Scribbles and Things @kalimarswriting - Tumblr Blog

writing prompt/imagine your otp

Person A: "Just what do you think you're doing?"

Person B: *struggling to light a candle, dozens of dead or broken matches on their bedroom floor* "With any luck? You"

You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches.

dycefic

I think I’d have minded less if I’d committed a truly heinous crime. Something that warranted death. Or even if I was the kind of person who would enjoy flinging a last defiance at my execution.

It was all just a show, anyway. They did it every year. They brought out a selection of criminals, and the Sorcerer who ruled us showed his power by bringing about their deaths by magic. Just to show, every year, what happened to anyone who crossed him.

There was a time, probably, when the people he executed really were rebels or assassins. In latter days he had to take what the dungeons offered. I was dragged up in chains between a pickpocket, sobbing in terror, and a man who’d killed another man in a brawl. There were few criminals of any note, by then. So instead of choosing the wickedest criminals, they chose based on appearance. The man who’d been in the brawl had a face like a clenched fist, and looked like a ruffian. The pickpocket, aging and with hands beginning to tremble, was a different kind of example. As was I.

“There aren’t many pretty ones, this year,” the man who chose me had said, examining me. “But this one will do. Not young, but not old, a woman, well-favoured enough for the gallows… what was her crime?”

The warder shrugged. “She tried to kill one of the sheriffs.”

The man looked down at me and I shrugged. “I hit him with a washing stick, because he tried to extort money from me, and he was a baby about it.” I refused to treat this as anything but pathetic, even after my sentencing. “I didn’t even break any bones.”

“Treason, then,” the man said, nodding. “Attacking the servants of the law. That will look well on the list. Send her.”

I had been debating ever since what to choose. Something quick? Something painless? I considered demanding that I suffer the attack I supposedly made on the sheriff, but then I realized the Sorcerer would only give me what the man had said I was going to do, and that was not a pleasant way to die. I had all but decided on something swift and relatively painless. Beheading with the sharpest of blades sounded good. It would be quick.

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#whoa #not my writing

glumshoe

I love when fantasy worlds have some nonsensical magical force that prevents technology from working.

Like… how does the magic determine where technology begins? I mean, a gun is just a little house for tiny explosions to live… what part of that process is interrupted by magic? Does gunpowder simply not combust in Magictopia?

What about the wheel? Bifocals? Condoms? Skateboards? Bicycles? Vaccines? Pyramids? Does a flint-knapped knife not count as technology?

glumshoe

“Shit.”

“What seems to be the matter?” asked the Elf, in that same insufferably airy tone that would have made it a fortune doing voiceovers for shampoo commercials.

Khalil sighed miserably. “Phone’s dead,” he said, scowling at the shimmering city. “Figures. Of course it lets me take a thousand blurry cat pictures and then konks out on me the moment I find something worth photographing.”

The Elf laughed. Khalil suspected it was meant to be a scornful laugh, but his companion had the emotional inflection of an automated voice messaging system, and it lacked punch.

“Foolish human,” said the Elf. “Your ‘phone’ will not work here. No technology functions past the borders of Faerie.”

If Khalil let his eyes unfocus and used his imagination, the expression it wore could almost pass for smugness. “Now hang on,” he said. “That’s a fucking lie. No way is that true.”

“Foolish human, I cannot tell a l—”

“Oh, shut up. You say no technology works here, but you’re clearly wearing some kind of ritzy elf sword. Are you gonna try to tell me that they grow on trees here? Obviously you’ve got smelting and forges and metallurgy. You’re wearing woven fabric, and you stole a bunch of medicine from that pharmacy in Detroit. We rode my bike over that troll bridge and it didn’t stop working.”

“That’s different,” protested the Elf, a shallow groove between it’s eyebrows betraying profound distress. “That’s not technology.”

“It is, though! ‘Technology’ doesn’t just mean guns and electron—”

There was a hand clamped tight over his mouth, smothering him before he had even registered movement. “Hold your tongue before I cut it out of your head,” hissed the Elf in his ear. “You don’t know what you’re messing with.”

It released him, and Khalil stumbled back, staring wildly. It had moved terrifyingly quickly. No doubt it could make good on its threat if it cared to—six years of boxing and he still had no hope of defending himself against something that could move like that.

“What magic doesn’t know can’t hurt it,” said the Elf in a low and strangely unsteady voice, sounding for the first time like a living being. “Be careful what ideas you give it. Some things seem right, and that’s what matters.”

The Elf must have grabbed him hard, Khalil realized, tasting the tang of blood where his lip had been torn open on his teeth. He swallowed, and stared at the Elf in horror. “Are you telling me,” he said slowly, “That your entire magical system, the physics of your entire world… is based… on vibes?”

The Elf grimaced and did not meet his eyes.

glumshoe

As the Elf’s screams grew louder and more frantic, Khalil’s mind alternated between two distinct but equally insistent convictions: first, that this was the stupidest plan anyone had ever advised in this world or any other; second, that it was going to work.

The part of him that was a twenty-seven year-old peace activist recoiled in disgust even as the ten year-old pirate fanatic vibrated with excitement. If I live through this, he thought, I’ll have to tell my mom that all those hours glued to the History Channel weren’t wasted, after all.

Very gently, he tipped a little of the powder down the barrel of the gun. He had no way of knowing the appropriate amount to use and simply guessed; after all, if his suspicions were correct, it might not matter much in this world.

He pried the moldering leather bag out from under the skeleton’s arm and reached inside. A few dozen lead balls clinked together under his fingers, along with a little bundle of greasy cloth. With trembling fingers, he tore off a square of fabric and wrapped it around one of the bullets. Like a swaddled baby, he thought grimly, and pushed it down the barrel until it was nestled snugly over the gunpowder.

Almost ready, he thought. He dropped a pinch of powder into the flashpan on the top of the gun, flicked the frizzen back into position, and rose to his feet.

