#I just copy and paste the word document into this post

[buf309]

Unnamed MTNN story - the basic plot

Neuro and the Demon Emperor were born from a twin set of eggs. Neuro hatched first, thus, was the older one.

Why a twin? Because I need someone with equal power to kick his ass. I haven’t found a satisfying name for The Emperor yet. “Tic” as in “neurotic” is too lame. Need to search for some brain illness in the future.

Neurodegenerative? Degenera? Degen?

For now, just call him Emp for short.

They look quite alike, same coloring, same build, same power level, same sadist personality, etc. but Neuro is more cunning and adventurous, while Emp is more serious and traditional-ish (he believes in “Fate” like all other demons in Hell).

With his power and birth-right, after they killed off the previous Demon Emperor, Neuro would have become one, but he hated the responsibilities, so he gleefully stomped those demons who suggested that into the ground then left, travelled around to search for mysteries (his food source). Emp is very respectful toward Neuro, often let him do whatever the hell he like. That’s why he told Yako that he didn’t look up to anyone in Hell and everyone else had to bow down to him when he passed by.

Neuro eats the negative energy people emit when they try to cover their crime. Emp eats the positive energy of someone who is happy and hopeful. So, when Hell ran out of positive energy, became the dark hole of misery it is today, Emp went into deep sleep, hibernated until things changed for the better, left everything in Neuro’s hand.

About 5 years after Neuro returned to the Above World from his three-year absence, the Demon Emperor wakes up from his hibernation. He calls for Neuro but can’t find him anywhere. When Emp finds out that Neuro moved to human world and has not returned since then, he goes after Neuro to take him back to Hell, because that world is too poisonous for a demon to live in, even if that demon is as powerful as his brother. Moreover, Emp believes that his brother’s rightful place is by his side in Hell, any otherwise options are simply not acceptable.

Move to the detectives, Neuro has almost become fully human, perhaps 70% already. He still stronger than a regular human but dangerously weakened. Yako is 24 years old, beautiful, well-known and very successful. She has her friends, family, her cases, and most importantly, her partner. Life can’t be happier and better in her opinion.

Neuro senses Emp’s arrival. He’s concerned about what could happen but doesn’t say anything.

When Emp crashes into their office, he sees Neuro’s condition, he is not happy. He asks Neuro to return to Hell for his health, Emp doesn’t want Neuro to become human, he wants his brother back. Neuro refuses, his goal, The Ultimate Mystery, has still not appeared yet. Emp doubts that is the reason he wants to stay in this world. He senses an extremely strong bond between Neuro and Yako, so he assumes that Yako has found a way to capture and tie his brother to her.

Emp tries to drain all of Yako’s positive energy so that she will become just a shell of her former self. Of course, Neuro will never let that happen to anyone, who’s under his protection, right in front of his eyes, let alone his dear partner. It’s a territorial thing, not that Neuro has become soft because he is almost a human already, really…

They fight. Neuro, to protect his right to stay in the Above World and his partner; Emp, to kill Yako and free Neuro from her clutch.

Soon, Neuro loses, badly injured. He is simply too weak for a fresh demon just come out of Hell.

Emp is about to take Neuro back to Hell, Yako interferes with Akane’s help and whichever side characters (I feel like drawing when I get to that part) back her up. They manage to distract Emp enough for Yako to take Neuro back from his grasp. Then, Emp squads them away like flies. He’s extremely pissed off. Emp kicks Yako away from Neuro and repairs to kill her for good this time.

But, to everyone’s surprise that he could still move, Neuro takes that hit for Yako. With no energy left to put it back together, his body breaks into dust. He simply smirks at her, whispers a half-heart insult: “What with that ugly face, top-slug? I… just need to shut my eyes… for a bit…” then collapses.

Two desperate screams can be heard that moment. One is inhuman and enraged, the other is in denial and heart-broken.

-----------------

Not sure what will happen next yet, just some random ideas.

Ultimate Mystery perhaps is Love. To be specific, the negative energy cause by repressing your love for someone you can’t have or the regret of losing that love without confessing (like in HAL case, Neuro acted like he was sugar-high after eating Hal’s mystery). That’s what Neuro has always been searching for but doesn’t have a clue what it actually is, because love is an alien concept to him.

Maybe? At least, a certain analysis on NeuYako livejournal forum believes so, and, personally, it makes a lot of senses to me. Need to reread it soon.

OK. So, Neuro gets the Ultimate Mystery mentioned above from Yako, and is revived (?) or evolved (?) like a Pokémon. Fight back and triumph over Emp. Teach Emp a lesson about not pushing his beak into places where he’s not wanted.

-----------------

PROBLEM:

- After that, Neuro won’t need to eat mysteries to survive anymore, he would stay a demon, or turn into a human, or become what? An angel? (if the theory that demon = fallen angel is true). Oh well, I like that theory so I may just take that ball and run with it. Or a… bird dragon? Hmm… Cool!

- Majin = evil person = a person without a heart. Then, if he gained a heart (aka love), he would simply become a person?

Ending… What ending?... Hmmm… Ok, clearly, Emp has to return to Hell. The two love-birds (pun intent) live happily ever after?

To be honest, there are many people think that Neuro will out-live Yako by centuries. But, to consider the difference in living environment, especially that human world is poisonous to Neuro’s health, I’m sure he will die far sooner than Yako if he keeps on staying there without coming back to Hell in between. In canon, the story happens during the span of more or less one year, live-or-dead battles aside, his health worsens considerably by the end. Becoming human or not, his condition’s going to detoriate as time passes and there’s nothing they can do to stop it. So… no, I don’t think they will ever get their happy-ever-after ending like in fairy tale.

Well, more reasons for Emp to drag Neuro’s ass back to Hell then…

If he has become almost a human, could he still be able to stand Hell’s environment when he came home? Are demon cells automatically revived whenever they contact with poisonous air in Hell?

Basically, human world = the ocean; mysteries = fishes; and Neuro = a seabird who try to live underwater hunting for fishes?

[imjustaf444keriguess]

jsyk, going bright red and all caps does not make your statements inherently correct

just because you're mad a modern practice uses the "same name" as a completely different practice doesn't make the studies on the actual practice less real, or the literal experience of being able to create "tulpas" (sentient "others" in your brain through intense focus and repetition) less important to study. (and technically the original one was like, "tulku" and "sprulpa" or something, and the modern practice itself is entirely removed from the actual closed practice either way.)

and SYSMED IS ONE OF THE MOST TRANSPHOBIC TERMS IVE EVER SEEN AND NO ONE FUCKING LISTENS TO US TRANSGENDERS WHEN WE SAY IT.

as a transgender person i do not find it transphobic, it's trans people having different opinions at the end of the day. just because you're mad that someone else has a differing experience doesnt make it transphobic inherently (and some of the statements trying to rage against the term sysmed sound inherently transphobic, like assuming gender identity is not "real" or it's less real than plurality/systemhood because "gender is a made up social construct and a disorder is not a social construct so its more real" when gender is also real? gender identity involves a real experience in the brain?)

and even if in the slightest chance you can have alters without amnesia and trauma, it is NOT CDD

reminder that in the dsm5 it literally says "if the symptoms are caused by a religious practice, or reported not caused by trauma, DID should not be diagnosed"

yes, plurality can exist outside of DID, that's why that exclusion is there??

"oh but doctors are studying endos" THATS LIKE 2 DOCTORS COMPARED TO A MILLION OTHER PROFESSIONALS AND RELIABLE SOURCES STATING OTHERWISE. YOUR SOURCE IS BULLSHIT"

"two doctors" against... what, some random sites mentioning DID? and not even touching any kind of plurality outside of DID?

are the "reliable anti-endo sources" in the room with us?

if u come at me with a "source" on endos that mentions being transgender, tulpa, or even the word sysmed

im not fucking reading ur source

CDD is NOT comparable to being transgender AT ALL

tulpamacy is a CLOSED PRACTICE

and SYSMED IS ONE OF THE MOST TRANSPHOBIC TERMS IVE EVER SEEN AND NO ONE FUCKING LISTENS TO US TRANSGENDERS WHEN WE SAY IT.

you CANNOT BE TRANSPLURAL. thats NOT how disorders work

you CANNOT make the brain randomly start splitting. CDDS develope AS A CHILD

THEYRE A FORM OF PROTECTION. DID IS YOUR BRAIN BEING TOO OVERWHELMED AS A CHILD TO HANDLE TRAUMA THAT IT PUTS UP AMNESIA BARRIERS TO PROTECT ITSELF. NOT SILLY CHARACTERS IN YOUR HEAD.

ALTERS ARE NOT THE ONLY SYMPTOM OF DID.

and even if in the slightest chance you can have alters without amnesia and trauma, it is NOT CDD

reminder that in the dsm5 it literally says "if the symptoms are caused by a religious practice, or reported not caused by trauma, DID should not be diagnosed"

"oh but doctors are studying endos" THATS LIKE 2 DOCTORS COMPARED TO A MILLION OTHER PROFESSIONALS AND RELIABLE SOURCES STATING OTHERWISE. YOUR SOURCE IS BULLSHIT

[lucrezianoin]

How to bookbind your fanfic!

Part 1: From AO3 to printing

The necessary first step is turning your AO3 fanfic into booklets. Your whole book will be a bunch of booklets piled on top of each others and stitched together.

Booklet examples:

Btw, this is the official Word tutorial on how to make a booklet.

You can see there are different options. I usually do 8 pages, which is what you will see in the video. This means that a booklet of 8 pages is two sheets of paper, printed front and back, folded and one put inside the other. To have your word pages in the correct order you will need to format your word document.

Everything is in the video but here is the text for easy reading (btw the fanfic I used is Exit by schwutthing, an amazing Valjean/Javert fic)

Do not download the fanfic on AO3. Click on "Entire work" and copy paste it on word.

Format your word document. Click on File-> Margins. Select "Multiple pages: Book fold" and "Sheets per booklet: 8". Put "Gutter" to 1cm.

Double click on the empty area just above your text, on a random page of the document. This will make the "Do not download the fanfic on AO3. Click on "Entire work" and copy paste it on word.

Format your word document. Click on File-> Margins. Select "Multiple pages: Book fold" and "Sheets per booklet: 8". Put "Gutter" to 1cm.

Double click on the empty area just above your text, on a random page of the document. This will make the "Header and Footer" option appear. You can click on "Footer" and select the format for the pages' number. Always add the pages number, it will make your life easier.

Now you can justify your book. I usually justify (select all text with CTRL+A and click on Justify), but keep in mind that some documents might not enjoy passing through "justify" so double check your final document. For example, if there are lines of poetry and the author wrote into the next line without starting a new paragraph the justify option will make it weird.

Make your book pretty! I added some illustrations and blank pages. I also made the title of the fanfic bigger.

Fix the chapters' titles and notes. I clicked on Home-> Find and searched for "Chapter", so I could select on each chapter title and make it bold, and also delete the "Chapter text" added just after. You can do the same with "notes" in case you want to delete notes.

Now it is time to print! I prefer to save in pdf before, so I will do that.

IF YOU HAVE A PRINTER THAT DOES NOT PRINT BOTH SIDES

Click on print

Select "Microsoft print to pdf"

Select "Manually print on both sides"

This will create two different files pdf, one for the front pages, and one for the back pages.

Click on the file for the front pages and print them all. Do not panic if you see the pages number all over it.

Now take your printed (only on one side) block of pages and load it into your printer again, making sure that you will now print on the blank back. Open your back pages pdf file and print.

