#i always forget how clunky tumblr asks are

[stealingyourbones]

Ask the writer ask game! Tagged by @gremlin-bot

1.) how many works do you have on ao3?

8!

2.) what’s your total ao3 word count?

50k!

3.) what fandoms do you write for?

Primarily DPxDC but I enjoy writing DC and I greatly enjoy writing D&D campaigns!

4.) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Falling in Love (In the Most Literal Sense)

Short DPxDC Prompts

I've Grown a Mouth So Sharp and Cruel (It's All That I Can Give To You)

What the Hell?! (UP FOR ADOPTION)

Dream of a Peaceful Slumber

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I’m simply too busy with my tumblr to respond to people on ao3. If I try to focus on more than one website at a time I’ll lose my mind 😅. I promise I Look at each and every one!

6.) what’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending

There’s a sander sides fic i wrote like 8 years ago that had all of the sides get slowly and very brutally murdered one by one in hella graphic detail. I was trying to experiment with descriptors and visuals at that time. Definitely that one. I don’t think it’s on ao3 but it’s somewhere on my old Wattpad account

7.) what’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Definitely Falling In Love (In The Most Literal Sense) or an unpublished eldritch smut horror DeadOnMain fic that’s forever staying in WIP hell. Falling In Love first and foremost has an ending, secondly they get along and it’s cute :)

8.) do you get hate on fics?

Not really. I occasionally get questions or criticism on my tumblr but that’s either advice or someone wanting answers and that isn’t hate.

9.) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

I have tried my hand at smut before. Mostly smutty scenes with kinda sorta fade to black, solely because I’m terrible at painting a mental picture for the reader so it always flows terribly. I’ve written that eldritch DeadOnMain thing as I said previously, and some of Jason’s matches Malone persona OF ideas.

10.) do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one?

Somewhere in my WIPs there is a homestuck AU DPxDC fic where DP kids are the humans and DC folks (primarily the teen titans) are the trolls. Definitely that one.

11.) have you ever had a fic stolen?

No fics but I’ve been sent asks that are word for word one of my prompts. I just delete those and go on with my day. Idk I don’t have a tiktok and someone’s probably imitating me on there with my prompts so possibly????

12.) have you ever had a fic translated?

Nope!

13.) have you ever co-written a fic?

Yes!! I’ve Grown A Mouth So Sharp And Cruel (It’s All That I Can Give To You My Dear) (eventually I’ll get around to working on it I have so much stuff going on like preparing to move and finals creeping up aUGH)

14.) what’s your all time fav ship?

Ooooo It’s a solid tie between Kon/Tim and Dave/Karkat. One is my current favorite and the other is one that’s been my favorite ship for the longest time.

15.) what’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you will?

I have a WIP in my files that’s a DPxDC Dash/Danny fic where Dash is a bomb disposal tech and Danny just moved into Gotham. I have the entire outline written and almost a solid chapter done but I heavily doubt I’ll have the motivation to touch it again.

16.) what are your writing strengths?

I don’t think I have any, (I haven’t written a full length fic in so long I can’t really tell 😅) but I’m very good at setting tone. Idk what do y’all think?

17.) writing weaknesses?

Dialogue. 100% dialogue. It always feels clunky and unconversational whenever I read it back. I swear the second I start writing talking I forget how conversations work.

18.) thoughts on writing dialogue in another language?

I’d probably throw a simple word here in there of the other language if I’m writing a bilingual speaker or ask a pal to help me with translations because I only know English and I know damn well that friends are better translators than google.

19.) first fandom you wrote for?

Sander Sides! I wrote a solid 500ish prompts for that fandom and like 70k worth of fics. It was what got me into writing and for that I’m so very glad.

20.) Fav fic you’ve ever written?

Definitely my Batman mermaid au. I love it to bits and I’m so proud of the designs and I’m always kinda sad that I’m the only one as enthused about this work as I am. None the less I reread it at least every 3 months and it always makes me smile doing so.

Ooo who to tag… @chromatographic @halfagone @susiron

#ask game #bones speaks #bones replies #feel free to ask me about any of these :D

[billygaysanguine]

🐇 and 🍓 for the writers asks :)

How did you get into writing fanfiction? I started when i didnt even know it was called "fan fiction" but i was like 11 or something and i was obsessed with greely from animal jam and i wrote weird fanfic about him and my wolf self inserts and the phantom king in my little notebook in purple glitter pen and then i discovered the internet and i found out about beautiful places like deviantart journals and fanfiction dot net and soon i moved up to posting star wars/mlp crossovers on wattpad and THEN i got introduced to ao3 through tumblr at age 15 and i live there now. my beautiful home that is dusty as fuck because i always forget to post

Do you prefer writing OCs, reader inserts, or a mix of both? OCS!!!!!!!! ive done second person pov x readers before but they were uncomfortable and clunky and i also wrote in present tense which i dont like anymore. and ocs are great cause i can get specific with it

#ask games

[finch-writes]

ah, formatting asks my old enemy

#finch sings #not writing #i always forget how clunky tumblr asks are

[ilooklikeaburntchickenugget]

Loyalty

A/N: I got inspiration for this piece from the Tumblr account @xxfanfiction-emo-trinityxx​ (I got their permission to tag them!) however I think they’re a wonderful writer and always one of the top ones with a huge amount of Gerard x Reader fics that I keep on crawling back to. They have a work called “Gotham City Rivals” (with two parts) that I fell in love with and decided to do my own spinoff of with their idea. I also don’t know that much about any DC comics, most of Gerard’s character in this is based off of Bruce Wayne, but I didn’t do a bunch of research so I apologize for any inaccuracies. Hope you guys enjoy! Pairing: Batman!Gerard x Catwoman!Reader Word count: 2,781 Warnings: Angst, minor fighting, swear words, injury, mentions of blood.

You slipped off your skin tight suit with a harsh gasp, your teeth grinding together at the rough cuts that the latex and leather of your suit now brushed against. Yet the sounds of a hot shower and the steam that you could already see promised some element of relief to the pain. “You alright?” You heard your boyfriend walk in the room, armor still on in it’s completion besides his mask and gloves that he was currently carelessly throwing on the marble counter.

“Yeah, I think so.” You responded, examining the damage of your wounds in the mirror. “Not the worse I’ve taken.” Reflecting back on the various gun shots and stabs you’ve received over the years.

He came over, standing behind you. His metal armor always looked so good on him, solid black with small decals that you felt lucky enough you only got to see. He gave small kisses on the cuts and bruises along your shoulder and collarbones. It wasn’t in a sexual way, more in a caring one.

He finally decided to take off his suit as well, revealing his soft muscles but well built frame. You always found it funny how comic and cartoon artists portrayed real life heroes. They ignore your hip dips, made your waist the size of a pencil, and even overemphasized your boobs. And with Gerard, well, he was actually a lot like what artists portrayed him as, maybe just a little less triangle shaped.

“Next time,” You sighed as you look at him in the mirror that was now fogging with steam, his eyes on yours through the reflection, “You’re taking more hits.” He lightly laughed.

“Fine.” He agreed with a kind smile, “If you insist.”

“I’ve told you a million times, Gerard, I don’t know anything about those two!” You paced around his marble office trying to explain to him, “They are batshit crazy. They hold no patterns, no compunction, it’s part of their game and it makes it fun for them.” Your feet hastily moved back and forth on the gray tiled floor, the only light source was the sun creeping through the gray clouds outside and small desk-lamps around the large room.

“You’ve worked with her a few times,” He argued back from across his desk where he sat, “You have to know something.” “Those ‘two times’ happened probably five years ago, and it was exchanging files for some cash that’s it.” You sighed, “They don’t have a plan, ever, that’s what I’m telling you. Gerard, I know you’re incredibly smart and think with a plan. And the Joker’s really fucking smart too, but he’s also mentally insane and has no grip on himself other than to kill. He’s like a wild fucking animal.” Your boyfriend leaned back in his chair with a heavy sigh, his finger holding his temple together as he collected himself. “If I could help you on this, you know I would in a heartbeat.”

“Would you though?” His anger was growing, both he and you knew it. In fact, the entire room and all its objects were now drowning in the tension.

“What?” You asked barely above a whisper and through teeth clenched together, eyebrows furrowing as your vision grew red. There was no response. “If you’re questioning the integrity of my current work then fuck off. You’re too scared to kill the man, and now you’re gonna put some of this one me?” You snapped, he remained emotionless. Damn he was good at his job. “Go fuck yourself Gerard.” And with that, you stormed out of the room and up to your shared bedroom.

This stupid mansion he lived in was still a maze to you, and stomping through it in your utter fit of rage didn’t help, the sound of your feet bouncing off the large halls. It made your head want to explode.

You had never once blown up on him in your two years of dating and partnership. But never had he ever questioned your morals, or more importantly your loyalty. And you were expecting some form of an apology in the least.

Sure, you felt a little bad about bringing up his own methods of working. He had his extremely valid reasons, but it was a button to push in response to him pushing yours. You knew you would apologize eventually, but you needed him to come to you first.

After all, he was the one acting like a child. It was almost like an interrogation of you, despite the fact you had told him countless times that you knew nothing about the Joker or Harley. Other than the two deals you made with them in your early days for some extra money, those two were wild cards.

So you sat in the absurdly big California king with decorated in a gray and black and decided to do some breathing exercises so you didn’t use the wall as a knife throwing target.

It was hours, no, more than hours before you saw your lover again. And if it wasn’t for your stomach grumbling in hunger you would’ve stayed cooped up in the room. You wandered your way into the grand kitchen, beginning to look for whatever you could.

Grabbing a cookie from a batch you had baked just the day before, you began brewing some coffee for yourself. Of course you didn’t hear Gerard walk in, since you two had begun this whole partner/dating thing he had begun picking up on some of your specialties, such as being extremely quiet. On missions and such you were thankful for it, considering his armor was quite clunky, but now you regretted it.

The two of you didn’t even acknowledge each other’s presence, despite the fact that you were only a few feet a way. It was like a silent game, but just completely ignoring each other. It was like the other person didn’t even exist.

But the tension was a whole other level. You literally felt suffocated by how tense it was. And you knew your lover felt the same. With the extremely small glances you took you were able to piece together how he was definitely a form of uncomfortable, his emotions starting to break through, which you knew they would eventually.

You decided once your drink was done to leave the room, leaving Gerard and the extreme conflict behind. Well, some of it at least. And back in your room you grew bored, fast.

You didn’t want to show your weak side, determination to not be the first to apologize flowed through your veins. So, you decided to relieve your stress the way you always did.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You heard Gerard’s voice echo through the hallway next to you. Your skintight suit hugged your body, kitten heels hitting the ground in rhythm.

“Going out.” You replied.

“In your suit?” He questioned, this time grabbing your arm tightly with his hand. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh?” You questioned, turning to him and eyeing him through your mask, “And what are you gonna do about it?”

“Don’t test me.” He warned, his voice growing deep. This time, you pulled your arm harshly from his grip, which he didn’t fight back.

“That’s what I thought.” You spat, walking off.

Patrols were not the most enjoyable thing, the only time they were was when you were stressed and needed something to take your mind off of all your problems. A relationship limiting argument between you and your boyfriend was a perfect example.

Very rarely, if ever, did big stuff happen in Gotham. Small crimes like robberies, domestic cases, so on and so forth could be dealt with by the excuse of a police department the city had to offer. You were wondering when the federal government would finally come and kick a shoe up their ass.

It was funny, Gerard with all his power, I mean being the Gerard Way (despite the fact absolutely no one knew he was Batman) still couldn’t convince major officials to bring in more backup despite his numerous requests hidden in comments within conversations. The excuse was always that Gotham didn’t need help: they had Batman.

And let’s not forget his stealthy partner who did a lot of the work as well, the wonderful Catwoman who always got overlooked by the patriarchal influences that still flushed their way into society today. You scoffed at it.

On your earpiece you heard an incoming for an “escalating situation” at one of the prisons, which was just icing on the already destroyed caked for “a bunch of dangerous prisoners just got out.” Great.

It took you less than five minutes to be at the scene, strutting in and flashing your badge. It wasn’t that you actually needed one, it was just for good measure.

You got led through the dozens of police cars lining the outside of the prison all with flashing lights and a few sirens still going, escorted by one of the main detective inside where you were met with another officer talking to the one and only man himself.

