#i sat down to write something that was literally 3 sentences long oops

[inkskinned]

being single in your late 20s & 30s is so fucking wild bc on one hand it's fun and flirty and you skip a lot of the bullshit because you know what you're looking for and you know how to spot a red flag from a mile away and you've learned to set boundaries and communicate your own and be upfront about your needs and most of the time they've learned it too - and if they haven't, you can tell after the second date that they haven't been to therapy

and every time you feel lonely and dried up and an ugly husk there's a whole community of other single people out there who are just as unhinged and want to hang out with you because they just need a plus-one like you do and you get introduced to like. people in their 60's and 70's and 80's who are all like - nope, single life is my choice and i love it and you feel warm and seen and like okay, it's not the end of the world if i'm not seeing anybody. and yeah it's hard and sometimes exhausting but part of getting better is that you do make like so many friends and do so much wild shit because you made a promise to yourself that you'll actually get out there and try shit and actually work on your hobbies and skills and friendships because to be honest in relationships you wouldn't push yourself this hard and it's actually been super rewarding because it came from you and from what you wanted

and yes of course the apps such and dating in general can suck but after one of the bad dates you go back to your apartment and call up those friends you made and make jokes about what the other person said and it rolls right off your back and you have plans for self-care in the morning. you prioritize yourself and your happiness and you really actually don't mind it, a lot of the time, unless it's like at a wedding and they're doing one of those couples-related things. most of the time it's not even a problem except when you can tell people pity you for it and you're like - i'm actually fine, babe, even without a partner i am still, like a person and yes of course it would be nice to have a partner but you have established yourself as a person and as an adult in a way that feels really hard-won and well-earned and you're protective of that and of the life you're living and honestly you're pretty happy, all things considered

and at the same time you do have to tell your father that you are single on purpose right now and that, yes, believe it or not, they're letting women be single past the age of 30 these days without burning us at the stake (can you imagine!) and you have to kind of sit pretty while people make jokes about how you're losing your marriageability and you're like, a little too old for the bars and the clubs and whatever but you do still want to go out dancing and it's like. the other day you went to a board game party and had the time of your life and then your mom calls you and says she's worried because what if you never find the one, shouldn't you be spending more time looking? and you're like - trying to balance this place where you're actually, like, perfectly okay? except you hear this thing over and over and over - oh no. that's so sad. i hope you find your lover. and you weren't really upset about it until someone suggested that you're running out of time and until someone said that it's so miserable that you live without someone to kiss and you're like why can't anyone believe that i'm genuinely happy. like. joy. like. bliss.

and then they look at you and they look at their partner and the look passes between them that says - poor thing. you're just lying to yourself about this.

[spraceitup]

The Boy (part two)

ok so this one is kind of wordy too, but there will definitely be a third part. Technically you don’t HAVE to read the first part for this, but it certainly helps. This has tender Spot, and some background to his character that I totally made up but i kinda like. I HOPE U LIKE!

Words:  1160 

warnings: not really any except very mild swearing ? 

SPRACE AU

READ PART ONE HERE 

**************************************************************************************************

The two boys made their way towards the race tracks in silence for a few minutes. Spot had never been very good at meeting new people, hence why everyone thought he was intimidating. He just couldn’t think of anything interesting to say, but damn, he really wanted to talk to the beauty next to him.

It would be lying to say that Race didn’t fall behind Spot a little bit, just to take in the sight of the shorter boy’s posterior, but of course he would never admit that to anyone. He could feel the need for conversation though, so he asked what he thought would be a simple question. 

“So, how’d you become the leader of the Brooklyn boys anyways?” Race’s words jerked Spot out of his trance. 

“Well, that’s a story...” it seemed like one he was hesitant to tell, nonetheless, he continued with a sigh

“See, the guy who was the leader before me, Mutt, well, he was my best friend. He had been hawkin papes since he was no older than 8. So when I had to find work at 10, he was already pretty well known around these parts and man could the kid sell. We’s grew up together for years, and when he came up to be the leader of the boys, the one theys all looked up to, I was his second in command,” 

The boy telling the story paused to catch a glance at the boy walking close next to him, to see how he was taking in the story so far. He seemed to be listening intently, which made small smile sneak it’s way onto Spot’s face, but remembering the story he was telling, it quickly faded away. 