(you can do a trial with a few pages to see if everything is lining up correctly).

IF YOU HAVE A PRINTER THAT PRINT BOTH SIDES

"Click on print

Select "Microsoft print to pdf"

Select "Print on one side"

This will create a single pdf that you can print on your both-sides printer. You will see that the page are not in the order you had on the word document, but the whole file will start with page 8 (see video).

Now print!

What you want is this:

You can see that on the front you have page 8 first, page 1 after, because when folded it will end up with page 1 at the start of your booklet! And on the back of this first sheet you have 7 and 2, that will end up in the correct position.

Now you will have a lot of pages... time to fold and create your booklet! Every two sheets... you will fold as you see above.

Next post will be specifically about folding the booklet, making the holes and sewing them together.

[yourtypicalwriter]

The Dream Team || (Pietro Maximoff x reader)

GIF Originally posted by @steve-rogers

Words: 2441

Warnings: Some swearing, minor injury.

Summary: You and Pietro went on a mission and had a rough day. Y/n is an agent like Natasha.

Author's Note: I loved writing this one!! Most of the story is a hilarious, action-packed flashback of what happened during the mission. This is my first post and I’ve been working on it since August, so I hope you enjoy it.

-- Christina

➳ ➳ ➳

The file landed on Steve’s desk with a smack.

He looked up and found you and Pietro standing in front of him. “Well, if it isn’t The Dream Team.” He smirked.

The rest of the team coined you and Pietro as ‘The Dream Team’ because of how well you worked together. Yes, you had the occasional quarrel, but ultimately balanced each other out and kept the other in check.

Pietro stood with his arms crossed. “Is that what you wanted?” He asked, flatly.

Steve flipped through the documents. “Yup.” He barely glanced up to thank you. “Great work.”

‘Great work.’ After everything you went through today, he could at least look you in the eyes.

What was supposed to be a simple mission to retrieve intel from a covert HYDRA office in Delaware went completely sideways. It was supposed to be a low-key job: get in, grab the files, and get out, but it turned into a full-fledged, cross-city chase and an overall hell of a mess.

➳

You and Pietro stood about a mile out from where the HYDRA laboratories were located. 

Leaning against a tree, you watched as Pietro was kicking dirt, waiting impatiently.

You were waiting to meet up with a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent who went undercover as HYDRA personnel a couple of months ago. They were going to get you past security and into a HYDRA scientist’s office so you could retrieve documents.

You jumped when you heard rustling from the trees, making Pietro spin around, too.

“What was that?” Concern washed over your face as branches continued to snap.

Pietro stepped in front of you, fist at the ready.

Emerging from the foliage was a woman in a business suit holding a briefcase.

You both exhaled and looked around.

“Hello, sorry for the scare.” The blonde-haired woman said. “It's a perfect day for a walk."

The both of you stood confused for a moment until you remembered the rest of the code sentence. "Oh right! I hope you brought an umbrella, just in case it rains."

She nodded. "So, you’re the ones I’m supposed to meet with? Agent Y/L/N, Maximoff, correct? 

You both nodded.

“I’m Agent 13.” She said, flashing her badge.

She placed her briefcase on a tree stump and opened it to reveal a computer. She began typing away. “Turgeon is on an hour lunch break, which leaves his office unattended and gives you two plenty of time to grab the file." 

You could hear the clicking of keys on the keyboard. 

“I was able to make a copy of Turgeon’s ID card too, so opening doors won’t be a problem.” Agent 13 continued. “Once you’re past security at the front doors, take the stairs; there’s less of a chance you’ll be recognized. Then, you’ll go to the 9th floor, swing a left, and the office will be the third door to your right. Do not draw attention to yourselves. We can’t risk anyone recognizing you.”

“Got it.” You and Pietro replied.

“Okay, I temporarily shut down their security system, but not for long.” She looked up at both of you. “You’re up. Get in and get out.”

“Ready?” Pietro turned to look at you.

“Ready.” You confirmed.

He scooped you up, and in a second you were a few meters away from the building, hidden behind a white van parked out front.

Pietro smoothed out his shirt, and you fixed your false glasses in the van’s mirror.

You began to worry. “This is stupid. How is no one going to recognize us? We’re literally so recognizable right now. It’s like how no one knows who Superman is, but it’s so obvious.”

Pietro walked towards you and put a hand to your shoulder. “Look at me.”

You were reluctant to, but you did it anyway.

“Take a breath, okay? Don’t worry.” He said calmly. “Just don’t draw attention to yourself, and we’ll be out of there before you know it, m’kay?”

You took a breath. “Okay. Let's do this.” You peeked out from behind the van, and once the coast was clear, you both made your way towards the front doors.

The security cards worked; now you were in the building and headed towards the stairs.

You stopped as a man with a mop and bucket was blocking the doorway to the stairs.

“Sorry. Can't use the stairs. Clean up.” He said flatly.

“Really?” You questioned.

“Seriously?” Pietro rolled his eyes.

The man shrugged and continued mopping the floor.

“Elevator, I guess.” You suggested.

You headed over to the elevator and repeatedly pressed the button.

The elevator doors opened to reveal about 10 people crammed like sardines. They tried to make an effort to shift around to accommodate Pietro and yourself.

You both tried to keep a low profile on the elevator ride. You didn't worry much; everyone was pretty preoccupied with the documents and folders in their hands that they didn't really look up at the two of you.

Once you arrived on the 9th floor, you and Pietro stepped out and made your way down the hall. 

You could see agents here and there, popping in and out of offices.

You arrived at Turgeon’s office and walked in. Pietro shut the door and you closed the blinds. 

You were looking for information on ‘Project Red Sky.’ Some files were more recent and on a hidden network, so you shoved a USB drive into the computer and began uploading everything. And some files dated back to the 60s, so Pietro went through the filing cabinets in search of information.

“Found something!” Pietro called out and placed the file on the desk.

You looked through it. “Great! Uh… just fold that up and put it in your pocket or something.”

“You’re sure that’s safe?” He questioned.

“It’s four sheets of paper; I think we’ll be fine.” You reassured him.

Once everything had been uploaded, you removed the USB and opened the office door.

With Pietro in front, you walked back down the hall towards the stairs.

Just then, someone bumped into you by accident.

The man who was previously looking down looked up at you, now puzzled.

“Sorry.” You said, head down as you continued down the hall, now a little faster, trying not to be recognized.

You could hear indistinct whispering behind you and felt people’s gaze upon you. You tugged on the back of Pietro’s shirt to give him a signal that you two had probably been compromised.

Pietro fell behind slightly to make sure that you were safely in view.

How nice, you thought sarcastically.

You peered over your shoulder. Not paying attention, you stumbled over a file cart that was being wheeled across the hall. Pietro used his powers to quickly stop you from hitting the ground.

Your arm was wrapped around his neck. “Woah. Thanks.” You said, looking into his blue eyes. Then you snapped out of your daze and realized what he had just done: shown his abilities in a place where that meant trouble. 

If the agents hadn’t already noticed you then, they sure did now.

“Hey!” A HYDRA agent called out.

You snapped your heads up.

“It’s one of the Enhanced. And her? She's with the Avengers!” The agent said, pointing straight at the both of you, who stood there like two deer in headlights.

The Dream Team had been caught. And that’s when shit hit the fan.

You and Pietro looked at each other and spoke in unison. “Aw, damn.”

One of the agents shot a device that latched onto Pietro, just as he made a move to grab you and run. The device sent a little shock wave through his body that immobilized his abilities. 

“Gah!” Pietro clutched his side.

It seemed to be a power inhibition device.

Alarms began to sound as HYDRA agents poked their heads out from their offices. 

He urged you to keep running. 

You grabbed Pietro’s arm and pulled him along, down the hall and towards the stairs. You threw the door open and started jumping down the steps as quickly as possible.

HYDRA agents were popping out of doors in the stairwell and joining the chase.

You reached the bottom of the steps and threw the door open aggressively.

“Hey!” Shouted the janitor.

“Sorry!” You yelled back.

“Why must you apologize for everything?” Pietro asked hurriedly.

With Pietro, plus about a dozen HYDRA agents, on your tail, you made it through the lobby and outside. You both stopped and looked around for an escape plan.

“What do we do?” You asked.

“We can’t keep running; they’ll catch up to us. Y/n!” He said hastily as agents approached.

You looked from left to right and spotted the van from earlier, with its back doors open.

“Shut up and follow me!” You said. 

Grabbing his arm, you pulled him into the back of the van and shut the doors behind you.

Pietro sat in the driver's seat. “I—uh.” He hesitated, unfamiliar with what he was supposed to do.

“You don’t know how to drive?!” You shouted as you could see HYDRA agents exiting the building from the side mirror. 

“Well, I didn’t really need to know how, now did I?” He questioned, making a running motion.

“Get up!” You shouted as you threw him into the passenger’s seat.

You plopped yourself down in the driver's seat and turned the keys that were still in the ignition.

You stepped on the gas pedal and drove into the city, HYDRA agents on your tail in their black SUVs.

“Get Tony on the phone.”

“Wh—”

“Don’t question me; just do it!”

Pietro took your phone out of your pocket, dialed Tony’s number, and put him on speaker.

“Hello?” Tony's voice rang through the phone.

“Tony! We need your help.”

“Y/n? Who’s ‘we’?” He asked.

“Me and Pietro.”

“Let me stop you right there. Speedy’s been on a pranking rampage, hiding my tools, screwing with my tech, and now expects—"

“Listen, I’m sorry, but I don’t give a crap right now.” You said, rushed. ”You can give Pietro shit when we get back.”

A soft “Hey” came from Pietro.

“Long story short," you continued, "we’re on a mission, and we’re on the move in the city. Is there any way you can autopilot the Quinjet to our location?”

“There’s always a way.” Tony reassured.

“There’s no way we can escape them!” Pietro looked back at the black SUVs following you.

“Hold on!” You ordered.

“Whoa!” Pietro shouted as you took a sharp right turn.

And another sharp right just in case.

“Jesus!” He yelped, the phone slipping out of his hands.

“Sorry! You can never be too sure.” You advised as Pietro picked the phone up from the floor.

The black SUVs were no longer behind you, so you guessed they drove right through the intersection.

“Tony, I need an ETA on the jet.” You said urgently.

“Okay,” Tony said, “There’s a parking lot about a quarter of a mile west from your location. I can land the jet there.”

“Perfect. I’ll let you know when we board the jet. Bye!” You said as Pietro pressed the end call button.

You spotted an alleyway and turned into it. The both of you rocked as the van hopped the curb and skidded to a halt.

“Get out.” You said quickly, unbuckling your seatbelt. “What?” Pietro questioned as he unbuckled his.

“HYDRA’s looking for a van, so we’ll be better disguised if we ditch it.” You jumped out of the van and slammed the door, prompting Pietro to do the same.

“Let’s go!” You started on foot.

You and Pietro were running down the sidewalk, people jumping out of your way.

You looked back and saw the black SUVs from before, rounding a corner.

“Seriously!?” You said, breathlessly.

HYDRA caught up to you… again.

Pietro started. “But you said—”

“I know, I know.” You cut him off.

“Can’t catch a break.” He said, as you both began running faster.

Luckily, you were getting closer to the Quinjet.

You approached the parking lot and ran as fast as you could through the loading hatch door.

Once inside, you ran upfront to press the video screen, “Tony, hurry! Start the engines and get us out of here!”

