#I'm trying to will myself to put actual effort into the rest of the story

[collectingmuses]

// Hello, yes, here's the mentioned shippy drabble I wrote about two OC's set in the late 70s.

Is this purely for myself???....yes. I'm posting it anyways.

Her eyes were drawn to the glint of the coin in the dim light, watching as it flipped effortlessly through the air, blurring into a silver orb as it twirled. The quarter clattered against the bar top, bouncing unsteadily onto it’s edge where it wobbled and spun before finally falling over and settling to a full stop.

“Heads. Fuck!” George Washington’s expressionless face stared off into nothingness as Maggie let out a frustrated groan.

“Holy shit.” Eric murmured, his usual dry monotone tinged with the faintest hint of genuine surprise and enthusiasm. “I won? I never win.”

“We can flip it again.” Maggie offered. “Yeah? Best two outta three?”

“Oh, no. No, no.” Eric’s smirk stretched out into a full blown smile as he picked up the coin, tapping it against the hardwood of the countertop and slowly backed his way towards the jukebox. “The rules are clear. Winner gets jukebox rights for the rest of the shift.”

Maggie cringed. “At least pick something good.”

The only thing close to a reply that came from Eric was the sound of the quarter dropping into the metallic slot on the front of the jukebox. Maggie sighed, frowning in anticipation while watching Eric press a few different buttons, getting his money's worth of music. The jukebox whirred to life, dropping the first 45 onto the spindle.

Buddy Holly began to play, eliciting another exaggerated moan of anguish from his coworker.

“Mate, you’re killin’ me with the grandpa music.”

The duo were opposites in every sense of the word. Maggie, a fish out of water, was stranded a long ways away from her native England. That in itself was enough to make her an oddity in this backwater Louisianan town, but her chopped and dyed hair and DIY clothes, all ripped and torn and sewn and safety pinned, made damn sure that she stood out amongst the locals more so than she ever did back in West London.

Eric was a veteran, a draftee of ‘nam. He never talked much about it, and Maggie never really pried, but she’d gleamed enough to know it was a bad time for him. Real bad. Not that you’d ever know it to look at the guy. His dry, sardonic voice...the little grin tugging at the side of his mouth as he swept the bar floor and grooved along to the music he knew she couldn’t stand...he seemed normal, well adjusted. He was the exact kind of square that Maggie and her friends would snark about in her old life.

‘Funny how that works out?’ Maggie mused to herself, absently polishing the last of the glasses, stacking them up in rows of five behind the bar. ‘Anywhere else, any other time or place on the face of the earth, and we’d never even give one another the time of day.’

She glanced up in time to see Eric twirl the broom around playfully as he began sweeping between the opposite row of tables.

‘Well...I wouldn’t, at least.’ she continued the thought. ‘Eric’s too much of a puppy.”

“What?”

Maggie jumped, Eric’s voice jolting her from her little daydream. Part of her worried she had accidentally uttered the quiet part loud, but the truth was only slightly less mortifying. Eric had caught her staring at him.

“You.” she covered, not missing a beat. “Just watching the show. They teach you those moves in boot camp, soldier boy?”

It was enough to earn a laugh from the young man. “Oh, yeah. First week in basic...how to cut a rug.”

“Too bad your taste in music is shite.” she teased, still somewhat sore over losing the wager. One of the positives about closing the bar alone was having full control over the music. She’d managed to sneak a few records from her personal collection into the machine, and while she’d been able open up Eric’s mind to the new punk sound, he still had a habit of playing tunes that hadn’t been considered cool in well over a decade. She missed nights of endless Sex Pistols, The Damned, and the Stooges.

The song came to an end, the jukebox whirred to life as it switched out the vinyl for the next song. Eric shrugged and set the broom aside.

“You don’t like my music, you don’t like my moves. I just can’t win, can I?” he replied, playfully pouting. “Make you a deal, though. You do me this one little favor and I’ll unplug the jukebox, reset it, let you play what you want for the rest of the night.”

“Mmmh, tempting. What’s the catch?” Maggie asked, arms folded atop the polished countertop as she leaned forward, like she was about to hear some juicy secret. The needle dropped inside the machine, the opening strains of “You’ve Really got a Hold on Me” by Smokey Robinson began to play from the speakers.

“Dance with me?” Eric asked, as casual as can be while threading a hand through his shaggy mop of blonde hair.

Maggie the sarcastic, tough, caustic, young woman that she was hadn’t expected to be caught so off guard by the bluntness of the request. Her face went a faint shade of red, which she tried to hide by tossing up her hands and (accidentally) letting out the most undignified snort/laugh/squeal that either of them had ever heard.

“Are you takin’ the piss?” she asked, all while Eric smirked and began to dance along to the song. Maggie shook her head, trying her damnedest to appear unaffected, which wasn’t doing much to convince either of them. “You must be. You’ve lost it, man.”

Eric didn’t respond, instead he kept dancing, picking up his broom to use once again as a stand in for a dance partner. He moved to the beat...even began to sing along to it while playfully motioning to Maggie to join him.

‘ I don't like you, but I love you...’

“Oh, no. Now the singing. I can’t believe this.”

‘Seems that I'm always thinking of you.’

“Eric, seriously, I’m weighing the pros and cons of committing arson right now.”

“Oh, oh, oh, you treat me badly...”

“Ugh, ALRIGHT fine!” She huffed, slapping her hands against the counter, just barely hiding her own bemused smile. Maggie stepped out from behind the bar, dragging her feet while making her way over to the taller man. “...but I get to play what I want for the rest of our shift.”

“Hey, that was the deal, right?” Eric replied, dropping the broom, and offering his hand to the punk rocker. She hesitated, suddenly feeling quite shy. Eric was a friend, about the only one she had since ending up here in Sunny Hollow...he was always kind to her, despite her sarcasm and barbs aimed at his insufferable, loud mouthed brother. He was just goofing around, nothing more...right? No, she wasn’t reading too much into this.

So then why the hell was her heart pounding so hard as she took his hand?  Where was her wit and venom as he gently pulled her closer to his chest and began to slow dance with her? Just like that, her defenses were gone.

Whatever concerns she had about getting back home, about this strange little town, about where exactly her and Eric stood had melted away. Right now all that mattered was the moment. An arm slid around the soldier’s waist, her cheek resting against his chest, letting Eric lead them as the song continued to play. 

It wasn’t a very long song, unfortunately, already more than half over by the time she had finally agreed to the dance. Just as it ended she felt him begin to pull away, no doubt to keep up his end of the promise.

“Ok, Mags...I guess I made you suffer enough. I’ll go unplu-”

Maggie tightened her embrace, keeping him from breaking away just yet. Puzzled, Eric peered down at Maggie who met his gaze.

“One more?” she asked. “Your taste isn’t that bad.”

[fixyourwritinghabits]

How to Tell If That Post of Advice Is AI Bullshit

Right, I wasn't going to write more on this, but every time I block an obvious AI-driven blog, five more clutter up the tags. So this is my current (April 2024) advice on how to spot AI posts passing themselves off as useful writing advice.

No Personality - Look up a long-running writing blog, you'll notice most people try to make their posts engaging and coming from a personal perspective. We do this because we're writers and, well, we want to convey a sense of ourselves to our readers. A lot of AI posts are straight-forward - no sense of an actual person writing them, no variation in tone or text.

No Examples - No attempts to show how pieces of advice would work in a story, or cite a work where you could see it in action. An AI post might tell you to describe a person by highlighting two or three features, and that's great, but it's hard to figure out how that works without an example.

Short, Unhelpful Definitions - A lot of what I've seen amount to two or three-sentence listicles. 'When you want to write foreshadowing, include a hint of what you want foreshadowed in an earlier chapter.' Cool beans, could've figured that out myself.

SEO/AI Prompt Language Included - I've seen way too many posts start with "this post is about..." or "now we will discuss..." or "in this post we will..." in every single blog. This language is meant to catch a search engine or is ChatGPT reframing the prompt question. It's not a natural way of writing a post for the average tumblr user.

Oddly Clinical Language - Right, I'm calling out that post that tried to give advice on writing gay characters that called us "homosexuals" the entire time. That's a generative machine trying to stay within certain parameters, not an actual person who knows that's not a word you'd use unless you were trying to be insulting or dunking on your own gay ass in the funniest way possible.

Too Perfect - Most generative AI does not make mistakes (this is how many a student gets caught trying to use it to cheat). You can find ways to make it sound more natural and have it make mistakes, but that takes time and effort, and neither of those are really a factor in these posts. They also tend to have really polished graphics and use the same format every time.

Maximized Tags (That Are Pointless) - Anyone who uses more than 10 one-word tags is a cop. Okay, fine, I'm joking, but there's a minimal amount of tags that are actually useful when promoting a post. More tags are not going to get a post noticed by the algorithm, there is no algorithm. Not everyone has to use their tags to make snarky comments, but if your tags look like a spambot, I'm gonna assume you're a spambot.

No Reblogs From The Rest of Writblr - I'm always finding new Writblr folks who have been around for awhile, but every real person I've seen reblogs posts from other people. We've all got other stuff to do, I'm writing this blog to help others and so are they, the whole point of tumblr is to pass along something you think is great.

While you'll probably see some variation in the future - as people get wise to obviously generated text, they'll try to make it look less generated - but overall, there's still going to be tells to when something is fake.

I don't have any real advice for what to do about this (other than block those blogs, which is what I do). Like most AI bullshit, I suspect most of these blogs are just another grift, attempting to build large follower counts to leverage or sell something to in the future. They may progress past these tattletale features, but I'm still going to block them when I see them. I don't see any value in writing advice compiled from the work of better writers who put the effort in when I can just go find those writers myself.

[fishnapple]

🔞 Channelled message:

The first time that they feel desire for you & their fantasies

(lover/partner/future spouse)

This is an old reading, I actually have this type of readings stashed away in my draft from months ago but could never find the right time to post them. So here is one of them. Enjoy.

Disclaimer : Contain mature contents. Minors (under 18y/o) do not interact.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost

Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

AGATE

Are you generally this flirty and aggressive with other people or only with me? I'm worried. Other people shouldn't be able to witness this side of yours. Am I a possessive person by nature or I'm only like that towards you? I don't know anymore.

I was perfectly contented with my daily life, structure and routine bring peace to my mind. I could be a very repetitive person, don't find me boring, I won't be like that with you. Do you know why? You jolted me out of this safety shell and plunged me into a strange land by that playful and straightforward way of yours.

The moment you came closer to me with that broad smile and that heat, oh, that heat, I could feel it in my skin even when you were not touching me at all. Thanks to you, I've discovered that I have the hot for aggressive people, or it's just you. I imagined you grabbing me and bestowed me with a passionate kiss, then whispered into my ears how much you wanted me. It sent a shiver down my spine. I'm not gonna lie, I felt instantly aroused, I hope that I didn't make a fool of myself in front of you. Just know this, I will have no problem getting aroused whenever you initiate it.

You protested that it wasn't how you behave? Well, it's true, you weren't exactly that sexually aggressive towards me like that, not yet, not in the beginning. You probably were just having some fun, playing some games, tackling some creative projects, or recounting some fun stories while I looked at you and wished that passion of yours would be directed at me instead.

You were so brilliant, a walking flame. You awaken my desire like lightning striking down a tree. My mind went into fantasy land and imagined what it would be like, holding you in my arms, naked, both of us, our chests pressed against each other, touching that soft skin, both outside and inside. What we could discover about each other, what we could experience together. I wanted to be risky, to pour all of my desires on you, to taste you everywhere, to do it until we're both overwhelmed, to see where the limit is, and push through it.

Another thing that I have to confess is that at that time, that feeling was pure lust. I hadn't developed romantic feelings for you yet. But my desire for you will haunt me, I won't be able to decipher the reason. Until someday, when I finally looked deep into my feelings, after questioning it thoroughly, I will arrive at the conclusion, the inevitable, that you are the one for me.

Note: this person will develop sexual desire for you when they see you putting effort into something creative, when you were having fun, showing jest and passion for life, being assertive in a playful, flirty way. It may be a random moment, not a big event. That attitude will be a contrast to their usual way in life, so they will find it exhilarating and freeing. That will also affect their fantasies about you, wanting to be free, having no limit, indulging in each other, touching your deepest place. There could also be some exhibitionistic desire, somewhere a little open with the risk of being seen. Other than that, they don't really have any specific kink or particular fantasy. They are mostly go with the flow style.

FLOURITE

Does me saying I love your tears turns you off? Don't worry, I will never be the one that makes you cry, or at least I will try not to be one. We can cry together, you can cry in front of me. The sight of your tears will tear my heart open and let out this feeling that I myself wasn't aware of before.

