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jesus fucking christ

This writer is fantastic, within just a few short words you can feel everything, though the guy I was in love with is a Virgo, this poem still doesn't take away from the simple blatant fact that it's very much relevant, and he did make a fool out of me and it hit home for me. 😔💯

Taurus

It’ll look cool

If no one could see

But you removed your red cape

And made a fool out of me

Since last summer I’ve had a couple of ideas stuck in my head. These were of books, which I began working on at the start of this year.

Throughout February and March quite a lot of the outlines/drafts of the works got done.

Now, what is bothering me irl is that quite a lot is happening around me; because of these I lack time and energy to continuously put effort into the works.

However, when I do find the time to sit down and write, or to post a drawing, I have some encouragement from people which always makes my day.

So, I really wouldn’t want to ask for much, just for a split second of your time to either check out what I’m working on by looking at my page, to like this post (hopefully so it can reach more people), or to follow the stupid little Patreon I have.

I’ll be posting drawings, drafts, edits, animations, and whatever I make, so follow along if you like that stuff.

All support is very appreciated!

And I promise to post some works of mine as soon as I can!

Patreon

Get more from the book in the making squad on Patreon

trying to write a book...

I will never buy books written by AIs. I support fellow writers, not machines, and if you can't be bothered to write your book, why should I be bothered to read your book?

AO3 IS BACK FOR GOOD ACCORDING TO THEIR TWITTER AND THAT MEANS ITS TIME FOR #JUSTLEAVEACOMMENT FEST TO TRULY BEGIN!!! FOR DAY ONE ITS OLD FICS NEW FICS SHORT FICS!!!!

CHECK OUT THE OLDEST AND NEWEST YOUR FANDOM HAS TO OFFER AND PAY SPECIAL ATTENTION TO THOSE PERFECT LITTLE FICS LESS THAN 2K

LETS COME BACK BETTER AND STRONGER WITH EVEN MORE COMMENTS FOR THE WONDERFUL AUTHORS WHO BRIGHTEN OUR DAYS AND NIGHTS WITH THEIR FICS!!!

ꗃ logging on... loading..... ❀ oak is online !! ❀ ╰┈➤ people have got to remember that sometimes this happens because the author is getting little to no interaction on their posts and think its useless to keep posting something that gets no traction lmao

Death Before Water And Life After It

'The Avonlea Story Club'

Story no. #02 Inspired by prompt: “There was a legend about the well in the garden.” Time Duration: 1 May, 2023 - 31 May, 2023

Word Count: 2.6K Words Warning: horror elements, mention of illness, injuries, deaths etc.

Summary: Spending the summer vacation with an ill grandma in a remote village turns mysterious...

I attempted to write down a rare experience I got to have while I visited my late grandma’s village. The story I am about to tell is no ordinary tale. It is, in many ways, unbelievable too. So, I would rather let my readers decide upon believing it.

It was the summer of 2017. My grandma was diagnosed with a deadly disease and the doctors feared that she wouldn’t make it till the next year.  I had a long vacation of two months from school. I didn’t have any plans either. At that moment, my only desire was to visit my grandma for the last time on her deathbed, even though it was said that she couldn’t recognize anyone.

It was the very first time I sat foot in that remote village. I had expected a lot from it since it was located far away from the city. But in reality, nothing about the village appealed to me. It was just an ordinary village with ordinary people.

My grandma didn’t come to greet me. When I went to meet her, she didn’t even bother to look at me. I could tell by looking in her eyes that she was in pain. But as always, my sweet grandma didn’t want to burden anyone with it. I spent three days in the house without getting out for once. Within these three days, I had constantly sat beside grandma and talked to her in hope that she might recognize her youngest granddaughter at some point. But that didn’t happen.

Finally, it was the fourth day when I got bored of playing offline games on my phone. Since the network connection wasn’t the best at that place, I decided to take a look at my surrounding areas. Like I had mentioned before, the village had nothing interesting to enjoy. There was no place for sightseeing.

After some minutes of aimlessly walking around I came to a stop near what looked like a ruin of an old garden. I spent a minute or two looking at its broken gate. Then I finally went in. Once again, I was disappointed after finding nothing but a bunch of wild plants growing all around the place.

There was an old well at the far corner. I felt like I should go and check it before I left the place for good. As I walked towards it I felt uncomfortable and strange. I remembered I was all alone in an abandoned garden with no house that could be seen or people that could be heard.

