i could write a fic about this

A Note on Reblogging (Your Own Fic/Art/Stuff/Etc.)

Look, here’s the deal with tumblr: it moves fast. A lot of people follow enough blogs that scrolling through one’s entire dash is impossible. I remember the days when I could wake up in the morning and scroll back to the last post I saw before bed. Sweet, summer child.

Here’s the other deal with tumblr: I see so much anxiety about reblogging one’s own stuff, be it art; analysis; fanfiction; hell, personal posts and replies. I have (and continue to feel deeply) that anxiety. Every time, my inner critic and I go through the same song and dance.

Critic: You look like you’re begging for notes/replies/reblogs. People will think you’re needy/full of yourself/have to be the center of attention. You already have a few notes, why do you need more? Other people have it worst than you. Ugh, you’re just clogging the dashes of your followers. If they wanted to read it, they’d have read it already.

Me: *ball of anxiety* You’re right. Wait, no you’re not. Wait, maybe you are. Wait, no—

I’d say it’s 50/50, even now, that I’ll reblog myself. 

And you know what? Fuck that. 

  • Not everyone can get through their dash in a sitting.
  • Timezones are a thing.
  • Work hours are a thing, also affected by timezones.
  • Life away from tumblr is a thing (what??? I know).

There are so many reasons a person might not see your fic/art/stuff the first time. Reblog it the next day. Reblog it a week from now. Hell, set up a schedule or a queue and have it reblog itself three months from now. Go back through old fics and reblog the ones you really liked; I guarantee you have followers who are new enough to have never seen it or who would like to reread it.

Be proud of the work you do.

Oh yeah, I felt that resistance from here.

Say it again. Out loud. Write it on a post-it note and stick it where you’ll see it.

Be proud of the work you do.

You wrote/made it for a reason. And yeah, part of that reason was probably to share it with other fans. Otherwise, why post at all? I know. Man, I get it. I’m cringing even writing that. The fucked-up “don’t show off” mentality runs deep, right?

Fuck that, too.

If you have followers who unfollow you because you’re reposting your stuff (and this is hard to prove, remember; maybe they quit tumblr, maybe their interests diverged from yours, whatever), who cares? Let them go. For everyone who leaves you, many will stay. And many will be happy to see that thing they missed because of work, life, sleeping. Especially if you follow a few points of tumblr/dash etiquette:

  • Use cuts/read mores for anything longer than a few hundred words (I tend to cut at about 400-500 words, though if something’s under about 700 I might leave it).
  • Reblog at reasonable intervals (day/evening, next day reblog, etc. Hourly might be a bit much ;D).
  • Use tags so people can filter appropriately.

Be proud of the work you do.

(Write it down. Yes, you. <3)

If Cows Could Fly

My entry for this week’s @txf-prompt-box challenge. It’s nothing but fluff and I’m not even sorry. Set sometime after “Rain King”. 

A Hot Air Balloon Ride!

bonus: The balloon isn’t of a regular shape.

“Mulder explain to me again why we’re in a hot air balloon?” They’re about 3000 feet in the air, rising steadily and Scully, instead of enjoying it, glances at him expectantly. She can’t let go. Look around, he wants to tell her cause she’s not believing his story anyway. He’s tried. Twice.

“Like I already told you Scully, Skinner gave these tickets to us.”

“Mulder…” Even the third time is no charm. Scully, his ever skeptic partner, refuses to believe his story. True, it’s a bit of there. But for once, it’s the truth.

“Scully, I’m telling you. Don’t you remember that e-mail they sent around a few weeks ago? The FBI wants to commemorate their best, most successful agents. Congrats, partner. That’s us.”

“But with a hot air balloon ride?”

“They’re not going to send us on some all-inclusive vacation in the Poconos.” Mulder shrugs. For him it’s a dream come true. Albeit a dream he didn’t know he had, but he’s not going to question this, or analyze this. He, for one, is happy. All alone in the air with Scully where no one can see them or hurt them. It’s perfect.  

“They could have sprung for a nice dinner.” Scully mumbles while buttoning up her coat. The higher up they go, the colder it gets despite the warmth the balloon spews at them. Mulder has to stop himself from smirking. He’ll gladly help her get warm. His lewd thought is interrupted by a change in her expression; is softens, brightens up. Mulder follows her look and sighs. Under them, everything looks tiny and peaceful. Like a miniature version of the real world.

“The world can be rather beautiful, huh?” Mulder isn’t sure she even heard him. The swish of the air around them is loud, yet calming. He steps closer to her and she doesn’t move away. They’re almost touching and Mulder can no longer tell if the heat he’s feeling comes from her or the balloon.

“I’m not saying this isn’t nice, Mulder, and I’m still not sure about your story, but…”

“But what?”

“Why are we in balloon that looks like a cow? With wings no less. Mulder, cows don’t have wings.”

“Hey, you can’t know that. Only the cows we know have never sprouted wings.” Her raised eyebrow lets him know that she’s not amused. He, however, can’t hold back his grin. He could have picked one of the other balloons. But he kept imaging himself up here with Scully and he didn’t want them to be in a pig. A flying pig? No, thank you. Or Goofy. Of course the FBI signed them up for a company that exclusively owned silly balloons. When Skinner handed him the tickets, the blush visible even on his bald, shiny head, he mumbled the name “Fun Riders” like it was the name of a shady strip club. Mulder briefly wonders how Scully would have reacted to a trip to the strip club. Paid in full by their employer.

“Why did you pick the cow?”

“Remember Holman Hardt? That case in Kroner, Kansas?”

“I think so, yes. You thought his unrequited love for his high school crush was influencing the weather. Where are you going with this?” Mulder rolls his eyes at her obvious denial; they both know that Holman’s feelings did have an impact on the weather. He decides to let it go this time.

“That one night he made a cow fly right through the roof of my motel room.” Mulder reminds her instead.

“I don’t remember that.”

“You don’t? We had to share a room.” That’s something he can’t forget. They’d shared rooms before, of course. And he is used to being around a sleeping Scully because she can fall asleep anywhere, any time. That was the first, and so far only time, they had to share a bed though.        

