not unforgiving

anonymous asked:

I've been sitting on a fic for more than a month, not sure if I should publish it or not because it contains some very dark topics. Obviously I won't put it on tumblr (people here are the worst), but I'm reticent to even put it on ao3. As the climate is right now, I don't even feel like sharing my fluffiest pieces is worth it. It is really killing my motivation to write at all. Like why bother? So, do you have any advice or encouragement you could offer?

I hate that this feeling is so understandable.

I don’t know that I can offer any worthwhile. It’s easy to say ‘fuck the haters’ but it’s hard when antis are so vicious and unforgiving.  But here’s what I can offer you:

If antis are killing your motivation to write and share … either don’t write, or write and don’t share it. if it hurts and you’re scared and stressed and don’t feel like sharing, you don’t have to. If writing/sharing your work is something you can abandon without pain, abandon it. You owe nobody anything. Don’t pressure yourself to be strong. Do what makes you happy.

(and honestly, you might find deciding your’e going to stop writing and taking a break refreshes you entirely. for best effects, I’d recommend blocking all discourse from your dash and only consuming creative content from others. maybe read some books. seriously step away from the exhausting topic of Wokeness and maybe the motivation will come back.)

but if writing & sharing is something you can’t stop doing: if it would be worse to stop than to continue - it’s time to find a way of writing/sharing that will allow you to cut out the part that’s killing your motivation (from your ask, I’m guessing the potential backlash) and keep the fun part.

First things first: I would to create an entirely separate AO3 account (if you can) with an unrelated pseudonym and post the dark content under it.  I recommend this because that way the work can’t be easily traced back to your other social media accounts, and if it ends up attracting a bunch of backlash it will leave you out of it. This is how I started handling my dark content a couple of years back and it’s worked out pretty well.

You can also mitigate the backlash a little by making it harder for antis to dogpile you:

  • Use the ‘choose not to warn’ tag and then frontload the first chapter with all of the warnings so that antis can’t find it to pick on by just looking for the big trigger tags.
  • dont’ allow anon comments.
  • lock the fic to AO3 members. this will prevent randos from being able to look at your fic without an AO3 account.
  • moderate the comments. if antis dogpile you but their comments don’t appear and you never react, they’ll get bored quickly. antis are in it for the reaction.
  • alternatively, moderate the comments and have somebody else check them. they can delete the nasty ones and give the rest to you to enjoy.

And there’s hope you’ll never even be bothered: there’s some evidence that antis usually only go after fics from authors that they know are involved in the discourse (if they can’t dispute your points they will attack your fiction).

Alternatively, antis are more likely to go after people that are gaining popularity at a rapid pace or whose works they have liked in the past: if those people are creating content antis don’t like and refuse to stop, they attack and shame the creator as punishment. (If you’re not going to create the fiction they want, then you shouldn’t create fiction at all.)

Lastly: if you’re writing fic with dark content, I want you to know that there are lots of people who need and appreciate that. people who need that kind of material. people who dont’ need it, but have an increasingly difficult time finding it. People are scared to comment or react sometimes, but there are people who appreciate you. and they’ll find you, even if it’s under a new pseud. 

fandom isn’t nearly as fun as it used to be. It’s cliche to say ‘write for yourself’, but like … if you’re not getting personal enjoyment out of writing anymore because of antis, that’s totally okay. and maybe you’ll find that taking a break and just consuming (and avoiding discourse) will refresh you nicely and you can come back and have fun again.

but if you want to stick it out, I’ve got your back, anon. feel free to poke me any time. (and if you dont’ want to stick it out, I’ve still got your back. antis don’t know it, but fandom is for whatever enjoyment you can get out of it.

Best of luck to you!

The most unforgivably cruel thing my dad ever did was, when our cats would bother my mom and him in their bed for their breakfast, he would get up and go halfway down the stairs to the kitchen. The cats, of course, would always freak the fuck out and gallop down to the kitchen, and then my dad would run back into bed and shut the door on then


Sawdust & Snow by QuickLikeLight

The unforgiving landscape of the boreal forest is the perfect metaphor for Scott’s life, ten years after escaping Beacon Hills: cold, quiet, and only barely habitable. An unexpected knock on the door sends the walls he’s built crumbling, just in time for the long, harsh winter.

anonymous asked:

Darkstache fluff?

“Dark?” Wilford murmurs, squinting into the unforgiving black of Dark’s room.

There’s a soft sound, something moving perhaps, and then Dark appears. He looks gaunt, exhausted and sickly. His eyes stay steadily locked on Wilford, though, so the pink-themed man counts that as something.

“You missed dinner,” he says slowly, “so I brought you a plate.”

There’s a silence following his statement that makes him want to panic for some reason until finally Dark drops his head into an odd nod.
“Just set it onto my desk, Wilford.” Dark whispers, giving a pathetic wave of his hand to part the darkness like a sea to make a pathway to the desk.

Wilford frowns, but proceeds to do as told anyways.
“Dark, are you alright?” He asks, and Dark’s hollow laugh of response makes his heart sink.

“I’ll be alright with a little rest.” Dark murmurs, and although he’s stepped out of sight again Wilford can hear the squeak of bedsprings.

By memory he cautiously tracks his way across the room from the desk to the bed, and Dark crops into view again. He’s laid on his side, just… there on the bed like a dropped doll.

“Would you mind if I stayed?”

A pregnant pause until finally a vague mention to the other side of the bed is made.
“Just be quiet.” Dark requests, and for once Wilford won’t argue.

