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onceuponapuffin · 1 day

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Fanatic Intervention Part 9!!

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*****************

You pound your way to the nearest bar, where everyone had agreed to meet. The three of them are standing around, talking over glasses of wine. Your hands are in fists, your nails digging into your palms as you approach. They acknowledge you as you enter their field of vision, but you say nothing. Instead, you beeline for Aziraphale, put your arms around him, and hang on for dear life. Sometimes you just need to hug an angel.

There’s a pause where Anathema says something about your aura, and then Aziraphale hugs you back.

Dear Reader, I’m not sure if it ever happened in your life, but for this Puffin there came a time when it was made very clear that wanting to be held or wanting to lean on another person in public was unacceptable (and, in fact, embarrassing) once you reached a certain age. And yet, we as humans are social creatures. The need to be held is a very normal response, especially after something particularly upsetting happens (like having the sanctity of washroom privacy violated, for example). Perhaps you’re not the kind of person who, out of nowhere, feels the desire to be held, but perhaps you know someone who is. And so, I would like to impress upon you the incredible difference it makes, the immeasurable relief it brings, to know that you have someone with you who will hold you back without question or comment. Just hold you, and wait.

Aziraphale makes it clear he intends to do just that.

“Take your time, dear,” he says gently. And so you do.

After a moment, the clink of a glass next to you makes you look up. Someone has given you a glass of the same wine everyone else has. You pull away and take a sip, feeling much calmer and very grateful.

“Thanks,” You say.

“Anytime,” Aziraphale replies.

“What happened?” Anathema asks.

Thus, you recount how Metatron trapped you in the washroom until he had said his peace. By the time you finish, there are three very angry faces around you. You feel validated enough to take another, much larger, sip of the wine. Aziraphale is the first to speak.

“Well for starters, I invite you to stay in my bookshop however long you like. Pet indeed! You are a help, yes, but you are a guest, and certainly not disposable, whatever he says.”

“And,” Crowley adds, “From what you said, Aziraphale and I can get you home whenever you want anyway. Probably, I mean. No dUbIOus motives involved, at least.”

Anathema seems to be thinking. After another few seconds, she asks:

“Why did you take the coffee?”

You all look at her, surprised.

“Well I mean,” she continues, “If the Metatron wants to know, he probably has a reason. If you tell us, maybe we can figure it out for ourselves and find a way around it.”

“Or they could just not tell him,” Crowley suggests with snark. “Then it doesn’t matter.”

“I mean, it might,” Anathema counters, “We don’t know that it doesn’t.”

“I took it because of the Coffee Theory,” You say with a shrug. It’s not like it’s a big deal. “But I mean, I don’t know why that would matter to him.”

“Well,” Anathema says, “That might depend on what the Coffee Theory is.”

“Well, it’s the idea that the Metatron did something to that coffee he was going to give Aziraphale. To, like, make Aziraphale trust him, or listen to him or whatever, so that he would go back to Heaven.” You pause. “There’s also an interpretation of it where it was a metaphor like ‘take my offer or face death.’ But most people think about the first one, and that’s the one that was in my brain when I did it. There aren’t a lot of people who actually believe it. I mean, not anymore, anyway.”

“So you think the Metatron drugged Aziraphale’s coffee?” Anathema raises an eyebrow. “And you drank it, yes? So...did he?”

“No,” You reply, “It was exactly what it was supposed to be. An oat milk latte with almond syrup. And I didn’t think he actually messed with it. I just wasn’t willing to take the chance, that’s all.”

Crowley’s face scrunches. “And you think he might need to know that for some reason?” He looks pointedly at Anathema.

“He might,” She gives a thoughtful hum. “I’ll think about it. I might ask the Cards later.”

-----------

The wait for boarding didn’t feel so long after that. As you board, you notice how spacious First Class is. Aziraphale and Crowley sit in the seats ahead of you and Anathema, with Aziraphale in the window seat. You notice Crowley casually trying to stick his legs out into the aisle and wonder vaguely whether it’s because he needs the space, or to try and trip the flight attendants. Both? Probably both. Okay, definitely both, you note, as a stewardess almost falls face-first into the aisle. Aziraphale gently swats at Crowley in reprimand, but you can tell it’s half-hearted and wholly-fond.

Your only trouble comes when you need to use the washroom, but Anathema, ever clever and aura-observant, suggests to go with you so that you can knock if anything goes wrong. Thankfully, nothing does, and you both return to your seats.

“You know,” Anathema says, leaning forward, “I just overheard the strangest thing. It seems that all of the normal airline food on this plane has gone missing. All that they have to serve is the first-class food.”

“Wait,” You say, holding back a laugh, “So everyone on this flight gets to eat the fancy, chef-prepared, gourmet meals?”

Crowley doesn’t hold back his laugh. “Oh, the big bosses won’t like that!”

“You two wouldn’t have had anything to do with that, would you?” Anathema asks suspiciously. You notice she’s smiling while she says it.

“Psh!” Crowley waves away the thought. “Why would I? Doesn’t matter to me either way.”

“Honestly, Miss Device,” Aziraphale adds, “I have no idea why you immediately accuse us of something that seems so clearly to be a mere...clerical error.”

Ah-ha! Culprit found. Clerical error your arse.

“You know,” You sigh, “It really is no wonder why Crowley loves you so much.”

“Ngk,” says Crowley. Aziraphale responds with a pleased-sounding hum. You relax, and notice between the seats that Aziraphale places his hand on top of Crowley’s and leaves it there.

They like holding hands – your insides scream.

--------

When you disembark from the plane, you hear all the other passengers around you complimenting the flight attendants on the excellent food and promising to leave excellent reviews online. You keep your laughter as quiet as you can. Aziraphale’s little prank is going to cause the airline issues for YEARS. Crowley must be so proud.

The speed and ease with which you clear customs and baggage claim is probably because you’re traveling with two supernatural entities. In no time at all, you’re outside of the airport flagging down a cab. Crowley opens the door with enthusiasm and outright glee.

