companion: ok literally what the fuck you doing mate what the hell is fenugreek and loomi and why do you have five things of bay leaves and ninety-seven bottles of cinnamon and does anyone eVEn uSE ANiSE like shit man who are you gordon ramsey
-No one’s going to see your first draft. -Your first draft is just a really detailed outline. -You can edit later. -Your first draft is just you telling your story to yourself. Editing is making it presentable to other people. -Your writing isn’t going to improve if you sit there and stare at the paper. -Your writing WILL improve if you continue to write. -You have enough time. -Inspiration and motivation are not necessary to write. Just nice. -Yes. It’s garbage. Keep writing anyway. -No one cares how bad your first draft is. -Edit later. -You’re doing fine. -Don’t stop writing. -Read. -Writer’s Block is a concept and not real. -Write anything you want for five minutes. That’ll help the brain juice flow. -There’s always someone better and there’s always someone worse. -You are not as bad as you think you are. -Write whatever you want to. -If it makes you happy, that’s what matters. -You don’t have to show your work to people if you don’t want to. -You got this. -Go write.
-Thirty minutes into my shift, I had only been visited by one guest. This was comforting at first, but then I realized this was simply the calm before the storm. I am going to savor every minute of this Black Friday Eve Ever as much as I can.
-I found an elderly woman spending her morning toying with me. Each time I would attempt to step away from my register to take care of something, she would begin to approach me, only to walk away again once I returned. She spent a solid five minutes playing at this game, pretending to peruse the endcap displays, leaving me looking like a chump time and time again.
-A woman stopped mid-payment to stare at the sky and remark, “I don’t know if it’s just me or if it’s everyone my age, but sometimes I just have to stand here and shout out my phone number.” She did not shout out her phone number at any point, leaving me somehow with more questions than if she had.
-I befriended the single #1 most adorable baby in the history of the world. She emitted a very excited squeak as I handed her a sticker, eagerly repeated the word “dog,” clutched it to her face, and immediately fell asleep on it.
-An older woman sprinted into my lane in slow-motion, throwing her arms in the air as if praising a miracle and announcing to me that my wait has ended. I was waiting for something to change my life forever, and she was right.
-I went to retrieve an abandoned cart left at the end of my lane, but just as I was about to start pushing it, the elderly woman who had been taunting me earlier in my shift jumped up from the ground to claim it, having been entirely unseen. Clearly, my store has a poltergeist who is far too committed to tormenting me and my too-tired-for-an-opening-shift self.
-A man became upset as he found that he had to use the chip reader. He adamantly refused to do so, telling me that “the Internet says chips are dangerous.” I attempted to reason with him, telling him that the Internet also says that the Holocaust never happened, but rather than seeing my point, he stared at me and told me that he already knew that.
-From an adjacent lane, I heard a man tell the cashier that “Y’all here will never be Cracker Barrel.” He is not wrong by any means, as retail and dining are entirely different industries and it would be definitively wrong if our establishments were the same. Having said that, we would undoubtedly crush them in any competition.
In their fifth year the Marauders etched their own little family tree on the wall next to their window in their dormitory. They had their four names lined up side by side with little arrows connecting them. Then when they went home for the summer, each of them etched the family tree into their bedroom walls. (Sirius especially had fun with this.) They were all connected, all five of the trees so that if someone made a change to one of them, it would automatically make a change to all of them.
By the time they were in their seventh year, they had added a few other people to the tree including Marlene and Lily.
On their last day at Hogwarts, the sixth of them stared at their little family tree for a couple of minutes before James suddenly added one more person on top of all their names. “She’s one of us whether she wants to or not.” They all laughed and then covered their mark by moving a desk in front of it. After that they said their final goodbyes and walked excitedly out of the school.
When Lily and James got married Sirius and Remus’ first order of business was to bind the two of their names on the family tree together making an infinity sign glow whenever anyone passed by one of the trees. Then Harry was born and his name was automatically added to the tree.
When Lily and James died, their names faded on the tree but the bind that Remus and Sirius placed seemed to glow even brighter at times.
Once he learned what had happened to his best friends Remus stood in front of the family tree he had etched on the wall in front of his desk at home, his wand pointed directly at Sirius’ name, ready to burn it off permanently.
