#but my drafts are always full of garbage

[write-like-wright]

ooooh..... hypocrisy......

[absentlyabbie]

seriously, though. i work in higher education, and part of my job is students sending me transcripts. you'd think the ones who have the least idea how to actually do that would be the older ones, and while sure, they definitely struggle with it, i see it most with the younger students. the teens to early 20s crowd.

very, astonishingly often, they don't know how to work with .pdf documents. i get garbage phone screenshots, sometimes inserted into an excel or word file for who knows what reason, but most often it's just a raw .jpg or other image file.

they definitely either don't know how to use a scanner, don't have access to one, or don't even know where they might go for that (staples and other office supply stores sometimes still have these services, but public libraries always have your back, kids.) so when they have a paper transcript and need to send me a copy electronically, it's just terrible photos at bad angles full of thumbs and text-obscuring shadows.

mind bogglingly frequently, i get cell phone photos of computer screens. they don't know how to take a screenshot on a computer. they don't know the function of the Print Screen button on the keyboard. they don't know how to right click a web page, hit "print", and choose "save as PDF" to produce a full and unbroken capture of the entirety of a webpage.

sometimes they'll just copy the text of a transcript and paste it right into the message of an email. that's if they figure out the difference between the body text portion of the email and the subject line, because quite frankly they often don't.

these are people who in most cases have done at least some college work already, but they have absolutely no clue how to utilize the attachment function in an email, and for some reason they don't consider they could google very quickly for instructions or even videos.

i am not taking a shit on gen z/gen alpha here, i'm really not.

what i am is aghast that they've been so massively failed on so many levels. the education system assumed they were "native" to technology and needed to be taught nothing. their parents assumed the same, or assumed the schools would teach them, or don't know how themselves and are too intimidated to figure it out and teach their kids these skills at home.

they spend hours a day on instagram and tiktok and youtube and etc, so they surely know (this is ridiculous to assume!!!) how to draft a formal email and format the text and what part goes where and what all those damn little symbols means, right? SURELY they're already familiar with every file type under the sun and know how to make use of whatever's salient in a pinch, right???

THEY MUST CERTAINLY know, innately, as one knows how to inhale, how to type in business formatting and formal communication style, how to present themselves in a way that gets them taken seriously by formal institutions, how to appear and be competent in basic/standard digital skills. SURELY. Of course. RIGHT!!!!

it's MADDENING, it's insane, and it's frustrating from the receiving end, but even more frustrating knowing they're stumbling blind out there in the digital spaces of grown-up matters, being dismissed, being considered less intelligent, being talked down to, because every adult and system responsible for them just

ASSUMED they should "just know" or "just figure out" these important things no one ever bothered to teach them, or half the time even introduce the concepts of before asking them to do it, on the spot, with high educational or professional stakes.

kids shouldn't have to supplement their own education like this and get sneered and scoffed at if they don't.

[goatgoesmbe]

THANK YOU!!

Hi, it's simons petty gf anon.

Just a thought, because she's only passive aggressive with her anger but always in a kind way simon is worried that if a physical altercation would happen that she would freeze up. But in reality, she's the dirtiest fighter he's ever seen. (Both of my parents were cops, military grandfather, youngest of 3 only girl) she has no honor in her fighting style, when asked about it, she says there's no honor in a fight. Only life or death.

Alright, ive been wanting to write this properly- but its been sitting in my draft for too long i just need to get it out so- no beta, I hope u still like it tho <3 u_u

All i could think about when i read this is the meme 'call the ambulance, but not for me'

short continuation of this

tw : assault, mention of violence, mention of blood, stalking

You were Simon's sweet little bird. Known to always be kind to everyone, even to the worst assholes, even to people who didn't like you.

And while you appeared to be nice and patient, with a smile that never faltered no matter what you've gone through, he eventually learned that you were not a pushover despite what everyone thought.

You could stand your own ground, you had your own way of dealing with people who disrespected you.

However, that didn't mean Simon would be less protective of you

Because the world wasn't a safe place, there were things far worse than a little quarrel with strangers, arguments with your mother, an altercation after accidentally bumping into a stranger, or verbal harassment.

He was thinking about real danger.

You were always so soft and gentle, so naturally, it triggered his instinct to protect you from any harm.

That was why he was the way he is right now, heavy boot putting it's full weight on the gas, the sound of the engine rumbled loudly, cutting through the night. Hands gripping on the steering wheels while his eyes were sharp, focused. While his ears fell deaf to the blaring of the other cars honking as he sped past them.

"Simon. Can you send help? I think i'm being followed.. can't really talk or call 911 myself rn" Your text read.

He was lounging at the couch when his phone buzzed. Content on watching the football game that was playing on TV, only to drop everything when he saw your message.

You were having a girl's night out with your besties at this women-only club that had just opened in the city. While he was one protective bastard who always wanted to watch over you, you insisted on him staying home because you wanted to spend the night with just your friends. It was reasonable, so he agreed.

But now? he regretted agreeing to that.

Tires screeched against the asphalt, making a sharp, piercing sound that sliced through the air followed by a loud slam of the door as he stepped out of his car.

With his gaze blurry from dread, he looked at the screen of his phone. He had a tracker planted in your devices, smart watch, laptop, phone. And so he followed the red dot shown in the map, finding himself standing in front of a dark alley.

"Simon" He couldn't be more relieved when he heard your voice and immediately took a few steps into the darkness, turning on the flashlight on his phone before aiming it forward.

The air was thick with the lingering scent of sweat, iron, and damp asphalt, mingling with the distant stench of rotting garbage. A dented trash can lay on its side, its contents spilled and trampled, a mess of torn paper and shattered glass glinting under the weak light. Blood stained the ground in dark, irregular splotches, soaking into the filth of the alley floor. The brick walls bore fresh smears where hands had braced against them, the rough texture now streaked with sweat and something darker.

And at the bottom of said walls, a lone figure was sat. Beaten and stripped off his shirt which was now ripped and used to tie his arms behind his back. Said figure didn't react at his presence, but Simon could see the subtle raise and fall of the person's chest.

"Simon" You called out to him again, snapping him out of his thoughts as he shifted his gaze to you.

You stood there with a smile that he always saw on your face, which was now sported with a fresh bruise, purple blooming beneath your skin. A dark welt shadowed your cheekbone, and a small cut on your lip still glistened with fresh blood. A smear of crimson streaked your jaw—and he didn't know if it was yours or someone else’s.

Your clothes were a mess, your skin tight dress were wrinkled, clinging to your curves like they had been grabbed one too many times. The faint imprint of a handprint marred the fabric near your collar, evidence of the struggle that had just unfolded.

And knuckles were raw, the skin split in places, thin trails of blood tracing along your fingers. Which told him what he needed to know.

Because despite your battered appearance, it was nothing compared to the state of the git who was leaning against the wall.

"Called the ambulance yet?" You asked, gesturing at your victim with your chin.

He didn't know if he could fall in love with you even more, but somehow, he just did.

[six-eyed-samurai]

SUMMARY: For the life of him, Upper Moon Six cannot figure out why he can't bring himself to kill you. It kills him inside to even think about it. A/N: Had this in my drafts for god knows how long, it's finally out LMAO. WARNINGS: Fem reader, one dead man, couple of swears...and that's about it I think

Sometimes Gyutaro really wished Daki wasn’t so picky about who she ate.

It was a particularly low time recently. The District hadn’t received much new members and most of the people Daki had deemed beautiful enough to eat were gone, throwing a whole tantrum about how she’d rather starve than consume such hideousness. They argued, he threatened her, she screamed back, but in the end he relented and continued in his search to find a meal for them both.

He wasn’t picky and could’ve eaten any time he wanted, he grumbled to himself as he hunkered down on the balcony of one of the numerous rooms in the brothel, surveying the blinding lights of the District and spitting at the arrogant men and haughty women down below. But of course he had to just feel bad about being full while his sister went hungry so Gyutaro decided to stave off eating until she did.

If there weren’t any beautiful people, he hoped Daki would be fine with someone pretty. Or at least decently average. And what luck, he had found none.

Well, lies. Gyutaro wondered how Daki never noticed her before and prayed that she never would. Perhaps it was because she was such a quiet, obedient thing that spent most of her time serving the mistress so that probably explained it. Not beautiful enough to attract the attention of clients, but pretty enough to have gotten Upper Six’s interest.

He stalked her around for a few days to figure out the best time to strike and eat her at the beginning. Sometimes she’d accidentally catch on, see that shadow hunkering behind her, but he made sure to always stay out of her sight.

Gyutaro learnt a lot of things about her that way. She liked food that wasn’t too sweet and disliked a certain type of fish. She liked to go take a walk occasionally alone, far away from the brothel. Her favorite color, the jewelry on the other girls she’d eye, when she fell asleep.

She liked ugly things too. That scrawny, flea-bitten cat from the garbage. The gap-toothed, abandoned children of the streets who flocked to her and begged for breadcrumbs. She didn’t seem to mind the out-of-fashion, worn clothes handed to her by the other girls of the house.

He’d like to think she’d like Gyutaro too.

Of course he knew it was wrong. She was food, not someone he should be thinking about constantly, whether he be out hunting for other prey or remaining dormant within Daki. She’d run screaming in the other direction if she so much as caught a glimpse of him.

