i am now complete

anonymous asked:

congrats on your first fic! please never stop writing!!!!!!!

nonnie why u so cute???? Thank you! I’m actually writing chapter two right now so I will continue writing! I am completely overwhelmed with how much love and support I’ve gotten and I am so greatful to have such lovely friends that encourage me, it feels good to be writing again. And showing it to people for once!

Originally posted by kasugano

[said while barely holding back tears] honestly this is fine and i am completely unaffected right now, currently, as we speak

anonymous asked:

Random reminder that I remember you.

Nonnie, listen, I know this was meant as a message for me but I can’t help but think about Stiles being forgotten by everyone. Everyone except Derek who called Scott after a nightmare to check up on everyone and is more than a little concerned to be met with who? when he finally plucks up the courage to ask how Stiles is. 

And so, somehow, he finds a way to send messages to Stiles in that dark, lonely place. He doesn’t actually know he’s sending them but when he dreams, he dreams of Stiles. Sees him, trapped and scared and vulnerable - although he can never reach him, no matter how fast he runs. Instead, he pictures himself writing messages on walls, on the inside of books, on discarded pieces of paper; all in the hopes Stiles might see them. 

All the same message: I remember you.

Stiles begins to see them everywhere. They give him hope, hope he’s not lost. Hope that he’s not so easily forgotten as he had always feared, even before he fell down this rabbit hole. And yeah, he doesn’t know it’s Derek. Maybe it’s a trick, or maybe it’s his dad or Scott, but there is something, something, he can feel; something that boils his blood and soothes it in the same breath, and it reminds him so badly of Derek that he shakes with it, remembering the day Derek left. Remembering that night, when Derek slid through his bedroom window, still not gone (knocking first, Stiles noted fondly at the time) and hugged him. Just….hugged him. Tight.

Then, one night, Stiles catches the words being written on a door. He runs to it, tries desperately to grab the phantom hand writing as it goes along but he can’t and he wants to scream because the hand is warm but he can’t touch it, can’t even really feel it, but it’s there and it’s real and when he starts to cry, pushing his head against the door, the hand lingers long after it’s finished writing. 

Meanwhile, back in his old loft, Derek dreams of the boy he reluctantly came to care about; tries to hold him - can’t see him or feel him but he can smell him. Stiles’ scent calls to him in a way not even Cora’s does, in a way Laura’s never did. It’s only then Derek realises, waking with a jolt, that Stiles isn’t just his anchor; isn’t just some endearing asshole who confuses him to no end, who makes him want to bare his teeth and throat at the same time, but something more.

And there, lying in his old bed covered in sweat and regret after regret, feeling utterly helpless, Derek whines for his mate.  

okay, i’ve never posted this video on my tumblr, but right now is as good as anytime. this was back in early February i believe.
-
STORYTIME.

