Writing - Blog Posts
so if i wrote a mha world heroes mission rewrite with slight rodydeku and a language barrier, would anyone read that? or just me? i mean i'm doing it regardless, i just want to know if there's an audience.
me, leaning across the bar and twirling my hair: so, you come here often
en dash: you've used me 47 times in this one document– please just let me die
you know its a good sign when you add 'existentialism' to your TWs in your fic :)
me, physically shaking: don't make another divorcee, don't make another divorcee
the hind mind, chronic divorce trope lover: but they always wanted children together and split amicably because love doesn't always mean devotion
i try to make a wholesome, playable, funny joke character and it evolves into a pathetic lump of a man who puts everything before himself and would do anything to protect those he loves
Wolf x Rabbit Vignette
for @grumpybunny-edith
Next Part Day 415
You mustn’t laugh. Above all else, you can. Not. Laugh. You know you fucked up, and your girlfriend deserves to be mad about it. She also deserves to be taken seriously.
Ignore that her fluffy cheeks have puffed up into an almost cartoonish pout. Ignore the adorable twitches in her ear. Ignore the petulant little foot taps she doesn’t even seem to realize she’s doing.
Your girlfriend complains to you every day about how upset she’s been getting over not being taken seriously ever since starting her hormones. She knew that starting bunny hrt wasn’t going to be easy, but she hated how disrespectful people were towards rabbit girls.
It wasn’t something you had experienced much of yourself since you started your own hormone journey. Most people just tended to steer clear of you as you became bigger and more wolf-like. After a year, you practically dwarfed your furry partner.
You dig your elongated canines into your lip, trying desperately to stop yourself from cracking a smile. All it ends up doing is flooding your mouth with the taste of blood, triggering your predator brain and making it impossible to resist scooping her up and taking her back to your den to savor the taste of bunny on your tongue.
She lets out an “eep” so cute you can’t help but burst out laughing. You apologize, and promise to not make the mistake again. You also promise to make it up to her over the course of a very long night.
As the two got closer, it became a common occurrence that Julie would braid Jeff’s hair after he showered. She would sit silently on the bed in the motel room that he hadn’t paid for in half a year. Waiting for him. Staring at the assortment of knives he kept on the kitchenette countertop. Feeling the imprint of his body carved into the left side of the bed. Tasting the orange vanilla candle in the air. Jeff had told her he just liked the smell, but Julie figured he was just trying to cover the scent of rust that hit the back oh her throat when she yawned too hard; Her open mouth inviting a trace of metal to hit her uvula. Maybe, she thought, it was time to finally replace the pipes.
Jeff preferred to shower in the hottest water available for the longest he could stand it. His mother had gotten him used to the feeling of heat widening his blood vessels. She’d mutter on about how feeling dizzy was a good thing because that meant the heat was burning all the bad thoughts out of his head. About how pain is the only way to tell you’re getting clean. About how he should never say he feels faint because he’s not some girl that needs a chaise lounge to collapse on. But Jeff very often felt faint after a boiling shower. Dizzy wasn’t the right word. He didn’t feel dizzy when he sat on the bed in front of Julie and felt her nails graze his bare back as she wove his wet hair. He didn’t feel dizzy when Julie finished the braid but kept her cold hands on the small of his back and leaned in so that Jeff could feel her breath on the nape of his neck. He didn’t feel dizzy when he caught a whimper in his throat after feeling Julie’s hands move to his stomach and slide two fingers across the indent between his stomach and hip bone. Jeff didn’t feel dizzy. He felt faint.
Faint in the same way a Victorian woman feels when learning of the death of her lover. Faint enough for his knees to give up on him if he weren’t already sitting down. The feeling subsided after Julie would slide off of his bed to attend to something in the building. Most times, she’d leave to go check in a person hoping to get a discreet room with air conditioning and blackout curtains. She’d leave Jeff alone for hours so she could clean a room or take towels to the second floor or do whatever else managing a motel requires that Jeff doesn’t know anything about. By the time Julie finished her rounds and came back to Jeff’s room, his hair was usually dry and the room would be back to the frigid temperature he preferred. Julie would knock and let herself in with the master key so Jeff wouldn’t have to get up if he were busy. Wherever Jeff had positioned himself for the evening, Julie would sit close by.
