writerbumblebee

[writerbumblebee]

Why is this a story /pos

how to use size to ruin your monster (and your readers)

✦ skyscraper beasts? impressive. cinematic. they look cool on posters and sell the action figures. but scary? not really. you can look up at godzilla and go “wow.” awe isn’t horror. awe is just… tall.

✦ true fear is small. intimate. invasive. the kind of horror that doesn’t stand on the skyline but curls up in your lungs. a cockroach under your skin. a spider in your ear. something buzzing in your teeth that wasn’t buzzing yesterday.

✦ scale is intimacy. the smaller the monster, the closer it has to get to you. skyscraper monsters crush cities. insect-sized monsters crawl into your bed, into your mouth, into your life. no escape, no safe distance—you carry it with you.

✦ also: big = escapable. if it’s huge, you can run. you can hide. you can watch from afar. small = no boundaries. you can’t run from something that fits in your pocket. you can’t escape something already inside you.

✦ don’t mistake “small” for weak. swarms are worse than titans. one moth in your room is annoying. a thousand, fluttering in patterns that spell your name? revolting.

✦ so here’s the rule: if your monster can stomp on a building, i’ll clap. if your monster can slip under my eyelid, i’ll scream.

[writerbumblebee]

English & Spanish

EYES OF THE SUN

Oh, to gaze upon the sun each time he turned towards you, soldier. How your heart beat and your breath catch at the beauty of such a sight, for the lover had chose you in return all that time ago.

Oh, how you protected him, and he you in return, for the love you shared was enough for bullets and cannons to not lie against your skin. That skin, which would at night be caressed and kisses with adoration that could only exist between matching halves.

Oh, and to think of those amber eyes, deep and full with sentiments never spoke aloud. How you wished to see them each morning after waking up and each night before succumbing to Hypnos’ embrace.

Oh, how painful was the goodbye when you had to be apart, for war cares for no one and orders must be followed, no matter the ache of the heart.

Oh, to wait so many months, writing hopeful letters each night, praying to each god for the life of the lover, as even the gods know how one despairs when missing half a soul.

Oh, how you left camp one night, looking for the calm of Nix and the beauty of Selene, as the burning in you was too much to bear for one more second.

Oh, how you smiled, soldier, when gazing upon that raven hair, long as it was, and that firm stance, walking towards you. You almost called the lover’s name, for it was a blessing, surely, to have him by your side once more.

Oh, how the breeze of the night became ice when looking at those eyes, which long ago reflected the sun, only to now show the deepest of seas.

Oh, how you tried to scream, to alert, soldier, but it was too late, with your only witness the gods and an enemy.

Oh, to never gaze upon the sun again.

OJOS DEL SOL

Oh, cómo era contemplar el sol cada vez qur él se giraba hacia ti, soldado. Cómo tu corazón latía y tu respiración se cortaba ante la belleza de tal imagen, pues el amante te había elegido también tantos años atrás.

Oh, cómo lo protegidas, y él a ti en respuesta, pues el amor que compartíais era suficiente para que balas y cañones no pudieran rozar vuestra piel. Esa piel, que por la noche sería acariciada y besada con una adoración sólo compartida por dos mitades.

Oh, y pensar en esos ojos ámbar, profundos y llenos de sentimientos nunca dichos en voz alta. Cómo deseabas verlos cada mañana al despertar y cada noche antes se sucumbir al abrazo de Hypnos.

Oh, qué dolorosa fue la despedida cuando os tuvisteis que separar, pues la guerra no perdona a nadie y las órdenes deben ser seguidas, sin importar el dolor del corazón.

Oh, y esperar tantos meses, escribiendo cartas con esperanza cada noche, rezando a cada dios por la vida de tu amante, pues incluso los dioses saben cómo uno desespera cuando pierde media alma.

Oh, cómo dejaste el campamento una noche, buscando la calma de Nix y la belleza de Selene, pues el ardor en ti era demasiado para soportarlo un segundo más.

Oh, cómo sonreíste, soldado, al contemplar ese cabello carbón, tan largo como era, y ese firme paso, caminando hacia ti. Casi llamaste el nombre de tu amante, pues era una bendición, seguro, tenerle a tu lado una vez más.

