#hopefully I’ll be able to finish the prompts I’ve still got in my inbox soon!!

[finleycannotdraw]

Okay I have to ask. Kisses on the jaw? Pretty please?

39) jaw kisses

they’re sweet and it’s everything to me

[secret-rendezvous1d]

how about an alex first christmas home with his wife or gf? if your uncomfortable writing this prompt i completely understand

Hello, hi!

Welcome to Blogmas 2020. A couple of days later than I promised, and I apologise for that, but here we are. 

Hopefully, the idea of how Blogmas 2020 is planned out will become a little clearer than how my very poor explanations explained it, haha.

Many more blurbs, many more chats and a lot more festivities to come; my inbox will be open all through December this year for blurb prompts for Blogmas so don’t feel afraid to pop in a prompt to get written for tis year; all I can say is that if you’re asking for a lengthy prompt, I’m not the right person right now, haha. 

I’m welcoming absolutely anything for this year; any AU, any characters, any ideas.

Reblog, like, comment and share your thoughts with me. Please let me know what you think because feedback is always appreciated on here; much more appreciated now given that I’ve not written a lot in a long while. Please let me know what you think.

Enjoy! 

A song to listen to throughout the second scene; Bing Crosby, I’ll Be Home For Christmas

“Look at the size of those toms,” Alex gushed in awe, rushing from his place at the kitchen cabinet, where the kettle was whistling on the stove, to grab the woven basket full of fresh garden vegetables from his wife’s arms, saving a couple of apples and pears from becoming bruised by the floor. “They’re massive.”

“There’s something in the soil, I think,” YN teased, wiping her soil-covered fingertips on the pink and white polka-dot apron tied around her waist. Traces of wet mud and dry soil clinging to the material, tiny specks falling to the floor but nothing bad enough that couldn’t be sweeped with the brush and pan. “You should see some of the runners growing in the corner. Nice and long, they are. Perfect for dinner tomorrow eve.”

“How are the potatoes coming along?”

“They’re good, I was going to dig them and the carrots up tonight before the nighttimes cold comes in,” she said softly, standing beside her husband as he unpacked the fruit and placed them in the empty fruit bowl. The kettle coming to a gentle boil, soon being warm enough for them to make a warm cup of tea to drink by the fire to warm themselves up.

The vegetables left in the basket - varying from cabbage and cauliflower to Brussels sprouts and onions - needed a good brush down and a wash under water but looked good enough to enjoy as part of their meal the next day. A meal that would be enjoyed by her parents, Alex’s parents and a couple of good friends who hadn’t had time to make it back home for Christmas, missing the last train out of London for a few days and unable to find a kind-hearted soul to take them two hours up north. It was also a meal that YN had been panicking over for almost the entire month of December… her first time cooking a Christmas dinner and she wanted it to be as perfect as possible to end a year that needed some cheer.

With the war coming to an end, for a second time, she felt safe and happy. Much safer and much happier than the last time a war was declared to have finished.

Maybe it was the fact that the four-year long terror of air raid sirens and bombings and unexpected blackouts had come to its end; maybe it was the fact that Britain had won the war and there was no more fear to live by; maybe it was the fact that her husband had been one of the lucky ones to come home safe and sound, able to celebrate Christmas as normal without worry that he was going to be called back to fight in the trenches and on the frontline; maybe it was the fact that everything was slowly going back to how it had been and life was on track to getting better.

“Dad’s always saying they taste and cook the best after a night in the cold,” Alex shrugged, taking a bite of an apple and feeling the juice trickle down his chin, something that YN’s thumb caught and wiped away, “I’ll go and dig them up tomorrow morning.”

“I wanted to start peeling and cutting them now,” she frowned, looking at him with furrowed brows, “go dig them up for now, please, darling?”

He mirrored her expression and folded his arms, half-bitten apple still in his hand, a smile toying his lips.

“Do I have to? It’s getting cold out there, I’ve got no jumper on and I’ve just put the kettle on,” he playfully whined, pouting his lips.

Her own eyebrows furrowed deeper on her browline, a silent plea for him to do what she said because she was stressing enough and didn’t want to be panicking so early tomorrow morning. All along he was going to do what she asked him to do, no word of a lie, but he found pure enjoyment in giving her the idea he had no intentions of helping. He placed his half-eaten apple on the kitchen counter and took a step towards her.

“Alright, as long as you do me the best cup of tea possible.”

“Of course, aren’t all my cups of tea the best?” To which he nodded and she grinned, squeezing his cheek and leaving a blush pink behind on his cheekbone, “I love you.”

“I love you the most,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her cold forehead, reaching around her to grab the basket and tuck it under his arm, “I’ll have a look at these nice, long runners you’ve been speaking so highly about, too.”

