do you even know how long i had this set unfinished in my drafts

How To Write When You Have No Reason To

     We’ve all been victims to it: Procrastination. It gets worse during weekends and long breaks. When deadlines are our own or don’t exist at all, when inspiration has run out, or when our interest is elsewhere, it strikes. As the summer nears an end, I look back on all my precious free time wasted in front of the television or on the internet instead of writing and wonder what I could have done to write more. Everyone has their own excuses for not writing more, so I’ve designed some of these tactics to be customized to you. Do what works best for your specific needs, but write. Just write.

Time. Do you have it? Maybe you’re a single parent working three jobs while you upgrade your degree. Maybe you’re an unemployed dropout living in your parents’ basement whose unfinished manuscript is the one thing keeping you from getting kicked out. I don’t know. Either way, here are your solutions:

  • No time. You’re super busy? No problem. Make it portable. Put it on a tablet that fits in your bag or in a notebook so that you can sneak it into classes. Every spare moment on the bus or during class if you’ve finished your work early, take it out and work on it. Trust me, as someone who did most of the first draft to her first novel on the school bus to and from school (and during boring math classes…don’t tell anyone), you’d be surprised how much you can get done between things.
  • Average amount of time. Maybe you’re just not very good at putting aside time for writing. That’s okay. Try this: Write for an hour every weekday, two hours weekends and holidays, and an extra fifteen minutes before bed every day. You can adjust it according to your schedule, but when you have stuff to do and time to write, it’s just a matter of recognizing your time to write and taking advantage of it.
  • Too much time. Yes, it’s possible. Your life has no structure and you don’t write because all of your time is spent doing nothing. You know you should write, you just don’t. You need structure. You need goals. So make some. Try writing two chapters per day—or whatever you think is reasonable—and spend a minimum of two hours writing per day. Or try writing three hours per day, a minimum of one chapter daily. Race yourself and see how many words you can write in ten minutes, and keep track of your high score so you can aim to beat it. Every ten chapters or whatever you think is reasonable, treat yourself to a movie or something (preferably not a video game or something that will distract you from writing for too long. The exception is books. Books are good).

Motivation. Writing without motivation is like breathing without oxygen. It just doesn’t work. You may be lacking it for a variety of reasons. You’re bored, things are too predictable, you’ve been working on the same thing for so long, and writing has become (*gasp!*) a chore.

  • Write on location. Does your story take place in New York? You might not have the resources to go there, but take a little satellite tour of your setting using Google Maps or read books that take place there. Everyone knows books transport you places. But your book takes place in Ancient Greece? Go to a toga party. Take a “Which Greek God/Goddess Are You?” personality quiz. The story takes place in the far off future on a planet you made up? Build a diorama of that place! Make a toothpick sculpture of your protagonist’s home. Immerse yourself in your story’s location. Better yet, go there if you can. Sit on the bench where your protagonist had their first kiss and write. Sometimes, all you need is a change of scenery.
  • Simplify it. Our stories can overwhelm us from time to time. Pretend you’re in sixth grade again and do a book report on your own book. I’m serious. Make a poster with the title in block letters smack dab in the middle. Draw out the main characters and glue their pictures on the board next to each of their descriptions. Come up with all the ridiculous English-teacher-symbolism you can get from your writing, whether you meant it to be there or not. Think as a twelve-year-old and list the things about your work the twelve-year-old you would have loved or hated. Map out the plot on a very much simplified plot line to the best of your abilities. All those complications, false climaxes, and flashbacks are suddenly boiled down to beginning, middle, and end. If you want, you can look up book report ideas for elementary school online and do those. I remember doing diorama projects and paper bag book reports in sixth grade. Keep it creative.
  • Entice yourself with the tools you use. If you write longhand, choose a notebook with a cover you’ll never get bored of or decorate the cover as if it were the cover of your published work. Use new pens that write in crazy colours or that have feathers coming out the end that make you feel like some fancy-pants writer. Because screw it, you are. Maybe even use a typewriter for the satisfying *ding!* you get at the end on every line. If you use a laptop or computer, get a cool keyboard that looks like it’s made of wood or put some keyboard stickers on. Do something that makes you want to use your tools of the trade more.
  • Surround yourself with the right things. If you’re lacking in creativity, a messy desk will help. If you need structure, a neat and organized desk will work better. If you’re writing a scene set in the Sahara Desert and there’s five feet of snow outside, change your computer background to camels and turn on the extra heater while you play with that weird sand-dough stuff that can be found everywhere and is meant for children ages 3 and up. If in your next scene your main character is going on a romantic date, light a scented candle. If you’re writing about vampires, pour yourself a cup of cranberry juice and pretend it’s blood. You can take sips during the messier scenes.
  • Get excited. Before you start your next chapter, think about what you look forward to writing in this scene. Are you introducing a new character you really like? Is the drama going to make you cry as you write? Is a planet going to explode? It’s going to be good, and you just can’t wait to get it all written down. If you only listen to one thing from this article that I spent a whole three hours writing, make it this. If you aren’t excited about writing your next scene, your audience won’t be excited about reading it. It will be too forced. It just won’t work. I’ve told you how you can get interested in writing again, you really don’t have to do much more. Just get excited and write.

     I hope these tips help you out. When you think about it, time and motivation are all you need for a lot of things, including writing. Now you can go on your merry way and write!

     If that didn’t help you, here’s a piece on Writer’s Block: 

Hidden Talents (Part 2)

Prompt: Reader has a hidden talent
Fandom: Marvel
Note: This is the second part to the hidden talents preference that I did. I’m currently trying to clear out my drafts before starting anything new bc wowza do I have a lot. Since I’m clearing out my drafts, preferences might be unfinished, like this one. 
If you’d like me to make a 3rd with other members just let me know c:

Bucky/The Winter Soldier [Cooking]

Originally posted by sithlordalice

You set your music on shuffle, and AC/DC was the first thing to pop up. You smiled and mimicked the instrumentals before getting the things you needed out of the fridge. While you did love to cook, and had quite a talent for it, cooking with music was a millions times better. If you weren’t working as a secret agent for a secret organization, then you’d probably be a chef. You were still content with cooking whenever you could, rather than making a career out of it.

You were in the kitchen in nothing but an oversized shirt, underwear, and a pair of socks. You danced around as you mixed the ingredients together. While you did enjoy cooking complicated and fancy dishes, you were just making pancakes. You’ve been in a pancake mood for a while, and you figured you could surprise your boyfriend with breakfast in bed. That’s where you were headed when you were finished cooking, anyway.

“Babe, what are you doing?” You heard from behind you.

“Go back in bed, you’re not supposed to be here yet.” You scolded, shooing him away with one hand and flipping the pancake with the other.

“I didn’t know you could cook.” Bucky pointed out.

“There’s a lot about me you don’t know.” You said, wiggling your eyebrows as you glanced back at him.

“Mm,” He hugged you from behind, “Maybe we should talk then.” He buried his face in your neck.

You smiled, resting the back of your head on his shoulder. Soon, the food was done, and you were putting whipped cream and fruit on the pancakes. You handed him his plate, not really sure if he wanted syrup or not. You eyes him as he took a bit, and his face was priceless. You started to scold yourself for not having a camera nearby. He stared at you for a moment before deciding to actually speak.

