#i have not done much poetry but i could see myself getting into it

[thevastnessof]

HELLO, as part of my new year I want to start at least semi consistently writing amd posting it, so I made a sideblog for it @thetomes!

[tealfruit]

it's really a shame I have to sell 40+ of my life hours every week for poverty wages instead of spending all my time and energy on dozens of creative and technical pursuits with unlimited resources

[gguk-n]

Max Unravelled

Unravelling Max's Mystery (Max Verstappen x Online Friend!Reader)

Series Masterlist

Summary- Max accidentally made an account on google plus in 2013. He came across a poetry page and enjoyed reading them. He ends up friends with the poet. He loved the normalcy she brought to his life. He didn't realise when the comfort he felt for her turned into love.

{Max's POV}

2013

I was searching for something on my gmail account when a pop up for google plus came through; without much thought I clicked on it. Some how, I'm yet to figure that out, I ended up with a google plus account. One of the few accounts I got recommended was a poetry and story account. They wrote very eloquently; I could feel the emotions in every word. I started reading all their posts in my spare time and even commenting on the ones I liked. I found my self constantly checking back to their page to see if they posted something. Their poetry was relatable and understandable. I hope they always have a good day since their words always pick me up when I'm down.

The poet I had been enjoying so much is a girl, and her name is Y/N. She's around my age; I guess that's why I related to her work so much. We spoke for the first time ever on her birthday. She made a post about it being her birthday so I wished her. She was sad about not being able to enjoy her birthday, I felt bad for her so we talked for a while until dad called me to practise. That was the start of our friendship. We ended up talking on google plus a lot. We shared the same sense of humour and best of all, she didn't know about racing. It was like a breath of fresh air to not talk about racing. She doesn't even seem interested in it; so I can live as Max for a while now.

My birthday was shit but talking to her made everything better. I can't believe I got excited about talking to someone and that someone made me feel good even on one of my shittiest days. She's one of the nicest people I've had the pleasure of talking to. I really do wanna talk to her on phone, typing everything I want to say out feels tedious.

2014

I've gotten busier since this year with Formula 3. We barely get to talk anymore. She did send me her number and we chat on Whatsapp whenever we can. But obviously it is not the same. I've suggested talking on call a few time and she finally agreed; I just need to find the perfect time to get away from everything to talk to her. I felt so nervous to talk to her for some reason, what if she thought I was weird and didn't enjoy talking to me? What if she heard me and decided I wasn't fun? What if we had nothing to talk about? I called her while sitting in my driver's room, she picked up quite quickly after 2 rings to be exact.

Max- Hi, Y/N! Y/N- Hey, Max!! How are you? Max- I'm good, what about you? Y/N- Yeah, I'm good too. haha!! This is so weird talking to you. Max- yeah, you sound pretty. Why would I say that? That sounds so fucking creepy, I face palmed myself so hard. Y/N- You sound nice too. I mean....you have a nice voice. Max- haha, thanks, this is the first time some one has said that. She thinks I have a nice voice, do I? Y/N- soooo, what have you been up too?? You've been so busy lately. I could hear people outside the driver's room. I quickly locked the door before answering her question. Max- yeah, I've been busy with stuff. I'll be done soon for a while now. Y/N- That's great I need my best friend back! Did she just call me her best friend? I've never had a best friend before.

We ended up talking on calls a lot more. I would have her contact ringer saved with a separate ringtone so that I would know to answer it. She usually called at reasonable times, where ever I travelled as if she knew my schedule.

2015

I got signed with RedBull Racing's junior team, making me the youngest driver. It was such a surreal feeling. But this also meant I couldn't talk to Y/N as much as I wished I could. Training and the races kept me very busy. But she was very understanding and would always welcome me back, no matter how long I was gone for.

2021

The first time I'm regretting not telling what I do to Y/N was today when I won my first World Championship. I was surrounded by my team, my girlfriend and my family as I got out of the car after I finished P1 at Abu Dhabi but it felt strange; like I was missing someone. I wish I could share this win, the biggest in my life yet, with the person who makes me feel so special yet so myself.

When I asked her about Formula One, she didn't know about, she didn't even know the prominent figures. So, I wasn't as worried about her finding out but I did worry now; since my win was controversial according to the media. However, she never asked. Was she really unaware or playing dumb? I wasn't sure if I should be grateful I get to be just Max or sad that I can't share a huge part of my life with my best friend.

2023

Y/N and I have been friends for the past 10 years. Time really flies. I've gotten a lot better at balancing my personal and work life. Y/N is my well kept secret; like I'm the only one who knows her. She moved out for college and we've only video called since. She is still funny and still writes. I think it's so cool of her to stay passionate about what she loves and keeping at it. She loves my cats more than I love them sometimes, she get's so excited when I send pictures of them. She says they cheer her up and that Jimmy and Sassy are her virtual pets. They loved her too honestly, they would always recognise when she was on call and jump into my lap or the phone to see or hear her. She still doesn't know what I did for a living; we've kept that a 'secret' you could say. But really I just didn't know how to tell her I was a Formula One driver and a 2 time World Champion.

Today was like any other day, I hadn't spoken to Y/N at all. Whenever I called her, I would usually close/lock the door depending on who was at home. My girlfriend didn't know about Y/N. I didn't even know how to bring it up, honestly. I sat down on my SimRacing chair after I switched the livestream off. Her phone rang for a few times and then stopped ringing but she didn't answer the call. I tried again thinking maybe she was busy or didn't hear it. I called a couple times before texting her; no reply. I was freaking out. This was the first time in 10 years that she hasn't answered my calls. She won't even reply to my messages. I found myself pacing around the house. The door to the room opened to my girlfriend's daughter standing in front of me, "Maxie, why are you walking in circles?" She asked after observing me for sometime. "It's nothing" I said, trying to calm myself down more than give a reply to her question. All these horrible thoughts swirled through my mind; what if she was in an accident and no one knows? What if she got robbed? What if she hurt herself and can't get help? What was I supposed to do? I didn't even know where she lived. I just couldn't think straight. My hair was a mess with how much I was running my fingers through it, a few stands coming along when I almost pulled them out of frustration.

After 7 hours, she replied to my text. I had almost given up hope, but she said that she was fine and that her phone was about to die. I felt relieved knowing that she was ok. But the text was so out of character for her. I texted her everyday after that in hope of talking to her. We always spoke everyday and it had been years since we didn't speak for so long. Almost every text was left on delivered. I had a race this weekend which I won and went out to celebrate with everyone because they wanted me to tag along. I didn't see the text Y/N sent me a while after the race since I was at the club. I only saw it when I got home. As soon as I saw it, I called her. She answered after a few rings.

Max- Schat, how have you been? Haven't heard a word from you in days. You could clearly hear the worry in my voice. Y/N- I've been busy, school year ending and stuff. Why didn't you sleep yet? Max- You know my sleep schedule is non existent. Y/N- Yeah, I guess I do. What did she mean by that? Her voice seemed hoarse, was she sick?Y/N- You know how I do freelance editing Max- You've told me about it Y/N- The latest author I'm working with is a sports author. I was hoping you could help me since you are a walking encycylopedia. Max- sure schat, but what's up with you? You know I'm always there for you Y/N- Yeah it nothing, just stressed. Max- Take off, you deserve it I wish she took care of herself instead of working so hard without breaks. Y/N- The summer break is here soon, I'll be fine. So about that author... Max-Yeah, what sport does she write for? Y/N- Formula One. I don't really like reading lengthy articles and I'm sure one article wouldn't do a sport any justice. I felt the ground slip from under my feet. My palms had gotten sweaty suddenly. Max- You did not go through google yet, right? (I stammered out) Y/N- Oh no, what do you take me for? I got excited to learn about something new. Do you know who the reigning champion is? I felt like I was about to lose everything. I didn't know what to say, my mouth was dry. No matter what I said, I don't think I could fix this situation. Y/N- Some dude named Max Verstappen. You guys share the same first name. He has 2 cats too; named Jimmy and Sassy, who look exactly like your bengals. I mean he even looks like you, with horrible sleep schedule just like you. He even sounds like you. There was horrible feeling in the pit of my stomach and my lungs felt like there was no air in them. Watching her tear up was the worst feeling.

Max- Schatje, I can explain. Y/N- You don't have to Max. I never asked you what you did. You don't have to explain anything. Max- I wanted to tell you, it just never came up in conversation. Y/N- I get it, it's difficult to tell your friend who has amounted to nothing that you are the World Driver's Champion, best of the best in Formula One. Max- Y/N, it's nothing like that. You're great, you're kind, you're funny. She laughed, but that stung my heart for the first time when her laugh was my favourite sound in the world. Y/N- Those are character traits I possess, they don't describe my career goals or achievements. I know I work 2 jobs to stay afloat while you make millions, I know I wish I was an author and not their editor, I know you probably thought I was too stupid to understand your rich and fancy world. Max- No, no, you're so talented. I've read your work and I'm sure the right publication will pick your work up. Y/N- I got rejected for the sixth time today. All of this is fine except that you lied to me about being single while having a girlfriend for years and having the happy family you dreamt off. You didn't have to introduce me to her; not like my boyfriends met you. But it would've been nice if I knew. Max- It just never came up. (I held my head in shame) Y/N- I...we joked about setting you up with someone all the time. Please don't. I get it, we didn't tell each other about work goals or what we did as a job but personal life; I literally told you about every guy I've ever been with. I felt bad telling you thinking you were single. I feel stupid right now. I wanted to reach out and wipe her tears but I couldn't. Max- I'm sorry,Y/N. I promise I won't hide anything anymore. Please, don't cry. Y/N- My name is Y/N Y/L/N. I majored in literature in Uni and now work as a primary school teacher and freelance editor. I'm trying to get my book published soon. I broke up with my boyfriend 2 months ago. This fucking hurt, everything she said and the way she said it. Max- Please don't do this. Y/N- I believe at least one of us should be honest. Max- Let me fix this. Y/N- Don't worry. There's nothing to fix. Max- Please don't say that. You mean a lot me. (I felt tears in my eyes.) Y/N- Me too. That's why, I need time. I'll talk to you when I'm ready. Max- Please, I can't lose you. I felt like my world was crashing. Y/N- You won't. I'll always be there for you. I just need time. Take care Max I was crying as she said it. Max- Bye, take care Y/N. I'll always be here. And the screen blacked out, I could see my reflection on the screen, tears streaming down my face.

