#this story may be fictional but i've found while writing it i'm drawing from so many present experiences

[therealjammy]

Bristles

I know a lot of you don’t come here for my original work, but I’m gonna share this anyway because I don’t have anyone to talk about this story with currently; it’s an excerpt from a longshot Arthurian story, told from Guinevere’s perspective. Even if the writing is going slowly, I’m still having quite a bit of fun puzzling everything out and seeing how far I can ramp up the tension--sexual or otherwise. Anyway, happy reading xx

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A stir met Morgan’s arrival just before midday. We few of Arthur’s court welcomed her at the gates, while behind us other nobles poked out their heads from any opening they could find for a glimpse of the fairy-woman. In the books, they were always described as small and nimble, the better for weaving their way in the world, but Morgan was nearly as tall as myself, built more like her father the Duke Gorlois with every inch of her mother Igraine’s beauty. The court bristled at her unbound, uncovered hair, which hung in inky waves to the middle of her back, at her navy robes that were well-suited for her olive skin, at the grace with which she dismounted her dapple roan horse and approached, straight-backed and high held chin, noble heritage on blatant display.

              Arthur stepped forward, taking his kinswoman’s right hand in his and laying a kiss against her knuckles. “My lady Morgan,” he said, “you are most welcome to Camelot.”

              “The honour is mine, my lord Arthur,” she responded, and I sensed the small shock that went through some of the gathered court; they had never heard her voice, and did not expect a woman with such a feminine appearance to have an alto timbre. When released, she turned to me, taking one of my hands within both of hers. Her lips against my cheek were feathery, hardly daring to touch my skin, yet her breath puffed against it, moist and warm. “You look exceedingly well, my lady Guinevere,” she said.

              “And you also, Lady Morgan,” I said, not knowing why the words struggled to form on my tongue, “in spite of your travels.”

              “Then I do hope I am not unsuitable to appear in your halls.” She gave her horse’s reins to a nearby groom and instructed firmly, “Take utmost care of her. She is one of Lady Vivian’s treasured.”

              Next to Arthur, I once again bore witness to their resemblance. While he was of much fairer complexion than she, and bearing features inherited from King Uther, one could see the structure of their faces was similar, at least around the cheekbones, eyes, and mouth—but that was much the end of it, save for perhaps a few mannerisms; they were only partway related, after all. The knowledge had grown old for me already, but for the gathered crowd, it was entirely new; mouths moved quickly in verbal observation or stayed tight to spread word at a later hour. I suspected, as we moved inside at last, watching as Morgan took Arthur’s offered arm, I would hear much of it from my women as they dressed me down for bed.

              Naturally, there was a gander of the place, so Morgan might know her way about, and introductions to the nobles she hadn’t met when she had attended the wedding between Arthur and I one year ago, and introductions to the women who’d been chosen to care for her in the duration of her stay. She eyed each of them carefully, as if she could see into their very souls and judge their characters, and said, after they’d each given her a customary curtsey, “I shan’t have need of these women.”

              The head maid, Livia, who had chosen my own women, coloured visibly. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”

              “I am of simple taste, madam; they would only get in my way.”

              Livia looked from Morgan to Arthur, bewildered; my lord husband soothed her in his gentle manner, “It’s quite all right, Lady Livia. We must allow Lady Morgan some of her own comforts, being leagues from home.”

              “As you say, my lord,” said Livia, fixing Morgan with narrowing eyes. The women, however, looked rather relieved.

                “I expected her to be ugly,” said Gyneth, slipping my nightshift onto my shoulders.

              “And small,” added Lucia, “with only a fine bosom and wide hips as worthy assets.”

              Gyneth laughed but scolded around it, “You should not talk so, Lucia!”

              “If there are no men to hear it, I can talk as crude as I like.” She glanced up at me from her position at my bed. “That is, if my lady doesn’t mind.”

              “One can hardly avoid crudeness in a castle full of men,” I said. “But you mustn’t allow it to leave this room.”

              Lucia twisted her fingers about her pretty lips, as if she were locking a chest, and flicked her wrist in the direction of the window.

              “Is she truly Arthur’s kinswoman, my lady?” said Gyneth. She was taking down my hair now, preparing to brush it out. “They could not be more opposite, in appearance as well as mannerisms.”

              “Oh, indeed,” Lucia agreed, finishing at last in turning down the bedclothes and checking them over. “It’s a wonder the same blood bred such different characteristics, and that His Majesty seems to have escaped the fairy-tendencies. I fear the man he’d be if he hadn’t.”

              “Would he not be like Lord Merlin if he hadn’t?”

              “What,” said Lucia with a scoff, “a man aged before his time and loony?”

              I said firmly, “I’ll thank you not to speak of the Lord Merlin in that way, Lucia. Let us not forget it is because of his wisdom that my lord husband has driven back the Saxons and that Camelot still stands firm atop its hill."

              Lucia’s pale cheeks pinked. “No, my lady,” she said. “I shan’t forget.”

              “See you do not. Now lay the basin and pitcher and be off to bed.”

              Gyneth finished my hair, trailing behind Lucia after bidding me good night. I was alone for a quarter of an hour before Arthur’s arrival. His golden hair was damp from a wash and tiredness was written across his features.

              “Is your fatigue Morgan’s doing?” I said.

              “Not entirely,” replied Arthur, removing his outer robe and draping it over a bedpost. “I had a letter from Lancelot that required an immediate reply.” He climbed into bed, and I beside him, keeping space between our bodies.

              “What news does he bring?”

              “Nothing concerning, I assure you; only a longing to return home.”

              “He says nothing of the battle?”

              Arthur’s tone firmed. “Where did you learn this, Gwen?”

              “It isn’t hard to guess at,” I returned. “Why else would the king send away his best knight, if not to go into battle?” I turned from him, reaching for the tallow candle burning on my night table. “I am not a simple woman,” I said quietly. “I should think you’d enjoy that, seeing as your kinswoman puts herself on a mighty high hill and you do not scold her for standing upon it.”

              I blew out the candle, feeling Arthur’s irritation, and then his guilt.

              He asked, after a good length, “Do you envy her?”

              A laugh bubbled from my lips. “If there is anything to envy about a sorceress, it’s that the world yields to her because it fears what she’d do if they didn’t.”

              And how useful it would be, I thought later, as Arthur faded into dreams, to know magic and to strike fear into people’s hearts with a single look.

              Useful, said a more logical tendril, and then dangerous.

[copperbadge]

I was making breakfast and listening to an episode of Just King Things this morning, which is a podcast I do recommend -- two very smart English teachers are reading the books of Stephen King in publication order and discussing them. This could go extremely awry except they're both highly conscious of his failings as well as his skill, so they do really well handling a lot of his less salutatory content.

They've hit the point in King's ouvre (this episode was about Hearts In Atlantis) that follows his recovery from the car accident that very nearly killed him, where he was struck by a van while out walking. One of them pointed out that it seems as though he came back from nearly dying determined to write the wildest shit imaginable and only write what he wanted, which struck a chord in me this time despite having listened to this episode before. Perhaps because I was thinking about my own writing and where it's going in the short term (there are a couple of short stories I want to do that I don't quite have a way into yet). I generally don't think about the drift of my creativity in the long term because when I do I usually draw the wrong conclusions.

I don't really classify my life, the way some people who've had high-impact injuries do, as before-TBI and after-TBI (Traumatic Brain Injury -- the fairly severe concussion I had in January of 2020). For one thing, given I had to cancel a trip to NYC because of it, it may have saved my life; I almost certainly would have caught COVID as someone with known lung issues in New York at the time. For another, the TBI was way scarier to almost everyone else; for me it was just one more dumb injury I gave myself and I didn't even remember most of it so it hardly registered. I used to open the story of it with a joke about waking up not remembering going to bed the night before, but nobody ever found it funny.

It's true that there are changes it wrought in my life, though. Even practical stuff like making sure my living space doesn't have tripping hazards and continuing to wear a fitbit even though I don't really need to (the fitbit told us, the morning after, exactly when the concussion happened, because it registered a heart-rate spike when I fell). For weeks after, I had to move slowly and put off making important decisions because I couldn't trust my physical or intellectual judgement; I didn't even jaywalk in my own neighborhood because I couldn't be sure I was judging the cars' speeds properly. For about a year after I had periodic post-concussion syndrome which basically just slammed me back into concussion space, which wasn't painful or upsetting but was definitely inconvenient.

And it's also undeniable that my writing shifted after the injury. It's not necessarily because of the injury, since my initial recovery from the TBI and the declaration of quarantine happened at roughly the same time, and anyone who tells you that a years-long global pandemic didn't impact their artistic expression is selling you a line. But the last thing I wrote before the TBI was the first draft of Six Harvests, and aside from the Six Harvests publication draft, which had fairly minimal changes, almost all that I've written has been blue-sky, light-hearted, PG-rated romance. It's been on my mind that I've been writing different subject matter from what I used to, but the timing of it didn't strike me until just recently.

I don't mind, really. I love fandom and I support fanfic in whatever expression it comes, but I'm also happy writing my own stories. While I'm aware it's been years since I've meaningfully written fanfic, it doesn't bother me per se, as long as I'm writing. It bothered me much more when I could write fanfic but not original fic, especially in those last few awful months at my last job. I'm proud of the literary and non-genre fiction I've written in the past, but it's also much more trying and frustrating to write at times, so I'm enjoying having a different sort of challenge that feels more fulfilling in the process. I'm sure at some point I'll go back to literary fiction -- there are ways in which it's hard to avoid turning the later Shivadh novels into literary fiction, being honest -- but for now I like what I'm writing, and I'm writing primarily to please myself and without regard to what's necessarily rational or linear.

Just struck me, is all, that it's by far the most noticeable major shift in my work. I do sort of wonder what will be next.

[choicesficwriterscreations]

January Creator of the Month: Jerzwriter

Each month, CFWC highlights one of our talented fanfic writers or artists, and this month’s creator of the month is CFWC's own @jerzwriter.  The writer is selected at random. More info can be found on the navigation page.

Quick Links:

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How do you want to be known on Tumblr? 

Elsa

More below...

1- When did you start playing Choices? What was the first book you played? 

It was sometime in 2017, and the first book I ever played was The Royal Romance, Book 1.

2- When and why did you join Choices fandom?

I joined a couple Facebook groups in 2019. I just wanted to discuss stories with others who were interested, as no one in my real life reads Choices. I didn't even know I was entering a fandom. lol I started reading fanfic on Tumblr the following year, but I found Tumblr intimidating, so I was mostly a silent reader. I didn’t start writing and contributing until May 2021, mostly because Open Heart was ending and I was in denial. 🙂

3- How did you pick your blog name? 

It’s pretty boring, actually. I’m from NJ, and I write. I wanted it to be JerZwriter, so people would know it is Jer-ZEE-Writer, but that wasn’t doable, so it’s Jerzwriter, and most think it is Jerz-Writer. Oh, well!  

4- Pull up the first and last posts in your archive, and tell us about them!  

My first post was the first chapter of my Ethan x Casey x Tobias love triangle, Delaying the Inevitable (OH).  It was my very first fanfic and I really didn't think I'd write anything beyond that.  I was so green back then, not only to fanfic but to the fandom as well. I’m really glad that I was naive because I don’t think I would have had the courage to post it if I had, but I’m glad that I did. 

My last post was Falling for You, a little drabble I wrote for Tobias x Casey (OH), and it featured a commission by the talented artist @weetlebeetle. It was a light, fun piece that took place early in Tobias and Casey's relationship, and it shows Tobias at his absolute simpiest. Lol 

5- Do you write fanfiction, create fan art, or are you one of those really gifted people who do both? 

Oh, how I wish I could draw, but I can't.  So, I’m strictly a writer. I may try giving drawing a go again, but I don't expect much to come of it. lol

6- How long have you been creating for Choices and for any other fandoms?

Choices was the first fandom I ever wrote for, and I started in May of 2021.  So, just over two and a half years. I have written a little bit for some other fandoms since that time, but I primarily write for Choices.