“This is insane.” He commented and you chuckled.

“It’s just pancakes, Bucky.” You pointed out.

“Yeah, but these are magical pancakes, or something.” He said and you laughed.

“Yes, I’m a pancake wizard, I’ve been exposed.” You falsely confessed.

“Fuckin’ knew it.” He joked back.

Clint Barton/Hawkeye [Rapping]

Originally posted by themarvelnerd

“Clint, you’re just going to make fun of me.” You whined.

“Come on, you gotta show me.” He insisted.

“Who even told you?” You questioned, eyes squinting at him.

“Steve.” He answered.

“Dick.” You said instantly.

“Come on, I won’t laugh at you.” Clint begged.

“No.” You answered.

Steve had caught you one day practicing some lines that you had written yourself. While you hadn’t sworn him to secrecy, you had still assumed he wouldn’t tell anybody. Apparently, it was a mistake on your part, because Clint had gotten wind of it. Now, you were sitting on the couch, with Clint bugging you to rap for him. There was no way you were going to do one of your own songs, you still weren’t entirely confident in them.

Unfortunately, you also knew you were going to have to rap something for him. Otherwise, he’d just keep bugging you for the next few weeks until you did or he caught you doing it. So, alternatively, you decided that you’d rap something from someone else. You glanced back over at Clint to see him still staring at you. You sighed and rolled your eyes.

“Fine, but I’m not doing my own song.” You spoke reluctantly.

“I get to pick, then.” Clint bargained, eyes narrowing.

“As long as I know it.” You shot back.

“Then we have a deal.” Clint smiled and you sighed again.

“You can take your ti-” You began.

“Rap God.” He interrupted you.

“That was fast.” You commented.

You got out your phone, and brought up the song. You knew this song well, and it was one of the songs you used for practice. It had broken a world record at one point, and Eminem was one of your favourites. You started on time, and went along perfectly. Clint eyed you cautiously as you started getting closer and closer to the one verse in the song that made it insanely popular. Of course, you were nothing short of perfect.

By the time you finished and looked over at Clint, the face he was making was priceless. He obviously hadn’t expected you to do as well as you did. You quickly snapped a picture, seeing as how your phone was right next to you. You raised your brows as he continued staring at you. You comically waved a hand in front of his face, hoping to get some kind of sarcastic remark out of him.

“That was amazing, why didn’t you tell me before?” Clint questioned.

“Well, between nearly getting my head blown off, and me killing strangers, I wonder why I didn’t make time.” You sarcastically spoke.

Spend a night at the Kings Inn Motel and win $25,000.00

The Craigslist ad didn’t say much else.

Just a local area telephone number and address.

Call To Make Your Reservation Today!

I scoured the ad three more times for some catch—some hidden fine print—before picking up the phone to dial.




“Front desk.” The man on the other end of the line sounded bored and put upon.

I sat up straight in my chair. “Yeah, I uh, I saw your ad.”

“Yes, sir. The room is still available.”

“This prize money—twenty-five grand—that legit?”

The man on the other end sighed. “Yes, sir. Would you like me to make you a reservation?”

“What’s that about?” I asked. “I mean, what do I have to do?”

“Look, dude, it’s a promotional thing I think. I don’t know—I just man the front desk. Stay the night; win the prize. Simple.”

“Yeah, ok, but what’s the—“

“It’s a double bed room. Sixty-nine dollars a night. Non-smoking. Looks like it’ll be available Wednesday after 4:00. You want the reservation, or no?”

Twenty-five thousand dollars for one night in some flea bit motel?

I gave him my name and particulars and listened as he punched them into a computer.

“Alright, Sir,” he’d found his way back on script, “your reservation is confirmed and we look forward to seeing you Wednesday. Please have your ID and a major credit card at check in. Is there anything else I can help you with this evening?”

I cleared my throat. “This isn’t some sort of scam, is it?”

“Nope. We’re authorized to issue you a certified bank draft come check out time. Assuming you stay the full night.”

“One more thing,” I said quickly. “How many other people have won?”

But the line had already disconnected.


The Kings Inn Motel is one of those places.

You know the type.

Seedy, low-slung red brick buildings set back off the side of some lonely Interstate. A humming sign casting neon shades of red and blue over a mostly empty parking lot filled with broken bottles and cigarette butts.




An electronic bell buzzed jarringly somewhere in the back as I stepped through the door into the lobby.

Inside, the air was hot; heavy with the stink of bleach and disinfectant. Like the smell of a pool shed or a nursing home.


The young guy behind the Formica topped front desk barely looked up from his phone as I approached with my overnight bag.

“I’m on break,” he said flatly.

“Uh, I have a reservation.”

He dropped his phone to the counter. “Oh. So, you’re the guy? Well, welcome to the Kings Inn–where we treat you like royalty. They make me say that, sorry.”

His teeth, when he smiled were brown and yellow—leaning drunkenly against one another.

“License and credit card, please,” he said.

I slid them across the counter.

“Alright,” he said at length. “Everything looks good. You’ll be in room 205. Housekeeping just finished up in there, so should be nice and clean for ya. End of the row—past the ice machine.”

I took my cards back and said, “About this contest. What’s the gimmick?”


“Yeah,” I said. “You know. What’s the catch?”

“If I knew, I’d tell you. Management handles all that.”

“Can I speak to them?”

He shook his head. “Against the rules.”

“There are rules?”

He leaned in conspiratorially. His breath was hot and smelt like garlic bread. “If it was me? I’d lock the door, pop a couple Xanax, crawl into bed and sleep straight through till check out time. But that’s just me.”

I nodded as if I understood and took the proffered plastic keycard.

“Checkout’s at nine. Enjoy your stay.”


Room 205 was indeed past the ice machine—at the far end of the long L shaped arm of the building where it backed up to a dense copse of trees.

I parked my car beneath a streetlight and walked the half a dozen yards—past an endless row of barred windows and cheap plastic patio chairs—to the door of room 205.

The door was nothing special. A dented and drab olive green with peeling white stick-on letters above the peephole. Not dissimilar to a million other such doors lining countless motel corridors from here to Angola.

My room key fit with a tiny thunk in the lock and I pushed the door inward.

Maybe, in the moments before I flicked on that overhead light, I expected something different. An axe murderer crouched in the corner. A message daubed in blood above the mirror. Something fantastic or dark. Something worthy of the telling.

Instead, the too yellow light shone on a scene that was all too familiar.

Coral pink walls that clashed with the jade green of the carpet. A sickening tableau of stale cigarettes, floral patterned bedspreads and faux wood grains. I could almost smell the sex—the half remembered and unfinished acts—that lingered hot and filthy on every surface like a film.

Pedantic, yet comforting in its simulacrum of home.

I dropped my bag on the small round table to the left of the door and flopped bodily onto the nearest bed.

How many unborn babies had seeped into the fabric of these blankets? How many un-recepticled loads of cum had sprayed across those pink tufted headboards? Enough to make it a living sentient thing?

