#pantsing is the best

[yvesdot]

HOW TO: PLANNING STREAM!

Wednesday, March 22nd, 2023 @ 3:00 PM PDT on Twitch

Come watch me plan a story, start-to-finish, LIVE on stream! Whether you are curious about practical application of various resources, need a place to start for your own outline, or just want to hear me talk about what if cis people were trans, I hope you'll stop by. Thanks OHHOW for the monthly theme of Planning to Pantsing!

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[gorillaxyz]

otto and i can bond over our shitty eyesight... i need to be silly at him hes so serious. he needs me

[bookwyrminspiration]

:0 may I ask if there’s a reason you only own one pair of pants? I have a pants addiction, so I must admit to being curious.

There's no one good reason but instead a combination of laziness and several small reasons that don't actually have to add up to my pantlessness, and yet do. Also to clarify: I do technically own more than one pair of pants, but there's only one pair actively in my wardrobe that I wear (the rest are ignored) and it's been the only one for like. Two years now. They're not even thick they're super thin

I live in a desert. It doesn't get that cold here, so I don't really need pants! It's the middle of winter and the coldest it gets is the low 20s ( -3 to -6 in celsius), and I'm not outside often! I stay warm with the rest of my clothes and minimal outside time

I am very small. Pants are very long. Even the smallest sizes. It's more of a hassle than it's worth to buy pants, at least for me. small

autism! i can be picky about the fit of clothes, and I prefer to have as little restriction and loose fabric as possible, otherwise I can't focus and can get overwhelmed. pants are very touch. they heavy touch a lot, and I prefer to have my skin uncovered--i love very short shorts and tanktops because they touch very little. pants aren't always bad but they are more often than not for me so. avoid

buying things is a lot of work i don't wanna look for pants that's such an investment :(

tights! love wearing funky tights :)

Listen I've got a system okay I've got it down. Either I can wear a long sleeve or I can wear pants, but if I wear both I'm on a time limit before I gotta do something about it, so I just don't wear pants! I wear shorts! and through sheer will and stubbornness the cold is no longer a problem

this is not the only conclusion to come to i just have no reason to change and it's been like this so long I think it's funny.

[seddair]

Kerr should be tarred and feathered in the town square

[she-who-fights-and-writes]

how do i get my character out of the corner i wrote myself in without a dues ex machina😭

How to Not Write Yourself Into a Corner (and How to Write Yourself Out of a Corner if You’re Already In One)

One of a writer’s WORST fears is writing themself into a corner.

It’s easy to write your characters into death-defying situations…but it’s not as easy to write the actual “defying death” part.

Some writers, in their desperation to get their characters out of a bind, employ the use of a Deus Ex Machina, as mentioned by anon:

Deus Ex Machina: (Translates to "god from the machine") A plot device where a seemingly unsolvable situation is fixed by an out-of-the-blue occurrence. The term “deus ex machina” is a reference to Greek plays, when actors playing a god would literally be lowered into the scene via a machine to magically solve any situation.

Unfortunately, this plot device is often ridiculed by readers, cited as a hack-job solution for a writer out of ideas.

How do we avoid this situation, then? Here are some tips and tricks on how to not write yourself into a corner, and how to write yourself out of a corner if you’re already in one!

Note that these tips may not work for everyone, so make sure to use your own intuition as a writer— you know your story best.

1. NIP IT IN THE BUD— OUTLINES ARE KEY!

I’m sorry to all of you pantsers out there, but the key to prevent writing yourself into a corner is to already have an idea of how each scene is going to turn out; don't make a problem without making a solution! If you keep on top of your outline, you should have no worries about writing your characters into a situation they can't get out of it.

It may be easiest to jot down ideas about a couple of scenarios and then select the one that works best, especially when it comes to dire climax scenes that have a lot of moving parts. 

Check out my posts below for more in-depth advice about outlining!

How to Outline

Plotting for Pansters and Pantsing for Plotters

This advice, although essential, does require a ton of foresight and time to plan…and if you’ve sought out this post, it may mean that it’s too late for preventative measures. The subsequent tips in this post are going to be for people who are already in the thick of it and need a way to save all of their writing progress. 

2. FORESHADOWING IS YOUR FRIEND (AKA “CHEKHOV’S GUN YOUR WAY OUT OF THAT SHIT”)

Foreshadowing: A narrative device wherein a writer gives an advance hint of what is to come later in the story. It helps maintain believability while subverting expectations and making plot twists.

Chekhov’s Gun: A narrative device wherein a seemingly insignificant element or object in the story becomes useful later on. Sometimes used synonymously with foreshadowing, but usually refers to a specific object.

Examples of Foreshadowing/Chekhov’s guns in media:

The 1981 Quarter (Or Extra Life Quarter) in Ready Player One

“Don’t Cross the Streams” in Ghostbusters (1984)

Winchester Rifle Hanging over the Bar in Shaun of the Dead (2004)

The Rita Hayworth Poster in The Shawshank Redemption (1994)

The Water Bottle in Bullet Train (2022)

In my opinion, a Chekhov’s Gun is the more refined twin of the deus ex machina; although it may seem like it comes out of nowhere, observant readers or those who go back into the story will realize that this event was set up from the beginning.

Foreshadowing is the key to turning a deus ex machina into a Chekhov’s Gun. It’s spreading breadcrumbs to maintain believability even when unbelievable things happen.

My advice: plant a line here and there referring to the object/element that will get you out of the corner.

These lines can be about a healing potion that a character carries around to save them when they’re at the brink of death, the fact that the city they’re fighting in often suffers from sinkholes, or that a character has a seemingly useless skill. 

However, haphazardly inserting foreshadowing into your story may come across as heavy-handed; make sure it aligns with the narrative beats. Particularly big Chekhov’s Guns, especially ones that “save the day," may require multiple foreshadowing elements.

It can take a lot of work to incorporate the foreshadowing smoothly, so make sure it actually saves you time in comparison to rewriting the whole scenario/plot point.

3. TAKE A BREAK

Sometimes, the solution to your problem may not come to mind because you’re too immersed into the writing process and not thinking of the bigger picture. Or maybe it might just be good old-fashioned writer’s block. Take a step back, reassess, and return with the scene properly re-evaluated. Maybe start a new book or TV show to get some inspiration, or check out one of my posts below!

How to Overcome Writer’s Block

How to Get Inspired to Write and Regain Creativity

4. ASK FOR HELP

Sometimes, it might be best to have another set of eyes on your story! A situation that may seem unsolvable to you may have an obvious solution to a writing buddy.

5. KNOW THAT SOMETIMES RE-WRITING IS NECESSARY

I know this sounds horrible. It’s something that I wouldn’t wish upon any writer.

Sometimes, however, no amount of foreshadowing can get your characters out of the debacle they’ve put themselves in. Either that, or the work that it would take to insert the foreshadowing would be more than it’d take to rewrite the scene or the plot point.

My suggestion would be to search for the last place that you didn't feel lost, and then cut out everything after that.

(NEVER DELETE MAJOR CHUNKS OF YOUR WRITING! ALWAYS CUT IT AND SAVE IT IN A SCRAP DOC—IT COULD COME IN HANDY LATER!)

Then, take the time to outline the scenario and figure out the solution to your problem beforehand. It will suck, but trust me, it'll be worth it in the end.

HOPE THIS HELPED, AND HAPPY WRITING!

[callofdudes]

So, uh, I was watching Bad Boys 2 with my dad and when the shootout scene happened and Marcus accidentally got shot in the ass I couldn’t help but wonder after I was done LMFAOing; how the COD boys (or the guys from 141 if you have a character limit) would react to and deal with having been shot in the ass? Especially if their S/O or best friend was there?

Ouchie ouchie. Here ya go anon! Sorry it took so long!

Getting shot in the ass.

Fucking humiliated.

First off, it hurt and oh boy he would not talk to anyone. If you're not in the immediate vicinity of medical attention he is going to have to be taken care of by one of you.

He'd probably trust either you or Price. He loves Johnny but not enough to touch his whole ass.

If you're his spouse you will 100% try to make jokes to calm him down, and it doesn't end up making it any better. Simon laying on his stomach writhing in pain while you've got him pantsed.

He's never speaking to any of you again. He'd rather be buried alive than have you bandaging his whole asscheek so he doesn't bleed everywhere.

"Are-fuck! Are you done yet!?" He growled, turning into a whine near the end because he's in pain. Come on man...

"Almost Simon, just hang in with me ok?"

He whines, and you continue to as gently as you can patch the wound. And like a meanie you're trying not to laugh the whole time.

When you're done you'll pat his butt gently and help him up. "Fuck you, and fuck that last 20 minutes of my life." He winces, attempting to stand.

"It's an occupational hazard y'know-"

"In my ass. MY BLOODY ARSE!"

"Well it's not bloody anymore...??"

Yeah he's never speaking to you. Or the others. He'll go back to that coffin where he was safe and his beautiful ass wasn't being threatened 24/7.

When you get back if you tell anyone he's suffocating you in your sleep. Not like the medical team will let him go. Surgery to get the bullet out of his arse and then was hurting for weeks.

Glaring constantly because now he has one of those butt pillows that you'd sit on after a BBL. And the recruits are bugging him because, "Got a lift Lt??" "Thought it was already big enough."

His arse is a point of contention for him and now he's being pointed out for the masses.

"You... You want me to help??"

"Nope." He dragged his leg, limping his way as blood spilled.

"You've uh, got a hole in your-"

"I'm very well aware!" He grimaced, trying to ease down on his side. "Other room." He demands.

