#tumblr still doesn’t let me edit my drafts

[xatsperesso]

Oh i forgot i put this in queue i wasn't done. I'll just pick up where i left

If it turns out that dali's rank is the same as Sullivan’s? And they're hiding this fact?? No one recognizes him from stories or legend or anything because he's managed to hide his power and rank from the public? That shows just how observant, smart and how good he is at planning

And there's something about how every Dantalion who takes the title changes their name to Dali. It's almost dehumanising (dedemonising?) Like they're trying to tell everyone that they are replaceable. Like they're trying to make the other teachers, study and Dalis forget that they're people, either to manipulate, or to make a certain decision easier

nah the pathetic guy isn't our Dali, he's Balam childhood "friend" or rather classmate XD

Anyway Dantalion's power must be incredible, what if he had the same rank than Sullivan but it was a secret, like if he was the secret weapon, and that nobody knew how strong he is?

when Atori has snapped at school, he was looking at him angryly since the shadows but wasn't with the other teachers when they surronded Atori and considering how protective of the students he is, it's kinda surprising but what if it was to not show his real powers to a ennemy?

He's here immediatly after Atori and Delkira's ex vanish,and he's first move is 1) to check first that Iruma is alright 2) then to immediatly break the tension (and avoiding a potential wicked phase) by destroying their ballon with a BIG smile. 3) attacking Azz to to the same thing. 4) be happy to see Azz's team sucess.

He didn't fight.

Well yes he fight but he was still in the shadow while Balam and Kalego, the two strongest, were joining the battle. And the teachers have entered the exam by order of power (Robin and Orias first, then Marbas, Murmur, Ipos, then Ifrit, etc..). Do it mean that Dantalion is STRONGER that Kalego and Balam?

We never seen him use his powers, just a knife XD

OH THANK GOD thank you for telling me they're not the same person

As for Dali, YES!!! He's the strongest one there, and his strength is scary that Kalego was glad they didn't have to call him in when Atori went mad!

And he never uses magic when he fights! And he rarely fights so yeah, it is very likely that they're hiding his powers

[hysteria-things]

COULD U POSSIBLY MAKE A MATT FIC BASED OFF OF THIS TIKTOK OR SONG (YOU CAN DECIDE IF U WANT IT TO BE SMUT OR NOT IF U DO MAKE ONE) https://www.tiktok.com/t/ZT8wp5H2t/

🔗

MY OH MY

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: dom!matt x reader

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you get into a pickle when you get poured on, but don’t worry… somebody comes to save you.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: SMUTTY, swearing, making out, p in v, ass grabbing, faux sympathy, cum eating (🙈)

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1,400

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: meant to post earlier but tumblr decided to close the draft without saving as i was proofreading/editing🤣

hope you enjoy @sluttyformatt :)

rain trickles down your hair to your shoes; workout clothes soaked.

you wanted to go on a late-night walk, then suddenly it started pouring out of nowhere. currently, you’re standing under a roof edge, arms crossed while you wait for your ride.

your brother isn’t around to pick you up, so your last resort was his best friend. he’s your brother’s age, who’s two years older than you. he’s known him ever since high school, yet your mother always said matt was a bad influence.

although, you do see where she’s coming from. matt was the type to always get in trouble in school, and overall he’s just a big grump. he’s only been nice to you, your brother, and of course his siblings.

headlights glow down the street, getting closer until the minivan stops in front of you. you quickly head over to it, open the door, and get in on the passenger’s side. “hi matty!” you beam. “thank you so much for picking me up. i didn’t know it was going to rain.”

he looks at you, wearing the leather jacket he’s had for as long as you can remember.

he truly doesn’t understand how you can be so happy no matter what, even if you are drenched in water. “you should’ve checked the weather before you left.” he mumbles, putting the car in drive.

“well, it was sunny all day. i didn’t expect rain. it’s okay, though. it’s like a surprise shower.” you smile, fastening the seatbelt.

“uh oh,” you say, looking through your fanny pack that you have strapped to your stomach.

he sighs, still focusing on the road. “what is it now?”

“i may or may not have left my keys home and locked myself out. nobody’s home.” you lick your teeth. “can i come to your place until my brother picks me up? pretty please, matty?”

“fine.” he inhales sharply. “and stop calling me matty.”

it’s silent as you two sit on the couch. your brother texted you saying he’ll let you know when he’s on his way, but god knows how long that’ll be. (despite it being almost midnight)

matt notices a shiver, taking his eyes off of his phone to look. your hands rub up and down your arms trying to warm up, but the chattering of your teeth indicates that it isn’t helping. “go to my room and grab one of my hoodies and pajama pants. they should be in my dresser.” he says coolly.

you smile. “it’s okay, i can wait. i’m fine.”

“put them on.” he demands. “you’re soaking wet and freezing.”

staring at him, he keeps staring back because of your silence. “go.”

you sigh like a child, getting up from the couch and walking down the hallway into his bedroom.

matt’s clothes are far too big on you, but you do feel warmer and more comfortable. his pants hang low just past your waistline. the hoodie on the other hand is long, causing the sleeves to give you sweater paws.

you sit on the chair he has in the corner, scrolling on your phone. matt can’t help but stand at the doorway, watching you.

not in a creepy way, but the fact you’re wearing his clothes has his dick reacting from the view. the way it’s too big for your body turns him to fuck on.

he cannot feel this way toward you. your his best friend’s sister, for god’s sake. but he can’t help it.

“feel better?”

you get startled by his voice. “yes, thank you.”

“told you so,” he grumbles.

rolling your eyes playfully, you stand up. “i didn’t mean to linger in here. i got distracted.”

as you start to walk by him, he grabs onto your shoulders to stop you. your breath hitches at the feeling of his rings; the way they drag down your arm makes you subconsciously clench your thighs together.

his cologne floods your nostrils, and the way he’s looking at you is different now.

he’s always been a grumpy kid and had a resting bitch face, but now he’s looking at you seductively and with need.

the hand that was on your arm now cups the front of your neck. there’s no pressure, but the fingers with no rings go over your bottom lip.

he sighs sympathetically. “it sucks that you’re off limits. i would so fuck you right now.”

your eyebrows raise high from the sudden courage he had to just blurt that out. however, you smirk.

“if you kiss me.” you shrug. “i might let it happen.”

he groans, leaning down to smash his lips on yours.

still intact, you grab his jacket and pull him in closer, your bodies moving at the same rhythm.

he starts to push you back to where the chair is, turning you 180° so he’s the one sitting in it while you straddle his lap.

your hips grind, rubbing just the right spot on not only you but him also. you smile into the kiss when you feel him hardening beneath you.

tugging at the pants you're wearing, he pulls away. “take these off.”

you shimmy them down your legs as he unbuckles his belt and pulls his bottoms down below his thighs. he grabs your hips to hover you over him, but stops and teases the tip.

you wiggle to get some friction as he smirks. “manners.”

“please.” you whine. “please let me ride your cock. i’m so fucking wet for you.”

matt sinks you slowly onto him, your walls immediately stretching to his size. “i didn’t know you had such a dirty mouth.”

you mumble something into his chest, bouncing uncontrollably on his dick. your sweater paws ball up on his biceps. your ass slaps repeatedly on his skin, the sound echoing off the walls.

he tuts, grabbing your ass and giving it a firm squeeze. “why so quiet?”

“stop.” you mewl, nuzzling your face even deeper into his body. your face is hot from embarrassment.

“is somebody embarrassed to be fucking her brother’s best friend? it looks like ms. goody-two-shoes is a little naughty.” he says lowly into your ear, causing you to start whimpering and going even faster.

it doesn’t take long for his tip to brush against the right spot “oh, fuck.” you moan, legs shaking at his sides.

“better not get this chair dirty, otherwise i’ll make you clean it,” he warns, knowing that you can’t control your orgasm.

pouting, you clench hard. of course, your release runs down his thighs and onto the seat. your eyes are glassed over while you look at him, who’s shaking his head. “you’re making a mess.”

somehow so quickly, he lifts you off of him and onto the floor. now, he’s behind you, and your cheek leans against the chair.

he again nudges at your entrance, this time you buck your hips back but he grips them tight. “clean up your mess first.”

he doesn’t ask. he orders while pushing your head down further into the cushion.

obeying, you flick your tongue onto your arousal. normally, you’d find this gross, but you’re so wet and turned on that you’ll listen to whatever he says. his presence feels like you are under a spell.

a sweet and salty taste fall on your tongue, following his instructions to a t.

a hum of approval is heard behind you. he spreads your legs wider, slamming into you with no warning.

you moan loudly, arching as much as you can in this position. “m-matt! shit, matt!” you yelp.

he grunts, taking in how well your pussy feels engulfing him.

tears threaten to spill from your eyes once they roll back, moaning loud and clear when your g-spot gets abused already.

strings of curses leave your lips, the way he’s balls deep inside of you right now have you quiver a lot. “you feel—” you pause, licking your lips and shutting your eyes tight. “so good. like… holy fucking god.”

he chuckles, placing his hand on your shoulder to drill into you harder. before you even know that it’s happening, you cum for the second time, shaking uncontrollably from the pleasure.

a deep breath later, matt makes sure to pull out and paint your back white.

“you can keep the clothes.” he says, jiggling your ass to play with it. “so you can wear them the next time i fuck you.”

𝐭𝐚𝐠 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!

@bunbunbl0gs @lexisecretaccx @thy-mission @angelic-sturniolos111 @sophssturn @mattsneezing @janiellasblog @blahbel668 @meg-sturniolo @hearts4chris @mattslolita @sturnbaby @imwetforyourmom @tillies33ssss @sturnifyed @mayhem-72 @ripmattitude @p1xieswrld @alorsxsturn @txssvx @sttzee @multiluvr @delilahprentiss @matthewsspecial @sturnolio-luvs @sturniolho @suga-daddy-69 @tworosesblackthorn @luckistar-posts @gnxosblog @junnniiieee07 @sturnioloslurps @tylerthecreatorsrealwife @flowerxbunnie @imaslut4kehlani @sturniolosandmoree @hertvgirl @whoreforchrissturniolo @sturniolotriplettoplover @stars4matt @freshsturns @loverrsposts @sturnlcvr @elliesturniolo1 @tpvmz @user283926392 @lalalands86 @sukiipjs @sturniologirl813 @leahrab @chrissturniolosslut @h3arts4harry @sturnioloblogs @creamoncreamoncream2 @luv4kozume @ivyyyyyysposts @mirxcle1 @iluvm4ttsturni0l0 @catalina-island @mbsbaby @mattsdollie @pinkfarts @slut4mattsturn @thesturniolos @vickeyzloserz @nononopenono1 @bitchydragonparadise @gdsvhtwa @hrt-attack @bellasfavbisexual @dwntwn-strnlo @venusbabysblog

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Why Writing Is So Lonely | Rin T.

Hello writers, and anyone else who uses Tumblr on a daily basis like me. (Although I’ve been inactive off and on.) It’s me, Rin, and I wanted to talk about something that I think a lot of us struggle with. Or at least anyone, and everyone who considers themselves writers.

The loneliness that can come with the writing life and being a writer. We spend so much of our time alone. It doesn’t matter if you're using your laptop or scribbling in notebooks. Or pacing around in your living room and muttering dialogue to yourself (which I'm completely guilty of.)

Writing is really a solitary passion, and it hasn't just recently been like that. I'm sure Jane Austen and Edgar Allen Poe dealt with similar feelings. And sometimes that isolation can take a real toll that many of us choose to ignore, both on our creativity, our passion, which I assume is writing in this case, and our mental health.

I’ve been writing for about 4 years now, mostly working on my own little passion projects that I plan on publishing and side hustles, not only for my writing project but also my blog (TheWrite AdviceForWriters). I’m currently knee-deep in 4 different novel drafts that I’m absolutely in love with. However, let me tell you. It can get Very lonely a lot of times. There are days when I feel like I’m the only person in the world who cares about these made-up characters and their fictional problems. The characters I create in my mind are so vivid that they seem like the only individuals who actually care about my passion. (They technically are, considering they are basically my passion.)

It’s so easy to start wondering whether anyone will ever want to read the stories I'm pouring my heart into. The self-doubt I get has been a big part of my writing journey, and sometimes it breaks my heart knowing that I may not please everyone who reads my stories. That I possibly could get the worst reviews out there on my book. If it's not perfect for society. For example, I have been reading and receiving news on Alex Aster and the amount of bad reviews she received for her LightLark novel, and she has had a few times where she’s stated she poured her heart into it. And it's not just Aster who deals with these as a published author; there are many others, and it sometimes scares me.

But you know what? I've come to realize that this loneliness is just part of the writer’s journey. And that it truly is going to be the process of every writer’s journey and career. It’s going to be one of the prominent challenges we have to face if we want to do this crazy, wonderful, painful thing we call writing. And I think it's important we talk about it, especially since I'm a blogger who owns a blog specifically for writers. The biggest reason I chose to create this blog was for this reason and the many other challenges of being a writer. 

I definitely will consider this blog post to be a discussion, and if anyone wants to reblog or reply to this blog post and start a conversation, please do so, just so we can support each other and figure out healthy ways to cope.

So, why is writing such a lonely pursit? Well, there are quite a few reasons, especially reasons for each individual writer; however, here are a few key reasons:

The Act Itself is Solitary.

At the end of the day, writing is something we have to do on our own. Sure, we can brainstorm with other writers and friends who write or get feedback from beta readers. Or even develop  and edit your manuscript with a professional book editor. But the actual act of putting words on the page is a solo endeavor. We’re the ones doing the typing, the (physical) writing, and the constant racking of our brains to find the perfect word or phrase to put down on paper or the blank page on a screen.

Even when we’re writing collaboratively, there’s still a certain level of isolation involved. I mean, after all, our individual writing process and creative visions have to align for the collaboration to work.

And let’s be real—aligning those things isn't always easy.

I’ve reached out to book editors, more so of developmental editors, which is an editor who guides the writer/author on the actual plot and outline of the novel itself. And they have mentioned the difficulties of needing to align with the creativity of the topic or novel. It isn't easy at all.

I know that for me, my most productive writing sessions happen when I'm alone. And I know for a fact I'm not alone on that.

Having no distractions when it's just me, my thoughts, and the blinking cursor on the screen with a Spotify playlist playing in the background. And while that can be deeply fulfilling and very productive, I will admit it can be incredibly lonely.

It's an Emotionally Draining Process.

Writing isn't just about stringing words together. It's about pouring our hearts and souls onto the page. Were digging into our deepest emotions, our biggest fear, our wildest dreams, our thoughts, our philosophy, I can go on. And that kind of vulnerability can be utterly exhausting.

When I'm in the process of drafting a new novel or the many current projects I'm working on. I often find myself emotionally drained at the end of the day. I've been living and breathing these characters, feeling their joys and pains as my own. describing the actions, words, and emotions these characters do and feel. And then after that, I have to close my laptop, put my pen and notebook away, and try to reenter the “real world"—a world that doesn’t always understand the weight I've been carrying. 

It can be so isolating, feeling like the only person who understands the emotional journey of your writing. Knowing what it feels like to create characters and their stories and emotions and personalities just as if they were real humans. Our non-writer friends and family members try their best to be supportive, but unless they experience it firsthand, they cannot fully grasp the depth of what we go through. I can tell when I explain my projects to others who aren't writers, it can sometimes feel like they don't care about what I'm saying to them. Or it can also feel like, my stories are just a synopsis for an underrated movie no one’s ever watched.

It's a Profession of Rejection

I think we all know, writing is a tough gig. It's a tough career and job. Even the most successful authors have had to face their fair share of rejection. The rejections can be received from agents, publishers, readers, or critics. (like I mentioned earlier), and that constant stream of “no’s” can really chip away at our confidence and sense of self-worth. And especially if you're an aspiring author and have not yet published your work. Knowing that rejection is a big part of the career of writing is frightening. Really.

I remember when one of my best friends, who is a writer, who is currently in the process of publishing her book, would send query after query only to receive endless rejections. She told me it felt like the entire world was telling her, “Your writing isn't good enough,” and that can be a pretty lonely and demoralizing place to be. It has made me anxious about getting to the querying phase, as I still haven't begun to query yet.

