#fic advice I guess

[oreramar]

Florist Talk for Fiction

I'm pretty sure the whole Flower Shop AU thing's day has long since passed but heck it, I've been doing the actual Flower Shop thing in real life for a few years now and I've got a handful of thoughts to throw out into the void, just in case anyone out there is still into or writing for that particular trope or theme or what have you.

First, a minor disclaimer: my experience is at one particular mom & pop shop in a small town in the US. Some details may differ for larger florists in bigger cities or other countries, but if your writing is set in some vaguely defined little town in vaguely defined culturally-American-location, then there could be overlap enough for you. Research and tweak as needed otherwise.

Second, I'm probably going to break stuff up by topic or something and post it gradually, tagging it all as Florist Talk, because initially I started writing a rambling mass of bullet points then realized it was way too much, and there were way too many dumb little details to include on some of those points. So call it a series I suppose. Feel free to send Asks if you have a curiosity about anything in particular. I may or may not have knowledge for you.

Third, a few general points for writing your Florist Blorbo with convincing verisimilitude:

Day to Day and Week to Week, weekdays are busier than weekends, usually. I've seen small town florist schedules where Sundays are Closed and Saturdays are only open for a few hours, like nine to noon or something. I am jealous of these, for the shop I work for is also a gift shop and one of the husband-wife duo of owners believes very much that Closing Early = Losing Potential Sales, and so I must often languish in agonizing boredom for four to five hours on a Saturday afternoon in order to be present for the one (1) person who maybe possibly walks in at 4:40 pm to look around or something.

Summers are the Slowest Season, the Saturday Afternoons of the Florist Year.

A flower shop lives or dies on the strength of its Valentine's Day and Mother's Day sales, basically. Oh, there's other holiday things, and day to day stuff, but nothing that can be counted on like those Big Ones.

Speaking of day to day, morbid though it may be, Funeral flowers tend to be the biggest contributors to flower shop sustainability outside of the holidays.

No seriously your FloraBlorb will know the Funeral Directors in town by name. Use these positions to convincingly place and namedrop minor characters. It's so easy.

Your FloraBlorb may have a Dedicated Delivery Driver (a secondary character perhaps?) OR they may have to do deliveries themselves. If they don't have a second person to run the shop while they do this then they'll have to close the shop and take calls on a cell phone as they come. Use this as needed for character or plot stuff I suppose.

Florist Flowers are Expensive compared to grocery store flowers, but this doesn't mean that the Florists themselves are making that much money. Flowers tend to be very perishable and there's a lot of overhead in transporting and storing them and stuff. Wallyworld might be making a technical loss, maybe just breaking even with their racks of cheap bouquets in the produce section, but they aren't hurt by that because they make so much more money selling everything else as well. A Flower Shop doesn't have that going for them, so they gotta charge more.

Maybe this is why I so often see Flower Shops paired with something else out there. Flower and Gift Shops. Flower Shops that sell Homemade Fudge on the side. Flower Shops and Boutiques. Flower Shops and Bakeries. Basically, feel free to write this AU and wedge the obvious interests of two Blorbos together into one store. As long as you can find a way to convince us all that their Flower Shop / Cabinetry business can thrive in the same space then why the heck not.

[ferritins]

IN A STITCH, IN A PINCH | J. TODD

SUMMARY: you’ve developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws, but you’re not quite sure about what the irascible Red Hood thinks of you.

WARNINGS: graphic description of burn injury, oblique reference to canonical parental drug dependency, reader is a meta.

NOTES: bringing back an old work! Re: the burns treatment depicted here - my area of study was clinical microbiology, not emergency medicine; everything I know about burns is relegated to opportunistic Staphylococcus aureus infection and how Gram negative skin flora influence wound healing. Take none of what you see in this fic as medical advice; if you do have a severe burn, call 999 and get your arse to an A&E ASAP.

After an extraterrestrial incident in your city that ended with something to the tune of 5 and a half million dollars worth of property damage and you knitting Arsenal's torn-open back together in a moment of adrenaline-fuelled insanity, you've developed something of a friendship with the Outlaws.

What that really means is that you periodically come off your shift at the hospital to find 2 mercenaries and an alien princess divesting your fridge of it's contents, and get wheedled into using your meta abilities to heal wounds that would otherwise take them out of play for a good few months.

You're under no illusions. You're aware that a healer is a useful contact to have, that should the situation necessitate it they'll take the few scant inches you can give and run a mile with them.

However, you're also aware that being a meta is a risk and that it pays to be liked and valued by dangerous people.

It's a friendship of convenience, but a friendship nonetheless.

Kori picks you up bodily and spins you in a tight circle until you're giggly and dizzy when confess her favourite shirts of yours are always freshly washed, just in case.

Roy gives you a vulgar wink when you order his shirt off to take a look at where his back scarred over, but faithfully applies the Vitamin E cream you give him for the scarring, trusting you to ease his discomfort, and sneaks bottles of your favourite elderflower cordial and the tins of Zambuk you can never find in the US for you to find when he leaves.

The only one you can't quite puzzle out your relationship with is Jason. He's taciturn, stands watch faithfully as Roy and Kori pull you into friendly hugs and dizzy spins, pepper playful kisses on your cheek and rub their knuckles into your hair. He rolls his eyes at his teammates' antics, huffs through his nose at your fussing.

Sometimes though, he'll call you sweetheart in a low rasp as he bumps you away from the sink to take over doing the dishes.

Sometimes, you think you catch him watching you with something unnameable and warm in his eyes.

You're not expecting your front door to fly open and damn near off the hinges late on Saturday evening — just as you're fresh out of the shower and only just into your pyjama shirt & shorts, might you add — but your alarm and annoyance die on your tongue when you see Roy and Kori's grim faces and the way that Jason sways despite both of their considerable strength holding him up.

You smell the odd, sour-smoke char of burned flesh as they pass you to ease Jason down oh so gently onto your sofa, and your gut goes cold with fear. The burn, once you get his shirt cut open, is not as extensive as you'd feared, but it's still something from a horror scene.

It's a third degree burn, skin mulberry-red, weeping and blistered in a long arc that curls up from his right hip to just under his right pectoral.

"Bloody hell." You breathe, horrified.

You run to your room, digging out your first aid kit, and drop to your knees by the couch as you tear it open.

Roy snorts, bitter as cyanide. "Yeah, that's a fairly accurate summary of the situation, sweets. The only reason he's still alive is because he dodged and got a glancing blow from the energy beam instead of a direct hit."

You look up from Jason's side.

"I'll need you and Kori to get some things." You say, hands shaking at the prospect of the task in front of you. "I can reduce the severity of the burn to a first degree, maybe, but it–"

"What do you need?" Kori snaps, terse. You reel off a list - topical antiseptic, light bandages, a banana bag & an IV kit, amoxicillin - and then look to Roy.

