Hey guys! This is going to be a quick and short pinned post, but I have a slightly longer post with more information!
Who I Am:
Hello! I'm Aurraina (she/her). I like to write! I have mild autism; it's not bad, but bear with me!
What I Do:
Write! Mostly comfort food. Sometimes, comfort is better after a wound. All wounds are brief and gently soothed away!
A Caveat:
I write long-form novels... but can never stick to them. Sadly, you can't expect anything here to be continued. However, encouragement might give me motivation to pick something back up!
My Request:
I don't handle criticism too well– even when constructive. Criticism is not banned, but maybe give it gently? If criticism could be kept to glaring flaws, that might be best.
Small edits like grammar or spelling are fine; those don't bother me! If you see harsh criticism and don't agree, support helps soften the blow!
Expectations:
I'm pretty sensitive myself, so I'll try to be as catering as I can to sensitive individuals. This is a safe space! As safe as I can make it, anyway.
My comfort food is meant to be exactly that! It may be tropey, unrealistic, or boring to some.
I like to read niche genres, and so I often write them too. If you read the commonly posted stuff on Royal Road (not just the highest rated stuff!), then you might get some of that here.
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
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Hey guys! This is just something very short I wrote a while back. It sorta just popped into my head as I was lying down to sleep, and I really wanted to write it. I've no idea where to take it (feels like it could be the start to a short story, maybe?), but I like the vibe that it gives off! It's definitely unfinished. If anyone wants to suggest ideas for what I can do with it, I might try to write them if one inspires me!
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The night was bright. The moon hung low in the sky, scattering light across the asphalt to form speckled shadows. Spots of star-like metal shimmered within the pavement's makeup, glowing from the full-lit moon like the captured reflection of morning's dew. Lamps flickered down the street, on and off, buzzing like the fireflies that swarmed around their glass cages.
And yet— not a murmur was spoken by the night's air. There was not even a whisper of breeze. The road lay abandoned and still, bereft of cars. Though it was not dead, the adherence to silence was an absolute; almost... reverent in its worship.
Then—
"Ca-Chunk," came the beat— and a lone, shoddy vehicle, one headlight gone, jolted down the road. "Ca-Chunk," came the sound— and an interruption to the sanctity of dark.
The single headlight that retained its function zapped and snapped; its brightness blared to make up for the other's loss, yet struggling just as much. An electric hiss shrieked out, and the lone light plunged the world back into darkness— only to lurch it right out again, not even a moment later.
"Ca-Chunk," came the noise— and then... silence. The world became still once again.
The door swung out, slamming against the hinges, rattling the entire vehicle. "Damn useless thing," a man grumbled, stepping out, "can't believe this worthless piece of junk broke down again."
(Expand to show details— substance use and sex are vague / implied).
The One Imperfect Place
— Open Entry, No Matter the Time
Description:
A short atmospheric slice-of-life piece focusing on the external manifestation of a character with inner depth. The goal of this piece is to showcase the character without being overly explanatory. There will be no plot and not much tension; this is mostly a character showcase.
This will be my first time sharing anything I've written with people other than my friends (who don't give very detailed feedback!)— I'm pretty nervous, but I hope you guys like it!
P.S. —
Some CWs can be triggering just to mention. There's nothing bad here, in my opinion; I'm just trying to be extra safe. Don't expand if you're extra sensitive— if you're moderately sensitive, then it's safe to expand. The top section is made so you can exit after seeing more information!
(Should also be fine if you have important tags blocked.)
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CWs —
— Vague mentions of topics such as: substance use / drugs, casual sex, & self-harm.
— Depicted and consistent mention of: cigarette smoking.
(Also a bit of cursing and crude language, if that matters).
Only continue if you're fine with these topics!
Author's Note:
Hey guys! This is something I wrote a while back as a sort of miniature character study. This isn't a part of any larger work (or at least not a major part of one; it might be used as a flashback thing in a backstory at some point?); it was mostly only meant to help me get a feel of the character voice.
Even so, I think it turned out pretty good, so I felt like this was a good one to start off with here! It's a pretty small piece for what I tend to write. I also usually prefer to write fantasy; this character is actually from a larger piece of fantasy work (isekai stuff; this was meant to be who the character was before the whole reincarnation thing), but I won't be sharing that. Still— I like this character a lot, so I might use him in another piece at some point!
Enjoy— and Happy New Years! Probably not the best exposure to post this now, but what the hell? New years resolution to start posting stuff and all that jazz, maybe!
