#but I want to try out something new in my structure so we will see how that goes

[ohitslen]

WOW WHAT. I UPDATED 🎉Ch. 6 of The neighbor from 311 is up!🎉

[anaalnathrakhs]

i keep looking at posts like "i stopped a binge" "i prevented a binge" and all of them are like. "i waited until the urge went away". buddy. the urge doesn't go away. there's no urge. there's just nothing else to do. i don't have anything else to do. every time i stop eating no matter how long i sit with the feeling or not, i always go for more food because there is genuinely nothing else in my life. nothing is enjoyable anymore. the world sucks. no matter what i force myself to do it's the only positive thing i can ever find.

[sunderwight]

Headcanon that Shen Yuan was hotter than Shen Qingqiu, actually.

Like yeah SQQ being a cultivator gave him a boost to enough attributes + being in a stallion novel where everyone is either unrealistic hot or dog's butt ugly got the Shen Qingqiu body extra points, and he wasn't bad looking to begin with. Plus not being ill is vastly more important to the new Shen Qingqiu than those extra hotness points (Without a Cure notwithstanding). But part of the reason why he's kind of like, meh, at least I'm not hideous or anything, is because Shen Yuan's original body was a knock out.

I also like him as chronically ill, and, as many people know, beauty standards and sustained suffering are not as incompatible as they should be. Shen Yuan was conventionally attractive in part because conventional beauty standards seem to want everyone slowly dying all the time. But even setting that aside, the man had flawless bone structure, an appealing figure, captivating eyes, and the kind of voice that stopped people in their tracks.

All of which was a contributing factor to his antisocial lifestyle, actually. Despite the fact that Shen Yuan does enjoy company and requires a certain baseline of social enrichment for his enclosure, his internalized homophobia and closeting did not play well with overtures from interested parties (regardless of gender). The only way to minimize the odds of him being asked out on dates was to essentially become a shut-in, especially since even Shen Yuan can only make so many excuses before he himself starts to notice that he's going to a lot of effort to avoid specifically that avenue of socialization. Far better to just remove himself from any risk of it, and then vocally lament that oh no he's just too much of a nerd to get anywhere with women!

Anyway this largely doesn't matter much outside of sheer comedy potential for any situation where SY gets his old body/life back. Like imagine a reveal scenario where the System is going to transport them back to their old lives.

Shang Qinghua: well bro I guess this is gonna be the ultimate test of love, right?

Shen Yuan: what do you mean?

Shang Qinghua: our husbands are gonna see what we looked like back before we were glorious cultivators! they're going to have to track us down in our mundane, kinda shitty pre-transmigration lives! it's gonna be at least a little embarrassing, right?

Shen Yuan: *gets his old body back*

Shang Qinghua, normal human with average looks: ...

Shen Yuan, exemplary 11/10: ?

Shang Qinghua: what. the fuck?? bro what the fuck why are you hot???

Shen Yuan: don't make it weird

Shang Qinghua: make it weird??? why were you sitting at home reading my shitty novel when you could have been out there building your own harem???

Shen Yuan: stop exaggerating

Shang Qinghua: oh my god you've always been like this. this is it, isn't it? it wasn't even brain damage from the transmigration or something--

Shen Yuan: hey

Shang Qinghua: --you've just always been completely unaware, haven't you? every time I wrote a beautiful woman who didn't know her own appeal you'd be jumping down my throat--

Shen Yuan: because that's a stupid trope--!

Shang Qinghua: --JUMPING DOWN MY THROAT EXACTLY LIKE THAT but this whole time THIS WHOLE TIME it wasn't even a glow-up issue, you've just been that, personified, yourself--

Shen Yuan: look I know I'm not ugly but I'm not I'm hardly that good-looking

Shang Qinghua: YOU ARE NEVER ALLOWED TO CRITICIZE THAT TROPE AGAIN! oh my god. how many broken hearts did you leave behind when you died?!

Shen Yuan: none, I wasn't even seeing anyone--

Shang Qinghua: yeah full offense but I am nottt taking your word for that. I bet you had a harem you didn't know about in this lifetime too. I bet you had a fan club, like an anime prince

Shen Yuan: *mumbling*

Shang Qinghua: what was that?

Shen Yuan: I said... only in high school...

Shang Qinghua: oh my god

Shen Yuan: it wasn't a big deal!

Shang Qinghua: *frantically trying to see if he can find any trace of it on the internet now*

[derinwrites]

The Three Commandments

The thing about writing is this: you gotta start in medias res, to hook your readers with action immediately. But readers aren’t invested in people they know nothing about, so start with a framing scene that instead describes the characters and the stakes. But those scenes are boring, so cut straight to the action, after opening with a clever quip, but open in the style of the story, and try not to be too clever in the opener, it looks tacky. One shouldn’t use too many dialogue tags, it’s distracting; but you can use ‘said’ a lot, because ‘said’ is invisible, but don’t use ‘said’ too much because it’s boring and uninformative – make sure to vary your dialogue tags to be as descriptive as possible, except don’t do that because it’s distracting, and instead rely mostly on ‘said’ and only use others when you need them. But don’t use ‘said’ too often; you should avoid dialogue tags as much as you possibly can and indicate speakers through describing their reactions. But don’t do that, it’s distracting.

Having a viewpoint character describe themselves is amateurish, so avoid that. But also be sure to describe your viewpoint character so that the reader can picture them. And include a lot of introspection, so we can see their mindset, but don’t include too much introspection, because it’s boring and takes away from the action and really bogs down the story, but also remember to include plenty of introspection so your character doesn’t feel like a robot. And adverbs are great action descriptors; you should have a lot of them, but don’t use a lot of adverbs; they’re amateurish and bog down the story. And

The reason new writers are bombarded with so much outright contradictory writing advice is that these tips are conditional. It depends on your style, your genre, your audience, your level of skill, and what problems in your writing you’re trying to fix. Which is why, when I’m writing, I tend to focus on what I call my Three Commandments of Writing. These are the overall rules; before accepting any writing advice, I check whether it reinforces one of these rules or not. If not, I ditch it.

1: Thou Shalt Have Something To Say

What’s your book about?

I don’t mean, describe to me the plot. I mean, why should anybody read this? What’s its thesis? What’s its reason for existence, from the reader’s perspective? People write stories for all kinds of reasons, but things like ‘I just wanted to get it out of my head’ are meaningless from a reader perspective. The greatest piece of writing advice I ever received was you putting words on a page does not obligate anybody to read them. So why are the words there? What point are you trying to make?

The purpose of your story can vary wildly. Usually, you’ll be exploring some kind of thesis, especially if you write genre fiction. Curse Words, for example, is an exploration of self-perpetuating power structures and how aiming for short-term stability and safety can cause long-term problems, as well as the responsibilities of an agitator when seeking to do the necessary work of dismantling those power structures. Most of the things in Curse Words eventually fold back into exploring this question. Alternately, you might just have a really cool idea for a society or alien species or something and want to show it off (note: it can be VERY VERY HARD to carry a story on a ‘cool original concept’ by itself. You think your sky society where they fly above the clouds and have no rainfall and have to harvest water from the clouds below is a cool enough idea to carry a story: You’re almost certainly wrong. These cool concept stories work best when they are either very short, or working in conjunction with exploring a theme). You might be writing a mystery series where each story is a standalone mystery and the point is to present a puzzle and solve a fun mystery each book. Maybe you’re just here to make the reader laugh, and will throw in anything you can find that’ll act as framing for better jokes. In some genres, readers know exactly what they want and have gotten it a hundred times before and want that story again but with different character names – maybe you’re writing one of those. (These stories are popular in romance, pulp fantasy, some action genres, and rather a lot of types of fanfiction).

Whatever the main point of your story is, you should know it by the time you finish the first draft, because you simply cannot write the second draft if you don’t know what the point of the story is. (If you write web serials and are publishing the first draft, you’ll need to figure it out a lot faster.)

Once you know what the point of your story is, you can assess all writing decisions through this lens – does this help or hurt the point of my story?

2: Thou Shalt Respect Thy Reader’s Investment

Readers invest a lot in a story. Sometimes it’s money, if they bought your book, but even if your story is free, they invest time, attention, and emotional investment. The vast majority of your job is making that investment worth it. There are two factors to this – lowering the investment, and increasing the payoff. If you can lower your audience’s suspension of disbelief through consistent characterisation, realistic (for your genre – this may deviate from real realism) worldbuilding, and appropriately foreshadowing and forewarning any unexpected rules of your world. You can lower the amount of effort or attention your audience need to put into getting into your story by writing in a clear manner, using an entertaining tone, and relying on cultural touchpoints they understand already instead of pushing them in the deep end into a completely unfamiliar situation. The lower their initial investment, the easier it is to make the payoff worth it.

Two important notes here: one, not all audiences view investment in the same way. Your average reader views time as a major investment, but readers of long fiction (epic fantasies, web serials, et cetera) often view length as part of the payoff. Brandon Sanderson fans don’t grab his latest book and think “Uuuugh, why does it have to be so looong!” Similarly, some people like being thrown in the deep end and having to put a lot of work into figuring out what the fuck is going on with no onboarding. This is one of science fiction’s main tactics for forcibly immersing you in a future world. So the valuation of what counts as too much investment varies drastically between readers.

Two, it’s not always the best idea to minimise the necessary investment at all costs. Generally, engagement with art asks something of us, and that’s part of the appeal. Minimum-effort books do have their appeal and their place, in the same way that idle games or repetitive sitcoms have their appeal and their place, but the memorable stories, the ones that have staying power and provide real value, are the ones that ask something of the reader. If they’re not investing anything, they have no incentive to engage, and you’re just filling in time. This commandment does not exist to tell you to try to ask nothing of your audience – you should be asking something of your audience. It exists to tell you to respect that investment. Know what you’re asking of your audience, and make sure that the ask is less than the payoff.

The other way to respect the investment is of course to focus on a great payoff. Make those characters socially fascinating, make that sacrifice emotionally rending, make the answer to that mystery intellectually fulfilling. If you can make the investment worth it, they’ll enjoy your story. And if you consistently make their investment worth it, you build trust, and they’ll be willing to invest more next time, which means you can ask more of them and give them an even better payoff. Audience trust is a very precious currency and this is how you build it – be worth their time.

But how do you know what your audience does and doesn’t consider an onerous investment? And how do you know what kinds of payoff they’ll find rewarding? Easy – they self-sort. Part of your job is telling your audience what to expect from you as soon as you can, so that if it’s not for them, they’ll leave, and if it is, they’ll invest and appreciate the return. (“Oh but I want as many people reading my story as possible!” No, you don’t. If you want that, you can write paint-by-numbers common denominator mass appeal fic. What you want is the audience who will enjoy your story; everyone else is a waste of time, and is in fact, detrimental to your success, because if they don’t like your story then they’re likely to be bad marketing. You want these people to bounce off and leave before you disappoint them. Don’t try to trick them into staying around.) Your audience should know, very early on, what kind of an experience they’re in for, what the tone will be, the genre and character(s) they’re going to follow, that sort of thing. The first couple of chapters of Time to Orbit: Unknown, for example, are a micro-example of the sorts of mysteries that Aspen will be dealing with for most of the book, as well as a sample of their character voice, the way they approach problems, and enough of their background, world and behaviour for the reader to decide if this sort of story is for them. We also start the story with some mildly graphic medical stuff, enough physics for the reader to determine the ‘hardness’ of the scifi, and about the level of physical risk that Aspen will be putting themselves at for most of the book. This is all important information for a reader to have.

