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feel the thrill

@purekesseltrash

I like to write and am Bellsastuff on AO3, I like hockey, specifically the Penguins and Coyotes, as well as BNHA which has also taken over my life. I also have a dog who is very cute.  I'm 30ish and boring. she/they. proshipper.
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My Fic List

Whelp, decided I should do one of these.  I have mostly written for Hockey RPF and BNHA, as you have likely already seen!

My BNHA Fics

- “Shouji Mezou's entire life has revolved around being a goalie and playing hockey since he was five years old. After being drafted in the third round in the NHL, Shouji has two more years of college before moving on to playing professional hockey like he's always wanted. Or at least like he always thought he wanted. An injury that ends his season throws him into a tailspin, forcing him to take a look at his life and how he is going to live it, especially after meeting his fascinating new goth history tutor.”

(This bad bitch is 81k total and is chock full of my red hot hockey takes and midwestern references.  I love it very much and it is a sweet baby.)

The Rooftop Necromancy series AKA my black metal band AU:

- “ Hizashi just wants to tour the country with his best friends with their metal band in their shitty van like they've been planning for years. He'd successfully hidden his crush on one of them for years, after all, he would definitely be able to make this work and keep things fun and uncomplicated. Until Aizawa decided to start acting weird. “

(In which I take you all on a nostalgic trip to 2006-2008 metal culture and you can see the black metal love song that my dumb ass wrote.)

- “ It wasn't as though Hizashi had planned on breaking up with his boyfriend while they were on tour in a tiny cargo van with no room and no peace. He would have much rather preferred to do it when they were home and he could easily go and crawl back into his mom's basement. But he didn't have a choice. “

(As relationships tend to do, theirs goes through problems.)

-"He’d even ended up leaning into the crowd when someone’s elbow had connected solidly with his nose and thrown him back. They’d gone quiet as Hizashi got himself up to his feet, ripped off his now bloody ‘Within Temptations’ tshirt from 2004, whipped his hair back from his face and screamed, “That’s what I’m FUCKING talking about.” into the mic.

They went wild for it, cheering as blood ran down his nose, past his mouth and dripped onto the stage, leaving him feeling like an otherworldly monster performing an occult ritual. Metal, he thought dazedly to himself, why in the fuck had he ever stopped doing metal."

(I hyperfocused so hard at the idea of Mic as a metal head that I wrote this in seven straight hours and WROTE THROUGH THE ATTEMPTED COUP ON DEMOCRACY WITHOUT KNOWING IT.  It’s a bit rough, but it’s got some good parts and it spawned the whole damn series.)

- "But of course he had, they had always been able to read each other and what they meant. That had often been their problem, if he was going to be honest."

(In which they figure their shit out.  Basically it was written when I was thinking alot about how my own mental health had evolved through the years.  It’s basically the story of two people who are both very good for each other and also very bad and how they deal with that.  It’s probably the most personally meaningful thing I’ve ever written.)

The other BNHA fics:

-"Hizashi opened his eyes to a world that belonged to ghosts. His headphones were gone and the gray, grimy world that he felt more than saw was muffled and still. This was bad, he hazily thought."

In which we follow Hizashi shortly after the events of 296. How he's found, how he finds out and how he has to tell.”

(I fished this one out of the garbage of my Google Docs because I’d written most of it and forgotten about it.  I dragged it out, prettied it up a little and threw it up on AO3.  It is by far my most well read BNHA fic, go figure.)

-”Captain Hizashi Yamada has combed the Seven Seas looking for the elusive smuggler Eraserhead. He has spent years searching for him, tracking his movements and trying to anticipate where he would be next. But he had never considered what would happen when he finally found him. “

(I wrote a paragraph of this and was immediately like ‘I MUST CREATE THIS’.  I take some chances writing wise in this as the whole thing is done in a Victorian Era ish style of writing.  But I think it’s effective and the ending is likely one of the best that I’ve ever managed.  I’m proud of it.)

-”"That earned him a laugh and Mashirao’s smile made something in his chest ache, something that made him want to hurt. Why had he ever left?

“I’m really not,” Mashirao was saying but Shinsou just shook his head and kissed him once, twice and wished he could take the sunny afternoon and make it stay forever. Make it stay forever like Mashirao somehow had, while the neighborhood had adjusted without Hitoshi’s permission.

