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Indirectly Responsible
For @tmnt-write-fight for @turtle--thoughts @personne-writes @azucar-skull @teainthesnow @pileofpawns @rbtlvr @drebspells2022
Title: Indirectly Responsible Prompt: Donnie not coping as well as he seems with both the aftermath of Good Genes and how that indirectly led to the Foot Mystics being freed; You donât know, you werenât there; Bad dream; âThere has to be another wayâ; Recovery; Turtle Pile Fluff; Scars Fandom: TMNT 2003 Word Count: 6005 Author: aquietwritingcorner/realitybreakgirl Rating: T Characters: Donatello, Leonardo, Raphael, Michelangelo Warning: NA Summary: The Demon Shredder could strike at any moment. All of New York is under threat. And in April OâNeilâs apartment, one turtle canât help but think that this whole situation is indirectly his fault.   Notes: So, looking at the timeline, I donât think that thereâs a way for any of the turtles to know that their theft of the Heart of Tengu would lead to the heralds being freed until deep into season 5, so thatâs where Iâve placed this. I also know there wasnât actually much time between Karai waking up in Aprilâs apartment and the final battle, but, eh, letâs pretend there was. ffn || AO3
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Indirectly Responsible
Don tossed and turned, shifting around as he slept on a pallet that April had laid out on her floor for him, moving stiffly, uncomfortably. The lights were out, the apartment dark, and quiet lay like a blanket over the sleeping occupants. Inside Aprilâs bedroom Karai slept, Chaplin choosing to stay with her, both guarding and keeping an eye on his mistress. Casey slept on a cot out in the hallway, where he would be the first alert for any trouble that might come up that way. On her couch curled under a blanket, April slept, but with a bat nearby, just in case. The Ancient One had taken to her recliner, hat pulled down over his face, snoring lightly. Splinter slept on a small nest of pillows, curled up in a more rat-like way than he typically did.
Leo, Raph, Mikey and Don all had pallets of quilts scattered around the rest of the apartment, strategically placed. Raph was near the shop stairs, ready for any trouble from that direction. Leo had chosen to sleep under the living room windows, perhaps in defiance of having once been thrown through him. Â Mikey stayed near the kitchen, easily able to distinguish between the sounds the appliances made or trouble. Don, for his part, had laid out his pallet near the computer in case an alarm went off.
They had wanted to set up a watch rotation, just in case something happened in the night. However, the Ancient One had insisted that they all sleep. He felt that something was going to happen, soon, that this was the lull before storm, and they all needed to be well-rested for the coming battle. Splinter had trusted his judgment and encouraged everyone to rest while they could.
However, Donatelloâs sleep was anything but restful. Dreamsâmemory fragments?âplayed through his head, distorted, hard to parse through. Most of what swirled around in his dreams were fragments, small pieces of moments that had no context. They were small enough that, should he remember them when he woke, he wouldnât be able to glean much from them. Still, they were poignant in is dreams, leaving his mind in turmoil.
His giant, clawed hand around Mikeyâs leg. His fatherâs sad face. Fear and a feeling of needing to get somewhere safe as he ran through the sewers. Being enraged as April held a broom that had just hit him in the face. Rage as Leatherhead and his brothers tried to catch him. Fear as Bishopâs men tried to gun him down. Anger as Leo shot him again and again with tranquilizer darts.
Pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, painpainpainpainapainâ
These dreams werenât unusual. Heâd been having them off and on for months. Theyâd started a few weeks after heâd gotten the cure for his second mutation. Don theorized that it was because his body had finally healed to the point that it could begin to process the trauma that heâd gone through. Theyâd fade out after some time, but then would resurface, usually with accompanying aches, pains, and exhaustions as his body recovered.
He had started to have these dreams again during their training with the Ninja Tribunal, something he attributed to the stress of the environment. The Ancient One had theorized that they were an avenue of mystical attack, with some connection to the situation, and led Don through some meditations to try to deal with them. Unfortunately, there hadnât been much time to focus on that, and the dreams had continued. They grew more frequent, the memories more broken up, and left him with echoed feelings of anxiety, terror, dread, and guilt that he couldnât shake.
Every so often, though, a more intact memory would come through. It was usually a few minutes of something heâd observed or done when heâd been mutated. Some of them were downright terrifying. Others were just painful. Most of them, though, were enlightening no matter the other emotions accompanying them, and he usually remembered those memories when he woke. Tonight, amidst the fragments that ran throughout Donâs head, an intact memory made its way to the forefront.
He was in pain. He was in so much pain. He hurt. He was terrified. Safe. He needed to get where it was safe. He didnât know where that was, but he needed it. Heâd been trying to get out of this trap for hours, beating, beating, beating on it. But it wouldnât let him escape.
He was in pain. He was scared. He was tired.
He slumped to the floor of the cage, energy spent for the moment. His captors were just beyond it, talking, although he didnât understand them.
âThere has to be another way, Leo!â
The one addressed shook his head. âThere isnât one, Raph.â
âWhat about the Utroms?â the third asked. âOr the Triceritons? Couldnât we ask them for help?â
The big creature shook his head. âIt is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.â
Something in the third oneâs expression stirred something inside him, but he didnât understand it, and just continued to watch.
âThen is this the only option?â the furry one asked.
The big one let out a breath and walked to the wall of lights and noises that he was often at. âAs much as I hate to admit it, I am afraid that it is, Master Splinter.â
âThere ainât nothing else?â the first one said. âNothing we can steal or get for you? Yer a smart guy, LH! Orâor what about the Justice Force? Theyâve got all kinds of things, right?â
âI asked,â the third one said. âBut⊠thereâs no one there that understands all of, well, this,â he said, gesturing to the group.
The first one looked back at the second one. âSo, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?â
âNo.â The second oneâs voice was strong. âNo, we donât just hand him over. This is Don. Heâs our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.â
âAinât gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all,â the first one said.
âI know,â the second one said. âBut⊠thereâs no other options. Iâve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.â
All eyes traveled over to him. He didnât like it. He didnât like the way they were looking at him. There was something there and he didnât understand it. It made him mad, made him angry, and that gave him a surge of energy. He rose to his feet and roared, pounding on the cage that kept him again and again.
Maybe if he did it enough, if he escaped from this, the pain would finally stop.
The scene slipped back again, although not forgotten, fragments overtaking it, trying to cover it up. Yet no matter how much the fragments tried to cover it up, the scene stayed, pushing its way through them, insisting on staying in Donâs awareness.