“That I do remember.”

“I uhm, wanted to pay tribute to, well…”

“The cow?”

“Not the cow.”

“Then what, Mulder?”

“Nothing. It was a stupid idea, forget it.”

“I can’t forget it, Mulder. We’re up in the air. We’ve got,” she checks her watch, “about another hour and a half ahead of us. As nice as this is, I don’t want us to say nothing to each other.”

“We could play I spy, Scully.” She shakes her head gently, a smile sneaking up on her.

“Mulder, if you could control the weather,” she says and his ears perk up, “what would it be like now?”

“I thought you didn’t believe in that sort of thing, Scully. Maybe the air up here is too thin for you to think clearly.” She shoots him a look, a very obvious don’t be an idiot look, Mulder that he secretly loves.

“Come on, Mulder. What would your weather be like?” Before answering, Mulder looks around him. It’s a sunny day in September, neither too warm nor too cold. The wind caresses the few spots of skin that are not covered by his clothes. It causes Scully’s hair to flap against her cheeks softly, framing her face perfectly.

“I think Scully… this weather right here is what I’d pick.” She smiles at him, desperately trying to catch that one loose strand of hair that keeps escaping her. He watches for a moment mesmerized but then his hand reaches out, comes into brief contact with hers, and he tucks the strand of hair away safely.

“There.” He whispers unnecessarily.

“Thank you.” She blushes but doesn’t move away from him. Not that there’s much space to do so anyway. Mulder doubts that Skinner wanted something like this to happen up here in the air; Mulder and Scully unable to flee the scene and consequently, their feelings. Up here they’re stuck together with every unspoken sentiment they’ve ever had.

“If you could, you know, control the weather, Scully… what would you do?”

“I’d pick this one, too, Mulder. But that’s not how it works, is it? Holman Hardt didn’t pick the weather. It was merely a reflection of his unspoken feelings.” He loves this woman. He knew it before of course, even told Scully, and she pretended not to believe him, but right now the feeling washes over him in a steady wave, almost knocking him down.

“Well, does it reflect your feelings?” He asks carefully. His feelings are brewing up a storm. It all depends on Scully what kind of storm it will be. He is thinking sunshine and explosions of rainbows. One word from her and she can turn it into a violent thunderstorm with rain for days, though.

“You know what I really thought when you told me about this hot air balloon ride? I thought you were… asking me out. On a date.”


“Yes, ‘oh’. But you kept insisting on the story that Skinner gave you the tickets. That this is nothing more than an obligatory thing.” He can show her the receipts because of course Skinner made him fill out a form. She can ask Skinner and he’ll confirm his story. But looking at her he feels like that’s not what she wants to hear right now. Lately, they had been moving into this direction. A date. Or something resembling one at least. If only he’d seen that she was ready for it, too.  

“Scully, you asked me why I picked the cow, right?” She nods.

“I only told you about the whole thing once I’d picked out the balloon myself. I wanted that cow because… I never told you this, but… that night when the cow came flying through the roof? My first thought after it happened was you. I thought of you. Not any specific thought, not the typical what will Scully think of this train of thought I tend to have. No, I just thought of your name. Of you. Because to me, you are… well, everything. I realized it that moment. Maybe not that exact moment but in all the immediate moments that came after.”

“They never did check you for a head injury, did they?” Her voice is soft, crumbling. Tears swim in her eyes that, he is sure of it, she would deny if he brought it up. Just the wind, she’d say. He knows it and it makes him grin, cause she, too, is smiling up at him.

“They didn’t have to. Nothing wrong with my head.” Another raised eyebrow. “At least not like that and definitely not caused by a flying cow. It was not my idea to go on a hot air balloon ride, no. I swear Skinner gave me the tickets, but… I wanted it to be something special. I’m not saying it’s a date, because that would be presumptuous of me, and I didn’t exactly ask you. But would it be the worst thing… for a first date?”

“No, Mulder,” she is so close to him, he feels like they’re becoming one person. Her face, too, seems to come closer. So very, very close to his, “It’s definitely not bad for a first date.” Then her lips are there. They meet his as the balloon hisses and sizzles. Or maybe it’s just them. Their lips move together as if they’ve never done anything else, as if they’ve long been acquainted with each other.

“You know what Scully?” Mulder asks when they break the kiss. “It’s like Skinner arranged our first date.”

“Let’s not tell him about that, all right?” He nods against her, his nose nuzzling her neck. He wonders if anyone has ever attempted sex on a hot air balloon and if it would qualify them for the mile high club. Maybe another time, he thinks.

“And you better not wait for Skinner to arrange a second one.” He definitely won’t, Mulder thinks, as he captures her lips again.

Healing Kisses

Peter Parker x Reader

This is a re-post of this drabble request: hiya!! i absolutely adore your fics, and i was wondering if you could write one where peter constantly worries about his girlfriend (bc worried peter is adorable) and he’s just rlly protective over her and loving but he’s trying his best to not be too overbearing and she thinks it’s the cutest thing ever?? thank you!!!

Summary: Sometimes you make Spider-man a little clumsy. Words: 800.

The giddy feeling in your chest bubbled up through your lungs and into the air, pealing, exuberant laughter filling the air, muffled slightly as you flew past shimmering buildings and rusty fire escapes, light of the stars and street lamps and office buildings reflecting off of the glassy surfaces all around you; wrapped up in Peter’s arms the way your laughter wrapped around his heart.

He’d agreed to take you for a spin around the city in style, but only if you agreed to wear a ski-mask, and only if you waited until after dark. It hadn’t been a difficult decision. You were bouncing on the balls of your feet, heart pounding, laughter already fluttering in the pit of your abdomen, hair tucked neatly underneath the scratchy fabric of your mask when he’d finally come knocking on your window.

So, really, to say that the abrupt end to your fun had been a disappointment was an understatement. Your laughter had distracted him. Your arms around his neck, and the warmth of your body pressed so closely to his had distracted him.

