someone write a book about these two

I know, you think my generation doesn’t give two fucks about anyone else but themselves. but honestly why should we. everyone we loved left us for someone better, someone with longer legs or bigger bank balances. everyone we respected disappointed us by weaving us in a myriad of lies. everyone we idolised betrayed us. in a generation where everyone is letting everyone down, everyone is too stressed or too anxious, do you except us to care about other people. do you expect us to protect people from drowning when we dont even know how to swim. do you expect us to save lives when we want to end our own. do you expect us to love when our own hearts have been shattered into pieces. do you actually except us to give fucks about anyone but ourselves.
—  i am sorry i am selfish
How to Steal: Good Writers Borrow

Originally posted by slytherin-bookworm-guy

Good writers borrow. Great writers steal. -T.S. Eliot *

This is great writing advice, but many people are wary about following it because they misunderstand what the terms “borrowing” and “stealing” mean in this context. 

I’m here to clarify. 

Borrowing is using something of someone else’s. Stealing is making something your own. 

This advice means two things:

1. Don’t be afraid of reusing elements from books you love.

I’ve spoken before about stealing in How to Steal: Know Your Tropes. When you see story elements** in a book you love, don’t think that they’re now off-limits to you forever. Just because you love The Great Gatsby and it’s set in 1920s New York doesn’t mean that you can now never write a story set in 1920s New York. Just because you love I Capture the Castle and it’s written as the protagonist’s journal, doesn’t mean you can never write a novel that takes the form of the protagonist’s journal. Just because Scooby-Doo… you get my point by now, don’t you? 

Take note of what you love in other stories.*** Remember those elements–the plot twists, character arcs, tropes, settings, etc.–and then use them to write a story full of things you love. 

2. Make the things you steal your own.

Borrowing, in this definition, would be writing about a 1920s bootlegger in love with the girl across the way, trying desperately to impress her with his wealth. You’re stealing from F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby… and making it no less F. Scott Fitzgerald’s story. 

This example steals too much from one place. It’s too timid in it’s approach. it’s too afraid to take anything from the story, so it keeps everything the same. Anything that tries to be like Gatsby, but better is destined to fail. (Maybe a little like Gatsby himself. Just throw a bigger party, old sport! That’ll do the trick!) 

The key to stealing is stealing from multiple things at once until it looks like your very own thing. Stealing is writing a novel about a gang of mystery solving teenagers in 1920s New York, told in the form of a journal the group takes turns writing in. (Because we’re going to add a splash of Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants here.) 

Stealing is saying: these story elements are mine now and I’m going to use them the way I like, combined with my interests. And you know what? By stealing bits and pieces from all of the things you love, you’re creating something unique and new and wonderful

So go out there. And steal. Never borrow. 


*This is commonly attributed to him at least. The internet tells me he definitely said something close to it. 

**Obviously, this doesn’t apply to the words themselves. Never steal somebody else’s words. Basically everything else is up for grabs, though. 

***You’re not limited to stealing from books. Steal from movies. From TV shows. From plays. From epic poetry. From that anecdote your neighbor told you last week. 

The Reader and the Writer (Part 4)

Originally posted by jugheadly

Part one here    Part two here    Part three here

Anon requests: Please tell me there’s going to be a part 4 to The Reader and the Writer. Its amazing!!



Can you do a part four to reader and the writer?

PART 4 to reader and the writer omh it’s amazing

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: A part in which we get to read what the writer has written, and we learn what happens to both the reader and the writer.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,206

A/N: ok so this is gonna be a bit choppy at first because we’re just taking glimpses of Jughead’s writing, but bear with me here. I hope you guys like this part, enjoy!

Jason’s death had been announced a week ago.  Our small town was buzzing with the news, and right when things couldn’t get any more puzzling, a new girl arrived in Riverdale.  A new mystery to be solved.

She entered Pop’s for only a minute, and I heard an unfamiliar last name.  Is she involved in Jason’s murder?  Probably not, but strangers are always a good plot twist.

Three days later, I found this mystery in my booth reading Wuthering Heights.  Normally, I would kick her out, but because of my undying curiosity, I let her stay.  Maybe with her sitting across from me, I could learn where she fits in the story of Riverdale.  I had an enigma sitting right across from me and I didn’t even know it yet.

(Y/N).  Her name is (Y/N).

It’s difficult to notice because of her constant reading, but her eyes are like stained glass, tinting the morning light in a church.

She has a new book almost every day.  Today it was Emma

We haven’t spoken in three days.  She’s here, I’m here, but we haven’t spoken.  Although I crave to hear her voice, somehow I’m satisfied by this comforting silence.

Today it was To Kill a Mockingbird.  She asked if I read it, to which I replied yes.  I thought she’d begin a discussion, talk about the ghosts that occupied the small southern town, or the unjust prejudice people carry.  Instead, she smiled, nodded, and turned back to her book.

“Good,” she muttered under her breath.  I smiled.

What makes a person do foolish things?  Is it because of the flawed spontaneity of humans?  Or is it because maybe they were trying to impress someone?  I read A Tale of Two Cities last night.  As I read through the dull writing, I asked myself why I was reading literature that did not interest me.  I could not answer my own questions; all I know is that the next night in Pop’s, I subtly quoted the book during a conversation with (Y/N).  She was smiling for the rest of the night, and so was I.

I tried to tell her about my book.  She started talking about The English Patient.

When two worlds collide, do you praise the workers of fate for taking two dearly loved universes and combining them into one, or do you curse the forces of nature for creating such an impact?  Betty and Veronica met (Y/N), and a week later, so did Archie.

She was reading Macbeth that night. Our silence was comforting, but I wanted to talk to her more. I offered for her to help me with my book.  I wanted her to be a part of something that was important to me.  She refused and stormed out of the diner.  I didn’t know it then, but that would be the last time I saw (Y/N) (Y/L/N) in that light ever again.

After extensive research, I came to a shocking conclusion: (Y/N) (Y/L/N) is not a girl living in Riverdale in the 21st century. She is a writer from the 1700s, with four published works.  She is not the girl who has been sitting across from me in my booth for months.

One day after the truth: she isn’t here.  I called her, but she didn’t pick up.

Two days after our argument: I am in this booth alone.  I called her again.

Three days after she was reading Macbeth: she probably finished the book by now, but I wouldn’t know.  She isn’t here, and she still isn’t answering her phone.

It’s been a week.  She hasn’t returned, and my calls always go to voicemail.

Two weeks: Archie asked what’s wrong with me.  I said nothing, but my eyes didn’t leave the entrance of the diner. She didn’t come.

Three weeks later and Veronica and Betty checked on me.  They blabbered about what could be wrong, why I was brooding more than usual.  I didn’t reply, but my head perked up when they mentioned (Y/N).  They noticed.

She’s here.

She was born in Riverdale.

And so, a little light shined on the dark mystery of Riverdale’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N) like the calm before the storm.  The writer becomes the reader, the reader becomes the read. I found myself hooked on her just from a little information, like a drug addict craving his fix.  New girls can never hide in a small town like Riverdale, but God, I knew (Y/N), in all her enigmatic splendor, would lurk in the shadows of this town for as long as she possibly could.

As soon as she walked out of Pop’s that night, I told myself she would never return.  I told myself that she would probably leave Riverdale for good, and it’d be all because of me.  But lo and behold, 24 hours later, a familiar face entered my booth.

