#mistakes when writing a scene

[jessicas-pi]

-- part one | part two | part three | part four --

Sabine lived in a world where everything and everyone was flawless.

No self-respecting Seelie over five years old went anywhere without their best glamour on. If they fought with each other, they played nice in the Summer Court. If they were unwell or sad or poor or unhappy in some way, they certainly didn't let on to it around their princess. Sabine had lived her life surrounded by beautiful, perfect fey in beautiful, perfect clothes with beautiful, perfect lives.

Maybe that's why she found this human so utterly fascinating.

He, with his scars and unwashed hair and dark circles under his eyes. He, with a life so miserable that he told her to her face that he didn't mind getting kidnapped by the Fair Folk, if it meant he got away from it. He, with his sun-faded shirt and scuffed shoes and ripped, ragged jeans.

He, with no glamour to hide who he was.

He bewitched her.

Sabine looked at him, and struggled to look away.

She was almost upset when her mother insisted he at least be cleaned up and dressed in Seelie garb, if he wasn't to be sent home. (And Mother would have sent him home, too, if that clever boy hadn't actually managed to get Sabine's Word that she would keep him with her until he told her his Name.) But, even without the dirty clothes and greasy hair and faint smell of something strange and mildly unpleasant, he was still flawed.

She was so used to seeing perfection in every face that she found her mind continually wandering back to him during the council meeting Mother forced her to sit in on that night, as punishment for her mischief. The Treasurer, the Advisors, the Captain of the Guard---they were all so unquestionably beautiful. It hurt her eyes to look at them for long. So she called up an alertly attentive glamour over herself, providing the illusion that she was listening to the Chief of Informants report on the Winter Court's most recent doings, and slouched in her seat with her sketchbook and pencils and tried to draw her new guest's expression. But it wasn't right. It was too smooth and symmetrical. It was too... fey.

She slapped the notebook shut with a scowl of frustration and resigned herself to suffering through the rest of the interminable council meeting.

The instant it ended, she rushed from the room, following the tether her Word had joined them with. She found him in the garden, sitting on a bench surrounded by foxglove flowers and, irritatingly, a dozen Seelie youths of her court. They were talking with him and laughing, but in a patronizing way—the way one might laugh at a particularly clever pet. As she watched from a distance, one of them reached over and tugged the color of his new jacket, saying something that sent the others into titters of merriment. Sabine's new friend laughed uncomfortably, his shoulders hunched inwards, glancing between the Fair Folk around him.

Sabine scowled.

She had cast off her formal glamour as she ran; it was cumbersome and got in her way. Now she called it back up, presenting herself in full regalia, with a diadem of flowers and dewdrop-like crystals, a cape of spider-silk gauze, piles and loops of snowy-white hair, and dark kohl around her eyes.

Sabine had been told her fullest glamour was frighteningly beautiful. And right now, she wanted to be frightening.

None of them saw her—she made certain of that with another glamour—as she approached noiselessly, circling around behind the bench and coming within earshot.

"—met a human before," one of the flaxen-haired sons of her mother's most bothersome advisor said, leaning down to look at her guest more closely, going so far as to grip him by the chin to force his head up. "So very unique. Don't you think so, brother mine?"

His twin agreed in a snide voice. "Never seen anything like it."

Sabine's fists curled, but twisted her growing snarl into a saccharine smile as she stopped behind the bench. Folding her arms on its back just beside her guest, she leaned forwards, getting as close to the face of the horrid advisor's son as possible before dispelling her glamour and announcing, "Treating him well, friend?"

The Seelie youths all startled, the ones sitting beside her guest jumping up off the bench and backing away guiltily. The elder twin was the first to reply.

"With every honor and dignity we judged fitting," he answered—well, he was honest, if nothing else.

"I see that," Sabine replied, sweetening her smile and gesturing towards her new guest. "I'm so glad someone has taken the initiative to make him feel welcome here."

"He's a very interesting boy," a Seelie lady put in, sounding eager to please. She'd been coveting a position as Sabine's attendant for quite a while, Sabine recalled. "So... unconventional."

Sabine gave her a smile that showed all her teeth and stood up straight.

"That wasn't the word I'd use," Sabine enunciated slowly. "But I suppose it's true." She glanced down at her guest. One look at his face told her that his every nerve was on end. "You look frightened, friend."

He glanced at the other Seelie, then gave her a weak smile. "I'm nervous around strangers."

Sabine thought quickly, weighing a few different options before settling on the one that would drive the others away while causing the least offense.

So she smiled at him, dropping her voice.

"I'm sure they didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. You're new, and... fascinating. Your eyes... they're marvelous, you know." Sabine put her hands on his shoulders, sliding down so her arms hung about his neck and the side of her face was pressed close to his. As she did so, she spoke, in a slow, smooth, breathy voice. "It's... no wonder... you've got..."

She leaned away just enough that she could put a gentle finger under his chin and turn his head to face her, catching his gaze and holding it tight, and finished in a whisper:

"...admirers."

Her guest blinked at her, wide-eyed, turning red with an unhidden blush, and Sabine felt a pang of guilt. No one in the Summer Court would willingly wear their emotions so blatantly on their face.

The younger of the twins made a choking noise of incredulity and there were a few snorts of amusement at her statement. Instantly discarding her plan of making them embarrassed enough to leave, Sabine turned upon them, feeling a spike of anger.

"Welll, your manners seem to have room for improvement, don't they?" she snapped, dropping the smile from her face, but keeping her arms draped protectively over her guest's shoulders. "All you've done to welcome my personal guest is to make him uncomfortable. He may not be Seelie, but he is here under my Word. So you answer to me for your what you say to him. Is that fully understood?"

A scattering of "of course, my lady," "my apologies," and "sincerest regrets" later, the youths had dispersed, and Sabine was left alone with her guest. Releasing him from her hold, she moved to the side, leaning on the back of the bench again. Sabine watched the others to make sure they were truly gone, then she addressed him once more.