“After you, Angel,” he says, “You think 90 miles an hour in London is bad, I can’t wait for you to see this!”

Dear Reader, I don’t know if you have ever been to New York City, but I assure you that Crowley’s driving has nothing on the NYC cabbies. Aziraphale spends the entire drive trying to hold on to something and taking deep breaths as the cab violently jerks to a stop millimeters from the car in front. You suggest he close his eyes. He does. It doesn’t seem to help.

-------

The taxi lets you out in front of The Ritz. Because of course you’re staying at The Ritz. Aziraphale goes to check in while Crowley tells Anathema he needs the washroom, and mutters to you that he wants to empty all the soap dispensers. You try so hard to hold in your laughter that it comes out your nose anyway. The demon flashes you a cheeky grin before disappearing around the corner. Anathema looks at you.

“Probably been a while since he had a fresh audience,” You say to her. She chuckles.

“And you’re so obliging too. No doubt he’s having a great time with all this.”

“Hey, Anathema,” You begin uncertainly, “How...I mean...I’m just worried about...things. How are we going to find Jesus anyway? I just...I don’t really have anymore information to give. I don’t even know if he’s going to be a baby or an adult this time.”

“Hm...” Anathema thinks for a minute, “Well, I’m going to try and get some readings, see if I can get some kind of direction for us to go in. It’s a big country, but what I’m hoping is that it will sort of work like dowsing.”

“Dowsing? Like looking for water with sticks?”

“Sort of. In a nutshell, you pay attention to the vibrations in the Earth, and the closer you get, the stronger the vibrations become. It makes sense to think that Jesus would make pretty noticeable vibrations. That’s my working hypothesis anyway.”

You nod. That will do for now. Aziraphale and Crowley both return, with the demon wiping his hands on his trousers, and the four of you take the elevator to your room.

The Royal Suite.

“Are...you….serious??” Anathema asks. Honestly, you’re too stunned looking around the enormous suite with four bedrooms to say anything. It’s bigger than most houses. You take out your phone and start taking pictures.

“Well, if we’re going to stay at The Ritz,” Aziraphale says cheerfully, pronouncing the capital letters, “Best to do it Properly.”

“But this is ridiculous!”

Aziraphale isn’t paying attention anymore. He’s gone to tell Crowley not to draw mustaches on the expensive artwork.

“Unlimited resources,” You say to her, “Make for expensive taste.”

“No, kidding,” she sighs, “I’m glad you’re here. I’m gonna need some help with these two.”

Ha, You think to yourself, I knew it.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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^ If you want to see JUST how ridiculous the royal suite is.

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writers-potion · 1 month

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Can you please share some words to use instead of "Look", I really struggle with that, it's always "She looked at him in shock" or "He looked at her with a smile". I know there's "Gazed" and "Glanced" but I wanted some advice to use "Look" less

Words To Use Instead of "Look"

Words Closest in Meaning (w diff connotations!):

stare

eye

study

behold

glimpse

peek

glance

notice

observe

inspect

regarding

view

review

look-see

get an eyeful

peer

give the eye

eyeball

size up

check out

examine

contemplate

scan

recognize

sweep

once-over

judge

watch

glare

consider

spot

scrunitize

gaze

gander

ogle

yawp

Other (more fancy) words:

glimmer

sntach

zero in

take stock of

poke into

mope

glaze

grope

rummage

frisk

probe

rivet

distinguish

witness

explore

gloat

scowl

have a gander

comb

detect

surveillance

squint

keeping watch

rubberneck

pout

bore

slant

ignore

audit

pipe

note

speculation

simper

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septembercfawkes · 1 year

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#let's write #writer problems #writing tips #writing help #writing tip #writer #writing #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #fanfic

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rayas-ryoiki-tenkai · 3 days

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something a little different

• tags: gojo/reader, 18+ minors dni, vibrator, semi-public smut

• summary: the vibrator presses against your clit and it drives gojo wild

•°. *࿐ this story contains explicit themes. minors dni •°. *࿐

"It's fairly silent," soft, white hair bounces when he tilts his head, "no one will know."

He's watching you, peering down beyond his blackout sunglasses to what muscle twitches where, how you fill your chest slowly and expel in a sigh. You're thinking about it, of course, the tempting thrill, a silent pleasure that will shift so loudly in your bones. Gojo can already spot how your thighs attempt to shake the exciting tickle off them.

"It's not a cursed tool, is it?"

Gojo shakes his head chuckling, but damn if it was, he'd have found all there was to find in the archive back in his clan's base. Not that he seemed fond of rummaging through anyone's underwear, something told Satoru that cursed tool sex toys weren't a thing.

"I will have the remote, obviously," he leans further into the seat to spread his legs. God, even the thought of you searching his eyes in a crowd when you're fighting the stimulation on your clit, that plead to give you a merciful moment to breathe, what a pretty sight you'd be.

You bite your nails.

He gestures a lipstick-sized, and disguised, bullet vibrator to you in two feeble fingers. It dangles in a tease, calling to you in a breathy whisper, or maybe that's just Gojo.

You know it'll feel so good. A stir in your pelvis that your boyfriend could push over if he so willed it. You'll shake and cry.

"Fine," you give into the fire in his eyes, an ice that burns. You know something pulls you into him despite the evergrowing list of 'maybe this'll be a bad idea' festering in the forefront of your mind. Because if things go wrong, if you need swooping away from a messy situation, you just had to say the word.

Gojo stands up and your spine stiffens. His steps are paced, deliberate, kissing the tension with soft praises as he steps closer. His breath fans down your face, bright eyes drinking up the both of yours before resting on the plump part of your lips.

A finger trails at the base of your throat and he drags it up your windpipe, relishing in the nervous swallow that shifts the movement. Bony ridges and pliant skin, Satoru pulls his finger up underneath your chin, savoring the jittery wash of electricity that rushes through you.

You feel light. A breath. Your chest runs rampant from his closeness, the sheer intensity of his scent setting back your resolve as you stare at his lips too. Pretty and pink, one of the softest parts of him considering he's all slim built and toned muscle everywhere else. He inches to press them onto yours weakly, as if he hadn't decided how to merge your mouths together this time.

