#don't think i like the colouring but whatever

[concerningwolves]

Not only is this allowed but it's something i encourage all writers of any kind to play with! :D

The idea that all writers know what to say all the time and just splash fully-formed drafts out one word after the other is false. There are some who can do it, but i think most of us... can't. Which is why we need tricks like square bracket notes! They're not cheats or lazy writing or some other flavour of Not Allowed, but instead really really important tools that we should use as much as we need to.

Some of the most helpful tricks I've collected over the years are:

make some notes in square brackets – e.g., I had to write a scene on a sailboat, but I know nothing about sailing so i literally just had notes like [boat part] and [how to do X thing?]. If you use square brackets as punctuation anyway, use something else like [[double square brackets]] or a unique letter combination like XY at the start of the note; the point is to pick something you can search for easily later on.

(You can also style inline comments in a different font/colour. Scrivener has an inline annotation feature; if you use Word, you can make a specific Style to make notes stand out at a glance, etc.)

bullet-point your way through any tricky parts – this can be pure stream-of-consciousness vague ideas. it only needs to make sense to me later. much more helpful than just leaving big blank gaps that Future Me has to work out how to fill, but also better than dwelling on a piece of writing forever.

use comment tools – mostly do this if I have ideas for alternate events and/or phrasing, or if I want to check something for continuity purposes.

write out of order – Best advice i ever got for academic writing is to know or even write your conclusion first and your introduction last, which your main argument in between. Similar principles apply in fiction, or any kind of creative writing. If there's a part of the essay that I can visualise clearly or a part of the story that is particularly exciting or important, I might write that first, then figure out how it fits/how everything fits around it.

keep a loose scenes and/or "outtakes" folder – anything that i write out of order goes here, along with any notes for how I think I want to incorporate it into the full text. In the same vein, if I delete something but don't know for sure it will never be relevent ever again, it gets cut and pasted into an outtakes folder.

Basic rule though is that you do not have to get your writing perfect on the first try. This is where drafts come in. The way I see it is to treat each draft as a fresh start – I create/open a new document (well, new Scrivener file) and start over as if from scratch. Each draft gets a narrower focus than the last. This is my process, as an example:

first draft is the word vomit. You do whatever you need to do to get it onto the page, and it can be terrible. In fact, it probably should be terrible. You can fix everything later. it's fine.

The second draft is a half-hearted cleanup attempt. I'll re-type everything because everything is subject to change, from the characters' personalities to the pacing to the order of events. It's all primordial goop, basically. i'm just poking and prodding and making a few adjustments, but mostly trying to create a more stable version of the first draft. All shortcut tricks continue to be my best friend.

By draft three I'll let myself copy-paste between documents if I'm particularly happy with a passage, but try not to get hung up on anything specific. I'll still make liberal use of square brackets etc. as I need to, but try to address as many from the previous draft as I can. This is where I get more brutal with making decisions and trying to fix parts of the story in place.

Draft four is usually my final draft, but there's literally no rules about how many drafts you're allowed to write. It's at this point that I try to keep square brackets etc. to a minimum (unless i've diverged significantly from the plot of a previous draft and having to rewrite large chunks), and make sure to address all the notes and problems encountered in previous drafts.

This is when I move on to revisions. Revisions are the "final do-overs", for me. I start them when I'm satisfied with all the large-scale aspects: plot and chronology; characters' personalities, motivations and arcs; large-scale pacing (so the over-arcing pace, rather than the pacing in individual scenes); backstories; and worldbuilding. I'll copy the last draft's document instead of starting with a blank one. First I run through those large scale things one more time and tweak until I'm happy, not just satisfied. Then I shrink my focus to in-scene pacing, dialogue, and the quality of the writing itself.

I'll also rewrite my plot outline between each draft, too. The act of actually re-writing stuff is very helpful for making your brain think about it.