Then you pressed the ‘close door’ button as the SUVs got closer.

“Hurry.” Pietro waited impatiently, as he watched the agents exit the vehicles.

“C’mon, c’mon.” You whispered as the door closed slowly.

"Got it!" Tony said through the video screen on the dash.

The engines started up, and the plane slowly lifted into the air.

You sighed. “Thanks, Tony.”

“No problem,” his voice echoed through the small screen, “But you’re in for it when you get home, you little bastard.” He pointed to Pietro, and the screen turned off.

Pietro rolled his eyes and plopped himself down in one of the seats, just as you did.

Finally, you both had a chance to exhale.

➳

“Seriously, all of that only for you to say, ‘Great work’?” You questioned Steve.

“What?” Steve chuckled. “Were you expecting a hug?”

“Yeah! Maybe…” You shouted, which made him look at you, confused. “Ya’ know what? A hug would've been nice after the day we just had.”

Steve looked at you with a face that had ‘sorry’ written all over it. “Y/n, you know I was just—”

“Ah ah—” You interrupted him. “Good day, Steven.” You slapped your hand on the desk and marched out of the office as Pietro loosely followed.

You walked down the hallway, thinking about how you definitely reacted too harshly. You knew Steve was joking and didn't deserve that outburst. 

After all, he was only doing his job and giving orders. You knew he was busy, and now you felt bad for shouting at him. 

It had been a long day. You just wanted to climb into bed and rest your aching body.

You felt someone poke you. As you spun around to face Pietro, he wrapped his arms around you and rested his chin on your head.

“Oof—” As much as you wanted to resist, you melted into his arms. How could you possibly fight this after the day you just had?

“There’s your hug.” He said with a smile.

“Thanks, Pietro.” You smiled.

“No problem. Also, I'm pretty sure Steve feels very terrible now.”

“Shush,” you tightened your grip around Pietro, “I'll give him his apology hug tomorrow.”

➳ ➳ ➳

Completed December 2024 ©2024 yourtypicalwriter

↩︎ Back to Masterlist

[meraki-sunset]

so your crow strider au gave me inspiration for my own au, but i've built up the idea in my brain so much that now im scared to try to put it to paper (oops) did you ever deal with this while making crow strider? (and if you did, how you got over it would be much appreciated thanks fhdjks) also your art is cool :]

Hi, sure, i encountered a few blocks when writing CSAU and other projects. I think my method comes down to a couple rules

You need to know how the story ends from the start, so everything in the story leads to the end. Things can change about the contents of the story as you write it and you change your mind about the events that will transpire in it, but you need an end goal you can build your story towards. Most importantly, this is what allows you to add foreshadowing for said ending and structure the narrative in a clear direction. Otherwise, you might come up with a cool ending too late and regret some choices from past chapters that now don’t help this new ending you want

On that same note (and i’ll proceed to copy and paste from an old post) You need to have a Word document with a rough timeline of the events from start to finish. You need to know how it ends from the beginning and how they get there. It can be really, really vague, but it has to be there. It can go like

. They start the game, the trolls bother them.

.both games go to hell

.scratch

.trip, develop relationships

.new set of kids/teen drama

.old kids they get there

.to hell again

.John retcons everything

.new timeline

.they win

And that's homestuck simplified, Those are your Acts. With them, you will know where you're going and if you need to change something earlier. Everything will be constantly up to change of course, but you will be going from point A to point Z more easily.

From there, you go to every point in that list and create a Word document for all of them. I have them in different folders to have every act separated and in order.

A folder for each Doc for every Act, Numbered, and in each one make more lists like that one telling what happens, for example

WordDoc1 - ACT 1 "They start the game, the trolls bother them"=

.John needs to get his game

.introduce Rose

.introduce the trolls on pester chats

. John gets the game

.introduce Dave

.etc

And those are your chapters. Now you can know the extent of what you want to do and if it makes any sense.

I addition to that, every Folder can contain not only the Word document for the Act but also relevant texts and art that are connected to the Act, so evey folder is all about that specific act and any inspiration for it.

Another piece of advice I can give you is to hint at anything important. That's a rule of comedy; actually, the comedian usually closes the show with something related to the first things they said.

That works for everything, and makes people go, "Oh the thing! The meaningless thing they said earlier, it was a clue all along!"

Interconnect it like a web, and that web will stop the story from falling

Homestuck is so ridiculously interconnected that you lose track of the stuff and objects that repeat that have no way to be where they got to be, songs and people and events that are too similar to not be connected but nobody addresses, things like that make it feel like you're dealing with a universe and not just a line of events.

3. Yet another thing, it's something I'm still trying to assimilate, and is that less is more, sometimes things don't need to be said, specialy not bluntly, and an expression, a gesture, a flinch can summarize them. Backgrounds can be reduced, and ideas can be conveyed.

one example is, In homestuck, it's never said that Dave was raised with lack of food. He never sais it, but it's shown in how happy he was to find a warm bottle of juice in his closet, how there is only weapons on the kitchen and no sign of food, how he later sais he never learned what the purpose of a fridge was until he saw it on tv. If someone is lacking something, don't have them say, "i grew up without X thing" show what filled that space in the absence of X thing.

Instead of some character saying, "My dad was never there for christmas" have them say how they thrited for presents at the local goodwill, payed with their lawn mowing money and put the presents under the tree themselves for their siblings and mom.

4. Something that I always have in mind when writing the dialogs and sketching the scenes, is

"I have an idea; what's the easiest way for someone to get the idea, to get the feelings i want to transmit from the idea?" I made the art something I could handle drawing hundreds of times, simplified the coloring, the aspect symbols, the way I draw backgrounds, the way I write dialogs, etc.

That will save you time and work and could prevent you from getting stuck with a project too big to handle

5. This is the most important one: The first draft’s only purpose is to exist.

Writing is like playing darts sometimes; you only get closer to hitting the center by missing it and learning what not to do. That’s an actual rule on animation and a motto on the Disney office. “Get it wrong as quick as you can,” because when you learn what you’re doing wrong is when you start learnign what doing it right means.

If it helps, title your first draft “the dumb version,” because that’s what it is—the version to get the idea out of your head, and then you built over it.

On the same note, once you write "the dumb version" don’t correct it. Rewrite it. It’s annoying, I know, i know, but fixing and fixing a text only carries the mistakes from the first draft, and everything looks kind of disconnected, because it ends up being a Frankenstein text of all the versions of the story mixed together.

This also applies to art; that’s how I handle both writing and drawing; if it’s not working, hold onto the core idea, new page, restart.

Rewriting it puts it in perspective; it feels like a text of its own, with a clear intent in mind.

I think that’s all I have. Making a story is mostly about managing your strengths and weaknesses, organizing and not being scared of it not being perfect.

Hope this helps.

[son1c]

having an awful time writing this research paper but i'm secure in the knowledge that i'm still better than all of my classmates who opted to forgo the work in favor of typing a prompt into chatgpt and copy and pasting whatever slop it spat out into a word document. we live in an age of liars and frauds and well i won't be one of them. also, sidenote: i want you guys to know that if you're ever gonna have kids, your kids future teachers are in college using chatgpt for fucking everything right now. so like. idk. wise up and be picky if you can when it's time to enroll them. i've seen a post going around about how nurses and doctors are sliding through medical school with chatgpt right now but as someone in the education tract, it's not just doctors. it's terrifying. take your kids education seriously and don't stand for some stupid motherfucker who doesn't actually know what they're talking about because they cheated their way thru school to educate your kids.

[dawnfelagund]

Back in 2019, I wrote a blog post called The Inequality Prototype. As part of it, I counted a bunch of stuff related to the Valar and looked at how those metrics differed based on gender. At the time, I thought it would be interesting to extend this work over the entire Silmarillion, namely looking at who speaks in the text and who doesn't. For Tolkien Meta Week, I began this work and am collecting my analyses related to it here. It is very much still a work in progress and will likely take me years to complete, but I'm going to post interesting data as I discover it.

This project, like all of my data projects, is available to use under a CC license for others who want to play with the data: View the data | Copy the data | Methodology, progress, etc.

---

Dialogue does not occur evenly across The Silmarillion. While a little over 5% of the words in The Silmarillion as a whole are used in dialogue, this is very unevenly distributed across the chapters, with some chapters about half dialogue and six chapters containing no dialogue at all.

There is a lot more work to be done to tease out trends and patterns that might have some meaning, but just glancing at the graph above, some of those patterns do begin to emerge. First, dialogue increases as The Silmarillion progresses. In the second half of the book (calculated by chapter, not page or word count), only two chapters have no dialogue and only four chapters (inclusive of those two without dialogue) fall below the median of 5.3% dialogue. Put another way:

In the first half of chapters, 71% of chapters are below the median.

In the second half of chapters, 29% of chapters are below the median.

Why is this? My tentative theory is that we see the book moving from the realm of the mythic—from events that are passed down through the oral tradition and ancient written traditions—and into the historical, where the narrator has a greater array of sources, including eyewitness testimony, and begins to write with greater immediacy rather than the arm's-length style of myth and ancient history.

What I am curious about: As I dig deeper into these data, will I see this theory bear out in which episodes or characters/groups are granted actual dialogue? In other words, will characters and peoples lost to the mists of time speak less, as I would expect? Or will the type of dialogue (e.g., a formal speech that may have been preserved vs. an extempore conversation that would not) vary based on narrative distance? I have documented in the past that the narrator of The Silmarillion uses the "it is said/told/sung" construction more with characters who are less accessible, so there is evidence that Tolkien manipulated writing style based on what his narrators' access to various sources. Does he use dialogue similarly to communicate that "mythic distance"?

There are also chapters that are more expository in purpose (Valaquenta, "Of Beleriand and Its Realms") that do not contain dialogue. Without digging deeper into the chapters themselves, most of those without dialogue that aren't similarly expository are chapters where the material would be less accessible to Pengolodh as a narrator. Whether this bears added scrutiny remains to be seen!

Finally, in discussing these data on the SWG's Discord, polutropos noticed something interesting, which is that the chapter with the most dialogue—"Of Aulë and Yavanna," where almost 57% of the words of the chapter are given over to dialogue—was not in fact written by Tolkien. As document by Douglas Charles Kane in his book Arda Reconstructed, "This chapter is completely manufactured by Christopher, though using his father's own writings" (page 54). Where Kane usually includes a chart pointing to the source for each bit of The Silmarillion, his chapter on "Of Aulë and Yavanna" contains no such chart because, while he is able to document where ideas came from, Christopher actually wrote the chapter.

Interestingly, "Of the Noldor in Beleriand" is the chapter with the second most dialogue and, according to Kane, "The changes made in this chapter are among the smallest anywhere in the published text" (page 154). So Tolkien does sometimes write dialogue-heavy chapters—though without data to back me up (yet! it's coming!), most of that dialogue appears to come in the form of lengthier speeches, not necessarily the debate/conversation format of Of Aulë and Yavanna."

The biggest impact of the dialogue-heavy "Of Aulë and Yavanna," I suspect, will emerge as I dig more into the data on gender and who speak in The Silmarillion. Yavanna is one of the women who speaks the most in The Silmarillion, but almost all of her dialogue occurs in this chapter. If this chapter is constructed by Christopher, how does that impact the amount of speech women are permitted by Tolkien? Polutropos' observation spurred me to plan to document the source of the various dialogue sections: Are they original to Tolkien's writings or added? Kane, interestingly, is critical of Christopher Tolkien in Arda Reconstructed for what he perceives as Christopher removing women characters from the text. In this instance, we see a significant example of the opposite: a woman's role is not only expanded, but she is given an opportunity to speak.

