#as usual paragraphs and paragraphs of useless babble

[drownedkiwi]

It's begun...........feat Assan mention

[nissakii]

How similar are Hinata and Deku?

In a previous blog post I covered the similarities between Bakugo and Oikawa, finding out that both of those characters actually share more traits than visible at the first glance.

You can read it here, if you didn’t read it yet.

This time I will continue with another Boku no Hero academia meets Haikyuu comparison!

Deku also known as Izuku Midoriya and Hinata Shoyo, what makes them so similar?

Role model figure

In real life as well as in many stories the common role model figure is present, which the person that is the core of the story looks up to.

Both Midoriya and Hinata have that kind of person that they look up to in an unnatural and almost shackling way, that drives them to become much stronger and grow out of their weaknesses.

First of all we have Midoriya whose greatest role model and aspiring dream to become like him is Toshinori Yagi, the eighth holder of One for All.

Even before becoming his successor and inheriting the power of One for all himself, he always looked at videos on repeat of his favourite hero and role-model.

In his room as well as later on in season 3 when the U.A students moved into dorms, you can see Deku’s room filled with posters, figures and various other articles of him, making it more than a simple I look up to this person.

On the other hand we have Hinata Shoyo who overly admires the Little Giant, someone he feels connected to by their background.

Unlike Deku who found his role-model much earlier in his life, Hinata found his role-model figure around the end of elementary school.

He admired him for being such a strong Volleyball player despite his lacking height and amazing jumps that made Hinata wonder if he could do the same, and so Hinata started his path as one of the shortest middle-blockers being even shorter than the Little Giant as coach Ukai stated.

In the Karasuno team he even gets the shirt number 10, that used to be the number of the little giant and like Deku you can see the parallels between the successor and role-model.

Both of them try to step into the footsteps of their role-models as close and in the same way, being shackled down by the fact that they are chasing to become them instead of developing an individual playstyle from the get-go.

Another thing is that they are the two people who seem to be a little bit obsessed with the idea of becoming the next one after their role-model that you cannot see in any other character of the specified series, making them blind to their own weaknesses and potential as an individual, as well as their influence on their environment.

Off mode

We all know that people who are overly passionate get into their thing and suddenly switch modes as they keep babbling and showing you the world they love so much.

But as soon as you move them out of their field of passion they tend to immediately become a whole different person, as if you pushed the off-button.

This trait can be seen especially with our two young men.

Hinata who is naturally energetic and cheerful is much more nervous and easily frightened when not playing Volleyball, at times he can be even socially-awkward when it comes to certain people like girls, upperclassmen or elders.

Even Oikawa, who he challenges in season 2 indirectly or talks cheerfully about how strong he is on the court, becomes a threat that scares him into shivers when meeting in front of the bathroom outside of the court.

Also he has the habit of throwing up or using the toilet before a match, making him much more fragile, sensitive and overly-anxious when not being in the game, even more than the usual anxious characters like Asahi or Yamaguchi.

Same goes for Deku, he is someone known for his easily intimidated and jumpy personality.

While he can talk clearly and loud when in a fight or in his hero mode, he usually stutters and mutters his opinion while becoming nervous, avoiding eye-contact and fidgeting with his hands.

Here it doesn’t matter if it’s the intimidating childhood friend Bakugo or the cute considerate Uraraka, even some other students who approach him naturally make him jump and stutter sometimes.

Eyecatcher

Despite their looks and seemingly low presence when compared to their peers, both Hinata and Deku always manage to focus everybody’s eyes on them, due to several positive as well as negative reasons.

Let’s start with the positive reasons on both sides.

Hinata surprised everyone with his seemingly never-ending stamina and crazy jump-ability, making everybody focus their eyes especially the first time they see it.

Combined with Kageyama’s setting technique, the freak duo quick is one of the things that people still gape at when they see it several times.

As mentioned Deku in his off-mode is someone of not much presence, but when he fights and talks seriously, he can make everyone look at him for being one of the view who possess the essence of a true hero.

He rather sacrifices himself to save anyone he can save, fully aware of his own inability power-wise in some situations.

The first one to act as well in a dire situation.

His attacks are always progressing, surprising, combined with his analysis skills and observation his quick judgement and ideas make him unpredictable and worthy of an opponent.

On the negative side, Hinata sometimes focuses too much on jumping and getting the ball, making him seem scary and reckless, also bumping into his own teammates.

After a long time of pressure he tends to become more easy to read since he is not on the brain side of things and purely acts on instinct and his trust in Kageyama.

His opponents focus on him, block him and can see when something is wrong immediately in Hinata’s expression.

Deku is also known for acting reckless, people view him as useless in fights  despite his analytical skills and strength.

This stems from his will to even sacrifice breaking bones and injuring himself in a fight to a point where he is immobilized.

An example would be the sports festival in season 2 where he indeed caught people’s eyes but in the end was viewed as crazy and reckless due to his fighting behaviour.

Judged by the cover

Like mentioned in the paragraph before, people underestimate Hinata and Deku.

Hinata for being short and Deku for several reasons, one would be that he used to be quirkless and can’t use his quirk properly another would be his shy and “wimpy” personality.

Yet they both always impress both allies and enemies with their outstanding power when they are serious about something.

Being mocked at the beginning of the battle just to make their enemies and allies wonder what more they could be hiding when doing their thing.

Therefore do not judge a book by its cover, since even a short middle-blocker can outplay you and even the former “wimpy” kid can become a more outstanding hero with an amazing quirk.

Helping hand

For the one who longs to be a hero it may be simpler to explain since it is immediately shown in the first episodes.

One of the very  reasons why Deku was chosen by Toshinori is the fact that he is the first one to help and lend a hand, pushing his own life into the background while doing so.

Even when he was quirkless he rushed to the scene to save his bully and childhood friend Bakugo while he bore the risk to be kept hostage or get killed in the process.

In many other scenarios it was seen that when everybody, even much stronger heroes and aspiring heroes froze, Deku was the first one to rush in and fight for others.

Two big cases would be Kota in season three when both were almost killed by a villain, despite Kota offending Deku and even hitting him… where it hurts.

The other one in season four when he was adamant of saving Eri, even facing Overhaul who injured and killed so many with his quirk already and almost getting eradicated by Eri’s quirk if it wasn’t for him breaking his bones constantly.

In other cases he also cheers up his friends and classmates, may it be due to his nerd-talk or just him being so innocently kind.

As a parallel we have Hinata who is not a hero, but a Volleyball player yet in many scenes we can see him cheering Kageyama up, adapting to his pride by making it look like teasing.

In other cases he even tells him there is nothing to fear since he now has Hinata, giving him a safe space to move in.

Other cases would be him talking to Nishinoya to get him back in the team, as well as Asahi and cheering up Yamaguchi when he missed his pinch serve.

He all does that in a way that doesn’t make the other person feel pitiful but in his own way.

For Yamaguchi as example he told him next time he would get ten points back for sure or that they both get ten points each, and that he won’t lose to him being on the court.

