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princesscolumbia · 4 months

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Author Thoughts

I'm approaching the end of my third full novel I've written in my life.

One was supposed to be a licensed work but then that license holder got bought by another company that cancelled the IP that book was based on, so now sits on my hard drive. I go back and read it every few years or so, mostly to see how far I've progressed as an author since my early twenties.

The second was pure catharsis, a fanfic about trauma and homelessness and found family and dealing with pain and loss. You can find it on FiMFiction.net and AO3 if you're interested.

My most recent will not be appearing here due to the Dead Dove content (Explanation for those who needed this defined like I did: "Dead Dove" fics are those that have clear tagging, especially on AO3, that there's "problematic" content in the work but people who are triggered by the clearly tagged problematic stuff read it anyway and get upset. Based on the "Dead Dove" meme where the guy looks in the bag clearly marked, "Dead Dove, do not eat" and looks inside and finds, sure enough, a dead dove), but has been some of the most interesting, challenging writing I've ever done where I'm allowing my creative brain to intentionally think, "What's the bad ending and how do I make it interesting?"

When I was writing my first novel, I got to a point about 3/4's through and my writing slowed down significantly. It took two years for me to write it, nine months of that was just on the last 1/4 of the book. It wasn't any more lengthy or challenging than the rest, just I suddenly felt like I was running out of steam and couldn't keep going, even though I'd plotted out pretty much ever plot point and story beat down to specific timing for the climax chapter.

When I was working on my second (completed, I've started a few dozen since my first) work, I got to about 3/4's through...and slowed down. It took over a year to write and, just like my first book, the last 1/4 took the lion's share of that time.

My current book I've been hammering on since early December 2023 (if you're reading this later than the posting date, the first chapter is currently only about a month old by this point), and I actually wrote a full outline complete with copious notes so I wouldn't forget anything I wanted to do with the fic. I'm on Chapter 9 of 11 chapters and an epilogia (Epilogia - n. - collection of epliogues. See also, "Prologia" and "Blame Brandon Sanderson") and sure enough, as I put some paragraph marks between "Chapter 9" and my notes, suddenly I started slowing down. I took an entire day off, thinking I was just burning out, but no, I only didn't want to write as I sat down to actually do the writing.

I've been pondering this for the last week-ish, and I believe it has to do with the project being just about done. This has taken pretty much my entire free time since I started and is a tremendous source of dopamine, and now that I'm getting closer to the end, my idiot monkey brain is seeing the end of the dopamine and is trying to delay the end, hoping that'll keep the dopamine rolling in.

Something that I've been working on may be a solution. I've been dropping little Easter Eggs into my fics so fans of one body of work can be pleasantly surprised when they see something from that work turn up in an apparently unrelated project. A character from My Empire of Dirt might appear in Deviation, an epilog on another project will be a big reveal about a character based on the sudden and unexpected intersection with Lost in the Dark. Sunset Shimmer from Redhead/Redhead winds up meeting with Ranma "Sailor Moon" Saotome from Fission. That sort of thing.

Basically, I'm going to convince my monkey brain that it's ALL just one, massive, ongoing "novel" and the dopamine will flow forever so long as the writing does, too.

Will it work? We'll see if it did based on how quickly I can get Ch. 9 out. 😋

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howtowhumpyourhiccup · 2 months

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Toughen Up

Summary: Takes place after Just a Kid and actually written AFTER Just a Kid.

After everything has happened in Forrædersk, the last thing Heather wants to be is that defenseless girl who could do nothing to save herself or her father.

Warnings: Minor mentions of violence, Injury recovery, mention of gun use

Rating: Teen and Up

Words: 878

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon

Pairing: Minor Dagcup

Characters: Dagur, Heather

Author's Notes: First fic that takes place after Just a Kid that I actually wrote AFTER finishing Just a Kid!

Anyway, I'm in the process of writing short multichapters that also take place between JaK and the sequel. The outline of the sequel is also being worked on.

Enjoy! :)

-XOXOX-

It was at the mall. Dagur distinctly remembers that it happened then. He gave Hiccup his favorite knife, the butterfly kind, yet somehow it has found it’s way back to him.

Or rather, it was in Heather’s possession and he just happens to have it in hand now. His sister is asleep in the car. At least for the time being, she won’t notice that it’s missing.

It’s late in the morning, the sun is warm and so Dagur parked on a dirt road to sit outside at the side, where a random picnic table waits. Never again will families or couples sit here to enjoy the view of endless fields.

The doors of the car are open on his side for if Heather were to wake up or if they need to make a quick getaway.

He flips the knife open with ease, it’s a move he’s familiarized himself with in the years since he first got it. It wasn’t bought, of course. His father wouldn’t have allowed him to. No, it was stolen and not for any particular reason other than because he could and because he wanted it. They’re bad reasons, but at least when he gave it to Hiccup for protection he did so with good intentions. Hiccup needed a way to defend himself, deserved it. And now Dagur supposes he gave it to his sister for the same reason.

A dull aching rests in his chest thinking about the boy. He misses him, his heart aching if he so much as thinks about thinking of him, and he hopes he’s on the mend. When he left him, his ankle was shattered beyond saving and hospitals have run empty of doctors and nurses. Despite this, Dagur still hopes he’s doing better than he was weeks ago.

He truly wishes he could’ve stayed, but leaving was in Hiccup’s best interest. Dagur has ruined his life enough.

But Heather… as her big brother, he owes her protection and he realizes that now. Alvin shot her and he can never let that happen again.

He twirls the knife around and then flips it closed. As soon as she’s well enough, he’ll teach her how to take care of herself.

-XOXOX-

Heather would be lying if she said that Dagur doesn’t still scare her, but he offered to help teach her how to “toughen up” and she liked the sound of that. She was helpless when Alvin shot her father, helpless to all the abuse she suffered, she couldn’t even help Hiccup. She doesn’t want to be that vulnerable ever again.

Of course, they start out with the knife.

“No, you hold it like this,” Dagur tells her as he takes the knife from her and shows her how he holds it. The handle firmly in his hand, blade out from the pinky finger instead of out the thumb and pointer finger.

“Like this you have a stronger hold on the knife and it’s less awkward to stab with,” he explains as he slashes at empty air. Real targets will have to wait a little while.

There are more ways to stab someone, of course. But for the time being, they’re focusing on one specific way.

He hands the knife back to his sister, who watches him as she accepts it. She’s still not used to this version of Dagur. He was never this patient with her in the past, anything she did growing up used to make him yell and lash out. Yet now there’s almost a rounded edge to him and she wonders where it’s coming from.

She has no idea the amount of blood it took to blunt him.

Holding the knife like he did, she swipes at the air, but only gets two in before a jolt of pain in her side makes her drop it and herself. She falls to her knees and holds the place where a compress still covers a scarring gun wound. It pulls, a sharp pain runs through her.

“Heather!” Dagur shouts and she shrinks in response. There it is, she figures. Her real brother is about to come to the surface.

Except then he kneels beside her and grabs her by the shoulders, knife forgotten. She freezes.

“Be careful!” He scolds her. “You almost died just weeks ago!”

To her surprise, he is indeed agitated, but it’s out of concern for her. Though still shaky, she feels her fear melt away a bit.

“I’m fine,” she says before she rises to her feet, hand still on her side. Dagur rises with her.

Her eyes fall on the knife lying in the grass, she forgot to pick it up as she stood. Dagur reaches for it, but she stops him.

“Wait, I’ll get it,” she says and picks it up herself. Its shape feels a little bit more familiar to her every time she holds it.

She realizes the strength it symbolizes. Hiccup was the one who gave it to her, he was strong for her when she couldn’t be. But she also knows its owner before him was Dagur and he’s showing her strength now by changing who he used to be. Just like them, she wants to be strong, she wants to find a way.

She’ll toughen up.

#httyd fics #httyd movies #rob #riders of berk #dob #defenders of berk #au #alternate universe #modern au #apocalypse au #zombie apocalypse au #zombie au #dagur the deranged #heather #the berserker siblings #my fanfics #just a kid #toughen up

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kinetic-elaboration · 3 months

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February 17: Today's Writing Work

My main (only) accomplishment today was finally sitting down to re-read the old Jonty fic and write up my notes on the rest of it. I have to admit that I re-read it and really didn’t feel much of anything. I wasn’t inspired or emotional or even all that gung-ho about jumping back into the universe and playing in it some more. I really is true that that story had its time and that time was 2017 and if I didn’t finish it then, it wasn’t because it was done or because I had nothing else to say, but because I just… didn’t, I didn’t have the drive or sufficiently immediate ideas or whatever. The story had no notes, not outline, nothing but the 6k of text that it looks like I wrote over a couple of weeks, t I don’t even have any particular memories of writing it to help me out.

Still, I don’t want to abandon it. I don’t want to publish it unfinished when it could be finished in so few scenes and I don’t want to just stuff it back in the vault and continue lying to myself about finishing it later. And I don’t want to just admit I’ll never finish it because I’m way too stubborn.

Also, it’s okay for some writing to just be workmanlike. A lot of the last scenes of the Time Loop kinda were, to be honest. But I didn’t worry too much about it; I knew I wanted to finish it, so I finished it, and writing itself feels good more often than not, regardless of what I’m writing, and there’s a lot in the last 1-2 chapters that I really like and am proud of. It’s always work. Like it’s way easier to be excited about something hypothetically than to actually DO it, that’s always true, so maybe it doesn’t matter too much if that initial excitement about the concept isn’t there? I just got to do it.