[cellophaine]

Sad Girl (Part III)

Read Part I, Part II

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Sappy confession. Happy ending.

Author's Note: I'm alive.

GIF Credit

As you joined the street-level crowd from the subway, you pulled your scarf higher as the bitter wind swept over your face. You quickened your pace in the hope of getting out of the cold sooner as if you could catch up with the darkening sky. The interview had taken longer than you anticipated, and you still had to write up the report and have it on your boss' desk by 9 AM the next morning. He had been a thorn in your side, consistently pushing your buttons. He always insisted on having paper copies of every report. "It makes your report more meaningful," he said, "otherwise you're just repeating someone else's words." It took all the professionalism in you not to reach across his cluttered desk and slap him then.

By the time you reached the office, the sky had dulled into a dark grey, and the lamp posts cast their warm glow onto the street. You said goodnight to the exiting coworkers and rushed through the doors to see that Gwen, the receptionist, was leaving, too. She called out to you as you walked past the reception.

"Hey! There's something for you on your desk."

You nodded.

"Thank you."

"Doesn't say who it's from though."

You thought for a moment; a small smile crept onto the corner of your lips.

"I think I might have an idea."

Gwen gave you an understanding look and headed out. You approached your cubby in anticipation and were greeted with a sweet floral smell emanating from the bouquet that sat next to your keyboard. You took it in your hand and marvelled. It was a peculiar combination, one you couldn't really find at flower shops, held together by a simple ribbon of blue cloth. No crinkly wrapping paper. The light shade of blue hyacinth went so well with the bluebells, coupled with orange peonies and a single olive branch, which created a harmony pleasing to the eyes and nose. The piece of paper nestled in the bouquet only indicated your name in a neat font, but other than that, nothing. Still, it brought a smile to your face, a speck of joy on an arduous day. You pulled out your phone and typed out a quick text before sending it off.

Thank you for the flowers. They're beautiful.

You still had a soft smile on your face by the time you got ready to write the report. Your phone vibrated, signaling a text message.

What flowers?

Your brows scrunched together in puzzlement. You took a photo and sent it off. Not a minute later, you got a response.

Wasn't from me.

A slight hollowness carved itself into your throat. You texted back.

Oh. Are you sure?

The response came quickly.

Dead serious. You might have a secret admirer ;)

Never mind then.

You set your phone down only to have the phone vibrate again.

Wannna go out tonight? Me and my buddies are going to this new club on Fifth Ave.

You sighed, dreading the idea of having to stay at work late. But you didn't like the sound of going out either.

I'm alright. Just a little tired tonight. Have fun though!

The read receipt and a heart popped up on your last message. That was it. You turned your phone to silent mode before opening a new document; your recorder and notepad were ready by your side.

By the time your report was put on your boss' desk, it was already 9:30. You exhaled heavily, feeling the weight on your shoulders chip away. You took the flowers with you and nodded to the security guard on your way out. It was late, and you didn't feel like cooking, so you made a detour to the soup and sandwich shop around the corner and placed an order. You sat down on the bench by the window, allowing the gush of heat from the radiator to warm your legs. There was music coming from across the narrow street; its volume changed as people filtered in and out. People were smoking outside, chatting animatedly with one another. It stirred something in you. You worked late on a Thursday night, getting takeout by yourself because you couldn't even fathom the thought of whipping up a simple meal. You opened your last message with Andy, wondering if it was too late to change your mind.

You met Andy through Mindy when her workplace went out for happy hour. It was just shy of two weeks after you cut things off with Matt. He was a nice, easy-going guy who tried to include you in conversations throughout the night. Mindy's forms of suggestion came in the subtle look of her eyes, the slight inclines of her head, and often, a jab of her elbow. It annoyed you how much she tried to look out for you even though you didn't need her help, but at the end of the night, the triumphant was hers. Andy asked for your number, and you agreed out of an obligation you felt for Mindy's relentless effort for you to move on. It had been two months since the first date, with many dates between then and now, and all you could say about it could be summed up in one word: fine. You didn't feel a spark. Andy could be charming at times, funny, and generous. You liked him, but your heart didn't beat wildly for him. He wasn't anything like Matt. Andy was the one you should want.

So why did you still feel a sense of hesitation?

You looked at the bouquet, your curiosity piqued. Taking out your phone, you typed in the flower combination laid on the narrow counter. Scrolling through the array of articles, you noticed the keywords they shared in common.

Apology. Ask for forgiveness. Wrongdoings.

You read and read, and the realization seeped in. The clarification didn't give you any relief, only mild irritation. Matt fucking Murdock. Who gave him the right to remind you of his presence when it still lingered around? It was an undeniable indication of how much you were still so helplessly captivated by your history with him, thinking about him like he was an old wound that ached every now and then to remind you that you had always had it and that you could never be rid of it. Memories of Matt, just like the pain, were a part of you now, and you couldn't bury them or try to forget them. You had to live with them, and hopefully, when it was finally enough time had passed, you could look back at the memories with fondness, a sweet bitterness over someone you couldn't have, but you had long accepted the fact.

For the moment, the fondness was replaced by irritation. With dinner in your hand, you walked out of the door, leaving the bouquet in the trash can of the quaint restaurant.

Over the next six months, so much changed, but the one constant thing that did not was Matt's attempts to reach you and still give you the distance you needed. Once a week, on the same day, a bouquet of flowers was delivered to your desk. They never included the sender, only the recipient, and always had the same connotation.

I'm sorry.

You had to admit it was sweet. It also earned you looks of admiration and teasing from your coworkers, who were cooing over the fact that your boyfriend was such a sweetheart. For the few times someone mentioned it, you had to clarify. Andy wasn't your boyfriend anymore, and he hadn't been for the last two months.

When you broke up with Andy, it came as a surprise to him. He thought everything was going well, but your perception of the relationship was the opposite. You weren't into him; you were into the idea of having him as a placeholder for Matt. It was the cruel truth. Being with Andy didn't make you happy, and you doubted it would be any different if you were with someone else. You wanted more. You wanted the thing that you couldn't have with Matt, and at this point, you had settled for the fact that it would never be yours. But for now, you were okay with being by yourself. You wanted to be alone in your own existence and accepted the fact that when the right time came, it would come with the right person. For the first time in a long time, you felt the burden that clouded your head fall away like a crumbling infrastructure.

You quit your job despite your boss's pathetic attempts to stop you from leaving, promising you a promotion that would make you his right-hand woman. It was more work for just a little more money, and it wasn't worth it. To your luck, shortly after leaving the newspaper, you got hired as a junior staff writer for an independent publishing house. You still got to enjoy parts of the work you liked before, with better pay and a more relaxed schedule. You had more time to enjoy what you couldn't before.

Gwen still kept in touch with you, telling you about the bouquet of flowers showing up a few days after you left. And then, after that week, none at all. You figured Matt had a way of finding out about your new workplace since, shortly after the change, new bouquets were delivered to your desk promptly as if nothing had changed only except for the fact that you stopped throwing them away. You had started to enjoy them. Who knew there were so many ways to apologize to someone with flowers?

You thought you would cross paths with him eventually, but you didn't know it would be a peculiar chance encounter like this.

The gloomy sky haunted the skyline of New York City all day, teasing with little drops here and there. The air was heavy, as if it was holding itself in anticipation of a great storm. You prayed it wouldn't rain before you got home, but as you were halfway there, the sky parted, and the downpour was vicious. You couldn't see too far in front of you, and out of desperation, you ran up the stairs of the nearest shelter. You stood awkwardly on the small porch of the building as heavy droplets railed on the pavement in a frantic rhythm. You leaned a shoulder on the wall, exhausted and drenched, looking helplessly out into the downpour that showed no sign of stopping soon. Water dripped from your lashes, and with each blink, you saw a moving silhouette formed in the misty veil. Your heart beat faster and faster as the silhouette approached until he became someone you knew too well. Emerged from the rain was Matt, his breathing heavy, but you doubted it was from running from the rain, for his footsteps slowed, hesitant as he sensed that the porch he was approaching wasn't vacant. And the space was occupied by none other than the woman that haunted his fitful sleep and waking daydreams.

For a long moment, you could only stare. The water clung to him like how every piece of your existence that used to long for his approval and touch did. And Matt seemed to do the same thing. You couldn't bring yourself to break the silence. Your eyes were wide open as if you were afraid his presence was only something your mind made up. That he wasn't real. And just like that, you were starstruck again. Just like the first time you saw him after you realized that you loved him. In the gradual slip of the initial shock, you took in the newness in his familiar appearance. His hair was a little longer than when you saw him last, prompting the little curls at the nape of his neck. His dripping briefcase did its best to shield his face from the rain, but you could see the strays followed the slopes and rises of his handsome features. His lips parted, pulling in a deep, slow inhale. He looked like a man who was in disbelief, and truth be told, you felt the same way. Only now did you realize how much you'd missed him.

"What are you doing here?"

You croaked and cleared your throat when you realized your voice was barely a notch above a whisper. Matt shook himself out of the trance, clearing his throat.

"This is, uhm– my office."

"Oh!"

In a fit of panic, you didn't realize that it was the Nelson, Murdock and Page office. What kind of cruelty had fate forced upon you? You sighed, an apology on your lips as you put your bag above your head.

"I'm so sorry, I will go–"

Before you could launch yourself into the pouring rain, Matt stopped you with a hand on your elbow.

"No, please. Stay."

And because he knew you so well, he could sense your hesitation.

"You can get warm upstairs and wait until it's better out there."

You watched the way the tips of his ears had turned into a darker shade of pink. This anticipation reminded you of the time when, with just a look, you knew you had fallen for him. You swallowed and managed to croak a soft "okay." Matt nodded, a little breathless himself, as if he was relieved that you agreed to stay. He pulled out the key and unlocked the door before holding it open for you to step inside. You walked the stairs, remembering the last time you were here. Your heart was in fragments, barely held together by your nerves, by the time you reached the final steps.

You roamed your eyes around the office as Matt turned on the old heater along the wall. It looked about the same, but now there was a monstera adding a touch of green to the space. You shrugged off your damp coat, and Matt took it out of your hands. The gesture felt so natural, you thought to yourself as you watched him hang the coat next to his by the door. He had stripped down to a simple white dress shirt and black slack, and you averted your eyes at the sight of his torso visible under the wet shirt as if you hadn't seen him naked before. He threw his tie on the desk and came out of his office with a throw blanket. He held it out until you took it. It looked handmade and felt soft to the touch. Matt pulled a chair out for you in front of the heater. You thanked him and put your bag by your feet after taking the seat. A brief moment of silence followed, and Matt immediately assumed his position as the gracious host.

"Do you want some tea? We have the kind that … that you like."

A shiver ran through you. A cup of tea didn't sound too bad.

"Please. If you don't mind."

He waved his hand dismissively and walked towards the kitchen. You listened to the sound of him rummaging around in the small room. Feeling awkward just sitting there and not being useful, you called out.

"Do you need some help?"

"I got it. You stay warm."

You settled against the chair, wrapping yourself in the blanket. Feeling the gentle and warm brush of the radiator on your legs, you shivered slightly. Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you tried to calm yourself down by focusing on the monstera leaves instead of the presence of the man who once broke your heart.

Matt came back to the room with a steaming mug, and you took it gratefully. It looked like he didn't make any for himself. You took a sip, allowing the tea to burn your tongue.

