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I’m the fox laying down

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I’m sorry for your loss

Had a dream where I lived in a town called Lil-wayne, Georgia

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do you just dislike real milk? A lot of plant based milks are pretty good, I’m an oat milk man myself

I love cereal but hate milk, does anyone share my pain?

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The internet and not understanding what occam’s razor means, name a more iconic duo

fuck occams razor sometimes things are complex

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the trick is to take it slow and work your way up to running. When I started to train for a 7.1 mile race, I started by walking briskly for a while. 

I ran on the treadmule for 10 minutes and now I think I’m dying

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Seems kind of limiting tbh. I understand there is a lot of good reasoning behind avoiding deaths for the sake of deaths, but still. 

Killing off characters: the shoulds and shouldn’ts

1. Why you should

The death is a major plot point

It reveals some shocking plot twist

It supports your themes/what you’re trying to say with your book

Your novel explores the afterlife

You are George R.R Martin and the selling point of your work is that everybody dies

It suits the genre/mood of your novel

2. Why you shouldn’t

The character isn’t serving any purpose (this isn’t the Sims)

You want your readers to be shocked for the sake of being shocked

You want to be edgy

You think your MG story needs more gore

You want to romanticise grieving/loss

3. How you should

This really depends on your genre and target audience

If you’re writing something that isn’t intended to be graphic/traumatic, you can stick to the impact the death has on the other characters. If your novel explores illness, focus on that rather than on the disturbing death scene itself. Perhaps you’re writing a drama/tragic romance - you might want to ease up on the gore here. For these genres, I would suggest focusing on the emotional aspect of the death - the sobbing, the last words, the bright white lights (whatever floats your boat). Think of Mufasa in The Lion King - the actions are suspenseful, but we don’t see him being trampled with his guts spilling everywhere. But it’s still one of the most impactful deaths in fictional history.

If you’re writing in a more mature and gritty genre (like thriller, dark fantasy or crime), you can go all out. If there’s blood and guts, you readers probably want to see it in vivid detail to get their violence fix for the day.

Whichever genre your novel falls into, you should also go with what feels comfortable to you. Even if you’re writing adult dark fantasy, you don’t have to write graphic violence to make a character death impactful.

4. How you shouldn’t

Please don’t let your character have a three-pages-long monologue after they’ve been stabbed in the throat. It’s not realistic and it’s often very boring. Yes, a few well-written last words can have a great impact. Just make sure that your character would realistically be able to speak at that point and that it doesn’t become a cheese fest.

Unless you’re aiming for very dark/nihilistic humour, afford your characters some dignity in the way they kick the bucket. (e.g. don’t use the phrase “kick the bucket”). Having someone slip on a banana peel and then choke on a pretzel is a little ridiculous and will make the entire story seem silly. Once again, this really depends on what you’re going for. If your genre is serious and your character is important and beloved, try for emotion rather than whimsy.

Don’t let your characters die only to be resurrected again and again and again. Look, I love Supernatural (long may they reign), but even I have to admit that the Winchester brothers’ luck with death has become a bit ridiculous. Doing this takes away from the impact of the death - it removes the fear and suspense, and will leave your readers emotionally stunted.

5. Who you shouldn’t

Your only female character in a bid to make the male hero feel something and become a better person

Your only LGBTQIA+ character, who is just too pure to live in this terrible world

Your only character of colour, who dies to save the white hero

Your only disabled character, who can now finally find release from life with disability

The one character who has never experienced a sliver of joy and bears the brunt of the tragedy, right when happiness is finally within their reach

The main character in the middle of the story - unless you have a REALLY good plan for what happens next

Reblog if you found these tips useful. Comment with your own thoughts on killing off characters. Follow me for similar content.

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Trying to eat less is weird. I realized that I used to eat just because I was bored/to procrastinate. Now that I can’t do that I’m feeling a lot more bored. 

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A fox in the Black Forest, Germany

📷: Klaus Echle

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Please stop drawing/writing your characters sad. You wonder why God allows sadness on this Earth and then you do the same? Fool.

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Looking at this sunset I don’t want to forget The sky that looks perfect And the clouds that fill it.

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The human race could be sustained on seaweed alone, but we don’t, for we are wasteful.

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A little Fanfiction I am writing :)

Repressing memories with the sole intention of forgetting them is a very messy and inaccurate process. It’s like trying to cover up a few words of a story with nothing but a bucket full of ink, you’re going to damage a lot more than you mean to. But that did not stop me from trying to forget what shaped me.

As a result I do not remember much from my childhood. I like to think it was not a terrible one, nor was it all that good. My first few memories are from after I was tossed on the doorstep of my grandfather, after I was abandoned by my parents. They are a blur of household chores and staying in a cold cabin alone, locked in a room with a handful of simple, yet productive, things to do. I was taught how to knit and sew, cook, and read at an exceptionally young age by my grandfather, who made sure I was putting my time to good use while he was away.

