#the book of judges is PERFECT for this???

[rosetyler42]

Ericka: It's more...she used to be a racist/speciesist monster hunter who thought monsters were evil and dangerous animals. An accomplice to genocide and 5 time attempted murderess. She still carries the guilt from all of that and has fears of relapse. She's seen what those views can lead to and DOES NOT want to make those mistakes again, but she was brought up with these views for DECADES. It was all she knew once, amd changing that drastically isn't EASY. And other people thinking she's still evil because of these old beliefs doesn't help. It's not really self HATE, though. It's more...she knows she has a dark side and tries to deal with that, and also uses it to try not to judge others, no matter what they've done. Especially if they didn't do WORSE than she did. I imagine there's still some psychological hammers and high standards from growing up under Van Helsing too. That said, she's very good at hiding all this under an air of upbeat positivity. So it's hard to tell how much translates to real self hate.

Lucy: No, not at all. Biggest thing is not being perfect like Mavis is and taking more after her mom's wild and crazy side and more annoying big brother Johnny. But she's actually pretty happy with herself.

Simon: Perhaps a little. It's more he feels he can't quite measure up to the rest of his family being the humany one AND a shy timid guy. Though he doesn't have NEAR the trauma Dennis did.

Alice: Also complicated, though perhaps a bit closer to hate. She doesn't really like Susie much due to Susie having traumatized her with her vivisections during their quest for perfection. Or for hurting Bendy and the others. She worries she may be nothing more than a dangerous monster and killer after 30 years of being inside Twisted Alice. She still has body image issues, still is a bit of a perfectionist. Still into gorey things. Still sensitive to being called an ino blob. But she's much happier with herself as Alice than she was as Susie. Even sharpens her horns and polishes her halo. And her amd Susie do still share a body, and Susie DOES care about her. She's not totally EVIL, Mostly damaged, hurt, and insane with ink corruption, which Alice understands.

Audrey: It's complicated. I'd say hers is mostly existential problems and body image issues rather than hate. Basically, she was Joey Drew's daughter born from the ink machine despite thinking she was fully human. And...welp, all that is alot to deal with. And then there was all the things she had to do to survive the Cycle and her whole deal with Wilson. Probably one of her biggest regrets was trusting Wilson at all since he killed her once and tried to kill her again. She's a young girl who's been through ALOT of horrors. However, she's also resolved to make things better for her friends in the Cycle and freed Bendy.

@lovelylivelyv 's Jack Nephalem: I'd say it's complicated. On one hand he's a cartoon ink monster made from demonic ink and capable of just as much horror and violence as Twisted Alice or the Ink Demon if he ever just went apeshit. On the other, he's a good guy who just wants to have fun and make sure his family is safe and happy. One of the most sane creatures in the Cycle aside from Henry, Allison, Tom, Porter, Heidi, and Audrey. He's also quite optimistic, fiercely loyal, and hopeful. He's not quite as broken down by the Cycle as some of the other characters. He still has that drive to cheer people up and make them laugh that most toons do, believing joy and laughter are powerful things...sometimes the only weapon you have in life. He knows you're always free to choose who you want to be. Which is kinda fitting for a character who's a mix of angelic and demonic natures.

Bill: I'd argue yes. He refers to himself as a monster and keeps trying to deny his problems. "Says he's happy, he's a liar" as I think the Axolotl said once. He clearly still lives with the trauma of the Euclidian massacre. Some of the codes in the Book of Bill and the website even say he's still haunted by the ghosts of his family. He denies this, saying he liberated his home dimension. He sees himself as a patron saint, a god of the outcast and oppressed. He pretends nothing matters and that he's always happy and partying. He blames others for his own issues. But he definitely secretly DOES hate himself.

Ford: Ah, now HERE'S an interesting one. "Ego of a king, insecurity of a circus freak" as Bill says. (And he'd know.) I'd say probably, on some level. Ford's a victim of abuse from both Filbrick's "Golden Child" favoritism and Bill's manipulation. Not to mention the teasing his unusual fingers brought him. I don't think you can get out of all that WITHOUT hating yourself on some level. Ford blames himself for ALOT of things: Stan getting kicked out, being tricked by Bill, Fidds' trauma and subsequent loss of sanity. Stan sacrificing himself AND the kids being put in danger BY Bill. His biggest strength and pride is his intellect and talent for science and he has a habit of thinking he has to do everything himself. However, having true family and friends, and strong (albiet skewed) morals, he's better off than Bill. But yeah, I imagine it's hard to come out of all he's been through without SOME baggage.

Fidds: Less than either Ford or Bill. I think his big thing is I think part of him might feel guilty for running away and trying to forget his problems rather than sticking by Ford and trying harder to get him away from Bill. Especially after Ford saved him so many times. Possibly also inflicting the town with his own memory gun for so long since he now realizes there's bad side effects to it. How much it messed with his own mind. But in general, he seems far better able to bounce back from his traumas and mistakes than Ford or Bill. As he says, "Maybe I messed up in the past. But now that I've seen what happened, I can begin to put myself back together again." He's far more optimistic and hopeful than Bill or Ford seem to be, which helps him. And very forgiving, too.

Mabel: Probably the least of the group. The biggest thing is her self centeredness and feeling responsible for Weirdmaggedon. I don't think she's a bad person at all: She was a child of divorce and trusted someone she thought was a friend. But she definitely feels responsible for Weirdmaggedon and perhaps Dipper blames her for it as well (Considering the "Mabel's fault" bit) She DESPERATELY wants to be seen as a good person since that's who she sees herself as. ("If I'm not a good person, who am I?") Even though she's kind of oblivious to how her choices affect others. (Kinda like Ford.) I don't think it nessecarily crosses over into self HATE. Mabel's a bit too aggressively positive for that. But even she admits she needs to work on herself.

Shego: Not really. I do think she has insecurities she covers up with her Tsundere solid tephlon personality. I do think she has regrets and sees herself as being this big bad evil villainess. But in general she's actually one of the most well adjusted characters in the show and rarely gets flapped by anything.

Meteora: ....In canon I don't think she'd remember enough to hate herself for what she did as Heinous. Though I imagine being half monster would cause some issues there. As Heinous...I imagine eventually she would have to deal with the guilt of her rampage through Mewni. Even with her feeling justified by having her throne and family taken from her. Not to mention there's everything she went through being raised by St. Olga. She does learn to love her more monstrous features and magic but...yeah, I think she'd have some issues to get over now that she's in a better position.

