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maskedemerald · 17 hours
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April Fools Writing Game?
Writer people! I just had a fun idea of something to do for April Fools (Fun! No jump scares or anything like that). What if we on the day post a short bit of writing from one of our WIPs but the roles are reversed!
Little writing experiment fun! I think it would be fun to put our characters in each others shoes for a scene! You might even get an interesting insight into a character's personality!
I'm definitely going to do it! I have the image already in my head for Magic Act! (This is dangerous... I might find myself writing an alternate version with this idea bubbling in my head lol)
If you do take part tag me or tag it #Reverse Write Game if you remember! I want to read them! Also tag some people you want to do it too and maybe it will be more than just an April Fools thing.
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jmnxjmnx · 3 days
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Been so disconnected from myself
Merged myself in a world I always wanted to be
Yet when I finally got in
Something just doesn't feel right
My skin is dry, my soul is scared
And you're not here to save me
From a sadness I'm suddenly craving
Words just popped in my head
Flying in my tongue
Wish you were here
So I can put them on your mouth
I love you so
But I've been so disconnected with myself
Don't be scared if
When you decide to come back
I'm already long gone.
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Anniversary [Chzo Mythos fanfic]
Part 2/Sequel to Which Image
Thought Cabadath was scary before? You ain't seen nothing yet. 2.5k words of Trilby whump/psychological horror for you.
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London, 2014
He hated the subtlety of it most of all.
Hated how it always started just when he felt safe.
Stepping down the hallway, Trilby hummed beneath his breath. His flat sat at the end of the building. Had to be quiet as he walked to it. He would hate to get the attention of - er, disrupt - his neighbors this late at night. Last time he did, he'd gotten reported to the Ministry for “practicing unlawful magic”. His supervisors still joked about that. 
(But they didn't ask what he'd been doing.)
He'd gotten distracted. Let himself get lost in his thoughts, in his hopes, as he followed the old carpet towards his flat. So maybe it was his own fault, for not hearing the footsteps until they got too close to ignore.
Trilby stopped. Looked over his shoulder. A human reflex. He knew what he'd see.
The hallway, empty and mundane, and nothing else.
He faced forward. Nothing in front of him, either. No sound but him and his breathing.
“Damn it,” he whispered. 
He waited for the laughter.
It never came.
But with his first footstep, another clicked behind him. Closer than before. Trilby didn't look back, his attention focused on the distant door. He didn't look back but his pulse hammered in his veins and his teeth grit tight against the images crawling to the front of his mind.
He's behind me, his primal instincts screamed. He's behind me, he's behind me.
But he wasn't. And if he was, Trilby didn't want to see it.
He'd find out soon enough anyway.
Key in the lock, the door creaked open. Without looking behind him, Trilby stepped inside. The lights turned on. The door locked tight.
And he was not safe.
He glanced up towards the clock on the wall.
12:03 AM.
“Right on time,” Trilby mumbled. 
The footsteps must've started at midnight, on the dot. Like they always did.
Considering how long this had gone on, the fact it still caught him off guard, still hit him so deep, should've been embarrassing. But he'd lived through the alternatives, too, and they were so much worse.
He kept the lights off as he headed for bed. Stripped himself down, removed his trademark suit from his thin body, didn't bother looking where they ended up when he tossed them aside. Trilby sat down on his bed, rested his head against the wall. He looked into the darkness, and wondered if it looked back 
“Get it over with,” he said.
And maybe someday, he'd get an answer.
Tonight was not that night.
Trilby's eyes closed.
He did not dream, but he still woke up screaming. No one but him could've heard it. Tears flowed down his face, his fingers ached and hot blood drained from his nails. Breathe, breathe, he begged himself, breathe. But he was.
Trilby threw himself from his bed. Dragged himself to his feet. His mouth sucked down air, and it burned down his throat. 
It hurts, he thought. It hurts.
Despite the morning light streaming through the windows, Trilby still had to stare at himself, at his reflection in the mirror over the sink, for several long moments before understanding. He raised a hand to the bruises around his neck, traced the large finger-shapes with his own.
Blood dripped from his nails, oozing between the slick black material stuck beneath the surface. 
Trilby breathed. It hurts, the thought came again, fading away as the bruises did.
“Happy anniversary,” he mumbled to the Prince.
