I love your writing. It’s the type of writing that I love bc other than being easy to read, I admire it bc it accomplishes what I struggle with. It uses few words yet conveys across the idea efficiently, vagueness to its benefit.
Have you heard the phrase “I want to distill myself like poets do”? It comes from a tumblr post of someone trying to express the same thing as me rn.
Anyway the other part of what I wanted to say is that I’m autistic, and when I try to write, I always succumb to the urge to add as many details and overexplanations as possible to avoid being misunderstood. You’re autistic too, but your writing shines in doing the opposite, so I was wondering if you struggled with this too, and how you got better, or if your flavor of autism simply doesn’t manifest in this way and this isn’t a problem to you
Unfortunately, I do naturally tend towards condensed formats. So some part of this is just natural for me. If it makes you feel better, I tried several times to make serials while doing HFY and I never succeeded. I've also tried several times to write books, and I always just get kind of stuck. It's one of my big regrets, so if you have any experience in those, I'd love to hear it. Same from anyone else reading this, actually - if you've made the jump from short stories to long form, I'd like to know how you managed.
Still, despite it being a natural thing for me, I can give you three activities that I've done that improved my short story work very much.
First, improv classes. Attending them will help your writing in ways you will not believe, and also, as an autist, that shit's better than OT. My parents signed me up for some in the summer of my fifth grade year, and they were legit life changing. Way less social anxiety, better writing, I could sing their praises all day. If you do one thing on this list, do this.
Second, write poetry. I do not consider myself a poet, but I attend a weekly poetry writing club, and it has noticeably improved my prose. Find one and go. As you get better, try and constrain the poetry you write to things like rhyme and meter. Writing with artificial constraints is amazing for teaching people to be focused and direct.
And if you have room for a third thing, maybe try finding a way to do extemporaneous public speaking besides the improv. I grew up Mormon, which involves absolutely insane amounts of public speaking from an early age, but I also did stuff like that in middle school NAL and high school speech and debate. Those all helped. They were stressful, and not terribly fun, but they did help, and it's a good skill to have.
I love talking shop, so thanks for asking! And just to reiterate my request from before, anyone that's jumped from short stories to novel length works, please, tell me your secrets. Plz.
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HEY HEY CAN I REQUEST ANYTHING FLUFFY W CONNOR X FEM READER
YOU WORK IS SO GOODDD
MY DARLINGS FORGIVE ME
requests started coming in hot right as i started my midterms so pls forgive me for taking so long to get through my requests (which i'm loving btw i'm so excited to get to all of them)
with that being said i'll stop yapping and let you read in peace
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framed
pairing: connor (rk800) x f!reader
summary: you're very confused when you find a photograph of yourself on connor's desk.
word count: 1k
warnings: none
author's note: i said i'm done yapping and i mean it i have nothing to say. (except i do wanna say this was inspired by the person that said my connor was very you are in love coded bc that made me happy and got me thinking)
masterlist ⟡ requests
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“What do androids do in their free time, anyway?”
“Plot against humanity? I dunno.”
Hank’s laugh came out in a quiet huff, one that indicated he didn’t think your answer was too far from the truth.
You had come into the precinct hoping to interview Hank and Connor on their latest investigation surrounding a human cult determined to wipe out every single android. As head journalist for the Detroit Free Press, you were desperate to get word before everyone else. And as Connor’s friend, you were sure you could sweet-talk it out of him.
But when you got to the precinct, Connor was, strangely, nowhere to be found. Usually, he trailed behind Hank like a lost puppy, but not even Hank knew of Connor’s whereabouts. His unusual absence only led to conversations about what the hell an android could be doing on his lonesome. Neither of you had any clue.
“Have a seat, kid,” Hank offered, nudging his chin over to Connor’s desk. “You know he’d feel bad if you were standin’ around waiting for him.”
Rounding the table, you took a seat in Connor’s chair. You sat stiffly with your hands atop your thighs, the exact same way Connor would. The realization made you chuckle softly to yourself. Even when he wasn’t here, his presence always made itself known in the subtlest of ways.
Your eyes wandered across Connor’s desk, noticing that it was relatively barren. Hank’s desk was littered with mementos– old donut boxes, Detroit Gears merchandise, anti-android propaganda that he’d crumpled up and intended to trash. But Connor’s desk was plain and organized. A single blue pen sat exactly parallel to his recent case file that had been neatly folded. On top of his case file was a quarter like the one he always fidgeted with. You wondered idly how many quarters he had lying around, having never seen him without one. But the only belonging of actual interest was a picture frame right beside his terminal.
Your brows furrowed as your gaze latched onto the photograph. You were staring directly at a picture of yourself.
Believing it to be a trick of the light, you reached for the picture frame and brought it closer. Sure enough, it was you.
You stared at a version of yourself who was mid-laugh. You could almost hear your own laughter ringing in your ears. It was that genuine kind of laughter, you knew. The kind that was an obnoxious cackle you always wanted to hide. Why on earth would Connor have a picture like that framed?
