dialupthescoobysnacks

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pierogi in der mikrowelle

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i'm founding a new school of media criticism which i've decided to call Bitism. the Bitist school of literary analysis asks a simple question: is this work committed to the bit?

you see, any work of fiction is either committed to the bit or it's not. the worst thing a piece of media can be is ashamed of its own premise, of the genre it in habits, of the tropes and aesthetics we expect from it. to be committed to the bit does not inherently make it good, but it makes it more worthy of respect than those which are not.

also, that's not to say that a story cannot parody or criticize the genre it inhabits or mimics. we can discuss the bit, we can deconstruct the bit, we can ask ourselves whether or not it's a good bit, but to commit to it first will strengthen these discussions, not detract from them. commitment to the bit is, after all, the first step to genuine sincerity. and sincerity will exalt and elevate parody such that it can stand on its own feet.

commitment to the bit turns melodrama into camp, elevates parody to biting commentary, and allows cringe to open up into a resonant, if unpolished, expression of true emotion.

fully expect bitism to take the literary world by storm sometime in the next few years.

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I know I’m being an insufferable worldbuilding nerd here, but my basic metric for evaluating media with very inhuman protagonists is “how easily can one offer a complete and coherent account of this media’s plot without ever mentioning the fact that the protagonist is, for example, a talking car?”. The harder it is, the higher it scores.

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So... I found this and now it keeps coming to mind. You hear about "life-changing writing advice" all the time and usually its really not—but honestly this is it man.

I'm going to try it.

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hi tem!! 72, 77, 78!!

Ask me fanfic writer questions!

Omg hello!!! Eidnwjdjdj i shouldve guessed i'd get 77 immediately 😂😂😂😂

72.) what do you do if a scene gets too serious?

Generally im almost always aiming for serious on some level, tbh-- thats my favorite thing to write about!! Even while writing comedy, i tend to go for more serious undertones; in the case that im going intentionally for pure humor, though, and the scene comes out a little more serious than intended, i try to dial it back by focusing on banter, adding a bit of humor to the narration itself, and essentially laying the scene out in a way that's intentionally meant to draw your attention to whats supposed to be funny.

On the whole, though, serious scenes are my JAM and i adore writing them, so its not often i run into this problem!!

77.) how do you write kissing scenes?

OH BOY. OKAY. this is the point, i suppose, where i mention the Kissing Seminar.

The Kissing Seminar is a very informal discussion i held in one of my discord servers and later transcribed to a google doc when the topic of how to write kisses came up. Full disclosure: i kiss a lot. I love kissing. Ive kissed a ton of people in my life and i kiss my partner constantly. So when im writing kisses, i am pulling DIRECTLY from my own experiences on how it feels and how i do it (and sometimes i do need refreshers; last time i wrote a kiss i had to pause, kiss my partner for a minute, and then go back to writing. Partner reported being INCREDIBLY confused by the abruptness but was pleased to receive smooches until the next day when i informed them of why, and then they hit me with a pillow SJDNEJDJEJJS 😂😂😂😂)

Anyway, the Kissing Seminar is something ive been meaning to pretty up and post for public consumption time and time again, but havent yet because its just so currently low on the priority list. But it details HOW to kiss, and what to expect, and some options for how to write it if you want to go for something more detailed rather than just saying "they smooched". As a tl;dr, its generally all about body placement, rhythm, and emotions-- and the intermingling between them. If you want to write good kisses, focus on all three of these things, and it'll help you out a lot

78.) how do you choose where to end a chapter?

I go off of instinct, mostly!!! Usually i try to keep my chapters all to a similar length (so for hunger au, im aiming for 4-5k each time), and because i know how long most of my scenes take (about 1-2k depending) im able to round off where things should stop after a certain amount of scenes have been written. Sometimes its not precise, though-- last chapter of litd was meant to have the Pearl conversation fully in it, but Tango ended up being the primary focus, and i couldnt really edit that out without sacrificing a lot. So as soon as i found a good stopping place, i went ahead and finished the chapter.

