#prose sample

[cosmicgrapevine]

     Melanie was about to ask Lynd how he felt about another night (or two) sleeping under the stars, but the sound of of sneakers hitting pavement made her turn. It was Tabby, running at a full sprint, glimmering blue bractoscope in hand catching the dawn light. Her face was beet-red, her hair a sweaty mess, like she’d run at that pace clear across town. Seeing Lynd, she slowed, then stopped, keeling forward with her hands on her thighs, just barely not toppling, sucking in deep gulps of oxygen. It looked like she’d throw up from exertion. Then, she lifted her head, a wild grin peeking through her spiky bangs.       Lynd was still for a moment. He shivered like the lid on an overboiling pot. Then, in one smooth motion, he took a few running steps forward, leapt three feet into the air, and ripped his baseball cap off, flinging it into the sky with delight. From beneath, a small blue and green bird zipped out, chirping joyously and flying in a circle above Lynd. “YES!” He roared. Tabby screamed “WOO!” In response.       Coming back to earth, he ran to Tabby, scooping her up in both arms and giving her a spinning, spiraling hug at the edge of the driveway, her feet trailing in the air. “Keep it down, you dumb kids!” Some woman yelled from some unseen window.       Fawn’s lip curled. To Melanie, she said, “Can we talk?” The two found a quieter spot off to the side. Fawn planted her fists on her hips. “If this was all just to get your friend laid, I’m gonna be so mad.”       “What? No, it’s…that’s ridiculous.��       Fawn looked witheringly at the driveway celebration. “All I’m saying is, when romance and magic mix, things can get real ugly, real fast.”       “Is that what happened with Shanti?” Melanie said, side-eyeing Jordy.       “Oh, you brought that up?” Fawn said. “No wonder he’s acting so pissy.”       “So what’s the story? He didn’t hurt her, did he?”       Fawn sighed. “Hardly. He took her to homecoming last October; they started dating after that. Jordy followed her like a lost puppy; you know how boys get. She finds out his secret, somehow, right before winter break, and decides she wants to try exorcism, except just the screwing-with-peoples-heads part, not the smiting-evil part. He was too gutless to say no.”       Melanie cringed, fearing what was coming. “I take it he should’ve.”       “She used Jordy to settle all her bitchy little scores before Miss Verne caught them. Fixed what she could. Let’s just say the girl who's forced to make pig noises whenever she talks to a boy got it easy. Miss Verne blames herself. Jordy just goes non-responsive about it. And Shanti just doesn’t give a damn anymore. About anything. So yeah, I’m not crazy about everybody’s crush of the month getting a spot.”       “They’ve both had it rough. and just…wanna look out for each other. They won’t do anything stupid.”       “They’d better not. Mr. C. didn’t kick Jordy out completely, ‘cuz he’s the golden boy, y’know. But he did lose his post-grad 50K, and his captaincy. I saw you looking at those portraits,” she said. “I’ll get one soon, and this is my first big win with the crown on. I’d like to keep it a win.”       “We all want the same thing, Fawn. We’re a team now, remember?” Melanie looked idly past her, thinking a bit, then calling everyone over. “I think I answered my own question,” she said with a grin. She wasn’t manipulating anyone; just bringing together two people with shared interests.

     Miss Verne answered the door in a bathrobe, squinting into the sunrise. “Kids,” she said, “It’s 6 AM on a Sunday. What are you doing here? And who’s he?”       “Yeah, sorry, Miss Verne,” Fawn said, her chipperness glued back on. “This is a lot to ask, but…this is Lynd. He needs a place to stay. Melanie thought you might lend a hand.”       The poor woman could hardly even comprehend. “I’m sorry? A place to stay?”       The three girls alternated telling the story. Miss Verne’s eyes grew wider with each sentence. “Well,” she finally said. “That was…quite the puzzle you solved. You understand, Lynd, why I’m not immediately on-board here.”       “Of course, ma’am. But, I promise I will earn your trust.”       “Polite. That’s good. Well, come in. Consider this your first shot.”       Her home was mid-sized, sparsely furnished, and had two cats as the only other inhabitants, both of whom dashed away on sight. “Most Marksteppers think Wardens are weak,” she said, fixing herself some coffee, “that Ward magic is one crutch, and modern living the other, and that they won’t lean on either. Clearly you feel differently.” She fiddled with her cup.       “Well, the clans have an old saying…’the vine that does not spread, does not grow.’ It’s supposed to be about the clans themselves, covering new territory. But I always wondered…what about me? I could stay in the wilderness, killing one halfmire at a time, until one of them got me first. Or I could grow. I could join the world that I’m expected to give my life protecting, see what makes it so worth protecting.”       “Tabby thinks I will learn to hate school like she does.” Tabby gave him a swat and smiled guiltily at Miss Verne. “Maybe I will. But whatever else it is, it will be in the same place every day, I won’t find it ransacked, crawling with Mires, some morning…I can just go and learn, and talk. Make friends. I hear they’ll even feed me. It sounds piteous, I know, but these are dreams my people do not believe are worth following. I had to follow them myself.”       The assembled crowd was silent. “Well,” Miss Verne said, then nothing else. She leaned back in her chair, clutching her coffee. Melanie held her breath. Had they already won her over?       “This is…probably the most unethical thing I’ve ever done,” she muttered. “Alright, rule one. You don’t actually live here. If someone asks, then lie.”       “Of course.”       “Nightly check-ins. I’m not chasing you down every night. Curfews if it comes to that. And no one over without my say-so.” Melanie could hardly keep a straight face. What happened to that wild goth girl from five years ago?       “Naturally.”       “If you enroll, you’ll likely be in one of my classes. Outside of official LKPC stuff, you’re just another student. No special treatment.”       “Understood.”       Miss Verne sighed, like she was hoping he’d balk at such demands. “Alright. I guess we’re really doing this. You do have some clothes, right? Toothbrush?”       Tabby perked up. “Yeah, actually; we brought his stuff from the motel.” She patted Lynd on the shoulder, then whispered something, and they both laughed like two drunk pals stumbling home from a bar as they got the bags. Melanie felt a little tipsy herself. 6:37 AM…       “Lynd, you’ll take the first upstairs room on the right, the others are OFF-LIMI—” The door slammed behind them. Miss Verne drummed her fingernails on her mug. “Except the bathroom. Hm. Are they always this…close?”       “Since recently.” Melanie said. Make a good impression, you idiots. Please.       “Fawn, you should head home. Get some sleep. Melanie, just one more thing.” She waited until the two were alone downstairs. Melanie thought she heard Lynd snoring already from the bedroom. His first bedroom.       “I’m going to guess,” Miss Verne said, “Someone told you about the Shanti incident. So you figured I’d be extra-motivated to keep Lynd—and Tabby—on their best behavior. You guessed right. He’s already got you on his wavelength,” she said, looking north toward Florentino’s mansion. “Find weak spots. Use them to your advantage. I’m not angry,” she continued, although Melanie doubted that. “It’s part of your life now. But also, I’m not currently in the mood for second chances. For anyone. Are we clear?”       They were. Shanti was easy to spot at school, when she was there, with her risqué outfits and exotic appearance. Easy to keep a distance from. “Shanti’s not…working for them, is she? She’s not a Fullmire?”       “That would make things easier, wouldn’t it? But no, no signs of possession at any point. We don’t keep these secrets for our own amusement, you know. We keep them away from people like Shanti. She ruined those girls’ lives because no one stopped her; because she thought it would be funny.”

