i wanted to make a beautiful thing but it got shittier

Drafting: The Theory of Shitty First Drafts

Writing books often exhort you to “write a shitty first draft,” but I always resisted this advice. After all,

  1. I was already writing shitty drafts, even when I tried to write good ones. Why go out of my way to make them shittier?
  2. A shitty first draft just kicks the can down the road, doesn’t it? Sooner or later, I’d have to write a good draft—why put it off?
  3. If I wrote without judging what I wrote, how would I make any creative choices at all?
  4. That first draft inevitably obscured my original vision, so I wanted it to be at least slightly good.
  5. Writing something shitty meant I was shitty.

So for years, I kept writing careful, cramped, painstaking first drafts—when I managed to write at all. At last, writing became so joyless, so draining, so agonizing for me that I got desperate: I either needed to quit writing altogether or give the shitty-first-draft thing a try.

Turns out everything I believed about drafting was wrong.

For the last six months, I’ve written all my first drafts in full-on don’t-give-a-fuck mode. Here’s what I’ve learned so far:

“Shitty first draft” is a misnomer

A rough draft isn’t just a shitty story, any more than a painter’s preparatory sketch is just a shitty painting. Like a sketch, a draft is its own kind of thing: not a lesser version of the finished story, but a guide for making the finished story.

Once I started thinking of my rough drafts as preparatory sketches, I stopped fretting over how “bad” they were. Is a sketch “bad”? And actually, a rough draft can be beautiful the same way a sketch is beautiful: it has its own messy energy.

Don’t try to do everything at once

People who make complex things need to solve one kind of problem before they can solve others. A painter might need to work out where the big shapes go before they can paint the details. A writer might need to decide what two people are saying to each other before they can describe the light in the room or what those people are doing with their hands.

I’d always embraced this principle up to a point. In the early stages, I’d speculate and daydream and make messy notes. But that freedom would end as soon as I started drafting. When you write a scene, I thought, you have to start with the first word and write the rest in order. Then it dawned on me: nobody would ever see this! I could write the dialogue first and the action later; or the action first and the dialogue later; or some dialogue and action first and then interior monologue later; or I could write the whole thing like I was explaining the plot to my friend over the phone. The draft was just one very long, very detailed note to myself. Not a story, but a preparatory sketch for a story. Why not do it in whatever weird order made sense to me?

Get all your thoughts onto the page

Here’s how I used to write: I’d sit there staring at the screen and I’d think of something—then judge it, reject it, and reach for something else, which I’d most likely reject as well—all without ever fully knowing what those things were. And once you start rejecting thoughts, it’s hard to stop. If you don’t write down the first one, or the second, or the third, eventually your thought-generating mechanism jams up. You become convinced you have no thoughts at all.

When I compare my old drafts with my new ones, the old ones look coherent enough. They’re presentable as stories. But they suck as drafts, because I can’t see myself thinking in them. I have no idea what I wanted that story to be. These drafts are opaque and airless, inscrutable even to me, because a good 90% of what I was thinking while I wrote them never made it onto the page.

These days, most of my thoughts go onto the page, in one form or another. I don’t waste time figuring out how to say something, I just ask, “what are you trying to say here?” and write that down. Because this isn’t a story, it’s a plan for a story, so I just need the words to be clear, not beautiful. The drafts I write now are full of placeholders and weird meta notes, but when I read them, I can see where my mind is going. I can see what I’m trying to do. Consequently, I no longer feel like my drafts obscure my original vision. In fact, their whole purpose is to describe that vision.

Drafts are memos to future-you

To draft effectively, you need a personal drafting style or “language” to communicate with your future self (who is, of course, the author of your second draft). This language needs to record your ideas quickly so it can keep up with the pace of your imagination, but it needs to do so in a form that will make sense to you later. That’s why everyone’s drafts look different: your drafting style has to fit the way your mind works.

I’m still working mine out. Honestly, it might take a while. But recently, I started writing in fragments. That’s just how my mind works: I get pieces of sentences before I understand how to fit them together. Wrestling with syntax was slowing me down, so now I just generate the pieces and save their logical relationships for later. Drafting effectively means learning these things about yourself. And to do that, you can’t get all judgmental. You can’t fret over how you should be writing, you just gotta get it done.

Messy drafts are easier to revise

I find that drafting quickly and messily keeps the story from prematurely “hardening” into a mute, opaque object I’m afraid to change. I no longer do that thing, for instance, where I endlessly polish the first few paragraphs of a draft without moving on. Because how do you polish a bunch of fragments taped together with dashes? A draft that looks patently “unfinished” stays malleable, makes me want to dig my hands in and move stuff around.

You already have ideas

Sitting down to write a story, I used to feel this awful responsibility to create something good. Now I treat drafting simply as documenting ideas I already have—not as creation at all, but as observation and description. I don’t wait around for good words or good ideas. I just skim off whatever’s floating on the surface and write it down. It’s that which allows other, potentially better ideas to surface.

As a younger writer, my misery and frustration perpetuated themselves: suppressing so many thoughts made my writing cramped and inhibited, which convinced me I had no ideas, which made me even more afraid to write lest I discover how empty inside I really was. That was my fear, I guess: if I looked squarely at my innocent, unvetted, unvarnished ideas, I’d see how bad they truly were, and then I’d have to—what, pack up and go home? Never write again? I don’t know. But when I stopped rejecting ideas and started dumping them onto the page, the worst didn’t happen. In fact, it was a huge relief.

Next post: the practice of shitty first drafts

Ask me a question or send me feedback!

Bet On Me

Reggie x Reader

A/N: This is my first ever fic and I hope you all like it!! Requests for all other Riverdale characters are open!! (This is my first fic because Reggie is bae)

Word Count: 3369

Warnings: Swearing, slight angst, violence, heavy make-out session (is that even a warning?)

Summary: Reggie is dared to date Y/N, the sweet and popular untouched cheerleader. He does so, although not expecting to fall for her in the process.

Keep reading

Tree Bros Oneshot

Word count: 1683
Connor and Evan are hanging out with weed and beer and Evan is a lightweight and a very talkative drunk. (Gay)
TW: smoking, weed, alcohol, mentions of depression, anxiety

“I want to get high. Or drunk. Or both” Evan stated bluntly. Him and his friend, Connor were sitting in Connor’s bed, watching tv.


“You know how life fucking sucks? Like really fucking sucks with school and anxiety and depression and all that, well it’s being shittier than usual right now and you use weed or alcohol to take the edge off when life is being a bitch, and life is being a bitch so I want something to repress it for a couple hours. It’s ok if you don’t want to give me anything because they’re yours and not mine but I was just wondering and you know what, you don’t have to give me anything, it’s fine I’ll live without it. Sorry for even asking.”

“No dude it’s fine. I got you.” He said as he got up from his spot on his bed. He crossed the room to his closet and shuffled through some clothes and boxes until he found what he needed. He pulled a joint, a black lighter, and two bottles of beer. He lit the joint and handed it to Evan along with one of the beers. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Evan grabbed it gingerly and brought it to his mouth. He breathed in and started coughing immediately.

“That’s normal, you’ll cough for the first couple hits. Then you’ll hopefully get used to it. ”

“Ok.” Silence. “I feel edgy like I’m doing bad things without my mom’s knowledge. Do you always feel like a rebel ‘cause this is cool. We should go rob a bank or steal an old lady’s purse. Something like that!” Evan exclaimed.

“I think someone’s getting too edgy, do I need to take that away from you?”

“No, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize you didn’t do anything wrong.”


“You didn’t do anything, if fine!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! I’m 147% sure. Now can you pass the joint?” Evan handed over silently. The two boys sat and drank and smoked and just talked and laughed until everything was gone. Evan was wasted after the one beer and half a joint because he is such lightweight, while Connor was barely tipsy. Evan was giggling in Connor’s bed over how funny the wall looked. 'Damn he looks cute,’ Connor thought.

“Hey Ev, I’m going to the bathroom I’ll be right back. Don’t leave this room, ok?” Evan, who was now laughing uncontrollably, managed to say an ok through his hysteria.

Connor was only gone for two minutes, at the most, but when he came back Evan was sitting on the bed, a different person, as he was yelling at the taller boy.

“AH! Who are you? Get out of my room!” He pointed

“Ev, I’m Connor, and this is my room.” He said slowly crossing over to Evan, trying to assure him that he was ok, but also getting kind of annoyed because this could potentially be a big problem.

“This isn’t your room you’re a liar!”

“What the fuck Evan, it’s Connor. I was gone for two minutes how’d you forget?” Connor was now standing at the edge of the bed next to Evan, who was sitting as far back from Connor as he could.

“You’re not Connor you imposter! But woah. You sorta look like him.” Evan crawled up to the edge of the bed and cradled his hands around the other boy’s face, feeling the features.

“What are you doing?”

“Touching you.”


“Because you look like my friend Connor.”

“Oh do I now?” Connor asked, now playing along with Evan’s drunken state.

“Ya, but you’re not as cute as him.”

Connor blushed, “he’s not that cute.”

“Oh but he is! His hair is long and beautiful and so soft, I could run my hands through it all day. And when he has it up in a bun it’s gorgeous and it makes his face look even better, and his face, oh his face. He doesn’t smile much, but when he does, there crinkles around his mouth that make his smile ten million times more beautiful. He also has the most amazing eyes. The most beautiful things in the world. I could stare into them for hours but I can’t because he’ll think I’m weird. But they’re a pale blue, kinda like the color of faded jeans or the sky, and the right one has a spot of brown in the corner. I don’t think he likes it because whenever it’s brought up he gets a little mad, like he never wanted because it makes him the 'kid with the weird eye’, but I think it makes him different and unique and beautiful.”

