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Pros of organising events via Discord: I get to talk with people as they work on their projects and often have a chance to encourage them/compliment their work.
Cons of organising events via Discord: I don't want to repeat the same comment twice, so often all that I have left to say is "Thank you so much for joining us". Broken record much, but hey, the sentiment IS true xd
Hi hi @lorei-writes! I'm your gifter for the Top Tier Gift Exchange!
Caught in the Rain was also one of my listed top tropes, so I couldn't resist doing a scene depicting just that. And when you don't have a umbrella and it starts pouring buckets? A big cape will do in a pinch!
I did take some liberties with the clothing (sorry if Esther's cape doesn't drape that way but it's how it worked in my mind if she raised her arm :'D) (hope the improv'd flower details make up for it tho, I added them because Chev's little details were irritating me and I needed to redirect myself to something more calming)
Thanks for having me Lorei and @pond-lilies! I had fun with this!
^ realistic footage of me running to hug you (potential crushed ribs in 3... 2... 1...)
Jokes aside, I love it. Thank you so much ;--; <3 I've already spilled some of the feels to you, but... Let me repeat: I love, love, love this so much. You drew them beautifully. All the details are there. It makes my heart happy, and... It's a little silly... But it also makes me remember just how lovely our fandom community is.
đ Leonardo da Vinci x OC (Leanna); a gift for @rinaririr , made as a part of Top Tier! Gift Exchange hosted by myself and @pond-lilies; Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life -- a little bit of everything; Reincarnation; Soulmates; Red String of Fate; Cofee Shop; Cats đ
Soft sunlight weaves itself through Leonardoâs hair, strokes the contours of his face while feathering kisses over his eyelids. Overzealous in its affection, it earns itself a grumble and then a yawn, a stretch of his arms. A cat reconsidering a nap, Leonardo turns onto his side. Long, dark hair scattered across the pillows tickles his face. His nose scrunches up.
âFive more minutesâŚâ a voice beside him mumbles.
âScusaâŚâ
His arm wrapped around her waist, Leanna releases a pleased sigh. If he could, heâd freeze the moment, preserve it in time⌠Just this once, just for her, just because of her. Before the well of years they have left to share fully dries out. Leonardo nuzzles against his love, lips hot on her neck. Her pulse is still strong, and it lures out his fangs, something inside of him begging to turn her seconds ironclad.
His stomach drops.
He shouldnât.
âLeonardo?â Leanna asks, turning onto her back to better see him. Heâd rather she didnât. âWhy so early?â
He canât.
âIt seems your pull on me is stronger than expected, cara mia. Couldnât help myself.â
Crowâs feet appear around her eyes as she smiles, and she is just as radiant as when heâs first met her. Leonardo cups her face, his thumb stroking the dark circles underneath her eyes. How very selfish of him to disturb her rest; as if to apologise, he kisses her forehead, to then draw her against his chest, their limbs tangled as they strive not to fall off the piece of furniture he generously calls âhis bedâ.
âHey!â she protests, but without any real spirit behind the sentiment.
âFive more minutes,â Leonardo murmurs against the crown of her head. Five more minutes is reasonable. That much he is allowed. His eyes close to shut off any hesitation, the warmth pressed against his heart lulling him into the most pleasant of temporary dreams.
Days turn into weeks, which in turn become months, years, decades⌠No more than decades. Leonardo runs his hands over the duvet to smooth any folds in it, rather unsure whether his life hasnât been just a particularly long nap. It hasnât felt real for a good while. The door to their bedroom opens, and Leanna joins him with an armload of fresh linens.
âLaundry duty?â he asks.
âLaundry duty,â she echoes, rather tired by the looks of it. âSebastian said there was no room left in the closet and that we should store them here. Open the chest for me? I can hardly see whereââ
The globe â his favourite â spins just as his world does, slamming against a stack of books right when his back hits the floor. Leonardo tries to look around, but a fallen sheet obscures his vision. A weight presses him down, a sharp elbow turning against his ribs, and after a moment he is no longer blind. Leanna peers down at him, her brows knitted together in a lovely frown. Spread half on the floor, half over his torso, she does not appear to be particularly pleased with the present state of affairs.
