My darling Dearheart convinced me to start a writing tumblr to give me a better sense of community and focus for my writing (should I ever put anything down). This blog is for people 18+
Hello! I figured I'd give getting a tumblr for writing a shot as I've been pretty blocked creatively for the last... while. This blog will be focusing predominantly on a story I'm working on called Under the Rotting Moon (working title). It was initially meant to be written as a comic but I can't draw and writing it as a script first was unpleasant. SO. Long form here we come!
The story is about gay cowboys in the late 1800s during the Zombie apocalypse and it's an idea I've been hanging onto since 2020.
I write slowly but thoroughly and am a little nervous to be here and holding myself accountable on this webbed site BUT! My beloved has convinced me that this is a good idea so here I am! Hello!
A lobotomy followed by a round of electroconvulsive therapy
A one way ticket to a morally questionable asylum
A puppy
A colonoscopy with no sedation
A straightjacket
Rough and violent gay sex
A box of chocolate
A forehead kiss
A cup of hot cocoa that comes with a wool blanket
A bouquet
A collar with "good boy" written on it
A warm sweater
Voting ended onDec 26, 2024
This request was sent to us and we made a poll in response to it. Send any Blorbo-related question you want to our inbox and we’ll make a poll on which people can vote with their own Blorbos in minds
Since I finally got back into my writing groove and Davy decided to be forthcoming, I wanna post some snippets again.
Here you go, have some more sentient electricity xD
He listened to the wires, their fearful whining.
He flinched, when all of a sudden, he was drenched in cold water, the sprinklers starting out of nowhere in their panic.
Then, the wires were suddenly communicating back and forth at a rapid fire pace.
“Lights,” they sang. “Light, light, light.”
Davy felt the frenetic energy of several human creatures waking up all at once. An alarm blared, drowning out the wire whisper-song and their endless chatter.
He found “fuck” to be a very apt expression in that very moment, even though he normally found this language rather wanting.
Okay, real post time (but keep those boops booping) - You want to do NaNoWriMo tomorrow, but you don't want to go anywhere near the main organization and their website. Here's a list of alternatives you can try:
Rogue Writers - International group launched to provide an alternative for writers. Their website has challenges, free tools, and more.
myWriteClub - Word tracking tool.
Novlr - A writing app designed to help you meet your writing goals.
WriteTrack - Word tracking tool.
Shut Up and Write - Find in-person or online groups to write together with!
NoQuWriCo - A November writing challenge with tools, tips, and encouragement to make it through the month! (Thanks to someone letting me know - this is a Christian alternative. Try another if that does not appeal to you!)
Writing Month - Write. A Month. Do It.
Your local library - If you did NaNo events through your library, chances are they're still doing it this year. Make sure you check in with all the resources you've used in the past, as they're likely still around.
Whatever you decide to do tomorrow, good luck! And remember, if you want to still use the NaNo website but don't like their AI policies and the rest of it, just don't give them money! Laugh to yourself, evilly, as you update your word count. It's very validating.
Hmmm from UTRM it's definitely Storm, I like weedling all of his sad memories out so I can bonk him with them, then give him a little bit of joy he thought he couldn't have.
Similarly, from TWWWI it's Alexander and Dominic, who would definitely end up together in a tragic doomed romance if it weren't for the protagonist (reader/player).
I haven't been posting much this week- but here's a fun little story I wrote a few years back about a witch to tide y'all over.
Happy Halloween!! 🎃
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The monthly coven gathering was going to start in less than an hour and Maurli was just taking care of the finishing touches. The fish legs and frog tails had been taken out of the freezer to thaw, the bags of commercial brand coal had been hauled from her baby blue sedan into the gathering space in her basement, and totems of protection had been carefully placed on every windowsill and hung in every doorway. All that was left were the decorations.
Since it was the spring equinox gathering, Maurli wanted her home to be blooming with plant life. Over the past two weeks she had been administering a growth potion to all of her houseplants and even used it to cultivate new plants from seeds. Now her house was stuffed with more greenery than the garden section of a home depot: Sage, rosemary, and thyme crowded the hanging pots of her kitchen, her Livingroom was a jungle of bamboo and money trees, and the bathrooms were made delightfully aromatic with flowering vines and budding stalks. Every corner, every table, and every wall was overflowing with life. For most witches this would be enough, but after the Yule party last winter, Maurli knew she needed to step it up.