Yet I couldn’t turn back without a close view of the well. It was as abandoned as the garden itself. Vines and roots grew all around it. The huge stones had cracks. When I peeked inside I was shocked to see water that hadn’t dried out yet. I could see my reflection perfectly in the black water inside.

I was about to go away when I heard someone behind me. There was a little boy sitting on the ground, his back leaning against the well. 

How come I didn't notice him in the first place?

He wasn’t wearing much clothes than necessary, I guessed it was because of the hot weather. He was dirty from his head to toe. I went closer to check on him. I found out that he was humming a tune while scratching his ankles.

“Hey!” I called him, “What are you doing here, all alone?”

He quitted humming at my intrusion and glanced at me for a moment. Then he looked down on his ankles and started to scratch them again. I felt an urge to stop him from doing that. His feet looked swollen and red.

Instead I asked, “Where are your parents?”

“They died… long ago,” he answered in a low voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that!” I went closer to sit in front of him, “Do you live nearby?” There were no houses in sight that could suggest his home. But I still looked around for any sign of life.

In reply, the boy looked at the well behind him for a moment. Then, he looked at me and asked, “Are you a foreigner?”

“No. I came from the city.” I replied.

“So, you are a foreigner!” he stated. This time with a thrill in his eyes. So, I nodded my head in defeat. Maybe he considered everyone apart from the villagers a foreigner.

“You shouldn’t do that.” I said, indicating his merciless scratching.

“It’s okay!” he smiled at me, “It doesn’t hurt anymore.”

I studied his face for a while. Even though it was dirty, I could tell that the boy was really beautiful. He had big doe eyes with long eyelashes. His small mouth looked really cute when he smiled. Also, he had the kind of smile that makes others do the same at its sight.

So, I automatically smiled back at him.

“C’mon!” I stood up, “I’m going now. You shouldn’t be here all alone. This place is giving me the creeps.”

“You’re going away already?” the boy asked. The smile on his face was gone. His big eyes were filling up with tears all of a sudden.

“Aww, don’t cry.” I said, giving him my hand, “I'm not leaving you. I’ll take you to your home.”

“I can’t go.” he shook his head.

“Why?” I asked, rather astonished at the bold reply coming from an otherwise soft spoken little boy.

The boy retreated to his previous position. He continued humming the tune and scratched his ankles as well. I tried convincing him to come with me for some time. He started to completely ignore me.

I checked my watch. It was past lunch time. I knew grandfather was probably really angry by now because he doesn’t like delaying meal times. So, I told the boy to go home early and not to come to the place again. I had to leave him alone by the well.

I had almost forgotten all about it. But another meeting reminded me of my encounter with the little boy by the well.

I laid awake in my bed. The little boy sat at the furthest corner from me. I stared at him for some time, watching him scratch his ankles and humming the familiar tune.

When our eyes met, he let himself smile. "You're awake!" He stated.

"What are you doing here?" I asked him.

"I came because you didn't come to see me again." He replied.

"Did you wait for me?" I asked.

The boy nodded.

"Where?"

"Why? By the well in the garden!"

"Didn't I tell you not to go there alone?"

The boy laughed at me, "But I live there, silly."

I didn't understand him. Suddenly I remembered I was sleeping and I hadn't really woken up.

How could I tell that I was dreaming?

"Oh no! You're gonna wake up now, aren't you?" The boy pouted his lips.

"How do you…" I couldn't finish my question. I was already awake. And as I checked, the boy was gone too.

I couldn't make myself go back to sleep again. It was already dawn. So, I walked around the house. I heard my grandma calling me from within her room as I walked past it. My eyes grew larger.

She remembered me!

"Oh, granny. My lovely, granny." I sprinted inside her room and hugged her.

"When did you come, my love?" She asked, a sweet smile on her lips.

"Almost a week ago."

We talked for some time. Grandma said that she felt a lot better and was so happy to see me. She wondered why mother didn't come. I said she was very busy with her work. I lied because I didn't want to worry her about mother's health. And I knew she wasn't the type to get hurt when someone couldn't manage their time. It is a cruel world, after all.

At some point, grandma was reminiscing about the old times. Long ago when she was young and not yet married. She used to live here, in this village, at that time. She talked as if her memory of her childhood was just a few days back. I felt like she had forgotten me at some stage and mistook me for her best friend of childhood instead as she talked.

At one point, I asked her about the old garden. I asked if it was in use at her times. She looked at me with dreadful eyes, "don't speak of it. Don't you know, it's a forbidden place to walk in?"