"I can help-"

"OTHER ROOM."

"Yes sir."

You step away and let Price undo his belt and survey the damage himself. The last time he was bleeding from his arse his military dad was spanking him upside down and sideways.

By the time he realizes he's going to need a little help he's already regretting his life. He's nearly had his balls shot off before, this shouldn't be news to him, but also, why....

Begrudgingly he calls you back in after messing with it enough it hurts twice as much as before.

So you grab some bandages and get to work.

"Don't-"

"I'm very well aware of where my hands are going captain, you're fine."

"Gross."

"You're bleeding."

"Thank you for stating the obvious." He rubbed his forehead, sighing.

You feel less inclined to snicker at Price because the poor man is just trying to make a living fighting crime. He doesn't deserve this. His beautiful soft ass doesn't deserve this.

When you get back he is just wanting the bullet out by that point so he doesn't fight medical. They get the bullet out and he is taking painkillers like they're going out of style. (No, not in an unhealthy way)

Will probably stay between his room and his office. He wants to do work very badly and hasn't enjoyed sitting around doing nothing for long periods of time.

Can't wear his favorite pants now because they're tighter and the seam cuts right into the stitches. Sweatpants and butt pillow it is until he's out of this hell.

Most recruits know not to poke the bear, unlike you. Or Simon.

"Whew, that was close." You panted and looked at Johnny with relief. "No kidding." But as the adrenaline wore off, Johnny felt lightheaded, and fell to his side.

"Ow-" He winced, his leg feeling numb. You quickly rushed to him and looked him over. He wasn't shot anywhere... Oh. Oh, no never mind, yes he was.

"Johnny..."

"Yeah..?"

"You're shot."

Johnny followed your gaze and saw.

Surprisingly calm. Like, out of everyone he doesn't panic as much. Pulls up his shirt into his mouth and tells you to get it out.

You're hesitant because it's trying to pull a bullet out of someone's ass. And pulling a bullet out is never... Fun. But he trusts you, even if his cheeks are glaringly red from utter embarrassment.

But he doesn't want anyone else to do it for some reason, so you do your best.

Long story short, it did not go well. You ended up messing with the wound that his right ass cheek was so swollen. He looked like an idiot. Laying on his stomach in pain while waiting for Evac.

"I'm sorry..." You rubbed his shoulder.

You'd pulled his pants down further, while still being respectful. But man if he didn't look stupid, and it looked like it hurt. One cheek much bigger than the other, red and swollen.

Johnny promised to never get shot in the ass again. After he was put on bed rest because he had an infection. So uh... That was a fun adventure.

"Why the hell did you try to dig the bullet out of my ass??" He looked over at you when you visited him.

"You told me to do that! I told you it was a bad idea."

"Oh yeah..." He sniffled and crossed his arms, pouting his lip.

"Johnny.. come on, it'll get better."

"Well it can't get worse. Can it?"

"Ow!! Bloody- shit!" He slid down a wall and looked down at his side, expecting the stinging pain he felt to have hit his leg, he was dismayed to find the bullet had got him in the ass.

"Oh fucking of course!" He groaned and tried his best to hold something over the wound while still getting bullets pelted at him.

"How're we looking, sergeant??"

Kyle looked back briefly and then adjusted his gun. "Fine! But I've got a bloody hole in my arse!"

"Say again?"

Kyle groaned. Falling out of helicopters, getting shot in the ass, what was next huh?

"I've. Got. A. Bullet. In my ass!!"

Mortified when the others get to him and see he was not lying. Kyle must have just about the worst luck because what the hell is this?? They got him to medical and they did indeed confirm he had a bullet where the sun don't shine.

His perfect, pretty, unscarred butt was now about to be dug into to get a bullet out. How humiliating. He had bad stuff happen to him, but this he refused to talk about.

"How're... How're you feeling?" You asked after he came out of surgery. Still high on drugs, Kyle glared at you. "Don't even..."

"Don't what?" You snickered slightly.

"Oh fuck off..."

You smiled a little and sat down. "Hey, you'll recover. It sucks, but you've gotten through worse."

"Bullet in the ass."

"Had a bullet in the ass."

"It was still there at one point. That was my reality, y/n!"

You lovingly shushed him with a glass of water.

Kyle did not say a word about it. Even when he needed a pillow to help him sit after the surgery, he never pointed it out. And the others saw the look, if they said anything Kyle would drag them behind a shed and suffocate them with said pillow.

And therefore, for everyone's collective safety, it was never brought up.

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve and Gareth as Cousins, no longer a warm-up and now called Lifelines, part three! I’ll throw it up on A03 when I finish the fourth part. 

Prior parts can be read here: Part One / Part Two 

First things first, the most amazing @ sereinpetrichor managed to track down the OG Twitter thread this runaway train is based off of! 

It was this thread by @gatorthots, the Tumblr version of which can be read, here.  All blame for this idea firmly rests on their brilliant, plot bunny inducing shoulders. 

The other, follow up thread I mentioned was this one by Silas, whose tumblr name I do not know. 

As always and forever, shout out to the most amazing @chalkysgarbagefire​ who helps me edit/plot/pats my head while I’m crying in their inbox bc the words aren’t wording right. 

Warnings: Steve and Robin are canon (S3) drugged. I took a slightly (kinda sorta) more realistic approach. Vomit mention, canon threat of violence/guns (the Russian guards) Mention of pantsing/past bullying, Steve and Robin’s drugged asses not understanding personal space, Dustin’s canon...Im gonna go with assholishness? but like, I think its more than he’s a young kid and doesn't quite have the emotional growth/awareness yet in this kind of insane situation to know how to react to the whole address/torture bit (really who does)/its a defense mechanism--and Gareth sort of has a panic attack. 

Whatever the hell they had been drugged with, Steve and Robin went from 'giggly happy fun time' to 'vomiting into toilet bowls while loudly wishing for death’ awfully fast. 

Gareth was not an expert on drugs. He knew Eddie wasn't either (the guy never dealt anything stronger than your average psychedelic--had some agreement with his Uncle about only selling "the 70s basics") and repeated looks towards him proved Eddie was still trying to figure out what Steve and Robin were on. 

Answers hadn't exactly been forthcoming--Eddie's gently made attempts at ferreting out information had only caused more confusion.

Like why the two of them were so freaked out about a gate, or what had made Robin gasp, and then laugh so hard she cried when Steve had made a particularly rough noise then muttered; "Even that sounds better than Tammy Thompson." 

Either way, Gareth was mostly trying to figure out what the hell they were going to do, because sobering up in a busy, public mall wasn't exactly the best idea. 

"I regret," Robin tried to say, in-between gagging. "I regret--hrk--" 

"Me too." Steve moaned, head resting against the stall wall. Gareth, still caught up in panic, had been permanently regulated to door guard while Eddie alternated between sweet talking, rubbing backs and offering quietly whispered advice. 

"Let's go back in time and ignore the whole silver cat thing." Robin continued, slumping back down onto the floor. 

"Wouldn't have mattered." Steve muttered. "Dustin would have figured it out without us. Kid’s too damn smart." 

"So?" Robin grumbled, quietly thanking Eddie as he once again brushed her hair out of her face. 

"So he would have gone down there anyway, which means I'd be down there anyway." Steve concluded. "We shouldn't have gotten you involved though." 

He shakily pushed himself up, staggering to his feet and looking like bambi on ice while doing it. 

Eddie quickly came round to offer his help, hands spread as Steve groaned out a curse and clutched his head.  

The older took a step forward right as Steve lurched back, unbalanced and shaky. 

 "Oh shit." He said, eyes wide as he crashed backwards into Eddie, the latter catching him with a grunt. 

Despite the entire situation, Gareth found himself stifling a laugh as Eddie wrapped his noodle arms around Steve's chest, trying to hold the other up without falling himself. 

"Come on big boy, why don't we just siiiit back down." Eddie said, slightly breathless as he helped guide Steve back to the floor. "There we go…"

They did so outside the bathroom stall, Eddie sinking into a kneel as Steve sort of flopped down on top of him. 

Blinked a few times, like the drop had rattled what little sense he’d managed to recover in the last few minutes. 

A pleased noise came out of his cousin's throat, and holy shit was Gareth going to have blackmail for life, because rather than vacate Eddie's lap, Steve just turned around in it. 

Reached up with one finger outstretched and proved himself to be very much still under the influence as he touched Eddie's nose.

"Boop!" He said, and then giggled as Eddie dropped onto his ass in surprise. 

Gareth watched Robin as she took the whole thing in, from Steve's snickers to Eddie's shocked expression, eyes growing wide in excitement. 

He failed entirely to cover his own amusement when Eddie abruptly found himself with two sailors invading his personal space, each taking turns to boop his nose. 

“Uh.” He managed to get out, blinking rapidly and at a loss for words. “Ah.” 

Steve caught the metalhead’s awkward, red-faced expression and proceeded to drop his head to Eddie's shoulder, muffling his laughter against the man's vest. 

The helpless look his best friend sent him was one Gareth would remember for a long time. 

“O-kay.” Eddie said, frazzled, as Steve recovered far too quickly, turning to rest his cheek against a slim shoulder as he walked two fingers up Eddie’s battle vest and towards his hair. Likewise, Robin had discovered Eddie’s wallet chain, and had begun fiddling with it. 

One finger curled around a strand of brown hair and Eddie jerked his head, removing the tempting piece away from Steve’s hands. 

“I know you’re used to getting whatever you want, your highness.” He said, his own hand smacking against his waist before Robin figured out the other end of his chain ended in a handcuff, “But you of all people should know the hair is off limits.” 