[maulfucker]

I love going through my writing. even if I don't add a single word to any of my wips at least I get to re-read the stuff I've written and decide it still fucks hard

[thatlittledandere]

Alright, you definitely should have listened to the village elders this time. Wandering too deep into the forest was a bad idea. They could have been more specific about what “too deep” meant though.

All you wanted to do was see if there were any valuable herbs in the area. You had heard rumors that if you went slightly beyond the usual reach of the villagers, a little to the west, you would find ingredients for most potential of healing potions. You didn’t think heeding the advice would cost you much; it was supposed to be only a little further, right? But which way was west again…

Before you knew it, you had gotten lost. Of course, forests always looked somewhat the same, but after 20 years of living in the same village, you came to recognize the areas you had always played, worked, and relaxed in. A tree that bent a little to the left; that boulder that looked like a fist without a thumb; the lightning-struck tree trunk, too heavy to be moved, blocking what used to be a path. You knew when you were near your home by the atmosphere alone.

And now you recognized nothing you saw.

It wasn’t dark yet - wouldn’t be for a long time - but you were still getting the shivers of being outside at night. This part of the forest was creepy. You didn’t know how else to describe it - threatening? It felt like something was out to get you. Or for that matter, anyone foolish enough to disturb the peace of whatever dwelled inside.

You stopped. Turned to look back — had you seen wrong? You must have — and turned back ahead. There was... It was like there was a line drawn on the ground. A border.

You looked to your right, then left. No, it really was… as strange as it seemed, it was clearly a huge circle. You were standing just outside it.

And everything inside was dead.

The grass was sickly, pale yellow, almost white, like after a scorching hot summer with too little rain. Trees gray and bare, bark flaking, crispy leaves lying sadly on the ground. Thousands of insect carcasses everywhere, a couple of dead birds and — oh no — a lone rabbit. All completely lifeless. How could this be?

You took a step back. Was this maybe… The work of magic? A fiendish warlock wielding dark sorcery?

You didn’t know much about magic; there weren’t many capable of using it in your tiny village, and the mages you knew were neither malicious nor the tiniest bit adventurous with it. But it was the only explanation you could come up with. Nature couldn’t do this on its own.

You felt a rush of excitement at the thought. Magic had always fascinated you. With nobody around to teach the craft, you had abandoned the idea of pursuing it years ago, but… It was exhilarating seeing its impact. Foul as this magic was, it drew you in - and if nothing inside was alive, it couldn’t do you any harm either. You had come so far; why not investigate a little?

You had barely taken two steps on the lifeless grass when you heard a soft voice plead: “Don’t come closer.”

You froze. Had there been a person around? Was it a bandit? Or, wait, maybe they could help you find your way home-

“Please get away from me,” asked the stranger again, even more desperate this time. Their voice was getting raspier, breaking towards the end of the sentence. Whoever it was must have been either sick or grievously injured. Perhaps you would have to help them more than they could help you.

You squinted your eyes, and finally caught a glimpse of a figure behind two trees.

He looked around your age. But not in such good health, as you had suspected. He was holding onto the tree, hunching, and the distance between you wasn't enough to hide the tremble of his hands or the hollowness in his eyes.

"Please, " he repeated, each word weaker yet more fearful than the last. "I can only bring misery. You must leave while you still can!"

