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I fold my friend about a fanfic I was planning and told her she didn’t need to read it since it was on ao3 and not wattpad. Wellnibupload my first chapter and the next day get the sweetest comment

The next week same thing happens, I post the chapter and this person comments after reading. This has been going on for three months till finnaly I squeal to my friend about it. She starts cracking up hysterically and tells me that she made the ao3 account just so she could make my day a bit better. Get yourselves some friends like this

submitted by /u/AHetalianTiredOfLife
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from FanFiction: Where Magical Ponies battle Imperial Titans https://ift.tt/2XM66rC
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I locked you away in the abyss of darkness
Notifications no more
You’ve stopped to matter as I lost interest
I’m sure you would not care
Except you do, because rejection is tough
Rejection makes you want me more
We all want that which we can’t have
© 7.03.2019 -MyPoeticSoulNy (-mps)

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Hey! This is my very very short entry for this week. Thank you for all the awesome prompts, they where all so good and I think I’ll challange myself in trying the other three on my own :D @flashfictionfridayofficial

(the title is so cringey and I’m sorry, but my goth butt couldn’t resist)

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Her entire skeleton vibrated, her whole body shaken by the violence of the light. She never felt so consumed, so debilitated, so tired

She clamped her eyelids so tight that she almost made the little veins explode. The pain was too strong, it was like that sick light had made its way through her skull, melting her brain. 

She tried to hide, putting her head between her knees, crying out loud. She screamed with all the air she had in her lungs. The ache, the torment, she vomited it all. 

There was no reason for that light to hurt that much.

Over the sound of her desperation, she suddenly heard a rumble and then a crash, as if something was collapsing on itself. 

She choked her shouting and realized that she could now open her eyelids a little bit: the surreal sight of the cracks in the grey-mud sky as if it was made of clay and the sun, that radioactive sun that was shattering, crumbling, made her mind explode.

In a while, it would be all over soon.

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The Many Faces of You

All of these prompts should help you begin exploring yourself. The other chapters in this section will help, too, by focusing on specific facets of your background, your experiences and your personality. In working through these chapters, allow yourself to have fun and take risks. Enjoy the process. Be daring. Don’t worry about sounding literary or angry or weak or whatever tag you’re tempted to stick on yourself. In fact, avoid tags of any kind. The key is candor. You need only bring the courage to dig deep inside yourself.

And learn the lesson of Popeye: Don’t worry about consistency. He is what he is, but you have many facets and dimensions. Need proof? Read your journal. Not only will you find yourself in many moods, your handwriting will change from day to day. Remember Emerson’s line about consistency being “the hobgoblin of little minds.”

Source: Heffron, Jack. The Writers Idea Book: How to Develop Great Ideas for Fiction, Nonfiction, Poetry & Screenplays. Writers Digest, 2012.

writing-prompts-for-friends
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The kids stay with Buddy Red (whose real name is Robert Green) and his mother that night. She mutters around the kitchen about how she wasn’t ready for no guests, and she wishes she had some food to feed these little babies. She eventually finds an old looking box of ready-to-cook gumbo. “Y’all like gumbo?” 

Judah nods. 

“Looks dusty,” David says. 

“Yes, baby,” Ms. Green says. She puts an equally dusty pot on the stove and fills it with a random amount of water. 

After they eat, it’s time for bed. “Y’all can sleep on the couch,” Buddy Red says. “Get them some blankets, Red!” Ms. Green shouts. Buddy Red listens to his mother. 

The trailer finally settles into quiet. Ms. Green begins snoring before long. The boys sleep with heads meeting at the crook of the L-shaped couch. “Do you think they’re really gone?” Judah asks. 

David doesn’t answer for a moment, which scares Judah just because that never happens. “I think they’re gone,” he finally says. 

Judah tries not to sniff, because it is finally dark enough for him to cry without being seen. “Buddy Red is a ghost. Maybe they can be ghosts, too.” 

“I have no idea what to think right now…” 

Judah finally sniffs, revealing that he is crying. “What are we going to do? Do we have to live here now?” The unfamiliar place is dark, and creepy, and old, and sad, and makes Judah feel like jumping out of his skin. His stomach is still turning from that terrible, salty Gumbo. His mother’s gumbo was so wonderful, and that makes him cry more. 

David sniffs too. “I don’t know, but don’t worry, I’m going to make sure we are OK. Buddy Red needs to show us something, and we will figure it out from there. Everything will be OK, I promise.” 

When the boys wake up, they don’t know how long it was that they were actually awake on that couch, or how much of what terrorized them in the night was real and what was just their nightmares. They ask each other questions until they sort out reality, as good as they are able. 

