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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 16 days

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The Current event makes me smile since it kind of confirms a headcanon I had that the Great Seven have animated movies based on them. Makes me wonder about the plot of the movies

Disney should get on the Twisted Wonderland AU Animated Remakes. What is Ursula was a good witch, what if Scar was right to take the throne and did he take it from Mufasa? (Or whoever is the stand in for him)

The Evil/Beautiful Queen...actually GOOD?

Yeah, it makes sense! Since the Great Seven are historical figures and the stuff of legends, surely there would be popular media made in their image. It’s like how the Disney fairy tales borrow from stories in the public domain or how there are historical retellings and reinventions (Hamilton, anyone?).

I believe TWST has mentioned films based on their own stories and history before too, but purely in the animated sense rather than live action. In book 3, Ace and one of the Atlantica Museum guards talk about an animated movie based on the tale of the mermaid princess and her prince; this movie is said to have come out ~30 years ago, which corresponds with Disney’s animated The Little Mermaid. Ace compliments the movie’s soundtrack too way to stroke your own ego, Disney/j.

Later on in Tapis Rouge, the characters discuss other films based on the Great Seven, including one Queen of Hearts movie. A Sea Witch movie is also mentioned; in it, she “goes gigantic” and also sings as she brews potions. The Octatrio quite enjoy this particular film.

(Side note: I don’t have the link for it anymore since it’s such an old post, but another anon once suggested to me that people probably also write fanfics of Neige and Vil since they’re celebrities… Think like “My mom sold me to One Direction?!” Wattpad kinds of fics, but replace One Direction with Vil or something.)

It’s… interesting this event specifically has Vil promoting a live action adaption of an in-universe animated film about the Beautiful Queen—an animated film which was the first full-color animated movie AND it originally released close to 90 years ago. They also reference the funding issues that Disney suffered while producing Snow White + inviting bank employees in to preview the movie to acquire more investments, stating that the studio that made the animated Beautiful Queen experienced the same. The in-game live action is even slated to come out “NEXT YEAR”. They’re not being subtle here with TWST’s references to their own version of the irl Disney Snow White (the live action is coming out in 2025, the OG is also almost 90 years old, etc.). I wonder if the EN server will actually get Tapis Rouge around the time of the irl release of Disney’s live action Snow White as part of a promotional campaign? 😂

UPDATE: There are even more not-so-subtle references to Disney animations in part 4 of the event, including discussion of cel animation, rotoscoping, adding blush to the characters, and how Disney brought in real animals/observed the “real thing” to help with animating similar scenes or subjects. They also cheekily say that most animation nowadays is CG 💀

I know some books under Disney publishing try to show alternate tellings or show the villains in a more sympathetic light, but I don’t know that they would ever commit to fully animating a film like that. It definitely would not happen in the style of traditional animation, Disney no longer seems well-equipped to handle that task 😔 I feel like it would also be pretty niche or might not get overwhelming positive reception with recent audience calls for “true bad guys” instead of twist or sympathetic villains (though I’m not sure what percentage of people watching Disney actually have this opinion).

I do wonder how those “AU” films would work though…? It wouldn’t be as simple as suddenly turning the G7 into “good guys”. The scenario and other characters would also have to drastically change. TWST doesn’t necessarily make the original “good guys” “bad” in a world where the villains are historical figures; we still hear plenty of positive or neutral stories about the achievements of the mermaid princess and other Disney heroes.

There are also times when the same story diverges into multiple separate stories that seemingly have no connection to one another. For example, there is a story where a princess marries a street rat (clearly referencing Aladdin) and they live happily ever after in spite of the difference in their social statuses. However, there simultaneously exists a story in which the Sorcerer of the Sands saves a princess from being deceived by a fake prince (also referencing Aladdin). The same goes for the mermaid princess (Ariel)—there is both a story referring to a “mermaid princess” who married a human prince and also a different story (clearly still pulled from the same film) about a mermaid who made a deal with the Sea Witch to find true love but broke her contract in the end.

Very cool idea, just not sure where it would lead or it it’s feasible or worth it monetarily for Disney.

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daydreamtofiction · 10 months

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Malicious Compliance // Surgeon Strange x Reader

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Summary: After a brief meeting with the world renowned neurosurgeon Doctor Stephen Strange, he plans to make you his latest conquest. He’s only interested in one thing, but that’s okay, because so are you. (female reader)

Word Count: 4.6K

Warnings: Strong language, explicit sexual content, pre-sorcerer Strange (arrogant, cocky). Smut: no strings attached, dominance & praise, oral sex (receiving), light choking, unprotected sex (sort of?). Readers must be 18+

A/N: Just a quick lil oneshot for you all. I literally thought of this today and the whole thing poured out of me in one sitting lmao. I like it though, hope you guys do too!

His eyes are glaciers. Cold, hard, yet always moving. They flit towards the window, sunlight turning them the crispest blue, then back down to the notebook on the table in front of him. They warm slightly when he looks over to Doctor Palmer, roll languidly whenever Doctor West speaks. But in the end, they always seem to settle back on you.

He’s as hubristic as you’d expected; leant back in his chair, elbows on the armrests, taking up as much space as his body will allow. He corrects a colleague when they call him Stephen. It’s Doctor Strange, he says, voice so deep and rich it’s almost tangible.

He watches as you press your finger to the inner corner of your eye, trying to rub away the tired itch beginning to take root there. You wonder how offended he’d be if he knew you fell asleep reading one of his published papers last night, how you woke up in your hotel room this morning with your cheek pressed to page seventeen of The Strange Palmer Method. It would make his blood boil, you think, to know his work had been used as a pillow. You resist the urge to tell him.

Coffee burns the roof of your mouth. You wince and place the cup back down on the boardroom table, sift through the pile of papers in front of you as the room waits for you to speak again.

“Honey,” says Doctor Strange.

“I’m sorry?” you reply.

He points to your mouth. “It’ll help with that burn.”

You stare at him for a moment before shaking your head. “Oh I didn’t- It was just a little warmer than I expected. Thanks, though.”

The corner of his mouth curls and he turns to look down the length of the table, the flecks of silver at his temple catching in the light.

You clear your throat as you find the document you were looking for. “So, pending approval from the ABMS, we would like to roll out training for the Strange Palmer Method in all of our hospitals.”

“What about my new technique for stent placement?” asks Doctor West.

“Oh please, Nic,” Strange scoffs. “We’re talking about actual revolutionary surgical procedures here.”

Doctor West’s back straightens, you open your mouth to speak but he gets there first.

“Excuse me, my stent technique could drastically cut down the amount of time a patient’s brain is open on the table! Do you even realise-”

“Mhm, why don’t you go win some awards and make national news, then maybe we can talk.”

Doctor Palmer’s head falls into her hands as the other surgeons groan and shift uncomfortably in their seats. You’ve met your fair share of asshole surgeons in this job; travelling up and down the country stroking egos and exalting god complexes. But this man sitting across from you is, without a doubt, the victor of them all.

“The stent technique is very interesting,” you say, easing the tension in the room. “But we would need to see the results of a study or trial of some kind before taking it any further.”

“Very diplomatic of you,” says Strange.

“Not diplomatic. I just know a promising procedure when I see it.”

“Hm. Are you a doctor?”

Your gaze turns to a glare. “I am.”

“Where do you practice?”

“I don’t anymore. My job is to keep other doctors at the top of their game. Hence why I’m here right now with all of you.”

He’s almost smirking, head cocked slightly, twiddling a pen between his fingers. It’s fitting, you think, to see a surgeon take such pleasure in getting under people’s skin.

You hate that you find him attractive. That you’ve managed to fall victim to a charm buried so deep beneath layers of pure arrogance that you have to dig to find it. If he wasn’t so beautiful on the outside, you’re almost certain you wouldn’t bother fighting to find something redeemable within. But the way your body reacts to him; the warmth, the buzzing deep in your belly, it must be there.

The meeting finishes and you remain at the table, straightening the wad of papers in front of you and slotting them back into your binder as everyone filters out of the room. When you’re alone, you stand and walk to the large window, taking a moment to gaze out at the view. Your eyes skim New York City, admiring the blend of old and new; small stone buildings wedged between tall skyscrapers, the late afternoon sun glinting across metal and glass, pockets of green peppered amongst brick and mortar. You wish you got to come here more often.

You pick up your briefcase and drape your jacket over your arm as you make your way out of the boardroom. The corridor is bright and quiet, but the bustling of the hospital is a low hum. You close the door behind you and begin to walk, unfazed by the sight of a figure leaning against the wall up ahead.

His arms are folded over his broad chest, dark blue scrubs doing little for his tall, robust frame. His legs are crossed at the ankles as he rests his weight back against the wall, head stooped slightly, but his eyes are on you.

“Doctor Strange,” you say with a polite nod as you continue past him.

He smiles, allows you to pass, but you feel him move behind you.

“You don’t really think Doctor West’s procedure holds any merit?” he asks, catching up to walk at your side.

“I do.” You furrow your brow. “You don’t think there’s merit in improving the efficiency of existing surgeries?”

He shrugs. “Just not all that exciting when you compare it to what I’m doing.”

“You mean what you and Doctor Palmer are doing…”

There’s a chuckle deep in his throat, like he enjoys the back and forth, watching his opponents fight for their lives while to him it’s just a sparring match. He quickens his pace to slip in front of you, turning to face you and forcing you to halt in the middle of the corridor.

“Be honest,” he says. “You’re impressed.”

“Of course we’re impressed. Why else would the board have sent me here?”

“No I mean you, specifically.”

You glare up at him, hiding your amusement with an eye roll. “Yes, Doctor,” you say slowly, your words empty and biting. “I am very impressed.”

