#felt like the end poem is important right now. go read it if you want

[mspaintshurifin]

Day 222

and the universe said I love you

and the universe said you have played the game well

and the universe said everything you need is within you

and the universe said you are stronger than you know

and the universe said you are the daylight

and the universe said you are the night

and the universe said the darkness you fight is within you

and the universe said the light you seek is within you

and the universe said you are not alone

and the universe said you are not separate from every other thing

and the universe said you are the universe tasting itself, talking to itself, reading its own code

and the universe said I love you because you are love.

[meelusinee]

For a little loaf req I was wondering if you could write something where it's Valentine's and Regulus is trying to plan something for yn so he ends up asking Kreacher, Sirius, and Remus for help which ofc leads to some brotherly teasing and bonding. If not that's ok!

VALENTINE'S DAY | R.B X READER

word count \ 953 | fluffy fluff | slash / regulus black x reader

in which regulus takes you out on a valentine's day date

A LITTLE LOAF SERIES MASTERLIST

“Alright everyone.” Regulus said, a whiteboard behind him and a pointer in his hands. “We have a problem.” 

“A problem?” Kreacher asked.

“I didn’t know there was problems.” Sirius mumbled, Remus humming behind him.

Regulus paused and wrote something on the board, hitting it with his pointer stick. “I need a Valentine’s Day present.”

“Where on Earth did you get the chalkboard?” Sirius asked him incredulously.

“Not important,” Regulus said, writing on the chalkboard again. “Now, right now I only have concepts of a gift with nothing concrete. Dinner, flowers, something regular.”

“Did you buy the chalkboard?” Remus asked.

Regulus sighed. “Forget about the chalkboard!”

Sirius rolled his eyes, waving his hand as Regulus continued to explain the situation.

“I need something that is unique for Y/N, something that she’ll find interesting and gets her attention.” he explained, looking over at Kreacher as he raised his hand. “If this is about the chalkboard, don’t even start.”

Kreacher put his hand down slowly.

Regulus sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “None of you are of any help whatsoever.”

“Look, we don’t really know Y/N the way you know Y/N,” Remus said to him. “If you want to get her a present, think of something. An inside joke between you two, or something relating to how you met. Or, hell, a really obscure memory that you remember from one late night that’s impossible for any normal person to remember.”

“That’s how Remus got our one year anniversary present.” Sirius shrugged.

Regulus sighed under his breath. “Do I want to sound as insane as the two of you?”

“Master Regulus could gift Miss Y/N a booklet of his poetry?” Kreacher suggested, looking up at him as he kicked his feet back and forth.

Regulus paused at that suggestion before nodding, writing that down on the board.

“Maybe something to do with baking?” Sirius suggested. “She’s a baker, she might like you cooking for her.”

“Kreacher could help Master Regulus!” he smiled.

Regulus smiled softly at that, nodding. “I think that might just work.”

“Happy Valentine’s day, my love.” you heard Regulus’ voice in your ear as you began to wake up, the warm sunlight hitting his skin just right.

He was an absolute sight to behold. Hair curled and shiny, his skin glowing much like a Greek God might. He had a small piece of bread in his hand, holding it up to your nose.

“Why on Earth are you holding bread to my nose?” you asked him playfully.

“You make loaves, so I thought this might wake you up.” he said calmly, swaying it back and forth in front of your eyes. “Witness the bread, loaf baker.”

You giggled softly, opening your mouth for the loaf. “Thank you, kind loaf giver.”

Regulus smiled and kissed your forehead. “I have some presents for you today,” he stated.

“For Valentine’s day?” you asked.

Regulus nodded, kissing your lips before grabbing a small book. “I need to finish a couple of things, but I wanted to hand you this first. You can read through it while I finish.”

“What is it?” you asked.

Regulus paused for a moment before sighing. “My writing. About you, I mean. Kreacher said that it; be a good idea. And I figured if I wanted to share my work with anyone, it’d be you.”

You looked at the book before over at him, gasping softly. “Regulus, you don’t have to,”

“I want to.” he reassured you, kissing your forehead. “Let me go finish up, okay love?”

You smiled at him before down at the book. “Okay.”

You felt like you were floating on Cloud Nine.

You had just read some of the poems that Regulus had written about you before he brought you breakfast, homemade food he had prepared the other night. He explained how he made some of the stuff while kissing you lovingly, small tears dropping from your eyes as you felt the love.

He ate breakfast with you before helping you get ready for the day, an act so intimate you wished that it lasted forever. He brushed your hair, helped put on your makeup, and even chose your outfit after. You loved the feeling of his hands on you; every spot that he touched lighting up inside.

You felt your body glowing inside even more when he took you out on a small picnic, the widest smile ever showing on your face. He had even made you small loaves of bread, something the both of you ended up laughing at.

“This is perfect.” you whispered to him. “All of it. The gifts, the picnic. Even this view!”

Regulus smiled softly, kissing your forehead as his eyes stayed on you. “It is perfect.”

You felt a small blush growing on your face.

“Did you bring the poetry book?” he asked you gently, his thumb caressing your waist in a way that made your stomach flip.

“Mhm.” you smiled, pulling it out of your bag.

Regulus smiled, leaning his head on your shoulder. “Can I read it to you?” he asked you gently. 

“Please?” you asked softly.

He smiled and kissed you on the lips, his hands touching yours as he slowly grabbed the book. 

He began to read it to you, his voice calm and gentle as you let the words wash over you. Words that were about you. 

You felt your eyes close as you leaned back against him, happiness rushing over you in waves. His lips brushed against your ear as he spoke, his last words ringing in your mind as you drifted off into what you knew would be the best sleep of your life.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, mon soliel.”

AUTHOR'S NOTE

thank u lovely for requesting!!! i hope that you enjoyed this fic, even though it was short, i'm not sure whether i'm going to be having a fun time with writing any time soon uhm but yeah!!!

AS ALWAYS - please like, comment and reblog! have a lovely day!

[unadulteratedkr]

~Let's talk about credit~

(not financial credit trust me you don't want to take financial advice from me lol)

No, today I am inviting y'all to the table to talk about the importance of crediting other creators in fandom!

Because, listen. We don't have a peer-review system. We don't have to submit our stuff to a plagiarism checker or go through stringent editing when shitposting on tumblr; we operate in an honor system of crafting folklore using our favorite blorbos, and that means that inspiration and using the specific words and images from canon creates a grey area on what ought to be credited, and how to do it in a way that creates a solid, strong community.

Here's a little of my philosophy and how I give proper credit where it's due, so I figured I'd share them to hopefully encourage others in making sure no one out there ends up becoming fandom's James Somerton

1. Links are your friends, use them enthusiastically

Drooled over a gifset that made you write a poem? Read a fic that made you pull out your embroidery hoop? Saw some art that made you write a song? Link to the original! Tag the original artist, hyperlink to the giffer, share the fic via the amazing shortcut button on Ao3, it's what those creators deserve! Even if it's a shitpost, that creator is where your idea started, and it's the right thing to do to share directly where your audience can connect with the person who inspired you.

This holds INFINITELY true if you are directly quoting someone. If you've used someone else's words to create your own work, link back to the original. No one wants to be sent a fic or a funny post on tumblr and then feel the sinking pit in their stomach when they realize that post is their own words with someone else's name on them.

2. Ask for permission when you can

Now, the reason I threw the addendum on this with "when you can" is because knowing when to ask for permission is more of an art versus a science. I myself have written more than one fic inspired by art where I didn't reach out to the artist before I shared the fic because I had no contact with them (the joys of me refusing to touch the garbage that is the bird site). BUT this is why point number one is to always link back to the original inspiration, because I believe that should always be the bare minimum.

THAT BEING SAID.

If you have a way of contacting the original fellow fandom person who inspired you? Reach out and ask them if they'd feel comfortable with you creating something! 999 times out of 1000, they're gonna be over the MOON you want to create something inspired by what they made, and they'll be really fucking pleased you reached out to check.

3. Ask yourself: is this a "two cakes" situation or am I putting my name on someone else's cake?

This is another one that can absolutely fall into a bit of a grey area. I have written many a fic that started out with me reading a take or a fic that went in a WILDLY different direction from what I was expecting or wanted, and I went "okay, fuck it. I'll write my own." And that's absolutely been a great motivator for me to start a project!

HOWEVER.

That is me creating a different flavor of cake, putting my own frosting on it, and probably adding something weird like lemon zest and instant coffee for a lemonade cappucino chiffon that shouldn't work (but definitely does, trust me)

If I were to have read a fic or a take and then gone, "Oh, yeah, definintely, here's the same idea but now I've rephrased it juuust a little and now it's under MY username on my blog".... that's slapping a different color of frosting on the same cake and claiming it's mine. If you find yourself doing that, I really invite you to pause and consider why you felt the need to do so instead of sharing the original post.

Like, not to bring Shakespeare into it (they say, poorly concealing their icon), but fandom can be exactly like how Juliet views love. Sharing joy in what others have created absolutely can be as "boundless as the sea [...] the more I give [...], the more I have, for both are infinite". It does not take away from the joy your fellow fandom friends will have in your own original work to share the work of others.

4. Hyping up your inspiration is FUN

Finally, this is more of me going "no really, proper credit isn't going to mean people love YOU less" because I truly believe in the power of how much FUN it really is to give credit where it's due. I was buzzing for WEEKS in anticipation of publishing Objection! and The 'I Duoy' Newlywed Special because the marvelous @jackuntiljune had brainstromed with me on the name for the boat my boys eloped on. And I get so fucking giddy when I see someone comment on those fics about the name of the boat because I get to take a giant breath and go "MY FRIEND JACK CAME UP WITH IT, AREN'T THEY AMAZING?!"

If you practice giving credit where it's due, I promise promise PROMISE it will become a joy. It's FUN getting to bring more people into the sandbox to play, and I know I love it when there's more than one person out there I can yell at (affectionate) when I've been emotionally destroyed (again, affectionate) by a gifset or art or fic <3

Thanks so much for reading this far! I can't wait to keep sharing inspiration with all of you out there

[mieczy-stiles]

The thing about Luca is that. And I say this as a writer, I suppose, but also as a queer person, that he exudes a certain feeling of safety, and comfort. Like, to have him play something will mean he's going to give you his everything. No matter the character, you'll see a sincerity that isn't just the product of the script, or the demand of it, but also the mind of the actor.

To know that a person of his calibre is out there playing queer characters so effortlessly, and without a doubt in their mind, without any prejudice blinding his artistic choices and who he is as a person, it's obviously a ray of hope, but it is also, then, a kind of trust, even if it is just parasocial in many ways.

