#writing example

[seleneducky123sloenelilia]

Tips from my creative writing course: Write specific, not general.

Vague writing makes readers feel nothing. Specific writing makes them see, hear, and care.

Instead of:

She was very tired.

Write:

Her eyes burned, and she reread the same sentence three times without understanding it.

Instead of:

It was a nice day.

Write:

The air smelled like cut grass, and sunlight flickered through the leaves onto the sidewalk.

Specifics create mental images.

They make abstract emotions tangible.

They build credibility, you sound like you actually experienced what you're describing.

Replace general adjectives like good, bad, big, nice, with concrete details.

Add sensory information (sight, sound, smell, texture).

Show what’s happening instead of explaining it.

[blindsighted]

Their camp sat at the edge of the sandbank, against the tree line, and beyond the reach of the waves. A black cloak with red cloud patterns llaid open on the sand; another tidily rigged up to block the weather with a simple and sturdy wooden frame. One wide rimmed hat hung at the left and right side, while belts, bags, pouches, knives, and clothes were alternatively set in neat piles or tossed casually around the area. In front of this refuge, wood was stacked, ready to be burned, while a significantly larger pile sat tidily off to the side.

An open flame might normally attract enemies, but there was little chance of any other person coming out this way. In the event that some poor soul did wander in, it was still less likely that they would be strong enough to pose a threat to this deadly duo, if they were stupid enough to approach at all.

White sand glittered under his feet, as he walked along the shore, pressing pleasantly between toes decorated with purple painted nails. The great blue ocean stretched out on his right side, as far as the eye could see. Tall rocky ledges surrounded the bay, framing pale sandy shores of pebbles, jagged rocks, and hardy corals. Delicate little waves rippled across the surface of the water, glistening in the golden glow of the setting sun, before dissipating into soft foam at his feet.

Itachi marveled, taking in the scene with reverence, while a bittersweet nostalgic bliss washed over him- carried along by the salty sea breeze. The rhythmic churning of the tides set a soothing tone, easing the pain of days past with every push and pull. Truly, few in the world really got what they deserved, Itachi pondered, or else he would never have found himself walking in such tranquility, able to forget his woes for a time. Relief and joy coursed through him, earning a little shudder. He smiled to himself, looking out over the waves, towards the darkened shape of his partner, swimming through sparkling waves.

Piercing crimson eyes dart swiftly from the horizon, pulled down to the shore by a flash of motion. At once, he brings down a simple wooden skewer with swift efficiency. The crab struggles, flailing madly at the end of the sharpened stick, but its agony is of little concern to Itachi. Its suffering needed. "Thank you for your sacrifice," he offers in apathetic prayer, before continuing down his route, in search of other unfortunate and edible creatures.

[winters-love-letters]

Example Letter: Short Note

Carmilla (Witches X Warlocks) with the themes: Wish you were here + Just checking up on you

- - - - -

My Darling, 

It’s been too long since I’ve last seen you in the human shop, it’s starting to worry me… You aren’t sick are you? I’ve been saving your regular herbs for you at the counter, but I think Mr. West is starting to get irritated about me “hiding them from paying customers” or something along those lines. You know how he is, haha. 

Anyway, I’ve missed you, my dear. No offense to Mr. West and my regulars, but it gets so boring without you stopping by. The seconds I spend away from you are starting to feel like centuries and trust me, I have lived through several centuries that could make watching paint dry seem like a more engaging way to spend my time. 

This is all to say that I hope you come back soon and I hope whatever is keeping you from me isn’t too serious.

Forever and always,

Carmilla 

[reachingforthestars]

Necessity

6/25/21; (I)Sean; contains somnophilia, polyamory, AFAB Sato

He wishes he wasn’t such a light sleeper. Wishes his partners weren’t such deep sleepers.

Well, Sato smirks as they carefully slip out of the bed, not completely.

It’s not like this was their first option. He’d tried subtly shifting back against Dean, tried gently shaking them awake, tried speaking. And there was no point turning over to Isa; if Dean can’t be roused, then hell must freeze over to allow Isa to wake.

Can’t be mad when Dean gets me pregnant first, then.

And as much as they wish they could’ve gotten dean to wake up, to at least wake enough to slip a hand between warm, wet thighs and fuck a few fingers into him, or even better grip a hip and slip that gorgeous cock inside them, never knowing if they’ll be pounded into oblivion or told to keep them warm and themselves relaxed until the blond’s ready to wake-

As much as they love that, those two being such deep sleepers still has its benefits.

How else would he be able to have Dean so pliable beneath him? And to be able to get them ready so quickly, with no interruptions, fuck-

It’s a wonder he’s able to pull himself away, cunt aching as the ravenette pops off, lips flushed and shiny. Another time, they decide, briefly debating on whether to continue the blowjob and simply fuck himself with his favorite toy before opting to just follow through on the original plan. Lube already in their reach, it’s not long before everything is fully prepped.