Coraline: Possibly on SOME level. Like Ford and Mabel she probably blames herself for being tricked by the Beldam. Possibly how she treated Wybie and the cat initially. However, she was also able to defeat the Beldam using her own cunning and free her parents and the ghost children, which is a major confidence booster for an 11 year old. She also wasn't totally BLINDLY trusting. She clearly knew something was off. I doubt she blames herself on the level Ford and Mabel do. Especially after learning she's not the first kid to be tricked by her.

Bloo: Maybe on some level considering he's quick to put himself down in the cookie episode. He clearly has a big ego seeing himself as the best imaginary friend ever but I think alot of that is bluster. He clearly worries about being disposable and worthless as seen in Cucoo for Coco Cards and Runaway Bride. @lovelylivelyv has more analysis on this than me. But yeah, I think everyone seeing you as nothing more than some troublemaking self centered jerk face definitely gets to him as much as he tries to hide it. Heck, there's a whole ep where he wants to go live in a retirement home because he feels bossed around and unappreciated at Fosters. Even to the point of turning on Mac when he tries to talk him into leaving. Now, part of this could have been brainwashing. But he clearly sees the group home where everyone is cared for as a paradise.

Caine: I think his is more an identity crisis of "If I'm not good at taking care of people, who am I?" Than self hatred.

Pomni: At the least she has worries about being abstracted and forgotten about. I'm not really sure it's self hatred exactly, but she definitely has some existential problems and whether or not the others care about her. However, there are others who I'd say has more issues with self hatred than Pomni: Mainly Zooble and Gangle. Gangle clearly has some Bipolar/depression things going on to the point of possible near abstraction if it weren't for Pomni and Zooble clearly has some body dysmorphia. It's also been said Jax is a jerk because of issues too, and Ragatha hides alot under her sweet friendly looking out for everyone persona.

Every poll on this blog is about fictional characters only. This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds

[celestialgallaghers]

White Mustang: Sunday

I'm having way too much fun writing this I wish I was Noel Gallagher's controversially young girlfriend😔

Prelude | Saturday

Summary: You were younger then, and it was only a crush. Something harmless born in the long hours of a studio summer. But now Noel’s here, newly divorced and quieter then you remember, sharing a house on your family’s holiday. He’s more distant, harder to read, and somehow even more gorgeous with age. Suddenly the feelings you thought had faded are back in full force. But he’s still off limits… isn’t he?

Word count: 2.4k

Sunday

You woke to sunlight slicing through the shades of your room. Too bright. Judging by the intensity, it was already late morning. The moment you stirred, your head started pounding.

Groaning, you pressed your hands to your temples and dragged yourself upright. You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The reflection was...unforgiving to say the least. Your hair was a mess, makeup half rubbed off, and your skin felt somehow both dry and greasy. 

You needed a shower. Badly.

Hot water helped wash away some of the night, though did little to soothe the dull ache in your skull. Still, you could function. You pulled on something soft, threw on sunglasses, and shuffled to the kitchen in search of food and maybe salvation.

Noel was already there at the island—tea in hand, a book open in front of him. He looked up when you entered.

“Morning sunshine.”

“Don’t,” you grumbled, voice a bit gravelly.

The shower had kickstarted your memory. Especially the end of the night. The way you’d leaned in too close, said too much. You’d made a right fool of yourself. And now you were going to pretend like none of it had happened. For the sake of your own dignity. And to avoid turning things weird between you and Noel.

Your dad greeted you with a kiss to the head and returned to his crossword. You wobbled to the fridge, threw together aggressively salted eggs and toast, then collapsed at the table.

“Emily back yet?” you asked between bites.

“Got in early,” your dad replied. “You were out cold when I checked on you.”

You nodded, grateful he hadn’t witnessed you last night.

“Got any plans today?” he asked.

“Not really,” you shrugged. “Might just hang by the pool.”

Even with the beach out front, the house had a quiet, shaded pool out back. Perfect for recuperating.

“Noel and I are heading down to the beach for a bit. Come join us if you feel up to it.”

You nodded just as Emily floated into the kitchen, looking shockingly rejuvenated. You groaned and stood to clear your plate, chastising her for making you take all those shots.

“Oh, come on. It was fun,” she said, entirely unbothered. “Not my fault you’re a lightweight.”

You sighed. “Whatever. You going down to the beach? I was gonna hang by the pool with some coffee. Come keep me company.”

She hummed in agreement. You set a fresh pot to brew, and twenty minutes later, the two of you were sprawled in lounge chairs under the shade, debriefing the previous night. You didn’t dare mention your mishap with Noel, but listened while she recounted her own escapades.

Eventually, you cracked open the book you’d brought, but your eyes barely skimmed the page. Your mind kept drifting back to last night. To Noel.

There was one particular moment your brain wouldn’t let go of. That pause. His eyes had dropped to your mouth and he’d made no effort to hide it. 

Was he going to kiss you? 

Would it have been wrong to let him?

The answer should’ve been obvious. But your stomach twisted with that sour, post drinking dread because you’d wanted him to. Had nearly closed the distance yourself. And that would’ve been so incredibly, colossally stupid.

You were well aware the crush had returned. Not even gradually. Just snapped back into place, stronger than before. Every glance at him over breakfast made your stomach twist. And okay, maybe some of that was the hangover. But not all of it.

You remembered what he’d said. He wasn’t in the mood. He was vulnerable. Still hurting. He didn’t want to be tangled in anything messy. And you? You were the one who’d crushed on him once, embarrassingly obvious about it, apparently. He saw right through you then, so why wouldn’t he now?

You had to keep your distance. Bury everything. Again. But this time, it felt harder. Trickier. Because the way he looked at you, stared at you…it almost felt like flirting. And that confused the hell out of you.

The thoughts from three years ago came crashing back. He was older. Close to your family. Off limits, in theory. The same frustration you’d felt then was bubbling back up in a fury.

“You alright?” Emily asked, her voice cutting through your thoughts.

You blinked. Your fingers were clenched tightly around your book, your brow furrowed. You exhaled, letting your shoulders fall.

“Yeah, yeah. Hangxiety’s just kicking my ass.”

She gave a sympathetic nod and went back to her own book.

But your mind didn’t follow. It stayed behind. In the kiss that almost happened.

You kept replaying it, over and over. The shift in his expression, the way his gaze had dipped. You didn’t imagine that. Right?

But then again, maybe you’d read it wrong. You had been drinking. Maybe it was wishful thinking. Your brain latching onto some vague flicker and twisting it into something more than it was. You’d always had a knack for that, hadn’t you? For filling in the blanks with unconfirmed feelings.

Still… he hadn’t pulled away. And that was the part that was getting to you.

