#iwrote

[eloradiary]

Hi tumblr heros

I'm in great need of your help.

After graduating in May this year, I couldn't help but feel lost. I didn't know what I wanted/needed to do next. Though this may sound ridiculous, it still affects me, horribly.

And so, if there's anyone of y'all who has gone through, or is going through the same situation, pls reach out and share your experience. I think that would ease the burden a bit.

Let us support one another💪🏼

[maryambxt]

‏میں جب اوسان اپنے کھونے لگتا ہوں تو ہنستا ہوں

میں تم کو یاد کرکے رونے لگتا ہوں تو ہنستا ہوں

[aconnectiontv]

@adrien_cannon and @mrcarteratl finally come head to head in #tiffanyandjones CHECK OUT THE EPISODE AT aconnectiontv.vhx.tv #myshow #iwrote #produced and #directed #subscribe and support

[yxxck]

It is only at a set of red lights with a half smoked cigarette in my hand and a quivering lip that I think of the way she is dying. Only when a bus jilts. Only when a couple places their heads on one another and fall asleep on the train. Only when it I have had five and a half drinks and stumble into my room. Only when I take of drunkenly take off my shoes. When my nose is runny. When she kisses me so hard on the cheek that I swear I can feel the life in side her clinging to me. When she tells me how beautiful I am as I sob into her lap. It is only when I boil the kettle. Turn off the light. When I shiver. When the wind dances around me. When my Dad sighs. When I walk down the hospital corridor. It is when an old, dying, lady cries out for her mother in the hospital room adjacent. It is when I see a beautiful sunset. A stormy night. The rain kissing my window. A boy sliding his hand up my shirt. When the elevator doors shut. When I draw stars onto a foggy window. It is then. And only then. I remember; she is dying.

[eloradiary]

Do I really want to keep doubting myself until I can doubt no more because I'd be gone, drowning in all those doubts?

You are enough.

[maryambxt]

something that i wrote

میرے لب پہ جو نا آسکی ، تو وہ بات بن کے رہ گیا

تجھے چاہ کے بھی نا پا سکا ، یہ ملال ہی تو رہ گیا

[olhosescrevem]

Decidi sair de casa no sábado. Fui visitar meu primo. Queria ter levado um presente que compensasse essa demora em lhe visitar. Mas lembrei de minha mãe dizer que tá tudo bem ir de mãos a abanar, que eu sou um desempregado e devia aceitar isso. Que minha hora ia chegar. Estou farto disso. A espera e as orações não respondidas dão cabo de mim. Mas, okay, mães são os seres mais próximos dum deus e por isso consenti.

Antes de sair, vi que minha irmã se preparava para lavar a sua roupa, peguei três calças recém trazidas do alfaiate e pedi para que que as lavasse. Ela negou. Insisti! Disse que era para a ir à igreja. Sorriu de leve e aceitou.

Sorriu igual minha mãe — hoje — quando ela voltou pra casa e perguntou se eu tinha ido à igreja. Respondi que sim e me levantei de seguida. Não estava disposto para um novo sermão sobre importância de frequentar à igreja. Nada que um discidente que retoma depois de um ano não saiba. Mas minha mãe estava feliz, e isso me deixou satisfeito. Talvez assim ela pare de se preocupar um pouquinho com a minha vida de merda.

Num segundo me vi deitado sobre o mar, as ondas me levavam para a areia e me traziam de volta. Cansado e com água entrando em todos os buracos do meu corpo nu. Nesse segundo percebi que se deixar levar pela vontade alheia é fatal. Mata. Primeiro emburrece, fragiliza e no final, te joga para fora, te reduz a nada, te mata.

Minha mãe deve ter entendido que durante esse ano que ignorei os pedidos dela, eu só estava a fazer a minha vontade. Mas não era minha vontade que fosse visitar meu primo seis meses depois dele ter nascido, era meu orgulho, minha insistência pela negação ao fracasso, pela fuga à conversa a volta dos estudos com os meus tios, pelas suas reclamações à minha ausência… Pela manutenção dessa falsa sensação de paz.

Não faz mal deixar que a onda me leve, desde que garanta para mim mesmo que não irei ultrapassar o meu destino.

[marsden-online]

I must rest, but I must also write

"In which a character concept leads me to call myself out on some internalised sexism. Also what happens when my brain demands writing over sleep.

Crosspost from https://marsden-online.dreamwidth.org/1035660.html

So one of the side effects of being a temporally challenged DM/Player is that I often have stray character backgrounds and worldbuilding ideas running around in my head. This one is currently not letting me get the sleep that Covid recovery is demanding of me, so I'm going to inflict it on all of you.

Scene: a group of adventurers sharing background stories]

"So I had a comfortable upbringing you know, wealthy and important family, indulged in pretty much anything I wanted while being prepared for my eventual role in the family empire. When I came of age the suitors also started calling, and that's all I expected, a comfortable marriage suiting both family's business interests.

