#how am i supposed to write without commas

[alms4oblivion]

My wife has insisted that, in the interests of "broadening my audience," I should engage in self-promotion on the internet. I find the entire concept distasteful, but Ava's powers of persuasion border on the supernatural. She performs a sort of hypnotizing motion, side to side, with her entire body, and I find myself powerless to resist her. There is an ocular component as well, "puppy dog eyes" is the common term. The techniques in conjunction should be illegal. But I digress.

Below, I have provided a link to my Practical Guide to Getting Out of the Friend Zone, wherein I have both described and illustrated via real-world application the methods by which a sapphic individual might successfully court someone who considers them a "friend." With the guidance set forth therein, you need never again pine ineffectually over your best friend. Love and happiness await.

[scarletwinterxx]

every comma, every question mark - mark lee scenario

helloo🥺 it's been a while since I wrote a mark lee scenario, and this one was supposed to be out for his birthday but i only finished now, better than never😅😅hope you like it!

all song credits belong to NIKI btw!!! her songs are amazing and I'm a big fan. true story is when I first heard plot twist, all i can think of is how mark lee coded that song is so here we are🤍

and yes the ending may be a hint that there's a next for this (?) not sure tho hahaha anywayssss

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

and if you want, u can buy me coffee(totally optional but any donation is very much appreciated!) thank you🥺💛

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"You need to let him go, it's 5 in the morning. You've been here since yesterday!"

Your manager's loud voice resonated through the room, breaking you from your train of thoughts.

"You're distracting me, if you do more of that I will never get out of here" you told him, turning back to your laptop trying. The only other person in the room besides you and your manager is your co-producer. These two is your closest companions, like your two older brothers. You spend most of your time with them, and you being the introvert you don't really have that many friends in the industry.

"As your manager, I love this whole creative wave you're going through. But as a concerned citizen, I'm begging you. Go home. It's your birthday, why are you hauled in this dark room" your manager continues to rant but you pay him no mind

"Yo, you're just making this last longer than it already is. I'm just letting her find whatever it is she's even looking for" your producer say, he's been here with you since yesterday ready to help you out when you need it.

Those two guys know you take your craft very seriously, each and every song you put out is like your own child. Each and every word, every tune, every melody all came from your pretty little mind. They are both very in awe of the discography you have created throughout the years and you're still so young.

Your manager exits the room, muttering something about getting breakfast and coffee before closing the door to the studio.

"How about one of the songs in your vault? You have a lot of unreleased demos" your producer suggests

"I don't know if there's one fit for this"

"Girl you have tons, surely there's one for now. Let's have a hear"

The two of you go through unreleased tracks, some finished and some still on the works before landing on a few possible candidates

"What are we looking for anyways?"

"Not sure, but I promised my fans I was going to put something out just in time for my birthday. It's my birthday and here I am" you grumbled, then suddenly you come across a demo you've written a while back

"Uh this one's old" you say before clicking on it, the beat playing through the speakers in the room

Where have you been All of my life? It's all growin' dim, now That you've come to light And who could've known, who would've thought Between the wishbones and dot-dot-dots There was always gonna be you and I

"When did you write that?" he asks

Just like that, the exact memory of when and where you first wrote that verse came flooding in your head.

"Oh"

"Oh what?"

"I feel like this is the one but I don't know if I can release this" you say

"What do you mean? Why?"

"I wrote this like some time a few years back... about a guy.. I had a crush on"

He chuckles at your reasoning, "So? All songs are inspired by something. You gotta start somewhere"

"Yea but what will I say when people ask what's the story behind it? I'm suppose to perform this on my birthday event this month"

"Then say it, what's the worst that could happen?"

Turns out a lot of things could happen. On the day of your birthday event where you're going to release your new song, your manager informed you a few artists are also present to watch you.

"What?? Why???"

"Cause they like you?" your manager asks back

"Who is it?" you ask but then the prod team calls for you

"Hey Y/N, we need you backstage now"

You get on stage, go on with your show and a short interview. The host surprises you with a cake from your fans and the crowd sings you happy birthday.

"I know it's my birthday but I have a gift for you also" the crowd cheers

"So I wrote a song, I actually wrote it a while back. It's about those unexpected moments that happen in my all to normal life. To be honest with you guys, I've always liked plot twists. The good kind" you add, making the crowd laugh

"Yea and uh sometimes there's someone who comes in your life who you didn't expect and suddenly the sky is bluer or the sun shines just a tad brighter" you blush a bit while trying to explain the song

"Anyways here's the new song, I hope you like it. It's called Plot Twist"

Look what we got A thickening plot Just when I started getting used to The thought Of closing the book There you were, in every nook Of every word, every page And now I wanna stay and wait, 'cause Met every comma, every question mark Bored of how all of the chapters start But you feel like a brand new arc That I never knew, oh I'd like to think I know a thing or two Like every day the sky's a different blue And then along came you, oh

The crowd turns their flash on, it's like a sea of stars in front of you. This made you smile while singing the words

Where have you been All of my life? It's all growin' dim, now That you've come to light And who could've known, who would've thought Between the wishbones and dot-dot-dots There was always gonna be you and I

You get to the last part of the song, enjoying watching the crowd have fun. Unbeknownst to you, the one who inspired this song was in the crowd bopping his head as he listens to your melodic voice.

Who could've imagined? Who could've imagined you? Who could've imagined? Who could've imagined you?

You finish the song and say your final ment before bidding goodbye to everyone.

Your team welcomes you backstage. congratulating you on another successful event. You were busy talking with the band when your manager pulls you on the side, "There's a few people here who wanted to greet you"

"Huh? Oh okay" you follow behind him down the halls.

When you get there the first person you saw was Haechan, a member of a group you're a fan of.

Your first thought was, what is he doing here

The second being, if he's here then surely his member is also here and you already have a hunch on who it might be

"Y/N, you already know Haechan and Mark. They came to watch tonight" your manager say

"Uh yea, oh sorry I wasn't expecting this. I'm a big fan" you tell them, bowing your head down as a sign of respecting and greeting. The two boys doing the same

"Me too, Love your songs" Haechan says, then adds a greeting at the end

"Happy birthday, we uh wanted to come and see you play live since we're on a break. Usually our schedules clash so we can't go to your shows" Mark says

Not believing this is actually happening, you give yourself a pinch on the back. It hurt.

"Me too, I mean I'm a fan too and uh thanks for coming"

"It's Mark hyung's birthday too so this was my gift to him" Haechan jokes, earning a jab on the side from Mark

"I invited him" Mark clarifies, you just laugh at that.

"You guys want some snacks? Refreshments? Let's go to the lounge room" your manager leads the three of you to the lounge area. The two guys, Haaechan and your manager, have a conversation between them. Turns out they're neighbors and Haechan's manager are friends with yours.

"I uh like your new song" Mark clears his throat as he tells you this

"Thanks, it's been a while since I wrote that actually" you mumble, feeling shy all of sudden. You definitely did not expect Mark of all people to be here tonight.

The very person who inspired you to write the song.

"I love the way you write your songs. There's always a story to uncover, big fan of your word plays" he tells you with a smiles you know will haunt your dreams for nights to come and until you make another song about him again.

"One of the few songs I've written that isn't about a heartbreak. And this is from my own point of view, usually I write them imagining the scenario in my head"

"What a lucky guy" he says

You chuckle, looking down at your shoes "He's great, but that song was a confession I'd probably never tell him"

"How come? It's a great song, he should feel honored"

You smile at that, finding the situation all too unreal.

"If he does figure it out, then I'll take my chance"

For a moment you gather up the courage to look him in the eye as if confessing the words without saying it. Like you wanted him to know it's about him but you're not sure if you can ever admit that to him.

Maybe not now. Maybe some other time, you do after all think he's the biggest plot twist of your story.

Then he's looking back at you, a glint in his eyes you wanted to know more about before he smiles at you again. His voice already writing the words in your head, ready for the melody and for your creative genius. He tells you,

"He'd be a fool not to take a chance with you"

[dancingtotuyo]

Home | Part 1

Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Frankie returns to you and your daughter.

Tags: Frankie Morales, Triple Frontier, Canon compliant, Frankie’s baby & his lady, fluff, angst, Dad!Frankie

Warnings: breaking & entering, gun, briefest illusion to drug use, illusions to death, some brief angst, let me know if I missed anything.

Notes: this is my first attempt writing Frankie. This idea came out of nowhere and I love it. Thank you to @wannab-urs for beta reading, adding commas, and the sweet comments! 🫶

Words: 938

Series Masterlist | Author Masterlist

You haven’t had a good night’s sleep since he left. He told you a week. It’s verging on three. You stare at his side of the bed. You’ve had to wash the sheets since he left, but you’ve left his pillowcase. You bury your face in it, seeking the traces of him. Frankie’s scent is beginning to fade.

Tears threaten to form in your eyes. You fight with them. You can’t cry. He’s coming home. He has to come home. You can’t do this without him. You curl around the pillow. You need to sleep, but you can’t. Every time you close your eyes, you see Frankie dead in a ravine, on a mountaintop, or in an alley somewhere.

Layla stirs in her crib, drawing your eye. You’re quiet as her eyes blink open. Her tiny fists curl beside her ears. You expect her wails to fill the room, echoing how you feel inside, but to your awe, she stays quiet.

