I'm superalk. I'm a grapheme-color, associative sound-color synesthete, parent, AuDHD'er, survivor, former teacher with 10 years of classroom experience. Now I write sci fi and fantasy, survivor fiction, and whump stories.
If you like what you find, drop me a Ko-Fi! https://ko-fi.com/superalk
I sometimes make things on Etsy: https://www.etsy.com/shop/superalkdesigns
and write fanfiction https://archiveofourown.org/users/superalk/works
“The first rule of love,” her mother says, voice crackling over the phone, “is to never take more than they can give.”
Finola’s eyes dart to the shoebox under her bed and then back out the dorm window. Her room is on the second floor this year and she can see more of the trees than she can see of the grassy space preceding the dining hall. “I know, Mom.”
“Remember.” Her mother’s voice is sharp and Finola can almost see her heavy, thick brows lowering until shadows cover her eyes. “No clothing. No bags. Never any jewelry.”
Finola wraps her free arm around her waist and closes her eyes. The light breeze rolling through the window smells like eucalyptus and mint. Her mouth waters. “I know, Mom.”
“Those are the big things,” her mother says, “but remember that too many of the small things can amount to a big thing.”
The shoebox under the bed gleams in a stray ray of light. Finola licks her lips. “I know, but—I need something. I have to. I feel like she’ll disappear if I don’t.” The words are inadequate for the sick fear in her stomach each time she loses sight of her. The horrible certainty that something bad will happen if she’s not by her side. She rubs a hand over her mouth.
Her mother’s tongue clicks. “That’s old instincts, Finola. Fight it. You don’t want your father and I to pull you out of school, do you?”
The memory of watching her high school fade out of sight surfaces and, in that moment, she’s sixteen again. She can feel her heart beating too fast, the scream ripping out of her throat, the way the ropes chafed her wrists. She can smell her first love’s perfume, cloying peach, in the air. She can feel their separation like a death in the pit of her stomach, radiating up into her chest, her throat, her head.
its a cliche but im a slut for when a character is introduced as super chill and goofy and then you later find out theyre chill and goofy because theyre too powerful to be touched. the level 100 wizard whos already figured out everything and is just vibing now. big fan.
I love when people are like “I can’t believe you reblogged that despite their user name, icon, bio, and last twenty posts” bc to me my dash is the only part of this website and I’m not slowing down to look at urls you could all be the same person
#spiritual successor is people being like why didnt you read my pinned before you reblogged!!!#dude i am not. i am not vetting every blog#i am here to backread for 45mins and rb 30 posts in a row and disappear#tumblr life
I actually hate writing, I always end up writing something that has no way to Segway into the next scene naturally and it’s actually so fucking annoying
Ive definitely felt that there is no natural segue into the next bit of dialogue or into the next scene, but that oftentimes is because people in real life don't segue.
One tool I like to use is "character observes physical object nearby and then unexpectedly dives into tangent."
So, for example, I have two knights arguing about who is their Lady's favorite. One argues that they have more tenure, the other argues they have more skill as evidenced by their many claims to fame. The first points out that paying for fame is not the same as earning it. The second protests that--
The argument goes from there, the two knights listing their own pros and brutally pointing out the other's cons. As they begin to struggle to come up with new pros ("the Lady likes red and I wear a red cape." "We both do, idiot.") the silence grows lengthier between each statement.
The older knight frowns and looks huffily at a nearby tree. After a beat they say, "I don't think that Lord Minnegan's impenetrable fortress is impenetrable."
And the second knight goes, "our Lady released the informant yesterday."
By having the knight look at the tree, I've effectively created space between the dying argument and this new line of conversation. Is it because both are tired of the conversation? Probably. Is it because they are professionals who should've been discussing the mission from the get go rather than childishly arguing about favorites? Undoubtedly.
