The Killer
So I was hanging out with some friends last night, and for whatever reason, we got onto the subject of whether or not we sleep with the bedroom door closed. Apparently it's safer in case of fires? But it turns out that most of my friends keep their bedroom door closed because of concerns about The Killer, aka, a person breaking into their house at night with the express intention of murdering them.
For the purposes of this poll, "I share a house/apartment" is for situations where you have your own bedroom, but there are other people living with you; "I share a bedroom" is for situations where there is another person sleeping in the same room.
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Hi 💕
How about 3 and 28 for the writer asks?
hi, anon, thank you for the ask!!
3: how would you describe your writing style?
Pool Experiences. sometimes, it’s about that moment of welcome when you wade in and the water is sun-warmed and sweet-tempered, lapping at your ankles, then your knees, then your waist, then your throat— writing, other worlds, like friends who come up to eagerly envelop you. sometimes, it’s about that that cold, clarifying rush, what you ache for when the world is heavy and dull— that first burn of water you instinctively jerk away from before you realise it’s just what you need, everything in clearer focus. other times, it’s taking a deep breath and submerging yourself fully, and your vision is blue and rippling and hazy, an exhilarating otherness that you cling to, reap from until your lungs begin to burn and you have to come up for air, gasping and breathless and euphoric. and very infrequently, very rarely, it’s the clean lines of a swim, cutting through words like water, knowing your way, but also letting the experience of it buoy you. i relate to writing like i relate to water, with endless fear and a deep well of love, and when i reread my works, this is what comes back to me, in breathing patterns and visuals.
28: any writing advice that works for you that you’re willing to share?
in the ideation stage, i’m all about the big stuff. revolutions and retellings and trauma and symbolism and concepts that read more like meta than they do a story. so i have to remind myself, broken record and suchlike, every day: tell it small. work inwards. if a narrative is to be about the ripples spreading through the lake, then the words and sentences and scenes have to begin with the pebble making contact with the water. what’s that moment of contact, if i work backwards, or more accurately, inwards from whatever sprawling notion has afflicted me now?
there’s a fic, eternally stuck in the conceptualisation stage, that i call The Azkaban Fic. the basic premise is ron/parvati and harry go undercover as prisoners to azkaban because the DMLE is convinced the prisoners are forming an underground terror group. harry and draco end up being cellmates and it goes from there. this fic came to me because i wanted to write about the insidiousness of conspiracy theories, how much harm they can cause when they stereotype marginalised groups and how they could be used to cover up far more egregious undertakings in the name of the law— which is to simply say there is no underground terror group, but azkaban has in fact become the ministry’s playground to run extrajudicial experiments/testing. which— i have my theory and a sense of what i’m trying to get across with this sort of narrative, but that doesn’t translate into an actionable plan to begin writing anything down at all.
so, if i was to very roughly and very quickly work inwards from some aspects of this premise, then my first question would be what kind of man does harry need to be to agree to this operation at all? he’s canonically not a rule follower, and given both his characterisation and his experiences, is likely to be suspicious of orders handed down to him as unquestionable doctrines by anyone in the ministry, even his direct supervisors. he also knows, technically— sirius— that not all prisoners are justly incarcerated, that all stereotypes about “people who belong in azkaban” don’t fit. so maybe, this is auror!harry, who’s “put away enough bad guys” by this point to have developed a kind of selective forgetfulness towards his own experiences and points of knowledge. which also means that this isn’t a harry who is regularly confronted by contradictory narratives— which rules out, for me, versions of hermione who take up prison reform, etc as a post-war personal cause. in fact, it makes sense that perhaps post-war, the trio and their intimate circles at large pivoted the other way, towards harsher sentencing, less rehabilitation. that’s relevant characterisation, and relevant world-building, and now i need a scene where these broader arcs interact in a relatively small way that opens up this world for me to enter as a writer and a reader.
and i come, thus, to an opening scene where this harsher, jaded, selectively forgetful harry is testifying as arresting auror against a petty, mundungus fletcher-esque criminal. he waits after, in the courtroom, for the sentence to be handed down. for the rapsheet in question, that eventual sentence sounds much too long, much too invasive. except— harry gets up, smiles at ron, his auror partner. outside the courtroom, they briefly discuss these sequence of events as a success. and then they go to get lunch at the new indian place on diagon. all in an afternoon’s work, eh mate?
send me yet another writing ask!
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So earlier in art class today, someone drew a characters hands in their pockets and mentioned that hands are really like the ultimate end boss of art, and most of us wholeheartedly agreed. So then, our teacher went ahead and free handed like a handful of hands on the board, earning a woah from a couple of students. So the one from earlier mentioned how it barely took the teacher ten seconds to do what I can’t do in three hours. And you know what he responded?
“It didn’t take me ten seconds, it took me forty years.”
And you know, that stuck with me somehow. Because yeah. Drawing a hand didn’t take him fourth years. But learning and practicing to draw a hand in ten seconds did. And I think there’s something to learn there but it’s so warm and my brain is fried so I can’t formulate the actual morale of the lesson.
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Everyone talks about how Appa is apparently obese for a sky bison and Aang is over feeding him. Undeserved in my opinion (hes just big boned obviously)
But nobody talks about how Druk (Zuko's dragon) is a complete fatass compared to other dragons.
For example: These are pics of Roku's Dragon, Fang, and Sozin's Dragon
Do you see how long and noodley they are. They're actual dragons too, not Wyverns like GoT dragons. (Note the 4 legs)
And heres Ran and Shaw:
See, still very noodley. And these are quite old, large dragons.
And this? This is Druk:
And Its not just the angle because even when he is sitting down he's fat
Obviously Druk has lived a life of luxery, he's a pampered little prince
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Thinking of Ghost carting around a tiny notebook, it’s basically a keychain that hangs from his belt loop. The kicker? It’s cute. Like, uncharacteristically so, for a man like Ghost that is.
It’s fucking pink. With goddamn glitter and a cat on it. With a small, pink pen to match!
Everyone who’s seen the keychain all think they’re having a damn stroke seeing the stupid thing for the first time. It’s so small, like if was meant for a kid, so what the hell is a Lieutenant doing with a fucking keychain notebook?
The purpose is debated to this day. To keep track of all he kills in the field? Marking losses? Reminders for the future? Fucking journaling his feelings?? No one even know if Ghost ever uses it, but are well aware that the man is strangely protective of his notebook, like some sort of rabid dog. snapping at anyone who tries to take it, and god forbid someone touches it. At least they know he’s aware of the pink notebook.
But the real reason Ghost even has it? Why would he even carry such a dainty, childish thing like that? How could he even manage to write so small with such large, almost clumsy fingers?
It’s where he writes his jokes.
It’s his fucking personal joke book.
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