forum Virtual Creative Writing Club, anyone?

Started July 06, 2019 by @ninja_violinist

tune

Hey, is it too late to join this? It's an awesome idea and I'm loving a lot of the writing

(I'm not the creator but-)
Yeah, this is pretty much always open!

So I had a writing assignment in English. I picked doing a backstory of a sorts for 'A Christmas Carol' so here's that.

---

The snow drifted down, down, down, the white flakes doing their dance in the cool breeze until they rested upon the frosted cobblestone. Boot-clad feet stomped past, kicking up piles of the icy fluff and flinging them into the road to be trampled by a horse’s hooves. The sky was brilliant despite the heavy snowfall, not a cloud to be seen and the sun shining bright. The wind lazily wound its way through the streets of the city, nipping at noses and turning cheeks a rosy blush.

It was the day before Christmas. Everyone was hustling around, last minute arrangements getting done before the big day. Well, a big day for most. It was just another miserable day for one individual.

Ebenezer Scrooge.

The grumpy man stalked through the streets, a wide berth given to him by passersby from his cold aura alone, colder than even the chilled air. One would think he would be an old man with how his face was set in a permanent scowl and he seemed to carry a heavy weight behind him like a block chained to his back.

He’s never cared for Christmas in many, many years. Today wasn’t any different, even if today would prove to change his life and fortunes for the better.

Scrooge harrumphed as he knocked on the door, his fist connecting with the worn wood of the old housing. The building could use a tune-up, but that wasn’t his concern. What was his concern was behind the door—or, rather, who was behind the door. Scrooge rose his head up high as the door swung open, and he looked down his nose at the man standing before him.

He had a rather intelligent gleam to his hazel brown eyes, his thin lips not quite set in a smirk but tilted just so to hint at a sense of confidence. The man’s dusty blonde hair was short and neatly groomed beneath his well-worn hat, some strands peaking through and brushing his unburdened brow. He wasn’t much beneath his threadbare coat, average build and height, perhaps a few inches shorter than Scrooge.

The details came and went in his mind, all unimportant. “Jacob Marley, I presume?”

“You presume correctly,” said the man—Marley—as he stepped back and gave Scrooge room to enter, “Come on in. I have my proposition on my desk ready for your analysis.” Scrooge grunted and entered, leaving on his coat as he wasn’t planning on staying long. He had places to be and things to do after this. That would only waste his time.

Marley led Scrooge into his home, their heavy footsteps on the creaking wood the only sound between the two men as they passed through the rooms. They eventually entered a small room that had an overflowing bookcase, a desk overwhelmed with papers and writing utensils. The floor had stacks of even more books with even more papers stuffed between the pages, little notes stuck to the wall in a scraggly but consistent hand.

Once again, Scrooge surveyed the area, then turned to Marley for what he came for. The other man wasted no time, not bothering with formalities as he swiftly sorted through the mess on the desk, then scooped up a file of papers and pins. “There ya are, Mr Scrooge,” he said, turning to hand the frowning man the papers. Scrooge took them without a word and flipped through them.

Marley certainly had a solid idea brewing in that capped mind of his. It was a clever idea that would, should it take off and work as planned, create quite the increase in fortune. Scrooge flipped through page after page, small and calculating black eyes drifting over the slanted and frantic writing. It was, to be frank, brilliant.

He’s seen enough.

Scrooge closed the file with a snap of authority. Marley straightened, his greenish-brown eyes alight with surety in his idea and that borderline arrogant uptilt to his lips. “Well? With your business skills, I’m sure we could pull this off with minimal complications.”

The man of scowls and cold indifference looked Marley up and down, the wheels in his mind turning over every possibility. He seemed so confident in his work, so sure in their success. Their success; they’d be sharing this business. Scrooge wasn’t so sure about that part, but after some thought, he concluded that there wasn’t much that could go wrong. If Marley truly wanted to work for him, who was Scrooge to complain?

