i'm evergreen/angel and i'm over here to gather inspiration for my originals and to post my shorter work! please bear in mind that since this is a sideblog i can't reply to any comments or follow anybody <3.
please feel free to make requests, but please know they may not be followed up very quickly due to school work. if you want to request something from a fandom not listed, please do! i might have just forgotten to list them.
what i won't write: nsfw, rpf
fandoms i would write for: doctor who/torchwood, btvs, umbrella academy, six of crows, danger days/killjoys, takin' over the asylum, percy jackson and the olympians (and hoo/toa), the lost boys (1), heathers (specifically the musical)
fandoms i won't write for: dream smp, wilbur soot, lovejoy.
to find my writing: search musings on my blog’s search OR check my ao3 (justcallmeangel)
Apparently a lot of people get dialogue punctuation wrong despite having an otherwise solid grasp of grammar, possibly because they’re used to writing essays rather than prose. I don’t wanna be the asshole who complains about writing errors and then doesn’t offer to help, so here are the basics summarized as simply as I could manage on my phone (“dialogue tag” just refers to phrases like “he said,” “she whispered,” “they asked”):
“For most dialogue, use a comma after the sentence and don’t capitalize the next word after the quotation mark,” she said.
“But what if you’re using a question mark rather than a period?” they asked.
“When using a dialogue tag, you never capitalize the word after the quotation mark unless it’s a proper noun!” she snapped.
“When breaking up a single sentence with a dialogue tag,” she said, “use commas.”
“This is a single sentence,” she said. “Now, this is a second stand-alone sentence, so there’s no comma after ‘she said.’”
“There’s no dialogue tag after this sentence, so end it with a period rather than a comma.” She frowned, suddenly concerned that the entire post was as unasked for as it was sanctimonious.
Ever Fallen in Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've?) || JD (Heathers) x British!Reader
Cross-posted on AO3
CHAPTER ONE : I Can't See Much of a Future
11AM in Sherwood, Ohio, so 4PM back home, and you were watching ever-so-painfully as the classroom clock ticked down to 12, when you could escape around back with a mediocre American sandwich from the cafeteria and your copy of Sylvia Plath’s Ariel to fuel your lamenting. Sure, this quick dip across the pond (as it was first proposed to you) has helped your family financially, that couldn’t be denied, but God, did it make you lonely. Last July, you were ever-so-politely begged to accompany your twenty-five year-old brother to his exciting yet confidential new science job for a few weeks while your parents ‘sorted something out’, but then the weeks turned into months and now you are approaching your 6th month in redneck America with excruciating lethargy.
Sure, you made friends, but you’ve had it up to here with them; with the only name people use for you being ‘Redcoat’, with constantly being asked if you want tea, with incessant comments about British girls being more ‘polite in bed’ than American ones from two certain jocks who you are far too dignified to name. You’re smart, yes, but you find it hard not to be when comparing the two school systems you have been enslaved to, and pretty, apparently, but you’re unsure if that is just due to the novelty of your nationality messing with people’s heads. Despite your personal qualities and the privileges they bring, you know that you hate it here.
So, once you step outside that classroom, you go through the motions. Your most often-seen acquaintance, Ivy, immediately pounces on you, fresh off a period of smoking in the third floor girls’ toilets, and bombards you with news of a ‘rad party’ the weekend coming, and asks where you got your lipstick before deciding it must be from ‘one of those London brands’. You are not from London. However, you have tried to play upon people’s assumptions, and have adopted a far posher accent than usual to quell any commotion surrounding the fact that England does in fact, have a North. Then, two unfortunately familiar boys, towering proud in their letterman jackets, approach you, their chests puffed out in a manner that you can only relate to birds during mating season. They ask you your plans for the weekend, with a barely understandable guffaw lacing their tone. Upon being told that they’ll have to ‘wait and see’, they admonish you for being ‘such a tease’ and in turn, ‘so British’ and move on to a girl far less world-weary and far more susceptible to their advances. Ivy grabs you by the arm and pulls you around the corner, into an empty classroom far from other people’s prying ears.
“I, personally, cannot ‘wait and see’. My entire schedule this week revolves around who will be where, when, and I cannot deal with showing at that party and not having anyone to tell Kurt and Ram to ‘shove off’.”