"How have you been?"

His question knocked at the mutual understanding of your situation. You weren't exactly friends, and you were long past the point of lovers. But it didn't have to be awkward. With so much history between you, all the memories twisted and turned and took off, swirling furiously like the storm outside. But there was a blessing in it. The storm was out of your reach, and right here, right now, you were safe. The person who lapped up crumbs of attention from the man who never explicitly gave them was a part of you. But not anymore. You could start fresh.

"I'm fine. I figured you knew about my new job?"

Matt dipped his head sheepishly as if to hide his expression of being caught.

"I did. Are you enjoying it?"

"I am. It's a lot less stressful when I don't have to answer my boss' unreasonable demands. I get more freedom in what I do. The pay is much better, too."

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I'm glad. It seemed like you had a bad time at the newspaper."

"Yeah, I did."

You nodded, feeling a brief wash of melancholy at the mention of your old job.

"I know the flowers come from you."

There was no point in avoiding the subject. Your heart was on the verge of exploding, but you had to. You both knew it was coming.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry for overstepping. Just say the word, and I'll stop any kind of contact with you."

When you didn't respond, he continued with his face angled towards you. The window behind him cast sharp shadows on his face, and from this point of view, you could see the agony on his face.

"I'm sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable. I just … I had to try to show how sorry I was. How sorry I still am."

"I know."

You sighed.

"As much as I would like to blame it all on you, it was on me as well."

At that, Matt sat up straighter and protested.

"That's not true–"

Your hand sprung out to hold his hand, keeping him there. Matt stilled as if your touch had paralyzed him.

"Please, listen to me."

You went on despite the slight shake in your voice.

"I let my expectations run wild even though we were clear from the start. It was a mutual benefit arrangement."

His other hand came to rest on top of yours. Warmth seeped from the palms of his hands, and you wished you were enveloped in his embrace instead.

"I stepped over the line myself. I wanted to show you how much you mean to me. I gave you mixed signals and lied to you about my own feelings."

You inhaled deeply. 

"What feelings?"

"I really thought it was better to keep you at arm's length and not let myself … feel things for you, but I did anyway. I should have been honest with you. But I thought I wasn't deserving of someone like you."

Your heart rattled in the cage that was your chest.

"What are you saying, Matt?"

A sorrowful relief caressed his face.

"I love you. I regret not saying that to you every day we were apart."

You felt as if all the air was pulled out of your lungs.

"Don't lie to me, please. I don't want you to just– just say what I want to hear. I'd rather never have you than to have you unwillingly."

Matt placed your hand on his heart, letting you feel the rhythm underneath your palm. Erratic, wild and uncontrollable, just like yours.

"I only want you. I think about you all the time. I'm miserable when you're not around."

"I don't know what to say …"

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it with a tenderness you had missed dearly.

"That's okay. Take your time. I'll wait for you as long as you need."

He paused briefly, then continued as if it took great strength for him to utter the words.

"Even if you no longer feel the same, it's okay, too."

You couldn't conceal the wide smile in your voice.

"I mean, telling a girl that you love her before going on a first date with her? Mindy wouldn't like that."

Matt chuckled, the sound warm like the honey he put in your tea.

"Was Mindy the one …?"

"Yup. She doesn't like you at all."

"I deserve that."

You caressed his face, feeling the stubble along his jawline. There was a feeling you thought you would never get again, but now, you were basking in its glow.

"Can we … can we take it slow?"

His lips found the palm of your hand, kissing it tenderly.

"Of course. Anything you want."

*Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!* Follow my side blog to receive notifications whenever I post! @cellophaine-archives

Taglist for this specific fic: @nyutasgirl @havlindzk @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @carstairswife

[northgazaupdates]

Journalist Hossam Shabat responds to a problematic article about journalists in the west being unable to reach Gaza. Hossam writes,

The biggest problem is not Western journalists being unable to enter, but the fact that Western media doesn't respect and value Palestinian journalists. My colleagues and I risk our lives every day to report on this genocide. No one knows Gaza like we do, and no one understands the complexity of the situation like we do. If you care about what's happening in Gaza, you should amplify Palestinian voices. We don't need Western journalists to tell our stories; we are capable of telling and reporting on our own stories.

Context under the cut:

From the very beginning, Western journalists have neglected the people of Gaza. They focused on how resistance actions have impacted settlers, and mentioned Gaza in only the most reductive of terms. But now, as the scale of atrocities by the IOF finally becomes too great for them to ignore, these same journalists are crafting a new narrative: ‘We didn’t ignore Gaza because we don’t care, or because it was politically convenient to do so. We just couldn’t get there to report on it.’

This is a lie concocted under the weight of ever-fickle Western guilt. They deflect their accountability for creating IOF propaganda by claiming they were kept from reaching the area. However, even more than a lie, it is an insult to Gazan journalists—those still living and those murdered by the occupation.

Gazan journalists often have contacts outside of Gaza who could help them evacuate, but they chose to stay. They chose to stay and document the genocide against their people, and did so at immense personal cost. Montaser Al-Sawaf was injured and lost 50+ family members in a bombing attack, before he was bombed again by the occupation and left to slowly die in the street. Mahmoud Ziad Aliwa and Mohammed Saber Arab are still missing after being kidnapped by the IOF while reporting from Al-Shifa Hospital during the latest siege. Eshak Daour lost his brother just a few days ago.

But as they tried to share their footage and words with the world, they were ignored, in north Gaza especially. The world had no interest in the words of Gazans, but especially if they were Arabic-speaking. Rather than undertake the relatively simple task of finding a translation for Gazan sources, or contacting Gazan journalists directly in English (of which many of them speak at least a little), they were flat-out ignored. Only English-speaking journalists with massive social media followings received any acknowledgment, and even then it was extremely minimal.

The journalists of Gaza have always been there, they have always been speaking out and asking others to simply share their words. The implication that only western journalism counts as “real” journalism is insulting, degrading, imperialistic, unprofessional, dishonest, and cruel.

This blog was created due to uplift the words of north Gazans, which were not and often still are not reaching the rest of the world. We will continue sharing from people in north Gaza, but we ask that you, reader, do so as well. Do what western journalists have refused, and uplift the voices of people fighting for their survival in all of the Gaza Strip.

Many journalists post partly in English, but for those that don’t, Arabic speakers will often leave English translations in comment sections. You can also ask for someone to do a translation in the comment section, and often someone will reply. If they don’t, you can copy and paste Arabic text, or take screenshots and upload them into Google Translate. These are not perfect tools, but they give you some idea of what is being said. It’s better than simply not listening.

[farfromstrange]

Weed Cookies | Matt Murdock x F!Reader

PART 3 of The Vault

See this post for more information on my Valentine's Day Special & Follower Celebration, but these fics can be read separately!

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Summary: Karen receives a box of cookies from one of their clients. Foggy and Matt take a bite. Even with his heightened senses though, Matt doesn't realize what's wrong with the cookies before he's absolutely wasted, and you have to babysit him. Yes, they were edibles.

Warnings: Fluff, faint hints at S3 depressed!Matt and suicidal ideations, attempt at humor, crack fic, accidental drug use, for the sake of this fic we are going to pretend that the edibles were made well enough for Mister I-Know-Everything to miss it

Word Count: 3.4k

A/n: I wrote this after watching the episode of Grey's Anatomy with the Weed Cookies. I took some behaviorisms from my own experiences and exaggerated them a little to fit the vibe of this fic. I scraped parts of this and once again adjusted them because this was even more poorly written before than it is now, and I added the Nelson, Murdock & Page Season 3 narrative again because that's now the running theme of this event. Anyway, if you choose to consume edibles, stay safe! (Also, I'm just copying and pasting my usual tag lists. if anyone wants to be added for this event, do let me know)

“We just got cookies from Ms. Lebowsky next door,” Karen announces happily when she enters the office, balancing the transparent Tupperware in one hand and her handbag in the other. 

“She told me to thank you for helping her get out of that hellhole,” she says. Her eyes crinkle in the corners as a mischievous grin takes over her face. “There’s plenty for all four of us. Although she did mention Matt a few more times.”

“Ms. Lebowsky?” Foggy asks. He stands in the doorway of his office, holding a freshly brewed coffee. “Isn’t she the elderly lady we helped last week?”

“Yeah, that’s her. I think she has a crush on Matt.” 

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, she does. Who doesn’t? Not that I do, but—well, you get the gist.” The blood rushes to his cheeks, and Karen giggles in response.

From the office on the left, Matt’s voice rings out, “We just did our jobs,” he says. “She made us cookies, dude!” Foggy inspects the box on Karen’s desk. “They’re chocolate chip cookies. Our favorite. See what good looks can buy you?”

Matt chuckles, his fingers tracing the Braille indentations in the documents that are starting to form a mountain before him. “I think we got them because we’re good lawyers, Foggy.”

“Yeah, right. No way! That woman was smitten the second she came in. I really gotta get that blind thing going. I mean, she’s way too old for you, but come on! You’re in a serious committed relationship, and women still come piling at your door. It’s not fair.”

The way he whines like a little kid who has just been denied his favorite candy makes Karen laugh at his antics, and even Matt can’t help but join in. No matter how stressed he is, and how badly he wants to focus, Foggy never fails to lighten the mood.

Ever since moving offices, things have been going well for the trio. 

When Matt met you, he was at his lowest. You helped him climb out of a dark hole that was threatening to swallow him whole after losing Elektra and almost losing everything he worked so hard for to Wilson Fisk. Thanks to you, he found the will to fight again. You brought him back to life.

He wanted to die. He hated himself for the longest time after the building collapsed and forever took the first woman he ever loved down with its ruins, but then you came into his life, and you didn’t care about his baggage. You were far too good for him, but that didn’t matter to you. 

He fell for you hard and fast, and maybe the timing was a little off because what he needed was therapy and not someone new to get attached to. Still, if you hadn’t pulled him back to his feet and encouraged him to fight back against Fisk, saving his friendship with the people he cares most about in the process, he would have never made it far enough to get therapy.

Matt trusts you with his life because he feels like he owes it to you, but he also loves you more than anything. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to him. You’re his soulmate, and he couldn’t be happier.

Nelson & Murdock added Karen to their permanent repertoire. With her, things are flowing much more smoothly, and they’re actually making money now. They’re expensive, as Foggy likes to say it. Matt’s friends are just as happy as he is, giving him hope for the future.

“Hey,” Foggy snaps him out of his trance, “Earth to Murdock.”

Matt blinks behind his glasses, his fingers halting their frantic movements along the paper. “While I don’t disagree with what you’re saying,” he says, “please don’t let my girlfriend hear you say that women are piling at my door.”

Karen snorts. “Trust me, Matt. She knows,” she says.

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t remind her of that.”

“My lips are sealed. Foggy?”

He sighs, once again dramatically. “As long as you don’t sleep with them, you have nothing to fear, my friend.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” says Matt. “The one I’m sleeping with is incomparable.”

Foggy grimaces. “Oh, dude. Gross! You know, God made conscious thought as a mechanism for humans to know when to shut up.”

“To be fair, ninety percent of the population don’t know how to use that mechanism,” Karen jumps to Matt’s defense.

As he laughs, he takes a whiff of the air surrounding their new baked goods. Matt can smell the sweet chocolate of the cookies, and somewhat of a herbal essence, but he can’t quite pinpoint why the scent seems so familiar. 

Karen walks around her desk to drop her bag and her coat. “So, do guys want a cookie?” she asks, swiftly changing the subject.