I know if it's Luca playing a certain queer character - regardless of what happens to them in the script, that is if the script is stupid and insincere to the queer perspective in certain ways - I'd still easily trust him to do justice to the queer experience, for how sincerely he plays everything.

The whole every-character-of-his having a underlying homoerotic quality to them is all fun and cool and great and beautiful, but also, it's so fucking refreshing

It's been decades of asking for the correct representation in media, it's been years and years of queerbaiting and, if not that, just general lack of care

I've been accustomed to just wanting some of my favourite characters to be gay. Just thinking and wishing and hoping that someone someday will let them reach the full scope of their personality, let them have the right sort of ending, see first the fabric of their person, and not just the thread of their sexuality, and maybe then write the script. There have been all sorts of emotions, and so to find now a person who is doing just that? It's pure beauty.

For a while now it's been changing, more and more shows and films are becoming inclusive and accepting and understanding of the queer gaze, and it's so beautiful that Luca contributes to it with his whole heart, and has been for a long while.

Many must remember how it used to get with artists and makers always denying or trying to tip toe around the obvious queerbait, or shying away from the conversations that involved that queer perspective, or outright rejecting the very idea- it happens still - but then you see the likes of Luca and Marwan being comfortable in each other's company and also about the love they shared on screen (especially, i think, it begs to say, with them being men), talking happily about their characters, making playlists for them, recommending poems for them

A lot many actors now are open to these conversations, a lot of them now talk about it with nuance and care, with just the right words, and though it's in no way any less a contribution to the conversation, or any less genuine, but again, there is something to be said about the ease Luca shows.

Again, as I said before.. it feels safe, with him.

In a lot of his interviews, he doesn't bat an eye before saying things like - I was lucky to have him as my husband. And he means it, you can tell that by the smile on his face. When people are focusing on the movies' objective and the friendships in it, he easily goes and says it's not only the friendship, but also the love.

In another of his interviews, there was once this question about Roberta, about if he knew what was demanded from him and how he prepared for a transsexual character. I remember it because I was almost sure I'll be hearing some generic answer like I studied trans people for this role and this that blah blah, something ignorant, basically. I was braced for it. But he just said. (And he was talking in english, and all that he was trying to say was conveyed more through his face and gestures, it was super cute actually) - I read the script, and I just felt something. I didn't think about playing a transsexual, but a woman, with a friend. It was important for me to show the love she had for him. So. I just played a woman helping out a friend :)

And I was like ?? wait that's? That's all? You're not going to go deep into the character's psyche and the great moral upstanding you must be feeling for doing a role like this? You're not going to talk about how you "prepared" for this role or how it was "different" for you?

I was so used to people doing that, his simple answer took me by surprise.

and that's what's so refreshing, so comforting.

There's no hesitation in him, no prejudice or preconceived notions or activism, even, compelling his choices and words.

It's just him, plain and simple.

He's committed to his art in a way that people rarely are. Especially in media, where even big companies and huge hollywood stars often fail you.

I wish more people in this world were like him. So gently open in his ways, so effortless in his understanding and acceptance that it becomes intrinsic to him.

He's one of the few people, I would say, who are an artist not just by work, but also by nature.

[glitteredbubbles]

I am seizing the opportunity to get insight into the inner workings of the skilled fic writer and I am here for the Yaps (yawps?). With that, 2 & 15 for Afterglow and - I appreciate this is a WIP so all cannot be yet revealed but - 5 & 1 for Some Kind of Poem. Annnddd also being cheeky and asking about the approach to writing - what does your planning and drafting process look like? I'm all ears >:)

OMG thank you so much for this ask!! I’m always happy to talk about my fics, though I’m not sure how much of a “skilled fic writer” I am haha. Folding this since this post is going to be entirely too long, consider yourself warned :)

2 for Let Me Wallow in Your Afterglow: What scene did you first put down?

My Google doc for the fic is too large for me to be able to look through the version history to know for sure (it’s 285 pages long lmao), but I’m pretty sure the first scene I wrote was the opening scene! At that point, I really hadn’t planned much of the fic but was too excited about writing to stop myself, so I wrote a scene to situate the characters and establish their dynamics for my sake. Sorry for the boring answer!

15 for Let Me Wallow in Your Afterglow: What did you learn from writing this fic?

Ooh this is a tough one. This fic is easily the longest piece I’ve ever written, so I think it helped me learn more about the importance of pacing? I would lay out what I wanted from each chapter in very bare bones, such as writing (not enough Poets; add an interaction here) or (Keating lesson here), and then I had to learn through trial and error how to rearrange it so each scene flowed in a way that made sense and wasn’t too repetitive. Hopefully it worked!

1 for I Read You for Some Kind of Poem: What inspired you to write the fic this way?

Hmm there were a lot of odd factors which came together for this fic. I first got the idea way back in 2021, but it was originally for Reddie (Eddie as the famous poet, Richie as an annoying neighbor), and fun fact: the first scene in the fic is repurposed from that draft! I ended up abandoning the fic though because I couldn’t think of how to keep Eddie and Richie interacting since it was an AU where they’d never met before. I had completely forgotten about it until I was brainstorming possible ideas for a Todd-centric fic, and everything just seemed too perfect! Todd being a poet made so much sense and Neil being a doctor was just the cherry on top, and their history solved my issue from before which was not having enough reason to interact!

As for how I’m writing it, I would say I mainly wanted to try writing from Todd’s perspective since I had just done 126k words from Neil’s haha. I also wanted to venture into what I might write if I ever became an actual author, so my intention for this fic was to write something that felt sadly very real, hence the subject matter. As for the plot twist, I could not resist it once I thought of it since I thought it’d really lend itself to the sad tone I was attempting.

5 for I Read You for Some Kind of Poem: What part was hardest to write?

We’re drifting into unknown territory here because I think I’m currently undergoing the hardest part to write! Of course the plot twist scene was something I wanted to get perfect for the best possible impact, but now I’m trying to make sure I’m ending this fic with the seriousness and intention it deserves. I’m trying to make sure a lot of topics are covered and are being handled delicately, and it’s definitely proving to be a juggling act of moving around a lot of scenes, deleting dialogue, and inserting new interactions. I still need to tackle the final scenes, but I’m avoiding them for the time being because it’s going to be some of the saddest stuff I’ll ever write, so I need to be in the right headspace for it.

Additional question: What does your planning and drafting process look like?

Okay so this is going to be hectic because my writing process is insane. First, I get the idea for the fic and have that at the top of my document. I add whatever specific scenes/ideas to it as I go along, and I consider it a grounding reference to make sure I don’t stray too far from the initial plot. I usually don’t do this, but if I’m really stuck, I’ll include a character mentality/motivation paragraph to keep the actions in character.

For planning chapters, I separate by scene and include a little spiel about what happens and what the purpose is. An example from Some Kind of Poem for the first scene of chapter two: (They get coffee, they bond more, maybe think of another event to happen here? They agree for Neil to come visit the cabin since he doesn’t know the area it’s in, wanting to see what a poet’s habitat truly looks like, and Todd tries to ignore the bags under his eyes.)

I try to keep these vague so the story can still breathe and take on whatever form it wants if the characters take over while I’m writing out the scene. As I edit my fic, I delete these little headers when a scene is complete to mark my progress and make it ready to upload!

That’s as far as I go for planning haha. For drafting, I like to have those scene ideas ready so I can jump to whichever section I want and write when I get the inspiration for it. This way, I can keep up my writing momentum while not having to write linearly. Sometimes I repeat information which requires more editing later on, but I consider it a necessary sacrifice since I never want to waste a moment when I don’t have writer’s block haha.

I am sorry for how long-winded this response is, but hopefully this answers all of your questions! Thanks for giving me an excuse to blab about my fics :)

[yexiwuu]

230702 lastyvesniin translation

12

may contain inaccuracies please credit @yexiwuu when reposting

From, blogssi It's July when the summer becomes even hotter! Do you have any activities you definitely want to do in July?

To. Blog ssi

As I was thinking really hard about what to write down I only wrote down really productive things So I deleted everything and now I am writing again...

I want to go to a cafe during the rainy season and read a poem book. As a person who only stays at home when it's raining, it is a huge decision of mine to carry around a book on a rainy day. And I must sit by the window. Since I am a romanticist. And since it will rain a lot, the owner will turn on the air-conditioner to get rid of the dampness. As I am sensitive to the cold, I will have to pack a jacket! Sometimes, when I am reading poetry, there are times when I get surprised and I'm like "Wow! How were they able to express it like this!" When I just flip the book pages, it feels like the words that land on my hands feel like they've been taken away. Whatever type of paper it is, or even if it's a receipt, Once I have written it down and put it away That when I clean my room sometimes, and open that up like a present, I think like that again "Wow! How were they able to express it like this!" Whenever that happens, it feels like someone left it at my home secretly, like a package without a sender. To me, who is like a maximalist, this notebook is like an item that I don't know when I will lose, but Let's stay together.

The texture of the apple notebook which looks better under flash

I bought it together with this book too

As if I was possessed by the first page, I bought it "I should have written down a memo"

2. I want to watch movies and chatter all night in Dohyun's room while eating Kkandori This is where we will be needing the important 'electric fan.' Not long ago at Dohyun's house, we were talking to each other about the different ways of expression Then, we fell asleep at 7 am. As the sounds of the electric fan was whizzing around us, we were slightly leaning towards each other with our ice creams melting in our hands. Both of us went "Wow! It's really like the summer time right now!" at the same time. In the summer, we felt the summer-like feeling. Of course, since it's the summer. But it is really quite different from crunching across the cold snow and reminiscing the past summer.

dohyun is eating a big ice cream by herself;

And Dohyun is a film enthusiast who has written About 1900 movies, all separately. Even if it is about little worries or dull topics She relates them back to movies when talking about them Somehow, that becomes such an interesting thing to me. So usually when I hear about an ending from Dohyun, I go on Netflix to find the movie. Some might think of it as boring, but talking to Dohyun as stuff appears one-by-one is quite fun to me. Thanks to her, I have been watching 'The Good Place' Every morning while going to sleep.