“What else do you like about him?” Conner egged Evan’s drunken rambling on to see what else he’d say about him.

“Connor Murphy is nice, and he’s getting better and further away from mean secluded Connor, but nobody cares to see that in him, but they still think of him as old Connor and that makes me mad. I just want Connor to be happy because of all the shit he’s been through, he deserves it. And Connor is also really funny too! His jokes make me laughs hard, that one time milk shot out of my nose. It really hurt, but it was a really good joke. I think it was about Jared. He’s so amazing and he deserves all the love in the world and I love him so much, since the day I met him I felt something for him, but he’ll never reciprocate my affections because he’s probably straight, and even if he liked boys there are better ones than me, so it’s pointless but I can’t let go of it. Just don’t tell him that I said all this because he might get mad and not want to hang out with me anymore or be my best friend and I don’t want that so I’m just going to keep quiet.”

Connor was flabbergasted. Evan, his crush since forever, his unrequited love, just drunkenly admitted his feelings about him. Connor was blushing so hard, he probably looked like a tomato. “You really do like him huh?”

“More than anything.”

Connor blushed harder than ever, and was probably brighter than a tomato. “Wow. I think he likes you too.”

“Really! You think?! No way, you’re lying.”

“He told me.”

“Holy shit.” Evan’s face glowing with his beautiful, radiant, signature Evan Hansen smile. He couldn’t believe it. “Hey, I’m tired, I’m gonna go to bed.” Evan laid down on the bed and instantly feel asleep.

“Holy fuck.” Connor muttered to himself. Evan talks a lot while drunk, but damn, he just admitted his love for Connor freaking Murphy of all people. He looked over at the boy in his bed, his eyes closed and he looked peaceful and adorable. He just wanted to hold him and protect him. Connor put a blanket over Evan’s body and crawled into the spot next to him, but leaving space between them, and fell asleep, smiling.

The next morning, Evan awoke with a pounding headache, reeking of weed, and no recollection of anything after he started drinking and smoking. It took him a minute to realize where he was, in Connor’s room, in Connor’s bed, with his arms around Connor. Shit. Did they sleep together? No, they both still had on their clothes. But Evan was holding a sleeping Connor in his arms. What is he suppose to do, take his arms away, and wake up Connor and have to explain that he had his arms around Connor, or does he stay and have to explain why he was holding the other. Evan decided that he’d do neither and pretend to fall back asleep and deal with it later. He was a minute deep into his plan when he sneezed and woke up the boy in his arms.

“Sorry,” Evan squeaked, unwrapping his arms from the other.

“About what, I just woke up.”

“For waking you and having my arms around you I didn’t even know I did it I woke up like that a-”



“It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

“Are you sure?”



“110% sure.”

“Thank you, also, sorry to ask, what happened last night, I don’t remember anything.”

“Don’t apologize, but you don’t remember anything?”

“Nothing, the last thing I remember is taking a hit.”


“Yes! Did I do something terrible? Please tell me! From what it looks like I did something bad, please tell me I didn’t do anything bad. ”

“No, you just talked a lot.”

“Oh god, sorry if I said anything embarrassing.”

“No, you just went on and on about how beautiful I was.”

“Did I? That’s embarrassing! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, I don’t like like you in a gay way because you’re not my type or anything but I’m not saying that I don’t like you, I like you but not that way.”

Connor was kind of hurt that Evan was denying everything he said. “You said you loved me last night.“

Evan started to panic, but tried his best to not show it. He couldn’t believe he did that. Evan decided he’d never get wasted again. “I didn’t mean it I swear I didn’t I was just out of it. Please don’t hate me.”

“You seemed pretty sure last night. Talking about how beautiful my eyes were and how much you loved my personality while you were holding my face. To me it seemed pretty legit.” Connor tried to see if Evan was was truthful in his drunken moments or not, hoping that Evan really did love him.

"Fuck. I’m sorry. I do really like you a lot and I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable or anything. I understand if you hate me now and want me to leave I should go r-” Connor smashed their lips together. Evan was so shocked, he forgot to kiss back.

“I love you too Ev.” Connor said after they parted.

Evan was a blushing mess, “Can we do that again?” Connor nodded and connected them again.

anonymous asked:

hey i saw u reblog the alex x reader au today and if you want to id love to see a sequel to that maybe w scott finding out or like a secret relationship or scott finding out about the secret relationship ;;)))) thanks in advance!!! ps i love ur writing and you you are a goddess among us

Alex Summers + best friend’s older brother au [refer to this drabble]

A/N: okay so like if i’m being realistic with myself the odds of me ever actually writing this out properly: slim to fucking none because this has been sitting in my inbox for months BUT I can provide you with the full out headcanons of how it all came to be in the first place. so. (hey @kurtwxgners@mvximoff@rax-writes@paperclipmac have some alex stuff) (sidenote: karley we should revisit this au sometime bc its a good one [eyes emoji])

nsfwish? almost? idk there’s like? heavy making out at the end? idk?

  • You’ve been best friends with Scott since forever because your parents were friends so it just kind of happened
  • As a result of this, you’ve also been around Alex since forever because you were always at the Summers house
  • You’ve also had a lowkey crush on Alex since you started to think boys maybe weren’t so gross after all
  • It stayed pretty lowkey, till the summer before junior year, but you didn’t make a thing about it because 1) you figured it would make shit weird and 2) you figured out that Alex was planning to go abroad for his senior year so why would you intentionally bring it up when he’s about to leave
  • Alex found an exchange to go on and did his senior year abroad and you went through junior year being Scott’s best friend like nothing had changed because nothing really had changed and not seeing Alex for the year made your crush kind of hibernate
  • Then during the summer after he finished high school and the one right before your senior year, he found a work placement and worked the entire summer, earning money, and you see him like once or twice but mostly he’s living with a new friend Sean a town over
  • You don’t really see him again till he’s home on his first break from college and damn he looks so much better than you remember him looking and your crush is definitely back in full fucking force
  • You don’t know it, but the first time he sees you when he’s back, he’s actually breathless, because you’re older, and more confident and so, so beautiful and he’s pretty sure he must’ve been fucking blind or something, because there’s no way you weren’t gorgeous before if you’re this goddamn stunning now
  • Do you spend a lot more time at Scott’s house now that Alex is back than you would otherwise? Maybe. You’re pretty sure Scott doesn’t notice anything unusual though, and if he does, he definitely doesn’t know why
  • You drove over to the Summer’s house one Friday night to go over some SAT stuff, and a torrential fucking rainstorm comes while you’re there
  • Your mum calls you and tells you that she really doesn’t want you driving in weather as bad as this, and she can come and pick you up, or you can stay there if it’s alright with the Summers’
  • Of course you’d rather stay there, because then you won’t need to come back to pick up the car later, so you tell her not to worry, you’ll stay over
  • Scott just nods when you tell him you’re staying over and just reminds you where the extra sheets and pillows are for the couch before tossing you an old shirt and a pair of sweatpants for you to sleep in
  • You give up on trying to go directly to sleep at about 1am so you go to the kitchen to get a glass of water or something and immediately regret your decision because Alex is in the kitchen in a thin, faded, fraying flannel shirt and sweat pants slung dangerously low on his hips, and his longish hair is yanked back in a messy bun and you feel like a fucking idiot because he looks like he’s just about to go to bed and just looking at him like this makes your knees weak
  • He sees you in one of his old shirts (it used to be his, then it got passed on to Scott, who never wore it, so he basically still thinks of it as his shirt) and some sweats and no makeup and you’re not at all put together or tidy, but he’s positive you’ve never looked better, because if he doesn’t think too hard you look like you just climbed out of his bed and the idea is more than a little dizzying
  • “oh, shit, hey Alex. I-thought the kitchen was-” “empty? I mean it is the middle of the night, that’d be the reasonable assumption.” “Yeah. Well.” “Well.”
  • Neither of you is really sure how you managed to get through the interaction unscathed, but by the end of it, you’re both sitting on the couch watching shitty national geographic re runs and laughing at Alex’s shittier jokes, and each time one of you gets up or leans forwards, or really shifts at all, you both gravitate almost unconsciously towards the other
  • You’re not quite sure just how it happened, but you’re tucked neatly under his arm, leaning into his side, and you’re tipping your head back, laughing at another one of his ridiculous puns, and suddenly he’s kissing you, almost hesitantly, and his lips are soft and warm and you want more, but just as quickly as the kiss began, it’s over
  • “Shit, I’m so sorry-that was-I shouldn’t’ve-” he stammers, and you’ve never seen him look so startled or unsure in your life, but you don’t want him to apologise, you want him to kiss you again, so you reach out to grab the front of his shirt and yank his lips back to yours
  • Alex doesn’t need any more encouragement than that, the arm round your shoulders tightening to pull you in closer to him, his mouth pressing against yours with more force than previously
  • One of your arms comes up to wrap around his neck as you shift closer still, and he pulls away again, breathing hard
  • “Are you sure you-I mean you’re Scott’s best friend-we probably shouldn’t-” he tries again, but you’ve never heard anyone sound less convincing in your life, so you just tilt your head to kiss along the sharp line of his jaw and the tempting column of his throat, feeling immensely satisfied when you feel the hitch in his breath as your lips brush softly over his pulse
  • “I’ll stop if you want me to,” You murmur, punctuating each word with a press of your mouth and he lets out a low, strained chuckle
  • “That’s not fighting fair and you know it, beautiful,” he breathes, and the term of endearment makes your head spin, even as you wind your arms around his neck
  • “Good,” you whisper back before pulling him in to kiss him again, one of your hands sliding into his hair, pushing the hair tie out and tangling in it as it falls out of the bun he had yanked it back into
  • You’re in his lap now, his arms tightly around you, hands gripping your hips, keeping you so close you can feel his heart thudding in his chest, and the kiss is hot and insistent and it makes you a little giddy because yeah, you’ve kissed people before but it’s never felt like this and as his tongue slides against yours, you let out an involuntary gasp, your hand reflexively tugging back on his hair and Alex actually moans into your mouth
  • “Fuck, babygirl, give a guy some warning,” he groans, low and shuddering and muffled by your skin, and you can feel him starting to get a hard on, and knowing he wants you is gratifying and scary and thrilling, and as he bites down lightly on you lower lip, you tentatively reach a hand down to palm him through his sweats
  • The moan he lets out is electrifying, needy and wanting and this is starting to lead into uncharted territory for you but you’ve never wanted anyone more than you want him
  • But then he pulls away from you a little and you freeze up in panic and hurt and confusion, because you’re pretty sure you weren’t misreading the signals, but you don’t say anything you just look away, rubbing uncomfortably at your temples and doing your best not to tear up, because you already feel stupid and you really don’t want to make more of a fool of yourself than you already have
  • Suddenly, one of Alex’s hands is reaching out, cupping your cheek and gently forcing you to look at him. He leans in and kisses you softly, his thumb brushing soothingly across your cheekbone as he draws back, a small, reassuring smile on his lips
  • “I’m sorry, beautiful, I didn’t mean-” he starts, voice gentle. “It’s not that I don’t want to. I do, god I really do. But I-I like you. Have for a while. I want to do this right. I don’t want to screw up,” he explains, and he sounds almost nervous, like he’s not sure whether this is something you want and he looks so uncertain, so uncharacteristically vulnerable that you kiss him again, moving in to tuck yourself against his side once more, and you can feel the tension go out of his body as he kisses you back gently, his arm going around you again.
Matchmaker (Sam Drake x Reader)