What is her name?

We haven’t spoken in two weeks; she’s still here, but we don’t talk.  Her real name remains a mystery to me.

A name. Everything is given a name, but a name does not define anything.  We call the number two so that we can define a value, but we could call two a horse and it would still have the same value.  I refer to (Y/N) as (Y/N), because that is the girl who sat across my booth.  That is the girl who I spent months developing a relationship with, and that is the girl I grew to love.

She told me her real name.  She said it with tears blurring her vision and a trembling lip, and when she choked it out I moved next to her and held her as she cried.  I enveloped her in a hug and I held her as all the sadness that she carried with her spilled out, and once it was all out of her system I wiped away her tears.  I kept holding her.  With a shaky voice she asked me why I was still there, why hadn’t I left?  I replied that I could never leave her. After all, I called her every night she was gone.

Then I told her I love her.

And she smiled, because I think deep down she knew.  She kissed me so softly, it felt like my lips were brushing up against flower petals.  I knew that was her way of telling me she loves me too.  We broke apart and I stared into her stained-glass eyes, and I remembered how it felt looking into them for the first time.  But this time was different.  Because now I knew the story behind those eyes, now I knew what those eyes have seen, and now I knew what emotions those eyes hid.

Now I know.

I whispered in her ear, my lips barely brushing against her skin, and told her I would call her by the name I knew her by.  I would call her (Y/N) (Y/L/N) because that is the girl I fell in love with, and that is the girl I want to continue to love.  She was no longer the enigma sitting across from me, nor was she the strange new girl in Riverdale.

Her name is (Y/N), and she is the girl I love.

Information I learned from the Rick Riordan Hammer of Thor book tour

• The Trials of Apollo series will be at least 5 books

• The Magnus Chase series will be at least 3 books

• We will get to meet Percy’s little sister at one point in the Trials of Apollo series

• He had no control over the Percy Jackson movies whatsoever

• There will be a PJO coloring book released in August 2017

• There will be a book called Camp Half Blood Confidential released in May 2017. This book will be about life at camp

• He said he encourages fan art and fan videos

• He said if you write fanfiction to go for it but he does not read it

• He said probably his two favorite characters to write from are Sadie Kane and Apollo

• Someone asked if liked Anubis or Walt better with Sadie and he said both

• He said that by the end of The Hammer of Thor half of us are going to want the next book and half of us are going to want to kill him

• There will be new characters in The Hammer of Thor

• He will always write for the middle grade age group but he loves it when older people keep reading the books as well

anonymous asked:

I've been reading and rereading your YW books off and on for something like 15 years now, and you more than any writer have inspired not only my fascination with science but my interest in writing fiction. I am merely a fan fiction writer so far but I wanted to thank you for your talent and kindness, you're wonderful.

I’m glad to have been an inspiration. So many writers inspired me as I was getting started: it’s more than a pleasure to pass the favor along.

But as regards being a fan fiction writer: never say “merely”! There is nothing “mere” about writing something you love. Additionally: though this is hardly the main purpose of fanfic, it’s a great place to cut your teeth as a writer. I did easily a quarter million words’ worth of fanfic before something materialized in my head that wasn’t written in someone else’s universe… and when it did, because of all that practice, I was ready for it and able to hit the ground running. (David Gerrold says that “The first million words are for practice”, and this strikes me as about right.) If I got nominated two years in a row for the Campbell Award for best new writer in the SF/fantasy field because of this book, it’s the fanfic that helped me become certain enough of my writing “voice” that I could write it with sufficient assurance to make something (then) so edgy so convincing.

…And as for “so far”, that’s the spirit – because you never know where the love of working in someone else’s world will take you. Nearly forty years ago now, if you’d told me that the Trek fanfic I’d written in my teens would eventually put me in a place where I was writing Trek noncanonically, for money… and then into a place where I was writing it canonically for money… I’d have disparaged your sanity. :) Yet see what happened. Fortune, as they say, favors the prepared.

So get out there and do your thing. No writing is ever wasted. And that goes double for writing something you love. As for where it’ll take you? Keep your eyes open and seize the possibilities as they come. That’s all I can tell you. It’s worked for me. :)

The Fourth Musketeer (Part 2)

Originally posted by fyeahriverdale

Part one here

Requests: I just read The Fourth Musketeer and I’m in love! Will you release the next part soon? I can’t wait ❤❤❤

Can u please do a part 2 of “the four musketeer” please?

I know requests are closed and so please don’t even rush with this request like honestly take however long you want to, but I actually need a 2nd part of ‘the fourth musketeer’ your writing is so amazing!

Pairing: Archie x Reader

Description: Veronica has become invested in (Y/N)’s story, and so she seeks out those who knew her.

Warnings: none

Word count: 1,437

Tag list: @isis278 @lost-in-wonderland-x @spam-to-follow@thatspidernamedmeagan @isabellarose5150

A/N: I have been having so much fun writing this series, hope you guys enjoy this part!

“(Y/N)” was the only word that came out of Veronica’s mouth as she sat down at the lunch table. Jughead, Betty, and Kevin’s heads all snapped up.

“How do you know about (Y/N)?” Kevin questioned.  Veronica shrugged.

“Archie was kind of having a meltdown at Jughead’s party,” she answered.  Betty and Jughead shared a concerned look.

“God, what happened?” Betty asked.

“He was screaming her name when I came up,” Veronica explained.  "He babbled on about how much he loved her and that he should’ve told her and that he kissed her.“

“Wait, he kissed her?” Kevin interrupted, his eyes doubling in size.  He glanced over at Jughead and Betty who appeared to be just as shocked as he was.

“You didn’t know?” Veronica’s eyes widened.

“No,” Jughead muttered, shaking his head.  "He never told us.“

“We always knew they had a thing for each other,” Kevin elaborated.  "But we never knew that something actually happened between them.“

"When did she move?”

“Two years ago,” Jughead answered.  "The summer before eighth grade.“

"There was this dance,” Betty reminisced, “in the fall of our eighth grade year.”

“Archie was gonna ask (Y/N),” Jughead frowned.  "He was preparing himself ever since he first heard about the dance.“

"And he never got the chance,” Kevin sighed.

“Do you know why she moved?” Veronica inquired.  The rest of her table shrugged.

“Probably her dad,” Betty replied.  "He was a really intense lawyer, and he got relocated to some big city firm.“

”(Y/N) was gonna try and stay with the Andrews,“ said Jughead.  "They were more than willing to take her in, too. But-”

“But, of course, her parents wanted her to go with them,” Veronica finished.  Jughead grimly nodded.  "So two whole years, and Archie still isn’t over this girl?“

"Well the thing is,” Betty grimaced, “he never coped well with her leaving.  After (Y/N) left he was… strange.  He practically denied her existence.”


"Yeah,” Kevin chimed in.  "He never talked about her or anything.  It was pretty frightening, actually.  It seemed like he had completely forgotten about her.“

"And if you’re wondering why Archie can’t get over her,” Jughead answered Veronica’s unasked question, “it’s because he was always in love with her.”

“Yeah, he told me that,” she mumbled.

