What colour are your eyes today? Do you still wear the hoodies that hide your figure?
I hate thinking of you but I’m glad you’re happy. At least one of us has to be.

Andulka
The Bowery Presents
occasionally subtle
Color Me Curious

titsay
$LAYYYTER
Cosimo Galluzzi
Lint Roller? I Barely Know Her
No title available
🪼
EXPECTATIONS

bliss lane
Xuebing Du
I'd rather be in outer space 🛸
noise dept.
sheepfilms
The Stonewall Inn
No title available
Noah Kahan

oozey mess
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Mexico
seen from United States

seen from United States

seen from Russia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United Kingdom

seen from Italy

seen from Malaysia

seen from Malaysia

seen from India
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Colombia

seen from Netherlands
@majormokotokusanagi
What colour are your eyes today? Do you still wear the hoodies that hide your figure?
I hate thinking of you but I’m glad you’re happy. At least one of us has to be.
These birthday presents
Amanda Lovelace
It’s really happening
My bucket list continues to grow shorter and shorter. Soon, it’ll just be “Own an apartment/house”. What a mess this is all beginning to be. 700 years of history is falling right before our very eyes. I wanted to visit that museum, have a taste of culture and to see the bells that I had heard stories about. Why does my list continue to get smaller?
How do you write the grieving process of a close friend or family member? I am having difficulty trying to show that my character is grieving the lost of his brother without being either too distracting or too corny. Although a death of a brother is a major motivation for my character because he is trying to solve and avenge the death of his brother throughout the story.
Thank you for your question, love! I am a huge angst writer, so excuse me if this gets a bit rambly…
How (and How Not) to Write Grief
Grief is one of the most powerful emotions and narratives I’ve ever seen in fiction, so I understand your concern about it. There are a lot of ways to go about writing grief, especially since your character’s personality shouldn’t fit just any grieving arc. Everyone mourns differently, so you’ll have to look at who you’re writing and decide what suits them best.
That aside, I do have some general tips that should help.
Things to Consider:
Shock is a valuable tool. Many people do not experience grief as soon as a loved one passes. Some people go through a brief or extended period of shock, which basically preserves them emotionally. Shock helps to push us through bad times until we find a better, safer time to grieve – while funeral preparations are being made, or work is being done. A person in shock may seem normal or cold in nature, and they may be more irritable or obsessive. Some people stave off grieving longer than is healthy, especially by throwing themselves into work or indulging in drugs or alcohol. But everyone faces grief at one point or another – and when this moment comes, it can serve as a climactic point in your character’s development.
Grief comes in waves, not rivers. You don’t think about it once, and you don’t think about it all the time. You don’t think, “I miss them,” a few times a day until it passes. You see something they bought you for your birthday and you feel a rush of heaviness, and you try to remember if you thanked them enough. You listen to a song with headphones and you think you hear them calling you from another room, and you take off the headphones and shoot up in your seat, until you remember. Maybe you forget for a few days, as time passes, but someone sharing the weather on the radio will sound like their voice, or you’ll pass the place you used to get coffee together, or someone will tell a joke they used to tell, and it’ll ram you like a truck. Your character may find comfort or pain in these reminders. You lean into their memory or you throw out their things, or you stumble somewhere in between.
With grief comes guilt. Whether or not your character was related to the death at all, guilt is usually a side effect of outliving a loved one. If your character was related to the death, they’ll replay it in their head a thousand times; they’ll wonder how they could have prevented it, or if they should have seen it coming. (There’s a great example of this in a short PC game called “The Last Day of June.) Your character may feel a twinge of guilt sometimes, when they laugh or have a good time with someone else; when they do something to remind them that they’re alive, and their loved one isn’t, for some reason. Maybe they feel bad for expressing sadness. Maybe they’re scared to take other people for granted. Maybe they feel selfish for taking any focus off the person who died. Think about this as you’re moving your character forward with their own life and their own goals.
Grief affects the day-to-day. Losing someone takes it out of you; right away, even during shock, a grieving person’s general mood will take a hit. Nothing feels too good when you’ve just lost someone – not eating, drinking, sleeping, talking to loved ones, or indulging in hobbies. Slacking on these things can cause you to develop depression, anxiety, sleeping or eating disorders, and generally bad physical and mental health. This is especially worse if the passed loved one was a comforting or joyful figure for your character, or someone they typically lean on/confide in. Decreased health can lead to irritability, instability, and regression into bad habits or coping mechanisms.
