do you guys have any recs inspired by books? Like where you can play a main character or character in famous books (like Whilelmina)
We do have some recs that fit that, here you go! Some are inspired by plays and some of these games are complete.
If you have suggestions for any IF inspired by books (and/or plays!), please feel free to let us know and we’ll add it to the list!
A Midsummer Night’s Choice (A Midsummer Night’s Dream) by Kreg Segall
Bastard of Camelot (King Arthur) by llamagirl28
Guenevere (King Arthur) by newarcana
More things in Heaven and Earth (Hamlet) by morethingsgame
My Dear Handel (Great Expectations) by Anamika
Northanger Abbey (VN, Downton Abbey) by spiralatlas
Orpheus: A Tragicomedy in Six Parts by spectrumtacular
The Courting of Miss Bennett (Pride & Prejudice) by Michael Gray
The Frog Prince and the Iron Heart (The Frog Prince) by Celia
The Unquiet Grave (Wuthering Heights) by ombresart
The Whisperer in the Darkness (VN, HP Lovecraft) by Nat Quayle Nelson
What the Children Made (The Veldt) by Bri Williams
Wilhelmina (Dracula) by fidere-k
Up & Coming (no demo yet!)
Unmourned (Frankenstein) by unmourned
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Eeveelution Pride Pins made by Irisidium
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i was just watching an older sarah z video about jk r*wling and this bit:
“When instead of thinking critically about the books and generating your own interpretations, you're instead encouraged to just ask the author what's 'true' or not, that renders so much of fan communities' work meaningless.”
really, really made me think of the IF community
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THE ROYAL MASQUERADE WEEKEND
What: A weekend full of appreciation for another beloved standalone. You can submit any content you like – from fanfics to shitposts, anything counts!
When: #trmaw dates are from September 3 - 5, 2021. The themes for each day are as follows:
How: Tag your posts with #trmaw and/or tag this blog.
Who: Anyone and everyone! You don’t have to be a part of the fandom or mutuals with any of the hosts – everyone who loves and enjoys The Royal Masquerade is welcome!
Don’t hesitate to reach out to the admins or direct message the blog if you have any questions.
We hope to see you there!
– @zigtheeortega, @pixeljazzy, & @raleighcarrera
Navigation | Rules | FAQ | Masterlist | Resources | Schedules & Extras
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i hope you write, i hope we both write
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i need to write julia x oriana hair braiding.......
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multilinguals whose voice is deeper when speaking your native language(s) but then goes high pitched the second you switch to L2 or L3… you’re very valid and also sexy
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wayhaven summer fic #2
pairing | nate x ramona
word count | 1.1k
warnings | none
author’s note | finally get to write the pairing that’s been swimming around in my brain for a month or so!! hope you enjoy! as usual, you can read this fic on ao3 – comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!
“Hold still, goober,” she cackled as he leaned in to nuzzle her face. “Stop! Stop, I just finished up your lipstick – no, you can’t –”
It was too late. Nate had already pressed one, two, three kisses to her cheek, jaw, and chin.
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Uquiz this and Ao3 that. remember Quizilla? entire fanfics written in the answers of quiz questions? Yeah show some fucking respect.
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fanfic speedrun: write the scene you want to write and skip the rest of the fic
(same goes on the reader side of things)
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Jump Off This Ledge I'm On (pt 2)
Summary: Fresh out of highschool and into college, Zuri sequesters herself in her dorm room with a flag in her hands. One that doesn't feel the same.
Warnings: Subtle mention of comp het and an innuendo made by non other than Bobby Marks
Prompt: Flags for @wayhavensummer
There was a hollow ache in her chest. Something pulsing and shuffling inside her ribcage. She was flat on her back, her legs dangling off of the twin bed in her shared dorm room. It was darker than it was before, the only source of light entering from the small windows on either side of the room. Soft pinks and blues filtering through the window and dancing along the poster-covered, white walls from the party happening just outside. Bass ricocheted off the walls and into her ears, and yet it couldn't distract her from her racing mind.
It had been four years. Four years since she attended her first pride parade and grew confident in her identity. Four years since she was surrounded by joy and acceptance for a week, where nothing existed outside of celebrating herself and those around her. Her smile and her laughter had been more genuine than they had been in years. She was welcomed home with open arms.