“I don’t think you understand though,” he said.  "They were both so in love.  They were always there for each other, caring for each other.  When Archie’s parents were fighting, (Y/N) was there; whenever (Y/N)’s dog died, Archie was there.  You couldn’t find one without the other.  Betty and I were also good friends with them, but those two?  They were inseparable.“

Maybe it was Veronica’s fascination with dramatic love stories; maybe it was her desire for an explanation as to why Archie didn’t return her feelings for him.  Either way, she found herself searching for more information about (Y/N).  That was how she ended up at the Andrews household.  Archie wasn’t home.

”(Y/N)?“ Fred Andrews repeated, holding a beer as he sat across from Veronica.  "I haven’t heard that name in a while.”

“I, on the contrary, have been hearing her name quite a lot lately,” Veronica shrugged, sipping on a glass of water.  "So what happened between her and Archie?“

"Oh, I don’t think it’s my place to say,” Mr. Andrews sighed.  "It’s Archie’s tale to tell.“

"He already told me about her,” Veronica quickly explained.  "But only the happy parts.  Only the parts he wants to remember.“  Mr. Andrews exhaled and took another swig of beer.  He stared at Veronica for a moment in silence.

"Why do you want to know?” he finally asked.

“I like hearing stories,” she shrugged. “This sounds like a good book.”  Fred Andrews laughed.

“If this was a book,” he responded, “my son would’ve had a happy ending with that girl.”

“Maybe he will,” Veronica offered.  "I don’t think the story’s over yet.“  Fred’s laughter shrunk into a smile.  He cleared his throat.

"If there’s one thing you should know about (Y/N),” he started, “it’s that she is the purest soul you will ever meet.  She was kind and gentle, and she was exactly what Archie needed.”  Veronica quietly nodded, intrigued.  "I knew both her father and mother quite well.  So, of course, when our children were born around the same time, we knew we wanted them to be best friends.  A couple years later, we realized we wanted them to get married.“  Fred Andrews and Veronica both laughed.  "Sometimes in the movies you see the boy and girl resisting each other because when you’re little, it’s gross to talk to someone who’s the opposite gender.  That was never the case with Archie and (Y/N).  They were both sweet on each other.”

“That’s so cute,” Veronica cooed.

“It was,” Mr. Andrews sighed.  "I remember this one day; I think Archie was eleven at the time.  He and (Y/N) were at the park all day, as they usually were.  That night, he came running home and swung the door open.  His mouth was going at a mile per minute.  When I finally got him to slow down, he told me that he was in love with (Y/N).  He had the biggest grin on his face.“

"The day he kissed her?” Veronica clarified.  Mr. Andrews chuckled.

“Yeah.  God, it made me so happy.  I knew that he sometimes overheard his mom and I fighting, and I was worried that it would somehow affect his relationships.  That kind of stuff damages a kid, you know?  But he had stars in his eyes as he talked about (Y/N), and I don’t think I’ve seen him that happy since then.”

“I heard you offered to take her in,” Veronica changed the subject, “when she was going to move.”  Fred Andrews stiffly nodded.

“Archie’s mom and I fought a lot.  But (Y/N)’s parents?  That poor kid.  She slept over here so many times because the screaming was keeping her awake.  And the saddest part was she never cried or appeared to be sad.  She would just come in here, clutching Archie’s hand, looking up at me with big sad eyes and politely asked me to stay.  Of course, I never refused.”  Veronica frowned.  "When I heard she was moving, I was concerned about how crushed Archie was, sure, but I couldn’t bear to let (Y/N) go off on her own with her parents.  At least when she was in Riverdale, I knew she had a safe place here.  Now, I don’t know if she has one.“  He took a long swig of beer before continuing. ”(Y/N) was like a daughter to me.  Archie isn’t the only one who loved her.“

"Sounds like a special girl,” Veronica commented.  Fred nodded.

“She was.”

“Have you ever considered writing a book about this?”  Veronica sat across from Jughead in Pop’s.  He lightly glared at her, lowering his laptop lid.

“Write about what?” he snapped.  She had interrupted his writing when he was in the zone.

“(Y/N),” she answered.  Jughead shot a glance at Betty.

“You know before Jason Blossom was shot, (Y/N) and Archie were the most interesting things in Riverdale.”

“Wasn’t there a two-year gap between (Y/N) leaving and Jason getting shot?” Veronica inquired.

“Isn’t it interesting that someone so in love could just pretend that the person they loved never existed?” Betty countered on Jughead’s behalf.

“Touché,” Veronica muttered.

“Anyways, to answer your question, of course I’ve considered it,” Jughead said.  "In fact, I already wrote a whole novel.“

"Seriously?” Betty and Veronica exclaimed simultaneously.  Jughead nodded nonchalantly.

“Of course.  But I do think something is missing,” he responded.  Veronica furrowed her eyebrows.

“What do you mean?”

“Well I kept it non-fiction,” he elaborated.  "I didn’t add anything that didn’t happen.  Although, I guess now I’ll have to put in the kiss.  Anyways, I don’t have a plot twist.“

”(Y/N) moving isn’t plot twist enough for you?“ Betty asked a question this time.

"That’s the climax,” he explained.  "Everything that happened after that was the falling action.  I have no plot twist and no resolution.“  All three sitting at the table furrowed their eyebrows.  A faint jingle alerted the diner that there was a new customer.  Betty casually glanced up and then did a double take at what she saw.  She gripped Jughead’s arm.

"Is that plot twist enough for you?” she whispered, gesturing towards the entrance.  Jughead and Veronica’s gaze both snapped towards the front, their focus attaching to the figure who just walked in.

“No way,” Jughead breathed.

“Is that…” Veronica trailed off, unable to form a sentence.  Jughead and Betty both nodded, confirming her suspicions.


Part three here     Part four here     Part five here

anonymous asked:

Oh, did you hear? Apparently Game of Thrones has officially supplanted the books. They no longer matter. And since the show is the real canon now, GRRM shouldn't even bother finishing Winds of Winter. (Source: wired. com/ 2017/05/ george-r-r-martin-game-of-thrones-books/)

Link without spaces:

This is probably the single worst thing I’ve ever read. 

“The Song of Ice and Fire is not the Westerosi enchiridion any more. Martin’s story, the world he built, lives on TV. And now that HBO is cooking up spinoff showsbased on the original, it’s official: The TV universe has eclipsed the books and become the Game of Thrones canon.“

The canon of the TV show is NOT the canon of the books. Just…what? It can’t be! Shit that happens in the show is like, the direct opposite of the books in most cases, and the themes/takeaways could not be further apart.

Just…wow, what a hot take, dude. Reads like someone who feels pretty smart for having read the books, yet apparently missed everything about what makes a narrative a narrative. The Checklist Effect permeates fandom?

“And for those worried Martin won’t have control of his creation at all, fret not. He’s reportedly involved in not one, but two of the proposed writing teams for the spinoff shows HBO is considering. There’s no telling which programs will ever make it to the small screen, but it’s practically a given that he’ll be on board. That means it’s also almost certain the completion of the Song of Ice and Fire series will be delayed even further. But if Martin never finishes the last book, and instead the story of the winter in Westeros is wrapped up in a series of multi-million-dollar, special-effects-laden episodes of TV? Well, there are worse fates.”

This is just. It’s impossible. GoT cannot write an ending to ASOIAF because it is not the same story. At all. It’s profiting off of Martin’s creative work, and sure maybe there can be series set in Weisseroff where ~~anything can happen~~, but the conflation is just sheer idiocy or willful ignorance at this point.