7- What is your favorite Choices book, and what is your favorite Choices book to create for?

Tough question.  I write for Open Heart, Crimes of Passion, and Wake the Dead, and they are three of my favorite stories. I also loved Desire & Decorum, but I never wrote for it.  Though, I’m planning a re-read, and you never know. 🙂

8- Share your first Choices fanfic or fan art that you posted with us. Do you still like it, or would you change it if you were creating it today?

It was the first chapter of Delaying the Inevitable. I was so green when I started that series that I’m sure there are things I would change, but I’m still very proud of it.  That series will always have a special place in my heart.  I’d like to revisit it one day to “clean it up”, it could use some condensing. But I would never change the storyline.

9- What is your favorite piece of fiction or art that you created? 

This is such an unfair question. lol The Delaying the Inevitable Series definitely comes to mind, but I’m also very proud of my Eli Sipes prequel stories, A Mother’s Journal, Coming Up Blank, and The End of the World. But Tobias and Casey are my favorite pairing, and I simply love the world I created for them. And while my headcanon for them is my favorite, I cannot pick just one fic for them, and I'm not going to! lol But, I've also written a bunch of AUs for them, and Friends* is one of my favorites.

10- Do you have a fic/art that you didn’t expect to be well received, but it was? What about one you expected to do well but found it could use a little more love?

Yes, to both! The fandom is much smaller today, but back when we were more active, I learned you couldn't predict how a fic would be received.  There are too many to name, but I will say whenever my smut does well (and quite a few of them have), I’m always astounded. lol 

11-  If you could write only angst, fluff, or smut for the rest of your writing life, which would it be and why? 

This is such a difficult question because I believe the best stories incorporate a little of each, and, as a writer, exploring all three helps spur creativity. Also, my absolute favorite is angst with a happy ending, so there is definitely some fluff in there (and I'm never mad at a little smut being thrown in!) But if I were forced to choose, it would probably be angst.  I think that's where I am strongest, and I just love raw emotion. I think that’s where character development really occurs. I have not written as much angst recently, and I miss it.  Perhaps I need a change in 2024. 

12 - Do you ever recognize yourself in any of your MCs or in your writing?

There are definitely parts of me in my MCs and OCs, but I do my best to prevent them from becoming self-inserts.  I'm not as cool as any of them, that's for sure! lol That said, I do find inspiration for my fics in real life, so there is bound to be a little crossover. When using real-life inspiration, I try to change details so that the fiction is not a carbon copy of the real-life event. Normally, by the time I'm done, they're hardly recognizable.

13 - What element of writing/art do you struggle with most? Where do you feel you are strongest?

I struggle most with setting a scene. Dialogue is my strong suit, and that just flows for me. It flows so much that sometimes I forget to describe what's going on around the conversation. I think this is particularly easy to do in fanfiction because so much of the "world" has already been provided for us, so I recognize this more when I'm writing original works.

The other thing I struggle with? Brevity. I know I can go on, and on, and on. lol I've gotten much better at this, but there is still room for improvement.

14 - Do you have any neglected work you really want to finish?

(Elsa leaves the room, quietly crawls under her desk, and hides…) YES!!! Far, far too many, and no matter how much I share those posts that say, "You don't have to finish! If you're not feeling it, move on!" I don't believe it! lol I really want to make wrapping them up a priority in 2024.  But I also know writing - particularly good writing - cannot be forced.  So, it's a goal, but I'll only do it if I feel it’s right. 

15 - If someone you know in real life (who isn’t involved in fandoms) asked to see your work, would you let them? If yes, what would you show them first? 

It would depend on who asked.  I’m not ashamed of writing fanfic at all, but if I believed the person would be judgemental, I wouldn't be willing to share.  A few of my friends have read select pieces of my fanfic, and I’ve always received positive feedback from them. I wouldn’t be opposed to sharing more.  What I'd share would depend greatly on the person asking.

16 - Are there any writers (published authors and/or fanfic writers) who influenced your writing or art? Are there any artists that influence you?

There are many published writers that I admire, but I don’t think they've influenced my writing here. Within the fandom, there are many writers who have inspired me in different ways. There is no way I can ever name them all. But I'd like to give a shout-out to some.

@jamespotterthefirst and @bex-la-get were among the first writers I read when I joined Tumblr. I found their passion for both canon and the worlds they created inspiring, especially as Open Heart was nearing its end and all of us addicts needed our fill. Reading their works helped keep the story alive for me and so many others, and it inspired me to try my hand at it as well. To my shock, they were both so encouraging and supportive of me when I arrived, and I'm forever grateful. Back then, I thought they were rockstars - and they are! But now, they're also friends. I wasn't familiar with @alwaysmychoices from the start, but when I came across their work, I was just blown away.  Weekend with Dr. Ramsey will live rent-free in my head forever, and that headcanon about Charlie calling Ethan the night before she marries someone else. (I faint.) Ohhh, the delicious angst! The way she made me feel what Charlie felt was just mind-boggling, and it encouraged me to really dig into my character's emotions and bring them to life in a more meaningful way.

Early on, I read @utterlyinevitable, and the thing that impressed me the most was how Dom was willing to "write stories that “went "go there.”  They tackled issues that others wouldn't touch.  In their world, everything wasn’t perfect, including the characters themselves. I admired that vision and, frankly, bravery, and it definitely encouraged me to write what I wanted to and not what I felt was expected of me.

More recently, @mydemonsdrivealimo inspired me to explore parts of my MCs that I have not delved into in the past.  In particular, Casey's bisexuality. It can be challenging to represent a bisexual character when they are in a straight-presenting relationship, and you risk alienating readers no matter what you do (looking at all readers here.) So it becomes easier to be lazy and ignore it. But that's a disservice to the character as much as it's a disservice to people living similar situations in real life... like I have many times. Through MJ's writing and our conversations, they've helped me become more aware and do a better job in this regard, and I'm not even sure if they know this - it may totally be news to them lol - but I'm eternally grateful. Now, I feel my girl Casey is free, and OMG, how I love our characters playing together in HC now!

Then there are @lilyoffandoms and @storyofmychoices, who bring joy to all that they touch. Who knew when Lily created a little drabble putting our characters in a new world together, it would end up being one of the brightest fandom spots of 2023? Who knew that so much more would stem from that one work? Seriously, it's been one of the highlights of my fandom experience this year, and it's helped me to find inspiration at times when I felt like it was lost. Thank you both - I am so lucky to have you both here!

There are so many more I could mention, but I'd still forget people and feel horrible, so I want to take the chance to thank every writer in the fandom for sharing their gifts with us. Each of you is an inspiration in your own way; each of you can give someone an idea, and you have no idea where that spark will lead. So, never stop sharing!

17-  Which one of your stories would you most like to see as a movie/series? 

Delaying the Inevitable, Friends*, All in the Past, and the WIP What’s Forever For. I also think some of my Ethan x Tobias works would have made for a good sitcom, and how I wish my Tobias x Casey friendship with Bryce x Jensen would be an epic sitcom. The world needs it! lol   (Jensen belongs to @mydemonsdrivealimo.)

19- Do you write original fiction or create non-fandom art? 

I do. Mostly shorter stories that will never see the light of day, but also some more substantive works... which will also never see the light of day! lol I wrote a novel-length political thriller some time ago. It would need a ton of work to bring it up to 2024, as the political landscape has changed so much. I also have two original WIPs I've been writing. One is an angsty story about a friendship that's loosely based on a childhood friend I lost to cancer a few years ago.  The other is a polyamorous romance about two best friends who fall for the same person. It's really a beautiful, emotional story. If I like the end result, maybe I'll let it see the light of day... maybe. lol

20-  What other hobbies do you have?

I enjoy theater, and I'm lucky enough to live in the best part of the world to partake in that.  I go to a lot of Broadway, Off-Broadway, and local theater productions. I also love going to concerts - they’re like group therapy! Trust me, I got more out of seeing Noah Kahan and Hozier in 2023 than I did from the entirety of sessions with my therapist - and I loved my therapist. lol

Prior to 2020, I did a fair amount of traveling, and I hope to start doing a little more this year.  But I have to admit, since the lockdown, I’ve become more of a homebody, and I like it, so we’ll see how that goes! 

I used to be very involved with activism and advocacy for women’s, lgbtq+, and mental health issues. I still am, but in a different capacity than I was in the past. These issues require people fighting for them, and doing so has always been a huge part of who I am, but it can be draining, and burnout is real. I really reached the end of my rope. So, nowadays, I work as a volunteer for a couple local organizations that really mean a lot to me. I'm not involved in grassroots efforts or taking trips to talk to legislators as often, but I'm helping people on a smaller scale, and that still goes a long, long way.

22: BONUS - tell us anything you’d like (if you want to).

As most of you know, I’m one of the mods here at CFWC, so it was a little weird when my the wheel landed on my name.  But, honestly, it’s happened before, and I've just spun again, even though I am eligible. But this time around, I decided to do it. This fandom really means a lot to me, and I wanted to share a little more about myself and my crazy pixelated people.

I'm truly grateful to everyone in the fandom who does their part to make this a place that many, like me, still see as a place they want to be. We're smaller, it's imperfect, it has plenty of problems, but I am choosing to focus on the good... because there is much more of that than there is bad. So, thank you to each of you... and I hope we all have a wonderful 2024! xo

PS... My header... I know Tobias wasn't technically an LI... which was truly criminal. So, that's what fandom is for, fixing what canon effed up. lol My favorite canon LI is Trystan Thorne (COP). I tried adding their picture to the header alongside Tobias, but it looked terrible, so here I am. :)

Thanks for taking the time to read this, and I can't wait to highlight more of you in 2024! :)

[dduane]

Diane, I am wondering something about writing and you are very wise and very kind.

For context, I've been seeing a therapist for a few months and just saw a psychiatrist Sunday night and they both used the phrase "dissociative daydreaming". It started when I was about 13 and I'm 28 now and it is getting in the way of my life. I'll be having a one-on-one conversation with someone alone in a quiet room and completely miss a few seconds of what they say, and I zone out a lot when eating at restaurants and it creeps people out. The psychiatrist says we are going to work on getting this under control in the next couple months.

The thing is, I like writing fiction and I do a lot of my imagining while I'm in this "zoned out" state. You know, that being a major part of dissociative daydreaming. So I'm wondering, sorry for assuming (assuming makes an ass out of you and me), but if you do not also dissociative daydream, or any other fiction writers here do, how do you think about your stories? Do you just sit down at your desk and say to yourself "I shall write a story now" without leaving your unoccupied body staring at a wall?

First of all: my apologies for having taken so long to get to this... my ask box is so piled up with overdue stuff right now. (sigh) And thanks for the nice words. I don't know about the "wise", and sometimes I screw up the "kind", but I do what I can with what I've got.

Anyway, re: "Do you just sit down at your desk and say to yourself 'I shall write a story now' without leaving your unoccupied body staring at a wall?"

...Yeah, pretty much. Here's how the story-building process usually goes for me.

First I outline. (As detailed here.) The outlining is for me the equivalent of drawing a blueprint, or doing the measure-twice work that comes before taking a saw to the materials you're going to use to build a bookshelf. For this part of the process, as I assemble the underlying framework of the story, I've found it vital to be as completely present, alert and aware as possible. This is where the order of physical action gets laid out, errors of reasoning get caught, blind alleys get erased from the blueprint, useless character transactions get identified and thrown away, and hunches / incomplete ideas get incorporated.

While assembling the outline, if I find my concentration drifting or somehow compromised, I stop work as quickly as possible and put it aside until I can find time to deal with it when I won't be distracted by other stuff. Much experience has taught me that if I get sloppy about this, I may well wind up being really annoyed about it later on... secondary to having missed something vital about character interactions, or screwed up some important sequence of physical action. The writing time lost in fixing careless errors of this kind infuriates me... so I take my time with the outlining.