They have to move on. At some point, once the shock, the waves, the highs, the lows, and the day-to-day slump have come and gone, your character has to find a new normal. Grief never goes away 100% – but you do go from always thinking about it to sometimes thinking about it; crying every night to crying once a month, to crying on their birthday and maybe on holidays; to being able to talk about them without crying at all; to be able to pick apart the good and the bad of their passing. Once your character has reached acceptance, they’ve reached some sort of peace over the loss. Some people talk or pray to their loved ones; some people lock their things away and view them once a year. Some people believe in ghosts or heaven; some people believe in reincarnation or becoming part of the earth; some people don’t really believe in anything or don’t know what they believe. Decide what your character believes, and how it hurts them, and how it helps them. What is their final conclusion?
Things to Avoid:
Melodrama. As much as it sells soap operas, it doesn’t work well for fiction – no one wants to sit through pages of characters screaming, sobbing, and falling to their knees. Strong emotional moments should be used sparingly, and with the proper buildup beforehand. Try not to overwhelm the reader. While a real person’s mind may be very scattered during such a time, try to make your character’s development realistic but linear. Forward and backward, not left to right – getting better or worse, not going through a tasting platter of emotional outbursts. If your character does something particularly dramatic (I’m talking committing a crime, not crying into a pillow), make sure it makes sense for their character and adds to the story.
Drowning out the plot. In real life, grieving can become a full-time job; some people spend days in bed just thinking about it, or thinking about nothing, or crying, or compulsively playing a video game or binge-watching a show to distract themselves. But there’s no time for this in a novel. Try to incorporate grieving into your main plot (in your case, solving the brother’s murder). If you feel the need to dedicate a section to the dead character – e.g. a flashback, a funeral scene, a cemetery visit – tie it into the main plot’s progression. For example, while your character is experiencing the flashback/funeral/scene, let something in that moment become a clue to the murder case.
Losing track of the arc. While you’re writing the rest of your plot, don’t forget about your character’s grieving. They shouldn’t always be actively mourning, as other things will preoccupy them from time to time; but keep track of their arc through the stages of grief, and try to keep their actions appropriate. If they’ve lost their loved one in the past week, they probably won’t be jumping for joy about anything. If it’s been years, they probably won’t sob at the mention of their name. This can all be affected by shock, of course, but you’ll know where your character is relatively.
I hope some of this helps you to write your story as accurately and engagingly as possible, for your character. If you have any further questions, feel free to send them in. Until then, I hope you have a wonderful weekend :)
– Mod Joanna ♥️
If you need advice on general writing or fanfiction, you should maybe ask us!
I’m doing a little project
Asian killers and/or victims mostly in China, Korea, Japan and Thailand
For some reason these ones have been the most difficult ones to find, I’ve gotten The Otaku Killer, The Hello Kitty Murder, Junko ect.. The most well known ones. I’ve found only one mostly unknown case involving an unnamed 15 year old killer and that’s it, I’m stumped.
Does anyone have anymore?
What is happening to me?
So first thing I do, fucking come out to someone I love and get a reaction that scared the shit out of me then this bitch pops back into the picture, this day just keeps getting better and better.
I keep imagining the future
I thought for sure I was gonna die alone but now, he’s here, I wanna look good for him and I wanna be good for him. I wanna be a good person for him, I keep laying down fantasising about my future with him. My heart feels fluffy, he’s kind, too kind, I love him more than I love my books.
What do I do? Keep starving and hating myself, be a pathetic excuse of a man? Or speak up and get help to run from all of this?
The Nasty Secret
I love a sweet girl, her name is Ana and she's the biggest fucking mistake I know. She shouldn't exist but sadly she does, she sits on your shoulder like the little devil whispering harsh things or bitter encouragement to reach a goal that you'll never be happy with. I looked in her direction out of curiosity after reading articles with the rise on Anorexia. I told myself I am just fine, I could look, be disgusted and then leave. Only I didn't look once, I looked twice, then three times, then four times. I thought I'd only look once but in moments of madness, sadness and anger it became my salvation. I would sit there, scrolling through and eventually found myself doing it too. It became my only form of control away from the people around me, it became a new way to harm myself when I wasn't getting my piercings and tattoos. What am I doing? I'm disgusted and worried about people who have become close friends with Ana yet I don't care about myself anymore. Negan.
Oh, what will I do?
He wants a photograph of me, one to hold, why would he pick something so vulgar? There’s so many things I could be taking a photograph of yet he wants me?
Gods
I’m such a pig, they call me petite, small, can they not see the disgusting body in front of them?
I’m scared of bones I want to see