Gyutaro wasn’t even sure when he had started getting the weird symptoms from watching her. He had originally thought she must be a demon herself, using her Blood Art to make him think about her 24/7, 365, make his palms sweaty and have his heart rate accelerate around her, have the persistent urges to keep following her around for no reason except to just bask in that sunlight of hers.

Probably some time after she nearly came close to realizing he was there, Gyutaro concluded. She was out with the oiran as one of her attendants that night and out of habit he had shadowed them, ducking out of sight amongst the crowds and running into an abandoned alley after nearly getting caught. The stupid cat had suddenly rushed in as well, something in its jaws, and her hot on its heels.

She had slammed into him, both falling over. Gyutaro would’ve snarled and promptly killed the person if it had been anyone else, but seeing her surprised, flustered face bathed in yellow glow momentarily froze him. She was looking at him. She was hovering above him.

He waited for the screaming.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t see you there! Are you alright?!”

Shock left him dumb, instinct caused him to grunt in reply and quickly turn away lest she caught a glimpse of how demonically ugly he was. The cat screeched from somewhere in the back but he could barely hear it over the rush in his ears as her sweet, sweet, gentle, soft hand grabbed his and helped him up, exclaiming apologies again and again.

Then he fell, probably, and could never not think about her again.

Gyutaro abruptly growled and fled in frustration at the weird, disgusting feelings welling up inside of him. Ugly, ugly, ugly, he hated himself, he hated her, he couldn’t stand the thought of killing her, he wanted her so badly not to see him like everyone did, like she did that night, just another person-

But hey, even demons could dream, right? Gyutaro was guilty for the deaths and injuries for hundreds of humans even when he was one himself, but the sin of fantasizing what it’d be like to even be shown an ounce of affection from her, have her for himself (what was it that humans did, hold hands? Each other? He watched her pet the cat; would she pet and play with his hair like that?) made him feel a thousand times guiltier.

A horrible feeling. Like somebody had stabbed him and was twisting the Nichirin blade around in his innards. Obviously this feeling could be fixed if he ate you, got rid of you, right? …even if he couldn’t fathom eating you himself, Daki could, right? God, never mind, he never felt so…what was this feeling at the thought? So for now he just hoped that no one would notice her. Not Daki, she’d become her next meal. Not a client, they were fouler than him.

How dare they dirty your presence anyway? Who cared if they were handsome, rich, well off, of excellent lineage and all that bullshit? The fact they even thought of touching your, harassing you, having you was enough for Gyutaro to lose his mind and go crazy on a killing spree of all those suitors. If he couldn’t have you, and he knew that, they couldn’t either, and they better know that.

Daki, however…she seemed to be picking up on something off about her older brother’s behavior - he had never ignored her complaints about their stash of food running low soon before, never brushed it off with a yell and assurances he’d find more victims and not do so. Confused and indignant was how she had felt and what caused her to spy a little on Gyutaro and eventually how he was just spending his time watching some stupid girl with something sparking in his gaze she wasn’t sure what to feel about. She settled on disliking and being suspicious of it, finally confronting him about it one night.

“Onii-chan, can you just kill her and be done with it already?! You’ve been following her for more than a week now, how long more do you need to kill her?!”

“Shut up! Be grateful I’m even hunting for you.”

Daki huffed and continued yelling about something to do with being too busy with Oiran duties but Gyutaro zoned out completely, glaring upwards. He should be killing her by now. Eating her. Digesting her.

Why am I not doing that? He silently demanded.

In truth he didn’t know either. Didn’t know why he so easily gave into the slightest stupidest excuse to stalk his prey some more. Didn’t know why he thought about killing the people around her more than her herself. Didn’t know why he was decapitating the head of a man who called her slurs the other day instead of her head.

“FINE, I’LL GO KILL HER TONIGHT!”

He slammed the doors for emphasis, muttering profanities he didn’t actually mean about his precious sister as he stalked around the house and to her room. Maybe if Gyutaro killed her he’d stop feeling so ill all the time. “Ill” being used loosely, since…oh God, he liked the feeling, didn’t he?

Gyutaro slammed a fist against the wall. He’d eat her and be done with it.

But when he got to her room he could see not one but two shadows moving about inside, hear murmuring voices and smell a foreign scent…a man’s, tainted by alcohol. Gyutaro couldn’t help it, he wound up eavesdropping in a jealous rage at whoever managed to get close to her.

“You’re a - hic - pretty girl, I’m sure you don’t wanna - hic - be stuck here anymore, ne?”

“Sir, please get out, I never invited you to my room and I’m not working right now-”

“So what? You gonna - hic - do something?” Gyutaro’s nails dug into the wood as he saw a silhouette of a hand grabbing at her arm and yanking her to him.

“I’ll call the mistress if you do anything!”

“Haha, if you can get her to - hic - listen to you, I’ll let you go! I’m already offering - hic - a lot of money for your marriage contract!” The man just about threw her to the door, roughly letting go of her arm as he laughed drunkenly. Gyutaro had barely any time to hide himself in the shadows before the doors were flung open and she raced away.

Marriage? With this pathetic excuse of a-

The next thing Gyutaro knew after awakening from the bloodthirsty, furious craze of very messily murdering the man - the bastard had dared taint such a goddess! Not even Gyutaro had dare done that, too terrified she’d run from the demon that he was and he wouldn’t even be able to catch sight of her anymore - was him standing above the corpse, one sickle buried in the mutilated head…

…while two yellow eyes slowly looked back to see her standing still by the doorway.

His hands curled into fists and he fell to his knees. It was over, wasn’t it? Gyutaro would really have to kill her now, after she’d inevitably shatter his black, rotted heart into a million pieces for slaughtering someone much worse than him. Daki would not be happy at being forced to kill the whole House because he was seen either.

She…fell to her knees as well? Smiling and crying?

“I knew it! I knew you were always there-”

“NEHHH?” Gyutaro reared back, stunned. “You’re supposed to scream! Am I not ugly to you?! Say something else, you stupid human! What do you mean you know?!”

“I knew you were there,” she repeated. “Someone was always following me…you were the one who killed all those…men and left those stolen items from the other oiran for me, weren’t you? I just wondered when you’d show up…I was so, so afraid when the mistress told me I was going to be married off…I prayed and prayed you’d save me again.”

“What? No, NO!” In a flash he grabbed her by the throat and pinned her to the wall, breathing erratically as his hand gripped his sickle tight enough to crush rocks. “I’m not - I’m not saving you! You’re not supposed to be like this! I’m a disgusting demon, you stupid dunce, I’m ugly-”

“I don’t think you are.”

Gyutaro searched her face frantically for any indication she was bullshitting him. This was everything he wanted and nothing he understood. His fingers tightened their hold. She had to be lying.

She wasn’t. Her lips curved up gently and a fang poked out. “I think you’re like me.”

[more-than-tender-curiosity]

What Gatsby musical do you think is best?

The Great Gatsby : A New Musical

Gatsby : An American Myth

And depending on which you pick, why did you choose that one?

I have been outspoken in my criticism of The Great Gatsby: A New Musical to the point where it's kind of marked me as an asshole to fans of said musical, but I'm not backing down. Read my opinions boy

No, but seriously. Let me begin by saying that I came to this point already worn down by so many heartless, obnoxious, cash-grabby adaptations of prior works (Mean Girls, Beetlejuice, Heathers, etc) that bank almost entirely on nostalgia and spectacle and, in some cases, the unknowing of their YOUNG target audience, in order to blind said audience into just calling the music a bop and moving on.

And I'm tired of it. Yes, I'm aware musical theater has always run on adaptations—Chicago and Little Shop of Horrors are among some of my favorites! But I approach every single adaptation of ANYTHING with the same baseline question: is this adaptation justified?

You could take the very moderate opinion of "having more musicals to listen to is a good thing!" but I think that's naive, and falling right into the trap set by creators who are only here for Lin Manuel-level Tony's and that's it. There's no dedication to actually making something new with something already established. Nothing transformative. It's lazy.

That's what I mean by 'is this adaptation justified'. Does the adaptation in question engage with the source material in a way that refreshes it, dives deeper into it, and takes advantage of the new method of storytelling (in this case, from book to stage musical) to showcase how the new method of storytelling benefits the source material? Like in the case of Little Shop of Horrors, it uses satire to highlight deeper issues that are barely skated across in the source material while also pulling forth factors of the source material that were more relevant at the time when it was released.

I for one am exhausted by adaptations at this point. It's always been a backbone of musical theater but now, even outside of theater, we are awash in them. it's been said before that pretty much everything you see now is a remake or an adaptation or a sequel or a prequel or a cinematic universe or something derivative, and that tends to punch down on the smaller, more creative, original ideas that might've flourished if the market wasn't oversaturated with mass-produced corporatized shiny flashy garbage.

This is where the two Gatsby musicals come in.

If you're here, you know that I...dedicate a lot of time to this novel. I could have gone to college and got a degree with the time I have spent on this novel and its study. Unraveling every single sentence, every character motivation, every real life factor that plays in to Fitz's writing of the novel—every draft, every movie adaptation. The entire history of this novel and its creation is carved into the inside of my skull.

Now, one thing you should know about gatsby is that Fitz wrote it when he was just coming off the massive failure of his play The Vegetable. That's not the full title, but I'm not going to bother typing out the rest of it. Because it was bad. It was not good. No one liked it. So, naturally, Fitz wanted to improve on his playwriting skills. Up until then, he was good at short stories and he was good at long, descriptive novels, but he couldn't quite understand how to condense and reformat his novel-writing style into something more like a stageplay.

