#writer question and answer

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Building A Culture

Culture is defined by a collection of morals, ethics, traditions, customs and behaviours shared by a group of people.

Hierarchy and Social Structures

Within every culture, there is a hierarchy. Hierarchies are an important part of any culture, usually do ingrained that one within the culture wouldn't even question it. Hierarchy can be established either by age, gender or wealth and could even determine roles within their society. Sometimes hierarchy can may be oppressive and rigid whilst other times, ranks can intermingle without trouble. You should consider how these different ranks interact with one another and whether there are any special gestures or acts of deference one must pay to those higher than them. For example, the Khasi people of Meghalaya (Northern India), are strictly matrillineal. Women run the households, inheritance runs through the female line, and the men of the culture typically defer to their mothers and wives. Here are a few questions to consider:

How is a leader determined within the culture as a whole and the family unit?

Is the culture matriarchal? Patriarchal? Or does gender even matter?

How would one recognise the different ranks?

How would one act around somebody higher ranking? How would somebody he expected to act around somebody lower ranking?

Can one move socially? If not, why? If so, how?

Traditions and Customs

Traditions are a staple in any culture. These can be gestures or living life a certain way or to the way a certain person should look. Traditions are a personal detail to culture, they are what make it important. Tradition can dictate how one should keep their home, run their family, take care of their appearance, act in public and even determine relationship. Tradition can also be a double edged sword. Traditions can also be restrictive and allow a culture to push away a former member if they do not adhere to them, eg Traditional expectations of chastity led to thousands of Irish women being imprisoned at the Magdelene Laundries. Customs could be anything from how one treats another, to how they greet someone.

How important is tradition?

What are some rituals your culture undertakes?

What are some traditional values in your world? Does it effect daily life?

Are there any traditions that determine one's status?

Values and Opinions

Values and Opinions are the bread and butter of any culture. This is the way your culture sees the world and how they approach different life hurdles. These may differ with other cultures and be considered odd to outsiders, what one culture may value another may not and what opinion another holds, one may not. There will be historical and traditional reasons to why these values and opinions are held. Cultures usually have a paragon to which they hold their members to, a list of characteristics that they expect one to if not adhere to then aspire to. The Yoruba people value honesty, hard work, courage and integrity. Here are some questions to consider?

How important are these ethics and core values? Could somebody be ostracised for not living up to them?

What are some morals that clash with other cultures?

What does your culture precieved to be right? Or wrong?

What are some opinions that are considered to be taboo in your culture? Why?

Dress Code

For many cultures, the way somebody dresses can be important. History and ethics can effect how one is meant to be dressed such as an expectation of chastity, can impose strict modesty. While other cultures, put more importance on details, the different sorts of clothes worn and when or what colour one might wear. The Palestinian people (من النه�� إلى البحر ، قد يكونون أحرارا) denoted different family ties, marriage status and wealth by the embroidery and detailing on their thoub.

Are there traditional clothes for your world? Are they something somebody wears on a daily basis or just on occasion?

Are there any rules around what people can wear?

What would be considered formal dress? Casual dress?

What would happen if somebody wore the wrong clothes to an event?

Language

Language can also be ingrained as part of a Culture. It can be a specific way one speaks or a an entirely different language. For example, in the Southern States of America, one can engage in a sort of double talk, saying something that sounds sweet whilst delivering something pointed. Bless their heart. I have a post on creating your own language here.

Arts, Music and Craft

Many cultures are known for different styles of dance, their artwork and crafts. Art is a great part of culture, a way for people to express themselves and their culture in art form. Dance can be an integral part of culture, such as céilí dance in Ireland or the Polka in the Czech Republic. Handicrafts could also be important in culture, such as knitting in Scottish culture and Hebron glass in Palestine. Music is also close to culture, from traditional kinds of singing such as the White Voice in Ukraine and the playing of certain instruments such as the mvet.

Food and Diet

The way a culture prepares or intakes or treats certain foods are important to a culture. In some cultures, there is a diet yo adhere to, certain foods are completely banned. With Jewish culture, pork is prohibited along with fish such as sturgeon, along with shellfish and certain fowl. Meat must also be prepared in a certain way and animal byproducts such as dairy, must never be created or even eaten around this meat. This is known as kosher. The way one consumes food is also important to culture. In some cultures, only certain people may eat together. Some cultures place important on how food is eaten. In Nigerian culture, the oldest guests are served first usually the men before the women. In Japanese culture, one must say 'itadakimasu' (I recieve) before eating. Culture may also include fasting, periods of time one doesn't intake food for a specific reason.

What are some traditional dishes in your world?

What would be a basic diet for the common man?

What's considered a delicacy?

Is there a societal difference in diet? What are the factors that effect diet between classes?

Is there any influence from other cuisines? If not, why not? If so, to what extent?

What would a typical breakfast contain?

What meals are served during the day?

What's considered a comfort food or drink?

Are there any restrictions on who can eat what or when?

Are there any banned foods?

What stance does your world take on alcohol? Is it legal? Can anybody consume it?

Are there any dining customs? Are traditions?

Is there a difference in formal meals or casual meals? If so, what's involved?

Are there any gestures or actions unacceptable at the dinner table?

How are guests treated at meals? If they are given deference, how so?