"I need you to get him to take some co-codamol. It'll kick in in about 10 minutes given his enhanced metabolism, but I can't do anything until he's got painkillers in him."

Roy's brows tighten further.

"Jason doesn't do opiates."

"Roy, if this was anybody else he'd be hooked up to IV morphine! If I start working on him without him having painkillers, he'll go into shock which could kill him." You exclaim.

You make low, soothing sounds when Jason tenses at the shouting, only to groan at the fresh wave of agony in his side.

The sound of Jason's pain seems to be decisive enough for Roy, who moves round the couch and grabs the box of effervescent tablets, dissolving two in water and coaxing Jason into drinking it down.

When the glass is empty, Roy is back to his feet, quick as lightning. He strides to the door, shepherding Kori out of your apartment.

"We'll be back with everything you need in half an hour, tops. Please, help him."

Jason comes out of the shrieking adrenaline of agony to the sound of your voice, and a slight cotton fuzz in his head.

Narcotics, then, but a fairly low dose for him to still retain this degree of alertness. Feeling the encroaching spectre of that terrible pain just barely held at bay, finds he's grateful for the medication.

He goes to prop himself up on his elbows, only to strike a line of phosphorus-white flare of pain down his side that has him hissing breath through gritted teeth.

Above him, you make a startled sound, press a hand to his sternum to keep him down. His eyes catch yours, and he sees the relieved sag of your spine and shoulders at the alertness in his eyes.

"Thank fuck you didn't go into shock." You sigh. "Stay still, I've just about got this down to a second degree burn. I've just got your hip."

You snap off your nitrile gloves and lean forward, cupping his face in your hands. "Don't make a habit of this. You'll kill us off with stress if you keep on nearly-dying."

As if on cue, the front door opens and Roy and Kori come into the living room, pharmacy bags clutched tightly in their grips and fragile hope in their eyes.

When they see Jason's alert eyes, the slow knit of skin and sub-dermal tissue and hear his sheepish grumbling in, response to you, their smiles are like sunlight.

Healing the burn is slow going, taking a full five evenings after your shifts.

Roy and Kori are intent on Jason staying the full course of treatment — settled by a, literally, on account of Kori, flaming row when he asks for his helmet and body armour —and though your entreaties are quieter, they're no less insistent.

It serves him right, probably, but it's driving him to distraction.

Specifically, the feeling of your hands over his skin is driving him to distraction.

He's not sure whether it's mercy or the sweetest of torture when you approach him, eyes darting down his body in a way that's half-assessing, half appraising before the heat-shock of your touch makes contact, pieces his skin back together.

(The thing is, Jason's attuned to everything about you, has been ever since you pulled Roy's flayed skin back shut whilst the city was still smoking behind you, totally unafraid in scrub trousers and a hoodie.

He's got it bad, and it's not exactly subtle.

Roy and Kori haven't missed that, or the way he reacts to you, judging by the raised eyebrows and teasing smirks as they lean up against the wall and watch you work.

He hopes the glare he levels at them over the top of your head communicates exactly what he'll do to them if they open their mouths.

It all comes to a head on Monday evening, when you come home from your OR shift, duck into the shower and then come into the living room in a too-large grey t-shirt and deliciously short sleep pants.

Jason's heart stops for a second. He lets his eyes flit despairingly over to Roy and Kori as you prep your kit, watches their unrepentant grins with a burning resentment towards them.

Having you this close to him, worry-soft and lit like a Rembrant from the lamp on the side table without being able to touch you is the closest thing to hell there is. You're close enough that he can smell the overlapping, inoffensive fragrances of your facial skincare products, see the faint pearlescent sheen of the residue of some serum on the apples of your cheeks, the tip of your nose, the soft line of your jaw.

Your nitrile-gloved hand settles gently on the raw new skin just above his hip and he jumps, his own broad hand flying up defensively to catch your wrist and still your movement. It's a mistake he regrets immediately.

The skin of your wrist is still tacky-soft with still-settling moisturiser, hair curling damp where the spray of your shower caught it. Jason's mind spins an unbidden reel of your hands, smoothing lotion over the plush expanse of your thighs, the line of your neck and the gentle swell of your décolletage, the curve of your hip.

He presses his eyes shut tightly.

He feels feral, the hungry bones of him blown open and exposed like the hull of a shipwreck. He wants to worry marks the shape of his mouth into your thighs, your neck, across your collarbones. He wants your knees bracketing his hips, the weight of you on top of him.

God, he wants–

"Are you okay? You're not in too much pain, are you?" He hears you ask.

He knows he's in far too deep when the thought of tasting the way the words roll off your tongue flits across his mind.

"Sorry." He croaks, releasing your hand. "Instinct."

(Roy turns to Kori with a snort, murmuring low so you can't hear.

"He's been watching like he wants to eat them alive since the first time we met and it's a miracle he's got enough blood north of his waistband to be capable of speech, but sure. Instinct.")

[wemlygust]

For Danny Phantom fic writers in particular: The reason your breath comes out in a little puff of fog when you stand in the cold is that *you are warm*. The air you exhale is toasty. It also has a lot of water vapor in it. So, when you stand in the cold, you breathe out toasty warm air into the surrounding cold air. If the surrounding air is cold enough, the warm air you exhale cools rapidly once it leaves your warm body, and the water vapor in it condenses into liquid, and voila! A little puff fog. If you were breathing out cold air, this would not happen, because water would have already condensed out of it.

A supernatural being with a very low body temp might not ever experience their breath fogging. Even if their surroundings were extremely cold, and colder than the being, as long their breath was too cold to be humid/carrying much gaseous water in it, there'd be no fog breath.

It is not that humans just produce steam somehow because we are cold. Seeing a puff of foggy breath from a person means they are warm, not cold. Seeing this is not a sign of hypothermia. It's sorta similar to how you feel cold in the cold because your body is warm. And if you stop feeling cold while in a cold area, it can mean your body is actually very cold, to the point there is no temperature differential to give you the sensation of cold, and you have a problem. That said, Danny Phantom being Danny Phantom, you can 100% absolutely throw all that right out the window whenever you wish. More power to you. I encourage it.

But if you know about this then you can avoid the common pitfall of writers doing shit like having a character be so cold they're breathing fog into a warm room - which makes NO SENSE - as if this is what just normally happens when people are cold, rather than a supernatural thing that would be very surprising to see. Forgive me, I've just seen so many odd things written re. breath fogging up when it makes no sense at this point that it has become my new pet peeve. :P Again, do whatever you want, but better to do it on purpose rather than by accident.

