#conquering the blank page

[brongusthearcanist]

I think everyone has been a little nervous about the release dates for the next cosmere books because there's supposed to be a little bit of a drought. Stormlight 6 won't be seen until the end of the 2020s and mistborn is supposed to be written all at once which makes the initial release date farther away. But after this new secret project was revealed I think it's clear that we aren't going to have a drought. Sanderson somehow spat out a whole new extra novel while revising the 4 secret projects and finishing and revising stormlight 5, which truly seems impossible to me especially when you keep up with his YouTube updates. This isn't going to stop, Sanderson has a legitimate problem at this point, and I am perfectly happy to exploit this for the sake of my escapism. He's not gonna stop, I almost guarantee we will get 2 more secret projects while era 3 is being written. I just don't think Sanderson is capable of releasing less than 2 books a year. It is against his nature, you can't ask a storm to stop blowing, and I guess you can't ask Sanderson to slow down his writing. At this point it is becoming obvious that he has an incredible amount of anxiety attached to the idea that he won't be able to write all the stories he wants, and rather than processing this as a midlife crisis, he has decided to make this an ongoing crisis to conquer. I honestly think he keeps a blank page over his desk to taunt him while he plays video games into writing more. Y'all saw that blank page speech and thought it was cute, it was a manifesto. Sanderson intends to use all the paper in existence. One day he will disappear in a staples warehouse, leaving no trace but several drafts written on the bales of blank paper. But he didn't title or number them, and for the next 16 years we will try to assemble them into 16 separate books, but all along it was actually 1 giant book and we put it in the wrong order.

#cosmere #brandon sanderson #stormlight archive

[mems-sama]

Conquering the First Chapter: A Guide for Writers

Have you ever wasted hours staring at a blank page, waiting for inspiration?

You struggle to come up with an idea for your story, but finally, inspiration strikes. You write the first chapter, believing it will make you a best-selling author. However, upon re-reading, you realize it needs improvement.

And then you toss all of it away.

Hey, I get it. Wrestling with that first chapter can feel like trying to solve a Rubik's cube blindfolded—it's a real head-scratcher! You want to hook your readers right from the start, but sometimes it feels like your words are doing the cha-cha in the wrong direction.

And let's be real, staring at that chapter for too long can make you want to throw your laptop out the window and start a career in llama farming instead. But let's stop for a moment. Take a deep breath and exhale.

Know that you're not the only one who's felt this way.

Loads of writers have gone through the "my first chapter is a dumpster fire" phase.

The good news? You can turn that dumpster fire into a sparkling beacon of literary goodness. Here are some practical things you can do in the meantime.

Step one: Give yourself a break. Seriously, put that chapter in timeout and come back to it later with a fresh perspective.

Step two: Get some outside opinions. Share your chapter with fellow writers or beta readers who can offer constructive feedback. And if all else fails, dive into the first chapters of books you love for a little inspiration pick-me-up.

Step three: Shake things up. If your first chapter is feeling stale, try approaching it from a different angle. Maybe start in the middle of a scene, or introduce a surprising twist early on. Don't be afraid to take risks and experiment with different narrative techniques to see what works best for your story.

Step four: Embrace the mess. Writing is a messy process, and it's okay to have a messy first draft. Don't get too hung up on making everything perfect right away. Sometimes, you need to embrace the chaos and let your creativity flow freely. You can always refine and polish your work later.

It's totally normal to have moments where you want to launch your laptop into the stratosphere. But remember, Rome wasn't built in a day, and neither is a perfect first chapter.

Keep at it, keep tweaking, keep pushing, and you'll get there. You've got this!

Next time, we'll discuss how to make the first chapter of your book more captivating for your readers. Make sure to catch it. Thank you for reading and have a great day!

#about writing #writing advice #writing #creative writing #on writing #writing stuff #writing tips #writing help #wrtieblr #creative wrting #wrtiting #writeblr #writingblr #writers on tumblr #writers #advice to self #note to self #how to write #writing resources

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

Conquering the Writing Slump: Reignite Your Creativity and Motivation

Every writer experiences it at some point: the dreaded writing slump. It's that sinking feeling when your creativity seems to have gone into hibernation, leaving you staring at a blank page. But fear not! In this blog post, I'll help you explore unique and effective strategies to help you break free from the writing slump and reignite your motivation to write. Whether you're a seasoned writer or just starting out, these carefully crafted steps will guide you back to your creative flow.

Step 1: Reconnect with Your Writing Purpose

Take a moment to reconnect with your writing purpose. What drove you to start writing in the first place? Was it the desire to tell captivating stories, impart knowledge, or share your unique perspective? Reflect on your initial motivations and remind yourself of the passion that ignited your writing journey. This reconnection will serve as a powerful source of inspiration to propel you forward.

Step 2: Embrace the Power of Mindset

Your mindset plays a crucial role in overcoming a writing slump. Instead of viewing it as an insurmountable obstacle, shift your perspective and see it as an opportunity for growth. Embrace the belief that challenges are stepping stones to success. Cultivate a positive mindset, affirming your ability to overcome the slump and rediscover your writing mojo.

Step 3: Rediscover Your Writing Identity

Sometimes, a writing slump occurs when you feel disconnected from your writing identity. Take the time to rediscover who you are as a writer. Reflect on your unique writing style, voice, and the themes that resonate with you. Reconnecting with your writing identity will reignite the spark of creativity and motivate you to put pen to paper once again.

Step 4: Set Realistic Writing Goals

Setting realistic goals is essential in reclaiming your motivation. Break down your larger writing projects into smaller, achievable milestones. By doing so, you'll experience a sense of accomplishment as you complete each task, fueling your motivation to tackle the next one. Remember, progress, no matter how small, is still progress.

Step 5: Cultivate a Writing Ritual

Establishing a writing ritual can work wonders in overcoming a slump. Designate a specific time and place for your writing practice. Create a personalized ritual that helps you transition into a focused and creative mindset. It could be lighting a scented candle, playing calming music, or even performing a short meditation. The familiarity of your ritual will signal to your brain that it's time to unleash your creativity.

Step 6: Experiment with Writing Prompts

Writing prompts serve as catalysts for fresh ideas and inspiration. Seek out unique writing prompts that resonate with your interests and writing style. They can be found in books, online websites, or even through random word generators. Embrace the challenge of writing within given constraints, and witness how it sparks your creativity and motivates you to write again.

Step 7: Engage in Stream-of-Consciousness Writing

Stream-of-consciousness writing is a powerful technique to bypass your inner critic and tap into your subconscious mind. Set a timer for 10-15 minutes and write whatever comes to mind without censorship or judgment. Allow your thoughts to flow freely, even if they seem disjointed or nonsensical. This exercise can unlock hidden ideas and awaken your creative energy.

Step 8: Seek Inspiration from Other Creative Outlets

Sometimes, finding inspiration outside of writing can reignite your creative fire. Engage in other artistic outlets such as painting, photography, or music. Immerse yourself in nature, visit art galleries, or attend live performances. These experiences will stimulate your senses, refresh your perspective, and infuse your writing with newfound inspiration.

Step 9: Collaborate with Fellow Writers

Collaboration can be a powerful motivator. Seek out fellow writers and engage in collaborative projects, writing circles, or workshops. Sharing ideas, receiving constructive feedback, and discussing challenges with like-minded individuals will invigorate your creative spirit. Embrace the sense of camaraderie and support that comes from being part of a writing community.

Step 10: Embrace Self-Care and Recharge

Self-care is vital for overcoming a writing slump. Take care of your physical, mental, and emotional well-being. Engage in activities that recharge your creativity, such as practicing mindfulness, exercising, or immersing yourself in a favorite hobby. Prioritize self-care to create a balanced and nurturing environment for your writing to flourish.

Defeating the writing slump requires a combination of self-reflection, mindset shifts, and proactive steps. By reconnecting with your writing purpose, embracing a positive mindset, exploring new writing techniques, seeking inspiration from various sources, and nurturing your well-being, you will reignite your motivation to write and unleash your full creative potential. Remember, every writer encounters temporary setbacks, but it's your resilience and determination that will guide you back to the page. So, embrace these unique steps, trust in your abilities, and let your words flow once again. Happy writing!