*

“Mum called earlier. She’s grown some strawberries and rhubarb and said she was making a pie for our dessert tomorrow. I told her that with how hard you’ve been working with the garden, on all the veggies, we won’t need a pudding to eat because we’ll be so full of Christmas dinner,” Alex chuckled, peering over the newspaper in his hands to catch a glimpse of a smile on her lips, eyes still trained to the book she was reading in the gentle, almost, silence.

The radio crackled quietly in the background of the living room, playing a Christmas song that had a frequent place on the station they had programmed to work properly. Adding a sense of merriment to the room they were sat in; tinsel hanging on a scarce Christmas tree, with ornaments made from paper and cardboard, and Christmas cards on the windowsill from family and friends. There wasn’t much they could do but it was enough for them.

“Your mum makes a good pie though,” YN admitted, placing her finger between the pages she’d gotten to, “she didn’t have to do that though. She’s already done a lot for me this year and the last four so tomorrow is, kind of, all about giving back to her and your dad and my parents, too.”

Alex’s family had been a huge constant in her life during the wartime.

His mother had been non-stop on the phone with her about new gardening tips that her friends had told her about and seeds to share amongst themselves to grow a healthy batch of fruits to bake with - because they baked, a lot, and his mother had sent her back home with a brain full of new treats to bake and recipes to try out - and they took care of a flower patch in the front garden of Alex’s home, which seemed to pass the time. His father had been just as helpful to her, whenever he wasn’t in factories or working in machinery, coming by to put shelves up for her or to fix a hole in the roof that had begun to leak. Always popping by with a loaf of bread from the bakery and a tin of meat, that YN would put together as a sandwich and they’d eat until he knew his wife would be questioning his whereabouts. They allowed her to stay when she was feeling lonely, always looked out for her during the raids and insisted she stayed with them to wait it out, always insisting that she stayed with them until Alex was home so she wasn’t suffering with loneliness or panicking when blackouts occurred.

It had always been his mother cooking a Christmas dinner, promising she didn’t have to do anything but sit at the dining table and enjoy a healthy meal with family, with no worrying or getting upset that her own husband wasn’t there to enjoy the family festivities.

So it felt surreal when YN saw Alex dressed in his uniform, on the train station platform with a bag swung over his shoulder, in and amongst crowds of reunited families, knowing that they were about to have their life back on track. A Christmas together.

“My dad’s made a good sherry for us to have. Mum said he’s been working on it for almost a year now. Growing currants in the front garden and chasing kids away when he saw them picking at his bushes as they passed,” Yn giggled softly, because the image of her father chasing active youths down a street was rather amusing to her, reaching for her bookmark to keep her place in the book resting on her lap, “she says she’s barely seen him because he spends his time at the allotments, with his friends.”

Alex snuffled a laugh and folded his paper up, setting it on the floor beside the crackling fireplace.

“We should get an allotment. Could build a shed there to hide in when it rains, have you come and sit and watch me dig the veggies up, let you grow some flowers there. We’d be the best there,” he grinned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea, baby.”

“Christmases only get better from here,” he stood to his feet and wiggled his fingers in her direction, “let’s have a dance.”

She smiled shyly and stood to her feet, toes all toasty and warm from the fire, reaching for his hands as he twirled her under his arm and let her dress, all dark green and red (which she insisted was her most Christmas-y dress in her wardrobe) billow out at the knees. With the occasional step on his bare toes, and a trip over his own feet, they managed to move themselves around the room with such an elegant sway to their hips as the gentle voice of Bing Crosby filled the room, with the ever so delightful song that YN imagined must have felt so personal to so many around Britain. And she couldn’t help but think of how many others were dancing, singing and crying as the tune filled merry homes, both happy and sad.

And she didn’t want to let her mind wander to the agonising pain of not having a loved one, let alone a husband, arrive home safe for Christmas… but it was planted there and she never ever wanted an experience so heartbreaking.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he hummed and it was in that moment that he felt a dribble of tears against his neck, his feet coming to a stop as the music carried on behind them, “hey now. No crying, we said. This is a happy end to the year, eh? A happy one.”

“I know but,” she choked on a tear and pulled away to look at him, “I’m so lucky you came home to me. To us. But, some women, they never got to say goodbye to their husbands, their brothers, their fathers and grandfathers. They never got to see them for Christmas this year, last year and the years before that. They never knew what was coming,” she whispered with a hushed voice that felt like if she spoke too loud, she’d have the entire country hearing her, as if the music was bad enough to bring out the emotions.

“I promised you, didn’t I, baby?”

She nodded softly and his thumbs wiped away her tears, collecting moisture on the tips of his pads, their eyes locking for a brief second.