Each time she quotes you, she does so in a cheap imitation of your accent, and you find plenty of opportunity to roll your eyes. Desperately putting off the decision, as it will inevitably be to go somewhere where you’d prefer to be six feet underground, you decide to laugh at her.
“Why have you dragged me into an empty classroom, Ivy? Planning something nefarious?”
It’s her turn to roll her eyes, now.
“It’s because I’m your friend, and I know you like to do the whole aloof British girl shtick around the boys, so I’ll help you preserve your image, but, God, do I need an answer.”
You sigh.
“Imminently?” You try.
She nods once, determined.
“Imminently.”
You sigh, and turn your head away from her to hide your disappointment, as you were honestly planning on staying in this Saturday and watching Doctor Who on that illegal, pirate TV channel you’d found that somehow manages to hijack the BBC signals right to your home television. You suppose you will have to wait until it is released on VHS.
“Look, unless something comes up, I’ll come. Can’t have you facing those big, mean boys all by yourself, can I?”
When you finish, she envelops you in a hug, resting her head on your shoulder and wrapping her arms so tightly around you that you earnestly cannot breathe for a few seconds. In these seconds, your slightly oxygen-starved brain surveys her, and you honestly don’t know how she survived without you: she’s petite, crudely so, her head barely reaching your neck in the hug despite your lacklustre height of around 5”6; she’s all curves and no edges, wrapped up in whatever Madonna was wearing last week and most worryingly, every emotion she experiences is immediately on her face as if you were watching some sort of hammy pantomime. You feel as if you must go to the party on Saturday, only to bring all the attention and undressing eyes off her.
Still clinging to you like some sort of overgrown toddler, she whines, pouting.
“What would come up that would make you leave me all alone?”
You laugh slightly at the carping, high pitch of her voice and you murmur something not truly thought out, just something to make sure you don’t develop tinnitus.
“I don’t know, if a guy asks me out or something.”
She pulls away from you and her face quite literally glows, as if she is being lit from behind.
“Is there a guy who would ask you out? If so, I need to meet him.”
You laugh truly now, if not slightly incredulously.
“You’re not my mother, Ivy. Plus, there isn't even a guy! That was a hypothetical!”
She hums, shaking her head vigorously.
“I’ll get to the bottom of this, Redcoat, just you see.”
Just like that, she bounds through the classroom door, a blur of a low-cut shirt and tight black trousers, leaving you all alone, surveying the ‘ALGEBRA IS FUN!’ poster of the classroom that you now know contains maths lessons. Irritated, you correct your inner monologue that you have to say ‘math’ now (why - it’s not mathematic, is it?) and calmly debate grabbing some food. Twelve to twelve-twenty is Kurt and Ram’s demon time, and although their torment isn’t enacted on you in such an obvious way, you find it incredibly difficult to sit through the literal bullying of random, helpless American kids and act like you find it funny. It is slightly, but your fun ends when you remember that these aren’t cartoon characters from the American TV shows and instead actual, real-life kids. So, you decide that your best train of thought is to pull out Ariel, which you cling to like a security blanket and paw feverishly to one of your tabbed and wildly annotated pages and read Lady Lazarus, whispering the lyrical lines to yourself like some sort of maddened prayer to an ancient Goddess. You’ll grab some food at some point, you decide.
Around the last couple of verse paragraphs, sometime about the commanding of ‘Herr God’ and ‘Herr Lucifer’, you hear a dry voice leering near the previously unopened door.
“Sylvie, huh?”
You look up to see a teenage boy, his gaunt yet lanky frame cloaked in a deep black trenchcoat, fluffy, tawny fringe nearly covering his eyes, which you can vaguely see are a dark brown, seemingly containing multitudes. Immediately, something seems wrong about him. Unfortunately, this only intrigues you more and you decide to amuse him.
“Mhm, she’s my patron poet.”
He takes this opportunity to stride forward, his pace not suggesting he’s aware that he’s intruding, letting the door swing then slam behind him. His face doesn’t even react to your accent. He doesn’t give away much, actually, just simply nodding his head in response and vaguely smirking as he comes over. He slides onto the desk facing the one you’ve claimed as your seat and his intent gaze implies that you cannot just flip over to Tulips.