If you are mindful of the investment your readers are making, mindful of the value of the payoff, and honest with them about both from the start so that they can decide whether the story is for them, you can respect their investment and make sure they have a good time.

3: Thou Shalt Not Make Thy World Less Interesting

This one’s really about payoff, but it’s important enough to be its own commandment. It relates primarily to twists, reveals, worldbuilding, and killing off storylines or characters. One mistake that I see new writers make all the time is that they tank the engagement of their story by introducing a cool fun twist that seems so awesome in the moment and then… is a major letdown, because the implications make the world less interesting.

“It was all a dream” twists often fall into this trap. Contrary to popular opinion, I think these twists can be done extremely well. I’ve seen them done extremely well. The vast majority of the time, they’re very bad. They’re bad because they take an interesting world and make it boring. The same is true of poorly thought out, shocking character deaths – when you kill a character, you kill their potential, and if they’re a character worth killing in a high impact way then this is always a huge sacrifice on your part. Is it worth it? Will it make the story more interesting? Similarly, if your bad guy is going to get up and gloat ‘Aha, your quest was all planned by me, I was working in the shadows to get you to acquire the Mystery Object since I could not! You have fallen into my trap! Now give me the Mystery Object!’, is this a more interesting story than if the protagonist’s journey had actually been their own unmanipulated adventure? It makes your bad guy look clever and can be a cool twist, but does it mean that all those times your protagonist escaped the bad guy’s men by the skin of his teeth, he was being allowed to escape? Are they retroactively less interesting now?

Whether these twists work or not will depend on how you’ve constructed the rest of your story. Do they make your world more or less interesting?

If you have the audience’s trust, it’s permissible to make your world temporarily less interesting. You can kill off the cool guy with the awesome plan, or make it so that the Chosen One wasn’t actually the Chosen One, or even have the main character wake up and find out it was all a dream, and let the reader marinate in disappointment for a little while before you pick it up again and turn things around so that actually, that twist does lead to a more interesting story! But you have to pick it up again. Don’t leave them with the version that’s less interesting than the story you tanked for the twist. The general slop of interest must trend upward, and your sacrifices need to all lead into the more interesting world. Otherwise, your readers will be disappointed, and their experience will be tainted.

Whenever I’m looking at a new piece of writing advice, I view it through these three rules. Is this plot still delivering on the book’s purpose, or have I gone off the rails somewhere and just stared writing random stuff? Does making this character ‘more relateable’ help or hinder that goal? Does this argument with the protagonists’ mother tell the reader anything or lead to any useful payoff; is it respectful of their time? Will starting in medias res give the audience an accurate view of the story and help them decide whether to invest? Does this big twist that challenges all the assumptions we’ve made so far imply a world that is more or less interesting than the world previously implied?

Hopefully these can help you, too.

[honeybubblebeeeeee]

Arranged marriage AU!Toji x Reader

Summary: Your son with toji, Megumi, said his first words today

CW: toji is cold and distant mostly hurt and no comfort mild fluff i guess??

Idk this was a random thought and now its here

REQUESTS OPEN!

Marriages were not always done out of love. Some were done out of necessity or desperation. Much like the one you were currently in. It was necessity of clans and land squabbles and power hungry old men that didn't care for the feelings of those around them - only getting what they want.

And in your case they got what they wanted. Did you get anything you wanted? Well kinda.

Being in an arranged marriage to Toji wasn't the worst thing to happen to you. It could be worse but it could also be much, much better.

You had known each other since you were children as it was planned from a young age that you two were to be married. You hadn't minded. Toji was attractive and you had a mini crush on him for the longest time but he always detested you. You knew of the numerous women he had slept with before your marriage, having run into them multiple times. It felt like he was trying to push you away, to force you to beg for an out but you both knew that wasn't happening.

You had only been married for a short time now almost two years. It had been mostly uneventful in the name of new marriages aside from - ya know - the whole baby you had. Toji and you were told to waste no time in trying to produce an heir and really that was the only Toji showed you any affection. Outside of those moments he was cold and inattentive. Those moments were only out of the necessity to reproduce anyway. He didn't interact with your son Megumi very much either.

You cleaned up the kitchen after dinner in your large but yet lonely house. Toji was still out. Work or something else you weren't sure. Megumi babbled and bounced as he watched you move around the kitchen from his highchair, music played in the background. You smiled at him as he babbled. "Hi 'Gumi." You waved at him smiling wide. He laughed giddly at your voice, his mop of black hair bouncing with his movements.

He was the happiest and the cutest baby you had ever seen. You were more than proud of yourself. It was only mildly hurtful that Megumi was identical to Toji. His dark hair, his facial structure screamed Toji. The only thing he had gotten from you was your eyes. They reflected back at you as you approached the bouncing baby putting him on your hip.

You danced along to he music, bouncing him around as he laughed and babbled.

You put him down on the floor as you turned off the music. He continued babbling to himself as he crawled around. "Dadadadadada"

You turned almost comically slow to look down at your son. "What?!" Your smile was wide and your face was full of surprise.

Megumi babbled on again almost coherently. "dadadadadada"

You were so in shock you could barely move. Picking him up and swiftly sitting him on the counter. "Gumi did you say dada?! Say it again! Say dada."

Megumi laughed and babbled at you. You repeated the word multiple times, he watched intently his mouth moving as if trying to copy you. More coherent this time. "Dada"

You smiled wide and clapped at him. "Good job Megumi!! Oh my we have to tell Dada don't we? Such a smart boy."

Within the same moment Toji burst through the front door. You looked up at him as he passed by the kitchen, not even taking off his shoes before going to stomp up the stairs. "Toji! Oh my gosh come here Megumi just-"

"Leave me alone." He marched up the stairs. You heard his footsteps through the house and his bedroom door slammed. You looked down at Megumi as his small hands held onto your shirt and he looked up at you with big eyes. "Dada." You smiled softly at him. "Yeah baby... dada." Looking towards the stairs as if seeing him stomp up to them all over again.

Hours went by and he never came back down. You texted him that his dinner was in the fridge, that you wanted to show him something, that you were here for him if he needed anything, that you were sorry he had a bad day and he never answered or even read a single message.

Since figuring out he could say 'dada' Megumi had not stopped repeating it. You knew it wasn't to annoy you but you couldn't help feel a pang of hurt every time he said it. Toji was rarely around. Why couldn't his first word be mama, the one who is always around?

It was Megumi's bed time but you really thought Toji hearing Megumi would lighten up his day a little. You sighed to yourself as you built lego towers with Megumi upstairs in his playroom. Here you were, still trying to be the wife but he really was making you into a stranger.

You bathed and dressed Megumi in his pjs and held him close as he looked up at you. "Should we go see if dada is busy Megumi?" His eyes widened at the word and continued his babbling mantra of it. You walked through the east half of the house where your room and Megumi's plus your own office, some extra rooms and Megumi's playroom were. Toji's side was the west wing. If you were actually husband and wife you would share the north wing, where the extravagant bedroom - apartment practically - sat bare and collected dust. You looked to the double doors at the end of the north hall with disappointment before making you way to the west end and stepping up to Toji's door.

You hesitated before knocking softly. Waiting a moment before looking down at Megumi and shrugging. "I don't know if he's awake bud." You thought for a moment before slowly pushing the door open and peering inside. The light were on so you entered even though you knew you shouldn't. Toji never let you in his room. You'd only be in here a handful of times and all those times were unpleasant.

You walked through the sitting area into the bedroom until you noticed the bathroom door shut. You shook your head, looking to Megumi, pushing his hair out of his eyes. "I think we will show dada tomorrow okay?" Megumi was unusually quiet, maybe being able to feel the tension that grew in your body. Turning swiftly you made for the door you came through but before you made it out of the bedroom the bathroom door opened.

"What are you doing in here?" Toji's voice was loud and cold. You turned to look at him. Water dripped from his wet hair, his body damp with steam. A towel hung loosely around his waist. "Did I say you could come in my room?" His eyes bore holes into you. The heat that rushed into your face gave away your fear.

You looked down to the son you both created, trying to look anywhere but at the way his muscled form rippled infront of you. It was easier to pretend you didn't find him attractive or care about him or have feelings for him when he wasn't right infront of you.

"Oh... sorry... I just..."

He eyed you, how you stayed focus on Megumi. The small boy holding onto your free hand. "What happened? Is Megumi ok?" His expression changed as he approached the two of you. His voice still cold and annoyed but a hint of concern hid underneath it all.

Your head snapped to him. Eyeing him closely for a reaction. "Nothing I just... he said his first word today. I thought it might cheer you up to hear it if I can get him to say it again."

His features softened ever so slightly. "His first word?" Toji tilted his head in thought. "What was it?" You couldn't help but notice the small amount of excitement in his voice.

Megumi bounced in your arms at Toji's voice, babbling along as if trying to figure out how to say it all over again. I smiled at Toji and then back down at Megumi. I pointed at Toji. "Who's that Gumi? Hmm? Say dada! Say it again baby show dada."

Megumi babbled and pointed towards Toji for a few moments before sounding out dada once again.

Toji's face immediately brightened. "What?! Dada??" He chuckled deeply, one that sounded genuine and it shook something in you. "He actually said it. Good boy Megumi." Toji stepped up to you and the baby as he spoke. Brushing Megumi's heap of hair back.

You kissed to side of Megumi's head as he bounced on your hip. "He hasn't even said mama yet." You chuckled softly but the tinge of hurt was in your voice. "Anyway that was all I wanted to tell you. Sorry for coming in your room, I know I'm not supposed to."

He shook his head. "it's okay." He assured as he watched Megumi babble and squirm in your grip. He was overtired for sure. Toji seemed to be a different person than the one you had come accustomed. His permanent scowl was gone and he looked almost happy. "Can I hold him?"

His question shocked you. Eyes widening but you handed him over.

Toji softly cradled him, rocking him back and forth as he whispered to him. Megumi didn't cry or fuss, even his overtired babbling stopped. Slowly his eyes got heavy and closed. You watched intently as Toji interacted with your son. If it could be like this all the time.

"He really does have my hair. He's got your eyes too." Toji commented quietly while admiring his son. His eyes flicked up to yours for a moment.

I smiled at him. "Yeah... he does..."

Toji chuckled softly. "He really does look like me. It's kinda scary."

You laughed a little more sincerely than you intended. "He does, has your personality too."

Toji chuckled low. "Yeah, he's cold and distant just like me?"

