Writing Group

Hey guys, been a while :D dunno when I wrote this (or how)
It’s a ride but enjoy :D

‘Ka-chunk’.
I perked up—my mother doesnt make that sound. Only he puts his keys down that way.
I was getting a late night snack in between homework assignments, well, in between homework I did and homework I should have done. I was in the middle of putting some roasted nuts back in the cabinet and had two bags still out on the counter. I hurriedly and quietly (as possible) took some crackers from one bag before shoving it back into the cabinet and taking the other with me. I had been right, and my instincts prickled as I scampered out of the room as a familiar figure ambled in the other side. As I’m thinking about it, I wish there was a different word for familiar because he is not familiar to me in the familial sense which it roots from, rather in the way violence becomes familiar to soldier.
I would say I am a soldier. I would, but familiar means not familial to me, clearly. I am a soldier who cries at the violence and suffers under it day in day out. I have become a veteran of life, of him. Yet it all still tears at me, hiding from the blackest corners of my mind, still under the enemy’s control.
As a veteran I have become a cuckoo clock, crying the same cry day in and day out. I wish I could say something different but I know nothing else. I cry and I cry and I shriek and I shriek of the same thing every day. Nobody listens much anymore, honestly. It becomes background noise. ‘Ah yes, there it goes again, that cuckoo’ they say. Its their reminder they live in this house. They tried changing the sound long ago when the clock first left the battlefield. Home was not home and familiar was violence. Or was that the veteran? They don’t talk to the cuckoo clock. The cuckoo clock only cries the same cry day in and day out. The cry of the cuckoo which says nothing new.

hey folks anyone got any tips on how to write a mystery? 'Cus i love mysteries and want to write some, but the one i have written so far (fora Dungeons and Dragons oneshot) wasn't that good, so any advice?

Hello! New here. Is this a group only dedicated to stories, or are general worldbuilding writeups and notaries also welcome?

(Part 3)
Power of course gives access to larger recesses of the talent pool amongst the human population, but skills are needed to prop that notion up. Thus implied are artists. (I am very much going for visual artists, but performers, athletes, scientists, among many others are also (and have always been) implied here) Many artists struggle with mental health, and I wonder if this is also why. One thing many people in these professions or fostering these aspirations have such (sometimes quite powerful) desires to change the world (even if small). Once again, these desires require skill or power to manifest, which take years to develop. In the meantime, while the eventually-talented artists suffer at the hands of the burning desire they lack the skills to execute. This is what I suspect affects the poor mental health of many artists. The aspiration to create or to change the world around them with their ideas, and perhaps this overcomes some or pushes others toward power which means they stop developing their skills as a goal for the world if not altogether.

(Part 2)
It’s always execution that takes a lot of time and effort to get right, and even then, it sometimes just fails anyway. The priviledge power gets you is the ability to not be good at something and still get your way. Once again, as an example, the government seems to prevail almost no matter what, and revolutions are, well, revolutionary, for a reason. The government needs much less skill to run and be widely accepted, though more importantly, accepted, than a grassroots organization or rebellion. Many rebellions fail to exert their idea—the idea that the current government should change hands or be abolished completely—because their leaders and participants are not skilled enough in how they go about rebelling. They are often not persuasive or transparent enough, or maybe they are only equally skilled as the government at effectively organizing. This is the lack of skill that kills those without default power at their fingertips. This is what I believe makes power so enticing and addicting to others. It’s a poison that strikes the heart of why many of us live—our ability to change the world, and our own agency to express ourselves even in the privacy of our own homes. When a powerful person has a desire, it is easy to express, whereas the skilled person puts in the labor and passion into it before it manifests, and the unskilled and powerless crumble and suffocate under the weight of their own dying desires.

(Part 1)
Okok new braindump, people! Its on my blog as well, but I wanted to put it here as well since I've not posted here in a while.
It's completely unedited so please forgive any grievous mistakes :3

I find myself really motivated by emotions. I mean, everyone is, but I can’t help but feel trapped if I can’t express myself. It is this that makes me wonder if that is why power is so addictive to so many people. (I promise they’re related)

In a world where we humans are social creatures who agree to live in a large and now global society, power (in and of itself or) over resources can get you the means to artists and those who have cultivated the skills to express your worldview. For example, control of government can help you pass or not pass laws that let people live the way you want them to live more easily. You get to exert your will on the world no matter how skilled you are if the position you are in makes that your de facto ability. As artists (or athletes) will tell you, doing things yourself takes a lot of time to build the skills that you need to perform what you want, even if you have the idea behind it well planned.

Where do you guys publish your works if you do? I've been searching for a site that isn't just for fiction, but I haven't really found anything other than substack TT

can we ask for tips in this group?
If so, I've wanted to ask, how do you handle time skips? I've been trying to write a slice-of-life and I desperately need to incorporate some form of a time skip to "a couple weeks later" but can't do so without it sounding weird. (This is my first time writing a "longer" story so sorry if the question is ridiculous)

part 2!
TW: blood, discussion of death, rot
He tried to dive, once. Tried to follow a sinking carcass as it plunged into the darkness. But he was small. And the further he went, the more the ocean weighed on him, the more it pressed on him from every direction. The more he felt it crushing him, slowly, slowly, until his ears popped. Until clouds of blood, his blood, bloomed from where his ears bled, obscuring his vision. Until the water he pulled through his gills tasted duller and duller and he needed more and more but still he was getting dizzy. Until the weight of the water made it harder to move in any direction but down.

Until he felt a hand on his tail. Floyd, wordlessly gazing at him, imploring him to come back up. Blood was clouding by his ears too, mirroring Jade once again. Floyd’s wide eyes were unblinking and filled with fear, but despite it, he didn’t try to pull Jade back up. Didn’t scold, or demand, or plead, at least not out loud. Just had his hand there, on his tailfin.

That was enough to convince Jade to swim back up.

He didn’t dive again. He never did find out what happened, until he came on land.

