I really enjoy writing stuff.

Like... A lot

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Hey so quick question. Why did in Goblet of Fire did no one go hey Harry can still compete, he can just walk in and forfeit? Like boom problem solved. No need for him to fight a dragon, nearly drown trying to save his friend and some random tween. No Voldemort coming back like... Hogwarts... also what if Harry just said nah I won’t compete? What would the consequences be? The goblet chose him it’s a fucking cup! And had obviously been tampered with so it was obviously a trap to try to kill Harry so why let him compete? Ministry wtf?

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Fuck China and Fuck you Blizzard for supporting them

For those of you who haven’t heard, blizzard has taken Hearthstone Grandmaster player Chung “blitzchung” Ng Wai’s fairly won tournament winnings, and suspended him from playing for a year. All of this in retaliation to him speaking out against China’s actions to his home city of Hong Kong in light of China’s aggressive military occupation.

This has cemented only one thing in my, and I hope, many peoples minds. That blizzard has fallen, and is now nothing more than a cowardly organization, that cares more about money, than democracy and freedom of speech.

If you support Hong Kong, freedom and wish to show your support. Start by detracting your support from companies that do things like this. The quickest way to make any of them listen, is through their wallets.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Why you should make sure you can pronounce names in DnD

Ok so context we just started a new campaign and this is a first time dm.

So our characters start by being contracted to get rid of a nearby bandit encampment. Nothing to special right? That was until we asked what the bandit groups name was.

DM: The Bang Boys (it was supposed to be Baying)

(Me) Bard: The Bang Boys?

DM sounding scared: Baying guys, Baying

Druid: Bang Boys

Rogue: Bang Bros

Everyone while the DM holds his head in his hand: Bang Bros! Bang Bros! Bang Bros!

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

How myself and my mother freaked out the ER nurses

Now for a bit of context on this my family and myself are incredibly accident prone. When I was 2 I scalped myself by falling down lead lined stairs, my mum broke her neck walking out of an elevator and I can’t count the amount of times my dad has been hit by cars. In all honesty it’s a wonder any of us are alive. Anyway storytime.

Alright so about 3 years ago I was hit by a car and my leg got horrendously broken. Like the Paramedics had to pick bits of me off the road. Now I of course was in a fuckload of shock and to make sure I didn’t get overloaded by pain, they gave me laughing gas to huff on while they drove me to the hospital. Where they then started giving me morphine instead. So obviously I’m pretty loopy. But the nurses and doctors think that I may have severe head trauma, because instead of me, a skinny seventeen year old piece of shit, freaking out and worrying about my leg, I was making jokes and idle conversation.

“Man I really don’t have a leg to stand on eh?” Or “Have any of you played Dark Souls? I’m stuck on Ornstein and Smough if you got any tips.”

So of course they’re a little spooked cause they’re thinking “shit, this kid probably has a pretty serious concussion.” So they go to my mum in the waiting room, who was apparently nonchalantly reading a newspaper.

And they go “We think your son may have some brain damage. And would like to do a CT scan just to make sure.”

So my mum goes. “Oh shit, has he been acting weird? Disorientated?”

“No it’s more that he’s just very blasé about him being here right now, he’s making jokes and laughing at the situation.”

“Oh he’s fine then, mind if I come in and see him?”

And the nurses go sure, bring my mum in, and I’m lying on the bed, face still covered in blood and getting peeped to go into surgery. Now at this point most people would expect the mother to freak out because ‘that’s her baby’ and I could tell my mum was worried, but here’s the thing.

She used to be an ER nurse as well.

So she sees me there, looks me up and down, sees me smirking at her, sighs in relief because if I’m smirking I’m fine, grins and goes “You look like shit.”

Of course I hear a few of the nurses just mutter and gasp a bit cause THATS NOT WHAT A MOTHER SHOULD SAY!!!!

To which I replied “Still better than you.” And then we both just started laughing and then I saw one of the nurses faces and just laughed harder. Course that hurt a lot cause I did have a few cracked ribs.

Anyway yeah my family is used to this. Hell we have an album full of our injuries.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Hey quick question but what the fuck is with people not flushing public toilets? It’s not that fucking hard! Like I don’t wanna walk in and see the liquidized remnants of your chipotle burrito. Ya fuck.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

I feel like this has likely been done and I’m just bad at searching, but does anyone have fan art of a Supernatural/NightVale Crossover where Dean, Sam and Castile just find there way there and just have multiple aneurisms because this is the most haunted and cursed town they’ve ever seen and everyone’s just fine with it and Cecil and Carlos show them around but they’re just like ?????? Why are you living here??????

