#it'll be a good day even if all i rly wanna do this morning is crash thru the wall like the koolaid guy.

[monsterkissed]

😈✨⛔👀🤲(for this one if u just wanna repost that dio snippet i don't even mind i WILL reread it)✅

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

any time that an innocuous statement early in the fic is actually referencing something dramatic that you could only catch in a reread is precious to me. the whole "burying" conversation in itwan should count because yes it was plot-important but also yes i did know Exactly what i was doing the entire time. i wrote deliberately and with intent to harm.

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

it is above average!

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

i think i sent you the furthest i ever got with "diavolo tries to actually be honest for once in his entire life, rapidly descends into an existential hellscape" but other than that... generally i don't scrap stuff i start. if something exists long enough to make it to print then it'll probably get finished Eventually.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

i can't actually think of a wip i have not already gushed about with you specifically to excess... there is a foomes fic i rly want to write just as soon as i figure out an outline more concrete than "foomes tho" does that count??

✅ What's something that appears in your fics over and over and over again, even if you don't mean to?

every time i read them i see some turn of phrase or wording and i think "god i must have used that 7000 times by now i must look like such a hack" but i do not know if this is just the brain bees.

🤲 Would you please share a snippet of a wip?

i cannot remember if i have shared this bit from the doc known only as "role2wap" yet

Trish loves her father, she thinks. On good days it’s not even a difficult thing to do.

On good days he’s usually in bed until late in the morning, so she gets up and makes her breakfast alone, gets washed, dressed, and checks through the windows for unfamiliar vehicles before he gets up. If she hears this, that is a good sign. If the creaks and thumps of his bedroom floor are slow, tentative, as if he is trying to muffle the sound, then it will not be a good day. She might not even see him until early evening, if at all.

If it is a good day he will come downstairs, only taking a moment to glance around the corners to check that it is her before entering the kitchen, and sometimes even making eye contact when she says “Good morning.” If it is a very good day, he might even smile when he answers. 

After breakfast and, sometimes, a stilted conversation, he will leave. Either upstairs to the office he keeps locked, or out of the house entirely, to wherever it is he goes when he has a job to do. Even he doesn’t know, sometimes, he told her once, staring at her right shoulder and tapping his ragged nails on the side of his coffee cup. He just keeps walking or driving until he gets his call from the Boss. His mouth twitched up in a little smile at the word, and she was glad that he wasn’t looking her in the face. 

Her father is the Boss of Passione’s second-in-command, and he is almost unbearably proud of this. In the course of his job he has committed theft, blackmail, fraud, arson, assault in a wide variety of forms, and murder. Those are just the ones Trish knows about, the ones he will admit to in the course of conversation or the things she can intuit when she does the laundry. She has not asked about any other things he may have done because she does not want to know the answer. She has not asked if he will do these things again, if ordered to, because she already knows the answer.

So she makes him breakfast and does not ask. Sometimes he makes his own, with a little prompting and encouragement, and she does try to encourage him. She can’t avoid the laundry, though. His first attempt at that task ruined half of the clothes she had brought from home, and seeing the pretty, delicate things that her mother had bought for her stained and shrunk and tattered was a punch to the gut she had thought herself long past. He had offered to replace them, at least, but she couldn’t even begin to explain that he couldn’t replace the fact that these are the ones her mother touched and saw her in and looked after for her. 

Her father is almost juvenile in his ineptitude at household chores, approaching even simple tasks with a lack of confidence and sometimes outright confusion that, combined with how unlived-in all the furniture seems, has given her some suspicions about his lifestyle prior to her introduction. There are so many things that he simply does not seem to know how to do. 

One of those things is “be a father” and both of them are well aware of this. After the laundry incident Trish had retreated up to her room for the rest of the day, curled up in her bed sniffling and squeezing her hands into fists and wondering, with increasing bitterness, why he didn’t at least knock and ask if she was alright. If even that was too much to ask, in this nightmare she had been swept up into. 

When, in the early hours of the morning she awoke, still in bed but no longer able to ignore her body’s increasing list of demands, she opened her door to find him sleeping in front of it. From the number of mugs and snack wrappers scattered around him he had been there for some time. When the morning came proper he was up early, explaining between yawns that he would be leaving earlier than usual, to make extra time for some work the previous day that the Boss had had to reschedule at the last minute.

“Afterwards,” he’d said, not making eye contact, “I thought that… I could take you out. Shopping.” And she had felt a little lightness in her chest, because she knew even then that her father cannot stand busy highstreets, hates being in enclosed spaces with other human beings most of all, and outside of his missions avoids it at any cost. 

So she’d nodded, and his eyes even flashed to hers for an instant as he smiled (twitchy, uncertain) and began pulling on his coat. 

“Good. I can’t promise a precise time, but… late afternoon, possibly.”

“That’ll be fine. Thank you. It’ll… It’ll be nice.”

He’d smiled again, making her wonder if it might not be alright after all, until he said, “The Boss suggested it. He even offered me an advance, so we can get you anything you desire. This afternoon, then?”

She’d agreed, probably, or made some neutral sound at least, something that had masked the way her thoughts had turned cold when he’d spoken. Of course he would do it, if the Boss ordered it. He’d take her shopping if the Boss said it was a good idea, perhaps even watch over her room at night when she’d been upset, if the Boss suggested that he should. He’d do anything that man told him to do.

He’d love his daughter, if the Boss told him to do it.