[sentientsky]

on preemptive grief. on bracing for impact. on looking towards the horizon line and flinching

Rayne Fisher-Quann, “home for the holidays: an essay (sort of) about grief (sort of)” // me // David Levithan // The Crane Wives, “Black Hole Fantasy” // me (again)

[sobbingscripter]

ahem

mark is such a sweet boyfriend that he would always wear a condom, from the first time you had sex he would wear one and would never complain about it. he would handle everything regarding the condom, until one day while you are having sex you push him off of you to remove the condom. mark is confused until you tell him to keep going, that you wanted to feel him without the condom in the way. and poor mark can’t be held responsible for what comes next

Mark would wear a condom, I see that.

He'd be the boyfriend that researches different condoms to try and see what feels better for you 🤧🤧

And he'd never make a big deal out of wearing it, you're never hearing "I'm too big for the condom" or some shit. He takes the risks of babies seriously, so even if he'd wanna go like raw, he'd never bring it up.

Until like, idk, you see the kind of porn he watches. Those amateur videos that are like, grainy, or visibly filmed on a phone. The girl could look a little like you, same hair, same skin tone or body type, the guy could look a little like him.

And he lives vicariously through them, because he only wishes he could go raw and you'd let him film the way your ass bounces off his hips, and the way your Invincible themed nails leave scratches in his headboard.

omg i need him injected into my medulla so all i think about is him.

[lizaisdrawing]

I accidentally deleted an ask I had plan to answer 😭 so I’ll paraphrase it

“Where does Wallaces inspiration for Welcome Home come from?”

Wallace inspiration for welcome home came from a variety of things. I guess you could say it started in the beginning when he first got into art. He just loved taking objects, insects and people and creating his own little spin on them. During his college years (he was studying to be a teacher) while working in a daycare facility, it really helped him understand what children took a liking too, as well as few things they could learn lol which made him start contemplating about creating a show. He already had concept material based on his past works.

But ofc he didn’t do it all alone,It really helped that kids loved sitting around Wallace and create short stories with eachother that helped inspire some eps :) as well as his friends getting into silly shenanigans and the support of his grandparents. Last but not least, we can’t forget that whenever Wallace has some new inspiration for eps ideas, he calls up Sylvia! I shared a lil more info than required lol

[mediacircuspod]

Viktor not being Dr. Frankenstein but being the Monster is something I’ll never ever get over narratively, and I mean that in the best way possible.

[valkugo]

"what was that?"

[reflectingiridescent]

"It just felt right that they had this kind of formal relationship, because I didn't want...them to have too much of a chemistry and intimacy because that wouldn't have felt right, given the circumstances of where she's at in the season...Once I started saying [it], it just started to feel very...delicious, really." - Gina Bellman on "our Mr Wilson"

I didn't know that the aftershows of Leverage Redemption were all also available on Spotify, so I've been going back and listening to them, and I'm just remembering how much fun it is to hear the show team talk about the characters and the show in general.

This is the episode assigned to 1x08 The Mastermind Job, and Gina talks about how "our Mr Wilson" appeared in the first few scripts, and how she asked if she could keep it. She also talks about being a nerd for the science behind accents!

[sh00tingstarzzz]

matt deserved his own side series... wtf was he doing in space b4 pidge found him ??

[poisonheiress]

Someone needs to say it: The "Heaven is actually bad" plot line that Hazbin is based around is useless when you spend more then 2 minutes thinking about Vivzie's Hell and her characters.

Besides it being much too early for this idea, the revelation that Heaven or at least the beings running it aren't good people has little to no impact when the people who are being harmed by this are all horrible people. Stay with me here. None of these people are people who were unfairly brought into hell and we are never ever introduced to someone who was either. Why should we care that Heaven is "evil" and blocking redemption when all the sinners in hell we see are the worst of the worst who would have never gotten in even if it was fair.

For the "Heaven is bad" plot line to actually work, you need people who were just one sin away from Heaven, who would've gotten into Heaven if circumstance hadn't forced them down a path that stole it from them. You need characters who aren't comedic villains but land in the middle of morally grey. Those who deserved to be in Heaven but because Heaven refused to consider their circumstances, they were tossed to burn with people much worse than them. Those are the people who should be your main cast cause those are the people who would actually be impacted by Heaven being bad/ Heaven lying.

Angel dust, for all his trauma, was still part of the mafia and likely had killed people before (showing to almost take joy in it). Husk became an overlord and gambled souls, so he had to have had blood on his hands before hell. Alastor is a serial killer, and the list goes on and on. Sure, these characters are (somewhat) interesting, but they don't make for good characters to have when the key plot line is that Heaven is a scam. Even if that fact is true, none of them were ever going to get there in the first place and this is something we also se in every single background sinner shown in Hell too. They were never close to getting there, so why would they or we care that Heaven is bad when all sinners are shown to be horrific people who are at best in the dark grey area of morality.

If you look at it from the "angel's are unfairly killing sinners" route, it still doesn't work. If the angels are killing them, what makes it different then the sinner on sinner violence that hell is full off? Why is them dying by angels this bad thing when they are just as likely if not 10x times more likely to get knifed in the back by other sinners in hell the other 364 days, especially when everyone here apparently is just as horrible as the next person. You cannot condemn the angels for killing demons and then make a joke of out sinners killing each other and never show sinners who doesn't want to kill people. Life either matters or it doesn't and when the main cast doesn't even show a care for life (outside of Charlie's who's entire flaw is her naivety), why should the audience.