It's after the framework of the story is in place that the vaguing-out stages of both writing and thinking about the writing come into play. Over many years I've found that the shower, in the morning, is one of the best places for this. Usually when I'm in active writing mode on a project, the first thing I'll do after waking up (while still in bed) will be to look over the writing done the previous day, and—if there's need—check the outline to see what I was planning to do next. Then I hit the showers.

That's where the ideas really start to flow while I'm unfocused: scene descriptions and action sequences in particular. I don't know what it is, but running water really seems to do it for me. (One time I was up at this place for a writing trip, and plotted about six novels one after the other, over a week. Those tubes in the picture dump a liter of hot water per second onto your head. Very, very effective for me.)

...I'm also absolutely horrified to have to admit that one of the very best places for me to be in order to have dialogue arrive is at the kitchen sink, doing dishes. Possibly because there are few other situations in my day to day life where I more desperately want to have my mind be somewhere else. Anywhere else. (But also: running water again...)

In between these two modes of composition lies a hybrid "full-spectrum" writing mode in which I can switch pretty much seamlessly from total immersion in the scene presently unfolding to a more analytical examination of what's going on: a constant realtime adjustment of format issues, timing, pacing, and a lot of other things. When in this mode I can vague out when necessary, inventing new stuff as needed or refining material that was already there, and then snap back into the mode where I'm keeping an eye on paragraph lengths or whether there are too many em-dashes popping up. :)

...Anyway, that''s how it goes for me. The usual caveat applies here: other people's (entirely successful!) processes will not necessarily look anything like this. ...Meanwhile, I absolutely wish you good results in your upcoming brainwork, and the better management of your own process.

[pridepages]

Give and Take: A Power Unbound

I finished A Power Unbound by Freya Marske. I have thoughts...

Here there be spoilers

What do we know about love?

No, seriously, I'm asking. The more stories I hear--both real and fictional--the less sure I am that we have any idea what it is we're talking about.

Because love may be patient and kind...

But it also might be dirty degrading sex and someone to argue you into submission.

Meet Jack Alston and Alan Ross: the last couple in the found family of disaster gays trying to save the magical world in Freya Marske's The Last Binding trilogy. The third volume, A Power Unbound, centers the love story of Jack and Alan amidst the final confrontation that will decide the fate of the magical world.

(I actually find the magic and politics the least interesting thing about these books, so let's stick to kinky sex and power dynamics.)

At a surface level reading, Jack and Alan are an opposites-attract trope. Jack was born to power and privilege in every sense, titled and magical, while Alan scrambles to survive in a world where he literally repels power (both figurative and literal). Rather than fall into the temptation of a beauty-and-the-beast narrative or a cinderella story, Marske has the two of them lean into their inequality.

They get off on power struggle.

These two have the kinkiest role-play I've seen in traditional publishing. Full credit to Marske for writing a romance that says: "You can have all the deviant sex you want between safe, sane, consenting adults." (A radical notion when we're reluctant to increase the perception of gay sex as 'deviant,' but seriously, fuck respectability politics!)

But the mastery of character development here is how the push-pull of their chemistry translates outside of the bedroom.

When we first meet Jack Alston in book one, he's cast in a more villainous light. He's nasty and hurtful to his ex, Edwin Courcey. It would be easy to write Jack off as simply cruel, but from his perspective, the whole dynamic translates differently.

Jack is a "mean friend." His love language is to tease, to bait, to skirmish. He grew up jabbing his way through life, all knees and elbows. But every time he tried to draw Edwin out...he only ended up pushing him away.

It couldn't be more different with fiesty Alan. "They fit in ways they shouldn’t ever have fit. Even when they fought, they fit–there was no mockery falling on soft, malleable ground…Only the knowledge that any volley would be met and thrown back, brighter and better."

Jack and Edwin were fundamentally wrong for each other, their chemistry toxic. By contrast, Alan understands the love language of insults and banter. He's strong enough to take it.

But strength and weakness are their own sort of power, and both Jack and Alan are keenly aware of it. During one of their intimate scenes, Jack cuts the moment short because he realizes they are not in a moment of mutual pleasure. "When I fuck, it's because it's what I want. Not because I'm punishing someone, or too angry to be safe." Nor will he let Alan turn their intimacy into self-harm, refusing to be "used...as a rod to make stripes on your own back."

It's a critical piece of self-awareness. Jack knows he has a responsibility to use his power with the utmost control to create mutual pleasure and do no harm.

If Jack's journey is one of learning how to share power, then Alan's arc is about learning how to accept it. "Size and strength, station and wealth. All the advantages possible," Alan marvels as he looks at Jack. "Do you know how hard it is to believe someone won’t use it against you? To put your heart into someone’s hands knowing that?"

Alan may like to play at being overpowered, but that play is a consensual illusion: he knows that at any time he can voice the safeword and end the game. When it comes to sex, he can maintain control. But you can't safeword out of falling in love with someone. "Alan had never needed to lean on anyone. It was intolerable that he now kept turning out the pockets of his soul and finding caught in their seams the desire to let someone take his weight. The desire to be held, even kissed."

It's safer to lock yourself up: to stay in control by keeping the rest of the world out. But you can't have love without putting your innermost self on the line, making yourself as vulnerable as possible.

To take of someone else, you have to give everything of yourself.

I don't think it's a binary switch. The ways and means of how we create a give-and-take change depending on the people involved. Some people need soft and gentle love. Some need bright and sunny love. And some people need to be "kissed like an argument. Alan slid his hand to the nape of Jack’s neck and argued fiercely back."

All of them are good. Because all of them have the power to give and take what we need...and what we want.

Jack can be "masterful in the bedroom" and "take your heart between my ribs and guard it like my own." Alan can be a fighter and submissive, can hold his own and still want Jack to "kiss me until you know me, and unmake me, and love me anyway."

I don't know anything about love. But I think these guys just might.

When it comes to love, you'd better give as good as you get.

[oubliettecomic]

Launch!

Today I am launching my webcomic, OUBLIETTE. I've been thinking about this story for at least a decade and actually doing something about it since 2022, so fair to say it's been a while coming! I've been wanting to do my own webcomic ever since I first stumbled across them in the old dialup days, when nobody used their real name online, most webcomic could draw and pages would take actual minutes to load. But I hadn't seen much of life then and didn't have much to say, whereas now I've got all sorts of fun ideas (that I'm more comfortable talking about dressed up in fiction.)

I've never been much cop at drawing, so when I first really got excited about the project I originally planned to pay an artist, but that sadly fell through. I had enough momentum (and scripts) to want to still make a go of it, I bought myself a cheap drawing tablet and a copy of Clip Studio Paint and tried various teach-yourself courses online for most of 2023. I am far from an accomplished (or even competent) artist, but I can get the comic to look how I want it and that will do for now. The best way to improve is to practice and the best way to motivate myself to practice is to have a project.

One big inspiration for the comic has been watching the Internet change; thinking about how people relate to data and truth. Another is wandering around post-socialist places like VDNKh, Pripyat and Chiatura, seeing the entropy-haunted bones of yesterday's utopias gradually crumbling. Much is about cities and tunnels and hot wide open spaces. I hope it's interesting enough that other people like it. I know how the story begins, and how it ends, and I have a lot of ideas for the middle that will be realised depending on how much fun I have writing and drawing. It's probably going to be at least a five-year project, which is quite a commitment.

The first chapter is now online and free to read at https://oubliettecomic.com. New pages will come out every Monday. I'm also creating update sites here on Tumblr, and on Bluesky (Twitter may take some time. I created a new account, and on logging on ti it the first thing I saw was an inane tweet from Musk. I don't want that in my life, so I blocked him, and found my account *immediately* suspended. Draw your own conclusions.)

[hereliescuh]

Stardew Valley Fanfiction: Life is Changed - CHAPTER 1: THE CHANGE

a/n: To whomever it may concern - Hello! This is a Stardew Valley fanfiction. It is the first fanfiction I've ever posted and the first long writing project I've had in a while - yet, I've got ideas that need to make it out or they will make me explode and that won't be good. Won't tell you too much about the fic other than the fact it will be aimed to be a Mr Qi x Female Reader fic at its essence, however, other storylines and romantic endeavours will be intertwined and it will not be a perfectly streamlined story. Warnings may include crime investigations, violence, romantic and sexual content, although not very explicit, and altogether it's an 18+ fic, so please be advised if you are under 18! The Reader in this fic will be named Cara Reader. I am not a fan of the Y/N trope, and there aren't many identified features of the character, other than her gender (female) and maybe the fact her hair is long enough to be tied back? Everything else is pretty ambiguous. The inspiration for this name is listed below. Also, the way I imagine Mr Qi while I'm writing this is something like how taterdraws (on Tumblr), ozzyeelz (on Tumblr), or lilli! (on Twitter) draw him. You are obviously free to imagine him however you like, but I feel like this is good context! I would also like to say I have been very inspired by certain works of writing and fiction, some of which Wild Nowhere by prismwizard (found on ao3, incredible SDV murder mystery), the Life is Strange franchise and general vibe of the games, especially the first game (you will find some references but there won't be a crossover), the Attack on Titan fanfiction To Sing a Song of Steel by CaptainDegenerate (found on ao3, the best Levi x Reader fanfiction that I've ever read) (this is where I got the main character name Cara Reader from), and other tiny ones which you might recognise. I have tried not to copy anyone without credit, but if I've made a mistake in that regard, please do not hesitate to let me know! If you are still here, then I hope you enjoy the read!

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Chapter 1: The Change

The lights came in hazily, slowly piercing through the darkness she was swimming in. Beautiful white glow, and somewhere she found it familiar, safe. Softly, gently, it illuminated the world around her as her eyes struggled to focus, revealing blurry shapes and casting deep shadows on the walls – The room, must be. She felt arms underneath her body, and her legs dangling heavily with the movement, and a familiar scent. She saw the shine of purple hairs in the corner of her vision, and she thought how beautiful it was. He was beautiful. She closed her eyes again.

When the pounding of her head appeared, it was the second time she woke. The room was smaller, darker. Unsafe. She could not move. Not me, she thought, struggling against the straps around her wrists and fighting a new wave of pain that seemed to consume her entire mind. Please, not me. Fighting, too, to open her eyes and look around and see. Amongst the blurriness and haze, behind the white light of a spotlight right above her head, were the unmistakable red lights of a hundred surveillance cameras.

A door opened.

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The misty autumn morning brought a sweet smell to the valley, of wet earth and rotting red leaves and fresh cold air. Orange and bright, the sun cast its glow over grass and flowers and crops, and penetrated the dew with dancing rays or fire. The sky was a clear blue, bringing a crispness to the seemingly warm sight, letting the cold wind roam freely and cheerfully. It was Cara’s favourite weather, if a little bittersweet. The few good days during that part of the year were too short and too few, and it made her wonder how many more she would see before they truly ended. The inability to enjoy something for fear of losing it.

The farmer cracked open the tiny window of her kitchen and inhaled the scent, savouring it for a moment before turning on the coffee machine. She delighted in the view of the fresh pumpkins for a moment, still a little young for picking, but promising a good harvest, then made her way to the fridge. It had been almost exactly a year ago when she acquired it, and she was happy to be able to cook and store food in something other than makeshift wooden chests. She was happy about a lot of things recently.

As the coffee smell began to swim around her, Cara thought about the upcoming winter and the plans that had begun to hatch in her head. She got up and grabbed the cup, took a sip. Delicious. Today was important.

By the time she arrived in the town square, it was already warmer, the mist – gone, and the fiery leaves rustling gently with the breeze, once in a while dropping one slowly to the ground where it would soon darken and wither. She knew the winter chill would reappear in the evening and tomorrow morning, and then more and more often until it took over mercilessly, but for now, it was still a soft hint. Cara made her way towards the shop.

“Pierre!” her voice rang through the space. Pierre looked rough. His eyebags were his face’s most prominent feature today.

“Cara,” he yawned, “good morning.”

“Stayed up late for Marnie’s birthday, huh?” the farmer made her way to the register, taking her straw hat off. Lovely memory of winning the Egg Festival egg hunt, although, she thought distantly, it was probably wiser to leave it to the kids – and Abigail – next year.

