Writing Ask - Tumblr Posts

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Which do you prefer? (Angst vs. Fluff)

-I'm of the opinion that they should go together. Got to have bitter before you can really taste the sweet. But...I'm going to have to say angst. Now make like Hubert and down that black stuff!

-What kind of music/sound do you listen to while writing?

It varies, but I like to turn on the soundtrack from Trine because it's calm. (Trine is a relatively obscure but quite good game series.) Sometimes, I'll try to turn on music which fits the story. For example, not too long ago I wrote a story about the Faerghan plague, and turned on the soundtrack from Harry Potter and the Half Blood Prince, which is gloomy and subdued.

-How often do you title your fics? Is it hard to title?

Looking at my recent WIPs, most of them have titles. But one of them is just labelled "And you thought (name of another WIP) was bad!" and the other has multiple names. One of them sounds good but makes no sense, one's too dramatic, and one makes total sense and sounds terrible. (There is a pretty good one, but the documents still labelled all of them.) With my original stories, if I haven't come up with a name, I'll sometimes just call them the name of the main character or my favorite character. I think whether or not something is hard to title really depends.

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-Do you have a fav fanfic? (From any fandom?)

Not sure if this is talking about mine or someone else's, but "Thing With Feathers" by FeatherLumina is a Crisis Core story I've been pretty fond of in the past. It's about Genesis Rhapsodos and his buddies. It has a lot of suffering and hugging in it.

-What are your fav personal headcanons?

Hoo boy. I have a billion of those and I'm not sure how interesting they are. Well, I like my version of Jeritza. In the game, he's all quiet and ominous, but my version of him, while still mysterious, is a chatty weirdo with a thick cowboy accent. I'm pretty fond of him. I like to take characters I don't know a lot about besides "they're a bad guy soldier" and change them into nerdy hermits. I've done that twice. (Yeardley is an example.) Also, as I've mentioned recently in a comment, I headcanon Rufus Blaiddyd as Yuri's father.

-Self love! Rec one of your own works! Art or fic!

Hmm. Only three of my stories are on the interweb, and one's unfinished, so I guess I'll say "My Sister for a Horse," a story I wrote for Siblings Week about Marcia and Makalov. And Naesala. >:) (But of course, you've read that.)

As for art... It really depends on what you're into. There are multiple pictures I rather like from the expression challenge, for example, George, Kylo, and the insane Jarod you asked for. Also the Caspar picture. I still like my first ever one on here, too, which is of the Black Knight.

Thanks for the ask, Velloo! <3

I've been thinking about Tyrell visiting the Allsafe offices in S1... just imagine if he had asked Elliot out to lunch or something :)

Spring mornings, skipping work to chat, and teasing banter? My kind of afternoon Alex.

*****

Safety had been Tyrell’s first priority at Evil Corp. As their Senior Vice President of Technology, it was imperative that their data remained tightly locked.

After the Colby incident, it was imperative that he helped the company save face. They couldn’t put on a weak front amidst the controversy- instead, confidence. The rest of the board was far too old and had better use as speaking bobbleheads in front of a camera. They had built the company to what it was but they were dinosaurs of a bygone era. Wellick was far more suited for the position and he knew it.

He patted down his tie, slicking out of the elevator, and strolled into Allsafe. He had a meeting with Gideon Goddard to talk about their next steps in securing Evil Corp’s data. 

__

It was a short meeting. It could have been held through a video chat, but with something as important as this- he chose otherwise. And, anyway, it wasn’t his true reason for coming here. 

“Elliot-” He smiled with a formal nod, almost beaming as he stopped by the tech’s desk.

He turned from his work slowly, reluctant to stop crunching numbers and writing his next line of code. He had been assigned to Tyrell’s case.

“Good morning sir,” His eyes flicked up, pen in hand.

He reached out and they shook hands, “Please, you don’t have to be so formal with me. Call me Tyrell,”

“Mmm,” He nodded, looking him over. “You came for a meeting with Gideon, right? To talk about the temperature control in Steel Mountain and our suggestion to regulate it by adding an analog component. In the case of an outside attack, it would involve someone physically collecting each protected key before making any changes. They would need to know the location of the designated space before potentially jacking up the heat in your data room and accentually frying them to shit. It would be unrecoverable.”

“Yes, well, that’s why I wanted to talk to you. I wanted your opinion on the matter- off the record. Are you hungry?”

He glanced at his desktop, mulling it over. “Are you buying?”

“Of course,”

Elliot saved his data before powering down. Grabbing his jacket and slipping it on. “Alright, I’m ready.”

___

[Music playing at the restaurant]

The two took Tyrell’s car. His bodyguard drove them to lunch, a French restaurant. A place where you could sit outside under a large pergola with blooming vines wrapped around Earth. Small wire tables with freshly made lattes, a plate of macrons, and flowers in an elegant glass vase. 

It took Elliot by surprise, but he didn’t mind. The place was beautiful and extravagant in an understated way. It felt at peace at its own existence, windchimes glittering in the breeze.

“I thought since it was such a beautiful day, you would like this. I like coming here for their pastries, they’re divine,” He smiled, pouring a cup of refreshing cucumber water for them both.

Elliot shifted in his seat, unzipping his hoodie in the Spring weather. Even popped a button at his color, fixing his hair. “It’s nice, it’s really quite beautiful,” He pulled his teacup to his lips, drinking the smooth hot liquid.

The two made their orders and chatted about work. It was easy to flow like this. Elliot felt confident about coding and security measures, easy technical conversation for his skill. He was brilliant and he knew it. He felt it.

“So... enough shop talk, what does a guy like you do for fun?”