Your smile dropped, panic set in at his words. "Oh n-no I didn't mean it like that..."

Toji shook his head and looked up at you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips at your panicked expression. "I was joking, I know what you meant." He assured as he watched the sleeping Megumi in his arms.

You let go of a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. "oh right."

Toji whole aura seemed to relax when he held Megumi. You wished he could be around all the time. That he could be the father figure Megumi needed. That he could be the husband you wanted. To come home after a long day, and sit together. To be able to go to him when you needed a hug or reassurance or just wanted to feel loved. Your eyes focused as you realized that Toji was watching you deep in thought. Shaking your head you held out your arms. "I can take him now if you want. I don't want to bother you."

He held onto Megumi for a moment, seeming almost reluctant before handing him over to you. You smiled and nodded at him, turning to leave. He called out to you as you reached the door. "Wait, Y/N-"

You turned to look at him. "What's up?"

He opened his mouth to say something but closed it slowly. "Never mind sorry. Goodnight."

You eyed him for a moment before reluctantly turning away. "Alright... goodnight."

He couldn't bring himself to tell you the things he wanted to say. He couldn't find the words. How does he make up for the suffering you already endured? You had always so easily melted his cold dead heart, so he kept you at a distance but you had been so close. He already felt it melting.

[coremilk]

UNWANTED STANDPOINT

Before the TMA/TME dichotomy was put in those terms, people found issue with the fact that in order to discuss transmisogyny without talking over transfems they had to reveal some combination of their ASAB, gender or trans status in some way. TMA/TME is a gesture at a solution that allows people to locate themselves in relation to structural transmisogyny while revealing only the absolute minimum information required to do so. It is also a terminology that allows for discussing transmisogyny without making any extraneous assertions or assumptions pertaining to the subjects of discussion.

The fact that this is the most minimal possible terminology for discussing transmisogyny in terms of group relationships makes it seem like our last line of defense against saying "it's not a problem to speak over transfems" and that seems to be precisely what some people are aiming for: The accusation that we just want to dismiss the views of everyone who isn't transfem is made openly with the implication being that wanting to prioritize the perspectives of transfems in discussions about the oppression of transfems is indicative of something akin to transfem-supremacy.

I don't see what we can take away or add or change to address the criticisms made of TMA/TME to the satisfaction of the critics. Informally we could just say transfem and non-transfem but by doing that we have to include all TMA people under the label "transfem". We are already constantly forced to do this for the sake of communication, but it is flattening the possibility space allotted to our identities considerably and it is misleading.

Would any of the criticisms actually be assuaged by us changing the terms to more closely reflect the literal meaning we intend? If we chose terms that precisely conveyed a meaning like "primary target of structural transmisogyny" and "not a primary target of structural transmisogyny" would anyone at all actually be satisfied? Or would the goalposts be moved once again?

I see questions like "Should we perhaps make a binary like this for other forms of oppression too? Should we say ableism-affected and ableism-exempt?" put forward as an argument against these terms and I just don't think this would be a big deal. The reason we don't usually need to do that is that it's generally understood how purposefully obfuscating your your own relationship to a form of oppression in controversial discussions of it is suspect. Have we abandoned standpoint epistemology altogether at this point, or is ours a special case?

We are told that we are creating a new binary by using TMA/TME terminology but that is presupposing that that this binary didn't already exist before we put it into language. The criticism simply assumes its desired conclusion. It makes the brute assertion that TMA people aren't affected by transmisogyny qualitatively differently from TME people to being with (and we're not allowed to litigate this assertion). It denies outright that transmisogyny is what we mean by it and tells us that we shouldn't mean by transmisogyny what we do mean by it. We are told that we are reinforcing or even creating the arbitrary, inconsistent, socially constructed systems on the basis of which we are oppressed by acknowledging the arbitrary, inconsistent, socially constructed systems on the basis of which we are oppressed in our analysis.

"You just want to know what's in people's pants" I do not, and you know it. "You just want to know people's ASAB" I do not, and you know it. Keep your words out of my mouth. What I want is for people to not try to pull the wool over our eyes and stealthily define transmisogyny out of existence by, without acknowledging it, introducing the non-existence of transmisogyny as a settled matter in the premises on the basis of which they criticize our terminology.

If transfems attempting to insist on their ability to not be talked over about their own oppression seems to you like they are engaging in the epistemic marginalization of everyone else then you are a transmiosgynist and deserve to be identified as such. It is because of our epistemic marginalization even in LGBT and trans spaces that we need terms like these. Stripping us of the tools to even attempt to counterbalance our epistemic marginalization by acknowledging it will simply allow for our epistemic marginalization to go unacknowledged once again, to let others speak for us and over us, to re-enshrine the absolute moral right to never have to listen to us.

[soularsss]

Drawing Likeness: with Tem!

okaay since a few people actually showed interest in me sharing a bit of what I've been doing to figure out how to really capture likeness, specifically Temuera Morrison, I figured id do my best to write it out

I am also going to entice you with some of my recent clone art! (oooh some of it is unreleaaasedd)

I am putting the whole thing under the cut because I have a feeling its going to be long:

Read more!!!

a couple disclaimers before we start

-This is not some definite post about how everyone should be drawing clones, nor is it in any way claiming that this is the right way. This is just my musings as I stare at a mans face for way too long and try to replicate it

-I am inexperienced. As kind as you all are to me, drawing real people is relatively new to me, capturing a persons identity through their features is difficult for anybody, and I am no different. I have watched many a video on likeness and had my share of classes, but If im being honest, i rarely put it into practice successfully. So there'll probably be errors in this post or things i will come back to in a few months and wish I had said/done differently

ANYWAYs you guys get my vibe im just here to ramble and today we are rambling about mr copy paste. I am doing this for Law, my clone boy, because I plan on delving further into oc fanart and I want to put effort into representing him correctly!

SO LETS BEGIN

Before even deciding what specific pose of a person I want to draw, I tend to grab a bunch of references and compile them like so

(all of these can be found on my pinterest)

Why so many? Well, we are about to delve into facial features, so when we are dealing with photos we have to take into account that there are an abundance of circumstances that will influence how a persons face will appear, some of these include:

focal length: All of these are taken on different devices, and focal length can play a big part in distorting faces

age will play a part, your face changes a bunch throughout your life!

lighting, while not as major, can muddy the waters and make it difficult to interpret facial planes and features

SO, to make sure we get a proper grasp of what's really going on, I like to make sure we have lots of options to compare and contrast with.

Next up! What I like to do is block out the main facial features with colour on different layers, the features I block out usually are the general face shape, eyebrows, eyes, nose and lips. But what you are looking for is the defining features of a person, so that could include other things! Maybe a scar, or some particularly prominent cheekbones.

I dont have any rhyme or reason when it comes to picking my colours, all that matters is you can see all the shapes clearly.

Now I may be biased, because Ive been staring at these for 4 hours, but notice how it still looks like Tem? :D

Anyways, now we can break these parts down, and you'll see what I mean about compare and contrast:

We'll start with isolating the facial shape, putting all these next to eachother you'll notice they arent exactly the same (partly because of my shoddy work) But the distinguishing features run through each shape! Namely the very soft rectangular shape I sketched out in the bottom right there. Along with his soft, wide jaw structure.

I did the same for the rest of his features!

You'll notice I highlight the prominent shapes and ratios,

When drawing anything, it is important to start from the very base shapes and build up.

When drawing something you want to look like someone, those shapes relative to other shapes is what makes it look like them.

I didnt use the same technique with his eyes and lips, but I wrote out some helpful info for them! More importantly for his eyes.

When drawing eyes, I find the most important part is where exactly I draw the creases, (along with the overall shape of the eye itself) it is important to understand where those will present themselves with hooded eyes.

NOW, with an understanding of his facial features in place, lets take a detour to colours:

before I start, a couple things to note:

-Temuera morrison versus the clone troopers in the animated shows:

While I love the animated shows they don't exactly stay close to their source material. Im going to link here to an excellent post discussing whitewashing specifically in relation to the clones.

Temuera is Māori, of Te Arawa (Ngāti Whakaue) and Tainui (Ngāti Maniapoto, Ngāti Rarua) whakapapa, and also has Scottish and Irish ancestry.

The Māori people are the indigenous Polynesian people of mainland New Zealand (Aotearoa). Māori originated with settlers from East Polynesia. Māori people often vary in skin tone, Skin colour doesn't determine ethnicity. There's often a correlation but it's not a requirement.

But that is a tangent! What we are aiming for is to stay true to Temuera.

Bringing back my reference photos from before, Ive colour picked a buncha values and theyre all over the place. Why doesnt this work?

Similarly to earlier, you have to take into account the photos themselves. Many things like lighting, colour grading (when it comes to filmography) and makeup, can alter how a skin colour presents in photo.

You can attempt to get true to life by swatching from certain places on the face. Here I've tried to pick some photos with good lighting, and I've also tried to avoid overly lit/shaded areas.

Tem has a very warm, tan skin tone, Instead of colour picking I tend to try and replicate it myself, but I do often bring in references to make sure Im staying true to the source!

a brief intermission to talk about colour theory, something I myself struggle with alot. Often, when putting in flat colours without a background, I will forget to make sure the colours i intend to use will work with the skin tone i have picked! (something that is apparent in older works of mine, not just in relation to clones, but in general, the colours I end up with stray largely from their original sources and it is something I am doing my best to keep in mind and improve in! Although I don't think i am nearly experienced enough in the topic to say I have succeeded yet lol.)

anyways back to Tem :))

Now we can put all of that into practice! Things to keep in mind when drawing out a piece next to a reference like this:

the distance between the eyebrows? how far down his face does his nose go? Basically just, in relation to eachother, where do all those shapes we found earlier, sit?

The screenshot above is from before I did it myself, but instead of directly tracing from the reference, a handy trick I use it to complete your sketch first, and then overlay a traced version to see where your inconsistencies are! Alternatively, you could move your sketch over the image, but I didnt do it that way so!! uh!! im sure it works exactly the same!!!!

When it comes to a final illustration, or any sketch that isnt a direct study, of course you can push and pull and stylise! You'll see below that I'm not exactly 1:1 to my reference photo either.

The important thing with stylisation, or at least my own personal understanding of stylisation is that you need to thoroughly understand the thing you are stylizing! "You need to know the rules to break them" and all that. While shapes, lines and rendering can change, when it comes to drawing someone, and making it look like them, you have to make sure to keep their core features true to source. Caricature can capture a persons vibe whilst drastically exaggerating features, but it will only look like them if you KEEP THOSE FEATURES!!!! SHAPES!!! AHHH!!

But that is just my perspective on the discussion of style versus realism, please dont take is as Law, I dont know what Im on about half the time!!

anyways, after fixing your sketch, add local colours!

I rexified him because why tf not! But this is where you can go crazy with that clone personalization!