And it was just the first day of July. 
-
Yes, he regretted it. Every choice he made of his free will during that nightmare, he regretted. Most of all he regretted DaFoe Manor. If he hadn't broken into it that night in 1993... Maybe a lot of people would still be alive. And he'd still be a gentleman thief that people remembered existed. 
But it'd been written in the stars. Even before he knew the Order existed, before he first glimpsed their Prince walking down the hall of Clanbronwyn Hotel in Ireland, they'd waited for him. He'd been trapped before he was born.
(Part of him never escaped DaFoe Manor, though it lay in ruins now. Part of him never escaped Clanbronwyn Hotel, laying bleeding, dying, on the stump of the tree that once imprisoned Cabadath’s soul.)
(He'd always be there. The pain would always be there. That wound inside him would bleed for the rest of his life.)
As persistent as the Order remained, they were not the only ones. The Ministry kept Trilby busy, and there were plenty of other agents around to take down whatever the Order was up to now. They existed on the edges of his life now, and there, in that lingering space between past and present, the Prince walked.
Trilby didn't forget. Cabadath didn't let him.
-
July remained an evil month. A month of hallucinations, nightmares, cuts and bruises, painful visions, and brutal attacks. The first year, Trilby thought it was just trauma, until it was almost too late. The second, the Ministry sent him overseas. Once he'd been recovering in a mental hospital, where he'd lost track of time. Another, he'd dared to fight back.
Cabadath enjoyed it all. That, Trilby thought, scared him the most. Cabadath didn't need to haunt him, stalk him, torture him. This was not part of any cosmic plan. The Order didn't play any role in it. Chzo didn't have anything to do with it.
Cabadath did it because he enjoyed it. Because it hurt.
All these years of being prey did not numb the fear. The dread and anticipation remained, lingering beneath the surface, a constant thread of paranoia he could not shake off. If he did, he'd regret it.
He always did.
Trilby jolted from his nightmares, slamming upright in his office chair. It took three breaths to understand where he was. He relaxed his fists, flexing and massaging his fingers to stop the static. On the wall, the clock read - well, it was broken again, but the window suggested late evening, the beginning of night. Dark streets, bright lights, people going home.
He wasn't safe at home. He wasn't safe anywhere, he knew that, but home in particular felt dangerous. Like someone waited for him.
(He couldn't handle another year of waking up in bed to a dark-coated figure looming over him, watching that large hand reach down to pull him into a place worse than Hell. Those nightmares lasted long after July ended.)
He'd go home in the morning to shower. Tonight, he'd stay here. He'd research, he'd drink his coffee black, he'd finish that damn paperwork, and he wouldn't think about the whispers coming from the room next door. He'd ignore them. He wouldn't fall for that trick twice. 
That room was empty anyway. He knew that.
He knew it was empty. 
No one walked around in there.
But in his mind, he saw the Prince, hand on the wall, staring at him through the concrete and plaster. He saw the fingers flex. Felt them settle on his shoulder as his eyes fell closed. Felt the finger drum with impatience, waiting. Waiting for sleep to sweep him away.
He didn't dream that night, but it still hurt.
-
There wasn't a therapist that could help him with this one. He'd tried. Sitting in a tiny room with a professional stranger locked his throat up, left him staring at the floor, mind dancing around the knots of pain that made up his soul. 
He'd opened up once. He wouldn't make that mistake again.
Trilby stood over the sink, water dripping from his face. He watched the drops splatter as they fell from his face. Looking in the mirror was not an option. He just needed something to wake him up. The thinner the veil between worlds became, the harder it was to wake up. Halfway through the month and the nightmares pulled him down deeper and deeper. Soon, if the pattern continued, they'd stop, and things would get worse.
He wasn't the only one hearing the whispers now. The agents under him weren't making eye contact. Was it the exhaustion on his face? Or the fact he'd brought something into their lives none of them could stop.
Trilby knew that. He checked. He checked every year, as the desperation hit a peak. The pattern didn't change, because that would mean he could, would, did, change.
And that's when people died.
His eyes glanced towards the mirror, a reflex. A hand curled around the door - when did it open? The hand, bandaged and bloodstained, dragged over the wood and let go.
