#worst writeblr ever

[mygeekcorner]

You know those "write badly!" posts that sometimes makes the rounds to encourage all you lovely writers that it's okay that not everything is a masterpiece?

Yeah, those.

I just want all you authors out there not feeling good enough to know that i just decided to reread one of the worst fics I've ever read. Because it's one of the best fics I've ever read.

The plot is simplistic at best. The language is horrible. The pacing is nowhere to be found behind all the "and then!!!" the author peppers their writing like a carbonara with.

But

The characters. The insights into their motivations is fucking master thesis level. I cry just thinking about the way the author predicted where canon was headed years ago. And the way they Preemptively fixed all the ooc-ness the mangaka is now struggling to wrap up.

It's been living in my head rent-free for years and i wouldn't want it any other way. Just with slightly less "and then!!"

So yes, write badly.

In three years time some sucker will come back for seconds because they loved it for all the things you Did manage to do right.

[inkskinned]

he says i hate everyone except you and that is addictive and that is kind of romantic and beautiful because you're young and you're kind of a sarcastic asshole too and you don't like bad boys, per say, but you don't really like good ones either. and you like that you were the exception, it felt like winning.

except life is not a romance book, and he was kind of being honest. he doesn't learn to be nice to your friends. he only tolerates your family. you have to beg him to come with you to birthday parties, he complains the whole time. you want to go on a date but - people are often there, wherever you're going. he's just so angry. about everything, is the thing. in the romance book, doesn't he eventually soften? can't you teach him, through your own sense of whimsy and comfort?

at first - you know introverts often need smaller friend groups, and honestly, you're fine staying at home too. you like the small, tidy life you occupy. you're not going to punish him for his personality type.

except: he really does hate everyone but you. which means he doesn't get along with his therapist. which means he has no one to talk to except for you. which means you take care of him constantly, since he otherwise has no one. which means you sometimes have to apologize for him. which means he keeps you home from seeing your friends because he hates them. you're the single exception.

about a decade from this experience, you'll type into google: how to know if a relationship is codependent.

he wraps an arm around you. i hate everyone except you. these days, you're learning what he's actually confessing is i have very little practice being kind.

[mirohtron]

“You’ve seriously never thought about us kissing?” The superhero crooked an eyebrow. “We’ve been marinating in sexual tension for three years now.”

prompt by @gingerly-writing :> <333

—

“You’ve seriously never thought about us kissing?” The superhero crooked an eyebrow. “We’ve been marinating in sexual tension for three years now.”

The villain choked. Went to hide their blushing face.

When they cracked two fingers apart to peak, the superhero was still staring at them through their cell's reinforced bars.

"No," they said. "You're a bit too terrifying."

That was not entirely true. The superhero was terrifying, yes. Loved by the masses. Feared by the criminal underbelly of the city. But the villain was enamoured, hopelessly, by that. The contrast between their charming, friendly persona that was reserved for the masses and their true cold, calculating, dangerous demeanor left the villain hopelessly pining after them. They were incredible, truly. Perfection.

They ran their hands down their heated face and looked up.

The superhero's perfect face stared down at them. The villain looked down at their crossed legs instead. "I thought you were just toying," they mumbled. "With the flirting."

Silence, again. The villain glanced up at the superhero through their lashes.

The superhero tilted their head in observation. The villain pressed their lips into a thin line and crossed their arms, hunching their shoulders.

The superhero crouched down to meet their level. The villain tucked their chin in and leaned back, refusing to make eye contact. They heard the rustle of the superhero's gloves slipping off of their fingers. They dropped to the floor, right in front of the bars. The villain could've reached out and taken them.

"It doesn't change my offer," said the superhero. "I get you out of this cell in exchange for a kiss."

Had it not been for their dark skin, the villain was sure they would've lit up red. But they couldn't accept the offer, surely. They imagined even a brush of their fingers would leave the villain dizzy and swaying on their feet.

They recalled, once, they'd thrown a stun bomb at the superhero and had them incapacitated for almost ten minutes. The superhero had risen up, suit torn (because they had it remade every day, since it was not completely reinforced so that the public could get glimpses of their skin—and that always, always left the villain faint).