Write What You Know (Not Necessarily What You’ve Experienced)

Originally posted by gifs-from-the-seaside-ca

I’ve recently written a post about the true meaning behind the quote “good writers borrow; great writers steal.” 

Well, another piece of writing advice has come under scrutiny lately, so I’m here to explain the meaning behind “write what you know.” 

“Write what you know” really means “write what you understand.”

Many people interpret “write what you know” to mean “write about what you have experienced for yourself,” but that’s obviously silly advice. If everyone followed it, libraries would be much, much smaller. Writing is about using your imagination to explore worlds of possibilities. Bits and pieces of your personal history will of course come into play, but they should always be presented in new and interesting ways. Otherwise, writers would be too bored to actually finish their stories.

When people you think you should probably trust tell you to “write what you know,” they aren’t telling you to fictionalise your own memoir. They’re telling you to write about the things that you understand

A novel may be a great series of lies, but there must be truth at the centre of it all and that truth is a direct result of, and in correlation to, the author’s understanding of their subject matter. 

For an author, this means a couple of things:

You should always be able to empathise with your characters. You should be able to tap into your emotions, your passions, your relationships to inform their emotions, their passions, their relationships. 

If you’re writing a scene about two people walking along the Seine at midnight unable to admit their true feelings for each other, you don’t need to have traveled to Paris or walked along the Seine or talked about the moon on the water when really all you wanted to say was that the same moonlight was making the other person look very pretty that night. 

What you need is to know what it is to take a walk in a place that is romantic no matter if romance is taking place there, to have wanted to say something but been too afraid to say it, to be filled with hope and fear and misery and joy all at the same time. 

You should always be able to feel the heart of the scene, instead of simply imagining it. 

If you can’t put yourself directly into your character’s shoes, they’ll wind up saying or doing something that won’t quite ring true.  

You should always be both interested in and knowledgable about the topics and settings that find their way into your stories. 

You don’t have to be an archaeologist to write an Indiana Jones novel, but a healthy fascination with people like T.E. Lawrence, Roy Chapman Andrews, and Gertrude Bell should probably come into play.

You should always not only be knowledgable about the topic you’re writing about, but care for it. You should be able to understand why Indy says it belongs in a museum!!” You should understand why your characters feel passionate about whatever they’re engaging in, because you share some of that passion. (Even if you wouldn’t dream of digging around in a desert yourself.)

It’s okay if you don’t know very much about a topic when you first get an idea for a book, but after doing some research about it, you should connect to the material in some way. 

As long as you’re interested in a topic or place, you’re not breaking the “write what you know” rule by taking the time to understand something you hadn’t when you first imagined your story. 

What’s more: write the kind of story you enjoy reading.

That sounds a little obvious, but people try to write stories they wouldn’t actually enjoy reading themselves all of the time. 

If you love reading YA fantasy novels, but feel compelled to write the next Great Literary American Novel, you’re not writing the sort of story you’re familiar with–that you’re passionate about–and that will show on every single page. Those are two very different sort of books. If you love reading YA, exclusively read YA, but try to write the GLAN, you’re not writing what you know. You’re probably not even writing something you truly care about.

And if you find the story you’re writing dull and uninteresting, any reader will probably feel the same way. 

If someone has read your work and says something along the lines of “you should stick to writing what you know…” 

What they’re really saying is that something isn’t resonating as true. That somehow, it doesn’t feel quite real. That they don’t think the characters’ emotional reactions are what they’d be in real life. Or that Indiana Jones is supposed to be a renowned archaeologist, but he doesn’t seem to know much about archaeology??? 

When they say this, they’re not telling you to go get a degree in archaeology or that in order to write that romantic scene, you must fall in love with someone, walk along the Seine with them, and then write what about what you felt in that moment. 

They’re letting you know that there is a disconnect somewhere between you and the writing. That they can tell you haven’t put enough of yourself in this story. That the circles don’t overlap as much as they should in the venn diagram between the knowledge, emotions, and interests the story requires and the knowledge you possess, the emotions you’ve felt, and the interests you invest in. 

When somebody says “write what you know,” ask yourself:

  • if you’ve really done enough research on this topic–if you actually want to write about this topic enough to do the required research 
  • if there’s another emotional well you can draw from to understand how a character might be feeling, how they might react to a circumstance
  • if this book is one that you yourself would pick up from a library shelf. 

And make sure there’s a core of truth within those all those lies. 

secretlybasictrash  asked:

So I've finally finished my first draft of my story!! This is my first time ever completing a first draft, so now that I'm done, I have no idea how to tackle it and begin editing. There are lots of things I need to change, like making the characterization consistent, brushing up on the flow of the story, adding in a few plot points, etc. There's just so much to do! Do you have any advice for where to start?

First, I always tell myself: One step at a time.

Don’t worry about adding plot points, or changing characters, or checking the flow, or anything. Don’t worry at all. You’ll only get anxious trying to “fix” every little detail. So, for now, celebrate. You’ve completed a draft. You are awesome!

I advise you to give yourself a reward.

I also advise you not to start editing right away. Take a week off. Start thinking about your next book. Maybe, outline your next book. For just a while, forget your completed draft. I’ve heard of authors that let their drafts in waiting for months. But a week is good enough. Why is this important? Because you move away from the story. You forget about details. You give yourself time switch from creative mode to critique mode. 

So, your week is gone and you are ready to edit.

But, remember, one step at a time.

First read: Read like a reader, not an author. Read all the way to the end without risking out or adding a word. Read like it’s someone else’s novel, not yours. And, when you get to the end, write a review. Just a paragraph or two giving your honest opinion on highlights and downfalls of the book. Be 100% honest. Be ruthless. Now, you have a general view over the story, what is missing, what is awesome. Make a list of every improvement you’d like to make.

Second read: Go over the story, applying the improvements, and also correcting mistakes along the way.

Third read: Read out loud. Reading out loud helps you detect grammar mistakes and strange sentences. :D   

Fourth read: Read one last time, not so focused on correcting mistakes, but on logic… pay attention for continuity errors, timeline errors, of if there’s any Deus ex machina around… this is just one last read to wrap things up.    

Fifth read: This is optional, but I love to read random pages of my books, just to force the brain not to follow the same track it’s already used to. Sometimes I find mistakes where I’d usually just brush over.

Then, publish it. It can’t be perfect, so don’t get crazy over every little phrase or word of choice. 

Publish. Open a new document. And start a new book. :D  


Alright. Phew. It’s been a looooooooooong time coming but @blackindiaink and I have finally gotten the first book in our first joint series ready enough to put out there for anyone who might be interested in reading something new!

The series is called PAPER DOLLS and we’re putting the first book up for $.99 on Amazon (we’re hoping to have a paperback version as well, for gifts and things, but that’s taking us a bit longer because of formatting issues). The story will be enrolled in KDP which means anyone who has a Amazon - Kindle Unlimited subscription will be able to read it for free

The main focus of the series is a romance between two original female queer characters.

Keep reading

I need someone to write a good, long post about how shitty it is to always compare Jane Austen to the Brontë sisters, for no other reason than that they’re women. No one ever asked me wether I was more of a Dostoyevsky or a Dickens girl, but the moment I utter either “Austen” or “Brontë” someone jumps out from somewhere to ask me wether I’m “an Austen or a Brontë girl”. Stop it. Just because they’re the only two female authors anyone ever thinks are worth noticing doesn’t mean I can’t like them both equally? They wrote very different books and there’s literally no reason to compare them. Just stop.