Gatsby was sort of his attempt. You'll note that Gatsby is only 47,043 or so words, which is less than half of most of his other novels. The action and dialogue are snappy. There is, shockingly enough, less purple prose than prior releases (in spite of Nick spending 23984798347928374 words, approximately, to describe his new neighbor's smile). Scott was trying desperately to pare down his writing and see if he could slowly shift his formatting toward something that could translate to the stage.

Many of you know that The Great Gatsby was a total major uber flop.

There went his dreams of making this a play. And there have been many attempts since, all with very limited success, because for the most part, there is a total lack of understanding concerning what makes this novel a novel instead of play material. All too many times, there has been a disconnect as to what would translate effectively onto the stage as it is written in the book, like the themes of being dazzled by a spectacle but not, as displayed in the novel, the downside of such a thing.

As I said. All too often, there is too little thought given to the advantages of adapting a written work to musical theater. This leads to much of the deeper shades of the story being left to the wayside in favor of shallow spectacle just to keep the masses entertained without actually translating the stunning symbolism and figurative work Fitz put on the page.

This is what happened to The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. They took the most barebones understanding that most viewers would have of the story (that it's a love story, just like Romeo and Juliet!—side-eye), and made everything as loud and as fast and as bright as they could to make up for any lack of exploration beyond what is very plainly written on the page.

This does not work with The Great Gatsby.

I've mourned the gooberfication of Nick Carraway before. I love the 2013 film, as I'm sure many do because it was many of our first experiences with any Gatsby adaptation, but you can see it with Tobey Maguire and you can see it here in The Great Gatsby: A New Musical. So many times I see people call him an unreliable narrator but it's very clear they don't understand exactly why he's unreliable.

This 'gooberfication' I speak of is Nick's attempt to convince us that he's the innocent one here, in every single situation, and everyone around him is a liar and he's always telling the truth so you can trust him. He's the only honest person he's ever known.

Red flag central.

So from that line alone, you have to understand that everything Nick says or does, leaves in or leaves out, is suspect. He's out of his element in New York but he is absolutely not some baby-cheeked little goober who is SO TOTALLY BLINDED by his infatuation with Gatsby that he's just willing to go along with everything and doesn't pass judgment. We joke "Nick says he doesn't judge anyone then proceeds to judge everyone in the novel!" Yeah, no shit. That's the thing. He is a hypocrite made only lesser by the way he plays up the evils of everyone around him, and that's how he gets by. That's how he sleeps at night.

You can cast that into whatever light you like, whether it's the hypocrisy of saying he's so poor when he's living in at LEAST a two bedroom cottage with a maid and modern appliances and his dad is paying for a full YEAR of his life after paying his way through an Ivy League school. Or you could say he does this to throw suspicion off himself and possibly his sexuality, which is a whole can of worms involving Fitzgerald's constant projection onto his characters that I cannot bear to crack open.

Point being, Nick isn't just the passive bystander in all of these situations. He makes it sound like he is, like he's just doing favors for people who are worse than him, and how he disapproves of even everything Gatsby does despite his evident fascination with the man, but at the end of the day, he's just passing the buck. Washing his hands clean. There are so many clues in the book to this sort of thing that should tip you off to the fact that Nick Carraway is not just some silly sweet guy who gets swept up into a life of chaos and crime just to come out cynical. He was already a judgemental, cynical individual who was forced to come all too close to the realization that he, too, is more 'one of them' than he can bear to admit—even in spite of how he attempts to obscure his own hypocrisy.

Nick is not innocent. No one in this book is (besides Pammy, though she's a ticking time bomb if we're meant to understand the wealth she will inherit). That's the whole point of the fucking book. There are a thousand hands each pushing a tiny bit to keep these impossible shades of class division moving, and condemning one person (like Nick does with Daisy or Tom) doesn't solve the problem. Jay still dies. The American dream is still a nightmare. Nick still has a father to fall back on.

Which is why it's so impossibly perplexing to me to display Nick as some sort of lapdog who just seems honored to spend time with these people. Why Jay is just some quirked up white boy who is, quite literally, just too quirky and obnoxious to bear. He and Daisy are so in love and they're so close to each other and isn't it just tooooo saddd to bearrrr?? So romantic????

There's nothing deeper to it. No asking why Fitz wrote any of these characters the way he did. No understanding of the deeper implications of what he was trying so desperately to convey, on both a social and personal level. Yes, it's a love story, but it's also a commentary on just how fucked everyone is by the cages of tradition.

And there is just no trace of that in the Broadway musical. Everything is simple and easily digestible. There is no deeper interaction with the source material, no drive to have produced it at all except, perhaps, to cash in on the new public domain. They got the biggest names they could with the biggest cult followings, knowing so many would just eat it right up and call each song a bop and it would trend on tiktok and they might get a tony and then they'd move on. No integrity. No passion. No justification.

Gatsby: An American Myth is much the opposite.

After hearing a Totally Legal version of the Broadway musical, I was terrified of what ART would do to this book. Now that I had seen just how fearfully easy it was to just slap some 'art deco' and glitter on the stage, write a painfully obvious love song, and move on, I was really concerned that this trend of bloodless, toothless adaptations would continue and I'd have to sigh and move on with my life.

Fortunately, everything I mentioned that bothered me about the Broadway musical is set right in Gatsby: An American Myth. I really should have expected nothing less from Florence Welch in terms of the music (which is, of course, one of the most show-stopping elements of the musical, as it should be) considering her prior works and how they relate to the Great Gatsby. This is someone who has been obsessed with the book longer than I have been and has woven it into so much of her body of work that I'm surprised this musical didn't drop the day it became public domain. I cannot think of a better contemporary musician to handle that facet of a Gatsby musical.

This adaptation itself does exactly what I would have hoped. I am, of course, someone who holds the book and all its drafts to a very high regard—if this is a religion, that's my bible. What's in there, goes, though it's open to interpretation. Typically I would be against adding things at all.

What they added, however, was brilliant. Nothing massive—just, again, ways to take advantage of the musical theater method of production, and ways to modernize and acknowledge more contemporary understandings of the source material. Where the Broadway musical carefully tiptoed around any indication that nick was anything other than straight and in love with Jordan Baker, Gatsby: An American Myth leaned right into the idea that he was made an outsider by his sexuality, and that was part of why he related to Jay so hard. Because otherwise, why would he? He's a middle-to-upper-middle class Midwesterner whose father is paying for a year of his life while he works a little for-fun job in the big city. What does he know about being an outsider?

Gatsby: An American Myth shows you that. Shows how everyone is an outsider to each other in this story, and how individualism destroys a community that would otherwise support you. You can take that on a society-wide level or personal: Jay being totally disconnected from even himself, or the wealthy pretending they don't live on the same planet as the poor.

Another miraculous addition was a sort of bridge between Myrtle and Wilson that just makes sense. I don't want to spoil it too much, but everything they added or rearranged or re-highlighted just goes to display the depth and breadth this story really reaches. They read between every line, proudly displayed the complexity of every single situation and character—how all of them are the victim and all of them are the perpetrator—while STILL making it sound fantastic in my opinion.

It's by no means a flawless work and I saw it early on its production. It's changed since then and obviously I haven't been able to hear it since I saw it live, but I have total faith in the creative team to have not completely thrown away their good intentions in favor of trending on tiktok.

To conclude I would just ask anyone reading to please inspect the media you consume. Inspect the motives of the person feeding it to you. There's not really any sort of Nobility to art, but at this point, with so many shallow attempts to cash in on our desperate search for community and contentment, quality and passion have been thrown out the window. Shoveling this hot shit at us day and night (remakes, sequels, prequels, adaptations) has become another tool of capitalism to keep us just satisfied to not ask for more.

Ask for more. Ask for better. You deserve it.

[99corentine]

How To Write Good by Corentine

THE DRAFTING PROCESS, PART 1/2

Hello, people were interested in some writing tips by me so I, uh, sort of kind of cranked out a writing guide in a few hours. I’m not sure if this will be a very comprehensive or helpful guide but let’s give it a try!

⭐ Starting disclaimers: Please remember as with all things that my method is not necessarily the best method, everyone is different and over time you’ll find your own process.

I write romance, so my advice is skewed towards writing that and I’m not sure how helpful it will be for gen fic. I publish fanfic chapter by chapter to AO3 so it’s also skewed to someone doing the same, not someone writing a full novel they want to get published. 

I’m going to be using GOL HAH DOV (GHD) for writing examples because, well, it’s a finished longfic so it’s as good a reference as any, but obviously GHD is not everyone’s cup of tea. I’ll also occasionally reference Tooth for a Tooth (T4T) which apologies is very far from finished, but the Baldur’s Gate 3 fandom is vastly different to the Skyrim one, so it’s useful to cross-compare them.

Also worth bearing in mind: I have been writing fanfiction since I was about 13, and I’m now 33. That’s 20 years of experience. Do you know what I wrote when I was 13? Hot garbage. Writing is a learned skill that, much like playing a musical instrument or learning literally any other craft, you must put time and effort into to improve.

However although ‘practice makes perfect’ is fundamentally true, that’s also kind of lame advice. So here is what I personally do, which may be helpful in figuring out what you want to do. 

STEP ONE: YOU NEED AN IDEA FIRST DUMMY

Think of a fic idea. Probably you have lots of vague ideas. As I’m trying to turn something from a daydream into an actual writing project, I tend to ask myself these questions:

⭐Who is it about?⭐

Pick your pairing, romantic or otherwise. Think about what you like about the character and what traits you want to emphasise in your writing. If you’re writing about fan character x fan character, what makes them go well together? What causes tension between them?

