✧⋄⋆The Everything Group⋆⋄✧ discussion

Share your writing here, whether it be snippets from the book you're working on, a poem you came up with, or a story idea you wanted to bring up!

If you're writing songs, this might be the topic for you: https://www.goodreads.com/topic/show/...

Adytum by Mary Cools

Quote: “Somehow my thoughts seemed to gather in corners like the snow; my mind was clogged and frozen over with multidirectional fluff. My moods were bleaker than the weather at times. Snowfall can be uplifting but the grey days and black nights left me feeling directionless. The few short hours of daylight illuminating the snowpack did nothing for my diminishing spirits.”

The above quote is merely the tip of the iceberg to where PTSD can lead a person in turmoil. The trip beneath the iceberg can lead to disaster. Coping strategies can bring a person over the top instead of toward defeat, below the waterline.

Comments from a PTSD survivor:

“The Survivor" in me, really resonated with me. I find your book reads really well, it is not at all difficult to understand these concepts from a perspective like mine, but I also feel the book would be beneficial for others to learn from. You might want to point this book in multiple directions as it could be beneficial, for someone like my wife, for example. Who lives with PTSD every day of her life because of her husband, even though she doesn't personally suffer with PTSD. She suffers from the PTSD lol. We're laughing about that as I discussed this right now.

These are the comments written to me by a survivor who has received professional mental health support but who knows he is still battling every day. My book was written to support someone like his wife especially, but also to help him. I am very happy that “The Survivor” touched him since he could compare his coping strategies with those my father and I practiced. We must remember that no two people cope with trauma or PTSD in the same way. Coping strategies must be cultivated in order to achieve a positive end result.

ALWAYS REMEMBER: If you or someone you know is in crisis, having thoughts of suicide or needs a safe place to talk, you can call 988.

988 is the number to call if someone is worried about a person they know OR if you yourself are thinking about suicide.

Call or text 988 for toll free help without judgement. Support can be accessed in English or in French.

Lastly:

Kids Help Phone can also support you. Call 1-800-668-6868 (24 hours a day/seven days a week.)

OR text CONNECT to 686868

Kidshelpphone.ca offers live chat from 7pm. To midnight ET.

marycools.wixsite.com/adytumbook

wow, this is really cool! I mostly write fanfic for my favorite fandoms, but I am working on a story about a character who's an animal/human hybrid if anyone's interested ✨️😅🫡

Rachel wrote: "wow, this is really cool! I mostly write fanfic for my favorite fandoms, but I am working on a story about a character who's an animal/human hybrid if anyone's interested ✨️😅🫡"

Cool! What fandom? And I'd love to hear more about your character :)

mostly Ninjago 😂💖 I don't know if you've ever heard of it but it'll always be a piece of my childhood and I still love it lol

Rachel wrote: "mostly Ninjago 😂💖 I don't know if you've ever heard of it but it'll always be a piece of my childhood and I still love it lol"

Cool! My irl bestie used to be obsessed with that lol

aww cool! I still love it, I'm a teen and unashamed of my love for it 🥲🤣 I mostly just write fluffy angst fanfiction for it 🫣😇

Rachel wrote: "aww cool! I still love it, I'm a teen and unashamed of my love for it 🥲🤣 I mostly just write fluffy angst fanfiction for it 🫣😇"

Cool!! And never be ashamed lol XD

of course not. i used to be embarrassed because I loved a "kids show" but I realized no one cares and I should be proud to be who I am and now i don't care if people think it’s dumb 😂☝️

Rachel wrote: "of course not. i used to be embarrassed because I loved a "kids show" but I realized no one cares and I should be proud to be who I am and now i don't care if people think it’s dumb 😂☝️"

Yes!!