“You are,” he said, “And I love it.”

I love you, he should have said.  But as Mashirao’s eyes softened and the blonde pushed him back against the bed, Hitoshi knew he didn’t need to say it."

(You know how sometimes you listen to a Death Cab for Cutie song about gentrification over and over until a fic comes out?  Because that’s basically what happened here.)

‘"But then he remembered the way that Shouji had eaten the night after, one hand curled into his hair as he hung back in the corner. Shouji hid when something was wrong, like a wounded cat trying to find a dark place to either live or die and he was being released tomorrow. Now was the time to push or he’d find Shouji right back on his bed, staring at nothing."

Something happened to Shouji on the beach. Tokoyami is sure of it.‘

(Aaaaaand Death Cab for Cutie strikes again.  But heyo, my first published ShouToko and it is SOFTTTTT)

Mic came closer and despite himself, Shouta could not find it in him to feel afraid. “You won’t understand, not really. I’ll try, though. I’m like Pecos Bill or Paul Bunyan or a jackalope or that fish that your friend caught that he swears he brought in but that you’ve never seen proof of. I’m the herd of dogies moving sweet and steady in the right direction, I’m no stragglers to worry about, I’m that perfect dog that’s there to keep them in line. I’m that group of good friends that you would kill for, I’m the woman who you’re dying to come home to, I’m that promised home of milk and honey. I’m Mic.”

Shouta stared at him dazedly and licked his lips, feeling drunk and stupid as he stared at the man. “You’re… magic?”

“I suppose you could call me that.”

(Cowboy!Erasermic.  Inspired heavily by American Gods and my own love of folk heroes.)

- “'Mezou frowned, eyes narrowing. “Are you trying to say that you’re scared that I’ll be killed by having faith in you?”

“It would be in your best interest to stay away from me,” Fumikage finally said, his voice falling flat and quiet. “I am destined to be a monster.”

'Mezou gets the call he fears, the one that says that Fumikage has lost control again. But this time it's different, in more ways than one.”

(I listened to Silence by Marshmello until I went insane in this is the result.  Featuring some of my super depressing headcanons about Shouji!  But it’s not awful.)

My hockey fics that I still like:

- ““Zhenya, the wind is coming from the west, I will not remind you again. You shut that window before the house stinks of factories!” She snapped and Geno stared at the owl as though maybe it would know what to do. But instead, it had given a little hoot and wiggled inside, only to drop it’s letter on the counter.

He turned his head very slowly back to look at his mother, who had suddenly gone very quiet. “It… just showed up, Mama. And um. It brought a letter.” He waited again, looked back at the owl who had begun to nose at the pirozhkis in interest and then looked back at his mother with the best puppy dog eyes he had ever attempted. “Can I keep it?”

(This is a part of my hockey/Harry Potter au that still legitimately haunts my dreams.  It’s basically a Sid/Geno in Hogwarts but I really love the world building I got to do with Koldovstoretz, the Russian school of wizardry.  Don’t read ‘On the Word of a Slytherin’ though, I’m not as proud of that one.)

- “What the fuck.” Matt breathed out, sitting back heavily onto his hotel bed as he stared at his phone.

‘This is Henrik.’ The text read. ‘I would like to meet you. I will book a room in Pittsburgh at your convenience. Let me know what time will work for you.’  - 

(Listen, it’s Henrik Lundqvist/Matt Murray smut, I feel like that is novel and interesting and worth your attention.  I wax poetic on goalies in this, as you do.)

- “No one missed it when a massive porcupine had shuffled in between the reporters with a single minded focus, pushing media away until it was able to grip onto Phil’s suit pants and try to pull itself up. He hadn’t been able to do more then besides pick the animal up before it could shred his pants to shreds and walk out of the locker room before the decision had been made with the Toronto media.

Phil Kessel was guilty.” 

(Not gonna lie, this is probably my favorite of the hockey fics I’ve written.  And it’s Phil/Carl, which is never found anymore but it was a good pairing.)