“Umm..” He set down his tea, rubbing his forehead with a wicked smirk, “For fun? Shit...” His tongue slicked across his lips, “Taking my dog Flipper for a walk. She prefers going to the park.”

“Mmm.”

“There’s also movies, I’m a big movie buff. I grew up on Star Trek and Back to the Future- I’ve probably seen that one a million times,” He nodded. “There’s a long tradition of my sister and I watching The Careful Massacre of the Bourgeoisie every Halloween. We didn’t do it for a couple of years, but I really enjoy that,” He chuckled, smiling, as he thought back. “It’s special, ya know?”

“That’s tender,” Slowly, his heart was melting. Watching Elliot relax and exhale his stuffy work persona was heartwarming. There was more to him than meets the eye.

“Do you mind if I smoke?”

“Care to share?”

He reached into his coat pocket and thumbed for the squares. He fitted one between Tyrell’s lips- chalking it up to the sweet tea and romantic atmosphere. “Come here,” He spoke in a low tone, flicking the lighter between them. They softly leaned forward, catching the ends of their cigarettes together under the heat of the warm flame. The ends danced, grazing each other under the intimacy of the light and shared body heat. There’s always a reason to linger... Eyes catching the other, blue eyes glinting together.

Tyrell flushed beat red, snatching the end from his lips and playing with it between his fingers. He sat back, exhaling a long drag, eyes sharp and witty, “You’re a tease, Alderson.”

He snapped the lighter shut. 

Those lips parted, teeth holding his in place. “Oh, what do you mean sir?” Coyly.

“What businessman takes his lackey out for lunch, probing for personal information on an afternoon like this?” He gestured to the sky, “I know what you’re doing,” A stream flowed from his painted lips.

“Ah,” He flicked his stick, “I thought I was being subtle.”

“Nothing you do is subtle,” He played with his end, watching the other. “I like it.”

Tyrobot fluff taking place after the scene in 3x09 (I think??) when Tyrell realizes he's being used?

Pryce had left after he dropped the news about Tyrell's ‘promotion’. He was to be the new CTO of Evil Corp, a choice forced by his captor, Whiterose. Defying her wishes meant losing his son.

The only thing he had left.

*****

Tyrell had his fist full in the bottle, gulping down another hot slick round of vodka to drown his head. He fucking wanted to throw this shit away, this world, and himself. He had scraped and climbed for nothing. At least, not in the end. He pittied himself, bitting back his acrid stomach and let the tears from his eyes.

In his waking eyes, he was but a glimmer of his dreams. A thing he once felt was so attainable- within this grasp- now faded. Lapping and washing away as it beat back to sea. Stranded.

“Hey, stop that-” Robot pried the bottle from his fingertips, slicking on the cap in a quick motion. “That’s enough of that, it’ll mess with your head,” He resigned himself to a soft tone, sounding worn and kind.

“-That’s exactly what I want,” Tyrell hicked over the table, curled up towards himself as he flowed. Fingers covered his face, burying himself in darkness. “I don’t want to remember any of this-” He sniffed.

His hand rubbed soothing circular motions into Wellick’s back, letting it pour. “That’s okay,” He watched him, his heart sinking at the sight. “But it’ll make you feel worse, okay? And you don’t want that,” He scooted closer, ending the space between them. He gently grasped Tyrell’s wrist, guiding a hand from his face. “Come here baby~” He coed.

The two slipped together, holding one another as Tyrell cried into Robot’s arms. He shook, bellowing into Robot’s chest as he cried, feeling the weight of his life bare down on him. 

The taste was bittersweet and falsely true. Wellick has achieved his dreams at the cost of his wife, the threat against his son, and now- his pride. He no longer had the sense of control he so desperately carved out for himself. I way to teether himself down to Earth, to give himself a sense of purpose. It had all evaporated. He was but a doll on strings, trapped and bleeding before his maker as she watched him crumble.

His hand balled up Robot’s jacket, legs hooked around his wide frame. His shoulder became deeply wet. He sniffled as he wiped tears. “I hate this,” He croaked, feeling himself being pulled tighter against the chest of the other.

“I know, I do too,” Robot bent, kissing his cheek. “We’ll get through this, we always do.”

“How?” His head picked up, desperately looking into his eyes. “How?!”

“We’ll make a plan, we’ll figure out how to fix this.”

“I either accept or my son and I die- there isn’t another answer.”

“There always is,” He thumbed a tear from under his eye, caressing his soft cheek. “I promise, Tyrell. We’ll find a way.”

He took a deep breath, muttering soft words in Danish as he cleaned his face. A constant battle.

 He would need time to put himself together, to recover. But he trusted the words of his love. “She’s going down,” He spat.

“We’re taking her down, together.”

Okay I’m a whore for coffee shop AUs can I have Elliot as a barista and Tyrell goes to his coffee shop every morning/as frequently as you want for his coffee ? Cos getting his coffee while Mr S is in the car waiting is the only thing he does by himself all day ? Also can you give Tyrell a Bluetooth earpiece thingy so he sounds like an asshole :) Bonus for a lil Swedish <3

I decided to make this alt. Verse Tyrell and our verse Elliot. It’s a nice change-up from our regularly scheduled program. I think it’s a little different than what you were expecting, but I hope you enjoy it~~

