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ariainstars · 3 years

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Brian de Palma’s “Carrie”: You Can’t Change Mean People, They Will Change You

I saw this film about twenty-five years ago and at the time, most of all I was shocked by its coldness and brutality. Watching it again - though only partly - after all of this time, I had a different and quite interesting reaction.

If „Carrie” says anything to me today, it is how useless it is to expect mean people to change. If you are a rather sensitive, introverted person and do not have the possibility to dress up or to behave in a manner that would make you popular (even if you maybe don’t really care for popularity and would be glad to simply be left in peace), you are likely to be mobbed, ostracized, bashed and abused in many groups you may have to join.

And those people won’t change their minds about you. Ever. The tide will not turn; you will not turn from zero to hero, find that you are like everybody else or better, that you are beautiful, and your high school crush will not at once develop an interest in you - at best he will take pity on you. Stephen King’s novel is, you may say, an extremely bitter interpretation both of the Cinderella theme and of the American Dream. The protagonist suddenly finds herself good-looking, successful, popular, loved; but it’s only a soap bubble destined to be crushed in the cruellest way. She will only be humiliated again, and worse than before.

„Carrie” throws a light on what cruelty and violence really mean - a „good and evil” interpretation as disturbing as the Jekyll & Hyde theme, if not more, saying one thing clearly: what everybody depends upon is power. Because no matter how much you may hate someone, you will not harm them unless you have the power to do so. How many of us seem virtuous, forgiving people but are truly not so, only never harmed anyone because they simply hadn’t the chance to? That Carrie discovers her psychic abilities with such rapidity and intensity is, of course, only a dramaturgical trick: but it makes you ask yourself whether you would not have done the same in her place. Along with that thought comes the same question about all of the uncountable, horrifying crimes that happen all over the world; how often do they happen not (or not only) because someone is insane or particularly mean, but simply because he or she has the power to do it? Does this raging, hideous violence not reside, more or less hidden, in everyone of us, and perhaps even more so in those who seem to be so harmless and meek, but are secretly full of aggression and frustration because they were abused and downtrodden for years and years?

It is nearly impossible to judge Carrie, even less to condemn her even though she eventually kills hundreds of people; her story casts a gruesome light upon responsibility, and upon how the moral failure of only one person (I mean Chris, not Carrie) can be disastrous for everybody involved, even the well-meaning ones. It also shows how immaturity and superficiality are never abated; who is narrow-minded and silly will remain so, it is no use to wait for anyone to change his attitude. Carrie is a person who was imprisoned all of her life; but Chris’ seemingly boundless freedom does not make her a better human being, on the contrary, it makes her think only of herself at other people’s expense. Everything, so „Carrie” seems to say, has a negative aspect to it, even free will.

It is also strange to see and think about how almost every group seems to need a scapegoat, in order to pour one’s own unwanted weaknesses on him or her and not have to think about them ever again. „Winners” do not really exist; they need „losers” precisely in order to feel as such. Once you are in hell, so „Carrie” relentlessly tells us, you will stay there all of your life - and beyond.

Carrie’s mother’s attitude towards „religion” is more than questionable: she and her daughter are never seen to go to church, they do not follow any Christian regulations, do not perpetrate useful social work or anything of that kind. „Religion” merely is an excuse for Margaret to make her daughter afraid of her so she can use her as a waste bin for her boundless self-hatred. Even the cross in the closet Carrie is shut in shows not Christ but a horrifying, grotesquely disfigured St. Sebastian, already preparing the way Margaret eventually will die - shot by arrow-like knives. Nothing clearer than this shows that Margaret is not in the least religious but has raised her daughter to believe that she herself is God. Carrie at last proves to her that she is much more powerful than she, but paying a terrible price. Again, we ask ourselves: did she ever have a choice?

Carrie’s story tells us what will eventually change - yourself. If you are trapped, the way Carrie is, in a destructive love-hate relationship e.g. with an abusive parent, you are doomed. You do not need any psychic or other supernatural powers for that: you will change anyway.

And you need not fool yourself that your abusive environment will ever change. Your peers will not all at once magically accept you, nor your mother understand you. The idea “there is good in everyone” is as naive as it is harmful. Carrie falls in love with most popular guy at high school and goes to prom with him because she desperately wants to fit in, only to then realize that no one is interested in her feelings: once a scapegoat, always a scapegoat. All she can do is run away - which she does in the end, emerging from the scene of her crime like some horrific, ancient goddess of death.

As a small criticism, I want to add that I do not believe in telekinesis, most assuredly not to this extent. I also wondered why a girl’s monthly period is supposed to begin so late in her life, and then so suddenly. But I guess that it is precisely the combination of the supernatural with seemingly flat, everyday places and situations that makes this story so disturbing, because you can’t help wondering whether something like this may not perhaps really happen.

Whoever wonders about young people going amok on school camps should in my opinion not study dozens of heavy tomes on psychology; watching this film is more than enough. The first step is the power you may discover, but the second step is the chance to choose. A kind, seemingly loving interest from someone she has a crush upon makes a girl blossom here; cruel mockery brings upon rage and destruction.

As usual with Stephen King, there is no warmth in this story, no heart at all; the only emotions exist in dreams, provided someone has the courage to dream and to hope that dreams can come true. However, I was a little surprised by myself: I usually do not care for horror books or films, and I did not expect to find so much food for thought here. Seen like this, there is much more depth in „Carrie” than one would want or expect to find. Although he is generally known as a master of horror entertainment, Stephen King is a psychological genius in his own way.

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existentialcowboy · 3 years

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Speak, Boy!

a Prince story by Stephen Brooke

“I shall grant thee three wishes,” stated the jinn.

“I’ll need to think on that,” I answered.

The great green cloud-like apparition granted me only a look of disdain. “Not thee, human. ’Twas the dog who found and released me.” It turned back to Spot. “Choose well, little one.”

My mutt cocked his head at the magical being he had inadvertently let out of its prison. He looked like he was thinking. “Rahhhr roo roo ruff,” or words to that effect came from his throat.

“Ah! Very well.”

“Thanks!” said Spot.

“You chose to be able to talk?”

“To be able to talk human. I could always talk dog,” he informed me.

“There are many human languages,” spoke the jinn. It chuckled in a disturbing fashion. “I could have given any of them to thee had I a mind, rather than that of this mortal.” It nodded in my direction. “But I like thee. Thou art a good boy, art thou not?”

“Indeed so. I always agree when my mistress asks but I don’t think she understands me.”

