#original writers

[winterandwords]

I'm not sure I can express this sentiment strongly enough, but I'm going to try via the medium of large bolded text.

Write what the fuck you want.

Write what makes you happy. Write what makes your soul sing. Write what fucks you up and makes you cry. Write what comforts you. Write what distracts you. Write what you want to read. Write what you want to watch.

Write what you want to dream about tonight.

Write what you can't get enough of. Write what you're completely obsessed with. Write what wakes you up at 4am and drags you out of bed because you can't stop thinking about what your characters are going to do next.

Write what turns you on, if that's your vibe. Write characters you're in love with and characters who inspire you and characters you want to be friends with and characters you fucking hate but oh my god they're so much fun.

Write about things you would sell your soul to do in real life and things you would never do in real life. Write about things that are happening right now and things that happened a thousand years ago and things that might happen in the future and things you wish could happen.

Write to get a publishing deal or to sell your books yourself or not to sell your books at all. Write for your friends or for strangers or for the people who reblog your posts on Tumblr and send you songs that remind them of your characters.

Write for yourself.

Fuck any system that tells you there's only one right way to create or one valid way to share your writing. Your story, the way you tell it, has so much value. Make people smile or piss people off or do both of those things because art is divisive and fascinating and beautiful.

Start writing. Keep writing. And write what the fuck you want.

#the shit in my head #writeblr #writeblr community #writer #writers #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #tumblr writers #writers community #writing #am writing #writing community #original writer #original writers #writing advice #writing tips #writing motivation

[rewritingrosie]

#𝐑𝐄𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐈𝐄 ! — ABOUT ME.

ʚ back | wips masterlist | main menu | server

hello, hello, i’m rosie !

As a writer, I’m as hopelessly devoted to fantasy and horror as I am to romance. Most of my works explore themes of morality, feminism, and autonomy while sprinkling on as many gothic elements as I possibly can. I thrive in writing banter-filled, rivals-to-lovers dynamics, but am not incapable of indulging in a good, fluffy couple here and then — on top of giving the love interests claws and fangs, ahem.

while I’m considerably more frequent on twitter and discord, I intend to put more time into developing this blog in the future!

I’m actively seeking !

- writing mutuals ( add me to your tag list ) !

- future beta readers !

- support through the process ! :)

disclaimer ᖭི༏ᖫྀ

My blog is generally intended for adults / mature audiences, though not all aspects of this blog will contain 18+ content. My novel also deals with depictions of violence, and horror that could be otherwise uncomfortable for some viewers. Follow at your own discretion!

thank you so much for taking the time to read this! as always, my asks are open, similarly to my dms, should you have any questions!

with love ,

rosie !

#╰ . writerblr //. interactions welcome : #* ( x. ) — down to the marrow #writerblr intro #writerblr #fantasy writers #writblr #write-it-motherfuckers #writers of tumblr #original writers #writing community

[reality-inflicted]

Happy day. I’ve actually gotten one of my rambling texts (in an abbreviated and edited version, naturally) accepted for publication. Yay me.

#original photography #original photographers #photographers on tumblr #photography #original writers #writers on tumblr

[sanguine-arena]

all in a day’s work | misc drabbles #4

desc: As an equipment manager, sometimes, getting the stains out of the team’s jerseys after a game can be much harder than it needs to be.

cw: mild descriptions of blood, no major warnings

wc: 551

tags: @thetruearchmagos , @hottubraccoon , @elijahrichardwrites , @aquil-writes , @rsdan , @jezifster , @isherwoodj

All in a day's work.

That was the thought on his mind as he kept scrubbing at the mesh material of the bloody jersey he had in his hands. He sighed in mild exasperation as the faded red stain still stubbornly clung on for dear life. He could've sworn he'd been scrubbing at the damn spot for hours now, and he wasn't entirely sure that he'd made much progress.

He shook his head, setting the jersey and the damp rag he was using down to muse over a better way of doing this. He looked to the growing pile of others he had to get through before the night was up, probably about five or six jerseys strong by now. The game had ended hours ago for the players, but here he was, still grinding away at those pesky blood stains that never seemed to want to come out as easily as he'd expected them to.

