april 6th 2020, and i am3 plays into my chronological reading of every shakespeare work.
I hade the craziest dream last night and honestly i would love to make a story based on it. I don’t have the best skills when it comes to writing but i might try. Would anyone that follows me be interested in reading the story.
An underrated character trope that I absolutely LOVE is old detectives that seem really jaded and careless, but hasn’t had any reason to hope in a while and when they find something/ someone to believe in they slowly regain their excitement for their job and love of life
patchwork of stars - goddesses intros
“letters of all sorts travel on my winds to their destinations, near and far alike. how can I not know all that occurs behind the smokescreen of the lives of the people? to write something is to truly say it aloud, after all, and I know all they write.”
as the constituents of the house of the goddess of wind and air, the house of aeolus handles the mail system of the nameless city. their messengers are said to be the fastest history has ever seen. aeolus is worshipped for her influence over weather patterns, and the prayers of those who worship her are often answered, in one way or another.
so i thought i wrote like 2,000 words last night but i looked this morning and it was only 800
Synopsis: Ice cream tasting.
A/N: idek why i wrote this. here, you can have it.
“Hey, I bought some ice cream, do you want any?”
“What flavor is it?”
“I can’t tell you. However, you’ve never had it before.”
“C’mon, what flavor is it?”
“I’m not telling you! Try some. It’s good.”
“Not until you tell me what flavor it is.”
“This is not how you introduce yourself to new foods. Just try it. I promise you’ll like it. And if you don’t, I’ll buy you four pints from that expensive store.”
“Oh, my goodness, fine, I’ll try it.”
“How is it?”
“You know what? I’m really glad you made me eat this.”
Summary: You’re Shawn Mendes’ personal assistant which is all fun and games until feelings begin to change between the two of you. Words are said that could either ruin your friendship or help it grow into something more.
Author’s Note: Hi guys! This is my first attempt at writing for Shawn, but you have to start from somewhere. Anyways I hope you enjoy it! And please let me know what you think!
“You coming out with everyone tonight?”
The sound of a voice brought you back to reality, snapping your head up to be met with the most beautiful brown eyes you had ever seen. “Oh, um I don’t know, Shawn. I have a lot of emails to catch up on and I haven’t even started the calendar for May yet,” you responded, tearing your eyes away from where he was leaning on the door of the green room. After tonight’s show, you had sneaked away to the green room to finish up some work that was piling up lately, only after giving Shawn his celebratory hug of course. He didn’t have another show for 3 days, meaning the boys usually wanted to go out to drink, something they couldn’t do on a show night in order to preserve Shawn’s vocal chords. You honestly could go without the drinks, knowing you would have to stay mostly sober in order to take care of your giant man child. Even though you were off hours, being Shawn’s assistant meant there was never really an off time. If he needed something, he knew he could rely on you, either as an assistant or even a friend, and it went both ways. Although as much as you loved spending time with him, probably more than you would like to admit, you needed to catch up on the work that he had been distracting you from lately with his daily exploring.
“Pleaseeee,” Shawn borderline whined, “You have two days of doing absolutely nothing coming up, can’t you just do your work then?” The soft pitter-patter of footsteps got louder as he approached where you were sitting comfortably against the armrest of the couch, lifting your legs up to put them in his lap.
You peered at him over the top of your laptop, losing your focus for a second over the way the muscles in his arm were practically begging to rip open his shirt from the way he was leaning his head on his hand, “Becauseeeee I have a feeling someone is going to prevent me from doing said work on those next two days off. Would I be wrong in saying that?”
“I don’t prevent you from doing work!” he feigned offense, placing his large, tattooed hand over his heart. You glared at him again, earning a scoff from him, “I don’t!”
“Sure you don’t,” returning back to your work, you forwarded an email to Andrew about some radio interview in the next couple weeks before your laptop was pushed shut, almost pinching your fingers in the process. “Shawn!”
“Please come tonight,” he pleaded, giving you those puppy dog eyes he knew you couldn’t resist, “I don’t want to go if you don’t.”
Of course he was guilt tripping you. And you both knew he meant it when he said he wouldn’t go without you, the boy didn’t lie. You stood your ground, trying to act like his adorable face wasn’t breaking down your facade, “Fine, I’ll go, but don’t expect me to save you when you get so drunk you can’t stand.”
“I won’t I promise,” he smiled that genuine, happy smile that filled up his whole face before launching himself into your lap to hug you, “You won’t regret it.”
Just for a moment
I wish I could dwell in our future.
The one where I’d lay by your side
and feel loved,
I want that feeling now.
I want to hear your voice
and know I’m not the only one
who feels and thinks and dreams
the way I do.
I want to be held by you,
brushed by fingertips
and wandering lips
in places not accustomed
to affectionate attention.
I want you to see the beauty
I see in myself
and fall in love
with the little things about me
that even I am unaware of.
I just want you with me
for a moment at least.
Is that too much to ask?
