simple-study-of-story

[simple-study-of-story]

A fox-eared halfling lay in a clearing surrounded by dense berry bushes and towering fir trees. Their head was cradled in the tree’s roots and their tail curled around their body as they picked off berries from the nearest bush, popping them in their mouth one after another. Birdsong echoed through the branches as the sun reached the peak of its day journey. The halfling yawned, the sun's heat making them lazy.

From above the clearing, a crow glided down to the halfling's feet. The halfling sat up, curling their legs away from their crow companion and folding them up underneath them. “Hey Kiki, I was wondering where you had flown off to.”

CAW! Kiki the crow looked at them expectantly.

They plucked some berries from the bush, holding it out to Kiki. “You want some?”

CAW! Kiki gave them a look, as if glaring.

The halfling blinked. “What? These berries not enough for you?” They tossed the berries into their mouth.

CAW CAW!

The halfling felt around their pockets and pouches. “Nope, no nuts today Kiki, sorry.”

CAW! CAW CAW! Kiki pecked at the dirt before the halfling's feet.

“Oh come on, it's midday! The best time for a nap and you want me to get you nuts? You can look for them on your own!”

CAW CAW!

“Ugh, you're so picky, just eat the berries.”

CAW! Kiki flapped their wings, landing between the halfling's fox ears and pecking at their forehead.

“Hey! Stop that!” The halfling swatted at them. The crow jumped, half hovering over the halfling's head to dodge their hands before landing and pecking at them again.

“Okay okay! Just get off me!” The halfling waved the crow off their head as they stood, brushing the dirt from their clothes. “And sit on my shoulder, not between my ears.”

CAW! Kiki settled on the halfling's right shoulder, looking as if they were smirking.

The halfling sighed. “Are you sure you don't want me to just take down a rabbit or something?” Kiki nipped at their nose. “Fine, fine, nuts it is.”

With Kiki the crow on their shoulder, the halfling began their journey to the nearest village. As they travelled, the halfling thumbed the coins in their pouch, counting silently. Their tail flicked anxiously as they found the main path heading to the nearest village known as Rivera. They had visited the village a couple times — most times to get Kiki higher quality food than the carcasses they tend to find — and found that the people there were rarely receiving to outsiders or passing travellers, much less a fox halfling.

Something must have changed since the last time they visited, because the main road came to be more and more congested with people as they neared the village, which was strange, given that the village had nothing of interest. Their tail relaxed, ears still on alert, and with that, they told Kiki to find a spot on one of the houses before entering the village.

It was a street market, full of merchants and vendors selling their wares and food. The halfling felt their stomach rumble; the food smelled absolutely delicious. The crowd made it harder for the halfling to catch the wary stares of those they passed, but made it harder for those same people to give them space. Perfect.

As the halfling made their way through the crowds, their claws silently fished their way into every purse, bag, and satchel within reach. Coins, gems, and jewels disappeared into the halflings various pockets and pouches. They came to a vendor surrounded by birdfeed and nuts, where they counted their coins before buying a decently sized bag of mixed, unseasoned nuts enough to last at least two weeks, assuming Kiki didn't eat them all in the first three days. They thanked the vendor and moved to walk away when the vendor put a hand on their shoulder. “You're five gold short.”

The halfling looked at them with a raised eyebrow. “No? I gave you ten gold, that was the price you gave me.”

“Liar. I said fifteen.”

The halfling stared at them, giving the vendor an awkward chuckle after a few seconds. “You said ten gold. I gave you ten gold. And get your hand off me.” The halfling shrugged the vendors hand off their shoulder.

The vendor scowled. “I know a thief when I see one.”

“How rude of you to stereotype.”

“Not a stereotype if it’s true.”

The halfling shrugged. “I suppose. Ta ta now!” They waved good bye to the vendor before diving into the crowd, their small size keeping them just out of sight.

They made it halfway to the village end when the vendor shouted, “Swindling cheat!”

*Guess he realized those coins were fakes,* the fox halfling smirked. That’s what he gets for trying to swindle me first. Chaos erupted in their wake as they weaved through the crowd, the vendor shouting and shoving people aside as they followed suit. “Catch that trox!”