I will say that allowing myself to just think about it casually, and then actually doing some work on it, got me a little more excited, at least to be accomplished if not to get into this particular ‘verse. I also looked at old J/M gifsets and stuff and then I accidentally reread all of Iridescent, which, honestly, holds up really well. It made me feel soft for them again.

I still don’t feel, like, super psyched? But I do have that anxious sort of gearing up energy that I hope will lead to actual writing, maybe even tomorrow. That’s always part of it for me: I actually write things when I get so jittery about having the words in my head I just NEED to let them out and then I just RUN through them and see what happens. I also wrote a lot of notes for myself for the two canon scenes in particular, kind of just wrote out all of the dialogue points but skipped the specific wording and the description. Maybe it was too much and it will hurt the finished product but… I did it basically as proof of concept and because I wanted to give myself as much of a crutch as possible. Like literally all I need to do is set up the scene, then move back and forth between these predetermined dialogue points. I don’t usually go that detailed in notes, though it’s not totally unprecedented, but knowing that this story did have a particular purpose and that I’m only writing 3 more scenes to finish, I really wanted to make sure there was a place for every bit of dialogue I wanted to include and that I wouldn’t miss anything at the last minute. There’s a lot of not-talking and not-explaining in the first 6k I won’t lie. It probably will be jarring to read it and see that all of a sudden in the last third or so, everyone knows how to communicate suddenly lol. But I’ll try to make it all fit as well as possible!

#the year 2024 #2024: writing thoughts

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commanderbuffy · 1 year

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Hey! I’m quite curious about your approach to writing fics. Apologies if you’re answering this for the millionth time, but do you know the main parts of the plot from the beginning and map them out? Or are you kind of winging it with a loose idea of where want the story to go? What’s your approach like?

Also, how do you manage to be so engaged with your audience and remain so productive with your writing?! Your stamina is impressive to say the least.

Loving your Tanthamore fics. Thank you for sharing your talent with the rest of us for our absolute enjoyment. Got another big fan right here. Keeping an eye out for Ch12!!

Cheers, Kris.

ruby

Hi!!! Okay, trying to answer this as detailed as possible. So, for starters, I came up with a couple notes of broad strokes for the story. I tried to recreate this outline here, but don’t have the original anymore (as I’ll get into in a minute)

Initial Outline (roughly)

- each chapter: Jade pov, kit pov, 1-2 flashbacks

- Accident: kit pushed Elora out of the way to save her when sword-like structure fell

- Key themes

- New kit vs old kit

- Incorporating new kit (ex. good with kids)

- Vulnerability

- The gray area

- *spoiler thing*

- “Not in spite but because”

- Kit gets her memories back slowly

- Explosive reveal via phone (midpoint)

- Last chapter

- *vague plot details*

- *the exact last 5 sentences I’ll be using*

That’s about what I had for the first chapter. Then, as I wrote the first three chapters, I started expanding and changed it to a checklist and adding quotes, themes, scenes and plot ideas and checked them off as I incorporated them or picked chapter numbers for them based on my vague idea of 10 chapters.

Then, at I think chapter 5, I wrote a much more extensive outline for chapters 6-12 (which later became 13), that I mostly stuck to (except for switching the order of two chapters).

In terms of being engaged, it’s actually helped with writing! It’s so encouraging to talk to you guys about theories and what you like about the story. It helped shape it in some ways. There are scenes I massively expanded based on what I was realizing you guys were enjoying!

In terms of stamina, having 2 main days a week I write helps. It also helps that I always write a lot so I’ve built up that muscle and can write a lot, very fast, and I write relatively clean. And that’s only because I’ve been writing at this speed and volume for like 7ish years now.

Thank you Ruby and all you other readers for reading and encouraging me with your theories, ideas, and even horny asks. I can’t wait to share the last 2 chapters with you! I think you’ll be happy with them 💕

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theflyingfeeling · 2 years

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For those who are interested in what I have managed to write for my "Gran Hotel AU" so far: ta-da!

..and those who have no idea/memory of what I'm on about: last spring I wrote this short fic in the AU I had come up with (loosely inspired by my trip to Dublin and the Spanish TV series Gran Hotel). This part below I wrote last summmer, and it's actually chapter 3, but since chapter 2 is about a different character entirely, it's not too illogical to read this one first, in my opinion. That is, if there ever will be chapter 2 😅😩 I put my outline for chapter 2 in the tags (mild spoiler alert)! I also suggest you read my ideas for the AU in general in the tags of the post linked above, otherwise I'm afraid this won't make much sense 😆

The grove of the family cemetery greeted Joel like an old friend, taking him into its cool embrace, which Joel was grateful for in the heat of the late afternoon.

He walked past his grandparents’ and great-grandparents’ graves, only stopping to snip a dried leaf off the light blue violet in front of his paternal grandmother’s tombstone. In his mind Joel promised to bring her fresh ones for her next name day. Grandmama would understand, he thought. She always did.

By the duck pond Joel dropped by the resting place of his father’s twin brother, taken by pneumonia only two days before their sixth birthday. With no one having actively tended to the grave since grandmama’s passing nearly a decade ago, the old stone had begun to grow moss, all but covering the golden carvings. Usually Joel was too inside his own head to mind the grave of an uncle he never came to know other than from grandmama’s stories, but today something pulled him towards the plain, small mound to root out most of the weeds thriving on it. Perhaps he had heard grandmama’s authoritative voice in his ears for a split second.

From there he continued his unhurried journey deeper into the memorial park, anticipating as much as awaiting the final few stops on his tour, until he arrived at his father’s grave.

The white lilies had dried weeks ago already, but Joel was yet to find the energy or motivation to throw them away. The carvings on the stone were still fresh, however, standing out from the already worn ones on the right side of the stone.

Like every day for the past almost four weeks, Joel had no clue what to say. Say nothing, Joonas would have advised him, he ain’t gonna hear you anyway, he��s dead.

Ironically, Joel had not said a whole lot to his father when he had still been alive either.

Be as it may, something about the cemetery always made Joel talkative. He couldn’t have explained it if he tried to, but he supposed grandmama’s habit of walking in between the tombstones having full conversations with her long-deceased parents, her late husband and her baby boy had something to do with it. Joonas had always found it a little creepy and had politely declined grandmama’s plea for him to come along and learn about the history of his family, whereas Joel had gone with her each time, following on her heels and helping her take care of the flowers. One time, when grandmama had already needed a walking stick to support herself, she had asked Joel to look after the family graves and the garden surrounding them once she would be “gone to meet her maker”, as she had put it then. Joel had promised, but only after grandmama had reassured he wouldn’t have to go near the eerie, tumbledown mausoleum of his great-grandparents’, the founders of the Hokka estate.

That was why Joel often found himself crouching in front of names that no longer lived in people’s mouths, at least not the way they used to, staring at the dates that had changed his life forever, biting his lip in a failed attempt to keep himself from spitting out the disrespectful words.

“Fuck you.”

He grabbed a fistful of grass in his palm and continued without opening his mouth to speak the words out loud.

Fuck you for treating her the way you did.

Fuck you for treating them both the way you did.

Fuck you for treating us the way you did.

Fuck you for loving a bottle of whiskey more than your sons.

Fuck you for tending your minibar with more compassion and care than the legacy you’d be passing on to us.

Fuck you for dying of a heart attack at 65 and leaving us with this sinking ship.

Joel threw the shredded grass on the drooped lilies.

Fuck you for not being here for me.

When the letters on the tombstone began to blur, Joel looked away to get a hold of himself once more before he would move on. Visiting his father’s grave filled him with so much anger and bitterness and inexplicable hopelessness that he felt like skipping it altogether, but so far he hadn’t had the guts to do so, as if his old man’s disappointed look was still nailed to his back.

Having found his regular breathing frequency again, Joel stood up and turned to the pink roses growing in front of the right-hand half of the stone.

The woman resting in the casket six feet under may not have been Joel’s real mother, but she was the only mother he had ever had.

Although she had had a tendency to favour her biological son when it came to deciding which birthday boy was served the last piece of the strawberry cake (even if Joonas was, more often than not, willing to share) or who was bought new clothes more frequently, Joonas’ mother was still the kindest woman Joel knew and had truly loved Joel as he was her own.

The only time Joonas ever visited the cemetery was when they planted the roses on her every birthday in the beginning of June.

The last time Joel had seen Joonas cry was the day she had died, on a frosty February morning when Joonas had been fifteen and Joel sixteen. They had held each other close on Joonas’ bed, listening to their father breaking glasses in the office room above them.

‘Cause of death: fever’ Joel had read from the death certificate he had found in one of his father’s drawers in search of cigarettes, but in reality no one seemed to be certain what really had taken her. Their father had suspected it had been a food poisoning, and so he had had an excuse to take out his grief on the the blameless members of the staff and fired the chef and half the waiters, whereas grandmama had comforted the half-orphaned teenage sons that their mother’s heart had finally burst from loving her boys too much (which hadn’t been half as soothing as grandmama had probably intended it to be; instead, it had given Joel nightmares for weeks). There had even been talk in the town that she had gone mad with jealousy over her husband’s numerous affairs and eventually fallen fatally ill, simply due to heartbreak and excruciating loneliness.

Joel, on the other hand, knew better. He knew she had been stronger than that, always trying her best to make sure Joonas and Joel had been outside playing or bothering the kitchen staff, far out of earshot whenever she had confronted her husband after finding yet another maid in his bed. He knew she must have been unhappy in her marriage, but also that she had been aware of what she had married into. Yet, she had chosen to stay, not because she had loved her husband that much, but because she had understood she could never have afforded as much as a roof above her head, let alone be allowed to take her boys with her, even if she had been able to provide evidence of the adultery committed by her husband. She had stayed, because despite how miserable her life had undoubtedly been from time to time, she had wanted to ensure a happy childhood for Joonas and Joel, one where they’d have at least one loving parent in their life.