With that he makes Yamaguchi feel like a threat , stealing his place on the court which results in Yamaguchi having the feeling of actually having potential and belonging to the team.

Another example would be Yachi.

When he heard her problem and story, even when she insisted she would be okay, Hinata literally dragged her to her mother and wanted her problems to be resolved.

He forced his help on her and due to his help she could full-heartedly become their new manager.

Troublemaker

Earlier the negative side of the eye catcher was mentioned, concluding that both of them recklessly work hard to achieve their dreams and forget what is around them or even in front of them.

Again, Hinata fixes so much on the ball and wants to improve immediately that he forgets that there are other middle-blockers around, crashing into them.

Also when heated up or nervous he becomes easy to read and makes a lot of mistakes since he still lacks a lot of technique when it comes to his serves and receives.

He often gets scolded by Kageyama and Coach Ukai for this behaviour, they even think of him as a potential monster when gets into that mode.

Also Hinata’s habit of bumping into several of his rivals and wanting to start a fight when he gets defensive outside of the court makes him a bit of a troublemaker when nobody of the third-years are around.

It also happened that Hinata got lost several times while focussing on running faster than Kageyama or training in general, showing his naive and innocent side as he talked to Kenma the first time who was a complete stranger.

This all can be applied to Deku who basically breaks all his bones in a fight.

He attracts villains and rivals alike, due to his presence.

His reckless behaviour made him the focus of events.

Also in season three, after being released from the hospital he sneaks out to save Bakugo with a couple of students, he does get into a fight with Bakugo on the school grounds and his quirk that he inherited from Toshinori was labelled as very similar to his quirk.

Therefore Aizawa and the rest of Class 1-A, labelled him one of the trouble students.

Unyielding

One thing both of them clearly have in common with not much words needed, an unbreakable spirit to go on with their dreams.

Even if it was shown that they both have suffered many setbacks, judgement and suffering (which they rarely show on the outside), they never stopped  working hard for their dreams, if not even harder than before.

As many people watch them, call them names and ridicule even mock them, they do not give up.

Instead, they give them that one look, which is going to show them how much they are ready to give and fight to become the person they want to be.

Fanboy

Last but not least, fanboys.

Not only do their eyes glitter and shine, as well as their voices sounding much more energetic, no they do not hide the fact how amazing and admirable they find the person in front of them.

May it be villains, heroes, teammates or opponents, nobody is safe from a little smooth compliment.

Their respect for the person in front of them is big and they do not underestimate or ridicule them at all.

Deku always analyzes his allies and enemies, noting their strength and technique until he breaks out into a mutter concert he cannot stop.

He does not hold back openly complimenting and letting his inner fanboy out, even flushing from the overexcitement as seen in several cases at the cultural festival arc and sports festival arc.

A case where Deku complimented a Villain would be in season four when he finally beat Gentle and told him he was the hardest opponent he fought yet and that he thinks he made the right decision when he turned himself in.

Hinata is not much more different, unlike Deku who in general analyzes Hinata simply sees things as they are and just is amazed by them like a child.

He even rushes over telling the person in an unknown excited mix of japanese and his own description of sounds, how cool and amazing they actually were and if they could teach him.

One example would be Nishinoya and his rolling thunder, another one is Bokuto’s feint.

Just like Deku even with an opponent he doesn’t hold back as seen in season one when he first saw Oikawa play in the inter-high preliminaries along with Nishinoya, he even gave him the name Grand king and talks highly of him as he keeps saying he wants to play against him.

Some opponents are even irritated when he directly tells them during a game or after how amazing they were.

For now this is all for our favourite tangerine and cabbage boy.

Did you see any of these similarities before?

Do you have more that weren’t mentioned here?

Drop it in the comment!

Now let me take a sip of my- wait who knocked my tea off with a volleyball?!

-Makii

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[porkchop-ao3]

Park Chinois: PART 1/3

Part Two - Part Three

So I decided to write Ice Cream Rick and reader’s 6 month anniversary date at Park Chinois, the one that Tailor made I.C his suit for in this fic! I’ve been writing this for a while, since before I started the Tailor backstory fic, Unpicking, so bear in mind that this fic takes place before reader knows anything about that (its not hugely relevant, just in the first few paragraphs of this fic). Thank you to @rixxy8173571m3w1p3 for talking to me about this fic and giving me the push I needed to write it!

I’m splitting this into three parts, the first two parts are SFW and can be read as a stand alone story (like I’ve done in the past), and the final part is NSFW but can be skipped if you aren’t into that :) 

By the way I just wanna put a disclaimer here and say I have never been to Park Chinois (which is a real restaurant in Mayfair, London), and so the experience these characters have here is totally made up and doesn’t reflect what it’s actually like! I just took my inspiration for the setting of this fic from there :) Don’t sue me! Lol. 

Enjoy!

-

“Relax, darling, trust me. You've honestly no need to be nervous, I recommended the place. Has my impeccable taste ever led anyone astray?” Tailor, who was leaning up against the banister of the stairs as we waited by the door, assured me. I.C would be arriving any moment.

“I'm not nervous about the place, he could be taking me to McDonald's and I'd be totally happy. It's just this- this waiting around. I have so much nervous, excited energy, I just want to see him! To get going. You know? You've never felt like this before a date?” I asked, giving myself a last check in the mirror. Tailor had 'sorted me out’, he'd curled my hair for me (since I always missed parts in the back) and helped me pick out shoes and accessories to go with the yellow dress I.C had insisted I wear. He'd been keeping me company while I waited, dropping not so subtle hints about his involvement in the whole thing.

I was honestly surprised, I didn't at all expect him to have bothered involving himself in I.C's and my private life.

“I haven't been on a date since I was still with my ex wife.” He informed me, a bitter scowl on his face. “I don't date.” He added with an air of finality that warned me not to push it. I looked at him through the reflection in the mirror and he was staring at the ground.

“Thank you for helping me.” I told him, swiftly changing the subject. I didn't know a lot about his ex wife but whenever he mentioned her he got this look on his face that I didn't like. “You know I'm useless with hair and stuff. I appreciate you giving me your time.”

“Yes, you are pretty useless. I may not be a hairstylist but you look more kept than you would've done without me here.” He agreed bluntly. I was used to it and simply nodded my head. “I hope your boyfriend appreciates it too.”

“I'm sure he will. He's been speaking a lot more fondly of you the past few days, and now that I know you've been helping him out with this date, I understand why. I think you've grown on him.” I smiled at him as I turned to face him.

“I think that's more because he now knows I don't want to roger his girlfriend.” He scoffed. My eyes widened

“He thought that?” I asked, surprised.

“Mm. Clueless bastard obviously doesn't realise that he has more of a chance with me than you do.” A smirk played at the edges of his lips. I always liked seeing him smile.

“Well you can keep your hands off.” I smirked back.

“Please. I prefer my Ricks with taste and class. And preferably of high standing.”

“Well surely if they're after you they already have taste checked off the list, hmm?” I said, stroking his ego just a little.

“Of course. But I won't settle for one out of three.” He shrugged.