He holds Dark then, and tries to ignore how cold he feels.

anonymous asked:

I see you said you were working on Alpha!Hobi 💕 how is it turning out? I'm excited 👀 ~Brandie👿

This what I got so far~

Alpha!Hobi teaser; 

Outward appearances were a funny thing.
Before you were wise enough to know any better, you happily believed the front anyone put up. You believed that the person you saw was who they truly were, but in the blink of an eye that all changed when you met Hoseok. 

Hoseok was someone who everyone adored, someone everyone held on the highest pedestal- and you felt the same, at one point or another. You knew better now though. He was a completely different person in front of his pack- in front of you.
He was aggressive, nearly unforgiving as his merciful side only showed once in a blue moon. 

i might fade out here in a bit forgive the slow responses. I am very tired and im fighting the unforgiving feeling of foodcoma. (to be honest i hardly had a lotta turkey this year. prolly cause i was eating outside of my comfortzone)

(i’ll eat turkey tomurrah/today) i had a good thanksgiving however, very relaxed. i didnt have to worry about pleasing my own family. and i guess… it made me feel better. Hope you had a good one too!


hp aesthetic → unforgivable curses

“Those three curses are known as the Unforgivable Curses. The use of any one of them on a fellow human being is enough to earn a life sentence in Azkaban. That’s what you’re up against. That’s what I’ve got to teach you to fight. You need preparing. You need arming. But most of all, you need to practice constant, never-ceasing vigilance.”

A new band called the Bottom Feeders has been tearing up the Inkopolis charts lately. The band is fronted by a tropical-betta-fish violinist, features vocals by a dude made of seaweed, and also includes a shark, a scallop, and a globefish. Their unforgiving yet catchy music style is the product of fusing ancient Celtic sea shanties with punk rock.

Imperio, I control…”

The feeling of sleep weighing his mind down.
His body bending to commands.
Horror at what he was about to do.
He couldn’t s t o p.

Crucio, I torture…”

Swords piercing his body.
Every nerve ending, every synapse was on f i r e.
His sanity slipping away like sand through his fingers.

Avada Kedavra, let the thing be destroyed.”

Standing in the forest.
The tip of a wand pointing his direction.
Eyes closing.
Green light exploding behind his eyelids.
F e a r.

“The Three Unforgivable Curses.” He murmured, forcing down his nausea.

Tom nodded excitedly. “Yes. Fascinating, don’t you agree?”

Harry Potter didn’t answer, instead he closed his book and rose from the library chair, murmuring a quick excuse.

Adrenalin was rushing through his veins.
He was tricked.
Sirius wasn’t held captive.

Distinctly he heard the sound of another chair scraping over the floor as he hurried past numerous bookshelves and practically dived out into the hallway.

Avada Kedavra.
After Sirius had fallen through the veil he wasn’t even aware that it was him who was screaming.
He never knew his vocal cords were able to produce such an awful sound.

His chest constricted and he stumbled against a cold wall halfway down the third corridor, slowly sinking to the floor while desperately trying to fight the onslaught of the panic attack.

The Triwizard Cup should have brought them straight back to the entrance of the maze.
But it hadn’t.
Too late he screamed a warning at the boy.
Avada Kedavra.
Cedric Diggory hit the ground with a gut wrenching thud.

A part of him registered the hands that clasped his shoulders and the calm voice calling his name, telling him to breathe.

He couldn’t.
Wasn’t even sure he wanted to.
The pain in his lungs was better than the screams piercing his mind or the stench of blood and death filling his nose.

Everyone was dying.
He couldn’t stop it.
He couldn’t save them.
Fred was dead.
Lupin was dead.
Everyone was-

“Harry Potter!” The exclamation was followed by a stinging pain in his cheek and automatically he sucked in a breath, blinking slowly.

Light blue-grey eyes stared at him intently, a frown etched onto pale features. “Can you hear me?”

Harry nodded, taking another, shuddering breath.

Tom sighed in relief before his expression darkened. “What was that about?”

The Boy-Who-Lived swallowed before plastering a crooked smile on his face. “N-nothing, really. I just sort of hyperventilated when I remembered that I haven’t yet finished the essay from-”

“Please don’t try to insult my intelligence, Potter. We finished that essay together yesterday.”

Oh. Right.

“And besides, you don’t exactly strike me as someone who would have a panic attack over something as trivial as that.”

Well, shit.

“Look, I-”

“Who did it?”


The grip on his shoulders tightened to the point that it bordered on uncomfortable and cold fury shone in Riddle’s eyes. “Only someone who was subjected to those curses would have such a strong reaction to them. So who did it!?”

You did.

Harry shook his head tiredly before getting back to his feet rather unsteadily. “It doesn’t matter. There was a war. Those things happen. It’s in the… past.“

Tom’s scowl deepened.
His eyes glinting murderously. But somehow he didn’t think that the Slytherin’s anger was directed at him.

The grip on his shoulders tightened just a fraction before sliding down and back to his sides, his expression smoothing over until the only indication of his fury was the way he clenched his jaw.

“Alright. I won’t push the matter.” He said eventually and Harry sighed in relief, only for the air to get stuck in his throat a second later. “But…”

Here it comes.

“I promise you that the person responsible is going to pay. They will beg for death and shall not receive it until I’ve broken their every bone and shredded absolutely every ounce of their sanity. Nobody touches that which belongs to me.”

How very ironic.

Oh yes.
There was definitely a time when he wished for that.

But now?

There was suddenly a heavy weight on Harry’s chest and he grimaced.

Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, didn’t wish to kill Tom Riddle, Dark-Lord-in-Training, anymore. The would-be murderer of his parents, his friends, and himself.

And it made him absolutely sick.

- Tomarry [Time Travel AU]