writer

[dannimatic]

@straycatj’s kofu

[dilfhamlet]

little me from 10 years ago would think I am so fucking cool and that’s literally all that matters

[moonlit-sunflower-books]

the sexual tension between me and unread books on my bookshelf

[writingdotcoffee]

“You can’t use up creativity. The more you use the more you have.”

— Maya Angelou

[creativepromptsforwriting]

OTP Prompt Challenge

Choose a pairing and a prompt and create something with it. You can write, you can draw - be creative!

Meet-cute

Bickering

Hand holding

Cooking together

Blushing

Firsts

Stargazing

Confessions

Morning routine

Sneaking glances

Argument

Grocery shopping

Dancing

Little gifts

Sharing a bed

Family

Pet names

Hugs

Matching outfits

Date night

Secretive

Comfort

Vacation

Washing dishes

Flowers

Sick days

Kisses

Flirting

Adopting a pet

Insecurity

Proposal

If you like my blog and want to support me, you can buy me a coffee! And check out my Instagram!🥰

[newyorkersunposed]

[newyorkersunposed]

By Alberto Reyes

[sunbathe]

@beomlist

[meanstreetcoward]

The Night that Occurred.

 "Give me a writing a prompt, something spooky for Halloween?“  I asked her.  Shortly thereafter, she gave me three prompts from her writing group.   While I certainly enjoyed the prompts, nothing connected with me.  It’s hard to write something scary when nothing scares you.  Or when you have a looming, overpowering fear of something else.  

The truth is, there is nothing more terrifying than the pendulum of time.   Our thoughts, dreams, hopes amount to nothing in the end.  I could be a future president or a newborn being tossed in a refuse bin by a drug sickened whore.   We all share death in the end and even the most notable actions in our lives will be forgotten eventually, if ever remembered at all.  

 I’ve come to understand and accept this, but it still is a frightening prospect that one day I will cease to exist.  There won’t be a cosmic force inviting me into the light.  There won’t be a horned demon waiting to torture me.  No Ouroboros cycle ushering me in my new body.  One day I will be here.  The next day I will not.  

 But regardless, I tried to write the story.  

 The story involved a small town journalist for a local paper being beckoned by a famous albeit reclusive horror writer for the first interview in over a decade.  As the writer interviews her favorite author she slowly discovers he doesn’t even know his own stories, as if someone else had written them completely.   A nervous fellow who is awash with guilt, finally confesses:  He never wrote a single one of his books.  His typewriter is possessed, perhaps demonically, and has been calling  for the blood of young women with each passing book.

 It wasn’t original.  Nor was it scary.  A typewriter that commands you to kill in exchange for best selling books?  Neat idea.  But I couldn’t make it work.  And it felt too much like a Tales from the Crypt episode that I couldn’t quite put my finger on.

  I was on the last page when something peculiar happened.   A large booming sound happened from afar.  And within a few seconds, the power was out.   It was late and the room was pitch black.   I assumed this would be temporary, as outages are rare in this apartment.  So I sat in silence waiting for it to be restored.  

 Reflexively I reached in my pocket for my phone but it wasn’t there.   "Well this is just great.”

I yelled for her to call my phone but I heard nothing in response.  It was oddly quiet.  I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so alone in such a sudden moment.  I realized that the sensation of my hand reaching in my pocket was gone.

“Well that’s spooky,”  I chuckled to myself.   Time to get up.  

I tried to make my way to the living room, where there was at least a lighter.  As I traversed the domicile I had a feeling of weightlessness.  I was unsure of room I was in anymore and attempts to reach the hallway walls failed.  I wasn’t even sure if my legs were planted under me.  Is this what a fugue state feels like?  I couldn’t quite make sense of what was happening.

That’s when it hit me.   This is the death I’ve been expecting.   No sound, no feeling, no reason.   Soon my brain would stop functioning and there would be no me.  A small amount of panic came over me as I imagined that right at this very moment, the woman who I loved so dearly could be cradling me and calling emergency services.   How would I know?    Will I even get a chance to say goodbye?  

I thought about my parents, who tried so hard to set me up for the best life they could.   I thought about the people I’ve hurt.  I thought about the seemingly infinite amount of regrets I have accumulated in 36 years.  

How long have I been thinking?  Has it been a second?  Five minutes?  I have read that the human brain stays alive for up to hours after death.   I had read survivors of heart attacks are “trapped” in their bodies while clinically dead until they are resuscitated, and can often recant those moments afterwards.

But I didn’t feel anything.  Just deafening silence, no sense of touch, hearing or sight.   I guess there really are no atheists in foxholes.  I started pleading with the universe to give me anything back.   Just a glimpse of what was happening to be.

Soon my thoughts became hazy and disoriented too.   The power to critically think was rapidly diminishing.  

“This is it.”  was all I could muster.

That’s when the power came on.   My senses fully restored, as if nothing had happened.  I was still sitting in my chair.  The story sat in front of me.   I stood up immediately and made sure that everything that should work still worked.  Light switches were on.  My phone was in my pocket.  I was shaken to the core.

I walked into the other bedroom and I saw the look on her face.  It told me everything I needed to know.   But we both said in unison: 

“What just Happened?”

[meanstreetcoward]

You wake up to find that you have been transported into the film you hate most. Tell me about your day without giving the title?

It's Christmas time and Alan Rickman is trying to fuck me

#On the clock

[k8theginger]

Answer Unclear - are you McClane or the HoHo secretary? 

[itsqueenhun]

queen releasing hot space

[philocalistmelomaniac]

[steppenwolf]

[meanstreetcoward]

Water: Saving Grace

Writer’s Note: My first post came from a prompt by my GF’s best-mutal. Whatever that means. This one is for you @weasleysandwheezes 

  PROMPT #2: you get trapped in the life of the main character of the last book you read (Bear can choose the book, I’ll give him that much). but you have absolutely no idea how to use any sort of technology they may have, nor do you know what time frame you’re in. you’re completely aware that everyone is looking at you weirdly for it, but whenever you speak to them, they shrug you off as if you don’t exist at all and you’re left to navigate a foreign world all on your own.

“Jesus fucking Christ, it’s hot here!”  I thought to myself.  Sand all over the place.  The arid heat.  The sun giving me a headache and surely a sunburn.  Driest of all was my throat.  My feet were not going to take much more of this and I just got here.

Keep reading

[k8theginger]

I love this guy