And, we have a sweet softie Tyrell! Who’s as much as an awkward geek as Elliot. 

~~~

Skipping away from work was one of his favorite reprieves. Amongst the long structured days, it felt good to leave the office to get a bit of fresh air.

There was a queer coffee shop a few blocks from the office. Inside, the walls were littered with books stacked high. Shelves arranged by a range of genres to the heart’s content. He especially enjoyed their window display. As it was packed with hanging mini pride flags on the string. Zines carefully picked and put out for display. Queer stories about queer love and trans rights advocacy, representing people of all breaths of life.

For him, it was the addition of plants. Who doesn’t love walking into a mini tropical forest?

Psycho killers. Psycho killers down. They’re the exception.

His favorite genre was the fantasy/adventure section with the caveat of gay romance. It swooped up his heart, amidst the dragon figure and sword clashing, a little bit of love wrapped it all up for him. Bonus points for vivid descriptions! 

Beating back the woes of evil~

They had all his goods!

 He fixed his glasses to his nose as he stepped out of his old outback Subaru. Locking it closed.

He was a regular at the shop. Every few days he would stop by to collect a snack, peruse the line of books when he was looking for something new. It felt good to be seen and happy in such a wonderful place.

***

He stepped up the counter, scanning the chalkboard. “I’ll have a matcha latte with soy milk...and a tossed chicken salad.”

“Will there be anything else?” Elliot asked, thumbing it into the system. 

“And ahh…” His eyes moved to a corner of the menu. “A slice of your bacon and spinach quiche. With a macron.”

“Which flavor?”

His eyes flicked down, taking in the employee before him. His curls black curls tossed to the side, slightly wild and free from his short shaved sides. They framed his delicious lips and striking cheekbones. He could cut ice with that jawline.

And, there was a wonderful little pride flag pinned to the corner of his apron.

He’s new!

 “Chocolate…” He said softly, eyes gleaming in a smile as they rested on him. 

He hadn’t noticed him before. Usually, there was a helm of queer fems running the front. Though, there was that one busboy... 

Alright, this isn’t the time to gush! He’s just a random barista!

“That’ll be 24.89,” The ticket clicked out and he slid him over the paper after he paid. He plucked him a pen that bobbled, unicorn head jiggling as Tyrell signed. Their fingers brushed when he slid back the bill. “Did you just start here? I haven’t seen you before.”

“About a week ago… What’s your name?”

“Hm?”

“For the order?”

“Oh-” He blushed, “Tyrell.” Elliot slicked the name across the cup.

“Do you like it here?”

“It’s alright,” He mumbled, reaching into the case for a slice of quiche. “The people are nice.” Another guest stepped up the board, searching for their order. “It’ll be a few minutes for your food. I’ll bring it over, okay?”

He gave a quick nod and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear. “Of course,” and crossed the room. He settled into a nook under the hanging baskets in front of the window. It was his favorite spot to be. He would read his naughty books in private, quietly flustered in the best of ways. 

It took some time but eventually, the order came. Elliot slicked a hand through his hair before bringing it over. “Here you are,” He said, setting down the plates. “Do need anything else…?”

Tyrell startled, head shooting out of one of his dirty romance novels. Face flustered, feeling caught red-handed. “Huh? Oh, no, it’s fine!” He gestured, lips still moving. “But…”

Elliot’s eyebrows raised.

Shit! “Um,” He blubbered, trying to find the words to speak. “What’s your name?”

He blinked, holding his gaze. Softening. “It’s Elliot.”

“Elliot! Elliot, that’s nice…” His mind drifted, swaying with the words of his book. “Would… would you like to get coffee sometime? Not like this, not now, but some other time?”

Now, it was the other one’s turn to blush, cracking a smile in surprise. “Yeah, I’d be open to that.”

  A phone blared, buzzing in Wellick’s back pocket. Mr. S blowing him up about something annoying urgent. “Ah- I’m so sorry,” He fished it frantically out of his pocket, blaring in his hand. “I need to get this, I’ll come over when I’m done. Okay?”

Something drummed in Elliot. Maybe it was the light or the sound of his soft voice. But those soft blue eyes, they got him. “I get off in 10, let’s talk then.”

“Min here, [My lord]” He whispered, breathless.

“Excuse me?”

“Nothing! Don’t worry about it!”

3, 5, 17, 24

<3 <3 These are fun, thank you @themastermindsqueen for the ask!!

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

- This one is a tough one for me because I’ve been thinking about it since last night. A while, I think it was you? Or someone else I know? Gave me a great fic idea and it ran out of my mind. Something about Elliot and another character getting closure. 

I do like the idea of writing a fic where Elliot shares that he was sexually abused by his father, Edward Alderson. I would bring in Darlene and Mr. Robot since they’re so crucial to this. Darlene needs to know, she needs to know the truth about her father. I think it could give Elliot the cathartic healing he needs by sharing his experience with Darlene. She would start to see the truth behind Elliot, growing up as a kid, and the signs Edward displayed as a predator. Elliot would cry and they would talk. Really, Elliot would lean into trusting and sharing with his sister which is something they desperately need. For the both of them.

Maybe this is the fic idea? My gut tells me so. Still, it flutters in mind. It’s not quite the itch! We’ll see in time~~

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

- I would say Brian Kelly from Gleaming The Cube. I’m such a Christian Slater fan and I’m a wholesome bean. Who doesn’t love teen angst, kindness, warmth, and a bit of rebellion? He’s really such a nice kid trying to avenge his brother’s death, Vinh. 

I wish I could hug him and throw him up into the air and shower him with love. Such a good guy, I wish I had someone like that in my life. In-person!

On the MR side, I would say Elliot. But he’s so difficult to write- he’s emotionally reserved and cut off. I usually sway to writing from Tyrell’s perspective because it’s easier for me! He’s irrational, delusional, and clearly has bipolar disorder. In the Mr verse, it’s easier for me to emotionally register into a character like that because I know what’s like to fall apart and have the world you thought you knew to be lost. And he’s grabbing onto a waypoint- Elliot- that he bases his worldview on him. It’s not healthy but luckily we all grow. I’m playing to my own tune and jamming hardcore. *Insert guitar solo*