He tucked the file under his arm and held out his other one. “Glad to do business with you, Jacob Marley. I expect to see quite a bit of you in the near future.”

Marley grinned and readily accepted that cold and leathery hand, clasping it tight and shaking firmly. “As do I, Ebenezer Scrooge. Merry Christmas.”

Scrooge harrumphed and stepped away, giving Marley his file back before adjusting his coat over his shoulders and curling his nose. “Bah humbug,” he grumbled, then turned on his heel and let himself out with a disinterested wave.

Marley watched the grump leave, a slow and small grin growing on his lips. This was it. Now only time will tell if he made the correct decision in contacting Mr Scrooge to help him carry out his business idea. He looked around his small office, allowing his mind to wonder to what he could do if he collected the predicted fortune from his dream business. He’d certainly get a new house—this one was beyond repair, and much too small for his large and explosive mind. He would invest in a larger bookcase—or perhaps an entire room dedicated to books? That would be brilliant, truly. He felt a flutter of Christmas giddy in his chest, and he fully grinned as he scurried over to his desk, scribbling down more ideas as they came to him.

Oh, how he longed for the future to arrive.
______________

The doctor walked out of the large bedroom, his white kit in his hand as he approached Scrooge, who was waiting in the grand sitting room. The man looked up, black eyes hooded beneath deep wrinkles of age and greed. “Well?” he demanded, standing and stepping before the doctor. The man aged with stress sighed and ushered Scrooge over to the other side of the room, giving them more privacy.

“Mr Scrooge, it would seem that your partner, Mr Marley, has fallen ill with an unidentifiable illness.” Scrooge’s face twisted up in what might be considered sadness, though it was hard to tell beneath the curtain creases and wrinkles and permanently etched scowls. “There’s nothing I can do for him at this time. I’m sorry. He hasn’t have long.”

“Thank you,” Scrooge said testily, and the doctor made it a point to respectfully incline his head in farewell before scurrying through the large home, leaving as soon as he could. Simply being in the presence of that dreadful man was taxing on the soul.

Scrooge frowned and stood alone in the sitting room, fingers grasping the lapels of his coat. He and Marley had done tremendously for themselves these past years. Together, they used their combined abilities to forge a business that rose them to a higher power and earned them an unforeseen fortune. And now, one was to be removed from the world, just a day before Christmas. Not that that particular day was significant to Scrooge, even if it was of slight importance to Marley.

Marley. His dear partner and perhaps only friend. Soon to be dead, soon to be gone like a wisp of fire’s smoke in a rushing wind. What to do? He would certainly need to make arrangements for the business to keep it running smoothly. Perhaps a clerk. Yes, there was work to be done. But first, a visit.

Scrooge let out a breath and strode across the sitting room, heading to Marley’s bedroom. He knocked thrice, then entered at the weak beckoning of his friend. His eyes beheld that usual ghost of a smile he had gotten so used to seeing, Marley’s hazel eyes hazy and unfocused but still bright with intelligence and knowledge. “I’m dying,” the man in the bed guessed correctly. Scrooge needn’t say anything—the look in his black eyes said enough. Marley sighed then winced at the pain, settling back into his bed and pillows. “Ah, I knew it. I don’t think I’ll make it to Christmas. A shame, really. I was looking forward to changing the world with you.”

“You always say that,” Scrooge noted, sitting down on the chair next to the door, not wanting to get too close. Marley understood and wasn’t offended. He merely smiled weakly.

“I must have hope, shouldn’t I? Look at all we’ve accomplished thus far! Imagine what we could’ve done if given the time.” He hissed through his teeth and closed his eyes, sinking into the pillows set up for him. It didn’t do much to reduce the pain all throughout his body. “Alas, I’m not meant to stand by your side any longer. Do me a favor and continue our work? I wouldn’t want to leave my trust in you only for it to all fall to pieces.”

Scrooge scowled. “I’d never.”

