said in a loud whisper. Wait. What? “Everyone okay? Right. Kinch, do you see anything?”

“All clear, Colonel.”

“Then let’s go. And keep your eyes and ears open, fellas.”

See? Even with slight differences (Carter being shaken and Newkirk sort of noticing it), the dialogue stays on track... and so does the rest of it.

This felt oddly familiar to Carter, like a song he didn’t remember hearing but that he knew anyway. An uncomfortable feeling crept over him, intensifying when Sandman popped out of his bush and Hogan strode towards him.

“LeBeau,” he muttered, “what’s the French word for when you think you’ve already seen what you’re seeing right now?”

“What, déjà vu?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a 90% chance Carter wouldn’t know this particular phenomenon, since I’m not sure just how much it popped up in fiction at the time, but the occasion was too good to pass, come on.

Newkirk shot him an odd look, but Carter ignored him, still profoundly uneasy. Ahead of them, Hogan and Sandman exchanged passwords, something about seven stories and seven days of the week – and boy but the absurdity of it rang a bell in Carter’s head.

“I’m told you might have something of mine?” said Hogan. Before he had finished speaking, Carter knew which tree the pilot was hiding behind.

Flight Lieutenant Charles Hickman.

How do I know that? I can’t know that! Unless…

“Flight Lieutenant Charles Hickman, sir.” Carter’s heart leaped in his throat. “May I say, I was warned that this might happen, but it’s a mite peculiar all the sa—”

“Sir?” The bell in Carter’s head had become a giant flashing light. He stepped in and looked at Hogan straight in the eye, trying to ignore the mounting panic. “Something’s wrong.”

For the moment Carter’s just reacting to the weird déjà vu sensation – he’s not quite ahead of the plot yet.

His CO went from a bantering mood to deadly serious in the space of a second. “How?”

Yes, Carter often has his head in the clouds, but when it comes down to it he’s also a competent spy and Hogan trusts him implicitly.

Well, there wasn’t two ways around it. “I… I think Gestapo’s coming. Right now.”

Sandman’s eyes went round and he looked around him. “What?”

Sandman’s going both “how can this guy know that” and “crap, are they there already??”

Hogan shushed him and turned to Kinch and Newkirk, who were keeping lookout to the bridge and the nearby woods. “Anything suspicious, guys?”

“Don’t think so, Colonel,” said Newkirk slowly.

“Well, let’s not stay and find out. Hickman, with us. Sandman, we owe you big time.”

“Wait!” They had started back, but Sandman ran after them. “You forgot the troop movements!”

“Wait! You can’t leave this early, the Gestapo’s not there yet! I have to stall!”

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

Oh, no…

The Gestapo patrol ran towards them, and suddenly Carter saw with absolute clarity that yes, it had happened before, and he was probably not going crazy. It wasn’t much of a comfort to be right in those circumstances.

“Run, guys, r—!”

In the ear-splitting chaos he never saw the black-uniformed man raise a gun to his head.

This time he died instantly.

Small mercies :’(

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Cart—”

“RUN!”

He basically just finished his last thought here.

Only when the four of them stared at him in a mixture of alarm and incredulity did Carter realise he had shouted at the top of his lungs. Still shaking all over, he sucked in a breath and tried to calm down his pounding heart.

They were back at the bridge. Again.

They were all alive. For now.

“What’s wrong, Carter?” asked Kinch, frowning, but his voice gentle.

Kinch will always give a friend the benefit of the doubt 💜

“Gestapo—patrol,” Carter panted, taking off his cap and wiping his forehead. It was cold enough that he could see his breath hanging in the air, but he was drenched in sweat. “V—very close.”

The woods were completely silent, but nobody questioned him and everyone dove for the bushes.

In their line of work, they can’t afford not to take something like this seriously. (but they will snark afterwards if nothing happened - and even if something did happen, to grasp at something familiar.)

However, after it became obvious that wherever that patrol was, it was nowhere near them, they emerged to scan the bridge and both banks of the river. Then turned looks on Carter that ranged between sceptical and angry.

“Thanks for the false alarm, Carter,” said LeBeau, brushing wet leaves from his jacket.

“Ever heard of the boy who cried ‘wolf’?” Newkirk said in his most sardonic tone.

Carter took a deep breath. “Look… If we cross that bridge, a patrol will turn up and kill us all.”

Everyone stared at him – he felt a complete fool – but he held his ground. This was too important.

