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myevilmouse · 1 year

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For the fic writing meme: 1, 15, and 16 please!

Dear @takadasaiko!

Thank you so much for these asks! I am trying to take some time to myself tonight and these questions are a great excuse to think about the fabulous fun that is fanfic.

what’s the fic you're most proud of?

The fic I’m most proud of goes back and forth…I’m proud of different fics for different reasons…And also sort of depends on my mood at the time. I think in the past I’ve said Endure for similar questions… But I guess if I had to just pick one to be my legacy this evening, with my current frame of mind, I would probably choose Interpreter (Thryce). I am a Luke girl first and foremost, but Thrawn being an alien and Imperial allows me to indulge in two of my favorite kinks: language and uniforms, with a healthy side of power dynamics and hot for teacher fun. So…that one is a real fave. So much Cheunh, so much military protocol muwahaha I really had fun with it.

15. How do you think your writing as improved over time?

That’s an awesome question and to be honest, I’m not sure it has. I sometimes read older fics and there will be a phrase I wrote that I’m like “damn I don’t write like this anymore.” I think I have gotten lazier as time has gone on, as real life kicks my ass and prevents me from spending more time on my fic, so in general I’m not sure I’ve improved, sadly.

I guess one thing though—I have started to see patterns in my writing and tried to avoid them consciously. I hate using the same words/phrases over and over—and always want to find original ways to say things. I know there is the lament of how many different ways can you describe an orgasm or whatever, but I sort of love and hate the challenge of trying to infuse new and interesting vocabulary and imagery into my stories. So maybe that’s one way it’s improved.

16. Do you re-read old fics? Is there a time in your writing you won’t go back to?

ALL THE TIME. Today at work I gave myself a tea break and reread Martial Arts, just because someone had reblogged one of my old Tumblr posts about it. Then I was like damn professor Thrawn is hot and wanted to read more. So while standing in line at the post office I started rereading Cold Comfort cause I still wanna sequel that, and while stuck in a boring moment I pulled up Containment to remind myself that I did actually write fic this year. Hahah I will have to do my year end wrap up soon.

There is no time in my writing I won’t go back to…there are sometimes things I wrote that I skim over, not really cringe but within a story I find some parts less interesting or less rereadable than others, but nothing I’m super ashamed of… I will say the fic with the least rereads in my oeuvre is probably No Small Thing. I wrote Jaime/Brienne as an anomaly as a pinch hit for a fic exchange/good Samaritan deed, and it feels sometimes like someone else did it, hah. I love the fic, as I love all my children, but sorry Jaime, you don’t melt my butter like Luke or Thrawn.

Still, he has a nice butt

Thank you again so much for these asks! I really appreciate the distraction and chance to talk fic with you! 🥰💙💛😘

#myfic #fanfic is for fun #welcome to my kinks #star wars #star wars rebels #game of thrones #my thoughts #asks #i like asks #fandom friends

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robthegoodfellow · 7 months

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You Know You Gotta Understand

Bondage, Distracted Sex for Day 7/8 of @harringrovekinktober additional incidental Edging/Orgasm Denial, Praise Kink, Cock-Warming, Dom/Sub Dynamic

(roommates, kink experimentation, fledgling power dynamic negotiation, billy needs a binky, nsfw, immediately follows Let's Give the Boy a Hand)

After his bombshell revelation, Robin had wolfed the rest of her cone in under a minute, all the while prodding him down the sidewalk toward the cemetery—not because his life was over, but because it offered isolated benches, ideal for unburdening the soul.

Which is what he did, to an extent. Didn’t quite have the wherewithal to loop her in on the stuff he barely had the words for, himself—the… obedience stuff, the possessive stuff, the game they’d been playing, making the rules up as they went along.

No, he mainly focused on the basics: how, under the gruff exterior, Billy was pretty great—funny, and considerate, and talented, and smart and—and actually, the gruffness had its own appeal, too, you know?

