Murphysscribe - Murphy's Scribbles - Tumblr Blog

you guys know that knowing lots about something isn't the only way to have a special interest right. right. you know that for some of us a special interest means starting the same cartoon over as soon as we finish it and not like. doing analysis or whatever just watching it over and over. right. you know that not every autistic person is highly intelligent or even like. smart. right

Corrupt doggo bribed by bear

I love it when people take fic writing seriously. I love when it's not 'Here's this dumb thing I wrote' and instead it's 'Here's this thing I put blood, sweat and tears into. Here's this thing I slaved away at, trying new writing techniques and editing over and over. Here's this dialogue that kept me awake at night. Here's this beautiful turn of phrase I thought up. Here's this thing that I wrote with vulnerability and heart, and I am proud to share it with you.'

"How do you brainstorm your ideas and stories?"

Listen, man, I've been using thinking about fictional characters and their problems to avoid thinking about The Horrors since I was single digits in age. I have no idea how to start. Nor do I know how to stop. The inside of my head is constant "what ifs". I just made them fun instead of horrifying.

"how can m/f ships be good-" first of all through the power of bisexuality anything is possible so write that down. second of all if we start othering ships based on gender and nothing else we're no better than the opposition. third of all you need to watch more addams family

When talking about your hobbies, happiness doesn't have to be skill-based.

If you like it, do the thing badly. Sing badly. Write badly. Draw badly. Sew badly. Craft badly. Dance badly. The one limit is please don't hurt yourself or others. Other than that? Do it badly.

Have fun. Enjoy yourself. Be happy.

Do it badly.

This is my kind of Avengers

October 9: Road Trip

(Toasterverse, the team All of these can be found under Sci's Fictober)

“Is he still up there?”

“Yep.”

Not taking her eyes off of the road, Nat grinned.  “You didn’t even look.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Nat saw Steve smile.  “Pretty sure I don’t need to.”

“Humor me.”

Steve tilted his head back, just a bit, just far enough to look out the sun roof.  He pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead, squinting at the sky.  “Look at that.”  He let the sunglasses drop back onto the bridge of his nose.  “He’s still there.”

“Of course he’s still there,” Clint said from the backseat.  He leaned forward, bracing his forearms on the backs of their seats.  “Man hasn’t gotten any attention for the last, what, five minutes?  He’s probably getting twitchy.”

“Seatbelt on,” Nat said, stabbing a finger back in his direction.

“I trust your driving,” Clint said.  He held a bag over the seat.  “Corn nut?”

She gave them a disdainful look, and Clint shook the bag with a grin, letting the corn nuggets rattle around inside.  Nat switched the disdainful look to him for a solid second before turning her attention back to the road.  “Does anyone ever say yes to that?”

Clint held them out to Steve, who barely paused before shoving his hand in the bag.

“Really?” Nat said, trying not to laugh.

He shrugged.  “I like the crunch.”

“Standards drop when all your food comes from a sub-par gas station,” Clint pointed out.

Natasha grinned, her fingers bouncing on the steering wheel.  “You have no taste at the best of time, don’t blame the gas station.  And put your seatbelt on.”

He groaned, flopping back into his seat.  “We haven’t seen another car in almost an hour, what could you possibly hit?”

“A moose,” Bruce said from beside him.  He wiggled his straw in his slushie, scraping it against the bottom of the cup.  “We’ve, uh, we’ve seen moose.”

“You saw moose,” Clint said.  “Or you claimed to see moose.  I didn’t see moose.”  He tossed a corn nut into the air, catching it in his mouth.  “And I’m not sure if I believe you about the moose.”

Bruce sighed around his straw.  “Why would I possibly lie about-”

“I don’t know!  Doesn’t mean you didn’t!  I would lie about seeing a moose!” Clint pointed out.  He held the bag of corn nuts out to Bruce. 

“I will turn this car around,” Nat said.  “Don’t push me, I will turn this car around and then no one will get to see Maine.”

