#definitionsfading

I have heard of this before too but thought it was related to an anxiety disorder or something and not very common. is it more common than we think?

I hadn’t considered an anxiety disorder. it seems counterintuitive to me, because (I assume most people do this out of fear of getting their clothes dirtied by the toilet), they still have to get dressed again, in the stall, with their hands dirty. 

“Shit,”Marty pressed himself against the wall and tightened the hold on his gun. “Weshould’ve called it in before following these assholes.”

“It was on thescanner, Marty. I’m sure someone’s gonna show up sooner or later.” Rust wascrouched right behind him, so close Marty could feel his knee digging into hislower back; they could hear the suspects’ voices from one of the farthest roomsof the warehouse.

There’dbeen three murders in the last week, corpses found in the outskirts of Sulphur;at first glance it looked like they’d been mauled by some kind of animal butcloser examination showed all the injuries were definitely made by a humanbeing. The press had gone wild with the story, what with being close to Halloween andall, and now they were claiming there was a werewolf out there. Of course, itwas just a bunch of assholes and a lot of drugs.

“And whatdo we do while they show up?” Marty asked

“There hasto be a second entrance on the other side of the building, le—“

“’Let’ssplit up’, better not be what you were going to say,” Marty hissed before Rustcould get another world out. “Because if it was I’m gonna shoot your dumb assmyself.”

“If wecover both exits we can trap them inside until the fucking cavalry gets here.”

Martyturned around to face the other man. “You saw what these fuckers did to thosepeople. We. Ain’t. Splitting. Up.”

Rustscoffed. “They’re not actual werewolves, Marty, they’re goddamned kids.”

“Kids with machetesand shit, and high on fucking crackor something,” Marty shot back. “We’re outnumbered, Rust. Now, I know you don’tcare much about your personal integrity but I rather not get hacked to shit bycrackheads in a goddamned warehouse out in fucking Sulphur.”

They stared hardat each other until Rust sighed, “alright, keep down. Let’s circle around tocheck the other entrance. Then we’ll go back to the car to call Central. Happy?”

“Fuckingdelighted.”

some of my favorites are The Secret Garden (1993 version), The Green Mile, Shawshank Redemption, The Prince of Egypt............I bet you've seen all these lol

You know what, I actually only know The Green Mile (so beautiful, so painful) and The Prince of Egypt. I might have watched Shawshank Redemption... I am not entirely sure, but if, so long ago that I don’t remember it from the trailer. Will watch that one. You’ve posted about The Secret Garden before, but I never quite ~felt~ it. Just watched the trailer and oh look Maggie Smith! But apparently only for a bit. Doesn’t seem too interesting to me, but I guess why not watch it. If I don’t try, I won’t know if I like it.

Oh my god, Miss Hannah, I’m so ahamed I’ve been promising this story since forever and I haven’t delivered.

Ok, let’s see. Yep, we’d said Rust was an iron worker/blacksmith who’s just moved into a little town (Lousiana? somewhere else? I have no idea) after Sophia’s death. He moves into a kinda isolated house at the edge of town and only has another close neighbour, one Martin Eric Hart.

About the puppy, Rust’s never sure if it’s purebreed, he got him on the road south, stopped to grab some coffee at a convenience store and found some kids selling puppies out of the trunk of their car and bought one almost on a whim (damn, can you elieve I forgot the name of the puppy, I know we said maybe he named it after a town he passed on the way from Alaska, damn, I know I have it written somewhere). The only thing I have actually written is a little scene a few days after Rust moves in, it’s early morning and he’s cuddling in bed with the puppy and kinda thinking about the neigbour. He’s looked over the fence and he’s seen the beehives and a guy in a beekeper’s suit and that’s all he knows at that point. I think theyre formally introduced when the puppy finds a way into Marty’s garden and Rust rushes after him. And sometimes, when Rust’s work get a little too loud the pup just up and strolls to Marty’s house to hang out for a while.

I’M STILL TRYING TO FIGURE MARTY OUT, I don’t know if he’s a fulltime beekeeper (whatever happens he has to be an ethical beekeeper, like, in it for the bees, not for the honey) or just does it as a hobby. One option is, he was a cop that got hurt on the job and the department offered him a full pension so he took it and moved to the small town and then tumbled into beekeeping (how????). The other is, he was a cop but left it (after the divorce?) and moved to this town and he’s still a private detective, maybe some Mrs. Fletcher business, lmao, and he keeps the bees and the garden as a hobby. BUT HE NEEDS TO HAVE AN AWESOME GARDEN. I hadn’t though about other animals, maybe there’s a chipmunk family on one of Marty’s trees and at first Rust’s puppy keeps barking at it but after a while they all become pals and it’s like that photo of a squirrel napping on a dog, lol.

< Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? >

Disclaimer: I don’t have guilty pleasures, period -- just pleasures. 

I unabashedly like to read about kinks I don’t yet know how to write about (that’s a shrinking category, but it still exists); romantic entanglements that I can’t grok well enough to write about but enjoy nevertheless (any fulfilling Rust/Marty fic generally falls into this category); and really lush, extremely indulgent Hannigram-style fic -- tell Me about the cuisine, the cut of Hannibal’s suit, the exquisite quality of Will’s warring emotions... tell Me all of it in purple detail. I live for that ridiculous bullshit.

As far as things I genuinely enjoy writing... really transcendent sexual encounters (like, if someone doesn’t start hallucinating then I’m not here for it kind of transcendent); exquisitely-human struggles with nascent or imminent godhood; the gradual transition from completely solitary to allowing someone in on one’s own terms; and anything time-fuckery related. Additionally: if I can incorporate anything from the Dark Tower into a fic, I most fucking certainly will. It’s at the point where I don’t even write fic anymore unless it’s about something really fucking esoteric, whether in the background or foreground.) 

< Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? >

I am definitely a gardener. I used to think I had to be an architect, and that I wouldn’t be able to craft a solid and coherent story if I didn’t plan it all out down to the most meticulous detail first.

I am slowly learning that even as My own story is being crafted slowly but surely, My own stories often follow that same formula. There are stories on My AO3 that I reflexively want to scrap and rewrite because they were written by a different version of Me, but I like keeping them up and seeing the progression of Myself as a person through My stories.

So, no. I cannot plan for My future self. I can only let the story carry Me, and trust the process.

< Do you have any discarded scenes/storylines/projects? >

I can say that I do, but who’s to say I won’t pick them up again someday...? There are stories that I wrote as a middle-schooler that I still think are so amazing and transcendent at their core that I’d like to rewrite them.

I know the wigs were such an impressive facet of the show, like slay it out costuming and makeup department. do you think they bleached marty’s eyebrows for production? I wish they hadn’t have lmao