waffles-art-writing

[waffles-art-writing]

I've seen a lot of ff writers apologize for their fic being "self-indulgent" which baffles me cause like is that not the entire concept of fanfiction?????

SAY IT WITH ME FOLKS, "FANFICTION IS SUPPOSED TO BE SELF-INDULGENT"

[waffles-art-writing]

Writing Tips

Punctuating Dialogue

✧

➸ “This is a sentence.”

➸ “This is a sentence with a dialogue tag at the end,” she said.

➸ “This,” he said, “is a sentence split by a dialogue tag.”

➸ “This is a sentence,” she said. “This is a new sentence. New sentences are capitalized.”

➸ “This is a sentence followed by an action.” He stood. “They are separate sentences because he did not speak by standing.”

➸ She said, “Use a comma to introduce dialogue. The quote is capitalized when the dialogue tag is at the beginning.”

➸ “Use a comma when a dialogue tag follows a quote,” he said.

“Unless there is a question mark?” she asked.

“Or an exclamation point!” he answered. “The dialogue tag still remains uncapitalized because it’s not truly the end of the sentence.”

➸ “Periods and commas should be inside closing quotations.”

➸ “Hey!” she shouted, “Sometimes exclamation points are inside quotations.”

However, if it’s not dialogue exclamation points can also be “outside”!

➸ “Does this apply to question marks too?” he asked.

If it’s not dialogue, can question marks be “outside”? (Yes, they can.)

➸ “This applies to dashes too. Inside quotations dashes typically express—“

“Interruption” — but there are situations dashes may be outside.

➸ “You’ll notice that exclamation marks, question marks, and dashes do not have a comma after them. Ellipses don’t have a comma after them either…” she said.

➸ “My teacher said, ‘Use single quotation marks when quoting within dialogue.’”

➸ “Use paragraph breaks to indicate a new speaker,” he said.

“The readers will know it’s someone else speaking.”

➸ “If it’s the same speaker but different paragraph, keep the closing quotation off.

“This shows it’s the same character continuing to speak.”

[waffles-art-writing]

“Become The Wolf…”

Some OC writing to try get back into writing.

Song: Sleeping Giants - The Crane Wives

Luka watches as the dark dusty boots near him, the ground of the hot desert rough against his cheek, his blood soaking the ground under the blinking stars of night. Blood spreads across the ground, pooling on the parched earth, staining it red.

A boot pushes him onto his back, making him grunt. His eyes focused on the outline of the devil above him, the light of the moon shining in the man’s eyes. Red hues dancing in the irises like hell fire.

“You’ll be dead.” The man’s voice echoes around Luka’s skull like a bass, reverberating. He doesn't reply, eyes fluttering as his breathing becomes shallow.

“I could have you killed.” The voice states, the black boot now stained red with blood toes at Luka’s chin, making him turn his head.

“It wouldn’t change anything…” Luka whispers, throat bubbling with blood, gargling and weeping with the sickly red liquid.

“It could change the outcome of this war… it will change everything.” the voice tapers off as the figure turns away. Hands in his pockets, standing nonchalant.

Luka tilts his head towards the figure. His head echoes with the screams of children, women, people… the screams of people suffering at the hands he’s suffering at. The same hands that have left him drowning in his own blood, shivering, gargling his last breaths.

“Your pulse is rushing clearly in your ears, something is calling you…” the figure states, almost disinterested. Luka squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block out the noise.

The sounds of suffering people, heavy armoured vehicles, shouts and screams, echoing fire fight, crackling of burning buildings gets louder and louder.

His eyes snap open as the thunderous chaos stops suddenly, he blinks to focus his vision. The figure is still there. But crouched down.

“Kid, get off the ground. Spit your blood and bare your teeth. Go down savage, go down fighting.” Luka’s eyes widen, the figure that was once too shadowed to see is clear. It’s his father, the same dark chocolate eyes, the finger mused hair, the neat facial hair.

Tears well in his eyes, chest tightening.

“Get up.”

Luka shakes his head lightly, not believing he can push himself up and off the ground. His eyes squeeze shut, biting his lip to keep the tears at bay.