The doorbell rang and I legitimately cried out in surprise. Tailor cocked his brow at my jumpiness.

“Oh shit. Okay. How do I look?” I asked him one last time.

“Sweetheart, if I still had faith in womankind I might just be interested. You look fantastic.” He said flatly, looking me up and down with a sense of distance in his gaze. He was looking but from a place of total disinterest. I nodded and smiled at his idea of a compliment and spun around to open the door.

“Rick.” I breathed once I set eyes on him, my eyes immediately flashing to his striped yellow jacket and baby blue shirt. He had a white tie on too, a change from his usual bow tie. My lips parted and I simply stared at him for a few long seconds. “Oh my gosh you look adorable!” I was finally able to tell him in an excited babble. I threw myself at him, like I so often did, and he accepted me into his arms with a chuckle.

“You like it, baby? I had it made just for this.” He told me, and the penny suddenly dropped.

“It's a Sanchez!” I exclaimed, pulling back so I could better inspect the suit. Just as I suspected, the buttons on the jacket were embossed with Tailor's logo. I spun around to acknowledge him, but he had already conjured up a portal and was stepping through.

“Yes, you're welcome.” He muttered before vanishing out of sight.

“Oh… bye then.” I chuckled, shaking my head and turning back to I.C. “I love it. You look so handsome, like something out of an old fashioned film… I don't know. The stripes!” I grinned, running my hands up and down the silky smooth fabric.

“I thought you'd like it.” He smiled.

“I know why I'm wearing this, now.” I laughed, gesturing to my calf length summer dress, sleeveless with a high neckline and white lace around the bottom hem. The colour of it matched almost perfectly with his suit.

“See? I had a plan all along. And you look absolutely beautiful, sweetie, give me a twirl.” He took my hand and lifted it above my head, urging me to spin in a circle. I giggled, once again reduced to a school girl in front of him. “Perfect.” He whispered once I'd done a full three-sixty, then he brought my hand to his face and kissed it. So damn smooth.

“Let me get my cardigan and then we can get going.” I said bashfully, trying to ignore the heat in my face.

-

Rick drove us to our location. I still didn't know exactly where we were going but when we ended up at Mayfair I started having my suspicions… he was clearly going all out for our six month anniversary. He found a parking space and pulled up. As we parked, I noticed passers by staring.

“Jeez, you have ice cream trucks here, right? 's like they've n-never seen one before.” Rick muttered, seeing it too.

“These are rich people, Rick, they're not like us.” I hissed dramatically under my breath, winking at him.

“Well, we're rich. For tonight, anyway. W-w-we're gonna indulge to the max, okay? So no ordering tap water and skipping dessert to keep it cheap.” He grinned, cutting the engine.

“I still don't know where we're going.” I said, and he pointed past me, through the window to the other side of the street. I followed his gaze and found a building with a red door, and some cast iron fencing on the outside. “Park Chinois? No! You didn't.”

“I did. Come on, baby. Let's see how the other half live.” He snorted, opening the door and swinging a leg out. Then he paused. “Wait, stay in the truck, I-I wanna get out and open the door for you. We're doing it all, baby.”

“Oh!” I laughed in surprise and waited, watching him walk around the front of the truck, buttoning his suit jacket as he did. As promised he opened my door for me, giving me an over the top yet gentlemanly bow as he did. I stepped out as gracefully as I could, taking Rick's outstretched hand for support as I did. “Thank you.” I told him quietly, squeezing his hand and keeping hold of it as he shut the door behind us.

We made our way towards the entrance hand in hand, and were greeted with a polite nod from the suited up gentleman standing by the door. He opened it up for us, and I wondered if that was all he was paid for… or was he some type of fancy bouncer? I didn't stop to ask, simply thanking him and walking into the restaurant.

My first thought was that the place had some serious atmospheric lighting going on, it was kept mostly dark, but it had considerately placed spotlights and wall sconces giving the place a nice, warm glow. There was a host desk in the front entrance, and the host standing behind it greeted us with a charming smile and well spoken voice.

“Good evening to you both, welcome to Park Chinois. Do you have a reservation?” He asked, smiling between the both of us.

“Uhh, y-yeah. Should be under the name Sanchez.” Rick told him, adjusting the tie around his neck just a little. I had picked up over time that this was a nervous habit of his, even when wearing his usual bow tie, but I'd never mentioned it.

The host was scanning his reservations book, and smiled when he found us. “Absolutely,  Sir. I see you're seated in Club Chinois this evening, would you like to follow me?”

He led us through the restaurant into a large room where live music was being played by a band on stage at one end of the room. At the other end of the room there was a long bar, framed by two huge golden pillars with this textural pattern that – whilst reminding me of a pineapple – reflected the light in a way that made the whole place seem to glisten. In fact, there was a lot of gold in this room, the bar seemed to be enveloped in this yellow haze of light. It was absolutely stunning.

We were seated between the bar and the stage on one of the many tables in the room. The restaurant was already quite busy, but it didn't feel that way; everyone kept to themselves and despite being surrounded by other people, our table felt rather private and intimate. Rick, of course, pulled my chair out for me before I took a seat, then took his own seat. We were handed a menu each.

“Here are your menus, a waiter will be over shortly to take your drinks order. Is there anything I could do for you both in the meantime? Have a waiter bring some water for the table, perhaps?” The host asked, flashing a bright white smile at the two of us. Rick and I glanced at each other.

“Hmm, sure! Some water, please.” I nodded.

“Certainly.” He was off, spinning on his heel and marching with his head held high and his spine impossibly straight. Reminded me of someone…

“Wow, this place.” Rick snorted, scratching at his goatee as he glanced around the room. “It's something, huh?”

“It sure is. I haven't been to many places as fancy as this. My folks like to push me into all that stuff, that's how I ended up at the party with Tailor. But just going out for a meal somewhere like this? It's a little different to my local Weatherspoons.” I snorted, glancing down at the menu. “I wonder if they even have-” I cut myself off with a sharp gasp that had a couple of heads turning.

I covered my mouth and ducked my head, pretending to clear my throat.

“Are you okay?” Rick asked, frowning in concern.

“No! I've just seen the prices!” I hissed under my breath. Rick sharply looked down at his own menu, then back over at mine. He quickly reached over and snatched it out of my hands, replacing it with the one he had.

“Fuck. He was supposed to give you this one.” He grumbled. The menu he'd given me didn't have prices. “I wonder if I complain; we'll get a free dessert out of it… No, I'd better not. I'd probably get the poor bastard fired.” He muttered to himself thoughtfully.

“Rick…” I shook my head.

“Don't do it. Don't start feeling guilty, I want to do this so just enjoy yourself tonight.”

“But-”

“No. Business has been booming at the citadel lately since I came out with those alcoholic ice creams, I've got money burning a hole in my pocket. Le-let me spend it on you, baby.” He reached over and touched my hand, drawing a swirly pattern on the back of it.

If I argued, we'd be here all night. I knew that much.

“You better believe I'm making this worth it for you.” I told him instead, my voice dropping an octave. He smirked.

“Oh?”