[sunsetsandsunshine]

Hey!! For your next fic could you do Leo and Mikey angst

It came be 2012, MM or rise

~ 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚢𝚘𝚞 ~

💙🐢🧡 𝙵𝚒𝚌 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢: @tmntalways 💙🐢🧡

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙷𝚒, 𝚃𝚞𝚛𝚝𝚕𝚎𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍!!! 𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚘 𝚖𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚋𝚛𝚘 ☹️💔…𝙸 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚊𝚍 𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚠𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚍𝚊𝚢 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚌𝚊𝚗 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 💖💕💘💞🩷!!! 𝙰𝚕𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑, 𝙸 𝚍𝚘 𝚊𝚍𝚖𝚒𝚝 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚒𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚊 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 😅👍🏾! 𝙸 𝚍𝚒𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚖𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚞𝚛𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚛’𝚜 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚠𝚊𝚜 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚒𝚎𝚍— 𝙸 𝚑𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝’𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 🫠…˚*• ̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*＊·̩̩̥͙

𝙶𝚎𝚗𝚛𝚎: 𝙷𝚞𝚛𝚝/𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚏𝚘𝚛𝚝

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜: 𝟹,𝟸𝟾𝟾

𝙻𝚎𝚎: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢 🐢🧡

𝙻𝚎𝚛: 𝙻𝚎𝚘 🐢💙

𝚂𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢: 𝙼𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚢’𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐…𝚞𝚗𝚏𝚘𝚌𝚞𝚜𝚎𝚍…𝚞𝚗𝚘𝚛𝚐𝚊𝚗𝚒𝚣𝚎𝚍, 𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎…𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚠𝚑𝚘𝚕𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚗𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚏 𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 '𝚞𝚗'. 𝙰𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚜𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚕𝚕? 𝙷𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚎𝚜𝚗’𝚝 𝚔𝚗𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚜𝚎 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚐𝚘 𝚊𝚠𝚊𝚢…

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: @shut-up-jo @someone1348 @saturnzskyzz

@savemeafruitjuice @rice-cake-teen10 @mistyandsnow

@skyloladoodles @itzsana-kiddingmenow @titters-and-tingles

(𝙰/𝙽: 𝚂𝚠𝚒𝚖𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚊 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝…𝚋𝚞𝚝 *𝙰𝙷𝙴𝙼* 𝚖𝚘𝚜𝚝 𝚒𝚖𝚙𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚕𝚢: 𝙳𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚋𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚐𝚞𝚢! 𝚃*𝚌𝚎𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚔/𝙽𝚂𝙵𝚆 𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐𝚜 𝙳𝙽𝙸!!!)

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚂𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚜, 𝚊𝚌𝚌𝚒𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏-𝚑𝚊𝚛𝚖 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚑𝚕𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚗𝚎𝚜𝚜, 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚐. 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝙿𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚊𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚛𝚒𝚜𝚔!!!

𝚁𝙴𝙼𝙸𝙽𝙳𝙴𝚁: 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘𝚗’𝚝 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝙰𝙳𝙷𝙳 𝚊𝚗𝚍/𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚊𝚕 𝚍𝚒����𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚝𝚘 𝚛𝚎𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌!!! 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 𝚒𝚜 𝚋𝚊𝚜𝚎𝚍 𝚘𝚗 𝚖𝚢 𝚘𝚠𝚗 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚎𝚡𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚒𝚝 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚒𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚖𝚊𝚍𝚎 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢 ☺️💞💗💓💕

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 𝚖𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚕𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚍 🕺🏾✨💞🎶˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Mikey couldn’t do anything right now. Like…anything.

Well…perhaps he was being a bit too dramatic. He was breathing. And he was fidgeting with his squishy cube. So saying he wasn’t doing 'anything' wasn’t entirely true.

Right now he just…couldn’t do anything…productive. 

For example, the box turtle tried making his favorite dishes and deserts! But that endeavor just ended up being a huge mess in the kitchen…and leaving the youngest turtle with a bunch of unappetizing food. 

Which he fed all to Raph by the way. 

Some would call that choice of action cruel but Mikey would just call it 'using his resources'. 

Besides, it’s not like the eldest minded at all. He said, and I quote: 'It has a nice…crunchy feeling to it. Did you put some of Don’s inventions in this?'

Which honestly got a couple of chuckles out of the smallest turtle teen of the bunch.

Then, Mikey tried skateboarding! But for once in all his 14 years of living…it was just utterly boring. 

And after all of that nonsense, Mikey then finally tried reading a comic…but he was too unfocused to even get to the second page…

But what was really new? Mikey could never focus on jackshit even if said jackshit hit him right in the shell. 

His brothers and sister would always have to remind him to stay focused or 'not do this' or 'not do that'.

For example, a couple days ago Donnie had to kindly remind the box turtle (well…as kindly as Donnie could be anyway…) to brush his teeth.

To. Brush. His. Fucking. Teeth. 

And honestly? Having to be reminded to do that was really embarrassing. And the orange banded teen knew his brother didn’t mean to humiliate him internally…but…yeah.

And it’s not like the softshell was wrong either! The youngest turtle just couldn’t freaking accept that he himself couldn’t do such a simple task in the morning. 

But literally every task he completely fails to do is just utterly simple ones!

Like cleaning his room or not forgetting things or even keeping track of time! 

…And the sad part about all of it was Mikey just honestly could not understand how his family haven’t gotten sick of his annoying tendencies…

And let’s be for real here…that was basically all of his tendencies. 

The box turtle groaned loudly in his room, slamming his whole body on his bed as he screamed into his pillow. 

There had to be something he could do instead of just wallowing in his own self pity…

And one of those options could not consist of bothering his family with his random bad mood. They had to put up with him 24/7…the least he could do was give them some space.

The youngest then glanced at his drawing notebook hopefully…

…One little sketch of something random wouldn’t hurt, right?

The amber eyed teen reached for his notebook, grabbing a pen from his drawer as he started to sketch his desk because why the absolute fuck not? Based on the objects he’s drawn in the past…sketching a simple desk should and will be easy, right? Right. 

That was until the orange banded teen’s pencil tip broke. But it was fine! He could just re-sharpen it, right? Right.

That was until the youngest realized he had absolutely no clue where his sharpener was due to the fact his room looked like a pig stie. And there was no way he was looking for it in…that whole situation. 

…The situation he created in the first place. 

Michelangelo layed on his bed with his face staring at the ceiling in frustration, he ran his fingernails along his arms, not making really deep cuts with them but going deep enough for it to hurt a bit.

Like a reasonable turtle would, Mikey should probably get one of his stress toys…or better yet, another pencil!

But let’s be for real here…he’d most likely find a way to fuck that up too.

Suddenly, there was a small, quiet knock on Mikey’s door but…in all honesty? He just wanted to crawl into his shell and sob for the next hour and a half. Letting out a niiiiice and quick 'come in' would take way too much energy. 

The box turtle let out a soft grunt, letting whoever was on the other side know it was a-okay to come in.

