i'm writing


“why do you love lance so much?” why do you NOT?! look at him! this boy can light up any room he enters


He does this thing with people he loves. The way he lets you in, just a little bit at a time, and you don’t even really notice it until suddenly you know everything about him, every scar on his body and mind. It stops being a question of whether or not you’d follow him off a cliff and it becomes just a fact of life, that you’d hold his hand on the way down. All of a sudden, you’re a part of him, like another limb, and you don’t think to question it until you realize that you treat him the same way, like he’s your heart and your lungs and your blood would freeze in your veins without him. You stop being two distinct beings with two separate minds. You’re still different people, but it stops being a ‘you-and-him’ and it becomes a 'we’. And then he’s gone, and you’ve heard of phantom limbs, when amputees feel agonizing pain in limbs that aren’t there anymore, and maybe that’s what this is, but you’re walking around like a zombie and you can’t think and you can’t even fucking breathe, because he isn’t here and you’ve forgotten how to live without him.
—  from an unfinished story #818

thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you

i know julie andem won’t ever know won’t ever read this but thank you for creating a show that meant the world to me

because of it there is room in my heart for so much more

and there are tears in my eyes but they’ll help me remember this forever

thank you for reminding me i’m not just my mental illness, and it doesn’t always have to be a curse or a burden

thank you for reminding me that the people i should keep in my life are the ones who will love and accept me no matter what

thank you for this show 

thank you so much

if my gratitude could extend across the ocean i’d make it so and on the way hug everyone i’ve met because of this show too

so thank you from the bottom of my heart

thank you

The Reader’s Four Horsemen of the Bore-Apocalypse:

  • This would have been a really intense scene if there had been proper build up prior to it.
  • This would have been a really intense scene if it wasn’t a repeat of a scene from four chapters ago.
  • This would have been a really intense scene if I cared about the characters more.
  • This would have been a really intense scene if it wasn’t an over dramatic mess of miscommunication and out of character angst. 

Bonus points if the scene includes all four at once.


word count: 1,689 words
story peek: “no one loved me when i was a nobody!” “well i did!” in which peter forgets about his friends after he gets closer to liz. (requested)

She was completely lost. High school had been promised to be the best four years of her life and she was sure that statement would ring true with Peter by her side. Now however, she wasn’t so sure. Peter had been her best friend for years and suddenly it was like their friendship was a myth.

How could Peter toss her to the side and forget her like that? She had been there through everything and ultimately, she fell in love with him. She hated clichés and the fact that she became one by falling for her best friend somewhat appalled her.

She wasn’t sure if it was because of that or her suspicions that Peter could never like her like that, that she bottled her feelings up and through them into the ocean. She knew Peter liked Liz Allen, the most beautiful girl in their whole school.

And who could blame him? Liz Allen had it all. The brains, the beauty, the personality—everything. So when Peter came to (Name) saying he needed help asking Liz to the dance, she agreed to help with a heavy heart. And of course, everything succeeded.

Peter had gained Liz as his date to homecoming and snagged his first kiss on the dance floor with her. (Name) felt Peter pulling away before she saw it. Whether it be cancelling the traditional pizza lunch dates every Saturday to hang out with Liz or blowing her off to sit with Liz and the more popular kids at lunch—she knew it was coming.

Slowly but surely, contact with Peter fizzled from texting non-stop everyday, to a few texts here or there, to nothing at all. Peter even refused to look her way in the halls. She knew she wasn’t the only one being treated this way. Ned and Michelle had ultimately lost their friendships with Peter too.

(Name) clung to them after losing her best friend. She felt lost without him by her side. There was no one to eat pizza with for lunch, no one to binge watch all the Harry Potter movies with on longer weekends, no one to calm her down before a big test, there was no Peter. And God, it tore her apart.

Through it all, her feelings for Peter never dwindled. A spark of heat still pierced through her veins when he’d accidentally look her way. Her heart would flutter whenever she’d see him smile. It killed her that he had this affect on her.