âI thought it was your favourite,â she remarks. âWerenât you supposed to put it away? Three days ago?â
âOh? So it wasnât months this time. I told you, dolcezza, I would improve.â
âI should have left you below that bedsheet.â Leanna glares at him, but he can see amusement glimmer in the depths of her eyes. In either case, she averts her gaze soon enough.
âWell, we could still fix that.â
Her face turns towards him, surprise flashing though her features lightning-fast. That moment he, too, will cherish. Leonardo catalogues her expression in his memory to later sketch it out, and it is only the silver woven into her hair that worries him.
Time.
He needs more time.
It moves on too fast. He wonât be ready to let go.
âCara mia!â Leonardo announces upon entering their bedroom. âI wound your watch.â
âWas it a nice walk?â
Leonardo sits on the edge of their bed â a proper one, for the old couch has long proved to be insufficient. Leanna lay on her back, snow-white hair spread over an equally pristine pillow, eyes expectant, dim, yet not fully devoid of light. Wrinkled as they may be, her hands still belong to her, and he craves them all the more now that they are approaching the end. Leonardo entwines their fingers. He hasnât changed, aged for even a second, never mind a day.
âYes. Next time, I will carry you along.â
âPeople are going to think Iâm your grandma. Again,â she complains, although with a hint of humour in her tone.
âLet them think whatever they want.â
âThere is no other choice.â
Silence falls, heavy and too thick to swallow. Leonardo shuffles his feet against the carpet; if he wanted to, heâd distract her with another story or play for her until his fingers grew numb. Perhaps that would be the right thing to do, however, he stalls.
âSoonââ
âWeâll start again,â he assures, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. âI wonât stop looking until I meet you again, Leanna.â
***
Leonardo lacks a compass or a map, the path he seeks remaining stubbornly uncharted, obscured even from his very own eyes. Minutes have become a century and a half, the memories of affection now bitter-sweet, the rotten heart in his chest still daring to instruct his actions. Leanna is gone. Has been for a long, long while. Yet⌠Yet that ridiculous, wretched organ holds an eternal hope. Leonardo clutches his suitcase to then set it down on the conveyor belt. Onto another country. This time, this time surely, he will find her.
Cheap airlines have never been the height of Leonardoâs dreams, but it is what the moderate remains of le Comteâs fortune can afford him. The digital age has not been particularly kind to their kin â one can only transfer assets so many times without raising any suspicions, although the word has it Queen Elizabeth XVIII of England has tasted the eternity. One day, Leonardo will have to pay her a visit and inquire about that personally; currently, however, he has more pressing matters to attend to. A child seated beside him breaks into a healthy cry. The plane takes off. Five hours to go.
Four and a half.
Three and three quarters.
ThreeâŚ
Two.
One and a half.
One.
A half.
A quarter.
Ten minutesâŚ
At last, the plane lands, and it takes all of Leonardoâs patience not to burst through the emergency door. None of his ploys have worked, all his genius rendered fully inconsequential in the face of inaccessibility of the MelonNana TV channel. Nevertheless, he is tactful enough to exit it as a normal person would, even going as far as to collect his luggage. His looks must have alerted the taxi driver. The man doesnât strike a chat. That suits Leonardo just well, his head turning towards the window, although he can hardly see the buildings they pass. They stop in front of his hotel sooner than he would have expected.
The reception, his suitcase hitting the floor, the rustling of the bedsheets as he drops among them, all thoughts fade out of his head. Leonardo closes his eyes. A cat nap wouldnât hurt, but the persistent meowing outside pounces on his consciousness whenever it is about to dissipate and release him into the ether. His brow furrowed, Leonardo gets up to his feet and walks up to the window. He glances out of it, but he cannot see anything. He grabs the handle.
âMeow!â
A cat looks at him from the ground, its black fur shimmering in the setting sun. Red ribbon tied around his neck, it holds its chin high, golden eyes filled with pure, unfiltered disdain.
âHey, you there! Tone it down a little, hm?â
âMEOOOW!â
âSome of us are trying to sleep.â
âROOOWR!â The cat bristles. âMEOW! MEOW! MEOW!â
Leonardo runs his hand down his face. His options are numbered, so⌠He takes a note out of Dazaiâs book and leaps out the window. The creature doesnât seem affected. It simply begins to walk away.
âYouâre a rather cold furball.â
The cat glances over its shoulder.
