#spitewrite

[sinclairsting]

My most unhinged writing advice. For when all else fails:

Write like someone awful is trying to stop you.

Write like every word is an attack on someone you hate.

Write like every sentence will royally piss them off.

Write for spite.

[thou-breath-of-autumns-being]

@crashorpie prompts #5 here

--

Om was sitting on Brutha’s desk, afterward, eating a slice of melon. He could twist into being a Great God, like someone stretching after a long sleep; but he didn’t want to. Being a turtle had become comfortable. You don’t get good melon as a Great God.

“I was right, you know,” Om says. “About Vorbis. You should have bashed his head in with a rock.”

Brutha shrugged. “Maybe.”

“We almost died in the desert,” Om said, “and it only bought him, what, a week of life? Which he used to try to torture you to death, I might add. And then instead of dying by rock to the head he died by turtle to the head. Call that worth the sacrifice? I don’t call that worth the sacrifice.”

Brutha shrugged again. “You might be right.”

“I am right.” Om ate another bite of melon. It was juicy and fresh and perfectly ripe. Divinity had its privileges. “Do you really think that there was any chance we would have won if Vorbis stayed alive?”

There was a long silence.

“No.”

“So, there you go,” Om said. 

“You can kill people if they’re trying to kill you,” Brutha said. “You shouldn’t kill people if they’re weak and helpless.”

“Get that from My holy books, did you?”

“No,” Brutha said quietly. “Your holy books don’t have nearly enough about not killing people who are helpless.”

“Ah. Well.”

Brutha took a piece of bread and dipped it in olive oil. “I don’t think I would be able to live with myself if I hadn’t saved him.”

“Bit precious, isn’t it,” Om said. “How many people died in the Quisition’s cells so that you could live with yourself?”

“I think,” Brutha said, “he deserved a chance to be better than he was.”

“Do you really think he would have taken it?”

“No.” Brutha chewed the bread. “But even so.”

[thou-breath-of-autumns-being]

@crashorpie prompts #8 here:

--

“And your great-uncle was a very kind man,” Wen Ning said, “I wish you had gotten to meet him, he pretended to be stern but he always had candies in his pockets for the children.”

“Wouldn’t I have gotten to meet him?” Lan Sizhui asked, thoughtlessly. “At the burial mounds.”

Wen Ning was silent.

“...oh,” Lan Sizhui said quietly. “Who killed him?”

“Is there any answer for that,” Wen Ning said, “that’s a good one?”

Lan Sizhui paused, and then shook his head. 

“Wei Wuxian’s fierce corpses killed maybe a quarter of the Wen who died,” Wen Ning said quietly. “Maybe a fifth.”

“He’s your friend. He’s my--” Father died on his lips. “The husband of the man who raised me,” he finished lamely. 

“Bad things happen in war,” Wen Ning said with finality. 

“Did he change?” Lan Sizhui asked. “Is he a different person now?”

Wen Ning shook his head. “Wei Wuxian has never changed. His circumstances did.”

“And that’s-- he’s your best friend.”

“And if I hated him for what happened,” Wen Ning said, “what good would it do?”

[thou-breath-of-autumns-being]

spitewrite prompt: whichever you feel most inspired by out of “love potions hannigram” and “literally any faye/leia, because i love our disaster children”

It’s a little like a trade, Lev thinks, and a little like an act of worship. 

He admires Faye, her strength, her intelligence, her resilience in the face of trauma; he likes to hold her hand and put his head on her shoulder. And he listens to her talk about feminism and what men need to do, and he... takes it into account. 

Some of what she wants he’s already doing. He’s far too self-conscious to ever intrude upon a female space except in his imagination, and too acutely aware of how unlike a woman he is to dare to identify as one. He would never identify as a feminist. Sex is usually mildly unpleasant, and at its best no different than giving his girlfriend a footrub or a back massage; he’s happy to avoid it as long as Faye wants.

Other things are easy enough. He avoids complimenting women on their appearances, listens quietly in conversations when women are talking, does childcare for the Take Back the Night march. He stops using porn; when he doesn’t want to just use his imagination, there are plenty of ASMR videos about women putting makeup on you that serve just as well. He never really checked women out, but he figures imagining wearing their outfits is the same thing; he looks away whenever he’s tempted. 

His fantasies are misogynist, of course they are; womanhood is being an adult human female, not having sex with men and wearing dresses and having your fingernails painted and going to sleepovers. And he’s tried to get rid of them and it never worked. But he doesn’t bother any women with them, so his fantasies don’t hurt them. 