24. Would you say your writing has changed over time?

Yes! I started off writing through poetry and roleplaying on Tumblr. Writing on AO3 is actually new to me. I’ve shifted from a short plotline to more fleshed out and developed characters. I try and make the world more immersive through sound and the character’s emotional development. I’m still working on the second part, sometimes I want to push things along and get to the more important stuff. But! It’s crucial. Hopefully, people can see that it’s something I’m developing. Maybe I need to publish more fics! I probably do lol. They’re coming along, I needed a break from writing. I want to come back to it. I want to finish the stories I’ve written.

Below: Trigger warning: Sex, rape mention, bloody smut, physical violence/abuse?, scat, hardcore pornography discussion.

17. Do you think readers perceive your work - or you - differently to you? What do you think would surprise your readers about your writing or your motivations?

Yeah! I think my writing gives off a different perspective of myself than what it is. I’m actually a quiet person unless I know you and then I can get very chatty. I’m also very sex-positive (not to drum up drama, I’m not interested in that) but I think the discussion of healthy boundaries is important. Even as writers. That’s why (personally speaking, not a shot at anyone) I don’t write real people fiction smut. I know what it’s like to be on the receiving end of uncomfortable sexual desire and so, for me, this is my personal boundary line. I can write, I can express desire in a way that is also removed from the actors themselves, and they aren’t experiencing uncomfortable feelings unless they go hunting for it.

Other people got their own boundaries and feelings on the matter and that’s okay. They’re valid! It’s just not for me and that’s okay. It works for other people! 

On the other hand, I fucking planned to make my Bachelor of Art thesis on pornography and the way women are treated in pornography. And it wasn’t for the faint of heart- I’m talking scat porn, mutilation, beating, and drug use. The question of consent and regulation was a big question posed in my thesis- because when you have a half-conscious, cut up, bleeding person (really regardless of gender here) you gotta wonder why a person would do this for money. What are their circumstances? Is this their independent choice? What does this say about us, the people who consume it? The ones filming it- are they responsible for this person in any way? Is this *waves hand at the content* ethical? What does it do to us- the ones consuming it? Because there is a growing audience for it, and the internet only makes it more accessible. It’s going to go away either, it’s always been there. But what do we do about it? If anything at all?

And it’s all free baby. You can find this stuff through an easy google search and there are hordes of videos. You can even find people fucking dead bodies. Shot, bleeding, and they’re being fucked. Raped? Who the fuck knows!

So, it’s all about the discussion. Everyone has their right to do what they want, but sometimes I step back and go, “Whoa, is this even right?” And listen to my gut feeling. But I also do a ton of research to understand both sides. I’d rather learn and fully understand before I take action and have a hard stance as opposed to shutting something down before knowing more.

Also, this why I’m not trying to stir the pot. I like to talk and understand things. The world is far more grey than we make it out to be. It’s complicated! And that’s okay.

And hey, I’m the one making that content too! It says something about me and that’s okay. I throw guns and hitting in my own smut/artwork. I’m not an angel myself and I’ve consumed some dark content in the name of desire. It says something about me and I’m alright with that. Like I said, I’m not trying to create drama. I have the right to express myself and talk.

Motivations- fuck, I want more shows like MR. Hard, gritty, and rebellious. You can be mentally ill or really, a whole fucking person even in the moments when we feel guilty for being ‘broken’ or ‘crazy’ and still be a person. Mentally ill people can still have desire and do wonderful, powerful things in their life. No one is better than the other. We’re equal. 

Also, the show has incredible writing. I don’t want it to end- but I bet you could guess that one, huh? 

For the writer ask game... #5, 6, 19, & 25!

5. What character that you’re writing do you most identify with?

Brian Kelly!! Gleaming the Cube!!

*munches* Maybe I just wanna be a handsome man with blond hair and wear dangling earrings? 

Maybe it’s Maybelline? Maybe it’s because I’m trans?

Maybe it’s because he’s a cutie and a sweet pea! I love Christian Slater!

6. What character do you have the most fun writing?

Brian Kelly! He’s easy, nice, wholesome, and fun. I throw in some skateboard lingo and my husband has been born. I also run an early movie career Christian Slater fan fic blog named Slater-Later. It’s a baby blog that needs a lot of work, but that’s where my Christian Slater-related content goes.

19. Is there something you always find yourself repeating in your writing? (favorite verb, something you describe ‘too often’, trope you can’t get enough of?)

Homosexuals. Homosexual love, desire, and difficult relationships. Also, words that evoke a sound, a movement, a sensation. My Within the Haze series has a lot of that. 

25. What part of writing is the most fun?

--Gay Sex!

-- Getting to write shit stain words like, “Cumfucker” “Swedish fish” and “Bobblehead”. I love getting Mr. Robot to insult people and shit on them. It’s so fun to write!

-- Making wholesome content that makes my heart bloom. It makes me really happy!

hellooo this is so weirdly coincidental omg but i just haaaaddd to tell you!! i came across your saltburn fic and while i usually only read hotd.. i just had to read! ive never watched saltburn or any of jacob elordi’s work but i saw your header image and the queens sign and was instantly like ooh! interesting! bc im from queens! and i was hooked by your beautiful storytelling! and your recent chapter about peking duck from flushing??? my mom actually gets that for us on christmas/new years??? and to make it worse! my brother’s name happens to be michael??? and i major in art!!!

idk if that was like.. too much info to give out on tumblr but i just… ahfjlkaj im screaming and ik michael is totally not a unique name and millions of ppl live in nyc and queens and major in art but ive just never ever come across a fic in the fandoms i frequent that share so many (**delulu**) similarities with my life (though im definitely very far from being a yn 😂)

