• Cardboard Mansion
  • Kronuslampora
  • #yolol

Why Does my Music always Sound stuck-up and depressing? Anyway, here is another piece i Wrote, currently under the Name Cardboard Mansion, due to it being originally a piece for askcr33p3rnepeta. But it is too sad and depressing for the Cardboard Mansion Nepeta lives in. So for now, I have to figure out how to write Happier music.

Writer Appreciation Day

As a fellow writer, I know how hard it can be to actually type something up and put it out there for the world to see. Whether it be that you can’t seem to find the time to piece together enough sentences because life is hectic or because you’re nervous about what people will think or maybe it’s because your brain decides to be stupid and doesn’t want to think up of anything that you think is worthy enough to write. Well, I’m here to say thank you.

It took me a while to pick out everyone that I have mentioned on here simply for the fact that read fan fiction is honestly my escape and this fandom has produced so many great authors that it’s truthfully like picking out your favorite child. But I’ve managed to narrow it down to a handful of y’all that I legitimately grow giddy when I see that y’all have written something.

So seriously thank you for finding time in your busy lives to continue the story of this tv show that has saved me.

@anotherwinchesterfangirl@babybrotherdean@buticancarryyou@fawnjensen • @fvckingjensen • @hellhoundsprey • @honeywincest@kansaskissedlips@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid@pathossam@poetryandoldermen@supernatural-jackles@the-mrs-deanwinchester@wetsammywinchester@wincesthart@wincestninja@winchestersinthedrift 

Hana Meets the New Main Character pt2

I dedicate this piece to all you sinners that reblogged and liked Part One (holy cow 100+ notes???) and cried collectively with me. Grab your tissues and prepare your feels cuz here’s part 2

She saw her in the halls. She saw her in the lunchroom. Her name. Her name didn’t matter, she was the Protagonist. Always. The Protagonist. The new Protagonist.

Never doing anything unusual. Or special. Or anything at all to make her worthy of the title she held. No dates. No special powers. Her family was alive, was no one important, no one poor or insanely rich, just enough to send her to Asagao. She mulled around, had decent friends. Joined a few sports and did OK.

She did nothing memorable and yet was not so unmemorable. She was the Protagonist.

The girl who had replaced Hana.

Hana didn’t hate her. It was something else. Like a mix between jealousy and longing and reverence and respect. All mixed up inside in a huge lump of emotion that settled at her stomach whenever she saw her.

No one understood. Hana expected Shane came close, to the way his eyes would drift between her and the Protagonist during lunch, the way his ever permanent scowl would deepen, the way his eyes flashed concern for just a brief moment.

Lunch was the worst. The table was empty. Sometimes they’d have days where there was no conversation. When there was, it was mostly just PBG and Jon. Occasionally the remaining Hidden Block boys would sit with them, all feeling kind of broken together. They missed each other. Jirard and Satch at top-level universities in completely different countries, Jared struggling to afford an apartment at 18. The Continue? guys in separate colleges, forced apart by acceptance and denial letters.

How they missed them. New friends came, lowerclassmen that they observed, contemplated asking to join. But more often than not, they just didn’t fit. And some just didn’t want to join.

When Hana heard a girl say her name on this particular lunch hour, she assumed it was one of their rejected applicants. Her head was in her hands, her eyes shut. Mai had been running her back, always understanding of the emptiness that resounded through the crowded lunch room.

“Hana Mizuno?” There it was again.
She didn’t bother to look up. Rejected applicants often went to her, to beg for a place, a second chance. “Our decisions are final, I’m sorry.” She said blankly.

“I’m not- can I please just talk with you? Please?”
A gentle press from Mai. “Hana, go.” Insistent.
Hana looked up.
It was her.

Standing there, with a book in one hand, was the Protagonist. Bright pink hair, loose over her shoulders. Asagao Uniform.

“Please, I need to talk to you.” She was begging now.

Hana stood up. “Fine.” The bitter ball of emotions was churning in her stomach, firey thoughts bouncing around her head. Did she know? Know how she had bothered Hana, doing nothing and everything normal, not causing a scene or anything. Did she know why Hana’s hair was almost blonde now, with only a faint pink undertone? Did she know her fate?

Did she know how Hana had suffered to achieve her place as a main character?

They walked into the hallway, the Protagonist glancing back every few seconds to make sure she was following.

When they were sufficiently removed, she began.
“I know who you are. Who you were, before I came around.” She swallowed. “I’ve heard your story, about your hair, and I think I understand.”

“No.” Hana replied simply. She shook her head softly. “You can’t.”

“I never meant, to come here, to take your place.” Her voice was louder now, she shook a little. “You hate me.”

Hana said nothing. What did she feel?

“I need to find out why I’m the main character. I need your help!” She was almost shouting now.