“Step away from the Fabio impersonator,” he said, kicking the rotten door off its hinges. “Or I will shoot you with my gun.”

glumshoe

“You have the name of a poet,” said the queen, studying him cooly with pupiless eyes as green and unsettling as a neglected swimming pool. “That is a good thing, Khalil of Ann Arbor. We are fond of poets here.”

The queen was beautiful, but she was not attractive. No, thought Khalil, that’s not right. She was attractive—in the way that the lights of beachside cities attract baby sea turtles away from the surf; attractive in the way that hot stoves attract curious children’s hands; attractive in the way that trays of beer attract garden slugs to drink themselves to death.

Keep reading

glumshoe

The room was well-appointed for a prison cell. Khalil caught himself wondering how they had managed to grow perfect cushions of lush green moss in the shape of a bed and armchair—but of course it was magic. It was always magic. Moss didn’t need light or water or nutrients or support structures when there was magic to make it grow.

Keep reading

glumshoe

Days passed, or seemed to pass. Khalil found himself thinking of his grandfather, who had carried a Damascene pocket watch until the end of his days. No amount of cajoling or bribery or international call plans had ever managed to convince him to use the cellphone he’d been given, or even to adopt a wristwatch. His daughters teased him for being old and set in his ways, but he insisted that technology was easier to use if he understood how it worked.

Keep reading

threeknees

how can you say this is the last installment when you end on that cliffhanger? 😭

glumshoe

It’s a cliffhanger with hope! They’ve got a tool now.

#not my writing #writing #hey I like this!#magic

Just an OC from a new(ish) story I'm writing, More than a FEW! It's an SI/OC-insert for Fire Emblem Warriors (acronym FEW), which I've made more than a few plot changes to, hence the title.

Jaylen is nonbinary and also very impulsive. Hence sticking their arm in a wall of dark magic, 'cause that's a great idea, right?

(Also I'm very sorry, but I don't have the attention-span for alt-text right now. I'll try to get to it later.)

#my writing #More than a FEW #Jaylen (OC)#my art #illustration

arahir

use comic sans to write

i hate this so much but this knowledge is too powerful to keep from you all.

last night @phaltu discovered that setting your font to comic sans in google docs improves writing speed and creativity by an insane amount. “no” i said and “die” but then i tried it and god. i wish it wasn’t this way. i wish it wasn’t true. i wish i could protect you all from this but it’s real.

something about this font is so disarming. something about this font lets you look past the shape of the words and into their soul. i’ve never written so much as i did last night, on my phone, at 2am, in comic sans.

if you have writer’s block. if you lack inspiration. if you need this. don’t be afraid to use it. sometimes the things we find most horrifying are also the things we need the most. trust me. let comic sans into your life.

arahir

it’s true

serainechor

update: this actually works. i’m so angry.

5-5-k

my friend told me about this and I laughingly suggested it to my wife (who had a good number of essays to write and less than a week to write them). She finished 3 essays in 2 days using comic sans.

She was livid.

egberts

my fifth grade teacher made us write all our papers in comic sans 🤷🏻‍♂️

tygermama

okay, I’m doing this in my google drive now

paranormanongrata

Just used this on an art paper and, with a heavy heart, can confirm. Got it done two days before the deadline. Just don’t do what I did and submit it still in comic sans, though.

flardark

The point is that Comic Sans is a dyslexia friendly font. It’s easier for everyone to read, and easier to read means easier to write with. It really is just a friendly font that gets bad press.

#helpful #useful #writing advice

Couldn't decide which version I liked better, so here's both! Anyway this is Zuko from @generic-usernamee 's story, Let Sleeping Dragons Lie. Hope you like it!

#generic-usernamee #zuko #fanart of fanfiction #atla

writing-prompt-s

You are an anonymous professional assassin with a perfect reputation. You lead an ordinary life outside of your work. You’ve just been hired to kill yourself.

caffeinewitchcraft

My first thought is that the middle man I use–calls himself ‘Leader’, real name Brett Thompson, 46, balding, lives in PA–has uncovered my identity. Why else would I be staring down at a picture of my own face? I think it’s a warning, that he knows about the Sanchez job, and I nearly reach for my go bag.

Then I see the client’s name.

Vi Larson, the file tells me, male, 32, computer analyst.

I close the manila folder, tossing it away from me. The whiskey sour’s gone warm in my hand, but I drink it down anyway, eyes distant. I don’t need to read any more of the file. I can fill in the gaps well enough.

Funnily enough, this betrayal is just as sharp and unpleasant as the first one, the one that got me into this business in the first place.

“You at least owe me a crime of passion, you bastard,” I mutter into my drink. I close my eyes and sigh, willing away the stinging in my heart. I knew that my relationship was in trouble, but this is just cold.

In a way, I can’t believe it. Is a divorce really that hard? But, no, I know Vi. He’s methodical, analytical, and competent. If anything, hiring an assassin with a reputation like mine is right in line with his personality. Nothing but the best, even in the murder game.

I should be flattered, really. My rates aren’t cheap. Whatever I did to make him send this in–and he did, there’s his social security, his fingerprint, everything–it must have been killer.

I set my glass down on the counter and tuck the folder under my arm. I need to think and I do my best thinking in the tub. Vi won’t be back from his “business” trip for another three days, during which I’m supposed to kill myself.

As I head up the stairs, I can’t help but laugh. Finally, after three years of marriage, my husband does something interesting. And it breaks my fucking heart.

——————————————

He wants me to make it painless but horrific. There’s a script in the document, something that’s more common than people think, and it’s hard to read it, even surrounded by bubbles and soothing music.

“Your husband sent me. Said he needed to shed some dead weight.” I snort at the pun and close my eyes, resting the file against my face so it doesn’t get wet. Unfortunately, the tears do that anyway.

“Fuck,” I say. “You bastard.”