This little thingy just popped into my head and I decided to write it. I’m working on Facing the Past too, don’t worry ;)

Also I’m writing this on mobile, so sorry if it’s shittier than usual lol


A few days ago Elena had ask you over the phone if you could babysit Cassie, because she wanted to go out for dinner with Nate. You said yes, that little 4 year old was your weekly source of happiness. You came over once a week for a visit, to chat with your old friend Elena, and while you talked, Cassie would always play nearby, and waited for you to go join her.

She always asked her parents when would you come over again, because she really liked you, you were very kind and funny and she thought that you were pretty too, and she always said that when she grew up, she wants to be like you. She would always ask for your opinion if she got a new dress or a pair of shoes, and when she found out what was your favourite colour, suddenly it was her favourite too.

You thought that it was incredibly cute, and you felt flattered that she loved you this much, that practically she thought of you as a role model.

But you weren’t the only one she looked up to. She would always point to a picture on the wall, where she was with her uncle, Nate’s older brother, Sam. Both of them were having huge smiles on their faces, Cassie sitting on Sam’s lap and they were eating ice cream. You’ve actually never met him before, because he was travelling a lot with Sully, but every time you looked at that picture you couldn’t help the smile that always form on your lips.

That picture practically radiated happiness, with cute Cassie and that handsome uncle of hers, and remembering how she always talked about him, saying how great he was, it really started to bother you that you never had the chance to meet him.

When you knocked on the door, you heard a squeal from inside and you grinned widely. Suddenly the door opened with a giggling Cassie behind it.

“Y/N!” - she threw out her arms and you bent down to pick her up.

“Hey princess, how are you?” you asked as you kissed her cheek.

“Can we watch The little mermaid, please!” - she pleaded as she tugged at a lock of your hair playfully.

“Again?! You’ve seen that movie like 50 times already!” - you heard Nate say as he walked out of the kitchen to greet you.

He leaned over and you kissed each other on the cheek, then he ruffled his daughter’s hair.

“Of course we can watch it, then we can watch Beauty and the Beast, we can even have a Disney Marathon if you want.” - you suggested.

“Yay!” she squeled and buried her face in your neck as she hugged you.

You laughed along with Nate, then you noticed as Elena came down the stairs.

You let out an impressed whistle when you noticed her elegant blue dress and her make up.

“Oh hello there.” - Nate purred as she walked over.

Elena and you giggled and you greeted each other with a hug and with a kiss on the cheek too.

“Mommy you look like a princess!” - Cassie exclaimed happily.

“Thank you, sweetie.” - Elena poked her nose then looked at you. - “Okay the fridge is full, you two can eat anything you want, but Cassie, you have to be good for Y/N okay, do everything she says.”

You rolled your eyes.

“I mean it’s not like I haven’t babysit her before… ”

Cassie nodded.

“We’re a good team!” - she said confidently and you held up your hand for her for a high five.

She slapped your palm with hers louldly and the four of you laughed.

“Okay, well then have fun!” - said Nate as he and Elena gave a kiss to Cassie and they left you in the house.

“Okay, wanna eat first or we should start with the movie?” - you asked her as you put her down and you threw your bag in a nearby chair.


You let out a gasp and you put your hand on your chest dramatically.

“Girl, you sure you can’t read minds?”

Cassie laughed out loud and followed you into the kitchen to grab some food for the movie.

Soon, you were both snuggled up in the couch, with a big bowl of ice cream and two spoons. You both would sing along to the songs and sometimes you would say the dialogues to each other giggling when one of you messed up.

When the third Disney movie was on, you felt your eyes getting heavier and heavier, and soon you fall asleep.

Sam wanted to surprise his brother, sister in law and niece by visiting them. Him and Sully weren’t supposed to come home for another two weeks, but the job went smoother than expected and now he was on his way to his brother’s house.

Well, it was a little after 9 pm so it’s really gonna be a surprise visit. He tought that maybe he should go to a hotel first, and visit in the morning, but decided against it. After all, Nate had given him a key to the house so he could go there anytime he wanted.

So with that thought he walked up to the house, opened the door and went in.

It was pretty quiet and dark inside. He found it strange, usually both Nate and Elena were still up at this time, and sometimes Cassie too.

When he walked further inside, he noticed that the tv was on, it was the only thing that made noise or gave light. He looked around but didn’t see anyone.

‘Hmm, maybe they forgot to turn it off?’ - he thought and smiled when he noticed that it was the Lion King.

He started to walk towards the couch, and when he went around it to sit down he jumped a little when he saw two figures sleeping on it. Both of them were laying on their sides. He recognised Cassie but didn’t recognise the woman behind her. One of her arms was around Cassie, and Cassie was holding into her hand in her sleep.

Sam caught himself smiling at the sight and he sat down in the armchair, his gaze flicking from the movie to the sleeping figures, then back again constantly.

When his focus was on the movie he heard a gasp and his head snapped to the couch. He saw as Cassie was looking at him with wide eyes. He grinned at her and when he saw that she was about to squeal at him as she usually did when they meet, he put his forefinger on his lips to stop her.

He stood up and walked quietly in front of the couch and kneeled down. Cassie reached out her hands and he leaned over her to give her a hug.

“Hey, Princess.” - he wishpered and heard her giggle.

“Uncle Sammy! I didn’t know you were coming home!” - she whispered back as they let go of each other.

“I wanted to surprise you.” - he smiled at her. - “Where are you parents?”

“They went out for dinner.”

Sam nodded then looked at you.

“And who is she?”

Cassie looked at you too then turned back to Sam with a big smile.

“Oh! She’s Y/N, mommy’s friend and mine too, she’s so funny and smart and kind and she’s so prettyyy!” - she rambled and Sam chuckled at her.

“Oh really?” - he noticed that you were ptetty that’s for sure. - “Tell me more about her.”

And so she began telling her uncle how she met you and what things you do when you two are together.

Sam felt himself smiling as his niece practically praised you, and his eyes constantly travelled to you. It was nice hearing how good you are with Cassie and seeing her happy made him happy too.

When he noticed that Cassie started to talk slower and her eyes shutting for a few seconds every now and then he told her to go back to sleep. She practically fell asleep on command he caressed her hair with a smile.

You jolted awake when you heard loud giggling.

You sat up on the couch and turned your head towards the kitchen. You saw Cassie sitting at the table and another figure was making pancakes. You narrowed your eyes and they instantly widened when you recognied the man from the picture.

Handsome Sam.

Both of them looked at you when they saw as your head popped out from behind the couch.

Messy hair, sleepy face, confused eyes.

And Sam felt himself grinning.

He held up a plate of pancakes for you.

“Want some?”


Lol it’s 11:16 PM and i feel like its shit but i wrote it now so… Did you like it?

Take Care Of You

Title: Take Care of You

Characters: Gabriel, Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester

Relationship: Gabriel x Reader

Warnings: Angst, language, graphic depictions of violence, blood, character death

Word Count: 2.2K

A/N: This is my entry for @nichelle-my-belle’s Angst Challenge. I got prompt #22. This is also my first entry for my Angels of Supernatural Challenge, The song I’m using is House of Memories by Panic! At the Disco. I hope you guys enjoy it! Feedback is awesome!

