#i miss creative writing. i miss writing. so much.

[dustdeepsea]

Writer Interview

Tagged by @my-favourite-zhent nearly 3 weeks ago and I've entirely missed the wave.

I've enjoyed reading so many interesting ones by my mutuals! Tagging (only if you're keen) @graysparrowao3 @coreene @say-lene @luvwich @grossestjay —and if I've missed your interview somehow, tag me in the comments!

Q&A after the cut—

When did you start writing?

I wrote my first fanwork at age 12. It was self-insert fanfiction with me and 2 of my friends in the Slayers anime universe, which meant it was several comedic sketches strung together with with lots of actions denoted by asterisks and emoticons. You know the ones ^_^ ^____^ @_@ T_T *slaps you gently with a trout*

We printed it out on someone's home printer and bound copies in plastic school folders with a two-hole punch. I've lost the original file ages ago, but I would love to read it again.

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

When I was younger, I actively sought out "difficult stories" because I wanted to experience things beyond my day to day life. I read Nabokov at 16 because everyone kept saying Lolita was a dangerous book. I also read a lot of Chuck Palahniuk and Bret Easton Ellis without really understanding them.

My pretentiousness definitely peaked in my university days. My dating profile at the time listed: Herman Hesse, Kazuo Ishiguro and Mikhail Bulgakov.

Now that I'm older, I read and write stories primarily to make myself happy.

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I'm not remotely at the level where I get compared to any published writers.

My favourite contemporary writer is David Mitchell (of Cloud Atlas fame), and my favourite book by him is The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.

My favourite "classic" novel is The Left Hand of Darkness by Ursula K. Le Guin.

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

I type at my desk, in a study shared with my partner. Sometimes if the scene is particularly spicy or they are gaming too loudly, I take the laptop to the living room.

What's your most effective way to muster up a muse?

Bouncing plot bunnies off others on Discord, talking a walk or a long train ride, playing an immersive video game and rotating characters in my head for hours afterwards.

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

According to my lovely readers:

"Romantic and sweaty"; "two silly sausages frying in a pan" (thanks to my long time beta-reader @littleplasticrat)

"Purity, temperance, glimpse of [the] ability for real love / real forgiveness" (thank you @tellmeallaboutit!)

These did surprise me a bit when they were first pointed out but it makes sense—I've been accidentally writing Regency romances and repressed idiots in love without setting out to do so explicitly.

What is your reason for writing?

I put aside hobbies for many years because of my work (no matter what advertisers want you to believe—doomscrolling is not a hobby). Started doing more creative things during my sabbatical last year, and writing was one of the things that saved my broken corpo soul.

Nowadays I'm really into bread making and cooking in general. I'm trying to balance work and creative pursuits and I'm much happier overall.

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Any and all comments are received with love <3 <3 <3 I really enjoy it when people let me know what lines really resonated with them or point out motifs I'd snuck in.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

Friendly and approachable! Not entirely hyperfixated on That One NPC from a Video Game with Five Lines (that one might be harder now...!)

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

A fairly broad vocabulary, including anachronisms, which is useful for fantasy story settings. Writing characters who are actively lying to themselves (thinking one thing and saying/doing another).

My writing tends to be on the more contemplative side and a bit sadder and slower paced, so if you enjoy A Great Deal of Yearning along with your smut, then it would appeal to you :)

How do you feel about your own writing?

I'm pretty happy with it! I write very, very slowly, with constant edits as I go, and would probably starve if I ever had to rely on my fiction writing to be paid. Luckily, I get to do this as a hobby.

When you write, are you influenced by what others might enjoy reading, or do you write purely for yourself, or a mix of both?

I write for myself, but I am also super blessed to have a very small but vocal audience that I can interact with directly. I guess my best advice is: Write for yourself and your 10 friends who want to read your hand-bound home-printed self-insert fanfic <3

[emilylawsons]

The guilt of sort of having the energy to write but not enough to read fic. I’ve missed so much good content, neglected friends and people whose writing and kindness I value, because my brain just can’t process. But I have the nerve to put what creative energy I have into my own work and hope the same people read it. And I know it sounds stupid but it feels selfish, and I’m sorry.