Rage at Stockman, who seemed as little more than twigs walking. âThere has to be another way!â Pain from things being jabbed in his side from Bishopâs men. âThere isnât one.â Fear as a gas filled the new cage he was in. âThen this is the only option?â Loneliness, loss, as he searched for safety, for his family for safety, not knowing when they found him, that they were who he was looking for. âIâm afraid that it is.â The overwhelming desire to runbreakhidefight all at once. âThereâs no other options.â
Pain. Pain, pain, pain, pain, pain painpainpainpainpainpainâ
âThereâs no other way.â
Don woke up with a start. He immediately sat up, ignoring the ache that shot through him, tense, ready to roll out of bed and fight. There were no immediate threats, though, and everyone else seemed to be sleeping. The apartment was quiet, the monitoring systems werenât going off, and Don couldnât hear any threats from outside.
âThere has to be another way!â
âThereâs no other way.â
A shudder ran through Don, and he let the battle-readiness fade away, simply sitting there instead as the ache started to settle into his bones. He tried to calm his breathing, focusing instead on those two phrases. Why did they seem so familiar? What had happened around those words? His brow furrowed as he tried to think it through. What had he been dreaming about?
âThere has to be another way, Leo!â
âThere isnât one, Raph.â
âWhat about the Utroms? Or the Triceritons? Couldnât we ask them for help?â
âIt is not an option, Michelangelo. While they could help, by the time a message got to them, it would already be too late for Donatello. His cells would have completely broken down.â
âThen is this the only option?â
Right. Right, it had been not a dream but another memory. This time one of his family talking. Talking about him and options. Or, more precisely, what they felt like was their only option. The only way they had to cure him.
âSo, this is it? We just take Donnie to that mad man that caused this problem in the first place, and let him have him?â
âNo. No, we donât just hand him over. This is Don. Heâs our brother. Someone will be with him all the time.â
âAinât gonna do us a lot of good if Bishop decides to just keep us all.â
âI know. But⊠thereâs no other options. Iâve been over this in my head a million ways, Raph. This is the only thing we can do. There is no other way.â
Don drew in a big breath, held it, and let it out. The memory was coming back to him, now. Heâd seen fragments of it before, but they were all connecting, snapping into place. Heâd known his brothers had taken him to Bishop. Heâd known theyâd negotiated with him for a cure. Heâd know that theyâd had to go and get something from Karai for Bishop, although heâd had to press hard to get that information out of anyone.
And he knew it was something called The Heart of Tengu. And he knew that it had given Karai control over the Foot Mystics. The same entities that now called themselves the Heralds of the Shredder and had worked to bring about the return of the Tengu Shredder.
Not that any of them had known that until recently.
After she had woken up, and after Chaplin had come to get her, and after they had both decided to stay for at least the night, everyone had settled down to share information. Or, well, that had been the idea. Neither side trusted the other, obviously. Broad strokes were shared, until one, fairly explosive moment when Karai had accused the turtles of bringing the whole disaster about. Sheâd told them about the Heart of Tengu, then, and how it had kept the Foot Mystics under control. She blamed them for what was happening.
Don had been stunned. He knew that his brothers had stolen something from her for Bishop, to ensure the cure for him. But he hadnât realized what it wasâor just how it had caused this apocalyptic nightmare they were now in.
âThis is all your fault!â Karai snapped. âYou stole the Heart of Tengu from me! You were the ones that set the Mystics free!â
âWe may have stolen it from you, Karai,â Leo said, âbut we had nothing to do with setting the Mystics free.â
Karai scoffed. âThen why did you steal it, Leonardo? To control the Mystics? To try to use them against me, only to find them too difficult for you to control?â
Raph growled. âYer barking up the wrong tree, sister,â he said, and Don could see how he was trying very hard not to grip the handles of his sai, trying not to escalate things.
âIt was payment,â Leo said, interrupting anything else that might be said. âWe had a need. That was the payment required to ensure the deal.â
Karai spread her hand towards the windows. âAnd look what that âpaymentâ has cost everyone,â Karai mocked. âWas it worth dooming the world for?â she demanded.
Something sure seemed to settle in each of Donâs brothers and his father, even as Leo spoke again. âYes. It was, Karai. And Iâd do it again. We all would.â
Don took a breath, bringing himself back from that memory, even as the guilt he felt settled into him once more. His hand went to the scar on his leg, all that was left from that infected wound heâd had all those months, and pressed down on it, trying to massage away the shooting pain he was feeling from it. That wound had introduced the outbreak virus into his system, and that wound should have been something he paid more attention to.
The scar was a raised, bumpy thing, about an inch and a half wide, and roughly circular. It made sense, seeing it came from a puncture wound. The initial puncture hadnât been as big as the scar, but there had been some necrosis around it that had worried Don a little. Fortunately, that, as well as the wound itself, had seemed to heal up with the advent of the cure.
It was a reminder, though. A reminder of what his own inattention and lack of care had cost them. A reminder of the guilt he carried with him. If the pains it sent out into his body from time to time were his only penance, then he had gotten off lightly.
Lightning flashed outside, and Don turned to look out the windows. Everything was so wrong out there. The sky wasnât right, the trees and the buildings were twisted, warped. Everything outside felt like a mockery of what it should be. The people were terrified. Even the criminals had backed off, everyone hunkering down, waiting for the next thing to happen.
And Don knew it was all because of him.
Don couldnât stay there anymore. He needed to get up, to move, to go somewhere else. His scar ached, and he felt the pain from it creeping into his bones, aches settling into the stretch marks left on his skin from the transformations. It felt like there was a pressure on his shell that was waiting to snap, and he winced as he got up. As much as he tried to hide it and deny it, he was still recovering from his second mutation. His muscles often had a persistent ache to them, something he felt in his very bones, and he still didnât have all of his endurance back. Training with the Tribunal hadnât helped that, and he had often found himself utterly exhausted at the end of a training day.
Honestly, it worried him, and some primal part of himself wanted to give into emotions and panic. Don kept that part in check, trying to remember that it was a traumatic thing that his body was recovering from. He knew that there was still a chance that the aches and pains would fade and eventually heâd be back to normal. However, he also knew that there was a good chance that heâd be living with this the rest of his life. Again, it was a small penance to pay for being the indirect cause of the apocalypse.
Don shook his head. The dreams, the worries of a full recovery, he sat them to the side for a moment and very quietly got up, using the nearby desk for leverage as his body protested the movement. He grabbed his boâboth to have it just in case, and for the extra support it gave him--and on silent feet he made his way towards the spiral staircase that led down into the shop.
Sneaking past Raphael wasnât an easy thing to do, especially when Don felt as bad as he did at the moment, but it was possible, and Don knew the tricks. He managed not to disturb his brother and landed quietly in the shop with only the barest of a stumble, using his bo for balance. He could see more of the outside through the shop windows, and it turned his stomach, making the guilt settle on him even harder. The pain he was feeling flared up in response, and with a grimace, Don quietly made his way through the shop and to the door that led to the hallway, using his bo as a walking staff.