“Nobody is coming to save you… get up.” His fathers voice shouts in his ears. His eyes snap open, he finds himself alone… again. No one in front of him, crouched over him.

His fingers twitch, a shiver runs down his spine, he grunts and groans as he attempts to move. Finding his limbs weigh a thousand pounds. He rolls to his side with immense effort, his shoulder protesting, his head pounding, his chest heaving as he coughs, dust cloud kicking up into his eyes.

Blood drips from his mangled throat, punctured chest, sliced shoulder.

“Use the pain, use the anger to get yourself out.”

Luka stares at the bloodied earth, head craning up slowly, pulling at the broken skin.

“You’re playing my game now, son.” His father voice whispers in the back of his mind, making him push hard off the ground, kneeling in the dirt and rock, arms hanging by his sides.

“You can’t quit this game and you can’t lose, and you don’t win till you see your god damn family.”

Luka looks over his shoulder towards the familiar mountains, the hazy figure of his father standing there stares at him, arms crossed, brows set in a frown.

“I don’t know what to do…”

His voice is weak as he talks, hoping his father can help him. Alexander kicks something across the ground, cluttering across the dirt and stones.

“Do what you do best… become the one thing everyone fears.” His words send a shiver down Luka’s spine, Luka stumbles to his feet, his shirt clinging to the blood dripping down his skin.

His blade and mask sit in the dirt, covered in both his own blood and another’s.

“Become the monster…”

Luka picks up the black half mask that sports the painted canine bone jaws, he brushes off the pebbles and dust. He slips the mask on, adjusting how it sits. Knife finding its home in his hand.

“Become the The Wolf…” Kinda back from Hiatus...

[waffles-art-writing]

Vampire decals pt2

[waffles-art-writing]

occasionally I am struck dumb by the sublime beauty of the world in the small moments, you know?

egg

[waffles-art-writing]

"homosexuality is unnatural! there's only two genders! it's a sin-"

I'm sorry, have you seen NATURE???

ALSO THE ARTIST IS HUMON, FIND THEM AT HUMONCOMICS.COM!! was so sure I had included that but apparently I forgot, so sorry!

and there's so many more species than this that exhibit homosexuality, varying genders, etc. SO! MANY!

it's very much a natural thing. it always has been. unfortunately, while homosexuality is found in many species, homophobia is only found in one

EDIT: added a keep reading cause this is a long post lol

EDIT: everyone in the comments needs to shut up or I will turn comments off, stop arguing, jeez

[waffles-art-writing]

THIS!

[waffles-art-writing]

a list of 100+ buildings to put in your fantasy town

academy

adventurer's guild

alchemist

apiary

apothecary

aquarium

armory

art gallery

bakery

bank

barber

barracks

bathhouse

blacksmith

boathouse

book store

bookbinder

botanical garden

brothel

butcher

carpenter

cartographer

casino

castle

cobbler

coffee shop

council chamber

court house

crypt for the noble family

dentist

distillery

docks

dovecot

dyer

embassy

farmer's market

fighting pit

fishmonger

fortune teller

gallows

gatehouse

general store

graveyard

greenhouses

guard post

guildhall

gymnasium

haberdashery

haunted house

hedge maze

herbalist

hospice

hospital

house for sale

inn

jail

jeweller

leatherworker

library

locksmith

mail courier

manor house

market

mayor's house

monastery

morgue

museum

music shop

observatory

orchard

orphanage

outhouse

paper maker

pawn shop

pet shop

potion shop

potter

printmaker

quest board

residence

restricted zone

sawmill

school

scribe

sewer entrance

sheriff's office

shrine

silversmith

spa

speakeasy

spice merchant

sports stadium

stables

street market

tailor

tannery

tavern

tax collector

tea house

temple

textile shop

theatre

thieves guild

thrift store

tinker's workshop

town crier post

town square

townhall

toy store

trinket shop

warehouse

watchtower

water mill

weaver

well

wind mill

wishing well

wizard tower

[waffles-art-writing]

[waffles-art-writing]

March you better be good.