His fear was contagious. You couldn't fight the shiver running along your spine nor the cold sweat erching your brow. It was like even the Sun knew better than to approach this self-proclaimed harbinger.

But you had always been too curious for your own good, much to your mother's chagrin. Weren't you an apprentice in the art of medicine? Wasn't this stranger in clear need of help? You couldn't just leave him alone to rot in his miserable circle of decay.

You forced a smile - sort of - and took a step closer. The stranger grabbed his face, screamed, and collapsed on his knees. You saw white and felt a strong gust of wind knock you off your feet.

And then there was nothing.

[valleyfthdolls]

Watching TikTok discourse about musical artists and just thinking “wait you guys actually think that bad art isn’t art worth making analyzing and enjoying I thought it was just a joke”

[deermouth]

This one's definitely aquatic, but not very marine to me at all. Closer to aquarium scent (where I wore it today!) or... well, certainly not chlorine-y like a hotel pool, but there's something about the water scent that makes me think of one. A bit of sweet greenness on dry-down, like dune grass if you squint, maybe? But I was really hoping for something that would transport me to the coast, and this isn't doing it. I'm not picking up any of the salty, stormy, or sandy notes. It's still a unique and fun scent, but not one I think I'll buy again.

Wearing perfume oil from a sample bottle, it's still on me 7 hours later, but faint. Just as well, I suppose...

This is the first I've tried from a sample 6-pack of Solstice scents, so I'm hoping I'll have better luck with some of the others.

[bluewithpurplepolkadots]

Honestly I did use to consume romantic versions of Hades and Persephone in the past. But I think what actually broke it for me was when I purchased a specific comic of it. No it’s not the most popular one out now. It was advertised on tumblr and the art was pretty damn good with decent prose.

Not naming or linking it because that’s mean but like I kind of need to rant about it a bit.

The art was good, and it was typical of such modern adaptations in having a suffocating Demeter: but somehow went further. It had the very stupid and insulting premise where Demeter in fact was just using Persephone and simply didn’t have the powers to bring about the harvest basically. Which was in fact why winter came and Persephone had to leave Hades once a year.

It wasn’t a grieving mother. Wasn’t even a demonstration of her power. She was just weak and a liar and a user according to this comic.

What the actual fuck.

I mean honestly from what I recall it even made Hermes into an idiot or something and tricked him with the Pomegranate as a reason Persephone couldn’t leave. You know. Making shit up to him because it clearly didn’t make sense and Hermes wasn’t the brightest.

Like, dude. Hermes??? The god of trickery?

It also had a very weird line where Persephone said Hades was the only one to ever respect what she wanted. Which was such a weird thing to write in retrospect to the actual hymn.

I think the only god which escaped being weirdly twisted out of shape or made out to be weak was perhaps Cupid and Zeus.

[tavihunter]

Sample from my Novel-in-Progress

The place was a typical, two-story colonial, nothing special, but nicer than any of Sarelle’s homes for a long, long time. It reminded her of the first house in her memories, before the divorce—she dreamt in that house every night. Had nightmares in it... The landscaped lawn here was virtually identical to all the others, culminating in a subdivision that strove to recapture classic, New England style, but in inflated, cheap ticky-tacky and quarried stone facades. This house was a little older, probably built in the 80s. Sarelle had always been fascinated by architecture, but these observations stoked a feeling that this place was too normal, too… vanilla to be a good fit for an outcast like her.

Answering the door at Ronan’s knock was a young woman, her dark hair standing out, a skillfully-crafted braid reaching her waist. Her keen, dark eyes scanned Sarelle, sending a shiver down her spine. Sarelle was intimidated by her, yet the woman's face held a certain warmth, an animal-like attractiveness that endeared her features. She was dressed simply in jeans and a t-shirt, her athletic build suggesting a strength that belied her confidence.

"Hey, Ronan," she said, her voice a husky alto that conveyed genuine affection. Her gaze shifted to Sarelle, her smile turning down a half notch, but still friendly. "Uh, hello," she said."Welcome. I'm Willow."

Before Sarelle could respond, another figure appeared behind Willow. She was a smaller and curvier young woman with expressive, light brown eyes and neck-length brown hair held in a ponytail. Her outfit, a blend of feminine and practical, gave Sarelle the impression of an independent spirit like a 2020s hippie. She looked at Sarelle with a gentle smile that reached her eyes, conveying a disarming empathy.

"Hi, Sarelle," she said, her tiny voice at first soothing. "I'm Skye. It's nice to meet you. Ronan's told us about you."

Sarelle felt momentarily frozen by paranoia. Ronan had been talking about her already? What had he said? The thought sent a fresh jolt of discomfort through her. She felt off-balance, caught in a social situation she couldn't quite decipher. Ronan seemed to sense her unease; stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on her upper back.

"Come on in, Sarelle," he said, his voice gentle and encouraging. "It's getting cold out here."

He guided her into the house, following Willow and Skye. Sarelle watched them walking ahead of her and took in the texture of the natural, hardwood floors and mouldings that creaked charismatically under their steps. The lighting was bright, but pleasant, created by well-maintained brass fixtures. Nag champa sweetened the air with a thick, exotic touch. The four made their way through the cozy corridors and door frames of the old-fashioned floor plan toward a kitchen at the back of the home.

[tozettastone]

For the purposes of this poll, I am defining "novel in physical book form" very broadly as a long work of prose, fictional, and published on paper.