Drafting like this isn't for everyone, but realising that you can just bullshit your way through chunks of text was a massive game-changer for me. Some people will do a draft, then work on something else, then come back and do another draft, work on something else, etc. Some people's drafting process will look more like what I consider to be revisions. Do whatever works for you. Just remember that from the moment you first decide you Want to Write a Thing to the moment you hit "post" or "publish" or give your manuscript over to a publisher, you can keep making as many changes as you like in any way you like. (And if you go the querying to traditional publishing route, you'll probably get suggestions for, and have space/time to make, changes to the manuscript quite far into the process).

favourite things about first drafts:

square brackets with notes to self mid-line like [does this make sense with worldbuilding?]

ah yes, Main Character and their closest friends, Unnamed Character A and Unnamed Character B.

bullshitting your way through something that you probably definitely need to research later

also square brackets to link up scenes. [scene transition idk] my beloved

the total freedom of word vomits

"I'll fix that later"

the moment when the world and characters start to gain a life of their own

pieces falling into place as you write that you were uncertain about before you started

the accomplishment of Made A Thing

[lucy---lou]

Continuing my last blog.

"No we haven't cuddled yet, let's watch a movie"

"I really don't like movies or anything like that but we could play a cardgame", I say blushing again. Why would she cuddle with me? I've known her for 2 hours top.

"Oww ok, let's play this old terran game uno, but FLORET Editon", she first pouts then beams at me.

Floret Edition oh no, either two possibilities in that. First the good one. Nobody can lose and the reward is cuddels. I'm sort of ok with that. The other option is we're getting drugged. Stars NO.

"what makes it the floret Edition?", I ask already shaking.

"I'll tell you in the Livingroom, you're going to like it", Ellie says with a smirk.

I move to jump of the high bench as I normally would and before I really leave the surface,"iiieeep", I'm caught in a lot of vines.

"Little one I won't let you possibly hurt yourself, now behave", miss Duralis says with a stern but playful voice. Her eyes flashing bright colours at me, locking me in for a few seconds.

"Y-Yes Miss Duralis"

She picks up Ellie as well and we are both deposited on a huge couch.

"Mistress can you please get the playing cards while I explain the game?", Ellie asks looking absolutely adorable.

"Sure thing my petal"

"So you have to get rid of the cards on your hand. We play in turns. You can lay a card of the same colour or the same number as the previous one, if you can't you have to draw one from the stack. -thank you Mistress- There are special cards like this one. You can always lay it in your turn and you can choose the colour. And this is the best card if I lay it you have to draw 4 cards but you can also stack them and if I have one aswell it you would have draw the cards unless you had another one. And for being so brave in drawing a card you'll get petted by Miss Duralis for every card you have to draw"

Ah thats the catch in floret edition.

"Did you get everything?"

"Yes I think so, but I don't want to be petted", trying to save myself.

"Don't be silly Lucy everyone loves being petted"

"First round no pets for Lucy, ok?", Miss Duralis says but with a smirk?

Halfway through the first round everything is alright. Ellie gets a few pets, I refuse everytime. I stare a little at them, then Miss Duralis winks at me.

"Jealous?"

I blush and look away. I feel a prick, my body flinshes. But I think nothing of it.

"Everything alright Lucy?", Miss Duralis asks me looking a bit sad.

"Yeah everything good. Just caught my skin in the zipper. Let's continue"

Everyone nods

Since when do my clothes feel so good?

"Lucy your turn", Duralis giggles.

"Oh sorry"

Wow this cough is really comfy I could live on here. I wiggle around baking in this sensation.

"Ellie to Kitten it's your turn again"

"ooops", I blush. Why can't I keep track?

I can here this really nice rhythm. I could listen to it for ever and close my eyes.

"Lucy you have to draw eight cards"

"Hmm ok", I slowly look up again giving Duralis the puppy eye look.

I see something approaching me not really processing anything, something touches my head.

"mmmmhhrrrpf", a quiet moan. I feel my cheeks burning.

"mmmmmmrreeeeeeowwwww", a not so quiet moan and I fall forward onto the playing cards between us. Whatever was touching me, isn't anymore.