I need to get back into writing, I have a ton of ideas but never have the energy to put it on paper

Barnette ~it's 2am and I'm still awake~ wrote: "I need to get back into writing, I have a ton of ideas but never have the energy to put it on paper"

so realll

https://docs.google.com/document/d/1Z...

wrote this a while back

Here’s the synopsis I came up with for the book me and my sister just started writing:

“A deadly war…
A nation in unrest…
A pillar of hope…

‘Do the ends justify the means?’
What if there was a chance to live in a world free of crime, injustice, conflict, and war. Would it be worth it if it meant going against everything you stand for?
17 year old Calista finds herself in a disorienting reality when a deadly virus shuts down her entire country. Strict curfews, inexplainable hallucinations, (and more I need to come up with lol) become her new reality can Calista figure out the truth before it’s too late?”

So yeah it’s a dystopian psychological thriller, it’s likely going to be a novella around 100 pages, and it’s going to be extremely disorienting to read

Prologue of my current WIP in the spoiler (haven't really revised yet tho😭😭)

tws: blood/violence (hopefully I didn't miss anything else)

(view spoiler)[
It was all because he made a bet.
A millennia of this curse, and it was finally being broken because he had won that godforsaken bet. Of all the things, to have it break on something so small, so trivial, felt almost humiliating. He hadn’t expected to win. He half thought that perhaps the King had allowed him to win. But that couldn’t be true–the King hated losing more than anything else. Indeed, he had been fuming when he lost, and the smile he gave Izar was cold and strained. “Well, you won. Tomorrow, you are free.” And he had stormed off.
For a man who had lived as long as the Earth itself, he was surprisingly childish. But what he lacked in maturity, he made up for in bloodthirst. No child could ever be so cold hearted. They say he had razed villages on Earth to the ground simply because the people refused to kneel for him. They say he had ordered the hangings of a hundred men who had dared to say his name, rather than calling him King or Your Highness as was expected. They say he had laughed as children screamed for their parents, and torn siblings apart. They say he had organized fights to the death between lovers and watched them with glee.
Some even say that he had killed his own fiance once, simply for falling in love. They say he cursed her, and watched her immortal life fade before his eyes.
Perhaps all that power had gotten to his head, made him arrogant. Perhaps he just hadn’t thought it through. Whatever the reason, he had laughed and let them gamble for Izar’s freedom, on a simple game of chess. 2 days later, the King slipped. He noticed it too, reaching to take it back, before pulling away again. The thing about the King, is that he is honest to his word. 6 moves later, the blunder proved deadly and Izar won. Izar won.
He was free, as of tomorrow.
But he didn’t really want this kind of freedom. He would rather face this punishment, knowing it couldn’t be helped. He didn’t want to step out of the castle and go home (if home was still even there), he didn’t want to face the loneliness that lurked outside these walls. This place was a cage, a dungeon, a prison, but it was also a distraction. As long as he didn’t have to go into the Great Hall, he could pretend he wasn’t thinking about her. As long as he worked hard during the day, he might be able to slump into bed without replaying the memory of a particular pair of green eyes seared into his mind. As long as he stayed inside these walls, he could be punished.
And he deserved it.
Well, he didn’t sleep that night. The King had stormed off and not come back out of his study. Izar had waited for any final punishments, expecting the King to take his anger out on him. Instead, night fell, and still no one had knocked on the door. Izar rose from his cot, dressed, and walked down the long hall. There was a time when he had confined himself to his room whenever he had time. He had sat there, in that windowless, grey space, reliving all the memories that haunted him. Reviving his anger, reminding himself not to get comfortable here, with the same people that had watched her die. He shivered a little, but closed his eyes. He was so tired. He didn’t want to remember now. Footsteps light, he walked up the stairs to the North Tower.
The walls were faded royal blue, paint peeling at the edges. Cobwebs decorated the corners, and dust bloomed on the torches that were dark and unlit on the walls. He made no move to light them, instead heading towards the window. The windowsill was wide enough that 2 people could squeeze in side by side, and he sat comfortably upon it. He reached up carefully, and unlatched the large window, and let it swing open. A draft blew in.
Outside, there was only darkness. A while below them, there were stars, twinkling brightly. They were beautiful, and Izar felt himself relax at the simple sight of them. But even further, below the stars and moons and disarray of planets, lay Earth. Eons away. He had thought he would never be able to step foot on it. When he had come here before, he had forbid himself from looking for it (he still did, anyways), but now he could look freely. Tomorrow, tomorrow, the waiting would end.
🜁🜃🜁
The last time he had knelt on these stones, he had stained them with his blood. He had watched as they dragged her away, her eyes locked on his even as they drew the sword that would take her immortal life. Cutting her fate into a thousand pieces, into the thousand lives she would have to live on the Earth, cursed for the next eternity.