Furthermore:

Books that are not novels do not count.

If you are currently reading a book and you haven't finished it, it counts as "read."

Books you tried to read but didn't finish for whatever reason count as "read," too.

Books someone else gave you (eg., as a gift!) count towards books you own, but books that have been loaned to you (by a person or organisation) do not.

Books you have gotten rid of in some way are no longer yours and you do not have to count them as owned.

While I should never demand a spot on your blog, if you would like to reblog this poll, it would be interesting to me to see the results with a relatively large sample size.

[joculine]

Very few in the TTRPG space are writing like Snow is writing. Wickedly excited for this new project. Check it out and have a peek at Songbirds for a sample. (Or ask me and I'll share an excerpt of my favorite bits of prose/game design)

I mean how can I say no to this:

Go check it out. Go back it.

[tragedynoir]

— introducing 017: IN THE WINGS OF DEATH + [ link ]

a writing-centric google doc template inspired by gothic architecture and tarot cards. its classic design allows your writing to shine, especially since all sections of this template can accommodate any length (especially long amounts) of writing! every purchase comes with single and double column variants for the backstory, writing sample and extras section. this premium template and static previews of both versions can be found in the link above or in the source link.

features:

9 total 8.5" x 14" pages with 7 unique custom backgrounds

all sections made to organically expand to accommodate any amount of writing, including long amounts of prose as you type

connections that can be easily duplicated for more

terms of use:

you may edit to your heart’s desire. Change the colours, replace, add or remove elements and images etc.

you may remix pages with pages from my other templates.

you may not remove the credit from the templates.

you may not copy, sell or redistribute my templates whether wholesale, in part (i.e. taking out certain pages) or remixed (i.e. modified).

you will also receive an additional guide with images on how to use and edit google doc templates! if you have any problems or issues, feel free to leave an ask or join our discord server.

I'm grateful for your tremendous and consistent support over the last year. thank you for all the likes and reblogs! ♡

[cosmicgrapevine]

    Lynd stepped up before she finished talking, tugging the brim of his ballcap backwards. “Ready and eager,” he said. He turned and looked at them. “I’ll be at full health the next time you see me; the Ward won’t reject me any longer.” He looked more confident than Melanie had ever seen him, like he’d absorbed some of Jordy’s chest-thumping attitude by proxy.      Melanie had only seen this process partially completed, with Randall, and was eager to watch the non-deadly version. As Lynd walked, his pace slowed, like he was immersed underwater and pushing through it. He got smaller, too—no, not quite. He got farther away. He was in place, yet leaving them behind. In physics class this very week, Mr. Edgley said that even space itself wasn’t fixed; that things like distance and size were only relative to the observer. She couldn’t wrap her head around it then, but now, it all made sense.      The bractoscope pulled at him, little tendrils of light drawing him in. But they were welcoming, not tearing and cutting. Soon, like the doorway itself, only the ghost of him was visible, the impression, and then even that faded. Tabby shuddered. “Holy shit, I can feel him. Not like, in my head, but…God, I can’t describe it. Sorry, no moving, right.”     “Told ya you’ll know,” Jordy said. “Alright, Anthony, I know you been waitin’ for this.” Anthony rubbed his hands together and grinned. “Prepare for entry. All systems go.” He saluted them each individually. “Lt. Commander Bonifacio, Cadet Connolly, Cadet Kitz…godspeed.”      He passed through, disappearing in the same way. “Wow,” Melanie said. “He never turns it off, does he?”     “‘Turn it off’ would suggest there’s somethin’ else underneath,” Jordy chuckled. “But he knows what he’s doin’. I think the goofy nerd stuff helps. Like if he never acts normal, he’s not scared when it gets weird, y’know? Some peeps were just built for this shit.”      In a normal high school, guys like Jordy and Anthony would never learn each other’s names, let alone be friends and equals. In fact, it seemed unlikely that any of the seven of them would have crossed paths in a more mundane life. Maybe that’s what her mom meant by magic saving people. She looked at Jordy, who smiled warmly. “Go ahead,” he said. “It won’t hurt.”      As she approached the mirror, she realized that the cheerleader had it wrong; she didn’t think she was too good for Jordy, not by a long shot. She had thought he was too good for her. But, like so much else she had thought, it was spiraling apart from her, just like her sense of space and motion spiraled away into a brilliant blue light.