They'd had them up against the wall, smiled down, body radiating heat, and said, "well, aren't you incredible?"

The villain's knees had turned to jelly instantly.

"I can get out of here on my own," they mumbled, biting their tongue right after they spoke so their mind wouldn't conjure up more memories.

"Is that so?" The superhero feigned a curious tone. "A little birdie told me you've bruised your whole body trying to break these bars."

The villain winced. They properly glanced up at the superhero, then, and saw they had their cheek resting on their fist. Their eyes were lazily hooded. Their other hand rose to trail fingers down their neck, to the side of their collarbone.

The villain's hand rose, automatically, to their own collarbone, to the bruise there that was exposed by the loose neckline of their shirt. They pulled it close. Their cheeks flushed for a different reason, then; they hated this cell and the way it suppressed their powers. It felt like one of their limbs had been cut off. They hated the Scientist—the villain that had trapped them here—for finding a way to suppress their powers even more.

They straightened their back. "Liar. This cell's shut down my powers. Maybe it's done that to you, too." They glanced back at the number of fortified doors the superhero had sauntered through when they first entered. They could've broken through those doors with ease.

Once more, the superhero crooked an eyebrow. They lifted their cheek from their fist and closed their fingers around one of the steel bars. The villain watched as it corroded beneath their skin.

They blinked. "Oh."

The superhero spread their hand in a voila gesture, raising their brow. "Oh."

Dumbly, the villain pursed their lips. They seriously considered the offer, then. Glanced, traitorously, at the superhero's lips. Thought of how it would feel to have their mouth pressed against that lovely pair.

Their lips buzzed with sensation. Oh, they felt dizzy right then.

"I'm not an idiot, in case you weren't paying attention," said the superhero. They tilted their head and raked their eyes down the villain—intoxicating. "I can hear your heart thumping like a bunny on caffeine. I always have."

The villain squeaked and put a hand over their heart, as if that would do any good. "You—you make me nervous."

The superhero smiled, then, all sly. "I know I do."

The villain's flush heightened, impossibly so. They didn't even know they could get this flustered. "This is unfair. You knew."

"I'm a very unfair person."

"I'm bad."

The superhero shrugged. "I'm terrible."

The villain clenched their fists. Everything felt very, very hot.

The superhero leaned in. They caught the villain's chin through the bars, bare, callused fingers rough and warm on their skin. "You're good," they said. "You're very good. You're exceptional, able to outsmart even me, and you just keep your talents on the down low so that no one targets you."

Again, the villain pursed their lips into a line. Wobbly. Burning with the phantom sensation of the superhero's mouth on theirs. They had nothing to protest with, then, just the heat curling all around their body, fingers going shaky. "You'll take me out."

"Mm." The superhero tilted the villan's chin as much as the bars allowed them. Ran their fingers around the underside of their jaw. Skated up to touch one burning cheek. "To dinner. Or lunch." The corner of their mouth quirked up, devastatingly sharp and evil. "Or a nice little rooftop if you kiss me." They scraped their thumb along the curve of the villain's bottom lip.

The villain's lips parted automatically. They took in a quivering, nervous breath. "You'll get me out."

"Of course."

"How long have you liked me back?"

The superhero looked pleased. That smile, god, that smile. It wasn't made for the cameras. It was evil, mean, smug. It made the villain's heart flip hopelessly. "I might let you know if you kiss me."

The villain clutched the bars and leaned close. The steel brushed cold against their cheeks. They had to know. Was it after they first drew the superhero's blood? Or from that time one of their inventions sent the superhero flying through ten walls? Or one of the times when they had the villain blushing, pressed flush to a wall?

The superhero chuckled to themselves, gently tipped the villain's chin up, and kissed them.

The villain sighed and pulled them close and the superhero pulled them closer. Their hands snaked beneath their shirt and ran over their back, their sides, teased the edges of their waistband. It stung just slightly from the bruises, but the heat that their hands left in their wake left the villain too brainless to think of anything else but them.

The superhero leaned back first. The villain would've followed their lips mindlessly if it hadn't been for the bars. But instead they stayed there, breathless, lips burning, cheeks still pressed to the steel bars. They tapped the corroded edge of the bar the superhero had touched in urgency.

