#it’s really about them as mythic heroes
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Hey so remember when @motleywolf-et-al told me I should turn the people talking about Amber and Fitz as some sort of legendary love into a fic? I made one; here you all go
#realm of the elderlings#rote#fitzchivalry farseer#the fool#amber#fitzloved#this is deliberately not canon compatible#I love it though it was so much fun#it’s really about them as mythic heroes
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did anyone else ever find it odd how easily zeus offered percy godhood? and how it almost seemed like he secretly wanted percy to accept? well i did, and after thinking long and hard about it…
i don’t think percy understood what turning down godhood really meant
demigods do tasks for the gods because they don’t have to follow any rules. they aren’t controlled by anyone or anything. demigods are a strange hybrid - not god, not human. they are in between the laws of immortal and mortal. they are not supposed to exist. yet they do, which is what makes them so extraordinary.
percy is crazy powerful. of course, there’s the aspect of raw power. he has domain over air (storms/hurricanes), land (earthquakes and volcanic eruptions), and sea (monster waves, tsunamis, floods, basically anything that involves water.) he can control bodily fluids. he has super strength (with one hand, he held up an unconscious annabeth who was being pulled down by both arachne AND the forces of tartarus). he has super speed (he moves faster than bullets in TTC). no matter how badly you hurt him, he automatically heals and regenerates the second he touches water (an ability no other demigod has). he’s an extraordinary swordsman. very skilled in combat and warfare. he’s smart, and thinks of plans quickly. but he also has a great deal of social/poltcial power… i mean, he’s a leader and hero to both the greek and roman camps. if he says “attack,” all demigods, greek or roman, attack. no question. do you have any idea how threatening that is to the olympians? he’s also best friends and has an empathy link with the lord of the wild, which basically means all of nature is by his side too, including all land creatures. he’s also prince of horses, which means pegasi too (both of which are extremely useful in battle). and of course all sea creatures, including the mythical ones like krakens and leviathans. not to mention many of the gods really like him. hermes, hephaestus, athena, aphrodite, and dionysis have all gone out of their way to help him. artemis holds him in high regard, especially since he saved her. apollo literally considers him his friend! and poseidon - his dad, the god who is the biggest threat to zeus - is fiercely protective of him and cares about him a great deal. many minor gods also like him because he demanded them to be given more respect and for their kids to be welcomed at the camps.
percy unknowingly has more power, both physical and social/political, than anyone should ever have. he may have absolutely no idea, but it must scare the living daylights out of zeus. by accepting zeus’s offer to become a god, percy would have submitted himself to the control of zeus. zeus would be his king and ruler. zeus would then have complete control over him.
but percy said no. therefore, percy remains out of zeus’s control.
percy had no idea what he was doing. but thank the gods he made that choice. thank the gods he’s an incredible person. thank the gods percy jackson has no desire for power, because he has more of it than anyone should ever be able to have.
#i just know zeus wrote his name in his burn book that night#zeus must have been so pissed#percy jackson#the last olympian#pjo#percabeth#percy jackson and the olympians
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can I request: a villain who betrayed the hero and a hero who still loves them and can’t stop themselves from helping/saving them even after finding out about the betrayal?
"You know," the villain managed. "I never thought you were stupid before."
"Mm, just an easy mark I suppose." The hero kept their back turned, busying themselves with washing the villain's blood off their hands. "You're supposed to be in bed. Go back to bed."
"This is stupid. Saving me is stupid."
"So is standing up in your current state, but you don't see me being a whiny little bitch about it."
The villain was still leaning heavily against the bathroom door when the hero finally turned, any attempts they were perhaps making at being intimidating utterly ruined by the bloodless waxy tinge to their face and the dark circles under their eyes.
The hero raised their eyebrows, shoving down the urge to go to them. "If you pass out, I'm laughing at you and leaving you on the floor."
"But you wouldn't leave me in that place."
"I'm not a monster."
"You're not me."
"Oh please. You're not a monster, you're not that mythic. You're just a run-of-the-mill dick."
The villain huffed something like a laugh, only to grimace, clutching a hand to the freshly placed bandages at their abdomen.
The hero was at their side in a heartbeat. They were glad the villain had squeezed their eyes shut against the pain - it gave the hero time to compose themselves, to keep their flailing hands from steadying the villain.
The villain got the pain under control. They slumped against the wall, sweat beading their forehead, jaw clenched.
"Bed," the hero said, again, voice a little quieter and rougher than before.
"You could have taken me to a hospital. You didn't have to take me to your home."
"The first place they'd look for you is in a hospital. But by all means, you know where the door is. I'm not forcing you to stay. You'll do great on your own. You're used to it."
The villain shot them a look at that, but wobbled back to the bed the hero had initially set them up on. They eased themselves down gingerly and had to take another moment where they were clearly fighting unconsciousness.
It was the hero's turn to lean in the doorway, awkward and orbital, arms folded across their chest.
"You weren't tempted to leave me there?" the villain asked. "After what I did to you?"
The hero's chest ached. They kept their voice light.
"Tempted? Sure."
"But you didn't."
"You know, I never thought you were stupid either," the hero said. "But you're repeating the obvious an awful lot today, so maybe I stand corrected."
"Yeah, alright sunshine," the villain snapped. "It's been a bit of week."
They both lapsed into the silence. The villain seemed to realise what they'd said, breath hitching. They always used to call the hero that, after all. Sunshine. The hero used to be that too.
The villain swallowed. They eyed the hero with a wariness that should have been gratifying but really just hurt.
Wariness. Confusion, too. Something else that the hero didn't want to poke at.
The villain, after all, wasn't repeating themselves because they'd somehow missed the whole rescue situation. They wanted to know why, they wanted to understand, even if they weren't willing to actually come out and say it. To ask outright.
They wanted...
Well. The hero supposed it didn't much matter what the villain wanted anymore.
The villain looked away first. Folded first. They cleared their throat.
"They'll come for me, if I stay here," the villain said. "Come for you, if they think you're harboring me."
"And why would anyone think I would ever do that for you?"
The hero could practically feel the villain tracking them in their periphery vision, studying them with every sense except looking at them directly.
Sunshine, turned to a sun. Dangerous to get close to.
"You are..." The villain stopped. They closed their mouth.
You are doing that for me though, aren't you?
The hero's eyes narrowed.
"Well, thank you, anyway," the villain mumbled instead. "For the rescue. Very heroic of you, as ever."
"It's just what I do. I'd do it for anyone."
"Yeah."
"You're not special."
"Of course not."
"Get some sleep." The hero forced themselves to turn away, even when all they really wanted to do was move closer, check again that the villain was truly okay, keep vigil by their side. "The sooner you're feeling better, the sooner you can get the hell out of my life again."
They all but slammed the bedroom door shut behind them.
They wished it was anywhere near as easy to shut off their heart.
#hero x villain#heroes and villains#villains and heroes#villains#writing#writeblr#creative writing#writing snippet#hero and villain#betrayal
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Do you have any “don’t meet your heroes” stories from working in Hollywood?
Absolutely.
Hollywood really is a place like no other. If you grow up loving cinema, certain people can take on mythic status in your imagination. Actors, filmmakers; they are larger than life. They become idols in the truest sense - an image that is actually worshipped.
But Hollywood is actually full of very weird human beings who have been lucky enough to make their living in a world of make-believe. A huge percentage of the people who work in this industry are strange birds, unsuited for working anywhere else.
Some of our biggest stars wouldn't last ten minutes working a real job; some of our most exalted filmmakers collapse inward if they're in a crowded room. They can have unusual talents, or beauty, or unique perspectives and abilities that have propelled them to various levels of success, or even stardom, but they're just normal, neurotic people.
And success, fame, and money can really twist people. It can be like radiation. They can go full Gollum from it.
But most people who work in Hollywood are not stars at all. The vast majority of people who work here are not rich, not famous. Most are hardworking craftsmen and craftswomen who are fighting every day to make a living, scraping by the best they can in an industry that is brutal, impersonal, and impenetrable.
But every single person in this business - whether they are superstars or not - are just ordinary people. They're insecure, anxious, and prone to all of the failings we mortals are prone to. Some of them are awesome; some of them are assholes. But most of the people here (even the superstars) quietly feel like they don't belong, or that they don't deserve it, or that their sheer ordinariness will be discovered any minute.
In fact, it's the people who seem to feel the opposite - those rare people who feel that they DO belong here, and deserve the lifestyle this industry can afford, who are inevitably the least likable ones I've met.
As I've been lucky enough to keep working in this business, I've met a lot of the people who I idolized along the way. Filmmakers and actors who I admire so much, whose work has shaped the trajectory of my life without them knowing it. I've been starstruck every time, and I am still am - I stammer, I freeze, and I kick myself for what I say, or don't say, or how I said it. I'm not good at it. I have acute social anxiety, and when you throw me at someone I admire, I turn into a blubbering idiot.
