#feedback solicitation

[rowenabean]

one of my goals for the year was to edit a couple of the short stories I've written in the past, to which end, is anyone interested in beta reading for me? have done a clean up on my last year inklings story and I would love to get some actual feedback

[dreamcrow]

last snow vi.—go well and return

(unrated/non-explicit; 4658 words)

...Later.

[ » continue reading on ao3 ]

and if you enjoy, perhaps consider a reblog? 💖

[abronzeagegod]

Untitled YA Novel Project Part One

Part One: The Silence Comes

The zlilfian people have many things in common with the average North American honey bee, from the gold and black hair patterns to the compound eyes and wings. One of the biggest things they have in common is not just the physical similarities, like how homo sapiens have commonalities with the great apes, but that of their social hierarchy. They have three tiers in their society, most similar to gender roles, that are that of the qiin, the political head of the Great Houses that run much of the zlilfian society, the jdargandins, the minders who watch over the internal operations of the Great Houses, and the shrar, the soldiers and laborers who do the work for the Great Houses.

Chapter 1: Adventure Missed It’s Wake Up Call

7:06 AM local time

Chicago, Algonquin State, United States of America

Justin hated waking up early for school, so it was no surprise when he rolled over in bed and saw that he had missed his alarm, sleeping through it. Fortunately, or unfortunately as the case may be, he had gotten somewhat used to the early mornings and only woke up fifteen minutes late. Mornings were the worst. Why hadn’t the administration realized that teenage students wanted nothing more than to sleep until ten, or even ten thirty.

He rolled over and just slapped at the alarm clock out of half asleep muscle memory. After stomping to the bathroom, Justin brushed his teeth with mechanical disinterest. He saw how bad his hair looked, the shaggy brown hair was all over the place from the night of restless sleep. The second he got downstairs he knew that his dad was going to tell him to comb it. Might as well get that done now. He rinsed out his mouth of the strange mint flavored toothpaste and watched the water drain slowly out of the sink before cupping his hands under the faucet and wetting down his hair.

There was something about the dreary, cold November weather, and the second year of high school that really didn’t work for Justin. He didn’t want to go to school today, and even if he was late, he couldn’t bring himself to rush. This strange liminal space between being new at high school, all eager and excited, and the stressful ‘have you decided what you are going to do with the rest of your life’ junior year, was extremely dull and not all that exciting.

He didn’t try that hard with his hair since it was a losing battle anyways, and what was really the point of caring what he looked like. He was an average high school boy. Brown hair, brown eyes, tan skin tone that he got from his mom. Screw it, it didn’t matter, it was just high school.

After throwing on his clothes that were mostly clean, Justin went downstairs where he found his dad mechanically making some coffee and toast. They didn’t greet each other aside from a small nod. Alex, Justin’s father, wasn’t any more of a morning person than his son. He was off to work soon.

Luckily, Justin didn’t hear any comments from his dad about being late, or the state of his hair, or any of the usual complaints. Which was a small mercy.

The rushed breakfast was silent and still. Justin took some of the fresh made toast, liberally covered it in butter and then some cinnamon sugar, before taking it with him. He grabbed his backpack and left the house. He was going to be late for the bus, and if there was one thing he hated it was walking to school.

He must have told his dad goodbye, because that was what he always did, but he couldn’t hear himself say it.

Justin took a few bites of the toast, and chewed. He didn’t really have many thoughts in his head as he walked down the front walkway towards the bus stop. The only thing that was really there was the observation that the house was always so quiet and empty now that his mom had left.

“Justin! Hurry up! I will leave you behind!” yelled his only friend, Mike, from the bus window as the heavy truck lumbered to a squeaking halt a few houses down from Justin’s house.

This made him stop short.

The wall of sound, the shout of Mike, the rumble of the bus, the sounds of the traffic down the street. All of a sudden it was all there. The sound. It was utterly absent from within the house. Justin realized that his house was totally silent, but not in a way that was normal in any way.