The full moon streams through the bedroom window, shining off of your daughter’s dark eyes. They remind you so much of her father’s. She stares back at you. Your little girl. Your perfect little girl, so much like her daddy with her big brown eyes and soft curls. His little Layla Grace.

He has to come back. He can’t leave you. He can’t leave her.

Layla blinks. Each interval grows slower until her eyes drift shut. Her breathing evens out. She has a soft snore. Just one more thing she picked up from her daddy. You’re not sure she has any of your DNA and you love it.

You’re tempted to scoop her up and lay her in the bed beside you, but that’s Frankie’s spot. You can’t give it up, even to your daughter. You have to make sure he has his spot when returns home.

Eventually, your eyes flutter shut and your breathing evens out as Frankie’s comforting scent fills your nostrils.

You’re startled awake by the rattling of the storm door Frankie was supposed to fix months ago. Your heart rate skyrockets as you shoot up feeling dazed. The red numbers on your alarm clock read 3:09 am. The storm door rattles again, and then the backdoor squeaks open.

Your bare feet hit the hardwood. Layla is sound asleep. You open the nightstand drawer, quickly punching the gun-safe code. The metal is cool under your hands. It’s been a long time since you’ve held the gun, but the mechanics come back like riding a bike. You check the chamber and load the magazine.

The backdoor slams shut. You spare a glance at your daughter before quietly closing the bedroom door behind you. You use your bare feet to your advantage, avoiding all the creaky floorboards in your old home.

Something hits the wall in the kitchen making you jump. You catch a dark figure, presumably male, wrestling through your cabinets. It doesn’t make sense, but the adrenaline coursing through your veins doesn’t allow for critical thinking.

You click the safety off, entering the kitchen. “Don’t move. Keep your hands where I can see them.”

His hands fly out, resting against the cabinet door. He lets out a tired sigh, something familiar in it.

“When I bought you that gun, I didn’t think you’d pull it on me, Sweetheart.”

Your chest tightens at the familiar timbre. The gun almost falls from your hands as you drop your stance. “Frankie?”

He turns around, eyes shining even in the dark. “It’s me, baby. I’m home.”

He eases forward, taking the deadly weapon from your shaking hands and disarming it. Placing the gun on the counter, he takes your hands into his, pulling you closer until his arms tighten around you. He holds onto you for dear life, both of you shaking.

Tears you’ve been holding in for weeks fall, soaking through Frankie’s jacket. His chest shakes, his tears mingling with yours.

“I thought you were gone.”

“I’m here. I’m here.” He repeats it over and over like an oath to you and an assurance to himself.

“Please don’t go again. Don't ever leave me again.”

“Never.” He kisses your salty cheeks, your forehead, and finally your lips.

You feel like home. You are his home. His hand runs through your hair, keeping him anchored to reality. He’s here and no longer in the jungle of South America.

You pull him back to the bedroom, both of you in a daze. You’re still in disbelief he’s here and whole. You fall into bed. Frankie pulls off his clothes, hat landing on the dresser where it belongs. You catch his movements stiff from the exhaustion of traveling, but he’s smiling at you the whole time, drinking you in like water in the desert.

Layla's small cries emanate from the crib pulling Frankie’s attention. Immediately, he’s at her side, cooing soft Spanish to her as he picks her up with the familiarity only a parent has. Goosebumps travel over your exposed skin. Layla quiets immediately, looking up at her daddy with wide eyes.

He moves over to the bed sitting next to you. His Spanish continues to spill in a comforting cadence. You caress Layla’s brown curls, head resting on Frankie’s shoulder. It’s all the perfect moment of peace and rest.

It won’t last long. Layla will remember she’s hungry soon enough. Frankie may sleep tonight, but the nightmares will come. There will be tears and grief and fights, but Frankie, Your Frankie, is here, and he’s intact, at least physically, and your daughter will grow up to know her father. That is what matters. The rest will wait.

[nesswritesnonsense]

This Isn’t Writing Advice, It’s a Cry for Help

I am so sick of reading writing advice. It’s always just write, write, write. But what if I don’t want to? What if I want to daydream about my stories until I’m spiraling into Fae folklore, casually coming up with a title, opening line, and outline for a monster smut novel I never intend to write? (Pixie Dust and Fairy Fucks)

That’s what writing chaos is—it’s starting a story with an idea that spirals into five unrelated outlines, naming characters after inside jokes, and abandoning plot structure entirely just to spite the "rules" of how things are supposed to be done. “Ooh, you have to learn the rules before you break them.” No, you see, I already understand exactly why the fictional protagonist of my fake Fae smut gets trapped with her domineering Fae lover. I did the research. I know the Fae lore to back it up.

But I’m not that type of writer. I don’t write about that. Or am I?

Let me break down the writing process—or, more accurately, offer a cautionary tale—in a way you’ve never seen before. This isn’t about structure or discipline—it’s about embracing the chaos, because that’s where my creativity thrives. This is the beautifully inefficient process that works for me—feel free to borrow it, but don’t say I didn’t warn you. Proceed with caution (and maybe some emotional armor):

Existential Blank Page Panic:"What if I never have another good idea again?" The terror of starting. The blinking cursor feels like it’s mocking you, and you question why you even thought writing was a good idea in the first place.

Chaotic Word Vomit: Let’s just dump everything out and see what sticks." Ideas spill out wildly—some genius, some completely incoherent, some downright degeneracy (like Pixie Dust and Fairy Fucks, the smut that will never be written). But it’s all progress.

Procrastination Justified: "But first… let me clean my entire apartment." You convince yourself that everything else is critical to the writing process.

Research Rabbit Hole: "I just need to look up one quick fact…" 5 hours later, you’re an expert on an unrelated topic.

Outline Illusion: "If I make the perfect outline, this will write itself!" Spoiler: It won’t.

Epic Fuck This Moment: "Why did I think I could do this? This is garbage." Frustration peaks, and quitting feels inevitable. You beat yourself up and consider another hobby—and now you have an entire craft room that would put Michaels out of business.

Overthink Everything:"Is this comma necessary? Should I change my protagonist’s name… again?" You spiral into tiny details that don’t really matter.

Accidental Writing Moment:"I blacked out, and now there are words on the page?" Somehow, you’ve written something without realizing it. It’s not perfect, but hey—it exists.

Surprise Achievement Unlocked:"Okay, maybe I can do this." Euphoria hits—you made real progress, and it doesn’t totally suck.

Creative Delusion High:"This is the best thing anyone has ever written!" A fleeting but glorious moment of inflated confidence.

Editing Abyss:"I’ve read this sentence 47 times, and it no longer makes sense." Endless tweaking leads to self-doubt, and imposter syndrome sets in hard.

Disclaimer: I never claimed I was a professional, so if this so-called "advice" leaves you staring at a blank screen or suddenly pursuing a stained glass hobby, that’s on you. Chaos is contagious—consider yourself warned.

Identity Crisis Stage:"Wait… am I actually a writer?"You begin to question everything. Maybe you are good at this? Or maybe you’re just delusional?

Reset to Chaos: "Just kidding, back to square one." You realize writing is a never-ending cycle of nonsense. Whether you’re starting a new project or reworking the same one, the chaos continues.

[duckprintspress]

Round Table Discussion: Grammar Pet Peeves

Today, March 4th, is National Grammar Day! Last year, we celebrated with six of our favorite grammar quirks. This year, we’re going to the other end of the spectrum: we had a conversation with our editors and blog contributors about grammar things we hate. They may be technically correct, but that doesn’t mean they don’t make us crazy. Eighteen people, many anonymous, contributed to this discussion.

Dangling Modifiers

boneturtle: Dangling modifiers, hands down. Even when I can decipher what the writer meant based on context, it viscerally hurts me every time. When I am editing I have to stand up and take a lap around my apartment when I hit a dangling modifier. Remind myself that I am here to help. Learn more about dangling modifiers.

Commas

anonymous: Commas are not difficult! Commas end phrases. Full stop. That’s all they do. Is a phrase necessary to the grammatical coherence of the sentence? if the answer is yes, no commas because that phrase hasn’t ended. If the answer is no, commas! comma hug that bish if it’s the middle of a sentence. The difference between grammatical and informational is whether or not the sentence makes sense without the phrase. 

Examples: 

The man who ordered the six double anchovy pizzas claims to have a dolphin in his pool. 

You need “who ordered the six double anchovy pizzas” because you need to identify which man you’re talking about. The world is full of many men. 

The ancient Buick, which Madeleine purchased via Craigslist, belched black smoke whenever she pressed the accelerator. 

We don’t need to know how Madeleine purchased the car for the sentence to make sense. You don’t even meed “Madeleine” for the grammar to make sense. Therefore, hug that phrase! 

(a comma on each side of the phrase) or give it a dramatic send off with a comma and an end punctuation. (i could go into conjunctions, too, but those are a little more complex, and if you were taught them properly, i understand not getting the comma use 😂 ) 

Prepositions at the End of Sentences

Tris Lawrence: There was a dictionary (Merriam-Webster? Oxford? idek) that posted recently on social media about how the rule about not ending a sentence with a preposition came from English scholars trying to make English line up with Latin, and that it’s totally okay to do it… and I’m just wanting to point to it to yell THIS because uhhh trying to rework sentences to not end in a preposition often creates clunky awkward things (my opinion, I recognize this).

