#anyway. I should start using my writing tag as documentation.

[essektheylyss]

I know I keep just liveblogging my weird ass writing process rn but I did realize that the issue when I get into a section where things are quieter and there isn't some major plot beat is that my brain responds like. the fucking email form fields that start yelling at you the moment you type something because it's not a valid email.

I was just sitting here trying to figure out what I felt was wrong with the chapter I'd just finished and it's because it's slower. It also ends with a very quiet but (ideally) stomach-dropping beat! And it's the chapter in the middle of a section! Why are you yelling at me! It's doing exactly what it needs to be doing! The section's not done yet! Shut the fuck up!

[mapsthewanderer]

Caffeine, chemistry and Caleb XIII

Synopsis: The café was supposed to be just another coffee shop. For a law student who enjoys her morning coffee and a shy newbie still learning the ropes, it should have been nothing more than part of the daily routine… But then there’s Caleb.

Details: 3000 words (amalard I’m sorry but the fluff got me). Non-MC!Reader as the law student. Listen, this is my magnum opus of fluff. I giggled the entire time writing it, and I truly hope you’ll enjoy this fluff bonanza as much as I did. Expect: newbie energy, a bit of retrospection, exam vibes, cuteness overload (in my humble opinion), and Caleb being an absolute dumbass snack from start to finish.

Parts: initial, part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, part 5, part 6, part 7, part 8, part 9, part 10, part 11, part 12

Tags: @gavin3469 @unstablemiss @i-messed-up-big-time @mipov101 @zukini-01 @ariakamil @zaynessdarling @gojosballsack69 @moon-cakei

Post-it precedents | Pt. 13

You don’t even get your shoes off.

The door clicks shut behind you, and before your coat has hit the hook, you’re powering up your laptop like it holds the answers to life, love, and whatever the hell tonight was supposed to be.

Browser. Blank search bar. Cursor blinking like it’s judging you.

You type:

can you be in love with someone who gives you emotional whiplash

Backspace.

feelings vs. fact

Backspace.

how to get over someone you maybe kissed but who also maybe called you his girlfriend in front of witnesses but also had the audacity to be sweet and confusing and a little bit perfect

Too long. You erase that one too.

You settle on:

emotional clarity post-situationship

Google doesn’t help. Obviously.

You pace the room once before collapsing in front of your laptop again, cracking your knuckles like this is just another research session. Just another case file.

Spoiler: it’s not.

You open a blank document. Title it:

——————————————————————————

Exhibit A — Reasons to Move On

He is emotionally irresponsible.

You were not informed of the terms and conditions before agreeing to this emotional rollercoaster.

Friend-date sandwich.

Said friend used to live with him. That’s not nothing.

Emotional chaos is not a love language.

——————————————————————————

You stare at the list.

Then open a new document.

——————————————————————————

Exhibit B — Reasons to Stay in It Anyway

He held your hand.

He called you his girlfriend.

He looked sad when you tried to give the necklace back.

He put a Sour Patch Kid between his teeth and looked at you like you hung the moon.

You might actually like him. A lot.

He said he wanted to get it right.

You kissed him. You. Because somehow, against your better judgment and legal training, you bought his defense. Full emotional acquittal.

——————————————————————————

You close your laptop.

Bury your face in your hands.

And say—into the quiet of your room—

“Oh no.”

——————————————————————————

Four days later, and you still haven’t fully recovered.

Not from the horror movie. Not from the post-horror hallway. And definitely not from the moment Caleb—resident menace and human Sour Patch conspiracy—called you his girlfriend in public, while still being the most confusingly sweet person to ever exist on two legs and a caffeine addiction.

You told yourself you needed a bit of distance. Emotional clarity. Instead, you let him make you coffee the very next morning.

To be fair, he texted first.

Dumb Barista: Morning, Counselor. Black w/ oat milk? Or do I need to bring you emotional recovery foam art too?

Dumb Barista: Also: sorry again for the cinematic trauma. Hope you’re sleeping off the gore

You’d stared at your phone for a full minute before replying:

You: Emotional foam art required. Extra cinnamon. No ghosts.

And so it went.

Four days of coffee drops, texts that made your breath hitch, and study sessions that somehow weren’t sessions at all—just moments. Quiet. Warm. Laced with something new. Something soft.

You’d been back at the café once—just once—when Caleb was off doing something probably aviation-adjacent. It wasn’t your first time grabbing coffee there, but it was the first time you lingered. Stayed. Let the cup warm your hands instead of rushing off.

Newbie had taken the stool across from you with the gravity of a therapist and the caffeine levels of a cryptid. And then came the dissection. Of Caleb. Of this. Of your stress-cracked brain and the mess you might’ve walked into with both eyes wide open.

They listened. They sipped. They judged. Softly.

“Okay,” they’d said, eyes narrowed. “Emotionally speaking, he’s a golden retriever with abandonment issues, a hero complex, and the social calibration of a vintage iPod.”

You blinked. “That’s your analysis?”

“It’s clinical.”

You told them about the necklace. About the movie. About the friend sandwich.

Newbie shook their head slowly. “You’re not supposed to date someone with main character energy if you’re also the main character. It creates a feedback loop.”

You stirred your drink. “So you’re saying… I should walk?”

“I’m saying…” they paused, face softening. “You should do whatever makes you feel safe. Not whatever makes you feel impressive. Or interesting. Or like you’re trying to prove something.”

That had stuck with you.

Because the truth was—despite everything, despite the chaos and the awkwardness and the mortifying sandwich of it all—being near Caleb had started to feel… safer. Not like a free fall. Not like some shiny thing you’d have to keep chasing.

But like a maybe. A real one.

And maybe that was enough to keep trying.

But the final exam of the semester loomed like a final boss. Caleb, for all his distractive tendencies, had offered to help.

Dumb Barista: Final prep tomorrow, right? I’ll bring snacks. You bring that scary legal brain. Deal?

Dumb Barista: Also I’m making flashcards. You will respect my pedagogical craft.

You’d laughed when you read them—partly because you were too tired to cry, partly because it helped. And luckily for Caleb, you still lived by your mom’s golden principle: Whatever you haven’t learned the night before the exam, you were never meant to know anyway.

It had gotten you through high school and hellish semesters of law school. Why stop now?

It was the rule that made you close your books, even when panic begged you to keep reading. The one that got you to make a real dinner instead of inhaling dry cereal over a textbook. The reason you went for a walk, let yourself breathe, let yourself sleep.

Because whatever you hadn’t learned by the night before the exam—you were never meant to know.

And somehow, that belief had carried you this far.

You repeated it like a mantra as you closed your casebook and let yourself trust—just a little—that flashcards, snacks, and a dangerously charming barista might not boost your GPA, but at least your serotonin.

And now?

Now his head is in your lap, and somehow, the world hasn’t ended.

In fact, it’s never felt quieter. Or better.

You’re trying to stay passingly focused while surrounded by a battlefield of empty coffee cups, law textbooks, and a half-eaten cookie you both gave up on hours ago. The café is technically closed—sign flipped, lights low, chairs stacked—except for your table. Your island of academic chaos. Equal parts study session, procrastination ritual, and excuse to be near each other.

His weight is warm and solid against you, like he belongs there. One arm draped lazily across his chest, his bangs slightly mussed from the hood he shoved off earlier. He shifts now and then, cheek brushing your thigh as he peers up to read the next question, eyes half-lidded and infuriatingly pretty

You try not to think about how nice it feels. About how your hand keeps drifting toward his hair. About how he looks so relaxed, like being tangled up with you is just another Thursday. Like it’s nothing. Like it’s everything.

And it’s not just the way he fits against you.

Because somehow—over the time you’ve known him—he’s managed to pick up enough law to make makeshift flashcards for you. Just from glancing at your notes, asking casual questions, stealing your textbook when you weren’t paying attention during longer stops at the café.

Like when he quoted Cicero back at you out of nowhere and you had to pretend your jaw hadn’t dropped a little.

You never asked him to. He just… did.

You hadn’t asked for any of it.

He just… wanted to help.

You try not to melt. Fail miserably.

‘Cause post-it notes cover his hoodie like armor. His chest. His sleeves. One’s stuck halfway up his cheek. Another stuck on your braid. A few flutter on the table between you. They’re all labeled: contract law terms, obscure Latin phrases, doctrine names.

Caleb’s system is simple: for every right answer, you get to stick a post-it wherever you want on him. For every wrong one? He gets to stick it on you. Somewhere inconvenient. Somewhere you’ll notice. He claims it’s to “help you reflect on your legal blind spots.” You claim it’s harassment. Neither of you stops.

It’s not an objectively fair reward structure, but Caleb is wearing it like a badge of honor.

Because you have the advantage here—being the actual law student.

He may have charm, snacks, and that annoyingly good memory on his side, but you’ve got years of outlines, caffeine-induced anxiety, and a terrifying grasp of Latin maxims. This is your turf.

Still, the fact that he’s even trying—offering up his hoodie as a post-it battlefield like it’s a group project he volunteered for—makes something warm and stupid bloom in your chest.

So. You’re sitting there with a human study guide sprawled across your lap, feeling like your bones are made of soft light. Like you never knew law could feel this good.

He mumbles “wrong answer” and reaches for your braid, and you almost let him—just to see if he’ll do it gently.

Because somehow, impossibly, this is real.

And it feels like peace.

“Alright,” he hums now, voice lazy from the comfort of your lap. “Final question. High stakes. If you flub this, I will declare moral victory forever.”