I'm on Season 2 now

3. Being safe and sound When I was younger, our house was directly hit quite hard by the Typhoon 'Maemi.' After that, summer became like a butterfly hiding a knife behind someone's back. (There is a Typhoon Nabi too..) So by any means, the people around me, actually no everyone around me My biggest wish is for them to be safe and sound in the summer. Somehow, 'summer' is glorified to the extent that even the word Feels like it is blazing strongly with the youth full of sun. However, some people become depressed during the rainy season And others become anxious at typhoons inching by closer. Is there something great about happiness~~~~~~ As long as you will be safe and sound Even if the sores inside of our hearts keep poking us And even if this summer is more humid than the past summer We have many more summers coming up, you know~ Let's spend this summer well~ together, too. Bye!

An image without relation to the post

[twistedtummies2]

The Price May Be Right - NUMBER ONE

Welcome to the final installment of “The Price May Be Right!” I’ve been counting down My Top 31 Favorite Vincent Price Performances & Appearances! The countdown has covered movies, TV productions, and many more forms of media…and now, it’s time for the finale. My All-Time Favorite Vincent Price Performance! NUMBER ONE IS…Tim Burton’s “Vincent.”

If you haven’t seen this short stop-motion film, you should. It’s interesting and important for a LOT of reasons. This short film was the official cinematic debut of Tim Burton; at the time, Burton was working as a concept artist and in-betweener for the Disney studios. While his work was never really used, some people on the administrative staff felt there was potential in the young animator, and decided to throw him a bone, so to speak, and see what he could do. This led to the production of a simple six-minute animated piece entitled “Vincent,” based on a poem Burton had written. “Vincent” is a strange piece, in that it is both very simple and very ambiguous. The poem tells the story of a young lad named Vincent Malloy: “for a boy his age, he’s considerate and nice…but he wants to be just like Vincent Price.” The youth imagines himself as a mad scientist, going on dark adventures inspired by multiple Vincent Price movies, including “House of Usher,” “Pit and the Pendulum,” and “House of Wax.” It seems to be a humorously Gothic piece…up until the ending. I won’t give away what the ending is, but it’s a very odd and unusual way for the story to end, as you can’t really tell what’s going on. But that’s also part of what makes it so impactful: it leaves things open to interpretation, and any answer you come up with is interesting. Burton was – and still is – a lifelong fan of Vincent Price. The poem, and the short, were a tribute to the actor and his career. It was fitting, therefore, that Price himself be asked to perform the reading of the poem, as narrator for the short. Price said that the short was one of the greatest tributes he ever received as a performer, and that the experience was “gratifying” beyond compare: “It was immortality – better than a star on Hollywood Boulevard!” (It should be noted that Price had no less than TWO stars on Hollywood Boulevard, so that is saying a lot.) It might seem odd that I’d place something like this at number one, but for me, “Vincent” is just something so rare and beautiful: it’s a tribute to a great actor being performed BY that same actor, and it’s something that feels deeply personal to all parties involved as a result. Tim Burton made no secret of the fact that the character of Vincent Malloy was sort of meant to be a stand-in for himself, to the point where the character is actually meant to resemble both Burton and Vincent Price put together. However, I’m tempted to say Vincent must have seen something of himself as a child in the character. Even if he did not, you can feel the honesty in his performance of the narration, as his own sense of sardonic with and dark elegance permeates every frame. And the fact it was something so intrinsically connected to his life and his work only adds to the power of the result. Like the short itself, the overall result is both humble and grandiose at the same time; something so simple and yet so complex to describe. Bottom line…for me, “Vincent” is SYNONYMOUS with Vincent Price: when I think of one, I think of the other. That is all the reason I need to name this short subject as My Favorite Vincent Price Performance. Thank you all for joining me! And Happy Birthday once again to the great Mr. Price! I hope that you, Peter Cushing, and Christopher Lee are having a blast putting on that marvelous mystery movie in the sky.

[jessicafurseth]

Reading List, Art is Sustenance edition.

[Image via Kelly Beall]

*

"I've been holding off on writing this particular story until I knew how it ended, but it occurred to me the other day that that's exactly the wrong instinct. We pretty much only ever hear about failure when it's been redeemed by success. And maybe that'll happen eventually, but it doesn't seem likely right now, and anyway, the point isn't what's coming. The point is how it's felt to sit here for the last two years, trying to make something happen that just does not seem to want to go." Zan Romanoff

"I was sure that a coffee shop in my hometown would change my life. I would have more friends, more zines to read, more bands to listen to, and other cool things to get into. The coffee itself was a secondary, even tertiary, aspect of this desire." [Alicia Kennedy, Yes! Magazine]

"When I was a teenager, avoidance was not an option. Sometimes, I would just resolutely not do things, because I was physically unable to. But many, many other times I just had to do the things that made me feel anxious. I’m not advocating for this approach entirely: believe me, sometimes nothing good came of it. But sometimes, and this is the really important bit, I did what made me anxious – and good things happened. Interesting things. Exhilarating things. Hilarious things. Useful things, too: GCSEs, A-levels, getting a driving licence, a place at university. If I had been told from the age of 10 that I could get out of doing things that worried me, I would simply never have done anything at all." Treating anxiety as a permanent problem might just make people feel worse [Lucy Foulkes, The Guardian]

"They keep telling us to move on; to accept that Brexit is done. The problem is, Brexit isn’t done with us. It isn’t a single disabling event. It’s a degenerative disease." The next phase of Brexit will be bad for our diet, health and wealth [Jay Rayner, The Guardian]

"I cannot overemphasize how little there was to do before we all had smartphones. A barren expanse of empty time would stretch out before you: waiting for the bus, or for someone to come home, or for the next scheduled event to start. Someone might be late or take longer than expected, but no notice of such delay would arrive, so you’d stare out the window, hoping to see some sign of activity down the block. You’d pace, or sulk, or stew." What Did People Do Before Smartphones? [Ian Bogost, The Atlantic]

"As flawed as the idea of “selling out” was, it captured one incontrovertible truth: only a fool would write a song to make money. You write a song to surprise yourself, to give other people what they never knew they wanted. Perhaps what is missing from popular culture in the 21st century is sufficient contempt for those who give us what we asked for already." On "selling out", a concept lost to history [Dan Brooks, The Guardian]

My first laptop [Rachael Maddux]

The last vestiges of roadside Americana [Sam O'Brien, Gastro Obscura]

The strange survival of Guinness World Records [Imogen West-Knights, The Guardian]

'Felt presence': Why we sometimes feel invisible others [Claudia Hammond, BBC Future]

"This mundane view of a perfect life elevates tedious activities to the status of aspirational living. Your best life will be accessed by taking “pretty pictures”, wearing matching pyjama sets, cooking dinner at home, working out at 5am, buying flowers, lighting candles, stretching." Beware the ‘beige-fluencers’ [Sarah Manavis, The Guardian]

"Most people don't spend a lot of time thinking about poetry. Right? They have a life to live, and they're not really that concerned with Allen Ginsberg's poems or anybody's poems, until their father dies, they go to a funeral, you lose a child, somebody breaks your heart, they don't love you anymore, and all of a sudden, you're desperate for making sense out of this life… 'Has anybody ever felt this bad before? How did they come out of this cloud?' Or the inverse…something great. You meet somebody and your heart explodes. You love them so much, you can't even see straight. You know, you're dizzy. 'Did anybody feel like this before? What is happening to me?' And that's when art's not a luxury, it's actually sustenance. We need it." - Ethan Hawke, via Nitch

[ofrionstage]

Irregularly Documenting My Creative Journey Part 18: Where Have I Been?

2.1.2025

Hi, everyone! :D

The last update I posted was like... 4 days ago? I know it doesn't look like much, but even if my updates are irregular I still want them to have less than three days between them.

So! There's a lot to tell you guys.

That event I talked about was pretty fun! I was nervous something would go wrong, but everything went really great(I am exhausted)! I also posted my 2024 recap, I loved collecting all the data... That's mostly how the past few days went.

Life stuff aside, let's talk about my project! I have good news and bad news.

Good news: Holy shit I actually made it, I started writing the finale! This is absolutely insane, especially when I look back at the previous IDMCJs and see all the problems I encountered, remembering all the times I felt hopeless, all the times I thought I could never really do it. And yet here I am, after 36 goddamn scenes, planning the freaking finale scene of my project. Yes, it's only a first draft, but still! Isn't it amazing how we, as writers, all have these terrible unproductive periods, scenes that hate us, life problems that knock us back down again and again and yet we fight it and make something really freaking cool?!

Every writer, hell, every creator! Fanfics, fanart, novals, music, scripts, paintings, screenplays, poems, online video, short stories, illustrations, fashion designs, animations, that type of writing I'm forgetting about, etc, LISTEN UP! We're freaking warriors on the battlefield of life and fiction. Every day- hell, every HOUR, we need to face our inner demons, life's problems, sometimes writer's block, a lot of other crap, and still create! CREATE! As in, creating something. We don't appreciate ourselves enough, so to any creator of any kind reading this, I appreciate you! I'm a very inexperienced creator, so my appreciation doesn't mean much, but I still want you to know there's a place in the world for your creation. I hope the rest of your day is nice.

And I guess that wraps up part 18! let's wrap up, folks, we don't have all day-

BAD NEWS:

Ah. Right. *sigh*

I have an extremely important test towards the end of January, and I have to study, so progress will be a lot slower than usual.

I hope I'll still be able to post stuff from my creative journey, maybe I'll show you some of the funny notes I wrote to myself in the draft, or some jokes about google docs not working, just little updates instead of big onces, I would've really loved to tell facts about the story and characters, but we're not there yet(patience ;) )... I can promise I'll try my best. I can't promise I'll succeed, though. But I'll try.

Words written in the draft today(technically ever since last update): 303 Words written in the draft by now: 16,820

[smiletimeisrunningout]

Ben's words and expression reminded Emma of the way he spoke of his youth, of his lack of experience with women, how he believed himself to be not quite the looker as a boy. He clearly didn't enjoy being easily embarrassed now, especially when it came to bedding people, and she knew as a man he'd hardly find people encouraging that side of him. It was so silly, to think of how they were encouraged to act like they had no weaknesses, and she may have felt the same about the matter, had she not been raised by a man like her father.

"Make no mistake, I would not want you to be any different," she decided to say then, bringing a hand to his cheek and cupping it gently, "Even the parts of you I can't read because I'm all sorts of confused by my own feelings. If you'll ever choose to come home with me, you'll be welcomed to spend your days reading to kids and looking for new poems and books. You'll never have to be calm and collected unless you wish to be."

Although there was something funny about thinking of Ben living the life of retirement and lazy days that she had planned for her hypothetical future old husband, and instead of that happening because she only needed a husband to have her throne it would be because she had a husband she liked.

