no time to look it up

I’m crying so much, ? ???? I know I’ve disappointed my mom but does she really have to? Be so mean? All the time?

Look it’s a taggy thing!

Tagged by @thesightlesssniper

Rules: Tag nine people you want to get to know better

1. How old are you?
Probably not the age I act, lol.

2. Current job?
I just left my job, actually, and am looking for a new one in the industry that I’m actually trained for.

3. Dream job?
Academic with a focus on fanfiction and lots of spare time for writing.

4. What are you talented at?
Writing, sometimes. Music, sometimes. Languages, sometimes. Mathy stuff … sometimes. Dancing, never. Sebastian would murder me just for my lack of dancing ability.

5. What is a big goal you are working towards/have already achieved?
I want to write an original novel. I’ve been working on this particular goal for over a decade, racking up a frankly ridiculous number of failed attempts …

Recently, I’ve figured out a couple of problems with the way I’ve been approaching this goal. Though my writing style tends toward occasionally absurd brevity, my favorite genre is fantasy, and fantasy worlds often take tons and tons of set-up. This means I can write fantasy fanfic pretty easily but have a really tough time with original fic.

So I’ve been slowly and deliberately stretching myself towards the original fic goal by writing longer stories. My fics have been roughly following an exponential growth curve– first ~500 words, then ~1000 words, then ~2500, then ~5000. I intend to ramp up to 100,000 word fics within the next two or three years. Once I’ve written a few novel-length fanfics, I’ll take my experience and write an original novel. I’ll probably have several more failed novels on the way, but that’s okay :-P

6. What’s your aesthetic?
Latin elegies scribbled with notes. Nightcore anime music filtering under closed doors. Cackling over the corpses of my characters.

7. Do you collect anything?
I collect names of anime, movies, TV shows, et al. that I want to watch but don’t have time for, lol.

8. What is a topic you always bring up in a conversation?
Er, fanfic. I’m kind of a broken record in real life.

9. What’s a pet peeve of yours?

10. Good advice to give?
Don’t think in absolutes (generally speaking). Almost everybody, even the people you consider “bad,” thinks of themself as a good person, and it can be productive to try and see their perspective.

On a related note, never underestimate the human mind’s capacities for justification, rationalization, and willful ignorance. Even these capacities are not necessarily “bad”– they can help people cope with otherwise intolerable situations, leading to both positive and negative consequences.

11. Recommend three songs!
Windmills of Your Mind- All Angels
Run- Katherine McPhee
Savages- Marina and the Diamonds

The nine people I tag are:

@abybweisse @jaena-eowyn @silverwing26  @ilchatnoir @melfina @the-dork-crow-smiles @bloodredreaper @eglentyne-mcqueen @silverwing26

Feel free to skip this if you’re not in the mood :-)

anonymous asked:

Okay so this is weird but every time I see your Riddle I always think of the song Bubblegum Bitch by Marina and the Diamonds??

Well I looked up the song and I approve lol but what makes you think of my Tom? The diary or the breaking hearts? Inquiring minds want to know :)


He hadn’t walked from the station to Downton Village in over a decade. He hadn’t walked anywhere near Downton in almost that long. Six years–and six months, exactly-was the span of time that had separated him from this place. It was for the best that it had been that long, for no one looked up at him in shock as he trudged through the snow lined road, bundled it a coat and hat, a muffler masking half his face. For if they had recognized him, he was certain that they would have believed that they had seen a ghost–and they wouldn’t have been wrong. Matthew Crawley had been declared dead in September of 1921, the very day his son was born. 

What no one knew, was that he had left the mother before he had been buried–half-dead, confused, and frightened, and had stumbled onto the main road toward Ripon. He was intercepted by a concerned passerby, a steel magnate from Birmingham, who took him to the Ripon hospital, unaware of who he was or what had happened to him. No one had any reason to recognize him in Ripon either, as the funeral had gone forward, apparently with a closed casket.

