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yourscientistfriend

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

A tale of sulphuric acid and sugar cubes.

cl-hilbert

A Tasting Menu of Female Representation:

The Bechdel:

two or more women talking to each other about something other than a man

The Mako Mori:

at least one female character with her own narrative arc that is not about supporting a man’s story

The Sexy Lamp:

a female character that cannot be removed from the plot and replaced with a sexy lamp without destroying the story.

Chef’s Specials:

The Anti-Freeze:

no woman assaulted, injured or killed to further the story of another character.

The “Strength is Relative”:

complex women defined by solid characterization rather than a handful of underdeveloped masculine-coded stereotypes.

Furiosa test.

“Ghostbusters” blows all of these tests completely out of the water.

And generates at least one that I think ought to be added:

The Pizza Night Test

Women are shown eating non-salad food and no comment is made about anyone getting fat or breaking their diet.

rehfan

I love everyone in this bar.

liaraliara

Super detailed questions about your OCs

1. What’s their full name? Why was that chosen? Does it mean anything? 2. Do they have any titles? How did they get them? 3. Did they have a good childhood? What are fond memories they have of it? What’s a bad memory? 4. What is their relationship with their parents? What’s a good and bad memory with them? Did they know both parents? 5. Do they have any siblings? What’s their names? What is their relationship with them? Has their relationship changed since they were kids to adults? 6. What were they like at school? Did they enjoy it? Did they finish? What level of higher education did they reach? What subjects did they enjoy? Which did they hate? 7. Did they have lots of friends as a child? Did they keep any of their childhood friends into adulthood? 8. Did they have pets as a child? Do they have pets as an adult? Do they like animals? 9. Do animals like them? Do they get on well with animals? 10. Do they like children? Do children like them? Do they have or want any children? What would they be like as a parent? Or as a godparent/babysitter/ect? 11. Do they have any special diet requirements? Are they a vegetarian? Vegan? Have any allergies? 12. What is their favourite food? 13. What is their least favourite food? 14. Do they have any specific memories of food/a restaurant/meal? 15. Are they good at cooking? Do they enjoy it? What do others think of their cooking? 16. Do they collect anything? What do they do with it? Where do they keep it? 17. Do they like to take photos? What do they like to take photos of? Selfies? What do they do with their photos? 18. What’s their favourite genre of: books, music, tv shows, films, video games and anything else 19. What’s their least favourite genres? 20. Do they like musicals? Music in general? What do they do when they’re favourite song comes? 21. Do they have a temper? Are they patient? What are they like when they do lose their temper? 22. What are their favourite insults to use? What do they insult people for? Or do they prefer to bitch behind someone’s back? 23. Do they have a good memory? Short term or long term? Are they good with names? Or faces? 24. What is their sleeping pattern like? Do they snore? What do they like to sleep on? A soft or hard mattress? 25. What do they find funny? Do they have a good sense of humour? Are they funny themselves? 26. How do they act when they’re happy? Do they sing? Dance? Hum? Or do they hide their emotions? 27. What makes them sad? Do they cry regularly? Do they cry openly or hide it? What are they like they are sad? 28. What is their biggest fear? What in general scares them? How do they act when they’re scared? 29. What do they do when they find out someone else’s fear? Do they tease them? Or get very over protective? 30. Do they exercise? Regularly? Or only when forced? What do they act like pre-work out and post-work out? 31. Do they drink? What are they like drunk? What are they like hungover? How do they act when other people are drunk or hungover? Kind or teasing? 32. What do they dress like? What sorta shops do they buy clothes from? Do they wear the fashion that they like? What do they wear to sleep? Do they wear makeup? What’s their hair like? 33. What underwear do they wear? Boxers or briefs? Lacey? Comfy granny panties? 34. What is their body type? How tall are they? Do they like their body? 35. What’s their guilty pleasure? What is their totally unguilty pleasure? 36. What are they good at? What hobbies do they like? Can they sing? 37. Do they like to read? Are they a fast or slow reader? Do they like poetry? Fictional or non fiction? 38. What do they admire in others? What talents do they wish they had? 39. Do they like letters? Or prefer emails/messaging? 40. Do they like energy drinks? Coffee? Sugary food? Or can they naturally stay awake and alert? 41. What’s their sexuality? What do they find attractive? Physically and mentally? What do they like/need in a relationship? 42. What are their goals? What would they sacrifice anything for? What is their secret ambition? 43. Are they religious? What do they think of religion? What do they think of religious people? What do they think of non religious people? 44. What is their favourite season? Type of weather? Are they good in the cold or the heat? What weather do they complain in the most? 45. How do other people see them? Is it similar to how they see themselves? 46. Do they make a good first impression? Does their first impression reflect them accurately? How do they introduce themselves? 47. How do they act in a formal occasion? What do they think of black tie wear? Do they enjoy fancy parties and love to chit chat or loathe the whole event? 48. Do they enjoy any parties? If so what kind? Do they organise the party or just turn up? How do they act? What if they didn’t want to go but were dragged along by a friend? 49. What is their most valued object? Are they sentimental? Is there something they have to take everywhere with them? 50. If they could only take one bag of stuff somewhere with them: what would they pack? What do they consider their essentials?