But I didn't need a line of dialogue like "we shouldn't be arguing like this. It doesn't matter. We should talk about the mission" to get there. I just went there and hoped the audience would be able to understand the how of it. The action of looking at the tree is the only deescalation I needed to pivot in a new direction
I hope you don't mind me jumping on your post! I just love this type of roadblock because it's like a puzzle. How do you move forward? How can you make the pieces fit when writing a multifaceted story? It's super fun and frustrating in equal measure
Warnings: captive/prisoner hero, low self-worth, suicidal depression & self-hate, AFTERMATH OF THWARTED SUICIDE ATTEMPT, mental whump in the form of mind-related superpower, forced submission via superpower, total loss of bodily autonomy, intense full-blown panic attack, slightly intimate whump? If you squint
It felt unnatural, and wrong, and somewhere far away in Hero’s conscience she had the awareness to find that alarming, but Villain’s powers quickly snuffed out the part of her telling her this wasn’t right and that he was invading her mind to make her submissive and compliant.
“That’s it,” Villain whispered, loosening his grip on her. “Relax. You are safe.”
Again, the word echoed distantly in Hero’s mind, easing the tension and terror from it.
Relax. That didn’t sound too hard, right?
She felt Villain shift her limp body around in his arms, and before she knew it he was gently laying her flat on her back on the floor, looming over her with his face right above hers. A situation she would have normally found terrifying, if Villain’s powers weren’t sucking the panic out of her.
“Easy,” he continued quietly, and delicately brushed a lock of hair out of her face, tucking it behind her ear like a lover might do.
Hero just blinked up at him dazedly, her breaths slowly evening out as the adrenaline faded. It was like her head was suddenly filled with soft cotton, bringing her a false sense of peace and tranquility. But she couldn't shake the feeling that she wasn’t supposed to be feeling like this right now, and the flicker of muted concern was enough to draw her halfway back to lucidity, causing her brow to furrow in confusion.
“V-Villain?” she rasped faintly. “What… are you doing… to me…?”
“Shhh,” Villain shushed softly, and Hero’s mind blanked again as he intensified the hold of his powers on her conscience, dragging her back into blissful unawareness.
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed heavily, staring down at her sympathetically. The hero who was entirely at his mercy right now. “You’re not off to a great start today,” he groaned. “What on earth am I supposed to do with you if I can’t even trust you not to kill yourself when my back is turned…?”
Villain had, admittedly, been caught a little off-guard by Hero’s unexpected suicide attempt, despite his mind-reading abilities. He’d been in her head the whole day today and ever since her capture yesterday, and he knew there were a lot of dark things haunting her, especially about Other Hero, and that she didn't value her life at all, but he hadn’t been prepared for her to actually act on those dark thoughts he often caught her thinking about. He’d chalked it up to just a severe case of depression, but now he saw firsthand that Hero’s pain went far deeper than that if she felt like death was the only way out.
He hadn’t realized it was suicidal depression, and now he felt stupid for not recognizing the symptoms sooner — for not intervening earlier.
He’d been in Hero’s shoes before, and knew that kind of hopelessness intimately. To lose all faith in people, to truly begin believing it will never get better…
What did Other Hero do to you to make you this way? he thought sadly, staring at Hero’s glassy, unfocused eyes. He’d caught glimpses of memories she frequently thought about, about the abuse she’d endured as Other Hero’s lover, but it must be so much worse than he had pieced together if she was this miserable inside.
The original plan had been simple. Catch a hero, get information, then use them for ransom to get rid of them afterward. But suddenly things were much more complicated, and he wasn’t entirely sure he should let Hero go if Agency met his demands.
Villain rubbed his temples with his forefingers to ease the headache creeping in. He had a lot to think about now.
because I don't have to like it, I don't have to consume or even see it, to understand that censorship of anything at all is bad and harmful.
respectfully, if you think I like "every single thing", you are wrong. there are dozens of things in fiction and fanfic tropes that I dislike, hate or find disgusting. but no matter how much I hate them, I will always defend their rights to exist without being censored, and I will always condemn harassing real people over fiction.
if one thing can be censored, everything else, that isn't of conservative value, can and will be censored too.