I would from now on, apparently.

“Keeping in mind my, ah, shall we say tendency to play tricks, I advise care in choosing thy remaining wishes.”

It didn’t take the good boy long to decide. “Live forever!”

The Jinn shook its head. “Beyond my abilities. Thou wouldst not like it anyway. What wouldst thou do when all the other dogs had disappeared into time?”

“Not to mention the humans,” I felt obliged to add.

“That might not be so bad,” felt the green demon. “Strictly speaking, I can not give thee more years at all, beyond those that are ordained by fate. But—” It gave us a dramatic pause. “There is a loophole. I can change dog years to human years. Thou canst last as long as thy mistress. Or longer.”

“Okay,” agreed Spot.

“Done,” intoned the jinn.

Spot stared at him for a while. “I don’t feel different but I’ll take your word for it. I can’t really think of anything else I need.”

“How about money?” I suggested.

“What would I do with that?”

“Give it to me and I can afford to keep you in treats. Instead of selling the incredible talking dog to a freak show.”

“Hmm. Good point, there. Oh! I know. I want to be big! Alsatian big! And, um, that includes all my body parts.”

“It will cost more to feed you,” I warned. I had fading hopes of Spot asking for wealth but I could try.

“Thy mistress doth make sense,” the jinn admitted. “And a beagle of such size will attract undesired attention. Unless I change thee entire into this Alsatian form thou desirest.”

“Oh, no. I like the way I look. I’m very handsome. Everyone tells me so. I guess you can give her some money. Whatever she asks, okay? I don’t know anything about it.” He cocked his head at me this time. “But I suspect I should learn.”

“Gold?” asked the jinn. “Or has everyone switched to that paper money now? I was imprisoned for some centuries and am not up to date on such matters.”

“Electronic,” I answered. “The funds simply need to appear in an account. Um, an overseas secret account. It wouldn’t do to have the government asking me where it came from.”

The demon seemed to be elsewhere for a few minutes. “It is done,” it said. “More than thou shouldst ever need, in a bank in the Cayman Islands. Somewhat easier than transporting gold, I must say! All the documentation thou needest I have placed in thine home. Those islands looked a pleasant little place. I may stop by there a while on my way back to my world.” With that, it faded like mist before the sun. Only the broken container, a rather flimsy papier-mache urn, remained to tell us it had been there and not a dream.

I picked it up now. “I would guess these sigils kept it from breaking out.”

“Who cares?” said my talking dog.

“No one.” I tossed its chewed remnants aside. I needed no memento of this day. I had a talking beagle to remind me. “Ready to go, Spot?”

“Don’t call me that anymore. It’s not my real name.”

“Oh? What is?”

“Hmm. Can’t be translated into human, I guess. I’ll pick another.” He didn’t take long. “I’ve always liked Prince. I knew a Doberman by that name.”

I’d known it too, and feared it. “Why not King or Rex?”

“Too ostentatious. We beagles are humble folk. I say, must you do that?” he asked, as I attached his leash.

“Being able to talk won’t help you in the pound. You should, um, maybe be careful about who you let know about it.”

“Just our secret, huh? We’ll see.” We set off toward my apartment. Perhaps I should think of it as our apartment now. Spot—er, Prince—had suddenly become a person to me. From the park to our place was only a couple blocks, through what was not the best of neighborhoods. It wasn’t the best of parks either, nor of apartments.

It wasn’t the best of lives. Prince had never complained, as far as I knew.

True to his word, the jinn had left all the needed papers and information on my kitchen table. How much was in the account? I’d have to access it online to learn. I was a bit fearful of finding out! A little note lay beside them, drafted in an ornate hand. It took a while to puzzle it out. A warning to thee, mortal woman, it said. This money is the property of the dog and not thee. If aught should befall him, it will evaporate.

“What’s it say?” asked Prince. “I should’ve made reading my third wish!”

“To take care of you.” Which was sort of true. I would need to take very good care of Prince. “How would you like to move into a house with a big yard?” I asked. With high secure fences.

“Would there be squirrels?”

“If it doesn’t come stocked, we can buy some.”

“Oh, boy!”

Oh, boy, indeed. Those secret funds would not evaporate so easily were they converted to property.

Prince didn’t need to know about any of that, did he?

#short story #beagle #jinn

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angelicspaceprince · 4 years

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Take Me To Church

Author: Ama

Title: Take Me To Church

Pairing: Zhuk/Reader

Character/s: Zhuk

Word Count: 6, 437 words

Warnings: Smut (18+ only please), cockwarming, tentacles, Priest Kink, sex in a church, Demon Priest, hypnosis, aphrodisiac, stomach bulge, double and triple penetration, sex on an altar

Prompt: You were just trying to keep to yourself and avoid the rain when no one seemed to want to help you after you are left stranded in the middle of nowhere. The thing that lives in this abandoned church seems to have other ideas.

Notes: I set out to destroy myself and managed to take some people down with me. It was.....fun. Many hours of work and putting it off, its finally done. Also. There is a part two in the works so if you want to be tagged in it....send me an ask. Translations for long pieces of Russian is at the bottom of the post in order of appearance. Enjoy.

Buy Me a Coffee

Take Me To Church

You hadn’t meant to get lost at this time of night. It was dark, it was raining, and you were just done with today. Your car broke down in the middle of nowhere, you walked for hours, getting lost and finally finding your way to a near-abandoned town and, once you found someone to actually help you, every door was slammed in your face. Rain turned into a storm, a downpour, and you just wanted somewhere to hide until the rain passed. You saw a rundown looking church when you first walked into the town, and that was only a block away. Perhaps there would do? As far as you knew, churches were open to all in need, and you were in need of not getting sick before finding a phone to call for a mechanic.

You shuffle in and move to sit on one of the pews. It was empty, cold, made of grey stone that seemed to be crumbling in places with stained glass windows, some broken and covered with increasingly dampening cardboard whilst others stayed intact. You weren’t fussy. It’ll do for now. You are dripping with the rainwater, the only sound in the entire church is your laboured breath from running and the drip, drip of water running down your hair and onto the floor. You think for a minute - is it really a good idea to be staying in these wet, cold clothes? You look around, no one else is in the church that you know of. Perhaps you should just slide your coat off.

The desire to at least see how wet your clothes were under your coat proves to be too great as you carefully slide it off and lay it beside you. Your clothes are plastered to your body, saturated from the intense weather. You sigh loudly in defeat, you just couldn’t win today.

