20 Questions for Fic Writers
Thanks @cha-melodius @hippolotamus @mammameesh @kiwiana-writes @happiness-of-the-pursuit for the tags. I'm sure I've done this before but I can't find it to see how long ago!
How many works do you have on ao3?
84
What's your total ao3 word count?
591,653 but that's inflated by a number of collabs, I think the number is closer to 400-450k
What fandoms do you write for?
RWRB, 911 LS and SC (rarely these days)
Top five fics by kudos:
Excluding any collabs (there's a couple in particular that are right up there)
Everybody needs good neighbours | RWRB | E | 14.3k | neighbours au
to the victor, the spoils | RWRB | E | 19.4k | lawyer au
yours for the afternoon | RWRB | M | 4.6k | coffee shop au
what, like it's hard? | RWRB | E | 65.1k | lawyer au, the prequel
I want you, I need you, oh baby oh baby | RWRB | E | 7k | college au
Do you respond to comments?
Yes, I try to! I'm not always prompt but I do respond to almost every comment
What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
Happy endings only here. I do have one unpublished Tarlos ficlet that's kind of a Queen Charlotte inspired future fic that is the saddest thing I've ever written which is the result of @howtosingit saying "whatever you do, don't think about X" which of course meant that I did and I wrote it in a fever dream, cried then buried it in my gdocs.
What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
All of them hahaha
Maybe the ending to what, like it's hard?
Do you get hate on fics?
I've gotten some strange comments but I don't know that I'd class it as hate, as such (thankfully)
Do you write smut?
nah yeah lol
Craziest crossover:
It's not a proper fic, but I wrote this in response to an ask about what would happen in Alex & Henry, David & Patrick and Carlos and TK all met.
Have you ever had a fic stolen?
not as far as I am aware!
Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope
Have you ever co-written a fic before?
yes and I love it! I've done collabs where we each write a chapter, one where we each wrote a chapter and then fully co-wrote the final chapter, a full co-write with @welcometololaland (that ended up morphing into each of us alternating chapters), and I'm in the process of another co-write with Lola atm.
All time favorite ship?
you can't make me choose
What's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
I don't like to say never, but probably the SC paint & sip au
What are your writing strengths?
based on the comments I get - smut with feelings, banter/dialogue, characterisation
What are your writing weaknesses?
World building, pretty metaphors, I'm far too fond of run on sentences to the point where if I was beta reading my own writing there are SO MANY sentences that need to be cut down so that the reader can breathe.
Thoughts on dialogue in another language?
If it fits the character, I love it! I generally ask a native speaker to help me with translations for accuracy
First fandom you wrote in?
Schitt's Creek
Favorite fic you've written?
I don't wanna choose
I've got no idea who's done this already but I'll tag @welcometololaland @everwitch-magiks @clottedcreamfudge @indomitable-love @three-drink-amy
@never-blooms @freneticfloetry @strandnreyes @heartstringsduet @reyesstrand
@indestructibleheart @orchidscript @maxbegone @carlos-in-glasses @beautifulhigh
and an open tag if anyone hasn't been tagged and wants to play 💖
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there’s a word for it. a name. for the people who take care of corpses before a funeral. hanzawa masato doesn’t remember it right now, though, because right now he’s up in the midnight hours, lying flat on the couch in the living room. too warm. he doesn’t care to remember it, the name.
it’s way, way too warm.
dying used to be simpler than this. there was no pavement, there were no buildings, there were no faceless people.
cold, though. there was cold.
the water wasn’t really flowing, too shallow, he was slowing it down, but his blood was. staining the ice.
it was gross.
he couldn’t stretch out his legs, couldn’t reach his arms out over his head. his fingers were cold and useless and deadened, and slow. the air he was struggling to breathe was pushing in and flowing out of his lungs through the puncture wound in his chest. so slow.
he’s been there before. he’s here now.
sitting stiff in the water, soaked to the bone, dying in isolation. bleeding out, masato thinks he’s alive. suffocating, he’s convinced he won’t be for much longer.
he’s not sure he’s anywhere.
dying used to be so easy.
instead of waiting until he couldn’t stand to look at himself anymore, kneeling until his head went under and waiting it out, probably getting swept away by the current until he crashed downstream—he wouldn’t know, he never lived to see that part—instead of that—
he’s wading around a little lost. he’s bleeding. the ghosts only look at him when they know it’ll sting worst, long shadows cast over the water, malformed specters dancing in mockery of him. he thinks his feet are getting a little worse than sliced up by jagged hateful rocks out of sight. that’s depressingly the least of his worries. it’s being impaled by the moon in a loop of time that fucking hates him. but he’s already bleeding. he’s a little surprised that he’s still got blood to bleed.
instead of releasing what could have become a burden, it’s him standing, helplessly, in the river, night after night after night. because it’s nighttime now. it keeps being nighttime.
it’s the kind of thing you’d almost expect to be a relief.
