Not sure how to reach the TWD fandom but I'll give it a shot.....
As a fan of TWD that only made it to season 7 because they killed my baby Glenn and I couldn't live with the trauma......I wanted to write something like TWD
Something that blends horror and nature, characters who are not heroes or villains, and asks questions about the psychology of people who have to deal with a fallen society.
Not sure how to reach the BTVS Fandom but I'll give it a shot......
As a fan of BTVS I watched season two and absolutely fell in love with Drusilla and decided I needed to write a character like her
Someone that is a blend of powerful but crazy, her mind is just gone because someone broke it, she didn't choose her villainous life but she is loving every second
Pretty sure I know how to reach the SPN fandom
As a fan of SPN I wanted to write something with the brotherly love and grit that the Winchesters have
Something with the pain but also the strength to get back up and keep going even though the world is down right awful and maybe people don't understand just how horrible it is
IDEK is the Lost fandom is still existing but here goes
As a fan of Lost I watched to season 6 because I couldn't keep going after they killed Eko and then my baby Charlie but I decided I loved the way the characters were all connected and I wanted to try and write that
Something where they characters may be minor they may only get a chapter but they leave an impact because they are unique and they connect to the rest of the world in a fascinating and individual way they are a small part of a bigger world but they were a piece of another character's life
Thanks for coming to my TedTalk this story is in the works
The temptation of the sexual creature of darkness long limited to legend was too strong. Novels coated in dust depicted them as beautiful but called them demons. These warnings were not enough. Science was too wild, too available, and too free. Money came pouring in when the promise of immortality was mentioned. The limits and the barriers had been blown away by the cannon fire of sponsors.
Trillions of dollars and much genetic encoding later, an alternative to date was found, and the creatures of darkness could roam the earth once again. They were called nanoslicers. Nanomachines that entered the body through an injection into the bloodstream. These machines began to dissect and edit the DNA of a living organism. Splicing and cutting out the mortal and replacing it with a creature capable of living forever.
It was late October when the first successful human trial was announced. His name had been Benjamin V. Hemmingway, but after the nanoslicers had been injected into his skin, began cutting his DNA and editing him, he called himself Craine. His face was all over television screens for months after the trial. The world desired to watch as he transformed into the marvelous creature he thought he was destined to be. Nanoslicers in his blood destroyed any decay and eliminated cell death and disease. He was immortal and he was gorgeous. The once average billionaire turned into the epitome of handsome and beautiful. He became a strong creature of darkness without blemish. His skin tightened around his muscular body and his desire began to flower.
Craine’s first follower was named Meghan Drewin. After Craine injected the nanoslicers into her neck, she transformed into Lilly. Dripping in gold and pearls they lived in the mansions of the cities. Penthouses and ballrooms crowded with the followers of Craine as they begged him to be changed. They begged him for the injection of synthetic immortality. Millions of people flooded the cities and begged for the transfusion. Craine and Lilly could pick and choose the patients and with one needle pull their nanoslicer-filled blood out and inject it into the aorta of their most loyal follower. The edited former humans grew to astronomical numbers. One year after Craine’s successful trial, his followers outnumbered former humans 20-1.
The worst of the side effects were hidden away from the public. Even Craine did not know what hunger would strike him after the nanoslicers started working deep in his body. The doctors who tended to him and monitored him would bring him donated blood. Bags upon bags of bright red elixir for their god. His hunger for tuning others became insatiable. He turned his followers and he sent them to find him fresher nectar. Deer were some of the first victims. Bodies scattered on the back roads and railroad tracks. Their slick coat loose and thin as it blanketed the bloodless carcass.
Widespread fear started with the missing posters. Milk cartons and billboards all plastered with the faces of missing children. The fear grew so great and widespread the nation locked down. The creatures still found their way in. The blood of children was the most pure. No one could prevent the hunt. The creatures, the demons, slaughtered and stole. The man-made demons killed every child they found. They became the divine power of the nation, of the world. They lived in the mansions and penthouses even after the worship had faded. Science had let monsters in the world and not even science could take them out.
Monticello was the first mansion in Virginia to have its walls poisoned by the blood consuming monsters. Mount Vernon, Oak Ridge Estate, Montpelier, The Arlington House were close to follow. The only house they could not infiltrate was the White House. The symbol of American power had become a fortress for the important. Those left that did not inject themselves with the evil miracle drug lived in dusty bunkers waiting for a cure. They waited for the weakness to be discovered.
