#although i would also be totally down for waffle house au’s

[benkenobee]

so hear me out y’all. instead of coffee shop au’s, what if we do 24/7 diner au’s? so many more opportunities for absolutely unhinged late night interactions.

[shadowsong26fic]

H, I and P? For the fanfic ask

Hi there!

H: How would you describe your style?

So, there was a meme that was going around tumblr a while back, basically ‘your one writing Quirk/Bad Habit is now the name of your band.’ I’m still rather proud of my answer which was something along the lines of: “Hi! We’re the Neverending Sentences, and we’ll be here all night!”

….yeah. XD

Pretty sure I never met a semicolon I didn’t like. Also en/em-dashes. And ellipses…I know there as Thing where people tend to only use one of the above but I am Greedy and I use them all. Loooooots of run-on sentences.

Which I think ties into the fact that–a lot of what I write, in terms of the narration, tends to be fairly internal-world focused, I think? Occasionally bordering on stream-of-consciousness, almost. Which leads to the fact that almost everything I write is close-third with rotating POVs. Outside of oneshots (i.e., Sanctuary), I think pretty much everything I write uses at least two POVs. Oh, and Deja Vu, kind of, although I bring in a second POV for the epilogue/reveal.

The one exception is something that hasn’t come out yet–our faces like a mirror (a story about Bo-Katan I’m working on that will hopefully but probably not start coming out before the new Clone Wars episodes potentially Joss half of it) is going to break a lot of patterns for me, because this story pretty much needs to be told in first person.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)?

I am a sucker for hurt/comfort/whump-fic. I mean, it does need to center around specific characters (i.e., I’m not really interested in Obi-Wan whump, which is sad, because like 80% of the PT-era H/C fic I’ve found is focused on him), and go in specific directions (i.e., which person is being hurt and which is doing the comforting matters a lot to me). But, yeah. Within those parameters, give me all of the soap-opera-bullshit, taking-bullets-for-each-other, I’m-totally-not-bleeding-out-there-are-More-Important-Things-to-worry-about…this creeps into some of my writing, but I tend to mostly keep it to myself/a fairly small circle. But I read it when I can find it with characters I want it from.

Also, I think I’ve mentioned this before, but I’m…basically pathologically incapable of not creating a bunch of OCs? Like, I think the only fandom I’ve been Invested in where I didn’t was probably Person of Interest, but I mostly use that for crossovers, anyway.

But, yeah–I mean, there’s Lavinia and Dr. Naar and Moonshot and the various apprentices in Precipice, and there will be more in future arcs; also, I mentioned our faces like a mirror above and that will involve several OCs…I posted some snippets a couple days ago about the family I built up for Kallus (three of his and Zeb’s kids are actually my friend’s OC’s; but his sister, her three sons, and the fourth kid are mine.) There are more, but those are just the ones I’ve written/talked about here.

That being said, apart from plot-necessary OCs (and Lavinia), I tend to not share a whole lot of the stuff I write with OCs outside of a small circle who I know would enjoy it. Not because of guilt (I try not to feel guilty about my pleasures, especially in a fandom context), but because what I do is pretty self-indulgent and I know it’s not for everyone.

And then there’s Avatar…XD

P: Are you what George R. R. Martin would call an “architect” or a “gardener”? (How much do you plan in advance, versus letting the story unfold as you go?)

Gardener. Deeeeeefinitely a gardener. Like, I generally have a vague layout for the garden, so to speak–I know what I want to plant there and roughly where the different flowers/veggies/whatever should go, buuuuut I definitely make things up as I go. Precipice is actually way more solidly-plotted than most things I write, but I still have some gaps in the next seven arcs, and part of why I slowed down a bit for a while was that I had some major gaps in arcs Five and Six.

Distaff has stalled for similar reasons–I mean, partly because I did stuff out of order (Obi-Wan needs to do some stuff before leaving for Utapau, but I already did the Opera House because I’m dumb), but also because there’s three or four different ways I could go with the rest of it and I keep waffling, lol.

I also have a bunch of white space in our faces like a mirror, and one of the reasons I haven’t gotten around to fleshing out my Bail Unfucks the Timeline AU is because of all the white space there.

Basically, for like 99% of my fic (that’s longer than a one-shot, at least), I have a general idea of Major Plot Points, but a lot of the ‘how I get there’ is super vague until I actually sit down and do it. Which does lead to stalling out and a bunch of half-finished WIPs, but when it works, I think I get some pretty cool stuff out of it?

Ask me writing questions!