Abruptly, Leo peeked in the room, a wide smile plastered on his face as he closed the door, “Damn, Mikester…it looks like every single natural disaster went through your room…”

“I’m cleaning it.” The youngest grumbled to his brother.

“Really? You sure about that, little bro? Because if my memory serves me correct (which it in-fact does), you said that last week. And the week before that…and the week before—“

“I SAID I’M FUCKING CLEANING IT!!!” The orange banded turtle snapped, sitting up on the bed to glare at his immediate older brother before slowly realizing what he just did. 

The youngest’s heart dropped as he looked away from his brother. The orange banded mutant’s eyed widened as silent and small tears ran down his face. He covered his mouth as his other hand turned to a fist, his nails unforgivingly digging into his palm.

“I-I’m sorry…I’m s-sorry…I-I’m so s-sorry…!” He started, rocking himself back and forth before stopping as he was met with a warm embrace. Leonardo hugged him gently but firmly, rubbing the other’s shell in a comforting hold. “Woah woah…! Bud, you have nothing to apologize for…” The slightly older teen said as he rested his chin on the top of his baby brother’s head.

“L-Like h-hell I don’t. I-I just screamed a-at y-you for no reason…” Michelangelo wobbly said. “You were just trying to lighten the mood but I just had to make everything harder like I-I always do…!” 

“Mikey—”

“I-I always do this. I-I’m so f-fucking s-sorry Leo…”

“Mikester…I-I appreciate the apology but it seriously isn’t necessary—”

“You’re probably so sick of me and so angry at me. I-I’m sorry I just—”

“Mikey!” Leo gently yelled to get the other’s attention, squeezing the smaller turtle’s hands as he stared straight at him with pleading eyes. “Do I look mad?”

“…N-No.”

“Do I sound mad?”

“…No.” 

The second youngest sadly smiled, “So what are you apologizing for, hm?”

“…I-I…dunno…I-I just…I just felt I needed to apologize…” The box turtle mumbled as he looked at his hands. The blue banded turtle sighed, slowly getting out of the hug so him and his little brother faced each other. The slider rubbed the other turtle’s palm with his thumb comfortingly, “…Do you wanna talk about it, baby bro?”

The leader in blue was just met with silence…which he could honestly work with.

“Angelo…you know you can tell me…anything, right? Like…anything. Although, it doesn’t have to be me you talk to about it. It could be Raph or Don or April or even Dad or Draxum! I just…don’t want you sitting here and bottling up the way you feel…” 

Silence. Leo continued.

“You’re always there when we need you, Angel. Whether it’s to vent or to just ramble about shit, you’re just…always there. We don’t tell you this enough but we appreciate you always being someone we can lean on…”

Silence. Leo continued.

“But…you do know you can lean on us too, right? Comfort goes both ways and I can see you’re hurting, buddy. So please…if you need to talk to me…I’m right here.”

Mikey sniffled, squeezing Leo’s hand, “I-I d-dunno. Today is just…weird. This whole week has just been…weird.” Leo nodded, giving his brother his full undivided attention, “How so?”

“I just…haven’t been able to do anything…” The smaller teen admitted.

“What do you mean?” The taller teen inquired. 

“I haven’t been able to do…anything. Like, I can’t draw, cook or even skateboard! Me!!! Not being able to skateboard— isn’t that crazy?!” The amber eyed turtle laughed bitterly.

“And it’s not like I can’t do it. I’m perfectly freaking capable of doing it in the right amount of time I want but my brain just. won’t. let. me!” 

“I keep procrastinating and not doing the stuff I want to do and I have no idea why! I’m tired of just putting things off and being this way! I want to do things without having to ask you guys for help or to remind me or to relate it with a hyperfixation that I have!” Mikey hiccuped, a new wave of tears rolling down his face as his hands shook. 

The amber eyed teen sniffled, refusing to look at his immediate older brother at all right now because…holy shit he just overshared a whole lot…

Like…a whoooooooooole freaking lot.

“…That sounds like you.” Leonardo shrugged. 

In a state of just shock and confusion, the box turtle pulled his hands away from his brother, looking up at him as lime green eyes met amber ones. “I…what…?” Michelangelo murmured.

“I said that sounds like you.” Leo said again casually as Mikey glared at him, “Yeah. I heard what you said but that isn’t helpful.”

“I’m just being honest with you, Mikester.” Leo said, “Just…let me explain, okay?”

“…You have five minutes before I kick you out of my room.” 

“Deal.” The lime green eyed mutant commented, “You can’t draw, cook or skateboard right now. You’re procrastinating and not doing the stuff you want to do in the time you planned…is that correct?” 

Michelangelo sent deathly daggers to his brother— which the other wasn’t phased by at all. This time was probably the best time to crawl in his own shell and just sob his eyes out because what kind of dumbass question was his dumbass brother asking him?!

“…Yes.” The orange banded teen mumbled. 

“And…why are those bad things?” 

“WHY?!” The box turtle huffed out a laugh of annoyance, “Pfft— you’re asking me why. Maybe it’s because it’s annoying?! Maybe because it’s frustrating to deal with and I don’t want to burden you guys with my problems?! Maybe because I don’t want to fucking feel or be this way?!” The youngest shouted, breathing heavily as he finished his rant. 

The box turtle looked away again, silently cursing at himself for getting annoyed so easily. “Mikey.” Leo started again, “Your being too hard on yourself, okay? No one is expecting you to be at your 100% all the time.” 

“What you just described to me; you being able to not focus or you getting bored easily or procrastinating with stuff is…literally you. You’re just being you.” The slider explained as he held his baby brother’s hand in his. “And I get it. It’s hard to deal with it sometimes and it’s going to be hella frustrating. Like…super borderline frustrating. But you can’t shun them away and just…try to ignore them, bubs…”

“Let’s take moi for example. I’m impulsive, I talk loud and lose things daily. Those three things don’t make up my whole personality but it would be super weird and off-putting if I just…didn’t do or have those three things, right?” 

The youngest giggled wetly, “Yeah…it would. A-And by the way, I’m still waiting for you to find that glittery pen kit I gave you…”

Leonardo groaned loudly and dramatically, causing the other teen to giggle louder, “I’m looking for it, okay?! It’s in my room…somewhere.” The taller mutant mused, “But anyways…back to you. You procrastinate, you relate things to your hyperfixations and you can’t do some of your favorite tasks from time to time…those are some traits that make up you, is it not?” 

Mikey sniffled, rolling his eyes playfully due to the fact he knew damn well where this was going, “Yeah…” 

Leo smiled softly, seeing his younger brother was starting to get his point, “I wouldn’t change a single thing about you, okay? I know sometimes it’s hard to deal with the things you described but you have us for that.” He said as his smile turned to a grin. 

