#Authors for Humanity

[books-for-humanity-global]

Have you ever wondered what a ghost might say if it could write a poem? Discover how LindaAnn LoSchiavo channels unseen voices through verse in this full interview.

[esperanzapretila]

What does craving a hot fudge sundae have to do with crafting a realm of magic and intrigue? Learn how in the interview with Robert A. Walker—read the full write-up.

[samwaverley]

What does craving a hot fudge sundae have to do with crafting a realm of magic and intrigue? Learn how in the interview with Robert A. Walker—read the full write-up.

[sallymajors]

What does craving a hot fudge sundae have to do with crafting a realm of magic and intrigue? Learn how in the interview with Robert A. Walker—read the full write-up.

[rachellepryce]

What does craving a hot fudge sundae have to do with crafting a realm of magic and intrigue? Learn how in the interview with Robert A. Walker—read the full write-up.

[aethersea]

the question of fic comments is very straightforward actually. readers do not owe writers comments. writers do not owe readers fic. there is no bargain, no transaction, no debt.

fic is a gift. comments are a gift. gifts are exchanged between friends, out of love, not out of obligation.

I write for myself. I post it for others, as a gift, because their joy brings me joy. I read for myself. I comment for the author, as a gift, because their joy brings me joy. perhaps we were not friends before, but we are now, however fleetingly, because we have given each other gifts out of love.

[donnathomaswriter]

Blending History and Heritage: J. Stanion’s Craft of Historical Fiction Rooted in Family Legacy

In this interview, J. Stanion shares insights into how her personal family legacy shapes her storytelling and how she incorporates historical accuracy into her fiction.

J. Stanion provides a viewpoint rooted in both history and the complexity of the human experience through his historical fiction, especially in My Place Among Them. In the aftermath of the Wounded Knee Massacre, her story intertwines the lives of a government instructor named Carter Heath and a young Lakota boy named John Iron Horse. In addition to highlighting the difficulties faced by…

[rs-hawk]

Chubby Orc Boyfriend who is so so loving and gentle when you’re not having sex. He loves braiding your hair, singing songs in his native language that you don’t know, but it makes you smile anyway. His hands, rough and calloused from years of war and hard labor turn to butter when he runs them over your body. He never misses an opportunity to show you how much he loves you.

But the second he’s inside you, he’s like a wild animal. Slamming into you without abandon, your human hole stretched obscenely around his massive cock. His fingers toying with your nipples until tears are streaming down your face. Your body is always littered with bruises from where he grips your waist too tightly, love bites and long, angry red welts form where his tusks scratch against your skin.

When he’s done, he collapses on top of you. His chubby stomach pressed against you and strong arms wrap around you, cradling you against him. He’d be back to murmuring how much he loves you, what a good spouse you are for always taking him so well.

[inkskinned]

you know, you know. no gods, no masters, no kings on pedestals. everyone is fallible. death of the author. you know! you are balanced about your intake of media - you allow the wiggle room, the grace, the gratitude, the skepticism. nobody above criticism.

but still. a weird gut-punch feeling, something akin to betrayal. you read the article. surprise! an author you love is actually: a serial fucking predator.

well, shit. what now. no, you knew he was a person (all people are), but now you're wondering - what have i overlooked by accident? what messages have i internalized that are strange and cruel? and also, like, what the fuck?

his actions lay a thick glaze on top of everything. like each place is now ruined, opaque in a new way. but okay, fine, you've done this before. you knew better, right? you've been betrayed by many a cherished childhood author.

still, this stickiness. fuck. can you pick up that book again. will you read it to your children. you've recommended it to others - will you ever do that again? and of course, of course, no parasocial relationships. you were theoretically above this kind of sentiment. but the artist informs the art, right.

so it's not something as clear-cut as feeling he owed you, specifically (a stranger) better behavior - just that you kind of, in a distant and odd way... sort of trusted him to do better. it's not like a real trust or something speakable, just the faint hope that the product (good books) was a thin representation of the soul. now it feels like the product (good? books?) was a mask. in some small or insignificant way, your previous support of this person lent them power. your money and your time and your laughter.