D. V. Morse: Ending sentences/clauses with a preposition. Well, not doing that is supposed to be the rule, but depending on the sentence, it can be a convoluted mess to try and avoid it. Winston Churchill famously told someone off after they “caught” him breaking that rule, saying, “This is the type of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put.” (Yes, I had to look that up.)

Pronoun Confusion

anonymous: I hate playing the pronoun game when reading. I hate it in life when someone comes up to me and tells me a story involving 2 people of the same pronouns and stops using names halfway through, and I hate it while reading too. Nothing makes me fall out of scene more if I don’t know who just did/said what. Use names. That’s why we have them.

Nina Waters: epithets. If I know the characters name…why? Also, when people use “you” in third person writing. There are times I’ll allow it as an editor/times when I do think it’s at least acceptable but not gonna lie, I absolutely hate it.

anonymous: My pet peeve … I read hundreds of essays in a given month for work, plus a whole lot of fanfic for fun. A rising issue that I have noticed in both places is incomplete sentences (lacking subjects, typically). I think it’s because people rely on Google’s grammar checker to tell them if something is wrong and…Google doesn’t check for that apparently. I’m increasingly convinced that my high schoolers simply weren’t taught sentence structure, because when I ask them to fix it they almost universally say some variant of “I don’t understand what you’re asking me to do.” Therefore, it might be punching down a little to complain about it. I’m not sure. It does drive me nuts though. Lol

“Would Of”

Neo Scarlett: Not quite sure if that falls under grammar, but I hate hate hate when people use “should of” instead of should’ve. Or “would of.” It just makes my toe nails curl up because it may sound right, but it looks wrong and is wrong.

Semi-Colons

Shea Sullivan: I saw a list punctuated by semicolons recently and that made me froth at the mouth a bit.

anonymous: I think any editor who’s worked with me knows that I have a pet peeve about using colons or semi-colons in dialogue. Or really, any punctuation mark that I don’t think people can actually pronounce. Semicolons can live anywhere that I don’t have to imagine a character actually pronouncing them.

English isn’t Dumb!

theirprofoundbond: As a former linguistics student, it bugs me a lot when people say that English is a dumb or stupid language because it has borrowed from so many languages. What people mean when they say this is, “English can be really difficult (even for native speakers).” But I wish people would say that, instead of “it’s dumb/stupid.” Languages are living things. Like other living things, they adapt and evolve. English is basically a beautiful, delightful platypus. Let it be a platypus.

Dei Walker: I remember seeing somewhere that English has four types of rules (I’m trying to find the citation today) and everyone conflates them. And I guess my pet peeve is that everyone treats them equally when they’re NOT. There are rules but not all of them are the same – there’s a difference between “adjectives precede nouns” (big truck, not *truck big) and “don’t split infinitives” (which is arbitrary).

And, because we couldn’t resist, here are some of our favorite things, because when we asked for pet peeves…some people still shared things they loved instead of things they hated.

Oxford Comma

Terra P. Waters: I really really love the Oxford comma.

boneturtle: me: [in kindergarten, using oxford comma]

teacher: no, we don’t add a comma between the last two objects in a list.

me: that’s illogical and incorrect.

anonymous: I will forever appreciate my second grade teacher’s explanation of Oxford comma use: Some sentences are harder to understand if you don’t use it, but no sentence will ever be harder to understand because you do use it. Preach, Mrs. D

anonymous: I am definitely Team Oxford Comma. I even have a bumper sticker which says so

Other Favorites

Shea Sullivan: I adore the emdash, to every editor’s chagrin.

Shadaras: zeugmas! I think they’re super cool!

Shea Sullivan and Hermit: I use sentence fragments a lot. Fragments my beloved.

English Grammar vs. Grammar in Other Languages

anonymous: so in English my favourite thing is the parallel Latin and Saxon registers because of how that affects grammar, but in Japanese my favourite grammatical thing is the use of an actual sound at the end of the sentence to denote a question, as opposed to how in English we use intonation? Also how in Japanese the sentence structure requires reasoning first and action second in terms of clauses. So rather than go “let’s go to the cinema because it’s raining and I’m cold,” you’d go “because it’s raining and I’m cold, let’s go to the cinema.” (My least favourite thing is the lack of spaces between words in the written form but that’s purely because I find that level of continuous letters intimidating to translate.)

I also love how Japanglish in the foreign communities in Japan starts to develop its own grammatical structure as a way of situating yourself in this space between the two languages. It’s used as a call-sign of belonging to that specific community, because in order to make some of the jokes and consciously break the rules of English or Japanese grammar and/or choose to obey one or the other, you’re basically displaying your control over both/knowledge of them. Like, the foreign community in Japan is often a disparate group of people with multiple different native languages who are relying on their knowledge of at least one non-native language but often two to signify their status in the group as Also An Outsider and I think that’s really interesting.

Nina Waters: Chinese and Japanese both drop subjects, and Chinese doesn’t have like… a/the… Japanese doesn’t have a future tense… Chinese kinda sorta doesn’t have tenses at all… (these are not pet peeves, btw, I love how learning a language with such different ways of approaching these things reshapes my brain). Chinese also doesn’t really have yes or no.

There’s a joke somewhere on Tumblr about that, though I actually think it’s about using “a” versus “the,” like, someone was giving a Russian speaker a hard time after they said “get in car” and they were like “only you English speakers are dumb enough to feel this is essential why would I be talking about getting into any random car of course I mean our car wtf.”

anonymous: on the subject of other languages, epithets are also something that happen differently in other languages. In French repeating a word (names included, and sometimes even pronouns) is considered bad writing. As in, way more than in English. Going by how grating the English translation of the Witcher books was to me when the French one was fine, I’d say it’s the same with Polish, at least. It’s also very interesting how brains adapt to writing styles in other languages.

What are some of your favorite and least favorite grammar quirks, in English or in the language of your choice?

[tophat-69]

Hey Hattie :) How do you usually come up with/write your stories? Like for example, do you get an idea and start to plan the whole fic around it until the end, or do you just start and go about it as you write? Do you listen to music while writing? And do you write for more than one fic simultaneously or focus on one fic at a time? Does it take you long to edit?

Hope those aren't silly questions, I'm just really curious cause I'm genuinely in love with your writing and to me, your writing style is so perfectly flowing, captivating and unique, I haven't come across many other fics that I enjoyed as much as yours (I read and loved all of your bsd fics and treasure them so much) <3

First, I’m so glad you’ve enjoyed my BSD fics! I know I’ve wandered a bit afield, but I still consider it my home fandom and plan to get back to it once my brain can latch back onto the manga. I nosedived into a new hyperfixation at the same time that I hit “I think I’d rather catch up to this all at once than try to figure out wtf is happening” with BSD, and it sort of threw me out of the writing headspace for them at an inopportune moment.

Now though I’m going to ramble and sound a bit chaotic because the truth is there is no rhyme or reason to how my brain works. And I really, really wish there was.

First, the easy part—I am always writing. I’ll have multiple stories going at once, but not all of them will ever see the light of day and some of the ones that will, I still post anonymously. It’s an old habit and probably a bad habit, but the idea of being Perceived still makes me nervous at times. And sometimes it’s just self-consciousness that I’ve been taken hostage by a fandom or story when I’m in the middle of something for another one. I often worry that it might frustrate or disappoint my friends who read my other works (see: what I tried to do with it’s the good, defining itself, my first Arcane fic, by starting it anonymously. I knew I was supposed to be writing my Detective!Chuuya AU but was kidnapped by codependent gay scientists).

Next easy part—I edit as I go, and then promptly open the chapter back up after posting to fix what I missed in the first place. Also to remove all the times that AO3 wants to add a space in front of punctuation. That part drives me nuts. …But then ANY time I read some part of something I’ve written, I inevitably go back in and tweak my wording for clarity. Or I fix my comma splices. Or to un-italicize words because I often write the way that I would read it aloud, but emphasis like that can be annoying. Or I rearrange a sentence within a paragraph to flow better. I genuinely cannot seem to open something I’ve written without doing that.

Which is why I don’t go back and reread my old works often and why when I get a comment on a previous fic it’s like falling down a rabbit hole in my own brain because “huh. I DID do that, didn’t I?”

Okay, now the harder answers! Sometimes an idea sort of thumps me upside the head and makes me do it. That one always includes when canon is going one way and I inevitably think “but what if it went THIS way instead!” Canon divergence and plot hole fillers are a staple for me. But then there are times where I know WHO I want to write for because they won’t shut up in my head, but I want to challenge myself. I’ve actually used trope spinners for that before, like Wheel of Fic. That’s actually how I ended up with April’s Fool and in its peculiar silence, actually! I had no plans whatsoever, I let it give me simple trope prompt, and then I stayed up all night writing something out of thin air.

…Which brings me to another answer. I veer wildly between being a “pantser” and a “plotter” as a writer. Some things it is entirely by the seat of my pants—and that’s not always just my short fics, either. I’ve got ideas, but pulling them together at the end is as surprising for me as it is for the reader. Sometimes I have things completely timelined, an outline, chapter quotes selected, twenty tabs of history and research open. And sometimes I go through all of that and still throw all of it out the window because something that would be more emotionally evocative came along.

