#writebl

[dioraberry]

cozy autumn night☕️🍂🕯️

cr:ig

[noe11egance]

I've Always Loved the Rain

"Let's just sit quietly and listen to the secrets the rain wants to tell us" John Mark Green ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚ ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚ ︶︶︶︶༉‧₊˚ I’ve always loved the rain. The way it falls in little droplets and forms puddles in the streets. The way rain feels on my skin. I remember when I was younger how much I would want to go out and play in the rain. My mom told me to bundle up or I’ll catch a cold. But I couldn’t care less. It was a refreshing shower that coated my body in a way that made me feel alive. The flowers in the garden adored it as much as I did. 

I danced in the rain with no care. Walked with no umbrella, no rainboots, nothing like that. Looked up to the cloudy grey skies with a smile full of pure joy as I swayed along with the light breeze of the wind. People forget that we too are part of nature. That we are children of our planet. 

When we say we love the rain, we do so from the comfort of our insulated walls that shelter us from it. We say we love the rain and yet we view it as more of a danger to be avoided. Sickness is associated with the rain and yet we still say that we love it. For it’s serene looks. For it’s aesthetics and the symbolic meanings that we assign to it. That we write about in school, analysisng just what the addition of rain is trying to convey within the narrative.

But for a moment, just for a moment. View rain with wonder. With the kind that you once had when you were a child. You saw the world in color, so bright and vibrant, but when it is stripped and it is all grey, can you still see the color? The way the rain comes and brings life around it? Making it possible for the color to glow even brighter than before. Growth in tandem with the beauty of the sun gives an organism energy to keep on breathing. 

That is rain, it brings new life to the dead leaves. Cyclical, it all is. And how it will all end up being. I’ve always loved the rain.

[oamiyawrites]

writer intro <3

i'm oamiya, a recent postgrad documenting the process of working on my first manuscript! i was born and raised in nyc but studied comparative literature at brown. would love to find community/ thoughts and suggestions from other writers, readers, and creatives :) if anyone passing by is a fan of thrillers with plenty of plot twists, heists, south asian history, postcolonial theory, multiple povs, and morally gray characters, this book is just for you!

current goal: finish a polished first draft by the end of august. this might shift, given my LSAT is on sept 4th and i have job applications to work through . . . but we carry on for now!

[silverwasafukintrainwreck]

“oooh, i have nothing planned today, i’ll be super productive with my writing!” -says the writer, a few hours before spending the entire day rotting in bed gathering inspiration for writing but not doing jack shit

[isabellebissonrouthier]

First Line Tag

Tagged by @andromedaexists!

Tagging: @mjjune @lady-grace-pens @drawnecromancy @garthcelyn @jamieanovels

I'll choose the first paragraph of Novella 4 of @49-ibr!

***

Had Netharia known what was to come, perhaps she never would have saved the children in the first place. Perhaps she never would have welcomed them into her home – into her arms, into her heart – or perhaps she would have followed an identical path. Perhaps she would have retaken this journey, but perhaps she would have instead turned away.

[evenlis]

I could say that we were blind to the end, like all young lovers are... but that was never the case. I think we always knew, despite hope filled promises of forever. That's probably why your line is silent. Is this your version of a dignified ending?

- Evenlis. A Thousand Letters I Didn't Send You

[oceansubconscious]

A rhyming story about Vergil and a fortune teller. 721 words, gen.

Vergil, sixteen years old.

I went to the fortune teller to have my future told. Thought maybe if I knew what's in store, I wouldn't feel like a brewing storm. She told me she wouldn't tell me my future before I made peace with my past. And I wanted to curse her ancestors to ten generations back.

I left her tent in a huff with a tornado spinning in my lungs. "What a beguiling witch," I cursed under my breath, and wrath was the only way I could catch my breath.

But I did sit in the street and think. I imagined a future that reflected the past: families lost, my mistakes permanent. The loneliness was a living, beating thing and it sat on my chest. Even my shadow had left.

I went to the fortune teller the next day. I asked her the same thing, even if I hated repeating myself.

She said, "I won't tell you your future before you make peace with your past." And she said it with an air of someone that knew I would keep coming back—but never going back.