All his fault.
Slice. Tears dripped from her eyes, silver blood dripped from her mouth, and she bent slightly, fists clenched in pain as they held her still. Slice. She didn’t scream, but he heard her make an odd choking sound. Her shoulders shook, just slightly, but she remained silent, still, strong. Slice. He was crying now, unable to stop himself. This couldn’t be real. It had to be a dream. He willed himself to wake up, out of the nightmare, but nothing happened. Slice. She closed her eyes. Slice. He stood, stumbling towards her. A guard followed, about to grab him, but the King held up a hand. “Let him see from a little closer.” the King smiled, eyes dark, voice cold. Slice. He knew they wouldn’t let them get close enough, but he tried anyways, crying out as he saw her knees buckle and watched them let go of her, finally, letting her kneel on the ground. His guard jerked him back, forcing him to his knees on the ground, keeping a heavy knife too his throat like a threat. Her face was pale, her hands shaking on the cobblestones, but she forced her eyes open once more and met his. Slice. She winced, then tipped to one side, blood streaming from her wounds. The flower she had tucked behind her ear floated gently to the ground. The memory of her eyes seared itself into his brain.
He didn’t think, he just lunged, unsheathing the knife of the guard restraining him and plunging it into his own chest. Being immortal, he didn’t die. Instead, he bled there on the floor, over the stones, thankfully unable to hear the King over his own rushing heartbeat. (Not that it helped; he could almost sense the King’s laughter.) And so began his curse. To live for eternity as the King’s servant, as a pawn.
To live for eternity–without her.
He blinks and he is himself again, a millennia later, kneeling in the great hall as the sun rises, as the King touches his staff to Izar’s shoulder. “I hereby absolve you of your curse.” He says, voice bitter. He turns to walk away, when Izar stops him. “Kill me.”
The King turns slowly, scoffing. “You cannot die, idiot, or you would already be dead. If only you weren’t immortal.” His voice was mocking, as if he enjoyed the fact that Izar didn’t feel free after all. Izar was silent, waiting. The King’s eyes widened as he understood. “But–you cannot mean–after so long–” He cut himself off, bellowing with laughter. He wiped a tear from his eye. “Well, I will enjoy this.” To the servants he said, “Bring me my Reaper.” And the same sword was brought out that had been stained with her blood. Made of an iridescent sort of glass, strong as steel and sharp as barbed wire, it could cut through anything. Even that revered thread of immortality that so many mortals chased. Izar closed his eyes. With each slice, each wave of pain, he remembered her face. Her look of pain, her look of love, her eyes.
Her eyes.
It takes seven swings of the Reaper, the legendary, one-of-a-kind sword entrusted only to the King of Heavens, to kill an immortal. But the King stopped at 6. And he smiled, mouth twisting as the sharp points of his teeth were revealed. Izar gasped for breath, dread settling down on him, as the King knelt down to speak to him at eye level. “You thought you could ask me to kill you, and I would obey? That I wouldn’t know why you had asked? You thought I would help you, after what you did?” The King laughed again, as Izar coughed out silver blood, shuddering despite himself. “Listen, traitor. Listen, scum.” He practically spit the word, face red with hatred. “You will go back on Earth, like you wanted. You should be grateful to me, for allowing you even that much. But you won’t be mortal. You won’t be invincible either. You will keep your youth, but your memories won’t fade. You will feel pain, and sickness, and despair. You will live, for eons, and you will never find her. You will roam the Earth without dying, and you will never find her. You will look and look and look and you will wish you could die, and you will see that godforsaken race destroy themselves. You will even wish you could die like that, alone, without her, because you will never find her.” But Izar just laughed, actually laughed. The King stopped, cocking his head. “Oh, is that funny?” He asked, voice dangerous. Izar spoke, voice soft but echoing in the empty space. “You really think I won’t find her? You really think I’ll give up? Even if the world is ending, even if it is our universe’s last moments, I will still be looking for her.” He grinned, blood staining his teeth. “And that–” The King raised his hand, fury in his eyes. “–is a promise.” The King slammed his palm down on Izar’s head, and Izar felt himself fall through the floor, the King’s magic sending him spiraling down, faster and faster, past stars and planets and galaxies. He felt himself enter the Earth’s atmosphere, skin burning but staying remarkably intact as the King’s magic tightened around him. His heart threatened to beat out of his chest, as he fell and fell and fell, for so long he thought he would never stop. All around him darkness, although far, far below he could just make out the streetlights. He hated this sensation, of falling, had always hated it. He was numb with cold, with fear, with anticipation. But for once, when he looked up, he could see the stars. No longer below him, but far above. Far away, was his old home. His own prison. How beautiful it looked from the ground. How sinister it had been, in truth. The stars, the sky, the clouds, the galaxy, torn from him. As he had wanted.
His eyes closed just before he hit the ground. (hide spoiler)]