 Matthew, for what it was worth, had lost all memory of life before the accident. The steel industrialist, whose name was Davenport, took pity on him, and paid for him to be transferred to a London hospital for rehabilitation. He had to relearn how to talk, walk, and function independently. That took the better part of a year. Vague memories came back slowly, of France and trenches, of watching men die. His doctors had concluded that he was a war veteran, both from this and the scarring on his back. He was exceptionally bright, and they surmised that he was well-educated, though whee and when the patient could not recall. He picked out a name for himself–Percy, short for Perseus, whom he insisted was his favorite character from mythology, and Mason, for no reason other than the name was common enough and slightly familiar to him. Davenport visited him frequently, having built a rapport with him from having served in the war himself, and once he was well enough, offered him a job as a clerk in one of his plants in Birmingham. ‘Percy’ proved to have a great deal of financial acumen, a residual from his past life, it was believed. Within three years, he had earned his charter, and had been promoted to manager of the plant’s finances. Two years later, he was Vice President of Finance at Davenport Steel. 

 He was eating breakfast in his flat, and the paper had been delivered, as usual. As he stirred his tea, his eyes fell upon a headline: 'Earl of Grantham’s Daughter Weds Racing Driver’. He couldn’t explain why his blood ran cold at that, and when he saw the photograph of the woman whose face he recognized from dreams, he dropped the cup on the floor, shattering it. That was when he remembered–Mary, Downton, George–everything.

He hesitated in returning to Downton, realizing that if he did, he would upend Mary’s life yet again. He remembered his legal education and knew that he was still wed to her; and the scandal that result from his reappearance into her life would wreak havoc. In fact, he was almost tempted to let Matthew Crawley stay dead, if she had found happiness. And yet, he needed to see his son. He had held him once, once, and now another man was raising him. He wasn’t angry with her for remarrying–it hurt, of course–but the fact that this Henry Talbot knew more about his own son than he did was infuriating. It was no one’s fault–except perhaps his own for his awful driving. Nevertheless he needed to be a part of his life–it was his right. 

He had taken the train to Downton in early January. He had not bothered with much luggage–just a change of clothes and essentials, along with a stuffed bear he’d bought from a shop in Birmingham and packed in his traveling case. He felt his courage leaving him as he started up the long gravel driveway to the Abbey, and crumble completely when he passed the bench–their bench. There were so many memories–of chatting about her favorite books or his, arguing that summer’s day twelve years before, lounging there like fools in the cold and very much in love the night he had proposed. The memories had the dual effect of frightening him and urging him forward, determined to reclaim at least some of what he had lost. Perhaps it wouldn’t be the same entirely, but he’d have George, and his memories. Standing in front of the large oak doors, he took a deep breath and rang.

Send me a  ✧ and I’ll bold what applies to your muse

I would kill you. ✧ I would physically hurt you. ✧ I would attack you unprovoked. ✧ I would manipulate you. ✧ I dislike you. ✧ You annoy me. ✧ You scare me. ✧ You intimidate me. ✧ I hope I intimidate you. ✧ I pity you. ✧ You disgust me. ✧ I hate you. ✧ I’m indifferent toward you. ✧ I’d like to get to know you better. ✧   I’d like to spend more time with you. ✧ I’d like to be friends with you. ✧ I’m unsure what to think of you. ✧ I’m unsure how I feel about you. ✧ You are my friend. ✧ You are my best friend. ✧ You are my mentor. ✧ I look up to you. ✧ I respect you. ✧ You are my hero. ✧ You inspire me. ✧ You are my enemy. ✧ You make me happy. ✧ I want to protect you. ✧ I would fight by your side. ✧ I consider you an equal. ✧ I think you are beneath me. ✧ I think you are above me. ✧ I would lie for you. ✧ I would lie to you. ✧ I would sleep with you. ✧ I would sleep by your side. ✧ I would hug you. ✧ I would kiss you. ✧ You are family to me. ✧ I would die for you. ✧ I would kill for you. ✧ I would trust you with my life. ✧ I would trust you with my most precious belonging. ✧ I would trust you with a secret. ✧ I would trust you with my biggest / darkest secret. ✧ I love you (platonically). ✧ I love you (romantically).

At First Sight- A Killian Jones One-Shot

Title: At First Sight
Request: Meeting Hook for the first time and he falls in love, deeply with me
Pairing: Hook x Reader
AN: This is written in Hook’s POV :)

