#corgimon

[willowitcher]

AAAAAAAHHHH

[cattlechop]

corgimon replied to your post:

amanduh-hess replied to your post: ...

trevor: screaming in the middle of an empty room just to fuck with them all

aleks literally shits his pants every time he does it but trevor always gets him

[qdpoisson]

writer meme: 2, 8, 15, 20, 44, 54

Oh my god, that’s so many but that means I don’t have to write as much for each answer, right?

2 - favorite part of writing - I'd say the initial blue sky outlining "anything is possible" stage, but then I eventually have to chose paths and close down options, so really, I like doing that with other people but not for myself.   I also really like second draft where I can put more details in and start tying threads back.  anything that isn’t first draft which is where i’m a terrible fucking mess and why my projects get stalled out for so long.

8 - favorite trope to write - idk if it’s a trope but, like, compromise? pretending together? Some people want everything in writing to go more perfectly than real life, but I love acknowledging the imperfections and what people do for each other to smooth those over, esp in kink fic, but really any situation.

15 - where does your inspiration come from - I tell myself bedtime stories.  Like really, I'm a terrible sleeper so I try to come up with "what ifs" and see where they take me and if I can distract myself enough to fall asleep.  On good/bad nights, the idea is good enough that I want to get up and write it all down (I have no memory of details if I wait even half an hour).

20 - post a snippet of a WIP - so maybe i was thinking about writing bbpanic au fic in two thousand seventeen, what of it

Brendon's eyes were wide and his hand was still frozen up in the air when Shaggy turned around like someone had tapped him on the shoulder.  When he saw Brendon, Shaggy gave a half smirk half wave before continuing his way across the floor.  Behind him, Green Girl had pushed Kevin away, so maybe the spell had landed properly.  Or maybe it hadn't worked at all and not everyone was such a pushover for Kevin's charms the way Brendon was.  But when Brendon rubbed the charm again, there was no warmth there, the magic had to have left him somehow.

44 - best piece of feedback you've ever gotten - I really miss my first fandom beta because he was so good at just asking WHY.  It really motivated me to find more depth and purpose in my character's action.  I'm not great at remembering that I can include internal monologue in my writing. My stories play out like a TV show in my head, so the writing tends to come out like a TV script.  A sigh might indicate that a character is thinking on screen, but I forget that, in writing, I can share what they are thinking directly with the reader.  So the best feedback to me is always questions.

54 - any writing advice you want to share - Everyone's writing style and method is different, but I still go by: don't be afraid of the second draft.  Use crap words and be repetitive on that first draft, just get wherever the story is going.  Find out what you can along the way, but if the wrong detail goes through or you can't figure out a line of snappy dialogue, throw in a place holder and keep moving.  I'm a terrible finisher so it takes a lot of pushing to reach the end.  Don't let anything slow you down from finding the end.

[punkpixieprince]

corgimon replied to your post “corgimon replied to your post “a fun thing i’ve noticed (and...”

yeah yeah i get you! ive been building an idea myself which kind of overlaps w all this stuff a little so im in a good place to talk about it whenever! i wish you luck <3

ahhh thank you friend!! and i’d love to hear about ur own idea!!!

[punkpixieprince]

corgimon

replied to your post

“a fun thing i’ve noticed (and by “fun” i mean *rubs temples*) is that...”

im here to talk or compare stories r whatever should you ever wish to

thank you friend!! i might take u up on this if i ever need a specific story, honestly. i’m looking for historical stuff, but also for more modern sources/beliefs, and like. obvs current irish citizens are the way to go. rn i’m just looking for like... a good couple of books so i can take overarching notes and stuff. so i don’t wanna bother u until i have like, specific questions.

where i’m currently stuck (and might FOREVER be stuck) is i’m also trying to find other irish american diaspora stories? and if u asked the internet apparently it’s mostly just fake “how to talk to a fairy” stuff and not “so my grandmother told me this story” stuff. i know i can’t be the only one??? it’s bizarre.

[madanach]

morning, sunshine (yuri on ice, chris + viktor, 1k)

hi my name’s madanach and i love chris “a hoe never gets cold” giacometti

---

There’s construction on the street below Chris’ hotel window. He had heard the whirring and hammering the previous few nights, but he doesn’t comprehend the severity of the situation until someone starts using a jackhammer at eight AM the night after the Grand Prix final and a gate to Hell opens directly behind his eyes.

“Fu-uck,” Chris whines to himself, dragging the thin sheet up over his head. It does nothing to muffle the sound—or the sunlight, which he notices with sinking dread—and he prepares himself for a brief period of half-asleep respite before the headache sets in. Ten, nine—

“Chris?” a voice says from his floor.

“Fuck,” Chris says again. “Who are you. Explain yourself, intruder.”

“Ughhhhh,” says the voice, “Hnnngh, why,” so Chris assumes it’s Viktor.

“Hi,” Chris says.

“No,” mumbles Viktor.

