#from the writing desk
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Ode to Brighid
"O Brighid, fair daughter of the Good God,
Smith of shining silver and silvered songs,
The badgers, the snowdrops, they breach the snow:
Winter's crystal mantle, to welcome you,
Goddess! Patron of poets and plowmen alike
Take my prayer, let it be fuel for the flame."
[original composition]
#celtpol#brighid#brig#brigit#brigid#imbolc#saint brigid#prayer#pagan prayer#pagan poetry#tuatha de danann#from the writing desk
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911 Lone Star - Of Names and Stories
Five times Owen couldn’t call TK Tyler and one time he did
Part 1. Owen
His son was loud.
It probably shouldn’t have been his first thought when handed the baby. If Gwyn knew, she’d probably take the boy right back, even if she agreed. But Owen consoled himself with the fact that it was a fleeting thought. A simple statement that meant nothing when confronted with the much stronger feelings coursing through his veins.
Nothing mattered more than protecting his son.
“Hello baby boy,” he whispered, bouncing the bundle up and down softly, and smiling as the cries faded away.
“We need a name,” Gwyn said, her voice quiet and tired. Quickly, Owen crossed over to sit down next to her, nudging her slightly to convey his love. He didn’t dare take a hand off his son. “Can’t keep calling him baby boy.”
“Sure we could. He won’t even know the difference for a few years.” Gwyn mustered up the energy to roll her eyes, and Owen smirked down at his precious handful. “Tell mama daddy’s right, baby boy.”
“Owen,” Gwyn warned. He ignored her, making faces down at the green eyes that stared up at him. “I’m thinking Tyler.”
Owen froze, one eyebrow raised and mouth pulled to one side in a ridiculous expression. The baby seemed to grow bored when he did nothing more, eyes closing. But Owen barely noticed this, his own eyes sliding over to his wife slowly. Gwyn matched his gaze calmly, far too knowing and understanding for Owen’s good. “We talked about this, remember?”
Owen did remember. A late night conversation weeks ago. “I was so sure it was going to be a girl, that it didn’t seem to matter.”
“Owen Strand wrong. How surprising.” He opened his mouth to argue, ecstatic at the reprieve. But, of course, Gwyneth Morgan was one step ahead of him. “Tyler Kennedy Strand.” She said nothing more, but Owen could feel the challenge like she issued it with a gauntlet.
He swallowed, his throat closing up over any glib answer he could give. Instead, he stared down at the baby. Green eyes closed, tufts of brown hair sticking out of the blanket. He was loud — had been loud, when he was awake, and for a second, Owen panicked, grip tightening as he checked whether the boy was still breathing. It already seemed insane to see the child silent and still, and his brain pulled up another image, of another little kid unmoving in his arms.
But a little kick and sniffle brought him back to the present and he took a big, gulping breath and nodded. He pulled his son closer to his chest, smiling shakily down. “Hi Tyler.”
If his voice was choked up, the last syllable barely audible, there was no one there but Gwyn to hear it.
#911 lone star#tk strand#owen strand#gwyneth morgan#gwyn morgan#911: lone star#911 fox#911verse#tyler kennedy strand#from the writing desk
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How do you find a beta??
Good question! I don't know—mine graciously reached out to me directly. I've heard some people have fandom friends do it, but I haven't made any close YB friends yet.
#asks#from the writing desk#i haven't sent them anything yet b/c im still writing#but so thankful i won't have to proofread this stuff on my own anymore#im good at proofreading other ppl's work#but w/ my own my eyes glaze over and i miss stuff b/c i already know what happens in the chapter and what i want to get across to the reade
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Hi! I love your writing and I'm really loving the Spider and Songbird Sundays! I have a question about weapons and the modern ness of the setting Tathlyn is a soldier and it seems like Daddy Jo was too? Do they use guns since it's a modern setting? I've only noticed knives so far I think and I was wondering if that's just because we haven't seen actual war scenes? Or because of DnD-ism
I really really love the work and can't wait till you're off intermission!
Hey anon! This is a really great question!
I will admit that my instinct towards arming Tathlyn and Jo with knives and swords has been largely to preserve some of the DnD "vibe" while still setting things in the modern day, but guns are a weapon that would be available to both of them, and have actually been used in the fic at this point -- though not by those two in specific.
