a: i'm not the best writer

I miss you, I don’t have a best friend anymore, sure I have close friends, but no one is there like we were for each other. I hope you miss me too.
—  give me a call
my mom always told me sweetheart you can’t ever expect other people to love you as deeply as you love them. i should have listened to her. i am not saying you don’t love me but maybe you don’t love me as much as i love you. its no competition. love isn’t a competition. but i took your word for when you said you loved me. i took it by heart. i just didn’t know you didn’t love me enough to save me before you saved yourself. you just didn’t love me enough to save me from myself. you didn’t love me as much as I loved you but then again love is not a competition. if that were the case why’d you say i love you more every night before sleeping when you didn’t.
—  m o r e//nikitagupta
Prompt #152

“How do you ‘accidentally’ become the leader of a creepy ghost army?!”

“You know, it’s a really long story.”

What if someone who is so constant suddenly disappears out of your life? Maybe that’s why, I don’t like getting attached. I don’t like the idea of giving someone the power to destroy my heart by choosing to walk away. I want to guard my heart. I want to save myself.

Clearly that website is mistaken. She always was and always will be number 1.

don’t you think our generation’s idea of dating is fucked up. it amazes me how often we claim to be in love yet we kiss other sets of lips than that of our lovers. it amazes me how often my generation cheats on their partners, this is a relationship, not a diet. it just amazes me how we feel manogomity is boring. it amazes me how we prefer to sext than have romantic dinners. it amazes me how dick sizes are more important than his personality. it amazes me how love is so very often confused with lust. it really amazes me that we ourselves are responsible for not having relationships like those in a nicholas sparks book.
—  a m a z e s. m e.//nikitagupta
melodrama breakdown
  • green light: I want the things ! I want them ! also fuck u
  • sober: okay so I'm uhh completely out of my fucking mind right now but it's good, little worried about what I'm going to be like sober
  • homemade dynamite: we just met but do you wanna blow something up
  • the louvre: we're the best couple. we're a work of art.
  • liability: I'm too much for you to handle.
  • hard feelings: uhhh I didn't realise being in love was going to be this hard
  • loveless: fuck love
  • sober II (melodrama): that feeling after the party or a concert of something where you're buzzing with adrenaline but you're about to crash
  • writer in the dark: take your broken heart and turn it into art
  • supercut: revisionist history
  • liability (reprise): maybe the party is meant to make us cry
  • perfect places: okay lets go party again

It’s very sad when a TV show that you used to love reaches the point where, instead of getting all excited and praising the writers and plots and characters for hours, the best thing you can honestly say when someone asks you about it is, “Well, hopefully they won’t fuck it up TOO badly…”

  • What I say: I'm fine.
  • What I'm thinking: Can you believe how badly the fandom has treated Roxy Lalonde since she was first introduced? They either make her Dirk's best friend who gives him relationship advice when he's upset. Or they give her alcohol and a cat. Her personality is more than just alcohol, a cat, and Dirk's therapist, or just a funny prop. Where's fan content with her as a scientist? A coder? A gamer? A fanfic writer? Where's the in-depth meta about her overcoming addiction or her fixation on femininity or her relationship regarding her mom and the post-apocalyptic world she grew up in, or her compulsive-heterosexuality when she's obviously more comfortable flirting with girls? When the fuck is the fandom going to respect Roxy Lalonde?

and she’ll burst—
like a sun-kissed wave crashing against the shore; like a monochrome painting tearing at the seams
and she’ll bloom—
like a heart-shaped moon against a pitch-black sky; like pure sunlight seeping into your skin
and she’ll fade—
like a bird trapped in a blizzard, like a young star dying for the sake of the universe

she will—

when the clouds of men pull their dark cloaks over her starlit eyes.

—  don’t let suns like her be eclipsed / alina
and there i lay in your arms wondering what you think about when you kiss me, wondering if you think about an ex lover or the chocolate ice cream you taste on my lips. wondering what you see when you close your eyes and your lips touch mine. wondering if you like the choas you see in my eyes. because all i kept wondering about in that moment was how i got so lucky that the guy i like is kissing me back.
—  w o n d e r i n g//nikitagupta
The Fic Writer’s Beatitudes

Blessed are the readers, for theirs is the archive.