On top of that, Vivzie's whole overpopulation aspect and the Heaven plot line would connect better if she actually had people like those I mentioned above, people who stole to survive but got tossed out cause stealing is technically wrong, people who killed another to protect someone else but were still sent to hell because even though they saved that person's life that person wasn't supposed to be saved, people who passively engaged in sins but never really did anything harmful under them. This would add into how Hell is so overpopulated and highlight why its so important that Heaven is evil/ why Charlie's plan isn't just a naive pathetic fever dream.

In the end, Vivzie should have never made Heaven the central plot of this show nor tried to assign this blatant good vs evil to that conflict. Neither her characters nor her writing choices are able to respond to this conflict in a way that will end or even tell the story in a satisfactory manner.

[inky-duchess]

Who fell first? Who fell harder?

Who is the one who fusses the most? Does their S/O mind very much?

What is their love language?

Has either OC ever gotten a hickey off the other? What was their reaction?

What is something they like to do together?

Who would ask the "would you love me if I were a worm?" question? How would their S/O answer?

Who likes forehead kisses? Who likes hand kisses? Who likes neck kisses?

Who is the big spoon? Little spoon?

If there wasnt enough seats, how would they sit? One on the other's lap? One on the armrest? One on the floor in front of them?

Who plays with whose hair?

Who is clingy?

What is something their S/O does that makes them flustered?

What is something they find hot about their S/O?

What is something they argue about constantly? Is it a deep-seated issue or something small?

How do they comfort one another when the other is upset?

Who is the better caretaker? Does their S/O like being taken care of?

Who steals whose clothes? Does their significant other mind?

They've had a major blowout. How do they handle it?

How good are they are communication?

Who handles the spiders? Who screams directions in the background?

Who typically tends to initiate intimacy first (this can be a conversation, action or anything)?

What is something - either character - doesn't like about the other?

Who said "I love you" first?

Who kissed who first?

Do they have any pet names for one another?

Who gets jealous most often? How does their S/O deal with that?

Who tends to drive on long journeys? Who navigates?

Do they trust one another? Are comfortable discussing their fears with one another?

What's an insecurity they hold about their relationship?

Describe how one character would cheer the other up after a hard day.

How would they describe one another.

Can they communicate private thoughts whilst in company? If so, how?

Which one of them gives "that look" when they other is acting like a fool?

How do they address a problem in their relationship?

How does each significant other view any exes and former relationships?

What is something that would break their hearts?

Who is more likely to avenge their S/O if they were hurt or killed?

What would be their ideal evening in?

Do they dance? If so, who's better?

What is a song that reminds you of the OCs' relationship?

Who sings to the other? Are they any good?

Who teases who? What about?

Who gets up early? Who stays in bed late?

Who's more likely to bring the other coffee or breakfast in bed?

What's the worst thing the other can say to one?

If they were ever in a life or death situation, who risks their life?

If it ever came down to it, who is turning to the darkside to save the other?

If they ever had less that 5 mins to tell their S/O something before never seeing them again, what would they say?

Is there a word or gesture that makes either of them melt?

Who's the romantic?

Are there any characters who ship them?

Who cooks? Who does the dishes?

Who eats healthier? Who's got the sweet-tooth?

What's something that they don't really care for but tolerate because S/O has an interest?

Who spoils who? Does their S/O tolerate it? Do they secretly enjoy it?

Who tends to be the level-headed one? Who is feral?

Who reminds the other to wear a coat when it's cold out?

Do they hold hands?

Is there a spot they tend to kiss or caress habitual?

Are they willing to show PDA? If not, is there a reason?

How would they describe their S/O in one word?

How would outside characters describe their relationship?

How would they describe one another in bed?

Would they ever answer the above question if it was asked to their face? How would they react?

Who tends to take the lead in intimate encounters?

Have they ever been caught in the act? What would be their reaction if they were?

Have they ever done it anywhere questionable?

Who is more vocal? Who is more experienced?

If they were to go shopping, who holds the bags? Who decides where they go?

If they went out to dinner, who is paying? Would there even be a discussion?

If someone were to insult their S/O, how would the other handle it?

If someone flirted with or showed an interest in their S/O, how would the other react?

Who knows the other better? Why is this?

Who's more likely to bail who out of jail? Would they give the other one shit for it?

Which - if any - other famous ship's vibes do they emulate?

Are they soulmates? Do they believe in that?

What is something they would never forgive the other one for doing/saying?

Who has memorised the other's medical history?

Also, are they each other's first contact in an accident?

What tropes could be applied to this relationship?

Did they have a meet cute? Or was it a train wreck?

Make their relationship into a list of A03 tags.

Who gets frustrated more easily? Who does the other calm them down?

Have they ever almost lost one another? How does it effect their relationship?

Their S/O is tipsy. How do they handle it?

Who gives the best gifts? Who gives the more thoughtful? Who goes for expensive?

If they ever lost one another in a public place, how do they find the other?

What's the darkest secret they have ever told one another?

Would they ever consider marriage?

Would they ever consider starting a family?

Who likes kids more? Who can't stand them?

There's a puddle in one's way. What does their S/O do?

One has hurt their leg on a hike. How does their S/O carry them?

Their pet has caused destruction. Who puts the pet in jail? Who defends the pet?

Who gives flowers to their S/O? What sort of flowers do they like?

Who reads the newspaper? Who wants to see the cartoons?

How do they wake their S/O up? Is it difficult to rouse them?

Who would burn the world down for who?