Except he couldn’t do it. He would return everyday to try to bring himself to burn Sirius’ name off and everyday he would fail. Eventually he just stopped going to his bedroom when he visited.
Sirius would sit in his cell and with a stick he found on the floor, he would engrave his family tree into the wall, purposefully avoiding Peter.
When Remus become a professor his first order of business is to visit his old dorm and look for the family tree. To him, it seems as though James, Lily, Peter and Marlene’s names were glowing ever so brightly. He avoided looking at Sirius’ name.
When he discovered that Sirius is innocent, his first thought was to breathe a sigh of relief because he didn’t burn his friend’s name off the tree.
One year later Sirius was stuck in Grimmauld Place. He went to his room and looked at the back of the door where his family tree was drawn. He had made the effort of drawing little figures he thought represented each of them. For him and James were their animagus forms. For Lily, he drew a doe. Marlene had a lion. And for some reason he drew Remus a donkey.
On October the 31st Remus popped by Grimmauld Place and Sirius immediately dragged him to his room. He told Remus to pull out his wand and together, the two of them burned off Peter’s name. Permanently.
When Sirius died his name didn’t fade off the family tree. It looked even brighter than usual.
When Tonks married Remus, her name appeared on the tree. He showed her the one in Sirius’ room and then proceeded to sob because out of the six of them, he had never expected to be the last one standing.
After the battle of Hogwarts, the only living name was that of Harry Potter. Except he never knew about the trees. And so they lay in all of their hidden locations, undiscovered by anyone.
Years later Minerva McGonagall was going through every dorm room ensuring everything was perfect. She didn’t doubt the house elves work at all. It was only because she had missed being able to roam freely around the halls and so she took the chance while no one was yet there.
She entered the boys dormitory and looked around. There was something that wasn’t quite right about the room. Minerva McGonagall wasn’t a young woman but she remembered everything as if it had happened yesterday. And what she remembered was that there was no desk under the window. It would hardly be noticed by anyone, had they not known what the layout of the dorms were all those years ago.
She swiftly moved the desk back in its proper place and was about to leave to the Slytherin common room when something caught her eye.
She walked to the window and looked at the strange engravings in the wall underneath.
The names Moony, Padfoot, Prongs, Evans, Marley, Harry and Nymph were marked in the stone. There was another name beside Prongs, but it had been burnt beyond recognition.
Minerva McGonagall collapsed on one of the four poster beds and took a deep breath, containing her emotions.
She was successful in doing so and was about to leave when once again, something caught her eye.
On top of the three names and the burnt one read one more name. Old Minnie McG. And then she broke down. Because after all this time, after everything that she had gone through, she would always remember those three boys who defied everything society said, who didn’t allow anyone else to dictate how they would live their lives, who gave up their lives so the world could be a better place.
our ability to belt out one entire three to five minute long song if we’re familiar with it like. suvi starts singing “hallelujah” to fill the quiet and is answered by liam all across the room in a p decent harmony. cora walks past and starts humming it enthusiastically even tho she can’t stay very long. gil joins in for the third refrain. ryder finishes it off with a passionate solo.
when they look around every alien is staring at them. vetra blinks and knocks her hands together. “that’s what you’re supposed to do when humans make those sounds right?” she asks kallo beside her, who mirrors her. everyone is a little stunned at the coordination and emotion in the performance and they all look equally moved. jaal might be crying. none of them know what a ‘hallelujah’ is, but they feel like they’ve come to understand it through this melody
they’re all extremely confused when all of the humans still continue on on their tasks without pause
edit; other songs include but are not limited to: bohemian rhapsody, mr. brightside, single ladies, no scrubs, and i will always love you
Yuri loves Otabek’s handwriting. It’s small, neat, and narrow cursive. He could stare at Otabek’s signature all day long. Yuri doesn’t have particularly bad handwriting, but he just wishes his could be as nice as Beka’s. So he practices in a notebook, and within five minutes he gives up because “it’s too hard” and “this is stupid anyway.”
Then, a really dumb idea pops into his head.