The superhero ran their hands around the bars in a huge circle, and they snapped right off. The villain barely had time to get to their feet before the superhero had scooped them up into another kiss. This one was hungrier, eager for a proper taste, and the villain had to tiptoe to properly kiss them. They leaned back for air.

"Since the stun bomb," said the superhero. "I've wanted a smart, pretty thing like you since."

"O—oh." The villain wasn't sure how to properly respond to that. They were already afraid they'd been misjudged on the smart part, maybe the superhero had kissed them dumb. But they found that they didn't need to respond, because the superhero was kissing them again.

They walked out hand in hand. The superhero dropped them off on a nice little rooftop, cheeks still burning, lips still buzzing and swollen.

The villain touched a hand to their cheek, feeling the heat there.

Oh, they were head over heels.

[mapplesand]

moodboard of me, an ace who never wrote smut, writing smut for the first time :

interesting experience i guess

[vsaintsin]

A trend I've noticed in most online writing communities is that people HATE the editting/revisions stage of writing. Often with a passion, almost? Maybe it's just my hyper-literal brain misunderstanding a bunch of sarcastic jokes but idk?

The first draft is always where I feel least at home with a story. It's messy and too cramped and too open and I wind up with 600 separate docs containing various versions of the story and I'm mostly puzzling them all together but sometimes I can't even be all that sure they're in English because they're such nonsense to my language processor. God Forbid first draft V remembers that settings exist at all or that anything might need to be described in ANY WAY.

I love editting and revisions. That's when I get to watch my stories turn into SOMETHING and not just a garbled string of consciousness desperately trying to cling to themes and context and continuity.

My first draft is just stick-built suggestions of a house, editting and revisions are the walls and the flooring and the furniture and everything that makes the story feel like home. I love that process. It's where I strain all my confidence in my work from, when I finally feel like I'm doing more than yelling into the wind.

Maybe that's the artist in me that dreads starting any kind of illustration but loves the rendering process. Maybe it's the part of me that knows that the life of the work is in the part that AI just can't do - the human hand that adjusts and tinkers and is thoughtful of single lines that maybe nobody will ever notice.

Probably though I'm just a chronic over thinker who likes to be able to find a practical application for something that usually causes me so much trouble.

[novastar-creations]

I love screaming into the void, but sometimes I legit need answers please. Also tumblr’s tags algorithm SUCKS

[superbeans89]

No one:

Porn writers:

[mintandcreme]

I’m so sad 😭 I had a dream with an amazing Soljae fanfic idea, and then I woke up so excited, only to not remember a single detail. WHYYYYYY 😭 rip 😔

[nixie-writes-and-reblogs]

Can someone please give me some girl names that mean memory or new life or something like that? Google is absolutely no help😭

[foxclcves]

𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒖𝒎𝒏 & 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓'𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 ✒️

hello hello, and welcome to my writing blog! my name is jenn, and i go by she/her pronouns. i usually write characters and stories that are seeped in fantasy, scifi, or horror genres, but sometimes i deviate to slice of life/low stakes & cozy fiction. i tend to keep my writing to myself, but between my loved ones and my therapist's support and gentle encouragement, i'm finally making moves to post my stuff again. that's what i created this blog for, mainly: it's for them AND me.

what else... i have a cat, i love to garden and bake, and i tend to look on the brighter side of things. i think deep down i'm an earnest and compassionate person... sometimes it just gets buried under my social anxiety. but i digress! thank you so much for dropping by, i hope you stick around. and if you don't, i hope you have a nice day anyway. ♡

𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒔𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒅𝒖𝒍𝒆

Wednesdays and/or Sundays, around 4:00 PM MST

[jukeboxwitharms]

Just hit 50k in the new wip estimated amount left 10k(probably 15k) huge win everywhere.

[brianmostcertainlymay]

Pulling a timeline of plot details for the super secret self-indulgent self-insert fic, and let me tell you, it isn't as fun as it sounds. ;- p

[ahungeringknife]

365: May 28

DNI if you're a Mara stan. We are not the same.

---

Uldren stood akimbo in front of his sister's Kell throne watching a pair of Corsairs bring in a single woman. One held her by the arm. A Guardian by the Ghost floating at her shoulder but her face was covered by a helmet and hood. He cocked his head looking at her and stepped down from the dais. "Well well what do we have here?" he sneered as she approached. "Trespassers was it?"