P.S. the way this is set up is a little odd, but the Italics are flashbacks (sort of), and the prompt is in bold.

A very special thank you to @lucifer-in-leather for the beta!! I love you!! You’re awesome!!

The Ususal Suspects: @d-s-winchester, @aprofoundbondwithdean, @grumpy-kittycas, @idreamofhazel, @britney8793, @thinkwritexpress, @splendidcas, @holywaterbucketchallenge, @demondean-for-kingofhell, @kazchester-fanfiction, @thing-you-do-with-that-thing, @blacktithe7, @ursuchapunk, @rescue-c2-man

You looked around, startled by the sudden change in scenery. You could swear that thirty seconds ago you were on a hunt with Sam and Dean, but now you were in a blanket fort. You remembered suddenly that you had built this blanket fort when you were nine of ten years old. It had taken hours and covered almost the entire living room at your best friend’s house. It had been twenty years or so since you’d seen Melissa, and yet here she was. Her nine year old self, anyway. She was laying on her stomach, coloring a page from a princess coloring book like this was all normal. What the hell was going on? You watched as she colored the princess, who was laying in a bed in a dress that was halfway colored red.



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note: modern au, sasusaku with some naruino
for: @blanket-fictions, who had been standing literally right behind me in a restaurant but neither of us realized until later

day one

essentially they were on what sasuke would define as a glorified food tour. he was hardly a foodie, but he appreciated decent meals as much as neji (although maybe with less pretentiousness), so with a list of recommended cafes from his brother and a list of things to do by gaara, he and naruto set foot in suna and had their first meal. 

after the six hour bus ride and the one hour walk to gaara’s that actually could have been twenty minutes had he followed his own sense of direction as opposed to naruto’s shittier one, the sandwich was amazing. a grilled panini with some meat and some flavours that he only got to eat after naruto took a dozen pictures of it. 

it was so amazing, apparently, that he failed to lift his damn head long enough to see who was sitting across the room.

scrolling through instagram, sasuke felt something churn inside his gut (probably the chocolate-dipped, pretzel- and nut-covered ice cream from earlier). why? 

because based on her own picture of the same panini (the sandwich of the day, at that), sakura freaking haruno had been in the exact same restaurant in the exact same city at the exact same time.

and he didn’t even notice.

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This Hell That Holds Me (Drink You Away Part 2)

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Theme Song: Camouflage by Selena Gomez

Word Count: 2,864

Warnings: language, angst, flashbacks, fluff, implied sexy times, arguing

Summary: Reader deals with the aftermath of Dean not calling.

A/N: I’m sorry it took me so long to get this out! Huge thank you to @winchesterwhisper for some inspiration on where to go with this. Sorry for any errors!

Tagging: @readingissupernatural, @manawhaat@puppydogjared @winchesterenthusiast, @fvckinpayno@leatherwhiskeycoffeeplaid, @littlegreenplasticsoldier@aprofoundbondwithdean@soivebuiltupaworldofmagic, @deanwinchester-af, @eyes-of-a-disney-princess, @mrscarveredlund, @i-dream-of-dean, @deanwinchester-af, @d-s-winchester@redlipstickandblacktea, @angelkurenai@holywaterbucketchallenge

Part 1

It had been four weeks since your phone call with Dean, and one week since he last tried to call you. After the initial late night, drunken phone call, he never called the next morning. He did however call a 2 weeks later, but you didn’t answer. You had even received a few calls from Sam and you felt terrible every time you clicked decline. There was a time when Sam was your best friend. You missed him dearly and wished there was some way to keep that friendship even with your relationship with the elder Winchester having ended. Those two boys were a package deal and you had to stay as far away from them as possible, per Dean’s original request. You were sure Cas would’ve paid you a visit, had he been able to, but with the branding he had placed on your ribs years back, you were sure it was proving to be difficult for the angel.  

You would be lying if you said that the next day didn’t hurt like a bitch. You had woken up and checked your phone immediately, your heart sank when you looked at the clock, realizing it was mid-afternoon and still no call. You glanced at your phone throughout the day, waiting for that guitar riff ringtone to blare through your hotel room, but it never came. Dean truly hadn’t meant what he said that night, and damn did it twist the knife even deeper. As much as you tried to convince yourself that you knew he wouldn’t call, you couldn’t deny that there was a small part of you that was hoping maybe, just maybe, this once Dean would be a man of his word. But no, even if Dean had meant everything he said, there was no way he would’ve called you, he probably woke up in the morning and remembered why he told you to leave in the first place. You hated yourself for even entertaining the thought of him calling you that next day, because all it did was hurt even more, just like you knew it would when you first picked up that phone. It was like a fire poker, red, hot and burning in your chest. It was unbearable, but you didn’t have a choice. You just had to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

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Teacher’s Assistant.

Rating: NC-17

Content: Teacher’s Assistant!Ashton, language, sexual situations

Feedback is greatly appreciated. 

“He’s looking at you…again.”

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I have no business throwing myself into yet another weird Ichiruki-Bleach-AU thing, but lately I’ve realised that I probably worry about my writing way too much which is why I never get anything longer than a oneshot done. In the interests of actually learning to write a multichaptered fic, I’ve decided I‘m going to write this one really lightheartedly, no worrying about whether each turn of phrase is exactly right allowed. As a consequence, it might be kinda shit. But, uh, do feel free to give it a go anyway. 

Also, the summary and the first chapter make it look kinda bleak but dw it’s going to be quite lighthearted. I think. Maybe. Look I have no idea where this is going ok just have it 

Title: Cyclical 

Summary: In a peculiar twist of fate, Rukia dies, but Ichigo endures. A century later, she’s the reincarnated headstrong human teenager and he’s the long-suffering shinigami who sort-of-accidentally may have transferred his powers to her. 

Some things are different. Some things are the same.

And some things, it seems, will never ever change.

Ratings: Probably T-13 for swearing

Warnings: none 

Archive: Current Post | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 

Read on ao3 | ffnet

Chapter 1: Incidence 

I’m going to kill the person who first came up with the concept of soul mates.

All that bullshit about being mentally connected? Lies. All that crap about taking one look at them and something in you clicking, you being made whole — quite frankly, a pile of horseshit. All that ‘through every life, in whatever form, I’ll know you’ reincarnation bull — fucking hell. I want my money back.

Don’t believe everything you read in books, kids. You think you’ll recognise the love of your life if she gets cut down in front of you by your nemesis and reincarnated into the world you literally just abandoned to be with her?

You’re fucking wrong.


Soul Society, Captain’s Quarters, Eighth Division, 2103 AD

“We found her.”

It’s the best thing Kurosaki Ichigo has heard in a century. The statement is short, brusque and without context, but even so, he knows exactly what it means. There is only one person about whom Renji Abarai would have come to him for, eyes ablaze with an intensity he knows all too well himself.

“Show me,” he says, kind of unable to believe his luck— but then again, if the universe was any kind of fair, it was due to show him some mercy sometime in the next decade.

It’s just, you know, the universe has never really been all that fair before.

But who was he to look a gift horse in the mouth? Urahara had said it would be nigh-on impossible to find her again, after he managed to anchor her soul together and send it off into the cycle of reincarnation instead of letting it drift apart like it would have without the intervention. He’d saved her, he’d said, or what he could of her, anyway; but Kurosaki-san shouldn’t expect her to be exactly like the Rukia Kuchiki he knows— had known. Actually, on second thoughts, Kurosaki-san shouldn’t expect to find her again at all, period. Rukia Kuchiki, as he’d known her, was gone.

What was the point then, he had raged, what was the point of sending her soul into the reincarnation cycle anyway if it wouldn’t result in her? If Rukia Kuchiki was gone and this soul was going to inhabit a new body and grow up to be a stranger—this, this was no solution at all, and Rukia was still dead. What was the point?

But even as he’d raged, he’d felt it— cruelly, a voice in his head was whispering that this was better than nothing. Something of her was out there, something of her warmth, her light, her goodness, and if he could just find her again, even if it wasn’t exactly her

He’d refused to let that whispering voice bloom into anything resembling hope, but some part of him must have agreed, because instead of letting his Hollow run rampant, instead of running away into the woods and becoming a hermit, instead of falling on his own sword and following her into the cycle like he’d wanted to, he’d endured. He slaughtered Ywhach; decimated the Sternritters; accepted the Captaincy the Gotei-13 offered him; if he was going to find her (he still refused to call the strange lightness in his chest hope), Soul Society, with all its connections and spells and Kurotsuchi Mayuri’s twisted idea of science, would be the best place to start.

He’d forgotten this was Soul Society they were talking about. The place that apparently has no organisational structure worth mentioning, despite being entrusted with the afterlife of every single person that had ever existed on the planet. Fuck, people had to band together in weird nuclear second families just to stay alive in the outskirts of the place. Their soul-finding program was beyond shit.

The only thing shittier than Soul Society’s structure (or lack thereof) had been his own thought processes when he convinced himself that joining them would be the most efficient way of finding Kuchiki Rukia.

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Olicity: Marked

@peillimoops​ said:Hey got an olicity prompt. Soul mates can see what is written on the others skin. Do felicitous is drawing circuit boards and computer parts and code. Whilst laurel is writing her name on lovers arm and Tommy is messing with Oliver. You can change anything if you want. I just really like this idea. 💙💙💙


It starts off innocent enough. Laurel just wants to know if they are each other’s soul mates before she goes any farther with him. He agrees because Laurel Lance is hot and he’s not going to turn down the opportunity to possibly get into her pants. So she takes out a Sharpie and writes her name on Oliver’s forearm, but nothing happens. When he offers to double check her entire body for an identical mark, she agrees and Oliver is pretty sure he now knows what heaven tastes like. Tommy is right. Sex is better than drugs.

