like i literally just feel like editing today

2

Hey guys, hope you had a good new year :) I had a couple of hours to myself today after handing in a piece of coursework and decided to colour a doodle of adult!Hazel from a really boring lecture. 

I have a massive soft spot for all the ladies of HOO, literally, I have such trouble trying to decide my favourite female character that I tend to just not try. Saying that, the children of Hades/ Pluto do tend to hit me right in the feels. Hope you like it, I’ll try to post some more portraits like this when I have some more free time :)

edit: you can get a larger version by right clicking and opening in a new tab I have discovered. 

Alone Pt.3 (Connor McDavid x Reader)

Originally posted by minervra

a/n: ALRIIIIGHT, and here I am finally with part 3! First off, I wanna apologize for taking so long. Terrible writers block, and then I actually ended up rewriting half of it today when I was honestly just supposed to be editing??? Also, I don’t normally state how much words these are, but this one is LITERALLY just under 6000 words long???? holy heck?? so I’m really sorry if I bored you guys with it. I also want to add that connor doesn’t really show up until the end, and I feel like you guys aren’t gonna like that… idk. Anyways, I’m taking a risk with this and I hope you guys enjoy?? idek dude.

Summary: You had finally been convinced to enjoy a night out with the wags that you had befriended before after a month of moping around in your home. It was a night that you had expected to end nicely– despite the differences set between you and Connor. Except your expectations seem to take a turn for the worst when face of someone you dislike, decides to make an unexpected appearance.

Requested: I’m pretty sure like half my followers wanted this.

Warnings: I would like to say a couple of swear words? But I feel like I went a little overboard with it on this one. A verbally collected yet angry reader. A smart (for once???) Connor. Panic attacks.

Part One | Part Two


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Harry’s Home

I have so much fluff in me today, help. I literally just wrote this in the text box, so there’s… no editing or thought. It’s a big stream of consciousness (who is avoiding editing? Not me!). x.

Harry likes a party and a good time as much as the next bloke, but what he really likes is going home. He has a few homes now, and a few more where he feels as if he’s at home – he’s got to have that when he moves around as much as he does – but when he says he’s flying back home he means he’s going home to England. 

He likes being in a place where they talk like him even when the accents differ and where he can pay for something without figuring in an exchange rate. He likes saying ta in the shops and he likes hearing football not soccer and seeing the letter U in the word favour, because without it the word just looks incomplete. 

He likes being in a place with roads that are a little older. He likes skulking about and knowing backways and side routes that can get him out of a spot if there’s a throng of people he’d like to avoid for once to keep his day his and his alone. 

He likes going places where he’s still just Harry, and maybe that’s why he likes to take you back to Holmes Chapel so often. It’s always a bit bittersweet for him to go back – he’d hated it there, hadn’t he? That’s why he’d wanted out to begin with, and then he’d gotten his wish. He wouldn’t change a thing, but now sometimes – only sometimes – he misses those sleepy mornings when he would die of boredom and wouldn’t miss a thing if he slept the whole day away. The gratitude and humility of being able to do what he loves quickly overtakes that, but sometimes it’s nice just to exist without an expectation from others or himself. 

He takes you by the bakery where the old women flirt with him and pat his dimply cheeks, and he takes you to a pub for lunch quite often. He’d admitted to you that he hadn’t been sure how you would react, and when you asked him why, he’d just shrugged. 

“S’not like excitin’ or anythin’,” he explained. “No flash or razzle dazzle.” He shakes his spread fingers and your nose scrunches when you laugh. 

“Why’re you laughin’ fo’?” He’s grinning despite his question. 

Still, though, even with his hair tucked securely under a beanie save for a few loose curls, and a nondescript jumper (that happens to be your favorite on him and on you), and even in a town where he is just Harry, he cannot always escape the fact that he is so much more than just Harry to so many people. 

He’s gracious when a fan interrupts your lunch to say hello, and he listens serenely and with all focus on them as they pour their heart out breathlessly. They’re tearing and shaking, but he never looks annoyed or uneasy by the attention or the grandiosity, because although it might sound silly to some, it never does to him and he wants them to feel how grateful he is. If listening to how he’s impacted their lives is even a drop in the bucket for all he has to repay, he’ll do it every time and make sure they know they have all of his love, always. 

He does, however, feel a little antsy about you. Girls he’s dated before have either skittishly kept to themselves or been roped into it. He understands both sides of it, but you’re not exactly famous and this isn’t exactly the quiet lunch that he’d promised you. 

“Can I take a photo of you two?” you ask with a small, encouraging smile. “Would you let me?” you ask the fan and make a motion for the phone in hand. 

They wipe their sniffling nose and offer a choked, “That would be amazing, ohmygosh, thank you so much.” 

“Of course!” You hold the phone up and tap to focus it on their faces and you wave your hand through the air. “Get closer,” you tell your boyfriend. “And don’t blink.”

Harry looks at you and you think you see awe in his eyes, but you blink and he blinks and then he’s moved right along. “’Right then, love,” Harry laughs and he smiles big with his arm tight around the fan. You take a few photos before nodding and handing the camera and Harry shares a few more quiet words with the fan before giving a hug that in hindsight you wish you had caught for them, too. 

When they’ve gone back to their table Harry leans into you. “Thank you,” he says very seriously with green eyes focused like a laser. “I know it can be a bit…” he searches for the right word. “It’s a little surreal when you’re not in it. It can be even when you are, s’just–”

“They were sweet,” you tell him with a shrug of your shoulders. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “They were lovely.”

It’s a little like he’s waiting for the other shoe to drop, but it doesn’t. And the next time it happens when you’re in the supermarket it still doesn’t. He gets a little more nervous on the inside each time, expecting some sort of fit at home or a less gracious attitude, but every time when there’s a break you ask to please take a photo for them, and sometimes you take multiples if several of them have phones. Harry smiles just a little wider when you’re with him taking the pictures, and after they’re snapped and phones are pocketed by fans who rush away talking about how nice, and good smelling, and soft he is he looks at you with reverent awe. 

You may not get this, but you embrace it because it is a part of him. There’s no jealousy and little resentment except for when you miss him, but even then you roll with what it means to be Harry Styles’ partner better than some people in his industry could. 

What?!” you ask him incredulously as the pair of you walk under an umbrella after such an encounter one rainy London day. 

“Thank you,” he repeats. “You don’t have to be so open and nice.” Least of all, he thinks, when sometimes they say such rotten things about you. Oh yes, he’s seen the cruel, cutting words and they make him boil until he wants to shake sense and yell, “It isn’t true, you don’t have any idea what you’re saying!” 

“I know I don’t have to be,” you agree. “But why would I be? They love you and I love you, and you love them. You make them so happy and they should get to keep a little of that, don’t you think? ‘All the love’ and all tha–hey!”

Harry’s come to a sharp stop and because your arm is through his you’re yanked to a stop, too. He ducks his head down and impulsively steals a kiss and you stiffen for a moment not because it’s unwelcome but because it’s uncharacteristic. He holds you close a lot, especially against a gaggle of paparazzi, but such other displays of affection are kept private or amongst friends. Now, though, he has to kiss you, because he’s not sure he has words for how important what you’ve said is to him. 

He’s not sure he has words for how much you feel like home. 

“I feel like a postcard…I wish you were here.”

anonymous asked:

I've been loosing steam on my novel for about a month now. It feels like the quality has just been continuously decreasing, but I don't have the energy to go back and redo any large portion of it at this point. I'd be really sad to let it go, though; this project means a lot to me.

Everyone hits that slump at some point. I was having a bad writing day today and I think I literally wrote a sentence that read like “the house was scary.” It was bad. Like abominably bad. 

But you know how I got through it? I decided that I don’t care. I have been wanting to write and I have a feeling that the plot will pick up and it will get exciting soon, so I’m just going to write until I get there. In the meantime, I might not get to keep anything I’ve written so far, but I believe in my editing skills and when I finish a first draft of this project, I can cut off that scene, rewrite it, or just do something to it because it obviously can’t stay. 

I told myself three times that no one has to read it. No one has to see it. No one has to know how bad this first draft is. I’ll fix it later. I’m a good editor and I can do that. I can clean it up when I’m finished. It’s all part of the process. Editing does not mean redoing entirely. It means cleaning it up. Books go through many drafts. I know an author who rewrote her first book 32 time. And that sounds like a lot, but come to think of it, if my entire first draft looks like the page I wrote today, 32 is a comforting number. It will get there. Slow and steady. 

One thing I would suggest: don’t spend too much time thinking out each scene. It can bog you down. Finishing a draft can boost your ego and make you feel like you’re getting somewhere - even if you have to finish 32 drafts before it’s done. 

Okay.
So my friends found out my tumblr😐
And I actually want to cry. And i mean literally cry😭
Then i keep having more and more conversations with myself😐
And I pretty much feel like im dying and going mad..
And I had a science test today..
Which i think i’d just like failed.
So that another thing to add to my box of failures.
So yah.
If i just post edits..
It’s cause i’m paranoid my friends will be stalking me😌😔