As A Reader, I LOVE A Slow Burn

"If you use em dash in your works, it makes them look AI generated. No real human uses em dash."

Imaging thinking actual human writers are Not Real because they use... professional writing in their works.

Imagine thinking millions of people who have been using em dash way before AI becomes a thing are all robots.

REBLOG IF YOU'RE A HUMAN AND YOU USE EM DASH

Not sure about anyone else but I re-read all my favourite AO3 comments when I’ve had a rough day so if you’ve ever taken the time to write a deep, funny, or just kind comment, thank-you.

modern au drabble/oneshot

Her foot fell heavy on the brake, but it wasn't enough time to stop her car from hitting the pole. Her head flew forwards (thank the GODS she was wearing a seatbelt) and then crashed against the headrest.

She had an immediate migraine.

She told herself it was just a reaction to the pain in her head when her eyes began to water.

Still, she squeezed them shut.

She was rudely awoken from her micro-nap by the loud ringing of her phone (she needed it that loud, because when she was in the workshop, NOTHING could make her stop. Except maybe "Take You To Rio" blasting at full volume through the phone speaker).

Moana's name flashed across the screen, a picture of her smiling in the sun with a silly flower crown in the background.

Loto almost didn't answer.

But she did.

"Hey, Mo."

"Loto! I'm…kind of surprised you picked up. So listen, I was thinking, for our Halloween costumes, we could do Dracula and….Loto?"

"Dracula and me?"

"No, I just. You're oddly nonhyperverbal. It's strange. Are you okay? Where are you?"

It was at that moment that Loto wished she could lie.

"On the corner of Mayoral Drive and Wellesley Street. Near the post office."

"Are you…mailing something?"

"No. I…hit a pole. With my car," she added for clarification, because there were other possibilities.

There was a pause, for about three seconds. Then,

"Loto! What do you mean you crashed into a pole? Why didn't you call me?"

"You called me," Loto pointed out.

"Right, but why didn't you call me immediately? Is it bad? Do you need a ride? Are you being lifted to the hospital?"

"No, Moana. It's fine."

"I'm coming. GPS says it'll be fifteen minutes. I can do it in ten."

"Mo-"

"Nope. No arguments. Sit tight."

Loto thought Moana had hung up, until the loud car engine starting that came from the phone was joined by a question.

"Which pillow pet is your favorite?"

"Pillow pet?"

"For comfort. I'm going with the penguin if you don't answer in five…four…three..two..one! Penguin it is. Okay, bye."

Then Moana hung up.

Loto rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

Why was love so complicated?

It seemed like LESS than ten minutes by the time a honk sounded from behind Loto’s car. She blinked blearily, glanced in the rearview, and saw Moana's sticker-covered hand-me-down Volkswagen Beetle.

Then, seconds later, Moana opened the passenger door, pillow pet in one hand and hot chocolate in the other (she had stopped for hot chocolate??) and got in.

She looked at Loto, then looked away, tapping her fingers on the cup. "Hi."

Loto swallowed the lump in her throat, eyes staring out the windshield and into the stormy distance. "Sorry," she blurted out. "For this. For making you stop whatever you were doing to come here."

Moana put the coffee cup on the dash, where it sat precariously close to the edge. Then she reached over, without a word, and pulled Loto into a hug.

"I crashed my car into a tree once," Moana whispered, as if those were deep, comforting words. "There was a bird in the middle of the road, and I swerved so I wouldn't hit it, and I hit the tree instead."

"At least the tree didn't sue for damage," Loto said, voice muffled against Moana’s hoodie.

"No, but the owner of the house tried to. That was how I met my friend Maui."

"Maui sued you?"

"No, Kele sued me. Maui was the lawyer who won the case for me."

Loto chuckled, nuzzling closer to Moana. "You're a wee bit silly, ay Mo?"

"I'll do anything to see you smile again."

Loto blushed.

"Okay, get back to your car," she said jokingly.

But she stayed in Moana's arms.

And Moana didn't move a muscle.

i drew a horse from memory one like and i will reveal my beautiful boy to the world

bugborg again yay ! this drawing is also old so i had to fix it a little bit, it didn't work but that's fine

Reading a book about slavery in the middle-ages, and as the author sorts through different source materials from different eras, I am starting to understand why so many completely fantastical accounts of "faraway lands" went without as much as a shrug. The world is such a weird place that you can either refuse to believe any of it or just go "yeah that might as well happen" and carry on with your day.

There was this 10th century arab traveller who wrote into an account that the fine trade furs come from a land where the night only lasts one hour in the summer and the sun doesn't rise at all in the winter, people use dogs to travel, and where children have white hair. I don't think I'd believe something like that either if I didn't live here.

@ellipsis-dotdotdot

.....no context needed #sparelotothepain

My characters are so happy right now :) Should I... ruin... everything?

Fanfiction is great because you can see so clearly how people learn to write.

Some people, it's clear, learned almost entirely through absorbing the world around them. Grammar and punctuation will be all over the place, spellings are approximate, but the voice of the narration will come through so clearly. You can hear the dialect of the people around them as of they're telling the story. It's not a written story, it's a transcription of how they talk in their day to day life.

Some people learned through reading a gazillion books as a kid. Grammer and spelling will be rock solid, formatting occasionally based on the single tab of physical books rather than the double tab of online scrolling, but dialogue is often stilted and overly formal. You might notice a lack of contractions and very rigid rules they made for consistency that actually have a lot more flexibility than they think. They tend to have a fantastic grasp of sentence flow, though.

And other people formally learned how to write. This could be anywhere from taking school classes seriously because they enjoyed writing stories as a kid to literal certifications and jobs in the field. Grammer is flawless. Punctuation is triple checked. Foreign words are in italics. Characters have distinct voices. But their self indulgence is tempered by perfectionism. They know precisely what they want from a fic. Authors notes often feature mutterings about their happiness with the chapter. Kaomojis often appear! They seek a style to their writing, and it makes for some wonderfully clever plots! These are the ones most likely to get fun with formatting!

And some people.... Some people examined it all. They dissect dialogue, people watch, cross reference behaviours and compare characters to people irl. You can tell almost immediately who had formative experiences with Terry pratchett and/or ghibli, because it's these people. While others see writing as fun, expression, craft, they see it as art. Plain and simple. Sure, the grammar is occasionally sacrificed on the altar of creative freedom, and the occasional sentence might miss a full stop, but these people seem to self reflect on themselves as part of the art making process. On occasion, these people have the most masterful grasp of dialogue and invocation and hand sewn characterisations. Formatting is pretty standard because all the focus is on the actual words. These fics can be edited to the moon and back!

All of these can vary wildly in forethought and quality, and betas can often catch individual problems before they hit post, but just. Isn't it so cool? What's that one Oscar Wilde quote about every mask just being another fragment of yourself?

Did you recognise yourself?

The ANGST omg