#I wrote it for my creative writing and now that I have my new school laptop I can post this on tumblr now.

[dizbunny]

The Door in the forest

Tw: clowns.

Once upon a time…Deep in the forest… There was a single door, and it was a magical door that only opened once every year when the spirit realm was weakest on Halloween night.

It was indescribable Never staying the same long enough to describe.

An aged blue wooden door changed into a grand wooden door. The grand wooden door changed into a wooden door with a piece cut out of its wood that mimicked a sunset and so on so on.

The only thing that never changed was that it was a land of enchantment for children, and it called out to the trick and treaters of the 1961 Halloween season as if they were moths to a flame.

One of these trick or treaters was a little girl named Poppy who was dressed up in a homemade clown costume her mother had made for her.

The costume was spilt down the middle. One side was white, and the other side was baby pink with two cotton balls perfectly and lovingly sewn onto the line separating the white from the pink. The costume was completed by the clown mask that her father had made. A white emotionless mask that was painted lovingly with light pink hearts on its cheeks and imperfectly painted black diamonds over the eyes of the mask. The right one being slightly bigger than the one on the left.

So much love was put into something she would only wear once and then never again.

She snuck away from her family as her parents argued with her older sister about her beatnik lifestyle. Disappearing into the crowd of family’s trick or treating to start her magical adventure! Leaving the safe and quiet suburban neighborhood.

Poppy left for the forest. Never to be seen again.

She didn’t know where she was going. The forest was dark and scary, and the mask was obstructing her vision. All she could see was darkness and all she could do was follow the voice that beckoned her to the woods.

“Keep going,” said a scratchy and shrill voice and kept on she did, going deeper and deeper into the forest.

When she found the door. The wood was swirling with pinks and blues which were covered by eyes and teeth, and it opened all on its own.

It was hypnotically beautiful even if it was the weridest Poppy had ever seen. Yet, like a moth to a flame she couldn’t help but feel pulled to walk into the blinding rainbow light that was behind the door.

Poppy walked into the door…

When she opened her eyes. She saw something she had never seen before. They were colorful pastel boxes of things. It looked like a mix of colorful tubes and slides to Poppy, taking of her clown mask to get a better look.

The structures towered over her seemingly going up forever and forever which was the same on the ground floor.

A seemingly never-ending loop of structures occasionally interrupted by tubs filled with balls of every shade of the rainbow and a roundabout. The only thing she recognized in this place.

“Where am I? Am I dreaming?!” Asked Poppy aloud as she looked around the magical wonderland of childhood wonder.

“You’re not dreaming!” Said a voice, The same voice that called her there. The voice brought a cold shivering air with it. The cold air passed by her and congregated in front of her, forming and materialized into a humanoid shape, but it wasn’t human.

Poppy could tell that just by looking at it. The…thing had blue skin and sharp teeth. Teeth as Sharp as the icicles that formed outside her bedroom window during Christmas time. He kind of scared her. When it fully formed, it wore a dark blue and periwinkle leotard with a jester hat shaped like a snowflake that covered his eyes.

The jester began to introduce himself happily. “Hello little clown friend! I’m so glad that you got my little invitation for my playdate! It’s been a while since I’ve held a play date!” He said.

Poppy lunged Back in shock, dropping her mask to the soft floor which was made up in puzzles pieces.

“W-w-Who are you?” Where am i-i?” Asked Poppy in a mixture of fear and curiosity.

“Oh! Forgive me, where are my manners!” Said the shrill voice.

“I am Balan!” He proclaimed. “The clown of Ice! The ruler of this realm! And this realm that I rule is called the playground, and that’s where we are my little clown friend!” He said with his toothpick grin as he grabbed her mask from of the floor and placed it on her face.

“So I can play here? No party poppers or wet rags?” She said slightly muffled but increasingly excited.

“No rules?!”

“Uh Uh.” Said Balan as he waved his slender, frost bitten finger. “You have only one rule to follow, Poppy Smith. Get out of here before the clock strikes twelve.” He swerved his arms around, creating an illustration of a clock made by snow that floated in the air.

It was currently 7:48 Pm.

“What happens if I break the rule?” Asked Poppy, tilting her head in curiosity.

“You’ll regret it for the rest of time.”

It stunned Poppy for a moment at the sudden coldness from the jester that had been entertaining her for the past few minutes and now just as suddenly, Balan was now telling her to have fun and explore suggesting that she could go climb the “Jungle gym” as he called it. And “See how tall it is!!” Before turning back into freezing air and disappearing into nothingness.

Poppy was very confused, but she was always told to listen to the adults around her and He’s the king, So she has to listen to him.

And so Poppy began to explore the play place starting with the jungle gym informs of her.

Poppy was a little scared to climb the jungle gym. Not only because she was scared of heights but because she felt so alone.

She felt alone climbing the blue, red and green triangles. She felt so alone getting her feet stuck in the spiderweb that was the net bridge tunnel. She felt so alone as she ate her Halloween candy and twirled her black hair alone in an orb thingy that shaked a lot when she moved.

It also showed how high she was up, but she didn’t want to look. She was probably past the moon at this point.

Don’t get her wrong, She was having a lot of fun. But she was a social butterfly and she just hated being alone…but she wasn’t alone.

Suddenly fellow children rushed into the shaky orb and began to jump up and down, shaking the orb with each jump. The children weren’t human, maybe they once were but now they were just shapeless shadow-like blobs that shifted and changed every second.

“PLEASE STOP!!” Screamed Poppy, scared that the orb would break off its hinges with every jump.

The children didn’t listen, instead they tossed her a pink and black mallet and whispered “Long live the king.” Repeatedly. Poppy quickly began to crawl her way out of the shaking orb, taking the mallet because who was she to refuse a gift? When she made it out of the orb , she turned back to tell the children something.

“I hope you all get measles and die.”

Then Poppy went down a nearby tube slide and went to explore something else.

She was having so much fun playing but everything has to come to an end eventually and Poppy had to go back home.

When she found the door she came in from, she went to open it. It didn’t open. It didn’t even budge. Poppy heard laughter behind her . When she looked behind her. She saw Balan, laughing. Manically.

The clock of snow was hovering over his finger.

It was now 12:17 Am.

“You broke the ruleeeeeeee.” He said with a mocking smile and gleeful singsong voice. “You can never leaveeeeeee.”

Poppy started crying right there and then. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home. She wanted to go home but she broke the rules and now she can never leave.

The End!

[deerspherestudios]

Short Break and To Dos!

Hello all! 🍄🍄👻 I'm glad to see people enjoying Day 3 so far! I was so nervous about showing another side to Mychael in the update I thought people wouldn't like him as much but plenty have reacted positively! ❤️

I'll add a TLDR; above the read more, but if you don't mind my ramblings and want more details about everything, I'll write everything below! Light spoilers ahead!

I'll be taking a short break from MO development until 28th October to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Regarding the feedback on Day 3, I'm glad people aren't as averse to the new side of Mychael, in that he isn't always soft and sweet. I want people to fall in love with a person after all, not a yandere caricature, and that means that person can get upset, angry and sometimes irrational when we don't know what's going on in their head even towards the subject of their affections. While some (understandably!) were shocked about his reaction to the mushrooms, it'll be clear as to why (hopefully!)

Some of you have given incredibly accurate theories, and I'll take that as something I've done well in building up the mystery!!! I'm excited to share more in the next update, but for now!

1. I'll be taking a short break from MO development to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

What I have planned for Day 4 of MO might be the biggest update so far, since one route will lead to a few official BAD ENDINGS as opposed to 'dead ends' like the current demo has. To those who really want to, you finally get to see Mychael at his worst. As usual, writing the script takes a few months with plenty of changes in between, and I don't wanna bulldoze ahead and rush the story when it's getting to the climax!

But before I jump into all of that I just wanna give myself a creative exercise and try exploring a different theme, style and setting with a fresh new character for the jam! Since I'm a sucker for the trope... yes, the new blorbo will also be a yandere, sorry, I'm predictable.💔 The jam ends on October 28th so development on MO will continue then!

The last time I wrote something remotely sci-fi was in high school, so this will be fun to try!

2. Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

What it says on the tin! If you've already played Day 3, rest assured there's no significant story changes. Just an updated credits list, three extra sprites for one route and a small fix in the code.

3. Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Plenty of people have sent such sweet and encouraging messages to my inbox on what they thought of the update and I cannot thank all of you enough for the support!! I can't wait to post them out to archive them on the blog and answer all your interesting theories and queries in my queue!

But for now I'm due for a short break from my socials and to catch up on my Patreon sketch requests haha. I also plan to release cut content from Day 3 for my Yearling and Deer patrons. Plus, I'll be working on some written prompts for extra lore so that's something to look forward to!

I'll be back soon! Take care, fireflies!! ❤️

[dilfluvrr10]

Hello can you write a smut about virgin joost x virgin reader? Thankss

I wrote this pretty quickly so ignore any errors but this one's for all the horny bastards out there. I see you.