After I was able to clear my head I texted her telling her that I would always be there for her and I would like to clear up the misunderstanding when she's ready. I spent the next few months thinking about her. It was starting to affect my relationship. I couldn't really give my girlfriend time when my mind was occupied with thoughts of Y/N. When my girlfriend brought it up how we were growing apart; I had a fight with her. I don't know what came over me, but not talking to Y/N or not knowing what was up with her was making it very difficult for me to focus on anything. The fighting became a constant after that. I didn't understand why she couldn't let me be. I missed my friend but she wouldn't get it.

I was SimRacing when Y/N's name popped up on my phone asking me to call her. I guess she was ready to talk it out. I really wished that this wasn't the end of our friendship. I really hoped that we could get over the misunderstanding and still be friends. I told the team I had some work and called her immediately. She answered like always; I waited for her to speak with baited breath. She started talking and we cleared everything up. I apologised for hiding the truth from her. I told her how much of a constant she was for me in my ever hectic life; how talking to her made everything better. She listened to me, I listened to her and then finally asked her to come to my home race. I wanted to meet her. I couldn't live knowing that I had the resources but didn't meet the one person that mattered to me the most. She was hesitant at first but I offered to get her the tickets and insisted on her joining me at the biggest race of the season for me and finally she agreed. I was over the moon. As soon as we ended the call, I sent her the tickets. I found myself counting down the days to the race for the first time.

I was waiting for her at the airport when she got here. My heart was beating very fast as I waited for her to come out. When I saw her; she was beautiful, shorter than I expected but she looked cute with her bag in one hand and a back pack on her shoulder, her hair in a low bun, a small smile graced her feature. I don't think I've noticed anyone with such detail ever before. Our conversation flowed easily. It didn't feel like it was the first time we were meeting. I dropped her at the hotel and went off to do media duty's at the paddock when I came back she was still asleep, traveling must've tired her out. She got dressed while I waited for her to get ready, even giving my 2 cents on what she should wear. She looked gorgeous, I couldn't help myself, staring at her. The black satin dress hugged her curves in all the right places. Her hair flowed down her back, the jewellery sparkling against her body. We went to have dinner at a fancy dutch restaurant. She loved the food especially the apple tart. The moan she let out as she devoured the dessert made blood rush downwards. I found my cheeks heating up, thankfully the whole place was dimly lit. We walked around for a while after the meal, she made fun of my name but I couldn't care less. I apologised and she accepted it and hugged me. Her arms were soft and the embrace warm. I found myself wrapping my arms around her, my face buried in her neck. I was scared I was gonna lose her, forever. I've never been scared to lose anything but a race until now and the thought of not having her in my life seemed scary. She consoled me and we headed back to the hotel.

The rest of the weekend was uneventful except for my girlfriend being pissed; she fought with about Y/N. I don't get what her problem is, she's just a friend I've known since forever. I'm just showing her around. I was giving interviews when I saw her talking to Lando, I saw them laughing along in the corner of my eye. It made me feel strange, there was this feeling in the pit of my stomach and I didn't like it. When I got back, Lando had left since it was his turn. She found Lando cute and it irked me, I was annoyed hearing her ask me to set her up with him. We got back to RedBull hospitality when my girlfriend asked me to talk to her, I left with her reluctantly leaving Y/N with Checo.

"Listen Max, I get it, she's your childhood friend and all, but it's so weird how she suddenly cropped up when I or for that matter any one knew nothing about her. People are saying stuff about us since she stepped on the paddock and the way you are dragging her along." my girlfriend spoke. "What are people saying? I will not stand any slander against her" I cut her off. She laughed dryly. "WOW, they are saying stuff about us, Max, us, that you are cheating on me with her. You've been so distant for months until a month ago, I didn't know what went wrong and you wouldn't talk either." she said running a hand through her hair. "It's nothing really. She just knows me as Max and not Max Verstappen and that's why I'm closer to her. Nothing more." I said. "It's pointless talking to you" she said turning around. "If we're done, I'm leaving, Y/N doesn't know anyone here except me." I said leaving for the door. She huffed before she followed me out. Y/N looked worried about what was going on between me and my girlfriend but I calmed her down and we spent the day together. She tagged along during quali too. I saw her praying before quali, it made my heart swell. I was starting pole and we spent the night watching a movie even though Y/N wanted me to rest before the race, I wanted to make the most of the little time we had.

Y/N hugged me before the race wishing me. I wanted to win so bad, I'd won here twice before but this was different. I wanted to win in front of her. I raced like a mad man and then I heard it. I crossed first and my happiness knew no bounds; knowing she was watching. I got out of the car and immediately ran to her; hugging her. It was cathartic. Y/N said my girlfriend looked annoyed, but I couldn't care less. I watched my girlfriend leave, annoyed. When I received the trophy at the top step of the podium knowing she was watching me from below made it so much more worth it. Y/N wanted to go out to celebrate my win and I wasn't one to say no. I went back to the hotel to get cleaned up and ready for the night.

I was greeted by my girlfriend in the room, it was dimly lit as she was sat at the corner of the bed with tears streaming down her face. "HOW COULD YOU DO THAT MAX?" she screamed at me. "Am I a fucking joke? I let it slide, you said you were friends but the first person you go to after winning your race was her, what do you think people were whispering when you did that?" she said in between sobs. I didn't get what she was saying. "Do you like her?" she asked. "What? We're friends" I stated. She shook her head, "No, Max, you aren't. The way she looks at you is how I look at you. The way you look at her" She cried, "You've never looked at me like that" she lamented. "It's nothing like that" I began. "You should've respected me at the very least and broken up with me if you liked someone else, I'm not gonna be some girl's place holder till you can have her." she cried out. "You're not a place holder for her" I said. "Feels exactly like that" she said wiping her tears. I felt nothing my 2 year long relationship might be ending and I didn't care. I didn't even try to correct her, did I really like her? Was Y/N really more important to me? "We're through Verstappen, if you can't even fight for us, I'm not about to fight for us" she sighed dejected. I walked towards the bathroom to wash up while she packed up to leave. When I got out she was gone. I went to pick Y/N up.

She kept asking me about my girlfriend but I never told her that we broke up. I didn't want her to feel responsible for my decision. At the club, she got close to everyone pretty quickly. She was unstoppable, downing one drink after another. I hadn't touched alcohol since I was driving. The others kept handing her drinks much to my dismay. She asked me to come dance with her but I had the others to look after too. She was busy dancing surrounded by too many guys, one of them going as far as to touch her and grind against her. All I saw was red, I bid the guys good bye and stormed the dance floor to drag a reluctant Y/N with me; I ended up carrying her out on my shoulder. She wasn't very happy, screaming and hitting me till I put her down. She puked as soon as I put her down and joked about missing my expensive car, I didn't really mind if she hadn't since she was more important than the car. I got her medicine and left them at her side after putting her to bed.

We spent the next few days after the race sight seeing. Y/N brought up my girlfriend a few time and I ended up avoiding her. When we were cuddling while watching Barbie I felt my heart beating out of my chest as she scooted closer to grab tissue. When her hand brushed against my skin, it burnt and a weird feeling erupted in my chest. She seemed completely unaware of how she was making me feel. We fell asleep on the couch that night.

I wasn't able to avoid the girlfriend question any longer and told her that we broke up without making any eye contact on the way to drop her to the airport. My eyes stung and there was a lump in my throat; I wasn't sure it was because of my girlfriend or Y/N. I bid her farewell, she would turn back towards me to wave after every few steps; my eyes were blurry after sometime trying to prevent the tears from falling. I ended up crying after she left.

All the races after, I ended up going shopping after or before every race to collect some trinkets or stuff that was special to that place and mailing it to her with small notes attached. She would graciously open them in front of me on video call; the smile she gave me the first time she received was unparalleled. It made my stomach turn over. I wanted to make her smile every chance I got. That's how I ended up sending her a package after every race from every country until I got reprimanded by her for the excessive amount of gifts. She asked me not to send one after every race and stick to one or two in total; I was forced to agree to that request.

We were planning on spending Christmas and New Year together; she wanted to leave after Christmas but I was able to convince her to stay until I had to leave for pre-season training. I couldn't wait for the season to end and to spend the year end with Y/N. We celebrated me winning the championship on video call; even though I had hoped she could be present in person but it wasn't possible with her schedule. This championship felt better than the last two since I was able to celebrate it with her. 2021 me wouldn't believe me right now.

Y/N flew in as soon as winter break started for her. I had cleaned up the house as much as possible. I had told my cats about Y/N visiting who seemed excited. I picked her up from the airport and when we got home the cats were very excited to meet her; a lot more receptive than the other guests I've had over. We spent the next few days going to places and the Monaco GP circuit. She cribbed about walking the entire time we walked the path. It made me laugh.

The night before Christmas we fell asleep on the couch cuddling; I hadn't slept this well in a very long time. When I woke up, Y/N was no where to be seen. I sat up waiting for her to return when she came back, she looked so cute in her jumper and shorts with her hair a mess. We opened up presents after some time. She had gotten me a Sid plushie, an ugly sweater and perfume. I got her a Formula One book with my face, a coffee mug and a pendant. I wanted to get her more stuff but I was sure she would make me return it if she saw every thing. I think the house would be over run with the amount of stuff I wanted to get her. Then she brought the matching sweater she got with me; I put it on immediately. I wanted to match with her all the time. We had a bit of back and forth on the dinner but agreed on Turkish kabab.