You weren’t stupid. You knew how these things worked. He was older. Wiser. Probably better at self restraint than you’d ever be. So maybe he had felt it. Just a flash of something. But then he’d remembered who you were. That you were too young. Too complicated.

Maybe that pause wasn’t confusion. Maybe it was him stopping himself. You shifted in your chair, uncomfortable with the thought.

Because as embarrassing as last night had been, there was something about that pause that felt real. Like it hadn’t just been you reaching across that space between you.

And that was what scared you.

Because you could handle a crush. You’d done it before. You could push it down, pretend it wasn’t there. You could laugh it off with Emily, keep everything light and safely on the surface.

But if he felt it too? If he looked at you that way on purpose?

Then what the hell were you supposed to do?

You closed your eyes and let your head fall back. You’d thought this week would be easy. Fun. And now here you were, halfway to unraveling again.

Because suddenly it didn’t feel like a crush anymore. It felt like a waiting game.

An hour later, your dad reappeared, grabbing more beers and convincing you both to come down to the beach. It was quiet. Tucked away from the more crowded parts of the shoreline. You’d laid out your towel and settled back, sunglasses perched firmly on your nose, willing the sun to burn away the remnants of your hangover. 

Noel and your dad were kicking a football around near the shore, and you pretended not to watch. But your eyes betrayed you, drawn to the wide expanse of his skin. You hadn’t seen that much of him before, and now it felt impossible to not see him. He was quite fit too. Lean in a way most men of his age weren’t. You exhaled sharply and rolled onto your stomach, pressing your cheek into the towel to soothe the sudden heat in your face.

Get a grip.

You closed your eyes, willing your brain to shut up and your pulse to calm down.

But it didn’t.

A few minutes later, a shadow fell over you. You cracked one eye open. Noel stood above you, towel slung around his neck, drops of seawater sliding down his chest. His breathing was still uneven from the runaround, his chest rising and falling slowly in a way that was making your mouth go dry.

You shut your eyes again, fast. Dangerous territory.

“Sunbathing already, are we?” he asked, voice edged with amusement.

“Mhm,” you muttered. “Trying to burn the liquor out of my body.”

He let out a low chuckle and you peeked through your lashes as he ran the towel through his hair, tousling it until it stuck up in every direction. Your gaze betrayed you, drawn to the water still clinging to his skin. To the slow glide of a drop trailing from his collarbone, down the line of his chest, toward the waistband of his swim trunks. 

You didn’t mean to follow it with your eyes. But you did. 

And the moment you realized there was so little fabric between that drop and everything else, your stomach flipped. You swallowed hard behind your sunglasses, praying they masked everything your face couldn’t.

“And how’s that working out for you?” he asked, his tone slightly mocking. 

“Ask me again in an hour.”

He laughed again and crouched down beside your towel to lay out his own. You felt the shift in the sand, the weight of him settling near you. Close. Too close. You didn’t dare move.

But when you glanced sideways, just for a second, you caught him. Looking.

Not casually. Not quickly. He wasn’t checking to see if you needed sunscreen or conversation. He was watching. Like he hadn’t meant to. Like he didn’t want to. Like he was trying not to.

But his eyes lingered anyway.

They traced a path down your chest, across the curve of your hip, lower. Not with hunger, but with something sharper. Like temptation had walked up and sat down beside him and he hadn’t figured out what to do with it.

You pretended not to notice, kept your face turned toward the sea, but every cell in your body was acutely aware of him. The fact that you’d unintentionally caught his attention was thrilling you. 

So you hadn’t imagined all of those signs from last night. That moment of silence, the way his eyes dropped to your mouth. You didn’t make that up.

You closed your eyes tightly and laid back, trying to relax. But your mind was spinning.

Maybe he was interested. Maybe you didn’t need to hide it anymore. Not all of it.

If he’d noticed your crush before, despite how carefully you tried to hide it, then he’d definitely see it this time. If you gave him just enough. To let him know that you were interested. The kind of flirtation that could be brushed off if it landed wrong, but unmistakable if he wanted to catch it.

You just had to be careful. Subtle. Not obvious. You had to let him make the move. If he wanted to.

And God, you were starting to really hope he did.

Eventually, you and Emily waded into the sea, the cool water a shock to your sun drenched skin. You dove under and tried to shake the heat that had been simmering inside you since Noel crouched down beside your towel. 

It helped. 

For about five minutes.

When you returned to the beach, your dad had disappeared. Noel was flat on his back, towel bunched beneath his head, arms spread lazily at his sides. Asleep, or close enough. His chest rose and fell evenly. There was something disarming about the sight. He looked softer in sleep. The furrow that usually lived between his brows had vanished. His mouth slackened just slightly, lips parted.

You hadn’t seen him like that before. So still. Unguarded

He stirred as you and Emily approached, lifting a hand to shield his face from the sun, eyes squinting up at the two of you.

“Where’s Dad?” Emily asked, flopping down beside her bag.

“Back up at the house. Said he was gonna start cooking,” Noel mumbled, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. 

You tried not to stare. Really, you did. But his muscles flexed just enough to send your thoughts straight back into the gutter. From the corner of your eye, you caught at least five women watching him from farther down the beach. Two of them didn’t even pretend to be subtle.

Something sharp twisted through you. Possessive. Petty. A little bold.

Now was your chance.

“You know, Noel,” you said, tone light but laced with intent, “I’ve seen all these women staring at you all day. You are on holiday. Maybe it’s time for a little fling. Could do you some good. Help clear your head.”

He blinked, caught off guard, but recovered fast. His eyes locked onto yours, not sleepy anymore.

“Right,” he said slowly. “Because running off with some random bird sounds like a perfectly relaxing time. Bloody logistical nightmare, more like.”

​​You smiled innocently. “You could make it work. Just a bit of fun. Might help you unwind.”

He was still watching you, but now there was something different behind his eyes. Something held carefully back.

Emily perked up. “She’s right, you know. It’s not like we’re here long. Doesn’t have to be serious. Can’t you just get them to sign an NDA or something?”

Noel turned toward her with a slow horror that made you nearly laugh. His face twisted into something between amusement and exasperation.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered. “I’m here to relax, not get caught up in some beachside scandal.”

“Alright, alright,” Emily laughed, hands raised in surrender. “Just saying, a bit of tension release wouldn’t kill you.”

He let out a short, dry laugh. “Maybe for you girls. But I’m a big boy. I can relax without dragging someone else into it.”

You didn’t miss the slight edge in his voice. The reflexive defense.

“Ooooh,” you cooed, grinning. “He’s a big boy, Em. So noble. So strong. Much more evolved than us weak minded women.”

Noel rolled his eyes, but his mouth twitched at the corners, almost smiling. Almost. That flicker was back. Just a flash, but it was there.

