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Every writer has two sides:

"I love my characters, they are my children and will protect them with my life"

"I wanna make them suffer so fucking much"

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Posting the final chapter of a fic is always a mixture of sadness that it’s over but also pride that you made it. You wrote a thing nobody else in the world has written ever

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Safehouse

Damn this perspective but I just can’t stop drawing them.

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got your six, partner

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Clintasha Fanfic Rec

It all went down in that motel.

I'd grabbed groceries earlier and stopped by reception to extend my stay before heading back to my room. Nothing fancy about it, just a regular room on the second floor, with a squeaky mattress and a leaky tap. Not that these little annoyances were going to bother me much that evening; I was wiped out from those four days in the trenches, way more than I would've been before my summer trip.

I'd mentioned earlier that I thought Coulson was full of it with his ‘temporary incapacities’, and turns out, I was unfortunately right. Being in peak condition still felt as far off as the moon.

Anyway, I slid the key in the lock, turned it, opened the door—and froze right the hell out of my mind.

There she was, sitting on the edge of the bed in that dim motel room, looking up at me with a composure that starkly contrasted my own deer-in-the-headlights expression.

We stayed like that for a beat—maybe a few seconds, maybe a lifetime—before she cracked a small, warm smile. Suddenly, I remembered how to move. In two great strides I crossed the room and wrapped her up in a hug so tight, I never wanted to let go again.

A million questions spun around in my head. How and why and what the hell, but all that came out of my mouth were a bunch of muffled "Oh God"s and "Good Lord"s as I squeezed her close. Time stood still in that moment, suspended in a bubble of disbelief and joy and utter, unadulterated relief.

I pulled back just enough to see her face, to make sure she was real and not just some cruel figment of my imagination, then embraced her again, burying my face in her hair and breathing in her familiar scent.

“Oh God,” I repeated, sounding like a broken record and not caring one bit, my body unable to process this onslaught of emotions. To hell with keeping face—I didn't give a damn about anything except the fact that she was here, in my arms, alive.

Read on: Ao3

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Fanfic writers are like crows. If you give them treats (comments) they will bring you shiny things (fanfic)

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Coulson took a sip, his eyes speaking volumes even if his mouth stayed shut. I could feel the judgment, but he surprised me by not pushing. Instead, he simply nodded and settled into a quiet contemplation, nursing his drink alongside me.

I've said it before, but it bears repeating: I've never met someone as unfailingly composed as him. His patience often verged on boredom, but he was always ready to put out any emotional wildfires I started. And trust me, there have been a lot of those over the years. Phil Coulson has stood by my side through every single one.

For a while, that was the whole story.

I could tell you how much I thought of Natasha, how much I missed her and how my dreams of a life together were crumbling right before my eyes, but honestly, I wasn't thinking much of anything.

You don't hit the bottle to think straight. You drink to forget, to numb down, to escape. So that’s what I did, one glass after another. The bar guy kept 'em coming, Coulson kept 'em pouring, and I kept on knocking 'em back until I was so deep in the whiskey, I couldn't even see straight.

After a long while, Coulson finally broke the silence. "You need a breather, Clint. Step away from this, clear your head. I can keep you updated."

All I could do was scoff at the suggestion. "Keep me informed? About what? Her memorial arrangements? And where exactly would I go? The beach? The mountains? Maybe I should take up knitting while I'm at it?" My voice was dripping with sarcasm. "This isn't some stupid rom-com where I go on a soul-searching adventure and come back with a whole new lease on life! I just lost my partner, I just lost the woman I—"

My voice trailed off, choked by the lump in my throat. I couldn't finish the sentence.

You can probably guess what I was about to say, just as Phil Coulson likely did, but it wasn't until that moment that I myself truly owned up to it. I'm not sure at which point exactly I fell in love with Natasha… only that it took a griever's heart for me to realize how deeply it ran.

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Thanks for the tag @alphaflyer!

Are you named after anyone? Not that I know of.

When was the last you cried? When I watched Society Of Snow on Netflix.

Do you have kids? Nope.

What sports do you play/have you played? Competitive cross-country horseback riding.