The sound of the door opening and closing loudly followed by the gruff voice of the bar patron stirs you from your self-pitying thoughts. Fuck, you said you were going to leave and wait by your car. You couldn’t bear the idea of getting into another argument with the man. You look around for somewhere to hide, eyes flickering to the confessional. Maybe? It was certainly the closest.

You dash in, leaving your jacket behind, and close the door behind you, moving to sit on the surprisingly comfortable seat. You weren’t an expert in these sorts of things, but you thought these to be always uncomfortable and wooden, but this was almost like a cushion that went from the bottom of the seat all the way up above your head. Even if it was lumpy, it was more comfortable than the pews out there.

It was dark, and the only thing you could hear was your laboured breath and the steps of someone investigating the church. You swear he is nearby, you hold your breath and try to keep yourself silent when what you think is him brushes past the confessional.

A low, rumbling voice shocks you as he greets the bar patron, asking if he is well. You can’t quite make out the conversation, except for the newer voice reassuring the man that everything is okay, he has it sorted, and he can go home now. There is a bit more back and forth that slowly fades as the new man leads the bar patron away. You let out a small sigh of relief, sagging back slightly. Now you just have to wait for him to leave before you can get out of here. You don’t feel safe here, you need to get back to your car, weather be damned! You’d rather battle out a horrid respiratory infection than be in some weird cult sacrifice to the village’s local god, or whatever Stephen King-esque thing this town seemed to be into.

You wait quietly, trying to quiet your loud, uneven breaths as your adrenaline slowly starts to wane. Seconds before you go to leave, you feel it. Something cold, slimy, slippery curls its way around your foot. Before you even have a chance to jump or scream, the confessional screen opens, causing you to jolt and the thing to unhook from your ankle. You look down and see nothing. Perhaps it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But you still have a problem. The priest now knows you’re here. How were you going to explain that you were hiding from someone like a child, simply because you didn’t want to interact with them?

“Do you have anything you wish to confess?” He finally asks, his heavily accented voice giving you a small shock, having grown tired of the silence that stretches between the two of you.

You wince. “Well, actually, uh-” You trail off, and you can almost feel the amusement rolling off of him in waves.

“Or were you just hiding from Mr MacNamara?” His voice is kind, but also bemused. Even then, it’s calming and draws you in. Just something about it, something tinged within it makes you think there is something he is hiding. You shake it off, what would a priest have to hide?

“Yeah.” You say quietly, guiltily. “I’m sorry si- Father, I’ll go.” It wasn’t really polite or religiously sensitive to hide in what you believed to be a sacred place, at least to the priest.

Your hand barely leaves your side, however, when he speaks. “Never mind the reason you originally came here, my child. You are here now, there must be something you need to get off your chest. Why else would you run and hide into a church and then a confessional, unless you have a guilty conscience or something you need to speak about.” He offers softly, his voice drawing you closer and closer to him as you feel your body relax into the soft booth. You jolt. No. You shouldn’t be here. You are making a mockery of his religion, at least, you feel like you are.

“I’m not Catholic. Or religious.” You state bluntly.

“My confessional is open to all who need to clear their heart and mind.” He doesn’t sound like he’s insisting, rather that he’s just patient. Waiting for you to finally crumble and agree to confess to something. You might as well. Just to let him leave you alone.

“Where do you want me to start?” You sigh dramatically, leaning back and getting comfortable. If he wanted a confession, you were going to waste his time a little.

“Perhaps the one that is weighing you down the most.” He instructs, amusement seeping in his accented voice. What was it? Russian?

You shrug. “Lusted over a married man, that’s a pretty big sin I suppose. Would you consider it a major sin, Father?” You start with the one you are sure he will question the most and then have you move on and leave. The idea of making the priest squirm amuses you, and you’re almost tempted to state that you lusted over a man of God to see what he’d say. Alas, you decide against it. He stays silent for a second.

“Did you tempt him?”

“God yeah.” You try not to act proud. “Worked too. That’s adultery, isn’t it? Or at least, tempting someone into adultery.”

“Did you enjoy it?” He sounds slightly conflicted. Good.

You can feel your body begin to melt and relax into the pew, shifting slightly as you start to grow warm, starting from your ankles, almost like a blanket has been placed over your feet. “Mhm.” Is all you can get out. “It was. Good. We didn’t regret it. It happened a few times, but. Neither of us regretted it.”

“Did the wife know?” You shrug.

“Dunno. Don’t care, to be honest.” Silence begins to tick over you as you wait for your dismissal. But it doesn’t come.

“Anything else you wish to confess before I give you your penance?” His voice is still soft, inviting. You go to groan as he speaks again. “You’re here, you might as well use this time wisely.”

Wisely. Yeah right. Your jaw clicks, taking the challenge as you start to ‘confess’ your many sins. Missing mass, as you’ve never been to mass since after your confirmation, using contraception as every good girl does, being envious of others, having bouts of extreme anger, the times you had sex with another girl, both taking the Lord’s name in vain and being blasphemous, your slightly excessive masturbation habit, every lie you could think of, how you left religion behind a long time ago, your impressive pornography collection. Every little thing becomes pettier and pettier as you try to get him to shut you up and leave, but instead, he just keeps asking question after question, digging deeper as if trying to figure out what to add to your penance. You even stooped so low to start telling him about the time you stole chocolate from your local supermarket when you were a toddler, and every pen, eraser, piece of candy, anything from anyone as a child, be it malicious or by accident. Your eyes look firmly in the space in front of you, a dark nothingness - didn’t they have candles or something to light up this incredibly dark room? -, but better than to see his face and how schooled it must be. That would frustrate you even more. He didn’t get annoyed, or frustrated, or anything. Eventually, however, he decided he didn’t want to play your game anymore. “Y/N, look at me.”

You are so busy with your revenge that you don’t feel your body slowly growing warmer and warmer, relaxing into the soft back of the confessional seat, voice growing softer as your eyes start to close. That one command to look at him has your eyes snapping open as you turn to look him in the eye.

They were glowing.

Wait a minute.

You didn’t tell him your name.

But that’s not the thing that’s concerning you now, your eyes beginning to bulge out of your head when you take in the sight before you.

Bright amber eyes encourage you to relax for him, obey him, trust in him, which didn’t concern you at this moment. No, what concerned you were the mass amount of tentacles that seemed to be coming out of his back, covering his back wall and crawling your way into your small cubicle. You see him smirk faintly at your realisation. “Relax, Y/N. Do not worry about them, malen'kiy. Focus on my voice instead.” He instructs quietly, and it almost works. Were it not for the cold jab in your gut when you realise. Something was moving over you.