Stolen Glances ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

CW: Nsfw, age gap

word count: 2.5k

(I was writing from 1st person than kept randomly switching to 2nd person when I was thinking of Joost's pov, she's a little messy sorry)

My thoughts ran wild as I chewed on the end of my pencil. I was supposed to be revising for my biology exam tomorrow, but how could I when a man as heart throbbing as Joost was sat right in front of me. My father was a well-established manager who had represented the biggest musicians of my time. He had reached out to Joost after his breakthrough single ‘Friesenjung’ and together they had boosted Joost’s international stardom to new levels. My father always had a good eye for talent. They had developed a close bond over the short time they had worked together, my father, a clever and creative man who never stifled Joost’s artistry. Ever since I was a little girl I’ve always been involved in his work, going on tour, tagging along for press and having a string of musicians over at our house constantly. But this was different. Maybe it was just hormones or whatever, a part of growing up, or maybe it was because father was particularly fond of him, or maybe it was the way he always acknowledged me. I don’t know what it was, but he made me feel things I’ve never felt before.

He sat directly in front of me, discussing marketing for his next song, a favourable topic for both Joost and my father. They had been at it for hours, going back and forth intently at our dining room table when I walked in- deciding I wanted to do my work in more ‘natural light’. Of course, I just wanted to be around Joost, his entire demeanour utterly intoxicating to me. I sat at the end of our long dining table, and with my father’s back turned to me, I couldn’t resist stealing glances at Joost every chance I got. In a daze, I admired the way his brows subconsciously furrowed a little in concentration, the way he talked so expressively with his hands. His hands. My mind gradually became clouded with thoughts of his hands roaming my body, what his hands would look like around my neck. I bit down harder on the pencil, almost touching lead. Discreetly, I crossed my legs and squeezed my thighs together, feining for any pressure down there.

Joost could feel your eyes swallowing him whole. It was nothing new to him now, you always had your beautiful doe eyes plastered to him. He had no problem with the admiration you gave him, he understood your young curiosity. He also understood he could never act on it, could never betray his manager like that. Touching his daughter in all the places she daydreamed about, taking a bit of her sweet innocence away all for himself. No. He’d stay out of your way, be kind to you in other ways, like helping with your school work (even though he was hopeless in his own high school days) and making sure you weren’t too stressed with exams by making you laugh whenever he could. You had been staring at him for quite a while now, you must’ve been particularly horny today, he thought to himself. A slight smirk nipping at the corners of his mouth. He leaned back in his chair and adjusted his pants around his crotch knowing you’ll catch it.

I nearly threw up as he moved in his chair, legs spread as he leaned back adjusting his pants. My eyes grew wide with embarrassment when I noticed Joost’s gaze flicker towards me, evident he knew the affect he had on me. In a panic I hurriedly ran to my room. Tears welled in my eyes at the thought of Joost realising how I felt about him, all he’d ever been to me was kind and now he’s going to think of me as some naive girl with a hopeless crush on him. I cried, regret and humiliation in every drop that soaked my pillow. How could I have been so careless with my feelings?

A light knock at my bedroom door had awoken me from my tear-fueled slumber. Vaguely disorientated, I searched around for my phone. The bright, white light illuminated the room: 9:15pm. “Shit” I wasn’t meant to sleep all day. Groggily, I got to my feet and shuffled over to the door, questioning who it might be.

Joost could tell you had been crying, your eyes red-rimmed and still slightly swollen. He hated seeing you like this, “oh, I’m sorry did I wake you?” his voice soft and concerned.

“Joost…no, no it’s fine...everything okay?” the back of my throat burned, and my voice was faintly raspy.

“You left your things on the table, I just thought I’d drop them off before I went to bed,” he handed me my textbook and laptop but lingered in the doorway as if he had something else to say.

“Are you okay? You’ve been in your room since lunch, tell me what’s going on,” Joost always carried a comforting energy, I felt like I could tell him anything. But not this.

“Oh yeah I was up late last night, got really tired I guess,” followed by a small awkward laugh. Joost stood tall in front of me, having to look up to talk to him filled me with dirty thoughts. He wore a white tank, plaid pyjama pants and his night prescription glasses. His hair scruffy, signalling he had already been in bed. I began questioning the intentions of Joost’s visit, did he really just want to return my things? This late at night? No matter how guilty I felt, I couldn’t shake the butterflies growing in my stomach at the tension between us.

He looked down at you, you were avoiding eye contact now, your leg bouncing nervously and your fingers tapping the door where you held it open. Oh how shy he made you, how vulnerable and yielding. He felt bad after what had happened today, he contemplated for hours in bed if he should make it up to you tonight or just let it be. But seeing you now made it an easy choice.

“You know, I really don’t mind” he almost whispered, tilting his head and stepping ever so slightly closer. I glanced up once again, confusion and anticipation coursing through me. “Mind what?” I asked through a clueless façade. He shook his head, slowly stepping forward until he was completely in the confines of my bedroom, closing the door gently behind him. Just me and him. “I see the way you look at me…I’ve seen the way you cross your legs in the process” a wild smile danced over his lips, that’s when I realised this was all wildly funny to him. The entire time I’ve been losing my fucking mind over this man- he had been totally and utterly aware and amused. I scoffed at his upfront words, “God, what are you talking about Joost. You’re crazy, what are you getting at-” I was abruptly cut off by Joost’s huge hands firmly placed on my arms, pushing me back towards my bed.

“Sit.” With your lips still slightly parted with the ghost of whatever bullshit you were carrying on about, you obeyed, looking down into your lap and fidgeting with your fingers. Your surge of false confidence had been his last straw. He was going to give you whatever you wanted, all you had to do was tell him. He traced a tender finger along your jawline, he glimpsed your eyelashes fluttering from his angle, felt your breath hitch. He lifted your chin with his index finger, Those gorgeous eyes shimmering wide with unspoken desire.

Already, I was going to absolutely crumble under Joost’s very minimal touch. His fingers barely grazing my skin were well enough to send shivers cascading down my spine. I was timid and taken aback but at the same time I craved more; I wanted to feel him everywhere. “What were you saying?” he flashed another one of his cheeky grins I loved so much. His sly comment made me laugh this time around, turning the tense atmosphere surprisingly warm. He sat down next to me, causing fleeting touches of our arms and thighs. I was enveloped in his familiar scent, calming my nerves further. He placed a hand on my thigh, his tattooed finger drawing delicate circles as he spoke. “Let me give you what you want” his voice was low and hummed a beautiful harmony. I’d imagined this scenario countless times ever since I first laid eyes on my Joost. He had no idea what I’d let him do to me.

“Just be gentle,” the sweet sound of your consent aroused Joost more than he ever could’ve imagined. He wrapped his other hand around the back of your neck and pulled you in inches from him. With his thumb he caressed your bottom lip, your breathing heavy and erratic against every move he made. “I wouldn’t be anything else for you” he uttered softly, his words dripping with reassurance before grabbing your face and placing a light kiss over your needy lips.

For me, this small kiss was a revelation. The taste of him, the feeling of a mans lips pressed against mine while his hands caressed my body, it was a rush of sensations I’ve never experienced before. He lightly pecked my lips once more before smashing hungrily into me, kissing and sucking. With his hands still cradling my face and his lips still glued to mine he urged me to lay down. I wrapped one arm around his neck, and one hand curled around his bicep beside my head as he ruthlessly attacked my lips a while longer.

Heavenly whimpers escaped both you and Joost, still being cautious not to wake anyone. Pulling away and seeing your lips so swollen and kiss-bitten made Joost so proud.

My body ached for him, “I can’t take much more of this” I whined as he left a trail of kisses down my neck. He lifted my shirt up over my head and continued down my stomach, his hands eagerly grabbing the sides of my waist and tits. He stopped at the edge of my pants, sat up and came to rest his back against the head of the bed. “Come here baby” he softly instructed me while patting the space in between his outstretched legs. He held me steady while I took up position, my close to bare back comfortably leaning into his chest, the difference in size apparent. His arms draped down to my thighs, his fingers never failing to caress every inch. Waves of comfort came with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as he lowered his tongue to the nape of my neck, licking a long stripe up to my ear.

“Just relax,” he breathed, making the hairs on my neck stand straight. His hands ventured back to my pants, pulling them off with deliberate slowness, I lifted my hips to help and kicked them off the bed. “You’re so beautiful,” each word warm against my skin. His tantalizing hands resumed their careful journey as the cool air nipped against my newly exposed skin. I sucked in an audible breath as his fingers trailed up my inner thigh, “Is this okay?,” he said pausing just before my underwear to gauge my reaction. A weak nod was all I could muster up, I couldn’t resist slowly rocking my hips back and forth against him from the thrill of his touch. With my eyes closed tight I buried my face into Joost as the pad of his thumb brushed over the delicate fabric along my wet slit.

You squirmed into Joost ceaselessly, as he applied more and more pressure, unknowingly giving him a massage of his own through his pants. Your panties were becoming increasingly more damp, to the point where they clung to you leaving nothing to the imagination. Joost took this as a sign you were ready for more. You hadn’t opened your eyes since he started, your head was turned to the side, buried in his chest resulting in your neck being awfully exposed. A hot half moan escaped your lips in surprise as Joost’s mouth worked skillfully on your sensitive neck, his tongue flicking against your skin before he sucked ravenously, drawing out even more of those sweet, breathless sounds. At the same time he slipped his hand underneath the waistband of your underwear. You clung to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders and mouth wide open as he stroked your swollen clit and folds. You were involuntarily trembling and bucking against him as he fingered you to the edge. Every muscle inside your body was quivering aggressively. Deep tremors formed in your core and rippled outward. All composure was gone under his overwhelming touch.