Those hazels eyes hidden well under the mask looked up and met yours, softening just a bit from the black optics of Batman’s as you approached him. “Catwoman.” He said in a stern tone.

“Batman.” You responded the same, arms crossed over your chest.

You were briefed on the situation: A bunch of highly dangerous criminals did escape and were on the loose. The police felt that they needed help because some may or may not have ties to the Joker, therefore it made it a case for you and Gerard to deal with.

“Be careful,” Gerard told you, the two of you walking side by side in the street on patrol and looking out, “I don’t want you getting hurt again.” “Please,” You scoffed, “These guys probably have guns and a destructed god complex. I don’t see a problem.” “Some of these are former Arkham patients.” He warned, “They could be dangerous. And crazy.” “Like we haven’t dealt with that before.” You reminded him, “Or more specifically me, because I could have connections, ya know?” A verbal stab for sure. He looked over and glared.

“We’re not having this conversation right now.” “So when we get home are you finally going to grow up and have one after the entirety of today?”

“I told you-” Before he could even finish the two of you were surrounded by men with guns and various other forms of highly illegal weaponry. “Shit.” He muttered.

“Yeah shit.” You responded as bullets began shooting towards you. A few of them managed to ricochet off of nearby metal beams hitting your attackers, while other nearly missed you as you managed to jump behind them. With a few solid kicks and swings you were able to disarm and knock out four or five of them, Gerard getting the other 10 of them or so considering his suit and physical ability was greater than yours.

“How many were there again?” You asked him.

“15.” He responded. You looked around, mentally counting the bodies.

“Perfect, 15.” You responded with a sigh. “Do they not know how to scatter?” He shook his head.

A deafening silence filled the car on your way home, the only thing being heard was the soft engine rumbling of the mobile. You were still going to be strong about this whole thing, despite the fact that you wanted it to be over with.

You looked around out of boredom, and down at your suit to see if there was any damage. And, well, there was more than damage. “Well, would you look at that,” You lightly laughed, looking at the left side of your torso where a big slash and blood was seeping through. You hadn’t noticed any pain or anything until you looked down.

“What the fuck?” He asked, looking down to from the road.

“Gee, pay attention to the road.” He reluctantly huffed and put his gaze back there.

“You have a huge fucking slash on your side.” “I know,” You commented, “Oh well, we’ll fix it when we get home.”

You hadn’t noticed his increase in speed or the extra few minutes he cut off as you pulled into the large and modern mansion. Before you could even step out of the car in the garage Gerard had already opened your car door and picked you up, carrying you bridal style.

“You know I can walk.” You lightly laughed, holding on to his arms, “I think it was just a bullet graze.”

“I don’t want you hurting yourself.” He placed you down on the couch, “Let me grab the first aid kit.”

He was gone for only a few moments, coming back with the kit in handy, no mask and gloves this time, with no time to remove his armor. It wasn’t a life threatening wound, that’s for sure. “May I?” He asked, motioning to the zipper on the back of your suit. It was so cute to you how he always asked, despite your years of being together. You nodded, moving your hair out of the way.

He took your suit off with ease, helping you step out despite the harsh feeling you got from the slash. Carefully he sat you back down, dabbing your wound with a bit of alcohol and making sure not to directly touch the affected area. There was a certain spot where he had to touch the wound with the cottonball. You couldn’t help but cringe and gasp at the painful feeling, shutting your eyes as it felt like your flesh was burning. “I’m sorry baby.” He commented, squeezing your thigh for support. “You’re doing so great.”

It took him only a few more minutes, and the two of you deciding stitches may be stretching it too far, for you to finally be all bandaged up. You slowly got up, Gerard coming right to you and helping to hold your hips up. “I would suggest a bath but-” “Not a good idea.” You lightly laughed, placing your head on his shoulder. “Thank you.” You mumbled.

“No problem.” He responded, kissing the top of your head. “You alright?” You nodded as he picked you up again, taking you to the bedroom to rest.

He placed you lightly on the bed while removing the covers on the side you always slept. You crawled into the open area he had created, placing your wounded body onto the sheets and covering it up. “Do you want some pajamas?” He asked, now removing some of his suit, his unbrushed and tangled black hair fell just below his eyes.

“Yeah, actually,” You lightly smiled, “If you wouldn’t mind. This sports bra is kinda tight.” He nodded, walking into your closet and grabbing some sweatpants, while walking into his own to grab an old t-shirt, knowing those were your favorite things to wear.

He gave them to you, and stood there watching to which you rolled your eyes, “C’mon now, turn around.” You instructed, his eyes went wide with a form of embarrassment, “You don’t get to see my tits, yet.” He sighed, complying with you as you slipped your bra off and shirt on in a few seconds.

You decided against pants, considering that would take a lot of extra effort. So you just pulled the covers over you, sinking back in. “You can turn around now.” And Gerard did, looking at you with the shirt on and residing to his own side of the bed next to you.

You chose a petty play next, completely ignoring him, waiting for an apology. “I’m sorry.” He said, leaning back on the frame of the bed and looking at you. You looked back at him signaling him to do more explaining, “I’m sorry for questioning your loyalty and moral of your work. I know those two things matter to you very much, and I had no right to question either of those.” You took a moment to let the words settle in.

“Thank you,” You responded, “I’m sorry for bringing up the way you work. I know why you do it and I, too, didn’t have the right to do that either.” “Thank you.” He responded, both of you taking sighs of relief as most of the tension alleviated. “I love you.” He told you next. It had taken him a full year to speak those wonderful three words to you, and whenever he said them you always cherished the way they sounded.

“I love you too.” You responded with a small smile, placing your head on his shoulder which he happily complied with.

#gerard way #gerard way x reader #gerard way x you #gerard way x y/n #gerard way fanfiction #mcr gerard #my chemical gerard #my chemical romance #My Chem #my chemical gee #my chemical romance x reader

[gotta-big-ego]

hello fellow person, ive been desperately scrambling all over tumblr for an open req ask, and i wanted to throw this idea:

how would the egos react to the reader who is indifferent of their self-care (not taking amounts of water for a few days, forgetting to shower, eat or change clothes,etc.) i hope you have a wonderful time-

I'm so sorry! I would love to do this, but I don't write egosXreader (romantic or otherwise), simply because I don't know how and it always feels clunky and off when I try.

But if any other writer would like to give it a go,

I'd love to read it if someone writes it!

#markiplier egos #jacksepticeye egos #jse egos #egos prompt #I'm so sad #this is such a good prompt #wish I knew how to write xreader #gotta ask #@possumsshack

[sunlitroom]

Hi! For the ask game - "If his lips are silent" :)

Hello anon. Thank-you very much for the ask - that's very kind of you. I wasn't entirely sure which ask game you were referring to - I've been kept away from Tumblr by boring rl things - so let me know if I've got the wrong one.

1. Which scene was your favourite to write in [title of fic]?

The scene in the station, when Jim is hungover, and realising that he probably spilled more to Harvey than he intended :D Harvey's fun to write - because he will scandalise people by saying inappropriate things, but also because he's shrewd, and thoughtful, with a sadness to him. There's a lot of nuance there, and I enjoy writing little details when it comes to him

2. Which part of If His Lips are Silent was hardest to write?

It was initially awkward to put together at all. I tend to think of lines or scenes that I like, instead of a plot. I had the idea of Jim in an old book shop in some decaying part of time, and the notion of him buying books there because the aesthetic of them unconsciously reminded him of Oswald - but that was it. Everything else had to be stitched together.

3. If you could change anything in If His Lips are Silent , what would it be?

It probably doesn't need the final paragraph. The final scene in the office - and the realisations Jim has along the way - makes things clear enough and leaves it on that 'things said and unsaid' theme nicely. I'm not sure now why I felt the need to add it. If I had to hazard a guess, it was probably because I liked the 'both hidden and exposed' bit in this sentence

'When he flicked the bedside lamp off, though, and lay in the dark, both hidden and exposed...'

Reading it back, though, I should have kept the sentence for something else and ditched the paragraph. It feels clunky.

4. Did you make an outline for If His Lips are Silent ? Did you stick to it?

Goodness - not at all :) I never really use outlines - my fics are probably too short to require them. A lot of my time is spent stitching random bits and pieces together. This one wasn't too bad on that front - there wasn't anything too complicated going on. Others were an absolute nightmare.

5. Which scenes did you cut, and which were added in If His Lips are Silent ?

I don't think anything was cut from this one - the idea itself was pretty short and sweet. The paragraph that helped me draw random scenes and details together, giving the fic a centre, was actually a stray paragraph that I'd just written and saved because I liked it:

"If you had asked him, Jim would not have known precisely how to define his relationship with Oswald Cobblepot. In fact, the question would be likely to make him frown, and clench his jaw, and tap his fingers impatiently on his desk. They were not colleagues. It was not as straightforward as snitch and contact, and it wasn’t crooked cop and gangster on the rise, either. Jim still fiercely resisted ‘friends’. Even so, it was not enemies. Even when there had been distance after Falcone’s removal, the space between them had crackled with rage and disappointment and betrayal – but never hatred. Never that."

6. Who was your favourite character to write in If His Lips are Silent ?

Harvey. He can see that the relationship between Jim and Oswald is a little odd, but maybe doesn't entirely twig until that last scene in the office. Harvey is much cleverer than everyone seems to think - he's watchful, and thoughtful, and has an understanding of frailty, and disappointment. It's nice to write someone who is slightly outside the central relationship, an observer.

7. Which came first, the title or the fic?

The fic always comes first for me. I always forget I need a title until Ao3 asks for it, and then spend ages trying to find something I like. I can't remember exactly how I came across the Freud quote, 'If his lips are silent, he chatters with his fingertips', but I thought it worked well for Jim, who might stay tight-lipped, but gives himself away.

8. Which idea came to you first in If His Lips are Silent ?

Jim going into a dusty old book shop and buying books for Oswald. It's odd - I could see all the details of the shop, hear him opening the door. I wonder if writing fic for TV and film leads us to sort of 'see' scenes in that way?

9. What are some facts readers may not know about If His Lips are Silent ?

I think Barbara was originally going to be in it a little more, possibly via flashback if not in-person, but it wasn't working. She didn't really fit here

I think this is where my head canon decided that Gertrud definitely had episodes of mental illness, and that Oswald probably ended up in the role of caregiver quite often as a child.

Thanks again for asking, anon :)

[seyaryminamoto]

I feel like i'm gonna regret asking this but what is hiby

Oh. Ohohoho, oh. I recently answered this to someone else (not on this blog), I suppose there are so many newcomers in this fandom lately that HIBY has become slightly less known than it used to be.

HIBY stands for How I Became Yours, the most polemic and catastrophic fancomic in the history of the Avatar franchise. If you thought any of the official comics were problematic in any sense, woah boy, they’re goddamn flawless masterpieces compared to this thing.

Every possible angle of HIBY is problematic. Spot-on accusations of tracing were the main reason why Deviantart took down Jackie Diaz’s profile and comic from their platform. I heard Nickelodeon also got involved legally, not 100% sure on that front, but if true, they cracked down on her because she attempted to profit off this clunky mess of an inconsistent story by claiming it was somehow an official sequel to ATLA. To clarify, this last thing is something I was told, I can’t find actual sources to confirm it… so maybe I heard an exaggerated account of the tale of HIBY and it never went that far. Nevertheless, this comic didn’t need to escalate into a legal problem to be absolutely abhorrent.

In regards of art, HIBY somehow keeps discarding the asian-inspired setting seen throughout ATLA and instead favors showing the characters in European castles and outfits that don’t fit anywhere within ATLA’s world at all:

Katara is basically wearing a red version of Belle’s dress from Beauty and the Beast, if I’m not mistaken. The architecture of the place they’re at is so European it’s baffling (if I’m not mistaken, this is supposed to be Toph’s family’s house :’D). Also, it’s blatantly obvious that the background is a photograph, so she could’ve just as easily looked for photos of asian locations instead, but she picked european architecture because yes. Yet more blows against the possible artistic merits someone could offer this comic (if there’s any).