Who gives off "they said no pickles" energy?

Make a meme of this ship.

You can ask me about: Nikolai/Misha, Alekks/Erika, Katya/Marina, Hadrien/Art

[preservationofnormalcy]

[My name is Meghan Hendricks, and I’m about to do something stupid.]

[I’ve scheduled my work to be sent to my superior in the federal government’s oversight committee unless I stop it in one week. A dead woman’s hand. It’ll be somewhat fruitless - I’ve begun to suspect that my work will be restricted, censored, and buried like most other things the Office does.

A lot of the people I talk to are exculpatory of the Office, even if they say they have questions or concerns. I think most of them mean it. I don’t think it’s brainwashing. I think in such a tighly knit community as the supernatural world people feel a more genuine sense of belonging than they might otherwise. A werewolf helping werewolves is going to understandably try and defend the hand that deals the help, even if they’ve bit it in the past. But one thing I’ve learned as I’ve been peeling up rocks and seeing what scurries away is that something isn’t right. Something is hiding in plain sight.

Most people don’t know about it. They can feel the shape of it, the outline the absence of something makes. Some people, however, do know. At least a little. I’ve seen them avoid questions, look away, end interviews. I can see it in their eyes. They know enough to not want to know more.

All of that brings me here, to the backwoods of upstate New York. I’m dressed in all black, wearing a mask and gloves. My clothing smells of peppermint, and in my bag is a bottle of peppermint oil. It stung my eyes and, before I got the dilution right, burned my skin. I look in my car’s rear view mirror and it hits me that I look ridiculous. I don’t know for sure why the factory foreman Barry warned me about the peppermint, but I had a theory. 

For the last few minutes I’d seen the shape rising into the air, the metal tower with red lights up its length. That was where I needed to be. The highway was thankfully bare, at this time of night. As was the turn-off onto an unmarked gravel road, only distinguishable by the Office’s symbol on a plastic sign, held up on a thin metal spike. I’d learned by now that the broader public couldn’t see the Office logos and signage until they’d been exposed to the extranormal, something the Office calls “memetic masking.” I was, in their terminology, memetically inoculated, and it was that fact that ironically helped me find the path. The gravel road went into the forest, but I pulled over past the road’s entry, into the small area of grass down past the turnoff. I pulled a tarp from my car and threw it over the vehicle, once again feeling ludicrous…and frankly, a little scared. 

The hike was about twenty minutes, mostly uphill on a gentle incline, the numbers station being built on a hill. I’d done worse, but not in a while. I could see pretty well in the light of the full moon, a fact that made me a little more nervous. I walked along the edge of the gravel road, in the dark - hiking onto a government facility, my nerves went wild. Every shift of leaves meant an agent clad in camo, every whip of wind causing a noise that made me think of the things I’d seen since I began this assignment. Not this assignment, I had to remind myself. This wasn’t part of it. Not really.

I saw the fence in the distance first - an eight foot chain link fence that stretched as far as I could see in either direction. Past the fence, I could see dark buildings, giant spools of wire, and above it all the metal tower of the station. I hadn’t exactly planned for this, even though I knew it was more than likely. The handheld cutters in my back pocket were ready, but something in me didn’t want to cut the links, even if I fully intended to pass the fence. Getting in some other way could be a blunder, accidental. Cutting the chain meant intent.]

C] 1 15 12 24 2 12 12 21 16 26 1 15 12 22 21 19 6 26 2 25 3 16 3 22 25

[The voice almost made me vomit. I spun and saw a man. Disheveled, haggard, an unkempt beard and long hair. Older, in his 50’s, but being dirty and ragged made him look even older. He didn’t even look at me, mumbling numbers so fast I could only understand them later once I slowed them down in my recording. After his string of digits he stood there, looking at the fence, then back to me. In the moon’s light I saw his dirty, torn jumpsuit, the logo for the Office on the man’s arm and chest, along with an embroidered nametag - Cecil.]

M] Wh- who are you? What are you doing here? 

C] 4 12 25 16 23 23 12 11 22 2 1 1 15 12 23 8 25 1 22 13 2 26 1 15 8 1 18 21 22 4 26 16 1 26 9 25 22 18 12 21

[His stare was distant, vacant. It was a shock when his hand moved suddenly, pointing upward to the moon. It took me a second to realize what he was saying, and when I did, it confirmed my suspicions.]

M] Here? Now? 

C] 1 15 12 6 19 19 23 2 21 16 26 15 15 16 20 13 22 25 19 16 3 16 21 14 1 15 25 22 2 14 15 16 1

[With that, he turned and walked away. He looked back once, pausing as if making sure I was following - which, despite my better judgment, I did. I attempted to ask him some more questions, trying to understand who he was or why he was here, but he didn’t respond. Not even with his numbers. 

After a moment of walking by the fence, we walked away from it, down the hill. A steep path, rocky and unstable, that he navigated with ease. It was only after climbing down past a tree and a rocky face that I noticed “Cecil” backtracking up a few steps. A huge drainage pipe jutted out from the hillside, hidden from above by rocks and plants. A piece of wood in the pipe was the only flimsy protection, and without hesitation Cecil pulled it aside and bent over to climb inside. Here I was, in the middle of the woods, about to climb into a dirty tunnel to a strange old man’s bunker. 