I’m so sick of the trope in movies and books where you have to compete and fight to win someone over. People are not prizes and love shouldn’t be a reward. Love should be about two people finding each other, love should be simple and mind me, I know sometimes it isn’t but not like this, not because we call each other bitch and slut and not because we tear each other down to be the winner.
—  giulswrites
For better or for worse

Request: None it’s just a “Decoy Bride” au- aka Lin just wants to get married but when his wife-to-be disappears, his friends need to find a temporary stand-in while they look for her (I like this trashy romcom too much to not write an au)

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x reader 

Warnings: fake relationships, slow burn, paparazzi, initial dislike

Word count: 4,511 (I got carried away?)

A/N: Apologies to anyone waiting for a fic but I’ve had major writers block :/ Feedback is welcomed with enthusiasm ^-^ Thanks to @fragmentofmymind for proofreading!


The boat bumped against the rock as her owner tied her to the roughly-hewn wooden post that served as a docking point. You looked out of the rain-spattered porthole windows and over the seemingly endless soggy fields. At your side, your suitcase seemed too small too be carrying everything you owned.

You were coming home.

Ever since you and your mother had moved to the tiny island off the Scottish coast, you had wanted to escape. You had dreams to follow and you sure as hell weren’t going to achieve them on an island where you knew the whole population by name.

You had tried countless times to leave- to go to university, to live with your boyfriend, to work a job that had promised you connections. But you always ended up on the ferry back, your suitcase getting more battered every time, packed to move back into the Bed and Breakfast your mother owned- the only accommodation with rooms to rent on the island.

“There you go, lass,” the grey-haired captain leant you a hand as you stepped off the boat and onto the muddy path. You thanked him as he passed you your case and stepped off the boat after you. It was raining hard and you had forgotten your umbrella.

Tugging your case through the wet mud and then gravel was hard work, and the walk to your home gave you more than enough time to second guess yourself. You had left your boyfriend- an abusive dickhead if there ever was one- and run. But you had left your dreams behind- again- in New York when you had taken the first flight to Edinburgh and with every step they felt farther away.

You opened the door and walked in, hoping to have a moment to compose yourself. But your mother was standing in the hallway, ironing. “Oh!” she gasped, then looked abruptly serious, “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” you said bravely, but at the sight of her concerned expression everything seemed to crash back down onto you all over again and you let out a hiccoughing sob. “Fine.”

Your mother looked you up and down and set down her iron, rushing to pull you into a tight hug. “Come on,” she said quietly, “let’s have a cup of tea and warm you up, shall we?”

Keep reading

The New Kid in Town [Tim Drake x Reader]

Requested by @books-netflix-and-pizza: “Maybe one with Tim? Where he meets someone at school and they really hit it off, and later he meets a new vigilante and they also really hit it off, and he’s torn between the two people, only to find out that they’re the same person?”

A/n: This is a bit long but I honestly loved writing it. I hope you love it sweetie! I’d love to hear if you like it! <33


The day felt about as normal as any day could get. Tim sat in his first period history class, waiting for the first bell to ring to signal the beginning of the day. Chin resting in his hand as he stared up at the white board. He examined the notes his teacher had written up, from the looks of it, today seems to be a lecture day.

He watched as his classmates filed into their respective seats before the bell rang. However, Tim along with his classmates were confused. Usually their teacher was in class before anyone else, but not today. A girl next to him leaned over, “Hey Tim, do you know where Mr. Rickson is? You’ve been in here the longest.” Tim shook his head, “No, he was gone when I got here too.”

“Sorry class” the voice of their teacher interrupted their confusion. Tim looked to the front of the room to see a girl with stunning [e/c] eyes and gorgeous [h/c] hair. He stared at the girl, wondering who she is and why she’s here. “Everyone, I’d like you all to meet your new classmate, [F/n] [L/n]. She comes to us all the way from Central City so make her feel welcome please.” A small, unsure smile on your face. “Miss [L/n], please take the seat in front of Mr. Carter please” Tim noticed him gesture to the seat diagonally ahead of him.

Watching as you nodded before taking your seat, a few of the students smiling at you as you passed. Tim being one of them when you locked eyes with him before sitting down.

“Alright everyone, please take out your notebooks as we continue our lecture about the Great Depression. Miss [L/n] I have the notes up to this point printed out for you.” Mr. Rickson said shuffling through the papers on his desk before delivering them to your desk. Smiling you thanked him before looking to see where the class was. Tim was captivated by you, unable to tear his eyes away. That was until he was called out for not paying attention to the lesson.

During class he would occasionally glance at you, multiple times finding you with your eyebrows furrowed. As if you’re contemplating something. His suspicions weren’t confirmed until he witnessed you hesitantly raise your hand after Mr. Rickson made a remark about reform in during Franklin Roosevelt’s presidency.

“Yes Miss [L/n]?” Mr. Rickson questioned as all eyes turned to you.

“I uh. It’s just that you said President Roosevelt was an active supporter of reform. While I know he did support some reforms, wasn’t it his wife Eleanor Roosevelt that was the true ‘voice of reform’ during his presidency? She is considered the most active first lady, no?” You questioned, waving your pencil as you spoke.

Mr. Rickson stood there thinking for a moment, “It appears I stand corrected. Yes, Eleanor Roosevelt is considered one of the if not the most active first lady to date. She is often referred to as the ‘voice of reform’ during the presidency. Taking on rights for women, immigrants, and so on. Nice catch Miss [L/n].” He complimented, making you smile and Tim that much more smitten.

Beautiful and smart? He has to get to know you better.

After class ended Tim made it his mission to get to know you. He was packing up his things, noticing you still sitting at your desk. Studying what he assumed is your schedule. Taking a deep breath and putting on an air of confidence he approached you.

“You look lost.” Tim spoke up, his hand resting on the strap of his bag. Chuckling you answered “That obvious?” He shrugged, “I have good instincts.” Smiling in the process.

He looked over your shoulder, “Where are you going?” Scanning the paper. “Umm, Physics. Room 507.” You trailed your finger down to the class. “Oh, that’s where I’m going. Here let me show you.” Nodding his head toward the door. Tim felt butterflies in his stomach when he saw you grin at him, a joyful ‘thank you’ escaping your lips.

On the way to the class Tim asked many questions, as did you. He asked why you moved, and what it was like in Central City. You asked him what life is like in Gotham and at Gotham Academy. Turns out you both have a lot in common, and were hitting it off quite nicely. Ending up sitting together at lunch, and having nearly all of your classes together. He learned a lot about you that first day.

And he learned even more as the days followed. You turned best friends within the week. Tim wanted to be more than friends though, their was just something or more someone holding him back from asking you out.

Tim had met this new hero while on patrol about three weeks ago, two weeks before your first day. Both becoming rather close as well, working on patrols together since they appeared. The new hero is a meta, having super speed like the Flash and Kid Flash. Being close to the Flash as well, that’s who trained them.

Little did he know about you being that speedster. Not that you were aware of the fact that Tim is Red Robin. This went on like this for about two more weeks, working together both during classes and on the streets.