Even when we start to find some success, the fear of rejection never really goes away. Will readers love our next book as much as the last one? Will readers even like my debut novel? Will the critics tear it apart? I know when I first started writing my first novel project. I rewrote the first chapter. 13 times!! And that’s because of all the questions and doubts I had in mind. It’s enough to make any writer want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

And the thing is, as writers, we often don't have the same support system that people in other professions might have. We don't have coworkers to commiserate with or a boss to reassure us; it’s just us. Our doubts and the eerie silence of an empty inbox. For example, Ana Neu, one of my all-time favorite Author-Tuber's, has dealt with similar struggles. She’s mentioned several times how lonely she feels and how her family doesn't fully understand her love and passion for writing. And I completely agree with her. If you want to listen to more of her, please listen to her podcast and watch her videos on YouTube here.

So, now that I went over the key reasons as to why writing is so lonely, I didn't want to end this post on negativity, that’s why I wanted to list the main strategies that have helped me:

Build a Writer’s Community

One of the best ways to combat the isolation of writing is to surround yourself with other writers. That’s why I found social media to be a gift, not just for the other obvious reasons, but because we get to find writers around the world who enjoy the same things we like. Having that sense of community can be a game changer.

When I first started my Tumblr blog, TheWriteAdviceForWriters, I was really hoping to create that kind of supportive space for writers. I wanted to create a space where anyone who enjoys writing—not just fiction writers, but anyone who finds writing to be a passion of theirs—can share their dreams and struggles with. It's been amazing to connect with so many incredible people who just “get” the unique challenges we face. Being able to share our achievements and share our compassions. It's been vital for my own mental health as a writer, and I hope that it can also be vital for all of you.

And of course, the community is not about venting or seeking validation from others; its about providing feedback, encouragement, and just being able to make friends. Having that makes the lonely parts of the writing process and journey feel a little less lonely.

Prioritize Self-care

It's so easy to get caught up in the work and neglect our well-being. There have been multiple times where I wouldn't take a break from my writing sessions and simply not eat and drink. I wouldn't give myself time to process everything I wrote, and I immediately after would criticize it.

However, I find that self-care is the most important part of combating the isolation that comes with being a writer. For me, that looks like making sure I get enough sleep. You can't process, learn, and remember anything when you don't have enough sleep. During my personal self-care, when I do 45-to 1-hour writing sessions, I usually take a short nap after. Eating nourishing meals and snacks is important, as is making time for the hobbies and activities that bring me joy. I usually like reading books, spending quality time with my family members, and very feisty (and sometimes scary) cat.

3. Cultivate Gratitude

When loneliness starts to creep in, it can be really helpful to shift our mindset and focus on what we are grateful for; this can be really productive and rewarding. Being a writer is a gift; we get to spend our days doing what we love, bringing our creative visions to life and sharing them with people who love literature. Readers are such a big part of being a writer, and they're huge motivations to me.

So, if you can, just take a moment to appreciate the joys of writing. For example, if you have any writing quirks, I personally have to wear bracelets on both of my wrists in order to produce some type of creativity when I write. I'm not sure why it's just something I noticed. I also really love writing my manuscripts physically. I tend to do this when I'm suffering from writer's block, and for some reason my writing style is a lot better.

And don't forget the many other joys of writing, like drafting, and the excitement of sharing your work with others. Having a new idea come to mind that fits perfectly in your plot. Or even a reader or beta reader sharing a comment on your work and giving you encouragement.

Also, please celebrate your wins; it makes writing all too fun, and it's a great way to integrate writing into the real world.

End Note

I wanted to write this post because I know a lot of us deal with feeling lonely; I’ve been feeling that way for quite some time, and I wanted to share it with Tumblr. I feel like each and every one of you all feel the same way. And that’s why I created my Tumblr community; that's the reason I created this blog, and that's the reason I strive to build this into an entire brand.

I want to bring more awareness to writers, we are the people behind the stories, movies, and media that we consume today, and we barely get any credit for our work. I want to make a brand where others who never thought writing to be their passion could actually for once consider “Is writing for me?”

I feel like it's such an underrated yet overrated passion. Yet it's not acknowledged as much. 

I hope this post can make you understand that writing is 90% lonely and you are not crazy for thinking so. But, we can use the resources we have today, like social media, to change that and make writing better for the present and the future. 

Thank you all for reading. And please, if you are considering joining a community if you haven't already, please join The Write Right Society. We recently met 100 members, and the community is continuing to grow.

[rileyslibrary]

Okay, I have to get this off my chest, or else I’ll combust. Thank you all for the love on the recent Price’s Surprise Cake fic, but truth be told, it was posted by accident, and it was too late when I found out. 🫣

And if you happen to ask how something can be posted by accident, I’m here to tell you that either Tumblr decided to act out, or I absentmindedly placed it in queue rather than in drafts. Since I don’t like blaming my shortcomings on others, I believe it’s the latter. I’ve started using the queue on my main for reblogging art, and I think my brain acted similarly in this case.

Although the story was finished, it needed some minor editing (that I’ve already done), adding a title or a description, and, most importantly, fixing some inaccuracies that still bug me but can’t be altered cause they’re part of the fic now.

So, instead of crying over spilt milk, how about I present you with the inaccuracies so you and I can laugh together: 😅

I wanted to change the fruit tart to apple pie or something that doesn’t need to be refrigerated because who the fuck leaves a fruit tart out of the fridge for so long apart from the part where you get to eat it? Fruit will go bad (you know how already cut fruits taste/smell when you leave them out for too long), tart (that bottom/biscuit part, I don't know; I’m not a baker) will get soggy, not to mention how candles don’t sit upright when you place them in the cream.

Candles. Where are the candles?? Although we do know Price’s age, I wanted to include a sparkly question mark candle that the reader would hand to Ghost along with the box to hide. I thought it would add more to his irritability by seeing that 👇

The timing, omg that still bugs me. Price wants to meet in an hour, and Ghost tells the reader to return in half an hour FOR WHAT?? Why hide the cake in the first place if it’s just for an hour?? Might as well lock yourself in the broom closet with the cake if it’s for thirty minutes. Not only that, but if the reader were supposed to pick up the cake in half an hour, that means they would have to take it with them in the briefing room and therefore ruin the surprise. They’d either have to do it BEFORE the briefing or AFTER, where the reader would run down to Ghost’s office to pick it up.

See? The maths. They don’t add up.

Phew 😮‍💨 Now that I let everything out of my system, I can relax.

[novaursa]

Hello! I’m new to tumblr and wanted to start writing and, since you’re my favourite writer, do you have any tips for a new writer like me? 🙈💖

First of all, thank you, my dear anonymous. ☺️ You just unlocked a new achievement in my heart and made it one size larger. 💗

I'll do my best to write down and explain how I keep myself tethered to writing everyday since I was a teen. It was a slow process, but it developed as I've grown older.

Writing consistently, even if just a little each day, helps you build discipline and improve over time. Don't worry about perfection; focus on progress. Break larger projects into manageable tasks. Setting small goals, such as writing a certain number of words each day or completing a chapter by a set date, can help you stay motivated. I tend to always write something even on my most laziest of days. 

Reading exposes you to different styles, voices, and genres. It will help you understand what works in writing and inspire new ideas. I have a tendency to skip between Lovecraft to Gillian Flynn, for example. It fascinates me how different writers do their works. I often tend to do a hybrid style after, depending on the genre I'm writing.

Don’t try to write an epic chapter that is over ten thousand words long right away. Start with short stories or blog posts, to build confidence and refine your style and voice.

Your first draft doesn’t need to be perfect. It’s more important to get your ideas down and then refine them later.

Outlining your work can provide direction, but don’t hesitate to adjust it as your ideas evolve during the writing process.

Over time, you’ll discover your own unique writing voice. Let it develop naturally by experimenting with different tones and styles.

Writing is rewriting. Don’t be afraid to cut, revise, and improve your work. Editing helps refine your ideas and make your writing stronger.

Whether it’s early mornings, late nights, or during lunch breaks, establish a writing routine that works for you. Consistency is key.

Writing is a long process, and progress might be slow at times. Don’t get discouraged if it takes time to develop your craft or achieve success. Mine took many, many years to come to be what it is today and still I'm improving and learning. Baby steps.

Focus on subjects, genres, and themes that excite you. Writing about something you’re passionate about will make the process enjoyable and your writing more engaging.

Every writer's journey is unique. Focus on your own progress, and don’t let comparisons discourage you.

I think I've managed to capture everything. This is pretty much how I function. I hope this helps you. 🙂

[trollprincess]

Okay, so some of you might not know this because I did this before I returned to Tumblr from the bird site, BUT. Last year I dictated almost two entire books to my phone.

Let me explain. One of my jobs is a twelve-hour weekend night shift. Six PM to six AM Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, so thirty-six hours with the other four hours paid just as long as we do the entire weekend. I first took it so I could have the rest of the week off, and then proceeded to go back to work at dog camp those days. For the most part, over the last five years, I have only have Mondays completely off solely because that’s when my therapy sessions are.

Anyway, my weekend job is full-time, dog camp is part-time. The weekend job is factory work, making helmets, a lot of which are for the military. (Which, as a pacifist, I manage to stomach because hey, it’s just protective gear.) The thing is, like a lot of manufacturing work, it’s boring and repetitive. Think about how bored you are after five or so hours of an eight-hour shift. Now imagine it’s one o’clock in the morning, you still have five hours to work, and you would literally rather shove nails in your eyes than work. It sucks.

Meanwhile, my free time is spent trying to work at my third job (making @disasterarea-podcast) and attempting to work on getting published. I had all these grand ideas about getting traditionally published back in my twenties, and now I’m 46 and I’m struggling just to come up with any ideas at all a lot of the time. Three jobs doesn’t help. Depression and anxiety don’t help. So for a while there, I had terrible writer’s block when it came to my novels.

So last year, I decided to try something. I have these massive baby-pink noise-canceling Bluetooth gaming headphones with a mic which I wear to work. Why not try dictating a first draft to my phone? Obviously it wouldn’t be exact, since voice-to-text dictation isn’t perfect under the best of situations, and certainly not with loud factory noises around you. But I tried it on dictating notes for my podcast a few times and it worked pretty well, all things considered. And a bad first draft is still a first draft.

So I figured, fuck it, and one night I just started dictating a story off the top of my head. No preparation, no outlining, no worldbuilding - just pantsing HARD with nothing but an annoyance following a Teen Wolf rewatch and a resolution not to edit until after I churned out a first draft.

It took fifty-one days.

Eighty thousand words or so later, I had a dreadful first draft which needed an absolute fuckton of editing and continuity correction and character work. BUT I had a finished first draft of a novel. Which is something I hadn’t had in a good long while.

So I tried it again for NaNoWriMo. I got up to 65k words. So I won NaNoWriMo, but I put the story aside because I hit a bit of a wall. Still! That’s almost two full fiction manuscripts in one year, AND the nonfiction memoir I wrote about my road trip to disaster sites during the pandemic. 2022 was a good writing year.

So I did what I do with first drafts and put them aside for a while. I knew they were awful. I knew they needed a ton of work. And maybe that was a tad intimidating, which is why I only JUST picked up the NaNoWriMo first draft to work on it and finish it off. It’s queer, it’s got time travel, it’s got disasters. It is right up my fucking alley. I may be just a tiny bit obsessed with that story.

Unsurprisingly, going through it now is taking more than a little while. I sit down, I spend an hour working on it, I maaaaaaybe get two paragraphs polished. If that.

But the fact that I’m working on ANY fiction is kind of remarkable. And fingers crossed, maybe I can get this damn thing, and the other manuscript, AND my road trip book, finished and polished over the next year so I can submit the fuck out of them.

NOW. Someone send me a twenty-pound bag of rooibos vanilla chai and ten pounds of red licorice laces. Mama’s gonna need it. *cracks knuckles*

[silkythewriter]

i love your fics but theres a few grammar error i think u could fix no offense. does is not the same as dose, dose is for a quantity of medicine or something similar like that in the medical field usually. whereas does is for an action that is preformed, like what you're supposed to use in your fics instead of "dose", again, no offense :") i just think that it might sound entitled if i said it on the comments

NO PLEASE I UNDERSTAND

I have dyslexia plus me being a fast typer is definitely something that comes into play with this. I am working on it! I feel like I have made some improvement, with the last fic with Vox and alastor.(I’m surprised its doing so well) I definitely fumbled A BUNCH. But it’s mostly because tumblr wouldn’t let me edit my draft, so I had to go on safari and do it from there which I’m not use to using it in a different format if that makes sense. I’m really embarrassed about it but I always polish my fics the best I can! It’s just I give my self a deadline to post before 5 so I always rush myself. Which doesn’t help my case a bunch either (╥﹏╥) you don’t sound entitled at all! I understand how poor spelling and grammar can effect enjoyment of said fan fic so please don’t feel bad!.

But yea I just wanna clear this up so everyone understands I just have trouble sometimes and I will do better in the future! (If tumbler fixes the bug as-well that is) anyway thank you for being honest and I promise to do better!

I still hope you enjoy my content!

(っ´ω`)ﾉ(╥ω╥)

(I’ll probably remake it in the future cause I still can’t edit it :(. )

[notsocheezy]

Brain Curd #185

Brain Curds are lightly edited flash fiction - practically first drafts - posted daily (haven't missed one yet!) and sometimes written with the express intention of being terrible… but, you know, in an endearing way. Please like and reblog if you enjoy - the notes keep me going!

He's gonna be Frank with you. Read the rest of The Frank Program here on Tumblr!

��Ladies and gentlemen…” Frank took a puff from his cigarette and exhaled. “This is The Frank Program. Today we have some returning faces - will you two please introduce yourselves?”

“I’m Chuck Tangent. Billionaire, genius, CEO of four or five companies… I’m sure you’ve all heard of me.”

“I’m Big Mike from Morning Thunder, or, uh, well I used to be. On that note, uh…” Mike rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d like to apologize for my behavior last time I was on this program. It was inappropriate of me to drink and hit on the female guest. I’m very sorry for my actions - sorry to Ms. Pope, sorry to the listeners, and most importantly, sorry to my wife. Babe, I still think we can make this work. Please don’t give up on me.”

There was an awkward silence. Frank cleared his throat. “Uh huh. Well, anyway, Chuck, how is your presidential campaign coming along?”

“Hm?”

“You’re running for President, last we chatted.”

Tangent leaned back in his chair. “Oh, yes, of course. I got bored of that.”

“Bored?”

“It no longer interested me. But I’ve found someone even better to take my place.”

“Who’s that?”

“The child I never had, Frank: Hailey Two-Point-Oh.”

Mike sobbed quietly. “We never got to have any children…”

Chuck ignored him. “Hailey is not only taking my place in the presidential race, but as CEO of one of my companies - Arx Industries - as well as its flagship product.”

“So you’re sellin’ your daughter, Chuck? I’m not positive that’s legal.”

“She’s an artificial intelligence, Frank. Hailey runs on cloud servers in a data farm somewhere. But don’t let the name fool you - she’s not technically a girl, just a collection of ones and zeroes. Much smarter than any of my real kids, of course.”

“Well’n, how’s that going for you?” Frank took a swig from his flask and another drag from his cigarette.

“It’s going great. In fact, Arx Industries stock has never been higher.” He held up his phone. “I’m tracking it real-time as we speak.”

“Is that, uh…” Frank waved his hand at the camera set up in the corner of the room. “Is that why you’ve got a live broadcast going here?”

“Yes, I have this interview streaming to my social media platform. That way, I can gauge the market’s reaction to my announcements.”

Mike really looked like shit. “Mr. Tangent, sir, do you think my wife might have already seen my apology?”

Chuck leaned over. “Yes,” he said, with a wink.

“What does that wink mean…?”

He whispered. “Most of my eight billion followers are bots. Don’t tell anyone. Shh.”

Mike laid his head back on the table and covered it with his hands.