There were those who did not wait. Those who took their guns, their knives, their bombs, and prayed for death as they tore into the mansions and lit them ablaze. Estella Williams watched her family raid Oak Ridge Estate. She watched as her mother and father were taken out by those creatures and drained of their lives. Essie hid herself in the bushes and prayed her brother would make it out. She crouched behind the ivy-covered crypt and made no sound. The ivy curtain hid her camo clothes well enough but she knew they could smell her blood pumping through her veins. She knew her pure child-blood would bring them running.
Essie waited for the fire to engulf the mansion and for the creatures to be too confused to look for her or that the smell of the smoke would cloud her blood’s sweet aroma. She pushed through the ivy curtain and ran as fast as she could to the dirt road behind the mansion. Her dad’s truck was there. If she could make it down to the road she could run to the treehouse and hide. It was two or three miles but if she didn’t scream she might just make it. Essie ran as fast as she could down away from the crypt and through the creek, trying to break her path and her smell trail. Tree limbs and briars snatched her jacket and ripped her flesh. Blood ran down her face and remained behind for the creatures to find. Tears mixed with the blood on her cheeks as she ran through the pines, slipping and sliding on the needle-covered floor. Crows screamed at her presence and mocked her attempt to escape.
She made it out to the road. Only a mile or so to go before she could hide in the treehouse. Essie ran down the road, small drops of blood trailing behind her. Her feet pounded on the gravel, slipping and sliding in the puddles as day faded to night. Essie reached the high bridge and stopped, waiting and listening. The less noise she could make running, the more hope she had for losing her pursuing shadows. Trying to catch her breath she looked up the road to see a familiar face. Her brother ran down the road, blood dripping down his chin and covering his hands. He held his side as he ran.
Essie waited for her brother to reach her before wrapping her arms around his waist in a hug.
“Shh…shhh, it’s ok Essie, we’re safe now,” her brother whispered into her hair.
“No, no, no, no, no, no,” she muttered. “Dad said get to the—the treehouse if anything…” She could not catch her breath. As she held her brother her fear and pain rose up and filled her with sobs.
“You’re safe now, Essie. You’re free.”
Essie looked up at her brother, soaked in blood. He no longer held his side and he appeared to know no fear. He smiled as she looked up at him.
“We’re not…we–”
Her brother lifted her off the ground, holding her tightly in an embrace. The last thing that Essie felt was her brother’s heart softly thumping as he lifted her over the edge of the bridge and dropped her to the tracks below.
She reached down into the floorboard and yanked on the small pedal that opened the truck’s hood. With a loud clunk the hood popped and caught on the tiny latch. She rounded the truck and slipped her fingers under the hood, moving the latch to the side and lifting the hodd she peered down into the aged engine well. Her eyes scanned the familiar parts from the unfamiliar. Anything not rusted and relatively clean could get her a few bucks. She grabbed her wrench and multitool and like a child choses rocks from the creekbed she pulled out parts and stuffed them in her bag, tossing the ones she didn’t want into the woods behind her.
When she was finished scavenging she pulled out her knives, zipped up her backpack(buckling the strap over her chest), slid off the truck and started back towards the camp. Leaves crunching and wind rustling she began singing to herself, trying to sound like the birds and squirrels around her. It was a soft whisper song that was not meant to be heard but it kept her moving through the leaves and over the abandoned dirt roads.
That soft whisper was for her and her alone. It kept the fear away. Talking to herself made her sane and it made her forget about the noises around her. She could ignore the terrifying silence of the woods. The woods were where she felt home, but the silence filled her with fear, a fear that the silence would be broken. The silence could be shattered by a man following her in the woods, a bear growling behind her head, a gun cocking at her back, a plane hurling towards the earth, or a Nadlushi lurking in the trees.
She just kept walking, kept singing and mumbling. If sounding insane kept her sane then who was the real insane one? She walked on that road until sound started to fill her ears. The griping of her family brought her comfort as she neared the clearing. A bare spot in the forest only about half an acre big, cleared by her and her sister with makeshift rakes and years of foot traffic. Ansley sat on the hood of the white Mustang yelling into the driver door where Jensen sat, rolling his eyes as he tried the ignition again.
As she walked up, careful to step over the tripwire alarms, Jensen looked over at her and his crow’s feet creased as he saw his niece return. She climbed into the backseat of the mustang, closing the door behind her, which unfortunately always trapped the musty smell inside the car. It had been sitting idle for a month, they hadn't been able to fix the engine, probably the spark plug. And in these times, it was easier to find diamond necklaces than spark plugs.
She situated herself in the backseat and unzipped her backpack.
“What you got for me, Vinny?” Jensen looked in the rear view window.
She looked up at the mirror and replied to just his brown eyes, “I think I might have found it.”