Marley chuckled weakly. “I mean no ill-will, friend. I know you will do fine. Excellent, even.” Scrooge said nothing, only frowned. Even on his death bed, and he was joking with Scrooge. Why is he not surprised? “Ebenezer,” Marley said at length, causing the other man to jerk his head up and break his thought. “Take care of yourself, yeah?”
“Always do.”

“No, really take care of yourself. Should anything go wrong, I need you to make it right. Don’t go down a dark path.” Marley seemed incredibly out of it by now, his hazel eyes hazy and glazed over. Scrooge frowned and felt a flicker of worry, but didn’t fetch the doctor. He had said there was nothing he could do, so it would be a waste of money and time on his part. Marley was dying—that was an inarguable fact.

“Fine.”

“Promise me.”

A deep sigh. “Promise.”

Marley nodded with a small smile, looking over at Scrooge with a fond look, even if he looked like he was gazing elsewhere. “You’ve always been a good friend to me, Ebenezer, grumpy habits and scowls and all. I can’t imagine how my life would’ve ended up without you.” He took a shuddering breath. “I’ve come to love you like a brother.”

Ebenezer Scrooge watched as his friend died right before his eyes, those parting words bringing a deep and panging mourning through his chest, striking him like that of a sharpened and serrated blade plunging into his heart. He watched as those intelligent and bright eyes dimmed to nothingness, the hazel glassy and lifeless. He watched as that damned smile slowly fell, even though he could’ve sworn he saw a remaining hint of it long past that last shuddering breath.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and stood, walking over to the bed. He gazed down at Marley—he couldn’t bring himself to think of it as his body—and hesitantly reached down, placing his hand on the man’s slumped shoulder.

“As have I, brother.”

Oh.

should probably add that I took a few creative liberties with personalities and appearances

this is based on a character in one of my RPs. It's called "To Be Human". For context, the character is a cyborg. Also, I apologize for how long it is

---

Systems booting
...
Please wait
...
Fetching
...
Systems booted.

What does it mean
to be
Human?
What makes you
Human?
Is it
Parents?
No, for there are
Orphans.
The soul?
No, some believe that
there isn't one.
But
does that mean that
it is the
Body?
What does that make
Me?
For I am not
just flesh and
blood and
bone. I am
wires and
steel and
lines of
Code.
If the body makes
a man, then
what am
I?

I am not
A Robot.
I am not
A Machine.
I
Think. I
Feel. I
Hurt. I
Breathe.
Does that make me
Human?
Or am I
only a machine?

Am I
Human?
Or just
a broken
Machine?

Do I only
pretend at Humanity?
Wear it like
a mask at a
masquerade, to
hide the machine
beneath?
Is feeling,
Hurting,
Thinking,
Breathing,
Bleeding,
Enough? Or
Is something
Missing?

Humanity is a
Cacophony of
Sounds and
thoughts and
dreams and
noise. I am
Not.
Does that make me
lesser than you?

My mechanical hurts
cannot self-heal
like yours.
Am I still
a person?
My heart and mind are
part mechanical.
Does that mean
I cannot be
loved because
of what I
lack?
I cannot ever be
like you.
Human.
Fragile.

Free.

I cannot be
Like you.
I can never be
Normal.
But
can I still
be Human?

What does it mean
to be
Human?

Deep. I really, really like it.

Hey, sorry that I’ve been off for a bit. Would you guys mind checking out something I wrote? I can’t really define it, but here goes. Feel free to ignore.

Funny little feeling of weight on your shoulders
Fed by each little word stabbing at a frail mind
Would you call it torture? You, uttering those words?
Strange and horrible to believe that you
Might be speaking those words in knowledge of their power
I don’t believe that of you. Don’t want to believe that.
Possibly, it’s the broken gates of feeling that you’ve stepped past
Since, yes, the weight has crushed what feeling used to mean
It’s a lost definition now, lost amidst numb and cold poundings
That leave dark, bloody bruises, and shining gashes
That you seem aptly able to ignore
And when my little mouth opens up in a scream
That releases a small bit of bruise and gash
You, utterer, smile in cold ignorance
And silently scream that my happy young soul
Doesn’t understand the meaning of pain
When you and your words have been the teacher
Of that same of pain.