As the boys approached a bench outside of the tracks, Spot slumped onto it, and rubbed his temples. Race gave him a confused look, not knowing where the story was going, and he sat on the bench, waiting for the mysterious boy to continue. 

“I was one of the big guys, everyone looked up to me since Mutt and I were so close. But one day, there was an accident...” Race could see small tears starting to well up in his eyes.

“Look, you don’t gotta talk about it if you don't wanna, I’m not tryin ta make ya rehash a hard time,” there was something comforting in the blonde boy’s voice, Spot knew he really didn’t have to go on, but for some reason, he wanted to.

“Nah, I’m fine, I swear... Anyways, Mutt got hit by a car one day. Of course, the rest of us didn’t know that, we just knew he didn’t come back to the house that night and I was worried sick. Later on we found out he got hurt pretty bad, but Snyder was the one who found him, and he got locked up in the refuge. Few days later we got word that-” he started getting choked up, he wasn’t sure if he could finish the sentence. 

He felt Race hesitantly scoot closer to him on the bench and lay a hand on his arm. That’s when the tears came, he just couldn’t help it.

Angrily wiping away a tear, Spot huffed out a few broken words. “He didn’t make it.” Race could tell the boy was embarrassed about crying, but he didn’t have any reason to be.

Race tenderly wrapped an arm around the boy’s heaving shoulders. “Look I know what it’s like to lose someone you love. You don’t ever gotta explain how hard it is to me.”

“I-I’m sorry I sh-shouldn’t be crying like this. It’s pathetic. And it was 2 years ago for G-God’s sake,” the crying boy huffed out between breaths, clearly annoyed with himself.

“Look at me,” Race took Spot’s face in his hand and turned it towards him, their faces mere inches apart, “I know you just met me, I know you aren’t used to being this vulnerable, but you NEVER have to apologize to me or anyone else for having feelings, alright?”

Spot could feel the other boy’s breath on his lips, he couldn’t keep crying with those glimmering blue eyes looking back at him. He nodded his head slightly, but didn’t move it away. He didn’t want to move it away. He could tell Race didn’t want him to move it away either, the way he was looking from his eyes to his lips and back. 

Suddenly, Spot came to his senses and pulled away in a hurry. What was he thinking, he just met this boy less than two hours ago. Sure he had seen him before, but that’s all. He can’t be feeling these things already. 

The blue eyed boy seemed disappointed, and awkwardly shuffled back away on the bench. They sat in the silence, feeling the obvious sexual tension for what seemed like years, before Spot spoke again.

“I guess that’s why it’s so important for me to take care of the other boys. I gotta protect them, make sure they don’t get hurt or dragged off to the damn Refuge because I am not letting another one of them boys go like that. It ain’t fair. If Mutt had gotten help, even just a little, ‘stead of bein thrown in a children’s jail to rot he would still be here. I don't even care about sellin’ the papes anymore. I stay to take care of these kids that the city don't even try ta take care of.”

Race looked up from his lap and just stared at the brown haired boy sitting next to him in awe. He couldn’t believe this was the same guy all his Manhattan friends were so scared of. 

“So that whole tough guy act is just that innit? An act. Man, you got all the boys scared as hell of ya, but in reality you're just a big softy ain’t ya?”

Spot shot him a threatening look as he recomposed himself and started to stand up, but he couldn’t help but release a low chuckle. It really was all just an act, but no one was supposed to know that.

“Tell anyone and you won’t be tellin’ anyone anything else again.” There was a sternness in his voice, but Race could tell he wouldn’t dare hurt him. Race raised an eyebrow.

“You wouldn’t, you’re too soft Conlon. I could tell all my boys and you wouldn't touch a hair on my head,” Race mocked, with a laugh

The boy is infuriating, thought Spot, but this guy had just cheered him up and Spot had just opened up to him without hesitation. Plus, he wasn't wrong. there was no way Spot could ever hurt him after telling him his whole goal was to protect the other newsies. 

“Fuck you.” his words said anger, but his face was an amused grin. 

Race let out a sly chuckle and a smirk appeared on his lips.

“Please, be my guest.” 