Both of your bodies had slammed into an ill-placed billboard. The sound of it echoing through the night would have been funny had it not knocked the wind out of you so entirely. Luckily, Peter had taken the brunt of the impact, his body jarring against yours as the whole side of him collided with the smiling face on the ad, your bones clanging against his, your mouth smashing against a pointy chin on the second bounce.

“Oh no, shit, shit, I’m sorry,” words spilling from his mouth before your bodies had run out of momentum; your knee knocked into his one more time, “Are you OK?” His voice was high and cracking, worry edging into every syllable. His hand tensed as he worked to lengthen the web he held so that he could lower the two of you to the ground, old sneakers and red boots settling on the roof together.

“I think so,” you said, mentally cataloguing every inch of you before running your hands over the lines of his shoulders, fingers running over a solid chest; you could feel his heart pounding beneath your fingers, “what about you?”

He clicked his tongue at that, shaking a masked head, “Of course I’m fine,” he said as he reached out to pull the mask off of his head, curls spilling out over a sweaty forehead before doing the same for you. You could feel the strands at the top of your head lifting with it, static pulling at the fine pieces.

His eyes narrowed as he focused in on your mouth, sucking air into his mouth again, “Dammit,” he whispered, fingers wiping at the little trail of blood making its way down your chin, “see, man, I’m so sorry. I knew this was a bad idea.”

You tried to shoo his hand away from you, lip throbbing, but probably not as bad as it looked, “Peter, I’m fine. Stop.”

“You’re bleeding.”

“So? I’m fine. It’s nothing.” Then his lips were all over your face, healing kisses smattering your cheeks, nose, and forehead.

“I’m sorry, you’re hurt and it’s my fa- ” You pulled your face away from him, his lips frozen in a pucker, to interrupt him.

“Oh my God, Peter, you’re doing the thing again.” He gave you his best attempt at a dirty look, childishly sticking his tongue out at you, and you had to laugh at him. Had to laugh at how ridiculous this boy was, with his careful fingers and tender heart. He cared about you, there was no doubting that. There was no questioning the burning in your chest and the fluttering of your heart.

In all honesty, the pulse in your lip was keeping time with the one in your chest, but you would never admit that to him.

“Ok, but are you really, really sure that you’re OK?” His brows were furrowed, gentle fingers crawling through your hair like the soft kisses he’d left all over your cheeks, checking for lumps and bumps that weren’t there.

You let your amusement paint your lips with a soft smile.

“Peter,” you huffed, an airy laugh pushing past a bruised lip, “really, really.” He stopped his fussing then, silken tresses falling back into place as his fingers retreated to your face, warm palms embracing ruddy cheeks. Tips of a calloused thumb brushed over the split on your lip; gentleness matching the look in his eyes and contrasting with the little frown weighing at his mouth. You nodded your head at him, eyes pleading with his to let it go.

But then his thumb pushed a little too firmly into your lip as you moved your head and you winced before you could really help yourself and he was groaning, eyebrows furrowing all over again as he released your face and threw his hands into the air.

“See, you’re not OK.”


anonymous asked:

Any good jily fanfic you recommend?

Oh my god, SO MANY. JUST SO MANY (prepare yourself, anon)

That’s literally just what I have bookmarked in my browser, I KNOW I’m missing other fics that I love. If you’re reading this and you know of a great Jily fic, suggest it here for this lovely anon. And me. Also me. 


anonymous asked:

Hi I hope you've had a good week! If you're still taking prompts, would you do one where Chad accidentally walks in on Jay and Carlos when he sneaks in to use the 3D printer? Whether they notice him or not is up to you! Thanks for always showering us fans with awesome fics~ I seriously look forward to seeing them!

I saw this prompt floating around a while ago and definitely considered writing something, but had too many requests to catch up on at the time.

But, since you specifically asked for it and this is the next prompt I have, I finally made time to fill it! I hope you enjoy :)

Apparently it’s insensitive and careless to give a diamond bracelet without a matching set of earrings and Audrey just can’t believe he would give her such jewelry and not think about what she could pair it with, how could he be so inconsiderate?

So Chad grumbles as he sneaks out and tiptoes down the hall at 11:15, more than an hour after curfew, which should be plenty of time for Jay and Carlos to be asleep.

(Which is exactly what he would like to be doing right now, but he is the son of Prince Charming and if his princess wants matching earrings, then goodness gracious, Audrey will get matching earrings.)

He’s quiet and slow, precisely sliding the key into place even in the dark and Chad turns the knob quickly to get out of the exposed hallway and into the dorm room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

The printer is in the center of the room and Chad has only taken a single step toward it before he’s freezing.

“Oh, ohhh, that’s not fair.”

It’s a voice so soft and muffled that Chad only hears it because he’s so close and the night is so silent, but he recognizes Carlos’ voice.

“Stop doing that and just kiss me again.”

And he’s talking to some. In his bed. About kissing.

Oh no.

If he weren’t in the process of breaking into Carlos’ room and using his printer, Chad would definitely give the freckled boy a piece of his mind. But he’s pretty sure Carlos would tell Fairy Godmother and Chad’s not that crazy about detention, so he huffs silently.

The entire school is aware of the giant, obnoxious, plain as day, sickeningly sweet crush that Jay has on his roommate. The tourney team, the cheerleaders, the band, the teachers, the squirrels in the courtyard, they all know.

Not that Jay has ever tried to hide it. He’s making heart eyes at Carlos on a daily basis, watching him with the most dreamy look plastered on his face like his little roommate is a walking dream.

And Carlos is in bed with some jerk while Jay sleeps ten feet away from him.

Chad folds his arms and considers the situation as the room is filled with the sounds of people making out. Seriously, would another detention be that bad just to tell Carlos what a heartless, selfish brat he is? Chad silently fumes, still debating about whether or not to be a creepy trespasser turned justified cockblocker when the other asshole speaks up.

“But, C, when I do that, you do this,” and there’s a moment of shuffling before Carlos moans, low and needy and dirty and so not okay.

In a sliver of moonlight from improperly closed curtains, Chad can just make out two figures squirming on the bed, under the covers except for their heads. Carlos is on top (at least, Chad thinks he is, that looks like blond hair in the dark), laying on top of some random hook up probably.