"Nnnyyyyo", trying to grab where I think the thing touching me was.

"Oh you need more, sure thing kitten. You'll get as much as you want", Miss Duralis says with a smile. I can't see it but I can feel it.

"Wow Class-As really did a thing on her and I can tell why you say she's a kitten. Mistress, do you think she will mind if I cuddle with her"

"No I don't think so, she likes you alot even if she doesn't admit it."

I feel somebody brush along my body and hug me. I don't care and drift into blissful sleep.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Are these my hands, still? (scrubbed clean as they are?)

carry me slowly, my sunlight (these colours, they fade for you only) - series masterlist here

pairing: damian wayne x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.6k

genre: hurt/comfort, angsty but happy ending always always always

warnings: we're back with the blood on hands analogy, this is vaguely and metaphorically about consent, love and redemption and finding yourself blah blah blah

a/n: me ?? posting a fic ?? new year miracle fr. I haven't written in,,, a long time. I'm getting back into it but guys I am kinda rlly fuckin unwell and couldn't rlly proofread so I HOPE you all enjoy it at least a bit <33

"Do you ever… miss it?" It's not often that your voice is quiet, but tonight Damian has to shut off the water in the bathroom sink and turn to you, cocking his head to the side as if to hear you better.

"Miss what, my love?" he asks gently, leaning his hip against the smooth, granite counter and watching as you stand at your own sink, scrubbing rather aggressively at the dried blood on your hands. It has been a messy patrol, to say the least, and the two of you are sort of thrumming from the adrenaline of it as you stand in the dull light of your bathroom.

"Just… well, I don't know," you mumble, and it's enough to make something that feels upsettingly close to worry begin to eat at Damian's heart. He's not used to you stumbling - not used to you sifting through words and searching so desperately. And he knows, with a fearful sort of vulnerability, that you're not used to it, either.

So he can't really stop himself from chasing after you, can't find it within himself to leave you drowning. Damian moves toward you slowly as you stare down at your hands and scrub, and you find it difficult to stop even when he covers your frantic movements with one large palm while he reaches his other hand to turn off the water. It had been hot, he realizes rather abruptly, and your skin is too warm to the touch, steam still rising from the white sink basin.

"My love," he says slowly, leaning down a bit with slouched shoulders so that he can crane his head enough to look at your downturned face. "Please talk to me. Please."

You pull your hands out from under his instead of speaking, and he turns his palm to face upward so that you can place your hands there, dried blood ground into the grooves and prints of your skin.

"How long has it been?" you ask dully. "Since our hands looked like this?" Our, you think, a sickening sort of nausea twisting within you. But his are clean these days, always always always.

"It… doesn't happen often," Damian says slowly, a frown tugging at his lips as he feels himself chasing after you - feels himself trying desperately to catch up with whatever's dragging you under right now. "But there's… never a last time for things like these. It's not up to us to know when we'll have to get our hands dirty again."

When you look up at him, then, your eyes are big and shining and open, staring with something that looks a bit less like love and a bit more like longing. It makes Damian's stomach twist, just a bit, and he reaches one arm to wrap around your waist and pull you into him while his other hand abandons yours to tangle into your hair and guide your face to his chest.

There's no space for longing here, he thinks. There is only love. There is only love here and it belongs to you. He hopes, a bit desperately, that the sound of his heart thumping in his chest is enough to say that - to remind you of that. When you press your face closer to him and tangle your bloodied hands into his shirt, he can't help the touch of relief that courses through him.

"I need you to tell me what's going on, beloved," he says softly, and in any other situation you might've laughed at him - might've poked fun at the fact that Damian Wayne is practically begging at your feet like a dog desperate for a bone. 

You just sigh at his words tonight, though, tipping back and away from him as you untangle his arms from around you. He lets you, notably, his hands ever gentle and pliable under your touch. But when you spin back to the sink, turning the hot water back on with a steaming hiss, he lets one large palm cover yours again. 

