#I'm sorry but I genuinely don't think about comparing myself to other authors often I just realized :'(

[dootznbootz]

For the writer's ask game: 15, 18, 19, 27 :)

Thank you for the ask!!! :D Some of these questions I had a hard time answering so I'm sorry for that!

15.) Quirks I love to write about

just all around fidgets and messing with hair probably!! bouncing knees and just all around wiggling.

18.) What are some writers you are inspired by? What are some of your fave quotes?

I guess Homer?? I don't really know. I have a weird thing where anybody's writing makes ME wanna write no matter the genre. It's kind of like "Oh wow they created the vision they wanted me to see! I wanna do that too!" but then it'll be Tolkien who I write nothing like and dn't try to be like. I guess maybe a bit of Rick Riordan, as I tend to write "silly". I can't think of any big quotes that make me really go crazy other than the "Joy, joy like a drowning sailor feels" as that just makes me go feral. (that COULD be because it's recent AND because it's the fanfic I'm writing for) In some ways, I don't think I really try "to be like" any author other than myself if that makes sense??? Actually, when I try and "get in my writing groove" I try and read my old works to kind of remember how I write you know?

19.) "For fans of ____" What works are similar to yours?

"For fans of simps and tooth-rotting fluff with fucked up angst on the occasion with some fluff in the center to give hope"

Again I can't really think of anyone to compare myself to? I know there probably is some out there but I usually don't read things to think "Oh my! I wanna write like that!" I just think "Oh wow, I sure hope eepy deepy gets a happy ending...If they can create something, so can I! I'm going to make something that has nothing to do with whatever I just read!"

27.) Do I have playlists for my wips?

Not for my specific wips, as honestly that;ll take forever, and I doubt I'll find what entails in my fics in songs xD but I DO have like, "OTP playlists"! Probably the song that matches what I plan for the fic the most is "Fair" by the Amazing Devil, which yeah, cliche but with how it's a sickfic and it's all about "I don't care about your flaws; I love you as you are" stuff that I just EAT UP EVERY SINGLE TIME

[bungoustraypups]

idk man i just really think that if u genuinely believe that fic authors are required to care about characters they dont care about and make content for characters or ships they dont care about just to prove theyre not secretly misogynists uh. i dont think you actually care about how theyre actually treating real women. because you seem to be using solely the characters they choose to write self-indulgent free fanworks about as the metric to define that instead of, yknow. anything else they do. or at least youre putting a whole lot of emphasis on it

also theres quite a few lesbians ive met who actually dont write men. some even genderbend, whether thru a cis-swap where theyre now AFAB cis women or thru trans headcanons or whatever, canonically male characters so they dont have to write about men. theyre a minority in most animanga and other mainstream fandoms ive seen but as i am not in every fandom nor am i privy to the inner workings of every fandom idk how like, rare those ppl actually are compared to authors who exclusively or mostly write abt men

also like. not sorry for this one, but as a nonbinary trans man who is not a woman even a little bit and refuses to be seen as one or associate myself with womanhood because i am not a woman, it is specifically irritating to me to be told this, because i tend to write most about the characters i project on to or see myself reflected in, and, unsurprisingly, 99% of those characters are men, or can be read as men or are men at least some of the time, or more masculine in presentation

jasper from SU has always been my favorite gem and i didn't get invested in the series until she showed up, for example, and i heavily project onto her and see my experiences in her, despite her being considered woman-aligned, which i have no problem with and am actually glad about because there's not a whole lot of very masculine/butch women in mainstream media to start with, though i wish the show had been more sympathetic with her considering she's literally an abuse victim but i digress

but i often don't write for female or fem-presenting canon characters, or focus many of my fics on them, because in order for me to really get attached to a pre-existing character not of my own creation in a series, i need to be able to see some aspect of myself in them, or they need to have something that makes me interested in their story and draws me towards them. but seeing myself reflected in a character who is a woman or identifies mostly or often as a woman is dysphoria-inducing for me. that's why most of the female characters i write for are my own OCs, because i created them, which means a little piece of me goes into them, which means i'm able to have that connection i often lack with canon characters. i also tend to make the most content for characters i feel attracted towards, who are always men because i'm gay lmao

like i'm not misogynistic or a misogynist. i don't hate women. it's just that between my writing process and the canon characters my brain gets attached to, when i write fic, i write about the canon characters i care about the most, who most often tend to be men because i'm mostly in fandoms of male character-dominated series where the women are either uninteresting, poorly written, or extremely minor, or all three in the worst case scenario. and since i do this for fun, i'm not gonna waste my time writing something i'm not 100% passionate about just because there's a lack of f/f and women-centric content like

that's a problem! but it's a problem that can be just as easily fixed by the people who are demanding more content themselves if they, yknow, actually made some. which a lot of them don't

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

[byuntrash101]

I'm honestly am not going to make myself anonymous because I want other writers to reach out for help.