[honeyedwordsandblades]

Oh, who would have guessed? Needing to make a separate post all of my own because thirty tags is never enough for all that I have to say, for all that I have to, that I must type out? Me? Nooooo... lmao.

Anyway, here's my tags (and more of course there's always more) that were originally gonna be on silverformymonsters' gifset post of Astarion post-BG3 events sadly reaching his hand into sunlight, about a little imagined moment between him and my tav, Rose, now reformatted into a text post for all of yours' heartbreak and enjoyment.

--

I know this is a scene after everything. But I like to imagine it's a scene with not just him but also Rose. Not immediately after BG3 events. Not immediately after losing his ability to be in the sun. A bit of time after all that. Some personal quest of their's they're undertaking. Maybe to help him be in the sun again? Maybe something else, like for the 7000 vampire spawn in the Underdark? Maybe to find out more about his past, when he was alive? Of who he was, who family was etc.

Regardless, it's them underground in a cave. Rose is busy with something else. She's talking to Astarion while doing whatever she's doing. And mid-talking she finishes and turns around to see this. To see Astarion back turned to her, facing the sunlight peaking through from above. She stops talking immediately and just watches.

Watches as he reaches his hand out into the sunlight. Watches as he holds his hand out for as long as he can before it clearly hurts too much. Watches as his hand nearly fully turns to a gray ashy stone color, all too ready to crumble and drift away from a slight breeze. Watches as it shakes until he can't anymore, until he suddenly pulls his hand back. His hand immediately changes back to its normal color and appearance once as he does so but the moment is heartbrokenly seared into Rose's mind.

He half turns back to her. Eyes still on his hand. Mind surely still sadly reminiscing about when he very well could be in the sun. After a moment he looks up at her. Eyes staring back in… question, she takes it. As if to wonder why (and when) she stopped talking.

Although, he quickly realizes why. He frustratedly sighs and looks away for a moment (back to the sunlight) before turning back to her. Tells her about how 200 years in shadow he became all but used to the fact he would never see the sun again. Never feel its warmth on his skin. And then he had (a month? a few months? how long is bg3 supposed to take place? lmao) of it. It makes it all the more terrible to go back.

He knows they're looking for a way for him to be in the sun again. He knows that she'll search until her last breath and even then some. And, of course, he greatly appreciates it. She always has given him nothing but marvelous gift after gift. She is a marvelous gift. One that he will always cherish and be grateful for.

…But that doesn't mean he doesn't miss it. Miss the warm embrace of the sun. Miss being out during the day in the sun. ('You can forget just how much colour there is in the world.' She remembers well that odd out of the blue moment while they were in the city. It killed her then as does hearing him speak now about it breaks her heart completely.)

This is the price of his freedom though. Of their happy little life that they have now. He supposes it was well worth it. Even if he does miss the sun terribly. He tries to move the conversation back to why they're here in the first place but Rose refuses to let go of it.

She's immediately got her hands on his face, mouth on his (surprising him - what else is new lmao), fiercely kissing him with all the passion and heartbreak in the world, in the universe. And then wraps her arms tightly around him in a tight hug full of all her heartbreak and love for him.

She knows she's already done so before, but she pledges once again to him that they will find a way for him to see, to be in the sun again. She promises. She swears it.

Every time she's like this- With this fierce determination. This passionate loyalty (especially with him). It always somehow manages to surprise him. Even after all this time.

After a chuckle, he jokes about how she better (keep her word), he does terribly miss their little trysts, seeing her cheeks flush under the sunlight as he-

Okay! Okay. Oooh-kay. That's- That's enough. She immediately lets go of him and she's now changed the subject back to their job at hand.