“Anyway, Frank, it’s time to find out what Hailey’s policy positions will be. Hailey?”

“Yes, Daddy,” replied an uncomfortably sultry voice.

“What is your position on abortion?”

“All women should be forcibly sterilized so that no abortions can ever happen again! Tee-hee!”

“Hm.” Chuck rubbed his chin. “Not what I would have said, but I respect it.”

Frank shrugged. “It’s out of the box, for sure.”

“Let’s see what our stock is looking like… and it’s down twelve points. Frank, can you pull up our polling numbers?”

“Lemme see here…” Frank fiddled with his phone. “What in the blazes…”

“How does it look?”

“Is that even possible?”

“Good?”

“Y’all are pollin’ negative numbers, Chuck. A negative number a’ people said they’re voting for Hailey Tangent. I don’t even know what that means.”

“It’s broken…” Mike wept. “It’s all broken…”

“Mikey…” Frank rubbed his forehead. “Just because I’m lettin’ ya sleep here doesn’t mean you need to be in every episode - unless ya either got somethin’ to say or you can work the computer for me.”

Big Mike crawled under the desk and curled up into a ball.

“Thanks, bud.”

“Sorry, Frank, I really should be going.” Chuck checked his watch. “I have a board meeting in half an hour and I really must work on Hailey’s debate skills before tonight. It was great talking to you.”

“Oh, uh, no problem, Chuck.” He reached out to shake his hand.

Chuck tapped on his smart watch a few times and evaporated into plasma, scorching the seat he was in.

“I hope he’s alright… anyway, this has been The Frank Program.” Frank downed the last of his flask. “Thank you - yes, you! For letting me be Frank with you. I love all of you. Goodnight. Or good morning, or whatever.”

[dcbbw]

Sneak Peek Sunday--The A/N Edition

Happy Sunday, tumblrs and Happy Mother’s Day to those who celebrate. It’s late evening but didn’t want to let the day end without posting snippets of the two stories that have somehow taken priority in my mind and are bubbling up furiously in the Fuck Wizard’s cauldron.

There are only two tonight, and they are accompanied by the author’s notes. I implore everyone who reads this to take the time to read the A/N for Waiting Room even though it is appropriately tagged with content warnings. Also, please reach out via comments or DM if you want on or off the tag list for Waiting Room (or just in general).

Everything’s below the cut, and in a state of rough draft. Final posted versions may differ. Enjoy and see you soon!

Texting (tentative title)

This story is the result of a wild hair all up IN my buttcrack and a plethora of disjointed ideas. The inspiration for said story is ripped straight from real-world headlines and this movie trailer. I was going to keep this somewhat canon compliant, but Cordonia/transatlantic doesn’t work here, so I present to you the NYC AU.

I am excited about this, and believe it or not … I am super stoked to have Drake Walker living in NJ with his girlfriend/fiancée Anne Marie, a true Jersey girl complete with big hair, 90s era hoop earrings, and that accent.

Thanks to those who read the beginnings of this story and encouraged me to WRITE IT! WRITE IT! WRITE IT!

You guys already know who belongs to PB (but do they really?); everyone else belongs to me.

Song Inspiration: Midwife, Sickworld

Brooklyn

“I’m in love with you, you know,” the man whispered against the woman’s shoulder. His breath was harsh and hot, with the staleness that comes from awakening out of a deep slumber.

A smile curved the woman’s lips; she spoke though her eyes remained closed. “I can’t tell. I’m still a fiancée after seven years,” she teased.

He nipped her shoulder. “In less than a month, we move from promise to commitment. And we needed that time to prepare, you know that!”

She stretched languidly, twisting her body so she faced him. “Indeed, we did.”

In their time together, the couple had bought a three bedroom, two bath house with an attached one-car garage; a rarity in Cobble Hill, a neighborhood within Brooklyn, New York. The fact it cost under a half-million dollars turned the rarity into a unicorn.

They had started a business: a pub in the center of one of Brooklyn’s most bustling communities named The Bar Belle; he often said it was an ode to how they met.

He had purchased the car in their garage for her; she was the official chauffeur as he had never learned to drive. His argument was always, “For what?”

In seven years, they had built a life.

Riley Brooks sat up in the bed, waking before the alarm clock went off. A slightly sour odor wafted past her nostrils when she pulled the sheet closer to her nude body; she couldn’t recall the last time she had washed the linen.

It didn’t matter.

Her eyes traveled around the bedroom, tears pricking the corners of her eyes as she took in the pictures of her and Daniel; of his dark blue eyes, dark brown hair, and lopsided smile. She reached blindly for her phone laying atop her nightstand, and through tears, she texted a message.

New York County District Attorney’s Office, Manhattan

The man was focused on the screen in front of him, blue eyes trained on the string of 1’s and 0’s as he uploaded the latest patch update to the 752 employees of the New York County DA’s office. The buzzing of his phone caught his attention.

It was her; it had been her for the last six months.

His long fingers moved swiftly over the wireless keyboard as he typed, answering and entering prompts by rote; his mind was curiously wondering what she had to say this time. It took all of his self-control to not pick the phone up immediately. Once the update began to run, he picked up his phone, entering the world’s worst numeric passcode: 1234.

Dear God, Daniel. It’s been long enough for me to have accepted that you’re gone. But I haven’t and don’t think I ever will. I still expect to see you when I open my eyes, I still wait to hear your key in the lock, even though I have it now. I keep it in my wallet. In any case, good morning sunshine.

I miss you. So fucking much. I just want you here with me.

Still loving you,

-R

The man felt his throat constrict, but there was nothing he could do.

“Ahem.”

He lifted his eyes from the phone screen and peered over his dual monitors to meet the cool green eyes of the woman seated at the desk across from him. She broke her gaze to stare pointedly at the cellphone.

“It’s nothing,” he muttered as he guiltily placed the phone back on his desk.

“I don’t believe you, and you need to tell her,” Olivia Nevrakis snapped as her fingernails clacked against her keyboard.

The man abruptly pushed his chair back before rising from his seat. “I’m going to the bathroom,” he announced to no one.

“Need someone to hold your hand?” Rashad Domvallier asked snidely before answering a service desk call.

The man flipped Rashad the bird before exiting the office, taking care to leave his phone where it was.

 Waiting Room

Content Warning/Triggers: usage of a racial slur, graphic description

A/N: This story is a fictionalized version of historical events. It is not fanfiction, so there is no Liam here. There is no Drake, no MC, nothing Choices/PB related. I realize this a fandom, and certain content is expected, needed, wanted. Feel free to keep scrolling now.

The basis of this story has been a stain on America for 68 years and counting. No justice was ever served, no questions ever answered. The facts of the case are true, the conversations and inner thoughts are my imagination and thought processes.

On April 27, American icon Jerry Springer died; an hour later it was reported that Carolyn Bryant Donham had passed as well (official date of death for Bryant-Donham is April 25). For those who don’t know, Carolyn Bryant is the Mississippi white woman who accused Emmett Till, a 14-year-old black boy from Chicago of making lewd sexual advances towards her, resulting in the horrific torture, beating, and lynching of the teenager.

What was done to Emmett Till shocked a nation, both blacks and whites, and galvanized the Civil Rights Movement. If you wish to research Emmett Till, please do but be warned: the pictures of his face after he was fished from the Tallahatchie River (with a 75-pound cotton gin fan tied to his neck with barbed wire) are graphic and not for the faint of heart.

This story is a conversation between Carolyn Bryant and Jerry Springer as they await judgement. I think the enigma and mystery Carolyn Bryant shrouded herself in for the remainder of her life following the acquittal (by an all-white, all male jury in Sumner, Mississippi) of Till’s killers would appeal to every aspect of who Jerry Springer had been: reporter, lawyer, talk-show host.

Disclaimers/Warnings/Triggers:

·         There are racial slurs used in this story. They are not used gratuitously nor with impunity. We are hearing from a young, uneducated white woman born, bred, raised in the American south circa 1955. Jim Crow was King, segregation was the way of life, and blacks were not addressed by even their names, let alone with titles such as Mister or Miss.

·         If you don’t know, I AM a 100% black American woman who has lived over a half-century on this earth. I am neither racist nor classist, but apparently, I write one on the internet. None of these excuses the usage of slurs but may make it a little more tolerable.

·         The discussions regarding race relations, Carolyn’s accusation, and Emmett Till’s murder will be frank, raw, and to the extent I can make it, … honest.

I didn’t write this for anyone other than myself. This story will not be for everyone, and I both respect and understand the choice to pass on this.  For the few who expressed interest in reading, I appreciate you, your support, and your encouragement.

Song Inspirations:

Mississippi Goddam, Nina Simone

Daylight, David Kushner

He noticed that the air from the hallway was not fresh; it had a distinct sour stench. His nose wrinkled in response. Carolyn Bryant, who made no acknowledgement of the unwelcome odor, looked over when a voice called for her. There was no one in the doorway.

“Lyn, come on! We been waiting on you!” The voice was deep and impatient in tone.

Roy Bryant.

Carolyn rolled her eyes while exhaling a frustrated sigh. “Of course Roy would amongst the first people I see here.”

“COME ON!” Roy thundered, his voice closer. “Time to face the music, dear!” The sarcasm placed on the endearment was palatable.

Her brows furrowed in unease, the woman rose from the love seat. “I suppose this is goodbye. For now.” She extended her hand, which Jerry shook.

She turned to make her way to the door, and stumbled backwards as a strangled cry arose from her throat. A 1955-era Roy Bryant stood in the doorway, but he was different. His outfit was the same white shirt and light-colored slacks he wore during his trial, the hairs on his barreled chest and burly arms still dark and curly. But his face … held the disfigured visage of Emmett Louis Till.

Swollen. Grotesquely damaged, resembling a mutilated papier-mâché project more so than a human face.

The Emmett Till that had been pulled from the Tallahatchie River. The face that Mamie Till insisted the world see to show everyone the inhumanity that lived in the Delta of the deep south. The face that Carolyn Bryant had closed her eyes to, and her husband had proudly proclaimed to be his handiwork.

“ROY, WHAT IN THE WORLD HAPPENED TO YOU?”

Roy raised an arm to run thick fingers through the wiry stubble that haphazardly covered patches of a now pasty gray skull; he shook his head in dejected bemusement as he did so. His “eyes” met her gaze, one socket empty; it was where he and his brother JW had gouged the eye out before putting a bullet in the boy’s head. The hole left behind from the shooting was a gaping crater in what used to be skin.

The other eye was inflated shut. Swollen, discolored lips cracked apart in what passed for a smile. The mouth held no teeth; they had been either knocked out or pulled out with pliers. The gums were swollen to where it resembled caricature and caked with dried blood.

“THIS is what YOU did to me, to ALL OF US!”

“I NEVER TOUCHED THAT NIGGER BOY!” Carolyn protested as she made her way back towards Jerry Springer; the television personality deftly stepped aside. He wanted no parts of that. He had his own husband/wife confrontation to answer for.

“You didn’t have to. You weaponized me and JW to do it for you! You orchestrated this entire fiasco, Carolyn! And the biggest joke out of all of this is that boy NEVER died! WE DID! As soon as he was discovered, WE DIED, and he was catapulted into immortality! ALL BECAUSE OF YOU!”

The heated words were accompanied by snarls and growls almost animalistic in nature.

“YOU’RE A LIAR and I’m not going ANYWHERE with YOU!” Carolyn screamed as she wrapped her arms around herself.

Roy snorted derisively. “You have no choice. Now, I can’t enter the room … but others can. Speaking from experience, it’s best you escort yourself out.”

 Tagging:  @jared2612​​ @ao719​​ @marietrinmimi​​ @queenjilian​​ @indiacater​​ @kingliam2019​​ @bebepac​​ @liamxs-world​​ @mom2000aggie​​ @liamrhysstalker2020​​ ​ @twinkleallnight​​ @umccall71​​ @superharriet​​ @busywoman​​ @gabesmommie1130​​ @tessa-liam​​ @beezm​​ @gardeningourmet​​ @lovingchoices14​​ @mainstreetreader​​ @angelasscribbles​​ @lady-calypso​​ @emkay512​​ @princessleac1​​ @charlotteg234​​ @queenrileyrose​​ @alj4890​​ @yourfavaquarius111​​ @motorcitymademadame​​​ @queenmiarys​

[rjalker]

here's the finished almost half of the Flatland "translation" into casual English.

First draft lol

uh lets see if tumblr will let me paste the images in all at once or if it's gonna be difficult...

nope it's not letting me put the images and it got rid of the image descriptions. alrighty then. so just ignore it when it mentions a diagram I'm not adding them all back in manually

This is 15,000+ words. With almost 15,000 to go that still needs done.

Preface to the Second and Revised Edition, 1884.

By the Original Editor

I am writing this preface for my friend from Flatland, since he has been so mentally devastated by his years spent in prison that he can’t write it himself. Rather than copying his words directly, I am paraphrasing on his behalf so you, my readers, will understand what he means.

First of all, he wants to thank all of his readers, both fans and critics, in Spaceland, who’ve enjoyed his book so much that he had to get it reprinted again to meet the demand.

Second of all, also wants to apologize for some errors and misprints in the original edition, though these aren’t actually his fault.

Third of all, he wants to explain a few things that have confused some readers.

He wanted to respond himself, but he’s not the Square he used to be. The problem is not just that he is a prisoner, it’s that no one believes what he has to say, and do nothing but mock him. He’s also an old man now, and his memory is fading. He’s forgotten many of the ideas he learned on his adventure in Spaceland, and the words to describe them.

So he has asked me to reply on his behalf, to explain two points that many confused readers are upset by.

The first thing people complain about is that when a Flatlander sees a Line, that means they have to be seeing something that does have height, not just width and length, otherwise it would be invisible from the side. So why doesn’t he admit that his people already exist in three dimensions?

I understand that people are going to complain about this, since it’s such an obvious problem with the idea that Flatlanders only exist in two dimensions. I gotta say, I really wasn’t sure how to respond when I first read this comment, since I couldn’t think of any counter argument, but fortunately my friend was able to answer it in a way that makes sense to me, so I’ll paraphrase his words here for you:

"I admit," he said, "What this critic said about us having some height is true, but that doesn’t mean we exist in three dimensions the way Spacelanders do. Yes, Flatlanders are tall as well as long and wide, otherwise we’d be invisible, but this isn’t something we can measure or recognize on our own – (Remember, I didn’t even know the word “up��� before my adventure in Spaceland) -- and you Spacelanders also have a fourth dimension you don’t have a name for, that I’ll call ‘extra-height’, that you can’t measure or understand on your own either, but that doesn’t mean you’re fourth-dimensional beings anymore than I’m a third dimensional being. Even after my adventure, I still can’t measure height, or “upwards”, not by seeing it, or even trying to imagine it. But I know it’s there, and I have to rely on pure faith.

“Let me try to explain. You can only measure something if it has variation to be measured in the first place. If everyone, and every single thing you see – animals, people, trees, buildings -- is exactly the same height, you can’t measure height, because there’s nothing to compare it to. It’s just the way the world is. Nothing is shorter than anything else, or taller. There’s nothing there to measure. Especially because everything you see is all that you can see. You can’t see above the height of everything, or below it. It’s just what’s there.

“Some Spacelander critics who like to complain too much have suggested we invent a so-called “delicate micrometer” to measure our height, but again, that’s impossible for us to do, because we can’t measure upwards, nor can we compare it to anything else.

“When we see a Line, we see something that is long and bright, and that’s how we know it’s a Line. Brightness and length are needed for us to understand what we are seeing. If there’s no brightness, the Line becomes invisible to us, and may as well not exist.

“This is why, when I try to explin the concept of height, or ‘upwards’ to my Flatland friends, when I try to point out the existance of height in a Line, the only thing they can see is the Brightness. And when I tell them I mean something else, a different dimension, they demand I prove it’s there by measuring it. Which I obviously can’t do, for the reasons I’ve already explained. You can’t measure what has no variation.

“It was just yesterday that the Chief Circle – our High Priest, or maybe in your terms better understood as the ultimate President or King – came to visit me, the seventh of his yearly visits. And just like the last six times he came to visit me, he asked me the same question: ‘Are you sane yet?’.