If you’re writing fan character x original character, do remember that your readers are here for the fan character, not for your OC. There is no getting around this, your OC is not what brings people to the fic. GHD’s Chrysanthe was largely intended as a blank slate, quite literally, I made him an amnesiac because the point of the story was Miraak not Chrysanthe. 

Over time I was able to shape him into something more distinctive (softly-spoken, stoic, paladin-like, secret tricksy side only Miraak brings out, gets more dragon-like as the story progresses) but that was a gradual thing. Your readers will hopefully come to love your OC as you do, but it takes time for them to get invested. I’m very grateful that people did come to root for Chrysanthe – but make no mistake, if the story had no Miraak in it, people wouldn’t be reading it. Your OC is always a vehicle for the fan character.

⭐What are the overarching themes of the story?⭐

A cohesive story has a theme that repeats throughout, and picking one early on will let you write with that theme in mind. As an example, the themes of GHD are:

Soulmates / we were destined to meet each other

There’s no-one else like me / you and I are the only real ones here

One’s a hero one’s a villain

Zero to hero / hero becomes progressively more badass

Redemption arc but the villain is never fully redeemed – for GHD this turned into the repetition of Miraak’s theme he’ll never be pure but for you he’ll try and later Chrysanthe’s I love you exactly as you are

Your own themes might be something like best friends who don’t realise they’ve been in love this whole time or can’t live with you can’t live without you. Tropes count towards this too, so something like soulmates, Modern Coffee Shop AU, hanahaki, all of that stuff is a story theme.

⭐What does this fic do that other fics like it don’t?⭐

GOL HAH DOV was sort of easy mode in this regard because there aren’t many fics featuring Miraak at all, so writing anything was already doing something different. Of those existing fics, I wanted to see more where Miraak was evil and scary, and you should be the change you want to see in the world (of fanfic), so I decided to write it myself. I get a lot of comments on Miraak’s personality, so I assume this is mostly what makes GHD stand out!

I’ll use T4T as a contrasting example, because Skyrim is old and Miraak is niche, but Baldur’s Gate 3 is new/popular and Astarion is a fan favourite. That means there’s a veritable sea of fic about him, so what can you write that will stand out from the many, many other fics out there? It doesn’t have to be the only one of its kind or anything, but it does need to have something special about it.

You’ll want to either go for a strong theme or trope (i.e. soulmates, magical spell curse, we’re both monsters), or change the setting (canon divergence, ‘what if X happened instead?’, or even outright alternate universe and a brand new plot). Personally, I choose to follow the source material but go off-script. I gotta say, nothing makes me sadder than seeing plot and dialogue lifted straight from a game with zero changes made to it. That’s a personal preference obviously, but I think if you write a fic it should strive to do something different to the rest.

⭐Do I have enough enthusiasm to finish it?⭐

This is more applicable to longfic, but you really need to be in love with a story to see it through to the end. Be realistic with yourself, how much free time and energy you have – if you start it, do you think you can finish it?

I have a whole planning process (detailed later) and sometimes I start planning out an idea just to realise I don’t really have the enthusiasm to actually write the whole thing. This is fine! Even just planning is still a writing exercise, and it might spark some different ideas.

Once you have your idea, and you’re confident you’re going to actually write it… then for the love of all that is holy, do not share it in detail with anyone. You can pitch an idea to see if people will be interested but if you go into specifics about story events or certain scenes? You basically get the endorphins from having ‘created’ it, only you haven’t actually created it, and now you’ve had the chemical pay-off you probably never will. Keep your ideas to yourself until you’ve actually written them.

STEP TWO: WRITE THAT DOWN

In terms of writing software, I use Scrivener, which is a paid-for software but is not subscription based (I wouldn’t pay continually for software unless I was reliably writing every day, and sometimes I go ages without being in the mood to write). Scriv’s word processor isn’t the most intuitive thing, but I like its organisation features. This is what a work in progress looks like for me:

That’s essentially a folder (the story) containing a bunch of word documents (the chapters). You could break it down even further and have a chapter folder with each document being individual scenes, then stitch it together later - if writing is a daunting process for you, it’s useful to break it down into small, manageable chunks. You can do this in other software obviously, I just find Scrivener the most visually pleasing.

Set up your writing document, and let’s get to planning what we’re actually going to write!

...Apparently tumblr has a word limit I've exceeded, so I'll write the next bit separately. Here's PART TWO.

[see-arcane]

Do you have any writing tips that work for you?

I acknowledge that the first draft's probably going to suck.

There are probably holes in it and the same sentence repeated ten times and enough typos to make the dictionary gain enough sentience to cry in despair. That's fine. That's how first drafts are supposed to be. Future drafts exist to fix that. me @ me: Do Not Worry About the First Draft.

If I don't have to write in cold blood, I do not do it.

Unless I'm writing something on the clock for a job, I am writing for me, me, me. Scribbling is my hobby. My beloved terrible sandbox to play in. If I am not having fun building X Sandcastle, I pivot to Y Sandcastle. Because sometimes it's not always a matter of, 'Oh, you just want to get through the boring part to get to this neat scene!' Sometimes a story just loses its flavor in the moment. And if I'm not having a good time with it, oftentimes I'm writing garbage I'll end up deleting anyway. Not worth throwing that time away. No Fun? No Write.

I get inspired! (positive)

Reading or watching something with the Vibes I want for my current project gets my brain battery going. Sometimes I'll even catch myself going into 'parrot mode' to break through a writer's block by going, "Well, if it was happening in X Universe and using X Style of storytelling, what would it sound like?' And then I'm off.

I get inspired. (spite. loathing. hatred and bile unending.)

Being inspired to make something new in the footsteps of your most beloved storytellers: uwu🌸

Being inspired to make literally anything without inhibition, be it a story or a bowel movement, because either one would be a step up from the flaming legacy of horseshit inflicted on you by a Particular Piece of Media: owo 🔪

I can't stop. I can't stop.

I have two Word documents open right now. I have ten notebooks in use. I cannot go one (1) day without writing unless I am physically paralyzed with illness or pain, and even then I am thinking of Things I Will Write once I'm upright. My Muse is the most giving one around, but said giving is hitting like a waterfall and I am perpetually flattened into the Earth's crust by the sheer abundance of WRITE WRITE WRITE blasting into my head at all hours.

But on that note, one of the best things for my writing?

Forcing myself not to write.

Seriously.

Taking a break that involves Absolutely No Creation of Text is vital. Reading. Drawing. Watching a new movie. Making a meal that takes more effort than 'dumping some Cheerios and an apple in a bowl to eat next to the computer/notebook.' It all helps me unplug and not go insane with making scene after scene after scene. Writer Brain needs to cool off with Non-Writing things or it'll catch on fire*.

*Read: Lead to full burnout on a story that I genuinely wanted to work on. What a waste.

[macfrog]

Could you possibly walk us through your writing process? I’m a beginner writer at best, and I usually jot down snippets in my notes app. I’m not the best at connecting plot lines, and most definitely struggle with writing filler content. I was just wondering how you start out + go through it from there? If not, that’s okay :) I love your work so much <3

absolutely i can. i have been told that my writing process is a little non-linear (read: unhinged), so please bear with me. it’s like a christopher nolan film up in my brain

most of my stories start with just an image or a particular line in my head that i can’t shake – so like, jet was built around a static image of a dingy motel room with two horses stood out front. and from there, i just map everything out.

that initial thought is the main seed, and everything else stems from questions i ask myself (and therefore gotta assume whoever’s reading will also ask). all the what where when who whys etc. and slowly this skeletal structure forms, where the bones are the answers to these questions, and the flesh becomes the story they tell, with as much attention to detail as i can possibly cram in. the devil is in the detail!!!!!

this means, though, that the process is not always linear (for me anyways lol), because depending on which thought/image has sparked inspiration in my brain, i begin writing at diff points of the tale. sometimes i'll start writing the end and go back and fill the beginning in, sometimes i write one scene in full and then jump back and forth to finish the story. it’s back to front, left to right, upside down on its damn head way more often than it’s once upon a time… straight through to happily ever after. i cannot say i recommend this. it becomes confusing and mildly painful when editing.

anyway. yes. using the notes app is also super helpful, keep doing that! it’s great for when inspiration suddenly strikes and you gotta jot it down. good for collecting little moments that you’ll wanna use in fics later on. little snippet notes are great for mulling over a particular idea and developing a story around it. just keep adding adding adding

as for physically writing/pulling a story together: you just have to do it. just get it out. don’t worry about it being good or bad, especially not your first draft. sometimes you gotta let the water run for a bit before it turns clear. just write. i like to hammer a first draft out (usually garbage), and then i pull up a blank second document side by side and redraft by retyping the entire thing. it helps me read it like a first-time reader would, which helps point out things that maybe don’t make sense or could be worded better. helps edit the hell out of it. i LOVE redrafting lmao

my biggest piece of advice is have fun with it. write stories you love, about people you love, and do it for you. and please send in anything you write, so we can all read and love it, too 🩵

(sorry for long ass response. u ask about something max is passionate about and she appears at ur window like the boogeyman)

[fnunelfn]

Ripclaw: Cyber City Part 1

RIPCLAW: “Cyber City” 

By Freddy Nunez 

First Draft 

ONE

The night was clear in New York City, the fresh air blowing through the city relieved the city of the heat that had held it in its grip for the last three weeks. The people of New York were having a good night. 