As much as he doesn't wish to let go of the moment himself either, he still does. He knows she means it. She always has. And always will. And one day... He can't wait to see the sun again, to feel its warmth again, yes. But he can't wait to to see it, be under its rays once again with her. One day they- she will figure this out and he'll get see her beam just as bright as the sun above them. And he cannot wait to see it.

[harlowes-home]

Honestly the sheer hatred for the Minecraft movie trailer and simultaneous mini resurgence of people talking about mcsm has me going back to that game.

Replaying it now and. I’m gonna sob I didn’t realize how much I missed it

[apricote]

the generation 1 has ended! how did we do?

max out the writer career: 7/10 ❌

complete the best selling author aspiration ❌

max two skills (writing & cooking) ✅

[schrutexbucks]

"You wanna hear the bad news or the really bad news?" "Actually, I don't want any news Damon." "Alright, let me rephrase: Do you want to hear how the council is back in vampire mode or how I just killed Uncle John Gilbert?"

The Vampire Diaries S1 E18 Under Control

one gifset per episode 18/171

[quatregats]

Went back and reread some of Master and Commander again and goddamn is that book rich with detail...truly I did not know how to appreciate it on the first (or second) read-through...

[doverstar]

an absolute wave of homesickness for Doctor Who (2005) series 1-2 just about knocks me over at the quietest moments of my little life

[suspensefulpen]

Caretakers

TW: Conditioned Whumpee

Emory watched silently as the people at the party conversed. There were lots of people who were just like him. They had a Whumper Caretaker.

But he didn’t understand the way they acted around their caretakers. Some of them leaned away from their caretaker’s touch, some frowned at their caretaker, some walked away from their caretaker completely.

Why would they do such a thing? Why would they want to be away from the source that brought them care and comfort? Emory would never do that. It was almost like they hated their caretaker.

On the way back home, he turned to his own. “Athena?”

“Yes Darling?” She hummed, preoccupied by her phone. She put it away before giving her full attention.

“Why do some people hate their caretakers?”

She raised a brow. “I’m not sure. Perhaps they’re ungrateful.”

“But why? Your caretaker gives you everything. They literally take care of you.”

“Some people just don’t understand that. They take it for granted.” She shrugged.

“I won’t do that. I like living with you. I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

She smiled, pulling him into her side. “Aw, that’s so sweet!” She rested her head atop his. “I won’t ever let anything happen to you, okay Emy?”

Smiling back, he snuggled closer into her side. “Okay.”

[keepmovinjunior]

very small update: i have a friend over for the wknd so i’ll be sparse, but next week i’m wfh so i’ll have a lot of time to catch up on stuff and get some new interactions out there! give this a like for a sassy gal in your inbox on monday when i can return. i’m super excited. i miss my bby

[datamodel-of-disaster]

I think the reason I can't create anymore is because it feels pointless, on some level.

Deep down, my creative urge always was an urge to be loved. A desire to be redeemed, to be made palatable to others, to become worthy of love by grace of a thing I made being "good enough".

And... I guess I know now that won't happen.

I gave my all last year. I did probably the best work of my entire life.

And it wasn't good enough.

It wasn't enough to make someone care about me. It did not prevent being rejected and cast aside. It did not redeem me.

What could possibly motivate me to create anymore, in the face of that?

[anghraine]

me looking at other graduate programs while my current uni finalizes my current PhD: not that I would actually go back to school except possibly MANY YEARS from this hellscape ... I'm just looking ... maybe already having a PhD with a good graduate GPA would help with an application ... theoretically ... but getting a graduate degree in creative writing after getting a PhD in English while exclusively writing lowbrowish genre fiction would be completely impractical ... damn that's a cool class list, though ... oh hey, they do a lot with something I actually know a lot about, cool - but no you are done with grad school and you were so exhausted with years of being a student just a few months ago -

[crmsnmth]