Happiness Will Come To You.

[waffles-art-writing]

[waffles-art-writing]

TASKFORCE 141

"No one fights alone."

[waffles-art-writing]

^^^^ This ^^^^^

Simon "Ghost" Riley is not a rapist.

Simon "Ghost" Riley would not "punish" you so badly you have a miscarriage.

Simon "Ghost" Riley would not tie you up, call you a whore, and tell you to "take it or else"

Simon "Ghost" Riley would not insult your body so bad he gives you an ED.

Sebastian Kreuger would not Kidnap and abuse you.

Phillip Graves would not verbally attack you.

Phillip Graves is not racist or homophobic??

Nikto would not hit you for seeing his face on accident.

König would not throw you against a wall and call you a whore for coming near him, the dude has social anxiety..

idc what anyone says, if you enjoy any of these please get off the internet and figure out a different way to cope, this isn't even proshipper level, this is just wrong.

How are you going to headcanon a victim of SA as a rapist? How are you going to headcanon a victim of a lifetime of abuse as an abuser?

Headcanoning a southern american man as racist and homophobic just feels so icky!

Seriously guys please if you have issues, there are other ways!!!

I'm tired of blocking so many lovely accounts because of the amount of dub-con/noncon/straight up Sexual Assault that's in their reblogs or in the accounts they support and advertise.

There is a difference between tough and straight up fucking insane??? Maybe read the characters backstories and actually take their past into consideration because you guys kinda look dumb for making these characters so OOC. Please get help and keep your gross fics to yourself.

[waffles-art-writing]

Headache, Migraine?

Had a headache, almost migraine. Thought of this after a nap. Hopefully some can relate or it helps others.

Simon Ghost Riley / John Soap MacTavish / Kyle Gaz Garrick / Captain John Price X Reader

No use of Y/N, Pills mentioned, Headache/Migraine talk, description of pain. If I missed something tell me. NOT PROOF READ

(Divider found on Pinterest - NOT MINE)

The throbbing stinging behind your eyes causes you to curl around yourself, pushing your face further into your pillow, trying to drown at then nonexistent light in the room. The blinds are drawn, the door is shut, even the alarm clock is switched off. The only light in your room is whatever is seeping through under the door, or the very edge of the blinds, yet it’s not much.

You’ve kicked your blankets off, pulled them back on many times, the damp towel sitting next to a cold bowl of water discarded on your bedside table. The two empty water bottles laying on the floor, the pain meds not doing anything to help your head.

The room floods with light, clearly coming from the door, which your back is facing. You cringe as you bury yourself deeper in the pillow and bed sheets, the light almost stinging your eyes through your eyelids. Confused, and disoriented on who the hell opened your door without knocking. Maybe they did knock? You just didn’t heart it over the pounding of your own heart, which sounded like it was in your ears.

The light quickly leaves the room, the bed dips behind you as you sink towards the new weight. A large hand comes to rest on your waist, warm and heavy. Gently circles being drawn into the fabric of the bed sheet, their voice hushed.

“Sweetheart?”

You groan, turning away more, squeezing your eyes shut more. “Go away…” you whine, almost sounding like a child who’s throwing a temper tantrum.

“No… what’s wrong?” He pushes, needing an answer from you.

“Headache…” your answers pulls a small hum from him, their weight shifts as they stand from the bed. Muttering something quietly, something you barely catch over the rushing of blood through your ears. Light floods the room again, then it’s gone. Door open then closed.

He left… he clearly doesn’t care. Why would he? He’s not your parent, he’s not your significant other, you’re in the god damn military. There’s no room to be held back by some headache, a migraine.

Your eyes are barely open when light casts itself across the wall again, then vanishes as quickly as it came. The bed dips again, the sound of water sloshing behind you, droplets falling back into the bowl of water, the towel being rung out. The soothing cold settles across the back of your neck, a hand brushing your hair to the side, out of your face, away from the sweat crowing your forehead.