Do you use sarcasm? Every day.

What is the first thing you notice about people? Their teeth. It comes with the job.

What is your eye color? Brown.

Scary movies or happy endings? Scary!

Any talents? Hopefully! I have a good analytical mind and love creating stuff.

Where were you born? In a hospital.

What are your hobbies? Leather working, long-distance hiking, horseback riding, climbing, pretty much everything that can be done outdoors. And writing fanfic, lol.

Do you have any pets? I have a sausage dog and a horse.

How tall are you? 175cm.

Favorite subject at school? English. Mine was always good, so I never had to study for it.

Dream job? Geez, wherever the money grows.

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Fanfiction writing asks: 2, 12, 25

Yay, thanks for asking!

2. Where do you get your fic ideas?

The most random corners of the universe, honestly. Beyond The Walls Of Sleep came to me while playing Dead Space and theorizing the suit mechanics compared to Tony Stark's Iron Man. It ended up a three part AU starting during the Battle of Manhattan and stretching all the way up to CA:CW.

When I read Stephen King's Misery, it sparked the idea for 4 Strong, which eventually morphed into a post-apocalyptic road trip with a focus on found family dynamics.

A Walk Down Lafayette Street actually originated from Pinterest suggestions on how to conservatively stabilize a hip fracture. Sounds random, right? That's because it is. I have no idea how the algorithm decided that was relevant to my interests, but somehow it turned into a first-person time-travel romance with plenty of twists and turns along the way. In which nobody breaks their hip, in case you were wondering.

12. Do you outline your fics? If yes, how detailed are your outlines? How far do you stray from them?

For me, it all starts with a simple prompt that lingers in the back of my mind until it grows into a scene. I may jot it down or just keep it in my head. If it sparks more ideas or makes me curious about other aspects, I know it has potential to become a Big Project.

That's when I start outlining and coming up with a rough plot from beginning to end. I do tend to deviate from my original plan as I get caught up in rewrites and edits, though. In fact, my latest work has gone through five rewrites so far, and now I've discovered a sixth version that intrigues me even more.

That's why I like to include a "Behind The Scenes" and "Deleted Content" section at the end of my stories; it gives me a chance to share some of the ideas that didn't make it into the final draft.

25. What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

Hm, tough one.

I like outlining, but I only really enjoy it when I can brainstorm with another person; unfortunately, these days it's rare for me to find someone to bounce ideas off of.

Writing is a love-hate relationship for me. There are times when the story just leaks out of my brain like a burst dam, but there are also tortuously long dry spells where every word feels like it's being dragged out of me with a pair of rusty pliers.

Editing is where the magic really happens. I can sit and obsess for days about using one word over another, polishing up dialogue, and sometimes even rewriting entire scenes or overarching plot points. It's the crucial stage where I'm almost finished...or about to start from scratch again.

I have a really hard time saying ‘Okay, I am done, this is it’ and just publish my work. And of course, once it's out there, I almost always seem to notice typos, grammatical errors, and glaring mistakes that somehow slipped through my twenty-five prior rereads.

But what I do enjoy is going back and revisiting my works after some time has passed—enough that I can't remember everything I've written. I might read a passage or two and think… but what if?

And a new fic is born. :)

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Fanfiction Writing Asks

Do you daydream a lot before you write, or go for it as soon as the ideas strike?

Where do you get your fic ideas?

Do you share your fic ideas, or do you keep them to yourself?

How do you choose which fics to write?

How many wips do you have?  What fandoms/pairings are they for?

What’s the last line you wrote?

Post a snippet from a wip.

Post an out-of-context spoiler from a wip.

Does this word [chosen by asker] appear in your current wip?

Do you work on multiple wips or stick to one fic at a time?

Do you write scenes in order, or do you jump around?

Do you outline your fics?  If yes, how detailed are your outlines?  How far do you stray from them?

Do you listen to music while you write?  If yes, what have you been listening to recently?

What is your favorite location and position to write in?

What’s your favorite time to write?

Do you write by hand, on your phone, or on your laptop?

Do you have a writing routine?