    Next time, Melanie promised, I’ll pay attention. Even with her new friends, it likely wasn’t every day she’d step into a different reality.     Maybe it was like a roller coaster, or a waterslide; she could remember the trepidation of getting on, feeling that first tug of gravity. She could remember popping out the other end, laughing and wondering what there was to fear. But the descent itself was just a haze of blind sensation. Because now, without even realizing it, she was inside the Viabract.      It looked something like a waterslide itself; an endless, twisting tube. The scope had not prepared her for the sheer size of the tunnel, its convex walls surrendering to pure darkness halfway to the ceiling—if there even was one. The material she stood on was luminescent, but she could only see a few dozen feet ahead: the glow was dim, emanating from the twisting shapes beneath her feet, shapes that looked at once made of clay, of tree root, of walkable glasswork, of solid light, compressed into fractious jewels. She felt like an ant, smaller than a single eyelash, crawling through an impossibly large plant. She didn’t know it was possible to feel so small.      Lynd approached and offered a fist bump, wiggling his fingers after they connected. “Tabby taught me that one,” he said. “What do you think?”      “I like it,” she laughed. “Wow…you seem so different.”     He smiled bashfully. “Yes, I can’t thank her enough. I’ve got a long way to go, but I feel like…a part of this world now. Not just an outside observer.”        And how do you feel about Tabby? Melanie thought. Can you tell she’s in love with you? She had no idea what Marksteppers thought of romance, or if they had any to speak of. Anthony was expecting some kind of axe-swinging barbarian, which wasn’t promising. Despite wanting to pose as a high school student, Lynd was a warrior at heart. Would he stand by Tabby now that he got what he wanted? If the violence got worse, would he keep her safe?      Anthony’s face was stony, the strange light bouncing off his glasses and hiding his eyes. “They watch,” he whispered, gesturing to the walls. Little patches of slime crawled slowly out of the uncountable nooks and gaps, falling to the ground with echoing plops. They looked even more primitive than the first ones she’d seen; not even vaguely resembling animals, except maybe amoebas. But even with no eyes or head or face, they were indeed watching. Waiting.      A shiver of energy from behind announced Jordy’s presence. When Melanie turned, there was no opening, no light, not even a shimmer of a way back. Only forward. But she still knew—felt—the opening on the other end. Just keep walking north. Or whatever ‘north’ was in here. She kept her voice steady. “Alright, Jordy, what did you say about scaring them off?”      Jordy flipped his bat in the air and caught it by the thick end. “Check this,” he said. He pulled his necklace over his head. It was a simple black string with a shark tooth at the end; as close as a jock could get to ‘jewelry’. Melanie hadn’t paid it any mind before, but now Jordy untied the tooth and jammed it into the top of the bat.     Melanie stumbled and fell backwards as a wave of energy hit her. Jordy’s bat had transformed in a flash of light, looking like some monstrous prehistoric cudgel. Hooks and ridges, knobs and thorns, spilled out from every inch, all looking more like bone or rock than wood. And at the top was a bayonet-like blade, a foot long at least, jutting out at a ninety-degree angle. The bat was as thick as his thigh now, and twice as long.      “Like it? I call it the Grand Slam,” he said. “Wish I could use it in a game, but Coach won’t let me.” He swaggered over a few feet as the other boys helped Melanie up. “These Mires are running on pure instinct. We don’t gotta outrun ‘em or outthink ‘em, just scare ‘em off.” He got into a batting stance, took a few light half-swings, then reared back and swung with all his might.     Another wave of energy burst forth, in the opposite direction, but still powerful enough to feel. It hit the wall with a deep echoing BOOM, which bounced all around them, shaking Melanie deep in her bones, and then scattered throughout the void. The Mires vanished, surely and quickly as mice who smelled a cat. A few unlucky ones took a direct hit and exploded into mist, their candy-colored juices decorating the walls. “Alright,” Jordy said. “I think they got the message.”

[nathaniacolver]

i feel like tumblr NEEDS to know about Dr. Ally Louks, and the term "Olfactory Ethics"

(long post incoming)

storytime/timeline:

on november 27, 2024, an excited English Literature PhD recipient posted a picture of herself with her thesis, titled:

"Olfactory Ethics: The Politics of Smell in Modern and Contemporary Prose"

as you can see (on the bottom row, above), the tweet has been viewed over 119 MILLION times, and has received over 250k likes. unfortunately, within days (most of the replies dating december 1st), she had garnered what seems like every possible insecure man with a twitter account to post their vitriol and rage concerning the fact that a woman is clearly more well-researched than them. regardless, she tanked it ALL with kindness and with a smile:

AND I MEAN VITRIOL (queen of making boundaries clear):

(inserting reading break for the timeline's space's sake):

here's her abstract:

and in case the abstract wasn't clear, she has since (date: december 16th) taken the time to re-summarize her thesis for the layman (yes that is a link! click it! 3min read!)

she has repeatedly shown just the perfect amount of kindness and understanding for those who are simply Not Comprehending (mostly december 1st):

(the chatGPT hate in the next one is my favorite:)

has upheld an incredibly high moral standard of how she interacts with the situation (december 2nd):

ONE OF MY FAVORITE THINGS: regardless of this crap, she made it clear that as a professor, her FIRST priority at the end of the semester would be taking care of them (december 3rd)

(CAN SHE GET MORE BASEDDDDDDDDDD)

she stays both 1) educating the masses, and 2) engaging with pop culture as much as a normal person would (december 9th-17th):

she also supports a free palestine (WHO IS SURPRISED. NOT ME.) ((december 15th))

here's the BEST FREAKING THING ABOUT THIS. since this all has happened, RANDOM TWITTER USERS, UNKNOWINGLY, have REPEATEDLY proven her thesis to be true,

again,

and again,

AND AGAIN.