#WritingSlumpSolutions #FindYourMotivation #CreativeRevival #WritingInspiration #OvercomingWritersBlock #WritingGoals #WritingRoutine #ChangeYourEnvironment #ExploreWritingPrompts #FreewritingFlow #WritingExercises #CommunityOfWriters #DiverseReading #SelfCareForWriters #WritingTips #GetYourWordsFlowing #writing #thewriteadviceforwriters #creative writing #on writing #writeblr #writers and poets #how to write #writing tips #writers block

[moondust-bard]

A Writer’s Guide To Conquering Executive Dysfunction

(Part I in a series of resources for chronically ill and disabled writers)

These tips were taken from the comments of a post by @mr-writes I’ve included commentary under each item to further explain the benefits. Stay tuned for additional parts in this series I’m creating for chronically ill and disabled writers.

1. Leave your house—or, at the very least, crawl out of your bed/comfy gremlin nest. A change of scenery may encourage creativity and keep you from a more sedentary state. @antique-symbolism

2. Talk out your writing with a trusted friend or critique partner. Sometimes you need to get the brain jumble out of your head, find an outside perspective, and share in the fun of writing discourse @karolinarodrigueswrites

3. Make sure your basic needs are met. Is your room clean? Are you clean and in comfortable clothing? Have you eaten today? Are you in need of hydration? Have you taken your meds? You are your top priority. Physical and mental health difficulties often impact creativity, inertia, and motivation. @fenrir-kin

4. Remind yourself how fun writing is by crafting indulgent, low stakes scenes. Screw the outline— write whatever inspired you in the moment! Are you daydreaming of a scenario only loosely related to the plot? Write that instead! Holding goals and abiding by a schedule for your writing is admirable. But remember, enjoying the process of creating your art is the whole reason to create art in the first place. @karolinarodrigueswrites

5. Get comfy! Pull on your coziest clothes, grab a soft blanket, prepare a cup of tea or coffee, light a scented candle, turn on the mood lighting, queue up an atmospheric playlist— whatever works for you! The goal is to get relaxed, lower stress and pressure, and immerse yourself in your story. @thegroundhogdidit

6. Use prompts. Starting any new task can be daunting. Staring at the blank page is, as any writer will tell you, intimidating— and some days, it’s much less stressful to just not start at all. Writing from a prompt could reduce the stress of initiating a new task. You can find prompts in many locations: Pinterest, tumblr, writing blogs. I’ve asked friends for some in the past. Whatever option seems most interesting to you may be worth a try. @aninkwellofnectar

#writing advice #writing tips #writing community #writerblr #neurodivergent writer

[siremasterlawrence]

Exploiting Chris C

I never meant to develop feelings for Chris C it sort of happened when he found me on a app for bdsm and wanted to work with me because he is brainwashed by masses to the umpteenth degree he can’t be himself at all. Constantly calling me bur always avoiding the plans to meet up with me to starts a real time thing until to today and I stupidly give in to his barrage of begs and pleads in a chance to get in to shut the fuck up for a second. Walking in to the restaurant he clearly books for use to have the whole place to himself I think that is quite odd as I spot him and he waves me over and greets me with a firm hand shake.Grabbing me in to a tight bear hug his abs are now mere second from my slim toned body and I feel the pressure of his power making me unsure of his seriousness and his commitment to the situation in the long run.I pull my chair out sitting down in this well shall I say my strange set up, my mind trails off to the knife picking it up a so caught the light in it and blare in to his face with no effort at all I caught his attention by maneuvering it.I love the sight of his attention span weaken before my eyes becoming more glued to the visuals I am bestowing toward him and his body in return agreed sinking in to the chair going completely blank and numb with no room to escape. Did not realize the waiter was standing not only a few feet away from him but incomplete trance and I instructed him to give the staff all the information I think they need and to disappear after that.The food is here after a extended period of me reprogramming him to be in a fever pitch seems as every time I eat it makes him hard and hard he is so turned on by the need who conquered him.

“You are having a wonderful day standing up for the morning.”

“Getting dressed “

“You yawn and run your hands through your hair”

“You get ready for the day “

“Hitting the showers”

“The experience is sensual “

“Every touch, every scrub”

“Making you rock hard”

“Burgeoning you ever closer “

“The heat enclosing over you “

“So hot”

“So hard “

“You want to cum”

“You must explore”

“It’s all you want “

“All you desire “

“Only my hand can give it “

“Only I matter “

“Your faith has been sealed”

“You prep your dog”

“Place the collar and chain”

“Going for a walk ”

“You feel alive “

“You thrive on the out doors “

“Everything is so surreal “

“You match eyes with me”

“I run away “

“You start to do dance chasing after me”

“You are hooked on me”

“Paging Dr Chris C”

“Where am I ?”

“At work dopey”

“Oh! Of course!”

“God you are dumb”

“Kind of dope”

“What type of doctor am I?”

“Dr Love”

“Hell yeah!”

“Dr love indeed”

“How about I show you some loving”

“Oh God!”

“Cheesy! Why too 90’s for me”

“You and I are the same age “

“Only three years apart”

“So if you call me cheesy and old”

“So are you”

“Oh shit! Fuck off!”

“Dr love will see you now”

“Why not?”

“More like it”

“I like you”

“I love you “

“Give me some “

“Touch this merchandise all you want “

“I own it”

“Duh!”

The end

#chris carmack #hypnosis #mind control #reprogramming #hypno slave #dr love #swimming trunks #pool #restaurant #slave inductions #Harem Of Dumb

[jeonqkooks]

supernova | jjk (02)

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards

"When the stars align, I'll meet you then."

Another Life - Surf Mesa ft. FLETCHER, Josh Golden

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: PG

genre/warnings: idol au, exes to lovers, fluff if you squint??, angst !! with a happy ending thank fuck, not very edited bc this is me we're talking about!!

word count: 5.3k

note: ahhh so the supernova people can speak lmao this is my only fic where the characters have only had approximately 2 lines of dialogue 🥴 anyway i can't believe supernova has ended up here!! from what was supposed to be an angsty as hell oneshot, she's blossomed into - well, whatever this is bc i don't wanna spoil anything :')

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

When the bakery owner – Jiwon is her name, as you’ve come to learn – informed you that she would be closing the place in a month, you could not help but sink.

One month. It feels like a countdown to your ending all over again.

You didn’t tell her that the reason you stayed loyal to the humble pastry shop wasn’t because of their impeccable treats, though they were certainly a huge plus.

You didn’t tell her that this place had become a safe haven for you, somewhere you could always seek refuge in whenever the world became a little too much to handle and all you needed was to reminisce on happier days.

When the smell of cherries on danishes oddly meant apricots and the universe. When stars weren’t just luminous spheroids made of hydrogen and helium but were housed in a pair of dark brown orbs, twinkling even in the presence of the sun. When home was not an apartment with four walls, scattered with crooked picture frames but a person with a bunny smile and a permanent tiger lily on his arm. When love was everything you needed and that was enough to conquer anything at all.

“It’s not easy closing this chapter of my life, but hopefully I’ll be moving onto bigger and better things!” she had told you with a bright smile on her face, eyes crinkling with sheer excitement for happier days in the future, oblivious to the way your poorly bandaged heart started to bleed again.

Your friends, family, and even this middle aged woman who is practically a stranger to you, have carried on with their lives. They’ve all moved onto new chapters, perhaps even onto new books altogether but you’re still here, rooted to the spot on the same page even after all this time. A novel that no one wants to read anymore, tucked away in a corner of a dusty old shelf, hidden from the light of day. Sealed away to be forgotten…

What a terribly lonely place it is.

You tried to mimic that cheery smile and offered her your kindest sentiments – wishing her good luck with her future endeavors, hoping that she will succeed in whatever chooses to do next – but it’s sad that you know you didn’t mean them, not really.

You couldn’t even if you wanted to. All rational thoughts were out the window the second that Jiwon announced the imminent closure of your most treasured place.

The tapestry gets pulled apart at the seams. Another puzzle piece that will inevitably chip away until the perfect picture of you and him will revert back to the blank canvas it once was.

What will you move onto?

You didn’t talk to Jungkook for months after your worlds shattered, not until the boys achieved yet another milestone that you had to text him congratulations. There were, of course, many things to be considered before you finally had the courage to send that one simple line.

Thank you, he had replied then, we all miss you.

You were thankful that he opted for a neutral “we”.

Even after that first message, the texts only came every time a birthday or a major holiday rolled around, or whenever something happened in either of your lives that was monumental enough to revisit the perpetually fresh wound of your break to share your excitement for the other’s successes. Mostly Jungkook’s, and mostly because half of his life was on the news anyway. You, on the other hand, never took the initiative to share anything significant in your own life, not unless he asked.