Come to think of it, where did Connor even get this picture? You didn’t recognize it at all. You couldn’t even place where it was taken. There were zero clues in the photograph as you were the only focus. Nothing else, just you.
You were about to ask Hank about it when a voice over your shoulder startled you, “I really like that picture.”
An inhuman yelp escaped your lips as you spun around in Connor’s chair. You found him looking down at you with a pleasant smile, not even remotely embarrassed to be caught having a photo of you.
“Why… what even… what?” you stammered.
Connor cocked his head curiously, waiting for you to get your words out. But you couldn’t. You were so utterly confused that your brain couldn’t remember a single word in existence. You just stared at Connor with a gaping mouth, holding the picture up for his viewing pleasure.
When you didn’t say anything, Connor’s eyebrows furrowed for only a moment before easing. An endearing habit of his that made your heart flutter. He definitely was not helping you find the right words.
“I’d like to clear your confusion as best I can, but… I’m afraid I don’t understand its cause,” Connor said gently.
From behind, you heard Hank’s quiet snort. He wasn’t helping either.
“Well… Connor,” you started slowly like you were gradually putting the puzzle pieces together. No matter how hard you tried, the pieces weren’t fitting. “Why do you have a picture of me?”
The corners of his lips raised into a small grin, his hands moving to clasp in front of him. You knew this stance to mean he was about to tell a story.
“I asked Lieutenant Anderson about the keepsakes on his desk. I was curious as to why these particular items were objects of significance and what classified them as such,” Connor explained cheerfully. “As I recall, he said ‘I don’t know, they’re just alright, I guess.’ Perhaps my interpretation was incorrect, but I took that to mean those items made him happy.”
Connor’s smile widened slightly. That meant he was finished. He didn’t clear any of your confusion.
“Okay…?” you prompted.
“I wanted to do something similar. I thought it could help me accommodate to deviancy, so I decided to surround myself with things that make me happy.”
Your mouth clamped shut as your confused look turned to one of shock. You were almost sure you hadn’t heard him right, but another laugh (hidden behind a cough) from Hank made you confident that you had.
“I… make you happy?” you clarified.
“Yes,” Connor answered curtly. There was another long pause as you waited for Connor to continue. He seemed to get the hint by now, elaborating further. “I always enjoy your company. I look forward to seeing you when we have scheduled plans. This wasn’t a scheduled visit, so I was pleased to see you were here. It made me smile. Seeing you makes me smile.”
With all his talk of smiling, you couldn’t help cracking one of your own. Seeing your smile made Connor brighten.
“Like that,” he said. “If I could photograph and frame you right now, I would.”
You were so giddy with affection that you couldn’t help but laugh. You had never known Connor to be so poetic with his words.
“You know, Connor,” you said with careless laughter. “I came here to sweet-talk you into an interview for the Press. But here you are sweet-talking me.”
Connor looked pleased with himself, standing a little straighter. “I hope that made you smile.”
“It certainly did.”
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"Who's your new teacher?" (Part 3)
Synopsis: Toji takes Megumi to his doctor's appointment, and you, his teacher, hunt for a gift to give him.
Pairing: single dad! toji x f! reader
Contains: plenty of fluff, crack, megumi is four, tsumiki is seven, toji is still toji (but like he's soft for his kids and he takes care of them), reader is a preschool teacher, reader and toji are around the same age, protective toji, protective tsumiki, megumi being scared of doctors, mentions of shiu kong, everyone is happy bc i said so
part one here, part two here
a/n: here's part three! barely proofread. sorry for mistakes.
update: pt. 4 here
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Though Megumi said that he would be brave, Toji Fushiguro knew his baby all too well. In the waiting room of the doctor’s office, Megumi sat stiffly beside him, clinging his dog plushie way too tight—an obvious sign that he was scared. Toji’s heart aches within his chest, and once he finishes filling out the paperwork for him, he sets the clipboard aside and pulls the small boy onto his lap. “Megs, it’s okay, I promise. We won’t be here long, alright? No scary shots.”
His eyes fill with tears, and he buries his face into Toji’s shirt with a distressed whine. Tsumiki—who was sitting next to Shiu and playing a game on his phone to pass the time—immediately lifts her head once her ears register the sound of her little brother crying, and she hands Shiu his phone back before coming to stand in front of the two of them. Toji moves an arm so she can inch her way closer to Megumi.
“Don’t worry, Gumi, we’re here,” she coos softly as she wraps an arm around Megumi’s free side, so he was being comforted by her and Toji at the same time. “Me and Papa won’t leave you alone, okay? We’re right here. You can hold my hand the entire time.”
A middle-aged man sitting across from them sighs loudly in annoyance, and Toji looks up in time to see him rolling his eyes at Megumi’s little sniffles. “Oh, c’mon, it’s not that big of a deal. Besides, boys don’t cry.”