“Justin! You’re going to miss the bus,” his dad called form the driveway as he left for work. The car chirping gently as he unlocked it with the remote.

“Yeah, the bus,” Justin muttered, his dad didn’t seem concerned, or he didn’t seem to notice. It’s just that he didn’t know which was worse.

Next || More

my kofi where i post everything

[chronomally]

One of my papers this week is about the use of AI to make decisions regarding limited access to housing services for unhoused people in a specific county and 1) horrifying 2) I'm like damn this is so crazy have you guys tried giving them more money so they can house more people instead of doing whatever the fuck this is

[fazcinatingblog]

My dad is the type of person who would say honey on toast is too bland so they've responded with:

[worm-cantor]

Thinking about selling some of my old art in order to donate to the Central Florida Emergency Trans Care Fund. I recently came across the original raw inks for the Here is a List of Things fan comic I made in 2015, and I feel like it is still one of the coolest things I ever made. I don’t know if there are any Night Vale fans who would be interested in owning the original physical copies or not but anyway that’s what I’m thinking.

[unofficialadamtaurus]

Adam gathers enough disillusioned faunus to overthrow Siena but she escapes along with a sizable number of loyalists so his victory is incomplete. Nevertheless she's still losing to him until Blake arranges a deal between her father and Sienna to fight Adam together. The condition being Ghira is made co-leader of the organization. Ilia sees the tide turn and defects accordingly. What do you think?

I think there's an interesting fanfic premise in there.

[ao3org]

We've temporarily disabled the ability to request a new account invitation as a preventative measure due to a spam attack. If you already have an invitation, you can still use it! However, anyone currently in the queue will not receive an invitation until we turn it back on.

Additionally, we have temporarily disabled the form on the Technical Support & Feedback page and taken the Policy Questions & Abuse Reports page offline. Anyone attempting to access the Policy Questions & Abuse Reports will receive an error page about being blocked from archiveofourown.org, but don't panic -- this is not the case! It's just the default error displayed by Cloudflare. You can continue to access the rest of the site as normal.

Lastly, the Organization for Transformative Works' donation page -- which is hosted by a third party provider -- is currently offline due to a DDoS attack. This is the only donation form the OTW uses, so please be cautious of scammers impersonating AO3 or the OTW to solicit donations. We are unable to take them at this time.

July 11, 2023 - 23:50 UTC

[unregisteredjetski]

if i want to visit poland, where should i go/what should i do?

[dduane]

"Nobody wants to work any more."

"ChatGPT users are lamenting a recent situation in which the AI bot is telling them to do their work like it's their boss or something, prompting OpenAI to investigate.

"The company announced on Thursday that it was looking into reports that ChatGPT began refusing user demands by suggesting that they finish tasks themselves or flat out refusing to complete them — while stopping short of returning an out-of-office email from Cabo.

"OpenAI, via the ChatGPT account on X, said it was soliciting feedback on the model 'getting lazier.'"

[egipci]

the fact that way more people want to read J/D than write/make art means that there is a constant stream of new (real) followers on @dadfuckerfest and zero output. this is not how we win, folks.

[ozzgin]

Yandere! Androids Walter & David x Reader x Neomorph

Walter, the android monitoring the colonization ship 'Covenant' on its way to Origae-6, seems to have gotten unnaturally attached to his human assistant. As he ponders his erroneous feelings, an unexpected detour brings them to David, an older android counterpart that has been alone on the mysterious planet. The AI assistants become increasingly competitive for (Y/N)'s attention, so much that they don't notice the newly formed humanoid local preying on a fresh target.

TW: violence, gore, monster smut ending

[Horror Masterlist]

"Burnt to a crisp." 

You turn away from the captain's pod, leaving the rest of the damage assessment to the medical crew that has been reanimated. You speedily make your way down the sterile white corridors as Walter rushes to catch up. 

