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Pick any passage of 500 words or less from any fanfic I’ve written, and comment to this post with that selection. I will then give you the equivalent of a DVD commentary on that snippet: what I was thinking when I wrote it, why I wrote it in the first place, what’s going on in the character’s heads, why I chose certain words, what this moment means in the context of the rest of the fic, and anything else that you’d expect to find on a DVD commentary track.

Ask me a question about one of my fanfics or fanfic series. It can be absolutely anything in any fic and I will tell you the honest-to-goddess answer (even on the progress/plans for next chapters of current series).

Don’t hold back. Whatever you ask, I'll answer truthfully and as completely as possible. You can also ask about my writing as a whole, if you like.

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Before Mal’s death, they were opposites—Cobb rarely left the United States except for family gatherings in France or business trips. Arthur traveled everywhere and anywhere, for jobs, for pleasure, for both. It felt strange for Arthur to be the one receiving bottles of Tuscan chianti and dried plums from Tokyo in his small, neat living room. The packages rarely came with return addresses or even notes, but there was only one person Arthur knew who would send him such indulgences. Sometimes, the boxes contained giant packages of torrone, the sweet almond nougat from Siena, and beautiful pressed paper dolls in red paper kimonos, fragile and scented with incense from thousands of miles away. Cobb knew perfectly well Arthur disliked sweets, and had no use for pretty baubles; those invariably ended up at the Cobb home, where two lonely little children fought over who would sit on his lap first and beg news of Daddy while their grandmother, haughty and thin-lipped with disapproval, stood watching with her arms tightly crossed. Arthur began taking extra pains to observe Cobb when they were working, just so he could tell James and Philippa simple details like how their father outsmarted four bad men with just a smile and a joke, or the way Cobb deliberated every decision he made these days, with the hope the right answer would lead him home to family. Lack of imagination was one thing, but observation and anticipation of needs was quite another. I come, I go oh_simone

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A silence slithers in, and it is only after it has settled that Arthur remembers to say: “I’m sorry.” “Yeah. Me too.” “Um.” Arthur tries to think. “Will… I hear he was a good friend of yours.” “He was the first person outside of my mother who knew I was a wizard,” Merlin says quietly. “He was the first person I told.” “Oh. …Wow.” “It’s always difficult, that first person. It’s a big step, you know? It’s almost like-“ He waves his hands vaguely. “Almost like you’re telling yourself too. Like it’s real now.” “But you’re born with magic, right?” Arthur asks. “So it’s always been real.” “I mean…” Merlin shrugs. “Yes. Of course. But now it’s like there’s an alibi, almost…? An affirmation of sorts. Like, you’re less alone.” “An alibi…” “Look, I was young, and I didn’t have a clue, okay? I was a small-town boy in a big city. It was… ” Merlin shrugs again, a little more desperately. “I don’t know. Will was there, and he was someone who can say, ‘I know what’s going on and it’s okay’. Someone who’s loyal to you and you can be loyal to. You know what I mean?” Arthur nods, smiling faintly. “That’s important.” “Yeah,” Merlin says softly. “Yeah, it is.” A Lever and a Place to Stand twoskeletons

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"I wish the ring had never come to me...I wish none of this had happened." "So do all who live to see such times, but that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us. There are other forces at work in world, Frodo, besides the will of evil. Bilbo was meant to find the ring. In which case, you also were meant to have it... and that is an encouraging thought." Lord of the Rings: The Fellowship of the Ring J. R. R. Tolkien

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Still, I wonder if we shall ever be put into songs or tales. We're in one, or course; but I mean: put into words, you know, told by the fireside, or read out of a great big book with red and black letters, years and years afterwards. And people will say: "Let's hear about Frodo and the Ring! " And they'll say: "Yes, that's one of my favourite stories. Frodo was very brave. wasn't he, dad?" "Yes, my boy, the famousest of the hobbits, and that's saying a lot."'     'It's saying a lot too much,' said Frodo, and he laughed, a long clear laugh from his heart. Such a sound had not been heard in those places since Sauron came to Middle-earth. To Sam suddenly it seemed as if all the stones were listening and the tall rocks leaning over them. But Frodo did not heed them; he laughed again. 'Why, Sam,' he said, 'to hear you somehow makes me as merry as if the story was already written. But you've left out one of the chief characters: Samwise the stouthearted. "I want to hear more about Sam, dad. Why didn't they put in more of his talk, dad? That's what I like, it makes me laugh. And Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam, would he, dad? "'     'Now, Mr. Frodo,' said Sam, 'you shouldn't make fun. I was serious.'     'So was I,' said Frodo. Lord of the Rings: The Two Towers J. R. R. Tolkien