And then here is a very very barely rendered version (if you guys want me to explain how i RENDER that would need to be a completely different post, and I havent had anyone ask about it yet so who knows! maybe one day) But I digress, hopefully you learnt something new through my ramblings! It has certainly helped me organize my thoughts and I have also found some areas I would like to focus more on in the future to improve my own art!

TLDR: In order to understand an object, be it a face or a building or literally anything, you have to break it down to its simplest forms, understanding LARGER shapes will help you immensely in the long run

If you guys like this sorta content do let me know! I'd be down to do similar things for armor/anything really, I am very anti gatekeep so really anything at all you want to know! Send me an ask :))

also if you see a spelling mistake.. i don’t know how that got there

[novlr]

I have a bad habit of never finishing writing I start - I work hard on a story, make it to 3/4 of the way through, then lose passion for it and start something else. I know the key to overcoming this is discipline, and I’m trying very hard to make myself keep going with my current story that I like very much and spent so much time researching and outlining, but it’s a struggle every day to make my writing goal. Any advice for how to re-ignite writing spark or how to push through to the end?

We can lose our drive to write for a lot of reasons. It often indicates a growing maturity as an artist — you understand the craft better and your own (current) limitations better, and so you begin to feel overwhelmed in a way you didn’t before. It can also be that external anxieties are getting in the way or simply that you’ve lost interest in your current project. 

Hope is not lost. Read on for some tips on reclaiming your writing spark. 

Shift gears

Sometimes, all you need to reignite your writing spark is to engage your brain in a different way. If you’re struggling with your novel, take a break and try writing a poem or a piece of flash fiction. Or, you could try drawing sketches of your characters, a map of your story’s world, or some possible outfits for your climactic battle scene (it doesn’t have to be good. No one’s going to see it). 

The trick is to stay creative but to approach your work from a different angle. 

Change location

If you’ve been trying and failing to write at your desk, surrounded by crumpled up dreams drafts and last week’s candy wrappers, you may be suffering from an environment with stagnant energy. Try taking yourself on a writer’s date: go to a location that fits the tone of the project you’re working on (lux hotel lobby, seedy theatre bar, the wilds of a nearby park), and see if that gets your creative wheels turning. 

Dress [in]appropriately 

In Writing Down the Bones, Natalie Goldberg has a chapter called “Blue Lipstick and a Cigarette Hanging Out Your Mouth”. By this she meant, “Use outfits and props to step outside yourself and get a new perspective”. You might find it helpful to have a special “writer’s sweater” that you only wear when you’re writing or to dress like someone confident and cool enough to smash writer’s block in the face. 

Do some soul-searching

What’s really going on here? If the above tricks aren’t doing it for you, there may be some bigger issues at play that are inhibiting you from connecting to your writing spark. 

Write letters

I’ve written about the restorative powers of letter writing before, and I’ll mention it again: handwritten letters are a great way to get the words flowing. You don’t actually have to send them when you’re done (although you can if you want to); the recipient doesn’t even need to exist. Simply by putting your thoughts down in a low-risk way, you’re unclogging your creative pipes. 

Join a writing group

There’s power and accountability in numbers. You can find writing groups online, through community centres and writers centres, or by sticking a flyer up in a bookshop and starting your own. There’s even a Novlr writing community on Discord where we share tips, struggles, and just generally talk craft! By inviting other people into your writing practice, you’ll have some support and encouragement to keep you going. 

Find your writing spark with writing prompts

The internet is awash with writing prompts. These can be a helpful way to get something down on paper and stretch out your writing muscles. Whether it’s a premise, an opening line, or a character study, writing prompts can give you a gentle, creative push and even inspire new work.

Experiment with found structure

If writing a traditional story feels like pulling out your own teeth, try a found structure story. This means using fictional “found material” like shopping lists, calendars, to-do lists, ticket stubs, banking records, and so forth to create a narrative. 

Here’s an example: Imagine a week in which a bride-to-be prepares for her glorious wedding, is left at the altar, rages in misery, and ultimately emerges healthier and stronger. Now, write her shopping list for each day of that week. How does it change from beginning to end? How much emotional detail can you communicate to the reader through the items that appear on these lists? This can be a fun way to create a story without the anxiety of writing it.

Set a petty life goal

I am a proud champion of the value of pettiness as a motivator. There are plenty of noble reasons to write: to share powerful stories, to help readers in need of healing, to inspire others to write stories themselves, and to draw attention to important social issues or minority identities. 

There are also some really inane and selfish reasons to write: to become more famous than your ex, to appear on TV and make your ex regret everything they’ve ever done to you, to have your book made into a movie and receive casting consultation rights and pitch your favourite actor in the lead role and allow them to take you for coffee as a thank you. But the thing is… these are the motivations that are really going to pull you out of the dirt when you need it most. Find the silly driving goal that really gets under your skin and hold onto it for dear life. 

Forgive yourself

Many writers experience a lot of shame when they aren’t writing as much as they feel they should. Needless to say, this shame only makes the writing harder. Allow yourself the space to take some time when you need it, process your struggles, and return when you’re ready. The page will be waiting when you get back. 

[forthelostones]

𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚏𝚊𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 ➺ 𝚓𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚛𝚢 #𝟽

anderson construction and landscaping had been parked outside your door since you returned home from university. as if the summer couldn't get any hotter, the business owner works overtime in your area. anderson is collecting new, loyal clients of your neighbors, cementing her permanence in your life for the next few months. what's to come of your girlish crush when she keeps showing up?

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜. 18+ (mdni); age-gap, young!reader, older!abby, butch!abby, slow-burn, suggestive language, thoughts of infidelity, ellie ft, smoking/drinking, mentions of parents, nickname: sweetheart, and modern au.

𝚊𝚗. omg hello, what...

♫ 𝚙𝚕𝚊𝚢𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝. willow by renee♫

What was I doing? Showing my old photos like I was a proud parent embarrassing my child before a first date. I let my hand linger on the my bedroom doorknob before finally retreating. My cheeks filled with girlish warmth as I press my palms into my face and try to shake away everything that happened but I can’t. I replay her laugh and innocent curiosity at my past. Her fingers tracing me out on the worn plastic sheet and deep down I wanted nothing more than for those same fingers to feather over my belly into my waistband. I was making a mistake, but damn it felt so good. 

As my phone lit up from my nightstand with a followup from her arrival text, I couldn’t help but smile. 

10:00 p.m: parents were wondering if you wanted to come over for a bbq after work?

10:04 p.m: I have a consultation on the other side of town tomorrow. 

…. 

10:10 p.m: But maybe I can stop by at the tail end of the night and play bartender? 

10:12 p.m: really? that would be really nice but we can save you some food and you not have to worry about working even more. 

So, all day as my new client was showing me the specs of her home I was buzzing nonstop. Bobbing my leg up and down, missing out on important structural details, and checking my phone constantly — this was highly unlike me. I would have to go home, change, and pack up some good liquor that would go with the assumed spread of food. Everyone loves margaritas, right? Besides this, my team was sending me constant updates of the new build up the road and I wanted to check their work before retreating for the night. I was moving at seventy miles per hour with no end in sight. 

“Well, that’s it. Now we know that’s a huge ask for a crew your size but I expect it to take a while.” She smiled. 

My new client, Henrietta, was a 70-year old widow who was trying to find a way to spice up her home for her daughter, in hopes of encouraging her to move back in. I think it’s sweet but a large ask for anyone to make. 

“We can make it happen. Now,” I check my watch. “We’ve kind of gone over time but that’s alright, are you okay if I stop in tomorrow and you invite your daughter so we can all talk?” 

“Absolutely, I’ll tell her to wear something form fitting too!” She screeched silently sizing me up.

“Huh?” I giggle nervously. 

“I mean, I was fast in clubs and what not in New York, I know a lesbian when I see one. And my daughter is available and around your age. You do like Black girls don’t ya?” She sighs. 

“Yes ma’am, I do." 

“Then it’s a date.” 

This day was going on far longer than I imagined and at this rate all the guests would be bbq’d out and not open to drinks. Henrietta was sweet but I can’t help but think that she was a little lonely without her husband around as she went through every room, describing the memories they shared. Once she sends me on my way and I nearly speed through traffic for a 35-minute haul to the opposite side of town. 

6:30 pm: Hey, on my way. 

I got no reply and didn’t have time to wait for one. I pulled my hair up into a bun on the top of my head while I lather my body down with my loofa and watch the grayish water sliver down the drain. I accompany my clean body with a subtle vanilla lotion and spritz of soft piney cologne. I took a bit of gel to my roots to smooth it down into a low pony and weaved in a thick braid, my grey hairs more prominent than ever before. I sigh as I recall how similar I look to Dad.

I reach in my skincare cabinet and smooth out my under eyes with a bit of cold cream followed by a handful of facial moisturizer. All of this to come home sweaty again and in need of the same routine. My stomach tightened with an uncommon feeling, like I was preparing myself for a date and not mellowing in the late night summer humidity. On the way home I knew I wouldn’t have much time to go through outfits so I thought of one that was easy enough to accommodate me. I fingered through my closet for a pair of black bootcut jeans and a medium sized heavy cotton white shirt that fell just below my belly button. To polish it off I slipped on my old red Chucks and forced a smile onto my face with the help of the tight pony.

My travel bag with my mixers and tools clattered on the passenger seat. I wipe my forehead quickly from the sudden change in temperature surrounding me. More speeding and hastily smashed breaks and I finally arrived on the street but not before I take a look at the house on the corner. We should complete it in two months time now. I step out of the car and clip my keys on my belt loop and begin to admire the polished work of my men. Obviously the darkness can hide some imperfections but from where I was standing it looked fine. I decided to leave my truck parked in its normal position as I noted a few unfamiliar cars were still lined up outside. My anxiety quickly manifest into a ping of hope that I would get to serve some people and satisfy them, one in particular. 

I toss my bag over my shoulder and walk a few feet down on the sidewalk. The clamoring of voices and music fluttered throughout the normally quiet neighborhood. All the lights were on in the house as I walked up the driveway to the backyard where uptight men stood in shorts and polos when I knew their bodies were meant for suits. They were clearly colleagues of my clients. I give an awkward wave over to them who stand speaking to each other in frank voices, laughs smothered in generational wealth. They were surrounded by the glare of tiki torches and large, yellow-bulbed string lights, and the low rolling of a fire pit nestled in between patio furniture. 

“Anderson, thanks for stopping by!” The rightful homeowner said in his plain voice. 

I reach out to toss him a hand and he shakes it and fetches a beer for me almost out of thin air, popping the top off instantly. 

“No problem, hope I’m not too late to make everyone at least one cocktail before they go?” I sip. 

“Perfect timing.” His wife says as she trots outside in light blue capri’s and a casual button down. 

I tell them I have tequila and vodka and many limes so they had a choice between a mule or margarita. The small crowd of eight were 2 and 6, many margaritas and only a few mules. I slide through the doors into the kitchen and lay my items down strategically, everything in perfect reach. 