Carlos shifts back, the blanket around his shoulder slipping down to show that he - thank goodness - is still clothed. At least, his shirt is on. “Well quit it!”


Chad hears more than sees the two flip positions, sending the covers further down to show Carlos on his back and this stupid, easy punk straddling him.

Oh, that’s it. Chad is marching over there right now and telling Carlos how self-centered he is and how evil it is to hurt Jay like this and-.

“Jay,” Carlos whines, “that’s no fair!”

Chad freezes. Again.

“Yeah, but this way, I can do anything I want.”

Carefully, Chad leans forward, squints harder in the darkness and…oh. Yep. That’s Jay. His long hair is pulled up in a bun that’s hard to make out in the dark, but the bed to the right is empty because Jay is on top of Carlos in his bed and - oh dear, Chad is watching them fool around.

Jay and Carlos are far too invested in each other(’s mouths) to notice him yet and Chad would like it to stay that way, thank you very much.

He doesn’t lift his feet off the floor, just shuffles backwards until his fingers reach the cool knob and holds his breath until Carlos lets out another low groan, then Chad pulls open the door, scampers out of the room and delicately shuts it once more.

Out in the hall, Chad shakes his head and makes a strangled gagging sound before dropping the copied key in front of the door.

Audrey can live with just the bracelet.

anonymous asked:

How do you write the beginning of your fics? If you don't mind me asking. I'm having a hard time with opening up my fic, but the opening you wrote for To The Stars is absolutely gorgeous, and I was wondering if you could give some pointers.

I love getting questions about my writing!!!! Please ask away :D 

As for my beginnings, it’s weird but they always just come to me very easily. When I pull out my notebook, or open a new document and put my fingers to the keyboard, I just get a crystal clear image in my head for how the scene should begin and I just start writing. I know it sounds simple but it’s hard to explain. It just is suddenly there and I don’t want to lose that image so I just completely blurt it out in writing, just to get it on the page.

I’ve been taught over the years that at the beginning of your writing, whatever it may be for or about, you have to have a hook. Your reader has to be drawn in and want to keep reading, or else you lose them. They lose interest, don’t feel compelled to follow through, and it’s done. You probably won’t stay on their mind or bring them back to your work again. So in my writing, I use my inspiration, usually drawn from music, to get a certain feeling and I channel that into words. I’m very empathetic and when I feel, I feel hard and that usually translates to me having to write in order to get it out of me because otherwise I feel like I’m going to explode. And I think that ties into writing my beginnings of my stories as well. I want the audience to feel what I’m feeling and see the images I see in my head and I want them to want more, and the best way to do that is to draw them in from the start.

I also want to stress that having a bunch of drafts and edits is okay!!! The most important thing is getting your idea down on paper (or Google docs or Microsoft Word). Just start writing, let it flow, see where it takes you. If it goes in a direction you didn’t have in mind before, make a note somewhere of what you were thinking of before so you can come back to it later and decide which path you want to follow. 

Honestly, when I first started To The Stars, Lance was in Rose’s place and Keith was in Jack’s. I had two comparison columns for what their backstories would be and I just started to resonate with Keith being in Rose’s position. And once I decided Lance would be in Jack’s, the scene at the tavern came to mind and instead of playing poker, Lance was playing darts. Our little sharpshooter :’) So don’t be afraid to make notes of ideas and alternative ways the story could go - after stepping away and coming back at a later time to reconsider, it could be exactly what you need to realize the better story wasn’t the one that first came to mind! 

I hope this helped even a little, and thank you so much for reading my Titanic AU ;;

Writer Interview Tag

I was tagged by @logicheartsoul, thanks friend^^

1) What made you start writing for the first time?

I’m very new to the club since I only started writing a few months ago (and I’m almost 28, Tumblr decrepit amirite?). It think it was a combination of being in my dissertation semester with lots more unstructured time than usual, and wanting to read specific fics/tropes/smut that I couldn’t find in the fandom (or couldn’t find enough of). Also, something that kept me from trying for a long time was being self-conscious about writing in English, but I remember finding out that one of my all-time favorite fic writers is not an English native speaker either and feeling very encouraged!

2) If you could only write about the ocean, the forest, or the desert for the rest of your life, which one would you pick?

Probably none. I don’t think I enjoy writing per se, I just like writing about specific characters doing it, so take them away and I likely wouldn’t be into this at all.

3) Would you ever write a memoir?

Nah, it would be very dull. 
ETA: though a friend and I have been daydreaming about co-writing a screenplay based on life in our (now former) lab, and then making our male labmates read it to show them that yes, this is how the stupid posturing and passive-aggressiveness and ridiculous, petty competitions they engage in DAILY appear from the outside. Does that count?

4) Do you like writing by hand, or writing with a computer?

I’m not sure I can even write by hand anymore. Not cursive for sure. (i also can’t do long divisions or multiplications by hand i try not to dwell on it cause it’s scary)

5) Would you rather be popular among many readers, or unpopular, but loved by critics?

I would settle for being popular among few readers:)

6) Do you listen to music while you write? What is the best writing music?

90% of the times I listen to whatever my boyfriend is watching on Netflix/Hulu/HBO/Youtube or playing on the playstation/switch/whatever other gaming console. 10% of the times is blissful silence.

7) Do people you’ve met find their way into your writing?

Oh, yeah. I think I’m surrounded by very witty and sharp people and I steal lines from them all the time. I wrote a fic that was basically a reworking of a bunch of stuff that has happened to me/around me (which I really hope no one who knows me ever finds). I’m not a super creative/original person to begin with so I gotta make do:)

Mmmm I have no idea who to tag that wasn’t already tagged by A-chan? Maybe @trekdreams, @elisa-pie, @jessicamiriamdrew, @karlurbansvevo, @psicygni, @semperama, @rabidchild67. Maybe you’ve done it already? Maybe you have been tagged? Maybe you don’t even exist? Guys this tagging thing is stressful.