They say "don't meet your heroes" because you may (likely will) be disappointed by just how ordinary they truly are. Or worse, they may even turn out to be people you wouldn't want to interact with in normal circumstances - your heroes might be people you wouldn't want to invite to coffee. The persona you have admired is a product in itself, something you bought, something you have taken home and displayed proudly in your imagination... but the human being behind that persona is full of all the ordinary failings. That can be really hard to reconcile.
So yeah, a long-winded way of saying that I've had the experience of meeting people I admired a great deal only to be disappointed, or worse. I've got some nightmare stories in there where the actual person violently shattered the idol I'd built in my imagination. I won't share those stories, there's little point in that, but instead I'll talk about the rare exceptions - the few heroes I've met who were every bit as awesome as I'd hoped they'd be.
They may say "never meet your heroes," but they haven't met Mark Hamill.
I worked with Mark on The Fall of the House of Usher, and he is one of my favorite people. Kind, generous, humble, and so, so funny. I was nervous and excited to meet Mark for the obvious reasons, because of the hero he was in my imagination - but I got to meet Mark the actor, the father, the husband, the humanitarian, and the friend.
Guillermo Del Toro - one of my biggest heroes, his work has meant so much to me. And I was terrified to meet him. But he is one of the most joyful, honest, sweet-natured people I've met in the business, and his love for movies is infectious. For me, the man himself exceeded the myth.
I've been lucky to meet other exceptions to this rule, heroes of mine who exceeded my expectations - Ewan McGregor, Mick Garris, Brian Henson, Heather Langenkamp, Henry Thomas - and yeah, I've had the other experience too. But I try to focus on the exceptions.
It can be unhealthy to idolize people - unhealthy for you, and unhealthy for them. But it's truly awesome when someone is even more amazing than you imagined.
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This is easily the most inconvenient moment possible for Eddie to have a hard-on and yet, here he is, standing in the remains of what used to be the Hawkins Public Library with his dick hard as a rock in his pants.
Eddie had heard tell of a nailbat, rumors of Steve Harrington’s weapon of choice in dealing with matters related to the Upside Down, but it had seemed mythical to him. The way the boys talked about Steve wielding it made him sound like a hero from some ancient mythology.
“You should have seen him, Eddie,” Dustin would grip Eddie’s arm with a grasp that hurt as he regaled Eddie with the tale of Steve in the Junkyard Fighting the Demodogs once more. “He was such a badass, like, so insanely cool!”
Eddie is deeply glad that he was not present at that battle, but there is a part of him that wishes he could have seen it. That he could have seen Steve wield the suburban equivalent of a mace while trying to defend his brood of strange children.
Not that Eddie would ever admit that, of course. He and Steve are tentative friends, and Eddie is not going to risk what progress he and Steve have made in maintaining a civil relationship just because he thinks the guy is hot. Of course he thinks Steve is hot, so does every other breathing human in Hawkins, Indiana.
So, yeah, Eddie is keeping that piece of information to himself. Taking it to his grave. Besides, they’re in the middle of an apocalypse and now is hardly the time for getting horny over Steve Harrington proving competence with a blunt instrument.
But apparently Eddie’s dick never got that memo. Because he’s standing here watching Steve knock those goddamn fucking demobats out of the spore infested Hawkins sky with his infamous bat, dripping with blood and snarling at the monsters. He swings with a terrifying rage in his eyes, laser focused on removing each and every single bat from the sky with a sort of feral grace that shouldn’t be possible.
Eddie watches, pants uncomfortably tight, as Steve makes one final swing at the last bat standing (flying?) with a flourish of his wrist, giving the nailbat a little twirl before using it to strike the last creature down.
Steve Harrington is absolutely unreal.
He turns around to face Eddie and Eddie is reminded that, oh yeah, they’re in the middle of a massive battle right now and he had maybe let himself get a little distracted and wow, the blood dripping through Steve’s chest hair as he tosses the nailbat onto his shoulder with practiceed ease is really doing it for Eddie, which would be fine (well, not fine, but at least somewhat manageable) if it were literally any other moment in time.
“Are you okay?” Steve asks Eddie, voice hoarse and raspy in a way that really shouldn’t be sexy because it’s probably caused by Steve breathing spores and demobat guts or something else equally horrifying, but it is hot and there is something deeply wrong with Eddie.
And maybe there is some single solitary shred of mercy left remaining in the universe, because Steve is seemingly too focused on the war waging around them to clock the bulge in Eddie’s pants.
“Yup!” Eddie nods, feeling like a bobble head in his enthusiasm. “Great! Feeling great! Never better!”
Steve gives him an odd look, considering, but seems to accept Eddie’s assertion that he’s unharmed. He probably just attributes the strange behavior to Eddie’s general weirdness, which is perfectly fine with Eddie.
“Good,” Steve’s eyes drift to the steadily growing dark cloud that obscures much of the red sky. “Let’s get moving then.”
He stomps past Eddie, clapping him on the shoulder as he passes. Eddie closes his eyes and scrapes the corners of his mind for the least sexy thoughts he can summon to will his boner away.
“You coming?” Steve calls back from a few yards behind Eddie.
“Right behind you, big boy,” Eddie says. He takes a deep breath in and out before turning to follow Steve back into the fray.
#um. i can explain.#i was inspired by a post#i wrote a different ending to this that was um. well#but i thought that maybe i shouldn’t post that since i know i have minors following me on here#btw!!#minors dni#ok bye i gotta go do something else now#steddie#steve#eddie#ficlet#my writing#anya.txt
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So uh, I ended up making a new...? AU with @amitiagailec and @blueshadowdad XD except it's not really a new AU.
Introducing, Decidit's Curse! A modern universe featuring Phantas/Knowledge (Phantasmagoria!Shadow Milk), Ternate Milk (fragment au! Shadow Milk), and Blueberry Milkshake (dad! Shadow Milk). Except they're now all brothers, with Phantas being the oldest, Ternate being the middle child, and Blueberry being the youngest.
There's a twist, Phantas and Ternate are both creatures! Ternate is a vampire and Phantas, uh, no one is quite sure what Phantas is. I'll focus on Phantas and Majesty here, and I'll leave the others to explain their side of the story >:3
I'll start from the very beginning. Originally, there were the five original virtues, baked by the witches themselves. Tasked to guide and help cookiekind prosper, they were sent down to earthbread. At first, they did as they were told. Being treated as divine beings, as heroes. Until, one by one, they began to corrupt. In an attempt to stop the creatures of their own creation, the witches shattered the souljams, fragmenting them and scattering them across the tree of life, where the shards would fall upon and settle within the blood and souls of unfortunate victims.
Each Virtue, each Beast, manifested into its own type of curse.
Sloth promotes corruption, within self and within others. Tempting those who will listen to fall into greed and cruelty.
Apathy becomes uncaring. They stop caring about what happens to people. Not exactly losing emotion, they have their own emotions. But they don't have sympathy or empathy. They only care about their own goals, not caring about what they have to do or the people they ruin to get to it. If that means the downfall of a country, so be it. It doesn't matter to them, not anymore.
Destruction grows impulsive, and more angry. They find it harder to hold back the violent urges, find it harder to care about the violent urges. Finds it easier to find it fun.
Silence is a void of mind. They become a shell of themselves, losing their voice, then their thoughts. Guided only by the hatred of the other curses, Silence only falls once the others have fallen too, as there is no one else left to keep them from slipping into complete solitude and isolation within their minds.
Deceit is a loss of identity. An inability to recall who they are, who they're supposed to be. Sometimes they never notice it at all.
Knowledge Phantasmagoria Decidit is the eldest brother of the Decidit family. After losing their parents, and gaining custody of his younger siblings, he would later gain a job at the government. Unknown to the general public, he works in the Creatures Department under the Director. After being tasked to research the confidential magic known as 'Dark Moon Magic', he suffers an unexplained death.
A month later, he reappears back at his home's doorsteps, looking as though he had dug his way out of his grave. Because he had. And he came back...off.
In this universe, there is an existence called the Angels. They have different names as well, such as Guardians, or Faeries. They are created by the witches and have one primary task: watch over the bearers of the curses and interfere if required.
Gods/elementals and other mythical creatures also exist, though are hidden away from normal society. The cookie suffix is no longer used, though curse bearers, angels and gods occasionally slip up when speaking.
Majesty (Phantasmagoria! Pure Vanilla) is Blueberry Milkshake's student. He was born with a frail body, so he grew up being in and out of hospitals. Due to this, he could not properly go to school and was tutored. One day, he didn't show up to class and Blueberry would later find out that Majesty was in critical condition.
Phantas, seeing his brother so distraught, decides to do some...tomfoolery, and cures Majesty.
