#turtlewrites

[wh3nturtlesfly]

“It’s awfully dangerous to be out alone so late,” the whisper made Hero freeze in their tracks. They whirled around but were only met with darkness. Squinting, there wasn’t so much as an outline, no movement within the shadows-

Warm, a palm closed around Hero’s mouth and silenced their scream. Their response wasn’t quick enough to stop the hand that coiled around their middle, arms pinned tight against their sides despite their struggles. “A pretty thing like you should really be more careful.”

It was only then that Hero recognized the voice. Lips against the shell of their ear, they flinched at Villain’s deep chuckle. The pressure on their mouth began to lessen, enough that Hero readied themselves to call out. A rough cloth stifled their cries.

Hero choked, a sweet scent filling their nostrils and setting their throat on fire. At a near instance they felt their limbs grow weak, the fight fading all too fast from their body.

“Do calm down, it’ll be over soon-”

[turtlesinthewalls]

hello it’s the pinned post!! This is my little sideblog for lmk- idk if it’s gonna get much use but I might do some art every once in a while

#turtleart < art tag

#fromthewalls <talking tag

#turtlewriting <writing tag

[inventingreality]

#amwritingfantasy #writingcommunity #amwriting #turtlewriters #writing

[cross-the-rift]

Monster Inside Me

Warnings: manipulation, knives, character death mention (but it’s a lie), lies, brother turning on brother, anger

Inspired by the song Monster by Starset

****(sorry, I don’t know how to do the cut on mobile😕)****

“You’re worthless. A waste of space.”

Marvin clenched his jaw, biting back a curse.

It’s not true. Keep your cool. Jackie will be here soon. It’s not true. Keep your cool. Jackie will be here soon.

“Jackie? You needn’t worry about the hyperactive hero. He’s getting fitted for a halo.”

Marvin’s eyes flew open in shock, his head shooting up almost painfully. Glowing purple eyes met Anti’s staticky ones.

“No. You didn’t. Anti, tell me you didn’t! He-he trusted you!”

Anti’s smile slipped into a sneer. The demon loomed over his brother as he spoke.

“He was stupid to believe I could change. You said as much, I believe.”

“Marvin, he’s different now! He really has changed for the better!”

“I don’t believe him. He murdered people! Innocent people! You can’t change someone like that!”

“He’s our brother! Shouldn’t we give him another chance?!”

“HE IS A MONSTER, JACKIE. MONSTERS DON’T DESERVE A SECOND CHANCE.”

Anti dragged the tip of his blade down the magician’s spine, pressing hard enough that it caught on each vertebra. Marvin hissed in pain.

“You should have seen the look in his eyes when I stabbed him.”

“No.”

Anti stood and began to circle his prey.

“He thought it was an accident. He even tried to forgive me at first.”

“Shut up.”

Marvin curled his hands into fists, his nails digging into his palms.

“But I stabbed him again. And again. And again. And he didn’t even fight back.”

“SHUT UP!”

Purple and white flames swirled around the magician’s hands, picking up speed with every word Anti spoke.

“He died as he lived. A weak, hopeless, fool.”

The flames Marvin had conjured began shooting around the dungeon, destroying anything they touched.

“You really are a monster, Anti.”

Anti cackled, watching gleefully as his brother’s magic caused the chains to disintegrate around him. Streaks of fire covered the floor, the walls, the ceiling. Purple, gold, and white flames twisted and spun into an inferno around Marvin, suspending him a few feet off the ground.

“No, my brother. You are the monster.”

The dungeon around them flickered, before fading. Marvin’s magical cyclone dissipated in an instant.

They were in the ego’s home. Chase lay on the remains of a couch, his body blackened with burns. The father was breathing, but only just. Henrik was cowering in the corner, his eyes wide with terror. When Marvin rushed over to help him, the doctor screamed, scrambling away. Marvin jumped back, and a cry of pain behind him made him turn. He almost cried in relief. Jackie was alive. But Jackie....Jackie was sobbing, cradling JJ in his arms. Both men were burned badly, but JJ’s eyes were burned beyond repair.