“When I was a kid, I thought Bucky made Maine up,” Steve said, staring out the car window.

Clint held up a hand.  “I’m sorry.  What?”

“There are maps, though,” Clint said, digging through the paper bag on the seat between him and Bruce.  “And, I don’t know, back then, what, encyclopedia articles?”

Steve nodded.  “Yeah, Bucky told me about Maine once when we were kids and I thought it sounded fake.”  He turned around in his seat.  “And he told me fake stuff all the time, then he’d laugh at me when I believed him.  So I decided I didn’t this time.”

“There would’ve been actual books,” Bruce said, taking a pound bag of M&Ms that Clint handed him.  “At school?  Or at the library?”

“There were MAPS,” Clint said.  “Did you think he made up MAPS?”

“He mighta,” Steve said.  He crossed his arms over his chest.  “What’s more likely, that the United States as a damn thumb of a state sticking into Canada with some sort of monster deer and rodents the size of a cat wandering around, or that my best friend was a jackass?”

“Well, when you put it like that,” Natasha said, trying not to laugh.  “How long did you maintain this?”

“Never let him convince me,” Steve said.  He grinned.  “Was it petty?”

“Absolutely,” Nat said.  “Would I have done the same?”

“You did.”  Clint tossed a bag of jerky to Steve.  “Remember when you said root beer floats sounded fake as hell?”

“No, I said it sounded like something you made up when drunk and/or hung over,” she said.  She held out a hand to Steve, who handed her a piece of jerky.  “Like the skittle pancakes.”

“Like WHAT?” Bruce asked.

“Mistakes were made,” Clint admitted.  He set the bag aside.  “I thought we got some more drinks.”

“I’ve got them,” Steve said, reaching down by his feet.  “Did you want-”

There was a roar and a burst of light, and Iron Man flashed past, sunlight rolling across the smooth skin of the armor as he rolled and pulled up along side them, matching their speed so it looked like he was floating along in their wake.  

Natasha looked at him over the rims of her cats eye sunglasses.  “Show off,” she said, letting her lips curl into the faintest hint of a smile.  

He flicked a salute in her direction and shot upwards, repulsors roaring as he spiraled over the car, pulling up on the other side.  

“Do us all a favor and ignore him,” Clint said, but Steve was already rolling his window the rest of the way down.  Clint groaned.  “Rogers, stop falling for it.”

Steve leaned an arm on the window, the wind ruffling his hair.  “Can we help you?”

The radio crackled, and Tony’s voice came through the speaker, sharp and clear.  “Going my way?”

Steve leaned back in his seat, grinning at nothing in particular.  “Already got a ride, thanks.” 

Tony hummed out a laugh.  “I’m faster.”

“Not something most men brag about,” Nat said with a saccharine smile.

Tony’s head twitched in her direction.  “I’m not most men.”

“No, you’re worse.”  He laughed, and she flipped him off with a grin.  “Stop hitting on my copilot.”

“Not going to happen.” The repulsors flared, stars caught in the palms of his hands.  “Wanna race?  Winner gets Cap.”

“What does it feel like to be the literal prize in an 80’s racing game?” Clint asked Steve.

Steve considered that.  “I know I should be objecting, but I’ve gotta admit-” He shrugged.  “Pretty good, actually.”

Nat rotated her shoulders, resettling her hands on the steering wheel.  “Don’t make bets your ego can’t cover, Stark.”  She stared at the road in front of them, stretching straight and even, empty for as far as she could see, and that was quite a distance.  The car hummed beneath them, a miracle of SHIELD engineering in the body of a pretty plain looking four door sedan.  

It wasn’t much to look at.  But as Phil used to say, it was what was on the inside is what mattered.

“Okay, before we start breaking any traffic laws-” Bruce started, and Nat grabbed the gear shift, slamming it forward.  Whatever else Bruce might’ve been planning to say came out in a single, choked off scream.