Majesty is completely fine. Nothing is wrong at all. He still sees the eyes in his dreams, in his mind. His thoughts are not his own.
#fyp#cookie run#crk#cookie run kingdom#cr kingdom#pure vanilla cookie#shadow milk cookie#phantasmagoria crk#vanillaverse#dad shadow milk au#fragment au#decidit's curse#also yes Timekeeper is Phanta's boss#“I know you have a lot of saved up holidays but a month is quite a long time”#he goes right back to work on Monday smh#eldritch brother am I right#also I promise to work on the actual phantasmagoria soon I promise-#T-T
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One thing I’ve yet to see talked about with Nimona, but that I really really liked, is how it tackles the mythology of war and valor. Specifically, when we first see Gloreth during the intro book sequence, she’s depicted as a full grown adult, this divine, messianic figure heroically battling threats to her nation and people. The city’s equivalent of “good god” is even “good Gloreth”. But then when we actually get to see when all this started through Nimona’s flashback by the well, Gloreth is *very much* a whole ass six year old, maybe eight or nine if we’re stretching it. The mythical hero driving back the “evil darkness” is a few inches shy of a toddler. We don’t know much about the intervening conflict between Nimona and the people of the city, other than that it probably lasted longer than that one mob burning down their own village, and Gloreth abandoning Nimona. But one thing we do see when we pick back up 1000 years later is that the “elite force of knights” who Gloreth (supposedly) put in place whose “descendants would protect the kingdom for generations to come” are being succeeded by a whole new batch of child soldiers. The footage of Ballister breaking into the training grounds as a child isn’t him running to meet adult heroes honing their skills, it’s of him as a seven or eight year old trying to go train with the other child soldiers. This whole movie is a commentary on how media likes to portray soldiers as mature adults who go to war for honor, glory, and patriotism instead of a pack of kids being pushed into the line of fire because it’s what the adults in power tell them is right. It’s certainly something that stood out to me as someone who’s grown up in the hyper nationalism of the US, has seen who society *claims* is sacrificing their lives in military service, and has also seen who *actually* is recruited (the fact that Ballister is a homeless street kid who tries to use the military to get a decent life is not an accident.) And I think that’s neat and important.
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God! Solangelo won't leave me alone omg
Nico, sitting with the other demigod children, telling them the stories of mythical heros like Percy Jackson and Hercules.
Nico, telling young Hermes children stories of the underworld and summoning ghosts to fill them with scary stories at campfires.
Nico, teaching kids Italian and helping them with their English.
Will, using his Texan voice anytime he trains with the campers
Will "Please, I'm still your brother don't call me sir!" Solace talking to the Apollo kids.
Will, teaching kids medicine and first aid. And even tho he's not his father, he still sings them to sleep when the nightmares get bad.
Nico, going on quests of all kinds with the campers so that no more demi gods have to lose their sibling.
Will, constantly waxing poetry about Nico anytime and anywhere
Nico, only 10 feet away at supervising the archery range trying to act like he can't hear it even though everyone knows he hears Will. Nobody mentions how his smile gives him away.
Will, telling campers about his mom and the struggles he had with Apollo, telling them that it'll get better.
Nico, introducing new campers to Hestia, "the kindest Goddess" he's ever met.
Nico and Will having mandatory field trips to the cinema once every other month and making sure each and every camper has the hobbies they love just at their finger tips.
Will "your parent may not want you, but I'll do my best to prove that I do" Solace
Nico "I'm not mad you you set your cabin on fire, just disappointed" di Angelo right before bringing said camper to the infirmary and adjusting their schedule so they can train and get a better grip of their powers.
Just... I dunno. Older Solangelo where the world didn't end and they love their really weird family.
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How To Start Writing A Book (So Says This Idiot)
I’ve been working on my queer superhero fantasy novel Byoldervine for a few years now, but it’s only been in the last year or so that I’ve really dedicated myself to my writing. Now I’ve gone from a fun few concepts to nearly 50K words and counting. So I figured I’d share my process to get here
1. Figure out your barebones concept
Before you can begin writing, you obviously need to know what you’re writing. At this point in time it can literally just be something like “A group of friends go on a quest through a magical fantasy world and meet loads of mythical creatures along the way”, it doesn’t even necessarily need a plot intact. You can be as vague or as specific as you like here, you just need that general idea
2. Figure out your characters
Your characters are the driving forces behind all internal conflict in your story and give your story heart; if you can pick between expanding your plot and expanding your characters, pick the characters. Start figuring out at very least the need-to-know aspects about your characters, such as their motivations and what’s holding them back from achieving them. We can flesh them out more and more as we go
3. Create the main external conflict
Often this takes the form of the main antagonist, but it can be literally anything from a curse the main character is trying to overcome, a series of misunderstandings, a goal they just don’t have the skills to achieve on their own, etc. What’s the thing that’s causing our main character problems they need to overcome?
4. Work out the beginning and end of your story
Where do you want your story to end? Do you want your characters to be living a life of peace and glory as revered heroes after they defeat the villain? Do you want them to be able to return to the life they once had with new friends and stronger powers than ever before? Do you want them to fail and experience the tragedy of their loss? Well if that’s where you want to end, they can’t have all that at the very start of the story, so that’s something that needs to change during the story. Congratulations, you just created a plot point!
5. Use your plot points to create a general plan
Now that you’ve got some ideas of what you want/need to happen during the story, you can make a timeline of these plot points. Say something like “Inciting incident, MC leaves village” or “MC trapped by BBEG” or “MC gains new weapon” or something like that. At this point things are a bit less vague because now you’re starting to see how the plot can go. Don’t forget to add things that the characters would go for, too, even if it’s not plot-relevant
6. Plotting
You’re ready to start plotting by now. For every chapter, write down a general objective of what needs to be achieved within this chapter. Each of these needs to be followed with bullet points of different, smaller plot points within the chapter to achieve this objective. This part I enjoy doing alongside actually writing so I can update it as I go, I’ll usually plot about five chapters ahead and then get to writing until I’ve used them all up
By this point, you’re ready to write! Best of luck and remember that it’s only a first chapter, all it needs to do is exist!
#writing#writers#bookblr#writeblr#book#original#writer#writing advice#how to write#writing tips#writing tips and tricks#on writing#writing ideas
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Writing Tone #2: Avoiding Manufactured Sincerity
There’s a scene in season 5 of My Hero Academia where two beloved teachers have been brought to some high security prison to interrogate a captured villain that turns out to be a brainwashed childhood friend of theirs. The scene is really dramatic, these two teachers are screaming at this guy, heartbroken, and when I saw the episode (shortly before quitting the entire show mid-episode over how bored I was) I was not at all as outraged and horrified as they were.
It was so tonally jarring, and so unfounded within the plot, that it was almost uncomfortable to watch. The villain they’re interrogating isn’t unfamiliar, but the plot-twist-surprise childhood friend is a stranger no one but these two care about.
I didn’t care, couldn’t empathize with why they were upset, knew nothing about their relationship with the guy beyond the ham-handed flashbacks given right that moment. I wasn’t prepared to mourn the loss of this random character, wasn’t primed ahead of time with the idea that this was a possibility to dread the scene before it happened. I was just waiting for it to be over and when it finally was, the impact it had on me was a resounding: Well that was weird. Now back to the plot.
Unfounded sincerity is the uncomfortably ugly step-sibling of plots that are starved of sincerity—look at most of Phase 4, but really, starting with Thor: Ragnarok in the MCU. Many Marvel properties are afraid to embrace the emotional moments and resort to bad jokes to laugh at themselves before the audience can laugh at them. Because how dare a late-stage superhero story about mythical gods be at all sincere in its relationships, its quiet moments, its tragedies. Nope, time for jokes.
Unfounded sincerity is when a story goes far harder with the drama, the love-declarations, the angst, the humor, where it’s trying really hard to convince the audience to care and it just isn’t working.
This happens when arguments start out of nowhere, as well, when characters explode at each other in a heated screaming match that hasn’t been left to fester for nearly long enough, undercooked and hard to swallow.
This happens when characters fall suddenly, madly in love with each other with zero dubious intervention to explain away the sudden passion.
It happens particularly when characters care a whole heck of a lot about someone the audience doesn’t, at the expense of characters the audience is invested in.
It happens when characters have emotional breakdowns and start crying over what ends up reading like spilled milk. When stoic and strong characters break over something they normally would never, for ~drama~.
This is usually both a tone and pacing issue, and a serious case of telling. The author hasn’t done any of the work ramping up a situation or relationship for proper delivery of these emotionally charged moments that are written like critical character beats we’re supposed to care deeply about.
So how does this happen?