He remembers the stupid thing he would see dumb schoolgirls do in their notebooks; even Victor has done it. He begins to draw a heart and slowly write out “Yuri Altin”… “Otabek Plisetsky”… “Yuri Plisetsky-Altin”… “Otabek Altin-Plisetsky.” And he thinks about what he’s just done. And he starts laughing at how stupid he is. But he just carries on, coloring in the hearts.
Unfortunately, a certain someone interrupts him. Yuri quickly shuts his notebook and dashes away to Otabek’s side like nothing happened.
“Yuri, what was that about?”
“Nothing, nothing, don’t worry!”
Yeah, Otabek’s definitely checking that out later.
After a long practice, the event completely slips Yuri’s mind (and the homemade Kazakh dish Otabek made for dinner has definitely kept him occupied. Otabek makes his escape upstairs under that guise that he’s “just going to change.”
He feels bad that he’s infringing upon Yuri’s privacy… But what if it’s something important? With this new thought, he charges into the room and plops himself down at Yuri’s desk. He gingerly flips open the notebook.
Just some notes in Russian, science from the looks of it. He thumbs through it, coming away with nothing but a slight sense of disappointment.
Until he catches it.
A small heart, he thinks. He didn’t think Yuri would doodle anything other than cats and maybe caricatures of annoying teachers and rinkmates. Otabek finally locates the page. It has some neat, albeit a little jumbled cursive writing. He flips the page, and his heart skips a beat.
All over the page are variations of his and Yuri’s names. A fierce blush spreads over his face. The middle of the page seems quite empty, though. Otabek grabs a pen that has been haphazardly chucked onto the table, and fluidly outlines a medium sized heart in the middle. He writes out his name, and, and Yuri’s name, before drawing a little arrow through the heart.
“Maybe… Maybe I should throw this away. But, he’ll be suspicious if this page is gone. I… I guess… I’ll leave it.”
Before bounding down the stairs, Otabek remembers he had a fake reason for coming upstairs in the first place. That could’ve been awkward.
“Hey, Beka, I think I’m gonna go to bed for the night,” Yuri yawns.
“Oh–okay. Goodnight, Yura,” Otabek stutters.
“Uh, ‘night Beka.”
Yuri crashes into his bedroom, walking over to his desk to turn off the light before noticing his notebook and the unfamiliar drawing in it.
And that’s definitely not his writing.
He also definitely falls asleep with a smile spread across his face that night.
Help! Do you ever have days where you don't want to write or revise but you know you should? What do you do to get through them?
Okay, so this is a thing that happens. Maybe not to everyone, but it happens to me, and when it does it is almost always for one of two reasons. Each of these reasons has a slightly different solution (there is also a third reason, which we may get into in a minute, but it’s more of a crisis than a reason, so mileage may vary).
Reason number one is, I’m easily distracted and full of thoughts and kind of lazy. So if I’m being that, there is only one solution and it is “Brenna, sit down in front of that screen and make a book, it is your JOB.” It usually works—boredom maxes out after about five minutes of staring at my document file and I start working. And there are some secondary tricks too: I work in coffee shops a lot because I like the background noise. I have big headphones that feel good squeezing my head and fill me with a sense of wellbeing. I find a song and listen to it on repeat. I always drink or eat the same thing. I wear a sweater that I like. (I fall into habits very easily and have learned to use this quality to trick myself into working.)
Reason number two, though. Reason two is that sometimes my brain is empty. I’ve been working too much too fast and not refilling my thoughts and now all the fuel is gone and I’m just grinding metal. Sometimes that means I need to not work and do something mindless, like wash dishes or vacuum or repot houseplants or drive or go outside and dig a hole and then fill it back up. Or sometimes it means I need to not work and go read a book or watch a movie or go to a museum and see things other people made when they were expansive and excited and not out of thoughts. And then, once my brain has had enough food and enough rest, I’m ready again.
Both of these reasons for not writing are totally normal (for me) (for you?) but it’s important to be able to tell the difference, because one is solved by powering through, and one is not. Which brings us to the third crisis reason.