To her credit, Robin listened without judgment, nodding in apparent agreement, until he’d wrapped up his treatise on the wonders of Billy Hargrove with so we started hooking up a few weeks ago and she’d nearly fallen off the bench.

It’s not like we’ve—like, fucked, he clarified, assuming that had been the source of the tsunami. We’ve only—well, actually, we haven’t really kissed, now that I think about it. Not like full-on kissing. Mostly it’s been hand stuff and mouth stuff and like—uhm, cuddling?

Robin was blinking hard, still recalibrating. And… now you—love him?

Well, when she said it like that, it sounded stupid. Although, on reflection, I’m in love with him sounded even stupider. But he didn’t know how to put it into words. Listing it off—how he couldn’t stop thinking about Billy and constantly wanted to be near him and touch him—it just sounded like typical Lovestruck Steve, which was actually Infatuated Steve. Steve with a crush. Most of the time, a passing crush.

Maybe this time around just felt different because his crush was a guy? Like—the novelty made it more intense? Or—the other stuff? The game? The weirdly entrancing dynamic they were toying with?

Who could say?

I don’t know, he said, finally, and sounded so glum, so lost, that Robin patted his arm, brows arched in sympathy, and told him it would be all right.

When he got home, the couch had been scrubbed clean of every stain, the wake of Billy’s swipes still embedded in the grain of the fabric. Billy himself was fast asleep in his room, damp hair from a recent shower coiled on bronze shoulders, his arms folded under the pillow. The fan spun lazy overhead, affording a faint breeze through the rumpled sheet.

Steve knew with certainty he was buck naked under that sheet, the fabric draping his ass and upper thighs in a way that made him envy the cotton.

Every vestige of ice cream and Robin and emotional upheaval vanished the moment Billy murmured, “Hey,” and Steve jerked his gaze to meet sleepy blue. A come-hither blue, so Steve stepped inside, shut the door behind him, his pulse already skyrocketing at the shocky tension in the air.

Stopping by the bedside, he swept an appreciative stare down the length of the body he was coming to learn so well. Swept back up, but only got halfway—arrested by that ass. Because what an ass.

Obliging, Billy spread his thighs, arched his spine, and that was invitation enough. Steve perched on the edge of the bed, cupped the back of one thigh and smoothed upward, over the asscheek, fingertips tracing his crack.

Billy shivered, hips flexing under the sheet, thighs parting wider. Steve let out a rumbling hum, speculative, and kneaded the round swell of flesh, first one side, then the other, taking care to tease along the crevice with fingers and thumb.

“Let me see you,” Steve said, quiet, and Billy gulped, nodding against the pillow, lifted his hips to feel the drag as Steve drew the sheet down to the backs of his knees. “Wider.” And the knees inched further, so wide, his cheeks so parted Steve could see the furl of his hole, twitching as he clenched. “I can touch you there?”

“Yeah,” Billy gasped, burying his face in the pillow. “Yeah, yeah—”

Heart throbbing since the moment he sat down, it now hammered in his throat, his temples. A harsh exhale as the pads of his fingers drifted up an inner thigh, caressed the rise of his ass. Watched his thumb sweep to the fluttering hole, and press. Brush back and forth, learning the texture.

Steve heard himself start to ask, “You ever—?”

“No.” The whimper was muffled, desperate.

It was like he’d slipped into a trace, hypnotized by his own touch—or the effect it was having. The thundering heartbeat was somehow distant. “Would you want that?”

The whimper slipped to a sob. “Yes.” A hiss, turned just enough, expression pinched in torment. “Yes. Now?”

“No.” Ignoring the whine, Steve stretched out alongside, hand coasting up his panting back. He nosed at Billy’s ruddy cheek—the one on his face. “Not now. But I want that, too.”

Before Billy could reply beyond a mouth lax in relief, Steve pushed him onto his back, leaning over him. Noted how his arms, formerly crossed beneath the pillow, were now arched above his head like a ballerina, fists gripping the upright slats of the bedframe.

