#good luck in your endeavours!!

[mimicteruyo]

After jumping the gun by over a year and making such a mess of the initial draft that I had to scrap the entire thing, I have finally written a functional chapter outline for working title Ain't Your Fairytale.

[mlentertainment]

i went to Canada Computers and showed them the manual for the system we're using at work and their eyes bugged out of their skulls and they fell over with a wobbly aluminum sheet sound effect and then they said why the fuck would you build it like that and i said I DUNNO IT WAS SOME GUY IN THUNDER BAY WHO WON'T CALL ME BACK

[blmpff]

Bonus Tanadech announced his departure from Star Hunter

(best known works: Gen Y 1&2, What Zabb Man)

17.02.24

[cartoonhostage]

I think you're a very creative person, with so much enthusiasm for the things that you enjoy. Whenever I hear you talk about your AUs, the passion that you have for them is so apparent, and it gives me motivation to create as well.

Oh I

Oh

[einsvei]

Man, I've been gone for a while, huh. Writing isn't my utmost priority anymore.

And tbh, tumblr kinda bums me out as a whole 💀 thanks so much for the continued support on my fanfics despite my inactivity.

[the-owl-tree]

Do you have any advice on writing? I have so many storyboards and ideas that I just can't portray correctly. It's all too dry, any ideas on how to fix that? And how do I make a rough draft? Do I just jot down ideas?

I'm so sorry for all the questions, you're just really creative. I'm so sorry to annoy you, have a good day Owl!

okay for starters

THAAANNKK YOUU that's so nice!! but unfortunately i would not consider myself the best person to ask for fictional writing since i don't do it as much as i'd like to. also tend to just do short idea posts rather than any real writing (stares at my google docs yearningly) but for my general creative process when i do write:

-jot down ideas as soon as they come, even if you can't relate them right away. it doesn't matter how silly they may seem, sometimes a silly idea can be the best one

-find the story that speaks to you and just stick with it! this one is something i struggle with (as u can see by many frantic ideas on this blog, there are so many NON wc shit stories i have simmering in my phone notes lmao). don't go for long form stories right away with these, try short ones that you can see an ending to (that isn't in like. four years).

-if it's fanwork, always adopt a "my way or the highway" approach. having fun and staying silly is very important, do what you enjoy (and just by doing it you will improve)

-rough drafts (for me) are giving myself a barebones idea of how the story will go and then proceeding to work through the details: character a needs to go to x -> why does character a do that? does something force them? Do they go on their own? If yes, why do they feel they need to do that? (and this can be hard!! so honestly don't be afraid to just sit back and let it simmer for a bit. i honestly get most of my inspo for when im out on walks and then i have to hurriedly jot down shit on my phone lol)

-don't be afraid to just do some short writing without a plan! just have fun, get an idea in your head and wing it. it gets you back in the swing of how you wanna write and it's a great way to experiment with different perspectives, detailed writing, trying to recapture energy you got from other books, etc.

-if you're struggling with portrayal, trying doing some research! if you're writing xenofiction, the best part is learning more about the animal you wanna write about. i've wasted so many time reading about cat colonies.

-read books of the same genre you want to write. im being hypocritical here cause ive not read nearly enough but trust me it’ll help you in knowing the structures of these genres + general atmosphere to catch

-never base the worth of your creations based on internet engagement. this one is sooo difficult to avoid and i struggle with it but also remember you are target audience number one

there are tons of creative writing blogs on here that pull together writing advice and share short stories as well, i like to look them over when i'm feeling a bit dry on what to write.

that's about it from me, these are things that i find helpful but i hope you find some more stuff that works for you! good luck with your writing, i hope i get to see some of it :D

[passage-of-thyme]

Oh I fucked everything up, didn't I?

[meneatyoghurt]

Oops accidentally summoned a moomin blog

[rewordthis]

Bitch, could it be you’re just the same trash that keeps sending those illiterate messages???

I feel sorry for you if you are.

On the other hand if you’re not, block be upon ye, good luck meeting the same fate like the rest of the garbage.

You’d think someone having the word “liturgical” on their name would come up with something better. Tsk tsk tsk 😒

[horanghoe]

lol. I'm so glad you're leaving the hub, high-key. Don't let the door hit you on the way out.

This is so tea that all it takes is a leaving post for the cunts worms to come out of the woodwork - and on anon too??? I am spoiled lol

[looking4frog]

My husband and I have developed an extremely huge crush on the pro surfer Guy on Terrace House. We worry about him after his surfing accident and want to see him go on a date. Guy, wherever you are, we love and support you

[theycallmespidersquid]

Hot tip, if you can’t focus while doing art, try turning on some sort of video of a person playing a horror game. Set it up somewhere and listen to the sounds of screaming. Make a playlist of your faves, if you want.