I was really grateful that you chose to be open with me, telling me your pains that no one else had ever known. It's my honour. At that moment, I felt as if our hearts had been bridged, your emotions flowed into mine, I won't even know what was yours, what was mine. I will feel this rage inside, toward life, maybe? How could life give you so many pains like that. You were just yourself, yet people couldn't have the bravery to face that realness. Please don't ever dim your light for other people or for anything.

But that rage will be accompanied by desire. My desires are tied to my emotions. The more intense the emotion, the more intense my desire will be. I will feel this instinctive urge to protect you. Destruction and protection go hand in hand. I wanted to force all those painful memories out of you and burn them, to replace them with memories of me.

I felt a war inside me. I wanted to touch you softly, caressing every part of you, to tell every inch of you that it's okay, to wrap you with pleasure so much that those tears will be tears of pleasure (oh no, will that make me the one that makes you cry? I'm willing to be the offender then). But I also wanted to grab and take you into me, to push you so hard that we would become one, whatever I do, you still feel so distant to me. I got impatient.

But I won't act on that desire. I will be gentle, I will be the comfy bathtub that you drown yourself in after a long day. To be the warm water in the tub, lapping over you. Can you feel my heat? You don't need to do anything. Let me take care of you.

Note: This person will feel an intense desire to protect you and to soothe you. To them, emotions go hand in hand with sexual desire. So the moment that their emotions and yours are heightened will be the point where they feel sexual desire for you. At that time, you could be telling them about past pains of yours, likely from childhood, it related to being an individual, isolation, not fitting in, of loss. You will be crying, the tears will be the trigger.

This person has the ability to connect emotionally with other people. The connection of emotions will lead to the connection of bodies. They are gentle but have a more aggressive side to them, a little extreme. I feel like the moment they feel desire for you will lead to your first time with each other. The fantasies will stay in their head, but they won't act on them completely. It could also come as a surprise for you. You may not be fully aware of the extent that is their desire for you.

They have a liking for water and wetness, be it the water around you when you are having sex or the water coming from you. So they might like to give you oral, shower sex, licking, dripping, spilling. They will also like to talk to you to instil their own fantasies into your mind so that you will share the same fantasies for each other. They want to achieve oneness.

CARNELIAN

I suppose that I wasn't being honest with you. Hiding all my problems and weakness, my insecurities were many, you know, they weighted heavily on my mind. Every night, they would come in, haunting my sleep. Life is heavy to me, I'm a fearful person. I've never felt safe in this world. My foundation is lacking. It felt like I was living in a castle made from cardboard, ready to collapse at any moment. And how can I welcome another human being into this shabby castle of mine? That was how I thought about our relationship. I wasn't courageous enough, I let my demons whisper in my ears while you were there, caring, with the gentlest love that I've got.

It was until we had our first serious argument with the possibility of you leaving that I was awakened. It felt like hearing something exploded. I was disoriented, the first thought that sprang to my mind was to hold you, firmly, to drag you into my cardboard castle, to let you see it all, without care how it could collapse with both of us inside.

I thought that if I prepared enough, I would be confident, I would be able to show you our bright future together. But when will be enough? I'm ashamed that it had to take an argument for me to realise it, that my desire for you would be ignited in such a negative situation, human sure are weird creatures, don't you think?

No, I didn't act out that first thought, I just grabbed your hand and apologised, like a good and polite human. My heart was awakened, but that doesn't mean my mind would just quietly follow suit.

After that incident, I found myself thinking about it again and again. I would relive the argument but put an erotic twist to it. (TW: dubious consent) I imagine me being rough and acting all assertive. Without a second word, I would pull your turning back close to me and kiss your neck and shoulder from behind, arms caging you so tight, you would feel a little suffocated. Then, as I feel you getting softer, I would let my hands trace every inch of your body, with you still a little miffed but can't resist my touch. I imagined you being pleasured until you let out a soft moan, shaking in my arms.

Then I would turn your head around to face me and kiss you with my all, without being afraid that you would find out all my insecurities and all that unsightly parts of me.

Note: This person could be quite emotionally distant, afraid to commit because of their insecurities. They are restrained and tend to overthink everything, to the extent of being paranoid. They are in their head more than their heart, their heart is a dangerous place for them.

There will be a point where you are tired of the uncertainty and distance in this relationship. The situation would be when you go on a date with them, something not quiet right will happen, something small, but you will argue and the argument leads to a bigger issue. You will want to walk away. This is when they realise the possibility of losing you, like a Tower moment. They don't want that to happen, so they will grab your hand and apologise, explaining their problems. Some kind of commitments will be formed. And also the desire for you.

They have a more aggressive and earthy side to them that is hidden and only comes out in their fantasies. They would want to pleasure you from behind, making you feel their feelings for you through physical touch. The focus is on you. They imagine themselves to be more brave, to open their heart for you to see without a care in the world.

AMETHYST

Ah, our first kiss, our sweet, sweet, first kiss. I can still recall the taste of you exactly, just like being on that day again.

Do you remember it too? We even took a picture of us kissing, to solidify our memory together, a celebration for our love. I felt so warm, like a sun has found refugee inside me. The kiss transported me into a magical land, into our future together, our journey has started.

I will be thinking way far ahead, about how our wedding will be, where will our honeymoon be spent, how our first night as a married couple will be, how our kids would look like, how we would be worried about their future and finally have some rest together in the old age. I didn't know that I was such a planner, or was I a dreamer? No, I'm a magician, I will make our dreams come true. Yes, brace yourself and start looking forward to it.

I have a commitment kink. There, I've said it, loud and clear. The moment we solidify our commitment to each other (I like the word 'solidify', like heavy concrete that we could sit on) will be the moment all my passion broke free and come running to you.

Do you think our lifetime plan in my head is just some innocent planning? No, I'm a sucker for details. No detail of our life will escape my mind. Including our sex life. What kind of domestic life could be without the pleasure.

Just like when we were dating, we will continue on being smitten with each other well into our trembling-hands-and-hair-whitening era. You and I will make sure that passion is never lacking in our relationship.

We will talk about it a lot, seriously and flirtatiously, teasing each other, then sit down and discuss it, like a research project. We will try many different things, getting feedback from each other, then calibrating the system until it reaches perfection. We will also tell each other about our deepest fears and painful memories, then we will kiss each other better every time.

Let's grow together. Let's run our naked bodies along the seashore like little kids, collecting seashells, giggling then colliding into each other.

Let's have our late night debate about the metaphysical then tearing out clothes in the process.

Let's grow trees together in our garden, let's get dirty (literally) as we embrace each other (I can't help using 'each other', I also like this word) on the soft, damp earth. Then, many years later, we will embrace each other under the shade of our grown-up trees.

Note: There's this warm and bubbly, exited energy to this person. The moment you first kissed will be when they start imagining your life together. They get turned on by commitment and the future prospects of your relationship. When they're dating, they definitely have long-term commitment and marriage in mind.

They are quite cerebral, love to think, and plan ahead. But those thoughts don't just stay in their head. They got put into reality. They like to think about the relationship as a project to build and to perfect with their partner. But they are not rigid. They like spontaneity. They want to feel the pleasurable aspect of the relationship with their partner everywhere, to make memories, to celebrate the love. Everything can lead to sex. They seem to have a preference for the outdoor and nature.

ROSE QUARTZ

Hmm, do you have some kind of superpower? The kind that can lower other people's intelligence? I felt like a toddler learning to speak for the first time when I'm around you. And this mind of mine did not feel too well about that. I'm usually the one that people look up to. I can say with some confidence that I'm an intelligent person, but being in front of you? My intelligence seemed to take a strike and went for an infinite vacation. I don't think you've noticed this dilemma in me. Thanks goodness, at least I could still appear as a good enough debate opponent for you. What's with all this talk about intelligence anyway? Because I want to know the cause and effect of things. I want to know the cause of my desire for you and the effect of it.

To put it plain and simple, you challenged me mentally. Who would have thought that I could get turned on by debating about the present school system with you? Talking about vehicles turned me on, talking about religious matters turned me on (wait, that doesn't sound right). I know you didn't do it to rile me up. You simply share your view and ideas with me, innocently. But I also know, our debates turn you on too, you can't hide that twinkle in your eyes whenever I say something controversial or go against you view. We flirt by words, our words, they clash then kiss each other. Is 'arguing' in public considered a type of PDA?

I thought I was the absolute ruler of my own mind, sitting smugly on the pile of gold, getting praised by commoners, confident that no one can match me (I'm a vain and arrogant human being okay). Then the gate was blasted open. There stood you, alone, with that bazooka for a mouth and an equally smug face. I thought that you came to steal my gold, no, that wasn't the true horror, you came to tell me that my gold was fake. Ah, how I slipped and fell, face kissing the ground. How dare you? I had to bravely stand up and charge at you, to kiss you? (Eh, I didn't expect that twist. Is this some kind of cheesy romance web novel?). Don't take it the wrong way, it's not like I'm worshiping you or anything, I just want to get close to you to study you, to pull out all of your secrets, and then? To sit at your feet and admire them, maybe? While we are in the mood, may as well dress the parts. Let's turn ourselves into characters of our own novel. Let me regain some of my dignity in my fantasies. Let me be the teacher, and you be the student, nodding admiringly at my every word. Then, while I'm drunk in your adoration, you would turn all bratty and tease me, strip me of my dignity again.

Note: I don't have much to say about this person other than you may want to save up to buy lots of costumes later on.

This person is quite arrogant and used to being admired and put on pedestal by other people. But you won't be like that to them. You challenge their world view, kick them down the pedestal, and they like that. There could be a masochistic streak in them. Wanting to be put down, to be humbled. They will want to be lured into a trap by their partner and be tricked into submission (willingly, with consent, of course). They like you to act bratty while they pretend to be frustrated and have to give in to you.

They have fantasies about role-playing, could be related to medieval themes. I don't see any particular actions, just them liking the mental stimulation and talking back and forth. To them, pleasure comes from the mind.

OBSIDIAN

Do you know about the ducklings imprinting? About how in the early period of a duckling, they capture the image and sound of a moving being into their mind, permanently solidifying this being as the object for the duckling to follow? I was like that with you.

You came into my life during my most transforming period. I felt like I was born again, leaving behind all the bad memories and disappointments. I felt weak and lonely, lost in this new world, literally, I had to move to a new place, getting used to the new environment from the start. And you were there, gently walking side by side with me. It's bittersweet how I had to go through the darkest moment in my life to meet you, but it's all worth it. You made the pains feel like distant memories.

I still remember that moment perfectly. You came to me, asking if I had eaten. I said no, and you proceeded to cook a speedy warm meal for me. I wanted to cry, honestly. Never in my life had I ever thought that food could be such a multipurpose thing, a miraculous balm, a pouring melody, a comfy blanket, a word of love. I felt full and nourished, by you.

Let me put you on the pedestal a bit, let me see you through a rose coloured glasses, let me dream about you every time sleep comes to me, temporarily or eternally. Let me return the love equal to that you've given me, or even more than that. I want to give you my all, at the same time, I want to be all that you have, as you are mine.

Sometimes, I wished that there's only the two of us in this world. How I wanted to muffle all other noises, smear all other colours, air out all the scents so that the only remaining things are your voice, your colours, and your scent. Let me paint you. Though I can't be confident that there exists a kind of paint that can convey the brilliant of your skin, your eyes, your hair. It's frustrating how I can see you crystal clear in my mind yet unable to translate the image into the canvas. In this case, could you be my canvas and let me paint myself onto you?

Note: This person has a sensitive and artistic soul. They will meet you when they've just come out of a dark tunnel, starting a new life, moved to a new place. They will get attached to your kindness and warmth. I feel like the situation when they develop desire for you for the first time will be when you are comfortable with each other already. You could come to their place, cooked for them. They could see your care, which will trigger their emotional desire for you. Their physical desire is tied to their emotional desire.

They will want to serve you, to put you on pedestal and cater to your every desire. They could be a little possessive, wanting you for themselves. They want to have sex in somewhere secluded, private and quiet, with a sparse surrounding or even empty. All of their focus will be on you. They will want to stay silent to hear your moans, eyes fixing on you all the time, and breathing in your scents everywhere. Then after the sex, they want to paint you, on canvas, you could be their muse, or paint on you with their marks. It's like your existence in their mind and in front of their eyes are still not enough.

[physalian]

Seen a couple varieties of post on here in the realm of “nobody owes you fic comments” and… actually?

Some of the reasoning was like “you aren’t entitled to praise” or “maybe nobody commented because it’s bad and it helps you write better” which is… you’re supposed to interpret my silence as constructive criticism is not great. Or, the big one, “write for yourself”.

Cool.

First of all, nobody "owes" you fic comments? I'm sorry, is this a new bitcoin I haven't heard of? Is there a bank collecting interest on fic comments? Do you have a strict budget of commentability? Ffs you should want to comment and show that you like something, you gatekeepy cynic.