“You’re both little demons I swear,” he muttered, shaking his head.

You and Emily cracked up, the sound loud against the quiet roll of the waves. Noel leaned back on his elbows, half shielding his face from the sun, but you saw it. The subtle shift in his expression when you said fling. The way his jaw had gone tight. How he hadn’t laughed at first.

The idea had landed. And stuck.

Maybe he hadn’t thought about it before. Maybe not fully. Not consciously.

But now he was.

You watched him, watched the faint furrow in his brow as Emily hummed beside you, blissfully unaware. You wanted to say something then. Tell him there was someone here watching him. Someone who’d been looking for longer than she should have. 

But Emily was still there. So you held your tongue. For now.

But you knew. The spark had been lit. The game had started. And by the way he was avoiding your eyes now, you knew he’d heard you.

Loud and clear.

[balkanradfem]

One thing I love about tumblr is how much blasphemy happens around here. Having been raised in a religious environment, it was something that not only dictated my life, but demanded to be respected above all, deemed sacred, to be taken extremely seriously. You weren't allowed to laugh in a church. Rituals and lives were held in service of it, my actions could be judged and punished based on it, my own worth was often based on what religion would say it was, and most often it was nothing. I was to live by its rules while it degraded me and put me in a role of servitude and silence.

So whenever I encounter blasphemy in here, my heart lightens, I start grinning and giggling and feeling this huge relief, like a mountain fell off of my back, because I'm reminded that the rules of religion don't have a reign here. Religion here is a butt of a joke! It's having holes poked trough it, it's being ridiculed, humiliated, it's being put right back in its place. I am elevated to know I'm in the community of people who look down on religion together and we collectively decided this is shit, it's not gonna dictate any of us, and we're gonna make fun of it. We're gonna point out how stupid it is, how contrived and self-contradictory it is, how it's a lazy victim-blaming scheme males developed to gain control and power over women, how many crimes it lets them get away with.

Maybe the funniest and most satisfying thing we do with religion here is make yaoi out of it. I know it's problematic, I know it's silly and goofy and done with the 'yes I dared' attitude but the functionality of it is so interesting because religion and yaoi are two types of media that are created in contradiction to each other. Religion caters to males and exists to control, condescend, opress, control and victim blame women, while yaoi caters to women, and exists to, in a very problematic and roundabout way, bring entertainment and sexual satisfaction and expression to women, at the cost of stereotyping and fetishizing gay males, and eroding the concept of male sexual boundaries.

It's not perfect, but! To take something meant to oppress women, and turn it into something that caters to women instead, that brings them satisfaction and laughter and exists solely so women could create sexual fantasies out of it, that's truly putting it down so badly it can never recover. It's the ultimate disrespect, religious people won't even argue back once you start pointing out the religious book is gay.

At that point it serves us, exists for us, is no longer capable of condescending or oppressing because it's there just for our enjoyment now. We can't be forced to respect the media we create gay ships out of! And even if it's problematic, I just think it's neat! I think it's neat after all the homophobia that we can have little homosexual jokes about jesus! He exists to entertain us now! Not as something to feel guilty about, not something to compare ourselves to or strive towards, he's our little toy to project our fantasies on, which honestly is the most use any male can be to a woman. And honestly it's still better than what they did to him in 

[izzenithal]

fellas how many times does your bff have to ask u to take off your shirt whilst tenderly dressing your wounds for it to be, like, gay

[elby-and-a-blog]

anglo-spheres have the Bible. And even then they only focus on Genesis :(

So...so far we have in greek mythology Hollywood news:

The return

Nolan's Odyssey

God of war

Penelope animated movie (scifi school setting)

Disney's Hades

Miller's Circe

A 300 prequel

I feel tired just from that list because i know the results of them and the reactions it will cause.

Same, same! I feel so tired! I desperately need the Anglosphere to get obsessed with other mythologies real quick

[aelin9]

Long Live Evil is good in the way Sarah Rees Brennan is always good where she tells you exactly what she's going to do and then does it. But I'm starting to take it personally now that het and achillean ships are perfectly swoony dangerous and hot filled with tension and longing and chemistry and the only sapphic relationship here was a literal snoozefest. Why are y'all like this

[ilikestuffthatsparkles]

Can we all agree that Boltons would dress like this?

Like, their outfits are always on a thin line between swag and tacky, and I love it.

[claidi]

It's really weird watching niche communities turn into Celebrities and Spectators

Like people make their livings off of what used to be passion projects and hobbies. Expectation for quality keeps climbing. People need to be professional grade, perfect. If someone's good at creating something they're told they should sell it.

The term "content creator" suddenly applying for everything under the sun

Idk. It's just really something that a lot of communities that are becoming more mainstream all seem to be turning away from everyone participating to pros and their fans. Maybe I'm just feeling nostalgic but I miss the days where amateurs squeed about their interests and encouraged others to write/draw/cosplay/sew/create just because it was part of being a part of it all

Oh well

[peapod20001]

Shhh they don’t know my characters and stories have deeper meanings behind them...

[sshaw0l]

why are people so pressed about a book that’s target audience is 10 years olds… like were you expecting to read some sort of epic that would instantly go down in history books? yes it’s cringe but you know what else is cringe? being a fucking teenager

[raininyourblackeyes]

omg i have an ask that says "what's your favourite ancient civilization?" that i'm so anxious to answer actually because i don't think i'm qualified to have one...? like i did want to study archaeology but my plan was to catch up to fun stuff and detailed facts in uni once i was away from my family because that was an easier way to live since my dad only valued mathematics and physics as something i should've been spending my time on. so like to avoid being called stupid and useless and disappointment to him more than was necessary, my knowledge of history in general was restricted to basic stuff we learned in school and when i started uni i deleted most of that stuff from my memory because well turns out i won't need that and it's easier not to think of an alternate universe where the pandemic didn't happen and i got out, instead of remaining stuck with my family studying pharmacy... and even from the school stuff, we only focuesed on mesopotamia, persia, ancient egypt and then everything else was europe. so my knowledge of ancient civilizations beyong that is that they existed. i was planning to learn about as much suff as possible during that summer before starting university but that obviously didn't happen and now i feel so underqualified to actually answer that harmless little ask. like answering ancient egypt or ancient greece or ancient rome because i remember the most about them from school because we did study those the most sounds boring but i also literally would need to google english spelling and exact names for anything more fun that i remember. like my knowledge is that little. i shouldn't be getting this worked up over an ask lmao but i don't want to have this rant be an answer to it so i have to get it out before i eventually gather what little i remember and try to figure out an answer

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

GUYS… 💀

Skully J. “I greet you with a kiss” Graves

You wake up in his arms after blacking out

Calls you “my dear” and “lovely”/“wonderful” even though we literally just met

Comments that your names are beautiful

Offers to escort you (well, Trey technically) through the woods even though Skully has no idea where tf he’s going

Remarks that it would be nice to hold hands and stroll through the forest together

He tends to use the term "fated" to refer to things he has in common with others

Is the first character in all of Twst to have a BLUSHING face

He holds your hand and kisses you (on the back of it??) without even waiting or asking for your okay (avert your eyes, Grim…)????

