#really good writing

[astrid-beck]

Not to post about a random NPC but Archmage Cassida Previn you are on my fucking mind. She makes perfect sense. Of course a devout and extremely powerful wizard would want to fight on the side of the prime deities. Of course it would never occur to you that your gods would join with the enemy against YOU.

[maddyshome]

Suou Keito is my favorite character in MAMIYA and his route hits home for me so yes I might be crazy. 

[frankierotwinkdeath]

Y’all want Taylor Swift to be gay so bad but you won’t even write femslash about her

[avaantares]

Yet another AO3 bot situation - please spread the word!

Hi, it's me again, the person who wrote that viral post about fanfiction plagiarism! Today I'm here to warn you about abuse perpetrated by bots who have stolen AO3 usernames.

There's currently an epidemic of bots going around leaving (apparently random) horrible, hateful comments on people's fics. This isn't the first time bots have invaded AO3, but the big problem with this wave is that they're using real AO3 usernames to do it.

I learned about this when another writer contacted me after receiving the following comment on their story:

Now, while that is my username, I DEFINITELY did not leave this comment (and anyone who would leave something like that on a fic should be slapped! What an awful thing to post). This fic is in a completely unrelated fandom that I have never participated in, nor has that author participated in any of my fandoms, so the probability of it being some intentional fandom drama thing to make me look bad is also low.

The writer whose fic the comment was left on enlisted the aid of some friends and tracked down other guest comments with unrelated usernames attached, which is pretty strong evidence that they are being left by bots at random.

The TL;DR: If you receive a cruel comment from a (Guest) with an actual AO3 username attached, it's most likely from a bot. Please do not lash out at or dogpile the AO3 user who owns that name, and who in all likelihood has no idea that their name has been hijacked for evil.

If finding this kind of comment on a fic, even left by a bot, is likely to upset you, I would recommend changing your comment settings so that only users who are logged in can leave comments. To do this, edit your story settings, and under "Privacy," select the radio button that says "Only registered users can comment," as shown below.

Please spread the word to other AO3 users! And if you see mean guest comments on other fics, maybe let the author know that it's probably from a bot and not a real person who thinks their writing is bad.

[inkskinned]

this is just my opinion but i think any good media needs obsession behind it. it needs passion, the kind of passion that's no longer "gentle scented candle" and is now "oh shit the house caught on fire". it needs a creator that's biting the floorboards and gnawing the story off their skin. creators are supposed to be wild animals. they are supposed to want to tell a story with the ferocity of eating a good stone fruit while standing over the sink. the same protective, strange instinct as being 7 and making mud potions in pink teacups: you gotta get weird with it.

good media needs unhinged, googling-at-midnight kind of energy. it needs "what kind of seams are invented on this planet" energy and "im just gonna trust the audience to roll with me about this" energy. it needs one person (at least) screaming into the void with so much drive and energy that it forces the story to be real.

sometimes people are baffled when fanfic has some stunning jaw-dropping tattoo-it-on-you lines. and i'm like - well, i don't go here, but that makes sense to me. of fucking course people who have this amount of passion are going to create something good. they moved from a place of genuine love and enjoyment.

so yeah, duh! saturday cartoons have banger lines. random street art is sometimes the most precious heart-wrenching shit you've ever seen. someone singing on tiktok ends up creating your next favorite song. youtubers are giving us 5 hours of carefully researched content. all of this is the impossible equation to latestage capitalism. like, you can't force something to be good. AI cannot make it good. no amount of focus-group testing or market research. what makes a story worth listening to is that someone cares so much about telling it - through dance, art, music, whatever it takes - that they are just a little unhinged about it.

one time my friend told me he stayed up all night researching how many ways there are to peel an orange. he wrote me a poem that made me cry on public transportation. the love came through it like pith, you know? the words all came apart in my hands. it tasted like breakfast.

[anonamous-blue]

Babe wake up new reaction image dropped

Yo do u write any tintin type fanfics?! And i also luve ur tintin art its really cute :D

Ha ha, thank you! My story gifsets would be fanfiction I guess! I do write out a plot outline for each story, so every story gifset you see has been fully plotted out. I even sometimes sketch out comic pages of specific story beats and dialogue exchanges. Under the cut I have a few “comics” from my sketchbooks:

Here’s a spread I drew while I was away for a gifset I haven’t made yet. Chang helps Martine get a job as a museum curator so she invites him and Tintin to the archive as a thank you. Chang laments how most of the artefacts are stolen, leading to Tintin impulsively stealing a whistle to return it to where it came from.

Haddock meanwhile is secretly dating artist Ramo Nash. Martine is again falsely accused of a crime. A lot of interpersonal drama unfolds.