heywriters

Hey there! Do you have any tips for writing subtlety? Idk how to exactly explain it but when I writing, I notice that I seem to be writing things as they are so it doesn't leave much for the readers to infer and have that aha! moment. I hope that makes some sense. Thanks!

Wasn’t sure how to answer, so I found some other writers who could:

Writing on the Nose: what it is and why not to do it.

Show, Don’t Tell: What You Need to Know

Use All Five Senses To Enrich Your Writing

The Art of Subtlety

How being subtle can improve your descriptions

Definitely study more about the “show, don’t tell” guideline as well as the other senses that can be used in writing besides the essential five. Likewise, “on-the-nose” is generally used to refer to dialogue, so if you’re having trouble with that too, search “on-the-nose dialogue” for tips on improving.

+ HEY, Writers! other social media: Wattpad - Pinterest - Goodreads

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humanityinahandbag

I’ve found that the best way to write a death scene is to make it saddest when it shouldn’t be. The funeral is rushed, the realization of death isn’t spent too much time on, and the characters mourning is more of a blank space filled with hums and a need for endless nothings.

But then Person A finally gets to be alone and gets to their room and looks at the bed and realizes that it’s suddenly a lot bigger. And they’re too short to reach the blinds to close them, and that was always Person B’s job. And they’ll never fold clothes for someone else again, never need to ask someone to turn off the light, never try to stop them from snoring. And then moving away from it all, trying to forget, holding back tears in the kitchen cradling a cup of tea they realize that Person B will never drink tea with them again. And they’ll never help them reach their mug. And when they drop it to the floor, shattering it into millions of helpless individuals there is no one there to tell them not to move, not to step on the glass, not to cut themselves. That the mug has no worth because it’s worth was in the adventures of cleaning up the pieces and remembering it as it was.

There is no one to stop them from hurting. And there is no one to drink tea.

Tragedy comes in the little things. I just wanted to remind you of that.

romanticdaydreams

I saw this on my professor’s door and I can’t even deal with the accuracy.

How do you move on?

You don't. You just live with it everyday and time shall pass, memories turns vague and it would feel like everything was just a dream.

disabilityhealth

Hey you! Yes, you.