You look down and let out a loud gasp of air, your body in so much shock a scream couldn’t form. Every inch of your part of the confessional was crawling with tentacles. They filled the walls, the floor and, to your horror, was the cushion between you and the hard, uncomfortable wood of the confessional chair. “I-”

“Shhh, malyshka, don’t stress yourself. They won’t harm you.” He sounds bemused as you start to squirm, finding your movement restricted. You struggle, and something seems to squeeze you until you stop.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

Like a long, black snake, one of the tentacles had slowly wound its way up your legs, waist, hips and was slowly beginning to climb its way up to your torso and shoulders. “Dorogoy, relax.” He reminds you gently, voice inviting, warm. You relax as you feel the tentacle coil around you another time, slowly, gently.

Nope. Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope, nope. That was enough for you. You grab the doorframe, ignoring the tentacles now moving to hold you there, and you use it as leverage to pull yourself up and out of his grasp, slime from the one grasping onto you giving you enough leeway to climb out and into the cold of the stone church, tugging back on your hands until they are freed as you land on your back, scurrying back against the rough floor. You are freezing again and, when you look down, you realise that you had been worked out of your clothes, leaving you in just your bra and panties. You move to stand and rush towards the still slightly cracked open door when the other side of the confessional opens, tentacles that were once climbing out of the door you just lept from moving back into the shadows. Your blood turns to ice as you freeze in place as his loud footsteps echo through the room.

He’s huge.

Tall, dressed in the usual black slacks and shirt with the clerical collar that you’d expect all priests to wear, he was intimidating. The scar over one of his still bright and bemused amber eyes doing nothing to settle you as what seemed like countless, black, dripping, slimy tentacles came out from behind him, all constantly moving. You swallow, unable to move or think as you look at him. He couldn’t be human, a demon perhaps? But you thought no demon could ever set foot in a church?

“Ne boysya, ne begi, moy rebenok.” He speaks softly as the tentacles start to climb the floor directly towards your feet.

It was enough to break the spell. You stand up and bolt in the opposite direction, away from the door. Surely there was a back exit? You dash and, somehow, escape every grab attempt he makes at you as he calmly, slowly, follows you. He knows this church like the back of his hand, and he knows there is no escape for you. You trip over nothing, landing flat on the floor as something twists its way up your ankle and calf. Hot adrenaline kicks in and you kick back wildly until you are free and able to make another mad dash towards the back of the church.

Nothing.

Not a door, not even a window. A set of rickety-looking stairs. You look behind you and see his shadow slowly come into the doorway, his tentacles climbing the walls, ceiling, floor, slowly. As if searching for you. Another hot pump of adrenaline hits your body as you instantly run up the stairs, yelping when one gives way under your feet. You hear his chuckle, low and dark as he stands at the bottom of the stairwell, just staring up at you as you pull yourself up to the top stair. “Don’t hurt yourself, Y/N, ya predpochitayu, chtoby moi blyuda ostavalis' tselymi i nevredimymi, poka ya ne poluchu ikh v svoi ruki.” He purrs as his ever-moving appendages stop for a split second before rushing directly towards you.

You can’t help the scream that leaves your lips as you rush past the open door and slam it shut behind you, his loud laugh echoing into the room around you as you see the black, oozy tendrils, smaller than the main tentacles but still just as scary somehow, slowly make their way under the gaps of the door, slowly covering and dissolving the wood with their goo. Fuck. You need to keep running.

Up on the upper floor, there really wasn’t anything. A little nest of coats and blankets, obviously a makeshift bed, and a broken-down organ. You look over the edge as the door starts to shake, already on awful foundations, it won’t take long for it to break down. If you could just get downstairs and hide until he went searching for you, then you can make a run for the door. Your eyes scan what you had around you, knowing that if you jumped you’d probably break your neck on impact. Then you see it. A ladder. It looks old with the wood rotting, but it will suit your needs for now.

You rush over and start climbing down the ladder quickly, hitting the ground underneath the mezzanine just in time to hear the door break. Shit. No way you could make a run for the door now, even then beforehand your chances were slim. You remain well hidden from him as you plaster your back against the wall so as he looks over the church, not an inch of you or your shadow can be seen. He takes in a deep breath through his nose as you look for a hiding spot.

“I can smell your fear, zakuska.” He purrs. “It smells delicious.” You swallow as you continue to search before realising. The altar.

You lift the piece of fabric that reaches all the way to the ground and bite back a cry of success. There is a gap there big enough for you to hide. You smuggle your way in, unseen by the demon as you curl up and try to quieten and control your breathing.

His feet land heavily on the stone floor seconds later as he apparently grows tired of your game and jumps from the upper floor. You jolt when you realise he’s landed on the other side of the altar. Just stay quiet, and wait until he’s gone. Then you can run. Your stomach feels sick with nerves as you wait and listen to the demon’s footsteps as they fill the church. You don’t realise it yet, but he is pacing around the altar, smelling your scent and knowing exactly where you are hiding.

His low chuckle sounds even more ominous as it echoes around the empty church. “You can't hide from me now, roza. I grew up in this church, I know every inch of its cold walls, every shadow, every crack, every stone. Give up now, and I may just go easy on you.” He warns. You stay still. There is no way you are giving in to him, not now. Not ever. You’ll hide until you get the opportunity to run. “No? Alright then. Just remember, little one, you chose your fate.” He sounds tired as he says this and, before you know it, the cloth is pulled back and everything on it clatters to the ground and he is right there in front of you, sharp teeth gleaming as he stares at you. “Hello there roza. It appears that I’ve caught you.” He teases. Before you can even get a chance to move, you are dragged out into the air, warm vines sliding their way around your body and hoisting you into the air as they move to support your legs, arms, torso. Even one is so considerate to support your head. Higher and higher you go, them tightening as you struggle as if to keep you steady. “I wouldn’t continue that if I were you, Y/N.” He warns. “It wouldn’t be a pleasant landing if you do.” The threat is crystal clear. You fall, he won’t be catching you.

You go deadly still and try to bite back a sob. He caught you and now he has you. Suspended in the air in just your underwear, nowhere to go. Nowhere to hide. You were his.