In the prologue, there's mention of the Colonel's soldiers open-firing on the train Ryldin is using to escape the city, and in the most recent intermission chapter (In Which Jaheira Doesn't Let Tathlyn Die), Jaheira has a shotgun stashed in the kitchen of Narbondel's Shadow for emergencies.
I'm so glad you're enjoying it so far! We're very excited to get back to work on it as soon as we're able to, and between you and me? It's only gonna get more exciting from here.
#anon ask#from the writing desk#buddy you have no idea how much this made me smile and wiggle#i love this question#spider and songbird#bg3#bg3 fanfiction#jack look i found a friend!!!
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New year, new notebook
#studyblr#studygram#studyspo#bookblr#books#london#study#bookstagram#booklr#inspiration#workspace#work from home#desk#interiors#notes#notebook#writing#handwriting
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“But first and foremost, I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple—or a green field—a place to enter, and in which to feel. Only in a secondary way is it an intellectual thing—an artifact, a moment of seemly and robust wordiness—wonderful as that part of it is. I learned that the poem was made not just to exist, but to speak—to be company.”
― Mary Oliver, Upstream: Selected Essays
#quote#Mary Oliver#Upstream: Selected Essays#Upstream#Walt Whitman#Poetry#Writing#From the Writer's Desk#Tell all the truth but tell it slant#i will take the sun in my mouth#Current Reading#Current Reading Quotes#Rose Rereads#not out of void but out of chaos
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Giving your blorbos scars from their traumatic experiences is a love language.
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Can’t stop thinking about Childhood Best Friend!Simon Riley. So here.
TW: Mentions of bullying, based heavily off my own childhood, Reader is GN and a child (and presumably American), Fluff and a sprinkle of angst, Autistic!Reader, Simon’s backstory
You meet him when your locker is placed next to his in the second grade. He’s a scraggly little kid, quiet with studious, curious eyes. He doesn’t talk much, like you. You like him almost immediately. Then he opens his mouth, telling the boys who always pick on you to ‘sod off’. He has a funny accent, and you like it.
His name is Simon, which you think is a pretty name. And like all childhood friendships, the bond is as strong as it was quickly sealed. When your teacher calls all of you to the carpet for a lecture or a lesson, you and him always sit together, criss-cross-applesauce like you’re supposed to. When you get fidgety, you bump your knees against each other’s, a silent little language only the two of you know.
Where once both you and him were very quiet, together, you come out of your shells. As much as your teacher likes seeing the two of you blossom, she does have to remind you not to chat during class when there’s work to be done. But it’s hard! You’ve never connected with someone like you have with Simon.
At lunch, you both sit together, always. Usually you sit in a quieter part of the cafeteria, at the end of the long tables where few people sit. During lunch he tells you about his brother, Tommy, and you think he talks so much to distract you from the fact that he has precious little to eat. You don’t like how little he eats, so you parcel out portions of your own (admittedly meager) lunch for him. He insists you don’t have to, but you insist that you do, because that’s what friends are for! He likes being your friend. From that day forward his stomach rumbles a little less each day.
At recess you and him play the wildest games, either just the two of you or with another group of kids. After all, the playground is the neutral ground- all rivalries, all bullying stops the second the recess bell rings and everyone steps out into the mulch. He’s really fast, and a little too strong for his age and size, and you think maybe sometimes he lets you win. Never once do you stray too far from one another; you and him both silently fear that leaving even once will reveal that the other is merely an illusion.
You think differently than most other kids. Simon does too, and in that you find kinship. When numbers jumble in your head, he helps you, solving problems with ease, and when he struggles to get through his writing assignments you guide him through each paragraph. Art class is a favorite you share. Watercolors stain your little fingers, and a dot of pink paint remains on your nose from when he dabbed just a bit on the tip. Together, you make works of art that your teacher is left in awe of.
Where once classes were an endless boring struggle, time passes in a golden, hazy bliss with him at your side. He has the same mind as you, something you’ve never encountered, and it’s magical. Suddenly all the bullies, the cruel kids and the indifferent teachers, cease to matter, because you have the bestest friend in the whole wide world. He takes the bus home, and you get picked up by a parent each afternoon, and every time you have to part for the day you hug and promise to bring him something nice to eat for lunch tomorrow. From the car window, your parent watches on, thrilled that their child has made such a wondrous friend.