She would have deserved so much better than an unfaithful drunkard of a husband with heaven knows how many secret lovers and possibly even more illegitimate children. She would have deserved a more honourable final resting place than that next to the honourless scoundrel who had selfishly demanded to be buried by her side; a pathetic excuse of a man who had never deserved one bit of her unselfishness.

Those were among the countless of other things Joel usually murmured as he sat in front of her grave, on the grass right by the roses, just to be closer to her. This time, however, he remained silent, only reaching his hand to caress the cheek of a porcelain angel Joonas and he had brought there on the first anniversary of her death. The angel was missing its right wing, broken when the statue had been knocked down in an exceptionally intense thunderstorm. Joel had been devastated by the loss, but Joonas had told him she probably didn’t mind; she had always been drawn to all things broken and imperfect.

“You know, like that teacup without a handle she didn’t want to throw away because it had her favourite flower painted on it,” Joonas had said.

And me, Joel had almost added, the bastard son of her husband she could have easily thrown out of the house the second his father slid a ring on her finger and no one would have judged her for it.

Instead, she had read him bedtime stories and kissed his knee better when he had fallen down from a tree, and Joel wished he had told her how grateful he was for it all when she had still been alive to hear it. Alas, around the time of her death, Joel had been an adolescent full of rage, too burdened by frustration and fear to worry about the mortality of his mother.

“Joonas says hi,” he whispered to the tombstone. He touched two of his fingers to his lips and pressed them against the cold of the stone before getting up and walking away, towards the grave he always saved last on his tour.

During the years following their mother’s death, Joel and Joonas had kept receiving pitying looks and regretful words of condolence from members of the staff, the people of the town, and even the hotel guests who had gotten wind of the tragedy. “Poor boys,” they always said, “how ill-starred in life must one be, to lose his mother at such a young age.”

Yet, Joel had always thought Joonas was lucky.

At least he only had one mother to grieve.

Fair enough, Joel had never known his birth mother, the only daughter of Mr. Byström, who had been one of the most important investors of the hotel once upon a time. From the hotel’s tattletale receptionist Joel had heard that Mr. Byström and his wife had disappeared in a storm on their way across the Atlantic, only a week after Mr. Byström had asked Joel’s father to “take his girl under his wing”, should something happen to them during their journey.

Joel was pretty sure that by “taking his girl under his wing” Mr. Byström had not meant “knocking her up at the age of 19”.

Grandmama had never talked much about the circumstances of Joel’s birth, apart from the weather: “it was a real cloudburst, raining hounds and mousers for hours without end, and still your first scream was louder than any thunder that has ever roared above this house”.

Joel supposed she had wanted to be considerate towards the lady of the estate by keeping the names of the hotel owner’s previous lovers out of her mouth, although it wasn’t like Joel’s mother had ever been given such a privilege to begin with.

When Joel had been but six months old, his mother had understood the rumours she had heard weren’t just rumours. For two more months she had borne looking at young Miss Porko’s swelling belly before she had filled the pockets of her trench coat with rocks and jumped down the bridge crossing the river that ran by the estate.

Hence, there was nothing but soil below the wonky wooden cross Joel had erected in her memory in the farthest corner of the memorial park, in the shade of an enormous, over a century-old oak tree. Even if her body had been found, she would have been buried nowhere near the estate, for she had never officially been part of the family. Still, Joel had wanted a place to visit her, to talk to her, and since the bridge from which she had jumped to her underwater grave had rotted away years ago, he had had no choice but to make her a memorial on his own.

When Joel arrived at the cross, he sighed as he saw it having fallen down again and crouched down to straighten it. Then he took the rose from behind his ear and stuck it in the soil, next to all the other ones in various stages of wilt.

Some days he talked to her about his day; how he had gotten out of bed just in time for supper and avoided everyone until leaving the house when the sun began to set.

Other days he just sat there, wondering what on earth he should say to a mother who had not lived to see her firstborn’s first birthday.

It most likely would have killed her anyway, had she not done the job herself; as if by some cursed twist of fate, Miss Porko’s son was born on the 5th of October, exactly one year after Joel’s birth. And while Joel had been welcomed to the world with an intense downpour, Joonas’ arrival had ended nearly two weeks of rainfall and lured out the first rays of the sun in almost a month, if Joel was to believe his grandmama, who had always loved to reminisce about the events of that day.

From across the cemetery Joel had one day dragged an old wooden bench that had been situated near the grave of a long-forgotten relative – an uncle who, according to grandmama, “had always been a bit of a pillock” – and replaced it in front of his mother’s. There he sat for hours on end, staring at the cross and the roses, asking the universe over and over again what life would be like for him if his birth mother had lived for longer than twenty years and seven months.

Or if Joonas’ mother had not collapsed all of a sudden when getting out of the bath while Joonas and Joel had been busy arguing about who got to sit on the front seat of their father’s new Mercedes.

Or if grandmama was still around, offering her prickly life wisdom at every turn.

Or if his father was lying passed out on the couch of his office instead of dead in his grave. Maybe one of these days Joel would have had the courage to say all the things he wanted to say to him.

As the sun disappeared behind the forest looming at the border of the estate, Joel lay on his side on the bench and hugged his knees to his chest. He kept his gaze fixed on the white cross for as long as he could still see it before it got too dark, before tiredness forced him to close his eyes and wait for restless sleep to come.

#blind channel #blind channel rpf #blind channel fanfiction #chapter 2 would be olli's pov. it begins with him and joonas waking up in the same bed and talking all relaxed #then olli has to get back to work but he has to stop by his room which he shares with aleksi #(in the tags of the original post i say aleksi is a servant but i've actually changed him to be a waiter instead)#aleksi is there and they chat #then olli goes back to his gardening job and gives joel the rose mentioned in this chapter #(as in joel asks him for the rose)#basically the first chapters of the fic would be just to introduce the characters and their situations #but ugh i have bullied myself into not wanting to continue because i don't want to disappoint myself by not succeeding #i have a ✨vision✨ but unfortunately it needs to be perfect otherwise i'm not doing it 😭#apologies for putting this in the main BC tag pls don't hate me i'm but a poor fic writer #random tumblr ficlets by theflyingfeeling

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kingofattolia · 1 year

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Hi!

I just really wanted to say, I love you. Or at least I love your writing which just phenomenal and awesome, so I can only assume you are the same. I read Life and What Comes After over the course of a day (I think it was a single day, it might have been two) about a month ago now, and it was hands down one of the greatest fics I have ever read. It is very very rare that anyone can satisfy my desire for hugs and softness in a story (probably because all my favourite relationships are bromances), but you knocked that out of the park. I keep meaning to leave more detailed comments on the fic, as I am constantly going back and rereading, but then I just sit there wondering what to say beyond, "I absolutely love this, I am rereading for the nth time" which I suppose is a nice thing to hear as an author, but I usually like to be more eloquent. ^^"

Ugh, there's so much I want to say, want to thank you for. The nudge to read Shatterpoint. Some practical life inspiration from Anakin. But most of all the push your amazing writing gave me to actually start writing my own fix-it AU.

I haven't started reading Sometimes the Light yet, just because I want to save for some point when I desperately need a boost. (Speaking of which, what are the odds of there being more for that...?)

I hope this puts a smile on your face!

And I will absolutely be giving you a thanks in my author's note whenever I publish my baby.

-@rainintheevening

Thank you so much!!!! This is an incredible message 😭

LAWCA was born of purely my own desire for 100k words of incredibly slow angst and fluff so honestly to this day it surprises me that other people enjoy the same thing. I'm so glad!

Shatterpoint is amazing. Everyone should read it. The lore? The philosophy? The Mace Windu being incredible? Truly changed my Star Wars experience. Alsooooo what is your fix-it AU? 👀 There can NEVER be enough of those.

When it comes to Sometimes the Light... after going nearly 3 years without an update it sounds stupid, but I have NOT abandoned it. I have 2 more chapters written than what's actually published, and wrote 2k more words of it as recently as last week. I have most of the rest outlined and know where it's going.

I have hesitated to start actually posting again though because if I do, I can almost guarantee another lull will inevitably happen given all the obligatory excuses (real life job, prioritizing original fiction, etc. etc.) and I don't want to get people's hopes up and then disappoint again.

#anon #talking #grace for ts #lawca #WHAT A MESSAGE 2 LOG IN AND FIND???? wild #rainintheevening #tbh the kenobi show gave me a HUGE kick in the pants for lawca tho #like they were reading my mind for some of the themes and scenes #i've told myself that i will finish my original fiction first draft and then dedicate to finishing it #but lollllll will that happen?

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koolkat9 · 2 years

Text

Calmness

Rating: T

Pairing: NedCan

Word Count: 711

Author’s Note: Fun fact, I wrote the outline of this fic while I was up at my own cottage. Anyway, writing them in Northern Canada at a cottage is one of my favourite things.

Matthew was sulking. Not many thought that he had inherited anything from his French father beyond the hair, but Jan knew better. Though he didn't show it as much as Francis, sometimes the littlest thing could put him in a sourest of moods. Such as when the rain decided to ruin his plans for the day.

They were to spend two weeks up at Matthew’s cottage, and that day, in particular, they were supposed to go ATVing on a trail Matthew had recently found nearby. But the rain that had started shortly after breakfast ruined that plan.

Currently, Matthew had retreated to the porch out back and was leaning against the banister, dejected.