Sometimes, I am on a brutal deadline. Sometimes it’s non-negotiable. Sometimes I have pulled two all-nighters in a row and am staring down the barrel of a third, and I know I’d want to work if I could just have a second where I’m NOT working, but that is only a beautiful dream. This is a problem. You know those people who only ever seem to operate at 100% when under extreme duress? *raises hand* A weird thing happens where I don’t WANT to work anymore, but the overdrive switch has flipped in my brain, and it will do the work until the job is done, whether I want to or not. And trust me, I DON’T. It is like being dragged through a drippy alligatory swamp by a robot—you’re just like “please, robot, stop moving my legs! This was the actual hardest thing for me to figure out a solution for, because:
1) Deadlines are a part of my job, and sometimes they are quite tight, and the work still has to get done anyway.
2) As much as I absolutely hate it, there is another part of me that likes it.
But I know more now than I used to. Back when I was 23 and completely unwise and taking a course overload in grad school while interning and also working 30 hours a week, I was just like “this is how we live a life!” That is not true. Can you hear me in the back? THAT IS NOT TRUE.
But sometimes you still have to do stuff and there’s a lot of it and you also have very little time to do it in. So let me tell you a deadline secret, it is very important: the answer to Brenna’s acute deadline crisis is, drink water, eat almonds, divide each 24-hour cycle into two discrete sections, allowing for one 3-hour sleep cycle and one 4 to 5-hour one. This is because if you are me, you start to feel like you are not allowed to sleep. This is a lie. And in fact, if you don’t sleep, I promise your work won’t be as good. At very best, it will be pretty weird. Also, drink less coffee. You think you need it, but you don’t.
I realize the answer to this question escalated quickly. Probably just focus on points 1 and 2—telling the difference between when your brain is empty and when it’s just dragging its feet. Unless you are a person who is currently living my 23-year-old life. In which case, you are not just allowed to sleep. Dude, you HAVE TO.
For some context: We are are relatively new players and this was our second session. DM tells us we have some time to talk in character. The elf in the part, Thia, is trying to make conversation with the Tiefling Cleric, Valzis, that just murdered a bugbear and intimidated goblins into giving her twenty gold. She also has quite the tragic backstory. Then there is the halfling bard, Astrid, who is a total liar.
Thia: So Val, what is your tragic backstory?
Valzis just stares at Thia and stays silent.
Thia: Okay! So Astrid, what is your tragic backstory?
Astrid: Well, you see…
Astrid spent five minutes reciting Superman’s backstory, without changing it at all to make it fit into the universe.
you wanted to be there for everyone…. just, usually not at the same time? it was supposed to be a chill Saturday. you got one text, Klaus needed your help. so you invited him over.
then you got another text, this one from Kai, he wanted to see you. so you said sure.
another text, Enzo, he needed a favour, what did you say? ‘come on over.’
Kol just stated, ‘hope you’re home ;)’
Damon called you saying he was outside, you told him to give you five minutes since you were busy.
when you finally went outside, it wasnt just Damon on your lawn. Damon was next to Enzo and they were staring down Kol and Klaus. Kai was awkwardly in the middle, not in the fight, but not stopping it either.
“oh my gosh.” you said, “i didnt realize you would all show up at the same time. you all sounded like you needed something-” you paused, “why dont you all come in?”
it was a race to the door, and you all found out quite quickly that A: your door does not fit two men through it at once, and B: Kai is a biter.
He rolled his fingers on the table before sliding into the seat in front of you with a sigh. For five minutes, Taehyung tapped his fingers against the desk and stared at you, waiting patiently for the moment that you decided it was too distracting and couldn’t take it anymore. Normally you’d hold out longer to spite him, because Taehyung was a twenty-two year old college student and had been treated like he was god’s gift to human and shifter kind since you were both kids in Daegu. But you had this midterm tomorrow, and you were freaking out over how fucked you were.
Then he pulled a small string out of his pocket and dragged it slowly over the library desk, one brow quirked in challenge.
You dropped your pencil onto your textbook and glared. “What.”
“Nice to see you too,” he countered, tugging hard on the string so that the knot at the end flew to across the wood. You curled your hands into fists so he wouldn’t see your nails curl and sharpen into the beginning of claws.
You huffed and folded your arms across your chest. “I really don’t have time to talk, Tae. I still have to review January’s notes and I don’t have a fucking clue what I’m doing.”