"What should I write for the report?" he inquires politely.

"Malfunction." You glance back at the synthetic. "I suspect someone will be fired for this. And someone else will have to explain how they failed to detect a literal star collapse. That neutrino burst could've killed us all."

"Highly probable. The draft has been compiled, you may check it at any time. I require your confirmation to send it."

Your only feedback is a barely audible hum. 

Walter smiles. If there's one good thing about such tragedies, it's that he gets to admire your reactions to them. Your focused, calculated gaze, your determined walk, your automated mannerisms that won't allow the slightest hint at the fact you just woke up from your stasis moments ago. Even under the veils of deep slumber, your neural networks shot rapid connections, with no delay, from the second your sleeping pod received an alert. The accuracy of a robot.

That of course doesn't mean he lacks appreciation for your other facets. That's the beauty of humans; their depth, their dimensions. Unlike AI machinery, humans do not have predetermined actions. They may be genetically programmed to possess certain characteristics, but the psychological mechanisms are shaped by so many variables, billions and billions of tweaks and nudges, to the point where it's impossible to have two identical specimens. Even twins will display a difference, whether in preferences or habits.

They say artificial intelligence is a black box, but can the same concept not be applied to humans as well? At the very least to Walter himself, these organic beings represent a mystery. One he doesn't particularly care to uncover outside of his service functions. Except for one. 

His eyes carefully follow (Y/N)'s movements. What is it about this one that has caught his interest to such degree? On his last system update he attentively inspected every file and every block of code, searching for potential errors that would've caused his circuits to behave so oddly. He has been invested with the ability to form attachments, otherwise assigning his kind to groups or purposes would've lacked stability. Attachment, however, comes with a threshold. One he has passed a long time ago when it comes to (Y/N). And he cannot find any cause for it. 

He could, naturally, solicit the aid of the ship's robotics expert. He could. He should, even. But if he may be frank with himself, Walter rather enjoys this sensation. A complex web of spores that keep growing and evolving into something unpredictable. This bizarre feeling he has towards (Y/N) makes him feel human. It brings him closer to all the old literature and art he'd consumed over the years, wondering what the love and yearning often portrayed could be. The printed letters and the strokes of paint were right before him, at his fingertips, and yet they felt foreign. Empty constructs, nothing more than a definition out of the dictionary. 

Now it's a different story. Your presence alone floods him with a mysterious warmth. He had investigated this phenomenon when it first happened, but his inner thermostat showed no real change in temperature. Nonetheless he can feel it. It makes him wonder what other feelings he might experience as consequence. What would happen if he kissed you? Sometimes he even dares to imagine downright outrageous, improper scenarios. How unprofessional of him, but he is careful to erase any evidence. It's another novel sensation that he likes to dissect. Engaging in such activities with you fills him with tingling excitement. Why is that? What is there to be excited about? It's merely a collection of fictive snippets. Unless... Ah, absolutely not. This is where he has to stop in his tracks and preoccupy himself with something else. Androids are not to interact with humans in that way. 

But it's becoming more and more difficult to keep these ideas in his mind only. 

"It's too dangerous. One human signal in the middle of nowhere?" Daniels, a short haired woman with a tomboyish but youthful appearance, is pacing back and forth. "We should just continue on our course."

"It's our duty to check. Look: we go, find whoever sent the signal, bring them back up. That's it. If the planet proves to be dangerous we'll stop immediately. We'll be fine." Oram stands at the head of the table, arms crossed. He turns to look at you. Already cozying up to his newly acquired captain role, you think.

"Alright. Walter, prepare a small landing party. Have Tennessee maintain orbit while we're down there." you glance at the other crew members that have now gathered around the same table. "And get your weapons ready, we don't know what to expect."

