from hate

how is it possible that i have all four books of the raven cycle, eight sticks of sealing wax, a fortune cookie, a newspaper clipping from 1920, a map of India, and a plane ticket from 2009 in my backpack and yet, not one pen

“you look like billy ray cyrus”

so Ezra, Spencer, and Wren all walk into an airport bar...

that’s it. that’s the whole joke.

its Wednesday again, which means there’s only 2 days left until a new episode of PD101 and that means only 2 days left to prepare my heart for the eliminations and- I’M. NOT. READY.

When you see this post an excerpt from your Wip

“It’s kind of a superstition thing too, I guess. Especially around here,” Louis pumps out another slab of sand, the yabbies curling around it instantly, beginning to burrow back underground. Harry dips forward to grab them. “It’s good luck to fish during the king tide, usually at night. It’s supposed to bring us closer to the water and, like, basically sync us up with the sealife? The king tide is kind of the reset of the ocean’s cycle, I guess. It sounds really weird, but. Yeah.”

There’s a yabbie wriggling between Harry’s fingers, and it nips at him when he doesn’t put it down, too busy staring up at the boy in front of him, who’s gone quiet and flushed even in the dark. He makes a tiny sound of pain and flicks it into the bucket, feeling momentarily guilty when it makes an odd, gentle whack. Louis is watching him, leant against the pump, the two of them angled together under moonlight.

“I like all your little traditions,” Harry says softly. “I can tell you love this place.”

“I do,” Louis says, gaze not wavering. “There’s lots to love about it.”

They’re silent for a beat, Louis blinking slowly down at him, water lapping against the sand in the distance, waves whispering lullabies. Slowly, they pull their eyes away and focus on the sand before them, on the yabbies wiggling and sliding through the tiny puddles of water. Down the beach, small clusters of townsfolk dot the edges of the inlet, leant over their pumps and crouched down in their own search.

Harry falls into one of these moments again, the same kind of moment he had watching Louis on the surf, the desperation to understand everything, and the fear at the realization he never can. This is Louis giving up something private to this place, giving up tradition for him, opening up to a stranger. And it’s so strange, because to Harry, it’s just pumping yabbies, when really, it’s so much more than that. The feeling comes when he can’t explain why.

The bucket thumps against his side as he carries it back towards the waves, and they sit up in the seagrass and watch the stars before they climb the cliffside, shiny and startling by the thousands, the clear night chipping away the rocks of it’s cave, showing the glistening diamonds hidden underneath. Harry stretches his fingers across the sand slowly, joins them with Louis’ without saying a word, toes tucked into the cool grains, ocean breeze whispering around the exposed skin of his damp wrists.

“I love it here, too,” he says eventually, neck craned upwards at the silky aura of the moon.

Louis leans against his side and links their arms together, nuzzling his cheek against his shoulder. He doesn’t say anything, and Harry tries not to read the tightness of his grip and the smudge of his lips against his clothed shoulder blade as then don’t leave.

im!!!!! so mad!!!!!! i forgot what a total shitshow comp is bc literally every time we lose someone blames it on me (the girl) regardless of what im playing. literally had some shitlord start bitching asking me why I was healing lucio and im like????? bc he needs healing???? god and even when they’re not being assholes there’s the ones who immediately suck up and friend me halfway through the match and defend my honor like thanks I don’t need it tho

4

100 Days of Love → 9/100

BONCAs 2016 - British Creator Of The Year

8

Clay… H e l m e t. Your name does not belong on this list. But you need to be here if I’m going to tell my story. If I’m going to explain why I did what I did. Because you aren’t every other guy. You’re different. You’re good. And kind. And decent. And I didn’t deserve to be with someone like you. I never would. I would’ve ruined you.

I miss you. I won’t admit that to your face, or over text, but right now my heart feels like it’s shattering over and over again and I just want you right now.
—  An excerpt from a book I’ll never write. (#60)