After a particularly rough day, she decided enough was enough. She had to know why Peter pushed her away before she lost it completely. Her feet carried her to his apartment and when she knocked, it was May who opened the door instead of Peter.

“(Name)! It’s so nice to see you! How have you been?” May asked, ushering her into the apartment and closing the door behind her.

“I’ve been better. Is Peter home?” she said, her voice slightly shaky. There was a small tremor in her hands as she awaited May’s response.

“No, he said he was going to be out with friends, but he should be home soon. You can wait in his room if you’d like,” she offered, and (Name) flashed a hesitant smile.

“That’d be great, thanks May,” she said, her legs already moving her to Peter’s small room. Out of old habit, she opened the door to the room to find it empty. Hesitantly, she shuffled her feet across the carpet and to his twin sized bed.

She ran a hand along the top before sitting. Her eyes held a sense of longing to go back to how life was before Peter became so successful with Liz. Before he became quite popular. She was so lost in her thoughts she didn’t hear Peter come home.

“What are you doing here?” he asked after pushing open his bedroom door. He was taken aback by her presence. Her head shot up to look at him and she clumsily scrambled off of the bed.

“Didn’t May tell you I was here?” she asked, trying to prolong her confrontation with him.

“No, May’s at work now,” Peter said, crossing his arms over his chest. “Now, why exactly are you here?”

She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. Her gaze was casted downwards, as she suddenly found the carpet flooring much more interesting than before.

“I just wanted to talk is all,” she mumbled dragging the toe of her shoe in a small circle.

“About what?” he asked, his eyes narrowed slightly and he impatiently tapped his forearm with his finger.

“About us. Our friendship. Why you stopped caring about me,” she said, lifting her head to make eye contact with him. Peter gave a slight scoff in response.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Oh don’t play innocent with me Peter Parker, you know exactly what I’m talking about,” her voice was starting to raise in volume and an angry fuel of fire was growing in her chest. Her bottled emotions were quickly falling off their shelves and crashing to the floor.

“You used to be my best friend! We did everything together and you suddenly threw it all away for some prissy girl like Liz!” she was yelling and making wild hand gestures at Peter. Meanwhile, Peter stood there, his veins slowly filling with anger until they exploded.

“At least I don’t depend on one person for everything!” Peter retorted, and she frowned, only allowing the insult to fuel the raging fire even more. “I’m finally happy now! I have friends that like me and people actually think I’m cool!”

“Whatever then, forget about me. But what about Michelle? What about Ned? Huh? What about the three of us? Were we not good enough for you? Did you think that we were such shitty friends that pushing us away and leaving us in the dirt would be best for you? News flash Peter: when all’s said and done, Liz and everyone else won’t give a shit about you or your friendships and you will have nobody left behind to be your friend,” her breathing was ragged and she was cursing herself for being so harsh, but the emotions kept cracking and spilling and she couldn’t control it. Peter opened his mouth to speak but nothing came out.

“Why the hell did you do it anyways? Why’d you suddenly become so interested in being one of the “popular kids”?” her voice was hoarse but she continued to yell, it felt like the only way to get everything out in the open.

“Dammit (Name) are you blind? Can’t you see it? No one loved me when I was a nobody!” Peter yelled right back, throwing his hands in the air, completely exasperated by her. He paced in front of her while he spoke.

“Yeah? Well I did!” she shouted, her voice cracking in the middle of the sentence. Peter stopped pacing and looked at her with wide eyes and his mouth parted open.

“What?” he whispered. She shook her head.

“I loved you. I loved you so damn much Peter Parker and it killed me, it still kills me, every single goddamned day. I loved you when you fell down my front porch steps after it rained. I loved you when you got excited about something stupid and small. I loved you when you had your heart set on dating Liz. I loved you even when you stopped being my friend. I still love you and you don’t even give a shit about me anymore,” she was sobbing at this point. Hot tears rolled down the curves of her cheeks and dripped down to the floor. Peter stared at her, completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words.

“(Name),” he muttered and she shook her head. Her hands vigorously wiped at her eyes.