Not helping things was the fact that the jerseys were dark gray, only a few shades off from black. It hit the perfect duo of inconvenience right on the head in the way that it was just light enough to show the blood stains from tonight's brawls in the first place but just dark enough for using bleach to be completely out of the question. He knew because he'd tested it already, and now had to pretend that the slightly faded spot on one of the sleeves didn't exist, or else his brain might've just shut down right then and there. He couldn't use it to get blood stains out on these sweaters, no matter how effective it probably would have been.

He ran the jersey under the cold tap water once more, hoping that maybe one more soaking of the material would loosen the stain up just enough to be willing to cooperate. His eyes stayed trained on the jersey as he gently moved it back and forth under the water, making one hundred percent certain that it was soaked through. He pulled it away seconds later, setting it back on his "work desk", as he liked to call it, laying it completely flat on its surface. 

He took the bottle of peroxide that had been idly sitting there for the last twenty minutes, carefully drabbling it on the stain. He took the now dampened wash rag and wrung it out, starting to gently scrub at the stain. He slowly went in circles, squinting to try and get a better idea of what he was looking at up close. He continued on, repeating the steps a few more times in hopes that something, anything would shake out. 

He hesitantly pulled the wash rag away, taking the treated material in his hands and pulling it closer to him. He squinted once more, picking at it as he meticulously made sure not a fibre was out of place. He sighed in relief, swaying a bit in his chair as he struggled to locate the stain now. He got to his feet, taking the jersey to the massive laundry machines he and his crew of other equipment managers had in the back room. He tossed it into the machine with every other dark garment already inside, leaving the door cracked.

All in a day's work, he thought.

#misc drabbles #drabbles/scraps #wip: slaughter season #writers on tumblr #original writers #writeblr #writeblr drabbles #i just wanted to write a small little piece about equipment guys. they have my whole heart #also just love the Vibe of this. yknow.

[islaytonlost]

What Have I Done? LB;MR Fic

First Part, Previous Part, Next Part

Disclamer: Alfendi isnt a representation of DID. Real shooting is bad but I do enjoy a bit of fictional shooting.

----------

It’d been a day since Hilda had seen Alfendi. Ever since he’d been shot he’d grown withdrawn, sometimes he was completely devoid of himself. Maybe she'd been too harsh continuously sending him home instead of letting him stay. They were in the office. No one got hurt in the office, right?

Still, she'd done the right thing. It was regulation. They might ignore it sometimes but Alfendi's health wasn't something she'd ever want to gamble. Him getting shot had been terrible. Working with him made her feel invulnerable sometimes. Every lie, any criminal, no matter who they were he knew. He always knew. Always so happy to work it out. So happy to prove it…

It was why she loved him. His unending devotion. The highs of the chase. He was passionate about this. He would always be passionate about it.

This was different though. He’d always been passionate about her. Rough and rugged and right. She loved that. He would always fight for justice. They could do anything. He made her feel like they could do anything.

Where had that man been in that last interaction? He was confused meek, vulnerable.

She needed to talk to him.

Alfendi had never brought a house. He lived in a small flat at the top of a massive block. Opting to pay for a view over the space. It was easy to walk in. Everyone had seen her before. The crazy woman who seemed to trust their overly aggressive neighbour. Not that she minded. There was always a level of respect in the way they looked at her.

Breaking and entering was illegal but he hadn't answered the door and she was worried and… well she was sure she'd find something. Besides, Alfendi wouldn't press charges against her. 

The place was messy. More than usual. Alfendi wasn't exactly a neat person but he liked things in their place and they weren't in their place. The table was covered in papers. With one in the middle. 

Hilda creeps closer, not exactly knowing why but the paper, a scroll? Looked out of place and some irrational part of her felt like it was watching. She snatches it off the table. Turning it around. 

The grand, extravagant writing was weird. It looked hand written. Hilda scans it, and then spots Alfendi's signature. This warranted some looking.

The fine print was hidden in the embossed sides on the back. It made her heart stop.

He'd thrown Lucy Baker under the bus. This poor young woman's life had been stolen. 