"Why is it forbidden, Grandma?" I asked curiously.

"Oh, dear!" She suddenly started to laugh, "I keep forgetting that it's you." and placed a kiss on my forehead.

"Grandma," I called, "Please, tell me about the garden. I wanna know."

"It was a long time ago. Even before I was born. There was a legend about the well in the garden." grandma spoke dreamily.

"What legend?"

"At the time when the first gypsies came to settle down in the land, it was a barren one. No river. No rain. Nothing. Nobody knows why the river gypsies chose to live in such a land after years of floating in water. But they struggled against this land. It wasn't habitable for life at all. They decided they'll excavate a well. After months of labor they did it too. But it was only a matter of days  before the water dried out after the well was built."

"Why?" I asked as grandma stopped to take a breath.

Grandma nodded, "it was a cursed place. Everyone in the village had dreams about the well afterwards. An unknown entity would visit them in their dreams and ask them to negotiate with it. The negotiation was a human life in exchange for water.

"People were scared. They forbade everyone to go near the well. They decided to leave the place for good. Some of them even ran away from home in fear. But the nightmares didn't stop. The entity was hungry for human life. Finally, it got what it wanted.

"A little boy of a lonely mother wandered off to the well one day. When he returned home at sunset, both of his legs were found being chained. The mother walked along the long chains only to find that it led inside the very well her people had built. The more they pulled the chains, the more it grew in length, coming out of the dried well. No blacksmith could damage the chain, not even a little scratch could be made on it.

"The villagers started to see a different version of their same old nightmare. The entity now asked them the life of that little boy only. Then, started the gossip.

"The boy was an illegitimate child. His mother was not a very welcomed person in the community. They lived almost a separated life. Maybe the entity chose wisely. Maybe they should abide by its rule. Maybe the boy could be sacrificed for the sake of all.

"But the mother was a mad woman. She wouldn’t give up on her only gem. She would rather her son lived with the chains around his legs forever. The child cried. He cried all day and night. He said that his legs itched. And as he scratched them again and again, the skin had peeled off and left him wounded.

"'Mama, it hurts.' The boy pleaded with his mother to get rid of his shackles. But nothing could be done for his aid. The villagers, at one point, stopped even trying. The herbal remedy his mother gave him was useless.

"'Let me go, then.' The boy pleaded again. His mother denied.

"Finally, the boy decided for himself. When his mother would be asleep, he would go to the well again. He would ask the well what it wanted from him. And so he did. Nobody heard of the little boy anymore. Someone said that the boy had jumped off to the well himself. But nobody knew because there wasn't a body to be found.

"Since that day, there hasn't been any scarcity of water from the well. The well never dried off after. A beautiful garden grew around the land. No-one had any more nightmares. The gypsies finally overcame another adversary that was the most challenging in their community life. They lived happily ever after."

Grandma finished her story and looked at me with a smile.

"But Grandma," I spoke, "this isn't the type of story that ends with 'happily ever after'."

"Why not?" grandma asked, "the villagers, in fact, did live happily."

"What about the boy? And his mother?"

"Now," grandma stated, "they weren't the hero of my story, were they?"

"You've got a point," I said, "But don't you think that the boy could be the most tragic hero if it was said from his perspective?"

"He could be." Grandma thought for a moment, "Why don't you rewrite it in your own words then? Maybe you can do him some justice."

Before I left grandma for breakfast, I asked her one last question, "since everything is resolved, why did you say that it was a forbidden garden in the beginning?"

"Because, darling!" She looked at me as if it was so obvious, "the little boy can still be seen roaming around it."

I went to the garden that day. It was obvious what grandma told me was just a legend. And a legend can be a lie. Or at least partially. Maybe there was an incident of a boy's drowning. Maybe the nightmares originated from the collective superstitious belief of the gypsies. Or maybe, just maybe, there was an entity involved.

Whatever happened a long time ago, I could never know them for sure. I could only assume the story from my perspective and my beliefs in particular superstitions. But I didn't feel like I could rest till I saw that little boy again and demanded some kind of explanation. It might sound a little crazy to the readers but my mind couldn't make out any reasonable explanation of the boy's peculiar behavior at the moment.

I waited from morning till noon. But he didn't come. I didn’t know that some terrible news awaited me at home other than the fear that grandfather might be mad at me for missing another lunch.

Grandma was no more. My sweet, lovely grandma. The grandma who had talked with me just this dawn. I was told that the servant found her dead when he went to serve her breakfast. I almost didn’t believe it. But I accepted at last as we all do eventually.