“I’ll take one,” Foggy is quick to answer.

Matt nods from his desk. “I’ll try one, too.”

The innocent decision to indulge in a sweet treat soon comes back to bite them in the ass though. Heavily.

When Matt first bit into the cookie, he didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. It tasted like chocolate mixed with basil, sugar, honey, and the kind of flour Ms. Lebowsky used, but he didn’t find much else wrong with it. Perhaps if he hadn’t allowed himself to get distracted by his phone calling out your name and the sweetest text he could have possibly received this early in the morning from the love of his life, he would have noticed that something tasted off about these cookies. And that what he believed to have been basil as a secret ingredient was something else entirely.

When lunchtime finally rolls around, you drop everything you were doing before and make your way to Matt’s office. You always spend lunch together. It’s your favorite time of the day. For an hour, you can forget the stress of your workplace and focus on him. He’s your safe haven. Your home. You crave to memorize his features anew every day so that you will have something to carry around with you when he has to work a bit longer, or when he goes out at night and his Daredevil duties drag on beyond what he planned. 

You need to be with him as much as possible because you’re scared that your happiness will shatter on a white cloth, and you will be forced to move on—you can’t imagine losing him. You dedicated your life to loving him, and the thought of ever losing that privilege kills you. 

On your way out, your phone vibrates in your pocket. You smile, thinking that it’s Matt, but when Karen’s number pops up on your screen, you frown. 

‘We have a problem,’ she texted you. Without context. 

All the alarms in your head start blaring, and you start to walk a little faster. You start imagining all possible scenarios. When you ask Karen what’s going on, she doesn’t even reply. What if someone got hurt? What if something happened to Matt? You almost lost him once; you can’t go through that again. 

You burst into the new office space that your friends share a few minutes later, your chest heaving and sweat dripping down your pulsating temples. You’re ready to fight whoever dared to hurt the man you love, or possibly threaten your friends, or both, but when you look up and see your darling boyfriend with his cheek pressed against one of the leaves on their gigantic office plant as if the overgrown Calathea were the coziest pillow he has ever touched, you understand why Karen texted you that you—both you and her—have a problem. A big one, too, judging by the looks of it.

“What is going on here?” you ask the dreaded question, shutting the door behind you.

Only then do you notice Karen to your right in Foggy’s office, trying to get him off of his office chair. He’s belting the chorus of Defying Gravity at the top of his lungs, and he’s got a broom clutched tightly in his right hand.

Oh boy. Your wide eyes drift to Karen’s desk in the middle of the room. As soon as you see the chocolate cookies inside the Tupperware, it slowly begins to dawn on you.

You’re not sure which is worse: Matt cradling a houseplant with his glasses discarded and the first three buttons of his dress shirt undone as he’s coated in sweat, or Foggy singing one of Broadway’s greatest ballads so off-key that the Calathea is starting to wither.

It takes Matt much longer than usual to sense your presence in the room. He calls your name, and his lips curl into a bright grin. Even completely out of it, he looks like an angel on earth. 

“Matthew,” you say. You approach him like you would approach a little kid. He’s on his knees, so the analogy isn’t far off. 

“Hi, honey. What’s going on?”

“Sweetheart,” he greets you, and you have never heard this man sound so relaxed. His hazel eyes are red-rimmed and glazed over, but the most obvious change lies in his behavior. 

“Feel that.” He reaches for your hand when you’re close enough for him to smell you, but he misses. “Where are you?” Matt pouts. “I can’t see.”

You want to laugh, but this is not the time. “You are blind, baby,” you remind him. 

“Since when?”

“Over twenty years.”

“Oh.” He finally gets a hold of your hand. The conversation seems to go right over his head. “Feel the power of nature,” he tells you. “It’s so soft.”

You want to drag him away from the potentially dangerous plant if he decides to eat it, but the sight of him is one to behold. He looks downright adorable. 

You have to focus though. You gently pat his hand. “Maybe later,” you say, and then you make your way to Karen’s desk to inspect the cookies.

Behind you, she calls your name. You twirl around. From the looks of it, she managed to get Foggy down from his chair, but he remains singing at the top of his lungs. All the signs point to one thing, and one thing only.

“Did you give my boyfriend weed cookies?” you sound a lot more condescending than you planned to. 

Karen shakes her head. Her face is pale, and she looks just as panicked as you do. “Those are not mine,” she says. 

“But you knew they were edibles?!”

“Of course, I didn’t! I started questioning it when Matt started cuddling the plant because his Braille felt like boobs and he didn't want to cheat on you, so he decided that he needed to touch some grass.” She points to him, exasperated. As if on cue, Matt lets out a happy little sigh.

Your brain struggles to process all of the information at once. “I’m sorry, what?”

“He said that his Braille feels like boobs. I don’t know! I thought he was messing with me until Foggy turned into Elphaba, and that’s when I took a bite and realized there was weed in them,” she says.

You groan, your worried eyes momentarily flicking back to your high boyfriend. High. That’s not a word you thought you would ever associate with him. “How did this happen?” you ask.

“Ms. Lebowsky, the lady next door, we helped her out the other day, and this morning, she gave me these cookies. I called her when these two started acting like idiots—more than usual, anyway. Turns out, she confused them with the ones her niece made for her birthday party tomorrow.”

“Her niece made edibles for her birthday party?”

“Please, don’t ask. I don’t have all the details. I just–”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off. “Just tell me that you’ve got Foggy under control.”

Karen peeks in through the window to his office. “More or less, yeah. You’ve got Matt?”

“Yeah, I’ve got him.”

You have to take care of him. He’s your responsibility. But as calm as he is right now, his heightened senses make the situation a lot more complex than the mere accidental consumption of edibles.

Walking over to him, you try to haul him up. He protests, at first, but then he feels the fabric of your shirt, and he slacks.

Matt wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your neck. “You’re so soft,” he coos. “You smell like honey.”

With his entire weight on you, you have to widen your stance so you won’t fall over. His usually quick reflexes are nonexistent right now; he won’t be able to catch you if you trip, and then you’re both going to get hurt.

“You know what’s even softer?” you ask.

“The plant,” he answers confidently. He sounds like a more careless version of himself. You can’t deny that it does something to you.

“No, silly,” you chuckle softly, “I meant your bed.”

“Oh. But I’m not tired.”

“You’re high.”

He pouts. “I didn’t mean to.”

“I know.” You stroke his back. “It’s okay. I’m not mad at you.”

He stiffens and relaxes at the same time. You swear you can feel the electricity in his veins as his nerves respond to the feeling of your skin on his. It’s like he’s on fire. Like your touch feels a million times more intense, and he’s being crushed under the weight of it in a way that makes him crave more. 

He squeezes you tighter, trying to get swallowed by you, consumed to the point that you are the same person. The drugs are doing a number on him, and his already heightened sense of feeling has increased tenfold to the point you’re not sure if it’s pleasurable or painful or both. It must be agonizing, yet at the same time there is a high chance that the weed is calming his nerves and dampening his perception to the point he’s taking everything in without the added weight—he’s enjoying the newfound sensations in limbo, and he’s unaffected by it. You wonder how long that is going to last. 

After bidding farewell to Karen, wishing her good luck with Foggy who has now reached a point of his high where he’s lying on the floor, demanding to listen to Bohemian Rhapsody and cry over Freddie Mercury. She assures you that she has got it under control, apologizes again, and then sends you on your way.

“Bye, Karen,” Matt says. “You have very nice hair.” His hand tangles in yours, and his face lights up like a Christmas Tree. You managed to convince him to put his glasses on, at least, or he might get irritated. “Never mind,” his voice turns into a pur. 

Usually, you would shiver at his fingers in your hair, tracing the strands and sensually massaging your scalp only he knows how to, but today is not one of those days. You’re still concerned about the effects that the weed might have on him, so you want to be careful, although you’re not sure how much longer you can keep yourself from laughing. 

As you maneuver Matt through the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, his cane hovers above the ground and his arm is hooked around yours. Without you, he would have run off into traffic by now. He has absolutely no spatial awareness anymore. 

Every sound, scent, and texture seems to capture his attention, but there's one sensation in particular that he can't seem to shake: thirst. You’re not even home yet, and you had to stop by a convenience store to get him a bottle of water. He shed his coat, which you are now carrying for him while also guiding him while simultaneously trying not to attract any unwanted attention. 

You can’t help but look at him as though he is your whole world. He is. He is everything to you, even high on edibles he never meant to consume, and acting like a feral toddler. If anything, you are even prouder now that he is yours. 

“Hey,” he whispers, leaning close to you, “do you think fire hydrants taste like licorice?”

You shake your head. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Matt, don’t lick the fire hydrant.” 

He pouts. For a moment, you think that you have steered off any possible disaster, but that was only wishful thinking.

Matt’s curiosity knows no bounds, and he’s soon reaching out to touch anything that catches his eye. He runs his fingers along the rough brick foundation of a building, marveling at the texture, and he stops to sniff a flower, declaring, “This is the most beautiful flower I have ever smelled.”

You pluck it for him, and he carries it in the pocket of his coat with a happy smile. 

You’re both exhausted when you finally make it to his apartment. Getting his large frame through the door is one thing, stopping him from tearing the tap off the sink as he desperately searches for liquid with the words, “Water!” is another.

“Okay, okay,” you try to calm him. You grab a bottle from the fridge, open it for him, and force him to take it. “Drink.”

One touch is enough for him to drop it. “It’s cold,” he recoils in agony.

You sigh. “Tap water it is, then.”

You have never seen him down so many glasses of water. He is severely dehydrated and sensitive to changes in temperature. It’s either too hot or too cold, and you’re so glad that Karen texted you when she did.

You manage to get him to the couch with some snacks that he devours within seconds. If he moves one more inch today, you may not be able to catch him again.

His lip twitches. “Chickens don’t have any arms.”

You pause in the process of wrapping him in a blanket, staring blankly ahead at him. “Excuse me?” you ask.

“Chickens don’t have any arms,” Matt states. “Every American citizen has the right to bear arms under the second amendment in the constitution. If an egg was fertilized on US soil, and the chicken hatched there as well, technically, that makes them a citizen of the United States of America, therefore allowing tiny creatures without arms the right to bear arms, but who gives the bears their arms?” 

You’re so flabbergasted that the absurdity of the situation eludes you. The words process only slowly in your mind, and when they do, they cause a wave of confusion to wash over you before it turns into genuine amusement, and it takes every ounce of self-control to keep yourself from laughing at him.

You can pinpoint the exact second the thought escapes his mind and something else replaces it. His hand brushes over the leather couch. “Smooth,” he observes. You haven’t even fully processed his very philosophical question about the animal kingdom before he drops his cheek down on the couch.

The man who has been carrying the weight of the world in bricks on his back for years is finally relaxed; it shouldn’t leave such a bitter aftertaste in your mouth.

You kneel in front of him, reaching out to touch his cheek. “Do you need anything?” you ask.

Matt’s gaze is filled with an odd sort of clarity. “Nah. Just you,” he mumbles.

A soft smile tugs at your lips as you brush a sweaty strand of hair away from his forehead. "I'm right here," you reassure him. 

He nods, his eyelids drooping as the effects of the edibles start to take their toll. “Good.” He searches for your hand, and you help him intertwine your fingers. A giddy smile finds its way onto his face. “You’re warm.”

You lean in to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “And you’re high,” you tease.