Pierre’s weary gaze landed on her face and he sighed, “Don’t ask. Pam made us all drink shots after you left.”

“Looks like I missed the best part,” Cara smirked awkwardly. It was her who had brought the potent potato juice, and the smell still made her gag. As long as they liked it. “Have you still got any of that frozen melon from the summer? I’ve made all of mine into wine.”

“I believe I do,” the man slid his elbows off the counter with a grunt. Cara just stood beside the register and looked at him as he made his way to the closet freezer. He was a curious guy, a shop owner who did not show much different of himself than a regular family guy, yet there were moments – like this – where he did not look to be so straightforward. Not the drinking or the staying up late, no, there was something else that showed when he was tired. And it did now, when Caroline walked into the shop from the back door. Pierre glanced at her with hatred, concealed only to the untrained eye, as he was coming back with a bag of frozen melon.

“Morning, Cara!” the green-haired woman chirped. She was wearing a long flowy blue skirt and a knit sweater that matched her black boots. An autumn attire with a hint of summer remnants. She remained ignorant to her husband’s fleeting show of disdain, not even looking at him.

“Hey, Caroline. How are you and Abby doing?”

“She’s still asleep in her room, and I’m on the way to Robin’s. Apparently,” she glanced at Pierre with playful annoyance, “someone still hasn’t fixed our broken cupboard. So I’ll have to employ a real carpenter.”

Her husband remained silent, although Cara did see him prepare to say something when his mouth opened, but his jaw soon clenched and he managed a strained smile. The farmer chuckled uncomfortably.

“I’m sure she’ll make a quick job out of it. Thanks, Pierre.” She handed him a few gold coins. “I’m going to visit Haley. Actually, I’m kind of late, so I’ll leave you two to it.”

“Oh, Cara,” Caroline stopped the farmer at the door, “I almost forgot! Abigail wanted to talk to you about something. Said she’d be at the saloon later.” Cara nodded.

“I’ll meet her there in the evening then.”

“And tell her to come home earlier tonight,” Pierre added from the counter, raising his voice so it would reach her. It was hoarse. “No more walking around that tower, especially so late.” Cara nodded, again, unsure how else to answer.

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Some days, she was happy to chat to people as she made her way around town, either heading to the beach or the mines, or to someone’s house to give a thoughtful gift before getting back to work. At first, she found it difficult, scary, even. People were cordial to her initially, well, most of them anyway. She managed to hide the fact she took offense when some of them were downright rude, and she suppressed the painful urge to leave and start over somewhere, anywhere else. If she was not fitting in where her grandfather had for so many years, then where would she? Then slowly, surely, she found more of them were treating her as an equal. That the nice ones were now acting like she was one of them, and the not-so-nice ones were… nice.

By the end of the first year, when the Feast of The Winter Star came along, she was chatting to almost everyone almost naturally, almost as if she had always belonged there. She remembered that day clearly, and she kept that memory close to her heart. It was freezing cold, a dastardly winter chill she could only battle with the warmth of the cherry wine she had made her first ever batch with. Gus was laughing, I knew you had it in you!

She had really hoped the beautiful blonde from the house on Willow Lane would like her gift. Cara had shivered when she read the name in Lewis’s letter, stating she was her secret giftee. By far, Haley had been the coldest, even colder and ruder than Shane, who had, by that time, become one of Cara’s closest friends in town. It had seemed that, no matter what, the girl would not give her an edge, being ever-distant, ever-unapproachable. Yet, there was one thing she’d said, she let it slip just once, almost accidentally, and it had been enough for Cara.

Luckily, the farmer had kept a few coconuts from her one trip to the desert on a boiling summer day. Once she’d fixed the bus, Cara had vowed to explore it, yet she never really found the time. Besides, she disliked the heat, the weird creepy cave, and she’d found the guy in the back of the desert shop suspicious. Like there was some secret club she was better off not knowing about.

So on the day of the Feast, Cara put them all in a box – all five coconuts – and tied it with a pink ribbon, to match Haley’s pink lipstick. She didn’t know why she thought about that, but she did, and it made her blush.

Was it you?!, the blonde had exclaimed at the end of the evening, when everyone was opening presents, when happy chatter surrounded them and the warmth of the bonfire dulled the cold winter bite. The kids were admiring their new toys, and the young adults sitting at the nearby table were laughing at a shared joke, but that had all been a background blur, giving way to the smile on Haley’s face that gave Cara butterflies.

You said you liked them, and…

I can’t believe you remembered, I said that so long ago, the blonde had laughed, melodically, like a thousand little bells.

Well, you never really say many nice things, so I aim to remember them. A frosty breeze blew over to shake the lively flames. The farmer had cursed herself for having so much wine.

I know… I’m sorry. I didn’t know if you even cared to know me.

I would love to, you know. I know that you’re nice, deep down. Very deep.

Hey! You need to learn to take a little banter, or we can’t be friends!

They’d laughed, together. Deal.

Since the Feast, things had moved well, and soon friendly meetings turned into something else. Haley grew warmer, and Cara learned to like the heat. She had told her, one day, as they sat on the beach in their bikini after a summer swim, relishing in the sunset, I've never been to the forest, you know. It might be interesting to explore it someday. CLICK!

Haley!

Sorry! I know you don’t like photos, but you do look lovely in the golden hour. So, what do you say?

So they’d spent the night in the forest by the lake, in Emily’s tent, listening to the chirping crickets and the mysterious noises that only occurred in the valley, until they’d melted together into the darkness, into hushed whispers and gentle moans, moving slowly, very slowly…

┗━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━┛

Now, however, Cara needed to hurry. She did not want to keep Haley waiting, and she was glad there was no one around to stop her to talk. They were making pink cake, it needed to be soon, as the blonde was not one for patience. Cara liked that about her.

The farmer approached 2 Willow Lane, tentatively at first, then walked up the steps to the door confidently. There was always a little nervousness when meeting someone like Haley, and Cara still struggled sometimes to keep up with what it meant to be with her. They weren’t “dating”, nor were they in a proper “relationship”, yet it felt like it was something special. Something more ethereal, more timeless, and unlabelable. At least she liked to think so. Cara knocked the secret knock.

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“Hey, Emily. It’s Cara. I know you’re at work right now… you’re the only one who has a mobile phone in this whole town!” Cara laughed a shallow laugh, then cleared her throat and paused. “Maybe Haley went to the city or something… I mean, if she did, could you let me know? She’s not answering your landline. Anyway, thanks.” A pause. “Listen, if you see her, please tell her she should let me know about these things. I mean… I… I left her a message already. Not trying to be dramatic. Sorry. Call me back, please, when you can.”

The evening chill had already crept through the valley like a serpent, distinctly different from the fresh cold of the autumn morning. It felt darker, almost sinister, the way it signified the end of another, even shorter day. The sandy-yellow wheat rocked gently in the sunset, the fences cast a long shadow, and it was lonely, the animals had all gone inside. Lonely, and darker still.

Cara sat on one of the two armchairs she had wheeled into her living room the day Robin had finished the farmhouse kitchen expansion. It was only last month. There, now you’ll have the space for guests… and girlfriends, the carpenter had winked, evoking a blush and a seemingly annoyed sigh.

Is everyone in town aware of our relationship? Don’t you have anything better to do? Yet she could not contain her smile.

Honey, Emily told us you asked her to move in. It’s the closest we’ve got to town gossip right now!

Cara had grunted and slid her hands over her face, pulling at her cheeks dramatically. It’s more of a roommate kind of situation, we’re not dating!

But it’s pretty damn close, isn’t it?

The farmer hung up the phone slowly, as if waiting for Emily to speak back any second. She was at work, of course, in the saloon. The same place Cara was planning to go. As the clock struck six in the afternoon, the farmer wondered if she really should. She had, after all, looked everywhere else, and she thought she should ask Emily in person instead.

Maybe she forgot and really went shopping, Cara thought, not without annoyance, but also… not without worry. Wouldn’t she tell me?

When Haley had not answered and the door had not opened, Cara had stood blank-faced at the steps for a long excruciating minute, thinking. Maybe she had made a mistake, gone to wait somewhere else, forgotten about the cake altogether. It was no issue. They could eat the half-defrosted melon and laugh about it. The beach maybe? The forest lake?

Miss Cara!  their voices had echoed synchronised in their distinct childish excitement as Jas and Vincent came running over to her. She had hugged them both, absentminded, confused.

Cara? Penny had approached, following the kids, with a confused, or maybe worried, frown. Cara had thought about how impossibly red her hair had been. Are you waiting for Haley?

Yeah, she’d managed a smile, and the kids had stepped back towards Penny, happy with another successful social interaction. It would have been charming under different circumstances. She’s… I think she’s waiting for me somewhere else. Sorry, I must look like an idiot, the farmer had laughed, maybe a bit too loudly.

Ah, the frown had been replaced by a look of sympathy. It had been annoying. Well, if it helps, I think she went towards the beach this morning. Quite a bit earlier, though. Penny had fallen quiet for a moment. The beach. Cara had thought she must have gone for an early morning walk, maybe even a swim. In the cold autumn water. She disliked the cold. I was just outside the trailer at the time. Maybe she’s still there?

She had not been. Willy had not seen her either, Though, to be frank, I slept in like a bear today. It didn’t matter.

And Cara had gone to the forest lake. Around the lake, searching. She would have liked to come across someone else, someone who might have seen Haley, but all she saw was the cabin mouse. Me not seen the blondie. Hats?

It had been a long day of walking, Cara just realised, feeling her legs weigh her down to the chair, like two limbs made of lead. She had walked up to the mountains, spoken to Robin and Maru, and even the two old men in the Adventurers’ Guild. You know how she is, Shane had told her down by the closed ice cream stand today. Always shopping.

Then why not tell me?

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The bell let out a muffled ring as Cara walked through the door of the saloon. It was less lively today, after last night’s misadventures. Glasses clinked as Gus arranged them on the shelves, mixing with the quiet music flowing from the jukebox. Some sort of country. Pam and Willy’s chatter, ever persistent, almost drowned out the sound of pool balls knocking against each other and the quiet voices of the players commenting on each other’s shots. Cara made a mental note to approach Abigail later. As promised, Shane was waiting for her at his usual spot by the bar, drinking a pale beer from a glass tankard.

“Hey,” he greeted as the farmer approached him. He looked fresh, somehow. This must have been his first beer of the night. “Want to do it now?”

“Yeah, I’ll ask her now.” Cara stopped to look at Emily, who was cleaning the far side of the bar, a gentle smile plastered on her face. It was usually endearing. “I’m worried, Shane. What if she left because…” she trailed off, a memory flashing before her eyes.

“She didn’t. I’m telling you, Cara,” he insisted, leaving his beer on the bar, wordlessly showing he was paying attention to his friend, “ask Emily, you’ll see she just went to the city. Probably forgot to tell you or something.”

The blue-haired girl made her way to their side of the bar instead, beaming. Her red lipstick sharply contrasted her white teeth, but went well with the red of her dress. Cara turned to her, almost fearfully.

“Hey folks,” Emily leaned on the bar counter. “How’s it going?”

“Emily…”

“Where’s Haley?” Shane cut in, sharply and unceremoniously, earning a glare from Cara.

“Look,” the farmer continued, gently, looking back at the bartender, “I left you a message. I just want to know…” she inhaled shakily. She thought she was about to cry, but no, not yet. “Did she not tell me she was going because… Does she want more distance? Does she not want to move in?” Cara was quieter now, almost whispering. “She always tells me when she goes to the city. Please, if I’ve wronged her…”

“Cara,” Emily looked at her wide-eyed, confused, and took her hand, holding it on the counter. “I thought she was with you today.”

Cara pulled her hand back, grounded by the shock. “What?”

“Wait,” Shane interjected, “she didn’t tell you where she was going?”