1. The author *really* wants this scene, but writes it too early into the story
Unless there’s foul play involved, or this is a romantic comedy that isn’t supposed to be a realistic and healthy depiction of how romance works, characters suddenly declaring love for each other at the cost of their own well-being, their own character arc and journey, and their other motivations can be very frustrating to read.
But the author wants to get to the Good Stuff, so they coast on the “male + female leads = relationship” expectation without writing the why (and so ensures the rise of so many gay ships in the process). Or the male + male leads” or what have you.
2. The author cannot fluidly change tone and characters explode, instead of simmer
An argument that comes out of nowhere can really take your audience out of a scene. Your characters suddenly look ridiculous and your audience can’t follow what’s going on or why they’re so upset. This is different than a character exploding seemingly out of nowhere, but who we know has been building resentment for dozens of pages and loses it over something otherwise inconsequential.
These scenes are painfully, obviously there for manufactured drama and don’t feel natural. These characters don’t feel like people, but playthings, action figures manipulated by the hands of the author.
3. The characters involved are underdeveloped
As in the My Hero scene mentioned above, of the three characters in the scene, the “friend” we’re supposed to care about is a non-entity. The two teachers could have lost their minds over this guy’s sudden death, or the reveal that he turned traitor, or that he murdered younglings and puppies and kittens, to the same emotional impact, because we don’t care about this guy (or, I don’t, at least. I didn’t, and shouldn’t have to read the manga).
You can of course have characters who grieve non-entities, like the fridged wife trope. The difference is the audience knows we’re not supposed to know or care about that lady and the character she never was. This happens pre-plot, not mid-season 5. The frigid wife is the catalyst for the character we then come to know, not a character whose death radically changes our heroes from the people we’ve already established.
4. The tonal jump is just too extreme from the established rules of the story
Abrupt changes in tone can be very tricky to pull off, and almost always fail when it surrounds an abrupt shift in character dynamics (as opposed to something more plot-related). As in, your lighthearted comedy suddenly stops the plot so two characters can scream at each other, when this level of emotional charge hasn’t been established as a possibility.
Or the aforementioned emotional breakdown that just leaves audiences uncomfortable like the awkward friend trying to soothe a weeping companion.
—
Unfortunately, the fixes to these situations are either delete that entire scene, or go back and do a lot of rewriting so there’s enough build-up to justify its existence. Go back and write in that simmering resentment, all the little frustrations, a pre-existing tension within the relationship that is always primed to snap.
Absence makes the heart grow fonder and there’s a reason the “slowburn” is so popular. Setting out from the beginning to write a fast-paced, passionate romance tells your readers to expect exaggerated displays of emotion.
My favorite musical is Moulin Rouge. This movie is insane. Everyone is hyperbolically emotional and nothing is half-assed. The dances, the belting singing, the costumes, set-design, editing, the declarations of love– they’re all dialed up to 11. So characters screaming their love or rage from the rooftops is a *lot* but you’re prepared for it from the opening scene, knowing exactly what kind of movie this is.
Even if you don’t start your story with the level of drama it will eventually reach, there should still be some sort of progression when it comes to character drama.
Last Airbender didn’t open episode 2 with the emotional intensity of Zuko and Azula’s last Agni Kai… but it did show you that this isn’t just a lighthearted comedy in episode 3, with the reveal of Gyatso’s body and Aang’s violently emotional reaction.
Speaking of episode 3, they didn’t throw in Gyatso out of nowhere. We know from the show so far that a) Aang is the last of his kind, and b) he doesn’t know this. Everything leading up to this reveal is lighthearted, sure, but with that undercurrent of dread, waiting for Aang to see for himself, waiting for that other shoe to drop.
So some things to keep in mind are:
Prime the audience with dropping that first shoe, make them aware of the building tension (romantic, aggressive, grief, or otherwise), even if not all the characters are aware.
Build that tension. If your characters will eventually explode, let them be mildly irritated first, then annoyed, then frustrated, then angry, then raging until they can’t contain it anymore.
Make sure every party involved in this dramatic moment is someone the audience actually cares about, not just someone they’re told to care about.
TL;DR: Don’t pull the trigger prematurely. It’s most obvious with suddenly passionate arguments, characters flinging insults and hurts the audience isn’t prepared for and doesn’t know about, in effort to move the plot along before it’s fully cooked.
So unless there’s some drugs or fairy magic involved, or one of these characters has a gun to their head forcing them to do this right now, people don’t just explode in a rage without some buildup first. People can explode in a rage over a seemingly inconsequential and unrelated thing, but they’re likely already upset and this one little thing is the final straw. Audiences love the anticipation of what that final straw will be, and whether the explosive drama is rage or romance, “slowburn” is immensely popular for a reason.
#writing advice#writing resources#writing tips#writing tools#writing a book#writing#writeblr#writers on tumblr#pacing
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The ‘You’ Problem - One Shot
Beefy!Bucky x Female!SHIELD!Reader
*bangs clipboard* ONE BED! ONE BED! ONE BED!
Guys…I threw this together today on a whim. Apologies in advance for the utterly self indulgent fluff with a bit of smut thrown in for good measure. You’ve got all my fave tropes here - one bed, forced proximity, misunderstandings and bad communication, grumpy and sunshine..
In my mind this is Beefy!Bucky (CW era Bucky) but you are of course invited to envisage your favourite Bucky. There is a slightly silly plot point about him being thicc (lmao). Reader is female, not physically described.
I hope you enjoy!! ❤️
warnings: bit’o’smut
Wordcount: around 4.4k (lol)
🛏️
You could see his face fall as he opened the door. Your eyes followed his past the safe house entrance and inside through to the open plan cabin.
All on one floor. A small kitchenette, basic but seemingly clean at least. A cheap, plastic dining table with a few dingy chairs tucked into the far corner. A crumpled leather sofa that had seen better days. A battered old door at the rear that you assumed lead to the bathroom (you hoped, anyway). A large fireplace with a basket of logs next to it - merciful after a long trek out in the cold air. And- Oh.
Oh.
A double bed in the middle of the space.
A bed. As in…singular. One.
It didn’t take a Mathematician to work out the equation of two people plus one bed and what that equalled.
Especially when one of those people seemed particularly prickly towards the other, for reasons the other didn’t fully understand.
Tonight would be the most awkward night’s sleep of your life.
“Great…” growled Bucky sarcastically as he reluctantly crossed the threshold, dropping the duffle bags of equipment by the fireplace.
“Hmm, homely” you chirped, hoping a joke might ease the tension. Of course he didn’t respond.
You dropped your gaze as he began stripping his tactical gear off, piling it onto the arm of the couch. He tugged off his boots and wordlessly headed to the bathroom, the door slamming behind him.
You sighed heavily. He must’ve said ten words to you in total on this mission. The mission itself had gone well, at least. You had got the intel you needed and neither of you had been compromised in the process. You had got in and out. As a SHIELD agent you didn’t normally work with the Avengers directly in the field, but Stark and Steve had put you on this one with Bucky because of his stealth skills and your knowledge of tech and a particular comms device that was difficult to master - even for the best heroes in the biz.
You knew them all. Well. Ish. You saw them around the tower. Helped them with surveillance and intel. Most of them were sweet and chatty, nothing like the mythical, two-dimensional hero figures the media portrayed them to be. Sure, they were brilliant at what they did but they were also warm. Flawed. Human. Steve was a sweetie, Tony was an egomaniac but he could hold a conversation at least. Nat was a great ally to have but an even better friend. Sam made you laugh like nobody else. They were your friends.
Well. Almost all of them.
Bucky had never really…well…warmed to you. You remember the first day Steve had introduced you both, you had eagerly outstretched your hand to shake his and you watched as his nervous eyes flitted between your hand and Steve. He finally took it reluctantly, muttering a hello as he quickly dropped your hold and stormed off.
And that was that. You had tried to get to know him but he simply wasn’t interested. He’d only speak to you if he absolutely had to for work, grunted if you asked him something and seemed to do everything in his power to keep a wide berth between the two of you. At first you assumed it was because of what he’d been through, brainwashed assassins carrying the weight of their trauma are hardly known for their perky attitude and charismatic social skills. Maybe he just had a problem with people...
But you soon noticed he wasn’t really like that with anyone else. Sure, he was prickly and a bit sarcastic, but he engaged. He talked. He laughed. God, you loved his laugh. Sweet. Unencumbered. Slightly dorky. It made you smile on the rare occasions you were lucky enough to hear it.
He would squabble with Sam. Bond with Steve. Train with Nat. You thought maybe it was because you were just an agent, but he was better with the others. Always reserved, sure, but he’d chat to your SHIELD colleagues. He’d ask them for help with the tech. You were pretty sure he flirted with Emily, another agent on your team, and you couldn’t ignore the quiet thrum of jealousy in your stomach when you heard them chatting animatedly about pizza toppings or that time you caught her sliding her hand over his vibranium arm..