EVEN CARDI B DO YOU HEAR MEEEEEEEE

COMBATING MISOGYNOIR WITH HER OWN BARE HANDSSSSS

oh she knows she's mother

here's some more she never saw/commented on (INCLUDING SOME FROM TODAY. IT IS STILL GOING ON. EVERY SINGLE DAY LIKE CLOCKWORK SOMEONE POSTS SOMETHING THAT PROVES HER POINTS ABOUT OLFACTORY ETHICS):

THE WICKED MOVIE REFERENCE HELLO

apparently, OTHER academics are mad at her for being so famous and influential, but she stays unbothered (december 16th, and TODAY, december 19th):

and she's partially getting her post-doc on how people's sense of smell has been altered (december 1st):

and the best part is!

all of these screenshots i've collected are only a SAMPLE, illustrating dr. louks' indomitably kind and ethical character.

anyway. i want ALL of y'all to start saying, out loud, "olfactory ethics", or even better, "dr. louks was RIGHT" (something something women's names are erased something) every time you see something that plays into her thesis. never let her influence die. THINK THROUGH what you're REALLY saying when you comment on the smell of something, or how your perception has been shaped by society. USE THIS PHOTO IF YOU HAVE TO:

follow her on twitter (@DrAllyLouks) or bluesky (idk her handle, if someone tells me i'll edit it in)

AND SAY HER NAME!! DR. ALLY LOUKS

[sunflowertaters]

Happy Birthday to the GOAT Ursula K Le Guin, who would've been 95 today.

She was one of the great American writers, along with a great feminist, anarchist, and daoist. If you've never read any of her work, I highly recommend reading The Ones Who Walk Away From Omelas. It's short at 5 pages, and is a great sample of her exceptional prose and ideas:

https://shsdavisapes.pbworks.com/f/Omelas.pdf

If you want to read one of her great novels, The Dispossessed is my favorites

The last thing I will recommend is Margaret Killjoy's eulogy for her:

https://crimethinc.com/2018/01/25/we-will-remember-freedom-why-it-matters-that-ursula-k-le-guin-was-an-anarchist

[darlingofdots]

listen. listen. I think F*urth Wing is a bad book. I couldn't even get through the sample because the prose was so clunky. But I don't care about that. People can read what they like and if that happens to be F*urth Wing, that's fine. What is NOT fine is that everyone keeps calling it "dragon porn," which it unequivocally IS NOT. "Dragon porn" implies a) a much higher frequency of sexually explicit content meant to arouse and titillate and more importantly, b) that the actors in said sexually explicit content are at least one dragon. Don't call it "dragon porn" if it's not about dragons fucking. "Dragon porn" (such as erotic shifter romance with dragon protagonists) exists! If you think F*urth Wing is "dragon porn," actual dragon porn would probably kill you on impact!

[reaveries]

▬  𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲

gif credit to @robpattinsongifs (much higher resolution on their account)

summary: late-night visits from your definitely human boyfriend

pairings: edward cullen x fem!reader

word count: 1.6k (approximately 7 minutes reading time)

a/n:  I’ve had this baby marinating in my drafts since January, when I was going through my bi-annual Twilight Renaissance. I was actually in the middle of writing a RE2R Leon Kennedy fic today and decided to put on a twilight playlist, and then I just knew I had to finish this one. It’s my first *published* non-RDR fic heehee (I have so much in my drafts, it’s insane). Anyways, enjoy (pardners)!

masterlist archive of our own

It’s that dreadful time of year again. 

The sun is making its curtain call as students from the nearby elementary school trip over themselves running home. Little girls and boys have sticky remnants of lunch peeking from the corners of their mouths and the grass is still slick from morning showers. But dusk is impatient in February, and its eagerness is encouraged in a town hidden beneath perpetual overcast nine months out of the year.

The school children ran past her window minutes ago when the sky had been painted brilliant indigo. Now, when she looks up the only thing left to see is her own dark reflection and the warm orange glow from a candle on the sill. Its tall flame stutters, collapsing and rising with the damp breeze. 

A page turns, disrupting the otherwise quiet room. The only other noise that can be heard is a soft pitter of water dripping onto the floorboards from a coat hanging off the closet door. 

She reaches for a mug sitting on the corner of her nightstand and promptly sets it back down upon finding it empty. It returns to its spot atop crumpled receipts and library hold slips belonging to the growing stack of books accumulating dust at her bedside. These books tower over the permanent nightstand residents: lazily discarded beaded necklaces, a sample bottle of floral perfume from Christmas, two little ceramic bunnies purchased from an antique mall in Port Angeles last summer, car keys, and drugstore chapstick. It might be worth convincing her to let go of some of these post-object permanence discoveries, but that is a matter for another time.

In a desperate attempt to comprehend the words she’s reading, she rolls onto her back and extends her arms straight in the air so the book hovers a foot from her face—a change of perspective to freshen the mind.

It does not help. 

No matter how much she shifts or squints, the antiquated prose remains stubbornly uninviting. She can’t fathom why anyone would willingly subject themselves to something so archaic and convoluted and furthermore, recommend it as one of their favorite novels.

With a huff, she adjusts the headphones at her ears, hoping the music will clear her mind. But despite her best efforts, the book slowly drifts closer to her chest and her eyelids grow heavier as the music lulls her into a dreamless sleep. 

When she wakes to cold fingers grazing her jaw it’s impossible to tell whether she’d fallen asleep or if she just blinked. The weight of the headphones gently disappears as they’re pulled off and set down on the nightstand. She grumbles incoherently and stretches out her legs, not unlike a cat after a long, difficult day of lounging around. Her eyes begrudgingly flutter open and immediately find him only inches away. He’s watching her, peering down with a twinkle in his amber-colored eyes.

“Edward…” she whispers.

“Dracula,” he says, eyebrows raised as he makes the observation. “I thought you didn’t like Gothics.”

She reaches a finger into the book on her chest and folds the page over before tossing it carelessly into the sea of knitted and quilted blankets at the foot of the bed. With the haze of sleep still clouding her eyes, she smiles sheepishly up at him.

