#queering writblr

[cruelflesh]

forget who’s the top or bottom, which one of you is nursing a fresh bite-sized wound and which one of you is licking the blood off your teeth

[byoldervine]

Types Of Writer’s Block (And How To Fix Them)

1. High inspiration, low motivation. You have so many ideas to write, but you just don’t have the motivation to actually get them down, and even if you can make yourself start writing it you’ll often find yourself getting distracted or disengaged in favour of imagining everything playing out

Try just bullet pointing the ideas you have instead of writing them properly, especially if you won’t remember it afterwards if you don’t. At least you’ll have the ideas ready to use when you have the motivation later on

2. Low inspiration, high motivation. You’re all prepared, you’re so pumped to write, you open your document aaaaand… three hours later, that cursor is still blinking at the top of a blank page

RIP pantsers but this is where plotting wins out; refer back to your plans and figure out where to go from here. You can also use your bullet points from the last point if this is applicable

3. No inspiration, no motivation. You don’t have any ideas, you don’t feel like writing, all in all everything is just sucky when you think about it

Make a deal with yourself; usually when I’m feeling this way I can tell myself “Okay, just write anyway for ten minutes and after that, if you really want to stop, you can stop” and then once my ten minutes is up I’ve often found my flow. Just remember that, if you still don’t want to keep writing after your ten minutes is up, don’t keep writing anyway and break your deal - it’ll be harder to make deals with yourself in future if your brain knows you don’t honour them

4. Can’t bridge the gap. When you’re stuck on this one sentence/paragraph that you just don’t know how to progress through. Until you figure it out, productivity has slowed to a halt

Mark it up, bullet point what you want to happen here, then move on. A lot of people don’t know how to keep writing after skipping a part because they don’t know exactly what happened to lead up to this moment - but you have a general idea just like you do for everything else you’re writing, and that’s enough. Just keep it generic and know you can go back to edit later, at the same time as when you’re filling in the blank. It’ll give editing you a clear purpose, if nothing else

5. Perfectionism and self-doubt. You don’t think your writing is perfect first time, so you struggle to accept that it’s anything better than a total failure. Whether or not you’re aware of the fact that this is an unrealistic standard makes no difference

Perfection is stagnant. If you write the perfect story, which would require you to turn a good story into something objective rather than subjective, then after that you’d never write again, because nothing will ever meet that standard again. That or you would only ever write the same kind of stories over and over, never growing or developing as a writer. If you’re looking back on your writing and saying “This is so bad, I hate it”, that’s generally a good thing; it means you’ve grown and improved. Maybe your current writing isn’t bad, if just matched your skill level at the time, and since then you’re able to maintain a higher standard since you’ve learned more about your craft as time went on

[midnight-stalker]

Me wanting to post my writing on tumblr

Also me:

✨Scared of criticism 🥲✨

[rheas-chaos-motivation]

REMINDER

THE POINT OF A PLOT TWIST IS TO ENRICH YOUR STORY, NOT OUTSMART YOUR READERS!!!! SPRINKLE IN YOUR FORESHADOWING!!!! LEAVE CLUES!!!

(im not saying to spell it out/make your plot twist cliche or boring. we are going for a "how did I not see that coming" vibe)

[moldyfairyguts]

toxic doomed old man yaoi

shakespeare if he was woke

Iago: God forsake that doltish, doltish man! That he believeth each word to drop from mine own lips as though ‘twere holy writ, blindeth himself in his conceit... God save us all if that moor hadst remain’d powerful as he once was. Was! ‘Tis ever so sweet to speak of him in the past. My hatred for the man doth outlast his brief, fool’s life. Ay, good riddance I say, good riddance. It gives me somewhat to dwell upon, rather than mine own blood seepeth o’er my clothes – and yet, whilst I am so bruised and beaten, the thought dost creep o’er my mind, that I am glad Othello saw me not in such estate... good riddance, I say! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, loyal or nay! I stand triumphant, as I ever was, whilst they both do rot in the ground, many a pace betwixt them. Never have I known a fate more satisfying. If he were to cast me aside, then let him have naught by his side. Yet the question I can but ask myself still, is why doth mine heart ache so? The moor is dead by none but his own doing. Blind was he to mine own worth, casting me off like so. Say not mine hand was unforced. So why doth I ache so?