[ellecdc]

Not Alone

Marauders x fem!reader who is looking for somewhere safe during a zombie apocalypse [no pronouns are used, but gendered monikers are attributed to the reader!] - 1.8k words

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

CW: mention of losing loved one's/friends in a violent way but not described, reader has injuries, mentions of hopelessness and violence, hurt/comfort

A/N: honestly, I'm not even sure where this idea came from but I needed to write it down lol, so hopefully someone out there enjoys it too!

It felt like the majority of your brain was focused on keeping your breathing even (and more importantly, quiet) than it was at actually finding you somewhere safe to hide. 

You cradled your - now useless - arm to your chest protectively as you fought to keep the disturbing image of your friend being swallowed up by the horde as she told you to run. 

You couldn’t think about that now - couldn’t afford to think about the fact that you had now officially lost everyone who ever meant anything to you, and were completely and utterly alone in this world. 

You couldn’t think about any of that now; you simply had to run. 

You were sure you were only imagining it but you swore your socks felt squishy with the amount of blood accumulating there from the various blisters adorning your feet; you and…. you had been walking for days now in search of anything - any store, any shelter, any body of water - that wasn’t crawling with zombies or hostile survivor encampments.

It had been one bloody thing after another; setting off some security alarm in a pharmacy and having to outrun a horde, having to avoid a camp of survivors who were out for blood, and dislocating your sodding arm simply trying to hop a fence.

And your luck didn’t seem to be coming up any better; the vast abandoned fields ahead of you smelling like nothing but trouble. 

You didn’t want to walk through the unmanned fields, not knowing what could be lurking out of sight in wait for you. 

The only other option was the gravel road, which while leaving you completely vulnerable was undeniably the safer of two options. 

You tried to compartmentalise; you needed water, but to drink water, you needed to take your rucksack off. Taking your rucksack off sounded like a painful endeavour at the moment, so you would need a secure place to do so. If you could find a secure place, you needed to rest.

You needed to pop your bloody shoulder back into its socket.

You needed to take your sodding shoes off.

You needed to sleep.

You wanted to cry.

You needed to cry. 

You’re not sure how long you had been spiralling or how long you had been walking without direction when the blazing sun finally started to set and allowed you some reprieve from its scorching heat. 

And suddenly, you saw it.

A rather dilapidated barn could be seen just peeking through various overgrown shrubs behind a barbed wire fence a mere kilometre or two ahead.

You had no time (nor the wherewithal) to consider whether the building was safe as your feet seemed to head in that direction of their own volition.

You needed water, you needed rest, you needed to take your shoes off. 

You needed to get to that barn.

On autopilot, you crouched behind the rickety fence and listened for any movement. 

You creeped forward and pushed the barn door open, listening once again for any movement. You picked up a stick and lobbed it into the darkness of the barn - still nothing.

Rather desperate at this point, you pushed your way into the barn and took in the space. 

While there was evidence of people having camped out here before - a few sleeping bags, an empty can or two of food, and other survival paraphernalia - there was no way to conclude how long those individuals had been gone for, or if they planned on returning.

But you couldn’t think about that right now.

You turned and shut the doors behind you, using your good arm to pull a bail of hay in front of it as a poor means of blocking the door. 

You fell atop of one of the sleeping bags; your knees screaming in agony at the impact and crying in joy at the relief as you manoeuvred your rucksack off of your good shoulder and sucked in a pained breath as you removed it from the other. 

You pulled out your flask of water; the last remaining bit you had on your person since the other two bottles were with…

This was the last remaining bit of water you had.

You took a tentative sip; knowing you’d love nothing more than to down the rest and then some, opting to ration for now until you were able to get your hands on more.

You kicked your boots off and were happy to see that your socks weren’t as drenched in blood as they certainly felt when you were walking. 

You needed water - check. 

You needed to take your boots off - check. 

You had an obvious issue with your shoulder, but when you went to try to reposition it, you felt bile rise to your throat and hastily pulled your hand away.

You’d worry about that later.

You needed to rest.

You couldn’t worry about the fact that you couldn’t worry about your arm later, seeing as you had no one here to reset it for you.

You had no one here.

You had no one.

But you couldn’t think about that right now, as the adrenaline of the day seeped from your body and exhaustion pulled you further into a strangers sleeping bag where you finally fell unconscious. 