"I give you my apologies," she whispered. "I was trying to make them feel awkward enough that they'd leave without me telling them to. I didn't mean to make you... embarrassed."

"It's okay. I'm just not used to..." He trailed off for a second, biting down on his lip. She almost wanted to reach out and stop him with a light touch of her thumb, traced down his lower lip, and she wasn't sure why.

Or rather, she was sure—or fairly sure—and the reason unsettled her.

"Compliments," he finished, after a second. "I'm not used to compliments."

"I suppose humans didn't really like the way you look," she remarked, and kept herself from adding, but I do.

Her guest was still blushing and clearly trying not to look at her as she straightened up and walked around the bench. In a move of impulse, she cast off her entire glamour. Without it, her hair was straight and plain, cut short above her chin, and her clothes were a simple linen tunic and leggings. She had bare feet, and she kicked them in the grass as she dropped down onto the bench beside him.

"Lucky you," she joked. "Not many people get to see the real me."

"This is what you look like?" he asked quietly, his ethereal blue eyes widening. "You don't have any—glamour, on, right now?"

She leaned back on the bench, lounging casually. "Nope. Not so impressive anymore, am I?"

He fidgeted with the hem of his sleeve—white, trimmed with gold and the same blue as his eyes—and glanced up at her for a second before looking away. " Actually, I... um... I think you're really pretty."

"Oh." Sabine blinked in surprise, instinctively summoning up an illusion to hide a blush that tinged her own face. Looking away, she tucked her hair back behind an ear. "That's... very kind of you to say. Most people think it's quite a step down from my glamour."

"Well, your glamour is..." He laughed a little. "It's something, that's for sure."

"It's so beautiful it's frightening?" Sabine suggested. "Everyone says so. Mother says it's something to be proud of."

"You're not proud?" he asked.

"I'm... not sure," Sabine said softly, gazing out into the garden. She'd never noticed how neatly arranged it was before—how artificial. "I think I might be bored of perfection, actually."

And, she added mentally, I think it's your fault.

"How long have you been waiting in the garden?" she asked, by way of conversation.

He shrugged lightly. "A while. I haven't been keeping track of time."

"I hope I didn't make you wait too long," Sabine told him, clasping her hands on her knees and leaning forwards, chasing the lightest wisp of a breeze that darted past her. "Mother made me sit in on a council meeting. They always seem to take forever."

"It wasn't too long," he assured. "It gave me time to think."

"About what?"

He hesitated a moment.

"My friends," he said. "I was thinking about my friends. I hope they're not too worried about me. I left a note, but... knowing Ka—er—one of them, he'll freak out anyway. Actually—" He reached up to the back of his neck, looking embarrassed. "I'm wondering if maybe that note just made him more worried. He believes in the Fair Folk too, but, um, I think he's more scared of them than anything."

"If it's the Unseelie he's afraid of, then he's right," Sabine said frankly. "Thousands of your years ago, they were friendly with your kind. Helpful. Generous, even. Then the Emperor Palpatine of the Winter Court changed things. Humans have always called us petty, but the new Unseelie are nothing less than evil."

"Then I'm glad you found me," he said, giving her an imperfect smile.

"I'm glad I found you, too," she replied absently. He showed his teeth when he smiled, and one of them was a little bit crooked. But he noticed her staring and stopped smiling, looking awkward. Sabine turned the conversation to another topic. "If you think your friends at home are worried for you, we could go visit them."

He did a double-take. "Visit them? I thought I had to stay here."

"You have to stay with me. If I go to your realm, then you come along." She smiled. "Shall we go? I think I can fit in with your people and not draw attention, in a pinch. No one will know I'm Seelie."

A twinkle came into his eyes, and the side of his mouth twitched. "Actually, you just gave me a really funny idea."

Sabine grinned and leaned forwards conspiratorially.

"Oh? Do tell."

[quaranmine]

i think planes are magic because there's something about being trapped in a metal tube in the sky with no wifi that consistently forces me to make progress in writing

[wolfeyedwitch]

When it's 3 years after the fact and you realize that you accidentally helped a friend name a character Tim Drake.

*facepalm*

To be fair, it's a nickname? But still. When my friend went "hey what should my character Septimus's last name be?"

I said "Drake," because fantasy setting, and it sounds cool, and why not.

It wasn't until later that we got into the whole "Septimus is kind of a mouthful, what would people actually call him?"

And that's when Tim came up as a nickname.

And I put NONE OF THIS ALL TOGETHER until just recently when reading Batfam fics because that's the rabbit hole my current fandom fixation went down via crossover introductions a la dpxdc.

I think I need to go hide in shame now.

[spookyxsprinkles]

🍰 Happy Birthday [oneshot]

dabi × poc friendly f!reader.

-> safe for work // 1,633 words // AO3. -> warnings: smoking, swearing, cheesy, dabi has an avoidant attachment style, self-harm mention but nothing happens.

summary: He wanted this conversation to be over and done with, snuffed out like a cigarette under his boot. It'd be easy enough to end it himself, all he had to do was be an asshole and leave you behind. Nothing he hadn't done before.

"Knock knock, mind if I join you?"

"Yes."

"I brought cake."

He turned his head slightly towards you, eyeing the paper plate in your hands. In it sat a pretty little slice of glazed strawberry cake with a plastic fork stabbed into it. You had made sure to pile on a bunch of strawberries, just for him.

You may have been the newest addition to the League of Villains, but it wasn't hard to figure out that he was intentionally a loner. Criminals were usually careful not to form close connections with others and the League was no exception. That didn't stop you from being on friendly terms with the other members. They even threw a birthday party for you tonight. With karaoke.

Whereas, Dabi evacuated the mansion at the first sign of a celebration. He rose from his chair when Toga and Twice carried out the cake hidden under a mountain of candles and he was out of the building by the time Mr. Compress enthusiastically joined in on their vocals with a harmonization.