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

The best description of Welcome to NightVale that I can think of for someone who’s never listened to it before, is that it’s if Douglas Adams wrote the works of H.P. Lovecraft.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Ears are basically just dream catchers for vibrations

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Do you ever feel like you might be dying, your chest is constricting and you feel super fucking hot. And then you realize that your just having a manic episode so you run till you collapse on the sand and let the waves wash over you.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

A Game of Cards

“Ah, Dave, you’re finally here”.

Dave didn’t remember getting into 20 by 20 room with a poker table and all sorts of creatures around. The largest guy around was an aging man with brown hair and a gray freckled beard. Besides him sat a warrior with shining white armor on the left and a less impressive angel on the right. On the opposite were three demons that had familiarities with the demons that stabbed him just a couple of moments ago.

One was red, the other was grey and the last one had a cermaic eyepatch. All of them were heavily armored and upside down wings, their hard expressions focussed on their opponents.

One last figure was in the corner, his gray stone face and smoky green eyes barely hiding behind his oily black hair, not moving up from his cards. He was wrapped in loose black robes held down by a necklace in the shape of an hourglass, and right next to him a sythe was leaning on the table. Death.

“Care for a game of cards ? Death’s a little busy processing other things right now”, the demon with the eyepatch said.

“What the he- what is even going on ?”, Dave exclaimed.

“I am God, These are Gabriel and Michael. Opposite of me are Luci-“.

“Satan. My name is Satan. Could you at leats call me by my name, father ?”.

“Satan, then”, God said with a hint of old blood, “His companions are Abaddon and Samael. In the corner hereis the only real ‘neutral party'”.

“We met”, Death said.

Dave saw his face flashing by after the pain in his chest had subsided, but he didn’t remember meeting him.

“Well, now that everyone knows who everyone is, come join us after this round. This was about to get boring”.

Death threw two hundred fifty dollars worth of chips on the table as he glanced a peek at the newcomer, then turned his gaze on Abaddon. Abaddon folded.

Gabriel folded. “Tryhard”, he muttered as Death’s sweeping hands pulled in the winnings of the round.

“Maybe I’m just better at reading others then your Gabe”, Death said as he started neatly stacking his chips in order of color and stack size.

“Why can’t everybody just call eachother by their names ?”, Satan said as he tossed in the big blind.

“Well, my real name is David, so... just call me Dave.” Dave said shrugging

“Whatever you say man.”, the Lord of the Flies said. A sense of dread crept up Dave’s spine.

He was talking to Satan. The Satan. And God. And Death. And all the other biblical figures he never learned to bother about. Was he in Hell, or Heaven ? Why was everyone playing cards ? These people were supposed to hate eachothers guts.

“Yeah, I’m cool with being Dave”.

“Well, I think that-“.

“I’m not here to listen to you rant all day about how you think things are supposed to be, Beelz. I’m here because I want to relax with my old buddies before we make the transition. Can you keep your lawyer shenanigans in tow just for once while we play ?”, Michael asked.

Death had finished shuffling and dealt the cards with card tosses only a magician could pull off, not being bothered by the arguing at all, maybe even enjoying it a little. Dave looked at his cards as as Samael made a snarky comment towards Michael. Ace of hearts and king of spades. Decent cards, with some luck he’d get something good.

Everyone called the big blind and Death dealt the first three cards. Four of hearts, ace of spades and king of hearts. Two pair. Good odds.

Michael raised the pot with fifty dollars. God raised him seventy-five. Gabriel folded. Dave raised to one hundred and fifty of the stack that had appeared before him moments ago.

“You got stones, Dave”, Abaddon said as he called.

Satan folded with a sigh. Samael called, and so did Death. The rest evened up, and Death dealt the next card.

Six of clubs. Michael folded, and God raised by fifty. Dave called. Two pair was still enough. Tension was getting higher. Dave started sweating, hoping he didn’t just make a mistake. Everyone else after him called, and Death dealt the last card.

Kind of spades. Full house.

Dave could barely contain his excitement. He was going to beat these biblical figures in a game of cards. God raised by another fifty. Dave raised with all in.

“Dave, what are you doing ?”, God asked him.

“I’m feeling lucky”, Dave said while doing everything in his power not to smile the biggest grin he could stretch. Abaddon and Samael folded.

“Quite the move, Dave. Very daring. Care to add some more ?”, Death said.

“You don’t get to make deals here, Death”, God said disapprovingly.