The staircase was there, and Don could hear Casey snoring on the second-floor landing. Every so quietly, Don made his way to the stairs, going down them instead of going up. He headed into the basement, and down to a room that he was told he ran into when he was mutating.
Don paused in the doorway, leaning on his bo and looking around. He wasnât sure how Kirbyâs room had survived the fire and explosion of Aprilâs building, but somehow it had. Kirbyâs bed and drawing table were still in there and Don listlessly made his way around the room, his bo quietly tapping on the floor. He looked at the little trinkets and such that had belonged to the man. Heâd apparently had no family to come collect the things, and April, not knowing what to do with them, had put them back. Sheâd intended to clean the room out and rent it again, but with all of them in her life, she never had. Don was kind of glad for that now.
He heavily sat down on the bed, not feeling like staying standing any longer, and reached over to pick up a half-geode that was sitting on the nightstand. He could see where the fire had scorched the outside of the rock, but the crystals inside were undamaged. He gently ran his finger over them, wishing that he knew the significance of this to Kirby. Heâd never gotten the chance to know Kirby that well. It had been a meeting, an adventure, and a tragedy.
Something else he was responsible for.
âDon?â Don looked up to see Leo standing in the doorway to the room. He was looking at Don with a mix of curiosity and concern, clearly assessing him. He frowned when he saw Donâs bo propped against the bed in easy reach. âAre you okay?â
Don shrugged and turned the geode over in his hand.
âJust thinking,â he said. âIâm aching a little, too.â
Leo frowned sympathetically, and moved further into the room, coming to sit beside Don. âI can understand that. Anything I can do?â
Don let out a small, half-amused noise. âNot unless you can rewind time and keep me from getting the wound to begin with.â
Leoâs mouth twitched up in a smile. âIf I could do that, I would have done that to begin with.
âThere has to be another way!â
âThereâs no other way.â
Don frowned as the memory resurfaced, complimenting Leoâs words.
Leo, of course, took notice, and his smile faded away, too. âWhat is it?â he asked.
Don looked down at the rough outer surface of the geode, running his thumb on it. ââŠWas it really the only way?â he asked quietly.
He felt Leo stiffen a little at his side. âDon, what do youââ
âThe amulet,â Don said. âIâI had another dream tonight. Another memory. I was inside the cage LH and I built. You were all outside it, and Raph was saying that there had to be another way other than taking me to Bishop to get the cure. But you and LH didnât seem to think that there was.â
Leo was still. âI remember that conversation,â he said, his voice muted, but firm.
Don swallowed, feeling emotions welling up in him. He rotated the geode in his hand, keeping the rough side up, letting his fingers scrape along it. âWas it the only way, Leo?â he asked. âWas it truly? I understand why you did it. Iâm not saying that. But look what it cost us. The Tribunal. Our friends, the other acolytes. Parts of New York City. It could cost us not just the city, but so much more. Getting that amulet to save me might have doomed the world.â He was staring firmly at the rock now. âIâm not worth the world, Leo. Iâm not worth all of those peoplââ
Suddenly Leoâs hands were on his shoulders, and his brother was roughly forcing Don to face him. Startled, Don dropped the geode and looked up. Leoâs face was set, grim, and yet full of barely contained emotion.
âDonatello, I never want to hear you say that again,â he said firmly, fiercely. âYou are worth it.â
Donâs own mouth settled into a grim line, the startlement fading. âAm I?â he said. âTo you, to our family, yes, I am. But if you compare my life to the lives of everyone else, then no, Iâm not.â He gently but firmly moved himself out of Leoâs grasp on his shoulders and leaned down to pick up the geode, wincing as he did. âIn the grand scheme of things, my life isnât worth any more than anyone elseâs.â He turned the geode up, looking at the crystals. âThere had to be another way to get me back.â
âThere wasnât.â Leoâs voice was firm, sure.
âThere would have been, in time,â Don said. He grabbed his bo and used it to help him stand up, moving across the room to put the geode down on a shelf.
Leo stayed where he was and shook his head. âThere was no other option,â he repeated, his voice rising a little bit.
âThe options werenât fully explored. Iâve seen the notes and Iââ Don started.
Leo suddenly leapt to his feet, fire in his eyes. âYou donât know! You werenât there!â he said forcefully, his voice raising even more.
Don turned to look at him, and Leo backtracked, reigning himself back in.
âI mean, of course you were there,â he said, his voice a little quieter. He ran a hand across his head, frustration in the movement. âBut you werenâtâyou werenât you,â he said. âIt was like I said to Raph and Mikey once. I kept looking to you to ask what we were going to do but⊠you werenât there.â He looked at Don, with pleading eyes. âYouâve got to understand, Don. We explored everything as best we could. There was no other way.â
Don took a breath in, turning to stare at the geode for a moment. Its crystals caught the little light in the room and reflected it. âThen itâs my fault,â Don said quietly.
Leo stared at him a moment, confused. âWhat?â
âThen itâs my fault,â Don said turning back around. He leaned on his bo. âYouâre right. I wasnât there. I was⊠I was a raging, mindless beast who didnât understand anything that was happening.â His jaw tightened a little. âI didnât know anyone or anything. I didnât even understand when I was safe. All I knew was pain and rage. I wasnât there.â
âDon, Iââ Leo started, but Don shook his head and cut his brother off.
âI wasnât there before that, though.â He looked Leo in the eye. âI saw Leatherheadâs notes. He noted the point in my own notes when I became unreliable. I was too sick, too far gone with the virus to accurately interpret the data anymore. I wasnât ever going to be able to find a cure, because I was already ânot there.â By the time we got back from the past, my reasoning was too far gone.â
Leo was silent, the analysis evidently taking him by surprise. Don forged ahead, reaching to run his fingers over the geode again.
âI never was going to find a cure,â he said firmly. âAnd it was my fault for not taking the wound seriously to begin with.â Donâs voice began to pitch up a little. âAnd I only got the wound because I froze up and Raph had to push me out of the way. If I had just moved, or if I had taken the wound more seriously, then I wouldnât have double mutated,â the words spilled out of his mouth, falling quicker and quicker, his grip on his bo tightening. âIf I hadnât double mutated, then all of you wouldnât have gone to Bishop for a cure. He wouldnât have instructed you steal the Heart of Tengu. The Foot Mystics would have never gotten free. They wouldnât have been able to kill the Tribunal and our friends. The Demon Shredder wouldnât have been revived. And the fate of the world wouldnât be hanging in the balance!â
Don whirled back to face Leo, who had been silent, watching as Don laid out his reasoning, grasping his bo with both hands now. âSo, you see, Leo, this is all my fault! The world could end, we could all die, and itâs all my fault because I didnât move out of the way of an enemy in time!â
For a moment, there was silence. Then Leo looked at Don and frowned. âAlright,â he said, crossing his arms. âIt is all your fault.â
Don wavered where he stood. âWhat?â
âIt is your fault,â Leo said. âYouâre right. If you hadnât gotten that wound, then none of this would have happened.â
Don hadnât been expecting Leo to say that, and he stared at his brother, his mouth hanging slightly open. The words stung. They hurt, even though Don knew they were true, and he tightened his grip on his bo again.
