#writer hell

[kitcats-1-braincell]

Oughh….lemme just say writing hell is NOT FUN when you’re trying your write things for a game/something you wanna do………..please let me write about you cigarette man………

[fophelia1331-oldblog]

My god, I had a fic that I've gone between editing and rewriting for TWO YEARS. It was supposed to be my first Project Sekai fic, but like, I never felt it was polished enough even when I "finished it" a couple different times. I wrote the original in like four hours one day in October 2022. I've been tormented by this thing for so long. I could just post it, it's probably fine, but it just... doesn't have the right feel. Totally overthinking it, yet I'm still gonna keep working on it. Wish me luck, I think I need it.

[ineffablymanic]

SCREAMING

My constant struggle when writing PWP

[theaftersundown]

fanfiction truly being the savior for everyones sanity

[queer-herobrine]

"English is not my first language" writers have two modes

Most eloquent and fancy way of expressing themselves to the point it comes off as pretentious (we're trying so hard to use every word we've ever learned but for some reason no native English speakers get taught any of it)

Or

That's not even a language im sure, it looks like every possible typo had an orgy and this was the nightmare baby that came of it

[lunarsands]

*gnaws on own brain* I want to write I want to write I want to write I want to write I want to write! Will. You. Please. Focus! *gnaw gnaw gnaw*

[creepyclothdoll]

The Devil's Wheel

The Devil’s Wheel

“If you say yes,” said the Devil, “a single man, somewhere in the world, will be killed on the spot. But three million dollars is nothing to sneeze at, missus.”

“What’s the catch?” You squint at him suspiciously over the red-and-black striped carnival booth. You’re smarter than he thinks you are– a devil deal always has a catch, and you’re determined to catch him before he catches you. 

“Well, the catch is that you’ll know you did it. And I’ll know, too. And the big man upstairs’ll know, I ‘spose. But what’s the chariot of salvation without a little sin to grease the wheels? You can repent from your mansion balcony, looking out at your waterfront views, sipping a bellini in your eighties. But hey, it’s up to you– take my deal or leave it.”

The Devil lights a cigar without a match, taking an inhale, and blowing out a cloud of deep, sweet-smelling tobacco laced faintly with something that reminds you of rotten eggs. If he does have horns, they’re hidden under his lemon yellow carnival barker hat. He wears a clean pinstripe suit and a red bowtie. No cloven hooves, no big pointy fork, but you know he’s the Devil without having to be told. Though he did introduce himself.

He’s been perfectly polite. 

You know you need the money. He knows it too, or he wouldn’t have brought you here, to this strange dark room, whisking you away from your new house in the suburbs as fast as a wish. Now you’re in some sort of warehouse, where all the windows seem to be blacked out– or, maybe, they simply look out into pitch darkness, though it is the middle of the day. A single white spotlight shines down on the two of you. 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” you say. “I bet the man is someone I know, right? My husband?”

“Could be,” the Devil says with a pointed grin. “That’s for the wheel to decide.”

He steps back and raises his black-gloved hand as the tarp flies off of the large veiled object behind him. The light of the carnival wheel nearly blinds you. Blinking lights line the sides. Jingling music blares over speakers you can’t see. The flickering sign above it reads:

THE DEVIL’S WHEEL

“Step right up and claim your fortune,” the Devil barks. “Spin the wheel and pay the price! Or leave now, and a man keeps his life.”

You examine the wheel. 

The gambling addict

The doting boyfriend

The escaped convict

The dog dad

The secretive sadist

“These are all the possible men I can kill?” You ask, thumbing the side of the wheel. It rolls smoothly in your hand. Then you quickly stop, realizing that this might constitute a spin under the Devil’s rules. He flashes a smile at you, watching you halt its motion. 

“Addicts, convicts, murderers– plenty of terrible options for you to land on, missus!”

“Serial wife murderer?”

“Now who would miss a fellow like that? I can guarantee that the whole world would be better off without him in it, and that’s a fact.”

The hard worker

The compulsive liar

The animal torturer

The widower

The desperate businessman

The failed musician

The beloved son

“My husband is on here too,” you say. 

“Your husband Dave, yes. The wheel has to be fair, otherwise there’s simply no stakes.”

“I know what’s gonna happen,” you say, crossing your arms. “This wheel is rigged. I’m gonna spin it around, and it’ll go through all the killers and stuff, and then it’s gonna land on my husband no matter what.”

“Why, I would never disgrace the wheel that way,” the Devil says, wounded. “I swear on my own mother’s grave– may she never escape it. In fact, take one free spin, just to test it out! This one’s on me, no death, no dollars.”

You cautiously reach up to the top of the wheel and feel its heaviness in your hand. The weight of hundreds of lives. But also, millions of dollars. You pull the wheel down and let it go.