They grow firm when his finger and thumb tilt up your chin. A sure, needy thing. He kisses into you hard and sharp like a parched man, staggering in search for lady lake in vast heat. Open-mouthed and so fucking wet. And he's found his drink, favoring his sweet tooth with your sweet tongue.

Playing with your tongue, his other hand plays with the strap of your pants, catching onto the band of your underwear. You squeak into his mouth when his hand dips to place the vibrator into position against your clit.

Gojo smiles against your lips.

"You'll take it, right?" He breathes.

"I'll take it."

You submit.

-.--.-

"Shh shh," Gojo's palm squeezes around your mouth, catching loud moans before they fall on the ears of the public. Your fingers tighten in his shirt. Fuck, it feels so good.

The restaurant was oblivious to how you rocked your hips in one of their booths, a needy sight for Satoru to drink up and have his own problem in his jeans.

Purposely on the lowest setting, you ached for more, but Satoru was no where near to grant you that mercy. So, you turned to extreme methods.

Lifting your drink, you stuck your tongue out to curl around the straw, wet and sloppy. You sucked with a sensual hum in your throat, looking at him through your lashes. Gojo caught the full extent of your show and it shot straight to his crotch.

Oh, so you wanted to play that game?

Now, he presses you into the bathroom door, edging the intensity until your cheeks flush, your eyes lose focus and your knees buckle, just to knock it down again to leave you hanging. You dread at the sound of the remote clicking when you get so, so close to coming, Gojo abruptly tuning the vibrating near null.

So blissfully painful, your clit feels like it's on fire. The overstimulation stirs into an impending orgasm, but it's just not enough.

"Baby, you look so good like this," Satoru purrs, his breath tickling in your ear. You're desperately clinging onto him, fingers bunching into fabric, flexing and shaking as if you couldn't decide what to do with them. Gojo is drunk on the power, dizzy with how your pretty little face stretches into pretty little expressions. That curl of your brows. Your jaw hanging low.

You hum loudly against his hand, erotic and messy.

He all but watches you, gives you the attention to feel the spotlight of his flashy blue eyes, and it spurs you on more. Your thighs lack the strength but they squeeze together still; you just need a little bit more.

Fuck, it feels like your skin could burn through your clothes, your nipples painfully stiff against your dress and bra. Gojo drags his lips along your neck, hovering close enough to wash your body in pure electric bliss.

Metal clanks as Gojo unbuckles his belt, a hand immediately freeing his straining issues. He pulls a packet from his pocket, rips it with his teeth and rolls the condom to the base of his cock. Fuck, the way your eyes glaze over at his cock like you could already feel him fucking you into the door until you collapsed.

The desire runs rampant. You buck your hips.

Your words muffle behind his hand. The buzz of the vibrator almost drowns you out. He hears you clear enough anyway.

"Please, Satoru," he lifts from your mouth to hear you say it, "Let me cum, please. Fuck me good."

Your hands are shaky, finding uncertain purchase on his shoulder as he lines himself up, the angry tip of his cock coaxing itself with your leaking juices. The vibrator buzzes idly on the floor. Your breath is unsteady.

One push in and you're already so close.

Shit, he fills you up so good and so easily.

He bottoms out and stills. Your moans shift a pitch higher, so close to pulsing around the glorious shape of him in your walls. If he moves the slightest, you're so done for.

And fuck, he does.

Pulling out slightly to ogle at how wet you're around him, he slams back in to the hilt, kissing the spot that makes you shake the most. And you cum immediately, a loud pornographic moan right into his ear, your lower back pushing into him to shake off the insistent edging he gave you.

"Fuck," he mutters, and by God you feel so good fluttering around his cock, so warm and wet. His hips jut forward of their own accord, he can't hold it back any longer.

And he thrusts a sloppy pace to fuck you through your orgasm and rile up the next, the smacking and squelching of your hips spurring him on to fasten the pace. You cling to him, ankles locked around his waist, arms locked around his neck; you know you'd fall if he moved you away from the door.

Fuck, fuck, you feel it squirming again, your breaths stagger once more.

The bathroom door handle shakes, and when it doesn't budge, a loud knock resounds.

Before you have the voice to gasp, your head thuds the door and Gojo clamps your mouth with his palm again. His sunglasses are thrown wherever, and bright cerulean locks with your eyes. His pale eyebrows are curled dangerously.

He fucks harder, faster and for some unbeknownst reason, louder. His hips thrust purposefully, rough and angry, how dare someone impose on his focus to fuck you good?

Satoru rests his forehead on yours, daring you to pull away from the eye contact, not that you wanted to anyway. The sheer will to making you come apart on his cock again only added to your commencing orgasm. That wild look. A starved beast behind the front of wolfish grin.

The door knocks again.

Gojo snarls. His hips smack painfully and you whimper under his palm. Tears fall on the back of his hand. Your toes curl, teetering on the edge of another mind-fucked orgasm. Your eyes roll back. Your hums grow short and high.

"Shit," Gojo hisses when you clamp around him and immediately pulses inside of you as he cums. Cushiony walls milk him deliciously and he messily thrusts into you to ride it out. His breath is heavy, spent. Your chest pushes into him as you breathe shakily.

Satoru drops the palm on your lips. You can't help but laugh.

He certainly made you shake and cry.

#.♥️rayawrites #let's write #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk x reader #jjk x you #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #gojo smut #gojo jjk #jjk gojo #jjk smut #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

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tryingtowriteastory · 1 month

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Oh, These Poets

'Poets are such amusing creatures. They can sit and wonder for hours about the imponderabilia that love is, and then complain about how eager the day is to set into the night!'

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thewarriorssun · 4 days

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Hi,

ich bin Amena und das ist mein Debüt. Es heißt "Und dazwischen irgendwo wir" und kommt beim Arctis-Verlag heraus. Es ist ein Jugendbuch über transgenerationale Angst und Leistungsdruck und Verlust, aber auch über Freundschaft und Fandoms und Queerness. Es würde sich falsch anfühlen, es nicht auf tumblr zu zeigen, wenn es so viel um tumblr geht.