“Keep your hands there,” Steve said. Throwing a leg over Billy’s waist, he sat astride his stomach. Propped himself on generous pecs, and indulged in a long, luxurious grind, rolling his hips to relieve the mounting want. “I realized earlier—we haven’t kissed much.”

Distracted, it took a moment for the words to sink in. A furrowed brow, then: “Oh.”

Unsure how to interpret that reaction, Steve revised his initial plan to plow Billy’s mouth with his tongue. “Just an observation,” he said, mild, dragging gentle hands down the pecs as he straightened. He looked down, tracking where he brushed the backs of his fingers along the sloping skin beneath pert dusky nipples. “And we’ve kinda been—checking in before we do stuff. New stuff.”

“Yeah,” Billy acknowledged, eyes downcast when Steve flicked his up. “Kissing’s fine.”

The tone was distinctly unenthused.

“It’s okay if it’s not fine,” Steve said, hushed like it was a secret. “If you don’t like it as much. Or at all.” Curious, he stroked Billy’s temple, down to his cheek. His chin. “Did you like it when I kissed you here?”

Billy squirmed beneath him. Nuzzled into a raised arm, abashed. “Yeah.”

Steve bent, ghosting his lips along a scratchy chin, shivering at the rough against thin skin. “Then I’ll keep doing that.” He trailed to his cheek, barely pressing, then bussed the edge of an eyebrow, a fluttering eyelid. “When you’re good.”

Burrowing into his upper arm again, a breathy sigh. “Was I?”

Steve made a thoughtful sound. “You cleaned the couch.”

“And the blanket,” Billy mumbled.

“And your arms are still where I want them.”

The fists tightened around the wooden spokes, voice likewise tight: “I like it.”

“Orders?” Steve asked, and kept his lips waltzing along the bristly chin.

“That, and—” It was like Steve could feel the blood rushing, heating his skin. A swallow, and Billy went on: “And not being able to—move. Much.”

The words hit like a punch, and Steve pressed his forehead to Billy’s brow, staving off the driving need to—well, drive into the body below him. Instead, he fumbled to undo his belt.

“What else do you like, baby?” Clumsy fingers struggled with his button, zip.

Another whine, faint and thready. “My... mouth? Want my mouth—full. Things in my mouth. Like—” He cut himself off, frustrated, and Steve shushed him, hand a blur on his stiffie, so hard it hurt. With his remaining brain cells, delegated his other hand to cup Billy’s face, smear gasping lips with a thumb, and Billy opened for it, eyes rolling closed as he sucked.

The sight alone, nevermind the wet suctioning heat—Steve grunted, ropes of come streaking the flushed heaving chest. And Billy kept sucking, lost in it, as Steve raked blunt fingers through his mess, then flattened his palm, rubbing it in.

“Let go, babe,” Steve whispered, winded, and his thumb was free—wet and shining. He put himself away, did up his pants, left the belt gaping. As expected, when he flopped to his original position stretched out alongside, he saw Billy’s poor neglected cock, rigid, flushed a deep rose, drooling on his belly. Tsking in sympathy, Steve settled his hand where Billy wanted it—then didn’t move. “You want to come right now, or be patient?”

Billy groaned, teeth bared in a grimace. A couple wheezing breaths, then: “Patient.”

“Okay.” He paused, toying with the sticky tip of the crown, smearing precome, a plan taking shape in his twisted, randy little mind. He was seriously turning into some kind of sex genius. Craning to Billy’s ear, he said, softly, “Here’s what I’m thinking…”

When Steve emerged from his own bedroom with the tie he’d worn to work earlier that week, Billy was kneeling in front of the couch, eyes a bit glazed, hands already clasped behind his back. Rather than go to him, Steve detoured to the TV, fiddling with the controls—sports and more sports this time of day on a weekend. NBA would do. Appropriate, given this all started from a casual chat during a basketball game.