I held your hand through fleeting days,
A fragile flame in endless haze.
Your voice was music, soft and near,
Now silence hums where none can hear.

The roses wilt, their petals fall,
Your shadow lingers on the wall.
I trace the air where you once stood,
A ghost of warmth, misunderstood.

The night recalls your gentle eyes,
But morning breaks with empty skies.
Each heartbeat aches, a hollow sound,
Where love is lost, no hope is found.

And though the world still spins its song,
Without your love, I don’t belong.
A tender dream, a fleeting breath,
A quiet vow that wept to death.

The room is full, yet I’m alone,
A quiet heart, a hollow tone.
The laughter fades, it does not stay,
It echoes once, then drifts away.

The chair beside me gathers dust,
Its empty arms betray my trust.
I speak to walls that never hear,
They hold my words, but not my fear.

The night is long, the stars are cold,
Their distant light feels harsh, not bold.
I reach for hands that never come,
A silent song, forever numb.

And though the world still spins its song,
I’ve lost the place where I belong.
A fragile soul, a fleeting breath,
A quiet love that starved to death

The world is dim, the colors fade,
A hollow silence, sharp as a blade.
The chair you left still waits for you,
Its emptiness is a constant view.

The air remembers how you spoke,
Each word now drifts, a fragile smoke.
I reach for echoes, find them gone,
The night is endless, never dawn.

The earth still turns, the seasons pass,
Yet time feels trapped in shattered glass.
Each day I walk, but not the same,
Each breath a whisper of your name.

And though the stars still pierce the sky,
They cannot answer when I cry.
A love once whole, now torn in two,
My grief is all that’s left of you.

The house still breathes your memory,
Each corner aches with what can’t be.
Your laughter haunts the hollow air,
I reach for you, but you’re not there.

The bed is wide, the sheets are cold,
A story ended, left untold.
I clutch the silence, beg it speak,
But silence only makes me weak.

The days collapse, the nights don’t end,
Time is a wound that will not mend.
I walk through shadows, blind with pain,
A broken song, a lost refrain.

And though the world pretends to heal,
It cannot teach my heart to feel.
For grief is love with nowhere left,
A shattered vow, a soul bereft.