An invitation to follow if he ever saw one. Trilby ran a paper towel over his face, stepped out of the room. Right into the hand that grasped his neck and slammed him against the wall.
They found him motionless there, slumped on the floor, staring at nothing until his name was called. Blood on his shirt, dripping like water from the wounds around his neck.
He couldn't remember a thing.
-
Claws dragged over the walls behind him as he walked down the hall. He didn't bother looking back this time. Trilby grit his teeth, focused on the door to his flat ahead of him.
A hand latched onto his shoulder, yanked hard. Trilby hit the carpet just as hard, the breath rushing from his lungs. Only his struggles to breathe filled the silence.
He was getting too old to be taking falls like this.
In his flat, he rested on the couch, placed his head in his hands. July 26. Though the warm sun flowed inside, he shivered. 
Across the room, Cabadath stood. Trilby watched from the corner of his eye, between the fingers that cradled his head. The Prince of Pain could have been a statue, a mannequin, standing so still, with empty hands. Trilby looked at the table before him, at the bottle of whiskey he'd left out. He glanced back. The Prince remained.
Not a hallucination. Not a bad dream, not a flashback. The real thing, in his house.
Trilby looked at the whiskey again.
He heard the footstep, he didn't flinch, and didn't look up. Dropping his arms, he closed his eyes, lowered his head.
“I won't,” he said.
The silence seemed its own answer: you will.
“I know that's not why you're doing this anyway.”
Your pain is a memory I want to relive over and over, the silence said.
“You're a sick man.”
Does the hatred make it easier to bear?
Trilby's eyes watered.
You will not set down your burdens. You cannot wash the blood from your hands, so you do not try. You have saved the world, and remain alone. And it hurts.
Trilby swallowed around the lump in his throat.
I see you, Trilby. I see the breathing flesh and the aching soul within. I see the guilt, the shame, that divides you from the world. I see what you will not accept in yourself. I see what you need.
“I won't,” Trilby mumbled.
I will take the burdens from your back. I will break your bloodstained hands. I will shatter your purpose. I will destroy your world. I will bring you to your knees. And I will ask again: will you join us?
“No,” Trilby said.
You will.
Liquid poured into a glass. Claws traced through his hair and pulled his head back.
You will be loved…
Raw fire burned down his throat. Not whiskey. Blood.
… And we will teach the world the name of the King.
Trilby surfaced. He lay on the floor of his office. Footsteps stepped away from the door. Crust surrounded his eyes, dried on his cheeks. Exhaling, he licked his lips, and the blood upon them tasted almost sweet.
-
The sun rose on the 28th. Trilby didn't bother going home the night before. He watched the sunrise over the city, numbness gnawing his heart.
The coffee tasted fine. He got through his paperwork without struggle. Still he tasted magic in the air, but that air came easily into his lungs, and the magic he tracked to agents taking advantage of the thinning veil.
The thinnest the veil would be all year. An opportunity Cabadath would never miss, to pass into the realm of technology and do what he wished.
Trilby stood alone in the crowded hallway, coffee mug in hand, watching agents and other employees walk, laugh, talk together. He pressed his back against the wall, watching, frowning, scanning the people passing by.
He stood there a while before going back to his office. Set the now lukewarm coffee on his desk. Stared at it, stared at the paperwork, the paperweight, the trash can, the chair.
“Where are you, Cabadath?” He asked.
Someone laughed down the hall. A door slammed. Voices carried through the walls, normal people, normal conversations.
Trilby tucked his pistol in its hidden holster. His long walk around the building, through the area, did not provide any answers. But at least he could sit down and get back to work without the anxiety eating him alive.
People died on the 28th. A pattern Cabadath never broke. Sometimes one, sometimes two, sometimes many. Most bodies were never found. Sometimes Trilby only knew what happened because of the parts found in the Order’s storage months later. 
Sometimes Cabadath made him watch.
Trilby watched the news. Trilby watched his back. Trilby kept an eye on his agents, kept an eye on the people in the hall. And the air came easy into his lungs, and the sun walked down the sky, and Cabadath-
And Cabadath never appeared.
No one died. No one disappeared. No screams, no whispers, no forced trips to the realm of magic.
It was a long day.
A long trip home. 
A long time watching the news.
A long time waiting in bed for sleep to come.
