#you're not my teacher or editor

[halfelven]

love random not even logged in readers just dropping their 'constructive criticism' on your 100k+ story that you're putting online entirely for free. this is just a rant btw

"You obviously have a great talent and I think you should work on honing it some. As much as I’ve enjoyed the story, there are a few things that stand out that you might consider looking at. I feel like the story isn’t sure what it wants to be at times; is it character driven or plot driven? It doesn’t flow smoothly because sometimes we have these wonderful character vignettes, like Illumi and Kalluto on a road trip or Kite/Leorio/Gon/Killua in an apartment where plot doesn’t really feel important, followed by what feels like heavily plot driven beats, like Kalluto and the spiders. In addition, it contributes to confusion because sometimes we see established characterization turned on its head. Especially the weird way everyone all of a sudden just sort of was OK with Kalluto being a spider and then working with Illumi when they just went to all that trouble to escape him? It all kind of feels forced and not natural. You know?

Anyway, I’ll definitely keep reading and look forward to seeing what happens."

first: love you trying to sound legitimate with your "in addition" like this is some kind of writer's workshop. second: in what way would I, the writer, think that an incomplete part of my story in which the reader does not yet know most of the main motivations (they are only hinted at so far) feels forced and not natural when I know what's happening, where it is going (and where I haven't had other readers comment with confusion about that part)

and moving on. don't do this. also like i said this is a wip in and no, no one is cool with Kalluto being a spider and no they're not cool working with Illumi, really. it was already established that some of them /have/ been working with Illumi before this~ he's someone that they know. like have you never been in a seriously dangerous situation that you just have to get through before you get back to what you want?*** also at this point Chrollo's real motive hasn't been entirely revealed.

Killua keeps changing his mind about what he's doing because he's a scared kid whose self-hatred is destroying him from the inside out. the POV is so tight that I have to keep dropping reminders that what is stated in the narrative is often not true! Illumi's POV, for example, keeps showing Killua as really loving him and being happy he's around but struggling with a desire for freedom, while with Killua's POV he's terrified of Illumi most of the time. like how is that not obviously a distorted POV where you can't trust the narrator?

"where plot doesn’t really feel important, followed by what feels like heavily plot driven beats"

this part is especially irritating because it's like yeah that's how I want to write it? this isn't a published novel. I don't have to commit to making sure every scene is important to the plot. I can spend time writing a full scene about someone drinking a glass of water and then 13 chapters in a row that are for moving the plot forward. I didn't even tag it as a novel... I did tag it for unreliable narration and I keep getting annoyed that people keep ignoring that.

"I feel like the story isn’t sure what it wants to be at times; is it character driven or plot driven?"

it's both??? it's neither??? it's a fanfic??? why do I keep getting comments lately where people are expecting me to adhere to like fucking publishing standards. this keeps up and I will write a chapter which is entirely about a minor character drinking a glass of water. watch me. I'll write one about phinks drinking a glass of water and you'll like it*

"Overall, the story is good and presented a compelling alternative to CA. Look, each fan has their own opinion on CA and I know I didn’t like it. I think it was a product of what Togashi was going through as he began to experience health issues and then finding himself right back where he said he wasn’t going to be mentally after he ended his earlier manga. We can never know for sure, but it certainly had a “watch it all burn vibe” to it near the end. I honestly believe he wanted it to end with the finality of Gon’s suicide as a capstone statement, but was probably convinced to go a different route, which kinda of left a jarring feel in the narrative and culminated in a rather unsatisfying end to Gon and Killua’s journey. Despite that, I am very reluctant to read fics where the events of CA are erased or grossly modified and honestly yours is really the first long AU/alternate timeline I’ve enjoyed"

okay first of all, I love the CA arc. but I had to split a point off where Kite was going to survive. why do you have to leave this whole paragraph about how you think Togashi was or wasn't going to go with the CA on my fanfic? I didn't even write this as 'oh look at my alternative to CA bc I hated CA' I don't really look forward to hearing comments about how random people didn't like so and so aspect of the story that I'm basing my story off of. I've never written fanfic for a story that I didn't like (except for some things that I don't have published I wrote at a request for friends for a fandom they were into that I wasn't really) and yeah I've wanted to 'fix' aspects (like tolkien's treatment of women for example) but I am not looking for your 'this is what I hated about the source material' comments on my stories

tired of getting comments with little 'oh I didn't like your style at first but now I do' or 'here's how to fix your story!' unsolicited advice from people who aren't better writers than me (I don't even want it from people who would be better writers than me on stuff I'm just doing for fun and for free)

when did stuff like this become normal? at least don't be a coward and be not logged in so you can't even get a response notification. like girl they aren't cool with it! why do you think everyone is on guard standing around like they're in a fucking hostage situation? how do you see such wildly different interpretations from different character's POVs and think it's not intentional? what part about Kite watching Killua like a fucking hawk makes you think he's going to let Illumi take him after this?

like if you've never had to smile and pretend to be cool with your abuser (pretend to love them) or someone who was threatening you to keep someone else safe then good for you! it fucking sucks! also don't know how to explain to you what a child who is growing up in an extremely isolated abusive situation goes through (though I keep writing about it in this story you should catch on...) but it's a million back and forths with emotion and feelings--especially if their abuser does (to in some way or to some degree) love them. and it is often blaming themselves. I'm not letting my years of studying human psychology and child development go to waste here**

is this story perfect? no but I'm not gonna hire an editor for a fanfic. and everyone's interpretations of characters will be different. especially with child characters who are going through huge changes in the world around them and their personal lives. part of the appeal of fanfiction is 'who would they become if this happened instead?' *sorry I keep writing about starving and not having clean drinking water but I will never stop because that's what I grew up with and it's hell. also phinks drinking water would be compelling since I assume he'd have harder access to clean drinking water

**hunter x hunter is also one of the only stories I have encountered with characters who have backgrounds as fucked up as mine and Togashi's interest in human psychology really stands out.

***like good for you but that was most of my life and you sometimes just have to shut up and get through it. and no I will not put my notes in the right order bc I'm not being paid enough****

****I'm being paid nothing

[herefortheships]

As an anxious overthinker, one of the worst things that can happen to me is having an afternoon appointment. By the time of the appointment, I've already had the entire freaking day to overthink absolutely everything. From how I'm going to act once I'm there, to what's going to happen, what conversations I might have, how long the whole thing is going to take, maybe it wasn't a good idea after all, "this bad gut feeling means I'm not supposed to go there!", etc. I overthink absolutely everything.

[hotvintagepoll]

Danny Kaye (The Court Jester, The Inspector General)—Danny Kaye, idol of my childhood, maker of the weirdest faces! This man SETS HIMSELF ON FIRE and then puts himself out in a bucket in a movie based on a Gogol short story. In the same movie (Inspector General), he flirts by playing a carrot as a musical instrument. In Wonder Man, he's brilliant but struggles with things like riding buses. I have been envious of his fake Italian/French/German/Spanish monologues in The Court Jester for the past three decades. As Walter Mitty, he is SUPREMELY SILLY yet also somehow manages to be a comic foil for none other than Boris Karloff. All this is to say nothing of The William Tell Song (TV, thus not linked, but great.) I adore him.

Burgess Meredith (Of Mice and Men, That Uncertain Feeling, Second Chorus)—I first saw him in Idiot's Delight. He was standing next to Clark Gable on a balcony. I didn't even notice Gable was there, Meredith's scrungle game was too strong. -5'5 1/2 (1.66m) -He is THE weirdest little freak in That Uncertain Feeling, Merle Oberon picks him up in a psychiatrist's lobby. He's a concert pianist but he hates that people pay to hear him play, he can't stand them watching him. Vases offend him. He sees himself in an abstract painting. He's an absolutely chaotic gremlin and I love him SO much -He plays PENGUIN in the old Batman series!! What's scrunglier than that?! -"Was fascinated by the subject of non-human intelligence, particularly dolphins. He once believed that a dolphin somehow called to him for help in the middle of the night while he was staying at a friend's home on the beach. He ran out and found the dolphin, caught in a net under a dock down the beach, although there was no way he should have been able to know it was there. He released it, saving its life. He believed it had made some sort of connection with him, perhaps telepathic, to call for help." [IMDb] -He will forever be my favourite portrayal of George from Of Mice and Men, his speech about "seeds" and dreaming about a farm of his own wrecked me -In Tom, Dick and Harry, he's one of three suitors courting Ginger Rogers. It's zany and ridiculous, an absolute rollercoaster. He teachers to bowl with his sleeves rolled up. He drives a 3-wheeled motorcycle -He's in a MUSICAL with FRED ASTAIRE they're romantic rivals for PAULETTE GODDARD. He also wears a bucket hat. (Second Chorus) -His hair is VERY floofy in his early roles, I think that should be taken into consideration 4:54: [link to whole movie, editor has not watched it + can't vet but confirmed his hair is fluffy for the minute she did watch]

This is round 1 of the contest. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. If you're confused on what a scrungle is, or any of the rules of the contest, click here. Reminder that this is a movie poll, not a TV poll, in case any of you were flocking to any bird-brained ideas.