**************************************************************************************************

 Hh okay, sorry it took so long to get out also sorry if it’s not very good but idk i kinda like the back story I gave Spot. I’m also sorry there still wasn’t like, that much romance, it was still kinda platonic but ?? I think there was some (especially the last line sksksksks). When i sat down to write this just now, literally the only idea I had for what to have them saying was that last exchange idk why oops. Let me know if you want to be added to the tag list for the next part! PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT U THOUGHT AND REBLOG IF YOU LIKE IT!!! <3

@king-of-brooklyn

@pastramionryewithasourpickle

[delicrieux]

the one for you

PART 2: THE ONE FOR ME

PAIRING: bill weasley x reader, some charlie weasley x reader

summary: (name) is invited to bill and fleur’s wedding. angst ensues. also, requested by anon:  Could I ask you to write the gang at Bill’s wedding? (Without any relation to “won’t he?” because that broke my heart in so many pieces) thank you! I think you are an amazing writer✨

a/n : BILL WILL NEVER BE OVER THE READER!!!! NEVER!!!!! also A FEW THINGS TO NOTE: this is not a part of the ‘wont he’ universe, mc and jacob have a curse breaking firm, mc loves bill and he loves her but oops nothin can be done now! THANK YOU SO MUCH TO @blackphoenixfire FOR THIS AMAZING MOODBOARD!!!!!!!!!!!! <3 PLEASE CHECK EM OUT! <3 also, thank you to @wispila for giving me ideas which they clearly SHOULD NOT DO

feedback is always appreciated xoxo

MASTERLIST. ko-fi (i chug coffee as i write these fics, and another cup would make me happy <3)

“(Name)!” Ever the beautiful, yet secretly somewhat evil, Penny Haywood squeals as she notes you idling around in the shadowy corner of the tent, “(Name), over here!” Her voice is rich with excitement and happiness, and if it was not for the music, surely half of it would be lost. Her hand impatiently begs you to come forth and you do so, eventually, after grabbing a glass of something strong or at least mildly so, to come greet your best friend since Hogwarts in a long overdue hug. She smells like daisies and potion mix. You smile into the hug, it being stronger and fiercer on her end, as you take a shy sip of your drink and silently thank the one who picked out the liquor to at least making it delicious. “I haven’t seen you in so long.” Her interest in the main event is all but lost as she parts from you, gripping your shoulders to get a better look at those tired (colour) eyes of yours, “You never do write anymore…”

“This is a wedding, Penny.” You remind her with a teasing smile, “Best safe the sad topics for the after party… Or at the very least when the kids are sleeping.” You add offhandedly.

She says nothing, but her lips form into a smile, “It’s good to have you back, (Name).”

The invitation to Bill and Fleur’s wedding had reached you all the way in China, when your old bird, Griffin, had graciously dropped the velvety letter onto your head when you were sleeping. It had not awoken you, frankly you doubt a dragon could have woken you up from that coma like slumber (exploring and de-cursing cursed vaults, chambers, homes, jewellery and etc., is always not only stupidly dangerous, but extremely tiring). Fortunately, you had viewed the invitation before it was too late to catch a portkey. You were not surprised to see ‘Wedding’ written in Fleur’s pretty font (Bill Weasley could never and will never have decent handwriting). He is a grown man and he deserves happiness, and marriage would have come sooner or later.

You, and the rest of the guests, watch him and Fleur dance in the glowing fairy lights of the tent, the music soft to fit in with the tune of love. You catch a whiff of Fleur’s flowery perfume as she twirls smiling so brilliantly. The world had long melted around them. They don’t see anyone else but each other.

You had promised Bill many years ago that he would find someone after Emily, that twit who broke his heart in…Was it fifth grade? You quietly recall as you think, your eyes trailing Bill’s and Fleur’s happy image. Ah, you believe it was in fifth grade for him, and third for you. Yes, you sat on the fountain, right next to her, and listened to her spew vile at your favourite person in the world. If your memory serves you right, you had told him the news at The Three Broomsticks. To soften the blow you mumbled that ‘Emily was eaten by a dragon’. That was the same day you promised him that someone will love him for who he is one day. Someone special.

Is it too selfish to think that you figured you would be that person? That he would just wait for you forever?