Keep reading

#fucking perfect #not my writing

write-it-motherfuckers

Wide eyed, you stared up at the figure braced above you, in flustered silence, their expression mirroring your own perfectly, right down to the blush quickly spreading across their cheeks. Though the fact that the pounding of your heart and the pain of your wounds from the events that had just taken place, made it all too clear that this was no dream or illusion, you still couldn’t quite seem to process it all properly, the truth feeling far too fanciful for your mind to fully accept.

Despite your understandable bewilderment over everything that had just happened, and the fact that you had just been saved by what should have been a fictional character, none of that compared to the shock and confusion you felt when the two of you finally managed to break free of your stupor and speak.

“I can’t believe you’re actually real.”

#I WANT TO WRITE THIS ONE #prompts #writing ideas

fanfictalkdotcom

what’s your fanfic life like?

kalimarswriting

Nemesis to lovers, bodyswap, rescue mission

Now THAT sounds like a fun fic! I might keep this

#fanfiction #fanfic

inkwell-attitude

all the tips I found for drawing a fantasy map are like :) “here’s a strategy to draw the land masses! here’s how to plot islands!” :) and that’s wonderful and I love them all but ??? how? do y'all decide where to put cities/mountains/forests/towns I have my map and my land but I’m throwing darts to decide where the Main Citadel where the Action Takes Place is

fatal-blow

okay so i know i said most of this in the replies but it might be easier to actually reblog and say stuff instead lmao

Cities - go near water! freshwater lakes and rivers (rivers especially) are the best places for cities because A) source of water and B) travel and trade is much easier cus you can put your boats like right there. Basically ever relevant city ever was built on a lake or a river.

for rivers in general - because gravity, rivers run from mountains (forming from melting snow and ice (this is why they get fat in spring–more stuff melting)) to lakes/ocean where they can empty out (and even lakes will have rivers leading out that eventually get to the ocean), which can help when mapping out where those start and end. rivers are also much thinner and faster in steeper elevations and very slow and wide when the land is flat

mountains - i like to think of what the tectonic plates look like because that’s what makes mountains! mountains are also never standalone they’re always in mountain ranges (archipelagos are really just underwater mountain ranges babey). a cool trick I like to do is occasionally separate mountain ranges across continents, because over time the tectonic plates shifted and literally split the range in half. These mountains are really old tho so they’ve eroded and therefore it makes them smaller and rounder (like the appalachians) as opposed to relatively young mountain ranges like the rocky mountains which have taller and sharper peaks

Another mountain trick: if your mountains run along the ocean, the ocean side of the mountains will get a LOT of rain while the other side will be very dry–almost desert-like, in fact. think of temperate rainforests in British Columbia vs the drier conditions in the canadian prairies

forests - depends on how warm the area might be. coniferous forests are found further north (before you hit the tree line, and then it’s only tundra onwards) but as you head south you get leafier trees, and the leaves tend to get larger too

If you think about general elevation too, you’ll have places that might be swampy (wet + lower). if your world has an ice age like we did, then glaciers may have carved the land, leaving piles of soil in the south that was left when the ice receded and places where the bedrock has been bared north of that (like the Canadian Shield in Canada–the reason we see that is because of the glaciers)

You might also have a land that’s dotted in a shitton of freshwater lakes as well because the meltwater filled the holes that the glaciers scraped out (this is why canada has so many goddamn lakes)

and if the ice age was more recent than it was in our world, then you might not even have the forest re-growth and it could be a lot of open plains

tl;dr i like to think of major climate events that might have also shaped the land on top of some basic rules

possiblypedanticrpgideas

The Artifexian has an entire series on building your world from literally the stars down and then the ground up.

All my worldbuilding videos

Though, for fantasy, you can make the world operate on entirely different principles:

With that done, the actual topic of city placement can be covered by videos like this:

Once you have your places, if you want help naming them in realistic ways, this video can help:

This one is on architecture, which is definitely a subset of cities:

But for a more relevant practical guide on making settlements realistic:

Here’s a quick guide for making demographics:

inkwell-attitude

holy shit?

plotlinehotline

Writing x Characters When You Aren’t x, A Masterlist

x: a variable used to represent something unknown.

We’ve seen an influx of questions about how to write stories based around characters of color, disability, non-binary, etc. when the author does not fall into these categories. Rather than have these posts take over the site, we’ve decided to compile a list of resources to help our fellow writers become more educated about writing what they do not immediately know. However, this list is not the end-all-be-all of knowledge; one should always try to learn from someone with first hand experience in any topic. The world is constantly growing and changing, and because of that, there will always be more to learn. The admins at Plotline Hotline want to help writers form respectful, informed, and realistic characters that broaden the narrow range we see in literature today.

*Be wary that some of the topics listed below contain sensitive material. Reader discretion is advised.*

As always, the links I found to be especially apt will be in bold. Topics are listed alphabetically, excepting the “other” section.

Culture

Appropriate Cultural Appropriation

What is Cultural Appropriation? [1,2,3]

Cultural Appropriation Is, In Fact, Indefensible

Voice Appropriation & Writing About Other Cultures

Diversity, Appropriation, and Writing the Other [List]

Disability

Writing Disibilities [1,2,3,4,5]

Guides to Writing Deaf or Hard of Hearding People

National Association of the Deaf - Resources [List]

World Federation of the Deaf

Using a Prosthetic Device

Prostehtic Limbs (Character Guide)

How NOT to Write Disabled Characters

A Guide to Disibility Rights Law (United States)

Timeline of Disibility Rights in the United States

Social Security Disability: List of Impairments, Medical Conditions, and Problems [List] (United States)

How to Write Disabled Characters: An Opinion Piece

Artificial Eye Resources [List][Various]

Adapting to the Loss of an Eye

Misconceptions and Myths About Blindness

Blind Characters: A Process of Awareness

Writing Blind Characters [List]

Types of Learning Disabilities [List]

Diversity

A Guide to Spotting and Growing Past Stereotypes

How to Prepare to Write a Diverse Book

The Diversity of Writing

Why Diversity Matters for Everyone

Writing a Driverse Book [1,2,3,4,5]

Diversity, Political Correctness and The Power of Language

Diversity Book List [List][Books]

Basic Tips To Write Subcultures & Minority Religions Better

Basic Tips to Avoid Tokenism

Gender

GLAAD Media Reference Guide - Transgender

Creating Well-Written Trans Characters

A Few Things Writers Need To Know About Sexuality & Gender Expression

Trans (Character Guide & Bio Building)

A Non-Binary Person’s Guide to Invented Pronouns

Gender Neutral Writing [List]

Keeping a Trans* Person a Person

Suggestions for Reducing Gendered Terms in Language [Photo]

How to Review a Trans Book as a Cis Person

Writing Characters of Different Genders [List]

Understanding Gender

Gender Spectrum Resources [List]

Gender History

Illness

Writing Chronic Illness [1,2]

The Spoon Theory - Also pertains to disibility

About HIV/AIDS

Sexually Transmitted Diseases [List]

Sexually Transmitted Infections

Sex and Gender Differences in Health [Study]

All Chronic Illness Topics [List]

Coping with Chronic Illness

All Cancer Types

A Day in the Life of a Home Health Aide/Health Coach

Fiction Books With Chronically Ill Main Characters- Not Cancer [List][Books]

Neurotype (Including Mental Health)

Writing an Autistic Character When You Don’t Have Autism

Depression Resources [List]

What to Consider When Writing Mental Illness

Stanford Psychiatric Patient Care

Inpatient Psychiatric Questions and Tips

Don’t Call Me Crazy [Documentary]

(Avoid) Romanticizing Mental Illness [1,2]

A Day in the Life of a Mental Hospital Patient

State-run vs. Private Mental Hospitals

Mental Disorders

Mental Hospital Non-Fiction [List][Books]

National Institute of Mental Health - Mental Health Information [List]

Writing Autistic

What Causes PTSD?

Remember, Remember: The Basics of Writing Amnesia

ADHD Basic Information

What is a Learning Disability?

What is Neurotypical?

Race

Writing Race: A Checklist for Authors

Transracial Writing for the Sincere

Is my character “black enough”

White Privilege: Unpacking the Invisible Knapsack

Challenge, Counter, Controvert: Subverting Expectations

Writing With Color: Blogs - Recs - Resources [List]

Writing People of Color (If you happen to be a person of another color)

7 Offensive Mistakes Well-Intentioned Writers Make

Description Guide - Words for Skin Tone

Religion

Religion in Novels: Terrific or Taboo?

How to Write a Fantasy Novel that Sells: The Religion

Writing About Faith And Religion

From Aladdin to Homeland: How Hollywood Can Reinforce Racial and Religious Stereotypes

Sexuality

Understanding Sexual Orientation and Gender Identity [List]

Writing Gay Characters [1,2,3]

American Civil Liberties Union - LGBT+ Rights

LGBT+ Rights by Country or Territory

History of Gay Rights

Gay Rights Movement

LGBT+ Culture

Gay Myths and Stereotypes

LGBT+ Studies Web Sites [List]

LGBTQ Youth Issues

LGBTData.com

Overview of Gay and Lesbian Parenting, Adoption and Foster Care (United States)

Other

How Doctors’ Offices—and Queer Culture—Are Failing Autistic LGBTQ People

Five Traps and Tips for Character Development

Developing Realistic Characters

I hope that this list will provide topics a writer may not initially think to research when writing. If there are any resources that you think would be fitting for this list, please let us know! We want to have as many helpful sources as possible to maximize learning opportunities.

Stay educated,

xx Sarah

#useful

Some illustrations for my SAO fanfiction, Game Sync!

First picture is the cover, featuring Bloop the indigo slime.

Second picture is the characters, Kyou (top), Nanako (middle), and an exasperated Kirito (bottom).

Third picture is Bloop as he appears when meeting him (top left) and by the end of Aincrad (bottom right). He grows over time!

Fourth picture is Nanako as she appears in the mid-to-late-floors.

Fifth picture is Kyou as he appears in the mid-to-late floors.

Outifts are hard to design, y'all.

#KalimArt #my writing #fanfiction #Game Sync #SAO #Kirito #Kyou #Nanako #Bloop

ailelie

that time palpatine screwed up (and the galaxy was a better place for it)

Look. I know this idea is shit. I tried to give the idea away. Instead whenever I’m still for more than 30 seconds I start thinking about it. So here.

In another world, when Sheev hears the rumor of a strange pre-Jedi artifact, he doesn’t go to collect it himself. He sends someone who never returns and then decides to handle it later after his Empire plans reach fruition. In this world, however, he goes himself.

He finds the artifact on a dangerous world just beyond the reach of the Republic. The artifact activates upon touch.

The world grows large and scary around him.

A day or so passes without contact. He’d left his crew behind, not wanting to share what he was doing. One of them contacts the Senate for help. The 501st is closest.

(That was by design once. Another chance to connect with Anakin and pull him further into Darkness).

Anakin and his men search the planet. They do not find Palpatine. Anakin does find a Force-sensitive child whose eyes turn yellow when he cries.

A toddler is using the Dark side. He can’t kill a toddler. He isn’t sure he can give the child to the Jedi either, not if he is accessing the Dark side.

“What’s your name?” / “Zee” / “Zee?” / “NO! Zheeeeeeevuh.” / “Zhiva?” / “No!” / “Okay, Little Z, why don’t we try again after you’ve had a nap?”

Zee ends up sticking as the name everyone uses though as anything else leads to frustration and occasionally tears.

(Sheev knows he isn’t supposed to be 2 or 3 years old. He knows he has big plans. When he dreams, he remembers being big. But when he wakes, the memories waft away. He’s smarter than a toddler should be, but his brain cannot contain his adult mind so it all remains just out of reach. That’s more important than a name.)

Anakin and the 501st continue looking, but Palpatine is nowhere. He’s called back to Coruscant to report and join planning for what to do next. General consensus is that he’s been abducted by Separtists.