I haven’t written in a little while, but I hope it’s decent

HOdsfijts yooo. Shits fucking wild, and I feel it. It almost, to me, kinda references maybe pressure from parents or elders or loved ones, when so much is expected of you but you can’t deliver?

I love the ‘Might be speaking those words in knowledge of their power
I don’t believe that of you. Don’t want to believe that.‘, because that resonates with a lot of the things I’ve watched friends go through? I love it? Towards the end the lines start to shorten out a bit, and I’m not sure if that was purposeful or not, but it was a little trippy the first read through

DUDE I’m so relieved you like it I’m is glad :))

here's my weekly Thing! this one's straight up writing, yet another drabble, this time to settle some things when it came to characters in the story. as always, ask me any questions you have and i will answer them the best i can!

---

…ok that was epic but now I'm dying to know the whole story

Afhshss I’m glad you like it. It’s kind of a complicated thing, still in the works with planning, but it’s basically about a group of teens who get caught up in this whole thing involving teenagers going missing. Catori, who’s new in town, starts up a thing with this girl who goes missing a few days later and she decides to look for them, mainly the girl, and her friends decide to help. Lot of shenanigans, some darker events and bad things. A mess, like I said lmao

Happy new year my friends, here’s a short little poem for welcoming a better year than this one!

---

To the kid I used to be
2019 me
Failing grades and lack of motivation
That I’m praying wont follow me into a new year
Here’s to hoping I guess
Here’s to wearing our past selves on our chests
Like medals of honor
My Purple Heart just my own heart
The color blue
A reminder that I’m growing and coloring my world in more colors than I’ve seen before
To the color red
That I hope to be
A blazing fire or a setting sun over the sea
The color of passion and admittedly
The color of blood
The blood on my hands spilled from my own veins to make it here
Here’s to being better
To coming alive and burning bright in the face of darkness
Here’s to love
For myself and others
And here’s to us
May a new year not mean a new us
But just a better us
The best us we can be

…
I
I just
That's amazing

The color of blood
The blood on my hands spilled from my own veins to make it here

This, especially, is…
It's a beautiful line as it is, but it means even more to people who have cut _{{and it sounds like you may have and I'm so sorry}}

i somehow just saw this but gfhjdks thamk

and i have, in the past(even not so distant), but i'd like to think i'm getting a lot better. that's why that means so much to me. but i've got alternative things now, so one of my resolutions was not self harming, actually. my trick im hoping holds up? drawing on my arms with the body markers my mom bought me, which has actually seemed to do a lot

Heyoo, so I’ve been away a while but I was wondering if you all could read this and tell me what you think? It’s a bit longer than what we usually share so feel free to skip over it. I wrote it with a literary kind-of-professor and I have very mixed feelings about, notably since it isn’t really my usual style of writing. So yeah, read it if you want and tell me what you think..?

---

The vivid colours of this woman’s neighbourhood shone bright in the midday sun, in high contrast to the dark mood that had long settled in her heart.