Completely undeterred, Steve just gave him a loose, easy grin. “It’s so pretty though.” He complained, fluttering his eyelashes in a blatant attempt to try and turn on the ol’ Harrington charm.  “You can touch mine if you want.” 

Yeah, Gareth’s blackmail was getting better by the second. 

He might even get a new piece for his drum kit out of it, if this kept up. 

Free weed too, considering Eddie’s blush was now fire-engine red. 

“Man,” Eddie said in a clear bid to deflect the entire situation (and Steve’s fingers) away from his hair, “the last time someone called me pretty was right before I got pantsed—-is Tommy H hiding in one of the stalls again?” 

Steve picked his head up, confusion crashing down his face. 

“Did he do that?” He asked. 

Then, with growing horror; “Do you think I’d do that?” 

Eddie raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t that your whole little court’s M.O.?” 

Steve sucked in a breath, looking downright hurt. "I wouldn’t do that." He insisted, eyes wheeling from Eddie to Gareth and back, as though hoping Gareth would back him up. 

“I’m not--I’m not friends with Tommy anymore.” Steve continued, voice growing smaller as he spoke. “I’m not friends with anybody anymore, except maybe Dustin.” 

It sounded so defeated; trodden on and subdued that Gareth stepped forward automatically, to do--something. 

Provide the fucking comfort his cousin was oft denied and hug the guy. 

As always, it turned out to be the wrong move. 

"Oh thank god." A kid said, seconds after bulldozing through the main door and nearly bowling Gareth over in the process. "I found them!" He shouted over his shoulder as swept into the room. 

“Speak of the devil.” Steve said flatly, and even drugged, he managed to pull himself back together from distressed to stoic in mere seconds. 

The curly-haired kid--Dustin apparently--stormed right up to the pile of humans splayed on the floor, hands on his hips. "What the hell. We told you two to stay put!" 

Steve rolled his eyes as Robin booed him. 

“Have you forgotten what’s happening? Or how we’re kinda in a Red Dawn situation?” Dustin continued, looking like he’d just escaped from a summer camp. 

The kid even had a walkie talkie clutched in one hand, of all things. 

“We know.” Steve and Robin deadpanned at once, before looking at each other; Steve pointing a finger towards Robin and Robin pointing one back. 

This caused the kids to trade their own long suffering, “can you believe this shit” faces. 

"We need to go, and the only way we’re gonna get out of here unnoticed is if we blend in with the crowd." Dustin said impatiently.  “Now come on Steve, get up already, you've had worse.”

"I really don't think I have." Steve muttered, but moved to push himself to his feet anyway. 

Eddie beat him to it, and he and Gareth both hovered nearby in case Steve was still unsteady. 

Thankfully, the kids' presence seemed to sober up Robin and Steve both. 

Not actually sober, that wasn't how drugs worked, but whatever was left of the fun was sucked right out of the bathroom, replaced by two teenagers who were sort of functional on whatever they'd been drugged with. 

Stress and adrenaline, Gareth knew, could overcome a lot of things. Including Russian "truth serum" apparently. 

“Yeah well you're lucky you got found by these guys and not anyone else. " Dustin continued pointedly, before turning his attention towards Gareth and Eddie both. "Thanks for watching our friends, but we've got them from here." 

Gareth made a sort of unhinged, disbelieving noise. 

 “No, no you do not.” He declared, anxiety clawing at his gut at the mere thought of abandoning Steve to two children. 

"I don't think you heard him." The girl stepped forward, braids swinging about her face as she lifted her chin and nailed him with a cold glare. 

 As if this entire situation couldn’t possibly get weirder, Gareth suddenly realized she had a helmet in her hands and knee pads on.

 "He said we got this. So scram." She flicked her fingers out in a dismissive sort of "shoo" gesture.

"And leave my drugged cousin with his new girlfriend behind!?" Gareth challenged right back, emotions far too raw and frayed to care he was snarling at a little girl. "I don’t think so!”

"Cousin!?" Dustin bit out, sounding almost betrayed for some reason, at the same time Robin who'd been climbing to her feet with Eddie’s help, shouted; "I am not his girlfriend!" 

Steve, clearly unwilling to entertain whatever fight was brewing, clapped his hands together. 

"Yes cousin, Dustin. It's a type of family member." Steve said, after they all flinched and looked to him. He at least looked steadier on his feet this time, though Gareth still lingered nearby in case he took a wrong step. 

"I know what a cousin is, Steve!" Dustin shot back. 

“Then why are you acting like a lunatic?” Steve complained, and Gareth got to watch in real time as Steve pulled on the persona he often wore in high school down around him. “You said it yourself, we don’t have a lot of time. Worse, I don't know if anyone saw Gareth and Munson here with us.” 

He jerked a thumb sideways in Eddie’s direction, not that anyone couldn’t figure out who “Munson” was. 

“They stay with us until we’re out of this mall.” Steve finished, before he started towards the door.

One step he was Gareth’s cousin, drugged and vulnerable because of it. 

The next he stood taller, talked smoother, took charge with an aurora that said he expected everyone to listen to him. 

It was fake as hell, but it worked. 

“I know you’ve got a plan Dustin, so spill it.” He commanded as he walked.  

 Dustin, despite all the squawking, did just that. 

xXx 

Of all the things Gareth had expected to see upon escorting their little ragtag crew out of the bathroom, groups of intimidating, mean looking assholes wasn’t on the list. 

He found himself repeatedly nudging Eddie in the ribs, unable to take his eyes off what was clearly a checkpoint as he staggered to a halt. 

It was one thing to be told people were after Steve and the “Scoop’s Troop” As Robin had jokingly named them. 

It was another entirely to see the security guard directly in front of him look over a woman’s ID before apologizing to her, a sleazy grin matching his oily pony-tail as he waved her on. 

They really were looking for someone. 

Not someone, Gareth realized in dawning horror.

Them. 

Robin apparently, came to the same conclusion seconds later, because she snatched Steve and Dustin’s arms both, hauling them backwards. 

“Argue about Dustin’s address later, we need to find a different way out.” She hissed quietly as she tried to slowly reversed direction, movements still a bit sloppy. 

She might have even gotten away with it, had Sleazy Pony-Tail not turned and made eye contact with Gareth right after she spoke. 

His eyes swept over him, then to the rest of the group, freezing like a cat that had spotted its prey.

“Abort, abort!” Dustin sputtered, wheeling about on his heel. 

Erica, whose name Gareth had learned when she kicked him in the shin after he asked why an actual infant was running around with Steve and Robin, pointed towards the escalators before she beelined over to it, ducking into the center and riding it down like a slide. 

Something Eddied was downright delighted to copy. 

Gareth might have enjoyed it himself, had he not been looking over his shoulder to see not one, not two, but four security guards giving chase--and gaining. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuckikity fuck.” He heard Robin chant as she shot past, Steve planting himself at the top as he made sure everyone got down to the next level before sliding down himself. 

"Do not let them leave!" One of the guards yelled to the others, accent clear as a bell. 

"Holy shit that guy's actually Russian." Gareth found himself saying as he skidded across the floor and bolted after the others, Steve hot on his heels. 

He had kinda expected the Russian thing to be some sort of drug influenced inside joke and not an actual, honest-to-God Soviet. 

Which led to the question of why the fuck adult men in security uniforms had drugged random teenage retail workers.

Food workers.

Whatever the fuck one called a two people who scooped ice-cream in sailor costumes. 

"There's another group up ahead!" Eddie yelped, swerving sideways and nearly taking Erica out while doing it. 

Noise erupted ahead of them in the form of foreign shouting and loud, harshly barked commands to “Freeze!”  

‘Oh hell no.’ Gareth thought wildly, as he caught the form of the giant fricken gun the guard closest to him held. 

“Split up!” Dustin howled, and before anyone could comment about how bad an idea that was, Gareth found himself being yanked sideways. 

Steve swore loudly behind him as Robin, who’d crashed backwards, pulled him in the opposite direction and in a second their group broke in two. Gareth, Eddie and Dustin going one way, Steve, Robin and Erica another. 

"This isn’t happening." Gareth muttered, words made in a sort of pleading denial as he and Eddie turned the corner and immediately vaulted over the counter of an Orange Julius. “I smoked or drank or did something and this is a hallucination that is not. Actually. Happening.” 

Dustin at least, was smart enough to dive around the counter instead of over it, sliding towards them on his knees. 

Eddie quickly yanked him down to the floor in-between himself and Gareth once he was close enough to grab, one hand going over the hat to shove the kids head down. 

Annoying or not, he was at least several years younger than them, and Gareth could practically feel Eddie’s protective instinct kick in as he kept his hand on Dustin’s head. 

Together they tried to silence their breathing as the guards’ shouting continued on behind them. 

What was worse than their noises though, was when they unexpectedly and suddenly, went silent. 

Gareth’s breath felt far too loud as the stillness gained a suppressive weight, pressing down harshly against him and making it harder and harder to inhale. 

‘Panic attack.’ He realized, thoughts a touch detached. ‘You can’t afford to have a panic attack right now.’ 

Not when it had a high chance of getting them all killed. 

Slowly he moved his own free hand, placing it atop of Eddie’s, fingers gripping down in a way that was no doubt painful. 

Eddie glanced over to him and Gareth thanked every single time he’d smoked way too much weed, because his best friend immediately clocked what was wrong. 

Turned his hand over, so that Gareth could hold onto it atop Dustin’s hat. 

It didn’t help with the knowledge that his very much still drugged cousin and his equally drugged not-girlfriend were also hiding somewhere, or that there was significantly more Russians than there where terrified teenagers (and one--whatever age Erica was.)  

