#this is theoretically a writing blog

[deoidesign]

quick traditional piece for fun ^^

[qweerhet]

every time there's a rise in fascist action and power in the us, there's an en masse feminist response of like. affirming that gender is an ontological trait, you can tell what gender someone is without them directly stating it to you, appearance is indicative of gender (rather than just being correlative particularly in conservative populations), gender is a useful signifier of ideology separate from factors such as class and race (and may even be more causative regarding fascist ideology than class or race are), there is no form of gendered oppression targeting men, and there is no form of gendered privilege afforded to women.*

it's annoying! i do not like it.

*nb4 someone gets on my case about how gendered targeting of men is "just" racism/ableism/etc and gendered privilege afforded to women isn't "truly" privilege as men who reap the benefits of patriarchy are still higher in the social hierarchy than women who reap the benefits of patriarchy: we have entirely different modalities for viewing interactions of privilege + power + hegemony. your modality is, in fact, part of what i'm critiquing. it refuses to recognize gender itself as the oppressive structure, and patriarchy as a structure enforcing gender. we can chat in good faith if you want to understand this lens better but like i'm not going to be arguing about it or trying to make a Discourse Post(tm) defending my ideology.

[totopopopo]

genuinely not quite sure why i am so deeply uncomfortable when it comes to telling ppl abt my personal/romantic life. like i want them to know but i also don’t like admitting to anyone out loud that i have emotions, feelings, and/or relations resembling anything beyond superficial interest. i mean jesus. how cringe. they should just intuit it all psychically or something so they can know without me ever having to bring it up myself

[chuiko]

Like, sorry to be blunt, but writing off diplomacy kills people. An unwillingness to compromise or, at the very least, think of some, any sort of solution that addresses the concerns of the "enemy"... fucking kills people.

I don't know. I'm sick of drafted soldiers being used as cannon fodder because the Ukrainian MFA is too fucking incompetent to know how basic diplomacy works (and then blames the lack of diplomacy on the ACTUAL PROFESSIONALS doing their ACTUAL FUCKING JOBS, KULEBA).

And, like, Sergei Lavrov IS A GODDAMN PROFESSIONAL. He worked in the US for ~20 years and he's maintained those contacts. He's made even more contacts, and a name for himself as an Actual Goddamn Professional, during his ~20 years as Russia's Foreign Minister. This has taken WORK. And EFFORT. And means that if Ukraine just abandons diplomacy—real fucking diplomacy, not that guilt-trip nonsense—they've by default surrendered that side of warfare. If Lavrov has half the US NSC on hotdial, it's Ukraine's job to also try and build those connections.

(What, you think Lavrov's connections got handed to him on a silver platter? You think Russia was given any sort of respect by the Western establishment in 2004? 1998? 1992? No. But he's a diplomat who did diplomacy !)

But, well, it didn't. And the price is life itself.

[please-dont-pet-the-okapi]

Do you ever start a substack and not even fully know why.

[readymades2002]

trying to do some financial math for if i move out and getting sick to my stomach

[erythristicbones]

i don't feel like copying what i wrote, so take some screenshots of me having brainworms for the JDK villains again. primarily spurred by me going "hey wouldn't Nisha and Artemis and Apollo make cool rockstars instead"

[crest-of-gautier]

made an eeny bit of progress in pq today... im like maybe 80% through the 3rd floor of you in wonderland and currently level 11...!

[dogdogdog]

argh writing is so hard on one hand David/Katherine/Jack endgame but also I can imagine David being in a lavender marriage with a well-read lesbian while he hopelessly pines over Jack

[k-she-rambles]

Working on the next chapter of the sequel rewrite and, you guys.

It is so hard. To not tip my hand too early about how I'm solving the Rey Skywalker thing.

( Not that it needs solving, star wars is about discovering family was there all along etc. Still changing it though)

I want all the hints to be there but also for Rey's clapback at Kylo Ren when he goes "your parents were nobodies" to be shocking

[highuby]

(one day there'll be something here)

Hi! you can call me VV or Vivi :) I'm 23, I go by she/her pronouns but wouldn't mind any others, I'm an artist-researcher in training (currently writing my masters thesis) and I've been lurking around Tumblr timidly for a good decade now. Being active here is lowkey terrifying but I really want to send love to my favorite writers and share some of my own work so I gotta take that leap!! Apologies for any weirdness that ensues. Also English is not my first language and I haven't flexed that muscle in years so,, yeah

<3

[withasideofshakespeare]

I have a game for all you Marlowe fans!