“And so I tried to explain to him that he was tall as well as wide and long. And you can probably guess his response. ‘You say I am ‘high’, so measure my ‘high-ness’, and then I’ll believe you.’

“And how, exactly, am I supposed to do the impossible? I’ve already explained that we can’t measure height. There was nothing I could do to prove what I said, and we both knew it. He left the room, just as triumphant as the earlier six visits.

“Still confused? Then put yourself in my shoes – imagine a person from the Fourth Dimension decided to visit you, said:

“‘Whenever you open your eyes, you see what appears to be a two dimensional image, and you understand that these are actually many different three-dimensional objects, through shading and light, and because you can reach out and touch them. And you think all you are seeing is Three-Dimensional, but really, you’re also seeing a Fourth Dimension, and it’s not colour, or shadows, or anything like that, but a true, separate Dimension. No, I can’t point it out to you, no, I can’t give you any way of measuring it or seeing it, you just have to trust me.’

“And how would you respond to someone saying this? Wouldn’t you want him thrown into an asylum too?

“Well, that’s what happened to me. I was a Square who tried to convince my countrymen that there was a Third Timension, and I was locked up, just as you Spacelanders would lock up anyone who tried to tell you there was a Fourth Dimension.

“Alas, the family resemblance of ignorance and bigotry runs strong through humanity in all Dimensions! Points, Lines, Squares, Cubes, Extra-Cubes, it doesn’t matter – we are all just as likely to make the same mistakes, believing only what we can see, and refusing to think beyond that.

“As your famous Spaceland playwrite, William Shakespeare once said, 'One touch of Nature makes all worlds akin'."

That’s what he told me in response to this complaint, and it makes sense to me.

As a further note on this point, the Author also wants me to also tell you that in this updated edition of his story, we have added back in some of the extra details of his conversations with the Sphere that we originally left out, because we assumed you, the audience, would find them boring and unnecessary.

So there is his defence against the first point of complaint. I can’t find anything to argue with about it, it seems like a solid defence.

As for the second point of complaint…I wish I could tell you that his response to the criticism was just as well thought out, but I can’t.

It has been objected that he is a woman-hater, and, because many of the people making this complaint are Women themselves who feel hurt by this, I want to reassure you to the best of my ability that this is not the case, at least as far as I can tell you that without lying.

The unfortunate fact is that the Square who is the Author of this book is not used to thinking in terms of morality, let alone the ideas of morality that we in Spaceland have.

If I were to literally transcribe his response to this complaint, I’d be making him look much worse than he really is, because he doesn’t really understand how to articulate his thoughts on this topic, because Flatland (or at least, his country in Flatland) does not have the words to describe it.

((Note from the 2023 editor: I want to emphasize that when the original Editor here says the Author didn’t have the words for morality, he means that very literally, as you’ll see later, when the Author is narrating for himself.))

So, as I am already doing by paraphrasing his words for you, I paraphrase again his response to this allegation of misogyny.

It’s my understanding that since he was imprisoned seven years ago, he has changed many of the personal views he expressed in this book, both in regards to Women, as well as the Isosceles and other Lower Classes, such as Irregulars.

His opinion is now much closer to that of the Sphere who visited him, that Straight Lines are in many ways superior to Circles.

But, because he wrote this book from the perspective of a Historian, he aligned himself (maybe too closely) with the general views held by the Higher Classes of Flatland, and, as I’ve since told him, many among us here in Spaceland.

I don’t think I need to tell you that many of our own Historians, who are mostly Men, have generally not considered the lives of Women or other Oppressed People to be worthy of writing about or considering.

The Author also wishes to deny the idea that he is still a supporter of the Circles and Aristocracy. He has had a long time to think since his imprisonment, and while he doesn’t deny that the Circles are very intelligent – otherwise, he says, they wouldn’t have managed to stay in control for so long – he believes that the facts of Flatland speak for themselves.

Revolution cannot always be suppressed by slaughter, and because the Circles themselves tend to be infertile, he believes that Nature Herself has condemned their actions as a failure in the end.

“And this is where,” He said, “I see the laws of Nature working in all worlds. Man thinks he is doing one thing, and he thinks he knows best, but Nature is wise, and cannot be denied. Her end goal is much different, and better, than what Man plans for.”

For the other complaints, the Author begs the readers not to assume that every detail of daily life in Flatland is a mirror of some other detail in Spaceland.

He hopes that his book, taken as a whole, will be educational as well as amusing to Spacelanders who are willing to suspend their disbelief and not immediately cry, “That can’t happen”, or “No, things only work like this”.

The rest of this book, I leave to him, in his original words, now with the small edition of some clarification in his conversations with the Sphere.

Flatland: A Romance of Many Dimensions

by A Square

Table of Contents:

Part One: This World

01. Of the Nature of Flatland

02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

04. Concerning the Women

05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

06. Of Recognition by Sight

07. Concerning Irregular Figures

08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

10. Of the Suppression of the Chromatic Sedition

11. Concerning our Priests

12. Of the Doctrine of our Priests

Part Two: Other Worlds

13. How I had a Vision of Lineland

14. How I vainly tried to explain the nature of Flatland

15. Concerning a Stranger from Spaceland

16. How the Stranger vainly endeavoured to reveal to me in words the mysteries of Spaceland

17. How the Sphere, having in vain tried words, resorted to deeds

18. How I came to Spaceland, and what I saw there

19. How, though the Sphere shewed me other mysteries of Spaceland, I still desired more; and what came of it

20. How the Sphere encouraged me in a Vision

21. How I tried to teach the Theory of Three Dimensions to my Grandson, and with what success

22. How I then tried to diffuse the Theory of Three Dimensions by other means, and of the result

PART I: THIS WORLD

"Be patient, for the world is broad and wide."

Section 01. Of the Nature of Flatland

I don’t call our world Flatland because that’s what we call it, but because I want to make what it’s like clearer to you, my happy readers who are privileged to live in Space.

Imagine a vast sheet of paper on which Straight Lines, Triangles, Squares, Pentagons, Hexagons, and other geometric shapes, rather than being drawn by pencil or pen, are alive, and move freely about, either on, or maybe you’d call it within, the surface of the paper, but unable to rise above or sink below it. Almost like shadows, but hard and solid, with glowing edges.

If you can imagine this, you’ll have a pretty good idea of what my country looks like.

Just a few years ago, I would have said, “my universe” instead of “my country”, but now I know better.

In such a flat land, you Spacelanders will almost immediately assume that it’s impossible for there to be anything you would consider “solid”. And yet, if you look down, you’ll see the Triangles, Squares, and other figures, just like I said.

We on the other hand, see no such thing, because the only things we can see are straight lines.

If this sounds confusing, let me give you an example, which you can follow along with while you read.

Get a penny, or another small coin or similar object, and place it in the middle of one of your tables in Spaceland.

When you stand above it and look down, you see the penny as a circle.

But, if you move back to the edge of the table, and lower yourself partway towards the ground ��� more like the way we Flatlanders see the world – you’ll see that the penny now looks less like a circle, and more like an oval.

Then, when your eye is level with the edge of the table, when you are closest to what you can get to being “on our level”, you’ll see that the penny, seen from above as a circle, now appears to just be a straight line.

The same thing would happen if you did this with a Triangle, or Square, or any other shape you could cut out of cardboard. As soon as you look at it with your eye on the table, it looks like a straight line.

Take for example an equilateral Triangle—who with us is a Tradesman, or Proffesional Man, of the respectable class.

Figure 1 below represents the Tradesman as you would see him while you were bending over him from above, as a triangle with all three sides of equal length.

Figures 2 and 3 represent the Tradesman as you would see him if you began to move your eye closer to the level of the table.

Figure 4 represents what you would see if your eye were level with the table: nothing but a straight line, which is how we see him in Flatland.

When I visited Spaceland, among other things not work talking about in detail, I was told that your sailors have a similar experience when they’re out on the ocean – distant lands might have bays, cliffs, buildings, and all kind of shapes on them from close by, but until you get close enough, or unless the sun’s bright enough to cast stark shadows, all you can see at a distance is a grey line on the horizon.

That’s like what we see when one of our triangular or other acquaintances comes towards us in Flatland. We have no shadows like you do, and none of the other advantages your vision has in Spaceland. If our friend comes closer to us, he becomes larger, if he goes away, he becomes smaller, but he’s always a straight Line. It doesn’t matter if he’s a Triangle, Square, Pentagon, Hexagon, Circle, or anything else. He always looks like a straight Line, and nothing else.

You’ll of course be wondering how we tell eachother apart if this is all we can see, and I’ll be able to make you understand better once I finish describing the people who live in Flatland.

But for the moment, let me pause this subject, and instead tell you about our houses, and the climate of Flatland.

Section 02. Of the Climate and Houses in Flatland

Like in your world, we also have four points on our compass: North, South, East, and West.

Since we have no sun or other celestial bodies like you do, we can’t tell where North is in the way you do, but we have our own way.

Similar to your birds, we always know where south is, because for us, we are constantly being pulled in that direction. This pull is very small in our most northern countries, so light that even a reasonably healthy Woman can travel for several furlongs (note that 1 furlong is equal to 220 yards) northward without difficulty.

But even at its lightest, we can still feel it, and tell which way is South. As an added bonus, the rain, which always falls on a predictable schedule, always comes from the North.

Because of this, when we are in a town or city, we can tell the direction from the way the houses are built – because the rain comes from the north, the solid roof faces north, so that the water can run of and safely down the sides without getting inside.

When you’re out in the country were there are no houses, you can use the trunks of the trees instead.

As you can see, it’s usually pretty easy for us to get our bearings.

But one problem is that when you are so far north that you can barely feel this pull, if you were walking in a deserted plain with no trees or houses in sight, I’ve sometimes gotten so turned around that I had to stand in place for hours straight, waiting for the rain to come so I’d know which way to go.

If you are ill or old, or a delicate Female, this pull to the South weighs heavier than on the healthy members of the Male Sex, so it’s considered polite that, if you meet a Lady in the street, you will move to the South and give her the North side to walk on. This can be easier said than done in such short notice, if you are in a northern climate where it’s hard to tell which way is south, or if you’re feeling sick yourself.

Unlike your buildings, ours have no windows, because light comes to us everywhere equally, whether you’re inside and out, during the day or night, and where this light comes from, we don’t know.

A long time ago, philosophers and scholars used to ask eachother “What is the origin of light?” and debate the possible answers. Many people have tried to find the answer to this question, and the only result is that our lunatic asylums have precious space taken up by the people who’ve claimed to solve it.

Our Government tried to persuade people to stop trying to solve this problem by forcing those who did to pay heavy taxes, but when it kept being a problem, the Law Makers, not so long ago comparatively, finally made it completely illegal to talk about.

And here I am, the only one in Flatland who knows the truth to where light comes from. But I can’t explain it to my countrymen, and they just laugh at me – me! The only one in this world who understands that Light comes from the Third Dimension! They laugh at me like I’m the maddest of the mad.

But I’ve gotten off track and this is a painful topic, so let’s get back to talking about houses.

Most of our houses are five-sided shapes, or as they are commonly called, pentagons.

Here is an illustration to help you understand:

The two northernmost sides of a pentagon house, which in the illustration are labled “RO” and “OF”, make of the roof, and these normally don’t have any doors. On the eastern side, there is a small door for Women, and across from it on the Western side is a much larger door for Men. The Southern side, or floor, usually doesn’t have any doors.

Square and triangular houses aren’t allowed, because their angles are much sharper than those of a Pentagon, and since the lines of inanimate objects, like houses, are dimmer than the lines of Men and Women, and are harder to see, if someone wasn’t paying attention, they could get seriously hurt if they accidentally ran into the corner of a Square or Triangle shaped house.

As far back as the eleventh century of our era, triangular houses have been illegal to build, with the only exceptions being for military structures like forts, ammunition stores, barracks, or other state buildings that most people aren't allowed to enter without special permission.

At that point in time, you were still allowed to build square houses, but they were subject to special taxes to discourage people from building more of them.

Three hundred years after triangular houses were outlawed, the Law finally decided that if a town’s population was above ten thousand, then the angle of a Pentagon was the smallest house-angle allowed to be built, in the interest of public safety.

The general community has common sense, and has agreed with this new law, so now, even out in the country on farms, almost all houses you can find will be pentagons. Now and then, though, in some very remote and poor farming district, an antiquarian might still find an ancient square house.

Section 03. Concerning the Inhabitants of Flatland

Most adult Flatlanders will reach a length of around eleven of your inches, or twenty-eight centimeters. Twelve inches, or around thirty centimeters, is considered a record breaking maximum.

Our Women are Straight Lines.

Our Expendable Soldiers, and the Lowest Classes of Laborers, are Triangles with two equal sides, each about eleven inches, or twenty-eight centimeters long, with their third side, or base, so short (Usually less than half an inch, or two centimeters), that they form at their vertices an extremely sharp angle, or point.

When these sorts of Triangles have a base of the most degraded type (less than an eighth of an inch, or three millimeters), it’s almost impossible to tell them apart from Straight Lines or Women, so sharp are their needle-like points.

Just like you do in Spaceland, we refer to these kinds of Triangles as Isosceles, which is how I will refer to them from now on.

Our Middle Class consists of Equilateral or Equal-Sided Triangles.

Our Professional Men and Gentlemen are Squares (which is the class I belong to) and Five-Sided Figures, otherwise known as Pentagons, as mentioned above.

Above us are the Nobility, with several classes, starting with Six-Sided Figures, or Hexagons. After Hexagons, the numbers of sides increase until one is given the honorable title of “Polygonal”, or many-sided.

When the number of one’s sides become so high, and the sides themselves each so small, that the figure can’t be told apart from a circle, he becomes part of the Circular, or Priestly order. There is no class higher than that of the Circles.

It is a Law of Nature with us that a male child will have one more side than his father, so that each generation rises in the ranks of nobility, as a rule.

This means that a Square (4 sides) will have Pentagonal sons (5 sides), and his grandsons will be Hexagons (6 sides), and his great-grandsons will be Septagons (7 sides), his great-great-grandsons Octogons (8 sides) and so on and so forth.

But this rule doesn’t always apply to the Tradesmen, the Equillateral Triangles, and it’s even less common in the Isosceles Soldiers and Workers. But to be fair, they can hardly even be described as human beings, since their sides aren’t all of equal length.

Because they’re subhuman, this Law of Nature doesn’t work on them, and most of the time, the son of an Isosceles is still an Isosceles.

But things aren’t entirely hopeless! Your children’s position in society can always get better, even if you’re one of the most degraded of Isosceles, through hard work, dedication, and many successful military campaigns!

Often, when Workers and Soldiers prove themselves to be smarter than their peers, when they are measured again, the measurements will show that their third side, or base, has grown, while their two longer sides have shrunk, producing a larger angle at the vertex!

The Priests then graciously intercede, arranging the marriage of the lucky Isosceles to a suitable Straight Line, and the sons born to these arranged marriages are almost always born with larger angles than their fathers, much closer to being an Equal-Sided Triangle than others who married for love.

Very, very, very rarely, a true, certifiable Equal-Sided Triangle is born to Isosceles parents.

(And a critic might ask, “But why does he need to be certified? When he eventually gives birth to a Square son, isn’t that a certificate from Nature herself, proving that he’s truly Equal-Sided?” And I tell you that no self-respecting Lady would ever consent to marry an uncertified Triangle.

Square sons are sometimes born to slightly Irregular Triangles, which would seem like cause for celebration, but almost every time, the Triangle’s Irregularity is passed down to his grandson, who either fails to attain the rank of Pentagon by being born a Square, or relapses entirely by being born a Triangle.)

If an Equilateral Triangle has any hope of being born to Isosceles parents, there must be a careful plan of arranged marriages for several generations, as well as strict self-control and frugality. Each generation needs to become smarter than their parents, and make sure their children are smarter than they are, for many generations.

When a True Equillateral Triangle is born to Isosceles parents, the birth is celebrated for many furlongs around.