Wasn't she the murder suspect?

"Ain't this illegal? I thought the police didn't break in." An unfamiliar voice calls from the doorway. Hilda turns. Lucy.

She was sporting lime green lipstick which matched her dress. Bold choice, she would be easy to pick up on the cctv.

"I had a key," Hilda lies, "and even if i was it's not as bad as murder."

"Eh, I think it's worse. You go around, loading how much better you are than the rest of us but behind closed doors your just as bad."

"I didn't break in."

"Just like your boyfriend didn't break into the station."

"Where is Alfendi?'

"I were hoping you could tell me that. He's an odd one."

"So you haven't hurt him?"

"Nope! Why ain't you arresting me?"

"I read something on you."

"My file? Ah I'm sure you've seen worse. My parents are loving and alive. Very disappointed in me."

Hilda hesitates.

"What is it?" Lucy sits on the worn down sofa, leaving toward Hilda, "you look concerned."

"I am."

"You can tell me anything."

"No, no I can't Lucy. You're a murderer."

"Not a gossip!"

"How can I even trust that. You've murdered people. This is stupid." Hilda scoffs.

"You're worried about something. Now I am a great catch for a copper like yourself so if I try to share with anyone like you I won't survive will I? I'll find myself all locked up." Lucy stares at Hilda, "come on. Who else is going to listen?"

Lucy was right. She didn't have anyone. She was so utterly involved in her work and she also couldn't tell anyone. Hopefully, maybe, Lucy had the answers.

"I don't think Alfendi is who I thought he was." She admits, "he's changed. Ever since he got shot. I think it has something to do with you."

"I did shoot him." Lucy agrees, sympathetically.

"Not that. Well… he's just different. Look at this," Hilda hands the scroll to Lucy.

The criminal scans it, "You're joking. You're insane."

"Look at the back. It's got the fine print." Hilda's voice comes out horse.

Lucy scans it, "tell me this is a joke."

"Do you know him? Did you know him?"

"There's no way he could have met me," She shakes her head, "I knew you two, after catching Justin. Made you famous."

"Oh, so…" Hilda's voice trails off.

"This isn't real." Lucy’s voice is hard, "my life isn't run by some idiot."

"He couldn't have known."

"He didn't try to know hard enough," Lucy looks it over.

The silence was tense. Fir the moment Lucy and Hilda were in the same side, investigating and exposing Alfendi. She'd never expected to be here.

"He gave up a life working in the mystery room with me, I dreamed of this…" Hilda looks over, wondering what she could say, could she defend Alfendi? "He did some of this for you."

It's an accusation. Lucy was implicating Hilda.

"I never knew. I never would sign something like this!"

"Do you love him? After this do you still live him?"

"...Yes" knew it was an admittance of guilt. She knew Lucy wouldn't respond well.

Lucy was on her feet first. Hand darting to her pocket, Hilda went straight for hhe gun, knowing there was no time for anything else bit Luvy was faster to draw. 

BANG

The bullet scrapes Hilda's neck, drawing blood and pushing her back.

BANG

Brains exploded everywhere, arching into the sky, splattering against the walls, the sofa, the papers, the ground and Lucy herself.

Blood spat out of Hilda for a moment, like a fountain, gushing down her clothes, staring her once pristine blouse scarlett. Her blazer scarlett, her hair matted and scarlett.

Lucy turns, running out.

#professor layton #alfendi layton #hilda pertinax #lucy baker #lbmr #fanfic #lmbr fic #layton brothers mystery room #I've been busy #writing is hard #shooting #I didnt give lucy the gun the writers did #original writers #not me #fictional #gun violence #blood #gore #violence #What have I done? LBMR

[benjamin-vague]

The Thing He Crafted

The Builder stood back and appraised his great work, the labor of all his years at last complete. It was a beautiful, elegant monstrosity that rose to twice and again the height of a full-grown man, its skin all of burnished metal and buttressed arches. From outside all that could be seen was a hill-like mound, perfectly spherical in shape, plain to the eye but for the way it shone in the sun. On one side was a recessed cavity that served as an entryway. But inside, ah! Inside was the true marvel, his joy and secret pride.