Good stopping places for me are where a scene naturally ends and begins to transition into a new one-- think like movie clips, or scenes in a play. To continue using hunger au chap 4 as an example, the final "clip" so to speak started with Tango and Grian on the couch, and ended with Tango leaving the set while Pearl took his place. I found this to be a really good natural stopping point for the chapter, because Pearl and Grian's convo is very different from the way Tango and Grian's went, so it requires a different tone and new atmosphere to fully delve into that. I find that when the tone of a scene changes, or something new is happening, or time is shown to have passed in some way, these are naturally good places to stop a chapter.

I think this is often why people will choose to end their chapters with their characters falling asleep-- its a natural transition that people instinctively recognize as moving things forward, so it acts as a way to separate one scene from the next. The problem with relying on that alone though is that it can become very repetitive, so its important to be able to start pinpointing all your transition sentences or paragraphs so you can find other places and ways to end chapters and add in some variety

As with all things, though, this isnt a hard and fast rule; i can think of several ways one might want to lean on that for thematic purposes, or using it as a motif, or just a particular expression of style. Really what it comes down to is what you want from your story, and the best ways to achieve that; a good editor in particular will help you find a way to do that. Wkdnwke sorry this became sort of a very extended ramble, but as a professional editor and a longtime writer i find the subject fascinating and feel like mechanics like this arent really talked about often enough. Anyway thank you for listening to my little soapbox if you read all the way through, and thank you so much for the questions!!!!! :DD

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sometimes u are bit with the scarian rabies and the only cure is to write neck smooches about it

thanks @squish--squash for the unintended prompt, heres a funky little unedited snippet for your woes and troubles<3

Scar has his hands on him before the door even closes; Grian's pushed against the warm sandstone wall with one firm shove. Scar crowds in after him, nuzzling into the space between his neck and shoulder, sending shivers up Grian's trapped spine. "Hi, Scar," Grian says, a little punched-out, and a whole lot breathless. "Hi, yourself," Scar murmurs against his neck. He presses a close-lipped kiss to Grian's carotid. Hovers there, breath fanning over the sensitive skin. "Border look okay?" "Border was fine," Grian scrapes out as Scar nudges his head further to the side. "Uh, Scar, are you– this isn't very normal, Scar." "Sure it is," Scar says, pressing another kiss to Grian's neck. He pauses. Dips to press another, and this time his mouth opens slightly, chapped lips gently scraping. Grian goes rigid as a wave of heat rushes through him. "You were gone! I missed you." "I was gone for ten minutes." "And I missed you for ten minutes," Scar responds patiently. His lips curve into a smile against Grian's neck, then a small trail of kisses are peppered into his skin from collarbone to jaw. Each one goes off like a firecracker, scattering sparks beneath his sternum. Grian lets out a shaky breath. "Scar–" he says, because someone needs to have sense around here. "Scar, if we're caught being distracted–" In direct response, Scar folds two soft kisses into the corner of Grian's jaw, just underneath his ear. Every inch of him melts; Scar's large hands curl into the fabric over his waist, holding him steady. "What was that?" Scar's voice is light and sunny. "Sorry, G, I don't think I heard you there–" "I'm going to kill you," Grian says when he's caught his breath, surprisingly even. He reaches up with both hands to grip Scar's shoulders, digging his nails into thin grey skin. "Stop teasing and actually kiss me." "Hey, I thought I was the one giving orders around here," Scar grins, but does as he's told without any further complaint.

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random snippet of my novel draft with zero context i have posted unprompted

This literally has no context to it here, maybe I'll give some later but not rn, so be fore warned it just jumps straight in

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Tommy, the incredulous bastard, takes another swig of the whisky. Roughly placing the bottle on the table, he turns to me. Tommy reaches around me and places a hand on the sofa at my back before sitting down heavily on my lap.  