Oh, cómo la brisa de la noche se hizo hielo al ver esos ojos, que hacía tanto reflejaban el sol, pero ahora sólo mostraban el más hondo de los mares.

Oh, cómo intentaste gritar, alertar, soldado, pero era demasiado tarde, teniendo como únicos testigos a los dioses y un enemigo.

Oh, cómo es no contemplar el sol de nuevo.

[writerbumblebee]

English & Spanish

DIVINE BROTHERHOOD

Of all the divine siblings born in gracious Olympus, there are none that laugh as freely and conspire so sweetly as clever Hermes and blooming Dionysus. Their love resides in every laugh, every game and every embrace, and no other thing is as deserving of worship.

They can be felt in spring, when flowers come to lie below the sun so one can pick them up and make crowns for their loved ones.

Oh, how sweetly they laugh when Dionysus rests one on top of Hermes’ hair, for the traveler is settled, for now, in a moment of calm and bliss.

They show themselves in summer, when cicadas are heard and the heat is felt most.

Oh, how they shout and giggle while racing each other, winged Hermes above the ground and wild Dionysus close behind, only until his dear brother holds him by the arms, raising him and letting him feel such liberty.

They can be heard on autumn, when the wine is newly made and festivities are as strong as mountains, for every being needs release.

Oh, how Dionysus takes Hermes and brings him in, putting a chalice against his lips and grapes on his hands, delighting on the company of his dearest.

And, surely, they rest on winter, when the cold is rageful and the hearth most needed, as even gods need the comfort of home.

Oh, how Hermes takes care of his sleeping brother, making him have such beautiful dreams thanks to his caduceus, and waiting for the moment he wakes up from his slumber to enjoy his voice once more.

They are the joy of Olympus and humanity both, for they are the prove that, although seasons may pass, flowers may wither, races and dreams may end and wind may be powerful, love will remain, for brotherhood is as eternal as reality itself.

HERMANDAD DIVINA

De todos los hermanos divinos del afable Olimpo, no hay otros que rían con tanta libertad o que conspiren tan dulcemente como el ingenioso Hermes y el floreciente Dioniso. Su amor vive en cada risa, cada juego y cada abrazo, y ninguna otra cosa merece tanto ser adorada.

Ellos pueden sentirse en primavera, cuando las flores llegan, descansand bajo el sol para que uno puede atraparlas y hacer coronas para sus amados.

Oh, cómo ríen dulcemente cuando Dioniso deja reposar una sobre los cabellos de Hermes, pues el viajero está descansando, for ahora, en un momento de calma y dicha.

Ellos se muestran en verano, cuando las cigarras se escuchan y el calor es superior.

Oh, cómo gritan y se deleitan al retarse a una carrera, donde el alado Hermes vuela sobre el suelo y el salvaje Dioniso se encuentra detrás, sólo hasta que su querido hermano le agarra por los brazos, elevándolo y dejándole sentir tal libertad.

Ellos pueden ser escuchados en otoño, cuando el vino es una vez más creado y las festividades tienen la magnitud de montañas, puede toda criatura necesita ser libre.

Oh, cómo Dioniso atrae a Hermes con osadía, llevando una copa a sus labios y uvas a sus manos, deleitándose con la compañía de su más querido.

Y, por supuesto, ellos descansan en invierno, cuando el frío es rabioso y la hoguera necesitada, pues incluso los dioses necesitan el calor del hogar.

Oh, cómo Hermes cuida de su hermano dormido, haciéndole tener explendidos sueños gracias a su caduceo, y esperando al momento en que despierte de su descanso para disfrutar de su voz una vez más.

Ellos son la alegría del Olimpo y la humanidad por igual, pues son la prueba de que, aunque las estaciones pasen, las flores se marchiten, las carreras y sueños se acaben y el viento pueda ser poderoso, el amor se mantendrá, pues la hermandad es algo tan eterno como la misma realidad.

[writerbumblebee]

If we don't let space for doubt and intellectual growth, what makes us different from the religious authority we despise so much?

I feel like in the spiritual communities (shifting, religious Spaces, etc) we dont make enough room for questions and doubts. People have every right to and will always be hesitant to belive something— not allowing them to express their concerns wont lead to them beliving it, it’ll only make em afraid to talk about their opinions.