“Just wait till we've checked in at the Premiere Inn.” I winked. He laughed loudly, leaning back in his chair and withdrawing his hand.

“Doesn't sound as good as the Ritz, does it? I-I-I'm sorry baby, the budget could only stretch so far.”

“You think I mind? I like the Premier Inn. The beds are super comfy. Besides, going there meant I could afford to call and ask them to charge my card instead.” I told him casually. It took him a moment to process what I'd said.

“You did what?” He questioned.

“It takes two to tango, Rick. Both of us are celebrating six months. It's not fair that you should pay for everything. I wanna feel useful.” I explained and he rolled his eyes at me.

“You're a pain in the ass.” He said. I grinned, and looked back down at the menu, deciding what to drink.

A pair of tumblers along with an ornate crystal pitcher full of water were placed down in front of us. The sides were cloudy with condensation but I could see that there were wedges of different fruits floating inside. Fancy.

“Thank you.” Rick and I said in unison. The guy who brought it over was a different one than before.

“Good evening, I’ll be your waiter tonight so if you need anything please don't hesitate to ask! Have you decided what you'd like to drink?” He asked us, clasping his hands behind his back. He looked to me first and I scrambled to pick something.

“Umm, just some… some orange juice- you have orange juice, right?”

“Yes ma'am. Freshly squeezed today and chilled.” He nodded.

“Then I'll have some, thank you.”

“And for you, sir?”

“I'll have th-the same. Thanks.” Rick answered.

“No wine this evening? Perhaps Champaign?” The waiter suggested. Neither one of us were heavy drinkers, I could count the number of times I'd seen Rick with an alcoholic beverage on one hand. Spending so much time with him, I'd found myself less and less interested in drinking myself.

“No thanks. But, uhh, could I have a splash of Sprite or something in m-mine? I could go for something with some fizz.” Rick added.

“Of course, sir. I'll be right back with those.” The waiter nodded, heading off. I looked at Rick with a cocked brow.

“Ooh, lemonade with your orange juice. You're really pushing the boat out, hm?” I teased, winking.

“Thought I'd get a little crazy.” He joked. “Now, what're you having, baby? You want an appetizer?” He asked, picking up his menu.

“Oh, you know, I think just a main course will be okay. You don't have to go stupid.” I assured him, looking down at my own.

“I wanna go stupid. I might go for this Hokkaido Sea Cucumber thing… see what's so special about it.” He laughed. He noticed I wasn't in on the joke and quickly explained. “Oh yeah, you can't see the prices.”

“How much?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

“A hundred and ten.” He said under his breath.

“Holy shit.” I breathed. “If I order something like that, please tell me! There's nothing I wanna try enough to make you spend that sort of stupid money.” I shook my head. Rick laughed and nodded.

“Sure. If it'll make you feel better.”

“What about the soft shell crab? That sounds nice.”

“Yeah, you're good. It's reasonable.” He smirked. I thanked him, and poured myself a glass of water. A slice of strawberry plopped out into my glass with it, and I took a sip of the delicately flavoured water.

“What on Earth is poulet de bresse? There's far too many languages on this menu, I don't know what's what.” I asked. Rick laughed at me again, scanning the menu for what I was talking about.

“Uhhh…  no idea. My French isn't too great.” He admitted.

“Hmm. Better leave that one then.”

“Counter question. What's bavette?” He asked me. I thought for a while, I knew that one.

“It's like a steak, I think.”

“Oh! Th-then why don't they just call it steak?”

“Cause that doesn't sound as fancy.” I told him. He nodded in acknowledgement.

“Ahh, right.” He said, then rolled his eyes. “Well, that seems a safe option for the main course.” He snorted.

“I'm struggling.” I laughed. “Uhhh, maybe the grilled sea bass. I know what that is.” I looked at him for some monetary reassurance.

“And you wouldn't keel over at the price.” He nodded slowly.

“Phew.” I smirked. “I'll stick with seafood then. Sounds good! Though it has a kumquat sauce. I've never tried kumquat… I'm not even certain what that is. Is it like a berry, or?”

“God knows.” He shrugged his shoulders. “I'm taking a gamble on ginger with my steak, I'm not sure how that'll work but I'm giving it a go.”

“Aren't we being adventurous?”

“Well, we don't get to eat like this every night, so why not have s-some fun with it?”

“Ma'am, sir, your drinks.” The waiter returned, carrying our drinks on a fancy wooden tray. “Orange juice for the lovely lady.” He placed it in front of me in a tall, skinny glass that flared out at the top. It looked very top heavy and I knew I'd have to be mindful of knocking the damn thing over all evening.

“Watch it.” Rick warned him at the complimentary comment, but it was only playful. The waiter seemed to momentarily shit himself before realising that it was just a joke. Then he laughed a little too hard.

“And for you, sir.” He placed down Rick's drink once he'd recovered. “Are we ready to order?” He asked. Rick looked to me as the two of us nodded.

“Yes, ahh, I'd like the soft shell crab to start, followed by the grilled wild sea bass, please.” I told him, and he jotted down my order on a little notebook he retrieved from his breast pocket.

“Of course. Sir?”

“Uhhh.” Rick paused, scanning the menu once again. “The Sichuan vegetable dumplings, and then the stir fried Australian wagyu bavette. Thanks.”

The waiter finished writing then looked up at us with a dazzling smile. “Perfect. Thank you. Would you like some bread while you wait? It's freshly baked today and comes with a selection of spreads.”

Rick looked and me and I simply shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

“Uhh, sure.” Rick answered, sounding just as certain as I looked. The waiter nodded, and he was on his way.

“Oh Rick, you didn't have to. You watch, you've just dropped fifty quid on some Hovis.” I snorted.

“So what? Live a little.” He grinned and leaned forwards with his elbows on the table.

“Gosh, I'm a little surprised, honestly. I didn't expect something like this.” I told him, glancing around the room. The live band were taking a short break, and I watched them move around on stage, preparing for their next song.

“We've been to a lot of restaurants, haven't we? But none like this. I thought it'd be cool to try something a little different, a little more upmarket. One expensive meal won't hurt.” He told me, leaning closer to me across the table.

“I suppose it is nice to try it, even just for a night.” I smiled, leaning across to give him a brief kiss on the lips. “It's certainly interesting to see how the other half live.” I snorted.

“Yeah, for sure. There's a couple over there on first name terms with the waiter, how often do you reckon th-they come here?”

“Wow, enough to keep the place in business, clearly.” I raised a brow. “I think even if I was stinking rich I wouldn't eat out at expensive places too often. It just seems excessive.”

“It'd lose it's shine. You know, you do something too often it doesn't have the same effect. It's not as enjoyable.” He agreed, nodding slowly.

“Well, there are exceptions to that.” I countered, simpering to myself.

“Like what?” He asked innocently.

“Like I said, just wait ‘till we get to the hotel.”