“Going?” Emily’s eyes darted between the two of them. “I only knew about your date today, Cara.” Cara winced. Haley didn’t like to call them dates. As if it mattered now. “I didn’t see her in the morning, or in the afternoon… I haven’t seen her all day, I thought she was with you.”

“No, I…” A pang of worry pierced through her chest. Her feet went cold. “I didn’t…”

“Look, Emily, you would know if she left, so just spit it out.” Shane was yelling now. Pairs of eyes started to turn to them, glowing in the corner of her vision. Like hundreds of bats. Distantly, Cara could feel Abigail move closer with concern. The worst could not be true, yet it was. She was seeing through tears now, just barely.

Through the blur of the next few hours, she could remember a few distinct points. Yelling. The mayor. Disbelief.

She has to be in the city.

Doesn’t she have a mobile?

Did you check the beach?

She didn’t sleep. Morning mist. The police. Detective Madsen.

She hasn’t come home…

Cara, please, tell us everything you know.

The beach has been closed off. Penny said…

Please call us if there’s anything you need.

The weeks had passed. How many?

More posters? The whole town is covered…

Have you had anything to eat today?

She probably left this boring fucking town. Yoba knows I would. Oh. I… I’m sorry, Cara.

I’m afraid there’s nothing else we can do.

┗━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━┛

It was Winter 25th again. Stone-white clouds covering the sky like a blanket had become a permanent fixture over the valley, and frozen snow piled on the ground like a sea of ice. After all the chaos, it was quiet, eerily, as if someone had flipped a switch, and every little noise was absorbed by the very air, every movement damped. The stagnation after the storm.

For more than a month now it had been a near-constant repeating cycle of questions, interrogations, searching, and then… quiet. Every person in the valley had been under the bright white light in the community centre office, now turned into a kind of a police station for the lack of a real one. Not that anyone thought they would need it, though. Nothing like this ever happened here.

But when it did, when Haley disappeared without a trace, without a word, the police force from Zuzu City was the tiny town’s only hope. The middle-aged detective in a grey suit and a greying beard had almost become a resident for a while. Only, when his investigations yielded no tangible evidence, and hushed whispers around town became the only theories, he left. There was nothing else they could do.

It is my understanding you and Ms Williams were close.

You could say that, I guess.

Did she tell you anything suspicious. Anything like… a desire to leave the town, or any suicidal thoughts?

Suicidal? Cara’s cheeks had reddened violently with the anger building up inside her chest. Haley loved- loves life. She’s always eager to… absorb the world around her. And she loves the valley. God, just look at her pictures! It had been the third time she had spoken to detective Madsen. It was getting exhausting. She wouldn’t leave just like that. Not without a word, or… without me.

Had you ever discussed leaving together? It’s not uncommon, for a young woman to want to leave a small town. The man was serious, as always, his expression unreadable. She knew he was here out of his own will. Why would he bother asking the same questions over and over again? Was this some sort of interrogation strategy? Cara had sighed then.

I told you. She mentioned that “maybe one day” we could. It was nothing tangible. I’ve got the farm, and she’s got Emily, and… Oh, poor Emily. She has no dreams about the city. That I know of.

The man had nodded. The questioning had ended. No new leads.

Slowly, surely, the townspeople had settled on the most hopeful idea – that Haley left because, well, why wouldn’t she? There were no prospects, no life here for someone like her. She was- is beautiful, talented. Her place was in the city. Cara wanted to think so, too. Haley’s wallet and documents were missing. Maybe it made sense. Why wouldn’t she tell me? Yet why didn’t she tell her?

The morning light was disturbing, although dulled. Cara’s hair felt damp, cold. She hadn’t had the time to dry it the previous night, and it was too much work to light a fire. Everything was too much work nowadays.

She was awake, of course. Not that she could sleep much, but she had the tendency to wake up early every morning. With the investigation wrapped up, there was nothing she had to do today but lie in bed. It’s all she could muster, really. Somewhere in the distance, almost from another world, she could hear the footsteps of the mayor, delivering the post, penetrate the heavy winter silence, and she winced. Her letterbox must be overflowing. She supposed she should be thankful people write to check on her. It’s Emily they should worry about. Emily, who had not been to work in a month.

The knock on her front door shocked her eyes open. Seriously, Lewis? She thought people had decided to stop visiting already. Cara’s brows furrowed in annoyance and she buried her head under the unwashed duvet.

It was silent for a while, maybe half a minute. The knock sounded again. Cara thought they wouldn’t give up so soon, yes, but it was still irritating. She ignored it. The knock sounded again. Then again, louder this time. Just fucking leave!

“Cara… I’m coming in,” it was Marnie, and she did, indeed, come in. Forgot to lock the door again.

The woman’s boots echoed through the empty house, and Cara could hear her approaching. She was beside herself. In quiet anger, huffing, she managed to sit up in bed and put on the sweater sitting on her bedside table. She was zipping up her jeans by the time Marnie made it to the bedroom door, knocking. “Are you in there, sweetheart?”

“Yeah, just… give me a minute!” Cara hurried to the small bedroom mirror to assess the damage. Her hair was a mess, putting it mildly. Damn it. She put it up in a loose ponytail, gathering as many of the front strands as she could, and opened the door tentatively.

“Sorry, Marnie… I was still asleep. What’s up?”

“Yoba, child, look at you… You look like you haven’t slept in weeks!” The worried woman grabbed Cara’s hands and squeezed them lightly. “And you feel so cold! Have you been taking the medicine Harvey prescribed?”

“I… might have forgotten last night,” Cara mumbled. She had some sort of cold. No big deal.

“Cara, this is important, sweetheart! You cannot give up on yourself like this!” There she goes again, with her fucking therapy.

“Marnie, how…” she trailed off. She was way too tired for this. Marnie looked at her expectantly. “How are you not concerned? At all?” Cara pulled her hands away and stuffed them in her jeans pockets. She was scrambling for words, irritation piling up inside her. “Haley might be… And no one cares? Did we all really choose the most convenient option?” Her tone rose. “Give up and decide she just up and fucking left?” Crap, she thought, that’s why I shouldn’t talk to people.

Marnie was silent for a minute, concerned. She was a good person, and Cara’s attitude was unjustified, she knew. She sighed.

“I’m sorry, Marnie, I…”

“Look, child,” the woman cut in, gently, yet soundly. “I know it’s hard to accept. People have left town before-“

“Not without a trace.”

“My husband did.” Marnie’s face was stoic now, cold, her tone icy. It took Cara aback. “He left without a word, left most of his belongings here and took only the essentials. Then, one day,” she inhaled sharply, “he called me. He had travelled to another country, all alone, because, he said, he couldn’t bear it here anymore. I was relieved… hurt… desperate for him to come back.” Cara’s eyes fell to the ground, guilt and shame growing in her stomach like a concrete balloon. “I asked why he didn’t take me. Tell me. He said he had no choice.” The room fell quiet. Cara could feel the walls closing in. After a few seconds, Marnie spoke again. “It was Lewis who helped me then. He comforted me, helped me throw out Paul’s things.” The woman leaned in, softly. “We will help you too.”

“I haven’t gotten any calls, Marnie,” Cara answered in a near-whisper. “Haley and I weren’t even… she didn’t even tell her own sister.”

“Maybe she will never call,” the woman said softly. “Some people make that choice. I think… I believe she is out there, living her life, too scared to call.”

How I fucking wish that were true. Cara’s eyes were tearing up now. It had been some time since her tears had run dry, seemed like she was ready to cry again. Pathetic.

“Please, Cara,” Marnie began again, gently grabbing her hands again, pulling them out of her pockets, “join us tonight. It won’t be the same for anyone,” she was looking right into her eyes, pleading, “but you need to come. It will do you good. It will do us all good.” The woman smiled sympathetically.

“I’ll try, Marnie,” Cara sniffled. She was too tired to bear the emotional toll of rejecting someone.

The woman smiled and rubbed Cara’s arms warmly. When she left, Cara sat back down on the bed for a few minutes. Just don’t think about it right now.

The farmer, if she could call herself that at this point, forced herself to walk to the kitchen. The windows were fogged up already just from Marnie walking about for a bit, and icy on the outside. Cara balled up a bit of fabric from her sweater in her fist and rubbed the window above the dirty kitchen sink. She only regarded it with a glance. At least I ate something warm yesterday. She looked out to the white landscape of the farm, at the brown pumpkins poking through the snow and the rotting fences. At least Shane was helping her with the animals. She could not have kept them alive without him.

Cara decided she wanted coffee. That was a good start. There were some coffee beans left in the machine, and she left the tap on for a few minutes to clear out the pipes and fill the water tank while she stared out at her near-abandoned farm. Then, it was a delight to have something warm in her hands. It didn’t even taste moldy.

She sat down on an armchair, and looked around the room. She hadn’t been able to throw out the other armchair yet, which sat lonely across her, mighty red. Haley hadn’t been her only guest, of course, people used to come over for tea. It was useless to hide, though, that she’d hoped the blonde girl would become its regular user. The thought sent a sharp pain through her chest, the farmer sipped at the coffee.

It hadn’t been that long yet, but it seemed that people had begun to fall back into their usual routines. Almost everyone. She hoped people were giving Emily and Alex the support they needed. They had spoken, the three of them, initially, eagerly helping with the investigation, looking through Haley’s room and walking around the places she used to go with metal detectors and brooms.

Emily broke first. She let the worst possibility take a hold of her mind, and it made her almost hysterical. Cara knew then that it was only a matter of time until everyone else gave up too. She was next, in fact. She didn’t break, no, she just… bent. She was embarrassed, ashamed, but when the numbness took over, she could not fight it anymore. She used to take Alex’s calls every day, listening to him about his daily trips to the beach in case… something… washed ashore. Or in case he found a clue in the sand. One day, they stopped too. It was Abigail who had told her he had left town to live in a rented apartment in Zuzu, leaving his grandparents behind to work at a fast food restaurant. He called sometimes, but they were devastated. At least they know where he is. That was the last straw for the farmer, and she finally retreated. Back into the old cold farmhouse, alone. Just don’t think about it right now.

She didn’t allow herself to admit it, but Marnie’s visit had brought a bit of life into her. She wondered if she had told that story to anyone else. Probably. It made her sad for Marnie.

Shaking her head to clear it, Cara let her mind focus on the upcoming Feast. She distantly thought about the fact there was probably someone she was expected to give a gift to, tonight. The thought made her head ache and her palms clammy, but there was something that pushed her to do it anyway. She couldn’t believe it – her Haley was missing, and she was thinking about a fucking feast. She shook her head again. Just don’t think about it. She was tired, so tired of being that way. Just for today.

┗━━━━━༻❁༺━━━━━┛

The boots felt heavy on her feet, the jacket smothering her with its unbearable thickness. It will only be a couple minutes. Inhaling, she turned the handle and opened the front door. Surprised, she realised someone, maybe Marnie, had cleared the steps of snow. Yes, it was probably dangerous to walk on when it was frozen. She felt embarrassed.

Slowly, carefully, she made her way to the letterbox beside her porch. Every step was both difficult and loud, an agonising crunch reaching the very depths of her head, mercilessly poking at her headache. She felt the screech of the metal deep in her teeth when she opened it, revealing tens of envelopes of different sizes, a couple of them blue. It was nice of Rasmodius to care, though he wasn’t very talkative.

Once back inside, Cara leaned against the door with a long exhale and kicked her boots off. The cold in her fingers was unbearable now, and a few letters dropped to the ground as she was stomping towards the living room table. She let them stay on the floor while she finally lit a fire in the red fireplace and stood in front of it with her arms extended, relishing in the warmth she hadn’t felt all winter. Her fingers began to tingle pleasantly. When they were back to life, she traced back and picked up the letters. One by one.

There was Abigail, checking up on her. Wishing her good luck. Asking about her health. Talking about the quartz she had found at the entrance of the mines. Cara remembered her first trip to the mines, before she reached the lower levels, when everything was wondrous and exciting. Now, it was all the same, and all boring.

There was Shane, writing about the animals. He had stopped coming over to the house when Cara had asked him to leave her alone. He had understood. He did his work silently, now.