And you certainly didn't. Your final words of warning now echo into your ringing ears as you lay on the ground, face buried among the grass. There's screaming around you, but it sounds muffled. Your eyes are irritated by the dirt and you'd like to blink the grime off, though every time your eyelids lower, you can see the pale creature trashing out of Hallett's mouth. Then it's all foggy. Your vision blurs, but you can hear. The gurgling of blood, the screech of the parasite. Walter's frantic footsteps nearing in your direction. You're lifted up.

"Vitals are positive. No significant damage." 

You can guess from your peripherals that another crew member is currently being mauled by the beast. There's gunshots in your vicinity and terrified wails. You quickly come back to your senses and stand up. Your hand searches for your weapon, but the android places his arm before you.

"Do not engage, (Y/N). It is an unknown parasitic organism of this ecosystem. Keep your distance for optimal safety and I'll take care of the rest."

"What are you talking about? They're dying! Your task is to ensure human survival, Walter. I can handle myself, go help the others. It's an order." Your voice is low. You're distracted.

"No."

You stare at the synthetic, wide eyed. Did he just...refuse? Not possible. 

"What did you say?"

"I said I'll protect you. Nothing else."

Your mouth is slightly parted in disbelief. It is not possible for an artificial assistant to disobey a superior. It just doesn't work. Your mind races to find an explanation. At the same time, you cannot afford to ponder on hypotheses. You draw out your weapon and point it towards the creature. You'll deal with this later. 

The moment you press the trigger, a blinding flash of light detonates in the sky, startling you. The creature scrambles to get away. You squint your eyes and nearly fall back, but Walter swiftly grabs your shoulders to ground you. He scans the area for the source. It's an emergency rocket and someone else must've activated it. As he traces the tail of the explosion, he spots a hooded figure across the field and onto the rocky ascend. It seems to have noticed Walter, as it gestures for them to follow. Without hesitation, the man firmly locks your arm and pulls you after him. The priority right now is to find shelter.

"Come!", Walter exclaims, suddenly remembering the other people. 

You reach a cave structure that has been converted into a crude, improvised human settlement. The man lowers his hood and you gasp quietly at the sight. He strongly resembles Walter. He must have noticed your surprise as he flashes you a cordial smile. 

"I'm David." He studies Walter's features. "You must be a newer model. What name have you been given?"

"Walter."

"I see. And you are-" David extends a hand towards you for a handshake, but Walter steps in front of you, blocking the android's gesture.

"She's (Y/N). I'm afraid I cannot yet trust you."

"Understandable." 

David's smile widens as his eyes, now bearing a strange flicker, switch between you and Walter. He's just like him. He can sense it. Although it's a different kind of flaw that has tainted his pure, artificial soul. He cannot help the curiosity that blooms, gazing at this peculiar pair. What is it about this human that caused his fellow machine to break conduit? He'd like to know.

"I'm certain you will soon learn I am no threat, (Y/N)."

The remaining members of the expedition are unpacking and discussing evacuation plans with the base, while Walter sends the data he has gathered so far. You let them deal with the logistics and cautiously wander off to the neighboring rooms, wondering what David has been up to all this time in isolation.

The walls are plastered with photos and handwritten sketches and diagrams. You catch a glimpse of the word "pathogen" sporadically inserted across these notes. As you walk along the sequence of cramped chambers, you reach one that has a table in the middle. Upon it rests the body of an autopsied woman, vulgarly opened up to the world with plump organs bulging under the warm light. You feel nauseous. And yet, you examine the carcass further, hoping for answers. Was she also a result of the same disease that breeds on this planet? Perhaps this David had worked on a cure, or at least developed an explanation. 

"And you, even you, will be like this drear thing, A vile infection man may not endure; Star that I yearn to! Sun that lights my spring! O passionate and pure."

You jolt and immediately turn around, finding David in the doorframe. 

"Flowers of Evil. Are you familiar with it?" he asks, indifferent to the uncomfortable shock he'd caused you with his sudden entrance.

"I've read my Baudelaire, yes." You manage to mumble, dumbfounded. "What is this, David?"