There he was able to read from their bound sheafs of dead trees (this was what they called books, up here, a far cry from the carved and stained tablets of the ocean). Those said that dead in the ocean sank and sank until they fed all that they fell to, all the way to the seabed, even bones picked apart by worms.

How ironic that he learned of the depths all the way up here.

The explanation makes sense for the ocean. It’s very fish eat fish down there, even in the relative shallows of his home. Nothing stays dead for long.

But up here on land there is no such rush.

So that's a wrap! Any feedback is greatly appreciated, I want to know how to improve. I feel like in some places its a little hammy, like, overdramatic, but ehhh i can't really put my finger on it or place how to fix it (•̀⤙•́ ).

TW: Blood, discussion of death and of rot

hey folks remember how I posted on here a lil fragment a while back and said I would work on the whole piece and polish it and flesh It out into a solid narrative?
Yeah lmao I did none of that.
What I did do was write another chunk of it. Tbh like the last piece this was already like 90% done I just polished it a lil.
A couple clarifications - this, like the last piece, is from jade’s pov - jade is a merman who later goes on land, this piece focuses largely on when he was a kid in the ocean. Floyd is his twin brother. Yes, this is fanfic, twisted wonderland fanfic.
And it’ll be 2 parts.

Rot is inevitable.

Jade knows this. He’s very glad to.

Azul doesn’t care for rot. He finds it unpleasant. Disgusting. Unsanitary. Any rot anywhere in his kitchen, his lounge, his dorm, is to be scrubbed out with extreme prejudice. Jade’s room is the only place left untouched.

Floyd, too, does not appreciate it. He finds it sad. The loss of something that could have been enjoyed. Rot to him is a missed opportunity. He couldn’t be further from the truth.

They are both so wrong. Rot is life. Rot is new opportunity.

In the sea, everything that died sank. It all sank deeper than Jade could swim. He would ask some of the other mer, the whale mer, shark mer, tuna mer, swordfish mer, who could swim deeper. They would tell him how all dead sank, which he knew well enough, and how they would be slowly eaten by whatever was below as they sank, but they could not tell him what happened when a carcass reached the bottom. Even they could not swim that deep.

I'm so excited! I'm glad I found this group, I'm an uprising author, I can't wait to show y'all some of my poems!!

Visual Novel "The Cursed Ones"
Part 7, Final
---
Navigating the space with ease, he came upon the glistening, unearthly water. It shone as if it was in the sunlight that couldn't reach this dark, damp place. The shimmering blue careened to the young prince as he stepped forth. Sinking into the water, he gently held the woman in his arms as he encased her in the spring. Slowly, a small trickle of light flowed forth. It swarmed the two of them, and began attaching itself to her body. Growing more. The sparkles of light became so numerous they were blinding, and the prince screwed his eyes shut, but the glow persisted as if he hadn't done so at all. A deep warmth, and a comforting chill circled around them in the water. Spinning, swirling, embracing them in a tingling sensation, it spread throughout their bodies and they went from being solid to becoming one with that dancing translucent shine. As darkness returned, a young woman opened her eyes again. Glancing around she truly wondered if this was the afterlife. A colorful place basked in darkness like this, with a glowing spring surrounding her. As she turned, a face greeted her. And thus began her true journey.
(It gets a little rushed at the end but this is a late night late night post XD)

Visual Novel "The Cursed Ones"
Part 6
---
Clarice's tears stop. A shaky breath exits her and imperceptibly tickles the nose of the great being. "I-I fell in here. My-my arm is gone-I just-I don't want this to happen to me. Not like this. I know-I know- I'm cursed but this just can't be it...Please." Her cries rang out, quiet, broken. Humans have so little blood, and it takes even less of it's loss to go into shock. Death was mere moments away for her. "A curse...What a cruel twist of fate, human. I, too, am cursed. Trapped here in agony, removed far from my homeland." The colorful lights danced in the scales, shifting with each of the beasts words. A string of drool fell from her mouth, and she rubs it away. She stares up at the being and realizes that they're both going to suffer here. Maybe it will be both of their graves. But...she doesn't want that, but-! It's too late for her...Fumbling, she reaches to her neck. That chilly, heavy amulet maintained it's place even during the chaos. Pulling it from her, breaking it's bond to her body, she holds it out. "Th-then, take thi-s." Breathless, she managed out the few, shaky words. The dragon looked to her, and as a single talon slipped it's way through the chain, she collapsed to the ground. A small smile graced her face, as tears slipped into the dirt below. In moments a brilliant light consumed everything in sight. The fearsome, mighty dragon looked no different than the young woman before him. She convulsed, a spasm here, there. Unable to comprehend the overwhelming light that filled the space, she sat awaiting death, no longer able to form a single thought. The dragon moved forth, and embraced her. Lifting her he moved through the cavern. This was not a random, unknown place. It belonged to his family. The royal family that ruled over the magical continent and all it's peoples. And he knew a secret only he could. That the spring at the end of the cavern could save a single life every 100 years.

Visual Novel "The Cursed Ones"
Part 5
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Blue, yellow, pink, purple-it was such a beautiful sight that Clarice would have been overjoyed to see such a scene, if it were not about to become her grave. She fumbles on her knees for a moment, unable to stand without her other arm, before she finally gets up on both legs. It feels as if her blood has run cold, and like the cavern is spinning, warping. Gagging, she stumbles forward. Tears run down her face as she hovers her singular hand over where the wound was. She laughs a bit, and walks more. And more. Further. Farther. Turning back, she can no longer see where she fell in at, but the blood trailing behind her induces a deep sickness in her. Her blood looked like a magical liquid, embracing all the colors of light around it, and seeping into the deep purple ground beneath her. In her lethargic, limping movement she finally comes upon a large opening in the cavern. No longer a narrow path, but a wide space bedazzled with the rays of multicolored light. A deep throb goes through her left side and Clarice falls to her knees, no longer able to bear the pain. She can't continue. How could she? She was going to die here. Alone. Wet. In this beautiful place that felt like the worst nightmare in the world. Breaking into sobs, Clarice laments everything her mother had done for her-just for this to be her fate. As her cries ring out, broken and encased in a despair no other could know, a giant field of dust flows out in every direction. Rubbing her eyes what stands before her is far more frightening than a missing limb. It was a dragon. A large, dark dragon reflecting the lights will a dampening hue. The scales trailed across it's body as large wings receded behind the figure. The dragon's maw reaches her, and as it opens her world stops. But she is not consumed. Instead what tumbles out is not fire, nor teeth to snatch her up with, but words. "What are you doing here, human?"

