brushlesprouts

Latest Posts by brushlesprouts

Tips for writing flawed but lovable characters.

Flawed characters are the ones we root for, cry over, and remember long after the story ends. But creating a character who’s both imperfect and likable can feel like a tightrope walk. 

1. Flaws That Stem From Their Strengths

When a character’s greatest strength is also their Achilles' heel, it creates depth.

Strength: Fiercely loyal.

Flaw: Blind to betrayal or willing to go to dangerous extremes for loved ones.

“She’d burn the whole world down to save her sister—even if it killed her.”

2. Let Their Flaws Cause Problems

Flaws should have consequences—messy, believable ones.

Flaw: Impatience.

Result: They rush into action, ruining carefully laid plans.

“I thought I could handle it myself,” he muttered, staring at the smoking wreckage. “Guess not.”

3. Show Self-Awareness—or Lack Thereof

Characters who know they’re flawed (but struggle to change) are relatable. Characters who don’t realize their flaws can create dramatic tension.

A self-aware flaw: “I know I talk too much. It’s just… silence makes me feel like I’m disappearing.” A blind spot: “What do you mean I always have to be right? I’m just better at solving problems than most people!”

4. Give Them Redeeming Traits

A mix of good and bad keeps characters balanced.

Flaw: They’re manipulative.

Redeeming Trait: They use it to protect vulnerable people.

“Yes, I lied to get him to trust me. But he would’ve died otherwise.”

Readers are more forgiving of flaws when they see the bigger picture.

5. Let Them Grow—But Slowly

Instant redemption feels cheap. Characters should stumble, fail, and backslide before they change.

Early in the story: “I don’t need anyone. I’ve got this.”

Midpoint: “Okay, fine. Maybe I could use some help. But don’t get used to it.”

End: “Thank you. For everything.”

The gradual arc makes their growth feel earned.

6. Make Them Relatable, Not Perfect

Readers connect with characters who feel human—messy emotions, bad decisions, and all.

A bad decision: Skipping their best friend’s wedding because they’re jealous of their happiness.

A messy emotion: Feeling guilty afterward but doubling down to justify their actions.

A vulnerable moment: Finally apologizing, unsure if they’ll be forgiven.

7. Use Humor as a Balancing Act

Humor softens even the most prickly characters.

Flaw: Cynicism.

Humorous side: Making snarky, self-deprecating remarks that reveal their softer side.

“Love? No thanks. I’m allergic to heartbreak—and flowers.”

8. Avoid Overdoing the Flaws

Too many flaws can make a character feel unlikable or overburdened.

Instead of: A character who’s selfish, cruel, cowardly, and rude.

Try: A character who’s selfish but occasionally shows surprising generosity.

“Don’t tell anyone I helped you. I have a reputation to maintain.”

9. Let Them Be Vulnerable

Vulnerability adds layers and makes flaws understandable.

Flaw: They’re cold and distant.

Vulnerability: They’ve been hurt before and are terrified of getting close to anyone again.

“It’s easier this way. If I don’t care about you, then you can’t leave me.”

10. Make Their Flaws Integral to the Plot

When flaws directly impact the story, they feel purposeful rather than tacked on.

Flaw: Their arrogance alienates the people they need.

Plot Impact: When their plan fails, they’re left scrambling because no one will help them.

Flawed but lovable characters are the backbone of compelling stories. They remind us that imperfection is human—and that growth is possible.

Happiness Will Come To You.

I feel like some people need to relearn Genre Expectations... "Man, this tragedy sucks!!! Why didn't they just do XYZ, then everything could have ended happily!!" well, then it wouldn't be a tragedy, would it. "Man, this lighthearted teen romcom is terrible, it's so sappy and unrealistic!!" Well, yeah. If it had been gritty and dark, it wouldn't have been a lighthearted romcom, would it. Is the writing actually bad or are you just trying to order a milkshake from a Home Depot

Fun fact: ‘Mind how you go’ is a Terry Pratchett reference. Not only his last book, The Shepherd’s Crown, has this dedication to one of the characters, it’s the Pratchett family’s mantra for safety:

Her [Rhianna Pratchett’s] parents were living in Wiltshire, while she was based in London but they saw a lot of each other and spoke constantly. “I’m always telling them I love them on the phone in a slightly silly way. We always say to each other, ‘Mind how you go’; it’s almost like a Pratchett mantra for safety.”

with Rhianna, the daughter of Terry Pratchett, saying this as her last words to her father and her grandfather.

someone give him a grammy

Making long-form webcomics is like

a few days ago i woke up thinking: snails are cute, but what if they had legs?

so i made this, and i was like "aww yeahhh such a funny animal"

and then a second image popped up in my head

what if they acted like dogs?

YEAAAAHHHHH HAPPY PUPPY SNAIL

harpy girls. harp e-girls…..

Are fedoras really that bad?

YES YES THEY ARE

Solidarity

Well my week has been exciting so far.

Abled Person: Hey man, can you hold this wad of $2,000 and this one penny for me while I open my wallet?

Disabled Person: YOU COMPLETE AND UTTER FOOL!

The United States Government:

(Watch how many people don’t get this.)

me, as a supervillain: we are not so different, you and I…

hero, struggling against their bonds: That’s not true! I’m nothing like you!

me, rolling out several whiteboards filled with diagrams and charts: No, it’s literary foiling. See? I’ve been very careful about this.

hero: Why? Why are you doing all this?

me, cackling: You fool! For thematic consistency, of course! Now prepare to metaphorically reconcile with your father figure!