and while i know nothing about felix catton or the saltburn plot, your writing in fuck everything is phenomenal! so vividly captivating and truly showing, not telling! i live for your writing. thank you for sharing it! 💚💚

Listen, I can’t tell you how many times I read this with this biggest smile on my face. It’s literally such an honor to have you experience and read my fic. The idea was something I thought about for a while, and I have always wanted to go to Flushings! I am actually from NJ, so there’s a lot of love from one New state to another!

I actually am so relieved that you were able to connect with the reader in this fic. I never would have imagined that my writing to make such an amazing connection with someone else. I have always admired people who are courageous enough pursue art, especially since I was encouraged to pursue science and math as a child. So I wanted to make a reader who also had that courage.

And that’s who y/n and x reader’s fics are all about! A way for people to connect to the story and feel a connection and see themselves in the story! I’m y/n, YOU’RE y/n, we are ALL y/n!

I am really glad to have reached another person to read my stories and interact with! I also write HOTD x reader stories too! I recently wrote a Christmas Aemond x Reader fic too! Please check it out and tell me your thoughts! Not only is it super encouraging, but if there’s any tips to share, it helps me as a writer!

Once again, thanks so much for your kind words! And I am so glad for you to join along the ride! I do recommend watching Saltburn, because it’s definitely an experience, albeit an odd one.

First of I absolutely adore your writing prompts, you have really helped me with my writing projects. I do have some questions for you. I have a character in my book, she’s the main villain in the story. The story takes place in there Era’s, medieval, seventh century America (Salem Witch trials) and present time. My main villain was born in Salem Town, her father was a judge. She discovers she has powers and has to end up leaving her family and her town for fear of her being a witch. Her family is part of a ancient prophecy, and she believes that she is the girl it speaks of. Her powers have the ability to influence her choices and thoughts. I often think of it as Mr jeckle and the Hyde. The good vs evil. She ends up giving in to her selfish desires and becomes evil. The hero in my story is her ancestor; and she’s the girl in the prophecy. But I wanted to sort of use her as a sort of “cautionary tale” if that makes sense. My often think of my Villain, Alice her name is as very much like Lord Voldemort. She’s very clever and cunning. Manipulative. I’m on the part where my hero is learning about her, I want to make her infamous (sort of like when Harry asks dumbledore if he knew he had met the most evil wizard when he was just a child. And he replies with, no. If the monster was there it was buried deep within) do you have any dialogue that can help set the tone of how evil she is? ❤️❤️ ❤️

Anon, my love, I truly appreciate you, and you have no idea how much joy it brings that you both like my writing and it’s helped you. Absolutely wild.

Your story sounds absolutely delightful, and I adore the idea of a split timeline world building concept. I’m absolutely intrigued by it. Wether or not it’s simply flashbacks or short scenes that look back on the villain, or dual POV, I think it will be wonderful.

Now to actually answer your question:

I have a few suggestions, and you can shape them to what you want—I don’t know underlying motivations between the characters or actually events/scenes, so I’m going vague here.

“It was like walking into the ocean, surface calm and smooth, sun on your back. Until you step too far, too fast, and the current rips you under. There’s no escaping from that kind of hold—and eventually, you don’t want to, either, surrounded by such power. That was her. She was the sun and the riptide and the victim; and she was willing to drag us all down with her when she went.”

“People didn’t live through her—they survived in the aftermath.”

“It was never about forgiveness, or righteousness. At some point, she was a girl, scared and alone. All she had was herself, and her power, and at some point, one of those things won. And it wasn’t her.”

“Power is a thing you can love. It curls up in your heart, your mind, your soul, and it’s a beautiful thing. It’s easy. It gnaws at your bones until you forget the absence of it. She loved her power to absolution, and at that point, right or wrong didn’t matter to her. It just mattered if she was capable of whatever she wanted to do.”

“She didn’t hurt people because she craved their pain—she hurt people because they were in her way. They were casualties to her. A person who sees human beings as obstacles is no longer a person with humanity. And she saw people as obstacles.”

I hope that helps!

This next stuff is just general advice about dialogue, because I went off on a mini tangent while stuck on an airplane. I want to preface that my advice is based solely on how I write and other advice I’ve received—anything I do may not work for you, or go against something you prefer in your writing style. I’m not a professional, simply an individual who likes typing things.

When I’m writing dialogue, my main goal is to get it to flow well, which is my favorite part. Half the time when I start a scene, I have one very specific line fragment that I want to use, and I’m figuring out how the characters would naturally get there. For example, the lines “I need you to hang up,” “No, love, I’m going to turn you into another me,” and “Your brother isn’t alive, but he is living,” were big drivers for me within those scenes, but I have to get to them for them to make sense.

That being said, to write a good “evil” sounding dialogue/villain, don’t make it too outright, unless you’re going for, on some level, unhinged. Your villain lost the internal battle between good and evil, and is driven by her powers. So essentially, an outside force is pushing her to do these things, think these things, say these things. And since she’s manipulative, when she talks, you’re almost going to agree with her, and that’s what will make it more convincing. For example:

“I finally stood up and did something for myself for once—is that such a horrible thing?”

Which, depending on the situation, can be a gross oversimplification—but that’s what your villain would see it as. She did something she wanted, for herself, after leaving her town in fear. And anyone who has been pushed down by other people will relate to that, and the fact that they relate to it will make them uneasy.

