#fictional research

[ghost-bxrd]

— sighting of Subject J16T following the incident at [REDACTED] Research Facility

Deaths associated with Subject J16T are steadily climbing into the hundreds. With the destruction of the [REDACTED] Research Facility, most data on this specimen has been lost. Attempts at neutralizing the threat have proved unsuccessful.

Attempts at recovering surviving equipment from the sunken remains have to be postponed due to a sudden infestation of predatory ocean life. Likely cause: personnel that did not manage to escape in time.

Subject J16T has been observed to primarily target vessels associated with research centers, hypothesis: negative associations with research facility, and subject’s first chance kill of [REDACTED] may have resulted in an insatiable blood lust.

We have awoken a monster from the depths. And it is angry.

File Notes:

Observations on the aftermath of the incident at [REDACTED] Research Facility

[woodpengu]

Some of my works deserve narration from or over the perspective of a character or group of characters. And some are poetic nonsense that I will still subject to the eyes that dare to indulge curiosity and later regret everything. Some could do with being more documentary style. And then there are entire Universes made up of many stories that are only all connected by the one thread of being in the same reality. The tales might be meant for books, pamphlets, or campfires. But the setting needs wings to soar and a platform to launch from. Not to be appendices in an epic tome/series but to be it's own volume or collection of volumes to pour over in the dead of night like some scholar or wizard or archeologist digging up potential history related to potential discovery (or vice versa). We're not here for the quest for saving the world from the demon lord or building a tavern in the underground... we're here for the juicy maps and saucy trade routes and snob-talk over all the ales of the late 3rd age and the scandal of misinterpreting that runic language for eons only for that one noob to point out the flaw which changes all of history. Give me the languages of your setting, the natural disasters that changed the map, the off-the-wall holidays of a common culture.

No offense but I think some of you would be a lot happier writing a fictional atlas or encyclopedia instead of a narrative story

[kacchanot-fucking-deal-with-this]

So you know when you're writing a scene where the hero is carrying an injured person and you realize you've never been in this situation and have no idea how accurate the method of transportation actually is?

Oh boy, do I have a valuable resource for you!

Here is a PDF of the best ways to carry people depending on the situation and how conscious the injured person needs to be for the carrying position.

Literally a life saver.

(No pun intended.)

[lackadaisycats]

Miss Tracy, do u have any advice on researching a specific time period?

(also I know u probably won't see this, but I love your art and you are awesome)

Look for books about the time period, but also books written contemporaneous to the time period, whether fiction or non-fiction. Check used book stores for out of print gems at good prices.

If photography was a technology that existed in the time period you're researching, look for photos of people doing everyday things. Take in the context, the geography, the economic situation. Look at how they're dressed and what their clothes say about them.

Newspaper archives. Sometimes newspapers of the past are free to browse. Sometimes you have to pay for access. Old shopping catalogue collections - if they exist for your time period - are great too.

Documentary films about time periods, or specific events in a given time period can be useful, even if only for a broad overview.

Museum exhibits - helpful whether you're looking for famous paintings or artifacts of past civilizations in a world renowned institution, or trying to dig up something impossibly unique in an oddity denture museum in some forgotten place in the Midwest. If you can't go in person, check online. You can find museums with vintage clothing or household appliance collections from even a few decades ago. Some museums have extensive, searchable online collections too. Take the Metropolitan Museum for instance.

If you can visit historical sites relevant to your area of interest, do it! Do those little guided walking tours. Do the ghost tours even - they're often fairly history-centric with some paranormal folklore for added spice. Sometimes they get you access to places you otherwise can't enter. Check historical societies local to cities or towns of interest.

If you need information about something deeply specific, check the internet for communities that form around that deeply specific topic. I've found tidbits of useful info searching around old forum posts from radio enthusiasts, Model T owners, and people who collect old telephone booths. (Granted, it's getting harder to search for this kind of stuff nowadays.)

-----------

Be careful of AI trash, whether it's generative images, text descriptions, or entire articles. Don't rely much on film or television for accuracy. Some things are more interested in being accurate than others, but there's almost always some artistic license taken. If you're trying to be particularly accurate about something, triple check it for confirmation. Misinformation has had a way of spreading like insidious mildew even before AI started disseminating it with delusory authority.