Black Horror Writers

Feeling a sudden desire, for whatever reason, to add some diversity to your bookshelf? Want to put a few bucks in the pockets of authors of color? Here’s a sampler platter to get you started. 

Tananarive Due A film historian and a hot name in horror fiction, Due is an outspoken academic and prolific author. Start with The Good House, a 2003 Gothic, if you’re a fan of haunted house stories.

Wrath James White A former athlete, White is a hugely prolific author of hardcore horror. You can start with The Resurrectionist, but honestly, with more than 35 books to choose from, you’ve got plenty of options.

Victor LaValle LaValle has only written four novels so far, but they’re well-regarded and rich narratives. The Changeling is the usual recommendation for a starting place.

Brandon Massey Southern Gothic themes woven through horror, suspense and urban themes - that’s Massey’s brand in a nutshell. He’s plenty prolific, so you’ve got a bunch to choose from. Maybe start with this year’s new release, The Quiet Ones.

Chesya Burke A prolific short story writer, Burke writes speculative fiction and comic books. If you’d like a collection of stories all in one place, try out Let’s Play White. If you’d rather do a novel, read The Strange Crimes of Little Africa.

Jemiah Jefferson Do you like pulpy erotic vampire horror? You don’t have to answer that. Just buy Jefferson’s books if you do. There’s a series, so you’ll want to start at the beginning with Voice of the Blood.

Michael Boatman An actor and screenwriter, Boatman is also a novelist. He writes splatterpunk that Joe Lansdale has praised, which is as fine an accolade as they come. The Revenant Road was his first novel. He also shows up in a ton of anthologies, so keep an eye out.

Helen Oyeyemi Oyeyemi is a rising star, Shirley Jackson Award finalist, scholar, a world traveler, among other things. Her most recent book, Gingerbread, came out in 2019. I think it would not be out of line to compare her to Angela Carter.

Maurice Carlos Ruffin A debut novelist, Ruffin’s work launched with a bang in February. His book We Cast a Shadow was long-listed for a stack of prizes, and as a scathing cultural sci-fi horror, it fits right in with the work of folks like Jordan Peele.

Nnedi Okorafor A Nigerian-American writer, Okorafor writes for both children and adults, and her stories have earned a whole stack of awards. She is, for the record, also disabled. She’s got a whole stack of YA and adult books to choose from, as well as comic books. Binti and its sequel are as good a place as any to start, though.

Jewelle Gomez Philanthropist, playwright, poet, author – Gomez dabbles in a lot of things, and she’s an outspoken voice for LGBTQ women of color. Check out The Gilda Stories if you’ve always wanted to read about a black lesbian vampire (and, let’s be honest, who hasn’t?)

PS: When you order, don’t waste your money on Amazon. Instead, use a service like https://bookshop.org/ that distributes your hard-earned cash to independent booksellers. Keep money in your community. 

PPS: I love Toni Morrison and Octavia Butler and also left them off the list because they’re well-known already and because I think it’s really important right now to support living artists, but you should check out their work too. 

having writer friends is being like in the world’s tiniest fandom except to get new content you have to beat it out of the author with a stick

Fenster the Deviler - Business before pleasure

After reading the first Witcher book “The Last Wish” I was inspired to try writing in that style. Not three sentences in, it become a parody story. Grant me this rambling tale of the grumpy Deviler, Fenster.

...

The morning dew still clung to the undergrowth in the shaded parts of the forest. Among the soggy grasses and flowers, a figure turned against the midday sun peeking through the trees.

 "The sun should be illegal," The slothful figure muttered. Along a single sunbeam, a small pixie descended to the disgruntled man's side.

 "Good MORNING Fenster!" It barked in a voice not too unlike jingling bells. "We have a job today!"

 Fenster rolled up to a sitting position. His eyes were still closed in a gambit that clever wordplay could allow him to collapse back onto his soggy bedroll for the rest of the day.

 "Bingle," Fenster began with a patient voice, "I fear I have come down with a case of Vampirism and can no longer work in the daytime."

 "Oh I see," Bingle said, "I just figured you wanted to get some money. Seeing as how you haven't had a job in almost a month."

 It was true, Fenster had hit a rough patch. The once noble profession of deviler, those who stand as pillars against the darkness, had diluted to that of thugs who will glare at drunks for chump change. He thought himself the last of the TRUE devilers, but with that dignity came an empty stomach and nights spent among the weeds. Still, to a deviler like Fenster, dignity was the last bedrock for which the fragments of his misspent life can build from.

 "We shall see," Fenster said, raising to his feet, "If this job is worthy of a deviler."

