Ghost ☆

₊‧.°.⋆ a silly guy who writes abt the things in their head ⋆.°.‧₊ they/them

[xxxprosp3r0neilxxx]

Victor Frankenstein syndrome aka you spent nights over nights crying and bleeding over this work and now that it's finally done you're just like "nvm. it's trash" and go to bed

[ghosting-cats]

studying for finals is the closest experience to judgement day i’ll endure in my time on earth.

[ghosting-cats]

it’s so embarrassing sending friends your WIPs, like yeah, here. here’s my thoughts and soul typed up on a doc and it might be garbage, and i am absolutely terrified of what you’ll say next. love you though

[ddeerlybeloved]

kinda fucked up that im not a tv show character or like a 14 year old's oc Because i would've been really really good at that

[blinditem]

[ghosting-cats]

i could be a good mother — rendition of my calico critter, his name is terry and i love him

[ghosting-cats]

St. Micheal Defeating the Devil — went to an art museum today and saw lots of things that made me itch to write, including this piece

[ghosting-cats]

life can be so romantic when one fancies trivialities and lets crushing empathy rule over their heart—when a frown twists at the sight of an abandoned pen, eyes caressing the plastic and springs with a revered softness, wondering if it’s ink feels abandoned as it dries inconsequentially—it reminds one of the fondness of human nature

[ghosting-cats]

The Picture of Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde - 1891

[ghosting-cats]

i'd like to later share stories of my own when they're ready (in my mind), but it's also quite frightening to imagine my characters floating around the web forever.....

[ghosting-cats]

“The day after I knew you were gone I sipped cold coffee and shivered, the feeling burning through my nose and rattling my skull in its casing. I felt the skin on my neck and how it covered veins, arteries, and the beating blood of my heart. I hated being human at that moment because I was aware of how fragile I was.” (3/16/25)

[novlr]

“The writer's job is to get the main character up a tree, and then once they are up there, throw rocks at them.” — Vladimir Nabokov