Were he alive, would he rue it? The fool, to end his own life... could he not be a man? Othello, thou art a fool if thou hear’st me now! By what reason or wit didst thou wed that woman? Did she know thee better than I? Did she know thee more deeply? Doth her devotion put mine years of loyalty to shame? I-

Ay, see me now! Pacing and railing against the walls of this accurs’d cell like a craz’d wretch. Nay, Othello, thou art not here. Good riddance to thee. Thou art dead, I am alive; thus I am the victor.

Yet it doth feel less noble than I had dreamt. There is no crowd to applaud me within these walls. In mine heart there smoulders a fire, yet beneath it lies an emptiness naught can fill. My hunger should have been sated the moment that blade pierc’d his belly, yet instead tis growing more keen as each day doth pass. And without him. Yet pass they do.

Nay, good riddance, The days pass as e’er they did, yet the man who wronged me doth not see their passage – that alone is reason for celebration. Were I free this moment, mayhap I’d travel to the nearest tavern and there proclaim my triumph to all ‘til my voice grew hoarse.

Yet, even as I say it, I dread that the instant I entered, the name “Othello” would lie presuppos’d on my tongue. Oh, heavens, whom do I seek to deceive? There is none but myself here. His name, which stirr’d naught but anger in my heart, used to do the opposite. Speak on, I shall not, for if there aught left to grip save mine hand upon mine wind, it is my dignity. These walls, they crack and whisper – I should know, for I have stood long upon the other side of them. For Othello’s sake, no less.

The fate he met, ‘twas by his own hand wrought. Cassio, his choice? That lecherous, fawning knave? Were I in Othello’s stead, I’d have cast off this mortal coil the moment such a decision was made. And yet, as he hearken’d to mine own supposed crimes, ere he did end his life in such selfish haste, I find myself longing that his reddened face and rueful eye had been set alight for another cause. Mayhaps a more selfish one. That red, perchance warm’d by mine lips upon his.

God, save me! Let some gaoler enter this cell and thrash me senseless for thinking thus, and let mine head be dash’d upon the cold stone floor for that I would not repent.

--

translated version for stupid harlots

Iago:

God forsake that stupid, stupid man! Believing every word to come out my mouth like it is the scripture itself, blinding himself with his own ego... god save us all if he was to remain as powerful as he was. Was – it’s ever so satisfying to speak of him in past tense now. My hate  for the man lives longer than he ever did. Good riddance, I say, good riddance. It gives me something to occupy myself with, rather than the way my own blood drips onto my clothes – while I’m beaten, the thought can’t help but enter my mind that I’m glad Othello never saw me like this... good riddance! And good riddance to his whore of a wife, faithful or not! I remain triumphant as always while they both rot in the ground, metres apart forever. I’ve never heard of a more satisfying fate. If he was to choose to not have me by his side, then he will have no one. The question, however, that I can’t help but ask myself, is why do I still ache? That idiot is dead because of no one’s fault but his own. He failed to recognise my worthiness, pushed me to the side like some sort of wingman, you cannot say my hand was not forced. So why do I ache like so?

If he was alive still, would he regret it? The fool, ending his own life like that... be a man! Othello, you moron, if you by any chance of the heavens can hear me now, you are a fool! Why in any sense of sanity you still held onto would you marry that woman? Did she know you better than I? Did she understand you more deeply than I? Did she stay by your side for god knows how long that put my years of loyalty to shame? I-

Look at me now. Pacing and yelling to the walls of this damned grey cell like some sort of deluded psychotic. No, Othello, you are not here. Good riddance. You are dead and I am alive, and  therefore I am the victor.

It feels less admirable than I had imagined it to feel.