(Apologies for the long start. I wanted to separate off the top section so that people didn't have to read the CWs if they were triggering. I myself have been sensitive enough in the past that if I even read a CW, it could make me feel bad. Maybe there's some better way to do this; or maybe I'm just being overly cautious. If it's an issue, let me know!)
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Fluorescent lights buzzed, flickering like static. Outside, a neon sign hung, precariously set atop a glass door, with letters advertising the 24-hour nature of the laundromat. Yet inside the building, all was still. This late at night, nobody ever came to the location— and that is exactly what made it the most perfect, special place.
Perched atop one of the laundry machines, Atlas sat with one knee up, resting his arms on his leg. His long black hair hung in his face, dark purple highlights streaming through strands that covered one eye from casual view. Across from him, Elias leaned back, sprawled over a dryer as he puffed on a cigarette. The smoke drifted lazily across the room, gradually pooling up at the ceiling into a nearly invisible haze, filling the space with a thick burnt smell.
Atlas wrinkled his nose. "Man... do you gotta do that indoors? That thing reeks."
Elias simply shrugged. "Why does it bother you so much? You should light one up yourself. They really help take the edge off, y'know?"
Atlas glanced at the cigarette, imagining inhaling the thick black smoke that billowed off of it. He almost gagged at the notion. "Nah... I'm good," he managed to huff out. "That stuff's nasty."
"Suit yourself," he responded, "but I ain't gonna stop anytime soon. Open the door if you need air."
Atlas looked at the glass door. Beyond it, darkened public roads were illuminated by yellow street lamps. Occasionally, a car would drive past, foggy dust particles lit up by bright headlights. Even more rarely, a pedestrian would pass by on the sidewalk. Yet, those were only visible through the glass. Between them and Atlas, the door stood— a barrier to the outside world. Not much of one, but a barrier nonetheless.
He groaned. "No, I think I'll just deal with it," he said, rolling his eyes. "Hey, you know what's up with Celeste lately? She hasn't shown in a few."
Elias blinked, and then he propped himself up a bit higher. "No, I don't. Probably out cutting or snorting, or maybe found herself a guy to play with." He exhaled a plume of smoke, "why? Not like she owes us a show."
Atlas bit his lip. Would she have found herself a guy? He'd like to think that she wasn't that kind of girl, but... even he wasn't stupid enough to convince himself of that. For some reason, Atlas felt an ache at that notion. It wasn't like he minded if she did those things, it just... felt like a waste. A girl like her shouldn't let a guy she hardly even knows take something that is so important. She should save it for someone special— someone who truly cares for her.
"Y- You think she found herself a guy...?"
Elias stared at him. Then, he burst out laughing. "Haha, what? You got a crush or something, my guy? Why do you care?"
He blushed. "I- I don't have a crush! It's just... I don't want her to get hurt. That's all."
There was a beat of silence. Then, Elias narrowed his eyes in response. "Shit, man, you serious?" He clicked his tongue, "the chick can take care of herself, yeah? Let her do whatever she wants. That's why we're all here, ain't it?"
"I- I know that! I only meant..." Atlas hesitated, cutting himself off.
"Let it go. We stay outta each other's way— that's how we like it. No commitments. Not to others, and not to ourselves. If you've fallen for her, then you gotta let that die."
Atlas went quiet for a moment. Elias was right; of course he was. That was the entire point of the group. When others push you too hard, you retreat. You fall back to someone—or something—that doesn't push. He knew that all too well. After all, he was here too.
They all had their own reasons for finding each other, and they all had their own ways of dealing with it. Each one had their own comforts. Atlas being more reserved than the rest didn't give him the right to push them. If he did, then he'd be no better than anyone else.
Still. "I- I made her something," he finally said. "I wanted to give it to her. That's all. That's why I was wondering... where she went."
"You— made her something?" Elias seemed confused.
"Y-Yeah... it's—" He paused. "Well, I c-carve with wood sometimes, and, well..." He stopped himself, giving a nervous chuckle.
"You... carve?"
Atlas nodded sheepishly, burying his face into his long sleeves, which covered up his fingers. "It's not much. Here— I'll show you," he said, reaching into his pack.
Carefully grabbing a large chunk of wood and pulling it from his pack, Atlas displayed the carving to Elias. The carving was a three-dimensional wooden skull, with flowering vines growing through it, snaking around and clinging to the bone. Intricate details were chiseled into the wood, with the complex petal shapes covered in pastel and neon paint. The paint was pale, but only slightly; just enough to invoke a sense of death while still suggesting a vibrant inner life.