His cupid’s bow deepens as his lips curve into a self satisfied smile, lines forming in his cheeks and the corners of his eyes. He knows you find him infuriating, but it only seems to encourage him. There’s a moment of silence, long enough for his gaze to trail the length of you, just once.

“You know, I’d love to talk more with you about it,” he says, looking down at his obviously expensive watch. “Maybe over dinner. Have you eaten?”

You draw in a deep breath through your nose, letting it out in a sigh as you begin to speak. “I don’t need your superficial attempts to woo me, Doctor.” You reach into your briefcase and pull out a pen and a business card, scrawling on the back of it and handing it to him. “This is where I’m staying. Come by around eight.”

You’re certain he’s going to protest, pretend he actually wants to go to dinner, talk, that he was ever interested in anything that didn’t involve the removal of your clothes. You wait in suspense as his eyes flit down to the card in his hand, then back up to your face.

“I prefer to fuck in my own bed,” he says bluntly.

A wave crashes in your stomach, rushing down into your core, the sensation so strong and unexpected that your knees almost buckle. This isn’t the first time one of your work trips has ended in you going home with a surgeon, but the way this one doesn’t try to feign the ‘nice guy’, doesn’t pretend to want anything more from you than your body, that’s new.

“Unless I’m on vacation, of course,” he adds with a cocky smile.

“Of course…”

He flips the card over and plucks the pen from your hand. You watch as he scribbles on it and hands it back to you.

“So this is where I’ll be tonight,” he says. “You said eight works for you?”

You press your tongue to the inside of your cheek, unsure if you’ve ever met anyone as imperious as this. You slip the card into your pocket and move to walk past him, stopping as your shoulders brush and looking up at him.

“I hope your dick is as inflated as your ego.”

He smirks to himself, remaining quiet as you continue to walk away.

Your skirt is riding up your backside. You reach back to yank it down for the hundredth time before pressing the buzzer on the wall of the apartment building. The setting sun is just a glow beneath the horizon but the streets are still busy, the air warm with a pleasant breeze. You lean back to stare up at the building, the mirrored windows stretching so high you can’t see an end to them. You wonder which one is his.

There’s a scratching sound on the intercom, followed by a deep voice. “Yeah?”

“It’s me,” you say, glancing over your shoulders as if you’re on some kind of secret mission, scared of being seen.

He doesn’t speak again, instead there’s a quick buzz followed by the click of the heavy front door. You let yourself inside, heels clacking against the glossy marble floor as you hurry towards the elevators. When the doors slide open, you pull out your business card, punch in the floor number he’d scrawled in the bottom corner. It begins to ascend, making your already swirling stomach turn.

You pull down the back of your skirt again as you step out into the hall, peering down the length of it in search of his apartment. The door is tall and wide, dark timber and a heavy metallic handle. You knock but your knuckles barely make a sound, the dense wood swallowing the echo.

Still, he comes. You regard him quietly as you step inside, the snug sweater and tailored jeans, a pair of sneakers making you feel entirely overdressed. He’s already grinning; a smug, confident smile that reignites the ire in your chest. You ignore him and walk further in, eyes wide in awe at the vast, industrial space.

You walk over to the window that stretches the length of the apartment, floor to ceiling, wall to wall, framing a perfect snapshot of the city.

“Now I understand why you make the women come to you,” you say.

“Hm?”

“This place. It’s impressive.” You glance over your shoulder at him. “That’s the point, right? You like to impress. To show off.”

He laughs quietly and makes his way to the kitchen area, opening the extensive liquor cabinet. “You want something to drink?”

“I have rules,” you say abruptly, turning around to face him from across the echoey room.

He straightens. “Go on…”

“Nothing that happens here can be used for any type of professional leverage, good or bad, by either of us.”

“Of course-”

“This isn’t a date. I don’t spend the night, I don’t keep in touch, I don’t call when I’m back in town so we can do this again. This is just tonight. And it’s just sex. Understood?”

“Understood.” He returns to the cabinet and takes out a bottle. “So, about that drink…”

You’re already gone, wandering off through a door at the rear of the apartment in search of the bedroom.

You find it. It’s a dark, cave-like space, large curtains draped across another huge window, only the faintest glow of the sunset fighting through the fabric. It’s clinical, just as you’d expect from a surgeon; sleek furniture void of any clutter or knick knacks, exposed brick walls with the occasional piece of art - no photographs. There’s a full length mirror, a small couch, and a bed so large you could sink into it and disappear. You wonder just how many women have delved beneath those sheets before you.

He appears in the doorway, looking you up and down. “You’re eager, little one,” he teases.

You roll your eyes, watching as he closes the door behind him and approaches you. You reach up to touch him, to kiss him, but instead he takes your wrists in his hands and lowers them back to your sides.

“Mm, not yet.”

You scoff in dispute, eyes following him as he strolls across the room and switches on the wall sconces, illuminating the area above the bed in a dim, warm light.

“Look,” you say. “If you’re just going to mess with me then-”

“Well actually, after you left the hospital this afternoon, I got called to consult on a patient and ended up having to stay late. I just got home around fifteen minutes before you knocked on my door. So if you don’t mind, I would like to take a shower first. Is that alright with you?” he finishes sarcastically.

You settle down, composing yourself and relaxing your shoulders. “Of course.”

“Make yourself comfortable.”

He pushes open a door to the right and you catch a glimpse of the luxurious, marbled master bathroom as he steps inside. The door closes behind him, leaving you alone again. You stand there for a moment, listening to him whistling to himself, his belt buckle unfastening and hitting the floor. Water bursts from the shower, the sound like soft static, and you immediately rush over to the mirror.

You examine yourself carefully; fix your hair, press your nose to your skin and clothes, shift your underwear so it sits smoothly and undetectable beneath your skirt. Then you sit down at the foot of the bed, knee bouncing impatiently. You change your mind shortly after, moving to the small couch opposite the bed instead.

Ten minutes or so pass, but it feels like an eternity. You picture him drawing it out on purpose, working the lather into his skin one section at a time, scrubbing at his hair for much longer than necessary, just to make you sweat. The water shuts off and you listen to him singing to himself, the hum of his voice through the door. When the door finally opens, steam escapes into the bedroom, the rich smell of citrus and cedar filling the air as he walks out, still humming quietly.

You glance over at him, mouth falling open slightly to find him completely naked, your gaze falling immediately to the pronounced length hanging from his body as he pads across the room. You look away quickly, rolling your eyes and huffing with indignation. Of course he’s naked, you think, he likes to spar, and you’ve willingly stepped into the ring.

Droplets sit on his shoulders and roll down his torso as he moves around the bed. He climbs on and lays down right in the middle, hands resting behind his head, propped up slightly on the headboard. His hair is still damp, half-coiffed, the grey at his temples darker than it was before. His body is solid, the mystery beneath the scrubs now revealed to you in all its glory. His arms are thick as they flex either side of his head, divots of muscle creating shadows across his torso, cock resting proudly on his thigh as he parts his legs in wait. He’s exquisite, and you can’t help but bask in the sight.

“So,” he says casually. “Are you just going to stay over there looking at me? Or are you going to come and sit on my face?”

You glare at him, unamused.

“What?” he shrugs gently. “You’re the one that said this was strictly sex. Forgive me for abiding by your rules.”

“There’s a word for that, you know,” you reply. “Malicious compliance.”

“Mm, is it really malicious if I’m offering to eat you out?”

“Depends how good you are at it.”

“Come here and find out.” There’s no humour in his tone, but it’s still playful, like he’s goading you.

You stand up and take a step towards the bed.

“Clothes,” he demands.

You stop, pressing your lips together tightly. His eyes never leave you, remaining locked on yours as you kick off your shoes and untuck your top from the waistband of your skirt.

“They should study you,” you say.

“Study me?”

“Yeah.” You lift your top over your head and throw it to the floor, reaching down to unzip your skirt. “Look into how one singular person could possibly be such an ass.”

“Clearly there’s a part of you that likes it, y’know, since you’re here… taking your clothes off for me.”

“What can I say? I’m partial to a surgeon. Think it’s the hands.”

The skirt pools at your feet and you step out of it, extending your arms as if to say ‘ta da’. He smiles.

No one has ever looked at you like this. So intense, like he’s studying every inch; relishing in every freckle and blemish, every curve and crease, mapping out the places he plans to touch, taste, explore.

You continue towards him but he raises his palm, halting you again. “You haven’t finished,” he says.

You glance down at yourself, then back up to him, letting out a grumbling sigh as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra. It pops open, the release of pressure on your skin as soothing as a deep breath. His gaze darkens as you slide the straps off your shoulders, watching your nipples harden as you reveal your bare breasts to him.

“These too?” you ask, hooking your thumbs into the waistline of your underwear.

“Mhm.”

You take them off as gracefully as you can, shimmying them over your hips and thighs and kicking them away. His cock is hardening, swelling and rising towards his stomach. Your mouth twitches with a triumphant smile, but you suppress it as you climb onto the bed, crawling up to meet him.

You lean down and press your lips to his, feeling your skin prick, arousal kindling in your core. His mouth is smart, but it’s also divine. The feeling intensifies, spreading through your belly and pounding between your legs as you sweep your tongue into his open mouth, feel his restraint wavering as your hot breaths mingle. You let your chest press against his, the feeling of skin on skin making you burn with need.

You bring a hand up to his face, he brings his to your throat, bracketing it gently and peeling his mouth from yours.

“I didn’t tell you to kiss me,” he says quietly. “I told you to sit on my face.”

You pull back a little more, making eye contact, breathless as a million comebacks shutter through your mind. But in the end you say nothing, letting out a soft huff and slowly shifting your body up the bed.