[additional submitted propaganda + scrungly videos under the cut]

Danny Kaye:

He's so stupid. I love him.

Burgess Meredith:

Look at his face! He looks like a little field mouse, and a field mouse is scrungly. Admittedly I know him more from the Twilight Zone, in which he reached levels of peak scrungle, but I believe he deserves a place on this list.

[theliteraryarchitect]

Hitting a wall with your WIP? Try writing about it.

Hot tip: Keep a journal about your writing. When you're feeling stuck, writing down your feelings and thoughts about your WIP can help you find creative solutions. You can use this journal for anything—waxing poetic about how much you love your characters, ranting about how frustrated you feel, exploring new plot ideas or problem areas. It can help if you do this longhand, with a pen, but anything works.

Some ideas of what to write in your writing journal:

Dreams

Random thoughts

Story ideas

Notes about your current WIP

Notes about a book you're reading, or a writer you'd like to emulate

Your feelings about your writing in general, or your current WIP

Plot ideas

Interesting conversations you'd had that you might want to steal for dialogue

Song lyrics that may one day inspire you to write a story

Literally anything that comes into your brain

If writing about writing isn't for you, try drawing or singing about it. Anything that switches up your brain and gives you a new perspective will be helpful. I had a writing teacher once who would have us pace around the room and monologue to ourselves. And I know of several musicians who draw their songs as a way to help them compose.

If you go the journaling route, consider buying a cheap journal. Sometimes buying a nice journal can fill a person with anxiety about what to write in it, because the journal is so… special. Go to the dollar store and buy a spiral bound notebook, or take some paper out of the recycling and staple it together. It might make you feel less intimidated about using it.

Hope this helps!

/ / / / /

@theliteraryarchitect is a writing advice blog run by me, Bucket Siler, a writer and developmental editor. For more writing help, download my Free Resource Library for Fiction Writers, join my email list, or check out my book The Complete Guide to Self-Editing for Fiction Writers.

[spoopdeedoop]

hi i have some disorganized thoughts/hcs abt the found family human doctor au

(one of the thoughts being i should really give it a better name. another being YES this is only the nuwho doctors atm bc that's the only series i've watched so far apologies. if i ever get around to watching classic who i will add them trust)

BEHOLD my random, not at all in-depth headcanons

nine is the only one with a car out of all of them. they all keep bugging him to drive/pick them up from places -- he has mixed feelings about being the assigned taxi driver

both twelve and eleven are teachers -- college professor and preschool teacher respectively. twelve's students love them because he will say the most stupid, hilarious shit with a straight face without even knowing and eleven's students love him because he is the only teacher at the school that will dance with them during musical chairs (he doesn't even play the game. he just dances)

i want to make one of them an actual doctor but i don't think any of them could handle it unfortunately

they all share an an apartment flat on the same level -- nine, twelve and fifteen live in one room, ten, eleven and thirteen live in the one across from them. of course there are other people in the building too but they're all used to the strange loud hyperactivity of that particular flat. i think i'm using the right terminology here. yall know what im talking about

(i'm so tempted to make some companions be their neighbors)

nine and ten are the most insomniac of all of them, so they're used to bumping each other in the dead of night on their way to raid each other's respective fridges or something. very rarely thirteen will join them and they're like "WELL FANCY SEEING YOU HERE"

twelve does sleep, but like. he's nocturnal

eleven and ten hate each other in a sibling kind of way (see: day of the doctor). they are constantly sending each other death threats or tripping each other over. everyone is sick of it

sometimes when they're out shopping you'll hear ten yell "GET OUT OF THE FROZEN FOOD YOU NUMPTY WE ARE NOT BUYING FISH FINGERS" over the aisles and you'll hear eleven whine "WHY DO YOU HATE ME SO MUCH" back

(if you're lucky you'll be able to catch fifteen mumble "why did we put them in the same apartment. are we asking for an eviction notice")

eventually eleven will pick a random stray cat off the side of the road, take her home, and name her bowtie, which is a stupid name, so everyone just defaults to calling her kitty

kitty's favourite person is twelve, to eleven's absolute despair

(my original idea for this was to initially have ten hate the idea of living with a cat, since he's stated full on in the show that he doesn't like cats, but apparently there is some very obscure doctor who comic run in which he falls into a depressive spiral and adopts a cat whom he names rose-the-cat, so he might actually like cats idk?)

anyway ten hates her until he doesn't lmao. he vents to her when there's no one else home and she will Stare at him back and it is a very nice friendship

kitty and nine watch shitty romcom together

they have a joint groupchat together -- half of it is just thirteen and fifteen assigning everyone outfits they find on pinterest and the other half is eleven asking where everyone went (he keeps getting lost when they go out)

nine doesn't know how to download pictures off the internet and so resorts to manually editing memes together to send to the groupchat and everyone's like "girl that's so much more effort........."

(yes he doesn't know how to press save image to camera roll but he knows how to use a photo editor flawlessly. such is the logic of the idiocy of the doctors)

eleven and thirteen get along very well i think. they're the only two of the group to play video games and so they bond over that. they also have ridiculously similar clothing taste

sometimes they'll succeed in getting fifteen to play pokemon with them and then they'll proceed to not see him until the next day when he comes out of his room and goes "you didn't tell me plusle couldn't evolve i've been levelling it up all fucking night"

friday is assigned movie night (it's always big hero 6)

eleven is the only one to actively seek out physical affection, usually really abruptly like clinging to thirteen's back as she passes him in the hall or bapping ten with the palm of his hand until he sighs and gives him a hug. he does expect a platonic kiss on the forehead from anyone before he goes to bed and will complain if he doesn't get one

anyway thats it i'm sick in the head and really sad. if this keeps up i may be forced to actually write a fic

[personastrologyhub]

Degree Series :The Hidden Meaning of the Degree of Gemini: (3°, 15°, 27°)

 ᥫ᭡ ᡣ𐭩 SO I've been diving deep into degree theory recently, partly because I wanted to gain a deeper understand as there is so much to unpack. I started with gemini as I have a lot of gemini energy in my chart, and so its mostly as a reference for myself however I wanted to share some of my findings here to help anyone else—whether you're new to astrology or a seasoned like me—who's interested in learning more about how degrees work in astrology. I plan to do a series covering all the signs, but I wanted to start with Gemini since that's where my focus has been lately.

When we think of Gemini, we often focus on communication, dual energy, quick thinking, and curiosity etc—but did you know that certain degrees of Gemini hold much deeper meanings?

3° Gemini: The Writers' Playground and Paths We Travel 📝🛣️

The 3rd degree of Gemini, we all know that it is traditionally connected to communication but did you know its also connected to the act of writing itself, so like things like —pencils, notebooks, stationery, and paper. I've always had a love for stationary, I would be so happy when my friends would buy me stationary for my birthday. This is the degree of the scribe. If you have placements here, you may have an intuitive connection to putting thoughts into words, making this an ideal degree for writers, journalists, and storytellers, journalling might be good for you.

3° Gemini is also tied to movement—not just short trips like we know but, crossroads, streets, and transportation. It governs traffic, bus stops, junctions, dual carriageways and the various means by which we navigate both physical and mental journeys. If you have planets at this degree, they may influence how you move through the world, both literally and figuratively. The mental agility of Gemini is mirrored in the constant flow of traffic and movement.

15° Gemini also governs corridors, balconies, and gates—the spaces in-between. These are transition zones, just like Gemini, which constantly moves between ideas, identities, and experiences.

This degree extends its reach into daily connections too: from chatting with a neighbor to a quick text or phone call, all short, rapid exchanges of ideas are tied to this powerful degree.