Yiressa had been the host for Yule and had used an unmelting glittering snow spell on the ceilings in her home, creating a stunning winter wonderland. The spell itself wasn’t that difficult, but that uppity broom-licker Yiressa hasn’t let anyone forget how good her party looked and was constantly asking Maurli how she was going to top it.
Well Maurli had found an article in one of last months issues of Bewitched Weekly and had turned her abode into a greenhouse to maximize the wow factor of the spell. The article was “DIY Glowing Houseplants” and when her guests came into her house, Maurli planned on shutting off all the electricity, and lighting her house with the soft glowing of the hundreds of plants strategically placed around the suburban home.
Maurli bustled into the kitchen, pulling the magazine clipping out from the spell book she shoved it into. She had everything she needed: beard of gnome, 2 teaspoons birchbark, a pinch of arrowroot, and 20 grams of overpriced dryad clippings she found at the Charmers Market. She mixed all the ingredients into a fine dust using her bullet blender before sifting the dust into a stone bowl. Maurli turned off all the lights before tossing a match into the mixture. A green glowing flame rose up within the bowl and Maurli chanted the spell, peering at the recipe on her counter.
“Paak'alo'ob Paak'alo'ob
Iluminan a kuxtal yéetel guían in beel
Brillar yéetel u páajtalil a concede a el
Igual u le k'áak'o’ brilla tin k'abo'ob!”
As she chanted, the fire burst out of the bowl into hundreds of small glowing orbs, flying to the plants spread about the house and melting into their leafy auras. When all the orbs found a host, the foliage began glowing, and Maurli knew she had made a mistake.
Every plant, from the lilies on the fireplace, to the ivy snaking through the halls, was not only glowing, they were FLASHING. Not a slow soft flashing either, but a bright strobing that assaulted Maurli’s eyes. Maurli dropped the stone bowl and put a hand up to shield her vision, her other hand snatching up her DIY instructions. Maybe the dryad clippings were actually ent clippings? she wondered in a panic. That son of a witch at the charmers market might have screwed her over. Maurli read through the article several times, trying to find any reason for the spell to have gone wrong.
“Merlin’s ass, it called for 2 tablespoons of birch bark, not 2 teaspoons” Maurli muttered bitterly, glaring at the failure around her. She wanted her decorations to be the talk of the coven, and with the way her house was lighting up like a will o’ wisp on basilisk juice, Maurli was sure it would be.
“Craaaa Craaaaa” came the squawking of the doorbell, interrupting Maurli’s brooding. Her coven sisters have arrived, and her house was as charming as the broken turn signal on Syv’s broom. There was no way Maurli was ever going to live this down, she needed to find a potion to fix this, fast.
She ripped through her pantry, her doorbell croaking urgently all the while. “Just a moment!” she shouted cheerily, clawing her way through boxes of wormwood crunch cereal and mason jars filled with sleep warding potions. After picking through the many bottles on the back shelf she came upon the one thing that may save her reputation with the Coven, a potion that can dilute the senses and lower expectations.
Quickly flipping through her phone, she selected a playlist with heavy bass and pumped it through her home speakers before she strode to the door with confidence, carrying a basket full of Vodka as the plants flashed in time with the music.
This was going to be a spring equinox to remember.
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A lot of other blogs on here have fun Halloween stories, idk if they'll post them to their blog directly but in case they do go check out @marlowethelibrarian @dragoninatrenchcoat @rotting-moon-writes @words-after-midnight @cowboybrunch @gioiaalbanoart @saturnine-saturneight @leahnardo-da-veggie and @wyked-ao3 (I wrote one for this year but uhh.. couldn't figure it out. So I cheated.)
this is me emailing you so you have this in writing, just like you asked me to. I'm nervous to leave a paper trail, for obvious reasons, but I also trust that you aren't going to use this against me. On the other hand, I am grimly excited. Like this, nobody will be able to say that I didn't ask for help before it was too late, least of all you.