âIf you donât like that, you should change your attitude.â
The cat takes a few steps. Again, it looks over its shoulder. Leonardo needs no further instruction â he follows after the pet.
They cross busy, four-lane roads, march through bridges, cross all sorts of neighbourhoods (some more than once). Leonardo has begun to question his sanity, however, a part of him enjoys the walk. The watch heâs been ordered to take care of also appears rather pleased, the mechanism inside of it heating from excitement. Sweet ragoon creeper climbs up fences and walls.
âWhere are you taking me, gattino?â
The cat opts to remain silent, as per its right.
The door to a building opens as a man exits onto the street; seizing the opportunity, the cat plunges inside. Leonardo stands still on the pavement for just a moment. He looks up to investigate the sign.
BLACK CAT
It tells him precisely nothing, but he does enter the establishment.
Dark eyes settle on him the moment his foot passes the threshold. The watch on his wrist stops together with his heart.
âHow may I help you?â Leanna asks from behind the counter, the black cat stretching besides the register. She is exactly as he has remembered her, from her tired eyes, to the charming air of awkwardness, and her dearly beloved hands.
âScusa⌠I followed the cat,â Leonardo blurts out after a short while.
Her eyebrows shot up at the remark. âItâs a coffee shop, sir.â
âOne espresso then.â Leonardo sits down in the nearest chair. âWhatâs the name?â
âIâm Leanna.â
He smirks at her. Heâs known that much for far longer than she has. âI meant the cat.â
âLux.â
Light. Yes, the light has returned.
đđđ
Dear Rina,
As you know by now, you were my giftee. I hope you like the story I've prepared and that I did Leanna justice. I gave it my all.
Truth be told... When it was greenlit that I would prepare something for you, it made me really happy. Sure, sure, I joke that I'm your fangirl, but it isn't wholly incorrect -- I do appreciate you a lot as an artist and a person. So... >:) In a way, this is also a revenge story for all the nice things you've made for me.
Keep warm,
Lorei
PS
I had to read Leonardo's route specifically for this story and I was so uncertain about my characterisation choices I ended up asking 5 people to verify them -- so I owe major thanks to Shao-wei @youngshaowei1991, Venulus @venulus, Chisa @cheese-ception, Lily @pond-lilies, and Eli @cottonfluffballofdoom.
Have a laugh at how bad I overthought things, please, hahaha.
RAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH LOREI!!!!!! DID YOU KISS THE BRICK BEFORE YOU THROW IT AT LEAST??????? you cannot RIP my heart out, trample it, and then glue it together like this!!!!
I love it so much, like so so so much and words cannot describe!!!! Aaaaaarrrggghhhg the way you characterize Leo is so *chefâs kiss* and ARRRRGGDJDJHDJD
And my goodness⌠Iâve always adore how atmospheric your writing is and ARRHHFKDKSNSNKSKSNDND i just wanna eat your writing
I love the heaviness and melancholic feelings leading up to Leannaâs death, the monotony and listless (?) restless (?) Leonardo is before meeting her again AAAHHHHHH???????? you can trample on my heart anytime đđ
Thank you so much, for both the writing and all the effort you put into it. Words cannot describe how happy I am and how much I really appreciate you đĽšđĽšđĽš Iâm printing this out and this is going into my little journal of Leonardo and Leanna brain rot thank you for the food you cooked
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.
â Live Streamingâ Interactive Chatâ Private Showsâ HD Quality
Anya is LIVE right now
FREE
Free to watch ⢠No registration required ⢠HD streaming
đ Leonardo da Vinci x OC (Leanna); a gift for @rinaririr , made as a part of Top Tier! Gift Exchange hosted by myself and @pond-lilies; Fluff, Angst, Slice of Life -- a little bit of everything; Reincarnation; Soulmates; Red String of Fate; Cofee Shop; Cats đ
Soft sunlight weaves itself through Leonardoâs hair, strokes the contours of his face while feathering kisses over his eyelids. Overzealous in its affection, it earns itself a grumble and then a yawn, a stretch of his arms. A cat reconsidering a nap, Leonardo turns onto his side. Long, dark hair scattered across the pillows tickles his face. His nose scrunches up.
âFive more minutesâŚâ a voice beside him mumbles.