Visual Novel "The Cursed Ones"
Part 4
---
A long, dark, and heavy dream takes her. In a way, she thinks that this death could suit her. Being whisked away, far from others, to drown in agony in a deep isolation. But fate has other plans. Her curse won't let her go so easily, and much less in such peaceful slumber. Coming to, Clarice coughs up lungs full of sea water. The deep, horrific sting of the salt water burning her eyes, nose, mouth-everything! As she does her best to come to she finds herself in a set of water logged ruins. Covered in vines, moss, and absolutely swamped with slow moving water, mixed between the sea and a potential river. Clambering forward she does her best to see in the damp, flooded ruin. A long tunnel stretches out before her, with holes in the top of it occasionally letting in small glimpses of light. The exit is not visible from either end, and so Clarice has no option but to trudge onward. As she continues forth the tiny pinpricks of light are left behind. The air becomes heavy, hot, and it feels as if the water has started moving much faster. In the darkness the wet clothes clinging to her drive her to the end of her sanity, and as she stumbles the growing current takes her under. Flailing, she barely breathes down a few gulps of air before she is in free fall. A giant opening in the tunnel she could not see in the darkness swallows her whole. Stirring, her body cries out in deafening pain. Vomiting, she crawls on the ground in tears, not knowing what's happening to her. As she finally looks around, she realizes what's wrong. Her arm is gone. Not just metaphorically, or as some kind of saying. It has been entirely ripped off in her decent into the cavern. The blood cakes her clothing, and her heart is beating out of her chest at an insane pace. A chill runs up her spine and she barely gains enough sense of mind to glance around. Basked in a colorful light, she sees that the cavern is covered in gorgeous crystals.

Visual Novel "The Cursed Ones"
Part 3
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But this can't be. The man before her is without a doubt the rumored monster leading the bloody, war consumed land of the Domani kingdom. The man who has over a dozen dead wives. The very one standing before her, showering her with such polite kindness, was a bonafide murderer. It stirs a deep confusion in her. The heart that beats faster each time he kisses her hand in respect, and freezes in fear when thinking about the atrocities he's committed. After this dizzying journey to port, they finally arrive and board the ship to head to the Domani Kingdom. The journey starts out quite normal for a sea faring voyage. Decent seas, fair winds, and the crew bustling amongst themselves, excited to return to their homeland. As they venture further in the sea the water becomes dark from the immense depth beneath them. The sky turns, and a gentle rain becomes an oppressive downpour. Soon the sea has done as she does best-turned tide. With all hands on deck her maid attempts to encourage Clarice back into the inside of the ship, but the chilling rain makes her feel alive. Like a slap awakening her from a long, drawn out dream. She realizes this is her life. No longer in that homeland of hers, and on her way to a place filled with uncertainty. She laughs ever so slightly, face upturned to the drops pelting her experience. Uncertain if it's instability, or if she's gone ill of mind, her maid goes to fetch his majesty. He comes out onto deck as the water slushes against the side of the ship. The rain slows his approach, and just as he comes within reach of her as she holds onto the railing, the vessel lurches. Thrown from the railing backwards, nearly falling into the kings arms, the wave churn, and slam the ship in the opposite direction. Fredrick goes to grab her hand, but it's far too late. Clarice has gone overboard.

Visual Novel "The Cursed Ones"
Part 2
---
As the king speaks, he announces something completely unexpected to her. She will be wed for the peace of the kingdom. Not to any random man either, but Fredrick Domani, the infamous warmonger and bride killer of the Domani Empire across the sea. He has been wed countless times, and each time the bride either died or disappeared. It was a fate much more terrifying than just dying to the blade of a hateful, neglectful parent-it was an unknown. How much she would suffer, the pain she'd go through, what he would /do/ to her before she died. She knew nothing. Compared to being hauled off to the slaughter house, this made her stomach churn in unbelievable nausea. Since this is a visual novel you have some choices you can make as the player, but I'll go along the more "common" or simple story path. Fredrick Domani stands next to the Emperor, your father in name only, and intervenes before the Emperor can cause you any more grief-insisting that it would be best to set off immediately. Clarice returns to her room, packs what little she has to her name, gets into a scuffle with her half siblings who view themselves as "true royals" for sharing their fathers golden hair and being treated far better as children of the queen. The scuffle ends and Clarice sets out on a long journey to port, along the way she sees sides of Fredrick that are never spoken of-not that Clarice had ever heard. He is kind to his vassals, fair, and just almost to a fault. The consideration he shows her in his every action is foreign and so overwhelming that it strikes a terrible unease in her. Helping her into the carriage? Ensuring her tattered dress is replaced with something comfortable? Assigning a servant who is devoted and faithful without a hint of malice? The realization dawns on her that perhaps this man couldn't have been the one the maids spoke of in their gossip session as they walked the halls. Perhaps it was someone else entirely.

I was messaging Kiwiiii and ended up spilling about the story related to some of my character boards in the art group, so I decided to post them here!! It gets much more story like as it goes on trust in me my friends ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

Visual Novel "The Cursed Ones"
Part 1
---
We follow Clarice Matis, a child of a lowborn concubine in the Matis kingdom. She is cursed from birth to die young and miserable, and her mother is distraught by this. She turns her sole family heirloom, a beautiful ruby amulet, into a ward to stave off her childs curse. It works for the most part, but her mother passes not too long into Clarice's childhood, and so she grows up without a single ally inside the kingdom. Thrown in a supply room with a small decrepit bed, falling apart furniture, and walls peeling with age, this is the life Clarice has always known. Her family cannot be so hasty about killing her-her mother was smart enough to spread a rumor that interacting with, much less killing Clarice would set the curse upon her attacker. Clarice lives, but it is not a life with dignity, nor an ounce of happiness. As Clarice becomes an adult she is finally summoned by her "family", the king, queen, and her two half siblings. Before an entire crowd of onlookers, nobility from all ranks, servants from every part of the palace, there is not a single familiar face amongst them. The king leers down towards Clarice, and smirks. Clarice assumes he finally found a way to get rid of her without being in danger, and prepares to die. She does so casually in her mind, but even she can't deny the despair forming in her heart. The heavy, thrumming pain that threatens to tear itself out of her chest-is this all her life would amount to?

part 2!