For centrifugal/centripetal, for instance, I have several almost fully-written chapters sitting in a doc that never even made it in because I tossed them for something that hurt more.

Now, music! That… also depends. If I am nose to the grindstone just putting out chapter after chapter, chances are I don’t have music on because my brain is at capacity. But if I’m writing just to write, or as relaxation, I usually put something on. Usually nothing too booming, but I try to find an album or artist that fits the vibe and go with it.

Anyway, sorry for the long answers and thank you—genuinely—for the questions!

[dying-on-the-inside-but-its-ok]

Hello.

I am a fictive in a system, but because I don’t really want to share my name, just call me LW or ToI.  If you have any guesses as to who I am, have at it. If you have any guesses as to who my main blog is, have at it.

DNI:

pedo’s.

I’m a bit iffy with zoophiles–if you are pro-contact and not seeking help, leave. If you are anti-contact and seeking help, go ahead and interact. If youre anti contact but not seeking help…just keep your distance, I suppose.

Proshippers. Ones for incest ships, abusive relationships, and pedophiliac ships in particular.

You may submit your vents alongside mine.

I do not have any age guidelines, but my DM’s are closed to anyone over the age of 19. People over that age may still like, reply, and reblog, but DM’s are closed.

Basic Info:

Name: LW, ToI

Pronouns: he/they

Theriotype(s): gray wolf

Other: Transmasc, asexual

If you are triggered by ANY of the following, beware: -Sui ideation

-SH topics

-ED topics

No NSFW, please. I am a minor. 

This is a safe place for:

-Selfshippers

-Factives/Fictives

-“Bad/Evil” Alters

-LGBTQIA+

-The Alterhuman community

-Endogenic systems. This comes with a bit: if you are endogenic, DO NOT pretend to have DID or OSDD. Do not mock DID or OSDD. You are only welcome here if you respect others.

-People with “problematic” sources

-People who have done wrong in the past but are working toward fixing it

A list of my disorders:

-OSDD 1-b

-ADHD

-Autism

“Why did you make this blog?” Like the desc says, to make sure I can get my feelings out without letting my moots know how fucked up life in my head can be.

“Why don’t you just seek professional help?” I’ve been kicked out of four therapists for “not trying.” One yelled at me for ten minutes because of it (now I REALLY wanna open up! :D/sarc)

Don’t get me wrong, I love my moots to death, but I do not want constant “are you ok?” “really ok?” “how are you?” because that’s not. No. I don’t like that sort of attention. If I am relatively unheard of, it’s like I can wear a mask: be unknown from the outsiders.

My only major concern regarding being found out is that I’ve been told I have a memorable writing style. Of course, like I do for anon asks, I do often switch up my writing style. For instance:

You to u

Your/You’re to ur

Commas? what’re those?

Punctuation is a figment of your imagination.

So instead of: “How was your day? I hope it was good!” It would be “how was ur day hope it was good.”

Sometimes I toss in some misspellings. 

Tagging System (I use a similar one for my main account)

#!!~welcome to the panic room~!! - Panic Attack vents

#@~might be dying~@ - Sui ideation vents

#$~sharing is caring~$ - reblogs

#^~someone once said~^ - Quotes

#&~shit shit shit~& - Will only be used if someone finds out who I am lol

#*~purge my urges~* - E-D topic

#{~I love you~} - Someone I loved. Platonic, romantic, familial…

#`~I love myself~` - Self h@te

Goodbye, good day, good breathing.

-LW

[clemmenthyme]

This is so random, but as I just got out of English class, I really just can’t keep it in.

English classes are failures.

More specifically, English essays are failures.

To this day, in every English class I’ve taken, I’ve read Shakespeare. (So, already, we’re off to a bad start. Nobody will ever convince me he is not the most boring author in the world.) And in every single class, when the time came to write an essay, I’d be presented with a list of potential topics to write about.

Usually, there’s about six of them. Two or three would be on some short stories we read over a certain time period, and the others would all be potential topics on the one Shakespeare.

Wonderful.

There is something horribly upsetting about the fact I’m being asked to write my opinion, with proof, when my “opinion” is just me lying to fit within the topics my teacher cares to read about.

“Discuss how Othello is so sad” no. I want to discuss how Othello is a little bitch who, even in the end, didn’t hold himself accountable for his own stupidity. How all it took was two to three days to have him completely lose faith in his wife, and murder her, and how none of the characters seemed important outside of their eight second roles. And then they call it a tragedy. Yeah, it’s tragic that I had to actually spend time reading it.

Regardless of that, however, I think it’s just stupid how an English class is about learning to coherently and intelligently present your thoughts through an essay… without really ever letting me represent anything I actually had an opinion on. And teachers will say “it’s not a criticism piece”. Like, hon, I’m not criticising it. It’s just… my opinion is that the story sucked. I read it, analysed it, and found it deeply lacking.

“Write about how The Road was a masterpiece and perfectly illustrated a lawless world through its grammatical errors” no. I thought the book was boring, and I ended up with many headaches reading it due to the lack of commas. Like, how about you let me write about what I want? Maybe I want to discuss how the imagery affects the way a person feels about the book, and how not naming your characters creates a genuine inability to empathise with the characters. And how that’s a really good tool for the novel.

How am I supposed to be a good writer if the only skill I’m developing… is how to bullshit well enough to appease your fragile little brain? I’m sorry I thought Of Mice and Men was better than your fav’s novel. I genuinely don’t understand what’s so horrible about letting students write what they think about what they read. I’m supposed to express my genuine ideas, how I analysed the text… but I’m not. I’m limited to the six things you thought up for me.

So yeah. Fuck Shakespeare. And the English curriculum (at least where I’m from).

(Sorry to any Shakespeare stans out there, but it really is what it is. I just.. am incapable of liking what he writes. Props to you for sticking with it though.)

[late-to-the-fandom]

Writing Pattern Tag- with a twist!

Thank you @druidx for the Writing Patterns/First 10 Lines tag here. I just did that one not too long ago, and since I'm working on the (almost!!) end of a chapter, I thought I'd switch this one up and do a Last 10 Lines game instead.

So, tagging back @druidx and @thewritingautisticat @tildeathiwillwrite @mousterian-writes @owlsandwich @moogleterra @maidenwychelm @demigoddess-of-ghosts @squarebracket-trickster @darknightfrombeyond to list the last line of your last 10 (posted) fics and see if there's a pattern in how you end your stories.

I found I am far more likely to start a chapter with dialogue than I am to end it, and my ending sentences are on average nearly double the length of my opening sentences. I guess I like to lure people in with a false promise of regular length sentences, then sucker punch them with a enough commas and dashes to leave them too winded to defend themselves from my run-ons by the end.

Chapter 1: The Master Awaits

"Meet our guest: Elisewin of the Shal'Dorei."

Chapter 2: The Lay of the Land

But as he made his slow way through the castle's many long hallways and winding staircases one step at a time, Renathal simply could not fathom how, if passage between the realms was truly impossible for all beings, Elisewin was supposed to have arrived.

Chapter 3: The Endmire

The last thing he saw before his eyes drifted shut was Elisewin's lavender face, very close to his, and the last thought he had before he succumbed to black was that he rather liked it that way.

Chapter 4: Anima Awakening

The Duke beamed at her. "So kind of you to notice!"

Chapter 5: The Proper Punishment

Rest was something Renathal doubted he would ever have again while the mortal he craved just as desperately waited for him nearby. 

Chapter 6: Home Improvement

And the knowledge ached in Renathal's chest like a festering wound - Denathrius would take her from him.

Chapter 7: Formal Refreshments

She was wrong, of course - everything in the realm belonged to the Master, her included; but for here, for now, for the moments he still had her, it was the thought that counted.

Chapter 8: Safe in the Shadows

They were doomed, himself and his singular mortal, but not without a fight.

Chapter 9: Into the Light

Elisewin was singular, but she did not - could not - understand; that Renathal had waited steadfastly for eternity and finally, finally had everything he wanted.

Chapter 10: Mix, Mingle, and Meddle

All he could bring himself to do was slump against the unforgiving brick of the rampart's shelter and, like Elisewin still standing frozen only a dozen paces away, stare into the unfathomable distance, mourning the loss of the perfect, glorious happiness they had so briefly enjoyed.

[reineyelah]

Fanfiction Editing

I am going on a rant here, and I don't give a singular shit about who gets offended by this. (Because somehow the suggestion that writing not have any or minimal errors is offensive.)

There are two main arguments I see against people editing their own work.

Writing is supposed to be fun, and editing makes it not fun.

It's their story, they can publish it however they want.

Fine.

But reading is supposed to be fun too, and when someone can't spell fucking envelope and they include the world envelope 38 times in the first 10 paragraphs, reading isn't fun anymore.

'Envelop'.

FUCK.

So close.

Or when they don't understand how a fucking comma works.

Or when they fuck up their tenses.

Or when they can't use THEIR, THEY'RE, and THERE correctly.

Or when they write dialogue like this: "I like that",

Or when they are so uncomfortable writing smut that they write "his spot", like fuck off.