My breaths came in heavy, uneven gasps. My chest rising and falling rapidly. I was completely at his mercy as his fingers worked me closer and closer. Every nerve in my body was aflame, my senses so desperately flooded by the delicious friction and heat of his touch. I was right there, teetering on the edge, ready to dive into the abyss of ecstasy he had created. Then his hands pulled away.

The abrupt halt left me gasping, my body trembling with unfulfilled need and anguish. My eyes flew open to meet his, “Joost, why would you stop?” He ignored my question and kissed me in compensation. “Not yet” was all he gave me. I kissed him open-mouthed and needy, my heart ponded in my chest, tension lingering in my aching body. With our lips still attached I wrapped a hand around the firm forearm draped around my waist and guided him back to down to the hot mess he had left me with. Desire still burning hotter than ever.

“You need me that bad baby,” his accent a seductive melody. “Please,” the desperation in my voice so evident- my cheeks burnt red. He gave no resistance to the tiny hand around his wrist, full of urgency and insistence. This time your eyes never left his, the intensity of longing clear to him. He found his hand back where you needed It most, your hips arched, silently begging for his touch. The moment his fingers made contact once again, a shudder ran through you, a suppressed moan released. “Don’t stop,” you commanded. You had a certain feralness to you the second time around, showing him exactly where and how you wanted him. Never letting go of the tightening grip around his wrist. Your body was pressed tightly into Joost’s, using him shamelessly like a toy. You needed him to finish what he had started, and you weren’t afraid to show him how much you wanted it. The reserved nature he knew you by was overcome by an insatiable desire. He pushed his tattooed fingers deep into your gushing entrance, frantically pumping in and out of you. “Fuckk,” tears spilled down your cheeks as you finally came.

Joost’s touch softened immediately, noticing you were overstimulated. You turned to your side still heightened with emotions and riding out the orgasm. With tender care Joost cradled you in his arms, running his hand through your hair, soothing you through the storm. “You’re okay.”

Nestled into the curve of his arms, you felt a soft blanket envelop you, and with a sigh of content you allowed yourself to surrender to sleep.

----------♡--------------------♡--------------------♡--------------------♡

(And he never even took any cloths off)

Also just realised I never actually stated she was a virgin

[dedalvs]

When will humankind learn the lesson of its hubris and begin to heal itself? Also can you recommend any undergraduate or graduate level resources (textbooks etc.) for learning about fiction? I already read Writing Fiction by Burroway. Thanks in advance

January 14, 3182. Make a note of the date and return to this post when it comes.

To your second question, I've never read anything on writing fiction, only writing in general. I've found something valuable in every book on writing, even if there were things in the book I found less valuable. For example, I read Writing Down the Bones: Freeing the Writer Within by Natalie Goldberg, and while there was much of it I didn't care for, there are some passags that have stuck with me 22 years later. When it comes to writing guides, I think the best thing to do is read what interests you while understand that what you are really doing is building your own writing guide inside you. You're absorbing what you find personally meaningful and using it to create your own personal styleguide that, like it or not, you'll be following for the rest of your life. Rather than rejecting that, and trying to decide which text will be the text that tells you how to write, embrace it, realize that you are going to do what you're going to do, and then try to work within that framework. That is, if that's what's happening, how will you approach a styleguide? What will it mean to you to read a very didactic text (i.e. "All serious writers must do x; no serious writer every does y") vs. a loosey-goosey one (e.g. "Dance naked in the garden of your creativity and allow your flowers to bloom!")? What are you looking for in these texts and what will you do with information or strategies that you find valuable?

Returning to Writing Down the Bones, I have to say I found the book to be mostly woo. It was more a kind of self-help/empowerment book than a book on writing, in my opinion. But there is something in there that I'm sure I'd heard before but which finally resonated with me. Specifically, it was the way she articulated that it really, truly doesn't matter what you put on the page when you're drafting. Drafting is not the time to reject. Even some idea comes to you that you find absurd, illogical, thematically inappropriate—whatever. It's not the time to push it away. Indeed, it's wasted effort. Editing and revising is the time to question. If you're writing, you shouldn't let anything stop you—even your own brain.

Why it took till then for this idea to take root, I don't know. It could be how she worded it. It could be that it came at the right time. Perhaps I was more open to new ideas when I was reading this book. It may also have something to do with a transition that had taken place for me in writing. After all, when I started high school, I was not regularly using a computer (we'd only just gotten a computer that stayed at home). When I started writing, I wrote by hand—on paper. It's a much, much different thing to edit and revise when you're writing on paper than it is on when you're working on a computer! I mean, digital real estate is cheap. When you're writing by hand, it can literally hurt to write seven or eight pages—and then to discard them in editing! Right now I'm working on a novel draft where I've decided an entire section needs to come out. If I'd written that by hand?! I can't even imagine.

I guess the tl;dr of it is I don't have a specific text to recommend. Rather, I encourage you to look around and grab anything that interests you. In doing so, though, I encourage you to approach it differently, focusing on what in it you find valuable, without either wholly rejecting it or feeling you have to follow it to the letter like an Ikea manual. I even found something valuable in C. S. Lewis's The Abolition of Man, which I honestly can't believe I read.

If you'd like some fiction advice that may be generally useful no matter what you're writing, this is what I can offer:

A valuable skill to hone is being able to read your work as if you have no other knowledge of it. In other words, you need to be able to read your work like a reader. One of the most difficult things to do with fiction is to cut. You usually have a lot more characterization, a lot more plot points, a lot more detail, etc. than end up on the page. The important question is if you cut something, will the reader notice? Will it actually feel like something's miss it, or will a reader never notice? Mind, I'm not saying that as a writer you can't tell if something is superfluous, or that anything you cut will be superfluous. I'm saying sometimes even if you cut something important a reader will still get the impression that what they are reading is whole and unedited. That isn't a good thing or a bad thing: it's a neutral thing. The question you'll have to answer is what is this whole that the reader is getting, and is that whole something you're satisfied with?

Get multiple rounds of feedback from many different readers. I say this not because it's vital, because beta readers are important, because you have to have multiple perspectives on your work, etc. None of that. Getting feedback from many different readers is a form of self-care on the part of the writer. I was deathly afraid of feedback as a young writer. I welcomed praise, sure, but anything else felt too painful to bear. This changed when I took a short fiction class at Berkeley. Suddenly a short story of mine wasn't getting one round of feedback: it was getting fourteen. And not just from the professor, but from fellow students. This was a minor revolution for me in terms of accepting feedback. If I were to take, say, one round of feedback, certainly there would be some praise, but there would also be notes like "awkward phrasing", "why did x character do y?", "this is unclear", "too much description", etc. These things would burn me. I would seethe reading them, and it would hurt so deeply. But! Imagine that one of them circles a paragraph and writes "too much description" and then the other thirteen readers say absolutely nothing at all about that paragraph—maybe one even puts a smiley face next to it. THAT puts the criticism in its proper context. Maybe your writing isn't too bad! Maybe there isn't too much description. Maybe that particular reader just wasn't vibing with it, and maybe that's okay. And then let's look at it from the other perspective. Say thirteen out of fourteen papers have a sentence marked and all of them say things like "huh?", "what's this mean?", "confusing", etc. Guess what? The sentence is probably confusing. And for some reason if everyone's saying the same thing it hurts a lot less. It means, yeah, you probably made a little mistake, and that's okay. It's not one person singling you out, and it's not the case that they don't know what they're talking about. I can't emphasize enough how freeing it is to look at reviews of your work if you have a handful or more to draw from rather than just a single good friend.

It's okay to write the fun part first. You may have a plot device you're really excited about, but to get there, you have to introduce your characters, have them get together, have them go to a place, meet someone else, etc. And it may take time and energy to write all that. You may feel pressured to get through that before you get to the part you really want to write. You certainly can, but you do not have to. I don't know if younger writers can appreciate exactly what it means to have a computer. You can write a little bit now and literally copy and paste it into some other document later. Try doing that with a typewriter! You can write something like "Insert paragraphs later of characters traveling to x location". You can even drop a variable in there so it's easy to find with the search function later (e.g. "ZZZZZ insert scene description here"—now you just need to search for "ZZZZZ"). You can put it in a different color on the screen so it's easy to find when scrolling. You can paste a freaking photo into your document! It's extraordinary what you can do with a computer that you couldn't do in years past. You've got a ton of options. But most importanly, when your work is done, no one will know what order you wrote it in.