Lastly, if you don't enjoy doing this kind of historical research like a weird little detective-creature, consider loosening up on the 'historical' aspect of your writing. It's okay to not focus on historicity in your fiction. But if you're going to dive in whole-hog on history, bear in mind it's an ongoing, often time-consuming adventure in information-finding.

(Thank you for the kind words!)

[reality-detective]

Stranger Than Fiction 🤔

[shannonpurdyjones]

Spinning in full garb at the Carolina Ren Faire

(If you turn on sound be prepared for the jovial shouts of children and conversations of other faire goers...quiet filming does not exist at ren faires lol)

Took the opportunity to spin in period character while at the ren faire with my partner and kids on Saturday. Got lots of fun questions from other faire goers, many nods of respect from faire staff, and spun about 25-30g of wool. 🥰

Loads of fun, 10/10 would recommend doing period fiber arts as cosplay.

[fight-nights-at-freddys]

why is being a proshipper the same length as a groomer, why should someone who likes fiction be on the same level as someone who has actually hurt a child, or has the intention to do so.

I really hope these people are young teenagers, because if the go into real life and think that someone who’s into dark media is just as dangerous as an actual predator, they’re going to have some horrible trust issues, least of all a terrible view point of the world.

[childrenofcain-if]

Alternate universe where D is a football player because I can honestly see it 😂

They'd still be FwB with MC, who's a cheerleader (I love cliches heh). But at one of their final matches, they immediately run to MC after winning and kisses them in front of everyone. I've been thinking about this a lot

the locker room smelled like a nauseating mixture of sweat and antiseptic. there was an overall nervous energy in the whole area because of the upcoming game: the biggest of the season.

yale (bulldogs) vs princeton (tigers). the oldest college football rivalry in america since 1873. truthfully though? you really did not have that as your priority at the moment.

D’s shoulders were tense as they leaned against the row of lockers, their football gear half on, half off, like they couldn’t decide if they were gearing up for the game or gearing up for this conversation with you. you stood in front of them, your arms crossed, trying to hide the way your voice wavered as you spoke.

“why are we even doing this if it doesn’t mean anything to you?” you asked, your words sharper than you’d intended. you didn’t want to sound hurt, but the cracks were already showing and you hated yourself even more for it. “you said you loved me, D. was that a joke?”

D flinched, their jaw tightening.

“it wasn’t a joke,” they muttered, not meeting your eyes. “you know it wasn’t.“

“then what the hell is this?” you gestured between the two of you, the space that felt both too close and too far apart. “why can’t you just—” you stopped, biting back the lump rising in your throat. “why can’t you just be fair to us for once?”

D ran a hand through their damp brown hair, their helmet still sitting on the bench behind them. “because it’s complicated, alright? i’m really not good at this. i don’t know how to—”

“how to what?” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “how to be with someone who actually loves you? how to let yourself care about someone? how to not be a complete asshole?”

their silence was worse than any answer they could have given. you felt the sting of it like a slap.

“forget it,” you said, your voice quieter now, resigned. “this isn’t worth it. i’m not worth it, apparently. not to you.”

“don’t say that,” D said quickly, their voice low and rough, but before they could step toward you, the door opened, and your cheer teammates poked their heads in.

“hey, come on!” one of them called, her tone light but urgent. “we’ve gotta go!”

you hesitated, your gaze flicking between D and the exit. you wanted them to say something—anything—that would make you stay, that would make you believe this wasn’t just another dead end. but they didn’t.

so you left, letting the door swing shut behind you, leaving D standing there with their heart in their throat and everything unsaid on their tongue.

