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I absolutely love ur fics!! And I want to write fics of my own soon (not for fallout yet..) can u give me any advice/tips? How do u try to write down the characters as accurate as possible?

Aww thank you so much!!

That's awesome, I'm glad you're getting into writing ❤️

I'm more than happy to talk about what works for me; however, no two writers are alike so some things might resonate and some might not.

Take what does, and leave what doesn't.

Read - a lot. Published works, fanfic, poetry, novellas, series, oneshots, longfic; read it all. Explore different genres and storylines. Find what you like about them, and what you dislike. What makes them good or bad in your opinion. Play around with what you'd do differently if it was your story. All of this will help you figure out a few things: one being what you personally like in storytelling, and two the basic structure of storytelling/what makes it compelling.

Find your voice. We all have a unique tone when telling a story, verbally or otherwise. Figuring out what your personal voice is will help you write authentically but also I can guarantee you're going to be 10,000x more happy with what you come up with.

Showing vs telling is a delicate balance. Sometimes things need to be written out plainly, and other times it works better if you add more meat to the sentence. An example would be: she's angry vs her heart rate pulsed in her temples, her fists shaking at her sides as a wave of heat rolled through her body. While they both convey the same thing, one can be more engaging to read over another.

Sometimes you have to write the boring bits - and write them plainly - to further the plot. Most people are not a walking thesaurus, and using big fancy words like you're writing a dissertation can be very off putting. Absolutely use stronger words if you can, but you don't need to be using furfuraceous to replace scaly.

Additionally, foreword momentum: one action should always lead into another which leads into another and so on.

A first draft is never pretty (if you decide to do multiple drafts) and that's okay.

If you get stuck, go back several sentences. Sometimes we write ourselves into a corner without realizing. OR add what you want in brackets and move on if you're getting hung up on certain parts. An example being something like: He was [find word for mix of angry and sad] but had to stiffen his upper lip and move about his day as if [insert phrase mentioning what happened earlier]. Worse case, put it down for a day or so and come back to it later with fresh eyes.

As mad as it makes me, and as hilarious as it is... writing in Comic Sans helps. RIP.

Saying your sentence out loud can help you figure out if something is off, and saying your dialogue out loud can help determine if it's something an actual person would say.

Taking your time and being patient is the best thing you can do for your creativity otherwise you might burn yourself out.

I find music helpful so I create playlists for every fic I write that matches the vibe I'm going for. Additionally, I have pre-writing rituals that help me get into the headspace.

Yes, cryofreeze your darlings - put them somewhere safe for later. You can use those sentences for something else, they don't need to be completely deleted.

As for keeping characters... well, in character, it depends. Watching/listening to/reading whatever media they're in and paying close attention to the words they say + how they say them + if they have any specific phrases, the way they move + their actions + how they react to things helps a lot. Personally, I keep little lists of things I've noticed that I can refer to if I need them. And sometimes, you just have to suspend your disbelief a little and determine how someone might react to the particular situation you've put the character in. When it comes to that, I tend to think back on when I've been in similar situations or have felt the way they should in that scene, and use how I've reacted as a touchstone.

Write what YOU'D want to read.

And most importantly, HAVE FUN.

I hope this helped, nonnie~!!

Happy writing, you've got this 🥰

#hey anon who asked me this recently— check this out too #I need to try the comic sans trick since everyone says it works jdjfkfkfk

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gggoldfinch · 10 hours

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BIG DAMN HERO - cooper howard x barb howard - 2.7k - request for @tearueful trigger warning for; sub!cooper, dom!barb, femdom, subspace, edging, denial, self-esteem issues, pre!war, ptsd references, leashes, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, praise kink, dirty talk, mind games, vault-tec foreshadowing. note: this is an inbox request, prompt: ❛ i'm waiting for your permission to let me have my way with you. ❜

Cooper’s first agent said he’d never get by on his looks. He suspects, as he tugs the button-up collar out from under his yellow sweater that it’s still true.

Sometimes he glances in the mirror and doesn’t recognize himself. Other times, like these, he has to stare until he finds whats familiar.

Two green eyes in an old man’s face. Where did the first decades of his career run off to? He remembers rope tricks in Hollywood back lots, pretending to be a much handsomer lead actor when the script called for a stunt. But he could say the lines, wear the costume.

None of the studio execs thought much of him at first, but hard work can still pay off in America.

