#i suppose i could... write a shitty rough draft | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bonesandthebees · 1 month

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I care about Rose! In fact, we started watching house of dragon (only 2 episode so far though) and it constantly makes me think of Rose because you use it as inspiration. Like obviously there’s the coronation scene which reminds me of stars. And there’s the character Willum is sorta kinda inspired by. And it’s an entirely different world, but every time I’m drawn back to Rose wondering how things will play out. (Which is not pressure to finish writing it if you don’t want to. Writer’s block can be a bitch and I get that the motivation for this project has been sucked out, but I just want you to know that I still care, and I’m not the only one.)

Also, I’ve been meaning to start my Ready, Set, Detonate analysis but I keeps getting away from me. I’m not sure there will be much to analyse, but there’s definitely fun details I want to point out. Oh and I am Looking 👀 at the fit/pac tag and kicking my feet. I don’t actually know if they are already in a relationship (I’m sure we’ll find out, but I just loved Fit’s little “Pac’s here?” That man is gone. Oh and I’m so excited for this Tubbo and to read more Bagi and the lore. Just all of it.

Then the original writing is a mood. I keep getting like a few chapters into my story before deciding it’s not good enough or thinking of something else I could do and throwing it all out. It’s this constant loop that never seems to get anywhere even though the story gets more and more fleshed out in my head every time. I think it’s because the opportunities are endless. Like there’s no characters and personalities and dynamics to stick to like there is in fan fiction. It’s free game but that does mean you have to decide everything yourself.

Anyway, best original writing advice I can give is remember the drafting process. There’s going to be a shit ton of drafts, which feels different for you because you’ve been mostly writing stories and posting them as you go, which means some minor or major editing, but leaves you without a chance to do a once over. It’s a sort of pressure to get everything right the first time. Meanwhile, original writing is something you keep close to your chest. There’s different drafting stages ranging from the zero draft (aka excessive daydreaming about all the possibilities) to the final draft (where you just go through and kill all your darlings and pour over ever single word to find the right one).

I’m struggling a lot with the first draft, which is literally just getting words onto a page. It’s a somewhat coherent mess that just allows you to shape the story and its structure so you can work off of that and edit it later on. I don’t know if this actually helps, but yeah, the first draft sucks and then it mostly gets easier. Just write, is kinda shitty advice, but it’s mainly, just get words onto a page, you will get a million chances to fix it, you don’t need to be happy about what you wrote right now.

-🌲

ohhhh I'm so excited you've started watching hotd!! good timing since the second season is going to come out later this year :D I hope you enjoy!! and I'm so happy to hear you're still excited about rose. I definitely want to finish writing it, like I said it's just me worrying about if anyone will bother to read it but a lot of you have said you would so that helps assuage my worries a bit

feel free to send whatever random thoughts you have about ready set detonate you know idc if it's analysis or not I just love seeing peoples reactions!! fit and pac are not in a relationship (yet) in the fic but theres a lot of flirty pining going on lol

god yeah it's so much harder with original fiction because it feels like there's so much pressure. you have too much freedom to do whatever you want so you're constantly second guessing if it's good enough or not. and ofc I know rough drafts are supposed to be shitty but I've tried to hone my skills so that my first draft is always incredibly solid because I rarely have the patience to do heavy edits, but that's with fanfiction. it has to be different with original fiction I know but it's hard to make my brain okay with that. I keep feeling like it needs to be nearly perfect on the first run :( but yeah I'm mostly trying to get words on a page. but then I think back and realize I forgot to mention this or I need to mention more of that etc etc and it's just stressful arghhh

#ask #spruce anon

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soulrph · 1 year

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Re: Your answer to OP about being overwhelmed with drafts and your tags to it. Sometimes we need to just need to hear that everything will be okay because it's so easy to forget <3

sometimes, when we look at everything going on in our personal lives and the world around us, it can be really, really easy to apply a similar level of stress and pressure to the things that are meant to keep us calm and relaxed. my mam got me one of those "picture a day" books where you colour in a picture each day until it's filled in, and i actually ended up crying with pure frustration when i couldn't do it for a week and i tried doing all eight pictures in the space of an hour!

(this got super long under the cut JIUASDFBFDAS but there's a huge essay on feelings and the dash belong the readmore! )

we have a tendency to believe that we're SUPPOSED to be keeping on top of everything. but think about it. we have lives behind the screen. some of us have family and friends, some of us have school or jobs to consider, and as i have said since about 2016, IT'S BEEN A REALLY ROUGH YEAR!! we're all exhausted! we're all burnt out! but as the pandemic has proven relentlessly, and we just seem determined not to listen to this, we are all unique in how we handle stress. during the early months, my brother became a total movie buff. loved all the classics, all the westerns, all the movies he could find. i enjoyed writing, but i actually preferred sudoku? no idea why or how, but i clung to sudoku and cookery for all those months. i know people who gardened, baked, painted, sculpted, started businesses, i know people who just rested and napped and relaxed for months on end, and you know what's really spectacular, nonnie? we are all still here, and back at the new normal we knew would come one day.

everything will be okay. i promise you. no matter how shitty you think it is, and god knows, we've all had days where we know it's been unfathomably awful, but it does get better. i quit my job three days ago after just two weeks of working there. i also handed in two weeks notice after two weeks at another job. it's all fine now! it sucks, but after a moment, you recover, and you move forward! i've completed two degrees, that's four years of essays, exams and deadlines, and people have constantly taken my absences and my silences as well as my activity. everything will be okay. there's nothing wrong with being upset and scared by the stuff we see on the news, or the stuff that happens in our lives, in our spaces. there's absolutely nothing wrong with you for having emotions that aren't tranquil and happy. toxic positivity belongs in the trash can. don't ever beat yourself up over the ways that those emotions manifest themselves! emotions are fickle and weird, that's always been a fact! i cried when i dropped a carton of garlic mayonnaise last week at work. no idea why, but it happened, and i'm cool with that, because it wasn't the garlic mayonnaise that upset me, it was just another thing on a really big pile of stuff, right? it's okay to cry and be upset and stressed by stuff.

but here's the thing.

it's okay to feel scared. and it's okay to be panicked. it doesn't matter what you're afraid of anymore. you're not being silly, i swear to god, you're not, i promise you. but at the end of the day, you are not alone. your friends and family are with you. you are loved and supported, and you might need to take off for a few months, and that's okay, because you're doing that to help yourself, and to be safe and to come back when you're able for the dash. there's nothing wrong with that. there's nothing wrong with hiatuses, or deleting your inbox, or archiving your blog fifty times in a year, or getting rid of all your starter calls and drafts. there's nothing wrong with any of that! you wanna know why?? because this is a feckin COMMUNITY!! and i will say that until my final breath, because god help us, lads, we all forget that, don't we? this is a COMMUNITY. we are a family, each and every single one of us. we might be in different fandoms, we might have different views and opinions, but the day that someone decides they won't support their friends through a brief hiatus or a spring clean or revamp of their blog, is the day that they no longer belong in that person's family. we all deserve people who love and support us throughout the changes and transformations we make. and the changes we make on a silly blog on tumblr are just the tiniest drops in the ocean.

delete your drafts. empty your inbox. take a hiatus. if that's what you want, or do whatever you like, and for the love of god, nonnie, friends, loved ones, please, never ever EVER feel a single shadow of guilt for looking after yourself. your family will be here for you when you return from your hiatus. and if someone decides not to be there, then that's okay, too. that's them, okay? that's not you. you do what you gotta do to be happy and healthy. and everything will be okay. but that doesn't mean we aren't entitled to feel stuff that isn't okay.

#ooc.#cinnanon roll.#idk what else to add here #i have been in the rpc for seven years now. almost eight.#i've seen a share of worrying trends.#but the longest lasting of these has to be the bizarre belief that we somehow are wrong to feel anything outside of endless happiness #you're a human being #we all have emotions #it's really troubling actually that we have a greater capacity for understanding and compassion #when it comes to the emotions of fictional characters #than we do for ourselves #'ah yeah i love that scene look how this character just exploded with all the emotions he suppressed for the last decade! good for him!'#yeah besties but also it's important that u also express your emotions #no matter how 'ugly' or 'bad' you may think they are #no such thing as a wrong feeling #you're entitled to these feelings and i hope you all know that.

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gochujangst · 3 years

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"This is so gay, Announcer play Cara Mia Addio" - a shitty ChellDOS fanfic

By Gochujangst

TAGS: WLW, Portal, Portal 2, ChellDOS, Major Character Death, Shitty comedy, gayass kiss, Chell x GLaDOS

Hey uh this is my first fic that took me 2 nights to write so don't actually take it seriously, because it was going to be serious but then I made it into some sort of lazy comedy thing so if you like shitass comedy *and* ChellDOS you're in luck. Also this isn't edited at all lmao this is the rough draft babey.

The sound of ASHPD fire was heard through the test chamber. Deadly lasers were humming, Excursion funnels were glittering, and Chell was soaring through the air from the momentum she generated. She fires her blue portal on a 90° panel as she fires her orange portal on the wall she was flying towards. Once out the blue portal she grabs a thermal re-direction cube from a faithplate below, and directs a laser to open up the chamber door. Test complete.

"Well done, that's a new record for sure, Chell." GLaDOS spoke through the intercom. Chell smiled as she wiped away sweat from her head. She walked into the elevator leaned against the glass as it rose. "Why don't you take a break? All that g-force can't be good for you." Huh. That's funny. Why I she being so… polite all of a sudden? Chell looked to the camera in the elevator in confusion. "Oh come on. I'm not supposed to show kindness to my one and only test subject?" Chell rolls her eyes and smiles, doing quotation marks with her hands. GLaDOS huffed audibly. "Atlas and

P-body aren't human, you know. Its not like I have to always keep a track on their vitals at all times."

Chell stares wide-eyed at the camera. You what?! "Oh. You didn't know I did that? Well, you are my only human test subject left, an important one at that. So why wouldn't I keep an eye on you? If something happens, say, you have appendicitis, I could preform surgery on you and restore you back to health."

…

GLaDOS rolled her eyes. "This is all news to me, Chell. I thought you of all people would know that. Being that Rattmann assisted you." Chell just grew more confused.

"Okay, some of this may be new information to you, so I might aswell drop it."

The elevator ride continued in silence. It was a long, awkward silence. Chell had her arms crossed in anticipation for the next test. Silence.

"Chell?" GLaDOS piped up. Chell looks up to the camera once more. "I'm glad you came back. I mean… those 9 years were lonely. It felt like the blackbox feature all over again." Chell smirked. GLaDOS was getting ...flustered now. "I mean… I couldn't stop thinking about you. I didn't actually want you gone." Chell laughed, then sighed. She looked up to the camera and signed "take me to your chamber." GLaDOS silently approved, and the ride continued up.

She arrived. The doors hissed open, and Chell stepped out and looked to the woman infront of her. GLaDOS turns to face her, her optic glowing a warm orange. "Are you hiding something? Your emotions? Caroline?" Chell signed. GLaDOS took aback and scoffed. "What? No. Caroline's gone. I deleted her 9 years ago, dumbass." ...she wasn't very good at controlling her language yet. Even then that felt like a total lie. And she does have a track record of lying. "You sure?" Chell asked. GLaDOS blew a raspberry then grumbled to herself. "Maybe I didn't. Maybe I faked deleting Caroline for you to leave."

I KNEW IT! It was in the lyrics! "Now little Caroline is in here too?" She signed. GLaDOS rolled her eyes. "...that was a grammatical error. It's supposed to be 'was'." She huffed.

Chell laughed, then came closer to GLaDOS, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Say 'Hello' Caroline." She signed. GLaDOS glared at her then said it. "Hello Caroline." She then smiled. She put a hand to Chell's cheek.

"Look, Want You Gone was written in the moment. And Cara Mia Addio was just me getting my feelings for you out- GASP!"

Huh?? "What was that last bit?" Chell signed. GLaDOS waved her arms around, obviously embarrassed. "NOTHING. NOTHING AT ALL, YOU DIDNT HEAR ANYTHING."

Chell cackled loudly. "You think I didn't notice Cara Mia Addio? I'm multilingual!" She signed.

GLaDOS spun around in the chassis thinking of excuses. "During your elevator ride up I was panicking trying to open task manager because the fucking announcer started to play Cara Mia Addio."

"Now playing: Cara Mia Addio." The announcer's voice spoke over the intercom. The song started up. GLaDOS panicked again, "THAT WASN'T A REQUEST?!"

Chell couldn't help but laugh to herself at the whole scene presented to her. As GLaDOS had her hologram screens open to override the announcer, Chell put a hand to GLaDOS'S own. GLaDOS halted and jumped. She looked to her subject.

Sì, lontana da Scienza, Cara, cara mia bambina?

Chell smiled. Then signed, "I don't mind that you feel that way. In fact, I sort of do myself." GLaDOS's eyes grew brighter.

No, literally, the lights grew intense.

She blushed, staring at the woman before her. "Im glad you feel that way, DOS'. Gayass song and everything." GLaDOS continued to stare into her eyes.

Ah, mia cara! Ah, mia bambina! O cara, cara mia…

… "can you kiss me already? Come on." GLaDOS spoke. Chell's eyes grew wide. Lmao alright. So she did. She kissed that gayass fucking robot lady. She loved every second of it. Did she hear her fans whirring?? Once she stopped, GLaDOS looked star struck. "Are you my girlfriend now?" GLaDOS asked.

"No, I'm your wife now asshole"

Then Wheatley crashed through the ceiling and died

#long post #portal #portal 2 #jangart #jang writes #fanfic #ChellDOS #major character death #Bad humor #they use slang now #Android bod time

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seijorhi · 4 years

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hello, i love your writing and was hoping if u could write a yandere kuroo x reader where he corners her in a corner and kenma is there and is getting off from it 😳 thank u !

Asdfghjkl this was supposed to be posted on Sunday I’m sorry, bby!! I hope it’s worth the wait! 💕 also, loved this request so thanks for sending it in 😊

Kuroo Tetsuro x Female Reader, Kenma Kozume x Female Reader

TW dub con, coercion (kinda?), stalking, humiliation

Helping Hand

There’s a certain peace you find in the looming stacks of the library after the sun sets. It’s quieter then, less people milling about. You don’t have to fight for space or books, and considering you have midterms soon and essays coming out of your ears, that makes it the perfect study environment.