Do you enjoy research?  Which fic of yours required the most research?

Do you enjoy creating OCs or do you prefer to stick solely to canon characters?

Do you prefer writing AUs or canon fics?

Do you prefer writing chaptered fics or one-shots?

Do you title your fics before, during, or after the writing process?  How do you come up with titles?

Is writing the beginning, middle, or end of the story easiest? Hardest?

How do you choose whose POV to write in?

What’s your favorite part of the writing process (worldbuilding, brainstorming/outlining, writing, editing, etc)?

What’s your least favorite part of the writing process?

What area of writing do you feel strongest in?

What area of writing do you want to improve in?

What’s something about your writing that you’re proud of?

How much do you edit your fics?  Do you edit as you write or wait until you finish the first draft?

Do you use a beta reader/editor?

Do you take fic requests?  Why or why not?

Is there a specific word count that you hold yourself to/enjoy writing the most?

How much of your personal life/experience do you include in your fics?

What’s your favorite fic you’ve posted?

What fic are you proudest of?

What fic has been the hardest for you to write?

What is your most self-indulgent posted story?

What’s your most self-indulgent wip?

What is your favorite world that you’ve created for a fic?

Who’s your favorite character you’ve written?

What’s your favorite title that you’ve come up with?

Is there a trope or idea that you’d really like to write but haven’t yet?

What is your favorite genre to write?

What genre/trope do you tend to write the most?

If you could only write one type of AU for the rest of your life, what would it be?

Is there a trope that you’ve written before but are now sick of?

Who is your favorite character to write for?  Has this changed since you’ve started writing for that fandom?

What fic of yours would you say is the best introduction to you as a writer?

How would you describe your writing style?

Does what you like to write differ from what you like to read?

What’s the average word count of your fics?

What is the most-used tag on your ao3?

What’s the fandom/pairing distribution of your posted fics?

Have you noticed any patterns in your fics?  Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common settings, etc?

Are there any fics that you would change or rewrite if given the chance?

How conscious are you about including symbolism or foreshadowing in your fics?

Do you have a favorite piece of figurative language you’ve written?

Have you participated in any fic events/writing challenges?  If yes, what were they and did you enjoy them?

In [insert fic], what inspired the idea for the plot?

In [insert fic], what’s your favorite scene that you wrote?

In [insert fic], is there a deleted scene/idea you wish you could have included?  Why did it get cut?

What was the hardest part of writing [insert fic]?

If you rewrote [insert fic] now, would you change anything?

If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would happen in it?

What’s a fun fact about [insert fic]?

If a fic was titled [insert made up title], what would this story be about/how would you write it?

Are there any fics that influenced you to write the way you do?

What are your favorite fics at the moment?

Are you subscribed to any writers on AO3?

Do you spend more time reading or writing?

What’s your favorite writing compliment you’ve gotten?

What do you tend to get complimented on the most about your writing?

Do you have a fic you wish got a bit more love?

Is there a particular fic that readers gravitated towards that you didn’t expect?

How do you deal with writing pressure, whether internal or external?

Why do you enjoy writing fanfiction?

What motivates you during the writing process?

Do you have any writing advice you want to share?

Free space - asker can come up with any writing or fic-related question they want!

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Clintasha Fic Excerpt

The idea of jumping through time like in comic books and movies may seem exciting, but it’s not as smooth or without consequences as they make you believe. People are not meant to fuck with the laws of nature like that. The past doesn’t want to be changed, and it will ruin anyone who tries.

I can say this with absolute certainty, because I’ve experienced it first-hand now.

Coming out of the haze was a long and drawn-out affair, and it seemed to me like four lifetimes rather than the four weeks they had me perpetually hooked up to EKGs and EEGs and any number of other colorful medical acronyms, pumping me with enough phenobarbital to sedate at least a grown elephant.

I guess they were afraid I was going to come around and damage myself further, which was exactly what happened every time they tried to decrease the dose or wean me off it. I remember feeling like there was something terribly important I needed to do, that the whole world was depending on me to do this one thing or else the ramifications would be catastrophic.

I was thinking of Natasha of course, of saving her, of bringing her back to the present or returning to 1953 and staying there with her forever.