In fiction, nothing has to happen. Villains don't have to be punished; heroes don't have to win; characters don't have to have a specific arc that comes to some conclusion. Honestly, one of the tropes (if you can even call it a trope) that I find most frustrating in sequels for movie franchises is after the characters are introduced, they take a few character and assign to them the major story conflict, and then for the rest, they give them a mini arc. It's like, "Mondo 2: Exploding the Mondoverse sees our hero Larjo Biggins take on new villain the Krunge as the very core of the Mondoverse is threatened with destruction! Also, Siddles Nuli learns its okay to be left out sometimes and she shouldn't get her feelings hurt, and Old Mucko learns that even though technology is advancing, sometimes good old fashioned common sense is just what the doctor ordered!" If you get to the end of your story, and you feel it's done, you don't have to panic if you suddenly realize we don't know whether Hupsi ever made it to Bumbus 7. It's okay if Story A is resolved but Story B is not.

I don't care if you used Trope A in your new story even though you used Trope A in your past seven stories and neither should you. Seriously, you think anyone was complaining when Agatha Christie put out another mystery novel? "Oh. Mystery again, huh? Gee, we were all hoping you'd write a book about the struggles traditional fishing villages are facing in the wake of industrial modernization." No we fucking weren't!

I hope you find some of this useful. Whether you did or not, though, be sure you enjoy what you're doing. If you are, you're doing the right thing.

[jaegersolstice]

Heyyyy, i noticed your post about getting your creative juices flowing and tbh same. Burnout as a writer or artist sucks. Btw your writing is really good.

Can I request a soft fluffy moment of gojo being worried about fem!reader? Like she's on her period and is cranky and in pain. If you want to of course.

hii anon, tysm for the kind words! ive been writing so much for school so it’s been kinda hard, but i enjoyed writing this even if it was kinda short! i hope both of us recover from our burnouts soon, but also take this time to rest and regroup.

a/n: i kind of wrote gojo as a bit more annoying than requested 😭 but i hope you enjoy :))

———————————————————————

“having a nice nap on the floor, sweet girl?”

you’re sure that you’re gonna explode by the time satoru returns home. and so when he finds you, crumpled up on the ground in front of his king-bed, you can’t help but frown up at him.

because you love him, you really do, but sometimes (like now) you want to grab him by the paintbrush head and shake him stupid.

“missed me? or did you just decide to act like a little catapiller and—“

“i don’t care, ‘m not hungry, i don’t wanna watch that stupid show with you and i don’t—“ you begin to grumble before you break off into a quince, hands coming around your waist as you roll onto your back, tangling yourself in your blanket and forcing you to look straight into satoru’s stupidly blue eyes.

hands in his pockets, adorning a lopsided grin, he crouches down next to you, eyes darting across your face before he slips an arm under your lower back.

“ah, that’s what it is, hm?” he hums, slipping his legs under your head and sneaking a hand in your sleep shorts, fingers resting right above your abdomen.

“‘ts when my girl gets the most angry at me, i shoulda known,” he presses lightly, massaging your aching muscles and your body immediately relaxes, head falling deeper into his comfortable thighs.

“mmm, feels really good ‘toru…”

“shh, i know, i know it does,” he leans over you, placing a featherlight kiss onto your forhead, “next time you aren’t feeling well let me know, kay? i have to take care of you, sweets.” you snuggle impossibly deeper into him, lightly shaking your head at his words.

“didn’t wanna bother you ‘toru,” you whisper, feeling a new drowsiness wash over your lightly aching body.

“a bother? never, sweets. never.”

[xoxochb]

buttermilk waffles (drowning in syrup) 🧇

hiiii! is it okay to ask for a lil something with jason grace x popstar!reader based off of sabrina carpenter's bed chem?

also????? in love with your theme sm!!! girl, i wish i had ur eye for creativity 😭

⋆·˚ ༘ * bed chem

warnings: allusions to sex, brief kissing, pairing: jason grace x pop star! reader a/n: this isn’t really based off the song but I thought of this idea and wanted to write it because it’s cutesy

event list

you sit down, breathless at the end of the stage, allowing your legs to dangle over the edge. you sigh and turn the microphone to your mouth

“so,” you start, still trying to catch your breath “that was my new song bed chem from my new album short and sweet-”

you’re cut off by the crowd cheering loudly, making a wide smile appear on your lips. “okay… okay…” you laugh. you hear a question being yelled from somewhere in the crowd. your eyebrows perk up and you tilt the microphone away from you to hear better. you point at your ears and then to your mouth to signal the fan to speak in the microphone. a girl— maybe around eighteen comes up to the stage and you switch your position to be laying on your stomach to help yourself with reducing the movie of others fans

at first the fan stumbles over her words, struggling to get something out. when she conquers the right words she begins, “this song- I was wondering who you wrote it about”

this sends the crowd in a chant, begging to hear the culprit you had sang about. you rest your chin on your hand and turn your head to the right of the stage, electric blue eyes meeting yours. you giggle like a silly lovesick school girl and turn back to the crowd

you rotate the mic make to yourself. “well if I told you that would ruin the fun wouldn’t it?”

the crowd starts groaning making you laugh in return

“okay, okay. let me tell you a story. two years ago I was at an award show, you know- and I had that black sheer dress on, remember? and when I was walking home I met this boy- oh god was he handsome! we walked around the city for a while and talked, something casual. but there was tension brewing, and we went back to my apartment, and I’m sure you know where I’m going with this-”

you hear screams— blood curling screams from the crowd. If you didn't know any better you would've thought there was something awful happening

“guys, guys” you wait as the crowd calms down and goes quiet again “that boy, he’s my boyfriend now. this is the first time he’s heard this song. I hope he likes this song because I’m hoping to recreate the first night when we leave”

the crowd laughs and ushers you to go. you dramatically gasp. “wow. you want me gone? I see how it is!”

you stand up and dramatically close the show, saying your farewells to your fans and waving goodbye before heading backstage. In a lovestruck daze you don’t realize a pair of lips slotting over your own until, well— they were! you knew the arms wrapping around your waist and the lips against your own all too well via nights fantasizing about them and nights when the fantasy’s came true. your smile causes you to break away

“hi jase” you peck his lips and slide your arms around his neck “I like these kinds of greetings”

the blond mirrors your expression. “the feelings are mutual”

you squeal and throw your head back. jason takes this to his advantage and begins kissing your neck. “you really wrote that song about me?”

“no, leo”

you receive a pinch to your waist in return

“I did, I did!”

“good. because I would agree”

blood rushes to your cheeks. you play dumb. “about what, angel?”

“we have really good bed chem”

[rqbossman]

Hello Mr Bossman! (and possibly anyone else who reads this)

Its an honour to be here, I have a few questions. First i appologise for the long paragraph, you may dismiss it for the questions at the bottom. For context, i am here after finishing TMA and being up to date with TMAP, i then went over and listened to RQG, and have just finished listening to Epilogue 3 and might i just say, good sir I am grateful for your podcasts. I am currently just a few months away from my final exams of High School, and as someone who even just 1 year ago was very lost, struggling with school and being just overwhelmed. TMA isnt exactly comforting, but the characters and plot managed to serve as a good form of escapism while sorting myself out. I found my self engaging more in creative things that i had originally put aside in favour of maths and science (which i hated but thought i needed to do). I started drawing again, even if just fanart. and i found things going well. By finding podcasts, story telling and these communities have helped me in my own understanding of what i want in life. I got an ADHD diagnosis earlier this year, and almost directly after started RQG and as my first hyperfixation (that i was aware of as an hyperfixation) gosh dang it hit hard. (in a good way). Ive been able to do so much more creative writing and drawings, and got re-involved with a small dnd group with some friends who i played one game with almost 4 years ago now. So overall, inspirational sounds cringe, but it was. Im doing my best with the upcoming exams, but trying to get in to Medicine is not my only prority, and the fact ive been re-introduced to my first love (Literature and story telling), im planning to go do an Arts degree and i know i wouldnt have been able to confidently make this decision, or even have survived this long in the school system without the work you and your coworkers do. Now the sap is out of the way, Question time! (if you could answer even just one of these questions it would be so cool)(they go in order of RQ relevant to random stuff)(dont feel pressured to answer all/any. i know i wrote alot): 1. what would you say is the best way to draft out a long-form story. (with "Erasing the Line" as an example) Did you start at the end, with the links to the overarching plot.

2. When working with the players (in a form of TTRPG), what did you do to make sure you didnt miss relevant timing of plot points/ avoid creating spoilers while still giving enough detail?

3. What are good places to start with making a job out of storytelling/voice acting/audio etc. In the case of RQ, how is this a job and where do i sign up please! /j (what i mean is, how is best way/how did you find all the people involved and was there a common path that you were all on before getting to where you are now?) 4. Do you have recommendations for Terry Pratchett Books, i may be an literary-leaning student, but it seems i have never actually properly read any of his books. so where is best place to start?/What did you read first?

5. Similar authors or similar inspirations? Did you have a favourite podcast you listen to in your free time that you havnt had a hand in producing/directing/working on. 6. Favourite song/album/artist. And more specifically, what you like listening to in background when doing either writing or (for ttrpg) character research/game planing. 7. Since the olympics are on at the moment, what has been your favourite sport to watch, if you have been watching at all. Thank you for your time :)

Thankyou for all the kind words. Knowing our work is helping people really keeps our engines fired up. Let's see if I can't answer your questions: 1. I "sandbox" which is where I just shove everything I can think of into an unorganised bullet point list. Characters, setting, plot, all of it in one big mess. Then I decide what type of story you want to tell, copy and paste to a new document and then start to organise the thoughts (with the sandbox on standby if new stuff comes in I don't know what to do with). I think of it like scultping, you cut away bits and reshape until something comes out the other end that is story shaped. Only then do I attempt to build the sandcastle and put something coherant together like a synopsis or scratch draft etc.