He lifted his eyebrows before turning around in the seat to look into her backpack himself. She passed him the backpack. His greasy hands began to root through the bag, the lines of his face deepening as he searched for the part he had needed for a month.
“I hate this car,” Ansley yelled from behind the lifted hood.
“Ans,” Jensen, called back, smiling, “she found it!”
“No she didn’t,” Ansley jumped off the engine and rounded that 2001 Ford Mustang with more speed than she’d moved in weeks. Jensen handed her the part with a smile. She snatched it out of his hand and screamed. She folded her fingers around it and slid in the loose dirt to the backdoor. She threw the door open and pulled her sister out of the backseat, holding her by the collar, “I love you so much right now, Ruth-Anne Virginia."
She grinned, “I better not be in trouble.”
Jensen laughed, “Not at all, Vin. We’re having stew tonight to celebrate this victory!”
“Stew?” She stuck her head in the driver’s side window grinning.
Jensen nodded and tousled her hair.
Stew meant one thing and one thing only. It was a celebratory meal but it was a celebratory meal because it meant Ruth-Anne’s dad was coming home. Ruth-Anne hadn’t seen her dad in five months. He kept going out for longer and longer.
There was a stone in her stomach labeled with the possibility that one day he wouldn’t come back. One of these days stew would be a meal that she couldn’t bring herself to eat. The delicious and warm broth would swirl in her mouth like mud water mixed with carrion.
Ansley must’ve seen her mind spinning and her hands fidgeting, she grabbed the back of her coat and spun her around.
“Get your CD.”
Ruth-Anne’s eyes grew big. She dropped her bag on the ground and began *rooting through her trinkets to snatch her CD. The CD that she always listened to when she was walking alone in the dark. The CD her dad had given her and the CD her mom had made of her favorite songs. It was her most prized position and it was rare that Ansley would let her play it over the Mustang’s loud speakers.
Ansley climbed in the backseat and reached past Jensen to stick the CD in the little slot. She pressed a couple buttons on the center console and Ruth-Anne’s music started playing through the thumping speakers in the back. She climbed in the backseat and nuzzled into Ansley’s shoulder. Ruth-Anne couldn’t see it but she knew Ansley rolled her eyes; but it didn’t matter because she lifted her arm and wrapped it around the girl she called her younger sister.
Listening to her CD while Uncle Jensen fell asleep in the driver’s seat, she waited. She waited for her Daddy to come home and for everything to be ok again. She tried to close her eyes and rest but every time she did her heart started pounding and her body grew cold and damp with sweat. This was how it was. Sleep was only for the nights when she had gone too long without it. For the nights when she was in danger and her body just shut down. But days like these where it was safe to nap and rest her mind could not be more awake.
She slithered out of Ansley’s hold and crawled to the floor board. She rotted through her backpack until she found her pens and began to draw. Draw on paper, draw on her clothes, draw on her skin. She added color anywhere she could. She did two things to cope, color and collect. She collected tiny toys, scraps, rocks, and anything she could to create a hoard of things that could keep her sane when her Dad was gone. Ansley had helped with the hoard, she was a terrible influence on the habit. But she also knew how much it helped her. Ansley was there when R.A. was having the worst month of her life. She was there to give her pieces of comfort and items to wrap her fingers around to try and grasp calm.
[this is from a doc that I've been writing called Pilot, I have considered it the beginning of my book. I have been really scared to share but I am worried I am getting stuck so I am sharing to try and introduce my characters who saved me.]
Not me trying to just post an introduction to my oc from my wip of four years but I save the draft and Tumblr tells me it needs a potentially mature content label.
What is mature about my oc? Her aesthetic?? Does the trauma leak through the Pinterest images??? What does this mean Tumblr, are you trying to tell me smth?????
I am a writer and I have been for nearly four years now. I would like to present the basic idea of my story:
Two sisters live in a world much like our own torn apart by sickness, death, monsters, natural disaster, darkness, and killers.
These two sisters have lived with their guardian for some years now but when he is killed they must figure out how to survive in this world. They try to scavenge, hunt, steal, and anything they can to just survive. But their surviving changes when sickness reaches them and they are torn apart.
They must find each other again and they must navigate what is and what isn't real.
I am trusting y'all with this story, bearing my soul, my hard work, this is really hard and really scary but it is one of the reasons I joined Tumblr, to find nerds like myself.
Does anyone else find it incredibly hard to write as a hyper fixation hopping ADHD'er. Because every single solitary piece of media I consume like the very hungry caterpillar I go, "oh I like this idea, I should write that!" But then I go, "is that plagiarism or inspiration?"
Is it an AU or canon? I have that power and I abuse it.
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