She bought a flag that day. Soft, satin material. Shades of red and pink on either side of a white bar, sitting in her hands. It used to be her salvation. A lighthouse in the raging storm of feelings she couldn't sit down in front of her and analyze. She couldn't talk down something that drowned out rational thought, something that had fire in its throat and breathed flames and demanded to be heard. But this flag cooled prickling heat and cut through the grey clouds.
So much has changed since then. Al moved back to the city. Zuri was in college now and everything about it was new and challenging and she grabbed it by the horns. New didn't scare her.
But the flag felt heavy now, a crushing weight of guilt. It was difficult to raise her arm and wave it through the air when it no longer felt right. When it no longer felt like clarity and comfort. The label that once fit snugly against her body had warped somehow. She never thought it could shrink and enlarge the way it did. That the collar could wrap around her throat and squeeze. That the sleeves could fall past her fingertips and graze the floor, leaving her fumbling to grasp onto something solid and stumbling with every step that she took.
She didn't think there would be more mountain to climb. The journey was supposed to be over, wasn't it?
But how could it be when she could still feel the flutters of attraction towards men? When she could still long for them the way she longs for women? When femininity and masculinity can exist in both and in neither, simultaneously and exclusively, and she could find herself loving any of it in any form?
She could only allow herself to think that those feelings were forced for so long. The heart doesn't lie, and hers wanted to be with someone who goes weak-kneed at her attention and sends electricity down her spine. She wouldn't lose any sleep if she found that in a man.
And that terrified her.
Some people weren't as nice if you came out twice; some would see her as a living, breathing stereotype. Wayhaven's indifference towards sexuality wouldn't be enough to lift the guilt off of her shoulders.
She wasn't sure how she could go about doing this again. Another big announcement? Simply explaining herself if she found herself on the arm of a man? What if she went to pride in the city again? How was she supposed to see the same faces and let them see her covered in different colours? What would they think?
She frowned and lifted the flag, holding it out in front of her. Her vision blurred as her thumbs caressed the satin. What would Al think?
The door swung open. Zuri jolted, the tears collecting on her eyelids falling before she could stop them, rolling down her cheeks and to her ears as she held the flag tightly to her chest. She froze and dragged her gaze away from the ceiling to the door, letting out a small noise of confusion at who she saw.
Bobby Marks was leaning against the door frame, glancing at the bed on the other side of the room with a grin. It faltered at its vacancy before widening when his eyes landed on her. "Where's that gorgeous roommate of yours?"
She shifted, subtly wiping the tears away on the duvet while answering, "Riley?"
"That's her bed, isn't it?"
"With the amount of times her boyfriend crashes in here, it could be his."
"Boyfriend," he muttered with a frown. She winced, gathering up an apology for crushing whatever hopes he had with her before pausing at the sudden change in demeanor. His brow was raised, lips stretching into a smirk as he glanced at the bed again. "Those two are a couple of edgy rulebreakers, aren't they?"
Her eyes widened. That was an awfully chilly tone directed at someone he seemed to have some interest in.
"You didn't think to tell on them?"
Zuri shook her head, putting her index and thumb together to make a zipping motion over her lips. He chuckled and stepped into the room, stopping when her gaze snapped to his feet. She barely knew him and it looked like he was gearing up to get cosy, as if she even allowed him in. He just walked in on her crying. God that's terrible, terrible timing-
He held his palms up, his smirk edging towards something more sheepish. "You're Zuri Jackson, right?"
She nodded with an affirmative hum.
"You don't seem as smiley as people say you are. Or talkative," he said with the slightest tilt of his head. "But you're gorgeous and good at keeping secrets, which makes you good in my books."
She hummed again, offering as charming a smile as she could muster at the compliment before turning her head and gazing out the window, her eyes following a group of her classmates strolling past the window.
"I'm heading out there soon, you should join me."
Zuri just barely held back a short laugh as she turned to him. Should.
"I could use the company," he continued, dragging his gaze down her body before returning it to her face, his smirk fading slightly as he lingered on her eyes. "And you look like you could use the distraction."
She laughed, hoping it sounded genuine enough, and sat up, staring at the flag for one last time. "You have no idea."
She looked up and inhaled sharply when she was met with an outstretched hand. She followed the length of his arm before stopping at his face (was that a smolder?), intrigue and amusement curling her features into a lopsided smile and a raised brow.