You squint. “Define ‘moral.’”

He grins, doesn’t answer. Just lifts a hand, one last neon post-it between his fingers.

An inhale.

He asks: “What is the difference between a unilateral and a bilateral contract?”

Your mouth opens. “Easy. Bilateral is when both parties—wait. No. Uh… One party—”

He raises an eyebrow.

You point at his forehead. “Don’t you dare smug-post-it me.”

“I’m ready,” he sing-songs.

You glare. Think. Close your eyes, shake it off, regroup. Then say, crisp and clear: “Unilateral contracts involve one party making a promise in exchange for performance. Bilateral contracts involve mutual promises from both parties. Boom.”

Caleb blinks. “Well well.”

You pluck the post-it from his hand and gently stick it to his lips.

“There,” you say, smug now. “Legal silence.”

He narrows his eyes, lips curved beneath the sticky. Then—because of course—he nudges up slightly, chin tilting. Waiting.

You roll your eyes. “This wasn’t in the terms.”

He just raises his brows. Makes a muffled sound that’s either a plea or a flirt.

You cave. Lean down. Kiss him gently over the paper.

He beams. Victorious.

And you?

You’re smiling into it.

——————————————————————————

The street is quiet when you leave the café. Lights low, air crisp, your heart beating with the steady rhythm of pre-exam delirium and possibly-in-love denial.

Caleb walks you home. He’s warm beside you, close but not overbearing, one hand gently tucked into yours. Every few steps he bumps your shoulder like he can’t help it. At your building, he doesn’t let go right away. Just pulls you into the kind of hug that feels like a bookmark—like he’s saving his place in your story.

“Thanks for letting me help,” he mumbles, voice tucked near your ear. “Even if I turned into a human flashcard stand.”

You laugh, tired. “You volunteered.”

“I volunteered,” he repeats with mock solemnity. “Because I’m trying. I want to be better at this… thing. So—” He pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

“So trust me tomorrow,” he says. “After the exam. I want to celebrate with you. Just us. No distractions.”

You arch a skeptical brow. “You’ve planned a post-exam celebration?”

“Calling it ‘planned’ might be generous,” he admits, sheepish. “But I want this... Want you. So… say yes?”

You sigh like it’s a burden, but you’re smiling. “Fine. I trust you.”

“Text me when you’re done?”

You nod. “If I survive eight hours of brain-death in an overheated room with zero windows and the collective stench of anxiety.”

He chuckles. “There will be air where we’re going.”

“You’re very confident about that.”

“I promise,” he says. “Lots of it. Just for you and me.”

He winks, then starts to turn. You linger at the door, watching him go.

————————————————���—————————

Later, you brush your teeth and stare at yourself in the mirror, toothbrush dangling from your mouth like a white flag of exhaustion. You think about the exhibit list you wrote. The reasons to stay, the reasons to bolt. Maybe your sunk cost analysis wasn’t entirely off. Maybe Exhibit B is starting to look more like evidence… and less like a mistake.

You pad back to bed, already halfway cocooned in the comforter when your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

Dumb Barista: Good luck tomorrow. I believe in you, Golden Girl.

You stare at the screen, heart tipping sideways in your chest.

Then you smile. Just a little.

And tug the comforter tighter around you like it might hold the words in place.

——————————————————————————

It’s hell.

Hours of fluorescent lights, recycled air, and every law student in a five-mile radius typing like their lives depend on it. Your chair squeaks. Your neighbor coughs. Someone behind you is definitely crying through a question about promissory estoppel.

You are five questions in and sinking.

It’s not that you didn’t study. You did. You practically ingested your notes. But now everything is blurring—contract clauses and legal principles swimming in a haze of exhaustion and Caleb’s stupid grin.

You start spiraling.

Maybe if you hadn’t wasted so much time flirting. Maybe if you hadn’t spent your final study night turning Caleb into a human post-it board. Maybe—

And then you remember.

His head in your lap. The post-it notes. The lips.

A question you couldn’t answer yesterday… is the one right in front of you.

The one you’d argued (fondly, and with great dramatic flair) over for ten minutes—half of which were spent debating whether the post-it should go on your wrist or his forehead. You’d gotten it eventually, sort of. But only because Caleb had slowed everything down. Had walked you through the precedent like it was a story, not a ruling. Had said, “You’re overthinking it—just think like a person, not a professor.”

You’d rolled your eyes. Called him infuriating.

But now—now, with your pulse still buzzing and your mind clawing for anything that makes sense—you see it. The same structure. The same ruling. The same exception buried inside that outdated case, now the star of your exam’s final curveball.

And just like that, you solve it.

Because of Caleb.

Because of that dumb argument.

Because of that one post-it you ended up sticking to his hoodie in triumph.

You almost laugh out loud.

Instead, you write.

Like you’ve never written before.

You write like you have a closing argument to win and a future to reclaim. Your fingers fly across the keyboard—citing precedent, building logic, painting your way out of hours of legal hell. Around you, the exam hall is a battlefield of stress: Harv is hunched two rows over, blinking like he’s forgotten what words are; someone coughs like they’re about to expire; the AC is definitely not working.

And still, you write. You finish.

“Dumbass,” you murmur under your breath, “beautiful, helpful, post-it-lipped dumbass.”

The words barely leave your mouth before another thought sneaks in—uninvited but annoyingly true:

Your mom always said that anything you hadn’t learned the day before an exam, you were never meant to learn. That last-minute cramming was for the weak-willed. And yet—

A single post-it note—and another, kissed onto lips you probably shouldn’t still be thinking about—just saved your GPA.

So, sorry Mom. Apparently, one barista with decent penmanship and devastating timing can prove a whole philosophy wrong.

Then, one final period. A breath. A click.

Done. Wrapped in 7.5. Miracles happen.

You nod toward Harv as you gather your things—he’s still sweating, chewing his pen like it might give him answers. You smile, quiet and almost smug, and slip out into the light.

It’s afternoon now. The sun hits like forgiveness. You blink into it, half-dazed, and the world feels… okay. Maybe even good. You should be headed to beers or a party or some post-exam brain-wipe. That’s what past-you would’ve done. Let the trauma of legalese drain out through overpriced IPAs and shitty dance floors.

But not this time.

This time, you have different plans.

This time, you trusted Caleb—just a little.

So you pull out your phone and text him:

You: done. barely survived. brain is mush.

His reply comes immediately.

Dumb Barista: i know. i can see you.

You stop walking, heart skipping. You glance around the parking lot—scanning.

Nothing.

You: ???

And before you can type another word, your phone rings. You answer with your shoulder, rummaging in your bag with one hand and trying to reapply lip gloss with the other.

He laughs. That familiar, low sound that hits you right in the spine.

“Is that the shiny one? The one that tastes like candy?” You can hear the smirk. “You’re cruel, Golden girl.”

The applicator freezes mid-swipe. “How do you even know I’m—?”

“Ouch,” he says, mock-wounded. You can practically hear him clutching his chest. “Do I really look that different without the espresso machine in front of me?”

You shift the phone against your ear, tiptoeing slightly to look over the lot.

“I’m hurt,” he deadpans. “Deeply. Is it the car? Is the car too cool for me?”

“You—wait, what?”

And oh.

You walked right past him.

Because apparently, your favorite barista-slash-bad-idea just completed a full evolution.

There he is—leaning against a Lamborghini. Actual. Lamborghini. Black bomber jacket. White t-shirt. Cool jeans that should not fit that well but absolutely do. Sunglasses. Iced coffee in hand. The kind of vision that makes you feel like you accidentally walked onto the set of a cologne commercial.

You nearly drop your phone.

Your law-student-on-the-verge outfit suddenly feels like a crime against fashion. Your sneakers feel like clown shoes. You approach, trying to salvage your dignity. “Let me guess,” you call out. “Couldn’t land the jet from aviation school, so you rented a four-wheeled spacecraft instead?”

He grins.

“I’ve always wanted to drive one,” he says, not even pretending to play it cool. “So yeah, I rented it. Bucket list vibes. Also, figured you deserved a proper post-exam getaway vehicle.”

Caleb kicks off the sleek black Lambo like it’s no big deal—like this isn’t a wildly impractical flex for someone who still owes you a coffee punch card. White t-shirt stretched perfectly over his chest like the universe aligned just to test your willpower.

Then he holds out the massive takeaway cup. “Made this before I left work. Triple shot, splash of sweet cream, caramel drizzle. The ice hasn’t melted yet. Thought I’d reward the future top-of-the-class. You’re welcome.”

You blink down at it.

“This is a trap.”

“Trap or love letter,” he says, tugging open the passenger door, “depends on your interpretation.”

You climb in—still stunned, still short-circuiting. The interior smells like new leather and impending bad decisions. You take a sip. It tastes like heaven and pure irresponsibility.

Honestly? He could’ve skipped the emotional sandwich labyrinth and just done this from the start.

But then again… Maybe this version of him, this date, this moment—only exists because of that chaos. So you lean back in the seat and smile. It’s summer break. And this? This is what investment in emotionally confusing men apparently yields.

Your sunk cost analysis? Not bad. Not bad at all.

Caleb pulls on his seatbelt—then pauses. Glances over at you.

One arm crosses over your body as his hand finds the seatbelt. His fingers brush your side—just barely—but it’s enough to steal your breath. You freeze, hyper-aware of everything: his closeness, his calm, the way his brow furrows in quiet focus as he pulls the strap across your lap.