Weeks turn into months turn into years. Simon cries when you make him a Christmas gift in class, you hug him so tight he can barely breathe when he leaves a Valentine’s gift in your locker, the only one to do so. You beg your teachers and parents to keep putting you in the same class as him, and blessedly, they allow it. From second to third to fourth grade things remain the same. It’s hard sometimes, but Simon is going through the same things. It’s nice not to be alone, and even when everyone else turns against you, he stays by your side.
It’s in fifth grade that you both finally convince your parents to have him over for a night or two. And when Simon comes to your house, your parents go a little quiet. You don’t know why- yeah, he’s a little scrawny and thin for his age, and he gets banged up sometimes, but who doesn’t? You’re too young, too sweet, to know the truth behind the visible ribs and the endless bruises and scars on your friend’s body. But your parents are keen, and when they realize the extent of Simon’s situation, they know they have to do something.
The next morning, your dad cooks a huge breakfast for all of you, and Simon is thrilled to be eating so much delicious food! Your parents, though worried and protective, are utterly enchanted by your friend. They make sure to keep you and him occupied over the weekend while they do what they need to do. Neither you nor him overhear the endless calls they make in adjacent rooms to various services. The final straw is when you accidentally knock something onto the kitchen floor, and Simon panics. When your parents come in to see if you’re alright, he puts himself in front of you and orders them in a voice far too mature to leave you alone. As if they’d do anything to you, as if they’d hurt you. As if he needed to protect you.
That night, you and him share a sleeping bag because he has nightmares about snakes and men in skull masks. You give him one of your stuffies to hold. Deep into the night, two people, skittish and dirty and scared, are welcomed into your house.
Simon’s mom and little Tommy.
Through the school’s counselor your parents got ahold of Simon’s mother, telling her to pack what she could and come to your home, where she and Tommy would be safe. Simon is both confused and happy to see his family at the table for breakfast the next morning, and you’re thrilled to meet his family. But the talk around the grownup table is all serious, and so you and Simon and Tommy are left in another room to play.
In the afternoon CPS comes knocking, to interview Simon and his mom. They look him over, jot down his address, and leave, and only a few hours later they call your parents again to inform you all that Simon’s dad has been arrested. He’ll never touch Simon or Tommy again.
After that, things are kind of a blur. Simon’s mom gets full custody when his dad gets life in prison for his crimes, which you learn more about as you grow older. When the house next door to yours opens up, you help the Rileys purchase it, and the fence between your adjacent lawns gets taken down. More years pass, as you and Simon and Tommy grow up all together.
Some things get worse over time, but Simon is there. Always. And he’s not going anywhere.
#simon ghost riley#Simon Riley#cod ghost#call of duty#cod x reader#Ghost X Reader#Simon ghost Riley x reader#Simon Riley x Reader#Fluff#kid fic#I feel like if I had grown up alongside him I would have turned out better.#I think we would have been friends. I think that would have been lovely.#From the desk of Lovelace#my writing
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Instant Eternity
Time travel involving the infinite realms is truly a bizarre thing. Sometimes it follow one set of rules, and sometimes that set of rules may as well not exist. Usually, however, it works in one of two ways, the first is when the time travel is achieved through artificial means such as clockworks portals and allows for the altering of the timeline as one would expect time travel would allow. The other type of time travel is through natural means, portals usually, and it’s just that, Natural. That portal to the past opened up in the past the same moment it did in the present. If you step into the portal in the year 2000 then you already stepped out of the portal hundreds of years ago. It’s A Thing That Already Happened. Danny himself experienced this, as while chasing Vlad through time they fought in the middle of a Roman coliseum and, whoopsy daisy, set a really big fire. A fire which Danny had learned about years before he even had his accident.
So, the infimap can take the user anywhere, anywhen. And the infimap is just that, a map. It doesn’t make new roads, it just drags you across already existing paths. So it is a natural form of time travel, if you use it to go in time to kill your grandfather in order to insure your never born your interference will result in your grandparents falling in love and your birth.
Danny realizes that anytime he needs to heal from a battle or has gone 156 hours without sleeping or eating he can use the infimap to pop back to the past for a few days and then have the map bring back to the “Present”, exactly one second after he left. A three week vacation that lasted one second. At first he’s really wary about using this, worried about accelerated aging or getting lost in the time stream and a hundred other issues. At first.