The woman pulled her arm out of the Corsair's grip. "No. I have an introduction. Your Corsairs threatened to blow me out of the sky before I could do anything."

He almost laughed. It came out more like a cough. "An introduction, for a Guardian? Who knew you luddites knew proper decorum when visiting royalty," he sneered.

"I can't imagine why Guardians wouldn't follow procedure when they have this to look forward to," the woman said. "Where is the Queen?" and she stepped forward. Or tried to. The Corsairs grabbed her by the arms to stop her.

"I don't know why you think the Queen meets with anyone who trespasses in the Reef?" Uldren asked, stepping closer, one hand comfortably curling around the grip of his knife.

"I wasn't trespassing," the Guardian said. "And if she's not here I'll wait." She yanked her arms out of the Corsairs' grasp and folded her arms. Uldren eyed her. There was something... familiar about her. Like a word on the tip of his tongue. "But I'm not leaving. I will see the Queen."

"So aggressive just like all Lightbearers," Uldren scoffed. "Perhaps the Queen will acknowledge you and-

"Yes. I will," and he straightened from his leering at the sound of Mara's voice. He turned as Mara stepped out from around her throne. "What does it want?"

"This Guardian claims to have an introduction."

"I will take it," Mara said as she slid onto her throne languidly.

Uldren did his best not to scowl and turned back to the Guardian, holding out a hand. "Let's have it," he ordered sharply. The Ghost dropped a sealed letter onto his hand. He stalked back to his sister. Before handing it to her he used his own knife to pop the seal to save her having to do it. Then he handed it to her, unopened.

Mara delicately opened the paper introduction and her ice blue eyes scanned it. 'Aldrix Soshohl cannot be trusted,' Mara's voice drifted across the front of his mind. Uldren struggled to remember who that was. He couldn't recall. A nobody of import then. But a Reefborn if Mara knew them. All Uldren knew was Aldrix had given this Guardian an introduction and he was no longer welcome near the heart of the Awoken. Whatever asteroid he'd called home would be where he died.

Mara finished reading the introduction and casually tossed it onto the throne, unimpressed by the introduction. "It doesn't know how to be polite in front of royalty. Soshohl said it was," Mara said dismissively.

"Pardon, your... Majesty," she said slowly. "We don't have royalty on Earth-

Uldren couldn't help the choked laugh that escaped his lips. "Isn't that what your Warlords were?" he sneered.

"Well I don't know what those would be either. Is it the helmet?" Then quieter, almost too quiet for Uldren to hear, she said, "Lightless so weird about the helmet." She pulled it off with a hiss of her suit decompressing.

Uldren wasn't the only one who flinched when 'Rhyla,' ripped through his mind from Mara all searing iron that for a moment left him unable to talk. The two Corsairs also flinched away and shivered as the name echoed through their own minds. This name Uldren did know and it was one of the few times Uldren had ever seen his sister angry. So angry not even Sjur had been able to soothe her. It had been a foolish mistake but one that had upset many of her plans and left her humiliated. He couldn't even try and tell Mara she was wrong, mistaken. It was Rhyla. Or the woman who'd been Rhyla. Now there was a dead thing walking around in that girl's body. He was sure her mother would be beside herself if she knew. There was no disputing the purple eyes or the pale cerulean skin. So much like her aunt and yet not nearly as useful.

"I didn't mean to insult. I'm here for help," the Rhyla shaped thing said.

"And what help do you think you need?" Uldren asked, yellow eyed narrowed.

"I need to get into the Black Garden," once-Rhyla said.

Uldren didn't flinch visibly but his mind recoiled at the very name. "Why?" he asked and it almost caught in the back of his throat.

The once-Rhyla frowned and looked at her Ghost. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you. Do you know where it is?"

Uldren laughed. Laughed off the dread curled around his shoulders. Laughed off the red flowers that sprang to his mind. "Everyone knows where it is. The hard part is getting in."

"Well I was told you could help me."

"By who?"

"Look, can you help me or not? If you won't then I'll just stop wasting both our times," she huffed. "I didn't come to play games. I am here on business. Help me or I'll just leave."