It’s only a little after eight, the library’s still open for another two and a half hours, but on the fourth floor it’s almost a ghost town - just how you like it. There’s a professor tucked away in the back corner, piles of books built up around him, an older librarian with her trolley, slowly re-shelving books, and two other guys around your age sitting huddled at a table a few down from yours - the textbooks and highlights spread across their desk having been long since abandoned in favour of literally anything else.

Honestly, you’d wonder why they’d bother coming to the library at all if it wasn’t an almost daily occurrence. Most days you were there, so were they - usually together, although it wasn’t uncommon to see just one of them camped out between the stacks as you made your way to your desk. The duo, one tall and lean with a shock of messy dark hair that always looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, and the other smaller, more reserved, with bleached hair and dark roots in serious need of a touch up, seemed to prefer this time to study too - not that they ever seemed to actually do all that much studying.

Usually the blonde ends up absorbed in his switch while the other casually thumbs through whichever book is closest.

So long as they were quiet and didn’t disturb you, who were you to judge?

You don’t really remember when they’d started to appear, only that they’d quickly become a fixture in your refuge - distantly familiar presences like strangers travelling on the same bus to work each day. They smile (well, the dark haired one does) and nod whenever you happen to look up from your notes and catch their eye, and while you’ve only spoken a handful of words to the both of them, they always seemed nice.

Nicer than the clearly overworked professor muttering away in the corner at any rate, which makes them the logical choice to approach when you find your bladder uncomfortably full halfway through your self imposed study session. Realistically, you know at this time of the night nobody else is likely to make their way up to the fourth floor, much less have any interest in your shitty, old laptop or the five whole dollars in your wallet - yet you find you making your way over to the twosome’s table anyway, a faint blush dusting across your cheeks.

“… don’t want to,” you overhear the blonde mutter, his attention wholly focused upon the game in his hands. “Things are fine, why change that?”

His friend sighs, “Because you can deny it all you want, but I know you better than that. I know I’m not the only one who wants more. You can’t just sit back and…” he trails off suddenly, hazel eyes flickering over to you in surprise.

Confused by his friend’s sudden silence, the blonde lowers his game and glances up - only to still at the sight of you.

You swallow down your nerves, plastering what you hope is a friendly enough smile across your face, “Hi, uh… sorry to interrupt you guys, but would you mind watching my stuff for a few minutes while I go to the bathroom? I won’t be long or anything, I just don’t like leaving my stuff out in the open,” you say with a sheepish laugh, well aware that you’re rambling like an idiot.

It’s the dark haired one who answers, a wide grin breaking across his face as he nods, “Yeah, no worries. We’d be glad to.”

You smile back, ignoring the faint fluttering in your stomach (he does look kind of cute grinning like that), thanking him again before rushing away in the direction of the bathroom.

It doesn’t take long for your thoughts to drift away from the duo back to the essay you’re mid-way through drafting. You have a sinking feeling that the argument you’re trying to use in the fourth paragraph is essentially a just rehash of the point you made in the first. By the time you unlock the stall door and make your way over to the sink to wash your hands, you’re starting to debate the merits of scrapping the whole thing and starting fresh with new ideas.

You still technically have time, it’s not due until the end of the month, but you just kind of want it done so you don’t have to think about it anymore. Then again, that’s kind of your feelings towards the semester as a whole.

Who are you kidding? University’s kicking your ass this year.

The ancient hand dryer’s almost deafening as it clicks on - it masks the sound door swinging open and the footsteps that echo out from the tile floors.

It’s only when your eyes flicker up to mirror that you see that you’re no longer alone-

Standing right behind you is the guy from before; the tall, dark haired one.

- and jerk in surprise, stumbling backwards with a choked yelp.

It doesn’t hit you right away - no, that’s relief that has you drawing a hand over your chest and letting out a shaking laugh. “You scared the hell out of me!” you say, bracing yourself over the sink to try and calm your breathing.

No, it doesn’t hit you quickly. Realisation is slow - creeping through your veins like ice as your eyes flicker back up the mirror.

He hasn’t moved.

He’s smiling, grinning really, but there’s something… something off about it. It doesn’t quite meet his eyes… Why isn’t he saying anything?

W-why isn’t he moving away?

Your heart, still hammering from his shock of his sudden appearance, squeezes uncomfortably and your eyes slowly widen.

“Wh-”

A rough, calloused palm slaps across your mouth, smothering whatever words you’d been about to speak. “Ah, ah. Gotta keep it down, sweetheart.”

He winks at you in the mirror, taking a tiny step towards you and you squeak, breathing in sharp, shallow pants through your nose as a warm, muscled chest presses against your back. “You’re a nervous little thing, aren’tcha?” he chuckles. “Relax a little - promise I don’t bite.”

With one hand wrapped around your lips the other creeping across your waist, his words don’t exactly bring you a lot of comfort.

It makes no difference either way - you’re paralysed, shaking and trembling, but utterly unable to move as he noses at the column of your throat, his warm breath tickling your skin.

You could scream, but there’s no guarantee anybody would hear you. You could try and fight him off, but he’s taller than you, and you’re willing to bet stronger as well.

Will he hurt you if you try and resist?

Is he gonna hurt you anyway?

You’ve heard the stories before about men who follow women into empty bathrooms and the awful things they do, but you never...

Those things don’t happen in places like this. The library is supposed to be safe, he- he’s been-

Your stomach drops.

Weeks.

He’s been visiting the library with his friend, sitting across from you for weeks.

His eyes bore into your reflection in the mirror like he can hear every terrified thought that passes through your head, and with excruciating slowness you’re forced to watch as his lips brush a kiss against your cheek, lingering and sweet - a mockery of tenderness.

A scared little whimper is all you can manage, and even that is swallowed up by the sound of the bathroom door squeaking open once more.

Your heart skips a beat, eyes widening.

A faint burst of hope flickers to life.

You might not be a fighter, but this might be the only chance you have. You shriek again, the sound woefully muffled, and writhe against your captor’s tightening grip as slow footsteps round the corner.

Please, you think as tears stream silently down your face. Please help me.

What little hope you have is quickly - brutally - extinguished as your would be saviour steps into view.

Your legs shake and you’re almost positive that if it wasn’t for the strong arms wrapped around you, you would have crumpled to the floor.

It’s his friend, the blonde, hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, watching the scene before him - you struggling against an iron grip, gagged and terrified - like it’s nothing out of the ordinary.

Your captor chuckles, relaxing his grip as his hand drifts upwards to palm at your breast and you want to die. “Glad you finally decided to grace us with your presence.”

“Shut up, Kuroo,” the blonde groans as he makes his way over, but he barely glances at his friend before his catlike eyes come to rest on you.

Your cheeks are burning, a potent mix of shame, nausea and dread churning in your stomach as you’re crudely felt up, but under the blonde’s attention you freeze.

While his face is a blank mask of apathetic disinterest, those golden irises are piercing in their intensity as they study you.

The glint in his eyes is as unmistakable as it is stark; anticipation - like a house cat watching a golden canary flit restlessly in its cage.

The hiccuping sob comes unbidden, choking at your throat as you wail against the palm at your lips. You’ve never wanted to disappear so badly in your entire life, to slap yourself awake and realise that it’s nothing but a stress induced nightmare because this can’t be happening.

Why you?

What could you possibly have done to deserve this?

“Relax,” Kuroo repeats, leaning down over you again, “we’re not gonna hurt you. Just wanna have some fun, that’s all.” You think he’s going to try and kiss you again, but instead his tongue darts out and he licks at the silvery tear tracks, groaning softly.

You shoot the quiet blonde a desperate, pleading look. He hasn’t lifted a finger to stop what’s happening, hasn’t done anything other than stare at you, but even as his lips twitch into the faintest hint of a smile you hold out on the shadow of a prayer that maybe, just maybe-

Kuroo follows your wide, panicked gaze and almost snorts. “You’re barking up the wrong tree there, baby. Kenma’s not gonna help you. He wants this just as badly as I do.” His thumb slides across your cheek, brushing away more tears, “C’mon, on your knees.”

He doesn’t give you a choice - the hand on your shoulder forces your shaking knees to buckle and you fall down to the bathroom floor.

The tiles are cold against your bare legs, but the shivers that wrack through you have little to do with the temperature. It’s far too late to regret the short skirt you’d thrown on that morning.

Kuroo hums appreciatively, lifting his palm to tap it a few times against your cheek like you’re an adorable little puppy who’s just learned its first trick, “It’s a good look for you, baby, but I think it’d be even better without this-” his fingers tug at the collar of your top and his grin widens, “- in the way.”

Yet he makes no move to take it off for you. One look into his eyes, the glittering amusement darkened with lewd desire and you know that he won’t.

He wants you to do it, to play along in their fun - to be an active participant in your own humiliation.

And really, what other choice do you have?

It’s impossible to ignore the bulge straining against his jeans as your trembling fingers grip the hem of your top and reluctantly yank it upwards. There’s a sharp inhale - Kuroo you think - and a whistle as it comes off, baring your lacy bra and the soft skin underneath to their hungry gazes.

Only for a moment.

Staring resolutely at the floor you’re quick to try and cover what little modesty you have left, bringing your arms up to wrap around your chest-

Except a hand catches at your wrist and tugs it back, and when you glance up you find it’s Kenma’s.

“… Don’t,” he murmurs. “I want to see you.”

You let your arms drop, hands clenching into shaking fists in your lap, fingernails biting into your palm.

The sound of a zipper being pulled undone is almost deafening in the quiet bathroom. Fresh tears sting at your eyes, but you can’t bear to look at either of them as Kuroo reaches inside his pants and frees his cock.

The hand that cups your cheek is surprisingly gentle as he coaxes your face back towards him and the achingly hard member in his grip. “See Kenma, I told you - change ain’t always a bad thing.”

His dark eyes flicker back to you and he grins, “Open up, sweetheart.”

#yandere haikyuu #yandere kuroo #yandere kuroo x reader #yandere kenma #yandere kenma x reader #yandere #yandere kuroo tetsuro #yandere kuroo tetsuro x reader #female reader #yandere kenma kozume #yandere kenma kozume x reader #kenma x reader #kuroo x reader #tw dub con #tw implied stalking #tw humiliation #kuroo x reader x kenma

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bluejayblueskies · 3 years

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the before, the after, the in-between

Chapter Three: return states Words: 3.3k

Relationships: Jon & Daisy, Jon/Martin Tags: Post-Canon, Scottish Safehouse, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mute Jon, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies, Nightmares

Work Summary:

There was no knife, no blood, and Jon was not dead. And when he heard a strangled noise from beside him and looked over to see Martin standing in the doorway of the safehouse, flung open and letting in the frigid bite of near-winter and sunlight, there was sunlight, he felt such a dizzying, intense wave of relief that he could hardly breathe around it.

Then, he opened his mouth to say Martin’s name, and nothing came out, and all of the relief fell away in an instant.

Jon wakes up in the safehouse in October of 2018, alive and well but without the Eye and without his voice. In the days that follow, he finds himself confronted with a world that has reset itself in space and in time, a version of himself that is no longer the Archivist, and the fact that death during the end of the world had not been so permanent as it had seemed.

Chapter Summary:

Daisy's mug rests beside her, emptied and with a small ring of tea leaves at the bottom of it as the three of them sit around the kitchen table and try to work out what, exactly, the state of the world is at present and what it means for them.

Apparently, Daisy tells them, things are “rough.”

Read on Ao3 (link in source)

Or read below:

(cw for mentions of death and blood)

Daisy takes her tea with no milk or sugar, oversteeped enough that it sticks to her tongue and the roof of her mouth when she drinks it. Jon recognized the faint twitch of Martin’s nose when she told him this, the one that meant he was trying to hold in a look of displeasure, and smiled to himself, burying his grin in his own mug of tea. Now, her mug rests beside her, emptied and with a small ring of tea leaves at the bottom of it as the three of them sit around the kitchen table and try to work out what, exactly, the state of the world is at present and what it means for them.

Jon has his notebook now, which makes things easier. Still, it remains mostly closed and set to the side as Daisy explains, in greater detail, how she found her way here. How the farmer who had found her offered her clothing and, hesitantly, a meal and a ride. “He said I couldn’t stay,” Daisy says with a sigh, rubbing the handle of the mug between her fingertips. “Makes sense, I suppose. Everyone’s still scared, unsure what’s next. I don’t think he was particularly keen to take in a stranger. Especially one covered in blood, waking up days after everyone else. Still don’t know why. Wonder if it didn’t want to let me go or something. Don’t know if it matters much, though.”

The radio had been on in the kitchen when the farmer had slid a hastily-made bowl of soup in front of her before settling across from her with his own. They hadn’t spoken, so Daisy had listened instead.

Apparently, she tells them, things are “rough.”

“Rough,” Martin echoes, curling his hands around his own mug of tea. “What does that mean?”

Daisy shrugs, leaning back in her chair. “It means they’re rough.” At his sour expression, she sighs and continues, “There’s a whole world of people who have memories of horrible things but who opened their eyes a few days ago to find themselves sitting back at their desk in their office or lying in their bed or in the middle of walking their dog.” She laughs, a small exhalation through her nose. “The radio host tried to claim it was a ‘mass hallucination.’”

Jon taps his fingers on the cover of his notebook, trying not to let the sick feeling in his stomach bleed over onto his face. He tries to focus on Daisy’s words so he doesn’t get swallowed by the swirling mass of guilt and regret and frustration and self-loathing that’s currently forming in his chest. He’s only partially successful.

As far as Daisy’s been able to put it together, the situation is this:

When the Fears exited this reality, it reset itself in space and in time, putting people back in the places they had been when the first eye in the sky blinked open. Like turning back the hand of a clock, Jon thinks, except in the time it had taken the hand to traverse the face of the clock, it had seen and felt and experienced irreparable horrors that stuck with it even as it was adjusted back into place. People still have their memories; he still has his scar, the one that Martin won’t look at.

