#pbwrites

[pbwritesthething]

The Chrysalids by John Wyndham || Book Review

Mar. 29, 2023

How do you cope with being different? Is being different such a bad thing when it’s not hurting anyone else? These aren’t easy questions to answer, especially if your difference is something that can get you shunned…or worse.

Those are exactly the kind of questions David Strorm, and a few others like him, asked themselves when they realized they had strange abilities their society condemned. Their secret is a matter of life or death and they only have 2 options. They could either stay in their puritanical communities, or flee to the unpredictable wilderness of the Badlands. 

It’s 4.5/5 stars for me. I loved The Chrysalids. I haven’t yelled at a book for years, and I only yell at books that can elicit intense physical sensations in the emotional turmoil and adrenaline it could inflict on you. Moreover, its messages and “us vs. them” conflict is an eerily accurate reflection of today’s policymakers and authority figures using marginalized groups as a scapegoat for their society’s socio-political instability.

Every inciting incident is a misstep down a flight of stairs, every victory is a sigh of relief, and every chapter is a vivid film that can inspire any writer looking to use a “Show, Don’t Tell” approach to their own stories. Its sense of urgency propels the plot forward like falling dominoes; you must turn the page to know what happens next. It adds to the effect when almost every final line in Wyndham’s paragraphs is written like a cliffhanger.

Wyndham also doesn’t rely on looks to distinguish his characters but uses dialogue to give them an easily identifiable tone and voice. It’s like when your friends are talking to each other; you don’t have to look up to know who’s talking. You just hear it’s them. With clear voices, their rapport is easy to flesh out into interactions that feel natural. Wyndham sometimes gets carried away when he adds long monologues to explain his key points. I don’t mind them, but I can see how this might be tedious and distracting to some readers.

This book contains dark themes like bigotry, xenophobia, racism, sexism, abuse (particularly violence against women and children), torture, suicide, and incest (first cousin relations). Thankfully, Wyndham doesn’t write the torture or abuse scenes in great detail. But, he does write enough to inform the imagination, making your skin crawl and face scrunch into a wince. I wouldn’t recommend this book if these are deal breakers to you.

But if you’re a fan of dystopian sci-fi or are social justice advocates, this thought-provoking one-sitter is worth reading and definitely earns itself a spot on my “Read It Again” shelf.

[profound-boning]

Dean talks to Jack, can’t you bring Cas back from the Empty like you did last time

No, Jack explains, last time I just woke him up

Then do it again, Dean begs

I can’t, Jack replies, he’s already awake - he’s waiting for you

So Dean prays, again, maybe for the last time

Cas, you got your ears on?

He waits, but not for long

Hello, Dean.

[profound-boning]

Omg what 😭 Thank you!

A Kind of Magic by profound-boning

Description: On the morning of Dean Winchester’s eleventh birthday, there’s an owl in the tree in their front yard.

Rating: General Audiences

Tags: AU - Hogwarts/Magic, Dean-Centric, Wizards!Dean&Cas, Hufflepuff!Dean, Slytherin!Cas, Bullying, Family Drama, Light Angst, Friendships

A great Harry Potter universe fic by @profound-boning ! I mean, wizard Dean and Cas? I love it! Such a cute fic that always makes me smile when I read it. If you love Harry Potter, definitely recommend it!

Link to Fic

[ao3feed-bakudeku]

by PBWrites

Ever since his unexpected presentation as an omega, Shouto Todoroki had long since been forced to come to terms with the harsh reality of what society demanded from an omega who hailed from a family with money. He was expected to marry, to sit aside pleasantly and quietly while he was abused, to bear pups for someone who undoubtedly didn't love him and to never allow the endless strings of questions that plagued his mind, ever leave his lips. Because Omegas were supposed to be seen and not heard. Their cries for help were supposed to go unanswered and happiness was something that Shouto was supposed to have realised was little more than a pipe dream, years ago.

He was meant to accept the heavy wedding ring from a stranger and all of the emotional baggage and abuse that came alongside it. Afterall, Alphas held all the power and every alpha that the youngest Todoroki had ever known, abused it. So why was this alpha, with an unruly mop of twists and curls in the colour of freshly sprouted leaves, pleading him to change his opinion and to just give him a chance?