Now, though, the BIGGEST problem in HIBY is, of course, the story:

To recap: ATLA ends with Aang and Katara kissing at Ba Sing Se. Whatever problems someone may have with their relationship, or Mai and Zuko’s, or Sokka and Suki’s, it’s unquestionable that those three ships were canon by the end of the show.

Jackie Diaz’s SEQUEL COMIC doesn’t acknowledge this finale: somehow, Aang is in love with Toph but they’re not together despite there’s literally NOTHING in their way, since Aang and Katara weren’t together at all, according to Diaz. And Katara? Oh, she’s pining endlessly over Zuko, who somehow married Mai…

… Despite wanting Katara too.

… Despite he literally knocked up Katara back when the war was ending, which resulted in a miscarriage because of Mai’s wicked schemes~~!!

Can someone please explain to me in what world does it make sense for Zuko, FIRE LORD ZUKO, to be in a relationship with someone he doesn’t want, when the person he does want is RIGHT THERE, AVAILABLE, when there’s no real political consequences to ANYTHING that happens in this comic? You could say “oh no the Fire Nation people wouldn’t accept a Water Tribe woman…” … but then Zuko ends up with Katara anyways and the only problem is that Mai wants to kill them for that :’) so… no excuse works.

Basically there’s no real plot, the whole thing boils down to “I want these ships to happen and I need them to face hardships even if they don’t make sense”. The main hardship is that Mai doesn’t want her HUSBAND to carry out an affair with Katara. Zuko’s response to Mai’s obvious and reasonable complaint about their illicit relationship is to TURN VIOLENT WITH HER. And he’s the good guy :’)

Mai has a non-existent older brother Sho, who looks like a BLEACH character with Ozai’s hairstyle, and together they will try to kill Katara because, welp, someone has to give them trouble, I guess. In all fairness, the only character with a relatively logical flow of thought in this damn trainwreck is Mai. I mean, “my piece of shit husband married me for political clout, got his mistress pregnant, I didn’t want the kid to be a problem for me so I induced a miscarriage in Katara by poisoning her, probs just wanted Katara dead altogether but whatever, I only got the kid. Then Zuko threw me away despite I’m his legal wife and I’m really pissed about it so I want Katara dead” is the smartest writing in this entire comic. And no, that’s not a compliment, it’s still stupid as fuck but that’s how much more stupid everything else is. 

So, the happy couples are, like I said, Zuko and Katara, who get together despite Zuko is married to Mai, Aang and Toph, who somehow weren’t together despite there’s nothing in the way, AAAND… 

… Sokka and fake!Azula. Because I refuse to acknowledge that thing as the Princess we all love and adore.

Frankly, I consider it a miracle that HIBY didn’t destroy our ship completely when it was posted online, seeing as it was amongst the most talked-about fanmade content in Avatar’s fandom at the time. If people no longer associate Sokkla with HIBY immediately, we’ve definitely done a good job saving our poor ship’s face and showing it’s got a fuckton of potential compared to the shitfest that comic portrayed.

Why is Sokkla so problematic in HIBY? Because of fake!Azula, of course. Why is she fake!Azula? Because she’s got plot-convenient amnesia! Turns out that, for some reason, Azula forgot all the events from ATLA (let’s be real, so did Jackie Diaz so it’s not just her) and she shows up in this comic as a completely different character, so much that, upon hearing about the TERRIBLE THINGS SHE DID AND WAS, her reaction is…:

Fascinating, am I right? :’D She’s nice, sweet, shy and as good as brain-dead. And as she’s so sweet and cute now, somehow that becomes absolutely appealing for Sokka. And he falls for her, she falls for him, they bang dramatically, and so on and so forth…

Eventually Azula sacrifices herself in the final battle when Mai and her brother try to kill everyone and oh no! Sokka’s love interest dies again! Such a shocker, however, that Sokka goes to the Spirit World to save her, and unlike Iroh he succeeds… but what does Azula look like post-Spirit World shenanigans?

… Yeah, okay, fake!Azula calling anyone her “little angels” is just proof of how IC she is, if you had any doubts still.

But isn’t it FUNNY. Isn’t it HILARIOUS. That Azula not only undergoes an atom-deep brainwipe that turns her into a flat non-character, but that after dying she’s revived with WHITE HAIR, dressed in blue clothes and whatnot…?

My interpretation, and honestly, I don’t know if there’s any other possible interpretation… Jackie Diaz wanted Sokka to be with Yue :’) She fucking wrecked Azula’s character to turn her into a fake!Azula, who would eventually turn into fake!Yue after being resurrected because oh that’s just perfect to close off Sokka’s storyline, isn’t it? Only, he’s not with Yue nor with Azula because it’s neither of them. Just as it isn’t really Sokka either, or Katara, or Zuko or Aang or Toph.

Now, revisiting this trainwreck, there is a throwaway line where Ty Lee, in her (I think) only appearance in the story tells Katara that Suki and Sokka broke up. So um, Suki does exist, officially, in this comic, and she did date Sokka but it ended, and she’s back in Kyoshi Island with her team. 

Which elicits the question… why the fuck is she Mai’s maid?

I assure you, if you decide to delve deeper into this mess, you’ll absolutely find a lot more things to laugh about, to be outraged about, and to facepalm about while you wonder how on earth would someone, ANYONE, create something like this and not die of cringe looking at the finished product. It’s baffling to me.

At any rate, if you’d like to torture your own eyeballs reading this comic for yourself, there’s a Tumblr blog that gathered HIBY perfectly neatly for all curious eyes eager to torture themselves with this OOC fest. If you want more details than I care to remember about this catastrophic mess of a story, there’s always the TV Tropes page, which I think illustrates everything rather well. 

So… that’s HIBY. While I don’t think it should be sentenced to oblivion (we had best never forget the lowest lows the fandom has reached, else someone might be tempted to outdo them), this particular fanwork is quite the trainwreck in just about every regard. I really don’t think there’s anything worth salvaging in it. So, if you wanna read the whole thing (I’d be surprised if you would xD), knock yourself out in the blog link I posted up there. Otherwise, have a nice day if you still can after reading my answer to your ask :’D

#anon #hiby #granted by the time I arrived here #this shitshow had already been done and gone for a while #so I had to ask too #but I saw more signs of it than I suspect most people do these days #which is honestly... a wonder #I'm happy for it #let the fandom be cleansed of the dark stain that is this garbage comic

[goron-king-darunia]

Annon-Guy: Thank you Darunia. Glad you like the fanfic. What did you like? Any advise on how I can improve?

I liked that there was closure to Alice’s and Decus’s stories beyond what the game gave us. It never really addressed what happened to their bodies and that’s definitely something that bothered me about Aster, too, so that’s something nice to do for the people who like Alice and Decus and want that closure. The rhythm of speech (it’s hard to explain) was a bit stilted. Your writing style has a little bit of an amateurish feel to it. It’s not really something I can tell you how to fix other than by saying you should reflect on what kinds of things you like to read and go over them critically to see what they do and why they do it and if it’s something you want to add to your writing skillset. If it’s just for fun or for a hobby, you’re fine as you are. But to speak metaphorically for a moment, your fic does read the same way “beginner” art looks. You played around with your basic toolbox, but you have no real style yet. Practice makes perfect, so if you’re looking for tips on improvement in this department, all I can say is write more! :D Try free verse poetry (that is, non-rhyming poetry) to play with your vocabulary a bit. Short snippets that have an impact.  You can also work on “setting the scene.” Part of the reason your work feels a little amateurish is that you’re telling the story flat-out. And it reads that way. I feel like I’m having something told to me by a stranger on a train trying to pass the time. Setting the scene can help you immerse readers. Try practicing this by sitting in your room or at your workstation and describing it in writing. What can you see? What do you hear? Are there any smells? Are there any physical sensations? Is there anything you taste? Example: I’m in my bed right now. The room is pitch dark except for the dim light of my faux fireplace, giving off a warm ambient glow. The breeze from my window is pleasantly crisp and refreshingly cool for a warm spring evening, and the breeze from my ceiling fan makes my hair tickle my cheeks. I still smell the soap wafting off my hands, a floral fragrance, and my lips still taste like grapefruit soda. My computer screen is the brightest thing, and the contrast with my surroundings makes everything else melt away. The keys clack under my fingers and the crickets outside are drowned out by the whir of my computer fan. This sets the scene much more than me saying “I’m in my room and typing to you.” Now obviously you don’t want to front-load all this information at once. But when you let it trickle in, especially when you first establish a location, this can help. Focus on what’s important to know about the scene. If your characters are in a cave, is it a nice cave? Show is by describing how pretty the light is, streaming through cracks in the stone overhead. Is the cave scary? Describe how scary it is by telling us that the darkness is oppressive and the damp, musty smell within is threatening to suffocate us. Focus on what characters are doing too and relate their physical sensations to us. Setting the scene works best when you break it up with dialogue. Example: Marta walked after Emil into the Camberto Caves. The plinking drip of water was welcoming, and the water reflected the sunlight that streamed in through gaps in the stone overhead. “Do you really think we’ll find rosemary here?” she asked Emil. “I hope so,” Emil replied meekly. The mud in flooded sections of the cave squelched beneath their boots, and the bitter herbaceous and earthy scents of the cave changed every time they turned a corner.  This reads a lot more eloquently than just saying “Emil and Marta went to the Camberto Caves and looked around, trying to find rosemary.” Now this is general advice, but if anyone reading this is thinking “But I don’t know a lot of big words!” or “I can’t write like that! I can never think of nice words to use!” Don’t worry. It just takes practice and patience and a little bit of reading. Follow a word blog here on Tumblr and learn some new words, or have someone beta read your fiction to give you advice on word choices. Or read some of your favorite books and learn new words from that. The only thing I can say is DON’T JUST LOOK UP A SYNONYM FOR A WORD AND USE IT INSTEAD OF A SIMPLER WORD. If you want to improve your vocabulary, you can’t always trust what a thesaurus will tell you. Big and large both mean pretty similar things but muttered and whispered don’t mean the same thing. Muttered implies it was said in a low register, but still with a speaking voice. Whispered implies a shrill, breathy exchange of words. Not to mention that there are connotations for things. “Retort” for example, does mean “response” but it’s a loaded word. Response just means you said something and someone else said something back. But a “retort?” Usually, that means someone is being sarcastic. “You’re really something,” Richter responded. versus “You’re really something,” Richter retorted. In the first one, Richter is neutral. He may even be praising someone. In the second one, “You’re really something” is implied to be derisive or insulting. You will learn more by reading but just know there’s a big difference between an aroma, a scent, and a stench. The first is pleasant, the second is neutral, and the third is negative implying disgust. The aroma of a rose, the scent of salt air, the stench of dead fish. The connotation is just as important if not more important than actual definitions so look for words in context and try to master that. Finally, my main issue with your fanfic. Dialogue is hard to process when it’s all stacked together in a paragraph. It makes it easier to lose track of who’s saying what and requires clunky and repetitive taglines to even begin to understand it. The rule of thumb is that when you write dialogue and a new person speaks, you give them their own paragraph. “Is the food good?” Emil asked, fishing for a compliment. “It’s delicious!” Marta responded with a smile. When the dialogue is only two people, it can continue like this. “Pass the salt please.” He said. “Of course.” She slid the salt shaker closer to him. “Thanks. “No problem at all!” Because we established an order in the first section (Emil first, then Marta) we know that the “he” refers to Emil in the third line, and the “she” in the fourth line refers to Marta. When Emil speaks next, there is no tagline at all, but we know it’s Emil because it’s on a separate line just how we know the last line must be Marta again. If you diversify their speaking styles enough, you’ll always be able to tell who’s speaking, even when there are three or more people. However, it’s always best to introduce someone when they join the conversation, either by name or by a description of appearance, and once three or more people are conversing, it’s much easier to digest if every line of dialogue gets a tagline to remind us who’s speaking. Example. Richter took the salt shaker when Emil was done with it. “It’s weird. All of us eating together.” “Maybe.” Emil simpered. “But it’s also kind of nice.” “It would be less awkward if you weren’t always trying to kill me,” Marta said coldly. “M-Marta!” “It’s alright, Emil.” Richter patted the blond's shoulder. “It’s not like I don’t deserve it.” This is a complex bit of dialogue, but it tells us enough to understand. I start the first line with Richter taking the salt shaker. This indicates that he’s the one speaking. The second line is noticeably Emil because of the tagline. We know he says both “Maybe.” and “But it’s also kind of nice.” because that dialogue is linked to his tagline in the same paragraph. The third line is attributed to Marta in the same way. The fourth line has no tagline, but because Emil is known to stutter and because the next line is Richter, we know that it can’t be Marta and it can’t be Richter so we have both context and knowledge of Emil’s speaking habits to tell us who’s talking. And finally, we have Richter speaking again.  This isn’t the only way to write dialogue, but this is one of the easiest ways to write it in a way that is understandable for most audiences. You can get away with other ways of writing dialogue, but it’s almost never a good choice to write a long string of dialogue among several speakers in a single paragraph.  That’s all I really have to say! Sorry if it’s a bit long! For a first or very early fic, though, I liked your fanfic well enough! But I’ve been writing for years and this is the sort of advice that helped me improve beyond just being a hobbyist. I’ve won contests in my time and I didn’t get where I am by accident, so if you’re looking to go the distance and be the real deal? Consider my advice. If you’re just looking to have fun? Then fuck everything I just said. Forget every word. If writing for you is just for fun? Then do whatever makes YOU happy. 