The Senate has not yet released that the Chancellor is missing.

Anakin contacts Padme about Zee and explains. “I can’t give him to the Jedi, not if he’s using the Dark side, but I can’t just leave him untrained and I’m not giving him to Dooku, Maul, or Ventress. I can’t.”

Padme has an absolutely terrible idea. She asks what the child looks like. “Blue eyes. Red hair.” Padme nods. “It’d have been better if he had brown hair, but if you wanted, we could say he’s ours.” “How? And won’t everyone know then?” “I have body doubles. We could say we’ve been hiding him. I know a doctor who would lie for me. But you’re right–if we did this, everyone would know about our marriage. How important is it that you keep this child safe and away from the Jedi? How else could we justify having him? If we tried to pass him off as an ordinary orphan, he’d have to go into the system.” Anakin is silent for a long moment. Then he asks, “What about the hair color? You said brown would be better.” “No one knows what your family looks like. Tell them your mother’s hair was red.” “Obi-Wan knows it wasn’t.” “Then we have to tell Obi-Wan.” Anakin breaks. “Angel, I can’t–” “How important is Zee?” Padme asks quietly and Anakin sighs. He can’t leave this strange child alone in the world. “I’ll try to meet with him before we reach Coruscant and explain.”

He does.

Obi-Wan stares at Anakin and feels the pinch of a headache between his eyes. “I honestly don’t know where to begin.” / “I shouldn’t have said–” / “No, I’m glad you told me. I just need a moment. You’re married?”

“This is a terrible plan,” Obi-Wan says flatly as he watches Zee sleep. “Padme came up with it,” Anakin argues. “That doesn’t make it better. I’m just more disappointed.”

Keep reading

kalimarswriting

This is my new favorite thing AND I BETTER SEE A FIC

#star wars #fanfic #amazing

the-right-writing

Writer Beware makes posts on which publishing houses to avoid at all costs, which words to look for and which words to watch out for in contracts, and several other things that will keep you in control and knowledgeable about the publishing process. I’d suggest reading through the website if you want to avoid getting ripped off, cheated, or scammed.

the-right-writing

I’m just going to reblog this every so often because it’s a site that every writer needs to see.

#useful #important

writing-prompt-s

An old and homely grandmother accidentally summons a demon. She mistakes him for her gothic-phase teenage grandson and takes care of him. The demon decides to stay at his new home.

eatbreathewrite

It isn’t uncommon for this particular demon to be summoned—from exhausting Halloween party pranks in abandoned barns to more legitimate (more exhausting) ceremonies in forests—but it has to admit, this is the first time it’s been called forth from its realm into a claustrophobic living room bathed in the dull orange-pink glow of old glass lamps and a multitude of wide-eyed, creepy antique porcelain dolls that could give Chucky a run for his money with all of their silent, seething stares combined. Accompanying those oddities are tea cup and saucer sets on shelves atop frilly doilies crocheted with the utmost care, and cross-stitched, colorful ‘Home Sweet Home’s hung across the wood-paneled walls.

It’s a mistake—a wrong number, per se. No witch it’s ever known has lived in such an, ah, dated, home. Furthermore, no practitioner that ever summoned it has been absent, as if they’d up and ding-dong ditched it. No, it didn’t work that way. Not at all. Not if they want to survive the encounter.

It hears the clinking of movement in the room adjacent—the kitchen, going by the pungent, bitter scent of cooled coffee and soggy, sweet sponge cakes, but more jarring is the smell of blood. It moves—feels something slip beneath its clawed foot as it does, and sees a crocheted blanket of whites and greys and deep black yarn, wound intricately, perfectly, into a summoning circle. Its summoning circle. There is a small splash of bright scarlet and sharp, jagged bits of a broken curio scattered on top, as if someone had dropped it, attempted to pick it up the pieces and pricked their finger. It would explain the blood. And it would explain the demon being brought into this strange place.

As it connects these pieces in its mind, the inhabitant of the house rounds the corner and exits the kitchen, holding a damp, white dish towel close to her hand and fumbling with the beaded bifocals hanging from her neck by a crocheted lanyard before stopping dead in her tracks.

Now, to be fair, the demon wouldn’t ordinarily second guess being face-to-face with a hunchbacked crone with a beaked nose, beady eyes and a peculiar lack of teeth, or a spidery shawl and ankle-length black dress, but there is definitely something amiss here. Especially when the old biddy lets her spectacles fall slack on her bosom and erupts into a wide, toothy (toothless) grin, eyes squinting and crinkling from the sheer effort of it.

“Todd! Todd, dear, I didn’t know you were visiting this year! You didn’t call, you didn’t write—but, oh, I’m so happy you’re here, dear! Would it have been too much to ask you to ring the doorbell? I almost had a heart attack. And don’t worry about the blood, here—I had an accident. My favorite figure toppled off of the table and cleanup didn’t go as expected. But I seem to recall you are quite into the bloodshed and ‘edgy’ stuff these days, so I don’t suppose you mind.” She releases a hearty, kind laugh, but it isn’t mocking, it’s sweet. Grandmotherly. The demon is by no means sentimental or maudlin, but the kindness, the familiarity, the genuine fondness, does pull a few dusty old nostalgic heartstrings. “Imagine if it leaves a scar! It’d be a bit ‘badass,’ as you teenagers say, wouldn’t it?”

She is as blind as a bat without her glasses, it would appear, because the demon is by no means a ‘Todd’ or a human at all, though humanoid, shrouded in sleek, black skin and hard spikes and sharp claws. But the demon humors her, if only because it had been caught off guard.

The old woman smiles still, before turning on her heel and shuffling into the hallway with a stiff gait revealing a poor hip. “Be a dear and make some more coffee, would you please? I’ll be back in a jiffy.”