Which brings me to my point: please, for the love of God, help me. I've tried everything by now, dentists, doctors, family, friends, nobody can help me. They are all itching to send me to a therapist, or better yet a closed institution, and as fast as possible too. But I am telling you right now, if you call the police on me for a wellness check and I am locked away, my blood is on your hands.
With that out of the way: Here is what you didn't want to hear from me the other day at the coffee machine, properly and in writing.
It all started early one morning. I usually wake up around five these days, but I remember it being even earlier that day, I think around 3am or 4am. Did you know that we feel pain stronger at night than during the day? I looked it up. It peaks exactly at 3am. But even without looking that up, I could've told you, because the pain I felt that morning was something I'm never going to forget.
Have you ever gotten a root canal, Mr. Caradoc?
I did, two years ago. It was my lower molar, the first on the right side. I can still see the filling, I think, when I pull my lips back—well, I could, anyways. My dentist did a pretty good job all around, not just with the actual procedure, but also in explaining to me how it works. When a tooth is infected or inflamed down to the pulp, the very inside underneath enamel and dentin, what they will do is, they will bore a hole in the respective decaying tooth, and then hollow it out completely, removing everything within it that's alive, and then fill it with something dead and inert, with rubber and cement. And although it is a dead man walking from then on, surrounding tissue is able to keep such a tooth alive, as my dentist told me, almost indefinitely. He did an excellent job hollowing me out, but it was a bad day to find out that I don't properly respond to the anesthetic he used.
It was that same pain that I felt again that morning, at 3 or 4 in the pain hour, and that was what I was looking for in the mirror as I was standing there in the dim grey light and pulling my mouth open with a finger. A sign that my root canal had to be redone.
But what I saw instead was, and I know how difficult this is to believe: a tiny, tiny dark door, hollow, maybe more of an archway, smaller than the pin of a needle, carved right into the enamel of my tooth.
The first thing I did was of course to call my mom up in a panic. She had to spend twenty minutes calming me down before I'd stopped crying for long enough to take a picture of it, and then when I did and sent it to her, I could immediately hear the pity in her voice. She told me that it was a very normal thing to have nightmares like this during pregnancy, and that she had gone through the exact same thing when she was pregnant with me. I have to admit that I got very angry at her for it. I know what a nightmare is, I am not a child. I was wide awake. People all around me have taken on this patronizing air towards me ever since I've started showing, as if carrying a baby somehow negates everything I have accomplished and everything I am, and has turned me into some fragile stupid thing.
I hung up on her. I'm not proud of it. We haven't been on the best of terms anyways, and I'm sure this didn't make it better.
Four hours later, I stood on my dentist's doormat, practically banging at the door to be let in. I was overjoyed when he opened my mouth to inspect the molar and immediately agreed to give me a filling, but it only struck me why he'd told me to take the day off as I was inspecting the molar in the rear view mirror of my car, and all he had done was to fill in the archway, leaving the intricate carvings around it alone. And they were intricate now: It was as if somebody was miming pillars around the hole in my tooth. I stormed back into his office in distress, and found myself set up with a blanket and some hot tea in the waiting room as one of the dentist's assistants patted my knee, instead of just filling the damn structure in.
I went home. What else was I supposed to do?
The next day, the pillars had been carved.
It went on like this. First there came windows, rows upon rows of them, with ledges and flourishes. Then, the next tooth showed a hole. Then the next. Archways started to grow steps to lead up to them. Windows became larger, more opulent. And the pain—I never saw the actual carving happen, not even once, but I felt it. I felt every single chip, every last line in them.
I saw dentist after dentist, convinced family to look into my mouth, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, even my boss, but there was always that same goddamned look of pity. The woman is going crazy, their faces seemed to scream, as they even stopped being able to see holes at all. But I am not crazy. This is not phantom pain. I know what is happening to me, and I need it to stop. I am being made a home for something, and I want it out.
My parents have asked me to move back in with them. I will be packing my bags next week, but I'm afraid that they aren't planning to help me with the pregnancy. If my suspicions are true, these bags will be on the floor of a mental hospital very soon.
I am asking you for your help because you have always been on my side, even back when I was fighting for accommodations for my morning sickness. I don't know who else is left to ask. I also don't know what I expect you to do about this anymore, but I need it to be something.
