Thank You For The Tag @clairelsonao3 ! (Post Here)

Thank you for the tag @clairelsonao3 ! (Post here)

Instructions: Bold your answers to the following:

I write: daily | most days I a few times a week I a few times a month I random

I write most often: when I first get up | later in the morning I afternoon I evening I the wee hours of the night | whenever

I tend to write scenes: in chronological order with no skipping I mostly in order but with some filler/skipping | whatever scene I feel like I who knows what's gonna come out

In one sitting, I tend to write: a few sentences at a time I a few hundred words | a few thousand words | a complete chapter/section no matter how long I an outline | whatever comes

The things that come easiest to me are: dialogue I description of senses I description of action | description of characters I exposition | other (very specifically, facial expressions)

I tend to write: on a phone I on a laptop I in a notebook | on whatever paper I can find | with speech to text | in the blood of my enemies I it doesn't really matter to me I on paper first and then typed up I old school typewriter I on a computer

When I take a break from writing, it usually lasts: a few days I a few weeks I a few months I it's kind of random

My favorite thing to do when I'm on a writing break is: recharge with other creative hobbies | read/consume other media I do something physical | catch up with old friends | work on my WIP in other ways like with playlists or art | other (commit arson, bother everyone around me, and lurk on ao3)

In general, I think my writing habits are: pretty much what I need them to be I okay, but l'm working on making them better I non-existent I not great l i'm excited to develop them further I totally random I perfect for me

Gently tagging @imaginativemind29new @jay-avian

“I don’t love you. How could I? You ruined me. You took every shining part of me and ground it to dust beneath your palms, showing me the grit like it was a kind of adoration. So, no, I cannot love you.” She went to leave, and Clara stopped her, a hand on her arm.

“Wait.”

She stopped, chest aching. “Why.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

It wasn’t an apology, but it wasn’t quite the excuse Clara was hoping it would be either.

“But you did it anyways.”

“Sophie, please.”

“Clara, I’m not doing this with you anymore. I can’t.”

Clara let out something between a sob and a laugh, hand dropping from her arm.

“I love you,” Clara’s voice cracked, and Sophie knew it was a prompt. Say it back, Clara was urging. Please, Sophie, say it back, take me back, don’t leave me.

Sophie didn’t cry. She didn’t.

“I told you that you destroyed the best parts of me, didn’t I?” she said softly. Clara nodded, hesitantly, like she could see where this ended and didn’t like the destination.

Sophie tipped her head up, turning away until she could no longer see Clara at all. Just feel her, at her back.

She was not crying.

Her cheeks were wet.

“Well,” she said, and her voice was wet and it broke and she tried to pull the aching shards of agony back into place around her heart like emotional barbed wire. “You didn’t get the ending you wanted, did you. No fairytales, right Clara? No heroic endings, no sunset credits. No Pinterest boards or motivational quotes, because we aren’t that kind of love. You said that, remember?”

“Sophie.”

“You ruined me,” she said, and this time, it wasn’t an accusation. Just a statement.

“Sophie.”

“When you destroyed me, when you destroyed all of those wonderful parts, those fairytales and quotes and sunsets, what did you think you were taking from me?”

Sophie didn’t let her answer, turning to face her.

“It doesn’t matter,” she answered for Clara. Clara grimaced. “Because when you destroyed those best parts of me, you destroyed the only part of me that knew how to love you.”

Clara looked like Sophie had shot her.

Sophie wanted to laugh. She cried instead.

“Don’t you see,” she said wetly. “You ruined me, but you ruined me for yourself, too. Killed me so no one else could have me, but didn’t expect to lose me in the process, did you.”

Clara took a step forward, and she stepped back.

“No takebacks,” she warned. “No fairytale endings. No kissing in the rain. We aren’t that love, are we, Clara,” she spat, and it was venomous. Clara looked sick.

“I’m sorry,” Clara whispered, and maybe, just maybe, Sophie thought she might mean it this time.

