on writin

My writing process so far, as summed up by increasingly insane three AM messages to Aphreal:

‘This fic is basically:
Me:  "Dorian, no.“
Him: "I think you mean ‘Dorian yes’.”
Me: “For your emotional stability and wellbeing, I’d recommend that you - ”
Him: “Who needs emotional wellbeing?” *launches self at gal*
Me: “FOR GOD’S SAKE."’


‘You know when you’re reading something and you’re just like "Christ why did I write this? Ow?” I always end up wincing reflexively, and I wrote it.’


‘*sniffling* Just… give me a minute. Ahem.’


‘…THEY’RE. JUST. SO. STUPID.’


‘Anyhow: "Chapter Six: And Then The Story Ended Abruptly Because Tru Murdered Both Her Characters In Utter Frustration."’


‘Or actually: "Chapter Six: Rocks Fall, Everyone Dies. No, Really, That’s It. Fuck Off. I’m Going To The Pub."’


‘I’ve just realised we’re 8k in, and this thing doesn’t even have a title. Crikey. *facepalm*’

Mom Deals With Local Traffic

When I was a wee thing, my parents moved out the the Highly dubious condo in East Palo Alto and into a relatively nice suburban neighborhood, into a house immediately across the street from my new elementary school.  Immediate, as in, less than 40 feet from the traffic circle.   Mom would wave at me from the driveway sometimes while I was in class.  This should have made getting me to and from school easy, but there was an issue:

I still had to cross the street, and because I was living in the over-caffeinated heart of silicon valley at the time, that meant dodging the local commuters barreling through the school zone at upwards of 40 miles per hour with no regard for the stop signs.

The flashing “School Zone” signs were ignored.  
The city refused to put in speed bumps or devote extra patrol cars.
One of my classmates grandmother’s volunteered as crossing guard, and some jackass in a BMW ran over her foot on the first day.

Now, mom declared as we drove Mrs. Manchez to the hospital her foot in a beer cooler full of ice, Would be a good time to take the law into my own hands.

So after dropping Mrs. Manchez off at the hospital, we drove to the thrift store, where my mom found a navy blazer, aviator sunglasses, a pilot’s cap and an old, clunky-looking hair dryer.  

The next morning, mom went out to the sidewalk in her new “uniform”, with the hair dryer and a legal pad so she could write down the grocery list.  Every time a car would come roaring down the road, Mom would look up, point the hairdryer at them, and, and write something down.  

I remember listening to brakes squeal all day the first time she tried it, Mercedes and BMWs screeching to a crawl as they passed the school, glaring at her.   By that afternoon, cars were creeping along at an over-cautious 10mph, and I was able to get home without taking my life into my hands.

After that, Mom went out “in uniform” every couple of days, because intermittent re-enforcement is what REALLY gets a change in behavior going, and point the hair dryer at anyone speeding through the school zone, usually while writing down grocery lists or short stories, or drawing unflattering caricatures of the other PTA moms.

Eventually, however, one of the cars that came through was a patrol car, and he slowly pulled to a halt in front of mom, glaring at her though his own reflective glasses.

She smiled an waved the hair dryer.  “Good afternoon!”

“…What’re you doing?”  he groaned, 3 in the afternoon entirely too early for this shit.

“Writin’ a grocery list.”  She beamed, and when that failed to satisfy him, she explained about the speeding problem and that if they couldn’t send a partol car out here to ticket people regularly, she figured that a hair dryer would be the next best thing.  Working like a charm so far.  They didn’t even notice the little airplanes on the Pilot’s hat.

The officer stared at her for a moment longer before his face broke out into a slow grin.  “Y’know, when we’re out of a car, we usually wear visibility vests.  So more people see you and your… Phaser.”

And that’s the story of how Mom and Officer Brown met and started the neighborhood watch program.