"Let me do it for you, please?" And there's something about the way he asks it, something about the love in his begging that makes you crumble and nod. 

"You don't have to ask, you know," you say quietly as he takes your hands gently into his own over the sink and begins to scrub ever so gently at your skin. "You don't need my permission."

"You don't belong to me," Damian points out softly, but a frown tugs at his lips once more because he thought you knew that. 

"No, I - I know that. I just mean…" You trail off, though, as you stare at your hands engulfed in his, the gentle motions of his fingers wiping the red from your hands over and over and over again. "I belong to myself, I know," you continue, ignoring the thick unfamiliarity of the sentiment. "But we… we've given ourselves to each other, right? You don't have to ask."

"It's not a formality," Damian muses in the quiet bathroom, the pale light reflecting down onto the two of you. "It's a promise. It's… a reminder, my love."

"Of what?"

"Of what you just said," he reminds you patiently, his eyes flickering up to you as you keep your own gaze locked on your intertwined hands. "You belong to yourself now. These hands are yours now, completely. You get to choose what to do with them. You get to choose what's done with them."

"Ah," you say flatly, Damian's words jarring in a familiar sort of way. None of it's new, but sometimes it slips away from you just a bit too much on nights like this.

Your hands, you realize sort of distantly, are clean again, and Damian's taken a towel to dry them with a gentleness that the two of you seem incapable of most days. He moves with a softness that feels learned rather than inherited and it makes something that feels dangerously like hope flutter through your chest.

You don't speak through the rest of it, content to stare down at your clean palms as he smoothes his fingers over your skin and throws the wet, used towel onto the counter. As your eyes flicker to track the movement, watching as it splats onto the solid granite with a dull, muffled flop, you find your gaze searching for the red that you're sure should be there. You find yourself looking for the blood that must've been scrubbed from your hands - that must've seeped into the white fabric and stained the towel into something unusable. 

"You cleaned them enough on your own, you know," Damian muses gently, smoothing a stray hair away from your face as he wedges himself between you and the counter to block your view from the towel. "You didn't really need me to do it for you."

"Didn't I?" you say haltingly. "Why did I - why did you do it, then?"

"Do you remember when we were children?" he asks in lieu of answering, a confused look scrunching over your face at his words. "The first time we really fought - the first time you cut me with your sword."

"Yes," you snap just a bit, and you find yourself balling your hands into fists so that you can't stare at your palms any longer.

"I remember it, too," Damian muses further, and you look up at him with furrowed brows while he smiles - something soft and sweet and loving beaming down toward you. "I remember feeling it."

"…What?"

"It's so human to bleed, isn't it? So human to be beaten." Your face morphs into bewilderment at his rambling, at the sweet reminiscence that passes through his voice. He takes your hands into his with a gentleness that wasn't supposed to belong to him, and as he smoothes his thumb over your knuckles you can't help but wonder if there was ever anything really wrong with your hands at all.

"Why are you bringing this up right now?" you ask quietly, and he flips your hands over in his hold so that your palms are facing up, staring back at you as you glare down at them.

"Because I was always human. I just needed you to remind me of it. Sometimes we need to be reminded, beloved. That's all." He says it simply, of course, like the words haven't ripped the ground from underneath you. But they have - and you both know it, you both feel it as you teeter on your feet.

"They don't look like my hands when they're clean like this," you offer hollowly, your voice swallowed by the dim light of the bathroom, shrouded by the love that pours from Damian as he lifts your hands to press kisses to each one of your fingertips. "These aren't my hands anymore."

"But they are, aren't they?" he says simply. "They're yours now more than ever before."

"What am I…" you falter. Damian waits - ever patient, ever solid under your touch. "What do I do with them?"

"Whatever you'd like."

"Should I…" you trail off, staring up at him first and then down to your palms again, his hands tangled with yours. "Should I do something good with them?"

"Do you want to?"

"Always," you answer quickly. "Yes, I - you know I do."