Okay so, apparently Diggs was in my city (Vegas) for a conference and stayed at the hotel that my dad works at - the Bellagio.
Now, my dad is a mini bar attendant there, which means he goes up to rooms and checks on alcohol, coffee, etc.
So he’s called up to this vacant room, and the person says “Come in !!”
And so he walks in, and he told the guy that he was just here to check on his alcohol and coffee. The guy goes “That’s fine, just give me a sec !” (or something like that)
And so while my dad was checking everything, the guy comes out, just buckling up his pants because he just finished taking a shower (can you IMAGINE - seeing him shirtless. IN THE FLESH. my dad said he’s still ripped. i mean. duh. when isn’t he ?¿ he better not stop being ripped tbh. oh wait, back to the stORY,,)
So my dad turns around.
Then the guy turns around.
Then gives him a smile.
Mind you, my dad’s also a fan of Diggs and Rafa, so he had to take a double take to realize that THIS was the dude.
Then my dad goes, “Hey, you’re Daveed Diggs !”
And then Daveed goes, “Yeah, man !” with THAT bright, big smile on his face (YOU KNOW THE ONE.)
Now, Daveed (and some of the obc probably) doesn’t really like to talk about Hamilton (which is understandable, I relate), so BLESS that my dad said “Yeah, my daughter’s a real big fan of you and Rafael’s music !” because then my dad told me that his eyes LIT. UP.
I would’ve died there.
And my dad told him that I’m corresponding with Rafa on some stuff and he tried to pull up my cover of his song, “Needle”, which was the first track that he emailed me so that I could cover it.
It couldn’t load, but nonetheless, now he knows I can sing (and hopefully soon, knows I rap), and that’s more than enough.
Now, at his work, whenever you come into contact with someone famous, you can’t get take a picture or a video with them, because then you could be in trouble.
But my dad also knew how much this meant to me.
So he decided ‘fuck it’ and asked Daveed if he could take a video or picture with him.
Daveed, being the sweet and nice person he is, said “Yeah, of course ! Let me just get a shirt on real quick” (oh, daveed. I’d still be happy even if you didn’t have your shirt on haha.)
((bonus ; Daveed told my dad that he told Rafa and everyone to come to Vegas but they couldn’t. My dad said “Could you imagine if I got them in the same video ?? How cool would that be ???”))
-
so yeah. there’s the story of how i died one day because of THE Daveed Diggs.
s/o to Diggs, and to my dad, for being the realest and taking one for the team.
i’ve always wondered what my name would sound like if Daveed said it. AND NOW I FINALLY KNOW.
i’m asking my friend to make the “Jazzy, what’s up ??” part into my ringtone.
i’m still so shook.
i’m never coming off of this high.

2

[11/100 days of productivity]

I am done with 273 cards for my final which is on Monday! I’ve already gone through 80% of it and I’m gonna ace it!

Feels like I improved myself in comparison to me two weeks ago. But on the other hand I know that I’d been more productive. Mixed feelings: I am better, but not good enough. Success and depression lol.
That means only one: keep going!

I changed my table’s location and now I am completely satisfied with my place <3

I also got a forest app today. Add me if you want: idocerra@gmail.com

Hopefully I won’t forget about this app as I paid for it.

anonymous asked:

Hey! Do you have any photos of your Dan and Phil charms + pins to show us? (my parents think you might scam us and want proof of the pins..)

I will only be able to show the proof of the charms+pins after pre-order period.
Its pre-order because thats when the merchandise is being manufactured.
I am hoping to get everything by the end of the month!
Here is a photo of my previous batch!

*note* THE PHOTO IS FROM THE PREVIOUS BATCH
the size is different now and same goes for the charm holder!
(the only design available now is the bottom right corner)
here is my storenvy to pre-order charms!

Everything I ever write to you starts with I’m sorry, but I have nothing to be sorry for. It wasn’t our fault, we never wanted it to end this way. For so long I thought you didn’t care, that you never did. I know now that it was the complete opposite. What I am sorry for is that our timing wasn’t right. Maybe if the leaves weren’t falling and the world was alive instead of dying we could have been right.
—  You’re never going to see this but I want you to know, I forgive us// 4am

ifeelbetterer  asked:

Gotg prompt: how did Rocket learn to speak Groot?

“Repeat after me, Quill: I am Groot.”

“I am Groot,” Peter said dutifully. He felt like an idiot, but there were only a limited number of ways to while away quiet nights on the ship when neither of them could sleep. If it was him and Gamora, or him and Drax, they could spar, but he’d only tried sparring with Rocket once. It took weeks for the bite marks to heal.

Rocket’s oddly expressive – for a raccoon – face wrinkled in an expression of disgust. “Do you even hear yourself? That is nothing like what I just said.”

“Dude, that is exactly what you just said.”

“No, I said ‘I am Groot’ and you said ‘I am Groot’.”

“Which is … the same?”

Rocket stared at him for a long moment, then pointed at his snout. “Read my lips: I am Groot.”