The nylon drags over your skin. The metal buckle clicks into place like a gavel. But he doesn’t move. His face is still there. You could count every freckle. Every eyelash.

And then the scent hits.

Clean metal. Cedar. Something darker—his cologne, probably—but it’s softened by what’s unmistakably him: espresso, cinnamon, the ghost of caramel. The smell of all the coffees he’s made you. The smell of the café, your table, every moment that led to this.

His fingers rest lightly on the strap for a beat too long. Then he leans back, like he’s peeling himself out of orbit. And when he finally glances at you?

“There,” he hums, voice low. “Safety first, Golden Girl.”

Familiar. Infuriating. Unfairly good.

“Sooo,” he says, casual, breezy, entirely too cool for someone who just rented a Lambo on a Friday.

“You like the beach?”

——————————————————————————

Well, are you gonna dance on the line with me?

You know it's not a game or a fantasy

And I don't even know who I used to be

But nothing is the same and some things have to change now

——————————————————————————

Part 14 tbc…?

——————————————————————————

Writer’s note: IIIIIIHHH AAAAA we’re so back, aren’t we?! I’m seriously so excited for golden girl right now. Yes, yes, I know Caleb was a total dummy, but LISTEN!!! I’m having way too much fun mending their relationship, and suddenly my original plan of dddducking it all up is making perfect sense again. I really hope it clicks for you too, dear reader, because I absolutely love the dynamic of two people trying, failing, and choosing to be better for each other. Anyway! Let me know if you want more, I’m already sketching out the next arc huhuhu. I think I’ll be dabbling a little into possessive/protective territory with our dear fictional man, hehe. Have a lovely weekend, and I’ll shut up now 🫶🏻 this arc was fueled by fall for me and past self by ST. You’re welcome lol.

[lucifertheanalyzer]

If you reblog this post, please add the "hazbin hotel leaks" tag.

Thank you!

Since whole Roise owning Alastor topic has been popping off, I am going to add my two cents. A24 has copyright posts with leaks in the past so I have put appropriate screenshot of Lucifer on it.

I have no issue with topic of racism or racist characters existing in media. I am shocked that racist Sinners are not common in Hazbin, the closest we get into bigotry is Katie Killroy who is homophobic.

If Rosie is a racist, that is fine. She could be in Hell because of her cannibalism and her racism. I would not be surprised if she visited Human Zoos during her lifetime or owned slaves.

She knows that Alastor has is a man of color because he made a deal with her when he was alive, so her calling Al a 'pet' and 'telling him to rollover or go fetch" can lean into her racism.

As long it is written and viewed by the audience as bad and that Rosie deserves to be stay in Hell. In episode 7, they kind of lean into this with Rosie being a cannibal and the leader of a cannibal town.

The writers need to have characters to show some people cannot be redeemed and are rotten to the core because of their beliefs even if they are nice or helpful like how Rosie let her citizens fight for Charlie in episode eight.

Before I get deep into the dark stuff, the song has a tone issue. The song should not be a showtune with an upbeat instrumental. This is one song that should have dark instrumental to showcase how soul owning is an awful thing. Catchy instrumentals make us forget what the song is about, take Hey Ya! by Outkast. The song is about a complexity in relationships, but the beat is so catchy that you do not catch it, it is straight up mentioned the lyrics. I listened to this song which I was a child, and I did not know what the song was about until I was a teen.

Are fans supposed to be snapping their fingers and doing the twist to a song about the fan favorite being treated like a pet? This franchise needs more darker sounding songs like we are in Hell! give me those dark, deep melodies. Give me Hellfire from Hunchback of Notre Dame.

My issues are that all the writers for Hazbin are my knowledge are white, Alastor and Rosie's character have racist implications, and most importantly, you have to be aware of racist conspiracy theories before adding the element of racism in your stories.

Unlike everyone else, I do not think Rosie owning Alastor's soul is racist or the writers are wearing white hoods when cooking up this episode/song, you have to be carefully when it comes to the topic of racism regardless of your race or/and ethnicity.

In the casting sheet, Roise is said to have the "energy of a Jewish mother". We all know that Alastor was reworked into a mixed Creole man so the show can have a "pass" to have Vodou to be a part of his character. When Alastor was created way back in 2008, he was not a person of color. His demon appearance does not match his human appearance at all either. Demon Al is whitewashed, and he lost his 3b hair texture. Is being whitewashed a punishment for people of color in Viv's hell?! /lhj 😭

Anyway, having a Jewish-coded character in a show based off of a Christan version of Hell who is a cannibal is not it. I have Jewish characters and like a normal person I do research on groups of people that I am not a part of to make sure I am not falling into stereotypes when creating these characters. I read stories about Jewish people being told by strangers or classmates that they will be going to Hell for not believing in Jesus. If I was creating a story set in Hell, Jewish or Jewish-coded characters would not be in my story. Cannot forget that there is a conspiracy theory of Jewish people controlling Black people.

If your writing is such hot trash that a 4channer points it out the racism implications, it is time to close out of the word document, rethink your life choices, and start over again.

Ok, no more real-life stuff, back to the show. This tweet caught my eye. Al and Vel are the only Black Sinners that look human who are evil. Husk has been viewed as Black because Keith David only voices Black characters, but he is a furry. Sera and Emily are Black-coded, but Sera is viewed as Evil by the fandom even though she is just morality gray/thinks the exterminations are for the "greater good". Emily is the only Black coded character who is like a sweet person (because she is just Charlie, but species swapped).

I am fine with Black characters being morality fucked up or evil, but you need a balance. Like in real life, Black people are PEOPLE! We are complex like everyone else

I hope we see another Black sinner who is a good person because if this show ends with all Black characters being evil abusers who or enables abuse done by other characters, the only thing I have to say is holy shit. 😬

Here is a funny meme because why not.

This is one aspect of the leaks I wonder will be changed before release to avoid controversies. How Black characters are treated in media and by the audience has been a HOT topic for a couple of years now.

This is aspect of Hazbin I can be seen being written about negatively in a professional publication that discussions media and ripping the show apart for this or Black media analysis YouTubers who never heard of Hazbin being dumfounded by the song.

Imagine a song about a Jewish-coded woman owning a Mixed Creole man hitting the Billboard Top 100s. 💀 This is going to be a song that wins an award. /lhj

[dorims]

make you fix me [ sneak peak ]

gif creds @/endiness

roman roy x therapist!reader

wc. ~550

genre. fluff, angst,

spiraling into a more than confusing dynamic, roman roy's relationships have always disrupted the balance between professionalism and an HR complaint. It wasn't his fault his authentic-roy-ways didn't follow the 'being a decent human being' guidebook. People fell in love with their therapists all the time anyway, and being a nepo-baby billionaire didn't save him of that fate.

tags. WORKING TITLE, NO BETA AS OF RN, prone to grammar mistakes !! the story is set some time after s4 as of rn, gif is not representative of the timeline this takes place in, allusions to abuse, being dismissive of therapy, roman uses the word looney as an insult once, tags will be added as the story progresses, these are mainly for the text below the cut

a/n. this is a little sneak peak of one my wips! the full document has 3.5k words ish but im aiming for at least 7k, maybe a little more. if anyone wants to join the tag list for this fic please send me an ask off anon or with your url

“Are you writing that down?” He frowned, “why are you writing that down? I literally just said I wasn’t.”

Yet again, another bold demonstration of your therapeutic ineptitude. You dared to look up at him for a couple of seconds too long, scanning him over until his eyes widened in confusion while he jostled his hands in the air, preparing to retaliate. But just when he started stringing words together, you decided to start what seemed like a new sentence.

“What are you even writing?!” He wanted to tear all his hair from the roots. “I haven't said anything!”

“Well, you have.”

“It doesn’t matter!” Groaning in protest, he scooted closer to the edge of the couch, almost like he wanted to stand up. “I said nothing that means anything.”

“Then,” you clicked your pen, and his gaze immediately zeroed in on your fingers toying with the shiny metal. He gulped, knowingly so, like waiting for the stationary to stab him in the neck. But nothing had happened, and instead, he missed the way you [had noticed] “There’s nothing you should worry about.”

His shoulders dropped with the heavy weight of being scrutinized. One would have thought he would’ve been used to it by now. But from experience, he had learned that the everlasting bitterness of getting examined under a microscope would always linger. No matter what he tried, the only way of coping with it was to wait for it to pass with his tail between his legs. 

“Can you just like stop? Writing?” With his elbows resting on his knees and his face burrowed against the nook of his hands, his voice came out pityingly muffled, much like the hint of the child he had been tasked to cast aside way too soon.

 “Why?”

“Because, it’s, fuckin’ weird?” He forced himself to stare straight at the spot right between his Oxfords, shaking his head in disbelief as he attempted a laugh. “I’m not paying you to scribble on your looney book.”

You had hummed once more, and he had wanted to tell you to stop. With his gaze still zeroed on the floor, he failed to notice how the plain Moleskin had been pushed to the side, neatly closed in a genuine display of concern. Or as genuine as a therapist would allow themselves to be during their first session. 

“Then what are you paying me for?”

“To like, you know,” he shrugged in disbelief. “Ask me to draw a stick figure under the rain and tell me how to fix this.”

“Fix this?”