Leo wasnât finished though. âBut Iâll say it again. You donât know. You werenât there.â Leo took a step towards Don. âYour notes may not have been reliable towards the end, but they were better and more extensive than anything Bishop or Stockman had.â
âBut⊠they made the cureâŠâ Don said, confused.
âYeah, they did,â Leo said. âFrom your notes.â Leo sighed and put his hands on Donâs shoulders, both comforting and supporting Don. âThey lied to us, Don. They said they had a cure when they didnât. Master Splinter and Leatherhead told us about it later, but it was too late by that point. You were closer to a cure than they were. They just had better resources and equipment to finish what you started.â
âTheyâwhat?â Don stared at his brother, trying to process this new information.
Leo nodded. âLeatherhead said that the only reason your notes were as well-researched and extensive was because you were testing yourself. Donât you see, Don?â Leo asked.
Don stared at his brother, waiting for Leo to explain.
âBecause you got that sting, you started your studies and research long before Bishop or Stockman even knew there was a problem. You had the most complete and accurate information available. Because you double mutated, your research went to Bishop and Stockman, and they were able to make a cure. Without you, without your research, without that sting, the city would still be suffering from mutated creatures.â
Leo gave Donâs shoulders a squeeze. âYes, we stole the Heart of Tengu as payment, but it was because Bishop lied to us about what he could do. Not to mention, Bishop started the whole mess to begin with, with his fake invasion.â He gave Don a tight smile. âYou didnât bring about the danger weâre in now. Bishop did, by trying to build a fake danger, and then by lying to us.â
Don stared at Leo, blinking as his brain processed the information. ââŠOh.â He could feel himself trembling just slightly. He shook his head. âButâstill. You stole the Heart of Tengu to save me.â He glanced at the doorway, as if he could see outside through it. âI still feel responsible.â
Leo shook his head again, and adjusted his grip, leading Don back to the bed and sitting them both down. He shifted again, sliding an arm along Donâs shoulders to pull him in. âYouâre not. BesidesâŠâ Leo hesitated. âI donât know how to explain it, but⊠it feels like this was always supposed to be us? I think⊠I think that even if it hadnât been to save you, then something would have happened to the Heart of Tengu anyway, and weâd be in a similar position.â
Don eyed Leo skeptically for a moment, but then relented. Leo had always had a sense about these things, even more so since he returned from the Ancient One. It had seemed to sharpen, somehow, during their training with the Tribunal.
âIf youâre sure, Leo,â Don said, slumping a bit against his brother, tired and aching.
âIf Leoâs sure about what?â
Mikeyâs sleepy voice interrupted, and Mikey poked his head around the door. Raph was right there with him, moving to stand in the doorway, eyes moving over the pair, clearly assessing the situation.
âIf Iâm sure that Donâs not responsible for everything thatâs happened,â Leo said.
âHe ainât,â Raph said bluntly.
âOhhh,â Mikey said. âThis is because of the Heart of Tengu thing, isnât it?â
Don shot a Mikey a startled look. âHow did youââ
âHow did I know?â Mikey said, coming into the room and plopping himself down on the other side of Don. âYou mean, how did I know that one of the two turtles with a huge guilt complex was totally and absolutely going to take what happened and blame himself?â Mikey grinned. âCome on, Donnie, gimme a little credit.â
âI donât say this often, but Mikeyâs right,â Raph said. He strode forward and poked Don in the forehead, before taking his bo from him and setting it to the side. âYouâve been overthinkinâ everythinâ durinâ your recovery. Wasnât hard to figure youâd take what Little Miss Shredder said to heart.â
Don frowned and looked down at his leg again. His hand traced over his scar, wincing a little as he did. âI guess. Itâs justââ
âNope, no âitâs justâ,â Mikey said. âWhatever Leo said, he was right.â
âIt ainât your fault, Don,â Raph said, his voice quiet. âIt never was.â
Don sighed, his hands rubbing at the stretch marks on his thighs. âIt still feels like it is.â
âWell, no matter if it feels like it or not, it isnât,â Leo said.
Don looked up at his brothers, giving them a weak smile. âItâll take some time for me to internalize that,â he said.
Raph made a shooing motion, obviously trying to encourage Don to lie down. âYeah, well, while youâre working on that, we can work on you,â he said. âYer hurting right now, arenât you?â
Don grimaced. âItâs⊠never really left,â he admitted. âItâs just worse tonight.â
Raph let out a huff of frustration. âDon. Youâre suppose to tell us these things.â He looked over at Mikey and Leo. âYou two know what to do.â
âRight-o!â Mikey said, and practically tacked Don to the bed.
âHeyâwhat--!â Don protested.
âNuh-uh,â Mikey said, draping himself over Donâs shell like some sort of starfish. He put his head right on top of Donâs. âYou said that heat makes your shell feel better, so Iâm about to be your own personal heater!â
âYouâre too heavy to be a heater,â Don grumbled, trying to get comfortable under Mikeyâs weight.
âIâve got his legs, you get his arms?â Raph said to Leo.
âSounds good to me,â Leo said.
âGuys, you donât have to do this,â Don protested. âItâll fade back to a tolerable level eventually.â
âHm, I dunno, bro. Eventually sounds like itâll take to long, especially when we can do something about it now,â Mikey said. He booped the back of Donâs head with his snout. âCome on, Don. Let us help you.â
Don sighed and relented. He was well and firmly trapped, as his brothers started to massage his limbs, trying to help with the pain he was feeling. Mikeyâs heat on his shell helped, too, although he wasnât about to admit it out loud. Slowly, Don started to relax as the massages and heat started to help the bone-deep aches he was feeling.
âYouâre still recovering,â Leo said to him, softly, as he worked. âPhysically, mentally, and emotionally. Let us take care of you. Because while you might not think youâre worth the world, to us you are.â
Somewhere above Don, Mikey snorted. âThat was one of the cheesiest things youâve ever said, Leo,â he cackled.
Don heard the thwap of Mikey being hit. âShut it, chucklehead,â Raph said. âIt might be cheesy, but itâs true.â
âNever said it wasnât,â Mikey protested. âJust that it was cheesy.â
Don chuckled quietly at the interactions and decided to stop protesting his brothersâ actions. He let them do for him, and then, when they all somehow curled and squished and fit on the bed, the bedframe miraculously holding under their weight, he didnât protest, but instead let himself be cocooned within his brothersâ warmth and love. They talked, softly, about stupid things, silly things, and wishes and dreams, until one by one, they all fell asleep with each other, feeling safe and secure in a way that none of them had in far too long.