15° Gemini: The Intellectuals and In-Between Spaces 

15° Gemini, we all know that it ties to all things communication, or intellectual work. It’s tied to journalists, literature, and education. radio anchor, radio presenter, news editor, magazine editor, teacher, speaker, publisher, social media marketer, all of that jazz.... It's a great degree for announcers—those who are literally the voice of information, whether on radio or TV.

This degree even links to personal documents like passports, driver’s licenses, or IDs—anything that helps you move between spaces, both literal and symbolic.

27° Gemini: Commerce, Communication, and the Power of Connection 

Finally, 27° Gemini reveals a connection to commerce and communication. This degree governs shops, merchants, and the exchange of goods.

—it’s also about the gathering places where exchanges happen. Whether it’s a newsstand, post office, bus stop, or even a bookstore, this degree marks where people meet briefly, exchange ideas or goods, and then move on. It’s where we interact with our environment in fleeting yet meaningful ways.

There’s also a fascinating connection to siblings, twins, and childhood. This degree highlights duality, balance, and the ability to juggle two or more worlds at once—whether it's managing relationships with siblings, or navigating between personal and professional lives.

If you have placements at 3°, 15°, or 27° Gemini, pay attention to how these areas show up in your life. Whether you’re connecting ideas, working in a commercial setting, navigating different environments, or fostering quick, intellectual exchanges, these degrees reveal the dynamic, multifaceted nature of Gemini.

From writing and communication to short trips and business exchanges, these degrees show where the everyday world of ideas, movement, and commerce comes alive.

[koyagifs]

WANTEEZ Ep. 3 - there is not a sound coming out of my mouth

77K likes | 1M views |

Shh-shsh shshsh shshsh 👊

pairing: idol! reader x ot8! ateez summary: episode three recap bold: editors f/n - full name s/n -stage name

In TEEZ high school, it's P.E class time

You stood behind the boys, wearing the same outfit as them but having your jacket on. You had let out small giggles here and there as you all copied the teacher warm up exercise.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

You sat beside Jongho, a playful smile on your face as you reached to dip your finger onto the charcoal. Jongho, clearly thinking the same as he followed your action without you realizing it.

"ah teacher, i shall give an example!" You said cheerfully, wrapping your arm around Jongho who got up quickly. The boys laughing at your antics as you tried to justify your actions.

Princess vs Maknae !

" you're going down baby bear!" You said, smiling widely as Jongho just stared at you.

Once the whistle blew, you quickly rush at him, his eyes widen as he tried to dodge your hand. Determined to win, Jongho did the same, causing you to step out of bound.

You pouted, going to wipe your hand off before Jongho came closer and smeared the charcoal on your face. A gasp leaving your lip as Jongho returned to his seat.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡

As the teacher finished explaining the rules, you were quick to go and partner with the tallest person, which happens to be Mingi and Yunho.

Yunho chuckled, patting your head, " don't worry i'll protect our princess"

As the game continued, the teacher finally decided it was time for everyone to play individually. To no one surprise, you were the first out soon after.

As Yunho hit the last two players, you jump up and down before halting. " where was that before i got out !?"

The boys laughing hysterically as they shook the other team hand.

[justmeinadaze]

Colors (Part of Halsey AU)(Eddie X You)

A/N with Warnings: You don't have to have read the others to understand this but it helps. Part of this AU. While the universe is a Steddie pairing, this is about one of the readers experiences with Eddie when he was an addict. I'm writing one for Steve next. I would place it between part one and two of the series.

Warnings: 1994 is healing Eddie munson and 1985 is Toxic/Addict Eddie with Fem Girlfriend Reader, SMUT, slight dirty talk, comfort, needy intimacy

ANGST, Eddie unintentionally triggers Y/N and she disassociates, Steve uses his therapy skills to bring her back and help them both, Eddie exhibits toxic behaviors (yelling, degrading, throwing things, accuses her of cheating), He unintentionally throws something and almost hits her. Mentions of Steve's alcoholism. Wayne scolds his nephew and worries about him "ending up like Allen". A teacher is a dick and belittles Eddie.

The flashback doesn't have a happy ending but the 1994 timeline does. Obviously because events in the series...

Word Count: 4815

Donate/Tip me <3

"You're dripping like a saturated sunrise You're spilling like an overflowing sink You're ripped at every edge but you're a masterpiece And now you're tearing through the pages and the ink."

1994

“Hey, pretty girl.”, Eddie beams from his place at the stove where he was making dinner. “How was your day?”

“Good. Long.”, you sigh as you hop up on the stool by the counter as you watch him move around. “My editor wants me to rewrite the article and he just kind of made me feel bad.”

The metalhead’s back straighten as he turned to face you. 

“What did he say?”

“He kind of insinuated that I’m slacking and that I’ve turned in way better work than this. He’s right ya know?”

“What? No, sweetheart. Fuck that guy!”, he shouted as he turned back to his pan to stir the food. “Y/N, you writing is amazing! That asshole fucking sitting on his high horse behind his desk like he’s God or something dictating what’s ‘acceptable’. He should feel fucking lucky he has someone as talented as you!”

His long hair lightly smacks his cheek as he turns to throw a smile your way but your wide eyes and frozen stature has it falling from his lips. 

“Y/N?”, he coos but you don’t respond. “Baby?”

Tossing the spatula he was holding to the side; he turns off the stove and comes around to cup your face in his palms. 

“Sweetheart, look me. What’s going on?”

You were mumbling something as your mouth moved and he had to place his ear right above your lips to even put any of the words together. 

“What do I have to do? What do I have to do? What do…”

“STEVE!!”

####################

1985

You stare at his empty seat beside you in class when you should be listening to the teacher speak about trivial things like Shakespeare and Hamlet. Eddie had been there that morning when you shared your breakfast with him and Steve knowing they most likely didn’t eat because their vices made them nauseas especially in the mornings. 

Now it was your first class after lunch and he wasn’t here. When he walked away from you, he said he had to go to the bathroom but he would be there before the bell rang. You couldn’t help but envision him hiding in a stall before digging into his pocket to look for the vile filed with powder he felt like he needed to survive. He was probably smearing it along the point between his index and thumb before bringing it to his nose to inhale deeply. He most likely thought about how late he was going to be and how disappointed you were in him but the pull of the high was stronger. 

“Y/N?”, the teacher calls jerking you out of your thoughts. “Do you want to answer my question?”

“I, uh, I’m sorry what was the question?”

“I asked if you thought Hamlet loved Ophelia especially with the way he treated her.”

“Um, I feel like it’s more than what’s on the surface. Hamlet seems to hate her when he says mean things to her and calls her names but he was so consumed by things going on inside his head… that he lashed out and said things he didn’t mean.”

The teacher’s eyes scan you over as the bell rings and kids start to stand to pack up their belongings.

“Alright, class. I’ll see you on Monday. Don’t forget your assignment due first thing Monday morning! Miss Y/N, would you mind staying behind for me?”

You nod as you finish putting away your things before following behind him to his desk where he takes a seat and waits for the last student to leave. 

“Here’s a copy of the worksheet I handed out at the beginning class. Tell him if he skips my class one more time I’m going to have to speak with Principal Higgins and his uncle.” As your lips form into a thin line, you nod again as you reach for the paper, pausing when he doesn’t release it from his grasp. “I know he’s your best friend, Y/N, but you can’t let him keep dragging you down. You are a smart girl and an extremely talented writer. You deserve to excel in life.”

Taking the worksheet, you push it into your backpack and flash him your calmest smile you could muster.

“So does he. Thank you, Mr. Gold. I’ll see you on Monday.”

***

Eddie stirred at the sound of your voice as he forced his eyes open to see a blur standing over him. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Shhh, Eddie. You’re in the library. Come on, it’s time to head home.”

“Is it? Fuck me. I meant to sit down for one second. Ok, let’s go, fuck.”, he grunted as he tripped over his feet and fell into your arms accidently pushing you back. “I’m sorry, baby. I’m ok. I got it.”

As you drove his van, you worried about Steve who was supposed to have dinner with his parents and some of his father clients. Knowing him, after he would binge the booze in the house and then come to the trailer looking for you. You always worried when he went outside drunk, afraid he would cause an accident or if he was walking, ended up somewhere he shouldn’t be. Your parents were out of town this weekend so you planned on staying at Eddie’s to help him with his English homework but knowing them none of that would get done. 

