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*struggles while writing* i suck and writing is hard
*remembers some ppl use ai* i am a creative force. i am uncorrupted by theft and indolence. i am on a journey to excellence. it is my duty to keep taking joy in creating.
You will not use AI to get ideas for your story. You will lie on the floor and have wretched visions like god intended
"How do you write such realistic dialogue-" I TALK TO MYSELF. I TALK TO MYSELF AND I PRETEND I AM THE ONE SAYING THE LINE. LIKE SANITY IS SLOWLY SLIPPING FROM BETWEEN MY FINGERS WITH EVERY MEASLY WORD THEY TYPE OUT. THAT IS HOW.
“omg you’re so creative. how do you get your ideas” i hallucinate a single scene in the taco bell drive thru and then spend 13 months trying to write it
Joel’s episode:
you call the shots babe (i just wanna be yours)
E || 9.9k || Dub-Con (due to intoxication)
“I wish David were here.” The sigh from his lips rustles one of Alex’s curls loosened away from under the cap. Alex’s eyebrows scrunch together and there’s a new mask edging his features. One Henry can’t quite place in his filmy headspace. “Oh. I thought… Pez said you didn’t have a boyfriend?”
The bark of laughter pulled from Henry’s throat is loud and unfettered. The kind of laugh he usually keeps hidden away or stifled behind the guard of a hand against his mouth.
“No, no. I mean yes, Pez’s right. But David isn’t–” Another giggle breaks into the words. “David’s a beagle, Alex.”
___
or, Henry gets high, and Alex is everything he's ever wanted.
Being-A-Creative-On-Tumblr-Culture is going through all of the 24 reblogs on your post with 357 notes just to get just enough serotonin to get through your day by reading what the five god sent people who left tags wrote
Prof Honeycutt is such a good character without fail no matter which iteration always such a good character
Get me on the fanclub couch
I was encouraged to post this. This is a "Red Sky At Dawn" (by @ashyronfire /@grollow ) specific meme. I'm calling myself out as an Atlas fanclub member
Sorry Grimm, we love you and your main character POV, but Atlas has that moxie
(Atlas and Nightshade belong to arsonistmoth !)
Edit: I TAGGED THE WRONG PERSON BEFORE, MY BAD
me, to my housemates, one of whom is a thermal engineer: if someone had hypothermia, is the best way to warm them up ‘spoon them’, or ‘cuddle chest to chest’? I feel like it could be either – spooning is the classic warming position, and you warm up the colder part, but spoon the front and you insulate the skin with the largest temperature delta
housemates: [fervent, serious debate]
me, after a couple of minutes: to be clear, this is for a final fantasy 7 fanfiction scene where my character got really cold, the stakes aren’t high in getting this completely right.
housemate: does the hypothermia exist sheerly as an excuse for the cuddling?
me: that is the only reason hypothermia exists in fanfiction.
Aziraphale very nearly twinkled over his pasta as he licked the final remnants of its rich sauce from the tines of his fork. Enraptured by the flick of his pink tongue, Crowley watched helplessly and feigned boredom.
Across the restaurant, a chair scraped against the tiled floor. Crowley reluctantly looked away from Aziraphale's pleased expression as they both turned toward the clatter. The man at the table slipped from his seat to kneel at his date’s feet, ring in hand. His fingers trembled. The gem sparkled. The woman’s hand flew to her mouth. She nodded frantically and shoved her hand in his direction. Yes! Yes. Of course, yes.
The couple laughed, flustered, as the patrons at other tables and a few pedestrians on the street clapped. Aziraphale joined in. Crowley didn’t.
“How lovely!” Aziraphale smiled, radiating a pure joy Crowley had to squint at even behind his sunglasses.
“He spent all his wages on that little bauble, I’d bet. Bit of a waste.”
“Love is never a waste, my dear.”
Of course Crowley privately agreed. Of course he did. He'd already sacrificed more in the name of love. He was never sure how much Aziraphale understood, but with the secretive, knowing glance he was receiving from across the table, Crowley suspected it was a great deal indeed.
Heart pounding, Crowley flagged a waiter for the dessert menu and sent a bottle of bubbles to the newly engaged couple's table. Aziraphale, now with dessert in sight, grinned impossibly wider, warm as sunshine. Crowley basked, snake that he was.