“Oh Matthew,” Jan sighed, coming out with two steaming mugs of hot chocolate. He hated seeing his lover upset, but if Jan was honest, the rain made the cliffs across the way more beautiful with the way the mist rolled over the trees and rock formations. Not to mention the pelting of the rain against the roof above and lake below made a lovely melody, lulling Jan into a sense of calmness he had long forgotten.

He placed the mugs down on a nearby table and wrapped his arms around Matthew’s waist, resting his head on the other’s shoulder. “I brought hot chocolate,” Jan whispered, “Come sit with me.”

“No…” Matthew grumbled.

“Please?”

“No.”

Jan sighed. Looks like he was going to have to up the ante. He nuzzled his nose into the crook between his lover’s neck and shoulder. “Please?” he asked, slower this time. Before Matthew could reply, Jan grazed his teeth against his skin. Matthew’s breath hitched.

“J-Jan…”

The Dutchman smirked. He replied by licking up Mattew’s neck, causing him to squirm.

“It’s too early,” Matthew hissed.

“Then come cuddle with me.”

Matthew sighed but didn’t move. Time to pull out his ace. Jan bit behind Matthew’s ear; a spot that was very sensitive and never failed to make him melt.

“Asshole,” Matthew whined, turning towards his lover.

“But you still love me.”

Matthew let out a groan and fell back into Jan’s chest shifting all his weight onto him. That was enough of an answer for the Dutch nation. He pulled Matthew towards the couch and pulled him on top of him, wrapping his arms around his waist once more.

In turn, Matthew buried his face into Jan’s chest, returning to his sulking. Jan shook his head in amusement and pulled his lover closer. He tangled his fingers in those golden curls he came to love so much. (How Matthew kept them so soft he would never know). “It’s not that bad Matt,” he offered, “It’s actually kind of peaceful with the rain, the coolness, and you.” He nuzzled Matthew’s hair on his last point.

Matthew glared at him. “When the hell did you get so affectionate?”

“When I met you.”

Matthew’s cheeks reddened. “Guess I’m just that smooth,” he muttered, though there was a hint of amusement in it.

“Yes.”

Matthew laced their fingers together and leaned in, brushing his nose against Jan’s before pressing a kiss on Jan’s lips. He rolled his lips slowly against his lover’s, pushing him down into the cushions below. Another thing Matthew inherited from Francis: his romantic abilities. Though, unlike Francis, Matthew was much more subtle and gentle instead of forward and fast. Which was one of the many reasons Jan had fallen for the Canadian.

Matthew carefully pushed his tongue into Jan’s mouth, running it over the Dutchman’s teeth before tangling it with his partner’s tongue. As much as Jan enjoyed this, it was too early to get into anything too heated, and he really wanted his hot chocolate. He brought a hand to Matthew’s cheek and pulled back. “We better drink that hot chocolate before it gets cold,” Jan suggested.

Matthew blinked for a moment before smiling softly and nodding. He scrambled off Jan and over to the two mugs.

The two spent the rest of the morning cuddled up on the couch, drinking their hot chocolate and listening to the rain. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be until evening before the rain let up. But that didn’t matter. Matthew and Jan were happy to spend the majority of the day in their own peaceful little world.

#hetalia #hws #nedcan #hws netherlands #hws canada #fluff #fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction

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tcookies777 · 1 year

Text

I just want to chime in as a neutral reader! This is mainly in regards to that ask that was recently posted on your tumblr:

All those fics you posted are one-shots. There are so few long-term good written KakaSaku fics with a lot of sex, and let's be real all the "classic fics" only have 1-2 sex scenes and are more story-focused. I think the KakaSaku fans have been dying for an actual long-term good story (which TAOL totally is if you look at it from the slow-build/story side) that have an equal balance of plot and porn. Or maybe that's just my projection but I'm sure some KakaSaku fans feel the same way.

When TAOL came out I was blown away because it was completely different from all the other KakaSaku fics with how well and intricate you planned things, so I had faith in your direction.

I think some went into your story expecting this to be more porn than plot (esp with the teacher/student trope, tags) hence the constant criticism of "nothing happens." But I don't think it's right for them to take out their anger on you and it is not your responsibility to fill that void at all. Your story is your story and you shouldn't write to please anyone but yourself.

I know this is a slow-burn/slow build, but you wrote on tumblr that this story might be 80 chapters, so we're currently 40 chapters in (so technically halfway in the story if that 80-total chapter count is still valid) and there's only been like 2-3 kisses and a couple of "lime" scenes. Maybe all the good stuff happens in the last half of the story, I don't know, but feel free to clarify. I'm guessing since Act 1 is like 40 chapters maybe the rest of the acts will be 40 chapters each for 120-ish total chapters? So yes 40/120 might seem like nothing to you because there are still 80 chapters left where you can include sex scenes every chapter if you so want, but for us readers who have to wait for each chapter every 2 weeks (and now another 4-month break), it's a LONG wait. So I totally understand why readers are antsy (not complaining about the update time, a chapter every 2-3 weeks is great and miles better than fics who only update like 1-2 times a month).

I've been with this story since the beginning, but I've come to terms with the fact that we're probably not getting sex scenes til like chapter 60 or something with the way this slow build is going. And that's fine, you did emphasized that this was a slow burn so I've tuned my expectations for it because I do enjoy the plot-side of the story and find it interesting and unique. But I will admit that this is probably the longest, longest slow-build fic I've read thus far. Even other smut stories that are slow-burn with 100+ chapters have all managed to introduce sex scenes before the 40-chapter mark, but I guess it's just a difference of how you outlined your story.

I will be honest and say that I did expect more from chapter 40 just because it was Act 1's finale, but you have your reasons and we as readers have to respect it. I'm just glad I don't primarily read this fic solely for the smut because I would probably be just another one of those disgruntled readers.

See you again in April 2023!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I'm being such a tech-illiterate idiot right now, my stupid ass was confused for a moment why this Ask was formatted weird when I realized it's a submit 😭 Uhh I'm hoping I'm doing this right?

Anyway, yes, a reader or 2 asked for the exact chapter count. However, I explained to them that the chapter count is volatile and not set in stone because of spontaneous side chapters thrown in, or I realize a chapter is too long and I have to break it into 2 chapters. With these reasons, I told them that 80 is a very loose estimate.

A few months later, another reader (or possibly the same reader) asked me again about what the chapter count is. I told them:

So yes, your calculations are very plausible! It's why I don't specify on AO3 the exact chapter count for TAOL because I myself am not sure of exactly how many chapters there will be. And I don't want to keep telling readers "oops, added more to the chapter count again!" over and over again because I think that would annoy them.

Unfortunately, you're partially right that many readers started TAOL with the expectation of porn balanced with plot, but other readers have clearly expressed to me from the get go that they only desire porn. And when people keep messaging me demanding over and over that I hurry up and give them porn because they could hardly care about the plot, it makes me cranky.

I recently had a new reader check out TAOL and they only read the first paragraph of Chapter 1 before skipping alllll the way to Chapter 38. They then commented "jesus fucking christ, 38 chapters and they still haven't fucked yet?! so fucking slow"

I just deleted that comment since there's no point in explaining the slowburn to them when they clearly want to read just porn.

So all those complaints that there hasn't been sex YET add onto all those messages demanding that I "just write porn and forget about the fucking plot". It's not fun to get both of them together, and over and over again.

If I wanted the story to just mainly be about a teacher fucking his student, I would've just done a one-shot. I wouldn't be the first to do that though.

As an aside, some slowburns I have read have been 1-2 MILLION words long with the couple only kissing after the 1 million word mark. As you can all see, I'm not sadistic enough to make you all read 1 million words before seeing Kakashi and Sakura kiss (for technically their 3rd time). I think TAOL is the longest/slowest slowburn KakaSaku fic, but it's definitely not the slowest/longest fic overall in the world of fanfiction! I actually once saw a reader brag about their 14 million word WIP... Yes, 14 MILLION word slowburn!

You bet I did not read that fic.

Anyway, I appreciate your understanding and patience.

I also appreciate that you respect my writing choices, regardless if you disagree or agree with them. I'm so used to people disagreeing with my writing choices and bashing me for them that seeing you say you still respect it and my reasons had me do a huge double-take.

Hope you have a happy and warm holiday season and see you next year!

#cookie answers #taol #the anatomy of love

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willel · 2 years

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I know the show doesn't show anything like this, but I find it hard to believe Will doesn't have some more lasting physical effects from being in the Upsidedown for six days breathing in the toxic atmosphere, probably drinking toxic water, etc. After all the iT's tOxIc I wish they'd followed through with the ramifications of that. Or maybe I just think it would be interesting to add another layer of disability rep, like Will has an inhaler now or smth.

Anyway, just wondering if you have any headcannons/thoughts on the physical aftermath of s1-s2 for Will?

Funny you say this, I'm still outlining my fic you see and I've decided that Will has insomnia from his experiences. Probably because of just that fear of if he falls asleep something will get him, but I also imagine just something in his body chemistry has reduced his need for sleep even if by a little bit (which can be frustrating if your body refuses to rest when you really want to)

I also wrote in that sometimes he still has fits of gagging as if something is in his throat but nothing ever comes out. Like there's just something always in the back of his mind going "I NEED TO EXPUNGE THE CORRUPTION, QUICKLY, GET IT OUT"

An involuntary reaction

But anyway. We don't know what the effects of long term exposure to the Upside Down is. It might not be a physical ailment, but a mental one. Or a brain one.

Short term effects... affects...? Sorry, I'm a little tipsy right now and my effect vs affect meter isn't working. ANYWAY, short term effects seem to be dizziness, nausea, confusion, and panic illustrated by Hopper in season 2.