As he lied to convince them not to meet Sandman, he tried to push down the disgust at the idea of abandoning the Underground agent and the British pilot to their fate. Maybe the Gestapo would not consider two men the same threat as seven, and not shoot first and ask questions later? Maybe they could spring them later from the Gestapo HQ? Sandman had dealt with Papa Bear once or twice, but never face-to-face. He had no idea they were POWs.

It was all for the greater good.

(since Hot Fuzz (2006) I canNOT hear/read this phrase without hearing an echo in my head (the greater good) XD)

A little voice whispered, Keep telling yourself that, Andrew.

He felt sick.

Carter doesn’t do well with guilt :(

When they finally crossed the bridge – Hogan reluctantly giving Carter the benefit of the doubt and deciding to remain hidden until they were sure it was safe – they were too late. The Gestapo patrol held a gun on Hickman, the pilot, and one of them was gripping Sandman by the arm.

Oh no, they caught the flyer and the Underground agent! (right?)

Hogan shot Carter a strange look and silently ordered his men back to camp.

Only the wild hope that they would all make it to camp alive kept Carter from taking his CO aside and telling him everything. He still wasn’t quite sure he would be able to meet his own eyes in the mirror when they got back.

Carter had always been a little accident-prone, and it always got worse when he was distracted.

Which is why he didn’t see the root before he tripped on it and fell into the ferns.

He does do that in canon sometimes :D Also I toyed with the idea of having whether or not he actually survived ambiguous, but in the end I preferred this ending, since it’s a change from the violence and it makes it obvious that just Our Heroes surviving ain’t gonna cut it.

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Hey, I didn’t die this time! was his first thought, closely followed by a fervent I’m not letting these guys get captured again. No way.

“Oi! Are you—”

“The coast is clear. What are we waiting for?”

And he ran to the bridge without waiting to see the others’ reactions.

“Maybe if I speed-run through the whole thing the Gestapo won’t have time to catch up!”

Unfortunately, neither Sandman nor Hickman had reached the rendezvous point just yet.

“Carter!” hissed Hogan as he crouched down near him, white with fury. “What the hell were you thinking? You could have gotten killed – you could have gotten us all killed!”

In any other circumstances, this dressing-down from one of the men Carter respected most would have made him wish the ground would open up and swallow him; now, however, the memories of the previous fiascos were so vivid and he was so focused on getting everything right this time that he brushed it off.

Sandman appeared taken aback at finding them already there when he arrived.

“There are seven stor—”

“As there are seven days of the week,” Carter interrupted. Then, raising his voice a little, “It’s okay, Lieutenant, come on out!”

Hogan grabbed him by the arm. “What are you playing at?”

Of course Hogan trusts his men, but this is WTF, even for them.

His voice was low and dangerous, and it sent a chill down Carter’s spine. Carter’s resolve weakened significantly, but he didn’t back down. Instead he threw a pleading look at his friends and his CO.

“Could you guys just trust me on this? I swear it’s important, and we’re kinda on a clock here.”

Then, as Hickman hesitatingly stepped out from behind his tree, Carter turned to Sandman and held out a hand.

“Troop movements, please?”

Sandman’s eyes narrowed. “How do you know that? Nobody but me knows.”

“You said it was crucial information,” Kinch pointed out. “Is that it?”

“Yes it is, but your man is not supposed to know! What else do you know?” He turned on Carter with surprising venom. “Who are you spying for?”

That’s rich, coming from a double agent. But also, stalling again!

“Now wait a minute, mate,” Newkirk cut in. “You’re way off!”

“He’s no spy!” said LeBeau hotly. “Enfin, si, mais… he’s not a traitor!”

In this context, “Enfin, si, mais” means “I mean/Well, yes/he is, but”. si here is the specific “yes” that contradicts a previous negative statement.

Also, no matter how weird Carter is being at the moment (or generally speaking), nobody else gets to insult him in Newkirk’s and LeBeau’s hearing, or worse, threaten him. Nobody, period 💜

Carter almost smiled, but between the ticking clock and the oncoming Gestapo, nervousness was giving way to sheer dread. “Could we do this somewhere else? I—I mean go elsewhere? Right now?”

Hogan squinted at him. Carter stared right back.

Please, please, Colonel, he thought as hard as he could, as if Hogan could read actually minds – sometimes he could make a fellow believe he could. I know I’m a goof and I mess things up sometimes, but right now I’m dead serious and I need you to believe me!

Hogan’s appraisal seemed to turn out in his favour, and he nodded slightly. Carter sagged with relief.

“Okay. Sandman, the information, please. Come with us, Flight Lieutenant; we’ll sort out the rest later.”

“Nobody goes anywhere.” To Carter’s dismay, Sandman pulled a gun and pointed it straight at him. “Not until I’m sure he’s not a traitor.”