Matt huffs out a breathy laugh. “Mmh, yeah,” he says. “But it’s okay. ‘Cause you’re here.”

Despite the chaos and the unexpected turn of events, there’s a sense of contentment settling over you as you watch him drift off into a state of bliss. He deserves it more than anyone. 

You stay by his side, watching over him as he succumbs to the pull of sleep that you’re all too familiar with after a sudden high. 

“Note to self,” you say to yourself, “never eat a stranger’s cookies without drug testing them first.”

And love has funny ways of making even the most absurd moments feel strangely beautiful.

Matt Murdock Tag List: @littlenerdyravenclaw @yarrystyleeza @etanordoesbullsh1t @thychuvaluswife @harleycao @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten @merlinbtch @sya-skies @amberritonicole @thatonegamefish @norestfortheshelbywicked @mattkinsella @itwasthereaminuteago @linamarr @gpenguin666 @acharliecoxedfan

[aimmyarrowshigh]

hi! where do you get your drabble prompt lists from? do you have a compilation of all the prompt words somewhere

Thank you so much for asking this! Quite coincidentally, I've been working on a post about how to curate prompt lists without AI, because I'm SO ANNOYED BY PEOPLE SAYING THEY NEED AI FOR PROMPTS. You do not need one iota of AI for writing prompts! Here's how I curated my list of random word prompts, which has enough prompts on it for me to do daily drabbles for something like 27 years if I wanted.

Image-heavy How-To under the cut!

This is my method for curating a prompt list, which means that these are the kinds of prompts that work well for me. I like single-word or short phrase prompts only, because prompts that are too detailed feel "already written" to my brain and don't inspire me. If you have a different style of prompt that you prefer, that's totally fine. You still don't need AI, though, I promise -- any style of prompt you like, you can google it and there WILL be thousands of curated lists created by actual human writers at your disposal. @fixyourwritinghabits has TONS of resources about finding and curating writing prompts without AI.

But if you like single word/random word prompts, this is how I created my Massive Prompt List.

Go to the Porn Battle. WHAT? Yes, I said Go To The Porn Battle, which was a fandom event for many many years and featured any and every pairing under the sun, requested alongside... random prompt words. Some are porny. Most are just words! Pick any given year of Porn Battle from the archives in the sidebar. https://web.archive.org/web/20160716010243/http://battle.oxoniensis.org/

2. Copy the ENTIRE PAGE. This will take a LOT of memory! It is an extremely long page of text! (I did this on a desktop computer. I cannot promise you can do this tutorial as-is on a phone or tablet.)

3. Paste it into Notepad or another PLAIN-TEXT program. Word will try to include the formatting, and we don't want the formatting. Plus, plaintext will use slightly less memory.

4. Copy your plaintext into a word processing program. I used Word 365 without Copilot, and I cannot guarantee that the steps are exactly repeatable in Google Docs, but I would assume that they are pretty close.

5. This step, though, I am NOT sure that you can do in Google Docs, so you may have to play around and see what your options are there. You're going to open up Find+Replace, and FIND all the commas (,) and REPLACE them with tabs (^t).

6. Now you have an even longer document, because obviously tabs take up more physical pagespace than commas do. That's what we want. We're going to copy this entire document...

7. ...And paste it into a spreadsheet. I used Excel, but I assume that Google Sheets has many of the same capabilities. Again, you'll need to play around if you're not using Office. But each tab should be in the next column over. This is key. This is what we want. If your document all copied into one column, go back and try again with the tabs.

8. The FIRST column is all of the FANDOMS AND PAIRINGS. Since I am not interested in keeping those for my prompt list -- I have my own fandoms and my own pairings that I want to write, and odds are I haven't even heard of a lot of the ones people were submitting 15-20 years ago! -- we're going to delete the entire FIRST column. ONLY THE FIRST.

9. Now we have approximately 15,000 random words in their own cells across the spreadsheet. *I* personally like to alphabetize each column to get rid of the blank cells. It's easier to see how many columns we're actually working with that way.

10. Now the slightly tedious work starts: curating the actual list. We're going to cut Column B and paste it at the bottom of Column A. Alphabetize Column A (which now also includes the text from B). And then DATA -> REMOVE DUPLICATES.

11. Repeat for every column until you have one fucking long Column A of random word prompts! Then, go through the list and remove any that you know you will not be interested in writing -- that might be words specific to a fandom you aren't in (Dalek, for example); words that are squicky for you; words that you don't know; words that just don't ping your brain with story ideas. But for that last one... be very generous. Allow EVERY meaning of a word to be a possibility. You might not think that a word fits with your OTP or fandom of choice, but in 99% of cases, you can find a way, I would bet.

12. Copy your WHOLE long-ass Column A of alphabetized words into the List Randomizer. https://www.random.org/lists/

13. Paste the randomized list back into whatever program you want to use to store your list. I keep mine in Excel, separated into smaller 100-prompt lists, but I am nuts when it comes to prompts. You can easily keep your list in Word, or Google Docs, or Ellipsus, or whatever!

14. Write! Play! Have fun!

I also have a couple of already-curated prompt lists on my Tumblr at https://www.aimmyarrowshigh.com/drabbles -- Feel free to use these lists however you wish. I'd love to be tagged to see what you write! :)

[evertidings]

Hello! I'm thinking of starting an IF story later this year, and am completely new to coding and how to organise a chose-your-own-adventure. I was wondering whether you could share how you organise each route/the story of WTS, please. Love your work!

hi!! if you're overwhelmed by formatting and you're writing in twine, i'd actually recommend writing directly in the twine app. it has a great mind-map aesthetic that can help you visualize things.

but if you're curious as to how i write, i've attached some screenshots below. i believe i've talked about this before, but i'll go over it again because why not?

example #1: sections

one of the most important steps for me when organizing a document is having headers. it allows me to jump from section to section, rather than scrolling through for ages trying to find something. it also helps me break the chapter into smaller sections, which makes things less overwhelming for me.

example #2: choices.

in terms of the document itself, i make sure to differentiate texts with various colours to make things easier on the eyes. i also make sure they are visually different. for example, in chapter ten, i wrote my choices in a purple colour and indented them slightly. i also write each line with bullet points, just so i know the text that follows is part of that choice and not general text.

example #3: if statements.

similar to my choices, i colour my "if statements" in a different colour than the general text. i also indent them further than the choices and change the bullet point that it's written on, just so i can further differentiate the two. for those who don't know, if statements act like flavour text, which show up only if you've completed or met a certain requirement prior to the scene. in the picture below, the flavour text reveals itself if you've been rude to Blane seven times or more. otherwise, you get the general text.

overall: aside from those two formatting decisions, my word document is really standard. luckily, i'm able to keep track of a my branches in my head, so this system works for me, but it goes without saying that it won't be for everyone. as i said at the beginning of the post, if you're more visual, twine (or some sort of mindmap tool) might be useful. hopefully this is (slightly) helpful. if anyone has more questions on this, please let me know! i'm always happy to answer them :)))

p.s. if anyone is confused about all the "<" and ">" symbols, that's just part of my twine coding. i usually copy and paste what i write in word into my code, so this just saves me from typing it.

[five-thousand-loaves-of-bread]

hi bread, I received an ask from someone who thinks that because they’ve been called the r slur for being autistic, that they can say it even though they’re not ID.

i am LSN autistic and don’t have ID so I answered the ask to the best of my ability but I don’t want to speak over anyone or accidentally spread untrue info. I know you don’t have ID, but I respect your posts and advocating for people with ID, so would you be okay with me sharing the post with you, and if you want you can provide your insight. you don’t have to at all, i just wanted to ask because I don’t want to misrepresent the issue.

thank you.

would prefer not be sent that post (upset me & often lead to harassment) but here some things can say or send:

this only post that can find right now that explain why not but there a lot just tumblr search system suck. if anyone have posts written by ppl w ID about why not that want share please feel free

some off top of head thoughts from listening to people w ID & in general disability/ID history:

(you = general you / people like person you talking about)

r slur come from old medical term for intellectual disability. “mental [version of r slur that end in -tion].” n version that end in -d shortened from it.

come from medical term for ID. not autism. not ADHD. not general any neurodivergence.

r slur & mental r word been used historically AND NOW to deny rights of people w ID. it been used for eugenics. think that word been watered down nowadays but by eugenics am meaning literal eugenic policies n direct actions. it been used for dehumanize people w ID, for deny rights n dignity, for deny education, for deny services n help, for forced sterilization, for involuntary institutionalized in abusive institutions with horrific abuse & neglect to point of barely alive or straight up death, for basically murder even.

in fact, word still in laws. many them old laws but still in affect n can be (& is) used any time to deny rights of people with ID.

while it really unfortunate n bad that be bullied n be called that word. as someone who been bullied with that slur, am sorry but that simply not on same level as this systemic level of abuse behind this word.

when be called r slur when not have ID, is comparing you to people with ID. is say you near/just as bad as them.

can’t reclaim something that never about you in first place.

especially when people most affected by slur (aka people with ID) want it disappear forever.

plus. many people without ID’s idea of “reclaim” that slur is just. use as insult. use as deprecation, use as self deprecation, use as poke fun of self. wow look am nearly as bad as people with ID.

while all not even bother learn what ID is n history behind people with ID n advocate for people with ID. (does person you talk about even know what it is. that it is intellectual functioning + adaptive functioning + symptom before technically 18 but usually before child. that it not same as dyslexia dyscalculia dysgraphia. do they say “intellectual disabilities” “an intellectual disability.” do they know what ID look like. do they know what severe profound ID look like. can they name one person with ID. just one. by name.)

disability’s not like gender sexuality. disability’s not like queerness. some experience may overlap but most things, can’t just copy paste because simply not same.

why you wanna say slur so bad. why you wanna collect slurs like it cool rocks so bad.

wow. you so cool n edgy n original (sarcasm)

if want able say & “reclaim” “fun” slur so bad. then also have hundreds (n thousands bc people with ID existed before it documented by modern western doctors) years of oppression & abuse & life lost that come with it. have the mistreatment n abuse that people with ID experience now—n. if that’s case. would be extremely lucky if even able make this far n be able to sit here use your communication privilege to talk about how want “reclaim” a fucking slur. because. did i mention people with ID are treated horribly.

denied education denied communication denied autonomy denied life changing therapies & help & aides. denied personhood.

still. today.

think that’s all

(tone = not mad at asker. just wish people dare think about anything other than themselves. just tired of this same old thing. am tired. my friends with ID double that. triple that. unspeakable amounts. but yeah am mad.)

[copperbadge]

Amateur Translation Programs

So I had a lot of imaginative and informative responses to my post about looking for an amateur translation program -- something where I could load in a foreign language and it would insert a box where I could add a translation every-other-line. The idea was that this way I could practice translation with more advanced texts, and texts I chose, and thus move away from Duolingo, which at this point is good for drilling and daily practice but not for more advanced learning.

I didn't find precisely what was needed but I did get some inspiration for further explanation, and I also learned that adding the term "glossing" (thank you @thewalrus-said) into my searches helped a great deal in terms of weeding out programs that were either "Let this AI translate for you" or just endless promotional links for Babbel and Duolingo and such. I thought I'd collect up the suggestions and post them here; at the end I'm including my best swing at designing what I wanted, and why it doesn't work yet.