(For the uninitiated: Christopher Marlowe was born two months before Shakespeare, was also a poet—he wrote Doctor Faustus, Tamburlaine, and Edward II among other plays and poems—and was killed at age 29 in a bar fight that might’ve actually been an assassination. He was almost certainly queer and it definitely shows in his writing.)

Here’s the game: I’ll give you a few lines from Marlowe’s poem Hero and Leander and you tell me whether he’s writing about a man (Leander) or a woman (Hero)! Guess in the tags/replies or just in your head and see at the end how many you got correct!

(I’ve removed their names and pronouns so as not to reveal who’s who!)

1. “[Redacted] the fair, / Whom young Apollo courted for [their] hair, / And offered as a dower his burning throne…”

2. “Fair Cynthia wished [their] arms might be her sphere; / Grief makes her pale, because she moves not there. / [Their] body was as straight as Circe’s wand; / Jove might have sipped nectar from [their] hand.”

3. “I could tell ye / How smooth [their] breast was, and how white [their] belly…”

4. “Some say, for [them] the fairest Cupid pined, / And looking in [their] face, was strooken blind… / And oftentimes into [their] bosom flew, / About [their] naked neck his bare arms threw…”

5. “…My slack muse sings of [redacted]’s eyes, / Those orient cheeks and lips, exceeding his* / That leapt into the water for a kiss / Of his own shadow…”

*his = Narcissus

6. “Had wild Hippolytus [redacted] seen, / Enamored of [their] beauty had he been; / [Their] presence made the rudest peasant melt…”

7. “A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye, / A brow for love to banquet royally…”

Answers below the cut!

1. Hero (“[Redacted] the fair…”)

2. Leander (“Fair Cynthia wished [their] arms might be her sphere…”)

3. Leander (“How smooth [their] breast was…”)

4. Hero (“Some say, for [them] the fairest Cupid pined…”

5. Leander (“My slack muse sings of [redacted]’s eyes…”)

6. Leander (“Had wild Hippolytus [redacted] seen…”)

7. Leander (“A pleasant smiling cheek, a speaking eye…”

[lixies-favorite-cookie]

Don't cry over spilled milk ◦ l.f

-Accidents happen is an easy thing to say when your daughter didn't just dump a cup of milk on your husband's new black carpet and all of a sudden— you can't breathe

Paring◦ Dad!Lee Felix x Mom!Reader

Words◦ 1633

Genre ◦ Hurt and comfort, ngl this was like really angsty and I didn't mean for it to be 😭, definitely fluffy towards the end though

Warnings ◦ Kinda points towards the fact that the reader might have been abused, descriptions of the readers father being an asshole, talk about abuse, the term beating black and blue, crying, spilled milk, Felix being sickeningly sweet, overuse of love, descriptions of bad dreams, trauma, bleeding, bad thoughts, and wounds (all these are metaphors).

Taglist◦@thetoastghost222I hope you like it <33

A/N ◦this is just something simple and cute I cooked up real fast I didn't really put too much thought into it honestly I just let my brain go also don't judge me but I literally just looked up "cute Korean girl names that mean sunshine" in the search engine and picked the first thing so... also I'm going to be reuploading all my old stuff into my new blog in one fair swoop soooo I'm rereading this and there's something about my writing I have always noticed is off so if anybody can point it out/ give me advice I would literally appreciate it so much

~cookiecreates 🍪

You took "Don't cry over spilled milk" very seriously because it took every fiber of your being not to sob when Ha-Yun's glass of milk dropped on Felix's new carpet, throwing a vibrant white stain on the expensive black furnishing. You really don't know how many different adjectives your brain could come up with to describe the horror you felt pounding in your heart.

It was as though this moment was a portal into the deepest caverns of your mind—a key that unlocked a swarm of memories flickering in the back of your brain like fireflies. You squeeze your eyes shut, pushing back the flood of bad feelings that seem to wash over you quicker than you can wipe them away—You're transported back to those days when your head was high and your hands were small, spilling milk on your dad's new carpet. You were so little, so naive, you didn't know that the world wasn't all butterflies and unicorns; that milk stained and dads got mad. You vowed to be the parent who held their baby's hand as they picked it up, smiling when they threw the dirty towel in the trash. 

Accidents happen.

Accidents happen.

Accidents happen.

But you don't know if that's what Felix vowed to do, and with the carpet being 600 dollars, you wouldn't be surprised if he beat the poor girl black and blue.

Just like your dad did. 