It took only the press of a few buttons for the Builder to open the door. It was less a door meant for human passage than it was a great metal throat, the airways of his beautiful inhuman offspring. And in he stepped, listening to the tremendous silence of the machine waiting to draw breath, draw life. It was a reassuring thing, that steady quiet. It was a reminder, a promise perhaps, that the pain in his back, the unsteadiness in his legs, the incense of years clouding his vision had not been for nothing. It meant something. It meant something to him.

All along the walls and floor of the passage wound silk-fine filaments of wire in inexplicable complexity. Inexplicable complexity to an outsider perhaps; he knew the role of each and every one. To the untrained eye, nothing of this place would make sense. It would seem the rambling folly of a madman; “inexplicable” would be the kindest way to describe it. But he recognized these delicate wires as the circulatory system of his great work, channeling energy from without to the inmost chambers where hung the beautiful and terrible cogged heart at its center.  It was with relish the Builder shambled through the worming passages, knowing each and every intersection that would baffle and maze anyone else. A left turn here, then a right, and on through a slowly ascending rise; another right, and so on... Until finally, godlike in its immensity, quiet with the apprehension of a machine not yet put to its function, bloomed the central metal bower. It was the breast of this sleeping titan, no beat yet to be heard from its heart. Its lattice was not of bone and cartilage, no, but of precious ores collected long over the course of years. Its inner flesh was not soft nor pliable to the touch of time like that of a human, but impervious and impermeable. The life-giving arteries that spilled serpentine from shadowed crevices were not tender tissue to be easily torn or ruptured, and there they converged in their multitudes upon the principal structure, spherical as was the exterior shell. It was a thing all of cogs and gears, meeting and diverging with a peculiarity that would make any learned architect laugh at their absurdity, circled all round with metallic struts like the limbs of a terrible god. It would be only upon the Builder’s touch that the whole of this place would come to life, ready to begin its interminable work. It would be only upon his touch that it would fulfill its function: not to produce some rude manufacture for the consumption of men, no. Nor to supply energy for their endeavors, their livelihood. 

For the function of this place was merely to exist; self-contained and complete, needing nothing, intended for nothing beyond the triumph of a perfect mathematical precision. And it was perfect, the Builder saw. His creation, his child, would outlast mountains. It would witness the dimming of scarlet stars. It would certainly outlast him. His work was at last fulfilled, all that remained for him was to turn it on, to bring to life this the purest expression of his will. And then, well... then he would be free to leave.

The Builder looked upon the heart of his work, the secret heart of him, and was pleased. But it was with no small amount of trepidation that he reached his hand, his all-too-human hand, out to the central controls that rose pedestal-like on the central dais before the heart, so very like an altar, to complete the task.

His hand lingered. Was he ready? He had checked thrice over the placement of each and every aspect of his work. He had consulted the diagrams that would seem arcane to any eye but his. He knew it, he felt, as surely as he knew his own tired body. Yes, this place was only waiting to be born. But was he finally, after all these endless years, ready to die? His hand lingered. His fingers shook.

And then like a lightning bolt his hand fell upon the final proportion of his work, the button which was the command to live, live at least! It was the only soft thing comprising the whole of this titanic body. And in an instant he committed this place--whatever it signified, madness, brilliance, beauty, sorrow, he did not know--to wake. It was too late now for secondary considerations, for doubt. 

The Builder heard the telltale electric sizzle of a newborn artificial life, noted the first groaning rotations of its innumerable cogs and gears. Beneath his feet the very earth moaned, even as the walls shook off the dust of ages. Tears began to well in his rheumy eyes, his breath came haltingly; as the heart of his beauty began its first pulsing, so his own began to lose strength. He could feel it within his chest, a subtle tightening. And it was good; all was as it should be. All acts of creation should require sacrifice. The tightening became an ache, became a pain, became an agony.

The Builder fell to his knees, gripping at his chest and the immensity nestled there that could not be reached. But his eyes never left the heart--his own secret heart--winding up with an inhuman fury before him. It was as he smiled that the Builder heard something else, a quiet sound, a sound that should not be. It did not come from before him, nor behind him; it came from all around.

Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Gasping and grasping at the meaning of this, the Builder crumbled to his stomach. He pressed his wrinkled face against the cool floor, as if in supplication before the heart. And then, just as his eyes dimmed and his breath faltered a final time, he heard it: somewhere a single cog in the machine had slipped its placement. One single cog. One small miscalculation in the mind of a madman. The whole structure shuddered in anger or pain, he did not know which. Perhaps it was both. Perhaps it was only senseless sound, laid bare of all metaphor and sentiment. “It’s ruined,” said the Builder, and it was the barest whisper. “It’s all ruined now.”

#literature #short story #poem #writing #creative writing #original work #original poetry #original writing #horror #writers of tumblr #writers on tumblr #writers and poets #original writers

[bloodybellycomb]

One massive, legitimate way to improve as a writer or artist or in any creative endeavor really, is to become absolutely obsessed with something and to allow yourself to be weird about it. Genuinely mean this btw.

#dc comics #disco elysium #shakespeare #hamlet #scott pilgrim #<- all this things have made me a better #writer and artist for both fan creation #and for my own original work #literal life hack #allow yourself to become obsessive and cringe to a certain degree #birdy chirps

[hashtagloveloses]

NEW UNION JUST DROPPED

LET'S GOOOOOOO

#original post #marvel #mcu #hot labor summer #vfx #unions #wga strike #sag aftra strike #writers strike #actors strike

[rewritingrosie]

Hello!! Are you you a writer with a WIP and are looking for supporters? Join our discord!!

why hello there! established 05/16/23, flutter・social ଓ discord is a 16+, writers & readers social discord with a dark academia aesthetic & multi-interest members, rapidly growing. The idea is to bridge the gap between readers and aspiring writers, and create a witty, diverse community of friends working on projects, drafts, and anything else that could possibly be in-between.

Being a writer can be so draining without the proper support, and we want to energize you. And currently, to celebrate hitting nearly 200 members, we’re hosting a matchmaking event - for writing partners! A writing buddy can be the one person to be as fully enveloped in your wip as you are, and I’ve seen firsthand how amazing it is to have one writer guaranteed you can message each day. The server is in a constant state of being worked on, and refreshed, and all genres, genders, and backgrounds are welcome. Fanfic or originals, we would love to have have you there!

If you're interested, feel free to dm/hit us up in the comments, and we can answer any questions you might possibly have, or give you the server invite! Comment, heart, reblog.

#writers #writerscommunity #fantasy writers #write-it-motherfuckers #original writers #fanfic writers #wattpad #writing server #writing discord #writing community #writers of tumblr #writing memes #creativepromptsforwriting #writblr #discord group

[montanabohemian]

if i see a single one of you pissed that your faves canceled an event or a con appearance because they're striking for fair wages then imma come for you in your sleep 🔪🔪🔪

(direct that fury where it belongs: AMPTP and the execs)

#sag aftra #sagaftra #sag aftra strong #sag aftra strike #union strong #wga strike #PAY THE FUCKING ACTORS AND WRITERS #i hope the execs lose EVERYTHING #sag strike #sag-aftra #(BY THE WAY I'VE MADE A MINOR EDIT ON THE ORIGINAL POST) #in case you're confused: BE PISSED OFF. BUT DIRECT IT AT AMPTP AND THE EXECS. #if you don't get to see your fave at an event or a con? IT IS NOT THE UNION'S FAULT. IT IS THE FAULT OF THE EXECS #AMPTP AND THE EXECS ARE REFUSINGS TO NEGOTIATE IN GOOD FAITH AND ARE REFUSING TO PAY ACTORS AND WRITERS FAIRLY #SUPPORT THE WGA AND SAG STRIKE #if that means you can't see them at a con? then take the money you were gonna spend on that con and donate it #to the entertainment community fund #DIRECT YOUR ANGER WHERE IT BELONGS #WHICH IS AT AMPTP AND THE GREEDY PIECE OF SHIT EXECS #another edit: i forgot to add alt text which is my bad. I HAVE CORRECTED THAT.