I feel high lately, drugged without the drugs. My head spins, I’ve had a few proper meals but now I wanna run back on empty. I wanna feel my stomach grab at the butterflies and burn them in the acid.
I’ve been sitting here all morning, coffee, coffee, coffee, erection, water, music and pictures. Oddly enough the music is mostly Lady Gaga. Does anyone else still look at Cooney’s channel? I used to enjoy her videos years ago but now I just look at her channel, checking to make sure if she’s still alive. I need more coffee, I’m upsetting myself today yet I feel a high and I’m not even sure where it’s coming from.
I just want to feel alive today.
Negan
What am I doing?
Counting, counting, counting. It never seems to stop, I'm always afraid of what I'm about to eat. I drink so much coffee, it's become a joke among people. I'm always feeling cold, I tell myself, it's because the window is open but I'm cold even when it's closed. The tips of my fingers feel cold even now, I ate toast this morning, one slice with coffee, and I didn't know the bread's name, couldn't find out the calories. I've just thrown it at 500 and have decided to be careful for the rest of the day. I wonder how long it's going to take for someone to notice my clothes are falling off of my hips. The shirts seem to be looking as if they're beginning to drown me just by sitting there. I don't think anyone will notice until I'm too late, so far it's all been shrugged off as a bad eating habit. It can happen when you've always been fussy with food, when you lived off of bread and butter as a toddler because you refused to snack on real meals. I'm not a pretty skinny white girl who's just a little bit dizzy, I'm not an overweight or chubby person who's addicted to getting McDonald's at least once a day. I'm part of the invisible areas of a dangerous diet. The unnoticed, the ignored, because others think it is impossible for people other than little white girls and large overweight people to have eating disorders. I'm going to die before I reach my thirties, either by organ failure or because one day it all got to much and I walked to the train station.
It’s cold, I can smell burgers on a grill. I only have a hoodie wrapped around me and I’m thinking of the compliments where I was called small. It almost reminds me of the nights I spent at the fair as a teenager.
For a brief moment my hands looked different, they looked how I wanted them to look. I felt euphoric. I need that feeling again.
I want to feel valid.
It’s cold, I can smell burgers on a grill. I only have a hoodie wrapped around me and I’m thinking of the compliments where I was called small. It almost reminds me of the nights I spent at the fair as a teenager.
For a brief moment my hands looked different, they looked how I wanted them to look. I felt euphoric. I need that feeling again.
It’s cold, I can smell burgers on a grill. I only have a hoodie wrapped around me and I’m thinking of the compliments where I was called small. It almost reminds me of the nights I spent at the fair as a teenager.
My Greed
Life, mind and body. Hearing stories after stories and lies after lies has made me begin to doubt my own memories. What used to be the truth soon turned out to be the lies. I've begun to realise I was born to be owned rather than to just exist as my own person. Body The more I began to look at my clothes the more I began to realise I had only picked half of those items, the rest I hardly wore but were expected to wear because "I should know how to dress proper". Because I'm expected to be like the belldam's little doll. I found myself watching others more often than most, just starring longingly at people on the street or in the Underground or even on the bus. Occasionally peaking between the curtains at my window, staring at the people that passed the property. Just longing to know what it was like to be alive, to exist in a world that they wandered in. To exist in their world at all is more like a dream. I own more sweaters and hoodies than I do regular t shirts and dress shirts. They are always an XL or even larger just so I can hide my body in them. I hate my body, whatever I see in the shower or glance at in the mirror. I wanna tear my skin apart. This disgusting scar covered tainted body. I used to wear the same pair of skinny jeans for months at a time but they aren't so skinny anymore. Food Food was something I ate without thinking, I never counted and never really thought about the things I was doing to myself. Until I wanted control. I wanted some form of control in my life, I was desperate. I found myself looking at certain words and falling into a community where becoming nothing but bones was beautiful. I told myself I can stop when I want. But, they never warn you. You can't stop. Everyday I count now, I count the teaspoon of sugar I drop into my tea, I count the small packet of soy sauce I drop on my cucumber maki. I count the 100g of broccoli, the vegan burgers, the small slices of chicken, the fucking cucumber, the dash of cooking oil, the small drop of milk, all of it! And I can't stop. I find myself counting and counting, whenever food is made for me and I've not served it myself I always only eat half. I don't even try anymore, I just so much as glance at something and the number just appears in my mind. Envy I'm envious of someone's figure. He's just so beautiful, he's all I wish I could be. I stare at his pictures often, just repeating to myself how when I have money and when my body is like his I'll be someone important. It's awful, he's on my mind everyday, that damned smile, his laugh, his kind words, his tears, his happiness, his entire fucking existence. Part of me wants to hate him and blame him for making me