#writers of tumblr
Angel
Tw: Blood
She lay there, pale, in the snow
From her chest, red blood did flow
Wounds from wars lost long ago
An angel, fallen from grace.
Her hair was dark, and wild too
Her eyes like drops of morning dew
With smeared wings of red once she flew
Now broken, they framed her face.
Above her crown, a cracked halo
Of pain and loss, and joyous sorrow
She lay there, an angel in the snow
A dagger to hold her in place.
Tw: Blood
Writer Character Analysis Game
Ooh! That gives me a game idea.
Send me a personality trait or one of my characters’ names and I’ll analyze the trait.
In other words: if you send me a trait, I’ll figure out a character that has that trait and type out a short analysis of what made them have it.
If you send me a character, I’ll pick one of their random traits and analyze it in the same way as above.
About a year ago I bought a little, black moleskin notebook. I picked a book without lines in hopes of escaping some of the linearity of my life. I have since freed myself of the most of the confining structures that bothered me then, but that’s a relatively boring history that I will skip.
Anyways, I have this little, black moleskin notebook. It’s not a diary or a journal. If lost and found somewhere, a stranger would not unveil any of my secrets or my fears. The notebook is only a reflection of the human experience. There are quotes, from the books I read or the people I meet. There are drawings of molecular structures and plants, depending on what courses I have been paying the most attention to lately. Although, on one page I drew a nearly perfect elephant. The majority of the pages have lists, or single lines of thought. These are fleeting moments that strike me as slightly more interesting than the usual babbling of my mind.
So what is the point of the little, black moleskin notebook? I could probably capture more, and in an elegant way, if I wrote about my days on lengthy pages of beautiful stationary. I could turn my sketches into great paintings or I could spend more time taking photos. But there is a romance in taking this tiny notebook, paired with a black felt tip pen, everywhere I go. I can read over the pages, and I feel the passion of all my moments come together.
Everyone should have a little, black moleskin notebook.
ever look at a piece of art and think of how a simple picture, painting, music, or book transcend time. For it to live through generations of generations, era after era, and yet, here it stays, alive and beating. as it captured the hearts of many before, now it beguiles us with the same intensity, even bringing us to tears, knowing that behind each stroke, note, and word is another person’s soul laid bare. gazing in the depths of the Art, we reconcile with the ghost of its creator, drifting and immortal. in a simple glimpse, we became a part of the undying
So last year I wrote this piece for my Minimum Standards Practise Test. I got level 4 (The Highest) and was pretty proud of my result. Anyways here it is. The question asked was “If you could go back in time where would you go”
So, you want to know where I would go if I was given the opportunity to travel back in time? At first glance, I might’ve said something along the lines of; ‘To reconcile with my past self’ or 'To watch a large historical event take place’. Alas, this question requires a larger quantity of thought than that. The question refers to you as going back in time, not stating whether or not you could go back to where you began. If the offer was to go back and not return to the exact point of which you left I would not go anywhere. Let’s assume for the following that it also included the ability to go forward, how many times would I be able to move fluidly through time. If I get one chance, one moment to go back and glimpse at myself the smartest act would be to preserve my chance, so when I lay cold and full on my deathbed I can go back in time and watch my happiest moment play through my head one last time.
But! But, but, but, but! Say I was given more than one chance to fluidly fold through the veil of time, my choice would be very different. Sure I would go back and watch everything play out, I have a rule not to change any events, but after that what would I do? Now we come to another question, am I travelling alone? If Doctor Who is anything to go off then travelling by oneself might become empty and tiresome. Although if I was alone there is one thing I would do. I would test time and her laws myself. Travelling through time I would test theories, change minor events and see how much I can do before time snaps. Can two of the exact same beings exist at the same time? What happens if I kill something in the future and bring it to the past, what effect would that have on the future? Alas if I did do this I would be driven to complete my final question. What happens to me if I kill myself in the past?
It’s quite clear to see that sending me back in time alone is a very bad idea but there is one last and final question you must ask about the situation, can I choose where I come out? If I could fluidly travel back and to the point I left in time, if I could travel with a partner and if I could travel more than once then can I have the ability of teleportation ingrained into that? This question is vital as if you went back in time and found yourself, in a hostile place, inside a mountain as the ground level changes over time, your body contorted into a tree as one has existed where you stood or witch no currency and no way to travel the entire aspect of time travel is completely ruined. Unless you could somehow see the exact place that you are going to at that exact point in time so your body would still remain whole I would not travel at all.
Although I did say the previous question was my 'last question’ there are so many more that must be addressed before even attempting to go through time. A main one of which is how will you get there and in what form? On the topic of 'how’ I refer as to whether this is an ability, you can do with your mind or an ability you can do with a vehicle or enclosure. Inside an enclosed area would be the safest way to travel if you could bend around time. Bend around the objects that are there at that time and completely prevent the last problem from even existing. Although the form is very important too. Will I be able to touch things or simply spectate in a ghostly apparition. Not being able to touch things would ruin most of my plans.