“hanzawa senpai.”
masato turns his head, creaky like a wooden doll. “…tashiro-kun.”
kimono-clad, he offers a hand. “you’re not face first in muck this time.”
masato doesn’t take it. a sharp smile curves his cheeks, not insincere. “thank you. ‘this time?”
tashiro smiles sheepishly down at him. squints. “did you die?”
“do I look dead?”
it’s hard to see from the water, but masato knows that tashiro’s shifted his eyes. saw it in the back of his mind, recorded on crackly film. he says, instead of answering, “I’ve got bandages.”
masato wishes he had something to rest his elbows on, to brace himself on. it doesn’t feel right playing his games standing upright, his hands in his sleeves instead of holding his head on his shoulders. “ta-shi-ro-kuuun, what do you think I need those for?” masato knows what.
tashiro replies anyway, drily from up on uneven paving, “hanzawa senpai, you’re bleeding. you need blood. to survive.”
“tashiro-kun, did I die?”
things are splintering a little. crackly film.
a web of cracks splitting tashiro’s composure, his voice shaking, “why did you?”
that wasn’t what masato asked.
—
“hanzawa senpai.”
“…”
“senpai.”
“…tashiro-kun.”
“you’re not face first in muck this time.”
the smile’s carving itself in, muscle memory. masato’s not going to ask what he meant by this time. “thank you.”
“did you die?”
“do I look dead?”
in the old school projector film behind his eyelids, the flickering doesn’t feel out of place. “I’ve got bandages.”
“ta-shi-ro-kuuun, what do you think I need those for?” masato’s always known what.
“hanzawa senpai, you’re bleeding. you need blood. to survive.”
“tashiro-kun, did I die?”
the shadows cast by a lantern hidden just behind tashiro make his shoulders look broad. masato swallows down a laugh, but he’s not sure what’s funny. “don’t be shallow, senpai, looks aren’t everything.”
the laugh comes out anyway. he manages, “I feel dead, forget the looks.”
“I can’t. I won’t.”
masato takes his turn to squint. they weren’t taking turns. it doesn’t matter. he doesn’t know if he still feels like laughing. he knows for sure that he can’t think of anything to say.
it’s just as well. tashiro isn’t having the same problem. “I think you should just, I don’t know. care about yourself more.”
masato swallows. his lips press into a chagrined line. “I don’t not care,” he says.
tashiro looks right through him. his eyes are like headlights.
he doesn’t actually need to say it, and masato can tell that he almost doesn’t, but maybe tashiro thought he needed to hear it out loud, feel it taking up space. maybe he was right.
“your caring sucks, senpai. it killed you.”
masato doesn’t want to follow that thread. “how many times have you been here, tashiro-kun?”
tashiro doesn’t buy into it. his demeanor is at once solemn and jarringly pleading, “senpai, won’t you live for once?”
masato means to say it like a joke, because it is one, but by accident the words, “how could I begin to deny you,” are dropping off his tongue, he doesn’t even know why, he doesn’t know why he said that, and no amount of exaggerated irreverence can hide from tashiro—eyes like cleavers, more like—the characters slipping into the water.
the ripples aren’t all that big, but they’re big enough.
like when your head aches, or the gash in your chest is losing you too much blood, or the water is tugging itself a little too close to that gash to be comfortable. something like that. something like that. it’s enough.
he doesn’t think he’s making any sense. it’s just too warm.
“maa-kun,” his older brother’s crooning, pushing his damp bangs off his forehead with cold fingers, “I think you’re sick.”
masato blinks away what he hopes is sweat. “gross.”
“not gross, worrying. sit up please.”
“I’ll throw up.”
“you won’t.”
“you’re right, I won’t.”
he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, on the couch that he’s sweating all over, and he’s watching a fan across the room spin and it’s nauseating and he stops looking at it. he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, by his older brother, because his mom’s out of town visiting her sister. he’s getting fussed over in the middle of the night, feeling a little out of his body. feeling a little—not at all—a lot like a little kid again. feeling sick, and pathetic.
he goes into the bathroom, wobbly and upset and over-warm, and he throws up.