I write plenty for myself. If I choose to post what that writing is online, I am doing so because I am seeking engagement. Every fic out there is posted under the presumption that the writer wants feedback, otherwise you could easily disable comments, likes, kudos, and shares. Even if somebody in the notes says “y’all don’t have to read this I’m just archiving it”

… Do you really believe they mean that and wouldn’t be excited that somebody gave kudos anyway? Have you ever met people?

Saying this because writing is supposed to be fun. I love writing for myself, but the moment I decide to share it with others, the whole of my enjoyment of my craft is split right down the middle, 50% ‘I’m happy with this’ and 50% ‘are you happy with this?’.

If I’m not getting feedback, I will keep it to myself. Time is the one thing you can’t get back and if I get a more positive and healthy experience just keeping shit to myself and not risking silence from the void, then I’ll do that, and you won’t get fic. Not here holding fic hostage or anything, but if I’ve only got 8 hours out of my week to write and one private WIP makes me happy while one pubic WIP is just a reminder that no one likes it… I’m going to put the effort into the private one, the one that’s written for me.

Now I’ve never largely participated in fandom in the first place and am utterly shocked whenever anything I write for older fandoms gets engagement and I’m not posting with the mindset of “if this doesn’t get 5 kudos fuck ‘em” it’s a subconscious thing.

It’s a “Imma try this out. Oh, ok, well posting online feels no different than keeping it to myself and in fact the act of getting nowhere makes me feel a little worse, so never mind let’s take that down and go back into the safe space of a private Word doc.”

The act and love of writing is not intrinsically tied to the approval of our readers. The act of sharing our writing is.

Especially with fanfic: fic is designed for sharing, it's the act of showing love and support over a beloved story.

And this weird idea of “only good fics get kudos” is like… babe, people gotta start somewhere. I’ll read a lot of “bad writing” that has a good idea just executed poorly and still have something positive to say. It’s not hard. Being nice takes, like, 5 seconds.

Tap the kudos, send the bare minimum of a heart emoji through the comment, hit submit, and go about your day. You’re not out here rewarding “bad fic” with attention. We can all tell which fics are of higher quality and one little comment isn’t going to turn a bad writer into an egomaniac. You aren't rewarding bad writing, you're telling a hopeful writer "I see you over there standing awkwardly in the corner, here come join the rest of us, it's okay, we're here to have fun".

All of this shit is free. They write for free, your account is free, kindness is free.

So be kind.

[ventismacchiato]

dude. genuinely, you are such an inspiration. being a college student and generally having a life, it could be so easy for you to just half-ass your work but no, you meticulously write every chapter, putting in so much effort and attention to detail that it's honestly so impressive. your passion and care shows through your writing, and you've lowkey ruined smaus for me because I can't find any other writers as good as you, and I've followed you since jptp era so like, I'm in this shit for life now I fear.

i can't tell you how many times I've found myself awake till odd hours of the night just rereading your works because atp they're like a source of comfort. the way you write your characters makes them feel *real* and not the bundles of pixels they actually are lmao.

i genuinely just have so much respect and admiration towards you, and your writing is what inspired me to restart writing as well, even prompting me to ask for your opinion first and foremost during that ssmy fic (which I gave up on 💀seriously dude, mad respect to you for your writing once again).

even the fact that you not only deliver extremely well written chapters, but you also expand on those chapters through the form of hcs and asks and it's just. so evident the amount of care you have for your works and it's so heartening to see.

anywho sorry for the long ramble😭take care n rest, stay hydrated n GET SOME SLEEP OMFG😭

omg thank you so much dee this is so sweet 😭 whenever ppl say i’ve ruined smaus for them cus i write too good i’m so flattered cus that’s insane hello

that’s so sweet omg 🙁 i’m so ill in the head i love spending hours creating backstories so i’m glad it transfers well 🙏

that’s so cute and omg yes i rmbr! (it’s ok u can try again :) )

ahhh thank u!! i love knowing other ppl have hcs too like that’s so cute it’s like fanfiction for my fanfiction like omg ppl care just as much to ask me silly questions about my story 😕💓

ahh don’t be sorry it was very sweet and SLEEP IS FOR DA WEAK!

[fuck-customers]

I love you I love you I love you I love you. I understand you are in constant pain. I understand recovery is not linear. I understand that some days you will not be as capable as others. and I am ok with that. I will never be upset because you are unable to help as much as before. there's no shame in that and I never want to make you feel bad about inhabiting your body. I know a body can be a difficult thing to have. but. if I come in to help. and you don't WARN ME about needing to put more effort into helping you move. it will actually physically hurt me. so I'm trained in how to help other bodies move, right. I could hypothetically get you into bed and/or into dry/clean clothes with you as dead-weight. I have done this before with people who are fully paralyzed (or heck I have given literal post-mortem care if you want to know what actual dead weight is like) but the way I hold MY WEIGHT and move my body CHANGES depending on how much weight I'm going to actually move. if I already know you. and I know that 90% of the time I can provide light support to help you roll to the wall so I can change your brief. I'm less likely to do things like: get the bed up to a height that lets me stand with my back straight (because it takes too long and there are literally 20 other people I have to help within the next 2 hours or I can be tried for neglect). and if I'm already bending down and expecting to just give you a push as you do most of the rolling, and then I realize (halfway through the roll) that you are not just not helping BUT ACTIVELY RESITING because you're in pain. it will ruin my back for the rest of the day if not the rest of the week. and there's no reason not to just tell me it's a day you need more help. That's a decent part of WHY I asked how your day was. yes, it's mostly because I'm polite and I genuinely care about how you feel, but ALSO it would be a great time for you to be like "Oh, actually my hip's really been bad, and everyone keeps making me roll on it". then I can change my approach, I can ask what exactly hurts and try to come up with a way to help avoid more pain. I'm not going to belittle or question or shame you for having an off day, I promise. I might even have a different technique that keeps you off your hip altogether. I want to help you. I'm not working this job because it's the easiest way to make money. I find genuine joy in being a part of your life and helping people in the way ive been trained. I enjoy your stories and insights. I consider you a "work" friend more than my actual co-workers. but this job is wearing on my body, and when you don't warn me about how much I'm going to need to use my body. I hurt myself AND I run the risk of hurting you more. please just let me know before, please.

Posted by admin Rodney

[mysteryshoptls]

SSR Ace Trappola - Platinum Jacket Vignette

"Happy 100th Anniversary"

[Land of Dawning – National  Museum of Art]

Ace: Huuuh, so this museum's been open for 100 years, huh. It's got some pretty cool exhibits.

Ace: Tryin' to appreciate art just seems boring, and I totally thought bein' a supporter was not my bag, but I might be able to enjoy myself here after all.

Ace: ―Ooh, found me the painting of some card soldiers! Look at 'em, all cool the way they're standing at attention like that.

???: Mhm, their perfectly aligned call to attention is quite the spectacle.

Ace: Ah, hey, Lilia-senpai. You must have great taste to see the true quality of this painting here! Haha.

Ace: If the rank and file are in disarray, then it doesn't look good at all. They gotta be in perfect formation, especially when marching.

Lilia: That's correct. So, you understand what it means to march as they do… Not bad, kid.

Ace: Not that much. I mean, back in my dorm, we just have certain days that all the students are required to march in formation.

Lilia: Kufufu, I heard that practice for that begins as soon as you enter. I've heard many a classmate complaining about it here and there.

Ace: Yeaaaaah, I can see why they'd want to complain. It's not just the Housewarden; even our usually nice upperclassmen come down on us hard during the training.

Ace: The first time I had to march after joining the dorm was the worst. We definitely looked nothing like the card soldiers in this art piece.

Ace: When we looked at the video that Cater-senpai took for us, we could see that the first years' walking was ALL OVER THE PLACE.

Ace: Every one of 'em couldn't get their arms and legs up and moving properly, and they were all looking down. It was sooo lame. I couldn't even laugh at how bad it was.

Ace: By the by, I got praised pretty much right out the gate ♪ They all said that my spirit fully embodied the heart suit card soldiers.

Ace: It's easy for me to just copy what I see the upperclassmen are doing, or what the video's showing. I don't get why all the rest of them were havin' a bad time.

Lilia: OHO～～～?

Ace: Eh? What's with that grin? You're kinda giving me the creeps all of a sudden.

Lilia: How rude of you to call someone as cute as me creepy! But aren't you actually quite the diligent one.

Ace: DILIGENT!? I don't think that word suits me at all!?

Lilia: Not only did you follow the examples set by your upperclassmen, you also watched went further and watched the videos and practiced on your own… I'm seeing you in a whole new light, Ace.

Ace: Ahh, c'mon. Stop patting my head like that. It's not like I was trying to study for it or anything.

Ace: It woulda been a pain and pretty lame if I had to stay behind to practice. That's why I just wanted to get it done ASAP. That's all!

Lilia: It's nothing worth getting all worked up to deny.

Lilia: I think it's rather commendable that you put in the extra effort in order to seek what you think is "cool."

Ace: I'm not getting worked up…! Wait, I got a feeling that if I keep responding, he'll just keep stringing me along to tease me.

Ace: Uh, I'm gonna go to check out the cool-lookin' painting over there!

Lilia: Hey now, don't leave me behind. Kufufu, this must be that adolescence I've heard much about.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Lilia: Let me see, what cool painting were you talking about… Oho, it's of the King of Beasts. He looks oh so dignified, I can't help but find it charming.

Ace: Aaand he followed me… But yeah, I definitely agree that's he's pretty dignified.

Lilia: There are many legends swirling around the King of Beasts. Just from looking at this painting, I can't think of which scene they're trying to depict here.

Ace: Uhhh, based on this info they got plastered next to it…

Ace: Looks like… Oh, it's where he was talking about his vision for the country's future with his hyena retainers.

Ace: I actually really like the story of how the King of Beasts would always trust in his hyenas.

Ace: Oh yeah, and that one where he performed songs for his people!

Lilia: Mhm, that's a good one. He is a sophisticated king indeed to utilize singing to vow to improve his country.

Ace: Riiiiight～? Totally get why the hyenas were so excited that they were singing and dancing all through the night.

Ace: The King of Beasts looks pretty unapproachable from just a glance, but he must have had a ton of charisma.

Lilia: Well, he did have the power to move his people's hearts through song. If he had his due, perhaps he would have been able to sway the whole world with his song.

Ace: Totally. If I had lived during the same era, I would have loved to go and karaoke with him.

Lilia: Speaking of karaoke… I heard you and Sebek went for that.

Ace: Ah, did you hear that from Sebek? We went with Deuce and the two from Ramshackle…

Ace: Jack and Epel also tagged along. But maan, it was pretty insane.

Ace: So many of them were new to it, so I had to teach them everything, from how to choose a new song, to ordering food. You'd think they'd have common sense to figure out, but c'mon.

Ace: We literally couldn't sing a single song for the first 30 min or so, I was like, what did we even come here for!?

Lilia: Kufufu, now, now, you can't say that. I'm sure there's things you're not familiar with, too.

Ace: But c'mon～ …Well, I guess it was kinda fun to have a small competition using the karaoke's scoring system.

Lilia: So, you had a karaoke competition! I would love to tag along next time. So, who won?

Ace: Well, that's obvious… IT WAS YA BOY ACE-KUN HERE!

Ace: When I hit 100 points, everyone was lookin' up at me like idiots, all like, "you gotta be kidding!"

Ace: As a bit of a handicap, I chose of the recent viral songs and did the dance that went along with it, too～

Lilia: Oho, that's amazing that you can sing while moving your body without missing a beat.

Ace: I mean, unlike those guys, back in middle school I would go karaoke a lot.

Ace: And all those guys kept shouting that they'd practice singing so they could sing next time, but y'know…

Ace: There's actually a trick to getting the high score on that machine's scoring function. It's not enough to just be a good singer.

Ace: At this rate, I think I'll be taking home the win next time too ♪

Lilia: Kufufu, looks like even the ones who don't get to spend that much time together with you all had some fun, eh?

Ace: Well, I guess it wasn't too bad.

Ace: They'd choose stuff like old songs that were popular during my parent's heyday, or minor folk songs…

Ace: It was kinda neat that I heard a ton of songs that I normally wouldn't listen to. It was completely different to how it'd be if I was with my friends back home.

[Land of Dawning – National Museum of Art]

Ace: This painting is of those eels that served the Sea Witch…

Lilia: Mhm. It's said that whenever they found merfolk in distress, they would encourage them to seek the guidance of the benevolent Sea Witch.

Ace: Huuh, they look kinda scary, but… Guess you can't judge a book by its cover.

Lilia: Speaking of… Ace, I heard you went a little viral on Magicam the other day.

Ace: Geh! So, you saw that post too…

Lilia: Kufufu, I took it all in.

Lilia: "This scary-looking young man in a flashy shirt was kind to a kid in this burger shop," it said.