I don’t usually scan or clean these up, or even intend to post them. I don’t have the time to draw out entire fan albums to provide full context, and I also don’t want to have my work printed and resold by pastiche pirates on eBay - I’d like to see them try and print animated gifs!

I guess I also do “ficlets” in the form of short comics because i hate writing. again i dont usually intend on posting them

As for written fanfiction - my prose is terrible, I wouldn’t be able to hold a reader’s attention with a written fic. I don’t know how writers do what they do. I’ve been told by university tutors my screenplays are decent but I only have experience with short films!

I would like a place where I could discuss story ideas or share my throwaway comics, feedback really helps with shaping a story. maybe a discord server? 

[moonlightbambina]

Things that have changed my brain chemistry

The season finale of Interview with the Vampire

The season finale of Demon Slayer

[frigidfries]

happy birthday deltarune. happy late birthday undertale. here's a comic!

cheers to best friends forever & ever & ever & ever & ev

[styleinthemeanwhile]

been meaning to start posting my actual thoughts and engaging with fandoms and etc on tumblr more and i’d love to have mutuals who share my interests!

[ronanlynchbf]

tshirt that says NO LIVE ORGANISM CAN CONTINUE FOR LONG TO EXIST SANELY UNDER CONDITIONS OF ABSOLUTE REALITY

[mellosdrawings]

I'm a fervent "genuine cane user Azul" believer, just so you know. It just makes sense ? Guy who's got his legs cut from eight to two, who has bones and has to face gravity for the first time in his life, etc.

In the original Little Mermaid story, the mermaid's legs actually hurt her a lot whenever she took a step. Maybe it's not to that point for Azul, but he's explicitly said to have poor balance and stamina. A cane would just be the perfect mobility aid for him in all aspects.

[indigoisaspookyghost2]

HEY WHAT THE HELL I JUST WOKE UP I DID NOT ASK FOR THIS UTTER GUT PUNCH

After amphibia, Anne and Marcy struggle, and despite working on being vulnerable, Sasha feels like she has to be the strong one yet again for them. She holds them while they cry, encourages them to go to therapy, helps them get out of bed when they have bad days, all while laying awake at night and biting her fingernails so intensely her hands bleed while listening to her parents argue over the phone in the next room. She can't shake the feeling that she's still in the middle of an active war with an entire rebellion and her best friends' lives on her 13 year old shoulders. Anne and Marcy talk about how they admire Sasha for being so brave and strong, but they both secretly worry about her. But a lot goes unsaid in the early days after amphibia, because they're all trying their hardest to keep it together for each other. Sasha still hadn't really cried about everything that happened, how could she when she still feels like one moment of weakness will result in her friends' deaths? It's not that she doesn't feel sad, she doesn't know if she's capable of feeling anything else these days, but there is a mental block stopping the tears from actually coming. She doesn't feel safe in public or at her mom's house or her dad's apartment. She only feels safe around Anne and Marcy, but she can't cry around them, she's supposed to be strength, like the prophecy said. So she settles for throwing everything she has into making sure they stay safe and healthy. This tactic works, for a while, until one Saturday night when they all have a sleepover at Anne's house. Her back aches from the old wound and even though she knows it's fully healed, she swears she can feel the scar on her face bleed. They play typical teen sleepover games and eat large amounts of pizza and mint chip ice cream, and then it's time for bed. She helps Marcy take off her walking braces and put on her night ones, and reminds Anne to take her medication and soon enough she feels tired. She's afraid to sleep, worried about nightmares, but she hadn't had a good night's sleep in nearly 3 weeks, so she feels exhausted. Tucked into Anne's bed where she had spent so many nights while her parents hashed out the custody situation in court or went on first dates, she starts to fall asleep. The last thing she hears is Anne and Marcy quietly laughing at some cat video on Anne's brand new phone.

She doesn't remember the dream that wakes her up, she never does, just the feeling that she had somehow failed and everyone is facing the consequences. The first thing she registers is her throat producing a terrified scream. The next is feeling like she was trapped, so she thrashes around in bed, landing a few punches on the wall, earning just a sickening crack as her knuckles slammed into the rough paint. She couldn't see, couldn't breathe, and all she knew was that she needed to make sure Anne and Marcy were safe. Nothing else mattered, she didn't even matter, all that mattered is that her girls were okay.

She jumped and thrashed some more as a sudden light blinded her. She didn't scream this time, she had trained herself to not scream regardless of what was happening in order to not make herself an easy target. She felt like she was underwater as she heard her name.

She felt a hand grab the wrist that was making contact with the wall, and was about to swing in the direction of the contact when she saw it. Lime green nail polish. No one in amphibia wore that color nail polish. But Marcy did. She forced her eyes to move upward, and she made contact with Marcy's eyes. Not the ones staring her down behind the helmet as she raised the scythe, but the ones she grew up with, deep brown, that were now filled with concern.