OC LOST ITEMS PART 1
1. Broken Axe: A normal axe. The handle has been snapped in half, and is held together by a tied hankerchief. It doesn’t look sturdy at all.
2. The History Of Adrestia: A heavy textbook on the history of the Adrestian empire. It’s heavily annotated in shakey, childish handwriting.
3. Bag of Odd Powder: A plain cloth bag containing a strange blue powder. Just smelling it makes one nauseous.
When recieving a lost item: “Oh! I mut have dropped this! Thank you.”
When being given an item that isn’t his: “Sorry, not mine.”
1. Faith Magic For The Spiritually Weak: An old textbook on studying Faith magic. Some of the pages are torn out.
2. Leather Boot: A worn leather boot like an archer would wear. There’s a dagger hidden inside.
3. Strange Picture: A painting of a family. The older man standing next to the young woman has had his face scratched out.
When receiving a lost item: “Oh, is this mine? Sorry about that, but thanks for returning it!”
When it’s not his: “That’s not mine. You should try someone else.”
1. Dried Flowers : A bundle of fragile withered flowers tied together with white ribbons. The card on the ribbons says “With Love, Callen”
2. Jar Of Teeth: A collection of animal teeth. The label says they’re for “Important Use Only”.
3. Letter from Someone: A letter in childish handwriting. The contents are mundane but the author seems to be writing under stress. There’s no signature.
When receiving a lost item: “Oh, I’ve been looking for this! Thank you.”
When being given an item that isn’t hers: “I think you have the wrong person.”
one of the things i’ve struggled with when it comes to revision is the pressure for precision. the bane of every writer’s existence, it’s the very thing that often results in retaliation: abandoning a project before it begins
as someone whose sentences have a tendency to mutate as i’m trying to get out the initial thought, for the longest time, i would edit as i went along ( a cardinal sin, i know ) in the same document and would be upset when it didn’t flow the way i wanted. this resulted in me in opening another document and starting over out of spite, and before i knew it, i’d have an untidy pile of unfinished documents – slightly different versions of the same thing with wording i felt was better in version y than version x. this only compounded my frustration and made me feel like i would never make any dents. other times, it would occur to me to write, leave that version mostly untouched, then return to it the following day or a couple days later. this was slightly more efficient but not as much as i would’ve liked it to be
just recently, i discovered a twist that’s a very good workaround: if you’re like me and you revise as you go along,
this way, you aren’t staring at the draft page daunting yourself into feeling it’s a chore and that you need to get it perfect or the world will hate you. granted, it’s a little less convenient than having one document only and requires switching back and forth. it’s a lot like a five thousand-piece puzzle, requiring meticulous care and attention, but the payoff is worth the bit of trouble, i promise. you’ll be less frustrated in the building process. i’ve been doing this for the last three days ( icb it’s taken me so many years to figure this out ) and i cannot express how insanely helpful it is!
a couple of other things that i’ve been doing for a while now to reduce stress while i’m drafting are
periods are meant to communicate finality, a full stop. they give a sense of permanence, which can get in the way of remolding your sentence bc it feels like you’re infringing on something sacred or pulling a huge nail out of a perfectly good piece of wood. same with using proper capitalization; the sense of propriety can be overwhelming. both can be pressure points for feeling the need to achieve perfection and can in some cases halt your progress. this is especially if you have an overactive imagination and you know for a fact that you’re going to change a sentence several times before you’re satisfied. semicolons, too, are less austere and more forgiving in comparison to periods: it’s how i was able to compose this post! so don’t feel ashamed if you don’t trust yourself enough to use a period. just make sure you go through and change the semis to periods where it’s necessary before you post!
i know this is a vexing time for many people across the globe, and i wanted to take a moment and share this advice in case any of my followers — whether isolated or like me, forced to work — are struggling in their endeavors and are looking for some ways to facilitate the process. if you need clarification, feel free to respond to this post!
[The researcher found himself in an empty space. As far as he could see, there was nothing except for the white abyss around him as the soft hollows of a calm wind could be heard. Shaking, the man stepped back and hugged his arms tightly, trying to remember what happened.
He was in a panic, writing quickly, trying to get his thoughts clear. He should have stopped writing. He should have run off to help the moment he knew something was up. He should have stopped all those days ago. He should have stopped with his silly and dangerous plan. He should have stopped when he accidently broke the coral.
He should have stopped when the sickening touch of vanity started to wrap around his soul. But he didn’t and now he was stuck here. Wherever here was.
The researcher, slowly brought his fingers up to the side of his neck and a chill went down his spine. There was no heartbeat. He still breathed but it didn’t feel like it was doing anything to keep him functioning. His skin was cold and pale and he tightened the hug on himself.
This couldn’t be happening. He needed to save those people but… was he really dead?
Was this his fate? To perish from the hands of his own work? What kind of cruel fate was this?
The researcher still deserved this. He knew that. He was the one who casted that monster out into their hideout so it only made since that he shall die from the same creature. Why did he do this? Why was he so stupid?