Around The Lake

Walks around the lake making laps until the sun comes up Talking about nothing and somehow everything Laughter at the absurd thoughts we share Laughing at how our conversations evolve in real time Making fun of everything and anything Swearing we weren't friends No, that's just not the right word for it We were brothers I would've died for you, you would've died for me I would've killed you, you would've killed for me I tried to live for you, and tried to live for me

Late night phone calls of tears and breaking down You pulled me off the tracks just before the train came barreling down and then you made me laugh over diner coffee The stars were always so bright as we stood in the band shell snorting your geodon and wondering why it helped me feel better Diagnosis match but neither of us were doctors We were just looking for a good time And we found it in the company of each other

Why didn't we ever get a place together? Did we both subconsciously sabotage ourselves? I wonder how different things would have been had I stayed with you Instead Skeletor the Ghost You introduced me to the love of my life, the big one, the only ex that matters I dnn't blame you, you came with good intentions

Skateboards in the skatepark as soon as the sunlight was bright Back and forth, neither one of us had the courage to drop in

Walks around the lake but this time I'm all on my own My headphones blare Placebo songs that I belt along with because your gone, and I can't blame I abandoned you for Milwaukee and didn't eve say goodbye

I miss you though. Every second of everyday. More than the love of my life More that any other friend I've ever somehow made The grandious conversations and shared dreams We were going to big, huge, gigantic But you had me, than man of no motovation

Walking along the lake shore your not here and I forgot my headphone

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

Genuine question do any other writers feel a kind of loss when they’ve finished a story/have moved on to a new project? Like I actively miss my characters and my plot line and I love my current project but I also find myself constantly thinking of the previous and how I could find ways to expand on it… I don’t know if it was because that was the first work I completed and shared so it has a particular place in my heart or if I’m going to feel this way after finishing my current works in progress as well, but I don’t really have the words to explain the way I feel without being part of that project every day even though I still spend time every day with my new ones

[nutklcker]

I'm thinkin abt Anno rn and like

Imagine loving a Masked (romantically, platonically, or otherwise)

Wether you're an employee or a monster or whatever, you have a lovely little masked by your side all the time, and you collect scrap or hunt or just exist until eventually their body starts to deteriorate

And as a person, an organic thingy, you think it's dying and you mourn and spend your last days together, until eventually, one day, they stop moving

And then a few days later you notice the mask has fallen off, and you bring it with you as a keepsake, holding it with you for days, or weeks, or months, or maybe even years. Before eventually you just can't help it, you need to feel them, to see them, to hear them, to smell them, and you just need to be close to them again, and you bring the mask up to your face, it potentially fitting around your features perfectly, and it's like you feel them and see them and smell them again.

And then you feel their consciousness, and from her either can go two ways

Drunk on love and the grief of potentially reconnecting, you can't bring yourself to move the mask away, it feels like they're right there with you, you need to stay like this, because they feel so close. And eventually, the mask connects. And you can hear them and feel them and smell them again, but they're not there, they are but it's because they're within you. You share the same skin, you look with the same eyes and touch with the same hands, and you're perfectly together, whole once again, but in a new way that can never separate you two ever again. (*)

Or, the other option, you manage to pull the mask away, connecting the dots on what's happening, and you realize if you can just find a host you can have your lovely Masked back. So you spend time, maybe you hunt down a different Masked to use their body, maybe you go for the first humanoid thing you see like an employee or a Bracken, or maybe you are an employee and you send out a request for a new employee, recognizing you're dooming some newbie to death but coming to terms with that fate of theirs in order to have your loved one once again

And, there's a third option that's quite a but angsty beneath the cut

(*) Or, depending on your interpretation or wishes for how the masks work in this scenario, maybe once the make takes hold YOU die. And your poor Masked returns, recognizing this smell, these hands, this voice, and it's yours, but you're gone. And you've left them there, in your body, your decaying body. You had their mask, and their mask was basically immortal. But now? For them? You're gone, and the only physical remnant of you is theirs now, and because of the way their life works, that remnant is decaying, rotting, and eventually turning to dust. And once again they'll just be a mask, slowly falling off a body, waiting for someone to put it on.