Flashlights cut shapes into the wall overheard, trailing along the Orange Julius menu. Quiet voices covered even quieter footsteps and Gareth had the sudden realization the probability of there being more than one guard carrying a huge gun, was very, very high. 

Worse?

This part of the mall wasn’t that big. There were only so many places to hide, and as such, only so many places to look. 

Death comes for everyone eventually, but Gareth hadn’t exactly expected it to show up before he hit twenty.

Not that they could do anything but wait. Pray to God and the universe and any other higher power he could think of to intervene, head pressed hard against the wood behind him as the small noises drew nearer.

What he hadn’t expected was for said prayers to get answered in the form of a of a fucking car being thrown into the Russian’s like bowling balls. 

“Run!” Dustin shouted, and Gareth wasted absolutely no time in doing just that. 

The only goal on his mind was to find Steve, get out, and then have a very long discussion about what the hell this all was, in that exact order. 

[lxvvie]

A DITL with Ghost would consist of:

Pup waking Ghost up at the ass-crack of dawn for his first walk of the day. Today was supposed to be the day that Simon put his foot down—"Let Daddy sleep some more yeah, Pup?"—but your furbaby wasn't having it. And so Pup Riley continued to whine and harass his papa until Simon got up.

Which leads to you waking up. While he prepares to take Pup and the garbage out, you're busy preparing tea and breakfast.

Ghost hits you with the first disappointed dad look of the day because the first tee shirt he grabbed was the one you repurposed into a crop top out of pure boredom. Your cheeks balloon because you're trying not to laugh in his face as he stares at you in say sike right now, mate with said shirt on. Said look is usually reserved for Pup.

Breakfast being an uneventful affair. Kind of. Pup won't stop badgering you for table food even though Simon's in denial that he spoils him, too.

Pantsing him just enough that his ass cheeks are out in the open while he's at the sink. You don't get far before he's caught you and now you're a laughing pile on the floor with a grumpy Simon. Again. And then Pup comes and covers his face in licks. Cheers, darling.

Sharing a shower. You make some bullshit excuse about conserving water but it's really so you can touch all over Simon. Not that he's complaining, mind you.

Simon doing some minor maintenance around the house while you straighten up some.

Simon also making the bed but Pup thinks it's a game and won't get off and keeps doing zoomies.

He also chases Pup around the place because he's convinced that Papa's socks are toys and they are... absolutely not. Papa gives the fuck up and just smokes and enjoys his cup of tea as Pup does what he does best: exasperate Simon lmao.

Stepping out later on with Simon for a cigarette run which turned into getting a lot of other shit you weren't intending to. Like sweets.

Having a minor argument over what you want for dinner because every time he asks you, you say you don't know and when he suggests something, you shoot it down. This leads to the second disappointed dad look you receive today and you finally settle on curry.

Ending the day lying on the couch, having random ass conversations with Pup resting by your feet. By bedtime, you and Simon can't be bothered to move so you sleep on the couch. You'll feel it in the morning but the couch and Simon are so cozy right now.

At least you managed to earn your third and final disappointed dad look when you blew raspberries on his stomach. AGAIN.

[writingquestionsanswered]

IDK how many people are running the account, but if you or a member of the team running the account has ADHD, do you have any tips for ADHD writers, particularly when trying to get WIPs done? Outlines don't work for me like 99% of the time ;_;

Tips for Writing with ADHD

Here's what works for me, but your mileage may vary...

1 - Know What Outline Works for You - You say outlines don't work for you 90% of the time, but what type of outline are you using? Many people hear the word "outline" and imagine an academic outline with roman numerals and bullet points, but that's not what most fiction writers mean when they talk about using an outline. For fiction writers, outlines can be anything from a beginning to end written summary, to a scene list, to a detailed timeline. My post How to Outline a Plot has some different things you can try. Ultimately, there's no right or wrong way to outline your story. Anything that works as a "road map" to guide you through your story can help.

2 - Pants When You've Got to Pants - Some writers are "pantsers" or in other words, they prefer not to go off an outline. Some don't even plan in advance. They "write by the seat of their pants" and let the story take them where it may. For some writers, it depends on the specific story they're working on. Some stories might require planning, others might work better if you pants them. What works for me is understanding my needs (what type of story I'll usually need to plan/outline ahead of time, and what type of story I can pants) and then planning/pantsing accordingly. If I spent time outlining a story that I could easily pants, it would definitely take the wind out of my writing sails.

3 - Schedule Your Writing Time... Sort Of... - For me, I can't just rely on myself to write when the mood strikes me. If I did that, I'd never get any writing done. So for me, it's important to have a dedicated writing time each day. That doesn't even have to mean my butt's in the chair writing from this time to this time, it just means I'll do my best to write during whatever span of time. So, let's say this week you're home every day from 2pm until 6pm and some of that time is free time. That's going to be a good time to write, so you could say you're going to sit down every day at 3pm to write. Or, you could do 10-minute writing springs every hour, or every other hour. Or you could say you'll write when the mood strikes you, but definitely from 5:30 to 6 if you didn't get it done earlier.

4 - Try Random Writing Sprints - Writing sprints in general can be a good way for people with ADHD to write. You can schedule them or you could do them when the mood strikes. Get a timer and set it to whatever works for you... 5-minutes, 10-minutes, 30-minutes, whatever. Then just set it and go when you have time. Even if you don't feel like writing, getting into that habit will make it easier to write as soon as the timer comes out.

5 - Don't Give Yourself a Hard Time - One of the most profound things I ever heard about writing resistance is that it's often the product of writing feeling stressful. In other words, the idea of writing causes you stress, so your brain says, "Avoid! Avoid!" and you sit down to write and nothing happens. One of the ways we make writing stressful for ourselves is by giving ourselves a hard time when we don't write or don't write as much as we wanted. So, just do the best you can and congratulate yourself on small victories. Find ways to make writing fun and relaxing rather than stressful and like a chore.

Bonus - Sometimes the problem isn't ADHD but something else. My post 5 Reasons You Lost Interest in Your WIP, Plus Fixes! has some other things to consider.

I hope that helps!

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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[medievalandfantasymelee]

THE HOT MEDIEVAL & FANTASY MEN MELEE

FIRST ROUND: 5th Tilt

Will Scarlet O’Hara, Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993) VS. Bard the Bowman, The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014)

Propaganda

Will Scarlet O’Hara, Robin Hood: Men in Tights (1993) Portrayed by: Matthew Porretta Defeated Opponents: - Philippe Gaston [Matthew Broderick], Ladyhawke (1985)

“For all his role is small he is so so hot in it. He’s got the swagger and hotness to go toe to toe with Cary Elwes and you can fight me on that! Matthew Porretta even went on to play Robin Hood on TV and he’s a smokeshow there too! The dark swoopy hair. The smirk. The “We’re from Georgia” wink, doing a sick knife trick, and then immediately accidentally pantsing himself. He’s got it all (attractive doofus). He’s so handsome in this ridiculous screwball comedy movie it’s unfair.”

Bard the Bowman, The Hobbit Trilogy (2012-2014) Portrayed by: Luke Evans Defeated Opponents: - Perrin Aybara [Marcus Rutherford], The Wheel of Time (2021-)

“He wins the Best Father in fiction while also claiming the title of Dragon Slayer. What's not to love?”

Additional Propaganda Under the Cut

Additional Propaganda

For Will Scarlet O'Hara:

For Bard:

[boynarcing]

too spacious when you’re lonely

leon s. kennedy x male!reader

word count. 5.3k

cws. incest, stepbrother leon, pee, reader w bad bladder issues lol, crude language, handjobs, humping, OOC leon (duh), boring mid sexual encounter cause it’s leon, crude language

note. this is my first fic including dark(?) content so it’s wonky and mid and the overall flow of it is boring but whatever I tried my best. It’s not necessarily dark it’s just weird and icky and me just rambling lol :3 also the pee part comes out of nowhere sorry LMAO like ur just flashed

Leon Kennedy has always been the type to lead girls on, whether it be for one thing or another, he just didn’t care. Everything was a one-time thing to him. That hook-up last week, that promise he made to a buddy, that girl he had accidentally gotten pregnant… it all went in one ear and out the other.

He was a massive asshole, that much was clear to anyone with basic comprehension levels. But no one gave a fuck, because as long as you’re hot enough you’re given a free pass to do whatever you want. He knew that he was hot, yeah, but that’s like, normal. He’s only ever been surrounded by hot people his entire life. Why would he want to willingly hang out with someone who isn’t? That’s weird. No hot person does that unless they want something from you. Or they feel bad, which is probably worse.

Leon doesn’t hang out with you at all. He’s your stepbrother, so one would think he’d at least spare you a glance or a nod, right? No, no, not at all. You’re a fleeting thought to him. An “oh yeah, I forgot” type of topic. And that’s fine. It’s not like you’re the most socially indulgent type of person in the world. You’re not anything interesting. That’s why you’re not worth bullying either. Not worth some abrupt pantsing or name-calling— whatever big brothers are supposed to do with their younger siblings. Nada.

That kind of irks you. Kind of. Leon goes out of his way to make anyone he hangs out with miserable by just being himself, yet he avoids you like the plague.

It’s not purposeful, ‘cause he couldn’t care less about you— and that’s what grinds your gears.