#Letters from Annon Guy #critique #writing critique #writing advice #Anonymous #ask GKD

[tyranttortoise]

*I’m clearing my inbox a bit, so here’s a really long post of me answering asks re: SSLL, general stuff, and positivity.   Most of them are hopefully under a cut, but you know how tumblr is with cuts these days.  

@kawaiiplum  I think if the popsicle happened to be blue or red, one of the skeletons might get flustered.  And by one of the skeletons, I mean Edge, Black, or Red.  xD  If that does make it into the story, it’ll just be a small thing that she doesn’t quite catch the true meaning of, but there’s a good chance it might come up!

I actually have an imagine about this trope with the UT/UF/US bros!  

Aww, hello smol shy anon!  I’m so glad that you worked up the courage to send me an ask!  Sorry it’s taken me a bit to get to it. D;  You’re such a sweetheart, though, and I absolutely love you too <333  Thank you for reading my stuff, and I hope you’re having a fantastic weekend!

Thank you for brightening my day with this delightful comment.  <333  I’m so happy that you enjoy it!!

@ anon 1 :  I’m here for some Crooks, and I love you to death for bringing this level of enthusiasm to my askbox =D

@ anon 2 : What a way to go.  xD  I was a little worried that my last chapter was a bit shit-posty.  As for Mutt, you’re going to get your wish soon!  ;D

@askinfresh  Hey lovely!  I have to agree with you there.  Crooks is the sweetest of the sweet!

@ruby-the-wolf  I had Dating Start in my head the entire time, too.  xD  I’m so hype that you liked it!  <333

@kuroshiro101  xD  You know I couldn’t resist.  Poor Crooks would definitely be the type to have that sort of misunderstanding.

-- anon 1 : Absolutely!  All of the skeles will get actual dates with her, and you know I’m all about some Stretch~.

-- anon 2:  I’m so glad you enjoyed it!  Yeah, I went a little different with the last chapter.  Most of it was set from Crooks’s POV, with most everything in the past tense because of that, and it made the shift seem clunky to me.  But I really wanted it to showcase his dating manual.

I’m glad I could help, sweetie!  <3  And I hope your days have gotten better.

@wovenbunss  =D  Thank you!  I really like lore building, even if I don’t showcase it very often.  

@whatevenisiteren  Aw, thank you so much for such a kind comment!  <3  I’m trying to be around more myself.  Take as much time for yourself as you need, hun, and just remember that it may not seem like it now, but things do get better.

-- anon 1: I’m so glad!  <3  Red’s my fav in SSLL right now -- and well, in most fics I write, haha.  So I’m a bit biased when I write him! x]

-- anon 2: Hell yeah, as far as I’m concerned that is the true ending.  I mean, all the other endings are valid af, but I’m all about a giant poly relationship.  Some of the skeletons just have to improve their relationships with each other first. =]

I’m willing to bet you’ll find out soon ;D  His is definitely coming up!

Thank you for being such a sweetheart!  It especially makes my morning to hear that you relate to the Landlady.  I always worry that she’s too bland, so that’s a relief!  I hope your weekend has been wonderful, dear!  <33

Absolutely!  I definitely didn’t forget all about those passes 8D   Ha, but really; his next date will probably be an escape room one!

#ssll asks #the tortoise talks #positivity #for a rainy day #such sweethearts #<333 #thank you all for the comments #and the asks #you guys make my day #now i'm going to go take a nap

[nightwitchwriter]

New Original Story

Hello Tumblr, 

This is nightwitch. As of now, I decided to post up my first story. It may be clunky, messy and a bit hard to read, but bear with me. It actually is the script of a comic I’m working on, so that’s why the dialogue is a bit weird. This was originally supposed to be posted earlier in September, but due to school, and my own procrastination, I was late. Please forgive me. Hopefully, the next post will be either before or on the date.

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I look into the mirror to check on my battle gear.

“Skirt, check.” As I patted my long, black skirt. “Necklace, check.” As I put on my quartz necklace. I looked over to my dresser, grabbing the small stick and putting it into my bag. “Wand, check.” I grabbed some black lipstick and put it on my lips. “Lipstick, check.” I said, as I looked in the mirror, putting the makeup on. Dalila, my friend, jumped into my room, via the window. 

“You know, we have a cat door, right?”

“And seeing your sister’s pet be the first thing I see? Not happening.”

“Suit yourself.”

She watched as I put on my boots, before grabbing my school bag.

“You ready?” she asked teasingly, already knowing my reaction.

I slapped my face, and slid my hands down, groaning in annoyance, before slapping them again.

“As I’ll ever be. Let’s get this over with.”

Chapter 1: Introductions

I opened the heavy door, walking into the school, filled with students. As I walked by them, many of them stopped talking or doing what they were doing to gawk at the witch, aka me. I could practically hear their thoughts and whispers.

“They let her back in here?”

“Wasn’t she expelled”

“Another year with the Wicked Witch of Willows High. Great.”

I looked back at them, everyone immediately either looked away or started talking about something else. I smiled to myself. Sometimes it's fun being seen as the bad guy.

 I head to my locker and take out my books for the day. If you’re wondering why I’m not going to magic school, like they do on tv, well, I decided that for myself. There are magic schools, but I already went there when I was in elementary school. Not really much of a big decision really. Just wanted a change in environment.

“Hey Will.”

I turned to see one of the only friends I made here. Madeline de la Roche. The only reason she doesn’t fear me is because she's an outcast in her own right. If I have to spell it out for you, she’s blind! What more can I say. Anyway, it's because she’s blind, that she doesn’t judge based on outer appearance, but she can tell I’m a good person. 

“Hey, Maddy. Oh, did you finish the literature homework that’s due today?” I asked

“No, I’m letting you copy my homework again.” She quickly shot down

“Please? It’s English Lit. No one is going to care unless we’re a lib-bra-ian!” I cried out, stomping my foot at each syllable of the word.

“Mrs. Green is going to care.”

“And should care, why?”

“Because it lets her know someone besides the regulars, is paying attention in class.”

“Again, I should care, why?”

As we laugh, I thought back to when we became friends in freshman year. Immediately, looking as I was, no one wanted to be near me, and my RBF didn’t help. So as I sat alone, Maddy asked if she could sit next to me. I asked the most basic and rudest question I could ask a person.

“Are you blind?”

The fact that she said yes instantly, shocked the hell out of me, so I quickly apologized and let sit next to me. She was friendly and we got to talking. Now everyone calls us the Witch Sisters. Like me, Maddy wears a whole lot of black, and she can pull off three faces. One, is when her eyes are closed and is able to pull off the friendliest of faces. Two, her eyes are open, but when she’s smiling, she has this dreamy look that makes her oh-so pretty. Three, she is staring blankly at the person she’s talking to. Like she’s showing no emotion or not even blinking, to the point where its creepy to continue. It’s kind of funny when you watch. Since she’s so gentle and friendly, and blind, she rarely gets talked about. I’m another story.

As we laugh, I thought back to when we became friends in freshman year. Immediately, looking as I was, no one wanted to be near me, and my RBF didn’t help. So as I sat alone, Maddy asked if she could sit next to me. I asked the most basic and rudest question I could ask a person.

“Are you blind?”

The fact that she said yes instantly, shocked the hell out of me, so I quickly apologized and let sit next to me. She was friendly and we got to talking. Now everyone calls us the Witch Sisters. Like me, Maddy wears a whole lot of black, and she can pull off three faces. One, is when her eyes are closed and is able to pull off the friendliest of faces. Two, her eyes are open, but when she’s smiling, she has this dreamy look that makes her oh-so pretty. Three, she is staring blankly at the person she’s talking to. Like she’s showing no emotion or not even blinking, to the point where its creepy to continue. It’s kind of funny when you watch. Since she’s so gentle and friendly, and blind, she rarely gets talked about. I’m another story.

“Hello Heather.” we both said.

“It’s a good thing I caught you. Can I ask for a favor?” Heather asked, in her sweetest voice

We both looked at each other, uncertain, but I sighed, pushing Maddy a bit forward.

“You go on ahead. I’ll see you in class.”

“Alright.” Maddy slowly walked away, the group moving out of the way to let her pass. I turn back to Heather.

“Alright, what do you want?” I addressed her as politely as I could.

“What do you mean?” She asked so nicely

“I mean, that I don’t have any love potions that would work on you. If you wanted any.”

“Oho, I’m not going to spend $5 for some “potion” that probably doesn’t even work. Why do you think I asked for a favor?” 

“So what is this “favor”? A jinx on your competition?”

“On, nothing that low. I was wondering if you could make a drink that could help me sleep. I haven’t been able to sleep lately for some reason.”

“Having guilty nightmares, maybe?”

“Why would I have anything to be guilty of?”

If any of you are able to guess, we were attacking each other in the most subtle way possible. It would have continued, if not for an interruption.

“Oh for Pete’s sake, just ask her! We’re going to be late for class!”

We both looked to see that it was Nicholas LeBec, literal model student of  Ukrainian and Irish   heritage and current possible boyfriend to Heather. For a nice guy, he’s hanging out with Heather and her friends. Either way, he’s one of the only few students who’s not scared of me. In fact, he always teases me whenever he gets the chance. Not in a mean way, more like a playful manner. I don’t know why, and it's weirding me out. 

Heather sighed. “Look, do you have what I need or not?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah. I think I have just the thing? But, what’s in for me?” I smirked

“Did you forget this is a favor?” She taunted.

Technically, a favor means, I do something for her, she does something for me in return. But we all know that probably won’t happen.

I stared at her, until I sighed in defeat. “Alright. I think I have something just for you. Come by my locker later, and I’ll give it to you.” I gave her my sweetest smile.

“Aw. Thank you.” As she gave me a hug, she whispered in my ear, “You better not screw me over, bitch.” She then walked away back to her group, as they headed for class.

See, told ya. Total psycho. Don’t worry, I have something special to give her. I smiled to myself as I thought of the “potion” I was going to give her.

I managed to make it to before the bell rings, thinking back to see if I missed anything of introducing myself.

Oh yeah! My mom is a cafe owner, and is also a witch. So is my little sister, she goes to magic school. My dad owns two businesses, a clothing store and a bar. Did I fail to mention that he’s Italian, while my mother is Irish? Yep! Both sides are Catholic, but thankfully, we’re not too religious, considering my mother’s family are also witches. The only sucky part is that we still have to go to church on Sundays. So freaking early!

Other than that, that should be it for introductions of the people in my life, involved or not. I’ll tell you how things get really complicated in the next chapter.

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Again, I apologize for this chapter. I lost my train of thought while working on the ending. So again, bear with me.

#first story #hope you like this!

[ramberambleramble]

Things I don’t like about myself

I always say I hate attention but I love it.I like to joke about the tragedies in my life.I love it when people feel sorry for me. I love to talk about my problems with other people.  I think by laughing at my pain that others will see me as strong and I’ll get more pity from them. I love pity. I love to be pitied. I tell all my friends the stories of my grandparents dying, my pets getting killed or my family breaking apart, and I don’t want them to forget it so I turn it all into jokes, maybe jokes that they want to hear again. I want my problems to ring in the ears of other people, so they might ask me to tell them again.