“Look at what you’ve done, Marvin. I’m so proud of you!”

Anti clapped his hands, laughing in cruel delight.

Jackie stood shakily, anger burning in his eyes. He turned on Marvin.

“You betrayed us. Why?”

“I-I didn’t! I swear I-“

“Why did you betray us?”

“Jackie please I swear I didn’t-“

“Shut up.”

Tears were streaming down the hero’s face.

“I always knew you were selfish. You wanted more power didn’t you? Thought your old pal Anti could hook you up?”

Marvin was getting desperate. The anger in Jackie’s eyes morphed into disgust.

“Jackie, please! Let me explain!”

The hero smiled coldly.

“No. Don’t you remember? Monsters don’t deserve a second chance.”

[minishimi]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Voltron: Legendary Defender Rating: Explicit Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Hunk/Shiro (Voltron), Keith/Lance (Voltron) Characters: Shiro (Voltron), Keith (Voltron), Lance (Voltron), Lance's Family (Voltron), Lance's Mother (Voltron), Lance's Siblings (Voltron), Hunk (Voltron), Shay (Voltron) Additional Tags: Shunk, background klance, Background Relationships, Military Background, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Eventual Smut, Fluff and Smut, Accidental Voyeurism, Masturbation, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, Explicit Consent Summary:

Try as many times as he might, Shiro couldn't find anyone he could relate to or consider dating material. At moments, he thought that maybe it was him - discharged with PTSD and a bionic arm, but Keith reassured him that it wasn't. Tired, he's coaxed into visiting Lance and his family out of state to relax and try to have some fun.

He didn't realize that it included meeting one hell of a man.

[fictionaltortoise]

For Best Results ...

Inspiration can come from anywhere, and here is proof: 

*The image that inspired this is posted beneath the piece*

“They don’t mean it,” said Grandmother, “You father’s a stubborn one.”

            Blaine dropped the last name into the jar, and Grandmother added the Roses, Lavender and Sweet Pea. The scientific name of each spilled from her lips like that of an auctioneer, and she sprinkled it in sugar. Her hand shook as she gripped the jar of honey and began to pour. When it was filled to the rim, she sat the jar down, and screwed on the lid. “Three days in the sun,” she said, “And we bury it beneath the Willow.” It stood in the corner at the edge of the garden, sheltering the ground foliage. Blaine stood from his chair, and eyed the garden. He’d helped her expand it last summer, digging into the dirt that made up the backyard. Plastic spoons stuck from the ground, Grandmother’s cursive script labeling each and every plant.

 Bring peace and harmony to a squabbling family, read the piece of paper containing the recipe. Patience wasn’t in Blaine's vocabulary, and he smiled weakly at his grandmother.

 Three days later:

 They walked through the maze of the garden, Grandmother cooing at each flower, and touching the heads of the new blooms. It was the morning of the fourth day, and Blaine had barely slept. He stifled a yawn, and followed close on his Grandmother’s heels, his pajama pants dragging the Earth. The Mason jar was tight in his hands and he cradled it like a delicate artifact. Grandmother stopped at the trunk of the tree, swiping the hanging willow branches out of the way, and motioned Blaine beneath. “Give me the jar, and start digging,” she said.

It had rained overnight, and the ground was damp with it. Blaine clawed into it, like a frantic puppy digging for a bone, and pushed the dirt to the side. He unearthed several night crawlers, and they wriggled in panicked bursts.  “That’s deep enough,” said Grandmother. She pushed the jar into Blaine's raised hands, and Blaine tucked it snugly into the ground. He covered it in dirt, and rose, wiping his hands on his pants; mud packed beneath his fingernails.

“Now we wait,” said Grandmother, and grasped Blaine's hand. “How does breakfast sound,” she said. 