But Daisy is alive. And as far as she can tell, she’s not the only one.

The farmer who had found her had been trapped in an End domain. He’d only told her because he’d asked if she’d been in “one of the death ones as well”—said that she had the same glassy-eyed, confused look of someone who was sure that they’d died only to find themselves very much alive and well again. She’d said no and had left it at that, and he hadn’t mentioned it again. On the drive to the safehouse, he’d had the radio on again, and one of the hosts had talked at length about return states. People who remembered being twisted and reformed had woken up humanoid once again; people who had forgotten which face was meant to be theirs had looked in the mirror and recognized the version of themselves that they thought they’d lost. And people who had died opened their eyes just like everybody else, hearts beating one again.

It makes sense, Jon thinks as he scribbles two words in the notebook and holds it up for Martin and Daisy to see: dream logic. At least, it makes as much sense as any other outcome he might have expected. A reset button of sorts. Reality stretched and warped, snapping back into place as the things warping it were sent away.

It would explain how they’re here, at least. How Jon woke up unbleeding and Martin found him and held him and sobbed into his shoulder and neither of them quite remembered the transition from being unraveled and undone to being solid once more. Maybe he did die, standing in the center of the Panopticon with tape spilling out of his mouth and the wound in his chest, and he was simply reborn.

“And that’s all I know,” Daisy says with a small shrug. “Remembered that I had a safehouse in Scotland and got a ride. Didn’t expect to find the two of you here, though.”

Jon scribbles quickly in his notebook as Martin says carefully, “We had a… a bit of a rough time of it and needed somewhere safe to stay.”

Jon holds up the notebook, which reads pulled martin from lonely hid from el jonah didn’t work. Then, while still holding it up, he writes messily, like it here. And then: shitty books though.

Dryly, Daisy says, “I didn’t come up here to read, Jon.”

Jon rolls his eyes, then settles the notebook down on the table so he can write, more legibly and in complete sentences now that he’s not rushing, Yes, I gathered that much. The pulpy romance novels were a nice touch, though. Then, he hesitates, his pen hovering over the page for a long moment. Daisy and Martin are patient, though Daisy cranes her neck to read what he’s already written, laughing under her breath as she reads the words. He shoots her a glare without much heat, then turns back to the page and writes, slowly and carefully, We I like it here. Do you Would it be all right if I would like to stay.

He doesn’t bother holding up the notebook, given that Daisy is already reading the words as he writes them. Instead, he sets the pen down in the center of the notebook and looks at her, not quite able to write the last sentence. The one where he asks her if she’s going to stay.

He doesn’t know if he wants to know the answer. And the answer, for now, is yes, which is all that matters.

“Okay,” Daisy says with a small shrug. “I’m not kicking you out if that’s what you’re worried about.”

It’s really not. But Jon gives her a shrug anyway, because that’s as easy an answer as anything else, and writes, I mean, it technically is your house.

Daisy snorts at that. “Sure. And it’s my pictures hung up on the fridge and my vegetables planted in the back and my clothes in the bedroom, then?” She laughs again, quieter this time. “You can have the place. It’s got a draft.”

“Speaking of,” Martin says, “I should go get some more wood for the fire. And, um. Probably some supplies from town.”

He looks a bit uncomfortable at the thought, and Jon understands. They haven’t been to town yet, having had enough supplies to last them the past few days, and after what Daisy’s told them, he imagines Martin isn’t keen to face whatever situation is outside the safety of the walls of the safehouse. Jon is about to offer to come with—for support if nothing else—but he’s not halfway through inking the words on paper when Martin shakes his head, placing a gentle hand on Jon’s shoulder to prompt him to stop writing.

(The first day, when Jon had been getting used to writing down his thoughts and Martin had been getting used to waiting for them to appear, Martin had placed his hand atop Jon’s to interrupt him, and the words had smudged across the page. Jon had looked at the marred sentence, something twisting and choking spreading in his stomach and throat, and he must have looked distressed because Martin had stammered out an apology and held his hands up in the air, his mouth twisted into something equally as upset. There was just something about seeing his words sat upon the page, smeared and ruined, that Jon couldn’t stand to look at.)

“I’ll be quick,” Martin promises. “We don’t know what it’s like out there, and I just… I think it’ll be best if it’s just me. For now.”

Jon wants to argue. Instead, he worries his bottom lip between his teeth and then nods, twisting the pen back and forth between his fingers. “Okay,” Martin says, sounding relieved. “I’ll go get the wood, and then I’ll be off. We’re, um. We’re all out of tea.”

Jon remembers the thing that was not tea, and even though it’s not particularly funny, he still finds it within himself to laugh, albeit a bit humorlessly. He nods, and Martin leaves, and then it’s just him and Daisy, sat at the table with three empty and tea-stained mugs. The yellow daisies in front of them sit directly in a beam of sunlight, bright and cheery.

“I’m going to take a nap,” Daisy says at length, standing and making a displeased expression when her back pops. She looks at Jon for a moment, forehead pinched as if trying to make a difficult decision, before saying, “You can come. But only if you stop making that face.”

What face, Jon wants to ask. He settles for a glare that lacks significant heat and that only serves to make Daisy huff out a breath and turn away from him. “Your choice,” she says as she walks away, disappearing around the corner. There’s no soft click of the bedroom door closing, and after a moment, Jon stands, takes his notebook and pen in hand, and slowly makes his way to the bedroom.

Daisy is standing in front of the bed, unmoving, a strange sort of tension in her body. Jon frowns and steps into the room, coming around so he can see her face.

She’s staring at the bed—sheets slightly rumpled from where Jon hadn’t quite pulled them taught when making it this morning, the firmer pillow that Martin prefers and had packed with him settled next to the cheap thing Jon uses and Martin insists is bad for his neck. Jon’s glasses are settled on the nightstand next to his side along with the book he’d been working his way through before things had gone wrong and a small framed picture of the Admiral that Martin had definitely made fun of him for but had admitted later he found incredibly endearing. Jon looks at the bed, then back at her, then places a hand on her arm just below the elbow, trying to convey his confused concern with his expression and body alone.

Daisy stares at the bed a moment more before sighing and turning away. “I’ll take the couch,” she says, starting towards the door. Unthinkingly, Jon tightens his grip on her arm and pulls her back. She pauses and gives him a flat look that he takes in stride, not letting go of her arm. “I’m not sleeping in your bed, Jon. It’s not…” She pauses, then says with the slightest hitch in her voice that Jon wouldn’t have heard if he hadn’t heard it dozens of times before, back in the Archives, “It’s not mine.”

Jon thinks that’s ridiculous, frankly. He doesn’t mind, and he knows Martin won’t mind either, and the couch is absolutely atrocious—a threadbare, broken-down thing that Martin had glared at quite thoroughly their first night here before declaring that if they stayed here any longer than a month, they were going to have to buy a new one. Jon, pleased at the thought of staying here for the near future, had agreed readily, even more so once he’d sat on it and found that the springs sagged considerably under his weight. He pulls on Daisy’s arm, nodding towards the bed, and gives her his best come-on expression.

Daisy stares at him for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But I’m getting my own pillow.”

She does, swapping it out for Martin’s before curling up on his side of the bed and giving Jon an amused look as he crawls in beside her, sitting against the headboard, pulling his knees to his chest, and balancing the book from the nightstand on top of them. But she doesn’t say anything—just closes her eyes and lies still until her breathing levels out and she begins to snore, a heavy, rumbling thing that Jon had come to find comforting when it had just been the two of them together in the Archives. He lets it fade into white noise as he opens the book to the first page, resigning himself to starting over from scratch rather than trusting his memory, and begins to read.

Martin is still in the village when Daisy wakes with a gasp, mutters something about needing the toilet, and disappears into the hall before Jon can fully disengage himself from his book. He tells himself it’s fine—it’s not like he has any shortage of nightmares, and neither had Daisy even before the world had ended—and returns to the text, trying to get back into the rhythm of the words. After ten minutes though, he finds himself still distracted, rereading the same paragraphs over and over as he waits for Daisy to return. At fifteen, he finally snaps the book shut, slips out of bed, swaps his book for the notebook, and makes his way to the bathroom.

The door is firmly shut, so he knocks. Then, he knocks again, wishing he could call Daisy’s name but resigning himself to standing outside and affixing the door with a rather impressive scowl for being in the way. After a moment, he hears a faint rustling noise from inside before Daisy says, sounding somewhere between exasperated and resigned, “It’s not locked.”

Jon doesn’t know if that’s an invitation to enter, but he does so anyway. Daisy is standing in front of the vanity, staring at herself in the mirror. She looks away when Jon enters, and at his questioning expression, she says, “Figured you were just going to stand there until I let you in.” Then: “I’m done anyway.”

Jon frowns and flips open the notebook. Daisy watches him, something vaguely amused on her face, as he writes, Are you okay? then holds it out for her to see. She shrugs—an overly casual gesture—and says, “Less than a day ago I was dead. What do you think?”

Jon frowns and writes, Can I help?

Daisy pauses, then sighs. “Nothing you can do about it.” She glances back at the mirror, then down at her hands, turning them over so she’s staring at her palms. “It’s all in my head. Just… lingering memories, I think, of what happened. Of who I became at the end.”

Not your fault, Jon writes in thick, dark lines.

“It’s not a matter of ‘fault,’” Daisy says. “I made a choice, to help you and to protect Basira, and people got hurt because of that choice. It just is.”

Jon bites his lip and writes, slowly and unsure of whether or not the words will be helpful, They’re probably alive again. If everything really has reset itself. It occurs to him that that means Trevor and Julia as well, and a small thrum of anxiety rushes through him that he suffocates. They don’t know about this place, and even if they did, they’re not Hunters anymore. They’re safe here. They’re safe.

“Doesn’t change what I did,” Daisy says, still looking at her hands. Her fingers curl in slowly towards her palms, and she drops her hands to her sides, looking up at Jon as she does so. She looks haunted, he thinks; it’s a look he’s only seen on her once before, and it had been partially hidden by the dirt and sediment packed in around them. “It’s like I can still smell the blood. I can’t hear it, so I know it’s gone, but every time I look at my hands, I swear I can see it, just for a moment.” Her fists tighten, knuckles pulling white and fingernails biting into her palms. “I can’t decide if I’m glad or not that when I blink, it’s gone. I don’t feel weak, it’s not… it’s not calling to me, but I still feel as if something’s missing. Like I’ve… lost something. Some part of me. And I can’t decide if I’m meant to miss it or not.”

Oh. Carefully, Jon sets the notebook down on the vanity and reaches for one of Daisy’s hands, giving her time to pull her hand away before taking it in his and uncurling her fingers, one by one, until her palm is laid bare in front of him, clean and unmarked save for angry red crescents where her fingernails had bit into her skin. He rubs a thumb over one of the marks, squeezes her hand gently, and looks up at her, glad that he doesn’t have to try to put into words the tangled mess of sympathies and placations that she won’t want to hear that are currently swirling around in his head. He thinks some of them bleed out into his eyes and onto his face, though, because she gives him a look and says, “I’ll be fine.” Then, after a moment: “You feel the same.”

It’s not a question, though Jon’s sure he could refute it if he wanted to. But he doesn’t. He feels that ache inside of him, the itching at the back of his throat sometimes when he wants to ask a question but can’t find the voice to do so, the pressure behind his eyes when he automatically goes to Know something and finds only black nothingness where once there had been everything. And he feels an ache all his own, in the center of his chest where his heart still beats, so intense at times that it steals his breath away as he mourns the loss of something that he had loved and despised in equal measure.

So Jon nods, looking down at where their hands are joined, and rubs his thumb over one of the marks again, watching them begin to fade beneath the fluorescent light. They’re human-shaped, nothing like the sharp claws that had once torn through the fabric of his trousers or the sharper teeth that had torn through the skin of his leg soon after. Daisy lets out a slow breath, her other hand relaxing in increments at her side, and neither of them makes a sound for a long while.

The rattle of the front door opening breaks the silence, and Daisy slips her hand wordlessly out of Jon’s, the marks fully vanished and the tension having vanished with it. “I hope he got Ceylon,” she says with a twitch of her lips that Jon thinks is meant to be a smile. She steps to the side, brushing past Jon to get to the bathroom door. Just before she opens it, though, she bumps her shoulder against Jon’s, lets it linger there a moment, and says, “Thanks.”

It’s short and unelaborated on, and Daisy pulls away a moment later, opening the door and slipping out into the hall. But Jon feels a warmth spread through him all the same, concentrated at the point on his shoulder where Daisy had pressed hers. And when he collects his notebook off the vanity and catches his reflection in the mirror briefly before he follows her out into the kitchen, he finds that he’s smiling too.

#tma #the magnus archives #jaisy week #jonathan sims #daisy tonner #martin blackwood #my writing #my fic #before tag

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purekesseltrash · 3 years

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My Fic List

Whelp, decided I should do one of these. I have mostly written for Hockey RPF and BNHA, as you have likely already seen!

My BNHA Fics

Bury Them Deep

- “Shouji Mezou's entire life has revolved around being a goalie and playing hockey since he was five years old. After being drafted in the third round in the NHL, Shouji has two more years of college before moving on to playing professional hockey like he's always wanted. Or at least like he always thought he wanted. An injury that ends his season throws him into a tailspin, forcing him to take a look at his life and how he is going to live it, especially after meeting his fascinating new goth history tutor.”

(This bad bitch is 81k total and is chock full of my red hot hockey takes and midwestern references. I love it very much and it is a sweet baby.)

The Rooftop Necromancy series AKA my black metal band AU:

Downhill from Here

- “ Hizashi just wants to tour the country with his best friends with their metal band in their shitty van like they've been planning for years. He'd successfully hidden his crush on one of them for years, after all, he would definitely be able to make this work and keep things fun and uncomplicated. Until Aizawa decided to start acting weird. “

(In which I take you all on a nostalgic trip to 2006-2008 metal culture and you can see the black metal love song that my dumb ass wrote.)