I checked my watch—it was a little after six. Fifteen hours lay between me and that twenty-five thousand dollars.

What had the guy at the front desk said? Stay the night; win the prize.

I grabbed my car keys and headed toward the door.

I’d need pizza or beer if I was to make it.


The air felt different on my return.

Used is the best way I know how to describe it.


That dry staleness of long disuse shot through with traces of something I couldn’t identify. Like the final ghostly fingers of someone’s cologne lingering.

The TV was on–the usual bevy of infomercials and pay-per-view porn ads—and from where I stood I could see contents of my overnight bag; strewn across the floor.

I dropped my pizza and froze—straining for the sound of some hidden intruder.



I checked the small dirty bathroom.


I looked under the bed.

No one.

I gathered my things—just a change of clothes and some toiletries—into a pile and called the front desk.

The guy seemed unconcerned and brushed aside my indignation.

There were no other active keycards available for my room, he assured me. And no one had been into the office since my arrival.

“Were any maids in here while I was gone?” I wanted to know.

“Housekeeping leaves at 5:30. Your bag probably just fell over.”

“Can I switch rooms, then?”

“We’re all full up.”

“So, you’re not gonna do anything about the fact that someone’s been in my room rifling through my shit? What kind of place is this?”

A sigh. “I’ll log your complaint and you can take it up with management in the morning. I can offer you a free continental breakfast, in the meantime.”

I hung up.

I’ll admit, I thought about leaving right then. Just grabbing my bag and the remnants of my cold pizza and booking it. Home sounded good. Home sounded safe. But the thought of the money stayed my hand.

It was past nine now. What would a few more hours hurt?

I bolted and chained the door behind me before climbing into the bed.

The sheets were thin and rough. Hospital quality. They scratched at my legs and the tops of my feet and audibly crinkled when I moved. The pillows little more than lumpy plates behind my head.

I bathed in the fuzzy blue glow of late night TV and fell into a fitful sleep, already counting my winnings….



I fumbled in the dark for the jangling cordless phone on the bedside table.

“Mh? Hello?” I said, only half awake.

Through bleary eyes I could just discern the digital alarm clocks glowing yellow timestamp.

2:11 AM.

“Sir,” the voice on the other end was familiar. Bored. “I have to ask you to please keep it down.”

“Whasat? Do what?” I was finding surer footing in the land of consciousness. “Who’s this?”

“We’ve had several noise complaints from guests. Please keep your voices down. It’s very late.”


“You and your visitor. Just keep it quiet, ok buddy?”

I sat up like a bolt and felt blindly for the lamp switch—casting the room in a sickly orange glow.


Swinging my legs over the side of the bed, I rubbed my eyes with thumb and forefinger. The room was freezing cold. The drone of the old AC unit under the window rustled those hideous curtains in erratic patterns across the green carpet.

What had he been on about? Something about a guest?

I shook my head to try and clear some of the cobwebs. The roof of my mouth felt dry—my tongue bloated and unwieldy. When I stood to go to the bathroom for a piss and a glass of water the room seemed to wobble beneath me and I had to steady myself against the TV.

I felt sick. Or slightly tipsy. Like I did when I was six and had a fever of 102 and the world looked elastic and shiny.

The bathroom was small and grimy. The tub yellowed. I splashed some tap water over my face as I tried to catch my breath. My cheeks felt hot; my stomach roiled. Had the pizza gone bad?



I stepped back into the main room as the phone continued to ring.

There was that feeling again—that imperceptible otherness—like the twice diluted stuff you breathe on airplanes.



It was a little after 2:30, now. Who was calling?

“Hello?” I picked up the phone.

The glaring hum of the dial tone was the only response I got.

I set the phone back in its cradle.



“What the…”

“Don’t answer that! It’s probably Tony, wondering who stole those last five Lortabs.”

I jumped as if struck, biting back a scream as I whirled in the direction of the bathroom.

A young woman in a loose-fitting sundress was visible through the bathroom doorway—her back to me. Her pelvis was pressed hard against the sink as she applied lipstick to her loamy reflection in the bathroom mirror.

“Don’t tell Tony I’m in here, ok? He’ll try and take my jacket.” She smiled conspiratorially before climbing into the tub.

“Hey!” I crossed the room in three quick strides and grabbed the cheap plastic lining of the shower curtain. “Who the fuck are you?”

I pulled the curtain back with a sharp whisk.

The tub was empty.

I turned the light on with a flick of the wrist and stared numbly at the piss colored grout and linoleum. There was nowhere else to hide. My chest felt tight and my bowels felt twisted. I struggled to catch my breath. Using the wall as a guide rail, I navigated my way back to the bed and sat down amid the tangled sheets.

I was going to throw up.

I just needed to lie down. Just rest my eyes—just for a second. Yeah, that was it. I was sure. I was just tired. Ill. Nothing rest wouldn’t put right.

The pillows felt blissfully soft this time; the sheets satiny. How had I misjudged them? And the air! The air didn’t smell like mold. It was sweet—like fresh laundry.

I inhaled deeply through my nose.

“There you go!” tub girl sing-songed from bathrooms dark maw. “Go to sleep, baby. Rest.”

“Yes, ma’am,” I mumbled, rolling onto my side.

“I’ll be right here when you wake up.” I could almost feel her lips on my earlobe that time. Could almost smell her earthy perfume.

I nodded. Yes. Sleep.


I cracked my eyes.


The digital alarm clock now said 3:04.

Surely it had only been a moment since I closed my eyes.


I found the phone. “Yeah?” My voice sounded funny. Muffled.

A wave of static rolled over me. Buzzes and pops and whistles. Like a fax line trying to connect.

“Hello?” I tried again.


I closed my eyes—they felt so heavy—and prepared to press END on the phones dial pad when I heard it.


Just a whisper—barely even there. Almost lost among the screeching and buzzing of an unused line.

“Yeah?” I perked up at the sound of my name. Peeled my eyelids apart again.

“Jimmy, its Mom. Listen to me, Jimmy. I need you to wake up.”

“Mom?” The word sounded unfamiliar. That couldn’t be right.

“Listen, Jimmy. You have to wake up.”

“It’s three in the morning,” I whined.

“Get up. Hurry. Management doesn’t want me talking to you. You need to get UP.”

I struggled into a sitting position, still cradling the phone. “Mom?

How is this you? You can’t be calling. You’re de—“

The voice through the static cut me off. “You need to get up. Get your keys and get outside. Now. You can’t fall asleep. Okay?”

“What about the money?”

“Hurry, Jimmy. I love you.”

The call ended abruptly.

I looked at the phone and thought of my mom. Remembered the last time I’d seen her. She’d looked so small in that coffin—barely filling out her favorite pink Sunday dress.

A nascent migraine had begun to settle in behind my eyes.

“Whatever Tony said, he’s lying.”

If I turned my head I could almost see her—my gal Friday—daubing on uneven finger-fulls of mascara.

Get your keys

“Just go back to sleep, baby.”

Get outside

When I stood up too fast the room spun and I almost fell.

Careful. Careful. I shuffled barefoot across the verdant carpet jungle to the table by the door.

My keys felt heavy.