You hold the top of the extravagant headboard with both hands and swing one leg over him, straddling his shoulders as his fingers reach up behind you to the small of your back. His touch is electric, lips searing as they plant a kiss on your inner thigh. A soft whimper escapes you in a breath, as though anticipation is its own foreplay.

He wraps his arms around the backs of your thighs and pulls you down onto his mouth. Your grip tightens on the headboard, fingernails digging into the soft, cushiony fabric as he parts his lips against your centre, sucking softly on your already throbbing clit. Your head falls back when his tongue drags up the length of your slit, moulding itself to every pucker and groove, lapping you up like he adores you, and you wonder how many women have fallen for him in these moments.

You groan quietly, closing your eyes as you focus on the flicks and strokes of his tongue, the sucking and swirling, the hums deep in his throat and he devours you. Your clit is sensitive, making you shudder, the pleasure so intense you can barely stand it. Your body raises up instinctively, but he tightens his hold on you, spitting on your clit and returning his mouth to the place that both aches and sings, somehow at the same time.

You gasp in response, eyelids fluttering as you swear under your breath. He releases one of your thighs and you glance over your shoulder to see his hand wrapping around his cock. He begins to stroke it forcefully, working himself to the rhythm of his mouth, and you almost fall to pieces.

“Oh my god,” you moan, slumping forward and pressing your forehead to the headboard.

Your thighs clamp around his head, but it only spurs him on, making him bury his face deeper, and you can’t remember the last time he came up for air.

“I can’t,” you whisper.

The nerves in your clit are screaming, dancing on the precipice between pain and pleasure. He continues to lap at your centre, pushing you to the edge until you’re clinging on for dear life. Pressure swells in your core, flooding you with a tingling heat that softens your bones and turns you to liquid. Until finally you’re there, falling, melting.

He growls as your body begins to shake, working his tongue over you one last time before releasing you from his grasp. You collapse next to him, sliding down the pillows until you’re lying at his side. You’re breathless, chest rising and falling heavily as you stare up at the ceiling.

He rolls onto his side to face you. “You’re quiet when you come,” he says, placing a kiss into the crook of your neck, another at the dip of your collarbone.

“I’ve spent the past two years practically living in hotel rooms,” you reply. “I’ve learned to be inconspicuous.”

“Hm.” He props himself up on his forearm and leans over you, his other hand trailing softly down the side of your body. “Let’s see if we can do something about that.”

Before you can reply, he’s kissing you. His mouth is slick, it tastes of you. Your body is spent, limbs heavy, yet still you find it responding to his touch. He shifts further onto you, spreading your legs with his hands and settling himself between them. You can feel his cock nudging your centre as he rocks his hips, sliding along the soaking wet mess he left there and brushing his head over your clit. It’s sensitive, raw, makes you gasp. But he swallows the sound with a heady kiss.

He’s big. Thick. Hard. Maybe that’s where he stores his arrogance. He continues to tease you, soaking himself in the mix of spit and slick as he wraps his hands around your neck, kisses you so deeply you can feel him drawing a moan from your throat.

He pulls away and looks down at you for a moment. “Condom?” he asks casually.

You’re on the pill. Have been since you were seventeen. But still, you know you should say yes. Yesterday, this man was a stranger; a face you only knew from TV and the medical articles you’d read.

“No.” You shake your head and reach down, gripping his cock and directing it into you.

He chuckles, the sound deep and low. “What a good girl.”

You sigh as he teases at your entrance, pushing the head of his cock in and out but never breaking all the way through.

“Were you thinking about this today in the meeting?” he taunts softly.

You groan and buck your hips, desperate for him to take you.

He eases back slightly and tuts. “I saw you squirming in your seat. How hot and flustered you got when I looked at you. Tell me how much you wanted this.”

“What I wanted,” you begin quietly. “Was to wring your neck.”

The corner of his mouth curls into a smirk. “Really…”

“Really.”

He squeezes his fingers gently around your throat and you exhale softly. The desire is almost painful, your core throbbing, pussy aching.

“Funny how things work out,” he says.

You let out a stifled moan as he sinks into you, filling you so completely you’re certain you can’t take it.

“That’s it,” he mutters as he looks down, watching his cock disappear all the way to the hilt.

You whimper and tighten around him. He sucks the air in through his teeth, returning his gaze to your eyes with a mischievous smile.

“I’m gonna need you to not do that,” he says. “You’ll have me finishing in seconds.”

“Are you telling me the great Doctor Stephen Strange lacks self discipline?” You contract your walls again, this time on purpose.

He bows, forehead resting on your chest, and growls deep in the back of his throat. Then suddenly, without warning, he draws his hips back and buries himself in you again. You gasp, fingers digging into the blades of his shoulders as he repeats his thrusts, building to a firm, steady rhythm.

A small cry escapes you; a sound you’ve never heard yourself make before. He hums in response, keeping you pinned to the bed with his hands around your neck as he snaps his hips, punishing you from the inside out.

“Wrap those legs around my back,” he demands.

You do as you’re told, locking your ankles and gasping as he sinks further, the head of his cock kissing the deepest parts of you and sending jolts of pure electricity through your stomach.

“You’re going to break me,” you whisper.

“Not this time. Maybe later,” he replies, still so arrogant it makes you want to reach up and slap him.

But your hands are stuck to his back, nails digging into the smooth, taut flesh. Another unfamiliar sound falls from your lips, somewhere between a grunt and a hum. He likes it, you can tell in the way he closes his eyes to compose himself.

“Jesus,” he hisses.

His movements begin to stutter and he rests his forehead against yours. You feel his cock throbbing, your pussy growing wetter until it’s dripping. He lets out a long, satisfied groan and begins to slow down, every rock of his hips like the promise of another climax.

“Don’t stop,” you whisper desperately. “Please don’t stop, I’m so close.”

He doesn’t open his eyes, but still he obliges; continuing to stroke into you as you squirm beneath him.

“Oh god,” you groan. “Harder. I need- harder.”

He grunts, screwing his eyes shut tightly, and begins pounding his cock into you with such force you can feel your body shifting up the mattress. You know he already came, you know how sensitive he must be. But somehow, knowing that makes this all the more delicious.

The electricity builds again, every thrust like a lightning strike through your core. Your legs begin to shake and you finally let go, giving in to the current and letting it course through you. Your orgasm is intense, sharp and tingly, making you shudder, body stiffening until it passes.

He slows to a stop, resting his full weight on top of you. You welcome the pressure, like a weighted blanket; warm and grounding, soothing the ache beginning to settle in your limbs.

After a few moments, he slides out of you carefully, rolling over to lie at your side. “You want that drink now?” he asks.

Hair sticks to your forehead with sweat, you brush it back, sucking in deep breaths as you stare up at the ceiling. “No, I’m good.”

Silence envelops you, neither one of you speaking again until your hearts stop thumping.

“So… I guess this means you’re going to approve the training for my method,” he says.

You turn your head, glaring at him in stunned silence.

“I’m kidding,” he says with a smile, greatly amusing himself.

“God, surgeons are assholes,” you mutter.

#doctor strange #doctor strange fanfiction #doctor strange smut #doctor strange x you #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange fanfiction #stephen strange smut #stephen strange x reader #stephen strange x you #stephen strange #surgeon strange #benedict cumberbatch #fanfiction #fanfic #smut #smut writing #lemon #Doctor strange oneshot

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katy-l-wood · 17 hours

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I'm on submission with my newest attempt at traditional publishing right now and it's really driving home the loss of Twitter to the publishing community. Yeah, there was a lot of drama and crap there. But when I've been on submission before and I'd wake up to a new list of editors my agent had sent my manuscript to, I could pop on Twitter and look up 90% of them, find their wishlists, see what kind of books they were publishing, find interviews they'd done. It was all in one place and free and easy to search through. Some of that stuff is still out there, but it's scattered or behind paywalls.

Just. Fuck Musk. He took such a valuable resource away from so many people all to stroke his own damn ego.

#Musings

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intoanotherworld23 · 1 year

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Dreaming About This

Pairing: Reader x Bradley Bradshaw

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY DNI, this whole one shot is just pure smut and sex and absolutely filth so be warned everyone

Summary: Things get physical in Bradley’s office

✨Please do not copy and paste my work or steal my work or publish my work as your own or I will have you reported✨

"Shhh sweetheart don't want anyone to hear you now do we?" Bradley groaned into your ear as you laid sprawled across the desk.

"Mhm." Whimpering through tight lips as he slowly rocked his hips into yours teasing you breathing heavily with your mouth parted open.

"Been waiting to do this all morning." He confessed to you unable to speak so all you could do was nod, and he smirked widely.

Neither one of you predicted something like this was ever going to happen. Never thinking someone as good looking as Bradley would take notice of you, but he did. Glad that he made the first move and you didn’t stop him. His kisses and touches were intoxicating that you felt you were up in the clouds.

"Your cock feels so good." Grinning like the Cheshire Cat at your words feeling his ego being stroked.

"Yeah?" Swirling his hips around just to tease you loving the facial expressions you were making. "Wish I could hear you scream my name."

If it was just the two of you here he would be banging you into this desk so hard you would actually be screaming his name. Although it was a major turn on to watch your face contort as you tried to keep in your moans.

"Just like that baby." Praising you as he lifted your legs to wrap them around his waist. "Taking the bosses cock like a good girl."

The desk rocking back and forth with Bradley’s rough movements. Unbuttoning you're blouse as he tugged your bra down to expose your breasts into his hungry view. Practically drooling at the sight of you.

"God I knew this pussy was tight." Groaning through his teeth as he looked your body up and down licking his lips.

Bradley leaning forward to attach his lips to your nipples sucking on the nub until it was raw. Leaving a trail of saliva as he moved to the other one. The cold air brushing against it causing goosebumps to appear on your skin.