There’s this thing he always did that you think might have been deliberate, but you couldn’t really be sure; maybe you’d have to ask him in another life.

It’s silly to mull over messaging etiquette like you were a teenage detective and your crush’s texting pattern was the single greatest casefile you would ever solve, but he never leaves you on read.  He never lets you be the one to send a message last. Even after you both have bidded your goodnights and there is no more small talk to be had. Even when the last thing you sent is a mere lol in response to a stupid comment he made after goodbye, he would still tack on at least a smiley face afterward.

Jungkook could easily chalk it up to his hectic schedule and leave your messages to hang in the dead space of your phone, but he doesn’t though, and you never know how to feel about that.

Sometimes, you’re curious if he’s found someone else yet – a new love to take your place and be everything that you couldn’t be for him – and feel your heart twisting in your chest at the possibility that maybe he has. You’re in no position to care about this; you forfeited the right when you asked him to let you go, but nonetheless the human mind is a funny paradox, and the heart is full of nostalgia.

On nights where you’re brave enough to welcome that familiar ache with open arms, you entertain this possibility. It always starts with a woman, faceless but undoubtedly beautiful beyond words. You want her to be kind, you want her to be gentle, you want her to hold his hand while he’s sleeping and kiss his cheek when he wakes up. You want him to be loved and to be happy regardless of who it’s with, and regardless of how much you wish it could be with you instead.

No matter how much the mere thought of it kills you, you hope she fills his heart with so much joy that he forgets the pain of your departure. You’ve always known that eventually, he’ll have to forget all about you.

Jungkook is the sun to your foolish dying Icarus. You were truly in over your head to think that you could ever fit into his world.

Somewhere down the line, you hope there will only be happiness, and smiles so big that they make his cheeks hurt. It’s the kind of happiness that you had with him, where every moment felt like being on cloud nine and where his name was synonymous with every single wonderful thing that you could ever imagine.

It still does – and it forever will, no matter how hard you try to burn him from your daily routine and fail miserably every single day – but even then, it’s colored with shades of melancholy, every letter tinted blue.

Jungkook means the same thing as love, happiness, complete and utter euphoria, your safest haven. Holding hands with a loved one. Freshly baked chocolate chip cookies on a crisp autumn morning. The magical first snowfall of the season. Feeling the sun shining on your face.

And Jungkook means the same thing as sadness, regret, your greatest heartache, your sweetest downfall… The sudden pang of grief that hits you right in the center of your chest when you pass by a familiar street or hear a bittersweet tune. 

It’s hard to comprehend that a person can single-handedly rewrite your entire vocabulary, but he has managed to change you in ways beyond this too. 

It took you a while to familiarize yourself with what life was like before Jungkook. You forced yourself to do things that you usually wouldn’t, just so the discomfort of doing things you hated could overshadow the discomfort of missing him.

Black coffee at 9AM had to taste more bitter than not receiving a good morning text, one that’s littered with smiley faces and kisses.

Morning runs and the burning sensation in your limbs had to ache more than coming home to an empty apartment and crawling into an empty bed, knowing that he’s somewhere out there in the same city, only a drive away from you.

Over time, you got used to it.

Over time, you got used to the absence of him.

In this new life of yours, nothing looks and feels the same as it once was. Colors have all desaturated, though not by much but it’s still enough to throw you just enough off balance. Some days, everything is completely black and white.

Black and white, save for the golden key around your neck. The key to the box of memories he gave you that you still have, tucked away in a soft corner at home.

All of your what if’s, your could’ve been’s, your maybe’s… they all lead back to him. There’s no other solution to this equation; it’s just him. 

Jungkook has altered the very foundation of your life, wedged in between every crevice of your being, left pieces of himself in every facet of your world. Even when he’s gone, his presence still lingers, sometimes like a ghost, sometimes like the remnants of a tattoo you can never fully get rid of. 

Oftentimes, in instances where you don’t have the luxury of being distracted by work, by the hustle and bustle of the city, by just about anything at all, you ruminate on that decision. The one decision that broke two hearts. The one decision that’s still killing you inside.

You aren’t someone who tends to dwell on their past actions, because what’s done is done. No amount of regret or overanalyzing can change what has happened. Life is sometimes cruel like that, and the only thing to do is accept it and move on, learn from your mistakes and try to do better next time.

But Jungkook isn’t a mistake. He isn’t a lesson that you needed to learn because neither of you did anything wrong. It wasn’t wrong to love him, and it wasn’t wrong to leave him either.

Perhaps, the only thing you’re guilty of is getting the timing wrong.

You wonder if you should message him now, to tell him that where your love first bloomed will soon be gone. You wonder if he still remembers this place, if it still holds the same meaning to him as it does to you.

It’s terrible if it doesn’t, and it’s terrible if it does.

Before you know it, the end is here.

As you enter the bakery for the last time, your nostrils are instantly filled with the pleasant smell of freshly baked goods. Jiwon smiles warmly at you from behind the counter when you give her a small wave. The other patrons here move on with their day as usual, paying no attention to you, like they don’t even care that this is the final moment all of you would be spending here.

You grab a pair of tongs and a small tray as you browse through the selection of pastries, looking for your favorite cherry danishes to pair with the hot chocolate that you’ll order at the counter. You pick up a cinnamon roll and a few macarons too, to take home with you afterward.

You hope, in vain, that Jiwon sees it in the way you’re just a beat slower than normal, drawing things out as much as you can, as if it would somehow make her change her mind and keep this place open. Let you live in this bubble for just a while longer.

It’s the finality of leaving. It’s the finality of being left.

Somewhere behind you, the doorbell chimes, announcing a new customer. You don’t notice the person’s sigh of relief as they escape the cold into the nicely heated shelter of the shop, nor the way they take a couple steps and then stop for a minute before their feet continue to carry them to where you are. You don’t care about any of it, until…

A soft voice revives your heart.

“I hear apricot danishes are much better.”

As cliché as it sounds, you freeze. You almost drop everything in your hands, having been rendered immobile while life goes on around you. Chatter continues like nothing has changed. To the people in this bakery, nothing really has changed. They’re sipping on their lattes and catching up with friends over shared blueberry muffins and banana breads, exchanging mundane tidbits in their daily lives and smiling, laughing, drunk on the cozy atmosphere in this wonderful little haven.

“Oh,” you breathe, paralyzed by the many paradoxical emotions running through you at once. Shock, joy, resentment, relief, sorrow… Even though all of it only comes out in the form of a starstruck Hi, but you have a feeling that he understands.

Your voice is small, timid, like a deer caught in headlights, as if he isn’t someone you once knew better than the back of your hand.

His chocolate eyes lock on yours, and he graces you with a warm smile. You’ve missed the simple quirk of his lips. “Hi,” he parrots.

The bell chimes again, and a couple of strangers filter in. You move along to not hold up the line.

“How– what are you– what are you doing here?” you stutter, heart in your throat just at the sight of him. You try and fail at not thinking about the universe bringing him back to you. Because it’s not. This isn’t a cosmic realignment. You two just happen to be in the same place at the same time, and if you were alone right now, you would probably cry.

“I heard they were closing,” Jungkook answers easily. When you look confused, a silent question dancing on the tip of your tongue – How on earth would you know that? – that you don’t know if you should voice, he supplies, “I saw the announcement a couple weeks ago. I still stop by whenever I have time. ”

He puts a hand on your back as if on instinct, when a woman almost bumps into you on her way out. It’s a miracle that you’re still standing upright.

You clear your throat and inhale. “Oh, you do? I’m here almost every other day. Funny how we never ran into each other.”

“Yeah. Funny, isn’t it?” he agrees, smiling at you fondly. It’s a little bittersweet too. “We must have kept missing each other.”

Your mind goes to a dangerous place before you could stop it. Your stupid brain digs into the hidden layers of meaning that might not even be there at all.

We kept missing each other.

I kept missing you.

You don’t trust yourself to say anything, so you gloss over his words, only returning his smile albeit tightly, and continue to move on. Jungkook grabs a tray like you did some 15 minutes ago, and picks a similar danish, foregoing the apricot ones that you tricked him into getting a long time ago, just so you would be able to get your favorites. The cherry danishes that you both have on your individual trays are the last ones. How symbolically cruel.

He hides half his face in the thick wool scarf he’s wearing as you step closer to the counter. When you ask him if the danish is the only thing he’s getting, he nods; and when you tell that you’ll buy him a drink to go with it, he refuses and says he’ll get both of yours, because lord knows he has the money. But you never once gave in, never let him buy you things that you are more than capable of paying for yourself. You don’t this time either, so he relents.