One man not having a good night was John Forthwright the panicked man in torn clothes running for his life. His cybernetic arms and legs gleamed in the full moon's glare.

“I---I have to find it,” he said to himself. “I have to find it” he repeated as a mantra to keep his fear from overwhelming him. 

In a dimly lit ally John found refuge behind a garbage can his unknown pursuer nowhere to be seen. 

“I lost him”

Behind John, a sudden thud informed him that his assertion was wrong. He was never lost to the man who chased him, an elite tracker named BUZZCUT. Buzzcut stood 8 feet tall with three arms on his left side his red cybernetic armor the pinnacle of Cyberdata’s design work. John was shaking as he hid behind a waste storage container a cold sweat drenching his pale face. 

“You messed up Johnny” Buzzcut taunted his robotic voice echoing through the empty allie. 

TWO

Inside the 56th Street precinct things were hectic, for Lolo Martinez the chaos was severe. Detective Martinez was in her first year as Cyber Homicide and things were always exploding. It turns out that “Cybers” or mutants with cybernetic enhancements were growing year after year. “Soon they will take over the world,” Her department leader told her on her first day on the job. Martinez liked the work even if she hesitated to say how she felt about “Cybers”. 

“Why do you do it,” said Morley a ten-year veteran. “I like to work Morley” said Martinez shuffling papers on her desk. “I want to know how guys like you got here?” 

“Why so sassy?” 

“I like my Job, Morley, I solve crimes and put people away” 

“You just haven't had a backbreaker case yet, kid.” 

Martinez rose from her chair with a smile on her face, “I guess that's the lie you tell yourself, Kid” 

“Martinez!” a voice from the far side of the station called out. “We have a job for you!”. “Yes sir, Captain, I must excuse myself Morley duty calls” 

THREE

“The body was cut into small slices and left piled behind a dumpster”. The officer on duty said. 

“A passerby noticed the smell and called it in”. 

Martinez followed her routine on crime scenes like this. Martinez asked if anyone saw anything or if prints had been found. The Officer replied “No”. 

“Okay, no leads, no prints and no eyes on this” Martinez said, “make it nice and easy for me, I love it.”  

Martinez looked around the area where the body was found noticing grooves cut into the brick wall. 

“What the hell did this?” 

“Maybe it was a cyber, a mutant with a grudge?” replied The Officer. 

“You are half right, this was a cyber, this wasn’t just any old interaction.” Martinez retrieved her phone from her pocket, “I need to find Robert Bearclaw” 

To be Continued.

[novelconcepts]

17 :)

17 - talk about your writing and editing process

Pretty straightforward most of the time. If I'm writing something short--like 5k words or under--I usually just sit down and unspool the whole thing like a creature possessed. If it's a longer piece, I have to chip away at it (usually; there have been some long fics I've just gone into a fugue state for and woken up 40k words later. those times are...wild). I oftentimes will throw together a loose outline in my Tumblr drafts, periodically referring to it and crossing things off as I go until I have a complete draft.

Editing is really just a matter of blocking out the world while I lock in for a full reread. This is why I'm always a little leery of doing follow-up pieces, for the record. I feel like I'd need to go back and reread any earlier story in the series, making sure everything lines up perfectly, nothing is negated or accidentally erased, and my...brain...isn't really wired for that. I'm very much a "made this! instantly forgot about the details" kind of person. Probably I could benefit from outside editors, but I don't really like throwing drafts at other people and I really don't like asking for someone's time when I can just handle it myself, sooo. Yeah. If I'm posting some huge monstrosity, you can be sure I've apologetically informed my wife, "Hey, I'll be chilling upstairs for the next five-to-seven hours while I make sure this isn't utter garbage. I am so, so sorry. Byeeeee!"

[blixabargelds]

stares directly @ u

2 5 13 38

hiii 🥺<3

2. Is there a trope you’ve yet to try your hand at, but really want to?

i think it’s kind of crazy that i’ve never written full blown noncon tbh lmao i need to do that at some point. other than that i’m not really sure i think i generally have a go at most tropes i find interesting. i think fake dating could be really fun, and secret dating which i am actually doing in my ghostie au

5. Share one of your strengths.

i think i’m strongest when i’m writing the body. like physicality, the experience of being in a body in different situations, im good writing at the uncomfortable and visceral feelings and happenings of the body

13. What’s the best writing advice you’ve ever come across?

man i’m not sure i guess something im trying to do more is not think too hard about it in the first draft. i’m a perfectionist and so many ppl have told me to just write what i might think is garbage n heavy edit later n i’ve been trying really hard to do that more. you can always edit what you’ve written, you can’t edit something that doesn’t exist bc you spend too long trying to get the exact words right first try

38. Talk about a review that made your day.

wah these are two parts of one really long review i got on tmwi. i know i talk a lot about how important this fic was for me and the biggest reason for that is that it seemed to be really important to a lot of others too. for something ive written to resonate so strongly with a lot of people and invoke so much emotion in readers is something i did not anticipate and im forever blown away by the response this fic got in general

[…] But I sincerely, sincerely can't thank you enough for this story. Ive kept coming back to it again and again because of how it articulates so succinctly and resonantly so many things I didn't even realize I was desperate to understand until I did, and because it offers a level of positive emotional catharsis I am absolutely blown away by.

[…] maybe pain *isn't* the only way to feel real, as well as understanding that that's how I had been thinking about it. It felt like getting hit by a truck, in a good way. So, that's insane a little bit. Thanks. God damn. I could point to so many specific moments and lines that rocked me to my core, shaking parts of me I didn't even know were there, so many parts that felt like a fog lifting and so many parts that made me want to cover my face and hide away from the intensity of emotion but at the same time wouldn't let me look away at all. So many. This was fantastic, and I'm delighted to see it finished. Beautiful work.

[your-greatest-queen]

I know a lot of folks don't like ADHD meds, for a variety of reasons, but oh my god. Oh my motherfucking god. These are a godsend for me.

I've been on concerta for about a year now (lowest dosage) and it's helped improve my focus and has lowered my depression. I thought it was amazing. Recently, I got my dosage upped.

My bedroom was a high level depression pit. It was nasty. I haven't actually slept in my own bed in months because it was covered in stuff. But it was so overwhelming to look at that it triggered executive dysfunction with just a glance, and so I never could clean it. My room is now clean; reorganized, dusted, vacuumed, disinfected, redecorated- it's been YEARS since it looked this nice.

I'm in grade 12.5 because I was so dysfunctional in grade 11 that I dropped out halfway through. I spent grade 12 making up for it; but even then, on my first dosage and doing better, I wasn't doing great. I haven't taken notes in years. I have winged almost every test I've ever taken. I wrote every essay the night before it was due. Rough drafts who? I managed to pull decent grades, sometimes even pretty good ones. But it was never ending stress because of my habits and I was almost always behind.

I'm ahead in my classes now. I'm doing assignments the day they're assigned. I'm writing notes and brainstorming pages of ideas and breaking things down for myself. I'm getting straight 90s. I haven't felt this confident and secure in academics since middle school.

Our house was never totally clean. The basement (my charge) was always a disaster. Having people over was at best a little shameful and at worst downright humiliating. My mother cleans, but the messes she makes outweigh it. It was my job to handle the basics, at least, after school every day. I couldn't. I could do a few things, but I got burnt out or bored too fast to complete a day's work. Small projects were put off for months.

I come home from school now and within a couple of hours, I've vacuumed upstairs and downstairs, I've done the dishes, I've taken out the trash, I've brushed the cats, I've cleaned the living room and the kitchen, I've switched the laundry- yesterday I used the toilet and then just. Reorganized the entire bathroom. Today I came home and immediately untangled the huge knotted ball of my mother's necklaces that she asked me to fix for her weeks ago. On Saturday not only did I brush my cats, I also shampooed them, conditioned them, and clipped their claws.

I used to hoard clothing because going through them was the most tedious, boring task in existence. I've recently donated over six full garbage bags worth of stuff.

I used to have to write down every single task as soon as it was given, even if there were only two, because I'd always forget at least one thing. Now I can remember upwards of five things at once, even better than the person who assigned the task in the first place.

My moods feel more regulated, I'm socializing more, I'm advocating for myself in situations where I'd previously let people walk over me, I'm making goals for the future, I have more real free time, I'm less stressed- it's a little sad that I've spent almost a decade not getting this, but I am BEYOND thrilled that I get to have this now :D

Anyway, lil happy rant because I'm very very excited!! Thanks for reading, byyyye~

[tlgpandoramia]

Chapter One : The Mortifalia

Notes : Hiii, after some inner struggle I decided to share some of my book in Tumblr. I'm just yearning for some feedback XD so I would appreaciate any, but please do be kind, that's my first draft and English is not my native language. Please, don't repost anywhere without my permission. Enjoy!