I could hear a match catch fire just as I stepped down onto a concrete floor and stood up past the metal pipe. The space was small, a concrete box that ended in a pile of rubble. It must have been the entrance to an underground section of the complex at one point, but now was only a covered shelter. A camp stove, a bed, an orderly pile of refuse. He was living hard out here, but he was living. Cecil put the match into an old oil lantern and held it up to one wall. ]

C] 13 16 21 16 1 12 2 21 16 3 12 25 26 12 13 16 21 16 1 12 1 22 22 19 26 4 12 19 22 22 18 12 11 9 12 6 22 21 11

[All over the concrete wall, pasted or taped, were papers. Mainly old documents from the Office, with the Office logo watermarked on their corners. Many of them featured heavy black redaction bars. Some were torn, upside down. Cut in patterns, circled with heavy marker lines. I’d seen things like this in movies, of course. The stereotypical red string and thumbtacks on corkboard. This was different, however. When I looked over the collage I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a man trying to figure things out. He’d already figured it out, in his own way, and this was some kind of…archive. Memorial. A reminder. I looked at him, and he looked down to the floor. In shame? Sorrow? I couldn’t tell. I scanned the wall again, trying to find some order.  

‘Numbers Station 23 Decommissioned By Order Of Reality Compliance Council.’ ‘Bulletin From Director Walker On Directive 61722.’ ‘Los Angeles–’ the last one was torn off.]

C] 26 15 12 16 26 14 22 21 12 13 22 25 12 3 12 25 26 15 12 11 16 11 21 22 1 11 16 12

M] What is all this? Who ARE you?

C] 1 15 12 23 25 16 21 10 16 23 8 19 16 1 6 4 16 19 19 8 3 12 21 14 12 15 12 25

M] Listen, I – I don’t want numbers. Can you speak?

C] 15 16 26 13 2 1 2 25 12 16 26 2 21 18 21 22 4 8 9 19 12 8 21 11 1 15 2 26 16 21 13 16 21 16 1 12

M] You used to work for the Office…at the numbers station? This numbers station? Is that why you can only –

C] 4 12 18 16 19 19 12 11 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 1 22 26 1 22 23 15 16 20

[I must admit to some frustration. I scan the wall again. None of it made sense. Clearly it did to Cecil, otherwise he wouldn’t have saved all of this. Was the numbers station related to…what happened to my brother? Phrases leap out at me: ‘reality compliance’, ‘the equation’, ‘project dammerung.’ That last one was…all over. There were scraps, shreds with the phrase, but all of it redacted.]

M] What is this? Project Dammerung? 

C] 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 4 12 8 23 22 21 13 22 25 1 15 12 2 19 1 16 20 8 1 12 13 12 8 25

M] I don’t…I don’t have time for this. You know why I’m here. Are you going to help me, or not?

[Cecil was silent for once, looking around hesitantly, and finally back to the floor. I give him a moment to respond, and when he remains silent, I take in a breath.]

M] Right. Thank you, Mister…Cecil. I’ll…

[He raises his hand, almost as if he wanted to grab my arm, but was too timid. Raising the lantern to a section of the wall, he gestured to a particular document, from Office Security, or O-Sec. A photo of a serious-looking Asian-American man, Corporal Han. Most of the document was blacked out. Was this a warning? I take in the wall one last time, and drop my bag so I can reach for my camera. A polaroid - no digital trail, no getting the photos developed. With a click I snapped a photo of the wall. 

A noise distracted me. I turned, and Cecil was going through my bag.]

M] Uhh…sir? Cecil? 

[He stopped, looking up at me in almost surprise, as if he’d forgotten I was even there. ]

C] 1 15 12 12 20 16 26 26 8 25 6 26 14 25 8 21 11 11 8 2 14 15 1 12 25 4 16 19 19 1 8 18 12 15 16 26 23 19 8 10 12

[He slid the bag back over to me. I couldn’t figure out what he was looking for, but it didn’t matter now. I needed to get out of there. I put the camera back in, quickly checking that nothing was missing, and backed up towards the pipe.]

M] I know you showed me this for a reason. I’ll figure out how it all adds up, I promise. 

[I enter the pipe again, leaving the old man holding his lantern.]

M] Thank you.

[When I turn away, he looks to his wall one more time. 

I emerge alone into the moonlight, attempting the climb back up the hill. Though I had more scraps of information, I was back at square one, or so I thought. When I reached the top and made it back to the fence, I saw a section of the chain link that had broken, detached from the pole nearby and bent away, covered in a bush that only kept it half hidden. This must be where Cecil still entered the facility. 

The gap in the fence opened up into what seemed to be a storage yard, the place I’d seen past the fence earlier. Piles of tarp-covered metal or wood beams, spools of wire as tall as I was. In the moonlight, I could see poles dotting the yard, cables stretched between them, each one bearing a floodlight. Though everything had been organized and put away securely, I got the feeling no one official had been here in a long time. Leaves covered most surfaces, and cobwebs shone in the dim light along the roof of a nearby shed. 

Again, it struck me that I didn’t know what I was doing. Any information or leads would be in the building past the storage yard, and surely that had better security? Cameras, keycard locks - what was I even doing here? Walking through the yard, almost lost in thought - the tower of the station rose into the night sky in the distance, red lights along its length. They almost looked like eyes along the body of some thin creature, frozen against the stars. 