Words: 3424, Chapters: 1/19, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: M/M

Characters: Todoroki Shouto, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Midoriya Izuku, Todoroki Fuyumi, Yagi Toshinori | All Might, Midoriya Inko, Bakugou Mitsuki, Bakugou Masaru, Bakugou Katsuki's Parents, Todoroki Rei, Kirishima Eijirou, Todoroki Shouto's Siblings, Dabi (My Hero Academia)

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Todoroki Shouto, Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki/Kirishima Eijirou, Midoriya Inko/Yagi Toshinori | All Might

Additional Tags: Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Gay Male Character, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alpha Todoroki Enji | Endeavor, Omega Todoroki Shouto, Alpha Midoriya Izuku, Alpha Kirishima Eijirou, Omega Bakugou Katsuki, Alpha/Omega, Abuse, Past Child Abuse, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Light Angst, Angst, Eventual Smut, Anal Sex, Knotting, References to Knotting, Swan Princess (1994) References, Dabi and Todoroki Shouto Are Siblings, Forced Marriage, Forced Bonding, Forced Relationship, Forced Feminization, Dabi is a Todoroki, Sad Todoroki Shouto, Hurt Todoroki Shouto, Todoroki Enji | Endeavor's Bad Parenting, Pining, Mutual Pining, Eventual Relationships, Romance, Eventual Romance, Pining Midoriya Izuku, Top Midoriya Izuku, Protective Midoriya Izuku, Good Parent Midoriya Inko, Worried Midoriya Inko

[pbwritesthething]

May 23, 2024

Staring at a blank page, I wonder if I’m cut out to be a writer. I refuse to believe that all my best works have been written and are now just gathering dust in a box labeled “School Stuff.” But I’m currently in a period of my life, at the ripe age of 24, to be struggling to find the words to describe this sense of loss and longing.

I had this spark at the beginning of the year, to read and write more. I had this fire that urged me to like I had an audience to entertain. You can see the passion in my works. You can see the earnestness to be original in my copies.

Now, I read, but no words come out to express any thoughts. Or rather, words are written on a page but it feels clunky, like two blocks being mashed against holes that don’t share its shape. It’s clumsy, lacks imagination, lacks fire and I begin to worry: was I a fraud this whole time?

It has been 2 months. I feel like a chunk of my brain has been sliced apart and taken from me. I don’t understand any of this and I wish someone could give me a pill that returned my ability to me. Writing is a muscle, one I’ve met entropy with at the moment.

I’m tempted by a disturbing thought, one that is permanent, a dead end so void of light. A reboot minus the restart to life. I don’t want that. But I’m calling out to my Muses. I’m calling on them to have pity, to spare me a moment of inspiration, to spare me hope for a future where I am a writer. 

I refuse to give up my words. Even if it means clawing out one measly sentence for every hour, so be it. Even when whimsy escapes me and the hollowness still remains. Even if I have to rely on counting characters, I cannot stand all this uncertainty. I beg for the Muses to lend me their strength…but it’s all just crying to the empty air.

Where had the joy of fiction gone and when had it truly slipped my grasped? I keep saying 2 months but I daresay it might’ve been longer.

Pray for me, whoever finds this. Pray my words return. 

[profound-boning]

15x16 coda now with added destiel, cw for Dean’s Trauma, <1k I haven’t written anything in over a year please be kind

The nightmares are back.

Dean sits upright in bed, shaking and heaving for breath. He blinks hard in the darkness of his bedroom, dispelling the horrors from beneath his eyelids and shuddering the tension from his shoulders. It grips him still, clings to the fringes of his awareness. It felt so real.

It was real. All those years ago.

He really did see a pile of bodies, pale limbs akimbo, blank eyes staring into the gloom. Tortured, agonized faces made up of wide, childish eyes and soft cheeks. Matted and dirty hair. Hair’s too long. Need to get it cut, Sammy, why’d you wear it like that anyway? Sam’s eyes, cold and lifeless. Sam’s arms, scrawny and-

Dean shakes his head. Sam isn’t a child and Sam isn’t dead. He’s right down the hall, hopefully still asleep in his bed. He’s dreaming, maybe, of a brunette and a white picket fence. The way he used to dream of the Ivy League.