“Hey man tell us how your pets died again”

“Ha ha sure thing. It all started with this chihuahua I had way back......”

And there I go for another hour, telling the tales of my losses.

People think I’m funny. I’m not funny, and I don’t care how many people tell me I am.I am not funny. I’m just a leech, I’ve never came up with anything original in my life. I’m incapable of doing so. I can’t create something new I can only take bits and pieces from others and mash them together. It’s disgusting. No I’m not someone you should laugh at. What did the audience ever even hear from me, oh a wacky sound, oh a controversial political opinion in a funny accent. Fuck me. I make myself sick. All I am is a leech, no, less than a leech, I’m just a copy, a mimic. Even a leech has ability all it’s own. Not me. I have no talents, no gifts, and no drive or willpower to develop one. I’m just a lump, a pile of unmolded clay drying in it’s container. I squander my own potential an then have the gall to blog about it like some dramatic little bitch.  Oh how original, airing your problems on tumblr for all the world to see, hoping someone sees it and offers help. What am I even doing. I’m losing steam. I was angry at myself but now I’m just feeling sadness. Just overwhelming sadness. If i wasnt typing right now I’d just be sitting here, in my room doing nothing. Just nothing. I’d just sit in my chair and I’d stare, to sad or unmotivated to sleep, or eat, or do anything fun. I’d just sit here and star and stare and stare.

Found a new sore spot for myself.

I have stories you know, like original stories, and I know that contradicts what I typed above but that was a different me, a different emotion. No i have a story in my mind and I love it. It a sci-fi tale that I’ve been thinking about for the last 6 years at least. I’ve tried so many times to write it down but there’s something wrong with me. I just can’t do it. Whenever I go to write I just lose it, it vanishes from my mind. All gone. That not true, what actually happens is a number of things. I’ll go to write it and suddenly this cool idea just seems so dumb. All my drawings and stories get erased and torn up because after I write or draw something I hate it. i hate everything I make. I hate it all so much it never comes out right. The dialogue is clunky, the plot makes no sense, I an’t figure out what I want to happen.l can’t picture anything in my mind. All i see is black. I don’t even have dreams when I go to sleep. I can’t remember anything, names faces, conversations. I always have this god damn headache. Every single night without fail I just get so sad. i can usually stave it off by talking to a friend over the internet though. It feels so good you know, to hear the voice of someone who understands you. I have a friend who understands me, and they know more about me than anyone else on earth. Not my family, certainly not my parents, my friends knows the real me. The me that I hate. The messed up me. The perverse me who prides himself by how neatly organised his depraved porn collection is, the disgusting me who masturbates to drawings. The pathetic me who is so afraid every body that he’s never had date or even tried to get one.

I am lonely on purpose. I do it to myself because I’m scared.So scared of people. I have friends yeah, but I always feel like some needy puppy when I'm around them. i feel like they dont really like me, even the friend who I said knows everything about me. I feel like I’m a bother to everyone, but that’s just friendships, its worse for love. I’m 19, still young, but I’ve never been on a date, and what’s worse is I’ve never tried to get one. I just don’t know how. how do you just talk to someone you’ve never met before, how do you initiate friendship, how do you initiate romance. I’ve never made friends with people, I always wait for people to make friends with me. I have no idea how to talk to a new person. how do you just walk up someone and talk to them without being creepy. Do compliment them on their clothes? will they think that i was staring at them? Do I try to join in their conversation? Wont that make them think I was eavesdropping? how the fuck do you talk to people? How god damn it? I don’t think I’ve ever started a conversation in my life.

I’m not one for self diagnosis but something is wrong with me. I feel like I’m going crazy. I feel like I Can’t go to anyone with this. They’ll think I’m loony, they’ll put me on watch lists. They’ll think I’m dangerous. i’m not dangerous, I’m just sad. I ruined my chances though of getting help. Let me tell you about that.

This is my absolute greatest pain in life. My parents splitting up, my grandparents dying, all my animals getting killed. None of that matters, if I could stop any of that from happening, I wouldn’t, instead I’d stop what I’m about to tell you from happening. I was going through my mothers box of memories from when my brothers and I were much younger. I found a note from my first grade teacher in a folder about how much she enjoyed having me in class all those years ago. So i thought it would be really cool if I found my teacher on Facebook and sent her the note and caught up with her. I’m very sentimental, I get sad throwing away old pen, so I thought this would be a fantastic way to connect back with someone from my past. but GOD FUCKING DAMNIT DID I FUCK UP. I sent her the note and told her who I was. She was thrilled to get my message and we chatted back and forth for a couple of days and all was good. however, there were a couple of outlying problems, a few confounding variables, you see, sometimes meanings get lost through faceless text conversations. So when I told her “I had a bad memory” Instead of me not being able to remember anything, it was taken as me being a troubled child with a memory of a bad event. Maybe you can see where this is going. Oh but that’s not the worst part by any means at all. When I tell you this next thing your going to think I’m the dumbest piece of shit to ever walk the planet. you're going to wonder how I even survive. Holy shit its so bad. Ok, I have a poor memory, I can’t remember a dang thang. What I failed to mention, and I know you don’t like this word, is that I am FUCKING RETARDED. I wanted this teacher to supply me with something to help me jog my memory of this school hadn’t gone to in over 10 years. So in my infinite fucking wisdom, I asked her to take a picture of a map of the school and send it to me. So if  I told you that a possibly troubled kid just randomly sent a messaged out of the blue asking for a a teacher for map to a school he hasn't been to in over 10 years, what do you think that means? Well, to people unlike myself, who have normal functioning brains, that sounds like a guy who want to come and shoot up an elementary school.So I got some calls from some police departments, got some calls from my family, left work, cried a bunch, beat myself up and stopped using Facebook. The greatest pain I’ve ever experienced in my life was, and is, the pain of knowing that my idiocy, and my bumbling, caused people out there to feel unsafe. It hurts so bad knowing that my stupidity killed the peace of mind of others. I’m so sorry. I have a fear now, you know? i’m paranoid, I think It’ll happen again. i’ll open my mouth and hurt somebody. So ever since then, I don’t talk to people as much. I go to work, don’t speak unless spoken to. Go to class, don’t speak unless spoken to. Visit family, don’t speak unless spoken to.

I’m not having a good time, but, I don’t know. Could be worse.

now I’m going to put some tags on this wall of text because I want people to read this.

#self #self help #help #writing #wall of text

[pendragonfics]

Wednesday

Paring: Bucky Barnes/Reader

Tags: female reader, punk!Bucky Barnes, rlly I mean punk, amputee Bucky Barnes, amputation humour, dark humour, College AU, punks, alcohol, reader is a dancer, angst, cutesy, fluff, Bucky feels, POV Bucky Barnes.

Summary: Every Wednesday, without fail, there was a girl who’d run through the conjoined classrooms in E Block. She’d always have her satchel bursting at the seams, and be wearing the same thing. Black leotard with ruched shoulders, tights. Hair falling out of a scrappy bun. Worn out military boots.

Bucky Barnes got out of the military, but not after his arm decided to leave him first. Now, in university, he's trying to make something of himself, but that's all fine and well but he can't help but notice the girl who'd interrupt his advanced physics class...

Notes: Inspired by one of my favourite tumblr artists’ rendition of Punk Bucky. Shout out to @illustratedkate for being so darn talented!

Word Count: 3,035

Posting Date:  2017-05-29

Current Date: 2017-06-15

Every Wednesday, without fail, there was a girl who’d run through the conjoined classrooms in E Block. She’d always have her satchel bursting at the seams, and be wearing the same thing. Black leotard with ruched shoulders, tights. Hair falling out of a scrappy bun. Worn out military boots. The only reason Bucky noticed her was she constantly interrupting fourth period advanced physics. At first, he didn’t really see her at all, she was just another person. A human on earth, an ant to a boot. Someone he’d forget about come graduation when everyone was not magically hired to companies, and were as broke as ever, just with a diploma. But really, it was Nat who reminded him of this mystery girl, over nips at their favourite bar.

“You think you’re so cool pretending not to see _________ when she cuts through the room,” The redhead smirked into her beer, and taking a drink, drank her laughter along with the stuff Bucky wasn’t that fond of. “I can see straight through you, Barnes.”

Nat was the kind of punk who just how scary they were, and owned it. She was a litany of snark and lip piercings and tattoos over the scars of her past. Bucky had trouble picturing her as a little kid with red ponytails – he wasn’t sure if it was her harsh undercut, or the way her knuckles were always caught in a cycle of healing, and bruising. He could see her as a child who gave too much lip, and tore her pinafore, and ran off to join the army. That’s where he met her, but they’d both been kicked out before any real damage happened. Read: Nat losing her arm too. It had just been a week until return to home soil. He only wore jackets and gloves over the prosthetic, even in summer. It added to the punk aesthetic.

“Who?” He asks. The name doesn’t ring a bell, though it is a nice name.

Nat laughs again, but she doesn’t elaborate. Instead, she’s turning, and has seen someone in the bar, and calls out to them. Usually, Sam and his girls would hang out here, or even Steve in the back with his little sketch book, but when the person Nat is beckoning comes over, Bucky can’t think right.

It’s her.

“__________! Please, introduce yourself to James. He’s an idiot and doesn’t have good taste in human beings. Present company included,” Nat grins, making her snakebite rings tilt against her painted lips.

At once, _________ puts her hand out toward him. Her hand is the same size as Nat’s, but it doesn’t have a tattoo of a star, split into shards. But it’s then Bucky realises that if that’s the hand she’s given him, that means…

Nat shakes her head. “See? He can’t even call his social life shots.” She scoffs, but as she flashes ________ one of her priceless, pseudo-seductress smiles that led many a person into her bed, she also shares a weak look of acquiescence with him, as if to say oh my freaking dog I’m so sorry I forgot.

“Wait, you’re James Barnes?” She repeats the name Nat had given. “I’ve heard so much about you! I’m sort of a friend with Steve. He likes to come and watch us practice.” At this, she flags down the bartender, and after she orders something too sweet, too bubbly, and too alcoholic for the meds he’s on, adds, “He’s always chatty after practice.”

Bucky raises a brow. “Practice? Is that where you’re always running to?”

________ laughs. He’s not sure if he’s drunk already, or that it’s the nicest laugh he’s ever heard, and he’s heard a few dozen people in his life time laugh at him. She tilts her head back, her (h/l) (h/c) hair falling everywhere, but it doesn’t look messy. It looks like art.

Yep. He’s probably drunk.

“I’d have thought you’d have figured out by now,” she titters, “I’m a dancer. Bachelor’s degree.”

Bucky takes a swig of his drink, processing. It explained the leotard. Just not the fact that she was always running late. “Dancer?” He muses, but the words probably come out less than elegant. “Like West Side Story?”

Nat chuckles. “Yeah, buddy, like West Side Story.” From her grungy wallet, she whips out cash to pay for _______’s drink, and a tip for the bartender whose brow sweat Bucky can relate to on almost a spiritual level. “Alright. While you two keep chatting up, I have a booty call to attend to.” She winks at him, and ascends from the barstool like she’s an otherworldly being and not the 5”3 crimson horror.

But all the wit has left him for the night, and as ________ claims Nat’s stool, all he can think about is the assignment that needs to happen as soon as possible, and that he used to be able to sing the alphabet backwards as a kid.

“So, you know Steve?” he stammers. He sounds like a fourteen-year-old in his adult body, but the words have already left his lips, and there’s no going back. What happened to the suave as midnight, rotten-to-the-core punk Bucky the world knew him as?

She nods. “Yeah. I didn’t realise we took Professor May’s portraiture together until the seating arrangement changed, but yes. He practices form when we’re dancing.” She takes sips between sentences, acting more her age than Bucky sure is. An afterthought, she adds, “I probably should work on my project…”

Buck nods. Before he’d run off and joined the army, Steve was a budding artist, scraping pennies to go to school and try to learn more about the whole business. On some whim, the army had taken him in, and in return for his tours (where he’d not gotten his arm blown off, lucky bastard) the military paid for his education. Neat deal.

“So, how long have you known Steve?” She asks.

He stops to think, but not long enough to remember how drunk he really is, and what that does to the filter he doesn’t have. “I can’t remember. Forever? We were in the same day-care.” He blurts.