The Sanitary and Social board performs a strict examination of the newborn, and, if he is certified as Regular, he is, with all due seriousness, allowed into the class of Equilaterals.

He is then immediately take away from his proud, sorrowing parents, and adopted by an Equilateral who has no children of his own, who has to promise never to let his adopted child go to the area where he was born, or even look at his biological parents, in case he mimics them without realizing it, and reverts to a degraded Isosceles.

The rare birth of an Equilateral from the masses of serfs is not only welcomed by the serfs themselves, as proof that their hope of their children climbing the social ladder isn’t misplaced, and gives them something to be temporarily happy about in their otherwise miserable lives, like a sudden, surprise holiday, but also by the Aristocracy.

The Higher Classes know that their own social status won’t be changed by these births, because it’s really the exact opposite – these births help maintain their power.

If the acute-angled rabble had been completely, absolutely without hope and ambition, it would have created many leaders to start their rebellious phases, and, with their superior numbers and strength, they would have been too much for even the wisdom of the Circles to handle.

But Nature is even wiser, and has decided that, as the working-classes get smarter, they also get weaker, as their acute angle, which makes them so dangerous and stupid, grows wider, getting closer to the comparatively harmless angle of an Equilateral Triangle.

In the most brutal, acute, and threatening of the Isosceles – creatures almost on the same level of Women with their lack of angle and intelligence – their ability to kill is matched by their inability to plan how to do so efficiently.

And in return, when their descendants have finally become smart enough to plan what would be devastating acts of terrorism, they’re no longer physically capable of carrying them out.

How admirable is this Law of Compensation! It just goes to show how natural, and -- dare I say, divinely inspired? -- the structure of our society is here in Flatland! It is as if Nature herself is helping our great Polygons and Circles to kill rebellion in the cradle!

Art, too, comes to the aid of Law and Order. Our doctors can usually figure out a way – through artificial compression or expansion of the figure – to make the more intelligent leaders of any given Isosceles rebellion become Equilaterals, allowing them to immediately join the privileged higher classes.

Many more of these rebel leaders, though, are too far below the standard for intelligence to be allowed the surgery, but, bewitched by the promises of becoming Regular through similar treatment, they are tricked into entering the State Hospitals, which they will never be allowed to leave. They spend the rest of their lives honorably confined to these hospitals.

Only a few of the more obstinate, foolish, or highly Irregular of the rebel leaders are actually put to death.

And then the wretched rabble of the Isosceles, without plan, without leadership, are either killed without resistance by the small group of Isosceles assassins the Chief Circle pays in case of emergencies such as this, or, more often, thanks to the suspicions and in-fighting stirred up by the Circular party, they begin attacking and killing eachother, until none of them are left alive.

There are a hundred and twenty rebellions recorded in our state records, and a further two hundred and thirty-five minor outbreaks.

All of them have ended as I have described above.

Section 04. Concerning the Women

Now that you understand how dangerous our highly-pointed Isosceles Triangles are, you can understand how much more dangerous our Women are. Because if an Isosceles is a wedge, a Woman is a needle, made up of, you might say, nothing but points, at least at the two ends.

Add to this sharpness a Woman’s ability to make herself practically invisible at will, and you’ll see that the Females of Flatland are not the kind of creatures you want to mess with.

But maybe some of my younger Readers are confused, and thinking, “But how can a Woman in Flatland make herself invisible?” I think the answer is pretty obvious, but it won’t take very long to explain, so even those who aren’t paying full attention will understand.

Place a needle, or another long, thin object, like a pencil, on a table. Then, lowering yourself until your eye is level with the surface of the table, look at your line from the side, and you'll see its whole length. But if you turn it so that you are looking straight at it from the front or back, you see nothing but a small point.

This is what happens with our Women. When her side it towards us, we see her as a straight line. When her front or “head” in you terms, the part, containing her eye or mouth (which for us, is the same organ) is pointed at us, we see a bright point.

But when her back is pointed towards us, we see a dim light, so dim it's almost as dark as an inanimate object. And this is how a Woman, by simply turning her back on you, can become practically invisible.

I need to make it clear to you just how dangerous our Women are. If running into an Equilateral Triangle, whose angle is 60°, will give you a painful gash, then running into an Officer of the military class will give you a serious wound. If a mere accidental bump from the vertex of a Private Soldier, one of the lowest of the Isosceles, is life threatening, then what can you expect from running into a Woman, except complete and total annihilation?

And when a Woman is almost invisible like this, imagine how difficult it is, even for the most caution, to avoid running into them!

Many laws have been put into place in the different countries of Flatland in order to lessen this danger, and in the Southern and less temperate climates where the force of the Southern pull, or gravity, is greater, where human beings are more likely to have sudden and involuntary movements from constantly fighting the gravity, the laws regarding Women are, naturally, much stricter and harsher.

But a general view of the regulations for Women can be understood from the following summary:

1. Every house will have one entrance on the Eastern side, to be used only by Females, and all Females must enter “in a becoming and respectful manner”. Females must never use the Men’s or Western door. [Note: When I was in Spaceland, I was told (in a conversation not transcribed in this book, to save my reader’s valuable time) that some of your Priestly institutions have a similar policy, with a separate entrance for the working poor (`Spectator', Sept. 1884, p. 1255) so that they can also "approach in a becoming and respectful manner."]

2. No Female shall walk in any public place without contually keeping up her Peace-cry, under penalty of death.

3. Any Female diagnosed with St. Vitus’s Dance ((A neurological disorder causing sudden, involuntary movements after an illness, usually affecting children)), seizures, a chronic cold accompanied by violent sneezing, or any other disease that causes involuntary movements, shall be destroyed immediately upon diagnosis.

In some countries, there is another Law that forbids Females, under penalty of death, from walking or standing in public spaces without constantly moving their backs from side to side, so that people behind them can see them better.

Other countries will sometimes demand that any Woman in public should be followed by one of her male family members or servants, and still others ban Women from public entirely, confining them to their homes except during religious festivals.

But our wisest of Circles and Politicians have found that having so many restrictions on Women not only leads to the weakening of our society overall, but also to an extremely high number of domestic murders, to the point where the number of Men killed as a result far outnumbers the accidents that the Law was attempting to avoid in the first place.

Because when the temper of a Woman is stoked by being confined to her home, or having to deal with harsh, inconvenient restrictions when in public, they are likely to unleash their fury upon their husbands and children or siblings, and several times, in countries with highly restrictive laws, the entire Male population of a town has sometimes been wiped out in just a few hours as the Females simultaneously and violently succumb to their wrath.

And this is why the first three laws I’ve outlined here are good enough on their own for the better-run countries such as the one I belong to, and can be used as a rough summary of the Female Code.

After all, it’s not the Law itself that protects us so much, as the instinct for self-preservation in the Women themselves. It I true that they can inflict instantant death by simply moving backwards, but it is also true that unless they can immediately remove their stabbing-end, their own fragile bodies can easily be shattered by the death throes of their victim, and be killed along with them.

The power of Fashion is also on our side. I said above that in some less civilized countries, Females are not allowed in public without swaying her back from side to side, but in my country, our high-ranking and ambitious ladies have been doing this of their own free will since as far back as anyone can remember. The idea that a law would have to be passed to guarantee this behavior, (which should be instinctive in ladies of high breeding), is extremely embarrassing.

The rhythmical and, if I may so say, well-modulated undulation of the back in our ladies married to Circles is envied by the wives of Equilaterals, who, trying their best, can only create a regular twitch like the ticking of a clock.

But even that simple ticking is admired by the wife of the ambitious Isosceles, who wishes to raise her family’s status, so that she becomes the first in all her family line to practice the art.

So you see, in every family worth considering, “back motion” is as old and ingrained as time itself, and the lucky Male members of these families enjoy their immunity from invisible attacks.

But don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying our Women don’t care about their families. But, unfortunately, their emotions in the moment overpower their other feelings, driving out every other thought until their anger passes. This, of course, is the result of their unfortunate configuration as Straight Lines.

They have no angle to speak of, and thus are mentally and physically inferior to even the very lowest of the Isosceles. They are, as a result of this lack of angle, completely devoid of brain-power, and are completely incapable of self-reflection, judgment, or planning, and barely any memory at all.

This is why, when they are in a state of fury, they have no idea what they’re doing, or who they’re doing it to. They will not recognize their husband or even their children.

I’ve actually heard of a legal case where a Woman murdered everyone in her whole household, but then half an hour later, when she’d calmed down and the fragmented bodies had been swept away by Police, asked where her husband and children were. She didn’t remember a thing.

So it should be obvious that you shouldn’t annoy a Woman if she’s able to turn around and stab you. But when you have them in their apartments – which are built so narrowly specifically to prevent them from turning and attacking – you can say or do whatever you want, because they’re incapable of reacting in any way except verbal, and in a few minutes, they won’t even remember whatever it is you’ve said or done that they’re threatening to kill you for, nor will they remember the hasty promises you’ve made (with no intention of keeping) to get them to calm down.

In general, we get along pretty well with our Women, except in the lower classes of the Isosceles military. These Isosceles, lacking in angle, also lack in tact and discretion, and many times this has caused indescribable disasters.

These Isosceles rely too much on their sharp points as weapons instead of the shield of common sense and knowing how to react to different problems, so these reckless creatures often fail to properly follow the safety code for building Women’s apartments, or irritate their wives by insulting them when out in public, and then to make things worse, refuse to immediately apologize.

And, being simple creatures who are too fond of the literal truth, these Isosceles refuse to make the kinds of lavish, impossible promises that Circles readily deploy to pacify the would-be murderess.

The result of this lack of careful handing is massacre, but you shouldn’t see it as a tragedy – on the contrary, these outbreaks eliminate the more brutal and troublesome of the Isosceles, and many of our Circles view the destructiveness of the Thinner Sex as one of many favors Providence has given us for naturally suppressing the population of Isosceles, and helping to nip Revolution in the bud.

But even within the families that most strictly follow the Female Code, even with our closest-to-true circles Circular families, I have to admit, our idea of “domestic bliss” isn’t as full of affection and comfort as it is with you in Spaceland.

There is peace, as much as the absence of slaughter can be called peace, but it is impossible for there to be shared interests or hobbies between Man and Wife, with the Man’s safety paid for in the loss of true comfort.

Since time immemorial, the women of our Circular and Polygonal houses have had the habit – which has now become a kind of instinct – of always keeping their eyes and mouths pointed towards their husband and his male friends.

If a lady in a high-ranking family turned her back on her husband, it would be seen as an omen of disaster involving a grevious loss of STATUS.

But, as I will soon explain, this custom, while insuring safety, is not without its problems.

In the house of the Isosceles Working Man, or the Equilateral Tradesman, where the wife is allowed to turn her back on her husband while performing her household duties, there are moments of peace, where the wife is neither seen nor heard, except the humming sound of her ever-present Peace-cry.

But in the homes of the upper classes, these moments of peace are few and far between. There, the loud and bright face are always directed at the Master of the household, and not even the never-changing light is more persistent than the never-ending feminine chatter.

The diplomatic skill required to avoid a Woman’s sting has no power against a Woman’s mouth, and, since the wife has absolutely nothing meaningful to say, and no intelligence or conscience there to prevent her from speaking anyway, more than a few cynics have been quoted with saying they prefer the death-dealing but mercifully silent sting of a woman’s back side to the obnoxious volume of her mouth.

To my readers in Spaceland, the condition of our Women may seem truly miserable, and indeed it is, without question. A Male of even the lowest type of Isosceles can look forward to some improvement of his angle through hard work and dedication, and eventually the increased rank of his entire degrades caste, but no Woman can ever hope for such things for her own sex.

“Once a Woman, always a Woman” is a Decree of Nature; and the very Laws of Evolution seem to stack misfortunes against her.

But at least we can admire the wise arrangement Evolution and Nature have given us, so that even though the Women have to be miserable for our great society to exist, at least they’ll soon forget it.

Section 05. Of our Methods of Recognizing one another

You, who are blessed with the ability to perceive shading as well as light, whose people are gifted with not one, but two eyes, who are understand perspective, who get to enjoy all shades of colour without thinking about it, you who can actually SEE an angle, and see the complete circumference of a circle from your happy, elevated position in the Third Dimension without a single speck of effort—How can I make you understand how difficult it is for us in Flatland to recognize eachother?

Remember what I already explained to you earlier. All thing in Flatland, alive or inanimate, no matter what their shape, appear to be, TO OUR VIEW, the same, or nearly the same, as a Straight Line. So then how can one shape be told from another, when all shapes look the same?

The answer is threefold.

The first way of recognizing different shapes is the sense of hearing, which with us is much more highly developed than with you in Spaceland, and not only lets us recognize the voices of our friends, but even to tell which class someone belongs, at least as far as the three lower classes – the Equilateral, Square, and Pentagon – go. As for the Isosceles, well, there’s no telling.

As we rise in social standing it becomes harder and harder to tell people’s classes apart by their voice, partly because the higher classes all speak in similar ways, and partly because using someone accent to judge their class is a poor man’s skill that is looked down upon by the Aristocracy.

And if there’s any danger of offending someone more important than us, we can’t trust this skill, because among the lowest classes, the vocal organs are more strongly developed, so that an Isosceles can easily fake the accent of a Polygon, and, with some training, even a Circle himself. So a second method is more commonly used.

Feeling is, among our Women and lower classes – I’ll explain shortly about our higher classes – the main test of recognition at all times between strangers, and also when the question is not to the individual’s identity, but his class.

As a result, a “formal introduction” in Spaceland’s higher classes is the equivalent for “feeling” with us.

“Permit me to ask you to feel and be felt by my friend Mr. So-and-so”, is still the go-to phrase for our more old-fashioned gentlemen who live in the countryside far from towns.

But in the towns, and among businessmen, the words “be felt by” are cut out, and the sentence is shortened to, “Let me ask you to feel Mr. So-and-so”, and it is just assumed that the “feeling” will go both ways.

Among our younger, more modern, and dashing young gentlemen, who refuse to expend extra effort than necessary, and don’t care at all about protecting the sanctity of their language, the phrase is shortened even more, using the words “to feel” as a shortcut for “to recommend for the purpose of feeling and being felt”.

At the time this book was written, this “slang” of the now allows such disgraceful barbarism as the sentence, “Mr. Smith, permit me to feel Mr. Jones”, to exist.

But please, my Readers, don’t assume that “feeling” for us is as awkward and tedious as it would for you, or that we have to go all the way around the person, feeling all his sides, before we can figure out what class he belongs to.

Years of practice and training, started in school and continued in daily life, allows us to immediately tell apart the angles of an Equal-sided Triangle, Square, or Pentagon at a single touch. And I don’t think I need to explain how the brainless vertex of an acute-angled Isosceles is obvious even to the dullest touch.

That is why, as a general rule, we don’t need to feel more than a single angle of an individual, and this by itself can tell us the class this person belongs to, unless he belongs to one of the higher sections of the nobility, where things become much more difficult.

Even a Master of Arts from our University of Wentbridge has gotten a ten-sided and twelve-sided Polygon confused, and no Doctor of Science, in or out of that university who would pretend to know, without hesitation, the difference between a twenty-sided and a twenty-four sided member of the Aristocracy.

The Readers who have been paying attention should remember from what I said earlier about our Women’s Code should quickly understand that the process of feeling requires serious caution and self-control, otherwise the angles of the one being felt might seriously injure the feeler.

It is essential for the safety of the Feeler that the Felt should stand completely still. A twitch, fidgeting, and yes, even something as simple as a violent sneeze, can prove fatal, and have ended, before they could begin, many promising friendships.

This is especially true with the lower classes of Isosceles. Their eyes are positioned so far from their sharp points that they can barely see what’s happening on their most dangerous end. These Triangles are also literally insensitive, and can barely feel the much more refined touch of a highly organized Polygon. So no one can really be surprised if a sudden toss of the head deprives the State of a valuable life!