At 16 years old, he could care less about the idea of soul mates. The only thing that matters is the amazing escape he feels every time Laurel lets him bury his pain by burying himself in her. So he doesn’t think twice about letting her write her name all over his body each time they have sex. After all, if it’s what Laurel feels she need to feel comfortable, who is he to deny her?

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Scandal Review, Episode 506, Get out of Jail Free aka The Mellie Grant Show...

This was my face through so many of the scenes last night. 

Literally nothing made sense. It’s like the writers just clean forgot the strides that Olivia had made in the last couple of episodes, and all of a sudden, she was back to being that dumb bitch who couldn’t make a fucking decision to save her fucking life. 

Why on earth can’t we get some character consistency? Why do some of these fucked up, no-talent writers insist on writing to plot rather than writing to character? 

This was the first episode ever that I just wanted Fitz to move on from Olivia. Seriously, leave her disloyal ass and just stay single. I have never felt like that. Ever.  I’m a huge Olivia Pope fan and it kills me to say this, but she was a mess in this episode. Of course I blame the writers. Chris Van Dusen, you failed the fandom, and I don’t mean just Olitzers. Hit the road Jack, and don’t come back with your shitty writing no more.

Basically Olivia tells us she loves Fitz too much to let him be impeached, so she chooses to plot with Mellie, tell Mellie that her father murdered Jerry, and then free her father rather than marry Fitz? I didn’t want them to get married under those circumstances, but surely marrying the man she loves is a million times better than freeing the man who killed her lover’s son and her friend? This writing for her makes no sense. We know that she doesn’t want to be First Lady, but that decision made no sense. No sense at all. Are we to believe that Olivia couldn’t just suck it up and marry Fitz when he only has 18 months left of his second term? I don’t care what anybody says, I don’t care how afraid of being in the spotlight Olivia is, she would never make this choice. After all the people that her father killed? Really Shonda?

Anyway, I’m not going to review this in my usual way, I’m going to highlight some of the shittier moments that left me wondering what kind of crack Chris Van Dusen and Shonda Rhimes were smoking when they wrote this shitty episode, so there will be no highlighting scenes that I liked.

What I Hated

1.  Olivia telling Abby that she would perjure herself for Fitz, in the bedroom where she fake-seduced him with loud music on last week, just so that she could tell him about her West Angola discovery without fear of being heard. 

So it’s now ok to not hide the fact that she intends to lie on the stand, when being discreet was such a big deal last week?

These fucking writers are the worst when it comes to continuity.

2.  Quinn going all the way to the hospital to see Eli, just to tell him that she wouldn’t help him. 

So she couldn’t just hang up the phone like everybody else did? Were we supposed to believe that Quinn who was in B613 for like 2.5 minutes would be so brainwashed that she would listen to a word he had to say? Especially when she knows that he got Huck to kill those jurors. The thing that happened that had her so mad she threatened to kill Huck? These fucking writers are the worst.

3.  Olivia calling her Human Vibrator before and after she accepts Fitz’s proposal, to discuss what she should do with him.

I hate that Jake is such a pointless character that the writers have to keep shoehorning him into plots just so Scott Foley can keep working on the show. It makes no sense that she would keep calling him. Honestly, I cheered when Jake put the phone down on her, and you guys know how much I hate him. Olivia was tripping. Hard. 

5.  Olivia going to see her sperm donor in hospital.

This version of Olivia is awful. I just can’t with this wishy-washy mess. This fuckwit of a character that the writers treat any how they want, just to serve the plot. Five seasons in and Scandal fans still have no idea what she wants. We have a handle on everybody else’s character no matter how messed up they are, yet Olivia’s true desires still eludes us. One week she wants to be with Fitz and she’s declaring her love for him to the world, the next week, she’s freeing murderers to avoid marrying him. Inconsistent mess.

6.  Olivia asking Mellie to free her sperm donor so that he can make the impeachment trial go away.

At the end of season four, we saw how much she needed to get rid of Rowan, and how relieved she was when he was finally put away, and yet she’s willing to free his murdering ass instead of sucking it up and marrying Fitz? She’s willing to jeopardize her relationship with Fitz and not only work with Mellie, but also The. Man. Who. Murdered. His. Son? What happened to last week’s version of Olivia Pope? Or even the Olivia Pope from the week before? Why are different writers not able to keep her character consistent? Or are we supposed to believe that the woman who left Fitz after she discovered that one of her parental units murdered his son, would willingly work with said parental unit again? 

7.  Olivia yet again letting Mellie speak to her like shit without a suitable rebuttal. 

I don’t understand. I don’t get it. Why does Mellie get to spew her venom at Olivia, and she just stands there and takes it, like she’s a scared little girl? Can Shonda hire some black women who can write for Olivia please? I can’t with the number of white men in the writers’ room who love giving Mellie all these shitty things to say to Olivia. I maintain that Olivia Pope is the worst treated lead character on TV.

8.  Olivia telling Mellie that Eli Pope is her father and that he killed her son?

What the fuck was that? Why would she do that? Here she was trying to persuade Mellie to set Rowan free, yet she tells her that the man she’s asking to be set free killed Mellie’s son? What kind of fucked up logic is that? Why did she do that? I don’t get it. Can somebody explain that mess to me please?

9.  Fitz telling Olivia that “no man wants to do this” after she freaks out about his proposal.

So wait a minute, this is the guy who built Olivia a beautiful house in Vermont, the guy who lovingly put together everything in said house with such care and detail? The guy who who gave Olivia a ring passed onto him from his great grandmother, a ring that was meant to go to his wife, yet he chose to give it to Liv?  A man who declares his undying love to Olivia every three seconds? This is the guy who took his country to war to save her life? This is the guy who we know would give up everything to be with her? 

The writers think that this guy would say to Liv that no man ever wants to go to the trouble of creating a romantic moment for a proposal? What the fuck were the writers on this episode? How the fuck does that make any sense whatsoever? The amount of character fuckery on this episode was probably worse than anything we saw in season four, and that’s saying something.

10.  Olivia’s white bridal suit.

What the fuck Lyn Paolo? That entire look was awful. She looked like somebody’s old-assed Aunt Pearl. I know that they were going for a Jackie O look, but she looked an entire mess. I was so relieved when she took it off and her hair went back to normal.

11.  Mellie freeing the man who murdered her son so that she can be president.

Listen, I cannot stand Mellie, I loather her and I wish nothing but bad things to happen to her, however the idea that she would willingly free the man who murdered her son, and is now working with him just doesn’t compute. As wickedly ambitious as Mellie is, I find it difficult to believe that she would do this. Not after the song and dance that she show performed to show her as a mother who grieved endlessly for her son. Again with this terrible habit of having characters change willy-nilly just to serve the plot. Chris Van Dusen, you need to get another job, you suck at this one.

12.  A junior senator having the power to pardon/free a prisoner charged with embezzling over two billion dollars.

Or did she forge the document as per Olivia’s flashback? In which case, wouldn’t that then lead back to Fitz? Wouldn’t somebody question the fact that Fitz apparently freed the father of his lover? And wouldn’t that be grounds for impeachment if that were discovered? And with further investigation, wouldn’t Mellie be revealed as the forger of the pardon document? I don’t get it? Somebody explain this fuckery to me. Please.

13.  The impeachment investigating committee (or whoever Gibson and the other woman were representing) being given papers on live TV, then soon after deciding to cancel the entire thing and nobody blinks an eye?

So the press are just going to accept that and move on? Nobody in the media are going to ask any questions? How terrible at their jobs are these journalists? We know the answer of course. It was just another huge-assed plot hole that the writers kindly left us. I know that I should leave my intelligence locked up when I watch this show, but even I can’t suspend enough disbelief to swallow some of the shit-tastic fuckery that occurred this episode.

14.  Elyse being murdered (by Rowan probably)

So I guess that now that Fitz is divorced, in order to keep the triangle going, they had to kill The Human Vibrator’s wife? What was the point of even introducing her if they were just going to kill her off three episodes later? It’s not like we care other than it means that Jake is going to be sniffing round Olivia again.

15.  Olivia asking Abby give the ring back to Fitz instead of having the courtesy of doing it herself.

I can’t lie, I’ve never disliked Olivia so much as I did right then. It was such a cowardly thing to do. I could excuse her throwing Doux Bebe at Fitz after she was rescued from the kidnapping, because she was obviously traumatized, but I can’t excuse her not looking Fitz in the eye and telling him that yes, she loves him, but she’s not ready to marry him. Instead she had Abby just put the ring on his desk?

16.  So the plan is for Olivia to work with Mellie to make her president in exchange for freeing Rowan and making the impeachment trial go away?

So, Mellie is revealed to have lied about knowing about the affair. The nation knows that she lied under oath in a judiciary court, yet we’re supposed to buy that she can become president with the help of Olivia, the woman her husband divorced her for, and the woman he cheated on her with? We’re supposed to buy that America,  would vote for somebody as murky as Mellie has been revealed to be? Am I high right now, or is it Shonda who’s high as a kite? The woman would be lucky to get votes from constituents in the state that elected her junior senator, never mind anywhere else, but  I guess we’re supposed to pretend that we’re all as dumb as some of the people who write this show?