She was walking briskly, head down, with the common air of someone in a rush. Her elegant heels clicked on the smooth concrete beneath, melding into the layers of sounds brushing past her— agitated voices, cars, footsteps, hollow ringtones. Hugging the buildings’ walls, she fought hard to keep her tears at bay, knowing full well the consequences that would ensue the act of crying in public. Allowing herself a brief look ahead, she saw that her destination was approaching. Ahead, a shining glass façade beckoned to her. As she walked closer to it the shelves of various cosmetics and medicines threw a shadow of doubt into her determination. Was this the right place? She cautiously walked in, and the alert stare of the woman at the counter felt right: she had arrived.
Calmly stepping up to the counter, she dared to speak. “I’m here for a session,” she murmured, eyes shining with the sudden adrenaline of this illegal act. The cashier studied her a moment, and reached for her hand. Her silent nod spoke louder than words: you’re safe here. The woman was led into the back room of the pharmacy, staring in wonder as the cashier reached out and slid the shelf in front of them to the side without a sound. Behind it, a dimly lit staircase. With another nod the cashier pointed forward.
“You walk down,” she started. “You walk until the lights get brighter, and you turn left.”
The woman started forward as the cashier slid the shelf back into place and blocked off all natural light. With a shaky breath, she followed the cashier’s instructions as the candlelight turned electric, walking past a number of corridors and rooms. Then finally, turning left to face a door, she pushed it open. The room was lit like the staircase, dim and mysterious. A single silhouette of a pair of plush armchairs and a man sat in the one closest presented itself to her.
With slow, deliberate steps, she went to sit on the remaining chair, and turned to face the revered man. He was studying her, his green eyes sparkling with depth, compassion and empathy, pools of kindness drawing her in. He gave her a wave, indicating he wanted her to speak. It took her a second to understand the request, and she nervously rushed to comply.

“They took my younger brother two days ago. He was bipolar. I can’t get over it,” the words came flooding out, overriding the years of conditioned instinct telling her to stop talking, to hold in any weakness, to keep a brave face. But the man— Castin, that was his name— Castin’s inquisitive gaze invited her to let everything out. So with wide, terrified eyes, she let the tears flow. Her face crumpled like paper caught in a flame as she curled up and let her body seize and twitch as she sobbed desperately into her hands. And that, that was when the music started; a single instrument, a violin by the sound of it.

The sound started soft and sad, rising into the air in a soothing tune. As it seeped into the woman’s system, its healing melody found its way into the deepest parts of her pain, the tortured feelings yielding their spaces to the purity of these notes. Ideas, feelings, guilty regrets, all poured out of her in a melee of darkness that let itself be carried away by the caress of music. Chord after crystalline chord, suspended in graceful eddies of sound, vibrating with the echo of the pain that had burrowed into her soul as the music welled up from soft to raw and unbridled. It swelled and heaved enough to fill the room with its anguish, breaking open the heart of this woman in a strident spiralling crescendo. Swirling around both figures in the room, the woman let her worst fears float up and away as the violin slowed, giving way to light and peace of mind.
As the music faded into a weightless silence, the woman found she wasn’t crying. Instead, she sat in tearstained awe, feeling freer than she’d had since teenage recollection of a pre-reformed society. Her gaze slowly lifted from the polished wood of Castin’s violin to his unlined, kind face. He’d drawn out the weight of her layers, of years’ worth of anger and sadness, the criminal fruit of illegalized emotional freedom: he’d worked a miracle. Unsteadily getting to her feet, she gently took hold of Castin’s hand. Levelly looking him in the eye, she smiled.
“Thank you.”

Castin met the woman’s gaze, his heart faltering under the undiluted relief in her eyes. Gripping her hand, he mouthed: You’re welcome. Reluctantly pulling away from his reassuring presence, the glowing woman headed back up the stairs, past the cashier and out into the crowded street. As this woman walked home, her contagious smile cleared a path through the resolutely depressed people around her, the poisonous cloud of suspicion beginning to form above their heads. She could feel it, worry blossoming inside of her once more; her smile shamefully slinked away to cede its place to a preoccupied frown— an imperfect and weak expression. She quickly realized what she was projecting, and her anxiety about her expression only increased the panic. In her open, vulnerable state of mind, it wasn’t possible to rebuild the wall in time to hide from prying stares.
The understanding that it was too late came quickly after, only reinforced by the men in black positioned in front of her door.