“I’m new”, he says, “I’ve been told to find the registry office, yet never been told where the registry office actually is.”
You sigh, in a performative manner that is unusual for you and slide Ariel back into your backpack.
“Follow me. I arrived in September, so I’m pretty sure the way is still in my memory.” You trail off for a moment, but when the boy barely replies, only mirroring you by propelling himself off the desk, you say more. “I’m not from around here.”
He laughs slightly at this, as you can hear a slight, dry chuckle from behind you.
“Somehow, I could tell. Hey, if it makes you feel any better, I’m not from around these parts either.”
Due to your place of origin, you can’t distinguish different American accents apart, unless those accents are rootin’ tootin' cowboy or valley girl, so you are genuinely shocked by this reveal, and you think the boy can tell, as that endearingly miniscule laugh repeats itself.
“I couldn’t have guessed,” You beam, before shock settles on your body and you whip your head around. “God, I have been so rude. I’m Evelyn.”
He makes an attempt at a polite smile, and only says: “Nice to meet you, Evelyn.”
Silently, you continue walking.
Trying to shake off your slight horror at his unwritten-rule-breaking behaviour of not sharing his name in return, you try to make yet another quip.
“I still don’t know why they need another office just for admissions. Surely, they could just use the regular one.”
You cast your eyes behind you, careful not to slow your stride, but you notice that he’s not even smiling, instead, his lips flatten into a straight line.
“They’d get overloaded, Evelyn. Highschool makes kids crazy: they quit, they die, they kill themselves, whatever. Then, another worker drone comes to take their place - rinse and repeat. If you aren’t pulling your hair out by now, you’re stronger than most.”
You, to be completely frank, are stunned. Unsure about whether that was even a joke or not, you let out a muffled, half-laugh before deciding that being candid is your best bet to keep this conversation afloat.
“I’m just waiting to get on that plane back home, to be honest. I was only meant to be here for a few weeks, then the weeks turned into months and then… I don’t know.” You trail off, slightly taken aback at how honest you are around him.
It wasn’t too long ago that you decided that who you are at school is a front, a character to pull you through. Now here you are, expressing actual emotions and being an actual person in front of a literal stranger who you don’t even know the name of.
You turn fully around now, meeting him in the eyes and you notice that he is fully considering your statement, his eyes not even meeting yours, instead unwavering straight ahead.
Suddenly, he speaks.
“I want to get out, too. I think everyone does, really.”
This lulls you into a rather placid silence, you somewhat cocooned with the revelation that you think, deep down, you already knew. Keeping up a steady pace, you soon reach the registry office and the boy begins to leave you, turning his back. You hear your voice escaping your mouth before you even realise you’re speaking.
“Will I be seeing you around?” Your voice sounds distant, yet hopeful.
Swivelling to face you, he smiles in a way that is actually genuine, in a tone which is the lightest you’ve ever heard from him, you hear:
“Hopefully.”
And then he is gone.
(P.S.: Reblog with the word 'taglist' to be added to the taglist)
Hi everyone ! It’s another masterlist, requested by @anon, this time dedicated to WRITING RESOURCES BLOG. On this list, you’ll find blogs sharing writing tips, informations and advice. (updated:24.02.24)
it's always so fascinating and heartbreaking when a character in a story is simultaneously idolized and abused. a chosen prophet destined for martyrdom. a child prodigy forced to grow up too fast. a powerful warrior raised as nothing but a weapon. there's just something so uniquely messed up about singing someone's praises whilst destroying them.
While it's important to approach writing with creativity and imagination, it's crucial to prioritize responsible and ethical storytelling. That being said, if you're looking for information on poisons for the purpose of writing fiction, it's essential to handle the subject matter with care and accuracy. Here is a list of some common poisons that you can use in your stories:
Hemlock: Hemlock is a highly poisonous plant that has been used as a poison in various works of literature. It can cause paralysis and respiratory failure.
Arsenic: Arsenic is a toxic element that has been historically used as a poison. It can be lethal in high doses and can cause symptoms such as vomiting, abdominal pain, and organ failure.