A door closes and my concentration breaks to find her standing in a peachy halter top, her breasts held up firmly against it and a tight, chocolate brown tennis skirt. Once my brain registers that my gaze has wandered up down the length of her body, I find her eyes. “Hey,” is all I can manage to say. 

“Oh, hi there.” She grins almost as if she could read my mind. 

In her right hand is a mixed drink of some sort, looks as if it has a bit of cognac and a sparkling element. 

“I rushed to get here, glad there’s still a crowd.” I tip my head over to the backyard. 

“You’ve saved me from the crowd. I hate my parents work friends, well usually because I’m the last minute errand girl.” 

“Seems like you’re compensating for that just fine.”

She brings the glass to her mouth and shrugs, the liquid fizzing as she inhales. 

“I told you not to do all of this and your plate is in the oven. I gave you a bit of everything because I didn’t know what you liked.” 

A beat falls between us, comfortable but taunting. So provoking that I had no choice but to turn away and rinse off my utensils. “Are you fit to chop some limes?” I question. 

“I’m not drunk Ms. Anderson, I can do that just fine.” 

“What is in that cup anyway?” 

"Crown and sprite, here.” 

She reaches out to me, so causally, as if we had been doing this jive for years. I accept, almost fearful with a slight tremor lying beyond my movements. Our eyes meet and just for a second those eyes drew low and she followed the liquid slither down my throat. 

“Hm.” Is all I could manage when the warm liquid hit the bottom of my rumbling stomach, highlighting the fact that I haven’t eaten all day. 

She walks over to the oven and pull out a wide white, ceramic plate with brown sugar glazed ribs, brisket, a side of coleslaw, baked beans, and mac & cheese, all in separate containers. My eyes grew wide instantly and I look up to her grinning proudly. 

“So, which part of this did you do?” 

“I did the brisket, it’s my speciality.” She sips proudly. 

She kindly reheats the meal and I finish garnishing all of the drinks and delivering them. By the time the small talk is over, I am left in the kitchen with a fresh meal waiting for me to devour it. The last time someone cooked for me was so long ago that I couldn’t even remember what or who it was. Most nights I enjoyed a jarred sauce and store-bought pasta noodles. I didn’t even have enough bravery to purchase a grill and here she was cooking brisket. To be fair, I didn’t come from a family that hosted anyone, we're very recluse, so being in an environment like this is really off-putting. I place a napkin over myself out of fear, and began eating as she caught up on conversation with her mom. 

I had one beer and two margaritas on hand as I sucked the sauce off my fingers, I rubbed my belly and tossed my head back. I was spiraling in bliss. Once I grew the strength to compliment and thank the chefs for my meal I dabble in small talk before all the guests leave. Discussing my new builds and the expansion of the company to be becoming hands-off. Two of the guests mentioned they will contact me for future information and I pass them my business card proudly. 

Moments later I realize only my clients were left and they began cleaning the outdoor space and turning off lights to retreat inside. She changed into boy shorts and a loose fitting tee shirt rolled up to the shoulder, collecting dishes. I sat on the patio furniture, looking up as if there were stars, and sipping on the last drop of my drink. When I heard the sliding door close my heart jumped, now I had her full undivided attention. 

“I think you work too much.”

I feel the weight of the cushion shift under me and suddenly I’m afraid to see how close she is but her voice is so clear, so she’s not far. 

“Life.” 

“No, I seriously do, I mean why couldn’t you just come over to enjoy yourself and relax and talk with potential clients?” 

“I think my pitch sounds better when there’s alcohol involved.” I smile. 

I turn and see she’s farther than I imagined but just close enough to where her features come into full view. She just grins, twirling a singular thread between her fingertips, concentrating on that instead of me. 

“How did the meeting go?” She asked. 

“She set me up on a date with her daughter.” 

“Oh wow. That is one way to double your profits. Is she cute at least?” 

“We will see, I go back tomorrow midday and meet her,” 

She pulled her lips into her mouth and nodded her head slowly. 

“What?” I ask. 

Gradually, a strict warmth travel from my stomach to my eyes, causing my blinks to slow down. My right ear clogs slightly and that’s how I know I made this drink a bit too strong. 

“I don’t think I should be talking to my boss about her relationships.” 

“Whatever. It’s not a relationship, I actually would have never said that in any other circumstance. But right now, I believe I am unable to drive home.” 

She jolts up and leans into me. 

“Abigail Anderson are you drunk?” She whispers. 

“No, no I am tipsy. Tipsy. Final answer.” 

She smacks her strawberry glossed lips and crosses her arms leaning back into her spot. 

“I think the only thing for me to do is drive you home ma’am.” 

“What? No. I couldn’t ask you to do that. I can grab a taxi and be back in the morning before I maybe get towed. What are the overnight rules here?” My face turns hot at the thought of my cherry red in the impound lot. 

“I will drive you home and call a friend for a ride. Easy.” She lifts the glass out my hand, her our fingers making brief contact almost making me sigh out loud. When was the last time I felt a woman’s touch? Easily years, even since my breakup. As I stood up I felt a weight pull on my hips wishing me to sit back down, never in a million years would I assume that I would suddenly become a lightweight. 

“What’s your driving record?” I panic. 

“Never been in an accident before and plus I got points deducted off of my test for going too slow, so if that helps…” 

It was weird sitting in the passenger seat listening to the phone scream out the directions to my place. Time moved too fast but then again not at all. Once the engine came to a halt I inhaled and found myself being courted into my bedroom by my new assistant. 

“Do you need to change before lying in your bed?” She asks. 

“Yes, but I am okay now, why don’t you call your ride?” 

She gently closes the door and I scramble for my pajamas tucked under my pillow. I pull up my boxers and nightshirt and unfurl my body underneath the covers. The air conditioning is at the perfect level and the warmth of my duvet compliments it perfectly. The door slowly creeks open and she comes to me with a glass of water with ice. 

“Do you want to take your hair down?” She asks. 

I completely forgot, the tightness of this will only make my headache worse in the morning. So I tug at the two ponytail holders but struggled and yank at my hair. Her hand rises gently and begins unraveling them to place them on my nightstand.

“Goodnight Abigail.” 

[willowsnook]

I see you (pt. 1)

max verstappen x reader

summary: the reader is living life as if it were a giant checklist to get through. Max is the only one who really sees through her facade and makes her question if this is the life that she really wants

—————————————————

18: graduate high school

22: graduate college with a business degree and land your first job

23: meet the love of your life

25: get married

28: move to the suburbs

30: have kids

A 5-year plan hated to see you coming. You had been this way your whole life, always planning ahead for the future. Your parents used to laugh when you'd lay out your life plan for them, tussling your hair and telling you that life doesn't always work out exactly how you think it will. But now, at 24, it had.

Living in Monaco was a dream, and you were thankful that you landed the job that brought you to the beautiful country. You moved over two years ago and now shared an apartment with your boyfriend, Sam, whom you met when, you guessed it, you were 23.

Your life was perfect. You had a job that paid you well, a boyfriend who loved you, and good structure. You woke up at the same time every morning to run, eat a healthy breakfast, and read for 30 minutes. Your night routine was just as structured. Everything was exactly as it was supposed to be, at least that's what you told yourself.

"Hey, I have to run to make this meeting, but I'll see you tonight, yeah?" Sam asked as he grabbed his backpack off the hallway floor, kissing your cheek as he headed out the door.

"Okay," you replied, but he was already gone, so you turned your attention back to the lunch you were packing for yourself. Your phone pinged and you looked at it to see a text from your brother, asking if you were interested in going to the Monaco GP with him this weekend. You liked going to the races, mainly because, thanks to your brother's best friend, you always had VIP passes. Your brother met Max while karting growing up, and the two stayed friends even when your brother fell out of it. Max was friendly, but he had always made you nervous; it was like when he looked at you, he was looking into your soul.

You told your brother that you could and then shot Sam a quick message letting him know even though he was going to be out of town for the weekend. The morning at work went by quickly, and you were in the cafeteria eating lunch with some of your coworkers, one of whom had just gotten back from her honeymoon.

"Oh my gosh, it was amazing," she gushed. "It was so us, just a little cabin in the mountains."

"What kind of things did you do?" You asked, and she thought for a second before answering.

"Honestly, not a lot. We kind of just hung out together and talked for like four days straight. I don't want to get too cringey with you guys, but the happiness and love I feel knowing that this is who I get to spend the rest of my life with is something I can't even describe. " Your coworker was getting a little emotional talking about her new husband, and you frowned. You couldn't really ever imagine yourself talking about Sam like this.

Sure, you loved him, but did he set your heart on fire? No, but you didn't really believe that was possible; it was just a sentiment made up for romance novels. Sam was stable. He had a good job, a good family, and similar goals. You had different interests, but the important things were the same, and you valued that. He made your life comfortable, which you appreciated.

As your coworker continued speaking, you felt yourself start to get lost in thought. Could you truly love someone so much that they become your entire world? Despite trying to push them away, the doubts and questions that have been lingering in your mind for the past couple of months began to resurface. Were you settling? Were you truly happy?

Your mind was stuck on that topic as you headed home, and you frowned when you finally made it back and saw a note on the counter.

Going to be working late, sorry xo -Sam

This was not unusual. He often was caught up working late hours, but that was the price of success, was it not? Sam was on his way to becoming a partner at a law firm in the city and would not let anything get in the way of that, which was something you admired when you first met him.

The two of you met at a networking event and hit it off, both having moved here from the US after college. You found him insanely attractive, especially the way he took control of any room he was in. He liked that you weren't interested in being arm candy, were focused on your career, and had the ambition to move up in the world.

But as much as you wished you were, you didn't feel like you were that person anymore. To be honest, it felt like you were drowning.

—————————————————————

You loved race weekends in Monaco; they made you nostalgic about your youth, when you spent countless weekends at the track with your brother during your school breaks. Moving through the paddock, you said hello to some friends before spying your brother outside of the Red Bull garage, talking to Max.

"Y/n," he called, waving over to you. You smiled widely, moving into his arms, happy to be reunited. He lives in Milan now, so you don't see him as often as you would like.

"Hi, Max," you greeted the Dutchman, and your eyes met his, twinkling with amusement.

"Little y/l/n," he teased, pulling you into his side. "You know it's crazy to me that we never run into each other."

"She's too busy working all hours of the day," your brother responded, and you rolled your eyes, giving him an annoyed look.

"You are also gone most of the year," you pointed out to Max, and he shrugged.

"How is work, by the way?" your brother asked, and you launched into your overused answer about it going well and that you were excited about the growth coming. He seemed to accept that, but you noticed Max giving you a look, like he almost didn't quite believe you, but he didn't say anything.

Max got pulled away by his team, so you followed your brother into the hospitality area, picking up a plate to get some food.

"Sam didn't want to come?" He asked casually.

"He's on work travel," you told him and he didn't say anything. You knew he didn't like Sam, but you could never really figure out why. "When will you finally tell me why you don't like him?"

"I don't not like him," he said. "I just am not sure I like him for you."