Isn’t it ironic that the loop where Carter is intent to hurry things up as much as he can is also the loop where they spend the most time in this particular place? Also, hello, Chekhov’s gun! Yep, Sandman has a gun, and now Carter – and the reader  – knows it.

“Oh, for the love of…”

Carter found himself flanked with Newkirk on one side and LeBeau on the other, both glaring at the agent in surprisingly similar ways. Kinch didn’t glare, but his calm, steady stare made where he stood perfectly clear.

Standing their ground for their friend 💖

Sandman glanced behind him, perhaps weighing the odds. Then he pulled the envelope from his jacket and handed it to Hogan.

“All right, all right. Here.”

Hogan tucked the precious information inside his own jacket, nodded at Sandman, and signalled his team to make for the bridge. Carter sighed inwardly. Maybe this time would…

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

“RUN!” he screamed.

But they were too close.

It was slaughter. And this time, he saw everything.

This next part was perhaps the hardest to write of the whole story. I mean, look, I wrote 800 words where I killed LeBeau once and my hands were shaking the whole time – so killing all five, like this? Yeah :S

Flight Lieutenant Hickman went down first when a bullet went straight through his head. The next second, Carter felt a blaze of pain explode in his knee and collapsed, breathless. When he could lift his head, he spotted LeBeau on the ground propped up against a tree, blood all over his left thigh, staring into the distance. Wait, thought Carter through the red haze in his head, that’s not right… he faints when he sees blood, his eyes should be closed… A few feet further, Newkirk, his face ashen, was curled up on himself so tightly Carter couldn’t see exactly where he was hurt; then he shuddered, relaxed, and lay very still, and Carter screwed his eyes shut. Only then did he realise that he was sobbing.

So I might have mentioned it before, but I like to write like I’d point a camera if I knew how to film, and this scene only needs a few quick, chaotic shots to give the reader a sense of what they’re going through. I don’t need to linger on what’s happening (to LeBeau, to Newkirk, even to Carter); what the scene needs is something quick and vivid, not drawn-out (not that I had the room, anyway - even with a minimal author’s note the story clocked out at 4,990 words for FFnet - and 4886 on AO3 - so I really toed the limit with this one!). Anyway. This whole scene needed to punch the reader in the stomach, and for that I had to go all out and be very, very precise and concise. Hopefully I succeeded.

Kinch was nowhere to be seen, and Carter caught himself hoping someone would be left alive when this loop came to an end.

Sorry, bud, this one is the “no mercy” run :(

Please let it start all over again. Please.

The thought that this might be it, combined with the sight of LeBeau’s and Newkirk’s bodies, made Carter grab a nearby root and violently throw up. When he looked up again, wiping his mouth on his sleeve, Colonel Hogan was on his knees with his hands behind his head, staring defiantly at the Gestapo men who held him at gunpoint.

Right, who thought I had forgotten our dear colonel? Raise your hands!

A few yards away, Sandman was apparently attempting to talk himself out of this situation; Carter vaguely saw him handing a paper to a soldier. But he only had eyes for Hogan.

Psst - Sandman is not “attempting” to talk himself out of this mess, he’s showing the soldiers an Ausweis. This will come up again later, because even though Carter isn’t really paying it attention right now, he has noticed!

Hogan, whose eyes found him lying in the ferns, and who mouthed “Run!”

Colonel Robert E. Hogan, ladies and gentlemen. The mission comes first, but his men come second, and he third.

After a heated debate with himself, Carter started to crawl away, almost passing out with pain at every movement. Everything was spinning, so he kept close to the ground, not stopping even when a single gunshot behind him left him shaking madly and almost whimpering…

Hope everyone understood that this means Hogan didn’t make it. (and boy, talk about sentences I never thought I’d type...)

Until he reached the river bank, and saw two Gestapo come back to the group, dragging Kinch’s limp body between them.

Kinch’s death means the death of hope. It’s as simple as that.

Everything was lost.

Carter let go and fell down… and down…

He was unconscious before he hit the water.

And either drowned in the river or died of shock/blood loss. God this loop is grim...

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Oh thank God.

Poor Carter. The weariness is starting to creep in.

They were all there, alive, unscathed – no bullet wounds, no bruises, no sightless eyes. The absolute nightmare of the last “loop” came crashing down on Carter, who had to suppress a wild urge to wrap Kinch, Newkirk and LeBeau in one bear hug, and shake the Colonel’s hand like mad. As it was, he wiped his eyes as discreetly as he could and answered Newkirk with a vague “I’m fine.”