“You don’t deserve it.” The words came out before she could stop them. “I see you, everyday. How you’re so normal and plain. I know your parents are alive and they’re well off, I know you’re in clubs and have friends.” I lost my mom. And my dad gave up everything. And I was bullied and hated and you know what I got? A boyfriend.“ She was seething. Months of pent up emotion was pouring out now. “And somehow the universe decided that I was done. That all of that was worth it. I wasn’t done, and you waltzed in here and took my fate from me.” Hana stopped. What did she just say? That… wasn’t her at all.

The Protagonist stood there in silence. “I get it.” She shook her head. “You’re afraid. You, Hana Mizuno, are afraid I’m going to be a better protagonist than you. So you refuse to help me.”

She steeled her gaze. “I will be a better Character than you. Because you’re right. You aren’t a main character anymore.” She began to walk away, stopping at the end of the hall.

“You’re the antagonist.”

The face you make when @lovelunarchron tells you she had never written a piece of creative writing before starting “Of Rampions and Revolutions”:

Originally posted by ohmyreactionsgifs

Quickly followed by “TLC Babies”, “Blackmail” and “Unexpected”. THIS is how @lovelunarchron started her writing career. No embarrassing crack fics, no cringe-worthy tropes and characterisations. Nope, a full-blown, multi-chaptered, post-canon fic, exploring and developing at least four major characters and building the world of Luna from scratch basically …

Encouraging, isn’t it?

Originally posted by niightdreamer4

pagesofangels  asked:

🔥 ~ Writing

If I’m not careful I’ll get super salty over this, though thank you for asking.

To be honest I have very little confidence in my writing, most of which stems from other people. I am sick of the insistence that there be a certain way to write, that if you don’t plot out a story in meticulous detail then you can’t write it, that unless a story is dry and boring and confronts Important Issues in a complex way at the expense of characters and feelings then it isn’t worthy. I’m sick of journals and such insisting on only publishing a certain type of story. I’m sick of the inherent prejudice against genre fiction. I’m sick of the well-regarded, award-winning stories all being bleak and miserable. I’m sick of farming representation being looked down upon. I’m sick of vampires and westerns and whatever the hell else being considering lesser writing nevermind that it takes the same mental energy or more to research and piece together a convincing, accurate plot with brilliant characters. I’m sick of everything being about the woes of the urban white straight middle-class. I’m sick of romance being inferior and seen as taking away from a Serious plot.

Give me farming lesbians. Give me 70 year old bisexual chess players. Give me people who are tired and worn out but still love each other dearly. Give me soft kisses and people being happy no matter what horrible things they’ve been through. Give me tears. Give me catharsis. Don’t give me numb world-weariness and dress it up as Important. Let all writing be considered important and worth reading and able to teach the reader something, even if it’s only how not to write a thing. And please for the love of whatever deity there may be, stop insisting that unless someone has done a recognised writing course that they can’t be writer. Let people write how they want to write and about what they want to write about and if it’s good reward it and if it’s tripe let it be, but don’t refuse to publish something because it doesn’t conform to a certain ~aesthetic~.

Apologies for the rant. I’m angry and tired and too full of feelings. This got wildly off track.

“Happy birthday, Virgil!” EOS calls out, trotting over with a less-than-expertly-wrapped box in her hand (and held together with more than it’s fair share of crinkly gold ribbon) and a piece of paper fluttering in the other. “I am sorry your gift was slow arriving. I picked it out with Lady Penelope when John took me to England last time, but it took a while for it to be finished and shipped, and it got here late. So I decided to make you a card to go with it!”

She hands the paper over with a giggle. “I discovered I am not good at coming up with sayings for cards though, so it’s just a picture. But I hope you like the gift!” She hands over the box, waiting to see what he thinks of the hand-carved rosewood music box inside, with the little window in the lid and the image of a farmhouse, barn and fields etched into the glass. Hopefully it was worth the wait.

It didn’t matter a pinch how not-expertly-wrapped the box was or that the ‘card’ was just a sheet of paper. Virgil accepted both from EOS like he was accepting the most lavish gift in the world. “Aw, EOS… You didn’t need to get me anything, much less apologize for being late,” he told her as he peered at the drawing first, smile widening into a grin.

“…Is that me as a bear?” he asked, eyes crinkled in amusement. This wasn’t exactly the first time he seemed to be compared to a bear. He still wasn’t sure he quite understood why he was, apparently, a bear, but he wasn’t exactly insulted or anything, just confused.

Setting the page carefully to the side, still with care, he opened the gift, eyes widening slightly at what was inside. Pulling out the box, his gaze softened into amazement. This was hand made by someone… and the etching in the glass… It was such a thoughtful gift. Carefully he found the crank to wind it and he set the box down to play it’s tune, as he found himself a little speechless. “It’s really beautiful, EOS,” he finally said, reaching out to draw his pseudo niece into a warm hug. “Thank you… so much.”

After a moment he pulled back, smiling at her. “And I guess I better go send a thank you to Lady Penelope too.”