“Just forget it,” she said, moving to leave. Peter stood in front of the doorway, blocking her exit.

“Move, Peter.”


“Dammit, Peter! I said move!” she yelled and Peter stayed rooted in his place. (Name) lifted her arms to push Peter out of the way but he wouldn’t budge. Her hands balled into fists and she beat them against Peter’s chest, tears still flowing down her cheeks.

She soon grew tired and slumped against Peter’s chest. Her forehead rested just underneath the base of his neck and she sobbed into his chest, arms hanging limply at her sides. Peter brought his arms up and wrapped them tightly around her. One hand stroke through her hair as he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

“Shh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” he whispered, over and over and over again. Her crying slowly seemed to stop and he picked her up, carrying her to his bed. He sat them down with his back against the headboard, her sitting in between his legs. The side of her face was pressed against his chest.

“You’re a real ass, you know that?” she sniffled and Peter let out a small chuckle.

“I know,” he paused for a minute, pressing kisses to the top of her head. “Do you think you can forgive me?”

“Only if you’ll be my friend again. Ned and Michelle aren’t the same as you.”

Peter smiled and nodded his head. His fingers played with her hair, casually twirling pieces of it on his fingers.

“Hey Pete?” she whispered after a long moment of silence. He hummed in response.

“I meant it, you know, when I said I love you,” she mumbled and Peter felt his cheeks heat up.

“Might be hard for you to believe, but I love you too,” he responded, pressing his lips to her hair for another countless time. She smiled.

When May came home that night, she poked her head into Peter’s room and she smiled at the sight of them together. Peter was still slumped against the headboard, asleep now, with his head resting against (Name)’s who was still in between his legs, with Peter’s arms wrapped around her middle.

It felt good to have things somewhat back to normal.

I think when you miss someone, it never really goes away. You still wake up some mornings, a year after, ten years after, and feel like your chest is caving in on itself. You still look to the side and expect someone to be there. But there’s no one. I don’t think it stops hurting. I think I’ve just learned to live with the tunnel through my chest.
—  from an unfinished story #819

anonymous asked:

All this Maglor talk makes me think about what he was up to post First Age. Do you think he was a Third Age ghost story, like elves tell their children, don't wander too far from home or you'll be stolen away by the Maglor! Or elves traveling alone in the forest coming upon a lone elf and always in the back of their minds thinking, shit, what if that's him?

“Listen!” cried the bard. “Listen, good folk and I shall tell a tale such as never you have heard before.” 

The taproom of the Prancing Pony stilled and quieted, which said much for the skill of his voice, or of the mannish want for new stories.

“The Dark Lord is thrown down and a king crowned in the West!” the bard went on, leaping up onto a table and drawing out his harp. “But Sauron - yes! I shall speak his name! - is not the first nor the greatest foe of the free peoples, and there are kings that sit e’en now in a West more distant than Gondor. A flagon of ale and a warm bed for the night, and I shall tell you of the fall of Morgoth, and the fall, too, of the great Elvenkings of old. I shall sing to you the Noldolantë, as was first sung by Maglor Fëanorian, the greatest bard to ever walk this earth.”

Barliman Butterbur looked around at the crowded taproom and the folk squeezing in from the stables as the news spread and decided he knew a good deal when he heard it. He filled the requested flagon and handed it up. 

The bard drained it in one long gulp, wiped his mouth upon his sleeve and struck another cord. “There was a man - a prince! The greatest of all princes! - and he had seven sons-”

It was a long story, but a good one. Barliman liked the clever maiden in the vampire fell even if he couldn’t quite keep up with all the Fins - what kind of names were those, he asked you? - and much of it was sadder than he liked. But it kept the patrons in and kept them drinking, which was more than enough to recommend it to him. 

The young bard told the story well, slipping into the characters like they were well-worn boots and a favourite jacket. He was a handsome fellow, bright-eyed with hair as raven-dark as the plumes in his fine hat, and the flames licking in the hearth threw shadows across his features that made him seem now fair and merry, now old and fell as a grizzled wolf in keeping with the characters in his tale. 