He pushed aside the coffee table, making room enough for him to crouch behind Billy and tie his wrists—not too tight. “Tell me if it gets uncomfortable,” he said, and Billy nodded.

Now he’d made it to this point in the plan, his thrumming pulse kicked up a notch, stomach pitching in anticipation. Stacking the throw pillows that had come with the couch, he made a cozy seat for himself, back against the pillows, placing him near enough the edge that Billy could reach him without straining, nestled between Steve’s legs.

You ready? he was about to ask, but one glance at Billy’s face and all language left him—as it had for Billy, clearly. The blue eyes were unfocused yet fixed, half-lidded, on Steve’s bulge, plush mouth parted, jaw hanging loose.

Steve pressed the heel of his palm to the base of his trapped cock, teeth clenched, lungs shocky. He had to last—this whole thing hinged on his lasting. Should’ve put on a movie, something more riveting than fucking basketball.

Wresting back control, he forced himself to go slow—unbutton his jeans almost absent-minded, take his time with the zipper. Fish his dick from his briefs, unrushed, eyes on the TV screen. Breathing even.

It was seven minutes into the first quarter, according to the announcer.

He gripped himself midshaft, held it steady, and waited. Couldn’t help his eyes slipping shut when blazing heat encased the tip, a swirling lick round the head. Blindly, he grasped for Billy’s curls, something to hold onto, and threaded his fingers deep, cradling the scalp. Coaxed him forward a bit, let him adjust, spit gathering at the lips, then slid further in, his cock gliding on a bed of tongue.

Sank as deep he could go—deep as Billy could take and breathe—and there Billy rested, warming the cock in his mouth, not sucking so much as… suckling? Was there a difference?

There was. Like this gentle, undulating pull, not enough to tug him over the cliff but enough to keep him balanced on the edge, drugged on it.

Steve was fast approaching mindless, buzzing blur between the ears, gaze locked on the television with every ounce of his willpower even as every sense registered the salty musk of their sweat and leaking spunk, the rasp of air through Billy’s nose, the sopping glove of his mouth snug and hot and perfect.

“Halftime?” Steve said, voice rough, shattered, when the whistle blew on the quarter. He had no idea the score—or even who was playing. The important thing was that he followed the bouncing ball back and forth down the court. “Halftime,” he decided.

Billy exhaled long, so long, the gust buffeting the base of Steve’s dick, his pubes, and his head tilted, cheek resting on Steve’s thigh with the air of someone settling in for a nap. Finally, Steve risked a glance down, and his stomach clenched, the banked heat flaring in his gut.

Those eyelashes looked so long, brushing his cheeks like that, his brows relaxed but for the faint furrowed line that appeared when he swallowed down the gathered spit and precome Steve knew he was oozing like a loose faucet.

Was it weird to think someone looked beautiful with your cock in their mouth? Because Billy did. He really did.

Breaths shaky all over again, Steve pet hair away from Billy’s face, softly as he could. Smoothed a thumb from temple to jaw, to the corner of his mouth, where his lips stretched around the intrusion. His lashes fluttered, and then dreamy blue stared up at him.

“Like you were made for me,” Steve said, wondering. “Made for this.”

A shudder, deep inhale, and Billy sank lower, skewering himself, plugging his throat.

“Ah,” Steve gasped, cradling the skull between his thighs. God, he wanted to drive deep, grab hold and just drill into him, but didn’t—didn’t. “Ah-ah.” Reproving, that time. “Be good.”

The pressure let up as Billy shifted back, contrite. Resumed his resting position.

“Halftime,” Steve reminded him, and Billy hummed, the vibrations skittering down every nerve ending. “Shh.” Stroked Billy’s hair, clinging to composure. “Shh.”