 The little sprite cheered and busied himself gathering the sparse belongings of Fenster. Packed into a satchel, Fenster made his way out of the woods and into the nearby town.

 ~~~~

 The little town of Globshire was a scenic place nestled between the Wobyjack mountains and the Fimblefank river. Due to the heavy snow melt every spring, the town would completely flood. The people of the town, instead of moving, created advanced plumbing systems that could help redistribute the sudden rush of water and allow the town to keep from being totally submerged. This innovation used metal pipes forged from the ore mined out of the Wobyjack mountains. Globshire was a marvel of human ingenuity, creativity, and work ethic.

Just downriver of Globshire was Dunk, and Dunk was an absolute hog hole that was designed so it could easily be rebuilt after the flush of water from Globshire would clear it out every year.

Fenster sloshed his way through the fresh runoff of the swollen river and into Dunk's hospitable charm. People in various forms of water-resistant clothing trudged through the fresh mud of their town, carrying building materials to repair and rebuild. Those who were unable to aid in the efforts sat tending to floating bonfires and preparing meals for when the workers needed a break.

Bingle sat perched on his shoulder like an exotic bird. "This place is nice." He said with a smile, "Everyone is so friendly."

 "That's probably because they don't want to mess with a guy in black leather with a sparkly whatever sitting on his shoulder. Deviler or no, the sight can be quite intimidating." Fenster allowed himself a wry smile.

"Over there," He pointed his tiny finger at a shack that was upright, but missing a great deal of one of its walls. "The person in there needs a deviler."

 "Or a carpenter." Fenster said. He then turned his head to look at Bingle, "I swear to the nine fires if this is a job about building or sawing, I am going to slap you."

 Bingle said nothing, however he did giggle. It was the sound of bells being shaken violently in a sack made of animal skin. Whimsical and chaotic and slightly threatening. The deviler walked on.

 The owner of the shack spotted Fenster first and hustled out of her shabby abode to meet him.

"Oh! You must be the deviler! The little blue bird was right! Prayers can come true."

Fenster managed a charitable smile and spoke quietly to his diminutive companion, "Blue bird? A little on the nose, don't you think?"

Bingle shrugged, "I am whatever the people want me to be."

 he woman rushed up to Fenster. "Oh merciful Deviler, whisperer to small blue birds and deliverer of justice, I am in need of your help." She bowed her head to him.

 "Whoa, steady on there," He said, lifting his hands defensively, "Let's not get carried away here. What's the job?"

 She lifted her head, "So humble, please come this way and we'll talk." She walked back to her home and opened the door for him. Fenster paid a small glance to the gaping opening just beside the door and shrugged. He stepped in through the door and gave her a small gesture of thanks.

 ~~~~~

 "I need Wobyjack scales." Valencia said. "I need them by next week."

 he deviler had barely time to sit at the large crate that functioned as a table before Valencia, the woman from before, please try to keep up, had made her demand. Fenster was no stranger to getting right to the point, but even he was shocked by the sudden drop of decorum. Bingle had hopped onto a shelf well out of reach of the juicy floor, and was fussing with some of the shiny finery.

 "Right, sorry, Wobyjack scales?" Fenster said. He fished in one of his jacket pockets for a notebook. It was labeled, 'Incredible Monsters and how to locate them: Abridged". He flipped to the back of the book and found the small entry for wobyjacks. They are dragonkin that live in mountain caves. Known for being incredibly territorial, walking into a wobyjack cave is akin to a declaration of war. Be careful of their fire breath, acid blood, and mythril scales. Danger rank, Captain.

 "Yes," Valencia said. "I need those scales to finish my inaugural headdress before next week or I shall be the laughing stock of Dunk. A mayoress without her headdress is likely to be butchered as soon as obeyed. Why, you hear talk of the previous mayoress, Clotina Valor, now she had a headdress that could turn heads. Did you know she had the head guard stand watch over her bathing at night? The Scandal! You believe me if she had a simple headdress with only a few jubjubber feathers she would have been drawn and quartered. Do you understand my meaning?"

 "Sounds tough," Fenster said absent-mindedly, his eyes were still hovering over the word "Captain" in his book. He had never been one for numbers, but the preliminary calculations for his pay were pointing towards a hot bath and a hot meal by week's end. But something nagged at the edge of his mind. The part of his mind where he stashed nagging things, like bathing habits, birthdays, and the Deviler's Code.

He snapped the notebook shut, "You want me to slay a wobyjack for your outfit?"

"Not just any outfit," She said harshly, folding her arms across her substantial chest, "This is the official mayoral headdress and ONLY wobyjack scales will suffice." She slackened her arms, letting them fall to her sides. "I know it is short notice but you are my only hope, all the others whom I have asked have turned me down." Valencia said, she was dipping back into the sing-songy voice she had greeted him with, complete with a lilt and gesture of a fainting woman. "I am at wits end."

"I am not a tailor nor a tanner, I am a deviler." He said, "And I will not kill a beast like the wobyjack without a better reason." He moved to stand up, and that is when his stomach let out a most unflattering howl. The following silence was deafening.

"Will you give me a minute?" Fenster said. He gestured up at Bingle and the two went outside.

~~~~~

Fenster tapped his chin, looking pensively at the ground. Bingle hovered beside him, his sheer butterfly wings fluttering, which also sounded like bells.

"So," Bingle said at last, "What are you thinking?"

"I'm conflicted," Fenster said, stamping his foot on the ground, "Can't you see that? I'm tapping my chin, I'm looking down, clearly pensive. Read the air you damn pixie." He sighed. His stomach growled again.

Bingle smiled, "I don't need to read the air, it makes itself clear."

Fenster ran a hand through his hair, it swooped to the side and froze that way. "A hot bath and a hot meal," He said to himself, trying to convince that nagging part of him.

"And since it is a rush job, maybe a new sword too." Bingle said, his smile like sharp knife.

Fenster's eyebrows went up.

~~~~

"--And since it is a rush job," Fenster said, seated at the table again "I'm going to have to demand a little extra."

"But you'll take the job?" Valencia said, her eyes lighting up.

Fenster nodded, smiling to her. She clapped her hands over his and looked into his eyes, "Thank you, gracious deviler, oh savior, oh--"

"Fenster," He said, cutting her off, "Will do just fine, thanks."

She nodded, "Fenster, then. Good luck on your journey."

"About that," He said, tapping an empty pouch tied at his side, "Any chance for an advanced payment?"

"Absolutely not" She said warmly.