“Baby, where are you going? Get back in bed. We can split this Roxicodone I found.” She sounded forceful.

I need you to wake up

I grappled with the door lock and chain. My fingers felt stupid. Unresponsive. “I’m sorry,” was all I managed. “I have to go. I’m sorry.”

Hurry Jimmy

“Hey! Hey, come back!”

I pulled too hard and the door swung inward banging off the drywall with a muffled crunch.

Outside it was early—or late—and wonderfully cool and still. Rocks and asphalt stung the bottoms of my feet as I stepped off the curb and into the parking lot. The invisible vise around my chest—the one I hadn’t noticed till then—began to loosen.

I staggered to my car and leaned my forehead against the driver’s side window. It felt good to just breathe normally.

I climbed behind the wheel and started the car. Let off the break and began to reverse.


A loud male voice. A dark bulky silhouette in my taillights.

Someone beating fists on the trunk of my car. Grabbing for the door handle.

I screamed, threw the car into drive and stomped on the gas. I shot through the motel parking lot like a bolt scraping sickeningly over speed bumps. I didn’t care. I gunned it past the front office. Past the neon sign. Away from that place and onto the narrow road toward the interstate.

I guess I was sleepier than I thought, though.

See, I don’t remember nodding off behind the wheel and I don’t remember the car veering off the road. Nor the tree speeding toward me.

If I strain, I can vaguely recall the car rolling. The crunch and shriek of metal and glass.

A well of darkness finally pulling me in.


Carbon dioxide poisoning.

I heard those words a lot in the coming days.

They were whispered by doctors and nurses, scribbled on charts and forms I was asked to sign.

It was almost a week before a police officer—Mitchell, I think his name badge said—filled in the gaps in my memory.

Officers responding to calls from motorists on the Interstate about an accident near the Kings Inn. I’d fainted at the wheel and wrapped my car around an oak tree doing 60. Or maybe it was a maple?

Anyway, first responders pulled me out delirious and screaming about people trying to get me.

They thought I was high or concussed.

I still had the keycard to room 205 on me so police made a sweep of the premises.

The lights were off in the front office and the doors both locked.

In my room they found my scattered belongings and an unmade bed.

In room 204 they found a gas-powered generator thrumming away– pumping high levels of CO2 through the air vent that connected the two rooms.

“Twelve percent concentration, doctors say,” he told me. “Levels that high can cause any number of symptoms. Nausea, headaches, confusion, auditory or visual hallucinations. You name it.”

“I thought I was seeing ghosts,” I said.

He nodded. “Nobody was registered in room 204 and the generators gonna be hard to trace. It’s old. Could buy one just like it at any Lowes or Home Depot. But we’re looking into it.”

“What about the kid at the front desk?”

“MIA. It looks like a random thing. Some sicko trying to lure people in. Gas ‘em up and do God knows what. You’re lucky you had the good sense to run for the door. If you’d fallen asleep, doc says you might have slipped into a coma or worse.”

I looked up from the IV in my arm. “Did you find anything else?”

Officer Mitchell frowned slightly and shifted in his seat by my bed.

“Well,” he cleared his throat, “like I said, there wasn’t nothing in room 204. No prints, no personal effects—except for this.” He extended a large clear plastic evidence bag toward me.

“It was left on the bed in 204. Can’t let you keep it, of course. It’s evidence.”

I squinted at the bags contents.

A cashier’s check made out to me.

For $25,000.

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Pepperony Week Day Six: AU

A/N: This is a high school AU technically, but it’s more specific than that, and if you know the source material, you’ll pick up on it fast. :D  Even if you don’t, I hope you enjoy!

Pepper Potts was not a genius, nor was she a prodigy.  She understood how one could make that mistake, given she’d been selected out of hundreds of applicants to receive a full scholarship to Shield Academy.  It was dumb luck, though.  Her test scores were good and her admissions essay meticulously tailored to meet all of the school board’s criteria for entry.  If she was anything, it was an expert at kissing up, and look how far it had gotten her.

Now she attended classes with the children of CEOs, governors, even a prince.  All the professors were Ivy league.  The cafeteria was run by twelve gourmet chefs.  Her entire apartment building could fit in the swimming pool with room to spare.  Most impressive were the four libraries, each two floors and carrying books in every language known to man, including one she was fairly certain was written in Klingon.  Every day after her last class, Pepper withdrew into the far corner of the first library, next to the business management and law texts, and there she remained until six o’clock rolled around and it was time to go home.  

On this day, a sudden influx of students loitering in the first library rendered her usual study spot uninhabitable.  Going down the line from the second to the fourth libraries, she found much the same situation.  One thousand students at Shield and every one of them had chosen today to visit the library.  They weren’t even studying.  No one had books out, no one was taking notes, and everyone in the computer lab had nothing better to do than browse Facebook.

Keep reading

bval-1  asked:

Western AU Prompt :) Darcy/Steve Darcy's family owns a horse breeding ranch. Steve moves into the neighboring ranch & decides to buy a Friesian horse from Darcy. Darcy & the horse cared deeply for each other so the horse kept running back to Darcy until Steve finally decides to ask Darcy out :D

When Cupid Has Hooves

 The sky was darkening as Darcy finished up with her daily chores at the ranch. Winter was just around the corner, which meant that the air already held that bone-chilling nip. All she could think about was locking up, dressing down, and slipping into a hot bath. The sound of trotting and an excited huff behind her promptly nixed that idea. She sighed and turned around.

 Bear, otherwise known as the most annoying horse in the world, trotted up to her. He reached down, placing his nose firmly into her hair, knocking her hat off. She had trained Bear herself. He was the finest Friesian their ranch had ever bred, and she had known that he would fetch a pretty penny. Which was why, even though she loved the stupid horse, she had sold him when the offer came.

 Of course Darcy never would have simply let him go to just anyone. So many of the people who came out her way were rich bitches looking to fulfill their childhood dream of owning a pony. To them the horses were nothing more than an accessory to stuff in their Barbie Dream Ranch. They didn’t understand that horses were a commitment, even more so than dogs. They weren’t pets, they were companions. Bear’s owner though understood this, being an honest to God cowboy from up in Wyoming.

 He had waltzed onto her ranch, took one look at Bear and knew he had found his horse. Too bad Bear didn’t see it that way. Rogers lived on the neighboring ranch and had moved Bear there after the purchase, not that he stayed there. Bear had been with Rogers for three months, but every night it seemed that Darcy had to trot that stupid beast right back to his new barn.

 With a shake of her head she took off towards Rogers’, safe in the knowledge that Bear would follow after her like a puppy.


Steve was just sitting down to his meal when he noticed movement from out of the window. He shook his head when he noticed the petite woman being followed by the overgrown puppy that was his horse. He couldn’t help the small laugh when Bear gave a “gentle” nudge to her back, tripping the woman slightly.

 When Steve had bought this old ranch, this was not what he had been expecting. He had grown up on a ranch in Wyoming. After his parents had died, leaving him with no relation to care for him, the Barnes, family friends, and taken him in. He had only been seven at the time. He had lived with them, learning how to be a cattle rancher, until he was eighteen and joined the army.