But the earth does not mean to cause him this pain, he knows it, for through all the pain the perpetual lightness that keeps him moving is gone and he is free of it. He need not move and breathe and talk and eat and find and live. The weight settles in his bones and he does not need to be at all.

It hurts. But he knows this is the only kindness the ground can give.

And every time it is stolen from him. Somehow adrenaline floods his veins and the lightness is back and it makes him live. It pushes him to struggle and scramble, dirt digging beneath his fingernails as he is willed by everything in him to climb out of the earth’s embrace. He chokes on the soil so graciously filling his lungs, he needs it out, hacks it up and recoils from its bitterness.

He breaks the surface and awakes, still in his bed, smooth clean linen and pillows. His fingernails are clean. His lungs sting a little from panting.

They never did that before, in the ocean.

hiii lowk in a bit of a writing slump (how do u guys handle that btw?) but to try and get out of it worked a lil on this piece. It was mostly done b4 this, i just finished this lil segment and fleshed it out. It's from a fic I'm writing but the fic is so far literally just hazy lil fragments like this. It's fun to write though, and hopefully getting me out of the slump (?)

also it's gonna be two parts. a lil context, this is from the POV of a merman who has come on land (he currently has a human form).
feedback much apprecieted! ill stop rambling now lmao

He has new dreams now. Ones where he sinks. Where soft grass gives way like water, and the earth takes him in.

The gentle press of the soil is comforting. He is safe here. He is warm here. He is wanted here. And it is so gentle that he does not feel it when it starts to press on his lungs. When his ribs do not have the space to move. When with each breath the dirt trickles in, silt slowly, steadily, filling his lungs.

It’s such a far cry from the air he’s been breathing these past few years, the air that pushes and heaves against his insides demanding to be let out with every inhale. But it’s not like the saltwater of his home either, always churning, rushing over his gills, pulled through him. It’s older than that. Heavier than that. It’s a taste he’s known longer than his whole life. It’s a weight tying him together, filling that hollowness and connecting the solidity of his skin, muscles, bone. He can feel his blood turning to sludge in his arteries, slowing, stilling, as the mud seeps in, and his heart relaxes. All those systems, organs, in constant function, ceaselessly working, haphazardly leaning on each other - it’s all still now. He is a single mass, mass within mass.

It hurts. But the earth does not mean to cause him this pain, he knows it, for through all the pain the perpetual lightness that keeps him moving is gone and he is free of it.

I was in Penny's comments and made a big block about quotes from my stories, I wanted to post it here so everyone can enjoy it ₍₍⚞(˶˃ ᗜ ˂˶)⚟⁾⁾
-"The screaming was so loud that it threatened to tear my ear drums open, and yet not a soul stirred."
-"My revenge is knowing you mean nothing to me."
-"That's right. Nothing you can do will bring them back. So, there is nothing that can save you."
-"Killing the people closest to me, and puppeting their hollowed out bodies-have you no shame?!"
-"Eternal lifetimes mean nothing to me if they don't get to live even one..."
-"I know you, Melody. You always keep the ones most precious to you, the furthest distance from your heart."
-"To be able to kill in an instant...it is a mercy only the strongest can grant."
-"Perhaps these are all parts of her, different facets of who she is. Every single thing I've seen is more of who she is, being revealed to me, piece by piece, and I take it to heart each time. How could I forget her?"
"You're protecting them so fervently, but they don't even look at you like a person. No, perhaps as even less. I've heard only a single one of them utter your name so far. No matter their importance to you-you are /nothing/ but a monster to them."
-"You do not get to harp at me that things are uncertain. For your story has already been told, and I know every word."
-"It's poetic, isn't it? How she has become the embodiment of the only love she has ever known."
-"From the moment I kissed her I realized I crossed into a dangerous territory. Something I can't escape from."
-"Gods are selfish. Good ones, bad ones-we will always pray to them in times of struggle and strife, and the gods rely on that."
-"You said you'd love me no matter the form I took, the life I lived, and the eternity I may find. That you'd love me as a spirit even if I had not a single memory of us when I was alive. And if I said with my last breaths that I'd be fine with that then I have to know...Am I anything like her?"

im bored and wanna write smt but i dont know what to write about can yall send some cool writing prompts?

I´ve been doing some research in avoiding racism in writing when having characters with black and brown skin. Does anyone have suggestions as to things you can compare to black skin that are not foods?

Does anyone have like an ultimate character information list? What kind of things are the most important to ask about your characters? What do other people commonly ask about your characters?

first poem on here unlocked !

how much of myself do i have to know for the mirror to reflect me?
-


i learned i wasn't a romantic
got too whitewashed in the 2nd culture

i feel a lot
tumbling through words
i speak a lot

lone, sat with time
once cruel hours paved to your dismissal
of patience miraculously made for you
full of thoughts and romantic desire
were you my muse?

i believe i am a liar
pants charred from fire
selfishness comes as my greatest desire

now i would've waited endlessly
you had given meaning to all
to be a reflection
a construct of your hire
but we no longer need this
i am consciously freelanced

where do i go without the subconscious dread
i want my lungs -to- cramp in your smell
but i breathe just fine

who takes your place
in carved out vast space

warning childloss tw


This bathroom saw 2 heartbeats enter. I lay there in the bathtub of a dimly lit apartment, the setting sun kissing the windowsill. I prayed, begged, and bargained with every and any god that would hear me to please let it be over soon. waves of agony flooded over me littered with boats of sickness and guilt as i pushed my back into the cold basin. Push after push, and more pieces of him fell from me. A river of blood pouring from me blended with the shower water falling over me. What little comfort I had through this infernal punishment. My fists were balled immovably in my hair as I cried silent screams. I tried to focus on the guilt just to stay awake, how I had a name for him; how I felt him grow; how sorry I was that my body killed him, how sorry I was that I had to force him out with pills. This bathroom saw 2 heartbeats enter. carelessly my eyes fell backwards as my head thudded on the basin bottom. black. This bathroom saw 2 heartbeats enter, only one left.