"Fair." He said.

~~~~~~~

The massive draconic beast heaved its breaths heavy and slow, small wafts of smoke pouring from its nostrils. Fenster sat behind a nearby rock in the Wobyjack's cave, waiting patiently. Bingle grimaced at the deviler with increasing irritation.

"What," he said in a very soft voice so as to keep the ring-ting-tingle of his voice to a bare minimum, "Are you waiting for?"

Fenster continued to dress his equipment. Vials of elixir for speedy recovery, herbs to heighten senses, throwing daggers laced with moonsilver, some mints, and his trusty claymore given to him by his teacher just before he died. It was as valuable as it was heavy and a pain in the ass to wield. But, to use it to slay the creatures of darkness that plague the land was his promise to his late teacher. Another integral part of the Deviler’s Code. So he would do so.

"I have the benefit of surprise," Fenster said softly, "I am going to use every advantage I got."

The duo had arrived at the mountain cave late at night. As such, the wobyjack slumbered peacefully. And so it follows that Fenster had found a decent hiding spot to prepare his strike. Satisfied with his tools, he began preparation.

He drank a vial of devilweed spirits, which would increase his blood flow and make him faster and stronger as well as increase his endurance. He applied nightfang chalk markings over his eyes to grant him shielded sight, so as not to be blinded or fooled by illusions. Eating a dried drungo tail would thicken and toughen his skin so the raking claws of the wobyjack would not immediately disembowel him. And finally, a few mints cause all of that makes his breath really nasty and that could be distracting.

Buffed to the teeth, he gripped his blade with both hands and looked over the edge of the rock at the sleeping wobyjack. He slowed his breathing to match the beast. "Here goes."

Fenster charged the beast and roared a spell to life. Runes on the claymore lit up the cavern as he leapt into the air. The massive arc of his swing aimed for the beast's neck. The wobyjack, as with most dragonkin, noticed the deviler the moment he came out from behind the rock. It reared its head back and avoided the strike. However, still groggy from waking up, its momentum caused it to flop onto its back. Fenster pressed the attack, the element of surprise was still fresh and powerful but would only last for a precious few more moments. The wobyjack howled and sprayed a blast of fire, flailing and swiping with a massive barbed tail. The bright fire failed to blind the deviler and he managed to just barely tuck his body into a roll to avoid having his brains sent splattering to the cavern walls. Years of training at the deviler institute as well as his time in the deviler acting troupe had given him the skill to deftly dodge and look good doing it. He rolled to his feet and continued his charge, raising the blade to point the tip at the wobyjack's exposed underbelly.

A wobyjack has dangerously sharp scales everywhere on its body except for its belly, which has thick and tough hide. No mere blade could hope to carve a meaningful strike. However, Fenster's teacher's claymore was no mere blade, and the magic that currently ripped through it was no mere magic. As Fenster neared the tender gut meat, the wobyjack lunged its head to snap its jaws around the deviler. There would be no dodging this attack, and there would be no advantageous second strike. It was now or never. He lifted the blade up, raising the glowing claymore high over his head. The wobyjack brought its jaws down around the deviler. But instead of snapping like a twig, Fenster remained whole.

The drungo tail indeed helped his flesh, but above that, the rank taste of a man who had not bathed for weeks assaulted the enhanced draconic senses of the wobyjack. It was only for a moment that the beast retched, but it was just enough. With his raised arms free of the wobyjack's jaws, Fenster shouted a battle cry and brought the blade down on the beast's neck. The magic embedded within the Vorpal Sword came to life and cleanly split the neck from the body. The dragonkin's head seized in a fit of rigor mortis before everything became stillness and silence.

Bingle flittered out from behind the rock, "You did it!" He chimed.

Fenster grumbled and tried to pry the jaws open, "Thanks. Man this is stuck tight."

After succumbing to the knowledge that it wasn't going to loosen any time soon, he dragged himself and the head back to his supply bag and grabbed a small elixir meant to grant strength enough to carry multiple times ones own weight.

~~~~

Fenster dragged the cart, carrying a massive payload, through the draining streets of Dunk. He arrived at the shack from before, the wall had been repaired. The woman rushed out as she did before. She was wearing a tight-fitting dress with a deep slit cut to show her ample bosom, but still hint at modesty. She bounded up to him.

"And hast thou slain the wobyjack?" She cried, hands clasped together and eyes alight with joy. “Come, come inside,” She waved her hand to beckon him inside.

Within the shack, Fenster seated himself once more at the crate, Bingle sat upon the shelf. Upon the crate, Valencia set a small pouch before the deviler.

“Here you go, as promised. Thank you so much for your hard work.” She said.

“And the extra, for the rush job?” He said, smiling.

Valencia leaned forward onto her elbows, the cut in the dress revealing the lack of undergarments. “Perhaps we can make an arrangement?”

Fenster felt his eyes dip, but he knew that women were wily creatures. Full of cunning and breasts. He would not be so easily stoked, though the fire burning in him was most assuredly lust. That or the acid blood from the wobyjack had leaked into his armor at some point. With all his might, Fenster relied on his most formidable weapon, his charm.

“Now now,” He said, wagging a finger and smiling, “Business before pleasure.”

She heaved a sigh and rolled her eyes before walking back to the shelf and grabbing a second pouch. She turned and tossed it to him. Fenster managed to catch it with one hand, looking mighty impressed with himself.

“There,” She said flatly, “We are finished here.”

“Pleasure doing business,” He said, “Now then, how about the business of pleasure?”

She smiled at him. A smile that wasn’t really a smile. More like a raging fire of irritation and barely masked wrath. Valencia said, “You smell like dragon blood and three week old shit.”