âScusaâŚâ
His arm wrapped around her waist, Leanna releases a pleased sigh. If he could, heâd freeze the moment, preserve it in time⌠Just this once, just for her, just because of her. Before the well of years they have left to share fully dries out. Leonardo nuzzles against his love, lips hot on her neck. Her pulse is still strong, and it lures out his fangs, something inside of him begging to turn her seconds ironclad.
His stomach drops.
He shouldnât.
âLeonardo?â Leanna asks, turning onto her back to better see him. Heâd rather she didnât. âWhy so early?â
He canât.
âIt seems your pull on me is stronger than expected, cara mia. Couldnât help myself.â
Crowâs feet appear around her eyes as she smiles, and she is just as radiant as when heâs first met her. Leonardo cups her face, his thumb stroking the dark circles underneath her eyes. How very selfish of him to disturb her rest; as if to apologise, he kisses her forehead, to then draw her against his chest, their limbs tangled as they strive not to fall off the piece of furniture he generously calls âhis bedâ.
âHey!â she protests, but without any real spirit behind the sentiment.
âFive more minutes,â Leonardo murmurs against the crown of her head. Five more minutes is reasonable. That much he is allowed. His eyes close to shut off any hesitation, the warmth pressed against his heart lulling him into the most pleasant of temporary dreams.
Days turn into weeks, which in turn become months, years, decades⌠No more than decades. Leonardo runs his hands over the duvet to smooth any folds in it, rather unsure whether his life hasnât been just a particularly long nap. It hasnât felt real for a good while. The door to their bedroom opens, and Leanna joins him with an armload of fresh linens.
âLaundry duty?â he asks.
âLaundry duty,â she echoes, rather tired by the looks of it. âSebastian said there was no room left in the closet and that we should store them here. Open the chest for me? I can hardly see whereââ
The globe â his favourite â spins just as his world does, slamming against a stack of books right when his back hits the floor. Leonardo tries to look around, but a fallen sheet obscures his vision. A weight presses him down, a sharp elbow turning against his ribs, and after a moment he is no longer blind. Leanna peers down at him, her brows knitted together in a lovely frown. Spread half on the floor, half over his torso, she does not appear to be particularly pleased with the present state of affairs.
âI thought it was your favourite,â she remarks. âWerenât you supposed to put it away? Three days ago?â
âOh? So it wasnât months this time. I told you, dolcezza, I would improve.â
âI should have left you below that bedsheet.â Leanna glares at him, but he can see amusement glimmer in the depths of her eyes. In either case, she averts her gaze soon enough.
âWell, we could still fix that.â
Her face turns towards him, surprise flashing though her features lightning-fast. That moment he, too, will cherish. Leonardo catalogues her expression in his memory to later sketch it out, and it is only the silver woven into her hair that worries him.
Time.
He needs more time.
It moves on too fast. He wonât be ready to let go.
âCara mia!â Leonardo announces upon entering their bedroom. âI wound your watch.â
âWas it a nice walk?â
Leonardo sits on the edge of their bed â a proper one, for the old couch has long proved to be insufficient. Leanna lay on her back, snow-white hair spread over an equally pristine pillow, eyes expectant, dim, yet not fully devoid of light. Wrinkled as they may be, her hands still belong to her, and he craves them all the more now that they are approaching the end. Leonardo entwines their fingers. He hasnât changed, aged for even a second, never mind a day.
âYes. Next time, I will carry you along.â
âPeople are going to think Iâm your grandma. Again,â she complains, although with a hint of humour in her tone.
âLet them think whatever they want.â
âThere is no other choice.â
Silence falls, heavy and too thick to swallow. Leonardo shuffles his feet against the carpet; if he wanted to, heâd distract her with another story or play for her until his fingers grew numb. Perhaps that would be the right thing to do, however, he stalls.
âSoonââ
âWeâll start again,â he assures, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. âI wonât stop looking until I meet you again, Leanna.â
***
Leonardo lacks a compass or a map, the path he seeks remaining stubbornly uncharted, obscured even from his very own eyes. Minutes have become a century and a half, the memories of affection now bitter-sweet, the rotten heart in his chest still daring to instruct his actions. Leanna is gone. Has been for a long, long while. Yet⌠Yet that ridiculous, wretched organ holds an eternal hope. Leonardo clutches his suitcase to then set it down on the conveyor belt. Onto another country. This time, this time surely, he will find her.