Over the next eon, Steve perfected the illusion that he was just… floating in a hot bath, maybe a jacuzzi with jets, to account for the waves of pleasure…

These fucking refs, though. Just let them play, for Christ’s sake. Every whistle stabbed, the knife twisting the closer they crept to Steve’s self-inflicted finish line. And all these fucking commercials—

“Deep breath,” he said, with a minute left to go. Please God, no fouls. Just a sprint to the buzzer. He heard Billy inhale, and then Steve plunged, ground into the seizing inferno, holding him there, hips hitching, compulsive. He drew back, let Billy recover, then let it roll, jackhammering into him, feet planted on the floor, holding his head steady, drool dripping down his balls.

Seconds left, and Steve looked down again. Shaft sliding, gleaming spit, into lips swollen red, cheeks hollow as a starving man.

“Hungry, baby?” he said, and Billy’s moan rippled from his belly to his throat—shook Steve apart. Gulped him down.

Steve levered himself to the floor, and despite limbs loose as a rag doll, summoned the coordination to reach around, untie Billy’s wrists. “Sit, sit,” he babbled, lowering him to the carpet. “Lay back.”

Billy sprawled, dopey smile hitched crooked, his lashes wet. Didn’t seem to notice as Steve clambered half on top of him, though he hissed when fingers danced across his dick.

“You did so good,” Steve said, words hushed, and didn’t know why he kept his touch soft, a gentle rub where Billy’s cock lolled against his stomach. “So good. My good boy.”

A halting gasp, blinking at the ceiling, tear dripping down his temple into his hair.

“Billy.” Steve leaned forward, nuzzling his cheek. “Come for me. Be good and—”

Sharp inhale, and a full-body twitch wracked his frame, coating Steve’s hand in his release.

“Good.” He repeated it—good, good, good—wrapping Billy in his arms, smearing come between them. Rolled back, hauling Billy to lie draped over him, cradling his head to Steve’s shoulder.

Billy was quiet so long, save for his labored breaths, that worry sprouted in Steve’s chest. He’d been onboard with the plan, but maybe it’d been—too much?

“Baby,” Steve began, hands calming—and stopped, words caught in his throat.

His throat, which Billy was kissing, light, lingering presses, lips buzzing with something barely audible. Like a purr.

Now with following chapter: No Romeo, But He's My Loving One-Man Show

#harringrove #harringrovekinktober2k23 #billy hargrove #sub billy hargrove #dom steve harrington #yeah this is a series now i guess #hello welcome as i air my kinks to the world #roommates in love #steve is natural born dom #billy is subby down to his soul

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bulkhummus · 1 year

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uses carlos to convey the woes of unanticipated touch verses familiar and wanted touch

#some messy sketches to soothe the itch #my boss is v sweet but she always taps my shoulder at work to get my attention #so btwn that and strangers just randomly touching my hair bc its curly #(which happened twice today )#i was like Enough #anyways i think carlos is very aware of his space and how he interscts with people #he doesnt like sudden an impromptu touches #all the people who work at his lab know this and do their best to accomodate #and steve always asks now before he gives huge hugs #etc etc #i love carlos sooooooo much #ive been wanting to do a comic where him and cecil talk about boundaries — i have one from 4ever ago post DOW #in my brain #ngl them being implied to use handcuffs in da bedroom is like.. using kink to accomodate carlos’ need to be able to pull away yknow?#like the color system is So Good for being able to say hey lets stop or maybe not like that without having to verbalize so much in the momen #yknow #wtnv #welcome to night vale #cecilos #cecil palmer #carlos the scientist #night vale #art tag #wips

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y-so-hungry · 1 year

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Love the idea of a man that get's aroused by his own hunger. I want to hear his stomach rumbling, crying out for food after having skipped lunch, and see him squirming a little as he starts to get hard. I want to rub his belly and feel it growling under my hand, and see how that seems to make his breath quicken a little. If he's cis maybe I'll see that pants become tented when I press just the right spot on his belly, and if not then I'd love to see how he bites his lip and his eyes go half-lidded. I want to hear him begging, his stomach begging for food and his mouth begging for me to reach down just a little further, his hips bucking with need. When I eventually do, it really doesn't take much for him to release, he'd already been on the edge for so long. Then I'd feed him while he rested, making sure he knew what a good boy he'd been for me.