You don’t even register the tentacle pressing against your lips until it’s made its way into your mouth, tasting salty yet strangely sweet as it pushes into your mouth and down your throat, causing you to choke slightly. It pulls back to just before where you started to gag and tear up and slowly starts to pump a thick, almost syrupy liquid, causing you to gulp out of fear of drowning in the air. For a hot second, the idea of biting down to hurt him crosses your mind, but his threat rings again in your ear. You could faintly hear the splat of you falling to your death if you did something wrong in the back of your mind. So, you continue to drink whatever it was filling your system, not noticing how your once tense muscles start to relax into the hold of the black, leaking appendages or how your face is becoming flushed, eyes glazed, body slowly beginning to warm despite the cool air. All you can feel is the throb between your legs and just how empty you feel. You whine, the sound quiet with your mouth stretched open as you start to suck, hips beginning to buck against nothing. You need to be full, you need something inside of you. You start to claw at your little clothing, even that’s too much of a barrier. You need to be full, to be touched, to be fucked. You can feel the demon’s amusement under you as he slowly starts to help, tendrils moving to tug down at your panties as others unhook and slide off your bra, leaving you bare as you continue to ride against nothing. You are already wet down to your knees, slick just dripping from your already sopping wet sex just from being given a little dose of….whatever it was he was feeding you.

You don’t even realise you’ve been lowered onto the altar until the cold marble was pressed against your skin, two large, cool hands tugging your knees apart so amber eyes could look down over you. His hair is a dark green mixed with magenta whereas before, you swore it was just green or black with a trick of the light changing its colour. What did that mean?

It didn’t matter now, all that mattered was being full. You whine pitifully as you jerk your hips up, coaxing him to at least slide a finger into you to relieve the pressure. He snickers at your desperate attempts for help before one of the thinner tentacles moves to press against your entrance, entering maybe an inch before withdrawing teasingly before finally, it pushes in slowly, confidently, until it’s pressing against your cervix. You clench around him, moaning softly as he stares down at you, the rims of his eyes slowly turning a matching magenta colour. Was he staring down at you hungrily or adoringly? Fuck it, you don’t care at this moment.

You grind up at him, babbling nonsense from your still full mouth as you try to beg for more. He tuts, taking pity on you as the tentacle inside of you begins to expand, slowly filling and stretching you out as you shudder around him. You felt so full, it felt perfect. All you needed. You rotate your hips, encouraging him to move, goddamnit, letting out a small whine as you feel him slowly pull out only to thrust back in, the movement bouncing you up the altar slightly. Fuck. You are sure nothing has ever felt so good in your entire life. It’s not long before the tentacle down your throat and the one in your pussy start to move in tandem, you being helpless to do anything but just suck and clench and cling on for dear life as you feel yourself go higher and higher, right to the very brink. Like waves crashing against a cliff, so does your orgasm in that moment, wave after wave hitting you as you cry out around the appendage in your mouth, clenching around the one inside of you as you jolt up as white-hot pleasure washes over you again and again.

Your hips twitch lazily as you feel the heat that bubbled over slowly return to its previously itching warmth. That couldn’t be the end of it, right? Surely not. You need more. More, more, more, more.

“Oh, malen'kaya zakuska,” his growl sends shivers up your spine as you feel his nails dig into your skin, leaving large crescent-shaped welts in their wake, “this is far from over.”

You whine as you start to feel the feelers inside of you start to move again, this time more roughly if at all possible. It wasn’t enough, why did you feel so empty? It’s not until you feel something small probe at your ass that you realise what you were missing. Yes.

The tendril pushes in slightly, just the tip slipping inside of you before a small gush of something hot, wet and sticky floods you. Then, slowly, almost gently, it starts to fill you, just enough that you’ll feel completely full once it’s finished. Slowly, it starts to grow and expand, thickening as it stretches you out, sating the heat inside your belly as well as making it erupt into an inferno as your blood boils, eyes rolling back as your ass joins in the brutal fucking. You barely have the energy to move, using what little energy you have left to babble out the words ‘please’ and ‘Father’ over and over, muffled with your mouth full, your arms and legs laying limp, dangling off the altar as your toes curl every time he hits a spot deep inside of you that causes electricity to course through your veins, each time a loud grunt falls from your lips, echoing in the room. You can hear his deep laugh and feel his amusement roll off of him in waves as he continues to fuck you nice and deep, everything moving almost inhumanely fast, your brain barely able to keep up.

Your body still sensitive from your last orgasm, it doesn’t take long for another to wash over you, more powerful than the last, your entire body shaking as you feel your slick slowly slide down your thighs and the ornate table under you before audibly dripping onto the floor right next to the priest’s feet. Your body tenses, it feels like you have been set on fire as your body is engulfed once again in a white-hot blaze as a hoarse scream leaves your throat, hands curling into fists before your body slowly relaxes again, feeling boneless and like you’re made of jelly, you try to catch your breath.

It still wasn’t enough.

The Father’s hands move from your hips to beside your face, caging you in against him, the look in his eyes positively feral as he takes in your fucked out frame, glazed eyes and mindless, dopey smile. He purrs as the tentacle inside your cunt slowly slips out, his grin widening when you protest weakly. “Shh, malen'kiy, I’m not through with you yet.” He growls lowly. You feel the head of his cock brush between your folds, collecting your slick as he prepares himself. He feels huge, like nothing you’ve ever had inside of you before. If you weren’t so high on endorphins and whatever he had pumped into you, you’d be frightened. But now? You crave it.

Your hips tilt upwards slightly for a bare second before slamming back against the stone of the altar. A clear invitation. Fuck me.

Slowly, he pushes inside of you, the mass of tentacles from his back beginning to slide up the sides of the altar and over your body as he does so. It feels like an eternity before he bottoms out, feeling stretched to the absolute limit, as you cry out loudly. Finally. It feels right. You feel absolutely perfect with him inside of you, the Goldilocks Zone, not too big, not too small. Just right. You could finally settle.

Unfortunately, the priest has other plans. It feels like he is waiting for you to adjust, but you feel a smaller, thinner tendril slowly wrap around his cock as he sits inside of you, slowly making it become almost ribbed in texture. At the same time, you feel something else slide into your mouth, another tentacle of the same size as the one currently occupying your throat, twirling with its twin as it does so and yet another, albeit smaller, one probe at your ass, slowly sliding into you without hesitation, ready to join in the fun. You can feel two slowly trail up your stomach and twist around your breasts once, twice, enough to squeeze them roughly as the tips open up to cover over your nipples and start sucking away gently. Finally, one more tendril, smaller than all the rest, moves to flick at your clit, causing your head to slam back as it causes a near painful jolt through your system. The priest chuckles, his hand moving to rub at the back of your head tenderly, making sure you haven’t hurt yourself before it returns to its previous position. “Ready, roza?” He asks softly, eyes watching yours for any notion of approval for him to continue.