There was Marnie, inviting her to come over. Cara supposed that invitation was cancelled once Marnie barged into her house earlier today. Uninvited. She couldn’t help but smile a bit. The warmth from the fireplace was doing its wonders.

Rasmodius, writing advice about spells that could help with mental wellbeing. A couple of amethyst shards. When had he become so invested?

Her parents, just one letter. Five hundred pieces of gold and kind regards. That was it. Cara didn’t mind.

Harvey. Evelyn. Gus. Caroline.

And there was Lewis, enclosing a thousand pieces of gold. He thanked her for her work in the investigation. There it was – her secret giftee was… Elliott. She supposed he was nice enough. Squid ink then, if my squids are still alive.

Cara suddenly felt tired. The warmth and the soft orange light had made the place cosier and she could feel her eyelids struggle against their weight. The last letter was still sitting on the table, untouched and, strangely, unlabeled. She felt a pang of annoyance at the people who had nothing better to do than send spam letters, coming through the valley in their ugly blue vans, desperately trying to gain customers from the valley ever since their Pelican Town shop was shut down. People rarely left the valley, and when they did, it wasn’t for something as trivial as JojaMart. Cara swallowed a lump in her throat. Just don’t think about it.

She had gotten this far. Her arm extended to grab the final letter and she turned it over in her hands. It was light, and the paper felt… quality. It was not like the spam she had previously received, but it was not from anyone in town, she knew, somehow. She almost felt bad tearing it open. Once her eyes landed on the peculiar handwriting, she squinted. It was beautiful, yet… eerie. She read it slowly, then quickly. Again and again. And every time, it made her more and more intrigued.

I see you've entered the Skull Cavern. Well done.

I've got a better challenge for you, kid. Make it at least 25 levels deep. I've got a mountain of $ to send if you can do it.

Your friend, Mr. Qi

[wildflowerteas]

hey, hello. i’m not sure if you’ll recognize me, but this is mania.sama on ao3, and i just now found your tumblr on my for you page. i havent had tumblr very long, and it’s surprised just how many people i’ve enjoyed works of (writing, drawings, etc) are here. especially surprised to see you — not in a bad way, of course!

i’m not sure what to say. sorry, maybe, for not reading / up to date with your current fic. i want to be reading it, i really do, but i was caught up reading “crime and punishment”, focusing on my academia, etc, among other issues that’s kept me away from committing to any long-form fanfictions. i wasn’t even reading one-shots or writing anything for a little while. hopefully i will be getting back onto your fic so, because from what little i’ve read already when you first posted it, it’s going to be life-changing.

i want to say more, i think. ask a question or two? i’m just very excited to see that your also drawing — amazing artwork for the second perspective!! i genuinely couldn’t believe it was real at first — and also a similar age to me, which i find nearly unbelievable due to your insane talent and skill.

hm. i think i’ll ask this question: what are your top favorite books? this could be fanfiction, short-form stories, novels, series, etc. you can list as many as you want; if they seem significant to you, have changed you, or were simply that well done and enjoyable. you dont need to treat this as a book recommendation; think not what other people should read. just express your own thoughts on why you have chosen these works as your favorite! i’m excited to see what you have to say (should you chose to answer, of course!)

again, hopefully i will read the second perspective soon <3 thank you so much for all the work you’ve done so far.

OH MY GOD IT'S YOUUU !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! I'm going to start this off by saying you quite literally changed my life. I go back from time to time and I read our little conversation in my comments threads and I get a little teary-eyed ( embarrassingly ). You gave me such a different perspective on my own writing and I've spent a while wishing there was something I could do to make you feel the same way in return. Do NOT apologize for not reading it!!! I'm absolutely in awe and so grateful you enjoyed the first one so much and if you enjoy TSP too that would actually make my head spin. Also, we're the same age?????? Hello?????? I'm so glad to hear about your life in the interim, though. I hope you enjoyed Crime and Punishment ( isn't it so good??? ). Also, you briefly mentioned writing yourself, so I may have to go back and stalk your profile for your works now.

Hmmm . . . to answer your question. This is pretty difficult because I've loved a lot of books over the years for nothing specific at all ( some of them are quite ridiculous if I'm being honest ). But here goes nothing:

When I was little ( maybe three-four ish? ), I loved Tumtum & Nutmeg, a series about a mouse couple living inside of a refurbished cupboard, because the books always came with recipes at the back ( that I would make for my family ). When I think about reading/my favorite books when I was a child, I always go back to this blurry rose-colored vision of me sitting on the couch at seven a.m., Tuesday morning, waiting to go to school, and talking my mother's ear off about the pastries in the book while Planet Earth plays on the TV. Lately, though, I've enjoyed reading Breasts and Eggs by Kawakami Mieko. Which, for a lot of reasons, has deeply resonated with me and kind of ruined my life. Womanhood in Japan, and womanhood in general, is dissected so well and explored with a lot of different character perspectives. It's just an incredible work and deeply personal to me as a queer, Japanese, and afab person. Empire of Pain, which was recommended to me by a friend, has become one of my favorite books as well. I've never really done well with non-fiction, but reading about the Sacklers definitely changed that. No Longer Human, and School Girl by Dazai Osamu. NLH I read in a school context ( Japanese language-learning classes ) and I wasn't really allowed to love it because of that ( who likes required reading? ). But I went back to it a few years later, when I was really struggling mentally, and it became something to me that I can't quite name or place. Not really a comfort. I'd actually say it was more of a wake-up call to teen me that actually prompted me to seek out help and rip down the fourth wall I'd put up between myself and others. School Girl I love for more technical reasons. Dazai really was a once-in-a-century talent. Poor Folk, by Fyodor Dostoevsky, was my reading-for-enjoyment book during spring semester of my first year at college. I loved a lot about it, but it's on this list because I'm emotionally attached to the characters because we were together for so long. On a less serious note: Bungo Stray Dogs ( Obviously, despite whatever Asagiri is cooking up) and Yona of the Dawn by Kusanagi Mizuho. Next to BSD, it's one of the manga I've been a fan of for over a decade, and I just could not imagine my life without it. Flowers for Algernon. I read this . . . oh gosh. Years ago. And I never reread it. That's all I'll say about that. Kira-Kira by Cynthia Kadohata. Again, a Japanese author ( there would be more, but I'm keeping myself contained here ) who would have thought? I think, by now, it's pretty clear I'm Japanese myself. Kira-Kira ( a Japanese onomatopoeia/mimetic word meaning 'sparkling' ) was a tearjerker, yes, but it also made me look out into the world and at my own identity with a much kinder lens. I fell in love with my own name ( which is the mimetic word for 'smile' --- niko-niko ) all over again. And I think, for that, it makes the list.

Honestly, I'm not sure these are my favorites. They're just the ones that come to my mind when I think about reading and liking literature in general. I'm sure if I was an English major or a CompLit major ( or if I was feeling particularly pretentious today ), I'd have more to say about them in terms of actual 'quality' or about their themes, but I don't.

I also want to say thank you so much for reaching out and asking this!! it's been so fun ( especially since I just got done writing a mind-boggling mess of a chapter for TSP hehe ). I really enjoyed talking to you the first time around and now that you're here on tumblr!!! I hope we can interact more I'd really love to be friends :,) <3 tysm agh. I hope you're having the loveliest of days. niko <3

[ssscreamingwrites]

DraftDash Intro

hi hi hi! i'm joining this writing challenge where you spend fifteen minutes just writing. for this, i'm focusing on two different wips:

The Eyes That Haunt & The Ghost That Bleeds. a fanfiction one-shot of an interactive fiction that i used to adore called the war for the west. the planning of said fanfiction has been in my drafts for a while and i've mostly forgotten the entire plot of the IF itself, so i've been developing and adding my own things. i still label it as fanfiction because that was the starting point and focuses on one of the 'main' characters from the IF, though he'll largely be OOC / seen through my interpretation since... i don't remember much and am pretty sure he did not have much screen time. i ultimately want to finish this because i want to get back to being able to write one-shots or short storied while having fun. i've been a writing drought for years now, and i'm eager to actually write and complete my creative projects instead of just daydreaming about it!

My Lady, an interactive fiction made for the queer vampire jam and technically would be my first foray in IF (do not look at running from elysium, the entire reason this blog exists, because i'm reworking the lore / worldbuilding on it since... forever. teehee). i'm still largely brainstorming the idea and the title is still a work in progress. but the main idea is that you'll play as handmaiden who has been brought along with your lady to her new home, where she is arranged to marry a vampire. the story is largely planned to be a w|w story with your lady as the main love interest. as her closest confidant, you have the ability to advise, comfort, and influence the decisions she may or may not make as both of you try to survive in this new and fairly hostile environment. the story's inspiration draws from dracula's brides (a dowry of blood by S. T. Gibson, to be specific) and love the guard, be the king (it's a good game, i recommend you check it out!).

okay, that's it! sorry for the large slab of text. i hope you found them a teeny bit interesting. i'm hoping to finish up both projects in january (especially the first one) and hope that by the end of january, i find it easier to set aside time and just go at it in writing!

[abarbaricyalp]

Hey! I absolutely adore your fanfics and I've started to come up with ideas for my own fics but somehow I'm stuck at actually writing them down in a fully formed version, I just have vague plot ideas and moments I want to happen in the fic but actually transforming it into a fanfic feels impossible to me -- I have a few lines here and there written out, but those are just tiny scenes. Maybe I just lack the creative drive and I'm simply not a writer. Still, I wanted to ask, do you have any advice for anyone who wants to get into fanfic writing? Where do you draw inspiration from?

Thank you so much for such kind words! I'm so glad my stories resonate with you! ❤️ And it's so exciting to hear that you're venturing into your own story making 🎉🎉🎉🎉

I've been thinking about this question since I saw it and I think my answer boils down to "you have to train your brain to be open and be thinking constantly." (Of course, by constantly, I don't mean you have to be taxing and straining yourself every single moment) Being a writer feels like a full time job (or hobby!) sometimes because my brain is always going. Does that streetlight inspire something? Is that weird tree a candidate for a new character? Was that joke funny enough to use in a fic? Do I wanna set something in an antique store just to include this weird timelessness vertigo I have? I'm gonna take a picture of that "cow crossing" road sign to use later.

I have been writing for as long as I can remember. I have distinct memories of being five years old and squirreling away stories in drawers all over the house. I've always been a voracious reader. My inner voice never stops. And my imagination has always been stronger than my attention span 😄 All of this to say, it feels like stories come pretty naturally to me, but that's because I've been making them up my whole life. I'm very sorry if this is not so helpful.

One starting point I've often come back to (even as a long time writer) is to WRITE stories the way you TELL stories. How do you talk to your family or friends when you're recounting an event? That's telling stories. How would you explain something you saw to someone taking a statement? That's telling stories. How do you recap an episode of TV or a book you read? That's telling stories. Sure, it's not as flashy and verbose as some written fiction, but it's still telling stories. And you may find that that is a voice you relate to as you're writing. Plenty of authors have a straight forward style. The more you stretch that story telling muscle, the more likely you are to find the rhythm of the story and your voice. If you're finding it difficult or daunting to write down a whole idea at once or you can't find the link between A and D, write down how you would describe it to someone. Nothing ever has to be a final draft, certainly not a first draft.

Similarly, start small. I can't tell you how many of my stories began as single lines of dialog or a quick scene image. It's totally fine to write 50, 100, 200, 300 words because that small aspect interested you. (It's fine to post that! If that's all you want to say or share about it!) I have a whole file of small moments like that, which I go through every now and then to see if the rest of the story has found me yet. Quite often, I think you may find that as you sit with a line or an image for a while, something else is going to slot into place. Maybe not the exact next line, maybe just a plot idea, maybe a character dynamic or new relationship. Let these things come to you. Or write down your idea and then just keep typing, even if it makes no sense. Writing is kind of like fishing sometimes. I just keep casting my hook out and waving the pole around until it catches on something. (You know, how normal people fish) Inspiration is important, but it's not the be-all and end-all of writing. Unfortunately, it's usually just the bait on the line. Writing can be a bit of work. You have to put in the effort after an idea grabs you and you have to keep writing on your own. There is, unfortunately, no divine delivery most of the time.