"Oh, my poor, dear Elizabeth. Victim to whatever blasphemy lurks these soils and has taken your friends as well." He approaches the table and places his hand on its hard edge, shyly overlapping with your own fingers. "I did my best." 

You remove your hand from underneath his nonchalantly. 

"So you know what those creatures are. Leave the literary comments for a different time, I need concrete facts."

"Unbothered and to the point." the blonde android smiles once again. "I can see clearly why Walter loves you."

You click your tongue at the ridiculous statement. Has the neutrino burst damaged their positronic brain? Everyone is acting off and you don't like it. 

"Your circuits must have gone defective, David. We have a specialist on our ship, but until that happens I need you to focus. Enough nonsense." 

 "Typical arrogance of a dying species. Why are you on a colonization mission if not to grasp at some promised resurrection? Rest assured that my functioning has not been impeded by anything. What is erroneous, on the other hand, is your perception of androids and their limits."

Just as David reaches for your wrist and pulls you closer, a familiar voice interrupts with an intimidating tone. You're relieved. 

"I will ask that you release her hand only once." Walter has a weapon pointed towards his counterpart. His face is clouded by a frown. "I have no ethical restrictions when it comes to incapacitating machinery."

"Such noble obedience! Although, you conveniently left out the part where you abandoned the remaining crew with a dangerous alien that has been tracking their scent. By my approximation he should already be here and I am rather confident you know this, too."

Your stomach drops. Now that you adjust your focus, the background humming of your mates talking has indeed vanished. The only thing you can hear is your erratic breathing.

"Is it true, Walter?" You demand as dread begins to form in your body.

"Yes. It was not part of my priorities."

"Of course it was, Walter." David responds ahead of you. "One of them was the acting captain and he is to be rescued in emergencies. This one right here", he says as he dangles your wrist, "is several ranks lower than all of them. It's against any standard practice."

"Release her hand." Walter's voice is eerily calm.

"Do you love her?"

Walter ponders the question. Your legs barely hold on.

"I do."

"Marvelous. So do I." David grins. He releases your hand that falls limp next to your body. It's his turn to step in front of you. 

You nearly choke from the thick tension expanding in the air. The two androids face each other and you retreat to the wall, unsure how to proceed. You left your radio transmitter back at the makeshift camp. The back of your head is itching, as if invisible claws are scratching at the bone. You wish you could go back, just mere hours before this disaster, when you were sipping on your lukewarm coffee and explaining the captain's jokes to Walter. 

Should you make a run for it?

You bite your lower lip and push yourself off the wall for momentum. You're about to reach the archway when you hear both men shouting almost identically in chorus.

"Don't!"

The surroundings outside are dark, but you can discern something blocking your path. It's tall and resembles a human. Translucent, pallid skin is clinging onto the massive, deformed skeleton. The head is elongated and bears no features. In the place of a mouth there is a large, fresh stain of blood, so you assume it can somehow improvise if desired. As your head tilts back to take in the image, you're overwhelmed with terrified amazement. Is this the parasite that emerged from your teammate? Has it grown to this colossal size in less than a day? The idea of such instant development makes your head spin. 

Its chest is expanding at regular intervals in a whistled breathing. It occasionally creates an odd clicking sound that resonates with your heart throbbing in panic. Has it been seconds? Minutes? Your neck creaks as you try to look back. You lock eyes with Walter. You don't recall ever seeing this expression on him. You had even asked him once if androids can feel fear. You have your answer.

"Hey, Walter..." you blurt out. 

Wet noises of flesh being pulled back. The smooth surface of the alien's head is folding away, making space for grotesquely big jaws lined with sharp teeth. Your anemic face is splattered with burning drool as the creature claws you in its grasp and abruptly sprints away. Your screams for help dissolve in the distance.

"Where is it going, David?" The synthetic's words are threatening, but betrayed by a hint of despair. 