I would have died for her if that was what it took. READ HERE

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Clintasha Fic Rec

James Barnes was there, a Thompson submachine gun nestled in the crook of his arm. It was pointed at us, and his finger flitted nervously above the trigger.

"Put down that briefcase, lady," he grunted, "or else I'll shoot it right out of your pretty little hands."

I knew right away that he wasn't joking. Natasha must have felt the same way because Stark's attaché hit the ground a moment later.

"Now step away from it," Barnes ordered, giving a sideways flick with the tommy’s muzzle. He flinched as he made the motion, probably from my earlier hit. I hoped that gunshot wound hurt like a bitch. We did as he wanted, though. He stared between us. "Who do you work for? CIA? FBI? You ain’t Brits, and the Krauts wouldn’t dare."

I said nothing. Neither did Natasha. Barnes pointed the tommy at me and fired a couple rounds into the dead grass near my feet.

“That jog your memory, pal?"

The only thing it jogged was my patience. What did he think? That I’d go over my employment agreement with him just because he played the guns game? I’d kept quiet under worse odds. But then Natasha suddenly stepped forward. Barnes immediately pointed the rifle at her, but she calmly gestured for him to back off. She had a slight smirk on her lips.

“Ne strelyat',” she said in an accent I hadn’t heard from her in years. “Moscow sends us, tovarishch. All on Bezukhov’s orders. Now drop that gun or you'll end up getting yourself a free pass to Kolyma. We’re on the same side here."

Barnes didn’t drop it, but the statement threw him long enough for me to pull out my own pistol. I fired two shots in rapid succession, not aiming to hit, just trying to buy us time. Natasha appeared on my left with her Makarov at the ready. Still, Barnes had the Thompson, and thus the trump card in the weapons distribution. A mere twitch of his finger and that submachine gun would pelt us worse than the Swiss did their cheese.

"You ain’t no more Russian than I’m a cotton picker!" he sneered, leveling the tommy back at us. "One last time! Who ya workin for?!"

"A guy with a really bad temper," I said, and shot.

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Some more Natasha sketches because why not? XD  Need to put my depression to work.  Leave a comment if you can ^^ I love reading them and believe it or not, it helps tremendously 

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Everyone should read their own fanfics recreationally tbh this shit fucking rules. It's like the author knows exactly what I like.

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do it.

You gotta read wips. You gotta read stories that have been abandoned or haven't been updated in weeks, months, years. You have to give a story a chance even on the chance it never gets finished. The biggest reason besides personal stuff for a story to get abandoned is the lack of engagement. A comment is sometimes all it needs for a new chapter, even years later. Read that wip from 2017 that never saw the final chapter. Leave a comment that you loved it. Subscribe to the story. Sometimes you need to appreciate the things that never got finished, and perhaps make an author's day that someone loved their story despite that. Comment on wips. Comment on every chapter. It makes a difference.

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"Stay put," Natasha told me as she got out. "You look like you just went toe-to-toe with Mike Tyson. Let me handle this."

I wanted to argue that Tyson wasn't even born yet, but of course she was right. Barnes had done quite a number on me, and his handiwork was beginning to tinge a darker shade of rainbow. It would be better if she was the one going inside.

"Okay," I conceded, watching as she adjusted the collar on her jacket (I wasn't the only one who had taken a beating) and made her way into the station. She walked with a slight limp, hopefully just from her nap in the cramped backseat of our Ford. It may have been big enough to make out in, but it certainly wasn't comfortable for sleeping.

I got out of the car and unscrewed the gas cap to start filling up with premium grade fuel. At 30 cents a gallon, I didn't mind splurging. Glancing over at the store, I watched Natasha chatting casually with the clerk. Well, she was doing most of the talking; the creep just ogled her like a twelve year old about to have his first orgasm. I doubt he’d ever seen a woman like Natasha before. She was about six-hundred light years out of his league. Plus, she was strictly off-limits. She was my girl now.

I smiled at that, letting the phrase roll around in my mind. My girl. That sounded good. That sounded damn good.

READ ON