and the thing is - you have this terrible, echoing sensation. how many times will this happen? over and over. you find out that the singer you love is actually a predator. you learn over drinks that your favorite high school english teacher is in jail for what he did to her. you listen to the news idly and suddenly discover that a woman you used to idolize has been abusing her kids for an actual eon.

what can you touch without the static melting off. you can't even really complain about it too much (you were supposed to know better, and besides, you don't want the same re-split "it's not your fault, love what you love" basic advice), but now it's here. somehow, it feels like - you let him into your life.

it's not that things need to be pure or an artist has to be like, endlessly perfect, mindful. demure. it's more just this terrible truth that has been replayed through your veins so often it feels criminally vain. power corrupts, absolute power corrupts absolutely. did you want any one person to be worth that power?

it's just that he wrote books where he seemed to understand that. he seemed to know about hierarchies and unfair systems and bigotry and privilege. you thought they were books about what it means to struggle. you thought they were about having power and still using it for good rather than for control. he spooned you a narrative of being a good guy, a kind soul. you fucking bought what that fucking monster sold.

maybe that's why they were fantasies, after all.

[books-for-humanity-global]

What does craving a hot fudge sundae have to do with crafting a realm of magic and intrigue? Learn how in the interview with Robert A. Walker—read the full write-up.

[esperanzapretila]

Have you ever wondered what a ghost might say if it could write a poem? Discover how LindaAnn LoSchiavo channels unseen voices through verse in this full interview.

[samwaverley]

Have you ever wondered what a ghost might say if it could write a poem? Discover how LindaAnn LoSchiavo channels unseen voices through verse in this full interview.

[sallymajors]

Have you ever wondered what a ghost might say if it could write a poem? Discover how LindaAnn LoSchiavo channels unseen voices through verse in this full interview.

[rachellepryce]

Have you ever wondered what a ghost might say if it could write a poem? Discover how LindaAnn LoSchiavo channels unseen voices through verse in this full interview.

[ozzgin]

Yan!Monster who is a famous author of human fiction. If a monster has a human kink, they’ve heard of him. They’ve read his books.

“The human’s husband”

“The human from the office”

“Human Farm”

“Kidnapping a human”

These are just some examples of his written debauchery. One detail, however, bothers him terribly: he doesn’t actually know much about humans. In fact, he’s never seen one with his own eyes. Hard to believe given the intricate details penned in each of his masterpieces, but it’s a cold, shameful truth.

Now, he’s not entirely to blame. Humans are a rare sight. So rare, in fact, most are considered an urban legend. Which is why his readers don’t mind the potential inaccuracies. A true master of the arts, however, strives for perfection. That’s what he always tells himself, that's his never-ending source of anguish.

Imagine his surprise when, on his most recent hiking trip, he stumbles upon the creature. You. A glitch in the matrix? An error in the grand code? You ask yourself the same question, staring wide-eyed at the enormous, unholy beast before you.

This is the chance of a lifetime. One he might never encounter again. His heart threatens to burst out his chest, pumping with anxiety, anticipation, eagerness. The potential! The research possibilities! No other monster could ever come close to his accurate depictions of a human’s body. Not only that, but unlike everyone else having to rely on printed dreams, he’d have access to the real deal. No more lustful scribbles in the middle of the night. He could have you.

All that’s left is to bring you to his home.

[More monsters]

[mentally-ill-for-bes]

So funny Viktor chooses to present himself to Jayce as a white-golden robot (considering it is shown he could possess one of his followers) despite his representative colors being purple and blue (during s2 arc 1 and arc 2 and as the Herald Machine). But for the very specific purpose of convincing Jayce to join him, he's represented in the colors associated with Mel. Literally CATWALKING into the room, which is an action associated with Mel too