Man kann es vorbestellen. Ich hoffe, es gefällt euch.

Alles Liebe

Amena

Instagram

Thalia (aber mich würde auch freuen, wenn ihr es bei euren lokalen Buchhandlungen oder in euren Bibs anfragt)

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davidfarland · 1 year

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The Influence Character: One of The Most Important Roles

(by @septcfawkes )

The Influence Character is one of the most important roles in your character cast. It is third only to the protagonist and antagonist. The term “Influence Character” originates from Dramatica Theory, and has since been used and adopted (and sometimes adapted) by others in the writing community. This is a role that has power based on impact–impact on other characters, impact on plot, and impact on theme. When you understand the principles behind the Influence Character, you can use them to strengthen any story.

The Influence Character Impacts the Protagonist

The Influence Character’s power comes from impacting others, specifically the protagonist. Most commonly, the Influence Character helps persuade the protagonist to confront her flaws, weaknesses, and misbeliefs, so she can complete her character arc.

For example, in The Greatest Showman, P. T. Barnum is the protagonist and his wife, Charity, is the Influence Character. Throughout the film, Charity works to persuade P. T. that what he already has in life is enough and that he only really needs his closest loved ones to accept him. When she leaves, he must confront his biggest failures and make things right, completing his arc.

In Star Wars: A New Hope, Luke is the protagonist and Obi-Wan is the Influence Character. Obi-Wan introduces Luke to the Force and aims to persuade him to trust it. It’s because of Obi-Wan’s influence that Luke chooses to listen to the Force at the climax. He turns off technology, and makes the winning shot to destroy the Death Star by trusting the Force.

Worth noting, is that one variation of this, is the reverse. Sometimes the protagonist helps the Influence Character to confront his flaws, weaknesses, and misbeliefs to complete his character arc (in which case, it may be helpful to think of the Influence Character as the Influenced Character).

For example, in The X-Files, Mulder is the protagonist and Scully is the Influence(d) Character. Mulder’s journey and dedication impact Scully, by forcing her to confront her misbeliefs, until eventually she comes to believe in the paranormal, government conspiracy, and alien abduction.

Likewise, in Moana, Moana influences Maui, by helping him learn that who he is, is not what others praise him for (nor his hook). Who he is, comes from inside himself.

The protagonist and Influence Character have a special relationship in the story—in fact, it usually makes up the central relationship plotline of the story. Most frequently, these two characters will draw closer to each other by the end. Common relationship roles for the Influence Character are mentor, love interest, best friend, family member, coworker, or partner.

It’s helpful to give the Influence Character traits that contrast and challenge the protagonist. Choose traits that will naturally bring out what you want or need to emphasize about your protagonist. To emphasize Mulder’s beliefs in the outlandish, he’s paired with Scully, a major skeptic. To emphasize how P.T. is always looking for more (and more acceptance), he’s paired with Charity, who is easily satisfied by being accepted by loved ones.

The Influence Character Impacts the Plot

Since the protagonist and Influence Character are somehow linked (in a relationship), typically they will be on the same course and/or have similar goals. The protagonist and Influence Character are usually tied together in the external plot. Most commonly, the two must work together to resolve the main conflict. For example, in The Lord of the Rings, Frodo needs Sam to make it to Mount Doom. In Zootopia, Judy needs Nick to solve the case.

A variation is that the characters may be on separate, but similar journeys. In Legally Blonde, both Elle and Paulette want their dogs, and love, in their lives, and both are having trouble with their exes.

What’s often different with these two characters, though, is the way they address the goal or journey. Frodo wants to trust Smeagol to take them to their destination. Sam wants to be rid of him. Elle faces her problems with a strong belief in herself, while Paulette comes from a place of insecurity. Mulder wants to turn to the paranormal for explanation, and Scully wants to turn to hard science.

These differences can lead to arguments, power struggles, or complications, which often contribute to significant conflict in the relationship plotline, external plotline, or even internal plotline. The argument over Smeagol drives Frodo and Sam apart just before Shelob’s Lair. And therefore, it also jeopardizes the goal of the main plotline (making it to Mount Doom to destroy the Ring). The arguments and complications between Judy and Nick, lead to Judy’s internal struggles and turmoil.

The Influence Character Impacts the Theme

Usually the reason the Influence Character has different methods, is because he has a different worldview. This worldview will often tap into theme.

In fact, perhaps at the most basic level, the Influence Character typically works as a thematic opponent for the protagonist.

The thematic statement of Star Wars: A New Hope, is that we should trust in faith (over technology). Through the film, Obi-Wan voices and illustrates the thematic statement, which Luke eventually converts to by the end. Prior to this, though, Luke is resistant, at one point asking, how he can properly fight, if he can’t see (to which Obi-Wan responds, he must trust the Force).

In Moana, the thematic statement is that your identity comes from who you are on the inside. Deep down, Moana knows this to be true, and follows her inner calling. In contrast, Maui believes his identity is based on how others perceive him—first his parents abandon him over his appearance, and then he seeks the praise of humankind (which he can only receive if he has his hook). It’s these differing views on the theme topic (identity) that lead them to argue about what to do.

Likewise, in Marley and Me, the thematic statement is that we should embrace the adventures of domestic life. Marley, a dog (and the Influence Character), does this better than anyone. But this worldview is different than John’s (the protagonist), who sees the unpredictability of domestic life as a burden to his career. The theme topic is domestic life, and the two characters have opposing perspectives about it.

This set up allows the audience to explore different perspectives related to the theme topic, and the impact those perspective have when applied to “real life” (the characters’ “real life”). The audience is better able to see how different approaches to problems lead to different consequences.

Variations to Consider

This article is just an introduction to the Influence Character and is not comprehensive. There are plenty of variations you can play with, in regard to this role. For example . . .

While usually the Influence Character works as an ally, it’s possible for the Influence Character to be a rival or even the main antagonist. This is the case in Death Note, as well as in the film, Glass.