I seethed so I could breathe. "Listen, lady. Don't you want to be paid? Take my money and read my palm, damn it."

She told me to get out.

I left her tent in a huff with a tornado spinning in my lungs. I hated repeating myself, but I did sit in the street and think. I replayed the past in my head, but only the moments I couldn't stomach, a film reel of tailored horrors. I said to myself this is the price of naïve living. Dead parents and childhoods ashen.

And I had to learn and I had to know what the future holds, so I wouldn't live a naïve living.

I went to the fortune teller the next day, but she was gone. She had traveled on. I sat in the empty earth where her tent used to sit, and I thought. How come she could travel on, and I had to stay in the past?

I stared at my calloused palms. At the fissures and creases carved with a sword's hilt. I tried to read them, but only remembered when they were softer, shallower, unable to grip a sword. I clenched my hands into fists.

I left.

A storm came. Angry, so angry with me. It bellowed. It burned. It was me, ripping apart my soul. A monster in my home—real and terrible. I crawled away from it, naked like an animal.

V, one day old.

I went to the fortune teller a different man. It was chance I found her. And I only went in for old time's sake. When I opened the tassels of her tent, she was sitting with two cups of tea–mint green, it hit my nose. My favorite kind. Maybe she was rubbing off on me, but I knew before she spoke that she would say, "Welcome. Sit."

And so I did sit. And I didn't think. I stopped doing that around the time I tore my soul.

"Are you prepared to have your future told?" She said.

The storm had blown over. I was an upheaved scarecrow. Mangled and laying in a world rich with crops and warm earth, and I was hungry and cold like a dead hearth.

"No," I said. I was not prepared, I was in pieces from finding peace.

"One often isn't ready when the future becomes our present."

And then she foretold my future in riddles. I was quite good with riddles, but I didn't try to decipher them. I sipped tea and barely listened. Air was whooshing inside my ears—I didn't know if it was the spring breeze or another brewing storm. One way or another, I would find out, wouldn't I?

When she was finished, she asked me to pay for the tea and not for the riddles. I didn't have any money.

She told me to get out.

I left her tent the same man who entered. That man was a different man than his past suggested. He was a dead storm, a dead monster, and a newborn.

He was memories and nostalgia, walking on two legs and a cane. The good memories were proof better times could exist, and the bad ones were proof the storms couldn't kill him.

It didn't hurt to remember anymore.

the end.

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

Wattpad Purge and AO3 vs bot comments? I’m not on Wattpad but both of these happening at the same time feel like we’re witnessing a historical event

[daisychainz33]

i’m so happy to get even 1 note on any of my posts. i’m not famous, i’m not anything special, i’m not even a good writer if i’m being honest. but notes mean what i wrote reached someone, and that’s so special to me. someone saw what i wrote, and understood.

[hopelessromanticwithawhaletattoo]

Day 49

100 days of poems

If I stare long enough at this screen

Will a poem find its way out of me?

Or will I grow more weary

Under the weight of my own expectations

[windlass-abbey]

The cold nips at my ears and lips

Summertime is dead and gone The autumn breeze has finally ceased And the winter wind keeps howling on

The sun sinks swiftly from the sky As I wander down the road Street lamps flicker and the crumpled leaves fly The seasons turn and darkness grows

Mistletoe hangs off the trees,  Little berries glowing white as snow Fairy lights dance amongst the leaves Holly gleams bright in the thick hedgerow 

Frost laces itself around the leaves Starlight twinkles through the clouds Rain trickles down the windowpane Moonlight glistens on the ice all ’round

The winter wind continues to moan Its whispers make me feel less alone Days grow short and nights grow long And the passage of time marches on and on.

[scholarlycoffee]

She imagines her sister swallowing sea foam, stomach lined with pearls, lungs all full of beeswax kelp. Thorny, wind-washed myrtle blown out to sea, collapsing onto the rippling ocean surface and covering her drowned, water-softened eyes like coins. She imagines lampreys’ hungry mouths against her freckled shoulders, her barnacle-crested kneecaps, and eel cave chest cavity.

An AU novella of Mosswood.