"And why...would we...do that?

"Brother," Mara said making him turn and look. "A word," and she stared into him.

He cast a baleful look at the Guardian and went back to his sister. He took a knee by her throne. "You don't think we should help that thing, do you?" he asked her quietly, nearly at a whisper.

Mara had turned from him and was looking at once-Rhyla. Staring at her from her throne like she wanted nothing more than for once-Rhyla to drop dead for the second time. "If it goes into the Black Garden it may never come out. If it fights a Gate Lord it will probably just kill it," Mara whispered back.

"If you feel that is wise," Uldren said.

"How dare it show its face to me like this," Mara said, tight lipped. "I would send it to its death for the humiliation. Tell it what it needs to know," her blue eyed met Uldren's briefly.

"Yes, that's good. That's good. Why not?" he stood up from where he knelt and faced the Guardian, stepping down from the dais. "We'll make you a key...how's that? All we need is the head of a Vex Gate Lord."

The Ghost and Guardian-that-looked-like-Rhyla shared a look before looking back at Uldren. "Why do you want a Vex head?" she asked.

"Oh, we don't...and I doubt we'll get one either. But it's your only hope of getting into the Black Garden," Uldren said with a slow smirk.

Once-Rhyla sighed. "More fetch quests," she said more to her Ghost than to him. "Fine. We will return," she nodded at him, overly confidant.

"Or die on Venus. Either way," Uldren said and his least charming smile.

"I don't do that," and then with that she turned on her heel and walked off, he waved the Corsairs off and they followed the Guardian to make sure she returned promptly to her ship.

Uldren looked back at his sister. "Are we really going to help that thing?" he asked her mildly, hanging limp before the dais like a puppet on loose strings.

"Who's killed a Gate Lord?" Mara asked instead.

"Alone? No one. Not even one of those Guardians," he scoffed.

"Then we will not see it again," Mara stood up from her throne.

"But if we do?" Uldren asked.

"Heh. Let the Garden kill it if the Gate Lord couldn't. Lightbearers are weak, fragile things, tied to their Ghosts."

"Should we tell her parents their daughter is dead?"

"They know," and Mara left. Uldren stood there after she was gone for a few more moments before he too went to tend to his Crows.

[avocado-frog]

Happy STS! What is the best novel you've ever read? What did you like about it, from a storytelling perspective? Has it influenced or informed your own approach?

Hi thanks I've got another ask from you from like two weeks ago that I forgot about whoops

On the jellicoe road has had me in an absolute chokehold since December. It took me a while to get into it because it's a little confusing for the first 100 pages, but my English teacher last year gave it to me because I didn't get a book from the library (it's also worth noting that he gave me a copy that did not have the title on the front, and it was scratched out on the spine, so i did not know what the book was called until i looked it up later)

From a storytelling perspective, it follows two storylines, one is the present, the other is about 20 years into the past, and I'm not going to spoil too much of it, but the parts from the past are written by the protagonist's caretaker, and are in third person, while the present bits are in first. It's definitely worth a reread because of the way the two storylines tie up in the end

I don't think it's really influenced much of my own writing, but I do think that my characterization skills have improved because of it

[deanwax]

If you wanna build a world where a certain class of people is privileged enough to feel comfortable doing just about anything and you want that to be a bad thing, consider someone in broad daylight in a public place, pissing into the bushes from the footpath. They hear someone approaching on the path, turn, see them, scowl, turn back, adjust their footing slightly and then continue pissing. They put their genitals away and then turn and fix the stranger with an angry glare as if they have invaded their private space by the act of using the footpath for walking instead of pissing.

'Cos that's exactly the cunt I just passed on my walk today. The reality of privilege is not always glamorous. It can, and should, be disgusting to everyone involved at times. The ignorance of the privileged isn't that they don't know they're privileged at all, it's that they know they are doing something disgusting and they still have the gall to be defensive about their actions and act as if the other people are the problem.

[nanbookinsp]

Am I actually writing the climax of my book?? I can’t believe I’ve gotten this far, when I was convinced I’d never be able to write again. Speech-to-text software is a lifesaver, literally crying about it every day.