2. Very tricky. I did a complete review and update of all notes after each recording session and don't forget the audio eas edited. I made lots of gaffs that you never heard as audience.

3. I contacted anyone I could convince to take part and just proved I was serious by overworking. I don't reccomend that route. Unfortunately it really is "who" you know. That doesn't mean chase established professionals as much as it means you need to get out there and associate with other up-and-comers who match your vibe. For me the route was long and windy and not a particularly good example. 4. I normally recommend people do not read his books in publication order. Don't get me wrong, its wonderful watching his craft grow from one title to the next but I would recommend new readers tip their toe into his later works to see if they like where he ended up before committing the time. I often recommend 'Monstrous Regiment' as people's first one. My favourite though is 'Thief of Time.'

5. I don't get much time to listen to podcasts in the last couple of years. I used to listen to a lot of non fiction. 'Stuff you Should Know' and that ilk. I also read a fair amount of classic YA fiction to unwind (Windinsger trilogy, Bartimeous, stuff like that.) 6. Paul Simon's Graceland but when working I assemble a playlist for each seperate project that is tonally appropriate. If I really need to focus I listen to Classical Minimalism. Or the Old School Runescape soundtrack. I'm allowed to be ecclectic. 7. I am actually in an incredibly busy work crunch at the moment so haven't seen any of it!

[dragonridernoobie]

Hello, hello, hello! I saw your requests were still open and since your one of the few tfp writers that has their requests open(plus your writing is awesome) I’ve returned with another request>:3 I really enjoy seeing headcanons where reader is similar to a character I love soooo, here I am as you did so well last to, could I possibly request some headcanons for TFP Ratchet, TFP Shockwave, TFP Optimus Prime, and if your able to TFP Soundwave(completely optional!) with a S/O who’s very nervous and twitchy, very similar to tweek from South Park(I can’t think of another way to describe it:,))

OR

If you don’t feel like doing that, some scenarios with TFP Bumblebee, Optimus Prine(Bayverse or TFP, your choice:>) with a reader like Eska from The legend of korra, similar to Bolin and Eska’s relationship( here’s a video as an example: https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZPRTUnBXW/) idk why but they are just oddly cute-

Anywayyyyss! Remember to take breaks, and don’t feel forced to write this, I shall eventually return with hopefully more creative ideas! Have fun!

I'm so happy you enjoy my writing! It makes me all giggly seeing people say that. I agree there is not many transformer writers or they take a long time to respond. Also, thank you for telling me to take breaks! Don't worry, I will (meaning I will immediately go grind on a game that will make me mad). I hope this is up to your standards and that you love it! Don't remmber to take breaks yourself. (Sorry this took a bit)

TFP x Nervous Reader

Optimus

When optimus met (Y/N), the first thing he noticed was (Y/N) was twitching and was extremely nervous.

He was gonna tell them to stay calm and he ment no harm.

Intel the decepticons appered.

(Don't ask)

Once he got to a safe place, he faced (Y/N).

He was concerned at first and asked if they were ok.

He learned that they are fine but can't control it.

When (Y/N) was brought to base, leave it to miko to make (Y/N) uncomfortable.

She probably said something like "why do you twitch? Is there something wrong with you're head?" 😑😑😑appeared.

Which caused bulkhead to yell at miko

Optimus looked up what was wrong with (Y/N), along with ratchet.

When he figures out what was wrong. He made sure to help (Y/N) as best as he can.

He loves being with (Y/N) since (Y/N) is very nice when they are calm.

He also made sure to keep little things inside of his subspace for (Y/N) like blankets, fidget toys, snacks, etc.

Ratchet

When ratchet meets (Y/N), it was when optimus brought them to base, after they where almost captured by the decepticons.

Even though he is a grump, he aint a asshole.

He knows something wrong, he might be annoyed at first but he will come around.

I can see ratchet being really protective of (Y/N), since they can hurt themselves from twitching alot.

He will look up ways how to help (Y/N) with their twitching.

Once he figures out, he will act on it immediately.

He will take (Y/N) away from anything that will cause them to twitch or get extremely nervous.

He will also ask the kids to get fidget toys from (Y/N) so they have something to do.

Ratchet now has a friend with him while he works on his Computer.

He will listen to (Y/N) talk, since when they are calm, they have a very nice voice.

He will also listen to (Y/N) when they tell him to take a break or take a drive with them.

He will also be willing to drive them to work/school/home.

Soundwave

When he met (Y/N), it was when the vitcons kidnapped them, megatron couldn't figure out why they were twitching, so sent then to Soundwave.

Since Shockwave was busy with predaking or he wasn't here at the time.

Soundwave immediately put (Y/N) in a caps thing (I don't know the name) and watched them

Obviously (Y/N) would twitch non-stop and Soundwave wrote this down.

Eventually, Soundwave will look up what (Y/N) has and once he figures out, he reports it.

Sorry (Y/N), you are the new pet of the decepticons.

(Get you're fucking head out of the gutters you sinners! Shame on you!😤😤😤)

Eventually Soundwave would actually start to build a friendship with them.

He would tell lord megatron they will be their "guardian" and protect (Y/N).

Lazerpeak also loves (Y/N) since they pet their head when relaxing.

(Y/N) is mostly stuck with Soundwave, so Soundwave gets used to (Y/N) just sitting next to his keyboard.

Soundwave would listen to (Y/N) and is penitent when he waits for (Y/N) to finish their sentence.

I can see him trying to teach (Y/N) how to speak normally while stressed.

Random funny pitcher.

[isnt-it-pretty]

I've been reflecting a lot recently on my reaction to the news stories I often see about the dangers of technology and social media, laws banning of cell phones during school hours, school divisions banning technology, the rise of teenage depression as a result of social media, etc. I've always felt defensive over technology when I see these stories, and I think I've realized why.

As a disabled person, my relationship with technology is different than a lot of people's. I use an ereader, for example, because I have low vision and find the font in physical books too small to read. I use the notes app on my phone instead of hand writing things because it's easier on my joints. I keep my cross stitch patterns as PDFs because I can zoom in to see the stitches I need, which I can't do when it's printed out. Even in high school I brought my personal laptop to type out essays because there was a 20% grade difference in essays I typed vs wrote by hand, and whenever I see classrooms banning all technology, I think about that. I write thousands of words for creative writing on my phone because I'm too fatigued to get out of bed. I learned to read because of audiobooks taken out as CDs from the library, something I now have access to in an app. As somebody who is housebound, my entire social life is on my phone. It's how survive, how I create.

If you were to take technology from me, I would be bereft, and not because of an addiction. Technology is simply something I use to navigate the world. Disabled people just like me have lived and loved and created (and still do!) without it, but that doesn't change that I rely on technology to do things I couldn't otherwise do. I never would have learned to read beyond maybe a middle school level without audiobooks. I never would have learned to write without word processors, both of which are a major part of my identity.

Technology, to me, is accessibility, and sometimes that feels forgotten in the sweeping condemnation of it. My defensiveness can sometimes make me overlook the real issues it causes for others, just like for others the problems it causes can make them overlook how necessary it is for some of us. I can't help but think about all I gain from it and where I would be now if I hadn't had access to what I did as a child. I see the harm technology can cause children and even still I wonder, as we condemn parents for ipads and schools for over relying on computers, how many others there are like me who don't even know what they need to ask for.

It's a complicated topic, and like most complicated topics, it gets broken dowm into bite sized pieces. The nuance gets lost.

[allenvooreef]

When I was ten years old, I wrote a book about the son of Peter Pan (heavily influenced by Zelda). My school arranged for it to be printed and stocked in local book stores, I even got interviewed for Jeugdjournaal and had a real signing session!

Once the book was done, I immediately started writing the sequel. It was never finished. Now that I typeset books for a living and have been learning about bookbinding by hand, I figured I should use my new skills to bring the sequel to life. After all, it'd be a shame if all that hard work I did back then remained a dusty document in the back of my drive forever.

I can't tell you how fun it was to work on this project. It was cute, it was cringe, but mostly I feel like it connected me to my inner child and that creative spark that still defines part of who I am today. It's a tribute to younger me, as well as a physical reminder for present-day me that the things I enjoy making matter.

[drdemonprince]

I sat on the floor surrounded by all these written words that evoked nothing but painful memories and past failures. I had always been so precious about anything written down, even holding onto papers I wrote in college and every letter anyone ever sent me. In the past it had pained me deeply when I would hear about a writer burning their drafts or a family member throwing away their letters and journals after they died—to me, it seemed that words were the mark of a life, the storehouse of memory, the only real memorial that mattered. It wasn’t that I felt I would someday be famous and researchers would want to cull through the written archive of my life; half a century in, I had no such grand illusions. Nor did I remotely imagine that my children would want someday to read through all these words. I didn’t even like reading them myself. Like photographs, written scraps of the past spark in me a painful sort of nostalgia, full of an anxious feeling of loss. Even the most pleasant memories captured in a snapshot or a postcard become a reminder of everything I don’t remember, a taunt of every moment not held and lived fully, now gone forever. I have photo albums full of pictures of my children’s early years that I never look at, not because they aren’t precious to me, but because they are so very precious to me. Casting an eye back only drives home how ephemeral it all was. And is. And yet, I had collected all these words—words I was sure no one would ever read, words filling notebooks and boxes and accordian files—like a cold-case storage locker full of the evidence of a life still waiting to be solved.