She couldn't stop. Stood, mouth agape; the blinking fridge light warning her to stop. She couldn't help it. it just tasted so good. The dirty, animalistic humanity she couldn't hide any longer. Her insatiable love, no, need drove her to keep eating. consuming more and more flesh. Ripping and tearing at her meal she shoveled in more. her stomach felt like it would burst; one tap and she could break apart,shatter as if she were porcelain, but her unwavering need drove her onwards. "Forbidden meat. More . More" she cackled to herself as she scooped out another section of intestine. other bodies couldn't satisfy her,surely one more will. after all a feast after a successful hunt is customary. And as she feasted on Jamie's brain she knew he would agree to.

"You next"she giggles as she hunches over her next meal. Sam had a beautiful face, it tasted just as good as it looked. Tender and sweet. Gripping his cheek with her teeth she pulled the flesh off. slurping the stringy tissue still clinging to sams face, she grinned a bloody smile. More, she needs more. More victims to read her story, more meat for her feast, more bones for her collection.

The killers Soliloquy
I felt the shiver in my heart, all too familiar but just as strong. I gripped the handle tighter. Even felt my knuckles turn white. His ashy grey face just pissed me off more. I knew I should’ve sharpened this before I left. I just got too excited; it's such a shame I had to pick this one. Guess you should’ve taken longer before coming back in the room. I worked so hard on this special batch, picking the mushrooms myself; who knew something so deadly could grow somewhere so serene. You know, once in a drink you can't taste the mushroom, in fact, I think it would taste ever so nice, but you had to waste my wine. WHY WONT THIS KNIFE CUT! This would’ve been painless and quiet. I tried so hard not to ruin that "pretty" face... You know, patience is a virtue. Not long now, I promise. Just got to get to that brain, I'll be gentle. Don't worry, those ropes should hold. Now don’t cry, you’ll get the blindfold all wet and that’s just no fun. One more jab and I'll try to aim for the chest this time. Let's see if you really are heartless. Oh look at those brilliant white bones. The flesh just peels off so softly, I'll clean up after. I'm going to need a ladder, though. Those ceiling spots won't get themselves. I wonder how much flesh I've torn already? Hmm, I guess you weren’t heartless after all. No more beats, huh? You're awfully quiet now.

Does anyone else here have blogger? Alot of my stories although short are to long to type here.
If u do let's trade! Here's mine https://graveplots.blogspot.com/?m=1&zx=1711188bc7f32f47

Long ago, before the earth had forests or deserts, there were two stars who burned side by side in the velvet sky. Their names were Frankie and River, children of the shape-shifting moon. She loved them dearly, letting them glitter close to her golden face, and at night she sang to them the lullabies of eternity.But stars are not always still. When too many stars feel joy or sorrow at once, their tears drift into the heavens as stardust. And sometimes, just sometimes, that stardust remembers how to breathe.Frankie and River were born of such a moment, when the cosmos itself overflowed with feeling.
One night, Frankie peered down upon the earth and saw a pair of baby bunnies struggling in the dark waters of a forest lake. His soft heart could not bear it. Without hesitation, he leapt from the sky. He fell like a golden arrow and struck the lake’s surface, scattering his own starlight. The bunnies were saved.Yet Frankie discovered that he could not return to the sky. The lake had claimed him, binding him to its streams. The forest folk soon noticed strange wonders: whenever someone slipped into a lake or river, Frankie’s starlit form would rise from the water to guide them safely home. Believing him a fae spirit, the villagers cast offerings of gold and silver into the waters, hoping to earn his favor. Frankie only smiled gently, gathering no treasure but the joy of saving lives.Still, he longed for home. In the quiet nights, he folded bits of bark and reed into little paper airplanes and cast them toward the stars. His longing was so great that one evening, a plane struck River, and she tumbled down from the heavens into the earth’s desert sands.River was fire and laughter where Frankie was calm and quiet. But falling burned her light. To keep her alive, Frankie gave her half his own stardust in a meditation so deep that the moon herself held her breath. River awoke, blinking and grinning, her spirit restored.
From then on, the siblings became guardians of the worl

Part 4

But once I had enough, the world colorized, for lack of better words. Once I had snagged enough hope to see the world differently, I realized that the world appeared to be, in my opinion, a vibrant celebration of life. A small part of the world at large, but quite complex and worthy, life is the only thing capable of witnessing everything that comprises the universe around itself.

Hope is all around us, but not everyone partakes in the celebration, despite being reserved their own seat. I want everyone to help show others their throne, and whether you have to drag people or merely walk with them, I want you to laugh the entire way, knowing that you are capable of helping so many people see in color. I want flowers in their home, hair, clothes, air. I want the blossoms and seeds of hope to be forced everywhere they can exist.

Quite the miracle you are, and I can only hope you can find how to see it on your own.

TW: Mentions of depression and (kinda) suicide
This is a piece I wrote a while back, n I don't think it's finished bc I'm not really in love with it, but Ik I can improve it, so I wanted a bit of feedback on it.
I know a lot of this group is fiction n poetry, but I figured it was writing enough tho it's creative nonfiction.(Pt 1 begin, pt 4 fin.)