While the Influence Character may be one character, it’s also possible multiple characters step into and out of this role. In Hamilton, both Eliza and George Washington act as Influence Characters for Hamilton (though never at the same time).

While the Influence Character is usually the other key player in the relationship plotline, he doesn’t have to be. In Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone, Hagrid and Dumbledore work as Influence Characters, but the relationship plotline is about Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

This article just shares some principles to guide you. Once you understand them, you can manipulate them more for different effects.

If you are interested in learning more about the Influence Character, particularly in relation to the character cast, plot, and theme of your own story, we’ll be digging deeper into the concept in my upcoming class, The Triarchy Method of Story. Follow the link to learn more. Learn more at https://mystorydoctor.com/

About September C. Fawkes:

Sometimes September C. Fawkes scares people with her enthusiasm for writing and storytelling. She has worked in the fiction-writing industry for over ten years and has edited for both award-winning and best-selling authors, as well as beginning writers. She runs a writing tip blog at SeptemberCFawkes.com and will be teaching an upcoming class, The Triarchy Method of Story. When not editing and instructing, she’s penning her own stories. Some may say she needs to get a social life. It’d be easier if her fictional one wasn’t so interesting.

#writing tips #writing tips and tricks #writeblr #let's write #fanfic #writing help #writing reference

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eevvvaa · 7 months

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Alright ! I'm in the mood to write, byyyye✌

#Eva talks #let's write #A Supernatural Journey

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novlr · 18 hours

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I once saw a piece of writing advice that spoke to the idea that you should start and end a chapter differently. I suppose the idea was that it helps keep the story moving along. I thought it was good advice but didn't like the post and therefore cannot find the full explanation of this point. Do you have any advice like this? For starting and ending a chapter?

As a creative writer, you’re always looking for ways to improve your craft and keep your readers engaged. One piece of advice that can help you achieve this is by starting and ending chapters differently.

This technique can help keep your story moving forward and maintain your reader’s interest, but it is not the only technique you should employ. Like any other part of your writing, it’s all about variation, and knowing what serves your story best is the most fundamental part of improving your writing’s craft.

Starting a chapter

When it comes to starting a chapter, there are several techniques you can employ to grab your reader’s attention and propel your story forward. One effective method is to begin with action, throwing your character into the middle of a scene and immediately drawing the reader in. Alternatively, you can introduce a new character to shake up the story’s dynamics or change the setting to signal a shift in the narrative.

Opening with dialogue is another great way to quickly establish the scene and provide context for the reader. You might also consider posing a question that piques their curiosity or describing a vivid sensory experience to immerse them in the moment. Ultimately, the key is to experiment with different approaches and find what works best for the chapter you’re writing.

Ending a chapter

When it comes to ending a chapter, there are several effective techniques you can use to keep your readers engaged and eager to turn the page. One popular method is to end with a cliffhanger. You can then open the next chapter with something mundane. An example of this would be the shocking entrance of someone unexpected at the end of one chapter, then opening the next chapter with the revelation that is just the goofy uncle the character hasn’t seen in a while. Alternatively, you can resolve a minor conflict, giving the reader a sense of satisfaction while still leaving larger issues unresolved to continue into the next chapter.

Another option is to introduce a new complication, presenting an obstacle or twist that raises the stakes and propels the story forward. You might also consider ending with a revelation, where a character discovers something important or experiences a significant realisation that shifts their perspective.

Creating a sense of anticipation by hinting at what’s to come in the next chapter is another effective way to keep readers engaged, or you can end with a strong image or emotion that leaves a lasting impression on the reader. Experiment using these endings with the opening examples above, and you’ll soon find that there’s a rhythm you develop that suits your writing style.

Variation is key

The key to effectively starting and ending chapters is to mix things up and keep your readers on their toes. Don’t rely on the same techniques every time; instead, experiment with different approaches to find what works best for your story. By varying your chapter beginnings and endings, you’ll create a more engaging and dynamic reading experience that will resonate with readers.

For some chapters, a clear break will work really well, like the example of a cliffhanger that opens the next chapter with something far more ordinary than the reader was expecting. But other chapters will be well served by a simple continuation of the scene. Pacing isn’t dictated on a chapter-by-chapter basis alone; it’s all about the overall arc of the story and how everything fits together. There are no hard and fast rules for how to begin and end a chapter, so in the end, it all comes down to trial and error and seeing what feels right in service of the story you want to tell.

Additional tips

In addition to the techniques mentioned above, there are a few more tips to keep in mind when starting and ending chapters. Varying your chapter lengths can help keep the pacing dynamic and prevent the story from feeling predictable (although some stories are served by consistent length, so do follow your intuition here). Using transitions, like transitional phrases or imagery, can smoothly connect the end of one chapter to the beginning of the next.

Experimenting with different techniques and reading widely to study how other authors begin and end their chapters can provide valuable inspiration and insight. And don’t be afraid to rewrite your chapter openings and endings in as many versions as you like to see what works for you.

Ultimately, trust your instincts; if a particular starting or ending technique feels right for your chapter and serves your story well, then that’s the one you should go with.

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onceuponapuffin · 5 days

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Fanatic Intervention Part 7!!!

Beginning|| Previous || Next

It will not surprise you at all, dear Reader, to learn that Aziraphale keeps very little in his kitchen cupboards. There is no stove or oven, and the only thing in the fridge is milk (for his tea no doubt). When you start opening cupboards, you find one pack of custard creams, and a second one of chocolate digestives. Well, it will have to do. You find yourself a small plate and fill it half and half before heading back into the shop just in time to say goodbye to Anathema and Newt.

As they leave, you turn to the supernatural entities in the room.

“So,” You say, “If we’re going to the States, then we have a few problems. First, I don’t have my passport or any ID at all, so airport security is going to be fun. Second, I have no money. Third, I’m gonna need a Walmart or something because I don’t even have a toothbrush, my dudes. Fourth, these,” You indicate the cookies, “are fine for a snack, but overall they’re not gonna cut it.”