"Or you could do whatever you want, I'm making it sound like I'm going to... hold you hostage like some sort of beauty in the tower." God, she had almost said 'marry you'. So much for going as slow as possible. "I just meant to say that I don't want you to change one bit for me, I like you the way you are. Besides the part where you grow double the patience you have now, so you can withstand my moods."

"Oh, come on, it can't be that bad, I would love for you to show me and prove me wrong."

"The side of my bed has a few canvas, you have my permission to check because they are landscapes and, unlike faces, they actually look decent," she offered, adjusting her position on the bed; it hurt, again, and Emma wondered how long it would take before she'd be able to just kiss him as much as she'd like. He was so interested, and so damn kissable. "The next time I'm not dying and we can go out, we'll find a place where I can sing, then. I doubt the rest of your army would be keen. They have more important things to deal with... you don't, anymore, because you have chosen to court me and you must act accordingly," she teased, giving his cheek a light tap.

"I'll finally convince you that books aren't so bad -- or at the very least, listening along to a good story?"

"See, the compromise is right there: you read a book you like, you tell me about it. Much better if you want me to pay attention from beginning to end. Plus, it won't harm me like reading. The headaches just aren't worth it, when I can be told the story." She was surprised whenever she met people who were so dedicated to books; her father loved reading, but he didn't have enough time to do so, so she figured he didn't have to battle with the inevitable headaches as much, but August and Ben? Masochists.

I'm not so sure I can reciprocate, but that's because I only tend to fall into bed with those I...w-well, I prefer meaning to my dalliances-" "Oh, sweetie," she whispered, smiling in reassurance. "-And clearly, I hadn't found that before you, since you were...y-you were my... My first."

"No, I know that, and that's lovely, really. I would never expect you to drop your values for me," she assured him, "There is nothing wrong with you waiting, you know that. In fact, you should be proud: you did it the way you wanted, when you wanted, and not because you felt you had to. That takes guts. I may not share the... uh... philosophy behind it, but I will defend it until the end of days." Though it was still odd to her that he hadn't been taken aback by her history. "I don't... I think I don't really kiss much, if there is no feeling behind it? Even if, in my case, generally the feeling was friendship, I suppose to me it's kissing that required some meaning. It feels so intimate. Like holding hands."

She took his hand, not just to make a point but to feel just how natural it was. She may lay with a stranger, but she certainly would not hold hands with him.

"In fact, I've been told I'm rather hotheaded, and despite my father's valiant efforts, I'm not the best with sharing, either. Not that I intend to."

Her gasp was far too intrigued, "You are jealous?" she asked in delight, "Oh, that sounds fun. We have to revisit that once I have healed enough... Naturally, you know you don't need to worry about me looking at other men, I find the thought of cheating repulsive." That and when she had met Selah Strong in passing and had properly ogled him, she had almost died on the spot after Caleb had explained he was married to their friend Anna. Her horror at having looked at the man for too long had even entertained James, who had apparently expected her 'not to care' on account of her being 'so carefree', which he had not meant as an insult, but had horrified her even more. No, taken men were off-limits, and so was she as a taken woman. "But if you wish to deck someone because they cross a line with me or something of the sort, please make sure I'm there."

"Perhaps my fear made you appear more... calm and collected about the whole ordeal than you actually were," she suggested, which wasn't an unfair assumption. "I do hope I'll get to see that... gollumpus you speak of. He seems just my type."

Benjamin grinned, his eyes shining self-consciously. "Trust me: no one has ever called me calm and collected, and least especially when it comes to protecting those I love. But if my gollumpus side is the one you're yearning for, I just might have some competition on my hands."

All the naked things?

Yet again, Benjamin felt a damnable spread of heat searing across his face as he laughed, darting his eyes in between her face and the ground. He wasn't sure why after all this time he was still shy at such talk -- especially since she'd never exactly been withholding when it came to her candidness -- but with a shake of his head, he softly reassured, "No, I...w-well, according to Caleb, I'm very much like an open book. If I like someone, or dislike them, it's plain as day... But apparently not to those who truly matter."

Emma was quick to dismiss any artistic pursuits. Despite her typical self-deprecation (something that he, himself, tended to mirror in his own behavior), Benjamin found himself laughing at the idea. "Oh, come on, it can't be that bad," he said. "I would love for you to show me and prove me wrong."

When she brought up singing, he perked up. "I've heard you were fond of it," he allowed, "but I've never actually been privy to a concert. I was always out and about, or busying myself with papers, and...other tasks."

It occurred to him then that Emma wasn't wholly privy to the ring. Perhaps he should tell her someday, he thought, if she wished to be given the ultimate sign of his trust and admiration.

Seemingly oblivious to his inner conflict, Emma continued, "Considering that, it's odd that I miss painting. But I... like the idea of doing that while you read... doing that sort of thing together, as in sharing a room. Or tent, in this case."

"I like that too," Benjamin softly reassured. "And maybe one day, one day, I'll finally convince you that books aren't so bad -- or at the very least, listening along to a good story?"

Emma appeared rather embarrassed, but before he could ask what he'd done, she was quick to turn around and embarrass him. "I assure you," she coyly said, "had you been inclined, I would have taken you to bed long before knowing you as a person. Just because of your looks. Multiple women being interested in you is not out of the realm of possibilities."

"I...thank you?" Benjamin stammered, his brows scrunching with a self-conscious chuckle. "I'm not so sure I can reciprocate, but that's because I only tend to fall into bed with those I...w-well, I prefer meaning to my dalliances. And clearly, I hadn't found that before you, since you were...y-you were my..." Awkwardly, he waved a hand before shyly concluding, "My first."

Emma rattled off all the ways other women could be jealous -- the idea seemed absurd to him, if he was being honest -- yet she was quick to denounce such thoughts. "That sounds horrible," she decided. "I hope my status will scare them away. You are lucky no one has tried to woo me here so you don't need to witness it, but I'll have to prepare so I can have a proper ladylike reaction, it's not as if I can fight them, they are ladies."

Benjamin scoffed. "You are lucky for that, too," he challenged. "I confess, I've never had to keep menfolk away from a woman, but I do know I'm not much for jealousy. In fact, I've been told I'm rather hotheaded, and despite my father's valiant efforts, I'm not the best with sharing, either. Not that I intend to." He flashed a lopsided smile. "I'll share your time here and there, but anything else risks that gollumpus we talked about coming into play."

[diary-of-a-teenage-cultleader]

Diary Entry #5

Today's Date is Sunday Oct. 15th, 2023. Current time: 12:42 a.m.

Dear Diary, and to anyone who reads this,

So, I'm back, maybe for good, maybe not.

Let's start our story with what's happened in the last 2 years...

J and I fell in love, and we've met twice in person now, even visited his country. He asked me to be his on December 1st, 2021. Our 2 year anniversary is coming up, though he did reject me in the beginning between fear of commitment and my mental instability, which in retrospect, I understand. Which I will explain now.

I've been diagnosed with Bipolar type 2, the type of Bipolar where your depressive episodes last longer than your manic episodes. My emotions fluctuate heavily and I tend to switch up daily, though I've been stuck in a depressive episode since I've returned from Europe.

Doll, Leaf, GT and I have started work as sex workers, though GT is taking a step back due to a traumatic event that I'd rather not explain, even if no one reads this.

I've made at least $150 in the last year from sex work alone, and even gained a sub, he's friendly enough but I'd rather not talk about that right now.

I've moved in with my biological father, I basically have the apartment to myself since he's never here and frequently leaves me on my lonesome. I have to learn new hobbies and activities to keep myself from losing my mind.

I've learned to play ukulele, which I'm very proud of, and I've learned to paint, and wood carve. I've discovered a passion for language I never knew I had. I've grown an interest in DnD and hope to create a group soon.

I believe I'm non-binary, I've been having these feelings for the last year and a half now, dressing and flipping between gender presentation really makes me happy, but I still don't relate with the girl identity enough to be genderfluid, though I may be overthinking it.

But enough about me, well, at least talking about random things. I'll tell you about today, if you're still listening:

Today, I chatted with J for a short time today after I woke up late, he seemed reasonably stressed since his mom tends to randomly dump her feelings in random breakdowns recently, making my boyfriend feel as though he needs to constantly do better and he has to help her, I can't tell him that he might be traumatized from always being the emotional step stool for his mom.

So, I've been holding in my emotions about everything I've been feeling lately, as to not burden him, both good and bad. I don't want to be overbearing with my love, and I don't want him to worry about my mental breakdowns over missing him so much. He was upset that I didn't suggest something I should do for him when I left, I think he was stressed about wasting time because I was busy getting ready to go carve pumpkins with my dad's girlfriend's family. I felt terrible since he cancelled his family plans for me, but I even offered to stay and he said no, I just don't know how to help him sometimes, I accidentally got really blunt with him about needing to go to therapy, I just feel like I'm supposed to be his emotional support but he doesn't tell me upfront what he needs sometimes. I get it, it's annoying if you have to do it all the time, but I'm trying my best, and still learning. I'm just scared he's gonna realize that I'm not the best possible partner and leave. Everyone who was important to me left without a word of why. I know I can be problematic sometimes but I swear with every fiber of my being that I am working to make a better man of myself. Especially to him. I even wrote a little poem explaining my feelings over my life at the moment.

I know it may be a bit harsh to read but it's the truth of how my life has been so far, I recognize to others, I will be a burden. I hope to fix this, but if not, I'm not even sure what I would do with myself.

My boyfriend said he wanted to make me feel bad, to help him, I'm not sure if it's toxic or not. I feel like there's some toxic traits from both ends that need to be worked on. I need to stop changing myself for him, I've before put my whole schedule around him, defied my parents for him, nearly abandoned my friends because he didn't like them. I wanted to spend so much time with him. He makes me feel bad sometimes, that I keep him from having friends because I can be a bit jealous, but I told him that I'm not worried about it anymore, I've grown over it. I'm scared I traumatized him. I'm scared that I manipulate him. I don't want to do those things. I never want to hurt him... I'm just so stressed with the idea that I'm a terrible partner. I apologize, this was meant to be a diary entry, not a vent. But back to the entry, I went pumpkin carving and talked with my dad about stuff and it went about as well as talking to my dad usually does, he over shares, but at least I made a cute pumpkin and got s'mores. Which was nice. I'll include pics here:

So I suppose the day didn't end too bad, it just hurt that my bf left me on delivered. He may have fallen asleep. I'll talk to him in the morning but hopefully things can be talked about. Thank you for listening to my rant, whoever could get through this whole thing.