…no. He didn’t seem to have a people problem. Just a ‘you’ problem.
You weren’t sure what you’d done to upset him, and you were too embarrassed to ask Steve in case you looked whiny and desperate. It wasn’t really a good look for a SHIELD agent to pathetically ask an Avenger why his friend didn’t like her. This wasn’t high school.
You had a reputation for being a bit sunshine-y. You were always quite cheery at work, doing your best to put a brave face on and inject optimism where you could. It was just how you’d always been. It kept you going. Service with a smile. The world was a dark place, and you figured a little extra light was no bad thing. Maybe Bucky took offence to it, writing you off as a perky airhead. Maybe he’d seen too much death and destruction to see the world the way you did, and you simply annoyed him because of it.
Only the man himself knew the real reason. You’d accepted you may never be sure. So you did your best to work with him, pretending not to notice his snarky comments and unimpressed looks. Smiling through your pain like always. Generally it was easy, you didn’t spend much time with him anyway.
…Until you were stuck on a mission with him. Waiting for the quinjet in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a tiny cabin in the dead of winter, with one bed and only the man who hated you for company.
The man you also had a teensy bit of a crush on, too. Yes, it wasn’t ideal to crush on the one person who seemed to loathe you, but clearly you were a dumbass.
You were rudely pulled from your thoughts by a loud spluttering and spitting noise. It took you a second to realise it must be the cabin’s creaky pipes warming up, so Bucky was showering. You did your best not to think about him all naked and soaped up and wet and-
You flung your laptop open and got to work uploading the files from the mission, sending your report over to head office and sending a quick summary to Stark. At least there was signal out here. Working is good. Only productive thoughts. No room for shower thoughts.
You were so engrossed in your emails that you didn’t hear the bathroom door swing open behind you.
“Bathroom’s free” said a gruff voice that made you jump in surprise.
You whipped around to face him and did your best to keep your eyes from falling out of your head when you were faced with Bucky fresh from the shower. Small water droplets ran down his chiselled chest, his long hair damp and falling in soft tendrils, a perfectly prominent ‘V’ pointing down to you-know-where, all topped off with the tiniest towel known to man clinging to his hips. The hardest working piece of fabric you’d ever seen.
You felt your face flush and nodded overly enthusiastically.
“G-great, thanks” you mumbled.
He seemed to oblivious to your discomfort so you took that moment to dash to the bathroom yourself, leaning against the door after you’d closed it and doing your best to keep it together. You just needed to get through the night. The quinjet was coming to get you in the morning. You could do this. You could survive tiny towels and fresh soaped abs until then.
You took your sweet time showering, ignoring the mildewy tiles and inconsistent water temperature to spend as much time hidden in the bathroom as possible. You finally admitted defeat and emerged, drying yourself with one of the threadbare towels and changing into some sweats.
“Was about to contact HQ and tell them you’d drowned in the bathroom” Bucky deadpanned as you re-entered the main cabin. He didn’t look up, his eyes locked on his phone as he laid on the bed. Bucky in bed. He was dressed in dark sweats, the fresh smell emanating from him almost intoxicating.
“I just…like to be clean after a mission” you replied, your voice slightly wobbly.
He nodded, his eyes flickering up to yours. “Yeah, I get that” he mumbled.
This was probably the most you’d spoken to each other all afternoon. You suppressed your surprise.
“You tired?” He asked, his tone almost interrogating. He seemed wide awake. You supposed super soldiers didn’t really need as much sleep as mere mortals did.
“Mm. A little” you responded, trying to appear nonchalant and not show how desperate you were to curl up and pass out. Not that you thought you could in such close proximity to him.
In an attempt to appear relaxed you stretched your arms and inadvertently knocked a little wooden pinecone ornament off the small side table next to you. It flew almost comically across the room, bouncing on the floor and smashing against the kitchen cabinet (thankfully remaining intact).
The silence was heavy. Bucky raised an eyebrow as you quickly scuttled and retrieved it, hastily putting it back in place. You could’ve sworn his face betrayed a sliver of amusement but it quickly moulded back to his standard-issue stoicism.
“They confirmed that the jet will be here at 0730 tomorrow” he murmured, looking back at his phone.
The fact he hadn’t acknowledged your faux pas made it even more embarrassing. You nodded quickly and tried to ignore the sudden heat in your cheeks.
Fortunately the evening progressed with no other embarrassments. You both had a dinner of instant noodles in silence, then spent some time separately tying up the loose ends on your respective mission duties - sending emails, debriefing Steve on the phone. You don’t think Bucky smiled even once.
Your heart thumped in your chest as it got later and darker, until you could no longer avoid the elephant in the room.
However it was Bucky who raised it, nipping it in the bud with his trademark pragmatism.
“I’ll take the couch” he said sternly. “You can have the bed”.
“Oh…thanks. But it’s okay, if you want the bed-” you started to protest but he cut you off.
“It’s fine” he barked.
You couldn’t deny that avoiding the awkwardness of having to share a bed was a relief, although a small part of you felt a tiny bit disappointed.
“There’s only one blanket…” you said warily as your eyes scanned the cabin for something you may have missed…a blanket basket..a linen closet, anything…
“Don’t need one” he quickly dismissed as he laid down on his back atop the couch, wriggling his body against the cushions to get comfortable. He closed his eyes and clasped his hands over his chest. You couldn’t resist stealing a peek. He looked so angelic with his eyes closed. So much softer and sweeter than he normally did. You swallowed a gasp and quickly turned away before he caught you.
You took that as your cue to climb into the bed, shivering slightly as you pulled the shabby blanket tightly against you. The fire Bucky had lit in the fireplace earlier had finally burnt out, and you were suddenly very aware of how cold it was between these four wooden walls.
“Night” you said gently as you switched off the beside lamp, plunging the cabin into darkness.
Bucky merely grunted and you heard him roll over onto his side, the couch creaking painfully under his weight. Well, he was a big guy.
You squeezed your eyes shut and did your best to fall asleep quickly, not wanting to think too hard about how the most handsome man you’d ever met was sleeping mere feet away from you. A braver version of you would be honest about how you really felt, using this close proximity to ask him directly what his issue with you was. An even braver version would use this opportunity to move over to the sofa and stroke his hair from his eyes and lean over and-
But you were a coward.
You would likely never be alone with him like this ever again, and here you were wimping out and cowering in bed. Typical.
You realised you could still hear the couch creaking. It seemed to be getting louder. That was odd. Bucky wasn’t even moving. What even was that? It sounded like…something cracking?
Your thoughts were interrupted by a loud snapping sound, then a huge crash and then eventually Bucky yelling. You’re suddenly frantic, in panic mode as you immediately assumed the safe house has been compromised and the two of you had somehow been tracked. You fling yourself out of bed, grabbing the pistol you stashed by the nightstand and practically smashing the lamp switch, ready to take down whoever has broken in.
As the cabin is illuminated you’re stunned by sight in front of you.
Bucky is laying on the floor, his face like thunder as he scowls and curses. The couch is…somehow…cut perfectly in two, sliced down the middle.
“What the…?” You stammer as you lower your gun and take in the scene.
Bucky suddenly sits up and leans over, assessing the wreckage.
“It’s goddam termites!!” He spits.
“Huh??” You utter, struggling to make sense of what’s going on.
“Termites!!” He yells again, angrily gesturing at where the couch has split.
You lean in and can now see the jagged edges of the exposed wooden frame, huge holes dotted along the structure. Yep, he was right - termites.
“They’ve clearly been eating away at this old-ass couch for some time, it must’ve finally given up” he says furiously. His vibranium fingers squeeze into a fist and he angrily punches through some of the remaining chewed-up frame.
You did your best. Truly you did. But nothing could stop the wave of laughter that bubbled out of you in that moment. The image of Bucky in a heap on the floor…the deafening crash…the ridiculous debris of the couch…the fear of intruders…it was simply all too much. You threw your head back and laughed. Your laughter was a runaway train, impossible to stop. It wasn’t just the absurdity of the tableau in front of you…it was all of the tension and awkwardness that had been brewing between you and Bucky. All of your stress. The laugh was a cathartic release of all of it.
Bucky scowled as he got to his feet. “It’s not that funny…” he muttered.
“I’m sorry..I’m sorry…” you managed to yelp as you caught your breath. “I thought…I thought we were under attack, I drew…drew my gun and everything. But it was just…just…” you inhaled sharply. “It was just…your big super soldier ass smashing up the couch”.
Bucky’s eyes widened at that. You watched the anger darken his features before the corner of his mouth rolled up into a smirk. The smirk became a smile. The smile became a grin. The grin became a laugh. He was laughing!! Bucky was actually laughing!!
“Who you callin’ big ass?” He sneered, although the playfulness was clear as day.
That only made you laugh harder.