***

the stadium was alive in a way that almost felt sentient, the roar of the crowd reverberating through the air, through the ground, through your chest.

the cheer routine was designed to dazzle; full of sharp, explosive movements, tight formations, and splits that skimmed the edge of possibility. every count of the eight-beat rhythm had its place: a high V at one, a perfectly synchronized clap at three, a ripple of tumbling that broke apart and came back together like a flock of birds midflight.

there wasn’t room for hesitation. you had drilled it for weeks, the choreographer shouting corrections until the moves were muscle memory. your body knew what to do, even if your mind was stuck somewhere else.

somewhere else was D.

you couldn’t see them from the sidelines, not at first. the field was a mass of bodies, yale’s blue and white clashing violently with princeton’s orange and black, and it all blurred together under the floodlights.

the roar of the crowd pressed against you, a wall of sound that rattled your ribs, the kind of noise that demanded participation. you gripped your pom-poms tightly, smiling like your heart wasn’t threatening to give out, and launched into the first set of motions.

high kick. clap. shimmy. back handspring.

on the outside, you looked flawless, exactly like what the crowd wanted: all energy and excitement, no cracks in the façade. on the inside, your chest was a knot, the fight with D replaying on an endless loop in your head like a broken VHS tape.

the pyramid was next, the most complicated part of the routine. the bases braced themselves, strong and steady, while the flyers climbed onto their hands. you were in the middle, the top of the pyramid, the highest point for the crowd to see. it was a position of trust. you had to believe your teammates wouldn’t let you fall. it wasn’t something you usually thought about, but tonight, the irony cut deeper than you wanted to admit.

when you extended into the final pose, one leg straight, one bent, arms raised, your eyes landed on D for the first time.

they were in the huddle, standing tall as the team circled around them and the coach, their helmet tucked under one arm. the older man was shouting something you couldn’t hear, D’s face fierce with focus. you wanted to stay angry, but instead, you felt your chest tighten.

D was magnetic in the way they moved, their command of the team absolute. you hated how much you still wanted to be near them, how much your body betrayed you even when your heart was screaming.

the pyramid dismounted, your teammates catching you as you came down. you barely noticed the applause; you were too busy watching D jog onto the field for the first play.

***

D’S POV

D glanced toward the sideline. toward you. again.

it was ridiculous, the way you could disarm them from thirty yards away. you weren’t even looking at them. your head was bent close to one of your friend’s, your pom-poms hanging loosely in your hands. you were supposed to be listening to your captain, but D could see the faint smile on your lips, the way you kept sneaking glances toward the field like you weren’t paying attention at all.

like your eyes were searching for D.

D tore their eyes away before anyone could notice. they didn’t need their teammates teasing them about this—not right now. it was bad enough that their chest felt like it was caving in every time they saw you, bad enough that your fight before the game was still fresh in their head, your voice sharp and shaking, your words a blade sliding between their ribs.

why can’t you just be fair to us?

the truth was, they didn’t know how to. not the right way. not in a way that didn’t make them feel like they were standing naked in a room full of strangers, every scar and bruise and ugly thing about them laid bare.

you deserved better than the mess that they were. you deserved someone who didn’t flinch at the idea of love. someone who could give you everything without being afraid they’d ruin it before it began.

but even as they told themselves that, D knew they couldn’t let you go. not really. not ever.

“alright, team,” coach barked, snapping D back to the present. “this is it. princeton’s undefeated this season, but so are we. you want to be champions? prove it. show everyone you’ve got what it takes.”

the team roared their agreement, slapping helmets and clapping shoulders, the kind of camaraderie that made D feel grounded and restless all at once. they shoved their helmet on and jogged out to the field, their cleats digging into the turf, their breath coming steady and sharp.

they could do this. for the team, for the win, for yale.

no.

for you.

***

the first quarter passed in a blur of plays and hits, the kind of bone-rattling intensity that left D’s hands shaking with adrenaline. they took the snap, rolled back, dodged a tackle by inches, and launched the ball downfield.

the crowd erupted as yale’s receiver caught it just shy of the endzone, but D didn’t stop to celebrate. their eyes found you again, like a compass always pointing to their north star.

you were clapping, your pom-poms bouncing, but there was something off about your gorgeous smile. it didn’t reach your eyes, and D knew it was their fault. they’d put that ache there, and it killed them to see it.

focus. they had to focus.

***

the second quarter was worse. princeton’s defense was relentless, their linemen big enough to make D feel small—a very uncomfortable thing. every play felt like a war, every hit a reminder of how close they were to losing. the score was tied at halftime, and the locker room was a mess of noise and sweat and tension.