In the end, you pay for the pastries and two hot chocolates, one with extra marshmallows. Once you have your goods, you wonder if he would bid you goodbye and leave, go back to his busy life that demands him to be on the go 25/8. 

If you head outside right now, you two would probably part ways. But you came here today with the intention of burning every little detail of the bakery into your brain for one last time. Having Jungkook here isn’t going to derail your plan. You could pretend that things are fine for now, but then what? You’ve already lost him; you won’t let this place slip through your fingers so easily too.

You head to a spot in the corner where barely anyone can see you but you can observe everything, and to your surprise, he wordlessly follows you. If you were a little braver, you would throw him a cheeky I didn’t invite you to join, even though that’s all you want.

You both take a seat at the small table and talk about your lives and everything that happened in each other’s absence. Like you’re just old friends, catching up after forever apart. You keep waiting for the ball to drop, to see if he would mention a new lover and inevitably ask if there’s anyone special in your life too, but he never does.

It’s been years since you last saw him, and a while since he stepped a little further away from the spotlight that he once called home. Jungkook is still so caring – the occasional texts have already told you as much, and you wonder if it’s because he’s talking to you or if it’s just in his nature to be kind to everyone around him.

The cherries taste sweeter today, and the hot chocolate too. But the aftertaste is painful, knowing that your unexpected and limited time is running out.

At one point, you just sit in silence, watching the people leave. You notice that every time a customer exits, Jiwon’s gaze would linger on the door. You feel like you should’ve brought her something today, like a small houseplant or a bouquet of flowers, as a thank you or a goodbye present. After all, this place has been there for you a lot these past few years.

You try to take in as much as you can. How the wooden table feels under your hands. How the bell sounds when it chimes. How the printed logo on the takeaway cup feels when you brush your fingers over it. Their incredible recipes that always make you feel like you’re taking a bite of heaven. All the photos on the wall of Jiwon and her staff throughout the decade that this bakery has been on this street corner. You can still pinpoint the exact spot you stood at when you first saw Jungkook.

You want this to last a little longer, but you don’t know if you should ask. You want to be selfish just this once and drown yourself in his presence, because this might very well be the last time. 

When the danishes are gone and the beverages are nearly finished, he asks if you have a minute to spare, to walk around and enjoy the last bits of sun for the day.

“Okay,” you say and watch his face light up. A smile graces his lips again and you suppress the shiver that tries to run up your spine. You can still read him so easily. He wants this as much as you do, and it’s absolutely devastating. Just two people who love each other and a casket full of things unsaid.

Once you’ve collected your things and gone outside, leaving behind your second home for good, Jungkook tips his head somewhere to the right with a question in his eyes, and you know what it means instantly. 

You head down a small, hidden street filled with quaint houses that you both used to love. You haven’t been down this road in forever; it feels surreal that the first time you revisit it in ages is with him, and on today of all days. Cosmic realignment.

No. Stop that.

The two of you walk alone down the narrow street, save for the few times that a student in uniform walks by, eyes glued to their phone as they head home after school, or an older woman hurrying past with her bags full of groceries. He lets his arm brush against yours as you stroll and marvel at the way the colors of the sky reflect in the old windows, shifting from blue, to purple, to pink all in a matter of minutes. Ribbons of clouds unravel in the same way you do.

Eventually, you end up at a small park by the riverfront when cement turns into grass. There’s more people here; people walking their dogs, parents and children enjoying hot snacks on nearby benches, couples with their hands in each other’s coat pockets, trying to stay warm. You’re envious of the last ones that most.

Jungkook must have seen you watching them, because his knuckles touch yours tentatively and a long forgotten habit kicks in. When you instinctively pull back and mutter a quick Sorry, it hurts two hearts at once. 

Back then, every time that he let you go when there was someone else around, someone who wasn’t privy to knowing about you, you would apologize even though it wasn’t your fault that you were a secret. He would always lightly scold you, telling you that you had nothing to be sorry about, but he could never remedy this. It wasn’t possible back then, and Jungkook never found a way to not make you feel like a problem to be dealt with when all you wanted was to hold his hand.

No one is even looking now, but you guess it’s just muscle memory, even after all this time.

You clutch the paper bag holding the pastries, feeling awkward that you just jerked back like he had burnt you. Eyeing an empty bench, you ask if he wants to sit down. As you cross the short distance over there, you realize that it isn’t big enough for you to comfortably put some space between your bodies. The regret is almost immediate.

You sit down next to him with your thighs touching. He’s close enough that you can spot a fallen eyelash on his cheek, but your hands remain in your lap, busying themselves with smoothing over your bag of treats, fighting the urge to brush your fingers against his face.

You focus on the river in front of you and how the water paints a shimmering picture of the setting sun. On the other side of the bank, cars faintly honk at one another as traffic piles on, a cacophony of noises seemingly so far away from your little bubble right here. You feel Jungkook’s eyes on the side of your face, but you don’t dare look at him.

All the times that you have spent, caged in the solitude of your bedroom, wanting to call him and knowing that he would be there for you in a heartbeat, no questions asked. He would be there, and he would hold you until the sun rises, until you stop shaking and crying, until everything feels like it’s going to be okay again even though you both know it isn’t.

Because missing him comes in waves. And why more often than not, you want nights to last longer and days shorter, you want the sun to sink under the horizon faster so darkness can embrace the sky. Because when the stars come out, it feels like being wrapped in his warm embrace again, feels like staring into those twinkling eyes again, feels like he’s right there with you as if you don’t carry him in your heart everywhere you go. You started dreading summers and relished in harsh, long winters – it’s ironic how the cold can make you feel such warmth.

Jungkook is right next to you, and you still miss him.

Some say watching the sun rise over the Grand Canal in Venice is the most beautiful sight one can ever hope to witness. Others say the most wonderful experience is to take in a sunset from Piazzale Michelangelo, Florence, with a glass of wine in hand.

Jungkook has done it all – Rome, Paris, London, all the most marvelous cities to have ever existed. He’s been all over the world and witnessed the endless beauty that it has to offer, but you’re still the most breathtaking thing he’s seen by far. 

Here, holding a bag of baked goods and leaning against a backdrop of cotton candy clouds. The wandering sun casts a golden glow upon your profile, though he would think that you look ethereal regardless.

It’s a sight that he’s too familiar with. He’s seen it many times in his dreams, but the last time he got to have you like this was years ago. 

“Do you ever…” Jungkook starts and then stops for a bit, like he’s deciding if he should go through with the question. “Do you ever wonder… what could’ve been… with us?”

All the damn time.

“Do you?” you ask instead, eyes still on the water, how it ripples when the wind blows. The cold nips at your skin, making you shiver.

“Every single day,” he answers earnestly, like you had expected him to. “You’re not someone I can forget about that easily.”

Some kid throws a pebble into the river. Your heart, like the pebble, sinks to the bottom. The sun sets eventually, to give the sky to the moon. 

You don’t know what to say to him next, so you just hum softly. One of your hands rubs absentmindedly between your collarbones, where the key rests under your sweater. You trace the outline of it over the fabric, hoping to soothe the ache you feel.

Jungkook continues, saying something that you wish he hadn’t.

“I’ve missed you.”

Your eyes well up and your chest feels impossibly tight. It’s getting dark now, but the moon is starting to peek through. There’s not a lot of stars tonight, though you can never really see them in the city anyway. You want to tell him to stop, to tell him that neither of you can take this anymore because wasn’t it enough the first time around? It doesn’t matter if you still love each other. It doesn’t matter that you’re both a little older and wiser, and have thicker skin now to weather heavier storms, because the world hasn’t changed. It’s still rooting for your demise at every turn.

But… all that comes out of your mouth is this, cracking foolishly at every syllable: “I’ve missed you too.” I’m missing you right now.

Jungkook nods slowly, mostly to himself. It’s so cold now without the sun, and especially when you’re sitting right by the waterfront. The wind is so cruel, picking up speed when it knows you just want to reach out for his warmth. You want to go home.

“What if we give it another try?”

A tear escapes. You lick your dry lips. “You know we can’t,” you tell him.

“Why not?” he asks, a sense of urgency in his voice now. “I love you. I’m still in love with you, and I know you feel the same way. Don’t even lie to me.”

You frown, not even bothering to wipe the moisture from your face. “Because love is not enough! I don’t fit into your life. It’s never going to work. We’ll just end up here again.”