“I’m trying.”

He chuckles lightly and brings his hand to her hair again, brushing stray strands off her forehead and tucking them behind her ears before leaning down to place a chaste kiss above her eyes. Though his lips are soft, the icy touch of his skin sends a shiver down her spine. He’s always cold; a result of his anemia, he says. However, the downpour that's dampened his hair and clothes to his skin has chilled him even more so.

In an effort to sit up, she raises herself onto her elbows and catches a glimpse of the bright red digital numbers on her bedside clock.

“You’re late, you know,” she chides, watching him settle uncomfortably at the head of the bed. He sinks down among the pillows, their plushness contrasting humorously with the stiffness of his demeanor. He reaches behind his back and tugs free a stuffed rabbit lodged between him and the headboard, then sets it down softly beside himself.

“I had to make a quick stop. I hope you can forgive me,” he says in a hushed voice, so as not to make too much noise in the resting house. His eyes flit towards the nightstand and she follows them to see a new item sitting amongst the disorder. A tall styrofoam cup with steam rising thinly from the lid. Coffee. 

The mug she just finished sits right beside it. She’d considered brewing more but that was before being rendered unconscious by Bram Stoker nearly an hour ago. Her heart swells at his thoughtfulness, but a more pressing question comes to mind before she can voice her gratitude.

“How did you even climb up here with that?” She asks, reaching for the cup with both hands.

“I’m very…agile.” There’s a look in his eyes that tells her there’s more to it, but she chooses to ignore it for now with a shake of her head.

The taste is immediately harsh, significantly more bitter than how she makes it herself. Any trace of a smile dissipates and is replaced with a pronounced look of disgust.

“Good God, Edward,” she exclaims. “Decaf? What did I ever do to you?”

He laughs and takes it from her hands, leaving her still reeling from the unexpected taste. “As much as I love staying up with you, you need sleep,” he says, a hint of sternness in his voice. “You didn’t get any last night and you don’t hide it well.”

He says the last part sweetly, tilting his head to the side and following her motions with his eyes, watching her pick up the stuffed rabbit by its cotton paw.

“Don’t hide it well?” She repeats, the indignation in her voice contrasting with the softness of the toy as she raises it high into the air and brings it down against his chest with a soft thud. “Well maybe I wouldn’t have to hide anything if you—weren’t—keeping—me—up—all—night!”

With every word, the rabbit hits his forearms poorly attempting to shield himself from the blows. Edward grins as she attacks him, the soft toy barely making a sound against his arms. He watches as her hair falls across her face in the midst of the unrelenting attack, the warm glow of the candle casting a soft halo around her.

But then, his amusement fades as he sees the exhaustion in her eyes. 

He gently takes the rabbit from her and sets it aside before grabbing her arm mid-swing and pulling her into his chest. She sighs heavily and surrenders, relaxing against him. "I’m sorry," he whispers, his lips brushing against her hair. “I’ll let you rest tonight.”

Despite his tender words, a residual half-baked frustration lingers inside her. “How did you manage to stay awake in class?” she mumbles into his sweater, the words muffled. “I mean, you didn’t get any sleep either.”

He chuckles, as if privy to some inside joke.

“Well, someone had to take your notes for you,” he says, his fingers trailing through her hair in a soothing motion. “And besides, you looked so peaceful drooling away.” 

She looks up at him, a hint of a drowsy smile playing at the corners of her lips. “I did not drool,” she insists.

He grins down at her, his eyes alight with fondness. “Of course not.”

She groans and buries her head into his chest, to which he responds by encircling his arms around her waist and pulling her closer.

“I’m never falling asleep in front of you again,” she grumbles.

His chest rumbles beneath her cheek as he laughs. “Alright, angel.”

He shifts his hand from the crown of her head to the curve of her back, tracing languid circles over the fabric of her t-shirt as the room fills with a comfortable silence. The rain outside grows heavier, tapping against the glass with a more insistent force. Her body is warm against his and he can feel the steady thumping of her heartbeat as if it's his own. A few minutes slip by, and he senses her breathing even out and deepen. Without disturbing her, he reaches for a nearby blanket and drapes it over her, then turns his gaze to the candle on the windowsill.

“Sweet dreams,” he whispers, as the dwindling flame fades out of focus. 

This is his favorite part of the day.

Vague arrays of soft, muted hues and shapes swirl around in his vision, overtaking the warm surroundings of her bedroom. They morph into recognizable figures after some time, and he can hear them speaking when he focuses. For the most part, they sound as if he’s underwater and they’re conversing on the shore. But every now and then, a clear phrase emerges.

Suddenly, the floating shapes assimilate into a figure resembling him and he realizes what this dream is. It’s a recurring one he’s particularly fond of. He settles in and pulls her closer as the scene ebbs between reality and distortions of the unconscious mind. 

He can’t remember how he used to pass the night hours before he met her. Books, records, films--looking back, they feel hollow compared to nights spent like this. Part of him hopes he’ll never know what it's like to want for this. But these dreams, and her thoughts in the waking hours, assure him he won’t ever have to find out.

[fanauthorworkshop]

Applications now open!

The Fall 2024 Fanauthor Workshop is a 7-week writing course led by Betts (@bettsfic). The workshop lends a supportive space to writers who identify as fans to receive constructive feedback on fanfiction, original fiction, or creative nonfiction.