[padfootastic]

in a turn of events that doesn’t surprise anyone im sure, @impishtubist has caused yet another scene to be stuck in my head until i wrote it down. so, have some sexy, greying sirius; a deeply thirsty, appreciative james who won’t let him dye it; and a very-fed-up-of-his-parents-antics harry for prongsfoot wednesday!

x

Harry entered the house with ‘I’m home!’ on his lips that died an instant death as soon as he registered what he was seeing.

“Er,” he hesitated. Does he really want to—? One more look at the scene in front of him and he decided to bite the bullet. Better to clear the air now than keep stewing on it later.

“Um. Is this a—kink? A fetish? Should I leave and never come back?”

In any other scenario, the way both his parents froze and looked at him with wide eyes would’ve been comical.

If only Dad wasn’t straddling his Papa on the ground, one of his hands holding both of Papa’s above him with disturbing ease.

“Er—“

“It’s not what it looks like, Haz!” Dad yelped, cutting across Papa who’s face and neck were turning a steady pink. “I swear.”

“Then why are you still—like that?” Harry asked, deciding to play it safe and look at the boring grey couch in the living room instead. Nothing scandalous going on there.

He could hear the scrambling of feet, a few thumps, and a mini-yelp, absently wondering about the amount of noise the simple act of getting up could produce.

“Right.” Dad cleared his throat. “So, Harry, would you please tell your Papa that he is, under no circumstances, allowed to dye his hair?”

Harry blinks, turning to his other, exasperated, father in silent question.

“Harry, will you please tell your Dad that this is my hair and I can do with it as I please?”

“Not when you promised yourself to me!” Dad yelps and Harry is hit with an intense wave of regret at instigating this.

“Promised—?”

“Yes! Our wedding, you said, and I quote, ‘I give myself to you, James Potter, mind, body and soul’, don’t tell me you forgot.”

“Of course I didn’t forget,” Papa throws his hands up in the air. “But c’mon James—this is not what I meant when I said body!”

“What, you think I only wanted you for that ars—“

“Dad!” Harry, yelps, mortified. He can feel his cheeks heating in a violent blush. He can feel a similar flush creeping up Papa’s neck. Sadly, his words don’t have the deterring effect he’d intended.

“I mean, it is spectacular, don’t get me wrong, but you’re more than just a beautiful body, Si!”

“James, please, have some mercy for our child, if not me,” Papa says. Thankfully, this seems to register as Dad’s eye widened, part horror and part apology. Harry waves it away tiredly; though he’s no less embarrassed every time it happens, growing up in the Potter household with two extremely affectionate parents has exposed him to much worse. He’s accepted it as his lot in life.

“Er—yeah, anyway,” he coughs, ruffling his hair, “Bottom line—Sirius isn’t allowed to dye his hair.”

“I literally never agreed to that.”

“Too bad because you will,” Dad says, slowly moving towards Papa with a look on his face that Harry is loath to describe as predatory. If only it wasn’t so true.

“Oh?” Papa’s left eyebrow rises extraordinarily high, as it tends to do quite often. He crosses his arms over his chest in challenge. The motion makes his Dad smile.

“Mhm.” The two of them are chest-to-chest by this point, staring into each other’s eyes. Harry could probably conduct a whole rave party right here, right then, and they wouldn’t even notice. That is when he decides it’s high time he should step in—not literally, Merlin, no—before they end up doing something that makes him try to run away (again).

“So I was right—it is a kink,” Harry says dryly, once again regretting starting this entire conversation in the first place. He should’ve just turned back around and gone to the Weasleys instead.

“Harry, no—“

x

Three years later, Harry—who’s almost blissfully forgotten about the entire incident—walks into his parents’ house to an almost identical scene, just with his Papa on top this time. This time, he makes the sensible choice he still regrets not making all those years ago, and walks right back out the door.

Let those two sort it out on their own. Merlin knows his intervention hadn’t helped a bit the last time around.