Along with that, power dynamics. Not magic, but the way the characters interact. In improv, you need to have two characters on different levels. You can have a boss and an employee, a king and a joker, a mom and her child. There’s engrained power dynamics between those groups, and they make it interesting. If your main character isn’t at least a little bit afraid of the villain, it won’t be believable. Our main character isn’t afraid, why should we be? If Hagrid/Dumbledore/other adults weren’t at least slightly shaken by Voldemort, it wouldn’t matter. He’d just be a bad wizard—not someone who strikes such fear that people cannot say his name.

However, you can have people on the same level within writing, but it can sometimes make a scene lag. It all depends on the situation. But someone, somehow, will always have an upper hand. More resources, more power, less morality, ancestral sway, etc.

Woah, that got long. Anyways, I hope that helps, and if you need any more ideas, feel free to send me another ask, especially if it’s for a specific scene.

Hey!! How is your Thursday treating you? Very well I hope. I saw your writing advise and I was wondering if you could give me some pointers. I know your probably busy so answer this on your time. My story’s setting is a very high end posh all girls boarding school. My main character’s family has major and integral ties to the school unknown to her since she was basically raised by her mothers parents (her father is the son of the headmaster) and the school is funded by the “government”. All the parents say that there child had loved the school and curriculum, only every girl that walked out of the school changed. Their behavior, their thoughts, their morals…all changed. They became more isolated and more withdrawn. I say this because the school actually trains the young girls to be assassins. They believe cultivating young minds is crucial. The facade of the school is well done so much so that admission is a long and tedious process. They start recruiting slow. They have a group of young girls who have been through the process scout out for young girls they think would make a good fit. It’s the setting and overall feeling I’m having trouble writing. The school at first should seem like a dream. The school is set in this wonderful eighteen century like building with beautiful grounds and various rooms and various chambers. The new students board in a different wing than the young girls who are in training. It’s all very hush hush. I want it to be scary, riveting, keep you on your toes. What are some techniques you use to write unsettling atmospheres?? I want it to be unsettling. Like you know somethings wrong but you can’t put your finger on it. It’s dark and mysterious and fearful. The teachers are in on it as well. So i it gives “lamb to the slaughter vibes”. The girls who are part of the training and are the leaders are mean and cruel, they like to scare the recruits, make life hell for them. They’ve gone through a lot of trauma and are emotionally broken. Do you have any advice for writing the girls? I want them to come of menacing, but also have a odd sense of sympathy and pity for the girls. Because they know first hand how it will be. This project is proving harder to write 😂😂 I was about to give up on the whole thing but I figured I would ask my favorite author for help first. ❤️

Thank you for the ask, you’re very sweet!

For writing unsettling atmospheres, I normally rely a lot on subtlety, especially when the main character is in the dark.

For example, one of the short stories I wrote ended with the main character getting her identity stolen by a fae. I hinted at it all throughout, but I put it into the characters own thoughts—how the other girl’s laugh sounded like hers, how the other girls hair was the same color as hers but it was better somehow. Going through it, it gives childish envy, but on a second read, it becomes more clear that the fae was slowly transforming to look more and more like the MC.

Along with that, don’t draw attention to unnecessary things to make it seem more unsettling, because that doesn’t feel natural. State something that’s slightly off or unsettling, and leave it. People will think about the implications naturally. Why is that door locked? Why don’t we go on the second floor? Where did the girl from the first week of classes go too, since we can’t go home?

When thinking about the setting you described, with an older house you can make a lot of assumptions about what’s happening. People’s first reaction is never “bloodstain” it’s normally mud, or tea, or paint. So have your character notice some strange staining on the wall outside one of her rooms, and bring it up to a teacher/supervisor, completely innocently, like mentioning they think there’s a water leak. Have the supervisor draw the silence out, make it feel uncomfortable, like she thinks she did something wrong, and then have them dismiss it with a “I’ll have to fix that.”

Leaky roof? Sure. Is it under the training rooms and one of the baseboards leaked blood down the inner wall? We’ll find out, won’t we?

Silence freaks people out, but so does the abrupt change from sound to silence. Make information change on a whim. The character thought this is what the supervisor said, but everyone says she’s wrong—when the information did change, just in order to keep the peace. I think a lot of the unsettling atmosphere will come from subtle environment factors—blood stains and locked doors and a wall around the school to keep the horses in, but the protagonist hasn’t actually seen any horses yet….

Now, for the girls. They can be BIG contributors to the unsettling factor. But you have to decide how you want them involved. Are they mean to the new girls because they’re jealous of their innocence? Are they mean because they’re trying to provoke them into leaving the school before it’s too late? To have them have that kind of “menacing” aura, then any subsequent sympathy or pity will also be a bit gruffer. It sounds like they’re mean partly because that’s one of their only pieces of freedom they have, but also because they’re jealous. I hope I’m making sense, but if I’m not, here’s kind of a snippet my brain spat at me regarding your questions.

She had watched as they demonstrated knife throwing aptly, because scared as she was, she wanted to do it right.

She had listened to all of their advice, sharp tongued as it was, and studied the way the older girls fingers danced along the blades.

She had always been good at learning this kind of stuff by sight, so she had double checked her hand position, and threw.

And promptly sliced the palm of her hand clean open.

She didn’t even have the thought to gasp at the pain as she watched the blood begin to well. Her cheeks went red as one of the older girls snapped her gaze over, fixating on her bleeding palm.