It’s been months sense the accident. Sam and Tucker have both shot up several inches. Danny, on the other hand, hasn’t grown sense the accident. At all. They fought a ghost who could rapidly age opponents, a single slap turned Tucker into a decrepit old man. The ghost wrapped his hands around Danny’s throat and spent 5 minutes trying to strangle him while Danny bought time for Sam and Tucker to pull off the plan. The sucked him into the thermos, his influence on time ceased so Tucker returned to his proper state. “Jeez it sure is lucky he didn’t try and age me, right guys? Ha ha ha”. Danny gets blasted through a natural portal while making a trip through the zone and spends years trying to get home, not aging a day.
He can’t deny it after that, can’t ignore it. He’s immortal. He’s going to live forever. He’s going to watch his friends and family whither away and die out. He’s going to have to spend the rest of his life wandering from place to place trying not to get outed as the same 14 year old who save someone’s great great grandma 100 years ago.
After having his first middeath crisis, suddenly the only reasons he had to not spend years on end wandering the world and the past is gone, even if he loses the infimap, worst case scenario he’ll just take the long way home. Suddenly, he’s dreading the next 80 years of the “Present”. He decides that if he’s going to watch his friends and family grow old and frail he’s going to make sure it’s takes as long as it possibly could, from his perspective. By the time they’re 20 Danny’s gonna have 200 years under his belt.
He becomes a temporal tourist, hopping into the past every time the late night fights and schoolwork become to much. Spends years in every civilization imaginable, mastering every skill he can, leaving legends in his wake.
I feel like Danny and his adventures do have a lot of potential for story’s, as it’s a pretty good setup for having Danny in any type of time period or historical event for extended periods of time, fighting in the trenches of World War I, exploring the Americas during the era of colonialism, sailing the seas a swashbuckling vigilante pirate. I, however, have most of my related ideas being based around crossovers. So most of that will be in part two, so that people who like to filter out all that can still see this post.
#danny fenton#danny phantom#fic prompt#dp au#story prompt#writing prompt#danny phantom au#dp#Danny’s Immortal#temporal tourist#Temporal Tourist AU#Danny the next time Vlad goes on and on about his TWenTy YeARs ExperIANce: That’s cute#Dash pulls up to start something and Danny fresh from spending 13 years as a baker in Ancient Rome is just like Who’s this strange child?#He completely forgets about a English project for Lancer and when Lancers standing in front of his desk asking for it#Danny just like “it’s in… Um… in the bathroom “the bathroom? “yes “ okay go get it. Now.#Danny comes back two seconds later with the best project Lancer has ever seen. it’s autographed by Shakespeare#he had to ask what the project was before he left.
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Erik!! I keep seeing your adorable centaur OCs and I always wanted to ask what's the story behind them??
Plushi!! Sorry for the mega-late reply… 🥺I was so happy to get this ask but I didn't know how to explain my silly ocs…I will try now-more under the cut.
Dael Braam (dwarf) is a cooped up farmhand looking to see the world, but being immune-compromised from birth it took a lot of persuasion to convince her parents to let them go. They relent under the condition that she finds a capable and strong person to travel with to keep her safe… Just so happens that a strong and capable centaur knight is visiting in town…
Rembrandt (horsey) was created from a dark fusion spell by an amateur mage, who had intentions to construct a powerful warrior to do his bidding.
However, the spell cast did not result in a powerful and fully-armored warrior…. but instead a frail baby knight centaur, with only its top half made of living armor. The mage, not wanting to raise any kind of child, promptly abandons his creation. He can always try to make another one after all.
Into adulthood, Rembrandt still carries a lot of pent-up abandonment and self-esteem issues. You wouldn't know that from the proud facade he puts on though, lying about being a royal knight yet helping all those he comes across with a smile, but never staying long. When the opportunity of having a long-term travel companion (and perhaps a friend…?) arises from Dael requiring a bodyguard, his craving for companionship and affirmation outweighs his worries about her seeing eldritch elements of himself.
Dirk (beefy dragon thing) is the second (and more "successful") attempt from the same mage to create a powerful monster. Think Rembrandt's "big evil" brother. Except he's quite a bit younger. Dirk emerged fully-developed except for his wings-which remain as little nubs. Despite his brawn and warrior-appearance, Dirk was mostly a glorified errand boy, using his impressive strength to terrorize the nearby towns and their land-collecting resources for the mage.
Dael and Rembrandt meet Dirk after hearing word of a giant dragon-knight ravaging villages (and their livestock yum yum).
(I also like the idea of the mage sending Dirk to capture Rembrandt + Dael when he recognizes is his first attempt is not only alive and strong, but also quite proficient in battle.)