Suggestion one, from many people, was various ways to generate a page that is simply fixed Italian text with space underneath each line to add in a translation. This is pretty simple as a process and there are sites that will do it for you, such as this one that @ame-kage suggested. However, most of these don't allow for movement in the Italian text, and many produce a PDF which you would need to print out in order to write on unless you're willing to open it in Acrobat (and deal with Acrobat). A good solution for some but not what I'm looking for purely because I'm trying to make this super frictionless so that (knowing myself as I do) I will actually do it.

I did find this version interesting, suggested by @drivemetogeek: Have one word doc saved as your "template" doc and set the line spacing as 2.0 or higher. Select your text from source and paste it into the template doc as text-only. Ctrl a, ctrl c to select all and copy, then open a new document and "paste special" as picture. Right click and set the "wrap text" as behind text. Now you have a document where you can, basically, type over the existing text because it's the background of the page. This seems like the most frictionless version, because you could set up a bunch of them ahead of time. If you wanted to move between desktop and mobile, however, you'd need to ensure that the pasted image was fairly narrow so that you don't have to sideways-scroll.

Relatedly, people suggested generating a document that is simply the Italian text with empty space beneath it for typing in of the translation. This can be done either semi-automated, using a macro or a language like Python, or find-and-replace on, say, the stops at the ends of sentences. It basically outputs the same as above but with a more digitally accessible format, without any more effort than above. If you were to do this in Google Sheets you could also fix the column width so that it didn't do anything weird when you opened it on your phone. But it is still very friction-y, and does not allow for easy shifting of the Italian as needed. There's high probability of the translation breaking weirdly across the page. Still a top option in terms of simplicity and access.

@smokeandholograms suggested another variation illustrated here where essentially you're converting the text to a series of tables, with each paragraph a row, and an empty cell next to it for the translation. I might play around more with this one eventually, since I think I could possibly make it a three-column and put the Italian in one, the translation in the next, and the auto-translate to let me know where I might be slipping in the third. (Not that I trust auto-translate but comparing a hand translation to an auto translation can be useful in terms of working out when I've messed up the way a tense or mood is read. I tend to read indirect verbs as automatically imperative because I'm a weirdo.)

@wynjara linked to an add-in for Word specifically designed for translators, known as TransTools; this appears to employ a macro to do the same thing, though it does have a format where you can place the translation next to each sentence directly rather than in a separate cell. The full suite of tools is only $45 which is reasonable for my budget, but for what I need I think I could also just create the macro.

Using LaTeX as a tool specially designed for glossing was an option on offer, but I don't know enough about LaTeX to figure out the pros of this one, which is in itself the major con -- there's a learning curve that I think varies widely by person but for me is unfortunately a wall. It came out of a discussion on Reddit about trying to find something like what I want; also in that discussion is a link to a code generator that allows you to…do something…to the initial language, but it's not entirely clear to me (I'm sure it's clear to people who understand coding) what you would then do with it that would allow it to be output in the way I'm hoping for. Like, I could turn a paragraph of text into HTML, I understand that far, but any Italian I find is already on a website.

Moving more into apps that might work, Redditors on the LaTeX discussion suggested SIL Fieldworks, which is a professional language tech tool. Fieldworks isn't a program I'd previously encountered but much as with the ones I had, it looks like the learning curve is fairly steep and it is definitely overkill generally for what I need, though it might also harbor within it the thing I want. It is free, so I may download and play around with it.

@brightwanderer suggested using note-taking or "whiteboard" apps such as Freeform or Nebo; these are generally a kind of "infinite canvas" in which you can drop objects, text boxes, or handwriting. I don't know that Freeform would be measurably different to just using Word and a macro, since I'd still have to input/format all the text and then be stuck with the same "fixed text" setup -- and it's also iOS only -- but for some folks it might be more helpful. Nebo is a similar infinite-canvas with unfortunately the same issues, though on the plus it's available for Android, which is where most of my mobile property resides.

@bloodbright suggested that I was looking for a CAT tool, a professional translation tool mainly used by translators working in the field. This was a concept I'd encountered, but I hadn't found a good starting place. They suggested Smartcat and OmegaT. Smartcat bills itself as an AI translation platform and is HARD pushing the "don't translate it yourself, hire a translator or let AI do it" angle, so it's difficult to tell what it offers in terms of actual tools for translators, and it's also cagey about pricing, so I can't really evaluate it. OmegaT is free and gives off big "some weirdo homebrewed this in their basement" vibe (which I am here for) but I also recognized it from screengrabs that were the reason I veered away from professional-grade software: it looked too complex. Realistically, the major downside of OmegaT is that I don't think I can put it on my phone. One thing I did find interesting is that once you translate a portion of the text, the original language goes away, though I assume you can turn that off if needed. I do kind of like that because it means my distractable brain is looking at Less Stuff.

So where did I end up?

Well, it looked like I was going to have to try a homebrew myself. I had the idea of trying some of the initial suggestions but in reverse -- designing a document where every other line was a single-cell table fixed to the page. You could paste in the Italian, which would wrap around the cells, and then enter the English in the cells.

You can fix a table in place in Google Docs -- you click on the table, then under Table > Style select Wrap Text, Both Sides, and Fix On Page. Getting the whole page set up is a little labor intensive but once you did that, you could just save it as a template and make a duplicate of it each time. And this actually works….on desktop.

Unfortunately, if you open it in the mobile Docs app, the app can't handle the fixed tables and automatically moves them all to after the text that's been pasted in. I tried redesigning it so that it's a table within a table -- one for the Italian, then within that a series of them for the English -- but when you nest a table in Google Docs, it doesn't let you fix the second table in place. And you are also still dealing with the wrap issue, although you can resize the page and add a large right-hand margin as a kludge of a fix for that.

You can build this same kind of document in Word, so I tried building one in Word and then uploading it to Drive, but when you open the Word file in Docs (or in Microsoft Word for Android), it still strips the fixed positioning -- there's just some functionality missing from both apps that doesn't allow them to handle fixed-position tables.

So, the design is sound, just not the final execution. If I could program an app, I could probably remedy the issues with it -- it's simply a series of text boxes nested inside one another with different formatting. I would imagine that's relatively basic to set up, although given that neither Docs nor Word can handle fixed tables in mobile, perhaps I've stumbled on a much bigger problem that everyone is ignoring because nobody actually needs or wants fixed tables in mobile. :D

Experimentation is ongoing, anyway. I might simply have to resign myself to the fact that my translation study is going to have to be in front of a computer, which might be for the best anyway when I inevitably want to compare my translation to an auto-translate to see where I might have read something wrong.

[squarebracket-trickster]

Tag Game Instructions and Ediquette

This post is for anyone who wants to get involved in tag games but isn't sure how they work. I hope this helps<3

Instructions for some popular games and other things to keep in mind are beneath the cut.

If you guys could share this around to help some friends out that would be great!

Last Line Tag

Share the last line you wrote for a WIP. "Line" is a pretty lose term, it can mean anything from a paragraph to a sentence depending on your personal definition, or depending on how much you feel like sharing. It can also come from any WIP, and normally people share prose but sometimes if they haven't written prose recently you'll see them sharing bullet points from outlines or worldbuilding documents.

Heads Up Seven Up

Pretty much the same as Last Line Tag but, instead of one line, you share the last seven you wrote. Once again, a "line" can be anything from a paragraph to a sentence, they can come from any WIP (you could even have, say 3 lines from one WIP and 4 from another if you want to share both), and it is normally prose but sometimes you'll see people sharing outlines or worldbuilding. It is also very informal. If you want to share eight lines or five lines instead of seven you are completely welcome to do so.

Six Sentence Sunday

Another similar tag. On a Sunday (in your time zone), share the last six sentences you wrote. Again, they can come from any WIP (or multiple WIPs), it is normally prose but can be from other things, and you can share three sentences or ten sentences instead if it please you.

Find the Word Tag

The person who tagged you will have given you four words to find in your manuscript. Ctrl+F your document for instances of those words and share one (if there is more than one) of the lines where they appear. If you don't have the word, you can change it to something similar (for example, you can change giggle to laugh if you don't have giggle in your document) or you can just say you did not have the word and leave it blank. You'll need to pick for new words for the people you tag to find. Try to pick common words, but not too common. Everyone will have a bajillion "said" in their draft but will likely have only two or three "screamed". Pick a mix of nouns, adjectives, and verbs, and an adverb if you want to be spicy.

A few last things about tag game etiquette:

You are under no obligation to do any of the tags you've been tagged in. You are allowed to save them for a month from now, do them tomorrow, or just ignore them entirely. No one is holding you accountable to it.

When tagging someone, especially newer writeblrs, it is generally good etiquette to specify that they are under no pressure to do your tag. Something like "tagging (but no pressure)" is fine.

Generally try to make sure someone is open to tag games before you tag them. If you aren't sure, it is okay to tag them once to see what happens but if they don't respond assume no. Some people will specify in their bio or intro post if they like tag games. You can also make a post asking others to interact if they want to be tagged.

Make your own post to respond to the tag. Don't reblog the post that tagged you with your own response.

You can link to the post that tagged you by copying the post link and pasting it into yours. Press the three dots at the top of the post that tagged you and select "Copy Link". On your own post, select a word and press "Paste" or Ctrl+V. The word will be underlined. Anyone who presses it will be hyperlinked back to the other post, like this.

It is polite to like, reblog, and/or leave a comment on a post of the person that tagged you.

Put particularly long posts beneath a Read More.

You can tag as few or as many people as you would like, or you can leave an open tag for anyone who sees the post and wants to participate. You can also tag people and leave an open tag.

That's all Folks! And have fun with the tag games!!

[ckret2]

Hey. I’ve been looking at your posts about posting your fic on Ao3, and I just wanted to be sure— you do know that you can post your fic without having to use HTML mode, right? Like you can post it without having to type a “<p>” and “</p>” before and after every new paragraph, or use “<em>” “</em>” to make sure something in italics is recognized by the website as italics? Just look for a button on the left right above the box you’re going to be writing in that says “Rich Text” and press that. It should be right next to the button saying “HTML,” which is the default button selected, but you only have to press Rich Text to change that.

And none of your work is lost if you switch buttons. But Rich Text mode gives you a version of the posting box where you can write normally and just press the return key for a new paragraph like normal, and there’s a little menu on the top where you can choose if you want to write in bold or italics or change the spacing or whatever. I just felt like you ought to know in case you missed it and had to write the hard way.

I can't do that because the site I write on and store my fics on strips the formatting out of the document—italics, bold, etc—if I copy/paste it anywhere I've tried (all my other word processor apps, other websites, and yes, AO3's rich text editor) EXCEPT FOR tumblr, for some bizarre reason I don't know. Copy/pasting from the site I use into tumblr and copying tumblr's text to paste into AO3's editor is the only workaround I've found for this issue aside from reformatting every italicized/bolder word by hand. And I use a lot of italics.

I could copy/paste the rich text off tumblr and paste it into AO3's rich text editor, but since tumblr's stupid-as-hell post editor only allows you to select one paragraph at a time, my options are: copy/paste one paragraph at a time; manually force past tumblr's stupid-as-hell inability to select more than one paragraph by selecting the first paragraph and manually scrolling all the way down to the bottom to select the whole thing; selecting the whole chapter by going to the finished post and scrolling down to select the whole thing (which is finicky as hell if you're on a tablet, which I am); or, using select-all in tumblr's HTML format and then just quickly deleting the author's note when I paste.

As you can see, using select-all in HTML format is the fastest and least human-error-prone way to transfer text from tumblr to AO3

Every time I post a new chapter I paste the text to AO3's HTML editor and then switch to the rich text editor to insert that chapter's art.