Now that my queries have been addressed I would like to give you the answer you’ve been waiting for all this time. if i could go back in time, bend around the objects that are there, influence and touch the world, travel with others, be able to teleport, control where I go from my mind without an enclosure, travel to the moment I started at, do it more than once and see where I would appear directly before I do I would explore the wonders of the world. I would grow old with a friend, I would show artists how great they became, I would see the paths of history truly play out as they happened, I would be the mysterious stranger know throughout time for helping others. I would become a myth, a hero, a legend. I wouldn’t go back in time and change the person that I am, I would go back and help people. Because if my deepest desire is to go and help, I wouldn’t need to change a thing.
Why is it so hard to believe that a princess would lie?
No one entertains the idea that the new tax is for the purpose they claim. The king lies, the streets remain potted with holes, and we all knew this would happen.
Dukes and Duchesses and princes? Do you trust their words more?
No.
So why do you trust hers?
Is it because she’s a merchant’s daughter, and not a highborn girl of status and power?
Tell me, do you really trust the wealthy shopkeeper to give you the most of your money’s worth?
I thought not.
You trust her story because you want to. I get that, it is quite the tale. I know my words will fall on deaf ears, but I cannot go forever without telling it. Princess who’s love would have me executed or not.
Wenever called her Cinderella.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Ella. Ella was the name of my new sister. She was younger than Anastasia, but older than me. I was excited to meet her. She was not excited to meet us.
The first night in the new house (It was an extravagant place, then before we’d gotten used to it, it had stairs!), Ella shut herself in her rooms for dinner, then breakfast, then was coaxed out by her father for lunch. Her eyes were puffy but she still leveled us with a glare that felt like a drafty window.
Ella did not want us here.
“Give her time,” Mother had told us, “Her mother passed away recently, this is a big change.”
So we gave her time. Two years should’ve been enough to dull the hostility, but when I’m pranked so viscously, I retaliate. I regret it a bit now, it was childish, but I don’t think I would’ve ever done anything differently. See, Ella’s father, the man I should call my papa like she did, didn’t believe Ella could do wrong. I could tell him that she’d put rotten egg in my shoe, but Ella wouldn’t do that, it must’ve been Anastasia, if I wasn’t lying. So I fought back in my own way, and got punished for it more often than not.
Two years later, and we were just as much enemies as Ella had expected of us.
Then Ella’s doting father died.
Here’s the beginning of her story, she “Became a servant in her own house,” right? Honestly, I think she actually thinks that’s how it happened.
Context, Ella, is important.
Mother didn’t appear to grieve (She did, of course, but Ella never learned to read my mother’s face.) Mother couldn’t afford to waist time lounging with her tears, we were living in a house we couldn’t afford. So Anastasia sat at the table and started embroidering for hours, Mother and I ripped the useless flowers from the garden and planted the dye plants we knew so well. We secured an income to keep the warm, draft-less building. Mother tried to remarry (yet again), but some nasty rumors of poison kept the husbands away. I still wonder if Ella, the charismatic socialite, had something to do with them.
We couldn’t afford to keep servants, but we knew how to clean and cook, and do all the things we did before. Ella did not.
I do wonder if our work all went unnoticed. Did she really not care that I made dinner, because of how horrendous it was to was dishes? She says now, that we all lounged around and did nothing. Well, Ella, maybe its because I stuck my hand in the laundry water and scrubbed instead of swishing it around hoping the dirt wouldn’t get on me!
It does not take that long to do simple chores if you dig in and do them!
(And before you try to say it, we did teach her how. But the washboard chipped a nail and was then onward unusable.)
Mere months of this, oh, that’s right, Ella doesn’t use the correct dates in her tale, No.
This didn’t go on for six years, like she’d have you believe. Her father hadn’t been in the ground for a year when the ball’s invitation came.
I wish it had been longer.
She would’ve figured chores out and had a bit of free time. Then, maybe she would be content to not ruin us.
I think you can figure the rest of the story out. I dyed fabric, Anastasia embroidered, and Mother stitched dresses together for all three of us. Ella’s didn’t meet her standards and she wore something from an old chest of her mother’s. It had been a beautiful gown, I could imagine a fairy stitching it.
The party came and went, we had fun and Ella had a hook in the prince. The envoy came to collect her a week later, and she’d had soot on her fingers from scrubbing the fireplace.
That was the first and last time I’d ever see Cinderella.
Thanks for all the love on the new fic, beebs! Y'all are gold. ❤️ And @deathishereditary I’m so STOKED YOU LOVED IT!
New surprise one shot dropping in the next couple hours because The Muse still is giving me writer’s block on Dead of Winter… BUT AT LEAST YA’LL GET SOMETHIN’! <3
No one:
Literally not a single person:
Me: okay so listen I’m going through some shit can people please read the ramblings of a strange person who thinks too much and tell me it’s good writing.
To say
We are here and
We’re here
To stay.
I fathom I say and
You say
‘Cause we would like to.
- we would stay if we want to
You win the most when the cards you hold are worth folding but you take the risk
“I want to pretend it was never good and we were just young and I was blind. But the truth is I’ve never seen another pair of eyes like yours and my mom still loves you.”—