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this wasn't a quote from a real PDF btw I just thought it would be funny to tex this up so it looked like one instead of posting it directly

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adjoint-law

the next evolution of Tumblr shitposting is looking promising

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reblogged
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llysaan

I had SO much fun with this comm!! Such good vibes 💕

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kimabutch

[ID: coloured full-body digital art of Caduceus from Critical Role. He’s sitting crosslegged at the base of a tree, reading a book. His expression is calm and engaged. He wears a circular earrings, a beige shirt with pink plant designs, green pants, and knee-high brown boots stained green. On his lap is a white cat, which is sleeping. One of his hands holds the book, which has mushrooms on the cover, and the other holds a steaming cup of tea. Surrounding him, on the grass are: a little table with a tea pot on it; several red, blue, and yellow iced pastries on a pink plate; his staff, wrapped in a blue sash; and two more books. On the books is a piece of paper reading: “Broken sword for Fjord? Wild Mother Symbol… Fjord? Cloven Crystal.” The tree behind him is wide and has both moss and mushrooms growing on it; there’s also a blooming lilac bush beside it.

The art contains the artist’s signature: “Llysaan,” as well as a notice: “commission please don’t use.” End ID.]

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If tumblr shuts down you can find me in living in a shotgun shack. If tumblr shuts down you can find me in another part of the world. If tumblr shuts down you can find me behind the wheel of a large automobile. If tumblr shuts down you can find me in a beautiful house, with a beautiful wife. It tumblr shuts down I'll send myself an ask that says "how did I get here?"

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greelin

in case you needed to hear it today:

  • it’s okay to use your turn signal when you’re changing lanes
  • it’s okay to use your turn signal when you’re taking an exit
  • it’s okay to use your turn signal when you plan on turning (can even be done sooner than 2 seconds before you’re about to turn)
  • you have a turn signal. in your vehicle. two of them in fact.
  • you are so brave and beautiful and smart and can do it. using your turn signal
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reblogged
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frownyalfred

“this is a compilation of all of my fics from different fandoms—”

Make them separate fics. I’m begging you. I can’t keep scrolling past that one fic with 115 fandoms and 75 chapters of one-sentence drabbles. I can’t.

If you never want to see a particular author again on your AO3 search results or in someone's bookmarks, or in comments sections, you can mute them now.

If you just want to remove that one particular work so you never see it again (but you can otherwise see the author just fine), you can add a small bit of code to a site skin. For detailed instructions, you can go to this work I posted on AO3, but if you just need the code it's

.work-000 { display: none !important; }

The 000 there is a placeholder that you can edit by changing it to the number after the word works/ in an AO3 work's URL. For example, the work I linked above is https://archiveofourown.org/works/39038346 . To block that work, the code would look like

.work-39038346 { display: none !important; }

You can block as many works as you like, too. Just separate them with a comma.

.work-000, .work-001, .work-002 { display: none!important; }

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friend-crow

I am slowly losing my mind over the shift towards video as the default media format.

I do not find this to be an efficient way to absorb information. I am bored and distracted by the time the largely unnecessary introduction is over. I can't use ctrl+f to find the specific information I'm looking for. If there are instructions to follow, I don't want to have to constantly pause and back up to the part I need.

At least give me a fucking transcript.

I can read faster than you can talk and these videos are wasting my time.

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Writing tips for long fics that helped me that no one asked for.

1.) Don't actually delete content from your WIP unless it is minor editing - instead cut it and put it in a secondary document. If you're omitting paragraphs of content, dialog, a whole scene you might find a better place for it later and having it readily available can really save time. Sometimes your idea was fantastic, but it just wasn't in the right spot.

2.) Stuck with wording the action? Just write the dialog then revisit it later.

3.) Stuck on the whole scene? Skip it and write the next one.

4.) Write on literally any other color than a white background. It just works. (I use black)

5.) If you have a beta, while they are beta-ing have them read your fic out loud. Yes, I know a lot of betas/writers do not have the luxury of face-timing or have the opportunity to do this due to time constraints etc but reading your fic out loud can catch some very awkward phrasing that otherwise might be missed. If you don't have a beta, you read it out loud to yourself. Throw some passion into your dialog, you might find a better way to word it if it sounds stuffy or weird.

6.) The moment you have an idea, write it down. If you don't have paper or a pen, EMAIL it to yourself or put it in a draft etc etc. I have sent myself dozens of ideas while laying down before sleep that I 10/10 forgot the next morning but had emailed them to myself and got to implement them.