“How was class? Did Mr. Asshole have anything to say?”, he sighed as he turned his body to face you while you drove. 

“No.”, you lied. “But he did give me the worksheet we worked on and then he mentioned we have that homework due on Monday.”

“Fuck, I haven’t even started that. I don’t Hamnie.” His eyes flick towards you when you giggle making him smile softly towards you. “What? Why are you laughing at me, pretty girl?”

“It’s Hamlet, dork.”

“Oh, excuse me.”, he teases before tilting towards you to kiss your cheek and leaning on your shoulder. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you to, Eddie.”

***

“Fuck me.”, he whines under his breath when he sees his uncle’s truck still by the trailer.

Taking a hold of your hand, he practically yanks your arm out of its socket as he pulls you to the door and through the living room. 

“Ed.”, Wayne calls before the boy even makes to the hallway. Sighing, he releases you and takes a step back to meet his guardian. “I got a call from a couple of your teachers today. They said you weren’t in class.”

“I was. They must be mistaken. Y/N can vouge for me since she has a couple with me.”

You stiffen as he points to you but Wayne already understands what his nephew doesn’t seem to. It’s not fair to put you in the middle. 

“I’m not asking her, I’m asking you. Your English teacher tells me you’re about to fail his class and your science teacher said you’re one test away from an F.”

“Ok, ok. Jesus, I’ll do better.”

“You said that last time, kid, and the time before that! I won’t tolerate it anymore. You need to get your act together. When I took you in I promised you’d have a better life! I won’t allow you to end up like Allen!”

Eddie’s entire body straightened as you felt the anger practically radiating from him. 

“I’m nothing like him. Now, don’t you have a deadbeat job to get to?!”

Your heart broke for Wayne when you say his own crack open through his eyes. Grabbing his cap, he shimmied around his nephew and paused by the door. 

“Y/N, would you like me drop you off at home on my way?”

Taking ahold of his hand, you caress it gently with your thumb piercing Eddie’s chest as he watches you comfort his uncle. That was the kind of person you were and one of his favorite things about you. You were so kind and full of love he felt he didn’t deserve.

He was always terrified one day someone would notice that and take you away from them. Or even worse, you would realize you deserved better and leave. No…he couldn’t allow that. Eddie and Steve needed you. Without you they were less than nothing; they were empty. A blank canvas with zero color or a dark room with no light. 

“I’m actually going to stay here tonight, Wayne. Thank you and be careful. It looks like it may rain soon.”

Glancing towards the hallway Eddie had disappeared down, he nods and lightly shakes you hand before letting go. 

“Yeah, it does.”

***

“Fucking asshole. I’m nothing like my dad.”, he grumbled as he pulled out a cigarette and lit the end. “And what about you, huh? Why the fuck didn’t you defend me out there?!”

“I didn’t…I don’t want to be in the middle, Eddie.”

“Bullshit! You put yourself in the middle all the fucking time! Why didn’t you tell me Mr. Gold was going to call him?! Do you want to see me in trouble?!”

“No! He told me if you missed one more class then he would call him.”

“So, you lied to me!? He did talk to you?! Why the fuck did you lie?!”

“Because I didn’t think it was a big deal. You are going to class and I’m going to help you get an A.”

“By fucking him?”

“Excuse me?!”

“You heard me! You and I both know you’re not as innocent as you claim to be, little girl! What else did he say huh?! Tell me!!”

Your jaw tightened as you defiantly planted your feet into the floor. 

“He said I deserved better and that I’m an amazing writer! He thinks I’m going to make something of myself one day.”

“And he’s going to help you right?”, he sneered.

“Yes, you fucking dick! You caught me! He said all I needed to do was meet him after class and if I do whatever he wants he’ll help me get into school just to spite you!”, you lied watching as he slowly got amped up the more you spoke. “Is that what you want to hear?! It seems to be because you accuse me of bullshit like that all the time, Eddie!”

“Because I know you’re not fucking perfect like you pretend to be, you fucking whore! FUCK! Teachers think I’m a fucking failure, you think I’m a fucking idiot apparently, and my uncle thinks I’m like my father. You want to see me like my fucking father, I can show you what Allen is capable of. 

You watched him with wide eyes as he trashed his room around you both muttering things to himself under his breath while the destruction happened around him. You were never afraid of either of them when they got low like this. Neither boy had ever hurt you physically and the viper tongue you had long gotten used to. It was when all sense seemed to fade and the light that usually gave you hope disappeared into the background of their anger that you started to worry. When caution was haphazardly thrown to wind and they were no long present which was rare but happened. 

Like now…

He wasn’t even sure what he threw until your squeak filled the room and a loud shattering crash pushed some of the drug induced fog out of his brain. It took him a moment as his eyes darted around the room looking for you before he realized you were on the floor with your hands covering your head. 

“Y/N?” 

Behind you there was now a hole in his wall the size of the ashtray he threw with ashes suddenly sprinkled all around you. 

“Baby! Oh my god!” Falling to his knees, his hand reached out to dust the mess from your hair but you coward away and his heart shattered. “Sweetheart…FUCK! I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean what I said or…” When he tries to touch you again, you forcefully shove him away. “Baby, please, let me make it up to you. L-Let me hold you.”

The last of your resolve faded away as he reached for you again and this time you allowed him to lift you into his arms, where he pulled you onto his bed and held you tightly to his chest. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. You’re too good for me, princess. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“Eddie…what do I have to do…to show you that I love you both and ONLY you both?”

“Nothing, baby. I know. It’s the blow…fuck…you deserve better. I swear I’m never taking another hit. I hated seeing you afraid of me.”

Closing your eyes, you melted into the frame, his hands shaking as he gently petted your head and kissed your shoulder.

“Y/N?”, he whispered but you chose to pretend to be asleep, to heavy in your trauma exhausted brain to even answer back. “I’m scared. If I ever lost you it would kill me, baby, especially if it was my fault. If I ever… no…I could never hurt you, sweetheart. Not like my dad with my mom…or me. Did you know that black eye I had when you first met me…Allen accused me of ‘being too good for this family’. Popped me so hard… That’s not me…right, baby? I’m not…that bad?

Fuck. The fact that I even have to ask myself that says enough. No more, pretty girl. I’m going to get clean and get my act together. I’m going to be the man you need me to be. I love you so much.” His voice cracks and he clings to you tighter. 

When he finally releases you, you do fall asleep only to be woken up to the bed jostling as someone falls into.

“Steve Harrington!”, Eddie hisses in a murmur. “I have a fucking front door. You’re going to wake her up!”

The boy stumbles not so subtly, still shaking the mattress before rising to his feet. 

“Jesus, dude. What the fuck happened here?”, the jock slurred. 

“I, uh, we… I did too much blow at school and…”

“And? You didn’t fucking hurt her did you?!”, Steve growled.

The sounds of him scurrying off the floor before pushing his friend against the wall fill your ears. 

“Shhhhh!! No, dick. I didn’t fucking hurt her and I never would.”

“Get the fuck off me! I had a long night alright dealing with my parents and their bullshit friends. I don’t need you and your bullshit to!”, the boy shouts with zero regard to the volume of his voice. 

“Steve?”, you call as you open your eyes and face their direction. He was drenched from head to toe from the rain outside and you quickly crawled out of bed realizing just then that Eddie had begun cleaning the mess around the room. “You’re gonna get sick, baby. Let’s get you warmed up and dried off.”

Steve’s eyes softened when you took his hand, leading him to the bathroom so he could shower and change before getting into bed. 

***

The following morning, you awoke to the feeling of fingers in your hair and opened your eyes to lock with Eddie’s tearful, bloodshot ones. 

Without saying a word, you reached out to caress his cheek, swiping your thumb along his face to catch the wetness that stained it. Placing his palm over yours, he tilted his head to kiss your skin and nuzzled into the warmth of your hand. 

When his bottom lip trembled, your own tears began to fall as you pulled his body into yours and held him tightly to you. 

Out of all the many states and emotions you have seen both boys in, you hated this one the most. When the pain, no longer numbed by vice, would leak through. You never wanted to see them hurting and did everything you could to remind them that you were there. You desperately wished there was a way you could take it from them to house it yourself. 

Sometimes you would imagine touching your palm to their chest and blue glow would flow from them to you. They would shine brighter and smile wider; maybe finally be at peace. You were strong. You could handle the heaviness of that glow until they were ready to work through it themselves. 