Word Counting : 4020k

Rate: 16+

`'Read my words well, as I write this under some influence, I feel that my head is about to pop, no idea if all those vaccines shots put a chip, or another virus inside of me, or maybe is just that fucking MORT-09 shit scratching my brain. The doctor said I just got to avoid everything and avoid to drink too much water and take sunbath, easy for that fucker to say, I feel like my body is completely dried, even my lips are all numb and rough for lack of water, the fever is not helping either. Anyway, screw that medical garbage, all the hospitals are full like a Best Buy in a sale day, everyone is coughing blood, and some are even bleeding from the eyes, mouth, nose, ears and pretty much everywhere, is so disgusting to see that, so I prefer to stay at home, at least here I have internet, my computer and nobody looking like a weird horror story. But, the doctors gave me a shot, a vaccine of some sort, saying that it isn't one hundred percent efficient, but it should help the immune system to fight the virus, I say it is bullshit, is not doing anything and my right arm is still sore from that stupid needle.

They said that this new virus came from a plant, or a flower, whatever, is the freaking same thing. But is ugly, last week when I had to go take the shot, I saw a guy bleeding from the head, like someone had cut the top and left it to bleed, the messed up part is that it wasn't normal red blood, but dark like a can of black tint, like a midnight lagoon, the news said that this is the last stage before going into coma, then is over, you fall into a sleep and that's it.

After the shot, I started having nightmares, not the usual scary bloody clown chasing you through an abandoned factory, kind of nightmare, but some real things, like it seems it actually happened, I don't know if it was just a weak moment from my delirious mind, this fucking fever and all the stress, but I heard some feral noises, sounding like shrinks coming straight off a hellish forest. Then I woke up, and saw something through the bedroom window leading to the yard, it was a black shadow of some sort, but it had flesh underneath, it was moving in like a foggy way, giggling around and lifting itself like a cloud of gas. I was up and ready, I know this, I even remember when the trigger was pulled and the bullet hit it. I even buried it, but its always coming back, digging itself off that dirt and the grass, I see it everywhere, in the corner of my eyes, inside the pipes, struggling to get inside, pushing the door and floating around, just like that damn black fog, or spores, that I see when the ignites are on, the vacuum cleaner can't deal with that, I used it, then the next day they reappeared, but that giant human shape black fog is always coming back, doesn't matter how deep I dig it.

Yesterday I spent eight hours watching over the window, aware all the time, feeling my eyes burning and the muscles cramping, but somehow I couldn't stop it, like a sleep paralysis. That's was when I started seeing that white glow fog on every surface, just floating and existing, when I left the house they turned into those huge shining orbs on the dark sky, glowing and singing to me, chanting in a soprano voice, beautiful and peaceful, something that I didn't felt in a long time, it was like angels telling me to law down and accept my death, that they would take me to a better place if I only allow it, that feeling of being rotten from the inside vanished, even the nightmares.

I...We, all thought that this virus was just another excuse for the big pharmaceutical companies to make vaccines and earn billions, but this is different, it doesn't feel like a conspiracy theory or something, it feels real.

My blood turned black, yet sometimes I can catch a glimpse of the red color if I look hard enough.

Today is October six of two thousands and seventeen, three days after the hospital visit, the news aren't positive or hopeful, showing footage of hospital being overrun by sick people, bodies being transported in every available vehicle and being toss inside containers, some are saying that that's it, the end of humankind, between that and global warming is a tough situation to get yourselves out of it.

This Mortifalia, isn't new, I heard about it back in two thousand and six, people from all over the world used it for different purposes, some native used it the flower as a medicine, others eat it like a meal, a few beauty industry people discovered and started using in cosmetics, and not to mention how some would use it as a drug, grab the flower, smash it and mix with hot water, then just smell that thing, it would give anyone a huge high, I did that back in university years ago, maybe that's how I got it, since nobody infected came near me in years and I barely leave my house for three years. When it started becoming an issue back in two thousand and thirteen, the government said that if you took the nitrogen pills and all the vaccines, you would be fine, and so we carry on in this pandemic. In those years almost nobody died, only going into coma, millions of people went to deep sleep, some remained to recent days, I know some people had the virus in the past and nothing happened, but now they are numbers in intensive care units. A little to late, but I throw away all that had the ``dormant Mortifalia``in their formulas, the shampoos, deodorant and that cursed healing water for the skin, they always said that it was impossible for those products to infected someone since the virus within was dead, who knows...Maybe that how I got infected or the flower smelling. Is unusual to say, but I feel at peace, feeling like I could just lay down and sleep forever, the angels don't stop to speak with me, but a part of me feels that this is wrong. There is no peace at slavery, at being a puppet, I'm a salve for a thing that is controlling me, commanding me in everything, even my own thoughts, and words. No! My words are my own, shut up now, and stop whispering in my ears, telling me what to do, or is this just what I'm supposed to believe? It's controlling me, I know, just like a puppet of an insane puppet master. The smell of blood is strong coming from the next house. No, it doesn't! Maybe I should watch those angels in the sky for a little longer.'' Words found in a pre outbreak letter

The story circles to the future, two thousand and twenty seven, disclosing around survivors, one in particular being Miyako Uzume, descendant of an ancient Japanese family with roots of witchcraft and a rumor of ``Chosen by a God``, bound by a promise with a deity until end of times. ``One shall see beyond men logical perspective, blessed to not join the army of pawns that shall walk upon Earth`` An old prophecy that turned the family popular back in Japan, as nobody appreciates they.

Enough of mysticism, those word are only coming out because I fear to speak about the reality that we set upon yourselves.

Beyond the metal and atomic bomb resistant walls, lies something that would make death seems like a frail human, extermination, nothing less. The girl don't remember how the world looked outside the metal box, how most of the days were spend hiding behind the apartment and looking out of the window, never coming in contact with people of the same age or friends in general, weeks would go by and only the sight of the family members could be seen, alongside the smell of recent baked cookies and how loud the progenitor used to listen to the news, yet for her the words never made much of a sense, considering that English proved to be different from asian mother tongue. Although melancholic and boring, the past hits with a home sick feeling, coming in strong and persistent.

Most people misses the old world with all of their hearts, the daily activities, go to work, bar and parties, hear those meaningless celebrities news and the idea of just existing. An emotion not share by the child, as it may be that those were never experienced, if the inner thoughts would ever be spoken out loud, strangers would condemn, after all who could be sympathetic towards someone that believes in the idea of a pandemic world being better that the past one, overall humans grew simplistic, surviving and coping with the past takes all their time, left with no time to judge others or the path someone else wishes to walk upon, worrying about surviving another day.

Dreams of traveling, earning degrees, buying houses and last generations vehicles were crushed years ago, if one were blessed by Lady Luck an approval letter for a shelter program or an invite to live inside a Military Zone arrived in the mailbox a few days before the breaking day, half of the issues could've been dealt with it, however feeling safe also worked as an ultimatum. To be able to live inside a secure place, a citizen should proves useful, assigned to be a working member of the new society, either by attending educational institutions, tasked to a specific job or being less fortunate and work as a manufacturing worker, aiding to keep the places sturdy, maybe joining the militia, options are limited, nevertheless one still has the power of choosing, even though this power lies in two paths, accept it or leave it.

Young kids or infant born within those camps believed that the inanimate concrete and steel is a sentient deity, that shields they for the horror of the outside world, of the lands dominated by the infected, kilometers of the Black Fog covering the capitals, corruption eating away every miserable human settlement out there. Cursing someone to go to hell no longer works, now the most lucky ones wishes for others to go beyond the walls and experience how it feels out there, death penalties also ceased to exist, if one commits a crime that calls for severe punishment, then exile seems logical enough.

Hopes for an ordinary life died six years ago, a major pike of infection overwhelmed hospitals across the world, and it couldn't function anymore with millions of humans going into stasis, the point of no returning, after a few more hours the virus had full control over the host. Despite never witnessing an infected or a victim, children that grew up in shelters learned about it, The Manual describes them as ``Former humans, now in absolute control of the Mortifalia``. Diversified by five stages, all shared an importance, yet the first worries the doctors, taking place between four to six hours after a bite, scratch, breathing the spores or by simple coming in contact with infected blood, airborne took most of the victims, as they never noticed it until the last moment, some areas in cities are so deep within Its territory that the air itself is bio hazard, one dies by suffocation before turning into a Courier.

Shelters were built by the Saga Corporation, half of it were put inside major military camps, however the organization took responsibility to generate their own food, water and electricity supplies. Each party has their own objectives, the military one being to avoid infected near the borders, as a high concentration of the infection can cause a Nucleus to be form, spreading the Black Fog through the wind, even infectiing the rain and the soil itself.

Miyako rest as the youngest daughter of the prestigious virologist, Doctor Reira Uzume, a veteran researcher of the Mortifalia and a key factor for creating a vaccine, the child takes the mother word over anything, admiring her beyond compression, a woman capable of running for president, if the government worked like before, the Uzume matriarch wrote half of The Manual Of The Infection, responsible for gathering information about the virus and how to deal with it in hundred of scenarios.

The others countries remains until this day, yet details of what happened and what became of the provisional laws is a privilege meant for a few high rank officers. The USA fragmented itself in regimes called Provisional Governments, a president figure persisted, however with less power and no longer representing a political wing. With a mandate lasting three years, they need to allied themselves with the Military, Scientific or Industrial party, each with its own beliefs on how to deal with the virus and prevent humans to be extinct, and of course, making sure that the walls remains strong.

A prestige biologist, Katherine Williams sits in the White House, feeding the hope of a vaccine to save the world, whoever the truth doesn't aligned itself with this ideal. The group has the duty of maintaining the hospitals, camps and clinics, while creating ways of improving the new educational system, and worshiping the possibility of a vaccine.