New Year came too quickly, which meant Y/N would be leaving soon. We went clubbing on New Year eve. She didn't drink like the last time we were at the club but made friends with some of the guys there. Having a social butterfly for a friend was a bad idea. We counted the time down to midnight as the clock struck 12 and I turned towards her to celebrate I saw she was kissing one of the guys she had befriended when we entered. If the club was quite you could hear my heart shatter. That's when I realised that all these weird feeling and all the times I couldn't stop thinking about her was because I liked her, no scratch that, I loved her. I felt my heart constrict when she turned towards me and hugged me later. I didn't want to talk about it, this would ruin our friendship.

All I could think about was how it felt to watch her kiss another man. I hated it, the worst feeling, worse than DNFing or not winning. I hated knowing another man could touch her and feel her. I wasn't even sure how to bring it up since what were we if not just friends. I put myself into training for the upcoming season but those feelings I felt when she kissed another man were still fresh in my head and I couldn't get rid of them even if I tried.

I was able to convince her to join me during her spring and summer break. We had fun, I loved having her waiting for me at the end of the race. I didn't really enjoy all the media questions that had cropped up about Y/N when she was seen with me, before or after the race. During my summer break, I spent it at her place. When I got there, it was a small apartment; but it had a homely feel. She would cook food for me and we would watch movies; I had a few commitments with the team and would leave for some time but then be back. It was so nice to have some one to come home to. When she was having her book launch, I went to meet her at her launch with a bouquet of flowers. "Congratulations" I said while handing her the flowers and giving her a hug. "Thank you" she replied, a smile playing on her lips. We had celebratory dinner after. Immediately after that, we were on the news. It read that I had a girlfriend, she kept apologising but it didn't matter. It made me a little warm, I'm not sure what emotions I felt hearing people speculate that she was my girlfriend.

I flew back to Netherland for the race early, she would only be joining me on the race day due to work. It dampened my mood but there wasn't much I could do about it. She flew in the morning of the race; it made my day watching her walk out of the airport. We talked all the way to the hotel where she got changed and we headed to the paddock. I had thought it through; after the qualifying, I had planned on telling her how I felt. I was gonna win this race and confess to her. Knowing that I can't hold her while someone else can was eating away at me and I wanted to take the chance before it slipped away from me.

I started the race P2 and finished it at P2. In the final laps, the only thoughts running through my head were, I really wanted to ask her out as a race winner, I can't do that now. She probably doesn't even like me like that, did I really want to ruin everything I had with her. I stumbled out of the car towards her, a big smile on her face. And suddenly I said it; "I wanted to ask you out as a race winner" emotions were running high. She insisted me to continue and when I did, she agreed to go out with me. I was over the moon, my head was reeling. This race ending was not what I hoped for but Y/N's answer was something I really was hoping for.

She waited for me in the driver's room. I couldn't help but not touch her. Her skin against mine send electric shocks through me, I couldn't help but smile at the feeling of her against me. I wanted to have this feeling for the rest of the life. I wanted to have her next to me; it took me a while to figure that out but now that I had, I didn't want to let go. I loved her and I wanted her.

We were both in the hotel room at the end of night in each other’s embrace, "Can't believe you're my boyfriend" she exclaimed. "Can't believe you're my girlfriend either." I exclaimed back. "I've liked you since I've known you" she mumbled. "What?" I asked shocked. "Yeah, I've always had a crush on you. Teenage me would lose it right now if she saw" she said. "I'm sorry it took me so long" I muttered pressing a kiss against her lips. "better late then never" she laughed wrapping her arms around my neck, flipping me to straddle my hips. She bent down to kiss me again.

I could spend the rest of my life like this, if it meant I could have her forever.

Hope you had fun. Thank you for enjoying the story!!

[shenanigans-and-imagines]

oh my god there are so many good choice on the touching prompt list for Ace!Tav and Astarion. But since it’s first numerically may I please request 3?

Summary: You finally arrive in Baldur's Gate and you can't sleep. Normally this would mean taking the nearest instrument and playing until your hands are raw. Luckily for your fingers, Astarion is there to listen.

Prompt: hiding face in neck

Astarion x AsexaulBard!Tav Masterlist

A/N: Hey! Sorry it took me so long to get to this. I swear to god I wrote like five different versions of this thing. Let's give it up for over writing! Enjoy.

Word Count: 1.8K

The night felt oddly still for Baldur’s Gate. You’d traveled so far, done and seen so much and you were finally here.  It should have brought you relief; instead, all you could think about was all you had left to do. There were still the tadpoles to deal with and devils and gods and frankly all the things you’d never given a second thought to the last time you stepped through the gates. Perhaps the city felt it as well, collectively holding its breath for whatever was coming next. 

You let out a deep sigh, staring up at the darkened ceiling. There would be no hope of sleep tonight. The best you could do was find a way to pass the hours without going mad.  

As carefully as you could, you slipped out of bed, mindful of Astarion resting soundly next to you. For all your troubles, they were nothing compared to the horrors coming for him.  You wouldn’t disturb his rare moment of peace for the world. 

In easy strides you grabbed your lute and made your way to the balcony where a comfortable enough chaise awaited you. 

No lamps were needed. Between the moon and the street lamps below, you could see well enough to play for an audience of one. 

You started with something easy, plucking out a handful of scales to warm up your hands. It didn’t take long after that for a melody to form, pushing your worries further and further away. Lyrics slipped their way past your lips in whispers and half remembered hums. You were here. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You had control over your body and the sounds pulled from the instrument in your hands. There was still time. The morning hadn’t found you yet.

Soft footsteps approached from behind you; the obvious padding of bare feet on wooden floor boards given just enough extra weight so as not to startle you.  Astarion could be very considerate at times. 

You paused your hands, turning to face him. 

“Sorry, was I playing too loud?” 

“Not at all,” he assured. “How else was I supposed to find you after waking to a cold, empty bed?”

You had to at least smile at his dramatics, which seemed to please him as he stepped further onto the balcony. 

The light of the moon gave his already pale skin and iridescent glow. His silver curls were just a little ruffled from their perfect coif as his eyes held you with a tired softness that made you ache. It was in moments like this you remembered why poetry existed; paints, canvas, marble, clay, they were too clumsy of tools to capture all of him.  

“What are you doing out here?” he asked, pulling you from your musings. 

“Just needed to clear my head,” you said. “Didn’t want to bother anyone with my plucking.”

“Perish the thought. I rather enjoy your plucking.” He nodded to the empty spot next to you. “May I?” 

You couldn’t think of a reason to argue, so you didn’t try. Astarion had proved himself one of the few people you could enjoy a peaceful silence with. So long as he didn’t expect you to entertain him, there was no harm done. 

You scooted over to allow him room. 

He took it, only to pull you against him, caging you between his legs. 

You gave a small yelp of surprise, only just managing to keep hold of your lute. “What are you doing?” 

“Making myself comfortable.” His hands found your waist, pulling you closer so your back rested against his chest while his chin made a home on your shoulder. “Go on dearest, start plucking.”

You snorted out a laugh. Gods above, he really was a cat sometimes. He didn’t ask for attention so much as demand it and in a way only the most heartless could be upset by. 

“It’s rather difficult for me to perform with my back to the audience,” you said as some attempt at protest. 

He gave a noncommittal hum. “I’m inclined to disagree. But if it does bother you, consider me a humble patron observing a rehearsal.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”  

Settling back as best you could, you began again, humming a tune to yourself as you worked out the cords. 

A different kind of peace settled over you as he held you. You had come here to be alone, something you had gotten used to over the years. Astarion didn’t have to be here with you, but he was. He chose to sit here in the dark and listen as you played your troubles into the air. It was an alien comfort, one that still left you a little unsure, but it was a comfort nonetheless. 

“I don’t think I’ve heard this one before,” Astarion observed, gently breaking the silence. 

“I would think not, seeing how it’s only been in my head for the last few months,” you teased. 

He nodded as you felt him shift awkwardly beneath you. “Far be it for me to speak on your artistic vision, but is it meant to be so repetitive?”

You stopped your playing as a flush of warmth came to your cheeks. There was a reason why rehearsals were usually kept private. “Sorry, can’t seem to find the ending.”

“Might be easier if you wrote it down,” he suggested. 

“That would require me knowing how.” 

“You don’t know how to write music?” He sounded so genuinely surprised, you had to laugh. 

“Love, I don’t even know how to read it.”

“Really?” 

You shrugged. “Just not how I learned. They weren’t exactly letting riff raff like me into the conservatory.”

You could all but feel the furrow of his brow as his chin pressed against your shoulder. “So every song you’ve ever played, original or otherwise, you taught yourself, by ear, and stored away in that head of yours?”

“You make it sound more impressive than it actually is. Plenty of bards do the exact same thing,” you dismissed.  

He hummed in thought. “Perhaps. It does explain why so many of them don’t seem to have anything going on behind the eyes.”

“I’ll try not to be insulted.” 

“Present company excluded,” he amended, pressing a kiss to the back of your ear for good measure. “Why do you think I’m so impressed? Beauty, talent and brains are such a rare combination.” 

You gave a small huff, earning you another kiss on the temple.

“I’m sure we could find somebody in the city to teach you,” he offered. 

You shook your head. “Not interested. Besides, I’ve found it an effective filtration method. If I can’t remember the tune the next day, it probably wasn’t worth learning in the first place.” 

“Oh darling, who knew you could be so cruel to your fellow artists,” he said, full of approval. “But, what about when a song of yours is done? Surely then it would be worth preserving.” 

“If I’ve done my job well, then the memories of those who have heard it will be preservation enough,” you said. “It’s how all the best songs are passed on anyway. The specifics of who wrote it and when get lost, but the melody remains. It stays in the world because people want it to stay in the world. I think there’s a kind of poetry in that.” 

He let out a long exasperated sigh. “How nauseatingly romantic of you. One little problem though, people’s memories are shit. Give it a few centuries and it will barely resemble the original. At least if you write it down they can’t muck it up.”

“It’s obvious you haven’t met many musicians,” you said, dryly. “People are always going to have their own interpretations. Putting it down on paper doesn’t make it any less a memory. Personally, I’d rather keep it living in the mind than in a stagnant drawer somewhere.” 

“Or I can just make sure nothing happens to the original.” 