The dance ends and the guests clap enthusiastically as they kiss. You, of course, don’t shy away from applause yet yours are much quieter. A warm hand lands on your shoulder, and you curiously tilt your head to the side to greet the stranger that decided to seek you out. Charlie Weasley stands next to you in all his blushed glory, though this time you are fairly certain it has little to do with you and all with the drink in his hand. He smiles behind his freckles, eyes glimmering with familiarity and warmth, as he pulls you into a soft hug which you gladly return.

“I knew you’d show.” Charlie says, his lips brushing your forehead, “Ginny did not believe me, but I knew.”

“Believe it or not, it’s not that easy finding quality portkeys in China. Short distances are great, but from there to England? Good luck me finding one that won’t rip my leg off in the process.” You finish with a chuckle, letting him go, yet he keeps you close. “I’ve missed you Charlie.” You say sincerely. He seems to swell from your statement, overflow with emotion as he pulls you into a tight embrace again.

“Me too, (Name).”

“You’ll crush me, Charlie.”

“Good, maybe you won’t leave, then.”

After a few more remarks, he leads you to an empty decorated table. His eyes had trailed each line of your body, but he refrained from further comments, choosing to silently admire you. Yet they kept catching onto your collarbones, the skin on them no longer soft or velvety, but dotted with scars, the whole shoulder mind you, aligned in a near perfect half-circle that scarily resemblance remnants of teeth forever engraved into your flesh.

You note his curiosity and you smile, “Would you believe me if I told you I was bit by a dragon?”

Is it his concern, or the mere mention of ‘dragon’ that alerts him, he is wide-eyed and worried as his eyes meet yours, “You’d be dead, to be honest.” He concludes with a grin, dubbing your question as a jest and taking a sip of his drink. Your smile does not ease. In turn, his falls. “No way.”

“It was guarding a chamber. Siberia, 1995. Thankfully, and I do mean thankfully, I was old, skin and bones old, so the bite wasn’t that bad.”

“How are you alive?” He asks, exasperated, now near frantically examining your features as if to make sure you are really here and not some very realistic ghost.

“Sheer willpower.” You reply honestly, “That and nearly a year in recovery. Believe me when I say I didn’t have a bone in my body that wasn’t broken.”

“And is the dragon okay?”

It would not be Charlie Weasley if he didn’t at least politely interject about the dragon’s wellbeing when you just confessed to nearly dying on the spot.

You grin, “Of course. Couldn’t just leave it there, knew I could never face you if I did. I arranged it to be taken to Europe’s National Dragon Nursing Home. It will live out the rest of its days there in all its brutish glory.”

He seems pleased with your answer, “I interned in ENDNH.”

“I know, Charlie.”

“They will take good care of him there.”

“I have no doubt in my mind, Charlie.”

“I do have more questions though. And they aren’t about dragons.”

“That’s hard to believe.”

“Where’s Jacob?”

The hand that was already raised to press the glass to your lips stops unnaturally as you freeze. You promptly set the glass down, your throat suddenly dry and lungs heavy. The fresh night air you breathe has a hard time travelling in and out. The perfumes mixed with other scents make you dizzy. Yet you still manage to smile, despite how pathetic and sad it looks. Your hand slowly makes its way to his, and lays there as a last attempts at warmth, “He’s dead.”

The glass nearly slips from his fingers, “What? How? When--?”

“He died in Moscow.” You explain, “Jumped head first into adventure, as always. This one was far too dangerous and he was much too reckless. He got cursed…” You murmur hollowly, “And died a few hours later.”

“(Name), I—“

“Don’t, there’s no need.” You cut him off, “It happened three years ago. It’s fine.”

Three years ago... he thinks, was the last letter he received from you was, vigorous and full of life. Quite literally. You sent him a Howler, boasting about an exciting venture in Russia that would make your and Jacob’s firm even more popular, if that was even possible. You never replied to his letter, though. It almost appeared that you fell off of the face of the Earth, and only Bill’s reassurance that you are alive and kicking, working and having no time to reply to friends, made him calm, even if slightly. Bill, however, was unaware of the details himself, since he only heard from other employees of your whereabouts. The news of Jacob’s death had not left Moscow.