Blessed are the betas: for they help us write the stories we see in our hearts.
Blessed are they that kudo, for they reassure us that someone likes what we’ve done.
Blessed are the rebloggers and reccers, for they help the readers find our work.
Blessed are they which leave comments on a WIP that say something other than “write more please”: for they comfort us when we feel taken for granted.
Blessed are the commenters; for their words bring us joy.
Blessed are the loyal fans, for they keep the fandom alive.
Blessed are the fan artists, for they bring our worlds to life before our eyes.
Blessed are they which read an entire long fic and comment each chapter, for the string of comment notifications fills the writer’s heart with delight.
Blessed are ye, who rec our fics in public and tag us, for seeing that we made somebody squee is the light in our days.
Rejoice, and be exceeding glad; for great is your reward in fandom.

anonymous asked:

How do you feel about mediocre artists? I am not a writer, but a dancer, and I feel so lost with my art form. It's like I know I'm not the best, or even in the top-ish. But I love my art form. I don't know where I am going with it anymore, and I feel like I am doing less of it every day. It won't be long before it is completely gone from my life. In this world, I feel like unless you're among the best few of artists, your art doesn't count.

I don’t believe mediocre artists exist. One might judge art based on preference or technique, and in that regard you could lable something as ‘mediocre’. But art is the expression of the soul. And the soul cannot be judged by logic intervention that could deem it exceptional or mediocre with 100% accuracy. It’s not a science. At least, I don’t want it to be. To me, as long as your art is an honest expression of who you are, it’s exceptional. Your art counts. 

  • fanfic writer: *writing* Oh wow, they are going to love this. This is by far my best work!
  • fic: *witty lines* *perfect love making* *fluffy enough to kill us all* *a dash of angst, a smidgen of hurt/comfort*
  • fanfic writer: Oh man. This is it. This will be my legacy! *sweats into fic* *bleeds into fic* *cries into fic* *spends days perfecting the grammar and verbage and sex scenes* *has 15 betas look over it*
  • fanfic writer: Okay. It is finally time to release my baby on the world. Here you go fandom. You're welcome.
  • fandom: Ha, cute. *like* *kudos*
  • fanfic writer: :/
  • * * *
  • same fanfic writer: *writing* Whatever. This is shit, I don't even care right now. A singing squirrel? Sure, let's do it. Haha, cheesy lines that make no sense, sure. Grammatical errors out the wazoo? Why not. No one's going to read this piece of crap anyway, I literally wrote it on a scrap of 1 ply toilet paper with a broken yellow crayon.
  • fanfic writer: LOL *post*
  • fanfic writer: *sigh*
you’re 19, believe me you don’t know what you’re going to want in a boy when you’re 26 and believe me you won’t figure it out right now. so stop planning who you’ll end up with, or who you’ll want in seven years because you don’t even know what you will want, to begin with. stop making promises to yourself and your boyfriend. because who the fuck knows who you will like seven years hence. but you know who you like right now. him. so cherish that. make plans, eat ice cream in bed with him, hug him, take walks in gardens, go on dates, go to art galleries. cherish it without making promises. cherish it without promising each other a future. you’re just 19. you don’t know who he will want and you dont know who you’ll want in seven years.
—  seven years//nikitagupta

Holly Jolly Ficmas: Snow Day

From the Holly Jolly Ficmas Advent Calendar

Summary: Mike sneaks to Hopper’s cabin when school gets cancelled due to heavy snow. Little does he know, it’s not El waiting for him at the cabin that day.

Characters: Mike Wheeler, Jim Hopper

Word Count: 1.8K

[A/N]: Okay, so I don’t know if Doctor Owens would approve of El going to stores or malls, even if it’s in a different town, but knowing Hopper, you know he would fight/barter like hell with Owens to let his girl go to the mall at least every few months. Also, Troy’s last name is Parrish because I say so.

“Is that you, Wheeler?”

Oh, shit.

Mike was still dangling halfway through El’s bedroom window when Hopper came into the room. Where the hell did he come from?

“Oh, hi Chief,” Mike said with a small, pathetic wave, “you’re home early.”

Deep down, Mike had known it was a bad idea to go to Hopper’s cabin unannounced. Did that stop him? No. It had been an uphill battle biking all the way out there in the ice and snow, but somehow he had done it. It had only been a few days since his last visit to the cabin, but after what had happened yesterday, he really needed to see her.

“What the hell are you doing?” Hopper asked gruffly. His expression was hard to read. Was he mad? Amused? Both?

“Umm, nothing?” Mike said meekly. Hopper raised an eyebrow at him. Oh my god, he’s gonna do it, Mike thought, he’s gonna lecture me while I’m dangling out this damn window. But to his surprise, Hopper just chuckled.

“Well, when you’re done doing ‘nothing’, you’re welcome to use to the front door, Romeo.”

Mike sighed and started climbing back out the window. As he climbed, he lost his footing on the slippery snow, causing him crash face first into the window sill outside. He touched his lower lip with a tentative hand. Shit. The cut on his lip had started bleeding again. He hastily wiped the blood away with the sleeve of his sweater before hurrying to the front door where Hopper was waiting for him. He was probably in enough trouble as it was, he didn’t want to keep him waiting.

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