Tonight you both were on a particularly treacherous mission. Taking down Scarecrow who is said to have a new fear toxin in the works. Tim is supposed to go in covert to check things out before you speed in to take out the goons.

Tim dropped down behind some crates, seeing the thugs along with Scarecrow himself holding a vial of the serum as a liquid adaptation. “[S/h/n] I have eyes on the serum” he spoke into his coms. “Alright. Waiting for your signal” you answered.

“I’m going to try and get closer.” He said before ducking behind another set of crates. “Be careful.” Tim crept closer and closer to the men. He thought he was going unnoticed until he peered up to see a cloud of the fear toxin being released. Eyes widening in panic he pulled his cape over his face and made a break to get out of there. Only to get knocked off his feet by one of the men.

He was hacking and coughing as the toxin began to take effect. “[S/h/n]” he managed to say before coughing again and losing consciousness.

When you heard the desperation in his voice you said ‘to hell’ with the plan, needing to get Red Robin out of there. Taking a deep breath, you sped into the building. Knocking all of the goons off their feet before speeding Red Robin out of the warehouse.

Once a safe distance away you checked his vitals, his heart rate was spiking and his breathing labored. Obviously suffering from the effects of the toxin. Not knowing what to do before remembering the computer type communicator on his wrist. Grabbing his arm you sent a distress signal to batman.

“Come on Red Robin, hang in there” Your voice dripping with panic. He groaned in pain from the nightmare, his heart rate spiking again. “Where the hell is batman?” you growled, surveying your surroundings

If only you knew where the batcave was, you could have him there by now. Or you could speed to get the antidote. But what’s the point in having superspeed if you have no idea where you’re going. Turning when hearing someone land behind you, “Batman” breathing a sigh of relief.

“What happened?” He walked up to you, seeing Red Robin. “It was Scarecrow, he ambushed Red Robin with fear toxin.” you explained. “He’s fading, we need to get him to the batcave.” Batman kneeled beside him. “I can get him there faster than anyone. Please trust me, I won’t tell anyone where it’s located. I swear.” You pleaded, concerned for Red Robin’s safety.

Even though having conflicted feelings Batman knew you were right. “Fine.” he said before telling you where to take him. Upon hearing the location you were gone before he could blink, getting to the batcave in seconds. Your eyes widened when seeing Alfred standing there, “Get him to the medical table” he ordered and you did so. Turning away when he went to remove his mask.

Though you have an idea about who Red Robin is now. Is Red Robin, Tim?

“[S/h/n]” A gruff voice called at you. Looking up to see Batman standing in front of you. “Or should I say [F/n]” his tone softened a bit as your eyes widening at the sound of your name. “H-how’d?” the stutter taking over your words.

“I have known for a while. I put pieces together, just like how you’re putting them together now.” Batman explained, crossing his arms.

“You can look.” Only growing more shocked before he gestured behind you. Turning you saw Red Robin, his cowl pulled back to reveal Tim Drake himself as Alfred was administering the antidote. Walking over to the bed you took his hand, “Tim” you whispered.

Facing Batman you asked, “So you’re..?” trailing off before Batman nodded. “I trust you with keeping this a secret [F/n], I’ve been wanting to ask you to help us clean up Gotham for awhile now. Though, that can be discussed later. You’re welcome to stay until he wakes up.” Bruce told you before he went to go back on patrol with the others. Knowing Tim is in good hands with Alfred and you.

Alfred brought you a chair. Sitting at Tim’s bedside, waiting for him to wake up.

Tim was out for a few hours after being given the antidote. Though when he began to stir he felt strange and in pain. Trying to sit up he felt an ache shoot through his head, groaning when it pierced through his temples.

“Whoa, hey take it easy. You need to lay down.” He heard a soft voice say while feeling two hands push him back by his shoulders. Opening his eyes, he saw your face just in front of his. “[F/n]?” he questioned, confusion blatantly on his face. His feeling of confusion turned to shock when he saw the clothes you were wearing and where he was at. Hand shooting to his face to find his mask missing.

“Tim.. Bruce told me. You breathed in a lot of the fear toxin. You scared the living shit out of me, I thought I had gotten some in my system too.” Smiling at him, your worry at the forefront.

“[F/n] I didn’t know you’re [S/h/n].” Sighing you answered “And I didn’t know you’re Red Robin. I guess I should’ve realized when I found the red feathers all over your room.” Letting out a laugh while not tearing your eyes away from his blue hues. “And I should’ve put the Central City and speedster together.” Tim returned your smile.

He let out a sigh, staring into your eyes. Feeling truly comfortable in your presence. “This makes things a lot easier for me.” He chuckled, leaving you in a state of confusion. “I mean that because, I’ve been wanting to ask you if you’d like to go to a movie? On a date?” Nervousness in his tone, anxious as he bit his lip.

Giggling you answered, “I’d love to, but let’s wait until you’re not on bedrest anymore.” He nodded, “I suppose that’s fair.” You grinned before pulling away from him, saying you were going to get him some water.

“[F/n], wait!” He stopped you at the door. When you turned around he continued, “Thank you. You saved me tonight.” After the initial shock you smiled sheepishly before nodding and heading to get his water. Leaving him with a feeling of giddiness in his heart.

In this universe, there is order. One plus one is two. Things fall toward the ground. A feather will float on water. There is logic, a sequence to every action. Reach for another’s hand, an impulse travels from brain to neuron to muscle, down the arm. The heart beats, one two one two, and a breath comes in and goes out.

In this universe, there also is chaos. The universe is moving towards disorder. Someone dies when they had so much to live for. Lovers meet and fall apart. There is grief and anger and pain.

In this lifetime, there will be chaos but some things will always be constant. The sun will rise. The earth will spin. And I will always love you.

—  the book about love that i will never write
30 day poetry challenge

spiritslyrics and i decided to make our own poetry challenge. make sure to tag your poems poetry for am so we can see them! 

  1. write a poem about hellos
  2. write a poem/letter to your future self
  3. write a poem based of your favorite fairy tale
  4. write a poem in the style of a dictionary entry
  5. write a eulogy
  6. write a metaphor about your favorite season
  7. write a poem about something that makes you happy
  8. write a poem describing a color, without using the name of that color in the poem
  9. write an honest poem about yourself. don’t hold anything back.
  10. write a poem about the moon without using the words: “bright” “shine” “dark” “crater” and “moon”
  11. write a poem based off your favorite lyric
  12. write a poem in the perspective of a stranger
  13. write a response to a shakespeare sonnet
  14. write a poem about a place you’d like to visit
  15. write a poem in the point of view of a book
  16. write a poem with a hidden meaning
  17. write a poem about a natural disaster
  18. write a poem that starts with one word and ends with the opposite (i.e. truth…lies, up…down)
  19. write a poem based off a picture. link the picture
  20. write two poems- both sides of a relationship
  21. write advice you’d like to give people
  22. write in the perspective of your favorite fictional character
  23. write a list poem
  24. write a twenty four word poem
  25. write a poem based off of your favorite myth/mythology
  26. write a poem about someone you wish you knew
  27. write a poem entirely of dialogue
  28. write a blackout poem
  29. choose a word and write and acrostic poem about it
  30. write a poem about goodbyes

Spencer x Reader have a summer fling which ends quickly, and both are left wondering, was there a possibility for a future together?