He tried to keep his voice light, but there was promise beneath that tingled at the back of your neck. His arms held you a little more tightly. His body tensed. It was as if he was trying to guard you from something, but who or what you could only guess at. 

“Astarion–”

“Don’t,” he said, sharply. “I know you want to say something comforting and I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear you go on about memory or legacy or things to remember after you’re gone, because you’re not gone. You’re here. You’re here with me, and I don’t care who I have to kill or what bargains I need to make, but I’m not letting you go.”  

He turned his face into your neck, pressing his lips against your pulse. To your surprise, no teeth accompanied the gesture. He just breathed, inhaling your scent deep into his lungs. His touch lingered on your skin as some of the tension left his body; the steady beating of your heart calming him. 

“I don’t want memories,” he whispered. “I just want you.”

Your lips parted to speak, but quickly closed. You knew there was a correct thing to say. Letting go was a part of life, whether you liked it or not. Sooner or later, everyone became a memory; but, that wasn’t what he wanted to hear and that wasn’t what you felt. 

The promise he made wasn’t some collection of meaningless words, but a desperate, blood soaked plea. For the first time in so long, you knew somebody would be upset if you died, not for the loss of income or poetry, but because you would be gone. 

You wanted to tell him you loved him. You wanted to tell him you didn’t just want memories either. You wanted to make the same promise and then hide away somewhere safe where the world wouldn’t dare touch either of you; but, you didn’t say that either. 

Instead you placed your hand over his, squeezing his fingers. 

“You have me,” you said, softly. “I’m right here.”

A shuddering breath left his body, as if all the emotion he had been containing was suddenly pushed from his lungs. His arms stayed around you, but his whole body relaxed as his head found a new place to live buried in your neck. 

“Keep playing, my heart,” he said. “Don’t stop.” 

How could anyone say no to such a request? 

Your hands found a melody, different from the one before; something complete and familiar. As soon as the song finished you transitioned to another and then another, never stopping until Astarion’s hold became slack and his breathing turned deep and steady, signaling his trace. Only then did you set down your lute and curled into his arms to finally sleep. 

You would finish your composition another night. The morning would find you, but you had time. Air moved in and out of your lungs. Your heart still beat. You were here and you were going to stay. 

[geopsych]

re: the tumblr ai stuff, please don’t wipe your blog!! your blog has been so important to me and many others as a place of authentic light and beauty and i would hate to lose it forever 💕

there is a way to download the contents of a tumblr blog (it’s in settings, i don’t remember rn, but i’ll find it if you need it) maybe you could upload to another site or a personal site?

i know this is very serious, and i hate how we are unwillingly contributing to synthetic art, but the world would be poorer for me without your pictures <3

Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.

This is a dilemma for me. I have loved doing this blog and going out to look for pictures and interesting things to bring here has given me motivation and meaning through years of struggle with depression and several kinds of grief. Going out to look for pictures has put me in situations where I have seen incredible beauty, much of which I never really managed to capture. Also, the many warm and kind messages I've received from people all over the world have given me heart and made me feel less meaningless as a person and more connected. Sometimes I've been criticized for buying the checkmarks and giving money to Tumblr but I wanted to do what I could because Tumblr has been my one happy and safe place online. But now this. To me AI in relation to creativity is just a way for well-to-do but untalented people, the proverbial tech bros, to profit from other people's hard work and creativity. It has no redeeming value in relation to creativity and is actively harmful to artists of all kinds. <trying to figure out how to put a read more link here> I don't even count myself among the real creatives, artists and writers and others who have worked hard and put years into honing their crafts, into learning to translate their hearts and unique spirits into their creative expression. I just see beautiful things and take pictures of them. But it would still make me sick to see AI works based on my pictures, on these times and places that have meant so much to me. Recently I saw a set of cat 'photos' on here that everyone was reblogging and exclaiming over but that to me seemed to just be AI art that was more convincing than most. As time goes on more and more output of AI is going to be almost indistinguishable from real works and unscrupulous people will pass them off as real, getting credit for what was actually created by others. Whether they profit from them becomes almost irrelevant at that point because what's worse is that we will have less and less sense of what is real. And as some have pointed out AI will now also be scraping from AI, muddying the waters further from here on in. This is an apocalypse of sorts, an apocalypse of creativity, ultimately likely to kill the joy of artistic endeavor for many who would otherwise produced brilliant, beautiful, funny, and/or shockingly original things. I'm still parsing and dissecting my thoughts and feelings about what Tumblr has done and how to react. Staying and leaving my blog up feels like consent. I am not confident in the integrity of anyone connected with scraping sites for AI. I'm not convinced that a little toggle in settings is going to make much of a difference in the long run. On the other hand I like posting here and I have received enough messages over the years to know that my blog is a positive influence on some lives. I was looking forward to May and June and posting pictures of the incredible beauty of eastern Pennsylvania in those months. And I was planning on making a side blog for posting some poetry I've been working on. It will break my heart to leave.

I haven't decided yet. Believe it or not this whole thing has given me awful physical symptoms. I'll let you know when I decide. Thank you again for your kind and lovely note!

[qsycomplainsalot]

AI isn't Art it's just Illegal Predatory Randomized CGI

Reposting this because OP blocked me, can't begin to guess why.

Photography, collage, readymade and various of the more abstract styles of painting and drawing are all art, and AI isn't. Why is that ? Simply, there are skills required to make technically interesting artpieces using these media, let alone meaningful ones. A skilled photographer might not be skilled with a pen, but their knowledge of composition and observation will always be transferrable to a new medium, in a way that they'll never start their art journey from scratch again. Because they're already an artist, because they've already done art and are skilled at it. Speaking for myself it took me a decade to get to a level where I was able to get paid for my work drawing traditionally, and once there it took me less than a year to reach a somewhat similar level switching over to digital. The skills are more comparable than with say collage or sculpture but the core principle still stands: I had gone and learned traditional art in art school, and while there I learned a slew of skills that were not at all limited to one tool, and when it came to switching I did not have to learn these skills again. Because by that point I was already a trained artist. I could just switch to sculpting with clay tomorrow and the biggest challenge would be to find a new market more than any skill issue.

Meanwhile fucking about with a computer to generate new pictures randomly has NO transferrable skills whatsoever. So much of the work has been taken out of your hands by a pattern seeking piece of software that it is impossible to learn anything from the experience. It's just plain to see when before you click the doodad to generate a new picture, you have NO IDEA what it will look like, none whatsoever unless you've been iterating on it before. You're not having an idea, formulating it in your mind and applying your skills to getting it out into the world, you just sort of have an idea and then a machine does the actual art work for you.

The only way you could possibly get better as an artist from doing this is if somehow you were deluded enough to think the process of scalping every artists' work in history was ethical, while also being observant and caring about art history enough that you'd learn critical skills from looking at the result of your quotation mark work end quote. Which is something you can do by going on a museum, or the internet. And if being an art historian isn't good enough for you, I invite you to actually join the elite exclusive vip club you're funding the death and automatisation of, by simply picking up a pen and piece of paper and starting to draw. It's that fucking simple.

PS: People trying to compare writing prompts with poetry: poetry does not include a stage in its process where all your artistic intent is surrendered to a machine to churn out a mash up of unethically sourced content. Nobody is going to buy a small book of computer generated picture prompts to keep on their night stand. You guys are delusional.

[firesnap]

this might sounds stupid, but i guess its one of the ways im trying to handle the situation.

i dont want to support W, i don't want it to affect me so badly, and i also don't want to try and make myelf more comfortable and do nothing

but at the same time, the music he and the band have made mean So Much to me. they helped me get thoughts lines up that were jumbled in my head, they made me feel heard and seen and like i wasnt alone. and the community that came with it, the creativity, the joy. it hurts that that stuff is tainted now

what would you reccomend in the area of continuing/discontinuing to listen to their music? like i said, i feel so guilty that im even asking this, but it still means so much to me, more than i wish it did

i hope everyone going through this too is doing alright, we'll be okay

There's two camps on this -- that once the music is out in the world it's the worlds. You divorce it from the artist and you do with it what you like.

The other is that the artist is tied to the music regardless and that listening to it is a tacit acceptance of the behaviors of the creator.

I think the answer is somewhere in the middle, because I don't think we should financially support the band anymore (and I say this as someone who has given them. a lot. of money), but I do agree that once a song is in the world it is no longer the artist's. People talk about death of the author with stories, but I think that applies to songwriters tenfold more than stories. Lyrics are often vague pieces of poetry and music itself doesn't have an agenda..

Some of my best friends absolutely love The Beatles. John Lennon was a pretty horrible guy. I don't think everything John Lennon touched is ruined. Same with. Well. So many musicians. A ton of 80's bands, David Bowie, Led Zeppelin, The 1979, The Beach Boys, Oasis... I could go on and on.

Personally, I don't think I can ever hear a song from MSR ever again. It already bordered far too intimate and revealing his relationship with Shelby and now, knowing what we know, I just can't do it.

The band's songs. I mean, what can we do. I heard one of their songs on the radio yesterday. I don't see myself going back to listening to them even casually, but I think as long as you aren't financially supporting them it's no different than having 100's other musicians on a playlist that have done bad things.

Give yourself a break for now though. Take a break from it and clear your head and see if, with some distance, it's even still something you want to hear. You'd be surprised how with some distance you realize that you're clinging more to memories than the songs.

And if you find that's not the case, it's songs. You download them on your phone and they're not his anymore.

[cerise-on-top]

Hello! Are you still writing hcs?

Graves with a spouse(writing this as a husband for him myself 🥰) who loves sewing and knitting, or some something amongst 'cozy hobbies' like embroidery, reading, poetry or baking. Just wondering How a relationship would be between them or how Graves would act.

Your writing is very lovely btw! I fell in love with it, very beautiful!