The fox halfling ignored him, making it past the end of the village and running down the main road until they reached their home forest, climbing up the nearest tree to rest in its branches. They leaned their head back against the tree’s trunk. “Kiki, get your bird butt over here; I have your stupid nuts.”

CAW! The crow landed on the fox halfling's knee, eyeing the bag of nuts with no shame. The halfling opened the bag and put it in front of Kiki on their leg, but not before grabbing a handful for themselves to taste. “There's no reason for these to cost more than two gold pieces,” they commented, popping the handful in their mouth. “I hope you're satisfied, you little fiend.”

CAW CAW!

“You better make this last longer than the last bag.” Kiki said nothing, burying their head in said bag. The halfling sighed, looking through the tree branches. After a while, they stood up, shooing Kiki out of the bag so they could pack it up. Kiki yelled at them indignantly, to which they responded, “Oh calm down would you? Gods forbid a halfling be thirsty within your vicinity.” They stretched before leaping down from their branch and walking off in the direction of the nearest stream.

The sun looked roughly two hours away from setting by the time the halfling settled themselves next to the river. They pulled out a bottle, filling it in the near-clear water and taking a sip. Behind them, Kiki buried their head in the bag of nuts yet again, paying no mind to the one who bought — well, stole — said nuts. While the bird terrorized the seeds, the halfling travelled downriver in search of fish.

By the time they managed to shoot a couple trout and get back to where Kiki nested next to their stolen goods, the sun was touching the horizon. The halfling lit a small fire as they prepped the fish on a clean slab of stone. They cooked and ate half of one and cleaned up the rest for storage in their pack before laying next to Kiki and watching the sky morph from blue to grey to orange. The stars made themselves known one by one as their stage grew dark. The halfling relaxed, closing their eyes and sighing.

They had no clue what time it was when they woke to the distant smell of smoke. Their ears perked up, listening. The forest was silent, and a silent forest was a deadly forest. They looked over at their supplies to find Kiki gone and only half the bag of nuts left. The halfling quickly packed the food into their bag before scampering up the tree they were sleeping against. Carefully balanced at the top, they scanned the tree line. A wall of thick smoke stood tall in the distance, an amber orange glow at its base. Wildfire? But it's too soon in the year for wildfires. They straightened themselves before taking off into the branches, heading straight to the source.

They began to see charred grey trees beyond the fiery border they approached. The halfling moved parallel to the flames, heading to the forest's border. Voices shouted over the roaring of the flames. “Watch your wax! Switch off if you need to cool!”

Wax? Cool? The halfling coughed hard, breathing in smoke through the cloth covering their face. They climbed down the trees, hiding in the shadows to see who was causing the fire.

Their eyes stung and watered, but through the haze and the blur, they saw… candles? Humanoid, sentient candles, bowing to the trees, their flames lighting the wood. The halfling rubbed their eyes of smoke; surely they were just seeing things right?

The flames from nearby caught on to the tree and branches they were hiding behind, making them stumble away, into the view of the sentient candles. “Hey you!” one of the living candles yelled. “What are you doing!? Get away!”

The halfling ignored them, kneeling down to pick up a charred branch. It was a juniper branch, black with ash and charcoal, dead and brittle. A pale hand grabbed their shoulder, scaring them straight to find themselves looking at an equally pale white face. Their features had a slight shine to them and seemed to droop ever so slightly, save for a royal seal stamped in the center of what would be their forehead. A candle grew from the top of their head, almost doubling their height. The flame at the top of their candle-head flickered with the slight night breeze. “We need you to leave the area, miss,” they said firmly. “Royal orders. It's too dangerous for you to stay here.”

The halfling shrugged the candle-person's hand off, meeting their ember eyes. Something in their chest tightened. The royal seal, “royal orders”… They wouldn't have minded had this have been any other forest, but this forest was theirs. They had lived here all their life, the branches a neverending roof over their head, the only roof over their head. They couldn't just sit idly by and watch half their life burn away.