“Oh!. Well, I'm surprised at myself. Can't believe I didn't think of that. I'm rubbing off on you, clearly.” He smirked in amusement. I laughed, shaking my head at him. The waiter returned with a platter of bread; all different sorts, white bread, whole wheat, seeded, sourdough, sun-dried tomato infused… then there was a separate platter with various spreads, half of which I didn't recognize but some I did. There was some sort of cheese and herb spread, a tomato one, various chutneys, and simply butter. Damn. It'd be hard not to fill up on bread with how good it all looked.

Rick and I thanked the waiter, and he left us to it. Rick was the first to dig in, plucking a seeded slice and slathering it in a thick layer of butter; a sickening amount, really. I didn't know how he did it, but he always went heavy on the butter. I decided on the sun-dried tomato bread and some cheesy spread. Taking a bite, I wondered how they managed to get bread to taste so good.

“Oh man.” I mumbled, covering my lips as I chewed. “Can I just have a plate of this for my main instead?” I chuckled.

“Hey, we're rich today. Anything goes, you wanna loaf of bread for dinner you can have one, princess.” He replied with his mouth full. My tummy warmed at the nickname and I resisted a huge smile, he was always dropping things that made my heart soar.

“If I start scarfing this down, stop me. I don't wanna spoil my dinner.” I chuckled.

“Eat whatever you want, baby. Indulge.” He grinned, polishing off his own slice and going for another. This time he tried what I'd had. “Shit. If I start scarfing this down don't stop me. Oh my God.”

I snickered.

“Well, if this is what the food's like I'm sure it'll be well worth the money.” I surmised, grabbing some sourdough and butter.

“Yeah… but then again it's pretty hard to fuck up b-bread. I have high expectations for this place.” He said, looking around the place. I watched him with a little smile on my face, it was funny seeing him like this, in such a new environment. The places we usually dined at were small and quaint, not at all considered luxurious. I looked down at his jacket.

“I can't get over how cute you look in that suit.” I told him. He glanced down at himself and grinned.  

“You like it, huh? I helped design it with Tailor.” He told me proudly, I couldn't help but smile at the idea of Tailor trying to cooperate with I.C. “Th-the stripes were his idea though. But I picked the colour so we'd match; I've always loved that dress on you.” He nodded towards my own attire.

“That is unbelievably sweet Rick, you went to all this effort.” I praised, feeling emotion well within me, this man was just too damn cute.

“Hey, it's all fun. The effort’s worth it if we're both smiling in the end.” He told me, tearing off a chunk of bread with his teeth right after. I just wanted to leap across the table and smother him with hugs and kisses, but I had to stay put.

I jumped at the sudden eruption of music on stage. The two of us snapped our heads towards the band as they began to play music that was much, much more lively than it had been before. It was loud, upbeat swing music that immediately captured everyone's attention. Lights began to float around the room and we were in the middle of a concert now, rather than a restaurant. An impressed smile appeared on my face once the adrenaline wore off, but Rick looked at me with a strange, nervous expression.

“Yeah now I get why they call this area a club. I di-didn't expect music like this…” He murmured. I shook my head at him.

“What? This is awesome! Don't you like it?” I asked him and he shrugged his shoulders.

“Oh, well I guess it's okay then. I just wondered if you'd have preferred something quieter.” He admitted. I shot him a comforting smile.

“This is different, it's exciting. I like it!” I told him and his shoulders lowered as he relaxed, his easy smile returning.

Tbc...

[maariarogers]

Reaching Out, Sprawling Over

author’s note: i think i wanna expand this universe but idk - but for now, feel free to treat it like a one-shot

warning: mental breakdown, anxiety issues, self-hatred, mental health issues tbh

Connor is a terrifying beauty.

Terrifying is a bad word, of course, and Evan would rather cut his tongue with— with something dull, like an unsharpened pencil, or a very not-sharp knife, just to let the torture linger or something— because he would. No. He would not say that, ever, alive, and aloud, if he must, because it’s a bad word to be telling somebody but honestly he hadn’t known how else to explain how Connor looks like, all pale and sickly, like a marble statue almost (and dolls and mannequins and everything resembling a human form freaks Evan out, like literally, and maybe that’s why Evan is insisting on the word “terrifying”) on the floor of his bathroom.

But beautiful.

Connor stumbling into his home isn’t a strange occurrences anymore, even though it still sort of feels like a dream (or a nightmare, a pleasant one, or just a hallucination) whenever it happens. The guy would just walk in, barely announcing that he’s entering — as though he’s been going to Evan’s all too-small house his whole life — and flops down wherever he deems appropriate. 

They don’t really do anything, but Evan figures out sooner or later that the reason Connor’s there at all is because he — escapes. He wants to escape. From his parents, most likely, whom he calls by names and if that isn’t an indication that they don’t get along or aren’t close then Evan doesn’t know what. Usually, Evan’s too squeaky and scared to say anything and let Connor do whatever he does. Thankfully, Connor must be thoughtful enough to only get high in Evan’s room and away from Heidi, sometimes even barely leaving any hint of smell behind when he leaves.

At first, it happens at considerate hours. Connor walking in, and helping Evan dealing with the delivery guys. But then Connor starts showing up around wee hours in the morning. And then Evan’s just waking up sometimes to a muffled voice of somebody’s crying near his bed. Evan doesn’t remember how or why or when he’s started not just kneeling down next to Connor’s shaking body when that happens, and instead just tugs Connor up until they’re splayed so close (that Evan can hear everything and feel everything and just — everything everything) across the bed and Evan’s doing that silly thing where he tries petting Connor’s back unhelpfully like people do in movies or books.

Gratefully, Connor doesn’t comment much about Evan’s lack of social skills of comforting people, nor about these incidents at all aside from mumbled “sorry’s” that he’ll get when morning comes. 

Evan would brush it off though, ‘cause it’s fine. It’s really — okay. Even if he isn’t. He tries babbling to Connor that, hey, if he ever wants to talk, like, with words, ‘cause that’s how people talk right, like, Evan’s there, and Evan will always be there, because where else would he be? And plus, Evan’s sort of knows how it is to feel. Stuck. Like, in your own skin. And it sucks. And it’s like nobody cares. And Evan knows. A little, even if it isn’t a lot. And honestly Connor’s been coming a lot lately too and just adding a deep meaningful conversation to this awkward silent pact they have isn’t much of a bother and in fact Evan’s happy to help! Happy to feel useless, even if he feels helpless, and he’s talking too much now, he should stop, like what’s the point even that he was trying to make—

Anyway.

Connor is lying there, for the first time, on his bathroom floor and he’s so beautiful and raw and so — so sad, and Evan’s known this for a while, but it’s still so heartbreaking to realise it over and over again and the cuts, oh god, the cuts down Connor’s arm, it’s so — real. It’s so red. Like Connor’s been scratching at them non-stop lately, so wild, and—Connor’s crying, hard, and the trace of vomit dripping down his lips are. It’s a mess. But Evan takes a step over him carefully to flush down what he assumes are Connor’s dinner before he kneels with a wet towel, remembering this was what Heidi did when Evan’s like this, years ago. Months ago? When he was bad.

Evan feels like crying, and maybe he is, and God, it’s so awful — is this how Mom feels? 