My jaw has started hurting.
Please.
Yours,
Kalinka Czajkowska
If you liked this, don't miss the continuation in the next chapter of Particle Decay! Ms. Czajkowska isn't going down without a fight.
Fuccckkkk I can't be having new story ideas, LEAVE ME ALONE I HAVEN'T FINISHED A SINGLE STORY SO FAR STOP PILING UP
....
So you guys wanna hear this thing that blipped into my brain while showering?
...
So. You got the protagonist, gay trans dude who just got out of a relationship. Wasnt super toxic or smth just ran it's course. Or maybe the relationship was still going on, but both parties had already checked out mentally. Then the ex partner dies unexpectantly. Was maaayyybee murdered dunno yet. Enter the private detective/cop/or what have you who was a close friend to the ex partner and had a lifelong crush on him and never liked the protagonist because ex partner never liked cop guy back and only ever saw him as a friend. Cop guy, maybe a tad biased, is convinced the protagonist did it. But once he has proof the protagonist didn't and is now a target himself, he begrudgingly goes on to protect the protagonist and find the real killer and they end up getting closer over this
I wanted to share a story with you all about my creative journey thus far. 8 months in, and I have to say I never quite expected to even be sharing my writing let alone receiving kind words, encouragement, and interest from you all so here is a—I will call it a love letter to you all on tumblr who've followed and help nurture the writer I soon hope to establish!
OliOliOxenFree: My Journey
The beginning of this year, sheesh, it feels like forever ago at this point, felt like standing at the edge of a vast, uncharted territory, with only my words as a guide. I had a vision, a dream that was both thrilling and terrifying. It was a journey into the unknown, where I would carve out a space in the digital world for my stories, my voice, and my truth. I poured myself into OliOliOxenFree, not just creating content, but breathing life into a world where imagination and reality blur, where every story holds a piece of my soul.
As I embarked on this path, it quickly became clear that it would be a solitary one. The friends I had once relied on for support began to fade away, their silence louder than words. It wasn’t that I lost them entirely, but their absence in my creative life was palpable. The people I thought would stand by me, cheer me on, seemed to drift into the background, and I was left to face the echoes of their encouragements that had now gone quiet. Family, too, remained distant—whether out of a lack of understanding or a simple disinterest in my creative pursuits, I’ll never know. The realization that my passion for writing was something I had to fight for alone hit hard. The road was lonelier than I had anticipated, and I often found myself questioning whether this path was truly meant for me.
By the time June rolled around, that loneliness had seeped into every corner of my work, casting shadows over the stories I once felt so passionately about. I hit a wall—a severe crisis of confidence that shook me to my core. I began to doubt my abilities, to question whether I could really do this. The voices of support I had relied on were gone, and in their place was a void that seemed to echo my own fears back at me. It was a dark time, and for a moment, I considered giving up. But then I realized something powerful: if nobody else was going to fight for my art, I had to. This epiphany became the turning point in my journey. I understood that the only person who could truly champion my work was me. And so, I picked myself up, dusted off the doubts, and threw myself into my writing with renewed determination.
I didn’t just bounce back—I came back stronger. I now have four debut books in the works, each one a testament to the resilience I’ve found within myself. I’ve been constantly uploading short stories and flash fiction to Tumblr, the platform where I’ve received the most love and support. Despite having fewer than 200 followers on Tumblr, these individuals have become the backbone of OliOliOxenFree. Every like, every reblog, every message of encouragement has reminded me why I started this journey in the first place. Instagram might feel like a place where my work goes unnoticed, and Twitter is a mixed bag depending on the day, but Tumblr has been my sanctuary—a place where my stories can live and breathe, embraced by a community that truly gets what I’m trying to do.
At one point, I deleted my blog out of frustration, not knowing how to navigate the space or how to bring people back consistently. But as I continued to grow and evolve, I came to a realization: it’s not about the numbers. It’s not about how many people visit my website or how many followers I have. It’s about having a hub where my work can exist, where it can be read by whoever stumbles upon it, whether that’s tomorrow or five years from now.
