#this was actually an old wip that’s been fermenting since march | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hedgehog-o-brien · 5 years

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8, 11, 20 and 48?

8. Favorite trope towrite.

Cool Smarmy Bastard AssholeWho Is Actually A Major Softie And Only Shows It Around Their Favorite Person.For Evidence, see: Eliot Spencer, Ezekiel Jones and, most recently added tothis illustrious list, Anthony Janthony Crowley.

There’s just something so*chef’s kiss* about a character who talks a great game during the day, keepscool during the crisis at hand and then completely melts into their s.o.’s armsas soon as the lights go out and I don’t care if there are a million fics aboutthese characters and this trope already, I’ll keep adding more and you can’tstop me.

11. Describe your writing process from scratch to finish.

- Idea strikes. This can be a line, part of aconversation or just a general ‘huh that scene’d be cool. Occasionally, it’s apun. This is the most annoying thing of all

- Put off writing and let the Idea ferment for abit because the couch is comfy and to write I have to actually get up and go tomy Writing Computer (first world problem I know but writing on my laptop sucks,believe me)

- Idea keeps walking around banging pots and pansin my brain until it becomes impossible to ignore

- Grumble and groan and switch on WritingComputer

- Put on Ambient Noise Video on Youtube.Something with fire or a thunderstorm (or both) usually works best

- *insert gif of furious typing* occasionally interruptedby research or snack or water breaks

- No beta we die like men

- Post

- Keep pressing that refresh button on the AO3stats page while watching the hit/kudo counter like a hawk

- Go to bed exhausted

- Eat, sleep, wake up, repeat

20. Post a snippet of a WIP you’re working on.

I’ve got a bunch of GoodOmens WIPs now but since I know you’re not into that (yet), I’ll post somethingelse. This is a deleted scene from the (for now abandoned) Keep the Home Fires Burning, and it was supposed to be part of the ending until Idecided against making it a Librarians/Leverage crossover.

There was someoneyelling in the hallway.

Now was that not unusualin itself; whoever thought that British politics were a model of decorum andtranquility, had never been inside the backrooms of Westminster. But what wasunusual, Aloysius thought as he looked up from his paperwork with an irritatedfrown, was that it was a distinctively American voice, shouting at whoever wasoutside to let him through so he could break that slippery bastard’s neck soget out of the way or I’ll start by breaking yours.

Aloysius sighed. He hadbeen expecting this.

He put down his pen andgot up to open the door. He was met with a rather unusual sight: a short,stocky man in plaid flannel and jeans, his face red with fury under hisquivering semi-mohawk, was accosting his clerk Jeremy, who was doing a verydecent job at not trembling with fear. ‘He’s busy,’ Jeremy squeaked, inchingbackwards as the other man (Aloysius had already dubbed him ‘cowboy’) marchedforward with a snarl. ‘He’s not seeing anybody right now!’

‘I will make anexception,’ Aloysius said coolly. ‘Mr. Stone, I presume?’

The angry man turned andglared. ‘You Uncle Al?’ he asked, contempt dripping off every syllable. ‘Yougot something of mine. I want it back.’

‘Let’s talk inside,’Aloysius said, stepping aside to let Mr. Stone stomp into his office. The manreally was an exceptionally excitable fellow, it seemed. But then again, AgentJones had not been possessed of the best of tempers either. They would havemade a fitting pair, Aloysius mused, closing the door.

Such a shame.

‘Mr. Stone, may I onceagain start by expressing my…’ he started, and then stopped.

It was like atransformation took place right in front of his eyes, even though nothingreally happened. Mr. Stone did not change his clothing, or his hair, oranything else about his person to warrant such a dramatic shift, but when heturned around, Aloysius could not see one trace of the man he had just let intohis office two seconds ago. All the anger had gone, the tension sliding awayfrom his posture like water off a window pane; instead he stood easily, hisshoulders relaxed and his hands tucked into the pockets of those atrociousjeans, surveying the tastefully decorated office with an almost amused quirk tohis mouth before he turned to Aloysius.

And smiled.

‘Mr. Aloysius,’ he said,his voice now a pleasant Southern drawl. He held out his hand. ‘I’m sorry. Youseem to be laboring under some misapprehension. Don’t worry, it happens a lot.Though it’s usually the other way around,’ he added with a crooked grin.

Aloysius stepped back.Because that was not a friendly grin and the blue eyes that had been smilingjust a second ago, were now looking at him with an ice cold light that Aloysiusknew all too well.

‘Who are you?’ he asked.There had been nothing in Mr. Stone’s file to indicate the man was dangerous;he was just an oil rig worker and art historian, a bit prone to violence and hecould hold his own in a bar brawl, but he was not a stone cold killer.

But the man in front ofhim was. The man in front of him practically radiated danger, from the tips ofthat ridiculous Mohawk to the toes of his scruffy cowboy boots and if Aloysiuslooked closer at those cold blue eyes, he could see the pits of hell wavingback.

‘Oh, I’m sorry,’ the manwho was not Mr. Stone said again as he took a hold of Aloysius’ hand. Hesuddenly stood uncomfortably close. Aloysius had not even noticed him moving.‘I’m his brother. Eliot Spencer. You may have… No, no, no, none of that,’ hesaid as Aloysius’ knees gave out from under him. ‘Let’s talk first.’

48. Favorite genre to write in.

I love me some good old (Emotional)Hurt/Comfort, especially when combined with the Smarmy Asshole Secretly Softietrope above!

#fanfiction #writer asks #thank you!#distinctivelibrarians

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