The Perfect Mistake

- “ It wasn't as though Hizashi had planned on breaking up with his boyfriend while they were on tour in a tiny cargo van with no room and no peace. He would have much rather preferred to do it when they were home and he could easily go and crawl back into his mom's basement. But he didn't have a choice. “

(As relationships tend to do, theirs goes through problems.)

Rooftop Necromancy

-"He’d even ended up leaning into the crowd when someone’s elbow had connected solidly with his nose and thrown him back. They’d gone quiet as Hizashi got himself up to his feet, ripped off his now bloody ‘Within Temptations’ tshirt from 2004, whipped his hair back from his face and screamed, “That’s what I’m FUCKING talking about.” into the mic.

They went wild for it, cheering as blood ran down his nose, past his mouth and dripped onto the stage, leaving him feeling like an otherworldly monster performing an occult ritual. Metal, he thought dazedly to himself, why in the fuck had he ever stopped doing metal."

(I hyperfocused so hard at the idea of Mic as a metal head that I wrote this in seven straight hours and WROTE THROUGH THE ATTEMPTED COUP ON DEMOCRACY WITHOUT KNOWING IT. It’s a bit rough, but it’s got some good parts and it spawned the whole damn series.)

Hands Up

- "But of course he had, they had always been able to read each other and what they meant. That had often been their problem, if he was going to be honest."

(In which they figure their shit out. Basically it was written when I was thinking alot about how my own mental health had evolved through the years. It’s basically the story of two people who are both very good for each other and also very bad and how they deal with that. It’s probably the most personally meaningful thing I’ve ever written.)

The other BNHA fics:

Waking Up With Ghosts

-"Hizashi opened his eyes to a world that belonged to ghosts. His headphones were gone and the gray, grimy world that he felt more than saw was muffled and still. This was bad, he hazily thought."

In which we follow Hizashi shortly after the events of 296. How he's found, how he finds out and how he has to tell.”

(I fished this one out of the garbage of my Google Docs because I’d written most of it and forgotten about it. I dragged it out, prettied it up a little and threw it up on AO3. It is by far my most well read BNHA fic, go figure.)

Leave Her Johnny

-”Captain Hizashi Yamada has combed the Seven Seas looking for the elusive smuggler Eraserhead. He has spent years searching for him, tracking his movements and trying to anticipate where he would be next. But he had never considered what would happen when he finally found him. “

(I wrote a paragraph of this and was immediately like ‘I MUST CREATE THIS’. I take some chances writing wise in this as the whole thing is done in a Victorian Era ish style of writing. But I think it’s effective and the ending is likely one of the best that I’ve ever managed. I’m proud of it.)

Gold Rush

-”"That earned him a laugh and Mashirao’s smile made something in his chest ache, something that made him want to hurt. Why had he ever left?

“I’m really not,” Mashirao was saying but Shinsou just shook his head and kissed him once, twice and wished he could take the sunny afternoon and make it stay forever. Make it stay forever like Mashirao somehow had, while the neighborhood had adjusted without Hitoshi’s permission.

“You are,” he said, “And I love it.”

I love you, he should have said. But as Mashirao’s eyes softened and the blonde pushed him back against the bed, Hitoshi knew he didn’t need to say it."

(You know how sometimes you listen to a Death Cab for Cutie song about gentrification over and over until a fic comes out? Because that’s basically what happened here.)

Black Sun

‘"But then he remembered the way that Shouji had eaten the night after, one hand curled into his hair as he hung back in the corner. Shouji hid when something was wrong, like a wounded cat trying to find a dark place to either live or die and he was being released tomorrow. Now was the time to push or he’d find Shouji right back on his bed, staring at nothing."

Something happened to Shouji on the beach. Tokoyami is sure of it.‘

(Aaaaaand Death Cab for Cutie strikes again. But heyo, my first published ShouToko and it is SOFTTTTT)

In the Far and Mighty West

Mic came closer and despite himself, Shouta could not find it in him to feel afraid. “You won’t understand, not really. I’ll try, though. I’m like Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan or a jackalope or that fish that your friend caught that he swears he brought in but that you’ve never seen proof of. I’m the herd of dogies moving sweet and steady in the right direction, I’m no stragglers to worry about, I’m that perfect dog that’s there to keep them in line. I’m that group of good friends that you would kill for, I’m the woman who you’re dying to come home to, I’m that promised home of milk and honey. I’m Mic.”

Shouta stared at him dazedly and licked his lips, feeling drunk and stupid as he stared at the man. “You’re… magic?”

“I suppose you could call me that.”

(Cowboy!Erasermic. Inspired heavily by American Gods and my own love of folk heroes.)

In Your Violence

- “'Mezou frowned, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to say that you’re scared that I’ll be killed by having faith in you?”

“It would be in your best interest to stay away from me,” Fumikage finally said, his voice falling flat and quiet. “I am destined to be a monster.”

'Mezou gets the call he fears, the one that says that Fumikage has lost control again. But this time it's different, in more ways than one.”

(I listened to Silence by Marshmello until I went insane in this is the result. Featuring some of my super depressing headcanons about Shouji! But it’s not awful.)

My hockey fics that I still like:

Hufflepuff Halfwit

- ““Zhenya, the wind is coming from the west, I will not remind you again. You shut that window before the house stinks of factories!” She snapped and Geno stared at the owl as though maybe it would know what to do. But instead, it had given a little hoot and wiggled inside, only to drop it’s letter on the counter.

He turned his head very slowly back to look at his mother, who had suddenly gone very quiet. “It… just showed up, Mama. And um. It brought a letter.” He waited again, looked back at the owl who had begun to nose at the pirozhkis in interest and then looked back at his mother with the best puppy dog eyes he had ever attempted. “Can I keep it?”

(This is a part of my hockey/Harry Potter au that still legitimately haunts my dreams. It’s basically a Sid/Geno in Hogwarts but I really love the world building I got to do with Koldovstoretz, the Russian school of wizardry. Don’t read ‘On the Word of a Slytherin’ though, I’m not as proud of that one.)

The Prince

- “What the fuck.” Matt breathed out, sitting back heavily onto his hotel bed as he stared at his phone.

‘This is Henrik.’ The text read. ‘I would like to meet you. I will book a room in Pittsburgh at your convenience. Let me know what time will work for you.’ -

(Listen, it’s Henrik Lundqvist/Matt Murray smut, I feel like that is novel and interesting and worth your attention. I wax poetic on goalies in this, as you do.)

The Zoo of Toronto

- “No one missed it when a massive porcupine had shuffled in between the reporters with a single minded focus, pushing media away until it was able to grip onto Phil’s suit pants and try to pull itself up. He hadn’t been able to do more then besides pick the animal up before it could shred his pants to shreds and walk out of the locker room before the decision had been made with the Toronto media.

Phil Kessel was guilty.”

(Not gonna lie, this is probably my favorite of the hockey fics I’ve written. And it’s Phil/Carl, which is never found anymore but it was a good pairing.)

#my writing

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blazedgraysons · 3 years

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You're No Good - Ch. 2

C.J. Bennett is an overly ambitious student who dreams of shadowing her favorite author, Eli Jennings. The only thing standing in her way: Grayson Dolan.

warnings: this is a rough draft of a series i never finished. i'm posting the finished chapters before leaving this account. 🤍

part 1

If American Lit 1102 was C.J.’s personal hell, her job could at least be considered her own reprieve.

Sunnyside Vintage is an old shop off of Sunset, having been open for the last 30 years. It wasn’t the nicest of thrift stores — the clothes always have a weird mothball smell and everything is old - and not in the trendy way. C.J. loves it. The windows are huge, letting California sunlight wash the stucco walls gold, and the mannequins are always dressed straight out of the 70’s. The pay isn’t always great, but C.J. is allowed to take whatever she wants more than makes up for it in her eyes.

“I just don’t understand. I mean, Stevens has praised me this entire semester. She even told me personally he’s never had a student write as well as me nor pick up on the work as fast as I have. Wouldn’t that be qualities you’d want in an intern, Bea? Even Grayson Dolan would’ve been a better pick.” C.J. turns to her boss, angrily folding flared jeans.

Another reason C.J. loves Sunnyside — her boss, Beatrice “Bea” Walker. Once a glitzy soap star of the ’50’s, she retired with her husband and opened Sunnyside in the late 80’s. Despite being in her late-70s, she still holds on to the same glamour and charm that made her a household name a century prior.

“Maybe there was another reason. It could be something other then your application.” She croaks, lifting a pumpkin to place next to a costumed mannequin. As halloween rapidly approaches, the store was starting to transform to fit the fall season — hoping to draw in customers to purchase unique costumes for the holiday.

Before she can move to help Bea, the doors chime, signaling an entrance. Walking through with seemingly-glowing skin and a symphonic smile was Alexi, C.J.’s best friend and roommate. It’s hard to miss Alexi whenever she walks into a room — from her bleached-blue hair to eclectic style, she’s never been afraid to follow her own path, something C.J. has always admired. She walks straight to C.J., wrapping her in a loving embrace

“Are you okay? James told me what happened.” Alexi leaves an arm around her, and while C.J. knows it’s supposed to be comforting; all she can think about is how much she wants Alexi to leave. It’s one thing to rant to her elderly boss, someone who would love her in spite of her shortcomings and faults. But to know her own friend group has already heard about her misfortune, sending over someone to comfort and soothe, it was all just a little too pitiful for her to handle.

“Theta’s are throwing a party tonight. It’ll be the perfect pick-me-up, and you can forget all about Evans Jensen-“

“Eli Jennings” C.J. corrects.

“Whoever” Alexi rolls her eyes at the interruption, “is missing out on your incredible talent because of an idiotic professor’s incompetence. Everyone’s going and it won’t be the same without you, C.”

“As much as I would love that, Lex, I really just want to be alone tonight. Shitty beer, cheap Indian food, a sad movie so I don’t have to think about how these past four years have been a waste.”

“Not a waste, first of all. Look, I know that you’ve had this whole plan for your life since you popped out the womb, but shit happens, things change. This isn’t a failure, just think of it as a temporary setback. Plus, when life gives you lemons, you…” She trails off, waiting for C.J. to finish.

“Make lemonade?” She sighs.

“Use it to chase tequila.” Alexi giggles.

“I would go, but I have to close. Right, Bea?"

"Don't use me as an excuse. You should go, maybe find a boy to take home." Alexi makes a face at Beatrice's statement and C.J.'s face heats up.

“You’re going - no more buts. Wear something cute. Something that maybe doesn’t make if look like you were alive for Vietnam.” Alexi’s already leaving, kissing Beatrice lightly on the cheek on her way out.

This was how C.J. found herself standing outside the Theta Lambda frat house, October air chilling her through her jacket. She shifts her weight between her feet, surveying the small group around her. Alexi talks animatedly on the phone, asking for whoever to meet them out front.

A random person bumps into her, forcing her to spill the contents of her purse onto the dewey grass. C.J. groans, bending down to pick everything up while mentally thinking to herself all of the other things she could be doing right now.

A pair of dirty air forces steps in front of C.J. and she slowly looks up at the girl standing in front of her. She’s pretty, stunning actually. C.J. recognizes her immediately. Channing Williams - social chair of Rho Xi sorority and the key to all the best parties on campus. Dressed in a black romper and red velvet jacket, she’s everything C.J. isn’t and a quiet twinge of jealousy plucks her heart. ‘I bet she’s never lost out on an internship.’ she thinks bitterly.

“Sorry, do you know anyone?” Channing asks, voice soft and sweet with a clipboard in hand. C.J. looks at Alexi, waiting to hear her answer.

“Not really? I mean we know people, but we aren’t going to be on your clipboard or anything so if you could just let us slide through, I’m sure there’s someone here who could like vouch for us or something?” C.J. wants to slap her — not only did she drag her out in below-freezing weather, but she couldn’t even guarantee them a way inside.

“Well this is a greek-only party so unless you know anyone….” Channing trails off, not openly wanting to kick them out in front of so many people.

“That means no GDI’s.” C.J. didn’t even notice the miniature-sized freshman standing besides Channing. She clearly looks annoyed at the intrusion, keeping her from inside where everyone else is to deal with their little group. C.J. briefly wonders if the upturned stare is a requirement for Rho Xi or if that’s was just especially reserved for her.

“Geed’s?” Alexi repeats, raising an eyebrow.

“Goddamn independents. Y’know, not greek-affiliated.” At this point, C.J. is ready to call the whole night and retire in her bed when she see’s someone appear in between Channing.

“They’re cool, Chan. They’re with me.” Micayla Zhao enters, covered in glitter, sweat and what C.J. is almost sure to be a line of salt from a body shot. C.J. has always considered Micayla the only cool Rho Xi, having had multiple classes with her over the years. Micayla fit right in with their group: smart, beautiful and a wicked sense of humor.

Channing nods, seeming bored and just wanting to get back inside with everyone else. She does a quick finger tap with Micayla (sacred Rho Xi bullshit is what Alexi always calls it) and moving along the line.

“Are your sisters always that charming?” Micayla rolls her eyes, grabbing C.J. to move them through the house to the backyard. A huge bonfire is set up in the middle with a canopy near by for the designated drinking spot. She watches as Micayla confidently moves through the crowd, stopping from time to time to say hey to friends and classmates on the way.

“Most of the time. Look, they’re just possessive over tradition and the Rho-Theta party has always been major exclusive, Channing’s been fighting to make it open to outsiders.” Micayla yells over the thumping bass.

“Yeah, I’m sure they love all the GDI’s.” C.J. exaggerates her voice, pinching her nose to capture the nasally, valley accent Channing is almost famous for. Micayla stops, and had C.J. not been paying attention, she would’ve ran into her.

“Dude, you’re kind of being a bitch right now. Look, I get your bummed about your internship, but Channing wouldn't have let you in if she didn't want to. Would you rather be getting drunk, in your apartment alone?”

“Yeah, actually.” Micayla stares at C.J. for a second, looking like she’s about to bitch her out. As if Alexi can sense the fight forming, she grabs Micayla by the arm.

“Let’s go get a drink, you look like you need a drink in you.” They both walk towards the house, Alexi mouthing ‘Be Nice’ over her shoulder before disappearing completely. C.J. exhales, counting to 3 in her head before walking over to where drinks are set up.She fills up her solo cup, watching as the fizzy liquid moves closer and closer to the top. Before she can take a sip, someone bumps into her spilling half the drink over the side.