“You’re in my domain now. You have no power here. And I am, quite literally, the dealer here”, Death said while not even looking at the creator of everything.

The entire room went completely silent. A drip of water hitting the ground would sound like an explosion in the silence that just spawned.

“So Dave”, Death, started again, taking his eyes off his cards and looking Dave in the eyes to depths Dave didn’t even know existed, “care to up the ante ?”.

“Sure”, Dave said. There was practically nothing that could beat Dave right now.

“Absolutely not!”, Gabriel exclaimed, ” We’ve all been here before. You don’t get to wager souls at the poker table, of all places!”.

“I’m not just wagering souls here, Gabe”, Death muttered with contempt of the messenger angel, and turned back to Dave.

“I’m offering you a place in the dream realm. I have people working there that owe me. You could live your dreams until the end of time. In return, I want monopoly of all the souls of your family”.

“WHAT ?!”, Satan yelled as he shoved his your back, “You can’t do that ! Those souls belong to me and God, not to you !”.

“Dave can always choose not to”, Death simply said as he gestured Satan to sit down.

God and his angels were speechless, and the demons were watching this display unfold with great interest.

“Living the dream for the souls of my family, sure”, Dave said, certain of his victory.

Samael folded. Death produced a small VIP card from within his robes and placed it on the table.

Dave tossed his cards to the table.

“Full house, three kings and two aces. Living the dream, yeah baby!”, Dave yelled as he raised his arms in victory.

“I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Dave”, Death said as he tossed down.

Ace of hearts and ace of diamonds. Full house, three aces and two kings.

Dave’s euphoria felt like it hit an mountain of ice, broke in half and sank to unfathomable depths. He’d condemned his family to Death.

Death grabbed his sythe and drew Dave’s winnings back to him, along with several floating bright little orbs that were yelling and screaming at low volume. The onlookers did nothing but sit and watch, the angels and God with sadness and Satan and his demons still staring at the cards, not believing that just happened.

“Pleasure doing business with you”, Death said with the tiniest smirk and hint of amusement.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Is your story concept good?

Yes.

Simply put it is good, because its yours. That is what makes it good.

Will other people like it? Who knows.

Will you? Only if you put the effort in.

However, I do find that their is one thing that can truly make the difference between making a good story idea, and a great one. And that simply put is how you can sum it up.

Can you sum it up in a sentence? If yes then you got yourself a pretty good story right there.

A concept for a story should never be, again in my opinion so you are perfectly entitled to agree or disagree with me as you see fit, something that cant fit onto the paper in a fortune cookie.

The reason I say this, is because when you start to get overly complex and detailed with your concept, then the rest of the story will start to become overly convoluted and hard to follow.

And to further prove the point of why I believe concepts for stories should be brief, I’ll give a few examples.

Harry Potter: Boy wizard saves world.

Percy Jackson: Greek gods in modern times

Lord of the Rings: Journey to destroy evil magic ring

Wheel of Time: Infinite cycles

Supernatural: Brothers hunt monsters

Every single one these, are fun, interesting and well loved stories. Some of which garner almost cult like following (cough cough Supernatural cough cough I’m one of them). All of them have concepts that are summed up very briefly. That however does not mean that the context of the story cannot be complex. See Wheel of Time.

The point I am trying to make here, and I was also guilty of this, is that most amateur or starting writers, often confuse context for stories with concepts. A concept is something that should always be brief, to the point and able to convey the overall message of the story. After that, you can build the context for it, in whatever way you so choose.

Although this is just my opinion so it could just be me speaking out of my ass.

Eh...

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Blue

It was the colour of the sky when you went skiing that fateful day.

The sensation of the wind rushing past your face, stinging your cheeks.

It was the colour of her jacket before you crashed.

The sound of your profuse apologies as you helped her of the ground.

The colourful sound of her laughter, crisp and clear as the mid winter air as she accepted your apology.

The colour of her eyes when you went inside together.

The colour of the table you both sat at.

The colour of the shirt you wore on your first date together.

The colour of the carpet you accidently spilled wine on because you were so nervous.

It was the colour of her nails the first time she took your hand.

The colour of the couch you first bought together that you realised too late didn’t go with the room.

The colour of the velvet case when you got down on one knee.

The colour of her bouquet as she walked down the aisle.

The colour of the icing that she shoved your face into, laughing her clear laugh.

The colour of the walls on that magical first night.

It was the colour you felt in your heart when you saw her sleeping next to you.

The colour of her pants as her stomach swelled.