Or when they refuse to capitalize things that need to be capitalized.

Or when they arbitrarily get character appearance wrong for no reason.

Or when entire words missing. Like that.

I mean, when I am reading a story, and there is a fucking typo in the actual fucking summary of the story, I want every author everywhere to know that I will not bother reading your story if you can't even get the damn summary correct. I will not.

And then if there is a typo in the first paragraph of the story, same thing.

Here's the thing. I understand that editing is kind of annoying, and I understand that you just really want to get that chapter published. But editing also isn't hard, and I am eternally convinced that some people just enjoy having typos, or they literally don't glance over their writing even once before publishing it.

I am going to repeat. I am convinced that people just fucking enjoy having their stories littered with typos. They like it. They must.

Because if you call them out, they have an entire bitch fit about how they can't be forced to fix them, and how if you don't like them, just ignore them.

But what they don't understand is that when a story is edited and polished, it makes it SIGNIFICANTLY easier and more pleasant to read.

The people who are calling out typos are NOT doing it to make you feel bad. They are doing it because they WANT to read your story, because the summary sounded interesting, but the typos and mistakes are too goddamn distracting to make it enjoyable.

I will N E V E R understand the instance that authors are just never allowed to be called out on poor editing. It simply makes no sense to me. If you put out a story with mistakes, you ought to be prepared for people to point them out. If you didn't want that to happen, you would fucking fix them.

And it has nothing to do with "not being a professional writer", because guess fucking what, high school kids aren't professional writers either, yet they didn't put typos in their papers, because if the did, they got docked points.

It is not that difficult or complex. All we want, as readers (and writers for that matter) is for other writers to make an effort to edit their work. Don't just say "ignore the mistakes" because as soon as I see that, I trash bin the story.

Because in my opinion, if you don't put in the effort to edit, why the fuck should the audience put in the effort to read? Why should you expect readers when you don't give enough of a shit to make the story pleasant to read?

And to that end, I have literally BEGGED authors to let me edit their stories myself. I will do it, because I want to read that story so badly myself without typos that I will just put in the work they didn't want to bother with. And they still bitch fit.

Which brings me to my original conclusion. Some people must like having typos in their work.

And my final point is that if you are so fucking sensitive that you get triggered over this post, either as a fellow reader or as a writer, the internet is not a place for you, and neither is the world of fanfiction.

Typos is not a hill to die on. It really isn't.

(I am not talking about people who have three typos in a 100k+ word story. I am talking about the people who have 86 typos in the first chapter.)

My patience with this has been absolutely lost, as you can see.

EDIT. YOUR. GODDAMN. STORIES. PLEASE.

READERS EVERYWHERE ARE BEGGING YOU.

And if you don't want to edit, I will HAPPILY EDIT YOUR STORY FOR YOU. I really will. Just inbox it to me and I will do it. For free. HAPPILY.

I care about typo-free stories that much that I will literally do it for you.

[displayheartcode]

For the fanfic ask! A, L, M, and T!

A: Of the fanfic you’ve written, which is your favorite and why?

Mia, why must you hurt me?

perchance to dream, which I wrote for @annerbhp during a fest, had me giggling. I remember trying to think of how to twist these ridiculous scenarios into chaotic moments like this -

I am a funny writer! I can write the shit out of comedic dialogue!

L:  Which of your fanfics was the most emotionally challenging to write?

sympathy for the devil was supposed to be a silly crossover, a moment of whimsy between the Lone Power (Young Wizards) and Crowley (Good Omens) discussing his severance package. Instead, I found that that THE DIANE DUANE HAS ACCIDENTALLY READ IT. How am I supposed to move in this world if the blockbuster SFF author knows how I write????????????????????????? I am haunted by her presence. I can't even look at the direction of the GO fandom without thinking, "Diane Duane has seen my misplaced commas."

M: What’s the weirdest AU scenario you’ve ever come up with?  Did it turn into a story?

You mean the Twilight fanfic where Edward is a puppet on Sesame Street?

I am also surprised I was sober when writing this.

T: Any fanfic tropes you can’t stand?

Character bashing is not only incredibly lazy but boring. Protagonist-centered morality that the narrative doesn't call out. Cheating. Anything that invokes the response of, "Okay, edgelord," from me.

fanfic writing meme

[mr-peptobismol]

Hmmm my opinions on your fic. Lucky for you I’m somewhat decent at giving writing feedback.

I do like the idea of the AU a lot. Geto lives but is still the enemy is not very common at all. There were multiple set ups and clever follow throughs like Yuji’s makeup that was introduced as a joke hiding Sukuna’s tatts, or Geto only killing cursed spirits after they hurt a child. The themes seem to be about changing oneself for the sake of love. My main criticisms are length and pacing. There are so many interesting moving parts that could be more fleshed out. Fanfic gives you the unique opprotunity to really dig into the characters and make a reader feel like them.

For example, every human has their own unique way emoting. How someone shows embarassment varies from person to person. Someone might turn beet red from head to toe, another might have pink pool in certain locations and nowhere else. Sometimes the heat is felt everywhere or only in the cheeks. Those kinds of intimate details feel like they’re missing to me.

I also have a difficult time feeling the location. How the air feels, the temperature, the lighting etc helps set the mood and grounds a reader.

You can also use syntax to torment readers. Yuji is kind of dumb right? So when writing his POV the vocabulary and sentences can be simple. Just like him! And rather than saying a character is overwhelmed you can make sentences run on and on without commas or breaks to make the reader feel like they’re trapped with the character in their mental breakdown.

I also saw the comments on how writing action is difficult. I’m not very good at it either but I borrow from how Beserk shows Guts’s power. Rather than illustrating the moment of impact, it shows the initial swing of his sword and then the aftermath. For some reason when I write action like this it works for me.

My advice to you is reading things where these individual parts are done extremely well and then mimicking them in some capacity. Like have them open as a reference as you’re writing. It helps a lot. Do not forget to credit those inspirations!

You are so sweet thank you for all of this ‼️‼️ This advice means the world to me ♥️♥️

This helps SO much more with the other AU I have in the works, so I’m definitely going to revise the first three chapters before releasing them into the wild(AO3).

As for the vocabulary, that would always be my beloved friend and mutual @/catgirlkirigiri’s stong suit. Luckily, I remember things that in all seriousness Shouldn’t help me, but end up helping anyways! Case in point: they use a thesaurus website to change out words for more impact.

I admit, I shy away from action because of not understanding much of how it works. It’s easier for me to write emotion, especially when I’m having my overwhelming emotions or have been in a particular experience. I really did lose touch with describing how a character feels without having to state it, which is what I’ll be working on.

Something I Did try to do was keep Megumi and Gojo’s emotes similar, as Gojo was raising him during parts of the most impressionable years of his life.

The fic was initially going to be SO much longer; Kenjaku was supposed to be elaborated on, Choso and Yuji were supposed to meet, Jogo would NOT have survived, more elaboration on Yuji’s own gauntlet, Nobara and the twins were meant to get more chapters. And then the dreaded writer’s block hit. And my made up deadlines told me, “wow. You haven’t released anything. Better end it here.”

And then I did 💔💔

But I do have plans to revisit it soon. Make it better than it was, and absolutely try to use all the advice you gave.

Sorry if any of these sound like excuses, I’m just trying to explain more of how the process of writing my first actual fic was 💀💀 (Learning from my mistakes, I am now writing multiple chapters before releasing chapter one so I have more time to work on this before freaking out with Made Up Deadlines)(posting my writing always makes me believe I have deadlines or people Will Lose Interest and I don’t want that 💔💔)

And the thing I saved last because I felt a lil stupid: environmental lighting and such. I really, REALLY should have thought about this, ‘specially as someone who has been in theatre classes where these matter.

I’m able to (somewhat) capture it in my art (ignore how Megumi looks 💀💀 I need to go back and redraw him at some point [dont speedrun art late at night, it’s not healthy]), the blue of the aquarium shining on Megumi, Yuji seemingly consumed by shadows, being highlighted by the light Megumi stands in.

Ignore the background. I’m not good at drawing animals 😭😭 Or drawing aquariums for that matter. But even there, I tried to capture symbolism. The stingray and a blue head wrasse supposedly get along from what I’ve read (mutualistic relationship!), thought it was fitting for the (now scrapped) situation :)) [Once again please ignore how most of this looks, it’s not my best work]

[deepautumncolors]

Book Reviews

12/28/23

This book was such a sweet holiday romance! I’m really glad I waited until December to read it right before Christmas. If you can get past the idea that nobody noticed the twins weren’t who they were supposed to be, you’ll like it. I mean, I know a pair of twin sisters and even though they look alike, their voices still sound different. Anyway, I was a little surprised that Charlie and Cass didn’t tell each other what was going on in “their” lives and that they didn’t confess to Miguel and Jake a little sooner, but it didn’t bother me. I don’t watch baking shows nor do I even cook that much, but it didn’t take away anything from the story for me. The book had a few minor errors, like missing punctuation, that would have been caught with careful editing. And once in a while I would have added a comma or put certain words in a different order within the sentence, but I can overlook that. There were a few times the dialogue was a bit juvenile and some moments were slightly cheesy and predictable, but I knew what I was getting into when I decided to read it. That’s just how this genre is. Overall, it was a cute, clean, and appropriate story with only kissing and no swearing. I thought the structure was set up well with one chapter from each twin’s point of view on the same day. I didn’t have a hard time keeping their stories straight. I loved the role that each character played in the story, including the townspeople like Sharon and Faye. I thought the plot was thought out very nicely and I liked how everything was tied up at the end. I am looking forward to reading the other Christmas book by these authors. (Maggie Knox is a pen name for the writing duo Karma Brown and Marissa Stapley.)