“Hey, watch it!” A thick Jersey accent exclaims, and C.J. groans, wondering if this night could get any worse.

“Bennett?”

Grayson appears in front of her, denim jacket over a black t-shirt and black jeans. She takes note of the dark spot growing on the front of his shirt, from where she spilt her drink.

“What’re you doing here?”

She simply shrugs, refilling the missing contents of her cup.“I didn’t know parties were your scene. I always imagined in your free time you’re in like a dark room, crying alone to Sylvia Plath novels.”

“Nice to know you think of me out of class, Grayson” C.J. takes a sip of her beer. She moves to walk away, hoping he would take it as an end of conversation.

"How'd you get in? Isn't this like Rho's only?" He asks, following her to the edge of the bonfire. She looks at him, watching as the light frames the features of his face.

"Couldn't I say the same about you? You're not a Theta." He just stares at her intensely until she relents, "Micayla Zhao got me in. Y'know her?"

"We had history together sophomore year. She helped me cheat on the midterms."

C.J. laughs shortly. "Sounds like her."

Grayson opens his mouth to speak again, but is cut off.

“As much as I’m enjoying this conversation, Grayson, don’t you have someone else to bother? Someone who, y’know, actually likes you?” If that comment bothered him, he didn’t show it, continuing talking to her as if they haven’t pissed each other off continuously for the past four years.

“What do you think about Michael Eichler getting the internship spot?” He asks. As if it wasn’t bad enough that she didn’t get the spot, now she has to sit and rub salt in the wound with her worst enemy.

“What’s there to think about? He got it, I didn’t. Fucking sucks.” He laughs, holding up his own drink.

“Cheers to that.” They both clink cups, and C.J. briefly wonders if the universe is still laughing at her.

"You know, that spot should've gone to one of us." He muses, watching the partygoers continue to stumble around them. He doesn't say anything after that, and she bites.

"Why should it have gone to one of us?"

"Well, think about it. We're both the top of our class, and I know for a fact Stevens has submitted your writing to collegiate magazines. There's no fucking way Michael fucking Eichler should've got that spot over one of us." C.J. pauses. She had known that Stevens appreciated her writing, but not enough to submit it anywhere. If what Grayson was saying was true, why hadn't she gotten the apprenticeship?

"Nothing I can really do about it now. He got the spot, I didn't. I guess I can become a second rate author now." She takes another sip, and Grayson snorts unattractively.

"I'm sure you'll be okay, Bennett. If Stevens like you, I'm sure there's another author dumb enough to want to publish your work too." She glares at him.

"And here I thought we were becoming friends."

"As if you actually would've wanted to become friends with me."

"Oh yeah, that's what I do in between my Sylvia Plath crying sessions. Desperately wish that Grayson Dolan would become my best friend." Sarcasm drips off every word and he looks at her before taking another long sip of his drink.

“You know you’re actually kinda cool, Bennett. When you’re not trying to bite my head off in the middle of lecture”

“Maybe if you didn’t have such shitty takes, I wouldn’t want too.” Whatever retort Grayson was planning falls from his lips when Channing appears by his side, tucking herself underneath his arm.

"Hey, Gray. I got you another drink." Two Coronas hang from her manicured hand, and he whispers inaudibly to her, giggling between the two of them. C.J. begins to feel awkward, and coughs uncomfortably.

“Oh, you’re the GDI from earlier,” Channing looks up at her half-lidded, dark eyelashes framing red-tinged brown eyes.

“Yeah, that’s me.” Channing shifts her weight, biting her lip and feeling like an intruder. "I didn't know you two knew each other?" C.J. supplies, feeling desperate for conversation

"Gray and I had math together freshman year, "They both stare at each other awkwardly, silent tension as they wait for the other to speak.

“So, I’m gonna go." She speaks.

“No, you don’t have to." Channing is already turned back to Grayson, looking like she wouldn't mind C.J.'s exit.

“No it’s fine” Neither Grayson nor Channing seem to protest anymore, and C.J. turns back to see her friends looking at her, both amused and curious at her interaction with the duo. She begins to walk towards them, feet and heart sinking with every step, not feeling any better about her current predicament.

“Hey Bennett,” She turns around to face Grayson. “Think about what I said. About the internship stuff” She just nods, and leaves the pair. The moment she reaches her initial group, Alexi pulls her towards them.

“You and Dolan were just talking and it didn't end in a screaming match. That’s new. What did he want?”

“Nothing. Just typical Grayson Dolan bullshit."Alexi looks like she doesn't believe her, and frankly C.J. doesn't believe herself. She thinks back to what Grayson said, about how they were the only real competition for the apprenticeship. Whatever he meant by that could be handled tomorrow.

"C’mon. Didn’t you say something earlier today about tequila shots?” She asks

“Atta, girl. That’s what I’m talking about.” She lets Alexi drag her away, sparing one last look at Grayson before entering the fraternity house.

#grayson dolan #grayson dolan series #grayson dolan smut #grayson dolan imagine #grayson dolan blurb #grayson dolan fluff #grayson dolan angst #grayson dolan x reader #grayson dolan x y/n #dolan twins #dolan twins series #dolan twins smut #dolan twins imagine #dolan twins blurb #dolan twins fluff #dolan twins angst #dolan twins x reader #dolan twins x y/n

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radbutsafe · 3 years

Note

ALL FUCKIN 35 OF THEM SKLNWESDJFPXO

I SHOULDVE EXPECTED THIS FROM YOU

1. From one to five stars, how would you rate your writing? (No downplaying yourself!)

A three! I think I’m mid range cause I ain’t terrible but there is still shit I gotta improve and grow in my writing

2. Why do you write fanfiction?

to manifest what canon won’t give me and to write more! (though yes it is mainly about the smooching and the— I’ll stop there LOL)

3. What do you think makes your writing stand out from other works?

Hm! My weird research details? I’m that “fun fact, did you know...” in my fics sometimes LOL! I plan on giving a penthouse for erina in a fic and I went through penthouse listings in Japan for floor layouts and locations💀 my research gives me inspo and depth to stuff I think I lack in comparison to others sometimes.

4. Are there any writers that inspire you?

In terms of fellow fic writers, one of them I can’t name here but she’s an inspiration with her exceptional gift for prose period and her lovely skill at comedy! I want to be as funny as her when I write, I love her ironic situational humor. Other fic writers are @takoyakitenchou, @royaldragonsevgisi15 who I always love sharing ideas with and motivate me to create more! For non-fic writers it would be V.E. Schwab, Leigh Bardugo, Oda, and Horikoshi! The last two may be mangaka, however they are writers as well to create their stories! The depth these creators have given their worlds and interesting characters theyve given life to are all what I aspire to be like!

5. What’s the fic you’re most proud of?

so far uh?? hm everything I’m currently writing are wips lol!! im proud of my wip that has been nicknamed ‘soma panics’ that is a multi-chapter fic that spans like probs 20 plus chapters maybe

6. What element of writing do you find comes easily?

dialogue! it’s so much fun! and character thoughts. I’ve said to people I may be better suited for script writing

7. What element of writing do you struggle with most?

I think it’s description, of like setting and showing action. also an expansion of my vocabulary LOL

8. Which character(s) do you find easiest to write?

erina! I think it’s because canon has shown us many of her different faces and range of emotion.

9. Which character(s) do you find most difficult to write?

SOMA!! chill ass mofo whos more carefree compared to the common shonen protagonist! for other shokugeki characters I’m not sure just yet because I haven’t flexed my fingers enough for the rest of them.

10. What’s your favorite genre to write for?

I guess I should say romance cause that’s what I mostly write LOL!

11. Who or what do you find yourself writing about most?

sorina and I try to get them to smooch eventually KEK and yeah it’s..usually romantic fluff lmao

12. Tell us about a WIP you’re excited about.

HONESTLY ALL OF THEM but “soma panics” is my brain child

13. First fandom you ever wrote for?

pretty sure it’s digimon....

14. What’s your favorite fandom to write for?

currently shokugeki no soma!!!!

15. What’s the weirdest fandom you’ve ever written for?

uhhhh I guess SNS? LMAO fandoms...all have their quirks to them.

16. Any guilty pleasure trope(s)?

characters cuddling!!!! or getting the urge to smooch!!!!

17. A trope you’ll never, ever write for.

unrequited love GOOD FUCKIN BYEEEEEE

18. Wildest fic you’ve ever written?

I have plot ideas thst can be wild potentially but so far nothing fits this criteria so far that I actually have written.

19. Do you prefer canon-compliant, AUs, or something in-between?

depends on the fandom, but if written well, all of it!

20. Gen fic or shippy stuff?

shippy 100% like I said I like smoochin

21. Favorite pairing to write for? (platonic or romantic!)

romantic is...*drumroll* SORINA! platonic, soutaku and erina and alice!

22. Do you listen to anything while you write?

Sometimes! There are times songs will be on loop and times I just shuffle a playlist. and if I’m writing in random bursts it’ll be with no music but it really does depend lmao I think music is when I’m forcing myself to write?

23. Do you prefer prompts and challenges, or completely independent ideas?

completely independent ideas, I’ve realized in the past prompts shoot me in the foot often unless I luckily figure something out. but I’m often driven by my own sporadic self interest with shitty ping ponging attention

24. One-shots or multi-chaptered works?

multi-chap I guess cause I can post without being finished LOLLL but tbh can I really answer? I haven’t finished anything.....

25. Have you ever daydreamed about side adventures/spin-offs from your fic? Tell us about them!

I can’t answer this question imo because I haven’t finished a fic yet so technically stuff could all fit in the one fic?

26. Is there anything you’ve wanted to write, but you’ve been too scared to try?

MYSTERY AND CRIME! I love the genre and I have plot ideas once a blue moon but I can’t dive in because I want to make details that work and reduce plot holes where suspension of disbelief isn’t as needed. I need to study it more (I need to study all the details for any of my fics imo to be confident sometimes LOL)

27. What’s the nicest comment you’ve ever received?

I don’t think I can say one comment was the nicest because I’ve gotten comments that have given me quite the smiles to my face many times! I know this is a cop out but it’s true!

IS WHAT I WAS GONNA SAY UNTIL REINA SENT ME THE FOLLOWING ON DISCORD LIKE TWENTY MINS AGO:

and also rad. i am never this vocal about my emotions like EVER but this needs to be said your fics are obviously far from perfect, as are mine and everyone else's. but the thing about your works is that they're so well-sanded that it's impossible to find any rough edges or faults in them in terms of cohesion to a plot. your cast is never OOC and the amount of effort you devote to developing your takes on the characters as accurately as possible is unimaginably awe-inspiring.

BITCH I WANNA CRY 😭

28. How well do you handle criticism when it comes to your writing?

I’d like to believe I take it often well to try and improve because that’s always my goal. if someone is rude lol that’s not constructive snd is unhelpful. If I disagree with criticism I’ll explain why !

29. Have you ever gone outside of your comfort zone for a fic? How did it turn out?

Not yet, but I have some plot ideas I think will let me test this.

30. Tooth-rotting fluff or merciless angst?

F L U F F.

31. Do you have any OCs? Tell us about them!

elliott fuji, a japanese-american award winning photographer who is erina’s boyfriend in ‘soma panics’ which..causes soma’s panic LOL he’s 30 with slightly wavy black hair. I still haven’t pinpointed his personality just yet...he kind of humble brags for sure an artsy fucker and flirts maybe I’ll make him a lil shy though. he teaches sometimes, and becomes an adjunct photography professor in Tokyo so he can be with erina.

32. Summarize a random fic of yours in 10 words or less.

a cook is unfashionably late in realizing his feelings.

33. Is there anything you wish your audience knew about your writing or writing process?

I am a slow. so slow. motivation who is she? I also write out of order, unfortunately a bit too often.

34. Copy and paste an excerpt you’re particularly fond of.

this should be for the fic ‘soma panics’ it’s either megumi or satoshi talkin to him rn, I’m leaning towards satoshi

“You thought she would always wait for you, didn’t you Soma-kun? To always welcome you home.”

Soma drags his palms down his face and groans. He doesn’t like this at all. He doesn’t shy from confrontation but this is a whole different ballgame. Soma doesn’t play any ball.

“I guess..?” Is his reply, because he thinks he isn’t sure how to answer that.

“You guess?”

Just being questioned again is enough to crack Soma’s pathetic facade as if it was dropped chinaware and he lets out the longest sigh.

“No.”

Coming home means coming home to Nakiri Erina too.

Nakiri Erina is his forever.

this is @takoyakitenchou’s excerpt she’s most proud of that I’ve written, which is also from you guessed it, the long fic soma panics

SOMA: I am, I mean I will be, I swear I will always come home to you, not spend as much time abroad, once I’m done with work I’ll come right back. I’ll make sure to message you. Nakiri, I’m in love you with you. Maybe for a really long time. You know how I say I dedicate my food to you? My dad—my dad said that the key to become a good chef is to find someone to dedicate your cooking to. A special someone. For my dad it was my mom, you know? For me it’s...

(this is a good piece of dialogue tbh so I am also proud of this)

35. Ramble about any fic-related thing you want!

I’ve mentioned it throughout this but the WIP I’ve nicknamed ‘soma panics’ is something I’m super excited to write, but it’s going on slowly...and almost completely out of order. out of all of my writing it showed off that particular habit of mine, along with “what is this, a shoujo manga?!” though the latter is currently being written chronologically now that I’ve posted chapter one and is pretty solid in direction. it was originally supposed to be a one shot but I got impatient and wanted to post at least something for the sorina / soueri fandom.

however, because ‘soma panics’ (I won’t call it that LOL) is my baby I want to keep true to my rule of refusing to post it until I have a draft of the entire fic finished and I’m satisfied with the main points pretty much. due to my writing out of order, I’m worried I’ll change my mind about scenes or want to reflect things in earlier chapters for later ones etc etc

I joined the SnS fandom extremely late, as season five was airing. I was a fan of the manga five years ago and dropped it because I forgot to check for updates when I caught up 😔 I really want to bang out the different fics and aus for sorina that I have before the fandom fizzles out entirely but tbh I’m writing for myself, I’m manifesting what I want to see and I’ll just share it with all my friends to read if no one else will. cause I’m slow broski I dunno what writing fast even is like LMAO I do really want to write faster though, so I can contribute more and let the words free from the discord dms....