Your fingers tremble as you grip the cup in your hands, the world seems to swirl around you, swimming in all your bad dreams. It only took a teaspoon to die and a bad thought to drown. How easy it is to be pulled under the waves when you're vulnerable. You thought you kept the sea at bay, but even the most experienced divers can get pulled into a riptide. 

The cup clatters in the sink, startling you out of your thoughts. Ha-Yun babbles in the corner, throwing cheerios to the ground. This was all your fault; you shouldn't have put her high chair in the living room. 

All your fault.

All your fault.

All your-

The lock clicks.

Your heart drops, plummeting into the grave in which you buried all your pain. You scramble to find something to cover the stain. In all your panic, you forget that shit doesn't magically go away, sticking to your skin like syrup dripping down your spine. Everything was spinning in your vision as your lungs contracted, you wondered if you could really drown in theoretical oceans, especially the ones that occupied your mind.

It all seemed so silly as Felix's frame came into view, like he was made entirely from watercolor pouring down the page. You threw the towel over the mess, attempting to conceal your sobs.

Maybe he'll walk away.

Maybe he's too tired to notice.

Maybe you can spare his wrath.

“Love,” Felix's deep voice floats into your ears like cotton candy disintegrating under the waves of words you drown in. Scars were never promises on the skin; the human body is a delicate chemistry, and with the right motivation, it can crumble.

You snap. Break apart. Succumb to the river of sentences that stuck to your skin, like honey and glass. Time heals all wounds, but what about the ones that never scar, never scab? What about the ones whose vile words poisoned the flesh, eating away at your soul? Time doesn't heal all wounds because sometimes wounds are just too deep. Strong arms wrap around your huddled frame, your face drawn to your knees. 

“I-I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." you sob mindlessly, it was as though your younger self control—caught in a weird form of fight or flight—dissociating from reality.

“Sorry? Sorry for what, love?” He whispers, dropping to the floor and pulling you onto his lap. He's so gentle, so calm, so completely opposite of any love you have ever felt or any father you have ever seen.

"Milk-" You choke; your words getting caught in your throat. You dig your face into his shoulder. "She spilled the milk on the carpet. I'm so sorry." The tears keep coming as though you're bleeding all the emotions you had kept under wraps for too long; it was like an infection, and Felix's loving arms cleansed your wounds.

"Oh, love," he coos, petting your hair, "didn't anybody ever tell you not to cry over spilled milk." You can't help but chuckle, a weird mix between a sniffle and a sob. 

You must look like such a wreck right now—face blotchy and red, snot dripping down your nose, tears pouring down your cheeks—you look like you just crawled out of the pits of hell, and he still looks at you like you're the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes on.

In that moment, you feel so silly, so stupid, kinda wanting to crawl back into the pits of hell from which you came. You should have known he wasn't going to react the way your father had. Felix was nothing like the man; he was kind, he was gentle, he was all sunshine and smiles, he was safe.

"I'm sorry for being such a wreck." You cuddle deeper into his chest, sniffling into his shirt. 

"Never be sorry for being human, and especially, never be sorry for showing me." It took everything in you not to break down again, letting his strong arms hold you while you scrubbed all the syrup from your soul, but you have a baby and a mess on the carpet that will be ten times harder to clean if you leave it sitting.

"I'll go get another towel," you sniffle, wiping the tears from your cheeks.

"Don't," he pulls you back down on his lap, “Put your arms around me.” You lock your hands behind his neck, yelping when he picks you up bridal style.

“What- Felix, what are you doing?” You squeal as he walks you to the couch, laying you gently on the cushions.

“I'm showing you how to clean up spilled milk,” He smirks like you didn't just destroy his 600-dollar carpet; his attitude genuinely baffles you.

"How are you not mad?” You whispered, dazed, your mind turning into mush. He tilts your chin up, peering at you with a soft smile and kind eyes. Your breath hitches, little heart eyes popping in your pupils. 

"Accidents happen, love, you never grow out of’em." You melt, literally disintegrating into a pile of goo on the couch.

"D-Do you, um, D-Do you need help?" You stutter, blinking harshly to try and gather your thoughts. It was as if his gentle heart short-circuited your tangled wires—knotted from years of wear and lack of care. 

"You just sit there and look pretty, and I'll show you why you shouldn't cry over spilled milk." He kisses you softly, smiling on your skin, "Okay, baby," he breathes, passion crackling between your lips, "You just keep-" Ha-Yun screeches, slapping her high chair full of Cheerios. Felix groans, tipping his forehead to touch yours. 