Its a whole diffrent story if theyre rude to those who belive it. However, as long as theyre respectful I dont see an issue with it.

[writerbumblebee]

Beautiful That Way in Spanish

Sonríe sin dudar

Ya que puedes amar.

Vive lleno de alegría

Sin importar el que dirán,

Que así se vive más feliz.

Puedes llorar todo un mar,

Sentir la oscuridad,

Mas recuerda el futuro:

Que queda mucho más que hacer,

Y así se vive más feliz.

Tú a mi lado estarás

Y yo estaré aquí mientras te acuerdes tú de mí.

Si te encuentras en soledad

Recuerda el amor que siempre te acompañará.

No dejes de esperar

Lo que la vida dará.

Dejaremos nuestras penas

Y veremos la luz al fin,

Pues así se vive más feliz.

[writerbumblebee]

Most of my villains are completely disgusting, and I love to hate them.

I think this take should be more widespread.

dears, remember that not every villain has to have a traumic painful background, an ulterior good motive, or the belief that they're are good people doing good things.

Some people just suck.

So, don't overwhelm yourself trying to twist them into a good misunderstood poor one when they're just bastards.

[writerbumblebee]

Prometheus, by Lord Byron

Titan! to whose immortal eyes

The sufferings of mortality,

Seen in their sad reality,

Were not as things that gods despise;

What was thy pity's recompense?

A silent suffering, and intense,

The rock, the vulture, and the chain,

All that the proud can feel of pain,

The agony they do not show,

The suffocating sense of woe,

Which speaks but in its loneliness,

And then jealous lest the sky

Should have a listener, nor will sigh

Until its voice in echoless.

Titan! To thee the strife was given

Between the suffering and the will,

Which torture where they cannot kill.

Thy Godlike crime was to be kind,

To render with thy precepts less

The sum of human wretchedness,

And strengthen Man with his own mind;

But baffled as thou wert from high,

Still in thy patient energy,

In the endurance, and repulse

Of thine impenetrable Spirit,

Which Earth and Heaven could not convulse,

A mighty lesson we inherit.

Thou art a symbol and a sign

To mortals of their fate and force;

Like thee, man is in part divine,

A trouble stream from a pure source,

And Man in portions can foresee

His own funeral destiny.

His wretchedness, and his resistance,

And his sad unallied existence:

To which his Spirit may oppose

Itself and equal to all woes,

And a firm will, and a deep sense,

Which even in torture can descry

Its own concentered recompense,

Triumphant where it dares defy,

And making Death a Victory.

[writerbumblebee]

I made a little thing for worldbuilding (the cultural iceberg was made by another person some years ago, but I can't find the original post), and I thought someone might find it useful, so here you go:

CULTURAL ICEBERG

Things you see: Language, folklore, clothes, fine arts, literature, food, holidays and festivals

Things you don't: Beliefs and assumptions, family roles, self-concept, relation with authority, core values, biases, body language, beauty ideals, concept of cleanliness, gender roles, attitude towards school, approach to health and medicine, rules of conduct, humor, concept of justice, notions of modesty, expectations

POLITICAL ICEBERG

Things you see: Elections, laws, politicians, political parties, public policies, court rulings, international relationships

Things you don't: Political ideologies, corruption, historical influences, behind-the-scenes negotiations, corporate influence, public opinion manipulation

ECONOMICAL ICEBERG

Things you see: Stock market, inflation, GPD, prices, major corporations, trade agreements

Things you don't: Wealth inequality, black markets, supply chain dependencies, financial crises' causes

HISTORICAL ICEBERG

Things you see: Famous events, leaders, wars, revolutions, treaties, inventions, national myths

Things you don't: Propaganda, suppressed events, alternative interpretations, unsung heroes, motives behind wars, secret diplomacy, historical biases, forgotten civilizations, cultural erasure

[writerbumblebee]

This is why editing is always the best part of writing

‘Sometimes the curtains were just blue.’

F*ck that, yeah the curtains are blue, and my mc hates that they are blue because blue is the colour of her oppression. It’s the colour that controls her and her life. She hates the colour blue until she loves it because the sea and the sky are blue and nothing can control them so why should it control her. It’s her identity, her passion, AND THE CURTAINS ARE F**king BLUE FOR A REASON.

ahem, ignore me putting every little hint of symbolism into my writing.