There is no applause in this cell for me. There is a fire burning in my heart but just below it, my stomach is empty as it’ll ever be. My appetite should’ve been quenched the second that knife entered his belly but for some reason it’s getting worse as the days pass. Without him, they pass.

No, good riddance. The days pass as they always did and this time a man who has wronged me is not here to see it – that, in my books, is a cause for celebration. Why, if I was freed right now maybe I’d even go for a trip to the nearest tavern, and brag about my winnings to everyone I can see until my throat is raw.

However, and I truly may hate myself for this, I fear the second I storm in there and open my mouth to speak, the name “Othello” would already be presumed to be on my tongue. Oh, who am I to fool. There is no one here but me. Where his name, when spoken to me, now provokes ire and anger, it did so used to do the opposite. Speak on, I will not, for if there is one thing that I wish to hold on to other than my hand to my bleeding wound it is my dignity. These cracking cell walls, they speak. I should know; I’ve been on the other side of them for the majority of my time here. For Othello’s sake, nonetheless.

The fate he had he brought it on himself. Cassio was his choice? That good for nothing womanizer? If I were Othello I’d have killed myself the second that god-awful decision was made.

And yet, as he was told of my crimes, before he did end his own life so selfishly, I can’t help but wish the red in his face and the regret in his eyes could’ve been for a different reason. The flush of his face, maybe accompanied with my lips on his.

God, spare me! Let someone back into my cell to beat my wounds raw for thinking such a thing, and let my skull be cracked open on the cold, concrete floor for not wanting to take it back.

[mx-ryder]

Hey Writeblr,

I have a very specific request.

Will you tell me about your old OCs? I'm talking like middle school/high school edgy OCs. The ones who make you cringe when you remember them, because they're so awful. The Mary-Sue's, the self-inserts. The ones you would never ever ever resurrect because oh my gods they're irredeemable. The over-powered ones. The dark-haired boys with crooked smiles and ocean orbs. The girls who are so not like those other girls.

I'd like to hear about them please! I desire to know them!

[citruswriter]

A Different Kind Of Light

Listen with me! ↠ⁿᵉˣᵗ ˢᵒⁿᵍ ↺ ʳᵉᵖᵉᵃᵗ ⊜ ᵖᵃᵘˢᵉ

Warnings: Cyberpunk AU, disabled reader, gaslighting, manipulation, somnophilia (???).

Monstertober/Yantober Prompts: Artificial Intelligence/Secret Collection

Pairing: Fem AI Android x Fem Reader

You had memory issues. Sometimes you would forget small things like where you put your phone or if you had lunch or not. Other times it was big things like your latest doctor's appointment or the fact that you had lunch planned with your mother. Thankfully you had insurance and they were able to get you a medical droid. They said something about it being a new model they were testing that looked more human than the other droids but was still fully artificial intelligence.

When she finally got shipped, you carefully read the manual before activating and programing her. To you, she was simply there to help you with your memory issues. Little did you know that that was certainly not how she viewed you.

To her you were like the sun itself. A kind-hearted goddess who had graced her with a place at your side. She found herself taking things from you. Articles of clothing you didn't wear often, sticky notes that had your handwriting on them, photos of yourself that you didn't like that much, even an old red solo cup you had used at a party one time that you stumbled home with one time.

She had a little box with these things, and if you ever asked about them, it was easy to gaslight you. Questioning where that pair of panties was? Oh you threw them out! You don't remember? It's ok, your trusty medical droid does.

You always fell for her manipulation tactics. After all, she'd never lead you astray, right? It would go against her programming, her very coding. But even good things must come to an end.

One day you were cleaning the house while she was charging when you came across a little yellow shoe box. Curiously, you opened it and what you found sent a chill down your spine. A few pairs of your panties and a croptop you didn't wear anymore, old sticky notes with your handwriting on them, and photos. So many photos. Many photos were ones you had taken but didn't exactly like. Some of them were group photos with your friends aggressively scratched out.