She took a deep breath and suddenly became aware of another hand in her hair. It was her own hand, gripping her hair so tightly it was cutting off the circulation in her fingers. She saw Anne's hand going to her head, and tried not to notice how worried she looked as she gently unhooked Sasha's fingers from her own hair. Anne said something Sasha couldn't process, but it didn't matter. Her melodic voice with just a hint of the Southern California vocal fry she always swore she didn't have was enough to put her at least a little bit more at ease.

Slowly, she emerged from her panic and fear. Anne kept holding her hand, and as she came back, she could hear Anne telling her about how Domino had gotten stuck under the couch earlier that day. It wasn't anything important, but she could feel herself focusing on the story, rather than the overwhelming feeling to run or fight.

Marcy smiled at her, and ran circles around her wrist with her thumb. In that moment, there was the typical guilt associated with making them take care of her, but for the first time since leaving Grime, she felt... Seen. And very loved.

Later, she wouldn't be able to explain why that feeling was the one that triggered the tears she had been repressing for months, but she burst into tears. She cried, more like ugly sobbed. She started to turn her head into the pillow to muffle the cries and prevent her friends from seeing her, but Anne pulled her into a warm hug, wrapping her long arms around her and holding her as close as possible. As she sobbed into Anne's chest, ruining her cat printed pajama shirt with tears and snot and spit, she felt Marcy position the front of her body against the back of hers, meeting Anne's arms wrapping themselves around Sasha's shaking hyperventilating body. She cried and cried until her head ached and tears wouldn't come out of her eyes anymore, and when she stopped and her breaths slowed, she felt a glass of water being pressed against her lips, and since it was held by Marcy, she drank.

She hiccuped uncontrollably and struggled to find the right breathing pattern, but eventually she did fall asleep, sandwiched in between Anne and Marcy, feeling warm and vulnerable, but not necessarily in a dangerous way.

The next morning, she woke up in the same position as she had fallen asleep in, still being embraced by her loves. Her face was stained with tears and her throat was dry and sore, but she felt better than she had in a really long time, perhaps in her entire life.

That morning, Anne made them all pancakes.

[sukunasteeth]

Marks

Sukuna doesn't understand the hold you have on him.

He's never particularly been a people person. In fact, people annoyed him. This has held true ever since he was a child with his twin brother, Yuji. That is, until Yuji brought you home one fateful day in middle school, claiming to have met a new friend. 

You, with your sweet little smile, and your boundlessly generous heart. You with your giggle that chimes through his darkened soul like a golden bell. With the innocent rosy lips that he'd dreamed of having his first kiss with until high school, when it finally came to fruition. You had been irrevocably his ever since then, and it had been almost seven years.

So why does it still feel like you're the one with all the power here?

Why does it feel like you could create a monster out of him if you truly wanted to? Why does it feel like he's constantly at your beck and call? Why are you the one person on this green earth that reduces him to the feeling of an emotion as pathetic as helplessness?

"'Kuna...hurts..."

He'll admit, he takes it out on you.

Like now, when you're lying naked beneath him (his favorite spot to have you in) and begging him to take it easy on you. He's got you covered in sweat, exerting you to your ultimate limit. He loved to see you train until failure, after all. Adored the way your legs quivered when he relentlessly made you keep riding him, despite your exhaustion. Cooed at the way you begged him to be gentle, even though he knows you prefer it rough. You were quick to submit when he had you behind closed doors, despite how independent you appeared outside of them. Sukuna knew you better. Knew how much you loved following his direction. Receiving his praise.

You were lucky you were such a good girl.

Sukuna was torturing you now already, and you hadn't even disobeyed him. He can't imagine what he would do if you were unruly. Actually, he can. And the thought has him salivating even more as he sucks relentlessly at the nape of your neck. You're covered in marks from his teeth or the raw scrape of his tongue. Your throat has been tormented by his worship to the extent that he's even broken skin in the spots where he can feel your pulse beneath his lips.

Even Sukuna has to admit that you didn't deserve this abuse. You hadn't done a thing out of line, besides selfishly tearing the heart out of his chest for good. It was yours now.

The thought makes him growl against you.

God, you weren't even trying.

Your victory over him was so effortless.

It pissed him off.

He doesn't realize that he's bitten you particularly hard until you're suddenly recoiling away, burrowing yourself into his pillows with a small yelp. Your hand has sprung up to press your palm over Sukuna's mouth in some weak attempt at getting him to stop. Your other hand holds your throat as you purse your lips at him, which have also seen a good amount of Sukuna's biting that day.

You looked good in his teeth marks, what can he say?

