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so how can i doubt the resurrection?

@vulturetime

aran. they/them. trying to write and do art

for about the fiftieth time, i'm getting back into writeblr, but for realises, i promise. call me aran, and this is my writing (and art) sideblog (my main is @isanyonetoknow).

what i write: really geared toward sff! i love multiverse, time travel, alternate dimension stories, but i also have some more classic fantasy wips!

my wips are numerous and time limited, but three wips i'm currently working on are to win a prince (a knight goes on a quest to be able to marry their best friend, but along the way, the past is dredged up and they realized that they can never return the same), in the name of a capitalized lord (in a world where reigning lords are gods, becoming a saint is both an honor and a fate worse than death. on the run, a mail carrier ends up in a sealed off lorddom and a even more mysterious--and perhaps sinister---lord), and the house creation, the house indifferent (short story/novella following a person who has lived all their life in an ever changing house and who starts to unravel the mysteries surrounding the only other two people there).

what i draw: mainly ocs but i'm currently planning on doing more art studies to #ImproveMyArt. if you're a fellow writeblr who draws, lm know!

what i like to read: SFF, surrealism, horror, mystery, literary fiction... if the world is strange and not like ours in any way whatsover, or the story centers the investigation of characters' psyches, i'm all for it!

hmu if you write anything like these genres and please spread the word! would love to become more active in the writeblr community again :)

other tidbits from the wip that will not be written:

  • sister has the weird half bowl cut hairstyle because older brother is the one who cuts it. he doesn't trust anyone with his little sister so he's in charge of the haircutting. which, because he was a child when he first started taking care of her, meant that the only haircut he could do passably was a literal bowl cut. he just left the hair in the back intact because she wanted long hair.
  • both the brother and the millionaire best friend are maladjusted as fuck :thumbsup: they're toxic4toxic, you can say, except they don't get into a relationship until probably the end of the story, and then it gets worse.
  • both the brother and millionaire best friend have trauma obviously. because how can they not.
  • millionaire best friend can just be a fucked up bruce wayne or something. parents were killed in front of him, he swore revenge, but he doesn't dress in a batsuit. he's just Sad and Haunted and No Woman Understands Him (neither does any man but you get the idea)
  • brother's family can be something out of a soap opera. the parents were from opposing sides of the mob and escaped to find True Love(TM). except idk they're still fucked up people and brother spent the first 8 years of his life deciding they sucked, so when his sister was born, he was like yeah nah, this baby is mine. the parents become distant since they're trying to escape notice of the mob who is pissed at them, but the mob catches up with them and kills them. brother is now raising little sister legally and the mob has no idea that the Traitors had children.
  • the poor lesbian friend is literally normal.
  • or is she.

been reading a lot of haunted/sentient house books in the past couple years, and i've encountered 3 main types of narrative: 1) the house loves you and that's a good thing 2) the house loves you and that's a bad thing and 3) the house hates you and that's a bad thing. this leaves a gap for a potential fourth type of story-- the house hates you and that's a good thing. excited to see if hauntologists delve into this quadrant and what it looks like if they do

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favorite thing about my posts only blowing up when they're replying to someone else is i truly can just have everything out of my hands. i came, i infodumped, i left. now its everyone else's problem </3

i do not understand? why do the ones i have blessed scorn me so? surely they must be grateful for all that i have bestowed them :/

[ID: screenshot of a tumblr reply by user macabremoons. the reply is dated to be 36 seconds old. It reads: “YOU. YOU WILL PAY THE PRICE I SWEAR IT.” End ID]

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( ALPHA READERS )

for in the absence of myth on a long term basis.

messy, informal, but, i am currently planning to post a wip serially and am in need of alpha readers to alpha read. things.

important; i am an unmotivated pantser, i am currently finishing chapter one, i did plan on writing a number of chapters before getting help at the beginning of the year which obviously did not happen, it would be great if we could communicate via discord, encouragement really helps me write, myth is heavily centred around death and grief, i don't have any plans on it being paced well.

all alpha readers, temporary or long term would be appreciated. please contact me via dms.

realising this sounds like a bad deal, which it is. but okay, i need a lot of motivation and a lot more confidence in my writing. i have sat down multiple times with deadlines and said i am going to write a book, and then did everything but write a book. so, instant gratification? check. the crushing weight of expectation and a schedule? check.

cal has beautiful writing btw, i highly recommend giving them a shot if you like introspective guilty explorations in love, horror and mourning

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anyone got tips on dealing with non job related burnout? my attempts to search the internet only provide job-related advice 😔

i've heard some advice to do the thing intentionally bad. depending on how deep the burnout is sometimes if i do something similar but that isnt the exact task that helps me reset (eg: i want to draw, but i cant, so i animate or do 3d modelling instead) and when nothing else works, just take the time to rest and try to recharge your creativity by engaging with your favorite media or something you've had your eye on

idk why this always happens when im reading academic literature but anyways. idea for a graphic novel/comic that i wanna do at some point: it's the classic superhero canon, except as time goes on, the main character starts to realize that all his companions are being switched out for different versions of the same kinds of characters and he's supposed to roll with it. has been rolling with it. he sees the same villains time and time again and he doesn't know physically how they can still be here. why he's the same age. why the city is still standing. he realizes he's in a story and there's gonna be some really fun panels when he physically tries to break out of the page.

two world travelers sit on a mound that was once a grave in order to take a breath. which is to say that the second world traveler sits down and the other one stays standing, watching the second with a singular, discerning eye.

"the view is nice from here," the second world traveler says, but the first does not move their gaze.

"do not think that this is a truce," the first starts.

the second snorts. "if this is not a truce, then why aren't you catching me?"

the first stays still and the second, still looking off into the distance, smiles softly.

"stop that."

"i can smile at the beauty of the world, can i not?"

"if the only thing you do is keep smiling, you'll bleed out before the sun rises."

"and?"

the first lets out a slow breath and their body starts to shudder. "are you stupid? are you daft? you'd rather die and stay smiling than grit your teeth and live another day?"

"i've done what i can," the second says, and the grin is wavering. "i dropped my supplies in the run. your lot shut down communications. i have a tourniquet in place, but that's all i can do. i don't have anything else."

the second winces and then moves to tighten the makeshift tourniquet. the two of them are silent for a long time.

"when i die," the second says quietly, "i want to feel glad. whether you're my executioner or witness, i don't care. i want to smile one last time."

the first scoffs and then, with halting motions, sits down.

when the sun rises, there is only the first world traveler, sitting alone by a mound that was once a grave. and leading away from them, light, limping imprints, soon hidden by the wind tousling the grass.

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