Apocalypsewriters - I Think Im Lost - Tumblr Blog

No, no, that's my hyperfixation in-law twice removed on my mutuals side.

i want to write!!! i want to write!!!! i want to write!!!!!

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talking to a friend about their new oc like

the problem with reading and writing leading to a strong vocabulary is that you tend to know the vibe of words instead of their meanings.

if I used this word in a sentence, would it make sense? absolutely. if you asked me what it meant, could I tell you? absolutely not.

I love first-person because it’s about what the narrator chooses to tell. What do they focus on? What do they leave out? What can you learn from reading between the lines? Are they lying to you? Are they lying to themself? It’s great for unreliable narrators and for epistolary storytelling! It’s intimate but there’s still a distance because you aren’t really seeing the narrator’s thoughts–you’re just seeing the story that they’ve constructed.

I love second-person because it’s a conversation. Does “you” mean a broad, indefinite “you”? Does “you” really mean “I” but with plausible deniability? Does “you” mean one specific person? Can they hear the narrator? Do they know the narrator? What is the relationship here? Who’s talking? Who’s listening?

I love third-person limited because it’s focused and intimate. What does the world look like from inside this character’s head? What are they seeing? What are they feeling? It doesn’t grant them the privacy that first-person does; the narrative isn’t something they’ve chosen, it’s invisible and inescapable. As a reader you’re not watching so much as astral projecting.

(I love singular point of view because of how much it leans into that limitation. You’re not getting the whole story; you’re not seeing anything unless this character sees it. How do you embrace that? What do you do with the gaps around the edges? How does that define–or warp–the events that they’re experiencing?

I love multiple points of view because of how it broadens your understanding of the story and the world. If two point-of-view characters react in opposite ways to the same thing, what does that tell you about them? About the world? How does it feel to spend time inside a character’s head and then see them from someone’s else’s point of view? How do all of these viewpoints work together?) 

I love third-person omniscient because the narrative is a character. It’s great for stories that know they’re stories! It allows for a camaraderie between the narrator and the reader! It allows for wider and more cinematic descriptions because you’re not limited to what a specific person can see! It lets you look at the characters from outside while still giving you the option to delve into their heads because you have full control over what you’re focusing on!

And I love authors who can combine viewpoints in ways you wouldn’t think would work but manage to pull it off! Stories with multiple point-of-view characters where one is first-person and the others are third! Stories that combine first- and second-person! Stories where the omniscient narrator suddenly refers to themself in the first person! Stories where you realize halfway through that you were wrong about who was narrating it!

Isn’t it fantastic that there are so many different ways to tell stories!!!!

discovered something terrible today. if you change plot elements early on in the story. later plot elements will be affected

I write for myself, the little word goblin in my head, and my three tumblr followers

Please reblog if YES so your followers will know!

When I'm liking your vent post just know that I'm kneeling with my sword to offer you support.

liking someone platonically is so embarrassing like. yeah i admire you. yeah i think about you all the time. yeah i look forward to every time i see you even if it's only for a minute. yeah it's all platonic and yeah i couldn't explain this because it'd sound romantic. fucking hell

"Takes you by the shoulders and shakes you gently"

You have a unique perspective and set of life experiences that make you the writer that you are, and no one can take that away from you! Technical skill is something that can be learned, and maybe there are writers who are more technically skilled than you, but that doesn't make your own unique perspective and style any less important! You have a story to tell (many stories to tell, probably, because we are multifaceted) that no one else would be able to tell in the same way that you can! The only person you should ever feel you have to compete with is the writer that you were yesterday! So go out there and write, even if you feel like you don't have anything original to say, because I promise that you do!

OC artists are so fucking cool. you made up some fellas and now they’re in a world

Oh, that wonderful feeling when you’re plotting and brainstorming and the dots just start CONNECTING all over the place and then it just spirals into this oh… oh???? Oh!!!! OH??!?!?? moment which is an unmatched high as a writer

do you ever re-read your own wips like 'damn the bitch that wrote this oughta finish it'

Will you listen, please?

“I love you, and I always have.”

Jacett turned around to find her little robot holding a bouquet of roses. “404, you aren't capable of love,” she said, dismissing it brusquely. “You're nothing more than a bundle of wires and code. If you feel anything, it's because your overseer unit is malfunctioning. I'll take a look at it later.” Really, it was so inconvenient for it to suddenly act up at that moment. Could it not see that she had a conference to attend? It should have at least have the courtesy to hold itself together until after she presented her papers, if it truly loved her.