[breitzbachbea]

You’re an asshole but I love you [FrUK Drabble]

Preface: This drabble was born out of @crispyliza‘s tags for another FrUK fanfic where she expressed her love for Francis centered Fruk. It’s just a drabble and needs editing but I’ll hope it’s what you wished for nonetheless. Also the title is taken from True Love by P!nk, fight me Summary: François’ best friend is once more disappointed by her favourite Englishman and comes to him to rant about it. She’s not alone with her feelings. Warning: This is an Human AU and set in my Mafia!AU series. It contains major human OCs and minor aph OCs. Ships: FrUK, Tarielle or Arielle&Tahir, mentioned ScotFra, mentioned UltsterScot, mentioned Railey.

„I hate him so much sometimes, I wish I would have in first place,“ Arielle said after she came into François’ office. Sun was setting over Paris and soon enough, the street lamps outside would turn on and chase the grey-ish blue away. No one could however probably chase the kind of blue away Arielle felt. François smiled faintly while his eyebrows arched upwards. “What did Tahir do now? Anything in particular?” “He exists and rubs me the wrong way!” Arielle said and let herself fall onto one of the armchairs in his office. He sighed and chuckled quietly, then got up from his office chair and sat next to Arielle. “So it’s just another day of you regretting what is instead of what could be.” Arielle shot him a suspicious and miffed look; she still didn’t like it when people said she had a crush on Tahir instead of just appreciating him as a friend. Since that one evening in Germany however, she had been opposing those kind of comments less vehemently. François suspected it had something to do with jealousy, especially after the stunt the Englishmen had pulled. Speaking of Englishmen, it reminded him of the text he had received earlier this day – and tried to forget ever since.

Thankfully, Arielle drew his attention to the one that worried her, not him. “He’s just – ugh! Working, working, working, always fucking working!”

This is business only François, keep that in mind.

“Sometimes I wonder if he thinks he’s being paid by hour like every other office worker, I can’t explain this bullshit any other way!” Arielle says. “But what he can shove even more up his ass are his snide comments about how I’m apparently never working! Fuck him!”

Sometimes I think, you strike yourself, just for fun. You’re the fucking boss François, how can you slack off like that?! Nothing comes from nothing, get your arse up, frog. “I can definitely see where you’re coming from,” he said. “Although I really can’t see our Gentleman making snide comments towards you.” “Gentleman! Manners are fine but a stick up one’s ass this size is not!” Arielle declared. “Speaking of that, the snide comments surprise you?! Sometimes I think he’s nothing but biting and belittling comments! I like myself a tall man, but not when they are on a high horse!” Don’t you want to maintain the good old French traditions and just give up? Sometimes, I think I should write you a poem, but I haven’t found enough poetical words for hate in thesaurus yet. One day I’m sure. I’ll put off my usual level of sarcasm when you get an unusual level of spine. “Oh, and speaking of snide, if I’ll ever have to get into another argument about people I like, I’m going to start listing off every single trait which makes them better than him! I’ve had it with the weird looks, and snorts and ‘Arielle, you can’t be serious!’” Just go back to this blasted Scotsman if you like him so much more than me! You two are plotting my downfall behind my back already, anyways! I can’t believe how you can even remotely trust someone like the Russians, let alone like them. I swear to God, one day I’m going to go on a suicide mission just to kill this Spaniard. If you try to help him, I guarantee for nothing.

“I can’t be serious?! I’m having none of that of the man who’s hanging around someone like Robert! Robert, out of all people! Tahir must have flushed his common sense down the toilet somewhere along the last two years!” “Well, first of all, they’re colleagues and I know Dési can drive you up the wall as well, but you still love her, too”, François said. Though it was hard to sort his sorts when a certain Englishman was hijacking them. Arielle leant in to him with a jerk. “Well, Dési might me a total nutcase, but Robert is one of the worst wankers I’ve ever met! And it’s not like Tahir had much sympathy for him all the years they worked together before!” François sighed and rubbed his eyes. “You have to admit though that Robert has changed for the better over the last two years.” “He’s still a jerk!“ “You know what, I can’t actually deny that.” And Arthur’s still an asshole, he thought to himself.

“God, sometimes I think Hannah is right when she says that any kind of feelings for this man are forsaken and unjustified,” she hissed, more to her herself than to François, gazing, or rather contemptuously squinting, into space. “You’re telling things like these Hannah but not me?!”  François asked. His offended look was only met with a tired one by Arielle. “Hannah isn’t a little snitch who holds things like these against me” “She could tell Gavin! You know how close these two are to each other!”