You made it to this point and that is such a good thing. I’m proud of you.

enjoy-the-life-baby

bluesmemethings

various starters

❛ you’re a weapon and weapons don’t weep. ❜

❛ hurt me once, I’ll kill you twice. ❜

❛ never trust a survivor until you learn what they did to stay alive. ❜

❛ death is the only god that comes when you call. ❜

❛ I am teeth. I am royal. you are nothing to me. ❜

❛ the sun will rise and we will try again. ❜

❛ we’re just kids. we aren’t supposed to be heroes. ❜

❛ I like my women like I like my Absinthe: bitter and intoxicating. ❜

❛ what doesn’t kill me better run. ❜

❛ she wasn’t looking for a knight. she was looking for a sword. ❜

❛ don’t dehumanize bad people, because it’s their humanity which makes what they’ve done so terrifying. ❜

❛ she isn’t just pretty. she is otherworldly and vaguely threatening. ❜

❛ magic is not good or evil. is a knife evil? only if the wielder is. ❜

❛ I don’t want your crown. see, I’ve come to burn your kingdom down. ❜

❛ they broke my wings. they forgot I have claws. ❜

❛ all that blood was never beautiful, it was just red. ❜

❛ what do you do when there’s no hero in the story? simple. you kill the monster and crown yourself. ❜

❛ how terrible it is, to love something that death can touch. ❜

❛ you may not be interested in war, but it is interested in you. ❜

❛ I feel divinity in my bones like aching. like fire. ❜

❛ you make me feel and I don’t like it. I want it to stop. now. ❜

❛ you are losing my interest and that is very dangerous. ❜

❛ she will burn your kingdoms down, herself with it, if it means your ruin. ❜

❛ it’s okay to be scared. it means your about to do something brave. ❜

❛ she looks like divine absolution. ❜

❛ I will not be another flower, picked for my beauty and left to die. I will be wild, difficult to find and impossible to forget. ❜

❛ be careful with words. they can be forgive, but never forgotten. ❜

❛ you not wanting me was the beginning of me wanting myself. ❜

❛ I’m tired of fighting. for once, I want to be fought for. ❜

❛ never run back to what broke you. ❜

❛ I was quite, but not blind. ❜

❛ your gut knows what’s up. trust that bitch. ❜

❛ we all eat lies when our hearts are hungry. ❜

❛ do not judge my story by the chapter you walked in on. ❜

❛ I’m just a girl, standing in front of a salad, wishing it was a donut. ❜

❛ you can miss something but not want it back. ❜

❛ you can’t save people, you can only love them. ❜

❛ I came, I saw, I made it awkward. ❜

❛ we buy shite we don’t need, with money we don’t have, to impress people we don’t like. ❜

❛ you’re always one decision away from a different life. ❜

❛ my brain has too many tabs open. ❜

❛ I’m not saying I hate you, just that you’re like the Monday of people. ❜

❛ there’s no ‘we’ in fries. ❜

❛ apology accepted, trust denied. ❜

❛ death and I have been scandalously intimate for some time now. ❜

❛ life happens. coffee helps. ❜

❛ I am mine before I am ever anyone else’s. ❜

❛ I rely a bit too heavily on alcohol and irony. ❜

❛ very early in my life it was already too late. ❜

❛ is that a threat or are you flirting with me. ❜

❛ was the use of force necessary in completing your objectives? ❜

❛ I’ll let you drag me to hell if it means you’ll hold my hand. ❜

❛ I do bad things, and I do them very well. ❜

❛ you drink too much, you cuss too much and you have questionable morals. you’re everything I ever wanted. ❜

❛ they will kill you, but first they will have to catch you. ❜

❛ drugs might kill you but they’ll never break your heart. ❜

❛ good girls are just bad girls that haven’t been caught. ❜

❛ a pretty face doesn’t guarantee a pretty heart. ❜

❛ no airbag, we die like men. ❜

❛ true evil is, above all, seductive. ❜

❛ it takes more courage to suffer than to die. ❜

❛ you must be lucky to avoid the wolf every time. but the wolf? he only needs enough luck to catch you once. ❜

❛ justice is vengeance in prettier packaging. ❜

bonfirebanshee

Okay but surrealism aside all of these Southern Gothic posts are literally how the South is and I’m cackling.