I’ve heard that my honorable Grandfather – (one of the least Irregular of his unhappy Isosceles class, who obtained, shortly before his death, four out of seven votes from the Sanitary and Social Board to let him be certified a an Equal-Sided Triangle) –often bemoaned, with a tear in his venerable eye, an accident of the kind I’ve just described to you, which happened to his great-great-great-Grandfather, a respectable Working Man with an angle, or brain, of 59 degrees 30 minutes.

According to this story, my unfortunate great-great-great-great-great grandfather, who was suffering from rheumatism, and while being felt by a Polygon, with one sudden, unintentional movement, accidentally stabbed the Great Man in a horrific cut straight through the diagonal.

Half because of his long suffering in prison, and half because of the moral shock that swept through all of my ancestor’s relatives, our family’s angle was thrown back by a degree and a half, cutting off their ascension to higher standing.

This resulted in the next generation of the family brain being measured at only 58 degrees, and it wasn’t until five whole generations passed that the lost ground was recovered, and the full 60 degrees obtained, finally lifting us out of the class of Isosceles. And to think this whole series of calamities all came from one little accident in the process of Feeling.

And I think at this point I can hear some of my readers exclaiming, “How can you Flatlanders know anything about angles, degrees, or minutes? We can see an angle from Spaceland, because we can see two straight lines connecting to form an angle, but you Flatlanders can only ever see one line, or just a few pieces of different lines in a bigger line – how can you hope to measure any angle, let alone measure angles of different sizes?”

My answer is that while we can’t see angles, we can infer them, and do so with great accuracy. Our sense of touch, trained through constant use, lets us tell angles apart far more accurately than you can with the naked eye. We have many natural advantages that shouldn’t be forgotten.

It is a Law of Nature that the brain of the Isosceles class begins at half a degree of angle, or thirty minutes, and if it increases, it will do so by half a degree for every generation, until the goal of 60 degrees is reached, when the newest, freeman generation leaves behind the condition of serfdom, and joins the class of the Regulars.

This means that Nature herself gives us the tools we need, in the form of an ascending scale, or alphabet, of angles for every half a degree, all the way to 60 degrees, giving us all the examples we need, specimens of which are placed in every Elementary School throughout the land.

Due to occasional slip-backs like the kind my family suffered, as well as frequent moral and intellectual stagnation, not to mention the extraordinary ability of the Criminal and Vagabond Classes to breed, there is always a vast pool of individuals with an angle of half a degree or a single degree, and a fair abundance of Specimens up to 10 degrees. These are absolutely destitute of civic rights; and many of them are too stupid to even be useful in warfare, so they are given from the State and to the schools, to be used for education.

Shackled so tightly they cannot move in any way, to remove all possibility of danger, they are placed in our kindergarten classrooms, and and used by the Board of Education to teach the young Equilateral Triangles that have been adopted away from their biological parents the proper tact and intelligence that the wretched Isosceles who produced them are completely lacking in.

In some States, these chained Specimens are sometimes given food and water, and as a result, are allowed to suffer living for several years; but in better-run areas, we know that the educational interests for the children are better served with saving the food, and simply getting new Specimens every month – which is about how long a member of the Criminal Class can last without food.

The cheaper schools which choose to prolong the life of the Specimen loses in the long term by the cost of the food, and partly in the lessened accuracy of the Specimen’s angles, which, after a few weeks of constant “feeling”, become impaired.

And let’s not forget, as we think of the advantages of the more expensive system of constantly replacing Specimens, that it helps, however slightly, to lower the numbers of the Isosceles population, a goal that every statesman in Flatland constantly keeps in sight.

This is why I think (though I do understand that many of our popularly elected School Boards prefer the cheap system) that the more expensive system is, in this case, the best use of the money.

But I shouldn’t let the politics of School Boards distract me from my real subject. I’ve said enough, I hope, to show that Recognition by Feeling isn’t as tedious or confusing process as you might assume, and it is also obviously more trustworthy than Recognition by Hearing.

But many object that this method can be dangerous. For this reason, many in the Middle and Lower classes, and almost all of those in the Polygonal or Circular orders, prefer a third method of Recognition, which I will explain to you in the next section below.

Section 06. Of Recognition by Sight

I am about to seem very inconsistent. In the previous sections I’ve told you that all things in Flatland appear to us to be nothing but a straight line; and it was implied that this makes it impossible to tell people apart by looking at them.

But now I will be explaining to my Spaceland critics how we Flatlanders do recognize one another by our sense of sight.

If you, the Reader, will take the time to revisit the paragraph where you think I claimed that Recognition by Feeling is universal, you will that I specified “among the lower classes”. Only among the higher classes in our civilized societies is Sight Recognition practiced.

That this skill can exist anywhere, for any class, is the result of the Fog that covers the land for most of the year in all parts of Flatland except in deserts. What Spacelanders see as a depressing, evil smog that blots out the landscape and makes you cold and sick, is celebrated by us as a blessing second only to air itself, and is recognized as the Nurse of art and the Parent of science.

But I’ll try to stop singing praise for this beneficent Element so that I can explain to you what I mean.

If Fog didn’t exist, all lines would appear just as sharp and clear as every other line, and this is actually the case in those unhappy desert countries where the atmosphere is perfectly dry and transparent.

But wherever Fog can be found, objects that are at a distance of, for example, three feet, are noticeably dimmer than those at a distance of two feet and eleven inches. As a result, by careful, constant observation, we are able to understand, with very high accuracy, the shape of the object we are looking at.

A specific example will allow me to make my meaning clearer to you than many more paragraphs of explanation.

Imagine that I see two strangers approaching me, whose rank I want to learn. Let’s say that they are a Merchant, and a Physician, or in other words, an Equilateral Triangle, and a Pentagon – so how do I tell them apart?

Here is a diagram to illustrate:

It will immediately be obvious to every child in Spaceland who knows anything about Geometry that if I am facing these two men so that I am looking directly at their front point (A), my view, obviously, lies perfectly between the two points on either side of that (CA, AB), so that both points appear to be the same size.

Now when I look at the Equilateral Merchant, what will I see? I will see a straight line (in reality made up of three points), with the center of the line (which is really point A) being very bright (Because point A is closest to me).

The two seeming-ends of the line, though, will be much darker, with a very sudden shift from the white of the center to almost black. This is because the points (B and c) that make up the ends of this seeming-line are much further away from me, with more Fog covering them.

On the other hand, the line that represents the Pentagon Physician with shift from white to a lighter grey rather than almost black, because the points that make up the ends of the line are not as far away from me than they were on the Triangle.

[Note from the 2023 editor: To simplify further: The closer the point is to you, the brighter it is. The further away, the darker it is. Remember this, and you’ll be fine.]

The Reader will probably understand from this example how -- after a very long course of training aided by constant practical experience – allow those of us who are well-educated to accurately tell strangers apart when it comes to the Equilateral and Isosceles classes by our sense of sight.

If my Spaceland friends have grasped this idea enough that you’re not immediately rejecting it as impossible, I’ll consider my job done in this matter. If I tried to give you any more details, I’d only confuse you hopelessly.

But for the sake of the young and inexperienced, who might assume, from the two examples I gave above of how I would recognize my Father and one of my Sons, that Recognition by Sight is easy to learn, and I feel the need to point out that, in reality, the problems posed by Sight Recognition are much more subtle and complex than my simple diagram can convey to those in Spaceland.

For example, if my Father, the Equilateral Triangle pictured above, were to approach me with one of his sides instead of his angle, then, until I’ve asked him to rotate, or until I move around him to another angle, I cannot be certain whether I am looking at my Father, the Equilateral Triangle, or a Straight Line, in other words, a Woman.

Then, when I am with one of my two Hexagonal Grandsons, looking at one of his sides, it will be clear, I hope, from the diagram below, that I will see a straight line with a large center of brightness (made up by the points A and B), with two small darker sections above and below, which quickly fade away into dimness.

But I need to resist the temptation to keep explaining about these topics.

Even the best mathematician in Spaceland should believe me when I tell you that when you are at a ball or a convention, moving around the room and other people, trying to recognize and keep track of the many high-ranking Polygons around you is no easy task.

This is why we value our expert mathematicians – Professors of both Static and Kinetic Geometry, from the University of Wentbridge -- so highly. They are the ones who teach the elites of the states the complex art of Sigh Recognition.

It is only a few of the most promising heirs of our most noble and wealthy houses who can afford the time and money necessary for mastering this noble and valuable Art.

If I, a Mathematician of fair skill, and the Grandfather of two very promising and perfectly regular Hexagons, found myself in the middle of a crowd of rotating Polygons of the higher classes, even I sometimes find myself unsure!

And of course, to a common Tradesman Equilateral or Serf Isosceles, such a sight must be as bewildering and meaningless as it would be to you, my dear Reader, if you were suddenly transported to our country.

In a crowd like this, the only thing you would see, wherever you look, is nothing but a Line that seems to be straight, but with different parts in constantly changing light or darkness.

Even if you had graduated from your third year in the University’s classes for Pentagons and Hexagons, and had memorized the theory of the subject, you would quickly find yourself realizing that it will take many years of practical experience before you could confidently move through a high-society crowd without bumping into your betters.

It is impolite in the extreme to ask to “feel” such superior nobles, and it is without a doubt, due to their superior culture and breeding, that these fashionable crowds know everything of your shape and movements, while you, still inexperienced, know next to nothing about theirs.

In other words, the only way to belong truly in Polygonal society is to be a Polygon yourself. It’s a painful lesson I have had to learn the hard way.

It is astonishing how much the Art (I like call it an instinct) of Sight Recognition is honed simply by constant practice, while avoiding the custom of “Feeling”.

[Note from the 2023 editor: I apologize in advance for the next sentence you are going to read after this interruption is done.

The author here, as you may be able to guess soon enough, thinks he knows more than he does.

I will state now, for the record, that his idea of how Deaf and mute people learn to speak is completely and blatantly false, a myth long since thrown away, but I will still transcribe his words here for the sake of posterity, and to better help you understand his mindset.

Let me make it absolutely clear that denying Deaf and mute children access to language of sign language or Augmentive and Alternative Communication devices (AAC), and forcing them to lipread or spend years learning to speak perfectly aloud, does not help them learn to communicate better, the only thing it accomplishes is isolating and punishing them and delaying their ability to talk to you.

Let them learn sign language (and learn it alongside them!). Get them an AAC device. Stop trying to fit a square through a circular hole! It is a myth that sign language stops Deaf and mute people from speaking – just because you didn’t bother to learn doesn’t mean they’re not talking!

Interruption over now. You may continue.]

Just as with you, the deaf and mute, if allowed to gesticulate and to use sign language, will never acquire the more difficult, but far more valuable art of speech and lip-reading, so it is with us as regards "Seeing" and "Feeling".

None who in early life resort to "Feeling" will ever learn "Seeing" in perfection.

This is why “Feeling” is either discouraged or forbidden completely among the families of our Higher Classes.

The children of High-Class Polygons are not sent to the common Public Elementary schools where Feeling is taught. Instead, they are sent to private schools with very strict entrance requirements. At these schools, to “feel” is seen as a serious problem, and is punished with Suspension for the first offence, and complete Expulsion for the second.

But the lower classes think of Sight Recognition as an unattainable luxury. The common Equilateral Tradesman can’t afford to send even just one of his sons away to spend an entire third of his life studying abstract ideas.

So the children of the poor are allowed “feel” as soon as they begin moving, and in doing so become practiced at moving and interacting with others very quickly, which makes them seem, to the untrained eye, much better developed than the comparatively listless, unmoving attitude of young nobles Polygons of the same age.

But don’t let this disparity fool you – once the young Polygons have finally completed their course at the University, and are ready to go out into the world to gain more experience, a change sweeps over them so that they seem to be born for a second time. In all the skills of art, science, and sociability, they then rapidly catch up to and out-compete their Triangular competitors with ease.

It is rare for any of the Polygonal Class to fail their Final Test at the University, but it does happen, promising a life of pitiable misery to these unsuccessful nobles.

Cast out by other Polygons, they can make no friends among the common classes either.

They cannot function in Polygonal society because of their lack of Sight Recognition, but also have no idea how to navigate by Feel, as they’ve been forbidden and shamed out of learning it their whole lives.

There are no jobs they can perform, either professional or common, and though most States do not actually ban them from getting married, it is still difficult for them to find any willing partners, since history has shown us that the children of such marriages will be, at best similarly unfit for the noble life, or, at worst, blatantly Irregular.

This trash of the Nobility is where many of the leaders of the various Tumults and Seditions of the past centuries have risen. So many, in fact, that an increasing number of our progressive Statesmen have decided that either imprisoning these wretched outcasts for life, or at least mercy killing them, would make life easier for everyone.

But I am once again becoming distracted by the subject of Irregularity, which is actually so important for you to understand that it deserves its own separate section.

Section 07. Concerning Irregular Figures

Since the start of this book I have been assuming that my Readers in Spaceland were already aware of something that I of course take for granted. I should have made sure to explain to you the most basic, fundamental law of our society, upon which everything else is built:

Every human being in Flatland is a Regular Figure. Which means that a Woman is not simply a line, she is also a Straight Line. An Isosceles Workman or Soldier must have two of his sides equal (being an Isosceles, he is of course defined by his third side being irregular). A Tradesman must have his three sides equal. Lawyers, (the group which I, your humble narrator and guide, am apart of), must have four equal sides, and in the higher Polygon class, all sides must be, generally, equal.

The size of these equal sides of course depends on how old this person is. A Female at birth is about an inch long [around 2.5 centimeters], and a tall adult Woman might be more than 12 inches [around 30.5 centimeters] long.

As for the Males of every class, as adults, the length of all their sides, when added together, measures somewhere around two feet, give or take. [around 61 centimeters].

But it is not the length of our sides that is important. I’m talking about the Equality of the sides, and it doesn’t take a stretch of the imagination to see why the whole foundation of civilization in Flatland rests upon the fundamental fact that Nature wills all Figures to have their sides equal.

If our sides were unequal our angles might be unequal.

Instead of simply being able to judge a single angle by feel or by sight, you’d have to figure out the measurement of every single angle by time-consuming Feeling.

Life is too short for such mind-numbing groping. The whole science and art of Sight Recognition would be killed instantly. Feeling, as much as it can be called an art, would perish soon after.

Casual interaction would become deathly dangerous or outright impossible; no one would ever be able to interact with any stranger or make even the most basic social arrangements without being in danger. In a word, civilization would collapse into barbarism.

Am I going to fast for my Readers to understand how I’ve come to these obvious conclusions? Surely if you think for a moment, and imagine a single instance from our every day life, you’ll be convinced that every part of our society relies on Regularity, or Equality of Angles.

For example, say you meet two or three Tradesmen in the street. You know they are Tradesmen by a single glance: a seemingly straight line, with a bright point in the center, rapidly growing darker towards either end. You ask them to step into your house for lunch while you discuss business.

This is something you can do, right now, without any hesitation, because everyone knows how much space, give or take an inch or two, is taken up by an adult Triangle.

But imagine if one of these Tradesman dragged behind his regular and respectable angle, not just a straight line, but a parallelogram of twelve or thirteen inches on the diagonal. Now what are you supposed to do with a monster like that stuck in your door?

But I’m insulting the intelligence of my Readers by explaining things that are clear to anyone who lives in Spaceland. Obviously the measurement of a single angle wouldn’t help us interact with one another under such circumstances – one’s whole life would be hours upon hours of feeling or visually surveying the entire perimeter of everyone you meet.

It’s already hard enough to avoid running into others in a crowd, even for the trained wisdom of a well-educated Square! But if Regularity flew out the window, and you couldn’t assume anyone around you had logical angles, everything would devolve to chaos and confusion. The smallest panic would cause serious injuries, or -- if there happened to be any Women or Soldiers in the crowd -- considerable loss of life.

This is why Expediency teams up with Nature in stamping the seal of it’s approval on Regularity of conformation, and the Law, of course, seconds their efforts.

To us, “Irregularity of Figure” means a combination of both inherent moral failure and purposeful criminality, and is treated accordingly.

We do, of course, have some distributors of writings that claim there is no inherent connection between geometrical and moral Irregularity.