When he was done with his tale, had accepted another flagon of ale and refused, despite much pleading, to do an encore, the room started to empty out, the patrons wending their way home or upstairs to their beds. 

“Here now, though,” said Barliman, pausing with his hands full of empty jugs and greasy plates. “What about that last fellow? You never said what happened to the second son.” He was an innkeep after all and every innkeep has a sense for when he’s been cheated.

“Faded from grief,” said the bard, wearily for it had been a long performance. “Or drowned with Beleriand. Returned to the West when the weight of his sins grew too great for even his proud shoulders to bear up under. Or perhaps,” - he leant in closer and Barliman was not sure why he’d thought this old man young. “Perhaps he lingers still upon these shores. Haunting the woods, and singing sad songs beside forgotten pools. Perhaps he steals away Mannish children to raise as his own, scions of his dead house.”

“Not around here, I shouldn’t think,” Barliman huffed indignantly. “That may have gone over in that drowned country but we have a proper king now and he wouldn’t hold with stolen children.”

The bard laughed merrily. “Of course, of course. The poor fellow’s surely dead, but I’ve long found a neat ending, all tied up in a bow, makes for a poorer story. A more forgettable one, certainly, and I would not have poor Maglor fade from history altogether. Now if you’ll excuse me, I am for my bed.” His hard heeled boots rang on the stairs as he picked his way up them. 

His words rang on in Barliman’s mind a good while longer. After the tables were wiped down and Barliman was in his nightshirt blowing out the candle, he thought about that wanderer, weeping upon the cold sand of a distant shore.

All innkeeps have a sense for when they’ve been cheated and a new thought tickled at the back of Barliman’s mind. 

But the bed was soft, the hour was late and Barliman never had had much luck in recognising kings. 


Ok so this rant has been a long time comming. Recently Pat R, author of the amazing kingkiller chronicles ( a dnd inspired book series about a bard who goes on crazy adventures and makes bad decisions, if you haven’t read i would recommend ) released artwork for the cover of the first books 10 year publication anniversary and then was swamped with tweets regarding the 3rd book which has yet to be finished. Stuff like “idk about art wheres 3rd book” blah blah blah.

And honestly? Fuck off out the fandom if you think having a book in your hands instantly is more important than the quality of the book itself. I personally would wait 10 fucking years if it ment a book Pat was proud of and wasn’t a rushed mess.

Ive seen this happen to sooo many creators who are forced to sacrifice quality content for the sake of impatient fans who would probably slam the content apon release for being rushed and unfinished.

And dont tell me its not that hard to finish a book/comic/whatever bc have you ever tried?????? Like genuinely sat down and tried to write novels with interesting characters, plot and settings while also pumping them out as quickly as possible,AND juggle your other responsabilitys, you’d burn out with a half assed series.


@naenae00love you agree right? Im not yelling for no reason?

Comfort in Silence

Prompt: Gentle soul 

Setting: Canon

Pairing: Kacchako

Summery: Their rescue mission didn’t go well. Ochako won’t let Bakugou handle the aftermath alone, not this time. 

A/N: I’m so nervous about posting this! It’s my first Kacchako ficlet, so I hope you all like it. Let me know if I’ve tagged everything okay, I’m new to the fandom.

Bakugou didn’t do crowds when upset.

Various missions and team building activities enlightened her to the blonde’s perplexing behaviour. Their latest mission set an example of murphy’s law. Everything that could go wrong, happened. Deku true to himself cried for those he couldn’t save.

Bakugou initially reacted in the way he knows best, an explosion of anger. The years had tamed his fiery temper somewhat, in traumatic circumstances he failed to hide his true emotions. Needless to say, the objects surrounding him didn’t come out unscathed.

In the age of heroes and quirks, mother nature is a still a force to be reckoned with add villains to that scenario and the outlook turned dire.

“Fuck off Kirishima,” he spat, not bothering to turn his head. Typical.

“I said-“

Angry red eyes met her own as his head snapped around. Ochako felt her heart thumping on her rib cage, raw emotion palpable on his rugged face. Katsuki’s rage isn’t to be taken lightly.