Long term effects? Will didn't appear to have trouble breathing when El found him in the Upside Down a week later, but he seemed to have trouble moving and staying conscious. Not to mention how pale and sickly he looked, but that could be because of how cold it seemed to be there.

For a while, I had this theory that if you inhaled enough particles it would form a slug, which is why Will threw one up at the end of season 1. It still doesn't really make sense to me that that long testicle thing was hatching slugs. Why would it be planting slugs? We see those same things wrapped around various people later on and it's not laying slugs. We see those things jab themselves into Vecna's back and they are not laying slugs I can guarantee.

Sooooo I think that slug ended up in Will for a different reason. I think those slugs are bron from those weird egg things actually, and then it hatches and dozens and dozens of them are born. And THEN they feed on decomposing matter (Barb, for example. And all the other people who went missing except Will)

Maybe that slug ended up in Will while he was sleeping. you know, like they say you actually eat spiders while you're sleeping

#stranger things #will byers #spiders #mmm spiders yummy #ask

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danpuff-ao3 · 1 year

Note

whichever of 1, 15, 23 you'd like to answer please! for end of the year asks

Hello there! Thanks for asking! 😄 I do so love to ramble chat so I'll answer them all!

1.) favorite fic you wrote this year

This is a tough one! Only because the answer is so clear, in spite of the fact that...I really love a lot of what I wrote this year! Orange Blossoms was self-indulgent fun. In My Veins (In My Blood) was my dead dove dream!

And while my runners up were posted this year, I can rest easy in that I actually wrote them late last year. Black Skies (for Blackcest fest) and A Matter of Time (for Snarry Adopt-a-Prompt.)

So many fics posted this year are ones I love and am so proud of.

But...c'mon. Can my favorite be anything other than Contempt? I talk about it to death, but god. That is literally the story of my soul. Every word is written in my blood. I pulled it straight out my bones. It is the product of years of dreaming, years of headcanons, years of feeling. And it is to date the work I'm most proud of.

And let me tell you I agonized over writing that story. Writing that story was actual hell. But it was 1000% worth the struggle.

15.) something you learned this year

If I'm ever tempted by a fest, that's the devil talking. Fun as they are! And I'm stupidly proud of all the fics I've written for fests. But...on the whole I'm not sure they're worth all of the stress. Cuz yikes.

Also, though...that it's okay to say "no" to things, and to back out of stuff if I have to. I dropped a handful of fests this year and felt super guilty about it, but...it was really good for me! I have to do a better job of recognizing and respecting my own limits. And that it's okay if I can't accomplish a million and one things. It's okay to rest sometimes. And it's good for me to focus on what I want to do, rather than what I "have" to do.

23.) fics you wanted to write but didn’t

Omg so many. I think the ones that really haunt me are Three of Hearts and my Sugar Daddy fic. Last year I made it a goal to have Three of Hearts outlined this year, so...I should work on that! I still have a few weeks left to knock out a decent outline. With luck I can get to the actual writing portion next year.

Sugar Daddy...I started last year, but I've been dealing with the fallout of last year's nonsense all this year, so maybe I shouldn't be so hard on myself. I'm really excited for it, though, so I really hope to focus on it soon!

Also my Dralbus fic, but there's so much history attached to that fic, that I'm not even going to try to pressure myself on getting that one done. My goal is to finish it one day, come hell or high water, but I don't need a deadline for one day.

Truthfully, though, I always have more ideas than I can reasonably keep up with, so it's no surprise I have way too many answers, and always will! 😂

fanfic end of year asks

answered: 1, 15, 23

#asked & answered #end of year asks

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ifmywishescametrue · 1 year

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Wait, I know I’m late but outtakes for “Like Dominoes” ???

Outtakes for one of my favorite fics ever?? 👀 hello?

If you were ever planning on sharing them, you’d honestly make my week :)

omg yeah i didn't know i had outtakes for the longest time but i can definitely share them now. i'll try to provide context but it's been a long while since i wrote them, so the memories are more than a little hazy lol

all of that below the cut, because it's pretty long!

outtake one:

written to take place sometime after chapter 23, i guess? i think at one point, the fic was supposed to go for longer and actually include thanksgiving with bucky's family, or at least a few paragraphs that covered what happened there. but, that didn't happen, so this scene wasn't needed. i still like it, though, even if it's incomplete (and not proofread lol)

It’s still dark when Bucky wakes up, the kind of pitch black that lets him know even with his eyes closed that it’s before dawn. He rolls over to mash his face into the pillow, and it takes a moment to realize that on a normal night, he shouldn’t have been able to do that quite so easily.

Blindly, he reaches out to the other side of the bed, only to be met by cold, empty sheets. He lifts his head, squinting into the darkness, and the neon blue of the clock says it's 4:36. Far too early to wake up alone.

A muffled clang is just faintly audible through the walls, and Bucky tosses back the covers to find what he already knows will be the source.

He catches the scent of vanilla and sugar when opens the bedroom door, and he follows the light casting down the hall back to the kitchen.

Every surface is covered in something. All sizes of mixing bowls and baking trays, silicone stirring spoons, and a dusting of flour here and there. In the middle of all of it is Tony, with his entire focus on one misshapen gingerbread man and a steady hand outlining his body in white icing from a piping bag.

Bucky folds his arms over his chest and leans against the archway, waiting for him to finish before breaking into his concentration. “Baking cookies couldn’t have waited until tomorrow?”

Tony jolts a little, hand tightening on the bag to make a stream of icing shoot out onto the counter. It narrowly misses the next cookie in the row, and Tony wipes it away with his finger.

“It's technically tomorrow, isn't it?” He looks over his shoulder at the time on the microwave. “See? A few hours into it already.”

The corner of Bucky's mouth twitches. “And where did you get all these supplies? Last I checked, we didn’t have at least half of this.”

“There’s a 24-hour supermarket about thirty minutes away.”

“You went to the store in the middle of the night?” Bucky asks, brow furrowed. His eyes drift down Tony’s body, taking in his rumpled t-shirt and baggy flannel pants. “You’re in your pajamas.”

Tony shrugs, “There’s not a whole lot of room for judgment from other people also there at two in the morning.”

Bucky drops his arms and comes further into the kitchen, and Tony sets down the piping bag as he approaches. He looks tired, with shadows under his eyes and specks of powdered sugar in his unkempt hair. Bucky reaches for him and pulls him closer by the hip.

“What's the matter?” he asks softly.

“Why are you assuming something’s wrong?”

“Well, in my admittedly limited life experience, people don't usually go on baking frenzies before sunrise if they're doing perfectly fine,” Bucky says, brushing away the cinnamon from Tony's cheek. “I mean, you could be the first, but you're looking pretty dead on your feet, baby. What’s keeping you up?”

Tony shuffles closer, resting his forehead against Bucky’s sternum, and sighs at the first sweep of Bucky’s fingers through his hair, “I fell asleep for a little while, but then I had this weird dream that I was in the lab and there was an issue with the project but I couldn’t figure out the problem and everything was going wrong, so I woke up feeling stressed, and then my mind started drifting to everything else that I have to do, which reminded me that I wanted to do something to thank your mom for being so nice and welcoming over Thanksgiving break, but I couldn’t think about what exactly. Some article online suggested a handwritten note, but that felt kind of weird. You know, writing my feelings or whatever. That’s just awkward for everyone involved. So I landed on their second suggestion, which was basically this. I wasn’t really sure what she would like, though, and I didn’t want to wake you up to ask because you’ve got that early shift today, so I picked a couple of different recipes, and then I had to go to the store to get everything I needed, and now we’re here.”

Bucky hums, dipping his head down to press a kiss to the top of Tony’s. “Your mind is quite the place to be in, isn’t it? Must be like a maze in there.”

“More like if you took a bunch of different balls of yarn and threw them in the washing machine together, then tried to untangle it after,” Tony snorts. “But anyway, I figured since I’m already making stuff, I’d do peanut butter cookies for Rhodey, and those chocolate cookies that Steve and Nat like. Make it like an early Christmas thing for our friends and your family.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky says, pinching the bridge of his nose, and Tony sighs again.

“I know, I know. It’s too much, and I’m overwhelmed now that I’m actually doing it, and I have about a million regrets, but I’ve started it, and now I have to finish it even if it’s the last thing I do.”

“Or you could finish in the morning,” Bucky suggests. “After you've gotten more than an hour of sleep.”

“Or I could finish now and sleep when I'm dead,” Tony counters, flashing him a grin.

Bucky looks around the kitchen again. Almost all of the gingerbread people are frosted, and the peanut butter cookies look to be cooling on a rack off to the side, while the chocolate chip ones are already packaged in tupperware. The timer on the oven is set to go off in a few minutes with a batch of something else, and there's another baking tray waiting on the stove to go in next.

“How much more do you have?” he asks.

“Not a lot. Just those last two batches, and then I can come back to bed.”

Bucky trails his hands along Tony's back, kneading his thumbs into Tony's shoulders for a moment. He does it again when Tony nearly moans at the touch.

outtakes two-four:

so when i first outlined this story, the ending was pretty much completely different. howard was still supposed to show up, but bucky was going to agree to his offer to divorce tony. it was meant to be a selfless thing (in bucky's mind, at least) to give up his relationship with tony so that tony could have his normal life back. but the more i wrote and the closer i got to the end, i just kept asking myself "would bucky do that, though?" and the answer was no. it didn't make sense anymore and going through with it as planned would've only served the purpose of creating angst for angst's sake. so i scrapped that ending, but some of it was already written. i guess it doesn't technically make these "outtakes," but it's a few pieces of the original/alternate ending.

for the first, here's a snippet from the aftermath, when tony's moving out of the apartment:

“You were supposed to go home for Thanksgiving,” Bucky says, and Tony pauses with a shirt held tight in his hand, his shoulders hunched and tense. “Your dad told me that he called you. Said he wanted to fix things and you turned him down.”