Which of course made Newkirk watch him more closely. But that was all right.

Newkirk snarks, Newkirk smirks, but Newkirk worries (because he cares) 💜 And he’s fiercely perceptive. He doesn’t understand what’s got his mate to look like that, but he thinks that either he’ll figure it out or Carter will tell him eventually.

Carter was so relieved to see them walking, breathing, living, that the afterthought didn’t hit him till after they crossed the bridge.

What was that paper Sandman showed the Gestapo?

And why had he glanced behind him, almost toward the exact spot they had burst from later?

It’s all about the little details, folks! And it’s a credit to Carter’s perceptiveness that he still remembers things like the paper and Sandman’s suspicious glance after the nightmare that happened after. Much as I love writing the guy as clueless about certain things, if he really was completely no thoughts, head empty he wouldn’t have lasted two days in the spy business.

The more he thought about it, the more his suspicion grew. What if Sandman had actually been stalling when he accused him of being a mole? What if…

Well. One way to find out.

When Sandman emerged from his bush, Carter pounced on him and clamped a hand on his mouth. The guy twitched and jerked so viciously it made his teeth rattle.

And the thing with Carter is that he’s straightforward. Not sneaky and cunning like Newkirk, not calm and prudent like Kinch, not even in-your-face like LeBeau, but once he’s decided to do something he will do it.

“Sorry,” he said, and he meant it. “Colonel, I know it sounds kinda crazy, but I think this guy’s not on the level.”

“Mffrmmfm…!”

“Well, you would say that, wouldn’t you?”

This little gag is so easy but it’s still one of my favourites XD

“Wait a minute, Carter,” said Hogan. “This is serious stuff. What makes you say that?”

“Fmvvhf.”

“Well, that’s rude.” Carter jerked his chin toward Sandman’s jacket. “He’s got a paper in his pocket in case we meet a German patrol.”

Sandman looked apoplectic. At Carter’s last words, though, he went quite still. He didn’t even flinch when Hogan slowly reached for the inside of his jacket and pulled an envelope.

“No, not that one – that’s the troop movements between Hammelburg and, uh, Düsseldorf. Or it’s supposed to be, anyway.”

Sandman glared up at him, still purple in the face, with eyes that would probably pop out if they bulged any further.

Hogan ripped open the envelope and skimmed through the contents. And frowned.

“Funny. Says here that the 5th Panzer Army passed two miles north of Hammelburg two weeks ago.”

“Didn’t they capitulate in North Africa last week?” Kinch asked quietly with an odd look at Sandman. Newkirk and LeBeau stared open-mouthed at Carter.

Which places the story around the third week of May 1943, as the 5th Panzer Army surrendered in Tunis on the 13th. The more you know! I always try to have my HH stories fall on at least some pretence of historical timeline.

“They did. Now let’s see the paper Carter was talking about.”

Said paper turned out to be an Ausweis signed by Major Hochstetter, stipulating that its owner was Gestapo, and, if possible, that his cover should not be blown.

Not sure it actually worked like that, but I needed a smoking gun, so to speak.

“Could be a fake, Colonel,” Kinch pointed out.

“Yeah. This looks pretty damn close to Hochstetter’s signature, though.

Of course he’d know what Hochstetter’s signature looks like - I don’t remember if we see them forge it in canon, but let’s be honest, they probably did a fair few times :D

Let’s haul him back to camp, we’ll sort this out there.”

“Wait!” Carter had almost forgotten Flight Lieutenant Hickman. “Didn’t Sandman say he had a flyer with him?”

Fortunately, Hickman came out from hiding and saluted sheepishly. “Is it a, er, bad time?”

“Not at all, Flight Lieutenant. We’re open all hours,” quipped Hogan.

One little thing I like when writing HH fic is getting to write these fun little jokes, even if it kinda drives me crazy to have to think them up!

“Now let’s go while the woods are Kraut-free.”

Carter shivered. If they knew…

When the Gestapo patrol did barge in, this time they only found dirt and moss. Carter, Hogan, Hickman and the others watched them from bushes and under ferns. Carter still had a tight hold on Sandman, who had been blindfolded and looked much calmer. While it was nice not to feel like he was gripping a six-foot-tall wiggling pike, Carter had a feeling it was too good to last.

He was right.

Not three minutes after the Gestapo had passed them, Sandman tripped on something, pulling Carter down with him; the next thing Carter knew, the moonlight glinted on something metallic.

Sandman has a gun. Oh boy, I should have remembered that from last time!

Not “last time”, actually, but the time before that. But who can blame him for getting his loops mixed up...