His eyes glanced down at you as he blew smoke out of the side of his mouth and flicked his cigarette away. You frowned.

"That could start a forest fire."

"I could start a forest fire." There was a subtle twitch of his lip that would have went unnoticed had the clouds not cleared from in front of the moon in time.

You offered him the cake, which he took wordlessly, ignoring you as you snuffed out his cigarette. Once no longer lit, you shoved it in your pocket to properly dispose of later. You crossed your arms and leaned against the tree, staring out at the umbrous silhouettes of the night-time forest.

"Being this far out from the city is so nice. Fresh air, no noise pollution. Bunch of stars."

"There's noise pollution," Dabi swallowed down a strawberry. "Y'make it every time you open that dumb mouth."

You snorted in amusement. "You know you'd miss it if I stopped talking to you."

"If I never have to hear you yappin' at me again, it'd be too soon."

You playfully blew a raspberry at him in fake-annoyance. "You'd have to find someone else to bug you." You pursed your lips. "He's already got Toga, but I'm sure Twice could squeeze in a second best friend," you teased.

He rolled his eyes as he took another bite.

"Spinner?"

"The hell am I gonna talk about with that lizard?"

"First of all, it's a gecko quirk and you know that so don't be mean," you declared in defense of your comrade. "Though, you're right -- what would you talk about..? I assume that also means no Tomura, then? I don't think I've ever seen you guys talk casually before -- aside from the dryest conversation about the weather… Maybe if we find some common ground between you two--"

"Fuck no."

"Aww, hey, he's not that bad. He's just…"

You rubbed at your neck unsure of what to say. Nothing you could say would change his thoughts on the matter. You weren't particularly close with Shigaraki, he had his own way of going about things which could be off-putting to most, but he just struck you as an awkward person who grew up without much social contact.

"The League sure is full of lonely people, huh?" You looked back up at the star-filled night for a few minutes, the both of you settling into a comfortable silence. An owl hooted in the distance as a cricket began to chirp from somewhere nearby. "I've always wondered if shooting stars ever got lonely."

He raised a disinterested brow at you as he chewed on another strawberry.

"Sorry," you shook your head and laughed in embarrassment. "I like stars. Do you?"

"Stupid question."

You wondered if it really was that stupid. Stars must seem miniscule to someone capable of burning as brightly as him. You leaned your head against the trunk and watched him finish his cake.

Earlier in the day, while writing down a list of necessary ingredients to bake and decorate the cake, there had been a conversation about birthdays. You couldn't remember who exactly brought up the topic, but you certainly weren't expecting the other members to easily give away that information. Unsurprisingly, Dabi was the only one that didn't share his.

He followed a gust of wind that swept through the night and as he passed you he flicked his plastic fork at you. You clumsily caught it and complained, only earning his indifference in return. He turned his back to you and set the paper plate ablaze. You opened your mouth to remind him of trashcans and how they still exist, but the words died in your throat as you watched the smoke get carried away by the breeze, away from you.

You were secretly grateful that he was too busy making his way to an adjacent tree to notice you bite back a smile.

"Dabi."

"What is it now?" He leaned against his new tree and lazily shoved his hands in his pockets. He was always good at keeping his distance.

"You don't have to tell me your birthday."

He scoffed, "Way to state the obvious."

"We can share mine."

He narrowed his eyes at you, analyzing you for any sign of a punchline but your face was earnest. Annoyingly so.

"What makes you think I want your dumb-ass birthday?"

"It's not that I think you want it, but wouldn't it be nice to have a day to celebrate… you?"

"What's there to celebrate," he sneered. He didn't mean for it to be taken so seriously, but the dopey look of concern on your face made him regret he said anything. Your brows furrowed.

"A lot. There's a lot to celebrate."

"Don't get all mushy, you're creepin' me out."

"Am I?"

"Yes," he growled. He wanted this conversation to be over and done with, snuffed out like a cigarette under his boot. It'd be easy enough to end it himself. All he had to do was be an asshole and leave you behind. Nothing he hadn't done before.

Deep, deep down there was a hungry part of him that ached. It belonged to the part of him that he had refused to acknowledge for the past seven years. He continued to ignore it's existence despite it being the very thing that kept him rooted in place, as though he were one of the trees in this giant fucking forest. The frustration it filled his chest with made him want to light himself on fire.

"At the expense of sounding like a creep…" You chewed on your bottom lip as you stared back up at the stars. Your fingers fiddled with a loose thread on your clothes. You were so easy to read.

"I'm really glad you're here."

Another breeze passed between the two of you, carrying your words along and rustling leaves. You looked over at him with eyes that overflowed with a depth of sincerity that made him want to start a wildfire and let himself get caught in it. He felt physically ill.

 "You're gonna make me sick."

One of Dabi's eyes squinted more than the other as his tongue poked out of his mouth enough for you to see his tongue piercings. You would've thought it was cute the way his face scrunched in disgust if you didn't feel so offended right now.

You huffed and stared at the grass as you tried to ignore the heat that crept up to your cheeks. "Was it really that bad?"

"Cheesy as hell. Keep that shit to yourself."

You shook it off and sighed exaggeratedly. "Well, since you seemed to like it so much, I might have to do it again for you some time." You stuck your tongue out at him playfully.

"Don't you fuckin' dare or I'll roast you on the spot."

You grinned and opened your mouth to shoot him a lighthearted retort when you heard your name being called in the distance. You turned to look around the tree and saw Toga waving you over for your turn at karaoke. You waved back at the younger girl in acknowledgement before she hopped back inside the mansion.

"I'm surprised they managed to pry the mic out of Mr.'s hands long enough to give someone else a turn," you laughed. "See you later. I'm glad you liked the cake."

"Yeah, yeah."

He pulled out a pack of smokes from his jacket and stuck a cigarette in between his lips. He lit it and watched as you fiddled with the plastic fork he flicked at you earlier. "What're you still doing here for?"

You smiled at him.