Don wasnât sure heâd ever completely recover from his second mutation. He had a feeling that the aches and pains would come and go, becoming something he would deal with the rest of his life. He still felt guilty for what was happening, too, feeling indirectly responsible for the current state of the city. But right now, at this moment? He let himself trust in his brothersâ words, and refocused his mind on them, instead of his guilt.
And this time as Don slept, not a single dream or memory disturbed him.
It was hours later when two figures silently crept to the doorway of the room, looking in on the sleeping pile of turtles that was on the bed. Arms and legs were intertwined together, making it hard to tell who was sleeping on who and where one turtle began and another ended.
âYou see?â the Ancient One said, very softly. âI told youâthey needed this night. Their bond is strengthened. Donatelloâs spirit is a peace, cutting off that avenue of attack. This bonding will only serve them well in the coming battle.â
Splinter looked over his sons, too many emotions running through him for him to properly express any of them. âIt will,â he agreed instead. âI can only hope that it will keep them safe.â
For a moment, Splinter hesitated, and then he stole out of the room, returning moments later with a couple of large blankets. The Ancient One blinked at him.
âHow are you going to cover them up? They are all tangled,â he asked, although he moved forward to help Splinter unfold the blankets.
âAs I did when they were mere babies. I will cover the whole pile,â Splinter explained. âCreating a âshellâ for them to seek comfort in.â
âAh.â The Ancient One nodded, and helped Splinter cover the sleeping pile of turtles, smiling to himself when he saw how Splinter took the time to adjust a limb here and there, and press his nose to each of his sonsâ heads.
The two slowly left the room then, leaving the turtles alone to finish sleeping throughout the night. In the morning, battle would come, the Ancient One was sure, and for that, the four would need to be bonded strongly. But tonight, their bonds had been strengthened. He just hoped that it would be enough.
But for four turtles who were sleeping in a pile, under blankets put over them by their father, nothing could feel more safe and secure in that moment.
#tmntwritefight#tmntwritefight fic#tmnt#tmnt 2003#tmnt donatello#tmnt leonardo#tmnt fanfic#tmnt fanfiction#Turtle--thoughts#personne-writes#azucar-skull#teainthesnow#pileofpawns#rbtlvr#drebspells2022
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People complaining about Tsukasa5 already are pissing me off, because like, it's so unbelievably obvious what this event is trying to do and the fact that people are so hung up on "urgh dur tsukasa strong why can't he do a wall climb".
Like, first of all, a lot of Tsukasa's strength has been used as comedy before and also it's never been said that Tsukasa could specifically do a wall climb before so people calling this a retcon or a stretch is really dumb to me.
Sure we can make jokes about it, but this is not like a serious writing problem or anything.
Also are we just gonna ignore the fact this event is literally just a reference to his 3rd event in a silly trenchcoat. Or the fact that this is obviously meant to be WxS's downtime and training arc to prepare them to face the loose plotpoints in the future?
His inner dialogue when chasing the ninja is very clearly a reference to the whole Pheonix thing, how he can't reach it no matter how hard he tries.
The wall climb is like an extremely fucking on the nose metaphor to him climbing over his issues as an actor.
THERE IS ALSO THE WHOLE THING THAT HINTS THAT TSUKASA CAN ONLY OVERCOME HIS PROBLEMS IF HE HAS HELP FROM OTHERS (AKA tsukasa would've literally BEEN INJURED, if it wasn't for the fact the troupe's leader was there).
In fact this literally followed an event aka Tsukasa 4 where he FAILED to do his role correctly.
It's almost like this event is meant to be a transition point between Tsukasa 4 and 6, where Tsukasa builds up the knwoledge on how to face his problems.
But no this is just mid event because it's very silly and "wow plot is stupid why can't tsukasa wall climb".
WxS fans are slowly just turning into VBS fans in terms of how whiney they're being i swear
#project sekai#pjsk#tsukasa tenma#tsukasa pjsk#prsk#wxs#wonderlandxshowtime#i'm sorry colorpalet decided to give wxs downtime after an entire arc of literal pain#maybe they should just rush the entire plot and make them face their final conflict immediatly#yk why not just have asahi pop up right now why don't you#sorry i'm gonna be salty about this#there was like one good twitter thread about this event and the entire training arc right now and i'm just#i'm holding that thread like my last sliver of hope for humanity's reading comprehension of wxs events#like if you find these event boring that's your personnal taste but to like#actively dismiss things as bad writing despite the intent being clearly obvious it's like#again vbs fans literally were whining and crying about how vbs were defeating rad weekend âalreadyâ#and then turns out when they fucking read the event it was actually the correct narrative decision#like wow look what happens when you wait#i'm also talking about myself because i was terrified of wxs getting a rushed arc ender#if you feel insulted by this post i'm NOT sorry /j#but no seriously it's fine if you don't like it i'm just annoyed that i already see a tide wave of people just not getting this event
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il faut un cap đ«ž CLAIR đ«·
on va pas commencer un nouveau WIP lĂ â
il y a eu une inversion đ des rapports de force
JE đ§ââïž suis maĂźtre de mes Ă©crits
đ VOILĂ les conditions
elles doivent ĂȘtre REMPLIES â
#upthebaguette#writing#je me dis qu'une personne rira peut-ĂȘtre Ă ceci ce qui est plus sympa que le zĂ©ro de twitter#textmistas
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Sorry if I'm not around much...
I am focusing on the editing of my modern romance and I have a few things to do at the house (like always) and I also have decided to take more frequent breaks, from my computer in general. I noticed the last two times I did it, my "creative juice" had been more steady.
I still have fun plans though. This thing about betar reading is exciting me non-stop. I love reading, my work had been for a long time about revising scientific articles, I love fantasy, sci-fi and so on. So why not put that all together? Ăgalement : Je peux aussi faire un "beta-reading/ une premiĂšre lecture en français, donc ne pas hĂ©siter ;)
The other things is about my modern romance. I am lacking some face claim (a lot) in my story. And I thought to myself, what better way to present my characters than telling you a bit about them and asking you, mutuals and followers, what face claim would fit the best?
As I am lacking a good library of face claim, I'll rely on you to suggest someone. After all, why not? It'll be fun to see how you perceive them and I'm sure we will find a good fit for each of my crew!
So here we are. I am editing steadily and I might even a bit of an excerpt to share soon!
#novel writing#modern romance#Alberta romance story#emma personnal#beta reading#premiĂšre lecture#emma's writing
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Il n'y a pas d'amour Ă©ternel meme dans les livres il n'y en a pas.