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“Why aren’t you falling over?” Ellen asked Anna. Anna snickered, looking at the wobbling, chuckling Castiel. “He’s a wimp, that’s why. Nerdy little Cas. If we’d had a childhood, I’d have called him that.” “He’s practically twice your size right now,” Ellen said disbelievingly. “It’s the order that counts,” Anna said, and winked at Ellen downright suggestively. “You okay there, Cas?” Dean asked from where he was kneeling in front of the angel. Castiel shrugged hard enough to nearly fall down. “I feel fine, Dean,” he said as Dean righted him again and turned a pleading look at Ellen. “I’m too old for your charms, Winchester,” Ellen stated, only to hesitate and lean back. “Well, I’ll take Anna off your hands. She looks less likely to vomit in your car.” “Ah, gross,” Dean complained. “Your angels, your responsibility,” Ellen said. Anna frowned at her. “I’m not his, Castiel is.” “It’s true,” Castiel said solemnly, nodding with a very big sweep of his head. “But Dean doesn’t belong to anyone.” “Aaaanyone,” Anna agreed. Castiel nodded again, and turned to give the man in front of him an excited look. “Did you know Mother Nature’s a single woman, Dean?” “She’s going to teach every angel to rearrange the sky,” Anna added. “And then help all the women find the perfect guy.” “Let me guess,” Dean said dryly. “It’s raining men.” “Hallelujah,” Ellen finished. She Taught Every Angel To Rearrange The Sky luchia13

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The problem then became that Castiel had stopped talking to Dean, and was now made aware once again of Crowley’s presence in the car. He managed to deal with this insult to his heavenly nature for about fifteen minutes. Then: “Stop that!" "Stop what?" "Stop. It. I haven't bloody done anything!” Crowley snapped. “I don’t recall ever saying otherwise.” “Then stop it!” “I am not doing anything.” “Yes, you—fucking ow! See?! Stop that!” Crowley looked with appealing eyes at Dean. “Tell your angel to keep his wings to himself!” Dean raised an eyebrow into the rear view mirror. “His wings? Cas, what are you doing?” “Nothing purposefully,” Castiel said evenly. “I am simply having difficulties keeping my wings within my vessel at all times nowadays. It’s a result of my exile from the Host, I’m afraid.” “Bullshit. That is bullshit,” Crowley hissed. “You’re deliberately poking me, and it burns, you bastard.” Carpooling alchemyalice

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The mechanic says, "If you're male and you're Christian and living in America, you father is your model for God. And if you never know your father, if your father bails out or dies or is never at home, what do you believe about God?" This is all Tyler Durden dogma. Scrawled on bits of paper while I was asleep and given to me to type and photocopy at work. I've heard it all. Even my boss has probably read it all." "What you end up doing," the mechanic says, "is you spend your life searching for a father and God." ( What you have to consider is the possibility that God doesn't like you.Collapse ) Fight Club Chuck Palahniuk

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How can the poem and the stink and the grating noise--the quality of light, the tone, the habit and the dream--be set down alive? When you collect marine animals there are certain flat worms so delicate that they are almost impossible to capture whole, for they break and tatter under the touch. You must let them ooze and crawl of their own will onto a knife blade and then lift them gently into your bottle of sea water. And perhaps that might be the way to write this book--to open the pages and to let the stories crawl in by themselves. Cannery Row John Steinbeck

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He crosses the front room, which he calls his study, and comes down the staircase. The stairs turn a corner; they are narrow and steep. You can touch both handrails with your elbows, and you have to bend your head, even if, like George, you are only five eight. This is a tightly planned little house. He often feels protected by its smallness; there is hardly room enough here to feel lonely. Nevertheless... ( Think of two people, living together day after day, year after year, in this small space...Collapse ) A Single Man Christopher Isherwood