And... it feels right to be able to do something for women. They’re so good, so beautiful, so much better than him; he wants to be one so desperately. There are some things he can’t give up, the eyeliner and the panties and the fantasies of getting fucked in his vagina by his boyfriend. But there are things he can do to make life better for women and it’s a little bit paying them back for how good they are and a little bit a sacrifice to honor them. 

Sometimes Faye says “all men are terrible” and he agrees, and then she smiles and kisses his cheek and says “not you, it’s almost like you’re not a man at all,” and he feels so warm. 

[thou-breath-of-autumns-being]

fayesha spitewrite?

Any woman can be a lesbian if she tries, Sasha knows, and she’s trying. 

Female sexuality is about equality and reciprocity and mutual pleasure, not about mere genital eroticism; they hold hands and cuddle and kiss and Sasha only ever orgasms alone. Sasha’s lucky, Faye doesn’t want to have sex that much anyway because of her trauma, not that she’d ever pressure her anyway. Female relationships aren’t like that.

Faye talks about how porn is objectifying to women and constructs a harmful and male-dominant idea of sexuality, and Sasha doesn’t mention that the tied-up men in the awareness-raising slideshow made her wet.

Faye talks about how sadomasochism is eroticizing oppression and hierarchy, spreading the lie that true sexual pleasure requires dominance, and Sasha doesn’t talk about how when she masturbates she’s thinking about bruises and handcuffs and tears.

Faye talks about butch-femme roleplaying, the myth that lesbians need to enact heterosexuality. Sasha doesn’t say the only time I’ve really wanted to fuck a woman is when I’ve wanted to sink on my knees and take her strapon into my mouth, doesn’t say I want a tight sports bra and a dick in my pants more than anything in the world, doesn’t say but what if we enacted male homosexuality instead.

[thou-breath-of-autumns-being]

Anonymous Spitewrite Prompt: Leonard Salby/William Chen?

It brings to mind, Salby thinks staring at Chen’s sleeping form, something that-- as blasphemous as it is-- he can only call a sense of definite rightness.

[thou-breath-of-autumns-being]

Anonymous Spitewrite Prompt: Will Graham / Peter Bernardone?

The thing is that you don’t want to hurt anyone. 

The thing is that when you find out your social worker is wrong, when you see the emptiness behind his smiling eyes, you sew your social worker into the horse, so that he will come back to life, and he won’t hurt anyone anymore. Because you don’t want to hurt anyone, and the system that is supposed to protect people was what made him in the first place, so you have nothing to trust but magic.

The thing is that his eyes never, ever meet yours, and he knows why that is intimate. 

The thing is that when he kisses you it is magic, and when your hands brush it is magic, and he sees the emptiness behind their eyes too. He knows why you trust animals, and why you trust magic, and why you don’t trust smiling eyes. 

The thing is that his social worker is trying to empty him out and leave nothingness behind his eyes. 

The thing is that you cannot sew him into anything, but the kisses are magic, and when you touch it is magic, and when he gasps it is magic, and you hope that your kisses and touches and gasps can cause him to be born again, whole and alive and safe.

[thou-breath-of-autumns-being]

Totally Anonymous Spiteprompt, attempt the second: volunteer Lev/Asher with social power difference and an age gap?

When Lev’s parents send him to volunteer at the Habitat for Humanity, he thinks it is going to be enraging because he has to do boring manual labor in order to appear altruistic so he can get into college. (He ponders asking his parents whether doing altruism so you can get into college is actually in any meaningful sense altruism, but decides this is one of those questions better left unasked.)

Instead, it is enraging because of the shift leader. Asher is twenty-five years old and just out of the military, which is enraging, because of Lev’s firm commitment to pacifism that is not at all caused by his terror of loud noises and death. He has the body of a Greek god and keeps taking his shirt off mid-shift, which fills Lev with this combination of rage, jealousy, and lust. He’s effortlessly charming; everyone wants to see his grin. When he enters the room everyone turns to him like flowers seeking the sun.  

Lev has a crush on him, of course. Everyone has a crush on him, it’s fucking cliche, and it would make Lev want to hammer his own thumb, except he’s already done that a dozen times and knows exactly how painful it is. 

And then, if that were not bad enough, Lev saw him sitting on the rafters of the house he’s building (because of course he does that), pen in his mouth, reading a textbook entitled Principles of Chemical Science, by which means Lev discovers that Asher is wicked smart, is going to MIT in the fall, and is absolutely dying to talk to Lev about math. 

This is going to be a long goddamn summer.