#writing excercise

[redd956]

How I practice/improve writing

I love to write, just as much as I love to draw, and I try to practice and upkeep both equally. Here's a lot if fun writing practices, and challenges from my personal list.

Three Words

Word randomizers can be great for writing practice. I prefer to have a word randomizer to generate three words then try to incorporate all of them within a short story or a snippet of paragraphs.

Sometimes I make up something based on the words generated, sometimes I try to fit them all in one paragraph. It's a great exercise.

Writing Prompts

There's nothing wrong with taking part in writing prompts. People are creating those things for a reason. Writing Prompts can be great exercises and pose strong challengers to any writer. They are good ways to practice creativity as well, and see what you can make out of a few loose sentences.

Don't be ashamed to take apart in them. They're quite fun, and force me to think out of the box.

Exploration

Exploring the many different types of writing and narration out there can be eye opening, and reveal a lot of about what makes your writing yours. This year I've been exploring by getting into creative non-fiction writing. Which has turned out to be very therapeutic and great at honing Storytelling skills.

I've also been trying out xenofiction with a new worldbuilding project. Pairing it with a different type of narrative style has really helped too. All of these keep writing feeling fresh to me, and allow me to kick back and just try, because no matter what it'll be good as something new.

Accepting the bad

If we wrote masterpieces all the time there would be no such thing. When writing frequently and consistently there will be a lot of bad, because there will be more output. Bad is good, and learning to accept that is hard. You will make bad pieces,write bad paragraphs, and attempt ideas badly. That's normal.

However if you don't accept the bad, writing becomes a chore, a frustrating challenge, and disheartening. One way I learned to accept it was by keeping it. If I write an awful piece I keep it. Sometimes I even post it still. It's there and I can't do anything about it. Often times when my skills become better over time I find I can go back to that piece and give it the real love and attention it deserves. There are many different ways writers learn to accept their bad, so find one that is comfortable for you, and allows you to dump that inner excessive critic.

#writing #writing excercise #writing tips and tricks #writing tips #improving writing

[a-gal-with-taste]

Returned Favors (Suggestive)

Summary: Aching and tired, the cowboy helps you out. It's only fair you help out with one of his aches, as well.

(Dipping my typing-hands into the RDR2 pool for some exercise. Enjoy, may or may not write more in the future!)

Warnings: Suggestive. Tension, early-established relationship, humor, banter, slight world-building, romance, sexual-tension, massage, straddling, implied sexual-content, open-ended

“Morgan.”

“Hmm?”

“Morgan.”

“I hear you.”

Surprising that he could - since collapsing into your bedroll face-first, you hadn’t moved a single, sore muscle of yours, except to open your mouth and whine out your partner’s name into the worn-fabric beneath you, twice now.

Which you did a third time, just to get the point across, “Morgan...”

The big sigh Arthur gave could practically be heard through the earth, a whole, full-bodied exhale that shook the ground. “Yes, m’lady?”

The sigh that you gave wasn’t nearly as powerful, but twice as heavy with your woes and strife, “I’m tired.”

“Praise be, that we just so happen to be laying on the greatest comforts that the universe has to offer!” Arthur exclaimed, his own voice rough from the day's journey. “A bed.”

“Bedrolls, Mr. Morgan, there’s a difference,” You finally turned your face, swallowing a whimper at the smallest movement sending a jolt through your body full of aching, overtaxed muscles. “You pushed us too hard today. Should’ve stopped in Van Horn-”

“Van Horn?!" The exclamation echoes, tumbling down the mountainside. Closer to a hill, but there was a decent-enough drop that the two of you thought it best to nestle as close to the alcove as possible. “Thought you’d want to sleep, not get shot.”

You scoffed, “Since when are you squeamish about getting shot? Besides, we’ve ridden through there a thousand times in daylight. Hell, Denis at night is scarier than Van Horn, we would’ve been fine.”

A low rasp as Arthur gave a scoff of his own, bordering on a pained-hiss as he shuffled in his bedroll. His voice was flat, but had a dry bit of mirth that assured you he was only teasing, “Well, if you want to ride your pretty little self back across the county, and settle up with the deranged and the degenerates down in Van Horn, you go be my guest.”

“And miss your company?” Muscles screamed inside your thigh as you lifted a leg to reach out, prodding at his side with a booted foot and a cheeky smile. “Not a single deranged degenerate I’d rather be settled with than you , Mr. Morgan.”

“Flattered, ma’am.” The look he gives to the boot you poke his ribs with, suggests that the outlaw is anything but.

Your muscles are in a rebellion, and even the simple act of annoying the cowboy has become exhausting. Flopping your foot back down onto the ground, you turn your face back into the bedroll, and breathe in slowly, and deep to push aside all thoughts of aches and pains...

When you exhale with a whimper, and hear a deep sigh beside you, you know you’ve failed.

“Listen, if you want me to ride you down to somewhere with a extra bed, Hamish isn’t that far-”

“We ain’t gonna bother Hamish at this hour.” Not to mention, while the old man was friendly, almost fatherly in his own way to the both of you, there was no way he would put up with your involuntary bellyaching from a hard-day's ride. Not when he had Buell to give him twice as many headaches. “I’ll survive... just sore, Morgan. Ain’t nothing I haven’t had before, or will have again.”

“Something I ain’t looking forward to...” You turn your head, just enough to peek an eye over. From beneath the hat that he placed over his eyes, Arthur’s deep, yet soft frown is prominent from under the rim of his infamous Gambler’s hat. “Don’t like seeing you hurt.”

There’s a warm flutter in your chest. “Probably not the best life for us to be in then. Pain goes with the job, and the job comes with pain.”

There’s a hum of agreement - unhappy, but Arthur assents with disgruntled ease nonetheless - and for a moment that follows, there’s silence beyond the night-life of the wilderness surrounding you both.

Then, Arthur sits himself up. Turning with your cheek-pressed against the worn-fabric you rest on, you watch as the large man pulls himself up with only minimal efforts, ambling over to crouch down, taking going down onto his knees at your side.