“Fair,” Fenster said. He pocketed the pouches and left the shack.

~~~~

“What a CHARMER,” Bingle said, laughing. More bells, you know the drill. “I nearly busted out loud when you tried the ‘business of pleasure’ line. Did you come up with that all on your own?”

“Stuff it,” Fenster said. He checked over his salary with a greedy countenance before cackling to himself. “Perfect, just enough to make the trip.”

Bingle’s smile dropped from his face and was replaced with a look of concern. “No, we’re not going to Trance, are we?”

Fenster sneered, “You bet your pretty fairy wings we are going to Trance! I’m gonna get a hot bath, a hot meal and the best damn sword Vurgle the Forgemaster can whip out!”

Bingle groaned and Fenster laughed and the two of them made their way to Trance, the city of glitter and glamour. 

~End~

RhiShadows had a stream and in it, she was looking through the ruins of a town for treasures. A spectator cried out, “The town is dead, treasure ahead!” and it sounded like a sea shanty.

So, I did what anyone would do, and made a tune to match. Enjoy

After watching Sonicmega get rather salty at the Nickelodeon game Paw Patrol: On a Roll and quickly typing up a rather stern letter, I knew I had to try voicing it myself.

Give him a follow and help him on his journey to Partner!

transcript under the cut

I recently purchased a copy of Nickelodeon Paw Patrol: On a Roll! via the Nintendo eShop for exactly $20.00 USD. I cannot begin to describe to you how excited I was to play this game, given that I am an avid lover of canines and most animals in general - with the exception of slugs because a slug once got into our kitchen and left behind some of its slime, which my mother mistook for me spilling food (and subsequently spanked me for). On top of this, I know that Nickelodeon understands the importance of building positive, healthy relationships in children, including those of their beloved family pets. It goes without saying, then, that I was fully prepared to see my hard work rewarded in PAW PATROL: ON A ROLL via the ability to “pet the dogs” after a successful mission. IMAGINE MY SUBSEQUENT DISMAY, upon learning that not only do I never get the chance to pet the Good Boyes, the main character of the game doesn’t even take it upon himself to give them the attention and praise they deserve! How could a company like Nintendo let such an important, integral part of bonding with a dog be left unattended, much less permit a game that ignores the most enjoyable part of having a dog in front of you to be sold for TWENTY AMERICAN-BLOODED DOLLARS? I can’t even go out to a dog park because of this pandemic, and yet you have robbed me not only of my money, but also my chance to pet a dog in some form. I would like to formally request that you refund my purchase of PAW PATROL: On a Roll, and return my $20 back to me so that I may use it for other dog-related activities - such as hiring a dog groomer to Zoom me in to one of their next sessions, or buy myself accessories and pretend I am the dog (allowing me to thus pet myself through use of a psychological loophole). In either case, it will bring me closer to petting a dog than this game managed to. I thank you for understanding my plight in this time of great need.

Grondel of Irvasker

I never planned on this turning into a scene. It just sort of tumbled out. So I had no way of knowing how to end it. So, forgive the meme conclusion. Enjoy?

...

The Irvasker tribe of the wintery north always held honor among warriors as guiding doctrine. Every man, woman, and child was expected to show this level of reverence and respect to strength and especially overcoming obstacles, be they from the world or within. This left Yorgen Irvasker, son of the mighty Tusk Irvasker, in a difficult position. The great beast Grondel’s head lay at his feet. The same beast that Yorgen had failed to hunt for months. Indeed, such a feat would yield, by their tribe’s most honored traditions, the seat beside the Chief. Yorgen was conflicted giving such a regal position to an outsider, especially a Bobkin. He clenched and unclenched his fist several times around the pommel of his great sword, debating if he could talk his way out of lopping the sly grin off the Bobkin’s face. The Chief cleared his throat again, motioning to Yorgen.

“Ah yes,” Yorgen said, knocked from his internal monologues of bloodshed, “You have done well, Bobkin.”

“The name’th Withper.” The Bobkin named Whisper said with a painfully comical lisp. He leaned his small frame against the beast’s head, his elbow digging into its ear. “And I think, you got more to thay than that.”

Yorgen stifled a grumble with a cough, “Yes of course. As the customs and traditions of our tribe dictate, you are to receive a title and position worthy of your deed.”

Whisper gave a revoltingly self-satisfying smile and patted the head, “Tho, what will thith get me?”

The Chief stood from his throne of furs, leather and bone and made a wide gesture that made his mammoth-skin cape flutter around him. “For your deeds you shall become a Yar-Vasker.” 

Whisper looked from the Chief to Yorgen. Yorgen sighed and wiped a hand over his face and down his beard, “He means you will become like a brother to the Chief.” 

The minute warrior cheered, “About time you meatheads recognized my might.”