My grandfather worked as a knight in the baron’s army, training the new recruits diligently and with little rest. He was so skilled with a blade that, if he chose to, he could have challenged both the baron and his heir to a duel and slain them both before you could count to sixty. He never told anyone the truth as to how he acquired these skills, instead coming up with some sort of fantastical story that a faerie in a pond had taught him, he had been personally trained as a member of the Queen’s Royal Guard, or that he was a librarian on the continent before he picked up an ancient book and found himself bathed in the blood of ten guardsmen hours later. The morbidity of the story depended on his mood.

He was a kind man, one who disliked leaving me at the cabin alone in my younger years but saw no way around it, so he made up for it by spending any free time he could with me. He was always teaching me some new life lesson or how to act like a royal, telling me stories about the fae on the other side of The Boundary or about the legendary adventurer Alexander The Adventurous (who was my idol for much of my childhood), or passing on a bit of his skill with the sword or bow.

He always made sure to tell me that, even though I may not have been wanted by my parents, I was always wanted and loved by him. “The day that I found you, swaddled up in a bundle of blankets on my doorstep, was the best day of my life,” he would tell me whenever I was feeling particularly sad or alone. He had enough love for me to cover for two parents, even though it did not show at all times.

I loved him dearly, but I could never call him a saint. I’d tried and failed to blot out many memories he had created.

He made me to hunt and trap game long before any child should, resulting in a few times when I found myself on the brink of death, only to use the skills that he taught me to save myself.

He was prone to infrequent bouts of extreme anger that would often result in me running away for a day or two, waiting for him to cool off. I never blamed him for this anger, it only showed as his sickness progressed.

Whenever his temper flared - it only happened once or twice a year - I would hide out in the forest somewhere, as I did not have any friends who’s homes I could run to. I’d wait it out and come back to his open, loving arms. The sickness mercifully made him forget what happened during those harrowing hours and he was spared the guilt of his actions.

But the worse thing he did - and I cannot truly blame him for this as he did as much as he could to prevent it - was sow the seeds of a deep loneliness within me. The hours left alone at the cabin as a child and the times spent out in the forest, wishing my mother or father would come save me from his wrath, created a deep void in my heart that yearned to be filled more than a Peregryn yearns for the sky.

The isolation from my peers fed this void. Even though I was half-human, I appeared to be a fae at first glance. My hair, as white as freshly fallen snow, striking blue eyes, and pointed ears made me about as different as other humans in the mortal realms as you could get while still claiming to be human. This would have been fine if I had some iota of magic to call upon and put to work - maybe then I could have earned my worth in town - but I had none, at least none yet.

The only thing these fae features did for me was serve as a constant reminder of the circumstances that most likely resulted in my unfortunate birth. Few half-faes were made consensually. Most were the result of a particularly silly human running across The Boundary and into the Spring Court. To the fae there, humans were quaint and funny at best and a personal plaything at worst. The end result of humans with poor life choices and fae who cared little for them was half-fae like me, unwanted and often left to die.

But deep down, I clung to a vestige of a hope. Before the sickness had taken too much of my grandfather away from me, I sat down and spoke with him one day about my past. A few things had happened relatively recently - an event I blacked out as best I could - and I wanted to know if I truly was the result of a rape.

After much arguing, he relented. He told me about a letter that was inside of the crib he claimed to have found me in. The letter, he said, was short. “Love her as I hope to someday,” read the words, black as night against the pale parchment. To me, these words only had one interpretation. One of my parents was still out there somewhere, waiting for me.

Somewhere out there I was still wanted.

Daughter of Winter (on Wattpad) https://my.w.tt/qA0wB4p09S After the death of her grandfather, Allyn has nothing. No friends, no family, no purpose. Out of a desire to feel alive again, she goes to Prythian. She quickly learns that she has unknowingly stumbled into a world of politics and violence where ghosts of the past haunt the present, and she's at the center of it all. (AU fanfiction. No characters from the ACOTAR books in it.)

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #acomaf #a court of mist and fury #acowar #a court of wings and ruin #autumn court #illyrians #spring court #dawn court #acofas #a court of frost and starlight #fanfiction #Daughter of Winter FF

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emus are just reverse furries

change my mind

The real question: Do animals think we’re cute just like we think they are? 

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Congratulations Nintendo

You made me want to date 3 separate characters in the span of a few hours, thanks. Mipha, Prince Sidon, and Princess Zelda if anyone is wondering. 

#BOTW #Breath of the Wild #Legend of Zelda

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Masturbating is just like tickling your private part until it cries

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Jello is just boneless bones