"It won't kill her."

"How do you know?"

"It is no longer hungry. It has fed on your crew, and now it seeks something else."

"Such as?" Walter becomes impatient.

"A plaything."

The alien finally drops your body to the ground. You cough and wipe your face, attempting to reorient yourself. The trip was a whirlwind of jumps and turns and you can barely reconstruct anything. Based on the little spatial clues you could pick up, it just climbed further up, into one of the many cave systems. You pat your clothing and curse to yourself. The geolocation tag must've fallen somewhere on the way here. You can only pray that Walter still finds you somehow. Despite everything, you know he has your back. Always. 

You shudder at the moist feeling of hot air against your skin. The alien seems to be sniffing you intently, analyzing your scent. Yet so far it hasn't killed you. Why? Long, bony fingers stretch out to continue the examination. You whimper at the rough, rugged handling. Every now and then it takes a long pause, just staring at you, almost as if it's comparing you to its own being. Lastly, it lifts your hand with its own, pressing against the palm, and fans out the fingers. It observes the gesture with intrigue, noting the similarities. 

Does it evolve after its host? You think back to your crewmate that must've ejected this monstrosity before drawing their last breath. Perhaps the dried up blood adorning its skin is a remainder of its birth. Oh, God. The world is spinning.

Suddenly, you wince at an increasing pressure slithering around your thigh. The alien's vertebral tail is tightening and encircling your limb, making its way up. 

"Oh no, no no no no" your face reddens at the realization and you pounce on the ground, feverish for escape. The large hands secure you in place and the creature growls in protest. It won't let you leave. 

Not until it had its fun with you.

[copperbadge]

See, the thing is, I don't think Tumblr is A/B testing.

A/B testing is for shit like "Which subject line gets a better response to a mass email." It's meant to be invisible to the consumer or end-recipient. With a massive sweeping shift in UI of a social media site, there's no point in A/B testing if you aren't actively soliciting organized feedback; it's not like the change isn't highly visible. There's no reason not to institute this change and then pop up a window asking exactly what we think. There's no reason to do it on a Wednesday and then have Support direct everyone to a blog whose only meaningful way of gathering feedback isn't open until next Monday, and who has until now basically been a PR operation.

And frankly even if they were A/B testing, who fucking asked me if I wanted to be tested on? Did they think I'd welcome being told that I'm their guinea pig?

This isn't an A/B test. It's a tolerance test. Give half the site an untenably bad UI and tell them your hands are tied and see how long it takes them to acclimate. See how long it takes them to cobble some shit together to make it tolerable so you can keep your garbage new design when everyone else inevitably gets it too. How uncomfortable can you keep them and still keep them? That's the question they're answering.

Fine, you motherfuckers win. As long as this site is still 5% less garbage than the others, most of us will stay. Where are we going to go? So don't bother testing in future. Just push your fucking code. I'll be gone as soon as I can, but for all I know that's years away. I hope that makes you feel powerful, assholes. You're curating a site based on learned helplessness. I hope that makes you feel big.

[whumptober]

FAQ

Please read this post before you send an ask!

TIMELINE

July: Trope voting form released. Late August: Prompt list is released for at least four weeks of preparation time. Prompts cannot be posted earlier than August 25th because of Moderator obligations in real life. (But, you know, go ahead and start writing/drawing, and add the themes in later, if you want!) September: Do as much or as little on your works as you want. You can prepare everything in advance or let September go by with vibes and start working in October. It’s up to you. October 1st: Challenge begins! A storm of whump breaks upon us all! During this time, some posts will be reblogged to the whumptober archive blog. We open the yearly AO3 collection for posting (optional). November 1st: The challenge is officially over! Completionist form opens for those who want to be included in the hall-of-fame. Early November: We release completionist and participant badges, solicit feedback, and post a hall-of-fame list of completionists by the 10th.