The Chief smiled. Yorgen grumbled, but then noticed a shifting of movement on the beast’s head. Not a sign of life, more like a sudden change in color before quickly shifting back. 

“But before that,” Yorgen said, approaching the head, “We shall make ceremony of this great and impressive victory!” He raised his mighty great sword into the air. The masses cheered at the glinting steel of his blade. “Oh Whisper, the great hunter, the honor shall be yours.” He extended his arm, offering the huge weapon to the small Bobkin.

“Exthcuthe me?” Whisper said, head tilting to the side.

“Drive the blade into the beast’s head, such is the ceremony before honoring you as Yar-Vasker.” Yorgen said with an ice-cold smile. 

Whisper looked at the greatsword, the handle of which was larger than his forearm. “I don’t think--”

“Oh but great hunter Whisper,” Yorgen said, his voice booming, “After defeating this beast, surely this small task is nothing for you.”

“Yes,” The Chief said, his smile was warm and brotherly, “Show us the might that slew the powerful beast.”

Cheers lifted from the crowd, followed by chanting for their new hero. Yorgen beamed, eyes wide and full of malice, down at the small Bobkin. The handle of the weapon aimed at his head like the bolt of a crossbow.

“Uh,” He looked between the weapon and the beast’s head. “Ith thith really nethethary?”

“Oh?” Yorgen said, a brow arching with the hope of mimicking the expression of one who is surprised. “Could it be you do not have the strength?”

Whisper sneered and matched glares with Yorgen, “Well, it was quite a mighty battle,” He let his grin show more of his sharp teeth, “Not that you would really know.”

The chanting of the crowd masked their interaction, but enough people noticed the change in Yorgen, from his usual calm and dominant presence, to the tense presence of a coiled predator. A second chant was called out, probably by one of the younger fools in attendance, that called for more bloodshed.

Whisper and Yorgen held each other at a glare until the burly, bearded man broke first. He turned to the Chief.

“My Chief. The battle with Grondel has left our savior weary indeed and unable to initiate the ceremony.” Yorgen said, his face wearing a worried look that ill matched the giddy sound in his voice.

Whisper let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding.

“So instead” Yorgen continued, “Mightn’t I do the honors?” He turned and lifted the blade over his head, eyes locked on the head of the beast.

“STOP!” Whisper said, his lisp vanishing. 

Yorgen brought the blade down. 

The head bounced out of the way and tumbled behind Whisper.

“Are you crazy?” The head burbled before twitching and shifting into a different creature. A mix between a shaggy dog and a dragon. The Farceling tried to hunker its large body behind the small Bobkin. 

The crowd went wild, confusion, anger and a couple of people laughing nervously.

“I knew it!” Yorgen cried, “Naught but lies and trickery!” Yorgen strode over to them, blade held tight in his fist. “You dare--”

“Now,” Whisper held up his hands, “Let’s be reasonable about this.” 

“We need to escape,” the Farceling muttered from behind his friend.

“What do you think I am trying to do, Hush?” Whisper said in a panicked voice.

“No, not from him,” Hush said.

Yorgen loomed over them. “I have had enough of you both.” He was shouting over the cacophony of the crowd. “You shall be put to death for your deceit.”

“Silence!” The Chief cried, raising his hands.

A rather tiny Pixum poked its head out of Whisper’s pocket for a second, “Did they figure me out too?” Whisper quickly pushed Silence back into his pocket.

The din of noise in the hall fell away. 

“Where are the guardsmen?” The Chief said, scanning the crowd. Five hands went up.

“Here, Chief!”

Yorgen’s eyes went wide, “Then who is standing guard?”

The five men looked at one another.

“You said you were going to stay behind.”

“I told Bristle to stand watch for me.”

“Then why is HE here?”

“But Grondel is dead, so why would I need to stand guard?”

The crowd turned their eyes on the cowering Farceling. A hush fell over the room. 

Then a quaking wail, the sound of souls being shred and the dead writhing in their graves, came thundering through the hall. Followed soon was the sound of barricades splintering under the force of powerful, unstoppable limbs. 

The Chief went pale, “Grondel.”

Yorgen furrowed his brow, “It's here.”

“Oh shit,” Whisper whispered

Roll initiative…

‪So listen. I’ve had this song stuck in my head for two days now because of this tweet. Look what they have done.‬

Fact 1: In most versions of Dungeons & Dragons, when infected – as opposed to natural-born – lycanthropes transform under the full moon, they assume the default alignment of their type during the ensuing mindless rampage.

Fact 2: In most versions of Dungeons & Dragons, the default alignment of werebears is Lawful Good.

Conclusion: When an infected werebear transforms under the full moon, they go on a mindless Lawful Good rampage.

I did a Kobold Base! If you’ve ever wanted to create a Kobold for your adventure, now it’s the time: Link to Purchase: https://gum.co/KoboldBase Thank you for your support! <3

Abaddon Among the People - A drabble

I had some spare time at work and a word processor opened in front of me. A fun idea of a character that was once a harbinger of doom gets put on hiatus so the creator can get back to creating. But what happens when they don’t want to come back?

Enjoy.