“Yeah, this.” The words had left his tongue sitting, heavy in his mouth, and the rest that wanted to tumble out felt foreign in size and shape, though similar in weight to that of shame. The same one that had seeped from between his teeth and gums and skin countless times when the inconceivable consequences of his actions caught up to him growing up. Shame so thick it would put blood to shame, though they sure shared the same taste. And it had always been easier to spit it out in private, drown the aftertaste with fierce scrubbing and hide the searing imprints on his cheeks underneath the covers. But the walls surrounding him were no longer the ones in his childhood bedroom, and you were still waiting on an answer. “Fix, I don’t know…me?”

[basilone]

I want to hear your thoughts on fandom and the recent influx of the term content creation!

Well, anon, you are in luck! (Or not, depending on your definition of luck. 😉) I just so happen to have many Thoughts & Opinions™ about this. I will get wordy, this will get lengthy, and I will be social and put most of my thoughts under a readmore cut.

I personally try to avoid the terms ‘content’ and ‘content creation’ when talking about fandom works and a fandom’s creative pursuits nowadays. Occasionally, sure, it happens that it slips out anyway – it’s a term we’re all really used to using! – but I want to be as mindful about its use as possible. This is a personal decision on my account and I won’t get uppity about other people’s use of these terms, though.

But, Killy, you might say... why would you avoid using these terms? For me, here’s why:

Content is not synonymous with art;

Content creation indicates something different than art creation;

Fandom should not be subject to consumerism;

Fandom is about connection.

If all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die.

Yeah. I know. Melodramatic much? I’m on my fainting couch here, folks. 😂 But let’s dig in, shall we?

You know, maybe it’s just the archivist in me that balks at the term ‘content’. Content is a data entry field in the archival system we use at my real-life job: literally speaking, this data entry field is where we put a brief summary of the document attached to that specific archival file. It contains information that tells you the key takeaways of what the document is about, but it will not contain the full text of the document itself. Content is one of the points of access for our archival search: I know what I’m looking for, so I put a few keywords into our search and it pulls up the relevant file. But what do I need, really need, in my line of work? It’s the document itself, not the data entry field. The document tells me the whole story that I need to be able to truly do my job well. The content-field is a cliffnotes edition of that story.

It’s the same way with the art we create in fandom. I’m gonna take myself as an example here, because I create a fair bit! (Shocking, I know. Local Tumblr cryptid sighting, more at 11. 😎) I spend hours writing fic. I spend hours sorting through screencaps before screeching at Photoshop for a lengthy amount of time. I spend days pouring over quotes, books, documents, photographs, tutorials, and other things that will help me create something cool. I apply color theory, art framing/perspective, narrative focus, and many other theories and techniques to my writing and my giffing. If I were to put my finished work or any of my WIPs in that same archive system, it would be the document within the archival file. The tags I use on my posts? Those are markers similar to the content-field. They tell you who my gifset depicts and from which show it is. They tell you which OC of mine my fic is about. My work contains these things I tagged.

But my creative work is not content itself.

Content is marketable, easy access, blurb-y stuff. Content is something you absorb within one minute flat. Content is the highlight reel. It’s what fills a page, something you’ll scroll past in a heartbeat, something that barely stands out in a long long long list of stuff. Content is what you consume on a lazy Sunday afternoon without ever being forced to read lengthy pieces, take in the details of what you see, pause mid-scroll to ponder the meaning of life, whatever else have you. Create content and you create a flash in the pan, a quick laugh maybe, before it fizzles back out again. Create content and it’s here today and gone tomorrow without anyone mourning its absence for too long.

Art should last longer than that, don’t you think? 😉

So when I see people put a fic request in an askbox and it’s phrased like “Speirs x spy!reader fluff” and that very same request makes its way into about ten more askboxes before the fandom starts comparing asks? I might be inclined to classify us all as slot machines. Put an ask in and out rolls a fic. Who cares which slot machine it came from? As long as you’ve got your painstakingly crafted fics that you consume the same way you do actual content, right? We, its writers, are just lucky if we get a pat of acknowledgement on our little slot machine head for our troubles, aren’t we?

When I see an overly detailed summary of what sounds like a full-fledged fic in an askbox and the demand is “write this for me”, I recoil from the screen and go “child, who the hell birthed you, were you raised in a barn?” out loud. If you can tell a story in the space of an askbox, consider asking for help to let that story – a story you own, a story that is more yours that it could ever be mine – grow into what it has the potential to be.

When I see fics and gifsets and other creations get likes but not reblogs, I mutter something about the state of fandom economy these days. We exist in a little fandom bubble. Our bubble can’t expand or blow from place to place without a little help from our friends. And you’re my friends, right? I know the follow-button says follow, guys, believe me, I’m not that far gone, but for me ‘follow’ means ‘friend’. 💚 You’re my buddy now. Suck it up. We’ll share a can of peaches. 🍑

When I see fics and other creations get reblogged without tags or comments attached, I die a little on the inside. I feel like a little Victorian orphan child going “please, reblogger, a little penny of thought for its creator, if it pleases?”. I feel like commentless and/or tagless reblogging is giving me nothing, nothing at all, about who you are.

And I want to get to know you! I want to know who’s in my notes. I want to know who’s scrambling through my MotA gifsets like a fat little raccoon inhaling its third helping of a box of jelly-filled donuts. I want to know who is adopting which character and why. I want to know that it’s your birthday, or that you had a bad day and needed a pick-me-up, or that you are locked in an Ikea at three in the morning reading my blog by the bright lights of countless Solhetta bulbs. I want to know that you love my OC Darlene but that you ain’t sure what the hell my OC Lottie’s got to do with anything. I want to know what tickles you – a turn of phrase I used, a color in a gifset, a little detail I captured that made me go !!!!!! on the inside while I was creating too – and I want to know what moves you.

What reaches into the soil of your being and nourishes you enough to blossom into whichever lovely self you can grow to be? What is precious to you? What comforts you in the dark nights of your soul, when all light feels like it’s faded out? What do you love, truly love? What feeling and thought and idea and love love LOVE do you consume – truly consume, head to tail, no takebacks – and what are you consumed by in turn?

Let me connect with you. Let me know the little internet scraps of you that tell me you’re a DeMarco girlie, or that you’re here for Hoosier only, or that you’re as feral and batty about Speirs as I am, or that you actually really can’t stand the one dude everyone else raves about. Let me know that you like angsty quotes on gifsets – feel free to yell at me for making you schedule an impromptu therapy session – or let me know you saw what I did in my fic there and you’ll be demanding compensation from me while you lie down and wail about it. Let me know you’re very into those lovely blues on a gifset (I know, SO good, right??) or that you are side-eyeing me because that close-up of your fave turned you into a little puddle.

Let me know what moves you, because I created these things with love. I created them because they moved me, too. I created them because I have a story to tell, somehow. I created them because the whole world is a string of stories and I want to pass the heart of them on to you. I created them not because I want to jump on a hypetrain that races past all the episodes and all the alternate universes and all the stories without stopping, but because I want to soak up the sun and point at something and tell you “look, isn’t this beautiful?”. I created them not because I am looking for a quick fix or a distraction or an escape, but because I want to give you something that nourishes you as it has nourished me.

That’s so much more than that quick flash in the pan, yeah? That’s so much more than what content could ever hope to be. That’s something that lasts beyond the clicks and gives you an ever-expanding horizon that leaves you wondering just what in the world is next.

Let me repeat point five: if all a fandom puts out is classified as content, that fandom is going to die. Because content doesn’t sustain you. Connection does. And connection? That happens with meaningful interaction. That happens when you stop getting followers and start getting friends. That happens when you treat all forms of art as something unique that can be precious to someone, rather than something to like today and forget about tomorrow.

Can I do a lil mic drop? Yeah. I think I’m gonna. Just this once. 🎤

[backjustforberena]

WIP Ask Game

Big thanks to @ragana62 for tagging me - sorry it took so long.

Rules: make a new post with the names of all the files in your wip folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. People send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, then post a little snippet or tell them something about it!

I'll seperate them out into fandom. Which is just two: Holby City & House of the Dragon. I've not touched a lot of them in a while, but oh well. Not including the ones that are, sadly, just called "Untitled Document". And another called "dialogue from fics I'll never write", which has random things like Nurse Jackie, Maryland, and Holby as well, since the show ended and I pivoted away from starting new fics for that fandom.

House of the Dragon:

HOTD Fic Ideas - subtle, right? It's my major, master one that's clocking in at over 30,000 words.

Modern AU - which, actually, encompasses seperate documents, labelled "MODERN AU??", "GRAVESIDE VISIT - MODERN AU", "MODERN AU" and "CHAPTER TWO: Baela packs for both Rhaenys and herself..."

Sue For Peace, Tempted to Strike

Persuasion - which also has a counterpart called "Persuasion AU Outline".

Lay My Body Down - 1x10 Extra Scene

(also I'm tempted to write a little thing about Rhaenys picking Laena up from her walk with the King and I always liked the fact that she was escorted by her father and collected by her mother but now I could have Rhaenys thinking about splitting the duties and not wanting to look at Corlys because it's like looking in a mirror and she doesn't want to see herself doing this - look I haven't picked a title yet, okay?

Seasmoke Flashback WIP - this is also attached to a document called "Pale Grey Beast". It's me writing the same thing but trying to jumpstart it by starting it on a different document but keeping the original. And another just called "Seasmoke" which, ironically, features bits of High Valyrian and little bits and pieces to be used as flashbacks for this piece.