“As long as there’s coffee,” he said, a rough laugh escaping his throat.

The days passed slowly, and since he’d been caught at the tree once already, he avoided it like a plague. Grandmother said it wouldn’t do any good, but he caught her watching it from the kitchen window each morning as she steeped her tea. “Mother Nature will take care of it she said,” and winked. She didn’t have any doubt, but Blaine had never put much stock into spells.

On the eighth day, Grandmother entered the kitchen and began shooing Blaine from the kitchen. He was hovering over the coffee pot, waiting for the last drops to fall into the pot. “It’s time, she said, and ushered him out the back door. They approached the tree, and from a distance, it didn’t look any different, perhaps it had wilted a little, but Blaine couldn’t be positive. He found himself paying more attention to the rhythmic hum that pulsed like a heartbeat. Up close, it was a different story. The small buds that had marked the Willow’s branches had shriveled into black notches, and Blaine pressed one tight between his fingers. It burst, seeping a syrupy, black liquid that stung his skin. He spit on his hands and rubbed it away, but the flesh had already turned a light shade of red. The foliage that had been tucked beneath was gone, and the roots of the tree had shredded the earth, and sat nearly atop it. Night crawlers streamed from the dirt, carving trenches, as they fled.

“Peace and harmony should grow day by day,” said his grandmother in a hushed tone. 

She screwed up her face, and touched one of the branches as Blaine had. The pods were growing bigger by the minute, and had begun to burst without being disturbed. The inky liquid rained to ground, and what landed on the exposed roots stained it, and traveled up the trunk in veins.    

“Something’s gone wrong,” said Grandmother.

She wiped her hands on the bottom half of her dress and took a step back. Blaine had taken to the dirt, his knees tight to the earth, and had begun digging at it furiously. After several raking motions, the brassy lid of the jar was visible, and Blaine dug his fingers around it until it began to unhinge.

The contents of the jar had gone black; the flowers released a rotten sweetness even though the lid was still tightly in place. Blaine ran his hand around it in a circular motion, and pulled it close to his face. Hair line fractures had begun to accumulate on the jar, and he could feel the roughness beneath his fingertips. Grandmother had extracted the weathered piece of paper from the pocket in her dress, and studied it with her glasses balancing on her nose. “Did you bother the jar, Blain,” she said, but didn’t bother looking him in the face. He pulled the jar from his face, and thumbed at the lid.

“I added your name,” he said. His tone had dropped, and he side-eyed his grandmother. “After it was placed in the ground?” She’d moved her eyes to stare at Blaine, and pushed a shaking hand to his shoulder. “You dug it up?”

Blaine nodded. “I forgot to add your name,” he said.

“You weren’t supposed to touch it boy. It’s turned into a damned curse!”

Blaine stooped to the ground once more, shoved the jar into the hole, and began frantically covering it in dirt.

“It’s too late,” said Grandmother, and she moved from the tree, and towards the table. Blain ignored her, and packed the dirt firm beneath his palm. He held his breath tight in the pit of his stomach and had begun to go dizzy when he realized she was no longer there. Grandmother sat in her favorite chair, the one that was facing the garden, and watched as the rot stretched across it in tendrils. It grabbed at the flowers, encircling them in thin, black veins.

“Spells aren’t meant to be messed with,” she said.

[ladyofmind]

#eastereggmarketing close up 8- a little #love for my fellow #TurtleWriters. A great community for #writers to chat and feel supported. See if you're #tagged? #HappyEaster with hashtag Easter eggs!

[authormekajames]

My newest writing buddy. Titan 10wk old Yorkie. A belated birthday gift from my daughter. #authorsofinstagram #turtlewriters #writersofinstagram #petsofinstagram #writerpets #yorkie #yorkshireterrier

[victoriareneefoster]

I've decided that part of my #personaldevelopment is going to be working on my novel. It will help keep me motivated to work on it and get in my daily writing quota. . . #workingonmyself #dailygoals #goals #writer #amwriting #turtlewriter #positive #youshouldbewriting

[l-a-bridger]

Wednesday WIP Quote

“You knew who I really was and you still trusted me?”