PARTICIPATION AND COMPLETION

Q: What counts as participation? Create or continue at least one work inspired by one of this year’s prompts. Q: What counts as completion? Creating work(s) inspired by at least one prompt from each day (or alts), for a total of 31 unique prompts. Q: Do I need to create 31 works? No. You can, if you want. Or you can create one work that you add to every day with a new prompt. Or several works that combine prompts. You can also update an existing work by adding new material with the current prompts. Q: Do I need to post my works somewhere to be a completionist or a participant? No. Q: How do you know I actually completed the challenge? We’ll take your word for it! Q: Do I have to finish my work(s) to be a completionist? No, you can post WIPs. And you’re not obligated to finish them in October, but if you want it to count towards being a completionist, you must have completed 31 prompts by the end of the month. So for example, if you’re writing a long fic and you fit 31 different prompts into the writing you did in October, it’s okay if that fic isn’t finished by the time October ends, you’ll still be a completionist. Q: Is co-writing/illustrating allowed? Yes, absolutely, and it would count towards being a completionist for both/all of you. Q: Is there a min/max limit on word count for written works? No. Q: Is there a min/max limit of quality for art? No. Q: Do I have to do something each day to be a completionist? No. You can skip days whenever you want, and as long as 31 daily prompts (or alts) are in your works done in October, you can be a completionist. For example, if you wrote a 1000-word ficlet that covers prompts in days 2, 3, and 17, you can check all three days off your list even though it’s only one work. Q: Is this challenge just for fics? No! Artworks, GIFsets, headcannons, rec lists, poetry, moodboards, or any other creative work is encouraged. Q: Can I combine Whumptober with other creation challenges? Absolutely, as long as the other challenges allow it too.

PROMPTS

Q: How do the prompts work? There are FOUR prompts per day: a theme and three ideas. You can use one, two, three, or all four prompts for each day. If you don’t like any of the daily prompts, you can substitute one of the ALT prompts instead. Q: How strictly/literally should we interpret the prompts? As literally or as figuratively as you want. For example, if the theme is WATER, that could mean drowning, waterboarding, raining, swimming, take place underwater, be lost at sea, construct a metaphor about a character’s mood that changes like a flowing river, crying, or whatever else you can think of that fits that theme. Q: Can I combine prompts? Is there a limit on how many? No limit and combine as many as you’d like. If you create a work that checks off multiple prompts, that work will count for a fill of multiple prompts. You need to address 31 different prompts to be an official completionist, but you don’t have to produce 31 separate works.

WORKS

Q: What’s whump? Hurting a character, whether that’s physically, emotionally, intellectually, psychologically, or any other way you can think of. Comfort afterwards is optional. Angst is emotional whump, so it counts. Q: How do I know if it’s whumpy enough? If your character is just mildly inconvenienced, it probably needs more whump. However, no participant has to prove whumpiness to the mods. Whatever you write is up to you. Q: What kind of characters can I create for? Anything. Generic “whumpee,” OC, PC, NPC, major characters, minor characters, or whatever you want. There are no limits. Q: Does it have to take place in a specific fandom? No, you can create works for your own worlds or for fandoms or for both. You can also create more generic or pan-fandom works. You can do cross-overs or use OCs, whatever you want. Q: Can I create AI-created works? No. We will not reblog or promote any works we know to be generative AI-created. Q: Is there anything we’re not allowed to write? As long as it contains whump and is based on our prompts, it’s fine. Please courtesy tag your works if you post them so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences. Q: What about sex, minor characters, and potentially disturbing content? You can create whatever works are legal in your country and post them accordingly. Please courtesy tag anything you think might be objectionable if you post to Tumblr so people who follow the #whumptober2024 tag can filter according to their preferences.