[leonardospoetry]

Feeling too much  can hurt sometimes,  but one day you grow  and realize that your heart  was never really  broken. It was just  wide open.

#poetry #quote #poem #original #writer #thoughts #literature #words #writing

[keepcalmandwritefiction]

A cool thing about writing is that the better you get at it, the more you're aware of what you want out of it, which means it gets harder, which means you actually feel like you're getting worse.

And by "cool thing," I mean "what the fuck, man"

– Sam Sykes

#fiction #fiction writing #writing motivation #the writer life #sam sykes #tweet tweet #kcawf original #image description in alt text #writeblr

[skylark233]

#dark academia #literature #poetry #poem #life quotes #original poem #writers and poets #book quotes #life #writers on tumblr #light angst #chaotic academia #spilled ink #bookblr #books and reading #books #writeblr #writing #franz kafka #art #light academia

[kaizestar]

is this relatable for anyone else…

#writers on tumblr #writerscommunity #writing #writeblr #creative writing #writing memes #writing problems #writing process #original character #character design #meme #writers

[yandere-writer-momo]

Yandere Head Canons:

Sacrificial Bride

Yandere Dragon Shifter x Princess Reader

TW: Yandere behavior, manipulation, Somniaphilia (suggested), delusional yandede, complacency, etc.

Feroc the Ferocious was the kind of dragon who would bring any silly knight to their knees. The kind of dragon that inspired legends and stories to be written in books. The kind of dragon that was larger than any castle human like could ever dream to build. The kind of dragon that could decimate a kingdom with a single breath of his fiery flames if he was angered… the dragon that your own people sacrificed you, the princess, to in order to save themselves from his wrath.

And so they bound you up and threw you before him. Your own father on his knees as he begged the great dragon for mercy in exchange for his own flesh and blood… the kingdom’s most prized beauty in exchange for peace. An offer Feroc quickly accepted before the king could utter another word!

Dragons collected beautiful treasures! Dragons hoarded their treasure in caves and abandoned castles fad from prying eyes… and unbeknownst to you, Feroc found you to be rhetorical most beautiful

For dragons, a sacrificial spouse was an ancient tradition and this was the first time he’d been offered such a perfect bride! How could he refuse you? Especially when your own people begged him so prettily? Would you beg for him just as beautifully one day?

And so you were scooped up in his ginormous talons and carried away in the sky to a lone tower deep in the mountains. Your new home… your home with Feroc.

You could recall how scared of him you used to be. You’d heard from many people of how this giant scaled beast before you was a man eater. Of how he swallowed many knights in his time… yet this dragon seemed so shy from your experience so far. Skittish even.

Feroc often brought you various jewelry and fine silks from his daily raids. There wasn’t a day that went by that he didn’t bring you a gift of some kind. His molten eagerly studied your form despite his persistent silence. Feroc’s company disturbed you as much as it comforted you.

It took a month for him to speak to you. His accent was heavy from the olden tongue he spoke but he knew the same language you spoke. His voice was booming and low, it could easily strike terror in others… but for some reason, his voice calmed you. Perhaps loneliness has finally crept its fangs into your heart? You weren’t sure…

Feroc would bring you anything you wanted to eat. Within means, of course. He’d bring you delicacies he’d likely looted off some poor caravan if you said you wanted sweets. There was no extremes he wouldn’t go to for you, which was odd since he was a dragon who’s been around for hundred of years… why did Feroc have such an interest in a human princess?

One day, you had a nightmare of a man standing in the corner of your room. Your scream in the night quickly alerted your guardian who peaked his large eye in your room in worry.

“Princess? What’s wrong?”

“I just had a nightmare… I thought there was a man in my room.” You wiped the sweat from your forehead while Feroc clicked his tongue.

“No man could ever scale his tower. I’m the only one who can enter. I’d never let anyone harm you.” The red and black dragon grumbled, his molten eyes glanced you once over. “Why? Do you… want a human companion?”

“I do get lonely sometimes.” You admitted to Feroc . His eyes now filled with hurt. “I do enjoy your company but… I miss being able to touch another human.”

