What happens behind the scenes of your beautiful fics… (only for fun and not always true)
1. The writer gets an idea from a random post or a song or a movie they want to rewatch. Writer posts about the idea, rants about the idea, talk about the idea to everybody they meet but when they sit down to write they stare at a blank document for hours.
2. 100 tabs of research for one paragraph they want to make accurate. In the next paragraph, they forget what they were trying to prove with the previous one.
3. Curses thrown at characters who refuse to cooperate with the plot. “WILL YOU JUST FEEL SAD ALREADY?!”
4. 3 a.m. texts to group about a headcanon they HAVE to use six chapters later.
5. English is NOT a universal language because what the fuck is wrong with spellings?!
6. Commas, commas everywhere, not an Oxford shall be spared.
7. The writer is dead inside but they are breaking the feels vault.
8. Pining to heights higher than pine trees.
9. Who tf created communication? We revel in misunderstandings always.
10. YouTube videos of gun disassembling and baking.
11. Shades of brown and blue eyes. THE SKY IS NOT AZURE APPARENTLY!
12. Editing? We chop content like maniacs!
13. Beta hunting. Beta hunting failure. Dumping content in the pit of ravenous readers and watching the world burn.
14. Beta hunting success? 50 rants about the importance of Mario Kart in romantic success.
15. Post it post it post it!!! HOLY SHIT WHY DID I POST IT?! Thank GOD it’s posted…
16. Refresh the inbox. Refresh, you lazy ass, REFRESH!
17. One new comment *jumps over the couch* *slides along wet floor* *fumbles through fallen furniture* “more please!”
18. Thinks about posting the next chapter -> I HATE MY BRAIN WHY TF WOULD I WRITE MULTICHAPTER FICS WHAT IS WRONG WITH ME?!!!
19. Sits down to write the next chapter. Gets a new idea.
The choice of colors in Georgia O’Keeffe’s art and wardrobe often reflected the tones of the landscapes that surrounded her. During annual visits to Lake George, New York, she painted local bodies of water and their forested surroundings in deep, cool shades of blue, green, and brown.
When she O'Keeffe moved to New Mexico she dressed more casually than she did in New York. She also incorporated more color into her wardrobe. Her city style was structured around dresses, blouses, and skirts in black and white, but in the Southwest she began wearing Levi’s jeans, which she called “the costume of this country.”
O’Keeffe paired her jeans with men’s long-sleeved cotton shirts. One of her favorites was designed by Walter McCrory, a well-known shirtmaker whose customers reportedly included actors, royalty, and politicians, as well as this iconoclastic artist. Its blue and white colorway recalls her paintings of the New Mexico sky.
Was it over yet? You stare at a wall as you lay on your sides. Small puddles of blood stained the concrete floor, bruises decorating your body in shades of blue and brown. You feel as if your bones are broken, especially in your legs. A sign of cruelty, and a suggestion that they aren’t happy with you running, if you haven’t noticed it already.
“Oh dear… you look like a mess…~” Mochi mutters innocently. You weakly stare up to make eye contact with the unstable celestial. He tilts his head, a cheerful smile on his face as usual.
“I can’t leave you like this… it seems I’ll have to heal you again.” Mochi fakes a sigh, summoning his yellow eids to form a healing aura throughout the area.
It’s a calming and warm feeling. As your body mends itself, you think of how happy freedom would be if you can simply use your legs… maybe if they healed, you can make a break for it-
As if that will happen though. Arme and Sia stands by the door, glinting down at you with a ruthless stare.
You know they’re not finished with you yet. Their weapons and their positions implies they’ve only just been warming up. The real punishment has yet to truly start.
A fearful thought. As they loom over you, you close your eyes, hoping to just get the worst of it as quickly as possible.
I dreamt of you again last night
Just like the stars must do
Your eyes were a different shade of blue
Does it matter?
Blue or green, stones or sea,
You and your eyes looked at me
Pulled me down
Out of memory
Far from any ink penned certainty.
an excerpt from my upcoming chapbook, The Stars, The Sea, And You // t.