You felt a twinge of irritation at your brother's words. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He sighed, setting down his plate. "Look, I know you've always had this plan for your life. And on paper, Sam fits into that perfectly. But Y/N, when I see you two together... I don't know. There's just something missing."

You opened your mouth to argue but found you couldn't form the words. Your brother's observation hit too close to the doubts you'd been having lately.

"I just want you to be happy, truly happy," he continued softly. "Not just checking boxes off a list."

You stared down at your plate, appetite gone. "I am happy," you mumbled, but the words felt hollow even to your own ears.

Just then, Max reappeared, breaking the tension. "Sorry about that," he said, grabbing a drink from the machine beside you. "You guys should watch from the garage."

Your brother perked up, shooting Max a grateful look. "We would love that."

Admittedly, you were excited to watch from down there. You always wanted to be where the action was, especially when it came to racing. Ever since you were a girl, sports has been your biggest passion in life, even beyond racing. Being from the US, football and baseball had a special place in your heart, and even now, you stay up very, very late to watch your favorite teams. In another life, you knew that you'd have found some kind of job that let you be involved in the industry, but that wasn't how the cards fell in this one.

The race began, and you were instantly swept up by the electric energy of the bustling garage. The scent of gasoline and rubber hung heavy in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of exhaust fumes. Engines roared to life, and tires screeched as cars whizzed by in a blur of color. It was a symphony of sound and motion, each revving engine adding its own distinct note. As you watched in awe, your heart raced along with the cars on the track, feeling alive in this thrilling moment.

Cheering along with everyone you watched Max take another win and you joined your brother to watch the podium ceremony. You were smiling widely as the Dutch anthem played, and Max found your eyes in the crowd, shooting you a wink.

———————————————————————-

Rather than going out, Max wanted to celebrate his win by hosting in his Monaco penthouse. His home was crowded with Redbull employees, the grid, and their friends who wanted to come. You were enjoying yourself, bouncing around and talking to different people you knew from the old days. You were glad to relax for once. After a while, you started to hit a wall and found yourself stepping out on the balcony to get some fresh air, gazing at the cityscape.

The door opened behind you, and you felt another presence join you at the railing. A blanket was gently laid over your shoulders, and you turned, smiling gratefully to Max as he gave you a soft smile back. His eyes looked at you in a way that made you shiver; you felt like you were naked under his gaze. Turning back to the view, you sighed.

"Do you ever wish things could be different?" You asked, surprising even yourself.

Max stood there in thought before answering, "I don't think so. I'm doing everything I've always wanted to, and if I wanted to stop, I would. I thought you had everything that was part of your grand plan?"

You smiled, thinking about your nine-year-old self had even informed Max of what your life was going to look like. "I do."

"I haven't seen you look as you did today when I was on the podium in a long time," he said, and you turned back to him.

"Like what?"

"Like you were happy," he said softly, scanning your face for a reaction, but you felt like a bucket of ice water had been poured over you.

"That's not true," you said weakly, and his gaze bore into yours.

"I see you y/n. I see how you look at your boyfriend like he's what you got in a business transaction. How you look at your job like it's the prize for steadfast loyalty. It's like you're a side character in your own life"

You started to get angry with him for calling you out so bluntly.

"You don't know me, Max," you disputed. He chuckled humorlessly, looking back over the railing.

"Maybe not," Max conceded, his voice softening. "But I remember the girl who used to light up at the track, who couldn't stop talking about sports stats, who dreamed of being a sports journalist. What happened to her?"

His words hit you like a punch to the gut. Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes as memories flooded back—the thrill of live games, the joy of analyzing plays, the excitement of crafting stories about athletes and their journeys. When had you let that passion slip away?

"She grew up," you whispered, but even to your own ears, it sounded unconvincing.

Max turned to face you fully, his blue eyes intense. "Did she? Or did she convince herself that growing up meant giving up on what made her happy?"

You opened your mouth to argue, but no words came out. Deep down, you knew he was right, so you simply turned around and left—left the balcony, left the party, left to get away from the storm of emotions coursing through you.

[the-modern-typewriter]

How do you write something longer than a short story? I can write 50,000 words of short stories, but the moment I begin drafting out a novel it seems an insurmountable task!

The most important thing:

A lot of writers don't plot an entire novel in their head at the start. Some do, but many don't. Novel writing is a marathon not a sprint. If drafting the entire novel is insurmountable, then you can just not plan it out.

Focus on one foot after the other. 500 words. 1000 words. 2000 words. Hell, 100 words! Whatever! The point is that you chip away at the thing, you don't sit down and write the whole thing all in one go.

Structure tips:

Some short stories follow a similar structure as a novel, but many don't, so if you are used to short stories than it's worth having a quick look at how novels are actually structured.

If you haven't already looked at overall story structure, then having some idea of common story structure can help you with organising your thoughts and deciding where things loosely go. This is not something that you must rigidly stick to, but it can help you wrestle the overall shape of a novel in your head.

You could also try plotting each chapter almost as it's own short story, with a beginning, middle and end. E.g. the character has the overarching plot goals sure, but in each chapter there is an event, or conflict, or smaller goal of some sort. If doing that for a chapter is too much, you could also plan acts this way. This can help chunk the novel and make it more manageable, because you're not focused on the novel, you're focused on the chapter.

If you have no problem writing the words in volume, then the problem might be that you're not sure how to turn a short story/idea into a novel. I don't know you, so just guessing here, as it's a common thing to struggle with.

Themes/What is the story about?

If you know what you want to write about, consider a mind map with that idea in the centre. Your offshoots are everything that could serve that idea.

As you write, you will not use all of these, because some will make more sense than others. But having all of these possible events/ways that your story could manifest will help you decide what happens and help make sure it feels coherent to a larger idea.

Key ways to bulk a story

Unlike a short story, a novel requires a certain amount of meat to fill the word count. You need an idea you can sink your teeth into, not padding. Here are some ways to do this:

Dig deeper into your characters. What do they want? What do they need?

Add a subplot or subplots.

Add more characters than your short story.

Example of turning a short story to a novel

There are some different ways to achieve this. I'm going to walk you through how I would do it, in case this is helpful.

Here is an example, using my short story The Blue Key. It is a simple short story inspired by the Bluebeard myth. The idea as it is works for a short story. Obviously, this will include spoilers, so if you want to read the story, do so before continuing.

If I was going to make it into a novel I could/would:

Keep the same overall structure, but flesh out the characters and their relationship more.

For example, I could show them falling in love with each other through the flashbacks, or linger more on the protagonist getting used to her new home. The reader will explore this fantastically huge house with her and learn more about her at the same time. Maybe we explore her insecurities about comparing to his previous wife as he meets more of his friends/immerses herself in his world. We will see the strain more then as the key becomes more and more of an issue.

What is behind the door?

The Blue Key at the moment would not work entirely as a novel. The idea and especially the ending would need tweaking. However, we can continue to explore the same themes as in the short story and expand them.

Previous wife?/E.g. The classic Bluebeard ending

Gateway to a nightmare world?

Some monster/minotaur in the centre of the house that will be released if she opens the door?

A darker version of the husband? A part of him that he has locked away?

I could either have her open the door in the midpoint or at the beginning of the third act. Depending on what is behind the door, the last 25% of the story will play out differently. I'd also write the husband accordingly to drop hints etc. throughout the first half of the story.

Is the house haunted? This changes how the rest of the novel and the protagonist's exploration goes.

(So the non story-specific takeaway here is decide what your original short story was trying to say, and then think how you can expand that.)

Add a subplot/add characters

Possible subplots to explore our themes could include:

The mystery of what happened to the first wife/could include her POV to compare and contrast with the second wife. This could drill more into the idea of not knowing which genre you are in/the inevitability of the fairytale wife and their role.

Maybe the second wife hid letters around the house for the second wife to find.

Maybe the housekeeper or another character key in the husband's life does not like the new wife, a la Rebecca by Daphne Du Maurier (one of my inspirations for The Blue Key). How does this impact the relationship between the couple? How does the protagonist overcome this? How does this tie into the story themes? E.g. if a housekeeper, does she also have a key?

What does the protagonist want to escape in herself that she can't to mirror or foil the key/room/her husband?

I hope this helps. A novel is a bit like a long game of 'and then what? What interests me here? What does a character do? Okay, what problem does that cause? How do they fix the problem? Does their attempt to fix the problem work? Does it cause another problem?

[itsscriptory]

Another Post About Showing and Telling

I feel like it’s a rite of passage for a writing blog to talk about show, don’t tell, so I’ll take a crack at it. 

First of all, to get it out of the way, show, don’t tell is good advice for specific situations, but it’s been taken to mean always show, never tell and that’s not helpful. If you really want to paint with broad brushstrokes, then the better advice would be: Show more than tell. Showing and telling should both be tools in your writer’s toolbox. 

But why should we show more than tell? Because showing is the key to the reader's emotional experience with your story. There are many posts and books out there that go over how to turn your telling into showing (like using active verbs instead of passive, for example, or using concrete, specific details in your descriptions), but I think it’s important to fully digest why we’re making those changes and why the reasoning will push us to become better writers. 

It all comes down to emotion. Writing For Emotional Impact by Karl Iglesias encourages writers to start thinking to themselves: “I’m in the emotion-delivery business, and my job is to evoke emotions in a reader.” Dialogue, theme, setting, pacing, character development, word choice, structure, POV, showing and telling. These are all tools a writer uses in varying proportions to best manipulate a reader’s emotions. The good news is that when a reader picks up a book, they’re willing to be manipulated. In fact, they hope to be. The tough news is that you have to deliver on a sentence by sentence, paragraph by paragraph, scene by scene, and chapter by chapter basis. But that’s okay, because you’re a writer, dammit, and this struggle is where the art of the craft is. 

Showing is where the emotional complexities of our characters, theme, and plot can be revealed gradually without giving too much away too early and robbing engagement from the reader. Showing is what makes the resolution and the journey satisfying. So you can see how much weight it carries and why we want more of that than telling. We’re trying to evoke emotion from the reader, not talk at them like we’re recounting a dream we had last night (yawn). And it’s easier to evoke emotion if we keep them curious. Engaged.

Part of revealing the story gradually through showing is planting evidence for a conclusion that you leave the reader to make themselves, or a conclusion that you will reveal later. Donald Maas in The Emotional Craft of Fiction writes, “The ingredient behind effective showing can be summed up in this word: subtext. When there’s a feeling we’re not being told, but it is evident anyway, that underlying feeling is the subtext. It’s the unspoken emotional truth.” And then a fandom is born and continues to thrive for decades after the show ended! Really, though. Subtext is an ingredient in showing, which fosters engagement, which makes the reader feel something. Sometimes passionately. Every story I love and keep coming back to in one form or another has that special place in my heart because of how it made me feel.