Just realized I put together an all-floral outfit
#grunge#tumblr 2014#ahs#american horror story#violet harmon#tate and violet#ahs murder house#dark romance#violet harmon aesthetic#violet harmon clothes#music saves my life every single time#i want to write poetry again#La Belle Personne#violet harmon exacts
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Day 17 : Washing something / Blurry image / The ultimate horror
Dolmund belongs to @corneille-but-not-the-author
The following text contains mention of relationship abuse and trauma and just. Well. References to Leonova. Which comes with a whole lotta ptsd.
Listen. I like my things clean.
Khaliun used to tease me about it, youâre such a cleaning freak, and that never failed to get a rise out of me, I'm a surgeon, Khaliun, of course those godsforsaken instruments need to be spotless or at least sanitized do you want RUST in your RAW ASS WOUND-
She'd laugh and say Ether, I'm kidding!
Said she couldn't help herself, that I was cute when angry.
Leonova sure as hell didn't find it cute when I plunged my scissors into her eyes. She was into a whole bunch of things, seemed to really enjoy gouging my eye out, but clearly the opposite wasn't well received. Should have felt satisfying to give her a taste of her own medicine â doctor pun intended â but it didn't.
Not only did it feel gross but now the blood wonât come off.
Her blood on my scissors, his gift.
I've been scrubbing with all the products I found but it's still not back to its original color. Itâs still red, brownish, incrusted, like rust, and it's. Not. Coming. Off.
It wasnât meant to be used like this. It wasnât⊠Itâs scissors. Not even surgical scissors. Itâs to cut hair, hair, not threads, especially not flesh â
Cut hair. Cut hair. She cut it. My hair. I rub my hand against the back of my neck. It's short. Itâs okay. It's short. I cut it. I cut it myself. Nothing to grab, nothing to sell, I'm fine. Iâm okay.
Alright. Back to scrubbing.
It's gonna come off eventually. It's gotta come off.
That cloth I'm using's way too dirty. Can't even be called a cloth, that's a rag at best. Those scissors deserve better.
What would have happened if he didn't give those to me? How would I have escaped? Maybe if I used the knives on the table? Who am I kidding, I could barely stand, let alone outrun her.
I would have died. Alone in that basement, killed by the woman I loved most, with no one to tell where I was, no tomb, no memory, all of those years for nothing-
I scrub harder.
Even if itâs useless.
Fuck, it's been, like, an hour, when is it gonnaâŠ
Maybe never.
Itâs ruined. I ruined it. She ruined everything. Now I won't be able to even cut my hair without seeing those damn stains. And she's a vampire so sheâll regenerate while I'll have to see this constantly.
You know what, lying to me for years and tearing off my eye was already bad enough, but sure, letâs say that was fine, but trying to ruin the only things that I have left from him, to sully his memory, my memories like that, it's the last fucking straw, now it's midnight and this bitch has gotten me scrubbing blood that had three years to dry off a fucking pair of scissors and⊠andâŠ
It's not coming off.
Maybe she cut my hair with it too. My memories are too hazy. I can't remember. I don't want to remember. I want to erase it.
Itâs not coming off.
I want to puke.
I scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub and scrub but it's not coming off itâs still there I remember everything and my eye hurts and my chest is too damn tight and I donât want to remember.
Everything's blurry, I can barely see anything now, come on, get it together, you shouldn't cry for this, you've been through worse andâŠ
And the worse in question is in those stains.
Itâs not coming off, it's not coming off, fuck this, fuck everything, I hate this, why do I even bother, why won't it FUCKING-
âEther?â
Shit. Shit. I scrub harder. Harder. Come on. Come on please please please-
âEther, I'm coming in.â
No no no itâs still there I have to get it clean before-
The door opens. I squeeze my eyes shut, a tear escapes. Dolmundâs there. I can't see him but I know heâs standing there. Shit.
âWhat the hell are you doing kneeling on the floor?â
Canât he mind his own damn business for once? How do I explain this? How do I explainâŠ
âIt won't come off.â
Great. Amazing. Couldnât have sounded more pathetic if I tried. My voice doesnât even remotely sound like mine. Good job, Ether.
Dolmund walks up to me. I'm so hunched over it makes him taller.
â... Again?â
Yeah. Again. I guess I just never learn. He doesn't even sound mad or disappointed and that's probably the worst part. I cough, try to get my voice to work.
âI need to⊠I don't know. Thought I might give those bad boys a good scrub again. Never hurts to try, right?â
âNever hurts? Look at your hand before saying shit like that.â
I open my eyes.
The cloth is all stained with blood. So are the scissors.
Didn't even notice my nails breaking.
And now itâs even bloodier than it used to be. Tears well up in my eyes again. Great. Just great. Can this evening get any worse? Stay tuned to find out.
Dolmund sighs with all the weight of his chest.
âPut those away and go patch up your hand.â
âI c-can't.â
âWhy?â
âHow am I going to defend myself if you try to kill me?â
That's ridiculous. He wouldn't do that. Rationally, I know he wouldn't.
But I thought Leo wouldn't either.
âEther, you have eight guns on you. Use them. Defending yourself with scissors? You still in kindergarten or something?â
Oh, he thinks heâs so funny. Iâd punch him if my hand didn't hurt like a bitch.
âYeah, yeah, you can glare at me all you want once you put those away.â
âBut I need-â
âWhat you need is a drink, Ether. A drink, and to get the fuck out of your room and fix your hand, your only good hand, in case you forgot.â
He narrows his eyes at me.
âI can deal with an hungover doctor. Not an injured one. Put. Those fuckers. Down.â
âŠ
I do. Put the fuckers down, that is. After washing my blood off right away with some water. I shut my drawer tight. Out of sight, out of mind, or whatever.
âThatâs better. You cominâ, or do you need help walking too?â
Heâd help me, if I said yes. But he knows treating me like I'm sick would be ten times worse. I can pity myself just fine, thank you very much.
And we know we both need way more than what we can give each other.
âI'm good.â
Just a little wobbly on them legs. Wooooo.
âHope you got something strong enough.â
âYou bet.â
The drink is indeed strong.
It's the only thing keeping my mind right and clear lately. Iâm glad Faloi and Khaliun are dead so they donât have to see this, but itâs their fault for getting killed in the first place.
Hey, at least I did Leo one better.
Canât sell or eat a fucked-up liver.