One way or another Dirk ends up roaming with the two. At first, Dirk is over-confident, rude, and stubborn... Overall a huge pain for them to travel with. After being shown kindness for the first time and being subject to more than a few humbling situations, Dirk allows a protective, loyal and softer side of him to emerge.
Lots of found family shenanigans and adventures occur-and yeah! This was rambly but thank you for reading about my guys! 💖
#i got rlly happy when i saw your ask but i had no idea how to explain my characters so i sat on your ask till now whah im sorryy#i have a whole 40 pg doc on these guys yet i struggled to write all of this lol thank you for your patience u are too kind plushi#I hope to see u at tfconLA next month if u are going!#also that little doodle u did of rembrandt i love and it hangs over my desk so i can see it always :]]#ALL THESE are subject to change...writing character motivations interactions and story is hard wow how do some of u do it??#my ocs#plushi#kind words#artists on tumblr#original character#all three of them come from isolated beginnings i realize
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Background study with RAB's room
#it's for school and surprisingly I really enjoyed making it#regulus black#regulus arcturus black#btw that painting on the wall is that Achilles mourning Patroclus one#he has a snitch James gave him#photos from his friends#the paper on the desk are the letter he writes before he 💀#and Pandora gave him those reflection cristals
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Turn the Page is an 18+ cosmic horror universe, featuring eldritch horrors, librarians, the afterlife and in-between, murderous retail workers, and psychiatrists that should have their medical licenses revoked.
This games I create are explicitly 18+, so minors, begone. No age in your bio will result in me blocking you.
TAGS (Subject to change as I update games):
Asks - #an open book
#TurnThePage - Posts about Turn the Page
#HMNIZ VN - Posts about Hello! My Name is Zack
#Metanoia VN - Posts about Metanoia
Lewd Shit - #The Restricted Section
Drabbles and Such - #From The Writing Desk
Art - #SketchbookFromBeyondTheStars
Feel like supporting the games? https://ko-fi.com/yuyumortis OR
Robin's NSFW Alphabet
Understand My Ship in 5 Minutes
Join the Discord Server!
#turn the page vn#ttpvn#robin adler#yandere vn#turn the page#ellie waite#josh pickman#susan gilman#mags wilcox#the starlight narrator#the restricted section#an open book#from the depths of space#from the writing desk#librarian lore#sketchbook from beyond the stars#hmniz vn#hello my name is zack#metanoia vn#alastor rose#zackarie aizome#yuuri aizome
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911 Lone Star - Of Names and Stories
Five times Owen couldn’t call TK Tyler and one time he did
Part 1
Part 2. Gwyn
“Come on, sweet boy. One little step for mama.”
She held her arms out, hovering just next to Tyler’s shoulders, ready to catch him at the slightest waver. His green eyes stared back at her, but he made no move to come closer. She watched as one hand started drifting towards his mouth, and she quickly brought it back down. “Nope, no biting on our fingers.”
He looked aggrieved by this new development, looking down at where she held his hand in betrayal. His green eyes were big and wide and Gwyn just barely managed not to coo and pick him up. Instead, she held her arms out again, offering him a hug. “Just one little step.”
"He's eight months old, Gwyn." She gave her husband the quickest of glances, focusing back on Tyler in time to see him pull himself up with the table again. "A little early isn't it?"
She beckoned towards Tyler again. "Babies start walking anywhere between eight and twelve months. And Tyler here's been itching to escape from us since he could crawl."
Owen made a sound of agreement. Getting into places he shouldn't be had been the baby's one goal since he started crawling. Room to room inside, away from their eyesight out. And always when either Gwyn or Owen was too preoccupied to notice immediately.
A clever escape artist. Gwyn was confident once he discovered walking, he'd be unstoppable.
"Then do we really want him walking so soon?" Owen asked, coming over to kneel next to her. He reached out, tapping Tyler's cheek gently and capturing his son's attention immediately. Tyler raised a hand towards Owen in a clear plea to be picked up. Gwyn shot her husband a quick look, and he quickly aborted his movement. "We'll need to get one of those leashes to keep him in sight."
"Owen Strand, you are not leashing my son."
Owen made a face at Tyler, who immediately laughed. "Your son? I bet you he'll walk to me first."
Gwyn straightened. "You're so on." Pushing him out of the way, Gwyn caught her son's attention once more, hands up. "Come on, sweet boy. Just one little step to Mama."