Here in black and white was a grotesque horror-show version of “this is your life.” I had convinced myself that my late-blooming creative life was new, that I had only discovered myself as a writer in my 40’s once my children were both in school. I had told myself that the growing despair in my marriage was a function of the startling discovery that I might be more than pure intellect, that I might in fact have a deep, visceral, erotic well of creativity yearning to bubble out of me. That I might—dare I claim it?—be a writer. I had convinced myself that was all new, like a mystical vision first revealed to me in my 40’s, a calling that I had to leave my marriage in order to pursue. But the words I now read in these journals and letters were from a much earlier time.  They were from the very beginning. A journal entry on the first anniversary of my relationship: “Why can’t I inspire any passion in [my ex-wife]?” It was 1988 and I was 22. 

Plaintive scribbles scrawled across notebook pages: “WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME? Why can’t I be normal?”  Words cascading down and across the page with no regard for the college rule of the notebook, a mind-map exercise I might have taught to my high school English students in my early 20’s: worthless, unlovable, UNDESIRABLE, FREAK.

And worse: pages spilling over with my dreams of being a writer—pages dated from my 20’s, not my 40’s—full of all the ideas and the passion I had inside of me that I yearned to put into words and send into the world.  I had been yearning for and failing at writing for decades. For my entire adult life.  And now that I had finally gotten myself free, it seemed the trauma of leaving had crushed me. Stolen my words. Maybe it was too late, I would never get my shit together. 

My friend M. Rose is such a wonderful writer, and I love this piece a lot!!

[ladycibia]

Hi, you don't have to answer this or anything, but just hoping you're ok and things are going well. It's been a while - and this is absolutely not a guilt push at all - just a hope that you're ok and looking after yourself, whatever you're doing. Be safe xx

local gremlin returns to infamous website after three months of inactivity

H-hi there! TwT Thank you so much for your concern and for taking the time to write to me such a sweet message, I really appreciate it and I am so, *so* grateful.

I’m sorry I disappeared for so long; I actually wanted to post a boring life update at the beginning of September but my PC broke and I lost tons of stuff, including my programs (+ my printer) and the long text I wrote for that occasion (lucky you). I have this habit of not posting anything unless I have something “creative” (= stupid drawings) to share, so I ended up disappearing (again) from social media.

But I’m fine! I mean, I’m fine, now; last year was pretty tough because of work and I couldn’t even get a proper rest during summertime as I was busy with the move and – well, I’ve got to admit I didn’t have a great time back then. Unfortunately, I’m one of those people who don’t react well to changes (I remember crying because my parents changed furniture once XD) and it took me a while to get accustomed to my new accommodation. But, as I’ve already said, I’m fine now! I started a new job (in my old school! …which is…strange, as I hated my school XDDD) and I can’t wait to enjoy my winter holidays! I mean, the last time I was able to draw something was two months ago and only because I got sick TwT ;;;; and I started colouring them *now*!! It’s the same old story: I miss drawing and I wish I could be more productive, but every time I have a little free time I end up doing my housework or sleeping (or just working again). But I’d like to snap out of this attitude and just be more active even if I haven’t drawn anything! Not on a regular basis ofc, but, you know, from time to time…! Anyway, thank you again for your kind words 💖wishing you the best! ;w;

[1shirt2shirtredshirtdeadshirt]

I woke up this morning and saw I had a message in my inbox on AO3, presumably about by new fic, and was excited to see the feedback.

When I read what they wrote it was a small comment that said "stop using sudowrite".

Had no idea what that even means, so I had to look it up and found out it's some form of a writing AI.

Absolutely fuming.

I want to make something abundantly clear right now:

I have not been hand writing and editing all of my own stories, hundreds of pages worth of personally hand written or hand typed content for the past 16 years, only to get accused of using any form of lazy ass writing AI now.

This is what I love to do. For fun.

I put in a lot of unpaid time, creativity and energy into my writing and editing. The only thing I ask for in return is participation from the fandoms I love, be it via thoughtful feedback or valid criticisms.

But this is neither of those things. This is just an outright, baseless lie against the art that I have worked so hard to make myself, and I won't be undermined or discredited.

There's anger, and then there's whatever space I am occupying well past it right now.

It's infuriating to pour hours of my love, thought and creativity into original content only to have someone come out of nowhere and try to tell me I've been having an AI do it, especially 16 years deep.

Bitch please.

I also found out that app came out in 2020 . . . As I mentioned, I published my first K/S story in 2008 as Ruby JW on the K/S archives, and my first fanfic on fanfic.net was published in 2007 as luigi_is_stellar.

I invite anyone to peruse my decades-long collection of independent content that I have single-handedly accomplished well before such an app even existed, then come back to me and try to tell me that what I do here isn't authentic.

I don't usually get spicy, but when it comes to the art I spend hours writing and drawing independently with my own blood sweat and tears, yeah. I'm going to get spicy.

I do far too much unpaid work out of passion and love for this fandom to have such a serious accusation flung my way out of nowhere.

It's the first time in my 16 years of writing for this fandom that I've ever been accused of plagiarism, and you best trust and believe that I don't take that accusation lightly. I work too damn hard to let someone discredit the work I do personally in such a baseless manner.

Anyway, that was discouraging AF. I am boggled to learn that AI writing is even a thing, no less someone coming out of the woodwork to try to accuse me of using it 16 years into story publishing when I literally teach academic honesty and writing ethics in my line of paid work as an English professional.

Genuinely: Do you know who you're talking to?

A bit of background on me:

I come from a not-so-wealthy family who could not afford to pay to put me through school -- I paid for that all on my own. I had to earn my University English degree, one of four University degrees I hold on my own work and pay alone, without so much as a tutoring session or handout from home.

Not once would I have jeopardized everything I worked so hard and paid for out of my own pocket as a poor ass uni student working two jobs and doing night classes just to phone it in plagiarizing, not on one ounce of my work.

That was all me.

I've handwritten 3 MLA essays in under three hour exams BACK TO BACK, immediately followed by back-to-back Biology exams & a final lab where I ALSO had to write multiple essays and switch from MLA to APA mode within the span of 6 hours.

Those were all bound in handwritten yellow booklets well before we ever had Google Docs, Grammarly, formatting suggestions, or even regularly brought/had access to laptops in UNI. I did my work by hand.

I earned my degrees in English and Biology AT THE SAME TIME before I even turned 24. I earned a double major handwriting my own work papers like my life depended on it, and you actually think I'm about to phone it in now?

Step to me like that again, young blood. I ain't the one.😂

Anyway, I digress.

Ya girl ain't here to fight BC y'all know I tend to be very easygoing, full of humour, and I love to joke around in the fandom. I'm pretty wide open to opposing opinions or even criticisms. But this is unfounded slander, and I won't be taking that on the chin.

When it comes to my work, I take that very seriously, and I don't play around. My late father once told me that "The work you do and the degrees you earn are yours and yours alone, they can never take that education from you." I live by that sentiment, and have done so by putting forth honest work.

Be it paid or unpaid work, it's my work. Periodt.

It is an unfathomably disheartening and insulting message to receive as someone who writes all their own stuff themselves, draws all their own fanart themselves, does their own photo edits themselves, edits their writing themselves, and has never even used so much as a single outside beta reader/editor for my work. Not once. The art, the writing, the editing -- It's all me.

Bottom line:

Say you do or don't like my work, that's cash money and we good, whether it's your cup of tea or not.

Butt know that it is my work.

I will not put all of this free time, effort and love into my work only to be accused of lazily ripping the content that I have spent hours writing and personally editing from somewhere else.

And on that note, consider my PSA rant ended.

[itmeansiris]

The Solar System Legacy Challenge: Getting to Know the Neighbors Gen 1 pt.55

The day before Zohrehs birthday Mercury and family head down the street to meet for lunch with Kiersten and her family. When they arrive they knock and a gruff voice calls out from inside

???: It's open.

In the distance they can hear a softer voice respond, Kiersten.

Kiersten: Did you even check who it was?

Kiersten opens the door and lets them in

Kiersten: Mercury! Kason! I'm so glad you guys made it. Rufus these are the neighbors who own the gorgeous blue house near the towns center. I told you they came by yesterday to say hello while you and the boys were out.

Rufus was in the middle of a flash card lesson with his youngest son. He cuts the lesson short, kissed the small red headed boy and stood to greet them.

Rufus: Good to meet you. Rufus, I see you've meet my beautiful wife. This handsome guy is Malachi and our oldest son Tucker is around here somewhere.

Kason steps forward to introduce his own family.