Billboard: Niall Horan Braces for Stardom Outside One Direction, With Advice From Justin Bieber & The Eagles

When Niall Horan decided to move from London to Los Angeles in early 2016, it’s no surprise that he chose a house in Laurel Canyon, the epicenter of ’60s folk-rock culture. Horan was the one ­toting a guitar in One Direction, the British boy-band juggernaut that was just then going on a hiatus, and he’s got the soul of a singer-songwriter: He’s charismatic, witty and sensitive, but also easygoing and no-nonsense. Viewed alongside his bandmates – born rock star Harry Styles, “sensible one” Liam Payne, “funny one” Louis Tomlinson, moody R&B prince Zayn Malik – Horan, 23, is sort of like the middle brother: the most ­approachably handsome, the second-most popular across social media (29 million Twitter followers; 19 million on Instagram) and the most likely to lust after a gig at the historic Los Angeles rock club The Troubadour. “Playing for, like, 500 people. What more do you want?” says Horan. “I’ve had some good moments with screaming ­teenagers, but I like when the room is completely dead. It’s a ­different kind of respect. People are actually listening.”

Keep reading

8

get to know me meme [2/15 favorite musicals]

HAMILTON  → I imagine death so much it feels more like a memory, when’s it gonna get me? In my sleep? Seven feet ahead of me? If I see it comin’, do I run or do I let it be? Is it like a beat without a melody? See, I never thought I’d live past twenty, where I come from some get half as many. Ask anybody why we livin’ fast and we laugh, reach for a flask. We have to make this moment last, that’s plenty. Scratch that, this is not a moment, it’s the movement. Where all the hungriest brothers with something to prove went? Foes oppose us, we take an honest stand. We roll like Moses, claimin’ our promised land. And? If we win our independence? Is that a guarantee of freedom for our descendants? Or will the blood we shed begin an endless cycle of vengeance and death with no defendants?I know the action in the street is excitin’ but Jesus, between all the bleedin’ ‘n fightin’ I’ve been readin’ ‘n writin’. We need to handle our financial situation. Are we a nation of states? What’s the state of our nation? I’m past patiently waitin’. I’m passionately smashin’ every expectation. Every action’s an act of creation! I’m laughin’ in the face of casualties and sorrow. For the first time, I’m thinkin’ past tomorrow!

halfbloodprincess23  asked:

Drabble request/prompt: Harry gets contacts and Draco never knew until that moment how much he adored Harry's stupid glasses.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Draco had had it all planned out, you see. 

He would arrive at Harry Potter’s flat at 8:30pm sharp, and not a minute later. From there, they would take Potter’s floo to the restaurant, the most expensive, high-class wizarding restaurant Draco knew. They would sit at the table Draco had reserved, one in the back half hidden behind a rice paper room divider and right next to a huge window looking out over the streets of London. Draco’s would drink exactly two glasses of wine. He memorized his order, practiced saying it with perfect French pronunciation, and then practiced all of the possible things Harry could order, too - to correct him, of course. He’d pay when the meal was over, and assure Harry that it wasn’t because he thought Harry couldn’t afford it, but because Draco just wanted it to be his treat. He practiced his smirk in the mirror, practiced sitting up straight while still looking nonchalant. He’d had his outfit laid out for weeks. And then, when dinner was over, they would floo back to Harry’s flat and Harry would walk him out, and at the door, Draco would kiss him. It would be soft and hesitant and Draco nose would bump Harry’s glasses at first and Harry would sigh softly into Draco’s mouth, and then Draco would go. He would go home and touch his lips over and over and the next morning he would send Harry an owl, thank him for his time, and ask to see him again.

It wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

Firstly, Harry wasn’t supposed to own contacts. Harry was supposed to be messy in a sweet kind of way and Draco was supposed to love him for that. He wasn’t supposed to be well put together, messy hair somewhat tamed and a crisp button down, wasn’t supposed to be wearing these awful tight black jeans that Draco wasn’t supposed to like on him. Harry wasn’t supposed to lead him outside instead of into the floo, insisting he knew a place Draco would love. They weren’t supposed to go into the bar across the street and Draco certainly wasn’t supposed to be kind of enraptured by the stained glass windows and the calla lilies at every table. Draco did drink just two glasses of wine, though. He also drank three shots of fire whiskey and something green and fizzy that Harry insisted wasn’t alcoholic, but left him feeling light and left him laughing too hard and smiling too wide. He slouched and he leaned into Harry’s touch and looked at him, wide-eyed and open, as if he had nothing to hide.