Feroc didn’t understand your sentiment. He was a might dragon! The strongest of his kind! Feroc has proven himself to be the best of mates to you and yet you were still displeased? Was it because he was a dragon? Would you be happier if he showed you his other form?

“I’ll figure something out then… get some sleep.”

Feroc now snuck in your bedroom when you slept. He ghosted his clawed fingers over your oblivious form in wonder. His clawed fingers were too sharp, he’d have to dull them more… he didn’t want to cut up his pretty princess!

Feroc’s gentle touches progressed when he noticed how heavy of a sleeper you were. His desire to see what made you human drove him to insatiable heights. No area was left unexplored with his eyes. He needed to be perfect. Feroc had to be compatible with you. You and him were going to have young one day, after all! Feroc didn’t want to harm you in the process!

Feroc was able to mold his body into a perfect man. Once that was the perfect size for you, yet still immense so you’d know it was him. Feroc now stood at a massive seven feet tall rather than the hundred feet of his dragon form.

Yet there was a constant fear within him that you’d die of old age or of natural causes… Feroc knew humans were fragile creatures so he did what he had to. Feroc shared half of his heart with you while you slept. It was a simple spell and a painless procedure for you. One that would benefit the both do you in the long run!

If one of you died, the other would! You’d never age! You now shared a lifespan with him. Feroc couldn’t wait to tell you once the two of you made everything official!

It took another month for him to reveal this perfect form to you. Feroc had to let the excitement die down from sharing his heart with you so you didn’t freak out! Humans were such finicky creatures, after all! And he’d be an awful mate if he frightened you with a subject you had no knowledge on…

All you needed was to see this devilishly beautiful form of his and you’d be bewitched.

“Look at us… we’re so beautiful together.” Feroc whispered into the skin of your shoulder as he admired your reflection beside him. “I think I’ll find you more gold to decorate you with, my treasure.”

“Feroc, I don’t understand.” You jump when Feroc dragged his forked tongue across your exposed shoulder.

“You accepted all of my gifts and you’re the only one who suits me.” Feroc hissed his obsidian eyes flashed a bright gold. “Wouldn’t you rather be by my side than in my stomach?”

You gulped and obediently rested your head on his chest which made him purr in contentment. His muscular arms wrapped around yours as his wavy black hair tickled your skin.

“I’m joking, I’d never eat you.” Feroc smiled before he pressed a soft kiss to your cheek. “You’re my bride, after all.”

You didn’t need to know about how many knights he’s killed over the last few months for you. Feroc would take care of you until the day the both of you died. Every heinous act he’s ever committed over these last few months we’re all for his beautiful, blushing bride.

#female reader #yandere fic #yandere imagine #yandere #yandere oc #yandere original character #yandere oc x reader #yandere x y/n #yandere x you #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #monster x human #yandere monster #yandere dragon #yandere headcanons #original work #tw.yandere #yandere scenarios #yandere obsession #yandere concept #yandere writer Momo #stockhom syndrome #yandere horror #yandere idea #yandere imagines #monster x reader #princess reader #yandere male #yandere boy #delusional yandere

[renthony]

I am begging people to use LibreOffice and personal storage devices like hard drives or USB sticks instead of relying 100% on Google Docs. LibreOffice is free and open-source, it saves files to your own computer, and it lets you save as many different file types. You can write in it, format ebooks in it, and do everything you might possibly need to do as a writer.

"Oh, but I'll lose my USB stick--" Fine, back things up in whatever cloud you use as a form of extra protection, but you should also try your absolute damnedest to also put them on some form of storage that isn't a cloud.

I know it's not accessible to everyone, but if you at all have the ability, don't rely on shit that lives on other people's computers. Especially with everything going on with AI theft and aggressive censorship of adult media. If you don't store your files on your own personal computer that you have control over, your files aren't fully yours, and they're at the whims of whoever owns the cloud.

Learn where your files are stored and how to access them. Get into the habit of backing up your files to your own personal storage. Even if you're not up for intense tech research and you don't care about how the computer actually works, please stop letting your art live in corporate clouds.

#every time I see another writer post that they only use Google Docs #part of me dies inside #original post