Lilia: You did a good thing, Mister "Scary-Looking Young Man in a Flashy Shirt."

Ace: C'mon, can you not tease me!?

Ace: The comments section was going wild with stuff like, "I love that personality gap～" and "The scarier the person looks, the softer their heart is."

Ace: I definitely don't like people just deciding that I'm scary just from how I look, or just assuming that I'm nice.

Ace: More like, I think it was 'cause I was with all my basketball teammates that I ended up looking scary too.

Ace: And 'sides, that patterned shirt I was wearing wasn't even something I'd pick out on my own.

Ace: Floyd-senpai made me buy it sometime back, so I thought it'd be bad if I didn't wear it, that's all…

Lilia: Hm, guess it was a mistake of them to comment on your appearance, then. But it was true that you were nice to the kid, right?

Ace: Nope. I just was throwing something I didn't want at 'em!

Lilia: You gave them something you didn't want…? So how does that turn into being "kind" to the kind?

Ace: So, when my clubmates and me went to the burger shop down in town, we got a free card with our orders.

Ace: Something about how they were doing a collaboration campaign with a movie that was recently released.

Ace: I at least knew what the movie was, so I opened it up, but just as I was thinking to myself that I didn't really need a card, or anything…

Ace: This kid who was nearby just randomly started crying. Apparently they wanted a hero card, not a villain card.

Ace: That's why I just gave him the card I had. It just happened to be the one he wanted.

Ace: I was able to get rid of something I didn't want, and I didn't have to listen to the sound of crying in the background. Win-win, right?

Lilia: Well, when you explain it like that, it definitely no longer feels like a heartwarming story.

Ace: Riiight? But then all the folks on Magicam had to go and try to treat me like a nice guy. Everyone's been teasing me about that too…

Ace: In the end, even the Headmage got wind of the video and just wouldn't stop praising me, saying "This is a fantastic thing you've done!"

Ace: Maan, preconception can be a crazy thing. I bet if I was wearing my school uniform, it definitely wouldn't have taken off.

Ace: They say that it's not all about appearance, but I guess that first impression you get is still important.

Lilia: Kufufu, I bet if the parents of that child were to hear your true feelings about it, they'd be shocked.

Lilia: Well then, I think I'll go on to check out the other exhibits. Bye then, Ace.

Ace: Whew, Lilia-senpai just couldn't stop teasing, huh. Wellll, what should I go and look at next…? Hm?

Ace: Woah, it's a painting of a walrus and the oysters. Lookin' at it here, the walrus really looks like a proper gentleman.

Ace: I bet those oysters were also tricked by how the walrus looked. Can't help but feel sorry for them… Heh.

Requested by Anonymous.

[chevvy-yates]

Sending out kudos to everyone who has shown their love towards Ryder for the past two years.

I love u all very much and every engagement, be it even just a like, means a lot to me.

I've intended to sorta make a cool post of some older vp of him as of today, September 17th, exactly 2 years ago I have created Ryder,— back then as a supposed supportive character for Vijay, very unsure if I would like him as Ry didn't visually turn out as I wanted him to be in the first place and he never went that way either afterwards — yet I find myself writing those lines instead.

I've accepted his look and his imperfection started to grow on me with each picture I took of him. Unlike my other ocs he went his own way leading me along to discover his personality. That's what makes him so different compared to my other blorbos and has me so attached to him.

I did not plan to make him a raver (he was supposed to become an 80s goth punk, a total different style than he's got now) neither that he would end up with a rogue AI controlling him. Only his name, basic info and the toxic family story was planned right from the beginning but that's pretty much it – Ryder showed me the rest of it.

Within the year 2023 I noticed more and more that Ryder has slowly but surly turned out to be my main character.

He turned out to be the most expressive and photogenic one of them all. I don't see him as the prettiest looking either yet he's my most precious and I love every pixel about him.

He's the one thing in my life I am actually truly 100% proud of.

Almost all my ocs exist because of him. They are his support characters. Without him half of them would not even exist. There would be no Thyjs. Even Garnet exists so Ry can live out his passion (that was not really put into the game but exists as lore: Technoise).

I am beyond happy to have created him.

He helps me in a lot of rather personal ways too I do not need to address here.

I got so much to tell about him (also about my other ocs) yet idk if I should continue or not as I find myself stuck with overthinking about it bc of lack of public response literally everywhere (this excludes private chat talks with close friends). Maybe Ryder's too intimidating (not the first time I would read that), his lore gets overlooked easily, or it's to much (confusing) text.

I cannot make anyone force-like him. Tastes are different. Minority is into others oc lore. Less time to read it all. The list is long. I'm aware of it all.

But I cannot underline it enough: do never hesitate to ask me questions about him. He's on my mind 24/7 and my biggest wish is to get this story out and done some day (whenever it will be) and receive some actual feedback on it what was liked.

Just a tiny detail is enough. <3

Another wish I have ever since I joined the CP77 fandom: that people would go back to comment each other more. We all do have little time for it, we all think "oh no so much text to read", we all are in our own bubbles rarley coming out to explore another bubble within this universe. It takes a lot of effort to do. people do seem scared on top to write anything at all for numerous reasons. I have all those problems as well. But I try to sit down and read the one or other lore chunk others wrote down and give a tiny comment as best as I can to make the creator have a smile on their lips. I truly wish we all would do this at least once a week to one person. once a month would be also fine. But if we don't this fandom will be dead soon enough and all thats left is just liking vp with characters on it we know almost nothing about. And maybe even those characters won't have lore anymore bc people stop creating it.

[eleventhhourfactor]

First day of 2025 has been good so far. So good, in fact, that I've decided to actually make a self-reflection/look to the future post, as much as I'm trying not to be vain.

Anyway...2024. There was a lot happening there.

If we're looking at Tumblr alone, it's pretty clear that this was the year that solidified Mario and Luigi as a hyperfixation for me. Helped along by the mutuals I made along the way, I turned out a lot of stories for AO3--moreso than I'd ever done for any other fandom prior to this. It's...mindblowing, honestly. Just the year before, I'd written and deleted my works after becoming convinced that it wouldn't amount to anything and ought as well not be out there. It was a pattern I longed to break, and I think I've finally cracked it, and I've never been happier to put myself out there and be cringe and free.

The rest of 2024 was a hell of a lot of change for me--mostly good. I moved across the country, started writing for another company, found another special interest in the form of Mario RPGs. I also realized that a load of my extended family have garbage takes, and that I alone can't fix that for them. My cat needed teeth taken out, my car got hit by a delivery truck in the parking lot, and I got holed up at my in-laws' house with the flu on Christmas Day. I'm still trying to make real-life friends, which seems to be an outstanding issue for little ol' me. Outside of college, I've never been great at making and keeping friends.

But I do have my network, without which I wouldn't have been able to publish a story, plan a big move, or even doodle on occasion. And you, dear mutuals and others, are a part of that, I've come to realize. It's stupid and corny, but there's something really neat about going to the internet and nerding out about things through headcanon posts, fabulous art, and wonderfully-written tales. What's even crazier is what fanwork can drive me to do in my original little things.

So, for 2025, along with some outstanding fics I need to wrap up and work on, I also want to put some work and effort into fleshing out a long-running project of mine: the world of Astrara, the worldhoppers moving throughout, and the threads of the universe tying it all together. There's characters I've been bouncing around in my skull for nearly a decade now, and it's about time I clear the sad lack of confidence from my space and actually draw them to the life they deserve. Might I make a comic? Who knows. For the next year, I just want to draw my little dudes until I run out of pencils, and then scan it in and color digitally. I want to make more art, and I want to write out the story of Lenora, Aylín, and their absolutely batshit journey to find their way home. Or at least, get the bullet points down and go from there.

It's crazy, but I thought turning out over a dozen fanfics was insane as well, and look where I'm at. Anything can happen. The spark has caught aflame. I want to keep creating. For the first time ever, I want to keep going with whatever the heck I've got going instead of letting it sit while I grind to live.

So, follow me as I get this going. See how far I go or fall short. Maybe ask me some more about what exactly I'm working on. I'd love to brainstorm and share and get others interested, too.

A bit of insurance in the form of doodles. Lenora on the left, Aylín on the right. One's being careful, the other wants to fight.

Kinda funny how much I project onto my own little stories.

Thank you all for sticking with me. Sorry this turned from reflection to a bit of narcissist goal-setting, but I've never felt so set on a creative goal before. This project means a lot to me and my growth over time, and without stepping out and meeting you all, I'd never be able to do this. So, thank you for being there, and I hope I've been able to do half as much for you.

Under the cut special! Sending love to all the people who keep me going on here. Like, y'all are so great. You are all great people.

So, mutuals and creators I admire (as well as my frens), this one's for you:

@giddlygoat @peaches2217 @snakeeyesdraws @bberetd @itsavee4117 @silenzahra @silksongmaiden @fyreburning @akiiame-blog @megamagimugi @supergay-64 @artizonka @rainbogen @loud-kid2 @@diamondempp @dooxliss @lu1g199 @laatgag @moriouchou-radio @thegravityshark @gustygardns @vulpixfairy1985 @vbnhuet

[olderthannetfic]

One of the things I've seen people who support End OTW Racism talk about is wanting to make sure only people who should reclaim slurs use them in their work. This raises a lot of questions to me, such as 1. how are you going to determine who gets to reclaim a slur 2. how are you going to determine that an individual is in the group you've decided should be allowed to once you figure out the answer to point 1, and 3. how are you going to deal with the fact that sometimes, a word is a slur in one language or one region of the world and not the rest? A lot of people I know in the United States only found out what the slur is for Pakistani people when a YouTuber from the UK (who is black, not Pakistani himself) got heat for saying it, for instance. If someone accidentally uses it as an abbreviation, not knowing it's a slur in the UK, then how is the moderation team supposed to handle that?

I like the idea of having more moderators who can review instances of harassment and racism, but I feel that some of these proposed ideas are not practical or realistic to implement online in large-scale on a site as big as AO3. I hate that anyone who asks these questions is being framed as being "pro-racism". Of course I'm anti-racist, I'm not white and I've experienced it in fandom, but having been in fandom for this long, I'm aware that it's a big space. It seems to me to be an impossible task to check that every single person using a slur is someone you've decided should be allowed to do so for every single instance of it being used in every story on the entire archive. My main fandom alone is half a million works. It would take an astounding amount of volunteers to look through that.

Also, though... people lie. People lie about their race a lot online. I have caught out many, many people in the act of lying when they claim to be Afghani because, as a mixed black/Pashtun person myself, I know enough about the region to ask them things like what language their parents speak or what part of the country they're from, etc., and people haven't put in enough effort to read up on the thing they're pretending to be, so they say something so incorrect it's readily apparent. But there are a lot of Afghani-Americans with very little knowledge of the country, too, as a result of generational trauma. Even I have sometimes found myself going, "Is this a lie, or is this someone who's just disconnected from their roots?" So how are volunteers on AO3 supposed to know if someone is or isn't the race they say they are? Even BIPOC can misidentify someone as a liar or believe someone who is actually lying if the liar in question put in a lot of work into their grift.

And that's without getting into the obvious fact that people are assholes who will lie about authors and forge evidence against them to try to convince the mods so-and-so is lying about being black so they shouldn't be allowed to use the word 'colored' in their historical fandom set in the 1890's. You know people would do that to each other, it's fandom. Fandom has always had toxic people in it.

A lot of people who back End OTW Racism keep saying, "we're just holding AO3 to it's promise back in 2020" but don't seem to have thought through their suggestions on how AO3 does that. I really want to be onboard here, but these ideas were not well thought-out. Even disregarding how many people it'd take to moderate a site this big, the flaw baked into this and many other proposals is that it falls into asking the moderators to make personal judgments and assessments of sensitive matters and situations where they don't have all the information they'd need to make that judgment call.

Honestly I think before calling for action, they should've had a list of actionable ideas for what AO3 do that are not so obviously rife with flaws and room for abuse by bad-faith actors.

--

There really doesn't seem to be a lot of willingness to deal with the reality of both racefakers and POC getting harassed for doing their own identities "wrong".

Frankly, I'd rather have lots of questionable works than one instance of demanding some hapless minority teenager prove their identity because they ~don't sound authentic~.

How much must that fuck a person up, especially if they're young? Especially, especially if they're some kind of diaspora, quite possibly displaced for unpleasant reasons.

I frankly think people massively overestimate any "harm" from some crappy fic a person refused to click back on and massively underestimate this other kind of harm.

[alex51324]

Dear it/its users

OK, so this is a speech I've been working on ever since my sister told me that my two nonbinary niblings had added it/its to their list of pronouns. So far, they haven't indicated that those are their first-choice pronouns, so we've kind of been skirting the issue, but I've been getting this ready, because I love them and want to try to help them avoid long-term unintended consequences as they enter the adult world. Now I'm sharing it with you, because doing so is as nice as I know how to be.