“She won’t tell Gavin” Arielle said. “This is a thing between two friends. Friend talk stays with friends and girl talk stays with girls.” “I can’t believe you think I’m not trustworthy,” François said and pouted. His thoughts had went astray again, however. So that’s why Arielle and Hannah had taken a walk all alone the last times they had met their Scottish allies and friends. He remembered his talk with Gavin as well even when the topics slipped his mind right now. It was filled with his laughter, his sweet smile and the way his deep green eyes sparkled when he grinned. The reassurance, the well-meant jokes and the compliments he gave him. Gavin McAlistair had grown into quite the man and right now, François thought he had become even more charming than he had been as young adult, when the two of them had been boyfriends. What a lucky woman Hannah was to be his fiancée. “François.” Arielle’s firm voice – and the snap of her finger in front her face – jolted him out of his thoughts. “Earth to François, listen to me when I try to comfort you. It’s not that I don’t think you’re trustworthy … I just needed someone like Hannah this time.” “Alright,” he said. “I forgive you.” He grinned at her and she grinned back. After a moment of silence, they simultaneously sighed. “I don’t know what to do with him, though,” Arielle said. “Then I’ll look him and he smiles at me as if he was one of Disney’s Prince Charmings and flirts with me.” She snorted, a thin smile on her lips. “With his basic French skills. But I don’t care, my heart will always make a jump when he says ‘Ma belle’. No matter how much I rant, I’ll always be a lady to him, no, he loves me for my temper, too. And he listens like no other, with the most attention and politeness I’ve ever seen in a man.” She chuckled. “I hate how I can’t hate him at the end of the day. Not one single bit.” François stared at the ground in front of him as he listened to her say that. Here, let me help you. A gentleman’s ought to do that. I hate your hair for being so perfect. One day you’re going to wake up bald because I’ve made a wig out of it. Dear lord, no one should look this good. You want to speak French? Bon d’accord! I wish I could catch the smell of your cooking and of your clothes sometimes and fill the house with it whenever I need it. Sometimes it’s good to know I’m not alone. The door opened with a loud bang and both Arielle and François started at the sound. “Yoooo, I brought waffles,” Désirée said after she walked into the office, a small shopper basket in her hand. “Where did you get waffles from?” Arielle asked mistrustful. “That’s a secret.” “Désirée, tell me immediately where you get those from or I’ll have to throw them out and evacuate the office”, François said. “One can never be too sure with you.”

“You’ll never get me to sing out,” Désirée said and kept staring him straight into the eyes while she fished a waffled from the basket and took a bite. “I’m still not eating any of these,” Arielle said, shaking her head. “Your loss,” Désirée said with her mouth full of waffle. “Don’t you have better things to do than go around and make … or find waffles?” François asked her. “Don’t you two have better things to do than Arielle moaning how her favourite piece of ass is totally making heart eyes at Robert and … why ever you are down?” “Would you stop clinging onto that rumor?!” Arielle said. “I’m its originator, if I would deny it I’d stand there like someone who only says scandalous things to start shit,” she said and shoved the last piece of the waffle into her mouth. “And since that is my reputation already, no need to reinforce it. “How can someone be so full of shit?!” Arielle asked Désirée but François only halfheartedly heard her answer. Instead he stared at his phone. At the reason he had been down. ‘There’s a new French restaurant that opened up in my borough’ Arthur had wrote to him this morning. ‘Oh, did you go there yet? Or is this an invitation for a date?’ ‘No, I thought of taking you there because if there is one thing I need is Frenchman arguing over food, loudly and preferably in French.’ He rolled his eyes when his phone started to vibrate and Arthur’s name and picture appeared on the screen. “Allô?” “Oi Frog, you didn’t answer me.” “You don’t answer me for weeks on end sometimes, so I really don’t see how you’re one to talk here.” “I’ll always answer when we try to make plans, though, but that’s too much to ask for when it comes to your irresponsible ass!” Arthur said, causing confusion to François, who thought he was in the wrong movie. “Plans?! What kind of plans?! I thought you don’t need me around or did I misread your last message?!” “Learn to speak sarcasm!” “Usually sarcasm is reserved to you being a dick! And I speak it fluently, thank you, otherwise you’d look like a toddler throwing a temper tantrum to me most of the time!” “Fine! Do you want to go now or not?!” François bristled.  “On one condition.” “You better be reasonable about this,” Arthur hissed. “Be a gentleman and apologise.” “I hate you, frog. But I’m sorry for not being clear what I wanted from you . I’ll tone my sarcasm down next time.” “Oh really, I’d like to see you try,” François said. “Only when I really do want to say something nice and affirmative, not the rest of the time, don’t get your hopes up.” “I can’t wait for the next time you’ll spare a compliment for me to prove this. I’d only have to wait roughly fifty years!” “You’re exhausting me,” Arthur said and François leant back, crossing his legs. “I can’t remember you saying this outside of the bedroom, chér, this must be a first.” The streetlamps turned on outside and raised the grey-blue veil that had been drawn over Paris’ streets. François felt the one drawn over his own hear disappear as well.