“Nat was wrong about you, James.” She considers aloud, tipping the last of her glass up. “You’re sure as hell not an idiot.”

 ---

As usual, it was a Wednesday, but instead of studying in class like he was supposed to, he wasn’t. Well, nobody was, their professor had texted everyone a picture of an overflowing toilet with the text beneath reading can’t teach gotta stop an impromptu swimming pool. But still, old habits die hard, and he sat in the room like always, flicking through his phone trying to find a joke he’d jotted down after dreaming out it, wanting to bring it up next time he saw Steve. His pal was always hanging out with new crowds, like the hippy Wanda, and her athlete brother, and the smartass Tony who built his first computer when Bucky was still in nappies.

But it was a Wednesday. And every Wednesday, without fail, Nat’s friend _________ would run through the conjoined classrooms in E Block, regardless if advanced physics was on or not. Upon ruminating this, he heard the door push forward, and the patter of her feet as she fled through the rooms.

Curious, and for once, not distracted by the beauty of crazy maths that took his mind off the shitty realities of life after service, and able to follow, he did. His clunky boots were as quiet as they could be, as he threaded his way behind her, tracing her footsteps toward the F Block where he knew the physically-artsy people did their things. As he entered the dance room, obeying the sign to take off all shoes with hard soles before standing on the sprung floor. But when he saw the group that congregated in the centre, his breath was taken away.

In her black leotard, and tights, ________ was at the forefront of the dance troupe, surrounded by junior students, all kitted out in the standard pearl-white outfits anyone thinks of when picturing ballerina. They all follow her lead on the bar while the professor looked on from near where he stood. Bucky wasn’t a cultured kind of guy – perhaps the most culture he got sometimes was the fact that his clothes were made overseas, and he drank orange juice from a few states over, and ate tacos occasionally – but he could say for certain that he’d never gone to see people dance. He was rubbish at dancing himself, and moved like a sardine who’d escaped the tin on the supermarket shelf when there was music to dance to, but he wasn’t an idiot. _______, and the rest of the dancers moved like air was water, and they were swans, masters of both.

“Are you another student from Melinda’s art class?” The professor has her sleek hair pulled into a fashionable bun, eyes alert, makeup simple, yet elegant. “I don’t think I can handle another one like him watching the dancers, they get distracted when there’s handsome boys about.”

Bucky feels his face heat up. “I’m – I don’t take art, I’m a computer science student. I’m – just watching ________. A friend.” He tells the professor hurriedly, and adds, “Handsome?”

She waves the word off, almost swatting it so it flies away. “Kids these days find everyone good-looking for anything. I assume you’re quite the lady-killer from the hairstyle alone,” It sounds like a joke, and Bucky laughs. “So, computer science student watching ________ dance, what really brings you here? Youth are always chasing love these days. I suppose you are too?”

His face reddens. “I – I think I like her?” It sounds like a question. He isn’t sure if it’s supposed to be a question. “I was a bit curious as what a dancer did.”

The professor frowns. “They dance, computer science student. But that’s not all. You are a book, and I am reading you.”

“I was also going to ask her if she liked to drink coffee sometime soon,” He admits. He’s not sure why, but this professor of the dancing department has some serious vibes that make him want to spill all the beans. Bucky glances to ________, watching her as she leads the dancers into the centre of the room, executing a fancy twirl he doesn’t know the name of. He frowns, and turns back to the professor, his not-prosthetic out to shake her hand, “Bucky Barnes. And you are?”

She grins. “Professor Cho. And I know that ______ is free tomorrow after class – same time as today – and likes drinking coffee a little too much.” At this, she claps her hands, and the dancers disband, and walk toward where they keep their bags, and sip water. “_______! Barnes wishes to take you to grab coffee. Tomorrow okay?” She calls out.

“Sure!” She calls out, going to her own bag. “See you then, James!”

 ---

Tomorrow comes faster than he can stop. It’s crazy. If he texted Nat to say he had a date, she’d freak out and call him more names than he could handle, or if Steve caught wind of the fact he was doing something other than playing around with his laptop, he’d tell Sam, and then everyone would know because Sam probably hated his guts (he wasn’t sure if that was true or not, but acting like an ass to Sam and Sam acting like one back just became the parameters of their not-quite-friendship).  So, he keeps it quiet. He showers. He washes his clothes, even using the dryer on campus. He looks at the prosthesis before fitting it for the day, and contemplates that discussion. But his classes rush by like a train going through Siberia, and then boom! he’s waiting outside of F Block, one hand over his messenger bag, other in heaven, R. I. P. hand.

“Hey, stranger,” ______ greets, and guides him by his good elbow in the direction of the campus coffee shop. “Let’s get coffee.”

He nods, and starts on the process of making small talk. “I had no idea what was going on yesterday. Your professor, she’s nice.”

_______ nods. “Yeah, Helen’s great. She was the youngest professor to teach here in fifty years, and she once danced on Broadway!” She beams, and adds in a lower voice, “Sorry for Professor Cho. She overheard I was going to ask you and insisted. Like, didn’t-take-no-for-an-answer insisting. She’s nice, once you get to know her.”

He understands. “It’s all good.”

A beat passes between them, and she adds, “So, at the bar you said you knew Steve since you were practically foetus, and Nat tells me you’ve known each other for years.” Bucky has a sinking feeling that he knows what’s coming next. Even though he’s hardcore and hardly ever cries (that much anymore) and paints his eyes black for concerts, he’s dreading the next words that come from her mouth. The words, they’re practically predestined to happen.

You always been one-handed?

“So?” he prompts, tempting fate.

She shrugs. “I can never get friends to stay with me long enough like that,” she plays with the quick beside on her fingernails, and chews upon her lip. “You’re a lucky guy. I’ll kill to have a squad like that.”

He frowns. “Is that what the kids are calling their friends these days?” he jokes, knowing full well of the language. _______ barks out a laugh – the sort of laugh that if she’d been drinking, would have spouted all of it from her nostrils like a sort of whale. Bucky’s sigh inwardly takes days off his life as he wonders why he likened the girl he likes to a whale.

“We’re here,” he notes.

The coffee shop on campus is always teeming, full of those hipsters with odd tattoos that look like they’ve been downloaded from C list celebrities and onto their skin. Bucky isn’t fond of the coffee shop. He isn’t fond of coffee. But he drinks it. Everyone drinks it, even those who say they don’t. The last time he had been in had been a year ago and he’d gotten a nice croissant and donated money to the rescue dog fund by the cash register.

“Hey, I’ll order, and you stay here. Flat white cappuccino?” She asks, and adds, “Yay or nay?”

Bucky nods. “Yay. I’ll pay you back.”

Walking off, ______ shakes her head. “You can buy next date.”

His face is warm. Date.

 ---

His roommate had spilled energy drink over his posters when he was supposed to go out. It was a Thursday, and about three or four (or five?) months after the first date he’d had with _______, drinking mediocre coffee and walking around the campus. He was supposed to be helping with something to do with an art project, but he wasn’t sure if it was a naked model sort of gig or pasting-sequins-and-glitter-everywhere sort of gig, and he was supposed to be meeting _______ by the fountain downstairs three minutes ago.

But there was guava-smelling crap all over Jimmy Hendrix and Peaches. And the dorm door opened.

“Babe,” ______’s voice sounded pained, but as he glanced over his shoulder, he saw that she could see the tragedy of the pair of rock stars, and bent to help. Her hand brushed his, but not the one he could feel from. At this, Bucky couldn’t help it, he moved his hand away. _______ frowned. “James, what is it?”

He shakes his head, his other hand dropping the towel that too smelt of guava energy drink. “Not …. Not that hand. Please.” It was almost him pleading. If only the other goths and punks from the bar that knew him as Bucky “Take No Shit” Barnes could see him now. “I –,”

“I know you have a prosthetic,” she blurted, face reddening by the stain of blush that spread like ink upon water. “I saw Steve’s sketchbook, the drawings of your arm. He was very tipsy, and he told me about it. Sorry, I didn’t want you to know I knew from him, because he’s your best friend and all, but, it doesn’t make me feel any different about you.”

He sits there. The fear that has been chasing him for months has suddenly died and now it’s sort of empty in his head. All those intrusive thoughts – poof! Gone.

“Did he say how?” He wonders.

She shakes her head. “No, he threw up on me before he got to that.” ______ takes his hand, the one they had issued to him, and in with her other hand, takes his. Her gaze is unrelenting, static, gorgeous. Damn. He might even be in love. “Dude. Say something.”

Bucky takes a breath. “Can we raincheck the art project?” He asks.

______ nods. “Yeah. Can we cuddle for like, twenty-four hours straight?” She asks.

Bucky takes a moment to consider. “It sounds impractical, but I’m up for it,” he rises, glancing to his unmade bed, strewn with all sorts of stupid comforters, and pillows he loves. “and after, I’m paying for coffee?”

_______ beams. “And I’ll pay for new posters.”

 ---

It turns out that if you don’t pay attention in class, you can notice things others are blind to. Almost like seeing fairies, or little secrets you share with the world. James “Bucky” Barnes, the punk ex-military computer science student wasn’t fond of advanced physics. He was fond of sci-fi and warm patches of sunlight with chairs to soak up the morning in and someone else’s brain to relate to after all the crazy shit he’d been through.

It so turns out that if one doesn’t pay much attention in class, they can notice the girl who runs through E Block, runs through the world, and right into their brain. The person who’s naïve, but wise, punk, but loving, fantastic, and dorky…all at once.

It turns out that soulmates aren’t real. It’s just a story to help you sleep at night. But if Bucky Barnes had ten bucks on anything, he’d bet that his girl, the girl who ran right into his head and caught on hold of his heart, was his soulmate.

#bucky barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x oc #bucky/reader #avengers #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #marvel fanfic #chaotic--lovely #pendragonfics

[sadrien]

goodbyes & hellos

on ao3

im so so so late but hey this is for first day of prompt week for @thinkoutsidethelovesquare​!!!! day one: wrong number

this was a lot of fun tbh and ive been dying to write this ship. alyas texts are italicized, adriens are underlined on ao3, just bold here bc tumblrs a butt. shoutout to @reyxa​ for the title <3

enjoy!

Alya narrows her eyes at the new message that lights up her phone. It’s an unknown number that she doesn’t recognize — not that she’s given her number to anyone recently — and it’s also seven in the morning . Anyone how knows her at all should know that she doesn’t wake up before at least nine on the weekends. (And that has nothing to do with the fact that she doesn’t sleep during the week and tends to go to bed after two in the morning.)

She groans as another message shows up on the screen. She squints and lets the messages flow in, figuring she can tell the person they’ve got the wrong number after they’ve finished whatever they have to say. Or she can decide that it’s unimportant and ignore it and go back to sleep.

She likes her second plan the best.

unknown number: Hi!

unknown number: Just wanted to let you know the start time for today has been moved from 10 to 9:15

unknown number: My father has a meeting at 1300 so he wants to get it all done as soon as possible

unknown number: And I know you mentioned wanting to have him on set yesterday

unknown number: I hope it’s not too much of an inconvenience! Your agent should be calling you soon, but I thought I’d give you a heads up

Alya squints at the screen. She doesn’t want to care but she’s curious. And curiousity killed the cat and all that but she’s used to letting her nosiness get the best of her.

unknown number: agents???

unknown number: 1st of all srry u have the wrong number

unknown number: 2nd of all were u talking to a movie star or smth???????

unknown number: book writer??

unknown number: what kinda person needs an agent

unknown number: Oh I’m sorry! I must’ve gotten the wrong number from someone

unknown number: I’m really sorry if I was bothering you

Alya rolls her eyes.

unknown number: u woke me up but its chill cause now im curious

unknown number: Curious? About what?

unknown number: way 2 keep avoiding the question

unknown number: ???

unknown number: u said the person u meant to text has an agent

unknown number: how fancy r they

unknown number: Oh! She’s a model!