legal procedural about a sleazebag lesbian lawyer cruising divorce court to pick up emotionally vulnerable women by helping turn up dirt on their husbands
"I was taught two things growing up before mama went to Vegas and never came back..." camera flashes to winning the slots and then an outstretched bloody hand and then a grave "that the only rewards we keep in this life are ones we work for" cut to MC stepping out of a nice car in front of a courthouse "and that everyone has a secret sickness inside of them"
"I took those lessons to heart. Two jobs in high school, doing other kids' homework, no prom...full ride for college. They didn't hand that to me either. I had to work for that too." (Montage of her laughing with admission clerk and then breaking into a computer to delete competitors) "law school was harder. No scholarships, no breaks. It got harder when the sickness set in." MC at a pool party with a ton of beautiful women hand feeding her grapes. The camera flashes on one woman in the corner who's sobbing into her hands and then back to the MC whose eyes narrow
"You never forget the first time you give in to the sickness" MC approaches the woman, sits down and whispers in her ear. The woman's eyes widen. "But once you give in..." MC walks away from sobbing woman, snagging a drink off of someone's poolside table as she goes "well, I guess my mama taught me one more thing."
Behind her, the woman is no longer sobbing. Shes staring straight ahead. Slowly, she picks up her phone. Types out one message. Sends it. The pool party erupts in message alerts. Shouts begin. People start accusing each other. MC takes her drink out to the parking lot, smiling. The camera goes back to the unnamed woman who is now Donny darko smiling at the chaos.
"Go big or go home."
Police cars show up as MC drives away.
The scene transitions back to modern day, courthouse. Another car pulls up and a woman dressed in rumpled business wear gets out. Our MC locks in.
"Smudged mascara...Manila folder clutched tk her chest. No lawyer then, representing herself...the sort of flush that only comes to a woman's face when she's caught somewhere between betrayal and despair..."
MC follows the woman to the courthouse. Right before going in, she turns to look at the camera. Smiles.
"That's what I'm addicted to. the moment she decides to fight. To defend herself. Burn the world, you know?"
(Montage of MC sitting beside evilly smiling clients as the judge bangs the gavel, men in opposing counsel yelling, red-faced screaming as MC walks her clients out of the courthouse)
"Yeah, that's the good stuff."
MC finds her target in the courthouse, flinching away from a man who must be her soon-to-be-ex and his suit-wearing lawyer. Without breaking stride, she goes up and puts an arm around the woman's shoulder. She sticks her other hand out to the two men, smiling.
She says, "Hi, I'm Cass Montenegro. Representation. So good to see you harassing my client already. Should make this easy."
Goes back to voice over as she stands there smiling, pulling her client into her side, and never taking her eyes off opposing counsel.
"There's still an awful lot of world left to burn."
do you know where "no beta we die like x" comes from and how it is used?
The term "beta" in this context is short for "beta reader" - a person who reads a fic while it's still in the editing stage and helps the writer get it ready to post. Some betas check grammar. Some check canon compliance. Some are sensitivity readers. There are lots of things that betas can do.
So functionally, saying "no beta" means that the writer didn't get this checked by a second person before they posted it. It's a warning that there might be errors or typos etc. It's mostly used when an author has written something quickly and is posting without doing a lot of (or any) edits first.
As for where it comes from? It all started with a bumper sticker.
This image was an internet meme at one point, and it got meme'd on in the form of "no ___ we ___ like men"
Here on tumblr, one of the versions that got really popular was from now-deleted user @grec1a who created this version:
From there, it migrated to AO3 as the "no beta we die like men" tag, and very often the word men is replaced by the name of a character who dies in canon.
The flaw with the criticism of "this character isn't acting traumatized, you need to show how this event changed them" is that a lot of people experience EXTREME traumatic events and think it's normal. Their behavior might change in subtle ways, but they mostly just continue with their life.
This is especially true in children/young characters. See example here:
When I write traumatized characters, I ask myself two things.
When would this character naturally think about the traumatizing event(s)? What does thinking about it do to them?
What did this event "teach" them? What belief did they leave with? When would that belief be expressed?