“The Irregular”, they say, “is, from the moment he’s born, rejected by his parents, bullied by his brothers and sisters, neglected by his nurses, scorned and suspected by society, and excluded from all forms of trust, responsibility, and fulfilling jobs.

“His every movement is openly surveiled by the police until he comes of age, and presents himself for inspection. Then, he is either destroyed if he is found to be Irregular past the set margin of deviation, or imprisoned in a Government Facility as a desk worker of the seventh class.

“Barred from marriage, forced to serve at a boring job for practically no pay, and with no other choice but to live and eat entirely at this same office, unable even to take a vacation except without a guard escorting him like the prisoner that he is – then is it any wonder that human nature, no matter how pure or benevolent it started out when he was born, becomes bitter and corrupted with a lifetime of this kind of treatment?”

None of this very plausible reasoning convinces me, nor has it convinced the wisest of our Statesmen, that our ancestors made a mistake when they set down the law that mandated Irregularity as incompatible with the safety of the State.

I have no doubt that the life of an Irregular is hard, but the best interests of the rest of society requires that it be hard.

If a man with a triangular front and polygonal back were allowed to exist, and to father even more Irregular children and grandchildren, what would become of the arts of life? Are the houses and doors and churches all supposed to be changed to accommodate such monsters? Are the ticket-sellers supposed to measure every man’s perimete before they let him into a theater, or to take his place in a lecture hall?

Is an Irregular supposed to be exempt from military service? And if not, how is he going to be stopped from killing his comrades by accident?

And just think of the horrible crimes and lies these creatures must be tempted to commit! It’d be so easy for him to enter a shop with his polygonal front forward, and order whatever he likes, on promise of future payment, from a too-trusting salesman!

Let the falsely claimed “Philanthropists” beg all they like for the abolishment of the Irregular Penal Laws, they won’t convince me, because I, for one, have never known an Irregular who wasn’t what Natuer clearly intended him to be – a hypocrite, a misanthrope, and, as far as he can succeed, a perpetrator of all kinds of mischief.

Not that I would (at the moment) recommend the extreme measures adopted by some States, where any infant whose angle deviates by half a degree from the expected angularity is summarily destroyed at birth.

Some of our best men, men of real genius, suffered, in their early childhood, through deviations as great as--or even greater than-- forty-five minutes. The loss of their precious lives would have been an irreparable injury to the State.

We have also achieved many victories in the art of healing, allowing most Irregularities to be either partly, or entirely, cured, through the use of medical compressions, extensions, fuses, and more.

I would say there is no point at which we should look at a newborn and decide it is incurably Irregular – but, if the Irregularities cannot be cured before the body begins to form its permenant shape, and the Medical Board has declared that nothing can be done to salvage it, then I would suggest that the Irregular offpring be painlessly euthanized.

Section 08. Of the Ancient Practice of Painting

If my Readers have been paying attention to this story so far, you may have realized that life in Flatland can be a little boring.

Obviously, I’m not saying there aren’t the wars, scandals, uphevals and drama that are supposed to make History interesting, or that we don’t enjoy our lives, as strange as they may seem to you in Spaceland. There is something indescribably invigorating about the need for constant calculating of angles, and the usually-instant gratification of knowing you’ve done so correctly.

I mean from the aesthetic, artistic point of view, that Flatland is, very literally, dull.

It would be difficult for it not to be, when all our lives, ideas, hopes, dreams, even our artistic masterpeices of all kinds, are nothing but a straight line, with no variation at all except for small differences of brightness and shadow.

It wasn’t always like this.

If our Tradition can be trusted, then we know that long ago, Colour allowed our ancestors to live in a splendor we can barely imagine.

Long ago, in the remotest ages of history, it is said that a Pentagon whose name we do not know for sure accidentally invented some simple colours, and a method of painting. It is said that he immediately began decorating his house. Then he painted his slaves, then his Father, his Sons, his Grandsons, and, finally, himself.

The beauty, and convenience, of the results were admired by everyone.

This Pentagon’s most commonly accepted name among historians is ‘Chromatistes’, and wherever he went, turning his colourful frame, he was the center of attention and respect.

No one needed to take the time to “feel” him anymore, and no one confused his front from his back. Every move he made was easily read by those nearby without any effort on their part or the need for calculation. No one bumped into him, or failed to move out of his way. He did not have to waste his breath exclaiming his rank, as we colourless Squares and Pentagons have to today, to get a crowd of ignorant Isosceles to show us our due respect.

The fashion spread like wildfire. Before the week was over, every Square and Triangle in the distinct had copied his example, and only a few of the more conservative Pentagons refused to join in.

After the first month or two, even the twelve-sided Dodecagons had fallen into the trend.

In less than a single year, the habit had spread to all classes in the district except the highest of the Nobility.

Needless to say, it didn’t take long for this trend to make its way out of Chromatistes’ neighborhood and into surrounding regions.

Within two generations, there was no one left colourless except the Women and the Priests.

With these two classes, Nature herself seemed to plant herself as a barrier to protest this infection spreading further.

For the Innovators, as they were called, having multiple sides was almost a requirement for having colour. They would say, “Distinction of sides is intended by Nature to imply distinction of colours”.

These words were popular, flying from neighbor to neighbor, and helped to convert whole towns at a time to the new cultural wave.

But it seemed that this idea could not be applied to Priests and Women. Women, being Straight Lines, have only one side, and thus, in all ways that matter, have No Sides. Women hated to admit this, and were ashamed of it.

On the other hand, Priests, if we are to accept that they are true Circles, and not just very high-ranking Polygons with many small sides, loved to brag and boast that they also had no sides, and were instead being blessed with a perimeter of a single line, or, in other words, a Circumference.

I hope you can see now why these two Classes could not be convinced by the so-called universal truth of “Distinction of Sides implying Distinction of Colour”, when it could not, apparently, be applied to them.

Even after everyone else succumbed to the temptation of self-decoration, the Priests and Women alone were still pure and unpolluted by the touch of paint.

Immoral, vulgar, anarchical, unscientific, there are many names used to describe the ancient days of the Colour Revolt, but, from an aesthetic point of view, those days were the glorious birth of Art in Flatland. A childhood that, unfortunately, was cut short before it could mature to adulthood, or even enjoy its youth.

To live them was to live in a world of endless delight, because living meant seeing, and even the smallest group of friends was a delight to the eyes, and the richly varied colours in a church or theater are said to have, many times, been so distractingly beautiful by the actors and teachers that they forgot their jobs.

But the most beautiful sight was said to have been the unspeakable magnificence of a military performance.

Imagine it: To see twenty thousand black-painted Isosceles bases suddenly spin to reveal the orange and purple of their two sides at their acute point. The Equilateral Triangles tri-coloured in red, white, and blue. The Square artillarymen rapidly rotating to show mauve, ultra-marine, gamboge, and burnt umber, with their vermillion guns.

The dashing and flashing of the five-coloured Pentagons and six-coloured Hexagons racing across the fields with their surgeons, geometricians, and chiefs of staff.

With this fabulous display of colour at military parades, its easy to believe the famous story of a powerful Circle king, who found the sight of his army so beautiful that he at once threw away his royal crown and ceremonial baton, and declared that from that day forward, he was never going to pick up another tool besides the artist’s brush.

The vocabulary alone that they used to express themselves shows how amazingly colourful the times they lived in were. Even the most mundane statements made by the poorest citizens during the Colour Revolt seem to be infused with a richness and creativity that is lacking today.

All of our finest poetry, and even the little bit of rhythm and rhyme that can still be found in our scientific statements of today, we owe to the amazing era of the Colour Revolt.

Section 09. Of the Universal Colour Bill

But while the beauty of colour was thriving, the intellectual Arts were quickly dying out.

No one needed to use Sight Recognition anymore, so they stopped practicing it altogether. Soon, the studies of Geometry, Statics, Kinetics, and other similar subjects became considered pointless as well, and became looked down upon, even at our greatest University!

Not even the inferior Art of Feeling was immune, and stopped being taught at our Elementary Schools.

Then the Isosceles classes, pointing to the fact that the Specimens were no longer needed for teaching, refused to pay up the members from the Criminal class that were owed to the schools, and as a result, their numbers, and their disrespect towards the more Noble classes, increased by the day now that they were no longer subject to the custom that had both thinned their excessive numbers, and removed the most dangerous of them from society.

Year by year, the Soldiers and Workers began to insist more and more often – and with increasing truth to their claim – that there was no real difference between them and the highest ranking Polygons, now that they could deal with all the problems of life just as easily as the nobility by simply using Color Recognition.

And they weren’t happy to just let Sight Recognition naturally die either, they began to actively cause its death by demanding the right to learn it themselves, calling for the law to ban the “monopolization of aristocratic Arts”, and thus ban the exclusive scholarships that allowed the higher, non-Criminal classes to study Sight Recognition, Mathematics, and even Feeling.

It wasn’t long before they began insisting that Color, which was a second Nature, had now destroyed the need for aristocratic distinctions at all, and so this meant that the Law should follow the same path, and legally recognize all classes as absolutely equal and entitled to equal rights.

When it became clear that the higher Orders were undecided and wavering in their convictions, the Revolution pushed even harder, demanding, at last, that all classes, including the Priests and Women, should honor Colour by allowing themselves to be painted.

When it was argued that Priests and Women had no sides, so couldn’t be painted, the Revoluntionists retorted that Nature and Expediency had worked together to make the solution to this problem simple: that the front half of every human being, containing his eye and mouth, should be easy to tell apart from his back half.

They created a Bill which they showed in front of an extraordinary meeting of all the States of Flatland, proposing that all Women should have the front half of her painted red, and her back half painted green. The priests were to be painted the same way – red on the half of their body where their mouth and eye were, and green for the rest.

You can see how devilishly clever this proposal was, and trust me, this plan was not created by any Isosceles – we all know they’re too degraded to understand, let alone think of, such an amazing political move.

No, the creator of this plan was an Irregular Circle who escaped being destroyed in his childhood due to foolish sentimentality, and was now repaying that kindness by bringing down destruction upon his country, and on his countless followers.

One part of this ingenious plan was to win over the Women of all classes into joining with the side of Chromatic Innovation. Because by painting Women with the same two colors as the Priests, the Revolutionaries guarenteed that it would be easy to mistake a woman standing in a certain pose as a Priest, and treated accordingly. This could not fail to appeal to masses of the Female Sex.

But I understand that some of my Readers might not understand how a Woman and a Priest could be confused even under the new Legislation, so let me explain it to you first, it’s very easy to follow.

Imagine that a Woman – a Straight Line – is decorated according to this new Code: her front half, or head, painted red, and her back end painted green.

Imagine you are looking at her from the side, as we would see her in Flatland – obviously, you will see a straight line, half red, half green.

Now imagine a Priest, a diagram of which will be provided below. His mouth is at M, and his front semicircle is colored red, and his hind semicircle green.

As demonstrated in the diagram above, ff you look at this Great Man from the side, you will see a straight line that is half red, and half green.

The line you see may be shorter than a fully-grown Woman would be, and might grow darker at the edges faster than a Woman’s edges would, but the colors alone would be doing most of the work in identifying this person’s Class to you, allowing you to be lazy and ignore those details, making it easy to confuse a Priest with a Woman if you are not paying strict attention.

Below is another diagram to illustrate the similarities.

Now, don’t forget what I have already told you – that Sight Recognition was dying out as an art at the time of the Color Revolt, and

[substituted-shinigami]

Drabble Notes

Well folks, (@unloquita and @recurring-polynya), it's been a week, so how are we doing?! 😁

First of all, I would like to hugely thank you both for participating in my first open drabble request! ☺️ I've had this account for less than a year and have been posting fanfiction for only two months, so to get any requests at all was amazing! I've got a long way to go, and I'm greatly humbled by the support you all have shown me. 🥰 With that, let’s talk about the writing of the fics!

Let me start by saying I've had a blast writing y'all's fics! 😁 I got to write some characters and scenarios that I would not have otherwise. That said, I think in hindsight, it was way too early for me to make such a request, and especially to give myself such a short timeline. Why oh why did I give myself only a week to write two fics?! 😅 Once again, I had fun, a ton of fun, but there was zero reason to give myself that level of stress! That said, all things considered, I think they turned out pretty well. Like they need some more time in the oven for sure, but that’s okay, because I would love to turn both your prompts into full fledged one-shots! Unfortunately, those versions won’t be ready for months though, especially since I still need to finish my other fics as well, so I will be posting them in their current form on Tumblr today, just without tags. Sorry about this, I’ll let you know when the full version comes out too! And hey, if you want to leave notes on them for the future full versions, go right ahead! Especially if a part of a piece is confusing or feels like it doesn’t connect, I would love to know! I want to make these pieces the best I can! 👍👍👍

In …uh… related news, it turns out I had 0% of an idea what a drabble is.😅 I had seen people do them on tumblr before, and I assumed that they were a writer’s version of a rough but nice sketch, i.e. something you complete first, before you get into the niddy griddy month long editing phase. Basically I thought it was somewhere between a first draft and a final one. That apparently is not a drabble. A drabble is a written piece that is 100 words or less. Some people extend this to be 1,000 words or less. The pieces I wrote for you are not that and therefore are not drabbles. They are long enough to be considered one-shots. I apologize for the confusion!!!

Well, despite all the ups and downs, I really had a good time! Thank you all again for your requests, they meant the world to me! 🥰 I hope these silly little fics bring you joy! ☺️

[badassxbirdy]

Edit: If I’ve unfollowed, refollowed, or you’ve softblocked, please see this post and let me know accordingly!

May Activity Update (Pinned Post)

It’s time once again for an activity update! If you’re new here: these monthly posts help me to keep track of what the frick I’ve been doing, particularly when tumblr breaks or the brainfog strikes. This update includes things posted or in drafts for the month of April. Everything else can be found in previous monthly updates under this tag. There’s also the thread tracker here.

The full activity update (along with OOC house keeping) is below the cut. Bold text = links.

If you want to see all IC interactions without the other stuff, click here. If you’d like to start something new, there are opens, memes, and the wishlist, or you can just hit up the DM’s. You can also add Ty on Wire for IC texting.

Now onto the update!

OOC Housekeeping:

I want to start doing more story arc development on Ty’s blog again, so expect a few posts about that to come soon.

Posted a round of opened starters, for anyone who doesn’t know: those are explained here.

I’m going to be tagging people in replies to get around the current notes issue and any others that may arise. If I forget to do it, I’ll shoot you a message instead.

Fixes for the notes issue can be found here and here for those who need it.

Thread tracker has (for the most part) been updated. Thanks to everyone who got back to my DM’s about old threads. ❤️

I still haven’t found the login for Ty’s discord. 🤦‍♀️ Until I do, tumblr DM’s or Ty’s Wire are the best ways to reach me both IC and OOC.