“get your head in the game, diaconu,” their coach snapped, pulling D aside as the team filed out. “you’re playing like you’ve got something else on your mind. whatever it is, leave it in here. got it?”

“got it,” D said, even though they didn’t.

they didn’t leave it in the locker room. they carried it back onto the field, where it sat heavy in their chest, driving them forward and holding them back all at once.

you were watching. D could feel your eyes on them every time they stepped up to the line, every time they called a play. it made them want to be better, to play harder, to show you that they weren’t just a coward who couldn’t say the words you needed to hear.

it wasn’t enough to just win. they had to earn you back.

***

YOUR POV

you watched in horror as princeton’s linebacker, a hulking person who looked more suited for professional wrestling than college football, blindsided D after a throw.

it was a dirty hit, helmet to helmet, and D went down hard. you froze, pom-poms slack in your hands, as the crowd erupted in boos. for a second, D didn’t move, and your chest seized with panic. but then they rolled onto their side, their hand going to their helmet, and relief flooded through you so fast it made you dizzy.

they got up, wobbling slightly, and waved off the trainers who tried to check on them.

your fingers dug into the plastic of your pom-poms, the edges biting into your skin. you wanted to scream at them to stop being so stubborn, to let someone take care of them for once. but you were stuck on the sidelines, powerless to do anything but watch.

it was the last quarter and the score was tied, and every play felt like life or death. the crowd was on its feet, the noise deafening, as D took the snap for the final play. they dropped back, scanning the field, their movements precise and fluid. princeton’s defense was closing in, but D didn’t flinch. and then, with a leap that seemed to defy gravity, they threw the ball downfield.

touchdown.

the stadium erupted. the crowd screamed. the cheer squad jumped and waved their pom-poms like their life depended on it, but you couldn’t move. you just stood there, your heart pounding, your eyes locked on D.

they ripped off their helmet, their face flushed and damp with sweat, and for a moment, they let their teammates surround them, clapping them on the back, shouting their praise. but D’s eyes were searching, scanning the sidelines, until they found you.

and then they ran.

it wasn’t graceful or dramatic—it was desperate and urgent, like they couldn’t get to you fast enough. the crowd blurred around you, the noise fading into a dull hum, as D closed the distance between you.

they didn’t stop when they reached you, just grabbed you and pulled you into their arms, burying their face in your shoulder like they were afraid to let go. you could feel their heartbeat racing, their chest heaving as they caught their breath.

“i’m sorry,” D said, their voice muffled against your uniform. “i’m so sorry. i’m an idiot. i was scared, okay? i love you and i didn’t want to screw this up. i didn’t want to screw you up.”

you pulled back just enough to look at them, their gray eyes raw and unguarded, and you felt your own walls crumbling rapidly.

“you love me?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper.

D nodded, their hands gripping your arms like you might vanish if they let go.

“i do. i love you,” they said, their voice cracking. “i love you so much it scares the hell out of me.”

you didn’t even realize you were crying until D’s thumb brushed a tear off your cheek. you let out a shaky laugh, leaning into them.

“i’m still supposed to be mad at you,” you said, but there was no heat in it.

D smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made your chest ache.

“yeah,” they said. “but can you be mad at me and be completely mine?”

you nodded, choking back a sob as you wrapped your arms around their neck, pulling them into a kiss. the noise of the crowd surged back in, louder than ever, and it mingled with D and your teammates hollering suddenly. but it didn’t matter. nothing mattered except D’s lips on yours, their hands on your waist, the way they held you like you were their centre of gravity.

when you finally pulled back, D rested their forehead against yours, their breath warm against your skin.

“will you still be cheering for me, baby?” they asked, their voice soft but hopeful.

you laughed through your tears, pressing another kiss to their lips. “always.”

[deoidesign]

Worry free, guarantee!

loved painting this one, I love illustrated advertisements

[iatnen]

Hey all…..