1/7/24

This is the second holiday romance book by these authors. While I was in the middle of reading their first one, I called the library to order this book a couple weeks before Christmas so I could read it over the holidays. But they didn’t have it and the librarian said there were already some holds for it, so she put me on the waiting list and I wouldn’t get to read it for a while. Well, it turned out my husband overheard me on the phone and stealthily ordered it from Amazon, so I was surprised to receive it as a gift on Christmas Day! Anyway, I just finished reading it. I enjoyed it, but I liked The Holiday Swap a little bit better.

This story is about two singers named Sadie Hunter and Max Brody competing on a show called Starmaker, which is a lot like American Idol, in Nashville. They have amazing chemistry when they sing together onstage, so the audience loves them and roots for #Saxie to win. The producers convince them to compete as a couple for the rest of the show in order to boost ratings or else they will be eliminated, so they maintain a fake relationship in their everyday lives even though they “can’t stand each other” offstage. At least, that’s what the plot summary says on the back cover – I wasn’t convinced. They butted heads a couple times, but to me it didn’t seem like they hated each other enough. They also had a lot of miscommunication throughout the story that was somewhat implausible at times. Why didn’t she just TELL him about her grandma instead of rushing off? Also, it frustrated me that Max kept jumping to conclusions without just talking to Sadie first. It seemed like every time they needed to talk to each other, one of them never answered their phone. And I found it to be a bit of a stretch that they didn’t talk for an entire year. I get it that the authors wanted it to take place at Christmastime two years in a row so they had to skip from one December to the next, but it’s doubtful that they wouldn’t even call or text each other during that time.

As a fan of the former TV series Nashville, I liked the setting and I could easily picture certain scenes taking place based on what I saw in the episodes. Whenever Sadie and Max performed, I imagined that their voices sounded like Scarlett and Gunnar’s together on the show. I wish I could have heard some of the songs that the characters sang, or at least that a few more lyrics than just a couple lines had been revealed. Perhaps a nice addition would be to add the entire songs at the back of the book. It would make a nice Hallmark movie, being able to actually hear them sing. The character of Cruz was definitely believable even though it’s unfortunate that sleazy producers like him exist in real life. As a Swiftie, I appreciated several references to Taylor Swift. I thought the dialogue was a little stronger than it was in the previous book. There was also a little swearing and the romance scenes were spicier. I liked Saxie’s happy ending, even though it took them a while to finally get there.

[vaguely-andro-autobot]

fine I'll pin a post

I'm a person of the ...her variety desperately wanting to go into film without doing anything for that goal. big fan of inaction, this one, and dinosaurs and not cell phones and not knowing how to internet and comics and planning and run on sentences.

trans in some non-male way that leans enough towards girl, asexual in the "idk what sexual attraction feels like and don't really want it"; I believe I am biromantic but a heavy lean towards wimmin and a love of indecision means I really don't know anymore

probably neurodivergent but even if self-diagnosis is an important step I don't wanna call it exactly.

Favorite...

Movies: The Mitchells vs. The Machines (*ahem* literally me, name included), Godzilla Minus One (needs a rewatch), recently I Saw the TV Glow. Plus Jurassic Park and Minority Report and Pacific Rim and Indiana Jones and Arrival and... my Letterboxd is named Real McPersonFace for the time being, and realmcperson's the url.

Musics (inspo for post): Local News Legend, Metric, I Fight Dragons, The Vincent Black Shadow, Teddy Grey, she/her/hers, Sonic musicians ... mostly anything upbeat, rock, and with a female lead. I tend to be opposed to whatever I see as "popular", even if I would probably like it. Honorable mentions: Go Child!, Paramore, Pigeon Pit.

Musics but classical: boy do I love taking music theory (*has nothing to do with actually listening to classical). Obviously Beethoven, specifically Pathetique Sonata, Chopin's good for Marche funebre (not the sonata one, earlier) and also just a lot, like Mahler and Vaughn Williams and the such.

Novels/prose: Ubik, Flow My Tears, the Policeman Said, A Scanner Darkly... really most Philip K. Dick I've read. Sadly I too am a teen who liked Catcher in the Rye.

Nonfiction: Ryan North's How to Invent Everything and I don't want to bother writing anything else, because I've read it like 6 times and can't be bothered to care about much else. Useful too!

Graphic novels/comics: Hellblazer, Hellboy, Batman: the Long Halloween, Kate Beaton's Ducks, Seconds, Scott Pilgrim, this one one called PTSD that happened to be neat, Saga, don't want to write The Sandman but it was until Neil Gaiman-ed, Saga of the Swamp Thing, V for Vendetta (kinda), Fables, The Unbeatable Squirrel Girl, Scott McCloud's Zot!, Usagi Yojimbo, why yes I am trying to list everything I think of so I don't forget, Seconds again, Time Before Time, Batman Year One, oh of course IDW's TMNT, Dragon Hoops, and Scott McCloud's The Sculptor. Probably left a few out (like the various Moon Knights and Sweet Tooth!)

Webcomics I suppose: Octopus Pie (finished), Dumbing of Age (still ongoing!), Sam and Fuzzy (main story's done), Let's Speak English! (been done for a while), Back! (also complete). Those are all the story ones and all that I'm still looking back on, also JS Power Hour but that's gag-a-day AND complete so it's dropped down a little.

Youtube-ers: mneh I don't like writing this but it's important to my characterization. Watch a lot but those I truly care about are currently RTGame, Scott The Woz and supplementary material, and Melody Nosurname. I specifically love Scott's Cookin' Hard, Snapcube's Sonic 06 fandub (SILVER!), RT's Slay the Princess, and a lot of little Mel clips.

well I thought I had an activites section or hobbies or just general, but nope. oh right, big fan of not using commas correctly, overusing parentheses, and writing things longer than they need to be. conclusion.

[imyourliquor-youremypoison]

Trainwreck (OC fiction) - Part 3

MASTERLIST

3.8 words

>>> Part 4

She couldn't recall how many times she read the poem, but at some point, Joyce could recite it by heart, knowing exactly where each and every commas were situated. The words echoed in her mind, as though her head was a cavern of which the smooth walls passed on the sound. It was always his voice she heard when her eyes darted over the same words over and over again.

Your voice and your steps fall as soft as dew on my day

  of work.

Where I sit there is spring in the air around me from

  your living warmth.

You blossom in my thoughts, you blossom in my blood,

  and I only wonder,

that my happy hands do not burst out into heavy roses.[1]

            Her palms grew sweaty, her heartbeat uneven and her mind blank. What was this supposed to mean? What was she supposed to understand? Jo could picture with extreme precision the little crooked smirk on Roman's face that would undoubtedly make an appearance if she turned up on his doorstep to demand an explanation for this.

            Aside from the fact that she had no idea where the hell a Swedish prince lived, and – she glanced at her alarm clock – that it was 2:48 in the morning, she knew it was a bad idea. Sleep was apparently eluding her, and since she had no intention of sitting on her friend's couch and staring ahead of her the entire night (or the few remaining hours before she had to return to class) Jo grabbed her bag and pulled out a piece of paper and a pencil. God, she was tired! That birthday party had consumed whatever energy she had left after a day of class. And yet here she was, pulling her hair back and quickly tying it into a ponytail so it would stay out of her face for once, preparing to write something back.

            Jeez, she was actually pulling an all-nighter to write some lame poetry to her crush, what was she? Twelve? Even in middle school she’d known it was lame. But obviously she didn't mind making a fool out of herself at age twenty-three, when she was supposed to be an adult, who goes to university and pays taxes.

            (Yeah, okay... she didn't really pay taxes since she still lived under her parents' roof.)

“Joyce?” A weak, sleepy voice called her name and Jo's head snapped up. “What are you doing? What time is it?”

“Nothing. Go back to sleep,” she whispered to her friend.

            Jo managed to claim the couch while two other girls slept on a mattress on the floor. Tonight, the apartment was crowded, and it wasn't exactly the best of conditions to unleash one's inner Wordsworth.

            The girl nodded absentmindedly and let her head fall back on her pillow, passing out right away. Jo cursed silently; she had to be quiet. With only the light of her phone to see what she was doing, she started scribbling down animatedly, as if she had no control over her own hand. She knew without a doubt that she wasn't capable of such skill as Roman proved he had mastered, and her poem wouldn't be as delicate and coherent – or even decent – but maybe she could pull off something shorter. A haiku maybe? No, too short. We'll see.

*

            Joyce found that sleepovers at a friend's place became less and less enticing as she grew up and left childhood. Because looking like you haven't slept at all and still wearing yesterday's clothes wasn't as innocent as it used to be, and she couldn't simply go back home, instead she had to drag her tired limbs to class. Doing what looked like a walk of shame to her nine am class was not on her list of best moments.