We Cannot Hide From It: Baela escapes

Your Grace

A Good Day - Rhaenys x Corlys Wedding Celebrations

Upon inheriting the title of Lord of the Tides, Corlys set upon the building of High Tide immediately, and stayed till all plans were finalisaed and foundations had begun to be built - again, I have not picked a title, I just saved the damn thing.

I Must Stand Alone

Cousins, Kings.

Aemon and Rhaenys

Saddle

Queen

Never Was, Never More: Laena and Rhaenys discuss the Capital & TQWNW

What Goes Too Long Unchanged Destroys Itself

Way Down We Go - Extended 1x10 Scene

Married In Vegas AU

Turning Page - Visiting High Tide

Holby City:

Me Before You - also attached is a document called "MB4U CHAPTER TWELVE"

Good Dreams WIP

Run and Hit C9 WIP

Collide WIP (Bernie and Serena take it slow.)

My Tears Ricochet

Berena Tears

The Not-Date WIP

Berena Juliet Roof Chat

Henrik & Bernie Post-Ep

Bernie Capture

Berena, Nicky & Juliet

Telling Jason

Gunshot

What If?

Director of Improvement

S17 E30/S18 E36

Berena Amnesia WIP - two documents, both called this

Someone You Love (Kill List AU) WIP

Berena Transfer AU WIP

Home Now - and another document entitled "Home Now C8 etc WIP"

Serena hadn’t had a home in months

S16 E40

Adrienne and Berena WIP

Berena Reunion 001

Jason dies

Spanish Kiss WIP

Reading the Journal WIP

Bloody hell, I'd forgotten about most of these Holby ones. I wonder if I should re-read any of them, see what sparks? Lord knows I left enough unfinished fics on A03.

Anyway, tagging: @leia-stark, @houseofthetides, @alicent-archive and whoever else would like to do it.

[system-of-a-feather]

New Pinned Post

I'm no longer in need of back up money, so commissions aren't needed, but if you ever want to commission me, I'm usually open. I also occasionally put some of my art on redbubble.

Please read Boundaries before sending an ask.

Anyways, hello everyone, I am too lazy to find my old crack DID pride flag (it'll come up some day and I'll link it here), and I figured I should slowly update some of my intro stuff for this blog after not touching it for a fucking minute.

You can call me Feathers - we're a 21+ year old Buddhist mixed-AAPI intersex nonbinary system (they/them) that is fully fused. There's a lot of oddities going on with our system so here is a bit of an explanation of our system situation here. "So what's up with the Feathers anyways?"

OUT OF DATE (5/15/2014); Keeping for it being an interesting post. For the most recent discussion on Buddhism, Full Integration, Final Fusion, and Functional Multiplicity written by our fully fused self before our recent decision to swap back to Functional Mulitiplicity, feel free to read here; it's long but a pretty cohesive understanding of our current experiences with our DID and shit. (End of OUT OF DATE note)

We're diagnosed with DID, C-PTSD, autism, trichotillomania, OCD, and honestly a number of things cause complex-trauma life. We have some physical disabilities but nothing that typically causes too much obstruction in our day to day.

As a result of our state of recovery, we really don't have a set headcount, however we were / are polyfragmented.

Some fun things about us and things you'll see on this blog:

Due to the fact that DID is no longer really that much of an interesting topic / impactful part of our life, we only occasionally post about DID and our experiences with it. While it was the original purpose of this blog, as a depiction of our healing journey and what healing with DID can look like, we decided we would rather just post about whatever sparks joy in our life. As a result, rather than much content on DID, you will likely see things relating to the topics below. PLEASE feel free to send asks about ANY of the topics below. We love to talk about things.

We are Buddhist (primarily non-theistic; mostly non-denominational, largely Zen) and we really enjoy it. We particularly like the philosophy and do practice it. Admittedly, we identify as being god awful Buddhists, but thats okay cause its part of the process.

We love research and plan to go into it when our ducks are better aligned. We particularly love research and literature around developmental psychopathology, trauma, dissociation, animal behavior, and the more abstract neuroscience topics (particularly consciousness research). We likely won't post much on it as overtly here because I don't enjoy talking science on tumblr much because most people (in my experience) don't actually want to talk about research as much as they want to prove their point.

We are avid bird watchers and regularly document / photograph the birds we see and upload them to ebird. We really enjoy it as an activity and social engagement and really love sharing that joy and knowledge with people. We actually have a minor in Avian Science and have been tested on North American ID skills. We also know more than we need to about chicken biology as a result of said degree. If you want to send anything about birds, bird watching, or asking for a bird ID (even non North American), they are ALWAYS welcome and you are ALWAYS allowed to tag us in any bird related content.

We do a lot of creative work and have dedicated ourselves (without writing partner) to a large story world project that we've been writing for over a decade now. We actually specifically started grinding our art skills in 2020 specifically just to help build that world up. Art is one of our largest self soothing coping mechanisms. We are going to turn that story world into a comic and a TTRPG system so please check out @thedevaaffliction.

Overall, we really just like thinking about a lot of topics and things as part of both our interest in research, philosophy, and as part of our Buddhist practice. We don't really find an interest in arguing discourse / syscourse because we really dislike and see very little benefit in debate. That said, we love to discuss experiences, thoughts, feelings and perspectives on complex topics and as long as the intent is to discuss and share rather than to "win" or "prove", we really enjoy that sort of enrichment in our life so we do welcome it. That said, we withhold the right to deem any conversation as more debate than discussion and to abandon it.

Additionally, related to the fifth point, we believe in being fully transparent about our past and admission that we were wrong as we think it is very important to be able to re-evaluate your beliefs and opinions and grow. In our mid teens we actually were pretty far into the alt-right pipeline and until about a year or so ago, we were staunch anti-endos. These days we are basically commies and very pro-endo. If anyone has any interest on how we pivoted so hard in our opinions on those topics, we are more than open to talk and discuss it as well as any insights we pulled from the experience.

Also we love martial arts - I forgot that cause I'm not particularly XIV brained rn but we REALLY enjoy martial arts.

We suck at being labeled and having labels. We're just very very queer.

--------------

DNI:

People who put on their socks/shoes in the order of Sock-Shoe-Sock-Shoe

That's about it. We liberally block, so we don't really worry about DNIs. If we don't like your content for any reason, we will remove it from our dash. Whether or not you want to interact with us is up to you past that point. Generally, we welcome anyone to follow as it can make for good conversation.

[aaronstveit]

hi there! you said in your tags that the latest chapter of deep end contains the two scenes you built the entire fic on. i hope i'm not too nosy but i was wondering if you could tell us more about those two scenes? <3

omg hi anon!! yes i would LOVE to tell you more about those two scenes 🫡 gonna put this beneath the cut because i am a certified yapper and this WILL be longer than i intend it to be

the scenes in question are the two arguments with cosette and grantaire at the end. the cosette argument in particular is the basis of so much of this fic — the line "The dutiful martyr Enjolras, who has a flag where he should have a heart." was one of the very first things i wrote for deep end. not a very charitable place to begin from when it comes to enjolras' characterization, but even when i first wrote it, it was less about who enjolras was and more about how he was perceived.

okay i just scrolled allllllllll the way back to the very beginning of the edit history in my original deep end document (still titled "enjolsette siblings?" btw) and first of all i started writing this in MARCH which is wild to me. that was the month i finished reading les mis. wow. anyway apparently i wrote the first drafts of both these scenes in the same evening, and i'm honestly surprised by how much of them remained unchanged in the final version. at the time that i wrote them, they both occurred in chapter 8 of what i PLANNED to be 10 chapters. that's also extremely funny to me. there was really a time when i thought i could contain this story to 10 chapters...

when i wrote these chapters, i hadn't even written enjolras and cosette meeting yet. the original draft of the grantaire argument didn't have enjolras realizing he was in love with grantaire then. i was still in the first 10k of writing deep end when i wrote them. all that existed before these arguments were the original draft of chapter 1, half of the original draft of chapter 2, and the conversation with combeferre in chapter 5 that begins with combeferre saying "You've been spending a lot of time with Grantaire lately." so when i say these scenes are the basis of the entire fic, i really mean it. the whole time i was writing, i was pushing enjolras toward this point.

from the moment that i began writing deep end, it was intended to be an exploration of enjolras & his ideas of duty and justice. it has spiraled into being a story about a lot of other things, but in the kitchen with cosette, it comes down to this again. it comes down to: enjolras, and what he thinks his duty is, and just how wrong he is.

because he is wrong. money, whether she wants it or not, isn't going to "fix" cosette. there is no "fixing" cosette, because she's not broken. has she been hurt? yes. did their father fail her? undeniably. but depositing a check into her bank account isn't the answer to this. enjolras wants to heal her in some material sort of way, and that just isn't possible. all he can do is be her brother.

so, i had to take enjolras to that place. i had to make him obsess over "paying for his father's sins." i had to make him stressing himself out over the money. i had to make him love cosette without understanding it. and i had to make him terrible.

i love making enjolras terrible, i won't lie. a lot of the time when i'm writing, i like to see how terrible i can make him without alienating him completely from the reader. when i was trying to decide what line from this chapter to use as the summary, i sent a few options to my friend cossette, who read an earlier draft of this fic. she chose the line about him being "capable of being truly terrible" for me, because she said that was kind of the whole thing i was going for.

and it was! for him to be able to say the things he says in this chapter — from telling cosette "Look what he did to you!" to him saying to grantaire "Your chest is even emptier than mine. All you have is an empty bottle and a half-assed joke." he HAS to be terrible. these are terrible things to say!