Part 1

Pale yellow is a happy color. It’s soft, yet pleasant and inspiring—a quietly graceful display of hope. I like pale yellow. It represents, to me, quiet hope. This quiet hope nuzzles itself into quiet situations; a faraway dream, reading a story, an emerging garden. It’s the way I hope for a dessert to be tasty, or the way I hope I will like a class or a person. But why would I use pale yellow when I could unleash the entire visual spectrum all at once?

Life is no quiet situation. Life is a vibrant celebration of everything and everyone that cohabits this tiny rock hurtling through space. Life is a miracle, you are a miracle, and everyone alive deserves to love and celebrate that miracle. To any malady that may arise from the mind, I prescribe a healthy and potent dose of hope.

To quote John Green, “Hope is the correct response to the strange, often terrifying miracle of consciousness. Hope is not easy or cheap. It is true.” I believe hope is the positive manifestation of the belief that things can be better. It is the happy of and for the future that pushes a person to open doors and skip through life.

Forever has hope proven the most powerful tool to apply to the human condition; from revolutions to beliefs. If hope dries, people shrivel. The people who have reason to lose hope have none and life is no longer living, but surviving, and if people have systematically removed hope, they will have had no hope, and needed to lessen the hope of others so comparatively they will have more, They will continue their hope drought, and expect no more hope, as their meager hope comes from subjugated people.

Part 2

This, however, is unfortunate for the subjugators because while they consume hope, the way animals do, this becomes the only source of hope they know how to process. The people they steal hope from, however, retain this knowledge, and become better at creating hope. They make and store hope in excess until hope soars and they overcome the lid placed on them while those who steal it are shocked and angry that people surpass their own hope, finding their own.

The problem lies in the fact that people need hope. Both as a society and as individuals, we are capable of procuring hope and spreading excess across, especially in the age of endless communication (this deserves its own discussion), and a large amount of hope can be spread and multiplied many times over.

Thus, I urge everyone to engage in aggressive hope.

The more places seeds can land, the more plants can pop up and blossom. Those who have hope must aggressively shove it into other people’s lives, whether they do it subtly or bluntly.

I like to imagine this as a comedic scene of someone shoving copious amounts of flowers into a friend’s home as they turn their back.

Part 3

Not everyone will understand why being aggressively hopeful is even helpful if you are the only direct beneficiary, however, so I ought to describe and define it. For me, it could begin when one of my friends and editors commented, saying “life being vibrant isn't a fact. I want to know why you think that. What happened to you, to make you value it?” What happened to me was that I went through a depressive period in my life. I felt like I couldn’t find joy in anything—not the hobbies I had previously, and not the people I considered my friends. Any sense of enjoyment was ripped as soon as I turned to my inner thoughts. It became a cycle of not thinking about what I enjoyed or what I was doing with my life, and I performed poorly in school or messed up my own relationshipd. The depressive thoughts were endless depressed, and I never wanted to think about what I was doing with my life. Everything seemed hopeless—like I didn’t want to keep going. I’d end up crying while thinking about how I felt trapped. Yet, I couldn’t take steps towards ending my life because of the shreds of hope that had barricaded themselves somewhere in me.

I used to think I was a pessimist, but I don’t think so anymore. I couldn’t let go of the hope that someone would come and help me get out of this mess, or that the world would align for me. Even though I didn’t think I had hope for the future, it was there, working overtime to keep me alive.

Hope isn’t a miracle that saves you all by itself, but it does make sure you’re there to save yourself.

If hope had been shoved into my life, I wouldn’t have had to find it myself. It expedites the recovery and revival process of people. To become vibrant, I had to fight tooth and nail against myself to drag hope into my life, until I had enough to stand on in my own right.

Here's a kinda surrealist poem I wrote the other day, I hope you like it! (Critique is welcome)

Outside my window, wind blows
All blue and blythe, all abounding like sleep
A spindly leaf, freshly fallen, slips under the floor
Evermore, forever under feet
Day becomes day becomes day
And I am small again, and again I am ill
There is wind in my heart, wind underfeet
There is a jar on the cabinet shelf, and the pills are not so sweet
And I am alone again, and there is nothing more to say.
A spider crawls upon my window, and he is swept away
To where the leaf is, to where the wind takes
The weak, the small things
The wind, all blythe and abounding
Through the trees and their many leaves
On this cold night, on the edge of sea
The great, darkened, sea...

Hii here's a little piece I wrote from the perspective of one of my DnD OCs!
It's a little long so it'll be 2 parts, hope you like it!
Warning, does contain mentions of death, so take care!
also, constructive criticism is greatly appreciated, also perhaps a title as I don't have one yet.

You always said what a person did in a crisis showed who they truly were. I don’t think you would like the person I am.

I didn’t go to your funeral. I couldn’t. It would have been too dangerous.

You can’t blame me though, I’m just keeping myself safe. You always said you would be the brave one and I would be the clever one and we would balance. You would do the heroics and I would keep us safe.

It’s just me though, now. And no one to balance.

I’m doing better, though. Making better money than the two of us ever did together. It actually looks like we could be out of debt soon. Or just me, I suppose. Rude of you to leave those debts with me.

I always told you the money was better in the tabloids. We could have done so well in the tabloids. I’m doing so well writing for them - I’ve won awards, I’ve been on magazine covers, I’ve written for countless publications, I’m actually famous. People know me, ask for me by name to write for them. They recognize my skill, my talent.

And we could have done so well together. When I talk to the editors, when I ask around for rumours and scandal, I try to be you. I try so hard. It feels forced every time, but it works. People are charmed and spill damn near anything to me, the way they always did for you.

I’m good at it. It comes more naturally nowadays. I can step into a new person like it’s nothing at all.

So you would have been so much better. You would have done so well. Things could have been so much easier. But you never listened to me, and look where it’s gotten you.

part 2!

You had to be a hero. You had to throw yourself head first into all your investigations and drag me along with you. You with all your exposing corruption and bringing justice and pen-is-mightier-than-the-sword crap.

I should’ve been there. I know. I’m sorry.

I should have at least brought your body back home. But you need to understand, I couldn’t, I couldn’t, I swear, he said to leave and so I had to -

What good would it have done, to have us both dead?