Cheap airlines have never been the height of Leonardoâs dreams, but it is what the moderate remains of le Comteâs fortune can afford him. The digital age has not been particularly kind to their kin â one can only transfer assets so many times without raising any suspicions, although the word has it Queen Elizabeth XVIII of England has tasted the eternity. One day, Leonardo will have to pay her a visit and inquire about that personally; currently, however, he has more pressing matters to attend to. A child seated beside him breaks into a healthy cry. The plane takes off. Five hours to go.
Four and a half.
Three and three quarters.
ThreeâŚ
Two.
One and a half.
One.
A half.
A quarter.
Ten minutesâŚ
At last, the plane lands, and it takes all of Leonardoâs patience not to burst through the emergency door. None of his ploys have worked, all his genius rendered fully inconsequential in the face of inaccessibility of the MelonNana TV channel. Nevertheless, he is tactful enough to exit it as a normal person would, even going as far as to collect his luggage. His looks must have alerted the taxi driver. The man doesnât strike a chat. That suits Leonardo just well, his head turning towards the window, although he can hardly see the buildings they pass. They stop in front of his hotel sooner than he would have expected.
The reception, his suitcase hitting the floor, the rustling of the bedsheets as he drops among them, all thoughts fade out of his head. Leonardo closes his eyes. A cat nap wouldnât hurt, but the persistent meowing outside pounces on his consciousness whenever it is about to dissipate and release him into the ether. His brow furrowed, Leonardo gets up to his feet and walks up to the window. He glances out of it, but he cannot see anything. He grabs the handle.
âMeow!â
A cat looks at him from the ground, its black fur shimmering in the setting sun. Red ribbon tied around his neck, it holds its chin high, golden eyes filled with pure, unfiltered disdain.
âHey, you there! Tone it down a little, hm?â
âMEOOOW!â
âSome of us are trying to sleep.â
âROOOWR!â The cat bristles. âMEOW! MEOW! MEOW!â
Leonardo runs his hand down his face. His options are numbered, so⌠He takes a note out of Dazaiâs book and leaps out the window. The creature doesnât seem affected. It simply begins to walk away.
âYouâre a rather cold furball.â
The cat glances over its shoulder.
âIf you donât like that, you should change your attitude.â
The cat takes a few steps. Again, it looks over its shoulder. Leonardo needs no further instruction â he follows after the pet.
They cross busy, four-lane roads, march through bridges, cross all sorts of neighbourhoods (some more than once). Leonardo has begun to question his sanity, however, a part of him enjoys the walk. The watch heâs been ordered to take care of also appears rather pleased, the mechanism inside of it heating from excitement. Sweet ragoon creeper climbs up fences and walls.
âWhere are you taking me, gattino?â
The cat opts to remain silent, as per its right.
The door to a building opens as a man exits onto the street; seizing the opportunity, the cat plunges inside. Leonardo stands still on the pavement for just a moment. He looks up to investigate the sign.
BLACK CAT
It tells him precisely nothing, but he does enter the establishment.
Dark eyes settle on him the moment his foot passes the threshold. The watch on his wrist stops together with his heart.
âHow may I help you?â Leanna asks from behind the counter, the black cat stretching besides the register. She is exactly as he has remembered her, from her tired eyes, to the charming air of awkwardness, and her dearly beloved hands.
âScusa⌠I followed the cat,â Leonardo blurts out after a short while.
Her eyebrows shot up at the remark. âItâs a coffee shop, sir.â
âOne espresso then.â Leonardo sits down in the nearest chair. âWhatâs the name?â
âIâm Leanna.â
He smirks at her. Heâs known that much for far longer than she has. âI meant the cat.â
âLux.â
Light. Yes, the light has returned.
đđđ
Dear Rina,
As you know by now, you were my giftee. I hope you like the story I've prepared and that I did Leanna justice. I gave it my all.
Truth be told... When it was greenlit that I would prepare something for you, it made me really happy. Sure, sure, I joke that I'm your fangirl, but it isn't wholly incorrect -- I do appreciate you a lot as an artist and a person. So... >:) In a way, this is also a revenge story for all the nice things you've made for me.