“Regret is beneath you,” Sophie said in place of forgiveness, and she opened the door. “Next time, don’t destroy the only part of someone that knows how to love you. Leave that bit as you destroy the rest. But whoever you destroy next time won’t be me.”

Clara didn’t stop her when she slammed the door behind her.

Sophie never said her name again.

The horde of feral children who grew up reading modern typewriter is uniting and soon we shall be unstoppable

Feral children—feral writer pipeline

Honestly the pipeline of “reading the-modern-typewriter snippets at midnight on the floor of my bathroom at age eleven so I wouldn’t get caught” to “being a tumblr writer myself” is a wild one.

Thank you for the tag @clairelsonao3

OC I would enjoy being in an elevator with: it’s a pretty even tie between Cat and Adelie

Cat: just mouthy enough that I’d be entertained, but not want to kill him (cough, Riven, cough) also, there’s a high chance he’s the reason we’re stuck in the elevator, so he gets to suffer too

Adelie: good person with a good sense of humor. Least likely out of the majority of my OC’s to kill me without provocation

OC I would NOT want to be stuck with: yeah, this ain’t an easy answer. Agent Jules and Shawn, probably.

Agent Jules: she’s nice, but eventually she’d profile me, intentional or not, and things would go downhill for my emotional state very quickly (I’d be crying in an elevator with a member of a government agency)

Shawn: He’s not a super bad person, but he’s also an ass. So. That wouldn’t go well for either of us.

Now, the question I’m handing off is:

A murder had occurred in a hypothetical town with all of your OC’s in it. Who’s the killer? Who catches them? Who’s the victim? Who’s covering things up? Who’s got an annoying podcast broadcasting things? Who’s (fake) crying on the news?

With love, tagging @imaginativemind29new @jay-avian

OKAY!

WRITEBLRS if you're seeing this, you're legally obligated to reblog with an answer, and then a new question for the next person!

Here's the start:

Which of your OCs is most likely to punch somebody in the face?

The Pinterest to whump pipline is so real!!! Did you fall from that pipeline?

I remember searching for “whump” boards until I just needed more and came straight to the source - tumblr.

Ahh, yep. The pipeline is one I hold dear. It was me googling writing prompts, finding stolen screenshots of moderntypewriter, and then stumbling onto tumblr when I figured out they were hers. After that my mother went into her authoritarian phase and I lost contact :( then I discovered how to use duolingo as a proxy and all was well.

A lot of the prompts were just *chefs kiss* but I think it was this one that really was like “oh. Oh.” for me. That and all the fae ones.

Someone stepped into her bedroom, and she woke up.

One beat.

She grabbed a knife.

Two beats.

Her power flared.

Three beats.

A hand tightened over her wrist until the knife went clattering from her fingers, and she struck out and found no purchase.

They grabbed her leg, and there was the horrible sensation of being moved against her will, and she slammed into the ground.

Not her bedroom floor.

She blinked, and a boot came to rest on her sternum.

“Done fighting?”

The ceiling was the kind of bright, shiny metal that gave her headaches.

“Hadn’t started, really.”

The boot lifted, and she sat up, rolling to her feet.

She sighed.

“You?”

The villain blinked.

Behind them, the hero stirred.

“Oh. Them?”

The villain gave her the kind of smooth look she reserved for psychiatrists.

“I have a deal for you.”

Despite herself, she laughed.

“When do you not?”

“Would you rather I just kill you?”

“You could, if you wanted. But you don’t want to.”

The villain’s jaw clenched. “And why would you think that?”

She jerked her head towards the hero, bound in glowing cuffs.

“You just kidnapped me, and yet all you can look at is them.”

At this, the villain hummed. “I don’t care about them.”

“I know. You want them dead.”

The villain eyed her.

“You know an awful lot, don’t you,” they said, and it was a question and a demand all in one.

“Yeah well. You’re looking at them the way I did, for a while. And the way you looked at me, for a bit.”

“You were a hero.”