Slow in his movements, you can’t help but take note at the pinch in his brow as you gaze up at him, “Careful, cowboy,” You murmur. “Or I'm gonna start thinking you’re getting old.”

Any huff of laughter he makes is too low for your ears to catch it... but then again, your focus isn’t necessarily on his voice, by the time his hands reach down, pressing slowly yet firmly into the aching muscles of your shoulders.

Large, rough with callouses that are years, maybe decades old. There’s a certain hesitancy in the quick-draw’s hands, something few ever see, but you imagine you’re one of the first to ever feel.

These are hands that have done unspeakable things, and likewise, you’re unable to come up with any sense of words at the way he presses, rolling the heel of his palms into your muscles. “You alright, girl?”

“You really-” Voice, already weak, cuts off in a hum as a harsher-muscle is located, and Arthur rolls into it with a vengeance to soothe out the ache. “... you really gonna talk to me like I'm one of your horses, Morgan?”

“Found it helps put their minds at ease. Though it would work wonders for the ladies too,” His voice, however, was in direct opposition of his slow-hands, and you blinked slowly. Low, smooth... maybe not Hosea’s silver tongue, but it was one that was doing its magic of sinking deep into you, and easing away all your troubles. “Least, seems to be doing wonders for this lady... ain't that right, girl?”

Confidence was returning to his skilled hands, hands you’d seen at mastery in so many other places. Weapon-dealing, fighting, shooting, riding... with the way Arthur’s hands were gliding down the planes of your back, smoothing and pressing into hard muscles with faint squeezes to do-away with the stresses of the day, you chastised yourself for not expecting Arthur to become an expert at this too.

And you damned yourself for not asking him to do this sooner.

“Still with me, miss?” Encouraged by your silence, the man’s voice takes on a smug note, one that you have no doubt would be glinting in his blue eyes, the color of the skies. “Y’alright, girl?”

His hands sneak a bit lower - back of your waist, where the curve of your back stung with a day’s worth of sitting, riding and journeying over the American states, and the words slip out of you unbitten at his ministrations.

Or, the word.

His name, in a breathy, moan of need.

“ Arthur... ”

You couldn’t stop it from slipping out, just like you couldn’t stifle the whine of disappointment when the cowboys’ hands grow still on your body - it tastes like cruelty, snatching away the comfort he was so eager, readily offering, and you’re so caught up in your own frustration at the loss, your mind doesn’t even comprehend the fact that... Arthur hasn’t moved.

Hasn’t said anything, and while your focus on the fact that his hands have stopped, it’s only after a moment longer of silence that you realize that the entire man has come to a complete stop .

“Arthur?”

Silence. You would think you were alone, with only your horse and the ghosts of the world nearby to give you company, if not for the large-hands still settled on your waist, warm.

“... Arthur?”

Those hands leave you, and you have to swallow your whine back, first from the absence, and then from the ache in your shaky legs as you push off your palms to sit up. Watching the sandy-haired second in the Van Der Linde gang, you’re the second member of the group to be stuck dumb and silence as you watch him amble quietly back to his bedroll, face angled from you -

But the red tint on his ears is still visible.

“Night.”

“What? But, Arthu-”

“Goodnight, miss.” The man speaks over you, blocking out the sound of his name on your lips again, loud enough for you to blink at the sudden change of volume... and of pitch. His voice, so low and rolling like distant clouds of thunder in the skyline, has now risen to a pitch closer to that that youths like Sean or Lenny would have.

Arthur, with a voice-crack. God strike you dead, you never thought you’d see the day...

Or, you think as you watch the man settle back onto his bedroll, a day would come that you would see something else.

His excitement, in a sense. Your own ears grow hot and red all on their own, and suddenly, the ache in the bones of your upper-body become second to a different ache, and a sudden wetness on your tongue as you watch the man settle down, facing away from you onto his sleeping-mat.

You aren’t fooled. The attempt to go to bed is clearly futile, seeing how tightly-strung the man has become, even while laying down and, no doubt, trying his best to get some rest, and get you out of his mind.

Something which is simply not optional, and you push off the ground to stand, speaking his name again. His body twitches at the sound, a small grunt of acknowledgement... but no, that’s not enough.

“Arthur,” You murmur, voice once more low and breezy, the sound which brings double the tension flowing through the man’s body. A tension that seems to grow as the sound of your soft steps reach him, and body becomes rock-hard when they reach him... and one foot raises over him.

“Arthur.”

“Hm.”

“You really think that’s it?” You muse, moving down enough to push on a shoulder that’s more akin to a block of steel than flesh, muscles and bone. Under your touch, however, Arthur is as weak as a leaf, and turns onto his back on the slightest of pressure from your hand. Gazing up at you with twin-peeks of the daylight sky under his hand, the horizon in his gaze widens as you settle down, and straddle his lap. “You really think we’re done here?”

“You ain’t complaining anymore, so I figured-” His voice cuts off sharply, in time with the slow movement of your hips as you shift over his lap, and the bulge that presses against your own pants. Smiling down, you settle one hand beside his head, and the other comes up, fingers reaching for the rim of his hat.

No one touches Arthur’s hat.

Returning the favor - it’s only fair, and you’re more than happy to provide.

And you flick it off of his head with ease, and without any worry. His attention is fixed fully on you, the blonde streaks of his sandy-hair flicking in the soft breeze in the wild, and after a moment, your eyes trail back down to meet him. And you smile, once more, and you say more than just his name in a low, breathy tone.

“You helped me so much, Arthur... don’t you want me to help ease your aches, too?”

#rdr2 #arthur morgan x female reader #Arthur Morgan X Reader #mdni #18+ #sinday #fanfic #rdr2 fanfic #writing excercise

[deandoesthingstome]

15 Minute Challenge - Step Out of the Car

@sweetandgentlecreature​ and @ellethespaceunicorn​ both tagged me in a fun little challenge and I wasn’t going to do it but I was just complaining about a bit of block, so I thought “why not?”

It’s a bit of a cheat, since I had an idea running around and a few words jotted down, but I took a little time to try to add a few more.