Charlie always imagined you and Jacob running around, causing as much chaos as you were set to fix, all around the globe. Your name was whispered in the same sentences as Australia, Egypt, Portugal and others, so not once did he really stop and think how absurd it is to be so busy as to not reach out to any of your friends in over three years. He is an idiot. He should have realised. It is that you always were so cheerful and brave; he figured nothing could stop you and no harm could come your way. He is wrong. You are tired and weak and your eyes have dimmed with pain and sadness. He hardly recognises the woman sitting next to him, holding his hand so tightly. Yet he loves her all the same.

His fingers intertwine with yours and he squeezes your hand gently, “Welcome back.”

You smile at him, “It’s good to be back, Charlie.”

0000

Bill Weasley finally sees you, sitting with Charlie and discussing something privately from across the room. Sitting next to Fleur, he, for a moment, forgets the commotion and simply focuses on you. He hadn’t seen you in a long time. The two of you work together, or…used to work together, side by side. You, he, and Jacob. The three best friends that nothing in this world was powerful enough to stop.  The last he’d seen you, you still had this sort of childish charm about you. That charm is now completely gone.

You sit with poise, your dress adding complements to your curves and complexion, your skin now dotted with old bruises and scars and tattoos. He notes one of them being similar to Jacob’s, perhaps the same even. No more does he see you as a girl, no, now you are a woman, acutely aware of your surroundings, alluring, and prideful. And beautiful. Despite the scars and bruises and your tired eyes, you are still beautiful to him, perhaps now more than ever.

He is struck back to reality when you stand up and leave the tent, waving Charlie off. He has a sudden urge to follow after you, even if he knows full well he should not. He glances at Fleur. She converses with her sister in fluent French whispers, halted of breath. And he feels guilty thinking of you, when he very clearly should be thinking of someone else.

He loves Fleur, he has no doubt about that. But his first real love still burns brightly in his chest, like gasoline ignited by your presence. And he figures that it will not burn out until he tells you what he feels. Or used to feel.

He excuses himself, and Fleur sends him off with a smile. He nods at guests as he passes them, giving awkward smiles as aunts gush and congratulate him. At the moment, he does not feel celebratory at all. Finally, he reaches the spot you had disappeared behind, ducking his head and entering the cool outdoors, the whole tent glowing behind him and casting his ghastly shadow on the dewy grass.

He notes you standing by the rye, the moon being the only thing illuminating your body. The fields in front of you resemble the sea as they sway. As he moves further and further away the music and shouts, giggles and drunken chatter, fade into the background along with the dazing scents. The world melts away behind his back, now simply pleasant buzzing. He approaches you slowly, yet his heart keeps racing in his chest, and why he does not fully know. Perhaps he is nervous; he always was shy when it came to things like these. Perhaps he is guilty, because he knows full well he should not be here. Perhaps he is excited, having the chance to talk to you again.

Honestly, it is a mixture of all three and more.

“Never took you for the one to miss out on a good party, (Name).” He comments as he comes to stand next to you, your shoulder brushing his upper arm. You are much shorter, aren’t you? You glance up at him with an amused smirk, “Unless you are planning some sort of a surprise for me, and I completely ruined it.”

“Happy wedding, Bill.” You say, “Is that what people say at weddings? It is, isn’t it? And no, no surprise, I figured my presence is surprising enough.” You continue, “Though, I did leave you and Fleur a little gift by the gift table. If you manage to find it, that is. It was overflowing when I last visited it.”

He laughs good-naturedly, “I’m sure if you picked it, it will be worth searching for.” But his smile promptly dims and you realise he did not just follow after you because he too was short of breath, “Won’t you get cold?” He wonder aloud, fully prepared to give you his jacket. You shake your head.

“How many times must I remind you, Billy Willy? The cursed ice made me immune to the cold.”

He frowns, “Why didn’t it make me immune? As I recall, I was the one trapped by it, not you.”

“Being hero has its perks.” You shrug, “Besides, I wouldn’t want to steal the groom’s clothes. Do think that’s the bride’s job.”

His heart leaps in his chest and he glances nervously at you. Your face seems pale in the shade, though, at the very least, entertained. Why tonight, he wonders, why is he questioning his decision tonight of all nights, when clearly he had many other instances to ponder. If you hadn’t disappeared, he has no doubt in his mind that you would have been in Fleur’s place, and he wouldn’t have left the tent and this conversation would not have to happen.

He figured, selfishly at that, that the one for him, the one you promised that will come along that will love him for who he is, was going to be you.