Tyler's eyebrows furrowed and he stared back at her uncomprehendingly. Owen had moved to his side, an arm's length away, and copied her pose. "Don't listen to her, kiddo. Dad's right here." Tyler looked between them, one hand still on the table balancing him, while the other bobbed up to his mouth again.
"Tyler!" Gwyn called softly. She reached behind her, blindly reaching for a toy she was confident was lying around. It'd been quickly discovered Tyler had inherited her penchant for making messes, the one thing their son did that Owen complained about. Her hand grasped something and she pulled it in front of her, smiling wide. "Look, look! I've got Teddy."
His green eyes lit up, even as Owen gave her an accusatory glance. "You're bribing him?"
"Negotiating," she shot back. She didn't tear her eyes away from her son. "Come and get Teddy!"
Tyler's eyes were set on the toy and he put an arm out, trying to reach it. When it fell short, he frowned, glancing at her and then back at the toy. Slowly, impossibly slowly, she watched as her hand on the table came up, almost in tandem with a foot coming up. Owen made some sort of movement then, but she couldn't see what he was doing. All she could see was Tyler, taking a tiny step away from the table and towards her.
"Yes, yes, Tyler. My boy, come to Teddy."
The foot came down, and Tyler tilted, leaning to the side. Gwyn, watching her son impossibly closely, saw each movement, each millisecond that Tyler was growing off-balance in slow motion. Her excitement gave way to worry and she started reaching out, but her own movements seemed to take twice as much time as Tyler's and she knew she'd be too slow.
As Tyler fell down, his head was caught neatly in another pair of hands, ones more worn than her own. Gwyn, hands hovering again, but now in panic, froze, her eyes rising to meet Owen's fearful blue ones. But he only gave her a cursory glance, looking down at their son immediately. Tyler, seemingly in shock, only blinked up at them, and looked confused as to how he ended up on the floor.
Owen, on the other hand, had his eyes blown wide. "Ty-T-T." He took a deep breath, closing his eyes tightly for a second. Gwyn found herself unable to help, even though she knew what he was seeing. Another little boy, one that wasn't their son. "Kiddo, are you okay?"
"He's fine, Owen," Gwyn said quietly. "Babies fall all the time."
Owen said nothing, shifting to sit down and pulling Tyler to him. Gwyn let him, pulling her hands back, and watched her boys console each other. There'd be time later to talk to Owen about the stammer. Time later to discuss it all.
#911 lone star#911: lone star#tk strand#owen strand#gwyneth morgan#gwyn morgan#911verse#911 fox#911#911ls#tyler kennedy strand#from the writing desk
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I'm trying to write a yb fic of my own- but whenever I get to scenes with TK, I always have trouble writing their dialouge and making the scenes interesting. any tips for characterizing them and how to write their inner thoughts?
Link me when you post it!! I'd love to read it :) YB doesn't get a lot of new fics, so I'm always looking for more stuff to read!
I want to say that I write scenes that I think are uninteresting or boring all the time. Writer fatigue is real—it's hard to be surprised or impressed by a plot twist or dialog you write. I bet your writing is much more exciting than you think it is.
Luckily canon is a bit sparse for YB characters, which means you can keep them mostly in-character while taking a lot of liberties. I usually have a document with a few lines per character to keep me in the head space to write them.
For example, TK isn't a prominent character in my fic (but they will be in a future YB story), but I have this written down: "big family. likes to laugh and cares about their friends. the type of person to simultaneously be both very secretive and completely unsubtle about a decade long crush. biggest flaw is their inability to keep their hurt to themself. wants the world to know that they have been hurt. has never gotten over anything in their life."
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FILTHINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS: Ruminations on Tender is the Flesh, Gross-Out Horror, and a Society Scared of Being Nasty
*writes an essay about my love for gross shit*
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so in case people on here aren't on twitter/ig and won't get this message: we recently learned that prominent dark romance indie author freydís moon is, in fact, a catfish. they've been brownfacing under several aliases for years and there's speculation they've taken on other identities to pretend to be industry professionals for their own nefarious ends.
this is important not only due to the deception, racism and manipulation but also because they've been using their various aliases to bully fellow authors, particularly neurodivergent authors and tarnish their careers and torpedo opportunities for them. d.n. bryn, also known as brynwrites, was one of their many targets.
if you're interested in learning more i direct you to the following twitter thread:
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