He scrubs his hands over his face, his breath coming more steadily now. Sam is fine. Cas is fine, or at least he was when he texted goodnight. Jack is fine for now. For now.

Sighing, he lies back on the pillows. Fuckin’ nightmares. What is he, twelve?

He frowns. No, he was all of sixteen. Still a child in every conceivable way, still too young to have seen what he’d seen. To have had the childhood that he’d had.

“Childhood.” Ha. He smirks into the predawn stillness. He glances at the clock and decides he has time if he wants to try to sleep again.

Sam isn’t a child anymore and Sam isn’t dead. Jack is asleep in his room. Cas would call if something was wrong. Not to mention he’s a powerful angel, so.

He rolls onto his side, squishing his pillow for comfort. His family is fine. He’s-

Is he fine? Forty years old and reliving a nightmare he thought had left him ages ago? He hadn’t felt settled, hadn’t felt safe until, well, until Sonny. When Sonny sat him down in a diner and offered him a home, until someone actually cared about him not just as a babysitter and not just as a soldier, but as the young man he was trying to be. Always trying and never quite hitting the mark.

Dean rolls over, away from the darkening thoughts. The way the knife had felt in his palm. The way his knees had sunk to the carpet, the Baba Yaga’s voice in his teenaged body, this is your fault, you’re a failure, you never did anything right.

He jolts at the sound of his phone, the ring tinny in the total quiet. Squinting against the light of the screen, he holds it up and grunts something close to a question.

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas.” He exhales it more than he says it. “The hell are you calling at this hour for?”

“I know you weren’t sleeping,” Cas replies simply. Oh. Right.

“Yeah, well. Now I’m extra awake.”

Cas makes a noise of assent, but Dean can picture the quirk of those lips which means he’s placating him.

Instead of asking him to talk, Cas does. He starts by revisiting his drive, how he’d played Dean’s cassette again and which songs he had sung along to. Next, he talks about stopping for dinner exclusively because they were advertising bacon cheeseburgers. The way Cas talks about middle America is soothing because this is someone who watched it come into being, has observed every change over the course of millennia, but is only now able to appreciate it in a specific way. In the way that he’d wanted to all along, but is only now getting the chance.

Dean knows it without Cas having to tell him. Cas will do anything to stop this world from ending because he loves it too much to let it end. Cas will also do anything to keep Jack from dying because he loves him too much to allow it. Cas doesn’t tell him where he’s going or what specific inquiries he’s making and that’s just fine. Cas is their wild card, their steadfast warrior, and the heart of their family. If anyone can find a way out of this, it’s Cas.

Sam will be chomping at the bit to help but Dean worries Billie will see through that. They’ll have to play double agents, he thinks, but they can’t show their hands. Can’t know too much, not until it’s go time. Which will be soon, if Billie’s prediction is correct, which it certainly is.

But not tonight. Not in the next few hours. For now, Dean can drift back into a peaceful sleep aided by the sound of Cas’s voice. He doesn’t realize it’s happening at first, just holds the phone to his ear and hums at the appropriate places. Cas knew exactly what he needed, of course. Gotta tell him, though, Dean thinks hazily, dangling on the precipice of sleep. Have to use words and tell Cas how important he is. Remind him.

In the morning, then.

Cas waits on the other end of the line, letting his story wind down as he feels Dean fall deeper into sleep back in the Bunker. He’s careful to infuse as much calm into his voice as possible, a proxy for his fingers at Dean’s temple, wanting nothing more than to soothe the restless and hurting soul he’s come to adore.

When he’s found the solution. When they are safe. When they are whole again. Then he’ll tell Dean everything. When there’s no more danger from Chuck. Not tonight, then.

Tonight, Dean will get a few more hours of sleep, and Cas will keep driving. He has an appointment to keep, after all.

[profound-boning]

*running around in circles screaming* IT’S HERE!

I need to thank @aceriee-san first and foremost 💕 also @60r3d0m and @mistresspandora for believing in me and this story.

Additional tagging: @dusky-gold @ozonecologne @jhoomwrites @tobythewise @ladyofthursday @nougatnephilim @puppycastiel @winjennster @pantydean

Title: Will You Love Me Tomorrow Artist: Aceriee Author: profound-boning Rating: General Audiences Pairings: Dean/Cas Wordcount: 4086 Warnings: domestic au, mental health issues-depression and anxiety, break up? and reconciliation, sad with a happy ending

Summary: Getting into bed at three in the afternoon is generally frowned upon.