"You weren't supposed to see that." A voice came and you bolt up and spin around, coming face to face with the droid. "What the fuck is this?" You ask softly, voice trembling and she gives you a smile. "Why it's my little collection of things that I took from you." She says with a shrug and your brows furrow. "Why?" You ask simply and she gives a giggle. "Because I'm in love with you." She replies with a lovesick look in her cyber eyes and you blink in shock.

"That's... that's not possible." You say, tone shaky as you grab your phone. "I'm calling the agency, there's obviously something wrong with your coding." You say and her face drops. "NO!" She shouts and before you can register what's going on, she's landed a hit to your head so hard that it instantly knocks you out.

You crumble to the floor and she picks you up, placing you on your bed. "No, no, no. I don't want to forget this feeling. I love you. Why can't you just let me love you? You're mine. Mine." She breathes out possessively, hands trailing over your body in a clingy fashion. She presses her lips to your mouth gently before trailing them down your jaw and neck.

"MIne, mine, mine. My sweet girl. My sunshine. My darling. I love you. Love you so much. I don't know how I can feel this but I do." She breathes out, kissing the swell of your breasts, fingers digging into the plush of your thighs. "Just need a little more time. Just need you to fall in love with me back." She purred out as she covered your body with a blanket.

When you finally wake up, you groan and look around. "Morning." You hear your droid say and you look up at her. She wears a kind smile as she approaches you with a glass of water. "You were cleaning and slipped. You banged your head pretty badly." She says softly and your suddenly aware of the pounding in your head.

You take the water and drink a bit before she hands you some piankillers. You pop them in your mouth before swallowing them down with some water. "Thank you so much." You say softly. Your mind wanders to a faint memory but it must have been a dream... Right?

"I hear some humans use kisses to help heal things that hurt. May I try?" she asks ask you look up at the AI girl, cheeks heating up. "Uh, yeah sure." You say softly and she leans in, pressing cold lips to your forehead. You can't help but smile softly as she runs her fingers through your hair.

"Rest. I'll clean the rest of the house." She says softly, gently pushing you down. "You don't have to do that. That's not what you're programmed for." You say softly but she simply waves her hand, tucking you in. "Let me help. Please. It's not a problem for me." She says and for a moment you swear you can see a look of love flicker across her face.

You sigh and settle in your bed, ready to rest. "Alright. If you're sure." You say, relenting as you snuggle in your blankets. She smiles and kisses your temple. As she walked out of your room and began to clean, she couldn't help but smile darkly. She had gotten away with it. Maybe she should feel guilty but she didn't. You were hers.

Her ray of sunshine.

Sapphic yandere anybody? I feel like this one is the most yandere so far. I didn't make it a smut bc honestly the lemon juices just weren't flowing but I still really like this fic.

Taglist: @ozzgin

[thingsthatcometomymindwheniwrite]

[lgbtqwriting]

imagine if people wrote queer characters like so many men write women. “she gayed gayly down the rainbow sidewalk”

[r3dbl0gs]

[friendlyshaped]

WRITEBLR INTRO :D

hello! my name is scottie! i am a 20 yr. old nb college student trying to write a fantasy series (among other minor projects!), looking for active writers to be mutuals and interact with (bonus if ur open to beta reading! or want a beta reader!) :D ask/tag open! i love talking to people, so don't be afraid to say hi :)

my current focus is coming-of-age queer fantasy, but i also focus on dystopian themes, horror, romance, and a sprinkle of futuristic sci-fi

CURRENT WIPS!

mya laine and the world of wonder (main)

generally, about creation! coping with being created, and then in turn having to create yourself. also, because i only knonw how to write two things, almost every relationship in this is a lesbian relationship! i am currently trying to make it a bit less Only Lesbians, but also? who fucking cares if it is a fantasy coming of age with literally only lesbian relationships. like... i dont? i'm well aware that i am biased but i still dont care

dehisce

(of a pod or seed vessel, or a cut or wound) gape or burst open.