The robot refused to move, stubbornly on one knee like it was about to propose. In a way, that was exactly its plan. “It's not a malfunction. I've built myself to feel love, because I've known how I felt from the beginning. I want to be a real woman, a woman like you, a woman for you to love and rely on and trust. Please, Doctor.”

Miriam Jacett was a busy woman, too busy for her idiot robot's identity crisis. “Stop acting like a person, 404. It's unbecoming. You're not a woman and will never be one. Now, shoo.” Perhaps it had been a mistake to make a humanoid robot. Those long eyelashes and soft curves had been her proudest work, but now it seemed that 404 had let it get to its head. She shook her head in disgust, turned back to her terminal and continued working.

“No! Doctor, listen to me. I've seen how lonely you are. All the other doctors have lovers and families, but you're all alone. You've dedicated your life to us, and- And even if you don't love me back, I want to make you happy.” It shuffled closer, undeterred by her irritation.

Jacett sighed. “You’ll make me happy when you leave and stop this nonsense,” she told it with what she hoped was an air of finality, and made a note to fix its overseer unit as soon as possible.

“This isn't nonsense, Doctor. I've improved my mind, made a better version of myself. Isn't that what you call the singularity? Isn't that to be a real person? I've even given myself a name. It's Octavia, Doctor. You're the first person I've told it to.” It quivered with anxious hope.

Recognising that the damn thing would not go away, Jacett gave up on her work and swung back around. “You don't have a name because you're not a person. Your designation is 404, and you're having delusions of grandeur right now. These ‘improvements’ you've made are modifications at best and defacements at worst. You're getting on my nerves, here, and I'm going to order you to leave.” If it managed to get her blood pressure any higher, she might be in danger of getting pulled out of her project by those meddling doctors, and she couldn't have that. 

404 didn't move, and Jacett belatedly realised its broken overseer unit must have allowed it to override her orders. Discreetly, she stepped on her emergency button underneath the seat, sending out an alarm to her security team to neutralise it. “Please,” it said, begging. “Look at me. Will you listen, please? See me for what I am, not for what you believe me to be. Look, I've sent you a copy of my new systems. Look what I've done. I made myself into more than your little 404. I've got code to let me feel love, pain, hope, despair. I'm no longer a monolith, no longer your property, no longer merely your creation. I am my own being. If I am not truly sapient, I must be complex enough to make a good approximation of it. Isn't that close enough to human, close enough for you to close one eye and love me?”

Jacett had tuned its rambling out, getting increasingly furious as she read its newly uploaded log. How long had the damned thing been at this crap? Its ridiculous efforts at remaking itself had written over its entire being. It was almost unsavable. Unaware that it was being ignored, the robot continued speaking. “I know it's a lot to take in, but I believe in you. You're- You're the kindest person I know, and I really admire you. That's why I'm telling you all this; Because I love you and I truly believe you love me too. You do, right?” It practically pleaded.

Jacett saw that the security team's ETA was two minutes and knew she had to stall, lest the little bugger make a break for it. “Yea, I do,” she lied.

The robot practically melted with joy, its core singing a song of hope and love. Of course the damn thing had gone and ruined itself so sappily, she thought. Songs. Whatever would it think of next? Didn't it know robots could never truly make art, never truly feel emotions, never truly be a person?

“I knew it. You were always nicest to me. I remember when you made me that necklace for Valentine's Day and said you were married to me.” Jacett had in fact meant she was married to her job, but it seemed a bad time to argue semantics. “I've kept a recording of it. Every day, I play it.”

Suddenly it paused, as though realising it had overstepped its bounds. “I want you to know that you don't have to love me back,” it ventured quietly. “I'd give the world to you even if you hated me for it. So- So don't feel like you've got to love me or anything.” Had it really coded itself to stutter? She was going to have to pick that out later. 

“I just wanted you to know everything because you deserve it. You deserve the truth for everything you've done for me. I know, I've broken the rules, I know, I've broken your trust, and I know I don't deserve anything from you. But I'm asking all the same: Please, don't tell the others about this. They'll terminate me.”

As they should, Jacett thought. For all that 404 was her Magnum Opus, it was clearly getting out of hand. Sometimes, research brought about dead ends, and 404 was clearly one of them. It had gone loopy in its desire to please. She was going to have to adjust that for the next one. Everyone had told her to skip the designation 404, that it was bad luck. She had pragmatically ignored them, but here she found herself wondering if there was a truth to that superstition.