Pink flower petals, that were carried by the wind, started to brush against the man’s leg but he didn’t notice this. Shaking, he fell onto his knees, weeping. His sobs echoed around the area, as snot ran down his face. He had failed everyone because of his selfish needs.
His version started to blur from this overwhelming feeling. Then when he felt someone touch his shoulder and he looked over; he couldn’t see who it was at first. The sweet scent of flowers filled his senses, as he heard the humming of a song that he heard weeks ago. The researcher quickly wiped his eyes and his version focused on a beautiful woman who was standing overtop him.
A sad smile emerges from the woman’s face. “Son… I am so sorry.”
The man stood up and quickly hugged his mother tightly, his hands shaking. “Mom… I am sorry. I… I failed you. I failed our family… I deserve nothing but shame. Cast me out. I don’t matter anymore after what I have brought upon my fellow men… I-I’m so sorry…”
The mother gently laid her palm on the man’s cheek. “Shush, relax my child. Don’t talk like that…”
“But… our people… our ancestors-“
The mother quickly interrupts. “They were aware that you would fall since the beginning. I was sent to help you… for when you joined us.”
“I forgive you my son… Now, come with me. It’s time to rest.”
The researcher slowly nodded as he hugged his mother again. The mother gently embraced her child and hummed softly to him. The song swelled around them, and the wind seemed to dance along— The petals spinning gracefully around them. As the song slowly faded to its end, the two spirits slowly faded away as well, disappearing from our world.]
Next (Chapter 1: Part 3 is coming soon)
it’s gonna wreck me
WIP INTRODUCTION / Viva La Revenge of the Deceased
Genre: Paranormal, mystery.
POV: Third person (limited)
Status: First draft
Major Themes: Ghosts and spirits, untimely deaths, revenge, friendship, loyalty, internal conflicts, shady organizations.
Warnings: Features mentions of death, homicide, revenge, shouldn’t be read to a ten year old. Flickers in and out between morbid and casual.
Conchobhar Raelyn expected a lot of things from life. Most of them unusual. And a lot of them illegal. It was the consequences of living in a fake relationship with someone inclined to do illegal things with good intentions, and a police officer. As well as their three dubiously acquired children.
For her, the unusual was to be expected. Because, more often than not, there would be somebody willing to make it happen. Whether they should do that, or not.
But even she had limits. Things that weren’t on her ever growing list of concerns. So far out of the realms of possibility that she left it untouched, ignored, and written off as stuff that only happened in fiction.
And that included stumbling across the ghost of her estranged, childhood friend, Thomas Dionisio, at five o’clock in the morning. His appearance chalked full of simmering flames and ash, skin peeling, and resembling a half melted human candle.
In the event of his untimely removal from the moral coil, Conchobhar also hadn’t expected to be the one he turned to. For help. Mostly to enact his revenge, but to help figure out the circumstances of his death, too. Go figure.
Things only evolved from there.
“Something, uh. Something happened. And I didn’t… don’t really know who to go to? Or, uh. Where I should go, and I - “ Thomas’ voice broke. Fingers shoved in the fragile, flaking remains of his jacket, and his shoulders slouched unsurely. “I - I need some help. I think. From you.”
Conchobhar didn’t know what someone that was already dead could possibly need help with. In her opinion, it would have been much better to ask for that when he was still alive and avoiding the sweet, sweet embrace of death. Didn’t particularly want to know, either - late night horror marathons with Declan and Jezebel indicating something horrible and nefarious, and likely to end with her six feet underground, or a long term patient at the nearest psychiatric ward.
Even when the person involved was her best friend. One time friend, anyway. It didn’t escape her notice that six years of little to no contact left plenty of time for feelings of ill intent to manifest, and that she could never really say what was in his head, anyway.
But he looked lost.
More than that. Distraught, and visibly shaken. Something she could never quite remember him being. The phantom projection of his body, his person, trembled uncontrollably, sending small clouds of ash and questionable fluids that dripped from half melted and burned skin down onto her carpet.
And she could be stubborn. Hardheaded. Focus on the rationality of a situation more than someone’s personal feelings, and knew how to avoid future problems and unnecessary complications like a pro. It was practically one of her skillsets, at this point. Saying no.
But how could she do that to him?
How could she, when Conchobhar hadn’t been there when it would’ve mattered the most? When he’d died?
Tagging: @keen2meecha, @residentofthedisc, @hannahs-creations, @stabmeinthefootibeg, @close-to-the-edge12
(I’m creating a taglist! Because… I introduced a thing. Hit me up if you want to be added or removed!)
I’ve been going on a lot of walks recently.
‘Cause, y’know being in the house all the time isn’t really good for you. Like, y’know, cabin fever and stuff? Plus, we just did this unit in science- through the computer, they’re calling it distance learning- about indoor air pollution, and how the air inside a home can be multiple times more polluted than outside air, and how most people spend most of their time indoors (90%!), which really makes sitting in my bedroom for long periods of time kind of unappealing.