I’ll try to give a simple example here to illustrate subtext and reader engagement at work. Using setting and a couple action beats as an opportunity for subtext, let’s say a character and her sister arrive at their grandmother’s house. Character A remains standing in the corner when invited in, hugging herself, frowning at the green knitted blanket hanging over the couch that looks like the color of nausea. Character B walks easily into the living room, running her hand over the green blanket that reminds her of nature and wellness. In Character B's perspective, she admires her grandmother's craftiness. But it's only in Character's A perspective that we notice the store tag on the blanket. Who do we think has the better relationship with their grandmother, given the evidence? Which one seems more naïve or eager to see her grandmother in a certain light? What assumptions can we make about the grandmother? Might she be putting on a performance of being grandmotherly? The mental work the reader does here would be completely thwarted if the scene had started with “Hannah didn’t like her grandmother because she valued material wealth and appearances over forming a genuine connection with her family.” We can show that instead over time by filtering the world through the perspectives of our characters, and even making it pack an emotional punch if we’re strategic about it.

But I had mentioned that contrary to what show, don’t tell asks us to do, telling isn’t something we should throw away. It can be a tool in its own right. 

Telling is explaining, and explaining keeps people distant from what’s happening in the story. How many times has an “I love you” felt kinda meh in a story because that character hasn’t earned that confession by showing their love through their actions or making some sort of sacrifice? How many times have your eyes glazed over while reading the fourth paragraph of an info dump? How many times, when talking about a book you just read, have you said “well, the first 80 pages were slow…” because it was all backstory? Or maybe a story is entirely forgettable because the telling leaves nothing to the imagination. Donald Maas writes, “Put on a page what a character feels and there’s a pretty good chance that, paradoxically, what the reader feels is nothing.”

However, telling has one thing on showing: efficiency. If a book only showed, then it could go on forever and ever. So a writer has to learn how to weave both showing and telling into the story to control the pacing and delivery of information. If you want subtext or you want something to be vague on purpose, then you’ll probably want to show. If you want to deliver information quickly and with clarity, then you might want to try telling. Does it need to make logical sense to understand the upcoming scene? Maybe tell. Is this transition unimportant to the story and you don’t want to linger? Try telling and see how it works! Ask your beta readers how it worked for them. Of course, if you’re writing in the literary genre, you might be doing a whole lot of telling because what propels the reader to the next page and the next chapter is the form, the prose, and the sheer depth of the exploration of flawed characters. 

It’s all about balance. And practice. Next time you read a book and you find yourself moved, try to figure out how the author just evoked that feeling from you. Was it stated plainly, or was it shown through action? Was it stated plainly after a whole book’s worth of setup through subtext? Was it unexpected? What was the balance of showing and telling that led to it? Or, if you find your focus trailing off, try to figure out why. Then, when you’re editing your own work, you’ll have the tools you need to identify the weak points and make revisions. And it’s okay (even expected) if the perfect balance of showing and telling doesn’t occur in the first draft. The Artful Edit by Susan Bell (highly recommended) talks a lot about the revisions that went into The Great Gatsby. You'll find that his writing struggles are comfortingly familiar. Luckily, he certainly had a wonderful editor :)

For further reading/watching: 

[VIDEO] ShaelinWrites—Show, Don’t Tell | what it means and how to use it

[BOOK] Showing and Telling in Fiction by Marcy Kennedy [BOOK] A Writer’s Guide to Active Setting by Mary Buckham

[cellophanejpeg]

sink your teeth into my flesh | s. hanta

s: Sero’s jealousy flares once more after you reconnect with your high school crush during hero patrol, rekindling old memories and ugly insecurities he had buried deep inside. Just how far would he go to show you he's only trying to protect you?

w: smut, angry sex, jealousy, Sero gets slapped (in a non sexual way, but he deserves it)

n: how do we feel knowing there's only one more chapter left???!!!!! beta read by my queen @jemifis | read on ao3

previous | next | start here

10 years ago

“Okay,” you say, leaving the minuscule bathroom in your dorm room and showing off your new dress to Sero, who was sitting on the edge of your bed. “What do you think?”

He looks up from his phone and pauses, taking in your blue dress and sandals, makeup and hair done. You look beautiful. His heart skips a beat and his face reddens when you spin around, smiling.

“It’s- fine .” He looks away, forcing himself to not look love-sick.

“Fine?” Your smile drops.

“It’s okay.” Sero shrugs. “I don’t understand why you have to go, though.”

You sigh. “Not this again.”

He stands up from your bed and crosses his arms.

“I’m serious. Monoma hates our class, why would he want to go out with you?”

“Wow, Sero. Thank you.” You turn around to enter the bathroom again, but Sero catches you before you do.

“No, I mean!” He holds your elbow, turning you to face him, “Why would you want to go out with him?”

“He makes me laugh,” you shrug.

“That’s not very hard to do, is it?”

“ Hanta! ”

“I’m just saying! You deserve better.”

You lean on the doorframe, head resting on the wooden structure, as you narrow your eyes at him.

“Are you jealous?” You smile, crossing your arms.

The question makes him jump, widening his eyes, “What?! Of course not!”

Sero turns his back on you, taking large steps to make some distance between the both of you. You just laugh, taking one last look in the mirror, ready to go out.

“Well, I’m going, whether you like it or not.” You declare, grabbing your purse from your desk.

“Fine. Have fun then.”

“I will!”

…

Now

“So, funny bumping into Monoma today, right?” Sero says, dropping himself on your bed.

It’s a Friday night and you were doing some chores peacefully in your bedroom, until he barged in through the window.

“You know you can use the door, like a normal person, right?” You say, dropping a bunch of clean laundry to fold and put it in your closet. Sero is still wearing his hero suit, helmet under his arm, sweat glistening on his temples. “And don’t lie on the bed with that gross suit!”

“You seemed to like the suit the other day…” He gives you a shit eating smile.

You just roll your eyes and turn your back to him, hiding the fact that you might look flustered. Walking to your closet, you pull out a spare pair of shorts and a shirt you’d always keep for when he’d show up unannounced like tonight.

“Here.” You throw the clothes at him, “Change your clothes. I just put on clean bed sheets.

Sero sighs, hopping from the bed and undressing. “You seemed so happy to run into him.”

“Who?”

“Phantom Thief,” he says, referring to Monoma’s hero name.

During a patrol round together, you and Sero ran into your old high school crush, Neito Monoma. He recognized you on the spot and you both engaged in a pleasant conversation that lasted longer than it should have, in Sero’s eyes. It’s not like he was jealous or something – he was –, but seeing you smiling and laughing with another guy made him annoyed. Sero tried to chime in a few times, but, apparently, you and Monoma had your own inside jokes and memories to reminisce about.

At the end of the conversation, Monoma even asked for your contact information so you could keep in touch, and you happily obliged. It did leave a bitter taste in Sero’s mouth to see you eagerly type your number in on his phone, but he kept quiet on the way back to the agency.

What broke the camel’s back was when Sero was on his break, after you went home, mindlessly scrolling through his phone when he saw a picture of you, him, and Monoma on a shitty gossip website. You looked so happy talking with Monoma in the picture, as Sero stood behind you, only half of his body in the frame.

It made his blood boil.

“Yeah, it was nice to see someone from school,” you answer, folding a T-shirt, “someone that isn't from our friend group, that is.”

“Especially him, right?” He kicked his shoes off, crossing his ankles.

“What are you talking about?”

“You know, you used to go out with him a lot “

You snort, “Please, it was one date. He was late and it was super awkward. Remember how I kept avoiding him and then you and Bakugou had to scare him away?” You laugh, fond of the memories.

“I remember you being giddy about going out with him.”

You pause. “Are you jealous?”

Sero hesitates for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip. “No.”

“Oh my god, you are!” You bark out a laugh, throwing your head back, “that's new.”

He scoffs, crossing his arms and rolling his eyes. His annoyance grows by the second and he can’t even look at you right now. You walk to him, and go around your bed, patting his head in a condescending way.

“Aw, don't worry about it, you know you're the only one who can make me come.”

“Me and Kaminari apparently,” he mumbles, referring to last week when you and him had some fun with Kaminari at his apartment.

“Oh, here we go again,” you sigh, rolling your eyes, “if I knew it was going to be a problem, I wouldn't have gone along with it.”

“You even squirted all over him!” He hops off the bed to face you better.

“Hanta…” you sigh again, “where is this coming from? I thought you were okay with it–”

“I was, until you started moaning to him, like a whore –”

As soon as the word left his mouth, your hand made contact with his face in a hard slap. You were always quicker than him, your reflexes sharper than his. He stares at you dumbfounded, mouth agape. You stare back, pupils dilated and a deep frown between your eyebrows.

“What the fuck–”

You don’t get to finish as Sero’s mouth is suddenly on yours, his hands cupping your face as he forces his tongue inside your mouth. You used all your strength to push him away and stare back at him for a moment, before kissing him back, giving in to him. The kiss isn’t like the sweet or heated ones you’ve exchanged before. It’s a fight for domination, to see who’s angrier at the other.

It’s a clash of teeth, biting of lips, as Sero reaches for the hem of your shirt and hastily pulls it over your head. You reach for the back of his suit, trembling hands looking for the invisible zipper that would give you access to him; you pull it down his shoulders as you both fall back into the mattress, him on top of you.

Sero kneels on the bed, quickly pulling your shorts down and undressing his suit right after. His toned body comes to view and you salivate at the sight, wanting to lick down his torso and give him the best blowjob of your life. You’re still angry at him, so you hold yourself back, even when he’s on top of you again, mouth on your neck, hand in your hair. He sinks his teeth on the soft flesh right under your ear, making you let out a cry. He’s never been this rough with you, it’s definitely a new sight. You’re not sure if you dislike it completely.

Before you realize, Sero flips you over, having you on your stomach, and pulls your hips up. You’re on your fours now, completely bare to him, but you face the full body mirror you have in front of your bed. Your hair is all messy from Sero’s tugs and your lips are swollen and full from his rough kisses. Your eyes meet his in the reflection, full of lust, as he sinks inside you, not giving time for you to catch your breath. He thrusts inside almost immediately, only pausing to press his chest to your back, and tangle his fingers on your hair. His lips touch your right ear as he makes eye contact with you through the mirror.

“You like it when I’m rough with you?” He says, still thrusting hard inside of you. You don’t respond, still trying to catch your breath from being impaled by his dick just moments ago. Sero pulls your hair even harder when you’re about to close your eyes, so you look back at him, “You like to be treated like a slut, don’t you?”

“Shut–”

“I saw your face when I called you a whore. It makes you horny.”

You hate it. You hate it that he’s right. You hate to admit, even to yourself, that when he called you a whore, you acted out on instinct, slapping him, but the word sent a wave of arousal to the middle of your legs. What made you even more turned on was the look in his eyes when you slapped him. His pupils dilated right after the initial shock.

“Shut up.” You push him away from you, making him lie back on the bed.

You lock eyes, tension crackling like static in the air; pushing him back almost roughly, you straddle his face, grabbing a fist full of his hair. Sero immediately grabs your hips and sinks his mouth on you, despite every cell of his body telling him not to give you the satisfaction. You throw your head back as he latches onto you, sucking and licking and rubbing just the way you like it. When you orgasm, your grip on his hair tightens and you ride his face with no shame.