            Her bag was stuffed to the brim with scrunched up pieces of paper blackened with ink, and still, the bags under her eyes were darker. In the end, she slept no more than two hours and she didn't even like what she ended up writing, but it was the best she could do under the circumstances. She had repeated the words to herself all night long, and the more she did it, the sillier it sounded. Roman was going to laugh at her poor attempt at poetry. But she was not going to back down from this: she had done her best and she would give him the damn poem even if it was the last thing she would do.

the universe took its time on you

crafted you precisely

so you could offer the world

something distinct from everyone else

so when you doubt

how you were created

you doubt an energy greater than us both[2]

            It was not earth-shattering, but at least it had a clear message. She wasn’t good with rhymes. She sat through her first two classes of the day in a state of advanced anxiousness and couldn't stop her left foot from tapping impatiently on the floor, earning a few glares from her fellow students – which she ignored. Roman and her hadn't planned to meet up today, and she was aware that she would have to wait until later to see him, at the train station. For the first time ever, Jo experienced the reality of time's relativity. She did not like it.

            As if to mock her, all of her teachers decided to be extra boring today, and her last class of the day lasted ten minutes longer than normal because the teacher absolutely wanted to finish the lesson today.

            It was tired, disheveled, distraught and nervous that she eventually walked out of the class room, almost sprinting toward the bus in order to catch her train on time. Fortunately, she managed to do so and although she was panting, she was felt like the wheel had turned and no more bad things could possibly happen to her today. (It had to, right? She wouldn’t be able to bear any more bad luck, she was exhausted.)

“Damn käraste, you look like shit!”

            Jo was immediately greeted by Roman's affectionate mockery as soon as she stepped through the automatic double door of the train station.

            Standing there, with her bag hanging slightly off her shoulder, the collar of her coat uneven, her hair tangled beyond repair (she will have to cut it soon, it was getting out of control, and her hair stylist was going to cry upon seeing it), and she was positive that the little makeup she put on before leaving her friend's apartment did not help her look alive – so Roman was probably right.

“Love you too, asshole,” she grumbled with a little smile as she greeted Roman.

“I'm kidding of course, you look dashing as always,” he replied, not even trying to hide the smirk on his face. God, Joyce wanted to slap that smile off his handsome face. But then again, she'd rather just kiss it away. Man, she was screwed.

“Are you alright?” he asked. Gone was his teasing tone, replaced by worry.

“If you had had a day like mine, you would be crawling home instead of walking,” Jo laughed half-heartedly. She was too tired to play graceful and delicate.

“Anything I can do about it?”

“Unless you can give me back the sleep I didn’t get last night, I don’t think you can.”

            Roman grabbed her bag and carried it for her – something she usually wouldn't let anyone do, but she knew that he simply had to be chivalrous because it was in his nature, and she was far too exhausted to protest. They walked together to the platform where their train was waiting, and Joyce proceeded to tell Roman about last night's party and today's misfortunes. He laughed at how dramatic she was being while sympathizing with her awful day.

            Though Jo's day was considerably improved by Roman's obscenely gorgeous face and hair and smirk and... by Roman as a whole, yeah. Her one and only solace was that he was wearing gloves and she didn't have to deal with his long, slender fingers brushing against hers or her shoulder when he took her bag from her. Joyce cursed silently and urged herself to get her shit together. Geez, I need a serious shag, the sooner the better.

“Here?” Roman asked while gesturing to two vacant seats near the back of the wagon.

            Joyce nodded and once she was slouched on the comfortable seat and surrounded by the warmth provided by the train's heating system, she felt her bones warm up and her muscles relax.

“Hey, I- I didn't want to ask at first,” Roman began sheepishly, looking embarrassed, “I was going to give you a few days but... have you read the poem I wrote you?”

            She smiled a little, enjoying having him flustered for once, and not the other way around.

“I did,” she answered, not giving any sign of continuing the sentence. She watched his face light up and his eyes widen in expectation.

“And?” he prompted her to tell him more.

“What? Fishing for compliments?”

            Even she was astonished at her own capacity to sound relaxed and untouched by the fact that the boy she liked wrote her a poem – a love poem. A little voice at the back of her head congratulated her for her performance and gave her a tap on the shoulder.

“Of course not,” he snorted, tearing his gaze away from hers and laying back against the back seat. He looked a tiny bit disappointed and offended.

“I'm just messing with you, Roman. It was beautiful, and I almost ripped all the hair off my head last night while trying to write something half as good,” she admitted, pulling the neatly folded piece of paper with the final draft of her stupid poem.

            No, not stupid. Just not good.

“I thought you were at a party?” He frowned. “You wrote a poem at a party?”

            She would never admit that she locked herself in the bathroom several times throughout the evening just to read his poem over and over again. Nor would she admit to not having slept a wink because she needed to put something to paper right then, and not when the sun rose the next morning. Some things are not meant to be done by daylight.

“I made the time,” she simply answered, electing to stay as vague as possible.

“Knowing you, I'm sure it's ten times better than mine. You're such a perfectionist it's borderline a psychosis – no offense by the way,” he joked and took the poem, shoving it in his pocket.

            Joyce was relieved that he did not intend to read it now, because she didn't have the nerves to watch his reaction to her writing. Still, something in her stomach fluttered awake.

*

            She shouldn’t have given on her poem on a Friday. She shouldn’t have. They didn’t see each other on the week-ends and she hadn’t wanted to be the first to reach out and seem too eager to have his opinion.

            Needless to say, Jo spent most of her waking hours switching between dread and optimism.

She’d just given the world’s shittiest poem to the guy she liked.

She’d made an honorable effort returning his gesture even though it was outside her comfort zone.

She’d written the worst, most ridiculous, purple-prose none-sense in the history of poetry.

He would appreciate that she tried to speak his language.

She fucked it all up.

He could have lost it? Misplaced it? Maybe she could have another go at it? No, that was wishful thinking. She should have waited until Monday at least. That she could agree on. She’d been completely out of it all week-end, answering wrong when someone spoke to her, drifting off and getting lost in her thoughts all the time. She’d ran her fingers through her hair so many times that she’d made it greasy again and had to wash it a second time the same day.

            Jo’s eyes reflexively darted to her phone whenever she thought she heard a notification ding. It wasn’t him. She didn’t hear anything from Roman at all until the moment they bumped into each other between two classes Monday afternoon.

“Ursäkta[3]! I’m already late, talk soon?” he shouted as he walked past her, in a hurry. She knew he had a class on the opposite side of campus on Monday afternoon.

            After the first couple months talking to Roman, Jo had learned a few words of Swedish and she recognized the apology.

            A little disappointed, Jo just gave a little smile and a thumbs up, waving him goodbye as she walked in the opposite direction, to the library. Guess she wouldn’t get any feedback on her writing skills today. Every passing hour made her regret the words she wrote a little more.

            If she listened to herself, she would have tried to snatch it back from him, pretend it never existed. Roman smiled so wide when he saw her. Even with the cold wind whipping his face and tousling his hair, he looked impeccable. Too handsome to go to class. Everything about his was so deliberate. Try as she might, Joyce always looked like she’d just fallen out of bed.

            Unable to not answer his grin, Jo let herself smile wider, and figured her poem couldn’t be bad enough to ruin whatever she had going on with Roman either way.

            Was it?

*

            The next day, Roman wasn’t waiting for her on the platform for the 9a.m train. Joyce frowned, worried. He had never missed his train so far, he was always early. There were no texts from him either, so she figured nothing serious had happened. Maybe he just spelt in? Or went early to finish an assignment?

            It was odd, going back to sitting alone on a Tuesday morning in the train. She didn’t bring a book on Tuesday because Roman was usually there to chat with her. Something was quite right, but she couldn’t place her finger on it. It was just a funny feeling she had, there was no tangible proof of anything. Jo felt uneasy.

            She pulled out her phone and began to type.

Missing you today

            He was usually quick to answer, so she wasn’t surprised to get an answer within the minute. She expected to be teased mercilessly about missing him even though they saw each other almost every day on campus.

Already at uni.

            Mmh. Weird. She didn’t push, despite wanting to know more. Now she was certain something was up. If she listened to herself, she would have asked why he was so early. She would have asked if something was wrong, because this wasn’t the normal tone of his texts. He flirted so hard that Joyce had all the trouble in the world not giggling when reading his messages. She had stopped reading them in class because her friends would absolutely bust her ass if she grinned like a maniac at her screen.

Coffee?

            Came another text. At least, he still seemed to want to spend time with her. She had half an hour of free time before her first class on Tuesdays, he knew that. She messaged back a quick ‘OK’, matching his minimalist messages this morning.

            Maybe he just woke up on the wrong foot? So far, he had seemed like a rather balanced and happy-go-lucky person, perhaps she simply hadn’t seen him on a bad day yet. She hoped that was it.

            The train ride felt longer than when he was with her, but it finally reached her destination, and Jo couldn’t get out fast enough. She nearly ran towards the bus, squeezing in right before the doors closed. It would bring her right outside their usual coffee spot, within walking distance from campus.