This is a true story. Apart from the end, they got back with their ex and I have been left wondering what would have happened if I had stayed with them. I just needed to write something down.

Soundcheck by Catfish and The Bottlemen was the soundtrack to our first kiss.

// In this AU, Maeve is alive //

It started in the Summer.

You had met through Penelope Garcia, she thought you two would be amazing together. A shared love of books, music, and learning. A perfect match, right?

A coffee date turned into sleepovers and laying together in the park, you had never told someone so much about yourself, and at first it didn’t concern you that he did not do the same.

He was like your drug. Every moment spent with him fizzed like cherry cola and tingled like kisses on your neck*. You stopped taking your medication, convinced that HE was the source of your infinite happiness and you thought that you had never seen perfection until you first glanced at his face. You asked him to be your boyfriend, one afternoon lying next to each other. You had always feared commitment, but this now seemed to be the most natural thing in the world.

It lasted eight days.

Keep reading

Issues- Part Three

Negan x you

When the saviors turn up early Negan comes face to face with one of the secrets Rick has been keeping from him. His eldest daughter.

Upcoming chapters will contain a lot of smut, suggestive rape, suggestive drug usage and of course bad language from the start.  

Word count 2,178

Read previous parts- HERE

I posted part two yesterday so incase you missed it please check the link above :) <3

Part three

Rosita opened her big mouth.

Ever since Abraham had been killed she was different. She didn’t seem to care about anyone else anymore. Held no compassion or emotions.  Revenge was the only thing on her mind.

Rick stood there. Glaring at me, his nose doing that stupid flaring thing, as Michonne held him back.

Did she think he was going to hit me or something? Was he capable? Probably.

“I won’t ask again y/n what happened?” He was growling. Now who was the wild animal huh?

“Rick” Michonne spoke “Calm down”

“What does it even matter?” I gave in and finally spoke. This was ridiculous.

“Did he touch you?” He asked.

“Oh my god Dad no!” I shook my head and turned to look outside the window as the sun began to rise. 

They were due back today “Nothing like that” he did kind of offer though. I discreetly smiled at the thought bitting my lip. I would of fucking let him if he had tried. Fuck  

In all honestly for the last two days I haven’t been able to stop thinking about what had happened in this very room. 

That man was like some kind of a mythical being. Like someone those horny women write about in those books your Grandma used to hide under her blanket and read when she thought no one was looking. You know the ones with no shirts on the cover and that the stupid long flowing hair?

I had never known anyone like him really. I was intrigued and that was dangerous.

He was dangerous. 

I wanted to know more… feel more. I just wanted more.

A part of me was excited that he would be coming back today. This was just all so wrong. What was wrong with me?

“Y/n I need you to tell me exactly what happened right now” he shouted. I’m sure everyone could hear him in their homes all waiting to hear what was going to happen. His temper was not going to do any good “Please

Spinning around I shouted back just as loudly, so everyone could hear too. He wouldn’t have to bother telling anyone “Nothing happened” I threw my arms in the air “He asked me to make him a lemonade, told me you didn’t respect him, that he knew you were up to something and that he’d be back in two days, today to get the stuff”

“What did you tell him?” he eyed me with that fucking look he used to give Mum.

“I don’t have anything to tell anyone” I blurted out honestly “You tell me fuck all and we all know why!”

“Y/n” he said my name softer. But he knew he treated me differently. My brother who was ten years younger had more respect than I did from the man.

“Enough of this!” I stomped out of the house, down the stairs and towards the gate. I knew I was acting like some grumpy teenager and not someone in their twenties.
Fuck all of this I should of said yes and gotten out of here when I had the chance. This place isn’t my home anymore. Truth be, it probably never was. I was fooling myself.

I could hear him calling my name from the house. But ignored it only to come to a stop when I reached the gate. Had this place always been so small?

There she was Rosita big mouth.

She was watching me and I just glared at her before flipping her off. Fucking bitch. Just couldn’t keep her mouth shut could she?

I had to move away from her. I needed to get out of here. But I didn’t want to miss him. Fucking hell.

What was I even doing?

This was all so wrong.

I spent the next few hours aimlessly wondering around the compound we were in. Afraid to leave and afraid to come face to face with daddy dearest. Why did he have to hate me so much? I never did anything to warrant it.  

He was the one who cheated on Lori and got my Mum pregnant when he was so young, before they got married. None of this is my fault.

Maybe I should just say yes today.

“Yes” I tested the word on my lips. It didn’t sound so wrong.

I knew that if I did say that one world that would be it. There was no possible way Negan would just let me come back here after going to his Sanctuary. I could just turn around and lead everyone there. I wouldn’t but he didn’t know that.

They would never look at me the same way here. I would not be welcome. Alexandria would be over for me.

Imagine finally getting away from this and be free of that man who calls himself my Dad but has never once been one, to me at least.

Was Negan really the better option though? He was a semi kind of psychopath.


I had to stop thinking about this. It wasn’t going to do any good at all.

“THE SAVIORS ARE HERE!!” It was like déjà vu. Rosita’s voice filled the air and my breath caught in my throat. Was he really here?

Smiling I made my way to the front gate.

There was something wrong with me.

I should not be smiling because the damn saviours were here.

They owned us now.

Nothing was ours anymore.

I was actually happy that the Saviors were here? I bet thats never happened before.

“Y/n get out of here” Rick shouted pointing towards the wall.

“Theres no point” I told him. Negan knew I was here and me not being would only bring up more questions. Especially as I told him I never really left.  

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Jesus disappear over the wall. He arrived last night, wanting to see Rick and to tell us that Enid, Carl and Judith were at the Hilltop and would stay there for a few days.

I could tell Rick was grinding his teeth in annoyance as he carried on towards the two trucks pulled in through the now open gates. Two.. not three as there had been before but he didn’t say another word or even look in my direction.

He wasn’t here.

One of his men came out and greeted Rick.

I remembered seeing him when I was pulled around by that arsehole who had left the blackest hand shaped bruise I had ever had on my skin.

Apart of me was disappointed. All of me.

Why wasn’t he here?

Maybe he hadn’t felt the tension between us that I had. Maybe it was all in my head?

Maybe his offer wasn’t a real thing.. maybe be regretted saying it and didn’t want me to actually say yes.

“Fuck this!”

Rick turned to me so fast I thought his head was going to come flying off.

“Something Wrong?” The man he was talking to asked. He kind of had a smile like his. Negan’s.

“Oh ummm” I awkwardly rubbed my neck “No nothing sorry” I smiled.

“Okay then” he winked before turning back to Rick who was watching me with something I had never seen in his eyes before.

As soon as they leave I am getting out of here. I needed some air.


It was pitch black and I hadn’t made it back to Alexandria yet. Fuck.

The sound of a walker in the distance made me freeze until It moved far enough away that I could carry on my journey back. I have a knife but avoiding was the better option when it was this dark outside.

I had never meant to go out as far or for as long as I had, I just walked and it just happened.

Honestly now Judith was safe at Hilltop I’m pretty sure no one had even noticed I wasn’t around. Daryl was the only one who would of, he always made the effort but he wasn’t around anymore either.

I hope he’s ok.

That wherever Negan has put him he’s safe, as safe as he can be at least.

God I hope so.

I owed that man my life after he saved me. He always knew when something was on my mind.