Based off this thirst post. (And yes, I know @cardierreh15​ has already created an amazing fic with this prompt. I gave her permission.) @geralts-yenn​ you were wondering...

The switch felt good to flip. Solid and with purpose. Lights flashed on the road ahead and the wail was expected. You noted the brake tap and let a small smirk slide onto your face as the car ahead of you slowed and signaled to pull off the side of the road. It was a routine traffic stop, but a call into dispatch was still required just to confirm no backup required.

After following procedure to check the truck as you rounded the back of the car, you stepped to the driver's side, hand on your service pistol, and motioned the window down.

"License and registration," you requested with your best air of authority.

"What's this about? I wasn't speeding," the driver responded, handing over the documents as asked.

"If you could just step out of the vehicle sir."

"Seriously?" he replied, with a smug air you had yet to decide how to address.

"Step out, please, and place your hands behind your head."

The fucking audacity of the smirk on his face and swing of his hips as he complied made you almost swoon, but you retained composure as you placed him facing the car, hands on the hood, and kicked his feet a little wider apart, before you began the pat down.

"Is this your wallet here, sir?"

"No, I'm just happy to see you."

"Strange place for that. Maybe a little less lip, huh?" you, replied as you fished the wallet out of his back pocket and lightly tapped it against the back of his head. "That attitude might get you someplace you don't wanna be."

You placed the wallet on top of the squad car, and finished the pat down by running the backs of your hands down his back and sides before reaching around to drag your hands down his chest. You didn't fail to notice how soft the white tee-shirt felt beneath your fingertips.

"Turn around and place your hands behind your head."

"Can you please tell me what this is about?"

At least he offered a little more respect this time.

"We've had reports of suspicious activity in the neighborhood. You and your vehicle fit the description." You pulled a set of handcuffs from the back of your uniform and continued speaking as you swung the lever around his right wrist. "I'll be taking you in for questioning."

"Questioning about what?" he continued to ask as you bent his right arm down, then brought his left around to meet it before fastening the second cuff and double locking the device.

Welp, I tried. This is all I got. I’m not sure it opened up anymore ideas or thoughts on this one, so we’ll see if I can find any more inspo somewhere to fill this out more. Maybe I’ll just stare at the original pic every day for 15 minutes until something screams at me...

Open tags because I think by now everyone’s been tagged or already done it.

#henry cavill fanfiction #henry cavill x reader #writing games #writing excercise #writing prompts #writer things #working on the roadblock

[nocturna-iv]

August Prompts

Word prompts to use.

Recover

Silence

Agreement

Contract

Movie

Hands

Praise

Necklace

Smirk

Suggestion

Nightmare

Cold

Work

Music

Vacation

Voice

Sharp

Complicated

Massage

Breakfast

Isolation

Bite

Silk

Escape

Stars

Party

Coffee

Gift

Loneliness

Closeness

Kiss

#august prompts #monthly prompts #monthly prompts list #summer prompts #prompt list #writing prompts #doodle prompts #doodling #doodle #art prompts #drawing prompts #creative prompts #creative writing #august #writing #write #writing ideas #writing excercise #writing inspiration #prompts

[ladybugmeat]

27/09/2022

I haven't written anything cohesive since finishing university in America. Today is the first of 8-9 weeks I have opened my laptop and thought about reaching for some sentences. My year in Upstate New York is mentally too large, sprawling, and admittedly prickly at the edges, to approach today. And so, the future proves the pillow's cooler side. I don't know what I want from this post. Whilst academic writing had felt gratifying in previous months, creative writing is always waste product. Not without value but without destination. 40 hours pizza waitressing as the primary process, my phone notes are fast and half-hot - spat together on the walk home.

I am lying in a new room. It has overgrown blackberry brambles all the way up the one window. It has two wandering Jews in two purple pots. It has a desk with a puddle shaped glass top, I hate it. I have very hot to-do lists awaiting each next day. Tomorrow I will print an expansive calendar spanning the next 9 months. I am waiting on a personal trainer appointment to rock this 25-year-old-body into balance and my finances into fear. Lets see what happens here.

“No man ever steps in the same river twice, for it's not the same river and he's not the same man.” ― Heraclitus

#writing excercise #writing #poem #mine #words #writer #work #woman #creatives #creative writing #creativewriting #create #creative #prose poem #poetic #poet #personal #poetry

[ichayalovesyou]

To get your writing juices flowing: maybe Pike and the reader are both up late and have a chat about the stars?

Made with love for my friend and mutual @seismologically-silly

Two Insomniacs Stargazing (Platonic Pike x Reader)

Rating: E for Everyone

Word Count: 1.1k

Content: Platonic/SFW, GN!Reader, Cadet!Reader, existentialism, Carl Sagan quote (kinda), stargazing, second hand embarrassment(?), takes place not long after Lift Us Where Suffering Cannot Reach but w/ no spoilers!

Teaser: You stumble across Captain Pike half-awake in the mess hall during Delta shift, when the mess's lights are dimmed and the stars are at their starkest. More importantly at an ungodly hour where neither of you should be awake. This leads to an interesting conversation.

It was always darker in the mess hall during Delta shift. Something about conserving power, whatever the reason, you didn’t mind. While you didn’t expect to be nodding off anytime soon (as much as your body ached for it), bright light would only have prolonged the issue.

There were fringe benefits to being a night owl on a shift like this, the quiet, the relative calm, meeting people you may not have met while you were working, but none of that was the best part.

The best part was that the dim of the mess hall allowed the sky to light up like no where else on board. Tonight, wherever you were in the galaxy, it was astonishingly beautiful. The blues and purples and golds popping against the metallic red and white of the dining area. It made you almost completely forget everything that was bothering you. Almost.

It also made you forget the world around you as you side checked a table, practically leaping out your skin when a gruff yelp emitted from the adjacent booth.

You almost didn’t recognize him, he was in civvies (dare you say pajamas?) outside of the rumpled uniform jacket. His hair wasn’t following the Enterprise mission statement to reach toward the unknown with its usual zeal. Needless to say, you were mortified.