Inspiration is one of those things that you have to train your brain for. (Seems counterintuitive, I know) But hear me out: in any given day, an author will experience the same sights, sounds, news, movies, songs, and phenomena that every else around them does. Any of those things can trigger you into saying, "wait, this could be a story." I have plenty of posts on here where I talk about AUs based on movies or songs or video games because at the moment it struck me that this situation could be repurposed for a fic or a story. Interacting with other art in the world and learning to recognize tropes, emotional triggers, arcs, plots, conflicts etc etc and then how to play with and break them is definitely one way to train yourself to be open to Inspiration and new ideas.

Once you do have an idea, write it down. I promise you will not remember it, no matter how cool it was. Keep some paper or a designated notes app for these things. Be as thorough or vague as you like. I have so many random lines, character names, AUs, plots, and images saved. Ponder these things, especially if you're really grabbed by one. Think about what you would like to see with it. Who else is filling out the space? What is the end goal? Writing is full of big questions that may be answered easily, may need to be forced through, or may need to sit back and rest for a moment. I wish I had better advice here, but it really is just that sitting with your inspiration for a while can help your ideas so much, especially if you're stuck. Ideas want to talk to you. They (you) just need to find the words.

So inspiration doth strike. Now what? Like I said, now is the work. A whole fic will likely never come to you all at once. Take what you know of the fic-- your lines, your images, your trope etc-- and write them out. Then begin making the connective webs inbetween. This where the verbal story telling comes in. Quick lines often blossom into full scenes. Even if they don't, no biggie. You're learning the story here. You're getting to know it. You wouldn't expect to understand a person fully upon just meeting them. I've even created outlines before with my big ideas, then just kept getting more specific in the subheadings until much of the full plot was there and waiting.

This takes practice. Finding (and trusting) your creative voice is a skill that can be worked out the same as any muscle, but you do have to put in some hard work with slow results. Don't be afraid to backspace or go in a different direction. I can't tell you how many of my stories were supposed to be one thing but ended up going in a completely different direction to great results. Tell It To The Bees was supposed to be a quick, goofy Three (or five) And One story about Bucky getting caught talking to the bees, very silly and light, but once I started writing it, it became such a different story and I think it's so much better for it. Inspiration, imagination, interest, and desire are all working in tandem (or fighting) as you write. Along with learning to be open to inspiration, you must also learn to listen to these instincts as you write. Which really just takes practice and trust. I'm sure you are already in tune with these things inside of you. Let them roam as you write too.

It sounds like your creative voice is awake and kicking! Now it's just about putting in work-- pay attention to the world and art around you, write often and badly and slowly and smally, and figure out what connective webbing looks like for you. Stories really are living things. You have to give them the space, attention, resources, and love to grow, and you have to help them along. Don't be discouraged that you're just beginning this journey but can't sprint to the finish line right now. Writers are also living things, who need space, attention, resources, and love to grow 😊 Just keep writing and taking risks and you'll see a pay off.

Oh! And READ! READ EVERYTHING. Creativity rarely grows in a vacuum. You have to see good art to make good art. You won't know what possibilities are unless you're out seeing what other people are doing. A certain turn of phrase, a camera movement, character interactions, descriptions, these all can inspire you or just give you the knowledge and confidence to grow as a writer. Read everything you want, watch everything you like, listen to music and pay attention to the lyrics or the instrumentals, devour podcasts and news stories, go to art museums and make up stories to go along with the pictures. The whole world is there to teach you and help you grow.

[catgirl-yeji]

this shapeshifting vessel is a lie

hi and welcome to my corner of the internet. this blog is still under construction until I can add my about page ( did you know that you have to personally ask support to be allowed to use a page code with javascript in it? :)) well, you do now ) so beware of the construction tape!

I'm Autumn or Faon, I use they/them pronouns and I was born '95. ticked about all the boxes on the queer registration form and I'm currently in a queerplatonic poly relationship. central european & white. future linguistics & politics student, and plant parent. I really adore vampires and I write original and fan fiction, as well as poetry. I speak german and english, and I'm studying french, korean, japanese and finnish. lover of bats, snakes, horsies, deer and cats, as well as sharks. 🦈 I sometimes draw cat ears or fangs onto idols and actors ( see: my icon ), if you'd like me to make you an icon, drop me a DM.

my hyperfixations and interests change over time — yes, it was a phase, mom! name a constant state of being, mom! — and I change my username every two or so years. currently I'm really into the quantum leap spin-off, the motherland: fort salem show, and I'm watching a couple of k-dramas and such at the side. I play baldur's gate 3, stardew valley and control, but also 2064: read only memories.

I was very active in the shadowhunters and the dragon age fandom as well an 00q shipper. I will reblog every single gif of spirit - stallion of the cimarron, it's my childhood movie;; also, Jin Oshiro from STRAY (2019) deserved better, thank you for your attention.

you may know me as leafmiilk, taehdenveri, fliederfuchs or thetevinterelf — and most recently @catboy-jaebeom ! 🌺

tumblr veteran and survivor of the mishapocalypse. I've been renting this space ( occupying, maybe, rather? skjsdlkgs it's not like I pay rent ) since 2012, and trust me when I say: this website is a hellsite, but it's our hellsite, so, I'll stay until the last person switches off the lights, probably. >< a lot of other social media networks just never grew on me quite like tumblr.

I have two sideblogs worth noting: @splittergheist, my writing blog where I post short stories and poems irregularly, and my secret and private miscecanis / omegaverse blog ( a lot more interested in the world-building, concept and lifestyle than the smut, but no hate! ) that I may give out if you ask nicely and privately. also, if you're interested in some tumblr rp, you can message me as well, I have an OC blog for that. 🐰

that said, I tag my posts extensively, so if you need me to tag something, you can shoot me an ask and I'll try to tag specific things for you! please be nice in my inbox or I'll simply delete your ask and block you. 💛 oftentimes I'll message you privately when you send me an ask that doesn't seem like it should be answered publicly ( unless you've sent it on anon ofc ) and while I do answer tag games, I'm too anxious to tag ppl myself unless we're like super close, sorry ><

I track #faon.tagged. if you make ( especially kpop ) content you think I'd like ( itzy, got7, nct & wayv but especially ten, xiaojun and yuta, red velvet, shinee, svt but especially joshua, mingyu and dk, skz but especially hyujin and felix, but also others! ) you can use this tag, I'm always happy to reblog pretty gifs and support you guys, you're the backbone of our and any community.

relevant kpop stuff can be found under the cut, as well as some 'reviews' my lovely mutuals wrote for me ( if you like to leave a review, hit me up in my DMs! ) thank u, ily 💚🌼

and thank you everyone else for reading this, may your days be bright, I think we could all use that at the moment;; I'd super love new ppl to talk to ( pls have your age or an approximate in your bio! while I'm fine with talking to minors, I'd like to know beforehand if I do ), so message me!!

kpop stuff

ult group: got7

other groups I like: nct 127, itzy, wayv, shinee, red velvet, seventeen, oneus, ...

soloists I adore: xia / kim junsu, taemin, ...

biases: lim jaebeom & choi youngjae; nakamoto yuta & xiaojun; kang seulgi; hwang yeji & lee chaeryeong; joshua hong & lee seokmin; choi minho & lee taemin; kim leedo & lee seoho; park seonghwa & jeong yunho; kanemoto yoshi; ...

wreckers: mark tuan & kim yugyeom; ten lee; kim mingyu & lee woozi; kang yeosang & song mingi; shin ryujin; ...

for as long as xitter still exists, I can be found under jaebueomgi.

blog reviews

@meant-to-be-a-hero wrote on november 22nd:

Shall I compare Autumn's blog to a summer's day? I shall not, because I am not a hack. Equal parts language jokes, kpop boys (and girls, but I don't look at those) and #bitter millennial blogging, there's something for everyone here at Autumn's blog. They are also one of the few people who still write funky things in the tags, a true dying breed on Tumblr. I feel like I'm reviewing a restaurant or something. Either way, click follow, thank me later, because you will. It's a good blog, Bront.

— ★★★★★(★★) [ 7 out of 5 ]

@klutenpetter wrote on november 22nd:

It seems I have misplaced the URL of the blog in question that I was supposed to review.

— ★★★★★ [ 5 out of 5 ]

[blorbology]

The other day I was thinking about the fact that I've been told my longer fics are written in a fairly unique way. While I view this observation as neither negative nor positive (it is what it is), I thought it might be interesting to dig into that particular topic more.

I feel like writing style works similarly to artistic style: you tend to come into your own eventually after enough practice and work at your craft. I couldn't actually cite a specific writer as inspiration for my writing style (or "voice" I suppose), but I also tend to not want to mimic prose styles—not even the ones I like the most. Because of this, even my earliest "writing voice" would probably feel somewhat familiar to anyone used to my work.

It feels weird to say I've always had a stable writing voice, but that's more or less the truth for me. I've bettered it over the years (versus finding it the way some do), but I think I've always felt secure in what I had. It probably helped that the old days of FFN gave me hundreds of reviews on 'fics and a lot of encouragement.

A long time ago, I saw a piece of fanart I really liked, and sought to redraw it in real life. This was the early 2000s, maybe 2002 or 2003. It was an MLP fanart of...I want to say Glory and Baby Glory (from the 80s), and I redid it on a huge piece of paper I'd taken from my school's art room. I busted ass to replicate the piece. It was a great replica, actually, and I posted it online, eager to share my hard work. I'm sure you can imagine what happened! The community recognized the source immediately and was annoyed with me. They scolded me for copying an artist, explained why that wasn't a good idea, and I never did it again. (I felt stupid but I realized that day that nobody cared how well I could replicate someone else's hard work; people wanted to see my spin on the idea.)

After that, I always had my own very recognizable style of art and I didn't seek to recreate the work of others, even if I liked it a lot. I just started drawing what I wanted how I wanted to do it—in my own style.

While I found many things to like about the prose of friends and published authors, I never tried to mimic someone else's prose wholesale. I've never even been tempted by it; writing like someone else feels so incredibly unnatural; I'd sooner give up writing entirely than tell my stories the way someone else would.

That said, this post isn't really about writing "voice" so much as the specific way I tend to tell stories, though I do think actual writing style factors in here, and I'll get to that in a second.

My favorite genre of fiction for a good number of years was historical "inspirational" fiction. You may laugh if you wish, but I grew up in a very strict Christian household, and...frankly there wasn't much literature to choose from. My mom loved doing "daily devotions" and at some point, on the recommendation of someone else, she started reading us "Love Comes Softly" by Janette Oke. All four of us kids really loved it. We memed the hell out of it and to this day we have at least one in-joke based on it. It was part of a long book series, and eventually I read them all. This book tackled a surprising amount of issues, including domestic violence, and had a great trope that I still adore: a marriage of convenience.

I was obsessed with Janette Oke's books after that. Roses for Mama, The Bluebird and the Sparrow, A Bride for Donnigan, the four-book seasons series, and They Called Her Mrs. Doc. There were plenty more, but those were some of the most iconic to me.

If you didn't know, the very specific subgenre of Historical Inspirational Romance Fiction (can I call it HIRF?) tends to read similarly across the genre. Some novels play up the romance a little more, some the relationships between the characters, some the faith aspect, but generally speaking these books tend to have predictable elements. The male lead usually has a bestie he's emotionally vulnerable and open to. The female lead's friends, siblings, and/or other family members are important to her and play a role in the story. These stories tend to feature or utilize animals. There is almost always a focus on relationships overall, in every story. In Roses for Mama a family of four is orphaned and the oldest two siblings raise the youngest two and run the farm. The primary relationships are between the four siblings and their friend group(s). The challenges of "parenting" siblings are here. Kids tend to act like kids in these books too. There are huge varieties in the ages of characters and some young women have best friends who are decades older than they are. Some of these writers are very serious too about being accurate regarding the places they're writing about (coal towns full of immigrants who are mistreated by the coal companies for example).