Alas, life has a funny way of putting things together. The silence had stretched for long enough, and so with a deep breath he fully turns to you and you follow his actions with mild-confusion.

“(Name).” He addresses you, his voice not once wavering, his eyes not once breaking their intense and determined stare, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yes, Bill?”

He thinks back to what Tonks had once spoken of. That a kiss is usually the best way to determinate if you like the person or not; it is the best way to describe your feelings without bumbling with worlds. His hands land on either side of your face, it warm against his palms, as he leans forward and captures your lips in a long overdue kiss that nearly makes his chest explode with happiness.

Your fingers graze the side of his cheek, “Bill?” you call him quietly, your voice melodious and lovely in the silence.

What vivid fantasy. He should definitely not do that. He could not live with himself if he did, no matter how much joy it would bring him.

“(Name)…” He murmurs, much too preoccupied with tingling at your gentle touch, “I used to…” His fingers come to wrap onto your wrist, the one which’s fingers are ghosting his skin, “I used to really…. Really—“

“Bill!” A voice from the tent shouts, “Bill come ‘ere! It’s your wedding for Merlin’s sake! We ‘bout to cut the cake!”

He stops in his tracks, paralyzed by fear. But he does not look away from your face, “I-I’ll be there in a minute!” He replies.

“You should go.” You urge him with a small smile.

He shakes his head, “No, I—“

“Bill, this is your wedding day, you can tell me later.” You insist, “Even five minutes from now. Nothing will change.”

“(Name), I—“

“I know.” Your voice strikes him to the core, how soft and nearly broken it is, “I know, you stupid boy.” You fingers trace the scar forever engraved onto his skin, “I know, now go.” His fingers loosen their hold on your hand and he takes a small step back, “C’mon, go.”

“I’m coming back.” He states.

“You really shouldn’t.”

“But does that mean—“

You give him a look, on that is unreadable to him, “I’d rather not say. You have someone waiting for you.” You smile softly, “Now please, go.”

He leaves without saying a word, but you know that a long conversation awaits you when the time is right. Left in solitude, with crickets and fireflies as your only companions, you sigh heavily, shivering. Not of the cold, but of the encounter. Your heart races and you have trouble breathing once more. You glance down at your hands, still tingling pleasantly from his touch. Your personal troubles had weighted you down and you could not recover properly. You missed so much. You missed them and you were planning on never seeing any of them again, they being a stark reminder of your brother’s absence.

Yet you could not miss Bill’s wedding. You could not miss seeing him happy, even if for the last time. You could not miss silently wishing it was your wedding instead.

No matter now. Nothing you can do. All is left is to enjoy the party and reconnect with old friends. At the very least, you shall see if Fleur is really worth Bill. If you have to give him up, you want to know that he is in good hands.

forever tags: @scarletraine- @brahwhytho- @smilesfromabove- @pharaohkiller - @victoriaelvendorkweasley-@onehellofdevilotaku- @eyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyy- @phillipas00- @xxcrowfeatherxx- @cupcakestyleshood- @invisibilityrocks- @nephalem67 - @chwechwechwe - @porpentyna - @lesbianheartbreaker - @banjosanjo - @madswheelers - @sombodymaybeawatson - @disneyfanatic77 - @superanonymousreader - @aliypop​ - @siriusement - @slytherinbratt - @silencehunted - @sungoddessra - @weasleyismyking540 - @kb795 - @escapism-at-its-finest - @wispila - @cherryvodkabih - @rimyautumn - @dear-diary-whyyyyyyyyyy - @but-im-the-chosen-one - @burrcells - @hogwartsmysteryimagines

[27dragons]

Hey, you may have talked about this before, (if so, then oops, sorry for repeating questions) but, what's your writing process like? Especially regarding planning or outlining stories

You’re so adorable, thinking I do real planning and outlining. :D Mostly when I’m doing my own writing, I just start at the beginning and go. (...Usually. Sometimes not. For instance, Stark Naked Science had a structure that suggested itself fairly early on, so I adapted the plot to fit that structure. Branches of Pine also sort of forcibly organized itself, because it was structured around various winter holidays.)

But I actually don’t write that many long and complicated fics on my own. Most of my longer fics have been written with @tisfan. And that’s more of a process.