No time for self-reproach. Carter jumped on the guy to try to wrest the gun from him.

He was so focused on wrenching the gun from Sandman’s hands that the shot took him completely by surprise. They were both practically nose-to-nose, so he could plainly see the stunned look on his opponent’s face – followed by a small, incredulous smile.

Ah, Shrödinger’s shot. For a second your characters are both alive and dead, both teetering on the edge of the precipice. And then one of them notices they’ve been hit, and the penny drops - and you’d better hope it’s not the character you were hoping would make it. (unless it’s for whump and hurt/comfort purposes, which I love a lot ^^)

The agony hit him about one second later. He had the small satisfaction of seeing Kinch knock out Sandman with a brutal-looking blow before staggering and collapsing against Newkirk, who barely caught him in time.

For some reason I love reminders that Kinch is a boxer. Who knows exactly the amount of force he needs to put in a punch to not do real damage - but also, in a situation like this, restraint might not be a priority.

“Carter! Andrew, what… oh n—”

“Andrew, look at me,” Hogan said, and it was so very hard but Carter made an effort – it was the Colonel. He never gave an order unless he thought they could do it. “Look at me. You’re going to be all right.”

No, he isn’t, and they all know that. But just in case it ends up working...

“T—trying,” Carter managed to utter, but his world was going white at the edges and he was pretty sure the tang in his mouth was blood. Not a good sign.

“Hold on, Andrew,” said Kinch quietly. His voice was thin, unsure, all wrong. “We’ll get back to camp in a minute. Wilson’ll patch you up.”

LeBeau said nothing; his mouth was trembling too much. Carter couldn’t see Newkirk behind him, but he could feel him shaking as he tried to put pressure on the wound – vaguely, as though it was someone else Newkirk was gripping. Not a good sign, either.

It’s okay, he wanted to say, but the hole in his chest seemed to burn up all the air in his lungs. You’re all fine, Sandman can’t hurt any of you now, the Gestapo’s gone… It’s not even hurting so bad now… It’s okay, really…

Look, is it a coincidence that I’m drawn to characters with such shitty self-confidence that they automatically assume their loved ones would be okay without them, or write them that way? I don’t think so! *finger guns* But just in case you might think that Carter being the only one not to survive this whole nightmare is remotely okay -

At least he would get something right this time…

“Halt! Keine Bewegung!”

No! No! They couldn’t –

Carter breathed in, suddenly terrified. He didn’t breathe out.

- I had to make it explicit that no, Carter basically sacrificing himself is NOT okay in a million years. You all have to get through this one, my guy. Find a solution. (no pressure :P)

⁂

Plop… plop.

“Wake up, Carter!”

Oh, boy…

I am not above gratuitous Quantum Leap references ^^ Sometimes Dr Beckett’s life feels like a Groundhog Day loop, poor man. (I don’t think they used that trope in the show, did they?)

Carter never thought that repeatedly dying could be so exhausting. He felt sick, drained, and utterly fed up with the whole thing. How many times had he died already? How many times had the others? How could they return to normal time when he appeared the only one who noticed the loop? How could he end the cycle when there were so many ways for the situation to go horribly wrong?

Until now, he hadn’t really wondered about the whys and hows. He had this chance of correcting something that ended in disaster, and he was grateful for that. But nothing he did ever worked.

I did debate with myself as to whether to explain why time kept snapping back, and to that particular point. Does it have something to do with Sandman? The river? Some kind of trickster god having fun with Carter? (or the author being a jerk, lol?) In the end, though, it didn’t matter. What’s important is not the why, what’s important is the lengths Carter will go for his friends and the resourcefulness that comes from being backed up against a wall.

One thing was certain, though: he had to stop Sandman, one way or another.

Carter considered himself a happy-go-lucky kind of guy, who rarely, if ever, got angry. It took a lot for fury to build up to a point where he was no longer content with just snapping at people. But once he reached boiling point…

That traitor got my friends killed. All of them. Several times.

Not again.

“Er, Carter? You all right, mate?”

He must look odd, all dark frown and set shoulders, and Newkirk must have noticed it. But he was past caring.

When Sandman turned up, Carter punched him. Hard.

One of my absolute favourite tropes is the easy-going sunshine character getting pushed hard enough that they either break or go all out. Carter being Carter, it’s still fairly mild, comparatively, but it’s so completely out-of-character that Hogan and the guys are taken by surprise and absolutely baffled.

There was a lot of things behind that punch; grief, guilt, righteous fury, the memory of blood on familiar uniforms and eyes staring sightlessly at the sky, every second of the nauseating panic he had felt each time he died…

The force of the blow lifted Sandman from the ground and he landed heavily on his back, unconscious.