Cyanide: Cyanide is a fast-acting poison that affects the body's ability to use oxygen. It can cause rapid loss of consciousness and cardiac arrest.
Nightshade: Nightshade plants, such as Belladonna or Deadly Nightshade, contain toxic compounds that can cause hallucinations, respiratory distress, blurred vision, dizziness, an increased heart rate, and even death when ingested.
Ricin: Ricin is a potent poison derived from the castor bean plant. It can cause organ failure and has been used as a plot device in various fictional works.
Strychnine: Strychnine is a highly toxic alkaloid that affects the nervous system, leading to muscle spasms, convulsions, and respiratory failure.
Snake Venom: Various snake venoms can be used in fiction as deadly poisons. Different snake species have different types of venom, each with its own effects on the body.
Digitalis: Digitalis, derived from the foxglove plant, contains cardiac glycosides. It has been historically used to treat heart conditions, but in high doses, it can be toxic. Overdosing on digitalis can cause irregular heart rhythms, nausea, vomiting, and visual disturbances.
Lead: Lead poisoning, often resulting from the ingestion or inhalation of lead-based substances, has been a concern throughout history. Lead is a heavy metal that can affect the nervous system, leading to symptoms such as abdominal pain, cognitive impairment, anemia, and developmental issues, particularly in children.
Mercury: Mercury is a toxic heavy metal that has been used in various forms throughout history. Ingesting or inhaling mercury vapors can lead to mercury poisoning, causing symptoms like neurological impairment, kidney damage, respiratory issues, and gastrointestinal problems.
Aconite: Also known as Wolfsbane or Monkshood, aconite is a highly toxic plant. Its roots and leaves contain aconitine alkaloids, which can affect the heart and nervous system. Ingesting aconite can lead to symptoms like numbness, tingling, paralysis, cardiac arrhythmias, and respiratory failure.
Thallium: Thallium is a toxic heavy metal that can cause severe poisoning. It has been used as a poison due to its tastelessness and ability to mimic other substances. Thallium poisoning can lead to symptoms like hair loss, neurological issues, gastrointestinal disturbances, and damage to the kidneys and liver.
When incorporating poisons into your writing, it is essential to research and accurately portray the effects and symptoms associated with them. Additionally, be mindful of the potential impact your writing may have on readers and the importance of providing appropriate context and warnings if necessary.
If you want to read more posts about writing, please click here and give me a follow!
writers when they’re proofreading their works for the 34th time *find zero mistakes, there’s no typo, no grammatical error. everything looks good. hit the post button*
writers when they’re reading said works after they’ve been published like proud parents *find 52 mistakes at first glance, 38 typos and 14 grammatical errors with a bunch of inconsistencies and plot holes*
My friend @jaykinarts and I were talking about how some characters in TOTA are very underrated - especially compared to Campbell and Fergus - when they really deserve just as much love.
This conversation led to an idea.......
So, Jay and I would like to present:
TAKIN OVER THE ASYLUM APPRECIATION WEEK
(11th - 16th of December)
Monday 11th-> Rosalie Garrity
Tuesday 12th-> Francine Boyle
Wednesday 13th-> Eddie McKenna
Thursday 14th-> Fergus Mackinnon
Friday 15th-> Campbell Bain
Saturday 16th-> Donna Franceschild and TOTA in general (as a show/play).
How to participate?
- Post about the chosen character for each day on that day. You don't have to do it every single day, and it doesn't have to be much - but just try to post anything about that character on that day. It can be screenshots/photos, headcanons, random thoughts, general appreciation, short textposts, fanfiction -- literally anything you want. It is entirely up to you how you participate.
What's the point?
- Filling the Takin' Over the Asylum tag with appreciation for the other characters as well, instead of just Campbell. (I love Campbell, I'm guilty of talking only about him too, but) Let's show everyone a bit of love.
Tag your posts with "#TOTA Takeover" so we can see how it goes.