“Captain?!”

Thank god data pads were resistant to water, because his had spilled all over the table, and on his shirt. You knew this was probably not the first (or the last time) Captain Pike has had a subordinate spill something on him but it sure felt like the end of the universe at the moment.

“I’m sorry I’m so sorry Sir! Agh, I wasn’t paying attention I was looking at the stars and ah-“

“Easy Cadet Y/N I don’t bite, I promise. Heh, lets get this cleaned up.”

He knew your name? Of course he did, he was the Captain, he knows everybody. Still, he’d met you maybe twice? Impressive, although, you didn’t mention it, he looked even more exhausted than you felt. Despite the unenviable fact that neither of you were passed out in your own quarters.

You heard rumors that the last mission had gone poorly. Diplomacy gone horribly wrong, people died, something about a kid, senior staff seemed a little more subdued than usual. You made an educated guess the Captain’s presence here had something to do with it.

“I know when I can’t sleep it’s hard to work in my office so I come out here. For a change of atmosphere and…”

“and to remind yourself why we’re out here?” Pike finished

Man. the eye contact was, a lot, but also comforting? His smile was really disarming too. Maybe it was because it’s late, but whoever said Captains are supposed to be cold and intimidating clearly never met this one. You felt yourself relax a little, apparently it was obvious enough for Captain Pike to chuckle.

“How did you know?” you managed

“I do the same thing.”

“But I haven’t seen you down here before, sir. Not this late anyway.”

“Captain’s quarters have a nice view, but this, this takes me back. I felt I could benefit from retracing my steps, look back instead of forward. It’s been a long mission.”

You could feel the weariness that went beyond the sleepless night in his voice at that last bit. It can’t easy on the top, you could see as much when the nostalgia dropped from Captain Pike’s expression and gave way to what you could only describe as guilt, and regret.

“I know a lot of people talk about what they see when they look out there. Like they can see home or a gaping pitiless vacuum. But, do you ever feel, like it’s looking back at you?”

“Well the universe is teaming with life.” Pike replied, cracking a smile, but you get the impression he didn’t take your full meaning.

“I just think it’s kind of selfish.”

The Captain turned to look at you curiously, feeling put on the spot, you continued.

“To think that you’re special, that the type of living thing you are, that the way you perceive the universe is special. That every species that can look up at the stars and comprehend what it sees is only looking for something only it can relate to. That it’s only worth looking beyond yourself if you can find a mirror.”

You’ve clearly piqued Pike’s interest at by point. you barely notice, but he’s facing you, hardly glancing at the window.

“Sagan tells us that we are the universe unto itself, we are not, separate, from the atoms that make us. The only thing separating us from that nebula over there is a chain of chemical reactions and what we perceive as linear time. When I look out there, I don’t see my reflection, it’s a deconstruction of life as we know it, it’s like the stars themselves are looking back at us. If we can understand the nature of the universe, and the universe appreciates the effort, maybe we can learn to love ourselves.”

Captain Pike nods, turning back to face the cosmos. Looking a bit dumbstruck, and, dare you say… comforted? Maybe not, you could see his brow knit with contemplation, but then you hear him mutter under his breath.

“Like making eye contact with God…”

“I’m sorry?”

“Something my father used to say whenever he discovered an element of his scientific research overlapped with our- with his, spiritual beliefs. That was very profound Cadet, thank you.”

His brow was still very furrowed, you were half worried you about to overstep.

“What do you believe Captain Pike?”

The Captain let out a deep sigh.

“…I’m not sure.”

You weren’t certain you believed him on that one. Yet the Captain seemed to have cast his contemplation aside when he turned to face you again.

“I do know one thing though.”

“What’s that?”

“You, Cadet Y/N, are an excellent addition to the Enterprise’s crew.”

“Thank you sir!”

“Don’t mention it, I guess I hadn’t realized how much I could use the company. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you in the morning, Captain.”

And just like that, he was gone, and you think you could safely say. Even if that was the first and last time you ever spoke with Captain Christopher Pike. The company, and the conversation, had been a memorable one.

Maybe the universe did love you back after all.

#reblogging with properly credited gifs because I was doing a dumbass and didn’t realize how gif credits on this site worked :/ #platonic x reader #captain pike x reader #captain pike #captain christopher pike #star trek #gn!reader #star trek strange new worlds #strange new worlds #snw #star trek snw #answering asks #lar trek #fanfiction #fanfic #writing excercise #pike drabbles

[btrflyng]

Romantic/Platonic “Finally Over” Prompts

“Remember that drink you promised me?”

“You held up good, but you can take it easy now. The rest will be taken care of.”

“Do you wanna do this again?” “Absolutely not.” “Me neither.”

“Hey, calm down. It’s over now. Really.”

“Look at me. It’s over, I promise. And I’ll make sure this never happens again.”

“You’re safe... I’m glad to see that.”

“God fcking dammit. That was one hell of a mess! But I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Your glasses. Did you lose them in the chaos?”

“Don’t ever put yourself in such danger again! Are you planning to give me a heart attack!?”

“Next time the drink is on me.” “I hope there is no need for a next time.”

“Is it over?” “Yep, I’m pretty sure we made it.”

“I forgot what it was like before. What do we do now that it’s over?”

“Can’t wait to forget this crap.”

#writing prompt #scene prompt #writing excercise #feel free to reblog with your writing I'd love to read your stories #sentence starters #rp sentence starters #writers on tumblr #writeblr #creative prompts

[geekwriter]

Love, love, love this site! I sometimes forget I have it bookmarked. (Because I have so many writing resources bookmarked). Then discover it ‘again’ as I go through my bookmarks and fall in love with this site all over again. I would tell you all the awesome stuff they have, but it is too much! Check it out!

#writing excercise #plotting #writing resources

[funfetticandle]

The Five Senses

(With Leo :D)

Just a short lil writing exercise with one of my fav boys

Leo looks like a dewy grass field, he looks like red stripes you would see on a wall with graffiti lettering, he looks like the blue ocean with rays of sun shining upon it, he looks like the darkened teal of a swimming pools walls.