Sneaking back over the wall I became aware that they weren’t alone. Someone was here. The Saviors.

“Whats going on?” I slowly and as silently as possible snuck down and let out a shaky breath when my feet finally touched the grass.

As I snuck behind one of the houses, I looked around the corner carefully, not wanting to be spotted, everyone was out in the road once again.

There he was, Negan, standing by the pool table. Why was that out here? In the middle of the street?

“THERE THEY ARE” He shouted angrily. A shiver shot down my spine as his voice bit through the air that suddenly felt static “YOU DID HAVE GUTS” moving a bit further I saw someone fall the floor into a pile of blood? Oh my god. It was Spencer “I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO GOD DAMN WRONG IN MY WHOLE LIFE!”

“Oh my god” I started breathing heavily. This was the man they had spoken about. He was like a Jekyll and Hyde.  The man I had been in the room with was not this person here right now. This was the animal they had talked about.

Suddenly a shot sounded through the air and I instinctively dropped to the floor. Covering my ears. Who did that?

A lot of commotion happened but I couldn’t look anywhere but at him. 

He was angry though. 

So fucking angry. 

Angrier than he had been even a second a go when he had killed. What had Spencer done?

Oh my god.

It was both scary and something…. else. Something I was too scared to even think of let alone admit, even to myself. 

Rick’s voice started to speak but was quickly shot down by Negan.

This wasn’t good.

Who was shot?

Who made the shot?


A second shot rung out but I stayed where I was with my ears covered, not taking my eyes off of him. I didn’t want to hear what was happening right now. What was I going to do? I could just sneak out again. No one knew I was here. No one knew I knew what was happening.

But he was here.

I wanted to see him no matter how wrong that was.

Jesus I know how fucking messed up that was.

But this was the world we lived in now. Any true civilised people had died out. 

They were weak in this World. 

You had to be smart.

Negan was smart.

When you think about it he was probably one of the smartest people left.

Shakily I stood up and uncovered my ears.

Looking at the scene once again I saw Negan and his anger was palatable. I could feel it on my own skin even at the distance I was, I couldn’t imagine how it must of felt to be as close to him as everyone else was.

I’d say she did some major damage!”

“Negan” Rick pleaded “We can..”

“Shut the fuuuuuuuuuck up” Negan laughed somewhat calming down from his earlier outburst “Simon” he shouted to the guy who had been here earlier “Get them on their knees NOW!”

People started gasping and crying. The last time he had people on their knees he had used Lucille to kill two of them. This isn’t good.

I couldn’t let this happen. But what could I do?

‘Offers there anytime y/n. Any fucking time for you. Yes it fucking is. You can have anything you want anytime’  that line had been going through my head for two whole days. Over and over again. Non stop.

“The thing is Rick you and your people don’t seem to listen” he pointed the bat, Lucille at him as he spoke leaning backwards so far anyone else would of fallen over “I have done nothing but give you a mother fucking service!! Your boy broke into one of my vans, shot a bunch of my men and I bring him home, not a fucking scratch on him! I even fed him some fucking spaghetti and this bitch shot Lucille trying to kill me and Arat took out the fat girl and thats got to save you a hell a lot of food commmeeee onnn!”  Olivia? She was dead? Oh my god. What the hell did he say Carl did?

“We’re sorry” Rick was practically grovelling and it was pathetic to see.

Someone or ones was about to get killed again. I couldn’t let that happen. I would not stand by and watch. Despite everything I couldn’t.

Fuck fuckidy fuck

Without giving myself a chance to back out I walked forwards, holding my hands in the air making my way into the clearing, praying no one would shoot.

Negan!” every pair of eyes flashed towards me.


What do you think will happen next?? Ekkkkk 

Also… how often would you guys like these parts to be posted? As soon as I finish them or would set days be better? Let me know :)

Thank you for the love <3



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@littlephoeonix-fire @pebbleheadd

David Duchovny Q&A in Seattle

*these are not exact, not all questions or full answers are included*

Lately it’s Always December is least played at concerts, why?

“It’s a slow song. It’s a hard song to play. Ask Tom.”

My daughter wanted me to ask if you prefer book writing or song writing?

“She’s still on facetime? Tell her to go do her homework or something! They’re two different things…” (my mother handed him her book, “Facing the Talk: Conversations With My Four Daughters About Sex”) “My daughter’s 18. I don’t know if we’re there. Maybe we’ll see how badly I fucked up”

Who did you write the rain song for?

“A person… Hey Colin! Are we doing The Rain Song in Seattle? We are.”

*didn’t hear question clearly*

“I never thought I’d be writing songs…”

Someone asked about some sort of slippers or shoes??

David had no idea what they were talking about… Someone handed him the shoes. “Maybe I’ll put these on, kick my feet up and read that book.”

Who’s on your top five?

“It’s private. I’ll tell you my top five boys… *starts naming off band members*”

What are your favorite cities or some that have surprised you?

“I love the Northwest… I’ve spent some time up here filming… Haven’t spent much time in Seattle… I think I filmed a pick up game here… (something about the rain…) I love the West Coast of the United States of America. I loved Oregon, hadn’t been to Portland before. Seattle was the first concert on this tour to be sold out.”

Which did you enjoy filming more? Californication or The X Files?

…It depended on my mood. The X Files was very difficult.

You wrote for both of them…

“I never wrote for Californication… I directed both The X-Files and Californication. Californication was more fast paced.”

Look At The Stars

A/N: so, fun fact I got a tattoo today, and so I kinda got inspiration from getting my tattoo, to write about my interpretation of it (also this is gonna be v short js)

Genre: sad lol

Word Count: 449 words

Your P.O.V

I walk down the footpath, my heart feeling as heavy as ever, and I don’t know whether it’s from the anxiety, or if something else, or even someone else is still on my mind. I stop in front of the shop, clutch tightly on to my art book in my hands, take a deep breath, and walk through the door, up the two flights of stairs.

I’m greeted with very professional drawings and the sound of a tattoo gun going off, which instantly makes me nervous, and my heart starts to pound, and it feels like it’s going to jump out of my throat, but I should probably do this now, before I chicken out, and never do it.

“Hey there, what can I do for you today?” A lady at the front desk greets me, with a warm smile.

“Hi, so I was wondering if I could possibly get this tattooed on me, today?” I ask opening up my art book and showing her what I wanted to get done, just a simple quote with stars around it.

“Oh yeah definitely, I think we should have some space for you to do it today, so let’s just look at the design, and see what we can do.” She says smiling warmly at my nervous stature.

I wonder off into the waiting room to sign a consent form, so that we can begin. We fitted the stencil on my back, and she began her magic.

Getting this tattoo, made me feel a lot better about everything that has been going on in my personal life, with a lot of tragedies and everything, this tattoo is just kinda a reminder that everything is gonna be okay.

“So what does this tattoo mean to you?” The tattooist asks over the seemingly quiet buzzing sound coming from the tattoo gun.

“Well, recently, my boyfriend, Dan passed away unexpectedly, so this tattoo is just a reminder that, if I look up to the sky at night, and look at the stars, he’s shining and watching over me.” I say starting to tear up slightly.

A couple of hours later and the tattoo is finished, with the words “look at the stars, look how they shine for you” going across my back, with stars all around it.

Now I’ll always have a reminder that, no matter what happens in my life without Dan, he’s always looking down, shining for me.