#noa writes stuff#lysara#ether nepheli#YOOOO MY GIRL* HAS PTSD WHAT ELSE IS NEW#her cleaning obsession might have gotten worse because of Leonova#this is a Leonova hate post as always#fuck Leonova all my homies hate Leonova#had this in my head for a while and since I might not develop it in her novel#might as well do it for those prompts#writing challenge day 17#tried to give my 1st person writing in english more personnality too
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hola hola
is the not-so-anon spitefully-perfect again with fic updates :D
still figuring out how to drag things out with reader getting to meet the other skeles (considering im only on the second chapter and still havent really done much with the main skeles), but so far, none of the skeletons outside of the house like reader (lust sans is a particular prblem, bcos reader was a huge fan of his modeling career, but oop hes like really mean </3)
but like- what if i just-
yknowwww
threw ... killer in there..... and maybe some others
... theres gonna be a lot of skeletons lol
A very late answer (hiatus *ahem*) but hey, it's good to see you again "anon" d(°â°d)
I feel like slowing down the pace/dragging things out is the hardest part of story telling really. You don't want relationships and interractions to seem rushed or superficial but it's hard to give everyone as much screen time with so many characters+get a feel of how each one would react to others etc (Just look at TMS sigh). Not to mention some might need more⊠time than others (Lust ahem all evil sanses) You've probably already found a solution, but yeah, my advice would be to focus on strong dialogues. Efficient and natural dialogues. That's the core of an impactful and appealing scene and can save you a lot of time when developing characters.
Of course writing more is never a waste of time but I understand the urge to just skip the awkward first meetings and stuff to go straight to the good part hehe, but they'll all love Reader in due time, no need to rush !
E⊠Hm, And Killer, you say? Others too hmâŠ
Yes⊠Well, of course
#ask#ask me#anon#I have a pile of unanswered asks as always#I started doing ask the characters side stories and extras bc I was frustrated with the slow progress ahah#the real struggle#I'm sure most of you KNOW that feeling#that's why we write prompts and concepts that never get adapted to full fics or comics *sob* the frustration#that was personnal
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Avis de tempĂȘte
(Le musicien fantĂŽme, Ă©pisode 6 â parce que.)
« Ce nâest pas une tempĂȘte normale ! » me crie Esteban, couvrant Ă peine le hurlement du vent. BientĂŽt je nâentends plus que des bribes de ses explications â « jamais vu ça », « trop soudaine » et quelque chose Ă propos du baromĂštre que je ne comprends pas.
Ses hommes, mĂȘmes les plus expĂ©rimentĂ©s, arborent des mines au mieux prĂ©occupĂ©es, au pire franchement alarmĂ©es. Pour ma part, je lâavoue sans honte, je suis terrifiĂ© et me cramponne Ă mâen casser les doigts au premier cordage qui mâest tombĂ© sous la main. Esteban me fait de grands signes pour mâintimer de me mettre Ă lâabri, avant de se tourner vers le timonier. Lâhomme a lâair rĂ©solu et aussi calme quâil est possible de lâĂȘtre dans une telle situation. Esteban lui tape lâĂ©paule avant quâils se sĂ©parent, chacun se ruant lĂ oĂč sa prĂ©sence est nĂ©cessaire, et ce geste de confiance me donne quelque espoir. Le timonier est un vieux briscard, il va nous tirer de ce pĂ©ril.
Je mâefforce de regagner ma cabine mais le tangage est tel que je heurte de plein fouet le bastingage, contre lequel je mâĂ©croule, immobilisĂ© par un nouveau haut-le-cĆur. Lorsque je relĂšve enfin la tĂȘte, je ne peux dĂ©tacher les yeux des vagues colossales couronnĂ©es dâĂ©cume qui surplombent le navire.
Lâune dâelles balaie soudain le pont, mâentrainant avec elle, le soufflĂ© coupĂ© et ballotĂ© comme un vulgaire galet. Par miracle, je parviens Ă me raccrocher au grand mĂąt. Crachant et trempĂ©, je plisse les yeux dans lâobscuritĂ© qui nous est tombĂ©e dessus il y a quelques minutes, quand les lourds nuages noirs ont avalĂ© le soleil dâun coup. A la lumiĂšre dâun Ă©clair, je tente de voir si quelquâun manque Ă lâappel, espĂ©rant que personne ne soit passĂ© par-dessus bord. Jâessaie de repĂ©rer Esteban, mais tout nâest que chaos et cris et courses en tous sens.
Je vais mourir ici. Jâaurais pu ĂȘtre plus prudent et rester Ă quai. Mais je ne parviens pas vraiment Ă regretter ma dĂ©cision. Au moins me serai-je senti un peu vivant avant de trĂ©passer. Moi qui ne suis pas particuliĂšrement religieux, je me surprends Ă recommander mon Ăąme Ă Dieu. Câest tout ce que je puis faire.
Dans mon effroi, je ne comprends pas tout de suite ce que mes oreilles perçoivent. Je me figure quâil sâagit de quelque musique cĂ©leste rĂ©pondant Ă mes priĂšres et que ma derniĂšre heure est arrivĂ©e. JusquâĂ ce que je reconnaisse la mĂ©lodie. Câest moi qui lâai composĂ©e.
Comment ? Comment est-ce possible ? Ai-je perdu lâesprit ? DâoĂč vient cette musique ? Et comment peut-elle dominer les mugissements de la tempĂȘte ?
Un autre Ă©clair dĂ©chire le ciel et je me fige, comme hypnotisĂ©. Jâai eu le temps dâapercevoir la silhouette dâun navire, fendant les flots dĂ©chainĂ©s dans notre direction. Câest lui. Ce ne peut ĂȘtre que lui. Le Musicien fantĂŽme.
A cet instant, un craquement assourdissant et funeste mâemplit dâune terreur sans nom. A une vitesse affolante, lâIcare commence Ă couler.