“I’m not my dad.”, Eddie whimpered as his voice cracked. 

“No, baby, you’re not.”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m so sorry.” Shaking your head, you tilted back so your lips could kiss his. “I get so scared sometimes…I don’t know what I would do without you…”

“I’m not going anywhere, honey, I promise.”

He kissed you again, slowly at first till they became steadily more passionate with his shaking palm gripping your hips to press against his own. In one swift motion, Eddie pulled you from Steve’s sleeping side, underneath his warm frame as his needy kisses promptly travelled to your neck. 

Feeling the movement between your legs, you wrapped your limps around his waist as he shimmied his cock free from his boxers and you licked your palm before reaching down to pump it along his shaft as a heavy pant escaped his lips. Tilting both your heads to look down, you two watch as you move your panties to the side and guide his length inside of you. 

“Fuck, sweetheart.”, he groaned as he collapsed fully on top of you as you circled both your arms around him. 

“I love you so much, Eddie. I know—mmm—I know you’d never hurt me like he did you.” 

As you spoke, the metalhead steadily thrust his hips delivering long, deep strokes that had the head of him deliciously abusing your g-spot while you tried to focus on comforting him. 

“I’m yours and Steve’s. I would—oh my—I would never hurt you or-or leave you for anyone else. I need you.”

Abruptly pushing up onto his palms, his eyes searched your face as he picked up his rhythm.

“You need me, baby?”

You don’t know what made you do it but your hand extended landing directly on his bare chest. You imagined that blue light leaving his heart and wrapping around your wrist, guiding you as your palm moved behind his neck to bring his lips to yours. 

“I’ll always need you, Eddie. Make me cum, honey, please. I-I need to feel you fill me up.” Honoring your request and not caring about the man sleeping beside you, he pumped his hips harder and faster, slamming his cock deep inside you. “Just like that, Eddie, please.”

“Just like that, Y/N? Fuck, say it again. Say you need me.”

“I need you.”

“Again.”

“I need you, Eddie.”

“Ah—again.”

“I need you.”

Taking ahold of your wrists, he pins them beside you head as his own fall into the nook of your neck and his heavy breaths warm your skin. Your body shakes beneath him as the coil snaps and the pillow smothers his grunts as he pounds his release into your cunt. 

As you both pant, you glance towards Steve who was still fast asleep with his head turned towards the wall. When Eddie shifted his gaze to see what you were looking at he couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“Boy sleeps like a rock especially with that whiskey he drinks.” Shifting his gaze to you, he tenderly leans down to kiss your lips. “Tomorrow when we wake up maybe him and I can come up with a plan together on how to get sober.”

Your fingers caress his cheek as he grins and kisses your fingertips. 

***

“Mr. Munson, you seem a bit jittery today.”, Mr. Gold addresses Eddie with an edge as the boy slowly walks to the front to hand him the worksheet with other homework you had given him and worked with him to complete all weekend while you waited for him outside the door after class. 

“Y-Yes, yes, sir. Just, um, trying to get things in order.”

The metalhead just wanted to throw all this bullshit on the man’s desk and leave. He hadn’t had a hit since Friday evening and he felt like his body was trying to kill him. All he wanted to do was go home and lay down with you in his arms. 

“Well, there’s a lot more that needs to be done, son. Did Y/N help you with this?”

“Yes, sir.”

“She’s a sweet girl and very smart. She has a bright future ahead of her.”, the teacher responds absently as he looks through the boy’s assignments. 

“Yes, s-sir. We tell her that all…all the time.”, Eddie winces as he grabs his stomach. 

“Hm. It’s interesting that you tell her that yet you continue to drag her down. She’d probably be in one of our higher courses we offer here but for whatever reason she insists on being where she’s at.”

“Steve and I would never do anything to keep Y/N from being great.”, he growled. “She’s our best friend and we love her.”

“But not enough to grow with her it seems. All right, well, I’ll go over these and input your grade later. Keep showing up and doing the work. Who knows, maybe we can keep another Munson out of jail.”

Eddie’s eyes widen as his brain goes into overdrive before reaching over the desk to grab the paperwork you both had work so hard on and ripped it in half.

“EXCUSE ME!”

“You’re not fucking excused, asshole!”

“Eddie, wait—“, you called trying to stop him as he shoulder checked you and powerwalked down the hallway. “How could you say that to him?!”

You teacher grumbled as began picking up the pieces of paper around him. 

“He did a couple of assignments, Y/N. He has a lot more things he needs to do to show me he actually wants to do better and this isn’t a tick in his favor.”

“How the fuck is he supposed to do better when you belittle him like you just did?! He worked all weekend trying to catch up!”

“Watch your mouth, Miss Y/L/N, or I swear to god I’ll call your parents.”

“Call them! Hell, I’ll tell them when I get home what an asshole you are! You’re a teacher! You’re supposed to guide him not bring him down!”

Turning down the hall, you went on the hunt for him, ending up in the parking lot where he was sitting in his van.

“Babe?”

A small smirk painted his lips as he lazily leaned his head to face you. 

“Hey, sweetheart.”

“Eddie…please…”

“No, baby. Everything…everything’s ok. I actually feel a lot better, you know. Fuck that guy. I’m going to show him how amazing I am and pass that stupid class with flying colors so I can shove it in his face!” 

As his glassy eyes meet yours, your heart shatters into pieces once more as you wonder to yourself why you even bothered to get your hopes up this time when every time before has always had the same outcome. 

“Come on, pretty girl. Let’s get something to eat.”

 After climbing into his van, he inhales and rubs the bottom of his nose with his finger before glancing toward the glovebox to make sure it was closed and reaching for your hand to hold onto his lap. 

###################

1994

Ice touching your arm startles you back into the moment as you gasp and squeeze the hand holding yours. 

“There she is. It’s ok, honey, you’re ok. Breathe. Good girl. Inhale…and exhale…good.”, Steve smiles as he places the cube he was holding back into the cup by his side. His cold fingers continue to run along your skin as he watches your eyes fleet from left to right. “You’re alright. We’re in our apartment in Detroit and your safe, baby.”

“Is she ok?”, Eddie murmurs as he bites the nail on his thumb. “Do we need to go to the hospital or doctor or something?”

Steve calmly shakes his head as his other palm pets your hair. 

“You’ve seen her do this before in high school. She’s disassociating.”

“Because of me? I-I didn’t mean to. I didn’t even think. I—”

Both men watch as your head hangs and you start to sob. You allow Steve to pull you into his arms while he continues to comfort you while his friend waits helplessly on the side lines. 

“Shhhh. We got you, Y/N. You’re safe. Everything is ok. Hey, Ed, why don’t you go make her a bath with those smells she likes?” Without hesitation, he runs that way and the other boy allows him a moment before carrying you to the bathroom. “There we go, pretty girl. There’s no rush ok? You sit here as long as you need to and I’m going to go finish dinner. Is it ok if Munson sits with you?”

You nod and in return he kisses your forehead but before he can leave Eddie grabs his arm. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? What if I scare her again?”

“She’s not afraid of you, Eddie. Trust me. Whatever happened I’m sure you didn’t do it intentionally. It could have been something as small as a smell or as big as a raise in your voice. Whether we like it or not…we’re responsible for her pain… we just have to be there for her and do whatever she needs.”

“Yeah…yeah…hey, um, can you show me what you did out there to bring her back? Just in case in the future, you know?”

“Of course. Right now, though, I think it would be good for you two to talk.”, he smiles as he pats his friend’s back and leaves the room. 

Exhaling out the nerves, he takes a seat on the floor beside the tub facing you as you stared forward. Your gaze shifted towards him, however, when he leaned his head back and accidently hit it a bit too hard causing him to wince as he rubbed his head. 

A little snort laugh left your lips and he grinned as he playfully rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, that’s funny, huh? I think I just lost some lyrics to a few songs with that little bonk.” When his eyes meet yours, he sees that light that had been reflecting through them this past year return and he sighed in relief. “I’m sorry I scared you.”

“You didn’t scare me.”, you murmur. “I think it was just a combination of my day and…”

“And what?”, he urges as he rests his chin on his arm that’s laying on the edge of the tub. 