Tony shakes his head with a humorless laugh. “And did he tell you all his conditions? The weekly check-ins, monitoring my bank account, quitting my job in the lab because he wants to own every idea I’ll ever have. Oh, and let’s not forget that he still can’t wrap his head around the fact that I’m only into men, so I’d better find a girl that he can approve of to help clean up his image after everything else I’ve supposedly done to him. Gave me a list of candidates and everything.”

Bucky swallows hard, guilt turning his stomach. “Tony, I -”

“No,” Tony cuts him off, spinning around. His eyes are cold, and Bucky’s never seen him like this before. “I turned him down because I don’t need him. I don’t need someone controlling my life and making my decisions for me. I thought I was done with people who did that, but I guess not.”

Tony looks at him for a second longer, and Bucky feels frozen under his hurt, angry gaze. He should’ve known better, he thinks. Should’ve approached everything differently and taken even just a minute to think it through before it got this far.

He opens his mouth to say just that, but Tony sighs and turns back to roughly zip up his bag. “I’ll come back some other time for the rest.”

Tony’s shoulder brushes his own as he walks past him out of the bedroom, and the front door slams shut behind him before leaving him in the quiet.

and here's a scene of bucky talking to natasha about it:

“You didn’t just live together. You shared a bedroom and everything. Casual sex partners don't do that,” Nat says, but she doesn't stop there. “Neither one of you ever saw anyone else, and you would have both been pissed if you did. You kissed him without it leading to sex, you held his hand wherever you went, and you called him 'babe' more than his actual name. In fact, I'm pretty sure you never even called him his name to his face at all. I hate to break it to you, but that's just called being married. Actually, truly married.”

“Well, we were married, but that doesn't mean we were together. He didn’t want that, and frankly, I think it's a little sexist that you don't think two men can hold hands and just be friends.”

She gives him a flat look. “Is that really the argument you're choosing?”

Bucky nods, completely ready to double down. He's pretty sure it falls into the categories of at least two logical fallacies, but he doesn't care much for ethical debate right now. “Yeah, it is. It's a reflection of toxic masculinity, and honestly I thought you were better than that.”

“You were literally fucking each other.”

“As friends.”

“Married friends.”

“Friends who happened to be married,” Bucky corrects. “Just like I already told Steve.”

“And as I've said, neither of us believe you.”

Bucky shrugs, “That doesn't seem like my problem.”

Natasha looks at him with agony in her eyes. “Why are you so incredibly stupid?”

“It's not my fault you didn’t understand our dynamic.”

“Did you even understand your dynamic?”

Bucky hesitates and almost tells the truth. But if he doesn't say out loud that sometimes it was easy to forget that none of was real and sometimes he pushed boundaries on purpose just to see how far it could go, how many pieces of himself Tony would let him keep, then it's easier to pretend that everything is exactly the way he wants it to be and that he doesn't really want the one thing he can't have. If he tells the truth to Natasha, he can't keep lying to himself.

Bluntly, Natasha says, “You’re in love with him.”

He stops breathing for a second, and his heart skips over itself. It’s so much worse to hear it out loud. To hear her admit it when he can’t. Not in any way that matters, anyway.

“I do love him,” Bucky says slowly, “in the same way that I love you or Steve and sometimes Sam if he isn’t being annoying. That’s why I’m doing what’s best for him.”

a continuation of that i scene, i think? idk there was a gap between them in the document but i think it was supposed to be connected eventually lol:

“Please, Nat,” Bucky says, voice breaking on her name. “I’m really begging you to just let it go. And tell Steve to let it go, too. It’s not like that. It can’t be like that.”

and for the last "outtake," the laser tag line was always there in some way. i think this was supposed to be part of a getting-back-together scene:

“And why not?” she questions, unrelenting. “Because it would ruin things? You could lose him as a friend? Last I checked, you already did. I don’t why, because you won’t tell me, and despite the fact that I’ve called him a dozen times in the last two weeks, he won’t tell me either. All I know is that you fucked up, and he’s gone, which means you’ve got nothing left to lose.”

“You remember that bet we made?” Tony asks. “Laser tag. You said that I could have anything that I wanted.”

“Course I remember. You never used it, though.”

Tony twists his hand into the blanket, so tightly that his knuckles turn white. “I never used it because I already had everything I wanted.”

#answered asks #answered anon #i think this reveals more about me as a writer than i want it to lol #like my method for writing is doing random scenes and snippets however they pop into my head and hoping it'll all connect later #my writing

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valenshawke · 2 years

Text

Weekly Writing Report - November 4, 2022

It’s still Friday on this side of the Earth right now. So I’m “on time.” That said, I think my brain nosedived and crashed at high speed into the ground and work is just work, but there is a bit of progress.

Thank the universe for Wellbutrin.

Clare-and-Miata-Meet: I thought I didn’t do anything with this fic since last report. Checked the word count to find out I wrote nearly 1200 words to the outline. What? So yeah, sort of that invisible progress moment where I know I was doing some work over the course of the week but didn’t think it was much.

As for the rest: Yeah. So let’s talk about my issues.

Transhumanism: I have two conflicting thoughts I’m dealing with and I’ve already mentioned this in an ask Mitch sent me a while ago. First, it’s derivative, not at all creative, and I’m seeing a lot of media that touches on the very same concepts and issues. Like, today I was recommended some music. One was the band Starset. And like one of their albums (concept album) is literally the same kind of story. And with this where one of the pitches was me literally using Dune, everything takes from something earlier. And then I come back to what Seanan has said, “Only you can tell your story.” I’m not sure that’s entirely accurate. I don’t know. Maybe it’s a testament to the interesting times we live in that more people are seeing the same thing.

The Vampire Story: You know, this one where I probably should do what I did with Clare-and-Miata. Write the outline with the narrative open and then I can figure out what scenes I need to get to the end of book one. But if I’m worried about creativity in the first story, oh my god, I have to redo so much of the lore. Second. Vampires? What kind of cliché-riddled mess am I? I mean, maybe this is where stealing a few beats from stuff I love would make it much easier to work with. I don’t know.

Clare-apologizes-to-Miria: No real excuse here, outline is done. I just haven’t worked on it because I’ve only really had energy for one project thanks to work.

Miria’s Nightmares: Probably should just stop the narrative and actually outline.

Lastly, I got a very nice and lengthy message on FanFiction.net (I crosspost there and AO3 with my fanfic since I’m never going to write anything that would be banned by FF.net). It was clear that the person writing the message really cared about what I wrote because there were so many direct questions as to why I did or did not do certain things. Unfortunately, the answers were entirely because the reader used anime canon where I am running on manga canon. But the fact they read and seem to remember literal details from all four of my fics enough to ask me questions was like, “Hi, yes, I’d like to write your name in the sky with a huge thank you to express my gratitude.”

So ends this week’s report.

#Val's Weekly Writing Report #Val's Writing Tag #Does anyone actually read these?

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shealynn88 · 2 years

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Writing Process

TL;DR: please share your writing/revising process with me! Post it and tag me! Pretty please!

I’m trying to improve/find my writing process, and I’m curious how people write and revise/rewrite their plotty works. I’ll tell you my processes and what’s worked and what hasn’t, and if you decide to accept the challenge and write up your process, please tag me! I want to read all about it! I’ve written 3 long things in the last year, none of them finished, and I’ve attacked them all a little differently. Let me break it down:

First: Nano 2021, 50k complete (ish)

This was my...5th NaNo, my 3rd ‘win’, and a bit of a mess, but a fun one while I was doing it.

This was meant to be a ‘novel’ style fanfic, with a full plot, hybrid FBI procedural/romance. I wrote it out of order, and some scenes I wrote several times in different ways as I got new brilliant ideas. I also decided that I didn’t want to get bogged down in the details too much, since I was in a hurry, so a lot of the nitty gritty clues never actually...went into the story.

The result is that I have a story that is almost a choose your own adventure. I don’t know which version of which scene to use, and any choice is likely to cascade changes through the entire rest of the story. It feels incredibly overwhelming and I don’t know that I’ll ever complete it.

Second: July 2022, 24k, 50k complete (estimate)

A new attempt at a plotty fanfic, not designed as a trad pub novel, more as a meandering character exploration with a side of case fic. It’s not as complex as the previous one, and I’ve opted to still write scenes as I’m moved to write them, but if they’re out of order, I write them in a separate document and I rewrite them into the main document when I get to them, which allows me to choose one version, and to write it based on the previous emotional arc of the character rather than cutting and pasting something that misses the mark.

This seems to be more successful, but some of my favorite scenes have changed significantly. The story has gotten much softer than I’d originally intended, and while it’s true to itself, I’m sorry to have to let go of those edgier scenes I’d planned at first. I have one section that I know I’ll need to restructure in the main document because events happened in an order that doesn’t entirely make sense. I have a rough outline (about a sentence per scene) of the rest of the story, and it looks like it’ll be about 15 more scenes or so. The process is definitely better, though I think a complete rewrite (retype into a new document) will be really useful in fixing pacing, characterization and arc.

Third: August 2022, 13k,15k complete (estimate)

This is not so plotty, it’s a simple character arc with supporting plot. I include it here because it’s closer to done. The first draft is complete at 13k, the second draft is in progress at 5k, and it’s SO HARD.