First: If I, as a queer elder and active Tumblr user, have the initial reaction of, "Fuck, these little shits are going to get somebody fired with their 5-edgy-4-U bullshit," that is super-important context for you to know in considering taking this choice out into the larger world.

Now, I have made the effort of educating myself, and I understand that many people who make this choice have substantive reasons that go beyond edgy teen bullshit. However, you have to allow for the fact that the majority of people will not move past their first impression regarding this choice.

Being gender-nonconforming is already a strike against you in a lot of contexts--even in reasonably liberal settings, unconscious bias is a thing. Is being it/its important enough to you to add another strike against yourself?

Second: People are going to be uncomfortable calling you "it," even if you've thoroughly explained why you want them to.

This is different from people not wanting to call you by your chosen name, or wanting to call your by the pronouns for your gender assigned at birth, because these people will be coming from a place of wanting to respect you.

Yes, you can argue with them that calling you as you want to be called is the most respectful option, but they will still be uncomfortable. You can't reason them out of feeling uncomfortable, because they didn't reason themselves into it. It's a feeling. They may get over it in time.

But.

If those people do not already have some prexisting love, loyalty, or commitment toward you, that motivates them to sit with that discomfort and work through it, the easiest way out will be to simply decide that--for some totally unrelated reason, that their conscious mind will be fully convinced is true--you and they just didn't click! You don't seem like a good fit for the job, team, walking tour of the Lake District, whatever it is.

Because people don't like being uncomfortable, and if mentioning your existence puts them in an ethical dilemma, a lot of them will just nope right out of it.

And again, these will be people who are motivated in part by their desire to respect you and your autonomy. They will feel, consciously or not, that you have put them in a shitty position where no matter what they say, they'll feel like they're doing something wrong--

And they, dear nibling, will feel that way because you have. You didn't intend to, but you did.

I love you, and if that is your choice I will get used to it, but I am writing this in the second person for a reason.

Story time: I was trans/nonbinary in nine-teen-fucking-ninety-six. The LGB* organization on my college campus didn't know what the fuck to do with me. When I said in "let's go around the room and introduce yourself" time on the first day of class, that despite what the roster said, I was actually a boy called Alex, people got nervous and looked away, and kind of avoided talking about me for the rest of the semester.

(*By the time I left, it was the LGBT organization.)

And then when I was ready to go to grad school, I had professors tell me that they weren't sure how to write me a letter of recommendation, because they knew I didn't want to be called "she," but if they put "he," the recipient might be confused, and if they put "they" they'd look bad because we were in the English department and "they" is plural.

When I got to grad school, I kept "Alex," but skipped saying anything about my gender identity. It didn't help all that much. I got along well enough with my classmates, but all of the professors seemed to be waiting for me to cause trouble, and as a teaching assistant my student evaluation comments made frequent reference to my gender presentation and how they found my name "confusing." (Another grad student, whose name was James or something like that, went by Kip, and nobody gave him shit about it.) I got an anonymous rape threat in my campus email about my "indoctrinating students with my radical agenda," and the campus cop who responded to the complaint said maybe I should, "Tone it down a bit." (Tone what down? I was dressing and acting pretty much the same as the male half of my class cohort.) I ended up dropping out after the Masters, even though the plan all along had been to do the PhD and have an academic career.

Throughout all this, I was a bit more oblivious than I should have been about the underlying pattern behind all this--blame the autism, I guess.

I don't know, if I'd realized it all, whether i would have made different choices regarding my identity and presentation--since my choices were pretty much limited to "present as my gender assigned at birth, or suffer the consequences."

You, today, nibling, in 2024, have the option of being a "they/them," and if you choose your company right, it won't be a big deal--it'll close some doors, but mainly ones you don't want to go through anyway.

Or you can be an it/its, and watch doors slam in your face.

I will love you and support you either way, dear nibling, but I can't make the world love you.

I--we, my generation--changed the world enough that there's a space in it for people like us. I hope you make that space bigger, better, and brighter, but it hurts to think about you dragging yourself through the same shit we went through. We built a path behind us, so you wouldn't have to.

(P.S., For the love of god, please don't get a nonbinary gender marker on your driver's license; the last thing we need is you getting shot at a routine traffic stop.)

[cloud-somersault]

I wrote out a twitter thread explaining my thought about this whole debacle and why I'm so upset. So I'll paste that here, since I locked that account also.

it's just that Wu doing a murder is such a pivotal moment for constellations!shadowpeach that it affects their entire dynamic going forward. Everything is going to seem like it's skewed in Mac's favor because both of them have that tragedy lurking in the back of their minds. And I feel like people are forgetting that, but the characters themselves never forget that. The only way this could be "balanced" is if Mac forgave Wu, and he's never going to do that. Their relationship is unhealthy and imbalanced no matter what in this AU.

I know I'm harping on this a lot, but it just feels like, to me, people aren't understanding what I'm trying to say with this story. And if that's the case, I just am hesitant to share it because my intentions and the part of myself I'm putting into my work aren't being seen.

That is why creatives share anything; to inspire connection and resonate with other people. If the takeaway from the epilogue is "Mac is good/Wu is bad" then I feel like something crucial is being missed. That's not the point of what I'm saying. That's not what I'm saying at all.

I get disheartened when this happens every single time it happens for this reason: I feel like I'm not being understood and people are misconstruing this story to say something it's not trying to say. There is no "competition" here when it comes to who's right or wrong.

This story is about reconciliation with someone who was hurt deeply. The ups and downs of that. The imperfections. The effort, the care, the communication, the lack of communication. And the love that lies at the center of that, regardless of who's "right" or "wrong."

Because I don't see it that way. Wu is impulsive and is emotionally-driven. He's so happy Mac is in his life. And maybe if I wrote from his perspective, this would be more apparent, but it's Mac's turn now. And y'know, Wu is making mistakes, but Mac is forgiving him each time.

It's a big deal for Mac to forgive, because he is the victim. It's not as big a deal for Wu to forgive, because he's going to forgive no matter what. And that's his choice to forgive no matter what. Because he wants to be with Mac no matter what. It's characterization.

But people always say "your characterization is good!" Is it if people come to this conclusion? If they read the story and boil it down to "Mac is portrayed to always be right and that's fucked up" without giving a single thought to "Mac has been shown to be more sensible than Wu, so he's more mindful of his actions/words."

Their personalities drive their decisions. These are flawed, imperfect characters. They make mistakes! Some more often than others, and that's okay! But those flaws influence their decisions and can inspire a pattern of behavior that leads to "Wu is quick to forgive."

I'm not asking anyone to critique my story. I'm not even asking you to read it; I'm sharing it with you. But if it upsets you, if you hate it, if you hate parts of it-you're valid! But please don't share that with me, because I love this AU and I love what I've done.

There is no agenda here. I love both Mac and Wu equally, actually. I love writing both of them. I'm not trying to push a narrative or paint one of them in the wrong. I am just trying to write a realistic portrayal of a reconciliation. That's it.

Thank you to the people who have sent messages and said kind things on here or on tumblr. I appreciate that. This has only fueled my spite and I'm going to continue to write Wu fucking up again and again bc he's desperate to be with Mac. And that's characterization.

I doubted sharing the rest of the epilogue because in chapter 13, Wu fucks up again. In the sequel to the epilogue, Wu fucks up AGAIN. So, now, do you see why I was rethinking things? It's more of the same. It's a major plot point later on, even. So. Get used to it, I guess.

This entire debacle and me writing this thread solidified why I need to finish the epilogue. Shadowpeach discusses this in chapter 13 and it's made clear there what the dynamic is and they both agree to it. I'll finish the epilogue. After that, I don't know.

[isalisewrites]

hello god of world building, lore, and plot execution. you are one of my favorite authors, i adore your writing so much and admire and respect all the effort i can tell gets put into each word. i have a tomarry fic ive been toying with for months now and i feel like i have a lot of the pieces, or at least enough of them to not get too caught up in the rest right now, but im having a hard time sitting down and using any of it. im finding it extremely difficult to not be a perfectionist in my planning when it comes to writing, so im constantly overthinking all of my world building and lore that i want to incorporate and how i want to insert any of it into the plot to the point that i cant let myself move on to actually fleshing out my plot beyond the bare bones, let alone actually writing a damn bit of it. when i do try and write anything anyways i get so stuck on trying to make everything perfect and publishable on the first go that it's killing both my motivation and my enthusiasm for the story itself. i was SO excited for this fic, but i almost feel like ive ruined it for myself by picking it apart so thoroughly and still not being satisfied enough with anything. how do i get out of my own head to actually make progress and enjoy it? i feel like ive tried every hack and trick and tip in existence but i just cant pull my head out of my ass with this one no matter how or what i try.

Oh my god, I'm not a god at world building. At least, I have never felt that way. I've always struggled with that in my own original novels. However, I do believe Terrible, But Great has been training me for a day when I can do it for my own original novel/series.

But I am honored by your praise and respect.

I am so glad you asked this question. I'll let you in on a little writing secret, all right? I'm gonna use some cryptic language on a couple things to avoid spoilers for other readers.

I didn't know Scarcrux existed until I wrote chapter 20.

I didn't know "god 1, the one connected with a phoenix" existed until I wrote chapter 18.

I didn't know "god 2, the golden one" existed until I wrote chapter 24.

I didn't know Marcus was trans until the beginning of Arc Two.

I didn't know who Alphard, Quintus, Sebastian, Marcus, Roland, and Simon were in the beginning. I didn't know their struggles. I didn't know their families. I didn't know their pain.

When I posted chapter 1 on December 15th, 2021, I did not know that horcruxes were not the source of soulmates. It worked out because of what I established in chapter 47.

I completed Arc One without knowing everything that would come about in Arc Two and Three. Even to this day, I do not know what most of Arc Five will entail, but I have some hints and I am laying threads down in the anticipation that I will know later on.

I did not flesh out my plot from the beginning. I started with the intent of wanting a couple of skeleton milestones.

I needed a parselmouth reveal. (Chapter 12)

I needed Harry to hit a breaking point. (Chapters 15 - 17)

I needed the ultimate fight to the death between Tom and Harry. (Chapter 18 aka The Twink Fight)

I needed them to become friends. (Chapter 20)

I needed to Tom to hit a breaking point. (Chapters 25 - 28)

I needed Tom to get his relief. (Chapter 29)

I needed Harry to realize his feelings. (Chapter 41)

I needed the patronus reveal. (Chapter 44)

I needed Tom to go through a sexual awakening. (Chapter 41, 45, 46)

I needed a catalyst for Tom. (Chapter 48)

I needed the first kiss. (Unknown Chapter)

The plot has been solely focused on Tom and Harry, even though it doesn't always feel like it. Everything is designed around them.

It's designed to break Tom Riddle. It's designed to rebuild him.

There are other points that I knew I needed early on, but I cannot reveal them because they're in Arc Three. So many of these scenes above started out as small little snippets, little outline dumps of scenes that I knew I wanted for the story.

And then I wrote and wrote and wrote.

So many younger or less experienced writers feel like they HAVE to plan everything out before they begin writing. They believe every detail has to be ironed out. Gotta know every detail of the backstories. Gotta know all the subplots and the every grain of sand in the world.

You don't.

There is literally HUNDREDS of things in my story that I did not know until I wrote the chapter and then edited said chapter. There are things I didn't plan for on so many levels.

In the beginning of chapter 29, you get a memory of Harry from the past. I didn't know about that until I had already finished the chapter and edited it. I did not know.

In chapter 48, Tom does something to a man in the middle of the fight and it shakes him. I did not plan for that. I did not know about it until literally the day I posted it after I'd edited it. YESTERDAY. I only found out this YESTERDAY. I had to edit today's chapter to accommodate that change.

Writing is an act of discovery. Writing is a journey.

If you wish to 'pull your head out of your ass,' my only suggestion is to begin writing without being worried that you're going to ruin something because you started writing. No such thing, luv. Creating is not an act of destruction. I have scrapped a lot of writing. I have rewritten nearly EVERYTHING. My cuts document contains 6,000 words. I have a lot more ahead that I have scrap and rewrite entirely because of how much lore Arc Two developed.

Just write, luv.

Enjoy the process.

If you're worried about posting, then just hold off for a bit. Get to the 50k mark, the 100k mark, and then look back. See if you're getting everything you want down. Write out of order.

The process of doing a comprehensive edit will change your life. (I'm not talking about a little proofread for typos; I'm talking about rebuilding sentences, tightening them, expanding them, expanding scenes, reordering scenes if need be, etc)

There are no hacks, no tricks, and no tips that will get you through writing.

You simply must write.

Let go of the planning and start enjoying yourself. Write. If, at first, the scene doesn't go in the direction you want it to go, then you can rewrite it or edit it in the future. Your story isn't written in stone. Your story is made out of clay, easily moldable to your desires and wishes.