“I don’t want you change who you’ve become, Eddie. You didn’t do anything wrong. My brain just…sometimes things trigger it…”

“Because of what we did.” Your head hangs but he immediately places his fingers under your chin to lift it again. “Baby, we own it. That’s what therapy and rehab taught us. We can never take that back even though every day I wish we could. I wish I could just touch your brain and take away all the pain we caused but I can’t.”

“I always wanted that with you two. I thought of me touching your chest and…”

“Yeah but sweetheart it’s no longer just you facing this alone. You don’t have to carry it alone.”

“My editor said the things he said and then you raised your voice. It reminded me of that incident with Mr. Gold.”

“Pfft, yeah…Mr. Asshole.”, he chuckles as he shakes his head. “I heard he’s not teaching anymore thank God. I, um, that was when I accused you of wanting to sleep him. I threw things including the ashtray…”

When you nodded, he swallowed at the memory. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about it? I don’t mind. It helps me to understand you know?”

You two talked until the water got cold. 

Eddie brought you to the bedroom to dry you off, put you in comfy pajamas, and brush your hair. By the time Steve said dinner was ready, you wouldn’t have been able to tell anything had happened at all. 

The metalhead threw you over his shoulder and you giggle all the way to the couch where he lightly tossed you down to sit beside you. 

“Don’t get used to this, rockstar. Here you go, honey.”, the other boy teases and hands you both your plates. 

“Thank you. Oh, hey Steven! Fork?”, Eddie sasses, grin widening when you laugh. While they playfully banter, you grab the remote and flip through the tv. “Oh, princess, look!”

“Yes!”, you beam as you both get more comfortable and Steve whines as he places himself beside you. 

“Why? Do we have to watch blood and cuts?”

“Yes.”, you and the metalhead announce at the same time. 

Eddie smiles down at you and tilts down to kiss you lips. 

###########

[jockw]

Pas problème, mon amour

Strangely, the place I am at is the only one I know that uses colors - specifically was stated that they dislike following the system. Whereas exams don't naturally exist. How bizarre?

On the paper itself, you can see from 20:51 and ending at 21:06 just last year.

C'est une grande different, en plus das best wel behoorlijk grappig dat haar haren zijt te groot

Bah, reference originally from Pinterest (can't find which it was) and honestly that's such a weird way to see old to new art..??

[peaceheather]

Dear fic readers, don't fucking do this

A friend of mine found the following comment on her fic this morning:

I would really like to see you try harder. I know what you're capable of and I think you can do better. I've noticed a distinct slump in your writing over the past few years and it's so disheartening. You can do better, and you should.

For the record, this fic is essentially a fandom classic, and the author has been writing for over 20 years, so it's not like either of us are spring chickens, okay? So as a PSA, I'm sharing with you my response to that comment, because if you don't know this already, you really need to figure it out.

Hi, quick question, who the fuck do you think you are? An English teacher? The author's mom? A paid editor? Did anyone ask for your shitty opinion? I'm guessing not. Do you write? Do you have any idea how much effort goes into a FREE HOBBY GIFT, which you then arrogantly decided to shit all over just for, what, grins and giggles? Do you GRASP that authors have lives and other obligations and that they write for fun? Do you possess the self-awareness to clue in that you, with comments like these, suck ALL the fun out of what is meant to be a hobby? Do you want the author to just stop posting? Because shitty comments like this one are the reason that authors delete their fics, which you would then likely also bitch about, because you feel entitled to their work without paying for it via a little fucking COMMON COURTESY. The only person who can do better here is you. And you really, really should.

I don't usually get this hot, friends. I don't usually stoop to the commenter's level when they get this shitty. But I've seen GOOD AUTHORS chased off, not just from AO3 but from the entire hobby of writing forever, thanks to shitty attitudes like this. You are not entitled to my labor or anyone else's. You're not paying me in anything other than gratitude, and that gratitude is good for my mental health. Conversely, snotty abuse is bad for an author's mental health, and why would they want to keep writing if that's how you pay them for their work?

Entitled, shitty, "hot takes" on how much better you think my writing could be are not welcome if I don't explicitly ask for them, and that goes for literally every author you ever encounter. If they didn't ask, keep it to yourself, or better yet, contribute to fandom by writing your own stories.

Damn.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Editor’s note: This hypothetically open letter was originally posted by its anonymous author on Medium and was rapidly removed as “hate speech.” We found it to be a refreshing dose of honesty, a charming and relatable open letter from one parent to other parents (not to the child, obviously!) about dealing with a challenging and dangerous moment in raising children, especially “weird” adolescents who search for their identities harder than others and risk making life-damaging mistakes in a way never before possible. We are reposting it here on New Discourses with the permission of the author.

--

By: Donna M.

Published: Mar 5, 2021

My dear, sweet, son,

I’ve got to break it to you: you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

This seems like a cruel thing to point out right now. Clearly, you are struggling and feeling pretty awful about things. I can see that you are in a rough patch, and one of the first rules of parenting is to not pile on. The world is pretty heavy on your shoulders. You’re fifteen. There’s a pandemic going on. But here I come anyway. I’m about to throw more on you.

When you were two ­– a happy, chubby, little tyke in pull-ups, you watched the world with wary eyes behind the thumb in your mouth. You leapt with joy in the rhythm of the toddle music classes. You chattered and shared stories about your stuffed animals. You loved your little sister. Enjoyed cookies and finger painting. That was all pretty normal.

But you also started to count to one thousand on our walks. And you started to call out the store names as we drove around. And you preferred reading books rather than playing with the other two-year-olds at preschool. And you hated sitting in the circle when instructed. And you hated the feel of blue jeans. And you threw big tantrums when you lost any kind of game. In other words, you started to show signs that you were… weird.

The grandparents were the first to notice. They said gentle things like “You oughta keep an eye on that one,” and sent us links to Wall Street Journal articles about child prodigies. And then the other parents in the play groups started to comment; “He’s pretty intense, huh?” And the teachers were on to it pretty quickly. They started to use fancy terms like “asynchronous development.”

By third grade, we realized you were different, but we still didn’t realize you were weird. Truthfully, we’re used to people like you. Our family is full of engineers, artists, musicians, computer programmers, and a lot of “free-thinkers.” Family gatherings always have chess, political debates, and quartets around the piano. That’s just us.

And besides, you had a small but solid group of friends. There was Pokémon, then Minecraft, then Magic, then Dungeons and Dragons, then Catan. You were never in the center of things, but you weren’t alone.

But then, in middle school, things started to change. By 7th grade, school finally started to require some effort, and it turned out you were pretty disorganized. People kept calling you smart, but the teachers were annoyed at your humor, and frustrated that you wouldn’t or couldn’t follow the guidelines for assignments. Classmates didn’t appreciate your frank (if accurate) descriptions of their efforts. I’ll admit, we got pretty frustrated with you, too.

And then puberty arrived, with its triple curse of acne, braces, and bizarre growth. The girls appeared to have it all together (I know they don’t, but they do appear that way). And the popular boys seemed to know exactly what to do. They can talk sports to each other, they brag about their romantic exploits. They never get in trouble for stupid reasons like forgetting an assignment three times in a row. Your anxiety started to kick in, and it seemed like you got smaller. And some of your guy friends moved on.

So you drifted over to the weird-o crowd. Well — I’m not sure what you call yourselves, but that’s what we would have called you back when I was in school. At different schools these are the geeks, or the theater kids, the math team kids, or the artsy-fartsy kids. This used to be where the gay kids ended up, but I think they’re more dispersed now. You get some kids whose parents are going through some rough times. Some girls with anorexia. A few boys who are edgy and angry. Kids with a great sense of humor and big hearts.

And some of these kids are really passionate. Just full of righteous anger about the injustices of the world. And some of them are dramatic. And truthfully, that looks pretty attractive to you. Because you share some of that confusion and anger about the world. And though you may not be sure what you think or what you feel, you are certain you don’t want to be on the bad side. You certainly aren’t like those popular boys with their suave charm and dominating manners. You’re not like them at all.

You’re actually more like those vibrant girls who can speak for hours about their ideas. Well, you would be if you could find the words to speak. And there is something so fascinating about those girls, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. You’d never think about talking to those girls anyway, because that’d be weird. Because you are weird. You’ve never been good at chit-chat, or eye contact. Or girls. And besides, you wouldn’t want them to get the wrong impression. You understand that your peers are starting to date, but you really don’t see the point. Sex is still gross and weird to you. It’s better to just call yourself “asexual” or “pansexual.” It’s like a get-out-of-jail-free card that helps you avoid the whole mess. And your group of friends tell you that you are super cool and brave for being able to say that about yourself.

