i just wanted to write out my thoughts as they occurred to me

She’s love in all of its most hateful forms.

She’s this hurricane that takes over
But not because she wants to
Or cares to
Because believe me she doesn’t.
It’s just that the plates beneath
The world have shifted
And she’s the only answer.

She never came to destroy,
Devastation wasn’t part of her plan
But unlike the natural disasters that
The obliteration of my home
And my soul occurs after she leaves.
That’s when I realize the mess she left in her wake.
And I’m dumbfounded to realize
I want her back.
Because she destroyed walls I built
Buildings I had placed
That had only blocked my view.
She tore everything down
Not out of hatred or jealousy
But out of love.

She’s love in all of its most hateful forms.
Reminding me that in the end
Love is the only thing that matters.

And when opposing versions of air
She’s forced to take over.
Forced to remind us
That brokenness doesn’t destroy us
But rather, saves us.
When all these broken people join
Because of her, they don’t break each
Other more. They don’t rip at each other’s seams and demand justice in wrong forms.
No, they join and and offer each other what the world should have years ago-
A chance to rebuild.
A chance to mend what has been broken with people who understand
Their pain and loss.

She was so many so called “disasters”
She was the hurricanes and tornadoes.
But to me, she was just a lifesaver.
A reminder that sometimes
Everything gets broken,
But there’s a reason we’re
Still standing.

She never destroyed me,
She built me.
Crafted me with the splintered wood,
With the shattered glass,
With the charred remains
Left in her absence.
She built me after my life seemed gone,
And while she cost me,
It is I who can never repay her.

- To a leaving friend

Do you remember when you told me that life on Earth is a miracle? You explained how we are exactly the right distance from the sun and on exactly the right angle for rain to be rain and air to be air, for plants to grow and for animals to breathe, to eat, to live. Ever since then I’ve realised that the world is full of all these unexpected little wonders that have a one in a million chance of actually occurring. And I’ve learnt not to take them for granted. So I just wanted you to know, that out of all the many miracles that I’ve stumbled across, you are by far my favourite.
Arrow Minific: Fighting the Urge

Summary: Felicity always thought she was a good student–but she’s never had a teacher as distracting as Oliver.

[Just a fun little idea that occurred to me, because apparently I have a thing for Oliver explaining fighting techniques–but for the record I know nothing about fighting, so I’m sure this is woefully inaccurate. :)]


Under any other circumstances, Oliver’s firm grasp on her hips would fill her with liquid heat and melt her against him with a throaty sigh.

Now, Felicity huffs out a frustrated breath and glares at him.

“I know,” she argues as his arms jerk her hips to the side, her feet stumbling to maintain her stance on the mats. “I got it.”

“You keep turning forward—opening yourself up to a hit.” He brushes the knuckles of his curled fist gently against her stomach for just a moment, before stepping back. “Okay, this time, keep that back foot back, staying to the side—makes you an even smaller target, which is already an advantage you should use.”

She doesn’t say anything, eyes narrowing as she shakes the loose strands of hair out of her eyes, and then he’s settling into his own stance. When he’d walked in bare-chested wearing just a pair of dark sweatpants, she’d raised her eyebrows—and he’d grinned, saying training with distraction was essential. She thought maybe, judging by the way his eyes lingered on her pink spandex top and snug yoga pants, she provided a bit of distraction in return.

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And Where You’d Gone (11x18 Coda)

It occurred to me that Dean doesn’t know what happened inside Cas’ head, and then my hand slipped. Oops.

Dean/Cas, 3.5k

He could tell that Sam had wanted to say something else, and changed his mind halfway through. He could see the thought brewing in his brother’s eyes even while they talked about their new resolution. It hit Dean in the gut like pity, like an anvil of careful compassion that he just couldn’t bear right now. Sam had never said anything about it out loud, about the knowing looks and pitying expressions, but there was a first time for everything, and Dean didn’t really want to deal with the touchy-feely bullshit right now. It was bad enough that he felt the night sinking through him like a stone; he couldn’t bear to talk about it as well.

He focused on their impromptu game and avoided Sam’s eyes.

“I’m gonna crash,” Sam said after a while. Dean grunted, lining up another shot at his beer bottle pins. He saw Sam get up out of the corner of his eye, but didn’t look up for the inevitable expression on his face. He just fidgeted with the baseball, getting ready to bowl.

Sam paused next to his shoulder. “Dean-” he began.

The beer bottles crashed to the ground, two of them shattering on impact. He’d rolled the ball too hard this time.

Dean swallowed. “What?” he said, as if he didn’t know what Sam was about to say.

Sam sighed. “Nothing,” he said. “Goodnight.”

“Yup,” Dean said, getting up to get the broom. “‘Night.”