Now use your excitement as fuel to write. Let the joy of discovery be what keeps you going, rather than the need to know it all in the beginning. That's impossible. That's asking too much of your conscious mind. Your subconscious will likely know more than you do. I just figured out something about Simon that I had laid out ages ago, yet I hadn't realized I'd done so until recently.

Go write. Write and write. Put your planner down. Decide what are must haves in your fic. Create boundaries that your characters are not allowed to cross. (Mine was Harry could not leave Hogwarts in TBG and in Elysium's Sanctuary, Voldemort wasn't allowed to kill the Dursleys)

I look forward to what you create in the future.

Because no matter what you create, it will be good.

Get to work. You can do it.

Isa

[feeling-pushy]

Sprout

OMG yall I did! I finally got this man pregnant, it only took like nine separate fics to build up too this moment haha. As always please support my Ao3 and enjoy the story in the cut below! I'm very proud of what I made and I hope yall like it as well :)

Montanha didn’t do all that much, that first month without Rosie. His mental state left him feeling exhausted and wanting to do nothing else, but lay in his bed and sleep. Only really getting up to eat between the long bouts of resting.  

He had a lot of dreams during that time. Vivid dreams.   

He once had a dream about his father, back when he was small. He had been playing with his soccer ball in the front yard, still remembering vividly the lush green grass that his dad was so proud of maintaining.  

He went for another kick, but he missed and instead of kicking the ball, he kicked up a clump of that perfect green grass. That’s when his father appeared, as dark as a shadow, as he looked down on him, “What are you doing? Don’t you know I worked hard on that grass?”  

Montanha could not see his eyes, he was too small, but he could feel the weight of his judgment. Eyes casting down all Montanha could do was fidget with his fingers guiltily and whimper out a quiet, “I’m sorry Papi…” 

“You’re a disappointment to me. You’re a shame on this family. Why don’t you ever consider other people’s feelings?” 

“I-I didn’t mean too.” 

“That’s because you never try. If you actually put effort into being considerate, then things like this wouldn’t happen.” 

Montanha stood above him now, fully grown, yet still trembling like a young child as tears filled his eyes, “I am trying! I am! I try so very hard, but it’s hard for me. Why can’t you see that??” his father merely looked at him. Montanha couldn’t see his face, but he could still tell he was disappointed, “Then why is Rosie dead? Why did you kill her? It was because you were careless that’s why.” 

Montanha shook his head, “No. No I didn’t!” 

His father merely raised a brow, “Oh? Then what’s that?” he asked gesturing to the clump of grass, but when Montanha looked again it was Rosie’s body. Blood oozing from her mouth and her eyes milky as she stared directly at him. 

Montanha woke with a start, cold sweat running down his neck as he struggled to breathe, his stomach churned and he felt like he was going to throw up, the nausea only growing the more he sat there. Quickly, he scrambled out of his bed and headed for the toilet, where he heaved the contents of his last meal into the bowl as his body convulsed. 

Even after he finished, he still clung to the bowl, just trying to catch his bearings, “Just a dream. It was just a dream…” He mumbled to himself, trying to reassure himself, as he sat there. Still he trembled and the tears still welled up in his eyes. 

He was still fighting the tears as he cleaned himself up and stumbled out of the bathroom. He looked to his bed, already feeling exhausted. But his stomach growled with a need to replace what he lost, so he went to the kitchen.  

As he prepared his meal, he looked outside the window and saw that the sun was starting to peek through the trees. The early morning rays revealing the nature outside that was starting to bud and bloom. “Spring already?” Montanha mumbled as he looked out. 

Rosie had wanted to plant a garden this spring. 

As he looked out a wave of guilt washed over him, but he furrowed his brows and wiped at his eyes to clear them, “If a garden is what Rosie wanted. It’s what she’s gonna get. Even if I gotta do it myself.” 

After he finished his meal, he got dressed, gathered his tools and headed outside.  

Setting down his tools he surveyed the open front yard area, there was a lot of open space out here, as well as in the back. Still, he decided to set it up in the front, that way he could admire the garden from the big window in the living room once everything grew.  

“Maybe here...?” he thought aloud as he drove some sticks in the ground, setting up a temporary border for his little plot. Once he set up his borders, he went around it to see if it would be big enough. He was going to need a decent sized plot for all the stuff he was going to plant, after all.  

He made a few small adjustments until the plot was just the right size. Montanha then got to work tearing up the grass inside the borders, giving him access to the rich dirt below the surface. It was time consuming, but it felt nice to have something to do and to be active, after a month of lethargy. 

He apparently needed the exercise too as he found himself getting tired a lot faster than he expected. Only getting half of it done before he had to sit down and take a breather, swiping some sweat from his brow as he sat back and felt the warm rays of the sun on his skin.  

It took the rest of the afternoon to clear out the rest of the area, removing the grass and then turning the dirt so that it would be soft and easy to plant in. he took the grass he pulled up and he decided to throw it into a wood box he found. The start of some homemade mulch or maybe compost. 

“I’ll let the earth rest a little and plant it tomorrow.” he thought aloud as he dusted the dirt off his jeans and stretched out his limbs, as a wave of fatigue hit him. There was plenty of time to work later, but right now he was tired. 

Still, he felt a small sense of pride in what he was doing, and couldn’t help but smile a little. He was hopefully taking the first steps in the right direction. 

He stretched one last time before he headed inside. 

Later that night he had a dream. Though it felt more like a memory, as he and Rosie walked through the woods together. Rosie had her bow in hand as she walked with him through the woods, snow crunching under her boots and a look on her face that told Montanha she was concentrating, focusing in on a deer trail and walking with a quiet purpose he had yet to master.  

She stopped though to look at him, smiling her big buck tooth smile at him, “You should take the lead on this one, Monty my boy!” 

Montanha rolled his eyes “You know I hate that name.” 

She ignored his protests, “Your gonna need to learn how to track sooner or later. I can’t always hunt for you.” Montanha shrugged, “But your so much better at it than me.”  

 “But you’re alone now. You need to know how to take care of yourself.” She said flatly, her face becoming more serious as she looked at him. Montanha furrowed his brows, but still smiled, “What do you mean? I’m not alone, I got you!” 

Rosie smiled up at him sadly, forehead wrinkling and eyes watering a little as if she was in pain, “No, you don’t.” 

“What do you-?” 

Montanha’s words were cut short as hands burst from the earth, grabbed Rosie by the ankles and started to pull, earth crumbling easily beneath her as she quickly sank. Terror gripping his heart, Montanha quickly grabbed her arms, holding her tight and fighting the pulling force that threatened to take her away from him. 

Rosie’s eyes were wide with terror as she looked at him, “Montanha.” She breathed, voice above a whisper. Montanha grunted, “I know. I know. I won’t let yah go! Just hang on, ok??”  

“Montanha. Please…” 

“I won’t! I won’t let go! I promise!” he reassured, tears welling up in his eyes as he tried desperately to yank her out. But this monster wasn’t even giving him an inch, as despite his best efforts, she still slowly sank, chest flush with the crumbling dirt. Montanha was on his knees now, arms wrapping around Rosie’s torso has he kept desperately trying to yank her free.  

“Just let go.” Rosie whispered, looking up at him with tear-streaked eyes. Montanha could barely see as the tears clouded his vision, still he shook his head fiercely. “No! No! I won’t let go! I’ll save yah this time! I swear!” 

“You can’t, it’s too late bud... So please, just let go.” Her tone of voice was apologetic as she again gave him that sad smile. 

In that moment she slipped out of his grasp and quickly disappeared beneath the earth. No trace left behind of the existence she used to have, not even a hole in the earth. Montanha collapsed to his hands and knees as he screamed.  

He scooped more dirt out of the ground with his bare hands, feeling the moist dark earth between his fingers and taking a deep inhale threw his nose, holding his breath for a few seconds, then letting it go slowly. He did this until the wave of nausea finally subsided. 

He was thinking about that dream again, her sinking beneath the earth. No doubt coming to mind because he was digging in the dirt with his hands, hands that were beginning to tremble as he remembered the look on her face. 

He took another shaky breath, pushing away the mental image, “Garden’s coming together really nice Rosie… You’d be happy with it.” He mumbled with a remorseful smile. The stinging irony that she wasn’t around anymore to help him start this garden wasn’t lost on him.  

As he sat there for a moment and let those thoughts fester he felt himself become nauseous again, pulling him away from those thoughts as he had to concentrate on taking slow breaths to dispel the new wave, he didn’t want to end up getting sick after all.  

He should count himself lucky that he had only gotten sick the one time a few weeks back, but ever since he’d gotten sick, he’s felt mildly nauseous almost every day. Some days were better than others and he only really felt nauseous once in the morning but could then shake it off the rest of the day. Other days were like this one, where he felt almost constantly nauseous the whole day threw.  

Letting out one more slow breath he finally shook off the nausea and got back to the task at hand. Grabbing a packet of seeds, he shook them out into the hole he’d made and covered it up again. He was almost done planting what he could at the moment.  

It was still early in the season so he couldn’t plant much, still he had started planting lettuce, as well as some spinach, peas, radishes, carrots and broccoli. Each little row marked and waiting to be watered once he was done.  

Hopefully seeds didn’t expire, guess he’ll find out in a month or so. 

Another wave of nausea rushed over him, and again Montanha closed his eyes and took a few slow breaths, trying very hard not to give into the twisting in his gut. Least he threw up all over the garden he had just put together.  

Maybe the reason why he was feeling so nauseous was because he was depressed? His state of mind definitely had something to do with it, considering he hasn’t really been in the best place mentally, since he lost Rosie. He also blamed the almost nightly nightmares he was experiencing, all of them feeling so sickeningly real that even the memories that would randomly pop into his head during the day, left him trembling like a leaf. 

The only other thing that he could think of blaming, was that drinking binge he went on directly following her death. With him losing all his common sense and making some, less savory, choices than he would have otherwise. But that was almost two months ago, and he was trying his best to bring himself back from that self-destructive brink. So why now was he starting to suffer the consequences?  

It made him worried that he might be seriously sick with something, but with no doctors to go too or even internet access to look up his symptoms, he really had no clue. All he could do, was hope that it went away on its own. 

Sighing to himself he finished up the last of his planting before standing up and deciding to stop here for today. Dusting off his jeans, he headed back into that large and lonely cabin to go lay down.  

. . . . . . . .

Montanha walked through the streets of the city, as a hazy fog rolled through and made the streets feel all at once empty and claustrophobic. A feeling of unease crawled up his spine and his stomach twisted with dread. In the back of his head, a voice told him to turn back, but Montanha ignored it as he pressed forward, looking for something. 

No. Someone. He was looking for someone. 

Threw the mist he saw a silhouette of someone in the distance, “Rosie?” Montanha questioningly called as he started walking forward towards the silhouette. 

The closer he got the more defined the silhouette became, and the more he was sure it was her. He began to run, yelling out her name now as he attempted to get her attention.  

She didn’t respond to his words, instead walking away from him and disappearing deeper into the mist. His breath caught in his throat and he tried to run faster, “ROSIE! WAIT!” 

His legs felt like lead and his stepped slowed, grunting with effort he tried to keep moving, but his legs disobeyed him as he slowed to an eventual stop, standing there as Rosie’s silhouette disappeared into the white blurry mist. 

Falling to his knees, Montanha began to sob, his stomach twisting again as he began to feel nauseous. That feeling grew as he kept crying, heaving sobs becoming literal dry heaves before all at once his body retched, and a thick, viscus grey substance escaped his lips. Splattering on the floor with a thick, wet slap.  

Eyes watering, he looked at the grey splatter between his knees and watched with horror as the mass shifted and congealed, form changing until it took on a small humanoid shape. It looked almost like an infant with a large bulbous head and small limbs. But it had grey skin and claws and as it looked at him with black empty eyes it opened its mouth to reveal teeth of shattered bones. 

A Creature. He’d birthed a monster. 

It smiled at him for a moment with its disgusting teeth, before it scrambled to its feet and skittered away. As it ran from him its form grew fast, becoming fully grown within a moment before it disappeared into the white mist. As Montanha struggled to comprehend what just happened, he heard a scream, and his blood ran cold as he recognized those blood curdling death wails to be Rosie’s.   

The sounds of flesh tearing and blood splattering echoing through the mist as the monster he was responsible for, that he made, tore Rosie limb from limb. 

Montanha sat up fast in bed, beads of cold sweat rolling down the back of his neck and his chest as he tried to calm his racing heart. As Montanha did his best to breathe and calm down, he noticed that the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon. 

Not wanting to go back to sleep, Montanha rolled out of bed, both stretching and shaking off his limbs to wake himself up, and throw off the lingering visuals of his nightmare.  

