WritersInk

What's your story?

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SUBMISSION RULES

Be polite, courteous and respectful to all fellow group members and admins.

You must be a member of the group to submit to the gallery, and we will only accept literature deviations, journals, and posts.

You may submit a maximum of two (2) devations to the entire group per week

While mature content is accepted, remember to tag it and have the proper filters on.

Thumbnail preview images are only accepted if you have permission from the artist to use them. Furthermore, you must include a link to the artist's website/DA profile.

Since after migrating the group to the new interface the Favourites aren't available anymore, we made a new folder for literature-related advertisement!

WritersInk is a place for storytellers, writers and poets who want to bring literature out of the ashes. Join us, and help strengthen our community.
If the spirit of this group is our community of members, then WritersInk's body is its gallery. And like all our bodies, there are a few ground rules which need to respected if the gallery is to be a healthy and happy place.
For more information about these rules, and for general FAQs, please read the column on the left and this blog entry.

Header image source

Diamonds by ugnip, literature

Under Fire by ugnip, literature

space traveller by ugnip, literature

misty conditions by ugnip, literature

The Hay Fever by JohnnyCurcio, literature

Returned to Life by JohnnyCurcio, literature

Molten Ore by JohnnyCurcio, literature

Scary Clown in a Car Park by dave-llamaman, literature

Literature

Scary Clown in a Car Park

There is an old adage that you can always judge a man by the quality of his enemies. This is not something that has ever vibed with Milkman. After all, idiocy attracts idiocy. Just look at politics, for fuck’s sake. A truly great hero would fight dangerous villains, not random people he meets in the street and assumes are actually supervillains despite all evidence to the contrary. As a point of fact, Milkman has spent more time than is possibly healthy wondering why his own personal rogues’ gallery consists of a single deranged performance artist, the former special adviser to Boris Johnson and his own social worker; yet not for one second entertaining the idea that, as the common denominator, he could be the problem. The story that follows illustrates this. For it was in The Year After The Year After The Year of The Three Prime Ministers that Milkman found himself locked in a multi-storey car park, armed with nothing but his wits, while facing a terrifying hoard of

Hi, it's Pot. Just calling to see if Kettle is in. by Chelsinator9000, literature

Literature

Hi, it's Pot. Just calling to see if Kettle is in.

I used to love your hot breath on the back of my neck. So thick I could write "I love you" in it. Now my dewdrop skin feels like a nuisance, and your body language reeks of indifference. How easily passion is replaced by lust. How convenient is the simple betrayal of one's trust? Relationship-based disintegration in exchange for instant gratification. Again, and again, and again. Until you have nothing left to bargain.

[Black Rose] Nocturnal encounters (pt. 1) by Riveda1972, literature

[Black Rose] The Bishop (pt. 3) by Riveda1972, literature

Literature

[Black Rose] The Bishop (pt. 3)

*** Warning: descriptions of violence and blood *** [Paris, France, winter of 1788: Patricia Valmont, a.k.a. "The Black Rose," has infiltrated the Parisian building occupied by Monsignor Jean Baptiste de Colbert, a powerful and corrupt Bishop from Toulon, complicit in the plot to assassinate Robespierre and Marat. Patricia has already thwarted the assassination attempt and eliminated both the hired assassins and some of the other conspirators but is determined to punish and kill all the masterminds involved. In the building, she has already silently eliminated three of the mercenary swiss guards protecting the bishop. Before facing the powerful prelate, Patricia decided to completely eliminate the threat posed by the remaining mercenaries.] Read the First Chapter HERE Read the Second Chapter HERE --- Patricia waited hidden behind the silhouette of a massive armchair in the main hall on the ground floor. Kneeling to avoid detection, she held a dagger in her hand as she

NOT FOR SALE, 2024 Edit by THEMYSTERYWRITER, literature

Literature

NOT FOR SALE, 2024 Edit

Walking down the sunny city street, Janet was the belle of her own little ball. She wore only the best sunhat and sunflower dress, which fluttered as she walked along the sidewalk in her six-inch Gucci Heels. Janet was born with a silver spoon in her mouth and wasn’t the kind of woman to let this fact go unnoticed. With her matching Gucci handbag, which went with her shoes and dress, she held her overpriced iPhone with her other hand, the light of the screen reflecting off her white-rim sunglasses. “Like, OMG, Courtney, I can’t believe Starbucks was out of my favorite drink! How can they run out of a Grande, Iced, Sugar-Free, Vanilla Latte With Soy Milk? America is SO becoming a third-world country!” Janet texted her absolute bestie, Courtney, on her phone. “OMG, you poor thing! What do we even pay these people for, girl?” Courtney replied back. “Like, for real!” Janet texted back with a look of condescending annoyance plastered all over her face. Yet Janet’s attention was