Every night Miyako wonders what happened to the apartment, now laying in a prohibit area of DC, almost all were left behind, even Ren, a teddy bear given by her brother in the girl six year old birthday. On the day the world died, a group of men wearing white tuxedos knocked on the family door, demanding the four to pack it up in essential and leave for the shelter located somewhere in the capital heart, a lot of things were considered useless baggage by the agents, not allowing more that two pair of clothes and shoes, going against the orders, the oldest son sneaked away nail polishes for his sister, storing it all away inside the jacket pockets.

Once upon a time, feed the wishful think that the things left behind would feel alone and abandoned, just like she does. Through all the way to the landing spot, many people were roaming the street, some sick and wandering around, enjoying the last minutes before falling into coma, while others were protesting for a solution, gathering around the military camp protecting the white house, begging to be let inside, the scream mattered not, as none of those outside made it

That night marked the first time she left the secured place for a non medical reason, it felt engulf at some point, as the air itself attempted to crush her lungs, however the safe heaven tagged along, once more, as he promised to do each time. The vision of the round metal vault door closing imprinted itself as an intruder memory, the noise, the staff affirming in a loop that nobody should worry about anything, the smell of smoke and the red light shining, as the door closed to never be opened again, for others present there the sight worked as a reminder of hope and safety, yet for her it mold as a frightened event, locked inside a place with people that controlled the child's life since the first day.

Shelter...A fancy word to be buried inside an underground facility, in the false illusion of safety against everything the outside could throw at it, from atomic bombs to the Black Fog, the idea of holding yourself in an infection free zone, with food, water and light sounds perfect, built inside the biggest military camp in the country, as a warning to the government on who runs the show, although fools believes that the construction happened to create a harmonic relationship with the politicians.

In the middle of the cold and empty metal hallways, a Observatarium takes place, covering several meters of the gigantic room, an enormous and thin screen showing realistic videos of a snowy tundra, as a light snow falls on top of the trees. She's able to witness such landscape through the brother's eyes, again, a promise from long time ago.

Mafuyu serves as her eyes and protector since the girl came into the world, ignoring all else and silently focusing the eyesight so she can enjoy it to the max, a fake nature, yet it brings comfort.

Never allowed to try for friends, as the doctors redeem her immune system too weak to be close to others, so the young men turned into something more that just a brother, a friend, a father figure and someone who wished nothing more that her well being. The two would spend hours playing or watching television, in the beginning he didn't hesitated to believe in the sight story, and when the truth that Yuki never existed came to be, Mafuyu one more time jump to the ``It's okay`` part, talking with their parents and explaining what it meant, for the youngest they share more that blood, someone who took over all of possible roles, the burning feeling irradiating in the lower abdomen fades when she can rest her head on the teen shoulder, sure that nothing out there can bring harm to the siblings.

An imaginary gust of wind blows the Uzume hair, as the elder sibling beside smiles and laughs, revealing to be the one blowing the air, extending the playful moment to the max.

they cares not about what happened in the past or that others misses the old world, as not even the apocalypse could change the family routine, or the parents lack of attention to their children, since the beginning, he remembers the adult overworking themselves to the extreme, leaving the siblings without a guide, Mafuyu felt lost for years, not sure if those two people were his parents or just someone that shares the same blood, when Reira announced another pregnancy, he knew that the same fate waited the infant, a life of loneliness, and to never hear a parent saying ``I love you``, fearing this future, the teen took over the duty of raising a child by himself. Is no secret that the girl considers the brother as a father, showing this trust by only speaking next to him, as she craves the safety and reassurance that comes with the elder Uzume presence, and he never hide this honor that it feels to be someone comfort person.

The father, a charming Chinese men in his late forties approaches. Yi Han stands out thanks to the glorious dark hair brushed in a classic and refined hairstyle, a well chosen dark blue suit and the silk skin, leaving no space to comments about flaws, while the fellow scientists worries about work, the men prioritize the physical appearance over looking clever all the time.

How the men ignores the younger child enkindles rage within Mafuyu, ``A parent should always know where his children are``, yet the youngest replies with silence, non concern to hid the scorn growing towards the men. The siblings carries on their moment, Yi takes that as a defeat, looking over the future of the family, wondering if the methods of raising they are valid, or just a cruel way to treat an eleven year old child, a sensation of shame overcomes the men smooth persona, choosing to step away before any flaw can be shown in front of others.

The father-daughter relationship had been damaged years ago, as Yi Han refused to believed about the sight and her decision of no longer wanting to pretend to be a boy, claiming that such important decision should've been delayed due to insufficient age, blaming Mafuyu influence and the heat of the moment, the lack of support pushed her away from the him, hurt beyond word. With the head of Saga paying for everything, and how the brother hold her hand at every second, Miyako went forward with the new life, going through treatment and last year a surgery to end the circle, mistaking the corporation gesture for kindness, yet the goal strayed from that good, a way to keep the child under their wings and docile, a solution to make sure that she couldn't leave the shelter or abandoned the cause, to enhanced their trust further, the pharmaceutical company developed a tiny device into a specific area of the body, assuring that the technology would avoid the necessity of daily hormones pills. A factor that seal a bound between the girl and the company, seeing the CEO as a hero of some sort, someone that aid in the most dire moment, able to enjoy life as Miyako, a name picked by the brother. The solo demand made by the company happened to be a small thing, cooperation, and nothing more. A contract signed by the child to assist in a project to adapt the sight to soldiers, so they could hijack into infected minds and gain upper hand, despite believing in this supernatural gift, the head scientist cared not to make it a project, using it as a mere mean to an end.

One would think that the end of the world could bring people together, but it didn't, the mother spend most of the days working in the dream of manufacturing a vaccine, or at least something to retard the effect of the virus, while Yi Han makes sure that the shelter geothermal power plant remains in working order. Mafuyu takes the promise to an honorable level, even joining her in classes about electronics, mechanics, medicine and biology, subjects from the new educational system, a way to create a better future, so the new generation can grow knowing the most important lessons instead of dwelling in past history or unnecessary mathematics. Despite finding those five hours boring, she cherishes every second of it, as what follows it in the schedule its never pleasant.

When the experiment time begins, Mafuyu has to leave, not a single test is harmless, each holding their own amount of pain or discomfort. Recalling about yesterday, the scientist attempted to created a theory about how the brain connect itself with the sight, looking for a logical way to explain the ability of seeing through others eyes. A thin and silver needle penetrate through the lower eye until it reached the brain, the whole procedure took place under heavy anesthesia, yet the pain grew harder to withstand afterward, worse that an emotional hollowness, a feeling that shocked through the brain and the nervous system.

However, a worst one exist, The Helmet, or so she calls it, a metal device is introduced on the head, then electrical stimulus are send to the brain, a way to improve her eyes and recover a tiny fraction of the natural sight, it makes the body fake a scenario where each centimter of skin melts, every cell and fiber deteriorates, reaching an astonishing level of fading, only to be wake by the same pain, left with no choice, but to endure it the most brutal five minutes of the day, it happened several times, and it can't seen to get better anytime soon. The shock waves suffering is staggering, yet she judges as a necessary evil, willing to make this sacrifice, blind by manipulation and scared of the chance of Saga sending the family away from the shelter, not willed to put Mafuyu into harm ways, or to sacrifice the parents career.

Using the girl lack of direction and the endless search for a purpose to created a perfect harmony, as Miyako feels like a sheep in a forest full of werewolves, a part of her believes that the suffering can be justify, and the other she deserves the pain coming from those test.

Regardless of the brother encouragement words, remanding how important her life is, the child refuses to see in the same way, seeing herself as a pillar, holding back the corruption from crumbling under the one she loves, willing to continue with the penitence, just for a small glance of a better tomorrow.

[aw-fmp-final-marked-project]

Title Screen:

19/03/2025 Going into the second quarter of the project timeline now, and I have started to run out of things to develop without finishing the lobby system. Once I create that, I can continue the game along with all of it's networking systems I need to add. I might as well add a simple title screen while I'm here as well.

Title Screen: The lobby will be tied directly to the title screen. Therefore, I should make a title screen. I first looked at many other title screens from other games and started to make connections between them.

Games are very different in how they approach displaying information. But, they all have a few common trends: 1. They always have the name or logo of the game very visible at the start. 2. They seamlessly transition into different sections of the UI. They don't leave the central beginning area until the player is in game. 3. They have a list of selections for what the player wants to do. These usually include: Play Game, Settings, Customiser, Credits, Statistics and many more depending on what the game has. Different game modes can be on here as well. 4. They feature a core component of the games identity at the foreground and background of the area. This can be a character, an important object, or location. 5. They keep white space in areas and fill up others with UI. This categorises certain functions by their correlation to each other. With this in mind, I am going to create a rough draft of a title screen for Stockwave.