Hands attached to your hips as he guided you towards his cock to feel more of him. Your walls squeezing around him as several little growls grumbled in his chest. He was waiting for this day since you first starting working for him. Dreaming about this for such a long time.

"Such a good girl for me." Mumbling into your neck feeling how heavily he was breathing against you. "All mine baby."

Hands reaching up to grip onto his back your nails racking across his shirt hearing a tear in the fabric. Your toes curling into his back as he slammed his cock deeper inside of you. Little whines slipping out of your parted mouth trying to control the urge to scream his name.

Your cheeks felt like they were on fire as he continued to whisper absolute filth into your ear. Praising you every time he would snap his hips sharply into yours. Skin slapping against his the sound of your wetness echoing around the room.

"Gonna take you like this every day on my desk." Feeling your walls clench around him at the thought of how sore your body would be taking him like this every day. "Have you suck my cock while I talk to one of the other pilots."

"Oh god." Moaning as you bit down on his shoulder hoping that nobody heard.

"Such a greedy little whore for my cock." His tone cocky but he wasn't lying about what he was saying. "Pussy was made to take me."

Your orgasm was swiftly approaching and you knew you weren't going to last much longer. Your back arching off the desk hands gripping both sides of the desk to keep your body steady.

"Admiral Bradshaw?" A voice called outside the door both your heads snapping in that direction.

"Y-yeah." He replied with a strained voice his thrusts slowing down.

"I've got your conference call on the other line." Bradley sighing loudly completely forgetting about this call, but you were more important right now.

"Tell them I'm busy and I'll have to reschedule." Groaning as his eyes focused on where you two were connected.

"But you've already rescheduled with them sir." He sounded nervous but Bradley could have cared less.

"I don't care there gonna have to wait another day." He snapped at him as he snapped his hips into yours placing a hand over your mouth to keep you quiet.

"Yes sir." Seeing his shadow disappear from the doorway Bradley sighing with relief.

"Bradley he could have walked in here." Turning your head to look at him your heart racing at the thought of being caught.

"Then he would have gotten a free show." He grinned rolling your eyes at him.

Seeing that only resulted in him grabbing you, and flipping your body so that you were now bent over the desk. Slipping his cock back inside of you both of you gasping at the new angle.

"Wanna feel you cum around my cock baby." Pulling your hips back into him with such force you felt a sting on your skin. "You are absolutely dripping baby."

His cock drilling deep inside you hitting your sweet spot. Biting your bottom lip so hard you were drawing blood. Bradley spreading your cheeks apart as he watched your pussy swallowing him whole.

"Oh god right there Bradley." Moving your hips back against him driving him crazy.

"Gonna soak my cock with your cum baby?" He teased you as his hand moved up your back tracing your spine. "Wanna feel that pussy squeeze my cock."

"Harder Bradley please." Begging him feeling your stomach tightening as you knew you were so close to release.

"You want harder baby?" Slowing down his thrusts on purpose making you whine like a baby. "Wanna hear you beg me to fuck you harder."

"God Bradley please fuck god fuck me harder." Whispering as you started to move your hips on your own to feel more of him. "Fuck me harder Bradley please I need it."

Bradley loving the way you were talking to him since you were always kind of shy around him anyway. He was bringing out a side of you that he wanted to see more of. The way you were talking to him had him seething with lust.

"Fuck I'm gonna cum Bradley." You tried warning him as you felt that familiar coil in the pit of your stomach.

"Yes that's a good girl." He gritted through his teeth as he felt your pussy clenching around him tightly. "Cum hard for me sweetheart."

Feeling your legs shaking and trembling as he never slowed down. By now there was probably a puddle of your sweat mixed with juices that were pooling under you. The smell of sex and lust filled the room and entered into your nostrils.

Your body was moving all over the place your legs feeling sore from the position they were in. Your entire body felt like it was in flames, and you knew you were close. The room was filled with your whimper and his groans. Both of you sounding and looking like porn stars right now.

Pulling you up by the waist so your back was to his chest. Leaning your head back as you felt him taking full control of your body now.

"Let me feel you cum around my cock sweetheart." He whispered as he leaned his forehead against you and sharply drilled deep inside of staying still. "Let go baby."

Your orgasm smacking you in the face as your entire body clenched, and your pussy tightening around him. Gripping onto his wrists as you tried to control your breathing. Your chest heaving up and down as you were coming down from your intense orgasm.

Leaning your body forward on your hands as you felt sweat dripping down your neck. His hands massaging your skin so delicately and in a comforting way.

"What are you doing tonight?" He asked breaking the silence.

"Nothing why?" Bradley pulled away his cock slipped out of you making you hiss suddenly feeling empty.

"I was just thinking you and I could grab a couple drinks and finish this back at my place." He looked worried about your answer like you were going to say no.

"Yeah I would love to." Smiling at him as a huge grin appeared on his face.

#bradley bradshaw x reader #miles teller #miles teller smut #bradley bradshaw #miles teller x reader #bradley bradshaw smut #miles teller fanfiction #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw imagines #miles teller imagines

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strangebiology · 2 months

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Free Resources I Made for Nonfiction Book Writers - $$$

If you're writing a nonfiction, non-memoir book, you're welcome to join my free monthly video chat group Authors of Nonfiction Books in Progress (ANBIP.) If you join you'll get the recap emails and the invites to meetings, but if you don't like meetings, then just enjoy the emails. Note that it's sort of a professional group so we talk about book writing as more of a job than some universal higher calling or whatever.

Through that, I've had a few people ask me for some of the following documents in this journey, so I decided, why not just make a copy for sharing so that anyone can find them, instead of just people who email me? Feel free to use these as samples, share them, whatever. But first:

What I wish I had known before the book: While I'm here, before you start your book proposal, I learned too late that you can get paid $80,000 to write one at a journalism fellowship! People do that at the Knight Science Journalism Fellowship, The Scripps Fellowship at the Center for Environmental Journalism, and probably the other Knight Journalism fellowships that I haven't looked into. So, keep your ears open for fellowships if you're thinking of starting a nonfiction book proposal.

To the resources...

Results from my agent search Note: most people suggest Publisher's Marketplace, so, even though I didn't like my results from looking there, there is surely a reason everyone else does.

My Book Proposal & how I contacted the agent Result: contract with MIT Press to write a book about dead animals and $50,000 advance.

My Proposal for the Sloan Grant Result: I got $56,053 for the book Carcass. Also, at least two other people in my group got the grant, and one mentioned that she never would have known about it if it weren't for ANBIP, nor would she have applied!

List of suggested grants to apply to Note: most of these book grants--and most legit ones in the world--require a traditional contract. I find a lot of "prizes" for people without trad contracts are not grants at all, but an effort to get you to think you "won" what is, in effect, a contract. That's fine if the contract is fine, but don't let them stroke your ego with the words "you won" if you think you could get a better contract elsewhere. A grant is more like free money.

I also got $500 and some free resources--and miiiiight get some more money in the future?--from a program called Investing in Wyoming's Creative Economy, so, maybe your state has something similar. IWCE is brand new (started in 2023) so we'll see if it even continues on. MANY funding opportunities only exist for a few years before they run out.

My contract with my fact-checker

How I found Science Advisors & how I described their task Note: I really just made this up, as with the contract with the fact-checker. I'm just some person and I'm only giving these to you because I couldn't find anyone else's that may have been done better! Make a copy, read through it carefully, and make all the changes you need to yours. Or if you already have a better one to look to, send it to me and LMK if I can send it to my colleagues at ANBIP!

Spreadsheet National Park Artists in Residences Applications Note: I have never got any of these, and most don't pay or work well for writers, TBH. But I know a science writer who did get one. Also, I only included the ones I liked in this spreadsheet and left out the historic parks. Here's a map of more and the National Park Arts Foundation. I only apply to free ones because I noticed that one residency said they got 800 applications and the fee was $120, which, mathematically, is like paying $96,000 to do it (and that one paid $4,000 to the winner.) Also: state parks and BLM land have Artist in Residence programs!

Copy of #PublishingPaidMe spreadsheet (I didn't make this, and I don't recommend making graphics or pivot tables from this as some of the numbers are def wrong)

Book Progress thermometer

That's all for now! If you found this helpful, just pay it forward by being open with your experience for the next people who ask you.

PS. My next task is finding events to hire me to do talks about the topic of my book, which is dead animals. I know some authors make plenty of money on speaker fees after their book is launched! But I'm struggling to find events/places to speak because I mostly only want to go places where I am paid, but I also worry about a conflict of interest if I'm paid by organizations I've covered--or even, orgs that promote or protest anything that I've covered in general! I don't want to be a PETA-funded journalist or a Safari Club International-funded journalist either. If you have experience with setting up a book tour where you profited financially and were journalistically clear, I'd love to hear your story!

#book writing #books #not biology #Carcass Book

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words-like-water · 1 year

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You're My Angel

or the one where running errands with peter makes you realize your feelings for him.

wooo! first published story. it has not been betad so if you're looking to be a mutual/beta reader pleeeease hit me up

peter parker x fem!reader

word count: 2,700

warnings: none really. angst if you squint bc unrequited love that ends up requited

i don't like using y/n so peter and the reader call each other lots of nicknames.

nothing. nothing. nothing.

nothing in the fridge, nothing in the cabinets. no ingredients, barely any snacks. the only tangible things in my kitchen are a bottle of ketchup and multiple almost-rotten fruits. i slam the refrigerator door shut and lean against it with a sigh.

i guess next time i should stock up before a mission. living with my mom has its. we get along, and we don't get in each other's way; she's always at work and i'm always at "avenger club" as she likes to call it. however, being the only other person living here also means that if she doesn't buy groceries, it's my responsibility.

i'm contemplating using instacart for groceries when my phone rings in its spot on the counter. picking it up, a smile finds its way to my face as i see who's calling me.