Buddy Red arrives from his room in the back, looking the same as yesterday and the same as every day. A trucker’s hat, a green button-down, a weight lifter’s belt (because, as he once explained to Judah, he bent over a lot for work), and jeans. “Y’all ready for a little trip?” 

The boys wipe the dry drool from their faces, and feel ready. 

Buddy Red leads them to the little car that is always parked in Honey’s parking lot early in the morning. In fact, it is early in the morning now. “Aren’t you usually working right now, Mr. Red?” David says. 

Buddy Red looks at David with some mixture of derision and understanding, like how you forgive a small dog who barks at a bigger one. He starts to speak, but he sees that David understands, and does not. Judah watches, as he does. David lowers the seat for Judah so that he can crawl in the back seat of the little Honda. 

Buddy Red advises them to duck down in the car as they drive through town, just in case. Coincidentally, they are unable to see the police cars, police tape, and people standing all in their front yard. 

“Why can’t we go to the police again?” David asks, watching his little brother huddle up in the back seat of a stranger’s car, afraid. 

Buddy Red fixes his mirrors to give his hands something to do. “Lee has ghosts because Lee don’t have no future.” 

“That’s why you exist?” David asks. 

Buddy Red nods. “Yaw sir.” 

“So…” David searches. “Why can’t we go to the police?” 

Buddy Red glances at David, some surprise and amusement in his chuckle. “The Danielsons were the only hope of this little town. Mr. Honey’s was the only business that don’t sell liquor or payday loans. Now, y’all boys are the only hope for this little town.” The clock tower of the old town hall passes by the window from where David is ducking. “Mr. Jackson could take out a small army from the plain hopelessness he feeds off of in this little town. When people find out y’all boys are alive, it will weaken him, but he will find you, and he will kill you.” 

David and Judah take this in for a while. “Doesn’t that mean you’re stronger too?” 

“Yaw sir,” Buddy Red says. He grips the steering wheel of his old car tightly, cables of muscle in his arm rippling. 

“Can’t you protect us then?” 

Buddy Red shakes his head. “Folks don’t miss slavery as much as they miss the glory of the Confederates.” He gestures out the window, and there is a statue of Robert E. Lee, a Confederate general, and the namesake of the town. 

“I wish they would take that down,” Judah offers. 

“Guess who stopped that happening,” Buddy Red says. 

The boys both guess it was Mr. Jackson, but neither say it. They turn off the main street, and down a road lined with huge, beautiful live oak trees. There are lovely, restored antebellum homes all down both sides of the street. Some folks sit on the porches and rock in chairs. Suddenly, Buddy Red and his shabby old car seem dangerously out of place. One man in a rocking chair is even cleaning a gun, and looks up menacingly. Buddy Red seems unsurprised, and ready to make some distance from this neighborhood. His eyes grow heavy and his posture slouches. 

“Are you OK?” Judah asks. 

“Yaw sir,” Buddy Red says. “This place ain’t too friendly to me.” 

They arrive at wherever it is they are going. “Y’all can get up, now,” Buddy Red says. 

“Oh!” David says. “This is Thompson College. We came here for field trip.” Another antebellum structure, but huge and built majestically on a hilltop, surrounded by a forest of mostly live-oaks. The road leading in is stately and well-maintained. “What are we doing here?” 

“Need to show y’all some history,” Buddy Red says. He looks around to make sure no one is around. They walk up the hill. 

“It’s locked!” David says. 

Buddy Red closes his eyes and pushes his hand, almost as if through jelly, through the glass of the door. His arm turns a little translucent. On the other side, his fingers turn opaque again, and he works the lock. It opens with a click. 

“Wow!” David says. “Ghost powers!” 

Inside is now a museum, artifacts displayed with plaques explaining them. Buddy Red leads them to a picture framed on the wall. It is the class of 1861, all the faces are exed out and under it is scribbled in cursive, “Students have all gone to war. College suspended. And God help the Right!” They follow Buddy Red’s Finger, pointing to a photo of a fit, slim, handsome man. They wouldn’t recognize him if it weren’t for the name under, which reads, “Jason Jackson”

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Alll we need is love.

Why is it so hard to live with it, so hard to ask for it, so complicated to expect it, and almost impossible to look for it.

Millennials have learned how to live a life for the gram, for the screen. We’ve accepted the individual way of life, as the forefront, as we embrace liberal ideas and uphold rights and support mental health. In all this, how did we manage to skip the essence of emotion? How did we end up so lonely? Why are we so afraid of speaking out?