#en toute honnĂȘtetĂ© je ne sais toujours pas oĂč je vais#je n'avais pas vraiment prĂ©vu d'Ă©crire une suite au premier texte#mais comme plus personne ne me lit je n'ai pas vraiment de pression haha#30jourspourĂ©crire#30jourspourecrire#french#français#Ă©criture#my writing#sls's stuff
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I'm going to Give The Fuck Up
#okay i'm writing the rest in french 1) for spyld purposes because it's 1am but still#and 2) so i can pull that post out next time i'm seeing a therapist and maybe they'll take me seriously#donc je suis censĂ©e avoir fait un essai et une prĂ©sentation pour demain (enfin. dans genre 8h)#et j'ai un autre exposĂ© pour vendredi#j'ai rien commencĂ© j'y arrive pas je peux pas#je suis au bout du bout j'arrive pas Ă me forcer Ă le faire je peux pas#c'est comme si ça faisait 4 ans que je courrais et qu'on me demandait de faire un sprint final#genre j'ai encore de l'Ă©nergie. mais bien sĂ»r. je suis encore debout et c'est un miracle mais oui grave je vais sprinter#je vais aller en cours demain je vais dire au prof que je peux pas et que j'ai pleurĂ© dessus plusieurs fois (ce qui est vrai)#et lui demander ce que je peux faire parce que lĂ c'est pas possible#et on va voir!#je suis au bout de ma vie je n'en peux plus#plus le temps passe plus je me dis que ça vaudrait le coup d'abandonner et de rater mon annĂ©e juste pour que ça s'arrĂȘte#ça fait des ANNĂES qu'Ă chaque pĂ©riode d'exam j'ai l'impression d'ĂȘtre un tout petit animal#qui s'est repliĂ© dans un coin de la piĂšce parce qu'un prĂ©dateur se rapproche#je suis dos au mur y a nulle part oĂč aller et la menace se rapproche encore et encore et je peux rien faire#et je suis hors de moi tellement j'ai peur et je suis stressĂ©e#des mois et des mois que j'ai cette image de moi en toute petite souris qui gratte frĂ©nĂ©tiquement le mur derriĂšre elle#parce que je peux pas aller devant moi. c'est lĂ qu'y a le prĂ©dateur et je peux pas! je peux pas!!!#je peux pas fuir par lĂ mais c'est la seule sortie et je vais pas y arriver et il faut que je parte il faut que je m'en sorte#si je reste lĂ je vais mourir mais y a nulle part oĂč aller et je suis pas en Ă©tat de prendre une seule dĂ©cision logique#je suis juste en train de paniquer et je peux rien y faire et il faut que je sois ailleurs oĂč que ce soit mais pas ici pas ici pas ici#et toutes les fois oĂč j'ai rĂ©ussi Ă me mettre aux devoirs j'ai rĂ©ussi Ă esquiver les consĂ©quences mais pour combien de temps?#j'ai une semaine de rĂ©pit. deux peut-ĂȘtre. et des fois ils faut que je le refasse immĂ©diatement aprĂšs et j'ai plus ce qu'il faut#si j'arrivais pas Ă me dĂ©tacher de ça je serais paralysĂ©e toute la journĂ©e et je pleurerais au moins deux fois par jour#je mangerais pas je boirais pas je me doucherais certainement pas je parlerais Ă personne et je ferais absolument rien#rien qui me fait plaisir rien qu'y faut que je fasse rien rien rien. je serais figĂ©e tellement je suis stressĂ©e#du coup j'ignore et on dirait plus ou moins que ça va de l'extĂ©rieur mais je fais des crises de nerfs toutes les semaines#wow i have a ramble tag now
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I haven't even touched a book since April, I can't wait to be done with this thesis, I'M SICK OF IT
I've read a few manga since they're so quick to read, and some of them were absolutely amazing so I'll probably talk about them more in depth...... whenever I can start doing reviews again
I've also ordered Elliot Page's Pageboy, which should arrive at the end of this month. But again, I won't read it right away since I'm still crying working on my thesis. And I can't wait to get back into the Memoirs of Lady Trent series, which I read A SPOILER FOR WHILE DOING RESEARCH FOR MY THESIS, WHAT THE FUCK. I'm telling you, this thing is gonna be the death of me
#personnal#maddie talks#and maddie rants#i'm exhausted and have exactly one (1) thing that motivates me#and that is the prospect of potentially touring ireland with a friend in the fall#so i'll need to have done the presentation asap#someone save me#or write this thesis for me
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I can't see your art, I don't know what beauty beneath eyes like yours could be, what it looks like, how youâll love, what youâll know, why I should follow you home -sâs.
#creative writing#original poem#spilled ink#free verse#surreal#writers and poets#poem#spilled poetry#poetry#poet#writers on tumblr#portrait#prose#poems on tumblr#artists on tumblr#small writer#original post#love#dark poetry#la belle personne#la vie en rose#improvised#is it true?#what do i know
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working on some post ep 48 headcanons
#wip#scarring headcanons#mmmm post-02 headcanons for the blorbos#and refs for my personnal writings/art as well i guess#i'll work on a proper ref at some point#but for now this gives me ideas as to roughly what goes where
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not all self care is resting and laying back and relaxing and doing nothing. sometimes, self care is getting super intense about your interest and fucking up your back because you're bent in an uncomfortable position just to draw that one drawing that you must draw. sometimes, what replenishes your energy isn't quiet. sometimes, it's physical and demanding. but it still replenishes your energy. there is no finite stock of energy, you can even build it up like you can build up muscle!
#wait am i editing a tag ??self care#important#pers#hustle culture#anti hustle culture#and apparently you can edit tags#i was writing the post then hit the tab button to switch to the tags andwhen i started typing it appeared in my first tag#self care#meant to add that personnally doing nothing and seeing no one is bad for my mental health self care is going out and helping people#with their own problems and most often doing physical stuff#not saying that's what self care should only be just adding nuance to the self care stuffi see online
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Hello hello! I am but a smol fan of your writings musings and art pieces, im relatively new, but you sound so much like someone I want to chat and hang with that I couldn't wait any longer.
bro what kind of bot is this
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Evening rambling on...
At the moment, beside writing a few shorts for LOTR, I didn't write much. Not even for my modern romance or for my medieval romance. I had a few ideas I wrote down but since then, nothing.
I need to do some research and it is a daunting task. That and editing the story, changing some things, adding the details I find from my research. Among other things, I need to have a better idea of the geography, of the way my people are clothes, trade, laws, rulers and co.
I have the calendar and, even though I was playing very hard with the idea of the ringed world, each time I want to go for it, I remember that I need to add even more things (animals, plants, weather patterns, etc.) that will be impacted by the shadow of the ring.
But a calendar and a vague idea of how they look like or are clothes is not enough. I want something more in-depth. Why are they in conflict? What is the base? Religion? commerce? control of lands? So many things I need to set. That and also the few madmen and women that are in many history.
I know I can just focus on my main characters but I don't feel comfortable if I don't have the whole worldbuilding set in stone. I need a map, distances, duration of travels, way of travels. Limits, mountains, and ocean. Weather patterns, even on a Earth-Like world, need to be known. Where are we? Southern Europe like? Northern? If I add a mountain what will be the impact and so on.
On one side, I really want to do all that. On the other side, if I begin that, I will not write much, even less than now. I have a few shorts hanging, but not sure if I'll finish them. I have a few fanfics that are waiting desperatly for my attention.
Let's just say that the fire is not really burning bright right now. At least, I love dearly the little I write. But I wish I could do more.
We'll see I guess
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Hiatus
Hello people! This is just a quick message to inform you all I'm taking a small break of writing. The last couple of fics I wrote flopped badly and I realised I didn't like what I was writing. So I'm taking a small break.
For the requests I have: don't worry, I still have them and will get to them eventually!
For the series I started and never continued: I still plan on continuing them one day! I just don't know when.
I'm still gonna be on Tumblr, reading your fics and reblogging stuff!
Thanks everyone for everything I love you all!
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