“Nobody gives a shit.” Connor whispers, harsh, trying to knock Evan’s hands off when he’s finally managed to get the other man into a sitting position; lanky fingers move to shove, to push. Evan lets himself be shoved, sits, and looks down. He clenches and unclenches his fists, wanting to say so much, but suddenly doesn’t know how words work. What are English, anyway? What are languages? “Nobody does. I’m so fucking— fuck.”

“Connor.”

“I’m a mess, Hansen, get the fuck away from me.” But all Connor sounds is broken instead of threatening and Evan moves his hand that’s holding the towel again, wanting to wash away the sadness, wanting to do everything in his power to not. Not let anybody, ever, feel this way. It’s so — bad. To feel unwanted, unneeded. Evan should know. He does.

“Connor, please. I — I want to h-help. I just...”

“No, no, no, no, no—” Connor isn’t listening now; black-painted fingernails buried in the mess of his hair as he mumbles the words to himself, seemingly stuck on some train of thought that makes Evan feels like the distance between them were miles away instead the inches it actually were. Evan feels separated, but God, Connor must’ve felt worse. 

Evan could feel his throat closing in on him now, tight and constricting, and more wetness smearing across his freckled cheeks but does it matter? Does it really matter? Connor is stuck somewhere, somewhere bad, and somewhere where Evan can’t help, because he’s so useless and he messes everything up always and he has no idea what to do and he’s helpless and that’s all he ever is, and he needs Connor to be okay, even though Connor isn’t, and he wants to help dammit but how, how, when he knows how it feels like and Connor is just. Connor is just. So sad. And alone. And Evan wants to scream, to kick, to punch and crawl his way in just to embed it there: that he’s not.

You matter.

Instead he hugs, messy and uncoordinated, but it isn’t even a hug — it’s just arms around Connor’s shrinking body and clinging, and Connor trying to push him away and Evan’s stubbornly yelping “No, no, won’t let you go, I’m here, not alone Connor, never alone, I’m here” while crying into Connor’s hair and it’s pathetic and annoying, Evan knows, so annoying, like God, can’t he be normal for one minute? Until—

The strong hands resisting him ends up curling, fingers buried in Evan’s shirt until Evan’s pretty certain their body have fused into one — syncing, aligning, melting. 

Connor sobs, heavy and forceful, and Evan sobs back, equally powerful. For a moment, nothing is right. And nothing seems to ever be right. But at least they’re together on this, and Evan can feel this — in the way they grip onto one another like lifelines, like they’re the other’s last hopeful string to stay afloat and should the other let go... It’ll be over. The world will end. And it’s stupidly scary. But they don’t let each other go, and even when Connor’s sobs lessen to a series of hiccups, leaving Evan pretty much still leaking his tears like he’s trying to drown the world, they’ve got each other.

And Evan... likes it. The company. The warmth. Even if the situation’s crooked. Bad, even. But not very much so. Not if they have each other like this.

“Stop- fucking. Stop it. Crying.” Connor says between his own sniffles, nose against Evan’s shoulders as Evan whimpers, wanting to, but just couldn’t. It takes him a while, but he finally realises that Connor’s hands are moving against his back, rubbing circles, and Evan feels — relaxed, a little. Like he could breathe. And he hears his own crying voice lessens in his ears, and he should be moving away now. But he doesn’t. Couldn’t. And especially when Connor repeats, slow, but there: “M’here, Evan.”

It’s awkward to realise about seven minutes later that Evan’s actually straddling Connor, but before he could sob his way through a paragraph of apologies, Connor pulls the other up, rummages through Evan’s untouched drawer of baggy sweaters that Evan claims he never really wears because the colours were too bright and bright colours make him nervous, and says, “let’s go to sleep,” as he settles with something that’s bright orange. When Evan laughs at him, a little, Connor’s surprisingly subdued to not be as angry because Evan knows Connor has a thing with people laughing at him and only manages a half-glare attempt of, “Shut it. It’s your dumbass sweater.” while still sniffling.

“I— yeah. I’m. Sorry. I just. Wish. Sorry that my clothes. They don’t. Fit. You. You’re just—” Evan smiles a little, kindly, even with his red, puffy eyes and knows that despite the teasing, the colour orange looks well on Connor. Not, like, really well that he should wear it outside, god, but well enough that — if Connor wants to wear it again, Evan would probably wash them and fold them and place them where Connor can easily reach next time. “You’re just big.”

Connor scoffs, and lies down on the too-small bed, his hair sprawled everywhere and God. Beautiful. “Whatever. You wanna sleep, or what?” He reaches out a hand, inviting, and this should be weird right? It should be, but instead Evan’s leaning forward, almost submissive, and so so so tired that he doesn’t even care, and snuggle in and Connor is warm and safe and alive and just—

“Thanks. By the way. Um. Yeah.” Connor whispers after a while, somehow pulling Evan closer and closer that it’s like they’re not worlds apart after all, and it’s amazing. Evan feels like crying again, a little, and he probably would’ve had if he hadn’t been so sleepy and exhausted and droopy. “Thanks, Ev.”

Evan thinks about how Connor had been beautiful on the floor of his bathroom, despite the vomit and tears and regret sinking into his pale-so-pale skin only to bleed out, but to think of Connor on his bed with his dark, dark hair in curls across Evan’s pillow when he wakes up and with those soft lushes of eyelashes lining with contrast against the colour of his cheekbones as he’s still sleeping soundly? Evan thinks about how Connor might even be a marble statue right then, and it’d be creepy and weird and it’d freak him out, like seriously, but he would still — admire Connor for all he is. And all he stands for.

Except Connor isn’t a marble statue, because he’s alive and breathing and warm.

And that’s more than beautiful.

It’s everything.

note: feel free to leave a prompt cause im srsly thirstin for these two wtf ??? anyway lots of love to all of u and stay hydrated!!! thx for reading xoxo 

IM POSTING IT HERE TOO LMAO

[theficdoctor-blog]

Creative Writing Do’s and Don’t’s

Warning: This is the Editor in me that’s speaking. It’s going to be harsh, but when you’re writing, harsh is what you need.

My first creative writing instructor gave us an exercise on the first day of my Intro to Creative Writing class. I swear on my life this exercise will improve your writing instantly. If you just want the list, click the “keep reading”. Open a word document. Write down a few genres. Write down some clichés that makes those genres what they are and include a highly-genre’d example with it. Write as many as you can. Here’s a small example to build on:

Romance (Twilight)

The love triangle

“Their tongues battled for dominance”

The inevitable misunderstanding as a final attempt to inject drama before the resolution

Fantasy (Jupiter Ascending)

A highly detailed world/history

The chosen one

A super special important treasure/artifact/prophecy

Mystery (Scooby Doo (the live action movies))

The ”dun dun DUUUUUN” moment

The film noir style

The assistant who contributes just enough to the mystery so the detective can have all the glory and figure everything out in its entirety

Done with your list? Good. Kiss those vapid love triangles goodbye, send your needlessly convoluted history away, and dump the “dun dun DUUUUN” moment. They’re all USELESS until you learn how to properly twist them into something you can stomach. Relying on clichés kills creativity and promotes laziness. This list is highly condensed and should be used as a bare-bones reference.