The colour of the hospital floor as you sat in the waiting room, too nervous to stand, but too impatient to sit still.

The colour of the doctor’s scrubs as they brought you to her.

The colour of the blanket wrapped around the child she held.

It was the colour of her eyes, now reflected in your sons.

It was the colour of the sky, on that one fateful day.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Rain

I stare out my window, watching the droplets trail down it. I’ve always liked the rain, and in Vancouver we tend to get a lot of it. The soft sound it makes as it hits pavement, the grey light that the clouds give off, and the strange peacefulness that it brings to a city. When the sun is out, all there is, is the noise of cars, pedestrians and workers. But when rain comes, even if those things still exists, they seem quieted. As if the rain dials everything down, to leave us alone with our thoughts.

That can be dangerous though. After all, much like the weather of Vancouver, our thoughts are unpredictable. Sometimes they remind us of happier times, moments we cherish, small things like a family dinner; a night with a lover; drinks with a friend. Other times they can be embarrassing moments from when you were younger and unbearable.

And sometimes, if you are like me, it means going back to things you’d rather forget, but can’t. Like when you were fourteen, and your solace was a knife on your wrist because that pain you felt you deserved. Or those times when you were surrounded by “friends” laughing at you, as you went through another panic attack. Or that moment when you stood upon the Lions Gate Bridge, feeling you should jump, because that felt like the only option, like you weren’t worth anything.

Indeed, sometimes your thoughts are a dangerous thing.

But like the rain, they will stop, you will go on with your life, but they will still exist. Forever in the back of your mind. Like a storm could, waiting to rain again.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Stitches

I had lost count of how many times my stitches had been changed. And truthfully, I ceased to concern myself for it. I had simply lost track over the decades. Still even with them slowly fraying, it doesn’t hurt. It never truly did, not when they were around.

My wonderful owners.

I know now that they will always care for and repair me when its needed. The love and compassion I felt from all of them leaves that concern closed.

In my life, I have so far been with three different owners. And my current one, despite being on the cusp of manhood, cares far too much to let me go just yet.

I do not doubt that he will eventually. But not right now.

And when he does let go it will not be out of malice, boredom, disregard or anything poisonous. But like the other two before, he will find someone who needs me more.

All three of them had needed me at some point.

Someone to be a friend to play with during the quiet hours of the day, to hold on to during the dark uncertainty of night. Someone to hug when they need reassurance and to remind them life will be alright.

It’s what I was made for after all. And while I may be old, worn and not as exciting as other toys that are being produced today. I have done my job, at least in my own opinion, better than anyone could have possibly expected.

I’d garner that few could say they’ve been able to perform for nearly 80 years yet still continue to work.

And yet, with each owner I can’t help but feel just ever so slightly sad. I see them grow, I see them mature, I see them laugh, cry, love and hate. In a way, I’m somewhat akin to a parent considering how long and often I watch over them. Caring for them and wishing them only a happy and pure life. Yet knowing that each time they pick me up, when they hold me, when the tears gently fall, it’s because the opposite has happened. And as they grow older, when they hold me, it is not for play as it once may have been. But for memories.

Memories of childhood, when the scars upon there bodies were not visible. When the stress inside their eyes was non-existent. When the world simply seemed simple and pure.

And in these moments. Even with the sad and hopeful smile of their nostalgia, I wish I could do more for them.

I wish I could move, to hold them, reassure them, do something more than just be something for them to hold.

Yet somehow that seems to be enough, even if I wish for the ability to do more, just holding something seems to ground my owners. No matter how long it takes, so long as they can simply hold on to me, they are able to eventually gather themselves and move forward again.

And while I hate leaving my owners behind. I know they give me away so that I can do what I’ve done for them for another. But not just yet. For now I shall stay by my owners side, loving and waiting.

Happy to be with the one who will change my stiches.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

What is it that actually makes villains fun to read/watch?

In my opinion. And I know that having an opinion on the internet is considered taboo. But in my opinion a good villain boils down to three things. Good ones have two of the three and the best ones have all.

These three things are as follow:

1. Ideology - Something that they believe in truly and serves as the core of their motivation for doing whatever unspeakable things they end up doing

2. Will - A villain is hardly fun if they just give up, they are indomitable, either in body, mind or both. For some reason they just wont stay down, which in most cases can be truly terrifying.

3. Charisma - This I find in a lot of media, and I also have trouble with this, is making a villain with charisma. Something that attracts people to them, be it the intelligence that they posses, their raw ability to inspire others to act for them, or whatever it may be. Charisma in a villain can lend them to be truly terrifying and at the same time brilliantly entertaining.

Now I will never say that I am a perfect writer. Truthfully I believe the notion of such a thing to be non existent as improvement is what drives almost any artist of any art form. However, I do believe that from my understanding of villains that I personally enjoy:

Stain from BNHA, Joker, Meruem from HunterxHunter, Kronos from Percy Jackson, etc. (I could go on but then the list would be longer than this post).

Is that they tend to all share either some or all of these points that I believe make a great villain.

And the one that I’d like to briefly highlight, would be Stain. Not that the other villains don’t have the above qualities, but because his are very much ingrained into his being.

Now as most people who are fans of BNHA know, Stain was in the show for about the same length of time that Trump can go without being a national embarrassment. However, his belief and character still echo throughout the plot of BNHA.

To start with, ideology. now an ideology doesn’t have to be overly complex and deeply philosophical. Like the Jokers the ideology can be as simple and too the point as “I want chaos”. But what truly matters in an ideology, is how it effects and how it is rooted in the world. And Stains ideology fits that beautifully with “The world is full of fake heroes, I must purge it.” And even that is doing it a great injustice, but I don’t want this to be overly long. In short what makes Stains ideology amazing is two parts, one it comes from somewhere logical that is rooted in the world, and two, it works as a motivation towards his actions that we can understand, if not agree with.

Secondly, willpower. Now if you haven’t seen/read BNHA and want to watch it I wont spoil (GO DO IT, IT’S HONESTLY A REALLY GREAT SHONEN MOSTLY BECAUSE THE CHARACTERS ARE ACTUALLY LIKEABLE AND RELATABLE ((EXCEPT FOR MINETA)) AND YOU SHOULD SERIOUSLY CHECK IT OUT). But for those of you who have, you know exactly the moment I’m talking about. And people can argue that willpower and ideology go hand in hand, which they do to a point, but with willpower here, I’m talking more about the drive that goes beyond ideology to a kind of primal-ness that makes people afraid of them. Like when you see the quiet kid in class who gets picked on finally snap and start screaming back at the kids who pick on him to the point where everyone backs away cause they seem kind of feral. Stain was broken to the point where when the moment did happen, he passed out standing up, but the people who were supposed to be “professional heroes” were still too shaken by his will to actually move.

Which leads perfectly into the final point. Charisma. Now charismatic villains are most peoples favourites, for understandable reasons. They’re just... awesome. But there are all kinds of charisma that a villain can portray, and Stains is not the kind that most people would call endearing. Rather his charisma stems from the latter two categories. Which is why I believe charisma to be the most difficult of the three points to do well, resulting in some villains being good instead of great. Which is honestly why I find villains like Loki and Voldemort, to be yes fun and interesting villains, only just good ones (Please don’t crucify me). Because while they may not lack the Willpower and Ideology component, the charisma on display seems to fail to come from those other two. The reason the charisma is there, is because it is built off of the others, and Stain in my opinion does this beautifully. His charisma doesn’t stem from him being the most powerful villain, it comes from him being an influential one. As opposed to people joining his cause not because they are afraid or coerced, but from willingness to follow (in whatever twisted way that might be) the ideology and will that he showed, is honestly far more terrifying than someone being scary because they’ll kill you if you don’t join them. A willing follower is far more brutally terrifying than an unwilling one, and that in turn makes the villain all the more scary. Even if they are defeated, their will and ideology were charismatic enough that others will follow them to their last breaths.

Disclaimer: No I didn’t forget about Belatrix for Voldemort, and yes I know that Loki himself fell more into the scared/forced to be henchman category, but they both still either had to use force, fear, or coercion to gain followers, as opposed to simply believing that others will follow because they agree in their beliefs.

[heywritingsprettycooliguess]

Imperfection

Imperfection is what defines our humanity. Many believe that only perfection can lead to finding this but they our wrong. Along the course of our entire lives, we are always finding imperfections. And when we find these imperfections, we try and make them perfect. But along the way to making these imperfections perfect, we find more imperfections. It is the strive and altogether goal of humanity, to try and make everything perfect. But everything can't be perfect, everyone has there own ideals of perfection and imperfection. However, that doesn't mean that you should give up. If anything, it means that you should work even harder to make as many things perfect as you can. For when you accept that there will always be imperfections, and are fine with trying to fix as many as possible, that is when you find your drive. That is when you truly become human. That is when you find your soul. THAT, is when you find your peace.