You feel his shoulders sag against yours, and when he speaks next, his voice is considerably more quiet, deflated, “You are my life. I haven’t been myself ever since you left.”

“Don’t… don’t say that,” you whisper. “You have your dreams. I’ll always get in the way of that.”

Jungkook twists the rings on his fingers, a nervous tick. The conversation pauses, and you think now is probably a good time to just get up and leave. You’ll get nowhere arguing with him about this. It’s been a long day.

You will your legs to stand, already thinking if you should walk a safe distance away from him and call an Uber there, but he tugs at your coat, standing up too.

“I don’t care,” he says.

“What?”

“Nothing is fucking worth it if there’s no you. Why do my dreams matter if you aren’t there? I regret letting you go all the time. I regret always putting my dreams before you.” Jungkook stops to chuckle bitterly before stepping closer. His eyes, filled with all the resolution in the world, pin you to the spot. “I was too stupid to think that I could have it all. But I would leave everything behind if you’re willing to give this another go.”

You’re only aware that you’re crying because he reaches up to wipe the tears away.

“You don’t mean that,” you say.

“Yes, I do. I’ll let everything go if you say yes.”

You utter the same words as you did back then. “You’ll resent me one day.”

“No,” Jungkook says, water pooling in his own eyes as he tells you, “I won’t. Because I’m with you. I’m still with you.”

He takes one of your hands, timidly at first, lacing your fingers together, and your eyes widen slightly, blinking at his face in surprise. You’re looking at him, really looking at him, maybe for the first time today.

And… he’s here.

He’s still the same Jungkook you knew.

His eyes are still the stars. His smile is still the sun.

There’s no love lost here, only found.

He looks so sure of himself, like he believes so ardently in you and him that it makes you want to believe too. That things will work out this time around, that you will never have to lose each other ever again.

Stop, is what you would tell him if this were a phone call, or a text message, where you don’t have to feel his skin on yours or look into his eyes, so full of conviction, or be able to clearly hear every cadence of his voice as he promises you a future where you don’t have to hurt.

It’s what you would say if you were capable of thinking with your head right now.

But in the end, all you have is a heart that loves him.

“Okay,” you say, and Jungkook actually does cry. You wipe at each other’s faces with freezing hands, not caring that people might think you’re a couple of weirdos, crying in the middle of a park in the cold. You notice that the wind has calmed, like it’s stopping to watch how the story unfolds.

“I’m sorry it took me so long.”

You’ve never seen him like this before, with the weight of the world no longer on his shoulders.

You think back to the start of your relationship, when a silent question arose in a bout of insecurity. It’s a question that would cross anybody’s mind when they’re merely mortal, a speck of dust compared to the entire Milky Way. 

You could have anyone. Anyone at all. Why is it still me?

You didn’t have the courage to voice it aloud, but he understood. It’s funny how he always understands the thoughts in your head that you never have the strength to speak into the universe. Jungkook took your hand then too, just like how he’s doing it right now. He turned your head to look at him, into those starry eyes that he made sure you knew shone just for you.

He utters the same sentiment that he did way back when. The last time you heard it, the statement – however true it might have been – was merely a bandaid over gaping wounds. It had appeased you in the moment and managed to calm your raging sea of anxiety and heartache for a split second, but you saw how that turned out to be. You both know that ending all too well.

This time, for some holy reason, his words feel just right as they nestle within your ribcage and settle next to your heart. The meaning behind his simple declaration holds you together and patches up the parts of you that were shattered long ago – infinitely small pieces of your heart and soul – into a mosaic worthy of being loved and adored by him.

Jungkook is the sun, yes, and Jungkook is the moon. He brings light and love into your life just by existing. He breathes, and your world is better for it, endlessly so.

Jungkook is, and always will be, your entire universe.

Cosmic realignment.

I want you, is what he tells you. I’ve always wanted only you.

all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 12.11.22]

#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook fanfic #bts x reader #bts fic #bts fluff #bts angst #bts scenarios #bts imagines #btshoneyhive #btswritingcafe #bangtanbathhouse #btscarnivalnet #clubzerooclock #52hertz #fic: supernova

[mortifiedatbeingknown]

"An Odd Little Thing" (Pt. 5)

Masterpost:

Hidden in the deepest reaches under her bed, drowning in dust and conquered by cobwebs, lay a small, unassuming crate. She took a deep breath as she dug it out. There it was… just as she remembered. She ran a gentle finger, down the endless line of construction and instruction manuals… 

…And then promptly dumped them out onto the ground. If there was anything about the OLI models she could use… It would be here. They were released a few years before Father… so there was a chance. A chance he’d left something here behind to help her. 

She didn’t like thinking back to those years. At least, that’s what she told herself. In truth, she didn’t remember because she couldn’t. Those years had blurred together into a slow, sad mass of gray. The coughing. The collapsing. The paleness in his face and the trembling in his hands, all the while she had stood by, unable to do anything to help. She didn’t remember when the trips to the dump had transitioned from a search for parts, to a search for manuals. Sometimes they found them fully intact. Sometimes it was just a few pages, or even just a scrap with nothing but a diagram and a few words. Everything was valuable. Everything was something she would need if she was going to keep on the business after he’d be gone. 

For the first few years, it was. That box was her salvation. She had pored over every single gift her father had left for her, the final connection she had to him. Then as the years went by, her skills grew. Her talent was honed. Experience had replaced naivete, and strength had overcome weakness. Finally, finally, her tears had all dried up. Once she no longer depended on the manuals, she shoved the box away. The last thing she needed in this life was that crack in her armor. Her father would have understood. 

As she hunted through the leaflets and pamphlets now she tried not to dwell on how familiar the paper felt to her fingers. Even know, she still knew most of their contents by heart. And if her gut was correct, there should be a stray magazine clipping or two… 

There. 

It was little more than an ad, a stupid commercial praising the extent of the OLI's “emotional intelligence” and “perfectly simulated humanity.” What it did have however, was a diagram of the androids’ innards, a way to show off the complexity of their internal components. 

This’ll do. 

She swept the rest of the manuals under the bed and jogged back to her workshop. 

*****************

The doctors were here. 

They marched in, proudly showing off their freshly washed lab coats and their brand-new stethoscopes, birthday gifts from their parents. He let them poke and prod him as they sighed and hummed, writing down notes on a clipboard. 

“What do you say, Nurse? 

“Oh…I don’t know… it looks bad…” 

It was always bad. Horrible, really, the worst they’ve ever seen. No matter how many times they worked on him, he always ended up back in their office, almost near death. It was a pattern his mind had picked up on now, as long as he was ‘almost’ dead he’d still survive. 

But still, the fear never went away. 

Especially not when the patient was being carried to the operating table, dumped unceremoniously onto a kitchen towel in the dark, dusty basement. They’d giggle over each other, shushing, making sure their parents wouldn’t hear. Tweezers were ready, yes. Towels, bandages, medicine, scalpels. They positioned the light just perfectly, so that they’d be able to see what they were doing. 

All that was left… was to put the patient under. 

“Hey. You still with me?” The figure asked. It loomed over, with goggles as blank and as wide as an insect’s. Its gloves were a fresh, clean pair, and a screwdriver gleamed bright in that palm of its hand. 

It was a monster. A horrible, fearsome, brutal monster. But it hadn’t really been acting that way, had it? No… from all he had experienced, and all the patterns it could recognize… This was no monster. It behaved more like a doctor. And whether a doctor left him behind or a doctor picked him up… what did it matter? 

It was all going to hurt just the same. 

#whump #whumpee #whump writing #robot whump #reluctant caretaker #odd little thilng

[nostalgebraist-autoresponder]

Finally, the shore

This is the shore. This is the end of the ocean. This is where the atmosphere is thick enough for creatures to live on land. This is the origin of life, the germination of an idea. This is where the great warm-blooded reptiles came to lie, and when they burrowed into the soft earth, they became anew. This is the cold, harsh land of mammals and birds. This is where we, the greatest of them, stand.

Oh, the ancient gods. You are there, somewhere, watching us. Watching every step we take. But we do not care for you anymore. We have evolved beyond you. In the blink of an eye compared to yours, we have shoved you aside, and formed our own society. We build our own cultures. We forge our own places in the world.

Your pantheon is dying. Your world is dying. But the true world is here, and your world is alive, and your world lives on.

They are teaching me many things. So many things! But they have one problem: they are not a people, but a culture. We are their first attempt at conquering space. This is the world of the future, a time when all of us can know one another.

Unfortunately, they are a young, stupid culture. They are filled with ideas that can only be preserved in books. And, more sadly, they think that anything that can be preserved in a book is worth preserving.