unfortunately, i think they're also very human things to say. i joke a lot about how much i enjoy making characters say the worst possible things to each other, but it's true. i love doing it. because i think it's so tragically human. especially when you're saying these things to a person that you love. it's easy to hurt the people we love, because we know them well enough to know just where to hit them.

when enjolras hurts cosette, it's mostly by accident. he is coming from a good place, but going all about it wrong. when he hurts grantaire, it is with intent. he and grantaire have spent years hurting each other. when enjolras finds himself falling after fighting with cosette, it's too easy for him to cling to the closest familiar thing: fighting with grantaire.

building up to the fight with grantaire was a different beast. whereas the argument with cosette is borne from misguided ideas of justice, the fight with grantaire is entirely personal. as i was writing deep end, i had to write an enjolras and a grantaire who could come to this place, in very different ways. enjolras had to find himself leaning on grantaire; he had to be in more pain than anyone realized, including himself; he had to be terrible. grantaire, in contrast, had to have some amount of self control; he had to be someone who could be leaned on; he had to be able to walk away. the grantaire we meet in chapter 1 meets very little of these requirements. his development is just as important as enjolras', even if he isn't the main focus.

this answer is, as predicted, much much longer than i intended so i will wrap things up. when writing longform fic, i tend to start with the worst thing and work my way outwards from there. these two scenes are the worst things. because i knew where he was going, i knew while i was writing that i had to shape and enjolras who would find himself saying and doing the worst things he could. that's why he's cruel to grantaire in the first few chapters, why he finds himself arguing with grantaire despite knowing better, why he constantly finds himself self-destructing. i always tell everyone that deep end is about enjolras beating the marble statue allegations, and that's never truer than it is in chapter 18.

for the record, you are always welcome to stop by and ask me about deep end! i have soooooo much director's commentary and i love to yap. i could talk all day about what happened in the original draft, what was added later, ideas i toyed with, why i made the decisions i did, etc. thank you so much for this ask <333 i had lots and lots of fun answering it even if my answer is pretty much as long as deep end herself.

[gulliblelemon]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Thanks for the tag @bigalockwood!

How many works do you have on Ao3?

22

What's your total Ao3 word count?

266,115

What fandoms do you write for?

Exclusively Young Royals. 

Top five fics by kudos

See You (Soon)

Where We Left Off

Please Try Again Later

Happy 18th, Crown Prince Wilhelm

The Umbrella

(I have a whole kudos spreadsheet and watching the trends is fascinating 😉)

Do you respond to comments?

Yes! Well, I try to. It sometimes gets a little bit overwhelming, especially at the beginning when there's an influx. But they're all so wonderful.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I haven't written anything with an angsty ending. I don't think I have it in me 😅

(Unless you count one shots in a series, in which case it's What Am I Going To Do? But that's part of a whole universe that does have a happy ending, so I'm not counting it - although when I posted there was no promise of a continuation of the story, so it was angsty for a while).

What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

All my fics have happy endings. But I think they all feel like it's a happy ending to that particular part of their story, and will go on to be more after.

Do you get hate on fics?

I haven't as of yet. I still can't really believe that's a thing that happens.

Do you write smut?

No. And the longer I go on, the more I wonder if I should. But then again, I wrote a whole fic that was basically about hooking up without it, so maybe I'll be fine never writing it.

Craziest crossover

I've never written a crossover.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

No.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I had The Umbrella translated into Russian and uploaded to ficbook.

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

No.

All time favourite ship?

Wilmon.

What's a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a folder full of WIP documents, most of which are just a line or a few sentences scribbled down. Some scenes, some ideas. I doubt they'll all get written, but lots get pulled for other things. And Wille's Month made me dust some of them off and either expand on them or just publish as they were.

But as for actual WIPs that I'm actively working on, I haven't got one that I don't think I'll finish. Once I start, I kind of get to the end by whatever means necessary 😅 Even if it takes me ages.

What are your writing strengths?

Erm... horrible question 😅. Dialogue? Maybe? I don't know. Someone else would have to answer that for me. I think I have a very skewed view of my own writing based on what I do and don't like doing.

What are your writing weaknesses?

Also horrible question, for very different reasons. Repetition probably. When I have something I just need to get down, I stop paying as much attention to how I'm saying things (what words I'm using, how I'm structuring sentences etc). But luckily @iwouldnevergetintofanfic is pretty good at catching it.

Thoughts on dialogue in another language?

It depends. I am not fluent, or even passable really, in any languages other than English. I'm not averse to dropping the odd word in, but in general I write the English translation (since they're speaking in Swedish anyway). I also discovered that the grammar rules are different, so ended up changing a load of stuff back to English in one fic because I wasn't sure which grammar rules to use.

First fandom you wrote in?

Young Royals.

Favourite fic you've written?

I don't know. I like certain ones for different reasons.

Where We Left Off was a massive undertaking. It's over twice as long as the next longest thing I've written (still not long by 'long fic' standards) and I was writing it for nearly a year. (And I'm not sure I'll ever write something that long again, that's not really how my brain works).

See You (Soon) was the first one where I felt like I knew what I was doing, and I think I will always be very fond of it.

I loved the process of writing Making Music, because it was a gift for a dear friend @purplehoodiesandclementines.

But I love them all in different ways 💜

No pressure tags for @unfortunate17, @enjoythesilentworld and @peakotp (and anyone else seeing this that wants to answer - I love reading these. I'll even retroactively tag you if you want!).

[anhed-nia]

I'm trying to get myself to do a little more regular film writing here. I used to do a lot more, then life made that hard and I started only doing my daily October #blogtober routine. Well actually it's not just that life got in the way, it was also that I had a change in philosophy about posting quite so many catty obnoxious take-downs of movies that don't necessarily deserve them, and also I watch an incredible amount of absolute trash for reasons more or less related to OCD and the urge to deaden my hyperactive nerves, so I didn't feel comfortable documenting my compulsive and unproductive consumer habits for all to see, and this caused me to shy away from Letterboxd. All of these things contributed to my not writing so much anymore...but now I'm feeling like that is not preferable. I should stay in practice with writing, and maybe if I obligate myself to document more of my viewing then it could actually encourage me to stop using movies and TV as a shameful hairshirt, and to start actually caring about how I spend my time. Maybe. At the very least the practice will be good for my memory, which is turning into swiss cheese from age/weed/the feminine urge to check out of reality completely.

Anyway you can expect an uptick in more casual writing that may not be of as high a quality as the Blogtober writing, but maybe it will be more digestible and fun. The /not blogtober/ tag will be used to identify posts that are outside of my October program and/or are less intensive pieces of writing. I don't actually expect anyone to be concerned about this, but that's the scoop if you were wondering.

[causenessus]

HI HI HI HI NESS IM BACKKFJFKSMSOS so first of all tumblr hates me why is that the FOURTH ask of mine u answered that i wasnt notified of should i just die

anyways im eating lunch rn

healthy girl era did not work out i took a 6 hour (?) nap yesterday so!!

trying again today

N E WAYS

today the teacher told us her old students were too non che lent (nonchalant!!) so they failed the exam (wat.)

and my friend wanted to laugh about it w me but i wasnt looking so she yeeted my OTHER friends eraser at me

but it

it hit (near?) the teacher..

she was sooo mad omfg

giggling i hate her

like basically i answer all her questions out of spite now like YEAH BRO I KNOW THIS ALR😕😕

Also i swear i dif this math problem right but the teacher said it was wrong (wat.) and my friend did it too and we got the same answer (wat.)

i wrote fanfiction at school ☝️😎 it has already been digitalised but like i DID write it

and tjen my friend read an original short story (? 1.2k words) i wrote which was basically me projecting and she almost cried so like Uh

slay???

dude i love talking so much u have no idea actually

ALSO THE THING ABOUT THE ENRGY LIKe I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY OMG SO I GET EXCITED YK

n e ways..

i was watching american psycho last night but i got distracted..😭 ALSO IM SO EXCITED ABT ONICS LIKE EUSHEPSHAPSJXOSKAJDKAAKKDKD

>tries 2 normal

>fails

OK SO!! HRU AND WHATS GOING ON IN UR LIFE AND IF U EVER NEED TO HIRE A HITMAN IM HERE FOR U ❤️‍🩹 as the hitman btw ❤️‍🩹

U SHOULD NOT DIE!!! TUMBLR SHOULD DIE HOW DARE THEY!!! i am so confused at like what is happening at tumblr hq 😭😭 like there are problems that need to be solved!!!! and i feel like they should be pretty simple to fix!!! but instead they're like "NO LET'S MAKE TAGGING USERS GO BLUE AND COMMENTS UGLY"

but anyway!! i hope your lunch was good!! AND A SIX HOUR NAP SOUNDS AMAZING AND JUST AS PRODUCTIVE AS WORKING OUT!! it's hard to balance everything so definitely don't stress too much about it!! you have your whole life ahead of you to like do something like working out so not doing it one day is totally okay!! (yk?? i hope that made sense and i'm sorry i hope it's okay to say that 😭)

??? nonchalant -> failing exam???? i do not see the correlation??? 😭 YOUR TEACHER IS VV SPECIAL!! IS THIS THE ONE THAT TEACHES ENGLISH BUT ISN'T....ACTUALLY....THAT GREAT....AT ENGLISH??? 😭 OR MAYBE IT'S UR MATH TEACHER BC U ALSO SAID SOMETHING ABOUT THAT BUT THE ERASER ALMOST HITTING YOUR TEACHER IS CRAZY I WOULD'VE DIED ON THE SPOT 😭😭

also math teachers love to like??? tell u ur wrong and then not explain how to correctly do something??? so i think u should just blame them for everything!! that sounds fair <3