Leo smells like the rain, he smells like the salty ocean air that wafts it’s way into your nose when you step foot onto the beach, he smells like the aftermath of a thunderstorm, he smells like nail polish spilt on the floor.

Leo sounds like a busy crowd in the city, he sounds like the sharp blade of an odachi hitting a hard surface, he sounds like buzzing of an alarm, he sounds like the plopping of a bean bag, he sounds like the quick pop and fizz you hear when opening a soda.

Leo feels like the rough surface of the underside of a skateboard, he feels like the dusty pollen of a daisy, he feels like the cold edges of an ice cube, he feels like the crispy edges of a crust.

Leo tastes like pizza (duh), he tastes like the sugary substance of a Sour Patch Kid, he tastes like ice tea cooled just right for a summer morning, he tastes like the juicy flesh of a orange, he tastes like an energy drink.

#rottmnt #save rottmnt #leo rottmnt #rottmnt leo #leo tmnt #tmnt leo #leonardo #the five senses #writing excercise

[writing-with-olive]

Prompt: write about the eiffel tower falling, but in the styles of different authors. Five minutes per author.

--

In the style of Stephen King:

Creaks would turn to groans of metal and twistings of demon’s glee, the melody of Paris ending. A whisper that meant the corpse of a giant, the roar of a creation’s exhale.  It would sink to its knees and screech to tell the city to wake up and take notice.

--

In the style of Sylvia Plath:

It was to be sturdy. Never to fall. Created to stand over Paris, it would guard it indefinitely The iron was not to erode, to bend It was not to take a longing gaze toward the ground below But that which is made by man must fall unto man What left must return. What rises must come down It cacophonizes, filling the city air with beginning and end The torn limbs of a god are inextricable from the wrenched beams cast upon the ground

--

In the style of Toni Morrison:

The sound wound through the city first. Her croaks and cries, pleading with Paris to set their eyes upon her quivering legs. The tremors, insistent murmurs as they crawled through the hills and streets played keep away with the apples of the marketplace and Prometheus with the brick ovens. The metal played and danced in the wind, a child discovering snow for the first time. And when the city responded with the love and care of a dust mote on the far side of the moon, the tower finally fell to her knees, and they pretended they were surprised.

#writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #writeblr #writing excercise #writing in styles of other authors #stephen king #sylvia plath #toni morrison #paris #eiffel tower #falling #prose #poetry #olive's writing vibes

[rouecentric]

#WRITING EXCERCISE FOR STORIES

characters: none

cw/tw: none

notes: writing excercise

a/n: i wanted to post this for today as i'll be completely offline for tomorrow for a relative's birthday, enjoy reading and or creating a story with this post!

are YOU having trouble getting ideas to write? or are you suffering from writer's block?

well, you're in luck! i, soleilician, have a fun excercise for you to do! i personally like to call it "manhwa maker" or otherwise just known as the simple "novel creator".

as the title implies, you'll be making a story concept, or just the base of the story.

don't worry, it won't be difficult to understand and rather simple to do!

is it an isekai, regression, rebirth or just a normal type of story?

is the mc female, male, or other?

will the mc have a love interest?

what kind of era is it in? is it loosely based on the victorian era?

will the novel have a fantasy setting? such as magic and fantasy creatures like dragons!

is the mc a commoner, noble or royal?

what tropes do you want there to be in the story?

example:

a female mc that regressed back into her childhood after being assasinated by her older half brother because she harrased his lover, but she soon regained memories of her previous life when she wasn't a princess and the world she is in now was an otome game, with the crown prince's lover being the mc! fl's love interest is a duke from a neighboring kingdom and helps out the fl from not being assasinated in the future and eventually become engaged.

the tropes are: regression, isekai, marriage of convenience, duke ml, royal fl, friends to lovers.

#writing #excercise #writing excercise #manhwa #non x reader soleilician post #story making #soleilican writes

[blue-kyber]

If you write primarily in third person, try writing a short story or blurb or paragraph, or something as your character in first person. It can give you a different perspective on how they think. It puts you directly in their head as though they were you, and you're living their life as them.

I've done this with each of mine, and was surprised at the insights it gave me into each of their personalities that I wouldn't have found if I'd remained an external "viewer."

#writing #writeblr #out there the 1k #writing excercise #Fuck around and find out

[a-gal-with-taste]

silco discovering his love likes to sleep naked

Send me a NSFW headcanon and I’ll write a 5 sentence ficlet about it

Singed's assistant was endearing, in a way that Silco was not used to, not prepared for, and most importantly, couldn't get enough of.

The few and far-between monthly meetings to discuss his injector, it's progress or to exchange a cartridge for the device, were instances that were far, far too rare for his liking... and, surely, the little assistant understands the urgency of a late-night visit.

A broken injector, seemingly crushed accidentally underboot, was something that required immediate attention, which they gave the moment he called his reasoning for such an impromptu visit through the door... though, perhaps their attention was too immediate, considering how entirely, wholly unprepared they were for an emergency meeting between sly infatuated, and clueless infatuateè.

An apology was already on their tongue, while shameless salivation grows on Silco's, at the sight of bed-tousled hair, shoulders bare with nothing but a fist desperately clutching a bedsheet to the chest, an image completed with bright eyes and a face, flushed exquisitely with embarrassment on the barely-clad state they were in, in front of their boss's boss-

Endearing, in a way Silco nor you were prepared for, a way he was unused to, and in a way he wouldn't ever be able to get enough of... that is, until the day he got that sheet off you.

#S. I. M. P. #nasty old simp #writing excercise #silco #arcane #arcane silco #silco x reader #sinday #18+ #mdni #writing

[crazysonik22]

La carta

Era un día ordinario de aquellos en los que llegas cansado del trabajo y todo lo que quieres es quitarte los zapatos, comer algo y dormir, al abrir la puerta note los clásicos sobres del correo bajo  la puerta; el banco, las cuentas una que otra promoción y anuncios.Con la pesadez que  traía del día los levanté y los puse sobre la mesa arrastrando los pies, preparé mi cena y me dispusé a verlos. Algo llamó mi atención había un sobre que parecía haber sufrido en el camino, algo arrugado y que no parecía venir de alguna institución bancaria, tampoco contaba con datos del remitente. Me invadió totalmente la curiosidad y haciendo a un lado mi cena me dispuse a abrir el sobre.