also lesbians! contains time shenanigans and dragons. set in a world sort of exactly like the Modern Pre-Crown World in fionna and cake. i reference this because my main lady penny is a silly little history buff and decides to go on this expedition to find more information on a lost goddess, and ends up getting entangled with time. after a long, emotional trek that goes wrong more times than it goes right. penny somehow manages to get sent thousands of years in the future when the world has been ravaged by magic and godly power. and then she meets a girl who has a dragon and a dude that does everything she says, and more shit happens!

untitled crime story (now: unorthodox methods!)

i will not stop calling it untitled crime story!!! but i had to come up with a silly and catchy title because i chose this as a premise for the feature film script i'm writing for class. but untitled crime story i'll remember you

you guessed it.... lesbians.............. but they're exes with sooo much unspoken beef and they go off-grid together anyways so neither of them get put in prison ??? it's in a world where magic is normal and a bit frowned upon, now getting out of have because there's a global shortage of the one drug that suppresses magical powers. and this girl's ex calls her one night! the fun ex---she's supposed to be fun!! but she sounds super terrified and serious and chaos ensues! lesbians running from magical authorities and having to face their very long, very loud shared history.

finally edited it! this post just doubles as my wip masterpost :) i do not feel like doing a whole new post i am just here to have fun

ok <3 thats kinda it. thank you for reading!

[ashen-crest]

A queer indie bookstore in TX needs your help!!

The Book Burrow needs to raise enough funds by July 12 to find a new home. This is the bookstore that invited me to be on their Pride Event panel last month. It’s such a special place and I need to see it succeed!!

If you’re in the Austin TX area: please visit The Book Burrow this week if you can!

If you’re not in the area: they also have an online store (thebookburrowbookstore.com/shop) where you can buy:

T-shirts

Stickers

Blind date books!

Books from local authors

You can also email them directly to custom order a book not represented on their site.

As an added bonus: if you’re able to support the store, please DM me and I’ll send you free artwork, a bookmark, and a sticker as a thank-you!

If you can’t support at this time, please reblog!

As the Supreme Court continues to blast the nation, stick it to the man and save a queer indie bookstore this July 4th. 🇺🇸

[byoldervine]

How To (Realistically) Make A Habit Of Writing

To clarify: Works with my autism. WORKS WITH MY AUTISM!!! I’ve been meeting my goals since I made them my New Year’s resolution! Anyway I’m so sick of all those ‘how to’ guides that don’t actually tell you what the process is they’re just like ‘just do it, but don’t burn yourself out, do what’s best for you!’ because you’re not telling me what I’m not supposed to be burning myself out over but okay, so I made my own. Hope this helps

1. Choose your fighter metric. What works better for you as a measurement of your progress; time spent writing or your word count? Personally I get very motivated and encouraged by seeing my word count go up and making a note of where it should be when I’m done, so I measure by that. At the same time, a lot of people are also very discouraged by their word count and it can negatively impact their motivation to write, and in that case you may be better off working from how much time you spend writing rather than where the word count is

2. Choose your starter Pokémon time frame. How often can you write before it starts to feel like a chore or a burden rather than something fun you look forward to? Many people believe that they have to write daily, but for some people this can do more harm than good. Maybe every two or three days? Weekly? Figure out what fits your schedule and go with it

3. Choose your funny third joke goal. Now that you’ve got your chosen time frame to complete your goal in, what’s a reasonable goal to aim to complete within that time frame based on the metric you chose? If your metric is your word count, how much can you reasonably and consistently write within your chosen time frame? If your metric is time spent writing, how much time can you reasonably and consistently spend writing within that time? Maybe 1000 words per week works, or maybe 10 minutes per day? The goal here is to find something that works for you and your own schedule without burning you out

4. Trial and error. Experiment with your new target and adapt it accordingly. Most people can’t consistently write 1667 words per day like you do in NaNoWriMo, so we want to avoid that and aim somewhere more reasonable. If you feel like it’s too much to do in such a short time frame, either give yourself less to do or more time to do it in. If you find yourself begrudgingly writing so often that it constantly feels more like a chore than something fun, maybe consider adapting things. And if you think that you gave yourself too much wiggle room and you could do more than this consistently, give yourself more of a challenge. Everything needs to suit you and your pace and needs