I needed a space where my stories could live on, independent of the constant need for validation. With this newfound clarity, I’m launching OliOliOxenfree, a new creative writing blog that will serve as the home for all my work. This is where my stories will be told, where my voice will be heard, and where the community that has supported me can continue to grow. I'll be posting there more often than not. my Substack will still stand as a proprietor of creative, writing insight, deep dives, and my newfound exploration into the occult. I’m not really good at consistently posting because of work and daily life, but I am getting better trying to at least and I hope that you all see my vision in my heart and want to support it! I have 180 of you all here and even just half of you taking the time to engage and support with my platforms would mean the world to me.
I want to eventually be able to branch out and collaborate with other writers on short story books and other things that we could publish and share with the vast digital landscape! I have big plans for not only myself but the community that want to support me! I’ll be making a separate post for the anthology series that includes other writers. I think I finally got it to a place where you all can take inspiration and go from there!
OliOliOxenFree isn’t just a username to me anymore—it’s a symbol of my passion, my purpose, and my path forward. It’s been a challenging journey, often lonely, but it’s also been transformative. With each new follower, each story shared, I’m reminded that this is what I’m meant to do. Together, we’re building something truly special, something that will continue to evolve and thrive, no matter how many twists and turns the road ahead may hold!
Rules: Make an Am I The Asshole post (look at r/amita for examples if you don't know what to expect) for an OC
I pick Lucy!
Am I The Asshole for murdering six priests?
Please read before judging!
So I (26f) met my husband (27m) at a saloon I was working at about 4 years ago when he was doing odd jobs around the place. He wasn't one of the paying fellas but was always sweet and respectful, stepping in the few times a man would be a little TOO obtuse. His inattention frustrated me and I made it a game to tease him when he'd come in (yes I know I'm TA for that).
One day, I lifted my skirt and asked him to tie my boot, and without fighting, he got down on his knees and oh so carefully laced it wile looking up at me. I saw the depth of his feelings in his face before he pulled back and that was it, I was smitten.
Now see, a lot of people took issue with a relationship like ours- it's not exactly legal because people are backwards and small minded, but despite my job I'm a good Catholic girl and I wanted to do things right. Well, the first Priest I went to pitched such a fit I thought he'd about call hellfire down on us! Then he said some very unkind things about my (then) boyfriend. So I shot him in the head.
Well, obviously, we couldn't stay in town after that so we traveled around a bit, gaining some notoriety with our being together and all. Still, my husband never said a mean word about any of it... until the next priest called me a whore. Never thought I'd see a man's head get snapped all the way around!
So anyway, we traveled from place to place, putting unfortunate clergy-folk out of their misery when they chose to uphold the "law" until we found Father Jeremiah. He was an older man, but was smart and kind, and told us that as long as we never told a soul who'd done it, he'd marry us that very evening. It was small and quiet, with only the two friends we'd picked up along the way as witnesses, but it was perfect.
Father Jeremiah is still alive to this day, but he told me hellfire awaited if I didn't repent for those other murdered priests. So tell me, AITA for murdering them?
aita
YTA (You're the asshole)
NTA (Not The Asshole)
ESH (Everyone Sucks here)
INFO (Need more information)
Voting ended onAug 21, 2024
I tag @lychhiker-writes @saturnine-saturneight @bookish-karina @thecoolerlucky @cowboybrunch @the-golden-comet @wintherlywords @madi-konrad @jev-urisk
They seemed to move as a unit around Henry, each moving in a practiced rhythm as tents came down and horses were tacked up around him. He saw Iris mutter something to Storm and the way the man waved it off, looking sour. He saw Tom twirl Lucy in one arm as he loaded their cookware with the other. He felt himself being utterly useless.
“What- I mean, can I help?” He asked weakly, noting that they were almost done already.
“Never you mind.” Tom replied in an almost kind tone of voice. “You’re our guest. Guests don’t clean, my Mama used to say.”
“Neither do I!” Lucy added brightly, “I’ve got other talents though, don’t you worry. Besides, Tom doesn’t mind.”
No pressure Tagging: @saturnine-saturneight @wintherlywords @madi-konrad @thecoolerlucky @cowboybrunch @bookish-karina @jev-urisk