[curlygirl79]

Networking for Writers - Lizzie Chantree

Bit late today, sorry, but here is my review for Networking for Writers by @Lizzie_Chantree #writingcommunity #turtlewriters #fictioncafewriters #blogtour #bookreview #bloggingcommunity #spoonshortagebookclub @rararesources

Today I am joining the blog tour for a book that I think writers everywhere will love, Networking for Writers by Lizzie Chantree. Many thanks to Lizzie for providing me with a copy of the book, and to Rachel at Rachel’s Random Resources for inviting me to be a part of the tour. BLURB: Are you swamped with book marketing and looking for a way to find new sales? Learn simple and effective…

[wh3nturtlesfly]

It was early morning by the time someone had found Hero. They had been left to die, blood caked in their wounds and clothing soaked with dew. Left along the riverbank, Hero was curled up tightly, shivering against the morning waves that lapped at their ankles. They were barely conscious when Villain had stumbled upon them.

Hero’s first response had been to fight back. The moment Villain reached out a hand, they sprung forward, raking their nails down the Villain’s cheek. They kicked and cried out, though their voice had been worn from their throat long ago. Soon Hero could do nothing but whimper, drawing back just before they slumped into the soil.

When Hero did wake they were feverish. Villain’s attention had been drawn over the moment they heard splashing, turning to find the crime fighter thrashing in the tub. They rushed over, readying a towel as if they could dry all the puddles that now doused the tile.

“Hey, hey,” Villain placed a hand on the small Hero’s shoulder and they whirled around, eyes wide. Like a spooked animal, Hero flinched back.

“It’s alright,” Villain placed their words carefully. Surely Hero knew that they were nothing short of enemies, and any wrong move could send the crimefighter into a frenzy. Villain couldn’t risk them getting injured worse. Their history meant nothing now. Not until they fixed this. “Breathe for me okay? It’s just a bath, I’ve got to clean your wounds or they’re going to get infected.”

Once the words had sunk in, Hero settled a little. The crease in their brow had faded, though the frown didn’t leave their face. Eyes drifting down to the bath, beneath the suds, their voice shook, “You-”

“Your old clothes were in tatters. Unsalvageable.” Villain saw the way Hero tensed and was quick to reassure them, “I didn’t look- you were wrapped in a blanket up until the tub, I swear it.” They looked away, opting for the cloth they had brought along with them rather than gazing into Hero’s tired eyes.

Villain raised the cloth and Hero immediately flinched away. They remained still like that for a moment. Two gazes locked in a silent conversation. One carried fear and mistrust, while the other held a determination to heal even though they could never understand why. Villain spoke before they could think.

“I’ll be gentle. You can tell me to stop at any time, but I figured you wouldn’t want to be covered in grime forever.”

Their hand remained poised in the air while Hero met their gaze. There was something hidden within all the fear. Relief? Maybe.

Slowly, Hero nodded, scooting closer so the Villain could reach them.

While Villain wiped the blood from their wounds they were careful not to disturb any inch of the Hero’s skin. The two were caught in a deep silence, but despite everything it was comfortable. Dipping the rag into the suds of the bath, Villain came up to the Hero’s shoulders and brushed away layers of mud. Beneath the skin was pale, though not as light as it had been when they had first found the Hero. Then it had been nearly translucent, veins the same deep shade of the bruises that no soap could wash from the Hero’s skin.

With the upper half of their body clean, Villain handed off the rag to Hero. A glance passed between the two. Hero would tend to the rest of themselves while Villain fancied themself with another task.

Hero squeaked when they felt fingers along the back of their head and nearly jumped out of the tub altogether. It took Villain’s quick explanation to reassure them. “Your hair is matted,” they said. “If you leave it now, it’ll only get worse.”