I used to make oneshots on wattpad but mainly ao3 and there was a good audience there but my genuine question is like how do u get more out there ?? I wanna make stories but there has to be an audience to persuade me no matter what. I'm writing this in genuine stress bc I just deleted like my whole story and I am mid breakdown.

I am more of a one shot person than a story person because my ideas can't run for a long time, like I be having one of the most BRILLIANT ideas but I have no idea how to keep on an idea , the main question is how do u make your stories go on for long?

Do you also go by what the audience likes or do u go by what you like and do u ever get any type of judgement in a way.

I'm more used to like the wattpad / ao3 community , is there any difference with tumblr in a way ? 😭🤌🏾

I'm sorry for asking so much questions too, love your stories ♡

Heyyy sorry for the delayed answer!

Okay so my first and main advice is YOU SHOULD ONLY WRITE THE STUFF THAT YOU LIKE NOT THE READERS! Don't worry when you enjoy writting it is perceivable by the readers and it makes everyone's experience more enjoyable. The readers will know if you have no passion about what you write and therefore it's useless you put yourself thought toture for nothing. Write the stuff that you like. For instance smut is popular here but if you don't want to write it then don't. Or you you wanna write dark smut with obscure kinks then do it! People who enjoy your content will find you!

So following that is if you are more of a one shot person... awesome! stick to that! don't force yourself! I'm only now starting to understand i, too, am more of a one shot person. soooo maybe one day you'll have inspiration for a long chaptered story and you'll go with that in the meantime don't force anything and just write your one shots girl.

For the differences between the communities i can only talk about tumblr and wattpad. I write for wattpad and i must say it's a lot harder to get your stories known. The tags don't work as well as here. I think readers on wattpad like smaller chapters but many chapteres. As for tumblr people here like the long one shot. My most noted post here is a one shot that almost 12K long haha. I published on wattpad and it didn't do as well. But it's okay.

My last advice is please don't get too hung up on the numbers. It's only normal to want that a story you put your heart into does well but it takes times to get readers and build a community so please be patient and don't compare yourself to other authors (im guilty of that one way too often).

I hope i could help ^^

[serialreblogger]

some of your post/reblogs were so relatable to me that more and more I think I may have ADHD (I'm like, at least 70% sure of this and the 30% is me searching for a psychiatrist/therapist that I can trust/afford, anyway) so, since your how to essay post Im talking myself to ask if you have some study tips or tips to focus, anything to help, really. I'm in college and I can't focus to read 2 paragraphs which makes me anxious and makes me procrastinate because I can't study and I HAVE to study so I avoid everything but then I think NOW I have even less time to study and I got stuck in this circle. And because I can't read anything I also cant bullshit my way writing papers that I have to so I don't do this too, so I'm just spiraling more and more with this which also doesn't help with the depression. And I'm so, so SORRY to dump my problems on you (this isn't my intention here) but if you have some tips or don't mind talking about what you do to study I really appreciate it with all my heart.

oh friend, i’m so sorry to hear you’re goin through that, it’s EXTREMELY relatable tho. everything you just wrote basically sums up my entire first year of university (just add in a couple dozen spiralling panic attacks on the basement floor and you’ll be me), and while i wish i had advice i could promise would solve the issue, i don’t... know? that i would recommend doing exactly what i did? because while i made it through university with ridiculously good grades, i also exacerbated a pre-existing anxiety disorder to the point where i literally could not bear being alive for a while there.

but for whatever it’s worth, and bearing in mind that you need to prioritize your own well-being WAY above whatever grades you get on a stupid piece of paper, here’s some tips on how to get through course readings, based on what i’ve learned through blood, tears, trial and error:

don’t read the full two paragraphs, to start. ADHD makes reading academic articles hell, but (and i genuinely don’t know if this is possible for anyone else, the chemical cocktail of debilitating anxiety that was my brain at the time made me do things i otherwise couldn’t and definitely shouldn’t) i did manage to finagle a way to make it work for me.