You both stood there and laughed until your eyes watered and your sides hurt, eventually running out of steam. Bucky sighed, rolling his eyes and shaking his head with disdain.
“You think they could spring for a Holiday Inn or something” he scoffed. “I know it’s slim pickings out in the middle of nowhere, but surely they could find something better than this shitbox”.
You chuckled. “Tony cheaping out I guess. But it’s kinda cosy at least…”
Bucky scoffed again. “Why do you always do that?” He said accusingly.
You frowned. “Do what?”
“Try to…put a positive spin on everything. Sometimes things just suck and that’s okay”.
You blanched, surprised. He’d never asked you anything like that before. “Well…uh…it’s just who I am I guess. Keeps me going”.
He studied you carefully. “Well…okay. But as long as you know it’s okay to just let something be shitty. You don’t always have to put on a brave face”.
Your eyes widened, surprised at the tenderness in his tone. “I’m not…putting it on. It’s just…me”.
He nodded. You realised this was your one chance. You had to take it.
“Is that why…you’re always so cold to me? You think I’m some phoney pretending the world is all sunshine and rainbows” you asked hesitantly.
He blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that.
“Huh?”
“C’mon, don’t insult my intelligence, Bucky. We both know you’re not exactly my best friend” you prodded.
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I know I’ve been kinda a jerk. I guess I’m not really used to people like you…and I don’t know how to be”.
“People like me…?”
He smirked. “Optimists”.
“Oh…”
“It’s nothing personal” he continued. “I guess with my background…I just…don’t really come across too many peppy people in our line of work. I find it hard to get my head around. But it’s my problem…not yours”.
You nodded, taken aback by his candour. “Alright…I get that. But…I haven’t ever done anything to you. And I’d like it if we could maybe say more than five words to each other over an eight hour mission…”
He grimaced. “Yeah. Look…I’m sorry. It wasn’t fair to take my issues out on you. Can we start over? Try again?”
His voice was hopeful. He sounded genuine. You couldn’t help but feel the excitement of this new progress swirl in your tummy.
You smiled. “Yeah. That would be good. Thanks”.
He nodded, smiling back at you. “Okay. Let’s talk more about it tomorrow…But for now we probably should get some sleep. It’s late”.
He sighed wearily and sat back on the floor, stretching out and laying on his back.
You watched this, baffled. “What…are you doing?”
He looked up at you in annoyance. “What does it look like?” He said sarcastically.
“It…looks like you’re sleeping on the hard floor with no blankets or pillows”.
“Well I can’t sleep on the broken couch can I…”
“Just get into the bed” you sighed
He sat up, eyeing you with suspicion. “What?”
“The bed. We can share. We’re both adults aren’t we? Serum or not, you’re not getting any sleep on that wooden floor. Plus, it’s freezing in here”.
He tilted his head. “And you’re sure you’re okay with that? Because I can sleep here just fine…I’ve had worse”
You shrugged, ignoring the butterflies in your stomach. You walked back over to the bed and pulled the covers back as you hopped back in.
“Sure. Just try not to break this too, okay big ass?” You replied playfully. “Tony will end up sending us a bill if you keep wrecking the joint.”
He rolled his eyes as he relented, strolling over and flopping onto the other side of the bed. “Whatever. But if you snore I will wake you up”.
You grinned, delighted at the shift in atmosphere. Maybe Bucky would never like you the way you liked him, but if you had a chance at being his friend you would take that. You would grasp it with both hands and never let go.
Once you both settled down and you switched off the lamp for the second time that night, your head hit the pillow and you did your best to fall asleep. You tried to ignore the sheer heat radiating from the heavy body next to you. You didn’t really get up close and personal with Bucky so had no idea he ran this hot. Serum thing, you guessed. The mattress sagged under the weight of his bulk and you were painfully aware of how close you were to him, his back to you. You could’ve barely reached out and easily brushed his fingers. His thick shoulders were right there. His strong thighs were just by you. His beautiful blue eyes were resting beneath his eyelids. You felt your mouth go dry and squeezed your eyes shut, willing yourself to fall asleep and rescue your mind from this psychic torment.
Unfortunately the cabin’s poor insulation quickly made itself known and soon all you could think about was how cold you were. How did this place only have one blanket?? You couldn’t even wrap yourself up in it properly because Bucky had half. You fantasised about endless duvets and comforters, fluffy pillows and hot water bottles. Electric blankets and knitted quilts.
You were debating getting up and going to try find another layer of clothing in your pack when Bucky’s grumpy voice interrupted.
“Can you keep still? Jeez”.
You realised then that you were shivering. The trembling of your limbs was causing you to shake, gently rocking the bed.
“I’m sorry…it’s cold okay?” You hissed in the dark.
“Oh c‘mon…” he sneered.
“We aren’t all super soldiers!!” You spat, clenching your teeth together to stop them chattering. “I’m not a human bonfire like you”.
“Ugh. So dramatic. Come’ere” he groaned.
Before you could fully compute he rolled over and pulled you into his arms, nestling you in his grasp.
You had become the little spoon.
“Uh…” you eked out in surprise.
“Shut up and go to sleep” he scolded lightly. “You can’t still be cold now…”
You shook your head, your brain short circuiting. It was as if every possible thought had left you all at once. You felt the dual sensation of metal and flesh hug your torso, the warmth of his breath by your ear. And oh god the heat. The heat.
You laid perfectly still as if any sudden movements would startle him and shake him out of this. You heard his breathing deepen suddenly and at first you thought he was falling asleep…but then you felt it.
It indeed.
There was something hard pressing into your bottom.
You felt your face flush. Your mouth fell agape. He knew exactly what he was doing. This wasn’t an accident. A flash of boldness hit you like a lightning bolt, his audaciousness igniting something within you. You couldn’t process what this meant right now, you just had to ride the wave, so to speak. He rocked into you a little harder. You had to make it clear that you knew what this was. So you experimentally pushed your hips back against his. You were cautious, a slow manoeuvre at first to test the water. He grunted, then slowly moved himself forward once more, pressing himself harder against you. You pushed back again, uttering a small moan which he reciprocated with his own. You did this for a little while, pressing against each other and finding a rhythm. The only sounds were your clothes swishing against the sheets and a quiet chorus of whimpers and groans. No words were spoken.
He carefully snaked his vibranium arm around you and you shuddered as he raised your shirt, walking his fingers down across your bare stomach to your hips, daringly pulling back the waistband of your sweats. He took his time, his breath dense against your ear as you closed your eyes and felt the cool metal trace your scorching skin beneath.
His digits toyed with the side of your underwear with painful slowness, his breathing quickening as he continued to rock his bulge into your backside. You could only whine as his fingers finally breached the fabric and made their way inside. He groaned heavily into your neck as he found the readiness of your essence, viscous and dripping from his fingers as he traced further and further in. You whimpered as he finally put you out of your misery and found your clit, expertly toying with it but applying enough pressure to build and build and build…
You rocked eagerly against his hand as he slipped one metal finger inside of you. Then two. All in rhythm with the thrust of your hips in time with his. His circling increased suddenly, his fingers continued to pump and you gasped as you reached your peak, finally reaching the top and plummeting off the edge, your voice hoarse and laboured as you cried out into the dark cabin, the stars of your climax both dizzying and intoxicating.
He held you close as you fell back down to earth, still not a word spoken by either of you. Nothing had needed to be said. He gently removed his hand from your panties and cupped your chin, wrenching your face to his and gifting you the sweetest, softest kiss you’d ever experienced. His lips brushing yours with tenderness and care. A stark contrast to the salacious way he’d touched you.
“I haven’t been entirely honest…” he spoke into the dark, his voice hoarse and strained with lust.
You stroked his cheek fondly. “Mm?”
“It wasn’t just your…optimism” he told you as he kissed you again. “I…I couldn’t handle the way I felt about you. I always liked you…always wanted you. From that very first moment Steve introduced us. I was a goner. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I didn’t know how to talk to you. So I purposefully put space between us. It was immature, I know” he sighed.
You smiled into the dark, your head reeling from all the ways the world had changed in the last hour. Your heart exploding after finally hearing the words you’d longed for. The words you’d never expected to actually hear.
“You’re so soft…and sweet. I like the way you try and see the good in everything. It makes me wanna be less of a grumpy asshole. And you make me laugh. The way you sent that pinecone flying earlier…” he chuckled. “You’re utterly ridiculous. You know that?”
You grinned. “You didn’t laugh!! It made it so much worse that you didn’t laugh…”
He sniggered. “I’m sorry. Look. I wanted to. I just didn’t want you to think I was making fun of you”.
You giggled, touched by the strange but well meaning logic.
“Will you give me a chance to make it up to you?” He asked softly, his hand lazily running up your thigh.
“Bucky…”
“Yeah, doll?”