She wasn’t supposed to screw up, she was supposed to be proving herself—

The older girls hands closed around her wrist with a startlingly efficiency, stretching her fingers out to view the wound. When she winced, the girl shushed her, half harsh and half distracted as she eyed the wound.

She just barely kept up as the older girl dragged her into the bathroom, rummaging in a cupboard for a box of bandages.

“Be quiet,” the older girl snapped as she opened her mouth, eyes dark. “I’m fixing your hand right now because you messed up. This is the only time you get to do this.”

She could only watch as the older girl wrapped a bandage through her fingers and around her wrist, leaving her capable of movement and still covered fully. She wondered how many times you had to get an injury like that to learn how to bandage it so well.

“Listen to me,” the older girl hissed. “I helped you this once, and it won’t happen again. You don’t get to make mistakes; we don’t get to make mistakes. So either you don’t make them, or you learn to hide them, do you understand me?”

She nodded, just once.

“This school has a 100% graduation rate.” The older girl’s eyes bore into hers. “And they will never let that change, so don’t try.”

The older girl left her in the bathroom, clutching her aching and bandaged hand, wondering just how many of the stains on the sink were blood.

I hope this helps!

hey i recently found your work and love your writing. Can you write something about a supervillain dad and a hero son??

“Hands up,” the super villain motioned with his gun, face impassive. The hero swallowed as he complied.

“You won’t shoot me,” the hero said, but it was too hesitant to come out as confident as he wanted it to.

His dad raised a brow. “Won’t I?”

The hero sucked in a breath. Held it in for three. Out for three.

“Do it, then.” He was proud of how steady his voice was. “Shoot your only kid.”

“You say that like being my child means something.”

“If it didn’t, I’d be dead already, dad.”

His father’s face was weary, but the gun didn’t lower.

“I’ve let you have your heroics. I’ve been very generous, actually. Do you know how many plans you’ve fucked up? Plans I gave permission for?” The hero didn’t respond. “It ends, now.”

The hero steeled himself.

“No.”

His dad lowered the gun, but he suspected it was more out of surprise than anything else.

“No?”

“No,” the hero repeated more firmly. “You heard me. I know you did.”

“I heard you,” his dad agreed. “I was giving you the chance to change your answer.”

The hero grit his jaw, shoulders set.

“It won’t change.”

His father sighed, rubbing a hand over his brow.

“Why must you make things so difficult?”

“I’m sorry my morals are getting in the way of your hobbies,” he snarled. “Here, let me move out of the way of your most recent murder attempt.”

“Don’t take that tone with me,” his father snapped. “Have you forgotten that you’re my most recent murder attempt?”

“How could I?” He scoffed. “Kind of hard to ignore my father’s attempts on my life.”

“And yet you still insist on playing hero—”

“Because it is the right thing to do,” the hero interrupted, hands clenched. “And I will never stop trying to do the right thing so long as you are doing all the wrong ones.”

His father looked like he didn’t have a clue what to say to that.

They sat in silence.

“Does family mean nothing to you?” His father said finally.

“Family is not an excuse for bloodlust.”

“Your mother—”

“Do not.” His gaze darkened, and his father shifted uncomfortably. “She is not a scapegoat for your actions.”

“She died—”

“And how many mothers have you killed trying to soothe the pain of her death?”

His father lowered the gun.

“I will not let my son continue to play hero. It is a sign of weakness, to have you out here undermining me. I won’t tolerate it.”

He realized, then, that there was only path out of this moment. There was one solution. One chance.

“Whoever you are, you are not my father.” The blow struck true. His father flinched. “And if that’s the case, if the choice is being your son or being a hero, then here’s your answer.”

Power began to crackle up his arms, reflected in his father eyes.

“It’s a shame, dad,” the hero said, eyes glinting. “You lost your only son, and you didn’t even have to kill him to do it.”

The supervillain paused, for a second, just one, pain flashing across his face, before he raised the gun once more.

This time, the supervillain didn’t hesitate before he fired. Didn’t bother to watch if the hero got out of the way in time.

The supervillain would never kill his son.

But if his son—the hero. But if the hero had decided he would rather be dead than family?

Well, who was the supervillain to deny him that?

A sapphic detective who gets too close to the truth of a case and gets confronted by her girlfriend for being too obsessed?

“You need to stop.”

The detective didn’t jerk up at the sound of her voice—just quietly stirred, rustling papers as she shifted upright to meet her eyes.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” the detective said slowly, eyes scanning over her. She watched her gaze catch on the water dripping from the ends of her hair, the mascara smudging itself down her cheeks.

“It’s date night,” she said, and even to her own ears her voice sounded tired. Dead. Rotting roses and dirty dishes in the sink.

The detective blinked once, then shifted through her papers until she found a scribbled in calendar. It was stuck on the wrong month.

“I forgot,” the detective murmured. It wasn’t an apology, and neither of them were pretending that it was. She could tell, even now, with her girlfriend pathetic and dripping water onto the hardwood floor in front of her, that the detective wanted nothing more than to go back to her evidence.

“Yeah,” she croaked. “Funny how it’s never the case you forget.”

The detective jerked, slightly, like she hadn’t expected the barbs in her girlfriend’s voice.

In the hallway, there was a drooping bouquet of flowers she hadn’t been able to bear bringing into the apartment.

“You know how important this is,” the detective implored, and it made her want to break things. Burn the papers, shatter the fancy glasses in the cabinet, spill wine across the carpets.

What about me, she wanted to scream. Am I not important to you anymore?

Instead, she said again, “You need to stop.”

“Stop?”

“The case. You need to stop.”

“I can’t just stop,” the detective laughed slightly, as if she thought it would convey how inconceivable the idea of stopping was.

“Yes, you can. Give it to someone else. There’s a whole precinct just waiting for you to put this file into their hands.”

At the thought of it, the thought of giving up this case, the hunt, the chase, pain flashed across the detective’s face.

“You don’t understand.”