See, the thing about academic papers is that they’re very nicely organized. every paragraph is dedicated to making an individual point, which is introduced at the beginning and summarized, more or less, towards the end. this means you can get a very handy-dandy trick, because here’s the thing about ADHD brains: we’re VERY GOOD at making connections.

so here’s the trick: you don’t actually have to read the paragraphs. Not the full ones, anyway.

Let’s break it down:

First, what is the overall reading meant to address? What’s the title of the book or article? Is there a heading or subtitle to provide you with extra information?

Second, what is the thesis statement in your paragraph? Yes, every essay has a thesis statement, but every paragraph also has a specific point to make, which is stated in a sort of mini-thesis, typically right at the beginning.

Once you know this thesis statement, the rest of the paragraph is just fleshing out and providing evidence for that statement. You can keep reading if you need more information to understand what the author’s getting at, but once you’ve got that thesis statement, the rest is just there to get in your way.

For neurotypicals, I think, it’s maybe necessary to read this stuff all the way through? I don’t know. What I do know is that, for ADHDers, we tend to be very, very good at making extrapolations from very minimal information, based on all the surrounding context.

You don’t need to do the full readings. You just need to read the first sentence, process what it’s saying, and skip over the rest.

(if the first sentence of the paragraph is nonsense to you, don’t panic. often the first sentence or even the whole introductory paragraph is intentionally confusing, so if there’s something you don’t understand, disregard it and move on to the second sentence, or the next paragraph.

this happens often, because a lot of academic writing is just a power play on the part of the writer. “Look How Smart I Am Compared To You, You Have To Work So Hard To Figure Out What I’m Saying,” etc. Don’t buy it, tho--the true measure of intelligence isn’t how thoroughly you can confuse someone else, it’s how effectively you can share the knowledge you have. Intelligence is useless if you can’t share it.

Do whatever you can to make it through essential readings, but don’t be intimidated by them. If you can’t understand them, it’s not because you aren’t “smart enough,” it’s because they’re badly written.)

Final notes: this process is meant to walk you through reading papers, but it also lowkey applies to a lot of insurmountable tasks in academia.

You look at a 5-page paper, look at your attention span, and immediately despair because yeah, that’s impossible. The solution is not to expand your attention span, because that’s also impossible. So, instead, don’t look at the 5 pages.

Look at an impossible task, and break it down into its smallest pieces.

Don’t look at the 5 pages, don’t even look at the first two paragraphs. Make a plan for how reading a single paragraph might be possible for you (in this case, break the paragraph down into its own components, and skim over most of them in favour of reading only the most necessary portions). Then focus on finding those one or two sentences you need in the very first paragraph. That’s doable.

You do that, and then you move onto the next.

It’s extremely difficult, especially for ADHDers, to limit your mental vision to the most immediate task and stop looking at the big picture, but it’s also necessary. If you can find a way to make the smallest tasks possible for you, you can break the big, impossible ones down until they’re made of tiny chores. You can do tiny chores. You can read one sentence, take five minutes to process it, but you can read it. That’s all you need to be able to do.

Read one sentence. Skip the rest. Move on to the next paragraph. Repeat.

That’s the real secret, the one that got me through university. It’s impossible to complete a biology lab, it’s impossible to read this entire interminable textbook, so don’t think about the impossible tasks. Think about the single step directly in front of you, focus entirely on that, and eventually, the impossible tasks will be done.

(The other thing I recommend is not taking a full courseload. Please, please, please make sure that in addition to getting your schoolwork done, you also have enough time left over for you to truly relax, and not feel guilty for doing so. If you’re getting intrusive thoughts halfway through an essay, but instead of terrible things you’re thinking about your latest favourite TV show and feel like your brain is thirsty to watch it? You’re working too hard. Take it from someone who ignored their own mental needs until it wrecked them past the point of continuing--burnout is not fun, and you deserve to protect yourself from it. Take it slow. Your wants are just as important as your needs, and both are way more important than your schoolwork.)