Genre: Adult contemporary fantasy, horror novella

Setting: The fictional coastal town of Ponderosa Bay, Oregon, 2005

Summary: 11-year-old Analía Monroe drowns in the tidepools on Ponderosa Bay's shores. This time, when her body is pulled from the water, she is already dead. Four years later, Rajel Cohen-Monroe is older than her sister ever got to be. When she begins seeing Analía's ghost guiding her to a series of letters detailing events that occurred several years after her death, Rajel finds herself drawn to the town's mysteries and a teenage outcast named June Bardot.

Status: Complete / 36k

[starlightshadowsworld]

Your mystery question is here! :)

Shooting Star: What would your character wish for if they saw a shooting star?

If Aamirah saw a shooting star she would wish for a good grade. Girl is probably at her desk, flicking through a textbook and scribbling notes when she sees it shoot on by.

She’s wouldn’t wish to simply pass because she needs to do way more than just that.

So wish for a good grade, a great one even like her life depends on it.

Because it just might.

Thanks for this :)

[sunshinehunter]

“Oh for the love of the Light,” Shin rubbed his eyes. Across the table from him Wolf giggled. “Yeah you would be excited about getting more guns you hoarder,” he said with enough snark to make her laugh again quietly. “I dismantle them though,” Wolf complained. “Tell that to the fucking pile of purple engrams in your ship. I flew here in it, I saw them,” he hadn’t seen them but they were always there. He didn't need to see them to know they were there. Ghost had a limited inventory space for the density of data engrams contained so they had to go somewhere. “Well they’re only there because Wolf only wants me to hold onto yellow ones,” Ghost said and Shin nearly fell off his chair in surprise when Ghost deposited six golden-yellow engrams onto the ground next to the table in a jumbled stack. “WOLF!” he cried and that just made her wheeze with laughter. “Go talk to Rahool or something holy shit.”

Used to the Darkness ch 7 preview

We've all been there. I have 4 exotic engrams rotting in my inventory bc idk what to roll them into. In universe 6 is like... an UNREASONABLE amount of exotic engrams to have bc they're so SSR. Normal Guardians see a yellow engram like a few times a year if they work a lot (most exotics are one offs, or can just be bought from a foundry for $$$$$$)

[voidwritesstuff]

Hello fellow writers! Heres a reminder.

Its okay to take breaks on your stories and move to other things.

Its okay to focus in fics and fanart

Your stories are yours, your ocs understand that you need breaks in order to not feel burnt out or to refresh your mind.

Your stories Will be there waiting with all the patience in the world for when youre ready. Good things take time. They'll Wait for hours,days,weeks,months, Years for you,and when you come back they'll greet you with Open arms.

Wether its one story or multiple...

Your story is worth telling

Your stories are worth sharing,no matter the medium.

Youre still a writer even if you took a long break,its still your story even if you took distance from it.

Take your time,youre loved. Take care.

[akiwitch]

character voice tag game

Rules: Rewrite the line of dialogue from the person who tagged you into the voice of your OC’s! (You can include a short beat of action to help establish character if you want.) Pass on the tag with a new line of dialogue.

Thank you for the tag, @sentfromwolves this is so fun! I am going to use some of the Ghost Punch cast. My prompt is "you betrayed me". I'm taking this very seriously.

Shay

"Wow. Just wow. I...I thought we were friends," Shay said, voice shaking slightly. "I thought I was someone special to you. That I could trust you. But in the end, you betrayed me. You stabbed me right in the back." Max sighed, heavily. "I'm sorry I ate the last piece of pizza."

Max

"You could say our friendship levels are...to the max." Shay gave them finger guns. Max didn't even look at her, sipping their coffee. "Not after that betrayal."

Duncan

"I can't believe you've done this." Duncan pressed a hand to his chest. "I thought we were siblings. More than that, I thought we were friends. I cannot believe you betrayed me." "Get good, loser." Shay started the next round of Mario Kart.

Finnias

Finnias made a soft noise, like an injured animal, bringing a hand up to his chest, right over the place where his heart used to be. "You did this. You betrayed me."

heyyyy are we all having fun now?

I'll tag: @faeriecinna @veneritia @saphoblin @mauvelilywilliams @koala2all aaaand anyone else who wants to do it!

Your prompt is: please don't go