His dream has always been to find a job and do it well. Used to be ranch work, training show ponies. Then, the marines. After that, all the thankless stunt jobs he could get his hands on.

Now he makes movies for real, plays pretend for a living and gets a better paycheck. But there’s always the mirror, the reminder that what he’s earned is hard-won and won’t easily unwrite itself.

He gets in shit for the age lines, the gray hairs, the crow’s feet around his eyes when he squints. Nothing said upfront, of course. But when makeup artists complain, even idly, about the signs of sleep deprivation he shrinks in his seat. Says nothing. Sometimes he even pretends to laugh, never admits anything.

Barb’s moving around upstairs, probably wondering why her husband’s lingering in the foyer. Cooper put his keys in the bowl and his coat on the rack but can’t walk away from his reflection. Who is he? Is any of this what he’s meant for?

Box office returns say fuck yeah, nothing to worry about. The money’s what matters and the people will always be this way. That’s Hollywood. Feels kinda stupid asking his wife how she can stand who she works with when he puts up with this. Guilt, uncertainty, insecurity, and the source is no further than himself.

“You’re home late,” there’s a woman at his back, it takes a minute to register. “I thought it was just pick-ups for that noir movie.”

Under the Covers, the name makes him blush. Vera Keyes is the worst on-screen partner Cooper’s suffered, so out of it on Med-X she barely remembers her lines. It’s easier to shoot without her there, acting against nothing.

He feels how tight his shoulders are when Barb puts her hands on them, the way she rubs his muscles should be illegal. Cooper sinks against her, letting her support some of his weight.

“How do I look?” He asks. Barb blinks.

“Tired,” she cautions, “Why?”

“Vera’s turnin’ twenty-six next year,” he sighs. “Can you even imagine bein’ twenty-six again?”

“Not in my free time,” Barb smiles. Her chin fits in the hollow of his neck, she watches his face in the mirror. “Maybe if the shareholders wanted to pay me for it–”

“That’s ‘cause you’re pretty enough to melt the camera at any age,” he says, turning to press a delicate kiss against her temple.

In Cooper’s mind he speaks only the truth. If Barb Howard ever did a movie he’d lose her forever to stardom. She’s just that beautiful. But she only frowns at him, cocking her head to the side.

“What’s gotten into you?” She asks. Work, probably. Always work. People used to make comments about his teeth, til he got them fixed. Gave him hell for the accent when it was real. It’s harder to alter the rest of his face. He’s already changed so much.

“I don’t even wanna think about it,” he sighs. He lets her hold his jaw, pulling his attention from the unfeeling mirror to the living woman standing next to him.

“Then don’t,” she recommends it.

There’s things she wants to forget. Namely Robert House, the most annoying man in Las Vegas, leaving her terminal correspondence on-read. Barb is fuming under the skin and now Cooper comes home looking like a lost pup in their entranceway, fussing over his appearance.

“Distract me?” He’s usually more coy, less inclined to perform his charisma with his wife. Cooper takes her hands, pressing a kiss to the back of each. The brief lull between offer and response makes him falter. “Y-You’re not busy, right? No calls?”

“I’ve got time for you, baby,” she says. He releases her wrists, she pulls him tight to her by the waist. “You’re tense.”

“Just excited,” he assures her. “Been thinkin’ about you all day.”

“When you’re not worrying if you’re pretty,” she says.

“It’s part of gettin’ old,” Cooper says. Barb leans in to touch her lips against his. “Can’t help but wish I made this career move a lil younger.”

“I love this face,” she replies, bringing one hand up his back to cup his cheek. Validation makes her husband sag against her, chasing her touch. “Wouldn’t change a thing.”

“Thanks,” Cooper struggles to look at her. The painting over her shoulder is suddenly interesting.

“Just relax, handsome man,” she smiles. “Breathe with me.”

She has to remind him to fill his lungs, otherwise his stomach’ll twist itself into knots. In and out, Barb keeps the rhythm simple. Bad days have no power here, he’s safe. He can set aside what hurts and sink into other thoughts.

It isn’t just work. He hasn’t been sleeping this week. Cooper still has nightmares about Anchorage even in California winter. He hides his face in her chest and sobs like a baby. How can she love a country that makes her husband cry? Better for it to burn. Better for him to hope otherwise until he has to know. He’s a good man, a soft man. He can only hurt people in the movies.