“The quinjet will be here in a few hours. So you better get started on that apology…”
You felt his smile in the dark as his lips touched yours again, one arm pulling you into him as the other began to tug down your sweats.
“You’re on doll, you’re on”.
#bucky barnes#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#james bucky barnes#Beefy!Bucky x Female!SHIELD!Reader#beefy!bucky
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Abel watched the boy from the fire.
The Fierce Deity was always full of some surprise or another. He’d grown used to it. But when the mystical being had asked for their help and then just disappeared, only to be replaced by a teenager, Abel had realized that he truly could never fathom just how insane that god was.
Who was this child? Did the deity summon him? Was this some other form of Fierce? The teenager had asked questions that made no sense, was in awful condition… clearly the two were connected, but how was still evading him.
Rusl tried to be kind and helpful. Abel wasn’t going to withhold supplies or help from the boy, but… he didn’t know who he was. He was still trying to figure this out. Should they get him to a local settlement and leave him to be taken care of? No… Fierce had asked them to help. He’d trusted them.
The blonde teenager was ill and weak, spending most of his time sleeping. He’d asked about a sprite (so was he part of Fierce’s mythical friends, then?) before promptly passing out. Rusl hovered worriedly around him, being a mother hen far more than Abel was.
If Fierce asked us to look after him, then he’s trustworthy, he tried to remind himself. It was a natural tendency at this point, to view any stranger as an enemy. His younger age didn’t change that. Abel sighed, trying to ease the tension in his body.
Eventually, the two men decided who would take watch when, and Rusl settled to sleep for half the night. Abel continued to watch the teenager silently, keeping a little bit of broth warm over the fire in case he woke.
When the boy’s blue eyes fluttered open an hour or so later, Abel walked slowly towards him.
The boy spoke first. “Where am I?”
“Hyrule,” Abel answered. The teenager gave him an impressively exasperated look, despite his exhaustion. “Who are you?”
“I’ll answer if you tell me the same thing,” the teenager countered. Abel detected a familiar presence to him, a trained discipline that came with being a soldier. The boy was on edge, but he hid his fear well, despite his weakness.
Abel slowly knelt down to be closer to eye level with him. “I’m a knight of Hyrule… I suspect you are too, child?”
There was no way he was a knight from Abel’s Hyrule, of course. He was far too young to have been trained prior to the Calamity. He must have been from Fierce’s land.
The young one looked him from head to toe, raising an eyebrow. “You don’t look like a knight.”
“You look like a homeless child,” Abel replied dully. “If it weren’t for your age, I’d think you’re one of my land’s soldiers.”
“Hyrule is my land too. My name is Link. You might’ve heard of me.” The teenager said with some weight to his words before he collapsed back into a fit of coughing.
Abel blinked. Blinked again. Link?
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered. The deity had two heroes?! None of this made sense!
“If you’re a traitor, you’re making a p-pitiful attempt at—at—” Link tried to quip, too breathless to really get a full sentence out.
Abel felt his chest burn a little with anger, but he held himself in check. “I am no traitor, boy. You come from a different Hyrule than I.”
Link stared. “Oh goddess, not again.”
Again?!
“What happened to the Fierce Deity?” Link asked. “I was wearing his mask when—”
The boy cut himself off, scrambling to his hands and knees in a frantic search for something, but he could hardly hold his weight, nearly face planting into the earth. Abel caught him, gently easing him back into the bedroll as he tried to process everything he’d just heard.
Again. That meant this Hero in particular was used to traversing different lands. And what mask? What was he talking about? Wearing his mask? Did that summon the deity?
Wait. Was that why the boy was so ill and weary?
Abel’s gaze wandered towards the boy’s clothes, towards the blue scarf he’d been wearing. It was the sash Fierce always wore, though the embellishments were slightly different.
“Fierce has been out companion,” Abel explained quietly, trying to calm both his own racing thoughts and the boy’s. “He told us to take care of you.”
Link tried sitting up again. “But—”
“Lie down, Link.”
“I don’t even know who you are!”
“Abel,” he introduced himself. “I’ve commanded heroes before. Now listen to orders and lie down, soldier.”
Link bit his lip, complying. “I… I g-guess we’re not in my Hyrule, then?”
“No,” Abel confirmed quietly, tucking the boy in. “I’m afraid not. But you’re safe. Now rest.”
Link settled a little under the gentle touch, though his eyes still held worry. “Someone was—there were people attacking me before I…”
“Probably the Yiga,” Abel figured. “We’re hunting them down. Somehow, they’ve gotten the ability to travel to different worlds.”
“Yiga?”
“Traitors to the crown.”
Link’s eyes widened a moment before narrowing ferociously. The fierceness of the gesture was lost when he started coughing again. Abel handed him some water, and he drank slowly but gratefully.
“We’ll sort this out,” Abel assured him, patting his shoulder a little. “Now rest. I’ll keep watch.”
Eventually, Link fell back asleep. Abel resumed his place by the fire, watching him.
He had a lot to figure out.
#writing#Dad Squad#abel#rusl#Hyrule warriors link#the captain#I guess that’ll be his nickname for the story
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“Break out your best hats and robes, because a special event to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the Battle of Hogwarts has been announced by the Ministry of Magic. The noblest families of all are expected to attend, from the Malfoys to the Notts, and the soirée promises to be a night to remember.
However, what your humble correspondent knows is really on everyone’s minds is the mysterious wizard whose alleged death took place that same fated 2 May. Severus Snape was left for dead by the Dark Lord. Only following the tragedy did the Wizarding World come to learn of his true allegiance, but even after the dramatic and now mythical revelation, some things remain unsolved. Do not miss Rita Skeeter's most astonishing journalistic feat yet, as she reveals long-hidden truths and exposes lies, aided by a very exclusive source, and theorises on what might have really happened to Severus Snape.”
The Daily Prophet, 23 April 2023
How it works:
Art, writing, headcanons, meta – we’d love to share all of your creations with the rest of the fandom.
The prompts are:
Week 1 - The Muggle: Tobias and Eileen Snape; Childhood; Cokeworth; Friendship; Holiday
Week 2 - The Professor: Potions Master; Head of Slytherin House; Colleagues; Slytherin favouritism; Bullying
Week 3 - The Spy: Secret Society; Unforgivable; Vow; Right-hand Man; Occlumency
Week 4 - The Martyr: Shrieking Shack; Memories; Lonely; Sacrifice; Patronus
Week 5 - The Survivour: Ghost; Freedom; Retirement; New Identity; Hero or Hunted
Don’t worry about tackling the themes in order, or about being late. In fact, if you have older winter-related works you’d like to show the Snapedom again, go ahead and send them in!
Either submit the post to our blog, or tag your own post using #snapecelebration.
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Was thinking about just how much characters in the Silm and LOTR deal with pain an injuries on a daily basis. It’s not always said plainly but they exist in the story, they live, they are important, and I wonder how much of them are inspired by Tolkien’s own experience of war injuries/illness. How many of his fellow soldiers came back home disfigured and disabled and were faced with disgust or contempt?
Sure, there’s the whole fairy-tale/mythic aspect of loosing a limb in your heroic quest to get the Magic Object, but what about Gwindor, who was captured by Morgoth and, when he finally managed to escape, was so changed by his sufferings that his beloved rejected him? Gwindor’s not a hero, he’s a simple soldier who suffered through war and captivity and became disabled because of that. How much pain did he live with daily even if it’s never said on the page?
And, still in the CoH, there’s Brandir the Lame. He was born disabled, couldn’t be a warrior, yet held a position of power until his people wanted action and scorned him. Brandir is a healer, a man of wisdom and lore; how much of it is because he tried to cure himself? To ease his pain but also try to "fix" himself in the eyes of his people and be the worthy leader he thought they wanted.
There is Sador ‘Labadal’ too, who chopped his foot off in an accident and is looked down for that by several character (not the least of them being Morwen).
These three characters are all disabled and looked upon with pity, contempt or outright disgust. They did not become disabled in the doing of great deeds, their stories aren’t heroic, and so their disability makes them worthless in the eyes of many.
If you take Maedhros, on the other hand (pun fully intended), he is seen as made greater by his disability. He suffered unthinkable torments and was freed at the price of his right hand, and did many great and terrible things after that. It is similar for Beren, who also lost his hand (arm chopping is not a love language!) but it always portrayed as a good and heroic character, because his disability is the direct result of him taking part in the great designs of the world rather than a banal accident.
And that’s only for the Silm characters, because we don’t want to forget about Frodo of the Nine Fingers, who bore the One Ring to the very fires of Mt Doom. Frodo who returned home sickly and traumatised, plagued with chronic pain, nightmares and a poor health and was only looked at down by the hobbits who did not take part in the quest if the ring. Frodo may be a hero for Men and Elves but he has little to no recognition in his homeland.