Hello! I am still writing HCs, it'll probably be a little bit longer until I take a proper break! That was a really cute request, I liked that one! Domestic and sweet stuff like that is always the best, so thank you for bestowing a request like that upon me! (❀❛ ֊ ❛„)♡

Graves with a Spouse with Cozy Hobbies

As mentioned already, Graves loves feeling like the big, strong, useful man in the relationship, so he’d absolutely love you even more if you have “soft and cozy” hobbies like the ones you mentioned. While he is very much a talker, something like knitting can be done while holding a conversation, so he’ll definitely talk to you as you work on your next project. He thinks it’s really awesome, the way your hands move so quickly to create something like a sweater, a scarf, or even a plushie. You don’t really look at him, way too absorbed in your project and not wanting to make even a single mistake, but you still spend time with him. It’s ideal, he can tell you the newest, juiciest gossip among his Shadows while you make him the coziest sweater he’s ever seen. Lets you measure him, if you need and want to, because he really wants that sweater. You wanna put a cute little motif, like a cup of coffee on it as well? He’ll fall in love even more than before.

But even when he’s tired, he wants to spend his time with you. Instead of talking, he’ll lean against you and watch you crochet a bit before nodding off ever so slowly. It’s nice, it’s repetitive, for the most part, and it’s also quiet. By the time he wakes up he gets to see more of your beautiful creation, so that’s a big plus. And when he isn’t dozing off against you, he’s more than happy to hold your yarn and make it a bit longer when you need it. There’s something magical about watching you crochet. He had to crochet in elementary school, but, since he didn’t want to sit down for something like that, he wasn’t very good at it. His strengths always lied elsewhere, so it’s fascinating to him that you can sit in the same position for hours on end, barely moving, and still having fun. The only time he has to do that is when he’s filing reports, and afterwards he needs something to take his mind off of those.

Graves, every time he’s about to go out without you, will always ask you if you need anything from the arts and crafts stores, willing to buy you the loveliest fleece for felting if you ask him for it. Hell, if you want to sell your plushies, or your creations in general, he’s probably the best man to have on your side. Especially when it comes to plushies. Some of his Shadows have families with children, so he knows some of them would love your creations. Might sometimes ask you if you could knit or crochet a baby wooly hat for one of them, if you have the time, since his Shadows know you can be trusted with a task like that. You will always be reimbursed, either by his Shadows or by Graves himself. Sometimes he does like to gift his Shadows something you made and pretend they bought it. You’ll always get your money, but it might sometimes be out of Graves’ pocket.

He definitely likes the domesticity of it. He can go about his day, certain you won’t get hurt, unless you’re sewing or embroidering. But he’d never stop you from pursuing a craft like that. In fact, he’ll actively encourage you, always asking about your projects and wanting to know if he can help you in any way. He wants to see your embroidery, your crocheting, your sewing, as well, so he might gently pick it up from time to time, view it from every angle and give you feedback a la Graves, praising you like only he could.

When you’re a baker you can be sure he’ll taste test your stuff every single time. He has a bit of a sweet tooth, not too much, but he loves you, so he’s willing to eat everything you make. If you’re up making cookies, then he’ll help you by either buying you the best, most reliable hand mixer he can find, or by stirring the dough himself so your arms won’t get too tired. This he does under the condition that he gets to be the first person to try your cookies, your cake, your cobbler. He may not be the worst baker, but he can still learn a lot from you. That he does with all the love in the world, looking at you with an adoring expression as you put the baked goods in the oven, waiting for them to finish. Always has a big smile on his face when he watches you be this content with your life. While you wait for it to properly bake, he’d sometimes ask you to play card games with him. Always lets you win on purpose during those times since you always look so happy when you win. Afterwards he rewards you with a kiss.

While he may be everything but a fan of poetry, he can respect you being one. Will listen to everything you have to say about them, from your analyses to you reading one out loud. If you have a few poets you like especially well then Graves will bend his back trying to find beautiful anthologies of their works. Maybe some books with a few gold engravings that would look well on a shelf. He wants you to know that, despite him not being interested, he still supports you. While you’re reading a book, he might sneak up on you, startle you and then take you into his arms, trying to get you comfortable so you can continue to read. Might glance at your book from time to time to get a feeling for what you’re reading. If it’s something especially cheesy he might chuckle a bit and call you out on being a hopeless romantic, giving you a kiss to your nose afterwards.

Overall, he likes it. It’s nice, not having to worry about you going god knows where and ending up injured. Besides, he always has something nice to come home to, whether that be some beautiful embroidery of violets or a Sachertorte you made from scratch. Will always praise you for doing well, will always make sure you have the means to keep creating, baking and reading. Does his best to keep it that way as well, you’re his precious little darlin’ and you deserve the world and so much more in his eyes.

[eyesofshan-if]

Hi, I hope you are doing well. Could you please tell us the enneagrams of the Ros. Thanks in advance.

i think i've answered this before, but now that there are new ROs i'll include their answers, with some explanation about their character motivations!! this is more of a personal character study than anything coherent, so feel free to skip it all!! mightttt contain some spoilers for the characters' routes

hansol: two

hansol is a textbook example of an enneagram 2. the key motivation behind most of his actions is to feel wanted or needed by others. he derives meaning and purpose from life from how 'useful' or 'helpful' he is to the society he belongs to, and much of the way he views the world is in related to that. he lives to serve: his country, his family, and you.

"Like a force to be reckoned with A mighty ocean or a gentle kiss I will love you with every single thing I have Like a tidal wave, I'll make a mess Or calm waters, if that serves you best I will love you without any strings attached."

yongsun: nine

enneagram type 9s are called the peacemakers, but not necessarily because they are pacifists. yongsun is one of those devoted to seeking peace, both internal and external. however, while most others would simply come to peace with the chaos and troubles of the world, they were born into a unique position that gives them the power to make the necessary changes to achieve that desired peace.

"It looks like empathy To understand all sides But I'm just trying to find myself Through someone else's eyes."

wooyoung: seven

enneagram sevens fear being deprived and need to have their desires for freedom and fresh experiences fulfilled. still, this comes with a tendency to uproot themselves far too easily and often, leaving those they care about behind. wooyoung finds it difficult to settle anywhere, wanting all the new experiences, the new friends, everything — and fears getting too attached to anything too strongly. perhaps you will be the one to change that, commander.

"It feels like sinking when I'm standing in one place So I look to the future and I book another flight When everything feels heavy, I've learned to travel light."

raon: four

out of everything, raon fears mediocrity the most — to fade into obscurity like the rest of the women in her life did. there is no space for women in the male-dominated spaces of hae, yet the contributions of females in households — the foundation of every haeian's life — often go overlooked. after seeing this happen, raon refuses to let the same happen to her as well. enneagram fours have a strong desire to forge a unique identity that has significance.

"Flashlight in hand determined to find Authenticity only poetry could even begin to try to describe Bodies fashioned out of dirt and dust For a moment we get to be glorious."

no-eul: eight

although the oldest of the ros, no-eul has the most childish and simplistic heart. they do things as they desire without consideration of of much else. eights feel the need to prove their strength, to demonstrate their importance, to dominate wherever they are — yet all this is done with the strangely vulnerable motivation of not wanting to be hurt by others.

"I was just a kid who grew up strong enough To pick this armor up And suddenly it fit."

????: one

enneagram ones strive to be always be right, beyond criticism, and no one believes that more than the herald of change. it does not matter that they actively pursue a vision that only a madman would dare to dream of. to rebel against the natural order, to crush the status quo under their feet. the high leader will stop at nothing to make those softly whispered childhood dreams a reality, even if they have to declare war against the entire world to do it.

"Now hold on, let me finish No, I'm not saying perfect exists in this life But we'll only know for certain if we try."

[quinnyundertow]

Can I ask what got you into writing? I love your writing style and I'm so curious about your process as well.

This is such a sweet ask. I love it. This may be way more than what you were expecting haha. But I’m alone in the hospital and this feels cathartic.

I’ve always loved to write since I can remember. When I was in elementary school I remember getting yelled at and crying because I had to write a story about a thanksgiving turkeys adventure and mine was like twenty pages. They said it was too long and hurry up and I was frustrated because I wasn’t done!

I think what really solidified my love for writing is I needed fantasy to escape. In middle and early high school my parents divorced and I was bullied relentlessly. Gum put in my hair, things thrown at me, called fat at every opportunity. I had teachers that bullied me too for being fat. I was SA’d multiple times, depressed and started cutting. I’ve honestly tried to block most of it out.

The point is I had found anime and a few friends who loved it too. So any opportunity I had I begged friends to do writing journals with me. We’d make up a crack fic plots then write self insert and pass a notebook back and forth between classes every chapter for the next person to write. We wrote for Yugioh, Naruto, Dragonball Z, Fruits Basket popular ones at the time. I also wrote poetry, fanfics and original stories to try and escape anyway I could. Writing was the highlight of my teenage years. But other than that it was hell and you could never pay me enough money to repeat them.

I dropped out of Highschool from the bullying and my depression. But I studied and took a test for Highschool equivalency and then went to college and got straight As. College is nothing like Highschool. No one cares what you do. At least in my experience. I wanted to be a writer or manga artist but my father told me I wasn’t good enough and I wish I wouldn’t have taken it to heart and listened. I stopped writing for like ten years except for periodic ideas in notebooks until this last November.

Jujutsu Kaisen had become my comfort anime and then chapter 236 happened. I was so depressed I decided to try and read fanfics again. I’ve always read a lot of published books and was staggered to see a ton of fanfic writers were just as good if not better than published writers. After reading a ton of amazing works I decided I needed a fix it story that was ultimately happy for JJK and here we are.

Sorry if this was boring or too much. But if you take away something from this take this. Life is always changing. Tomorrow will not be the same as today. That much is guaranteed. If you have nothing left to live for then you have nothing to lose by trying something crazy or new. I was broken down to nothing by bullies, family issues, mental and physical health and I was incredibly suicidal. Somehow I found the will to try again. I got on depression and anxiety medication (still on to this day), worked for a higher education and took a shitty paying job to claw my way back up. My life is far from perfect but despite everything I worked hard to now have a boss babe high paying career and after restarting writing and meeting you all I’ve never been happier.