“Hey.” The candle-person waved their hand in front of the halfling to get their attention. “Did you hear a word I said?” The halfling stood silently, pocketing the juniper branch they were holding. The candle-person sighed. “Come on, let's get you out of here.”

The halfling said nothing as they swiftly sliced the candle from the candle-person's head. The burning wick was smothered in wax as it fell to the ground, its flames no longer a threat to the rest of the forest. The candle-person's eyes dimmed, their limbs weak, their figure swaying, barely standing. The halfling moved them aside, making them fall, before eyeing the other candle people torching the forest.

They were quick and swift with their movements, candles falling from heads one after another, wicks dying in their wake. Few screams were heard in the massacre. There were more candle-heads than they thought there were, but they were never one to leave what they started unfinished.

Far from danger, the one charged with overseeing the work of the wickins looked on, watching the fox halfling cut down one after another. They sighed before sending out the royal guards stationed with them to arrest the halfling — the wickin were not as expendable as they would have liked them to be, unfortunately. The guards managed to subdue the halfling, rendering them unconscious and securing them transport to the royal dungeons for trial. So much for saving the forest, the wickin overseer thought to themself, enjoying the fiery sight before them.

[simple-study-of-story]

How to use Em Dash (—) and Semi Colon ( ; )

Since the ai accusations are still being thrown around, here's how i personally like to use these GASP ai telltales. 🦄✨

Em Dashes (—)

To emphasize a shift / action / thought.

They're accusing us—actually accusing us—of using AI.

To add drama.

They dismissed our skills as AI—didn't even think twice, the dimwits—and believed they were onto something.

To insert a sudden thought. Surely they wouldn't do that to us—would they?

To interrupt someone's speech. "Hey, please don't say that. I honed my craft through years of blood and tears—" "Shut up, prompter."

To interrupt someone's thoughts / insert a sudden event.

We're going to get those kudos. We're going to get those reblogs—

A chronically online Steve commented, “it sounds like ai, idk.”

Semi Colons ( ; )

To join two closely related independent sentences / connect ideas.

Not only ChatGPT is capable of correct punctuation; who do you think it learned from in the first place?

Ultimate pro tip: use them whenever the fuck you want. You don't owe anyone your creative process. 🌈

[simple-study-of-story]

[simple-study-of-story]

putting ideas into a machine and tweaking what it spits out doesn't make you a writer. and it doesn't make you better at the actual task of writing: learning how to measure your ideas, to bring them to life through words, how to spill them across the page, free-flowing yet meticulously contained.  The only way to get better at that is to do it.

[simple-study-of-story]

Going back to old writing is either just like:

1. “Who wrote this masterpiece?! It was ME?!”

2. “Who wrote this absolute shit? Oh fuck my life, that was me, wasn’t it?”

[simple-study-of-story]

Prompt #1190

"I miss the old you."

"The old me is gone for a reason."

[simple-study-of-story]

my fave writing reminder

honestly, this phrase has been on my mind more times than i can count. i've kidnapped it, taken it as a hostage with no ransom money because i need it to live permanently in my head.

[simple-study-of-story]

"This wedding is going to be a disaster. The bride and groom both look miserable."

"Be quiet! The alliance is on shaky ground as it is. It won't survive if this marriage falls through."

[simple-study-of-story]

When a Character Is Grieving Someone They Never Got to Say Goodbye To

✧ They talk about the person in past tense… then correct themselves. Then stop talking entirely.

✧ They touch things that belonged to the person like they’re fragile, sacred, about to disappear.

✧ They hoard the last voicemail, last message, last anything. Play it. Don’t play it. Just knowing it exists hurts enough.

✧ They leave something untouched, an empty seat, a half-packed bag, a coffee order that isn’t theirs.

✧ They get irrationally angry when someone else seems to be “moving on.” As if forgetting is betrayal.

✧ They don’t let themselves cry all at once. It comes in pieces. Like they’re afraid too much grief will drown them.

✧ They over-apologize. For being quiet. For being distant. For not being okay.

✧ They become hyper-aware of time, dates, anniversaries, time zones, the exact moment everything ended.