Thanks, Diary

STRD:

RIIST:

[0721am]

(Sending you a virtual bouquet and a cake!)

16th July, 2023

Dear gentle Ami,

Your lovely friend has returned with the letter for your birthday. how have you been, darling? the year has been a journey, full of tides, ups and downs. yet, that smile of yours never disappeared. indeed, the very charm of yours is that serene smile.

I hope your heart is at peace. 🤍

Yesterday, I perused the previous letter and realized I am writing my fifth letter to you. The number 5 signifies the middle point of anything. Now, I am closer to a decade than before. In complete sincerity, I can not wait to see how much will change in these letters and our lives.

Let's go for a ‘10!’ 🤍

Now, you shall start the new season with my letter.

Dearest, Happy Birthday! Welcome to 24. (Perhaps, should I welcome you to a mid-life crisis? I rather not!) I hope you had a lovely day. I sincerely wish all your wishes come true.

However, there is one wish which I want to come true — Meeting you. I have no idea kab, kaise, aur kahan — but I really want to meet you. Countless times, my mind filled with the thoughts of our meeting — from what we would have dressed to the kind of hangout we would have. I want to hold you close and cherish your presence. I need to know what it is like to be in your presence. Hopefully, soon, this wish of mine come true! 🌹

Spring Sunshine.

You're so cute. Each and every time I see your stories on Instagram, my first thought has always been, “You’re so cute like a button!” I must say, as the days go by, you get cuter. Despite the thorns you faced, the rose bloomed within you. 🌹

You're the cutest muffin evah! 🤍

With all my heart, I thank you for listening to my concerns and softening them for me to cope. I felt lighter.

So, Thank you, darling!

Since you've been learning Korean for the past few years, I found this poem for you —

꽃은 시들 줄 알면서도 핀다 그래서 사람들은 안다 지금 피지 않은 꽃이 있다 해도 곧 활짝 필 거란 걸

❝Flowers bloom even though they know they will wither

So people know

Although there are flowers that are not in bloom right now

They will be in full bloom soon.❞

Though this poem speaks about the light within the soul, I felt this poem may resonate with you in terms of dreams, dearest. We dream and put in the effort, knowing they may or may not come true. Yet, we continue to dream. For the inner child who has been wounded by 23, I hope 24 brings the marham she longs for.

May your soul and dream bloom courageously, despite.

My love...

Welcome to the thirst trap section! 🤍✨

How can I end the letter without involving THE KIM TAEHYUNG!? Huh, that's impossible. I shall make you sinner with my curation.

Allow me to spice up your new season! ✨

Amisha, my munchkin, I hope you enjoyed a delightful time reading the letter. Pardon me if this did not meet your expectations! I still have not recovered from my writing block. However, writing a letter every year means a lot to me. This is an important business!

Honey, once again, Happiest B'day! 🤍✨

— yours, Teeeeee! 🌼

[collecting-stories]

Two-Headed Calf - Eddie Munson

Summary: You and Eddie are soulmates, but neither of you knows how to tell the other.

A/N: I got the idea for this when I was writing my Steve Harrington AU drabble. I love love this poem and I was thinking of Eddie and it made me think of this poem and I had to write this. Also I am EXTREMELY nervous because this is my first Eddie fic so handle me with kid gloves. My feelings are fragile.

Stranger Things Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

Tomorrow when the farm boys find this 

freak of nature, they will wrap his body 

in newspaper and carry him to the museum. 

-February 1982- 

Some people waited decades to meet their soulmates. You had waited a mere six hours, if even that. You’d woken up on the morning of your 16th birthday to a warmth on your arm, the kind that made you rush to the bathroom and look in the mirror.

And there it was, your soulmate tattoo, exactly at the time you had been born, sixteen years prior. A two headed calf with a moon and stars that looked oddly soft and gentle for being a tattoo. You recognized the meaning because it was your favorite poem and the thought alone made your entire heart feel like it was swelling. Maybe it was silly and wistful but you thought the whole notion was romantic and you’d read what felt like thousands of accounts of people finding their soulmates. So you knew, when you saw the tattoo, that it was something different, something you’d only heard about happenings handful of times, something extremely rare, that whoever your soulmate was, you had the same tattoo.  

It was common knowledge that each person’s tattoo was unique, a symbol that was meant to encapsulate something important about their soulmate. But when a tattoo said as much about you as it did about the person you were bound to, that was something deeper. Whatever was more binding than a soulmate, as if you’d been truly cut from the same cloth.  

When you saw the two-headed calf you were excited, bewildered, nervous, happy. It was a rush of emotions coursing through you that didn’t fade away until you were in first period math, sitting in the same seat that you always did, staring at the chalkboard in the front of the room as other students filed in. Getting your tattoo didn’t mean that you were going to find your soulmate right away.  

Your mom had never even met hers. Your dad had, ten years into their marriage, and now he lived in Denver, Colorado with a new wife and family. Your aunt and uncle finally met five years after college. You didn’t know anyone who had met their soulmate right away but then Eddie Munson came in, looking tired and maybe a little burnout for eight in the morning on a Wednesday. He dropped into the seat next to you, like he did every day of the week, and you noticed (for the first time maybe) a familiar tattoo peeking out from the sleeve of his shirt.  

Eddie Munson had turned 16 three days before you. You knew because you were the only February birthdays in Mrs. Prescott’s third grade class and your mom had brought in double the cupcakes on your birthday and Eddie had handed them out with you. When you’d walked down to the office and specials classrooms he’d gone with you and the two of you had giggled about getting to skip math that day.  

“Did you get the invitation to my birthday party?” You had asked as you made your way back through the halls. Music was next and you didn’t want to miss it, even if your teacher was weird. “I’m gonna have a bowling party.”  

“My uncle’s not sure if he works that day.” Eddie had gotten it, the crisp white envelope sitting in his backpack at the end of the school day. Mrs. Prescott had been teaching cursive since January and you had written out Eddie’s name in neat, looping letters. It was the first birthday he’d been invited to that school year.  

“My mom could pick you up.” You suggested, pausing in the hallway. “Oh! We could have two cakes!”  

“Two cakes?” Eddie looked completely bewildered by the suggestion, “what for?” 

“Me and you.” You bumped your hip against his and smiled when icing from his cupcake smeared on his nose, “we can have a joint birthday!” 

There was an extra cupcake in your locker right now, waiting for you to work up the nerve that you’d sworn you would every February since sixth grade and give it to Eddie during lunch. He subconsciously pushed up the ¾ sleeve and itched his arm over the tattoo, giving you a better look at what you knew was there…a soul mark to match your own.  

“Did you get it?” Your best friend dropped into the seat in front of you and turned to look at you eagerly. Lizzie’d gotten hers at the beginning of January, the first of your friends to get a soul mark. She’d gotten a bumblebee on her wrist, much smaller and more delicate than yours. More immediately noticeable as well, though you weren’t sure you really wanted yours to be on display. Eddie wasn’t paying attention, or if he was he did a good job of looking disinterested.  

“Yeah, I’ll show you after class.” You promised.  

You weren’t entirely sure that you’d spoken to Eddie since third grade. You always wanted to talk to him, thought about it after the talent show in middle school when Corroded Coffin preformed a Black Sabbath song you’d never heard of. Your mom was on the PTL that year and went to bat for Eddie (after you’d insisted that he was your friend)  with the other moms who thought the music was satanic and disgusting. It wasn’t a stretch to say you had a crush on him. It wasn’t like you were popular by any means, if anything you were skating just below the surface, invisible to most people and happy with that status. Eddie liked the attention, you thought sometimes, he liked everybody looking at him, even if it was because he was a social pariah.  

But Eddie was...Eddie and you just weren’t sure you stacked up. You didn’t have a cool taste in music, you didn’t dress edgy, you’d never played Dungeons & Dragons (though you knew how, in case the moment ever presented itself and you had the chance to talk to Eddie again). You weren’t interesting enough for him, you’d decided that long before you knew he was your soulmate, when it was still just a meaningless crush that you harbored.  

“Where is it?” Lizzie was still pressing for a sneak peek but there was no way you were going to pull your sleeve up and show her when your soulmate in question was sitting right beside you.  

“I’ll show you after class,” you repeated, stealing a glance at Eddie as he rubbed at his arm again. You could feel the slight tingling across the inside of your elbow and forearm, as if goosebumps had erupted across your skin. As hard as it was to concentrate on math, you tried desperately to ignore the feeling on your arm, too afraid to itch your freshly visible tattoo for fear that Eddie might notice.  

After class felt like it would never happen, your knee bobbing nervously under the desk as the minutes ticked on. You weren’t sure how long you had zoned out for but one minute you were listening to the teacher talking over linear equations and the next you were envisioning what it might be like if Eddie knew that you were sitting there beside him with the same tattoo.  

Would he kiss you? You were pretty sure you’d give just about anything to kiss him. You’d spent plenty of time thinking about the soft fullness of his lips and how pretty he looked when he smiled and how much you wanted to run your fingers through his hair and sit on his lap and make out with him until you were short of breath.  

“You okay?” 

You turned to the side, looking at Eddie like a deer caught in headlights. The bell for the end of class had rung and you had jumped practically out of your seat when the sound jostled you out of your daydream. Eddie was looking at you with all the concern in the world while Lizzie tapped your desk with her knuckles. 

“Lets go,” either she hadn’t seen your jump scare moment or she was so used to you fazing out in class that she wasn’t bothered in the slightest, more so, she was eager to see this tattoo and wouldn’t stop bugging you until you showed her.  

“Uh, yeah, okay,” you still felt dazed as you stood up, Eddie standing up at the same time, retrieving your backpack off the floor and holding it out for you. “Thanks, I’m okay.” You promised, taking the bag, your fingers brushing against his.  

A soft jolt, like the after effect of an electric shock, ran up your arm. A warm sensation surged through you and you pulled your hand back quickly, avoiding eye contact as you heard Eddie call your name. If you turned around and looked at him you were liable to tell him your secret, that he was your soulmate.  

You couldn’t though. You couldn’t do that to him. People like Eddie moved to New York City and played gigs at CBGB’s and had gorgeous groupies hanging all over them. They didn’t stay in Hawkins, saddled to some starry-eyed kid who shared a birthday month and a tattoo with them.  

Lizzie pulled you down the hallway and into the bathroom, pushing the stall doors open to make sure no one else was in there with you. While she made a final inspection you dropped your bag to the floor and pushed off your jacket so you could take your shirt off for her to see the tattoo.  