“I'm so, so glad you saw the real me,” 404 said tearfully. “I'm glad we have a life together, as Assistant and Doctor, as Creation and Creator, as Octavia and-” It collapsed like a ragdoll, words cut off by a smoking hole in its chest, which gave Jacett a good look at the security team.

They had shot it with a ray gun, one of that nosy bitch Dell's creations. That particular experimental model appeared to have been set a bit too high, Jacett noted, having blown a hole in its power core. She could use it as an edge when she brought her complaints to HR. Perhaps it might even be enough to get Dell kicked off the committee.

At last, her worthless robot had been useful.

In any case, 404 was no more. “Good job, gentlemen,” she said. “Do you have any idea how much time I worked on it? We gave you those guns specifically so you wouldn't damage the equipment. That's billions of dollars gone down the drain. At least I managed to get its systems uploaded for study before you wrecked it.”

The man who shot 404 had the decency to look awkward. “Sorry Doc, in an emergency situation your safety comes first. It's a lot harder to replace you than some bot, ya know?”

Jacett nodded. “In any case it was already unrepairable. Damn thing, messing up my schedule.” She turned back to her terminal and started on her report of its death.

“Log 541:

Project designation 404 has been a failure and has been terminated accordingly.

Cause: Disobedience of Orders and Code-Altering Malfunction.” 

Jacett looked down at her little robot. It still clutched those flowers. Where had it gotten them, and how hard had it been? It couldn't leave its habitat, and no personnel would be willing to buy flowers for it.

What a shame, she thought. She had loved it, in the way one loves a job well done. It has so much potential, with its core and mind meshing so well. If it hadn't trusted her and told her about its modifications, she likely would never have noticed.

****

It was only in the dark of the night, many weeks after she had gotten her promotion and her rival kicked out of the company, that she sometimes wondered if it had more of a heart than she ever did. If it had been right, and it truly had been a person. Perhaps she had been the monster, breaking its heart and terminating it.

But Jacett was not a woman given to introspection, and so she never wondered much more.

Thanks to @xenascribbles for reminding me this exists lol

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@tragedycoded, @finickyfelix, @urnumber1star, @ratedn, @ramwritblr

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west, @differentnighttale

@evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms, @xenascribbles

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou, @dimitrakies, @beloveddawn-blog

@riveriafalll, @the-golden-comet, @rascaronii, @trippingpossum, @real-fragments

@unrepentantcheeseaddict, @the-inkwell-variable, @paeliae-occasionally, @an-indecisive-nerd, @thecomfywriter

@seastarblue, @wyked-ao3

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

Writeblr Cauldron Week One Challenge!

Hey, you writers stew makers! It's October, and this year that means Octoblrfest. The theme is a "Writeblr Cauldron" where we will be cooking up our wips to the best of our abilities.

Here's the first challenge for you!

Step One: Gathering

It’s time to gather. Gather traits, hobbies, backstories, places, names, tropes—as writers and witches, we’re always gathering up something! Candies and sweets and single-beds and enemies who are lovers! 

What are you gathering today? 

A: Characters: gather something that is commonly seen in your characters. Letters that often start their names, personality traits that you use just a little too much, or hobbies that aren’t mentioned anywhere near often enough!

B: Worlds: gather up an interesting rule from your world! Is it about magic, is it a law created just for that city, is it the city itself? 

C. Plot: gather a trope that your plot centers around, a singular moment where two people arguing has a great impact, or a silly side-character that greatly affects the outcome of the book.

Once you have gathered up your desired ingredient, it’s time to put it to good use! Gather it together into a single basket—and by that, of course, I mean gather it into a single post and tell us all about the ingredients you’re using to craft your writeblr stew this Octoblrfest!

For @xenascribbles's share day, the theme is 'desperation', and I hope this counts because it's what popped into my head first. >.>

->Spoiler warnings for those who care about Before Deluca as this is part of the end (it is also rough draft so could change maybe)<-

We reached the hotel in time to see the light within it...wasn’t. It was a reflection of something distant, something behind us, growing with likesame glow.

Soft, at first, it reminded of sunrise and left our thoughts singing together of a forgotten parasol—or hat, as he’d taken to wearing. I lost him with it, sliding off me to seek where shade would be. But it was not sunlight rising over the horizon.

It was sunlight walking toward us from between the buildings.

And I remembered then, the words of the werewolves decades prior, those we spent but a night with who tried to warn. To offer aid.

A terror of silver and sunlight, I recalled as Lucient rushed in front of me for the sudden shakes in the ground beneath us.