Your mom marries some random cop who just so happens to have a kid your age, and now what? Aren’t you supposed to be a part of some picture-perfect family now? Because that’s not what it feels like. It just feels odd. You have to go downstairs for breakfast and dinner now, have a movie night every Friday, and whatever other cheesy nonsense your mom deems necessary. Where was all of that before? It’s annoying to think about. You don’t want to get all buddy-buddy with people you don’t even know or could care less about.

They probably feel the same way about you, which, whatever. The feeling is mutual. There’s just something about Leon in particular that gets on your nerves the most.

It’s just everything about him. His stupid blue eyes, his stupid side-swept hair, and his especially stupid smile. You’d punch his nose back into place if you could. Everyone else adores him. They practically kiss his ass and pucker up their lips to give him a nice rimming. It’s disgusting.

It’s a no-brainer that you’re jealous. Yeah, and what of it? It’s not like you want people to start looking at you as if you shit gold or something, but would it kill someone to notice you every once in a while? What’s Leon got that you don’t? Who’s dick is he sucking to get this many people tailing after him like lost puppies? And where can you meet them? All this who, what, why questioning is starting to hurt your brain, that’s all you know.

It’s hot in your room, and the ceiling fan’s low speed only manages to thrust more warm air towards you. The useless thing never works the way it’s supposed to. Restless, you sit up in your bed, running a hand through your mussed-up hair with an anxious sigh.

The sound of lively chatting and dishes clattering downstairs makes your ears perk, straining to hear what is going on. Something, something about your mom leaving for work soon, something else about your stepdad needing to fix the A/C… you lose interest and stop listening, eyes darting over to the alarm clock beside your bed, messily decorated with stickers and other knick-knacks.

9:04 AM.

It’s a Wednesday, which means both of your parents will be busy. Normally, you’d enjoy a day to yourself, but not this one. Wednesdays, if you’re unlucky, Leon will stay home to invite his friends over, the cute ones that have no personality or self-respect. If you’re lucky, he’ll bring home the ditzy blonde girl and Spanish-speaking man. They’re cute.

Leon definitely fucks the blonde. You’ve seen her press her chest up against his arm and sputter out nonsense as an excuse to get close.

You can’t help but frown at the memory. She’s cute as fuck, and he just sits there like an idiot, nodding along to whatever she was saying, a distant look in his eyes as if he were thinking about something else. What else does he have to think about other than the tits being offered to him on a silver platter? Dick?

Your mom calls out your name, startling you out of your foul mood.

“Come have breakfast!” She says, sounding like she was in the middle of something else way more important than you. You’re grown, you don’t need the reminder— or the attention. Maybe.

You don’t bother changing into something else, simply swiping some invisible lint off of your shirt and pushing back some hair from your face before heading downstairs, the old wood creaking under your weight.

You take the last step down, and Instantly, you’re hit with the smell of bacon and pancakes. Your mouth waters, stomach rumbling. Glancing around, you see your mom walking out the front door, keys in hand. No stepdad, and no Leon either. Either he already ate or he’s still asleep, neither of which you can bother to care about right now. Taking your seat in your respective chair, you began to eat your fill.

A mix of pancakes, strawberries, and bacon are all shoveled into your mouth, fork occasionally scratching against the porcelain of your plate and making you wince. Your mom makes good food. It makes up for all the other stuff she lacks, at least. It’s not like she has to make something good to get you to eat though. Caught up in getting your belly full, you miss the familiar creaking of wood coming downstairs.

“It’s early in the morning and you’re already stuffing your face.”

You feel your heart lurch, the pancakes passing down your throat almost getting stuck. Coughing, you wipe at your mouth with the corner of your sleeve, glaring over at your stepbrother, who isn’t even looking at you. Leon was rummaging through the fridge, snaking his hand in between some condiments to grab a protein shake. The same one his dad takes.

Oh, so he’s talking to you now? Is what’s snarked out in your head, but anxiety makes you flounder, wondering if he was speaking to you or not. Awkwardly, you slow down your movements, fork stabbing into the pancakes you were eating, now soggy with syrup. Eyes dashing up to steal a glance, you almost die right then and there when you accidentally make eye contact, meekly pushing your plate away and standing up to leave.

“What? Don’t want to eat with me or something?” Leon’s sarcastic tone stops you in your tracks, the mere attention making your heart rabbit against your chest— and not in a good way. Shit, man. What do you even say in a situation like this? What do you say at all? It’s not a big deal to most, but it is to you. It’s not like Leon talks to you every day, after all.

You open your mouth to speak, lips dry and tongue heavy.

“I’m just kidding.” He mutters, arm flexing as he rapidly shakes his protein shake, uncapping the drink before taking a swing.

Your words die out immediately, left gaping like a fish out of water. Just kidding? So he didn’t want to talk to you at all? You don’t know if you’re relieved or miserable, but your chest hurts, as if the mere situation has taken years off your lifespan. Gasping quietly, you nod, bunching your sweaty hands up into fists, as if the action would ground you.

“O—oh..‘kay, yeah…” You lick your lips, eyes on the floor beneath your feet. “I mean, would you want me to…?” Trailing off, heat rises to your cheeks, a feeling of inadequacy making you tremble lightly. Oh my god, you’re pathetic. You’re not hurt exactly, but something about him being able to shrug you off so easily like that stings. It’s a bittersweet feeling, but in the worst possible way.

Leon turns his head a little to look at you, his eyebrows pinching. He looks… concerned? No, that’s pity, you think. He’s pitying you, probably thinking about how unfortunate it is that you’re his weird little brother with no friends and social ineptitude. He probably thinks that you want to hang out with him too. You’d rather die, but you felt bad. That’s the only reason you even spoke in the first place. Honest.

“I mean,” you repeat helplessly, feeling as though you were digging yourself into a deeper hole. But your mouth kept running, seemingly out of your control. “I j-just thought that—“

“Uh, yeah. I wouldn’t mind…?” Leon cuts you off, looking back at the food set out on the table, most of it gone now. The sentence sounded forced, like he felt like he had to say it. Not that he needed to. He doesn’t wait for you, sitting down on a chair and serving himself some of the remaining food, occasionally giving you looks. Ones you couldn’t pinpoint the emotion behind. That’s scary. This is scary.

“You… okay?” Leon asks reluctantly. He’d rather be focused on something else right now, like who texted what and whatever, but he has to play the big brother role, right? His attempt at expressing care is lackluster, but at least it’s something. He has to care, but it’s not necessarily a want. If you didn’t look like you were about to shit yourself right now, he’d probably be less attentive, but you’re stuck in place and trembling like a sickly dog, and he’s a little concerned. Just a little.

He doesn’t want to get blamed by your parents for something that happened to you, or anything else like that.

You don’t answer him, and he gets a little creeped out. You don’t blame him, considering how fucking weird you’re being. Anyone, anyone at all talks to you, and you freak out like a girl wearing white on her period. Stomach churning, adrenaline makes you feel like you’re falling, the blood draining from your skin making you look as sickly as you felt. Leon’s worried now, considering the odd look he gives you, any thought of food currently abandoned.

He’s looking at you as if you were covered in blood or something, like Carrie at prom. He raises his brows and his eyes widen, jerking back a little as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. What was he seeing? Are you really that freakish or something? What’s up with his face?

A sudden splatter of liquid against the wooden floors makes you look down, gasping at the sight you’re greeted with.

Pee.

You’re fucking pissing yourself.

Hands clutching at your crotch, you sputter, mortified and embarrassed, tears welling in your eyes. “O—oh! Oh my god, uhm, I- I didn’t mean to…” More liquid gushes. Your bladder has completely lost control of itself in response to your failure at trying to act like a proper human being. You wince at the loud sound, Leon doing the same. He just stares, and you just stare. You both stare at the growing puddle, at the mess, at your ruined pants— at you.

It’s all overwhelming, enough to make you burst into tears. Which you do. Fat, salty drops run down your cheeks, and you resort to the only thing you know how to do in a situation like this. Apologize like a fucking loser.

“I- I’m sorry, I- I didn’t mean… fuck..! Sorry, I’m sorry!”

Leon doesn’t know what to say, really. Does he laugh? Make a face? Offer to help?

He cringes instead, raising a hand to try and stop your babbling. “It’s okay, It’s okay…” He speaks quietly as if trying to console a frantic animal. “Just— just don’t move, you’re… ugh…” He hasn’t even gotten up from his seat yet, but he does now, slowly rising and forgetting about breakfast. That always seems to happen to him somehow.

“Are you done?…” He asks, unsure if he should approach or not, his body tense with confusion. “I mean, with-“

“Yes! Yes,” You sniffle, dreading your existence. You pray to anyone, anything, to just kill you right now. To strike you down. “I— I’m done… I think… don’t look please…”

“It’s all over the floor…” Leon mumbles. Way to point out the obvious. Yes, you know it’s all over on the floor. You know it’ll seep through if you don’t clean it soon. But that’s the last thing on your mind right now. Your stepbrother just watched you piss yourself out of pure gut-wrenching anxiety. How have you not killed yourself yet? Maybe it’s the nerves, the fear of someone else walking in on you in this compromising situation and making a mockery of it. You could see the social media posts now.

‘Some yellow-bellied boy pissed himself because he’s too afraid to make conversation with someone supposed to be a part of his family’.

“I-” You choke, the dryness of your throat making you swallow thickly. “Can you h-help me?” You manage to get out the words, swallowing again. A tear rolls down your cheek, leaving a hot trail of moisture on your already-heated flesh. God, please say yes. You don’t think you could take any more embarrassing exchanges today– much less a rejection. Leon’s eyes flicker from the puddle of urine to the streaks of it running down your pant legs and back, over and over. It’s the one time you wish he could look at your face instead.

