Jump Start My Kaleidoscope Heart

For once I'm not actually doing a bit; those "any resemblance to real persons living or dead" disclaimers genuinely exist because of Rasputin.

This is a spot from an italian estate agency (we are governed by the right-wing party)

The woman says "Ridiculous..."

trust

i think they have the perfect kind of love, and i think about them way too much

"somewhere in the future ilya wakes up one day and randomly decides to get a buzzcut and then their kids can't stop touching his head cause it feels soft"

"meanwhile shane going through the 5 stages of grief over his curls"

the chicken shane burned so badly that ilya held the pan up and said scott hunter will look at this and feel young before taking a photo. the bookshelf shane assembled backwards and didn't notice for three weeks—ilya noticed on day two and said nothing, just waited, and when shane finally clocked it ilya was in the other room and shane could hear him. the succession of unkillable succulents and cacti that shane somehow killed anyway. (there is a graveyard on the back porch. ilya calls it the memorial garden. he has named some of them. he tends to them with more visible affection than he gives most people.) the time shane got lost driving to an arena he had played in for six consecutive years.

there are others. the album is extensive. ilya adds to it with the sort of energy a who is building something important has. and the thing, the thing, is that he doesn't just find these tolerable. he doesn't endure them. he doesn't smile tightly and recalibrate expectations and love shane despite them, which is the mode shane spent most of his life existing in, the people who loved him holding his failures lightly and carefully like something that needed to be explained away

ilya lights up. every single time, the same way, like shane has done something wonderful by being, underneath the selkes and the captaincy and the thing the media does with his face and jaw, some guy. just some guy who kills plants and gets lost and burns chicken and loves him more than anything.

shane didn't know what to do with that for a long time. honestly he's not sure he did anything with it. he just. let it happen. let ilya take the photos and name the dead plants and do the thing with his face, the delighted thing, and tried not to think too hard about why it made his chest feel like a fist was opening in it. and then one day, just some tuesday, just another thing going wrong in the low-stakes way things go wrong in a life that is mostly very good, ilya takes out his phone, and shane doesn't feel the hum.

no buzz of humiliation in the back of his skull. no automatic how bad is this, how do i fix this, what does this say about me. nothing. just ilya laughing at his phone and shane watching him and feeling... fine. warm.

"send that to me," shane says. ilya looks up. "the chicken?" "yeah." a pause. "you want," ilya says slowly, like he's translating, "photo of chicken you burned. for yourself. to have." "yes." ilya looks at him for a long moment. something in his expression that shane has learned to recognize by now: ilya, knowing something is larger than it seems and deliberating what to do with it

reblog if you believe anon is wrong and writers are writers, no matter what they write about. no matter how they portray these taboo topics.

reblog if you believe art can be about topics that are controversial, taboo or outright disturbing, and artists who create controversial, taboo or outright disturbing art are as valid as artists who create art of conservative values.

they play on the same team, insist on being traded together, fight opposing players on the other’s behalf, go home together, share an apartment and 2 cats… at some point andreil just becomes an open secret in the league. most hesitate to put a label on it, andreil won’t confirm or deny anything when asked, but it’s clear neil is andrew’s very special person and vice versa.

it takes a few years for the fans to catch on but when they do it becomes a bit of an inside joke of how close andreil are and how good of “friends” they are. gifs of the two circulate with regularity. one of them staring lovingly at the other when they aren’t looking, andrew checking out neil’s ass, teasing each other, sitting on the bench as close as humanly possible without being on top of each other.

Meanwhile there are *also* categories of fan who have been collecting evidence that they’re together and tweet things like “is it gay to stare at your best friend’s ass, fellas?”

These are some lowkey underrated tips I’ve seen floating around writing communities — the kind that don’t get flashy attention but seriously changed how I write.

1. Put “he/she/they” at the start of the sentence less often.

Try switching up your sentence rhythm. Instead of

“She walked to the window,”

try

“The window creaked open under her touch.”

Keeps it fresh and stops the paragraph from sounding like a checklist.

2. Don’t describe everything — describe what matters.

Instead of listing every detail in a room, pick 2–3 objects that say something.

“A half-drunk mug of tea and a knife on the table”

sets a way stronger tone than

“There was a wooden table, two chairs, and a shelf.”

3. Use beats instead of dialogue tags sometimes.

Instead of:

"I'm fine," she said.

Try:

"I'm fine." She wiped her hands on her skirt.

It helps shows emotion, and movement.

4. Write your first draft like no one will ever read it.

No pressure. No perfection. Just vibes. The point of draft one is to exist. Let it be messy and weird — future you will thank you for at least something to edit.

5. When stuck, ask: “What’s the most fun thing that could happen next?”

Not logical. Not realistic. FUN. It doesn’t have to stay — but chasing excitement can blast through writer’s block and give you ideas you actually want to write.