Another character I nearly forgot (shame on me!) is Celebrían, She was captured and tortured and despite her physical wounds healing she was never the same again, to the point she had to leave her family to seek healing elsewhere. I see this as a form of mental illness, probably depression and PTSD. And Celebrían is not thought as lesser because of her disability. She is seen as a tragic story, yes, but it’s better than most of the other disabled characters in the Silm.
Anyway, I don’t really know what my point is here, just that I noticed a pattern in the representation of disabled characters in Tolkien’s works, first of all that they exist at all, and second that how they are treated certainly reflects the views of society on disabled people during Tolkien’s lifetime. The way he writes disabled characters isn’t perfect, far from it, but they are here, and I, as a disabled reader, am immensely glad for their existence and I play in the gigantic sandbox of the Legendarium with these characters and others whom I imagine as disabled in any way.
#tolkien#the silmarillion#the lord of the rings#gwindor#brandir#sador#frodo baggins#celebrían#disabled characters#tolkien legendarium#half baked ramblings by a sleep deprived tolkien fan#tolkien meta
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Advice and tips on how to make your character feel more genuine/real
- Pettiness and shallowness. Obviously it can manifest in different ways, but IRL everyone has at least one or two little things that they're a bit surface level and "Just because!" about. Be it clothes, how they do certain rituals, what color m&ms they prefer ect ect. It can be little details or even major characteristics, and depending on which (and what) they are, it can be really telling about the character! Plus, it just adds a little extra depth and fun. Some examples including but not limited to: Being fussy over getting their clothes wet or dirty, only preferring some items because they look good, insisting on doing some action or tradition exactly a certain way, disliking an aspect of a thing or a person because they just don't like it, and so on. Obviously the big worldview points like morality and beliefs are very important, but when you've figured those out, take a moment to think about the smaller, everyday things your character feels about the world around them. No matter how good or wise a person is, they'll still always have some little thing that they can't give some profound noble answer to. Use this to your advantage to explore your character's shortcomings or flaws!
(In the same vein, Pet peeves is another detail that can flesh out a character!)
- How does your character perceive things? What do they notice about people first? How would they talk about, or describe another person to someone, if asked? How would they describe themself? And why? Just some things to consider. If your character maps out all the little details and deeply analyzes everything they see, it'll show in their interactions very differently than, for example, if they have the perception of a cabbage and are more oblivious than the love interest in a teen drama that the writers are stretching out for five seasons for no reason. Ykno.
- Additionally: what's their opinion of the people around them? Or if you've already mapped that out, what's their opinion of people they've never met before, or people who aren't in their immediate bubble, friends of friends, relatives of relatives, neighbours, or celebrities, mythical/historical figures and so on. Delve into hypotheticals sometimes, it can help you exercise your knowledge of the character. Even if none of these encounters or situations would happen in Canon.
- I'm sure you've already figured out what your character is most passionate about, ykno, whatever drives the story and impacts their relationships with other characters. But how about stuff they really don't care to think about? Just shrug? Not interesting? Doesn't pay attention to this? What is low on their priorities? It doesn't have to be negative (but can be!), it can just be "Meh", or something your character hasn't even noticed before, simply because it's not in their thoughtscape to think about.
- Does your character have any of those "What? I thought everyone did that/thought that/was like that!" - things? What do they take for granted, or weren't aware isn't a universal experience? Did they have a wildly different experience with something that most other characters hadn't even thought of? And yes I understand this is good for exploring trauma and other angsty things, but besides the obvious, think about maybe something that could be related to your character's species/living environment/abilities/opinions ect. This is great for exploring cultural differences, and anything that takes place in a fantasy setting. Very useful for villains and heroes alike! It's insightful. Everyone has small little perceptive differences or big and small thoughts that for some reason just haven't been properly challenged yet. Or brought up even. For whatever reason. Explore maybe what that reason could be, and figure out why it's been unchallenged for so long.
- Imperfections. Little divergences. It's fully possible to write a compelling and genuine feeling character using just archetypes, if you really explore them deeply. And whether you're doing that or not, think about the lines and molds you've set your character into, and let them spill out of them a little bit. Can be one huge aspect or one teensy detail, but make some diversion. Some crack in the picture. Doesn't have to be a flaw but can be! Just have some little aspects that set them apart and make the character themself. Get weird with it. Getting weird is one huge way you can truly make a character stand out and feel more unique and, oddly enough, genuine and real. Actual people have little oddities or things that don't line up with everything else about their person. And again it doesn't necessarily have to be anything big or shocking, in fact I'd argue it's even better if sometimes it's just a small, very ordinary, humanizing detail. Maybe unexpected, or maybe just something that doesn't factor into the surface image your character has. Think about characters similar to yours that you see often. What traits do they all share, or most usually have? Think about the kinds of people your character is inspired by. What are they often like? Make a diversion from that. Make multiple even? It can be the most random thing but think about it, even if you threw a dart at a wall of sticky notes, really chew out what this little thing says about your character. And focus on little cracks, imperfections, diversions and other odd details of your character. Over time they can grow bigger, or maybe not.
- Keep a clear picture of who your character is. Sounds obvious but I'll elaborate. Your character will obviously change and develop over the time you're working on them and whatever story events take place but I think it's very important to keep in mind who they fundamentally are. Basically I'm saying that try to keep them in character, yes even if you did drastic character development, you can still show that it's the same person in other ways even if one of their core traits was flipped. Be aware of what things will never change about your character no matter what they'd go through. Keep some consistency. Consistency matters alot in making a character seem genuine and, ykno, a good character. Even if that consistent trait is that they're inconsistent! The character can be that, yes, but as their creator, you should still keep sights of what's consistent for this character, you feel? If your character is a glunk of slime that slips out of it's container constantly and subsequently molds into whatever situation it gets put in, that's not really a character, that's.. Idk, plot device..? I know this may sound contradicting to my previous point but I fully think that, and this one can and should coexist.
You need to simultaneously be aware of the ways your character will differ from something and be fluid, and the ways your character will not bend, and cannot become. It's simply a matter of knowing their boundaries and restrictions, knowing which way they can lean and which way not. Obviously this'll be up to you as their creator, bc yeah you're allowed to drastically edit your character if you feel like it's for the better, but try to commit to that change then. Don't let the character slip from your hands, or let the story bend them into whatever shape it needs to make the plot go forward. Your character, and more importantly you, should be in control of that.
I emphasize the point of you controlling your character and not the other way around also. I've seen some character owners slip into "Well it's just what the character would do! I can't help it, it'd be out of character if they didn't do x!" even if the thing is completely awful, doesn't fit, or would ruin an aspect of the story. A smart writer will know how to work with your character's traits in a way that prevents them from running off the tracks and becoming their own little gremlin, while also complying with the story. Respect your character's.. Character, while also respecting yourself and the point of the story. This is even more crucial if it's a roleplay character, by the way..
I'm just saying, find ways to write the story in cooperation with your character. That means knowing what situations to avoid and which ones to steer for, in order to keep your character functioning with the plot and other characters. Sometimes you simply have to prevent some event from happening, or some characters from ever meeting, for the sole reason that it wouldn't make the story work the way it should. Or the way you want it to. You hold the pencil, be aware of what that means
#writing advice#Writing tips#character advice#writblr#Writing#character writing#Oc tips#Oc advice#character exploration#characterization help#writing help#writing tips#Help#important#story building
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another thing that’s so interesting about Damian is that, by virtue of being the youngest family member and one of the newer Batman characters introduced (2006), his perspectives on other people and their histories will always be skewed. He exists past focal points and events. He wasn’t alive to know Dick as a child or a teenager in those transitionary periods, the aftermath of Jason’s death, to know Tim as any younger than 17, he barely interacted w Bruce enough to really absorb the meaning of his parents death - or any of the parental deaths of the family. He wasn’t there for Bruce’s death until during/after the funeral. He wasn’t there for Nyssa’s torturing of Talia, and caught in the whirlwind of Ras’ resurrection but never grasping the tumult of Talia’s concerns and fear.
Damian can only ever experience a person after their monumental events have changed them. He only knows a Bruce that barely acknowledged his existence, one worn down by years and years of pain and death and the smallest of triumphs. He only knows the Tim that has been warped by grief, the one that lashed out and matched Damian’s insecure vitriol. He only knows the Jason that resurrected, the one that shot him point blank and antagonized every conversation. He knows Cassandra as the heir worshipped and beloved, not the girl who made herself a hero despite everything. He knows Stephanie as the girl reshaped, the girl cheery and hardworking - not the girl who considered revenge and murder and lay bruised in a hospital bed. He learns from others in quick conversations. They never sit him down and explain their histories, their mythic lore. He knows people from how they are perceived by others, filtered through the lens of his own unmoored world.
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