It's ok if your story is predictable. Not every work of fiction needs to reinvent the wheel.
There's a reason that tropes exist, and it's because readers enjoy them and they make compelling stories. As long as the journey is fun, readers will come along for the ride.
"Wah this section of worldbuilding I'm doing is so minute and kinda pointless to the larger scheme of things, hurr durr I'm just focusing on some whatever part when I have actual story and plot to figure out-" WHO CARES. YOU ARE THE GOD OF YOUR UNIVERSE. HAVE FUN CREATING IT.
I have mixed feelings about words myself. Moving among them, sorting them out, watching them appear on the page, from this I derive a considerable pleasure. But at the same time I have another strong feeling about words which amounts to nothing less than nausea. Such a weight of words confronts us day in, day out, words spoken in a context such as this, words written by me and by others, the bulk of it a stale dead terminology; ideas endlessly repeated and permutated become platitudinous, trite, meaningless. Given this nausea, it’s very easy to be overcome by it and step back into paralysis. I imagine most writers know something of this kind of paralysis. But if it is possible to confront this nausea, to follow it to its hilt, to move through it and out of it, then it is possible to say that something has occurred, that something has even been achieved.
Harold Pinter, “Writing for Theatre:” A speech given at the National Student Drama Festival (1962.)
caption: “more sentences I’d use to start children’s books. enjoy. feel free to use as writing prompts. even if we both wrote and published books like this, they’d end up as completely different stories.” via @online1roomschoolhouse on instagram
Writing is a form of magic. You start with a blank page, then you press pen to paper, or fingers to keys, and magically, whole worlds will unfold before your eyes.
Lives are lived. Friendships won and lost. That power is yours. Embrace it!
Love was never something he would’ve questioned about.
Until he met you…
From lingering gazes that were caught at times. To faint blushes that lightly appeared on his cheeks and ears. He hides under his fluffy hat more often than ever. Especially when it came to slight touches or a cute habit that made him question love.
Can this be considered as love? Is there a way to tell if you feel this as well? Is there even hope?
He read through books and magazines to find the answers to becoming a loving being. Even watching rom-coms to flirt or use cheesy lines that could work on you. When he doesn’t realize that you accept the way he is and his past. As you genuinely like him and were wondering if he would ever reciprocate those feelings.
With questions and concerns, he has regarded “love,” as the solution was simple. As it was you who helped and guided him. Leading to him giving you his heart.
“You have my heart ironically.”
As he said with a smirk and confidence as he leaned into your lips under the moonlight.
The buyer held the warm metal box gingerly in both hands and stared wide-eyed at the flickering flame. Something told them that the vendor didn’t mean oil. “What do I feed it?”
Ashnikko Lyric Prompts for all your spooky gay fantasy story writing needs
Aka, Lines I'm Sad I Didn't Come Up With First
One thing you need to know about me is I'm a SUCKER for fics/stories/poems inspired by songs so I figured I'd drop some lyrics here for y'all to play with :)
Bound with the curse, bees and the birds, even the plants are perverse.
The trees come alive, their vines reach out and wrap around my legs, I'm in a bind. Flowers bud and grow from the place we intertwine.
She is divine and I'm devout.
Scared of what I'm feeling - the bruise of being fourteen - there's chlorine in our hair and my jaw is shaking in my mouth.
Down. Feathers over rocks. I died and I land with both of my hands in the mud.
It felt like a God - how she held me. I slept on her shoulder, I gave her my all. I bathed her in waterfalls and I continued to fall, burning like a dying star.
Invasive weeds rooted in my heart, set in a crooked trajectory. The journey here was hard, I was almost pulled apart. Trying to leave this orbit took what's left of me.
The forest reaches out to guide me. Blue fire paths of will-o-wisps illuminate the darkness's oldest tricks.
I am nobody's captive. I asked him not to kill me politely. He drained my magic core, bottled up at the source. I washed up on a sea glass shore.
Menacing figures fall from the sky - symbols and sigils, I saw the signs. Rats in the sewers, death on my mind. I've set my sights on you, baby, you're mine.
The world is burning and I laugh in the flames.
You like my boots? I could stomp you like a little rotten fruit - on your jugular and leave a pretty bruise.
I'm coming for you - I'm contagious. You ruined what is sacred. I was living good before your locusts and your plague hit.
You're crying and you're shaking? I'll take your tears, bottle them and use them as a face mist.
You sang the song and now our destinies are tied. Dance til your feet bleed and join in the hunt - you will live forever if you come. Hither, come
You sang a song with your wicked mortal mouth. Sing to me sweetly, call to me now, there's a hundred hungry spirits in the trees looking down.
You sang a summoning you thought was a song, I heard my name on the wind.
Everything is stardust, everything is God.
God made me pretty, you made me mean. I brought a blade to the dance routine.
Feed the beast on broken dreams.
I'm an entity, an apparition looking for a host. I am darkness's scary sister, dissipate like smoke.
Three times say my name, you can't escape my cold embrace, I drag you to the bottom of the lake.