I started out writing it in a flurry, and it was rough and really wordy. I wrapped the first draft up (missing a few scenes, and needing a denouement) in a week or two, and it was messy. There were places it really dragged and felt awkward. I opted to print it out and delete the draft from my documents, and rewrite from the printed draft so I wasn’t tempted to cut and paste anything.

I hate it. The process feels like pulling teeth. But when I reread what I’d written in the second draft yesterday, I was really happy with it. It really tightened up the story, allowed me to find the characters a little bit better, and is leading to better prose. I THINK this is a good way to proceed except the part where I’ve struggled through the majority of the 5k words I’ve got down so far. I’ve heard people say that editing goes faster, that once the words are down, it’s easier. I’m not finding that to be the case. Now that they’re down, I don’t want to lose them. I know when places are awkward but I don’t necessarily know how to make them better (I’m just getting to the part that really didn’t hit the notes I wanted to hit, so we’ll see how that goes!). I’m really struggling with it. But after the struggle, the words are better. The character is better. The arc is better.

The question is, will I be able to do this for something that’s more like 50 or 90k? Or will I give up because it really is such a slog?

What’s your process, my friends? What works for you?

#justshea #on writing #long fic

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hideyseek · 6 months

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6. 10, 11? For ur ao3 wrapped? Mehabs?

(im on mobile if something is weird. No it isnt)

bro ,,,,, im so sorry to report something was weird, i only saw this guy come in today he was not in my inbox before. apology for delay. but hiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii yes thank you for the ask!!!!! of course i will answer i love to fucking TALK hehe :3

ao3 wrapped asks

6. Favorite title you used?

mmmm hehe. i'm gonna answer this based purely on title vibes as opposed to like "how well the title fits the fic" bc i wrote a bunch of shorter (to me) fics without a lot of internal thematic happenings that a title could reflect and so i don't really think of anything i published that a title is doing very much work.

i think my favorite title of anything published this year is i wish you the wind just because ah ... what a phrase! no idea what this means but it sounds so damn romantic to me! really has a flavor of like ... bittersweet farewell!

10. What work was the quickest to write?

mmm, haha. well, two answers to this i suppose. on one hand, there was keep me here which unfortunately i wrote in about one day from nothing (and therefore had approximately 12 minutes to revise) because i was determined to post SOMETHING for that day of kaze week 2023. but the first fic that came to mind (and perhaps the most accurate answer, time-wise) was my drabble from week 2 of inception wicked which came together in about three hours total drafting, but there was a span of several days (and truthfully several days that felt like several weeks lol) between me initially having the idea and sitting down to draft. but like, to be fair, it is about 400 words so revising goes exponentially quicker. truly this shocked even me, though i guess really what this means is i already was primed with a bunch of subconscious thoughts about the dynamic in this fic lol. (you can read it here on the gdoc with the other fics from that week! bc i haven't gotten around to posting on ao3 yet lol. content warnings for: semi-explicit sexual content, fantasizing about a married couple, voyeurism)

11. What work took you the longest to write?

hmm ... i don't know if there's a winner for anything i published, tbh. most of the rest of the kaze week fics from january kind of came together in a span of 3-5 days depending on the fic, and most of the other drabbles for both events came together in about the alotted week. so instead i'm going to gleefully misinterpret this question so i can talk about my beloved unpublished nemesis project, narrative!fic :3

i hate that guy! (<- said extremely lovingly) i probably earnestly worked on this fic for ... 4 or 5 months of this year? had a nice breakthrough for some story logic in august / september ish, outlined from that through october, and wrote pretty diligently for most of november. (i did tell my roommate fully two years ago, "hey you need to watch kazetsuyo so i can make you betaread this fic i'm writing at the end of the year, i'll watch star trek with you in exchange". that was literally 2021 lmao. they have not yet seen a draft bc there has not been a draft worth having anybody else look at yet.)

i think the thing that has made the process of drafting narrative!fic so long is really just that, for the last two-ish years, narrative!fic wasn't actually a story to me, so much as it was a project into which i dumped all my post-college facing-the-future feelings and loosely tied up with a string called "i'm sure i can make haiji go through this as well". but then, due to various life events in april of this year, suddenly i came back to the draft and it was like: oh. ohhh, okay. i can see how this can be a story, actually. this is about haiji, as a character, as opposed to haiji, as a semi-direct proxy for myself. and then over the next few months i cut out a ton of stuff and reworked his main arc and now it's like ... a story, instead of just a bunch of feelings and events. which, truly, is only my personal marker for what i was looking for from the project. like, i personally want a separation of my own experiences from what is in my fic, i want to be thinking about developments in the fic as narrative choices the story requires rather than as alternatives to how my own life could have gone. (which ultimately may well be the same thing but its the headspace im in, for me).

and i think the other part is just -- i didn't know how to write! i mean, obviously i know how to string words into a sentence lol. but a LOT of i guess the first two years of drafting and then setting all the drafted stuff aside to start again from scratch like four times over, was me learning to like, figure out my own longfic writing process. (big sobbing emoji, lmao. i remember in my youth reading about maggie stiefvater having 200k of unused draft material for one of the trc books and i was like, how??? and now i am like: yeah. unfortunately i get it. not that my tossed-out drafter material is of that specific magnitude. but there is a lot of it, goddamn.) and now that i've got at least an initial / foundational sense of it, the hardest part is only actually sitting down and writing. (i say as if this is not also, extremely challenging for me lol). so uh, i guess i'll say here "maybe this time next year i'll really have a full draft of narrative!fic", and. we'll see how that goes :3

#hidey speaks #hidey talks fic #ask game #lmao sorry this took me like one hour to write because in the middle i reread i wish you the wind and took seven million notes on revising #it into something longer and slightly more complex

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emerald-chaos · 3 years

Text

Touchdown

*gif not mine, credit goes to the owner*

I just want to take a moment to say thank you for the love on my last fic! It made my lil ole heart swell to see that peopled enjoyed it enough to leave a like or reblog.

This is just something special I had in my arsenal that I wrote for a friend a few months ago. I touched it up a bit and added a few things here and there. It all started when we were talking about how much we loved when Chris' accent got heavier after he'd been drinking, and well, I couldn't help myself lol. I hope you enjoy the fluff! xoxo

I apologize for any grammatical errors, I tried to proof-read but am also a little exhausted lol.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Word Count: 2844

Warnings: I don't think there's anyway? Mentions of being drunk/drinking alcohol, cursing, and illusions to sexy times, but that's about it.

You hadn’t noticed how furiously your knee was bouncing up and down until the person sitting next to you on the subway got up to move seats once the train squealed to a stop. You sighed and ran your hands down the front of your thighs. Normally being a little late didn’t bother you as much, but tonight you were meeting him.

You flipped your wrist over to check your watch. 8:30pm. In all honesty, it had probably been only thirty seconds later than when you checked it the last time. Another deep sigh escaped from your lips as you started to become hyper aware of the train remaining still at the current stop. What could possibly be taking so long? You knew he wouldn’t care if you were running late, but the time the two of you had together already felt so minuscule. You wanted to capitalize on every second you could.

The train began moving again and you slumped back into your seat, feeling only a small amount of relief. It was becoming painfully apparent that you needed to try and relax. You could feel the sweat building up on your body, the sting on your palms from where your fingernails were pressing in with a vengeance moments ago, and you could hear your heart thumping in your ears. Your hand dug around in your purse for a few moments before finding the small case you were looking for. Opening it, you slipped your headphones into your ears and let your head rest on the window behind you as music intertwined with your thoughts.

Once upon a time, you made fun of people who decided to go to grad school. What kind of a clown would spend thousands of MORE dollars and go BACK to school?? Not to mention the stress of the assignments, the due dates - it was not for you...or so you thought.

Now here you are, a regular booboo the fool.

NYU’s graduate program for design and merchandising wasn’t necessarily part of your 5-year plan, but when the opportunity landed in front of you it was difficult to pass up. NYU was a school you had only dreamt of attending back in high school. When you were a senior in high school you were able to tour the campus and fell in love immediately. Hours upon hours were spent researching grants, scholarships, and all sorts of ways to try to make it happen. However, the dream ended as most teenage dreams do - crushed. There was no way you or your parents could afford the loans that it would surely wrack up to attend the out of state university, and there was no way you could ask your parents take on that kind of debt just so you could go to college. UMass was the way to go - close to home and familiar. Not to mention you were able to obtain several scholarships and grants that helped bring down the cost tremendously. Little did you know, boring ole UMass would bring you one of the most important things in your life.

Applying for graduate school wasn’t an easy decision and one you couldn’t really take all the credit for. A smile crept across your face as you reminisced on the night you nervously brought up the idea to your long-term boyfriend.

“I think you should do it,”

“I know, right?” you scoffed, “it’s insane, why would I do something so stup...wait, what? You do?”

“Of course I do. This is something you love and that you’re passionate about. Do you know how many hours of my life were spent listening to you ramble about NYU?” he questioned with a grin.

“It will open up so many doors for you. We can make things work,” a chuckle escaped from those beautiful lips as he saw your dumbfounded expression. He wrapped his fingers around your waist and pulled you close, “What? Did you expect me to forbid it? Cmon, baby, what kind of guy do you take me for?”

You didn’t have a lot of wins in your life, but you did have Chris.

When you got accepted, he took off a week from work to drive you 3 and a half hours south to help get you settled and moved into your temporary new home. The two of you ate a disgusting amount of pizza, moved a ridiculous amount of heavy furniture in the middle of a summer heat wave, and enjoyed each other’s company before the long-distance thing would set in. Chris spent that week encouraging you every step of the way, talking you off the ledge when you were convinced you had made the wrong decision, and made sure to help you christen every possible surface of your new place in the most deliciously sinful way.