"Happy birthday."

"Tch, cheesy," he spoke humorlessly as you turned away. "By the way..."

You looked back at him and felt your face burning up as you saw his gaze drop from your eyes down to your lips.

"…Dabi?"

He smirked.

"Y'got cake on your face."

You blinked a few times as you processed his words before swiping your mouth. You looked at your hand to see the vivid scarlet of the strawberry glaze.

"Oh." You looked at it for a moment before wiping it against your clothes and giving an awkward laugh, "Um, thanks."

"You got a room full of ears to make bleed, mine've had enough. Get outta here."

You laughed before you jogged back to the mansion. He stared at the ground where you previously stood and took a drag of the cigarette. With each inhale, the toxins purged his body of a restlessness that had been stirred by the zephyr of your words.

You talk too much. 

He looked up in time to see you wave goodbye at him before you disappeared inside. He breathed in another lungful of fumes before exhaling it up at the same sky that always seemed to captivate you.

"Happy birthday."

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

every new doctor to their future/past self

[dazais-guardian-angel]

also I honestly hate Dazai's sudden bullshit theory about Hawthorne's blood bullets to explain how Fyodor killed the soldier at the end of the cannibalism arc, and the fact that this somehow never even occurred to him until now. Normally I do love seeing Dazai be wrong and be shocked/taken off guard for once, it's way too rare and needs to happen a lot more for how goddamn OP he is the rest of the time, but in this case instead of making him feel human from making a natural mistake (forgetting about Q, pinning the wrong person as Fyodor during the helicopter search in cannibalism), it just makes him look incredibly dumb to somehow not have foreseen this before now. Up till this point he's been 5D chess masterminding the shit out of everything, but somehow it didn't even occur to him that Fyodor might not actually be dead for real....... and all it took to make him think that was Sigma viewing his memories? Back when the cannibalism incident happened, the panels seem to indicate that he might know more about Fyodor's ability than he's letting on, but now it's confirmed that he never really knew anything at all, so that part was meaningless I guess...

The Hawthorne theory is so ludicrously out there, but it's in-line with all the other insanely out there things Dazai has been right about before, so it's probably correct lmao; it's just, WHY did he not come up with it until now??? The answer is of course that he didn't realize it until the Plot needed him to, and it's so frustratingly evident. 🫠 As convoluted as this twist is, I honestly wouldn't mind it if it had come from Fyodor himself after he inevitably comes back to taunt Dazai and co — I actually think it doesn't contradict everything else we've seen, because imo there's a difference between the soldier grabbing Fyodor's arm (clear contact), and when Fyodor lightly held his finger over Karma's forehead and most likely used his real ability there, just like he said he did. I think it's neat to think that we were all misdirected by the "Fyodor's ability works through direct contact" thing just because Dazai is the one who first said it, since we're so used to Dazai being right. But I wish Dazai hadn't figured out the truth all on his own so suddenly, doing a complete 180 from like two chapters ago, cause it just makes him look stupid. It doesn't feel like a natural mistake, it just feels like the plot forcing him to be dumb until it needs him to be smart again, which is really noticeable for a character otherwise so insanely smart as Dazai.

[fragmentedblade]

"Though I don't know exactly what you are or what you're up to... My bullets will find you — until then, you best find a casket store in Penacony, and ask the owner to reserve a good quality casket for you, imposter!"

Hardly could get more Western film than this

[ialwaysknewyouwerepunk]

.

[asummersday]

im working on rise oneshots rn mostly to take my mind off of the fact that i still need to read through chapter 6 to catch last minute mistakes i missed when i posted it lol

[trinitysyndrome]

Will my hateful patronizing intellectual card get taken away if I say that…….. I’m so sorry………………….. I never thought Colleen Hoover was that bad 🫣

[rearranging-deck-chairs]

nothing interesting here it's the exact same scene i just like seeing it

[archaeren]

How I learned to write smarter, not harder

(aka, how to write when you're hella ADHD lol)

A reader commented on my current long fic asking how I write so well. I replied with an essay of my honestly pretty non-standard writing advice (that they probably didn't actually want lol) Now I'm gonna share it with you guys and hopefully there's a few of you out there who will benefit from my past mistakes and find some useful advice in here. XD Since I started doing this stuff, which are all pretty easy changes to absorb into your process if you want to try them, I now almost never get writer's block.

The text of the original reply is indented, and I've added some additional commentary to expand upon and clarify some of the concepts.

As for writing well, I usually attribute it to the fact that I spent roughly four years in my late teens/early 20s writing text roleplay with a friend for hours every single day. Aside from the constant practice that provided, having a live audience immediately reacting to everything I wrote made me think a lot about how to make as many sentences as possible have maximum impact so that I could get that kind of fun reaction. (Which is another reason why comments like yours are so valuable to fanfic writers! <3) The other factors that have improved my writing are thus: 1. Writing nonlinearly. I used to write a whole story in order, from the first sentence onward. If there was a part I was excited to write, I slogged through everything to get there, thinking that it would be my reward once I finished everything that led up to that. It never worked. XD It was miserable. By the time I got to the part I wanted to write, I had beaten the scene to death in my head imagining all the ways I could write it, and it a) no longer interested me and b) could not live up to my expectations because I couldn't remember all my ideas I'd had for writing it. The scene came out mediocre and so did everything leading up to it. Since then, I learned through working on VN writing (I co-own a game studio and we have some visual novels that I write for) that I don't have to write linearly. If I'm inspired to write a scene, I just write it immediately. It usually comes out pretty good even in a first draft! But then I also have it for if I get more ideas for that scene later, and I can just edit them in. The scenes come out MUCH stronger because of this. And you know what else I discovered? Those scenes I slogged through before weren't scenes I had no inspiration for, I just didn't have any inspiration for them in that moment! I can't tell you how many times there was a scene I had no interest in writing, and then a week later I'd get struck by the perfect inspiration for it! Those are scenes I would have done a very mediocre job on, and now they can be some of the most powerful scenes because I gave them time to marinate. Inspiration isn't always linear, so writing doesn't have to be either!