Once he finished stretching, he ran a hand threw his hair, which was starting to become shaggier, the ends of his hair curling around his ears as he sighed. He wished he still had someone around to trim his hair. 

He quickly dressed himself, though struggled with his jeans for a moment, trying and failing to button them. Letting out an exasperated sigh, Montanha finally sucked in his stomach tight enough to make sure the jeans fastened, then sighed as he looked at himself, standing barefoot in front of a mirror in just his pants.  

He turned to the side, and observed the small pudge that had formed on his belly. He was definitely gaining weight. He looked softer. Not that he should be surprised, he’d been eating a lot lately to cope with his feelings, why couldn’t he be the type of depressed person who late less? 

Running a hand over his hair and down the back of his neck, he turned back forward and grabbed his soft, loose t-shirt, forgoing the button up and jacket that he usually threw on top of it. Summer was around the corner and it was getting too hot for jackets. 

Once his boots were laced and he had a quick breakfast the sun was fully out and Montanha was outside as well, heading for the garden. 

Kneeling down, he looked over the plants he’d planted over a month ago, the lettuce heads weren’t quite grown yet, but the spinach looked ready to harvest, as well as the carrots. Pea pods hung off the vine and he picked a few to snack on. The radishes and broccoli had been harvested last week and he was already working on replanting them. 

He read in a book that you could regrow the roots of radishes, so he had a few sitting in his kitchen in jars of water, as he waited for new shoots to grow. The broccoli stems were easier, merely cutting just the top part off and leaving the bottom stems in the dirt to regrow. This worked well as he already saw new shoots growing in their place.  

In another section of the garden, he’d planted some new vegetables, lima beans, summer squash and bell pepper, the sprouts of which were just starting to push through the dirt, green little leaves stretching up towards the sun. It made Montanha smile as he looked at them.  

But his favorite part of the garden had to be the new fruit garden.  

Having plotted out a second field just for it, he had planted watermelons, cantaloupes and more importantly, strawberries. None of them were ready yet, but the strawberries were growing fast, already he had to place wooden stakes next to them for the plants to grow against and hopefully keep them upright. In a month or so he predicted that he would start to see flowers, and then hopefully some fruits. 

Strawberries had always been his favorite, and not having them in literal years, made him crave them something fierce. Mouth drooling a little as he imagined sinking his teeth into the sweet red fruit and savoring that sweet tart taste.  He allowed himself to daydream a moment longer, before he shook himself out of his day dreaming, and went to grab the watering can.

The next couple of weeks passed by with relative ease. The days continued to slowly lengthen, and the nights grew short. Which Montanha did not mind, as shorter nights meant less time to sleep, and less time for nightmares. 

Montanha began to see miniature watermelons grow on his vines, which brought a bittersweet smile to his face. His strawberries were also showing great promise, little white flowers blooming all over the plant. Some of them were even starting to develop little green fruits, which made him excited. 

He knew he was going to have to start learning how to make jams and jellies so he can preserve them for fall and such. Perhaps next time he went into town he could find another book at the library. 

Once he finished up with the cantaloupes, Montanha decided that a break was in order, standing up and rubbing his back a bit. Spending time hunched over was apparently not good for his back, unsurprisingly. He let out a small sigh and fanned his shirt a bit to cool himself from the early summer heat as he made his way inside.   

Once inside he plopped himself down in the love seat, kicking off his boots and propping up his swollen feet as he let out a small groan of relief. He was working too hard; he needed to ease up a little he thought. Then maybe he wouldn’t feel so fatigued and achy all the time. Fully relaxing now, he closed his eyes and slumped a little, resting his back in the seat. 

It was as he was starting to fully relax, that he felt it.  

At first, it was as subtle as a gentle breeze, faint fluttery movements that made Montanha pause for a moment and wonder if he’d actually felt anything at all. It was just a tiny bud of sensation, barely noticeable.  

But quickly those sensations became more persistent, those tiny flutters transforming into more pronounced movements. Like petals gradually stretching and reaching for the light, pressing up against his insides and stretching out. 

Sitting up in his seat he swallowed hard, thoughts beginning to whirl in his head like a storm. What was that? Had he imagined something? Was he sick, was that indigestion?  

Hand twitching a little he slowly slid it over to the small pudge on his belly, had it gotten bigger since last month? This was just fat. Right? 

Whatever was inside him seemed to respond positively to Montanha’s touch, wiggling and fluttering just beneath the palm of his hand. It was still a light movement, but there was definitely something there. 

As he sat in his chair and ran a shaky hand threw his hair, he tried to think. His mind racing as he tried to think of a million more reasonable explanations, indigestion, gas, a sickness? 

When was the last time he had a period? 

He’d always hated his periods, and ever since the world ended and he no longer had access to any hormone therapy he once again had to be saddled with that burden which he despised.  

But now that he was thinking about it, he hadn’t had one for a while, which at the time he’d been kind of relieved about. More than happy to skip over the pain, mess and dysphoria that came with it.  

Plus, it’s not unheard of to miss a month or two, and in his teenaged years before he started T he had actually experienced a missed period once before, due to the extreme stress he had been under when he left his parent’s home for the first time, which is why he shrugged it off, as well as the second month.  

But now he was realizing that four whole months had passed, and he hadn't had a single period in that time. Couple that information with these sensations blooming inside of him and there was no denying the truth, though he still tried too. 

“No. No. I can’t be pregnant… I can’t I-” his voice became a bit thick with emotion as he gingerly press down on the spot where he felt the movement. Once again, he felt a small but distinct movement, as if this little bud was proudly showing off to him just how strong they were growing. 

He swallowed hard, a lump sticking in his throat, and slowly looked down at himself. His newly gained belly pushed his shirt taut, made his pants feel uncomfortable against his midsection, button pressing into his skin. 

The nausea. The fatigue. The bouts of specific hunger. It had to be… 

Montanha fully broke down in that moment, shoulders trembling as tears started to well up in his eyes, “No.” He whispered, his voice soft and trembling. He shook his head, closing his eyes tight. “No, no, there’s…there’s no way. I can’t- I-!” 

He curled in on himself a little as he wrapped his arms around himself, body trembling as he sobbed, "Why? Why?? I can't- I don’t-!” he blubbered, his world feeling like it was flipping upside down.  

“How- How am I supposed to take care of you??" he questioned, looking down at himself as his large hand moved back down, cupping over the swell gently.  

Even in his distressed state he still felt an urge to protect it, to try and keep this little being inside himself safe. Though that thought only pained him more as his chest heaved and more sobs escaped from his trembling lips.  

"I-I couldn't even keep Rosie safe! I couldn't even keep her alive! H-How am I supposed to do that for you?? H-How am I supposed to take care of you? I can barely take care of myself!” 

He was so scared, Montanha never expected to get pregnant.  

Every zombie apocalypse media he’d ever consumed. Every movie, game, and comic book he'd ever read that involved women getting pregnant. They always ended in tragedy.  

Dying in childbirth, being susceptible to disease post-partum and turning into a zombie or worse the baby does and dies. Even if both survive the ordeal their left vulnerable to be attacked, and then they die.  

“I-I can't do this alone! I can't do this!" He sobbed. 

Montanha used to think about how dumb that plot line was, and how silly those women were for letting themselves get into that predicament.  

What kinda of fool would make the decision to have unprotected sex in an apocalypse and think they wouldn't get pregnant?  

Montanha was that fool apparently.  

And just like the day Rosie died, Montanha had no one to blame but himself for it. For making yet another bad decision. “I-I don’t know! I don’t know what to do! Wh-what do I do?!”  

But there was no one around to answer him or help him. 

Montanha's hand was still laying protectively over the spot, and despite the shaking of his body and heaving of his sobs, he could still just make out the feeling of the little bud moving against his hand still.  

A little stretch here, a little flutter there. It seemed like now that he knew what was going on and knew that it was there, it was determined to remind him of its presence.  

This should’ve distressed him further.  But instead, it actually gave him a bit of comfort and it made him smile a little.  

Was this the baby’s way of trying to comfort him? The thought was so sweet, it made him hiccup with broken laugher and eventually allowed him to calm down a little. Taking some deep breaths as he wiped the tears and snot from his face with his other hand, the first still resting there on the swell.  

Quickly he composed himself again, and once he was calm a shaky smile started to form on his lips, as he gave the spot where his new companion rested, a light pat. "I guess I really don't have a choice huh? I doubt the planned parenthood is still open." He joked lightly, rubbing the spot.  

He could feel the fluttering start to settle and fade, poor little sprout probably tired itself out with all that moving around. Montanha’s eyes softened as he continued to gently rub little circles there, soothing it some more.  

"Not that I would get rid of yah... So far, you've been a real good sport about all this. Putting up with me and my poor decision-making skills." he joked again, sniffing a little as he already felt more tears starting to well up again. These damn pregnancy hormones... 

Oh god he was pregnant, honest to God pregnant.  

He was gonna have a baby, and have a little mini him running around, a little gremlin to chase and tuck into bed. Someone to spend time with, someone who he could teach, to help raise and watch grow, to be a dad too.  

A dad. He was gonna be a dad. 

That thought alone started up the water works again as he began to cry once more. Though they weren’t the same heaving sobs as they were moments before. These ones gentler, and more full of love.  

He was still scared, and unsure if he was fit for fatherhood. But fit or not, there was no changing it now and so he would have to do his best. Not just for himself, but for the baby too. 

Later that night, as he laid in bed he had another dream. But for the first time in a long time, it was sweet. 

He sat in his garden, fingers in the dark, moist dirt, as he very tenderly plucked weeds out from around a large and beautiful flower. It was tall like a sunflower but looked like a cinquefoil, with five large and delicate heart shaped petals that were translucent and shimmered with soft, shifting colors, like a soap bubble caught in the light of the summer sun. 

As Montanha tended to this garden, he didn’t notice the presence of Rosie as she sat down next to him, kneeling in the dirt beside him. It wasn’t until she rested her head on his shoulder that he sat up a bit in surprise and looked over to her.  

“That’s a beautiful flower you're growing there, Monty my man.” She said softly as she admired it. Montanha laughed threw his nose and rolled his eyes, “Still hate that nickname, but yeah, it’s a real pretty sight.” 

“You’re gonna name it after me, right?” Montanha chuckled at Rosie’s question, “You’re getting way ahead of yourself here. What if it’s a boy?” 

“Well then name it like Roosevelt or something, I donno. Just don’t go naming it after Asher, cause that might get awkward next time yah meet up.” 

Montanha’s eyes lowered, “If he’s even still around.” 

Rosie frowned at that, grabbing his face and turning it to look at her. Her brown eyes looked serious, sitting in that sea of freckles that made up her face. “Hey, look at me. Just because I’m gone, doesn’t mean yah gotta give up hope on him. I’m sure you two will find each other again one day, I just know it.”    

Montanha’s own eyes softened as he looked at her, wanting to memorize every detail of her face, so he wouldn’t forget it. Though even now as he looked at her, edges of her visage were already starting to blur slightly, and some tears pricked in the corners of his eyes as he nodded and gave her a small smile, “I won’t. I promise.” 

Rosie gave him that signature bucktooth smile as she let go of his face. She then returned her head to his shoulder as they both looked back to the flower, with its delicate, pastel green leaves that shimmered in the gentle breeze.  

“I think you’re gonna be a good dad Montanha. This kid is gonna be lucky to have yah.” Rosie muttered softly as she hugged his arm. Montanha leaned his head on hers in turn, “Yah think so?” 

“I know so big guy.” 

Montanha smiled and closed his eyes, “Would you sing me one last song? Before you go?” Montanha didn’t have to look at her to know she was smiling. Instead, he just listened, as she sung in that gentle voice that was truly angelic. 

If you woke and I was gone  From the house that we made our home  Would it bend you, break you, overtake your heart  Like it did my own? 

And if I were someplace else  And if I were someplace else  And if I were someplace else, would this be easier? 

The only peace I have ever known  Is the peace I made with you  I won't move, but I can't stay here  So what the hell am I supposed to do? 

And if I were someone else  And if I were someone else  And if I were someone else, would this be easier? 

As Montanha laid asleep in his bed a single tear squeezed out from between his closed eyes and his lips curled into a small smile. Wrapped up there in his dreams, he unconsciously reached a hand down and gently cupped at the small swell of his belly. Feeling his hand there, there was a small flutter as the little sprout reached for him. 

[eashmo]

- Blood and Chocolate -

A vampy eddie smut fic

warnings: a long story of absolute filthy shamless smut with chocolate syrup. because i'm a whore for vamp eddie..... i seriously need to get laid or something. 🤣

A/n: eddie gif by @illhumor

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The room was dark as I entered, an atmosphere created by a faded orange yellow hue. Decorated with a couple of fake torches that were lit and in the middle of the room stood a large, dark wooden table surrounded by wooden chairs that were currently occupied by Erica and the guys At the head of the table was a throne, and with one glance, I saw the very person I was looking for…… My favorite bloodsucker Dungeon master.