He paused in the doorway to the kitchen. His stomach grumbled, reminding him that he hadn’t eaten since this morning. Unless he felt like running out for groceries or munching on leftover coffee grounds, he wouldn’t be eating anything tonight either. He hadn’t been too eager to cook much, lately. Not since… Well. The food all tasted like the ashes of holy fire anyway, no matter how much he pretended to enjoy it.

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Power Outage - Steggy

“And how exactly was it that you were outside the office exactly when the blackout occurred?” Peggy asked for the third time since entering Steve’s apartment.  

Steve stuttered around for a moment before finding his bearings.  “I just thought I’d meet you a little earlier.  It’s not like I was doing anything today to keep me busy.  It was sheer luck I was there when everything went out.  I just wanted to make sure you got out of there with no hassle.”

She made a questioning noise as she rounded the table but her face was playful.  

“Oh yes.  That man with the cane and the limp looked quite treacherous,” she teased.  “Frankly, I’m amazed I made it off the streets with my life.  And that woman with her toddler…”

Steve pointed a peanut butter lathered butter knife at her, his brows raised with a threat he didn’t feel.  He knew his smirk was a dead giveaway anyway.

“Look here, smart ass.”

“Ooh, such language,” Peggy pouted.  “And to think I let you kiss me with that mouth.”

“Every day if I can.”

She leaned closer as Steve leaned down to press a kiss to his lips in appreciation.

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An Open Letter to You:

After the last Night of Asking, and this lovely ask in particular, it occurred to me that what I have here with all of you is something very special. I mean, I’ve always known that, but every now and then it hits me again, afresh, just how very incredible this whole thing is. I’ve finally figured out why.

I’m not a big blog. When it comes to follower count for writing advice blogs, pretty much every single other one out there has a higher number. To me, this is a strength. The smaller I am, the more time I’m able to take with each of you, the more thought I’m able to put into your questions, and the more help I’m able to give. Too big, and I’d be overwhelmed with fantastic writers all needing help and attention, and if I wanted to continue doing things the way I do, I would have to dedicate every inch of outside time to uphold my end of the bargain. As it is right now, I spend an average of two hours a day working on things for this blog. That’s a very manageable number for me. Obviously some days are more intensive and others less so, but it’s only able to be that way because of you. I’ve really got a lousy personality for something like this blog in terms of management: I get self-conscious about my style (which is not at all the same as my prose-writing style and much closer to how I speak); I get anxious about the reception of posts; I get guilty when I’m not able to stick to the schedule that I’ve set up. You all are so gracious and good to me in all of those regards, but what I think most fondly about are the moments where life beats me in the face and I have to take a day–sometimes a week!–to myself. Every time I’ve had to move a post or an event or take an unexpected leave of absence, you all are right there comforting me, uplifting me, and reassuring me that you all understand and want the best. I am so grateful for that every time, because my personality in those moments tells me I’m trash and not good enough, and you all remind me I’m human and it’s okay. I couldn’t do this without that, honestly. It keeps me going.

Being as small as I am gives me so much freedom. I can change up the schedule without people throwing hissy-fits; I can do a post series on something obscure and nobody gets annoyed; I can try different types of posts and no one demands justification. It gives me the freedom to do, well, me.

My writing advice is different. It’s not how-to guides and it’s not laws and it’s not “do this when you have this situation” like most popular writing blogs give. I know that’s what people look for–writers especially when they’re lost feel the need for someone to give a definitive walk-through to help guide them. I don’t do that. My advice is more like “things to think about.” It’s the “consider this,” and “it could go this way or that.” There are no rules to writing aside from a couple of basic grammar ones that can be broken when style dictates it. Life isn’t an if-then statement, there isn’t one way to do anything. There’s always options, even when we feel like there aren’t. Things can turn out different from the textbook example, and with logical reasoning behind them, those different outcomes are entirely valid. I don’t tell people, “If this situation comes up, this is what would happen.” I can’t, in good conscience. There are a thousand ways it could go, so here are some things to think about that should help you come to a logical solution.

That’s my philosophy on giving advice. I try to expose you to different ways of thinking and different ways that things get put together and different worldviews, but in the end, it’s always up to you how you go about creating your story. My advice tends to reflect that. Some folks are really looking for those how-to guides. They want those crutches to lean on and find answers in. I don’t give those, which means that I don’t attract the attention in the community. That’s okay. I’m just fine with that. That any of you are here at all says that there are some writers out there looking for the things to consider. I count you all as very special writers–the ones full of a sparkling imagination that just needs a spark to help it flare to life. I count you as thinkers and dreamers and wonderers who want nothing more than to create their own stories from deep within themselves. You are knowledge-seekers and experimenters, unabashedly unafraid to try new things, learn new things, consider new things and write with abandon. I treasure you and your enthusiasm, your willingness and your adventurous spirits.

Thank you for being with me and giving my strange style of advice a chance.
Thank you for reminding me that I am strong, capable, and human.
Thank you for sharing yourselves with me,
Your most sincere mod,