Alya’s eyes widen. The most famous person she knows is that thirteen year old that was in her school who has ten thousand subscribers on YouTube because she makes lyric videos. The second is a boy who has a few thousand instagram followers because he has nice abs and lots of white boy clothing and muscle shirts.

unknown number: u kno a model????????

unknown number: Uhh

unknown number: I’m not sure how much personal information I should be giving to a stranger

Alya sighs. So close.

unknown number: its fine dude (dude? u good w that? lmk if u arent) i getchu

unknown number: u can just stop responding if u dont wanna talk

She locks her phone and slides it back under her pillow. She stares at the ceiling for a few more minutes, wondering if she’ll be able to fall back asleep. As much as she’d like to take the train back to dreamville, she can’t. Because now she’s awake and now she’s wondering. And once she stops wondering, she doesn’t stop.

She’ll probably stop thinking about this random wrong number in a few days and in a few months, she’ll forget about them entirely but…

Ugh.

Sleep definitely isn’t an option anymore.

Leaving her phone in her bed, she pads to the kitchen, twisting her hair up into a messy bun as she does so. No one is up yet — of course they aren’t, it’s seven on a Saturday and everyone is taking advantage of every precious minute of sleep they can get — so she has the run of the house to herself.

So she makes herself some coffee and a bowl of cereal and turns to television on. Her initial plan is to just leave it on whatever channel that’s playing when she first turns it on, and luckily the twins were the last ones to use it. Saturday morning cartoons. Score.

Alya stirs sugar in her coffee as Cyber Chase plays in the background. It’s not much more than background noise, it’s the middle of an episode and she doesn’t really know what’s happening, but she does snort at a few of the bad jokes.

“You’re up early,” her mom says before dropping a kiss on the top of Alya’s head.

Alya hums. “Got a few text messages and they woke me up.” She notes how her mom purposefully avoids eye contact as she opens a cabinet. Alya rolls her eyes and eats a spoonful of cereal.

“School friends?” her mom asks carefully.

“Yes,” Alya lies. Better than her mom asking more questions. The biggest one being why were you talking to a complete stranger?

“Are you going to see them before we leave?”

Alya glues her eyes to the TV. “If they’re around.”

Her mom makes an unimpressed sound and Alya resists the urge to roll her eyes. She texted a few of her friends the other week, but the conversation was awkward and stilted. They all had the same sort of idea about cutting ties.  

Alya sighs and puts down her spoon, twisting around in her seat to face her mom. “I promise I’m talking to them.”

Her mom gives her that look— the one where her lips purse and a crease between her eyebrows that’s becoming more and more permanent; the one that says she wants to push for more details, but won’t unless they’re volunteered first. Which Alya is not doing, thank you very much. “If you say so, honey,” her mom says, turning her attention to the breakfast she’s making.

Alya stares down into her cereal bowl.

Time to evacuate to her bedroom.

She finishes her cereal as quickly as she can without choking and dumps her bowl and spoon in the sink as she passes it, taking her coffee with her to her room. New plan: curl up in bed with her laptop and hope her mom just leaves her alone until they move.

Alya’s almost forgotten about her phone by the time she flops onto her bed. It vibrates almost as soon as she opens her laptop. She frowns as she pulls it out from under her pillow.

unknown number: Dude is fine for me

unknown number: He/him pronouns please

unknown number: Thanks for asking I really appreciate it, actually

unknown number: People don’t always ask

Plan trashed. This is a better plan.

unknown number: she/her for me

unknown number: and no prob man

unknown number: i wasnt gonna assume ur gender

unknown number: ok that mightve sounded bad but i didnt mean it in a bad way like the ‘lol dont assume my gender’ way jerks do sometime i meant it in like a genuine

unknown number: if u have smth u wanna say u should say it because i am very tired and i can go on for a while

Whoops.

Alya can’t say she’s known for her stellar first impressions but she usually doesn’t ramble her way into an awkward corner. She mindlessly flips through apps as she waits for a response.

unknown number: Don’t worry about it! I didn’t take it the wrong way or anything

Alya smiles to herself as she responds. He keeps leaving her openings which is nice. Based off his initial reaction, she thought he’d shut this down as fast as possible.

She realizes this is probably a little weird. But it’s the most exciting thing to happen to her since school let out so…

unknown number: so whats up stranger??

unknown number: b4 u ask im just sitting in my room doing nothing but text u so thats my morning

unknown number: I actually have work soon, so that’s fun

Alya raises her eyebrows. She forgot age was something else she didn’t know yet.

unknown number: oo work that sounds fun

unknown number: what do u do???

unknown number: I work for my dad, it isn’t anything special

unknown number: But it gives me something to do with my time so I don’t mind that much

unknown number: If I randomly stop responding without warning, that’s why

unknown number: good 2 kno

unknown number: can i ask what u do 4 ur dad or is that 2 personal

unknown number: I uh… I just do whatever he needs me to do

unknown number: I don’t get paid or anything but

unknown number: ay it still works as a resume builder

unknown number: Yeah exactly!

unknown number: thats cool that ur dad can get u a job!! my mom and dad could never w their jobs so i just suffer

unknown number: not that thats any different from what i would do anyway as a teenager

Alright, perfect. She’s brought up the age question in a really clunky and awkward way. Better than nothing.

unknown number: Oh how old are you?

unknown number: I’m 15

Alya lets out a sigh of relief.

unknown number: ayy same!

unknown number: just ur fav teenage superhero blogger

unknown number: doing nothing with her life

unknown number: You like superheroes?

unknown number: yeah!! i love comic books. you??

unknown number: I don’t have time to read many but yeah! I’ve always loved Spiderman

unknown number: wonder woman is my g i r l

unknown number: superheroes are just so cool

She waits a few minutes before she decides that he must have gone off to work. Bonding over superheroes, that’s good. A shared interest. She scrolls through their conversation, rereading some of the earlier messages before she creates a contact for him. She makes the name ‘stranger’ and leaves it at that.

It’s not like they’re meeting up or anything. Even if he is an ax murderer, can’t kill her if she never sends him her location.

Alya spends the next couple of hours avoiding her mom as much as possible. She takes her sisters to the park and then goes to the library after she brings them home.

She doesn’t want to talk about it.

She’s clicking through a webcomic that she missed a few weeks worth of updates when her phone buzzes. She glances down, expecting it to be a text from her mom asking if she has any plans or to do chores or something, but is pleasantly surprised to see a message from her stranger.

stranger: Sorry about that, work ran long

stranger: Admittedly, I don’t know very much about Wonder Woman, but she looks very awesome

unknown number: !!!!

unknown number: when ive got more time remind me to tell u all abou t her

unknown number: and to rec some comic books even if u dont have time

stranger: Is she your favorite?

Alya sits back in her chair. This conversation is going to be a long one.

Alya finds herself randomly texting her stranger for the next few days. He doesn’t always respond quickly, but he responds eventually, no matter how weird her original message.

That’s more than she can say for most of her friends.

She texts him as she’s sitting on the counter in her kitchen, stirring a pot.

unknown number: hey stranger whats up

stranger: Just reading, you?

unknown number: making box mac n cheese

stranger: Sounds fun

unknown number: yeah im gonna eat it straight from the pot

The three dots bounce on the screen as the stranger takes his time with the next message. Alya snorts and turns off the stove, straining the pasta and moving to the fridge to find butter and cheese. He’s found his words by the time she’s letting the butter melt in the pot.

stranger: Straight from the pot? Why?

unknown number: because i live life on the edge

unknown number: and also because im too lazy to clean the dish later

stranger: You know what? That’s fair

Sometimes, Alya thinks that she probably shouldn’t think about someone who she doesn’t even know the name of as often as she does, let alone text him as much as she does. But sometimes she’ll see something, and she’ll immediately think of him. Or she’ll just be randomly upset and feel the strong urge to pick up the phone and see if he’s available to vent to.

She knows it’s kind of weird, but she can’t help herself.

One night, at around two in the morning, she finds herself messaging him.

unknown number: hey did i ever mention i was moving

She’s almost asleep, slightly more okay than she was before she sent the text, when he responds.

stranger: You haven’t but we also don’t talk about where we live

Alya stares at the screen for a long moment, the bright light in the darkness making everything on the screen blur into nothing. She just feels kind of numb.

unknown number: yeah

unknown number: like 8 hours away from where i live now

stranger: Wow that’s a big move

unknown number: yeah

stranger: I’m guessing you don’t want to go?

unknown number: not really

unknown number: did u know ur my only friend right now

stranger: I am?

unknown number: me and my other friends sort of cut ties

stranger: The internet exists

stranger: Phones exist

stranger: FaceTime and Skype both kind of suck, but they exist

unknown number: yeah i guess

unknown number: i guess its just too hard for any of us to try

stranger: I have no idea how far apart we live

stranger: We’re doing just fine

unknown number: yeah

unknown number: yeah ur right

One of Alya’s small comforts that comes to mind whenever she thinks about moving is the fact that she’ll have her phone on her and a portable charger. Her stranger will be with her every step of the way.

He’d managed to get her to talk to some of her friends. She doesn’t really think it’ll last once she’s in Paris, but the attempt is nice. And it gives her other people to talk to for the rest of the summer.

It’s too early in the morning when they leave for the last time for her to get really emotional about moving. All she has the energy to do is to take a picture of her old apartment, caption it ‘one last goodbye to marseille’, and save it before sending it to her friends over Snapchat. Before she falls asleep against the car window, she texts it to her stranger.

She wakes up to a new text among the goodbyes from her friends.

stranger: Have a nice car ride! I’ll let you know when I get back from work <3

Alya hides her smile from her sisters and screenshots the text for later.

She texts him from the floor of her new bedroom while her dad starts moving boxes. They’ve been in the process of moving for a while now, shipping most of their things to Paris beforehand. Now all that remains is the actual unpacking.

Alya doesn’t have the energy for that. She just lays on the floor and stares at the ceiling for a while. Then she picks up her phone and sends him a text.

It’s been about an hour since they last talked. She’d talked to him for a good majority of the car ride, only stopping when he was busy and ending the conversation when they arrived so she could get her things out of the car and help her sisters with theirs. She’d sent him a picture of her empty bedroom and said ‘let the unpacking begin :P’. He’d responded with a ‘Good luck!!’ and ‘I’ll let you get to work!’

Alya’s thumb hovers over the send button for a few seconds. She’s never really pushed him for any sort of personal information before.

New city, new Alya. Or something.

unknown number: hey just wondering

unknown number: what do u have me in ur phone as??

unknown number: i have u in here as stranger

stranger: Your contact name?

stranger: Uh awkward but you don’t?

stranger: You’re the only one I just have the number for, so I know who you are that way

Alya reads his texts a few times before she responds. She doesn’t know what she expects in return, but she figures she has nothing to lose.

unknown number: im alya

unknown number: in case u were wondering

stranger: Hi Alya

stranger: I’m Adrien

#adrien agreste #alya cesaire #alyadrien #outsidethelovesquare #miraculous ladybug #my fics #oof its done

[paintedrecs]

You're such a good author!! What are you thinking when you're writing? And what's your editing process? If you don't mind me asking!!

Ah, thank you!! I’m very often thinking “wow I am not a good author” while I’m writing, so it’s always nice to hear positive responses once the finished work is out there. :)

This ended up (unsurprisingly) long, so be aware there’s gonna be a Read More.

My editing process is very, very nitpicky. To begin with, I edit a LOT as I write, so those two questions share some answers. 

I considered posting a photo of a page I handwrote this week, but I don’t want to subject you to that. Suffice it to say that if I’m writing in pen, there’s a lot of scribbling and paragraphs that branch off into the margins and spiral around the edges of the page as I rework sentences and expand sections. Before I switched to writing almost exclusively on my computer, I used to use a mechanical pencil to make all that a little less messy. Still, though. Eraser shavings. Everywhere.

It seems like most of fandom swears by writing sprints, and I can’t do it. I either write in long, tireless stretches where I forget to move for hours, or I spend an hour writing a sentence, frowning thoughtfully at it, tweaking a few words, tilting my head to the side, changing it back, muttering, “No I don’t like that,” and shifting the structure until it fits with the rest of the story.

I spend a lot of time reading my own writing out loud, which is part of why I’m not usually that productive when I try to write in public. (Although once I’m in the zone, I’ll write on my phone as I walk to the grocery store, take the bus to work, etc. I probably still mutter to myself.) At this point, my poor neighbor has probably heard the entirety of all my fics in scattered bursts. I’ll read a single paragraph to myself six times in a row to make sure the pacing sounds right and the dialogue feels natural.

