obsessionlevel100

[obsessionlevel100]

“you need to stop projecting onto your characters” okay why don’t you stop breathing then?? since we’re throwing around stupid ideas

[obsessionlevel100]

I open Tumblr. I post something that should be a diary entry. I close Tumblr. I open Tumblr after having it closed for 1.2 minutes. I reblog 176 posts in a row. I add tags of absolute gibberish to 7 of those. I close Tumblr. I open Tumblr I post yet another should-be diary entry. I close Tumblr. I open tu

[obsessionlevel100]

when you can come up with the beginning of a story but not the middle or the end and when you can come up with the middle of a story but not the beginning or the end and when you can come up with the end of the story but not the beginning or the middle and when

[obsessionlevel100]

My writing process begins with just a snippet of something.

A feeling, a line, a character idea.

Chaos before plot.

Let the ideas flowwww

[obsessionlevel100]

@adelinejclose

[obsessionlevel100]

There’s something very nice about remembering fics you read years ago. Maybe you remember the plot perfectly, maybe the rest of the fic is only a blur aside from a handful of vivid scenes, but you remember the way it made you feel. And sometimes you dredge up the memory - the premise or a favourite scene or a few lines that stayed with you -  and your heart aches a little bit, the way it does when you think about books you enjoyed as a child.

To all the fanfiction writers out there: your work is beautiful and meaningful and it leaves an impact. I promise.

[obsessionlevel100]

hands

carved and woven, i craft

the touch reminiscing of my

mother's warmth

my father's labor

all the hands i've held

in mere steadiness

or wavering uncertainty

my hands hold the scars of a lifetime

yet they never faltered in weariness

painting portraits of the ghosts in my memories

the tune of my instrument like playful whirls of the wind

ink pouring through my writing like blood

because nature is everywhere

and it is what i create

it kisses

it stings

it's warm

it's cold

it caresses

it bleeds

but in the end

it's my hands

other days, it's a blessing

other days, it's a curse

everyday, it is human

it is creation

it is me

and it shall be cherished

for lifetime

[obsessionlevel100]

outlining is like budgeting. sounds responsible in theory but by the end you’re crying and making impulsive decisions anyway

[obsessionlevel100]

i am afraid of people who reblog things with no tags. not even any identifiers like the show it’s from or anything. just silence. what are you thinking?? hello??

[obsessionlevel100]

A Thing Like You and Me, chalk pastel on paper

2023

[obsessionlevel100]

[obsessionlevel100]

Not TDP, but I thought I’d introduce yall to the newest addition on the ranch…

This is Wayne btw 🌝

Yes, I know it’s not TDP yet it’s still in the tags.

But like.

My people must see Wayne.

CRITICAL INFO‼️‼️

[obsessionlevel100]

There was a young man from Peru

Whose limericks stopped at line two

[obsessionlevel100]

To Be A Pianist

You walk upon an instrument—dust scattered in places it shouldn't have been, and music books torn to shreds on a rampage. It smells of wood from the tree you intertwined yourself with, binding to stay forever until lifetime, and yet you were the one who cut it down yourself.

You stare at your hands, thorns covering every corner—you gave up trying to remove them a long time ago. It's still piercing and aggravating as you cry out your own blood. Why did God bestow this talent to you out of all people?

There were good times once, where you and your piano were happy. You remember floating in space as the melodies danced around you, singing in blissful harmony. It has been replaced with falling into darkness, sinking deeper than ever—deafening ringing echoing through your ears. All because you grew thorns on your wrist, and now they are choking you alive. All because the loudness grew, and now it sounds like each key is mocking you with a laugh haunted by pure dissonance.

But then, you are ready to try again for one last time. You never wanted to let go this fast. You sit on the stool and press a key. Then another. And another. And all of a sudden, you are back in space, floating as you skip in rhythm with the tunes. No one is watching, it is an intimate moment between you and your first love. Before you know it, you're back in the flow. Back in the place you once started in. Perhaps, God had blessed you after all. Perhaps you were meant for this—to be one with music. To be a pianist.

[obsessionlevel100]

writing is so humbling. one day you're like “this paragraph could end war.” next day you're like “was I having a stroke when I wrote this???”

[obsessionlevel100]

[obsessionlevel100]

isn't it crazy that a woman being gender nonconforming literally just requires her to exist in her own body without making any changes whatsoever. why does the fact that i don't wear makeup and i don't shave and i don't wear a bra have to be some political act. why can't i just fucking exist