The 6a finale was obviously meant for the Stdias shippers. They got their canon endgame romantic Stdia. From there they could go and write all the fic about Stiles and Lydia being a couple and doing relationship stuff.

The 6b finale is for Jeff. He said he wrote it to make himself. Which means no Stdia. It means if Stdia shippers kept watching 6b they no longer have that canon endgame. They now have Stiles and Lydia acting like the kiss never happened. They have Stiles and Lydia not in a romantic relationship. Which sucks for them but Jeff gave them what they wanted last season. Now he’s making himself happy and doesn’t care if what he wants ruins what they want.

anonymous asked:

What do you think is the hardest part about writing fics and nsfw fics?

Thank you for the ask!!


Character voice. That is literally why I started writing fics, to see if I could write in the voices of other characters, and I figured no one is going to be as painfully honest as a fandom (esp the Marvel fandom where I started writing, they like to bitch a LOT). 

I try to re-read a few chapters of the characters I’m going to write so I can figure their voice out and make sure it’s fresh when I go to write.


DESCRIBING THINGS. I don’t just mean in a sexual way, though I have to be careful not to repeat certain words (thrust, pump, moan, groan, scream, rock, etc.). Also, I run out of ways to avoid saying things like “vagina”, “labia”, “clitoris”, “g-spot”, “penis”, and “testicles” (guys are so much easier to write, less to avoid). For me with fics, biological names are generally ruled out because they take you out of the flow.

The main reason it’s tough though is because I have associative synesthesia (fancy way of saying my senses get tied together on some things). My main thing is taste, hence me describing it as little as possible in any of my fics despite being a good cook IRL (what part of “it should taste shallow and dark green” don’t you understand???). 

Also, and more critically for this answer, physical sensations have a color and shape association as well, you may have noticed how much I describe things as feeling “sharp” or “like a sharp wave” in describing orgasms. I actually do a search in my first edit for shape and color words I use most frequently on accident to make sure I haven’t used them in my fic. Regular fics it isn’t too bad, but since I’m so new to smut, I get nervous and it gets worse.

Unrelated to my writing: light that is too bright or too bright blue (like, cartoon-esque sky blue) literally makes the roof of my mouth tingle and itch for a good 15 minutes. 

I’m willing to bet when you sent that ask this is not the answer you were expecting. lololol

anonymous asked:

So sorry to bother you, but you're the only autistic author I know of, so I need help. I'm trying to write this original story and I've noticed I don't feel any empathy for my characters. I've been writing for a long time and I always have this. I do have loads when I write fanfic. Do you think this could be an autistic thing? Do you feel a lot of empathy for your characters? (I read your first book btw, loved it!)

Thanks, I’m really glad you liked it!

If you have it with fanfic, but not with original works, it’s probably because you haven’t fleshed out your characters enough.

A cheap, shortcut way to do this (and usually how I handle it when I realise this has happened when I’m editing) is to draw from characters you write fics about. Usually, as the story goes on and they develop different life experiences, they’ll grow on their own, but as a starting point, it’s okay to take drives and problems from other characters - or mash-up a couple of characters - to create one that feels complete.

Ideally, you want to know four things about each main character before you start:

  • What’s their flaw - that, unless you’re writing a downward spiral of a story like Breaking Bad, should cause them problems and should be what they have to overcome to get their goal.
  • What’s their extreme trait - something that they’re TOO much of. It’s often related to the flaw but not always a bad thing. Like, a character can have the flaw of being rigid and their extreme trait could be being honourable.
  • What are they truly, deeply afraid of - knowing this will help you generate tension.
  • What’s their goal - this should really be what’s pushing the narrative.

So, if I was going to break this down for Freya Snow, it would be:

Flaw: Guarded to the point of paranoia - will withdraw from others if she feels threatened

Extreme trait: Too analytical - walks into a situation and has already come up with a thousand ways it could go wrong

Afraid of: Being abandoned by those she lets in

Goal: Set up a stable life where she’s not in constant fear of assassins

Those four points are usually enough to get started, and it’s perfectly fine to say “this character’s going to have X character’s competitive streak and Y character’s sense of humour” to help you build them up into someone you can empathise with.

Okay, I hope that was helpful!

Alec Hardy Headcanons

I’ve never done this before, but I’m tired of writing my headcanons as kilometric tags on random posts as they come to me.

I’m on the final stretch of my Alec Hardy longform fic, and I thought it would be fun [and helpful] to get a feel for who he was long before Broadchurch. Or during.

Or after.

[For the sake of avoiding confusion, let’s keep the ships out of it, because I know different people ship him with different female [and sometimes male] characters from all sorts of shows, and I don’t know them all, and therefore could not respond accurately.]

It will be … All About Alec.

[Obviously, there can be questions/drabbles about how he might act with an S/O, but it doesn’t have to be specific.]

Originally posted by julia-the-fan

I know you have ideas and questions and fantasies and thoughts and things … I want to hear them.

Let’s have some fun!

psylockethe2nd  asked:

Imagine The Losers Club as the most dysfunctional superhero team

ok but listen i Love this so much i could even write a fic for this au
have some headcanons about their abilities;

Bill: Telekinesis. Bill can move litterally anything he wants with his mind. at first it was little stuff like a pen or a paper sheet, but the more he grown up, the bigger his power became. he’ll soon discover his abilities are, in fact, related to his emotions, and the stronger the emotions he will feel will be, the bigger the objets he will be able to move will get, even people.
“no Stan, I won’t l-l-let you move. You’ll come with us and save this f-f-fucking city.”

Richie: Invisibility. Richie can render himself unseen by everyone and do whatever he wants without being seen. he keeps using his power on bad purposes like to annoy the other members of the team and scaring them all the time, or to steals stuff
”oooOOOOooh i’m the ghost of Eddie’s underpant, flying through the house!!!”

Stan: Telepathy. Stan can read people’s mind, but also affect their minds/thoughts. It started with terrible headaches, then he started hearing voices that werent his (the poor boy was terrified).
Now he has learn how to control his power and can choose to hear only one person’s thoughts at once
”….I wish I didn’t hear what you were thinking about, Richie. You’re so gross…..”