~~~~~

"You're Grounded!" The eternal being bellowed.

"What!?" The destroyer of worlds cried back. Then, in a flash of light, the world opened around him. His glorious wings vanished and he fell. Passing through the several layers of reality, each plummet robbing him of his home and place among his kind. It its place grew a painful resentment. 

Then, he landed. He glared back at the bubbling rips in existence from whence he came. As the rends stitched themselves back together, he cried up into the void, “You’ll pay for this!” 

And then, silence. He would be forced to live among the mortal people. Creatures he once only saw at the tip of his lance. He would be forced to wallow alongside them.

That is, until they are called upon once more.

~~~~~~

"Let's get your wings back." Said the emissary of the eternal being. It floated in the middle of the living room and pulsed with eerie blue light.

"Actually," Don said, "I kind of like it here."

"What?” The being’s body bubbled and hissed as impossible energies coursed over what passed for its skin. The lights in the apartment started to flicker and shine in strange ways, like the bulbs were in pain.

"Hey, easy easy, you're gonna blow the whole grid." Don said, putting his hands on what passed for the being's shoulders. "Do you want some tea? I was just heating up a pot."

"How-" It began, before a finger pressed to what passed for its lips. Don gave a  pleading look before hooking a thumb to the bedroom door.

"She's trying to get some sleep."

The emissary's eyes twisted in an unnatural and disturbing way, the pupils weaving between each eye. When they settled, it began again.

"How can you turn down the call of the Eternal?" It said. Though hushed, the voice of the emissary was still heavy with purpose.

He shrugged, "I guess it just isn't as important anymore." 

What passed for the emissary's mouth dropped open.

The tea kettle began to hiss. "One second," Don said and hustled off to the kitchen to grab the kettle. When he got there, the emissary was standing next to the refrigerator. Its glowing body illuminated everything in a swirling mix of blue and white light. He didn't turn to face the impossible being as he poured out some of the hot water into a pair of cups.

"Was that a yes or no to the tea?" He said.

"You are making a mistake." It said, its voice dipped into that quivering pool of impossible where it sounded close and far at the same time, a booming whisper. The kind that makes your heart wait its turn. A mortal being would probably drop to their knees in terror and repent their sins.

Don set the kettle down and tipped his head to the side. "Yeah, probably too late for black tea. Too much caffeine." He poured out the cups and walked right past the emissary to the cupboard. "How about some chamomile lavender?"

"PESTIFER MUNDI ABADDON," the emissary said. “I CALL UPON YOU.”

Its voice was like a forgotten song. It was old and dripping with power. For Don, it ached with memories. A surge hit him and an old itch prickled his skin, centering on seven very particular points on his back. He grabbed the edge of the counter top to keep himself upright. His jaw clenched as a warm, pleasing, dangerous power kindled in his arms. The counter top began to crack.

"How feeble," He thought, looking at the splinters spreading from his flexed fingers. "A flick of my wrist and this whole wall would crumble. No, the whole building." A smile creeped over his face. His muscles burned, burdened with power, on the edge of a sudden push that would bring forth ruin.

"REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE," The emissary said.

"Who I am," Don said, his own voice was becoming dangerous and hot with feral potential. In truth, he never forgot. The memories of a lifetime long lost all gripped at his heart and mind every day. And every day he had placed them in their dark box. Things were different now.

"Who I am, is not who I was." He said. His bones, his body, ached in protest. But it wouldn't be the first time.

"YOU ARE A TOOL FOR THE ETERNAL AND YOU HAVE BEEN SUMMONED." The emissary said. Its body shimmered brighter, eyes burning with literal fire. Wisps of white smoke drifted towards the ceiling.

"Shove it, glowstick," He said, turning to face the floating voice of eternity. He put his finger right into its burning face, "You want to destroy this world so bad you can do it your damn self!"

What passed for the emissary's face curled into a horrible look of satisfaction. "So be it."

It was gone in the next moment.

Don was left in the kitchen alone. In the sudden darkness, he had the chance to ruminate on his choice of words. The gears whirred in his head as he flipped through the pages of his memories. Back, back, back. He finally reached that dark box in his mind. Whispers crept to his mind. Whispers of the end times, and getting permission, and a prophesied fool who would welcome the end of the world.

"Fuck," Don said.

A small voice gasped from behind him. He spun around, arms raised defensively. He looked at the doorway where a young girl was huddled, peeking in. She had a yellow rain hat and rain jacket, just like when he first found her. The baseball bat was a new addition. Though, it did prove that she had been listening to his survival advice all along. Her hazel eyes were wide and fixed on him.

"You said a swear," She said, her shocked face turned to a chiding smile.

He dropped his hands and let out the breath he realized he had been holding. He walked to the drawer next to the sink and pulled out a small hard candy. It was a serious swear, so he grabbed a strawberry one. He walked over and knelt down in front of her. He held up the candy and said, "No telling, okay?" He smiled.

She set the bat down and grabbed the candy, stuffing it in her pocket. "Deal. Who was the floaty guy?"

Don had almost forgotten about it. Is this the mortal ability to bypass traumatic moments? He will have to be more careful in the future. Things were about to hit the biblical fan.

"The floaty guy," He began, "Was an old friend. Wants me to get back into my family's business. I turned him down and he took it pretty hard."

"Is that why he exploded?" She said, she fidgeted with her hair, fingers fumbling to make a loose braid.

"Pretty much," He said, once again taking advantage of the impressive ability children have to just go along with things. They can inquire forever about why rain falls but tell them your old friend, who is a floaty guy on fire, just exploded because of family issues and they just nod along. Which is what she was doing, nodding her head like it all made sense to her.

"Speaking of which," He said, "We need to go see Mother May."

Mother May would know what to do. Probably. Assuming she was lucid enough to still be coherent. It was still early in the night. If they could catch her before her second bottle of absinthe, they might stand a chance to get a question in before she goes into her "Trance".