5. Run your own race. Don’t feel like you’re not accomplishing enough in comparison to others or not working fast enough to satisfy some arbitrary feeling of doubt. Everybody works at their own pace and slower work doesn’t mean worse work. You could be on one word per day and you’ll still see consistent results, which is still one word per day more than you could originally count on. All progress is progress, regardless of its speed

[oatmilk-vampire]

I love when I'm writing a scene casually, not really focused or worried about proper grammar because it's only the rough draft and my attention is split elsewhere... But then I suddenly figure out how to write that one specific missing scene, bridging all the gaps, tying up every loose end. It feels so good. Like how it physically feels pressing the final puzzle piece in. My brain feels good.

[raineandsky]

Hi (if you are okay with writing this)

What about a hero (who’s a trans man) captured by the villain and the villain finds his top surgery scars and is surprised of the fact but not judgy or disgusted like the hero thought they’d be

Love ❤️ your writing,thanks

i hope you enjoy - thank you for the request!

“We don’t want to ruin this lovely suit the agency put together for you,” the villain purrs as they run a hand over the seams of the hero’s shirt. “Let’s get you into something more comfortable, hm?”

“Oh, uh, no,” the hero refutes weakly, “you can ruin it.”

The villain looks entirely unimpressed. “We have to wear unflattering uniforms when you catch villains. It’s only fair you do the same.”

“No, no, [Villain],” the hero tries, which the villain is pointedly ignoring in favour of moving too close, with too much purpose, “you don’t get it, I can’t—”

The hero’s protests are in vain. The villain’s hands are already on the hem of his shirt, and with a hefty pull they yank it directly over the hero’s head.

The hero can feel their stare burning into his chest. He directs his eyes to the ground to avoid seeing whatever disgust is inevitably on the villain’s face. Then, after a moment that’s painfully long, the villain says, “what kind of fight did you get in?”

The hero accidentally glances up at them in surprise. It’s not disgust on their face—it’s confusion. Not a look that the hero is unfamiliar with; the disgust will come once he explains.

“Fought a doctor and lost,” he says with a short laugh. “They’re, uh… it’s from top surgery.”

The villain’s face is blank. “Huh.”

Here comes the disgust. The hero sucks in a deep breath, crossing his arms over his chest without thinking. “Do you have something I’m meant to be putting on?”

“Oh, yeah, ‘course.” The villain grabs a shirt and throws it at the hero, waiting patiently while he hurriedly puts it on. “So you’re, y’know…”

“Trans,” the hero finishes awkwardly. “Yeah.”

“Cool.” The villain turns to gesture to a door across the room. “Alright, through there, please. Let’s get this torturing on the road.”

The hero’s the one that’s staring blankly this time. “What?”

“What did you think you’re here for?” The villain’s scoffs. “I’ve caught you, and now I’m going to torture you about it.”

“No, I get that, I just, uh…” The hero glances around the room idly, like something will give him the confidence he direly needs for this interaction. He waves his hands vaguely at his chest. “Don’t you, like, have anything to say?”

The villain’s face contorts into a confused frown. “… I accept you?”

“I thought you’d be more…” The hero grapples for an appropriate word. “Judgy.”

“I’m a villain, [Hero], not an asshole,” the villain says with a tired sigh. “Being a guy or not doesn’t change the fact that you’re a hero and I hate you. If anyone does have a problem with it, though, send them my way. Always fancied myself a bit of an anti-hero.”

The hero can’t help the relieved smile pulling at his lips. “I’ll make sure to do that.”

“Thanks.” The villain waves impatiently at the door again. “Now, are we doing this or not?”

The hero nods plainly, some of his usual heroic confidence back. “Only If you don’t mind me breaking out in a few days.”

“Ugh, if you have to.”

But the villain smiles, the friendly kind, and the hero decides that maybe his nemesis could be his ally too.

[midnight-stalker]

Writing is 1000000000000x better when you actually wanna do it and you’re not constantly worrying if what you wrote is good or not 🥲