As far as a writing process I pretend I’m not going to post what I write and write it just for me. I ask myself what do I think would be the coolest thing to happen? What would I want to see next? Then I write it. Most of the time it sucks, or I don’t feel like writing it but I force it out. I make myself sit for 15 minutes and just write something. Then I rewrite it. Keep what parts I liked toss what feels off. Repeat. Eventually I’m having fun and loving the process.

When rewriting I’ll name them things like WICYG Chapter 12.2 for the second rewrite etc. I’ll screen shot my google doc so you can see the insanity haha. Sometimes I’ll rewrite four plus times. At the end of the day I want to love what I write and do it for me. Then when I find people that like it too it makes me over the moon happy. I hope one day to have the confidence to write my original stories in my head out. Writing fics for yall has definitely helped build my confidence as a writer.Thanks again for the ask anon sorry for the life story but I’ve never told people all that and it was healing to get out.

My messy google docs 🥹 Madhouse is Sanity Last Stop lol.

[monsterswithimagines]

Undisclosed Desires - Part 33

Joe Goldberg x female!Reader

Masterlist

Warning: suicide attempt

Your mother's service is not at a church, but at a funeral parlor.

I'm not religious, (Y/n). I understand why a church might not be the norm, here. You can have your funeral at a parlor in the states, too! But wow, a Dutch funeral parlor is a very impersonal building. And ugly.

If I was your mom, I would be pretty pissed.

If I was your mother, I would be angry at the turnout, too. There are a lot of people, don't get me wrong, but there is your family squarely on one side and her friends squarely on the other. They do not intermingle and the hostility is palpable.

I'd ask you to explain why that is, but you are not speaking to me. At all. You woke up and ignored me. You haven't said a word of English all day. I am lost in a sea of people, all speaking a language I do not understand.

So much for you loving me. Today, I am the man who killed your mother. The look in your eyes when you happen to glance at me says it all.

You hate that I'm here. Even your family is beginning to give me strange looks because I am so clearly unwanted by you.

Everyone sits in uncomfortable folding chairs. The casket is and remains closed. The director speaks a few words, then several people speak. Your grandma carefully unfolds a note, reads only two words and then bursts into tears, so that your grandfather has to come and take her away.

You go last, and you are not like your grandmother. Your eyes are bone dry, and you do not have a note.

You're in a black dress - I've never seen you in a dress, but despite the circumstances, you look beautiful in one - with your hair up in a ponytail. You are wearing a lot of makeup for once. Which is understandable because when you woke up this morning, you were so pale, it was like we were going to your funeral.

The makeup looks like a mask. On your expressionless face, it may as well be armor.

“When they ask me what my mom was like during my childhood,” you begin.

“I close my eyes and try to imagine something normal to respond.

“But all I can see

“Is a very small version of me.

“Reading books to myself

“And putting myself to sleep.”

There is some murmuring. This is not the kind of poetry you are supposed to recite at someone's burial.

You don't care. You continue to speak, in Dutch now, and slowly the regular sadness returns. At one point, something you say makes everyone laugh, and I chuckle along though I don't know what's funny.

When you are done, you sit down next to me and you don't look at me and I should take your hand, I should support you, but you don't want me to.

The director says some more words, and then the procession outside starts. Your mother is lowered into the ground gently. Your grandmother cries too much to be able to throw some dirt, so you do it twice. Once for her, and once for yourself.

You hold your grandmother's hand, not mine.

After it's over, we get in the car with your uncle, and he drives us back to the AirBnB.

You don't shed a tear until we're inside.

But once the door closes behind us, you crumple.

You go into the bedroom and you close the door behind you - Keep out, Joe - and I can hear you crying, sobbing, and I don't know what to do.

I did this to you. I gave you this pain. I truly believe that once the grief dulls, you will be better off, but that doesn't help you now.

If I had not been so obvious and if you had not known I was the one who took your mother from you, I could have hugged you and made things better.

As things are, I am helpless.

Things go quiet after a while. I let them be quiet for about an hour before I go knocking at the door.

“(Y/n)?”

No answer.

“Do you want some food, or something? I could heat you up some soup.” You haven't eaten all day, after all.

No answer, still.

The door is not locked. I open it slowly, softly, and peek in.

You are on the bed. Your back is to me but I think you are asleep. You are on top of the blankets and you're still wearing your black dress and your shoes, I should take them off and tuck you in.

Then, my eye falls onto something. I don't know why. It's been there for three days.

It's a bottle of pills Nadia gave you on New Year's. She said they would help you sleep, and you told her, firmly, that you weren't planning on taking her medication. That you knew what road that led down.

I barely paid attention to the exchange at the time. You are not a drug addict and I did not think anything of it.

But I have the worst feeling.

I walk over slowly, uncertainly. Your nightstand feels lightyears away but then I'm reaching out, picking up the bottle.

It's empty.

Everything goes out of focus.

I am feeling your neck for a pulse, listening for your breathing. I am carrying you. I am in the shower with you, sitting on the floor underneath the cold spray with you in my lap.

“Don't do this to me,” I hear myself say. “Don't you do this to me.”

My fingers should not be going down your throat and you should not be puking out all that is inside you, which is water and bile and pills. I pull you to my chest and I rock us and I think I have saved your life but you need a doctor, a hospital, and I don't know what number to call.

The first thing I'm aware of that doesn't happen in flashes, is being in the living room, dripping wet, and calling Nadia. I use your phone and Nadia answers with something in Dutch.

I don't know where you are. I don't know where I left you.

“Nadia? It's Joe,” I say. “How do I call nine one one? (Y/n) just tried to kill herself.”

[sergeantnarwhalwrites]

Final Fuck You to my Undergrad Uni

I personally think it's more like a monologue. But here it goes. A bit of a long piece of explicit writing about my 4 years at this shit hole. Glad to be done here ✌🏾. Grad pic beneath the cut

Tag list (normal poetry peeps and people I saw like the og post): @nanashi23 @winterandwords @vacantgodling @the-void-writes @weirdgirlcroix

Imma have to start this off with the fattest fuck you 

Fuck the campus 

Fuck the board of trustees 

Fuck the professors that should've been denied their doctorate degrees

And fuck you 

For thinking I'd respond kindly to all the times you've fucked me over

I wonder how many times I can curse 

Before you flag parental advisory 

To a campus full of fucking adults 

And those underage kids you drag in wasting potential 

On these hills that make me wanna eat ammo 

And chomp on gun barrels till my gums bleed 

And I get a few more cracks in my back teeth

I wonder how much money I've blown 

On liquor bottles that suck at deluding 

And beer cases that take their sweet fucking time 

In numbing my mental anguish 

Shits got those razor nails that can gouge 

And maybe I'd enjoy the sting 

If the bitch wasn't clawing out my eyes

Then stabbing straight through my stomach 

Twirling my intestines like spaghetti dinner 

With my blood gushing out onto the only carpeted floor in the fucking building 

Wouldn't be the first time this place tried to bleed a nigga dry. 

And my account's touched the negative for vending machine sodas and Monster energy drinks 

But at least they make damn good microphones

Cause I've gotten a little to used to putting on shows

Even if the alcohol, caffiene, and paranoid fuckery 

Warped my heartbeat

And it beats to the tune of decorating my fridge with knuckle imprints

Cause why the fuck would I spend money I don't have on a pretty decoration

And it even beats to climbing through windows for projects that root so deep the only thoughts I think are on the time that ticks by

And hunch a little more into myself as our equivalent of Walmart security roams the lit halls

And the clacking of their keys reminds me that I've imprisoned me

And sometimes my heartbeat matches my fists hitting my desk drawer 

Till the shit up top falls 

And the pencils are the only thing raining 

Cause I already spent all my money by just fucking living

And my heart tries not to beat through my chest 

When my family asking for funds that ain't ever exist

The fattest fuck you goes to 

This hell hole 

Where the flames are white hot with white people

Who love to toss shit into the flames 

And their alabaster babies 

Who ain't ever seen a black kid 

Say the world's most insensitive shit

And act suprised when their "ocean eyes" give reptilian beast instead

And I'd rather drown myself in the lab sink 

Chew on the bacteria loaded chunks along the way

Than pretend they're as gorgeous as this bitch ass campus.

I'd love to say thank you 

Hell I'd even say I'd love you 

It's a lie real easy to slip off the tongue as of late 

And maybe it's the brain damage of back to back all nighters

Or being dragged into unconsciousness on tables and radiators

Could even be the liquor that don't even taste the same 

And sometimes I still toss the cap and drink straight from the bottle

Drink that shit like the holy water I've never dared to bathe in

And I'm sure to keep my head back

Even if the shit tastes like failure and fear 

Then again when does a half assed attempt taste better than a solid victory

So I make sure I don't spill

And I'll beat it into the ground 

A STEM major is a wicked thing 

I lost two family members and couldn't even leave 

You suffer in every nook on campus just to come back home and asphyxiate in your at home lair

And I ain't one for wailing to fabrications 

In books translated beyond their original truths 

But God 

Thank fucking God 

I am done...

Wasn't so sure I'd live to see the end

And for that I'd drink again

And I'd find a use for all those middle fingers about to spawn

But for now I'll spare the vulgaruity

Cause my mouth real good at not being pretty

[hyuge]

I Do

The pianist in the corner plays a soft, loving melody, their fingers dancing over the keys with all the grace and elegance of a seasoned ballet dancer. Flowers adorn the front of the church sanctuary and guests sit in the hard, wooden pews, whispering to one another. Katsuki looks out at all their friends and family gathered as he holds the sheet of paper in his trembling handles. He’s prepared for this, but it still fills him with anxiety. Eijirou is the love of his life, and he needs to get his feelings across just right. Their moms are in the front row, sniffling softly on opposite sides of the aisle. Katsuki’s father nods his head encouragingly.

He glances down at the three-piece suit he’s chosen to wear for this day. There’s not a single wrinkle in sight as he meticulously ironed it that morning before making his way to the church. It’s black with a white dress shirt and red vest and tie. Eijirou’s favorite. Katsuki’s heart aches as his gaze flicks to Eijirou’s peaceful face. He looks perfect as always. His hair is spiked up in the front but cropped short in the back. There was an argument with the others on whether or not his hair should be spiked as it’s not very formal, but Katsuki stood firm. On a day like today, Eijirou should be allowed to unabashedly be himself.