17.  Mellie thinking that she can control Rowan and apparently trusting him to help her win the presidency.

We know this can’t end well. Rowan knows all of her secrets, and he wouldn’t delay to use his knowledge to hurt her if need be. How dumb is this broad? Mellie Girl, this is the man who came to you and blackmailed you into giving him those juror’s names, then he promptly had them murdered. Mellie, this is the man who had no issues with murdering your son.  Yet you think that he’ll be working towards your interests rather than his? 

Mellie stans are all happy right now because she’s seemingly gotten the upper hand over Olivia.  However yet again, her irrational nature and her greed and blind ambition has once again landed her in bed with the devil, and she wont be getting out unscathed. This time Rowan may just kill Teddy and his nanny Jenny.

There were good moment in the episode, but the truth is, the bad far outweighed the good, and everybody needed a good slap this episode. All of them needed to be beaten round the head until they bled. The funny thing is, out of all of the characters this episode, Fitz was the least problematic. Olivia was the worst she’s been in five seasons, and that’s counting all the fuckery of season three and four. Mellie is always a mess, but I fully expect her to be hung by her own petard. 

At least the divorce between Fitz and Mellie is done now, which means that at least the writers and the black Olivia-Hating men who watch Scandal can stop referring to Olivia as a whore now. The problem is, Olivia now has a huge secret that she’s keeping from Fitz, and he will find out, and it will be Defiance 2.0.

18. Mellie blaming Fitz for everything that’s gone wrong in her life, including the fact that she was raped and kept it secret from Fitz for ten years.

Seriously, what is new? What’s worrying is how much effort the show goes to validate her point of view. Every damn time. Like she had no say when she married him in the first place. Like it wasn’t her decision to have kids. Like it wasn’t her decision to stay in a marriage when she found out her husband was cheating on her. Like she didn’t co-sign the affair. Like she hasn’t done everything she could to stay in the marriage, despite her husband asking for a divorce. Like she didn’t lie to her husband for ten years about the fact that she was raped. Like she didn’t sell her soul to the devil instead of confiding in her then supportive husband. Fuck Mellie Grant, fuck her delusions, and fuck her retconning bullshit.  GTFOH.

Random Thoughts

 Susan and David were one of very few bright sparks in this episode. They should totally bang. 

I have a feeling that Shonda ultimately has a greater plan for Susan though. The fact that she absolutely doesn’t want to be president pretty much means that sometime in the future, she will change her mind, and challenge Mellie. I totally hope that Olivia runs her campaign. Quite frankly, I’d rather Lizzie was president rather than Mellie’s useless ass. 

I see from the promo that Olivia is apparently kissing Jake, or Jake is kissing her, who knows? I can’t say I’m overly surprised, not when Olivia is being treated so shabbily by the writers. Again. Technically, if she’s kissing Jake, she’s cheating on Fitz, and there’s no excuse for it.  He’s now divorced from Mellie and as far as he’s concerned, they’re a couple, which means no kissing other men, period. I can’t defend her if that kiss leads onto anything else. In fact, I’m pretty sure that if she sleeps with Jake after Fitz has gone through all of this shit for her, I’m done with the show, Kerry or no Kerry. Because for me it would have to mean that she doesn’t love Fitz, in which case, why else would I be watching? I am literally only invested in Olivia and Fitz, and if she’s just going to cheat on him or vice versa, what’s the point? It’s not like it’s a show that takes pains to develop characters well. It’s not like it’s a show that takes its time and makes sure that plots make sense.  I mean, the promo had Jake plotting to kill Rowan. Didn’t we already do this for like two seasons Shonda?  Your love for certain actors will kill this show for good one day. Nobody but a specific group of viewers here for Rowan/Eli, how do you not see that?

I’m tired of Fitz putting it all out there for Olivia, only for her to turn around and call The Human Vibrator.  For God’s sake, he’s even lost Teddy to Mellie in the divorce, all this sacrifice to be with Olivia and she can’t even articulate her feelings to him, she can’t even reassure him that she wants to be with him. The writers just have her staring teary-eyed at him, instead of her using her words. Ugh.

Anyway after all that was said and done this episode, I’m fully expecting Olivia and Fitz to be back together next week, because the writers are inconsistent, and they don’t give a fuck what happens from week to week. The problem is though, Olivia is hiding something major from Fitz now. I predict that he will propose marriage again, and just as they’re about to tie the knot, probably in episode 509, he discovers somehow that she helped free Rowan, cue cancelled wedding. 

I’d feel better if he finds out next week, but Shonda and those writers love writing for OMG moments, so no doubt they’re using the Defiance blueprint to shock and awe us. Oh joy.

I’m still holding out hope that Rowan dies by the end of this half season. I just don’t see how Shonda can keep going with this B613 fuckery and expect people to keep tuning in. I for one wont watch live next week.  If it’s as terrible as it was this week, I wont bother watching at all.  All I have to do is look on the Scandal tag to see what people are saying, and honestly, I don’t care if I’m spoilt. I’m not here for Olivia being treated this badly by the writers in favor of the white supporting actress. 

Anyway, enough for now.  I have no sexy gifs of Olitz this week, Shonda and Chris Van Dusen managed to kill my joy in them, so here are NSFW Jamie and Claire gifs for your pleasure instead:


Dear Chris Kendall,

You have been my favourite YouTuber since around 2011 and I have been a very public supporter of you and your content since then. I have blogged about you, tweeted about you and built up a small group of followers of my own through my open love for your videos.

However, I’ve noticed a change in your content and your attitude towards YouTube over the past year and a half. As soon as Becca came about as a character of yours I could tell that you weren’t getting what you used to get out of youtube anymore. It was becoming something that A) I don’t think you wanted it to become and B) I don’t think you really liked.

It was your full time job and from what I’ve seen in your videos, you were living a relatively comfortable life thanks to your videos and your following. And we, as your viewers, have done everything we can to support you.

But I don’t think you’re happy.

After watching your ‘Dear YouTube’ video, I got the feeling that making videos and just being followed on the internet in general is something that you don’t want anymore. You’re looking for a more mature audience and you’re trying to move away from being this 'omg xD so relatable’ youtuber like Dan Howell or Alfie Deyes. But you need to look at the main demographic of YouTube. 

Most of the people regularly watching content on the website are young girls. This goes for any youtuber, not just you. I can safely assume that the majority of most youtuber’s viewers are these 15, 16 year old girls. And it seems like you detest this idea.

You have this almost arrogant attitude that you’re better than that and deserve a wider audience or a more mature audience of 'twenty-somethings’. I’ve noticed this dislike of your 'fangirls’ since the creation of Becca. The whole character is rude and is laughing at your main demographic - the people who are paying for your flat in london. And it’s not really fair. These fangirls get a lot of shit anyway and they don’t need more of it coming from someone who they look up to and enjoy watching on youtube.

I personally think you made a mistake. You might not agree with me, I’m not saying you have to, but I think you fucked up a bit. By leaving the community for so long without a real explanation for your disappearance you kind of just left us hanging. You made comments on ask.fm and on twitter about your friendships and about youtube in general that I think were kind of you shooting yourself in the foot.

You also make these same comments in your 'Dear YouTube’ video. You mention 'cringey meetups’ and 'false ideas of online community’ which… kind of sucks. This is the arrogance thing coming back again and it seems like you think you’re better than all of this. But this is what youtube is about. There is a community and if you’re going to be uploading or regularly watching content or tweeting about youtubers you are part of that community. You can’t pick and choose what aspects of youtube you get.

You’re a creator with a relatively larger viewership and influence. You can’t have youtube as your full time job without having the responsibility and the fangirls that come with being a 'famous youtuber’. You get perks out of it. You’re living off youtube videos. You can’t do that without your viewers and it seems as though you take us for granted because we’re not the wider audience of 20+ year olds that you want. 

Some of us are! But you’ve lumped us all into this one category of cringey fangirls that only want you for your looks, your fringe and your british accent.

Your attitude towards the website and the community (No. Not false community. Community.) of creators and viewers has been getting shittier and shitter over the past year. And, other viewers might’ve noticed this but I’m only speaking for myself here, I can tell that you’re not happy on the website.

You’re proud of your work on television and on BBC3 and with giffgaff etc. but you never seem to be proud of your videos which is where the majority of your following comes from.

A prime example of your attitude towards the community stinking was Zoella’s beauty launch. You said so yourself in your 'Dear Youtube’ video that you haven’t been making content on the website properly for the past year but… you still kicked up a fuss when you weren’t invited. Why? This brings me back to the whole 'you can’t have the perks of being a youtuber without actually making content and interacting with your audience etc’ thing.

If you know anything about me, Chris, you will know that I am usually one of the first to defend you and to support your content. I’m a pretty big fan. But if you’re not happy on the website,you shouldn’t be forcing yourself to stay on it just for the money.

If money is the only thing that you want out of making content, I feel like you should get a 'proper job’ - a 9-5 one like you said on twitter the other day. One that doesn’t involve you slating thousands of teenage girlsfor simply enjoying your videos and treating you like a celebrity, which is practically what you are. I discussed a lot of this 'Youtuber = Celebrity’ stuff in a video I made a little while ago which you are welcome to look at HERE if you want to.

But please do not stay on the website purely because it is your cash cow. If you are unhappy, get out. The community isn’t going to change. We’re a pretty strong community and we fight against the bad things on the site like all the sexual abuse stuff and we stand together. There is nothing wrong with us.