Sero squeezes the flesh of your hips as you get off him, moving to sit on his cock. He glides in easily with you so wet and open for him and the position allows you to feel every inch of him. You try to control the twitches of your body, so overstimulated that you can barely move, but you do your best.

“Why were you jealous today?” You breathe out as you bounce on his cock, using his chest for support. Sweat drips down your nose onto his forehead as you stare intensely into his eyes. When he doesn’t respond, you slap your hips on his, making him let out a moan. “Why, Hanta?”

“Shit, fuck!” He curses, eyes closed and fingers digging into your skin. You know he’s close, but you wish he was closer because your legs are burning and you feel them giving in. “Fuck, angel, it’s because I love you!”

You stop, eyes wide and heart beating fast. Sero opens his eyes, widening them.

“You love me?” You ask, gasping for air.

“I have to go.”

“What?!” You’re confused now, as he’s still inside you.

Sero pushes you away from him, quickly pulling his suit up as he tries to step into his shoes. You stare at him, dumbfounded and speechless as he makes his way to the bedroom window. Before you realize, he’s gone without a word.

And you’re sitting on the bed, still naked and sweaty, words sinking in.

Your best friend loves you back.

@lousypotatoes @shoyosdoll @fresa-luna @crazyvalerie1236 @siillkie @jeanbabygirl @bookcluberror

[sirfrogsworth]

We moved into this house back in the early 90s. We bought it from an old man named Fred Salmo. As we began living in the home every once in a while we'd discover some weird new thing wrong with it. Never anything catastrophic, but small frustrations that my dad had to deal with all the same.

Fred thought himself quite the handyman.

He was not.

He was a union sheet metal worker and I guess he thought that translated to home repair. But in actuality he would usually try to fix things with sheet metal even when that was not an appropriate solution.

And so whenever we'd find one of these issues we'd joke that we got "Salmo'd" again.

Almost all of the electrical outlets were wired backwards. "Looks like we got Salmo'd again."

A heating duct would have some terrible patchwork (with sheet metal). "He really Salmo'd this."

There was a bedroom ceiling fan that was not securely attached to said ceiling. "He's going to Salmo us to death in our sleep."

We kept finding these inept fixes for many years. One by one, my dad (who was an actual handyman) would properly fix them.

Eventually, we were pretty certain all of the Salmo'd shit had been addressed.

Until last night.

I noticed something looked off about the big light on our garage workshop on the back of the property.

It was... lower... somehow.

I walked back to figure out what was wrong and discovered this.

The wind was blowing pretty hard and the light fell off of its mount and was dangling by the electrical wiring.

Upon closer inspection I noticed something.

It was mounted to a piece of thin metal decorative trim. I could see nothing structural it could have been attached to. No stud or beam. Just that trim.

That light was here before we moved in. Which means it has lasted over 30 years without falling down. And knowing how it was mounted, that is kind of incredible.

But it definitely feels strange getting Salmo'd again after all this time.

I'm not entirely sure what to do about this yet. My brother took our only ladder a long time ago and never returned it. I'm not even sure how to power off the light without turning off all the power to that building. But I guess I should make that a priority today and go from there.

Replacing that light is one of the first things I wanted to do if I got some money to fix up the house. It has a horrible green tint and for as big as it is, it only lights up a small area. Hopefully that won't be a super costly repair.

Fucking Fred Salmo.

[fandomnerd9602]

Touch Starved (🌶️)

Bambi!Wanda x Reader

You thought it would be terrible but your doe’s heat cycle has been an exciting time for the both of you. It was allowing new avenues for you and her to explore your likes and dislikes.

You found out how much Wanda just melts when you take on a more commanding yet tender role. And she found out how much you like it when she talks a little dirty.

During one make out session in your office, she found herself saying something she never thought she’d express.

The two of you were on your couch. She was a squirming mess under you as you kissed her softly and let your hands wander her body.

She was a panting mess, desperate for your touch at the time. It just spilt out from her lips. “F—k me my buck! F—k me.” She gasped that such words left her lips.

You briefly got up to give her a bit of space. “D-do you want me to?” You asked her gently with a shrug, “because I’m free for the rest of the afternoon.”

Wanda giggled and leaped at you. In between fiery kisses and shared laughs, you made sure that your door was locked, the blinds were down, and you happily obeyed her command.

You and Wanda found a slight dip in your time together recently. You and her were planning a barbecue dinner for your family, Natasha, Pietro, Dr Stephen Strange and a couple other hybrids. The planning and organizing had really been cutting into your time together, which can be rather difficult considering that Wanda was still in the mid-range of her heat cycle.

Wanda was getting antsy and kind of anxious the day of the barbecue. Wanda found herself fidgeting, trying to distract her mind with meaningful conversations with Pietro and Natasha. But her eyes wandered over to see you playing with the boys, her heart just about fluttered out of her chest. And then came the heat rising between her thighs. The quivering in her lip returned.

Why did you have to look so good playing rounds of football with her boys? The way the sweat glistened off of your brow in the setting sunlight. The way the sweat made your shirt to your skin in just the right way and places. Wanda needed you to take her now.

Wanda looked around. Any excuse to get you alone. She needed just one excuse. And then she found it: the empty cooler. Wanda couldn’t help but smile a little.

Natasha walked up to her, “hey Wanda, we need more—“

“Drinks!” Your doe said excitedly before hushing herself, “I know. Detka and I are on it.”

And with that Wanda ran over to you and took your hand. “Detka, we’re out of drinks.”

“We have more in the…”

“Cellar. I know.” She whispered in your ear, “I need my big strong buck to help me downstairs” she gave you a seductive wink.

You carefully composed yourself and followed Wanda into your house and down to your basement. All the while, both of you were checking to be sure that no one had noticed or was following.

Wanda descended the stairs. You quietly locked the door behind you and followed her down.

You were barely one foot off the last step when Wanda lunged at you. Her hungry kisses were only matched by the ferocity on display as she began fiddling with your shorts in between kisses and moans.

“Need. You. Now” she playfully growls in your ear.

Your hands tug and pull at her sundress straps. She practically yanks her dress down and jumps up, wrapping her legs around your waist.

You balance her against the nearest shelf structure. Her antlers knock over a couple cans and boxes but neither of you care.

“Thank you, detka” she desperately whines as you go to work, pleasuring and pleasing the goddess wrapped around you. “Thank you! Oh thank you!”

You keep at your task, making her sight and moan. A few of the same sounds escape your lips as your two souls collide and mesh like they were never meant to part.

“D-detka” she began to say, your pace becoming erratic and a frenzy of love and lust mixed together. “I-I’m…I’m gonna—!”

Wanda’s eyes shut tight as waves of pleasure engulf you both. Wanda throws her head back exposing her beautiful porcelain neck. You hungrily kiss her pressure point, causing a bigger moan to escape from your perfect doe.

You lived to hear that wondrous sound. Her eyes locked with yours as the two of you shared a glimpse of eternity together.

“Thank you, my buck” she replies, her voice both husky and tired.

“Anything for you, my doe” you kiss her tenderly, allowing yourselves to forget the world and everything else for a few precious minutes.

Natasha snickered as you and Wanda came back up from the basement with extra packs of Gatorade and cold water in your arms. Pietro could barely contain his laughter too.

“So how are the refreshments?” That brother in law of yours laughs before trying to take another sip

“Just perfect” Wanda purrs. Pietro nearly spit up his drink.

Tags @lifespectator @olsenmyolsen @iiconicsfan25 @pinklawyerwinnerzonk @russianredassassin @revanshand @multi-fandom-enjoyer @aloneodi @texaswolf23 @julieromanoff

[reachartwork]

the process

a lot of people like to ask me about my process and how ai can be "creative" because they're under the impression that it's just kind of a big slot machine. you pull a lever and art uncontrollably comes out. well, let me show you my process

this is going to be a long thread tagged with #long post, blacklist that if you want to skip it.

so how it starts like most art is that i have an idea. in this case, earlier i made a post about witch-knights "surfing" on swords, so i'm going to try and make that - a witch-knight flying through the air atop one of her swords.

it starts with this picture.

i think this picture is dogshit so i discard basically all of it to try and find something closer to my original intent. there's a couple of uninteresting regenerations so it's clear i have to go back to the drawing board and teach the machine what it is i'm trying to do

let's start with a witch-knight on a broom. it's definitely not great but it gives us a better pose that i can work with.

i start by erasing the broom and replacing it with a skateboard - the machine understands skating better for what i need it to do.

there's a ton of small, subtle errors in this image and it overall looks like dogshit but the most important part right now is blocking and the overall pose structure - i need her "surfing" a large, lengthwise object, in the sky. i start by erasing pieces of the skateboard

now we have a sword, which is good. but the sword itself looks... bad. i'll spare you the abortive attempts at selective regeneration of the sword and just show you what happened when i rolled it back a couple of times from this pose and let it regen entirely.

again, tons of small little shitty errors, but this is something i can work with. i do another regen for a less shitty sword. her boob armor gets replaced with, like, generic scale mail.

this image has a great sword and decent pose but like... everything else is kind of futzy and i dont like it. instead of trying to pick and choose i just throw it back into the oven for a second. much better! but now she's going to cut herself on the sword, oh no!

again, i'll save you the agonizing thirty minutes of trying to get it to understand where the foot should go. unlike before i didn't really have a choice except to muscle through. there! now she's surfing safely :)

so it's done, right? well, i mean, i could post this. and it would probably do okay. but *i'm* not satisfied with it. there's stiffness. dozens of minor errors. the eyes look weird when you zoom in. let's start by fixing her hat, and then maybe her hands?

but she's missing fingers on her left hand so let's go ahead and fix that too. and i don't really like the tip of her sword and the ocean looks really flat and boring. so, VERY CAREFULLY, i have to etch out the parts of the sword and her body i have to keep, and also write an entirely new prompt to tell it "i want an ocean w/ rolling waves please :)"

this is better but not great. i try again - serendipitously, it makes this really cool variant with a shadow over the water, but i know working with that will take more wrangling so i'm considering it an evolutionary dead end and discarding it for now.

i proceed to spend 30 minutes trying to make the ocean look better but it's really not working imo. i'm gonna go back to the shadow version and see how that works

i'll spare you the other 8 minutes - i'm satisfied with the following picture. the sword isn't *perfectly* straight, her eyes aren't perfectly textured, the scale mail is... weird, in texture, but anything else would be greasing the wheel and i think beyond the machine's ability to do fine detail.

i've also attached the starting picture for comparison - it has better, "higher quality" clouds and ocean but i personally cared more about the pose and the sword surfing - the background is mostly tangential. could i get back ocean and clouds of that quality with another two hours of painstakingly cutting and re-generating bits of the background without destroying any of my existing work on the pose? probably. but i don't want to.

total time spent on this piece from start to finish was one hour and twenty one minutes. and now you know!