“Leon,” You plead, wiping your tears away messily.

“Right, right,” Leon inhales deeply, exhaling slowly to get a grasp of the situation. “yeah.”

He coughs into the sleeve of his letterman, “Can you walk to the bathroom?”

You fluster, brows furrowing.

“Of course I can,” You frown, sniffling. He’s treating you as if you’re mentally challenged, annoyance starting to swell in your chest.

Leon raises a brow, a silent question in his expression. “So do it then?” it says.

After some brief hesitation, you turn and fumble towards the bathroom, grimacing at the uncomfortable feel of your wet pants, the fabric rubbing against your skin nastily and making you feel itchy. You can hear Leon opening and closing some doors behind you, likely peering into the cleaning closet in an attempt to find something to clean the mess you left behind with. Hopefully he doesn’t use bleach, that doesn’t smell well when mixed with pee.

With shaky fingers, you flip the light switch up, illuminating the room in an instant. It smells nice in here ‘cause mom keeps it clean, who uses all sorts of chemicals and powders strong enough to knock anyone out. A whiff of urine makes your face screw up almost immediately though.

With a grunt, you pull your pants down clumsily, the material sliding down your legs with a wet noise after some effort and landing on the floor with a heavy plap. Hopefully the pee washes out. Those were your favorite pants. You follow up by removing your undies, letting them fall carelessly onto the floor beside your pants. Now you’re naked from the waist down, skin prickling with goosebumps. You really need a shower, like, right now.

“Hey,” Leon’s voice comes from behind, startling you. “I finished cleaning the… pee…” He trails off, eyes on your bare ass. For a moment, he stares, eyes eventually rising to your face— only to come down to your ass again. And again, face then ass. Mostly ass.

“Dude!” Your voice wavers, embarrassed. You turn your body to hide, but end up giving him a full view of your front too. “Get out!”

Leon keeps his eyes on you, slowly shutting the door behind him and locking it with a soft click.

“I thought you wanted me to help you?” He says casually, his demeanor incomprehensible to you. He looks down at the discarded clothes on the floor, clicking his tongue and wrinkling his nose. “That’s… nasty.”

You stammer, words lost on you. Leon doesn’t wait for you to use your brain, moving forward, making you feel the need to step back.

“You know, most big brothers wouldn’t help their little brothers at all. Especially for situations like this.” He says quietly, eyes intently on your face now, making you squirm. Your hands clutch together at your front, feebly hiding your penis from view.

“S-so? What’s your point?” You glowered at him suspiciously, trembling with a mix of anxiety and confusion. You can’t help it. You’ve never gone this long talking to someone. It feels weird, but mostly dreadful. Stumbling over your words like a toddler is embarrassing, but they flow out faster than your thoughts can form.

Doesn’t help that your ass is bared too.

“My point is,” Leon rolled his eyes subtly, “you owe me.”

You squint your eyes. What?

“What? Owe you?”

“Owe me.” Leon confirmed with a nod.

Clearing your throat dryly, you lick your lips nervously.

“Okay,” Deep breaths, now, “owe you wh-what, exactly?”

Leon pauses, eyes glancing away for a moment before returning to yours.

“Dunno,” He shrugs. “That’s for me to worry about.”

Another pang of annoyance hits you, but this time it’s mixed with worry, making your chest tighten.

“Well then, are you going to help me or not?” You scowl. It’s unreasonably cold in the bathroom, the lack of warmth making you feel out of place. It feels like you’re talking to a stranger, and technically you are. Still, the only reason you can’t seem to figure anything out about Leon over a shallow level is because he’s annoyingly boring. Stupidly enigmatic; not in a cool way. Yeah, he’s popular in his little group of friends and what not, but that’s all he has going for him. He’s not interesting in the slightest.

Leon’s quiet for a moment, before vaguely gesturing to your top with a hand.

“Go on, get naked.”

“Excuse me?” You narrow your eyes.

“You know what I meant,” Leon counters, rolling his eyes openly now. “You act like I wanna gawk at you or something,” He scoffs, “what’s there to look at, huh?”

You feel heat rise to your cheeks, but you don’t give him the satisfaction of a response, simply grumbling under your breath, hands moving to take your top off.

You throw the shirt down onto the pile of dirty clothes bunched together on the floor, eyes briefly lingering on the graphic design plastered on the front of it. Naked now, you turn and fumble with the shower curtain, pulling it back.

Leon approaches as you step in, reaching for the soap inside the shower caddy.

“What are you doing?” You chew on your bottom lip, tired of asking questions but unable to help the gnawing anxiety strumming through your ribs.

“Helping.” Leon simply states, taking off his jacket and hanging it beside the fresh towels. His biceps flex with every movement he makes, the muscles in his arms well-sculpted. The sight makes you frown, but you have no one but yourself to blame for not having a good physique.

You don’t question further; you don’t want to. All of the previous adrenaline has washed down, leaving exhaustion in its wake. With a quiet hum, you turn on the water, wincing at the cold spray that hits you.

Cursing under your breath, you mess around with the handles until you have a decent temperature, sighing in relief. Despite the uncomfortableness of being thrust into all of this, Leon seems to be taking it well, and that concerns you. What if he’s plotting something? What if you’re put in a stockade tomorrow for people to throw tomatoes at and sodomize?

Well, whatever. He probably has his embarrassing reasons. Any consequences are a problem for future you.

Cold hands make contact with your back, making you squirm. Despite the roughness of his skin, Leon is surprisingly gentle with you, the rough material of a washing rag delicately rubbing against your shoulders making you shiver. The soap smells good, at least. Like pine and some other fresh scent you couldn’t depict. Maybe it’s Irish.

Many thoughts run through your mind, most of them nonsensical and humiliating. Here you are, awkwardly standing still like a loser while your stepbrother helps wash you as if you were a vegetable. The way he touches you is oddly intimate. His hands brush against sensitive spots every few minutes or so, making you shudder.

But it feels nice, you suppose.

It’s nice to feel clean and not be covered with piss.

You close your eyes, tense muscles starting to relax. Leon notices, his hands now lathering shampoo in your hair.

“…you’re a weird one, you know?” He mutters.

You only hum. Yeah, so? He’s weird too. He’s weird for actually helping you out and cleaning your piss puddle off of the floor. And for… whatever this is. It’s definitely not a normal stepbrother activity, that you know. It feels kind of dirty, but the contact feels nice. Nice enough to make you almost melt into the touch. He doesn’t have the right to call you weird, but neither do you.

A hand splays on your chest, lightly squeezing one of your pecs.

Jolting, your eyes snap open. Inching away from the touch, you frown.

“I’m not a girl, pervert.”

“Could have fooled me.” Leon snarked bluntly, squeezing once more. This time he did it apprehensively, as if unsure of what he was doing.

At least he has the decency to properly clean you, thorough in where he reaches. He passes the rag all over your body, down your chest and in between your legs.

A weird flutter settles in your chest, pooling down to your belly. It’s not a special one or anything, it just feels weird. Not bad, not good. Just different. Letting out a shuddered breath, you grumble.

“Just help me to my room already.”

And Leon does. He rinses the suds off of you and drains the water, halfheartedly wrapping a towel around your frame before assisting you out of the shower. He half leads half carries (but mostly carries) you to your room, his body flush against yours, occasionally bumping into you. Something hard pokes at your butt, and you know what it is, but you don’t say anything. Your increase in heart rate does though.

Leon makes you feel small, you figured. He’s not mean to you or demanding, but something about his attentive behavior makes you bashful. It unfortunately makes you want more. Maybe there’s something wrong with you. Maybe mom and dad didn’t love you like you wanted them to. Leon doesn’t either, but this is fine. Any attention is good attention, as long as you can handle it without pissing yourself.

You’re pathetic for that, you know. You’re no bark and no bite, the worst of both worlds.

A towel ruffles your hair, interrupting your thoughts. Face scrunching up, you huff, withstanding the process as best as you could.

“Cold?” Leon asks gruffly, wrapping the towel he was using on your hair around your shoulders, accompanying the other one. It’s wet, but it’s the thought that counts, right?

“Yeah,” You mumble, feeling shy. You’re trying your best to stay strong and confident, but the more the spotlight rests on you, the more vulnerable you feel.

Staring down at your lap, you fiddle with the towels surrounding you, trying not to pay attention to the weight of the spot beside you sagging, Leon’s body warm against your side. It’s odd, you think. His body is warm, but his hands are always cold.

He scoots closer, pausing for a moment when he’s flush against you, hesitating.

The tip of his nose presses against the top of your head, inhaling deeply. You shudder, but don’t move. Leon wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you both back into the bed.

“Smells nice,” He sighs, nosing the crook of your neck. The towels around you loosen their grasp, threatening to expose you completely. He doesn’t seem keen on releasing you any time soon, his movements slow but purposeful, curious. “Better than the pee smell.”

A soft noise escapes you, squirming slightly. “What’s up with you?…” You ask quietly, embarrassed. You know, yeah. He’s hard against your hip, pressing his crotch into you. Has he been hard the entire time? You wouldn’t know that, it’s not like you stare at his crotch 24/7. You know he’s hard right now, but you don’t know why.

“Dunno,” He says, holding you tightly against his chest, face pressing into your throat, “just like how you looked.”

You hum confusedly, an imploring look on your face.

“You know,” He groans, “the stupid look on your face. The one that looks like you got scared shitless. Like when you pissed yourself.”

That doesn’t make any sense, but okay. You don’t question his psyche.