Art by @emimayooo 💖

Where & When

We meet weekly over Zoom. You can apply for one of two sessions:

Group A: Wednesdays from Oct. 9 - Nov. 20, 12-2pm EST

Group B: Mondays from Oct. 7 - Nov. 18, 6-8pm EST

What

FAW is a feedback-oriented workshop with the occasional generative session. This means that each week we read 2 pieces submitted by participants, offer written feedback, and discuss them over Zoom. You'll be able to sign up for the week you would like to workshop your own piece, which can be anything under 6k words.

There may be weeks where, in lieu of workshopping, I present external readings and writing exercises. These sessions will be dependent on the number of participants. For example, if we have 10 participants and 6 workshop weeks, that means one week will be devoted to a reading discussion and generative activity.

I developed a workshop model that focuses mostly on affirmations and positivity, as well as descriptive over prescriptive feedback, which is to say, describing one's experience of reading rather than prescribing solutions to perceived problems. We also present improvement-oriented feedback, but avoid negativity, judgment, and pedantry. Week 1 is spent going over the model and how to give feedback.

About FAW

The first FAW was held in 2017 as an independent study in my MFA. I restarted it in 2022 and since then have led 9 sessions with a total of over 50 participants, about half of whom have participated in the workshop more than once.

Participation in the workshop includes entrance into the FAW community, an active Discord server where we host:

Ongoing accountability meetings, where we chat over Zoom about our projects and set goals for ourselves every other week

A monthly longform writing workshop, where writers can workshop any story between 6k and 100k words

A short story club, where we read and chat about original short form works

Events and activities like movie nights and co-op gaming

Scheduled write-ins and impromptu writing sprints

We also chat about writing and craft, offer resources, and share many, many pet photos.

In addition, participants of the workshop receive:

A one-hour consultation with me to go over your workshop feedback, come up with a plan for revision and/or publication, or anything else you’d like to discuss regarding your writing

Open enrollment in future workshops

Priority sign-ups for WTFS (Write the Fucking Story), WIP Cleanout, and other one-off generative sessions

Eligibility

Anyone over the age of 18 who considers themselves a participant of fandom and who is familiar with fanfiction may apply. A stable internet connection is also required.

Cost

The cost of the workshop is "pay what you can" with the recommended amount of $300. To be as inclusive as possible, I don't want money to be a deterrent for anyone interested in participating.

Payment (or notification of nonpayment) will be requested prior to the start of workshop via PayPal, Venmo, or Wise. You can also pay in installments.

Application requirements

To apply, you will need:

An informal cover letter discussing your fan history and goals as a (fan)writer (more specific instructions on submittable)

A short sample of your writing, either original work or fanfiction. This may be previously published/posted

You can apply via submittable. Applications close September 15.

FAQ under the cut

FAQ

Are there any content restrictions to what I can workshop?

The only restriction is word count (max 6k), with the following caveats:

If you workshop a piece in a form other than prose (for example, a script), your peers may not be able to offer constructive feedback on that aspect of the work. Participants are asked only to have a familiarity with prose.

Content warnings are required for each piece (if applicable), and participants who are uncomfortable reading certain subject matter may abstain from your workshop.

What is the time commitment of the workshop?

As a participant of the workshop, you'll be asked to:

Workshop any piece of your own prose up to 6k words, which will need to be uploaded to the group folder one week before your workshop.

Read 2 pieces per week, write out your individual crit, and attend the workshop itself.

What is the timeline of the workshop?

In week 1, we go over the syllabus and do a writing exercise. Weeks 2 through 7 will be a workshop, a discussion of an external reading, or a writing activity. Prior to the start of workshop, you'll be able to sign up for the week you would like to workshop your piece.

Structure of the sessions:

Question of the day

First workshop

Short break

Second workshop

We'll go over my workshop model and the syllabus in week 1.

Do I have to participate in the Zoom meetings (camera and mic on)?

Attending the workshop itself is required, and everyone is asked to offer at least one note of positive feedback on each piece, so mics are necessary. Cameras are preferred but not required.

You can't asynchronously participate, i.e. read the pieces and offer written feedback without attending the sessions.

Can workshop participants submit to OFIC Magazine?

Yes! Part of the reason I run the workshop is to inspire and promote the original work of fanwriters. You can follow us on tumblr @oficmag.

Who is running the workshop?

@bettsfic! In short, I lived a dreary cubicle life as a banker until I found fanfiction at 24. I loved it so much that I quit my job to get an MFA in creative writing. I loved the MFA so much that I became a writing teacher. I have some publications, awards, an agent, and 2 million words of fic on ao3. I don't have a book out yet but I'm getting there.

Currently I'm a writing coach and freelance editor. I also have a lowkey writing-related newsletter. And I've been answering writing advice asks on my blog for 10 years.

If you want an idea of the kind of writing activities I create, last summer I worked with @books on a workshop series which includes craft essays and some fun prompts.

If you're interested in my original work, my short story "Not If, When" is a good representation of my writing. For something darker, check out "Shut Up and Kill Me."

What is the workshop like?

Check out G's experience of attending the workshop. And here's some feedback from previous participants.

One final note: I'm working on updating the copy about the workshop on my website and move it over to OFIC's website. This post and Submittable has the most updated information on the workshop. If you have questions about discrepancies (or anything at all), you can shoot me an ask, DM me, or add me on Discord (I'm bettsfic there too). Or you can email me at ekweeks@gmail.com.