And then, lights near the station building. I stood still for a moment, uncomprehending until a pair of floodlights on poles a short distance away snapped on, then the next set. The lights were turning on this way, towards me. I had seconds to react, and I did what I’d practiced. In my bag’s side pocket was a plastic bag, containing a gross mess of wet cotton balls, soaked in diluted peppermint oil. Despite my panic, I threw them in all directions, slinging a handful of them in a wide arc, and then hid before the lights were on in my section of the yard. I could hear the electric buzz of the floodlights snapping on just as I ducked behind a row of wire spools, trying to stop my racing heart.

As I debated my options - running, waiting out the lights…maybe they were on a timer? I heard footsteps approaching, crunching on the leaves and pine needles that had accumulated over the unattended years.  When they got closer, I tried to peek through the center of one of the spools I was hiding behind. I saw his uniform first, O-Sec, Office Security. A large man, built like a weightlifter - could see the black shine of a gun in his right hand and my heart leapt into my throat. It was the man from Cecil’s mural, Corporal Han. Was he the officer assigned to this site? I should have known the Office would still have security even on decommissioned stations like this.]

H] I know you’re here. 

[He stopped in a large open area, looking around at the stacks of materials around him, the sheds and tarps - all hiding places.]

H] Normally, I might blame teenagers. Kids getting a kick out of trespassing on Office property. We had one group a few months ago, teenagers. Two humans, a fae and a vampire. They all forgot their vamp friend couldn’t enter without permission. Fun night.

[He paused, letting the silence fall again. I could see him look around, eyes scanning the yard and narrowing. He sniffed the air in a way that seemed…odd.]

H] But judging by the smell…I think you know what you’re doing. You came in with an idea of what was going on. Either you’re a professional, or someone told you…

[He carefully walked, passing behind a small shed and out of my view. I panicked that I lost track of him for a moment, but then there was a sickening sound. Like flesh stripping and bones crunching, and Han’s voice hissing. Then a sound that echoed through the yard, the sound of a hand - no, a claw, grabbing onto the edge of the shed’s corrugated metal wall, digging in and tearing the metal. A shape followed it. A long maw of shining teeth, white fur. A raised canine lip in a familiar but terrifying gesture of anger and aggression, a low rumble as the muzzle raised, and smelled the air. Then, a whine, another growl, sneezing and huffing as the muzzle retreated behind the shed again, out of my view. Another crunch, a growl, and Han staggered past the shed. Haggard, sweating, panting softly, looking incensed.]

H] And if someone told you, I’m going to have a nice, long…conversation with them. 

[He tried to collect himself, catch his breath, run a hand through his hair. He pulled a bandana from a pocket of his uniform, pulling it over his mouth and nose.]

H] You have one minute. One minute until I call backup. You can hide from me, but can you run from a dozen of us? Most of them won’t have my…shortcomings. 

[My heart was pounding. My head was swimming. My fingers were going numb. I couldn’t claim innocence, not when they found out who I was. Could I make a break for it? All of the ways out seemed to be past him, and if he was what he seemed to be, it would be a short chase. It would end up better for me if I surrendered now, but what happens after that? I’d never work again…or worse.]

H] Cecil?

[Han’s voice was confused, concerned. I snapped around to watch through a gap in the spools as Cecil approached, holding a bottle. The bottle of peppermint oil. He must have taken it earlier when he was looking through my bag.]

C] 1 15 12 18 21 16 14 15 1 9 12 8 25 26 1 15 12 14 2 16 19 1 15 12 16 26 25 16 14 15 1

H] Cecil, what did I tell you about–

[Han took in a breath through the cloth, and exhaled, clearly frustrated. His voice was sharp, low, but his face softened, and there was a soft click as he put his gun away.]

H] Why the peppermint, man? You know what that does to my nose. Were you just trying to sneak around without me knowing? 

[Cecil looked at the bottle, then dropped it.]

C] 26 22 20 12 26 1 16 19 19 13 12 12 19 23 15 8 21 1 22 20 23 8 16 21

H] Are you taking your medicine? Probably not. Let’s….let’s get you back home. Not that bunker, home. 

[Cecil seemed to hesitate, but Han put a hand on his upper arm.]

H] You know you can’t be here. Come on. If you come with me to the station I’ll ask someone to bring you dinner when they come pick you up. Okay?

C] 25 12 8 19 16 1 6 4 8 26 13 22 2 21 11 4 8 21 1 16 21 14

[The older man lowered his head, but followed Han as the guard turned and walked back towards the station - but not before looking around, deciding on the row of spools I was hiding behind, and nodding, jerking his head towards the direction of the gap in the fence.

I didn’t need to be told twice. Once Han and Cecil were out of sight, I ran to the exit. I don’t remember much of the next several minutes - running a roundabout way through the forest, coming to the edge, following that until I found my car. I didn’t allow myself time to decompress. I slammed the keys into the ignition and pulled out onto the highway. 

The tears came just as it started to rain, and I drove until it became difficult to continue. I had gained nothing from this. Nothing but a panic attack and a long-lasting nightmare, a recurring dream with claws, spools of wire, and the scent of peppermint. ]

[sobbingscripter]

Someone else asked an eve question, i lowkey thought she was gonna catch them fucking 😭 Since Mark ignored her text and then they startled cuddling or whatever, i fully thought eve was gonna fly over and have to 180 leave cause she catches sight or hears the raw-dogging through the window lamoooo

Girl....

The urge to have it happen was there, I'm ngl.

The sex scene was actually supposed to be a little more heartfelt, like...