“Was I supposed to repeat that, or …”

Rocket showed some teeth. Peter shut up. There was a moment of silence and Peter was just about to put his earbuds back in and quit with the language lessons when Rocket said suddenly, “Quill, if I say, 'I am Groot,’ just like that, what do you hear?”

“Is this a trick question? Especially the kind of trick question that’s gonna end in you pissing on my bed?”

“That was only once, and you had it coming –”

“Rocket –”

“No, for the love o’ cheese, it’s not a trick question. Just say 'I am Groot’.”

“I am Groot,” Peter said. “I feel like a complete jackass right now, in case that was your intent – hey, where are you going?”

“Jus’ need to get a thing!” Rocket’s voice trailed behind him.

Peter flopped back down in the chair in the mess and put his earbuds in. He was actually getting sleepy, and considering going back to bed, when Rocket jumped up onto the table in front of him with something clutched in his paws.

“What’s that?” Peter asked, sitting up. He palmed off the Zune and took off the earpieces. He had to hand it to Earth tech: the new music player was a lot more convenient to carry around than his late, lamented Walkman.

Rocket’s device was a thin, flat screen about the size of a hardback book; he had it clutched with a paw on each side while readouts rippled quickly across it.

“Okay, now say 'I am Groot’,” Rocket declared, studying the screen.

“Come on, man, do we really have to go through this again?”

“Humor me.”

Peter sighed and slouched in his chair. “I am Groot.”

Rocket’s ears pricked forward. “I am Groot,” he said, and tapped the display with his paw, causing the tiny, scrolling lines and numbers to freeze. “Did that sound the same to you?”

“Well … yeah?”

The flat pads of Rocket’s fingers danced across the display, and he laid the screen on the table between them. “Know what you’re lookin’ at?”

“Squiggly lines,” Peter said automatically.

“Did your mama drop you on the head a lot as a baby, Quill?”

“No, but Yondu did occasionally.” Peter rested his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand. As much fun as it was to mess with Rocket, he did actually think he knew what the raccoon was getting at. “That wiggly line is some kind of … uh … noise – wiggle – curve, right?”

“That’s real precise.”

“I was abducted from Earth before we got to algebra in school. Cut me some slack here.”

“Excuses, excuses. I was raised in a cage and my mother had an IQ of 3.” Rocket touched the display, zooming in on it. “Point is, I don’t think it’s just that all a’ you two-legged bunch is too obtuse to understand perfectly clear speech –”

“Thanks.”

“– like I used to think. It’s more like, my ears hear at higher and lower frequencies than yours do, so I get different overtones. Put simply for the simple, I can hear things you can’t.”

Peter leaned forward, intrigued. “So, wait – you mean all this time, all his 'I am Groot’s sound different to you?”

He realized what he’d said as soon as the words left his mouth, and got the flat 'I am dealing with morons’ look from Rocket that he’d instantly realized he had coming. “How am I supposed to understand him if they don’t, Quill, I ask you?”

“Okay – point – but … so why does it sound like 'I am Groot’ to the rest of us?”

“It sounds like 'I am Groot’ to me too.” When Peter glowered at him, Rocket held up a paw. “No, I ain’t messin’ with ya. This time. No, that’s what the translation unit picks up, 'cause it ain’t so smart about some of the less humanoid languages. It’s just, I hear it like …” He hesitated and waggled his paw. “It’s like your music, right? All those up and down tones at the same time. Groot can do that. Your throat, my throat, can’t.”

“Singing?” Peter said after a minute. “Groot’s singing?”

“I refer you back to the part about bein’ dropped on your head.” Rocket pursed his lips and let out a sharp whistle, making Peter jump – there was still some part of him that couldn’t quite hear whistling and not expect a death arrow to follow an instant later. And he might not be the only one, because Rocket stopped abruptly, closed his mouth, and then said, “Quill, do this,” and hummed softly.