“You can come to me— to us— anytime. We love you for who you are…your flaws and all and we just…I-I need you to know that we love you so so much—!” The slider was cut off by a sudden abrupt embrace from the box turtle. The orange banded teen sobbed into the other’s shoulder, clutching the taller turtle like a lifeline. 

“T-Thank you…” The box turtle wobbly said through tears.  

“Of course, Angel.” Leo said as he hugged his baby brother back, “I love you.” He said as he kissed the other teen on the head.

“I-I l-love you too…”

.

.

.

.

.

.

“Tell your thoughts to shut up.” Leo said as he lightly poked Mikey in the forehead numerous times. The two were sitting on the box turtle’s bed just simply…relaxing and enjoying each other’s company. Michelangelo was sitting in between his older brother’s legs as he had his shell to his brother’s plastron.

Leonardo hugged his brother protectively, resting his chin on the top of the box turtle’s head. “What do you mean?” The youngest giggled out. “I can hear your thoughts, man. You’re not bothering me or disturbing me in any way, shape or form, alright…?” 

The amber eyed turtle nodded, squeezing Leo’s hand, “Y-Yeah…I know...” 

“I’m choosing to be here because I love you. I don’t feel obligated to be here, okay? You’re not annoying and you, neither your problems are a burden…okay?” The slider said reassuringly, “It’s okay to ask us for help…and we don’t mind reminding you to do things…okay?” 

“You’ve said ‘okay’ like, fifty times…”

“Mikey.” 

“Mhm…yeah yeah…I gotcha…”

The elder looked at his brother skeptically, resting his chin on his little brother’s shoulder so they made solid eye contact, “I want you to say it.” 

“���Say what exactly?”

“I want you to say that you are an amazing person and you don’t need to change a single thing about yourself.” 

“You are an amazing person and you don’t need to change a single thing about yourself.” Michelangelo grinned smugly. Leonardo glared at the youngest’s interpretation to his statement, “Mikey, you know exactly what I meant.” 

“I said what you wanted me to say…so…” The amber eyed teen trailed off.

“Michelangelo.” The slider said in a warning tone as he poked the other’s side. The box turtle squeaked at the unexpected touch, trying to stop his immediate older brother from doing it again but his brother had a strong but gentle grip on him…

Then the smallest turtle came to recognition that he was stuck in a potential tickle hug with no way out…

…How wonderful. 

“L-Leeheeo…doohoo nahat.” The orange banded mutant warned through his giggles, said warning not seeming too threatening due to the fact he was already laughing up a storm. The leader in blue raised a brow, poking the other’s side repeatedly, “I just want you to repeat what I said…in the first person.” The taller teen specified.

The smaller turtle squirmed in the hug, small frantic giggles pouring out of his mouth. This…really wasn’t how he was expecting his day to go. Just about an hour ago, he was wallowing in sadness about the stuff he hated about himself, to talking about it with his brother, to now getting tickled by his brother.

…So could he really complain about how things turned out?

…Yes. Yes, he absolutely could.  

“Leeheeon! Plehease dohon’t!” The youngest squealed as one of his brother’s hands hovered over his stomach. Mikey held onto the other’s wrists, trying to stop his elder brother from tickling him but his small attempts ending up to be all for nothing as Leo effortlessly tickled his stomach with one hand.

“LEEHEEHAHAHA!!” Michelangelo laughed wholeheartedly, swatting at his brother’s arms. The lime green eyed turtle cooed at the gesture, now using both of his hands to attack the youngest’s plastron, “D'aww…look at you giggling your head off~! You’re my adorable little bundle of amazingness, aren’t you~?”

The smaller teen shook his head, a faint blush appearing on his face, “STAHA— squeal N-NAHAHA!”

“What~? What was that?” The blue banded mutant asked as he kneaded the box turtle’s hips. “GYAHAH— squeal SHIHIHIT! COHOME OHAHAN!!!” The amber eyed turtle cried frantically as he kicked his legs on the mattress slightly. 

The youngest squealed with laughter, curling in on himself as he slumped in his big brother’s hold. Leonardo just sighed fondly at the action, wrapping the other in another hug as he raspberried his neck. “LEEHEEHEE!! PLAHAH— squeak NAHAHAT THEHERE squeak PLEHEASE PLEHEASE— squeak!!!”

“Not there~?” The elder lightly mocked, “What about…here~?” He mused as he used his hands to scribble all over the younger turtle’s ribs. Mikey cackled, shaking his head to try and at least subside the tickly feelings.

“NAHAHA— squeal AHAHAHA!! NAHAHAT THEHEHERE EHE— squeal EHEHEITHER!!! LEEHEEO!!” The orange banded turtle squeaked as Leo stopped for a second, “I’ve tried sooooo many spots, buddy! How many times are you gonna say not there, hm?”

Mikey genuinely squawked louder than a firefighter siren, squirming so much it looked like he was actually being electrocuted. “PLEHEHAHA LEEHEEO NAHAHAT THEHEHE RIHIHIBS!!!” He cackled. 

“Not the riiiibs~? Why~? Is it because it’s your tickle spot~? Your tickletickletickle spot~? Because you’re ticklish~?” Leonardo asked as he lightly nibbled the crook of Mikey’s neck. 

Michelangelo screamed in laughter, scrunching up his shoulders as he dug his heels on the bed, a couple of his plushies sadly falling on the floor (R.I.P. man…) “EEEHEEHEEP!!! S-STAHAP BEEHEEING MEEHEAN!” Mikey said as he thrashed on the bed. 

The slider said nothing, his hands sneaking up to the box turtle’s underarms. “AAAAHAHAHA! OHO NOHOHO— squeak SHIT! SHIHIHAHAT!”

Happy tears slowly begin to appear in the smallest teen’s eyes, he weakly hit Leo’s arms as a last attempt to be set free, “LEHEHEMME squeal GOHOHOHO!” 

“Ohonly if you sahay it, bubs.” 

“IHIHI— SQUEAK!! LEEHEEHEEON!!!” 

“Yeeeees, baby brother~?” The elder dragged out as he kneaded the other’s hips.

“IHI’LL SAHAY IHIHAT I-IHIHI’LL SAHAHAY IHIT!!” The amber eyed teen squealed. 

“And you promise not to be a sassy little shit about it~?” The older teen asked.

“SQUEAK YEHAHAHA— SQUEAK YEHES YEHES I-I PROHOHOMISE!” 

Leo stopped tickling his little brother, hugging him protectively as the youngest caught his breath slowly but surely. “W-Wahait…whahat squeak wahas ihihat yohou eeheeven wahanted me squeak to sahay again?” 