Carter cradled his throbbing hand against his stomach, whimpering soundlessly. Why did it always look so darn easy in the movies?

Nothing wrong with having a character throw a mighty punch, but I like the occasional reminder that it hurts like hell when your knuckles aren’t prepared!

“Carter!” said Hogan, visibly hovering between alarm and sheer befuddlement. “What the hell –?”

“Sorry, Colonel. But that guy’s a Gestapo spy. Look.”

He fished the Ausweis from Sandman’s pocket and handed it to Hogan, who perused it, frowning, and handed it over to Kinch.

“Sure looks damning. But it could be a fake to get past patrols.”

“Yeah, but – wait – there ya go.” The false information followed, and Hogan’s frown deepened.

“Okay, the 5th Panzer Army was nowhere near Hammelburg last week – and what’s that about Colonel Fleisher being executed? He defected to the Allies last month, we put him on the plane to London!”

This time it’s the other way around: the document that comes up first is the Ausweis, while the second is the so-called “troop movements” - with the extra detail of something only the Heroes would know (the German officer’s defection), just to hammer the point home.

“If Sandman is a Gestapo spy, it makes sense that he’d try to feed us false information, right?” Carter asked, trying not to show how anxious he was. He had to get this one right. He had to.

He tucked Sandman’s gun inside his bomber jacket and made a show of being at least a little surprised when he came face to face with Hickman behind his tree.

“Hi.”

Hickman blinked. “Um, hello there.”

Hogan pinched the bridge of his nose.

This time Carter remembered the gun! And he pretended to be surprised to see Hickman behind “his” tree :D

Introductions were made quickly, and everyone agreed to sort out everything back at Stalag XIII. They were almost at the bridge when the Gestapo patrol Carter kept expecting turned up, far enough to avoid detection; nevertheless, he insisted on waiting a little longer still.

When they were absolutely sure the patrol was far enough not to hear even a gunshot, they made for the bridge, Hickman half-carrying, half-dragging Sandman, who barely stirred.

I had to make sure the patrol wouldn’t hear them later.

Carter’s hopes kept growing at each step he made. Maybe this was it. Maybe this time the timeline would stop starting again. No more screw-ups, no more mistakes, no –

Now that’s just tempting fate, is it?

There was a sharp thud and a grunt behind him. He whirled around in time to see Hickman doubled up in pain… and wheezed when Sandman plowed into him as though this was the World Series.

Look at me, pretending I know the first thing about American sports XD I originally wanted a reference to American football (since I couldn’t have rugby - c’est la vie ¯\_(ツ)_/¯) and the Superbowl, but the first Superbowl was in 1966 and what preceded it was complicated and not half as iconic. So I figured I could use baseball - players dive on a base in baseball, right? So they can hit other players more or less accidentally? I’m not sure ice hockey was a big thing in 1940s Muncie, Indiana anyway, so :-|

Carter flailed, trying to regain both balance and breath, felt the bridge guardrail against his back, gripped Sandman’s jacket –

And they both fell over into the river.

I should keep track of how many fics I’ve written where a character ends up falling into a body of water and/or rained on and soaked to the bone. That should be fun.

The murky waters swallowed him whole. Unable to tell which way was up, Sandman still clutching at him like a leech and dragging him down, Carter panicked. He kept trying to kick the bottom, like Newkirk and LeBeau had recommended when he had admitted he really couldn’t swim, but couldn’t find it.

Writing fanfiction for Hogan’s Heroes is standing at a buffet with many varied things that don’t necessarily go well together, and cherry-picking the ones that agree with you while merrily ignoring a bunch of others. In “The Well” Carter has no problem swimming, whereas in “Will the Blue Baron Strike Again” he almost drowns into four feet of water because he couldn’t swim and panicked. (Also, infamously, LeBeau’s throwaway line at getting volunteered to do something dangerous: “That’s also how I got married” while absolutely nothing in the rest of the show suggests he’s married.) I decided early on that Carter couldn’t swim at all for Reasons (mainly whump-related ones) and it’s one of the half canonical details I like sticking to.

The need to open his mouth and get some air was becoming overwhelming. Naturally, this was when Sandman elbowed him in the throat.

For some reason this is one of the little details I’m proudest of in this fic. Sandman doesn’t kick Carter in the stomach or punch him in the head - he elbows him in the throat. It feels both more random (like Sandman is thrashing about in the water) and grounded in reality.

Carter made a keening noise only he heard and swallowed a great gulp of muddy water.