The car flew.  For a split second, they were airborne, moving faster and farther than she’d thought it would.  In the back seat, Clint let out a howl, and Steve grabbed for the door frame, and then they were back on the road and roaring forward, Nat’s foot pushing hard on the gas pedal.

As a headstart, it wasn’t much.  But it was enough.  

An instant later, Tony was after them, his laughter echoing through the car’s speakers as he shot forward, his body titled forward, his repulsors going at full blast.  Catching their draft, he rode it for all it was worth, sliding effortlessly through the air.

They never set a finish line, or a boundary, but as they reached a point where the horizon narrowed, the forrest closing in on the sides, masking anyone or anything that might be waiting ahead, Nat eased back on the gas, letting Tony pull ahead.

Someone was laughing, and Nat shifted the car back into a lower gear with a grin.  

“My SLUSHIE,” Bruce said, and he sounded so shellshocked that Nat started laughing too.

“We are not getting our damage deposit back on this one,” Clint said.  “Why the hell did you choose red, Doc?”

“Because I didn’t know I was going to be in a DRAG RACE.”  Bruce leaned forward, just far enough for her to see him in the rearview mirror, and there was slushie dripping from his hair. 

“Sorry,” Nat managed, looking back over her shoulder at him.  “Steve, do we have a bottle of water in that bag?”

“Definitely have napkins,” Steve said, handing them over.  “And I’ll find you a water.”

Iron Man spun back into place on the driver’s side window.  “Was it good for you, too?”

“You were good.”  She blew him a kiss.  “But I’ve had better.”

“Glad to be in the top ten,” He floated upwards.  “Thor found a diner a couple of miles up the road and he is very excited to try every pie on the menu.”

“Oh shit, that sounds amazing,’ Clint mumbled.

“Are you eating M&Ms while talking about eating pastry?” Nat asked him.  He gave her a thumbs up  “Right.”  She waved at Tony.  “Lead on, Iron Man.”

“And after lunch,” Bruce said, “I’m driving.”

I was in bed and my boyfriend paused in the hallway outside the bedroom door and lingered a moment and I said sleepily "I can't see whatever expression is on your face, because I don't have my glasses on" and he said "sorry, whatever you just said I didn't hear it. I don't have my hearing aids in." laurel and hardy ass domestic partnership

Frustrated, angry, horrified, and unsure of how to proceed after learning a favourite author is not who you think they were?

You are not without means to help! Fandom gave Neil Gaiman the celebrity that he then weaponised against vulnerable people. We gave it to him; we can help take it away.

THINGS WE CAN DO AS INDIVIDUALS

Repost articles and transcripts as they appear in the trades and the mainstream press, and tag them with the appropriate trigger warnings and content warnings.

Keep amplifying the voices of the survivors, and showing up with compassion and empathy and support for the untold numbers who have yet to come forward.

Keep talking about the allegations of abuse and sexual assault levelled at Neil Gaiman. Do not let it fade into the background, or be drowned out by vigorous promotion of his upcoming works. Boost the signal, particularly to raise awareness across fandoms so fans can do their best to protect themselves from potential abuse in the future.

Make donations to RAINN and The Survivors Trust, and find out what you can do on a local level to support survivors of sexual assault and abuse.

Do not tag fan works such as fanfic, fan art, quotes, gifsets, and meta discussions about Gaiman's work or live-action adaptations of Gaiman's work with #Neil Gaiman so that you are not doing the expensive PR team's work for them by helping to bury the story of Neil Gaiman's abuse of vulnerable women on social media.

Do not bully Neil Gaiman's peers in the industry, friends and family, or actors currently involved in live action adaptations of his work for not immediately making any kind of public statements.

Do not bully fellow fans. Everyone is working through their very complex feelings and relationships with both the text and the man at their own speed. Please give them the space to grieve that loss, but continue to center the stories of the survivors and express sympathy and empathy for all of the survivors who have yet to come forward.