But you’ve fallen into a funk. Anyone can see that. But computer games help. And there’s always trying to beat the speed record for that one game you’re kinda good at. And that one guy on reddit always has good tricks. And the people on that message board seem to get your humor.

So when one of them posts a meme about trans rights, it makes sense that you’d check it out. You’re curious! You’re a free thinker! You’re not like the normies. And the web quiz hits home. You do feel discomfort with your body. You don’t like sports. You do wonder what it would be like to be a girl. You’ve always felt like something was different about you.

You’re right. There is something different about you.

But you’re not trans, you’re just weird.

So we’re right here for you. We’ll always be here for you. But those online folks who urge you to “crack your trans egg” and rush to hormones and surgeries don’t know you at all. They don’t know that gifted kids and ADHD kids and Autism kids and Asperger’s kids are slower to develop emotionally and sexually. They don’t know that sexuality takes time and experience to figure out, and that the majority of trans teens seeking medical treatment haven’t even masturbated or kissed someone yet. They don’t know that 80% of trans children end up becoming comfortable with their birth sex if you just give them time. They don’t know that there are increasing numbers of desisting and de-transitioning people in their twenties. They don’t realize that hormones permanently stunt your growth, decrease your IQ, and can cause sterility. They don’t know that these hormones are prescribed off-label and there’s no research on the long-term outcomes. They don’t even know that the most recent research shows that short-term outcomes are clearly worse.

They don’t realize that you’re weird. But I do. You’re weird, kiddo. You’ll figure that out in a year or two. But that’s okay. We are all weird. And I love you anyway. You’re going to be just fine.

==

You always hear stories and justifications like, "she never liked wearing a dress," or "he always hated having his hair cut." This is post-hoc confirmation bias. Not only does this confirm everything critics say about this being a movement based on gross stereotypes, but they always leave out things like, "she refused to eat anything yellow," and "he was obsessed with elevator and crossing buttons and would cry if he wasn't the one to light it up."

It's okay to be weird.

[tryslora]

learning sentence level editing

It’s no secret that I hate editing.

I’ve told this story before: When I was in high school, I had an English teacher who told us on our first day of sophomore honors English that she would not give an A for a first draft. She had a rigorous outlining/drafting process that she was determined to teach us. Me, I had undiagnosed ADHD and was a dyed-in-the-wool pantser. So I resolved on that first day that by the end of my time with her, I would get an A on a first draft.

My final essay of junior year AP English (yes, same teacher two years in a row), I wrote about Victorian morals and literature. I read it aloud. I got an A. I only ever wrote one draft.

What that taught me was how to write very technically clean drafts, something that has stayed with me for almost four decades now. Which is great!

What it did not teach me was how to be patient enough to properly edit. And I have never really learned. In fact, that is one of my ADHD sticking points (yes, I know, that’s obvious from my reaction to her statement in the story above). I often feel that a large part of the reason I have never made it as a writer—have never broken into tradpub—is because I do not have the patience to not only write, but then create an outline from the draft, then rewrite, then do it all over again and fiddle with each sentence until it’s perfect.

I’m learning, but I’ll admit, I’m still not there, and I’m not sure I ever will be where novels are concerned. 

But right this moment, I’m feeling very accomplished and proud of myself. I had a short story that every time I worked on it, it grew. Every time I cut it, it felt like it lost its heart and like the taste of the words stopped feeling like mine. My voice disappeared.

I had finally worked out a version of it that was just under 7500 words long, and I thought it was decent. It got no traction, and I was frustrated. I put it up for critique on SFFOWW (a critique group site) while I was active there a year and a half ago. It was chosen for an Editor’s Choice review, and the first half of it got some great comments. Which I promptly had to ignore because I was dealing with other editing problems.

I returned to it recently, because I saw a call I wanted to send it to. The problem was, the call was for stories under 6k, and I wasn’t sure I could cut this story again and still retain its punch. But hey. The biggest feedback I got was about how I handled my descriptions and dialog, and the amount of repetition that slipped into my words. So I absorbed that, and I dug into the story, and I started ripping it apart.

I didn’t edit it, exactly, nor did I completely rewrite it. I printed it. I read it twice. Then I placed it on the desk and went a few paragraphs at a time and started with a blank file and filled it in. Some pieces went in verbatim. Most of it changed. Huge chunks disappeared, and a few new things appeared. Some of it got rearranged. The wordiness disappeared.

Here’s an example…

Before:

"You get one hour," Lana says softly. "One hour with him, and then you're leaving him behind. You're taking your fate and you're setting him free."

After:

"One hour," Lana says. "Then take your fate with you and set him free."

The new version of the story came in under 6k. I did it, and the best part is, I don’t hate it. In fact, this was sentence level revision of a style I had never done before. The closest I’ve come to it is editing flash fiction to be under very tiny wordcounts (or drabbles of exactly 100 words, which gods, those take me longer than writing a short fic!).

I’m not sure I could’ve done this without the editing I did for Into the Split over the last many months. I had to dig into that in ways I have never edited a novel before, and it prepared me to dig even more deeply into this short story.

I’m learning. I guess you can teach old dogs some new tricks.

[finnlongman]

If one were to want to read the Irish myths in the original language, would it be better to learn old or middle irish? how much difference is there between them? a lot of resources/books I've found focus on Old Irish, or at least that's what the titles say. But when I've looked at the original texts for a lot of the tales, i cant actually tell if what I'm looking at is old or middle irish.

Neither, do Early Modern Irish and join me in hell, lmao.

Realistically due to manuscript survival, the majority of longer narrative texts are in Middle Irish or later, so if your interest is "reading stories", that's what you're going to end up dealing with. Very, very few people would just sit down and read a medieval Irish text the way you might read a passage of modern Irish, though this is partly because many of them are in dreadful editions that require a lot of work just to use, and in turn this is often because of illegible or damaged manuscripts. A more realistic goal would probably be trying to get to the point of being able to translate medieval texts, or to compare other translations with the original.

But most learning resources for medieval Irish are Old Irish. That ... doesn't really matter? Like, you start with Old Irish because it's the most complex grammar that's the most different to, e.g. Modern Irish. And then you just sorta relax your grammar and lose your infixed pronouns and gain independent pronouns etc and you wind up with Middle Irish without having to learn a separate thing. We had exams on trying to tell the difference when I was doing my MA and it can be Challenging, especially since there's a lot less definitively Old Irish than people originally thought, and because things are often preserved in later manuscripts with updated spellings.

Plus, many of those horrible editions that I mentioned were done by editors who decided to reconstruct the spelling according to what they thought it should be, or standardised all the verbs, or otherwise emended the text in such a way that a lot of its definitive dating features are now invisible. So if you're looking at an edited text, it can be incredibly challenging to gauge the language and thus the likely date.

Anyway, the textbooks like to show you nice proper grammatically correct Old Irish with all its infixed pronouns squarely in place and behaving themselves, and then no text you look at will ever look like that, at all. It's great fun. There just aren't textbooks and resources for learning Middle Irish specifically (probably because anyone working on Middle Irish is going at some point to need to deal with Old Irish features, and also because of the field's historical trend towards focusing only on the oldest versions of things they could find). But you will find resources for Old Irish that incorporate texts with Middle Irish features.

You can also go the other way, which is to learn Modern Irish, which is much easier due to the wider availability of resources and teachers, and then just kinda work backwards. I did not do this so I cannot advise on the best approach there. I will say that I am finding my modern Irish more useful for most of the Early Modern stuff I do than my Old Irish, but that is also because I have substantially more modern Irish than I have Old Irish at this point, and the Old Irish at least aids me in guessing how to approach particularly heinous verbs.

(It is miles easier to eyeball an untranslated 15th century text and have a vague sense of what it means than it would be to do the same with a tenth century text, especially with how rusty I am on Middle Irish at this point. So if I am posting excerpts of a text and noting that I'm just doing the translation on the fly it is going to be an early modern text 99% of the time.)

