#pbwrites

[pdiarysblog]

Dear diary,

Sometimes I crave for love from family. Whenever I see my cousins getting that love, I wonder how beautiful is it to be loved by the family. I do get love from my family but it's somewhere still not what I think of or want. My childhood was filled with this love, playing with cousins, getting love from uncles & aunts. Eventually when we moved out of that city everything changed, distance grew & when old members of the house leaves you, it grow way too much. The love wasn't there & as there's no "our" family here. I miss those days, I miss that love & care.

Last couple of days, my aunt & uncle were here and we had really good time with them, baby geet is happy to get all the love again. It was there last night here yesterday & it was filled with laughter, love & good family time.

I wish to had such time more often.

11•01•2025

~PB

[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

[pdiarysblog]

Hello Folks!!🙏🌸

A little introduction~

• Call me PB🧚‍♀️

• She/Her🧁

• Spirituality is my safe space🕉

• Hoping to meet amazing fellow desi people here & be friends with you🧁

(porn blogs & creeps please stay away!)

[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

[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

[pdiarysblog]

Dear diary,

a little late goodbye to 2024!

2024 was full of unexpected things for me. I lost way too many friendships, the people who I loved so much, I lost them all, saw their real faces, but deep down I know everything always happens for a good. I cut off people who ruined my mental health & my peace, I cut off people who made me question my own self, I cut them all off. I got more into spirituality, bonded so beautifully with with God & that was indeed the part. With lots of hardships & breakdowns, I survived. Sometimes the best you do is just Survive. The only amazing week had to be the family trip to our hometown which was filled with pure love, laughter, food, best people, spirituality connection & happiness.

( a little astrological context on 2024, I knew many bonds are gonna break, not just mine but everyone's as it is nature of Saturn to remove all the fake bonds from your life. Everyone got results according to their karmas.)

May 2025 brings the best for all of us, a little late happy new year y'all!🌟

~pb

[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?

[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]

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.

[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?

[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.