thedaremaster - Tumblr blog

thedaremaster · 29 days

Text

I had met the absolute love of my life in you, from the moment I first saw you, i knew.

But I owed karma a debt, and I paid it in full.

5K notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

i don't want to become a poet; i don't want people to judge me because of the words i scribble. these people don't understand, i write about sweet love—not because i am falling for someone or infatuation struck me, but because i saw a young father carrying a little bundle in one hand and the other holding the hand of an exhausted woman. He whispers something, she melts into him with a radiant smile following as if the domino effect . when i write about heartbreak, it's not because i miss him. it's because my feet crushed two leaves that were perfect before i stepped on them. i write about loneliness, not because i spent my weekend holed up in my room, but because i had a lone spoon on my table. for it i brought a fork and wondered if they would ever be friends. i'll never be a poet, at least a good one, but i surely am a storyteller waiting to capture stories or ever make up one.

5 notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

🪽😈Good Traits to bad

Our perfect imperfections make us imperfect perfections.

Nice <> passive/unassertive

Strong-willed <> stubborn

Sensitive <> easily upset

Honest/communicative/trustworthy <> insensitive/brutal

Loyal/devoted/faithful <> tolerates bad behaviour from others

Perfectionism <> Never beign satisifed

Generosity <> Being taken advantage of

Being dependable <> People always depending on them

Protectivenss <> Overprotective, obsessive

Cautiousness <> Never risking anything

Ambitiousness <> Coming off as ruthless

Tidiness <> Obsessive and compulsive

Assertiveness <> Coming off as bossy

Pride <> Not accepting help

Being realistic <> Being seen as pessimistic

Innocence <> Being seen as naive

Optimism <> Not realistic

Diligent <> not able to bend rules

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee☕ and find me on instagram! 📸

🖱️References

https://townsvillepsychologist.com.au/personality-traits-can-be-positive-and-negative/

https://www.pinterest.com/pin/9359111719786856/

3K notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

No character is going to live unscathed.

We writers seem to be an expert at getting our darlings bashed up, beaten and abused (sometimes to the point of insanity). That' great, and let's make sure we are doing it right.

Cuts and Scrapes

The area will immediately begin to swell up.

Blood rushes to accelerate the healing process, and that makes the skin around the wound look red and swollen, and it will feel warm (though not hot).

Most wounds wouldn't bleed too much, unless it's a head injury.

Try to give indications of how severe the wound is.

How wide is the injury? How far does it stretch across the character's body? Can bone be seen? Is blood seeping into their clothes or pooling underneath them?

Is it a clean slice, or is it torn open? Have parts of the flesh been pulled away?

How much does the wound frighten the injured character?

Bruises

When the injury is first sustained, it will look swollen and red.

Over time, the bruise will darken to a shade of blue, purple, or black.

After that, it will gradually turn yellow or green. Then it will turn brown and eventually fade away.

The word choice matters!

Describing a bruise as a "contusion" creates a violent connotation, while "blemish" doesn't sound so harsh.

Describing bruises as "discolored" or "shadows" comes with a more melancholy connotation.

How They Feel

An injury from blunt trauma, such as a bruise, is going to feel dull, and like it's throbbing.

It will feel stiff and firm from the swelling, and it may sting if touched.

As the bruise ages, it may feel tender and sore, but only when pressure is applied or the area is moved.

A wound from a sharp object, however, is likely to feel hot, tingly, or numb.

The pain may be delayed, but after the initial rush of adrenaline wears off, the pain from this type of injury will be fairly constant.

Scrapes tend to feel hot and itchy, and the scab from a nasty scrape can cover a wide area. It will also get itchier as it heals, motivating the character to pick at it and delay healing.

Healing Duration

The time it takes an injury to heal is going to depend on the severity of the injury.

As a general rule, however:

Bruises take about 2 weeks Scrapes take about 1 week

Minor cuts take about 2 weeks

Surgical incisions and sutured wounds take about 4-6 weeks

A bad wound that doesn't get stitches could take up to 3 months

If you like my blog, buy me a coffee! ☕

1K notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

The Yarn Spinner - Snippet

Might write a full thing of this. I really hope to, but I've got a draft to finish and so many more to start. Please enjoy this snippet from another Instagram prompt. (I forgot what it was) ;((((

She sat there at her loom, working furiously at the nearly-finished piece. The shuttle slides back and forth between the threads, interlacing fibers before they are stacked together neatly with a quick pull of the reed. She works fast, heedless of mistakes.

The end is near, she knows it.

She’s seen the newspaper articles portraying their deaths, graphic and disturbing. She can’t count the nights those horrifying pictures had stolen from her. Fear became sleep’s greatest enemy.

Why does she feel fear? She wonders. Everyone dies at some point. She doesn’t wish to end like this. She’s still young. A full life ahead of her. But alas, the devil doesn’t discriminate.