 He had signed up with his best friend and brother Bucky, only Steve was the only one to return. After everything, Steve didn’t feel as though he could continue to live with the Barnes. Too many memories, too much guilt. But he was a cowboy at heart, and it seemed you just couldn’t take that out of him. When he had found this old ranch in Colorado, he decided that maybe it was time for him to start out on his own.

 The first thing he did was purchase himself a horse. He had a truck back in Wyoming he planned on driving down someday, but what he really needed was a horse. He had spoken to the people in town, all of them directing him to the ranch beside his, Silver Lightening Cutting and Draft Horse Ranch. He had expected it to take a while, but the moment he set eyes on Bear he knew he could never own another horse. The problem was Bear didn’t seem to like him very much.

 Steve walked out onto the porch, leaning against the post as his neighbor stomped up in front of him. Miss Darcy Lewis was a couple of years younger than him, and more than a head shorter. Not that any of that mattered, the woman was a force to be reckoned with. And boy, if he didn’t want her. She was feisty, smart, and beautiful as all get out. He had almost asked her out the moment he purchased Bear. The lack of date hadn’t been his nerves, but the tall, dark British man that had slunk his way into her office.

 Loki or something, had been a professor of Shakespearian literature on loan to Colorado State from Cambridge. He also so happened to be Miss Darcy’s boyfriend. At least he had been. Last he heard the man had returned to England.

 “Got a present for ya.” Darcy pointed her thumb behind her. She had no need to look, she could feel the stupid animal’s breath on her neck. Instead she looked up at the man on the porch. If there ever was a man where you could see God’s work, it was him. He stood leaning against a post, legs encased in denim, and his flannel shirt untucked and unbuttoned almost halfway down his chest. Darcy didn’t normally like bearded men, but Rogers somehow made it work.

 “Gee, thanks.” Steve laughed and hopped down off the porch. He took up the reigns and gave a gentle tug. “Come on you dumb beast.”

 Darcy laughed when Bear stood his ground, tugging in return. Steve just shook his head before straightening out his hat.

 “Sorry again for him. I’ve even added extra locks on the barn, but he still figures his way out.” Steve pushed behind him when Bear nudged his shoulder.

 “Guess I should have mentioned he was an escape artist before you bought him. He used to do this all the time. Used to wake me up in the middle of the night whining beneath my window.” If the creature had been human, Darcy would have called him lovesick. Something that she was sure could be used to describe herself when it came to the man before her.

 “Makes one wonder why you parted with him.” Steve nudged back when Bear once again pressed against his shoulder.

 “I knew he would be in good hands.” Very nice hands, big hands… hands that were currently on her trying to keep himself up after Bear had pushed him too hard.

 “Shit, I’m sorry…” Steve sprang up and moved back, his face growing hot as he realized just where his hands had been.

 Darcy straightened her shirt, her own blush rising on her cheeks. “That’s alright.”

 For a moment the two of them just stood there, neither looking at each other or knowing what to say. Bear shook his head, stomped his foot, and once again nudged Steve in the shoulder. Though with less violence this time.

 After pushing the horse back, Steve cleared his throat. “Hey, there’s supposed to be a dance over at the community building this Saturday. I was wondering, well only if you wanted to, that is, would you like to accompany me?” He could have kicked himself, he sounded like some wet behind the ears little boy.

 “Um, yeah, I would love to.” Darcy beamed up at him. “I would like that at lot.”

 “Good, good.” Bear huffed behind him, bringing his attention away from Darcy. “Uh, I should probably get this idiot back to the barn.”

 “Probably. Night, Steve.” Darcy waved as she headed back home.

Steve stood watching her until he could no longer make her out. Bear, behind him, huffed again. And had anyone been looking they would have sworn that the horse had rolled his eyes in fond exasperation.


 Author’s Note: Wow, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize that this was still hanging out unfinished. Sorry that this took so freaking long to finish. Hope you still enjoyed it, even if it was late.

     Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.  

Save The First Dance For Me

Who knew Kurt would find someone to slow-dance with so soon - and at his dad’s wedding no less? Klaine alternate meeting that sets off right after “Just The Way You Are”.

Had this in my drafts ever since the Klaine Valentine’s Challenge for “Just the Way You Are” but I never really finished it - I just couldn’t have that so I kinda polished it today. I’m not all that satisfied with it but it’s been sitting here unfinished for soooo long that I’m just gonna publish it now, hoping you’ll enjoy it anyway. :)

Read on AO3

Kurt has never been serenaded like this before but as embarrassed as he was in the beginning, he can’t help but smile brightly at his brother by the time the song comes to a close, and Finn looks right at him when he sings the last, “When I see your face…

He’s long gotten over his crush on his step brother (living together hadn’t been the appeal he thought it would have, and he refuses to crush on boys who keep their dirty socks lying around everywhere, anyway) but it feels great getting over the issues they’ve had with one another, too.

The girls take over with an upbeat dance song now, and Kurt grins at Mercedes when she throws him a wink. He looks around briefly, watching his dad and Carole retreat to their seats with linked hands, Finn trailing behind them, and even though more and more people are coming up to dance now, Kurt figures he should probably leave the dance floor - it’s not like he’s going to awkwardly dance all by himself.

Still smiling like an idiot, Kurt turns around to go back to join his family at the table, and almost crashes into someone who seems to have stood just behind him.

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry,” the guy says when Kurt lets out a little yelp, and holds out a hand to steady Kurt by the arm. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

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True Feelings

Author’s Note: This has been just sitting in my drafts unfinished for so long, finally dug it up and finished it! If you don’t like Edward’s flowery speech, avoid XD

Chivalrous, kindhearted to a fault. Prince of the Roses.

Edward was all of these things. It was a rare thing indeed for Charles’ Crown Prince to lose his composure, but he was not infallible. He was, first and foremost, a man.

And ever since she came to work at the castle, he had been reminded of that fact on a daily basis.

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Only if for a Night

HakYonaWeek: Day 2. Sleep, in which Hak makes a risky purchase and falls out of a bed.

Warning! This takes place some time after the events of chapter 103 and details of some non-scanlated chapters are mentioned, so if you aren’t up-to-date with the Japanese release of AnY and don’t want to be spoiled, DO NOT read this. You were warned ;)

(Lel, I’ve had this fic in my drafts and unfinished for almost 3 months. It does involve some form of sleeping, so I decided to finish it for this prompt. Sorry if it’s a little off topic at points. There is some sleeping XD)

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anonymous asked:

Hi. I'm starting to approach my own long fic. And every fic I started in the past I ran out of steam. I want to finish some of them but cringe at my old writing style. How have you kept going with freight for three years?

Hi! First off, I want to say awesome! Long stories are some of the hardest to write, in my opinion, and I’m really proud of you for taking the plunge. Woo!

As for how I’ve kept going with Freight for the last three years, well–that’s kind of a tricky question to answer. I’ve grown so much as both a writer and a person since the original idea came popped into my head, and by extension my writing process has changed, too. There’s no quick fix or easy method to follow, I think, and tackling on a big project like Freight has definitely had it’s ups and downs. Everyone is different, so what I’ve found works for me might not work for you. But! That being said,  I’ll try to outline some of the things I do/have done!