Taehyung smiled easily, wrapping the string around his fingers and rubbing the knot between his thumb and index. He’d shoved a black beanie over his hair and wore his new glasses on his nose, a slightly orange fingerprint smudged at the corner of the lens on the right. You sniffed him curiously–Ralph Lauren cologne and Cheetos. Not the best combination. But he’s still wearing a Gucci watch, a sweater from Prada that’s probably worth more than all of your textbooks, and a thick black winter coat, so his snack fetish wouldn’t deter most of the gold-digging girls that hung around the Top of the Food Chain hoping for a chaebol to pass by.
a bit of context, i have been working on putting together a campaign with a few of my friends for a long time. my best friend and i are big fans of this blog, so the first time we played the campaign the inevitable happens.
gm: okay so there are three guys sitting here, watching the party walk by. theres a brunette, a blonde, and a redhead
best friend: i roll to seduce all three
me: oh of course
best friend: *rolls an 18* *+3 charisma*
gm: okay you have successfully seduced the brunette
best friend: *rolls a 17* *+3 charisma*
gm: okay you have seduced the blonde
best friend: *rolls an 18* *+3 charisma*
gm: you seduced… all three of them
me: *stares on in shock and horror*
mind you, this was exactly five minutes into our first session of our first campaign together
top check, please comedic moments in no particular order:
•"JACK LAURENT ZIMMERMANN DO NOT BLASPHEME"
•"pies just…appear" “we’ve only been here five minutes”
•lardo’s boob art
•"e-SPECIALLY secretary of state"
•ugly baby jack
•roach vs attic discourse
•no pie in hazing
•look at him, sitting on that nhl bench like a pro
•jack catching rans/holtz staring at his ass
“Y/n if you keep staring at me, we won’t make it to the
hospital in one piece.” Justin chuckled looking at worried Y/n’s face.
Y/n completely ignored his comment. “Are you feeling okay?
Do you need to puke again? I mean we have like, five minutes till we get to the
hospital.” Y/n said, checking on Justin.
“Babe, I am okay, I will make it to the hospital. They will
probably say it’s because of stress.”
Y/n nod her head and the rest of the ride was silent.
Minutes later they were in front of the hospital and Y/n
helped Justin out of the car.
Justin stopped for a moment, taking a deep breath, waiting
for stomach to decide whether he will throw up again, or not.
Once he was sure he won’t puke again, Y/n and Justin pursued
into hospital. The lobby was empty, the whole hospital looked like it fell
Just as they were about to sit down, the doors of Justin’s
doctor opened, and elderly man greeted them with a smile.
“C’mon in Mr. Bieber and Miss Y/L/N.” Dr.Grayson said and
led them into his ordination.
There was only one chair next to doctors table, and Y/n made
Justin sit down, while she stood behind him, placing her hands on his
She could feel his shoulders were tensed, which lead to a conclusion
that he was in a lot of pain, lot more that he was going to admit.
“What seems to be the problem, Mr Bieber?”
“I came home from studio early, because I had this bad headache
and stomach ache. And when I came inside, I just felt dizzy, that’s when Y/n
took me out, to catch some fresh air. About two hours later I threw up, and
then we went to sleep, and half an hour ago it woke me up again, and I threw up
again, this time almost nothing but water, since I threw everything out before.”
Y/n griped his shoulders a little bit.
Doctor nodded, writing something down. “When you felt dizzy,
did you feel like you’re going to pass out, or were you just feeling dizzy?”
Justin took a deep breath. “I didn’t feel like I was going
to lose my conscience, no.”
Doctor nodded once again. “Could you please lay down on that
bed? I would love to check you up.”
Y/n moved her hands away from his shoulder, Justin stood up
and laid on the bed on the other side of the room.
Doctor placed his hands on Justin’s stomach, pressing
hardly. “This hurts?”
“Little bit, yeah.” Both Y/n and the doctor could see the
pain on Justin’s face.
Doctor continued to touch Justin’s stomach, asking the same
question. He then listen to his heart.
“You have food poisoning and you will stay in hospital
tonight, you will receive infusion, because your stomach can’t stand any kind
of food due to being irritated from throwing up.”
Doctor looked in Y/n’s direction and continued. “I think you
should go home and bring him his pyjamas and just the most important things,
because tomorrow we will run a few tests, just to be sure it isn’t anything
else, so it’s Tuesday, right? Yeah, by Thursday he should be good to go home,
if everything goes alright.”