"You know, one of these days we've got to get a babysitter. I don't know how long I can stand just being able to admire my beautiful wife from afar," your cheeks burn as you tilt your head down bashfully, "Well maybe we can do that when milk isn't marinating on the floor," he claps, jumping up from his arched position, "yep, your right, jeez baby, you really know how to pull me away from a task."

You cheese, pulling the collar of your shirt over your face. "Go on," you shoo him away, "You were going to teach me something."

He smirks, walking over to the kitchen, pulling the roll of paper towels off the counter and tossing them down next to the mess, unlocking Ha-Yun's highchair to lift her out of it.

"What are you-"

"Shh sit there and look pretty," The way his eyes sparkle and his lips tilt makes him appear almost mischievous. You sink back into the couch, folding your arms in front of your chest, assessing him intently. Ha-Yun beams when she sees Felix, waving her arms around, spitting gobbly gook.

"Oh is that right, well I couldn't have ever guessed," he nods attentively like she just stated the stages of evolution, "Well, as much as I love this conversation, baby, you are going to need to clean up your mess". He chastises her gently, and she frowns, glaring at him, he lifts his brows in retort.

"You know you've got a lot of sass for a 4-year-old," he grumbles "Probably got it from your momma," he sends you a look, lips curled up in a smirk. Your jaw drops in faux offense.

"You know what-" he puts his finger to his lips, cutting you off.

"Were you this bad in school? Cause the teacher," he gestures to himself, "is teaching."

"I'm gonna-"

"Looking pretty," He singsongs, a smile playing on his lips. You bite your cheek, holding back your glare. He snickers, placing her down next to the milk—putting a paper towel in her tiny hands.

"Can you help daddy clean it up please," he squats down to her level, stretching his fingers over hers. She blinks down at the splattered milk. You can almost see the gears turning in her head when he starts carefully moving her hand back and forth over the mess. 

"See!" he cheers, his eyes glowing with pride, "Accidents happen, you just gotta learn to clean them up."

Watching the scene unfold before you fills you with an obscene form of bliss, like you have achieved one of life's greatest victories—that maybe all dads weren't raging assholes that yelled when you spilled milk because, like Felix said, accidents happen—you never grow out of'em.

©CookieCreates (posted: June, 26th 2024) All rights reserved. Do not translate, copy, or claim my works as yours! I only post on this platform so if any of my works are elsewhere, report and notify me immediately.

[marsprincess889]

Real talk:

Is astrology entertainment, science or spirituality to you?

I have been studying astrology since 2015, vedic since 2020 and at this point I don't know if this post will be wasted, but I'm writing it anyway.

I have seen too many blogs that get multiples of thousands of notes for observations that are honestly very questionable to me😭 very questionable. Like, mixing western outer planets with vedic nakshatras, divisional charts or other concepts and then basing the observation on what? I've come to notice that a lot of them are just theoretical and based on experimental formulas.

I mean, I'm not a close-minded person in any way, but even I scratch my head at some of them 😭😭 and then there are apparently blogs that use AI which is a whole another story.

Let's be real: no matter how many times someone claims that astro obsevations should not be taken that seriously, most of the people who read them are hungry for any knowledge that might calm their uncertainty down, and therefore take it in without their own reserach or fact-checking. Plus, most of them are teens 😐 not to demean you guys but at that age knowledge like this might be a high-stake thing, because I've been there, and I know. And whatever, I might be projecting, but misinformation is very harmful even to full-grown, well-established adults.

To me astrology is an evolving knowledge and while we should definitely be open-minded, some structure is straight up imperative. And the responsibility should be on those who share their knowledge first, and then on the consumers. Unfortunately, that is how it works. We make the posts and we spread our thoughts, and they find their way into the audience's mind somehow, a lot of the times in ways that were not intended.

So maybe, we should take more responsibility for what we write or claim to be true. How would you guys feel being fed a lot of nicely packaged content that gradually but quickly turns into widely accepted axioms? Like, what the f*ck.

I mean this in friendliest most understanding way guys, I am one of you, but hopefully not the one who misleads others. I try very hard not to. I really hate when online people boost their egoes because of a growimg audience and assume a position of superiority, and feel entitled to guide others without real claim. And then what about very flashy blogs/posts that spread that misinformation in the name of fun? They too quickly turn into realiable sources of knowledge in people's minds.

In no way am I calling anyone out, unless I find one of those AI using blogs and tag them after😭 but for now, and for others, I just want to reach well-meaning people who get joy from this, like me.