His eyes were on me the moment I walked in. He tried to hide his grin when I decided to take my place on my “throne” that was next to his. That's when the rest of the party finally noticed me. I mouthed “don't mind me” to them as they gave me small waves and smiles.

I never really played with them, It was actually more entertaining to me to listen to them play. Mostly because of Eddie, the way he always made the story come to life was always mesmerizing, with all the effort he put into various characters and the range of voices he had for them. I always found myself on the edge of my seat, wanting to know what was going to happen next. Sometimes, I also couldn’t help getting turned on by him being in his element, and he knew that.

*hour later*

I was thoroughly engrossed in some homework that I decided to quietly do while everyone was bickering about what plan they should do to destroy Acererak, i trying to distract myself from being hot and bothered by Eddie's voice. when all of a sudden Eddies' ringed right hand came into my field of vision, holding the d20.

“Wanna roll it for me, baby?” he grins down at me. I grin back at him, taking the dice from him. Standing in front of him, his hands on my hips. I could feel how hard he was because I knew he could smell my arousal soon as he started the campaign.

“You got this kitten.” he whispers in my ear, smirking when I hear my pet name fall from his lips as I roll the dice in my hand. Everyone held their breath when I released it from my grasp, time slowed as it rolled across the table, and then it suddenly rolled right on a 20. 

“CRIT HIT!” Erica screamed, and everyone joined the chaos. Turning towards Eddie, I lunched myself at him arms wrapped around his neck. He caught me as he wrapped his arms tightly around me, spinning me around, causing me to giggle. Setting me down, I pulled down his head to give him a passionate kiss. Who knew playing DnD could be a major turn-on? 

“I got a surprise at home for you.” I mumbled lightly into his lips for only him to hear. I could feel him smirk against my lips. Voices from the party went from cheering to “gross”, “get a room guys” and gagging. We laughed apart.

“Sorry guys” I giggled.

*hours later*

Cold hands slithered over sweat-damp skin. Eddie slid his tongue up my chocolate syrup covered neck, and the wetness from his tongue leaves a trail of fire behind. Biting my skin, he sucked the blood he drew with his fangs. He groaned at the taste of both blood and chocolate, which flooded his mouth. he moves up to my jaw line. pausing over my earlobe, where he gently nibbles. Causing me to moan louder, my fingers roughly clutch his long, dark brown hair. He pulls away from me.

“Hm kitten~ be a good girl and behave.”

I whined as His hands automatically found my thighs, running them up and down my soft skin. He lifted me onto the kitchen counter, I leaned down to kiss him, and a soft growl rolled out of his lips as he leaned up, capturing my lips with equal vigor. The press of lips transformed into something more deep, tongues dancing around one another as our breaths mingled together. I leaned back with a gasp and licked my lips that were now covered in my blood and chocolate. 

spreading my legs more so he could scoot closer between them. He placed his forehead on mine.

“As much as i loved my chocolate covered strawberries, you're definitely a better snack”  he licks my mouth clean, "so delicious"

We both shared a laugh, I could stare at him for hours and loved the way he looked with chocolate and blood running down his slightly toned chest. His blown out crimson eyes on mine, his wild brown hair framed his face perfectly, his glistening red tinted fangs grinning at me. He was a work of art sculpted by Michelangelo himself, and he was mine. i wanted to lick him clean. He poured more chocolate syrup on me. It dripped down my body.

His mouth instantly attached itself to me again. Working his way down my throat and chest. He teased each nipple until it hardened, slowly increasing the pressure. Arching my back, eyes closed, I pressed my skin against his lips. Slowly, ever so slowly, he grazes his fangs across my nipples, drawing beads of blood from the sensitive skin. He lapped the drops from my chocolate covered skin over and over.

Down and down, he moved, licking, sucking, mapping inch after inch of my skin. When his breath ghosted over my core, I whimpered.my legs spread wider. 

"Please." I breathed. 

He attached his lips to my clit, tongue lapped my insides, fangs scraped my folds as his nose was buried in soft h/c hair. Two ringed fingers thrusted into me, causing me to let out a choked moan. Fangs dug into my inner thigh. Fingers pumped in and out, until he found his favorite spot that was within me.  opening my legs Wider, exposing myself as much as I could.

“D-Daddy” I whined. When I reached the edge, he pulled out his fingers, and my release splashed all over his face. As I tried to regain myself, he raised himself, licking his lips clean.

“That good kitten?” he smirked. I pulled him down, capturing his lips with mine. Tasting myself, I groaned. 

“Let me return a favor.” I bite his lip, causing him to growl. Unsteadly, i jumped off the counter and kneeled in front of him. 

He watched me as I eyed his cock like was about to eat a candy cane. A chocolate covered candy cane. He was about to say something until he felt the chocolate syrup being poured on him and my lips encasing the tip of his cock, the words died in his throat. 

“S-shit… kitten”

 I just hummed, and he let out a groan. my tongue swirled around the tip, gathering as much precum and chocolate as I could before I started to swallow more around him. What I couldn't fully take into my mouth was working on with my fingers, wrapping a hand around his base while the other one was fondling his balls. He let out a long, throaty moan. His hands clasped the counter tightly above me.

I looked up from under my thick lashes and smiled, humming before I started bobbing my head in a steady rhythm. I clenched my thighs together, feeling the steady pulse of my pussy as I pleased my beloved vampire. His moans became breathless - sounded like he was close. I pushed the flat of my tongue against the underside of his cock, pressing against his thick vein as I sucked and moved my head up and down. His hands found my head, burying them into my h/c strands as he encouraged me to go on. He could feel his release approach fast.

 his head lolled back as he let out another throaty moan, his voice hoarse, and the burning sensation in his whole body made him wonder if he wasn't in flames or anything. He could feel himself tremble and moan my name… he was close.

 “fuck” y/n, kitten… M’close.”

 I  just hummed again, and he came down my throat. I moaned a little surprised but eagerly slurped everything up that he would give me. cleaning him up with my tongue, panting for air as i opened my mouth, showing him that i indeed swallowed every last drop of him. A low possessive growl left his throat as he grabbed her jaw and leaned down to capture me into a deep kiss, tasting himself on my tongue. tongues twirled around each other, fighting for dominance before I caved in, and he had full access, ravishing my mouth. 

“That good, Daddy?” micking him from earlier.

 “Jump!” He growled. I jumped, and he easily caught my thick thighs as I wrapped them around his waist.

“kitten” He purred, his face nuzzling into my hair.  

“Eddie Please… I need you!” I moaned.

He hummed as he made his way to our bedroom. But not before he grabbed the bottle of syrup. Laying me down on the bed, he leaned up and poured the rest of the syrup on the both of us before he hovered over me. breaching my entrance before he sunk into my welcoming heat, my velvet walls hugging him close as he rolled his hips, steadily sinking into me.

 “Fuck… You’re so fuck’n tight, kitten” He moaned, i was a mewling mess underneath him, wrapping my arms around his neck, pulling him closer to kiss him, which he happily obliged to. He caged my head with his arms as he kissed me, taking his sweet time to do so. I gasped for air, and we moaned in unison as he bottomed out in me.

“Son of a bitch…” he growled. I could feel him twitch as I squeezed around him, urging him to move.

 “Move p-please”

 He watched me hungrily. His once crimson eyes were now completely swallowed by the dark of his pupils. Predatory. I felt exposed and wanted at the same time. I moaned and wiggled my hips, again trying to coax him to finally move. He groaned and retreated almost completely. When I was about to protest, he snapped his hips back into my aching pussy… hard. Screaming loudly, smirking.

“Mine” he growls “this… belongs to me forever.”

I nodded, unable to form coherent words at the moment. I absolutely loved it when he got this possessive. I moaned into his neck, licking up some syrup in the process. 

Eddie started to pull back again, snapping his hips back into my welcoming heat, my warm walls hugging him all so nicely, pulling him in. He groaned my name, pushing inside of me again, a quick and brutal pace, which made the bed groan with the amount of force he pushed into me. my eyes rolled back as I panted and moaned helplessly. I could feel him everywhere, pushing and pushing against my sensitive spots deep inside. I bit his neck hard, not being able to draw blood. He let out a loud growl at the sensation. The growl rumbled his chest. He took my chin and roughly moved to the side. My neck was presented to him, and he bit me immediately. His fangs were painful but pleasurable as he pounded into me. 

There was a burning sensation in my abdomen. I felt like my world was spinning from the loss of blood, an almost animalistic instinct to be prey for the predator on top of me. Normally, he was not this aggressive, only sometimes when I begged him. But this time? He wanted this himself, feeling like this was the only way he could actually get relief. I wasn't scared of him. He knew my limit. He detached his fangs from my neck when he felt me go limp a little.  

 “Such a good girl, so nice and delicious”

He could feel me squeeze around him. He smiled, I was letting him know that I was still with him. looking at me in my glazed over eyes. He kisses my face gently. 

I lazily held my legs up. The new position gave him a new angle, hitting my sweet spot deep inside of me with precision. I could feel my eyes roll back once more as I moaned helplessly. I could feel the hot lava in my abdomen pool as he continued to penetrate my pussy in all the good ways.

 “D-daddy! P-please”

 “Shh, kitten, It’s alright”

He pounded into me, my moans spurning him on as he felt that knot tighten steadily. he could feel my legs twitch and quiver against his waist, and he could feel himself getting closer to the edge as well, his hips started to sputter in their rhythm a little as he moaned.

"That's it, Kitten, Cum for me.” I squeezed around him cumming as soon as he gave me permission. his breath came out more erratic as he finally stumbled over the edge as well. He moaned my name as he felt himself cum inside of me, filling me up. we were panting when we slowly came down from our high, still joined together. 

“You just fucked the life out of me.” I gave a breathy chuckle.

 “That's not funny, i thought i went overboard this time sucking your blood” he frowns a little.

 “I love you” I sighed as I reached up to touch his face.

“I love you too.” He answered with a soft chuckle, the effect finally wearing a bit down again. He pulled out, staring at his cum that slowly dripped out of my spent pussy. 

“How are you feeling?” he asked softly.

“I'm ok baby, I promise. Also, happy one year anniversary." I grin up at him. i finally regained my breath and strength.

“Happy anniversary, baby girl. ready for round two in the shower?” he grins back at me.  

"Most definitely." i say quickly, trying to race to the bathroom with wobbly legs. causing him to chuckle after me.

Masterlist

2023

[acertainmoshke]

Let's Talk About Notion

So, I use Notion for plenty of non-writing things to keep myself organized, but the main thing I use it for is writing. And I love it because it can be simple--just pages nested within pages and including lists or paragraphs--or as complex as you need. The template I use for keeping track of my novels I did pay $20 for, but that was to the random person who put in all the time and effort and not to the company. There are free templates and if you put in the time to figure it out, you can make the complex ones yourself. And I do have a side page to just add pages for random ideas and not clutter my official system.

Anyway.

This is the front page of my favorite Notion template ever, WIP. I can add as many projects as I'm working on, complete with cover pages (which I use just to be thematic but if I had actual covers I could upload those too) and summaries, but those aren't the practical parts. Based on the word count goal I entered, it tells me how close I am, as well as calculating how many book pages each takes up and how long it would take to read.

There are also tabs for concept stories that I'm still planning and don't want to count towards my word count goal yet, and archived ones that I'm putting on hold.

under the projects section, still on the front page, I have word count cards where I can enter my daily word count and it automatically updates the goal based on the end word count goal for all active projects and the date I said I wanted to finish each.

If I open one of my projects, it gives me all this info in what is technically the header. I entered the summary, genre, dates, and goals, but it calculated the rest.

That page includes chapters, which I can put in different stages of development, name, and move around; characters to keep track of, which I can attach to relevant chapters, and tasks I don't really use but they work as a checklist. That may be more useful when I'm in the 3rd draft and editing.

Below all of that there's also a storyboard. I don't use it for TDATS and I don't really want to share the one I do use regularly, but basically they're pages attached to various chapters and you can use them as scenes or events to plot out the story, move things around, and get an idea of what's happening before writing.

I prefer to write my actual stories in Word, but I could write them here directly in the chapters. There's also a spot to include specific words used or introduced in a chapter. Most of what I use these for is keeping track of word count, because you have to add them to the chapters for them to be added together into the project total. But it calculating how long it takes to read each chapter is certainly fun.

Anyway, you should definitely use Notion--there are other writing templates if you want something free or just different, and you don't have to use templates at all, but as a chaotic neurodivergent author, this has seriously helped my organization and planning.

The website is notion.so and there's desktop and mobile apps and the service itself is free. I guess there is a pro version but I think that's only useful if you're trying to use it as a team for work.