"Ready to go," She said. She grabbed the backpack that was tucked behind the doorway and slipped if on. Then she picked up the bat and rested it on her shoulder like a big leaguer. 

“So it would seem,” He said, giving her a nod. “I’ll grab my stuff and we’ll get going.”

He hustled to his room and dug into the back of his closet. He grabbed his satchel and leather duster jacket. He dashed to the door, but his hand came up and caught the door frame. He hesitated at the door. He looked back at the closet. His fingertips drummed on the door frame.

"What's taking so long?" The girl called from the front room.

He let go of the door frame. "Nothing," He called back to her before leaving his room.

Seconds later, he came sprinting back, vaulting over his bed and diving into the closet. He pulled back with a small box in his hands. He let his fingers trace over the intricate and ancient writing on it. He stuffed it into his satchel.

"We'll be fine," He said, "But just in case." He got to his feet and hustled out of the room again. “We’ll be fine.”

. . .

Mother May was a withered husk of centuries of abuse. Most, if not all of it, had been chemical and self-inflicted. However, for all the hallucinogens she had ingested in one form or another, she was a spry woman, scuttling about her duties at the Pearly Gates hostel. After a day of hard shilling to the lost and misfortune, she would shuffle to the parlor in the back to engage in recreational fortune-telling and tarot reading. Surrounded by her favorite tinctures and exotic smoke, she would play cards against the gods and read what the future had in store. This night, she had barely settled down to turn over the first card when there came a knock, knock knocking upon her chamber door. She laid down the card "The Fool" and sighed.

"Come on in, Don," She barked at the door, "You know you're always welcome."

Hey guys! As a writer myself, it’s hard to have a lot of resources for writing in one place. That’s why I decided to create this masterpost, and maybe make more if I find future resources. I hope you like it, and expect to see more masterposts like this in the future!

Generators

Character

Appearance Generator

Archetypes Generator

Character Generator

Character Traits Generator

Family Generator

Job/Occupation Generator, (II)

Love Interest Generator

Motive Generator

Name Generator

Personality Generator, (II)

Quick Character Generator

Super Powers Generator

Names

Brand Name Generator

Medicine Title Generator

Name Generator

Quick Name Generator

Vehicle Generator

Town Name Generator

Plot

First Encounter Generator

First Line Generator, (II)

Plot Generator, (II), (III)

Plot Device Generator

Plot Twist Generator

Quick Plot Generator

Setting/World-Building

City Generator

Fantasy Race Generator

Laws Generator

Pet Generator

Setting Generator

Species Generator

Terrain Generator

Prompts

Subject Generator

”Take Three Nouns” Generator

Word Prompt Generator

Misc

Color Generator

Decision Generator

Dialogue Generator

Journey Generator

Title Generator, (II), (III)

Some Tips

Just a few I found from the writing tips tag!

Writing action / @berrybird

How to create a strong voice in your writing / @collegerefs

How to plot a complex novel in one day! / @lizard-is-writing

8 ways to get past writer’s block / @kiramartinauthor

psa for writers / @dasakuryo

”Write Using Your 5 Senses” / @ambientwriting

How People Watching Improves Your Writing / @wherethetransthingsare

Writing Science Fiction: Tips for Beginners / @fictionwritingtips

Creating Likeable Characters / @authors-haven

Vocabulary

Descriptive words / @somekindofstudent

Words to replace “Said” / @msocasey

Obscure color words / @mintsteelpeachlilac

Words to spice up your stories / @busyibee

Words to describe someone’s voice

Words to Use Instead of Very / @gaybybirth

Touchy Feely Words / @gaybybirth

Some Advice

Stephen King’s Top 20 Rules for Writers

”But my plot isn’t UNIQUE or BIG enough!” / @youreallwrite

8 Things Every Creative Should Know / @adamjk

(How To) Get Over Comparing Yourself to Other Creatives / @adamjk

How to Get Over Common Creative Fears (Maybe) / @adamjk

14 Tips From Stephen King On Writing / @i-can-give-you-prompts

Playlists

Electronic Thoughts / @eruditekid

“Mix About Writing” An Instrumental Mix / @shadowofemirates

Shut Up, I’m Writing! / @ninadropdead

Chill / @endlessreveries

Breathtaking Film Scores / @tweedskirts

Music to Write to Vol. 1: Starlight / @crestadeen

Music for Written Words / @ghoulpatch

Dead Men Tell No Tales / @scamandersnewt

Fatale / @dolcegf

All These Things that I’ve Done / @referenceforwriters

Feeling Soaking into Your Bones / @verylondon

I Can Feel Your Pulse in the Pages / @rphelper

Morally Ambiguous / @scamandersnewt

Wonderwall / @wheelerwrites

Pythia / @mazikeene

Ballet: To Dance / @tanaquil

Websites and Apps

For Writing

ZenPen: A minimalist writing website to keep you free of distractions and in the flow.

The Most Dangerous Writing App: A website where you have to keep typing or all of your writing will be lost. It helps you keep writing…kind of. You can choose between a time or word count limit!

Evernote: An online website where you can take notes and save the product to your laptop and/or smartphone!

Writer, the Internet Typewriter: It’s just you and your writing, and you can save your product on the website if you create an account.

Wordcounter: A website to help check your word and character count, and shows words you’re using frequently.

Monospace: An Android app for writing on the go when you feel the inspiration, but you don’t have your laptop on you!

For Productivity

Tide: An app that combines a pomodoro-esque timer with nature sounds and other noises! (Google Play / Apple Store)

ClearFocus: An Android app with a pomodoro-type time counter to let you concentrate easier and stay productive.

Forest: An app with a time counter to keep you focused and off your phone, and when you complete the time limit, a tree grows in your garden! (Google Play / Apple Store)

SelfControl: A Mac downloadable app that blocks you from distracting mail servers, websites, and other things!

Prompt Blogs

@writeworld

@dialouge-prompts

@oopsprompts

@prompts-for-the-otp

@creativepromptsforwriting

@the-modern-typewriter

@theprofessionalpromptmaker

@writers-are-writers

@otp-imagines-cult

@witterprompts

@havetobememes

@auideas

@putthepromptsonpaper

@promptsonpaper

@fyotpprompts

@otpisms

@soprompt

@otpprompts

@ablockforwritersblock

@awritersnook

Writing Tips Blogs

@writeworld

@anomalously-written

@awritersnook

@clevergirlhelps

@referenceforwriters

@whataboutwriting

@thewritershelpers

@nimblesnotebook

@slitheringink

How the fuck do you do this on accident. HOW THE FUCK DO YOU OPEN TWENTY FIVE SONGS BY MISTAKE

the fight is harder each year.

I submitted a bio for an application to have my poetry looked at and I decided on this:

Tamara is a queer female poet, musician, and actress from PA. She is also a Taurus, but isn’t quite as happy about it as the other things. She once climbed out a window to avoid small talk.