Rough dates, fyi: 600-900 Old Irish, 900-1200 Middle Irish, 1200- Early Modern Irish. Realistically you have Middle Irish texts being written in the fourteenth, fifteenth centuries and of course things also get copied into later manuscripts and preserve older language, so these are only very broad approximations. TBC 1's earliest MS is ~1106, the Book of Leinster is ~1160, so firmly towards the end of the Middle Irish period, but they still have bits of Old Irish in there, esp. R1. Stowe is 15th century in a 17th century manuscript with modernised spelling but often it's Middle Irish in grammar. It's a whole mess. Good luck lol

[Apologies that this is not the most coherent or detailed answer I've ever written. I am very tired right now]

[bfire92]

Feeling like I am seeing a lot of posts lately about "you have to write the fanfiction like THIS for it to be accurate". And though I appreciate the enthusiasm, please remember, this is fanficiton. Most of which is written by amateurs.

Yes, striving for accuracy in characterisation or world building is a great thing. I'll applaude those who spend hours researching details.

But one thing I see - online, when I teach, when I talk to teachers, when I read articles on the issues we are facing in schools, when I see how much the activism movement has dropped in today's youth - is that a lot of young people struggle with perfectionism. I mean, my generation had it bad, and today's has it even worse. I see class after class of teens unwilling to raise their hands to ask questions, because they don't want to look dumb in front of their peers. They don't dare engage in discussions, in case they are wrong.

You're writing fanficiton or making fanart? Awesome! You can develop it and become better and better. But don't strive strive perfection.

Make it cringy. Make it inaccurate. As long as you make it, and stay humble about the fact that you don't necessarily have all the facts.

You're making fanart for free. You don't have a peer review system, an editor at a publishing house, or sensitivity readers. You don't have to spend six months nitpicking every piece of your art to make it good for everyone.

And if you consume fanart you don't like? Keep it to yourself, don't nitpick on the artist.

Go out there and be an amateur - and make something bad.

[squirrellypoo]

The many occupations of fic Louis de Pointe du Lac

I’ve been reading a lot of fic to get me through the long wait to season 2, and I’ve been delighted by the sheer diversity of professional occupations writers have imagined for Louis. Here’s a list off the top of my head of ones I’ve read and enjoyed, though please do tell me in the comments if I’ve missed any!

Spa owner and massage therapist in "You're the one, designed for me"

Fashion photographer in "Let the flesh instruct the mind"

Coffee shop owner in “It’s like a sucker punch straight to my heart” by @thefairylights

Chef in "Saveur de la Maison" by @suikamelon6

Ballet dancer in "Meet me at the barre" by @dancermk

Club promoter in "Grenadine" by @penguinsandbats

Nanny in "Cord of Communion" by @brightfelon

Sugar baby in "Music when the sun goes down" by @mythicaltzu

Cabin crew in "The Mile High Club" by @bronzeriot

Publishing editor in "Brooklyn Baby"

Bar owner in "Under the Blood Mood" by @revolution-starter

University lecturer in "Practical Ethics" by @prouvaireafterdark

Teacher in "Your mouth and madness" by @brightfelon

Art gallerist in "The Saint" by @revolution-starter

Crown prince in "Part of Your World" by @weather-mood

Bartender in "My companion heart" by @mythicaltzu

Whereas Lestat is nearly always musician/rockstar/music producer (which makes sense since that's canon). Though I must give a special mention to his porn star career in "Pretty Boy" 👀

EDIT: I went and made a fic occupation post for Lestat now, too!

Apologies if I’ve mis-tagged or forgotten to tag any authors here, I’ve tried to match them up from AO3 references where possible!

[smehur]

Drarry fic recs #4

Marginal Notes by @blamebrampton

When you're 18, and nothing is as it was meant to be, sometimes it can be hard to let the right people know what you are thinking. Thankfully, Draco Malfoy owns a quill.

What a delightful story! I loved the thoughtful, grounded, calm Draco and how well he applied his wit (and the penchant for fixing things?) to solving other people's problems. It's a bit on the side of wishful thinking - I don't really believe someone could change that much over night - but it's nice wishful thinking that I enjoyed and would happily inflict on myself again. Among other things, I enjoyed the crisp, flawless writing. It's not often the editor in me wouldn't change a single word in a fic. I very much plan to read BB's entire catalogue.

The Boy from the Piano Shop by @soliblomst

After going blind in a reckless attempt to avenge Ginny's death, Harry battles with severe depression. One day, he stumbles upon a quaint piano restoration shop in the heart of London and meets the owner, a kindly old man, and his introverted young apprentice, whose voice sounds strangely familiar. As Harry and Draco slowly reconnect through private piano lessons, the small workshop becomes Harry's refuge, offering him a glimmer of hope in a world without eyes.

Finally got to read this fic everyone's talking about. And for good reasons! It's heartbreaking and wholesome, starkly realistic and hopelessly romantic, all at once. I'm often annoyed by shallow depictions of low self-esteem that goes with depression, especially when it's used as an artificial obstacle in the way of romance ("I'm not good enough for you, so even though I love you, I'm breaking up"), and this is one of the few stories (by which I mean all my reading, not just fanfiction) where I could completely believe it, and sympathize with it. (Bonus points for not being used as an obstacle in the way of romance.) The general lack of obstacles in the way of romance was incredibly refreshing and welcome, as was the lack of drama around the revelation that Harry Potter is secretly friends with Draco Malfoy. Everything is very mature, to the point where I think the story would be better set in their 30s than in their 20s, but I didn't mind. Harry's grief is all-present and at times, harrowing, but never gratuitous, and it's well-balanced by the peace and joy he finds in Draco's company. The two scenes where Draco unexpectedly dons a scarf are etched in my memory forever. An incredible piece.

i stay by @hogwartsfirebolt

The darkening sky is dangerous for the shape of Harry’s desire, it makes it seem reasonable, as though it were a natural conclusion of having Draco once again within reach, rather than the mirage it actually is.

I said it before, and I'll say it again: this fic is exquisite. Tense and tender in perfect proportion and filled with a dazzling array of sensory details that painted each scene like a work of art. Although I could see what was coming in the end (thanks to expert foreshadowing), the finale still stole my breath away. A wonderful read!

All Life is Yours to Miss by Saras_Girl & podfic by originally

Professor Malfoy's world is contained, controlled, and as solitary as he can make it, but when an act of petty revenge goes horribly awry, he and his trusty six-legged friend are thrown into Hogwarts life at the deep end and must learn to live, love and let go.

Oh, this was such a joy to listen. I think I had a smile on my face for the whole duration of the podfic (about 12 hours), minus the few minutes when there were tears instead. I don't know where to start with the praise. The meticulously constructed world of Draco's self-imposed loneliness? The supporting cast of interesting and well-rounded original characters? The tangible, eminently relatable trials and tribulations of a teacher's life? Or maybe the deceptively simple concept at the root of the story, allowing Draco to break out of his shell on his own? Oh, how I love this gentle, fragile, vulnerable Draco hiding behind impatience and aloofness and his sharp tongue. And the fearless, unstoppable Harry, his bouts of bad temper and his naked honesty. And Stanley, with that inevitable, ill-timed tack-tack-tack! Everything felt so true, so real, so close, I felt just as exposed and frightened as Draco, just as desperate at his inability to make a move. I know I said this half a dozen times by now since I started reading fic in this fandom, but I can't help it. This may be the best fic I've ever read.

Correction! The best fic I've ever heard! The reading was impeccable, possibly the best I've heard so far, and infused the story with even more life and love and laughter. A beautiful, unforgettable experience.

Heartbeat by @saxamophone (eight_of_wands)

Harry hates Draco. Draco hates Harry. Only it's not hate, not even a little bit. Featuring: a cooperative independent study, golden hour on wrecked sheets, water from fountains of dubious origin, purple Mardi Gras beads, and a bird with silly legs. Also featuring: heated arguments, infidelity, unquenchable desire, and heartbreak. Over and over again.

I'll be honest: this fic did not grip me at once. I could even say I struggled through the first few stances. But then came the understanding of what "I hate you" means and I read on with eyes wide and heart thumping (Malfoy, Malfoy, Malfoy) and I was so very richly rewarded. Among all the things I loved about it, the most memorable are the incredibly vivid images and impressions of New Orleans, and the moment of searing, all-consuming jealous rage that I regret to say I could relate to all too well. The confrontations were exquisite, the dialog sparking with tension and more importantly, with truth. There's no melodrama here to create suspense, it's all raw and real and indeed, heartbreaking. But hearts can mend. :)

Many, many, heartfelt thanks to all the authors in this amazing fandom and to all the readers helping spread the word. 💞