The only times he really felt dizzy was when he had taken up laying on the bed and reading as a way to pass the time waiting for Julie to come back. He knew he felt dizzy, not faint, when Julie would come and sit by his side with a hairbrush and have him sit up a little bit more so she could brush his hair out. Jeff recognised the weakness in his limbs and the way his head swayed on his neck as he looked up at Julie. He recognised the dizzying way looking anywhere but Julie’s eyes seemed to make the room melt and twist. Her knee pressed against his side and he felt his skin burn the same way it did when his house burnt down. Unsteadiness hit in waves every time he glanced down and watched for a second as her fingers separated his hair. Her long nails made a path between the grooves separating each section and she widened the gaps, extending her fingers through the holes until the structure of the plait fell apart. Each time the pad of her finger grazed his shoulder after undoing a knot, he’d shake harder and harder. Jeff found it harder to keep his head up as Julie went on. His breath caught in his throat and he couldn’t bring himself to blink or look away. In the reflection of Julie’s glasses he could see himself sweat. He didn’t feel faint. He felt dizzy. He felt sick. He felt good.
One of my greatest joys as a fanfic writer is me shoving the usually beacon of hope hero into a moral dilemma that he can't win, forcing him to hurt an innocent person to save a life.
I have made the hero sin and I will tear him apart for it.
Frills and Metal
I've updated my Sonic IDW oc fanfic. Please tell me what you think.
Chapter 13: Sunrise
Chapter 14: All You Can Choose
Chapter 15: Catastrophe
summary of the three chapters.
13: Our main character is no longer a threat to the planet, but that doesn't mean everyone else believes so.
14: Sonic is forced to make a decision to either hurt an innocent or let someone die.
15: Big is a nice person. Also angst.
I respond as much as I can (terribly, I believe)
reblog if you’re a writer who’s very terrible at responding to comments from your readers, but has read them all and loves and appreciates each and every single one of them very dearly
Updated my Epic the Musical oc fanfic. I write an og song for every chapter.
Tell me what y'all think.
Random idea I just had:
Imagine, if you will, a genie. A good genie who would even twist wishes to make them better, but the person who summoned them is the biggest dumbass in the universe. Now the genie must figure out how they can twist the wishes so the idiot remains unharmed.
Updated my original story. Tell me what y'all think please.
When you find that song that resonates with your plot and you just listen to it on repeat while imagining your story.
I wanna continue my current original book, but it's kinda depressing how it's going.
Can anyone just check it out and give it a reviews? Criticism very much appreciated. I just need something that isn't silence.
It has two chapters for now.
I wish I had a little goblin assistant to help me write.
Made a book. Need thoughts. Tell me what y'all think. Please. (^._.^)ﾉ
Love writing my traumas into my characters. It's like therapy, but more convoluted.
Writing is like bargaining your first child to a fey except the child is your energy and the fey is everything but writing.
I don't plan my stories. It's all just vibes.
So many ideas, not enough energy. O writing muse, why has thee cursed me in such a way?
Writing is like a sport except I'm playing against myself.
Anyone else has a brain that's giving them story idea after story idea, but none of them click? The hyperfixation isn't hyperfixating.
Me misspelling a word and deciding to keep it misspelled: no no no, it's a character trait now.
Y'all, imagine how incredible it would be to be both a writer AND a necromancer. You can just telepathically write your books. And not just that! Imagine the efficiency!
Skeleton number one, write this cool plot I have in my head! Skeleton number two, make a tumblr post about how cool it is to be both a writer AND a necromancer!
Imagine, if you will, a world where you have a little creature to write your books for you. The creature in my head coming up with ideas is not enough. I need MORE. MORE CREATURES!
Anyone else just liked to write fancy words for fun?
This is in one of my fanfics. "It's all a fleeting, effervescent blip in a desultory cosmic scheme of a frilly amphibious deity."
Is this the consequence of being a writer?
Has anyone ever tried making a fanfic of Tumblr? Is Tumblr a fandom? Is it even possible? I need more research.
When you write subtle hints towards cool stuff about the characters in your story, but no one notices anything and you just have to try your best not to cry.
Pls tell me I'm not the only one.
Me while writing: "the wizard cast a fireball." no too boring. "𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖟𝖆𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖏𝖚𝖗𝖊𝖉 𝖆𝖓 𝖔𝖗𝖇 𝖔𝖋 𝖋𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖆𝖙 𝖘𝖈𝖔𝖗𝖈𝖍𝖊𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖆𝖎𝖗 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖎𝖙𝖘 𝖒𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖊𝖓𝖈𝖊." much better.