“I promised you I’d make it back to you and I did, safe and sound,” he held her face in his hands and brushed the tip of his nose to hers, his warm breath flushing over her face as she sniffled and sobbed, “I’m never leaving you again. Never ever. I promise, no selfish bastard is going to keep us apart, not even for Christmas.”

[lokigayforhela]

Hey, honey. I’m just checking in because you haven’t posted in a while. Everything doing ok?

Hello, love!

I’m doing okay. I promise I didn’t mean to disappear for months as soon as I finished Love Bites, but life just seemed to keep getting in the way every time I wanted to finally sit down and write.

I promise I’ve not forgotten you all. I’m currently working on getting a few prompts written, that way I can have a handful to post in a queue, rather than just posting one, and then you all not having content for a long while.

I currently have about 20 messages in my inbox, and I’m pretty sure about all of them are prompts of some sort. But, my inbox is, as this message proves, open, so if anyone still would like to send prompts in, I very much encourage you to do so. Maybe one will finally get the gears in my brain really working again, and I’ll be able to start writing more steadily again.

I really am alright, though, and I promise I’ll have up some stuff by the end of this month at the very latest. Thank you to everyone, in the meantime, for hanging in there and still following this blog. I’ve got some great plans in mind. Hopefully you’ll get to see them come to fruition soon.

[wrendeavor]

!!! I need help! I want to start writing a fic,,, , , do you have any advice in regards to keeping up with it and avoiding writers block? How would I properly plan it out??

Ooh okay I got really into answering this so answer is under the “keep reading”!

The hardest part of writing, spoiler alert, is starting

I have a really hard time getting new chapters of my fic out largely because even though I know it only takes me a few days to write and edit a new chapter, the thought of beginning that process is scary. every. single. time.

Unfortunately it’s a pretty unavoidable part of writing so here’s how I suggest facing it!

Know the beginning and the end! The middle will happen as it needs to! Some general plot points are helpful but sit down and write towards the finish line and let your characters figure out how to get there on their own! Writing requires a lot of improvisation and for me at least, a strict outline restricts my options. Know what you want to happen through the course of the story and then imagine what scenes are necessary, and what scenes might lead to the necessary scenes, and so on and so forth

ie: If you want to write about Bill and Ted baking a birthday cake, maybe we need to see them learn about the birthday, go grocery shopping, and then bake it. This is a super simplified version, but for most narratives, we need to see characters learn information, react to it, and then see the aftermath. Break down each plot point into each of these components

keep in mind that they don’t need to be treated equally in the story either. Maybe you write several thousand words of Bill and Ted arguing over cake flavors and oven temps and we see very little of the finished product they made, if at all. Regardless, all three components need to be there.

Another issue I had with my fanfiction writing for a really long time was that I never finished it. I’m a pretty busy and distracted person by nature, so I always thought that the best way I could share my work was if I wrote everything at once and then published it; I was worried people would be upset if they had to wait on my and my life for fanfic updates. 

Maybe this works for some people, but for me, the only reason I’ve been able to continuously (haha, does once a month count?) update SHGTG (my WIP fanfic) is because I feel some pressure that people are out there wanting to read it.

when the stories were alone and unfinished on my computer, it didn’t matter if they got endings because I knew the endings already, there was no risk and no reward. But posting that first chapter on AO3 meant I felt some responsibility to finish it so that all the great people who liked my fic could know the end as well.

I’m a major procrastinator, so I can’t finish things without this pressure.

At the same time however, don’t let it become a negative pressure. Do I feel guilty that SHGTG hasn’t updated in over a month? YES. Am I going to let that prevent me from going on dates with my girlfriend or doing my homework? Nope. Even though some pressure is good, a lot of pressure will just make writing even tougher. 

Next big thing:

Write when you want to write, not when you feel like you should be writing. I go weeks without touching my fic and then one afternoon I’ll write three thousand words in one go because I felt that energy for it again. Getting into the practice of writing often is a good habit but don’t let it become a chore.

That’s a lot of the reason I’ve been taking fun writing prompts in my inbox lately- it makes me write while still being fun and quick. No responsibility, and hopefully it will inspire me to go back to my story soon. 

Again, devil’s advocate here, the story isn’t going to write itself. While you’re waiting for inspiration to strike, write a list of things that would NEVER happen in the fic. Write a list of things that would make your characters look at things totally differently. Write a bunch of really bad first sentences. Think about the plot and the characters while you walk around town or shower. There are a lot of ways to work on a story that doesn’t require staring at a laptop screen in frustration for three hours 

I hope these help, It’s late here but I saw this ask and decided to spit out some thoughts, so my apologies if they’re unhelpful or repetitive or cliche in general