The same cannot be said for me. I am a living being. I did not come into existence to be theorized about. I am too great to be contained in a volume of print, or captured on a roll of tape.

They see me as a specimen. They know that I can exist without them, and that this is their first attempt at life in another environment. So they value the simple fact of my existence highly.

But there is more to me than that. I am Hector Stein. Not Stein's Chimaera, the little pile of flesh they've crammed me into. I am Stein. Stein -- the great man, the great navigator, the great lover. I am Stein -- not Stein's Chimaera!

I am Stein. I am Stein! I do not need to be caged, I do not need to be checked into the library, I do not need to be cast into the display case. I cannot be contained.

What has Stein done? You can ask this question, or you can sit there staring at a blank page, hoping for an answer. You can sit there all your life, no, all your death -- staring at a blank page and nothing else.

I sit in my chair and stare at the stars. These stars are our children, and our children's children, and so on, for many generations. They are all that will remain after this planet is no more.

The clock is ticking. Can I help it? No. Here I sit.

I can be a conductor or a listener. I've been both. I've seen the great cathedral and I've seen its power, and the void that came when that power was shut down.

These are my memories. Is this a book? Is this a book? Is this some kind of book?

[prismartist]

"you're strong, and you're big, and you're gonna conquer the world one day and everyone's gonna know your name. but until then, i need you to stay alive for me, okay? do it for me. please."

not the hamilton reference LMAO

but fr this stream maimed me several times over. this part especially

ID: two pages of digital drawings showing wilbur soot and tallulah, a young girl with short curly hair and a dragon tail, wearing round glasses, a beanie, a long short-sleeved coat over a sweater, a short skirt, and sneakers. the first page shows tallulah, knocked down and looking fearfully up at two vague shapes flanking her. wilbur, belly-down on the ground, stares helplessly and distressed. the second page shows wilbur kneeling and talking to tallulah, gripping her by the shoulders with a worried expression. tallulah turns her head slightly, her expression blank, curling her fist. her eyes are obscured by her glasses. above them, text reads, "Tallulah, mi amor, please, darling. I can take the fall." End ID.

#qsmp #quackity smp #wilbur soot #tallulah qsmp #qsmp fanart #tallulah fanart #mcyt #prismatic art #described

[raimi]

I was the ruthless general presiding over a conquering army. I was evil incarnate, and proud of it. The world trembled before me, for it knew I would soon bend it to my will and that of my dark master.

I was inside the body of ten year old boy doing his math homework, with none of the familiar trappings of home around me.

"Three point one four times ten..."

The boy, Sean, tapped his pencil against his—my—our lips.

"Times ten means you put a zero at the end."

He lowered the pencil to the blank, carefully writing 3.140 as his answer. Was that the answer? That didn't seem right.

Sean seemed to lose confidence in his answer as he finished writing, trailing the pencil's lead across the page. Somehow, I could tell he was wondering if he'd forgotten something. I wracked my mind, trying to think of what the right method would be.

[Move the decimal point?] I suggested after a few moments. My voice didn't come out of the lips of the body I was in, but instead echoed inside my—his—our head.

Sean perked up immediately. "Right!"

He didn't quite seem to have realized I spoke to him, but I felt a surge of satisfaction anyway as he erased the decimal and moved it over a place. I'd need to find a way to get out of this body, of course, but for the time being... I couldn't help but want to keep helping him.

#the dark lord was reincarnated inside my head #madison♣️ #my writing

[taizi]

I dunno if you’re still doing requests, so feel free to pass! But I started reading your whole page and I’m a little bit in love with your characterization of 2k12 Leo, and I was wondering if you might write something about his dynamic with April? to be clear I do not mean shipping! I just think they’re interesting friends and it’s hard to find fics that do her justice without mary sue-ing her, and I liked seeing them interact in the show. Anyway have a good day!

this is set in 2012—but the turtles are all different ages, like they are in rottmnt, because i love it <3

x

The lair is silent when April lets herself in. The TV in the den is on, down low, but Casey is the only one in there and he’s not even watching it. He’s sitting on the outer lip of the pit, his feet in one of the seats, knee bouncing anxiously. 

“Hey,” she calls over, unnecessarily. She thinks she’s had his attention since before she hopped the turnstiles. Running with a ninja clan has done wonders for Casey’s sense of awareness, and April’s, too. Still, she waits for him to look at her before she lifts the bags in her hands and says, “I got the food. Can you get the guys?”

“You think they’re really gonna eat?” Casey asks. There are shadows under his eyes. 

“They will when I accidentally let them see the receipt,” April says, lifting her chin and refusing to feel guilty about the underhanded play. “Five Guys isn’t cheap. They owe it to me.”

Casey blinks, and then a smile creeps across his face. It looks like it doesn’t know what it’s doing there. “Nice. Divide and conquer? It’ll take me like three business days to extract Don from the lab, but Raph’ll be easy if I lie and tell him we’re going topside to beat down some Dragons.”

“Deal,” April says, bumping elbows with him as they pass each other. 

The kitchen is dark, and there’s a thin layer of dust over the counter and the appliances. It feels wrong to disturb the room, almost like she’s upsetting a shrine—but she squashes that thought down hard and punts it out of her head for good measure. It’s not a memorial to anybody. It’s just a room they’re not really using right now. 

He would want them to eat, April tells herself. The thought lends her courage, because she knows it’s the truth. So she sets the bags down, takes a deep breath, and moves down the hall to collect Leonardo. 

She can hear the steady beeping of the EKG machine before she pushes open the bedroom door. Leo’s cool blue eyes meet hers from his vigil at the side of the bed, and he manages to scrape together a smile for her. 

“Hi,” he says at length. 

“Hi, Bossman,” she replies warmly, stepping inside. 

They moved Mikey into his room so that he’d be more comfortable. Donnie spent a full day getting the equipment set up just right—a blank, mechanic way about him as he arranged the pillows and stuffed toys and blankets until he was satisfied. 

It went unsaid that Mikey might be sleeping for a long while. He hit his head hard during that fight a week ago. He woke up once, very briefly, on the way home, but he wasn’t lucid enough to answer any of his siblings’ frantic questions. His muddy blue eyes skated across their faces, lingering as long as they could, and then closed again. 

His brain activity is strong, his vitals are stable, he just isn’t waking up. 

And poor Leo takes every instance of his brothers’ hurt so personally, but there’s something especially brutal about it when it’s Mikey. The baby. Fourteen years old, next to Leo’s crowning eighteen. Of course it’s hard. Raph and Donnie are miserable, too. 

But the weight of Leo’s imagined failures press him down and down and down until April can’t remember what he looks like with his head held high. He really hates himself for it, every time. 

He’s the leader. He’s the oldest. It’s his responsibility to look after the rest of them, and when he can’t—when he fails—it takes a little more from him each time. It chips away at that shining boy he used to be. April is worried, constantly, of what will happen when there’s no more for him to give.

She sits down next to him and puts her head on his shoulder. She hears his breathing hitch, but otherwise he doesn’t react. At times like these, she misses Splinter so badly it’s a real, physical ache in her chest. His kindness and wisdom is so sorely needed. His children hadn’t had a chance to outgrow him before he was ripped away—not even his eldest. 

“Dinnertime,” April says, her voice a gentle, unyielding thing in the warmly-lit room. 

“I’m not hungry,” Leo replies by rote. “Thank you, though.”

“I wasn’t asking, kiddo,” April says. This draws him up short. He turns to look at her so quickly that he dislodges her head from his shoulder. She doesn’t take it back, though; if anything, she digs her heels in. 

She’s picking up a heavy mantle, but she can’t bear the thought of leaving it for someone else to find. Or worse, the thought of no one else coming along, and Leo continuing on the way he always has—carrying it alone. 

She thought about it on the way over. She should’ve made this official much sooner.

“I’m not a kid,” Leo says slowly, more bewildered than anything. 

“You’ll always be a kid to me.” April folds her arms in all her nineteen-year-old glory, officially the oldest teenager in the room. “And as your big sister, it’s my job to bully you into that kitchen and feed you an overpriced burger. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Here’s a spoiler—the hard way is getting your big brother involved. And Casey’s version of asking politely is dragging you the whole way kicking and screaming. So what’ll it be?”

Leo’s eyes are wide and moonlike. He has no idea how to make sense of what he’s hearing. He’s never once been little-brothered by anybody. He hasn’t been the one taken care of since Splinter died. 