"hiiii, angel!"

peter parker's voice pours from my phone's speakers. it's music to my ears. peter and i have known each other since he joined the avengers, two years after i had. we've been inseparable since that week in haiti, saving civilians from a freak tropical storm.

we had so much in common, from our love of legos to our protective sense for the people we care about. my friends like his friends, and vice versa. even my mom and may get along.

we're like peanut butter and jelly, chicken and waffles, and cookies and milk. we're great on our own, but together, we just make something amazing. wait, what?

i shake the ridiculous thought from my head as i remember i'm on the phone.

"what do you want, parker?" there's a playful accusatory tone in my voice as I cross my arms like he can see me.

"whatever do you mean? i can't just call my best friend because i want to talk to her?"

i roll my eyes and say, "peter, you only call me angel when you want something." and i know i'm right. he's called me angel ever since we went on a mission where i basically saved his life. he knows it strokes my ego.

"fine, you caught me. may's at this thing with some ladies she met at the library. i'm soooo bored."

"well you're in luck," i proclaim, pushing off of the fridge and walking down the hallway. "i need to run errands, you can come with me."

i hear something like plastic rustling on his end of the phone before he groans, "ew, errands? no thanks." his words are almost incoherent around a snack of some sort.

making it into my room, i drop my phone on the bed and start to change out of my sweats. "okay, stay at home and be bored out of your mind. and when i go to delmar's later don't ask me to bring you anything." i smirk at the commotion i hear from his side as i pull on a different shirt.

"delmar's? i'll be at your house in 10," he says loud and clear, then he hangs up.

I shake my head while messing with my hair a bit. not that i care what i look like in front of peter, i just like to be decent anytime i leave the house.

---

true to his word, peter knocked on my door 10 minutes later. his cheeks tinted red and his hair unruly.

"did you swing here?" i ask him, reaching up to comb through the curls until they lay somewhat flat. he leans down a bit and allows me to work, his hair like silk between my fingers.

"yeah, the sooner we do boring grown-up stuff, the sooner we can get sandwiches." he looks at me with a gleam in his eyes that never disappears.

i push his head away lightly as a grab my purse and keys. "you only wanna run errands with me so i'll buy you food? you're such a leech, parker." i say with fake hurt in my voice as i turn to lock the door.

"awww. that's not true, i'd run errands with you anytime, angel." he coos, and i have to force myself to remain standing as he runs his fingertips down my spine.

i narrow my eyes at him to hide the fact that i'm wracking my brain for possible explanations of why he could have done that. there had to be something on my shirt. that gesture was pure friendliness, right? and better question, why did it make my knees feel weak as toothpicks?

"whatever, liar." i laugh a little to keep my voice steady as i brush past him towards the elevator.

as we get in, he asks me what kind of errands i need to run. first, the library to return some books, then groceries. then we can get delmar's i assure him.

the walk from my apartment building to the library isn't long, and once i return the books, we head for the grocery store. between the destinations, we talk about school, different shows, and our secret "club," but only with codenames in case anyone is listening. we people watch and play games, and every now and then i feel peter's hand brush mine. only slightly, like it was an accident, i pray it was an accident.

we reach the grocery store, and like the gentleman he is, he grabs a basket while i look for the list in my purse.

"okay, first things first, cereal." i declare, walking in one direction. they had recently rearranged the layout of the store, but i was confident that i knew where i needed to go. i turn to say something to peter when i realize he's walking the opposite way.

"peter," i call for him, "where are you going?"

"...to..get..cereal?" he points out like i've just asked him the most obvious question.

"baby," i condescendingly say, "cereal's this way," i point in the direction i was originally going.

"no, sweetheart, cereal is this way." he juts his thumb in the direction he was going.

"alright, parker." i walk closer to him. "since you think you know everything, let's make it a game."

"okay," he smirks as he crosses his arms, "i'm listening." his tongue swiping across his bottom lip.

my eyes catch on his thick arms, straining against his sweatshirt. stupid spider. and i have to rip my eyes away from the motion at his lips to continue my thoughts. what is wrong with me today?

"for every item on the list," i fight to keep my eyes on his, "we'll make a bet about which side of the store it's on. whoever loses the most has to buy dinner."

he nods along to what i'm saying, seemingly contemplating, but i can already see the mischief in his eyes. "i'll play your game, but when you lose just know i'm ordering everything delmar's makes."

"oh please, be my guest," i nod along with him, "i just hope you've got enough cash to back yourself up."

in the next second, he's in my space. barely three inches away as my breath catches in my throat.

"so, cereal... lead the way."

---

i turn on my heels, speeding towards where i know the cereal is. he doesn't expect me to move so quickly, as he's still standing where i was a second ago. but he reacts, catching up to me slightly.

my heart is beating fast and hard, and i pray he can't hear it. i can't think for the life of me why he's acting like this. he can't like me. we're friends. that's how i know that peter is awkward. and he's shy, especially with girls that he likes. but he's not shy right now. he's being so forward. which means...

he doesn't like me, he's playing with me. this really is a game to him. he only calls me angel when he wants something.

i almost pass what i'm looking for in my scatterbrained state. "see," i motioned, "there it is, like i said."

i grab what i need and put it in the basket, barely looking at him, though i can feel his confusion at my change in emotion. i take the list, putting my initial next to the first item, and read off the second item to him. we place our bets, and head in his direction first. it turns out to be correct, so i check off the item and write his initial. we continue this for the rest of the items, but my mind begins to wander again.

i can't believe peter would mess with me like this. playing with my feelings. feelings that i didn't even know i had. i try to think about when they could have developed, and it dawns on me. as i watch him put bread in the basket, an item i was right about, i realize why today is different.

peter and i had never run errands together. being in such a domestic situation with someone i had come to care for so much made me realize just how much i like peter. of course, when i first met him, i thought he was attractive, but more so, i found him adorable. and he's funny, and he cares so much. and throughout the years he's done everything he can to make me happy. running errands with him made me think of the future. our future and how this could be us one day, making groceries for our apartment.

but it will never be us, because peter doesn't feel that way, and he's playing with me, and it hurts more than i can admit.

i don't hear whatever gloating statement he makes as he wins the next item, fruits and vegetables, and he notices. his face falls as he assesses what might be wrong, and i can feel my throat close at the thought of having this conversation. the universal, friendship-ending, i-like-you-why-don't-you-like-me-back conversation. i cough, clearing my face of any emotion except feigned annoyance.

"good job. you're in the lead by one. the last item is jam, and i think it's this way, so let's go."

i don't give him a chance to say anything as i take the basket, and head in the direction i indicated. i can feel him keeping his distance, but i don't bother to look behind me. it's good that he can feel his game ending. maybe we can go back to being regular friends after this. hopefully.

we reach the shelves filled with jellies, jams, syrups, and preserves. it's exactly where i thought it was, although a little high, and i mark my initials next to it. peter congratulates me quietly. i make no comment about how we're tied now, and i reach for it, just aching to hurry up and get out of this store and go home.

i can't reach it, not even on my tippy toes, so i step on the lowest shelf to give myself a boost. i feel my fingers graze the jar, and i almost have it when i hear peter.

"angel, you're gonna hurt yourself, just let me get it."

and it's a good thing that his hand is hovering over my lower back, waiting for permission. because hearing him call me that name, the one that doesn't sound the same anymore, makes me falter, and with my weight of center because of the basket, i slip off the shelf.

it's not that high off the ground, but in my distressed state, it startles me nonetheless. peter catches me, one arm on my back and one arm around my front. i'm sure he can feel my heavy breaths, my beating heart.

he takes the basket, sets it on the ground, and i can feel it before he says it. it takes everything in me not to cry. it's not enough.

"are you okay, angel?"

next thing i know, i'm angrily wiping tears from my face and pushing him away from me.

"stop it. stop calling me that," i say between deep breaths.

"okay. i'm sorry. i thought you liked it." he steps towards me, hands up, with an apologetic shrug.

he's right. and that's the problem.

"i do; i do like it. but not like this, not when you don't mean it." i see his brows furrow.

"wh-what do you mean, 'i don't mean it'?" i don't realize he's so close now, and as he places his hands gently on my arms, i don't stop him.

steadying myself, i gaze at my shoes. unable to look at him as i rip my heart out to put it on my sleeve.

"you only call me angel when you want something. but today was different, and i hadn't put two and two together until just now. when you brushed my back in front of my apartment, and when you kept touching my hand on our walk, and when you got in my space when we first got here, it all drove me insane. and you keep calling me angel, but it's different, and now i know why. because you're messing with me, peter parker. and it hurts because i really, really like you, but this is just a game to you. which hurts even more because i never thought that you would do something like this."

i finish my rambling in sniffles, and i wait with bated breath for him to laugh in my face.

"aw, baby," his hands cupping my face coax me to look at him. "do you know why i call you angel? hm?"

"because i saved your life," i sniffle and try to look back at the floor. but he holds me in place, dipping his head to keep eye contact with me.

"well yes, but also, because you're my angel. any time i hear you laugh, it makes my heart feel like it's gonna beat out of my chest. and you're so beautiful, all the time, it's like you're glowing. but most of all, just like an angel, you make my world a better place just by being in it."

it's easier for me to breathe now. and i don't think i've ever been happier than i am in this moment. i bet i look hysterical, covered in tears, and standing on the jelly aisle.

"if you really like me, why did you act like that, all bold and stuff?" I'm starting to calm down, "the peter parker i know is awkward when he likes a girl, always."

peter's cheeks go pink, and it's his turn to struggle to hold eye contact.

"i don't know, when i asked mr. stark what i should do about liking you, he told be to be bold because girls like that. i guess i didn't think about if that would work with you."

his thumbs caress back and forth against my cheeks absentmindedly.