The taller turtle pondered for a bit, thinking to himself before loudly groaning, “That’s…a good damn question. I don’t really remember exactly what I wanted you to say in the first place…” The lime green eyed turtle sighed, “Forgetfulness at its finest...” 

The red eared slider adjusted himself, making sure the other was comfortable before starting to speak again, “Well…based on what we talked about…could you maybe just…y'know…” Leo gestured with his hands before groaning, “Do you get what I’m trying to say, man?” 

“…I thihink I have ahan idea…” Mikey giggled as he fiddled with his hands, “I shouldn’t beat myself up so much because of some of my traits or quirks. And I’m allowed to feel frustrated and/or upset because things don’t go my way because of them. But…I shouldn’t allow those things to put me down...”

Michelangelo smiled softly, rubbing his palm with his thumb, “They don’t define me as a person but they make me a person. I don’t need to be at my best 100% and I’m allowed to have bad days. And if things get too overwhelming or difficult I can just go to you guys.” 

Mikey hugged himself, letting out a small laugh as his happy tears welled up in his eyes, “I’m just…being me. And there’s nothing wrong with that.” Leonardo teared up at his brother’s words, hugging him tighter than he ever had before and burying his face at the back of the youngest’s head.

“Never forget that, Miguelito…never forget that.” 

·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚𝙵𝙸𝙽˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙ 

(𝙿.𝚂.: 𝙸𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚋𝚕𝚘𝚐!!!)

[just-a-shark333]

Yknow what I love?

I love absolutely stupid fanfic concepts that make no sense with the actual media.

I love concepts that absolutely scream 'this person was a gacha kid'

I love concepts that most sane and stable people wouldn't understand in the slightest

I still love all the concepts from all the dumb fan-comics I drew in middle school

Things don't always need an explanation that makes sense

magically do whatever the fuck you want!

Turn that character into a kid! Make whatever strange crossover aus you want! Reference things that don't exist in that world! Make that character run into someone they logically should never see again! Change that characters past as much as you like! Write that rarepair! Write for that obscure fandom!

Someone out there will read it, and Someone out there will love it, and even if no one does, do it for yourself!

[freckledsokka]

wip wednesday

a wee snippet of the self-indulgent tense-fuckery zukka fic i'm working on that no one asked for! most of this fic is sokka (ghost sokka? spirit sokka? who knows) waxing poetic about zuko grieving him, but i wrote this scene with korra for a touch of levity (while still being a little angsty).

note: this is NOT a reader fic. do not let the use of "you" fool you. this is fully from sokka's pov as if he's narrating this to zuko.

"You remind me of him," you tell the Avatar, something wistful tugging at the corner of your mouth, reaching to the creases of your eyes. Korra looks almost bashful, or maybe just flattered. "I get that a lot," she says quietly, as if it's a sore subject but she doesn't want to offend you by mentioning it. You smile at her, warm and reassuring. "I don't mean Aang." "Oh." She sounds surprised, which quickly gives way to embarrassed when you offer her an encouraging smirk to help the thought along. "Oh," she says again, nearly in a different octave. "Oh, I'm so sorry, I should have realized that's — of course, that's who you meant." She laughs nervously, waving her hand vaguely at herself. "Southern Water Tribe, duh." "It's not just that," you tell her, and her nervous energy seems to settle a little at the calm, smooth tone of your voice. "You have the same tenacity, the same spirit. He would be proud to see the Avatar you've become."

Korra is quiet for a moment, either out of respect or simply a loss for words. Then she smiles, a little sheepishly but no less grateful to be honored in such a way. "Tenzin told me he — the Chief? — was with you and my father the night the Red Lotus tried to kidnap me." She looks away, guilt seeping into the set of her shoulders, the way she wraps her arms across her chest. "I'm sorry, I — Did he —?" She glances back, eyes bright, pleading for some kind of forgiveness she doesn't need to be given. "Was it my fault?"

"Korra," you say slowly, frowning, placing a gentle hand on her arm. "What did Tenzin tell you? The Red Lotus had nothing to do with Sokka's passing."

Her eyes go wide. "Really? But he made it sound like — I mean, my dad became Head Chieftain not long after that, I thought —"

You can't help the chuckle low in the back of your throat, a rumble of distant thunder, warm as a summer storm. "No, Korra. Sokka never was particularly suited to be Chief. He felt it was time to pass it on, is all. That, and he felt he could do more good behind the scenes, or through his work in Republic City. But, more often than not, he was with me. Those years were some of our best." 

Korra lets out a trill of nerves, huffing in relief. "Thank the Spirits." A beat, the haunted look of someone who is technically thousands of years old yielding to the vulnerability of someone barely out of her teens carrying the weight of the Spirit and human worlds on her shoulders, knowing she is the reason your — our — friend is gone. This is the cycle we were all prepared for, and yet — "Is that why I barely remember him? Didn't he ever visit Katara at the compound? Why didn't he ever say hello?"

"I wish I could tell you, Korra, but he never gave me his reasons." A wry smile. "I'm sorry if I kept him from you."

Korra twists her mouth, setting her jaw defiantly. "Lord Zuko, if I may —" She isn't really asking permission and you know this, but you nod anyway. "That's bullshit, and you know it. He was your husband. Don't tell me you didn't know just because he didn't tell you."

Your mouth twitches knowingly, even as your expression remains impressively neutral. "I had my suspicions, of course."

"Which were?" Korra presses.

If she weren't the Avatar, I suspect you would've said something along the lines of None of your damn business or Nothing to concern yourself about. Being the Avatar still has its perks in dragging honesty out of you, it seems. Still, you manage to make it a whole production, sighing like it physically pains you to admit it. 

"He wanted to wait until you'd mastered all four elements before he would teach you" — an exaggerated eyeroll, fingers pinching the bridge of your nose — "the 'fifth element.'"

Korra's brow furrows. She blinks like she's waiting for a punchline. "The — what? There is no fifth element, unless you count energy, but —"

"I know," you agree, exhausted. "I know."

"Then what?" Korra demands, sounding as flabbergasted as she looks.

You take a deep breath, wearily replying, "Swordbending."

Korra is frozen for a moment, maybe in shock, maybe in disbelief. Then she bursts out laughing, bright and cool as snow crunching underfoot, until it dawns on her that maybe you weren't actually joking. "Wait, really?" she asks incredulously. "He actually wanted to — to teach me? Why didn't he just team up with Katara? Spirits, it would've been so much fun to have a swordmaster around."

"You told me you have to learn the elements in order, Zuko," you say in a poor imitation of my voice. It's been so long, you've almost forgotten it. "He didn't want to influence your bending, or distract you from your role as Avatar, or so I assume."

Korra huffs. "Sounds an awful lot like he did tell you things, then," she mutters indignantly.