They waited a moment, still. Then, in the smallest mumble.

“Okay.”

Despite their earlier shock, it was an effort not to sigh from the feeling of Villain’s hand in their hair. They were careful, gentle in ways they had never been during battle. Hero found their eyes fluttering shut, the soft pressure on their scalp a heavenly feeling. Villain worked diligently to undo every knot. They brushed through each tangle and plucked away stray leaves and mud. Hero was about to protest when Villain had stopped, before catching onto a sweet scent.

The fizzing sensation of shampoo overtook Hero, mind filling with the smell of citrus. They leaned back into Villain’s touch without thinking, humming softly in contentment.

“It’s been a while hasn’t it?”

Hero’s eyes fluttered open, “Hm?”

“Since you’ve been cared for- you’ve melted into every touch.”

That broke Hero from their stupor. They pulled away on instinct and a pink flush made its way across their cheeks. Villain however didn’t appear to care. In fact, they even looked a little disappointed to see the Hero shrink back. “I-” Hero stuttered, “I didn’t mean to-”

“Don’t apologize love.” Villain ran their nails along the Hero’s scalp, “You deserve to be cared for. When I found you-” they broke off. The soft smile on Villain’s face slipped away as their mind was filled with the picture of Hero. Bleeding. Shivering. Nearly dead along the river bank. Despite everything, Villain’s hands curled into fists.

“I’ll never let someone hurt you like that again.”

And again they fell into silence, Villain’s promise revealed and Hero left to contemplate the idea. The hushed pop of soap bubbles filled the space. Hero could feel the suds in their hair. It was nice, clean. Safe.

Deep breath in, Hero leaned back again. They felt Villain’s hand come to support the back of their head and their eyes slipped closed on instinct. Soon they felt the pressure return and with a whisper, they turned to their savior and offered a gentle smile.

“Thank you.”

[dread-pirate-lainey]

Reading Time!

Another new blog post! (I'm starting to get the hang of this!) Reading Time! #amreading #amwriting #WritingCommunity #turtlewriters

I love to read.

However, life often makes it hard–well, life and myself. I couldhave time to sit and read, especially right now, but years of being busy has made it hard to give myself that “free time” well, just as expectations are changing so is my attitude about reading time. If I am feeling that the day is dragging on or frustrated, I am going to take ten minutes to read a little bit. That is…

[inventingreality]

#amwritingfantasy #WritingCommunity #amwriting #turtlewriters #inventingreality

[cross-the-rift]

We wake up tomorrow, but something feels wrong. We get dressed, brush our teeth, and check the mirror one last time before heading out the door.

We open the front door, but the world is gone, and in its place is a horrifyingly familiar red hall. We walk into the hallway. We can’t see, it’s too dark, so we try to turn on our phone’s flashlight, but something is wrong with our phone. We find a lighter in our pocket, which we ignite. We continue to walk, hoping beyond hope that this will just be a dream and we will wake soon.

We turn the corner, knowing what will be waiting for us— and there he is, blocking the only exit, his back to us. We follow the script, yelling out at the demon in our boldness.

“Where are they? What do you want from us?”

And he turns around. His eye flashes a blinding green light. He smiles, but it’s too wide. We hear the sound of crying, of calls for help beyond the door.

“Don’t worry, my dear. You will see them soon.”

The static we watched from behind our screen invades us, and we become what we feared we always were.

We finally become Anti’s puppets. We won’t ever be able to get rid of him.

[fictionaltortoise]

Today's writing prompt : 07/24/2017 The rule is to stay creative and HAVE FUN Artist: Aaron Griffin . . . . . . #writersontumblr #writingcommunity #turtleprompt #turtlewrites #dailyprompt #prompt #amwriting #writingprompts #storystarter #creativity #writingdesk #inspiration #art #arte #kunst #konst #amworking #arthabit #cyberpunk #illustration