Yes, this is most definitely a mistake. One for the record books, for certain. For late-night trips to bars and conversations with colleagues, while others discuss how many souls they’d swindled in exchange for peanuts, or how many first-borns they’d been pledged for things idiot humans could have gained without divine intervention. Ugh. Sometimes it all just became so pedantic that little detours like this were a blessing—happy accidents, as the humans would say.

That’s why the demon does as asked, and plods slowly into the kitchen, careful to duck low and avoid the top of the doorframe. That’s why it gingerly takes the small glass pot and empties it of old, stale coffee and carefully, so carefully, takes a measuring scoop between its claws and fills the machine with fresh grounds. It’s as the hot water is percolating that the old woman returns, her index finger wrapped tight in a series of beige bandages.

“I’m surprised you’re so tall, Todd! I haven’t seen you since you were at my hip! But your mother mails photos all the time—you do love wearing all black, don’t you?” She takes a seat at the small round table in the corner and taps the glass lid of the cake plate with quaking, unsteady, aged hands. “I was starting to think you’d never visit. Your father and I have had our disagreements, but…I am glad you’re here, dear. Would you like some cake?” Before the demon has a chance to decline, she lifts the lid and cuts a generous slice from the near-complete circle that has scarcely been touched. It smells of citrus and cream and is, as assumed earlier, soggy, oversaturated with icing.

It was made for a special occasion, for guests, but it doesn’t seem this old woman receives much company in this musty, stagnant house that smells like an antique garage that hadn’t had its dust stirred in years.

Especially not from her absentee grandson, Todd.

The demon waits until the coffee pot is full, and takes two small mugs from the counter, filling them until steam is frothing over the rims. Then, and only then, does it accept the cake and sit, with some difficulty, in a small chair at the small table. It warbles out a polite ‘thank you,’ but it doesn’t suppose the woman understands. Manners are manners regardless.

“Oh, dear, I can hardly understand. Your voice has gotten so deep, just like your grandfather’s was. That, and I do recall you have an affinity for that gravelly, screaming music. Did your voice get strained? It’s alright, dear, I’ll do the talking. You just rest up. The coffee will help soothe.”

The demon merely nods—some communication can be understood without fail—and drinks the coffee and eats the cake with a too-small fork. It’s ordinary, mushy, but delicious because of the intent behind it and the love that must have gone into its creation.

“I hope you enjoyed all of the presents I sent you. You never write back—but I am aware most people use that fancy E-mail these days. I just can’t wrap my head around it. I do wish your mom and dad would visit sometime. I know of a wonderful little café down the street we can go to. I haven’t been; I wanted to visit it with Charles, before he…well.” She falls silent in her rambling, staring into her coffee with a small, melancholy smile. “I can’t believe it’s been ten years. You never had the chance to meet him. But never mind that.” Suddenly, and with surprising speed that has the demon concerned for her well being, she moves to her feet, bracing her hands on the edge of the table. “I may as well give you your birthday present, since you’re here. What timing! I only finished it this morning. I’ll be right back.”

When she returns, the white, grey and black crocheted work with the summoning circle is bundled in her arms.

“I found these designs in an occult book I borrowed from the library. I thought you’d like them on a nice, warm blanket to fight off the winter chill—I hope you do like it.” With gentle hands, she spreads the blanket over the demon’s broad, spiky back like a shawl, smoothing it over craggy shoulders and patting its arms affectionately. “Happy birthday, Todd, dear.”

Well, that settles it. Whoever, wherever, Todd is, he’s clearly missing out. The demon will just have to be her grandson from now on.

voidbat

this is so sweet. it made me want to hug someone.

bigmammallama5

i had to

geniusorinsanity

I WOULD WATCH SIX SEASONS AND A MOVIE

rocky-horror-shit-show

Okay but she takes him to the little cafe and all of the people in her town are like “What is that thing, what the hell, Anette?” and she’s like “Don’t you remember my grandson Todd?” and the entire town just has to play along because no one will tell little old Nettie that her grandson is an actual demon because this is the happiest she’s been since her husband died.

Bonus: In season 4 she makes him run for mayor and he wins

silvermoonphantom

I just want to watch ‘Todd’ help her with groceries, and help her with cooking, and help her clean up the dust around the house and air it out, and fill it with spring flowers because Anette mentioned she loved hyacinth and daffodils. Over the seasons her eyesight worsens, so ‘Todd’ brings a hellhound into the house to act as her seeing eye dog, and people in town are kinda terrified of this massive black brute with fur that drips like thick oil, and a mouth that can open all the way back to its chest, but ‘Honey’ likes her hard candies, and doesn’t get oil on the carpet, and when ‘Todd’ has to go back to Hell for errands, Honey will snuggle up to Anette and rest his giant head on her lap, and whuff at her pockets for butterscotch. Anette never gives ‘Todd’ her soul, but she gives him her heart