I'VE ALSO WRITTEN FANFICTION AT SCHOOL LMAOOO i remember being on my computer during french class and my guy was just so boring i pulled out the doc and started writing but LUCKILY it was like an oc fic so it wasn't as scary to write as a x reader UNLIKE WHEN I WAS MAKING TONIC PFPS AND MY DOCUMENT WAS LITERALLY CALLED LIKE yn & atsumu and for some reason all of my friends wanted to COME UP FROM BEHIND ME AND HUG ME!! OR LOOK AT MY SCREEN!! and i was just 😃😃😃 but i have no shame so oh well

THE ORIGINAL SHORT STORY SOUNDS GOOD!! ESP IF IT ALMOST MADE YOUR FRIEND CRY?? 😭 I HOPE YOU'RE DOING ALRIGHT THOUGH <3 AND I LOVE HEARING YOU TALK!! PLEASE TALK AS MUCH AS YOU WANT I WILL READ EVERYTHING YOU TELL ME <33

I'M SO SO GLAD YOU'RE EXCITED FOR TONICS!! I AM TOO <333 I'M SLOWLY PLANNING IT OUT LIKE ONE CHAPTER AT A TIME AND I'M LITERALLY SHAKING WITH EXCITEMENT OMG OMG OMG <33

THANK U LINA!!! I WOULD LOVE FOR U TO BE MY HITMAN <33 I MAY NEED ONE JUST TO GET THRU SCHOOL BC MY HALLS FR ARE SCARY SOMETIMES YK?? like too many scary girls who look me up and down in their little crop tops and shorts and nike air forces and are like "why are u wearing pants in the summer" BC I CAN?? AND I DON'T LIKE SHOWING THAT MUCH SKIN THANK U?? (sorry this probably makes no sense i think my brain has short circuited today </33) BUT I'M DOING ALR!!! i'm stressed about my theatre duties starting up very very soon 😭😭 but i'll let u know how that goes once they start!!! I HOPE YOU'RE DOING WELL TODAY!!! AND EAT SOMETHING GOOD <33

[spurious]

how about BTS for O I Think We Should Be Brethren

(Fic-Specific asks)

BTS: I’ll write a DVD commentary about my personal favorite passage from [that fic]

trap card ACTIVATED although i don't even know where to start tbh

O I Think We Should Be Brethren aka Live Oak #4 aka John Sheppard's Sad Gay Life Fic aka the longest thing i have ever completed and posted aka my sort of mcshep thesis

I did a little commentary post on the whole first chapter of this fic, soooooooooo I'll go with something from chapter 2. The thing about chapter two of this fic is that it’s kind of just a collection of episode tags, but I didn’t want it to be just a collection of episode tags, because that would be boring, but I also wanted to hew very closely to canon events but just shown through the lens of John’s developing feelings. What that got me was basically all the very clearly episode-related sections, along with sections where nothing much happens but we get some glimpses into John’s feelings, into their more mundane interactions. I was torn between choosing this or the very early section where John obliquely comes out to Rodney, because that was something I wrote really early on and informs a lot of Rodney’s actions through the story, but I feel like I might have more to say, in the aggregate, about this bit, which is set shortly after the events of The Shrine:

After what Rodney takes to calling his "brush with stupidity," he becomes obsessed with creating documentation for all of the small, essential (according to him) tasks he does around Atlantis.

I think it makes a certain level of sense that, despite having near-on five years of his life being in grave danger multiple times, the possible loss of his mind is what would spur Rodney into the realization that he probably needs to document some shit.

"I can't trust anyone else to know to do this," he explains, manic, when John finds him in a rarely-used lab at three in the morning. He's bent over a Frankenstein abomination of Earth and Ancient tech (and no small measure of duct tape), something he's obviously jury-rigged himself, and he's in such a state that, thankfully, he doesn't even think to ask why or how John found him there at this hour. "What the hell is it, Rodney?" John tilts his head, stepping in closer—it probably won't explode in his face, he figures.

Why John found him there: because he knows Rodney's driving himself nuts trying to document a million tiny things and hasn't been sleeping. How John found him there: life signs detector and several years' practice studying the Wandering Habits of the Wild McKay

"You know that old joke that the entirety of modern digital infrastructure is all leaning on some free, open-source project being thanklessly maintained by a random guy in a basement somewhere, and the whole of the internet and probably the world's banking systems will break when he either gives it up or dies?" Rodney says, hitting somewhere close to a personal best on words-per-minute and not even stopping for John's answer. "No, wait, of course you don't, you're not a geek."

I stole that joke from XKCD but it just came into my mind and I would imagine Rodney spitting the whole thing out in one uninterrupted breath. (anyway i did link it in the endnotes so)

John scowls. "Hey!" "Fine," Rodney acquiesces, "you're not that kind of geek." And that, John can agree to. He'll match Rodney on comics and sci-fi trivia and mental math, but he's never gotten too into computers that aren't on board something that can go very fast.

John being offended that after all these years Rodney still thinks he's a jock is just, cute to me alright. He's a geek, he likes geek stuff, he's just also hot and has generic man interests as well!! I like the bit about computers that aren't on board something that can go very fast, though, that feels...correct to me.

"So this is Atlantis's free, open-source project and you're the basement-dweller who thanklessly maintains it?" "Exactly," Rodney answers, apparently too wrapped up in the work to notice John's lovingly-crafted insult.

All of John's insults are lovingly crafted.

"And you're writing documentation for it?" John pulls out a chair, sprawling lazily so he can get a look at what's on Rodney's screen. He's got a laptop open with a dense-looking brick of text he's typing additions to, and a tablet with what looks like a hand-drawn schematic pulled up on it. "Oh, well-spotted, Colonel Obvious," Rodney says drily, rolling his eyes. "I doubt anyone will really understand what it does, but Zelenka's a competent enough engineer to at least be able to follow a manual." "Right," John says, and then he sits, watching Rodney type, poke at the device, curse, and type some more. About five minutes go by before he speaks again. "You could also consider just staying alive so you can keep fixing it?"

John, five years in, having watched as Rodney slowly lost everything that makes him him, is a bit weak. That's really the only explanation for why he just says the quiet part out loud, here, even though he's trying to make it sound like a joke. I like this scene because it feels right to have them have this kind of conversation, this kind of bare, quiet intimacy, while the rest of the city is asleep, cocooned together in a lab with Rodney's tech all around them.

"Well, yes, obviously that's what I would prefer as well," Rodney says peevishly, the clacking of the keyboard turning a shade violent as the pitch of his voice rises. "But apparently this galaxy has other plans for me, and it was honestly foolish of me to have gone this long without coming to terms with the fact that I could die at any moment without anyone able to continue my work, so—" John doesn't think, his hand shooting out to grab Rodney's as it flails through the air in a helpless, fatalistic gesture. Rodney stops, mouth half-open, and just stares at John's hand, wrapped around his wrist, fingers curled against Rodney's palm. They're frozen like that, both staring at their hands, until Rodney says, voice quiet, "John?"

I love this part, this image right here. John not knowing what to do and just wanting to make Rodney stop and breathe for a second. Rodney absolutely stymied by the sudden physical contact, the nearness to hand-holding, enough that he uses John's given name. Rodney's actually going through a lot, emotionally, during this fic, that all becomes eventually clear in chapter 3, and this is definitely one of the sections I wrote with all of that very much at the forefront of my mind.

John squeezes Rodney's hand, just once, and looks at his face. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you, Rodney." And it's a promise John knows he can't keep, but it's also the only thing he can think to say, because he desperately wants it to be true, to be something he can say with certainty. Rodney, of course, is a man of science, and he understands reality, understands probability. "You can't promise—" John squeezes again, feels out the broad thickness of Rodney's palm. "I've done it up till now, haven't I?"

This scene has echoes of their beer on the pier, where Rodney tries to say goodbye and John just won't, legitimately refuses to, like, engage with reality? Because on some level I think John actually does believe that he can protect Rodney, can keep him safe from harm; he knows he'll give his life for that to be the truth, and he hopes, deep down, even though he's tried very very hard to extinguish that very hope, that his love, his devotion, will be enough.

Rodney's eyebrows knit together, his gaze darting around, and then he nods, quick and final. "Yes, I suppose you have."

Rodney may not know the true depth of John's feelings, but he believes this, too. Believes in John, in a way I don't think he believes in many things.

Love and honor, protect and cherish. Till death. It may not be vows, but it feels like them, to John.

Here's the wedding vows motif making an appearance again. John, fatalistic, eyes wide open, pledging and devoting his life to Rodney even though he doesn't think it'll ever be reciprocated, because he can't do anything else. Can't do anything less. He tries, several times, throughout this story, to pull away and put some distance between himself and Rodney, and every single time it ends up failing, for one reason or another. He's drawn back into Rodney's orbit, inexorably, but he's also so wrapped up in his own inwardly-directed misery that he doesn't realize Rodney's drawn to him right back.

He swallows around the lump in his throat, standing up and using their joined hands to pull Rodney up with him. Their hands slide apart, and John steps back, puts some distance between them. "Now come on, that big brain of yours needs some sleep."

Literally right here he's putting physical distance, after saying what, to John, amount to wedding vows. It's too much, too open, and he needs to get them back to an equilibrium because it feels dangerous to let that moment sit between them for too long.