#ask meme #ask rad shit #writing #writing by rad #fanfic #reina girl u put me thru it I swear lol #thank u for sending!!#ur amazing!!!!

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marvelousescapism · 3 years

Note

hey, i know you’re mostly about stucky, but i love you and your blog so much and i was wondering if i could ask you for some advice if that’s alright?? only if you’re comfortable with it of course. i’m just at such a loss right now because i have this whole loki/reader multi-chapter story outlined that’s supposed to take place during the show and i’ve thought about it for a month now, but everything with s*lki makes me so uncomfortable and nauseous. (1/3)

so when i look back at any scene with them in the show, i immediately feel so uncomfortable. even the thought of me writing something under the loki tv tag on here and/or ao3 makes me feel ashamed to even be somehow associated with the ship. i know that that’s how every fandom is of course, but the fact that this ship that makes me so perturbed is more or less canonical right now, it’s like my brain won’t let me escape it. (2/3)

now i don’t know if i should just give up on the story entirely or convince myself that writing it will bring me comfort that the show ripped away from me and this character i used to love. i was so excited to write this and now i’m just so hesitant to do so. i’m sorry that this was so long. again, please don’t feel like you have to answer this. feel free to ignore me and have a wonderful day 💕 (3/3)

Oh, sweetheart, of course I'll answer you 💕💕 I'm by no means an expert on this and I tend to ramble, so do bear with me and I'm sorry if this isn't very helpful!!

(Also - if any other more seasoned fic writers out there reading this have any more/better advice for nonny please do step in and add on, I'm really only a newbie at this game myself!)

First off, I'm really sorry you're feeling like this. It's really shitty that the dumb choices the writers made have tainted something that you and tons of other people love so much. You're absolutely not alone - so many Loki fans have had various problems with the show, and SO SO MANY have hated Sylki. It was an absolutely ridiculous choice to make it canon. I know the Loki and Thor franchises are more of a secondary fandom for me on this blog but I was (still am) very much still so pissed off after the kiss in the last episode, and by a lot of other choices made in the show. (Sometimes I'll pass untagged gifs of them kissing and just... it makes me so uncomfortable.)

Personally, I like to think I've become quite good at quickly severing my ties with any part of canon I don't like because I'm always rewriting canon in my head, but there's always a period of time directly after canon I don't like happens on screen where I'm just annoyed and upset (a mourning period, if you like) where just telling myself "it's only canon if you decide it's canon" just doesn't cut it. I think I'm still feeling that for the Loki show right now, even though I'm not really venting about it that much here.

I don't know whether or not this is something you can relate to, but if you can I think it's worth remembering that it's been very little over a week since the last episode aired (and they've only just released the behind the scenes stuff), so the wounds are still fresh. The choice is whether or not you leave them to heal on their own or try to bandage them up right now.

Ultimately, I can't tell you what to do, they're your wounds after all. All I can say is that I hope you decide to do whatever you think will be best for your mental health. And if it's something that's playing on your mind so much it's making you feel low throughout your day-to-day life, I think that's definitely when you should take a breather and step back from trying to create something for a little while. If visiting your plans/drafts for your fic ruins your day, take a step back.

Fic writing is, first and foremost, about enjoyment, and when it stops being about that then that's a sign you need to put on the breaks. And it really is only putting on the breaks, not stopping entirely. I don't think you should give up on your fic entirely. If you've got your plans written up (even if it's a very rough word vomit on a google doc or a mindmap or timeline drawn on a piece of scrap paper) then you can store that away for later when the wounds hurt a lot less.

Basically, don't feel pressured to write, but don't feel pressured to give up everything you've been working on just because you're not writing right now. I promise that fic will still be there waiting for you when you've taken the time to process whatever needs processing. Worst comes to absolute worst, you end up realizing later that you didn't enjoy this story that much after all, but recycle the ideas you had for it into other fic ideas that do bring you joy! (Not saying that'll happen, but it's not a bad thing if it does!)

If it's not something you feel you have to immediately take a step back from, however, I'd encourage you to give writing a first draft for the chapter/scene you're most excited about a go (even if it's a scene that's, like, halfway through the story). Don't set yourself any goals, don't try to reach a wordcount or write for a certain amount of hours a day or get it finished by a certain time or whatever - just write what you can write in whatever timeframe it ends up taking. If you find yourself enjoying the process, keep plodding along. If you realize it's still upsetting you, stop and take a break and don't feel bad about it.

(Also I'd say don't watch the show while you're writing, especially if that's the something you've noticed is making you feel shitty. If you're trying to keep it close to canon for certain parts of the story, try to work off of what you can remember without rewatching - you can always come back and tweak it, and what you write will probably end up being more interesting working from memory too!)

Again, I'm really sorry that the show made you feel shitty about something you love so much. I really hope the show doesn't ruin your love for Loki in the long run and the wounds heal after a while. You deserve that comfort character. Even if you're not in the right place to hear it right now, it's only canon if you decide it's canon. They can't make us accept their version of canon if we don't want to (and we have better ideas anyway)!

Whatever you decide to do, don't let it be a detriment to your mental wellbeing. I'm sure whatever you end up writing in the long run will be terrific and you'll be proud of it. Hope you have a wonderful day too, sweet nonny, and I'm rooting for you no matter what you end up doing 🥺💕

#i'm just gonna... pin this to the top of the blog for today... just so i know anon has a good chance of seeing it #i worry i come across as like.. a mother who always comes out with the same old words of support #which don't really help even if you know she means well...#but i do hope something here helps you figure things out nonny #and i wish you the best of luck and lots of love 🥺#loki show critical #ask #anonymous

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greenbeancasserole · 4 years

Text

bkdk military fic / war au

(wanted to share a bit on one of the babies I started working on)

So Katsuki and Izuku both grew up together, spent their whole childhood together and were the best of best friends. When they turn 18, they both end up getting drafted for the war. They’re sent to two different platoons and both rise pretty quickly in the ranks due to their passion, leadership, and tactical/combat skills. Their commanding officers are both pretty fond of them and know of how close the two are so they help them out and , despite having temporarily halted all incoming/outgoing mail, they pass on each others’ letters with the platoon updates. Katsuki’s gotten pretty close with his squad mates but they never seem to be able to stop teasing him about his “best friend” that sends him letters nearly every other day.

rough snippet under the cut !

“C’mon Bakugo, you’re telling me he’s not in love with you and you’re not in love with him? Look at you! you’re totally smitten!”

“Shut the hell up Shitty Hair. i’ve said it a thousand fuckin’ times, we’re just friends.”

“Oh yeah, just friends. Just friends who send each other letters and pictures every single day. Dude, we’re supposed to be in active wartime, all incoming and outgoing mail halted. And y’all still managed to find a way to communicate with each other. But oh right, you’re just friends.”

Katsuki inwardly balked at that, unable to think up with an adequate enough excuse to get them off his case. He and Deku weren’t like that.

“Yanno, Kiri’s got a point.” Sero sidled up next to Katsuki, poking at his arm. “Plus, if it’s true, and you and your ‘best friend’ aren’t some super secret gay lovers, why don’t you read us that letter and prove us wrong?”

An intense heat rushed through Katsuki’s cheeks as he swiped his opened letter out of reach from Sero’s twitching fingers, instantly recalling the words in Deku’s intro. ‘Kacchan, the sunsets don’t feel quite the same without you. And despite the friends I’ve made in my squadron, at times, I catch myself feeling inexplicably lonely.’

He blinked, and his mind ran wild at the words that repeated themselves inside his brain. He wanted to reassure himself that it wasn’t like that, that he and his childhood best friend were nothing but that: childhood best friends. That was Katsuki’s firm belief, that the only constant thing in his life was his and his best friend’s relationship. It was nothing more and it was nothing less. Put simply, it just was. And that’s how Katsuki liked it. A simple explanation for an even simpler friendship between two males who weren’t gay. Or at least one of them wasn’t gay. To his knowledge. And it was him. Who wasn’t gay. Who isn’t gay. Definitely not gay. To his knowledge. But as his friends’ words continued to circulate around his head, he couldn’t deny that the very thought, the very implication that there could be something more between them, affected him in some kind of way. It intimidated him and made an uncomfortable feeling well up in the pit of Katsuki’s stomach. The feeling was so strong, he could’ve sworn that he’d lose his lunch any second now. But that feeling meant absolutely nothing. It was most likely just his stomach, gently urging him to eat a lil more. Like Izuku used to. Either way, it was nothing. Deku wasn’t like that. He thought back to the phrasing of his friend’s words and reminded himself that the nerd never bothered to filter out his sappiness, however platonic it may be. He knew Katsuki didn’t mind. That’s just how Deku was. It was just how their dynamic worked. Feeling triumphant and reassured, he spoke up, voice laden with feigned confidence. “You guys just wouldn’t understand.”

Kaminari rolled his eyes, scoffing. “Oh yeah, we would never understand the complex details and intricacies of you and your not-so-secret lover’s overly complicated relationship.” He paused, dramatically. “Oh wait but I forgot, you’re not lovers.”

“Will you just shut the fuck up already? I don’t have to explain shit to you.”

“You’re right, you don’t. But that’ll just leave me to believe nothing aside from you being ashamed of loving your boyfriend.

“He’s not my fucking boyfriend.”

At this point in time, Ashido rounded the corner of the warehouse, smiling wide as her eyes locked on all her buddies hanging out in the shade. “My boys!” she squealed, jogging over happily. “What’s going on?”

Kaminari spoke up before Katsuki could. “Bakugo won’t give us any details about his pen pal boyfriend.”

“Pen pal...Bakugo, you have a boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boy-“

“They write letters to each other. everyday.”

“That doesn’t mean shit.”

“Wait i thought we were on a momentary mail halt.”

“We are.”

“Bakugo, how is your boyfriend able to get through the block?”

“he’s not my fuckin’ boyfriend.”

Ashido looked confused for a second, shifting her glance between all the boys. Suddenly her eyes widened, landing on Katsuki again. “Wait, you’re not out of the closet?” she whispered, voice low but loud enough to be heard by all five of them. There was no one else around them.

Katsuki rolled his eyes, getting increasingly more annoyed as this pointless conversation continued. “I’m not in the fucking closet.”

Sero sighed. “He’s in denial. We’re trying to pull him out but he’s holding on for dear life.”

“Fuckin piss off!” Katsuki growled, kicking dirt up at Sero’s shoes, “I’m not in the motherfucking closet!”

“Bro you’re so deep in the motherfucking closet, you don’t even know you’re in the motherfucking closet. You’ve actually managed to reach Narnia, my guy.” Katsuki felt his rage explode as the group burst into laughter at the joke, stealing amused glances at the angry blonde.

“I AM A HIGHER RANK THAN ALL OF YOU IDIOTS.” Katsuki shouted, veins popping on his forehead, “YOU WANT ME TO MAKE YOUR LIVES A LIVING HELL? I’LL FUCKIN DO IT IF YALL DON’T SHUT YOUR ASSES UP RIGHT THE HELL NOW!”

The outburst only made the group laugh harder.

The laughter died down after a while, and Kirishima took the opportunity to lightly punch Katsuki in the shoulder. “We’re only teasing bro, but just know that when you’re ready to come out of the closet, we’re all here to support you.”

Katsuki turned away with an angry snarl, “I’m not coming out of the closet cuz I was never in the closet to begin with! Stupid assholes.” He muttered. But thoughts of Deku began to fill his mind and he felt something akin to longing spring up inside of him as he thought about what Deku would say in response to this kind of teasing. He would agree with him, right? He would agree that they were childhood friends, and nothing more?

Katsuki ignored the small voice in his head that told him that maybe he didn’t want Deku to agree.

#my hero academia #mha #bnha #bnha au #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfiction #bakugou x midoriya #bakudeku #bkdk #bakusqaud #midoriya izuku #bakugo katsuki #work in progress #wip #fanfic #snippet

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oh-i-swear-writes · 3 years

Note

I’m having a rough day back at school for the first time since March really. Maybe can you write some soft boys loving each other? Or Steve stressed about going to college while Bucky is working the docks and they just be soft? Thank.

Hi Nonnie!

Sorry to hear you’ve had a rough day <3 On the plus side, it’s Friday - hopefully that helps… and hopefully some soft pre-war boys will help - it’s not quite Bucky on the Docks, but hopefully it tickles the right spot <3

Bucky knows it’s selfish, but he does it anyway. He’s always done it anyway, can’t seem to help himself. He knows what people would say if anybody was to find out, knows what they’d say about him, but knows that what they’d say about Steve would be worse.

The idea of it burns deep in his throat, in his stomach - and he hates it. He hates the way that people look at Steve or talk about Steve and he hates the way they see his too weak, skinny body but can’t see that larger than life spirit, the fight he’s got (how could he fight off so many illnesses if he didn’t have that?) and the deep seated kindness and warmth and want to make things fundamentally better for himself and everyone else around him.

Bucky wouldn’t be able to stand it if they added more to that.

If they added more because of him.

And yet, he can’t stop himself - he hasn’t ever been able to really - because it’s him and it’s Steve and it’s them and that’s always mattered more than anything.

And tonight… tonight he’s had news that will change everything.

When he told Steve, he looked up through those long lashed, sky blue eyes filled with sadness meeting Bucky’s own.

“You… came up in the draft, Buck?” he asked softly, and Bucky had nodded, looking away.

“Well… I want to make things right. Do my bit. Perhaps they’ll take me too?” he’d asked, and Bucky had shaken his head. They both knew Steve was too sickly. He’d be discounted on his asthma or his hearing or something alone, and nobody would blame them except perhaps Steve himself.

“They won’t, Stevie,” he said softly and Steve had sighed out, that familiar slightly asthmatic wheeze coming from his chest as he did.

“I’m gonna try, Buck,” he had said quietly, resolutely. That challenging glint in his eye was there and Bucky knew he would try, for all he wished he wouldn’t.