Some people are the type that joyfully write linearly. I have a friend like this--she picks up the characters and just continues playing out the next scene. Her story progresses through the entire day-by-day lives of the characters; it never timeskips more than a few hours. She started writing and posting just eight months ago, she's about an eighth of the way through her planned fic timeline, and the content she has so far posted to AO3 for it is already 450,000 words long. But most of us are normal humans. We're not, for the most part, wired to create linearly. We consume linearly, we experience linearly, so we assume we must also create linearly. But actually, a lot of us really suffer from trying to force ourselves to create this way, and we might not even realize it. If you're the kind of person who thinks you need to carrot-on-a-stick yourself into writing by saving the fun part for when you finally write everything that happens before it: Stop. You're probably not a linear writer. You're making yourself suffer for no reason and your writing is probably suffering for it. At least give nonlinear writing a try before you assume you can't write if you're not baiting or forcing yourself into it!! Remember: Writing is fun. You do this because it's fun, because it's your hobby. If you're miserable 80% of the time you're doing it, you're probably doing it wrong!

2. Rereading my own work. I used to hate reading my own work. I wouldn't even edit it usually. I would write it and slap it online and try not to look at it again. XD Writing nonlinearly forced me to start rereading because I needed to make sure scenes connected together naturally and it also made it easier to get into the headspace of the story to keep writing and fill in the blanks and get new inspiration. Doing this built the editing process into my writing process--I would read a scene to get back in the headspace, dislike what I had written, and just clean it up on the fly. I still never ever sit down to 'edit' my work. I just reread it to prep for writing and it ends up editing itself. Many many scenes in this fic I have read probably a dozen times or more! (And now, I can actually reread my own work for enjoyment!) Another thing I found from doing this that it became easy to see patterns and themes in my work and strengthen them. Foreshadowing became easy. Setting up for jokes or plot points became easy. I didn't have to plan out my story in advance or write an outline, because the scenes themselves because a sort of living outline on their own. (Yes, despite all the foreshadowing and recurring thematic elements and secret hidden meanings sprinkled throughout this story, it actually never had an outline or a plan for any of that. It's all a natural byproduct of writing nonlinearly and rereading.)

Unpopular writing opinion time: You don't need to make a detailed outline.

Some people thrive on having an outline and planning out every detail before they sit down to write. But I know for a lot of us, we don't know how to write an outline or how to use it once we've written it. The idea of making one is daunting, and the advice that it's the only way to write or beat writer's block is demoralizing. So let me explain how I approach "outlining" which isn't really outlining at all.

I write in a Notion table, where every scene is a separate table entry and the scene is written in the page inside that entry. I do this because it makes writing nonlinearly VASTLY more intuitive and straightforward than writing in a single document. (If you're familiar with Notion, this probably makes perfect sense to you. If you're not, imagine something a little like a more contained Google Sheets, but every row has a title cell that opens into a unique Google Doc when you click on it. And it's not as slow and clunky as the Google suite lol) (Edit from the future: I answered an ask with more explanation on how I use Notion for non-linear writing here.) When I sit down to begin a new fic idea, I make a quick entry in the table for every scene I already know I'll want or need, with the entries titled with a couple words or a sentence that describes what will be in that scene so I'll remember it later. Basically, it's the most absolute bare-bones skeleton of what I vaguely know will probably happen in the story.

Then I start writing, wherever I want in the list. As I write, ideas for new scenes and new connections and themes will emerge over time, and I'll just slot them in between the original entries wherever they naturally fit, rearranging as necessary, so that I won't forget about them later when I'm ready to write them. As an example, my current long fic started with a list of roughly 35 scenes that I knew I wanted or needed, for a fic that will probably be around 100k words (which I didn't know at the time haha). As of this writing, it has expanded to 129 scenes. And since I write them directly in the page entries for the table, the fic is actually its own outline, without any additional effort on my part. As I said in the comment reply--a living outline!

This also made it easier to let go of the notion that I had to write something exactly right the first time. (People always say you should do this, but how many of us do? It's harder than it sounds! I didn't want to commit to editing later! I didn't want to reread my work! XD) I know I'm going to edit it naturally anyway, so I can feel okay giving myself permission to just write it approximately right and I can fix it later. And what I found from that was that sometimes what I believed was kind of meh when I wrote it was actually totally fine when I read it later! Sometimes the internal critic is actually wrong. 3. Marinating in the headspace of the story. For the first two months I worked on [fic], I did not consume any media other than [fandom the fic is in]. I didn't watch, read, or play anything else. Not even mobile games. (And there wasn't really much fan content for [fandom] to consume either. Still isn't, really. XD) This basically forced me to treat writing my story as my only source of entertainment, and kept me from getting distracted or inspired to write other ideas and abandon this one.

As an aside, I don't think this is a necessary step for writing, but if you really want to be productive in a short burst, I do highly recommend going on a media consumption hiatus. Not forever, obviously! Consuming media is a valuable tool for new inspiration, and reading other's work (both good and bad, as long as you think critically to identify the differences!) is an invaluable resource for improving your writing.

When I write, I usually lay down, close my eyes, and play the scene I'm interested in writing in my head. I even take a ten-minute nap now and then during this process. (I find being in a state of partial drowsiness, but not outright sleepiness, makes writing easier and better. Sleep helps the brain process and make connections!) Then I roll over to the laptop next to me and type up whatever I felt like worked for the scene. This may mean I write half a sentence at a time between intervals of closed-eye-time XD

People always say if you're stuck, you need to outline.

What they actually mean by that (whether they realize it or not) is that if you're stuck, you need to brainstorm. You need to marinate. You don't need to plan what you're doing, you just need to give yourself time to think about it!

What's another framing for brainstorming for your fic? Fantasizing about it! Planning is work, but fantasizing isn't.