Mating press, legs on shoulders type shit. And like, reader wasn't supposed to know he's a virgin still because she should've thought he lost it with Eve. And like, his face was supposed to be in her neck basically like... Majority of the time and like, he was supposed to tell her like, he never wanted to fuck Eve as much as he wanted to fuck her.

And I know it sounds wack asf but I promise, it's the way I'm wording it 💀

But I like how it turned out. Very "losing your virginity to your best friend".

And I'm so obsessed with how like... Comfortable it is. Like, idk if other people see it, but like, that's lowkey how I'd wanna lose my flower. Like, the gentleness, the consideration, the sweetness omg.

Like, that's what I'd want if I had a best friend who I'd wanna have sex with. Like???? The communication??? Omg.

[juan-francisco-palencia]

Lindas sus publicaciones Sr. Palencia. Tengo una curiosidad, usted es el mismo que publicaba en Vk, Google + y era "amigo" de un personaje llamado Laura Null? Y la señora Amanda, y "el argentino" LOJEK.? O son todas las mismas personas.? Porque recuerdo que el argentino tenía hasta perfiles de mujer siendo hombre. Toda una mafia literaria. Todos sabemos bien de esos mentirosos personajes. Usted es el mismo, verdad???

Agradezco mucho su afán, la curiosidad, el gusto e interes a mi persona y publicaciones. Si es verdad hace algunos años estuve ahí motivado por una gran mujer y escritora de Portugal a publicar en Google atravez de un foro de expresiones llamado G+ (más tarde por política de dicha empresa fue desaparecido.)  Pasó algún tiempo y de manera particular; luego fui alentado a ir a la plataforma rusa VK y publicar atraves de una comunidad considerada literaria. Mi participación fue corta pues eran constantes desavenencias que se volvió un lugar hostil, ignoro lo que usted dice; hacerca del comportamiento de esa persona que señala y demás personajes que nombra. Y por lo que fue así que decidí abandonar de acuerdo a mis convicciones esta comunidad. Ignoro si en la actualidad exista, de ser así mis mejores deseos para cada uno de ellos. Le comento que más tarde; no se porqué causa o razones mi blog fue eliminado, perdí el interés y jamás volví a crear otro. Ahora a la fecha sólo estoy aquí. En esta gran empresa y red social Tumblr. Donde me siento en casa y mantengo gran empatía. Aquí he encontrado nuestras de amistad de todo el mundo por lo que al igual que a usted gentil persona anónima les estoy de forma inconmensurable agradecido.

From. Berlín Germany.

Thx. ✒ . . . ⚖

[akwardsilince]

Person A: "If there was an alternate version of me, who was basically the same, would you love them?

Person B: "I'd rather you ask me if I'd love you as a worm."

[alvivaarts]

Writing Tips For You (as if I don’t currently have insane writer’s block)

-Can’t start a scene? Write the setting instead. What is the lighting like? Is this place comfortable? Is it familiar or not? What should you point out now so it doesn’t suddenly appear when it becomes important for the characters? SET! YOUR! STAGE!

-Everyone says “show, don’t tell”. I like to think of that as “what are your character’s physical reactions? What are they feeling?” You can say “Character looked dismayed”, or you can say “Character grimaced with dismay.” See the difference?

-Struggling with dialogue? Talk to yourself while you’re writing. You might be blocking yourself if you subconsciously think some dialogue feels unnatural.

-Context, context, context! This applies to everything from the small interactions to the big plots. Every force has an equal and opposite reaction, allow interactions and events to grow as such.

-Context, context, context pt 2! But worldbuilding! If your character is performing an act, how does that fit into the physical reality they already exist in? How is it possible? Can you imply (imply, not explain) that these things are commonplace or why they wouldn’t be?

-Build the action. (Stealing this from theater class like twelve years ago.) You can’t just put a character into the scene and say ‘they made a sandwhich’. What has to happen for the sandwhich to be made? Your character has to walk into the kitchen, open the cupboard, get out a plate, get out the jam and peanut butter, get out the knives, open the fridge, get out the bread, close the fridge, open the bread bag, lay down two slices of bread on the plate, close the bag, open the first jar, pick up the first knife, scoop up the jam, slather it on the bread, put the knife down, close the first jar- and so on and so forth. Every small step is necessary for you to understand, and to engage your readers. You don’t have to go into ridiculous detail like I just did, but even understanding that for yourself helps remember the ‘state’ of your scene at any given moment.

-See above, but it’s not a scene and a sandwhich. The scene is your whole story and the sandwhich is your plot. What small steps MUST happen to reach the climax? Does changing one of those small steps change the result? How?

-Emotions are best portrayed when you have experienced them or can get insight from those who have experienced them. Let yourself get emotional in a scene. Allow yourself to be empathetic and vicariously experience what your characters are.

-Reread your own work! Your writing style and characterizations can change over time, but if you feel like you’re losing them, don’t be afraid to look at where you started to ground yourself!

-Proofread your own work 2-12 hours after you finish a section! Not while you’re writing! Don’t let yourself get carried away with writing things ‘right’, just get the ideas out.

-Have a friend or volunteer proofread for you too! This can help pick out things you repeatedly say, words you might misuse, grammar and punctuation that might need correction, and phrases that are hard to digest or don’t make sense.