If you want to talk, about anything at all, my inbox is open. I don’t know how to make the world a better place, but I can do my bit in pushing someone to cry out for help, for love for validation, for comfort, without worrying about the pressure of self love and contentment.

It’s okay to want.

It’s okay to reach out.

It’s okay to ask

And it’s okay to fall.


Let’s talk

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The duck glared at Random then screamed at him. Random could only look back in fear. He couldn’t move. The duck leaned down toward Random and said, “What the duck are you doing?” Random just stared back. “I said, what the duck do you think you’re doing?” the duck asked again.

“Um, I was just skipping a rock,” stammered Random.

“On top of my head while I’m taking a nap. What were you thinking?” the duck practically screamed.

“Um, sorry I didn’t see you there sleeping,” Random blurted out.

The duck leaned even closer and opened its mouth like it was about to eat Random but then snapped it shut. “You’re lucky I’m vegan or you would soon by duck poop,” the duck snarled at Random. Random just stared back per his usual response to the duck. “Whatever,” the duck said and waddled back into the water.

Once the duck was settled on the water, Random slowly turned around and quietly walked away. Once he was about 50 feet away, he started to run as fast as he could. He wanted to get as far away from the gigantic duck as possible. He would have gotten far away if it wasn’t for that stupid stapler. He just happened to step down on it in just right, so it stapled his foot.

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I just finished my first multi chapter fic (1100+ hits!!! Omg!!!) and am looking to start another writing project and was looking at a college au. What have you seen done well? What have you seen that totally turned you off? I want to avoid major pitfalls or misrepresentation.

submitted by /u/meg_rose
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from FanFiction: Where Magical Ponies battle Imperial Titans https://ift.tt/3gzOSpY
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the spirit of She lurks in my dreams like a ghost in a haunted house.

She enters the bodies of women I’ve known before;

my middle school crush

pretty faces, distant and near

she stirs in their bodies, eager to meddle with reality.


She meets me in my dreams 

ghost-like and all

and we kiss.

we kiss every time.

She is so, so beautiful

so new and lively 

She must be evil.

bursting into my hazy haunted house

waltzing over my carpet

the scent of femme so enticing and pungent 

She lingers and slips so carefully into my subconscious 

her naked toes leave imprints on the ornate carpet

leave tracks in the dusted wooden floors

lurks

and only in the depths of unconscious hastiness do I indulge 

and finally kiss her lips


oh, and what if She were real?

I wake up yearning for her touch 

her lips, her breasts, her voice and smile


but I wake up to him 

I have him

so what am I doing in this haunted house?

so how did I get here?

and, oh, what if She were real?

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I can’t wait to get back to work!

Some days are tougher than others. Some days I’m more concerned with my mental health than others. I’m trying to stay in a positive mindset!

I do like be that I’ve had opportunity during my time off to continue education. I’ve taken various certification courses to better myself and my resume. I’ve also been doing a lot of reading, research, writing, and reflecting. My quarantine pack and I have created musicals. I’ve immersed my myself in virtual reality via Oculus Quest~ games, narratives, cinematics~. I’ve cooked so many meals but also ordered a lot of pickup! Support local business!

I know I have a few weeks yet before returning to work. I miss my people! So I will continue to stay busy and slowly emerge with the rest of my state in the coming weeks.

How have you stayed busy?

💖🧝🏻‍♀️🖤🥽🍴🎧📚

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The Many Faces of You

All of these prompts should help you begin exploring yourself. The other chapters in this section will help, too, by focusing on specific facets of your background, your experiences and your personality. In working through these chapters, allow yourself to have fun and take risks. Enjoy the process. Be daring. Don’t worry about sounding literary or angry or weak or whatever tag you’re tempted to stick on yourself. In fact, avoid tags of any kind. The key is candor. You need only bring the courage to dig deep inside yourself.

And learn the lesson of Popeye: Don’t worry about consistency. He is what he is, but you have many facets and dimensions. Need proof? Read your journal. Not only will you find yourself in many moods, your handwriting will change from day to day. Remember Emerson’s line about consistency being “the hobgoblin of little minds.”

Source: Heffron, Jack. The Writers Idea Book: How to Develop Great Ideas for Fiction, Nonfiction, Poetry & Screenplays. Writers Digest, 2012.

writing-prompts-for-friends
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Chills upon my skin
My heart with lies you pin
And I am too naive
To say goodbye and leave
I love you just too much
Craving for your touch
Too young to understand
That all of this you planned
© 5.28.2020 -MyPoeticSoulNy (-mps)

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