Bells rang in his ears, stars exploded before his eyes. Dimly he wondered how often one could see stars at the bottom of dark German rivers.

Then he sank into nothingness.

⁂

Squish… squish.

“Andrew! Wake up!”

And finally, a difference! A double difference, though not necessarily obvious enough that the reader immediately notices. Incidentally, once you realise Newkirk isn’t saying quite the same words in quite the same order, you also realise he’s calling Carter by his first name, which he sometimes but rarely does. Because the “you called me [X], it must be serious” trope is one of my very favourites 🥰

Carter retched and spouted out about a gallon of water. It didn’t feel enough, so he curled up on his side and tried to expel some more liquid. Then the voice broke past the rushing sound in his ears.

His first barely conscious thought was, We’re still stuck.

His second was, No… wait.

Carter almost didn’t want to wake up. He was in the floating, uncertain state between oblivion and consciousness, and as he slowly grew more aware, he knew which had his preference. His lungs burned, his ribs hurt like they had no right to, and he was shivering with cold.

He was also soaked through and through. That’s a dumb thing to be when it’s cold.

But the voice was insistent, urgent, and too familiar to ignore. Presently it was joined by other voices, tinged with the same quiver of… fear?

You bet they’re afraid, young man!!

“Take it easy, Andrew. Slow breaths.”

“Blimey, you weren’t kidding when you said you couldn’t swim!”

That’s Kinch and Newkirk, respectively :o) Hopefully it’s obvious enough that it didn’t need to be pointed out. Not that it was that important.

There was a hand on his back, rubbing gently, the soothing rhythm gradually easing his ragged gasps into more regular breathing. He managed to crack his eyes open and was treated to a sliver of dark sky and four anxious faces, as well as a collective sigh of relief. Both Newkirk and LeBeau were drenched, and Hogan and Kinch were covered in mud.

You know LeBeau and Newkirk jumped in after Carter while Hogan and Kinch rushed to the bank to drag them out (and potentially take out the threat of Sandman).

Hogan shook his head with a small smile. “You guys are gonna turn me grey before the war is over.”

They do! Season 6 Hogan is noticeably greyer than season 1 Hogan :D

“Ça va, André?” LeBeau stared at him as though not quite sure Carter was really there. His voice wasn’t too steady, and neither was Newkirk’s when he cut across.

“Well, of course he’s not all right. Probably swallowed his weight in water.”

Kinch didn’t say anything, and continued to rub Carter’s back. It worked wonders, and Carter soon could breathe well enough to rasp, “S—Sandman?”

“Right there,” Hogan said, pointing to a motionless form on the ground. “Hickman tried to revive him, but he was dead before we pulled him out.”

Maybe Sandman’s death triggered the end of the loops. And maybe it had nothing to do with it. We’ll never know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

“Cracked his head on a rock when he fell, probably,” Newkirk added, not a twinge of sympathy in his voice. “He had a nasty wound on his head. Bled like sin. LeBeau almost fainted.”

The English I hear or read sometimes stay with me for a loooong time - because it’s an idiosyncrasy, because of a particular intonation, who knows. I remember reading the brief but striking description of a head wound that “bled like sin” in one of Gravelgirty/Aragonite’s Sherlock Holmes’ Scotland Yard stories, and it felt right from Newkirk.

LeBeau rolled his eyes, but didn’t comment.

Carter went cold all over. Did I kill that guy? How do I know I didn’t?

Hogan seemed to read this in his face, and said calmly, “You fell, he fell – you got lucky, he didn’t. It happens. Believe me, we’re all very glad it’s not the other way around.”

It didn’t make it all right, but it made it easier to face. At least right now.

It’s hard for us writers sometimes to reconcile the comedic aspect of the show with the grim realities of war in general and WW2 in particular. Carter is shown throughout the series as being proficient in explosives, in making and launching bombs, while being one of the genuinely sweetest characters on the show.

So - Doylist explanation: it’s just funny to have the enthusiastic funny guy also be potentially one of the most dangerous of the team. Watsonian explanation: Carter loves explosives, loves his job and takes it seriously, but that doesn’t mean he has to like killing a fellow human being one-on-one (which he hates, but will do if given no other choice).

Carter breathed out and allowed his tense, aching muscles to relax. He still didn’t know what had gone wrong with the timeline, whether someone or something had been responsible, or whether it would ever happen again.

All he knew was that his friends were all alive and well, and that he had somehow managed to survive, too.

Maybe that was the whole point.