[Black Rose] Talking about... Taxes by Riveda1972, literature

Literature

[Black Rose] Talking about... Taxes

*** WARNING: Some "spicy" details described *** [France 1788. After beating, interrogating and eventually killing a corrupted and perverted abbot, Patricia Valmont, a.k.a. "The Black Rose" visits her cousin and lover, Albert Dreyfus, in order to share the information she collected from the abbot and decide her next target] Albert Dreyfus, Patricia's cousin and lover, was the only one aware of her dual identity as "the Black Rose." After her raid on the Port-Royal des Champs Abbey, Patricia surprised him with an impromptu visit, showing up well past midnight at his residence dressed in an extravagant manner. She wore loose pants and a disheveled shirt that, on her, looked mismatched, giving her a sloppy and unkempt appearance. It was, of course, the attire she had put on, after shedding the nun disguise. Amidst the population of Paris, it wouldn't have seemed extravagant at all, but Albert, who knew her well, and was familiar with her refined tastes in clothing, was decidedly

Peace in our time? by dave-llamaman, literature

Literature

Peace in our time?

Palace of Nations, Geneva. 25 September 1965. It had been a slog. There was no doubt about that. But after almost a month of swearing, recrimination and idle threats, the people sat around the table had finally hashed out an agreement on the future of the world. Geneva had been Denis Healy’s idea. The failure of the peace talks in San Francisco the previous year resulted in the British PM making the suggestion that a neutral site and change in negotiators might see the rump Soviet government agree to make compromises that went beyond the late Alexander Shelepin’s threats and demands. Sure enough, progress had been made. While the formal re-establishment of the UN would still be some time away, there was at least a blueprint for how to go forward. An official cease-fire and non-aggression treaty had been signed by the UK, USA and USSR on behalf of themselves and allied countries, but that was not the main issue. The summit had resulted in an assurance from the Americans and the

Sex Ed 101 by Lord-Corvus-Corax, literature

Lunging from the Grave by Readeroffate, literature

Literature

Lunging from the Grave

In the early morning darkness of West Virginia, a man was flattening sod onto a freshly-made burial mound. He had been at it since parking his rental truck hours earlier, yet he could see a sliver of the sun's light over the horizon, signaling that time was running out. As he stood back up, Jay stretched his worn-out muscles, wiped the thick paste of sweat off his face, and surveyed his work. Oh, thank God, I put the sod on right," Jay sighed with relief. Stepping away from his work, he started to walk back to the truck, ready to head home. Part of him wanted to collapse in the front seat and sleep for several hours, maybe even the entire day. However, he knew that the moment he relaxed, he would accumulate new problems. A patrolling police officer could catch him loitering, or some mythical do-gooder could show up thinking he was in distress, or worse, the mound could collapse, making him have to rework the entire thing. He groaned at the thought of having to fix and reshape it

Burying the Epee by Readeroffate, literature

Literature

Burying the Epee

So, I just received the body. The only things I knew beforehand were that the deceased was a prominent athlete and that his murderers were sending him to me. I don't know whether they murdered him due to his skills or other unknown reasons, but I don't need to know. However, judging by the stab wound and the third-degree burns, I'm willing to bet it was somewhat personal. Fortunately for them, so long as I get paid, I won't ask questions. And boy, did I get paid this time. Apparently, the people who commissioned me are extremely wealthy since they somehow managed to buy an Amazon truck look alike to deliver the body discreetly, as well as throw in a fat envelope of unmarked bills. And I'm not going to lie, I was slightly impressed. Not only from the fake Amazon truck but how much they gave me. I have enough to pay off the rent, for the materials for this burial, and a bit

Poetry

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Eternal by Elendurwen, literature

Literature

Eternal

I do not wish to live And I do not wish to die In this state of non-being Is there anyone left in there To understand this mystery In a realm of shapeless figures I am but a notion A shadow shifting in unbounded space Is there anyone left inside To tether me when I float apart Is there anybody left to Posses the horrors embedded within The memories that haunt me still Circles within circles ‘till but a dot remains Why maintain a surface In this eternal strife to be

Worlds Within by il-coniglietto, literature

Literature

Worlds Within

The bed awaited each morning with joy, for we let spring spill on the sheets— just a tad whenever we woke up. Ours weren't playdates of note, rather daffodils unencumbered with the expectations of prickless beauty. As the cradle looked in approval, our happy chuckles gave it purpose, then we bloomed, unbothered and true. We sway quiet in the vastness without, but our content faces speak volumes— for the bed, the covers, the air around shelter all memories in this room of ours.