It wasn’t really a tune. “You just want me to hum?” Peter asked. “Like, generic humming?”

Rocket curled his lip and the hum became more of a snarl.

“Right, humming,” Peter said hastily.

The funny thing was, the instant his soft hum of response hit the right harmonics with the note Rocket was humming (and the raccoon did have a good sense of pitch; Peter had always suspected so) he understood exactly what Rocket was getting at.

“Ohhhhh. When Groot talks, it’s like a symphony. Is that what you mean? And the 'I am Groot’ part is the part in the human audible range.”

Rocket’s ears and tail went up cheerfully. “Yeah, ezzactly. He’s tryin’ to communicate, it’s just he didn’t get any farther than 'I am Groot’ when he was learning. It’s as hard for him to do the talkin’ part for the translators as it is for you and me to do his kind of talk. He can hear us just fine, though. Actually to him, understanding our talk is dead easy.”

“So how do we understand him?” Peter asked. “Can you, I dunno, juice up the translator so it picks up a higher range of frequencies, or something?”

“I dunno. That’s not a bad idea.” Rocket tapped his claw against his teeth before picking up the screen thing and hopping off the table. “Have to think on it. Don’t wanna explode your heads or anything.”

“Yeah, well, on that lovely note, I’m goin’ to bed.” He actually was tired enough now to fall asleep in spite of the inevitable nightmares (the bitter cold and darkness of space; Ego’s face dissolving in his hands; his friends crushed by rocks or blown apart). The music helped as it always had, a melodic bulwark against the dark, wrapped gently around his heart – but it could only do so much.

Rocket grunted absently as he trotted off, already engrossed in figuring out the problem.

The thought occurred to Peter as he wandered back to his quarters, thumbing idly through the songs on the Zune, that these sorts of mechanical puzzles served the same purpose for Rocket as his music did for him: something to make his mind go quiet.

The music did that … and so did letting Gamora beat the stuffing out of him in the ship’s small exercise area. Or getting language lessons from Rocket. Or –

“I am Groot?”

Peter jumped as small hands grabbed hold of his pants leg. Groot shimmied quickly up to perch on his shoulder.

“Hey, little buddy.” Peter opened the door to his quarters and left it open so Groot could come and go as he wanted. Or so he could hear if anybody got into a fight or whatever. He flopped wearily on his unmade bed, careful not to dislodge Groot. “You know, I’m not sure how much of this you can understand right now, but Rocket’s teaching me to speak your language.”

“I am Groot?”

“Well, to understand you more than speak it, I guess I should say.” He was lying on his back now and he couldn’t really see Groot except out of the corner of his eye, but he could feel the little tree shifting around in the hollow where the collar of his sweatshirt rested against his neck.

“I am Groot,” Groot said insistently, almost in his ear. Small hands patted at the side of his face and his earlobe.

“Yeah, yeah.” Peter pinched one earbud between two fingers and held it where Groot could get at it. The little hands took it out of his fingers. Peter settled himself comfortably as Groot squirmed somewhat ticklishly against his neck, and sorted through the songs. “How 'bout Elton John tonight, buddy?”

“I am Groot,” came the sleepy answer.

“You know, little guy,” Peter murmured, as the first strains of the music began to play and Groot snuggled comfortably against his neck, “whether or not Rocket can get his new gadget working, I think we understand each other just fine, don’t we?”

“I am Groot!”

some people make me feel so worthless, it hurts sometimes, I just wish to sleep for over a week without dealing with anything.

A kiss

The first time they kiss James feels like a toddler discovering a new world, eyes wide with the astonishment of what it has to offer. He hopes that what he is doing is right - he has been kissed many a times before, true, but never quite like this. It is as if he has forgotten everything he knew before.

Thomas is all softness, but demanding at the same time, guiding where James is unsure and yet molding himself around him, instinctively adapting to James’ insecurity. James can feel him smiling into the kiss when his arms come up to pull Thomas closer. It’s as much daring as he can procure at the moment but it seems more than enough for now.