“I do,” she replied. She had to shift her gaze to the dead plant on the corner of her partner’s desk, dirt dry and leaves brittle. “How could I not?”

“So then how could you ask me to do that? To give it all up? Why now?”

She had so many answers to that. So many moments that cut into her hands like a mosaic of memories. The bed empty beside her through the entire night. Cancelled reservations, one seat alone at the dinner table, laughs that died in her ribs. Friends, well meaning, who asked where the detective was, and the painful smiles she forced through the explanations. Work, and work, and work. Crime scene photos on the coffee table. The loneliness that seemed to care about her more than her girlfriend did.

There were so many times when she almost said something. Almost said enough. But she hadn’t, and now they were here, as she dripped a puddle onto the floor, and the detective looked at her like she had never seen her before.

When she tried to say that, any of that, it caught in her throat.

The detective took her silence for an inability to answer. A lack of evidence. Like she was throwing this tantrum for no reason, a little kid in the toy aisle of the store.

The detective sighed, rubbing a hand over her forehead. The other was already fanning through the papers once more. Her voice turned into something that begged to be understood.

“I’m so close—“

“To losing me.” She swallowed, painfully. “You’re losing me.”

“That’s not fair.”

“This isn’t fair,” her voice broke as she gestured between the two of them. “What you’re doing to me isn’t fair.”

“I’m not doing anything—“

“Exactly.” It was louder than she meant it to be. They both flinched.

“I’ll have it solved in a week, I promise.” She wasn’t sure who the detective was promising to.

“No.”

The detective blinked.

“No?”

“You heard me the first time.”

“I heard you, but I’m not sure what you’re saying ‘no’ to.”

If she had the energy to be slightly meaner, she would have told her to figure it out. Told her that she was a detective, this should be easy for her.

“I’m not giving you a week.” She took a deep breath. “And you’re not going to solve it.”

The detective’s looked at her like she didn’t recognize the person on the other side of the desk.

Finally, she understood what it felt like to face her girlfriend from the other side of an interrogation table.

Her girlfriend’s face was cold, and closed off. Her jaw was grinding into itself. She was staring at her like she couldn’t decide whether or not to consider her a suspect. As if the only reason she could fathom her girlfriend saying something like that was if she was actively sabotaging her.

She was cold, and her coat was wet, and this place no longer felt like home.

“You won’t solve this case.”

She was pretty sure there wasn’t anything crueler she could have said.

“You don’t know anything.” It was dripping with venom, and fear, and frustration. The fear the detective really wouldn’t solve it. The frustration that it still wasn’t solved.

“Do you really think you’re that special?” By now, it was too far gone for her to stop. There was no pretty way out of this. “You aren’t. This isn’t a TV show. You aren’t the main character who swoops in where no one else has before. It’s been decades of the same bullshit—taunting and evidence trails, and nobody has solved it. Don’t you think if it was solvable, it would have been by now?”

“There’s new evidence, and I’m not them—“

“What part of ‘you aren’t special’ don’t you understand,” she hissed, and the detective shifted away from her. “You aren’t the miracle detective who solves this. They’re going to keep on killing, and driving the people who try and find them crazy, and you’re letting them do it to you.”

“I’m not letting them do anything.”

“But you are,” she countered. “You have been for months. They’re messing with you. They’re everything to you, and you’re a game to them, and I’m nothing on the sidelines.”

“Babe, that’s not true,” The detective tried, voice softening. As if she had just realized something between them was wrong. That her girlfriend was hurting—had been, for a while.

She swallowed the tears rising in her throat.

“Do I need to become a crime scene for you to finally care about me again?” She slammed her hand down on the papers. Pretended the wince on the detectives face was concern for her, and not the papers she crumpled. “Will you look at me, love me again, if I’m a bloody photograph in this folder?”

“I do love you.”

“When someone loves someone else, they don’t leave them alone in the rain, waiting to be picked up. They don’t cancel to go dig through old archives on their loved one’s birthday. They don’t leave them in the middle of the night and let the blankets beside them get cold. People who love someone don’t live their life without a concern for the person they’re putting below everything else.”

“You’re making this really hard.”

“Good,” she snapped. “Because you’ve been making it hard to love you for months, and I’m glad you finally know how it feels.”

The detective paused, at that. Swallowed, eyes flitting around the room as if she would find the perfect thing to say in the remnants of the life they had built together.

“I love you,” The detective managed. Somehow, it was the worst thing she could have said.

“Good. Prove it.” She thought maybe dying would have hurt less than this.

“Prove it?”

“Prove it. Me, or the case.”

The detective froze.

“You don’t mean that,” she said, and it sounded like a plea. Don’t make me choose.

“Look at me and try and tell me I’m joking.” When the detective said nothing, she pushed further. “Go on. Do it. Choose.”

“I can’t do that—“ the detective choked. “This isn’t fair, you know that. I’m so close.”

Somehow, she had expected it to hurt less.

“Don’t make me choose,” the detective, her girlfriend, the love of her life finally said, voice breaking.

She had thought it would feel like dying.

It felt like nothing.

“You just did,” she said. The tears refused to be held, this time. The pain ran rampant through every word.

She knew her girlfriend could hear it.

“I love you,” the detective whispered. A final, desperate prayer for her to stay. But she was no god, and her girlfriend was no believer. And it would never be enough.

She let the door slam on the way out.

The detective never did solve that case.

43?

43. Do you take a sadistic joy in whumping your characters, or are you more the "If you hurt them I would kill everyone and then myself" kind of person?

Uhm- mixed? Pfft- it's more like “I love them and I would never want anything to hurt them- but on the other hand I had to suffer so they do to <3”

Idk if that's odd-

Why confront your issues when you can just write your characters nearly dying?? Fixes everything-

(but I love my children if anyone hurt them I would burn said persons house down.)