Eddie: Healing factor. Just by touching someone’s injury, Eddie can heal it and take all of their pain. Unfortunately, it’s only working on other people, but not on himself. He discovered his powers by touching a bird which couldn’t fly, and flew away as soon as his hand touched it.
”Could you stop hurting yourself on purpose all the fucking time to see if my power still works?? Of course it still works!!”

Mike: Fire Manipulation. Mike can create, shape and manipulate fire with his hands. Like the other members of his team, he couldn’t control his power, and everytime he would have a strong (negative) emotion, he would create fire. Unfortunately, his power was also the cause of many incendies, inclunding his own house…
”If you tell me one more time “hot damn” I swear to god…”

Ben: Enhanced Strength. Ben can lift approximately 10 tons with his hands,  he can crush, lift, throw, or catch items of great weight without hurting himself. Like most members of the team, Ben’s abilities gets stronger when he gets a negative feeling, especially anger or sadness. Scared to hurt people, Ben can’t touch anyone until he will be able to have a better control of his own strenght
”I’ve already told you; I won’t carry all your bikes in my arms because you guys don’t want to ride them home…”

Beverly: Plants manipulation.  Beverly can create, shape and manipulate plants, including trees, vines, flowers, but also part of the plants (leaves/fruits). She can also revive withered or dead plants just by touching them with her hands, make them grown flowers, fruits.  yea… kinda like Poison Ivy!
The other members of the team love her power, she’s also the one who made them their “secret base” as they’re calling it; a cabin on a tree

The Fic Writer’s Beatitudes

Blessed are the readers, for theirs is the archive.

Blessed are the betas: for they help us write the stories we see in our hearts.
Blessed are they that kudo, for they reassure us that someone likes what we’ve done.
Blessed are the rebloggers and reccers, for they help the readers find our work.
Blessed are they which leave comments on a WIP that say something other than “write more please”: for they comfort us when we feel taken for granted.
Blessed are the commenters; for their words bring us joy.
Blessed are the loyal fans, for they keep the fandom alive.
Blessed are the fan artists, for they bring our worlds to life before our eyes.
Blessed are they which read an entire long fic and comment each chapter, for the string of comment notifications fills the writer’s heart with delight.
Blessed are ye, who rec our fics in public and tag us, for seeing that we made somebody squee is the light in our days.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad; for great is your reward in fandom.

Vision as a father is so intriguing and enticing to me for one big reason: He has never had a childhood. From the moment of his birth/creation his mind has been mature, logical, and filled with vast amounts of information. Though he has a sense of wonder and curiosity about the world, it is far more analytical than that of a child. But then the twins come along and suddenly all the logic and analyses in the world cannot fully explain their behavior. This confuses, frustrates, and intrigues Vision who decides to be pragmatic about everything, to actively participate in hopes of finding answers. What this means is Vision finally experiences childhood through his sons. Imagine, if you will:

  • Wanda finds Vision laying on the ground in the nursery, the twins in identical positions in the crib, staring at the mobile. Wanda asks what’s going on and Vision responds: “They have been staring at it for five minutes, so I adjusted my visual processing system to more closely align with their less developed eyesight.” He pauses, considering the results of the experiment, “The movements of the stars are both soothing and enticing.”  
  • Wanda sends Vision to the boys’ room because they are up late reading under the covers and they get cranky when they don’t sleep. Instead of scolding them, Vision finds himself lost in thought as he stares at the two shining lumps under the blankets. After several minutes he phases downstairs, grabs a book, and phases back up, sliding under the covers with the boys and using the Mindstone as a flashlight. Wanda eventually finds them and joins as well. They then start having family reading nights on Fridays, only they move it to the master bedroom so there’s more space.
  • Vision joining the boys in catching fireflies, making the jars with them, poking holes in the top and placing some leaves in there. Then he watches with genuine excitement as Tommy opens the jar and the fireflies dance against the night sky.
  • Lazy days in the backyard watching the clouds. This really tests Vision’s imagination as Billy and Tommy both describe, in great detail, things Vision cannot see in the billowy, amorphous clouds. But he always asks them to point at the cloud as they describe it, squints his eyes and tilts his head as they outline the magnificent dragon going up against the knight. Sometimes he sees it, mostly he doesn’t. Then one day he looks up and sees a dog in the clouds and he flies inside to get the boys so he can show them.
  • Puddle jumping. At first he’d caution them about getting wet but by the end of it he and Wanda would be joining in as well. Vision would definitely use his density manipulation to win the splashing contest.
  • Most of all, make-believe. This would take some time for Vision to join, he’d watch with interest, absorb and outline the rules, smile as Wanda plays along, but he’d be hesitant to join. Then one day Billy grabs his hand and asks if he wants to go on an adventure into outer space, and Vision cannot resist the hopeful gleam in the boy’s eye. They spend the day “flying” to different planets, Billy and Tommy guiding the journey for the most part, but Vision would “shake hands” with the invisible aliens. He ends up saving the day, the last planet being hostile but he is able to broker a peace treaty in time for dinner. 

Obviously there’d be so many more possibilities. Hope you enjoyed my random head canons! Feel free to add your own or message me if you want to chat about them, I never turn down a good Scarlet Vision conversation!

anonymous asked:

English being his second language also explains why he got confused at 'hypothesis' bc its a Big Word and my auditory processing issues makes it hard for me to figure out words like hypothesis out loud and i've known the word since i was seven in my first science fair. Besides, hypothesis is taken from Latin/Greek so while it has a place in English, its not a native english word so Lance isnt even wrong when he asks Pidge to 'speak english'

Well I mean like, assuming you headcanon Lance as a Spanish speaker, Spanish is derived from Latin, so Lance prooooobably wouldn’t have a hard time understanding that word. Hypothesis and hipótesis are also pronounced pretty similarly. That specific example is more just… bad, lazy writing lmao.

HOWEVER, I do believe Lance would have some audio processing issues, especially if you couple it with the ‘Lance has ADHD’ headcanon (which I obviously consider canon since I never shut up about it lmao). Like. Hoo boy. Lance constantly needs people to repeat something, esp if he’s off his meds, because his brain is having a difficult time today making that jump between ‘listening’ and ‘translating’ and ‘processing.’ 