We’ve got creepy ass 24/7 diners that say open but you can’t find the staff for half an hour.

There’s a haunted house and a murder/ghost story in every town.

There’s always a fishing hole no one goes to because of a tragedy living in the waters.

The woods are dark and hunting season is the only time you enter them. So many ghost stories. Haunted everything.

The mountains are alive with the sound of screaming.

Devil’s tramping grounds, hollers, woods, stones, you name it, we got it.

The old people may be racist and bigoted, but they have skin-crawling tales of caution and they’re all true.

Everyone knows someone who’s drowned.

We’ve all got a weird cousin who left the family and never came back. No one knows the circumstances of their disappearance but they were always an “odd duck.”

Community is a foreign concept to many until autumn. People come in droves from the mountain valleys and hollers bearing crafts and baked goods for sale. Apple butter can be smelled from half a mile away and the sound of fiddles fill the air. You will not see these people again until next autumn.

There are cemeteries everywhere, but the ones unloved are left for a reason.

Do not step on the graves, but behind them. If you step on them, apologize to avoid haunting.

Old oak trees = do not fuck with the tree.

100% Facts, I’m not even joking.

promptsonpaper

“We laid on his bed in a cloud of smoke and sex, exquisitely blinded and blissed- each in our own made up euphoria.”

writing-challenges-and-prompts

Writing Prompt: Dialogue

“Don’t move. Don’t move, or I will shoot you.” “I think this time, you actually will. What are you waiting for? Pull the trigger.” “You’re insane.” “‘Control issues’, is what I believe you called it. You know, they say taking one’s life is the ultimate act of control. Personally, I think it’s getting somebody else to take it for you.”

ramonameisel

I wonder if there’s a world where we end up together.

Where we’re not broken and mended together with threads thick enough to break my wings or cords spindling through your shivering bones. Where no one has to burn, neither drown. Where we’re meant to be. Where the universe stops for us. Where our bodies write f o r e v e r instead of t r a g e d y. Where our names are written on wedding rings instead of gravestones.

- excerpt of We could have been, published in Sunblind | r.m

crossroadsbela

The old gods are dead

Zeus sits at the bar, he’ll buy a thousand and one drinks and the girls who he smiles at will raise their eyebrows and think of the pepper spray tucked into their sleeves.

Hera waits at home. She knows the numbers of all the girls and she has their facebooks open on the computer. Her hands hover over the keyboard., She wants to tell them that men will always lie. She wants to take her own advice. She never will.

Apollo and Artemis travel the world. They are chasing the sun. Chasing the moon. They will never catch up. Their hand are curled around each others hip bones. Never in public though. They look too similar for that now. Society has learned judgement and so they keep their caresses safe in the shadows.

Poseidon wanders the shore. He wears a plastic poncho and carries a bag of trash. His tears mix with the salt water. No one can tell the difference. A girl with hair that moves like serpents trails after him, retribution in her eyes.

Hades lies in bed, his wife curled around him. He smiles because people will always believe in death and finally, finally he has beaten his brothers at something.

Athena paces through college campuses, handing out pamphlets on architecture. She scoffs at professors who are simply going through the motions. She carries signs in her hands as she marches through the streets with the students, screaming about the newest problem. She laughs wild, these children, these fearless children are her people.

Hestia wants her family to come home. She waits in the doorway, arms outstretched and a smile like forgiveness waiting to embrace the siblings whom she knows will never return.

Demeter counts down the days until her daughter returns. She smiles when children cheer over the snow days she gives them. There was a time when she had a child like that.

Persephone kisses her husband and grins when people tremble. She is vengeful and wears flowers in her hair and she will make damn sure that the world will never forget her name.

Ares walks through the Middle East, picking his way around the ruins of an elementary school. He stopped understanding war a long time ago. This was not brave, this was not heroic. This was senseless.