“You just leave the airport security to us,” Aziraphale replies. You make a note that he glided right past ‘my dudes,’ they’re getting used to you already. Dammit. “As for the rest of it,” Aziraphale continues, “I suppose a trip to Tesco’s is in order.”

Crowley produces a shiny black credit card from nowhere and hands it to you. “We’ll take the Bentley,” he says. He starts to stand, but you shake your head.

“Nuh-uh, you both stay here,” You say. Crowley raises his eyebrow.

“You realize we can take care of ourselves,” he says, “We’ve been doing it for a few millennia.”

“I’m not talking about that,” You say, “Look, what we’re going into is really dangerous. And I know that your pattern is to just wait to talk about things until you’re in the clear, but that’s not a good idea anymore. I mean, I get that I’m not exactly an expert, but I read just as much as you do and I’ve heard a million stories by this point in my life, and in NONE of them do people ever say ‘I’m so glad I never told them how I feel’ - you know? It’s always ‘I wish I would have’ or ‘I should have told them every day.’ So Muriel and I will go ask Maggie to take us to Tesco, and you two need to talk. Please. While it’s safe, while you have the chance, before things get dangerous and possibly deadly.”

Crowley and Aziraphale are silent. You notice that they aren’t looking at each other. Well, you’ve done your best. Now you need to trust them.

At this point, dear Reader, you are probably thinking to yourself ‘well I would snoop and spy on them while they talk! I want to watch them make out!’ But here is the thing – in this world they are real people, not characters. It’s one thing to say that you would creep on them from the other side of this fiction, but when they’re very real and looking at you in person, things are a little different. For one thing, you realize that real people deserve things like boundaries and privacy, especially for sensitive conversations.

And so, you take Muriel over to Maggie’s shop, where you explain that Mr. Fell has sent the two of you on an errand and you need to stop for dinner somewhere and have no idea where anything is. You flash her the credit card and say ‘It’s all on me,’ and she conveniently agrees with a look on her face that says something like ‘least they could do after all that shit they put us through.’

So the three of you go for dinner at the nearest Weatherspoons, where you and Maggie eat while Muriel watches in morbid fascination. Then you all take the bus to Tesco where you buy yourself a small wardrobe, and manage to coax Muriel into some light blue jeans and an argyle jumper so they look a little less like the Beacon of Gondor. You quickly find out that Muriel has an adorable fascination with fuzzy socks, novelty mugs, and coloured pencils. Of course, you enable their fascinations with a happy heart, and as an afterthought, you grab them a small pot of orange daisies from the flower section. It will give them something alive to tend to while you’re gone. Muriel appreciates the thought. All in all, it’s a long but good time.

You don’t know about the talk, and you’re worried about asking when you get back.

THAT BEING SAID

You and I, dear Reader, not actually being in that world, are allowed certain privileges.

The bookshop is silent for a long time. Both of them are thinking, digesting, processing. Feelings are hard to feel, and harder to put into words. Especially when it has been made clear, twice now in the span of a number of hours, that you absolutely need to put them into words.

It isn’t until after Crowley notices you, Muriel, and Maggie heading down the street that he stands up and begins to pace. A few more minutes pass before he speaks.

“So...uhm...are you going to go first or should I?”

“Are we...are we actually going to do this? Have this talk I mean?” Aziraphale has been shelving books to try and take the edge off. Now he puts down the book in his hands and absent-mindedly fidgets with his ring.

“Well, I mean we don’t have to,” Crowley says, aiming for non-chalance and missing ever-so-slightly, “No one can actually make us.”

“Yes, except it feels very much like everyone is trying to.”

“Trying is the key word there.”

“That’s true enough I suppose.”

The silence returns and stretches. It is anything but comfortable. The air is full of words that they have been told they should say, words that perhaps they want to say, but words that have been dammed up with fear and uncertainty for so long now that they’ve become very hard to un-stick. After a while, Aziraphale clears his throat and speaks.

“I, erm, I suppose you had better go first.”

“Me, right, okay.” Crowley clears his throat now and stops his pacing near the desk. He looks down at the scattered papers and books, the pens and photos and newspaper clippings. The assorted clutter of Aziraphale’s life. Looking away makes it easier to start. He takes a breath. “Um..right...well...we’ve known each other a long time. We’ve been on this planet a long time – you and me, I mean. I’ve always been able to rely on you, and you’ve always relied on me,” another breath, “We’re a team, yeah? A group of the two of us. And...erm...we pretend that we aren’t. Always have. Safer that way I guess.” He looks up at Aziraphale. The angel isn’t looking at him, but he nods anyway to show that he’s listening. Crowley continues. “And I mean...I’ve tried not to think about it much before but...but it would be nice, I mean, UGH” He takes off his sunglasses and rubs a hand over his eyes as though he can massage the words and make them easier to say. “I mean, I would like to spend...mmm….I would like to spend the rest not pretending anymore. Be an us. I mean,” suddenly the dam breaks, and Crowley finds the words come tumbling out, “If Gabriel and Beelzebub can do it, we can. We don’t need Heaven or Hell, they’re both toxic. We can be an us, on our side. You and me. What do you say?” He looks at Aziraphale without reservation now. His angel looks back at him, eyes wide. When he does speak, it’s with a smile and a small nod of acknowledgment rather than agreement.

“That was very well done Crowley,” he says. This isn’t an answer.

“Nnyeah, thanks. Your turn though.”

“Right, I suppose it is.” Aziraphale takes a moment to gather himself. After hearing Crowley be so open about this, he feels more resolved himself to do this properly. He faces Crowley and folds his hands to keep himself grounded. “Crowley,” he begins, “I...I wish that this conversation were happening under better circumstances. Although it’s been pointed out that ideal circumstances aren’t a promise that we can wait around for. Well, the thing is that I would like the same thing. Very much in fact. My biggest concern by far is for your safety because, well, frankly I don’t see the point in saving the world again if you’re not around to enjoy it with me. An us, as you said. You and me.” He smiles. Crowley smiles.

“Guess we’d better save the world together then. And try not to die.”

“Yes, quite.”