You bit your lip slightly at the thought and a warm feeling spread across your face. Chris was one of the most incredible people you had met in this world. Kind, caring, funny, intelligent, passionate, and god was he sexy. The connection the two of you had was scary at first, but now you just couldn’t imagine spending your life with anyone else.

The robotic voice came over the loud-speaker in the subway car and you were rudely ripped back to reality as it pulled into your stop. You hurriedly scooped up your bag and jogged off the train.

It had been a promise between the two of you when you moved that there would be equal effort when it came to visiting and keeping in contact while having good, open communication. Long distance was hard but the two of you were determined to make it work. FaceTime calls, hours upon hours of texting, and even as far as writing the occasional letter back and forth (because your boyfriend was a hopeless romantic and you loved it so much). This weekend was your turn to come home to visit, and of course your last class had to go longer than anticipated. Fuckin’ Tiffany and her stupid ass questions.

The muscles of your calves burned as you kept up your hurried pace, weaving through the crowds of people gathered on sidewalks outside of various clubs and restaurants. It was a weekend night and the Patriots were playing, which meant the city was more alive than usual. New York was it's own beast, but it was a different type of hustle and bustle. Nights like these made your heart ache for home - the thick Massachusetts accents, the rowdy voices of bar patrons arguing about the game, the hugs shared between family members as they parted after dinner, and the faint smell of nicotine and alcohol that hung in the air.

As the neon sign that hung in the pub window came in to view you felt your heart dip down into your stomach. Last weekend’s visit had to be cancelled due to some stuff coming up with Chris’ work and a surprise assignment for you, so you hadn’t seen your boyfriend in 2 weeks. With a deep breath you swung open the door and scanned the crowd for him. He told you that he would be there promptly at 7:15pm for pregame shenanigans with his friends - which actually translated to how many pitchers of beer could they suck down before kick off.

“Aw, come ON! That is such a bullshit call!”

You heard him before you saw him. Of course. A grin spread across your lips as you shook your head. The thought of leaving to avoid secondhand embarrassment crossed your mind briefly before you picked up your feet and made your way through the crowd toward the sound. A room full of people from New England and you would still recognize that voice anywhere.

Everyone else seemed to fade away as you saw the outline of the tall, dark haired man standing at the bar. The slight freckles that spattered the back of his neck, the Brady jersey that he spent WAY too much money customizing, and the signature backward ball cap were ingrained in your subconscious memory. Not to mention if you didn’t recognize his outline or his voice, you would definitely recognize that ass anywhere.

You loved how passionate he got about sports and the way his Boston accent seemed to get thicker with each beer he consumed. Growing up in the area, you wouldn't think the accent would send a tingle down your spine the way it does, but it was different - it was Chris. Not to mention the sparkle in his eye when he would watch his favorite team or the way he would get in to arguments whenever someone tried to say something negative about them. You loved your big, handsome, over-sized toddler man so damn much.

A light tap on his shoulder made him whip around, his slightly opened mouth from his interrupted conversation curved upwards into a wicked grin as he made the connection of who was finally standing in front of him.

“Hey there, handsome. I don’t see a ring on your finger. You single?” You grinned, feeling your entire body fill with warmth as Chris leaned back and grabbed his chest as he erupted in laughter.

“Nah, nah, nah, unfortunately for you I am taken” he responded as he snaked his arms around your waist, sliding his hands into your back pockets as he pulled you into his figure.

“That is too bad,” you tsk'd, running a finger down his toned bicep, “she’s one lucky girl.”

“I think I’m the lucky one,” he grinned. He leaned down to meet your lips in a kiss. You sighed into it, allowing your body to mold itself so perfectly into his. The taste of beer on his lips and the smell of his cologne was intoxicating - it was home. You immediately allowed him entrance as you felt his tongue glide along your bottom lip. Your body felt small in his strong grip and you couldn’t help but laugh a bit as he gave your ass a firm squeeze. Normally, this type of bold, public display of affection would make you cringe away but at this point you were lost in Chris that you had absolutely no shame. Each time the two of you embraced had always felt like the first. Your heart still fluttered and your knees still got weak, like you were a 16 year old being kissed for the first time.

In the middle of your reunion moment, however, something happened in the game that made the entire bar erupt in boo’s and curses. Chris lifted his lips from yours to look over his shoulder and inspect what he had missed. You laughed and shook your head as you pushed him back towards his friends and took a seat in the bar stool he had been standing behind initially. His large hands found a natural place on your shoulders. While his eyes remained glued on the TV he began applying a moderate amount of pressure to your neck and shoulders. You didn’t realize how much your body craved that touch, his touch, until you immediately melted back into him.

The bartender slid a beer in front of you with a wink and you mouthed your thanks. You felt a twinge in your heart as you looked around, taking in the atmosphere of the bar. This was a typical weekend night for the two of you whenever you were living together. Football, drinks, pub food, and friends. If it wasn’t this pub it was your living room, just a couple blocks away. You didn’t even mind that it was your first night back and you weren’t alone, spending it immediately wrapped up in your satin sheets. The atmosphere, the people - it was so warm and familiar that you really wouldn’t rather be doing anything else. Plus, being wrapped up together in the sheets was sure to follow.

“I missed you,” hummed a pair of lips as they placed a kiss on the shell of your ear. A shiver shot down your spine at the sensation of his warm breath fanning over your neck. You reached up a hand and connected it to the nape of his neck.

“I missed you too,” you replied, turning your head to plant a kiss on his stubbled cheek.

His arms changed position as he wrapped them in front of your shoulders and crossed them, resting his chin on the top of your head. Your hand absentmindedly rubbed his forearms as you nursed your beer and placed your focus onto the game for the first time tonight.

The laughter seemed to escape from your chest naturally and effortlessly the entire night, as it always had a habit of doing when Chris was around. The camaraderie between him and his buddies during a game was something you’d grown to enjoy over the years. Chris’ competitive nature and the way his jaw clenched when something wasn’t going the way he wanted was always kinda...hot. All of his friends were huge assholes, but in the best way. It was always entertaining to hear them jab at each other and do what they could to rile someone up. They were the life of every party you had ever attended and they had a way of making a boring night a lot more interesting.

Thankfully (for the integrity of the bar) the Pats won the game with a surprise touchdown in the last 30 seconds of the game. Chris, being the guy he is, bought a final round for his friends and a nearby group they had been going back and forth with all night. You couldn’t help but laugh as he drunkenly leaned across the counter and slurred his order to the bartender.

“I need a round for m’friends and for these assholes over here who thought Tom Brady was anything but a winner!” the group started yelling in protest and he simply waved them off and started sliding beers down the bar.

The group eventually moved to a bigger round top so everyone could shoot the shit and banter about the outcome of the game. You were tucked into Chris’ side, hands intertwined as he was passionately discussing the importance of Brady’s legacy with a stranger who made the mistake of stopping to talk to him. Your eyes followed the motion of your thumb as it traced small circles onto the back of his. Your other hand under your chin, holding up the weight of your head as your exhaustion started to catch up with you. Chris, although slightly drunk, picked up on your body language and raised your hand to his lips for a kiss.

“Alright, fellas,” he said as he stood up from his seat, pulling you up with him, “the lady and I are gonna call it a night. See you boys next weekend”.

“Chris, we don’t have to go,” you began to protest as he tucked his jacket around your shoulders.

“Mm, ‘course we do,” he replied with a soft smile, “you’re so tired, baby. I can see it in those beautiful eyes”.

You could feel your cheeks turn a light shade of pink as you rolled your eyes at his attempt at laying it on thick. After what felt like a proper 10 minute goodbye session, the group said their final goodbyes, hugs included, and you walked out of the pub hand in hand.

The walk home was filled with the sounds of cars passing by and conversation of what each other had missed in the week prior. Small talk typically felt like such a chore, but with Chris every conversation came naturally. Even when he had absolutely no idea what you were talking about, he would listen intently and ask all the questions as if it was the most interesting conversation in the world.

The lock on the apartment door clicked as you pushed it open and entered. You smiled as you stopped into the middle of the living room, taking in the home you missed so dearly. A soft tapping of toenails against the hardwood made your heart soar as you met the eyes of your sweet pup, Dodger. A squeal left your lips as you squatted down to give love to the sweet boy. Chris always made fun of you when you came home, saying that you always seemed to miss Dodger more than you did him and I mean, he wasn’t entirely wrong about that statement.

Once again lost in your own world, you didn’t even notice Chris leaned up against the wall watching you with a smile.

“Oh my god,” you gushed, standing up, “do you like...like me or something?”

Chris grinned as he crossed the room and caught your belt loop with his finger, pulling you into him slowly.

“Yeah,” his voice had dropped down an octave, “you could say that”.

“Mm,” your tongue swiped across your lower lip and you wrapped your arms around his neck, “care to show me how much?”

The look in his eyes made your core burn. The tension building between you two became too much to handle as you crashed your lips into his. The kisses were messy and you could feel the sense of urgency between you two. His beard scratched against the column of your throat with a delicious burn as he left wet kisses across your jaw and down the side of your neck. Chris’ hands found their way back into the ass pockets of your jeans as he started walking you back towards the direction of the bedroom.

Soon, there was a trail of clothes leading to your bedroom and you felt very sorry for your neighbors. It had been a long time, but Chris always had a way of welcoming you home.

#eeeeeeee #i love soft drunk boston frat chris so much it pains me #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans #chris evans headcanons #chris evans imagines #chris evans fic #chris evans fluff #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans/reader #chris evans/you #fluff #imagines #headcanons

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