"The fuck?" Elias muttered. "What the hell, man? Why didn't you tell me you were so good at this?!"
"Ah... no, I'm not really all that great," Atlas mumbled. "It's just a hobby, really."
"A hobby? Dude, you could make a job out of this! This shit would sell for hundreds!"
Atlas scratched the back of his head. "W-Well, I did practice a lot, but still, I- I really don't think I'm all— th- that... good..." He stopped, his words trailing off as his eyes drifted away.
His gaze slowly landed on the entry way, locking onto the door. Then, the doorbell jingled.
A woman walked in, carrying a bag. Her hair was tied in a bun, and she had on a tight exercise top and baggy sweatpants. She made her way across the laundromat, carrying the bag over to one of the washing machines. Atlas' gaze followed her the entire way.
He quickly stuffed the carving back into his pack, his expression falling back into a neutral face as his eyes tracked across the room, scanning the new visitor. She set the bag down, untying it, then carefully started to stuff clothes into the washer.
Elias briefly looked back, let a round wad of smoke waft out between his lips, and then turned back to Atlas. "So, anyway— you were saying?"
Atlas' eyes never left the visitor, staring at her like a hawk as she stuffed more clothes. "No, it was nothing," he said flatly, a slight edge to his tone. "It's not important."
"Hm," Elias hummed, leaning back again and resting his head on both of his hands. "Whatever you say," he added. "I'd keep it if I were you. Don't give it to her. You'll only get hurt, so let it go."
Atlas huffed, glaring at Elias. "Whatever. It doesn't matter anyway," he snapped, turning away and tying up his pack tightly.
"Sure, sure," Elias replied with a yawn. "Think I'm gonna head out soon. What about you?"
"Yeah," he answered. "No point in staying here alone."
"What?" Elias chortled, "you always stay here alone, dude."
Atlas shot him a heated look. "Not today," he said. "Come on, let's just go."
Elias laughed, jumping down off the machine. "Man, ain't you in a hurry? Fine, fine. I'm coming, so don't get your panties all twisted!"
Atlas bumped him on the shoulder as he walked past, hurrying over to the door. Elias sauntered on behind him, whistling happily as he kept his hands nonchalantly held behind his head.
He spoke up once they were outside, asking him, "Going home?"
"Yeah," Atlas responded.
"Good luck, then," Elias said.
"Yeah," Atlas responded again, much quieter.
And then they each went their separate ways, wandering off on their own into the deep of night.
🍖 How to Build a Culture Without Just Inventing Spices and Necklaces
(a worldbuilding roast. with love.)
So. You’re building a fantasy world, and you’ve just invented:
→ Three types of ceremonial jewelry
→ A spice that tastes like cinnamon if it were bitter and cursed
→ A holiday where everyone wears gold and screams at dawn
Cute. But that’s not culture. That’s aesthetics.
And if your worldbuilding is all outfits, dances, and spice blends with vaguely mystical names, your story’s probably going to feel like a cosplay convention held inside a Pinterest board.
Here’s how to fix that—aka: how to build a real, functioning culture that shapes your story, not just its vibes.
─────── ✦ ───────
🔗 Culture Is Built on Power, Not Just Style
Ask yourself:
→ Who’s in charge, and why?
→ Who has land? Who doesn’t?
→ What’s considered taboo, sacred, or punishable by death?
Culture is shaped by who gets to make the rules and who gets crushed by them. That’s where things like religion, family structure, class divisions, gender roles, and social expectations actually come from.
Start there. Not at the embroidery.
─────── ✦ ───────
2.🪓 Culture Comes From Conflict
Did this society evolve peacefully? Was it colonized? Did it colonize? Was it rebuilt after a war? Is it still in one?
→ What was destroyed and mythologized?
→ What do the survivors still whisper about?
→ What do children get taught in school that’s… suspiciously sanitized?
No culture is neutral. Every tradition has a history, and that history should taste like blood, loss, or propaganda.
─────── ✦ ───────
3.🧠 Belief Systems > Customs Lists
Sure, rituals and holidays are cool. But what do people believe about:
→ Death?
→ Love?
→ Time?
→ The natural world?
→ Justice?
Example: A society that believes time is cyclical vs. one that sees time as linear will approach everything—from prison sentences to grief—completely differently.
