the writing was A

Don’t lose yourself in how much you love someone else. People are labyrinths when it comes to love and sometimes you need to leave a trail of breadcrumbs to find your way back home.
—  Nikita Gill, Thoughts on a Rainy Day
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FROM THE VAULT: Marshall Gillson - “Tell Me Again How You Don’t See Color”

“Tell me again how you don’t see color. Tell me how it feels to look at the world and see nothing but white.”

Performing at the 2014 Individual World Poetry Slam.

Roman Holiday

We’ll be looking for sunlight

Or the headlights

Till our wide eyes burn blind

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Pairing: Y/N/Luke

Rating: NC-17 (pls don’t be a child)

Words: 10k

Description: You and Luke are poor, reckless, but pretty much crazy in love. That’s pretty much it. 

A/N: This is just something I wrote in honor of me seeing my favorite person ever perform two nights ago, and Halsey’s incredible album coming out last week. This is one of my favorite songs on the album, and I don’t claim to know the meaning of every Halsey song. So please don’t come into my askbox with a lengthy explanation about how I butchered the “true meaning” of the song because I just went with what I felt was right. Alright, hope you enjoy and tell me what you think!

© ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

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The soft purr of the beaten down Toyota rumbled through the inside of the vehicle enough to make goosebumps rise on your skin. The vibrations rolled through you so naturally that you forgot for a moment what normal, well maintenanced cars probably felt like. The seats weren’t butter smooth leather or imported from Italy, but it was the nicest texture you’ve ever felt across your bare skin at nights when none of you could afford a night at a cheap motel.

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14/  kim wonsik feat. collarbone tattoo

Speaking to someone who is precocious enough to make a lifelong commitment to writing as a teenager and have a reasonable expectation of maintaining that commitment past age twenty-four, I would recommend traveling. Not necessarily abroad, but in as alien a context as possible. Teach yourself to be cool with uncertainty. Know humility, if not hunger.
—  Gregory Pardlo’s advice to young writers, as told to The Blueshift Journal

If not it in this life,
Then maybe the next.

Or the one after that.

On another September, under luckier stars, my name on your sky.

You’ll find me in a windblown city,
hearts on kite strings.
Leaves falling like they’re supposed to. 

I’ll know you before we meet,
And we forget to say hello.

—  A scribbler // Another September
I just had another horrible thought

What if Sherlock storms into Mycroft’s office ready to confront his brother, shaking with anger and fear, because how could he have missed this, how could he have been such a blind idiot-

And, Mycroft just stands up from his chair oh so slowly. “Good evening, Sherlock,” he says, blankly, blandly. “How I do love an unexpected visit.”

Sherlock recoils. The words sound all wrong, but he still has that paralyzing flicker of doubt like when he thought John was Moriarty at the pool.

“Mycroft,” he snarls, because he wants answers, now. “What-”

Mycroft takes a step closer. “Patience, my dear,” he replies, expression still impassive.

But then, a horribly familiar red dot appears and centres itself on Mycroft’s forehead.

“What…” Mycroft breathes, voice catching, “Would you like me… to make him say… Next?”

Sherlock’s eyes widen as Jim Moriarty and Mary Morstan step out of the shadows. Mary keeps her gun trained on Mycroft.

“The Ice Man and the Virgin,” Jim purrs. He smirks at Mycroft closing his eyes in defeat. Sherlock is speechless.

“Time to play,” Mary whispers.

feeltheburninglight asked:

Cas has to watch Dean get old before his very eyes while Cas stays unchanging. No one knows who it hurts more.

on loving someone who is one day going to die

i.  castiel was born before the sun. he will be there to watch it die.

ii.  in heaven, the clocks don’t run, time is water and each time he blinks he loses centuries. from paradise he watches bloodlines run dry. their deaths are tedious. castiel does not mourn them and there is no sadness in his heart.

this was a long time ago now. a lot of things have changed since then.

iii. castiel is an entire universe folded inside of a borrowed body. dean is only a man.

castiel is so scared of him, this man and his thousand angers and sometimes he wants to reach out and touch him. he wonders, often, what dean’s hands would feel like on his body; would they be callused or soft? cold or warm?

he thinks these things and he decides to hate himself. it’s much easier that way.

iv.  a little while after the world starts to end, castiel kisses him. at first, there is anger there and then suddenly there isn’t. dean’s mouth tastes like redemption and half hopes and his fingertips are made of fire. when dean touches him castiel can feel himself beginning to thaw.

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Can you just imagine this morning at around 10 a.m. 

Harry and Ginny were probably scrambing around their house trying to make sure James got everything he needed before they left. Last minute breakfast, scooping up Lily and Albus, loading James’s things. Getting in the car and driving out to King’s Cross Station. 

James Sirius Potter nervous but completely excited as he passed through the barrier and onto Platform 9 ¾ with his family closely behind. Pushing his cart and loading his trunk and maybe even a snowy owl that Harry had specifically took a liking to. 

People staring and whispering excitedly as they saw the Potters pass by and meeting up with the Weasleys. All their close friends and cousins forming a large knot as they chatted, smiling at the rushing memories from the sight of the red steam engine, the Hogwarts Express. 

Reporters snapped several pictures and tried to ask questions, but one look from Grandma Molly sent them scurrying back to give the family room. Then the Hogwarts Express gave a loud whistle, annoucing time to board. 

Ginny trying to correct James’s collar and brushing down his hair but ending up just laughing with teary eyes. Everyone giving a bouncing James’s a hug and goodbyes and tousling his hair. At last, he came to his father who grinned down at him. 

“Stay out of trouble kiddo. Though I doubt you will with a name like yours.” 

With that, Harry waved his son onto the train. Everyone waved again and called out last-minute advice and encourgement. “Don’t do too much snooping around!” a wink from Ron. “Write back!” from Ginny as she picked up a squiriming Lily. “Don’t forget you have tea with Hagrid!” Hermione reminded “And stay on top of your homework!” 

At last, the train whistled again and lurked to a slow pace. Albus ran along his brother’s window and laughed as his blue-haired godbrother made a funny face at him. Several of the Weasleys’ kids and their friends’ had also boarded the train, all filling up one compartment as they yelled out their excited farewells to their family. 

The red steam engine at last pulled out of the station, James sticking out his tongue in a good-bye to his little brother. Everything shrank away behind them, but many laughs and good times were ahead. And Harry Potter’s son couldn’t help but sneak out the Maurader’s Map and begin planning for a fanatsic first-year with his partners-in-crime.