#hunger kink #stomach growling #belly kink #belly noises #hunger growls #hungry tummy #I swear I blacked out and suddenly this post was in front of me it's not my fault #hunger #y rambles #welcome to me being kinky I guess lol

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borathae · 6 months

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Sibi you're feeding my hand kink and I love you so much for it

#ill just post this caption less #because you guys need to enjoy this without words #also youre at the right source if you need more hand kink content #besties my folders are FILLED i can provide #asks #anon #jk thirst #thirsty thursday #hands #hands: jk #i will also tag hand content from now on for easier finding youre welcome

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shadowastrea05 · 5 months

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Hello<33

So, it's become more and more apparent to me that some of you don't know a whole lot about me! So I'll share some things about me, if yall have any questions outside of what I've said then you can just send me an ask or dm!<3

Name: Shadow or Pixie

Pronouns: She/They/It

Age: 18

Zodiac: Taurus<3

Relationship status: Taken<3

This is a kink blog and I love making fellow kinkster friends and mutuals!! But let's lay some ground rules starting from me just letting you off with a warning or two then getting into more harsh things like blocking if you violate them<33

Petnames!!

If you call me petnames I will politely ask you not to call me them again, unless it's something like sweetheart or love in an endearing way. You will get a few warnings and if you keep doing it you will get blocked! I am in a relationship, I am not your's and I find it disrespectful to my dynamic and my relationship<33

Nudes!!

If you send me any nude without my permission I will block annndd report you! I don't find genitalia attractive and that is sexual harassment!!! Once again disrespectful to me and my dynamic.

Asking for content!! (In a disrespectful or derogatory way)

I will block you ^^ please don't dm me saying all the things that you will do to me or want to do to me! I am in a relationship and don't want to hear those things!! They freak me tf out!!

Just please don't be weird and disrespectful!!

#k1nk blog #bd/sm kink #send me asks #meetme #welcome to my blog

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myevilmouse · 2 years

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It does say “Ask Me Anything”, after all.

This particular query has been burning a hole in my insanely curious 4-year-old psyche for quite a spell. Problem is: which of my favourite “Ask” victims candidates was I going to lay it on? Who would be least likely to kick me back into my corner 😀??

You’re up, Mouse!

When I used to write masochistic-themed plays for the late, late night crowd, I had the pleasure of seeing my work brought to life. Whilst I was under contract to satisfy the kinks of my patrons, I would not have been able to perform the task if there was not more than tangential pleasure with my finished product. However, I was still producing material for paid purposes based on their requirements.

When a fic writer sits down at the keyboard, it’s your world, your rules…your kink, your smut. No checklist, no requirements. So, the first thing that comes my mind is: you must be writing for yourself. Okay — pause — does this mean that the fic writer is putting to paper what turns them on? If so, this would mean that one would be revealing their own particular kinks to the world.(that’s why we have nom de plumes, fool) Is there any kind of, um, anxiety of being *found out*?

The final query is actually the first one I had, but I didn’t want break the deck at first pass 🤣 Does your own work bring you pleasure when you read it? (like it does your readers, otherwise why would some of us sit in the middle of nowhere with a headlamp reading this stuff) or does it become an objective, a task, at some point?

Feel free to kick me back into my corner on this one. There are no responsible adults around to shush me or give me the stink eye, so it’s all up to you what you want to address.

As always, I thank you for your time and consideration.

Thank you so much for the ask @beebee-76! I do definitely want people to ask me anything! I can always ignore, delete, or reply privately to something that isn’t for the world’s eyes 😊 And I’m flattered that you esteem me thusly, to know I am definitely not going to “kick you back in your corner” for asking these questions. I’m more than happy to respond.