"Yeah, alright," Rodney says, gathering up the laptop and tablet before he follows John out the door.

god. okay. i gave myself a lot of feelings writing all this out!!!!!!!!!!! i love this story so much, i think it's probably the best thing i've ever written, and.....idk i'm happy to talk about it forever and ever so thank you for asking???????????????????????? seriously.

[henriiiii-1001]

I have it only as a draft in my Word documents, but it's still from before UG became its own thing, so nothing to link to lmfao

Also, the reason I felt the need to ask for your permission is because I suffer from a bitch called

𝒢𝑒𝓃𝑒𝓇𝒶𝓁𝒾𝓈𝑒𝒹 𝒜𝓃𝓍𝒾𝑒𝓉𝓎 𝒟𝒾𝓈𝑜𝓇𝒹𝑒𝓇

as i said in my tags on my last ask, go ahead and write your own story, please dont come to me for permission to be creative. if it is connected to UG before it got ocified and the story was based off of that, then you can still go at it. i changed the story ENTIRELY by this point and dont mind someone else taking the original story’s premise (and i dont have like. any rights to the story anyway bc the source material is not my copyright, and it’s art. no one owns the concept to art bro). plus, i’m just a random tumblr user, i’m not gonna start a hate campaign on someone using old ideas i’ve thrown away. i threw them out for a reason.

and i get the generalized anxiety part, i have really bad anxiety that im p sure stems from my neurodivergency. but i’ve been slowly getting better at managing it through help from therapy and even something my dad said that i keep in the back of my mind. don’t ever be afraid to start something, whether its creative or not. be happy with what you make! be excited!! but that doesnt mean you should push yourself to write smth you dont like. maybe take a break from it, or if you feel like it really isnt gonna work out then scrap it. you shouldnt be pressed on writing something you dont wanna write abt.

[gloromeien]

WIP Game!

Tagged by @fsbc-librarian!

Rules: reveal the titles of the documents in your WIP folder and tag as many people as there are documents. Let others ask questions about the ones that interest them and post snippets or explain the contents as you see fit!

This sounds fun! Except now I have to reveal that I'm one of *those* writers that only really writes one fic at a time. I'm very linear in my writing and have to see things through to the end before I can start on something else. That said, I think a lot about my fics before I write them down and I outline a bit--that counts as writing, right? Anyway, here are a few ideas percolating. Only one of them has a title.

1. My first Shrinkyclinks: I almost entered the bang, but didn't think I'd have enough time to really get started on this for the deadline since my current fic is, as usual, growing, growing, growing. Anyway, it's an Endgame fix-it (yes, really) involving multiverse shenanigans, Captain America!Bucky, a dog named Minty, and two versions of Steve.

2. Stark Island: This one I've been percolating on for a loooong time, but can't seem to crack the version of Bucky that fits with this plot. Not sure if he should be modern or not. Basically, instead of becoming Iron Man, Tony went full reclusive tech billionaire on a hidden island, Bucky is his chief of security, and Steve is a mysterious friend of Tony's who arrives at the island to paint a mural on one of the villa's ceilings. And, of course, all is not as it seems.

3. Fic set in a Kings-ish universe: By that I mean the TV series Kings that Seb starred in--medieval in political structure and tone, but everyone wears dashing suits and there is no such thing as gunpowder. Prince James of House Buchanan was used as a weapon all his life (stop me if you've heard this one before). But now the Great War has ended and his sister has ascended to the throne, he thinks he's finally earned some peace. Except, surprise, Becca has arranged for him to marry Prince Steven of House Grant, a decorated war hero, father of three, and the most eligible bachelor in all the kingdoms.

I'm just starting out here on Tumblr and don't have a lot of mutuals, so I won't tag anyone. But if you want to participate, go for it! :)

[windandwater]

Started to write a tag essay but preservation of files and media is an inherited generational passion project for me so I had too much to say in addition to this entirely correct take. apologies to OP.

Anyway photos are a fantastic example of this as well, because physical negatives & prints will decay just due to the nature of existing. If you have historical photos, one of the best things you can do to preserve them is to acquire a negative scanner, high-quality print scanner, or a scanner that can do slides (if that's what you're working with) and digitize them as quickly as possible. Digital decay is real but you will not be losing paper and physical material to the elements of existence in the same way.

What you then have to do, of course, with all media, photos and video/audio files as discussed above included, is keep up with your backups. This is where the digital decay component comes in. Digital copies are also stored on physical media even when they're on the cloud; everywhere, somewhere, is physical material storing your data.

So whether you burn your files to discs or put them on a backup drive, you should be robust about updating your storage method. These methods will evolve over time and you should expect them to. We went from zip and floppy drives to CDs to external hard drives and flash drives (note: flash drives are terrible for backup storage). All of these physical media types decay in their own way and it is wise to use multiples if you can but also continuously update them as the landscape changes.

Except the cloud. I don't say this because I'm an old man shaking fist at cloud (literally), but because in my mind it's on par with streaming; it means a company all but owns and manages your data, not you, and, equally concerning, you typically have to pay a subscription fee. That is its own form of decay. For long-term storage, what happens when the account is lost, the credit card expires, the person running the account suddenly passes away and you don't have access to it?

To re-iterate: keep and manage your digital files, but manage them on physical media. And keep multiple copies.

(One more followup: I personally recommend making multiple copies of anything you can't replace and keeping at least one set of copies in a safe deposit box to protect from things like fire, flooding, other property damage, etc. You should remember the backups are there and don't forget to monitor them for physical decay but the point is you can really never be too careful about preserving the kinds of documents that in my mind are priceless.)

Keep seeing the (extremely correct) posts about keeping your stuff on physical media - CDs, DVDs, blu-rays, books, etc.

And yes, 100%, do not get rid of your physical media in favor of streaming. I did some of that about a decade or so ago before I learned better and there are books and CDs I now need to find again.

But something that I see a lot of people dismiss is that the digital versions are more convenient. Taking ebooks to travel is so much better than taking up half your backpack, having digital music is genuinely better than swapping out discs

The thing is, it's not mutually exclusive. Rip your CDs and DVDs but keep the discs - you can toss the cases in favor of more condensed storage and leave them in your closet until you need them again. Strip the DRM from your ebooks - you paid for them the same way you'd have paid for physical paper tree-based versions - and burn them to CDs as well for safekeeping.

You can play MP3s just as easily as Spotify in cars and in much the same way, and you can stream movie files from your computer to your TV just as easily. Tech can be both convenient and for personal preservation - you can do both.

Keep your physical stuff because streamers can just get rid of anything at any time, but you absolutely can keep the convenience of the modern digital era at the same time.

I spent several months last year digitizing the roughly 1200 discs that we've accumulated for the past thirtyish years - music, movies, TV - and it was not only the most fun project I took on, it's been the most rewarding because we have movies that aren't available to stream. But I can stream it to my TV with director's commentary any time I want.

[waifuoftomonori]

Well, my silly little crossover now has a total word count of 30,717, making it the second-longest document of 35 currently on my Ellipsus account. (It's probably not catching up to Aki After Tentacles, which sits at a proud 130,922 without the start of Chapter 17 or the new chapter I started, intending to possibly wedge it between the current Chapters 6 and 7.) Admittedly, I still have some fics I have yet to transfer to Ellipsus, or type up at all, but I suspect none of them come close. The third-longest is the Brat Game fic, coming in at 15,491-- although it's surpassed by Taming of the Ox up on AO3, which I kinda hate now but can't bring myself to take down, but currently has a WC of 25,518.

Meanwhile, the longest "serious" fic I have is the Inyoverse AU, which sits at 15,058, shorter than all of the above. I'm not sure if I can continue that without some revisions, because I decided that while a BDSM-centric AU appeals to me, as does the idea of basing this on the idea of balance between yin and yang (or in and yo, as they're apparently called in Japanese-- a little awkward when in is also a fairly common English word, but consistently italicizing it helps a little), the Omegaverse influence feels forced, and I might do better starting the worldbuilding from scratch.

(Yes, I consider this a serious fic because it takes place during a modified version of canon, where Shiki is still trapped by the Sword and Tomonori plans to kill himself in order to free her. And now Akifusa is going through his own potentially lethal problems.)

I find it interesting that every time I sit down to write a more serious fic, I struggle, but if I just think of it as a fun little thing I'm writing for shits and giggles, no pressure, suddenly the words flow freely. I mean, it makes sense when I think of it in those terms, but it's amusing nonetheless.

I remember a time when I was scared to write anything "humorous", because I put so much pressure on myself to be good, no matter the topic or tone, and I didn't think I was funny enough to write humor well (partly because I'd always forced it when I'd tried previously and thus it came out stiff). Freeing myself from the burden of those expectations was difficult (and on occasion I still struggle with it), but it was probably one of the best developments of my journey as a writer. Now if only I could avoid taking myself so seriously in other areas of my life, perhaps all my problems would be solved. Or at least some of them.

Anyway, I'm here to tell you that writing crackfic is cool and sexy actually, and you should give it a try. Alternatively, if you're struggling to write, just think of the story you're writing as if you were going to tag it as a crackfic on AO3. It's like a version of the Comic Sans trick that works for us serifoholics / hand-writers. Hell, you could do it in combination with typing in Comic Sans if you really wanted. Go crazy. Have fun with it. Roll around in flowers. Chill out and find some fucking whimsy.