Eijirou has a gray suit on. His hands are folded together against his stomach and there’s a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He has makeup on, but it’s done in a way that suits him perfectly. It’s not too much and it’s not too little. There’s a touch of color on his cheeks and lips, and thin black wings fan out above his eyes. With his hair spiked up, Katsuki can see the scar on Eijirou’s eyelid clearly. Time has made it fade and shrink but it remains a permanent reminder of how their quirks can both help and hurt those around them.

Katsuki swallows the lump in his throat and unfolds the paper. He’s had it for so long that it’s worn with age, but the black ink is still legible. He forgot how much he wrote. Honestly, Katsuki could draft an entire novel of all the reasons he loves Kirishima Eijirou, and it still wouldn’t be long enough to properly convey his feelings. Condensing it down to a single page was harder than becoming the number one hero. He wasn’t into poetry and all that shit, but he would write sonnets if it meant Eijirou knew exactly how much he meant to Katsuki. He always thought those stupid puzzle-piece metaphors were sappy, cliché bullshit, but it’s true. Kirishima Eijirou is the piece that completes his. They are meant to spend the rest of their lives together. Anything else is unacceptable.

A hot tear tracks down his cheek and drips onto the paper as he sucks in a breath, willing the words to escape him. He stares at Eijirou and bites his lip, then begins to read:

“Ei, we’ve known each other since we were fifteen years old, and I’ve known I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you since I was sixteen. It’s insane how much I fucking love you.”

He glances up at the priest standing beside him. “Sorry, Father.”

The priest inclines his head for Katsuki to continue.

“You push me to be a better version of myself every day. I’ve done a lot of growing over the years and none of it would have happened if you hadn’t bulldozed your way into my life, loudly declaring that we were friends, even when I was an asshole and adamant on not needing friends.”

Their guests chuckle, likely thinking about how boisterous Eijirou was back then. Katsuki continues.

“You fill my life with so much light and warmth. Every morning that I wake up to your smiling face is a good morning. Every night that I see you when I come home from work and before I go to bed washes away the stress of the day. Hero work is so stressful but there you are, offering a massage or to cuddle—anything to take the edge off. You have always been my unbreakable horse. You’re the immovable object in my life but I also don’t want to even consider moving you. You anchored yourself within me. You’re my sounding board, my best friend, the love of my life, the man I want to marry and spend my future with.

“Every moment without you feels like I’m walking on a bed of nails. I would rather—”

Katsuki chokes on a sob.

“I would rather never know what love felt like than know what love without you feels like. I know our friends and family will be laughing at me for years to come over these vows but that’s how much I love you. I don’t care about the stupid jabs and jibes they make at my expense. You make me want to live, and every day that I get to be with me makes me glad that I was born. It makes me glad that I wanted to be a hero. If I didn’t, then I never would have met you at UA and we never would have ended up… ended up here today.”

He lifts his gaze from the paper to Eijirou’s face. Their matching rings sparkle in the light of the sanctuary and the stained-glass windows cast a blue-green hue on Eijirou’s restful face. He’s too at peace as he lays there in the coffin. It’s not fair. Katsuki has already read these vows to Eijirou once on the day of their wedding, but he felt it necessary to read them to him again today at his funeral. He had no way of writing a proper eulogy for his husband. The only words he ever wants to say to him are how much he loves him.

Katsuki violently wipes the tears from his face with the back of his hand. “Today is the day we finally unite as one but in reality, we’ve been united since we first fought together during the attack on the USJ that first week of high school. We worked in perfect harmony back then and it was the start of something incredible.

“So, I vow to always be by your side and protecting your back. I’ll cook while you clean. I’ll love you until we’re both old and gray and full of wrinkles and can’t stand each other’s old-man smell. I’ll make you soup when you’re sick, just like I know you’ll do the same for me. We’ll spend our days off lazing about the apartment or camping or hiking. I vow to count all the stars in the night sky with you, explaining what each one is and how many years it would take to get there. And even when I’ve used my last breath, I’ll still take one more to tell you I love you. Because Kirishima Eijirou, I’ll be damned if there’s anyone else I would rather spend the rest of my life with. It’s you and me always and forever. Katsuki and Eijirou. Eijirou and Katsuki.

“Til death do us part.”

Katsuki crumples the worn-out sheet of notebook paper in his fist as he jams it in his pocket. His shoulders shake as the sobs wrack his body now. He bites down hard on his bottom lip as he approaches the casket, ignoring the crowd of people that are either waiting for him to continue speaking or to step off the stage and allow someone else to go. Katsuki grips the edge of the casket for support and sniffles. Tears spill onto Eijirou’s lifeless form, and Katsuki gives his husband’s hand a squeeze.

“I’m so mad at you,” he says. “You weren’t allowed to leave me, not like this. We were supposed to have our whole lives together so why was your life so short?”

He chokes on a sob and pulls the wedding vows back out of his pocket, placing them under Eijirou’s hand. Katsuki waits for a moment, expecting Eijirou to squeeze his hand and tell him everything is going to be all right but when nothing happens, he turns away without another word and moves back to the pews to sit between his parents who hold him close as he cries into his mother’s chest like he’s done so many times as a child.

Kaminari goes to the stage. His usual energetic aura is replaced with a more somber one as he tells a story in vivid detail about Eijirou saving him while they were working. Katsuki tunes it out. He has no interest in what anyone else has to say about his husband. He just sits there quietly crying as his mother and father soothe him, rubbing their hands up and down the length of his back and whispering about how he will eventually move on from this. Today is for grieving. Tomorrow is for the future.

Written for the @ficwip Dark & Cozy challenge. You can also read it on AO3.

[tabitha42]

Stars

“You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love, beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.” “EEWWWW, are you going to try to teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?” “...Well, actually, I was thinking of poetry.”

Gale helps Karlach write a poem for her love, and realises a few things about himself along the way.

Word count: 1,938

Karlach x Wyll, one shot, fluff

“You know, Karlach, there are other ways to express love, beyond run-of-the-mill physicality.”

“EEWWWW, are you going to try to teach me about exceptional uses for a mage hand or what?”

“...Well, actually, I was thinking of poetry.”

“Oops, sorry. Although, now that I think of it… is mage hand especially hard to learn?”

The blue, ethereal hand shimmered, its translucent surface showing a distorted reflection of the wide grin on Karlach’s face.

“Yess!!” She celebrated, throwing her hands into the air in triumph. 

“Perfect!” Gale complimented, proud of both her for being able to learn it, and himself for being able to teach it to someone with next to no prior experience with magic. “That's the hard bit done. Now that you can summon it, you just need a bit of practice controlling it, and you'll be well away.” 

She waved her hand and watched it move similarly. The movements were awkward and stuttered, unlike Gale's mage hand which moved with the same grace and control of his own practised gestures, but she was sure with a bit of practice she'd have it down in no time. 

Eventually she dismissed it with the dismissal gesture he'd shown her previously, thrilled to see that that worked as well. 

“Thanks, Gale. I can't wait to try this out!”

“You'll have to let me know how it goes. Within the limits of your own privacy, of course.” 

“Heh, I don't mind telling you anything. Wyll might not appreciate that, though.” 

“Very true. I will leave it to your discretion, and I will leave you to practice. Unless you'd like me to stay to offer any further advice I may think necessary to improve your casting technique?”

“Actually… there was another favour I was going to ask you for.”

His eyebrows raised in curiosity. 

“My time is yours. What do you need?” 

“Well… I was thinking, maybe it would be nice to write a poem… but I can’t write poems for shit. If you don’t mind, maybe you could help me write one?” She looked a bit awkward as she asked, worrying she’d already taken up too much of his time, but his eyes lit up at the request. 

“‘If I don’t mind’? Karlach, first you ask me to teach you a spell, then you ask me to help you write a poem. This is quickly turning into my ideal evening!” He said excitedly. 

“Wow, you and I have very different ideas of what makes an ideal evening,” she laughed. She liked Gale, but there was so much about him she could never get her head around. 

“As we should. If we were all the same life would be quite dull. Now,” he produced, seemingly out of nowhere, a small book and a quill, and sat down cross-legged, “where shall we start?” 

She sat down with him, chuckling to herself. 

“Do you always keep an emergency book and quill with you?” 

“At all times. So, what sort of poem shall we go for? Metre or free verse?” 

She gave him a blank look. 

“...Do you want it to rhyme or not?” he asked instead, deciding to start simple given the look of complete bewilderment on her face. 

“Oh, well it's a poem, it has to rhyme!” 

“Heh, not at all, there’s no requirement of a poem for it to rhyme. But we can certainly make it rhyme if you’d like,” he said, seeing the slight hint of disappointment in her face at the mere suggestion of a poem that doesn’t rhyme. “Now, for the metre. I’ve always been partial to the common metre myself, though I do like a bit of iambic pentameter. Or we could go completely wild and choose something like-”

He stopped as he saw the blank look turn increasingly to one of confusion, starting to borderline regret. 

“You know what? Maybe I should worry about that. You just tell me what you want to go in the poem,” he said, much to her relief. She still wasn’t sure what the answer was, but she at least understood the question.

“I’m not really sure, to be honest…” 

“Well, why don’t we start with what you like about Wyll?” 

It didn’t take long before fond words of praise and adoration were falling from her lips, filled with her excitement, her enthusiasm, her love. She spoke about how she’d become so used to being surrounded by devils she’d forgotten there could be people as selfless as him. The conversation moved to what she wanted to do with him, how she longed to hug him, kiss him, dance with him… and other activities, of course. They spoke of her time in the Hells, her struggles, the pain, the loneliness, the endless fight to survive, the hope of escape that she never gave up on. She told him about the first night after they’d been taken, before she’d met any of their group, completely unable to sleep as she stared up at the stars, crying with happiness. She’d spent every night imagining them, longing to see them again, and now here they were. Of course, she’d spent every night imagining other things too, and now she was desperate to make those dreams a reality, to make up for the years of her life that she’d lost. 