✧ They get superstitious. Ritualistic. As if doing things "right" might reverse something.

✧ They smile when they talk about the person. But it’s brittle. And it never quite touches their eyes.

[simple-study-of-story]

"I write for my own enjoyment"

And

"I'm happy when people interact with my writing"

Are two sentences that can coexist!

[simple-study-of-story]

BAN ON CONVERSION PRACTICES IN THE EU. GO SIGN IT. DEADLINE IS FUCKING MAY 17. WE'RE STILL MISSING 800.000 signatures. FUCKING DO IT.

[simple-study-of-story]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/65575390/chapters/168821035

Hey so, uh, the rent is due and my payment is a Yong-centric chapter fic.

[simple-study-of-story]

Why would I write when I could imagine my characters going through the story and then get upset when a copy of the work doesn’t magically appear in front of me

[simple-study-of-story]

I met my younger self for coffee today. Before she arrived, she asked if she could bring our — her — sister along to see me. I didn't have the heart to say no.

I watched from inside the cafe as the two girls were brought by the king and queen of Adelphie. The girls left the royals at the door, and my breath hitched as I saw their young faces. My — her — sister's eyes sparkled with the childlike wonder I once hoped to preserve. My younger self held hope and pride in her gaze.

It hurt to watch that all fade as they both lay their eyes on me.

My younger self turned to her sister, saying something that made her sister step back before turning around completely and walking out the door to their parents.

My younger self approached me, standing at the chair I saved for her. “Greetings.” At fifteen, she had the composure expected of a princess, lovingly drilled into her stature by her — our — mother. The same stature my — our — her — people must have seen before the fall that day.

“Hi Arielle. I…” I stood up from my chair. “I wanted to wait for you before ordering anything.”

“That’s… very considerate of you. Drinks first sounds like a good idea.” Together, we walked up to the register. I ordered a mocha, and she did too, with the addition of a hot chocolate for her sister. I paid for everything; it was the least I could do for her. I could tell her mind was full of questions, unsure of what to ask first or how to ask at all.

After we sat back down with our drinks, the younger Arielle looked up at me. “What happened?”

A simple question, one I didn’t quite know how to start answering. I took a deep breath, my chest tight. “There was a coup, an attempted one, and it cost Charlotte her voice. It was in response to the oppressive laws and legislations against the Gifted — which, by the way, in the future, he renames the Gifted as the Cursed. The night of the coup, I couldn’t protect Charlotte; all I could do was condemn those involved with it. I didn’t stop advocating for Gifted rights, and of course my — our — father did not take that well.

“He disowned me — us — and we were exiled. I turned to work with Hazelle and Novem and Aleksander, you remember them right?” She nodded. “We formed an organization, The Roses, and we worked to incite rebellion and revolution because of the inhumane policies. I changed my name and appearance, thanks to Hazelle, and became Haeli Allessa. I helped rally the people as both Haeli and Arielle, since everyone was aware why I was exiled.

“It came to the point of civil war, or at least very close. I was arrested — captured, really — in one of the last demonstrations — my last demonstration — by Lord Lucien, who, judging by the look on your face —” the younger Arielle had an expression of mild shock mixed with disgust and fear, “— you know very well. Given his position as your — our — closest advisor, I very strongly suggest you put no trust in him, for he is the one who is at fault for… well, all of this.”

I took another deep breath. I could feel my lungs rattling in my chest this time, and judging by the look of concern on my younger self’s face, she could hear death’s rattle, too. “All of that took roughly five years. I was exiled at sixteen, when Charlotte was eight. Lucien put me in front of her for trial, and in those five years, she became…” I swallowed, “…understandably bitter, to say the least. She put me to death by drowning.” I chuckled weakly. “That’s why I look the way I do right now. Crusty hair dried with sea salt was not a choice I would normally make.”

Young Arielle looked distraught, nauseated by the mere idea of the rift between her and her sister. I looked down at our drinks. I, too, was nauseated, the feeling brought on by the retelling of the story — my story. I moved my drink aside and carefully reached for my younger self’s hands. “I’m truly sorry. For everything you’ve been through, everything you’re about to go through. It’s a lot, I know, and knowing what’s to come rarely ever helps when the time arrives.