La hoja de papel dentro de este no tenía mejor apariencia, parecía que se habían arrepentido de escribir la carta y que en un impulso de fastidio habían arrugado la hoja, yo solo podía pensar en quien podría tomarse todas estas molestías y quede fria cuando vi lo que decía....

#bysonik #writing excercise

[marie-dufresne]

Another Prompt Roulette night at Starbucks with @novahstrife! Enjoy these 20min ficlets once again 💖

Characters: Cloud & Author’s Choice Prompt: Arranged Marriage/Royalty

Marriage was not such a big deal. It was necessary in their world, the world of elites, those who wished to be elite, and those caught in between. For the Strife family, it was the latter.

They were neither social climbers, nor were they top tier. They had worked their way out of the small country village they once called home, investing in some land and to their great fortune, a significant source of iron on that land.

With a bounty such as theirs, news spread quickly, as did offers to mine such riches as iron was scarce in this part of the kingdom and extremely valuable compared to other parts of the world. Of course, this could have been due to the lack of technology and dependence upon luck and happenstance to reveal its whereabouts.

Many offers came by the household to buy them out. Some friendly, some less so, some downright threatening, but Mr. & Mrs. Strife had no intention to sell the property they had worked so hard to acquire, regardless of its value.

But there was one offer that came that was vastly different than the rest and it came in the form of a blonde woman alone with naught but the footman driving her carriage. She carried herself in a terrifying manner, though she herself was not frightful to look at. Young, beautiful, and sure of herself, she walked the property with a long cigarette holder, her crimson gown a beacon in the rolling green hills of the farm.

No, not crimson.

Scarlet.

Lady Scarlet Dubois had arrived not to purchase the land, but to take their son, Cloud, into her marriage bed. He would be forever revered in society, and his children after him. She would not have immediate claim to the raw materials, but work with the Strife family when she needed the iron. All she wanted was access. Access through marriage.

She did not say what exactly she wanted it for, but it was a comfortable offer and she was such a regal young woman, the Strifes did not deliberate for long. Cloud himself had little interest in women, still green and shy at seventeen, his heart set on a knighthood, if only war would come and he’d be given a chance.

He didn’t protest the marriage, and when the wedding feast was through and he found himself standing at the foot of his bed (nobility did not share rooms, he learned), his new bride lay back against his pillows with a feline grin, inviting him to take his place as lord of this great manor.

But it was not lust that captivated Cloud that night, but her. Not her beauty exactly, but her confidence. The spark of something far more beyond summer romance in her eyes. She was wise to the world and he wanted to be a part of it.

In his night shirt, with one hand on the bedpost, he didn’t move to undress.

“What are you doing with the iron?” he asked, a question she’d refused to answer their entire engagement, laughing him off with a ‘kyahaha’ and a stroke to his cheek.

He stood up a bit more straight and lowered his voice, leveling his gaze with hers.

“I am lord of this house. I want to know.”

One of Scarlet’s brows quirked and she slid off the bed, white silken nightdress beaded entirely in red at the hem, again. Always the red. As if she walked through blood with every step she took.

“Well, Lord Strife, if you insist.”

It was a long walk through the manor, winding paths down, down, down, down until she pulled open an impossibly thick wooden door, revealing an armory Cloud had only ever dared to fantasize about.

“You want to be a warrior, my little darling, don’t you?”

Staring ahead in disbelief, Cloud stepped in, the stone floor warmer to his bare feet than he expected, hot jolts of excitement lashing through him and striking him in the gut. He’d never seen anything like these before. Firearms that seemed too small yet so easy to wield, swords too light but seeming to cut the very light that danced about the room, bows with arrows he wondered might pierce him simply for walking by.

“How…how did you get all of this? You’re…a lady.”

A high pitched, amused shriek of laughter escaped her throat and with the torch in its bracket, she commanded his face with two fingers.

“My dearest, sweet husband. I designed them all.”

Characters: Author’s Choice Prompt: Class Difference

It was a busy night at the Golden Eagle. It always was, and Marie’s stage was so full of Gil and flowers, for the moment, she allowed herself to believe she was a real performer. A circus or novelty act, perhaps, where the ribbons she was hanging from by her thighs were made of silk, not synthetics. They were painted, not stained, and she was in costume, not lingerie.

Her song ended and she gave a salty wink to the sea of men before her, before collecting her earnings. A true performer would not stoop so low as to clean her own stage, and yet here she was.

There were no compliments on a job well done when she retreated backstage, just the annoyed looks from the other girls. Flowers? How useless. Marie had tried to point out that flowers were dying out in Midgar and they were precious to her. They didn’t pay the bills or buy her booze, but they were pretty.

A bouncer poked his head into the ‘dressing room’ all of the dancers were crammed into, telling Marie she was wanted in the office, but before she could reach for her robe, the guard was pushed aside by a handsome blond with a full bouquet.

“Artemis!!”

The bouncer backed away. Whatever it was Guido wanted her for would have to wait. Nobody stood in the way of Artemis ShinRa when he came to call.

Ignoring the groans and eye rolls from her colleagues, Marie bounded forward, accepting both his flowers and his kisses. He was older than her, but that wasn’t unusual here. Mr. ShinRa was in his mid-thirties. That was tame compared to other patrons who made attempts to get chummy with the girls.

“What do you say we get out of here?” He muttered into her neck, one hand firmly on her backside giving her a little squeeze, “I’m tired of letting other men watch you.”

“I’m not finished with my shift, Artie, I can’t.”

There was no warmth in his steely eyes as he smirked at her, his hand traveling up from her bottom to her neck, wrapping around the side, putting pressure on her pulse.