My most persistent suitor was also someone I thought was a real jackass, you know? And there's a history of bad blood between our kin. Then it turned out they had been quietly challenging any other suitor who seemed to be gaining my favour and either maiming and forcing them to leave the city as a condition for their life or outright killing them.

So I challenged the evil [spits] myself, in public with the proof, and when they condescendingly refused my challenge I ran them straight through their hateful little heart.

So that's how my family ended up owning their family the cost of a Raising and I ended up exiled until I pay my family back. Which is proving harder than I thought, because there's a lot of people out here who need that treasure more than my family."

Unsurprisingly there's a lot that hits my high points as a DM looking at player background here. Firstly there's some very clear reasons why the character is out adventuring and why that goal might be hard to accomplish. Bonus points for a treasure sink which isn't going to destabilise the local economy.

There are connections to other parts of the world: possibly-mixed loyalties to a family trading business, a potential rival or nemesis, a tendency to get involved with the less well off; all of which could be drawn on for story hooks or provide resources the character might turn to but only by advancing that aspect of the story. These aren't presented in a way where they have to feature immediately or regularly. (If I really want that level of connection, I'll mention it before character creation).

And while good at heart [I would expect that their] actions are going to be strongly influenced by growing up with - a legal system which they were mostly immune to and - where duelling (fantasy staple anyway) may or may not be formally acceptable but happens (especially given) - the standard fantasy RPG availability of healing and even death-reversing magic to those wealthy enough exists, ... in a way which may well lead them into conflict with the laws and customs of the cultures they now find themselves in.

Finally this is a character that can function not only in the dungeon but also at some level of society. (In the general case it doesn't have to be /high/ society, but some people skills, please).

~~~

Real world introspection. As usual once I started typing this bit got significantly longer than what was at the surface ... and then I deleted some asides which were out of scope. [looking at the time while preparing to actually post - 3 1/2 hours after I got out of bed, almost solid writing and rewriting. And probably another half hour to go in touch up , tagging and crossposting. Dammit brain!]

I carefully wrote the above background to be gender-neutral, because while I, like probably 90% of readers, originally envisaged the character as female and the suitor as male, changing up the gender roles has some interesting effects beyond indicating societal integration of same-gender relationships. (I used to play probably about 50/50 male/female so I always try to consider what effect gender as well as species is likely to have on my character's experiences and mindset - and any tropes I want to draw on, for or against type - before settling).

Male/male - no issues. I don't read much fic but what I do comes through my Tumblr feed and same-sex relationships are just part of the scenery.

Without delving deeper into specific crossovers I find myself just as comfortable with X/transgender as male/male.

Female/female - here I discover that I'm OK with a guy killing another guy but I'm a bit uneasy about a woman being on the receiving end of the explicit stabbing and wondering if that means I should scrap the concept.

Male/female - OK while the violence was acceptable to my brain when it was woman/woman I'm now running into some definite squick.

And that last should not unexpected. Showing a guy doing something mean to a pet / child / woman is still the literary / film shortcut for showing that they are meant to be a bad guy. I cannot not have been internalising that all my life.

More uncomfortably though, this also shines a light on the inverse. Why do I not feel equally uncomfortable with a non-woman, (specifically woman, not "woman-presenting") ... person being on the receiving end? How much "it's OK to hit guys" (and possibly more worrying, non-binary) have I internalised?

This sort of opportunity to recognise and challenge my own internal biases should probably come along more often than it does.

Aside: I don't want to discard other concepts around violence with the proverbial bathwater. The scope is very specifically how the perceived gender of the participants influences my internal acceptance of violence.

~~~

A bit of-as-close-as-I-get-to-original-fic to finish off; a potential twist towards the end of this character's story; Content warnings for blood, restraint.

[End of above scene, or possibly a later, similar but wealthier scene]

"Anyway, whenever I'm near a [family empire name] outpost and gold enough for an enchantment to seal the message to blood relatives only, I send home what I can as part payment and a reminder I exist. Hah!"

[Scene change, Narrator voice] You wake up groggily, firmly tied back-down to a table. A familiar face comes mockingly into view, untouched by the lines which years of adventuring have left in your mirror.

"You've made quite a name for yourself, my dear. So much so that despite your only partially repaid debt there is talk of revoking your exile. We can't have that, not yet. But isn't it just sweet that the one hornet with whose life I intended to wipe out the entire nest has come back to to me anyway."

The face moves out of view and there is a slice of pain; nothing compared to most of the wounds you have taken in battle but precisely applied. The ting-tong of your blood starting to drip into an metal container starts to echo through your throbbing head.

The face reappears, moving close enough to whisper while it speaks.

"Would you like to know how many of your precious packages actually reached your family?"

"Just enough that they trust the contents."