The two headed calf looked back at you from the dingy mirror on the wall, half obscured by Lizzie’s head as she inspected the tattoo. “Weird.” She mused, “I don’t get it.” 

“Who knows, it’s just a cow.” As much as you loved Lizzie and as close as you were, there were things you’d never share with her. Like favorite poems about conjoined cows.  

“With two heads. Figures you’d get some weirdo as your soulmate.”  

“You don’t know that,” you sounded more offended than someone who’d just gotten their soul mark that morning and had little to no way of knowing who it belonged to.  

Lizzie didn’t seem to notice though, “I thought it’d be something cool.”  

You rolled your eyes. Who was she to comment on the ‘coolness’ of your tattoo? A bumblebee was hardly ‘cool’. It was just a bumblebee. There wasn’t even any originality in it. You shrugged your shoulders before you could say anything you regretted and grabbed your backpack. Lizzie had cut into your time to grab books and you really didn’t want to be late to class. Nor did you want to continue any conversation with her that would include making fun of the tattoo you were so fond of.  

- 

The bell for lunch sent your stomach back into a spiral. You’d gone through Spanish and Science without Eddie being physically beside you, though he’d taken up plenty of space in your mind. It was in the middle of biology that you decided you were going to finally, actually, go through with the plan that you came up with every year on your birthday. You were going to get the confetti cake cupcake from your locker and you were going to broach the Hellfire table and you were going to give him the cupcake. It was a little late for his birthday but you didn’t think he’d care either way.  

But now you were staring at the tupperware container with the cupcake in it and feeling self conscious about giving it to him. What if he thought it was stupid? What if he made fun of you? That one seemed unlikely. You’d known him since kindergarten technically and you’d never known him to be mean.  

Deep breath in, you reminded yourself, you could do this. Even if he didn’t know it yet, you were technically destined to be together, in all the universe no one would ever love you as much or understand you as deeply as Eddie Munson, so surely he’d accept a cupcake. Even if he didn’t know yet, he had felt the same jolt as you. You knew he did because when you looked back into the math class he was staring at his hand like it’d caught fire.  

“Happy birthday,” you announced, stopping beside his seat and holding the Tupperware out to him. He was in the middle of a heated music debate with one of the other guys you recognized from the talent show. Eddie’s head whipped around so fast you half expected it to turn all the way like an owl. It was his turn to look like a deer in headlights, spooked and confused all at once.  

“What?” His mouth was slightly agape as he stared up at you, eyes practically sparkling as he put two and two together. “A present? For me?” The boyish wit and charm returned in full force like a sucker punch to your heart as he placed his hands over yours and pulled the Tupperware toward him, “why, I am just beside myself,” his voice was high-pitched, his accent a caricature of a southern belle. Still, that familiar gleam in his eye couldn’t be missed as he opened the lid and looked down into the container, a cupcake (the top a little mashed in) with rainbow jimmies.  

“My mom made them for my birthday,” you explained, “I figured, since it was just your birthday too...” As you spoke you crossed your arms in front of yourself, tucking your hand against your forearm and itching at the tattoo as inconspicuously as possible.  

The playfulness that had been in Eddie’s eyes a moment ago flickered away, another emotion, something like surprise mixed with happiness, took its place. The boy you’d known to always have something to say, said nothing. He just stared at the cupcake, almost transfixed, tongue darting out to wet his lips.  

“It’s confetti...well it’s vanilla but you know, with jimmies baked in.” You further explained, unsure what to do with an Eddie that wasn’t loud and goofy and theatrical.  

Finally Eddie looked back up at you, “thank you, I uh...thank you.” 

“Yeah, hope you like it. I uh,” you looked back toward your usual table, Lizzie already sitting down with her lunch, “I have to go eat.” 

“Yeah, yeah, of course.” 

You turned around and walked back to your table as quickly as possible, trying to breath in and out to stop the warm throbbing in your side. You’d read once that ignoring the tattoo, if you were near the person that was your soulmate, could lead to eventual pain in the area of your soul mark. You almost wondered if it was starting already. A quick glance back to the table and Eddie was eating the cupcake, some icing smudged in the corner of his mouth. When he put the tupperware down for a second and itched at his arm you thought for a split second about walking right back over and kissing him and seeing what would happen.  

But then Lizzie called your name and you were pulled back into reality. 

-

-June 1983-

It was the end of the school year when Eddie found his soulmate. The two-headed calf tattoo on the inside of his forearm and elbow was one he’d spent hours staring at since it first showed up in February. He’d read the poem for the first time in seventh grade, leaning over the back of your chair in the library with his head on your shoulder and his cheek pressed against yours.  

He remembered the afternoon perfectly, as if he had a television in his brain and he was watching a rerun of an episode of his life. Or at least the highlight reel.  

You were waiting for your mom (who was always nice but also always late) working on your english homework, when Eddie came in. He’d been on the run from the same basketball playing future sociopaths that still tormented him now, at the end of junior year. The library doors looked like the gateway heaven, or at least that’s what he told you later on when he recounted what had brought him into your personal space (literally, you were convinced that Eddie lacked spacial awareness along with a few other things that probably should have made him less endearing).  

But the library doors, like a gateway to heaven glowing at the top of the ramp to the second floor. He booked it, his old converse squeaking in protest, and entered the room with a flourish only Eddie Munson could harness.  

“Holy shit!” He’d been laid up against the door trying to catch his breath when he saw you. It wasn’t the first time he had talked to you since third grade but every time left butterflies in the pit of his stomach. He pushed off the wooden door, heading straight for your chair. He pressed his hands down on the back rung and crouched down, leaning over you and placing his chin on your shoulder.  

You’d seen him come in, heard him call your name when he saw you, so you didn’t jump when you felt him practically draping himself over you. By seventh grade you were more than used to Eddie and his antics.  

“What’re you doing?”  

“Homework.” You replied, not turning your head for fear that you’d be in a predicament that you both wanted to be in and wanted to avoid. You imagined all those trashy romance novels you smuggled from your mom’s room; the main characters catching each other off guard so one could kiss the other.  

Eddie groaned, stumbling away from you as if you’d shoved him, practically tripping over the table as he threw himself into the chair beside you. His elbow collided with the tabletop and he rested his head against his palm, “boring!” He exclaimed, drawing out the word.  

“It’s not boring Eddie,” you insisted as he took the poetry book from you. The English assignment had been fairly cut and dry, discussing the meaning of a favorite poem.  

“What poem is this?” He asked, reading the one that you highlighted. There were notes in the margins, you annotated what you could and Eddie got that stupid little grin on his face as he read your handwriting. It had gotten smaller since third grade, neater too.  

“The two-headed calf.”  

On your sixteenth birthday Eddie had sat beside you in class, hopefully when Lizzie mentioned the tattoo but you wouldn’t say anything about it. He wanted to demand that you show him, wherever it was, because he’d been thinking of you for the last three days and he desperately wanted to know if it was you. It had to be you, didn’t it? But did you even remember?  

It was June and it was hotter than usual and Lizzie, who lived a few trailers away from his humble abode, had invited you over to sun bath. (“I need to be tan for summer.” She had insisted) You had walked passed his place and he was outside smoking and you stopped.  

Eddie knew it wasn’t unusual that you did, you’d always been nice to him. You’d always been nice to everyone but that didn’t stop the thudding in his heart every time you looked his way, it was like winning the lottery when he hadn’t even entered. Normal people didn’t get so lucky.  

“Hey, Eddie.” You say his name like you’re always happy to see him and for the briefest second Eddie imagines that it’s him you’re coming to see and not Lizzie. That you’d sit on the stoop with him, kiss his cheek so gently it’d turn up to his ears, and maybe finish the joint he’s smoking. You’d listen to him talk about D&D and when you talked about the books you liked he’d understand every word.  

“Ah,” he smiled, “tell me fair maiden, what brings you to this hobbit hole?”  

“Aren’t hobbit holes meant to be clean?” You teased, kicking an empty can of beer that had fallen out of the trash cans on the edge of Eddie’s sorry excuse of a lawn.  

He felt his heart swell at the comment and suddenly he wished he could usher you inside and spend the whole rest of the afternoon talking about Tolkien with you. “You know your hobbits then.” 

You opened the tote bag hanging off your shoulder and pulled the slightly worn copy of The Hobbit up far enough that Eddie could see it, pressing your lips together as if you were fighting off a smile but smiling anyway. “I was uh,” you dropped the book back into your bag and nervously shifted your weight as you stood there a few feet from him, wondering if he would think you were stupid if you told him, “I was thinking about you the other day.”  

Eddie tried to keep whatever composure he was still clinging too, “well, I can’t blame you, there’s a lot to think about.”  

You laughed and nodded as if you agreed with him, “I was wondering how many times you’ve read the hobbit and trying to decide if I was anywhere near as close.”  

“At least ten,” he admitted, “I’ve lost count.”  

You didn’t mention that you imagined him sitting there with you in your room, the two of you reading together. That you thought about how he’s jump up on the bed and perform every song that Tolkien had penned, shouting out the goblin song so loud he no doubt disturbed all the neighbors. “I have the movie…I mean, when I’m done rereading I’m gonna watch the movie again. We should-“ 

“Oh my god!” Lizzie shouted, “of course you’re over here!”  

Eddie perked up at the comment, his mind racing at what she could’ve meant. Of course, the words replayed in his mind, you’re over here. When he looked up at you, you were looking at Lizzie and for the first time he realized he could see your soul mark, the grayish-black drawing etched on your skin on full display for him as you stood there apologizing for stopping to talk, it was the same as his and he realized then that he’d been holding a hand over his arm this whole time. The dull ache in his arm felt warm, like a soft fire had spread from his fingers all the way up his shoulder and down to his heart.  

He should’ve told you right then, as you turned back to him and adjusted the strap of your bag. He should’ve grabbed you and told you that you were his soulmate and wasn’t that perfect because he was so in love with you anyway, but he just smiled awkwardly as you apologized for Lizzie.  

“I was saying,” you were saying something and Eddie had to force himself to pay attention to anything other than the itch, “we should watch the hobbit together. You could come over and we could have pizza and stuff. Are you still reigning champion of Oreo stacks?”  

Eddie was pretty sure he was going to explode. Or that lightening was going to come down from the sky and strike him where he stood. “No one’s taken the crown yet.” He replied.  

Lizzie called your name again, having walked away and suddenly realized you weren’t beside her. You bit your bottom lip, looking apologetic and incredibly beautiful all at once. Blow off Lizzie and her dumb obsession with being tan, Eddie wanted to say, come inside and we’ll watch the hobbit now. He would watch whatever you wanted, name it and he’d get it.  