The shadow and the mask by Elendurwen, literature

Literature

The shadow and the mask

Who’s the shadow underneath the mask Who’s the sad clown With a knife behind her back Who’s the secret whisperer And the maker of all dreams Who’s the fragile thread That connects present with the past Who’s the conqueror of pain Who is the child hurt and who licks the scars Who’s the voice that never stops As long as time ticks Who’s the watcher behind the tinted glass The true self never dies Covered by dirt and shame it hides It struggles its way through the tides The shadow and the mask The nameless one behind both lies

Shadow by Elendurwen, literature

The Joker by Sundrop2, literature

Literature

The Joker

What could happen to a man Who has lost his mind? Abandoned by society For all the things he could never be? What could happen to a man Who lets hate fill his heart? What happens to a man who has lost everything? Even his so called family? What could happen to a man Who doesn't know what's real or not? When nothing's all he's got? What if he painted a smile on his face And let insanity give him a new start And a new place? What if the worst thing that could happen happens? And the man decides to show them his pain? To let his hatred reign? B A N G

The mark of wilderness by Elendurwen, literature

Literature

The mark of wilderness

In this world of dream-forms Awake only for seconds at a time Is there an end to this suffering This incomprehensible longing Of my every cell to burst open And become boundless water again Is there such a thing as pain In this default state of alertness I let every fibre of my being twitch With a force almost nuclear Until there is but a whirlwind of chaos Destructive and devouring A hunger that feeds upon itself Self-perpetuating Self-habituating otherness Amounting to everything and nothing at all And from this place of nothingness I carry with me the depth of the oceans The spirits of killer whales The forcefulness of wind The darkness of the wisest minds That dwell beneath the earth Seared into my glass-like skin The mark of wilderness itself

cast in shadow 3 by juniusrapture, literature

Submersion by Elendurwen, literature

Literature

Submersion

The sand smells of algae and blood As it clings to our exposed bodies Sharp and soaked with eternal lust It speaks to the wilderness Carefully concealed within our souls A whisper from the down below As we float freely, weightless and young again On the surface of the sea, powerful and raw Submerge with me into it guilt-free Feel the substance that has been feeding us All along Our flesh may rot and dissolve All pretence cleaned from it by the unforgiving salt But our very selves will be reborn Beneath the roaring waves We’ll continue living anew Mixed with the molecules of other corpses And all human-made will be swallowed Taken away by the careless currents We’ll swim, until the end of time We will roam, our minds filled with courage Into the cold embrace of the unknown

The gateless gate by Elendurwen, literature

Goodbye Blue Sky by il-coniglietto, literature

Literature

Goodbye Blue Sky

Goodbye, my blue sky. I see you there fading in the ash of a city forgotten; lingering over a crest of roofless houses and far beyond in the lands of half-lives. In a minute, an echo will call (all the cripples, bastards, and broken things)— their stories are stark and forlorn like lone wolves brooding under your pall. When they howl, the evening's hue parts, to reach house to house to house; and there's no refuge for children (or beasts) under their grim and forgotten hymn. Then the bronze leaves scatter, rusting they sway to the crimson seas to cover the brave who have strayed from the comfort of your bay (alone). Here, the moon does not play any longer and the stars hold all the moments past frozen in old sorrows, and unmoving at the edge of the end, they rest.

Concrete Poetry and Visual Lit

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Fan Fiction

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FNAF character encyclopedia rewrite: Spring Bonnie by Sundrop2, literature

Literature

FNAF character encyclopedia rewrite: Spring Bonnie

(Author's note, FNAF, spring bonnie, and the official FNAF character encylocpedia does not belong to me. This is a rewrite of one of the pages because I personally didn't like it! Nothing belongs to me!) Don't move. Spring Bonnie is the original Bonnie, and looks very similar, except for his golden color, and being one of a small number of Springlock suits! Spring lock suits are mascots that can either be worn by a person, or operated separately as animatronics. But they are extremely unstable especially the older models, so you always need to be careful not to trip one. These were discontinued shortly after because of a few...mishaps... Spring Bonnie comes in a pair, along with Fredbear, another golden, Springlock variation of Freddy Fazbear! But both animatronics have had their share of tragedies caused by them. Or in Spring Bonnie's case, it was the one inside him who caused tragedies. Spring Bonnie's appearance in Five Nights At