The first book I loved was I'll Always Love You by Hans Wilhelm. The Velveteen Rabbit also holds a place in my heart.

Relationships are ALWAYS at the core of everything I write these days. I love exploring how people affect the world around them. I like to write about the complexities of sibling relationships and friendships over the years. I love history and how "the times" impacted the way relationships worked. HIRF was foundational to me as a reader and a lot of those elements are things I have chosen to carry with me. Everything I write is about a character journey more than it's about anything else.

Yes, I want to write about the blorbos in situations, but these situations are a means to an end. I want the situation to happen but I want to explore every facet of how it affects the blorbos.

Dumping a baby on Raine in Break Open the Sky was a way to explore a character trying to do the right thing but feeling completely overwhelmed by it. It was about breaking cycles and doing better for the next generation. It was about choices, about how difficult they can be to make even when they're selfish. And it was about learning to trust and love while finally having a place and the safety to begin healing from trauma. The baby was the means to that end—a plot vehicle, yes, but hopefully she didn't feel that way because she had her own needs and impacted the story right to the very end.

I think my particular writing style, my "voice" if you will, lends itself well to this particular type of slow-burn character-study-esque storytelling. I try to hit a middle ground with descriptions and write a lot of engaging dialogue. I try to write people being people without being too sparse or detailed. Both sparse and detailed writing have their places and genres they do really well in, but in the very weird subgenre of writing I've nestled into I do think my voice tells the story to satisfaction.

As to what subgenre I'm writing in... I honestly don't know what to call it. It's like HIRF in spirit, but I tend to substitute more "adult" themes for the romance and have less or no focus on religious faith (though it depends on the characters). I don't actually think there's a name for it, though of course if someone has a name for it, I'd be happy to learn what it is. In the meantime I'll just consider what I write to be HIRF-adjacent.

[seraphlet]

welcome ; this is an M/M original writing blog and contains explicit sexual and violent content. minors DNI. my work can be found on my ao3, seraphet (my url without the L).

mostly writing and writing-related rambling with some other things here and there. focused on both one-offs as well as some larger novel-length (or longer) stories and associated worldbuilding. i write original content, though it isn't impossible that i may write a fanfic someday. i also draw.

my writing tends to focus on disturbing themes including dub/non-con, gore and violence, snuff/necrophilia (this is a heavy but not exclusive focus), trauma, brother or cousin incest, teratophilia, etc. please examine all tags and associated warnings before reading. i try to tag for common triggers.

below the cut is my project status (current & upcoming works). thank you for reading.

currently writing: tentatively titled altricial, a three-chapter story about a world where angels are domesticated and used as livestock/pets to make way for the next servants of a new god. heavy on mutilation, wound fucking, non-con, degradation, dehumanization/objectification, psychological torture, and most likely eventual snuff/necrophilia, because i'm predictable. testing grounds for my new interest in halo breaking as a kink.

up next: untitled story i've been calling human pet as a jokey way to refer to it, a novel-length project set in a world i've been building for a while now. my first foray into exploring this setting, but not my only intended project there. erotic early/mid-1800s (ish) political intrigue with blood-drinking eldritch magical girls/boys, but mostly focused on how a prince goes from a beloved political figurehead to the human pet of his mentor/father figure thanks to his own hubris. (a failed coup, that is.) non-con, degradation, dehumanization/objectification, drugging, loss of self, and probably a bunch of other stuff, but most likely light to minimal on the physical violence compared to my usual.

very nebulous brocon twincest fiction project not-so-tentatively titled milkthorn, where one of them shifts into a vicious beast. royalty or similar. gothic fantasy. the bestial brother is a 'living weapon' gone wrong. still figuring out. possibly some kind of occasionally-updated serial but we'll see where it goes. codependency, obsession, 'you and me against the world'. 'menace to society x horrified yet dysfunctionally attached lover'. a bit slow burny compared to my usual, following the gradual breakdown of their inhibitions with each other as well as ongoing plot events surrounding them simultaneously

on hold: luxuria, a psychological horror with erotic elements about a serial killer named julian who lives vicariously through his victims. he becomes captivated with theo, a much younger man who cannot die, and their relationship develops from there. snuff, necrophilia, but much more plot than porn. on hold at 36k words. will most likely be entirely restructured and rewritten if i continue with it.

[hunterguyveriv]

Taking an Indeterminate Break from Writing Until Furter Notice:

So, as many of my followers here know, I have been a writer of various fan fiction of various series, Guyver (mostly), Voltron, specifically Kacxa, a DOOM fan fic, and others. But it pains me to say that because of depression and grieving, I have lost all inspiration for writing and drawing over the last year. I have lost interest in my favorite sport Lacrosse which is also part of my cultural heritage, and other things I was passionate about. So until that inspiration hits me again, don't expect much from me in terms of fan fiction writing. I'm sorry, but at this moment, I'm out. I'll try to get motivated to post any writings I've been meaning to post over the last year and a half before things started to go downhill, but I make no guarantees.

(Picture taken December 2014) Last year, those who have followed me found out that my Grandfather, aged 92, passed away at the end of August after a long fight with cancer. Just recently, my Grandmother, aged 92 - who was also with him for over 70 years, passed away. Their passing hurts more than few could understand because they were the ONLY Grandparents I ever knew growing up. I never got to meet my maternal Grandmother because she passed away of Leukemia when my mother was around the ages of 16 to 18. And my maternal Grandfather only saw me, his ONLY grandson, a handful of times because he was an avid racist, and being a product of an interracial marriage, my parents didn't want me to have anything to do with him or his second wife.

We also lost a family pet due to cancer back in March (a family cat) who passed away in her sleep. But I am forced to face the possibility of losing another family pet, my Gimpy Goofy Good Girl, who we had since 2013. She was a rescue from a High-Kill shelter in one of the Southern states that we adopted from a No-Kill shelter when she was 5 or 6.

Walking is getting harder and harder for her, more so because she's been a tripod since 2019 due to surgery complications. The vet she sees gave us some pain meds to see if they will help make her comfortable, but we know that her remaining time is limited with us. I personally want her to pass in the comforts of home because, after the life she had before we got her, it is something she deserves. But I am prepared to say my "See you later," at the vets when it gets to that point.

Other familiar issues that I am not at liberty to talk about and issues with work have also killed my motivation to write. I try to put forth a strong appearance. Because of where I work, I try hard not to show a change. Some have noticed and offered condolences, while others just seem to not care one bit that one of their department managers is going through some stuff to ask, "Is everything alright?"

I am trying to roll with the punches, I am trying to get myself to be passionate about writing again, but until I feel like myself again I may not free-form another fan-fiction story or an original Kaiju story Ive been wanting to write for a while.

[laerien]

Redownloaded this app out of pure impulse. At least that's what I'm telling myself.

In truth, I'm navigating through a hell of a shame complex, and I've come up with every excuse over the past fifteen years to not let myself heal. I'm willing to bet this isn't a rare occurrence for other children who felt most alive submerging themselves in fictional universes to make up for the lack of pivotal human connection based in reality. I added to the criticism of mega fans and "tumblr girls" because I thought it would clear my name in the eyes of people I wanted to impress (which, in reality, at my lowest, was basically anyone). I bathed in the criticism until it became part of my subconscious, so when I would inevitably open an Incognito Google tab to binge breathtaking fanfiction or incredible fan art like the depraved child/teenager/adult I was (which was so much of my own twisted doing), I stalled out.

The cycle of letting these preconceived notions inform (taint) my view of things I genuinely enjoyed continues, but I'm actively trying to heal now. I'm recently going through a long term breakup that encompassed my entire adulthood years, and I've been nothing short of forced to get to know myself again. The person I'm relearning really wants to share her love for fandoms without filtering her enthusiasm for the sake of who she think may accept her.

So I've spent the past several months leaning into that, but I'll admit I've got a long way to go. I've caught up on so many animated Star Wars shows, for example, that I've put off because of my venomous preconceived notions (and an ex who claimed to be a fan but, like many things in our failed relationship, didn't match actions to words). I've started commenting on AO3 works that are fucking incredible without the fear that someone in reality will find out my psued and call me out (though, I admit, I still use Incognito mode because I'm not quite ready to defend myself in the imaginary court room that makes complete sense in my head). I started drawing fan art that I'm pretty damn proud of (but still working my way to sharing it). And I restarted writing - mostly character studies and explorations of grief and love and life, but a nice nod to my unpublished Pearl Harbor fanfiction story (that I hand wrote a page a day for for 123 days straight when I was 14, then typed it all out, edited it, then made six alternate endings for, then changed names and made an original prequel story - something I clearly never revealed to anyone but look at me go!). I've also read a whole book in 4 days, something I haven't done since I started despising book reading due to the pressure of the academic system a decade ago. I could go on and on about it - and I probably will in another post - but Star Wars: Dark Disciple's depiction of the dark side is not unlike this shame complex I'm carrying on about. And, boy, do I love my eyes being opened like that.

So while I can't promise I'll stay long this time, this is something 14 year old me craved but could never admit. Like I said, I've got a lot to work on (I logged in and saw an unread message from 2017 from someone I went to college with and immediately blocked them in fear of them - who I haven't spoken to in years and has been nothing but kind and supportive of my fandoms - calling me out, I guess?). But I want to celebrate how wonderful these fictional worlds are with people, so I've got to get over this fear that I'd be found out and taken away from it forever.

I've got so many incredible people on the internet to thank, and I plan to. I've found comfort at my lowest points over the past decade and a half because others had the courage I had lacked: to share their feelings. Sounds silly put that simply, but what's wrong with that?

[yourheartonfire]

I don't know if you like to answer questions, so feel free to ignore. But I was wondering how much research you do for your writing, and what your methods are

I ask because you are SO GOOD at using the right terms and jargon for a character's background/identity. You sound like you're writing from firsthand experience every time, even though you've written characters in dozens of different careers

Writing from a perspective different from your own is incredibly hard, and I'm always floored by how well you do it

Why thank you!

I actually really love jargon and that's why a lot of my writing tends to feature it.

The first really great piece of writing advice I ever got in my life was from the acting teacher at my junior high musical theater camp. He spent the summer coaching us that basis of great character work started with building out a detailed understanding of their daily life. His example was when he played an orderly in One Flew Over the Cuckoos Nest, and he had to count meds correctly onstage every night because that's what his character was focusing on. (We were 11 year olds doing The Sound of Music, btw. I think about that man a lot.)

This advice has gone into every character I build since. Because I've been doing this a while, I tend to collect this kind of information. I'm always keeping an ear out for something interesting I didn't know or some inside bit of knowledge I can use - and the fun thing about Tumblr is I can use it immediately. Sometimes I pick things up in fiction or even in fanfiction (all the newsroom jargon my reporter/villain series is based entirely on this incredible Arthur/Eames Inception fanfiction.) But most of what I get comes from non fiction.

For quick research I really love the YouTube video genre of "expert critiques movies about their expertise". I watched this while I was writing the safe cracker story - my snippet is pure word salad but I got the right words.

For bigger pieces there's no better research material than a first person memoir. If a reporter wrote it, it has to be a reporter who fully embedded in the lifestyle, not someone who kept their distance.

I read non fiction for fun as well as for research. This year I've read about the Harlem Renaissance, becoming a certified sommelier, how to build a 12th century castle, and about Timbuktoo archivists fighting to preserve medieval African manuscripts. Some of this may eventually surface in what I write, but even if it doesn't it feels good to pursue things I'm curious about.

Lastly, I'd be remiss not to point out - I'm old, and that comes with a hefty chunk of life experience to draw on. I'm on a second career in my fifth company. I'm married. I've traveled. I've lost people, found people, I've played a lot of dungeons and dragons. Again, you wont necessarily use all this in your work, but just on its own merits getting old is great - I highly recommend it.

Hope this is helpful!