She’s already picturing him in a vault suit, it’s a bad habit. He doesn’t know about those yet, the restrictions on wardrobe are a new idea from the shareholders. Cooper likes her control, bucks like a wild horse against anyone else’s. Telling him, telling him anything, can wait.

“I love you,” he presses his nose to her curls, smelling strawberry shampoo and Chanel no. 5.

Barb hums, “I love you, too,” pulling away for his welcome home kiss. Given gently to the corner of his mouth, then another. She bites his lower lip, he did say to distract him. It works, Cooper moans his heart out.

He takes handfuls of her perfect thighs, dragging his palms over her ass. Before Barb he didn’t know people could be this soft, every inch of her gives and gives. He sinks to his knees without being told, pressing his face into her lower belly. Cooper wraps his arms around her waist, binding her tight to him.

“Good boy,” she says. “But we can’t play here.”

“Janey?” Immediately he starts coming up. Barb catches his jaw in her hands and shakes her head.

“No,” she says. Panic avoided. “Homework party at Stacey’s.”

“Oh, good,” he sighs, wanting to sink right back into her stomach and forget time exists. His wife has other ideas.

“Will it help if I get the leash? Hm?” She asks, still clearly unenthused about fucking in the foyer. Normally he wouldn’t blame her, but the hesitance makes him squeeze her tighter.

“Just wanna stay with you,” he mumbles, half-muffled by his hiding place.

“I know, darling. I know.” She pets his ear like she’s genuinely sorry to make him move. “I’ll be right back.”

He chokes on a whine, the world feels so much colder without her body heat. Cooper should stand, his joints ache on a good day, but this is where he needs to be. This is what he wants.

Seconds pass slower like this, head bowed and waiting. Part of him feels like he’ll always be waiting for her. He tries to follow the sound of her heels drifting to the closet. They keep a spare lasso for emergencies behind the coats, usually situations like these.

“There we go,” she says after the longest pause in his life.

Cooper doesn’t want to open his eyes, Barb is the first thing he sees when they flutter. She loops the end of the rope around his neck and pulls gently on the slipknot.

“Still in there, pretty?” Barb asks, tilting his chin up. Lazily, his mouth falls open, wanting her fingers more than he wants to talk. “I expect answers to questions.”

“Yeah,” he swallows. “M’here. Barely.”

He gets like this sometimes, hard days need soft conclusions. Nevertheless, there’s an order to things. She checks the rope tautness with a crooked finger against his neck, because she doesn’t trust him to say ouch if it’s too tight. Then she tugs it, rough enough to snap Cooper out of that lazy, obedient haze.

“Living room,” she says. “Do I have to force you?”

No. Maybe. Mmm, no. Cooper expects her to be fair, but Barb doesn’t have infinite patience. He doesn’t want to move, everything he wants is within arm’s reach, but she’ll be disappointed. His kneecaps are throbbing but where she orders isn’t far. He doesn’t even try to get up, it makes her heart flutter.

“Joints okay?” Asking yes or no questions can help there be an answer. Cooper grunts in the affirmative even though it isn’t true.

Barb drops a couch pillow on the floor and he takes the reprieve from hardwood as soon as he can.

“Good boy,” she coos. He likes when she does all the talking, their scenes never have any scripts. No lines, he can just float somewhere else. Completely unburdened.

She sits, and instead of crossing her legs for modesty Barb parts her knees. Pulls her expensive dress-skirt up to her hips and basks in his slack-jawed appreciation that her panties are not where they should be. Her stockings are still held up by a garter belt, but between them is bare and silky.

He wants her cunt all at once, breathing is secondary. Cooper lunges at the apex of her thighs like a snapped dog, forgetting the lasso until it bites into his neck. He stops just short, moaning plaintively at life’s unfairness.

In a minute he’ll be drooling for it, straining on the leash wrapped around her wrist. But Barb is patient. She spreads herself with her other hand and everything he wants is right there. So close. Pretty pearl of a clit, soft labia, wet hole. He wants to make her wetter, he can do it. He can make her feel so good.

“Gonna put my tongue in you,” he rasps. When the words come he can’t shut up, babbling whatever filth comes to mind. “Gon’ kiss you, deep as I can get.”

“Down, boy,” she chirps. Not unamused, either, he is full of surprises.

“You smell so good,” he whines. “Just a kiss, mama. Just gimme one.”

“That’s Mrs Howard, to you.” Barb reminds him. His cock pulses without any friction, Cooper dips his hips forward against nothing.