As your audience we care about your health and wellbeing more than we care about your content. We would miss your videos a hell of a lot if you left and I’m sure we’re all absolutely over the moon that you’re trying to get back into video making again, but if youtube and the community surrounding it is making you unhappy, you have to do what’s best for you.

I love you, Chris. But please do not use us purely to pay your rent. And please stop shaming the community that got you your following in the first place.

Thanks for your time.

- elliegalaxies

Ghosts Part Two

A/N: Part One. (Also so sorry this took me five billion years).

When you were a kid you always wanted one of those stupid Easy Bake Ovens. You know the ones, the kind that turns shitty powder into even shittier brownies. But you still wanted one. God, you wanted one so badly. So, when your mom finally broke down and bought you a shiny, new, hot pink Easy Bake Oven for your ninth birthday, you were ecstatic. You played with it everyday after school for an entire week, and then you just didn’t anymore. It wasn’t as great as you fantasized after all. After two months of gathering dust in the corner of your bedroom your parents finally decided to sell it. You were devastated of course. 

“Mom how could you? You know how much I loved it.”  You said, stamping your little foot into the ground.

Your mom just smiled and ruffled your hair, “Honey, you never played with it.”

You frowned and threw yourself onto your twin bed; “I was going to play with it eventually.” You groaned into your pillow.

She laughed and rubbed your back in slow circles, “Y/N, you only want it because you can’t have it. If I bought you another one you’d be done with it in a week.”  

You sighed and rubbed your eyes, and deep down you knew she was right. You always loved the things you couldn’t have. Made them out to be better than they actually were.

Eight years later you lay on that same bed thinking about that stupid Easy Bake Oven. That was all this thing with Stiles was, you tried to convince yourself as you turned onto you left side.  You didn’t love him; he was just another thing you couldn’t have, you thought to yourself as you rolled onto your right side. Or at least that’s what you were telling yourself so you could get to sleep.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

“Holy shit.” You breathed out as you sat up in your bed. Running a hand through your hair you carefully darted your gaze towards your window, and- “Stiles.” You sighed in a particularly bitter sweet relief. He waved and you almost wanted to kiss that stupid, dopey, beautiful grin off of his face. “What are you doing here?” You hissed as you ushered him inside before he woke up your parents.

“You didn’t take down the latter.” He said, completely ignoring your question.

“What?” You asked, wrinkling your nose.

He smiled and jerked his thumb towards the window, “Our latter, you didn’t take it down.”

You blushed once you realized he was talking about the booty call latter (you laughed and threw a pillow at his head the first time he named it, but the name stuck anyway). “Yeah, I guess I never got around to taking it down.” You said, fiddling with the bottom of your tank top. You were suddenly aware of what little clothing you were wearing.

He smiled softly, “Don’t take it down.” He said as he gently took your hands in his.

Your hands twitched as you resisted pulling them away, “Why?” You whispered.

He grinned and tucked your hair behind your ear, “Because I broke up with Malia.”

Your heart stopped and it took you a moment to come out of your buzzing head. “Y-you shouldn’t have done that.” You mumbled as you reluctantly pulled your hands from his gentle grasp.

His brows furrowed and he rubbed that back of his neck, “What? I thought you wanted-“

You sighed and cut him off, “I’m sorry, that was wrong of me. But, you know me, Stiles. You know how I am when I see something that’s not mine anymore.” You said quietly, making sure to keep your eyes on your chipped black toenails, because if you took one look at his wide, sad eyes you would break.

Stiles swallowed and gently lifted your chin, cupping your cheeks so he could hold your wavering gaze. “Hey, you’re not doing this, okay? I’m not letting you do this again.” You opened your mouth to protest, but he cut you off with a gentle kiss on your lips. You definitely didn’t romanticize his lips; you hummed to yourself once you came down from his high. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he stroked your bottom lip with the pad of his thumb.

“You’re right, I do know you.” He started softly, searching your eyes for any sign of understanding. “You are crazy nostalgic, and that holey shirt your mom threw away was actually awful, and that trip to Mexico our families took when we were eleven was totally miserable, and you would’ve never used that stupid pink oven thing again.” He paused and kissed your lips again, like he just couldn’t help himself, and when he pulled away you both needed a moment to catch your breaths. He sighed and gently pressed his forehead against yours, “But you did not remember us wrong.”

You just stared at him for a moment and your pounding heart seemed to be screaming, “He’s right. He’s right. He’s right,” between every beat. “I love you.” You whispered and it was hard to kiss him with his mouth twisted into such a big smile.

When you pulled away he still had that face-splitting grin on his face, “I love you too.” He whispered and before he could kiss you again you placed your hand on his chest.

“Hold that thought, I have to make a call.” You said as you beamed up at him. You pecked his lips before dialing your soon to be ex-boyfriend’s number.

You both tried to leave each other in graveyards but when the sun set and the ghosts came out, you just told them about the hole the other left in your chests and they left you alone because the truth is, how can they haunt someone who’s already dead inside? Every week you packed your bags, bought a ticket to another city and tried to lose him among the street signs and crowds. But you never got lost, or maybe the truth is you can’t stop finding him everywhere you go.


I am sitting in a coffeeshop on New Year’s Eve, listening to Drake, joking with one friend about how she will inevitably end the night tonight crying in a cab. “At least you can afford a cab to cry in,” I told her, and we reminisced about being very broke 10 New Year’s Eves ago. How now we anxiety-shop at increasingly nicer places, no longer Forever 21. This is how Drake came into the picture, Started from the bottom now we’re here.

Now I’m listening to it on repeat, hoping the girl next to me who told me she liked my bag can’t hear it through my headphones. I’ve danced to this song but it’s been mostly at the office parties of successful startups. It felt very literal the first time I heard it, I saw the jubilation in the faces of men who really did feel like they started from the bottom, and I’m hoping they were thinking more about being a young kid living in the  middle of nowhere dreaming of New York, of a late night at the office with the lights off, drinking beer and dancing between Ikea couches, celebrating some or other milestone, and not thinking about say, venture capital or the next board meeting or the next google-eyed article about them in the Times. (Is milestone a kid word or a work word? I don’t know anymore.) I think maybe we were dancing about starting something from nothing, from an idea, and then being affirmed in it. It was stupid but so satisfying. Risk and reward! What a thrill. I am happy that I recognized the novelty of that experience, the bizarreness of it when I was in it. That I laughed at it but danced, too. I danced about making a million dollars or a million users or launching some new feature.

I miss that today. Though the thing is I dance probably every day with my son, over nothing. Over just being alive, over the fact that Yellow Submarine is on. “Yellow yellow!” he yells and pulls us both by the hands into the living room and says Up Up until I pick him up and bounce him around. If I try to sit one out, he runs back to find me and says, “Mama too, mama too!” until I get up. fine. I will put down my coffee and experience joy. Ugh. And then we just all die laughing and sing and dance and I feel like we are a scene in a Family Comedy.

It is not the same kind of dancing, though. For one, we’re not drunk, not sweating, not a little embarrassed, but in a sexy way, sort of. It’s very disembodied, kid dancing. You just feel like a being, a blob of joy, not tits and ass and rhythm or whatever. In many ways being a disembodied ball of joy is a huge relief but also, I do miss being a body.  A SEX BODY. Not a life sustaining terror body.

I have spent the year commuting ten feet into a backyard studio, somewhat morosely. I feel genuinely ashamed just saying the word, “my studio,” haha I’m screaming in my head and laughing as I type it. Many times over the course of this year I have sat back there and said to myself, “This is the best thing that has ever happened to me.” To have that space, and be justified to have my son in daycare while I spend hours back here trying to come up with fucking ideas from my own brain. I have been building something from nothing over and over this year, and I did not dance about it, not once. I cringed and shrugged and beat myself up about it. It is a joke and unimportant but it is so hard, too. To feel like shit and so full of self-loathing or so depressed and then walk back into this beautiful little room and try to write about something I don’t know the answers to, to know the tenor of my day will be totally changed by whether it goes well or not. To hit up against a wall for days, to face all sorts of anxieties by literally writing about them, to write about shame and the darkest days and the shittier parts of myself. I would like to do less of that next year, to be honest. I would like a reprieve, not from work but from sticking my head, over and over, into the hornet’s nest, when I am already to tired to begin with.

We moved across the country, we bought a car, our son started daycare three days a week. I stopped breastfeeding him. I started therapy. I sold a book. It has been a growth year, I know that. The kind of year you want to turn your back on and keep running from. I don’t want to go back there. I fear going back there — of another baby, of a new place, of the solitude that will be with me my whole life, of my fragile brain, of moving between anxiety and depression, but just enough that it’s okay, that I can just keep going. It feels like everything hinges on what day of the week it is, on what time I get back to the studio, on how quickly I open a Word document, on whether I sign onto Gchat, on whether I read someone’s tweet and it derails me. Of whether we get paid this week or not. On how the baby sleeps. On whether I get to bed at a decent hour. Whether a draft is going well, what kind of edits I get back, if anyone cares, if I slip and read the comments.

I would like to be more in the world next year. 

I have to finish writing a book next year.

I don’t want to have another baby.

 I need, want to write world-clarifying or at least very entertaining things, to keep repairing my relationship, to be kind of myself without being a lazy fuck, to you know, fucking get a copy of my son’s immunization records and pay all of our bills. Stuff like that. Decide what we are being too deluded about and what we are being too self-defeating about. Where are we selling ourselves short?