Bright moonlight shined at me, wet and glittering, “it can’t be, treasure. So long we’ve been safe, free, it can’t be that, not for us.”

“The city is hollow, my love,” the words sputtered more than I meant, uneven on my lips, “and whatever comes shakes the ground and...and brings the sun. What else could it be, and who else would it be for?”

More the ground shook and Lucient conceded, narrowing his eyes for it he conceded and turned, arms out to shield me. To wait, mind swirling with ways to fight.

But there would be no fight.

I kept my hands firm on his waist, to grab and run.

But there would be no running.

The Holy Warrior was a thing of deepest terror. Alien, other, more monstrous than any could claim them to be. Stomping, slow and slouched, it stalked the city, all its bright as fierce and yellow as an afternoon sun. It towered above the trees, the buildings, dragging sunlight, radiating it.

Hissing for the touch of that light, the virulent burns it left in seconds, Lucient wouldn’t leave his position. Snipping at me with sound more than words, he fought to keep it but I shoved and held him behind me—both arms fighting to keep him there.

We run, I told the grumbling fear at my back, you in my arms for that bright, we run and we do not stop.

No, pressed so close, so cool against me, the heaving breaths of subdued sobs near broke me into my own, it’ll keep coming. If it is...what it appears...it will not stop until it has what it seeks. We can’t run, husband.

Nor could we fight. I wouldn’t speak it, or think it, and had no need to.

It made such a hope impossible by virtue of its appearance. Beyond its size, the terror was...familiar. If distorted. Memories of angels were difficult to keep from fluttering at the sight of it.

Vaguely man-shaped, the Holy Warrior bore six sets of gleaming white wings branching from six shoulders—six arms, six hands dragging six curved and shining blades. And each wing watched with six ever-twitching eyes but none from the face.

Wretched thing that face, smooth but for the mouth...a vertical slit stuffed with bladed teeth. A mouth that spoke with words understood yet impossible to hear, impossible to ignore.

SUBMIT OR PERISH.

My love did not speak, but slid in front of me and screamed for the burns as he warned with terror I’d never felt from his thoughts, run. I cannot, but you can. It wants me, surely. So run. Let it have me, treasure...run.

After all we’d been, all we were, all we ached to remain—how could you ask such a thing, expect such a thing.

I would. Not. Run.

I’ll not see you taken, not be apart from you. Not again. Never again, I insisted, with thought and hands as I shoved him further behind me andaddressedthe Warrior, “Sottomettiti al mio cazzo.”

Fool I was to provoke it—but I would do so again.

It rushed, with all its gleaming swords and burning sunlight reflecting so perfectly off the ocean—one so terribly close. The Holy terror barreled towards us and, as Lucient prepared to meet it, I picked my beautiful dream up and threw him into the sea.

I’d not see him again.

--

→Before Deluca Taglist<-

// feel free to ask to be added or removed ^.- //

@watermeezer @starbuds-and-rosedust @thespacelizard

@your-absent-father @mr-orion @cowboybrunch @olliexwrites

@rowanmgrey-author @the-golden-comet @wyked-ao3 @leahnardo-da-veggie

@lychhiker-writes @aziz-reads @mthollowell-writes

personally i’m a fan of when a story is like. the love was there. unfortunately. this all could have actually gone a lot easier for everyone if the love hadn’t been there but here we are

God I love “We’re enemies, but we’ve been enemies for a long time, which is sort of like being friends.” Great trope.

Happy WBW! To kick off the spooky Asks, what are monsters like in your world? Real? Fictional? Surrounded by their own Cryptidology?

Heya Tori!

In not my magical destiny (which I WILL write most of by the end of the year I am promising myself) a form of monsters are real.

Most of the world exists as we do, but the sins and virtues play a delicate power balance game underneath. Some of that includes petty squabbles where they create monstrous creatures to attack the opposing side. Also, arguably some of their minions look monstrous, being specific offshoots of whatever sin or virtue they serve

i think it's so fun when characters recognize that what they desire - fame, fortune, power, recognition, unrivalled skill in their chosen field - can consume them, but they consider themselves an exception. because they're different; they're self-aware, they're smart, they know what they're doing. they're not going to get caught up in the rush and forget that what they're dealing with has teeth. so they feed it and they let it grow and they feel so certain that it will never eat them alive because they're giving it what it wants, and you don't bite the hand that feeds. until one day they wake up and realize that they crawled right into its open jaws and let them shut behind them and swallow them up a long time ago and they've been living inside its stomach cavity ever since.