Most of the time, it starts in chat:

tisfan: So I had an idea.me: Oh no.tisfan: What if [literally anything here]?me: Oh, that would cause so much trouble. [Character] would be like [reaction].tisfan: omg yes. And then [another character] would [different reaction].[This continues for anywhere from 5 minutes to 2 hours.]me: ...Okay I’m making a doc.

And then I make a googledoc and invite Tis to join it as a co-author (or she makes the doc and invites me) and at that point, depending on the specific idea in question and its complexity and whether it’s an established ‘verse or a new one and, idk, the alignment of the planets or something, we have a couple of different processes.

(Putting the rest of this under a cut, because it got long and also because there might be spoilers for readers who aren’t caught up on all the fic yet. The stuff that is spoiler-y for things that haven’t been POSTED yet have been redacted.)

1) We just start writing. This is usually reserved for fics that we expect to be relatively short and uncomplicated, e.g., PWP smut or slice-of-life vignettes. As a rule, these get written more like really elaborate RP sessions than anything with any kind of planning. Have you ever taken a theater class and had to improv a scene? We usually have a setup or a goal or a situation to work with, Tis always plays Bucky and I always play Tony and the other characters get traded around depending on this or that, and we mostly take turns.

2) Longer and more complicated fics do require some structure, in which case we lay out what we expect to happen fairly early on in the process. For instance, this is a screenshot from an early point (gosh I love google docs’ History function) in Michigan Seems Like a Dream:

We don’t always know how the chapters are going to fall out right away, and we definitely don’t always STICK to these plans, but they give us a general idea of where we’re going. (They’re also not always that detailed. Sometimes an entire chapter is just labeled “Smut here” or “The thing happens.”)

3) Sometimes we start with one plan and find ourselves veering wildly off course. What Gets You Through the Night was supposed to be a fairly short PWP fic in which Steve meets Jessica, they get their rocks off and work out some aggression, and then they were going to part ways on amicable terms, Jessica to go back to Luke, and Steve onward to meet (eventually) Sif. Halfway through writing, we ran into a wall. The worst case of writer’s block ever. After like a month of sitting on our thumbs we finally re-evaluated and realized that Steve and Jessica did not WANT to part ways on amicable terms, they wanted to stay together. Which necessitated re-structuring the second half of the story. After which it flowed much more smoothly.

4) Sometimes we have only part of a plot. When we started writing Safe and (the) Sound, the plot started out fairly simple, and we thought it was going to be maybe a novella-length piece, based on the prompt it’s filling. Except while we were writing we kept having MORE IDEAS of things to do to them. And then we add them to the doc and work them into the plot. Like this (the big spoilers have been redacted, though if you read this you’ve got an idea of one upcoming scene, though it didn’t play out quite like we have it here):

That’s us talking back and forth about things, there. We weren’t even going to bring Bucky’s ex into the story at all until we had this idea! (It’s coming. Chapter 13, I think.)

The Sandbridge stories, in particular, got written so quickly that the timeline is REALLY... iffy. We just now, for the 3rd novel, sat down and actually created a timeline so we could keep track of how old everyone is and when various events happened. (And we wound up having to MOVE some things and make changes, because it had turned out that the hand-wavey way we wrote it kind of folded time over on itself a few times. But this is what the editing process is FOR.) (Also, yes, I said 3rd novel. In addition to the one that’s posting now, we have a 2nd completed novel, three completed short stories, and are working the aforementioned 3rd novel. We are stupidly addicted to this ‘verse.)

Tis doesn’t sleep much, so she frequently re-reads what we’ve done on her phone in bed and fixes typos or makes notes about things that should be changed for whatever reason. She also edits out my tendency to use leading/filler verbs, stage directions, and oh my lord too many smiles.

I’m the one who does what I call the “polishing edit” on everything -- I make awkward sentences less awkward, fill in gaps, fix the Pronoun Problem, and tone down her tendency toward lengthy mid-sentence asides.

(And then we line up all the chapters and note which ones end on the biggest cliffhangers and make sure to set up the posting schedule to cause our readers the greatest amount of anguish. Because we wouldn’t be writers if we didn’t like causing pain.) ;-)

And that’s pretty much the process, inasmuch as we have one. Feel free to ask questions! And I’m sure Tis will chime in with her two cents.