You're already fantasizing about it, right? That's why you're writing it. Just direct that effort toward the scenes you're trying to write next! Close your eyes, lay back, and fantasize what the characters do and how they react.

And then quickly note down your inspirations so you don't forget, haha.

And if a scene is so boring to you that even fantasizing about it sucks--it's probably a bad scene.

If it's boring to write, it's going to be boring to read. Ask yourself why you wanted that scene. Is it even necessary? Can you cut it? Can you replace it with a different scene that serves the same purpose but approaches the problem from a different angle? If you can't remove the troublesome scene, what can you change about it that would make it interesting or exciting for you to write?

And I can't write sitting up to save my damn life. It's like my brain just stops working if I have to sit in a chair and stare at a computer screen. I need to be able to lie down, even if I don't use it! Talking walks and swinging in a hammock are also fantastic places to get scene ideas worked out, because the rhythmic motion also helps our brain process. It's just a little harder to work on a laptop in those scenarios. XD

In conclusion: Writing nonlinearly is an amazing tool for kicking writer's block to the curb. There's almost always some scene you'll want to write. If there isn't, you need to re-read or marinate.

Or you need to use the bathroom, eat something, or sleep. XD Seriously, if you're that stuck, assess your current physical condition. You might just be unable to focus because you're uncomfortable and you haven't realized it yet.

Anyway! I hope that was helpful, or at least interesting! XD Sorry again for the text wall. (I think this is the longest comment reply I've ever written!)

And same to you guys on tumblr--I hope this was helpful or at least interesting. XD Reblogs appreciated if so! (Maybe it'll help someone else!)

[thekittenkait]

i finally finished black pean season 2 and i'll just be quietly passing away now thank uou

[painsandconfusion]

Writers, here’s your reminder that you should be doing warm-ups!

Athletes need to warm up. Musicians need to warm up. Artists need to warm up. Heck, I even have to play a few matches in video games before I get into a groove every day.

Warm-ups help you get into the right headspace, give you more control of your actions and word choice, get you comfortable in your physical setting (eg: with your keyboard, notebook, tablet, or whatever you're writing with), and spark creativity.

Even if you don’t think you have spoons to write, sit down and do a couple warm-ups. If you still don’t want to, that’s alright. But. I think you’ll be surprised how often they help break that ice.

5-15 minutes is all you need. I personally set a timer for ten minutes each time and do not stop writing until the time is up. Your warm-up can be anything at all so long as it gets you writing and starts nudging those creative juices.

Here's some common warm-ups:

Journaling. Just jot down some notes about your day. Feel free to really lean into something that you noticed. We're going for description and details -- try to avoid settling into a spiral or focusing on something negative that will upset your creativity.

Short story prompts. Type that into Pinterest and pick the most ridiculous, cliche thing you can. Write a little scene, story summary, or even a rant about why you do or don't like the prompt. Just write.

Vocab challenge. If you like a bit more critical thinking to get you in the zone, have a random vocabulary word generator spit out five or so words. Check their meanings and jot down a little story or thought that includes all five. You get more familiar with beautiful and descriptive language, and it gives you a much narrowed prompt (which is lovely if you're like me and suffer each time there's an open-ended task assigned).

Character moments. Try putting your character into a generic setting and write down almost meticulously what their thought process would be. Follow them realizing they've just stepped in mud or dreading the start of the day. Pick a mundane thing and describe them working through it. This will not only get your writing going, but it will wake up the character's voice in your head.

Ongoing storytelling. Did you know that Whinnie the Poo was A.A. Milne's warm up story? He would jot down a quick little story with those very basic characters and did so every day. Whatever came to mind. He kept writing little tidbits on the same characters and eventually it turned into a series. Having that ongoing plot with isolated scenes and simple characters can help you feel more motivated to sit down and write.

Get-to-know-you-questions. Google a list of basic first-date questions (there are a million out there) and answer one yourself. Go into specifics. Where do you most want to travel and why? Let yourself ramble until the question is fully answered.

Writer's block blues. This is a favorite of mine. If you're truly stuck, write about being stuck. Eg: 'I'm supposed to write for ten minutse, but that feels so stupid and impossible. No one is goign to read this anyway. I have no ideas and the page is so overwhelming when its blank. I used to be able to write on and on and nothing could stop me. it was like breathing. but now I have nothign and do nothing and I can't even do a stupid prompt-' Even the rambling and ranting got me writing. It made things easier. It made writing this post easier. Also -- notice the typos? Yeah, don't fix those. You're in writing mode, not editing mode when you're doing this. If you edit while you write, you're forcing yourself to stay in your executive and calculating headspace rather than falling fully into creativity and dream. Ignore the mistakes. That's for future you to handle.

I've officially rambled far too much, but I hope that helps even a little bit. Live well and write often, my friends. Best of luck to you <3

[parkers-gal]

take me home J.B.

pairing: husband!bucky barnes x f!reader

wc: 1.7k

trope: secret wife / secret relationship

warnings: not proof read. rip. i'll edit the mistakes tmr lol. this is another self indulgent piece bye

timeline: idk this is not a canon event but just imagine endgame never happened. i like to imagine him with the metal arm (not the vibranium one) but i think this can be seen with any

summary: the team discovers bucky's relationship with you when bucky searches for you in the hospital after hydra attacks new york

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“we just got the last of them on the east side. does anyone need backup?” natasha’s voice rings through the comms. tony’s response comes within a few seconds.

“air is neutral up here.”

“we’re just about wrapping up here,” steve adds on. “let’s reconvene on fifth and check in with emergency services.” he glances at bucky who stands on his left, stoically waiting for the next command. bucky nods at steve’s silent question, you ready?

they step over a pile of rubble. bucky reloads his gun, placing it back in its holster and starting a light jog as steve leads them away from the scene behind them. hydra had sent many reinforcements after the team had done a recon mission at an abandoned hydra base that was unknowingly more important to them than the avengers had initially realized. new york came to bear the consequences, just as the city always did. something about high populated cities… or whatever steve told the team as they were gearing up a few hours ago.

they turn the next few blocks and see sam land beside wanda and clint, his wings collapsing into his jet-backpack. tony joins them, already starting his updates.