Chris drags himself to the side of the bed and surveys the five-time Grand Prix gold medal winner, who is half-naked and sprawled on the floor in all his glory, before he has to shut his eyes again. He presses his nail between the cartilage at the back of his ear and one of the bones in his neck and feels a little less like he’s about to die. “I would’ve thought you’d go home with pretty little Yuri.”

Viktor, who has the duvet from Chris’ bed wrapped around his head six times and the rest of his body once, says, muffled, “Gross. He’s nine.”

“Huh?” Chris says. There’s a pen on his nightstand, so he reaches over far enough to fling it at Viktor; it bounces off his blanket turban with a sad thump. “You know who I mean. Japanese Yuri.”

Viktor doesn’t answer, or say anything, or move.

“Don’t go back to sleep,” Chris says through the haze, because Viktor is normally overly talkative and this is interesting. “Ooh, did you go after him?”

“I didn’t go after him,” Viktor sniffs — the disdain is remarkable from a man lying mostly nude on the floor — “He left when the rest of us did.”

Chris vaguely remembers stumbling out with the Italian twins at an hour closer to early morning than late night, getting rebuffed in the stairwell by both at once — a tragic pity — and then hauling himself off to bed. He can’t recall Viktor or Yuri anywhere in the picture.

“You deflowered that poor kid,” he says. “I can’t believe you, Viktor, you scoundrel—“

“You were dancing naked with him!” Viktor shrieks, and immediately cringes. “Ugh.”

Chris, who winced at the volume of his voice, cracks open an eye. The naked man on his floor has struggled to a sitting position and is cross-legged against the wall, slumped and sad. The comforter doesn’t seem to be coming off his head.

“So Yakov kicked you out of the room,” Chris says.

Viktor turns his coocon in the vague direction of Chris’ voice. “Sure,” he says uncertainly.

In his head, Chris counts back: him and the twins; before that, Otabek, who had left after the little Russian got sleepy and slinked away; the girls had all gone in a group once they were exhausted of the testosterone; the coaches filtered out early, but it’s not like he was paying attention to them. He had been dancing alone, and then with Viktor and the kid, and then they must have had something else to drink because clothes came off, and shit, he should really apologize to… everyone.

“You didn’t leave with me,” Chris says finally, because he can remember that much.

Viktor yanks at the blanket until he can stare at Chris with one baleful, hungover eye. “Shush.”

“You went after him?”

“I’ll pay you to shut up,” Viktor says to him. He stumbles upright long enough to shake away his makeshift cloak—it pools on the floor at his feet—and then topples into Chris’ bed. Chris entertains the idea of telling him to move for about a second, and then six feet of pretty, pouting Russian figure skater stretches out next to him, and he doesn’t.

Chris says, “No,” and then, “You don’t get to cuddle until I get deets. You got locked out looking for him, right?”

Viktor pushes his nose into the side of Chris’ arm. Chris grits his teeth.

“There aren’t any deets,” he mumbles. “Sorry, baby.”

Think about hangovers, Chris tells himself. Think about irrational amounts of vodka and the way your coach looks during a red-eye flight and the super scary way your ankle’s been pulling when you land a jump, and don’t think about Viktor’s stupid puppy eyes at all.

“Deets,” Chris says sternly, like he would say to his dog. Viktor looks up at him; flutters his eyelashes; frowns. After a minute he gives up and sighs.

“No deets,” he says again, and pushes his hands up into the pillow. It slips from under Chris’ head and smushes against the headboard. Chris falls down against the bed and listens as little cracks pop across Viktor’s shoulders and back.

“No deets at all?”

Viktor shrugs. “Hate to disappoint.”

“He left with his coach?”

“Yes,” Viktor says. After a moment: “I think I walked him to the door.”

Chris takes a moment to preserve, for all time, the image of Viktor face-down in the bed, tense with embarassment, a blush creeping down his hidden cheeks to glare, in the dim sunlight, on his neck. They’ve been friends for almost a decade and Chris can barely remember Viktor hesitant, much less flustered.

But he really doesn’t know much about Yuri. He was always polite and perfectly friendly, but not much of a talker. Chris knows he trains in Detroit, that his coach is Italian and has an accent Chris hates, and that he’s such a gorgeous skater that his weak jumps barely register. His English sounds American; he laughs easily, though he tries to hide it; he gets nervous, like the rest of them do.

Chris did his research, but he never really thought twice about Yuri Katsuki.

He looks over at Viktor, whose eyebrows are knit in soft bafflement.

“He went through six glasses of champagne to dance with you,” Chris says.

Viktor — who has never quite comprehended the effect he has on people, the entrancement and obsession and numbing — looks lost for a moment, and then smiles.

VIKTOR. NIKIFOROV [13:09 14.12.15]: I didnt get his number VIKTOR. NIKIFOROV [13:09 14.12.15]: :((((((((( Chrisss<3<3<3 [13:16 14.12.15]: LOL u dick

[punkpixieprince]

how did you get your hands on my family photo album

you all look v lovely in ur sweaters

[thecorgiadventures]

A quick Corgi video featuring Nira a new pokemon that I found in my backyard. SPOILERS: I caught it

Check out my webcomic: www.corgiadventures.com