My Whole Life The Only Consistent Writing Advice Ive Heard Is Write Every Day.

My whole life the only consistent writing advice I’ve heard is “write every day.”

And I felt like a freak because I write like 10,000 words in one sitting and then sleep for a month.

But then I met published author former professor and certified bisexual Lidia Yuknavitch and she was like damn you can manage every month I only write like every three months and guys my soul has been clean ever since.

facts only

Peter: MR. STARK PLEASE-

Tony: *making a peppermint circle around himself* NO YOU KNOW WHAT YOU DID

Peter: I WONT DO IT AGAIN I PROMISE-

Tony: NO, NO HUGS FOR YOU

Rhodey: *turns to the invisible camera*

Rhodey: I sometimes wonder why I still stay here...

You know what doesn’t sit right and will NEVER sit right...

How George Floyd, a good innocent black man went to the store to buy things who then was murdered by a police officer for suspected forgery.

Then the next day Peter Manfredonia, a white armed serial killer who was on the run across 4 states, was caught and arrested peacefully.

And how black and black ally protesters in Minneapolis protesting for the arrest of the officers who killed George Floyd, were attacked by the police. They were peaceful.

But a few weeks ago, white people stormed governments buildings in Michigan protesting the quarantine because they wanted a haircut and the police did nothing to them. They were armed.

The problem is clear as water. WHITE PRIVILEGE AND RACISM. It exists and is real. Deny it? You’re the problem. Don’t say or do anything about it? You’re the problem. Abuse your white privilege? You’re the problem. Don’t see a problem with all this? YOURE THE PROBLEM.

CRY WITH THE BLACK COMMUNITY. MOURN WITH THEM. STAND ALONG SIDE WITH THEM. FIGHT FOR THEM. BECAUSE BLACK LIVES ARE IMPORTANT AND THEY ABSOLUTELY FUCKING MATTER.

for @lovelyirony because her style inspired me while writing this

The first thing, the first real thing, that Jim notices about Tony Stark is his hands. His hands: not manicured, not delicate, not soft or smooth, not perfect. Not what he expected from a rich kid whose daddy’s money paves the way for every milestone of his life.

No. They’re rough and calloused, with engine grease, of all things, still under his nails, and scars around his knuckles that don’t look like they’re there from fights, but rather from hours of long work resulting in skin that doesn’t heal properly.

They’re mechanic’s hands, worker’s hands, the same hands that Jim, who’s worked on his dad’s car and his momma’s stove all his life, has.

So. Tony Stark, heir to the grand fortune of Stark Industries and son of the American hero–the Merchant of Life–Howard Stark, has something in common with Jim Rhodes, nothing but a momma’s boy from rural Pennsylvania.

Jim keeps that in mind.

The second thing he notices is the way Tony speaks. It’s an observation that comes after a few weeks of knowing him, not within a few seconds, because Tony’s voice changes, and it requires attention to notice. And care. Jim notices because he’s…paying attention. Because he cares. Huh.  

That’s an emotional thread to pull on some other time, he decides.

But Tony’s voice…it surprises him, because the almost childish babble laced with excitement is so different from the sharp quips paired with sharper smiles and different still from the slurred words that hold no meaning but build up so many walls and the furthest from the seductive purr belonging to someone so many years older than Tony.

Tony’s like a parrot, mimicking the tones of those around him, blending in so that no one realizes he doesn’t belong, but Jim does. Because he’s paying attention.

And maybe that’s why he’s the only one who gets to hear the babble, the voice that maybe belongs to the real Tony.

The real Tony.

Jim wants to meet him more than he realizes, or understands.

Why is he so attached?

He’ll figure it out some other time.

The third thing that Jim notices is the way he sleeps, and he thinks that the only reason it took him this long (almost four months) to notice is because Tony doesn’t sleep while he’s awake. When Jim falls asleep, Tony’s awake, or not even in the dorm, and when he wakes up, Tony’s awake, but more often than not, gone already, unless he never came home in the first place.

Home. Huh.

When he comes home–to the dorm–after a late night of studying, Tony’s there. In bed. Asleep.

And it’s so different than Jim was expecting.

Tony’s not sprawled out, like he should be, not taking up space, like he owns it, not acting like a rich kid who’s there because his daddy put him there.

Because he isn’t any of that, and Jim knows that now, but it’s still a shock to come home and see Tony–who’s so much tinier than he thought–curled up on the edge of the bed, knees tucked to his chest, a whole two feet of bed unused behind him.

Like he’s leaving space for someone. Like he’s waiting for someone to slip in behind him and complete the puzzle he’s created. Like he’s waiting for comfort he’s never gotten before.

It…hurts.

And Jim can ignore it, at first.

But then Tony mumbles in his sleep, almost rolling off the bed, and the pieces of the puzzle don’t matter anymore, because Jim slips in to fit them together.

And Tony relaxes in his arms.

And it feels right.

And Jim knows, now, why he was paying attention.

telling a fic writer their characterization is good is the god tier of compliments, and the fastest way to find someone who will commit murder for you