“nypd called in the national guard to detain as many of the human reinforcements as they could,” he fiddles with some tech on his arm. “emt said graybar, seagram, and chanin had some pretty heavy bombings. victims are being relo-”

“chanin?” bucky cuts in. most of his teammates look at him with shocked faces. “did you say the chanin building?”

“yes, tinman.” tony retorts. “victims are being relocated to the closest hospitals in the area.”

“which ones?”

slightly annoyed, tony turns to look at him. “does it matter?”

bucky’s jaw clenches. “yes. it does.”

sam cuts in.“there’s five hospitals within a mile of here, there’s no way you’re going to know where one person went, bucky.”

“i don’t give a fuck.” he’s definitive and it shuts everyone up. “i want to know which hospitals.”

with a sigh, steve concedes and jogs over to the paramedic perched on the end of an ambulance, assisting a woman with a cut on her eyebrow.

bucky decides to make his way over too, only hearing the tail end of the conversation as steve says ‘thank you.’

“well?”

steve sighs again. “he said lagone is the closest, but frank ross hospital and tisch are taking in some too because the influx is so bad.”

bucky doesn’t even reply, jogging off in the direction of the first hospital and leaving steve in the middle of the road, stunned.

clint breaks the silence. “where is he going?”

“to the hospital, i guess?” steve sounds unsure in his response, still watching as bucky gets smaller and smaller as the distance between them increases. 

“maybe we should go with him.” wanda suggests. “we still need to debrief and do our write ups.”

natasha gives her a side eye and wanda laughs. 

“just following orders.” she exaggerates, teasing natasha and steve for their insistence on following the protocols. 

“alright let’s go, then.” tony thrusts upward, sam following him up as everyone else begins to jog in bucky’s direction.

but bucky is fast. they don’t realize how much until they almost lose him two blocks over. they trail behind him as he bursts through the emergency room, charging towards the front desk. 

“do you have a patient named y/n?” he begins to spell out your name letter by letter until the desk attendant interrupts.

“sir, i need you to step into the waiting room unless you need immediate medical care.” the room around them is a flurry of crying people, overwhelmed nurses, and helpless policeman who try to reorganize the growing number of patients. 

“no, i need you to check if you have a patient under the name of y/-”

the team stands by the entrance, watching the interaction unfold but not quite understanding it.

“who is he looking for?”

everyone turns to steve assuming he knows, but his face shows just as much confusion. “i don’t know.”

“please,” bucky starts again. “do you have a patient register for today’s patients?”

with a click of her tongue, she hands bucky a clipboard with several papers on it. bucky’s eyes scan the names, worry etched on his face when he doesn’t see yours. 

“sorry.” he mumbles, leaving the clipboard on the counter and turning around. he stops when he sees the team, but moves past them when he remembers what he’s doing.

anxiety is gnawing at him as he finds his motorcycle parked by the quinjet a few blocks away. he immediately drives off towards the next hospital, worried as ever that something has happened to you. you aren’t answering his calls, not texting him back, and he can’t find your location on the little app you taught him how to use. he doesn’t know what else to do. 

the team can barely keep up, trying their best to help the people around them as they trail after bucky. they still don’t know what he’s doing or who he’s looking for. 

by the third hospital, bucky is fed up and on the verge of a breakdown. he only has so much patience at this point, and sam is all too familiar with the signs.

“do you have a patient under the name y/n?” it’s the third time in the last hour he’s desperately asked a nurse at a front desk. he does the same thing, spelling out your name letter by letter until the nurse interrupts him. 

“you’ll have to wait to check the registry list after all the patients have been attended to.”

“how long is that going to take?” his voice is laced with attitude, and he almost feels bad if not for the pit of anxiety swelling in his stomach. 

“sir, you’re wasting my time.”

“bucky, c’mon, let’s go.” steve reaches to hold bucky’s shoulder, but he shrugs it off.

“no, goddammit!” he’s fuming, turning back to the nurse. “i need you to tell me if you have a patient, y/n barnes. i’m her next of kin.” he slams his fist on the counter. steve takes a step back towards sam, in shock at the information.

“does he have, like, a niece?” sam asks. “did he tell you anything about his sister? maybe she had a family after-”

“yes, i see her name listed here. only immediate family can see her.”

“i am immediate family!”

“sir, unless you are a parent or her husband, you need to wait until all th-”

“i am her husband!” he slams his ring down on the counter, gripping onto it like he depends on it, because he can’t risk losing you. “take me to see me wife right now.”

with a nod, she leads bucky down a hallway of rooms, turning left into the very first room. she makes her way back towards the front desk where steve has now approached.

“hi, ma’am. would you mind if-” steve gestures towards the room. the nurse’s jaw drops at seeing the vibranium shield, clint’s bow, and tony stark standing there with a partially deconstructed nano-tech suit. 

“go right ahead.” she stutters out, watching the avengers trail after the man with the metal arm. they stop in the doorway, huddled as they watch.

“y/n?” bucky steps towards the hospital bed.

you aren’t even laying in it. you’re sitting on the edge of it staring out a window, back facing the door. at the sound of his voice, you whip around. tear streaks stain your face.

“bucky, oh my god-” you run into his chest, engulfing him in a hug. he sighs into your hair, smelling you and breathing in relief at the sight.

“you’re okay, it’s okay.” he coos, rubbing your back. “what happened? are you hurt?”

you shake your head, still nuzzled into his chest. you peer up at him, “paramedics found me unconscious. it’s just a concussion, but they brought me in anyways. i just have a couple stitches.” you gesture to your calf. “rough fall after i got knocked out, i guess.”

he nods, pulling you in for a kiss. it’s desperate and full of love and every emotion he’d felt in the last two hours.