As others have noted, The Tortoise Media Slow News podcast that initially broke the story is run by a group of well-respected journalists, and Ms Johnson is not a full-time member of the staff but was only given a shared byline on the story because one of the survivors contacted her privately which is what kicked off the year long investigation.

Filter out noise such as kink-shaming, anti-BDSM discourse, and other editorial comments and instead focus on the actual words of survivors recounting their experiences.

Remember that despite using the language of BDSM, what the survivors have recounted is in fact examples of coercive control and abuse cloaked in the language of kink. It's very important to note that BDSM nearly always includes extensive negotiation of consent to specific acts and partners check in with one another constantly, establish safe words, and engage in aftercare. That is absolutely not what was described by the survivors thus far.

Sexual assault is not about sex so much as it is about power. In every instance reported thus far, the common thread has been predatory behaviour toward vulnerable women. In more than one case, women who were employed in Neil Gaiman's households and were reliant on him for their housing and livelihood.

Do not guilt trip or shame people who are attempting to separate the art from the artist. allow people to love what they love about the novels, comics, and media adaptations, value the friendships that they have made because of them, and keep the joy that those projects brought them. Do not let Neil Gaiman's behaviour rob generations of fans of the stories that meant so much to them. he has already taken so much from so many; don't help him take more from yourself or others then he already has.

Do not invite him as a guest speaker to your events, a guest of honour at your conventions, or a guest lecturer at your institutions. without jeopardizing the financial future of your institution or theater, do not book speaking tours, book signings, launch parties, etc. as these events have proved to be a fertile hunting ground and provide ongoing income directly to Neil Gaiman.

petition to bring back saying "huzzah!" when something goes your way and "alas." when it doesn't

"Yes, I followed the instructions exactly. Yes, even that one. What? Well, it did something, but I wouldn't describe the results as 'manifesting positive energy in my life'. Look, I don't know what it manifested, but whatever it is, it's eating my garlic sausage."

The problem w writing fiction is that you'll be like tee-hee I'm going to write a story about a fucked up little scenario that's got nothing to do with anything in real life, just some pure messed up nonsense, and then you finish it and take a step back and go aw rats I made a metaphor again

I hate it when you’re reading smut and you can’t figure out what position they’re in.

When you are a classical musician and the public asks you to play Queen …

Some of those are good, other ones nah

Don’t read, don’t write fanfic of your own stuff, even anonymously

Things to do as a famous writer;

Make a “fan blog” of ur book of Tumblr and stalk ur fandom from within.

Go to a book store, find ur books, sign a copy, then leave.

Write purposefully bad fan fiction of ur book and post it anonymously.

Buy a copy of ur own book and write commentary in the margins, then sell it online.

Cosplay ur own character to a con, don’t let anyone know it’s you.

Using your “fan blog” befriend another fan online. Ask them to video chat you, record their reaction.

Draw purposefully bad fan art and post it anonymously.

Read ALL of the fan fiction of ur book, then declare random ones you like as cannon in the comments.

Talk to aspiring writers online or at schools and encourage them.

Become a beta reader for one of ur fans.

Hold long in depth conversations with a fan who doesn’t recognize you, disagree with everything they say.

Ask to talk a picture with people who recognize you on the street before they have a chance to ask you first.

Anonymously commission artists to draw ur characters, then surprise them by posting it to ur “official blog.” Make sure you credit them so you draw more attention to their amazing artwork!!!

Tease ur fans about the next book coming out.

Tell ur fans a character is gonna die in the next book, but not say who. Watch them squirm.

the death of dvds is so fucked. what about bonus features

Writing really goes one of two ways:

1. Write 3k words in 30 minutes

2. Takes 3 hours to write 3 sentences

There is no in between

Historical fencing is great cuz you can literally go "this blows, I would rather be getting hit with a 3 lb steel bar rn" in basically every situation and mean it with your whole heart