“I say you’re done. You’re done.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d pulled her away. In fact, every time he came to visit her he pulled her away. He didn’t care to share his toys, particularly with those of the lower class. It was such a chronic problem, the owner of the club would terminate Marie’s employment upon her return.

“I have news,” he announced, enveloping her with his suit jacket as he led her into his car, instructing the driver to head to her apartment. She was never to be seen in his circle.

Marie’s hands gave a little clap, her eyes lighting up amidst the glitter that painted her face for the stage, her overly sprayed curls barely moving with her enthusiasm.

“What is it?”

Giving into the sight before him, Artemis ignored her question, pretending he hadn’t said anything, pulling her up onto his lap, diving into her cleavage and feeling the way she shuddered beneath him. She smelled like sweat and alcohol and body spray. Couldn’t even afford perfume.

What a cute little gutter rat.

They didn’t speak on the ride to her place, nor on the way up the staircase, Marie’s thighs wrapped around his waist, their mouths and hands blinding them, but muscle memory leading the way. Artemis didn’t care that his thousand gil shoes crunched trash and cigarettes as they walked, and Marie paid no attention to whatever it was that stuck her back to the brick when he shoved her up against it, panting and ravenous.

By the time they spilled onto the mattress she had laid out on the empty room she called an apartment, she was out of breath and begging him for more. He was the only thing in this entire life that mattered to her. Her every waking thought, her optimism and the drive for her to work hard that she might someday become respectable enough to join him in his part of the city, to meet his friends, to be a real lover. A fiancee. A wife.

When finally he rolled off of her, lighting up the most expensive cigarettes she’d ever smelled, he smiled, turning to her and giving her cheek a little stroke. What a fun game they played.

“Tell me your news,” she prodded, sitting up on her knees, resting her head on his shoulder, tracing shapes across his back, “you know how proud I am of you.”

Artemis smiled at that. Yes. She was so invested in his accomplishments.

“Well my little slum monkey, I’ve secured another deal. A deal of a lifetime.”

“Tell me, tell me,” he begged, leaning in and teasing at his cheeks with her lips and teeth, impatient. “What sort of deal?”

Artemis flicked some ash onto her floor, leaning his head back to give her clear access to his throat. He loved it when she kissed him there.

“I’m getting married.”

He could have shot her. She wished he had, for she was as good as dead now.

Characters: Zack & Sephiroth Prompt: Boss & Employee

Zack was late. He didn’t mean to be. His first day on the job and he was going to be late, but in the middle of the line at the local coffee chain, he was beginning to panic. He’d come in for a quick iced sugar something, but a series of fender benders at the intersection now had first responders blocking both exits from the parking lot.

He could have called in, but would that look worse than simply showing up? Maybe.

In front of him, a tall, silver haired man observed the commotion outside with little expression. What a unique looking person, Zack mused. While unnatural hair color was not unusual by any means, this seemed entirely natural and yet, he was young. Maybe only a couple years older than himself.

New to the city, new to the job, he was fidgeting and when he also partook in a bit of rubbernecking (just to make sure no one was hurt), he stepped on the foot of the man before him.

“Ah! I’m so sorry!” he cried, hands up, “didn’t mean it, sir. Just—wow what a commotion out there. Don’t people know what a red light is?”

A ghost of a smile whispered across the man’s face. “In the city, everyone is out for himself. There are consequences.”

Zack laughed nervously. Being from a more rural area, he had little experience with city living.

“Yeah, I guess so. Aw man though…I’m gonna be so late for work. My first day and my boss is a total dickweed or so I hear.”

An eyebrow shift.

Overshare much, Zack?

With a little whine, he slumped his shoulders. “Yeeeeaahhhh I just don’t wanna get fired on my first day just because someone doesn’t know their colors. Can’t disappoint my Mama like that.”

The taller man gave a little grunt of acknowledgement before turning to place his order. Zack was next, and by the time he left, he gave an enthusiastic wave to the stranger and wished him a nice day. Nothing was given in response.

To add to his crunched time frame, the GPS had not accounted for some downtown construction and he added ten minutes to his tardiness driving around trying to gain his bearings. At this point he could have just walked from the coffee shop.

At reception, he sprawled across the desk, getting a giggle from the curly blonde there.

“Please. What floor is SOLDIER Marketing on? I’m like, extra super late for my first day.”

She smiled at him, handing him a mini chocolate bar from a dish she kept next to the computer.

“Floors one through seven, sweets. Where do you need to be?”

Zack ran a hand through his hair, then remembering he’d gelled it into place for the office, frantically smoothed it out.

“Uh, I’m President Hojo’s new personal assistant.”

When she gave him a little once over, he froze, blue eyes wild with fright. What did that mean?

She handed him another chocolate.

Oh noes.

“Floor seven,” she said, before handing him yet another piece of candy. “and tell him that one is from Marie.”

Zack looked at the last candy. A fruit flavored one when the others were chocolate.

“What?”

But she just gave him a sunny grin, standing up to dust something off the shoulder of his suit jacket.

“Oh I ate the last of his so I’m just paying him back. It’s no big deal. Now go get ‘em! I’m rooting for you!”

Remembering how late he was, Zack’s dress shoes slipped on the marble tile as he scurried to the elevator, furiously pressing the button for the seventh floor. He knew he was late and ignoring the personal receptionist of President Hojo altogether, he burst into the office, spouting apologies and holding out the fruity candy in penance.

And then he looked up, getting a look at his new boss for the very first time and the silver haired man from the coffee shop gave him a smug little smirk as he sat back in his chair.

“So. Who calls me a dickweed?”

Characters: Rufus & Author’s Choice Prompt: Reversed Roles

taken from my verse with @ivory-paragon & I hope @reapersxfolly gets kick out of it too

It was difficult for Marie to admit she wasn’t cut out for most of the job of being president. She’d inherited it, committed patricide for it even, done unspeakable things to keep herself on top of the world and yet there was one glaring pitfall, a necessity she simply could not undertake alone.

“Madame President, do you need my assistance?”

Tseng was ever loyal, ever at her side and she was grateful for this. He was invaluable, her greatest protector, but she was not the president her father was and she could not bear to work any of her staff harder than absolutely necessary, least of all Tseng.