[writerbumblebee]

Also, short stories in general are amazing! Write a long book or a short book, don't care, just make a good one

For young or newer writers (or writers in general): WORD COUNT DOES NOT MATTER THAT MUCH.

I can't be the only one who gets so discouraged sees those charts about the word count of different types of books, like dystopian - 50k, when mine has barely reached 10k...and it's still a rough draft!!!

This also happens when I'm writing fanfiction or short stories. There I was, on a roll with writing when I naively decided to check my word count. 200.

BOOM! Soon, my story was filled with fillers, unnecessary scenes, cringey dialogue and typos for days all because my brain had tricked me into prioritizing quantity over quality...and I had paid the price.

Moral of the story: let it exist first before thinking it's not enough.

[writerbumblebee]

Also, reading is just amazing in general

In case it's not common, reading is a part of your job as a writer.

Not every reader is a writer, but every writer MUST be a reader. Reading inspires you, motivates you, and keeps your creativity flowing. Make sure to read more than you write.

[writerbumblebee]

Fucking with my reader's mind is fun :)

Unreliable narrators are one hell of an idea. You can just write whatever, and if a reader points out "hey the way this scene happened should not be physically possible if it's done the way this character described it", you can just be like "yeah I don't trust that fucker either."

[writerbumblebee]

This is a social problem that isn't talked about enough and not only normalized, but expected and idealized

Problem #1 regarding child abuse is that a lot of people seem to struggle to imagine normal, respectable-looking parents and other authority figures ever doing it despite the statistics so instead they do the stranger danger panic and completely overlook some of the greatest threats.

Problem #2 is that even when people understand, even if in an abstract way, that parents can be abusive they just... don't seem to actually register that as something that can apply to real life. It's just hypothetical to them and doesn't actually guide their ideas of how to prevent child abuse.

Problem #3 is that even after overcoming the above biases a lot of people have a very narrow image of what abusive parenting is where they imagine like... people doing violent things basically out of sadism and without provocation. They don't seem to think it's "real" abuse if the victim did something that "justifies" punitive violence, like disobeying the parents.

In fact, most people think parents have a right to do a whole lot of awful things to their children beyond just hitting them, like violating their privacy, controlling their access to information, and deciding what/when/if they eat, among other things.

[writerbumblebee]

Bienvenido

Welcome to my little corner!

I'm Noah (She/He), a writer who occasionally appears to show what I'm working on (longer pieces can be found on AO3 under WriterBumbleBee here).

In this blog you will find quite a bit of:

`•° Original writing

°*• Works about Les Misérables and The Picture Of Dorian Gray (I hate Oscar Wilde with a passion)

*•` Devotional content of Hellenic polytheism and demonolatry

`•° Rants about whatever I deem interesting enough

Content Warnings: trauma, drug use, grooming, physical and psychological abuse, mental disorders, death, and more (individual CWs can be found per post).

DNI: queerphobes, radqueers, radfems, racists, antisemitics, ableists, anti-theists, religious extremists, proshippers, trauma fetishizers and pornographic blogs.

I hope you'll find in this blog a place in which to think freely and fiercely, for every dangerous idea started with a lingering thought.

"To learn to read is to light a fire; every syllable that is spelled out is a spark."

—Victor Hugo

[writerbumblebee]

CW: abduction

Persephone, Queen and Child

Oh, gracious Persephone, sweet as honey,

How did you become queen of the dead?

How did you gain the power of a monarch?

You, oh so gentle daughter of spring?

How you were destined for the sun, living between flowers

And nymphs that adored you, just as your mother of harvest.

How, tell me, were you taken away by one who wanted you

But did not ask for your love in return.

Oh, how you cried, blooming child, when you found yourself in the dark,

Where no root or seed could live.

How you longed for your mother,

Who grieved the death of her soul, for that is what a child becomes.

And just when you reached your loving mother’s arms,

Just when the light had begun to caress your skin,

You were told to come back,

For a wife is a husband’s property.

But you, just queen, did not falter,

For you knew the power you held,

And you used it well

To rise above the mortal souls of the Underworld

For every queen deserves a realm.

At least, until spring can come again.