"you’ve always had the prettiest eyes.”

The words slur together but I understand it enough for my cheeks to still flush warm. I hide behind my glass and raise an eyebrow, “really?" I ask, sarcasm leaving it more of a statement than a question. Panic and relization finally  worm underneath my skin. "Also, why the fuck are you on my lap?" I prod, while trying to get a sip of liquor in me to calm my sudden nerves.

Tommy smiles and runs a warm hand down my neck not responding. The cloud of scarlet spreads to my neck as he traces the thin scar running up to meet my chin. “The prettiest, and your lips look so soft.” I choke down the champagne and dart my tongue across my lips. I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. Smiling Tommy leans in, and then promptly pulls away. Standing from my lap he plops down and lounges across the couch. Head conveniently resting on my crossed legs. The room spins as his tipsy gaze drifts up to mine, “Artie,” How the fuck had I fallen so hard so fast for this bastard. My name from his mouth sounded so pretty but I ignored that, “hmm” 

“Do you remember that day we were dueling in the Lilac Villa?”

I huff out a little laugh,

“That could be any day, we’re bloodborn rivals, remember?”

“Hmm, are we though?”

I open my mouth to argue but he silences me with a finger,

“Shush, I don’t want to know what you think of me right now.”

That catches me off guard,

“That one day, we were like,” a hair drifts onto his face, “pfft, I don’t know twelve? You were wearing your fancy hyacinth suit again and you had your hair in the cutest ringlets.” 

A small strangled noise escapes me, but he carries on.

“You had your hair done back with a ribbon and you had a fresh bruise on cheek. You’d tried to cover it with powder but failed horribly. You were determined to beat me that day, I clearly wasn’t and you caught me off guard. You had me pinned in seconds, Monsieur Rauchea was rather pleased with your performance. But gods, your fiery eyes were gorgeous, that was the day I fell in love with you.”

Speechless I gape at him like a fish at the market, unfazed he darkly chuckles.

“I had loved you for years probably, but that was the day I truly realized how much. Only later did I realize that you would never love me back.”

Pure confusion and elation turned to a sick feeling of guilt and pity.

“Oh gods, years and years I tried to convince myself that you’d never feel the same. But here we are and it would seem it still hasn’t worked.” 

Caught in a storm of emotions I bury my face in my hands. Sweeping them up into my now thoroughly messy hair.

“Huh, I expected a more volatile reaction. Still, the same though. Loving all alone.”

His fractured voice trails off and I bring my hands down. A well of tears form in his eyes but refuse to leave. I bring down a single thumb to wipe them away, startled eyes open in shock. I fight the nerves eating away at my limbs, looping thoughts telling me every way this could go wrong.

“Artie?”

A thousand words could break the fragile silence, instead I lean down and press my lips to his. Everything goes silent and I for once feel confident. At first it’s just me, pressing a butterfly light kiss to his lips. Feeling the warm static in the air. And then he kisses back, it's sharp and short and leaves me wanting more. But he pushes me back, searching my eyes. Doubt is a foggy cloud that fills the silence and his eyes. 

“I love you too Tommy.”

I mutter, hoping, praying, he won’t hear and shoot me down with his fears. Instead he just smiles and pulls me back down to him. 

Between the soft kisses he whispers sweet nothings to my lips. A smile meets mine, again, and again, and again. It’s the happiest I’ve been in years, I want nothing more than to just lay with him here for hours until all he knows is the taste of my lips. Eventually Tommy pulls back to face me, arms linked around my neck. Neither of us want to address anything other than right now so we don’t. We just sit there holding each other like I’d wish I could’ve for years. Lila was right, liquor could do amazing things to people. Tommy finally opened up, and I finally addressed the secret that haunted me for years. Maybe everything would be alright.