Aphrodite narrows her eyes at boys in cars who yell obscene things. She’s long since stopped romanticizing love. She is gaunt and over worked but sometimes she sees a teenage girl handing her baby over to an older couple who had tried for years and she feels young again. Sometimes, she sees Ares from across the room as soldiers embrace their loved ones and they smile at each other.

Hephaestus limps through his shop, his hands are worn down, his back is still twisted but people don’t seem to notice anymore. He makes their furniture, their toys and trinkets and they thank him, they pay him.

Hermes runs through the streets of New York, Tokyo, London. He is young in this time, young and beautiful and slipping between business men, his hands finding their way into their pockets. He never stops laughing.

Dionysus mixes Zeus his drinks. He watches his family grin and cry and get sick in the back room of the bar. He holds back their hair and hands them another drink before they even ask. He’s been here a long time. He’s seen them drunk more often then he’s seen them sober. He is watching them flicker out and fade.

The gods are dying. The gods are dead. The gods are us.

-L.D.

bazbucky

This is one of my top 10 posts on Tumblr.

alannasroleplaymemes-moved

NonCon Sentence Starters

“Just relax. I don’t want to hurt you.” “This is what you wanted, isn’t it?” “Why are you fighitng me?” “Shut up or else!” “I’ll let you go when I’m finished with you.” “Don’t lie to yourself. You want this.” “You’re enjoying this.” “Now, smile for the camera.” “You’ll do as I say.” “Shhh. It’s all right. I’ll be gentle.” “There’s no point in resisting.” “Be a good girl/boy.” “I’m not done with you. Turn over.” “You wouldn’t want him/her/them finding out about this, would you?” “You belong to me now.” “Take off your clothes. Slowly.” “Stop crying.” “No one can hear you.” “Get up. I still have friends who want to use you.” “My favorite color. Why would you wear these if you didn’t want me to do this?” “You don’t want someone who is ‘good’. You want someone efficient.” “It’ll feel so good, you won’t care how it started.“ “You’re always there. Following me. I could only resist for so long.” “Look what you made me do.” “Shhh, shh. I’ll take care of you.” “I love you.”

wildfairy

Red days are when the wolves howl all night and in the morning the birds return with torn out feathers. The days are filled with ambulance sirens. My hair is on fire. Everything moves in slow motion. The flames, the heat, my body soaked in kerosene. The screams in the distance. The monster in the corner, gawking. The stripped birds. And then: the wolves. Blue days are heavy and I spend them speaking in spiderwebs. My reflection is clouded and the air is always too humid. The world does anything it can to make my bones weigh me down. My hands, a noose. My head, a haunted house. My heart, turned into a stress ball for when you needed it most. Green days are spent wondering if it was painful when the sky had stars sewn into it. Wondering if the pain was worth it. Cactus spines stuck underneath skin when you try to drink the water. I am walking the precipice, one foot in the real world and one stuck in dreams. I am an inventor these days, writing fables for a childhood I can’t remember. Purple days are murky and the owls have dangerous omens. I am on the tightrope. I am living out my childhood dream of being a ballerina. I am the circus act. I am the caged bird. I am spinning on my axis. The bystanders hold a collective breath. They are, after all, just paying for a pretty show. They don’t care about what comes after the fall. Yellow days are a safe haze, coating my hands in syrup. My blood stays on the inside of my body. My skin actually does its job. Everything is safe and sultry. There is lemonade without sugar. There is your messy mouth again. Everything moves in reverse. There is my candy necklace. There are the sunflowers. There is the sunset we named after us. Pink days are sunrises and fairy floss. I write about flowers and paint my face in watercolors. There are sugar angels on the counters. The spice containers are overfilling. I am happy and whole. I am kinetic energy and the explosion that comes with. I am rosy cheeked, and roses growing from my wrists. There is no pain. There is only the beauty I’ve torn myself apart to create. I am on the edge of a cliff. I have my wings. When I jump, I am a bird set free.

COLOR COORDINATED DAYS, angelea l. (via wildfairy)

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