You don’t need to invent 80 gods. You need to know what those gods mean to the people who pray to them.
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4.🫀 Culture Controls Behavior (Quietly)
Culture shows up in:
→ What people apologize for
→ What insults cut deepest
→ What people are embarrassed about
→ What’s praised publicly vs. what’s hidden privately
For instance:
→ A culture obsessed with stoicism won’t say “I love you.” They’ll say “Have you eaten?”
→ A culture built on legacy might prioritize ancestor veneration, archival writing, name inheritance.
This stuff? Way more immersive than giving everyone matching earrings.
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5. 🏠 Culture = Daily Life, Not Just Festivals
Sure, your MC might attend a funeral where people paint their faces blue. But what about:
→ Breakfast routines?
→ How people greet each other on the street?
→ Who cooks, and who eats first?
→ What’s considered “clean” or “proper”?
→ How is parenting handled? Divorce?
Culture is what happens between plot points. It should shape your character’s assumptions, language, fears, and habits—whether or not a festival is going on.
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6. 💬 Let Your Characters Disagree With Their Own Culture
A culture isn’t a monolith.
Even in deeply traditional societies, people:
→ Rebel
→ Question
→ Break rules
→ Misinterpret laws
→ Mock sacred things
→ Act hypocritically
→ Weaponize or resist what’s expected
Let your characters wrestle with the culture around them. That’s where realism (and tension) lives.
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7.🧼 Beware the “Pretty = Good” Trap
Worldbuilding gets boring fast when:
→ The protagonist’s homeland is beautiful and pure
→ The enemy’s culture is dark and “barbaric”
→ Every detail just reinforces who the reader should like
You can—and should—challenge the aesthetic hierarchy.
→ Let ugly things be beloved.
→ Let beautiful things be corrupt.
→ Let your MC romanticize their culture and then get disillusioned by it later.
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📍 TL;DR (but like, spicy):
→ Culture is not food and jewelry.
→ Culture is power, fear, memory, contradiction.
→ Stop inventing spices until you know who starved last winter.
→ Let your world feel lived in, not curated.
The best cultural worldbuilding doesn’t look like a list.
It feels like a system. A pressure. A presence your characters can’t escape—even if they try.
Now go. Build something real. (You can add spices later.)
—rin t.
// writing advice for worldbuilders with rage and range
// thewriteadviceforwriters
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✦ A free (and actually helpful) guide to leveling up your first 10 pages ✦If you're unsure whether your opening is ✨doing enough✨ to hook re
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A gothic prompt pack for writers who love cursed universities, secret societies, and scholarly rot.✎ Write the Darkness ✎A 75-prompt horror
If you haven't heard, the em dash has been getting a lot of attention lately…
Because it was trained on pirated work—including freely accessible online writing (like fanfic, academic texts)—ChatGPT picked up patterns and quirks native to human writing.
Including (sigh) the em dash.
There are other victims here (RIP tapestry and delve 🫠), but the appropriation of the em dash—a punctuation mark beloved by writers everywhere—feels especially personal.
A kind of low-grade panic is ensuing. Writers who once memed their own em dash overuse—the greatest punctuation mark ever to grace the control-freak’s lexicon, frankly—are suddenly backing away to avoid accusations.
No. More. We have centuries of dash-abusing writers behind us. We will not sit quietly while AI repurposes our beloved stilted aside—or the just-one-more clarification the sentence demands—or the dramatic pause your comma could never—etc.
You don’t write like AI—AI writes like you.
Defend the em dash.
(Feel free to download/share/stick it where it matters!)
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
✓ Live Streaming✓ Interactive Chat✓ Private Shows✓ HD Quality✓ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
Hello everyone! Welcome to my... blog? I think? (Is that what this is?)
I'm Aurraina. I like to write! I also have a mild form of autism, so if anything I say sounds a bit odd, that might be why. Hopefully, it's not too obvious!
I'm new to tumblr, and I don't really know how any of this stuff works. At the moment, I'm basically just going to be... around. I'll be here exploring, hanging out, and trying to get a feel for the land, so to speak. As soon as I manage to get comfortable here, I'll get to the main reason I made this blog to begin with: my writing!
