Hiii!:) I would love to hear the answer to 21, 23 and 28. Thanks.:)
Hi anon!!! thanks for asking!!! <3
21. What was the first fanfic you ever wrote?
the very very very first ever was a snippet of buffy fanfic that i wrote when i was maybe 15 and never finished or posted, and the first one i finished was a heart so transparent, which has shades of finishing that other first one which might be part of why a heart so transparent is i think pretty different from everything else i’ve written.
23. Name a fic you’ve written that you’re especially fond of & explain why you like it.
Any Instrument. Writing it was the most intrinsically rewarding thing I’ve ever done. I loved the process, I loved living in that world and in those spaces, I loved the way the story unfolded, I loved being able to get as immersed in the world as I was able to, I loved having the time and space to tell a story I really wanted to tell, I loved being a part of that writing community at that moment in time and the time spent talking to my beta and to other writers and hanging out in chatzy and the mod support, I loved feeling like I was able to rise to the challenge of writing that story and writing it for the authors who got me into this fandom and who remain two of the writers I most admire. Everything. It was a fantastic experience. And I started rereading it once and it didn’t suck!!! That was pretty cool too!!!!! All that said, I’m struggling to articulate what I do or would like about it from a reader’s perspective bc so much of my attachment to it has to do with the experience of writing it. But I think I’d like the settings and the pace and the concept?
28. If someone were to draw a piece of fanart for your story, which story would it be and what would the picture be of?
It would be Harry and Draco in the orchard in Any Instrument. Like ninety different versions of that scene. But also a lot of scenes from Any Instrument (@anemonensblog drew one here and @apriicat drew one here and I am in love with both of them and have sat here staring at them lovingly for the last few minutes) and lots of stuff from Make Me a Headline and The Vanishing Department and On Open Wings and No Greater Victory and okay I can think of scenes from every fic I’ve ever written and…look, I’m a fic writer, it is a fairly safe bet that I am thirsty af for art of my fic and over nine different moons when it happens and there is absolutely no going wrong ever. Not that that’s why you were asking i just got carried away with the question!!!
He was not at ninety-four. Ninety-four was the whispered words, “Thank you. You were amazing.” They echoed inside Andrew’s head over and over, like they were an offering, a prayer, a goodbye, like they were pushed out of his body with his dying breath. It was irritating and he was going to bring it up on the bus. He was going to spell it out nice and slow how Neil needed to stop living like he was dying and start living like the exy junkie he was.
Ninety-five was turning around and seeing nothing. Not nothing in the sense that Neil was nothing, but nothing in the sense of panic, of worry, of standing on the edge of the rooftop looking down thinking “Would it hurt if I fell?” The space where Neil should have been filled with emotions that Andrew swore he would never feel again.
Ninety-six was finding his bag. It wasn’t the bag that held his entire life, that was locked away in the Fox Tower, safe. It was the bag that held his future. A future he knew Neil wanted in the way he clutched the key he gave him back in August. A key that was left in the God forsaken bag with Neil nowhere in sight.
For ninety-seven, Kevin was there. The other foxes were there too but the words Kevin formed with his breath passing over his voice box and the movements of his tongue and jaw, were the only things that mattered. Kevin’s mouth moved, sound traveled in vibrations through the air, hit Andrew’s eardrums, and then his hands were around Kevin’s neck. There were lies and half-truths and Andrew hated those. Again not in the sense he hated Neil but in the sense that he hated the word ‘please’ and ‘misunderstanding’. He hated how he didn’t hate Neil because of all the lies. And for that, ninety-seven.
Ninety-eight was the phone call that Neil had been found.
Ninety-nine was walking through the hotel door and seeing him crumple in agony. It was the hissed “Don’t” as he did his best sooth away the pain. It was the eyes that were Nathaniel’s with hints of Neil peeking out behind his irises. It was the look of a man staring helplessly as the executioner readied the guillotine. It was the words “I’m sorry” like he had something to be sorry for. It was his attitude that no matter how beat up he got, remained impeccably intact. And it was the question he still had the gall to ask: “Am I at ninety-four yet?”