Not that she’s scared of him.

Ochako, sensitive to the emotion of the people close to her, felt the anxiety deep within her classmate as if it were her own. Combine that with her own sadness, and she was close to breaking down. Again. Skin feeling hot and clammy, she rubbed her forearms wincing at her suit catching raised hairs underneath. She needed to remember to put in a lining request to the costume department, a creature comfort but necessary.

“Tch, what the fuck do you want?” His low, rough tone breaking her train of thought. She wasn’t here to think about clothing alterations. Managing to give a sad smile, she watched his lips form a snarl, his eyes searching.

He hadn’t told her to piss off yet.


“I felt like fresh air.” A half-truth, they both knew she didn’t have to use the residence roof for that. Holding his angry glare, her body defiant in its stance she dared him to challenge her. Crinkles formed on his brow, a growl rumbling in the air as he bit back a retort. Instead of choosing to jerk head around, giving her his back.

Manners didn’t exist in Bakugou’s vocabulary. What you see, is what you get, pleasantries be damned. At first, it was perplexing behaviour, but after dealing with manipulative ways of villains, she sees it as a virtue. It needed polishing to be palatable for the public, however, Ochako is sure his passion will shine through. No one trained like Bakugou, she frequently witnessed his insane training programs.

Deku looked up to him, striving to be like him for a reason. Bakugou’s focus and instinct in battle, his body moving in a way that made her throat feel dry. In their match, his efficiency made her cry in frustration but he never looked down on her. Not once. After she declared her intent to battle despite the odds, after she fought tooth and nail, he accepted her wholly.

Cowards had no place in his world, only those who fought with their entire being deserved to fight him. Katsuki didn’t see her for her background or her gender, respecting resolve and power in battle.

It was a fight that opened her eyes to the young man in front of her. He is more than an angry, aggressive exterior. The expletives and violent reactions a cover for a teenager who cared more than he was willing to let on.

Hence, not buying his current act.

Tension contorting the muscles in his back, black muscle shirt melding to the slick skin. He had fought hard, parrying blows, and performing acrobatics during combat that rendered her breathless. It hadn’t been enough. Even with the support of pros, there had been casualties, some teetering on the edge of death.  

It’s heartbreaking to try so hard and fail.

It wasn’t a complete loss, but they didn’t win either.

The school taught them to prepare for both, that they couldn’t save everyone. A war between good and evil meant innocents will get caught in-between. Human shields, hostages, bait, all common tactics used by villains.

Sighing she stepped forward, gripping the stone wall to pull herself up. She couldn’t use her quirk again yet, she had overdone today as it was. Muscles aching, she shifted her legs to dangle off the edge. Vertigo wasn’t an issue when she didn’t have her quirk activated, her father owns a construction company, heights and vertical drops didn’t bother her.

Glancing away from her swinging feet she paid attention to the blond beside her. His posture taut and upright, gaze fixed straight ahead. Unable to stop herself, a giggle escaped her mouth at his screwed-up face. It truly is a remarkable sight. At her tinkling laughter, his lips quirked, head whipping to the side to avoid eye contact. Scoffing, his hands balled into fists flinching as sore skin stretched over his knuckles.  

Ochako frowned, noticing his wince her eyes drawn to the movement. Inhaling, she covered up a gasp, knowing Bakugou wouldn’t take kindly to overt fussing. His quirk also bore consequences for overuse. Reaching with both hands she cupped his fist, uncurling his fingers one by one, biting her bottom lip in concentration.

She didn’t want to hurt him. Successful in her attempt to relax his hand, a smile graced her features. Placing their joined hands between them, she kept her own resting on top. His skin felt rough but warm, a contrast to her soft flesh. No doubt an adaptation to the abuse his quirk handed out. She didn’t mind, calloused skin meant hard work and dedication in her family.

Looking up, she found Bakugou in an unguarded state of incredulity. Emotions flashing across his face as his attention darted from their hands to her eyes. Shrugging she squeezed his hand, turning to focus on the view in front.