I had never found much in Storybrooke, just another town with it’s ups and downs.
I would spend my days on my ship, the one place I felt at home.
Every day, a woman would sit on a bench facing the sea.
She always held a notebook, and seemed to be drawing or writing in it.
One day, I approached her.
“Day three our here this week I see love?” I smiled.
She looked up and smiled, with the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen, “Spying on me, Hook?”
She was looking down at my hook, as everyone did.
“So you know me already, I see. Since you do, how about you tell me who you are and what you do here everyday?” I asked.
“My name’s Y/N.” she responded, “I’m out here drawing the sea, it calms me down.”
“Aye, the sea does many wonders for the mind. Soothing, calm, never ending.” I added.
“So Hook, you were spying on me then?” Y/N asked.
I smirked at her, “Killian, call me Killian. And yes, I just happened to see a very beautiful woman and I looked at her for a while.
To my satisfaction, Y/N blushed, "Well you’re not to bad on the eyes either.”
“I get that a lot.” I responded.
She looked down at her watch, and suddenly got up, “Oh crap, I got to get to work.”
“Alright love, I’ll see you tomorrow? Same time same place?” I asked.
Y/N nodded, “I’ll see you then.”
She walked away, and I watched her intensely.
Y/N was beautiful, and the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen in any place on Earth.
I couldn’t get here out of my mind after she left.
I couldn’t get it out my mind that I was falling in love again, and I was falling deep.

The next day, Y/N was sitting on the same bench.
“Hey, Killian.” she smiled as I sat down beside her.
“Aye, love.” I responded.
“I finished the drawing.” she said, holding out her notebook to an open page.
Her drawing was perfect, so detailed and exquisite.
“That’s amazing, you’re so talented.” I said.
“Thanks.” she responded.
“Can I ask you something?” I said abruptly.
“Yea, sure.” Y/N responded.
I looked her right in her eyes, “After yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking of you. I really like you, I don’t know if we believe in love at first sight, but you made me believe. Did you feel it too?”
Y/N’s face went completely red, “God yes, I haven’t thought of anything but your bright blue eyes since I left this bench yesterday. If love at first sight is real, then it happened yesterday.”
Without thinking, I leaned in a kissed Y/N.
She did the same, our faces hitting each other as we laughed into the kiss.
“Since you love the sea so much, how about you come on the ship and I take you out sailing?” I asked.
Y/N smiled, “I’d love to.”
I reached for her hand, and walked her onto the ship.
As we sailed into the sea, I looked at Y/N in awe of how she looked at the blue water.
She was amazing, and in her eyes I saw my future, I knew she was the woman I needed to be with.

Years later, she is still mine.
I love her with all my heart, my soul, and my mind even.
Love at first sight is not a myth, but the thing that changed my life.


Thanks for reading.


anonymous asked:

tarot fear: i don't have all the card meanings memorized and sometimes i bullshit my way through a reading. i use my intuition to muddle through, and afterwards I'll look up the reading. sometimes i'm like... oh crap... how bad did i just screw that reading up?

Oh anon, you don’t need to have any of the card meanings memorized! Your intuition is GOLD. 

If your client is paying you for your service, don’t give them bullshit… if that is the case, you may want to take a day between the time you finish your reading and before you send it out to look it over and make sure it is in tiptop shape! At least that’s my opinion.

(Tell me your tarot fear)

The essentials for a successful photo shoot.

1. Sunscreen

2.Baby Oil: for a polished skin look.

3. Hairspray: for your hair & if you don’t have $$$ to purchase make up 

4. BUG SPRAY: this is muy importante. Bug bites are not cute in pictures. Don’t make the photographer photoshop if it can be avoided. This will save them and you time to receive your photos.

5. Cocoa butter ( Doesn’t attract bugs like scented lotion).

6. Dry Shampoo

7. Deoderant

8. Hair Serum: anti-frizz/holds hair down when it’s windy without the hairspray sticky look.

9. Alcoholic beverage & opener: This isn’t for everyone. However; I like to drink 1-2 drinks before shooting. 

10. bluetooth speaker: Music is the blood of life. It helps you dance, flow, pose, stay calm, stay happy, and makes an overall better facial expression.

11. Fan: If you are shooting outside.Ii recommend purchasing a cheap $10 battery operated fan/water mist from wal-mart or a small $1 one from the dollar store. It will help keep sweating to a minimum and keep you cool.

12. Oil pads: takes the sweat from your face and still leaves the make-up.

13. WATER & granola bars. Stay hydrated and eat light so you don’t bloat.

14. Daily Planner: So when your photographer asks to shoot again, you have your schedule handy.

These are the essentials I bring to each photo shoot to make me successful.

Undo It||Shang&Grace

Grace looked in the mirror one last time. It was simple, but eye catching to sat the least. If she was going to have to face him, she’d at least let him know what he messed up. Dangle the fact that someone else would see the lace that was most certainly able to see through her shirt. Gliding the lipstick across her lip she smacked them and took a deep breath. “Grace, he fucked up. Not you.” She said to herself before fixing her bra to ensure the best cleavage. Grace was giving it her all this round. 