Let's use my experience as fodder for a moment. I was a responder to a car crash fatality. My answers:
I think about the event around roads/cars. I have hypervigilance near road ways. I look for pedestrians obsessively, I won't cross a street until all cars have stopped moving. When I was having a trauma response, I couldn't communicate well because I was so focused on the source of my distress. In writing that would be "darting eyes", "tense shoulders", "inability to focus on anything other than the immediate" and "tunnel vision"
I developed the belief "cars will kill" and specifically "If i drive anyone, I will kill them (especially if the car is silver)". I drive alone for the most part and this also helps me hide any signs of trauma. If there is a trip being discussed, I will opt for the one that involves any other mode of transport besides cars, even if it's more expensive. In writing, my resistance to being near cars might come off as "obstinate, unyielding, selfish." It's only when other pushed me for an explanation that my reaction was identified as PTSD.
This is an overt trauma response as an example, but imagine a response to something less prevalent than roads. How often would the above responses come up?
Now let's apply the questions to someone who views the event as "normal" (I was aware that I was having an abnormal experience). Either they were raised around it or the people around them at the time of the inciting event made them feel like they were overreacting.
When something triggers the memory of the inciting event, how are they feeling? Shamed that they can't forget? Irritated that they can't stop thinking about it? How do those emotions translate to their actions? Do they change the subject? Leave? Stop talking? As humans, we want to avoid discomfort. Will this person lash out?
When traumatic events are normalized, many people may not realize they have a new "belief." They may feel alienated from people who don't have this belief and may not understand why not everybody just knows about it. For example, feeling like everyone should just "know" that their loved ones are going to betray them. This might be expressed explosively - why doesn't everybody know? Why is everyone acting like that's not how the world works? Or it might lead to withdrawal and further alienation.
This is very brief, but I hope my point comes across. Yes, trauma is always felt, but how it's felt, when it's felt, when it's seen differs from person to person.
When someone, especially young people, are taught to just "move on" the trauma is still there! But it will express itself differently initially. Not being able to control their emotional response to a traumatic event may become a more visible reaction than any other.
"Are you okay?"
"I'm fine."
"You look a little pale--"
"Aren't you hungry? I'll go grab us lunch. Burgers okay?"
"Uh, yes, but--"
"Text me when you're done here. I don't need to be here for this bullshit."
And when they come back, they don't mention being upset at all.
what ao3 would look like with ads. no, you do not want this. support ao3 because it’s one of the last few places on the internet that is not tainted by capitalism bullshit. support ao3 because it’s one of the last few places on the internet that is genuinely about the connection between audiences, artists, their works and the love/passion artists have for what they do
A terrorist. A political terrorist, in particular, since his actions in Civil War were to destabilize the Avengers in the eyes of not just the world governments, but the casualties of their heroics, so they would be less depended upon fer their self appointed world policing authority.
He literally sent a rocket into a UN meeting, killing and injuring dozens of world leaders, but not once can I recall fandom seeing him as much of anything outside of the prevalent and disgusting sugar daddy headcanons.
But there's heat aplenty fer the Flagsmashers, a group of forcefully abandoned people borne out of necessity and survival. The actions of one denote the entire group as terrorists immediately.
Yet the dude who attacked, murdered and framed folks is just a grieving family man who happened to be wealthy but instead of using his vast fortune to seek the therapy he so desperately needed and perhaps being of service to others living with similar grief, he let it consume him.
He then used his wealth, privilege and co-conspiring manservant to murder more people from behind prison bars to prevent their assumed escalation towards a supremacist mindset he'd long since surpassed.
Edit: The Sokovia accords signing, not UN. But that feels like the mcu version of the UN.
i love cutthroat kitchen but bingewatching makes it really stand out how often alton brown refers to himself as ‘daddy’ and makes contestants wear spreader bars
Tumblr post 1: Stories are all too grimdark and such it is fash doomerism to assume reality is evil What we need in these times is stories that inspire hope that is truly revolutionary
Tumblr post 2: Stories are all too fluffy and happy and such it is fash revisionism to shy away from the darkness What we need in these times is stories that are cathartic and unsettling that is truly revolutionary
MORAL: All storytelling is evil (telling lies)
superalk does stuff @superalk - Tumblr Blog | Tumgag
