Wisps-of-Words

Which of your fics would you keep the basic plot of but rewrite completely?

Anything that you’d like to write but feel like you’re unable to?

How would you describe your writing style?

Do you have any OCs? Do you have a story for them?

What’s a tag you never want to use for your works even when it applies?

What’s your ratio for rating your works?

Your favourite ao3 tag.

How slow is a slow burn?

Thoughts on cliffhangers.

Top three favourite fic tropes.

Three tropes that are fine but overrated.

If you write in more than one language, what’s the difference?

Rate your worldbuilding skills from 1 to 10.

Write and share the first sentence of a new fic. Just that.

What’s your favourite plotless fic you have written?

Are one-shots really underrated?

Past or present tense? Why?

First, second, or third person?

Share a snippet from a wip without giving any context for it.

Do you work on a single project or many at the same time? How does that work for you?

Can you accurately predict how long your fics are going to be? If you can, what’s your secret?

What is it about watching the same two idiots falling in love over and over again?

Dialogue or description? Why is the other one so hard?

Thoughts on flashbacks/flashforwards.

Is writing the whole thing beforehand better or worse than writing it as you go?

What would you describe as OOC?

Do you agree that one shouldn’t start a story with a piece of dialogue?

Any writing advice that works for you and you feel like sharing?

What’s the hardest thing about writing?

Describe a fic that almost happened, but then it didn’t.

What was the most difficult fic for you to write (but in the end you made it)?

Do you have a word/expression that you always use in your writing?

Give your writing a compliment.

Do you write to improve? Or is that not a concern for you?

Thoughts on writing challenges/contests.

How do you come up with fic titles? What’s the one you’re most proud of?

Do you research before writing or while you write? Is it fun or boring for you?

“This never happened” fix-it fics or “this happened but” fix-it fics?

Wildest AU scenario you have written?

The villain jolted upright, tears still falling down their cheeks. Two splattered in their bloodstained lap, one after the other, and rolled slowly down the waterproof material. They’d probably end up pooling in their socks with the rest of the blood. Gross. 

Their eyes widened, black pupils swallowing their irises. Blue? Green? The hero had never seen them without their mask before. The villain had freckles too, a deep coppery-brown against the sudden pallour of their skin. They weren’t usually that pale–oh god, were they sick? Dying? Maybe that’s why they were crying, maybe the Surgeon had told them-

“Hero?” they whispered. 

“That’s me! No need to look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I think I am seeing a ghost.”

The hero twisted to look over their shoulder. Nothing but fluorescent lights and bright white corridors now dotted with blood. Definitely no ghosts. “No, just me. Am I missing…something?” Oh. Ohhhhhhh. “Wait, am I a ghost?” They bunched their hands into fists, their nails biting crescents into their palms and their bruised knuckles threatening to split. They seemed pretty solid, but weirder things had happened. 

“Well, you might be. I did kill you.”

The protagonist spun around - too fast. Everything blurred. The wall smashed into their shoulder, the floor into their knee.

When their vision cleared, the mercenary was - unfortunately - still standing there, cigarette burning red in the shadowy hall.

"Shit," the protagonist wheezed. "Hoped you were a hallucin... a hallucination."

"Aw." The merc kicked one of their pricy boots up on the wall and grinned. "Am I in your dreams, baby?"

"Nightmares," the protagonist muttered. "We got a problem?"

The merc lifted a shoulder. "Nobody's paid me to kill you tonight."

Somewhere a door cracked, and light and music and laughter spilled into the hall. The protagonist froze, but whoever it was declined to come up the stairs. The door closed again, leaving the protagonist and their old... enemy? nemesis? professional acquaintance? Whatever they were, the two of them were alone again.

"Of course," the mercenary said thoughtfully. "Could head downstairs and see who's hiring."

"Ha ha," the protagonist said and pulled their feet up to stand.

Their legs didn't move. Their legs couldn't move.

The merc made a small, startled exhale. The protagonist tried again to muster their strength, to force their tired body up. Their feet scrabbled helplessly as the mercenary swiftly closed in, straddling the protagonist's legs, touching a hand to the protagonist's side and coming away slick and black in the window moonlight.

"You're bleeding out," the merc said without their trademark sneer. The protagonist gasped as they pressed their hand in hard. "Well, well, well. Might be a lucrative night after all."

"You're not gonna get someone to hire you before I die," the protagonist blurted.

The merc rolled their eyes and adjusted their stance. Sitting more comfortably across the protagonist's lap. Applying pressure to the wound. "Of course not, idiot. You are going to hire me. To save you."

The protagonist gaped. "Haven't got any money," they protested.

The mercenary shrugged again. "How bout a favor in kind?"

"No." The protagonist struggled to at least sit up - and regretted it instantly, the wave of pain and nausea doubling them over.

"Bad time to get all defiant on me, baby," the merc murmured, wrapping their arm tighter around the protagonist's torso to keep the pressure even. "You aren't gone yet, especially if we get you to a decent sawbones. But you aren't walking there yourself."

"You won't let me die," the protagonist grunted, clinging to the merc's arm. The room was turning darker, colder. "You make... make half your money off trying to kill me."

The merc let out a low chuckle. "Not half," they said. "But you do make a point. Hmm."

Their hand gripped the protagonist's chin, turning their face upward. The protagonist tried to fix their bleary eyes into a glare. They doubted it was working.

"Special offer, just for you," the merc purred. "I get your sorry ass out for the low, low price of a please."

"What?" the protagonist gasped.

The merc grinned, leaned in closer. "You say, pretty please, my love. Please save my life."

The world had shrunk to nothing but the merc's smug face. But the protagonist didn't want to die.

"Please," they whispered.

"Uh uh!" The merc stroked their thumb gently along the protagonist's jaw. "Pretty please."

"Pret- pretty please," the protagonist muttered. They stared into those eyes and for a moment they could swear they actually saw a soul swimming in there too. "Please, [Mercenary]. Save my..."

The darkness took them before they could be sure they'd finished. They must have, because they woke up on their own bed, wound cleaned and professionally stitched.