I move around a lot these days. Not really different from before - if anything, it’d be easier to stay in one place now than then. But, you know, new stories are in new places. The rumour mill in a single town gets stale pretty quick. Also it just…doesn’t feel right, doesn’t feel safe, staying in one place that long.

Back then, even though we moved around so much, I sometimes felt like we were completely still. Just us two, steady, watching as the universe moved around us.

I suppose that’s youth, isn’t it? Makes you feel bigger than you are. Untouchable. You certainly acted it quite often. I’m older now. Too old to feel anything but how small I am in the universe.

Something I should have realised sooner. Nothing I could do then, nothing I can do now.

I’m sorry.
I’m doing my best but there was never anything I could do. I swear it. There’s nothing to be done. Please don’t blame me for this.

hiii ik this is more for sharing ur writing but i wanted to ask for some advice:

How do you come up with titles for works?

Cus I never can and i always just pick smth thats like related to the piece but im never super happy w my titles, so if anyones got some advice on picking a title that'd be super helpful!

Part 15
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

By the time I came to I found myself in the dark of my room, reaching for my bag hidden under the bed. I ran from the situation. Coursing through the crowd and running home in the heat of the moment, leaving my mother behind.

Tears clouded my vision. My hands shook and I slung the bag over my back. The door? No, the window.

I leapt through the opening, and sprinted as fast as I could for the hills.

Takahiro. He was all I could think of.

In no time at all I found myself on the outskirts of the village. The sounds of shouts and perverse gasps of interest behind me, left in that terrible scene. There wasn't any sound but my breath and the wind. Where was he?

"Kaoru?"

Turning, my eyes met his. The green, just like the grass beneath my feet, found my visage of sunset, greeting each other like old friends.

"Takahiro." My tears ran down, and my voice caught in itself.

Before either of us could say anything more the sky blew forth with color, a distant bang resounding across the darkened land.

Looking at the sky the brilliant hues found me, and imprinted themselves in my mind.

"Happy birthday, Kaoru."

In a moment everything melted away.

Collapsing to the ground, Takahiro's hand found its way to my back, and we watched the sky. The mix of stars and colors drowning out my cries. It was my birthday, after all. And nothing else mattered, nor changed for Takahiro and I, until this a few months later.

“Takahiro, and Kaoru Collier, you are under arrest for impersonating the avatar.”

Current Number of Pieces: 15
All Current Parts Posted: Yes

To hell with it

To hell with poetry!
It's nothing more than syllables and rhymes.
Most are depressing
Or even meaningless at times.

Hades yearns for these poetry
For all the suffering they caused:
To the other people they influenced
Into writing works, revealing thier darkest secrets.
And all those who read and realised,
While reading, their true nature.

Perhaps it's not the poet's fault but mine,
The hypocrite writing said poems,
So it's me who Charon shall escort, but it's fine,
Making you collide, which leads to the same.
Since, of all the poets, there are more important ones.

Poem I wrote a while ago ^ - ^

Part 14
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

I tried reaching my hand out to my mother's shoulder. This didn't need to happen. Not like this. Anything but this!

"Kaoru is your son! I never laid with another man!" Tears pricked her eyes, and fell. No longer from a place of deep misery, but one of burning hatred. "Why won't you believe me? Believe us!" I couldn’t breathe.

I placed my shaking hand on my mothers shoulder and turned to placate my father before things could get any-

[i]Smack.[/i]

In an instant she was on the ground. Reaching her hand up to her face, she turned to my father, teeth grinding.

"How dare you! Are you such an incompetent man you have to resort to fists instead of words? You've always done this!"

A burning sensation crawled up my neck. Turning my head I could see all the eyes found their way to us.

Why did I have to deal with this?

What had I done so wrong?

I watched as my father lurched forward, and yanked my mother up from the floor.

Their screams began and others attempted to separate them. I couldn't understand a single word. I couldn't understand anything at all.

Part 13
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

A dark visage passed in the corner of my eye, and I turned trying to catch it.

"Takahiro...?"

"Who's Takahiro?" The rumbling voice of my father reached me and I flinched.

"Ah, Takahiro is my friend, father."

"Hah. Sure." The look he threw my way made me want to sock him in the face. I had no idea I could even experience this. A fury that made me want to hurt the man who had done such to me my entire life.

Before I could open my mouth and make such a mistake my mother pipped into the conversation.

"Do you have anything to say, honey?"

The glare that settled on my mother was as heavy as his hands, and made me sick to my stomach.

"I told you. Why would I say such a thing to someone that's not my son."

"He is your son!"

My mother's cry drew eyes in the bustling crowd, and soon a small space was created between our group and the rest of the people around us.

Part 12
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

The day dragged on, and as sunset arrived with its hues, enrapturing oranges mimicking my own irises, my father returned.

Quietly he changed his appearance, and my mother and I sat dressed and ready to leave at the doorway for him. Not a word exchanged between us.

The walk into town was that of a funeral procession. Our barely hidden grim faces and heavy, worried hearts underneath a carefully crafted facade. My face hurt from the smiles.

"...Is there anything you'd like to see first, honey?" My mother tried her best to speak.

"Hmph." Was all the response she was given.

Ah, what would I give to escape this situation…

Smiling. Just keep smiling.

Once the end of the night came I could leave. I would be free, and nothing could hurt me ever again. Never again.

As the darkness settled in and the lanterns lit I found myself paying attention to the attractions more than my father's mood. My eyes cast from side to side, seeing the final day of the celebrations, and the beauty of everything coming into full bloom.

Part 11
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

The sound of fireworks woke me up. The smell of gunpowder gliding through my window and tickling my nose. I sat up, hair a mess, and patted down the lengthy black strands into an acceptable shape.

"It's...the last day of the festival." The firework testing gave me both solace and a slight tremble in my hands. It was the final day.

I got out of bed and dressed myself in comfortable, presentable clothing perfect for the festival's finale.

Today was the day, right?

I went and finished breakfast with my family in silence, and as my mother and I stood smiling absentmindedly at the doorway before him, my father spoke.