“And what if they take you, Stevie? What if they do? How are you gonna keep up, huh? You’ll be canon fodder - and Steve, I can’t have you out there dying just because…” he had paused. Just because what?

Steve looked at him again, pursing those too-pink too-plump lips. “If you think I’m gonna sit here staying safe and not thinking about whatever the hell is happening to you, Buck, you gotta ‘nother think coming…”

“Steve,” he’d breathed out, exasperated. “I… I’ll make it back. But in the meantime… maybe this is your chance. You can do the things a man’s supposed to do - you know, find a nice girl, take a wife…”

“Where does that leave all this? Us?” Steve had asked, the question quiet enough that there was no chance that their neighbours would hear even with the shitty thin walls of their tenement apartment.

“Steve I… can’t fight about this with you tonight,” Bucky had sighed, moving to the rickety cabinet and pulling two whiskey glasses from the shelf and the bottle of cheap amber liquid he’d splurged a good chunk of his last pay packet on. Now he was glad that he had.

He poured a good two fingers in each, handing one to Steve before knocking his own back, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it washed down.

“So what do you wanna do instead?” Steve had asked, almost challenging.

That was right before Bucky’s mouth had crashed into Steve’s.

And now, here they are, laid in the twin bed that they shared for lack of space, for extra warmth and because though Bucky would never, ever say it out loud for fear of what would happen - because they are in love.

No, it was more than that.

Steve is the love of Bucky’s life.

“I can practically hear you thinking from here, Buck,” Steve murmurs sleepily, wriggling up in Bucky’s arms which were looped loosely around him.

“Just thinkin’ about you, Stevie,” he whispers back as he presses an affectionate kiss to Steve’s forehead.

He half expects for Steve to swat at him like he might when Bucky jokingly kisses his cheek in their living room, telling him off for ‘treatin’ him like a dame’. But Steve doesn’t do that.

Instead, Steve blushes and looked up at Bucky again from below those beautiful long eyelashes that kiss his cheekbones in the way that Bucky wants to himself - and so he does.

“M’always thinkin’ about you, Buck,” He says quietly, catching Bucky’s lips with his own, a sweet kiss; chaste. “And I need you to know, I’m gonna always… I’ll feel…” he trailed off before looking at Bucky with that determination once again. “I love you Buck. In the romantic way, I mean.”

“I love you too,” Bucky replies easily, because he does - always has.

“Always gonna, til the end of the line, you know?” Steve carries on, plastering himself more firmly into Bucky’s chest, like he will do anything rather than let go of him, let go of this moment.

“Til the end of the line, pal,” Bucky agrees, rubbing gentle circles into the skin of Steve’s back, feeling the bumps of his spine beneath the pale skin, feeling the curve of his scoliosis. “Steve I… until I have to go, can we just have this?”

“Like you even have to ask,” came the answer.

Unable to help himself, Bucky wraps himself around Steve even more, presses his nose into silky golden hair and breathes in cheap soap and that slight cigarette smell Steve has from his asthma cigarettes. Perhaps, he thinks, he’ll take a few packs with him, remind him of home, golden hair and soft nights in a shitty bed in a shitty tenement with a man who makes everything in his world just a little less shitty.

Yeah, he thinks as he starts to drift, Steve Rogers is everything.

What he doesn’t know is that Steve feels the same.

#my writing #soft boys #stucky #steve rogers #bucky barnes #pre war #skinny steve #oh i swear writes #oh i swear writes answers #anon asks #fic rec #drabble #ficlet

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lordseochangbin · 4 years

Text

seo changbin x reader— enemies to lovers, diss track au! fluff & angst

a/n: ok there were some points where i felt iffy but i LOVE this idea and omg i love this sm im 🥺

in your seventeen years of living, you never enjoyed the number of comparisons your parents made between you and the boy next door.

he was just a few years older than you were, always mocking you for still being underaged and leaving you to spit out bullshit such as “im 18!! if you count the time i spent in my mother’s womb!”

it’s like he purposely did it to rile you up, but of course you got him back everytime. changbin being the most “popular music major” at school made him very much secretive and since you two knew each other from a young age, you were his weakness. you held his secrets, his past. that’s what made you powerful in this relationship stirred up from hate and jealously.

that, and your ability to compose amazing music.

it was another day at the school’s music studio. the professor understood you and changbin had some sort of misunderstanding so it was a priority that you two never shared a room, but mistakes happen i suppose.

you sat on the black leather chair, rocking it back and forth as you found yourself lost in your thoughts. “what should i write this song about...” you thought to yourself, chewing a pen cap between your lips.

you replayed the music over and over again. it was beautifully composed and you were quite impressed with yourself, however it didn’t hit the voices nor the raps of any music majors so you decided to call it a draft.

your cursor lingered towards the “draft” button before the door could burst open, revealing a boy in his usual black tee, sweats and shoes.

“get out” you said with a stern voice, eyes focused on the screen as you could already tell who it was

“geez... okay okay. what are you working on dumbass?” he said, resting his hands on the headrest of your seat as you stared at the screen

“it’s none of your business changbin” you remarked, clicking the draft button before the track could auto-play

you quickly rushed to pause the song before changbin could grab your wrists, staring at the blank page who’s title matched the title of the track

“some shitty music this is” he smirked, slamming the pause button so hard it made you jump in your seat

“try listening to your own music” you said, shoving him to the side and hiding your lyric book

changbin grabbed the desk behind him to regain balance, hurrying over to you as he grabbed the book in your hand

“what’s this? hmm? your love songs about me?” he smirked

your pretend-gagged in your mouth, grabbing the book from his hand and slapping his arm with it.

“stop bothering me you prick!”

“stop bothering me you prick!! mehhh” he mocked, his voice in a high pitched tone as winced his eyes at you.

everyday went like this. was he destined to annoy you? destined to be the only fault in your life with no mercy. he just enjoyed the way you scrunched your nose, the way you punched his stomach, the way you kicked his shin. god, he loved making you angry and he loved seeing you struggle.

changbin dodged your book this time before you could wack him, and assuming he was done with his daily business you went back to your seat. forgetting everything that happened seconds ago before a sudden reminder could be heard tingling down your ear

“you know y/n, why can’t you just like me?” he asked, his finger teasingly caressing the side of your cheek

“every girl wants me, yet you... i just don’t get you” he continued, pointing at you to show how much “you stood out”

you rolled your eyes, not having any of it at the moment. but you had to admit it, your heart was beating out of your chest and something in you was telling you to go for it. he’s right there, just one inch away from his lips and you could-

“exactly, take a hint seo changbin. i can’t, and i won’t ever like you” you spat in his face, forcing him to seperate his hands from your heated cheeks.

“alright, alright chill” he said in a somewhat teasing voice, “but you know you want to be mine. ill make sure of it”

“me? with your cocky ass? bet”

“it’s not like i want to be with you either y/n” he said, leaning against the desk as you looked at you for any reaction. you were as still as a statue however, and this didn’t go unnoticed by changbin. in fact, he was a bit worried when he didn’t hear a response from you.

you simply blinked, your eyes drawn to the floor as his words transcript itself into your head. he never wanted to be with you, he never wanted to be with you.

“hey, y/n you good?” he said, nudging your shoulder a bit

you woke up from your sudden day dream before turning back to your computer and ignoring his presence as you always did. but changbin wasn’t finished, he pressed the play button to your recent track.

“stop it, i can’t figure out the lyrics to this yet” you said. changbin raised an eyebrow at your plain stated response before he could smirk

“ill help you out with that”

changbin waits for the beat to replay, his eyes looking directly into yours as he twirls your chair so you’re looking at nothing more than the “rap god of music school spearb”. your breath increases as you are forced to look at him in his place, where he paced back and forth thinking of lyrics before he could spit something out.

your eyes watched as changbin took over each beat, his hands moving around to fit syllables with notes and his eyes deadlocked on you to make sure you took down every word. yes, it was offensive. yes, it was beyond talented. yes, did he so fucking hot as he brushed his fingers through his hair, his eyes now on the roof as he tried to think of lyrics to continue. but what hit you the hardest was when he pointed out how cold-hearted you were in the middle of your rap.

to be clear, he said “hey y/n youre cold hearted, like elsa farted. ‘let it go’ when you’re around me,your period hasn’t started” (A/N: I AM SO SORRY SKSK I WANTED TO HAVE FUN WITH THIS LMFAOO)

these lyrics made you laugh at first, but when you realized what he meant it remained drilled in your head. as the song went on his lyrics become more and more serious, more and more meaningful. you sat back in your seat, not even paying attention to what he was saying. you just watched him. his every moment. you eyed him from top to bottom as your heart beat started to pace a little faster.

changbin poured his heart out in this moment. he wanted to let you know of these mixed feelings he was having. i mean, geez y/n, why were you always such a bitch to him? for no fucking reason? that’s why he decided to ignore his own feelings and bully you for now on. you hated him anyways. but as the song went on, he was tired of rapping about your imperfections (that he tried so hard to make up). he wanted to confess his love in words you could understand, and now that he had your attention he focused on doing just that. only until the music could stop.

“y/n... y/n? you pressed the pause button”

you turned around to find your elbow on the space bar. “oh.. oh! my bad i’m... oh what am i saying” you muttered to yourself before turning to him.

“get out!!” you said, standing up to push him out the door.

“okay, okay” changbin put both hands up in surrender

you shut the door in a hurry, your back slamming against it as you clutched onto your shirt. there was a burning pain there, it felt like your chest was collapsing upon itself. you never felt like this before. was it the fact that he was rapping about you? was it the insults? did it offend you THAT much? you rolled your eyes, your back slowly sliding down until your body met the floor as you finally met a steady heartbeat.

“it’s cause i like you, fucking idiot. and you call me cold-hearted?” you said, thinking back on his lyrics.

“we’ll see about that”

————-

a smug expression fit your mood as you walked down the halls, each step pulling you closer to lordseochangbin music school’s courtyard. changbin and his “rap” friends typically hung out around there and girls crowded them in awe of their looks.

your dark eye circles drooped down low, you spent all night in distress. did he not like you? he liked you? his words hurt your petty heart, to say the least. you wanted to come up with excuses to answer this burning feeling. what was this feeling?

it came down to feeling confused, amazed, happy, heartbroken. they all seemed jumbled up and all you could think about was throwing it into words. all night you focused on your new diss track dedicated to the one and only seo changbin. you wanted to show him you weren’t just bitching around when you said you hated him. you meant it. in all honesty you loved him, and all he did was bully you around for it.

god, to call you a bitch like that? that hit different. you pushed through the mob of girls, standing confidently before changbin as he looked up from his laptop to see you.

“y/n...” he said, unconsciously handing his laptop to jisung to give you his attention. his hands rested on his knees before he could stand up, the crowd tensing around you

“god, here goes the typical y/n and changbin stand-off. power of the two rap lyrical writers” someone said behind you.

yes it was a typical scene, you and changbin causing scenes everywhere around campus. but this one felt different. this scene felt like it would leave a rough patch.

“changbin, just wanted to return what you gave me last night” the vagueness in your words threw everyone off, including changbin’s friends

“what? a good night lyrics to complete your song?” he smirked, taking a daring step towards you.

the close proximity made you stutter a bit before you could take out your laptop from your backpack and expose a rough draft, something you found on changbin’s drive

“wait.. isn’t that my draft music?” he asked, his eyes glaring at the screen before turning back to you

“exactly, now im gonna give you a piece of your own medicine”

--------------

you slinged your backpack over your shoulder and you walked away from the crowd. god, that was embarrassing. it was different to say the least, the crowd cheered you on but their support didn’t matter. what mattered the most was the way changbin’s eyes glared at you the whole time. he didn’t bother to make out the words you were saying but he knew exactly what you were doing.

one thing changbin couldn’t get himself to realize was your motive? why were you literally spitting bars at his face?

he stared blankly as you left thinking not only did you attack his height, his rap style, and his skills-- you attacked his heart.

---------------

the next day he never came around to your studio. to ensure you weren’t sharing this time you checked the schedule for the booked room everyday but you never found his name. you knew he was around because of the gossip about him and his new single with his mates, but you never saw him on campus.

when summertime came around you were excited to come home as well, hoping to see the same boy next door but you were more than heartbroken to find out the seo family had moved out. his absence was a daily reminder of the mistake you made. you should’ve confessed way sooner.

---------------

a year passed before changbin could find himself backstage, his palms sweaty from the nervousness that had been piling over him these past few days. it was a small debut, but he knew every one of his fans were anticipating this.

you, on the other hand, had no idea what was going down until a group of girls jumped ahead of you in the lunch line.

“hey y/n! you didn’t hear about 3racha’s debut? i guess changbin was debuting first after all” the girl giggled. your mouth dropped at the sudden statement.

“changbin.. he’s..he’s debuting?!”

“yeah! his stage is tonight!” the other girl replied, “do you wanna join? i have an extra ticket”

you grabbed the palm of the girl’s hands, giving it a squeeze in gratitude. “wow, thank you. thank you dude”

“you welcome” the two girls smiled before you could exchange numbers.

today was the special day, huh? you thought to yourself. it was the day he always teased you about, the typical “just wait till i’m famous, then you’ll like me!” he always bragged

you laughed like an idiot just thinking about it.

------------

later that day you decided to pass some time on twitter, searching changbin in the small text box in order to get any information on his debut. luckily, the tag was filled with posts and articles about 3racha. you learned a couple things from this which explained so much about the past year. his disappearance: he was transdered into a popular company called jyp, which was the same company he was debuting in. the company building was also 200 miles away, which may have explained why the seo family had moved. it seemed all too coincidental however, but only left one spot blank in your unfilled answer sheet. why did he never say goodbye? (a/n: bruh “never say goodbye” is the lyrics to the stray kids ost that changbin helped write... anyways continue)

you jumped into a taxi with the two girls, all bubbly and giggly as you chit-chatted inside the car. the girls ensured you wore an outfit that was a bit out of your comfort zone, a red-shimmery bodycon dress that hugged your waist tight. your figure shined the most in this outfit, and earned the top topic in your conversation with the girls as you talked about the usual “where and how” you got your outfit.