Shutting her eyes she thought of his front door. There was no way she was actually going to walk through town and have to deal with people. Not after what happened in front of the theater. Letting herself take a moment to breath she reached out and lightly knocked on his door. It was show time. 

My psych bought up the idea of trying to see if work would let me bring an ESA.

My cat is so not a good candidate. She’s jumpy. But Raggedy Man and I are unable to afford another animal. And it just sucks.

Raggedy Man bought up the idea of a service animal for PTSD (which as much as I hate to admit it most of my anxiety stems from) and my doctor said he wouldn’t be against it but that’s even more expansive.

This is bought up as I’m crying in chic fil a because it’s too crowded. Because someone touched me. Because I’m crying and I know people are looking at me and it’s panic.

I came here because I know being home by myself is bad. I love when it gets colder, especially moving from a state nestled among Appalachia to Texas heat. But with cold comes darkness and darkness is bad.

It’s times like this I think maybe he’s right. Hit then again I always struggle with this ‘I’m not sick enough’ attitude. I’m stubborn as hell, but I’m reaching my breaking point with being in social situations.


            There was a DANGEROUS game that he liked ti play but it wasn’t like he hadn’t done it thousands of times before. The mere thought of it standing for anything else was PREPOSTEROUS. “ Fly ou’ ere. ” he spoke quietly, sitting cross legged in the wind and looking down at the girl with a mock sense of curiosity. He lays on the air, looking over at the other, “ Stop blamin’ the gravity for your problems, and jus’ get up here. ”

My heart cries out,
with that my eyes well up,
they spew tears,
just like the night before and the night before that,
all the hugely happy times we spent where we had days where we’d just look at each other and smile,
nothing needed to be said,
just our facial expressions,

art - A Book I Might Write Someday


I don’t know why I’m posting this here, no one will see it, and those rare few who might certainly won’t care.  I guess it is symbolic of my entire life, just whispering through a shout, buried under better people.  I’ve been dying for awhile now of some strange creeping disease in my leg.  I assume it is some form of blood-clotting.  It is probably something simple enough to fix, but I don’t have the time, money, or patience to get it looked into.  I also don’t really have the want to take care of it.  That being said, I’d like to die on my own terms, and now seems as good a time as ever. I want to thank everyone who has ever put up with me, I want to thank all the artists who helped bring my stupid stories to life when I could barely manage a couple of shorts.  I want to say sorry to all the people who had real lives to deal with that I constantly pestered and chattered at, knowing damn well what a pathetic annoyance I was. I want to say sorry to everyone who knew me and was hoping I’d turn this shit around and not be just another late-20s suicide-corpse, and to the people who put the time in to try and help me better myself.  I’m sorry to all the people I hurt with my obsessive, jealous, fearful love.  And most of all, I’m sorry to you, the person reading this, for having read it.

Goodbye everybody.  I’m going home.

—————————————–  @klllerwithin ;;

his eye is busy looking over papers, plans.
shipments that they needed to load up onto
trucks to make their way a state over. latest
updates on how the roads and the checkpoints
on the way. it was going to be better, this
time. their communication was improving.
everything was improving – and yet…

       “is that a limp in your step i’m hearing?
        did something happen?”

Ice Skating Day Three

(That title sounds like I get to go practice daily. Waaaaahh)

So, third time on the ice happened today! Bulked my skinny feet up with extra socks because fuuuuuck figure skates and that worked gorgeously! Yay hockey skates! 

What I (didn’t) learn: how to goddamn stop. Is this a hard thing in general? Am I Just Not Getting It? (Seriously, if you know, tell me.) I’ve watched some tutorials (not the ideal way to learn a physical skill, but it’s what I’ve got) and it looks frustratingly doable?

Best fall: my super graceful slow slide down onto my butt. No belly flops today, thank goodness that was awful. It was a really graceful fall tho, ngl, after which I just sat for a moment letting my ass get cold. 

Take away: confidence in my preference of hockey skates over figure skates, frustration at my whole family having more innate physical prowess/grace/dexterity than me, what I’m pretty sure will be a kickass knee bruise tomorrow, and some more determination that hard work and time will overcome a total lack of natural athletic talent! 

PS - Ass prints on the ice are a thing that happens. That was funny to find out.