'you look like a cinnamon roll but your vibes of being able to kill are so strong that anyone that meets you becomes so aware that this nerdy gay could and would annihilate them' - greenteaturmoil [they/them]
pinned post/tag master list
i post about (or tag):
abba
eurovison
norwegian radio
bears
lord of the rings (badly tagged)
my weekly dnd game (Vim and the Crew, Tolophyn, Oija, Brella, Eva)
the dnd game im setting up (Duatanth)
stuff from the discord cowboyverse (a town called danser)
critical role
Kate O’Brien’s The Land of Spices
find my posts tagged ‘chill to reblog’ for original content
[ID: Three screencaps from Taskmaster. Mae Martin says, “Can I just point out that Ivo and I have a really similar year? And Ivo went to Eton, and I spent high school on acid.” Ivo Graham says, “Odd to look at our two outfits and think that you’re the acid one.” Mae is wearing a plain dark sweater and trousers, while Ivo is wearing a blue shirt patterned with geese and trousers with a squiggly psychedelic print. End ID.]
There are little romance subplots all around me irl and I don’t have the time to turn any of them into novels
Today I went to my favorite Italian restaurant and was seated at the table nearest the kitchen. We noticed a change to the menu. The list of pastas had been replaced by just “pasta of the day.” We asked what the pasta of the day was. The waiter told us it was a mystery. So we ordered it, and when it came it was pasta with eggs and bacon, and I was so surprised and delighted by this unexpected whimsy that I started to clap. And then I noticed the chef watching me from the doorway and smiling. He had clearly come out wanting to see what people’s reactions would be.
I’m not saying I love the chef or that the chef loves me. I am saying that is a seed with which to grow a romance that I don’t have time to write.
Romance seedling of the day:
Tonight I went to a party and a woman asked me my name.
“Anna,” I said.
“This confirms my theory,” she said loudly, to the entire room. People stopped to listen. “ALL Anna’s are drop dead gorgeous!”
I felt v flattered. I asked for her name.
She flashed me a grin. “Anna.”
Irl, do I love her and does she love me? No. But this is the seed of another romance book I don’t have the time to write.
I was miserable. At a parade! All of my friends were drunk and misbehaving and smelled of rancid tequila. I felt alone and about a million years old. The sun was glaring daggers into my eyeballs.
And then! At this parade! A very large beautiful man I didn’t know! Saw me squinting! Said, “I’m can block the sun for you” and stepped in front of me. My sun-blindness cleared into a vision of his gentle smile.
He was a mathematics professor! Very sober, soft-spoken, kind. Did not insult my drunk friends but also stood carefully apart from them. The perfect balance.
Do I love him? No. But he’s a romantic hero in a book somewhere in the multiverse.
Yes! This was a post about getting into the writing mindset.
I wasn’t trying to share special memories or make a statement about the goodness of humanity (totally fine if that’s what you got from this!). But this is a tool any writer could add to their toolbox: finding tidbits from life not merely through neutral observation but by observing the world through the lens of your own writing philosophy.
I write romance books. The romance genre at its best gives every kind of person the opportunity to be the hero of their own story. For me, observing the world through my writing philosophy means acknowledging the heroism intrinsic in us all. Thinking: What if this person were the romantic hero? Why would someone fall in love with them? For folks writing different kinds of stories, the approach may differ, but it’ll still be creatively generative.
Enough about ‘things that would kill a medieval peasant’, let’s talk about things they would find fun and entertaining. I think if you told a medieval peasant that we have competitive bladesmithing shows that you can watch in your own house, they’d think that was so cool.
Me golf commentating: These are evil, evil men… they have done wicked deeds to be here today. There are no winners today– Beautiful drive there. Right onto the fairway.
You were once the demon king. “Defeated” by the hero, you went into hiding to pursue a simpler life. Today the “hero” has appeared, threatening you family to pay tribute, not realizing who you actually are. Today you show them what happens when you have something worth fighting to protect.
You are told at seven that you won’t ever do anything good
in your life. You grow up knowing that it doesn’t matter that you help your
younger sister make her letters properly or that you’re the one who stays up
late with mother when too many custom orders come through the tailor shop. It
doesn’t matter that you don’t want to hurt anyone or control anyone or anything
of the sort. It doesn’t matter that your name means Light in your
mother’s native language because as soon as they realize that you’re the Demon
King, no one ever calls your name again.
You are chased out of your village the moment your powers
bloom at fifteen years old, and the skies turn black with your fear. A rock
hits you between your shoulder blades just as you make it to the main road and
you stumble, falling to your knees in a mud puddle at the very moment the skies
open up.
“She’s cursing us!” the midwife who delivered you screams
over the thunder. “She’s damning us with her!”
Your mother is crying, but she doesn’t raise a hand to help
you. She did everything she could, keeping your Role a secret all these years.
She won’t risk anymore with another little girl to take care of.
No one tells you that you have a choice. No kind stranger
drags you out of the rain and into the warmth of their home where a wise sage
tells you it is not how we are born, but what choices we make.
Instead, you take the little pack your mother hid for you in
the depths of the forest and sling it over your shoulder. There’s money,
provisions, and more wraps to cover the evil mark on your left bicep.
“Your destiny will find you,” your mother told you only
hours ago. “I forgive you for it.”
She meant the words as a comfort, but you only heard
condemnation in it. Without having killed so much as a fly, she is already
blessing you with forgiveness.
Love how tumblr has its own folk stories. Yeah the God of Arepo we’ve all heard the story and we all still cry about it. Yeah that one about the woman locked up for centuries finally getting free. That one about the witch who would marry anyone who could get her house key from her cat and it’s revealed she IS the cat after the narrator befriends the cat.
Might I add:
The defeat of the wizard who made people choose how they’d be to be executed
The woman who raised the changeling alongside her biological child
The human who died of radiation poisoning after repairing the spaceship
The adventures of a space roomba
Cinderella finding Araura (and falling in love)
I don’t know a snappy description but the my nemesis cynthia story certainly lives in my head
hilariously, these are almost all in my fic tag. so, a compiled list from the notes (and some extras):
i think I sent an accidental death threat to Fatboy slim smh i was high as shit and in my head I came up with what couldve easily been fatboy slims comeback hit but I knew i had a tendency to forget shit when I came down so I knew I had a small time window so I needed to contact fatboy slim as quickly as I could to sell him this idea but I only had 140 chars to do it so I thought the best way to tweet it was “@fatboyslim you have 6 hours”
you can tell this website is autistic as hell because someone posts a video with a mildly catchy phrase in it and no one shuts up about it for an extended period of time. or image even. image with a mildly catchy phrase in it even. we love phrases here on tumblr dot com love to repeat them. due to the autism