wickedwitchofthewifi-deactivate

In season six, Anette gets sick. She spends most of the season bedridden and it becomes obvious by about midway through the season that she’s not going to make it to the end of the season. Todd spends the season travelling back and forth between the human realm and his home plane, trying hard to find something, anything that will help Anette get better, to prolong her life. He’s tried getting her to sell him her soul, but she’s just laughed, told him that he shouldn’t talk like that. With only a few episodes left in the season Anette passes away, Todd is by her side. When the reaper comes for her Todd asks about the fate of her soul. In a dispassionate voice the reaper informs Todd that Anette spent the last few years of her life cavorting with creatures of darkness, that there can be only one fate for her. Todd refuses to accept this and he fights the reaper, eventually injuring the creature and driving it off. Knowing that Anette cannot stay in the Human Realm, and refusing to allow her spirit to be taken by another reaper, so he takes her soul in his arms. He’s done this before, when mortals have sold themselves to him. This time the soul cradled against his chest does not snuggle and fight. This time the soul held tight against him reaches out, pats him on the cheek tells him he was a good boy, and so handsome, just like his grandfather. Todd takes Anette back to the demon realm, holding her tight against him as he travels across the bleak and forebidding landscape; such a sharp contrast to the rosy warmth of Anette’s home. Eventually, in a far corner of his home plane, Todd finds what he is looking for. It is a place where other demons do not tread; a large boulder cracked and broken, with a gap just barely large enough for Todd to fit through. This crack, of all things, gives him pause, but Anette’s soul makes a comment about needing to get home in time to feed Honey, and Todd forces himself to pass through it. He travels in darkness for a while, before he emerges into into a light so bright that it’s blinding. His eyes adjust slowly, and he finds himself face to face with two creatures, each of them at least twice his size one of them has six wings and the head of a lion, one of them is an amorphous creature within several rings. The lion-headed one snarls at Todd, and demands that he turn back, that he has no business here. Todd looks down, holding Anette’s soul against his chest, he takes a deep breath, and speaks a single word, “Please.” The two larger beings are taken aback by this. They are too used to Todd’s kind being belligerent, they consult with each other, they argue. The amorphous one seems to want to be lenient, the lion-headed one insists on being stricter. While they’re arguing Todd sneaks by them and runs as fast as he can, deeper into the brightly lit expanse. The path on which he travels begins to slope upwards, and eventually becomes a staircase. It becomes evident that each step further up the stair is more and more difficult for Todd, that it’s physically paining him to climb these stairs, but he keeps going.

They dedicate a full episode to this climb; interspersing the climb with scenes they weren’t able to show in previous seasons, Anette and Honey coming to visit Todd in the Mayor’s office, Anette and Todd playing bingo together for the first time, Anette and Todd watching their stories together in the mid afternoon, Anette falling asleep in her chair and Todd gently carrying her to bed. Anette making Todd lemonade in the summer while he’s up on the roof fixing that leak and cleaning out the rain gutters. Eventually Todd reaches the top, and all but collapses, he falls to a knee and for the first time his grip on Anette’s soul slips, and she falls away from him. Landing on the ground. He reaches out for her, but someone gets there first. Another hand reaches out, and helps this elderly woman off the ground, helps her get to her feet. Anette gasps, it’s Charles. The pair of them throw their arms around each other. Anette tells Charles that she’s missed him so much, and she has so much to tell him. Charles nods. Todd watches a soft smile on his face. A delicate hand touches Todd’s shoulder, and pulls him easily to his feet. A figure; we never see exactly what it looks like, leans down, whispering in Todd’s ear that he’s done well, and that Anette will be well taken care of here. That she will spend an eternity with her loved ones. Todd looks back over to her, she’s surrounded by a sea of people. Todd nods, and smiles. The figure behind him tells him that while he has done good in bringing Anette here, this is not his place, and he must leave. Todd nods, he knew this would be the case. Todd gets about six steps down the stairway before he is stopped by someone grabbing his shoulder again. He turns around, and Anette is standing behind him. She gives him a big hug and leads him back up the stairs, he should stay, she says. Get to know the family. Todd tries to tell her that he can’t stay, but she won’t hear it. She leads him up into the crowd of people and begins introducing him to long dead relatives of hers, all of whom give him skeptical looks when she introduces him as her grandson. The mysterious figure appears next to Todd again and tells him once more he must leave, Todd opens his mouth to answer but Anette cuts him off. Nonsense, she tells the figure. IF she’s gonna stay here forever her grandson will be welcome to visit her. She and the figure stare at each other for a moment. The figure eventually sighs and looks away, the figure asks Todd if she’s always like this. Todd just shrugs and smiles, allowing Anette to lead him through a pair of pearly gates, she’s already talking about how much cake they’ll need to feed all of these relatives.

captaintinymite

gilajames

P.S. Honey is a Good Dog and gets to go, too.

kaijufluffs

jumpingjacktrash

the last lines of the show:

demon: you’re not blind here – but you’re not surprised. when…?

anette: oh, toddy, don’t be silly, my biological grandson’s not twelve feet tall and doesn’t scorch the furniture when he sneezes. i’ve known for ages.

demon: then why?

anette: you wouldn’t have stayed if you weren’t lonely too.

demon: you… you don’t have to keep calling me your grandson.

anette: nonsense! adopted children are just as real. now quit sniffling, you silly boy, and let’s go bake a cake. honey, heel!

honey: W̝̽̂̿͂͝Ọ̮̹̲̪̋ͦͅO̸̘͔̬͊F̜̫͙̟͕͖̙̋ͫ͌͗

thehoneybeewitch

that addition is a+ :)

iopele

THE ONLY ENDING I WILL EVER ACCEPT FOR THIS

americanninjax-deactivated20191

hardykat

Every time this post shows up on my dash, it gets better (and more heart wrenching. Y’all! Stop cutting the onions okay?!).

saitoakirachan

Ok but I also want Todd to visit her at some point. His father disapproves a lot, but now that Todd is an adult (and still a goth) he can do whatever he wants. But he arrives there and sees a big hulking demon drinking tea in his grandma’s living room.

He’s livid since this demon is dangerous (he would know, he wanted to become a demonologist when he was a teen), and consequently spends his whole time there trying to figure out what is this demon’s hidden motive. There’s no way this creature is staying here for no reason. He finds no evidence of malice

In the end, Todd and “Todd” reach a temporary truce. He still doesn’t trust “Todd” and moves in next door with his boyfriend to keep an eye out for the demon. Frustratingly enough, his boyfriend is now besties with a demon and his grandma seems to think he’s Jason from Minnesota.

Todd is an accountant

gnatsattack

I know discourse is the word of choice in fandom nowadays but I kind of wish we would have stuck with “fandom wank” because it carries the implication that the anger involved culminated into effectively nothing and that the act was wholeheartedly masturbatory in nature rather than for any greater cause.

berlynn-wohl

I saw this post about an hour after I saw a post that said, essentially, “There should be a word for that thing where [exactly describes ‘squeeing’].”