This is the post where I am really asking to politely share your opinions, politely being the key word, and also respectfully. This is my position on this, and I'd love to know yours, just for an honest discussion. 💕

THIS IS A WELL MEANING POST

Well, take care.☺🥰

[hedgiwithapen]

Leverage Redemption:

Harry and his redemption list

Harry Wilson wasn't completely useless with technology, despite what his daughter joked. He loved a good mobile game, he was always up on his email--which would have been a real game changer for the industry if not for the fact that he really wasn't that old, seriously, enough with the jokes, email'd been around for most of his career. He seriously did not miss pagers, though there was something satisfying about a flip phone. He knew what a Pokemon was, he could theoretically post a tweet, and he frequented several tumblr blogs that posted kitten videos and interesting art. He was by no means a technophobe. 

But he appreciated paper. There was something about writing by hand on good quality paper, with a fountain pen, or at least a Pilot G-2 gel pen, black ink, instead of some chicken-scratch cheap ballpoint, or worse, typing and printing out. Something about writing by hand made things real. 

That was sort of the problem, he thought, sitting at his desk with the ink spreading out on the paper. Bleeding, it was called. It felt like blood. It wasn't that they weren't real to him, all his clients, all his cases. All the victims he'd helped to bulldoze. They had always been real. That just hadn't mattered.

He wrote the first name. Cole. The second. Mateo.  The ink bled over the paper and his hands as he wrote down years of names.

In the morning, he can use the resources Leverage has to offer. He can see who he can find. He can see who he can try to help, even if he can't fix it entirely. He can see what was left in the wake after the gavel came down. 

Tonight, though, Harry sat at his desk and wrote his list, hating every time he had to consult a file because the name wouldn't come to his memory. That might be the worst crime of all, the not remembering. But who could he blame for that but himself? He chose it all. That mattered. And, he thought with some guilt, he chooses this now. Which choice outweighs the other?  

Every name is a brick in the road to redemption. It's going to be a long walk. 

[doberbutts]

I know you've said writing is a pretty fraught thing for you so I hope I'm not prodding against something tender without realizing, but I wanted to say that I think you have an absolutely lovely authorial voice, and I find your writing an absolute joy to read. I only discovered your blog a couple of days ago, but I've been reading through some of your post backlog and I've found myself consistently impressed by how you're able to make nuanced, complex ideas understandable for lay-readers while still maintaining a very fluid and compelling style.

Speaking as someone coming from academia, that blend of clarity, readability and depth of thought is both rare and takes a lot of work to develop, and I really admire it.

Oh, I appreciate the kind words actually!

It's not that my relationship with writing is fraught, it's that black people being called eloquent is a, umm, well often it is a microaggression when being said by a nonblack person.

Let me put it this way. Black people have our own dialect- AAVE- which is constantly both appropriated and also derided as unintelligent. This is despite the fact that most people who use AAVE also can speak and understand standard american english- proficiency in two (tbh even more than two bc AAVE is largely regional as well but w/e I guess) dialects is somehow unintelligent if you choose to use the one most common to your demographic for whatever reason. (I know the reason the reason is racism actually).

Black people learned a long time ago that in order to be taken seriously by nonblack and white supremist society, we needed to not only not use AAVE, but also be the most eloquent and well-spoken person in the room at all times or else some white asshole would find a reason to discredit us by saying we were too unintelligent to have a place at the table.

We aren't allowed to not be eloquent. And eloquent is only allowed to mean "speaks in purely academic words and phrases with no slang, using only standard american with no strong accent besides the news broadcaster 'no accent' accent" with absolutely no wiggle room.

Racist white society does not consider it possible to be well-spoken while using AAVE. It doesn't matter how educated or articulate the speaker is if they're using AAVE. They're just not considered intelligent enough to have a firm grasp on the subject. Even if they're the most experienced person there.

So when I say that black people and eloquence is a fraught discussion, I don't mean that I don't like speaking or writing. What I mean is, black people being told we are well spoken when we choose to remove our own dialect from our mouths because that's the only way we can get people to listen to us, often times with people saying this in surprise as though they did not expect us to be well spoken...

That entire mess is a whole tangled web of racism. It's a microaggression.

And it's also actually one of the major reasons why I talk the way I do. I find it to be a nice blend between pure academic lingo and casual street talk- understandable for the layperson but with an obvious enough grasp of the concept that I don't drown when discussing with people more used to using the more theoretical terms. It is intentional, and it's nice to see someone notice that.