I just finished your New Wave fic. I’m convinced everything your write is gold. I loved your TMA fics, with the most heartbreaking demon AU imaginable and the hilarity of Fahrenheit 101. I loved your moon knight fics, starting with Steven talking to animals on the reg at work to the system growing closer with a focus on Jake, i- there’s- it’s sooo much packed into it. When I’m on burnout, of art or writing (maybe life in general at times) I revisit your work and am thrown back into a creative headspace.
You are my favorite writer, you cram so much meaning and thought into your work and it shows. The characters are dumbasses and say the most ridiculous shit and turn around the next chapter and say the most thought provoking thing, and I don’t get whiplash from it because these characters just work! They just do, and I… am very much off track!
Anyways I just got into Batman and reading your fic is fueling that flame! I can’t wait to see what you have in store next, and I shall now stalk your blog for writing tips! I hope you have a nice day broski 💙
Thank you!! This is so sweet thank you so much! This ask is so nice!
Trust me, if there's meaning then it's because I get obsessive over these fics and I massively overthink them. I honestly wish I was better at making simpler, more elegant stories. I feel like nothing I do is truly going to be good until I can find that simplicity.
"Dipshit who says stupid stuff and then turns around and spouts ridiculous philosophy" is just how I talk. But I habitually approach my life from a standpoint of finding humor in everything, if only to soften the blow. I was once told that it's really hard to tell when I'm joking, because everything I say is always half-joking and always half-serious. I feel like that's pretty evident from my narration too...
As for writing advice...um, I was just speaking about this with somebody. When you're plotting a story, the first thing I like to figure out is what I'm trying to say. Everything else should be built around that. The joy of writing is that I think we all have something we want to say, or something we want people to know, or that we have an aspect of ourselves and our lives that we want to express. Most of the time, trying to convey those things verbally just results in a frustrating approximation of your true feelings. I find that when I manage a successful story, the depth and scale of what I'm trying to impart is fully understood and felt. It's rewarding. I think if people aren't understood on some level, by somebody, they kind of die.
Thanks for the sweet ask!!
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The Star Spangled Nightmare
Chapter One: A Man Of His World
Steggy Week Day Three: AU & Crossovers
The One Where Peggy Has Beef With Superheros But Then Meets Steve Rogers and Wants To Hate Him But Can’t.
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Peggy had a life plan for herself and none of it ever involved this superhero business. That changed when she lost everything due to a hero/villain incident, forcing her to make some quick life decisions. Now, she owns an organization where she helps people who were in the same situation that she once was in. She just made the mistake of opening it down the street from the Avengers.
Well, at least her son is happy.
Peggy Carter hated superheroes.
If anything she hated more, it was their enemies, often just punks dressed in costumes with powers or technology that they shouldn’t have to begin with. They’re the ones that spurred these heroes to do anything to save the day, to drive their heroic needs into overdrive. Even if that included destroying personal property.
But did these bastards really have to destroy her apartment? She’d only just started to settle in the US, to create a new life for herself. She had her whole life ahead of her and now she was left staring at the wreckage laid in front of her.
Well, Mr. Superhero wouldn’t just have his Villain of the Week to worry about, as far as she was concerned.
She was going to make Johnny Storm pay because there was no damn reason that her apartment and others should’ve been on his war path when he could’ve taken the fight elsewhere. There was a whole abandoned warehouse just a few blocks over or better yet, take the fight to people who did more harm than good to the citizens of New York.
He was talking to a nearby news crew, while his smoldering wreckage lay behind him in the foreground. The hero’s laughter rang in her ears, causing her to grit her teeth. She wanted to wring his neck - how could he be laughing when handfuls of people had nowhere else to live?
Avengers Compound - @allcapsbingo, Love Letters - @marvelrarepairbingo
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Good evening, I can't stop thinking about Simon going brain dead as he fucks you :)
Like, just imagine. You're on your elbows and knees as Simon's hitting it from behind, when suddenly you feel something wet land on your back. You know it's not him finishing given the fact that he's still buried deep inside you, so you look back over your shoulder to see what the hell that was you just felt.
And when you turn around, the sight that greets you is one for the ages. There's Simon, eyes unfocused and glazed over, mouth hanging wide open in the most fucked-out expression you've ever witnessed. He looks like he's never had an intelligent thought in his life; like he's been reverted back to a primitive brain, whose only drives are to eat, breathe, and fuck.
As you watch him rut into you like a sex-crazed animal, it's then you spy the source of the mystery liquid dripping onto your back. There, dribbling steadily from Simon's ajar mouth, flows a thick stream of drool. It leads down from his bottom lip in long, viscous ribbons, landing and settling itself along the curve of your spine. If he even notices (which, by the look on his face, he's too far gone for such higher-order thinking processes) then he doesn't care. He just lets his spit pour freely from his open mouth, like some kind of wild beast that's got its eyes locked onto its next meal.
Simon is so mentally checked out that he can't even hear you as you gently say his name. No, all he can think about – all his shriveled little monkey brain can focus on at this moment – is how fucking good you feel around him and how fucking badly he needs to fill you up.
When Simon does finally cum, he can only manage a garbled string of grunts and groans that doesn't even come close to resembling human speech. After three, four, five thrusts as deep into you as possible, his whole body is shaking, and his trembling limbs give out.
He collapses on top of you without a second's consideration of his size, pinning you to the mattress beneath his warm, heavy frame. You can still feel him drooling a little as his face comes to rest in the crook of your neck, the mess on your lower back getting smeared between your bodies.
It's hard for you to breathe being trapped under Simon's weight like that, so you try lightly tapping him on the head to ask him to roll off you. Unfortunately, I'm afraid it's no use trying to gain his attention right now. You're going to have to give him a few minutes to collect himself, love.
The poor guy just fucked himself stupid, after all.
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