I feel like the time has come to produce something like this:

transformativeworks

citrus

naknaknakadile

@vergess

vergess

Squee: The noise you make when something is so good that all you can really do is squeak or squeal. A high pitched sound of delight, often accomanied by hugging yourself or others.

Squick: A fic/art/concept/topic that is repellent to you, so you reject association with it and instead retreat to your personal comfortable spaces- all the while remembering that someone else’s comfort is not your own.

YKINMKATO: Also called “kink tomato.” Abbreviation meaning “your kink is not my kink, and that’s okay.” Used to explain why you are rejecting art or fic brought to you by someone else. A solid mantra to recall instead of sending flames in people’s comments

Flames: The comment equivalent of anon hate.

AMV: “animated music video” or “anime music video.” Often, this is stylized to fit a specific fandom, such as a “PMV” (pony music video) in my little pony. May also be referred to as a lyricstuck.

Filk: Combination of the words “film” and “folk,” this is a music genre, to which “fan songs” and “fan parody covers” belong. If you don’t really understand what this means, take a quick listen to American Pie, then compare Weird Al Yankovic’s Saga Begins

BNF: Big name fan. You know that one person who is just so fuckign popular in your fandom? Their art is always on your dash, everyone knows their fics? Being spoken to directly by them is basically being noticed by everyone ever’s senpai? That’s what these people are called.

DL:DR; Not unliked the teal deer (tl;dr, or “too long, didn’t read”), DLDR means “don’t like? Don’t read!” It’s a reminder that you are under no obligation, ever, to expose yourself to uncomfortable (or, squicky), or potentially harmful (or, triggering), material. Not ever. If you don’t actively like something? It’s not worth your time. Skip it.

Gen: or “genfic” “genart” etc. Fan works which contain no or very little romantic content. Often these are styled after the canon material, and may be called “episodic” ro “slice of life” in addition.

Lemon: Work containing strong pornographic elements

Lime, or Citrus: Work containing mild or implicit pornographic elements

Sockpuppeting: The surprisingly common scenario of someone making a bunch of fake accounts/sideblogs to send themselves reviews or hate, to try to increase views or drama surrounding a work. The accounts they make are called Sockpuppets.

WAFF: Warm and fluffy feelings. A genre of fic that exists just to be therapeutically sweet. Nowadays, usually just called “fluffy.”

Schmoop: Take WAFF and somehow make it even more syrupy. You’ll know it when you see it.

Whump: Imagine if you will, a hurt-comfort fic. The comfort might be considered WAFF. The hurt? That’s the whump.

Wapanese: When white autors pepper their anime fanfic with random, tonally inappropriate japanese words.

Anthropomorfic: Nowadays we just call these “humanstuck” or “humanized AU.”

Wank: Wildly disproportionate drama that crops up because someone wrote/drew/did something that someone else didn’t like. Seriously, I cannot begin to express the fiascos that have come about from all this. Just… Just go look at this.

Plot bunny: Story ideas that you probably won’t ever actually deal with, but that multiply entirely out of control, creating huge worlds in your head that you’re probably not going to write. But hey! You might! And until then they make great sideblogs/askblogs/tumblr posts.

Casefic: Fanfics that try to create an episode-like feel for procedural and crime dramas, moster of the week shows, etc.

Jossed: When popular fan theories and fanon are addressed in the canon of a series, and whoops, turns out we were all very, very wrong.

Kripked: When popular fan theories and fanon are addressed in the canon of a show and, hot damn, we fucking called it.

Secret Masters: The people who run the websites/ communities/etc that we all do our fanning on. Less relevant now that we have things like tumblr, but when everyone had to run their own archival and social sites for each fandom, it was more important to pay our respects to the strange and powerful beings that brought us all together and gave us our fannish homes. Think the staff of AO3, for example.

Bashing: When a writer purposefully writes a specific character as a horrible, horrible person so that they can throw them out of the storyline, usually to allow their OTP to get together without trouble. Distinct from fridging in that it doesn’t require the character to die, but rather to be such a screaming harpy that they get rightfully removed from the main characters’ lives for being an abusive hell beast. Generally, a type of character hate. Be wary of people who bash women, queer people, and POC with consistency: they are not safe to be around.

ryttu3k

‘Squick’ also has an alternate horrible meaning for Harry Potter fans who were in fandom a while back. Dear god.

callmearcturus

Drabble: A fic that is EXACTLY 100 words. Often used as a creative exercise in telling a story in a very small constraint.

Ficlet: Fic that clocks in somewhere between 100 to 2.5K words.

Crossover: A piece of media in which two or more source materials are treated as the same universe. Characters from Fandom A can meet characters from Fandom B. (The Doctor Goes To Hogwarts And Meet Harry Potter!)

Fusion: A fusion takes the characters of one source material and *surplants* them into another universe entirely. Characters from Fandom A cannot meet characters from Fandom B. (Dave Strider is part of an Inception team!)

TPTB: The Powers That Be. Almost always redundantly referred to as “the TPTB.” A collective term for showrunners, actors, producers, writers, et al, anyone who is part of the team that creates the source material.

YMMV: Your Mileage May Vary. A shorthand way of saying “this is how I see it/have experienced it though I realize others might have a different perspective.”

Tinhatting: Often used in RPF fandoms, the situation where some fans are convinced two celebrities are in a relationship but its being kept a secret.

randomslasher

I’m…I’m home

souper-doup

Useful beyond all reason. I’ve learnt so much!!

crazycatt71

@misst99 you might find these useful in navigating fan fic

#useful

spiderrrling

I am a(n):

⚪ Male

⚪ Female

🔘 Writer

Looking for

⚪ Boyfriend

⚪ Girlfriend

🔘 An incredibly specific word that I can't remember

what-even-is-thiss

*wakes up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat*

WAIT IT’S CALLED A THROW PILLOW

holorifle

here is a super helpful website for this kinda thing!

the first result isn’t always the one you’re looking for but when you press enter it’ll give you a ton of words related to your query that’ll probably have what you’re wanting, or something better

here’s some examples: