life story in three words

I have found myself on the kitchen floor of my best friends apartment,
lost in a bottle of vodka.
Surrounded by underaged sinners,
only living for these moments
where we forget what’s it like to be alive.

I have made mistakes I can’t even forgive,
and sometimes the word spreads.
Once when I let another one down,
the rumors started to start,
and I sat on my bed knowing I couldn’t run fast enough this time.
That was the day I stoped wishing for a new life,
and the day I wished it just to end.

I watched the clouds move across a night sky I would never reach,
while a boy who never knew me asked me to devote my soul to him,
and I wrote the word NO in angry red lines
but I whispered yes under my breath.
He sunk his teeth in eagerly,
and I let him.

—  Moments- the big three//Kayla

Leaning against a wall, slightly apart from the crowd that’s gathered in front of her, Kara’s eyes are brimming with tears.

A hand slips around her waist and holds her side, and another grasps her upper arm and pulls her close.

She gently lays her head onto the shoulder that’s appeared beside her.

Her voice shakes, and it’s barely above a whisper, “She’s my best friend.”

The two of them look out in the middle of the dance floor, where—wrapped in Jeremiah’s arms, swaying along to what will now be one of the happiest and saddest songs Kara’s ever heard—Alex is downright glowing.

“And you’re hers, kid,” Maggie whispers.

Kara looks to her and tears start down her cheeks, “I know you will…but just…take care of her, ok? Promise?”

She smiles and wipes Kara’s tears away gently, even as her own are threatening, “Always,” she promises.

Thank you for all your hard work in putting this together and reading and reblogging all the things, @queercapwriting. There’s been so many fantastic fics/gifs/artwork and it’s been such a fun week. :)

Questions for Writers
[1] Right- or left-handed? 
[2] Pencil or keyboard?
[3] Favorite genre to write in? 
[4] Least favorite genre to write in? 
[5] When did you start writing?
[6] What was your first story about? 
[7] How do you plan/outline your stories?
[8] Where do you get your inspiration from?
[9] Would you ever write fan fiction? 
[10] Have you ever gotten a story idea from a dream?
[11] Who is your favorite writer(s)? 
[12] What is your favorite book?
[13] Have you ever had fan-art drawn of your OCs?
[14] What time of day do you write best at?
[15] What are your writing strengths? 
[16] What are your writing weaknesses? 
[17] Have you ever submitted a manuscript to a publisher? 
[18] Have you finished a novel?
[19] What is your highest word-count? 
[20] What is your favorite word(s) to use when writing?
[21] Who is your favorite character that you've created? 
[22] What are some of the main themes in your writing? 
[23] Have you ever been critiqued by a professional?
[24] Have you taken writing courses? 
[25] How would you describe a good writer? 
[26] What are you planning to write in the future? 
[27] What advice do you have for aspiring writers?
[28] What is the last sentence you wrote?
[29] What is your favorite quote from a story you’ve written?
[30] What is the title of the last story you were writing?
[31] Have you/would you self-publish?
[32] What is the longest amount of time you’ve gone without writing?
[33] Have you ever written a Mary Sue/Gary Stu?
[34] What made you want to start writing?
[35] Have you ever turned real life people into characters for your story?
[36] Describe your protagonist in three words.
[37] Describe your antagonist in three words.
[38] Do you know anyone else who writes?
[39] What’s your favorite writing snack/drink?
[40] Have you made a cover for your story (or had someone else make one)?
[41] Would you ever consider being a ghost writer?
[42] Has your writing won any competitions?
[43] Has your writing ever made anyone cry?
[44] Do you share your writing with your friends/family?
[45] What are some of the heavier topics you’ve written about?
[46] Do you prefer happy or sad endings?
[47] What is a line from your writing that sounds weird out-of-context?
[48] What is a first line from one of your stories that you really enjoy?
[49] How diverse/well-represented are your characters?
[50] Have you ever written about a country you've never been in?
[51] Have you ever written a LGBTQA+ character who wasn’t lesbian/gay?
[52] Has your work ever been compared to famous writers/works?
[53] What are three of the best character names you’ve come up with?
[54] Has a single event in your life ever sparked a story idea/character?
[55] Do you believe in writer’s block?
[56] How do you get rid of writer’s block?
[57] Do you prefer realistic or non-realistic (fantasy, paranormal) writing?
[58] Which of your characters would you (A) Hug? (B) Date? (C) Kill?
[59] Have you ever killed off a favorite character?
[60] How did you kill off a character in a previous story?
[61] What’s the most tragic backstory you’ve given a character?
[62] Do you enjoy writing happy or sad scenes more?
[63] What’s the best feedback you’ve ever gotten on a story?
[64] What is the weirdest Google search you’ve conducted for a story?
[65] Have you ever lost sleep over a character?
[66] Have you ever written a sex scene?
[67] What do you love and hate about your protagonist?
[68] Have you ever written a chapter that physically and mentally drained you?
[69] Do your parents/family approve of you being a writer?
[70] Write a story in six words or less.
Things I Wish I Could Say To You:

You and I have such different purposes for hating the same term. On your tongue, that phrase twists itself into something so heavy that you can hardly bring yourself to spill it past the boundaries of your lips. It takes months, years to earn those three words from you, and don’t get me wrong, I understand why. That doesn’t mean my reasons are the same, though.

See, you believe those words are so important, but I don’t think they’re nearly important enough. How can three simple words describe the way your voice rumbles into your chest when you’ve just woken up and that sleepy smile I can hear touching your words that lights up my world from hundreds of miles away? How can such a simple phrase make you understand the way you make me question what I’ve always known?

I have always hated my name, it’s overly simple and plain, but the way it slips from your mouth when you just can’t help it makes the simplicity sound like music. I find myself wondering how I could get you to say my name and only my name as though it is a hymn, something holy, and somehow the only thing you remember how to say. How does a phrase make sense of that?

Or how about the way I have always wanted to fight the terms and conditions of my choices, but even if choosing you came with a thousand pages to read before I could have you, I would consider that time well spent for a reward beyond my imagination? How do simple words make you see that?

See, life without you existed not all that long ago, but each day that passes, I find myself forgetting a little bit more of what it was like before you were here. A world without you is not one I want anymore, so don’t try to trivialize these emotions.

How can a few words make you understand how your light makes me forget it’s even possible to have a bad day? Or how about the way your presence takes me from a day with no hope to a day where living, love, and futures are still worth fighting for? How can three words possibly even begin to touch the universes that I see in you?

It’s simple. They can’t.

That is why I don’t use that phrase with you, not now, not in ways you can understand. It’s not that I wouldn’t mean it if I said it–it’s that I would, and somehow, it still wouldn’t do you justice.

The Angel and The Devil

Prompt by Anonymous: Okay okay, I loove your fanfics 😩💗 and I was wondering if you could do like a smut fanfic, where Care & Stefan are human and Stefan is a bad boy and doesn’t believe in love, he’s a player and Caroline is a good girl a goody two shoes, and then they meet, and well you can take it from there 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻

A/N: What two one shots in three days? What is happening?! Lol but seriously I’ve been working on this monster for over a week now. What started out as a simple 2k word one shot ended up being a 7.5K word life story. Regardless, part three of Forbes vs Salvatore will be out soon, but I have so many prompts in my inbox just sitting there, so I wanted to do one. Anyway, enjoy, and warning sexual content!


Caroline was beyond pissed at Elena and Bonnie. Honestly what kind of friends dragged you out to a club, made you charm your way in, and then ditched you?

Besides she didn’t want to be here, she should be at home, pouring over her history book. After all, she had a major test tomorrow (that she would probably fail) and she still had to start the outlines of prom. Once again she decided to take on organizing the whole event, but considering that she was the student president, it shouldn’t shock anyone. Besides it was never too early to start organizing

“Look at what the tide dragged in,” commented a voice behind Caroline. 

Upon turning around she came face-to-face with football captain and grade A tool, Tyler Lockwood. 

The roll of her eyes came naturally. “Go flirt with a blonde bimbo dick,” she snapped.

“I already am,” Tyler returned, slyly.

Caroline was so ready to ruin her french manicure on this asshole, but before she even raised her palm, she was shoved back by a body. All she could see was broad shoulders trapped by a leather jacket, and sleek brunette hair. 

“What did you just say to her?” the mysterious figure yelled over the pounding music.

“What’s it you?” Tyler replied in the cockiest voice possible.

Caroline wanted to strangle him, but apparently the stranger agreed with her, because next thing she new Tyler was on the ground. Blood was pouring out of his nose, as the mystery man gave his bruised knuckles a rub.

“You know drunk or not,” the figure spoke, “she doesn’t deserve that.”

Keep reading

mynameisjeffnimlost  asked:

Castle saves Beckett



Kate Beckett strips her uniform shirt off her sweat-soaked body and flings into into her locker. Next comes the heavy bulletproof vest, her fingers scratching at the velcro to yank it open. She takes her first real breath with the thing still a hard weight on her collarbones, and then she shrugs out of that as well.


Her back arches, but as good as that feels, she doesn’t have time.

She’s already late. The line will be out the door.

Beckett decides to leave the uniform pants and the workman boots, reaches into the depths of her locker for whatever t-shirt is still hanging clean. She finds the soft, NYPD grey but she hesitates.

Too late. All she’s got.

Beckett pulls it on over her head and winces as the material tugs on the bobby pins she has to use to keep her hair back. She slits the pin with her nail and drags them out of her hair, one after another, until the short strands around her face fall haphazardly along her ears. 

She untangles the rubber band and shakes out her hair, grabs her phone and weapon, and heads for the safety locker. She ejects the clip on her gun and places it inside her numbered slot, then the weapon after it, and she closes the metal door. It locks automatically, and she feels better for that as well, though the gun has grown into an extension of her own hand. She looks forward to being off probation and no longer under her training officer. Doing it herself.

Now for the line out the door.


She realizes, after about five minutes in the back of the line, that she stinks.

Well. Her uniform pants do, for sure, and she thinks she might have stepped in something at that last call, because her boots are sticky. She was being careful, but the man’s brains had been splattered everywhere inside that apartment. She should’ve taken everything off at work.

She smells like grey matter.

The line moves up and she shuffles forward, and sure enough, people are avoiding her. Edging forward.


Beckett clutches the book closer to her chest and peers ahead, leaning out to see past people. Mostly women have shown up to his book signing, but she missed the reading and she can tell it was intense. Half the women are flirting and flushed, while the other half are the introverts who can’t get words out when faced with their favorite author.

Well. Her turn soon enough.

See how well she does.


She’s of the tongue-tied variety, though she wished so badly she would do better than this.

Richard Castle beams up at her with a smile that could melt the ice caps, and clicks his pen. “Whom shall I make it out to?”

She blinks and presses the tips of her fingers to the table, clears her throat. She’s a police officer; she can do this. “Katie,” she says, her own name choking her up.

“Ah, Katie. Very good. Here you are.” He dedicates and signs a message with a flourish, something grand and sloping that she can’t read upside down. He must see her struggling, because he smiles again, though this time it seems  more real, and he gives her the words. “Never forget.”

She sucks in a breath, stunned, and he gestures to her t-shirt. 

“They’re the real heroes, aren’t they? The NYPD. I just write books. Seems kind of ridiculous. But at least, I don’t know, at least we do what we can to show our support.”

She opens her mouth, stands too long staring at him before the words come. “I just graduated. From the Academy.”

“Oh. Well, then. Congratulations, Katie. Thank you for all you do to keep us safe. All you will do - thank you.”

She takes her book back from him, her mouth not working, her cheeks burning red. She walks away without a word, and only when she gets to the sidewalk outside does she realize what she should have said:

It’s the least I can do for the man who saved my life.