HE ALSO KISSES GRIM AND ALL THE OTHER BOYS ON THE HAND

HE KISSES YUU MULTIPLE TIMES THROUGHOUT THIS EVENT

HE WALKED OUT OF a DAtinG SIM 😭

Other Skully facts:

He’s taller than Malleus (not including the horns, just judging by the models) and Sebek (stated explicitly in the dialogue)

He’s is a first year student

He’s 16, same age as the other first years (though Skully only recently turned 16)

Speaks very respectfully, even to fellow first years (Riddle remarks on Skully being very gentlemanly and even Vil calls Skully elegant)

He refers to himself using an archaic form of “I” (wagahai)

HE’S AN OTAKU FOR HALLOWEEN, he calls Jack Skellington “Jack Skellington-sama” and says Jack is the person he admires the most dbsksbsiqguzvs

Skully asks everyone else call him Jack-sama too

He comes from a small isolated fog-shrouded rural village; it is located at the bottom of a valley

His hometown considers Jack Skellington the founder of Halloween; Jack Skellington is not known outside of this village

The people in Skully’s hometown love Halloween and its founder, Jack

He seems to be sleep deprived???

Skully tries to tell others at his school about Halloween and Jack, but his peers don’t listen and get mad at him

Skully doesn’t like to talk about his school (and seems to actively dislike it, calling his classmates fools and asking to avoid the topic of school)

He self-admits to not having many people who understand him

Confirmed a mage (Leona says he has the same amount of magic as Epel), but he doesn’t have a magical pen/doesn't seem to know what they are???

He doesn't know Malleus either.

Skully claims he was also sucked into the book while attending the used book fair in Foothill Town

Chunibyo?? Like, he presents as mysterious initially but actually has very excitable reactions to things, lots of purple prose too

Leona calls him a BADGER

He calls his classmates “worthless” for not understanding/listening to him

He thinks lowly of those who disagree with his opinions on Halloween; there is a drastic shift in his personality when the NRC students express dissent

Skully’s ideal Halloween is solemn and desolate, involving: beating up all ghosts, painting rooms entirely black, no decorations, and no music

This is how his village spends Halloween, in solemn silence; Skully grew up thinking this is how it always is

He likes classical music and opera

He acts gentlemanly because he believes Jack is also a gentleman

He wants to learn piano someday

Skully believes that staying traditional and respecting and protecting the past is important

Details about his unique magic

(Side note: GRIM’S NEW oUTFIT 👌 He looks perfect in that suit!! LOOKS At HIS WIDDLE PAW gLOVES… And the chest fluff sticking out gives the illusion of a cravat! Aaaaaah, so cute 💕)

[isekyaaa]

I'll write about this more some other time, but it's concerning that people don't... seem to understand complexity in their books anymore. And when I say "complexity," I'm not talking about something that's very complex at all. If there is a character or plot point that goes against their morals, they'll think that the story is worth dropping.

For example, I'm reading about a story where an adopted daughter (Girl A) sacrifices her life to take the place of the blood daughter (Girl B) in what is essentially a human sacrifice. Before this point, Girl B is absolutely terrified when she was chosen. To make things worse, the person Girl A has a crush on tells Girl A to take the place of Girl B because he has feelings for her. So Girl A sacrifices herself for Girl B (and survives, though nobody knows this).

The odd things is that in the comments of this manga, people are villifying Girl B as a selfish horrible person. But Girl B never asked her sister, Girl A, to take her place. So why does everyone hate her? Literally what did she do wrong? Was it wrong for her to be terrified for her life? Is she in the wrong for being traumatized by the fact her sister took her place?

But this occurrence pops up so many times in media just in general. A character will be a bully but will show signs of sympathetic qualities and trauma, but because they are a bully, they are deserving of death and the media is not worth watching/reading. At this point, what's the point in even engaging in media? If you judge every single character and plot point in terms of black and white, what's the point in even telling the story?

[acircusfullofdemons]

got yelled at work today bc I was reading a magazine & apparently it looks "unprofessional". coincidently i also had a boring & miserable shift

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Far Cry Cradle.

Pairing: Yandere!Lilia x Reader (TWST).

Word Count: 4.1k.

TW: Fem!Reader, Non/Con, Somnophilia, Kidnapping, Slight Breeding Kink, Infantilization/Dehumanization, and Implied Pregnancy. Slight Spoilers for Book Seven.

Humans were skittish creatures.

Lilia knew that better than most, but even if he hadn’t, it would’ve been plain to see. Their soldiers required battle cries and marching songs to keep their nerve on the field, their royalty barricaded themselves behind gates of iron and castles of brick, and even the lowliest among them fell back on rumor and superstition to vent their anxiety, telling each other tales of heroes and villains and treachery and valiance as to best root a bit of bravery in one another where they’d failed to plant it in themselves. It was an admirable effort – albeit, a misplaced one. There were things in the world worth being afraid of. Trying to forget that was as foolish as succumbing to it.

You were a skittish creature, certainly. Your condition was no worse than that of the state he found you in, and yet, your trembling had only grown more violent, your muffled noises quickly becoming too pitiful to ignore. It’d been a struggle just to get you back to his cottage, and you’d scrambled into the smallest, darkest possible corner as soon as he’d let you go. It was a miracle you didn’t make a break for the door. At least he knew that, whatever you thought he was going to do to you, it couldn’t have been worse than whatever you’d encountered in the for—

“Please don’t eat me.”

Your voice, cracked and hoarse, brought his attention back to you. He sighed, pushing himself away from the wall and ebbing closer until he stood in front of you. Despite your brazenness, you shied away, sinking that much deeper into your corner. He wondered how long you’d stay there. Any more than a few hours, and he might start to worry.

“I’m going to… eat you?”

A sharp inhale, followed quickly by a shaky nod. “I—In my village, they used to say nocturnal fae considered human flesh to be a delicacy,” you managed, in time. Lilia had to bite back a laugh. “I don’t want to be eaten. If you have to kill me, I’d understand, but I don’t want to be—”

“Relax.” It was more of an order than he meant it to be. Instantly, you went rigid, pulling your knees into your chest and staring at him, doe eyed.