“Aziraphale?”

“Yes, Crowley?”

“You’re my angel. No one else.”

“And you, my wiley serpent. No one else.”

The shop bell dings.

“We’re baaaaaack!” You sing as you waltz through the door, shopping bags in hand. Muriel follows after you, carefully carrying their daisies. “Did you miss us?”

When you eventually get the courage to ask them about their talk later, you get a “ngk” from Crowley, and a “We’ve said all that needs to be said, for now.” from Aziraphale. And that, you suppose, will have to do.

❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ 🖤

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writers-potion · 1 month

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Words to Use Instead Of...

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If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

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septembercfawkes · 1 year

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When your WIP doesn’t write itself:

#let's write #writer problems #writeblr #writing memes

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rayas-ryoiki-tenkai · 19 days

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ordo an chao - "from chaos, comes order"

Following the death of the Star Plasma Vessel and the parade she is graced, Geto solidifies a truth: he is more curse than himself.

They're clapping

link to ao3 attached. can also read below the cut

-.--.-

Clean. Tedious.

He flexes his fingers to rid of the creases in his hands, flattening burrows and killing all that decides to live in it. Whether that be nestled anxiety that squirms in the lines of his hands, or the spill of blood running off in loud droplets, he stretches until the skin turns white.

Suguru hates his hands, stares at his palms in silent fury. They don't deserve the words for him to ever say it out loud, keeps it locked, twists his voice and swallows it so it never finds ears to cling to.

Those damn fingers, tickling with an insurmountable urge to clench together. Uncomfortably dull yet lit ablaze with bare wires on his fingertips. They fall stiff, still, and the current worsens. His fingers edge to shy away into a fist but falter when his eyes grow sharper.

His scowl deepens.

Those damn fingers, long and slender. The skin of his palms is beaten a little rough and calloused but still looks soft and supple under the light. The same gold that stretches long into the corridor, kissing the panels of the door on the other side, as if prompting him.

This way. Come this way. You know what you’ll find this way.

A hearty laugh resounds behind the door; it belongs to his best friend.

He feels a pinprick of a pulse passing through, flushing patchy pinks under his skin, spiraling between the ridges of his fingerprints. It tracks a buzz, diverges into its arteries, and replenishes it anew as if giving Suguru something new to hate. He lets his mind think of the blood. Blood that nourishes, cleans and provides. Blood that feeds to each knuckle, blood driven in the thrill of the fight.

Spilt and lost. Blood that gave and gave, all whilst his hands took, took, took.

He hates it.

Vile things. What bones and flesh dangles off his wrists were not worthy of this much attention. His forefinger twitches as he lines it, imagining how easy it is to bite a chunk at the joints and spit it out in degradation. Though, he can’t help but retch at the taste, that skin tainted with the residue of exorcised curses, their distorted wails stained into patterns in the shape of scars. The taste. The taste.

Exorcise. Absorb. The taste.

He smacks his tongue as if he found bits and pieces of them between his teeth. Bile kicks the back of his throat.

Clean. Clean. Tediously so.

His shoes look fresh out the box. Even as he sits, clothes drape flawlessly. Not a crinkle on his shirt.

But his hands…

Lost in blackened goo. A thick odour. He knows his blood is no longer red but something made by the accumulation of this feeling. Crude. Wet in a way that never dries. A ticking that never stops. Dirty. Not Clean.

They're clapping.

Suguru kicks his head back. The air he draws in is too thick. Everything is wrong.

Exorcise. Absorb. It’s why he finds his body scrubbed red when washing up. It’s why he feels the overwhelming desire to scratch at his skin until it peels clean off.

Dirty. It’s tedious.

-.—.-

"How far do reckon he's willing to go?"

Shoko leans her head inches from Suguru's shoulder, not quite finding leverage but enough to resurface a little warmth around him. He catches the way her brown locks ghost in his peripherals, she's close enough to taint her scent with his own and understands this is her version of connection. Her lips purse and pulls to take a long drag of her cigarette.

Shoko's spoken of quitting, though Suguru steals the way her fingers warp around the paper, tapping the ash absentmindedly for the wind to wash away her sins. To ignore the wrong. The straining in her breath as if to savour the relief a little longer before she expels it in farewell - maybe she held onto something beyond the taste of tobacco.

She feeds the itch that sinks its teeth in flesh, numbs it so the puncture wounds don't sting as much. Sugu invites a little of that smoke residue into his lungs, along with a hollow irony when he realises: he desires the same.

To ignore the wrong. Ignore how everything feels lacklustre and out of sync. His hands.

Not Clean.

He takes a moment to register Shoko's question, tosses it between the flicker of his eyes then manages an extended one when tracking up his back whilst he yaps away. Shirt a size too big, whiter to his pale skin in a way that made him look a little tanned, and the way his neck cranes to solo the sky with his attention.

Completely oblivious. Or so he tends to be whenever the three are together. Suguru can't fathom how someone so gifted could be so damn careless. Clueless. Childish.

All six eyes, but can he feel a darker pair rest on the back of his neck? Does Gojo know of the little hairs below his taper fade or has Geto been graced with the only one to witness it?

"Far enough." Sugu's voice tethers a little lighter than usual, or maybe he can't help himself when it's them three. As bitter as his thoughts become, not has it once sharpened his tongue; he knows that even if he speaks evil, the voice to carry it would one made of love.

Satoru gestures to something grand with one arm, the other deep in loungewear trousers. Whatever scheme he proposes fall on lost ears and it doesn't take long until he turns to realise he has no audience - not one favouring him anyhow. It translates on his face as a pout, defeated shoulders making his silhouette almost comical.

"Fine," Gojo spits out, haloed with white wisps akin to dove feathers on his head, his hair sharpening as if a show of his exaggerated frustration. Thick glasses edge the top of his nose, black lenses drawing perfect circles on snow skin, and he tilts his head back again, every ridge of flesh and bone traceable on his neck. The sky seems to be a better part of the conversation with him than the two shrouded in cigarette smoke.

"But when I master it, though I'm the strongest already, I'll make sure it never changes."