---

The news reached Castin through his friend, the cashier. Ally crept down to his basement, stiff with guilt; her interwoven hands were tucked in front of her. She cautiously pushed his door open to find him peacefully asleep in this armchair, head lolling over the side of the backrest. The painfully sweet sight jolted her out of her despondent haze and she marched over to his chair, gripping his shoulder and pulling him into an upright position. His eyes blinked open with obvious confusion.
What is it? he mouthed. Ally observed her dear friend, gauging how much pain this would cause him. He stared back, dread etched into his expression— he reached out to take her hand, inciting her to speak. She bit her lip and her heart sank further.

“Castin, I— she’s gone. Your most recent client, she panicked in the street and was noticed,” Ally explained, words heavy with regret. Castin’s eyes had glazed over, his face draining of its usual calm. He shook his head, his eyes trained on Ally’s heartbroken expression. It was true, then: he’d condemned someone.

You’ve condemned her. It’s your fault. What are you going to do about it?
Castin set a watery gaze on Ally, his mouth set in a thin line to keep the surge of hurt at bay. The more he held it back, however, the quicker the tears came. His heart, struggling to beat through the thickening veil of terrible guilt, was shattering, ready to shower his soul with shard after razor-sharp shard of hatred and regret and Castin’s hands couldn’t help but start shaking, betraying his tormented mental state.
He was becoming the very thing he was fighting against: miserable, angry, broken. He was losing strength quickly, weakening in the face of the probable death he’d caused.
With care, he set his violin onto the dusty stone floor, getting up from his seat. Throat tight, eyes moist, sobs ready to explode, he would have been unable to say anything had he even been able to. Though he fought hard to hide it from Ally, his face was frozen in a lost, grief-stricken glower. Hurt me, he wanted to scream. Make me pay for what I’ve done.

The conflicting emotions inside of her closest friend were obvious to Ally, even past his visible effort to keep them at bay. She fought hard and resisted the urge to take him into her arms and hug him until his tears faded; Ally let Castin, on the verge of an unstoppable flow of hurt, stumble out of the room.
Night fell early that night, both under and above ground.

dfgjhsgdahsjk

okay so every time you post something, i'm noticing you keep expecting people to like, have all these different things wrong with it? but every time you post something it leaves me feeling like i've been graced by like, a whole ass god of writing. i'm living for this??? it makes me so sad and i'm already in a fragile mental state? but like, sad in a good sad?? my one thing, legit the only thing, is that i want to know more about the world you're writing about. other than that, some things i love-

the imagery. the imagery is incredible and beautiful and gorgeous, the scene about the music is probably my favorite. but your imagery, emotion-wise, draws out like, so much emotion from the reader—or at least from me—that it's insane, and i love it so much

castin. just. what a dude. what a boy. he needs a hug and some love and somebody to tell him it's not his fault the society he lives in his fucked to hell and back but i love him.

I did have a paragraph of an announcement, but now I'm in a pissy mood because of this fucking computer that trashed all of my writing I had on here, so here's the gist: Weekly writings = parts of my actual writing = stories of closure. There, done. This one is a prologue of Bleeding Star, related to the gay snippet I posted earlier.

---

January 1^st, 2014

It's New Year's. Time for those resolutions, I guess. I never really understood that. I never achieve them, so what's the point? Well, these diary things are stupid and I keep doing them, so I guess there's something about them. Routine, maybe? I dunno.

Hm. I'm not really feeling any resolutions. But my mom says I need more hope in my life, so what if I do wishes instead? More my style, and no one reads this thing so it's not like I can be made fun of for it. Still a disappointment, but oh well. What else are the new years for?

There's this new kid in town. Foster, lives on that one farm just outside of town, really cute. Hot, even. I've never even met him, not officially, but I see him around at school and in town. He's hiding something, but all fosters are. I wonder what it is? I wonder a lot about him. I never have the courage to talk to him, though. Its not like we have any reason to talk.

1. I wish the world would throw me a bone and give me an excuse to be around Aris Stavros.

What else? Well, I don't want anything to do with my parents, that's for sure. Omg, I can't stand them. I should stop before I throw this dumb journal.