"well, it doesn't work with me," i place my hands on his wrists, my thumbs mirroring his motion. "i want awkward peter parker."

his face is slowly inching towards mine, and this time i don't mind.

"oh yeah?," his eyes flicker to my lips before returning to mine. "i promise i'll go back to being awkward, right after this."

he presses his lips gently against mine, the salt from my dried tears present between us as i kiss him back. even though we were standing in the middle of a grocery store, it was the softest, most romantic experience i've ever had. i wouldn't change a thing. as his tongue brushed against my bottom lip, i had no choice but to regard the fact that we were in public.

"okay, tiger," i pulled back, reluctantly.

the pink in his cheeks deepened drastically.

"see," i move my hands to cup his face now, "there's my peter parker."

he turns my hand to kiss my palm, then the other. we separate long enough for him to grab the jam and place it in the basket, picking it up. then, he wraps his free arm around me and pulls me into his side.

"i know we tied, but will you still buy me dinner?", i ask as we walk towards the checkout line.

he laughs and kisses my temple, "yes angel, i'll buy you dinner."

#peter parker x reader #peter parker fluff #tom holland x reader #peter parker #tom holland #spider man x reader #spider man

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nicosraf · 3 months

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Sorry if this gets rambly, but I just wanted to let you know how much I appreciate and admire you for turning down a traditional publishing offer to continue to write the way you want. There's a certain level of tender rawness in your works that I know would be completely stripped away by a publishing house. From the topics you write about to the way you portray queerness, it would all be soulless and devoid of any beauty if you signed it all away. I don't think I would love your work as much as I do if you didn't self-publish. From the topics you write about to the way you portray queerness, it would all be soulless and devoid of any beauty if you signed it all away. My previous experiences with reading self-published books has always been 50/50, and most of the time, I felt like they would've been better if they were polished and cleaned by a traditional publisher. In reading Angels Before Man, I've come to realize how important it is to read books outside of the "approved publisher" bubble. It feels so liberating to read something so unapologetically queer and dark and emotional. In a world where queer works feel like they're getting more and more santitized for the comfort of cishet corporate overlords, it's comforting to know that we're able to tell our stories on our own terms.

Hello!!! Thank you for saying this. I'm sorry if I also get rambly but I have a lot, a lot, of thoughts on self-publishing and the industry after I've taken some big steps away from it.

I need to make the small correction that I didn't turn down a deal itself. I was in limbo waiting for the deal and had already gotten a rejection or two on ABM getting picked up. I'm not sure how much I'm allowed to talk about but I'll try to be clear

The series of events goes: I posted ABM online in November 2022, my agent reached out to me in January, ABM immediately gets sent to a "very interested" publisher in February, then I revised the book before I sent it to other "interested/excited" publishers around March. I lasted until early August, had a meltdown, then begged my agent to tell the publishers to let go of my book so I could work on the sequel.

I'm giving context because "stripped away by a publishing house" really struck a cord with me.

Here's the thing: the publishing industry is in a downward spiral. The author dream is gone. If you sell a book, your advance is more likely to be, say, 50k instead of 100k and that 50k is going to split into 4 payments over 2 years. Publishers don't market books anymore; they just make you open up a TikTok account and tell you to dance. Editors are overworked and picking up books that either are or feel already developmentally edited and (some) are asking for blurbs from big name authors (?!) before they look at your manuscript. They want books they can line edit quickly and send to market — but it's not their fault. HarperCollins editors were on strike for an absurdly long time and have gained... well, basically nothing. Agents and editors are leaving the industry. Publishing houses are "poaching" successful indie books and stroking indie author egos to take half their royalties.

I haven't even gotten to the racism and white liberalism problem. Look at Xiran Jay Zhao having their work being held hostage by their publisher for being anti-genocide. I worry about how queerness is represented in tradbooks but maybe more deeply worry about the race problem. There were calls for diversity 10 years and they've led absolutely nowhere. "Diversity" focused imprints keep getting shut down and leaving their authors in limbo.

But about editing again — so I'm sure you've heard of this book Babel by RF Kuang. It's popular but gets critiqued for hand-holding a white audience too much. Here's the thing though — I made a similar comment to my buddy and he told me whether that's the fault of Kuang or the fault of the editor. And that made me think — how many books are critiqued for what authors may have been forced to do? Yellowface by Kuang, written after Babel, goes into a manuscript getting heavily changed to appeal to white readers. Editors say "But I'm confused" and "But it doesn't make sense to me" because your editor is themselves the inescapable, white audience. And usually the cishet audience too — the straight person sighing that your fags are too problematic in these scary political times.

So why am I saying all this?? Look, I've never thought ABM was perfect. I think it's got some mediocre lines, some things I attempted that I don't think I pulled off. I, also, got into the habit of looking at self-published books (my own included) and thinking, "Oh this needed a professional hand-holding it." Tradpub was exciting to me because I could have someone hold my hand and work on the prose with me. I wanted to make the prose better.

But so I step into tradpub and it all goes wrong. They don't know what to do with me. They suggest a revision to cut it down to a novella. I get angry and then get angrier when I'm treated like I'm being spoiled; it's not about my "vision" here. Imagine if I announced to ABM readers that I cut ABM to 80 pages for a little bit of money?? Others started implying Part 2 basically needed to go; it's too confusing, too fucked up. Part 1 was perfect. Rafael, have u considered it being more of a romantasy? Have you considered a happy ending. Have you considered Michael and Lucifer having romantic virgin sex and have you considered cutting that other part with God entirety. Have you considered whether you're just trying to shock people and maybe you need to calm down

Well, I responded to all this with "What about the readers?? I can't make any big changes. They wouldn't like that." But I saw that they didn't want my readers.

There's a publisher right now who has Angels Before Man by rafael nicolás slapped on their "type of books we want" brochure they sent to (I believe) agents. They never contacted me though. I started to see that maybe no publisher ever wanted ABM. They wanted something like ABM, the idea of ABM and the idea of rafael, the mysterious queer mexican guy. you see, the publishing dream is not dead! you too can be like rafael. you can be a nobody who gets their book picked up by Penguin Random House and Fixed to Be Good and make a hundred thousand dollars and youll get to sit at the cool kids table.

Anyway, I love to read self-published, 0 rating books. They're usually weird, full of typos sometimes, but I never care. I don't read to judge something on a merit of goodness anyway (what does that mean) but just to experience something. I love reading porn, but I'm not usually sexually tantalized but it; I just love how insane it is. And seeing someone put their whole heart in something full of typos and pacing issues and plot holes is a thousand times more fulfilling to me than reading a polished husk of 3-act structure, perfect clean characters, strong prose that was worked on by 19 people and doesn't hold the dreams/desires/flaws of anyone.

I'm really happy to self-publish. I like not having a censor and pouring my heart into something. And work! Hard work is incredibly fulfilling to me; I care more about the work I put into A&M than the product it'll end up being. But I also keep thinking of situations like Babel and I think that if my work sucks, at least it's because of me and my skill, or lack thereof. It gives me a little bit of dignity.

thank you again for the ask. i appreciate it very much.

#sorry for the ramble agh #mine #ask #publishing #self publishing

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 5 months

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tuesday again 11/28/2023

tuesday again no problem will be taking a break for the 12/12 edition (not next week but the one after)

listening

previously featured Os Mutantes, a countercultural brazilian rock group, is back bc i heard A Minha Menha on an instagram reel by @/ vintagepulps on a showcase of brazilian pulp magazine covers.

youtube

the SECOND that driving riff hit i experienced a brief moment of fuckor bc this is exactly and precisely the kind of song i like. this translation tells me it translates to My Girl. it's got moon/sun imagery. it's exactly the kind of song to drive around to in the summer while having an absolutely crippling crush on the person in the passenger seat. spotify

reading

you wouldn't download a woman...

TWICE

watching

I'm No Angel (1933, dir. Ruggles) a 1936 black comedy written by Mae West and starring the babiest Cary Grant you've ever seen. i added it to my letterboxed bc i saw screenshots of this one specific dress. that’s so much sideboob. good for her.

we don't use the term "adventuress" anymore to describe a woman who does various physical or social stunts to land a husband and i think that's a shame. Tira (yes) is a burlesque dancer and (separately) a lion tamer at a down on its luck circus, becomes famous through putting her head in a lion's mouth, and leverages that fame to fall in and out and back into love.

your enjoyment of this movie will hinge on your tolerance for astrologers, circuses with animals in them, and depictions of black housemaids that have not aged super well, even if they're mostly there to stroke her ego. i'm sort of torn on what rating this would get today-- i'm assuming R bc there's a woman expressing desire but nothing actually happens beyond kissing and some sitting in laps. some peril for the lions i guess?

i do not think this particularly nailed its landing, and i'm not totally sure why they got back together, but mae west in straight up burlesque and the shimmiest dresses you've ever seen is so much fun to watch it doesn't really matter. this is sort of sidelining the her very funny, extremely quotable script. apparently any movie she wasn't allowed to write or heavily doctor her own lines just completely flopped, which i also think is very funny.

just straight up on the internet archive

playing

triple header for Things That Came Out This Decade: Genshin Impact (September 2020), Deliver Us Mars (2023) and Gamedec (2021).

brief Genshin update: your main companion in the game, Paimon, the little fairy bitch, has been the recipient of some worrying foreshadowing lately. hey Paimon you wanna tell us anything???