His hand rests on your shoulder, thumb pressing into your sore muscles, which draws a quiet whine from you. He prompts you with a quiet ‘sit up for me, doll’ or something along those lines. All you feel is a light tug on your shirt, feeling your head sway like a sack of bricks as you sit up.

“Here… take these.” You see the two small pills in his hand, a cold water bottle in the other. You take the pills, followed by the cold water which you sigh at. Glad that it’s cold, better than the room temperature water you already have. “Thank you…” you mutter, leaning your forehead against his shoulder.

“It’s alright… how long have you been like this?” He asks, a hand coming to rest on your back. Drawing small patterns, listening to you mutter something about a few hours. Followed by an apology, which he shakes his head to, saying there’s no need for an apology. “It’s okay you have a headache, things like this happen. You aren’t invincible…” he states, leaving a kiss on your temple.

“Just rest… don’t strain yourself.” He states, guiding you to lay back down. Hand resting on your shoulder, eyes flickering across your features in the dark, a small smile playing on his lips as he feels your breathing even out. Leaving you to rest quietly, not before pressing a lingering kiss to your temple. Muttering a hushed “sleep well, sweetheart.” Before slipping out the door, closing it softly.

Hope you liked it :))

[waffles-art-writing]

Hands

I don’t really know what this is, other than late night brain go *Brrr* and that I am trying to get back into writing again.

No use of Y/N or any name. Not proof read.

Simon Ghost Riley / John Soap MacTavish / Kyle Gaz Garrick / Captain John Price X Reader

Hands are like story books for people, they can be soft as feathers, gentle as snow yet they can be calloused and rough like stone. They can be the bringers of life or the bringer of death, you’ll never know till you see them covered in scars and blood.

His hands hold his life story, from when he was a wee babe to now, where your hands are tracing shapes across the scars. Gliding across the callouses that have formed over the years of hard work, constant exposed to the elements of the world. Never treated with softness, kindness… love.

Till this very moment, this moment where your fingers trace the pale scars like they are words on a page, like you are reading the story behind the pain and carnage the scar was formed by. The same displeasure the man holds towards them, the same scars he thinks are ugly, unacceptable, mean and unloveable. Yet here you are, holding his hand with such softness, pads of your fingers memorising the scars like a they are the most important thing in this world. They trail across his knuckles, the same knuckles that were bruised and bloodied, dripping with crimson on the mission he made it back from.

You know they have been tainted with the blood of hundreds and thousands of people, yet you continue to hold them like they are a fragile, precious thing you’ll break if you so much as shift your weight. You hold them like a new parents does with a baby, cradling them.

Showing the love you have to offer to the scars that paint his skin, like the stars that paint the night sky. Yet he doesn’t understand how you can love them, they are jagged and rough, cut through his skin like a knife to butter. They hold the stories of many lives lost.

But he does not know, with each life he took, each scar he gained, he saved twice as many lives.

He won’t see it, but you’ll make him see it, with the way you place his hands shading your cheeks. Leaning into them, fingers wrapped around his wrists, thumb tracing circles on the inside of his wrist and pulling him forward. Muttering sweet nothings, like they are secrets needing to be whispered amongst a crowd. Yet you’re sitting here alone, on the floor, in your sleep clothes, calming the raging storm that you can see in his eyes.

Emotions churning like a wild sea, waves crashing against rocks and cliffs, unable to see the clear waters of a calm dawn. But with your gentle pulling, hushed voice, and gentle caresses the raging oceans calm to rippling sea. Gentle wave lapping at the shore, allowing emotions to flow without the harshness of the world casting its judgment upon him.

His emotions swirl through him, his fingers twitch, inching across your cheeks. Cupping them like you’re made of glass. They are rough as stone but they are so warm and soft, the same warmth you cradle in your hands as you hold them gently. Fingers tracing the stories hidden beneath the scars.

They are his hands, his stories.

The hands you love and hold, the stories you listen and read without needing words.

His hands are the ones you love.

Anyways…. Hope you liked it.

[waffles-art-writing]

Prime spot for me was curled up on the armchair in the living room. 🫡

bonus points if it was on a couch

[waffles-art-writing]