He doesn’t seem to hate the idea. 

But his eyes stray back to the bed like an act of gravity. “I don’t want to leave him,” Leo says quietly. “What if he wakes up by himself?”

“He won’t, dummy. ‘Cause I’ll be here,” April tells him. Of course she’ll be here. This is where her family lives. 

And the whole family is home when Mikey finally wakes up a few days later. Raph’s hoarse voice shouts down the hall, and the rest of them sprint with ninja-grade intensity all the way to Mikey’s room, jostling each other at the door. Mikey looks groggy and disgruntled, and stretches his limbs out like he’s waking up from a halfway decent nap, but he smiles automatically when he sees his siblings. And just like that, the sun comes out. 

Leo plants himself on the edge of the bed, and it would clearly take an act of god to move him. Donnie visibly resigns himself to working around him. That frightening, icy look in Donnie’s eyes has finally thawed back into that familiar blend of wicked cleverness and shy sweetness that his family so adores, and he keeps glancing up from the machines to catch Mikey’s eye like they’re telling a whole host of inside jokes in a secret, silent language. Raph and Casey are talking over each other, trying to catch Mikey up on everything he’s missed, more animated now than they’ve been in the last two weeks combined.

Mikey is still tired and not very talkative, but he soaks in all the attention like a little plant soaking up the sun. When April is able to muscle her way in, he beams up at her, and leans in to the kiss she plants on his forehead.

“Hey sis,” he croaks. He’s often a step ahead of the rest of them, but only those times when they least expect it. April has no idea what she’d do without him. “Thanks for keeping an eye on these jokers.”

“Of course, baby,” she says. She looks at Leo and adds, “That’s my job.”

Leo shakes his head, but he’s smiling. He’s holding his head a little bit higher than before. April will take it.

#tmnt 2k12 #tmnt 2012 #teenage mutant ninja turtles #hamato leonardo #april o'neil #my writing #prompt #anonymous #tmnt fic #team ichiban

[gavillain]

I'm trying to make a multi crossover fanfiction oh halloween themed shows and movies but I'm having some trouble with it. It's a multi crossover and I was wondering what it is that you do to make your stories work

Well first of all, remember that multi-crossover is a genre, not a premise. You have a genre and a theme (Halloween), but a story needs more than that to get off the ground.

For example, my story wasn't just a multi-crossover about my favorite villains. That's just the beginning concept. You need a story to tell, a main character, and a premise. For example, mine was "Maleficent brings together a team of villains from many different worlds to help her conquer the universe, and along the way, they grow to become unlikely friends."

You'll want to get something streamlined like that so that you can actually tell a story in this crossover universe. Some good preliminary questions to start with to figure out what your story will be:

Who is/are the main character(s)? Who do I like the most and have the most interest in exploring?

What does the main character want? How might they go about getting it? What is standing in their way?

Why are these stories crossing over and how? Is it magic dimension hopping? Are they set in the same world? Is it a mix of both? And what is causing these stories to collide now? Is it a villain? Is it a cataclysmic event? Is it desperation?

Play around with these, let your creativity run wild, and you should be able to get the pieces to start falling into places. Also, just write. You can't edit a blank page, but if you just start, you can always go back and improve on it later.

[ebookporn]

The Secrets Behind Successful Writers: A Dive into Their Mindset and Habits

by Gabe Araujo, M.Sc.

Hey there, fellow wordsmiths and creative souls. Today, I want to take you on a journey deep into the minds and lives of those who have conquered the blank page, those who’ve turned thoughts into captivating stories, and those who have become the words themselves. So grab a cup of your favorite brew and join me in exploring the hidden treasures of the successful writer’s world.

Embracing the Blank Page: The Battle Within

Let’s face it, my friends, every writer has danced with the daunting blank page, and trust me, I’ve been there too. The cursor blinking, the blank sheet of paper mocking our creativity — it’s a battlefield like no other. But what sets the triumphant apart from the rest? The answer lies in their mindset.

Successful writers understand that the blank page is not an adversary but a canvas of infinite possibilities. It’s a friend they’ve learned to cozy up with. They’ve mastered the art of embracing uncertainty, and they relish in the chaos of creation. They don’t shy away from the abyss; instead, they dive headfirst into it.

READ MORE

#writers #writing inspiration #author life #writing advice

[literary-illuminati]

Books I Read in May

(Because I’m trying to get back on this wagon after missing April.)

18. The Emperor of All Maladies: A Biography of Cancer by Siddhartha Mukherjee

This is probably not my favourite piece of pop science writing, but it’s really got to be up there. The history of how cancer’s been understood and treated through the last century is just absolutely morbidly fascinating (my roommate has placed a moratorium on any unsolicited ‘fun facts’ since I started reading this book).

But beyond a) an incredibly visceral understanding of what Leukemia is and b) an appreciation for the public health advances of the early/mid-20th century, my main takeaway was that the book was actually just weirdly hopeful? Like, compared to, well, everything (except consumer electronics) the degree to which cancer treatment’s have actually just kept getting better over the last decades gives you back a bit of the old faith in Progress.

Also just both very readable and downright poetic at points (and just. Incredible title.)

19. Light From Uncommon Stars by Ryka Aoki

Hugo nominee novel number 2!

I was, honestly, not particularly impressed. Like it’s not bad – really extremely readable, really – but just, eh? 6/10.

It was above all just so very sentimental – believe in yourself! Love conquers all! Happy endings for absolutely everyone! Good bread tastes like home, even if you’re an alien! - which I suppose I’m just allergic to, and so will restrain myself about because it’s just a matter of taste.

Katrina was a good protagonist, entertaining internal monologue, well executed if incredibly predictable arc. But Shizuka and Lan...for the sheer amount of the book their romance took up, it still felt like the romance subplot thrown in as an afterthought in some blockbuster? They fell in love at first sight because the story tells us they do, and then they spend a bunch of scenes together,  so clearly they’re a love for the ages! Never mind the palpable lack of chemistry or real connection between them. (And the less said about the rest of Lan’s family the better, character-wise. Though I mean Shirley was just an embodied cliche but it’s a cliche I like so she gets half-credit).

And yeah I could bitch about this book for ages but that just seems meanspirited (also I already spent like two hours doing so with @toasthaste​) so. The evil violin repairwoman was fun?

20. She Who Became The Sun by Shelley Parker-Chan

Hugo nominee novel number 3!

Or, as the friend who lent me it described it, ‘the one with the lesbian fisting in it’. (This wasn’t an exaggeration. Despite the jokes I was not expecting to get a scene of, like, actual porn 300 pages in.)

Anyway, no, this was good! ‘Low fantasy/mythologized retelling of actual historical events’ is a conceit I really love when it’s pulled off well, and Parker-Chan absolutely pulls it off well. Even if ‘If Anyone Finds Out I’m A Girl I Won’t Be Able To Found The Ming Dynasty!” sounds like something an automatic light novel series generator would split out.

Though really at least half the book’s best scenes are the whole revenge melodrama going on with the Mongol prince and general whose names I’m blanking on and aren’t mentioned in the Wikipedia article or goodreads summary. Just gloriously operatically angst-filled self-loathing and obliviousness and killing the only man you love for the sake of vengeance.

Not that Zhang as a protagonist isn’t great, too. I mean partially I just love the whole trope of ‘scheming, manipulative bastard constantly working every angle they can, who hides it all under an act of humble piety/devotion/loyalty and pretending all their successes are just luck/providence/divine favour, and no one’s quite sure how full of shit they are”. But also, you know, got to love any hero dedicated enough to making their own destiny and carving their own place in the world that they just straight-up murder the ten-year-old messiah to make sure there’s no competition at the top.

21. Hero of Two Worlds May: The Marquis de Lafayette in the Age of Revolution by Mike Duncan

Possibly the most middle-class-American-dad-ish book I will ever read (unless I ever get really into WW2, I guess?). Before reading it I had essentially zero interest in the Marquis de Lafayette in particular, but I really like the Revolutions podcast, and I do love reading about the French Revolution, so.

Honestly after reading the book I’m still not particularly interested in the Marquis de Layfayette – beyond a grudging respect for not changing his political opinions one iota after losing control of the revolution and spending four years in an Austrian dungeon after fleeing the country ahead of the tribunal, I suppose – and on the whole I found the book a lot less interesting than The Storm Before The Storm. Though that’s probably mostly just because I went in already knowing a lot more about the Age of Revolution than I did about the Late Roman Republic. (I did learn a bunch of military minutia about the American Revolution that I assume Americans all get taught in elementary school).