Keep warm,
Lorei
PS
I had to read Leonardo's route specifically for this story and I was so uncertain about my characterisation choices I ended up asking 5 people to verify them -- so I owe major thanks to Shao-wei @youngshaowei1991, Venulus @venulus, Chisa @cheese-ception, Lily @pond-lilies, and Eli @cottonfluffballofdoom.
Have a laugh at how bad I overthought things, please, hahaha.
Coming from the opposite end of the beta discussion: I am very proud of my skills in spelling, grammar, and punctuation. However, three fic writers have asked me to beta read for them in the past, focusing on these points specifically, and each one has- upon seeing my review notes for the aforementioned- replied immediately with things such as, "that's just my writing style," "how did I miss that one misspelled word? I'm so stupid," and similar.
I've tried to adapt. I read the things they posted before they'd asked for my input. I balanced what was perceived as criticism with praise. Sometimes I even outweighed the former in favor of the latter. But they always inevitably cried, or got defensive, and quickly stopped asking me to beta.
So, anyway. I don't know if it's because of how I do things (brief, to-the-point notes seeming cold, maybe?) or if I just keep encountering people who are so sensitive to rejection that any small mistake being pointed out is taken as an insult to the writer themself.
I love beta reading. I'm proud of my ability to do so. And it's the closest one can get to being an editor anymore, since job opportunities for that are rare to nonexistent. But no longer feel secure putting myself out there and volunteering to do so. And I genuinely wonder how many others have gone through this, and if maybe that's why beta readers are so hard to come by?
Hi anon. *hugs* I'm sorry that you haven't found a good match with an author yet, especially if editing is something you love and miss doing. It's heartbreaking when you have something you want to share and you can't - and that includes the skills you mention here.
I think what others have said can help - having conversations before, during, and after beta reading to set expectations and try to be on the same page (no pun intended).
But I also think that sometimes people don't know themselves as well as they think they do. I have definitely said I wanted Thing A before when it turned out what I actually wanted was Thing E instead - and I had to go through A-D to figure that out.
Your way of editing is probably a dream for some folks and a nightmare for others. If I were the kind of person who could wait more than 5 seconds before posting a chapter, I'd probably want a beta like you.
One way that might make it easier to find where you and the author can meet in the middle would be for you to do a sample paragraph or page of beta editing for a work that neither of you have written. Without the personal element of the author feeling protective or sensitive about their work, you can demonstrate the kinds of comments you tend to leave and they could provide a version of those comments that aligns with what they're hoping to receive on their own work.
I'm thinking something along the lines of:
You: This is a run-on sentence. You can correct it by separating it into three sentences here, here, and here or you can use a semicolon here and em-dashes there.
Them: This is a run-on sentence. Grammatically we could fix it, but you could also leave it in as a stylistic choice. It changes the pacing of this scene into something more frenetic and breathless. Is that what you're aiming for here?
Obviously this is a totally made up thing I'm doing here, but this is also a mismatch that you could identify early. If you're not comfortable making the kind of comments that the author comes back to you with, then you're probably not a good fit for each other.
Betas like you are a lifeline for a lot of authors, and I hope that you can find one that is looking for your style someday đ
I absolutely 100% without question believe in the power of betas, and I advocate for getting one as much as possible, and I think they are amazing. The only problem is dealing with beta feedback without crushing despair and endless self-doubt. How the heck do I take critique gracefully and build something better without lying face down on the floor for three days first? (PS you are amazing, thank you!)
If this is your actual reaction to critique and not hyperbole to get your point across, you might want to read up on Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria and see if thatâs something youâd like to talk about with your doctor. This level of a reaction to beta comments feels extreme and might be a sign of something else going on, whether thatâs RSD or something else.Â
If thatâs just hyperbole and you feel a sense of disappointment or dejection as a result of hearing critique then you might just need to talk to your beta reader about how you want that critique to come at you. Do you want a negative to be balanced out with a positive? Do you want a critique to come with a plan for how to fix the problem? Do you want it phrased as a question rather than as a statement?