Deliver Us Mars, free on Epic this week. i want to like this game. i think there should be more weird little eurojank original scifi B-franchises like this and you should be able to feed your family by making them. i do not want to continue playing this particular little franchise.

it's the second game by KeokeN (The Netherlands) and published by Wired Productions (UK, although they are partnered with Koch, which means they’ll be bought up soon), a studio of under 20 counting support staff (some of who are certainly part time or on hourly contracts) and an intern. after doing that basic background research i ratcheted my expectations back a couple notches and deleted a somewhat catty paragraph about video game hair.

this is a sequel to Deliver Us The Moon, which was a successful Kickstarter and Steam greenlight (TM (C) R) and it seems they spent the four interval years mostly polishing up the predecessor Deliver Us The Moon, which i do not own and do not plan on playing.

Deliver Us Mars bills itself as an action-adventure, but during my time with it, it was more of a cinematic movie/walking sim with extremely light puzzle/platform mechanics. there are extensive childhood flashbacks following a dad around as he trains his daughter to be an astronaut. the timing and insertion of these never quite clicked for me-- they take forever and they were never as interesting as what they interrupted.

youtube

this game is not good at signposting or tutorializing. i had to restart a chapter twice bc the unique controls popped up for a brief fleeting moment on screen and weren’t in the keybinding settings. i could never quite get the mouse and keyboard camera sensitivity right, and platforming/vertical elements seem to only be partially implemented: you can only really successfully approach certain segments from extremely specific dead-on angles. there are like three big boxes in your path that you have to clamber over at one point and i do not think it should take a solid minute and a half for me to get over them. some reviewers praised the lack of signposting during the launch sequence (causing you to frantically look around at a million unlabeled buttons and levers to see if any of them were highlighted as a thing you can click) as a fun way to ramp up stress but i fucking hated it.

after two and a half hours, and only just making it to a ship OUTSIDE mars, i decided there are other games in the world. this hits some sort of minimal viable story benchmark for me, i can see why some people love it, but i don’t want to find out what happens bad enough to play through a slow game that handles terribly and isn’t much fun to exist in.

does get points for big fuckoff dishes.

Gamedec is an isometric RPG, where you are a near-future private investigator who handles delicate personal matters inside wildly popular MMORPG VR games. unfortunately all the trailers suck shit.

youtube

this is catnip to me. i love a no-combat game where i have to walk around and talk to everyone and click on everything and write things down in a little notebook. i loooooooove being nosy. i've played through the first two and a half chapters (kinky second life, racketeering farmville, and real life uh oh) and i'm having a fucking marvelous time. the writing team clearly had a lot of fun, the VR game worlds feel very alive and vibrant-- there's a ton of possible weird little flavor interactions that go a very long way toward making me forget this is a limited-perspective isometric. this is like praising an RPG for doing what it says on the tin and being an RPG, but the most recent RPGs ive played have been fucking terrible. it's not shoehorning me into one-true or main-path choices. extremely forgiving of failure, which is good bc i straight up accidentally killed my first client. i know he was a kid but he kinda had it coming imo. sometimes kids just suck shit

im so delighted by this shitty little apartment-- it's got to be fucking bizarre to exist in, bc of the ultra-loft ceilings you need to make it be isometric, but it somehow manages to feel like a studio apartment and a seedy back office all at the same time. a game that is in general very fun to Look at. will have more thoughts as i continue playing but this is really scratching some sort of itch for me. commits to the bit. funny but sincere. a pastiche in ways i personally do not find annoying. has not hit me with like konami code style references yet. due to the fact this is also in my epic games store library i believe this was also free at some point

making

fallow week for me. phil has been regrowing skin at a good clip and i can no longer feel each individual vertebra, AND we have another vet appt on friday to get more/different antibiotic goop and all of her vaccinations and microchipping done. mack made a hairball and is getting put back on an actual wire slicker brush grooming schedule. my beautiful girl seems to have a particularly dense coat among the domestic shorthairs of my acquaintance, although that may be bc she is a new england girlie and we constantly exist in air conditioning?? mixed feelings about scheduled brushies from her, even with short and light sessions. we’ll get there.

helping.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #phil

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teacup-tyrant · 5 months

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Can I offer some unsolicited advice to writers about when to post fics so people will read them?

I'm a marketer by trade so making sure I get eyeballs on the content I'm writing is not only a fandom hobby of mine, but it's my actual job IRL.

Someone made a post here about the times to post to Ao3 so they hit the right time zones. There used to be some kind of glitch there but apparently that has been fixed. But it's a good roundup post about some general tips and the important callout is that the best days to post are Sundays & Mondays. (which I find hilarious bc Sundays are worthless in business marketing and you generally want to post Tue-Thurs. But I digress.)

Now let me add something that content marketers refer to as newsjacking. That means something newsworthy has happened or a certain topic goes viral and people are currently paying attention to it, so you push your own content in relation to that. Obviously, there are ethical and unethical ways to do this. Don't push your brand in relation to a tragedy and try to capitalize on something awful. That's just a dick move and then you'll probably need to add reputation management to your marketing team's plate because you just got cancelled.

But lets relate this back to fanfiction. Here's an example.

The fandom I've written the majority of my fics for got some news the other day, and there hadn't been any news around the series in months. Suddenly it was trending again. If anyone wanted to drop a new fic, this was the time when the most eyeballs would be on it because everyone has been flooding the tag and paying attention again.

So ask yourself, did your series just finish airing or a new book get released? Perfect, publish a fic because people will be wanting MORE. Did a highly anticipated trailer just come out? Awesome, everyone will be making gifs and edits and craving content. Join in and publish a fic. In these instances, you're capitalizing on people's attention.

This all isn't to say hoard your fics like a greedy dragon until there's a sudden explosion in your fandom. But IF you want to be more strategic about when you publish, this is a Professional Opinion of how you should do it.

And you can look at all of this and say HEY, fanfiction shouldn't exist to stroke your ego. You should write for your own happiness and if someone else reads it, so much the better. And you're absolutely right. Personally, my hard drive is full of piles of random headcanons and thousands of words of half finished fics that will never see the light of day because I wanted to write them out of my brain and have no intention of ever finishing them. But the ones that get fully fleshed out enough to make logical sense, well, those are for everyone else. Those are what go to Ao3.

But listen, I'm human. I like being told I wrote a good story as much as the next writer. If any writer tells you that comments and kudos don't give them the warm fuzzies, and that they feel discouraged when a fic they post gets little to no traffic... then they're a goddamn liar.

This is just a way of making an organic algorithm work in your favor.

...because Ao3 has no real algorithm to market to you for profit and that's why we all love it so much. Hell, my job depends on engagement, impressions, and follower count, but Tumblr/Ao3 has none of that available publicly so they remain my favorite websites of all time.

#fanfiction #writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #writing advice #fanfic #fanfic authors

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pieandhotdogs · 1 month

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QUEERS READ THIS

A leaflet distributed at pride march in NY. Published anonymously by Queers: June 1990

“How can I tell you. How can I convince you, brother, sister that your life is in danger: That everyday you wake up alive, relatively happy, and a functioning human being, you are committing a rebellious act. You as an alive and functioning queer are a revolutionary.”

“I'm angry. I'm angry for being condemned to death by strangers saying, ‘You deserve to die’ and ‘AIDS is the cure.’ Fury erupts when a Republican woman wearing thousands of dollars of garments and jewelry minces by the police lines shaking her head, chuckling and wagging her finger at us like we are recalcitrant children making absurd demands and throwing temper tantrum when they aren't met. Angry while Joseph agonizes over $8,000 for AZT which might keep him alive a little longer and which makes him sicker than the disease he is diagnosed with. Angry as I listen to a man tell me that after changing his will five times he's running out of people to leave things to. All of his best friends are dead. Angry when I stand in a sea of quilt panels, or go to a candlelight march or attend yet another memorial service. I will not march silently with a fucking candle and I want to take that goddamned quilt and wrap myself in it and furiously rend it and my hair and curse every god religion ever created. I refuse to accept a creation that cuts people down in the third decade of their life.”

“The straight world has us so convinced that we are helpless and deserving victims of the violence against us, that queers are immobilized when faced with a threat. BE OUTRAGED! These attacks must not be tolerated. DO SOMETHING. Recognize that any act of aggression against any member of our community is an attack on every member of the community. The more we allow homophobes to inflict violence, terror and fear on our lives, the more frequently and ferociously we will be the object of their hatred.”

“I hate straight people who can't listen to queer anger without saying ‘hey, all straight people aren't like that. I'm straight too, you know,’ as if their egos don't get enough stroking or protection in this arrogant, heterosexist world. Why must we take care of them, in the midst of our just anger brought on by their fucked up society?! Why add the reassurance of ‘Of course, I don't mean you. You don't act that way.’ Let them figure out for themselves whether they deserve to be included in our anger.”

“The strong sisters told the brothers that there were two important things to remember about the coming revolutions, the first is that we will get our asses kicked. The second, is that we will win."

QUEERS READ THIS

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rehnwriter · 8 months

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Tag Game Here We Go!

My good friend @girlfromthecrypt mentioned me in her recent writeblr tag game and I decided to join in the fun!

1) What motivates you to write?

To be honest? Anything. I've written ever since I was little, and have enjoyed it ever since. I'm a very creative person, and I'm constantly thinking about stories, ideas, and what not, and putting them to paper always feels great. I'm also a very driven person, and like to work on projects / keep myself busy, and writing definitely ticks that box.

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

I'm currently working on the final edits of my novel 'New Haven,' based on my series 'A guest at my motel asked me to post his story. He looked like he went through hell…' It's been quite a ride, but I'm finally on the final stretch and the end is in sight. Here's just a random little snippet from a dream sequence that I quite enjoyed:

At that moment, Mom got to her feet. She was impossibly tall and towered high over every other member of the congregation. Her face was stern and her appearance was that of a stoic believer. Around her head, a halo of dark, hellish flames had formed. In a bellowing voice, she answered that there was indeed yet another sinner.