You nod, slightly confused by his sudden gentle demeanour. His wicked smile returns, his hips rolling against yours as he groans lowly as he takes in just out tight and warm you are, in comparison to his cool body. “Fuck, malyshka, you take me so well.” He growls as you moan around the appendages stretching out your throat, the tendril around his cock dragging against your walls deliciously. Slowly, but surely, every growth out of his back moves in tandem, the ones in your ass withdrawing when his cock enters you and pushing deep inside you when he pulls out, leaving just the tip inside. Your tits being squeezed and sucked at every time the tentacles in your throat pulls back, only to relax when they advance forward again. The small one on your clit, however, never lets up. Each little flick causes you to buck up as you just try to hold on for the ride, eyes never leaving the priest’s in front of you as he stares down at you possessively, little growls leaving him every so often.

Eventually, every thrust up into you causes loud noises to leave your body, barely able to keep up you just accept what is given to you as your body tenses, ready to be taken over that abyss once more. Your mouth goes slack, drool pooling in your mouth before slowly dripping out, leaving your checks wet in its wake. Something about the sight of you amuses the Father as he laughs his low, rumbly laugh as he looks down at you. “I think I’ll keep you. Kak ugoshcheniye. My own little toy to chase down and play with and fuck. What do you think about that, moya milaya malen'kaya blyad'?” When you don’t answer with words but with a pleading whine, his grin grows to an almost unnatural size, white teeth glinting in the faint light the candles around you provide. “Oh, how could I ever give such a pretty little thing like you up?” He purrs, his face moving down to press small kisses against your neck as you turn your head to the side, baring it openly for him. Something about that he apparently approved of, as suddenly his teeth are pressing down into your skin, a barely audible ‘mine’ vibrating against your skin before he slowly starts to suck, marking you. “Oh, I am definitely going to keep you, little Y/N.” He purrs happily, his thrusts becoming harsher and faster by the second.

It takes a few more flicks of your clit, and you definitely had been right on the brink since your last orgasm, before your entire body almost seizes as the near painful experience of you coming and coming and coming around him begins. A barely-there cry rips from your throat, you only just able to piece together the Father’s loud grunt before he’s spilling inside of you, on you, marking you. You were his. In every way possible.

You don’t so much as come down from your high as slam into darkness for a few seconds as your body twitches as the sensation of overstimulation begins to wrack through you. You are barely able to piece together the sensation of everything slowly pulling out of you and being collected into the priest’s arms, a warmed, too big coat wrapped around as he starts to walk towards the front door slowly. Your ears barely hear his voice, now soft and caring, as he talks to you in a gentle, loving tone. “-ika. Settle now, I've got you.”

You faintly recognise getting into a warmed car and it taking off before you start to fidget and whine loudly. “Empty.” You complain. After what felt like hours of being, if anything, too full to quickly being completely empty? No, no you needed something inside of you.

The priest tries to shush you before a small chuckle falls from his lips when he realises all attempts will end in vain. He carefully repositions you, sliding you down his rehardened cock with ease as it becomes your time to purr, resting your head against the crook of his neck as his hands move to rub your back and sides. “Rest now, moya lyubov'.” He instructs. And it’s an easy command to obey as you fall asleep, sitting in his lap with his cock inside of you as you are driven home.

You wake up to the sensation of someone rubbing some form of oil against your skin, the sound of a heavily accented voice murmuring small praises to you as you slowly regain awareness. You hiss at the feeling of coldness between your thighs, an ice pack having been pressed up against your pussy in order to help with the inevitable swelling that was going to occur after the beating it had been given. Your eyes flutter open and instantly make contact with the concerned amber ones of Zhuk’s. “Hey.” You say, voice a little hoarse from sleep, overuse and the throat fucking it endured.

“Hello, roza.” He says with a small smile, leaning over to grab the glass of water for you as you sit up slightly in order to sip at it. You fall back to the bed with a small grunt when your arms give out.

“Thank you.” You say, your lips quirked up into a small grin.

Several months ago, the two of you had found an abandoned town a few hours away from the manor, including a crumbly, old, haunted-looking church and a very grouchy man who lived in a house on the outskirts of town, the only resident who was determined to stay there until he died. Two weeks later, after you, Bajo and Cia ended up getting a little too into the alcohol, as Zhuk carried your ass to bed, getting everything ready for the inevitable hangover in the morning, you told him about a fantasy you had since pretty much the onset of puberty.

“I want to get fucked in a church.” You stated bluntly, his lips twitching as he tries to hold back the amused look in his face. “I blame Catholic school. I spent too much time in Mass. I wanted there to be a demon priest who could fuck me brainless.” You declared. “With tentacles.” You added as an afterthought, turning to look at your husband with wide eyes. “Snuggles?”

He obliged, placing the asprin and water bottle on your bedside table before sliding into bed behind you, pulling you into his arms as you snuggled up. “What brought this confession on, moya zhena?” He asked, hand moving instantly to play with your hair as you wrap your arms around his chest.

You hummed. “The town we passed when you made the wrong turn.” You yawned, struggling to finish your sentence. “Brought it back to life because the church there looked hella haunted. Like a demon should live there.”

Zhuk went to ask more questions, but your gentle snores made it apparent that anything asked wasn’t going to be answered.

After that, plans were made. Zhuk was all too happy to fulfil your little fantasy, even going so far to offer to hypnotise you in order to make it feel more real and less like a scene. Everything was planned down to a T, with him promising to create a cheat so if you really were in distress and wished for the scene to end, the hypnosis would break and you could safeword out.

And it worked brilliantly.

Zhuk smiles as he looks down at you softly, hand moving to brush your hair back as he constantly scans your body for more bruises, more scratches, more cuts. Anything that needed attending to, and to make sure that he didn’t hurt you too badly. “Anything for you, kotenok.” He says, voice quiet as he slowly picks you up and pulls you into his arms and lap. “You did so well, took everything I had to give and were so beautiful whilst doing it.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips. “Do you feel alright, little one?” He asks concern still very much apparent in his voice. You nod a little jerkily.

“Just tired.” You say with a fucked out grin. You feel incredible, and you wanted to ride this high for as long as possible. “Hold me?”

“Of course.”

A few seconds tick by as he moves to lay down on the bed, you in his lap as his fingers trace loose patterns on your skin. A thought was hammering his head and it was refusing to move on.