With your panic momentarily thrown into paralysis, he took a moment to evaluate you. You really were in bad shape. Fresh bruises and cuts lined your bare arms and legs, and your clothing had been torn, mended, then torn again. You carried no supplies, but judging from the defensive edge to your posture, the extent of your distress, you’d been fending for yourself for quite a while. Most worryingly, you were barefoot. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold, was unpleasant. Wandering through unfamiliar terrain, hungry and cold and forced out of comfort so suddenly, you didn’t have time to grab even the most obvious of essentials, was significantly more unpleasant.

He cleared his throat, then fell into a crouch, lowering himself to your height. “Why are you in Briar Valley?”

Your answer came quickly, reflexively. “I was lost.”

“Alright, what were you doing when you got lost?”

This time, your response was less easily provided. “.. picking berries?”

Perfect. You didn’t have nerve to meet his eyes, but lying to his face didn’t seem to cause you so much strife.

Surprisingly, you spoke up without prompting, uncurling slightly. “Are you going to let me go?”

Lilia grit his teeth. Letting you go would be a bad idea, not only because it was the dead of winter and travelling just about anywhere in your state was a death sentence. You were fickle, and nervous, and more than a little disoriented, but you were human, too, and he was in sore need of one of those.

“No,” and then, rolling his eyes as you let out another keening whimper, “For two reasons. Firstly, it’s winter, you’re injured, and if I let you go back out there, you’d only get yourself killed. Secondly, I need—”

As if rehearsed, an ear-piercing cry broke through the cottage’s quiet, immediately replacing any semblance of peace with a misery that outmatched yours ten-fold. Lilia, as exhausted as he’d ever been on the battlefield, let his head fall, forcing himself to take a deep breath before soldiering on. “I have a son,” he said, only just managing to speak over the child’s wailing. “You’ll be taking care of him, during your time here.”

In retrospect, he could’ve been nicer about it – less brisk, more accommodating, leaning more towards a suggestion than a command. But, it wasn’t in his nature to ask questions where he could dull out orders, and if the idea of childrearing was as aversive to you as that of admitting where you hailed from, you did a decent job of masking it. If anything, your expression seemed to soften, your eyes darting in the direction of Silver’s nursery. For the first time since he’d found you, you managed to say something half-way rational.

“…can I meet him?”

Lilia considered it. Waiting until tomorrow morning may have been wiser. You’d have a chance to gather yourself, and he could tend to Silver on his own in the meantime, ready the child to meet someone other than Malleus and himself. It was probably the more considerate thing to do, the smarter thing to do, but the wailing grew louder, and your eyes caught the dim moonlight in a way that almost made you seem eager, and with a rasped sigh, he stood to his full height, signaling for you to do the same. “For a minute or so. He ought to be asleep, by now.”

He turned away from you, and without a word, you scrambled to your feet, tripping over yourself to follow after him.

~

Humans were sentimental things.

Strangely so. Inexplicably so. Silver had warmed to him immediately, sure, but he’d been a newborn at the time, willing to love anyone who could coo his name and make lights in pretty colors dance on their fingertips. Adults had fewer excuses. Baur’s new son-in-law was rumored to have fallen in love with his now-wife the first time he laid eyes on her, and you…

You could’ve loved a dried patch of thistle, so long as it needed your help.

Lilia made a habit of watching you, generally speaking, but he made sure to hover a little closer whenever you had Silver in your arms – which you almost always did, these days. It was clear that your experience was limited, but you took to childrearing like a fish took to water; dedicating yourself to tending to Silver’s needs as you would’ve your own flesh and blood. Currently, you were sitting by the fire in an age-old rocking chair, bouncing him on one knee and balancing an open book on the other, doing your best to read out some nonsensical fairytale to an unruly audience of one. Or, two, he supposed. He was catching more of it than he’d like to.

When you got to the part about the princess being woken up from an eternal sleep by true love’s kiss, he cut in. “If those are the kind of stories you’ll be telling the boy, it might be better not to speak to him at all.”

Your fear of him seemed to fade more and more with every passing sunrise. Now, you only responded to his chiding with a chime of a laugh, a quick shake of your head. “Talking to children is important. It doesn’t matter what you say, so long as they hear your voice.” You paused, leaning just a little closer to Silver. “Plus, it means you’re going to love me way more than your dad when you’re older. By then, you’ll already know he’s no fun.”

By way of reply, Silver clapped merrily and curled a tiny first around your sleeve. You shot Lilia a triumphant smirk. “See? He’s already playing favorites.”

Lilia pursed his lips. “He never seemed to mind being along with me.”

“Only because he didn’t know any better. You were trying to nurse him on wine, and—”

“Fruit juice,” he corrected.

“Fermented fruit juice. In other words, wine.” Almost protectively, you gathered Silver in your arms, propping him against your shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt for you to say his name more, either. You should get into the habit while he’s still too young to remember being called ‘the boy’.”

At that, Lilia turned away entirely, huffing. He knew you were right. He’d known that when he named Silver, when he decided he was fit to raise a child with a face he still saw in his darkest dreams. Still, to love a child unconditionally and to be a father were two very different things. He was currently stumbling through the latter, but accomplishing the former was proving more difficult than he would ever care to admit aloud.

With a sigh, he edged closer to you, perching himself on the arm of your chair. “May I hold him?”

You feigned reluctance, but didn’t put up a fight. Silver was passed from one pair of hands to another, and Lilia held the child in his lap. “Silver,” he muttered, bringing up a hand to pinch his cheek gently. Good-tempered as always, Silver stared at him wide-eyed, as if in anticipation. “My first son was much more durable. Then again, he did have the decency to hatch from an egg.”

“That actually explains a lot about Malleus.” You straightened abruptly, clapping your hands together. “Oh, and we’re running low on powdered milk. You should ask him to pick some up, if he plans on visiting this week.”

 It was Lilia’s turn to laugh, now – not at anything you’d said, but at his own early misconception. He’d been too embarrassed to say anything after your hasty correction, but now, the confession came more easily, more naturally. “Honestly, I thought that’d be less of a problem with you here. I suppose I was under the impression that humans can make their own.”

A beat passed, then another. When he glanced toward you, he found your head bowed, a prominent flush spread over most of your face. It was cute, in a vulnerable sort of way. Lilia took longer than he should’ve to look away. “…some humans can. Only after they’ve had, uh, a child of their own first, though.” You shrugged. “There are a lot of conditions that have to be met before it’s something you really have to worry about, I guess.

“And you haven’t met those conditions, yet?”

Your blush darkened. “No, I haven’t.”