Your chair still waits beside the fire,
Its quiet frame a mute desire.
I see your hands in memory’s glow,
The strength they gave, the love they’d show.

The garden bends beneath the rain,
It whispers softly of your name.
The earth recalls your gentle care,
But now it blooms with no one there.

I hear your stories in the night,
The wisdom wrapped in gentle light.
Yet silence answers when I call,
And shadows stretch across the wall.

The world insists that I move on,
But how, when you are truly gone?
My grief is love that cannot fade,
A vow to you I’ll always keep made.

We walked the quiet country lane,
Your steady steps, my hand in yours.
The world felt safe, the path was kind,
Each moment rich, each silence pure.

You sang the songs that shaped my days,
Old hymns and tunes that warmed the air.
I joined in softly, voice unsure,
But you just smiled, you didn’t care.

The trees leaned close to hear your song,
The river hummed along in time.
And though my voice would sometimes break,
You carried me with yours, sublime.

Now I still walk that road alone,
The echoes linger, faint but true.
I sing the songs you taught to me,
Each note is a way to stay with you.

When I look into the mirror’s glass,
I see your gaze from ages past.
These blue eyes shine the way you did,
A gentle light the world can’t rid.

We walked together, side by side,
Your voice, a song, your steps my guide.
And when you sang beneath the sky,
The same blue glimmer warmed my eyes.

Now you are gone, the road is bare,
But still I feel you everywhere.
In every glance, in every hue,
My eyes remember all of you.

Though grief still weighs upon my chest,
Your memory lives within my breath.
These eyes I carry, clear and true,
Are how the world still holds of you.
The days go on, but not the same,
Each moment whispers your dear name.
The chair is bare, the songs are still,
The air is heavy, void, and chill.

We used to walk beneath the sky,
Your steady steps would guide mine by.
Now paths are long, the silence deep,
A hollow road where shadows creep.

My blue eyes shine, but not with joy,
They only mirror what I’ve lost.
They carry you, yet every glance
Reminds me of the endless cost.

The world spins on, but feels untrue,
Its colors fade without your hue.
For life is empty, cold, and dim,
A broken song without its hymn.

I never spoke the final word,
The one you should have always heard.
The chance was gone, the moment passed,
And silence claimed our bond at last.

We walked together, hand in hand,
Your voice a song, your steps a stand.
But when you left, I stood alone,
No farewell carved in flesh or stone.

My blue eyes shine, they carry you,
A living echo, clear and true.
Yet every glance reminds my heart,
We never spoke before you’d part.

The world feels empty, cold, and wide,
Without the chance to say goodbye.
So grief remains, a heavy tide,
A love unfinished, yet undenied.


I should have come, I should have stayed,
But fear held fast, and love delayed.
The thought of seeing you so frail
Made courage break, made spirit fail.

I told myself there’d still be time,
Another day, another climb.
But time ran out, the moment fled,
And now I grieve the words unsaid.

My blue eyes shine, they carry you,
Yet they reflect regret so true.
For every song we used to sing,
Now echoes only suffering.

The world feels empty, cold, and wide,
Without the chance to say goodbye.
I never came, I turned away—
And that’s the weight I bear each day.
Grandpa, I should have come to see you,
But fear kept me away.
I was scared to face the fading light,
And now I live with what I didn’t say.

I never told you goodbye,
Never held your hand that last time.
The silence between us is heavy,
A wound that will not heal with rhyme.

I remember our walks together,
Your steady steps are guiding mine.
I remember the songs we sang,
Your voice is strong, my voice behind.

Now when I look into my blue eyes,
I see a piece of you there still.
They carry your love, your memory,
Though the emptiness aches and always will.

Grandpa, the world feels hollow without you,
Each day a shadow, each night a sigh.
I hope somehow you can hear me now,
Because I never got to say goodbye.