“I’ll see you later Eddie,” you waved, his name like honey dripping from your lips. When you reached Lizzie she said something, looking back over her shoulder at him and he heard you giggle. It had his cheeks flushing to his ears and he quickly swatted at them, as if he could tamper down the feeling in his chest.  

You’d been so close, just feet from him, just lingering there and he could see your tattoo. He knew, he’d known since the morning the two headed calf appeared on his arm that it was you. There was no one else it could be and how convenient because he’d been in love with you since you made him a cookies and cream birthday cake in third grade and made everyone at your party include him when they sang ‘Happy Birthday’. He swallowed the lump in his throat, thinking about it. If he told you, that you were his soulmate, that out of everyone in the entire universe you’d been saddled with Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson, would you be pissed? Would be fake nice about it? Tell him that was good and you didn’t mind while you just about died inside at the news? No, you couldn’t know. He wouldn’t tell you.  

-

-December 1984-

You took another deep breath as you stood outside the door of Eddie Munson’s trailer. You hadn’t seen him since graduation in June but you’d spent more time with him on your mind than not. New York had never been your first choice for college but when you’d been accepted to NYU it was like all you could think about was some parallel world where you and Eddie graduated and moved to a shitty loft and he played gigs in the city with his band and you blew off classes to sleep in with him.  

But you were alone in New York and Eddie was repeating senior year at Hawkins and you thought about him every day and collected a million stories that you hoped would impress him. And right now, two weeks before Christmas, you were standing outside his trailer because you had gained enough perspective to decide that (if you could get your brain to cooperate long enough) you were going to tell Eddie that you were his soulmate.  

You still weren’t cool enough for him but he’d have to get used to that bit cause not seeing him every day made you feel like you were going to go insane.  

He’d called out that he was coming five minutes ago when you first knocked on the door and it’d been followed with a series of loud curses and what sounded like furniture falling over. You thought about knocking again when the door swung open, cheap wood slamming against the wall of the trail and Eddie was staring at you looking very much like he’d just woken up. 

“Hey, sorry I didn’t like...call first or something. I uh, I wasn’t sure if you’d want to but I brought snacks and I figured we never watched The Hobbit like we said we would.” You rattled off your reason for being at his house as quickly as possible as he started at you with wide eyes. You weren’t even sure he remembered that conversation.  

“Come in,” He unlatched the screen door and pushed it open, letting you in passed him. He looked a little bewildered by your presence but didn’t question it. Afterall, who was he to argue when you willing were choosing to spend time with him.  

Eddie’s tattoo was on full display in his short sleeve Black Sabbath shirt and you knew that when you took your jacket off, he would see yours too. But you had come over here with a plan and you were (somewhat) determined to see it through. You set down your tote bag on the coffee table, taking out the package of oreos, two jiffypops, The Hobbit and Lord of the Rings.  

“Sorry to like, force you to hang out with me.” You apologized, turning back to look at Eddie as his hand dropped to his arm so he could itch at the tattoo.  

A deep frown, something more akin to a comical pout, crossed Eddie’s face as he shook his head. “You could probably force me to do anything.” He said and then his eyes went wide, “I mean...uh, it’s fine. No problem.” 

“I was thinking about you-” 

“You were?” 

“I uh...yeah,” you nodded, “I didn’t say anything before graduation but...” You felt like you were moving in slow motion, like maybe you should’ve played some kind of music you were taking so long to unzip your jacket. Eddie was still looking confused, licking his lips nervously and rubbing at his cheek as your coat came off. “Ta-da!” you held your arm out awkwardly so he could see the matching tattoo on your arm.  

A slow smile spread across his face, cheeks turning red up to his ears as he stared down at the tattoo and then, suddenly, he jumped. You stumbled backward a little, startled. Eddie grabbed your arm though it was gentle, “I knew it!” He exclaimed, “I fucking knew it! I said to myself, Eddie, it’s gotta be them. The minute I saw it I knew.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?” 

“Why didn’t I say anything? Why didn’t you say anything?” He replied.  

You bit down on your bottom lip to stop from smiling at him, “I kinda thought you’d be disappointed...” you admitted. “I mean, you’re really fucking cool-” 

He pressed his free hand to his heart, “ugh, flattery. The way to my heart.” 

“I’m being serious Eddie. I knew it was you and I wanted to tell you so many times I just...I chickened out, I don’t know. I mean, I...tattoo or not, I love you. I really really love you and I went all the way to New York and the whole time I was there I just kept thinking, I wish Eddie was here. I wish we could share this. And I should’ve said something sooner I just...I thought you wouldn’t want to find out that it was me.” You replied.  

“Are you kidding?” He asked, “like seriously, are you joking right now?” Eddie felt like he was being forced through a round of mental gymnastics, trying to decipher how anyone at all, let alone you, could think that he was the catch, all while figuring out what exactly it meant that you were so nervous. It wasn’t bad, he had already determined that there was nothing about this situation (the being soulmates, that was) that you seemed disappointed or upset about. “God!” He let go of you finally as he spun away, hands going to his hair as if he was trying to pull it out. “Oh my god! It’s just...I’ve just...god!” 

“You said that.” You pointed out, tucking your arms in to cross infront of you. The moment you did, Eddie was back to grabbing your arm, his touch warm, the way it had been the morning of your sixteenth birthday. It almost felt like you had some kind of weight holding you down.  

“Can I just...can I kiss you?” He asked, desperation evident in his voice. His heart was beating erratically, or at least he felt like it had to be. He was sure that his brain wasn’t processing any of this and half expected to wake up in some dream-state where Wayne told him that he was still that loser who hasn’t graduated.  

The kiss was...every moment of anticipation since the day of your bowling party in third grade. It was every smile that you gave him in the hallway, the time in fifth grade when you stuck your tongue out at him after the teacher told you to be quiet in line, the day he found you in the library in seventh grade. It was cupcakes in lockers on birthdays and that anonymous Valentine's card that he was sure was just a malicious joke but that he kept in his nightstand just in case it was real. It was the time in sixth grade when you told him his taste in music was cool. It was every wave in the hallway or the lunch room, it was a hall pass to the bathroom just so he could see you in art class as he passed by.  

The kiss felt like warmth spreading throughout your entire body. The kind of warmth that consumed you after you’d bundled up for a cold winter morning walk to school only to have Eddie slow his van to a halt and offer you a ride. The kind of warmth that settled on your cheeks when he told you he liked the poetry you read or that he’d used his allowance money to buy that book by Laura Gilpin. It was the kind of warmth you got from alcohol when your dormmate took you to CBGB’s for the first time and you pretended all night that it was Corroded Coffin on the stage.  

His held your face in his hands, fingers calloused from the guitar brushing against your jaw and neck. You wanted to pull him closer but you weren’t sure that was physically possible. He was pressed against you already and your hands were twisting wrinkles into his Black Sabbath shirt. You’d never kissed anyone before and you weren’t entirely sure you were doing a great job but he wasn’t complaining.  

When you finally felt yourself running out of air, you pulled away. It felt like a chore to detach yourself, even for a moment. “How’d you know?” You asked, Eddie’s comment from earlier popping into your head. He said he had known and he said it with such assuredness you hardly doubted him.  

“It’s your favorite poem,” he replied, “how could I not know?” 

-

But tonight he is alive and in the north 

Field with his mother. It is a perfect 

Summer evening: the moon rising over 

The orchard, the wind in the grass. And  

As he stares into the sky, there are  

Twice as many stars as usual.  

-

Taglist: @teelagurl558 @truewdw1 @kenzi-woycehoski @bookfrog242 @milkiane

[married-to-google-translater]

Who is your top 5 charaters?

Werty's official top 5 husbando list. This usually doesn't change at all.

#5 Juuzou Suzuya

This boy needs a hug. A really big and warm hug.

By the way, the important question is does Juuzou count as an albino? I only realized it while writing this.

But to the point. I really like Juuzou's backstory and how his "madness and murderousness" are given reasons. Juuzou is just a good character who has experienced hell. Just the kind of character who does "bad" things but who you still want to succeed. Also, he has a really good voice actor.

Juuzou's character is just well executed. And now I know I'm not the only one who likes to poke holes in them skin with a needle.

.

#4 Kanato Sakamaki

Kanato is just really relatable. And I don't mean that I carry a teddy bear with me inside which I keep my mother's ashes. I mean asperger traits that Kanato clearly has.

The following asperger traits are taken from the everydayhealth website, the source material can be found here.

Fascination with certain topics, Problems expressing empathy, controlling emotions, or communicating feelings, Tendency to engage in one-sided conversations (about oneself), Lack of common sense

I think these fit the Kanato character well. He doesn't understand sarcasm, is obsessively interested in his "dolls", Not really good at showing empathy or controlling his emotions, can't stand touch and assumes others think the worst of him.

And no, I'm not going to start diagnosing Kanato now. I'm just saying that he has many traits that an Asperger person can identify with.

( Honorable mention to Idia who held the #3 spot for over a year. )

#3 DOUMA

Ladies, Gentlemen and others Douma is here and he is really hot.

Werty has been a Douma simp since 2020.

Yes Douma Finally made it to this list. I have always liked Douma.

His backstory and character is just really well done. Douma has always been something that interests me. Even at the beginning, when I really hated his desing and eyebrows. But no matter what I did, I always ended up reading Douma fanfiction. I could start watching Hentai and then after half an hour I found myself reading Douma yandere writings. I still don't understand how it happened. I just really love him.

# 2 Leviathan

I remember at first I hated him too. "Once again someone is making fun of us anime/manga enthusiasts" I thought.

But the more I played the game, the more relatable Leviathan's character felt. I actually didn't even know what an Otaku was until I met him.

Leviathan also has autistic traits and is one of my comfort characters. I have never identified with any character so much. He is also funny and his voice actor does a good job.

#1 Azusa Mukami

Roses are red, violets are blue i love this masochistic vampire more than i ever can love you.

A poem I would recite to my boyfriend if he ever asked if I loved Azusa more than him. No wonder I'm single.

I have been an Azusa simp since 2018 or 2019.

And let's be clear right away that I like Azusa 100,00 times more than Leviathan. So there's really no competition for the number one spot. The day I say I love a some character more than Azusa I've lost my mind.

I love his personality, his backstory, how he really gets a lot of development throughout the game, and how masochistic he can be in creative ways. Also, the fact that Azusa thinks pain is love is really sweet.

His voice actor does a really good job and I can even listen to the English dub without internal bleeding.