Ah.

On second thought, you weren’t very doe-like after all. Even a deer would’ve had more talent when it came to hiding its expression.

You were quick to divert your attention, pushing yourself to your feet and smoothing over your skirt. “The sun is setting and I’m getting hungry. Could you watch Silver while I start dinner?”

“I was actually thinking I could—”

“I’d rather starve.”

~

Humans were confounding things.

Emotional, irrational, ineffective. Pleasure and comfort were put above survival in almost every circumstance, hierarchy was treated as more of suggestion than a rule, and attachments could be formed to anything your unknowable minds deemed worth pitying. The weather grew warmer, the snowstorms fewer and further between, and yet, the idea of you leaving was never revisited. He wasn’t especially eager to broach the topic either, but Lilia had a good reason to want to keep you nearby, to make sure Silver had another set of eyes to watch over him. The same couldn’t be said for you.

“Mind if I join you?”

He glanced up and, of course, found the source of his misery. The picture was perfect; the set that of his cottage painted in the colors of dusk, the focus you dressed in the simple dress and apron gifted to you by Malleus. There was a low huff, a shallow nod, and you crossed the shallow stream, setting yourself next to him where he kneeled. “Silver just fell asleep,” you explained. “I’d give it a good hour or so before he so much as stirs. That kid could sleep through a war if he wanted to.”

“I think he might’ve,” Lilia muttered. You only laughed, leaning into his side.

“So,” you started, peering into the steam, empty save for the occasional chunk of ice drifting on the current. “What are we looking at?”  

“Lost in thought, that’s all. There won’t be anything worth looking at until Spring.” He sighed. “I suppose you’ll have returned to your proper home, by then.”

To your credit, you only faltered for a fraction of a moment – catching yourself before you let so much as your sweet, simpering smile fall away. A lesser man may not have noticed it, but Lilia was not a lesser man.

“Do you want me to leave?”

No. He’d give an arm and leg to keep you here. He’d let it snow through Spring, Summer and Fall. He’d teach Silver how to cry whenever you so much as thought about a home outside of his cottage. There were few things he wouldn’t do, if it meant you never left.

“I might be old, but I’m not delusional.” He forced himself to chuckle, the loud airy and only somewhat strained. “There’s some place you belong, some place you came from, and I don’t think it’s in this valley. It’d be selfish of me to keep you any longer than you ought to stay.”

He made a point of not looking at you, his gaze focused on the lining the streambed. There was a long exhale, then a hollow thud as you fell back – collapsing to the half-frozen ground. Just barely above a whisper, you admitted, “I like it here, Lilia.”

“Surely there are things from your own world that you miss.”

“Not as many as you’d think.”

“Comforts, then. I’ve heard wonderful things about electricity.”

“I’m plenty comfortable already. More than I ever was back home.”

“There has to be someone you miss, (Y/n).”

He heard the grass rustle as you rolled onto your side. When he stole a glance in your direction, he saw that you’d left your back to him. “Yeah.” And then, after a long moment, “I guess there should be.”

In an act of either sympathy or cowardice, he gave you time, allowed you space. Long seconds passed before you pulled yourself upright, letting your hands fall into your lap with a weary sigh. “I’ll leave on the first day of Spring,” you decided. “Before you forget how to take care of Silver on your own.”

“He’s still my son, you know.”

“Sure.” And just like that, you were back to beaming. This time, Lilia couldn’t stand to tear his eyes away from you.

“But I’m always going to behis favorite.”

~

Humans were softened things.

You, more so than most. Your skin felt like milkweed and velvet where his calloused fingers grazed over it, growing softer the farther up he travelled. There was still a winter chill in the air, but the weather was warming steadily, and at some point during the night, you’d kicked your quilts and blankets to the side, leaving you sheltered by only a cloth sleeping gown with sleeves prone to slipping down your shoulders and a skirt eager to pool around your waist. Any other night, Lilia might’ve rolled his eyes, lit the hearth in your bedroom, and left you to your own devices. Another other night, but not tonight.

It was strange, the way he loved you. He’d loved Maleanor, and a part of him always would, but that’d been different. To love Maleanor had been to love a force of nature; a storm as untouchable as it was destructive. He was never going to have her, and in a certain way, he’d always known that. You were different. You weren’t Maleanor. You weren’t distant, or untouchable, or destructive. He already had you.

All he had to do was make sure you couldn’t get away.

He’d expected there to be more guilt, more resignation. Instead, there was only relief as he propped a knee on the edge of your bed, rested a hand next to your sleeping face, allowed himself to ebb and sway closer to you until he was positioned in the space between your legs, his chest nearly pressing into yours. His gaze never left your expression; panicked and contorted, not completely unlike the face you’d worn when he first brought you home. Poor thing. You were having a nightmare.

Removing your dress came first. You were a fitful sleeper, prone to waking at the slightest disturbance, but he wasn’t green to delicate work. You whimpered as he dragged a pointed talon from your collar to your navel, but didn’t stir, didn’t shift, didn’t do anything that might’ve stopped him from bringing his mouth to your collarbone and pressing a feather-soft kiss into the base of your throat, the curve of your chest, the last blue-ringed bruise you carried from the night you met. A selfish, territorial part of him hoped it would never fade, that you’d always carry a mark connecting back to him. A more optimistic, more reasonable faction reminded him that he could simply make more.

His mouth wandered in time with his thoughts. He was careful, cautious as he curled his hands around your thighs, kneading with as much force as he could risk. You were beautiful in your obedience; spreading your legs reflexively, letting out a soft, breathy noise as Lilia settled into the now-open space. The thin fabric of your panties gave away as easily as your gown had, and Lilia’s patience reached its breaking point. Weary of his fangs, he bowed his head and—

Ah.

Humans were sweet, too.

And reactive. Even unconscious, you responded to each hasty swipe and drag of his tongue with a moan, a whine, a mewl so pitiful and so heartbreaking, the idea of ever letting you travel beyond his sight suddenly seemed irresponsible, cruel, unfair to a creature so delicate, it could hardly stand imagine itself to be unwanted. He sighed, letting his hands drift to your waist as he lapped over your clit, as eager to pleasure you as he was to drink in the fruits of his labor. It wasn’t long before your sleep turned restless, your body shifting underneath him in an attempt to escape unfamiliar stimulation. When he refused to let you go so easily, you reacted on instinct; snapping your thighs shut around his head and drawing out a low, reverberating grown from your willing victim.