At least, until flowers can bloom the same.

[writerbumblebee]

I wholeheartedly believe that people who think law = morality are ignorant (not as an insult, but as a fact)

i get what people mean when they say jean valjean was unjustly or unfairly put in prison but i feel like it's missing the point to say his sentence was an injustice. legally, his 19 years were 100% justified. he stole a loaf of bread and received the appropriate punishment of 5 years. he tried to escape and received the corresponding number of years each time. his total of 19 years was perfectly valid under the law. and that's hugo's point. the justice system is institutionally flawed. what is fair in the eyes of the law is not fair in the eyes of morality.

[writerbumblebee]

You took the words from my mouth. I agree completely with each point, and I find it quite sad how uncommon this reading of the novel is, specially because of the romanticization of grooming

One of my Dorian Gray hot takes is that there was absolutely nothing in Dorian and Basil's relationship that was healthy. I keep seeing posts like "Basil's love for Dorian was so pure, that's why the portrait was so pretty and the real villain of the story is Wotton because he corrupted it"

As I see it, yes, Wotton did corrupt him, but saying Basil's feelings for Dorian were pure is simply inaccurate to the story. Basil says himself he merely sees Dorian as an artistic ideal [Dorian Gray is to me simply a motive in art. I find him in the curves of certain lines, in the loveliness and subtleties of certain colours. That is all; ch1] and admitted he (a 10 year older man, who had power over him) tried to isolate him from other people and "keep him to himself". Furthermore, Basil also plays a big role in the way Dorian sees himself and his beauty, by painting him everyday and not maintaining any conversation with him, he's indirectly reaffirming what Wotton tells him: people only care about you because you're pretty and young. There is also this scene from the second chapter:

Dorian Gray turned and looked at him. "I believe you would, Basil. You like your art better than your friends. I am no more to you than a green bronze figure. Hardly as much, I dare say.

The painter stared in amazement. It was so unlike Dorian to speak like that. What had happened? He seemed quite angry. His face was flushed and his cheeksburning.

"Yes," he continued, "I am less to you than your ivory Hermes or your silver Faun. You will like them always. How long will you like me? Till I have my first wrinkle, I suppose. I know, now, that when one loses one's good looks, whatever they may be, one loses everything. Your picture has taught me that. Lord Henry Wotton is perfectly right. Youth is the only thing worth having. When I find that I am growing old, I shall kill myself."

Hallward turned pale and caught his hand. "Dorian! Dorian!" he cried, "don't talk like that. I have never had such a friend as you, and I shall never have suchanother. You are not jealous of material things, are you?-you who are finer than any of them!"

Dorian is even dealing with a suicidal ideation over what Wotton has told him and the way Basil sees him, he needs emotional validation, he's asking to be told there's more than him than that, and Basil's reaction is just─ no. You're prettier than any other object (indirectly comparing him to one, too).

Basil's view of Dorian influences how he sees people as much as Wotton's. For example, to Dorian Sybil was only what she pretended to be, he loved her performance, her acting, how she did exactly what the public wanted (which can apply to Dorian himself), not the real her. She was only an artistic ideal to him, she meant to him exactly what Dorian meant to Basil. He ignored her desires, pain and everything not related to what he wanted to see, since that's what he's been taught he must appreciate.

I also disagree with the interpretation of the portrait as a "pure" reflection of Basil's love (I would personally rather describe it as an obsession, though) and Dorians soul because it's not. At least not entirely. Part of the point of the book is that everyone only saw the part of Dorian they wanted: the portrait represents Basil's idolized version of him, what he wanted to see and how he refused to see Dorian as a person instead of an artistic ideal. That's why he tried to make him redeem himself, because he hated seeing his version of Dorian shatter into pieces. It was never Dorian entirely, not even after aging terribly because that's the result of Basil and Wotton's influence. The portrait was not his real soul, it was a modified version of it other people played with because nobody cared about the whole thing, and the influence was so big those parts became his whole being. It was just an idolized, molded version at first but turned into his real self with the time and the sins. Dorian's soul (the portrait) was constructed upon what others appreciated about him, so when Wotton motivated him to sin, because Dorian's potential to be terrible was what mattered to him, it became ugly and terrible. There was absolutely nothing pure about that portrait since day 1.