The only thing left to do-

“Ohh…” The breathy sigh escapes as the thick head pops through, a drawn out, “fuck-“ escaping as he descends further, the ring of muscle yielding to the familiar intrusion.

And, with hands braced beside tan thighs and clit positively throbbing, he starts to rock with the same motions he has every other time; slow, smooth, and steady.

They’ll pick up the pace when he’s ready to try to wake Dean again.

[auxiliarydetective]

Luna and molting

I talked about the topic in this post and made a post explaining how molting works on my research blog @eviessearchhistory but I figured I should go more into detail on how molting affects my One Piece OC Luna as a character, especially now that I thought more about the writing usage of molting for my sideblog post. So, without further ado, here we go:

First, I'll talk about how molting works in Luna's case: Her species molts every time their wings get too small to carry their human body. So, they molt pretty frequently during puberty when their growth spurt kicks in. They replace all their feathers at once, which means they're unable to fly for the duration of the molting process. In Luna's case, this is about two months.

I haven't written out Luna's story in his current state yet, but my concept involves using the molt as a main plot element. Luna, at the beginning of the story, has not gone through her final full molt yet. If you look at her character design on my blog and compare her pre-timeskip design with the one after the timeskip, you can see that her wings are larger after the timeskip. The start of this transition would be during the story. She starts of acting like it's nothing until she realizes her losing foot-long feathers is nothing she can hide from her crewmates. When she decides to tell the crew, they are relieved because they had noticed her having less energy and had started to get worried. After the confession, everyone starts being very considerate of her and her vulnerability, especially the ship's cook Sanji who makes sure she has enough nutrients for the molting process and reminds her to rest enough. Unfortunately, the crew stumbles into a large conflict ending in a fateful fight. Luna is unable to give it her all and despairs as she sees her friends losing without her being able to do much about it. The crew has to separate, soon beginning the two-year timeskip.

Aside from this major molting period, Luna would only replace some of her feathers since her being in a pirate crew leads to fights in which she sometimes damages her feathers. This usually doesn't raise as much attention as the major molt described earlier because it happens during the phase where all the crew members are recovering and so Luna being a bit less energetic makes sense. However, it was pretty odd for her friends the first time to see her plucking out her own feathers, then holding a gigantic white feather in her hand.

As explained in the post linked at the top, her crewmates have usages for her feathers, either for sentimental reasons as a sort of friendship bracelet or for more practical reasons with the crafty part of the crew.

[bloomingwisteria]