I’m a start-to-finish writer: if I write scenes out of order, they won’t work in the final version. With tide pulls, I wrote all this emotional, ultra angsty dialogue that I was expecting to stick into one of their final scenes, but by the time I got there, it didn’t fit. I initially tried to squeeze stuff around it to keep those lines intact, but it’s never a good idea to force your characters into something that they don’t naturally want to do over the course of the story. It rings false, and I think readers can generally tell.

That’s not to say that I don’t plan ahead or map out certain arcs or important scenes. I just don’t write them in their full form until I’ve reached that point. PDIW was much, much too long to plunge through without an outline; if I hadn’t marked down and organized all the emotional points I wanted to hit, I would’ve lost control over the scope of it. (Which is ridiculous to say when it’s over 200k, but it had the most detailed outline I’ve ever made for one of my stories.) 

Still, though, pieces moved around a lot. I’d push a scene into a later chapter when it turned out that Derek and Stiles needed to talk to each other more before getting to that exchange. Or a conversation that was meant to be between Derek and Laura ended up being between him and Cora instead, catching both of us by surprise. Laura was always Derek’s best friend and confidante, but he turned out to have a lot more in common with his younger sister than he’d ever realized. Of course I had to let that play out. 

There are a few sentences I desperately wanted to get into the final version, but they’re clumped at the bottom of my notes doc, along with all the other unused or deleted material. Sometimes you think a phrase sounds really, really pretty, but if your character doesn’t want to say it, that’s all there is to it. 

I don’t have a beta for my shorter fics, because by the time I’m done writing, I’ve probably spent more time editing than actually putting new words down on the page. (Unless they’re tumblr fics or notfics, in which case please forgive the fact that they’re wobbly; they’re just me having fun!) That doesn’t make the final product perfect by any means, but I don’t have a regular beta set up to read over my fics for me, and I don’t like bugging people unless it’s necessary.

For my longest fics, I tried to rope in at least 2-3 betas. It seems like most people in fandom just share their fic’s Google Drive link, sometimes while it’s still a WIP, and have their betas all work in the same doc. It may be annoying that I don’t do that…but I want to get separate, unbiased responses. If multiple people tell me to fix the same thing, it definitely needs more work. With that said, I’ve found that there actually doesn’t tend to be all that much overlap, because betas have different styles in much the same way that writers do.

The fandom dream (or any writer’s dream) is to have a set, longterm writer-beta relationship, because it really does involve a lot of trust and communication. One of my PDIW betas was the wonderful @bleep0bleep​ , who prodded tirelessly at all my pronouns and long paragraphs but also took the time to learn my style and where I most need/want help. (She also laughed at me when I had conversations with myself in the comments while figuring out how to fix passages that she’d told me weren’t working.) She and other betas found gaps that you simply can’t see for yourself after spending that long immersed in your own story. I ended up writing a few extra scenes and expanding some other areas, and the final version is absolutely better as a result.

If this was going to be a published work, I would’ve ideally set it aside for several months so I could come back to it with fresh eyes. My posting schedule for PDIW was already months behind what I’d originally planned, and I was super eager to share it, so I rushed right into the next stage. I also very much wanted to start posting on April 1, since that was Stiles’s birthday in the fic.

So I finished writing the final chapter, gave myself about a day to celebrate, then went right back to the first chapter and started editing. My betas got those pretty-much-completed chapters, and I took their edits and suggestions and transferred them back into my central doc. Then I started drafting the fic on AO3, editing each chapter one final time as I was posting. 

It was…tiring. I wrote the fic in about 7 months and edited the entire thing twice…almost three times?…in a little over a month. I’m going to give myself more leeway if I ever do that again. Thank goodness for my speed-reading betas, though.

I don’t know if any of that was the kind of information you were interested in hearing. Welcome to my writing world, I guess? It’s a little messy, but it has pretty intricate organization if you know what to look for.

As for what I’m thinking as I’m writing…that’s a complicated answer. Is it weird to say that I’m kind of not thinking anything? Writing is a craft, but it’s also a strangely instinctive part of myself that I tap into when it’s going well. I absolutely cannot write if I’m busy thinking about where a scene should go or whether anyone’s going to like reading it or if I even remember how to string words together. That’s the kind of thing that makes me slam right up against writer’s block. Or, if I do manage to get words down, they’re clunky and I’m never really satisfied with them.

When I sit down to write, I do my best to clear my mind out. I tap into my characters. If I’m writing from Derek’s POV, I’m seeing him - all his gestures, mannerisms, the actions he’s taking in a scene - but it’s more important to me that I’m feeling what he’s feeling. The same goes for Stiles, or anyone else whose eyes I’m trying to see through. I guess I’m an emotional writer? I want to feel things as I’m writing, and if I did it right, my readers should feel things, too. It doesn’t always work, but when it does, it’s incredibly rewarding.

Reading has always been an escape for me. When I’m wrapped up in a book, I lose touch with the world around me and slide into the pages, living alongside the characters. Writing’s the same way. It’s an indescribable, addictive feeling. 

When I finished PDIW, it almost felt like I’d lost a part of myself, because I was letting go of something I’d been living with and dreaming about and spending so much time getting to know.

I’m glad I got to share it, though. It’s a wrenching, terrifying process, but you all made it worthwhile. The final step of a story is its readers. Thank you for being amazing ones, and for letting me share my words with you.

#pdiw #about my fics #long post #fic talk #Anonymous

[haltandcatchfiretothemax]

I wanna be a problem: Cameron and Donna Question Their Limitations in "High Plains Hardware"

"High Plains Hardware" is the manufacturer's name on the shovel Donna uses to kill an ailing bird at the end of this episode, but there's the obvious wordplay with electronic hardware, which 'is forever', according to Donna and Gordon, and the less obvious reference to metaphoric 'hardwiring,' as in a human being's 'hardwired' behavior or personality quirks. This episode takes our core cast out of the environments and positions we've seen them in to show us how similarly they ultimately behave in different settings.

It's been a week since the drama of the IBM raid, and Cardiff Electric's p.c. project and its players have found their respective quotidian rhythms of coder's block, hardware design brainstorming, chasing and bickering over funding, and unflagging support and unending domestic labor. Let's just get the guys out of the way first: Gordon is suddenly in charge, J*e is pressed to be a team player, and Bos is forced to work with J*e. Gordon rises to the occasion at work, pursuing his ideas and firing his Matthew McConaughey-esque naysaying neighbor, but then as always forces Donna to do more than her share at home. J*e is savvy enough to fall in line, but when he responds poorly to a potential investor (who, to be fair, did seem like a terrible fit for the project), he slips right back into his Hoe MacVillain suit and eventually resorts to fvcking the investor's boyfriend in her study to truly ruin the deal. Bos gets in some deal-ruining of his own earlier in the episode, but, he at least tries to put Cardiff and company loyalty (and, uh, survival) first, only to once again be thwarted by J*e's antics.

While all of this is happening, Donna is going about her life, or trying to. We see her at her job for the first time, reporting to her supervisor, the extremely Texan Hunt Whitmarsh. She's "identified the bugs in the PCBs," but she's noticed that the bigger issue is that the keyboard bounces. She has a possible fix for it, but Hunt's not interested: "But that's not our purview? Right?" he patronizes her. It sounds like it's not the first time he's had to say this to her. Idea quashed, he moves on to small talk, asking about Donna's parents, and she can't do much but respond in kind, asking how his wife is. We find out that they went to high school and were even in band together! Hunt pays her an clunky compliment, about how everyone knew Donna didn't quite fit in back then, but that he knew she was just 'marking time, waiting for something better to come along'. Weird as it is, Donna seems to appreciate the effort and the attention.

But then, she's not getting much of either at home. When we see her at the Clark residence later, with her mom, the first thing we hear the as-of-yet unnamed Susan Emerson say is, "Nothing like a bubble bath to make you forget life's little traumas!" "Works for me," Donna grimaces while cleaning her kitchen, though do we really believe Donna has done anything so indulgent lately? (No, we don't.) Their conversation seems relaxed, but when her mother casually brings up Gordon's sensitivity about his in-laws' money and gifts, and Gordon's long hours at the office and Gordon's not being Hunt (who they haven't even seen at the club!), Donna is visibly agitated and resigned. It's not the first time she's heard any of this, either. When her mother asks her how work is only to start talking about Hunt, it's the second time we see someone interrupt Donna and keep her from making herself heard. And we see her get cut off a third time at the end of the episode when she asks Gordon to kill the bird, and he refuses, forcing her to go do it herself, Donna's apparent lot in life. I get it, he's an engineer, he thinks like you, but you can do better, girl.

As always, Cameron is dealing with the opposite of what Donna's dealing with: plenty of professional responsibility, a huge, juicy problem to solve all by herself, and few limitations or parameters. Cameron's whole Anton Newcombe-type reclusive genius who sleeps in the recording studio thing is starting to work against her though, and she's so in her head that she resorts to voluntarily tidying her desk (hashtag: MAYDAY!). The paycheck she finds is the perfect excuse to take a real break and 'go outside' as the young people on tumblr say. She meets some punks in a literal alley, and because she's Cameron, she's getting them all a hotel room to party in after five whole minutes with them.

Except that Cameron doesn't really party with them? She seems only slightly more comfortable with people her own age than with her coworkers, standing against the wall and self-consciously watching everyone drink and dance rather than joining them. Cameron is revealed to be genuinely socially awkward, unlike her new punk friends who apparently choose to not work and to not dress or behave as expected, but interact comfortably with her from when they first meet her. It's not a front, or costume, or contradictory punk politics with Cameron; she really doesn't fit in anywhere, and probably wouldn't even if she really tried. (How Mackenzie Davis hasn't been recognized for how real and visceral she makes Cameron and her physical alienation from everything around her, I truly cannot understand.) And she does try, going so far as to let one of her new punk acquaintances give her the beginning of a stick and poke tattoo (of the Black Flag logo, which I will be screaming about for approximately the rest of time) before she panics and runs into the bathroom only 1 (of 4) bars in, and then sneaks out of the hotel room.

Because she's better at and more comfortable with one-on-one interactions, Cameron's run in with Bos in the middle of the episode is more successful. Bos advises her and holds her accountable for her behavior, without judging her for her social gracelessness. She resists at first, but she seems to connect with him, and even kindly if clumsily reassures him that computers are complicated, and that it's okay that basic coding language doesn't yet make sense to him. Bos is genuine with her, having no reason to be anything else, and she responds to it. In that moment, she appears to begin to invest emotionally in Cardiff and the p.c. project, and it's not entirely surprising when she shows up at J*e's apartment at the end of the episode, looking for more 'one-on-one interaction', with the one person she can realistically get it from at this point. You can also do better, girl. *Sigh*

Or, can she? Cameron and Donna seem deep in their respective ruts and social positions, the outsider living off whatever she can scavenge (including but not limited to bowling shoes, twinkies, and sporadic non-relationship sexual intercourse) and the long-suffering and endlessly, silently adaptable wife and professional. Worse, their lives seem structured to keep them confined to those roles. But both of them are beginning to feel the limitations on their lives, and are looking for ways around those limits. By the end of the episode, Cameron and Donna both want more; it's a start.

Stray bytes:

This ep feels like a very long day, which must be intentional. It actually takes place over two days, though.

The scenes at LouLu Lutherford's feel the longest, which also must be intentional. Even better is how they contrast with the hotel punx scenes.

The discussion of  the first U.S. women in space feels meta, even if indirectly? J*e isn't impressed by it because the Soviets already did it. "It's a gimmick." I.e., it is obviously inauthentic and ahistorical. Thanks for letting us know how you feel about Strong Women Characters™, show.

J*e having gay sex = cooooooool; gay sex having no purpose other than anti-hero villainy = NOT SO MUCH. 

The show puts a lot of distance between Cameron and J*e for most of this episode, which is an uncomfortable continuation of the weirdness between them in the previous episode, but again, that’s its own post.

“She took my soda....” And you took your wife’s idea and passed it off as your own, Gordon, LMAO

#as of today i have a month to get through this rewatch pray for me #again no cut for accessibility #the h&cf rewatch #1x03 #high plains hardware #halt and catch fire to the max originals! #original halt and catch fire to the max analysis! #hacf to the max original recaps