I stayed till the funeral was over. Then I immediately packed everything to leave the place. I didn’t think I could stay at the house without feeling my grandma's presence.

But before I left, I had to solve something within myself. I had to see the boy again. I went to the garden for the last time. And as expected he was already waiting for me.

"Why didn't you tell me everything beforehand?" I questioned him, "Didn't you want me to know?"

"You know because I showed you." The same old smile on his face.

"But why me, of all people?"

He walked towards me and placed his cold hands on mine. It was the only time he had really touched me. He said hopefully, "You'll let them know, won't you? They'll finally know."

"Know what?" I asked, a little confused.

"The truth!"

I didn't understand him wholly that day. After years it somehow dawned on me. The little boy wanted the world to know. Not just the legend of the well in the garden. But the little life it took that made it possible.

Author's note: The story is inspired by a folktale my grandma had long ago told me that originated from her hometown. It was about how a pond was excavated and a child's life was offered for it to contain water. There are many versions of this story. The story is really memorable to me and honestly, I still get chills whenever I think about it. I made some changes to the plot to match the given prompt. I don't know if I could do it any justice. But I'm glad I made an effort to preserve one of the less known folktales of my country.

P.S. The country is Bangladesh…

Buy Me a Coffee

Heyyyyy all you kuties, so I have started a Buy Me a Coffee page to try and get some monetary support for following my dreams and becoming a full-time writer. If you want a custom-made one-shot or multi-part BTS, TxT, or BlackPink fic, simply Buy Me a Coffee or two and submit a Request! Drabbles under 1000 words are free.

I purple you, thank you in advance 💜

"The Fundamentals of Finding things" a book of poems

Is it enough to overword it?

That then I might understand love,

After scraping over the greatest writers

Who cast their fishing line

With intents of catching

More lines

And more, and more,

Until their writings become too long

Even for someone like me to understand.

-Isabella Lamberty, excerpt from "Love or Longing?", The Fundamentals of Finding Things

Tumblr...do your thing and connect me with other writers ❤️

(Please reblog if you're an active writing blog)

If I read a fic, and then I find out that the ‘author’ made an AI write it for them, I’m not leaving votes/kudos/comments, even if I like it. You didn’t write it, sugarboo, so you don’t deserve any praise for it. I support artists, not AIs.

I have a WIP that I am subscribed to, that is 100% outside my comfort zone, but the author is awesome and hasn’t posted in the fandom in years.  So I am going to read and comment all over that thing...

you know those tropes where you come across them and are like Hard No Thank You but then you see the author’s name and are like… 😒 i will read this FOR YOU 😒…

This, 100%, this, I knew SO much about some fandoms from like mutuals, and from AO3 authors who wrote for my fandoms. I have read their fanfic before having any idea who pip-pip and bing-bong are, but they were so well written.

the bond between mutuals who only share one or two fandoms is stronger than an entire fandom combined… I do not know what you are blogging about but you are right, pip-pip and bing-bong are homosexuals who crave blood and understanding and I will heart that in support

Agreed. I have one great fan right now who’s commenting nice things and tbh that’s my motivation. I wasn’t sure if I was going to continue my current idea but @greencurlyhair is a great fan and seriously fans keep writers going.

I’m new to writing on tumblr but I actually have my own whole ass novel I wrote and published online only to get no likes but lots of views. It wasn’t a bad book either. It was a mystery novel about queer teens figuring out a crime. I mean I wrote it in high school so it isn’t great. But writing has always been a source of encouragement for me. Don’t take that away from authors because you’re afraid it’s AI.

Writing was my first consist source of praise as a child because I took up writing extremely young. I wrote my first book at age nine and my mother talking about how nice it was and keeping it flipped the switch of ‘oh I can make people happy with this yay’ then my novel in high school actually helped me make friends and bond with teachers. Especially my algebra one teacher who was such a great guy who encouraged my dreams and didn’t let me give up on becoming a writer. My guy taught algebra but his real job seemed to be getting these teens to be creative.

When you comment or just give a like you’re making that author’s day I promise. We aren’t posting this stuff just because. We want to entertain yall, we love knowing our writing is enjoyable so please don’t just read and enjoy something without so mush as a like. It’s having the opposite effect as what you want if you do.

I agree that if anything it just hands more of the writing field to AI. It’s bad enough already. You aren’t helping by ignoring work. It makes it less worth it for authors and then you’re only going to get more bots filling our places.