Yep. Feathered white hair and eyes that muted diamonds as beneath him, Suguru knows Satoru will stop at nothing. Gojo will turn into whatever drives his fist forwards.

Geto can't even look at his own hands.

-.--.-

Todd's Syndrome is a neurological condition that stretches and warps perception to make objects and spaces seem unrealistically large or small. Akin to holding out a phone in one's hand and counting the miles between the arm and screen, or tasting the expanse of the ceiling, ever-growing, as it shrinks the eyes that perceive it; a.k.a, Alice in Wonderland Syndrome.

Suguru lifts his eyes higher and higher, tracing a seemingly unending wall of his bedroom. His desk looks too big, too close to his bed. The little trinkets that house in the corner of it are drained of colour except one; Sugu takes note of how a bright blue keychain dangles off the edge like a hypnotics tick, blinding when it hits the moonlight just right and sharp enough to stimulate an edge in his brain. It reminds him of a certain blue-eyed sorcerer who won it for him at an arcade. It looks so small now.

He sinks in the mattress where it engraves the shape of him, finds a solace when he feels the cushioning hug him when no one else will. It feels familiar, to breathe in the air he breaths out.

But Suguru finds the longer he stills, the faster the world moves to catch up for his monotonous tight-lips and dropping eyelids.

The cold punctures under the covers, reminds him that the blood in his body lacks warmth and will and a moment's hope was all that was destined to him by the universe. The blankets he nestles in lack weight and fail to ground him, the air is too thick. He feels like he's floating in the four walls, his limbs scrawling to gain purchase on anything within the limit of the moonlight because Sugu wants anything but to lose a hand into the darkness. Dirty. Dirty.

The ceiling grows closer and closer.

Some seeming power keeps him there and shrinks the wall to taunt him of an impending doom. His eyes widen at the roof above, his legs flail and push for leverage but fall slack in failure. The ground seems to shake, or rather he shakes in the air, tremored in fear.

His heart races.

He silently pleads for the door to knock

He scrambles and twists but he is the chosen victim of his moral qualms.

Suguru tightly shuts his eyes to wade away the distortion of his bedroom and the nausea that comes with. In his mind, a knock resounds, two voices muffled outside the door. In his mind, he's back on his bed cross-legged whilst his best friends accompany the floor with attempts of feeding him into a sugary coma. In his mind, Suguru leans his head on his palm and can't help but smile at those solid shades on Satoru's silly little face, can't help knock his shoulder into Shoko's to light him a quick drag.

In his mind, a dandelion peeks his head by the door and smiles sharply.

"Suguru, you've got us," the dandelion smirks, "we're not letting you go that easily."

The wind spins the keychain and its bold colour out of sight.

Suguru Geto's door never knocks.

-.--.-

The feeling unravels and tightens in new ways, until Suguru feels his hands too taunt into a fist to open them. It grips his fingers together, clenches his jaw for him, sharpens the skin around his eyes and paints the sky and stars an ugly colour. That pit never leaves, every step shakes as if the ground below him doesn't, like his foot would fall through and wedge deep into the Earth and claim his body as its own.

But it unravels. And tightens in a way where his lips twist upwards, because at least he wouldn't feel the burden of his own flesh and bone anymore. Suguru realises he could only open his palms if to dig faster into the soil and carve his own way into his demise.

Take everything. Take my hands, my fingerprints. Take everything that I am.

And it unravels. And tightens.

It takes no genius to point at what the feeling aims to do, how it loosens and fits better around him, how his sorcerer's energy bandages the body he lashes with his own mind so that he would never be reminded he had one.

Now when he eyes his hands, he sees a deep-blue coat, a glove. No flesh. No matter.

Cursed energy as second skin. Tedious.

No one asks him. And no one sees how dirty he is.

Geto smiles when he speaks to his friends, omits the paired warmth with genuine heart because they are not him. He seeks for cursed energy alike, the sole saviour from his own hands, and grants it the love of all kinds. How could he not? How could he not thank the clothes it dressed him in when he showers so he doesn't spot his own skin?

They clap so loud. Riko laughs innocently.

They clap their hands, enunciating it clearly. Their message. They clap. Dirty. Dirty.

Water falls between the crevices of his back like beaded jewelry, the shampoo half-sodded whilst he leans against the shower wall. Suguru does not blink; the water should clean his eyes too.

Dirty. They clap their hands.

Geto chooses to not see his.

That young girl smiles. That young girl sleeps in her own blood. She smiles and takes the last look of pretty human skin with her. That young girl speaks of a wondrous future. Her heart is free. Her body slumps over.

Water meanders to the tip of his nose, teeters at the peak, teases his resolve. Gravity pulls it into the drain. Geto feels that same pull on his knees... though he's frozen.

They're clapping. The shower echoes similarly and he's taken back to their faces.

Hand-to-hand. Loud glee. A 'hurrah' those hands yell in unison. The Star Religious Group. They clap with open pride. Dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty, dirty!

Vile. Filthy hands are those belonging to humans, such who celebrate the growing pool of blood at his feet. Vile hands; the non-sorcerers. Suguru saw his own as human back when his steps were lighter, when he let his heart swell for his best friend. Human as can be: were all sorcerers and non-sorcerers not cut from the same cloth?

He's mistaken. Geto has fists coaxed in flames, a beacon, lit for those he wishes to bring forth into his circle. Cursed energy to recognize each other, because they were special, unique, better. Not simple humans.

Jujutsu Sorcerers, stronger, faster, more than the average person.

That girl, destined as the Star Plasma Vessel, was the last non-sorcerer to smile at him. All those that follow after are wretched crinkles of skin, misshapen teeth, and stripped of Geto's sense of acknowledgement.

They're dirty. Reduced to their ancestors. For if they wanted to make a fool's choice and act like animals, they would be as such: monkeys.

Dirty, dirty monkeys.

#jjk fics #jjk fic #jjk fanfic #jujutsu kaisen fic #geto fic #geto suguru #suguru geto #jjk suguru #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #let's write

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