-Make sure you’re making an effort to use regionally/era specific words and slang both in dialogue and in your writing. There are plenty of websites and videos online that list and discuss regional and era slang worldwide. Not to mention, we can connect with people all over the world using the web just to ask! Using incorrect phrases can really break immersion and make characters feel- well, out of character! I.E. an 80s jock saying ‘dope bruh’, American characters (generally) saying ‘lift’ instead of ‘elevator’, so on and so forth.

-Research research research! Research bloodloss limits, research how laws and jobs operate in different regions and countries, research weirdly specific myths and biblical themes, research as much as you can! You can only build a richer environment to write in!

-If you actively want to implement themes, allow them to reflect the experiences of your character. Example character is an Italian American who was orphaned at 13 after his orthodox Catholic parents died, he has been in and out of foster care his whole life, and the moment he got out his military job became strict and he allowed himself to be blackmailed to protect a child in a similar position. This has plenty of fun themes and symbolisms, like sacrifice, fate, lack of control, love, losing autonomy, etc, all of which can be framed under the impactful history of his Catholic childhood. This evokes the imagery of farm animals, servitude, animal tags/dog tags, holy spaces being used for other purposes. Play with it!

-Build three base playlists! One for your overarching story, one for songs that remind you of the main character and their story arc, and one for how you feel when you’re writing/songs that weirdly remind you of your story. You can cycle through these to help get into your mood.

-Consume other media! If all you do is focus on writing, you WILL lose steam and inspiration. Don’t be afraid to watch new shows, read new books, look at more artwork, read more poems, listen to more music. You might get a flicker of inspiration for themes, motives and ideas, and you’ll continue to fill yourself instead of dumping your focus out on your writing.

-Understand how each major character thinks and instinctively reacts to things. Some characters can stay calm, but others might instinctively react to things ‘angrily’, others might try to run away. This is an easy way to figure out character flaws and impliment easy conflicts.

And last but not least:

-Take breaks! Don’t worry about forcing yourself to keep a posting schedule (unless you’re being paid. I’m not. I’m doing this shit for free and for funsies) if all you do is spend all your time worrying about your writing, you won’t be able to relax your brain. Spend time with friends, play games, go outside!

I hope this helps!

[kings-highway]

Okay I've seen enough AI discourse discussion today but there's one thing I absolutely have not seen anyone else talking about and I simply need to get my 2 cents in here

Writing is not about the end product. And no, I'm not going to say some philosophical nonsense about the passion or heart or humanity put into it, I'm sure most of you are already aware of the philosophical difference between AI and real writers. What I'm talking about is what, about storytelling and writing, makes a writer a writer.

If, theoretically, being a writer was JUST about conveying an idea, plot, or set of themes to the reader, AI wouldn't be that big of a deal. Because it truly would be just about the quickest way to get your idea into someone elses' head. But it's not that.

It's not that at all.

When I was 14 my father (a screenwriter) told me that his favourite part of writing was editing, and that, if I continued to be a writer, one day I'd probably feel the same way.

The amateur is enamoured with the creative process - the writer is enamoured with the craft.

Writing doesn't stop when the words are on the page.

My father was right.

Nowadays, a first draft is a tedious first step I need to climb the mountain of to get on with things. And, of course, I love this step! It's the creative heart of being a storyteller, playing with characters, exploring themes. And, yes, most of my fanfiction is a first draft, but thats because fanfiction is a different kind of craft to me. Also not something AI can replicate but that's a different story and not what this is about.

I've never let anyone read my first draft of original work. Ever. Because I hate my first drafts. I finish it, and immediately start thinking: "i need more scenes that make the twist villain sympathetic early on to increase the impact of the reveal" or "i should make sure that the main character is shown reaching for chocolate flavoured treats more often to tighten the character persona" or "i think the middle is too short, there's not enough time to build drama."

I start crafting the story. Picking apart how I want my readers to feel, adjusting minute details - or massive, large details - and playing with the rhythm of the story. Maybe a villain gets redeemed instead of killing them, maybe I switch up the order that characters meet in to change their dynamics, maybe I change their names to have greater symbolism and more cohesive identities. Editing is a difficult skill, but the process of getting my hands on each paragraph is intoxicating. Of being able to turn this story into the best version of itself.

I spent 4 minutes on one line, yesterday, changing the word "terrible" to "horrible," removing a comma and switching up the word choice in the dialogue. I played and I fiddled and I made sure that this one sentence had the exact right melody to it, the exact right feeling to it to make sure that my reader could feel it like goddamn music in their bones, the precise reading experience that I, the writer, wanted them to have. These 4 minutes are the most fun I ever have writing. These moments are my favourite part of being a writer, they're what makes me a writer. Not simply that I have put words on a page, but that I have put these words on a page, exactly as I want them.

So AI art is not art. Because art is not the end product. People who use AI to write are not writers, because writers are not merely idea generators. If you're satisfied using AI to generate your ideas, go ahead, but you were never a writer to begin with. I don't want my work to exist on the page if I don't get to enjoy the craft. If I don't get to sit and play with my words, adjust character details into oblivion, stare at the screen until the words are music, then I simply don't want it. If everything in the world becomes AI generated, I will still be sitting at my desk with my computer glowing and keyboard clicking away, writing stories, because that is what I love to do. The act of it, the physical act, not the end product.

"I'm just using AI to bring my ideas to life, I can edit and adjust it afterwards if I want!"

You've already missed the point.

I'll just be over here wasting hours upon hours deciding on the name of a fake city, because it is the most fun I could ever have.