—
reality’s tearing itself up, his dreams are eating it up, he’s falling apart and melting at the seams, he sits in almost-too-cold water until he thinks he’s gonna throw up again.
put him on ice, already, the sooner the funeral the sooner he can get some fucking rest.
his older brother’s sitting against the door frame, slipping in and out of consciousness. he murmurs, reaching forward to pet his hair, “‘s it too cold?”
masato doesn’t think it’s sweat. “it’s okay.”
—
it wouldn’t have been a very good joke, even if it’d come out right.
masato thinks he just choked around, “I want to. I want to.”
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I Can Do It With A Broken Heart x Marella Redek.
Reminder of who Marella is for understanding: she’s quite popular at Foxfire, even though pretty secret. Presented as someone that knows everything that’s going on, and kinda rules the school. But with a quite difficult familial situation. Soo.
« I can read your mind, “She’s having the time of her life” »: she seems to have fun, always smiling at school and happy.
« There in her glittering prime, the light refracts sequin stars off her silhouette every night »: as a sort of princess, she shines. I get a bit the prom queen vibe from Marella tbh.
« I can show you lies »: Sophie has to be reminded a few times of Marella’s story. It doesn’t show.
« Cause I’m a real tough kid, I can handle my shit »: her problems, her mother’s mood swings, her father doesn’t seem very present, she made herself tough.
« They said “Babe you gotta fake it till you make it” and I did »: she did. We don’t remember half the time, we don’t see, she went into the war against Neverseen as nothing just cause she wanted to be useful.
« Lights, camera, bitch smile »: own the world, she repeats everyday before going to school.
�� Even when you want to die »: even when it’s chaos at home, Caprise is in a bad state, even when Marella is worried, even when Marella is scared.
« He said he’d love me all his life, but that life was too short »: this is, for Marella, when she gets in an argument with her mother, I’m sure it happens, and she feels bad, and unloved.
« Breaking down I hit the floor »: I have this feeling, which you can argue, that it happens to her pretty regularly to just break down on bad days, cry in her room and unable to move.
« All the pieces of me shattered as the crowd was chanting “More!” »: it’s more everyday. School, being prom and rumors queen, helping her mother, learning to control her pyrokinesy, taking active part in the war.
« I was grinning like I’m winning, I was hitting my marks »: she is playing her role. We don’t see her much in the series before Stellarlune, but evertime we catch a glimpse of her, Sophie is admirative. So she is playing the role every time.
« Cause I can do it with a broken heart »: I say her heart is scattered. If not of romance. At least for her mother.
« I’m so depressed I act like it’s my birthday, everyday ». Yeah I know elves don’t celebrate birthdays. But the idea of playing transform everyday in a party feels very Marella.
« I’m so obsessed with him but he avoids me, like a plague » *looks towards lava cake and the fact that a non-acknowledging Fitz would avoid her*. But apart from that, she probably had to revisit her social circle when her Talent was activated, and some may have started to avoid her.
« I cry a lot but I’m so productive »: listen. Everyone in this group has a whole notebook of 2AM poetry/drawings/songs. Or piles of crafted things. Second, she probably goes to train every moment she feels bad. Therefore is productive.
« It’s an art »: she’s an art.
« You know you’re good when you can even do it with a broken heart »: that’s the encouragement she gives herself everyday
« I can hold my breath, I’ve been doing it since he left »: been holding her breath forever, even more since she unlocked her Pyrokinesy.
« I keep finding his things his drawers, crucial evidence I didn’t imagine the whole thing » I dunno. Maybe about her role, her involvement with the black swan before book 9. Like. She was in the team. She had her talent activated. And then she disappeared for a good while. But she sets things on fire. She has training. So she didn’t imagine it.
« I’m sure I can pass this test ». Any bad day is just life playing yo-yo. Destiny testing. She can do it. That’s how she thinks.
« In stilettos for miles »: girl is swag and fashion. She wears the stilettos.
« He said he’d love me for all times, but that time was quite short »: as the « He said he’d love me all his life, but that life was too short », talks of her family, her mother.
« You know you’re god… And I’m good! Cause I’m miserable, and nobody even knows! »: since she convinced herself that’s how it works. And no one really sees she’s behind. She’s feeling less fine someday. And nobody knows.
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