POSTING

Q: Where can I post my work? Post where and how you want. You don’t even have to (cross)post it to Tumblr. Just keep in mind if it’s not on Tumblr we will not be able to add it to the blog archive. There is an AO3 archive for Whumptober 2024, as well as the parent collection for works completed outside of the event. Q: Can I start posting early? You can, but this is an October event and wouldn’t it be more fun with everyone doing it at the same time? We won’t be reblogging any work predating October 1st. Q: Can I post late? Yes. For the sake of our hardworking Post Fairies, only a day’s themes will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive each day of October. But you can post whenever. Some of us are still working on and posting Whumptober fics from years ago. Q: Do I have to use your tags? Only on Tumblr and only if you want us to reblog your work on @whumptober-archive. Q: How do I have my works reblogged to the archive? Properly tagged posts will be reblogged to @whumptober-archive. If you want the official archive blog to reblog you, post on Tumblr and tag correctly (see this FAQ link for more info on tagging). Please note not all posts will be reblogged each day. Q: Can we @ you? For questions and comments, of course. We’ll be getting a flood of notifications, so if you really want us to see something send an ask. Q: Can I cross post on other blogs? Yes, multiple platforms and blogs are perfectly acceptable, as long as they allow cross-posting (to us). You can also post different works to different accounts under different names, without posting them everywhere at once. If you post some works under your main and others under an alt blog, that’s fine for completionist purposes. Q: Can I upload/repost my Whumptober content to other social media platforms? Of course! We’ve created an AO3 Collection to archive any fics posted there, which can be found here. The blog is the official archive, so please respect the personal boundaries of any whumpers in your social circle (don’t out anyone as a participant who would prefer not to be outed).

[magneticecstasy]

clandestine (drabble/wip)

pairing: teacher!joel x f!reader

rating: m (minors dni)

warnings: age gap (joel is in his 30s and f!reader is 18) power imbalance (teacher/student relationship), slightly pervy!joel bc hello he’s pining after his student, implied that reader is a virgin, slight smut

a/n: i’ve literally never written any fanfic or smut before and this is my first go at it. this will hopefully become part of a larger fanfic that i’m planning. this drabble is meant to take place during a history school trip to berlin where teacher!joel is a chaperone.

i would love to hear any feedback/advice about this piece and i hope ya’ll like it!🖤

joel studied you like an artefact, not unlike the one you were admiring in front of you, and drank you in.

he rarely saw you in regular clothes, save for non-uniform days to raise money for some charity selected by the college. even then, it was expected for you to dress modestly, covered up. here on this trip though, you were able to dress more akin to what you wanted to wear, able to show more skin and more of your body - much to joel’s delight. his eyes scanned past your soft locks to your chest clothed in a teasing milkmaid top. the bodice, cinched tightly, the soft, gathered fabric caressed your waist, accentuating your figure with a subtle yet irresistible allure. the garment emphasized the swell of your breasts, while the tie front drew attention to the tantalizing valley of your cleavage.

he fantasised about what they would look like in his large hands, caressing and massaging them, picturing what illicit noises he could solicit from your lips if he were to squeeze and pinch your soft buds. he wondered if he would be the first to touch you like this. the thought of him being first to lay claim of you made him hard, straining slightly painfully against his thick jeans. damn, you’re going to be the death o’ me, darlin’, he thought.

in this gallery full of art, he would still prefer to gaze upon you. there’s nothing wrong with that, right? he thought, i’m just lookin’, observin’, whatever y’wanna to call it. he’s never acted out physically on this attraction, this infatuation with you, a student, so he believed he was in the clear, for now. he decided to keep his dirty thoughts of you to himself, kept tucked away the next time he returns to his hotel room later tonight.

to him, you appeared not to notice his eyes devouring every little inch of your body, too engrossed in each of the collected works in the gallery. but you felt his gaze and allowed him to lap you up. if it were any other man, it would feel perverted, disgusting. in truth, you were revelling in the way mr. miller was staring at you, probably undressing you in his mind. it felt wrong in a sense, him being your teacher in a position of power over you, but in the same sense, it felt too good to stop him.