When you write your stories...

DON’T:

Use clichés.

Unless you can mutate a cliché well enough to make it original (/make it your own), avoid them at all costs. They are writing suicide.

Fall in love with your work.

It’s important to feel pride in your work, but every word, every sentence, every phrase has to earn its keep. If something isn’t helping the story, cut it out; it’s useless and wastes the reader’s (and your) time.

Drench your work in purple prose.

Purple prose and excessive imagery are for prose poetry, not fiction writing. Purple prose doesn’t do anything but stroke your ego. Take, for instance, this sentence: “Luna felt her gasp caress her dainty trachea similarly to how her father cradled her in his strong, loving arms on her blessed and most anticipated day of birth, making her also remember the way, Reggie, her first boyfriend would lovingly embrace her under the moonlit glow and the cherry trees deep in the sticky, heavy summer nights of her teen years.” Chill. If you can’t say a sentence in one breath, it’s not worth keeping. This is an exposition dump. The reader has to drag their feet through it. It slows the narrative down to an agonizing pace. Just say “she gasped.” There’s no shame in using simplistic language if you know how to use it. For instance, gasping is a fast movement. You want the reader to feel the fast movement—that’s why it’s best to just say “she gasped.” She shouldn’t be stuck in a gasp for ten minutes.  

Put your first draft on a pedestal.

I don’t care if you’re Stephen King, J.K. Rowling, Shakespeare, Karen Russell, or Anne Rice; your first draft is always awful. Edit it, polish it, love it, commit to it. If that sounds like “too much,” then you’re gonna be stuck with writing crap, and I don’t ever wanna hear “I wish I was a better writer,” because I’m telling you right this second that you’ll never improve if you always accept your first draft as gospel.

Dump exposition on the reader.

There’s always going to be at least one writer that forces their character into a soliloquy about how “their entire village was burned down by thieves and murderers, and only they were left standing because their sainted mother tucked them away in a magical tree trunk which was blessed by whatever deity is in charge of this world.” OR, alternatively, “James climbs into Reggie’s window one day while Reggie is working at the coffee shop, finds Reggie’s diary, and reads about how Reggie was tragically in love with his twin sister before his abusive father killed both his twin sister and his mother before his eyes, and that is why Reggie is always so determined to find happiness in everything around him because he can’t bear to think back on the horrors of his past without going into seizures or spasms.” Let things unfold organically and at their own pace. Let characterization tell the story, not your general plan.

Rely on misunderstandings.

I swear that misunderstandings can be a whole sub-genre in itself for how often they’re abused. Usually, misunderstandings are used so James and Reggie will get angry at each other, Luna has to point out that they were both wrong, and James has to run through the airport after Reggie’s train (security be damned) with tears pouring down his cheeks in a desperate attempt to get Reggie back (who also dramatically brushes tears from his eyes) before he flies back to Idontknowwhereizstan for forever.

Focus on death (for the pure enjoyment of making your readers shriek “NOOOO”).

It’s lazy. It skews the stakes of your story, making all the other stakes boring. EVERYONE kills off their characters. No one’s “evil” or funny for doing it. It’s become cliche. Either start a story with death or eradicate it altogether because what’s important is the aftermath—the character development. Never ever focus on death. I don’t care what a saint little Suzie is; she’s not allowed to die from her terminal cancerheartattacklupusitis until you’ve made her human. And even then you’re not allowed to end the story with her dying either—Reggie has to be there at her bedside with the chocolate cake she’s been dreaming about having for six years. And you have to show that aftermath.

Use the same voice for every character and the narrative.

I know it’s very tempting to use the long-winded, intricate tone of The Whimsical Author, but I assure you that giving all your characters and narrative that voice will indeed hammer the final nail into the coffin on your writing career. I don’t care how smart The Author of Whimsy sounds, the Monty Python Babbling is way more interesting and varied. Your characters are ideas. You breathe life into them. They take on life of their own. If you use the same voice for everything, you’re telling your readers you can’t write worth a damn but you know what sounds kinda pretty.

Shove your characters in a corner.

This is one of the most common causes of writer’s block. If you’ve shoved your characters in a corner, you’ve stripped them of their organic movement. Characters will move and function on their own. You have to let them breathe and meander; that’s what will ensure that you’ll get a great story out of them. I don’t care how much you want James to sob and throw himself into Reggie’s arms so Reggie will save him from the school bully and also kiss James. James isn’t that kind of person. James is too prideful.

Use “(s)he felt…”

The best way to kick your reader away from their screen and scream “YOU’RE READING A STORY WRITTEN BY ME, SOMEONE. I EXIST. THESE ARE JUST CHARACTERS. YOU’RE READING SOMETHING FAKE” is to use “(s)he felt,” or “(s)he heard,” or “(s)he smelled.” It’s best to just outright state the feeling, sound, or smell rather than insist the reader see everything through the characters’ eyes. You want to draw the reader in. How can you do that if you constantly remind them they’re scrolling through AO3, trying to find more fics specifically about James and Reggie ignoring the canon and falling into each other’s arms five sentences in? “Heat radiated from his hand,” “The oven timer shrieked,” and “The scent of charcoaled biscuits filled the room” yank the reader into the scene to stand beside the characters and watch them up close.

Rely on adverbs.

The adverb is the lazy writer’s way to generate description. Take, for instance, this sentence: “Reggie scarily placed his hand by James’s head and glared at him.” Yeah, you shoved Reggie’s anger in our faces, and we have no idea what James is doing. Instead: “Reggie smacked his hand against the wall, snatching James’s attention away from Luna.” We don’t even need Reggie’s glare to know he’s mad in this context. This way, we can explore a greater range of emotions by carefully selecting our words based on connotations and speed. Jealousy, panic, varying attentions, varying reading speeds, and so on.

Use the “dun, dun, DUUUUN” moment.

I’m serious about this one. Nothing makes your story quite so flimsy, clichéd, and cartoony as the “dun, dun, DUUUN” moment. I’ve seen this moment plenty of times in workshops, and every time I have to struggle to be nice and say “maybe that makes your story seem a little clichéd. It’d give it more depth if it were open-ended or more realistic.” Don’t get me wrong. These were not incompetent writers by any stretch of the imagination. They just didn’t know what to stay away from sometimes. Writing this infamous moment into your story is the equivalent of euthanizing it and ensuring it looks like Floops’s Fooglies from Spy Kids as it goes down.

Use whatever tense or POV you want whenever you feel like it.

You can absolutely use 2nd person present tense for your story, but realize that, that sort of craft element is best kept to flash fiction-length stories. A reader (unless they’ve read Homestuck) will have a hard time reading 2nd person present tense for 12 chapters. 3rd person is nice and easy. 1st person allows you to cheat your way towards better inner-reflections for characters. Present tense indicates a sense of panic (it disallows moments for reflection). Past tense allows you to take your time. Whatever you decide to tackle, make sure you choose the right tense and point of view and stick to it. You cannot jump to whatever tense you feel like every other paragraph; there has to be a reason.