Harry wasn’t supposed to kiss him right there at the bar in front of all of those people, and Draco definitely wasn’t supposed to like it. They weren’t supposed to run red-cheeked back across the cobblestones to Harry’s flat, and Draco wasn’t supposed to leave open-mouthed kisses on his neck as he fumbled with his key. They weren’t supposed to kiss up against Harry’s front door and Draco wasn’t supposed to suck him off right there, and Harry definitely wasn’t supposed to drag Draco up the stairs and return the favor.

He wasn’t supposed to wake up the next morning in Harry Potter’s bed to the smell of bacon, and he wasn’t supposed to enjoy the sight of Potter cooking it naked as much as he did. They weren’t supposed to have sex again over the dining room table, and Draco wasn’t supposed to come harder than he could ever remember having come in his life.

Most of all, Draco surely wasn’t supposed to fall in love with Harry right then and there over a plate of half burned eggs.

It just wasn’t supposed to happen like this.

But oh, Merlin, was he glad that it did.


lol, what is this “drabble” you speak of? i don’t know her.

sry i kno this wasn’t really the original prompt, i was thinking abt kissing with glasses and then Draco fantasizing abt kissing Harry with glasses and then this turned into Draco’s Dream Date and How Harry Fucking Ruins It.

i get carried away but i won’t apologize for art

sylveonstri  asked:

i need a hug bc of the gay angst ™

no hugs for th e syl sorry ;)

4

                                         I know the action in the street is excitin’
                                    But Jesus, between all the bleedin’ ‘n fightin’
                                                   I’ve been readin’ ‘n writin’
                                       We need to handle our financial situation
                          Are we a nation of states? What’s the state of our nation?

                                         I ’ m  p a s t  p a t i e n t l y  w a i t i n ’

Hinata is so clingy, that even when someone shows him a video (or really anything), he has to touch them. He leans on their shoulder, lowkey gives them a back hug, holds their arm… And Tsukishima is so sick of that. The orange haired boy is just too clingy.

At least that’s what he thought until he experienced it by himself. It was when they were on the bus, going back home, when Hinata sat beside him. Tsukishima had no other choice, but to give him his headphones in order to shut him up. Once he relaxed, he felt… warm. It was so sudden that he almost broke his neck as he turned his head really fast to look at the smaller boy, that was leaning against his arm, with his eyes closed and a soft smile plastered onto his face. That’s when Tsukishima felt like his clingy behavior wasn’t really that bad. He started to love it.

Pen Pals - Part Two

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Dean wants to take the relationship to another level. Would the Reader want to take that risk or will she back out?

Word Count: 1.8kish

Warnings: AU, Fluff, Light Cursing

Author’s Note: Here is the second part of Pen Pals! If you want to catch up, read the first part here –> Part One. I hope you guys like this chapter. I’m sorry for not posting it fast enough. Life got in the way and I had to stop everything for a cool minute. I hope you enjoy this and feedback is always welcomed!!


Chapter Two: Long Distance Relationship

Keep reading

For a Good Time

Chapter 4

(previous) (first)

Pairing: Natan

Word Count: 3900

Warnings: swearing, food mention

Rating: M (this chapter is SFW)

Summary: A phone number scrawled across a dark, dirty bathroom stall prompts a drunk Natalie to make a phone call. When Lucifer answers, he agrees to help her find her way home. Natalie clings to the impatient man, who wants nothing more than to never see her again. Of course, he never gets what he wants.


The sky shattered into a million fragments of light through the clouds that overcast morning. Slivers of the sunrise managed to peek through and wink down at Luce as he scrubbed the soapy sponge against the side of the fire engine, working a stubborn grease stain away. The humid spring morning promised a hot day to follow, and perspiration dotted his forehead, despite the fact that he’d already pulled off his dark t-shirt.

Keep reading

“I thought my album was finished, and then I went on a bit of a run ’cause I was writin’ crap stuff up until then.” Although he does call “Flicker,” a pretty, strings-laden early track about the last night in a failing relationship, one of his favorites. “On the Loose,” a newer ­recording, reinvents Fleetwood Mac’s “Dreams” for the tropical-pop set.
i have some news.

Let the record show that it was May 19, 2017, at 7:08 p.m., when I finished writing my first novel.

PikeEpic is finished, guys.

I am weeping unbecomingly.

It needs to be spit-polished and split into chapters, and then…then I get to share it with all of you.

For tonight, though? I’m gonna bask in this feeling.

I just wrote a fucking novel, guys.

Originally posted by danascullys