“Roza….” he starts hesitantly, knowing that under the hypnosis he gave you, anything you said had a basis of truth in it, “was I the married man you lusted over?”

You snort a small noise as your eyes flicker up to look at him, your body beginning to slowly relax as it prepares for sleep. “Duh.” You say, amusement sparkling in your eyes.

That does not help the confusion clouding Zhuk’s mind. “I married you, moya zhena.” He reminds as if you could have forgotten.

You nod as if to agree with his statement, secretly enjoying the baffled look on his face as he tries to follow your logic. “I know. I still lusted and lust over you though.” You say, grinning up at him.

His confusion leaks into amusement, a fond look taking over his face. “Y/N, I don’t think it counts if you are married to the person.” He corrects you gently, hands moving from tracing patterns on your skin to rest on your waist.

You shrug. “You never know. Could work like that. Who’s to say?” You tease him, voice playful before you yawn against his chest.

He shakes his head, moving down to press a gentle kiss against your forehead. “Go to sleep, moya lyubov'.”

Even if the fatigue wasn’t seeping into your bones, you wouldn’t be able to help but obey as you slowly fall into a peaceful slumber in your husband’s arms.

Translations (In Order):

Don't be scared, don't run, my child.

I prefer my meals to remain unharmed until I get my hands on them.

As a treat.

-my lovely little fucktoy?

#ama writes #fanfic #fanfiction #beetlejuice #beetlejuice the musical #beetlejuice/reader #beetlejuice x reader #zhuk #zhuk shoggoth #mafia au #oc based on beetlejuice #zhuk/reader #zhuk x reader #zhuk shoggoth x reader #zhuk shoggoth/reader #reader fanfic #interactive fanfiction #smut #very nsft

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thatoneunistudent · 4 years

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Halloweeny Goodness

~“When witches go riding, and black cats are seen, the moon laughs and whispers, ‘tis near Halloween’“~

I adore Halloween! I love scary movies, dressing up and most of all partying (although no one will be doing much partying this year with the old ‘rona’ flying round!) As a big fan of the horror genre and self diagnosed witch, I thought I’d share my top 10 horror movies.

So from the coven straight to your tumblr feed here's my

TOP TEN HORROR MOVIES FOR SPOOKY SEASON!

*WARNING: This post contains opinions, more specifically my opinions I would love to hear your top 10 as it is almost definitely going to be different to mine due to a little thing called personal taste*

10. A Quiet Place: Firstly, John Krasinski is one of the most attractive males I have ever laid my eyes on! and it was a mega plus watching him in dad mode throughout the movie! The acting in this film is pretty much 10/10 and the attention to detail throughout is simply spooktacular!

9. Sleepy Hollow: This film is honestly so aesthetically pleasing and includes a role played by Christina Ricci who is again one of my celebrity crushes (are you starting to see a pattern here?). This film is funny, scary, gory and even romantic at times. All the ingredients for a great movie!

8. Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark: Although I personally love this film, I believe it has a much greater effect on a viewer who has previously read the short story series of the same name written by Alvin Schwartz. A slightly above average movie plot but the great effects, and right amount of nostalgia thrown in puts this movie at number 8 on my list.

7. Carrie: The first film on my list based on a book by my beloved Stephen King, Carrie is a relatable character I mean apart from the whole telekinetic powers thing...obviously. Although I definitely prefer the original to the newer remake both are worth the watch.

6.In the Tall Grass: Another one of Stephen Kings masterpieces, In the Tall Grass is a fairly new addition to the horror genre but in my opinion holds up against the classics. The perfect amount of gore mixed with horror. As well as being interesting and psychological, this film has some great creative visual choices and is definitely worth a watch.

5.Coraline: Although not technically a horror movie, the Other Mother haunted the dreams of 9 year old me for months after the film was released which is why I believe this movie deserves fifth place on this list. Amazing visuals filmed in stop motion, Coraline is as charming as it is creepy and brings back a lot of nostalgia when re-watching.

4. Nightmare on Elm Street: An inspired creation by Wes Craven, Freddy Krueger is one of the most horrific creations in the horror genre. This movie works both as a slasher flick and a psychological thriller which is what makes it so amazing. As an older classic horror film, Nightmare on Elm Street still holds up in 2020 and is a must watch around Halloween time (I mean unless you actually want to fall asleep!)

3. IT (chapter 1 and 2): Now I have a massive fear of clowns and the original IT terrified me (Tim Curry’s Pennywise is my worst nightmare). The newer movies however venture into the adventure genre which is definitely different from the original but also the reason why I enjoy it so much. Everything from the characters and the actors who play them (the casting for these films is some of the best I've seen) to the great (but sometimes overused) CGI, this film is beautifully shot and deserves the third spot on my list.

2. Scream: Scream and it’s sequels were probably the first horror/slasher movies I ever watched and I adore them! Although they may not be the most scary films on this list, they have a charming nostalgia surrounding them that only 90′s films can bring! Neve Campbell’s acting as main character Sydney Prescott is Oscar worthy, and the way that Wes Craven takes expected horror movie clichés and turns them into great movies with some amazing plot twists is truly extraordinary. Definitely worth the watch this Halloween!

1.Pet Sematary: *Drum Roll* and in first place is ‘Pet Sematary’!! You guessed it a film adaptation of one of Stephen King’s books takes first place. Both the original and the remakes of this film stand out for their own special reasons. The original (1989) Has it’s strengths and weaknesses, Whilst I personally enjoy it as I have read the novel, A new audience member to this film may not completely understand the plot as the film is fast paced and difficult to keep up with without knowing the plot first. However, the cinematography is impressive, and the film has an eerie feel to it that not many movies have. The 2019 remake has to be one of my favorite movie in the horror genre! Jete Lawrence is an amazing child actor who portrays the role of Ellie perfectly. The movie is moving as well as scary, and conveys emotion exceptionally well making you care for the characters quickly! overall it’s a great movie with some beautifully shot scenes and that is why it gets number one on my list!

Bonus Movie: Although I could not fit ‘Gerald’s Game’ on the list, I just had to add it as a bonus movie! It is gruesome and thrilling with a completely original plot! A must watch!

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authorincrisis · 5 years

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How do I finish a simple AU when I get too caught up in wanting to perfect the plot,the character chemistry,wanting to keep the readers interested,in short just make it way too complicated and end up losing the fun of writing?

