pov: you’re in a horror movie

1. create your own look here

2. find out what role you are here

no pressure tags: @foodiewithdahoodie @queereldritch @elhaspowers @gothbower @ohfallingdisco @josephandjamie @josephfakingquinn @johnsimms @cuethemulti @can-of-pringles @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @nebulousfishgills @mimisempai @thelostsisters @lokisgoodgirl @cultofsheep @onesmainbitch @jcbbby @whumpzone @catboysienna @lussiane333 @erdarielthewhumper @abitofboth @galactic-magick @llywenn @chaos-monkeyy @highwarlockofphilly (only if you feel like playing, no pressure or anything 🥰)

if I didn’t tag you and you’d love to join, please don’t hesitate to do so. I’d love to see the results you got. everybody is welcome!

Heheh 🤭

it's because the bear wouldn't kill me just for being a woman. the bear doesn't kill me for fun. the bear can be shouted at, and will leave me alone. the bear won't make a tiktok complaining about how i crossed to the other side of the path when i saw him coming. if a bear kills me, it's just being a bear: it cannot understand logic. it is not acting out of malice - just fear or hunger.

bell hooks once wrote about how porches might be the only outside space left for women - it is still the domain of the house while it is also outside-but-safe. when i am in the woods, i am in the bear's home, and he has a right to defend his property. outside spaces - anywhere at night, certain parks in the day - those are often implicitly "owned" by men. i cannot explain the feeling of knowing when you have entered a man's "territory." you walk into a place and just know you are in their space. you get a sick sense - you're in danger.

the other day a group of about 8 men were fooling around in the woods while i walked my dog. i had to go around, take the extra 3 miles just to avoid them. it's okay, i like walking. this wasn't even a #feminism moment. it was just a tuesday.

what a plain and easy question. only one of the situations is seen as a tragic accident. i would rather die and have a park bench erected in my honor rather than have my family questioned about why they let me, an adult, walk in the woods in the first place when i should really be at home in the kitchen.

i worked in retail and food service. i have had women say and do absolutely heinous and abusive things to me - not because i was a woman, but because i was there, and they were angry. the way men treated me when angry was different - it was because i was a woman. you can always feel the difference, how there's an undertone of i'd hurt you worse if i could get away with it. i keep seeing people try to cite stupid statistics. why is there always a strange rage whenever women agree on things? like men can argue their way out of our lived experiences? it isn't a buzzfeed quiz - which of these traumas are you? 10 super cute ways not to fear strange men.

i have actually (thrice!) seen a bear in the wild, by the way. i died each time, obviously, and am a ghost writing to you. (it was scary but completely and utterly fine). the second encounter was a black bear with her cub. she looked at me like - do we have to do this or are we good? my dog was busy sniffing a bush, completely nonreactive. i felt like i was in a sitcom: feminist poet reacts - does she actually mean she'd choose the bear? my only thought was - she's so beautiful. her paws are massive.

and there's a part of me that feels the rage spinning out in a corner. why do we have to come up with quippy little comments in order to teach men empathy. would you rather die in a car accident or due to a mugging? and would you rather your house burn down due to an electrical fire or due to arson? gee willikers - it's almost like we're human people, and want to risk the accident versus the intention.

i would rather my last thought be oh shit, a bear rather than i'm a person too. why doesn't that matter? why don't you care?

Every day I wake up and come up with more wips I can’t finish

the reason I don’t write much even though I like writing, is the same reason I don’t sing much even though I like singing.

I don’t like the sound of my own voice.

"try to write at least once per day" but have you considered: i don't wanna

Born to read my own story, forced to write it first.

what if I don’t have enough time to write everything within me. what then. where do the words go. do they get sent to another writer. those are my words. give them back

Writer's friends when they listen to the writer explaining the plot to their story:

me, the motherfucker with over 50 abandoned works in progress: i have an idea

Me : alright, time to sit down and write...

My brain : *silence*

Me : I said, 𝙩𝙞𝙢𝙚 𝙩𝙤 𝙨𝙞𝙩 𝙙𝙤𝙬𝙣 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙬𝙧𝙞𝙩𝙚!!!

My brain : oh look a new video by your favourite yt channel!

Me : WHERE?!?!

It's not an "abandoned" WIP, I didn't intentionally leave it in the forest to die and forget about it, it is a lost wip who wandered into the forest despite my pleas not to. I sit at the edge of the forest every day and hear it calling for help but there is nothing I can do. It is a haunting wip

sleepless nights

pairing: calum hood x reader

summary: you couldn’t count the amount of times you had found calum playing bass when he couldn’t sleep, so when you’re lying in bed wide awake, you decide to give it a try.

word count: 1k

You laid awake in bed, staring up at the ceiling. You had been lying in bed for four hours and had yet to come close to falling asleep. It felt like your brain was on overdrive.

All you could think about was everything you had to do tomorrow. It wasn’t helping you fall asleep any faster.

You could hear the ticking of the clock on Calum’s bedside table. The seconds were slowly ticking away.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

You had had enough. You felt like you were going to go insane if you stayed in bed any longer.

You slowly snuck out of Calum’s grasp and walked into the living room. You didn’t know what you were going to do, but you needed to do something. Then, it popped into your head.

Calum always played the bass when he couldn’t sleep. He told you that it helped him silence his thoughts.

I haven't abandoned this story. I just put it on the back burner for now. The story is just on a small vacation. It is currently out of office. It can't come to the phone right now. It just fell under my bed to sleep with the monsters. It never left my head. It is everywhere - except on paper.

so rude that fantasizing about writing alone is not enough to actually get the fic done. you have to actually sit down and write it. insane.

I long to kill the writers block fairy

We’re fanfiction writers, of course: