look i wrote something with thoughts

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!

I wish I could read a book on what it would take to get you to fall in love. And I wish I could download an app that told me when you were happy or mad or jealous or confused. And I wish I could look up at the stars and they’d tell me what to say to you and when to say it. Because you’re a little too complicated for someone who likes things simple and I know you think I’m good at solving puzzles but I need something- just one thing- to be a little bit easier right now.
The signs as my students

Aries: The girl who answered the question “what’s something that’s magnetic?” with “Beyonce” 

Taurus: The boy who ran around at recess screaming “I LIVE TO DIE”

Gemini: The kid who thought snapchat face filters were just some cool game and was always asking if he could ‘play snapchat’

Cancer: The student who looked me straight in the eyes and said “I can see things other people can’t” and then went right back to drawing velociraptors.

Leo: The girl who wrote a full-page story about a woman who fell in love with a giant ear of corn. The best line of the story being “The corn was always there for her.”

Virgo: The kid who would call me over to fill me in on the latest third grade gossip every morning

Libra: The student who dramatically sat down across from me after school and said, “Miss we need to talk business” when asked what kind of business replied, “Chip business”

Scorpio: The student who was not actually in my class at all but was somehow always in the classroom anyway

Sagittarius: The boy who during aftercare somehow snuck out of the school, walked to the 7-11, and then came back with a huge bag of chips

Capricorn: The boy who grabbed my hands one day, started humming tango music, and proceeded to pull me away to dance around the room with him

Aquarius: The kid that called me over in the middle of silent reading time to tell me that moth man did nothing wrong and was just a guy trying his best

Pieces: The little girl who every time she saw me would scream “warning you!” before jumping onto me and expecting me to catch her

When I was nine, possibly ten, an author came to our school to talk about writing. His name was Hugh Scott, and I doubt he’s known outside of Scotland. And even then I haven’t seen him on many shelves in recent years in Scotland either. But he wrote wonderfully creepy children’s stories, where the supernatural was scary, but it was the mundane that was truly terrifying. At least to little ten year old me. It was Scooby Doo meets Paranormal Activity with a bonny braw Scottish-ness to it that I’d never experienced before.

I remember him as a gangling man with a wiry beard that made him look older than he probably was, and he carried a leather bag filled with paper. He had a pen too that was shaped like a carrot, and he used it to scribble down notes between answering our (frankly disinterested) questions. We had no idea who he was you see, no one had made an effort to introduce us to his books. We were simply told one morning, ‘class 1b, there is an author here to talk to you about writing’, and this you see was our introduction to creative writing. We’d surpassed finger painting and macaroni collages. It was time to attempt Words That Were Untrue.

You could tell from the look on Mrs M’s face she thought it was a waste of time. I remember her sitting off to one side marking papers while this tall man sat down on our ridiculously short chairs, and tried to talk to us about what it meant to tell a story. She wasn’t big on telling stories, Mrs M. She was also one of the teachers who used to take my books away from me because they were “too complicated” for me, despite the fact that I was reading them with both interest and ease. When dad found out he hit the roof. It’s the one and only time he ever showed up to the school when it wasn’t parents night or the school play. After that she just left me alone, but she made it clear to my parents that she resented the fact that a ten year old used words like ‘ubiquitous’ in their essays. Presumably because she had to look it up.

Anyway, Mr Scott, was doing his best to talk to us while Mrs M made scoffing noises from her corner every so often, and you could just tell he was deflating faster than a bouncy castle at a knife sharpening party, so when he asked if any of us had any further questions and no one put their hand up I felt awful. I knew this was not only insulting but also humiliating, even if we were only little children. So I did the only thing I could think of, put my hand up and said “Why do you write?”

I’d always read about characters blinking owlishly, but I’d never actually seen it before. But that’s what he did, peering down at me from behind his wire rim spectacles and dragging tired fingers through his curly beard. I don’t think he expected anyone to ask why he wrote stories. What he wrote about, and where he got his ideas from maybe, and certainly why he wrote about ghosts and other creepy things, but probably not why do you write. And I think he thought perhaps he could have got away with “because it’s fun, and learning is fun, right kids?!”, but part of me will always remember the way the world shifted ever so slightly as it does when something important is about to happen, and this tall streak of a man looked down at me, narrowed his eyes in an assessing manner and said, “Because people told me not to, and words are important.”

I nodded, very seriously in the way children do, and knew this to be a truth. In my limited experience at that point, I knew certain people (with a sidelong glance to Mrs M who was in turn looking at me as though she’d just known it’d be me that type of question) didn’t like fiction. At least certain types of fiction. I knew for instance that Mrs M liked to read Pride and Prejudice on her lunch break but only because it was sensible fiction, about people that could conceivably be real. The idea that one could not relate to a character simply because they had pointy ears or a jet pack had never occurred to me, and the fact that it’s now twenty years later and people are still arguing about the validity of genre fiction is beyond me, but right there in that little moment, I knew something important had just transpired, with my teacher glaring at me, and this man who told stories to live beginning to smile. After that the audience turned into a two person conversation, with gradually more and more of my classmates joining in because suddenly it was fun. Mrs M was pissed and this bedraggled looking man who might have been Santa after some serious dieting, was starting to enjoy himself. As it turned out we had all of his books in our tiny corner library, and in the words of my friend Andrew “hey there’s a giant spider fighting a ghost on this cover! neat!” and the presentation devolved into chaos as we all began reading different books at once and asking questions about each one. “Does she live?”— “What about the talking trees” —“is the ghost evil?” —“can I go to the bathroom, Miss?” —“Wow neat, more spiders!”

After that we were supposed to sit down, quietly (glare glare) and write a short story to show what we had learned from listening to Mr Scott. I wont pretend I wrote anything remotely good, I was ten and all I could come up with was a story about a magic carrot that made you see words in the dark, but Mr Scott seemed to like it. In fact he seemed to like all of them, probably because they were done with such vibrant enthusiasm in defiance of the people who didn’t want us to.

The following year, when I’d moved into Mrs H’s class—the kind of woman that didn’t take away books from children who loved to read and let them write nonsense in the back of their journals provided they got all their work done—a letter arrived to the school, carefully wedged between several copies of a book which was unheard of at the time, by a new author known as J.K. Rowling. Mrs H remarked that it was strange that an author would send copies of books that weren’t even his to a school, but I knew why he’d done it. I knew before Mrs H even read the letter.

Because words are important. Words are magical. They’re powerful. And that power ought to be shared. There’s no petty rivalry between story tellers, although there’s plenty who try to insinuate it. There’s plenty who try to say some words are more valuable than others, that somehow their meaning is more important because of when it was written and by whom. Those are the same people who laud Shakespeare from the heavens but refuse to acknowledge that the quote “Some are born great, some achieve greatness, and some have greatness thrust upon them“ is a dick joke.

And although Mr Scott seems to have faded from public literary consumption, I still think about him. I think about his stories, I think about how he recommended another author and sent copies of her books because he knew our school was a puritan shithole that fought against the Wrong Type of Wordes and would never buy them into the library otherwise. But mostly I think about how he looked at a ten year old like an equal and told her words and important, and people will try to keep you from writing them—so write them anyway.

rose - peter parker

Rose - ((Tom Holland)) Peter Parker x Reader | 3rd Person

Prompt: (soulmate au where: after you meet your soulmate, whatever they draw or write on themselves will also appear on you) During class, a poorly-drawn rose appears on Peter’s forearm, letting him know that he has met his soulmate.

a/n: soulmate aus: overdone yet not done enough. DAY 7!! HOMECOMING COMES OUT TODAY!! i’m insanely proud of both tom and zendaya (my two loves) and i’m so excited to see the movie! but i’m super busy this weekend/today so i have to wait until next week to see it :( so nO SPOILERS! and i want to thank all of you guys who read all the imagines for all 7 days and the support has been insane, so thank you so fucking much you guys rock.


(Y/N) didn’t believe she would find her soulmate. Though he was probably out there, she may not ever meet him. Most of her friends had not yet met their soulmate, but there were a lucky few who were so happy it made (Y/N) sick.

Even having met her fair share of guys, (Y/N) wanted to focus more on her schoolwork over finding love. Though meeting that special someone was always in the back of her mind, she knew that the chances were slim that he went to her high school. Besides, getting into a good college should be a bigger priority over obsessing to find a soulmate.

She sat in the back of a boring history class, and nobody was paying attention to the video being played. Even the teacher had decided to go on their phone over watching the dull documentary. (Y/N) was laying her head down on the desk, bored out of her mind, and decided to pull out a red pen.

Clicking the pen, (Y/N) sloppily started doodling a rose on her upper forearm. The red rose was poorly drawn and messy, but she was proud of it. The rose was simple and plain and she liked it, so she just left it as it was. (Y/N) put her pen back into her bag, and focused her attention back to the uninteresting video.

In a different classroom, Peter sat in the back of his science class next to his friend. His sleeve was rolled down to his wrists, and he felt something on his upper forearm. Pulling his sleeve up, he saw a rose on. It looked as if it were made of red pen, and it seemed to have been drawn carelessly, yet there was something about it that was strangely pretty.

His eyes widened and Peter quickly showed it to his friend, who was excited for Peter. Peter was both happy and extremely anxious. He asked his friend what to do, which we only got an “I don’t know” in response.

Peter walked home after the bell rang, still confused over what exactly he should do. There was a girl out there, who drew a rose on her arm, and didn’t even know that he saw it. After reaching his apartment, he sat down at his desk and looked at the rose. Finally deciding what to do, he picked up a sharpie and wrote on his arm. I like the rose he wrote simply. Peter hoped whoever she was, saw it.

Sitting on her bed, (Y/N) felt something on her arm. She looked at her arm and saw the words “I like the rose” in a sloppy handwriting. (Y/N)’s eyes widened in surprise, she never expected to meet her soulmate this early.

Though she knew that having a soulmate must be nice, she thought she wasn’t ready for the type of life-long commitment that came with it. (Y/N) ran into her bathroom and scrubbed off the words. She would write back when she was ready, and for now, she wasn’t.


It’s been a week since Peter’s soulmate had drawn the rose, and since then he was determined to find out who she was. The girl would never respond when he wrote, and she hadn’t drawn anything since.

Deciding that the day was hot compared to most days in New York, the majority of girls wore short-sleeves. Peter quickly came up with a plan simple enough to find out if his soulmate went to his school. He was planning to draw a large dot on his arm in bright red ink so it would stand out on any skin tone.

Later that day, he saw a girl walk by him with a red dot on her arm. He quickly scrambled to see who the girl was, and it was (Y/N). He had met her once, she sat in front of him in their math class. Having his first, real look at the girl, he noticed that she was really pretty. Her smile was warm, and her laugh was genuine.

He went home that day, happy to know who his soulmate was. Once in his room, he got out his marker and wrote on his arm, deciding to have fun with the newfound knowledge. Peter simply wrote the words Hey (Y/N).

(Y/N) looked at her arm to see what it would now say, and she was shocked to see what was written. She wondered how he had figured out, but decided that there was no use in hiding anymore. She wrote a small Hey back and waited to see where it would take her.


Another week later, (Y/N) and her soulmate had become somewhat close. They talked for long periods of time so both of their arms were covered in ink, but (Y/N) still didn’t know who he was. He had given clues, but she still remained clueless.

Peter hadn’t told (Y/N) who he was yet for two reasons. For one, he was scared of what she would think. In his opinion, she was extremely out of his league; smart, funny, pretty were only a few things people could use to describe her. The second reason was just that he liked the mystery of it, but that was all going to change.

(Y/N) had agreed to meet her soulmate at a coffee shop nearby their school. She was anxious, but she knew that no matter who he may be, she was happy. He seemed really funny and smart, and she was happy to finally be able to meet him.

Showing up to the cafe, (Y/N) ordered a coffee and sat at a table near the front window. She looked down at her phone and scrolled through her Instagram feed, waiting for who her soulmate would be.

A tap on her shoulder sent her bolting upright. In front of her stood Peter Parker, holding a rose. She smiled widely and ran out of her chair. Immediately hugging him, causing them both to laugh. He handed her the rose, and when (Y/N) gave him a confused look, he said, “It was the first thing that you drew on yourself that got drawn on me.”

(Y/N) took the rose and smiled, starting a conversation. The two talked for hours, and when it got late (Y/N) looked at him and said, “I’m glad that out of all the people that could’ve been my soulmate, it was you. I mean, there are loads of assholes that go to our school, and even though you’re kind of a dork, you’re my dork.”

Peter laughed and pretended to be offended, “Well, excuse me! At least I’m not a loser like you!”

(Y/N) smiled again, she hadn’t stopped smiling since the start of the date and her cheeks ached, “But in all seriousness, I’m glad you’re my soulmate,” she said honestly.

He beamed at her and said, “I’m glad you’re my soulmate, too.”


also if u like this pls tap that little heart over there bc it really motivates me to write more and i appreciate every single one of you ♡ and if you ever have an issue (spelling/grammar or even the concept) just dm me!

12x23 Coda

Dean stares at the wisp of darkness in his fingers. So soft, he thinks. So fragile.

“What is that?”

Sam’s soft voice pierces Dean’s thoughts. “I–it’s–it was–Cas gave it to me.” Dean hesitates, then opens his hand to show Sam.

Dean doesn’t look up at Sam’s inhalation. “After that day in the barn, we…talked. I asked about his wings…and he showed me. Even worn and frayed, his wings were so…”

Dean drifts for a time. “I wish you could have seen him that first time, Sammy. He was a giant. All sparks and lightning. And I…” Dean laughs, a half-mad sort of laugh. “I stabbed him in the chest. His eyes were so blue, like fallen stars. I stabbed him…”

Neither brother can take his eyes from the small black feather lying across Dean’s palm. So insubstantial; even among its fellows, how could it have held such greatness aloft?

“I asked, and he showed me. I couldn’t help myself, I stroked his feathers like he was a fucking bird or something.  He was so still, and then he…he smiled. I’ve never seen him smile like that, Sam. I don’t think anyone touches an angel’s wings. When I stopped he reached back…so many of his feathers were already gone, but he plucked this one anyway…” He gestures at the angel’s gift. He can’t see it anymore, there are too many tears. He doesn’t remember how to blink them away.

“Did you ever see his wings, Sam? Before they were bur–” He stops, choking on the word. Sam wants to remind Dean they saw the wings together once, but realizes Dean won’t hear him anyway. “They were perfect, Sammy. And when I touched them I could hear them singing. Singing. Angels don’t sing, but their wings do. And the music…”

Dean closes his eyes. “Until yesterday, this feather sang to me, Sam. But it’s quiet now. Everything is quiet.”

He looks at the pattern burned into the ground.

“Everything is quiet.”

Together

“You’ve had some pretty bloody stupid ideas before, Remus Lupin, but this has got to be up there.”

Tonks buried her short nails into the palms of her hands, for fear of them shaking. A baby’s cry echoed from upstairs.

“This is it, Tonks. They need all the help they can get.”

“Then we both go.”

“No.”

Tonks silently cursed the day she married a man as stubborn as she was. It did not bode well for arguments.

“We’re partners, Remus. We fight together. That’s how it’s always been.”

“Not this time.”

She unclenched her fists, but there was nothing to hold on to, so she clenched them again.

“So you’re just going to leave? After last time?”

When Remus had returned and looked at her with broken eyes and held on to her as though he were falling, she had forgiven him. But she knew better than to trust in the promises he made. She had lost enough people to know those who leave don’t always have a choice.

“Dora, I don’t have a choice.”

“You do. This time, you do.” She closed her eyes and willed her voice not to waver. “I’m not asking you to stay behind. But we’re too out of practice… neither of us can fight like we used to. This won’t be a fair fight.”

Her voice remained steady but the tears in her eyes betrayed her, and Remus threaded his fingers through her own.

“You’ll die if you go there alone.”

Remus held her to his chest and she felt the rise and fall of it, his steady heartbeat. A hungry wail cut through the silent hallway, and she knew.

“Look after Teddy for me,” he whispered into her hair. Lilac shifted to a soft, pale blue. “I love you.”

After the door had clicked shut behind him, Tonks climbed the stairs to their son’s room. She picked him up and cradled him gently, ignoring how her stomach twisted as she smiled at their matching hair. She told him that Daddy had something important to do, but he couldn’t do it alone, so she was going to help him and make sure they both came home.

She hummed softly to drown out her thoughts whilst she wrote a letter to her mother.


Tonks ran through the dust and the chaos towards the Great Hall, knowing there wasn’t enough time but praying for it anyway. She felt the air crackle and her ears rang as she tore through the doors and she saw him, she saw his face and the way Dolohov drew back his wand and she didn’t hesitate before drawing back her own and screaming a curse.

Her aim was off – it hit the pillar by Dolohov’s head and showered him with rubble as he stumbled backwards. But she was by Remus’s side and he was filthy and bleeding from the head and alive, looking at her like she was the last thing left on earth.

Tonks knew there wasn’t enough time but prayed for it anyway as Dolohov found his footing and turned on them. Remus raised his wand and his free hand brushed hers.

“Together?”

Tonks looked past Dolohov into the eyes of her aunt.

“Together.”

Super Star (Part 1)

Originally posted by supernaturalwolfmaze

Request: Can I please request one where Jensen is a huge movie star? He’s out one night by himself and starts to get mobbed by fans/paparazzi. So he runs and hides in a shop that belongs to the reader. She doesn’t see it happen so she closes up the store with him inside. Then Jensen pops out from his hiding place and freaks her out lol. Maybe she doesn’t recognize him?

Pairing: Jensen x reader

Word Count: 1,800ish

Warnings: language

A/N: So this went different than I planned. Whoops…

Keep reading

vimeo
  • Sherlock & Molly | Losing    youtube link (to like and/or comment and/or add to playlists)

dedicated to @miabicicletta & @nyah86. I admire you both so very much. This is my way of thanking you for the Sherlolly delights you always provide us with :D

Please, if you like it, take the time to like and/or comment on the Youtube Page of the video. You would make my day. This is what my little editor’s heart feeds on. Give it love. It gives love back :D 

But back to the matter at hand.

I’m a wreck. TFP killed me with feels. I AM NOW DEADED.

The video is simplistic. This is THE SCENE (subtly shortened) and interspersed with significant moments to explain how it would always come to this. I am not very clear, am I? Ugh. This is why I edit. It’s easier than writing.

Basically, I tried to illustrate that, yes, obviously, Molly always has been the outrageously overlooked pressure point that would ultimately turn Sherlock into an agonising mess. I kind of knew there would be something of that nature coming our way but, DAMN. I didn’t think the writers would be so in sync with my thoughts on the matter. Why am I even surprised? They wrote the whole thing after all. Come on, Mathilde.

The sound is decent but I would advise headphones and HD to maximise the experience. I hope you will enjoy it. 

Took me ages to finish it, but actually didn’t take any time at all. I knew where I wanted to go but Premiere turned out to be EXTREMELY uncooperative. Every time I would add something on the timeline or make a change, it would take one or two minutes to load so I could have a look. ===> #nightmare. This is the last time I’m using 1080p files. Good quality, yes. But GOD at what cost. If anyone has any advice on the matter, please, feel free to get in touch. I’m presumably not doing it right :D

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UPDATE: Thanks to @theleftpill, the problem is officially resolved. Thank you so very very much. You saved my sanity. 

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Hurray for Craig Armstrong. One of my favourite film score composers. I’ve used two of his creations. One from Moulin Rouge! and the other from The Great Gatsby. Both beautiful. Moulin Rouge! is my favourite film, as a matter of fact. An actual slap in the face when I was twelve. And I cry at the end. Every time. Not kidding.

Music:

Death Scene - Moulin Rouge!
Gatsby’s Death and Portico - The Great Gatsby

Oh, dear. The music from the two death scenes of each movie. I am a cheerful person aren’t I?

Disclaimers: I don’t own the songs or the clips used in this video. This is purely a work of fiction, no profit gained.

A Day In The Life...

John: “I was reading the paper one day and noticed two stories. One was about the Guiness heir who killed himself in a car. That was the main headline story. He died in London in a car crash. On the next page was the story about 4000 potholes in the streets of Blackburn, Lancashire, that needed to be filled.” - source: Anthology

Paul: “It was a song that John brought over to me at Cavendish Ave. It was his original idea. He’d been reading the Daily Mail and brought the newspaper with him over to my house. We went upstairs to the music room and started to work on it. He had the first verse, he had the war and a little bit of the second verse”. - source: Many years from now.

John: “A Day in the Life” – that was something. I dug it. It was good piece of work between Paul and me. I had the “I read the news today” bit, and it turned Paul on. Now and then we really turn each other on with a bit of a song, and he just said “yeah”- bang, bang, like that. It just sort of happened beautifully…” - source: Rolling stone Interview.

Paul: “We looked through the newspaper and both wrote the verse “how many holes in Blackburn, Lancashire.” I liked the way he said ‘Lan-ca-shire’, which is the way you pronounce it up north. Then I had the sequence that fitted, “Woke up, fell out of bed…’ and we had to link them. This was the time of Tim Leary’s “Turn on, tune in, drop out” and we wrote “I’d love to turn you on.” John and I gave each other a knowing look: “Uh-huh, it’s a drug song. You know that don’t you?” “Yes, but at the same time, our stuff is always very ambiguous and ‘turn you on’ can be sexual so…c’mon! As John and I looked at each other, a little flash went between our eyes, like “I’d love to turn you on”, a recognition of what we were doing, so I thought, OK, we’ve just got to have something amazing that will illustrate that.” - source: Many Years from now.


[Paul: “I think it would be great if we ask each member of the orchestra to play randomly,”

George Martin: “Randomly, that will sound like a cacophony; it’s pointless”

Paul: “OK, well then not completely randomly. Maybe we could get each of them to do a slow climb from the lowest note their instrument can play to the highest”

John: “Yeah, and also have them start really quietly and louder and louder, so that it eventually becomes an orgasm of sound.”

George Martin: “The problem is that you can’t ask classical musicians of that caliber to improvise and not follow a score- they’ll simply have no idea what to do.”

John: “Well, if we put them in silly party hats and rubber noses, maybe then they’ll understand what it is we want. That will loosen up those tight-asses.”] - Geoff Emerick - Here, There and Eveywhere: My life recording the music of the Beatles

Paul: “Have you got the loud pedal down, Mal?”

Mal: “Which one is that?”

Paul:  “The right hand one, far right. It keeps the echo going.”

John: “Keep it down the whole time.”

Paul: “Right. On four then One, two, three…”

What followed was the sound of John, Mal, Paul, Ringo and George Martin all simultaneously hitting E Major. John, Mal and George Martin had their own pianos while Paul and Ringo both played an out of tune Steinway upright. All stood up in order to apply the maximum amount of force to the keys. - From Mark Lewisohn’s “The Complete Beatles Recording Sessions”.

George Martin: “Geoff Emerick, up in the control room, once again had to ensure that every last droplet of sound from the studio was captured onto tape, To do this he used heavy compression and all the while was manually lifting the volume faders, which started close to their lowest point and gradually made their way to the maximum setting. By the end the attenuation was enormous. You could have heard a pin drop.”


aria in the snow

summary: If you asked most people of Daniel J. Howell’s lot in life, they’d tell you it was pretty good. A small career writing for a fashionable magazine, the heir to one of New York’s most prestigious hotels, the convenience of youth and an ailing millionaire father… what more could an 18-year-old ask for?

So when a night at the symphony turns into the start of a whole new double life in the city’s queer underworld, the heir to New York’s most fashionable hotel will have to learn what is what when you’re dating a cabaret singer, and who is who when that singer becomes a troubled star.

So it’s nothing but fate when things start to fall apart. The catch? It’s the last half of the 1920s–

And this romance is illegal.

word count: 85k+ to be updated weekly

warnings: war violence, angst like woah, period homophobia, thoughts of suicide, alcohol, etc

read on ao3 // playlist 

prologue | i | ii | iii | iv | v | vi | vii | viii | ix | x | xi | xii | xiii | xiv | xv | xvi | xvii | xvii | xviii | xix | xx | xi 

excerpt: Dan had heard Phil’s voice down at his piano, but next to him it was something else entirely. The man has a good tone, he wrote. He sings Jeannie with the Light Brown Hair for me. Though antiquated, the charms of the past have obviously not been lost to our young veteran.

Keep reading

I don’t post a lot on social media these days and I rarely if ever post anything personal. But I have two personal stories that I’ve never really told publicly that I feel I need to tell today.

About seven years ago there was a letter in my mailbox from the White House. To be clear, not just the White House, but from the newly elected President Of The United States. Wow, maybe this had something to do with his appearance in an issue of Amazing Spider-Man, but oddly enough it was addressed to my then 8 year old daughter. It seems that unbeknownst to her parents, my little girl mailed a letter to President Obama wishing him well and offering him advice as only an 8 year old could.

And he wrote back.

In the letter he thanked and commending her for passing along her thoughts and engaging in this wonderful thing we call Democracy. To this day I still tear up remembering the look on her face as she read that letter realizing that not only did the President Of The United States write back, but that she lived in a country in which this was possible.

Two years later I was sitting in my office at Marvel when my phone rings and a gentlemen claiming to be an assistant to the President Of The United States tells me that the POTUS would like to commission me to do a piece of art for him. Thinking it was a prank I told him I’d love to discuss it further but I was rushing off to a meeting and would gladly call him back. I took down his info, did a quick Google search and confirmed that the number on my caller I.D. was indeed coming from an office in the White House. Wait, what?!?

As it turned out a close friend of the President, Patrick Gaspard, who was the Director of the White House Office of Political Affairs, was leaving to take on his new role as the Director of the Democratic National Committee. Mr. Gaspard happened to be a HUGE Marvel Comics fan. We’re talking a full on True Believer since childhood, and President Obama thought that a perfect parting gift for his service to the administration would be a custom piece of art featuring Mr. Gaspard, himself and several Marvel heroes standing in front of the White House and for some godforsaken reason he was asking me to draw it. I of course had to get approval from the highest levels of Marvel where it was met with nothing but enthusiasm and a big thumbs up.

Now as unlikely as all of this sounds, nothing was more surreal than when I was sending off rough sketches to White House for the President’s approval and getting back notes. I’d never been more thrilled to get art revisions in my life! Once the piece was finished inked and colored by Danny Miki and Richard Isanove respectfully, I received word that the President was thrilled with the results and Mr. Gaspard was over the moon with the final framed surprise gift.

Admittedly, for those close to me that knew about the assignment, I’d make it a point to boast as often as I could that I was now officially the very first United States Sequential Artist Laureate. Quite frankly, I don’t see why that shouldn’t be a thing.

A short time later I was at San Diego Comicon signing books at the Marvel booth when someone extended a hand for me to shake. I looked up and the gentlemen said, “Do you recognize me?” How could I not, I had spent a week drawing him. It was of course Mr. Gaspard and he wanted to thank me personally for the art and to express how much Marvel had meant to him growing up and still means to him today. Patrick and I have kept in touch ever since and while his current tenure as Ambassador to South Africa is coming to an end, I’m looking forward to catching up with him when he’s back in the States and making good on my promise to bring him on to the set of Defenders or taking him to a Mets game.

And yes, I was lucky enough to meet President Obama. like I said, I don’t usually like to post things of a personal nature, but today I feel compelled to simply convey my own humble experience of having the great honor of meeting the most powerful man on the planet when he was in office. A man who was nothing but kind, appreciative and generous to me, who demonstrating a genuine love for the medium of comics and took more time than he ever needed to to express his appreciation for the work I created and the medium of comics itself. The same man who also took time to write a simple yet eloquent response in 2009 to a little girl who express love and hope, not for herself, but for her President and his future.

Godspeed President Obama, thank you for your service. I have no doubt and look forward to how you will continue to serve and change our world for the better.

Joe Quesada

Positive Vibes (ALiL Deleted Scene)

Summary: (College!AU) In which you do something for Bucky that brightens his bad day. 

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 1,923

A/N: An anon requested “reader does something spontaneous and romantic for Bucky that she doesn’t even think of as romantic! And he is just floored by her thoughtfulness.“ This takes place between “The Little Things (Part Two)” and “The Get Together”. Here’s a track list for the CD mentioned in this part. 

“A Lesson in Love” Masterlist + Soundtrack

@avengerstories - thank you for existing and being my very best friend/editor

Originally posted by veronikaphoenix

You’re stuck in the middle of a heated debate between Bruce and Helen Cho about gamma radiation when Steve walks by. He scans the dining hall, letting his gaze fall from one table to the next, before balancing his tray in one hand so he can rub his forehead. As he does, he discreetly scans the room for a second time, reminding you of a lost child desperately seeking out his mother.

"Steve!” You call out, making sure your voice is loud enough to be heard over all the chatter. He turns around immediately, a relieved grin overtaking his features as he walks towards you.  

Keep reading

Still Sane// Jughead Jones x Reader

Requested By: @castellandiangelo
Prompts: 13, 12, 14, 16
Word Count: 1374

Summary: The reader is mentally unstable after witnessing the death of Jason Blossom yet is too afraid to speak about it to anyone. Jughead and the reader have only started their relationship as a couple yet Jughead has mentioned he loves the reader.

Warnings: mental illness, swearing


It’s was a cycle you began practicing everyday ever since you saw his death. You would come home from school, stare in the mirror and cry. You could have done something! You could have saved him!

You screamed on the inside, tortured yourself to think about it and what you could’ve have done to stop it. You can’t stop the feeling and you can’t stop replaying the moment in my head. Your trapped, your stuck, you feel paralyzed almost in fear and hatred of yourself.

The cell rings and you get sucked back into reality. You’ve been throwing things, your room is a mess and all kinds of shit is tossed on the floor or thrown on your bed. You reach for your phone and close your eyes not wanting to see the damage anymore.

“Hello? Who’s this?” You ask right away not wanting to open my eyes to check caller ID.

“Oh wow. You really care about me. It’s Jug
Y/N.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I was just-so-yeah I’m sorry Jughead.”

He chuckles and it relives you for a split second,“It’s okay I guess. Hey you promised you’d help me write a few days ago, and I’m sorta close by. Would you let me in?”

“Yes!” You say without hesitation,“I mean, yeah, why not I just, come over.”

“Alright I’ll see you in, erm, six?”

“Yeah okay love. See you.”

“Bye.”

He hangs up and you sigh and open my eyes. The damage you had caused was still there. No different. You feel the memory of that day coming back to you and you feel yourself getting sucked in but close my eyes. You try to remember something else. Something far more happier than that day.

“What’s wrong Veronica?” You ask as she approaches your locker squirming,“You seem odd.”

She laughs,“Anything but. So I heard you and Jug have started going out? How long?”

You give her a questioning look,“Seven dates so far. Why?”

“Hasn’t asked you be his girlfriend yet?”

“No. And he doesn’t need to. I’m perfectly fine in the state we are in.”

Veronica smiles,“Alright. Well I overhead Jughead talking with Archie. And Jughead is smitten.”

The though Jughead had mentioned he loved you even though you had asked him out with a the line of “You, me, date, Friday. Pick me up at six. Okay bye!”

“Nice to know.” You smile and you begin to walk down the hall and she follows.

“And well Jughead may have mentioned he loves you.”

Your smile grows and Veronica looks at you happily.

“All I have to say is, maybe you should think about loving him back. Just a thought.”

“Just a thought?” You laugh lightly.

“Yeah just a tiny tiny little thought.”


You smile at the memory and slowly open your eyes.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You scream when you look at the mirror once again.

You see it all, the words you wrote with consciousness, you could have done something, you could have saved him, your as bad as a killer.

Is it true? You want to say something yet the words won’t come out. Why won’t anything come out about that day? You don’t want to feel the guilt anymore your ready to tell somebody.

For fucks sake why can’t I tell somebody!

“Hey Y/N!” You hear someone scream from outside the window. You walk over and see Jughead out on your lawn and he waves at you. You don’t wave back and you only notice when you pull away for the window and try to hide everything thrown under your bed.

After that, you run downstairs and you open the door for Jughead. Maybe this, well Jug, was the detox you needed from all havoc you’ve been causing yourself.

“Hey-”

You pull him for a hug and catch Jug off surprise for he isn’t a huge hugger. Jughead surprisingly hugs you back.

“Hey… are you okay? You don’t usually hug me when we see each other. Not that it’s a bad thing or anything, I guess.”

You let go,“Sorry. I’m sorry.” You say awkwardly,“I didn’t mean to really…”

You gesture for him to follow as you head up towards your room.

You open the door and look through your closet for a sweater as you hear Jughead shut the door.

“What are you writing about?” You ask as you continue searching. Jughead doesn’t answer you,“Jug?”

You back away from the area and look at Jughead who is twisting his head to read what you wrote on the mirror with a marker.

Shit. You had forgot to clean that up.

You grab your makeup wipes and immediately attempt to clean the mirror as quick as you can. The wipes only smudge the words and it’s still visible, so you take duct tape from the floor and ripe pieces to cover it up.

“You know. I’m just decorating my room.” You say as you rip another piece and stick it over,“I just noticed it’s better without those words.” You speak rapidly.

“Y/N.” Jughead says.

You continue sticking pieces.

“Y/N!” He yells at you now.

You look back at him and try to pull at another piece yet he takes it away from you.

“What the hell are you doing?” He ask setting his bag down and grabbing a hold of your arms.

“Jug let go, let me just-”

“Y/N what the hell is going on?”

“What? What do you mean?”

He sighs,“You think I don’t notice? You started coming into to school with red eyes and bags under them. Your distance and last time I set up a date you didn’t show up.”

You stare hardly at the floor clenching you fists not wanting to feel now both the guilts rising up to take over your thoughts.

“Do you really love me, or was that an illusion you made me believe?”

“What?” He says leaning forward.

You look at him in the eyes grabbing the side of his face and holding him there,“Did you really mention you loved me, did someone really tell me, did you really do it? Or am I making that up?”

Jughead looks at you and he smiles lightly,“No I- I did mention that. I think I love you. I guess Veronica did tell you.”

You let go of his head and wrap your arms around his neck and he doesn’t question this time, he wraps his arms around you and holds you protectively as you cry. Part of you is happy your not losing all your sanity but still the other part feels it’s still losing itself.

“I’m not very good when it comes to relationships.” Jughead tells you,“So I might be wrong about this. But if something is wrong, you can tell me.”

You wipe you tears with your sleeves and Jughead leans in to kiss your forehead.

“I just- I want to tell someone. I do but the words won’t come out.”

He rubs your back soothingly as you press your cheek against his chest as you continue talking.

“But I saw something, and it’s all I think about Jug. I can’t go a day without having hundreds of flashbacks to it. I feel like I’m not living anymore.”

Jughead pulls back to look at you,“Y/N if you ever need me. I’m here okay?”

You nod and Jughead leans into you to kiss you. It’s slow, very slow, yet it’s okay because this is new. Jughead always gave you peck, for you know he was not the best at kissing, but the longer he kissed the more you felt like he really did love you, even if you’ve only been a official couple for a few weeks.

“You hungry?” He asks you when he pulls away.

“I could go for some food.”

“Oh good. I thought you were going to say no.”

“And what if I did say no?”

“I would still go Y/N. Between you and food, I chose food.”

“Wow, I’m so special.” You chuckle before kissing his cheek.

He swings his bag onto his body and takes your hand in his as he leads the way.

Sharpie Promises

Originally posted by escaped-ocelot

Raphael x Reader

Sharpie Promises

Note: I don’t know if I’ll publish this or not, but basically, I’m a ho for TMNT and soulmate AUs and I’ve never seen a TMNT Soulmate AU, so here you go. It’s the 2k14/2k16 turtles btw. Idk. I might do more of these if you guys like it.

Raphael wasn’t human. He had struggled with this, but had eventually come to terms with the fact. He didn’t have a soulmate and he wouldn’t ever find love. Not in a world full of humans. He tried to be all right with it. Keyword: tried.

It wasn’t until he was working out one day that he felt something cold and wet travelling across his left forearm. Just as quickly as it had started, it stopped. He removed his three-fingered hands from the weight he had been lifting and sat up to examine it.

Hi.

Messy black letters written in Sharpie. His green eyes narrowed. What was this? He had never felt or seen anything like this. But there it was, plain as day on his arm. He stared at it, afraid that the words would disappear, but no. They stayed right where they were. And then soon after, more appeared from nowhere, as though a ghost was writing on his arm with an invisible marker.

So, it’s like three in the morning here and I don’t know if I’m doing this right, but um, hi.

A long pause. Raph stared in amazement, too shocked to say anything.

You’re probably asleep, aren’t you? Dammit. Well, um…bye, I guess.

He had never run so fast in his life.

“Woah, woah, watch it!” Donnie raised his arms as Raph pushed his chair away from his station and grabbed a Sharpie, pulling off the cap between his teeth and scrawling in the empty space on his arm.

Wait.

***

Your heart raced as a response finally appeared.

Wait.

Big, messy letters that you could tell had been written in a rush.

I’m here. Who are you? What’s happening?

You stared at the letters, the handwriting. Your stomach dropped, the nerves kicking in. This was it. This was your soulmate. You had no idea how this worked. No one did, but it worked, and that was all that mattered. A magical pen-pal from far away, probably. Why anyone would be up at this ungodly hour besides you was beyond you. But now you had to reply. You turned over your arm to write back.

I’m (Y/N). Your soulmate, I think. I don’t know…this is what everyone else does, but I’ve always been too shy to try.

***

Soulmate.

Raph’s heart skipped a beat when the word was written on his arm. Soulmate. He had a soulmate. He actually had…Oh my God.

“Raph, are you crying?” Mikey asked, looking up at his older brother, whose eyes certainly looked a little misty.

“N-no. I just got dirt in my eye. Go away.” He sniffled and smiled.

“Whatcha doin’?” the youngest turtle looked over Raph’s shoulder and scanned a few words before he raised his arm far above Mikey’s head, but he had already seen it. Soulmate. “You…you have a soulmate?”

“I guess so.” Raph shrugged. By now, Donnie and Leo were paying attention to what was happening.

“You have a what?” Donnie’s head snapped around. He pulled down Raph’s arm to examine it. But there it was, plain as day. What the internet described as a ‘soulmate exchange’. “I didn’t think it was scientifically possible for you…for us to have…”

“Are you serious?” Leo came over to look.

“What do I look like? A freakin’ museum?” Raph snapped. “Now go away. I gotta write ‘er back.” The others gave him some space as he walked over to the couch and sat down, the tip of the Sharpie hovering over his green arm.

Soulmate, huh? Did think I had one of those. Name’s Raphael. Nice to meet ya.

***

What are you, a renaissance artist? Lol JK

Something like that.

So where are you from, Mr. Renaissance Artist?

New York, New York.

Seattle, Washington. Well, this might be a little complicated, huh?

Something like that…

***

You wrote to Raphael until the sun came up and then you crashed. You had thought it was a dream until you saw the words written there the next morning. You had a soulmate. His name was Raphael. He was from New York.

But at least he existed. It could be a lot worse.

It wasn’t until about noon, three o’clock there, that you wrote to him again, after having wiped your arm off to give you more room to write.

Good morning.

You wake up at noon?

Only when I’m up until sunrise talking to my soulmate.

Fair enough.

So how’s your day been?

Overwhelming.

Fair enough.

***

Leo, Donnie, and Mikey were all bunched behind Raphael to watch.

“Go away!”

“Dude, we just wanna watch.” Mikey whined.

“Go! Away!”

“All right, sheesh,” Donnie walked back to his lab, and Leo and Mikey reluctantly walked away.

So…

He wrote.

What’cha wanna talk about?

I don’t know.

What’s it like in Seattle?

Rainy. What’s it like in New York?

Noisy. He replied, a smirk spreading across his scarred lips. How old are you?

Seventeen.

Same.

Nice. How tall are you?

Like 6’5”-ish.

Holy shit! You’re gonna have to bend down to kiss me.

Kiss you. He was going to kiss you. Eventually. A new concept. Butterflies spread through his stomach, but he tried to play it off.

You a shorty?

Compared to you, yeah. Always had a thing, for tall guys, though. No worries. ;)

He smiled.

Got any hobbies? You asked.

Ninjitsu, bein’ a giant mutant turtle, etc…

Uh, I knit sometimes. And I work out. A lot.

Mr. Muscles the Knitting Renaissance Artist. You keep getting better and better.

So what do you do for fun, Shorty in Seattle?

Oh you know, read, write, spend ungodly amounts of time on the internet.

Sounds fun.

It is. So, anyways, I’ve been looking into New York travel recently (and by recently I mean right now immediately) for reasons, you know. Anyway, what area of New York should I travel to in…ten months when I go to college (that I’ve just applied to) there?

***

After a long day of talking to you and patrolling and trying to work out, Raph was exhausted. He laid in his top bunk, reading your ramble with a smile.

After replying, he knew it was time to go to sleep.

I’m wiped. I gotta sleep.

Oh, okay. Goodnight Raph.

Night, (nickname).

I love you.

His heart skipped a beat.

I love you too.

I can’t wait to meet you.

Already countin’ down the days, babe.

Me too.

***

Weeks later, you got an idea.

So, theoretically, if I were to Skype you, would you pick up?

I don’t have a Skype.

I want to hear your voice.

I can call you, if you want. I just don’t do video chats?

Why?

Because I’m a giant freaking mutant turtle and I don’t want my soulmate to hate and/or be afraid of me.

I want to see you for the first time in person.

All right then. Here’s my number.

You waited in bated breath for your phone to ring, and then suddenly it did. Your thumb hovered above the accept button. You felt like your whole body was trembling.

“Hey there.” You could hear the shaking in your voice. He chuckled, and already you loved the sound of his laugh.

“Hey yourself,”

“Oh my God, I love your voice.” You gushed.

“I love yours too, shorty.”

“Aaaaah! Your accent is so hot!”

“Heh, yeah.” He smiled.

“Ooh, are you talking to (Y/N)?” Mikey asked. “Can I say hi?”

“No, you can’t. Shoo.”

“Who’s that?” You asked.

“My little brother.” Mikey tried to reach up and grab Raph’s phone, but he squirmed away from him. “Mikey, go away!”

“But-!”

“Go away!”

“I wanna say hi to your girlfriend!!”

“Mikey, leave Raph alone.” Leo smirked from across the lair. The youngest brother left, deflated.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Where were we?”

“I was gushing over your very attractive voice, Mr. Muscles.”

“Ah. Right.” He tried not to blush and failed miserably. A slow smirk snuck across his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you too!”

***

“Did you get it yet?” Raph called you a few months before you were supposed to arrive. As the day approached, he got more and more anxious. You would be here in New York and he wouldn’t be able to skirt around the truth anymore. He was a giant turtle and you were a human girl. It wasn’t going to work out.

But nonetheless, he had sent you something. Something to remember him by if it didn’t work out, he supposed.

“It came in today! I haven’t opened it yet, though. I’m going to right now. Give me a sec, I’m gonna put you on speaker.”

“All right.” Raph listened as you set down your phone and put him on speaker. Then came the noise of you cutting the tape and opening the small cardboard box and sifting through the tissue paper.

“Oh my gosh! It’s amazing! I love it! You really made this?”

“I did.” He smirked. You held up the perfect little pendant. A polished wooden turtle that Raphael had carved himself. It hung from a simple twine string. You put it on immediately, tying the necklace around your neck. You let your fingers run over all of the intricate little grooves.

“I’m never taking it off, I hope you know that.”

“I’m flattered.” He chuckled. “I can’t wait to see how it looks on ya.”

“I can’t wait to see you.”

A nervous little laugh.

“Yeah. Pretty soon, now.”

“It couldn’t come soon enough.” You smiled warmly. “It’s late. I’m gonna get some sleep. Exams tomorrow and then I’m out of school for the summer. And then, only two months until I get to see you.”

“Well, you rest up, shorty. Get good grades. I don’t want ya to fail.”

“Good night. I love you.”

“I love ya too. Night.”

When he hung up, he stared at the ceiling. God, what was he gonna do?

***

You were full of jitters when you landed in New York two short months later. The time had crawled by so slow, but you passed the time. And now you were here, the center of the modern world.

“I’m here! I just landed! When do you want to meet up?”

“Um, how about you get settled? Go to your apartment or whatever. I’ll come over tonight.”

“Okay.” Your heart raced. “Okay. I’ll see you then. I’ll uh, get you the address once I find it.”

“Sounds like a plan. Stay safe. I’ll see ya tonight.”

“See you.” When you hung up, Raph started to pace through the lair.

“I’m going to see her tonight. Oh my God. She’s gonna find out I’m a giant turtle and she’s gonna hate me.”

“Statistically, after ten months of-”

“No more science bulllshit, Don! I’m a freak! She’s gonna run screamin’ and I’ll never see her again!”

“It’ll be fine, Raph. You’re over reacting. As usual.” Leo’s tone was cool, annoyed. “She loves you. We’d have to be blind not to see that.”

“I guess we’ll find out tonight, huh?” He slumped onto the couch, a deep dread setting in. Tonight was not going to be pretty. He knew it.

***

After you had unpacked and met your roommate, a very nice woman named April who had been searching for a roommate for some time now, you called Raph and gave him an address. He asked about how things were and so you told him about your roommate. He chuckled. Well, that might make things a little easier. He told you he wasn’t far and he would be over in a few.

“Who’s that?” April asked after you hung up.

“My soulmate. He’s the reason I moved here, actually. He’s coming here if that’s okay.”

“More than fine with me.” She smiled. “What’s his name?”

“Raphael.” You told her. Her face lit up in surprise. Now the turtle necklace she had complimented you on when you walked in made a whole lot of sense. She doubted that you knew why though.

So this was the (Y/N) he had talked about. His soulmate. Shorty from Seattle.

“Nice name.”

“I know, right?” Your phone buzzed. “Oh my God, it’s him.”

“Hey babe, come outside.” You stood there in confusion for a second. “Fire escape.”

“Oh, okay. I’ll be down in a sec.” You nodded, tucking the phone away. Your heart raced as you climbed out the window and down the metal fire escape to the alley below. There, in the shadows stood a very tall, very large silhouette.

“Hey there.” It was him. His voice. In person. “I uh, I need ya to promise me something, gorgeous.”

“What?”

“Just…p-promise you won’t scream.”

“Why would I-?”

“Promise.”

“I promise.” You stated certainly.

“I, uh, I ain’t exactly…normal.”

“I love you, Raph.”

“You won’t when you see me.” His voice was quiet as all of his insecurities came to the surface.

“Raphael,” You reached out for him, hand forward for a long few moments until his three-fingered green one met it, pressing against it like Tarzan and Jane. Something familiar and something foreign. You gasped quietly, but when he moved to pull away, you gripped one of his large fingers. “Please.”