Errr uhhhh finally got to writing my fic

It’s a super short intro 😅 not a lot happened but at least it’s out

Quidditch, quidditch, quidditch

AO3 - Birds of a Feather

[ghost-bxrd]

-ore I cannot agree with the proposed hypothesis on swarm behavior amongst mer species. Too little is known of how the frequencies of the sounds tentatively dubbed as “siren song” affect the human nervous system. And nothing at all suggests that mer are similarly affected by this frequency as humans.

Lamentations therefore seem to be an occurrence not only dictated by the sirens themselves, but also by the various congregating mer species that may gather at the site without attacking one another, despite being natural enemies.

Sirens may-

File Notes:

Recovered physical fragment on the refutation of swarm behavior in mer species, as well as several hypotheses on the effect of Siren Song on the human brain. See data file 3184 for full version. Researcher: [REDACTED], status: deceased

[comfort-character-central]

What am I doing? Oh, I'm just doing some educated research, learning about topics that fascinate me.

*Goes back to my screen where there are 5 tabs on my computer, all different things related to the character I'm currently fixated on.*

[imaginebetterfutures]

Useful (not AI) Tools for Writing

For years I've been compiling a list of useful tools for writing (fiction and non-fiction) and I thought it might be fun to share it.

What am I missing? What do you use and love? I'd love to keep building this list!

Historical Research

General plug: Librarians!!! They want to help you.

Search for words/signs in Brooklyn

Encyclopedia of Hair

Underwear, a history

Newspapers.com

Historical (and modern) meeting minutes

Find a grave

Political TV Ad archive

Oral Histories

Columbia

National Archives

MoMA

Archives of American Art

The Oral History Review

Words

Wordnik

Dictionary of American Regional English

Scrivener built in name generator

Lose the very

Scene Setting / Images

Animals & Plants by geolocation (also good for general scene setting)

Flickr world map

Past weather by zip code

Google Maps streetview / Google Earth

General Inspiration

Oblique Strategies

Worldbuilding

Tarot decks (my personal favorite is this one)

The Thing from the Future

The Picture Game

Misc

Data is Plural -- a newsletter full of interesting datasets

[bowandbrush]

it’s honestly scary being a fan of usagi miyamoto/yuichi whilst being in the rise fandom and not shipping leosagi,,,because it feels like everyone and their grandma likes it. like I’m sorry!! Don’t kill me please

[reality-detective]

An unusually large eruption of one of Yellowstone’s geysers occurred at Biscuit Basin moments ago. 🤔

[shannonpurdyjones]

Short sample clip because Tumblr is being a butt and refusing to upload the full video without crashing (hellsite my beloved and beloathed)

Here's the link if you want to see the full in-hand spinning demo video with captions (you don't have to subscribe or download anything to watch...I mean it's lovely for me if you do subscribe obviously, but don't let Substack bully you. It's a link. You can open it with no strings, no matter what they say lol.)

More about the textile history inspiration behind my historical fantasy novel Wyrd Weaving below the cut!

When I first conceived of the idea that is now becoming Wyrd Weaving, an historical fantasy novel set between Northumbria and Svealand in the tumultuous early 9th century, I only knew two things for certain. I knew I wanted to write a story centering the lives of women, queer people, and gender-nonconforming people in the 800s. So often stories set in the “Viking Age” center only the pursuits of men (wealthy men especially), and I wanted to dig for what other stories were buried there, waiting to be told. I also knew without doubt that fiber arts would somehow comprise a significant portion of the story’s magical realism elements.

I’ve knitted since my late teens, and have harbored and interest in all sorts of fiber arts for even longer than that. When I decided to get serious about writing a story centering the lives of medieval women (in Europe primarily, though several other unique period cultures factor into the story as well), I knew I had to do a deep dive into historical spinning and weaving. Women at all levels of society spent more time on aspects of cloth production than any other chore during this period, yet arts like spinning and weaving are almost never shown in novels, movies, or TV set in the early Middle Ages.

That wasn’t going to fly for Wyrd Weaving, a story inspired by the countless forgotten fiber artists who quite literally wove the history of our society. This first short video about my (mis)adventures in historical textile research gives you a glimpse at how and why I learned in-hand or “twiddle” spinning, the style of spinning prominent in early 9th century northern Europe. Enjoy!