𝙒𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙀𝙭𝙖𝙢𝙥𝙡𝙚/𝙎𝙤𝙡𝙤: 𝙃𝙖𝙞𝙧 𝘾𝙪𝙩 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐀𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐉𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐄𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐡 ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ Each step felt like fire shooting through his legs, starting at the soles of his feet, racing up through his calves, only to settle in his thighs, as if that were its bed for the night. Even so, he dragged himself along, cold night air filling his burning lungs with each breath he drew. His side was white hot, as if a coal had been pressed into the skin and left there, sitting and burning away. It was such a good pain. A little smile tugged at the corner of his lips as the sight of his barrack came into view. His room, his bed- where he could tend to his wounds without feeling shame for grimacing. Where he could see the full extent of the damage done. After all, sparring with your captain was either a great idea if you were in another division, or the absolute worst. Luckily for Ayasegawa Yumichika, it was the latter of the two. He had to prove himself, that’s what he’d been told. He’d come along with the other new recruits; Ikkaku had proven himself two days ago. Today? Today it had been his turn. Watching Ikkaku fight had been amazing, wonderful- it brought back memories of their time in the academy, sparring together and meeting one another blow for blow. The feeling of the blade reverberating within his grasp, the way his blood seemed to sing within his veins, heartbeat pounding in his ears. Yes, this was what he was made for. He was made to fight, to survive. Survival was key in the world he grew up in. A hand covered with dried blood reached up to grasp the edge of the Shōji, carefully sliding it open. Distantly, he could hear laughter; other members of the Eleventh celebrating. He, too, would celebrate- just not now. Now, he needed to change out of the torn and bloodied shihakusho he wore and make sure nothing was actually broken. Broken bones meant making a trip to the Fourth, and he’d rather avoid moving any further than necessary. Door closed soundly behind himself, Yumichika took a moment to simply stand and breathe. The fight had lasted longer than he’d expected, Zaraki-taichou pushing him further than he’d pushed the others earlier. But by the Soul King, it had been amazing. Perhaps this would solidify a numbered rank? He certainly hoped so. A numbered rank meant more respect, a better chance at advancing, and a better chance at surviving. He knew his own reiatsu was certainly stronger than some of the grunts that had ended up here; not larger than Ikkaku’s, though. Head tilting, he noted that the ache was beginning to spread throughout his entire body. It felt like he got his shit rocked- and not in the fun, rolling around in a bed sort of way. Then again, that is what happened- he got his shit rocked in front of fifty others. But he’d lasted well over two hours before he finally collapsed. And the smile hadn’t left his lips since then. Gaze drifting around his personal quarters, he paused as he took in the old flowery kimono he once wore. It had been beautiful, well taken care of, and his most prized possession aside from his zanpakutou. Now? Now, it paled in comparison to the shihakusho he donned. A sense of pride swelled within as he limped to the mirror in the corner of the room. A cushion sat before the large mirror, and beside that lay an ivory comb, a small bag containing little pieces of makeup he’d managed to get his hands on through the years, and a much larger bag of first aid supplies. Bloodied fingers grabbed the bag as he settled onto the cushion with a long-suffering sigh. “Shit.” Yumichika murmured, wine toned gaze widening in surprise at the utter mess he was presented with. Carefully, the shihakusho was shrugged off, a hiss escaping his lips as the fabric clung to wounds, the dried blood acting as glue. Head tilting this way then that, he studied the bruises that bloomed along his jawline and torso- and the utter mess that his hair had become. The deep navy locks were a tangled mess, matted and, in some places, uneven. Brow pinching, he turned his attention away from his hair to study the scratches and scrapes along his arms. “Double shit. He really did a damn number on me, didn’t he?” He asked the empty bedroom, staring down at the gash on his side. It wasn’t deep, so it wouldn’t require stitches or any sort of healing. Teeth gritting, he steeled himself for the inevitable sting that would come from rinsing it out. At least he’d had the foresight to ask for water to be delivered to his rooms. He wouldn’t be able to get to his bathroom even if he wanted to, not now. Sitting up on his knees, he grabbed hold of the towels he’d set aside just for instances like this. He needed to flush it first. Kenpachi’s blade didn’t look to be the cleanest, and it obviously wasn’t the most well-kept, given how jagged the gash appears to be. Then again, this wasn’t the worst scar he had. No, that one was on his left thigh, and even now when he looks at it for too long, his stomach twists with the memory. Shaking his head, he drew in a breath before beginning to flush the wound out with clean water. “Fuck, shit, damn it, maybe I should’ve gone to the Fourth,” he muttered under his breath, jaw clenching. “But that’s one long fucking walk that I really don’t want to take. Get it together, Yumi.” Next step, cleaning it with a rag and water. Tears pricked at the inner corners of his eyes from the sharp sting that came with agitating a fresh wound. It took a good few minutes before he was satisfied enough to set the rag aside and slouch, a tear sliding down a pale, unblemished cheek. Ouch. “Tomorrow. The Fourth.” Damn his pride. Angrily, he began to wrap his midsection up with gauze and a white cloth bandage, which only caused the wound to hurt even more, which caused more tears to fall from the pain. By the end of it, he looked a proper mess, bandaged up and crying. Even so, as he studied his reflection, he couldn’t find it in himself to be truly mad. Until he began to try to comb out his hair, and then, reality hit. A lump formed in his throat as he stared at the uneven length. When had Kenpachi even grabbed his hair? Or had he even? Yumichika couldn’t remember; all he knew now was that the waist length locks had been butchered. The hair he’d spent so long growing out, that he’d taken such careful care of- Half of it was cut to his collarbone. The other half was still long. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he reached out, taking hold of his zanpakutou’s hilt. He could hear the spirit whispering to him, wondering what he was doing, what he was planning. He didn’t answer. Instead, he settled the blade on his lap and took out a hair tie, reaching behind himself to gather the mangled, navy tresses into a ponytail that settled at the base of his neck. Wine toned gaze trained upon his reflection, wine toned hues were strong, steeled. Ruri’iro Kujaku hissed as he left his scabbard. The moonlight settled upon the floor beside him, causing the metal to glint in the darkness of the bedroom as he raised in behind his head, the edge settling between the ponytail and his neck. He pulled. Navy locks fell to the ground around him, the remainder swinging forward to settle just below his chin in an asymmetrical bob. Head tilting, he studied his reflection. So much lighter… He shook his head, and the tresses followed the movement. It made a little laugh bubble up. Cutting his hair- that had felt oddly freeing. A smile curled his lips as he reached up and touched the ends. It felt smoother, healthier. Lighter. “Beautiful,” he whispered, a hand cupping his own cheek as he studied his reflection. A tear slid down his cheek, the last bit of mourning leaving him with it. This was who he was. Yumichika Ayasegawa of the Eleventh Division. He will become a seated officer. He will earn the respect of his peers. He will survive this. He will survive.

[wendimydarling]

“Silly Sunday” Prompts!

Sometimes, smut or fluff requests we receive as authors for a character can be really hard to fulfill based on the idea. To prove this point, lets take it to the extreme:

Send me the most ridiculous prompt request you can think of, and I’ll write a couple of smutty sentences to a paragraph showing you how difficult it can be to come up with good smut or fluff for that idea. For example:

Fandom Favorite x Alien - Smut

“The creature’s long, thick tendrils snaked around the Fandom Favorite, but still he thrust in earnest, chasing his release in the strange protrusion that had been offered him. The creature made a high-pitched noise, a mix between a growl and the cry of a banshee. Was this actually working?”