envious. It's no one's fault but my own. Sometimes he appears in my nightmares, and I just find myself there, looking down at him, I'm so angry, so jealous! The horrible torture I put him through. I never want that to happen to anyone, not even the bitch who cheated on me. Family Family doesn't feel like a family to me, even though I live in a house with them I still find myself mumbling "I wish I could go home". It's not here, I don't know where it is, but it's not here. When I hear about how relaxed, happy and calming other homes are, I find myself longing to know what that feels like. To have parents who aren't lying and trying to control me. To have parents who don't tell others I am something I am not. To have parents who know who I am rather than to own and love the idea of me. I feel so numb around them. Mine I want someone I can call mine. Mine without owning them, just mine as in a boyfriend or girlfriend. I'd love to have them in my arms or to be in theirs. To be beside someone who I know loves me. Oh what I would give to be in your company. I wonder which of the events caused me to fall onto my current path. Why? Why do I crave control and a life I cannot even have? Why I wander the nights, staring at neon lights, walking along with my hood up, headphones on in an attempt to turn the world off? Why do I lay in my bed in the early hours of the morning, questioning what is the point of even sitting up today? Why do I crave to feel human so badly? This morning when I woke up, I didn't leave my bed, I curled up into a ball, clutching my bottle of water, staring at the dimmed screen of my phone. I was staring at videos of him, looking through threads and forums on events that are probably going to be my own demise. Despite the negative I still on occasions feel hope. I still lay there, telling myself "One day". One day I'll have my own apartment, living with someone I love, eating a katsu curry or pizza and laughing as we watch dumb cult movies from the 80s. I'll have a nice job, I'll have a life. I'll feel human. Yet the rest of me is still convinced I'll never make it past 25. Negan.
Why do my dreams feel like reality?
Cold. It's all I feel lately, no amount of hoodies and blankets can help keep me warm at times. My nose, ears, and face still begin to sting but I'm too paranoid to pull my head underneath the covers. Who knows who will walk into my bedroom while I'm not watching? Last night or early morning depending on how you look at it. I ended up gently dragging a somewhat warm finger across the dip of my collar bone. I don't know why, but lately I've begun to do that automatically, as I'm checking I'm still here. Still a pile of tissue and bones. Somehow I always fall asleep before 3AM. Then the dreams and nightmares start, some of them are repeats, and many of them I wish I could remember them because I felt something. I don't know what but just something that made my chest feel as if it were beginning to burst because of a parasite inside of it. It's always dark, there's lights, sometimes neon, sometimes just a low orange flare from a lamp or street light. It always makes me think of the movies with futuristic cities where the protagonist wonders trying to find someone or something to continue on their journey. All of the dreams and nightmares seem to have one thing in common. Touch. From finding myself on top of that pretty blonde with the autumn eyes I saw in the Underground once or just brushing some dirt of my friend's shoulder. If I've had dreams where I've touched no one I can't remember them. The nightmares are something else, some are repeats. I'll find myself hurting someone, letting them scream and beg or covering their mouths and watching them let out shaking sobs. The first time I had a nightmare which involved me hurting someone I truly care for, I held my knees, buried my face in them and rocked slightly letting out shaking breaths. Anxiety and paranoia slipped through my mind as I questioned if I'd ever do that, if I'd ever violate someone so horribly or hurt them so badly that they bleed, that their bones crack. It was almost 5 in the morning when I finally forced myself to get out of bed. The house was quiet till my cat realised I was no longer in bed. He meowed and jumped off the bed, following me into the kitchen. I remember he calmed me down as I held him in one arm and made my coffee with the other. He fell asleep like that, just holding on to my arm. I sat on my bed, still holding the little furball and sent a text to my friend, telling her about the nightmare, how it scared me. I felt better after her comfort but now months later, I'm not sure where to go. I don't want to tell my other friends because what if the dreams are right and they believe the dreams? My days have continued to turn into a blur, like an unfocused photograph in the snow during sundown in the city. Sitting in the bus, listening to System of a Down's Toxicity on repeat, or standing in the cold, staring at my Docs, letting my thoughts wonder until I'm broken out of them. It feels like I'm asleep and reality is the dreams or nightmares depending on how you look at my situation. Even right now as I type this I find myself feeling as if this isn't real. As if my entire day was just a strange dream. The dizziness probably increases the amount of questions I have about this. I could cure the dizzy spells and numbness but I'd rather live off of water, coffee and whatever small food item I pick out from my fridge. At least then I'm feeling something, right? Am I alone in this? I don't know, there has to be others who feel this way. The population is large and the net is vast. Negan