And when the footsteps stepped upon his carpet, Trilby didn't move. He closed his eyes, listened to every calculated step. Listened to the swaying rustle of the Prince’s coat. 
The bed shifted with unexpected weight. A body sat beside him.
Cabadath watched him.
Trilby breathed. So wonderful, to be able to breathe. So quickly, that breath could stop.
He lay in the darkness. He breathed. Cabadath stared. How long the monster stayed, Trilby couldn't have guessed. Cabadath disappeared before Trilby’s eyes opened to the morning sun. But there was blood smeared on his neck, his face, and the bruises beneath them did not go away.
It took almost three weeks for the bodies to be found. Some glorified commune way out in the middle of nowhere stopped picking up supplies. By the time anyone bothered to check, the bodies rotted like ripe fruit in the summer sun. But the authorities guessed the massacre must've happened in late July.
As Trilby stared without expression at the media firestorm on the screen, he touched the bruises on his neck. They would fade soon, with the knowledge he'd gained, but the memories never would. 
Cabadath won. He taught kind and cruel alike the name of the King. But as long as Trilby could remain standing… as long as Trilby could protect someone, anyone…
He turned away and got back to work.
One man in a felt crown held back the tide of destruction, and the pointlessness of it all ached like an open wound.
-
@steh-lar-uh-nuhs @thebrownleathernotebook @ohmy-screechingbutterflies @vaultofqueenorion @opossumjournal @kmlaney @ajarofpickledtears @ghostlyreveries @lokis-wager @mechamia-13 @slenders1ckn3ss @timeladymorsillon @kmlaney
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willowiswriting · 3 days
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Find the word
Thanks @aziz-reads for the tag!
Rules: find the words given in your WIPs, then tag people with more words!
My words: frame, vain, stake, fix
Your words: refuse, beam, own, product
Softly tagging with no pressure @mk-writes-stuff @sleepywriter00 @nailamoonsi @somethingclevermahogony @eccaiia @bread-roses-and-chrome @gottestod-writes + anyone else
TSP intro
TSP tag list (ask to be +/-): @thepeculiarbird @illarian-rambling @televisionjester @finchwrites
Keep reading for:
Rose's home life (CW: neglectful parent)
Akash is happy Gwen pissed Carmen off
Robbie and Lexi meet
Debate about screen brightness
Frame - The Secret Portal Part One (Rose POV)
I let out a high-pitched grunt of annoyance before stomping off to my room. A part of me knew she was right. I should’ve brought my keys as a backup plan. She wasn't reliable anyway. As I opened the door to my room, I glanced back at my mother as she sat back on the couch, watching the telenovela that was playing. I turned away, slamming the door to my room behind me, hoping my mother would tell me I wasn't allowed to do that. But there was no correction. I tossed my backpack to the side harshly. It slammed into the wall and knocked a picture frame down to the floor. I bent down and picked quickly hung it back up so I wouldn’t have to look at my three-month-old self in my mom’s smiling arms as my smiling dad had his arm wrapped around her. My room was the only splash of color in this house—the only part of my house that deserved to be called home. My art supplies got their own shelf and were organized the way I want. My projects I kept in my sketchbook, which I never showed my mom. She didn’t like the way I decorated my room or any of my designs. She loved to tell me I needed to apply myself to school as much as my art. But even if I did apply myself more in school, she wouldn’t notice. I collapsed onto my bed and screamed into the pillow, then lay there for a couple of minutes, taking in the scent.
Vain Cocky (closest synonym) - from The Secret Portal Part One (Gwen POV)
I’d overheard Dr. Moon say something about “powers,” so maybe that’s what he meant. It sounded strange, but Akash was floating. Dr. Moon said that I could be showing “several” abilities, so that was weird, too. Did I have a power? Context alone indicated that. They didn’t see me…. My mind spun, so I looked back at Akash as I followed him down the next hall. At first, I thought he was being cocky and showing off his strange, supernatural ability, but that demeanor seemed only a façade—nothing more. Maybe flying was simply that fun. Or maybe I was distracted because he was cute, but I didn’t think I was that shallow. “So, Gwen,” Akash said, turning around to fly backward. “Where’re you from?” “Clear Lake City,” I said. “Texas.” Akash smiled. “Southlake. Up near Dallas. How cool is it we’re both from Texas?” I stared at him. “You’re not from here?” I didn’t exactly know where here was, but all the same, I could figure I wasn’t in Texas anymore. Akash stopped mid-flight, causing me to abruptly halt. “No. Dr. Moon and Dr. Asghar only take Alii from our side. Ceteri. That’s what they call it.” He raised his eyebrow. “Didn’t they tell you?” “No. They kidnapped us and locked us in this purple-glowing-thing. The dampener? Is that what you said?” Akash nodded. “What did they do?” Akash rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that’s how they got me and my buddy, Robbie. They’re actually okay once you get to know them. Questionable methods, but their hearts, I know how it sounds, are in the right place. Hey, what powers do you have?” “Powers?” I repeated. My thought was right. “Yeah,” said Akash. “You’re Alii, aren’t you?” “I have no idea what you’re saying,” I admitted. “What does Alii mean? One of the doctors mentioned that. Is it Latin?” Akash scrunched his eyebrows. “You don’t know? Dr. Asghar never releases anyone unless they’ve been briefed.” “Oh, I, uh, sorta escaped,” I stuttered. Akash stared at me. “You got away from them?” I nodded, and to my surprise, Akash laughed, clapping his hands together. “I knew someone would do it one day! Dr. Asghar must be pissed!”
(Mi)Stake - from The Secret Portal Part One (Lexi POV)
I grunted as a sudden force ran into me, knocking me to the ground. I yelped and scrambled out from underneath the person and clambered to my feet, trembling from the unexpected touch. “Am I that repulsive to you?” a teasing voice said. I turned to look at the person who ran into me: a teenage boy a year or so older than me. It took me a second to collect myself. “No,” I said as he stood. “It just… freaked me out.” The boy was about average height for his age and had a slim, but fit, frame. He had thick dark hair framing his face and big, dark eyes framed by wire-thin glasses. His hair was cut relatively short, but his bangs were somewhat long—parted on the right. He laughed. “Freaked me out, too.” He crossed his arms. “So… are you one of Gwen’s friends?” “You know Gwen?” I asked, standing in surprise. “What is she doing here?” “Sorta, I met her an hour… and maybe a half ago, I dunno what time it is—-passed out due to,” he gestured to the charred walls, “the explosion.” “Wait, are you Robert Stafford?” “No, actually, I’m Stobert Rafford—common mistake.” I blinked. The boy kept eye contact with a straight face. His mouth twitched. The delay stopped as I cachinnated—that was a fun word. The boy joined in. “Sorry, that was stupid.” “No, no, it wasn't,” I said as I tried to compose myself. “Yeah, it was, I’m laughing at my own joke.” “Okay, fine, it was stupid, but that’s why it was funny.” He smiled, dark eyes shining. “Finally, someone gets it!”
Fix - from The Secret Portal Part One (Akash POV)
SORARA’s voice announced the Recruits entering the door, and I instinctively fixed my cap to make sure it was on correctly. “—way too bright,” Lexi was saying as she turned the corner into the living room. “You’ll melt your retinas.” “I need to be blinded by the screen,” Gwen was saying. “If I’m not, it’s too dark.” “I’m starting to see why you needed glasses.” Gwen laughed, and her eyes landed on mine, now slightly obscured by new rectangular black glasses. I instinctively raised my hand to rub it through my hair but it ended up hitting the hat instead, pushing it slightly back. I tried to fix it again. Of course, Gwen’s new fashion statement looks cute while I look like the biggest dork on the planet. She smiled at me. I raised my hand in greeting. “Robbie!” Lexi said, snapping me back. “Let me see your phone!” “Huh? Okay.” Robbie shifted to reach into his pocket to pull out his phone. He handed it to her but she shook her head. “Just turn it on and show me the screen.” Robbie did as told, causing Lexi to laugh triumphantly. “Ha! That’s not that bright, and he wears glasses.” Gwen shrugged.
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pinespittinink · 5 months
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got thoughtful about opinions on bad books so here’s an inverse: what’s a book you had to read for school that you actually enjoyed/have grown to like? mine is Lord of the Flies
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jgmartin · 9 months
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me, after clearing my schedule to write:
uhhhh it was raining... and dark (and also night) and um... cold i guess?? anyway, something dramatic~ happened
me, stuck in traffic on my way to work:
Rain tumbled through midnight leaves, casting the forest in liquid moonlight. A low growl shook the horizon. Death had come.
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the-world-is-a-poem · 9 months
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The thing about writing is that either it is the most peaceful and satisfying activity ever, or you're wandering about your house at 2:30am with your laptop on 3% battery, 25+ tabs open, a cursor blinking away taunting your inaptitude as you try to remember what doorknobs are called. Or you're lying in a pit of darkness not writing at all.
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whatthehellami · 5 months
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artwork is not mine
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the-cypress-grove · 7 months
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Insults (Fantasy Edition)
They're as useful as a wet blanket in the middle of winter
I could talk to my horse and have a better conversation
She did love her family, but she'd rather have an ocean between her and them.
He was the kind of man to stumble across rational thought quite by accident and dismiss it as absurd
'Quite frankly, I'd rather eat Hemlock.'
I know the gods do not exist, because if they did, they would've struck you down by now.
Well, you're clearly got some troll ancestry.
That's probably the wisest thing you've ever said and yet still you are wrong.
Do you just sit there all day and hope some sort of sentient through floats in your direction
She was tolerable. From a distance.
They were often wrong but never in doubt.
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winterandwords · 2 years
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I'm not sure I can express this sentiment strongly enough, but I'm going to try via the medium of large bolded text.
Write what the fuck you want.
Write what makes you happy. Write what makes your soul sing. Write what fucks you up and makes you cry. Write what comforts you. Write what distracts you. Write what you want to read. Write what you want to watch.
Write what you want to dream about tonight.
Write what you can't get enough of. Write what you're completely obsessed with. Write what wakes you up at 4am and drags you out of bed because you can't stop thinking about what your characters are going to do next.
Write what turns you on, if that's your vibe. Write characters you're in love with and characters who inspire you and characters you want to be friends with and characters you fucking hate but oh my god they're so much fun.
Write about things you would sell your soul to do in real life and things you would never do in real life. Write about things that are happening right now and things that happened a thousand years ago and things that might happen in the future and things you wish could happen.
Write to get a publishing deal or to sell your books yourself or not to sell your books at all. Write for your friends or for strangers or for the people who reblog your posts on Tumblr and send you songs that remind them of your characters.
Write for yourself.
Fuck any system that tells you there's only one right way to create or one valid way to share your writing. Your story, the way you tell it, has so much value. Make people smile or piss people off or do both of those things because art is divisive and fascinating and beautiful.
Start writing. Keep writing. And write what the fuck you want.
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mischiefiswritten · 8 months
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*does not write for WIP in 5 days*
*finally opens WIP*
*deletes two words*
*closes WIP*
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theprissythumbelina · 2 months
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So you want to write about horses.
Part 2 now out!
Or you're writing and horses show up. Or its a pre-industrial fantasy and your characters have to get somewhere. Or you have a faint idea of your MC's love interest showing up on a white stallion.
Whatever the cause, you're writing, and a horse appears. But you know nothing about horses. I can help.
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This is a horse. Horses come in many sizes.
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^ Big Jake, a Belgian Draft horse, and a roughly 5 foot woman for scale.
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1 hand = 4 inches = 10.16 cm
Once a horse is smaller than about 14.2hh, it is generally considered a pony. In the modern day, ponies are not considered suitable for adult riders due to weight and height issues. Some pony breeds, such as Welsh, Fjords, ect. are known for being sturdy, and can more easily carry adult sized humans. Miniature horses should never be ridden by adults.
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^The only suitable 'riding' a miniature horse should do
The above graphic mentions that horses are measured from the top of the withers, not the top of the head. But, what are withers?
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The withers are where the horse's shoulders meet the spine, and the neck becomes the back. Withers are incredibly important for saddle placement, as a badly placed saddle in this area can prevent a horse from moving its legs properly, cause a large amount of pain, and even damage a horse's spine. Speaking of spines, this is a horse skeleton, with the withers pointed out.