“i thought- i thou-”

“no.” you cut him off. “i tried to find a phone but nothing was going through. i saw the weird alien dogs coming from a giant truck, and- and the hydra symbol was plastered all along the sides i thought maybe they-” you can’t even finish your sentence, too overwhelmed at the possibility. 

“never.” he kisses your forehead, holding your face in both his hands. “they could never take me from you.”

you rest your forehead against his, inhaling the scent of your husband and gripping onto him because you never want to leave him again. 

“so..” tony cuts in. “wife?”

“tony!” natasha scolds. “get back here!”

clint tries his best not to laugh but he can barely hold it in.

sam is next to join in. “when did this happen?” he looks at steve with a quirked brow. “did you know?”

“i swear i didn’t.”

“a wife.” sam repeats. “you didn’t know your best friend has a wife.”

“he’s a trained spy!”

“and a former soviet asset.” clint confers. “you’d think you would keep more tabs on the guy.”

steve rolls his eyes, turning his attention back to bucky.

“is she really your wife?”

bucky nods reluctantly, a little sheepish as you hold up your left hand to show them your rings. 

“for four years now.”

“FOUR YEARS????” 

“sam-” 

“and you NEVER SAID ANYTHING?”

“guys” nat pays no mind to sam’s ramblings. “i think we can all agree how hard it is to live life as an avenger. it’s not like clint was exactly honest about his family, either.”

“i thought you were on my side!” he huffs.

“whatever.” sam pouts. “i wish i could’ve gone to the wedding.”

“we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.” bucky smiles appreciatively at steve, who starts moving back towards the exit. “maybe we can talk about this when everything settles down and she gets out of the hospital.” steve looks at you, really looks at you, for the first time. deep down, he’s glad his best friend found the one thing he’s wanted his whole life. “right bucky?”

bucky nods. 

“okay,” steve smiles understandingly. “debrief is tomorrow at noon. don’t be late.”

bucky turns back to you as the team leaves your hospital room. 

“i guess the secrets out.”

bucky nods in agreement. “i’m really glad you’re okay.”

you kiss him again, “take me home, bucky.”

⋆˚✶˚‧⋆｡˚

bucky masterlist

part two?

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

🧪 Character Arcs 101: what they are, what they aren’t, and how to make them hurt

by rin t. (resident chaos scribe of thewriteadviceforwriters)

Okay so here’s the thing. You can give me all the pretty pinterest moodboards and soft trauma playlists in the world, but if your character doesn’t change, I will send them back to the factory.

Let’s talk about character arcs. Not vibes. Not tragic backstory flavoring. Actual. Arcs. (It hurts but we’ll get through it together.)

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💡 what a character arc IS:

a transformational journey (keyword: transformation)

the internal response to external pressure (aka plot consequences)

a shift in worldview, behavior, belief, self-concept

the emotional architecture of your story

the reason we care

💥 what a character arc is NOT:

a sad monologue halfway through act 2

a single cool scene where they yell or cry

a moral they magically learn by the end

a “development” label slapped on a flatline

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✨ THE 3 BASIC FLAVORS OF ARC (and how to emotionally damage your characters accordingly):

Positive Arc They start with a flaw, false belief, or fear that limits them. Through the events of the story (and many Ls), they confront that internal lie, grow, and emerge changed. Hurt factor: Drag them through the mud. Make them fight to believe in themselves. Break their trust, make them doubt. Let them earn their ending.

Negative Arc They begin whole(ish) and devolve. They fail to overcome their flaw or false belief. This arc ends in ruin, corruption, or defeat. Hurt factor: Let them almost have a chance. Build hope. Then show how they sabotage it, or how the world takes it anyway. Twist the knife.

Flat/Static Arc They don’t change, but the world around them does. They hold onto a core truth, and it’s their constancy that drives change in others. Think: mentor, revolutionary, or truth-teller type. Hurt factor: Make the world push back. Make their values cost them something. The tension comes from holding steady in chaos.

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🎯 how to build an arc that actually HITS (no ✨soft lessons✨, just internal structure):

Lie they believe: What false thing do they think about themselves or the world? (“I’m unlovable.” “Power = safety.” “I’m only valuable if I’m useful.”)

Want vs. need: What do they think they want? What do they actually need to grow?

Wound/backstory scar: What made them like this? You don’t need a tragic past™ but you do need cause and effect.

Turning point: What moment forces them to question their worldview? What event cracks the surface?

Moment of choice: Do they change? Or not? What decision seals their arc?

🧪 Pro tip: this is not a worksheet. This is scaffolding. The arc lives in the story, not just your doc notes. The lie isn’t revealed in a monologue, it’s felt through consequences, relationships, mistakes.

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🛠️ things to actually do with this:

Write scenes where the character’s flaw messes things up. Like, they lose something. A person. A plan. Their cool. Make the flaw hurt.

Track their beliefs like a timeline. How do they start? What chips away at it? When does the shift stick?

Use relationships as arc mirrors. Who challenges them? Enables them? Forces reflection? Internal change is almost never solo.

Revisit the lie. Circle back to it at least three times in escalating intensity. Reminder > confrontation > transformation.

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🌊 bonus pain level: REVERSE THE ARC

Wanna make it really hurt? Set them up for one arc, and give them the opposite. They think they’re growing into a better person. But actually, they’re losing themselves. They think they’re spiraling. But they’re really healing. Let them be surprised. Let the reader be surprised.

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TL;DR: If your plot is a skeleton, your character arc is the nervous system.

The change is the thing. Don’t just dress it up in trauma. Don’t let your character learn nothing. Make them face themselves. And yeah. Make it hurt a little. (Or a lot. I won’t stop you.)

—rin t. // thewriteadviceforwriters // plotting pain professionally since forever

P.S. I made a free mini eBook about the 5 biggest mistakes writers make in the first 10 pages 👀 you can grab it here for FREE: