my aesthetic is gifs of cakes being made on automated assembly lines

melaniehoping's aesthetic is a jpeg of a golden retriever wearing justice robes

that pretty much sums us up.

New Ask Meme: Send me music that you think describes my aesthetic


I saw a few asks that say “describe my aesthetic” so this one takes a bit more creativity.

Whether it’s the lyrics or just the over all sound, send me a song that you think fits my “aesthetic”


if you’re making a cream sauce from a roux and you’d like a) for it to be smooth and perfect plus b) you’re an impatient fucker like me

heat the milk up in the microwave for 1-2 minutes while you make up your roux

upon adding the warmed milk, your sauce will thicken almost instantly, and won’t be so prone to breaking into that sad grainy texture.  success!

at the unfortunate point in fic-writing when i can no longer put off writing the kissing bit

time to panic and go read how other people do it, otherwise this is going to go “mouth touch!  scene end!  bye!”


this is what happens when an acrobat lets go of the swinging trapeze: the bird or the ground

A fanmix for fahye's no hope of falling down



guys there’s a fave fics meme going around and nobody told me?

In a text post, list ten eleven fics that have stayed with you in some way. Don’t take but a few minutes, and don’t think too hard — they don’t have to be the “right” works, or even all the same pairing or fandom, just the fics that have touched you or that stuck with you somehow.

tagged by nobody, filled out by ME. under the cut to save yr dash & my pride

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i was going to write a crotchety email about how scrivener (fancy writing program) doesn’t mesh with my ~*~process~*~

but then I thought “isozyme, your process involves putting everything in a single textedit document. you can’t even write in microsoft word because it feels too official. you put your outline in bold in the same document, kind of around the bits that are finished. don’t talk to people”

spazzplosion said: Yes Hello I would read your Meet/Hermann fic I need more scientist boyfriends in my life. By which I mean, I need them.

I will take this encouragement as an excuse to provide another snippet.

"Oh, Newton," Hermann says, like he also knows exactly how much trouble Newt is having, has been having, with this whole responsible Principal Investigator schtick and pities him for it, which is simply intolerable and makes Newt want to egg Hermann’s car or smash some expensive glassware or get something aggressively rude tattooed somewhere really prominent.

"Don’t ‘Oh, Newton’ me," Newt says.  "I don’t need to be ‘Oh Newton’-ed I need…" and here he breaks off, because he’d almost said "for things to go back to normal," and nobody thinks things like that about horrible impending-doom positions on the screaming edge of the kaiju-mediated apocalypse.

"I need additional coffee," Newt says instead.

This is the worst, he is so unforgivably bad at this.



More Newt and his tattooist. 


Project updates:

- Newt/Hermann, overly technical kaiju cloning fic, currently untitled, 10k+ and hoping to publish as one-shot
- Cecil/Carlos, sad brainwashing/memory loss fic, If I Was Lost For A Day, chapter 2 completely stalled about 2k in, someday I will finish it i swear
- Steve/Sam/Natasha, de-serum’d safehouse fic about how Steve’s body is alien to him and Bucky’s body is alien to him, dead in the water :(

- Finish disenfranchised ghost story, 2 more scenes to go!
- Edit the super-old alchemist and the soldier story with the too-quick ending and the cool lifebonding magic
- Write the thing with the test pilots in the california desert breaking into another world instead of breaking the sound barrier, bringing back only epic poetry in their heads (significant research investment, also writing poetry)
- Write the consciousness-binning war vet story (huge research investment)
- …think about filing the serial #s off of that one thing and turning it into a novel outline…

elanid said: #2, original :)

Sere Gulliarme is brought into custody for treason to the state on her 67th birthday, eight months after she fled her position as military advisor, but the youth in her pain-set face unsettles those who had searched for her.  She was not meant to be life-laced with anyone; they cannot execute her if she can prove the lacing.

The traitor keeps her head high and tracks grey silt across the red bricks of the square.

silviya7 said: 5, original!

Ys’s cat was named Loss, and he brought us meat every morning, although when he brought in white doves we could never bring ourselves to eat them.  It was so hot back then that if you found a nice flat rock, a black one, you could cook game on it so the skin crisped and darkened.

After that it was Marilyn, Dora, Ys and me, Char, although I didn’t come from anywhere.  I’ve just been out on the desert forever, a tall woman with a wide-brimmed hat and gravel-weathered boots.

We can take a town with nothing but the jeep we had and six pistols, one for each hip except Ys’s, as her cat could rake the heart out of a man with one paw. 

novasterdraws said: #5!

"Hm," Hermann says, and steps crisply away to intervene in an escalating math squabble across the room.  Newt spares a moment to be bitterly jealous of whoever’s snatching Hermann’s attention away from him, then realizes that’s incredibly childish and stomps on the impulse to trail along after Hermann.

Newt pulls his collar askew again and sulks off onto the relatively deserted porch.  He stares at the fireflies and lets his mind chew on the latest snag in his kaiju stem cell pluripotency cocktail.  Newt lets the bioluminescent flashes in the soft blue dark stand in as nodes and builds a mental model pathway, a fragile network of protein switches: on, off, amplify, dampen, kinase, phosphatase, clone a kaiju, don’t clone a kaiju.

deusvolt said: 5, original?

Finished canvases were hung to dry on the walls, painted faces tilted downwards to thwart the dust.  Rian checked them all as she dragged her easel into the largest square of natural light in the room.  She counted one fewer than there had been the morning before—beside the window there was a gap and an empty nail.  Rian left her easel to stand in front of the blank spot, the rush of earlier glee draining swiftly out of her and leaving her feeling thinned out inside like a raw stretched canvas, tight and thrumming with every touch of her heartbeat.

A white raven lay on the floor, feathers smooth and wings twisted into the wrong posture, its open beak streaked with a single narrow line of inky black just like the elegant sweep of profile that Rian had painted several days ago.