I need new ways to think about my work, need to clarify what it is I want to do. “I want to write books!” is, it turns out, not enough, or not even a thing. I mean, shit. 

Our kid, though, is good. He is undeniable, he is concrete, he is just getting better every day. He says his own name, his nickname and his real name, except without the H. “-ank.” He says verbs now. “See ank?” “Enry eat!” He says, Mama, please, mama, when he wants something. “peez, mama!” He says “cookie” like it’s an huge amount of work. Coooo-kieeeeee. It is hard, now, to leave the concrete joy of him and go walk ten feet of the backyard and sit in front of a SAD lamp and light incense and make things up, write about things I haven’t figured out yet. I would of course rather sit on the floor of the kitchen and show him a Vine of spiders over and over and over and not write 5,000 words about not wanting to have sex after having a baby. I mean, come on. MORE PI-DERS! MAMA PEEZ. SEE? I SEE. I SEE.

We are trying to decide whether to move to the Caribbean this week. LOL. Dustin got offered a job that pays really well running a bookstore on what is possibly the least cool island in the world. Granted in a tropical paradise, but also every other part of it aside from “paradise” seems to…suck. My unpredictable, unknown psyche is a big part of the discussion. How much would I hate it? I thought I knew, but actually I have no idea. How much do I care about money? Place? Knowing people? What are aesthetics anyway, how much does charm really go? There is no charm there, unless you count, you know, the most beautiful beaches in the world. It’s not walkable. It’s all strip malls and condos and offshore bankers and then chickens and mosquitoes and bad furniture and everything closed on Sunday. I actively miss Seamless in Portland, for whatever that is worth. But it is very tempting to put it all off, to take the diversion (and the money). To hate something new! To hate things in new ways. We could buy a house later. There are good schools and there is good healthcare.

I would love, on some level, to not be surrounded by people who I can immediately place in the most particular way imaginable. A vast majority of the people in this stupid, beautiful town (Portland, OR) share a cultural context, a nostalgia; we share values, aesthetics. It’s nice but it’s EXHAUSTING AND MEANINGLESS. Get me out of here, on some level. Everyone in this coffee shop could be my friend. And after awhile it’s like, who cares? The woman next to me is reading a book, writing in a notebook, we dress similarly, she seems really NICE, she is really nice. Should I be her friend?

I’m starting to miss New York. At least I have friends there!

I told Dustin yesterday that this city has been the most comfortable place to be depressed.

Maybe discomfort again would be nice? Something to rail against?

I’ve spent the past week crying ( “I have no friends! Okay one friend!” SOB ) and feeling vaguely ill (then of course, am really afraid I am pregnant). Really I have been watching the Great British Bake-off, and thinking how that is a sad way to end a year. My son calls his pinky his baby pinky. His longest finger is the Daddy Pinky. Then there are two Mommy Pinkies. And then a thumb? Ha. What. All that is enough to build a life around, just the pinky stuff. I spent the first like, 15 months of his life trying to get any minute or any value out of life that was separate from him, and now he is this huge resting place. He is incredibly exhausting but also incredibly engrossing, and indisputable. He matters. I can see why people are happy to turn their backs on the rest of their lives, however small or whatever it is, at least it feels, a good half of the time, unassailable.

anonymous asked:

do you own any really "weird" lipstick shades?

In short: yes. 

In long: here they are.

NB: I have put everything under a Read More (I still resolutely refuse to call it a Keep Reading) but just in case mobile is still being an absolute arse about putting stuff under those, then I apologise in advance, and do feel free to blacklist the tag ‘anwen’s glorious lipstick collection’ in future.

Also, I promise I am not turning into a cosmetics blog. Mythology will resume as normal from hereon in.

Keep reading

Beautiful Stranger: Part Two

Title: Beautiful Stranger
Rating: T
Disclaimer: Do not own Carmilla.  Am in no way affiliated with it.  All that jazz.

Summary: Left by her ex, Elle, Carmilla is a single mother, who has put everyone else and her son before her own needs. Until one night, LaFontaine puts it simply: “I’m taking your kid and you’re going out for a night of drinking and debauchery. And you’re not allowed back without a good story.“And it’s idiotic. Carmilla thinks. Pointless.Until a stranger approaches her at the bar.

Based off this AU prompt: “We totally had a one night stand and oops, turns out you’re my kid’s teacher.”

Read on AO3: Part 1, Part 2

Beautiful Stranger: Part Two

She did not believe in karma.

Or past lives.  Or any sort of cosmic atonement for the sins of the past.

Choices were made.  And punishments simply the effects of said choices.  With the world polluted with bodies, the universe didn’t give a shit about the individual enough to punish for past actions.


Here she was.  Sitting in a chair, Jaime on her lap.  This Laura next to her, a bloody tissue to her nose.  Listening as Beth droned on about the incident.

Keep reading

Alright, here's my first and oddly short chapter to that long fic I teased about months ago (sorry)

This is just a build up, and please take it easy on me I’m still new. 

She Faded Like The Sunshine from His Life

Chapter One

She’s been dead a year, three months, six days, nine hours, forty seven minutes and thirty nine seconds.

Oliver knows the moment she took her last breathe down to the second because in a lot of ways (or at least all the ones that mattered) that was when he drew his last as well.

The thing was, the terrible, awful, tragic and stupid truth was that he hadn’t realized it until she was bleeding out in his arms. When his gaze met hers, as the life seeped out of those vivacious bright blue eyes and he found himself looking into a mirror to the person he wanted to be, at the life he desperately craved. He remembers the devastation, the numbing inundation of emotions that burst through all of his emotional barriers sweeping away every remnant of the restraint he had in keeping her out of his heart. In that moment he realized that this girl, this beautiful, shining beacon of hope, was the light of his life and she was dying in his arms.

She’d looked up at him through her teary eyelashes, and he could see how she saw him. He could see that she’d always seen him. The true man beneath the mask and he could see that she was in love with him for some crazy reason. Felicity Smoak loved him.

And in that moment of heart wrenching clarity he realized that he loved her too. Irrevocably, completely, entirely. He didn’t know when he had fallen in love with her and he didn’t how, but he had.

“Don’t,” he’d said.

Don’t give up. Don’t die. Don’t leave me alone. Just don’t. What he should have said was I love you, don’t leave me I don’t know how to live without you. But the only word that had left his mouth that he could formulate on his sandpaper tongue was Don’t.

Her lips had parted, as she sucked in a shaky breath, her green polka dotted nails flexing around his large callused one where he gripped her like a life line, or like his grip was the line tying her to life. She’d blinked rapidly as though clearing her vision and with her last breath she’d whispered one thing “Don’t run.” And he’d watched as that bright light faded from her eyes stealing the sunshine as it went.

Felicity Smoak died, on a roof top, May 21 2014 after taking Slade Wilson’s sword through the chest to save Sara Lance. For all intents and purposes Oliver Queen died with her.

He looked down at the half empty whiskey in his hand and closed his eyes, shaking off the images of her blond halo of hair streaked with blood, or the way her eyes had looked glassy and sightless as they truly looked through him for the first time. God, she’d stopped seeing him when she was dead.

How fucking messed up was that?

She’d always been there, always loved him and always accepted him until the day that she had died.

And he hadn’t even told her he loved her back, all he’d been able to choke out was “Don’t” .

“Want another?” a voice said breaking through his haze of misery.

Oliver looked up at the bartender. He thought his name might be Rich, not that he’d bothered to actually look at his nametag. He’d been in this bar so much for the last few months that he’d picked it up second hand.

He spent a lot of his time drinking these days, just not at Verdant. There his sister could monitor is alcohol intake and cut him off before he had “too much”. It pissed him off considering whenever he drank he wanted to get drunk. Mind numbing, reality blurring wasted because that was the only time he could stop thinking about her and the only time he didn’t feel like he was being ripped apart from the inside. The only time he could breath, even if they were only shallow breaths.

Oliver shook his head at the man, and threw a wad of bills down on the table. His watch read three o’clock and he figured he’d waited long enough for his mother and sister to give up on waiting up for him, and go to fucking sleep.

He was really tired of coming home to the cavalry at night, there worried eyes and pursed lips making him feel even shittier than he already felt. He knew his drinking bothered his family, just like he knew it had bothered them how far he had receded into himself the past year. They were worried about him. He understood that, and maybe deep down somewhere in the smoking carnage of his broken heart he appreciated that, but usually all he could muster up was annoyance.

It was his life, he could waste it if he wanted to.

Oliver stumbled from the bar stool, ignoring the side eye he was getting from Ryan or Rich or whatever his name was. He was too intoxicated to think straight let alone drive, but Rich/Ryan the bartender never said anything and that was why he kept coming back.

He really didn’t care if he crashed his car anyway. He didn’t care period anymore. What was the point in living life, when she was gone? 

Oliver staggered through the bar and too the door, cutting through the small throng of dancers who occupied the tiny dance floor. This bar was not that big, nor that popular but it did seem to bring in the same little crowd most nights, so it was moderately packed on this Friday night.

Oliver almost snarled when someone bumped into him from the side. The person used enough force to send him stumbling backward a few yards, enough force for him to feel it was intentional in his alcohol soaked brain. He turned around ready to fight, but when he turned the person whoever had bumped into him was gone.

He swallowed his anger, and kept staggering to the door. It wasn’t until he got to the parking lot that he realized his keys were missing. 

Looked like he’d be calling a cab. 


And there’s chapter one, like I said it’s short, but there is more to come. Any questions? Feel free to ask.