7.) Remember - hits/likes/kudos/comments are not reflective of the quality of your fic or your ability to write. Most people just don't comment - even if they say they do, they don't, even if they preach all day about commenting, they don't, even if they are a very popular blog that passionately reminds people to comment - they don't comment (I know this personally). Even if your fic brought tears to their eyes and it haunted them for weeks and they printed it out and sent it to their friends they just don't comment. You just have to accept it. That being said - comment on the fic you're reading now, just do it, if you're 'shy' and that's why you don't comment the more you comment the better you'll get at it. Just do it.

8.) Remove unrealistic daily word count goals from your routine. I've seen people stress 1500 - 2000 words a day and if they don't reach that they feel like a failure and they get discouraged. This is ridiculous. Write when you can, but remove absurd goals. My average is 500 words a day in combination with a 40 hour a week job and I have written over 200k words from 2022-2023.

9.) There are dozens of ways to do an outline from precise analytical deconstruction that goes scene by scene to the minimalist bullet point list - it doesn't matter which one you use just have some sort of direction. A partial outline is better than no outline.

10.) Write for yourself, not for others. Write the fic you know no one is going to read. Write the fic that sounds ridiculous. You will be so happy you put it out in the world and there will be people who will be glad it exists.

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nyctoheart

movies where someone hears an important message only once and retains all the details….

girl if that were me, we’d be fucked. I have to reread emails like 4 times.

if it were me having to repeat my dead father’s instructions on destroying the death star:

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cyberphuck

I was in a college psych class, and the teacher was doing some kind of exercise about memory, patterns, and retention. He began with, “for instance, if I asked you what number the first letter of your name is in the alphabet, you wouldn’t be able to tell me right aw–” “Ten,” I said. “What?” “J. J is ten,” I said again. He stared at me. “I happened to learn it while looking at the alphabet when I was five or six, and it just stayed in my brain,” I told him. Then we did an exercise on retention. “I’m going to tell you a story,” he said, “and then I’m going to send you out of the room for five minutes, and when you come back, you have to repeat as much of the story back to me as possible.” He told me a long and meandering story with no plot or structure, just a random series of events, place names, actions, etc. Then he sent me out of the room. I looked at the wall for a while. He called me back in five minutes later, stood me up in front of the class, and asked me to repeat “just as much of the story as you remember.” Apparently while I’d been gone he’d been telling the class about how eyewitness accounts aren’t reliable because people don’t remember things well after a certain period of time. So I told his story back to him– not verbatim, but certain phrases were exact– and watched the consternation in his face as I accidentally blew up his (valid! and extensively studied!) lesson about how bad people’s retention is. “It’s like a song,” I tried to explain to him, and the class. “Or a poem. Every part of the story has a little tag to remember it. I looked at the chalkboard while you were saying this part. My leg itched while you were saying that part. A chair squeaked during the next part. Then I just have to come back and go over all the sensations that I had while you were” “Sit down,” he said. I sat. Turns out I’m Autisms Georg adn should not have been counted

ADHD version: A friend asked, on a field trip, why I knew the scientific name for Caltha palustris, “Well, we did that [one week long] field ID course [three years previously] and we saw it in one of the bogs”.

This, I was informed, is very much not a normal reason to remember the scientific name of a plant for the rest of your life.

It took me five whole years to learn when my partner’s birthday is.

I can remember specific details about games I played over two decades ago that I have not played since.

I once forgot it was my birthday. On my birthday. And when my sister (Who lived several hours away) jumped out of hiding and yelled happy birthday, I looked around to see who she was talking to.

the minutiae of historical people’s lives? yes!

the date I agreed to take a coworker’s shift on my day off? CHECK THAT SHIT FIVE TIMES, MADAM, OR YOU’RE FORGETTING IT

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this is such incredible advice for creating any kind of art i have to put it over here to remind myself

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dduane

And this goes for writing too.

There are stories that only you are qualified to tell best: that only you are able to tell. You are uniquely positioned in spacetime to do this job because of your life detail, your upbringing, your reading, your thinking. No one else can tell your stories just the way you do, no matter how good a writer they might be.

And inside you somewhere are characters desperate for your attention; desperate for your intention and your work to breathe life into them. They need your voice raised to tell their stories. No one else can do it. You are their only hope.

Waste no more time worrying about whether your take on their stories will be good enough. You have more important things to be thinking about. So go get on with it. :)

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