Kason: Rufus, nice to meet you. Kiersten it's nice to see you again. I’m Kason, this is my wife Mercury and our triplets Venus, Ishtar and Aphrodite and our youngest Zohreh.

Rufus: Well lets not stand in the doorway come in please.

As soon as everyones inside, the oldest boy Tucker comes down whining loudly to his parents.

Tucker: Mooooommm you said dad would help me with my creative writing paper. I actually have to attend school tomorrow if you forgot.

Tucker plops down at the kitchen table.

Rufus: We have company buddy.

Tucker looks around noticing there are other people in the room.

Tucker: Um...sorry. Hi, I'm Tucker.

He politely introduces himself.

M: It's very nice to meet you Tucker. If you don't mind me asking what is your creative writing story about?

Tucker smiles and animated launches into an explanation of the world he'd created and the characters and creatures that inhabited the land.

Tucker: I want the main character to become a werewolf but I've never written about werewolves. Which is where my dad came in. He loves the supernatural, but he hasn't had much time since the move.

M smiled and sat down across from him.

M: Well I just happen to know a little something about writing werewolves. Would you mind if I helped out?

Rufus and Kiersten looked at each other surprised.

Kiersten: Thank you so much, but we couldn't ask you for that. We invited you over for lunch and to hopefully make friends-

Rufus: Yeah, not put you to work.

Kason laughed, seeing Rufus and Kiersten finish each other sentences made him like them more. They reminded him of himself and Mercury. It was easy to see they had a close family dynamic and a healthy relationship.

Kason: One thing you'll learn about M, writing is never work for her. She's a pretty amazing author herself.

Kiersten stops in her tracks as realization dawns on her. She walks over to the bookshelf and pulls out a familiar book.

Kiersten: I knew she looked familiar. She wrote "Journals of a Werewolf".

Rufus takes a closer look at the photo on the back of the book.

Rufus: Well what do you know, that is you. I admit I'm a little ashamed now, I've read that series at least a dozen times. Can't believe I didn't recognize you.

M laughs and reassures them.

M: Please it's better that way. But it's nice to know you enjoyed the series. Thank you

Tucker: Sooo, can she help me?

Kiersten hesitates still

Kiersten: We really couldn't ask you to do that.

M: It's not a problem. Please I'd like to help.

Rufus: Kier she says its okay. Besides who better to help him than the werewolf master herself. Thank you Mercury. Come one Kason we can head out back. Falls taking its time and I just got a new grill I'd like to give a go before the season gets too cold. We'll take the little ones we have a swing and space for them to play.

Kason and Rufus around up the toddlers leaving Mercury to help Tucker with his story.

After about an hour Tucker and Kiersten join the others in the yard.

Kason: Where's Mercury?

Kiersten: She went down the street to change. I thought she was dressed a little warm for the weather.

M returns 10 short minutes later and everyone is already gathered outside.

Rufus: You're just in time. Your husband was just impressing us with his culinary talents and finished up what looks like an excellent set of Chimis.

During their meal Kason and M ask the Walter’s what brought them to Brindelton Bay. Rufus explained how he'd been promoted from his position as Constructor of Computers in Chestnut Ridge.

Rufus: The office out there is still small and well they aren't all tech savvy. So the only way to really get the promotion was to move my family to San Myshuno or the Brindelton Bay office. My choice was a clear one.

Kason: It will be nice to see a friendly face in the office.

Rufus smiled, the comment meant to instill a sense of friendship but Kason knew it had another meaning, but that was an issue for another time.

As the evening draws to an end M extends a invitation to Kiersten.

M: Tomorrow and the day after we’re having birthday parties for the triplets and Zohreh. You guys should all come by.

Kiersten pulls M into a hug

Kiersten: We would love to, and thank you for today.

M hugs her back. When she pulls away Kiersten wiped tears from her eyes.

M: For what? We were guest in your home we should be thanking you.

Kiersten: You and your family have made us feel so welcomed already. We've hardly seen any of the neighbors sense we've been here. The last town we lived in was so lively, and warm. The people were like family. We've been here for almost a week and your family is the first and only to come over and even introduce themselves.

M: The neighborhood is fairly quite. More dog owners than families with kids, living so close to the clinic and dog park. Don't worry it was the same when Kason and I first moved here. We can go by the cafe or the towns national park sometime.

M: And if we don't find any nice people don't worry, you and I are going to be good friends.

Kiersten giggles and wipes the last of the tears from her eyes,

M: It'll be nice to have a friend close to home.

Kiersten sighs

Kiersten: It'll be good to have a friend. I'm so excited for tomorrow.

Kason arounds up the kids as M finishes her goodbyes. Before they leave Tucker runs out and hugs M tightly

Tucker: Thank you so much Mrs.Gratz! Could you come over again and help me with more of my stories please?!

M: I told you it's okay to call me Mercury, and I would love to help you with your stories in exchange you and your family have to come over to our house tomorrow for Zohreh's birthday. What do you say?

Tucker: I get to come to your house?! Mom we can go right?

Kiersten: Of course

She mouths thank you to M again with a fresh batch of tears in her eyes.

M: Then i’ll see you guys tomorrow. Thank you for lunch. Have a goodnight.

PREV

NEXT

*Journals of a werewolf” is the book that got M her 4th celebrity star. It was a best-seller and she won a star- accolade award. It’s the book most sims are likely to have read. She wrote 2 squeal’s.

[areyougonnabe]

I know nothing about polar exploration! Or Shackleton! But you seem excited about it!

Have a favourite fact you'd like to share?!?

well my two favorite facts have already been shared which are the cautionary tale of the toxic polar polycule and the story of the antarctic lovebirds !!!

but here is a contender for #3... the tale of jessamine.

let's start with our homies Deb (left) and Griff (right), aka Frank Debenham and T. Griffith Taylor, the geologists of terra nova's cape evans shore party:

they would both later go onto impressive careers in academia, start families, basically be well-liked hard-working guys (also participants in 20th century imperialism but let's take that as given based on our starting point of this expedition lol)

BUT we are meeting them here, in antarctica, aged 27 and 30, "Early Career Researchers" as we might call them now. trying to keep busy with SCIENCE during the long antarctic winter night of 1911!!!!!

these guys go way back btw. Deb was born and raised in Australia and and Griff moved to Australia when he was a kid, and they both attended the fancy-schmancy King's School near Sydney, the Australian equivalent of british public school (e.g. Eton). according to griff they were family friends at that time although they would have been a few years apart at school.

later around 1908 they both studied at the University of Sydney under leading geologist Sir Edgeworth David, who had been on Shackleton's Nimrod expedition and reached the South Magnetic Pole with Mawson. They both ended up being hired onto Scott's expedition through university connections, Deb via Professor David and Griff through a scholarship to Cambridge where he met Wilson.

okay. backstory established. now one thing you need to know about Griff is that he was a total freak. like Racovitza, he was a Poster before there were online platforms to Post on. if you had that kind of brain back then, and no access to adderall, you had to just sit around inventing new kinds of science instead of deep-frying spongebob screencaps. he was a consummate edwardian memelord who would read a novel per day and still have time to write 20 pages of diary in which he would floridly record the silliest things that happened since the morning, the various quirks and quotes of expedition members, and then complain about captain scott in shorthand.

to say nothing of his passion for CREATIVE WRITING! vitally, Griff was one of the main contributors to the Cape Evans hut magazine, the South Polar Times edited by Apsley Cherry-Garrard. there were 3 issues of this during the winter of 1911 and 1 issue during the winter of 1912, the latter of which included much material written/submitted during 1911 before the polar party met with tragedy.

Griff was a versatile writer, and his pieces (which would sometimes cumulatively make up nearly half an issue of the SPT by page count) ran the gamut from expository nonfiction to speculative poetry to comedic epistolary to magazine pastiche. he had certain motifs that he frequently returned to—none as compelling, in my opinion, as that of Jessamine. or Jasmine, or Jessie, or Jessica, as the case may be...

it all began, according to Griff's diary, early in the austral winter of 1911, when Deb was "christened Jasmine by Titus [Oates]."

where this nickname came from is unclear—many of the men had picked up female nicknames on the voyage down (see "Jane" Atkinson, "Marie" Nelson, "Penelope" Pennell) but Deb had not been on the voyage down because he had gotten picked up in Australia, so this may have been a belated attempt to correct that omission. Griff wrote in his book about the expedition, "We were short of female society—which lack also accounts for Jessie Debenham as an alternative to Deb."

in any case, the name clearly caught on: on midwinter day, a little under two months after the nickname's debut, Griff recorded that during the gift exchange after dinner "Every second present or so was a necklace or earrings for Miss Jessie Debenham."