You loll your head back, letting out a small breath. Like a fish on a hook, Leon’s reeled in immediately, his lips planting against the exposed flesh of your neck. He doesn’t kiss though, not yet. He rubs his face against you, like a cat claiming territory or a dog showing affection.

His hand finds your chest, squeezing just like he did at the shower. It makes you furrow your brows in displeasure, chewing on your bottom lip. “Don’t— that’s…” you grunt, “that’s for girls.”

“Feels like a girl’s tits to me,” Leon huffed snidely, ignoring your words and squeezing again. His fingers pinch your nipple lightly, toying with the bud.

His other hand snakes down your body, splaying out over your tummy. “Are all boys this soft?” He hums against your Adam's apple, finally using his lips to kiss at the spot. You mewl, slightly disoriented.

“No…” You close your eyes, “I don’t know… don’t you?”

“I’m not gay.”

You roll your eyes at that, pushing back against the mattress to get comfy.

“Me neither.”

The hand on your tummy trails down, fingers teasing your pubic region. You grunt, thighs spreading a little, a silent invitation. Your heart is pounding against your chest and your skin feels clammy, but this is the most attention you’ve had in days that isn’t coming from yourself.

Sighing heavily, you push your chest into the hand playing with it, feeling impatient.

“Leon…” You sigh again, agitation behind it.

Leon gives in, cupping your cock and balls in his free hand in one go, squeezing gently. He feels you up for a hot minute, grabbing you in his fist and starting to rub the length slowly.

You buck your hips slightly, moaning. The dual stimulation makes you feel all tingly, brain fuzzy with pleasant static. It’s nice enough to make you forget a thing or two, but Leon is being annoyingly slow. Not that you’d vocally complain.

He keeps his face buried in your neck, occasionally pecking at your skin or licking a sensitive spot. The heat of his breath against your already warm flesh makes you sweat. Uncomfortable, you tilt your head to the side.

Leon decides he can’t multitask, removing the hand on your chest to instead use it to tilt your head back to face him, his lips leaving your neck to kiss you on the corner of your mouth.

He pecks and kisses wantonly, but it’s nothing special. You move your mouth to his deliberately, pressing further for a deeper kiss. Leon’s a bit put off by the action, but he follows your lead, soon taking over by slotting his tongue into your mouth, slipping it through your parted lips.

Eyes drooping, you sigh into his mouth, suckling on the wet muscle lazily. Squeezing your thighs together subconsciously, you shudder at the amount of precum that has oozed from your tip to your balls, inner thighs sticky and wet. All this rubbing and squeezing is doing nothing for you, so you whine into Leon’s mouth.

He squeezes your dick in response, making you buck your hips again. But it’s not enough. Too little, too slow.

Panting, you pull back from the kiss, a string of saliva connecting your lips.

“Leon—“

His lips come crashing down into yours again, silencing you. Only making a soft noise of complaint, you go back to suckling on his tongue, pacified. Some part of you wonders if that’s how he jerks off his own cock. It would explain a lot, somehow.

Despite the slow pace, the squeezing and rubbing is a surprisingly nice change from the usual fast pumping you tend to do. It’s not much, but the more Leon does it, the more each squeeze is accompanied by a surge of pleasure, an exciting buzz settling in your tummy.

You start panting, whimpering softly now. Leon catches onto your oncoming orgasm pretty quickly, increasing the pressure in some of the contact while continuing to lick into your mouth all nastily. It’s sloppy and gross, the way you exchange saliva and spit with a man supposed to be your stepbrother. You couldn’t imagine anyone else doing this with you, though.

The lack of oxygen makes you dizzy, but that’s a nice addition to the flurry of sensations strumming through you right now. Moaning, you wrap your arms around Leon, clinging onto him tightly.

He bumps and grinds his cock against your hip, precum staining the front of his pants. He doesn’t seem to be in a rush to fuck you though, content with dry humping your leg like a sniveling chihuahua.

Another squeeze on your cock and the coil snaps without warning, leaving you gasping and moaning into Leon’s mouth while cum spurts out your slit in ropes, each one landing on your tummy.

Leon groans, his lips pressing against yours hard enough to bruise, his hips stuttering against your leg. He humps the last of his own orgasm into you, shuddering as cum seeps through his underwear and onto your skin, the fluid sticky and warm.

Parting from the kiss, you mewl, eyes glazed over with ecstasy and body trembling with delight. For once, the silence with another person is enjoyable, and you couldn’t care less about anything else that has happened today. At least, not at the moment.

You dread the moment you’ll have to talk about what you just did, but right now you’re content. Glancing over at Leon, you worry a little, hoping he didn’t just wanna pump one and dump you to the side. You expected it, but that didn’t particularly mean you wanted it to happen.

He turns his head to look at you, and you frown a little, anxious as to what the expression on his face could mean. He looks like he doesn’t like anything all the time, and it’s stressful.

The look in his eyes is complicated, but you don’t have time to contemplate it. He ducks his head and steals another kiss from you, nipping your bottom lip lightly. You could jump for joy.

“Remember,” He mumbles against your lips, “you still owe me.”

You blink. You would’ve thought that this was what Leon wanted to get from you, but maybe you were wrong. You don’t know if that’s a good thing or not.

“I thought this was?…” You ask confusedly, trailing off.

“Nah,” Leon hums. “this was…” he thinks for a moment, “a tester. Y’know, like tryouts.”

“For what?” You squint, licking your lips and tasting the slight metallic tang from the nip.

Leon shrugs. He’s unsure of what he really wants here— with you, that is. He doesn’t want to think about it, not when all he wants to do is rest in post-orgasmic haze.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks instead, eyes examining your face, trying to get a read of your expression.

You think for a moment, before mirroring his shrug.

“No, not really.”

[andypantsx3]

realized i was making too-slow progress on the a/b/o collab fic bc i was pantsing it, retroactively went back and planned it. now having creation ideas above my skill level.

gonna try my best to deliver but it's def turned into a chapter fic; please send your strongest thots n prayerz!!!!

[nanowrimo]

Pro Tips from a NaNo Coach: How to Write a Novel in 30 Days

NaNoWriMo can seem like a daunting task sometimes, for NaNo newbies and veterans alike. Fortunately, our NaNo Coaches are here to help guide you through November! Today, author Adiba Jaigirdar is here to share her advice on how to set yourself up for noveling success:

Welcome to the very first week of NaNoWriMo! I’ve done NaNoWriMo for (almost) every year since 2008. I’ve won some, I’ve lost some, but I’ve learned a lot along the way. In fact, I apply a lot of the tactics I learned in NaNoWriMo to all my writing. When I wrote my second book, Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating, I ended up with a first draft of 74,000 words written in 30 days. That wasn’t something I would have thought possible in 2008 when I was slogging through my very first 50,000-word novel. That’s why I’m here today to share with you a few tips and tricks I’ve picked up through my writing journey, in the hopes that they serve you and your novel this November: 

1. Accountability 

One of the most difficult parts of writing a novel is that it requires so much self-discipline. It’s not like a job you show up to where your boss is holding you accountable for how many words you’ve written. Only you are ultimately responsible for how much you get done—which is why it’s easy to get demotivated and give up. So, you need to figure out ways in which you can be accountable for your novel this month.

You’ll be glad to hear that you’ve already taken the first step in doing this: you’ve pledged to do NaNoWriMo. You’re here, ready to write. But you can go a step further: ask your friends and family to hold you accountable by checking in on your progress during the month. If you have friends who are doing NaNoWriMo that’s even better; you can hold each other accountable. If you’re on social media, you can share updates every day and be accountable to your followers. There are a lot of ways to do it; so figure out what kind of accountability works best for you! 

2. Planning 

Planning a novel is definitely not for everyone. This is coming from someone who has pantsed many books! Planning can look different for different people. If you are a true-blue plotter, you might have your entire novel planned from beginning to end, with comprehensive chapter outlines. But if you’re not someone who plots out your entire novel before you’ve written a single word, planning is still important.

This planning can look like a rough outline of your book or finishing your writing day and jotting down a few quick ideas of what to write when you come back to writing the next day, or it can be leaving yourself voice memos as ideas spark when you’re nowhere near your novel. Going into every new day of writing without any idea of what the blank page will hold is very, very daunting, which is why planning ahead can be just the motivation that you need to fulfill your word count goal for the day. 

3. Figure out what works for you 

I have published four books so far and I’ve written many more. The process of writing each of these books has been very different. I drafted one in three months, one in 30 days, one was completely plotted with a rigorous outline, while one was plotted with a flexible outline, and two were completely pantsed. What I’ve learned about myself is that to make a book work, sometimes I have to try something different.

The only thing NaNoWriMo requires of you is to write those 50,000 words. How you go about it depends on you. You don’t have to write every single day if that doesn’t work for you. You can write at the same time every day, or a different time every day depending on what sparks your creativity. You don’t have to participate in writing sprints if writing with a countdown doesn’t help you focus. The point is that now’s your time to figure out what works for you and what doesn’t. You might be surprised by what methods you swear will never work for you but ends up helping you over that finish line. 

4. Have fun!

This is easier said than done, but try to enjoy writing your novel. Especially when it feels difficult. When I wrote 74,000 words in 30 days, it felt like a breeze because I was having a lot of fun with my book. Try to remember what makes you excited about your novel and go back to that when it’s tough. If writing is what you love, find the joy of it and nurture it throughout this month. The more you enjoy it, the more likely you are to keep writing.