  1. I’ve started dozens of big writing projects, only to drop them halfway through. My old account is proof of that–about half of the unfinished stories I haven’t deleted over the years are still sitting dormant in various fandom archives. It’s a natural thing, I think–something every writer goes through. We jump into a story and hit the ground running, and then lose steam before we can get very far at all. When I first got the idea for Freight, I decided that I was really going to stick with the story, something I hadn’t been able to do with more than a few projects before. So, naturally, I did the exact opposite of what I thought I was supposed to do: I didn’t write.
  2. Yep, you read that right. Freight actually “started” in February-ish of 2013, but I didn’t put the first chapter down on paper (or the computer, really) until August. So what did I do in the meantime? I planned. I outlined the whole thing, scrapped that draft, and then outlined it all again. I think there are three separate versions floating around my apartment right now, actually. I started with a basic idea (zombie apocalypse), then built the frame for my characters (What are their family relationships? What are their skill sets? Which aspects of their personalities am I going to highlight?), and then crafted my setting. A lot of that initial work is handwritten, because I have an easier time visualizing things with charts and lists. Only after I’d finished the worldbuilding did I sit down and hammer out the plot, which I organized into arcs and built around a timeline.
  3. The arc frame and timeline are, for me, the most important parts of this whole process. They’re your skeleton, especially the arcs. I think one of the most daunting things about a big writing project is the sheer size of it. You can plan everything out, but as soon as you sit down to write the first few chapters you can get overwhelmed. With arcs, you have a very clear idea of what you need to do, and a very clear “end” in sight. You don’t have to think of your story as one big hulking mess, and instead can look at it in pieces. The timeline plays into that, too. You only have so many fictional days to fill with content, so you’re limiting the amount of pressure you put on yourself.
  4. Sitting down to write the first chapter was, I think, the hardest thing for me. You do all this planning and get everything finalized, and now you have to go through it from the beginning and actually, you know, make real words happen. I wrote three or four drafts of the first chapter and wasn’t happy with any of it, so I took a step back and reevaluated my process again. The way I decided to approach each chapter after that little setback was similar to how I approached the story as a whole: outline, break each chapter up into scenes or “mini-arcs”, and focus my attention on each so I wouldn’t try to move too fast or do too much. Focusing on smaller pieces of a whole also helps me keep the pacing of the entire story in check, because I’m forced to finish a complete sequence of events before moving on to another, and so on. You can’t jump around or skip large chunks of events, because you’re locked into that one scene.
  5. Research! Half the fun of building a world or writing dialogue or creating characters is getting into it all. If you’re invested in learning, you’ll be invested in writing. I once spent a week learning basic French grammar just to do four lines of dialogue for a character, and holy crap that was fun! Knowledge is empowering, and it can give you the push you need to move forward though uncertainty. (And you’ll never be without a conversation starter if your head is filled with random facts about post-harvest vegetable storage on organic farms.)
  6. Another thing that really helps me is music. This might sound kind of corny, but I love AMVs and movie trailers, so what I’ll do is find a few songs and listen to them while I’m driving or chilling. I’ll picture scenes based on how the music flows, or the lyrics, or the feel of the song itself. Hard dubstep like, say, “Into the Labrynth” by Kraddy? That’s going to be a battle scene. Each pounding bass drop is a swinging weapon, each lull in the melody is a pause in the action for dialogue, the big drop in the middle (around 3:00 I think) signals the rise of a new threat on top of the chaos. Soft acoustic like, maybe, “All I Want” by Stonefox? That’s a quiet morning, sun streaming through large windows; coffee steam and subtle glances and self-doubt. Watching someone else from a distance; exhaustion; resignation in the face of longing. You feel the change in the music, so you feel the movement of each scene. I spend almost as much time listening to music and planning things as I do writing stuff down, I think.
  7. I write every day. This might just be something I do because I want to write professionally–like, writing is pretty much my whole life right now. But I start with a quick writing exercise to warm up my creative juices and then set to work on whatever project I’m going to do for the day. Even if I don’t make it to the “real” writing because I get distracted or something happens, I’ve at least done something to stay in practice, and to stay in my mental “writing place” if that makes any sense. I’ve trained myself to expect that part of my daily routine, so actually sitting down to type the story out isn’t such a burden anymore. Writing exercises are also good if you’re not sure how to write a scene, a series of actions, a feeling, dialogue, or describe a character/setting. Isolate that thing, whatever it may be, and practice it. A few of my shorter stories are actually just writing exercises that I liked enough to put up on Ao3.
  8. Don’t beat yourself up if you get stuck. Writer’s block happens to everyone. What’s important is that you don’t dwell on it, and don’t let it suck you in. I deal with writer’s block by powering through and writing, writing, writing until stuff starts flowing the way I want it to, but don’t be afraid to take a break. Do something else for a week, write a one-shot or two (emphasis on one-shot; don’t start another big project if you’re stumped with something you’re seriously determined to finish–that will shift your focus, and that’s the opposite of what you want), or write a different part of the same story. Getting burned out sucks, but it happens. What’s important is that you don’t dwell on it.
  9. Settle into a “writing routine”. This will help you mentally. I already mentioned that I do warmups every time I write, but I also have a few other things that help me get in the zone. I drink two cups of coffee while I’m doing my warmup, and I have a pitcher of water that I’m constantly refilling a glass from while I work. I make the same sandwich every time I’m really pushing through (toast, pepper jack cheese, sliced avocado, lime juice, chili powder) if I need a short break. I sit in the same spot every time I write, I block tumblr on both Firefox and Chrome, etc, etc. This will help you fall into the groove faster, and make the process less painful.
  10. Don’t worry about what people are going to think of your story. I know sometimes getting no comments or only a few kudos on the first chapter can be discouraging, but remember to write for you and not anyone else. It’s easier said than done, definitely, but sometimes stuff like that takes time. Push through the self-doubt if you have to, and look at what you’re doing as means to improve your skills if you’re not getting the attention you want right now. The readers will come. Heck, if you send me your story, I’ll read it! It’s not always immediate, but it will happen.
  11. Have fun, homie. If it’s not fun, don’t do it. Write what you want. Write things that make you laugh, write things that make you cry. Put yourself into your story, and it will shine through. Your triumphs, your failures, your flaws, your achievements, your sense of humor–the whole nine yards. And if you do that, you won’t have to worry about losing motivation, because you’re doing what you love.

I hope this answers your question, or at least helps a little. I tried my best to cover most of the basis and include things I’ve learned over the years, and I might reblog this at some point if I think of anything else. Don’t hesitate to ask if you ever need help with anything.

I send all of my love and encouragement your way, and I’m really proud of you for taking on a big writing project! Good luck!! <3

Week 75 - Violent Femmes by Violent Femmes

Guest Listener - J.K Rowling

Who’s J.K Rowling when she’s at home?

I write novels and screenplays. For light relief, I get into rows about politics on Twitter.

Jo’s Top 3 albums ever?

