#these were so fun 🥹

[fastcardotmp3]

hii! 18, 20, 29 for the ask thing? ^-^

hello!! thank you for asking! <3

18. What’s one of your favorite lines you’ve written in a fic?

ooh this is a tricky one because I have the memory of a goldfish when it comes to things I write as soon as I post them, but I'm very attached to this bit from always; never again-

Robin doesn’t know why it triggers her whole body to be overtaken with overwhelm, maybe the feeling of being understood, of being heard in the way Steve might have heard her had it been someone else and he had been here.

Then again if it had been someone else, Robin wouldn’t feel like this, this wave of physical hollowness, such intense overflowingness. It is a presence, this absence, so loud in its lacking that she can feel it expanding, expanding, expanding in her chest cavity until all there is to do is for it to burst.

20. What’s a favorite title for a fic you’ve written?

I gotta stand by my guy someone else's favorite song 🫡 I love a title whose meaning becomes clear over the course of the story and I think this is the closest I've gotten to achieving that. grief is found in someone else's favorite song! love is found in someone else's favorite song! you know!!!

29. Share a bit from a fic you’ll never post OR from a scene that was cut from an already posted fic. (If you don’t have either, just share a random fic idea you have that you don’t plan on getting to.)

this is a short transition scene from a fic I started, like, early last fall before metamorphoses devoured all my time and energy, and I have no idea if I'll ever return to it (probably not) but if I do, it's gonna get revamped to hell and back. I like this scene though! (which is, perhaps, why it's such a similar premise to the hair-cutting scene in meta fjsdlkfj don't LOOK at me)

The heat of the west coast gets to Eddie in August and, in a fit of frustration and the after effects of a you’re supposed to be dead you should have died why aren’t you dead nightmare and just plain old sweat, he takes a pair of kitchen scissors and cuts his hair off at his jawline. 

And then he cries. 

It’s jagged and he can’t get it even with the state of the curls and the state of his shaking hands and there’s hair filling the sink and Jonathan and Argyle are asleep in the next room because it’s, like, three o’clock in the morning and Eddie is having a nervous breakdown apparently because he should be dead by now and his name isn’t Munson anymore, no matter how much his friends ignore that fact, and it’s so fucking hot in California in August. 

It’s Jonathan who finds him in the morning, still sitting on the bathroom floor below a sink filled with chunks of haphazardly chopped hair and a pair of scissors resting on the tile by his hip and Eddie’s not crying anymore but he very well might start all over again when Jonathan just looks at him, breathes a quiet oh, and then disappears for no more than two minutes before returning with Argyle. 

“Oh, dude, short’s gonna be such a good look on you,” Argyle smiles sleepily as he drags Eddie to sit on the lid of the toilet and takes possession of the scissors in surprisingly agile hands. “Argyle’s salon is open for business.” 

He’s gentle and that almost makes Eddie cry and Jonathan brings him a cup of tea which really isn’t Eddie’s thing but that too is enough to have his throat closing up so he just shuts his eyes and waits until Argyle pats his shoulder and says, “all done, man,” before he looks at himself in the mirror. 

Shaggy enough to not have to relive the trauma of a middle school buzzcut but still kind of an awkward length, it is at the very least less suffocating in the summer heat. He looks in the mirror and runs a hand through those wild curls gone untamed by the lessened weight pulling down on them. 

Eddie Arda looks back at him.