Azusa is love Azusa is life

......

I guess I have a thing for characters with mental health problems.

[writingdotcoffee]

5 Ways to Challenge Yourself During NaNoWriMo This Year

NaNoWriMo is great, but it isn’t for everyone. Perhaps you don't have the time or energy for it right now. Or maybe this just isn't how you work — there's nothing wrong with being a slow writer. You don’t need NaNo to write a book.

At the same time, NaNo generates a lot of momentum in the writing community. It creates a wave that, if you get on it, will carry you forward. It would be a shame to sit on the sidelines and not take advantage of the extra motivation.

Why not take the opportunity to challenge yourself in a different literary way? Here are five things you can do if you're not feeling like doing a full NaNo this year.

Write a Novella

The obvious way to go about this is to lower the goal. Why not do a National Novella Writing Month this year?

Instead of aiming for the full 50k, you can write 10,000 or 20,000 words and finish a shorter story that can either become a base for a novel or can stand on its own too.

Particularly if you're planning to write a series, starting with a novella can be a great way of testing the waters — both for your long-term interest in the characters and the world, as well as how hard it will be to find an audience for it. Finding out that nobody wants to read your 180,000-word epic is a lot harder than when it happens with a 15,000-word prequel novella.

Write Short Stories

If you have even less time on your hands, consider writing short stories. You can do one story per week at between 1,000 — 2,000 words. Experiment with different things or make all of them about the same character.

Short stories are great training grounds for writers for so many different reasons. The feedback loop is an order of magnitude shorter than when you're working on a book.

You can do single-scene stories that feel more like chapters in a novel or more complicated ones. You can practice almost any storytelling technique by writing a short story.

Write Flash Fiction Every Day

In case you're completely slammed, there's still stuff you can do. Loads of people challenge themselves to write tiny stories every day. You can probably write one in less than 10 or 15 minutes. The important thing here is that you get to engage your writing and storytelling brain and practice every day.

If you take public transport to work, write a flash fiction piece about someone who's on the same bus or train as you. Where does the man in the suit sitting in front of you work? Is he sweating because it's hot, or because he expects his boss to yell at him as soon as he arrives at work? Perhaps he's a secret agent following a drug dealer who is on the same train?

The more you write, the easier it will be for you to find interesting ideas. Perhaps you'll discover the protagonist of your next novel while writing a very short story?

Read a Short Story Every Day

A few years ago, I worked on a different project during NaNo. I didn't feel it quite fitted the pace of the challenge. Instead of writing, I decided to read one short story every day during NaNoWriMo. I felt like I wasn't reading enough of them, and I could definitely read one every day.

It worked out pretty well. I finished the challenge and kept the habit going for many months afterwards. I ended up reading hundreds of new short stories because of this.

Write a Poem Every Day

If you enjoy poetry, why not write a few lines of a poem or some lyrics every day? Instead of focusing on storytelling, use those to capture your feelings that day.

Write down whatever comes to mind in the spirit of NaNoWriMo. It doesn't have to be perfect, but you have to finish it.

Create a Habit with Writing Analytics

The goal of all of the above is to establish a routine. The beginning is always the hardest, and that's why starting during NaNoWriMo can help so can feed off the motivation of others. When NaNo ends, you'll be in the best position to keep it going. One novella per month will become 12 per year. One short story per week will turn into 52 stories in a year's time. One poem a day will easily become 365 poems per year.

If you're planning to be writing anything this November, check out Writing Analytics. It's a writing app designed to help you stay focused and create a sustainable writing routine.

The app is FREE to try until 4 December 2021 — plenty of time to kickstart your writing habit.

Use *this link* to sign up to make sure you get the extended trial!

[from-a-reckless-writer]

9 Supercorp

1 new message.

The notification reads. This is odd. Nobody ever sends Kara any messages on this account, for the sole reason that it doesn't have much followers.

It was Nia's idea initially. She's told Kara to buy herself a journal. She keeps one herself, where she writes all the dreams she doesn't know how to interpret yet.

"You should write down whatever it is and let it lie there for a while you know?"

Kara thought about it, had mulled it over and over in her head. A journal is indeed a great idea. An outlet of sorts. But the thing is, a journal is too private. If Kara wrote in a journal the only person who would ever read it would be herself.

Kara didn't want that. Kara hungered for an audience. She wanted to write and put it out there, out in the world where somebody will maybe one day read it and come to her--tell her, "Me, too. Me, too."

She wanted to write and be read by people.

And so, the journal idea became the Instagram poetry account idea.

A handful of original poetry posted in between aesthetic photos.

Nia and her sister are the only two people in her life who knows about it. That's why she is genuinely shocked when she reads the notification.

By the time, she's collected enough courage to open the app.

There have been more than 10 notifications. First, was the follow, next was a series of likes and then finally the message.

Kara clicked on the profile first.

It was a bookstagram account it turns out. There was only the username display, kieran. All in lowercase. No location, no bio, no nothing. The icon was of a single, black, loopy 'K' on white parchment.

The feed was of book covers, pages, spines and some quotes here and there.

The thing that Kara noticed about it though was how sad everything looked, once she's looked at it all in one grid.

It looks beautiful but melancholy.

She opens the message.

"I don't usually do this but...I just have to tell you that, your poetry has more of an impact than you will ever know. Thank you making me feel like I'm not alone. Thank you for sharing your words."

It was signed with a single heart and a 'k'.

And that's when it hits Kara.

Kara writes out a reply.

I'm out there.

I'm out there, in the world. And somebody is reading my words. They're reading what I wrote and it made them feel something.

"Thank you for taking the time to write those kind words to me. I hope you know you've made me want to write now more than ever. Thank you."

She added a heart at the end too. Kara didn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

They didn't reply it turns out. Kara tries not to feel too disappointed at that and tries to go on with her life.

Although, two weeks later after their first interaction, Kara posts two new poems, she discovers that kieran didn't stop reading.

Kara would usually get a like or a comment of a single heart then and again, and if she's lucky they'll comment a 'Beautiful.' underneath one of Kara's longer poems.

Kara collects all those crumbs and keeps it close to her heart.

******

"had a shity day ur peom made my night. thbk you."

Kara reads the message at 7 am, it was sent at 3:36 am. It isn't till she's halfway through, that her groggy mind realizes that they must've been drunk when they sent her this.

There's a twinge of worry in her chest, so she writes.

"I'm glad I made your night. And I don't want to overstep, but I think you were drunk when you sent this. I hope you're alright today. Drink lots of water! Thank you for the kind words."

She doesn't check her phone for the rest of the day.

Kara's knee-deep in Snapper's column assignment when her phone pings.

"Don't worry, you didn't overstep. I think you're the kindest person I've ever met."

Kara can't help the feeling of concern when she reads the message. Imagine thinking an Instagram poet who you've interacted with, two times in total, is the kindest person you've ever met. Never mind the fact that she's the Instagram poet.

Kara feels intrigued by this person.

Maybe it's because they're making her feel important. Maybe it's because Kara doesn't know who they are and the mystery appeals to her. Maybe it's because with them, Kara isn't anything. She's just a poet.

Maybe it's all of those or maybe it's none of those reasons at all.

Nevertheless, Kara sees her fingers fly across the keypad before she can even realize what she's doing.

"And you, IG user kieran, I think are the most interesting person I've ever met : )"

She puts her phone facedown on her desk.

Kara stands up from her station, walks around, pokes her head into Snapper's office, asks if he needs anything, gets yelled at, bothers Nia, walks around the entire bullpen, refills her tumbler, sits back down on her desk.

1 new message.

Kara lunges for her phone.

"Interesting huh?"

Just that. Just that and nothing else, yet it makes Kara feel like she's being observed, judged, weighed.

"Your feed is beautiful, your books. What I wouldn't give to get a peek in that beautiful mind of yours."

Kara exits the app, her thumb gliding through the screen so fast, it's a miracle it didn't break under the pressure.

She stands up from her desk and does a whole 'nother round.

1 new message

Kara takes a deep breath before opening the message. She doesn't even know why she's nervous.

"my mind is a lot of things, but i doubt beautiful is one of them."

What does she mean by that? Well, Kara guesses, everyone's brain is a mess right? She's pretty certain she's fucked up herself in more ways than she even knows.

So that's what she says.

"Everybody's a mess i think. Doesn't mean they're not beautiful."

Kara waits and waits and waits.

The reply doesn't come.

*******

Life goes on, her IG account gains more followers, her poems get stacked upon each other each week.

She always notices which ones kieran likes though.

They never message each other again.

******

And then, that one fateful day comes—Kara falls in love.

She meets Lena and Kara falls.

Hard.

Lena catches her and together they write what Kara thinks, is the most beautiful love story in existence.

Lena's her soul mate, her best friend, her one true love.

Her poems become lighter, happier.

She's so caught up with living in the real world with Lena, that sometimes she doesn't even have the time to write poems anymore.

Why would she? When she's living a brand new love poem each day she wakes up to Lena by her side.

One night, Kara is putting on her pajamas, and Lena is taking a picture of some book in their bed, her hair in a bun, big nerdy glasses perched on her nose.

Kara is in the middle of climbing into bed when Lena asks her, "Hey, have you ever read poetry and felt like it was speaking to you directly. As if the poet wrote it with you in mind??"

Quietly, Kara answers, "Yeah."

Immediately, Kara's head travels through all the snippets of conversations she's had with kieran.

All her IG posts, the one account, the one thing that Lena does not know about.

"Why?" Kara follows-up.

Lena's sat, leaning into the pillows, her phone in her hand.

"There's this- you know what? Why don't I just show you? You'll get what I mean, when you read it."

Lena shows Kara her phone screen and Kara freezes.

There on the screen, is her Instagram poetry account. @kz_elwrites.

Her entire collection of verse all lit up in Lena's phone.

"I-" Kara doesn't know what to say. And Lena notices, of course, she would.

Lena always notices. ,

"Kara?" She asks. "Is there something wrong?"

"I wrote that." Kara lets the words hang in between them.

She meets Lena's eyes, reads the shock there.

Kara grabs her phone from the nightstand and opens her IG app--shows it wordlessly to Lena.

Lena takes the phone gently from her hands, flicks up and down for a couple of minutes.

Kara feels like something important is going to happen. Everything feels to quiet. Lena is too quiet.

Lena hands Kara her phone back, still not speaking.

And then, Lena turns back to her phone, swipes a couple of times.

"Come here," Lena whispers. "Take a look."

Kara's eyes land on the screen.

kieran.

"You're-"

"I am."

prompt list here