Adiba Jaigirdar is the award-winning, critically-acclaimed and bestselling author of The Henna Wars, Hani and Ishu’s Guide to Fake Dating, A Million to One, and The Dos and Donuts of Love. A Bangladeshi/Irish writer and former teacher, she has an MA in Postcolonial Studies and a BA in English and History. She is the winner of the YA book prize 2022, the KPMG Children’s Books Ireland Awards 2021, and was a finalist for the 2022 Lambda Literary awards. When not writing, she is probably ranting about the ills of colonialism, playing video games, or expanding her overflowing lipstick collection.

[writingwithfolklore]

Planning or Pantsing?

                When I was younger I was totally a first-draft pantser. I would just write like the wind, get all my ideas out onto the page, and then pick it apart in the editing and form some sort of cohesive narrative. At least in theory.

                For those of you who don’t know, pantsing is the technique writers use where they start writing a draft without outlining and see where the story takes them. It has advantages in that you don’t have to worry about creating a fully formed plot before you begin writing, and there’s a lot of room for spontaneity and fun.

                However, I began to find that pantsing my first draft made it incredibly long and overall ended in more work and effort in the long run. I ended up having to work through pages and pages of stuff without knowing which parts were usable or not. I also personally found that I would create a lot of ‘darlings’ in this first draft that I would have a hard time cutting out to create narrative later—the point of the story would actually be several stories I had tried to mash all together.

                Pantsing definitely works for some writers, and I know a lot of professional writers use this technique as well, so if you feel like it works best for you, don’t doubt yourself.

                The advantages of planning are a lot more helpful to me. Knowing where your story is going throughout keeps me on track, and creates less scenes to cut out in the end. I also feel that elements of the narrative weave together a bit more naturally—I don’t forget motifs or storylines like I do when pantsing.

                In the end, how you write is entirely up to you. However, if you’ve always been a pantser, try planning out your next draft. If you always plan ahead, try just opening a document and writing as you think. You might find the other side actually works a whole lot better for you.

                How do you prefer to write?

[wedgie-stories]

On a nice warm Friday morning, Jacob was on a bus heading to a small village for a class trip.

He was sitting next to his friends, talking with them. Clay was his best friend, and they did everything together. Nick was an excellent friend but not as close as Clay. They talked about how much fun they would have exploring the town.

When they finally arrived, they started getting off the bus. The teachers gathered them in a circle and divided them into groups of five.

The boys were hoping to stay together, as they requested before the day of the trip. They were lucky enough to stay together, but the other two boys assigned to their group were not to their liking. The other two were Tyler and John. Both of them were jerks towards the boys. They occasionally bullied them by doing little pranks, but nothing crazy, just obnoxious stuff. The teachers passed out a paper with a scavenger hunt on it. The hunt required the groups to go to specific locations to find answers and take photos of particular places. The trick was that the questions were riddle forms, for it was a fun challenge. The first group to finish the hunt and get all the answers right won a prize.

So, all the groups set off to begin. Now, Jacob and his friends were defined as nerds. They played Dungeons and Dragons and Chess and were always at the top of their class in grades. Tyler and John told them they better win this for the group, or there could be consequences.

They were doing well and making good progress as the day progressed until a group of girls were at one of the stops. They got the clue and photo before the boy's group. This made Tyler angry; he couldn’t lose to a bunch of girls, especially his crush. Tyler saw Clay crouched, bending over, reading something, but what caught his eye was the white waistband sticking out of his shorts. Tyler walked up behind him and pulled on the waistband with some strength. Clay let out a loud yelp, catching everyone around's attention. All the girls started laughing and pointing at Clay, who was about to break down. Jacob saw what was going on and was enraged. Tyler dropped him and walked over to chat with the girls. John walked over to Clay to make matters worse; he grabbed Clay’s shorts and pantsed him. Everyone busted out laughing again at the sight of his tighty whities on full display.

Jacob ran up to him and began to check and comfort him. Jacob was hugging Clay, but he was staring at the two boys, plotting in his head.

As they progressed, they came to their next stop. Jacob found the next clue to the scavenger hunt: a quote on a plaque on the wall. He had to reach and stretch out and up with a piece of paper to hold it over the writing. He began frottaging the words to the paper. Well, as he was doing that, Tyler took this opportunity to go ahead and embarrass him as well. Tyler walked up behind as John was recording with his phone. Tyler grabbed onto Jacob’s shorts and pulled them down to his ankles. Jacob was now exposed in his navy blue Calvin Klien briefs from the waist down. Jacob rushed to pull his shorts back up, and afterward, he looked around and saw the two punks laughing at him.

Clay immediately came over to Jacob to check on him. Jacob told Clay that they would get them back but wasn't sure how yet.

Once again, the group moved on to continue the hunt. As Jacob was walking, he saw a maintenance cart with a bag of zip ties on it. He thought those might be useful later, so he snatched a few from the bag.

The group approached the part of town that seemed to be the judicial area. There was a courthouse-looking building, and in front of it were two stocks. That's when a light bulb went off in Jacobs's head. He immediately turned to Clay and Nick and told him he had an idea. He told them the plan, and they all agreed to it.

Tyler and John never participated in the assignment, so they had no idea what the paper looked like or the clues. So Clay started to talk about things they needed for this location. He then started talking about the famous outlaws caught in the town. That caught Tyler and John's attention. The Shirtless Snakes, was what they were called Clay, stated. The Snakes would charm the ladies with their muscle shirtless bodies, and the other would take their money out of their purses. Then Jacob chimed in that's what the next objective is! It’s a photo of two guys in the stocks replicating them.

Tyler and John looked at each other and then at the group, saying it needed to be them. Jacob stated that we can't have a bunch of nerdy guys in nerdy underwear representing our group. The two of them walked up to the stocks and opened them. Nick said wait, you two need to be shirtless! They weren't called the Shirtless Snakes for no reason. Both were hesitant at first but then took their shirts off. They then placed their head and arms into the stocks. Once in place, Nick and Jacob closed the top to hold them in place. Clay was grinning ear to ear at the two bullies. Tyler saw him and said what twurp. Clay just laughed and said you'll see as he said that; both bullies heard the sound of zip ties. Nick and Jacob placed zip ties through the holes the lock would usually go. Tyler began to yell at the boys, saying if you all don't let us go now, you'll regret it. Jacob started to laugh. I think it's our turn to embarrass you two he said as he began to walk behind them. Tyler and John couldn't see behind them because they were trapped in the stocks. They struggled to break free but had no luck.

That's when Tyler pleaded, saying they were sorry; it was all a joke. Jacob told them, “Well, guys, then this is all a joke.” As he said that, he grabbed both sides of Tyler’s shorts and yanked them down to his ankles.

Jacob busted out laughing, mocking Tyler. You said the two of you needed to be in the photo because we wore nerdy underwear, yet here you are in white briefs with a red waistband and piping, Jacob said.

Well, let's see what John decided to wear. Jacob then pulled down John’s shorts, exposing his blue and black plaid boxerbriefs. Clay looked at Tyler and told him you might want to keep your mouth shut about people’s nerdy underwear. Those are worse than tighty whities. 

Tyler then threatened to beat Clay when he got free. Clay’s response just sweetened the situation for Tyler and John. Clay walked behind them and took the boy's shorts off the rest of the way. Then he took their shoes and socks off. So now both boys were locked in the stocks in just their underwear. As if Tyler didn't learn his lesson from the first time, he kept running his mouth. That's when Jacob approached Clay and grabbed both of John’s socks. He then placed a sock in Tyler’s mouth to shut him up. Of course, he couldn't leave John out and gagged him as well. Clay said I think that's good now; let's snap some photos for our scavenger hunt. They began taking pictures of Tyler and John. Nick had an idea; he pulled a piece of paper out and started writing on it. Nick then took it to the stocks and stuck it between the two boys. He then returned to Jacob and Clay and looked at his handy work. The sign read, “Wedgie Us!”.

As the boys were taking pictures and laughing, they became oblivious to the group of girls coming up behind them. The girls startled them when they began laughing and taunting the two in the stocks. They asked if they did this to them. Jacob responded we did! Tyler’s crush, Jessica, walks over and behind him. She then proceeds to tell Tyler how pathetic he is to get taken advantage of by three little nerds. Also, of course, how pitiful he looks in his little manties. She then grabbed onto the back of his waistband and began pulling upwards. Tyler started moaning in his gag from the pain.

Tyler thought to himself, how did he get into this predicament again? The last time he experienced something like this was on Halloween. He was left tied up in just his tighty whities to a roll of carpet with melting chocolate in the front of his briefs. (See Haunted House Wedgie Story.) Jacob, Clay, and Nick decided it was time to continue the hunt as they wanted to win. But Clay, still being mischievous, had the boys' clothes. As they walked through the town, they came across a well. Clay decided to throw the boy's clothes down it.

The day had ended, and they were sitting on the bus, waiting to return home. That's when they saw Tyler and John walking back to the bus in just their underwear. They were being escorted by staff and teachers. They got on the bus and were told to sit in the front seats.

Tyler and John didn't rat the boys out; instead, they were going to get revenge.

……To be continued, if I get good feedback and it is liked.

[venomous-qwille]

Do you know the ending to a fic when you start writing it? How far do you plan ahead? Ive been trying to write a fic and I can’t get myself to start it because I only know the set up so far and don’t want to abandon it. Feel free to ignore if this is overstepping!

For me, I find it much easier to write a fic knowing how it will end. Planning and pantsing are both valid writing styles 100% and its most important to do what works best for you, but for me I like to have my main story beats planned out and use that as scaffolding to write the rest of the story. This helps give me motivation to write and I believe it makes for a better narrative in the long run! For GITM I have most of the main story beats for the fic written down, as well as a number of notes for the epilogue. So far, this has helped me a lot!