“I still am. I just don’t work with them.”

The villain cocked their head at the hero. “Now why wouldn’t you tell me such a pretty little detail. Have you been holding out on me?”

The hero shrugged, but their jaw was tense. The villain clucked at them.

“They gave me your name, you know. When I asked for one.”

She stared at the hero. “Asked for one?”

“Someone who would make the choice the hero isn’t strong enough to make.”

She tore her eyes from the hero, looking at the villain.

“I’m a hero too, you know.”

They smiled, just a bit.

“They didn’t give me your name because of that, though.”

“The choice involves them dying, doesn’t it.”

“So astute. Are you sure you work with them.”

“Worked.”

“Sorry?”

She was back to staring at the hero. They wouldn’t meet her eyes. “I used to work with them. I don’t anymore.”

The villain gave something akin to a sympathetic coo.

“Aww, lovers quarrel?”

Her power cracked through the air.

“What’s the deal,” she snapped.

The villain went quiet.

“They die, or you come with me.”

For a moment, she just stood there.

“That’s a stupid deal,” she swallowed. “Who would pick them dying?”

The villain tilted their head. “I don’t know. Who would.”

The hero looked at her with such a scorching and silent ‘please’ that she looked away.

“You’re such an idiot,” she hissed, and she wasn’t sure which of them she was saying it to.

“Something to say?”

It took her a moment to slide her electricity back into her skin.

“Well, I know why they picked me.”

The villain didn’t have to ask before she answered.

“They want me to choose for them to die.”

Silence, the kind that hovers over cemeteries, slid between them.

A moment later, the villain laughed.

They looked at the hero, and they wouldn’t meet their eyes.

“You think she’d pick for you to die?”

The hero’s eyes said they knew she would.

“I told you I was done,” she said quietly, and the villain and hero’s gaze snapped to her. “I told you that you hurt me, and I was tired of fixing it. I told you I wouldn’t say sorry for your messes anymore. I told you that you had burned what we had, and that I would never come back.”

She had to stop to breathe.

“You were my best friend, you idiot. And I love you, and you broke it. And I still hate you for it, and I wanted you to die so I wouldn’t have to grieve someone who was still alive, but I won’t let you do it like this.”

The villain opened their mouth, but she cut them off.

“You don’t get to use me as a way out,” she seethed. “I stopped being your answer when you stopped being my problem. And believe it or not, I don’t really want to look at you right now, either.”

The hero was crying, but they didn’t say anything. She swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Me. Take me. Let them go.”

The villain didn’t move.

“They truly thought you would—“

“Yeah,” she said quietly, and this time it sounded like a sob. They both ignored it. “They really thought I would pick for them to die.”

“God, still a hero,” the hero croaked, and she stared at them. “Your power still crackles when you’re mad.”

“Stop it—“

“Just let me go,” they whispered. “Let me go, please.”

“No.”

“It hurts, and I’m tired, and I’m done,” the hero murmured. “Just pick yourself, and leave.”

She wanted to be angry. She wanted to be scathing and screaming and unleash everything contained in her bones.

But she didn’t.

“It hurts,” she said gently. “But you broke it. And I moved on. And you have to live with that.”

A tear ran down the hero’s cheek.

“I don’t want you dead,” she admitted, and they looked like she had gut punched them. “But I haven’t forgiven you, either.”

She turned to the villain.

“Let them go.”

For a moment, they simply stared at her, as if they couldn’t process what had just happened.

“Alright, I- yeah, got it.”

She gave one last glance to the hero.

“Get some help, please,” she studied their face. “And maybe we can talk someday. Not soon, but. Close. Alright?”

“You’ll forgive me?”

She gave a one shoulder shrug, like this wasn’t crushing her. “We’ll see.”

The villain gestured for her to follow them, and the hero coughed.

“You’ll be okay?”

At this, she smiled.

“Still a hero, darling. I’ll be out in a day.”

Thanks @hojo76 for the writing prompt you gave me like a month ago