If Bakugou wouldn’t accept comfort from the teachers or the other classmates, she would do her best. Ochako knew actions spoke louder than words to the boy by her side. Sometimes silent company when contemplating thoughts meant more than a fleeting “It’ll be all right”.

anonymous asked:

Hello, I enjoy your writing and was wondering if you are still taking prompts? I was wondering about an AU where Sidney runs into a lost and barely English speaking Geno who lost his tour group?

This one’s been almost done for about a month and I haven’t gotten to post it til now, oop. (crossposted here on AO3

Zhenya was going to die in this cruel, cold wasteland.

Or, not die, maybe. He’d probably just wander around and stress eat his way through most of his spending money until Sasha found him- but, he was cold, and it was very, very cruel of Sasha to ditch him like this when this whole trip had been his idea in the first place.

Keep reading

so we end here.

we end where we began, with me sitting in my pajamas with jonas’s voice filling up the air around me, except now, there are doodles of sana pinned up behind my laptop and everything means so much more. 

i started skam without knowing what the fuck i was getting into. the moment i knew i was fucked was when eva showed up at the skatepark to talk to jonas. i got goosebumps and thought, oh, shit, here comes another one, because i fell in love with fiction when i was three and by now, i know what it feels like when someone else’s world hits you hard. i have loved novels and series, characters, movies, and shows, but in the words of my dear even bech nӕsheim, i have never felt anything quite like this. ever.

so we end here. we end with love. i love you, i love these characters, and i love skam.

takk for alt.

Anyway. Unfollow me if you support the exclusion of aces in LGBTQIA spaces. You’ve aligned yourself with the radfem, gold star lesbian, biphobe, racist white gay boy side of the community and I want you the fuck off my dash. Oh and feel free to message me so I can unfollow you too. Thanks.

Eid Mubarak to all my wonderful Muslim followers. Most of you I’ve had the honour of meeting through Skam and honestly, it’s one of my favourite things about my Skam experience. What I didn’t learn through season four, I’ve learned through you. Even my atheist ass has been touched and encouraged by your love and commitment to your faith and Allah. But yeah, it’s honestly been wonderful discussing everything with you guys, and becoming friends, even if a lot of it was us complaining about Skam together! Haha. I hope you all have a wonderful, blessed weekend. I love you! 💖💙

First Date

               “Jane – ready to go? I thought we could maybe stop at that French restaurant over on Worth.”

                “Oh, um…” Jane’s gazed dropped as she stared at the floor, feeling the blush spreading across her face. “You mean, like a date?”

                Kurt laughed, placing his hands on her waist and pulling her closer to him. “Yes, Jane, a date. Dinner, maybe afterwards we could take a walk that doesn’t involve chasing down suspects, no paperwork to fill out. That sort of thing.”

                Jane couldn’t help but laugh, rolling her eyes at Kurt. With a small smile, she said, “It’s just that… I’m not very good at … dating.” Not that she had much experience, anyway. But then again, the last time she’d tried to date she’d run off just ten minutes in. Not to mention the kidnapping. It wasn’t that she thought that would happen with Kurt, but she couldn’t stop the knot from forming in the stomach at the thought. Dating seemed… a little daunting.

                “It’s not like it’s our first date,” Kurt said simply, pressing a quick kiss to her forehead.

                Jane looked up, confused. “What?”

                “Let’s see, we’ve known each other for a year, we’ve slept together…” he grabbed her hand, lacing their fingers together. “And we love each other. That’s at least 10th date territory, more like… I don’t know, 50th date or something.”

                “Well… when you put it like that… maybe dinner would be nice,” she smiled widely. She stepped closer to Kurt until there was no space between them, pressing a kiss to their still intertwined hands. “Tonight, you said?”


Trying to write little ficlets instead of full stories. Hoping maybe that will spark a groove instead of the mostly nothingness and frustration that’s been happening.

Also, @gypsyscarfwoman doesn’t know it, but she is probably the only reason this story exists, so thanks for that.