She remembers Thirdy, blonde and joyous, like a bard from the old nations, singing tales of victory. Tabitha, somber and thoughtful, her pieces questioned life and its meanings and the pondering of a human spirit. Old Man William, with his one eye spectacle, writing stories since he was a young lad, encased with the wisdom he had gained over the years. The list went on and on.

Now, they’re all gone. And she was left.

Quinn, the one destined to spin the yarns. She told stories not through a pen but with a loom and a spindle. Her tapestries are a different kind of parchment/ medium. But she was to end the same way as the rest of them.

She couldn’t help but weep, tears falling from her eyes onto the colorful threads below. It was finished. She cut the thread and took out her final work.

Death was near her door.

She wraps it up quickly and hands it off to Maddy Lady, her beloved Lady-in-Waiting- (For our dear Quinn was a duke’s daughter, ironic how not even the guards could save her from her fate). The girl ducks out the window, tossing the tapestry before jumping out as well, falling onto the soft cloth below. She picks it up and runs into the night, street oil lamps lighting her path as Quinn watches forlornly from her dimly-lit room until the shadows of an alleyway swallow her up.

Wind blows through the open window, catching her curls and tugging at them, whilst drying the tears on her face. Playful still, even with her end so close. She hears his footsteps before she sees him. She turns to face her murderer, the Author. All the stories she’s heard of him come right back to her.

There’s no way to escape him.

He plays his game like he’s God.

In a way he is.

He controls your very being, your very life.

I’m sorry, she thinks, that the story you were a part of wasn’t one you were satisfied with.

But it gives you no right to do this.

Dark eyes flash as if she had spoken her thoughts aloud and for a moment Quinn wonders if this mysterious killer is actually a woman.

A gloved hand reveals a gun beneath the robes, poised and ready. A pointer finger held steadily over the trigger.

Thirdy had been hanged.

Tabitha had been poisoned.

Old William stabbed.

Such an unromantic way to die, she couldn’t help but lament.

This whole time, dread had gripped the young girl. But now, face-to-face with death, fear’s slimy grip falls away and she squares up to meet the Author. Chin up. Shoulders back. Never let them see it.

She remembers her friends.

Smiling and laughing.

Thoughtful and curious.

Ancient and wise.

Their stories all wrapped in her blanket. Hidden, safe. Til Maddy Lady released it to the publishers and the aftermath would be so profound that all this bastard’s crimes would pale in comparison.

She meets those eyes, one last time.

She knows now they can hear her.

So she screams in her mind,

One last line.

You can never keep us silent.

*gunshot

2 notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Photo

Art by Davood Moghaddami

31K notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

Story time: I’ve had acne since I was 11. I inherited it from my dad. After almost 25 years of taking hormones to treat it, I went off the pill last year because I was tired of the side effects. The acne came back, and even though I had prepared myself for that beforehand, it’s still really challenging. I can’t help but feel a sense of shame when my skin breaks out. At the same time, I would never judge anybody else for having blemishes. Skin texture is such a complicated thing and I have so many emotions around it. So here are some drawings of pretty girls with blemishes - it helps me process some of these complicated feelings. And hugs to all of you who also suffer from skin problems - you’re not alone!

16K notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Photo

Steven Universe - Art Nouveau Series by Alexa Rockman

44K notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

I did the right thing... but at what cost?

I did the right thing…

But why do I feel awful?

Now my chest feels empty.

I craved the love you gave me.

I put your shirt to my face and inhaled deep.

Your perfume sinking into me.

I did the right thing.

I did, but at what price?

Now I’m all alone.

He will never look my way.

And I’m sitting here sad.

You were there. Sweet and kind.

Held out a hand.

I can’t let my demons ruin you.

They surround you.

And I’m barely holding back.

When I’m with you I’m in control

I know what I want.

But when you’re gone, there’s an ache of what’s been there.

I said no cause it was right.

Then why does it feel so wrong?

This is why I say my hunger for love is dangerous.

I would let anything happen to me. Just because I love him.

Even though he does not.

I wish he would love me.

He will NEVER love me

7 notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

Tribute to my late grandma who was born in the year of the dragon. It’s my first Chinese New Year without her and I miss her so much.

When my parents divorced and essentially abandoned me for their new families, it was my grandma and grandpa who made sure I still felt loved. Without their care and guidance I probably wouldn't be here today.

Thank you, Grandma, for everything and more.

35K notes · View notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

WOWWW

0 notes

thedaremaster · 1 month

Text

Counting down the days

I hid under tables

But they couldn't stop the words from tearing my little heart

If I had been able, I would have grabbed my younger self and held her so she wouldn't fall apart.

Now I'm counting down the days

When I'm making my escape

Like a princess in a castle. There's no other way.

I was torn apart. Harsh words reopened my scars. Apparently I victimize. But go ahead and try to go through what I did. I want to see if you're still alive. You might not have been.

Now I'm counting down the days

Like college is my escape

Now I'm 22 and I cry in rooms of empty chairs an audience to my despair.

And I can't breathe.

I can't see.