The concern that Toji feels for his son is immediately replaced with sheer rage, his blood boiling as he squeezes his hand into a tight fist. He’s about to open his mouth to say something, but his seven year-old daughter beats him to it. Tsumiki whirls around angrily, meeting the asshole’s stare head on. “Nobody asked you, stupid head!!” She yells.
The man’s eyes go wide, the receptionist at the front desk gasps, and a few of the other patients in the waiting room either stifle a laugh or turn the other direction. The man looks at Toji, as if expecting him to intervene on his behalf and correct his daughter. Instead, he pats Tsumiki’s shoulder and stares at him with a small smirk. “You heard her,” he tells him, his voice dark with warning. “Stupid head.”
He must’ve seen the utter violence in Toji’s eyes, because he chooses not to say anything else. Toji looks over to see Shiu giving Tsumiki a high-five. Then, Toji gives her shoulder a small, loving squeeze. “That’s my girl.”
To his relief, Megumi—who had watched the exchange silently—had finished crying and was a little bit calmer. Though he’s done crying, Toji’s little blessing decides to remain in his lap, smiling up at his sister when she turns back around to hug him some more. He notices Megumi taking slower breaths, and holding up his little fingers to count the seconds as they go by.
As he silently counts to himself, a memory from three weeks ago floods Toji’s mind. You, sitting on the ground next to Megumi, explaining a good tactic to calm himself down after crying and experiencing stress for too long. “Breathe in for four seconds,” you explained in a soft voice, holding up your fingers in front of him to count. “Then you’re going to hold for seven seconds, and finally, breathe out slowly to last eight seconds.”
Now that he’s thinking of you, Toji smiles, wondering if it would be awkward or not to send you a message after Megumi’s appointment. Just what did you like to do after work?
—
“...What?!” You shout into the phone, your heart pounding as you pace back and forth in your living room.
“Uh, sorry,” the store clerk on the other line says, gulping nervously around their words. “We’re unable to put this item on hold for you.”
Your head is spinning. You think you’re about to throw up. Your eyes drift back to your laptop which displays the email announcing the special, limited edition of the dog plushie Megumi has—a bright white one, matching the dark-colored one that he kept with him all of the time.
You subscribed to the brand’s website around a month ago, and had been keeping an eye out for it to drop so you could get one for him. Since it dropped this afternoon shortly after all of your students had gone home, you immediately knew that it would be the perfect gift after his doctor’s appointment. For the last three hours, you had been calling store after store, only to be met with disappointment when customer service revealed that they were completely sold out. It was a popular plushie, after all. You finally found a store that had the plushie in stock, but—
“How come you can’t put it on hold?!” You exclaimed. “I’ve never heard of something like this before!”
“Um, well, since the plushie is a special edition item, they can’t be ordered from the store or put on hold, just so everyone has a chance to get one. It has to be fair.”
You’re shoving your shoes on, using your shoulder to hold the phone to your ear as you grab your keys and purse. “Okay, how many are left?”
“I believe just one. They sold out super fast today.”
You didn’t care what had to happen. You were getting that damn plushie for Megumi.
—
You thank every deity that you didn’t get pulled over, and that you didn’t get into an accident. You pull into the store’s parking lot, run out of your car, skip the cart, and go straight towards the toy section. The store is busy this evening, and that worries you. You hope that you’re not too late. When you reach the aisle where the plushie is supposed to be located, you skillfully maneuver your way through the crowd of parents and kids. You are a teacher, after all.
You see the stand where the special edition plushie is supposed to be, and your heart sinks when you see that it’s completely empty. You groan as you walk down the next aisle of toys away from the crowd, reaching into your purse to grab your phone. Maybe there’s another store nearby, or even about thirty minutes away with at least three of them in stock. Maybe—
A brightly-colored package barely sticking out from underneath the rest of the stuffed animals in a large bin gets your attention. You shove your phone back into your purse, then dig into the bin, pulling out stuffed animal after stuffed animal until you reach it. You gasp, then pull out the last special edition dog plushie. Luckily for you, it’s not damaged. You squeal in victory, already excitedly imagining what little Megumi’s reaction is going to be like once you deliver it to him tomorrow. You check the price of it, and wince. Definitely a special item. You’re definitely going to have to dip into your savings account.
It doesn’t matter. The smile on Gumi's face will be worth it. You know that much.
As you’re transferring money from your savings account to your checking account, you hear footsteps approach the aisle you’re standing in. “Shiu, I’m telling ya, it’s supposed to be here, but it isn’t. You sure you called the right store? I swear, this shit-” You look up to see Toji, who comes to a complete stop once he sees you, his eyes widening in shock.
Oh.
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tags: @abadbitchblogs @koriisworld @queendessi24 @chosoyukisgf @blubearxy @starmapz @atomictrashcreator @levixbby @jjknanamin @roxytheimmortal @eternallyvenus @jup1tersuccubus
sorry if I missed anyone! I went based on the replies in the previous part. if you would like to be tagged for part 4, kindly let me know in the replies! this includes those who have been tagged previously! <3
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