"Are you mad or something?" You're blinking up at him like a confused little deer. Sukuna can't help that it makes him hungry. You were a perfect prey to him and he would be chasing you to the end of this lifetime. He could tell solely in the way that your stupid little nickname for him makes his heartstrings snap.

He takes a frustrated breath through his nose over your hand, nipping at your fingers over his mouth like a muzzled dog. Before you can pull them away, he's grasping your wrist tightly, his unforgiving grip a warning in itself. Easily, he pins it to the side of your head, rendering you halfway useless.

"Don't interrupt." He murmurs, his gaze burning into yours.

A helpless sob escapes you, but otherwise you stop trying to squirm away from him. You allow the onslaught to continue without a peep, bracing yourself each and every time a new hickey is being bruised into your skin. He doesn't offer you any words in terms of praise, but his grip on your wrist eventually loosens a bit. He never fully lets you go, though.

While he appreciates your cooperation, you eventually go almost too quiet and Sukuna thinks for a moment that maybe he's pushed you too far. He pulls away from your neck to look at you, finding your pink little face screwed up in an intense mixture of pleasure and agony. He feels a content smile spread across his face but it's cut short when his eyes hone in on your lips, which you're currently biting hard enough to draw blood from.

His free hand reaches up and grasps your chin, pressing his thumb below your bottom lip and forcing you to relinquish it. You blink slowly, your logical brain having exhausted itself up until this point. You easily let him pry your teeth apart, panting in his grasp. 

"Mouth. Open." He commands.

You squirm in your overwhelming frustration, whining. "It hurts, 'Kuna!"

Sukuna hums in a mock sympathy, watching you suffer with a satisfied grin. You would have these marks for weeks. There were so many now, some more intense than others, and he wasn't even close to being done with you.

"You're being cruel." You accuse, watching your own hardship twinkle back at you in the reflection of his eyes. Your pout is purple and bruised from your attempts to keep quiet. Sukuna leans in closer and presses the sweetest kiss to your lips, as soft as the brush of a feather.

What was cruel was the fact that you had broken down everything Sukuna had ever known about himself. His strength was putty at your feet. His hatred for the world was a joke in your presence. His pride, a mere memory at the touch of your fingertips against his soul.

"You think this is cruel?" He whispers, mocking you. His voice is the taunt of a devilish trickster. "I think I've been going too easy on you. Allow me to rectify that."

There really is no curse more cruel than love.

[hg-aneh]

youtuber x streamer AU: Coming Out Stream Edition 💥

[inkskinned]

we were sitting on the floor and i was cutting out tiny pictures to make a collage for a friend's birthday. you were on your phone and you laughed about something, and i was still in love with you then, so i asked what had you giggling.

"sorry. i was just..." you took a moment and went back to texting. "i was telling someone about how you're afraid of the dark."

i'm afraid of the dark because something bad happened. "oh." i felt a little slinky of shame crawl down my throat.

you glanced up, and maybe it showed on my face, because you rolled your eyes and held the phone to the side casually so i could see the group chat. "what? was it a secret?"

i looked down to the scissors in my hand. "i just..." no, it's not a secret. it just felt like something private, something serious. saying why would you tell someone that just feels like an accusation. it's unfair. i honestly am not even ashamed of it, it's just a fact about my person that i don't usually share.

what a strange experience. is this a human thing or a generational thing? for our grandparents: did they need to worry about how quickly someone can just... share your personal information? again, i didn't even really have a true objection. what could i say? i want any person in my life to feel they can be honest with their friends. it's not like i said don't tell anyone this.

i cut out another letter to complete the rainbow happy birthday, started hunting for the exclamation mark. i heard you sigh dramatically.

"don't make a big deal about this," you said.

this entire conversation was a pattern for us, and this was when we got to my least favorite part of the pattern. i would get my feelings hurt in some oblique not-technically-terrible way, and then it would be making a big deal about something. you'd get frustrated for me for being soft, but i was born soft. you knew i was soft when you pierced me. it's one of the things that made controlling me so easy.

"i'm not," i felt my voice crack. the question came without my wanting. "why are you guys talking about me?" and why are you saying that thing? why not like - i'm telling them how you're generous and kind and pretty.

you let out this low, tragic groan. "oh my god." you tossed the phone away from your body. "there, see? i just won't talk to them if you don't like it."

the rest of the hour went the way it always went, between us: i said i don't actually mind if you talk to your friends but -, you found a way to call my minor expression of discomfort "being dramatic." you got upset that i had been offended. i ended up apologizing, even though i hadn't actually done anything.

afterwards, you picked up the phone again. after texting for a little bit, you snorted. "okay," you said, "but it is kind of funny you're afraid of the dark. i mean, when you think about it."

[sphor-art]

fucking hell