for the fic writer ask game:
oh wow i totally forgot i reblogged that. thank you!
3 ⧽. what's something you like about your writing?
stop trying to make me compliment myself Umm i like my use of motifs and metaphysical plot objects. for me personally i'm a failed Film Writer/Director in a fic writer's body so motifs are important. like purple/lavender in tgwwtbg, the mouse in hound, the concept of wishes in mouth invaders... having something to refer back to that's not necessarily a literal memory, and can be more metaphorical, is really enjoyable to write. and hopefully read
8 ⧽. what part of [insert fic] is your favorite?
hound: i could have written 10k words of him just taunting the warden in the rec.
tgwwtbg: it's hard to pin down but the mausoleum scene sticks in my head a lot.
10 ⧽. what genre is generally the easiest or most enjoyable for you to write? which is the hardest?
easiest/most enjoyable: taboo enemies to lovers, pining, world-building, eventual smut, canon personalities
hardest: non-canon characterizations (eg. i can't write gerard being like emotionally consistent or doting), instant smut, anything historical, omegaverse, orgys (like who can keep track of that!!)
19 ⧽. give a hint/teaser about something you're writing without any context or explanation! tease us haha
The guy at the counter had his feet up, as if he was waiting for the 'lights, camera, action!' to put him in character. He was a character. To run a joint like this, it's deemed a necessity. Frank never saw pizza-faced teenagers running quacko stores. At least back in Brunswick, the antique stores were run by antique people.
This person couldn't have been much older than Frank.
That would mean they'd understand his plight.
"Welcome."
Frank saw his eyes flick up from the comic book–some indie tripe, probably–and hurry back down. The introduction was hardly befitting of an experienced clerk.
"Hey..." Frank nodded, flashing a farcical smile for the half-second they locked eyes. Frank tried his best to look the part of a busy customer, but nothing on the shelves presented a solution to his problem. Where were the priceless jewels? Where were the gold and silver bullions? Why does this guy keep fucking staring?
"D'you just get outta the hospital?"
The intrusive question instantly sent Frank ducking to a smudged mirror-clock-thingy on the lower shelf. Fuck. A hospital would have been a safer bet.
Frank scrambled for a reply as he fixed his hair in the mirror-clock-thing. "Uh–No. No. Um–Biking... incident."
"Oh really?" The clerk turned the page. "I hear bruised apples make good pies."
What the fuck?