DO:

Let the characters lead the story

Time and time again I’ve seen writers get frustrated because their characters won’t conform to what they’ve planned. We forget that our characters are not dolls to play with. It’s good—GREAT, even—when your characters create a clear path for themselves! Your character knows their story. Let them guide you through it.

Remember that a writer records their characters, not forces them.

It’s hard to get a story to feel natural, yes, but if you just sit and watch your characters, they’ll tell you what to write. You don’t have to put a ton of brain power into it; it’s instinct. Keep your hands off that steering wheel. Just scribble down exactly how James’s nail taps against the wheel in frustration as Reggie leans his entire upper body out the window to demand the name of that corgi sitting on the sidewalk.

ALWAYS write literary realism.

You’re banned from genres. You have to write literary realism now. Literary realism is a record of characterization and of life progressing naturally. No clichés allowed unless you can spin them. If you can realistically see your character fitting in a Saturday morning cartoon, you’re doing it wrong.

Give your characters idiosyncrasies.

“Idiosyncrasies” boils down to odd habits and gives a lot of character with little effort on your part. This is an example of letting the character lead the story. If you don’t know enough idiosyncrasies off the top of your head, go people-watching. Why do they act the way they act? Why would Reggie cry when presented with chocolate cake? Why would Luna click her car lock button precisely four times every time she leaves it? How does James drink his soda? Why would a chin lift from Reggie make his dog instantly protective?

Be patient.

The tools you have at your disposal are versatile and vast. You have so much more to work with than you know; it’s overwhelming. Take some time and get familiar with your style. Be patient, you’ll get it. 

Set deadlines.

It’s hard for me to write every day so I write one chapter every week. You must do this to keep your tools sharp and strong. It also helps to look up writing exercises (specifically from The 3 A.M. Epiphany by Brian Kiteley; obey that word count.)

EDIT. ALWAYS EDIT. ALWAYS. EDIT. ALWAYS.

I can’t stress this enough. I don’t care if that sentence is the best one you’ve ever written. Take it out if it doesn’t help your story. I don’t care how nice the word ‘paraphernalia’ is, your 5-year-old character won’t know how to use it appropriately; it’ll throw off the reader. It’s not gonna make the kid seem smart; it’s gonna stick out like a sore thumb and announce that you have no idea how characterization works. If you’re not gutting and re-gutting your drafts, you’re not doing it right. Sometimes you have to break it down to dust and rebuild in order to make it perfect—in order to make it something you can be proud of.

Remember that every first draft is garbage (don’t worry about it).

If you can’t start your story or chapter, just write garbage (this works for school papers, too). Just write the worst first draft you can. It’s always easier to edit a physical document than it is to write something perfect from the ground up. It’s also a huge time-saver.

Write when you feel inspiration hit (because there’s no guarantee it’ll stay or come back).

Write your story from the final scene all the way back to the beginning if you must. The order doesn’t matter (of course this is why you always edit). You’ll never be in a constant state of inspiration for a scene. Write it while you can. You can adjust it to fit in your story when you get there.

Use active voice (don’t fear the simple sentence).

Passive voice makes the reader drag their feet. Using “Reggie was placed on the bed,” “James was stopped by the door,” and “I’ve been told by Luna that my writing has been lacking punch because taking my time is what I insist on doing so I have the ability to show everyone how annoying it is to read slowly” will absolutely burden your reader. It’s okay to use passive voice when you do want things to slow down (maybe during sensual scenes or silence/drama-heavy moments), but using active voice makes it easier on the reader and picks up the pace. “James placed Reggie on the bed.” “Luna smacked the door in James’s face.” “Luna said my writing lost its punch, but I just wanted to show the active voice’s benefits.”

Start your story at the beginning.

Whenever I open up a story, I scroll past the first few paragraphs because the author spends that long telling me what happened with James’s beloved pet cat he had when he was two and how it coughed up hairballs in his tiny shoes, and it is never mentioned again. Or, the author will spend the entire first chapter dumping all the history of their universe on me, so I’ll have to skip to the next one in order to get started. I don’t need your history in the form of a textbook—I don’t want it like that. I want to see it expressed through the characters. I want James to say, “Reggie, you can’t park your bike there. It’s illegal on west-facing streets” rather than see a full chapter with this kind of detail: “Back in the crisp Fall of 1952, there was a gang of 15-year-old bikers who kept the town soaked in fear. Eddie Haskell, the Two-Faced Town Tattler, was the ring leader, picking off people he saw unfit for the image he had for his town. Always, they’d park their bikes along west streets, facing their handlebars towards the sunset to indicate the day when they’d finally burn the place to the ground. This is why it is illegal to park your bike on west-facing streets.” Sure, it’s interesting, but it’s got nothing to do with Reggie and James, you’re never going to bring it up again, and you’ve wasted a paragraph (These things take up like 5 paragraphs usually). If you wanna talk about Eddie Haskell, then tell the story about Eddie Haskell, but if your story is all about Reggie and James getting over their pride and fessing up to each other, then start it there.

Incorporate the three imperative questions:

What are the stakes? Death? No. Get death out of your mind. Think deeper. What happens if the characters don’t get what they want?

What do these characters want? Ice cream, the world, Reggie. Anything. If you develop proper motive, it won’t matter what they want.

What’s the character’s motive? James wants ice cream because it’s hot out.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve exited out of a fic because I just didn’t care. “James killed Eddie.” Okay. So what? I’m supposed to care because James did something shocking? That’s it? How about: “In a fit of fear, Reggie smacked the offered chocolate ice cream cone from James’s hands. The two stared down at the wasted dessert as Reggie’s mind edged back to reality. James looked to Reggie with eyes filled with worry.”

We’ve got stakes (Reggie’s suffering), wants (James wants to give Reggie something nice and keep him comfortable; Reggie doesn’t want chocolate anywhere near him), and the motive (James and Reggie are friends; they care about each other). Every character needs a want, a drive, and stakes in order to be a decent character—a character worth caring about.

Write flash fiction.

Writing flash fiction (stories varying from 100-800 words in length) has helped me tremendously with cutting out any word, phrase, or concept that doesn’t earn its keep. A flash fiction is not a chapter of something. It is a complete story. A flash fiction is a smack of a story or a blast of fireworks. The reader will only have enough time to feel the burn on their cheek or stare in awe as the fireworks disappear into the night sky. Do not use the “once upon a time” 794 words “the end” structure. Flash fiction doesn’t work like that. You can only write enough to get the idea out and developed. Write lots of flash fiction.

Read flash fiction.

Reading flash fiction (since it’s designed to be short) is easy and fast. Flash fiction is filled to the brim with symbolism and interesting concepts (which is what this specific writing form is for). I recommend snatching up Flash Fiction: 72 Very Short Stories edited by James Thomas, Denise Thomas, and Tom Hazuka. The longest flash fiction in there is probably just three pages long. The shortest, I believe, is just over half a page.