real life: ''it could always be way worse.''

First Words

Originally posted by mysticmewtwo

Bruce Bannerx reader

Prompt: Soulmate au where your soulmates first words to you are tatood on your wrist


“The Hullk?”

For the longest time Bruce didn’t understand why those would be his soulmate’s first words. Then, the accident happened and it became all too clear. From then on he tried to avoid looking at the tattoo— but sometimes it was unavoidable.

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12 Ways to Deal With a Financial Disaster In Your Startup

The real startup life is brutal. Money loses meaning as you earn it, spend it, and lose it. You could use some therapy, but for right now, you just need to recover. Here’s how:

1. Accept It.

2. Write down your plan.

3. Set goals you’ll be able to achieve.

4. Consider selling the business.

5. Always have a plan B.

6. Expect the worse.

7. Take care of yourself.

8. Don’t throw more money after wasted money.

9. Tap into the wisdom of your mentors.

10. Start from scratch.

Two more ways to deal with a financial disaster in your startup.


You will be the only you to ever live on this planet, so don’t be afraid to be yourself. Fuck what people think about you, take advantage of being unique. Stay true to who you really are and begin to take responsibility for yourself. At the end of the day, we are nothing but our own experiences and memories and the only dreams that matter are the ones you have when you’re awake. Be thankful for what you have and where you’re at. Some aren’t so fortunate, some people have real problems, so don’t stress, it always could be worse.

And this is real life. The way you can deal with those situations is by making decisions, and you either do or you don’t want to be involved with them. I know it’s way more complicated then that, but that’s the step you need to take. It’s the time spent contemplating which is the hardest. Perfection cannot be reached, because nothing’s perfect, but things can change, and so can people.

Time here is short. Fuck what you know, or think you know, and just be and give yourself some credit for the work you put in with your own two hands, but remember to never forget the people and things that have helped you along the way. Surround yourself with the people you love, and well, if they don’t love you, then they really aren’t your friends.

You only have one chance to live in this spec we call life, so stay the fuck in school, and say fucking no to drugs. Tomorrow, smile at a perfect stranger. Don’t forget how lucky we are to be alive, take advantage of every day. There is life in every breath you take, and there is hope with every move you make, and every single mistake you think you’ve made should make you feel alive. Remember there might not be a tomorrow.

Skies are blue and I’m alive. So all is well.

—  John Cornelius O'Callaghan V
Real women.

Real women wouldn’t just get into a time machine with a stranger and run away. Real women wouldn’t just go home after an adventure, how could their boring life compare to all of space and time.

(Real women couldn’t relate to someone whose mind works differently because they had the universe whispering into their dreams all of their life.)

Real women don’t act in a way they would never have before. Real women don’t stay the same, they always grow. Real women don’t change for the worse, always greater, better, stronger. Real women cannot just leave their problems behind them, they should be haunted.

(Real women couldn’t relate to someone who was abused and claimed back their agency, after being kidnapped by a cult and raised to be a killer.)

Real women never have problems connecting to the internet. Real women don’t wear just dresses. Real women would never pair a skirt with a jacket and a scarf. Real women just don’t behave like that.

(Real women couldn’t relate to someone who tries to be a heroine, who attempts to project a perfect image, if they are willing to sacrifice everything through supernatural means to save their best friend.)

Real women can’t just be something, life isn’t that easy. Real women always stick to one profession, but no, not that one. Real women shouldn’t need love and support in their life, especially if it comes from a man.

(There is one right way to experience, work through and depict trauma and mental illness. It is the only one which real people can find value in.)

There is a glaring gap in my biography. I don’t think I’ve ever met a real woman before.

FightWrite: Keeping Tension High

Depending on how you handle your fight scenes, they can actually become pretty boring. This often happens when the scene is just about the fight and not about the events surrounding it in the narrative. Many sequences put too high a premium on the hero’s survival, this can happen even if the hero has carved through a few hundred enemies to get there and taken no outward scratches along the way. This is a danger to heroes, villains, and even side characters that are exceptionally good at combat. When we know the hero is capable, there’s little reason to pay attention to their fights. The tension ebbs, the reader knows they’ll win and, with no possibility of the unexpected, may not even care what happens next.

Yawn.

This is where things can get a bit tricky. Always remember: fight scenes like any scene must serve the tension in the overarching story. The rest of the suggestions are below the cut.

(We’re still recovering from being sick, but hopefully this will help some of you. We’ll try to get the inbox questions soon.)

-Michi

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31 Days of Positivity: Day 30: Laughter

Here is my love letter to Last Rites. Is it positive? Ehhhhhh. Ymmv. I think so? Also the penultimate smol thing! Thank you guys for all your love and support while I’ve been whittling away at these. I have read every tag, reblog and reply and I adore you all signifcantly - and to those of you who have had to put up with them on your dashes everyday, thank you for not unfriending me ilu2 <3

Smol things on ao3 HERE

It had dawned on her, on one of those long indeterminable days when he was gone, that she didn’t know what his laugh sounded like. Not a real laugh, not one free of pain, or sarcasm. Not a laugh put on to charm or misdirect. Not genuine joy unencumbered by the general stresses and weirdness of their day to day lives.

It’s not even that she’d forgotten, that she’d allowed the haze of her grief to swallow it along with the way his lips felt against hers and the sound his boots made on the deck of the Jolly. Grief hadn’t corrupted her memory of his laugh in the way it had twisted the memory of his hands on her skin (cold, always cold now when she’s sure he’d always been so warm). She simply hadn’t known. Had never known.

That realisation is worse than forgetting could ever be.

It’s on one of the worst days of her life, her hands shaking when they’re relieved of their twin burdens of flask and arrow, that that changes.

At first she can’t quite believe he’s real - appearing in a flash of white light and calling to her from the foot of his own grave like a gothic fantasy come to life - and then she’s running, running with her arms outstretched in fear he could blink out of existence at any moment, and then she collides with him and he’s warm and beautiful and twittering on about something to do with Zeus and she doesn’t care, she doesn’t care, she doesn’t -

She peppers his face with kisses, all the dozens and dozens of kisses she’s regretted never giving him when she thought they had more time, and she wasted, wasted, wasted it all. And he laughs.

He laughs, clear and bell-like. A giggle, if such a thing could be imagined. A pure, desperate happiness that echoes in her own heart and thrums through her veins.

She memorises it, the rise and the fall and the catch of it, and carves a place for it deep within her chest. She won’t forget it now, not ever, and more than that, much, much more than that, she makes it her mission to hear it every day for the rest of their lives.

She’s done with wasting time.