Borg Encounter by Haegun, literature

The Cursed Little Dolly [TGTF] by KneecapRock, literature

Literature

The Cursed Little Dolly [TGTF]

[Contains goth woman MTF TGTF, identity death, mind alteration, reality warping, mind fuckery, and halloween vibes. Content warning for mentions of abuse. A slower burn story than normal, focusing on the Halloween vibes first and foremost. Everyone depicted is an adult.] “I don’t think this is a good idea…” Martin spoke up, his voice partially drowned out by the sudden downpour of rain. He and his friends stood on the veranda of an old, abandoned gothic mansion as they sheltered from the elements. Their car had crashed in a ditch, their phones were all out of battery, and there was nothing else around except the disused premises of this old manor. “Well I think this is a great idea!” Sean grinned as he repeatedly shook the handles on the front doors. “Sean’s right this time, Marty.“ Raja stated reluctantly. “Unless you want to spend the night out here, with the cold wind and no place to sleep.” “W-would you at least be quiet!” Tsuya pleaded to Sean as he rattled the creaky doors.

Group Admins

Founder

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Group Members

ScentMoreReading95

MattDevitt

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EdenUnit

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Group Info

Stories were being told before writing even existed. Here's ours.

Rightly or wrongly, it's hard to be a writer on deviantART. It's hard to get noticed. It's hard to get feedback.

Back in the day, of course, writing was easy. Chaucer made up words as he went. Shakespeare didn't have to worry about whether anyone had seen his drunken facebook update. Dickens wasn't suffocated by a World of Warcraft addiction. Kipling didn't have to try to export Word Documents as HTML.

We, the internet generation, are trying to find our legs as Writers - and it's tough.

This group is on a mission to change that. When we first started, we wanted to create a place where writers could share work, exchange ideas, and collaborate on exciting new projects.

After months of building up a membership, we're ready to turn a set of members into a community.

Keep an eye out on our blog and features to see how we're trying to unite writers together, and see what you can do to make your mark.

Founded Aug 31, 2010

3.2K Members

2 Admins

163.9K views

Posts

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WritersInk Sep 1, 2010

What are we?

0 min read

As a group, writers on DA seem to fall behind the artists because, as we all know, people don't like to read. There are plenty of art groups out there, but where are all the writer's groups? So this is what :devwritersink: is all about, gathering writers of all ages, styles, and abilities together. Hopes for the group Well as we've just started I shouldn't be too optamistic, however I do have hopes for this group to: :bulletorange: Expand and grow :bulletorange: Become a place where writers can have their work commented on (and critiqued) by other writers :bulletorange: Become a place where writers can bounce ideas off of one another and ...

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WritersInk Apr 9, 2011

Group Rules and FAQ

0 min read

Rules Hi folks! We've updated our rules, as of August 30th, 2019. See below for details, or the bottom of the Journal for a justification for the changes.Please bear in mind that this Journal is intended to be a reference point with clarifications and explanations or our rules - we don't expect everyone to read the whole thing! At WritersInk, we're trying to make writing fun again. We're trying to encourage writers to discuss each other's work, to be free with feedback, and to help each other grow and feel good about our writing.In order to keep the group fair and successful, we need to lay down a couple of ground rules. Nothing too dracon...

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Comments 890

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LordBaronSolo

Sep 24, 2024

Thanks for the Add. I had a problem with my submissions when I didn't see that that they were automatically uploaded to advertisements. Hopefully this has been corrected as I withdrew them and resubmitted. Perhaps a different default folder should be used???

MajorasMasks

Jun 6, 2023Featured

I'm back to DA after a long absence, and submissions are now being voted on again! Make sure to read the group rules to submit in the proper folder and avoid your deviation being declined!

Evometheus6082

Mar 31, 2021

www.facebook.com/groups/341314…

We are looking for animators and writers

PoeticEden

Dec 3, 2020

*sigh* out of all the groups on DA, this one was the one to introduce me to the lit community and get me excited to read/share poetry. Really is a shame that it's wasting away.
No hate intended btw. Just genuinely sad about my favorite corner of DA.

NightLigt

May 8, 2020

We still active?