“Get me Rufus,” she said softly, declining the Turk’s offer, “please.”

With a soft bow of his head, he disappeared from the office, returning with the slender blond man, the gatekeeper of the presidents office, her receptionist.

Her greatest love.

In this office they could be less discreet than everywhere else, and when he took up his place beside her, he did so with a small kiss to her temple.

“Contracts again?” he murmured, using one finger to move aside the paperwork, typed up in the smallest typeface known to man. He knew her struggle to read them, to read anything. Tseng knew, and it was between these three that the secret was kept.

Marie nodded, leaning into him and Rufus held up his hand, beckoning Tseng forward. He was just as close with the Turks as she was. It was already late and regardless of what she thought, the two of them would not be able to go through them alone.

“I’ll put coffee on,” Rufus offered, “order down for dinner and we’ll three of us decipher these together.”

“Where would I be without you?” She asked, her chin in her hand as she admired the way he crossed the room in the crisp white suit she’d bought for him just because.

“Under the thumb of your father still, I imagine,” he replied, knowing full well she was incapable of ruling without him.

“Mr. ShinRa.”

Tseng’s scold was light and Marie’s smile bright. They knew he was right.

Together they organized her leftover work on the desk, the two men dictating what was on hand and the President determining the piles, stacks, and order of operations. Organizing she was good at. She excelled at it. So long as she didn’t have to read.

At some point in the night, a scowl came across Rufus’ face and she came up behind him, leaning against his back, pressing a soft kiss to his jaw.

“What do you see?” she asked quietly, but he didn’t respond to her, silently handing the document to Tseng who read it over, his expression barely changing, but Marie saw the glint of threat in his eyes.

“What is it?”

“This isn’t a business contract,” Rufus replied, “this is a threat disguised as a contract.”

“And should you sign it, you admit your guilt to the accusation here.”

Standing up to her full height (all five feet of her as her heels had been abandoned under her desk some hours ago), Marie’s face tightened and her shoulders squared.

“Who would put a threat, a confession into a contract?”

Tseng tapped a gloved finger against the tabletop for a few moments, choosing his words carefully. The president was a hurricane when she felt threatened.

“Somebody who is aware of your handicap.”

Rufus accepted the document back from him, reaching for her hand to keep her calm. Her emotional whiplash triggered migraines in him, but this news was not good news. It was not even bad news. It was disastrous.

“Someone who knows the truth about your father.”

Her eyes went wide and she looked between the two men.

“Someone here.”

Tseng lowered his eyes, folding his hands and leaving this one to her lover. They might have to move on to her penthouse to discuss this further.

“Someone here,” Rufus confirmed.

There was a traitor in the building.

#Ru and Tseng boutta heck someone UP #writing prompt #writing excercise

[ladybugmeat]

1. Children who Bite

On my first day of school, I bit the Woon twins. I was sent to stand by the wall with my back faced against the playground. A group of teachers gathered and spoke in fast, anxious tones.

“Children who bite other children-” Mrs Verhoeven began, her speech impeded by a murmuration of female voices.

“I had her for maths this morning… very quiet.” I could hear Miss Marwood’s glasses pressed into the tip of her nose.

I ran my fingers into the grooves between the bricks. When I had first looked up from Harry’s shoulder, there was no mark. And then all at once, there was a perfect indent. White water fountain. White nails. White indent. My entire smile on his arm -The two gaps in my milk teeth, my fangy canines, and my two front rabbits. George’s hand cleaved the empty space between his brother and my mouth. I had not wanted to bite him, nor had I planned to, but he had gotten in the way. His lips twitched as he held out his two fingers. His breathing was ragged. I didn’t look away. One, then two rings of indents, and blood.

“I’m sorry Grace. The parent complained.”

My mother took my hand from Miss Marwood’s and pulled me into the flap of her dark green coat. Kneeling down, she took the collars of my pinafore and smiled. She was wearing her make-up.

“I think it’s a McDonald’s kind of day, isn’t it?”

Miss Marwood’s expression stiffened. My mother straightened out her coat and nodded her goodbye.

‘...in case you missed it, we have an early parents evening coming up-’

Miss Marwood searched her pockets for the newsletter but my mother had already carried me away.

At home, I took the tissue from my book-bag and followed my mother into the kitchen. She had been singing this whole time and I wanted to sing with her. I placed it on the counter where I could still see it. She unfolded the squares and leant her tangled hair into the light. Now that I come to think of it, I notice that my mother’s appearance had always been made up in some regard. When she wasn’t wearing lipstick, she was wearing charcoal. When her hair was swooped into a formless mass, her finger-nails were immaculate.

The spider’s legs were craned inwards, its abdomen twisted outward from its pincers. With its legs flat, it would have been the size of my palm.

“I tried to stop them but they-”

My mother’s eyes narrowed. Once she was stood up she could see all of it. Taking tweezers from a ceramic bowl of salt water, she plucked the legs out one by one. She placed them vertically, wiping the head of the tweezers each time. They looked like dried cherry stems and splintered like matches.

“Harry stamped on it. He-He stomped on it.”

Taking its dappled brown abdomen up into the light, she turned it around and let it fall back onto the counter. She closed the tissue inwards. Her face seemed on the brink of crumpling into tears, tears that would pour down her closed lips in silence.

“I can get you another one. There are more, I saw them. ”

I tugged at her fleece arm but her whole body trembled. I expected her to say something in her defence, but she stood at the counter until my father’s keys sounded in the door.

“Go to your room, Edith.” Her voice had no weight to it, like feathers. It was neither sombre nor empty, as might be expected from someone who was unwell.  

That night I sat up drawing spiders. I drew small spiders with long legs and small pincers.  I drew their tiny snowman bodies and went back in with pen to do their legs. I drew the dead spider, its abdomen heavy and exploding with babies.

#novel #creativewriting #writing #novella #writes #writers #mine #poetry #poem #poets #writersoftumblr #writers of tumblr #writing excercise #writing community