You shrug. "Not in so many words. He said a lot without ever saying it." That wistful slant of your mouth softens into something closer to melancholy. "When you're with someone as long as I was with Sokka, you learn to read between the lines. We had our own language, in a way."

"But if you suspected, why didn't you say anything? Why not encourage him?"

There's a sadness in your smile, an ache in your eyes. "Because, young Avatar," you say gently, "you always think you'll have more time."

[uwudonoodle]

As I was editing, there was one part that was really self indulgent. I was worried it was maybe too smoopy, saccharine... and maybe too much, too soon for the character's relationship. When my partner was beta reading, I was sure he'd say it something about it. Turns out, that was his favorite part of the whole chapter, no notes. Maybe my self indulgence comes across more genuine than I thought.

[micamicster]

As I’m getting closer to publishing this fic I was wondering if any of you guys speak mandarin and would be willing to let me run a couple of questions about naming conventions/terms for family etc past you?

[bg-brainrot]

Things I've learned writing much longer long!fic that I wish I had known when I started:

Outlines are nice, but do not communicate how long something will take to write (i.e. "travel to Waterdeep" -> turned into 8k+ words)

Always note the random bits of dialogue somewhere, do not trust yourself to remember (I began an extra section for dialogue that needed to happen)

Having goals per chapter is nice, but sometimes you have to acknowledge that the story will take you in another direction (why I'm thinking I need to split or redefine these last few chapters)

Since I went pretty deep into "mystery" territory, this is more mystery-specific: if you have a lot of moving parts, you will need to reread your fic on the regular to make sure you didn't forget anything (not saying that your character wouldn't forget it, but, as the writer, I don't want to forget it)

Anyway, this is all helping me for my next fic(s), but figured I'd write it down somewhere in case it helps anyone else?

[notasapleasure]

@stripedroseandsketchpads ahh with the caveat that everyone works differently, I'll try to describe how it works* for me! :)

*when it works

I guess I'd say the key thing is to start with the story you want to tell. That's got to be the anchor throughout - details may change and you might add episodes in or take them out or change the order, but you've got to hold fast to what it is you want to do with your characters and plot.

You've started from a point of imagining a scenario that is plausible in the setting you've chosen, or plausible enough to work with a little tweaking of the setting or background, or even a little handwaving to get going. Your blorbos are ready and waiting in the storyworld you've chosen, and it's up to you to invite your readers into said storyworld and keep them and their belief there.

Maintaining that belief is a combination of sticking to a good pace and providing a rich setting - so your research should be coming in here to help you make the setting work.

Personally I don't find it helpful to think of research as a separate phase - I want to be constantly pushing ahead with the writing. Sometimes that means skipping a scene or doubling back, always re-reading what I have, always going over what I expect to happen next, even as I research questions that come up along the way. Sometimes it's small things to help a scene (hang on, let me remind myself of what that landscape looks like or how these people dressed) sometimes it's something bigger for down the line that I try to chip away at from different angles - i.e. I have a vague idea of how [x] works in this setting but I'm not sure how it'll fit in my plot so I'm going to read things about it and contemplate it some more. Sometimes it's a small thing and I just go 'do I need this detail/to describe this or is there a way of paraphrasing that saves anyone having to think about it too much'.

Thinking in terms of that post about historical door hinges going round recently - how attached are you to the idea of the door 'swinging' open? Can you rephrase things so someone enters the room suddenly and dramatically without describing the mechanism that lets them do so? Yes? Then you don't need to spend hours researching the history of the door hinge (maybe you want to, but you have to accept at that point you're not writing, you're just procrastinating on the internet). Do you feel it's really necessary to know your character would make that door swing open and slap back against the wall with a sound to startle the whole room? You're going to want to do enough research to make sure that's plausible!

(though be aware that many people do not notice such things at all! My boss was always complaining that there were tomatoes in The Liars' Gospel; you'll also have seen the post about many many published authors not seeming to have a clue about what parchment actually is - you will have ahistorical and inaccurate details in there, it's pretty inevitable, but most of the time no one else is going to know they're inaccurate either, especially if they're not things that play a big function in the story you're actually telling. Obviously having a beta or someone to ask helps, too - you'd expect anyone with passing knowledge of the setting to point out the tomatoes and parchment issues, which is why they're so egregious, but door hinges are probably less likely to make a reader stop and double-take.)

Notes....I feel I should mention notes. With the caveat that many notes I have for many of my settings come from you :')

I'm a bit of a pantser with notes because I'm writing fic, not an actual novel, so it's more important to me to be internally consistent and have fun than it is to have a folder full of notes to rival my PhD thesis. But notes are important because you don't want to have to do your research twice :') so in the name of striking a balance I'd whittle it down to the essentials: 1) take down your source accurately so you can find it again (book title and author and PAGE NUMBER/URL) 2) photo pages/screenshot or copy and paste relevant quotes where you can with like. A one word/sentence summary of content - it's quicker than paraphrasing and you're not writing an essay, you just want to be able to check back on the details when needed; points that really make your brain go ZING go in your working file/plotting file reduced to their most essential elements (possibly also with a URL for quick double-checking).

I always have a scrappy tail at the bottom of my draft with dialogue I want to get to in rough form, bullet points of things that need to happen in a certain order, and odd bits of research to come back to.

I generally prefer to work with the research fresh, though - most often I look stuff up as I write, and if I don't get the answer I want within a couple of searches I set it aside and think of a way to go round/skip it for now. If I do get the answer I'm after I incorporate it and move on (I would recommend taking down at least a URL at this point, which I very rarely bother to do). Mostly what I'm saying is, if I want to write I write, rather than thinking about writing, which is kind of what research is when you spend hours on it thinking about how it could affect your story without actually putting it to use in writing your story...💀

Anyway, I think that's my rough guide? But I have mutuals who are actual published historical novelists so they might say I'm wildly off the mark! Bear in mind I have 0 creative writing training I just like words a lot and using them to make my blorbos kiss, and much as I enjoy it, very few readers seem fussed by what I do, so I may be doing it totally wrong! :)))

But I am having fun and being myself :))))

Oh ALSO another caveat because I remembered we're talking Dunnett fic: do not try to be Dorothy. She spent decades living every moment she could in the BL before writing Lymond. You are not writing Lymond. You are writing fic. You want it to be believably in the same storyworld, but you don't have to have a grasp of every detail the way she does seems to.

One of my best tips for research and writing of any kind actually is to have a handy example of when someone is very Wrong about something that you can always go back to - as a reminder you have an argument to push back against, or just to take an idol down a peg or two. If you're spiralling about a particular detail then just think of the time Dorothy didn't understand sixteenth-century dress accurately and use that moment to extend both her and yourself a little grace. :)

[cuz-reasons]

Hey, if I figured out how to sell them online, would you guys be interested in little crocheted Joltik guys like this one?