He let out a long sigh, considering bolting then and there, but he gave in and took a few slow, heavy steps out of the dark to where you could see him. Your soulmate was a giant mutant turtle. He waited for the sting of rejection, for the tears of disappointment streaming down your cheeks, but they never came. Instead, you pulled his muscular arms around yourself, clinging to him as though this was your last chance. He held you tight against his plastron, his knees giving out in the wave of relief that washed over him. Raph buried his face in the crook of your neck, and you felt hot tears against your skin.

Thank you.” A broken whisper from his scarred lips. “Thank you.”

“I love you.” You kissed his cheek and then his forehead, and you lifted his face to look at the green face under the tattered red bandana.

“All ‘uh this don’t bug you?” He asked, tear-filled green eyes searching yours. “You don’t care that I’m a freak?”

“You’re not a freak, Raphael.” The feeling of your soft skin against his face drove him up the wall in the best possible way. “Not to me.”

“Are ya just sayin’ that because I’m your soulmate?”

“I mean it.” You locked eyes with him and he felt as though you were staring into his soul. His smile was the most gorgeous thing you had ever seen. Curiosity sparked behind your eyes as you examined every inch of him, taking him in. “What are you?”

There wasn’t hatred or fear in your voice, only awe.

“I’m a mutant. A turtle. Hence the uh-” he motioned to the necklace around your neck. “That.”

“I love turtles,” You whispered as you kissed his snout. You were so close. So close he could just about…

You closed the gap between you, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He didn’t know how to respond, but followed his instincts and tried his hardest to kiss you back. His large hands held your hips and your small hands framed his jaw before moving to his shoulders, fingers gently searching the terrain of his shell.

When you finally pulled away from him, you looked at him for a long time.

“Hey do you wanna come up for pizza?” April called down from the apartment window.

“Yeah, sure April. Are the guys coming?”

“Just got off the phone with Leo. They’re on their way.”

“Wait, you two know eachother?” You asked. Raph smiled and shrugged, finally getting to his feet and taking you with him. God, he was so tall.

“We go way back.” April smiled. “I named him.”

“What?”

“Long story. Come on, shorty.” He picked you up off of the ground as if you weighed nothing and carried you on his hip, your feet dangling a foot in the air. “’Bout time you met my brothers, huh?”

***

After you had met his brothers and enjoyed some celebratory pizza, the six of you had settled down to watch a movie. At the moment, Raph was spread out on the couch with you laying on top of him and a cozy red blanket draped over both of you. He nuzzled into your neck as your hands traced gentle circles on his plastron.

“I love you, Raphael.” You kissed his jaw. He hummed contentedly.

“I love you too, soulmate.” The word had never sounded so right.

@turtllinis @turtimagines @turtlebaes @anetteshortie @imagineninjaturtles @imaginetmnt @totally-turtle-imagines @immortal-turtles

Don’t get mad. (Jason Todd x Reader Drabble)

A/N: I wrote this at 1:30 in the morning in twenty minutes. I thought it was cute and that some of you might enjoy this. Also, it’s helping me get back into the swing of writing. 

Home. It was a word that Jason Todd wasn’t familiar with. It wasn’t something he looked forward to after a hard night on patrol or a long mission that he got dragged into by Bruce. It wasn’t something that held good memories and made him long and fight for something while he was away.

It wasn’t; until he met you. Who would have known that going on Tim’s fifth coffee run at five in the morning would actually have a good outcome? He didn’t, but he wasn’t regretful of doing it because he was able to spill his coffee on you then get your number. Not his brightest moment but it didn’t matter.

He finally had something at home waiting for him, he had you. You, probably dancing in the kitchen while baking cookies because “baking helps me calm down” in one of his old shirts, were waiting for him to come back home. That thought alone made what was suppose to be a five month mission into a three month mission instead.

He had texted you on his flight home, since he could finally contact you, and ever since then he got a feeling that you were hiding something. You weren’t one to really hold a lie well, so he doubted it was something major. That didn’t help him shake the feeling though.


The feeling only got stronger as he walked up the stairs to the shared apartment in one of the nicer places in Gotham,trying to find his keys amongst the millions of gum wrappers and bullet shells in his pocket. Once he finally found the keys he quietly opened the door and stepped inside the apartment.

It was dark, which wasn’t alarming considering it was about two in the morning you always went to bed early. Jason quietly set his bags down and made his way to the living room, shedding off his leather jacket and putting it on the hook as he walked by it.

As soon as his feet made contact with the hardwood flooring in the apartment the lights flickered on, causing Jason to step back and squeeze his eyes shut as he came back from the shock the blinding light had cause him. “Jesus Y/N, what the hell?” He hissed, pressing the palm of his hands to his eyes in another failed attempt to calm the burning.

When he finally opened his eyes you were standing up in front of the couch you had previously been sitting at with a guilty smile on your face. This only made that feeling in the second Robins gut worse as he stared at you, trying to piece together what you were guilty about. The one thing he could think of was how the fuck you turned on the light if you were sitting in the middle of the couch.

“Babe? Why are you smiling like that?” He asked, squinting a bit in the bright light to focus on you. You took interest in the floor while your messy hair did the job of hiding most of your face from his view.

“Don’t get mad.” Why did you have to start with that? What would he be mad about? Jason looked around the apartment for a sign; was something broken? Something expensive? Hell did Dick eat all of his favorite cereal when he was away? He couldn’t find a signal clue, so instead he turned back to you and raised his scarred through eyebrow.

“Eh? Why would I be-” Both his words and heart were stopped by a small, high-pitched bark coming from the same direction as the bedroom. Soon after, sounds of little paws scraping against the hardwood filled the apartment. Jason was too tired to piece it together properly, so he was shocked when a little brown lab with big blue eyes made it’s way into the living room and stood at his feet, barking protectively and getting in the middle of you and him.

Jason stared at the little puppy for a solid of ten seconds before he looked back up at you. “Y/N what the fuck-”

“You were gone and I was lonely! Plus, they were going to put him to sleep and I just couldn’t have that.” You were quick to defend yourself, running up to the brown puppy and scooping him up in your arms while pressing a tight kiss to the puppies furry head.

“I was only gone for three months and you got a puppy?” He asked, tone flat as he was still trying to wrap his mind around this. He thought when he moved out of Roy’s place that he was done with this shit, but apparently his best friend was rubbing off on you.

You pouted at your boyfriend and shoved the puppy in his face. “Awe but Jay, look at his face! Besides, it’s official, I already bought him a bed.” You explained, giving Jason your cutest puppy dog face while the dog stared at Jason.

Jason took the dog from you and held it at an arm’s length away, staring it in the eyes as if trying to figure it out. Or challenge it, he wasn’t too sure. The puppy stared back before it titled it’s head, tongue hanging out as if it was smiling at him.

Between the dogs adorable smile and your puppy -no pun intended- face he was defeated. Hell, he didn’t even stand a chance if it came to you. Rolling his eyes he handed the puppy back to you and started walking to your shared room. “Fine! But I’m not happy about it,” he called back. All he got in return was your laugh and the puppy barking in response to the new commotion.

He was sure that the neighbors would come up and complain in a bit; and that the dog would end up taking his spot in the bed but he was fine with it because it made you happy.

anonymous asked:

hello!! may i please request for a friends-to-lovers for jeonghan? on the edge of my seat waiting for the rest of svt's *___* thank you!!

find woozi (here), wonwoo (here), jun (here), s.coups (here), dk (here), joshua (here) & the8 (here) ~!