1. Revolver, The Beatles. 

2. Broken English, Marianne Faithful. 

3. Changes daily. Yesterday it was White Light, White Heat by the Velvet Underground. Today it’s Hozier by Hozier

What great album has she never heard before?

Violent Femmes by Violent Femmes

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Guilt and Forgiveness in Outlander

A long while back, @aruza83 and I had a chat about the ways that guilt and forgiveness are addressed in the Outlander series and I’ve had it sitting in my drafts as something to write an analysis about since then. Part of why it’s taken me so long to get around to it is that it’s addressed from so many perspectives and angles, it’s proving a difficult subject to get a coherent handle on. There are the aspects in the books that speak to various religious doctrines and practices; there’s the question of the guilt one feels versus the responsibility one bears; there’s forgiveness of others and how that differs from forgiveness of oneself. 

So rather than try to condense this subject down into one massive post, I’ve decided instead to examine some of my favorite scenes in the books (and possibly the show) that address these topics in a series of posts. (And yes, I do still have a few unfinished analysis series in my drafts that I promise I will eventually get back to but also, feel free to send more ideas, questions, etc. to my inbox or send me a message via chat).

To start, I’m going back to the end of the first book. 

Claire’s Confession

I think that it’s interesting that in the book, Claire makes her confession to Father Anselm after she ransoms Jamie’s soul while the show chose to place that scene before she gets through to Jamie and pulls him back. As someone who was raised (but has since lapsed) in Catholicism, this placement afterwards feels like a more natural position for this scene and its relationship to everything else in this part of the book. Once Jamie is on the mend, Claire can finally let herself process everything that has happened and begin to really feel the guilt of what she had to do in the process of saving him from Wentworth and the role her actions and her choices made in how events came about. It is a chapter of their lives that Claire is looking to move on from and Confession with the promise of an absolution is one way that she might begin moving forward. 

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Good Luck Charm {Part 2}

I would just like to say. Thank you so much for the amazing support I had from Part 1. I couldn’t believe the amount of support I was receiving! Thank you all so much <3


Part 1 < Here 

Imagine Jensen is single in this. No hate towards Danneel and JJ and they’re *coming soon* additions, love them all. This is just for fun. This was saved in my draft, unfinished. Decided to finish it. Hope you guys enjoy.

Jensen X reader

word count;  2134

Summary: The reader attends her first Spn convention, expecting it to be it to be her once in a lifetime opportunity to finally meet her favourite TV stars. The cast of Supernatural. But is her good luck charm more than just a silly good luck phenomenon or is it density.

All the way down to the lobby, You stood there in the elevator, stunned, unable to move due to the previous overwhelming event. You tried so hard to move or to even say a word. Nothing. Mouth Dry. The muscles in your body weren’t responding. You felt numb. You just met Jensen Freaking Ackles. He just gave you his Shirt! And he called you Beautiful. You kept replaying that memory back in your head. Making sure you were never to forget this moment.

It also seemed that you were in a dream,-  for example, you know how TV shows or movies portray a dream, with all the bright lights and what not, well this was exactly what you were experiencing -  ( and plus, the lights in the elevator wasn’t helping much either. Bright as Heaven, they were )

You were lucky that the elevator ride was a long one. This gave you enough time to gather yourself and to return yourself to you normal state. If “ Normal” Meant being a crazy fangirl, then yes, Back to your normal state.

The door to the elevator slid open revealing a very happy (Y/F/N). A huge smile was drawn across her face. She stood there like she needed the bathroom, Fidgeting - she was more or less, Hopping in one place - her knuckles clenched.

In your mind, you were trying to figure out what triggered her to release this, active and jumpy side of her. ( Any bets it was “Her Dean”, the boy she ditched you for) .

You stepped out of the elevator, With a very confused and a *go on, tell me face*, to be honest, she wasn’t giving you much to work with here, the only thing you were getting from her was whether she needs the toilet or not.

‘Do you need the toilet or….’ You trailed off, waiting for her to fill you in on the details .

Waiting for her response, Her smile just got bigger and bigger, while also her fidgeting become more of an explosive jump. Jumping straight into your arms, she wrapped her floppy arms around you. Giggling like a little school girl.

'Woo! Something has definitely set you off!’ You laughed furrowing your eyebrows.

'Dean…I mean Sam!…..’ she began (already you were lost ) 'The guy that I ran off with…The one dressed up as Dean…..His name is Sam, Ironic really, you would have thought he would have gone as Sam….But anyways ways, we hit it off so well! And….’ She stopped in her tracks 'Oh my god, I can’t believe I ditched you for him, I am so sorry! I know, I know Sisters before Misters’ (Y/F/N) apologised.

She was really the type of character that was all bubbling,  energetic, all sunshine and rainbows.

'Hey! It’s okay, Plus if you hadn’t ditched me then I wouldn’t have met….Um, Jensen Ackles’ You lingered on making it seem like it was any casual meet up, but really you were just messing with her, you were honestly still freaking out inside. Her ears seemed to twitch as if she was a deer detecting danger. She followed you like a stray puppy to the hotel’s restaurant  . You turn back to catch a glimpse of her reaction. She was hunched over, her arms dangling in front of her and her mouth wide open, her eyes were darting all around your face.

'You, You, M-Met, Jensen Ackles she stuttered. Her voice rose to an octave when saying his name, practically a squeal.

'Yes, I met “Jensen Ackles you mimicked her reaction

'How are you holding up so well? This wouldn’t be your normal reaction’ (Y/f/N) pointed out. I mean she had a point, usually,  by now you would have probably  exploded into space due to how hyper you would have been.

'Let’s just say, the ride down the elevator was long, giving me enough time to extract all of my *internal fangirling* so all the fangirling I did Was on the inside And trust me, I  was a freaking mess You chuckled  and to be honest, It was hard!, internally fangirling was not easy, to be able to contain yourself when in the face of your beloved actors.

You pretty much used up all your fangirling juice the whole time you were with Jensen. But there might be some after efforts, like a little giggle here and there. Nothing too crazy.

(Y/F/N) and You both made your way to the Hotel Resturant. Settling down with your food, you told the whole story to her, from the very point where Jensen Spilt he’s coffee over you, down to the point where he gave you his “Batman” Shirt! Which (Y/F/N) was really really Jealous about. She asked if she could touch it and smell it! Yep, that’s (Y/F/N), good old creepy fan girl! After you told her the story she said and I quote “This is some Tumblr Fan-Fic shit right here” those 7 words set you off like a waterfall! You couldn’t help yourself but laugh. Tears of laughter were rolling down your cheeks. Man, I guess she was right, It does sound too good to be true! But you already checked….This moment, this life…All real!

'Now hurry up, We don’t want to miss tonight’s Karaoke, now do we?’ You asked, not really needing an answer, as your question was already answered due to (Y/F/N) devouring her steak in rapid time.

In under 2 minutes, (Y/F/N) was done, Yes you timed her! And it was her personal best too! You and (Y/F/N) headed your way to the hall! You were waiting in line for the hall to be opened up.

You were Facing a - now - very very Jumpy (Y/F/N), - oh god, something has set her of again! - You rolled your eyes playfully, nodding her off!