So Dean lies on the couch instead.

Art links: ao3 and tumblr

Fic link: ao3

[pbwritesthething]

April 25, 2024

Is anyone else at odds with the work that they do?

People seem to know what their passion is or someone's special interest has an official job title that they pursue with a fire within them. I wonder what that alignment feels like.

It's a strange disconnect between my job (though I mentioned it previously, that was only one facet of my job) and how I live my life. As a regular person, I don't rush to do what's trendy. It doesn't come natural to me to document every single thing that happens in my life. I don't even really like sharing my actual face for everyone to know.

Am I missing something? How do I find that fire? Where do I get my sense of "why" beyond "I need experience"?

As you can imagine, this was nothing profound. I'm just in search of anyone who might feel the same and does it get better?

[pbwritesthething]

April 24, 2024

The only way through writer's block is through it.

I cannot stress how much the wooden block wedged right in my glabella has hindered all literary pursuits. By literary pursuits, I mean my job as a copywriter.

It was hell. A desert of wordless agony. I longed for purple prose and every bit of its winding path of letters strung upon a single thought you couldn't say in a single breath.

Do I know what this post will sound once I've posted it? Doesn't matter. What matters is my words coming back to me - pops of color blooming in the cracks of a gray, barren mind in search of something more yet too afraid to pursue it.

Afraid? That's one way to put it. Otherwise, I don't know where this listless mind shall wander next.

[pbwritesthething]

Apr. 18, 2023

I noticed a little thing the other day.

It had been a while since I drew fanart of my elven blorbo. I decided to draw him with a little reference photo on the side. It turned out great!

It’s not exact copy, and some proportions or angles might be skewed, but it turned out good. It took me less than 2 hours to do the rough sketch and lineart. My average for that kind of work (plus coloring) is 4 hours because I’m doing my best to be accurate. Accurate enough with the hope of posting it and maybe getting a double digit number of online validation.

The sketches I made took less time and I felt good about the work I made. The coloring was quickest I’ve ever done - at about 20 minutes - with a few broad strokes to create a melancholic mood. It looked great and I felt great about it!

Looking good is not an excuse to forgo technical art rules. But what I learned from it was the less I gave a shit, the nicer I felt about the process, ergo the output.

[profound-boning]

Managed 75 words there at the end, plus I needed to revisit the very detailed outline for this sequel 😅

1k1h BEGIN

Go go go!

[pbwritesthething]

Apr. 17, 2023

Why do I bother asking for things when everyone around makes it such a big, emotional deal that they’re doing it?

“OH WILL YOU LOOK AT ME? LOSING MY HAIR TRYING TO GET THIS HARD TO FIND ITEM IN A SEA OF EQUALLY VICIOUS CONSUMERS! I REALLY LOVE YOU TO HAVE TO GO THROUGH THIS UNNECESSARY HELL.YES! YOU! YOU CHILD ARE THE SOURCE OF MY MORNING STRESS!” I’m sorry. I’ll find a way to make it up to you some time in the future.

Why does everything feel like pulling teeth with you?

[pbwritesthething]

Mar. 22, 2023

We found a lost turtle next to our garbage bin. His temporary name is Amorsolo or Luna. Both are great Filipino artists, and as far as I’m concerned, this little turtle is quite the escape artist.

He’s got 2 yellow stripes next to his eyes, he’s about the size of my dad’s palm, and his shell needs to be brushed clean. He moves with the determination of an elderly man escaping a senior home to travel the world. 

We sent his picture to the village’s community page and we’re waiting for someone to claim him. But while we wait, he’s put in a temporary grated bin with plenty of cabbage scarps, drinking water that he keeps knocking over to hoist himself out of the bin, and a neon green food cover to keep him from escaping the bin.

[profound-boning]

My ao3 and my tumblr (when it’s not the holiday season) are exactly the same, which helps. I also include ao3 links in every tumblr post and tumblr links in every ao3 post!

I wish people would put their tumblr URLs on their AO3 profile. 

Please let me find you.