  • jeonghan became your best friend when you two were in middle school,,,,but only a couple of years later before you were going to start high school together,,,,,he had to move away
  • luckily, you still kept up with each other through letters,,,,,even when you could have texted or video chatted
  • for some reason you and jeonghan agreed that snail mail was just more ,,,, personal and fun
  • and even though you’d get nervous that sometimes jeonghan wouldn’t answer the letter you sent,,,,he always did
  • and he always signed at the end with two lil angel wings around his name
  • because when you were younger his nickname among the teachers was the angel-like student,,,,which you always thought was adorable and jeonghan adamantly said he wasn’t an angel to you but then to the teacher’s he’d just smile and you’d just be like hMMM jeonghan i can see your wings sprouting
  • but it’s really cute,,,because you both just talk about your hobbies and new friends but you also,,,,keep inside jokes for years 
  • and it’s been a while but one day you get a letter for jeonghan and when you open it out falls a polaroid
  • and on it is ‘took this at a fair!! thought you might like to see it, my hair got longer didn’t it?’
  • and you’re like,,,,looking at this photo of jeonghan,,,,,,how he looks now
  • and you’re,,,,,,just in awe because
  • what,,,,,,,,,,,,,,since when did he really ACTUALLY start looking like an angel
  • not to mention his corny butt drew a halo over the photo as a reminder of his old nickname
  • and before you can even come to your senses you’re holding the polaroid of your best friend from middle school to your chest and you’re just like,,,,,,,,,,,,dammit he’s so cute,,,,,,,,,why is he soOO far away,,,,
  • which brings you to your next surprise because when you read the letter it says that jeonghan is going to bE MOVING BacK BECAUSE APPARENTLY THe COLLEGE HE GOT ACCEPTED TO is CLOSE To YOUR HOME TOWN
  • and you’re like oh MY GOD WHAT is THIS A SIGN
  • and in the letter he tells you to text him so you guys can meet up and you’re shaking as you hold your phone and press on his contact,,,,and you’re like ,,,,,oh my god jeonghan is going to SEE ME for the first time in a long time,,,,,holy ,,,, heifgkldsfa.,,,,,should i even text him or tell him i,,,,,,,moved abroad to avoid embarrassment kshdds
  • but it happens,,,,,and you and jeonghan agree to meet up at the park you used to go to as kids in a week since he’ll be in town to visit his college
  • and you’re waiting there, sitting on the swings and you can’t believe it,,,,,,that it’s really happening,,,,,that you’re seeing jeonghan again,,,,,,,
  • and suddenly you feel someone’s hands on your shoulders and you get startled but when you look back it’s,,,,jeonghan
  • but not the jeonghan from when you were young,,,,,,,the jeonghan from the polaroid 
  • handsome features,,,,,broader shoulders,,,,,but the same,,,,softness from his smile,,,,,
  • but then he sticks his tongue out and is like ‘do you want me to push you or do you want to keep staring at me?’
  • and you’re like gOD THIS IS WHY ALL THE TEACHERS CALLED YOU ANGEL AND YOU KNEW IT WASN’T TRUE YOU TEASE and he’s like chuckling
  • but then you turn back and jeonghan gives you a gentle push as you stretch your legs out to start swinging
  • and for the first hour,,,,it’s like you’re kids again!!! laughing on the swings together and it seems like all those years didn’t pass
  • and that you guys aren’t both?? becoming adults and that,,,,,,,,
  • when you look over to see jeonghan with his hair splayed over his face laughing so genuinely,,,,,,
  • you love him,,,,and seeing him happy always made you happy,,,,and as a kid you didn’t really know why but ,,,,, now,,,,
  • and jeonghan notices you’ve stopped swinging so he slows himself down too 
  • and he doesn’t say anything but you two look at each other and,,,,he breaks the silence only to ask you if you got the picture he sent in the mail
  • and you nod and jeonghan looks down,,,,smiling to himself and then he asks you why you never sent him photos of yourself the whole time you guys wrote letters
  • and you kind of go red and cling to the swing’s chain and shrug and mumble that you never,,,thought about it
  • and jeonghan says something that almost makes you think your ears are deceiving you he goes;
  • “did you not want me to see how beautiful you’ve gotten? did you think i’d drop everything and run back to you?”
  • and you blink,,eyes wide with surprise and you’re like n-no i- w-what do you mean???
  • and jeonghan tilts back his head in the swing and laughs and he’s like 
  • “did you think i’d fall for you and want to move back as quick as possible?”
  • and you’re like kldffs what,,,no-
  • and jeonghan suddenly looks back at you and is like, “well if you thought that you’d be right.”
  • and you can’t choose between leaning over to playfully poke him and tell him to stop joking around,,,,,,,or if you should lean over and just kiss him,,,,,
  • but jeonghan seems to read your mind,,,,because he sits up and is like “let’s do the one thing we could never do as friends-”
  • and he takes a hold your swing’s chain and pulls it closer so he can lean in and well,,,,,,,,,,
  • looks like it’s a good thing jeonghan’s going to college in this town because well how else would you get to see your boyfriend for cute cafe dates????? hehe,,,,,,,
Privacy; Interrupted

Summary: Request from Anon -The boys get bored and insisted on joining you while you grocery shop. [and it turned into whatever this is, sorry.]**

Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes

Word Count: 1300+

Warnings: Language, implied smut, terrible writing, PWP, Ash having a computer, smut,  idfk reader beware.

A/N: This is a rewrite from a SPN fic I wrote from an anon request. The bolded italics are the reader’s thoughts. I wasn’t going to tell you that but I figured I save myself the time of answering asks about it.

Originally posted by skylerlockerbie


Day 11 without a hint of action and the boys are officially driving me nuts. With the Accords in place, Bucky in recovery, and Tony Stark nowhere to be found, life was pretty dull around your safe house.

I, on the other hand, have buried myself  into my writing. Finally putting some much needed thought into my  novel, adding bit and pieces to my screenplay, and dabbling in some prose that was a little ‘less dignified’. I spend way more time thinking of synonyms of penis, than I’d like to admit.

The guys weren’t prepared for the sudden onslaught of nothingness and since I’d taken up permanent residence with them, I was now their sole form of entertainment.

Keep reading

‘She is my best friend, I can’t live without her.’ She admitted

‘How come?’

‘I was lost, I lost myself while trying to find myself, and I couldn’t find my way back, I was trying so hard to find myself and I didn’t realize that I lost myself, I became something that I’m not…’ She confessed

They looked confused 'how did she help though?’

She smiled 'because she came and she found me, I thought I was lost but she found me, she knew who I really was….she found me and she brought me home’

—  poems-she-wrote (part 2)

anonymous asked:

do you think Columbine was preventable?

Yes, of course it was. The list goes on when someone should’ve stepped in and Columbine should have never happened. Should I list them?

#1 Eric’s Webpages:That boy literally publicize his homicidal thoughts and procedures and nobody still bothered to step in.  He ranted how excited he was to kill people PLUS he even wrote how he would go to Brooks’ house, shoot his whole family, and burn the house down on the morning of NBK. Even Dylan was aware that Eric had issues, and that’s why he ratted him out by giving Brooks Eric’s website. At least Brooks’ parents tried to do something by calling the police but of course they never looked into it further. If they did, they would’ve found Eric’s and Dylan’s plans for NBK and it would’ve been stopped. 

#2 Eric’s Self-Psychiatric Evaluation: At least Eric tried to get help, he even got medicated but he put on his self evaluation that he was still having both homicidal and suicidal thoughts. The only thing his doctor did was put him on another medication which he took irregularly, causing him to be more agitated than ever before. You’d think maybe his doctor would notice and assign him for therapy instead but nope. 

#3 Dyan’s and Eric’s Commentary:Eric literally flat out said to his friend (that wasn’t Dylan) “I swear…one of these days I’m going to do it. I’m going to blow up the school.” And his friend just told him to “lighten up.” Then Dylan told another “wouldn’t it be kind of fun to sit on the soccer field and shoot at the school? Like shooting at all the windows would be fun.” And everybody laughed, thinking he was joking.

#4 Dylan’s Creative Writing Assignment: Dylan wrote a short story about a man dressed in a black overcoat, who’s 6′4, shooting at preppy students (...gee I wonder where he got the inspiration for that story.) At least the teacher recognized it was inappropriate to write a short story about a school shooting in a school environment when the main character actively describes the student writing it. But was it enough to get the law enforcement involved? Was it enough to get them to check through Dylan’s belongings to see if Dylan could potentially hurt someone? Nope, apparently not. 

Of course there were more times someone could’ve stepped in, but I don’t want this post to be so long. In conclusion, yes it was preventable if people actually took the initiative to want to stop it.