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Horses have four legs. Horses cannot have any fewer than four legs. They are obligate quadrupeds. This is, in part, due to their weight, as well as the construction of their legs and hooves. This is to say, that while cats, dogs, and other animals can be amputees, a horse, short of some incredible magic solution, cannot. Even a broken leg bone will cause a huge amount of problems, as all of the weight that leg would usually hold must be shifted to the other feet, and this causes a condition called laminitis, where the tissue that holds together the hoof and the toe bone becomes inflamed, and begins to separate. Once this happens, the hoof tissue dies from lack of blood, and the bone begins to rotate. This is extremely painful for the horse, and so often the best solution for a horse with a broken leg is to be spared that pain. Famous American racehorse Barbaro experienced a complex broken bone, which began to heal fine, but complications from laminitis in two of his other legs caused him to be put down. This is why media will almost always show a horse with a broken or injured leg being 'taken care of'.
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^Barbaro, in his prime. Even the best veterinary medicine couldn't save him.
Now, racehorses like Barbaro are moving at the fastest speed and the fastest gait of the horse, the gallop. The patterns that horses move their feet are referred to as gaits, with most horses having four, with some breeds having five or more.
The first gait and the slowest is the walk. In the walk, all four feet move independently, which leads it to be called a four-beat gait, as the footfalls make a sort of drumbeat on the ground.
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The next gait is the trot, a two beat gait with diagonal pairs of legs moving together.
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^Diagonal pairs marked in red and blue
The trot is a very bouncy experience for the rider, and can be uncomfortable. Some riders will rise and fall with a pair of diagonal legs, called a posting trot, some will stand in their stirrups, called a two-point or jump position, and some will sit the trot, which requires a lot of core strength (seriously, if you want a strong core, screw the gym)
The third gait is the canter, a three-beat gait with a single diagonal pair. This gait is ridden sitting, and feels a lot like going over waves on a jetski. There is a rise, a scoop, and a fall feeling. The canter is also called a lope in Western riding, they are the same gait.
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^diagonal pair marked in red
A gallop is sometimes considered a variation on canter, as it is similar save for the legs actually moving in a four-beat pattern. As you can see with the image of Barbaro, all four of his feet are moving in different patterns, at different times, even though the gallop is really a four beat version of the canter. Riders in the gallop rise off the horse's back into a raised position, which allows the horse to use the full length of its spine and musculature to get as much reach and speed as possible. It feels like riding on top of a train barreling down the tracks, at least until your horse takes an unexpected turn and the ground is suddenly the only thing you're riding.
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^ I've been there. The trick is to push away and hit the ground rolling, it hurts less that way. And don't land on your head.
That's all for this post. I'll have more when I feel like it, and send me questions if you want to know more about specific things or need a writing question answered
Reblogs welcome and encouraged
@jacqueswriteblrlibrary for wider reach
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cowperviolet · 2 months
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Someone reassure me and tell me that writing usually about 1k words a day and having no-writing days at times is still adequately productive and I am not a writerly failure
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willowiswriting · 16 days
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pluttskutt · 6 months
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🎃 Trick or Treat 🎃
The Event
Let’s celebrate Halloween together with a fun game! During this event, we’ll knock on people’s ask boxes and send them a simple question: Trick or Treat? 🦇
The recipient decides if it’s to be a trick, or a treat, as the owner of the house.
🍬 Treat — If the recipient choses treat, they share something with us as a treat. This could be a snippet, a line, OC trivia, or what have you!
👻 Trick — Turning the question around, the asker now has to share something of their own! But, seeing as it’s a trick, they may leave something under a read more, or link to something, that may catch you off guard… 😱
The event is held* through 27th-29th of October.
(Examples of) What you can share:
A snippet
A scene
OC trivia
Worldbuilding fact
A song, or even a playlist
A moodboard
Poetry
Anything you think is a treat you want to share!
If you get “Trick 👻”, pulling a trick is up to you.
❗ Tricksters ❗ Keep to etiquette. A rick roll is fun, a spooky gif, a picrew of your character dressed up for Halloween, and other fun tricks are what I hope to see, should someone chose to pull a trick.
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Yes, you read that right! "Trick or Treat" is making a comeback this year 🍬🗡️ Spread this post to get the word out. I'll send an ask to everyone who reblogs this! 🎃
*I will be sending asks during these dates but you are welcome to start this event any time you like and tweak it how you want. Remember Writeblr etiquette and send an ask back to the one who sent one to you! (Excluding me 👻)
🧡 Enjoy 🧡
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