And he knows, he knows, that people are silently judging him and wondering what’s wrong with this kid, why can’t he just listen right the first time? He knows, alright, and he’s apologizing before he’s even called on. 

“I’m sorry,” he says, shoulders hunched against the looks he knows he’s receiving, against the carefully neutral face of his instructor. “But could you please repeat that? Just one more time, please.”

“Sorry,” he says, miserable, as he apologizes for something he knows he can’t control yet feels like he should.

in which jack does not, in fact, go into the NHL

AN: the sequel to this piece. 
TW: Suicidal thoughts, career changes, hard conversations.

When the confetti rained down in the other team’s colors, Jack felt a cold wave of numbness wash over him.

I don’t want to be alive anymore, he thought, chest tightening with shame and fear. I want to die.

A pause. A breath.


Keep reading


This is a (decently long, sorry for the lack of writing these past few days) one-shot for the below prompt! It… didn’t turn out exactly like the ask, but I hope you like it anyway! I’ve been wanting to try writing trans!lance for a while because I absolutely love that hc, and I really enjoyed writing this, so let me know if you guys like it, because I could definitely see myself doing another fic with it.

Trans! Lance where an asshole alien keeps miss gendering Lance and being transphobic and he starts to get upset and then the team overhears this happening and are about to kick the aliens ass.

I tried to make it gen… but it ended up being very klance, especially at the end… so uh… I hope you like it anyway! Sorry this always happens when I try to write gen fics.

Only half the team knew.

Contrary to their belief, Lance was actually an expert secret keeper. With a large family like his, he had to know when to keep his mouth shut. So, despite the loud, obnoxious, open persona he displayed for the others, he could also be sneaky.

He’d the had practice of years sneaking out of the Garrison, or even his house when he was little to go see the beach at night with his siblings.

So, keeping a secret on an unbelievably large castle ship with only six other people on it was easy.

Or at least, it should’ve been.

Keep reading


MEGA THANKS to @hastalalaterkeith7152 for sending me quotes from the vlog so I could write this without internet and also motivating me

“I think it’s dumb.”

“Well of course you would, mullet,” Lance retorted.

“I’m just saying, there are better things we could be doing,” Keith fumed.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Hm, I don’t know, maybe trying to find Lotor?”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Shiro interrupted. “We haven’t found any trace of Lotor, so in the meantime, why not strengthen the coalition? It will be good for our allies to know more about their ‘defenders of the universe.’”

“Exactly,” Lance said. “So, Keith, get your butt in there and make a vlog!”

“I don’t even know what that is.”

Lance groaned. “Come on, mullet, it’s not rocket science. Vlog. Video. Log,” he drew the words out, one at a time. “Like a journal, but as a video.”

“What am I supposed to say?”

“Anything you want,” Shiro said. “Just be careful not to give away sensitive information, in case these ever get into the wrong hands.”

“Right. Sounds easy,” Keith muttered under his breath. Why couldn’t somebody else go first? That would make it easier. So far only Coran had done it, and Keith had learned from experience not to follow his example when it came to film making. But Pidge, Hunk, Allura, and Coran were all working on castle upgrades, and Lance and Shiro had a one-on-one training session planned. That left Keith to sit alone in what Coran had deemed ‘the recording room,’ talking about himself. Something he’d never been particularly good at.

“Hey, man, take it easy,” Lance said. “No need to cry over it.”

“I’m not,” Keith said, confused.

Lance groaned again. “It was a joke.”

Of course it was a joke. Lance always made jokes. And they always flew right over Keith’s head.

“I’m not going to cry,” he said in frustration, after the door to the recording room had slid shut behind him. He sat down. Took a deep breath. Turned on the camera.

“I’m Keith, the pilot of the black lion…what should I say?” he asked. “I’m a paladin. I fly the black lion. I-I said that already, see that’s why I’m bad at this. What else am I supposed to tell you? Okay, um, I guess I’m part Galra…”

After stammering through an introduction, finding words seemed a little easier. Whenever they visited planets, people always seemed most interested—or disgusted—to learn about his heritage, so he opted to talk about that for a little while, pulling out his knife to try and bring up the memories of the trials. Then he remembered what Shiro had said about sensitive information. Maybe talking about the Blade’s secrets wasn’t such a good idea.

Keith paused, staring down at the knife, at his reflection in the shiny, rare metal. “I guess being part Galra is a big deal. Might explain why I was never really good at…connecting with people.” He thought back to the events on Arus, how Lance had tried to teach him some sort of team chant. He still thought it was dumb, not as dumb as this video, but still dumb enough. He said as much, and before he realized what he was doing, his face was heating up and he was raising his voice in anger. Why did he have to get angry so easily?

“I am so sorry,” Keith said, remembering all their allies would be watching this. He leaned back, closed his eyes to calm down. “I am so sorry, I guess…I have a bit of a temper, so…”

Words were becoming hard again. Sticking to his heritage, Keith realized, might also not be the best idea. He didn’t know enough to talk about it with the ease he’d like. And not knowing was making him angry. Not knowing where he came from. Not knowing where his mom went. Not knowing why she left.

Words were hard, but for some reason Keith couldn’t seem to make them stop coming out his mouth. Emotions were rushing out, and he couldn’t keep them bottled up anymore, but this wasn’t the time or place. There was never a time or place for the leader of Voltron to break down.

Breathing was getting hard, too. He felt tears coming, sniffled once, and frantically thought of a way to cover this up. But it was too late. He’d spilled his guts and now everyone was going to know, the team was going to know, the allied planets would know, the universe would know that Keith Kogane was just some scared little kid lost in space.

“I'm—I’m outta here! Get me outta here,” he muttered, getting to his feet. “I'm—I’m outta here!”

He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t pilot Black, he couldn’t lead Voltron, even with Shiro back, hell, he couldn’t even make a damn vlog, whatever the hell that was. It was frustration more than anything that made him yell, “I said I wouldn’t cry!”