I haven't really entertained the idea of selling my creatures as I like to call them for various reasons, but one of them is that I don't really like the idea of sending them off to people don't know, but I'd be okay with, like, submas fans getting them. I trust you'd take care of them.

I still gotta like work everything out, like touching up/actually writing down my pattern and figuring out how to mail them, but I'm thinking they would be roughly $10 (CAD, so that's, what, like $8USD?).

Let me know if you're interested! Or if you have any experience selling things online that you wanna share. I'm currently thinking about setting up a Kofi.

[grasslandgirl]

THE THING THEY DONT TELL YOU WHEN YOU START A LONG FORM NARRATIVE PLOT-FOCUSED FIC FOR THE FIRST TIME AFTER ONLY WRITING RELATIONSHIP-CENTRIC GET TOGETHER FLUFF IS THAT YOU DO ACTUALLY. HAVE TO FIGURE OUT THE PLOT. AGONIES UPON AGONIES!!!!

[vermillioncrown]

this is how temptation to write occurs:

start reading in new fandom

latch onto a meow meow

start a folie à deux with an enabler (@rozaceous 👀)

fandom haunts my dreams, dream some weird/funny shit

(if it stops here, i can still break free)

look up fandom geography, draw hypotheticals on sourced maps

imagine the fictional economic development of specific industries/sectors of an industry

[chocosvt]

hiii!! you’re so talented and i’ve fallen in love with your writing ever since finding honey boy and i was just wondering how you approach world building so easily? i know you talk about it a lot so it seems like it comes very naturally to you but do you have any tips?

i saw you post something about tips for writing before and i can’t find it so if you just wanna link that post it’s fine too!!! i just wanna form better world building and i genuinely have no idea how to do so 💔

thank you so kindly :3 💕

i've definitely given some broader tips abt writing when asked in the past but i've never specifically spoken abt world building. i can still link that ask if you're simply curious though :D (it's here).

ummmm... but honestly to give tips abt world building is kinda hard just cuz it's an umbrella term! there is so much that it encompasses and so much that will vary in terms of what ur trying to write :o

when i think of world building, i don't just think about the setting, but everything that exists in the au (maybe that is fairly obvious but i'm a naturally oblivious person so i feel inclined to specify 😭). i also take into account the characters and plot devices.

at the core of world building, i think it's important to have a vague idea of whether or not the story is more character-driven vs plot-driven. or maybe it's equally both! i think this can help u determine what to put more emphasis on.

for instance, HER is a definitely a character-driven story. all dilemmas stem from their shortcomings and personal struggles and that's what powers the narrative. these characters are trying to evolve. the environment around them is kinda secondary. it's not the focus. it's just there to add context and help enrich them as individuals.

i would say honey boy is also character-driven but with more influence from plot devices. for instance, reader's journal. a big point of contention in the story is when her journal disappears. this is a catalyst moment for the confrontation w/ suri and the segue for her new romantic relationship w/ mingyu.

additionally, the vase incident, which rly highlights suri as a deceptive, advantageous individual. the setting is also a plot device. the entire reason reader & mingyu get closer is because they are brought together at this lake house over the summer. the setting also allows for all these different characters to mingle & interact. so for honey boy, the setting was actually a very big part of the story.

in fact, almost the entireeee fic takes place at that lake house, so i thought it was very important to thoroughly sketch out the scenery piece by piece. the forest, the beach, the house itself, etc.

HER doesn't rly have plot devices like that. the characters are the plot. the confrontations that occur happen bc of their flaws. in this case, i spend more time focusing on the personalities of the characters & making them distinct/fleshed-out.

how they speak, how they project themselves to the world, the image they show to others vs those closest to them, their habits, their vices, their hobbies--everything!! anything that makes a person a person should be considered when doing something character-driven.

[noco7]

Hi hope your well! I was just wondering — your fics have a lot of dialogue and as a writer myself that’s something I struggle on… how do you know what to make them talk about/introduce certain conversations? does it just come to you?

I am well! A lot of things have happened (not in a bad way), and I am single no longer. (Yippee!) (And our relationship is nothing like the one in NCi7 lmao... not that it hasn’t had it’s share of miscommunication tensions.) Anway... as for dialogue that’s a tricky question. One part of NCi7 having so much dialogue is that Noah and Cody are quite talkative characters themselves, and that helps. Especially Cody. Especially Cody when he likes someone. He wants to ask questions, he wants to flirt, he wants to show off. Everything. Chatty lil’ man. Noah is a bit more reserved, but he will never miss a chance to snark. It’s why they have such good banter. Additionally, NCi7 is a fic based on “communication.” The whole point is for them to become better communicators, so the story just HAS to have a lot of dialogue. So I can show their bad communication and how it slowly becomes good communication. But how do I know what to make them talk about? Well... that’s an odd question to me, because what they talk about is just the story. So for me, coming up for things for my characters to talk about equals coming up with the chapter outline. In NCi7′s case, I wanted the characters to change how they thought about physical affection, sex, sexuality, guilt, relationship roles, gender, career, family, etc. Just the whole shebang. So ... I had a lot of things for them to talk about. That’s probably my best tip. If you want your characters to talk more, give them something to talk about! If you don’t have much plot (which is fine), then maybe think about ... Dialogue as a characterization tool. What kind of words are the characters using? What kind of tone? What do they think is appropriate conversation?  What questions do they ask? The more in-character you make it, the more fun it is. And dialogue is so, so useful with backstories. It’s one thing for a character to ruminate on what happened in their life. It’s another to see them say it out loud. And what kind of snap-judgements will the other person make? I wish I could give more specific advice, but I don’t know what story you’re writing (feel free to DM or discord me about it, I’d love to hear) but without specific details, I don’t have specific advice. Lastly, how do I introduce conversations? Honestly, I don’t remember. I do remember sometimes writing a chapter, not knowing how to transition to a topic, and putting in [INSERT TRANSITION HERE] so I could fill it in later. I would say try to use the environment to your advantage. If you need your characters to argue over PDA, bring in a public place. If you want a character to relfect on their parenting, have them see/do something that reminds them of it. Have a character notice something’s off with the other and ask.  Give them a reason to speak.  Anyway, thanks for asking this question! If you want to send me your work so I could read it, I’d love to. It doesn’t even have to be an advice thing, I love seeing how other writers write, and there’s a huge chance I could learn something from your writing as well. But it can be a suggestions/advice thing if you want it to be.

[butchreyes]

okay genuine inquiry to other writers: how do you write without getting stressed?? when i start a fic i love it for a day and then i immediately start overthinking it and rewriting it over and over again because i'm scared that it won't be perfect. it's literally decimating my productivity because i'm spending two hours writing every day and i always end up deleting it all.