[pbwritesthething]

Mar. 4, 2023

I don’t rock the boat on hot topics of the day. I especially don’t rock the boat on topics that contradict my dad’s opinions on things because I don’t have the energy for it. So, on this (would-be) series of Responses I Couldn’t Say Out Loud:

Dad’s a pretty decent, open-minded guy, and he has his flaws like any regular human being. He’s a streetwise guy who’s seen some shit, been through some shit, and has fought off shitty people. But I just find it so unironically hilarious that he’s the one clutching his pearls at Sam Smith’s Grammy performance of Unholy. He’s really feeling the whole “Satanic Panic” with this guy, and I can’t help but feel it’s just the teensiest bit homophobic. I’m just saying, the height of Lady Gaga’s Satanic Panic speculations in the 2010s with her deepthroating a rosary didn’t seem to ruffle his feathers, so I don’t get why Unholy would be any different.

“It’s just a bit too much,” he said.

My response would have been simple: if conservatives and queer-phobes like to make such a big deal out of condemning us to hell then we might as well raise hell on earth and turn it into a party.

My mom, on the other hand, deeply enjoyed the performance and she agrees with me that his pearl clutching is hilarious. And she’s the one wearing actual pearls.

[pbwritesthething]

Mar. 2, 2023

My legs hurt. To be more specific, my thighs hurt. I struggle to bend them when I sit down. I struggle to straighten them when I stand up. My lower back and obliques are screaming every time I turn.

Why?

It’s because the other day, I played football (well, futsal) for the first time in almost a year. I don’t know why I act surprised every time this happens, but I figured it would be one of those things I could walk off. I don’t play nor train regularly, so of course it wouldn’t be something I could walk off. It sucks in the moment, but it’s a great way to move and it’s a great reminder that I could still play it.

I showed up with a teammate who was one year my junior. We’ve been part of the varsity since high school, and about 3 years into my college years. Along with us was this batch’s college goal keeper. I waved to my old high school coach, and he was fairly happy to see us. After all, it’s always a treat to have seniors and alumni join the juniors’ training. It’s the best way to build endurance and internal chemistry. I got war flashbacks watching them run laps in the oval under a minute and 30 second time-pressure. The juniors thought it would be a good idea to alternate between short sprints and a job.

It was not practical. They were attacking 2 different muscle groups and missed the timer’s mark. Needless to say, they had to repeat that for 3 more rounds. Before the fourth and final round, my teammate advised that they just sprint the whole thing. They tried their best, but their endurance and stamina wasn’t at that level yet. Back in my day, we sprinted that oval and only slowed down once we passed the starting line. Of course, I’d be lying if I didn’t say I wasn’t enjoying their struggles. I graduated having been a consistent first stringer both on field and on the court with a sports scholarship under my belt so I earned my bit of schadenfreude.

That said, I wasn’t the most skilled out of my group in the ways most people think of a skilled player. I’m not much of a dribbler or a striker, so 1-v.-1s weren’t my strong suit. I was a hardy defender. The only way you could knock me over was if the floor was slippery, or if you hooked my ankle (that move’s illegal but you get my respect if you could get away with it). And you could count on for support when it gets too crowded up top.

Majority of the juniors moved like total rookies. Some had more experience in the way they lock their foot when kicking, or in controlling a ball from a keeper’s throw. That brought back a whole slew of memories because my batch was the same - mostly rookies without any seniors to show them the ropes. But what I love about this year’s rookies is they have a lot of fire in them. They’re just excited to play. Even if they lost their first match that previous weekend, they still had their heads up high with no ill feelings toward each other. People forget that beyond skills, a good team is made up of people who work well together. That means knowing when to push and knowing when to let a mistake go. More importantly, it’s making sure you never take bad outcomes or feelings within the game personally.

As my teammate put it, iba talaga ang bond ng talunan na team. It’s a bit negative, isn’t it? Of course you’d want the team to win. But would winning even matter as much if everyone on the team hated each other? Isn’t it awful if you can support each other with the field but can’t offer a shoulder to lean on outside of it?

I have high hopes for this batch. They’re new, they’ve got energy, they’ve got a lot to learn, and they’ve got great chemistry. I can’t wait to see what they accomplish. Then when a new batch of rookies arrive, and they’re still there, I hope they can be as kind to them as our seniors were to us.