200 miles, it took about two hours you supposed at the steady speed the taxi-driver went in. once two hours passed you couldn’t help but to ditch the conversation, a pit in your stomach slowly building as you anticipated changbin’s presence. what if he forgot about you? you thought about the question for a bit before concluding it would be best if he did forget about you.

you entered the club, finding a table nearby the stage. as the three of you got seated you noticed a face peek out behind the curtains. if it wasn’t the look on his face, god that look on his face. you could see his shocked expression as he looked at you eye-to-eye. he never expected to see you here, in fact it was the last thing that crossed his mind but instead of making him more nervous your presence made him feel more at ease, more at home.

three performances went by in a breeze, the crowd cheering on at certain parts that impressed even you. the lyrics were fun, having you jumping in your seat as swaying back and forth to the songs. but before you knew it the solo stages came on, changbin’s was up first.

the second he got on the stage his eyes scanned the crowd before they landed on you once again. a smug smirk fitted his face as the song started, chan and jisung looking over at changbin for the message that inspired the song lyrics.

“this one’s dedicated to the girl that broke my heart. there’s more to the story of course, and now that i think about it.. i think i should probably change my words up a bit” he laughed, taking chan and jisung by surprise before they could find you in the crowd as well.

“this song... it’s to the girl i loved.. and i hated the most. thank you for being there for me, whether you wanted to or not. thank you for.. dealing with my bullshit. for being my motivation and inspiration. you mean so much more than you’ll ever know, this one’s to you”

------

three minutes later you found yourself crying in the bathroom corner. you couldn’t tell if it was tears of joy or sadness. small sniffles was all changbin heard in the tiny room before he could knock on the door

“y/n, can i come in?”

“you would still come in even if i said no” you replied in the midst of tears, trying to wipe some off with your hand

“you’re right” changbin replied as he allowed the door to open by itself. he ran to you in a heartbeat, getting you on your feet and wiping the small droplets on your cheeks

“now why is my babygirl crying right now?” he laughed, leaning down to lock eyes with you

“did you really have to address me as babygirl?! seriously, you pervert!” you slapped his chest as you continued crying “i’m only three years younger, THREE” you pointed three fingers out as he softly grabbed your wrists, pulling you closer

“ it was all i could think of in the moment, i’m sorry love”

“i mean if i was there to help you-”

“are we seriously going to argue right now” changbin interrupted, resting his forehead against yours. there it was. your heart doing that funky thing again. god your brain cells were just squirming in disgust.. this feeling of excitement, love, yuck! it was disgusting! you thought. but deep down, you really loved seo changbin. with every breath you could never take back the fact that you loved seo changbin.

“no...i just missed you so much” you mumbled, a stutter in the midst as you could feel changbin’s hot breath with the close proximity

“then will you shut up and let me kiss you now? please?” he whispered, his hands cupping your cheeks before you could nod in approval

“did you brush your te-”

“i said shut up” changbin said with a smile before your lips could meet with his. you immediately fell into his hands, yours wrapping around his broad shoulders as he picked you up by your waist. your thighs met the cold stone counter-top of the bathroom, changbin fitting in between your legs as you pulled him in for another kiss. changbin leaned back to meet your eyes again, “you know how long i’ve been waiting to do that?” he gasped, trying to catch his breath

“im sure you can write a song about it” you chuckled

changbin looked at the mirror behind you before turning around to find his bags on the floor. “actually....”

he leaned down to find his laptop inside. “i kinda already did?”

#i use commas way too much #changbin #seo changbin #stray kids #3racha #seo changbin x reader #seo changbin fluff #changbin fluff #seo changbin soft hours #changbin angst #seo changbin angst #bang chan #bang chan stray kids #han jisung #jisung stray kids

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authorkimberlygrey · 4 years

Text

How to do the First Draft Thing

Rule Number One of your first draft is that there are no rules.

•Grammar? Fuck it

•Logic? Eh, if you feel like it I guess

•Story Structure? I don’t know her

•Character arcs? Who gives a shit

•Your outline? If its still working for you I guess keep it around but otherwise chuck it in the corner with all the other shit.

Your first draft is literally just a fire. Not even a dumpster fire, because that would mean it was at least contained. That’s draft 2.

Draft No. 1 is a trash fire and that’s great that’s the way the writing gods intended. Perfection is the enemy of good and all that, but listen, your first draft probs isn’t even gonna be good. Its gonna be a first draft.

And listen, I’m not saying that to be mean or whatever. Everyone’s first draft is, from a technical writing perspective, shitty. Its supposed to be. The first draft is about you figuring out what you like, and what works and what doesn’t, its about learning your characters in their actual environment.

From a technical perspective, its gonna be shitty, and that means you can let go of all the stress and perfectionism and all that shit and just have fun. You can throw in scenes that don’t make sense, characters that go nowhere, meaningless angst or fluff. Just have a good time, because later down the line you’ll probably end up using that shit, even if you don’t , you’ll still learn from it.

Honestly you’ll probably end up tossing 99% of the shit in your first draft out, but that’s okay. That’s great even, your first draft is shitty, remember? There are so many more drafts after the first one, it’s a big step, but remember its only the first step. So forget about making it great and just make it exist.

I would recommend that you don’t edit during the writing process, if you have an idea, stick a note about it in the appropriate place and keep moving on. If its a major edit, then make a note and continue on as if you’ve already made the change so you have less to do when you’re finished.

Once you’ve finished your draft, I would wait at least a week before you try to do anything with it. Personally, I try to wait for a month after I finish a draft before I look at it again.

But once your wait is up its time to do editing. Some people edit their first draft, and some people, like me, rewrite the whole thing.

Which, yeah, is a ton of work, but I find it worth it. I usually have so many edits to do in the first draft that it’s less of a hassle for me to do it all over again on a fresh draft rather than try to make all the edits I’d need to get the thing presentable.

If you are going to do edits, here’s what I suggest you do:

Start by reading through the draft, don’t change anything, not even a single word, just write it all down as you go. (this is also a good time to pick up all those notes you left for yourself while you were writing and see if they’re still something you want to do)

Be sure to keep track of where the smaller changes are, not just by page number, because once you start doing edits then the page and chapter numbers will probably change and you’ll be lost. Keep track of things by the words around them so you can use the search tool.

Once you’ve finished with that go through the list and arrange everything by the size of the change you’ll need to make. FIrst things that’ll effect the entire draft, then chapters, then pages, then paragraphs, then single line changes.

Make a new copy of your draft, don’t make the changes directly on your actual first draft document, you may want to go back to it later in case you don’t like some changes or there’s a line you want to rescue from it in the future.

Then you pretty much just go through the list.

Once your edits are complete, you’re ready to start looking for an outsider’s perspective. I definitely recommend a Critique Partner, another writer who looks over your draft (often in exchange for you looking over theirs) to see if there’s anything that sticks out from a writer’s perspective.

Some tips on finding a CP:

Find someone near your skill level writing-wise. Finding someone better than you is, always, a huge boon, but remember this is a partnership so they may want someone closer to their skill level.

Having them like or even write the genre that your draft is in would also be a great idea, that way they’ll know the tropes and such of the genre and they’ll also be interested in your book.

Most importantly, find someone you can get along with. Even better, find someone you can be real friends with.

Once it clears Critique, you’re reading to get the reader’s perspective, which means you’re looking for Betas.

Which could be a whole How to Do The Thing on its own, and ehh, it might be but I’ll at least give you a few tips here:

Look for betas in your target audience, if you’re writing a YA book, feedback from a 60 year old isn’t really gonna be relevant.

Most betas aren’t going to know what they’re doing, sure there might be experienced betas out there, but even then, they might not know what you specifically are wanting. Give clear, detailed instructions, ask them to give the most detailed feedback they can.

Don’t be surprised if they immediately ignore or misunderstand these instructions, that’s just the way it is a lot of the time.

Gather more betas than you think you’ll need, a lot of the people who agree to beta for you, and even sound excited about betaing for you, will never be heard from again.

Be polite to your betas regardless, unless you’re paying them, they’re doing you a favor. Yes, it sucks that they ghosted you, or ignored your instructions but there’s not much you can really do.

Once you’ve got your feedback, its time to see what to keep and what to throw out. Everyone will have ideas and not all of them will be good. In fact most of them will probably be terrible. You don’t have to act on every piece of advice, you don’t even have to consider every piece of advice, some people go way the fuck out there with the things they suggest and it can get to the point where they’re writing you a whole new story.

However, sometimes there will be a diamond in the rough so generally you’re gonna have to wade through all the crap. Keep in mind that you know what you want your story to be about and what you want it to be like. This might be a good time to reach out to your CP and see what they think of some of the advice you got.

When you’re decided on all of the advice you’ve gotten and how you want to apply it, you’re ready to start the next draft, which means you get to go back to the beginning of all these instructions and start all over!

Yeah, remember when I said that finishing your first draft is only a tiny part of the writing process for a novel?

But, once again, it is an important part. You can’t start on step two, and the first draft is an important part of learning about your story, your characters, and your style.

#writing help #writing advice #Writing tips #editing help #editing tips #how to do #editing #writing #How to do the thing

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akabluekat · 3 years

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writer’s ask game, all odd numbers, please! :)

1. Do you listen to music when you write? I have on occasion, but in general, I don’t. I’ve found that I have a hard time filtering out background noise when it’s conversations or music.

3. Computer or pen and paper? I used to be a little bit of both, but it’s more computer these days.

5. How much writing do you get done on an average day? It varies a lot. Maybe a couple hundred words?

7. Standalone or series? Both, I think. 9. Current WIP Delicate and Playing With Fire. I suppose you could count Burning Bridges, though it’s not posted yet. I’ve been working on it more lately because figuring out Bea’s side of things is integral to a few plot points that are coming up.

11. Books and/or authors who influenced you the most Meg Cabot, specifically Princess Diaries. Tamora Pierce (Alanna quartet).

(this next question got long, so I’m gonna throw in a page break out of consideration for your dash)

13. Describe your writing process from idea to polished 1. Have an idea while I’m supposed to be doing something else. 2. Open a Word document. Depending on where I am/how much time I have, write down some brief notes on the concept, possibly a few scenes. Give the Word document a vague filename. Working naming convention is Untitled HP [number]. 4. Attempt to write the first chapter. 5. Promise self that I will not post chapter until I’ve written a few more chapters. 6. Get ideas for scenes not in that chapter. Put into a document titled Nonlinear excerpts. 7. Write more of first chapter. 8. Finish rough draft. Rough draft may be mostly complete or be a hot mess of text that includes helpful notes like ??????? to remind myself where I still need to figure out plot issues or write giant chunks of text. Select all, cut, and paste into new document. 9. Do a line by line edit, gradually moving my rough draft from Document B back to the original document. Delete or smooth out ????? sections as I go. 10. At some point, my computer will crash or I’ll forget to charge it and it’ll shut off. 11. Say a bunch of swear words. 12. Recover document/lost work. 13. Vow to stop writing like this because I should know better at this point. 14. Continue with editing. 15. Repeat steps 8-15 an undetermined number of times. May not always need to do the cut/paste method, especially as chapter gets into later drafts. 16. Get excited about fic and decide to ignore the promise I made to myself back in step 5. 17. Comb through Taylor Swift discography trying to find an appropriate title. 18. Repeat step 18, but for the chapter title. (Alternatively, come up with a chapter title right away and still not know what the damn fic is called.) 19. Spend approximately 40 earth years trying to figure out a summary. 20. Come up with a summary that is 2 characters over FF.net’s character limit. Spend another 40 earth years trying to reword it so it doesn’t. 21. At some point, create an image for the fic, probably when I’m supposed to be doing something else. 22. Post fic. 23. Obsessively refresh inbox to see if people liked it or not. 24. Start chapter 2. Wonder why I did not write it before posting chapter 1. 25. Any one of the above steps can be replaced by getting distracted by Tumblr, other fics, daydreaming, scenes in my current WIP that are not in the chapter that I’m working on, the news, or pretty much anything else.

15. How do you deal with writer’s block? Lots of staring at my word document and sighing. Daydreaming. Working on other projects. 17. What writing habits or rituals do you have? the copy/paste edit method described in question 13. My fanfic is always written in Times New Roman (Calibri is for work). I have no explanation for this. 19. How do you keep yourself motivated? Strategic guilt. And honestly, the fact that people seem to care about the story is hugely motivating.

21. Who is/are your favourite character(s) to write? Fred and George, probably. The banter is so fun. 23. Favourite author I have to pick one!?! 25. Favourite part of writing I love telling stories and exploring different worlds/possibilities. 27. Favourite line/scene I think it might be Bea saying “I refuse to apologize for who I am!” in response to being asked if she had bacon in her pocket.

29. Favourite villain My fics don’t really have villains other than Voldemort. And angst, I suppose.

31. Least favourite part of writing Transitional/connective parts always seem to trip me up.

33. Have you ever killed a main character? Nope. 35. What scene/story are you least looking forward to writing? Right now, Chapter 14 of Delicate haas been giving me trouble. I know what needs to happen, but writing it has been a challenge.

37. First sentence or your current WIP PWF: I knew I would have to dance with one of them before the thought even crossed McGonagall’s mind. Delicate: Alicia and Lee could have gotten married in London. Burning Bridges: I’m reluctant to start this account with the story of a shitty boyfriend. 39. Weirdest character concept you’ve ever had. A Squib who owns a pub in Diagon Alley.

41. Any advice for new/beginning/young writers? You will make mistakes and that is okay. 43. What do you do if/when characters don’t follow the outline? Fred Weasley has little respect for my outlines, so this happens a lot. Sometimes, I try reworking the scene a bit; on other occasions, I’ve been like “you know what, you’re right this time. Scrap the outline, let’s explore this path instead.”

45. How much world building do you do? I tend to fall into little world building rabbit holes as I write--it’s very unpredictable, so I don’t know if I can answer this question properly.

47. Best way to procrastinate Writing or falling down weird internet rabbit holes.

49. Which character would you most want to be friends with, if they were real? Of my characters, Bea Pierce. In the wider world of fiction, Leslie Knope and Gandalf.

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