It ended up being a very emotional evening, more so than Gale had expected. He’d known about her past, of course, but they’d never discussed it in such great detail, and seeing such raw and painful emotion from her led to more than a few tears shed on both sides. 

Eventually the poem was nearing completion. A few last tweaks, a final copy on a new page away from the scribbles and scattered ideas of the previous page, and it was ready. 

“It’s done!” he said proudly, handing the book to Karlach. “Or at least, a first draft is done. We can edit or alter anything you wish. Also I’m afraid it may not quite be factually accurate in some places, such are our syllabic restrictions.” 

She had no idea what a syllabic restriction was, but she didn’t ask for now as she took the book and began reading. As her eyes ran over his neat handwriting, she found tears starting to well in them once more.

3000 days I burnt inside,  Fire in my scars,  3000 days spent trapped below,  Dreaming of the stars.  Every night I longed to touch,  Each night I yearned to love,  And every fight I longed to find  Escape to life above.  Now finally I find I'm free,  Salvation came at last,  And now I sit beneath the trees  And look up at the stars.  But where before the love I sought  From anyone would do,  Now I find that in my mind  There's only thoughts of you.  Your kindness and your bravery,  Your courage and your wit,  Remind me there's good in the world, And you're the source of it.  These scars of isolation burn,  But your touch holds the cure,  The hugs I've missed, a stolen kiss,  They fill my dreams and more.  3000 days I spent alone,  But these dreams will soon be ours,  And when they are we'll dance my dear,  Underneath the stars.

“Gale…” she whispered, in shock. She couldn’t believe how well he’d captured how she felt. “This is… incredible…” 

“Thank you,” he said, inclining his head in a small bow. “I’m glad you like it. I hope you feel it’s accurately captured how you feel,” he added in a slightly softer tone. Writing a poem from someone else’s point of view wasn’t easy, especially someone who had been through so much. Though he did have some of his own experience of isolation that he could draw on… it was very different from hers of course, though there had been the odd thing she’d said that made him realise they had more in common than he’d thought. 

“It has,” she assured him. “Wyll is never gonna believe I wrote this,” she said with a laugh, shaking her head. 

“Well, tell him I helped you. Say we workshopped it,” he offered. She chuckled softly and looked at the poem again. 

“I can’t believe you wrote it so quickly,” she commented. 

“Ahh, well, I’ve had a lot of practice. Poetry has always been one of my favourite ways to express how I feel for the one I love,” he said, casting his mind back to the hours he’d spent on his balcony, writing poetry about whoever had captured his heart at the time, filled with love and inspiration. 

“Yeah? Your partners are very lucky, this is so romantic!” 

“Hmm, some were more appreciative than others,” he murmured, thinking mostly of Mystra, who’d never been interested in such things. He’d quickly given up writing any poems for her, she was far more interested in his magic. 

“Well anyone who doesn’t appreciate it isn’t worth your time,” Karlach decided firmly. Gale went very quiet for a moment. He still didn’t know how he felt about Mystra… up until getting abducted he was still firmly in love with her and desperate for her to return, but since this little adventure started he’d found Mystra occupied his mind less and less, his thoughts instead turning to someone new. 

“Perhaps you’re right…” he said quietly, though it wasn’t a revelation that came easily to him. 

“I am right. You trust Mama K on this,” she told him with a warm smile that he couldn’t help but return. 

“Thank you,” he said softly, touched that someone found his poetry to be worth appreciating. Karlach looked down at the book again, her eyes running over the words once more. 

“Hmm… maybe there is one bit I can change, you know, to make it more me ,” she said, holding her hand out for the quill. He gave it to her and leant over as she wrote, curious to see what change she would make. He watched as she crossed out the last line and replaced it with “Til you’re seeing stars”. 

“Perfect!” she declared happily. He had to chuckle slightly - he preferred his version from a poetic standpoint, but he had to admit, this was version definitely more Karlach. 

“Can I borrow this book?” she asked, looking over at him. “Til I’ve memorised it.”

He waved for her to give the book back to him. She did so and he carefully ripped the page out and handed it to her. It was certainly not something he’d normally do to a book, but he didn’t want her to feel pressured into trying to memorise it as quickly as possible to get the book back to him. 

“Thanks again, Gale,” she said, smiling as she looked at the page. “Once I can, I’m gonna give you a big ol’ hug for this!” 

“I can’t wait,” he said sincerely. “I’ll let you get going, then. I expect a dramatic reading once it’s memorised.” 

“You got it,” she said with a grin, then stood up and headed off. 

He stayed there for a bit, just the gentle sounds of the rustling leaves around him as Karlach’s words echoed in his mind. He’d honestly forgotten how much he enjoyed writing poems after getting so out of the habit of it during his time with Mystra. Maybe it was something to pick up again… especially if he had someone who would appreciate it. 

He looked down at the book, quill in hand, a small smile on his lips as he began writing an ode to the kind adventurer that had pulled him out of that portal not so long ago. 

[degloved]

the use of ai in fics genuinely makes me so sad. i can see with my own two eyes that the summary does not at all read as though it had been written by the fic's author (and verbiage aside, the usage of "coworker" in the main text versus "co-worker" in the summary is already telling enough.) idk. yeah "why should anyone bother reading what you didn't bother writing" and all, but it's more than that. we were all beginners at some point. we all sucked at some point. none of us could churn out the sort of perfection we strived towards from the get go—and this is ok. writing, especially when done for free and out of love for a book/show/movie/play/etc, should be an activity that is actively enjoyed; you're not writing solely for the final product, you're writing to write. when i first sat down nearly a decade ago now and put pen to paper (literally—i used to write by hand), it wasn't because i knew what i was gonna produce. it wasn't because i had some great grand idea that just had to be put out into the world. it was because there was something in me that made my fingers restless with the want to write. and naturally it's not always a walk in the park, and it's an activity that can frequently turn from pleasant to frustrating, but those are some hurdles you're meant to overcome by yourself. writer's block, burnout, not being able to make the words go right—we've all been there. it's part of the artistic process. because this is, at the end of the day, an art form—be it prose, poetry, original work, fic. and it just makes me really fucking sad that there's such an emphasis now on the finished product—the fact that it's even a 'product' to begin with—instead of... the entire journey. the honing of this skill—because it is very much a skill to master and continue perfecting. reading my work from 2017 (sadly do not have anything earlier) and seeing just how much i have improved in the last seven years is one of the most rewarding aspects of being a writer. knowing that what i do now i could never have done back then, and i would certainly never have learned if i hadn't constantly, continuously kept at it for those seven years. every bit of writing i do makes me better, more polished, represents a proverbial step closer to the mastery of this art form & becoming the kind of writer i want to be. i went from writing and very frequently being frustrated in those days that my piece couldn't compare to the fandom greats or the real life writers i looked up to, to now writing something and finding myself going back to it again and again, rereading it again and again because it's just that good. it's just that fucking good. and i got here all on my own, by putting in the time and the work, by pushing through the dissatisfaction and demoralization and self-doubt. it's a slow process, but so worth it. and some of these people will never have that, because there's a desire to achieve but no motivation to do the achieving. it's just so much easier to fire up chatgpt and have hours' or even days' worth of work in a couple of minutes after feeding the machine some prompts. "why should anyone bother reading what you didn't bother writing" and all that, but mostly, i just feel sad for what these kids are missing out on. because immediate satisfaction trumps a slow process, no matter how rewarding. i suppose

[ceph-the-ghost-writer]

Heyy happy STS! If your characters were real, would you get along with them? Would you have stuff in common? Would you hang out? And if so, what activities would you guys do? (For any character(s) you want from any story!)

@orphanheirs Hiii hello! Thank you for the ask! (Do you do STS or any events, btw? I know you collect inspiration/aesthetic stuff for your writing, but didn't see any tag or ask posts.)

For Apophenia's characters...I'd get along with most of them, partly because many share fragments of personality or interest with me already.

Isaac and I would awkwardly make small talk until animals or supernatural stuff came up, then we'd lose track of time being gd nerds. We're both people who can enjoy just being around each other and doing our own thing, but also like to discuss ideas and do chill activities together (games, watch stuff, museums, etc.). We have some of the same flaws, but we'd encourage each other to do better because it's much easier for us to do that for others than it is for ourselves. All in all, I think we'd be close friends.

Renato has some of my more sociable/charming traits, just dialed up to 11. Honestly, he's too cool for me and would lose interest pretty quickly, especially because he's allergic to having genuine or introspective conversations. We don't have much in common beyond some general knowledge of ships and the ocean. If I had a party and invited him, all the other guests would forget about me and go follow him to a bar. (Then regret it after he, you know, drank all their blood or got them into a fight or something, but still.)

Another too-cool-for-me character is Elfy, but she's much easier to have a conversation with, and her charm and energy aren't weapons. We both love spooky stuff, and like Isaac I'd go with her to haunted sites. (Unlike Isaac, I'd enjoy myself.) All the stuff I could do with him I could do with her, plus if we did something more socially engaging I wouldn't have to worry about awkward lapses in interaction--Elfy would keep that ball rolling.

The best I could hope for with Kinslayer is that they adopt me like tarantulas will live with those frogs. We do both like books, poetry, and stories in general, and they're fond of Isaac, so I think I have a decent chance.

Breezy would be like the cool grandma or aunt I never really had. She's done a lot of traveling and had a lot of adventures, so she's full of stories and useful advice. These days she's content to run her hotel/bar in the middle of nowhere and stay slightly stoned at all times. I'd enjoy learning gardening tips from her and trying some of the, uh, special mushrooms she grows.

Friends aren't exactly Motley's thing, being a shapeshifting necromancer. I'd want to be friends with it, though, so, so, so bad. Maybe it would let me just hang out nearby as it sits in the desert and stares into the horizon, or wanders through abandoned places.

Oleander would be annoyed by me at first, but then again, she's that way with everyone so I wouldn't take it personally. She'd eventually warm up to me, I think. We could listen to Sisters of Mercy and practice throwing knives. I could probably convince her to try video games or DnD, which she'd enjoy once she got over how nerdy they are.