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woe, out of context scarian kisses be upon ye

Scar pauses. Pulls back to examine him, eyes flitting across his face; they backtrack several times, searching, an intense light growing inside them as Scar finds whatever he must be looking for. Grian endures it with reddening cheeks and a galloping heart that slowly sinks into his stomach the longer Scar studies him.

Grian opens his mouth– to say what, he's unsure, but something's got to give– when Scar finally stops, eyes round, and says, "Oh."

Then: "Oh, Grian."

And that's far too much to handle tonight. "Right," Grian says miserably, getting an elbow underneath him, "right, I'm just going to go then–"

"Wait, wait, wait!" Scar cries, lurching forward to grab Grian's wrist. "Hang on a second, I didn't even say anything!"

"You didn't have to, Scar, I can– I can read it in your face." Grian tugs at his wrist, but Scar doesn't let go; only tightens his fingers, dragging Grian back down toward the mattress. "Scar–"

"Grian." Scar matches him tone for tone. Then he smiles, sudden and blinding. "Can you hold still for a minute? Everything's fine, just trust me!"

"Trust you?" Grian snaps without thinking– then balks as a flicker of hurt darts across Scar's face. Ice fills the pit of his stomach, cold and stinging. "Sorry, I– I didn't mean to say that, I'm sorry," Grian stumbles out, frantic. Anything to erase that expression from Scar's face, that perilous stillness. "That's– that was rude. I didn't mean it."

Scar takes a deep, careful breath, eyes closing. "Yeah, it was rude," he says after a beat, "but I wasn't being very clear, and you're distressed. So I'm sorry too."

Grian's insides curdle. "Stop– Scar. I'm not distressed, you're making me sound like a damsel."

When Scar opens his eyes again, only a hint of that previous distance remains; instead they're brimming with warm exasperation, and a lot more patience than Grian deserves. "G," Scar says, far too gentle, "relax. Please. It's okay. Everything's okay right now, I'm not mad, I– I'm not upset." Another smile tilts the corners of his mouth; Grian's lungs flutter. "Quite the opposite, actually, if you'd sit still enough to listen."

Grian stares at him, throat drying out. "What do you mean?" he manages.

Scar eyes him for a moment, then carefully lets go of Grian's wrist. The warmth dissipates immediately; Grian misses it with a longing he does his best to hide.

It must not be enough, though, because Scar makes an aborted little sound in the back of his throat, and raises his hand to cup Grian's cheek.

Grian freezes like a startled rabbit, pulse thrumming in his ears. The foreign weight of Scar's hand radiates heat outward, spreading molasses slow through his skin and igniting beneath his skin. He stares, useless, at Scar's arm before trailing his gaze back up to meet his face.

The smile on Scar's lips has taken a wry turn. "I like it too, Grian," he says, and there's so much compassion in his voice that Grian nearly flinches. "I like spending time with you, and I especially like spending time with you here." He raises his eyebrows with a meaningful arch, glancing briefly down at the mattress they're sitting on.

"In your bed," Grian says anyway, flat as he can make it. The phrase nearly cracks against his teeth.

"Well when you put it like that–"

"Scar."

"So maybe I like cuddling you," Scar says mildly. "Is that such a huge crime?"

Grian opens his mouth to retort, but no sound scrapes out. He snaps his jaw shut instead, staring at Scar with huge eyes.

He can't hope. It's stupid to hope; they've been friends for years, only friends, and Scar has never– Grian can't think of a single time he might've once–

But Scar is giving him that look again. The soft one. The one filled with so much warmth it threatens to scald Grian's frostbitten fingertips if he reaches too close. His hands itch– he wants to hold Scar's hand, tap his fingers against his pulsepoint and listen to it tick; press his thumb into the hinge of Scar's jaw and lean forward, so he can–

"Can I kiss you?" Scar asks, quiet and tender, a spark of hope catching in his voice, and Grian's mind blanks.

"I– what?" Grian asks eventually, very faint.