I made a render of the NYSE trading floor. The idea is that the monitors in front of the player are monitors with UI elements. Whilst chaos ensues behind the trading booth. This is excellent because the UI fits in with the environment, and the environment fits with the game. Obviously, I won't use this render, or any other render for the full game. It would be weird to have hand-crafted pixel art, and then use a high-definition render as the game's title screen. So, I am going to use this as a base for a custom image that I am going to create myself. My inspiration for these screens and booths come from the images below:

The issue is that a render does not fit this style of game. And, I was not about to go ahead and create some fantastic custom art based on that image. So, I have to find something else that I can do. My art is long, tedious, annoying, and worst of all, bad. My initial idea of the stock trading booth is a cool idea, but not one that I really want to do since it is 100% art based. So, I'll do the one thing I am good at, Math. I had the idea to do something much more in line with other games, and not specifically render a coherent scene. I am thinking of making something more abstract, like these:

So, I can render out text and shapes using math in GMS2. This is much easier to do for me than hand-craft something bigger. Along with this, it will be much easier to edit at a later date. I can procedurally generate graphics related to the stock market in the same way that I made the animations for the stats bar. I simply put references into that array and make it 2D. This means I can put separate information for different entries of the array that I can call from. I then run through the entire array, rending bars and text where-ever it needs to be. This system works really well, since this is basically how a particle system works. Instead of every particle having it's own instance to manage, a single instance has information about them all. This is really good for performance because it uses minimal data. This system is way better than built in particles, like GMS2's Particle Systems and Unreal Engine's Niagara, because of how I have cut out a lot of data needing to be present from each system. In a way, particle systems don't do their job.

The I need to garbage collect by removing array sections after they have been moved off screen. I just check the index's x coordinate, and then compare it to -width. Since the screen ends at coordinate 0, -width is the exact place that it will stop appearing on screen. In which, I then add a new entry onto the array at the very end. This is to render a new bar and make the entire system last forever. If I do this for procedural asset generation. I can parallax it to make a cool effect. Something that looks like this:

(It is a Gif, but it won't move on tumblr for some reason). The background map just scrolls and repeats slowly to the left. I made a grid with pain.net, and added a free world map png over the top. (I also coloured it blue). The bars at the centre are also moving to the left, they get taken out of my array and added to the very right when they go off screen. I generate a random height based on [last bar's height] += irandom_range(-20,20). This gives a random bar value whilst not making the jump between each bar too massive. I then duplicate it downwards but divide the height by 5. The text gets a random value from 10,000 to 800,000. It also gets a random colour (Being green or red) and the arrow to accompany it. I draw it in the same way as the bars. I add a little white line to the left of the text to separate the text visually. These all use my custom: "particle-esque system". Which draws sprites as if they were not objects of their own, but controlled by a system of arrays and values which I created. I will talk about this in another post soon. I am really happy with this result, the bars and text in the foreground are relevant to the stock trading element, whilst the generation and colouring element of it is relevant to the synthwave style. I really like this title concept and will most probably use this for the final game.

[wr1t1ng-d1ary]

Where Am I Going?

How long has it been since I've written from the first post? Sometimes I don't think it's because people would care. Sometimes I just think it's better to discontinue. Sometimes I even wonder what's the point of writing this? What am I doing this for? For a glimpse of fame, fortune and respite? Hard to say.

So I reached a simple conclusion for all of this. I am NEVER going to be consistent with my writing, in this diary, in my stories or anything else. Sometimes I might leave my stories discontinued because the story is lost against time and loss of interest but I usually convince myself that it's better writing something and leaving a mark than leaving nothing at all. Is it crueler to leave a story discontinued, giving people a taste of one's writing or not writing at all and never letting anyone experience a story that can somehow, somewhere touch a reader.

I suffer from a lot of things when it comes to writing, from doubts to the words never being enough and me never being enough. I look at my fanfictions and see how long since I publish them. I look at my word count and I despair. I look back at my notes and see how much the years go by and yet my stories are never finished.

And don't get me there when I think about what would happen agter writing everything. The agents, publications, marketing. All that if you want to write, publish and bring your book out to the world instead of a writer for oneself, something easier and yet more difficult than publication.

I admit that this thought dump screams negative sentiment, doubts that have popped up in one's head but then you realize all those thoughts were useless, you read inspo from other writers and have a community that tells you not to give up, who have been there and offer advice and whatnot and then with a little courage, with want stronger than fear and without ever giving up, you can keep going back.

And I have not given up, I have always gone back but I still feel a little unteetered about how I want my writing journey to go. From all the unfortunately discontinued stories concerning fanfiction publications when I no longer feel much for the fandom and the OG stories that would simply be drafts and where I lament that no one will like them and I think my writing is garbage...

I keep going but I don't know where. I can't keep up consistency, because it pushes my brain to oblivion. I read some inspo but it's harder to implement and then I can't help feel... where am I going?

I have stories, I have vague ideas but I cannot make them tangible. I have short burst of notes, a fair few scenes but I can't tie them to a story. We live in a generation slightly more cynical and critical, or at least what we like to believe in our minds for the louder negative voices in social media that influences the voices in our minds. Sometimes, we know all that and yet we fall for such traps again and again. What happened to optimism, to freedom? What happened to just writing for fun, without caring for hot garbage and just trying? What happened to going full throttle, even with words that make no sense but just doing it for character's fun?

What happened to just writing without checking then notifications and inboxes for other reader's comments because deep down, you need to know what other people think or else you think you are writing lousy stories when in truth, it's not really about the people but yourself because as a writer, you are the first and maybe only reader?

Again, I know all that. Again, I still fell for such a trap. Because maybe, throughout all these questions, it stuck to one point:

Where am I going? And really, I don't know. And not knowing frustrates me because it feels pointless with a prolonged sense of achievement I do not get. Without the sensation of joy that I have lost.

A really negative sentiment, and is this a selfish cry for help or something deeper? A self-doubt and low self-esteem that some of us has gone through and finding ways to deal with it without truly knowing how. I wish I can say that I've overcome it, that I reached an epiphany but sadly we all have our low days. Sadly, we want to create, not give up, discover and hold on to the feelings that made us become writers in the first place, that are still there deep within our heart but reality, depression, boredom and just being lost had made it so much harder. I'm trying to dig my way back up, I'm trying to tell myself even though I don't know where I am going that I can just chip away through any of my many, many drafts and find something to sink in. I'm trying to tell myself that my loss of creativity that I'm trying too hard to find does not mean the end of a writing career, just something that I should let happen naturally when I let go of my depression and boredom.

We all have sentiments, we all have doubts but I don't want to give up. And as writers, even with the unknown ahead of us, I think we always want to try. We always want to grasp the feeling that made us writers in the first place, because of the stories we seek out. We try our best.

In a world of validation and approval, it's harder to convince myself as such because we need reader's approval for that and that's impossible when they aren't with us throughout the drafts, the notes and only at the final product. I want to trust myself more, be my own reader but my mind cries out bias or is the worst critic ever.

But if I slowly cut all that away, if I just let it be me, my stories and just a whole world of possibilities...

One day, I will find the meaning of this diary, made once more maybe for people to see, for people to help but maybe it can be what it should be. A diary to post for my future self, to read, to understand my plight, to pick apart and get an answer that I now cannot. To remind myself of the buts to my negative sentiments, to the wistful thinking that could be more even at the darkest moments.

I hope it would mean more, and for anyone who stumbles to this little diary, I am just showing my writing vulnerability despite not being as famous, or popular or great a writer. I am showing the struggles of a dreamer, and whatever that means to the world. For the first time, I am writing down my own story. And see where it goes.

[agendabymooner]

*TLE college fiend rolls in* SO BASICALLY TLE is technology and livelihood education, idk what is the direct equivalent abroad but it encompasses cooking, baking, dressmaking, hairdressing, electronics, drafting, agri-fishery... Yeah it's a lot. We even have events management as part of my course.

Please let me know if you need any help with thinking up dishes! I love helping others discover new food and ways to cook stuff, I literally just did it a few days ago 😭

Fun story, may laboratory kami where we had to cook breakfast, lunch, and dinner that were a full meal. I think it was around the same time that I saw the other anon ask so that was what was on my mind when I sent it in.

So ayun, we had sopas for breakfast (plus pandesal and coffee na binili sa canteen), bibimbap for lunch, then bicol express for dinner. Approve na approve si Lab Prof namin kasi we also had fruits and ayun, kami lang ang nakapag-explain na hindi kami tumingin sa cuisine, pero we looked at the nutrients, ganun.

ALSO I LOVE YOUR STORIES SM HUHU sometimes I think about posting about my own OCs pero I'm really busy (block section kami, and we currently sit at 33 units) so ayun, maybe one day I'll get the courage and the chance to do so!!

i’m in the school library rn doing my homework but uh this is my homework ig-

y’all got a whole elective for my high school’s departments i’m— 😭😭

i remember TLE vividly now because i went to a private school in PH. i think it’s home economics??? when i went to canada they offer shit like cosmetology, art class, communications technology (i’ve been a comms student since grade 7 and now i’m majoring in professional comms ❤️)

and listen- i would take a home ec class but i hate cleaning up after 😭😭 like there’s a whole ass process when it comes to cooking in an actual class kitchen. lowk starving atm HAHAHAHA. i thought of sopas because i love it so much (just soup and macaroni— no meat or veggies)

i’m seeing a dietitian soon so i can actually get my nutrients right. ako ay may eating disorder— i had to get a blood work done para daw sa electrolytes and nutrients q. right now, wala akong sense of eating healthy so your ask was very helpful. thank you tle anon (what do i call you others than tle anon???)

and as for my works… THANK YOU!!! i will keep saying that everything’s done out of pure indulgence 😭😭 so for you to like it means a lot. i literally make things that are pure garbage and based on my little adhd fixations.

just letting you know that you can absolutely post your work but you don’t have any obligation to post it at a certain time or date! i’ve only been posting lately because it’s my unwinding time hehehe i write shit on my relaxing time :)

if you have any questions regarding anything (that aren’t food or math/science related), feel free to shoot me a message or ask! my tumblr notifications are always open

xx

❤️❤️🫶