(deb and titus at midwinter dinner)

THIS GOT REALLY LONG SO CLICK READ MORE IF YOU ARE INTERESTED!!

in the second SPT issue of 1911, Griff's 17-page narrative "The Bipes" describes the inhabitants of the Cape Evans hut from the perspective of a rabbit who lives in the stables. you can read the whole thing here and please do!!! (you'll need a VPN outside the US) BUT here is the relevant bit dealing with Deb:

U. PULCHERRIMA. This Bipe inhabits a strongly defended Bungkh in the Ubdug burrow. It is supported by mighty baulks of timber and can only be reached by means of a dangerous ladder. The Bungkh is supplied with heavy hammers, piles of stones and other offensive weapons. These precautions are, I believe, necessary in the Bipe courtship, for she is often called upon to repel members of other burrows who approach her balcony with blandishments. Her time is chiefly occupied with a primitive quern or handmill, and at this she grinds for long hours every day. I judge that this merely satisfies some primitive habit, for no flour seems to be produced. But it is pleasant to see how strong is the feminine instinct.

the species name "Pulcherrima" is also the species name of the pointsetta flower, and can be translated to "beautiful woman" (i think??)

here's the illustration produced by Bill Wilson (based on Griff's sketch) to accompany the above - yes that's a portrait of Griff in her bunk and Birdie below attempting to woo her:

it must be noted that Meares, nicknamed "Mother," also gets cast in a female role in the Bipes piece, but does not receive the privilege of being drawn in a skirt, rip.

anyway, the next issue of the SPT, vol 3 issue III, is the last one to be produced before the end of winter. Griff decided to one-up himself and write a piece in which Jessamine takes center stage. The Ladies Letter is a pitch-perfect parody of the "Ladies Column" sections that appeared in many periodicals of the era—full of french fashion terms and simpering style suggestions. Griff brilliantly adapts the format for a pastiche on the subject of Antarctic fashion; not free, naturally, from general whiffs of period-typical misogyny, but as those being mocked in specific are fellow expedition members and not any actual women i forgive him.

written in the form of a letter from Jessamine to her absent friend Cynthia (whose identity i'm unsure of BUT i'm tempted to say is supposed to be Priestley, away at Cape Adare), the piece again features multiple expedition members in female roles, including Silas as "American" Sally Wright, Cherry as "Madame Chérie - that dear delightful person - who builds her beautiful creations on strictly scientific principles of hygiene and aesthetics" and Birdie as Madame Berdé, who "finds that for well developed figures it is most distinctive to use a cross-gartering well above the ankle. She herself is naturally a consistent exponent of this latter fashion."

and then of course there is Jessamine's star turn. she is wearing the newest fashion, "a modification of last year's 'tube skirt' [which] even more closely swathes the lower limbs, and it is necessary that the wearer should be rolled along by her maid."

Jessamine reveals that she is planning to induce Titus Oates to bring her a proposal of marriage through the clever use of themed charms on her chatelaine.

All the smartest girls have wreathed chains of mascots around the skirt, and a pretty idea, which I commend to you, is to have silver model made of those articles which interest THE ONLY MAN WHO COUNTS. Breathe this to no one! But Mappin & Webb are making me such a choice set. The cutest little pony; a horse snowshoe (this is very lucky); a dead rabbit; a popgun; and a silver blazon PER MARE PER TERRAM PRO TITO; this will be attached to my 'tube', and then I really do expect to bring him to a proposal.

this scenario was illustrated hilariously by Bill, complete with Jessamine being rolled along, and Titus ignoring her as could be expected, in favor of a pony (Christopher?):

now, Deb is on record saying that Titus was his best friend on the expedition, but it may well be a classic case of "you are not your best friend's best friend," because per other accounts Oates was much closer to Meares and Atch than he was to Deb. that's just an observation to add a little flavor to Jessamine's desperate pursuit as portrayed here...

and not to look a gift horse (ha) in the mouth, but i do feel that Bill's illustrations don't quiiiiiite do the genderfuckery of Griff's text justice—Jessamine describes herself as wearing a frock inspired by the aurora, but Bill instead draws Deb in normal sledging gear plus some non-dress-shaped colorful streamers. a missed opportunity...

also, lest you think that Griff was the only one partaking in the Jessamine joke in the SPT, there is also a sneaky reference in the anonymous feature "My Favorite Book":

(J-SS-- [JESSIE]: "Not like other girls")

BUT WAIT. THERE'S EVEN MORE.

viewing the handwritten drafts of the SPT held at the SPRI (because all of this is going to be an actual academic paper someday hopefully lol), i learned that there were a fair handful of references omitted from the final version, presumably thanks to Cherry's editorial oversight.

one "answer to correspondents" written by "Marie" Nelson went as follows:

Jessica: A single lady cannot be too careful about the respectability of her lodgings or the character of her companions.

(referencing Deb bunking with Griff and Gran, two of the more annoying/messy people in the hut)

and an unused entry in "Songs And Their Singers" by Teddy Evans was:

Oh What’s Womans Duty - Jasmin

lastly, and most importantly, the drafts contained the one instance i could find of deb firing back about this whole thing.

vol IV of the SPT consisted of one issue released during winter 1912, when a lot of people had gone home (including Griff), and everyone left behind knew the polar party was dead and they'd have to go look for their bodies in the spring. it was not a fun time. vol IV contained a lot of material written the previous year but not included, since for obvious reasons folks weren't really up to being silly. one of those pieces was "A Day's Doings, Told By Our Diarist," written during winter 1911 by Deb as a parody of Griff. it's pretty funny in published form (p. 72 of this pdf)—Deb is on-point mocking Griff's dislike of eating ("Breakfast is an unintellectual meal, so gave it a miss. Better a bit more bunk than a bite more breakfast.") and his never-ending theorizing ("Thought out a new theory as to the origin of debris cones: yesterday’s wasn’t good enough").

however, the draft is exponentially more hilarious. Cherry, damn him, cut the absolute BEST BIT:

Made a genre sketch of Jasmine brushing her (his) hair – it’s a fool nickname anyways, mixes up the genders. 

knowing Deb—quiet, patient, chronically non-confrontational—that's about as explicit as he was willing to get, as far as revealing how he felt about the nickname. writing Griff realizing that it's a bit silly, he reveals to some degree his own discomfort. now, was it a "protest too much" situation or had he genuinely gotten fed up with being the Designated Girl Of The Hut? we shall never know!!!!!!!!

however the draft of the piece ends thusly: "[I] got paralysed at chess by the wily Jasmine, it’s a mud game, if ever there was one. Hinc illae lacrimae!"

so despite all the aspersions cast on her honor, and the failure of Titus Oates to accept her proposal, Jessie still triumphs in the end :)))

[beloved-child-of-the-house]

i stand with you in the face of a defensive misunderstanding of what critique is.

i think understanding what a critique actually is is a skill that increasingly is not taught. i remember going through freshman art courses feeling the frustration that all negative, nasty, unhelpful, and missed-the-point-entirely feedback is so commonly conflated with critique, and then critique gets a bad name because everyone remembers the time someone said their painting looked like an asshole (true story, altho now i think i would take it as a compliment) instead of the time a teacher or friend or classmate helped them uncover a hurtful bias or think of new ways to explore the same idea or how to connect it to related ideas or how to look up and understand other people's ideas on the same topic.

anyway i think you're great.

ahhh you're so kind to me!! i appreciate your support, and i think you are great also.

i have experience with giving and receiving critique as a student myself, and i think it was the best part of my degree! i majored in creative writing in college, and critique was just a generally accepted part of learning to become a writer. i don't even remember people being especially worried about receiving critique on their work. we had guidance on what kind of feedback was useful, but we were still at liberty to give it as we saw fit as like messy 19 year olds. the standard was that we gave it both written on printed copies of the work AND aloud in front of the whole class, and the writer receiving it was not permitted to speak during the critique. understanding how people are perceiving your work is important!

i don't have any particularly negative recollections of the critique process, although once in a high school writing class, the boys in the class told me that my male characters touched each other too gently and real boys are more rough with each other. in particular, they took issue with me writing that one boy nudged another. nudging is too soft. nudging is for girls. that was more than 20 years ago, and i still think about it sometimes because it was such an interesting perspective! i did not take their advice, though.

i should dig up that piece and see if it reads queer in any other ways. i think that's what they were getting at. (actually i once had a non-fiction class tell me i was in love with my roommate after reading an essay i wrote about her)(i did not listen to that advice either, but having 12 acquaintances tell you that you're gay in 2006 before you realize it yourself is Truly Something!)

i think people have conflated criticism and critique and think that being more openly analytical is the same thing as being negative. but analysis is so fun to me! analysis is why i joined fandom in the first place, and it's why i write fic! can we trust each other to be respectful and to speak in good faith even when we're not singing each other's praises? for me fandom would be better if we could.

oh i also want to clarify that i don't think it's impossible to demonstrate that you've thought deeply about a piece of fanwork while remaining completely positive. people do it all the time and do it very well!

i know i sometimes have tunnel vision wrt my own perspective. in a lot of situations, i wish it were more acceptable to be more direct, and i know people sometimes find the way i express myself to be kind of shocking. i know a lot of people like to be spoken to more indirectly than comes natural to me, and i don't mean to imply that my perspective is the only correct one or that there's no good reason to err on the side of gentleness/politeness in our responses to amateur art and writing. i just think that at a certain level of circumspection, it feels like we're all holding each other at arm's length.

i think for people who can't bear to feel exposed, making and sharing art is always going to be painful and difficult, and maybe too painful and difficult to enjoy the process unless they're sure of a soft landing. but like. the rewards of being loved only come after the mortifying ordeal of being known, right?