"Let's go to the festival tonight."

A moment of silence passed.

"O-oh, sure, honey."

My father's eyes glanced over to mine after my mother's paltry response. All I did was smile and close my eyes, if only to avoid his look.

Seemingly satisfied he left without another word.

Part 10
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

At this rate it felt like I was just escaping the house so no one could see my intentions. The prickling urge to bound out the door at a moment's notice, and run to the hillside where Takahiro awaited was almost impossible to ignore. But I knew I wanted to wait it out. To see if there was even a single reason, a shred of any possibility that things could be different for us as a family.

I almost felt swayed last night. With how my father didn't overturn the table, or shout at my mother or I, but it was obvious something occurred. Why else would my mother be crying at the table as she was this morning?

Curiosity brimmed in my soul. For once I desired to know exactly what happened, for his peace is far more unsettling than his anger.

I reluctantly accepted that I wouldn’t know. If I learned what it was before tomorrow night, then so be it. I doubt it would be anything that could change my mind.

I ate at the cafe on the corner that day, sipping jasmine tea until dark.

Part 9
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

Waking up late I failed to send my father off for his day of work, and it was already midday as I heard my mother quietly sobbing from the kitchen table right outside my door.

With slow and wary steps I made my way into her view.

Looking at me she hung her head in her hands and sobbed once more.

I glanced into the kitchen and started making lunch. My mother said naught a word, and neither did I about what must have happened between them this morning, or perhaps even last night. I knew nothing and wanted to keep it that way.

Bringing her a plate we sat and ate together in silence. A bitter sensation hung in the air, and both of us sat tensed as we worked on finishing our meals.

"Do you..."

Confused by the sudden rousing of words, I faced my mother. Her dark eyes drew low towards the table cloth, and redness lined the edges from all the tears. Most of all, the color and soul in them had long left.

Going to finish her words, she took one look at me, and silently stared into my gaze as tears rolled down her cheeks.

"I'm sorry..."

I picked up my plate.

"Don't be."

And washed my dishes and left for town once more.

Part 8
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

My mother and I carefully began eating once the appropriate time passed for him to either express his displeasure with words or actions. Nonetheless, we watched his every move discreetly. It isn't rare for him to also wait for the dinner to be over to start shouting about its quality as well. We both braced for his words.

But as he put down his fork, dusted himself off, and left with only a displeased look on his face to the bedroom my mother and I were less relieved than we were worried.

"Ah..." My mother tried to speak, and nothing came out. Her eyes divulged the stress she was under, and the tremble in her arms resting on the edge of the table was her most prominent tell.

I went to reach for her hand, and found myself stopping the motion. After a moment I placed my hand on hers. Giving her another gentle smile I rose from my seat, gathered the dishes, and began cleaning them and putting them away. Father hated dishes left out to dry after all.

As I washed I was lost in thought.

[i]Why did he say nothing? He always has some dissatisfaction with dinner, so why did he just leave without a word?[/i]

As I toiled with my hands my heart became steady but my mind was more on edge than ever.

[i]What if he's just waiting to get mother or I alone and say something?[/i]

It seemed unlikely, but I was unable to quell my fear.

Once I returned to my room and laid down to rest I listened well. For any movement, screaming, crying, anything. But heard nothing until the next morning.

Part 7
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---
I don't have to deal with this.

The thought came to me suddenly, and I liked its weight on my mind.

Grabbing my messenger bag and bounding out the door I headed to the market. I didn't have to deal with this. I could enter and exit this house as I pleased being an adult now, and I no longer had to stay and be burdened by any of it.

I broke into a run. Weightlessness took over my body as I rushed across the hills and between homes to reach the stalls carrying goods from all over the world. My village wasn't anything spectacular, but had always been a center for travelers passing through.

Perhaps that's why Takahiro is here?

The event for the avatar's birthday must have been what drew him here. In a way my birthday brought him here. I couldn't help the smile that took over my face, and moved from stall to stall chatting excitedly with the sellers and grabbing what I thought I would need for my travels.





Returning home I snuck into my room, packing and hiding my bag, just in case I needed it early. Exiting, I saw that my mother hadn't even begun dinner, and whisked her out of her room into the kitchen with me. Patting her back and giving her a faint smile I helped her with the preparations. Would this be the last meal I shared with her? I didn't have the time to contemplate such a thing as we hurried to be ready before my father got home.

My father entered the doors as sunset reached us. Beautiful orange rays shone through the windows, disrupted by the door opening and the soot on his boots entering the air.

A straight face, and a twitch in his eye told us to greet him with nothing but smiles.

Sitting down he unbuttoned his work shirt, rolled back his sleeves covered in the same material as his boots, and began eating without a word.

Part 6
Title: Souls Torn and Mended
An avatar the last airbender story^^
TW: Violence, Familial Abuse
---

I had been worried that when I'd returned home through my window that the yelling wouldn't have ceased, but it was unbelievably silent. Almost too silent. I carefully pushed the clasp in and opened my window doors, slipping into my room. It was dark.

Hoping for this peace to last I snuck into my bed and pulled the covers over my head. I wished for the morning to come soon and be kind.

I was not given that.

Screaming and the sound of crying awoke me.

Before my father headed off to his job at the factory he found it preferable to accuse my mother plenty before going out the door. Practically a regular send off.

I found myself kneeling next to my mother. Her tears were mixed with mumblings of hatred and regret for marrying such a man and having a child with him. Upon the latter, she looked at me and burst into further hysteria. She clung to me and said she didn't mean it, that I was the most precious gift life has given her. I felt an awful, bitter taste enter my mouth.

Was this even worth it?

Was another day here even possible?

I considered Takahiro's words while ignoring my mother's cries. He had traveled the world, and offered his hand to me in earnest...I had been planning to leave anyway, so shouldn't I take this opportunity?

Glancing down to my mother I wiped her tears and helped her up. Hobbling to her room she uttered not another word to me as her head hung low. The urge to vomit almost overcame me as I thought about what she had said during her breakdown.