When they separate again Thomas doesn’t step away, his hands staying on James’ shoulders. He says nothing, simply smiles, and James feels something inside him give way as it never has before.

***

“I never thought you’d be such a chaste kisser,” Thomas laughs as James keeps planting kisses between his shoulder blades. They are in bed, limbs entangled in their sheets but leaving enough bare skin for James to spoil Thomas a little. “Miranda didn’t teach you much, did she?”

James only snorts and kisses Thomas’ back again, this time pulling a little with his teeth. Thomas’ skin tastes faintly of the previous night still, sweat and saltiness and that soft taste that is Thomas’ own. Thomas grins but he wriggles a little close to James, humming under his breath when the kisses grow longer and more forceful, travelling down the entire length of his back.

“She certainly tried to,” Flint finally murmurs and the deep laugh that it draws from Thomas makes his chest vibrate. It always feels like a wave that’s enveloping him, that sound of richness and warmth and he wants to feel himself surrounded by it forever.

***

There is a beard on Thomas’ lips now and for a moment James asks himself once more if he isn’t dreaming all this. But no - the rest of him feels still the same, as incredible as it seems. It is still Thomas, beneath the grime and sweat and the scars, visible as well as invisible, that have accumulated over the years apart. The familiarity makes James’ heart ache, but it is a good ache, like that of a seed pushing its way through what used to be a surface made of nothing but hard rock.

They are both more hesitant and more forceful now, filled with incredulity that this is truly happening. The first kiss is hesitant but grows more desperate and longing soon - neither of them can quite believe that this will last yet, so used are they to fate ripping their happiness out of their hands.

It takes years for them to realise that this time, it truly won’t, that each kiss is a gift that can be given over and over again. As many times as they want.

Me in middle school: I don’t get why girls make such a big deal over crushes. Like, I never get nervous around guys I like, and when I don’t want to have a crush I just stop liking them.

Me now: I am completely in love with this woman and I get so nervous I can’t speak. It’s been almost a year when will it end?!

2

from a mountain in the middle of the cabins // panic! at the disco

Suzy of the House Miller Announcement

Due to some personal desicions I have thought about for a while, I will be changing how I post on here. As of now, I am actively trying to complete a manuscript for “Suzy of the House Miller” to get it published (either through a publisher or self-published). 

The Good News: 

You can expect to see ‘Suzy of the House Miller’ as a full published story (release date still unknown, will post updates if new developments arise). It might have a name change and probably will have a different cover, but it’ll be Suzy and Cuddles.

The Bad News: 

I’ll be posting installments of it here less often. I’ll still post them from time to time, but I want a lot of the final published story to be previously unreleased, so readers can have more to look forward too. 

Other things I’ll still post:

- Story overviews

- Worldbuilding

- OC profiles

- Ask answers

- Other works that I have already written/ ar ein progress (most of my focus will be on Suzy, but I still have a decent amount of unreleased content).


I know most of you only care about ‘Suzy of the House Miller’ and probably don’t like this decision, but I hope you’ll respect my decision and possibly take an interest in my other works.

-Egg

So been awhile, it got bad, than worse now it seems to be settling down… for now. My sleep is completely fucked. I am up till 5 and 6am, sleeping on and off till like 5pm. Im restless, stressed. No one seems to notice. I am so nervous and scared all day long. I crave to be alone in my room. Cold and dark, light and sound just are too much lately. Between my panic and migrine it’s too much. Ugh. All I do is question life. Why am I like this? Why am I here? Why do I see the way I see? Why do I think the way I do? What’s the point? Why are some people okay and others not. I was “normal” once why can’t I go back? My soul is sleepy.

2

I’m crazy into black dusty backgrounds, the mother-son dynamic of Princess Leia and her son and Daughter lyrics … So I combine that shit.