Y/n nodded and looked over at Justin. She knew he wasn’t
happy with the idea of staying in hospital, but he couldn’t do anything about
“Do you want me to bring anything else besides some clothes
and your bathroom stuff?”
Justin shook his head, Y/n nod and walked over to him,
giving him a quick kiss before she left the room.
She quickly walked out of the hospital and drove off to
their shared home. Once she was in front of the house, she rushed towards their
She walked into his clothes and grabbed his black backpack. She
turned around to the shelf where he had his pants and she grabbed the black
ones and the grey ones that had written “purpose tour” on their side.
She took one long sleeved shirt, one short sleeved and one
hoodie. She put a pair of slippers in his bag, and few socks.
She was about to leave when she remembered, the underwear.
She took three pairs of white Calvin’s, and one undershirt.
She walked into the bathroom and took his toothbrush and
toothpaste. She took one hair brush and his favourite deodorant, and one towel.
She closed the backpack and placed in on her shoulders.
She stepped into their room and looked around. His phone was
on his nightstand, she grabbed it, putting it in her pocket, next to hers, looking
where his earphones were.
She opened his drawers but they weren’t there, she knew she
can’t go back without them. She looked around the room, but they were nowhere
to be found.
She went downstairs, looking in the hallway, kitchen, and
gym. Turns out they were in theirs living room, under the coffee table.
She quickly picked them up and rushed into her car, driving
as fast as she was allowed, to the hospital.
Once she reached the hospital, at the counter she asked the
lady, in which room did they place Justin. Soon she was escorted towards the
room 108, on the second floor.
She opened the door, and she saw three beds, two on her left
side, and one, Justin’s on her left side. She walked over to Justin’s, placing
the backpack next to his bed, sitting down next to his bed.
Once Justin heard the movement, he opened his eyes and
smiled to Y/n. “Hey” she whispered.
“Hey.” Justin whispered back.
Y/n placed Justin’s phone and earphones on the stand next to
“Do you want to change your pants, or go brush your teeth?”
Y/n whispered, trying to be as quiet as she could, not wanting to wake up other
Justin shook his head. He looked very tired. Y/n took his
hand into hers. “Go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”
“You can go home. Get some proper rest.”
Y/n shook her head and placed a kiss on his forehead. “No,
now go to sleep. You need to rest.”
“Fine, but then rather lay next to me. I don’t want you to
sleep in a sitting position.” Justin said and moved to the other side of the
Y/n knew there was no point in arguing, at this time of the
night, so she laid next to him. Justin placed his head on Y/n’s chest listening
to her heart beats, his hand still in hers.
Justin could feel his eyelids becoming heavier and heavier,
and soon he was out.
Since you nicely asked, here you have a part two.
Also i want to thank everybody that takes their time and read my imagines. It means the world to me that somebody actually likes them. And even if you read them but dont like them, still thanks.
a/n: In which Nursey is a sap. Basically I’m giving Nurseydex their Zimbits moment. Pie is involved.
“…You don’t know how to peel an apple, do you?”
Nursey whipped his head up to see Dex staring at him, an
eyebrow raised. They were in the kitchen trying to make a pie for Ransom and
Lardo’s birthdays, and it was going pretty okay—but definitely not thanks to
Nursey. He’d been trying to peel the same apple for the last five minutes.
“Um,” Nursey said. “Well, I’ve never had to, you know, peel stuff before—”
“It’s literally not hard,” Dex said. “I’d chirp you about
how helpless you are, but I really just want to get this done. Let me show
He stood at Nursey’s side, took the apple and the peeler,
and started to demonstrate. “See?” he said, gripping the peeler tight in this
long fingers. He shucked three long strips of apple peel into the sink and then
handed the tool and the apple back to Nursey. “It’s not hard—you’re just
“Well thanks, that’s a relief,” Nursey said. Dex hip-checked
him, and he hip-checked back.
“Since when are you so good at baking, then, huh Dex?”
Nursey asked quietly after a moment or two of silence. “I remember you dissing
baking back when we were frogs—”
“We’re still the frogs, Nursey.”
“Yeah, I know, I know. I just… Now it seems like more often than not you’re the one helping Bitty
bake,” Nursey said. “What changed?”