COME ON GUYS!!! LETS GIVE OUR BEAUTIFUL SHOW ( Takin' Over The Asylum ) AND IT'S LOVELY CREATOR ( Donna Franceschild ) THE LOVE IT DESERVES!! I CANT WAIT TO SEE WHAT WE CAN ALL COME UP WITH <33
Please forgive the crunchiness of the image, I made it in microsoft paint. These have been left rather open-ended for max creativity. They're completely up to interpretation and I can't wait to see what everyone does with them. I'll be putting up a full FAQ shortly, but in the meantime please send in asks and spread the word! As a reminder there's a discord server open if a collaborative environment is something that would help (and even if you think it wouldn't, you might be surprised)! Happy creating!
The last group of humanity find themselves on a space ship accelerating at 99% of the speed of light. The Sun has expanded, consuming Earth. On Day 284, You wake up while everyone else is asleep to see your closest friend leaving his bed, a knife in hand.
I saw his shadow first, stalking across the metal confines of our claustrophobic room which we had shared since day one; I heard his footsteps, timid and mouse-like which echoed tinny around our caved walls as he tried to compress himself to fit through the barely existent gap between my feet and the metal sheets which boxed us in. He looked so small, pressed against that monster which enveloped him, splayed across the aluminium.
“What are you doing?”
I said, voice strangely cold and demanding as it pierced the 3AM air. It didn’t even sound like me, instead a rather uncanny impression. He didn’t even turn his head, instead he tried to make himself invisible in the cloak of the night. I hadn’t noticed it at this point, that which he was carrying - it was so small, so unthreatening that it just blurred in with the blue of the universe at that specific hour. There were no gleams refracting, no drips of crimson against my sheets, just Adam, on a midnight stroll. Reacting viscerally to my frank tone, I reduced my volume, raised my pitch, softened myself and tried to lighten the mood.
“Do you even know what time it is? It’ll be past 3 by this point, go back to sleep.”
Still, he didn’t respond. The shadow rolled its shoulders behind him, extending itself slightly. Though I’m sure he did the same, all I could focus on was that mass of black, all looming and menacing. To me, it was still the same Adam, small little Adam who was unsure why he was picked to be saved and sent away on this ship; sweet, insecure Adam with the posh accent that made our crewmates laugh. He cried more than anybody the day the Earth went away, although we all knew it was inevitable by that point, and I held him as he shook, trying not to mirror him myself. Knowing it was going to happen didn’t take away the pain of your home being reduced to ash, to chalk.
“Do you know how irritated Vinh will be if you take water that you didn’t put your name down for? They said that if anybody takes more than their rations, we’ll run out before we can restock?”
Vinh was our Captain, self-appointed as they were the only one who knew how to drive the ship. They were a car engineer back on Earth, child of two immigrant parents, the oldest of five, and this meant that they were obsessed with order, everything going exactly as planned. Although I knew they weren’t really one for hyperbole, I didn’t really believe their doomsaying about rationing. However, I knew Adam was deathly afraid of Vinh, and as I’d assumed he was going out for a late-night drink of water, I’d decided to act as if I completely did so he would come back, not wanting to face our commander’s wrath in the morning.
“Milena, I’ll be fine. Go back to sleep.”
He, too, did not sound like himself. Instead, all the life and personality had been syphoned from his tone, and instead of sounding cold, his voice lacked temperature all-together. He sounded wrong, he sounded sick. In response, I began to scramble madly for the light switch, that tiny wire that fell limp to the side of our clinical light boxes.
“Milena, I’m warning you. Go back to sleep.”
He had to yell over the cacophony of my attempts to bring light to the space, to be able to see his face and not just a shadow. I would have killed for even a vague outline by this point.
Yet, he was too late. That pure white, that pure apathetic light painted the whole room blank. In some frenzied endeavour to check on him, I meet his eyes, skim his body. His pupils were dark and the blade was bright. I made an effort not to scream.
“Adam, what is that?”
I squeak in a hushed whisper. It was extremely obvious what it was, but I was still holding out hope that what I was seeing wasn’t real, some trick of the light. But this light was unfeeling, it did not have jokes. Everything was real.
“I told you to go back to sleep, Milena.”
It was so formal, the way he now said my name. Like he did not really know me, like this was a job interview or the appointment in which a doctor would deliver terrible, lethal news. That was threatening, this impersonality, like he had no attachment to me, so he could not be reasoned with, I thought that none of my pleas could get through to him. None of them would.
The light was stifled, and the red proceeded the pain.