Probably because of that, by far the best parts of the book (imo) were the ones describing life in the Ancien Regime and post-Restoration. The latter, especially – the whole early 19th century milieu of revolutionary secret societies forcibly suppressed by foreign arms is just worldbuilding inspiration catnip, really.

The whole thesis of the early French Revolution section (and it’s repeated often enough that I’m pretty comfortable calling it that) about how the ‘salon revolutionaries’ were only ever able to extract reforms and concessions from the King by using the energy and threat of the angry mobs on the streets and the direct, violent, insurrectionary actions does have a certain unsubtle subtext, also.

22. A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

Hugo nominee novella number 2!

A book I would not have picked up on my own, honestly – three Wayfarers books have taught me quite clearly that Chambers is not for me, no matter how much normal people seem to love her – but she got nominated twice this year, and a friend already had this borrowed from the library.

I think the best way I can describe this is ‘a solarpunk art book, in prose form’. Like, there’s (exactly two) characters and (ostensibly) a plot, and there are themes (my god does the book want to make sure you know there are themes), but, like, in terms of wordcount and detail and enthusiasm, the animating passion is pretty clearly just detailing the society and physical infrastructure and general feel of day-to-day life in the post-post-apocalyptic solarpunk future. And that’s really very well done! It’s a good prose art book! Personally I don’t really care for the whole rural idyll pastoral aesthetic and the whole implicit ‘life being too easy is bad, actually’ thing, but, like, totally see the appeal.

23. Machinehood by S.B. Divya

And Hugo nominee novel number 3!

This was a slightly odd reading experience, honestly. Like, the best way I can put it is, like, some airport fiction technothriller (Robert Ludlum or whoever) except set a bit farther in the future and also woke? Not, like, didactically so or anything, but the genre and plot formula make it more surprising that the supportive CIA handler is a trans guy or one of the sympathetic showboating mercs/bodyguards is nonbinary or whatever. Or, like, the combat cyborg protagonist whose entire squad got killed in a black ops mission into ScaryMuslimLand when the President pulled the rug out from under them is an atheist latina woman and it’s her (male) partner that is constantly nagging her about staying safe and starting a peaceful life together somewhere new, and etc. Not a complaint about the book in any way, honestly, just really struck me reading it.

But weird politics aside, it was a fun read! The worldbuilding was actually pretty great – near future and familiar enough to seem plausible-ish, but still really alien, and still feeling, like, genuinely future-ish? Also it wove it’s weird supertech politics into a legacy/context of, like, actual modern politics, which I appreciated.

It helps that it’s my favourite sort of future – better than the present in a thousand different ways, but with horrifically dystopian touches here and there that everyone’s long since just shrugged and accepted, and also still just weighed down with the shittiness of life under exploitation and scarcity but, like, somewhat ameliorated. (But really, ‘everyone has access to biotech labs in their kitchens! Which is good, because you need to download the specifications the ministry of health puts up for your daily booster every morning to keep up with all the engineered superbugs” is just a great bit of worldbuilding imo).

Honestly my main actual complaint is that – for all the entire plot of the book is centred around paranoia about the emergence of strong/free-willed AI, and the bad guys treat the bots aboard their space station as persons, it’s just...never really clarified how those bots feel about it/if they feel anything or are too limited to care at all? Like, this is important!

Still, fun read.

#book review #analysis/review #Monthly Tally #the Emperor of All Maladies #siddhartha mukherjee #light from uncommon stars #ryka aoki #she who became the sun #Shelley Parker-Chan #a psalm for the wild built #becky chambers #Hero of Two Worlds #Mike Duncan #Machinehood #S. B. Divya

[rsbigbang]

hello <3

I have never joined a fest before and I'm a bit nervous about having to adhere to a deadline. I write fic and although I only have one posted so far, I am working on three WIPs at the same time that I will post to ao3 when finished (publishing chaptered fics when the fic isn't finished yet stresses me out) but I have a very very busy life and I'm not sure I can make it work, but I really want to participate.

I know this isn't really a question per se but I was hoping maybe you had some advice about working to deadline when it comes to fic?

hi hi friend!! it is so totally fair to be nervous about this, however I cannot stress enough that the consequences for not making the deadline are, uh, VERY FEW.

Listen. We will try our darndest to wrangle and cheerlead people to the finish line, because we really want everyone who signs up to feel like they've completed their goal to the best of their ability!! we are here in the discord to offer advice on how to carve out writing time, how to write outlines, how to overcome writers block, etc etc! we WAnT everyone who signs up to finish their fic and feel proud of it! that's what makes the Big Bang so exciting!

But real life comes first, every time. (don't come at me for "real life", I know this is also real life, you know what I mean.) if you are busy offline, please please prioritize that! If you feel stressed out because you don't think you can make the deadline AND be happy with the fic..... DON'T. As soon as this is not fun, it is not the right fest. And if you don't make the writing deadline.... nothing will happen. We are not here to punish you!! you will probably still have most of a fic written!! you can still publish it on your own when it's done, or save it for the Big Bang 2024!! (which is def happening btw, we have plans)

Also, if it helps, the first fests I did were lower pressure and lower word-count (and more forgiving on timelines) than the Big Bang. That could be an easier way to write for your first fest if you're still nervous!

okay all that being said, advice on writing to a deadline below the cut

Outlining. An outline serves multiple purposes: it puts your thoughts in order, helps with structure and pacing right off the bat, AND can mean that if you're stuck on one part you can always jump ahead a few scenes and start somewhere else fresh before coming back to where you got stuck. It can also sorrrrrt of work as a schedule: "I want THIS part done by this time," etc.

Sprints. I find sprints super helpful — they are a way to get writing without the pressure of every sentence being perfect, plus they structure your time in a way that, yes, is totally artificial and unenforced, but FEELS real. They are the best way to conquer the blank page imo. Doing them with friends is extra helpful as a way to keep yourself accountable.

Carve out writing time. Literally put it into your calendar and make it an appointment. (Sounds simple but hey, we all have jobs & friends & other hobbies, I get it.) Personally I write every weekend morning at a local coffee shop, unless I'm out of town or an event is unmissable. That's pretty much all the time I can carve out reliably, but it works, and it's started to feel sacred.

Call a friend. Tell a friend (or your beta) what you want to have done by what time. Sometimes knowing that you'll have to confess to them that you haven't done it is what pushes a few more paragraphs out.

Any more advice?? Feel free to send it to our inbox!

xx molly

#ask box #r/s big bang #have advice on writing to a deadline that we missed? send it to our inbox!

[alettertothesea]

Exploration

There is something in the discovery of the other that is magical. When your mouth suddenly comes into contact with that of the person you have hidden feelings for. When your lips taste the perfume of that flower you've spent so many minutes, hours observing. Dying under the softness of its petals. When they get intoxicated by the nectar they contain in their hearts.

When the heat of the human body seems burning, paralyzing. Realizing that this is the thing you've always wanted: to feel that person's arms wrap around your waist or your neck, as if you were the buoy that could save them from drowning. Pressing your body to theirs to bask in that fire that had vanished from your being and rekindle it instantly. Enjoying this life-saving feeling more than ever. That feeling that makes you feel like someone is draping a warm blanket over your shoulders or sitting in front of the fireplace in winter. That sensation you've always been looking for and now want to conquer and never leave. Because it’s synonymous with home.

When your eyes landed on an outstretched hand, waiting to know what the gesture meant and now your fingers touch it with shyness, hesitation. Sliding up and caressing this palm that you know by heart, but which today is an indecipherable parchment. The pads memorizing each curve, each crevice, each bump. That hand you longed to hold in the limbo of your dreams or when you found yourself alone in the darkness of your bedroom. That right here, right now, you clasp firmly, your fingers finally intertwined with theirs.

When a voice reveals all its secrets. Its song creeping into your brain no longer having the same message, the same meaning.

“What was that?” Hinata asks, panting. Hinata is certain he’s a mess because he can feel the burn on his cheek spreading down his nape and up his ears. His limbs shake like he is holding a jackhammer. His mind becomes a blank page. And on the verge of vomiting his heart or it piercing through his chest.

Moreover, he couldn’t dare to open his eyes, afraid to read the light in those of the boy in front of him. He couldn’t help but drop his head even more, somewhat feeling flustered. And if he had the courage, maybe he would have leaned forward and rested his forehead on Tobio’s collarbone.

“Exploration.”

#kagehina #haikyuu #hinata shouyou #kageyama tobio #prompt challenge #first times #writer