'No, No, don’t you dare Nod me off (Y/N)(Y/L/N), Not before you see this!’ You were confused to what she was indicating to.

She turned you around so you were facing the other side of the hallway you were waiting in and there he was. Jensen Ackles! Standing on the other side of the room chatting with Jared! So perfect! (Y/F/N) didn’t really help much as she made you noticeable as hell, with her hands waving about everywhere direction known to man, she finally caught the attention of Jensen and Jared from the corner of their eyes. Jensen’s Smile grew bigger when he finally noticed it was you. You gulped, your body started to shake. It was hard for you to keep still, Every body part twitching. It was also hard to break eye contact with Jensen, with every passing second his gaze would dig deeper into you, making it harder to resist .  You were mesmerised by his smile to even notice that (Y/F/N) was actually tapping you on your shoulder for your attention. His smile gave you a feeling that would trigger every muscle in your body to flutter. The laughter lines that were visible to see were starting to appear, something you found very cute. You were again in your Dream like state, everything around you felt lighter, you felt like you were drifting among clouds. The only thing that brought you back to reality was the feeling of (Y/F/N) violently shaking you!

'Heyy!!!!! What I was saying is……Jensen is looking at you’ You turned back around to face her once again. Man, you loved (Y/F/N) but sometimes she could be a bit slow

You just stood there, giving her the biggest smile ever! Well, if it wasn’t for her then you wouldn’t be here in the first place!

You twisted back round to where Jensen and Jared were. Jensen must have whispered something to Jared as it cause him to look up and smile directly towards your direction,  followed shortly after by a wink from Jensen. Okay, so at this very point your insides were bursting with butterflies and fireworks. After having the boy’s mentally abuse your mind,- how did they abuse you?- well, the intense stares from Jensen didn’t make you relax, it only caused you to think unholy thoughts and the fact that Jared was Teasing Jensen about you wasn’t helping either. But, lucky a bodyguard poked her head round the door to take the boys in. As they departed, you let out a sigh of relief, you were finally able to breathe again.

Walking into the great hall, your seats were located in the front! And to (Y/F/N)’s luck also Sam (Her Dean to her Castiel) was also in the front row! Get ready for some cheesy flirting, ladies and Gentlemen. 

The hall was starting to fill up fast and also, your excitement was starting to build up! Your foot began tapping on the floor, normally this meant that you were nervous as hell, but that’s the thing, why were you nervous? It was only karaoke, You just felt something else was going to happen, this being said, you were also stroking your good luck charm! this calmed your nerves down a bit.

(Y/F/N) noticed ,of course, - being the concerned and the over protective friend she is!- 

‘Hey! Its fine, I’m here!’ She gave you a sweet smile ‘And if that doesn’t make you feel any better, Jensen is just over there!’ she pointed out near the end of the stage. Not wanting to follow her direction you gave her an *I can’t believe you look*

‘Really, you had to go and ruin a perfectly sweet BFF moment’ you snickered

‘I wasn’t ruining it! I was making it better! Like I’m going to make it better again! Because here comes Jensen!!…..And he’s got his freaking Guitar!’ instantly after she jumps from her seat and started cheering like mad, moments later you joined her and the rest of the room.

As Jensen made his way to the stage, all you could hear were roars and cheers coming from every direction, You screamed your lungs out! ( resulting in your voice being sore afterwards)

Jensen chuckled due to the overwhelming support he was receiving, mouthing the words ‘Thank you’

‘Hiya, Guys! Wow! Thank you so much, It feels amazing being here! being in the presence of you guys is just incredible!’ an explosion of ‘Wows’ and cheers waved through the room. ‘Now this first song, this was a last minute thing, but I’m going to be singing ‘Crazy love’ *shit did he just say, Crazy Love, * a thunder of applaud bounced through the room. Everyone in the hall started to sing along to the lyrics.

You looked up from playing with your fingers and all you could see was him giving you a soft loving smile, you could almost see the twinkling in his eyes. Other than him, you didn’t take in anything else, the cheering of the people around you, it was all a numb sound. Time stood still but you and Jensen Still carried on going. The time you spent during the song, Exchanging stares, sharing smiles, Jensen almost forgot his words when you started biting your lips. The experience was delightful! You didn’t want it to end…But sadly things must come to an end. As Jensen finished his song one more finally applaud rang through the room.

‘Thank you, all so much, And I’ll see you tomorrow!’ he waved as he departed from the stage, giving you one last look.

The rest of the evening was then handed to the ‘Kings of Con’ Rob and Rich. Besides Jensen, Jared and Misha, they were your favourites

‘Hey, Rob! I would who that lucky lady was that Jensen was Eyeing up!’ Richard spoke confidently through the mic

‘Well, whoever it was, you lucky shit! I had dibs’ This gained a huge roar of laughter from the audience and yourself.

The rest of the evening was filled with laughter and enjoyment, as you sang along to some ‘Supernatural Impala Hits’ …That’s how Rob described the songs. Many of which was ‘Wanted Dead or Alive’ Which by the way was one of your favourite songs of all time, so you were practically belting out every single word, you weren’t only singing the words but also humming the beat and singing the backing vocals and guitar solos. To finish off the night. We all sang the fandoms Anthem ‘Carry on my wayward son’ To be honest, this moment was actually really  emotional, that fact that everyone in the room had such a strong love for the same interest as you, it blew you away. Everyone united in a family! What you loved most about this Fandom.

Making your way up to the room, you couldn’t get the picture of Jensen’s smile out of your mind, not that you wanted to anyways. The way he looked at you, with soft eyes, laughter lines that would appear every time he smiled. The way his eyes would light up whenever you looked at him, or the time he would hang his head shyly whenever he got a response or attention  from you.

So you laid there in bed, replaying! All of what happened today just one more time before you slowly drifted off to sleep, wondering if Jensen was thinking about you too! And he was.


Sorry, this was such a boring chapter! I promise that they’ll be more excitement in the next chapters to come - plus I’m really tired haha! It’s coming up to 1 am here! Lol. Hope you enjoyed! Love you all x

Tags - 

@dancingalone21 @jensen-girl @catstielanddeanthedog @111supernatural-loves-pie111 @maileann

Densi Ficlet - Finding the Flow

The sun had just started to sink closer to the horizon, the change in angle causing its rays to splash and splatter across the landscape with a hint of something truly golden. It wasn’t dark yet - they probably had about another hour before it was really even twilight - but the western sky had started to take on that distinctive glow signaling the end of yet another day in LA.

Kensi was sitting on the edge of the unused pool, her legs dangling below her into empty air, her sneakered heels tapping out an absentminded and inconstant rhythm against the pool’s concrete wall. At first, she’d objected when Deeks had told her that she wouldn’t actually be getting on a skateboard today (“You said you’d teach me. How can I learn if I can’t get on a board?”), but Deeks had been infuriatingly firm about it (“Kens…you may be double-black-diamond rated…on, uh, snow…but it’s better to start out slower on this. I’ll show you some of the basic elements today, and we’ll get you on one next time. Trust me.”). And she did. Trust him, that is.

And so she sat.

And waited. And watched.

Oh boy did she watch.

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