Hey, anon! Thank you so much for your excellent question! Now, I'm sure that you and many other writers may be wondering the same thing in regards to completing your story and really pounding things out before you get into specifics in the second draft and actually getting things done which, at times, can seem tedious and impossible. Maybe you have a million dollar idea, the idea that you’ve been working so long and hard on but it just isn’t working out because you can’t move forward. There’s always something more that you feel you have to add, one detail, one scene, one character, etc. So here’s the thing (and the main point of this response, I think): there is no one solution or any best solution.

Obviously, there is a lot going on in your mind, not to mention all the hullabaloo in your planning, but in order to get things done, you need to figure out the root of the problem. So, the first thing that I want you to do is really dig in. Why are you feeling the way that you are now? Is it because your plan is truly incomplete, maybe unorganized, that perhaps there is a reason preventing you from enjoying writing, or because you are starting to doubt your own literary skill? These are some of the main reasons as to why you may be stuck in the cycle and often, they might be interconnected as well. I will write a bit for each scenario below that you can skim through with the addition of some strategies that you can use to power through this period and hopefully, this can help you to get over this obstacle in your writing endeavour. : )

NOTE: The planning advice is worth reading over but if it is starting to feel like you are doubting yourself unnecessarily, the thought of your plan being ‘not enough’ may not be the case. If it is just the writing that you are worried about, please don’t dig yourself into another hole by restarting or tearing apart your current plan. Instead, perhaps only consider following points three and four.

1. Your plan isn’t actually complete: Often, writers can see themselves at the very endpoint of their story and know their goal, but not how they will actually get there. And although this may not be the case for you, it is worth looking over. Do you have a plan written out of your story that is comfortable for you? Is it solid enough that you have a base but also outlets for potential bursts of creativity? You are the only one who can decide if your plan is complete or not because it is designed for you and you only. It’s essentially the skeleton that holds together your story because it is the story, just a shorter, blueprint of it anyway. That’s a reason why it makes it so important. So, if you need any guidelines, I’ll link some resources here and here. These should be taken almost as checklists and are just to make sure that you have it all.

2. You need to organize your plan to better suit your needs: So, you’ve gone over your plan and decided that you indeed have everything that you need, but for some reason, it just isn’t working out. All the information is there, perhaps additional tidbits as well, but it’s just difficult for you to read and/or follow. For this, I want you to think if the format of your plan is working for you. If yes, you can skip this point but if no, maybe think of reorganizing it. There are so many types of plans, and I am 100% sure that there one perfect for you. This is why you should try out something new! Experiment with yourself and your flexibility and see what will allow you to move forward with your writing for not only this project, but for others to follow. Here’s a helpful link that can help you with just that!

3. There’s something that’s preventing you from enjoying writing: There may be multiple outcomes for this point here because honestly, it sucks. You have everything figured out, but you just can’t write because you aren’t enjoying it enough to do so. So, for this, again. Find the root of the problem. Is it the particular scene that you don’t love writing or is it the research and energy that it takes up bringing you down? Either way, there is good news. There are so many strategies that can help you with this and other measures that you can take from preventing it from happening so frequently. I’ll describe a few below and remember, experimenting is always encouraged, especially in a first draft:

Put your planning on a lockdown. Maybe you can’t help but constantly feel the need to add more. Maybe it’s because you think it’s not enough. Well, if you have everything you need for a proper plan, more times than not, what you have is great. So, try to stop planning until you get something done. Even if you think you can add something more, don’t. Write it down on a piece of paper and then wait for your second draft, the place where it is realistic for that to happen. By doing this, not only will it give you motivation, but also potential time for you to actually write. It will shift your focus elsewhere and hopefully, you’ll be able to complete something.

Sometimes writing isn’t fun and you have to be okay with that. Push yourself and write as much as you can! 500 crappy words are so much better than none at all. Remember that you are writing your first draft and this is where you’re supposed to mess up. Whatever you do, don’t look back and constantly read the whole thing, simply just power through.

Make a habit out of writing. Eventually, the quality will get better but instead of thinking of things to motivate you, just write. I cannot stress this enough. No matter what you do, what you learn, or what is around you, the most important part of writing is writing. And that just can’t happen if you don’t write. So, I will say it again. PLEASE JUST WRITE.

It’s the first draft, you’re bound to suck. Again, be okay with that because it is the whole purpose. If you are feeling insecure, perhaps after reading the works of other authors, be sure to remember that they had help editing, experience writing, and overall more time and people working on their project. They sucked one time too, but the difference is that they fixed it because they could actually get to the editing part of it.

Write the parts that you are most excited about and fill in the blanks later on. This is an interesting thing that Stephen King does as well. He writes the key parts and saves filling in the details and adjusting for later. (shit, I just repeated that sentence, it’s fine) Anyways, this helps you to have fun with your writing and also allows you to think about what could make the other details more interesting. It gives you practice and also purpose so with that in mind, why not try it out? See if it’s right for you.

Make your writing fun. Remind yourself of why you chose to write and why you were so excited about starting this project of yours. Obviously, it means something to you, and if it isn’t fun, maybe you aren’t focusing on the proper thing. Here is a resource that I found on the internet that could definitely help with getting back on track. This author, I believe, is really quite great and the article is extremely worth checking out.

Take a break (only if you haven’t been taking constant breaks so far though). Perhaps you’re pushing yourself too hard. For this, relax. Read a book and learn from it. How the author plays with their style, how they write. Watch a movie and see how it leads up to a twist. Learn by watching, and that will translate to your writing. Keep yourself healthy too! Drink lots of water, eat healthy, exercise, and sleep. If your writing is taking a toll on any of these things, please make it up to yourself by taking care of your mind and body. This is the most important thing, after all, because if you don’t have proper health, you won’t have any writing at all! At the end of the day, remember that you should be writing for yourself. This is absolutely crucial and a must-have for the success of your works.

4. You are afraid or don’t believe enough in yourself: The thing is, you, really, are the only one who has the power to dig yourself out of that hole. No matter how much help you get or how many of the strategies above you use, it won’t matter unless you actually start writing for yourself. You have to be willing to fail or mess up and take those risks in order to be a writer. So, in short (and again) just write. And when you do, write to please yourself. I know that it seems like the most terrifying thing at first but it will get better and you will see that clearly as your story unfolds. It’s always difficult, but that’s a part of the process, and you just have to trust it and yourself. You’ll thank yourself later for it too!

So, I really do hope that this advice could help! If you have any further questions about this, or anything else, please don’t be afraid to shoot me another question. I nearly have all the time in the world and would be happy to assist. Have a fantastic day and good luck! Cheers!

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