            Not even the perspective of getting a seasonal flavored goodness untied the knot in her stomach when she walked in, making the doorbell jingle. And there he was – her suspiciously elusive crush. She knew it was just nerves making her regret writing that poem, but seeing him now, having not spoken a word to him in three days – the longest since they met – she truly, genuinely regretted it.

            Up until now, she’d been as excited to see him and talk about it as she was apprehensive. Now? She like nothing more than to turn back around, even if it was the chicken shit thing to do.

“Hi,” she said as she sat down next to him. Roman had pushed the chair back for her with his foot and greeted her with a timid smile. “Had breakfast yet?”

“Uhm, yeah. But order whatever you want, it’s my treat.”

He had already ordered her a coffee that was waiting for her on the able. She immediately cradled in between her freezing hands.

“You don’t have to,” Jo said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not even hungry.”

“I want to,” he countered. “Consider it an apology for not stopping to chat yesterday. I felt bad.”

            This was… new. It felt formal, and Joyce realized she would wouldn’t be able to swallow anything even if she tried. She had been waiting for one thing, and one thing only: hearing what he thought about her poem so that she could stop obsessing over it and move on. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal since Friday.

            There was a distance between them that wasn’t physical.

“Are you trying to make me die of anticipation?” She turned back to familiar things, teasing him, straight-forward questions, no awkward small talk. “I’ve been losing sleep over this stupid poem, you know? Just tell me how terrible it was, I can take it.”

            Err… could she? She’d never write another word again and solely communicate through numbers and emojis but sure, she’d get over it.

“Terrible?” he exclaimed, a bit loudly, earning a few stares. At least she got something out of him that wasn’t this composed exterior.

“Really? ‘cause I feel like you’ve been avoiding talking to me since I gave it to you, and I figured it must have been so bad you didn’t know how to break it to me easy.” He laughed. “No, really. You look so solemn sitting here-“ she gestured vaguely at him. “-I half expect this to turn into an intervention about me never indulging in any kind of creative writing ever again.”

“Jo, if you stop talking and let me speak, I will gladly tell you what I thought about your poem,” Roman interjected when Joyce took a breath. “I wasn’t avoiding you, I swear. Just busy.”

            This was a lazy excuse, but she’d take it. She would have taken any explanation over the worst-case scenario she had played out in her head.

“Don’t you want to order first?” he asked after a short silence.

“What? No!” she protested. “Actually, I’m sweating in here, what do you say we take this outside? It’s sunny today.”

“Whatever the lady wants,” Roman agreed, taking his coat and following her outside.

            The second they left the stifling warmth of the coffee shop, their breath turned to into cloudy mist. Joyce had been right, the weather was beautiful today, bright and crisp.

“C’mon, just give it to me already.” She raised her hands and made a little ‘come at me’ gesture. “It’s OK if you didn’t like it, I know I’m not any goo-“

            He cut her off before she could start rambling again about how utterly awful she was at writing anything more inspired than a grocery list.

“Jo, you need to stop putting yourself down like that, because what you wrote-“ he trailed off, looking upwards as if he couldn’t find the words.

            She didn’t say a word, hanging by his lips. He shook his head.

“It was great. No, it was beautiful.”

“Don’t go easy on me now.” Jo rolled her eyes. “That can’t be true.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” he immediately countered. “Is that any way to speak to the person who pays for your breakfast?”

“You haven’t paid me breakfast because I haven’t ordered,” she pointed out, but got the point. He offered. “No, okay. I accept that it might not have been as bad as I feared. Please go on.” She mimicked to locked her mouth shut and throw away the key.

            Roman bit his lip, and his distant air returned to him as he looked away from her and at the horizon. He seemed to fight to find the right words then, his open eye drifting to his feet, crunching some leftover snow from earlier this week.

“Do you know why I like poetry?” he asked, taking her by surprise.

            Joyce shook her head.

“It says things you can’t convey in normal conversations. It taps into feelings that aren’t easily expressed in any other form of communication.” He glanced back up at her but she didn’t say a word, waiting for him to finish. “What you wrote…” he drifted off again, rubbing his eyes. “I don’t deserv-“

“There you are!” An unfamiliar voice exclaimed, cutting Roman off mid-sentence. A tall, stunning blond girl swooped right in-between them, completely ignoring Joyce’s presence, and wrapped an arm around Roman’s neck, promptly pulling him in and slamming their mouths together.

            The interruption was so abrupt, so unexpected, Joyce could do nothing but stare in shock.

            If Jo had been in any state to react, she would have been outraged at being so blatantly ignored – well, not completely ignored since this little display was obviously for her sake. That was a girl marking her territory if she ever saw one. And she did. Just never from so close.

            No, Jo was not in any way, shape or form in a state to react. In fact, she was struck deaf and dumb. She didn’t hear what the blond said when she broke her open-mouthed kiss with Roman. Jo didn’t process any of the words exchanged from then on, she only tried to acknowledge what was unfolding in front of her eyes. The added two and two together and never in her life had she loathed being good at math.

            Her head was a storm of raging thoughts, her hands became clammy, her temple throbbed painfully, and her eyes prickled. She would not cry, she would not embarrass herself further in front of her, in front of him… God, she’d been blind. He was the one with a single open eye, but she was blind.

            The noise in her head screeched to a sudden halt as the pretty girl turned around and eyed her up and down, as if assessing competition. There was no competition, Joyce wasn’t even in the same category, and she wouldn’t make a fool of herself again.

Joyce couldn’t even bring herself to look at Roman’s face, to see his reaction. She hoped he was livid. She hoped he was mortified, even if he couldn’t be half as much as her. Just when she was about to take her leave, the blond spoke up.

“Who is this, Roman?”

[1]This is the first stanza of Swedish author Karin Boye's poem « Idyll ». Translation to English by Jenny Nunn.

[2]Rupi Kaur

[3] ‘Sorry’ in Swedish

[countbarov]

So, I've been thinking,

specifically about Buck and Eddie's writing, and I have some thoughts. See, if their stories pan out the most obvious way (Buck either mends things with Natalia or he has another cheating arc, while Eddie dates Marisol), I'm gonna be disappointed. Let me make this clear: I will not be disappointed *because* they're not together, but because of how badly written this is

Buck's been dealing with a lot of bad relationships lately, and at its core, this is what the couch metaphor is about. With or without Eddie in mind, the couch represents bad relationships. For him to repeat the same mistakes he has over and over, to jump into a relationship with the first woman that looks at him, to make the same mistakes over and over... It would make the couch metaphor fall flat

And Eddie is clearly not into casual dating. At all. He's choosing women in his life because of how well they get along with Chris - and that's fine. He's a single father and his priority is his kid, after all. I don't think it's wise for a man in his position to choose WITHOUT his son in mind. But in what way has Marisol proven to be a good parental figure up to this point? She's been in a grand total of one episode. And I like her - but we just don't know anything about her

For them to continue down these paths seems nonsensical to me. And again: this is not me necessarily hinting at a relationship between the two. It's just lame. Buck is caught in a whirlwind fling again, and Eddie decides that the love of his life is a woman he rescued once and met again at a hardware store

Why didn't Buck spend the entire season developing a meaningful relationship with a woman? Why didn't Eddie? Why do we get last-minute relationships that have two episodes each under their belts? Considering this was an uncertain time for the show, and how there was a non-zero possibility of being cancelled, this season finale is supposed to serve both as a reasonably good ending for the series while keeping the possibility of future plot threads alive

Would you be satisfied with Buck and Eddie getting last minute relationships? Would you consider it an appropriate ending for their stories? We know it's not, but this was supposed to be at the very least "good enough"

And this problem is for Buck and Eddie specifically. Other characters definitely get "good enough" endings this season. Hen gets to live comfortably with Karen and the father of her son is in his life again; Chim and Maddy are getting married; Bobby (provided he doesn't die, as many believe he could) and Athena have a much needed vacation. What about Buck and Eddie, separately? They hook up with the first woman they meet

Most of the characters are already past the "dating" stage, and are already transitioning their lives into the next phase. Buck and Eddie have been kept in a perpetual state of nothing

If the show so desperately wants to keep them apart, so be it. I don't watch the show just because I want them to be together. But I wish they did justice to these two characters, even if they're not together (as I am known to want)

Buck HAS seen development this season. The comma episode, the many times he's questioned his life choices, his sudden desire to be a father when asked to be a sperm donor, his death and eventual resurrection -- he's been through it. And it seems to hint towards him finding a way into the same "next stage" the others already are in. So why hold him back?

Eddie, on the other hand, is dealing with loneliness. For a character whose main flaw has been emotional distance, he has come a long way too. And yet he keeps his heart closed off to any woman who wants to be with him. But suddenly he wants to date again, and he finds Marisol, who couldn't have been any less meaningful to him as a character. We're supposed to believe THIS is it

Now, I know people blame the writers, but I don't. I don't think they're choosing everything that happens on their own. They're often told to get a certain ending, a certain character has to do X, things like that. So no, I don't chastise the writers or any of the staff behind the scenes for what's happening to the characters. But I chastise the SHOW itself, and anyone in charge of these decisions

I WILL watch season 7. I WILL support the show. But if things pan out in the most obvious way they seem to be, I will emotionally check out of Buck and Eddie's characters. I can't invest my energy into something I don't enjoy