I saw a comment by someone on reddit who said they no longer comment on any fanfiction because of the risk of it being AI and ... that just seems like such a cop out to me, not to mention incredibly cruel to authors.

Please please please do not stop commenting on all fics or interacting with authors because you are worried about things being AI. The risk is slim, and the damage you do to authors by doing this is awful.

Writers put so much effort into their fics. For people to openly admit they still read and consume these fics, but choose not to comment on anything because of the possibility of someone using AI for their writing is incredibly selfish. You're punishing authors by doing this. You're not being moral or helpful or crusading for any useful cause - you're just hurting authors.

Ironically, by doing this, you're actually more likely to cause authors to stop writing (silence does this), and people who can't write will fill the gaps left by creating AI writing - so you're making the problem worse, not helping anyone.

If you want to support authors and writers, then SUPPORT them! Reblog work and send authors asks, leave comments and kudos, and above all don't punish people with silence.

Your favorite writers have stopped updating, not returned from hiatus, or simply deactivated altogether, because they get no support.

If you're one of the people who goes to X writer's inbox and says "I know I don't reblog from you-" lemme just stop you right there.

We have lives. We have duties, things to do, responsibilities, because a big chunk of us are adults. It's okay that you have other things, that you're not always available, that you might be going through something and can't always read or reblog everything. Writers get that.

But no writer wants to see you tell them "Hey, I know I don't reblog from you!"

They know. They're in a slump for a reason. The reason isn't you not reblogging or supporting them, the reason is hardly anyone doing it.

And if you go to them and wave the "hey!! I don't reblog from you even though it's all you ask in return for your free work!" card, chances are, the writer will be upset. They can't very well point out how tactless you're being, because then they might just be cancelled or called out for being rude to you when you are deliberately being tone-deaf to their situation as well.

Like you, writers have lives outside. Writers have jobs, or are searching for them; they have worries, duties, things going on, worries, etc.

The difference is they sit for hours upon hours to write, while it would only take you between a second and a minute to reblog.

Reblogging is absolutely not difficult. Fast reblogging is incredibly quick and practical, but "slow" reblogging isn't slow either. You don't even have to add a comment to the reblog, an empty reblog is just as appreciated.

Supporting your writers is literally not difficult, and if you as a reader and as a consumer aren't going to do it, then it's totally fine if you choose not to. Your life, your blog, your choice.

But don't go at a writer to remind them "Hey I know I'm among the people who doesn't support you but I still like what you write" and expect them to be overwhelmed with joy without feeling the slightest tinge of resentment.

Likes do nothing!!!

If you're in the position to support a writer, do it. It's not hard.

(This will have a bunch of spaces for those who struggle to read long/big paragraphs)

This right here is why some writers are just ready to quit, and the lack of interaction from readers, but that’s a topic for another day!

I write stories all the time but never post them because I know how rude people are. And I’m not in the right mental state to deal with that.

Writers have a life outside of writing. Let me say it again.

Creators have a life outside of creating.

They all do; writers, painters, sculptors, knitters, etc.

They do not eat, sleep, and breathe ink or clay or yarn! They have families; mothers, fathers, dogs, cats, fishes, children, husbands, girlfriends, significant others, etc.

Or maybe they just need a break for their mental health. It’s like breaking a bone.

You break your bone, go to the doctors and they tell you to rest, take medication, no physical activities, etc etc.

I’d rather that person take a break and heal instead of pushing their limits and ending up in worse condition than before.

If the creator takes the time to tell you they won’t have an update, or a project will be delayed. You can either stand by their side and give them sympathy, not pity, but sympathy.

You don’t even have to say anything, you’ve acknowledged it and moved on. You’re fine with them needing a break or having plans.

OR, you can leave. You especially do not have to say anything and can call it a day. Leave and never come back. Or leave and just randomly check in on the progress.

But never take the time to say something rude. If you do not want it said to you, do not say it to others.

If you do not want it said to you, do not say it to others.

I know some people can’t help it, but please, try to reread things. Think before you speak, type, write, sign, whatever. Just think!

(Thank you @widowbitessting for letting me use this as an example.)

Why the fuck are you not updating this weekend??? You’ve kept us waiting long enough and now you’re gonna make us wait an extra week?? Is this a joke?

Um, okay, wow. Watch your tone please?

I’m not updating this week as I’m away at a family function and I like to be around when the next part drops in case there’s any issues (like with part 3…)

Apologies you’re having to wait a little longer for the next part.

Wow.