"Well, then," Damian shrugs - like loving you is easy, like knowing you is something he was born to do, "I suppose it's inevitable that you will."

[nick-nellson]

INTERVIEW WITH THE VAMPIRE 2.08 And That's the End of It. There's Nothing Else

[og-aaaaaaaaaa]

Well... when I miss you I always look up at the clouds and I wonder if we're ever looking at the same cloud even though I know it's impossible. I loved the poems you wrote for me, no ones ever done anything like that for me before and it makes me feel so loved!Sometimes whenever I see clouds it reminds me of your hair and I want to stop whatever I'm doing and just be with you. I love how smooth your skin is, it's perfect, just like the rest of you, and now everytime I see the colour blue I think of you and how perfect you are. And as much as I hate it, I love your finger, the prosthetic one, because it reminds me that you do love me and were willing to lose your finger for me. All your fears about me leaving you -as much as they make me think I've fucked up- are why I trust you so much! More than I trust anyone else! Even myself sometimes. I feel like I can actually be myself around you and I don't have to worry about how much you'll judge me for how stupid I am.-Did you know science suggest humans are more than 99% genetically identical- I know it probably doesn't apply to gods but I feel like you're much more different than any other god you feel so unique and special and like one in a million which makes me feel so lucky. And I find your voice so calming whenever you're not blaming yourself. It's like listening to a river stream or people screaming. And whenever we're not together, you're almost all I ever think about. And you look even more beautiful than any goddess ever I think you'd look perfect no matter what happened to you even if you got turned into toast or something. Do you remember when we attacked that ship? I loved that! Seeing you hurt all those mortals! It was the most I had ever loved you at the time. Y'know, you're the only person I really talk to other than my siblings, at least the ones who don't hate you for whatever reason.

(this is actually really stupid dont be alarmed) *from wherever oizys is it just starts absolutely downpouring like the heaviest rain shes felt possibly ever*

*Oizys immediately flies home to Aeolus at extreme speed*

HONEY ARE YOU ALRIGHT?

[hinamie]

I'll give them shelter like you've done for me

[satsuha]

finally trying my hand at a khura'inese outfit for apollo... i definitely wanted to give him the spare coat in dhurke's office but i might redesign it later

[aro-aizawa]

i like to think everyone has a colour associated with them, whether its just your fave colour or what you generally wear most of or what colour your bedroom walls are. i always associate the name sophie with dark blue, my mum is always a nice turquoise, i like to think my colour is a bright sunflower yellow.

if you have a specific shade pls tell me i adore when ppl have associated colours and tell me them, bc i think of them when i see that colour

[silverware-is-interesting]

have some kinitoPET content, 'cause why not

a version with YOU

+ a thing and a few YOU doodles

[justewil]

happy emmy wemmysday i have never drawn her before

redraw of that one sticker of her. yeah

[cherubytes]

one-sided v4v where the v2 fights are just a way to get attention but v1 doesn't care at all

[sciderman]

(Idk if someone asked this already) since we’re on the topic of gender

sci what is gender to you and how do you see it in you and how you express it in your art?? (Just a young queer artist who wants some light shined upon them 🥺)

i 'unno ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[lesbianwyllravengard]

If you call colouring "rendering" I will know you're on tiktok. Like yeah technically if you consider colouring to be the final process it could be argued that's not the wrong word but semantically it's awkward phrasing and the only people who call colouring art "rendering" are on tiktok

[whatudottu]

A long overdue art response to a boneless joke, Tetrax makes a very excellent first impression by accidentally severing Gluto - his new pilot - from one of his tendrils. Don't worry, he's fine-

After trying for hours to find a petrosapien hand reference I meanwhile am not so... *grins*

[thisfuckingdork]

Randomly spun some Deadlaws characters to try and combat my post-exam art block. I think it worked :P

[slightlytoastedbagel]

see I have theories in regards to What The Fuck Is Wrong With Whit Young but they aren't the ones involving him being the mastermind or traitor. they're to do with whatever is going on with his mother