I remember in an earlier ask you had mentioned your previous gig as a kinky playwright (which sounds AMAZING). I’m glad (and unsurprised!) you were able to enjoy that work 😈 As you point out, the difference with fic, we’re not being paid and the only motivation I personally have as a fic writer is to amuse myself and my readers. And in that order—me first! If fanfic becomes an objective, task, or god help us, work, then I don’t want to do it. Hobbies shouldn’t be a source of stress or a “I have to write this ugh” sort of vibe. That’s how I think, anyway. Unfortunately, for better or for worse, there -is- a tendency to start taking readership into consideration as we write more. Especially when you have a following or fan base, but that’s a pretty nice thing, really. As long as you don’t let it change your writing, it’s very motivating to know people are waiting for the next installment of a story.

So your first question/comment/assumption, that I must be writing for myself, is absolutely correct.

Second, you ask does that mean I’m writing what turns me on? And that answer is also abso-fuckin-lutely. My kinks are all over my fic, which is really why they are so fun to write and (for me, at least) read (which ties into your last question). Among them are the ever-present language kink, name kink (significant name shift, if you want official trope names), body weight kink (I like my men on top), rough sex, dubcon, and much much more. I’m sure anyone who reads my oeuvre will have no trouble compiling a list of those that repeat and pervade my smut.

So yes, I am happily revealing my own particular kinks to the world, as you say. And as to your next question, is there any kind of anxiety of being “found out”…

It’s a more complicated question than it may appear. Plenty of people in my real life, as I have mentioned before, read my smut. I once told someone you can only be blackmailed by something you’re ashamed of, and I am pretty much without shame. I don’t have any guilt attached to my fic—sort of the opposite; I’m pretty proud of it. I do understand that not everyone is comfortable with the existence of erotica and smut, or enlightened/liberated enough to understand its value and feel unthreatened by it. I’d rather not have to deal with the judgement of people like that. Please note I'm not saying everyone has to LIKE smut, to each their own, I'm just saying don't tell me I shouldn't, that's all.

Apart from the smut/kinks, I value my privacy and keeping my online life separate from my real life, not for only fic reasons but for security and personal comfort. It’s why I don’t give much personally identifiable information online (plenty of personal info, as my kinks are splashed all over, but you see the difference) and am careful to avoid situations where that would be difficult or inadvisable.

In general, I think the healthiest way to approach the topic is to have a “yeah, so what?” attitude. Someone comes to me and says “OMFG you write fanfic about Luke Skywalker?!” I’m like, “yeah, so what?” It’s fun, and let’s be real, fanfic has lost a LOT of its stigma over the past five/ten years. It’s no longer considered cringe as a hobby, and Hollywood and publishing are full of examples of successful fanfic commercialized for the world.

The final question you had, does my work bring me pleasure, is also an easy ask. Another abso-fuckin-lutely. As I write for me, I reread my own fics ALL the time. Before I post, the ultimate test of a fic is whether or not I get butterflies at that ONE part. If I as the author can consistently get an emotional or physical reaction from reading the work, then I am satisfied.

I don’t know how other authors are—sometimes I am really baffled by people who say they can’t read their own stuff or they find their own writing awful or whatever. I tend to attribute it to false modesty most of the time, but I will happily admit I think my fics are pretty great and I derive enormous pleasure from putting a story into the world that didn’t exist before. I love making characters do things I want, I love when they resist and make me do their bidding, I love the process and the joy of discovery when writing, the insistence of the muse which overcomes reason and plot, I love it all. So naturally I love the fruits of my own labor as well.

I guess it’s a bit like cooking…If you cook something, putting lots of time and effort into making an amazing dish, why wouldn’t you want to eat it? Why would you cook something if you didn’t like the taste? Writing, like cooking, gives us an opportunity to consume our own output, savor the flavors and appreciate the result.

As always, thank you for the lovely ask. I hope I addressed everything! I’m so happy you’re reading my stuff and care about my thoughts on these things. Have a custom Imperial hunk gif in gratitude:

#fanfic #myfic #asks #i like asks #welcome to my kinks #fanfic is for fun #fandom friends

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