It’s always tempting to want to justify everything that happens in the story. But while it’s important that there is internal cohesion (the plot is convincing, the characters’ behaviours make sense, etc.) sometimes you can afford to go the Mary Poppins route and say “Nope, I don’t have to explain anything” :P

“Something that bugs me, Carter,” said Newkirk thoughtfully on the way back to camp. “How did you know Sandman was a Gestapo spy in the first place?”

Trust Newkirk to ask the important questions :D

The question made everybody look back at him. Carter gulped.

Oh boy. Where do I start…?

Carter (and probably the reader, too) was so caught up in getting everyone safely out of the loop/stopping both the Gestapo and Sandman from hurting anyone that (added with the feeling of “no consequences, everything just snaps right back so I can do anything” inherent with time loop stories) he just didn’t think about how his actions would look like afterwards. So naturally that “oh crap” moment was the perfect place to end this story!

Thank you for indulging me! And I’m sorry it took so much time :S

[smileeverydayfor2reasons]

I'm gonna try my best to express myself okay? Don't be mad please sweetie

My world changed when I met you. You looked at me like I was more then I was at the time and you made me feel like I was finally enough. You're the light that guides me when I'm lost. Your love has given me more than I could'e ever thought: You were the reason I got my laugh back. The reason I fell asleep for so long with a smile on my face. The reason why problems didn't seem so bad at all. I have to be honest with you. I think about you. A lot. All the time actually, In the morning, at night in the midlle of the day. It's you. It has been always you. No matter how much we talk to each other eveyday, I'll never get bored of you. I smile instantly every time I get a text, call, or picture from you. You make my days better and It amazes me to know I'm in your mind for the past 8 years too. I want to hug you so tight, I miss my nalla and shellan so much.

You know what? Sometimes I just sit there and imagine all the little scenarios of us in my head. Been able to kiss you, hold your hands and confort you when you are sad. Be there, not miss a single conversation, ear you laugh and see you smile. Taking random trips to places that we don't know. Cuddle while watching a movie and sing with you even if we are really bad. Bringing you closer to me and finally sleep holding you

My emotions are overwhelming me, impregnating every aspect of my being. It only took a split second before I realized that I might have been in love with you. Our daily conversations and shared laughter can't be ignored, and it feels like we were preparing for something more .The voices in my head finally stop screaming. Love found me when I least expected it, and when I gaze into your eyes, everytime I see volumes of unspoken words.

You know the difference of a hero and a villain? A hero would sacrifice you for the world. While a villain would sacrifice the world for you. And trust me when i say I'm no hero.

When you asked about how my perfect day would be, I described watching the sky turn into the moon while eating sushi from a familiar hilltop with you by my side.The hours would pass slowly, and we would never run out of time. We would recite our favorite quotes and rewrite our thoughts so that they could rhyme. We would enjoy a big breakfast, more like a brunch, filled with orange juice, strawberries, and butter toast with crust. Then we would walk hand in hand to a well-stocked bookstore downtown, where we would buy too many novels and carry them like a crown. We would drive with the windows down, your shoes dropped on the car floor, and I would feel fulfilled looking at the passenger seat. I would sing softly to the sky, and in that moment, you would fall in love with me a little more. The sheets on my skin that I've missing for years would appear. When you asked me how the day would end, I would only tell you that you would have to wait and see. In reality, my perfect day would end up with you marrying me.

I am struggling to find the right words to express the depth of my emotions. When I look at you, I feel like I should fall to my knees and pray, because there's no other way. You make me believe in miracles, but even that does not fully capture the extent of your impact on me. You are sunshine incarnate, and you make everything seem less difficult but easy. I want to write full novels about your smile, but words fail me as I try. You are a core memory of joy, the person of my dreams, and my love for you is bursting at the seams and sometimes even brings me to tears. 8 years ago I saw you for the very first time. The first glance made me speachless and to be the most honest that I can be, 8 years of speachness it's the least I can provide I want every year of every lifetime we have.

I love loving you. You made something that felt so damned, something so damn fun! You make the messy nature of such an intense-emotion something to savour and celebrate. You make the hard discussions feel worth it because I know that we respect eachother enough to not tamper with wounds we both entered with. You made morning breath seem not all that bad. You make my insecurities fade away when I catch you looking at me as if you just met me yesterday, it's was if every morning you were seeing me for the first time. I cant lie, I go through the day unfazed by how others see me because in a world full of madness there is you. You make me realise that whatever I had accepted before was never love in its purest form. It was lazy, neither compassionate or kind, neither gentle nor preserving of mind. It was a mismatch of souls. But you. You make love the most exciting thing I have ever experienced and for that I am forever grateful for loving you. And being loved by you

Thank you for 8 years, I really love you my pyrocant