(This is just an unimportant intro, and my hello. Skip it if you want! I'm putting this here so that you guys won't think I'm a bot or AI for my first few days/weeks):
A Bit of History:
I started writing a while back; maybe it was 3 or 4 years ago at this point? I might have had a bit of a late start since I never wrote as a kid. I only started a few years into adulthood, mostly because I couldn't find many stories that were enjoyable for me to read. I wrote a lot since then, and anything that I wrote was—to put it bluntly—completely terrible! I never felt comfortable sharing it. However, recently, I hit into something that could be called a 'hidden wall' of sorts. My writing stagnated, and I wasn't too happy about it, to say the least. But I kept writing anyway. It was enjoyable to me, even with all of the frustration it came with at that time.
Eventually, I seemed to just... barrel right through it! Not in the way of some big revelation, though. There was no 'power up' like you'd expect in a video game. I've had those moments a few times in the past, but this wasn't one of them. No; it was only me sitting down one day to start writing, and then... bam! I made something I actually enjoyed. Something I was genuinely proud of. I thought it was a lucky break; maybe a one-time thing. Then, the same thing happened the next day, and also the day after, and then the day after that! Yay?
I'm hesitant to say my writing is 'good.' I have no frame of reference to judge it by. All I know is that it's now something that I like and something I'm proud of. I'm now comfortable with sharing some of what I wrote. To me, it seems passable enough that I won't embarrass myself by showing it.
I like to read novels. I don't enjoy short stories as much, and even with novels, I'm hesitant to read anything with an ending. I don't like endings; they make me too sad. So, as you might expect, none of what I wrote has an ending; not even a planned end. Yet, for some reason, I'm unable to stick to writing just one thing. Because of that, I'm left with a bunch of half-starts. I planned to put a story that I was happy with on Royal Road, if it ever got to a point where I was sure I could stick to it. Of course, it's too bad for me— that never happened! So... here we are.
What to Expect:
Once I'm familiar with the site, I plan to start posting some of the starts to stories I have. I want to make it clear that these aren't finished stories. The chance that they will be finished is very low. A lot of them might not ever even be continued at all. However, I felt that sharing what I had was better than letting it rot in my document folder indefinitely. So, don't come into this with any expectation of it being continued— that's why I chose tumblr instead of just posting to Royal Road!
Even so, if you by any chance happen to like anything you read—even if only slightly—I would more than welcome any encouraging comments! With enough of those comments, it might actually give me the motivation to continue.
... maybe, anyway. I don't know how my mind works; it might not help much.
A Serious Note:
Now, onto something that's a little more serious: I... don't handle criticism very well. Like— at all. I apologize for that. It's my fault that I'm so sensitive. Even for constructive and helpful criticism, it tends to really put a damper on my mood. Especially when I'm enthusiastic about something, any criticism sorta just... drains my joy a little bit. It makes me not want to write.
I'm not disallowing constructive criticism, though! It's up to you if you think something is worth pointing out. I'm trusting you guys! Just maybe only point out the most critical of flaws and do so as gently as you can, okay?
Also— any small or minor edits are totally fine to suggest! Especially stuff like if I made a spelling or grammar error; those fixes are a-okay! It's only when it's a flaw in my technique or skill level that my stupidly vulnerable brain starts acting up. So, just try to be a bit careful with it. That's all I'll ask for! If you could do that for me, I'd be very grateful.
As for non-constructive criticism... well. Please don't? There's not much else I can say to that. Just know that it really deeply affects me. I'm a human here too— I know that it can sometimes be easy to forget that when online (I'm guilty of it myself, on occasion).
Finally— if you guys see any non-constructive or overly harsh criticism and you don't agree with it, I would greatly appreciate it if you could speak up. Voicing your disagreement and giving support to me would definitely help to dampen the blow. So, if you all could please lend me your assistance, I would be very happy for it!
Ending & Content Overview:
That's just about all I have. As for the type of stories I'll be posting, I generally like things that have little to no tension— or at least tension that's quickly resolved. Long-lasting or high-strung tension just makes me stressed, and it isn't enjoyable for me to read. Expect there to be a lot of happy and cute things, but don't think it means that there's not any dark or stressful moments. All it means is that any darkness comes with comfort, and any stress is brief and gently soothed away afterward!
Thanks for coming to my probably overly long TED talk of a blog introduction! Hopefully, I'll see you whenever I start posting— if you happen to want to stick around, anyway!
(P.S. Don't worry, guys. I'll make a cleaned up and easier to read version of this info a bit later— for a pinned post, a blog description, or whatever else I need to do. I'll figure it out! ... just as soon as I learn how to operate and behave on this site.)