It's Scar's turn to go red. "I mean– I'm not reading this wrong, right? Because you kinda just admitted to... liking me? Romantically? Unless I have completely misinterpreted that, in which case that is, um, very misfortunate for me, actually."

"No, I– you want to. Really?" Grian ignores the mispronunciation; instead, that little kernel of hope that Grian's been stubbornly trying to stamp out kicks back to life, fluttering around in his throat. "You're not joking, are you?"

"Grian, I would never joke about this," Scar says solemnly, and against all odds, Grian believes him.

Slowly, uncomprehending, Grian nods. "Yeah," he says, and it comes out hesitant, breathy, barely on the outskirts of sound. "I– yes. Please."

Scar's smile turns into a grin, self-satisfied and smug. "Well, since you asked so nicely," he says, and–

And his hold firms against Grian's cheek; his fingers tangle in the back of Grian's hair; his hand is guiding Grian forward, gentle but insistent, and Scar is leaning down–

It's not what Grian expects, actually– not that he was expecting much of anything. Scar's lips press soft against his own, a steady pressure that tingles onto Grian's tongue. Slowly, his lips part, urging Grian's open, and with that same, gentle insistence, he coaxes Grian into a slow, heady kiss, lips closing over his cupid's bow before opening again, sliding down to catch his lower lip next. Grian shudders into it, following Scar's rhythm; his head is tilted, just slightly, enough to deepen the angle and deepen the kiss.

Their lips slide against each other, and Scar's right hand comes up to frame Grian's face, winding through his hair and pulling him closer. Grian fumbles to cling back, hands fluttering until they find purchase on his shoulders; after a moment of hesitation, he loops them around Scar's neck, sinking his own fingers into the long hair cascading down his back. Scar melts into it, a soft noise slipping from his throat, humming against Grian's lips. It shoots straight into his stomach– Grian pushes closer, something hungry and desperate opening inside of him, clamoring to swallow Scar whole.

His head is spinning; when Scar sweeps a thumb across his cheek, Grian mentally chases the sensation, every point of contact between them a steady burn. He is fire, sparking and crackling, and Scar is the tinder– coaxing him into a proper flame, teeth tugging at his lower lip to make him hiss. Grian follows each sensation blindly, etching it into his nervous system; maybe if he keeps it here, hollows out his bones to makes a home for it, this memory will never, ever leave him.

It ends too soon; Scar pulls back eventually, but not very far. He tips his forehead to touch Grian's, their noses brushing; warm air fans over Grian's face, intimate and paralyzing. Grian doesn't quite pant, but he does end up needing a moment to catch his breath before he can speak.

"Wow," is what he eventually lands on. "Okay. You've been holding out on me, mister."

"Not my fault you never said anything," Scar murmurs, tapping his thumb against Grian's cheekbone. He leans back in, pressing another soft, sweet kiss to Grian's lips before pulling away again. "I've been gone on you for ages."

Grian sucks in a deep, shuddering breath; something beneath his sternum is beginning to crack, letting out soft, incredulous light. "You're telling me," he says, "that we could've been doing this from the start."

"Well, not the start," Scar says, clearly amused. "But pretty close to it."

"I hate you." Grian's voice is petulant.

"You love me."

"Kiss me again," Grian demands, in lieu of responding to that just yet.

"Jeez." Scar's eyes are twinkling in the low light. He slowly trails one hand down to Grian's shoulder, rubbing up and down his upper arm and leaving goosebumps. "Let a guy take a breather for a second. Patience is a virtue, y'know."

"I have never been patient even once in my life, Scar, and you know it."

Scar pauses, considering him with lidded eyes. "No," he says finally, but it's layered with fondness. "I guess not." He presses a quick, teasing kiss against Grian's nose; Grian wrinkles it, then musters his courage and dives in for another kiss. When he pulls back, Scar is beaming at him. "Good thing I like you anyway."

"Only because you have terrible taste," Grian informs him, before reeling him back in and kissing him again for quite some time.