You found that you suddenly missed camping, which was odd seeing as your entire life now could be considered various forms of camping. You missed the bonfires that weren’t merely a form of survival, you missed the light conversation and inside jokes, and you missed the easy laughter one only ever heard in the company of trusted friends.

You could almost hear it from your curled up position in a sleeping bag; the sound of a gentle fire crackling, gentle whispers and subsequent chuckles.

You almost smiled to yourself, that is, until you realised you really could hear those things.

You could smell it, too; the smell of fire, the telltale scent of pine trees from where a door must be propped open.

And you could feel the heat of the fire, and the familiar weight of company.

Your eyes shot open then as you tried to control your breathing.

You could hear someone - multiple someone’s. Maybe two? Three? 

“Good morning.” A deep voice greeted you from near your feet.

You scrambled to a sitting position - painfully ignoring the screaming of your shoulder - and pushed yourself flush against the wall behind you. 

The voice was a man - possibly around your age - dark haired, tattooed, and intimidating as he watched you warily with narrowed silver eyes, opening and closing a switchblade in his hand as if he was having trouble sitting still while he watched you sleep. 

You turned to grab for your gun only to notice that your rucksack was gone - the only one of your possessions that you still had was the flask that you fell asleep cradling in your arms.

“Easy doll.” The bloke said with a smirk. “Your stuff is safe - it was just a precaution, yeah?” He offered as he motioned towards another member of his group who was holding your bag up for your view. 

“You’ll get it all back once we know you’re not here to off us.” A man with glasses and hair that appeared to be a level of wild that could only be natural attempted to placate you. 

“And you?” You finally asked; eyes darting between the three men (that you could see) frantically. “Are you lot here to off me?”

The dark-haired man scoffed. “Don’t you think we would have done that already?”

“You’re sleeping in our bed, princess.” The bespectacled bloke added. 

You felt horribly like the Brothers Grimm version of goldilocks - sleeping soundly in a bear's home only to be mauled to death upon their return.

“Where are your people?” The man holding your rucksack who had been silent up until this point asked you then, moving to stand beside the dark-haired man as he considered you.

He was tall, looking far more like he’d been living through an apocalypse than his two counterparts did with the various scars adorning his face and hands.

You simply shook your head in response to his question. 

His lips pulled together slightly before he looked down at your rucksack. “You don’t have much here.”

You shook your head again.

One of them sighed as the tattooed man continued to scrutinise you.

“Do… do you want something to eat?” The scarred man asked then. 

You quickly shook your head and made to stand, catching yourself awkwardly with your elbow as you teetered into the wall behind you, one arm useless and the other holding it protectively. “Sorry, no. I- thank you, but I’ll leave, I swear it.” 

“What’s wrong with your arm?” The tattooed man asked as he stood from his crouched position.

You let out a shuddering sigh. “I…I don’t- I think it’s dislocated.”

He let out a chuckle through his nose. “You’re not going to get very far like that, dollface.” 

“Do you really have no one?” The man with the glasses asked then as he moved to join the three of you. 

“No one.” You whispered, fighting back the violent image of the last person who meant anything to you being ripped from your grasp.

The three men shared a look; the scarred man shaking his head and walking back towards the fire with your bag still in his hand.

“My name is James.” The bespectacled man announced. “This is Sirius,” He continued, nodding towards the tattooed man, "and Remus over there will help you with your shoulder.”

“And then we’ll get some food in you.” Remus added.

“I…I don’t-”

But the tattooed man - Sirius - scoffed derisively at you. “You are not going back out there.”

“Not alone.” James corrected. 

The two men went and joined Remus at a makeshift camp stove where he was warming up some sort of canned soup, and James pulled up another lawn chair making four seats around their  designated kitchen area.

You didn’t know these men - although they didn’t know you either - but it had been so long.

So long since you met kind strangers, so long since you smelled food that wasn’t preserved fruit or pickled vegetables, and so long since you felt any inkling of hope since the world went to shit before your eyes. 

But you couldn’t think about that right now.

All you could think about was how Remus gently patted your new spot at their table as he explained how he was going to pop your shoulder back into place, watching as James spooned some soup into a bowl for you and Sirius grabbed a brand new bottle of water that you could have cried over and set it on the table in front of you.

So, perhaps against your better judgement, you took a seat and allowed Remus to shove your shoulder back into its rightful place before securing it to your side with what looked to be an old lace curtain, and told them your name.

