“Why do you write so much angst?” Because happiness is temporary, but emotional devastation is forever.
how do you do, fellow Creatives™
"Coffee wakes you up instantly. Tea takes, like, five business days to kick in."
"Tea is calming. Coffee makes you jittery and aggressive."
"Maybe I like being jittery and aggressive."
"…That explains so much."
Writing Prompt #4
“Noooo, I’m not worried about us at ALL.”
“It’s just a match.”
“EXACTLY!”
Writing is just aggressively whispering “Suffer.” at fictional people and then crying about it like it wasn’t your fault.
When a fic doesn’t fit my head canons but it’s well-written
Me when I finally found someone to share all of my writer brainrot autism and stories and characters with
If you don't Like pedophiles, why do you use the language of consent to advocate for making it easier for them to rape children?
First off, I ABHOR pedophiles. I don't just dislike them.
Second, I'm not sure exactly what you're saying but I believe children should be children.
Don't stress them out with the talks of the birds and the bees. Don't try and force them to understand something they won't understand or might scare them.
Traditionally, we have learned about sex ed around 13 - 16
Any earlier and it might actually frighten them
And why should they know? They aren't having sex and sick fucks shouldn't even be thinking about them having sex.
reblog if you’re okay with people writing fanfics of your fanfics and/or fanfics inspired by your fanfics
When fear, dread, or guilt gets sickening—literally—your character is consumed with a gut-clenching feeling that something is very, very wrong. Here's how to write that emotion using more than the classic "bile rose to the back of their throat".
This isn’t just about discomfort. It’s about a complete rebellion happening inside their body.
Their stomach twists like a knot that keeps pulling tighter
A cold sweat beads on their neck, their palms, their spine
Their insides feel sludgy, like everything they’ve eaten is suddenly unwelcome
They double over, not from pain, but because sitting still feels impossible
Vomiting isn’t just a stomach reaction—it’s the whole body.
Their mouth goes dry, and then too wet
Their jaw tightens, trying to contain it
A sudden heat blooms in their chest and face, overwhelming
The back of their throat burns—not bile, but the threat of it
Breathing becomes a conscious effort: in, out, shallow, sharp
Nausea doesn’t always need a physical cause. Tie it to emotion for more impact:
Fear: The kind that’s silent and wide-eyed. They’re frozen, too sick to speak.
Guilt: Their hands are cold, but their face is flushed. Every memory plays like a film reel behind their eyes.
Shock: Something just snapped inside. Their body registered it before their brain did.
Don’t just describe the nausea—show them reacting to it.
They press a fist to their mouth, pretending it’s a cough
Their knees weaken, and they lean on a wall, pretending it’s just fatigue
They excuse themselves quietly, then collapse in a bathroom stall
They swallow, again and again, like that’ll keep everything down
Even if they don’t actually throw up, the aftermath sticks.
A sour taste that won’t leave their mouth.
A pulsing headache
A body that feels hollowed out, shaky, untrustworthy
The shame of nearly losing control in front of someone else
A character feeling like vomiting is vulnerable. It's real. It’s raw. It means they’re overwhelmed in a way they can’t hide. And that makes them relatable. You don’t need melodrama—you need truth. Capture that moment where the world spins, and they don’t know if it’s panic or flu or fear, but all they want is to get out of their own body for a second.
Don't just write the bile. Write the breakdown.
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