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like the betrayal’s always going to be worse if they cared about you and it didn’t matter. someone discards you because they didn’t give a shit, then you can be angry about that, you can feel vindicated in that, you can get over it. but if they can look you in the eyes and say “I love you. I would make the same choice again.” You will never sleep peacefully again, is all.
“I thought they cared about me, but they were lying this whole time.” <- tired. boring. removes all the nuance of this relationship to make it easier to move on from.
“I thought they cared about me, and I was right, and every minute they were there for me, every time they said they were proud, every laugh we shared leaning against each other bruised and breathless, all of it was real. and they still left me behind. They could put their love aside. I couldn’t.” <- insane. will never leave you alone. reminds you that even the worst people are still people and can still care about even the ones they hurt the most and that undoes neither the harm nor the love.
functionally suicidal character saying “I would die for you” to their significant other and its like. I get the sentiment, honey, but if a hot dog vendor told me he’d sell hot dogs for me, I wouldn’t feel very moved now would I
so much to chew on w how joint suffering Makes People after they get out of it. this is especially juicy to me if your characters were introduced to each other as a direct result of the horrors. you learned everything about me at my worst and against my will so how do i get better again if you’re watching. there’s no one else in the world who understands a fraction of what you know of me. i see your wounds beneath your shirt. you know how i scream. your face is in all of my nightmares. if anyone tried to take you from me i would be undone. no notes !
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'Transfem DIY HRT' and 'Transmasc DIY HRT' are a pair of zines aimed at teaching transgender people how to safely self-administer DIY Hormone Replacement Therapy (HRT).
Both zines are 100% free to download here from Little Mouse (who also made the zine). Print, share and distribute to those who need it!
The information contained in this zine is collated from, and openly available from, DIYHRT.info.
I’m blindsided by authors using ai in their works. how can readers and writers tell if the writing is ai generated?
I’m gonna assume writers know whether or not their own works are ai because they either write them themselves or have ai write for them.
but as for readers (or writers who read other writers’ works), no, you can’t tell unless the writer themself says their works are ai generated. anything else is witch hunt, speculations and possibly wrongful accusations — all of which harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more.
so if at any point you think an untagged work is ai and if that bothers you, quietly click away. but you can never know for sure based on vibes. because everything ai writes, a human writer does. that’s what ai was trained on and what it was trained to mimic.
I’ve already talked more about this here, here, here. and more on my other blog @writingdose here and here.
You can notice certain telltale signs in some of the writing, such as short sentence stacking and usage of "not x not y but z" structures. But you have to be familiar with AI writing styles to be able to notice that.
I’ve been writing “not x, not y, but z” way before gen ai became a thing. I’ve read works that have “not x, not y, but z” in them, and I’ve read those works way before gen ai became a thing. I’ve also been using em dash way before gen ai became a thing, and I’ve seen em dash used in so many written works way before gen ai became a thing. I know for a fact some human writers actually prefer short sentence stacking too.
every “ai telltale” is something humans write before, otherwise ai wouldn’t have been able to mimic it in the first place. because it needs human-made works to mimic on.
when I say ai witch hunt, speculations and accusations harm the writing community as much as ai does, if not more, “not x, not y, but z” and em dash are one of the main things I’m talking about.
given the current climate this pride especially i feel i must mention that i love my trans friends, i stand with trans people in the fight against transphobic legislation and those who would enforce it, and this blog is not a good place for you to be if you do not vibe with that
i love writing realism HOWEVER. planning a UK and Europe tour for a fictional band running 1991 - 1992 so i can calculate how long it would take to get from place to place and work out accurate dates from that might be taking it TOO far
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first ever WIP Wednesday, let's go! context: this is an extract from Chapter Two of Substance, a romance novel about students studying at Lancaster Uni in 1989. enjoy !
The next morning, Noa wakes up with her hair in her mouth and James’ side of the bed cold and empty. She groans, taking the time to spit out her hair and ready herself for the guilt of a lie-in, when someone says, “Didn’t wake you, did I?”
She sits bolt upright. At the bottom of the bed, Raziel is knelt, elbow deep in James’ ottoman. He grins at her, and keeps searching.
“What in God’s name are you doing?” Noa asks, her voice still heavy and rough from sleep.
Raziel’s smile widens, “Petrol money. He owes me.”
Noa doubts that. The only debt James ever gets into is with his credit card, which he pays off in full at the end of every month. James borrowing money is like a dry day in Lancaster, or Noa turning in an assignment early: it never happens. She briefly debates threatening to tell James, just to see how Raziel will react, then decides against it. No use turning Rat’s dealer against her. And since Raziel can’t even afford a place to stay, apparently – well, James won’t miss a tenner or two. So all Noa does is shove her hair back from her face and ask, “What time is it?”
“One.”
“Christ.” Noa groans, and falls back onto the bed. Fucking James, and his heavy arm and too-hot body, and constant touch that keeps her from proper sleep. No wonder she slept through his alarm. Though, she thinks with irritation, he could have always woken her himself. She’s so beyond late, it doesn’t even qualify as late anymore. She’s so far beyond late, she might as well have just stayed asleep until James got home again. Which she could have done, had Raziel not woken her up.
“Not much point now, is there? Going in, I mean.” Raziel seemingly reads her mind. He shuts the ottoman with care she wouldn’t have expected, then moves around to rifle through James’ bedside table. Noa watches him carelessly dump the contents out onto the bedsheets. Packs of cards, broken pencils, an old notebook – she cringes when a pack of condoms flies out next. Raziel doesn’t look at her, but she watches him poorly suppress another smile.
“Fuck’s sake.” Noa says.
“Everyone shags, don’t stress.”
“I didn’t mean those,” Noa says, though she sort-of did. She can feel heat in her cheeks, and presses the back of her hands against them before Raziel can see that too, “I mean the time. I’m meant to be in a lecture. I’ve already slept through one.”
“Oh. Don’t stress about that either. It’s not like first year matters, does it? From what Sol’s said.”
Sol is an avid lecture skipper. In fact, Noa doesn’t think she’s ever seen him before midday. But still, she argues, “No, but- I mean, I’m paying. I might as well turn up anyway.”
It was something she and her mum had argued about frequently, so often Noa can still hear her voice: if you’re so desperate to get yourself into debt, you better get your money’s worth. If you’re so determined to go, you better bloody well go. And yet here she is, bathing in the afternoon light and watching a drug dealer rob her boyfriend. And her mum is forty miles away, dying of cancer. But she’s been trying not to think about that.
“And,” Noa throws out, to move her mind on if nothing else, “What else am I going to do today? Everyone else is in a lecture. I can hang around here, or I can go back to halls and hang around there. Not exactly a fun day, is it?”
“You can come with me, if you like.”
Noa raises her eyebrows, “Where are you going?”
“Some moors, about an hour from here,” He finally pulls a note from the recesses of the drawer, and snaps it triumphantly, “I’m an avid hiker.”
Noa scans him, again taking in his thin limbs and tattooed arms, nicotine stained fingers and lace-rimmed collar. “Bullshit.” She says.
“It’s true.”
She keeps her eyebrows raised until he ducks his head, suppressing another little smile, “Well. There’s hiking trails. And they grow a very interesting mushroom. If I go up, and some of these interesting mushrooms just happen their way into my pockets, it’s not really my fault, is it?”
“You’re going mushroom picking?”
“You make it sound so pastoral.”
“Why would I go mushroom picking with you?”
Raziel bites back another smile, and stands up, “Well, it’s not like you’ve got anything better to do, is it?”
i hate that when you try and look up shit for writing purposes it starts linking suicide hotlines and addiction advice articles like bro i just wanna know the information im not killing myself i promise. now tell me what i wanna know
🕸️ hello !! i’m saint, they/them, 26 years old, from the north-west of England
🕸️ after a long break from original fiction i’ve FINALLY started to write again - my main genre is romance set from 1985-1999, and can be summarised as ‘bad people doing bad things to each other’
🕸️ outside of writing, i love to reading, hiking barefoot, and alternative fashion. i’m also obsessed with music, which is where i get a lot of my inspiration from - if im not playing music im most likely asleep
🕸️ my current project is nicknamed ‘UNI DAZE’ or ‘The Transmission Verse’ and it’s a loose series focusing on a group of friends navigating mental health, queerness, and choosing the unconventional path against the backdrop of the 80s and 90s. each book focuses on a different relationship in the group, and can be read as a standalone since they don’t follow on from each other, but they can also be read as a series all together.
🕸️ the first book of the verse, SUBSTANCE, is on its second draft, and i’m working on the second and third books as it rests. introductions incoming !!
🕸️ as a writer, i love to explore unconventional romances - or, rather, romances that aren’t usually shown in fiction. i like to write characters that are ugly, characters that are unapologetically bad people, characters that are sick or disabled and aren’t fixed by love… anything that isn’t typical is free game. essentially, i just want to explore as many lives as i can lol.
🕸️ i’m a socially awkward extrovert, so feel free to come and say hi, tell me about your WIPs or ocs or anything !! i don’t bite, im just a weirdo 💜
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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"what if they fucked" WRONG. what if they ruined each other's lives irreparably. what if there was nothing left but a smoldering heap. what if everything that brought them together twisted and corroded and ripped them apart. and then they fucked.
origamiaround
theartofmadeline
annaxmalina
gummygunk