Keith stalked out of the recording room, the colours of the hallway swirling together as tears blurred his vision. It occurred to him that he’d left the camera on, but he didn’t care. He just needed to be alone. He was already alone. He was always alone. He was a loner. Right now, he needed to be alone somewhere safe from discovery.

He stumbled into his bedroom. He was dizzy, he couldn’t walk straight, he couldn’t think straight. He didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want to be a leader. He didn’t want to be a paladin. He just wanted to be home, alone in his cozy little desert shack, back when he liked being alone, when it was easy to pretend he didn’t care about his parents, when he had no idea that he was an alien.

Keith was really crying now, hot, messy tears dripping down his face. The armor that encased his shaking body was too tight, too constricting. He fumbled to get it off, piece by piece, fingers slipping over the smooth surface as he trembled with sobs, until eventually he gave up and sank to the floor. He was all alone. Nobody wanted him. Nobody cared. Why would they? All he’d ever done was push them away.

He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that, crouched in the middle of his room with his head in his hands. Surely there were better things he could be doing right now. Like trying to find Lotor. Or training. He could’ve taken down the gladiator at least twice by now.

The sound of the door sliding open was barely audible. Just a gentle whoosh, a whoosh Keith had heard many times before. He didn’t pay it any attention, even as someone walked into the room and knelt beside him. He felt a hand on his back, rubbing up and down, slow and gentle, heard soft words being murmured in his ear. He tried to focus on that.

“Hey, Keith. Hey, it’s okay. Shhh, it’s okay, Keith, you’re alright.”

Keith swallowed hard and steeled himself to meet the kind pair of blue eyes that looked down at him.


“Yeah, buddy, it’s me,” Lance smiled worriedly. He brushed tear-soaked bangs from Keith’s face. “Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

“I—” Keith froze. That was just the problem. He could never bring himself to open up. He never told anybody what was wrong. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t seem to take down all the walls he’d spent years putting up.

“It’s okay,” Lance soothed. “You can talk to me.”

“No, I can’t!” Keith cried, much louder than he’d meant to. Lance flinched. “Can’t you see that I can’t talk to you? I can’t talk to anybody! I’m no good at it. I can’t connect with people, I can’t open up. Nobody likes me, and I try so hard, but I can’t make people like me because I always push them away and I don’t mean to but it just happens because I don’t know how to do it any different and then I’m all alone but I don’t want to be alone anymore but I can't…I just…I can’t.”

“Keith.” Lance’s strong, steady hands found Keith’s shoulders. His voice was soft, caring. “What are you talking about, man? You’re not alone. I’m right here. I’m always here for you.”

Keith wiped viciously at the tears stained on his cheeks. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what to say.

“Let’s get off the floor, huh?” Lance suggested. Keith nodded. Lance guided him to his feet and helped him take off the pieces of armor he’d missed. Keith tried to do it on his own, but he felt so clumsy and useless he ended up just standing there while Lance reduced him to the black bodysuit that was underneath all their armor.

Lance sat them both down on the edge of the bed, keeping an arm around Keith’s shoulders. He was still warm and a little bit sweaty from training, but Keith didn’t care. It felt good, Keith realized. It felt good to be close to someone and have them look out for you.

“We all care about you, Keith,” Lance said. “You do know that, right?”

“I…” Keith paused, “don’t know.”

“Well, we do. All of us. And yeah, okay, I guess your people skills could use a little work, but we know you’re trying. You’re part of the team, Keith. You’re family.” Lance squeezed his shoulder, smiling. Keith looked at him uncertainly. “What is it?” Lance asked.

“I’ve never had that before,” Keith admitted.

“You’d better get used to it,” Lance chimed. “Because we’re not going anywhere. We love you, man.”

“I love you too,” Keith managed. He was tearing up again. Lance pulled him in for a hug, and Keith went with his instinct to hug him back. Things weren’t great, but with Lance here, they were better. Speaking of which…

“How did you know to come find me?” Keith asked.

Lance ducked his head. “I, uh, kinda saw your vlog. You left the camera running.”

“The vlog,” Keith moaned. “I don’t know what I was thinking, saying all that stuff. And now the universe is going to see it. What do I do, Lance?”

“Don’t worry about it. It hasn’t been sent anywhere yet, and I’ll bet there’s a way we can delete it. And we could make a new one.”

“I don’t think my second time around will be any better,” Keith frowned.

“We’ll do it together,” Lance grinned. “We’ll call it ‘Get to Know the Two Bravest Paladins of Voltron!’ Razzle dazzle, right?”

“Yeah,” Keith chuckled. “Razzle dazzle.”

the one with too many pacts [bellamy/clarke, monty/miller, the 100]

Over the years, Clarke has accumulated a few pacts with friends she’s agreed to marry if they’re both still single by a certain point. Miller’s weirdly insistent that you can only have one backup, and Clarke would really prefer not to have this conversation with Bellamy in the room.

“I’m going to be date-less at Jasper’s wedding,” Clarke tells Miller, flopping down onto the couch beside him so animatedly, she almost spills her coffee.

Miller lowers his book, looking like it physically pains him to do it. “Yeah,” he says. “What else is new?”

Clarke kicks him.

“What? You broke up with Niylah months ago, and the wedding’s next Saturday. I’m just stating basic facts. Is that a latte? Can I have some?”

“Get your own.”

“I can’t,” says Miller, grouchy. “I started ordering black coffee here, and by this point Harper just gives it to me before I even make it to the counter.”

“And you don’t want to tell her you actually like things sweet and sugary?”

“You’re the worst,” says Miller, turning back to his book. “Enjoy being alone forever.”

“That’s the thing, though!” Clarke says. “At this point, I might actually be alone forever. I’m losing my backups left and right.”

Crap. Maybe there’s a chance Miller missed that.

But Miller’s already closing his book, shifting on the couch to face her. “Your what?”

[More on AO3]

this is for the anon who submitted a request for a bellarke/minty version of “the scene in friends where they choose their backups in case they’re not married by 40″ to @madgesundersee​, and for jenn who kindly passed along the prompt to me :)