"I don't remember letting you in."
"I don't remember you protesting," he said, shooting her a charming grin. "And now I'm giving you the honor of being my date to this party."
Zuri laughed, shaking her head and taking his hand before pressing her own to her chest in faux enchantment. "Oh, what an incredible honor. I can hardly believe it. Truly, a sweet, charitable deed."
He smirked, pulling her to her feet and leaning towards her. "The deeds I plan to do with you are nowhere near sweet."
"Ha!" She ripped her hand away before walking past him. "Don't even think about it."
The boy was practically a stranger (a cocky yet weirdly charming stranger), but she'd rather hang out with him at a party than sit in her festering guilt. If she had it her way, she'd return too exhausted to think, pass out and wake up with everything solved. But there was still more mountain to climb, and she wasn't sure when she'd be ready to face it again.
New didn't scare her, but the familiarity of the closet did.
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xelara my beloved…
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💧 camp 🍬
for today's @wayhavensummer prompt i wanted to look at how camp relates to black culture ⭐ inspiration taken from patrick kelly, lil’ kim, diana ross and prince
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I feel like fanfiction has really skewed my perception of writing, specifically how much writing it’s reasonable to create within a certain amount of time.
Like, there are people who write 5,000 -10,000 words of excellent fanfiction every week and then some while balancing full time jobs and school. As both a consumer and a creator, it almost feels like the overall expectation from the larger community is that if you can be writing that much, you should be. Since June last year, which is almost a year away now, I have published almost 240,000 words of fanfiction of AO3, and that’s just the projects I actually published.
In one month, from April 2nd to May 2nd, I published 78,000 of those words.
That’s the amount of words that can go into a novel.
That’s just insane.
Unfortunately, a lot of that work came out of neglecting myself and my physical needs in exchange for spending more time writing and editing projects, which hasn’t been sustainable or healthy, but I felt like it needed to happen to reach the community “standard”. In reality, though, that isn’t the case and shouldn’t be. Writing and publishing anything is commendable.
Anyways, I feel like I give myself a lot of shit because something inside me keeps telling me that I haven’t created enough. That there are always more requests, more ideas, more fics that need to be written, and that isn’t even mentioning the voice that critiques my writing for not being as good as it could be.
So, fellow authors (and myself) take this as a gentle reminder that no matter if you write 1,000 in a month or 80,000, your work is valid, insanely impressive, and wonderful. It doesn’t matter if you feel like you should be doing this that or the other to be better. You’re already excellent and deserve to appreciate yourself for the artist you are.
I love you, drink water, take care of yourself, and don’t beat yourself up over not posting enough or not finishing WIPs. You’re human and you’re doing a great job. I promise.
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take me away to your hometown
nate x f!detective / 1.1K / M (tw internalised biphobia)
⇢ summary: nate has a garden full of ripe things he can’t eat. bella has done nothing all spring but wait for summer to come so it can be over with.
⇢ notes: for @wayhavensummer.
i had plans to avoid this particular week of waysum prompts because i feel the opposite of proud when it comes to my sexuality and pride invokes a kind of panic in me there aren’t words for. um. then i thought that i could just write what i wanted and i don’t have to pretend to be happy when i’m not. when i was in the hospital a few years ago a friend gave me this cheesy, cute, totally scientifically inaccurate little plaque that says ‘you can’t have a rainbow without rain’, and… yeah. that. also i do not claim to remember anything from archaeology 1b don’t @ me for anthropological inaccuracy.
Her hair clings to the back of her neck, a strand wrapped around her throat slick with sweat. Dirt at her knees. Dirt blackening her palms. Dirt on the denim of her shorts and staining her t-shirt. She smells like his garden, black mulch and hot plastic and that green scent that stings the inside of her nose.
“You’ll have to explain it to me again,” Bella says, reaching out and caressing a fat, scarlet-coloured strawberry with the pad of her thumb, gentle at first, the way she would touch him. It’s bigger than the kind they sell in the supermarket, brighter, startling in its simple beauty. When she presses on it, harder, it doesn’t give the way the overripe and rotted ones do, leaving her fingers covered in pulp. “I just don’t see the point of having a garden when you can’t stand to eat anything in it and tending it is such a chore.”
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