More. That was what you must’ve wanted – more. He buried himself that much deeper in his task, nuzzling into the inside of your thigh as his tongue spread you open, curling against the walls of your cunt, seeking out anything sensitive, anything vulnerable, anything to make your hips buck into his mouth and your thighs shake where they were still trapped in his hands. He let his teeth scrape over the tender junctions between your thighs, and when that wasn’t enough, ground the bridge of his nose into your clit. Admittedly, it was messy effort; too hasty for your first time. He was tempted to chide himself for being so overly enthusiastic, but the awareness that this was only the first time of countless was enough of a comfort to spur him on.

It wasn’t long before he felt you tense underneath him, sucking in a harsh breath as your cunt clenched around his tongue. He nursed you through your climax (your first ever climax, he chose to believe) until your little whines had turned to near-pained whimpers, until he could no longer stand to limit himself to simply rutting against cold, lifeless bedding. With one more fleeting kiss to the apex of your hip, he pushed himself onto his knees and took to aligning the leaking head of his cock with your entrance, now dripping with arousal and spit. His gaze fixed on your peaceful expression, he thrust into you, no longer patient enough to be quite so gentle.

It was in a state of unparalleled bliss that the watched your eyes snap open, immediately finding him. Your lips parted, a scream already rising in your throat, but he forced his hand over your mouth before it could surface. It wouldn’t do to wake Silver, not at a time like this.

“Easy, love, easy,” he cooed. Your only response was a wince, a twist, a ragged sob reverberating against his palm. He might’ve been offended, had he not been able to feel you growing warmer, growing tighter around his length. “I apologize if there’s any pain. Can you try and relax for me?”

Apparently not. Your hands found their way to his chest, clawing frantically thought the thin material of his tunic. You tried to move his legs, too, but he was quick to put a stop to that, leaning his weight against you and pinning you to the bed. A bit selfishly, he took the opportunity to press his chest to yours, his hips to yours, to root himself that much deeper into you. It was paradise, the way you clung to him. He could only wonder why he didn’t realize how precious you were sooner.

“Easy,” he repeated, more breathlessly. “Would you rather I restrain you?”

The clawing stopped immediately. After a moment, he felt you shake your head.

“And you don’t want to end up hurting yourself, now, do you?”

Another shake, this one more trepid than the first.

“Then listen to me.” He rested his chin on your shoulder, careful not to raise his voice. “Make all the noise you want, but don’t scream. I’m not afraid of seeking out more permanent solutions.”

That was enough to get you to stop moving entirely. He held you close for a second, then another, before pulling away. True to your word (or lack thereof), you kept quiet, catching your bottom lip in your teeth and shutting your eyes so tightly, he could almost believe you no longer cared to look at him. With an airy laugh, he rested a hand next to your head and started to move.

It was your first time. It had to be. If you’d had any experience at all, you wouldn’t have responded to every slow, sentimental thrust with such adorable squeaking, wouldn’t have clung to the sheets with such a heartbreaking desperation. With your compliance ensured, he tried to be delicate, to give you time to adjust, but you made it difficult not to seek out the reactions you seemed so ready to provide. You made it hard not to use more force than he should’ve, not to root himself deeper than he should’ve, not to grind and rut and fuck like some drooling animal, caught up in its own heat. He could tell you were trying to ignore him, but even that had to break, eventually; your hands shooting to his shoulders as he lost his pace, your nails digging into his skin as he found something more substantial, something bordering on rabid. This time, he welcomed your violence. It was the least he could do, to help ground his distraught little love.

“You’re going to stay here.” He didn’t realize he’d meant to say anything aloud until he heard his own voice, low and drawn-out, playing just above your miserable whines and pleasured moans. “You’ll never have to leave. You’ll belong here. You already belong with me.”

“I don’t—”

“You won’t have a choice,” he assured, the comfort in his voice thick and prone to clotting. “Not after tonight.”

He watched horror flash across your expression, then something else, something he couldn’t quite name. It didn’t matter. His lips were already crashing into yours, dragging you into a kiss put off for far, far too long. Light flashed behind his eyes, and some unnamable tether drawn taut inside of him finally snapped. With his hips pressed flush to yours, he stilled and came undone. You followed a moment later, milking him for all he had.

For minutes, it was all he could do to stay trapped there; your warm body pressed into his, your stifled crying the only sound filling the empty space. When he did break from his trance, it was with an airy laugh, a brush of his cheek against yours before he dipped lower, taking shelter in the crook of your neck. Whether or not you could hear him was irrelevant. You’d have plenty of time to listen, from now on.

“You’re going to be a perfect mother.”

[xyywrites]

Writing Advice I’ve Received

(In no particular order)

1. “You can’t edit a blank page.”

Yes, you can't. Sometimes it's hard to get the words out but even if it's crap get it out. Produce something into existence, then fix it. Who won't know what to fix if you've not written anything yet. Get those words out on the damn paper.

2. “Show, don’t tell—except when you should tell.”

I mean, this one takes time to figure out. When exactly should you skip the showing and just tell. Hit and trial guys. And then there's always book reviewers who'll tell-you-like-it-is. I don't think this is black and while. Only show or only tell. Maybe it lies in a gray area sometimes. The Goldilocks point where your narration hits just right.

3. “Write the book you want to read.”

This was one of the reasons I started writing. When you so desperately need to read a book with that vibe, that aesthetic and those specific character troupes in such a setting... You're like fuck it. I'll write it myself. How hard can it be?

Spoiler Alert: it will destroy you and your self esteem. Good luck!

4. “Don’t compare your first draft to someone else’s final draft.”

I've seen many versions of this explained through memes. One of them I remember is: it's like you're judging your raw materials (the batter) with someone's 3 tier cake. And that is being blatantly unfair to yourself.

5. “Make your characters want something, even if it’s just a glass of water.”

We all have motivations, wants, desires. So do your characters. A character without desire feels dry, flat and uninteresting.

6. “The best way to improve your writing is to read more than you write.”

Reading other authors’ work, especially those whose writing you admire, teaches you things that can’t be learned through theory or workshops alone. You’ll pick up on pacing, voice, structure, and character troupes. If you're like me you'd start noticing a trend. Or cliche lines that are repeatedly used.

7. “Your first draft is just you telling yourself the story.”

Write for you this means. For you. You wanted this story. It's for you to explore the plot, the characters, the world. It’s your chance to get everything down and see where it leads, without worrying about perfection.

8. “Write with the door closed, rewrite with the door open.”

This is one of Stephen King’s rules of writing, and it’s a brilliant one. When you’re drafting, don’t worry about anyone else reading your work. It’s your time to be raw and experimental. But when it comes to revising, open that door—let others in for feedback, because the revision process is where the magic happens.

That's it. My limited knowledge presented to you. You must've heard of many of these already. But just in case.... 💛