We all have preferences when it comes to receiving feedback, and we all respond differently to different styles. If youâre receiving feedback in a form that doesnât work for you, then try a different form and see if that works better.Â
Another thing thatâs important to remember is that these comments are not about you as a person, theyâre about your writing. The person who is giving you this feedback is invested in making your writing better. They want you to succeed and they want you to tell the best version of your story possible, and their focus is on helping you do that.Â
Nothing that we write is ever going to be perfect, and a first draft is even rougher. Thereâs no shame at all in needing to improve. If thereâs nothing to work on, then thereâs nothing to learn. Accepting critique means accepting an opportunity to do better next time, to learn a new technique or concept. Doing something badly means that youâre doing something thatâs hard for you, and itâs only by working beyond our capabilities that we can improve.Â
Be proud of your mistakes. They prove that youâre willing to take a risk. Youâre striving and reaching and pushing yourself to do more. Keep reaching, anon. Youâll get there. đ
Hmm... Anon, I wonder, how strongly are you attached to the idea of being a "good writer"?
We often find that the things which hurt us the most are directly tied into our identity. If that is the case, then a critique of our work is no longer just that, but becomes a personal attack. It threatens the core of what we believe ourselves to be, which in turn may feel like "the end of the world". In a way, it truly contradicts something we consider a fundamental truth, the foundations of what we are. However, it is just the pain of bruised ego.
My advice would be to look into yourself. There's nothing shameful about it feeling this way. The question is: is that useful for you? Does it help you? Or does it cause you hurt and impede your growth?
Personally, I find that the more invested I am in the action ("writing") rather than being something ("I am a writer"), the easier it is for me to be detached and calm. It may sound counter-intuitive, but I think getting rid of the "I am a good writer" identity and the "I want to be a good writer" attachment is what made me a better writer. It removed the drive to be good and allowed me to just be, examine my work without any sense of failure, and discuss it with other people.
Of course, you still need some "chemistry" with your beta-reader, especially in regards to the plot itself. Outline what you're looking for in feedback and specify your boundaries. If you can't handle hearing about everything at once, tell them "I want to focus on xxx only" and specify whether (and how) you'd prefer for any other issues to be brought up. However, don't make them responsible for managing your feelings.
The point of setting boundaries isn't to prevent the situations in which you may feel hurt from occurring completely. It is to bring down their intensity to a level you can safely manage on your own. "Make sure the author never feels bad" and "be honest with the author about the issues in their workshop" are two distinct goals which, in certain situations, may contradict each other. If you can't handle feedback, you have to be aware that people will stop giving you their genuine thoughts and will focus on appeasing you instead.
Is that a bad thing? A good thing? I don't know. Some of us write with a drive for mastery, some of us do it just for fun, and neither of those is any better than the other. Just... It all depends on what your goal is.
Was lowkey sad about ikevamp not being included in the lineup this year so have me coping... highkey inspired only by cybird liking my comment on their IG LMFAO
Mama I miss you,,,, I hate doing costume design so much but I love u so ill do this,,, Mistuki belongs to Cybird^^
Brilliant warriors who bloom in the turbulent times
Kenshin, Masamune, Yoshiteru
Previous cards from this gacha here.
I changed the order in the second sentence. The original was something like: "If I don't see your form or hear your voice, I can barely breathe." I changed it to sound better.
There were two people... äşäşş. For better phrasing, I changed it to "we".
And finally... Yoshi. No comments about translation. It's right about the same. I just want to say I didn't pay him much attention until that moment. I mean, he's nice and a bit out of the clouds, and it's fun. But how did I manage to miss that huge yandere??? I totally didn't expect that.
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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Status: Completed
Pairing: Shapeshifter!Masamune x Witch!MC
Happy Ending
Fantasy AU
Summary: Each year, witches gather to renew their contracts with the gods. It so happens that Mai prefers to travel with her husband⌠Although nobody seems to realise who exactly is her cat.
Content Warnings: food mention, pain mention, assault
Chapter I - A Witch and Her Cat
Chapter II - Renewals
Chapter III - Cycles and Claws
[Number of posts on my library blog, that I used to maintain until fairly recently. It holds the majority of my headcanons, fics and so on. Currently it sits at 598.]
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Consider: Chevalier's mind-reading abilities do not dull with time. If anything, he discovers new uses for them... when his partner experiences food cravings.
Period food cravings? He will placate you before he dies by PMS.
Pregnancy? Don't say a word, he's foreseen the fact that you'd want to eat tuna with rose jam and ice-cream, he's already brought it to you.
Just a random craving? ...Well, if it isn't for his survival, there is a chance he may just call you a simpleton. (He still knows you want those chicken nuggets. Don't be deceived).