You didn’t know what might come of this little foursome you suddenly found yourself in - you couldn’t think about that right now - but at least, for now, you wouldn’t have to be alone.

continue to part two here

[aroacemenace]

I often face this problem, and I think the best thing is to just write. No skill? Write anyway, we need to write some shitty things to get better, to find our writing style and to learn how to write better things. The things I wrote just a year or two ago wasn't all that good, but I needed to write bad things to get better.

If you feel like you don't have the skill/experience to write a particular thing, you can always put it on hold. Come back to it later when you feel you can do the idea justice.

Any writing is good, don't be afraid to make mistakes and write "bad" things. And whenever you finish a writing session, give yourself some cred. You sat down and wrote and that's fucking awesome!

I have so many ideas for art/fanfiction, so much time. Yet no skill. Any tips? Criticism? It can be anon too.

[soracities]

Do you have any recs for beginners who want to write poetry? I love your blog so much!

there's a list of starter poetry recommendations for reading poetry here. For writing poetry I would recommend essays and nonfiction by poets: Upstream by Mary Oliver, Still Life with Lemons by Mark Doty, Now and Then: The Poet's Choice Columns by Robert Hass. If there are specific poets you like and admire, I would read their interviews to see how they themselves approach poetry and writing. I would also subscribe to Devin Kelly's Ordinary Plots substack, Padraig Ó'Tuama's Poetry Unbound (substack and podcast), and the On Being podcast's interviews with poets. There's also this section on The Poetry Society of America which features poets and writers interacting with either their own work, other's work, or simply discussing different aspects of writing and experiencing poetry.

I would also recommend really familiarising yourself with the technical aspects of poetry: poetic structures, rhyming schemes, language and all its textures etc., because those are the essential building blocks more than anything else. Practice writing poems following established formats: try your hand at an abcderian poem, or a sonnet, or a tanka, or a villanelle--the structural limitations are a good way to force yourself to really think about what you want to say and how you want to say it.

At the end of the day, the most important thing if you want to write is to read widely, and read often--and practice and practice and practice again. Learning to write anything is like training a muscle and you have to train and work it consistently. Hope this helps and best of luck with your writing endeavours anon 🤍

[olailamajnoon]

There's a really cute girl at the door.

Dick: *pushes Damian ahead* Go ahead, talk to her!

Damian: why

Dick: I dunno, to be friends!

Damian: I suspect your motives.

Dick: *sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose* Yes, Dami, I wanted to get you away from the chips so I could have them to myself.

Damian: I knew it! *picks up bowl of chips and hugs it* You shall not have my chips.

Dick: Dami, see. At your age, I was going to school and hanging out with friends playing lacrosse and we were having so much fun! But you - apart from animals and the family, and Jon, I don't see you...interact much.

Damian: so it's not about the chips.

Dick: *kneels and takes Damian's hands* it's okay to feel afraid at first. It's normal.

Damian: I am not afraid, Grayson. I have conquered fear. I am no mere child, I am a living weapon! Put any challenge in front of me, and I will complete it!

Dick: go talk to the girl outside.

Damian:…

Damian: It would appear I walked right into that one. Damn. Your wiles are formidable, Grayson.

Dick: *stands up and opens the door, and pushes Damian out, and smiles at the girl* Hey! This here is Damian!

He shuts the door almost completely, leaving it open a crack.

Girl: Hi Damian! I’m Sarah. Wanna buy some cookies? *looks behind him* Omigod. *squeals with excitement* is that your dog?

Damian, following her gaze: That is my father’s dog.

Sarah: Oh! It's so based.

Damian: yes it is...based, as you peasants put it. *fidgets at the door*

Sarah: *looks at him confusedly*

Damian: You are quite plump. Is plumpness hereditary in your family?

Sarah: what?

Damian: Say I were to enjoy your company, join our families, and we were to have a daughter. Would she be as plump as you?

Sarah: …

Damian: forgive me, I am only thinking ahead. In my family, we have assiduously cultivated the best genes over centuries of curating spouses.

Sarah: uh…*looks oddly at Damian, and then around her*

Sarah: I gotta go home.

Damian: …very well then. I wish you luck with your baked goods endeavour.

Sarah walks away, looking over her shoulder with wide eyes. Damian follows her retreat, and then turns around. The door is open. He walks in.

Damian closes the door. Dick is standing behind it, covering his face in secondhand embarrassment.  Damian looks at the floor.

Dick, swallowing and putting his hand on Damian’s shoulder: Dami. I am so sorry. But you’ll have other chances. We just need to polish your social skills a little. I’m sorry kiddo.

Damian, stoically: animals are more reliable, Grayson. Animals, and you.