Clackity-clackity-clackity-clackity

Round and round it goes. 

The college graduate

The hockey fan

The Eagle Scout

The cold older brother

The charming younger brother

The two-faced middle child

The perfectionist

The slob 

Your husband Dave

Clackity-clackity-clackity.

Finally, the wheel lands on a name. A title, really.

The photographer

“Hmm, tough, missus, but that’s the way of the wheel. But hey, look! Your husband is allllll the way over here,” he points with his cane to the very bottom of the wheel, all the way on the other side from where the arrow landed. “As you can see, it’s not rigged. The wheel truly is random.”

“So… there really isn’t another catch?” You ask. 

“Isn’t it enough for you to end a man’s life? You need a steeper price? If you’re really such a glutton for punishment, I’ll gladly re-negotiate the terms.”

“No, no… wait.” You examine the wheel, glancing between it and the Devil.

You really could use that three million dollars. Newly married, new house, you and your husband’s combined debt– those student loans really follow you around. He’s quite a bit older than you, and even he hasn’t paid them off yet, to the point where the whole time you were dating you watched him stress out about money. You had to have a small, budget wedding, and a small, budget honeymoon. Three million dollars could be big for the two of you. You could re-do your honeymoon and go somewhere nice, like Hawaii, instead of just taking two weeks in Atlantic City. You deserve it. 

Even so, do you really want to kill an innocent photographer? Or an innocent seasonal allergy sufferer? Or an innocent blogger? Just because you don’t know or love these people doesn’t mean that someone doesn’t. 

The cancer survivor

The bereaved

The applicant

Some of these were so vague. They could be anyone, honestly. Your neighbors, your father, your friends…

The newlywed

The ex-gifted kid

The uncle

The Badgers fan

“My husband is a Badgers fan,” you say.

“How lovely,” the Devil says. 

Then it hits you.

Of course.

The weightlifter.

The careful driver.

The manager.

The claustrophobe.

Your husband Dave lifts weights at the gym twice a month. You wouldn’t call him a pro, but he does it. He also drives like he’s got a bowl of hot soup in his lap all the time, because he’s afraid of being pulled over. He just got promoted to management at his company, and he takes the stairs to his seventh-story office because he hates how small and cramped the elevator is.

“I get your game,” you announce. “You thought you could get me, but I figured you out, jackass!” “Oh really? What is my game, pray tell?” The Devil responds, leaning against his cane.

“All these different titles– they’re all just different ways to describe the same guy. My husband isn’t one notch on the wheel, he’s every notch. No matter what I land on, Dave dies. I’m wise to your tricks!” 

The Devil cackles. 

“You’re a clever one, that’s for sure. I thought you’d never figure it out.”

“Thanks but no thanks, man,” you say with a triumphant smirk. “I’m no rube. No deal. Take me back home.”

“As you wish, missus,” the Devil says. He snaps his fingers, and you’re gone, back to your brand-new house with your new husband. “Don’t say I never tried to help anyone.”

[prettyp1nkbunny]

[sadagios]

GRIA: yes, my boyfriend doesnt remember me but we ARE getting back together

GRIA: ok so maybe he does remember . but hes just acting coy right? hahahaha ... RIGHT....?

[kather111ine]

my downfall, but in a lana del rey way

[star-struck09]

Do you think of me as often as I think of you?

[blurredcoffeeforme]

[finitalacommediah]

will you be my overexplainer if I'm an overthinker?

[moopsoup]

“i ain’t lettin you in no more, remmick.”your voice barely holds. arms crossed. jaw set. like you’re trying to convince yourself more than him. “can’t keep doin whatever this is with you.”

remmick leans on the doorframe, arms loose at his sides, head tilted just enough to look sweet. innocent. “you say that every time.”

“cause i mean it.” you said as simply as ever but you knew he could read you like a damn children’s book.

he hums low. slow smile curling at his lips.

“what if i fuck you real nice this time?” he says, voice like honey poured slow. “sweet n’ slow. how you like it. kiss every inch of you. let you sit on my face? hm?”

you blink. heart kicks. throat tight. “you think that’s gonna work on me?”

he shrugs. doesn’t even bother looking guilty. “i hope so?” he licks his bottom lip, eyes dragging over you like he already knows how this ends.

“c’mon, sugar. let me in.”

your hand’s still on the door. you should close it. really you should. don’t give in.

instead, you step aside. “come in.” you sigh

[liaisun]

losing my damn mind. "why break forever into measurable increments?" OF COURSE THEY MADE IT, NEITHER ONE HAD ANY DOUBT.

[fcaruana]

franco revealing he's had car sex on a random tuesday