“You have the choice to fight this outcome, but remember that one often meets their fate on the path they so ardently take to avoid it. I wish it didn’t end up this way, really. I wished for different outcomes so often and so strongly, but… there are things out of our control. All we can really do is live and move with grace with what’s been given to us.”

She was silent for some time, staring at my hand on hers. “How could you… how could you say all that?” Her voice was quieter than I expected it to be. “How can you sit there and tell me all of this, and end the story by telling me that it couldn’t be helped? That even if I make different decisions, I might still end up dead at the bottom of the ocean with salt in my hair?” She laughed dryly; now her voice was as loud as I expected it to be, raised up just under the tone of yelling. “How can you sit there and tell me that I have a falling out with my sister — the sister I raised, the sister I love and care for with my entire being — that was so bad she actually puts me to death?! How am I supposed to be here and just… just take it?!” She pulled her hand away and stood up so fast, the chair fell back behind her. “I appreciate the warning,” she spat, “but I must be off to spend more time with my dear sister. After all, if all of what you say is true, I have limited time with her. Thank you for the drinks, but now, I must bid you good bye.”

She took her drinks and stormed off. I sighed. My younger self was just as hot-headed as I expected for her age, the same hot-headedness I saw in Charlotte at the trial. I only hoped my younger self’s hot-headedness cleared up enough to realize that neither her nor her sister were at fault for the events to come; we were all just caught in the crossfire.

[simple-study-of-story]

Unhealed Wounds Your Character Pretends Are Just “Personality Traits”

These are the things your character claims are just “how they are” but really, they’re bleeding all over everyone and calling it a vibe.

╰ They say they're "independent." Translation: They don’t trust anyone to stay. They learned early that needing people = disappointment. So now they call it “being self-sufficient” like it’s some shiny badge of honor. (Mostly to cover up how lonely they are.)

╰ They say they're "laid-back." Translation: They stopped believing their wants mattered. They'll eat anywhere. Do anything. Agree with everyone. Not because they're chill, but because the fight got beaten out of them a long time ago.

╰ They say they're "a perfectionist." Translation: They believe mistakes make them unlovable. Every typo. Every bad hair day. Every misstep feels like proof that they’re worthless. So they polish and polish and polish... until there’s nothing real left.

╰ They say they're "private." Translation: They’re terrified of being judged—or worse, pitied. Walls on walls on walls. They joke about being “mysterious” while desperately hoping no one gets close enough to see the mess behind the curtain.

╰ They say they're "ambitious." Translation: They think achieving enough will finally make the emptiness go away. If they can just get the promotion, the award, the validation—then maybe they’ll finally outrun the feeling that they’re fundamentally broken. (It never works.)

╰ They say they're "good at moving on." Translation: They’re world-class at repression. They’ll cut people out. Bury heartbreak. Pretend it never happened. And then wonder why they wake up at 3 a.m. feeling like they're suffocating.

╰ They say they're "logical." Translation: They’re terrified of their own feelings. Emotions? Messy. Dangerous. Uncontrollable. So they intellectualize everything to avoid feeling anything real. They call it rationality. (It's fear.)

╰ They say they're "loyal to a fault." Translation: They mistake abandonment for loyalty. They stay too long. Forgive too much. Invest in people who treat them like an afterthought, because they think walking away makes them "just as bad."

╰ They say they're "resilient." Translation: They don't know how to ask for help without feeling like a burden. They wear every bruise like a trophy. They survive things they should never have had to survive. And they call it strength. (But really? It's exhaustion wearing a cape.)

[simple-study-of-story]

NOTICE: As more and more fanfic writers are using generative AI for their works (you uncreative dweebs), I hereby swear on everything I hold dear that I have not and will NEVER use generative AI in ANY of my written work. Everything I post will be organically and creatively my own.

[simple-study-of-story]

Reminding myself that I do not have to have one big cumulative writing project complete to consider myself a writer.

Just keep writing. 💛💛💛