2. I wish I had something to make me happy for once.

I'm always angry, and I don't know why. My therapist tries to pin-point the reason, but even she can't pierce through this thick skull. Hell, I don't think even I know what's going on. All I know is that I'm angry and lonely.

3. I wish there was someone out there that wants me.

I mean, yeah, I was adopted by Audrey and all, and I know she does her best to provide and give me a good life, but it's not the same, y'know? I don't really know how to describe it beyond someone different, someone I can really open up to and be wanted.

4. I wish something interesting would happen in this God-forsaken place.

'nough said. It's too fucking boring here. Even being the son of the sheriff doesn't bring any entertainment. It's sad, but, like, I wish there were more hardcore criminals out here? You'd think there would with the lack of law enforcement (sorry Audrey), but no, I'm doomed to be bored for life. Well, not necessarily. I can cause some trouble on my own.

5. I wish I had someone that could understand me.

Sure, I have my therapist, but it's her job to pick my brain. She doesn't know me, y'know? She doesn't get what it's like to live my life, at least on a personal level. She might get it from what I've told her, but she wasn't there. She wasn't the one that stood at the adoption center and watched her parents drive away without hesitation. She wasn't the one told repeatedly that she wasn't wanted.

I want someone that knows what I've gone through on some level. I want someone to look me in the eyes and say "I understand" and actually understand.

This shit's getting too sappy for my tastes. C'mon, I have to have something that's fun and not heartfelt. This damn diary is getting to me. I don't like it.

Shit, I'm only at 5. Audrey said I have to have at least 10 resolutions. I'm already twisting the rules by having wishes, I gotta at least have 10 for her.

Don't judge me. I might complain and be a douche about being adopted, but at least she chose me and is giving me what she can.

Okay, okay, okay. Think Ryker. 5 more wishes. What would you want

No! What would you ask a genie for? There we go. Ideas are a-flowin.

6. That Aris kid is gay.
7. I get more popularity at school.
8. Audrey includes me in more cases.
9. Aris chooses me.
10. I get a new guitar.

There. Done. Wishes completed. Entry closed. God, that was more sentimental than I wanted it to be.

Ryker Young, out.

dfgjhsgdahsjk

okay so every time you post something, i'm noticing you keep expecting people to like, have all these different things wrong with it? but every time you post something it leaves me feeling like i've been graced by like, a whole ass god of writing. i'm living for this??? it makes me so sad and i'm already in a fragile mental state? but like, sad in a good sad?? my one thing, legit the only thing, is that i want to know more about the world you're writing about. other than that, some things i love-

the imagery. the imagery is incredible and beautiful and gorgeous, the scene about the music is probably my favorite. but your imagery, emotion-wise, draws out like, so much emotion from the reader—or at least from me—that it's insane, and i love it so much

castin. just. what a dude. what a boy. he needs a hug and some love and somebody to tell him it's not his fault the society he lives in his fucked to hell and back but i love him.

I— what? Really?? Gosh I don’t even know what to say thank you so so much!! I mean… wow. I’m literally so relieved
I’m sorry about making you sad but I’m glad my writing can do that..
I want to say more but I’m speechless so I’ll try and get back to you lmao
I kind of wanted to turn this into a whole story but idk I kind of wanted to find someone to do it with
Thank you for the endorsement XD I’m really glad you liked it

@Dances_with_Shadows i really like how much characterisation you managed to fit into such a short thing! It’s effective and I feel like I know Ryker already and his relationships and personality.
Aside from that I a actually really like him as a character, he seems really interesting and loveable and I’d definitely follow his story

@amber_is_a_starchild Thank you! I sorta just inserted myself into his head while I wrote, making it more personal and informal like a journal entry, a place he could spill his thoughts without fear of people seeing or hearing them. There's definitely more to Ryker than what I provided there, but I'm glad you like him!

Of course I can imagine, but it makes it a really light and enjoyable and conversational piece which always makes a character feel more real, in my opinion. Well done :)