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

It's got to be Ethan from my 'New Haven' novel. He's your typical loner, rebel-type (and loosely based on James from Twin Peaks). He's quite the interesting character, one who might seem half mad and angry all the time, but he's got quite the depths to it. I just really enjoy writing him and his dialogue.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

The first draft hands down. While I usually outline a story beforehand, the first draft is the most creative part of writing. The best thing is that after a good ten to fifteen minutes, I get fully immersed in the story and things just come to me. It's almost as if the process of sitting down and forcing myself through those first minutes hands me the muse's kiss (as weird as that sounds).

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

This is really a tough one since I'm very bad at judging myself. I think I've gotten quite a bit better when it comes to writing dialogue and I enjoy it a lot. On the other hand, I think I've got a hand for otherworldly, and weird imagery/descriptions.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

Gotta be honest, I'm not really a part of the community. I guess even when I'm on social-media, I'm a rather anti-social person who keeps to himself and just shares/rebolgs his own stories. I'm, however, always happy to see other people interacting with one another, and motivating each other to keep on writing and pushing forward. You guys are all the best!

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

I really, really love WriteMonkey. It's a distraction-free writing software that essentially gives you nothing but a black screen on which you type. I've got serious focus problems and pretty much anything can distract me, even if it's just a menu with formatting options.

Another piece of software I've recently started working with is Scrivener. It doubles as a writing and organizing tool, but the best thing is that it comes with an export and formatting function. It means you basically just type out your story/chapters and the program puts it into a publishable ebook or submittable manuscript. This honestly saves an incredible amount of time and headache, since there are so many things you've got to look out for and keep in mind otherwise.

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I really like the backstory of New Haven. It's essentially a small, unimportant religious town in the middle of nowhere, but as the novel continues my main characters discover that it's got quite a history. This includes Lutheran Christians, a German nobleman from the city of Gotha, and quite a few other things. I really love adding these tiny bits and pieces to make the settings seem more alive.

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

This might sound a bit harsh, but the best advice I can give people is to just sit down and write. Anything, really. If you're stuck on your current WIP, write something else for a bit, or maybe put out an entirely different story. I've been stuck before, and it's a terrible place to be in, and sometimes things just might become a bit too much, or you might grow to hate your current WIP. It's happened to me before. So just taking some time off, and writing something just for fun, is a great way to rekindle your creativity.

Another thing is, to allow yourself to take breaks! Sometimes, you've just got to recharge. Over the years, I've been extremely disciplined and forced myself to write every single day, even if I got home late, I'd force myself to put in at least half an hour. While I got a lot of work done, it honestly wasn't healthy, and I had to learn that taking some time off isn't a bad thing, and sometimes, it's truly necessary.

Just last month, I didn't feel things. All the stories I was working on were tough, a new novella I'd started didn't feel right, and I was in no mind to work on editing New Haven. And so, I took a few weeks off, until the spark was there again and I just help getting back into things.

10) Tag some people whose works you love/have been your biggest supporters

Oh man, this is so tough. @girlfromthecrypt was the one who originally tagged me, so I've got to give thanks for this little break. Other than that, I'd tag @octoberconstellation who's been sneaking me little sets of questions that are quite fun to answer.

Well, that's about it! Hope you guys enjoyed this little look into my head. And I'm sorry, some of my answers might have gotten a bit out of hand.

#writeblr #writeblr tag games #tag game #writer things #creative writing #original fiction #original writing #writers on tumblr #new writing blog #original characters #horror writing #nosleep author #writer thoughts #dark fairytale #novel wip #my novel #my writing

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moonlitinks · 9 months

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Writer Q&A Tag Game

Thank you to bestie @writingbyricochet for tagging me! CAN WE JUST START OFF WITH THAT LITTLE WRITING SNIPPET (AND THE KISS SCENE) THAT HAD ME SQUEALING??? I AM SO, SO EXCITED FOR PARADISE LIVED AND DIED. for anyone interested in this amazing writer, her answers are linked here!

1) What motivates you to write?

Whenever I sit there and read a good book in one sitting for hours. The magic. The characters. The romance. The ACTION. It just makes me realize that I want to ignite this same feeling to others, and I want to make my book feel like a second home for them to escape to <3

2) A line/short snippet of your writing that you are most proud/happy of. If not maybe share a line of someone else's work you love (just please credit them)

This is my most recent writing snippet that I'm just SO HAPPY TO WRITE I DON'T KNOW WHY

“Well, I think you’re a selfish—” Rip. The sound of her skirt tearing caused her to pause, and the magpie picked and picked at the edges of her dress. What was it doing? Bari grabbed at the remaining pieces before she exposed herself and got kicked out due to indecency. He stared at her with indifference, scowling like he could not take her at all. “There,” he said. “Now you have no reason to cling to me.” He snatched the magpie from the air and Bari cried out in alarm. Even the bird seemed to sense the dangerous aura that the he emitted, pecking at the space in between them. Altair paused at where the magpie pecked, and his gaze slipped for a second, enough to Bari to snatch her bird back, and the lantern in the other. She really did need to get rid of the lantern, but it wouldn’t move because, apparently, even an enchanted object believed that she didn’t know what she wanted. “Tell me to take a voice.”

3) Which OC makes you smile every time you think/talk about them and what are they like?

Altair, because he's so complex. I always love a character that is more mysterious and has a lot of history to unpack behind them because of all the awful things they've done, but a lot of guilt and regret following them, too. Seeing their transformation arc is BEAUTIFUL.

4) What process of writing do you enjoy the most?

Drafting and creating plot twists! And brainstorming / daydreaming about ideas. If you can't tell, I'm not much of a plotter haha.

5) What part of writing do you think you are the best at? (Yes stroke your own ego it's okay)

Inner dialogue! And I think I really like getting in depth with characters, so you really know them.

6) What is something in the writeblr community is most enjoyable?

I think I love it because we're all honest about the writing process. Writing is really lonely and it actually can really drain you mentally without the right mindset. Personally, I have a lot of anxiety, so seeing people that understand me really makes me feel like I can write and simply enjoy it. It also makes me feel less alone.

7) A writing tool/device you use that helps you with writing? (It could be speech to text, a writing program etc)

Scrivener, my love. I also love watching author interviews like Chloe Gong and Stephanie Garber and just seeing what their drafting and publishing journey has been like, and it inspires me to write! Pinterest is also great for aesthetics, and Spotify is the best for playlists <3

8) A piece of worldbuilding that you like in your own story? (It could be the magic system, a particular place in the story, a law etc)

I love the Enchanted Kingdom (soon to be named...) I've built so far. It's filled with curses that have been unresolved in the first lives that these gods have lived, and now have reappeared to kinda ruin the Kingdom. My world is very fairytale slash studio ghibli esque, so I'm having so fun with the tidbits now!

9) What piece of advice would you say to encourage others to write if they are having a rough patch?

Oh, God. DO I KNOW THIS PERSONALLY. I swear my rough patch hasn't ended... writing after nearly not writing for a good two years really does something to you.

Writing is all about mindset. It doesn't matter how much of an oddball idea you have. If you don't believe in it, it'll never get finished. Every time I doubted myself, my anxiety got so bad I shut down immediately. And I was so worried about what other people would think when reading my books, that I stopped myself from writing the books I want to write in the first place. Whether you have people around you discouraging to write, or can't believe in yourself, at the end of the day, it's just you and your book. And what's the point of writing if you're just following a trend? Or slugging yourself to finish a book you can't even connect with? Each book is a piece of yourself, and I think the greatest realization I had is to write the story you want to read. And it doesn't matter if it's about some girl who makes a deal with a god to save her sister, or about some alien on a spaceship, or about carnivals! Writing is so amazing because you can connect with readers who enjoy the same things you do, but it all starts with believing in yourself first.

When you get stuck, don't panic. If you haven't read an article about how Boredom Leads to Creativity, maybe take a quick break about writing that first! Writing isn't about who finishes the book first, but it's about quality and a game of luck. Maybe you need a break away from writing. Maybe you need to reconnect with your characters. Maybe you're just tired of toiling over and over again on this plot line.

There is no set method to returning to your project. But what has helped me is learning why I want to write. It doesn't matter how much I return to my world, or try to force my characters into more trauma if there's no reason why I'm writing this. Like, is it to enjoy it? Is it to have people experience these feelings I've felt months ago, and hold importance to me? Even the simplest reasons are the deepest ones. <3

And finally (sorry this advice is literally a hundred pages long, can you tell I'm procrastinating right now?), writing is meant to be serious, but it's also meant to be fun. The draft is simply just that: a draft. You can get ideas from random lines you wrote, or even take out characters to write a different book about! Don't ruin the one thing you've learned to love. Personally, writing in fun / ugly fonts: Arial, Comic Sans, etc., has really helped me focus on what I want to say instead of whether this book will ever get queried or not. Set a routine. Write everyday, or don't if you're more of a mood writer. The instant you feel the itch to write, JUST FUCKING DO IT, OKAY. THIS IS A SIGN. It doesn't matter if it's a scene in the third act and you're only on chapter 1. It's a sign that the story wants you, and only you to write it.

FINALLY FINALLY, I swear this is my last piece of advice, and the shortest: Believe in yourself, even when no one else does. Writing is hard, but rewarding. I believe in you. <3

wowooww that was long, tagging @orphicpoieses @macabremoons @halfbit @leisoree @sleepysuiteheart @the-chaotic-writer @heymacareyna @hallwriteblr @sculpture-in-a-period-drama @pixelw0rds @thetruearchmagos + other mutuals and anyone who wants to participate! i would love to hear your responses, PLEASE.

#tag games #writing #writeblr #writers #writblr #writing community #writing inspiration #creative writing #wip #writersontumblr #writing memes #writerly memes #writerly woes #writer struggles #writing tips #writing advice

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