“I’m sorry,” he puts his cheek to her thigh, it’s what’s in reach. He drags his lips across the inside of her knee, straining ever closer.

“If you’re really sorry, you’ll calm down and listen,” she says. He blinks hard, tries to shake the fog out of his head. “No teeth, go slow. Good boy, impress me.”

He will. He has to. Otherwise what is he good for? This is his life, this is where he belongs. Everything else is secondary when he’s like this. Cooper lunges again when he feels the loop around his neck go slack. The delicious, too-tight pressure wanes.

Cooper isn’t delicate about this job, no hesitant acclimation to her taste or the act. No swallowing pride. He dives in face-first, pressing his nose again to her belly and his tongue to her fracture.

She tastes like fabric softener and vanilla extract. Like rose perfume and wetness on his tongue. How can anything be wetter than water? Barb manages. She manages everything with her hand lazily gripping the cropped hair at the back of his head. Cooper should grow it out, give her something to really tug on.

But the lasso does the job, she pulls it tight until he can’t break for air without permission. Not that it’s on his mind. Cooper’s placing open-mouthed kisses over her pretty slit, nuzzling his nose into all that heat.

This would be perfect with his hands tied. No chance to be bad feeling her up, which he’s not aware he’s doing until she seizes his wrists. Barb clucks her tongue, not mad, just disappointed, and he folds his arms behind his back. With no leverage, he leans helplessly against the couch.

He wants her, he wants her deeper. Cooper closes his eyes, drawing his tongue between her folds and struggling with where to worship first. Teasing is off the table, he laps at her clit until Barb hisses that he’s good at this.

If she’d let him use his fingers he could show her good, but he promised to kiss as much as he can reach. It feels more intimate, pressing his jaw squarely against the couch seat as Barb rocks her hips into his mouth. He eats her slowly, enjoying the work and the soft thighs on either side of his head.

Cooper’s been warned not to bite, he licks her labia and tries to be good. Tries so hard even when she’s fluttering against his lips, getting his mouth and chin all wet.

“Let me look at you,” Barb’s voice cuts through his brain fog.

Eating cunt is the job in front of him, she reminds with a quick tug to the leash that it isn’t the only one. He’s there to be useful, and pretty. She tilts his chin towards her, stroking her thumb along his sore jaw.

“You’re a mess,” she tuts. His lazy tongue swipes across his lower lip to try and clean it up, to little avail. “Are you having fun?”

“Yes,” he’s too enthusiastic nodding, it makes Barb giggle. “More, want more. Wanna eat you alive.”

“You’ll get more,” she's not done talking, but Cooper cuts her off. She makes a mental note of it, praise now and punishment later. When he's a little tougher.

“Love how you taste,” he’s panting, trying to worm his way back to where he desires. Barb pulls hard on the lasso, keeping his head away.

“I think you like this more than fucking me,” she’s not impressed with his self-control, but Cooper’s very cute. So needy.

“Wanna be on my knees all the time for you,” he drawls. Doesn't really make sense, what comes into his head. It’s just filth, but he can’t stop. “Wanna be used. Keep me right here, where you can use my mouth. Whenever you want.”

“My boy,” Barb coos. “My obedient boy.” His thoughts are all running together, too much time without a task and he makes such promises.

She does think about keeping him as a personal assistant, Hank’s useless. Cooper listens, he’d take care of more than just her dry-cleaning. But mixing business and pleasure is a terrible idea, she’s just trying to get off.

“Tryin’ to be,” he whimpers, “Waitin’ for your permission to have my way with you. See? I can be good.”

“You’re the very best, my love. Keep going,” she lets the rope go slack, Cooper’s mouth is fused to her pussy before any further instructions. She gasps, the sound is heaven. “You can either stroke yourself or finger me, pet. That’s your hard decision for the night.”

Not really a choice. Cooper moans brokenly into her thigh, pushing his middle finger inside her without a second thought. He’s painfully hard below the belt, and it’s not where his mind is. He shifts his tongue to Barb’s clit, flicking the tip gently over her little pearl.

He can make her come without hands, but not like this. Barb clenches around him, he adds his index finger and tries to keep pace. His jaw aches, his neck hurts across the line where the rope bites. It’s exquisite.

“Mm, smart choice,” she does her best to encourage him, even as her head falls back against the sofa. “Finish up while I think of your reward.”

#you’re literally THE barbcoop writer sorry not sorry #fic

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