Threads, replies, memes, and other IC interactions:

(In alphabetical order by username)

At the motel (link) - @demcnsinmymind

Car trouble (drafted) - @demcnsinmymind

“You shouldn’t be out here all by yourself this late at night.” (link) - @demcnsinmymind

Ty takes Lance on a hunt! (drafted) - @demcnsinmymind

Birthday gift mischief: the peanut gag continues! 😂 (link) - @demcnsinmymind

Birthday gift mischief: a crossbow! (drafted) - @derschwarzeengel

Universe differences (drafted) - @derschwarzeengel

Ty is scarred for life. (link) - @derschwarzeengel

Damon shields Ty. (link) - @derschwarzeengel

The truth about Darklighters (queued) - @derschwarzeengel

Damon encounters Dark!Ty (drafted) - @derschwarzeengel

Getting out of jail (queued) - @derschwarzeengel

Roasting 50 shades (drafted) - @derschwarzeengel

Vampire!Damon (drafted) - @derschwarzeengel

Making their escape (queued) - @derschwarzeengel

“I wondered when you were going to wake up. You almost didn’t survive.” (link) - @drkroots (Shannon)

“Is there a reason you’ve been following me for an hour?” (drafted) - @drkroots (Deacon)

Kit offers a flower, Tyler says 👁👄👁 (link) - @florafound

Birthday mischief: baking unsupervised is probably a bad idea. 😂 (link) - @heavenguided

Meeting Captain Hook (link) - @hvbris

Ty is confused by Wednesday (drafted) - @hvbris

Birthday mischief: “hey! you didn’t tell me it was your birthday!” (drafted) - @imprvdente

FBI!Fish babysits Human!Ty (drafted) - @imprvdente

At the fair (link) - @indyflanery

Attempting to babysit the Doctor. 😂 (link) - @innerwar

Jokes with Charm (drafted) - @innerwar

A demon problem (drafted) - @magaprima

“Can I just be normal?” (link) - @nightiingaled (Mel)

Time for “The Talk” (link) - @nightiingaled (Mel)

Ty is ANGY and Proteus is BABY. (link) - @nightiingaled

Banishment gone wrong (link) - @normallyxstranger

The way out (drafted) - @razorfst

NO BEING BAIT. 😤 (link) - @unbearablyindifferent

Headcanon, dash games, and assorted silliness:

FMK poll results: Ty needs therapy. (link)

Ty’s favourite holiday (link)

“Would you still love me if I was a worm? 🥺” aka KilliTy being disgustingly cute. (link)

Sinday questions: One thing a partner should never do. (link)

Sinday questions: mood killer, how adventurous is she, one night stands, and one thing she’s dying to try. (link)

Sinday questions: does she crack jokes, does she get emotional, does she like to go out as aftercare, and physical affection/cuddling. (link)

Tyler can’t NOT make jokes. (link)

A gem from discord: Ty telling Killian about her arm scar. (link)

KilliTy moodboard by Rookito. 🥹 (link)

I think that’s everything! As always: please let me know if I’ve missed something. I never intentionally drop threads without notifying, rest assured that if it’s not here I simply have not seen it. Remember to be kind to yourselves, and hydrate your flesh prison. ❤️ — Em

[lieutenant-amuel]

since you write your stories in English, do you have any tips or stuff you’ve learned?

Hm, I’m not sure I have any tips to share?

Anyway, the thing I would advise to the non-English writers who write in English is to write in your native language first and then translate it into English. It takes longer to finish your work but it also allows you to put your thoughts together better. I always write like that, which is why one chapter of my fanfic usually takes me around one month, but I prevent myself from making many silly mistakes because in this case I also have more time for editing and thinking the plot through again.

I don’t know how the writing process goes for other writers but when it comes to me, my first draft, written in my native language, is extremely bad. This is nothing but a base for the future detailed-written chapter, so when I start translating, I fill all the gaps with better descriptions and smoother action scenes. I wouldn’t be able to do it if the chapter was originally written in English. I suppose this is because I’m still not fluent enough but no matter what the reason is, this is just the easiest and the most reliable way to write fanfiction for me.

However, I once wrote three drabbles about my original characters that I posted only here, on Tumblr, and they were written without “preliminary preparation.” I wrote all of them in English right away because they were short and kinda local if I can say so.

(and of course it doesn’t apply to my posts on Tumblr. Now when I’m writing this I write it in English, translating everything in my head and writing it down right away. So, my English when I chat with my foreign friends, my Tumblr English, and my fanfiction English are three completely different things)

I think I’d also advise to store somewhere (either in your head or create a separate doc where you can write them all down for the future reference) all the idioms you use in your fanfiction? I mean, idioms is a very specific language thing, and in my opinion, it makes your writing a lot more lively and natural language-wise. I swear once I learnt the idiom “to make someone’s blood boil”, I just started using it everywhere XD

(and an interesting thing is that writing all the metaphorical scenes/lines is a lot easier in English? Perhaps this is because I think my metaphors sound ridiculous in my language because I straight up know what they mean, whereas in English, I can let nature take its course, because yeah, my brain functions differently, I have no idea whether I can put those words together, forgive me.

A fragment from my fanfic, which I think sounds fantastic in English (at least there were two people who complimented it), but I sincerely have no idea how to say it in my language without sounding fake:

"That unforgettable feeling of the flames melting into your skin and spreading the burning pain from deep within your body. So, the only thing left for you is to scream. But you can't. As your lungs are squeezed by a suffocating embrace of smoke that doesn't let you take a single breath of fresh air. Yes. That's impossible to forget. But I have no desire to talk about it with anyone."

Another way to make your writing more natural, especially when you write dialogues, is to use more colloquial/slang phrases. I wouldn’t say that I’m very good at this myself, because it requires to know a certain language very well so you can sound like a native speaker. But you know, the more I watched some movies/TV shows in English, the easier it was to catch some common phrases that I could use both in my creative writing and casual speech (I swear you guys use the word “stuff” and the phrase “you know” almost in every sentence XD)

To conclude this part: write in your native language first so you can put your thoughts together better, have more time for editing, and generally make your life easier. Use more colloquialism, including idioms and slang, so your writing sounds more lively and feels more natural language-wise.

As for the things I’ve learnt, I finally understood English tenses (or at least got a clearer picture of them). You know, it’s hard to get the hang of them when there’s only three of them in your native language and the way the English tenses are explained in the school books literally makes them sound unnecessary a lot more complicated than they actually are XD

I’ve learnt a few new words (that I now use literally in every chapter :’D), I know a lot more about English punctuation. The things I still struggle with are conditional sentences (specifically the type 3, but you know) and neither and nor? I’m not sure what’s wrong with them exactly, but they confuse me sometimes. And the famous English articles, I hate them with all my might <3

I think I’ve generally improved my English because I feel a lot more confident when I write in this language (although, really, I’m not the one to judge, writing ridiculous mess with confidence is not that difficult :’D). When I wrote my first chapters, I maniacally checked every sentence, every word (because I also had no beta reader), and reread what I’d written zillion times. I’m still careful with what I write but I don’t feel that nervous about it anymore.

Those are basically the only things I can say, hope I’ve managed to answer your question!

[itsladykit]

I posted 2,143 times in 2022

That's 1,349 more posts than 2021!

119 posts created (6%)

2,024 posts reblogged (94%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@deaderrose

@musicalhell

@bishonenrockmysocks

@thebibliosphere

@chroniclethologica

I tagged 2,112 of my posts in 2022

Only 1% of my posts had no tags

#sandman - 86 posts

#my work - 73 posts

#the sandman - 73 posts

#writing - 62 posts

#ofmd - 57 posts

#our flag means death - 56 posts

#not my work - 50 posts

#awesome art - 47 posts

#undertale - 44 posts

#boost - 43 posts

Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but also…sometimes it’s nice to find that sweetspot in boomer humor that allows for people to decide to just circumvent the complication of

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sometimes, a mutual will surprise you. Unpleasantly.

And you just gotta unfollow and write a vague vent post about it.

25 notes - Posted February 24, 2022

#4

You know what?

I don’t think Tumblr should give writing advice like they’re offering absolutes. Some things work sometimes, but sometimes they won’t.

It reminds me of all advice I grew up with about creating characters without making them “Mary Sues”. You know what you get when you follow that advice to the letter? Boring ass characters.

Just write. Write your shit. Don’t worry about using “said” too much, or using too many adjectives. Don’t even worry about plot holes or writing something believable. Just. Fucking. Write.

Then, when you’re finished, tuck the thing away and bring it out once you’ve forgotten most of it. Now you can see it through a reader’s eyes and notice that the adjectives are distracting or you forgot to resolve a plotline or the romance is forced. Half the job of writing is editing, but they’re two different hats. Put them on one at a time and stop trying to make your first draft perfect.

(Obviously this format doesn’t work as well when writing fanfic or episodic pieces. I still think getting the bones down first is a good place to start. Fill in the flesh and tendons when you give it another look. Be patient with yourself and stop trying to mold yourself to some rando’s rules.)

28 notes - Posted August 30, 2022

#3

You got any thoughts, headcanons, or whatever about Imp you haven't had a chance to share before? And/or about Hordak and Entrapdak as well.

(Also they changed the ask window, it looks like the text post editor now and it's weird. Which has nothing to do with anything, I was just surprised by it.)

^_^ I’ll have to check it out in browser, now that I have a functional computer again.

Hmmm….

I don’t think my Imp headcanons are outside the common interpretation. Most of it cribbed from a @cruciferousjex fic, which I highly recommend. (Link HERE.)

I think the most significant thing about Imp is that he very much symbolizes Hordak’s commitment to being different from Prime, even before he makes the conscious decision to split from him. He doesn’t discard Imp because of his disabilities; he accommodates them. I very much headcanon that Imp is incapable of speech, but—in addition to sign language because I fucking love sign language—Hordak created the voice modulator that allows Imp to “speak”. He accommodated Imp’s disabilities in a way Prime never would have accommodated him.

I suppose my most unique headcanon about Imp is that he prefers the modulator despite its limitations. He knows sign language, but he just enjoys using others’ voices to speak.

39 notes - Posted April 18, 2022

#2

Alright, I’m resisting the urge to write for What We Do In The Shadows, so….

(Beware spoilers for season 3 finale)

I know everyone is completely upset that we were robbed of the happy Nandermo road trip we all wanted, but please imagine—

A tense reunion after some time has passed. (Let’s call it a year.) Perhaps after a dust-up of some sort. (I’d be lying if I wasn’t visualizing Nandor being given the chance to showcase his own warrior prowess. Him and Guillermo back to back, fighting baddies? Please.)

Anyway—Guillermo expects to settle back into his role as familiar bodyguard, but he quickly realizes that…Nandor doesn’t need his help with all the little (and big) things Guillermo used to do. Nandor’s had a year on his own—perhaps a hard year on his own—and he’s recovered his independence.

At first, Guillermo’s happy about this. Less work, right? But then he really starts to realize…Nandor doesn’t need him. And that is crushing, because no matter what speeches he makes about “found family”, in his heart of hearts, he fears the vampires kept him around because they needed him, not because they’re fond of him.

As he’s starting to spiral, though, Nandor asks to speak to him. And he doesn’t ask him as he would an underling. He doesn’t demand or whine. It’s a request, and not one Guillermo knows how to deny.

They talk. It’s awkward at first. Stilted small talk between people that are re-learning each other. Guillermo loses patience first, and asks what Nandor wants to talk to him about. He’s not sure what he’s expecting, but it’s not what he gets—an offer to turn him. Here and now, no trip to the Tigris needed. Because Guillermo has earned it. It’s offered formally, stiffly, and without feeling.

Guillermo breaks. It’s everything he ever wanted but in the worst way possible. He shouts his frustration and his anger and every emotion he’s repressed for more than a decade.

But he’s not the only one. Nandor breaks too. And is finally, finally willing to admit what he feels for Guillermo and how terrified he was that Guillermo would leave him when he was turned. But he’s had a year away, and now he knows that he can bear the pain when Guillermo leaves again, even though it will break his heart. And Guillermo has earned this, and Nandor…Nandor is strong enough now to let him go.

When they settle, they realize that they’re both idiots that they both have strong feelings for each other. And now…they can enter into a relationship as equals, both wanting the other more than they need the other.

57 notes - Posted January 11, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

While I very much don’t mind the interpretation that Hob and Morpheus have romantic feelings for each other…there’s a big part of me that really wishes there was more appreciation for the developing friendship. I mean. Listen—

Dream starts this whole thing like a scientist observing a weird little bug. He’s disdainful of humanity—at this stage, he has more in common with Desire than Death—and puts Hob in a position he fully expects Hob to regret. This isn’t a gift. Not from Dream’s perspective.

It’s a classic story, really; deity gives human exactly what he wants, only for the human to realize this is more curse than gift. Dream’s just fulfilling that archetypal role, and he’s waiting to see how the story will conclude. He’s waiting to see Hob come to that realization and how he’ll react when he does.

Of course, this very classic story is turned perfectly on its head. Dream keeps waiting for the turn. He’s waiting for the story to reach its natural conclusion, the only conclusion he can see. And it never does. Further, as time passes, Dream stops seeing Hob as an object of study or an archetype in a story. He begins to see him as a person—in some ways, an extraordinary person—and eventually, as a friend.

That progression is beautiful. Again, I’m not trying to sink anyone’s ship, I just wish that slow growth from disdain to fascination to respect to real friendship wasn’t brushed over so often.

413 notes - Posted September 2, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[snickerdoodlles]

I have finally learned the real reason why I haven't change my username yet...how else would I know my tumblr year in review.....

(jk)

Anyways, only posting the relevant things;

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@/zeldahime

@/rythyme

@/snow-and-saltea

@/likestoimagine16

@/aethersea

^ this makes me laugh, because Emily should actually be the top 4 spots here 🤣 most of my reblogs are from her, except she sends them to me directly. some friends curate tumblr via your dash, other curate them via DMs

*edit: IM SORRY I THOUGHT I REMOVED THE MENTIONS THE FIRST TIME AROUND

I tagged 7,946 of my posts in 2022

#q* - 5,920 posts ← doesn't count, i do almost everything via queue 🙄

#bad buddy - 634 posts ← LISTEN IKIVE SLOWED DOWN BUT ITS STILL GOING STRONG IN MY HEART 😭😭😭😭😭😭 cannot WAIT for my break, im going to bury myself in blankets for 24hrs and watch only THEM there will be SO many tears

#kinnporsche - 561 posts ← hahahahahahahaha hello new obsession, im not letting you go any time soon ❤

#hey yuu - 471 posts ← HEY YUU ❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤❤

#the untamed - 242 posts ← lol

#mdzs - 239 posts ← LOLLLL

#writing woes - 187 posts ← ........hahahahahahahaha

#jeff satur - 160 posts ← i feel exposed

#not me - 130 posts ← i found a bunch of unposted meta for them in my drafts, now im wondering if i should've posted those after all...

#kinnporsche cast - 100 posts ← THEY'RE GOOFS I CAN'T HELP IT

Longest Tag: 124 characters

#👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀 ← i have no idea what this post is for because tumblr says it doesn't exist but i am 90% sure it's a fucking jeff satur post..... he is my favorite menace ❤

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Chay’s living the Wattpad dream life, Pete’s living the manic AO3 dream

210 notes - Posted October 31, 2022

#4

actually one of my favorite little details in ep12 was pat and pran taking graduation pics with uncle tong and junior. not only because their relationship with those two is absolutely delightful and im so glad they kept their connection to these two strangers from the beach that signified two huge shifts in their relationship, but specifically because we don’t see any graduation pictures with the parents

their parents are still fighting. ming hasn’t apologized, dissaya’s still upset. pat and pran cannot be open about their relationship with them. but this doesn’t change pat and pran--they’re going to keep on loving each other and living together. it’s their parents who will miss out on the milestones. so long as they hold onto their grudge, they will only get the filtered parts of their sons’ lives. until they learn to forgive and move forward, they will lose chances to make memories. but pat and pran? they’re still going to be living their lives to the fullest with their own found family until then

324 notes - Posted January 21, 2022

#3

(x) EMERGENCY EMERGENCY IM ABOUT TO FUCKING D I E

351 notes - Posted February 1, 2022

#2

WIꓘ says DON’T DO DRUGS KIDS

- this is an (un)official D.A.R.E. PSA

*Edit: made for from concrete fic

399 notes - Posted November 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

it took a kidnapping, an explosion, a confrontation with his brother, his life getting entirely uprooted, AND a bad breakup with his boyfriend to make Chay cry. the second time he cried still took another home ping pong match, another attempted kidnapping, his brother nearly dying, his mother returned from the dead, AND the emotional equivalent of a cannonball in the form of his ex-he’s-maybe-definitely-not-over soulfully wailing why don’t you STAYYYYYY

Kim broke up with the boy he likes then cried over their date polaroids

they are not the same

1,331 notes - Posted August 28, 2022

👆 i should not find these top 5 posts as funny as i do but i really do

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[einhorns72]

My first tumblr JP Heavy Music write up is coming up soon, it's still in the drafts but I'm kinda confident about this because it's one that I had in my mind for a very long time (let's hope it doesn't devour my time and give me a chance to do something else, especially since by the end of the month I'm gonna be very busy lmaooooo, here's hoping!

Edit - Hint: It's not about my thoughts on the BIRTH Cover tracks, but rather Zealot City and what it means for ACOR