yeah i thought it was appropriate

anonymous asked:

heres a prompt if u were interested: neil being oblivious when flirted with constantly while andrew doing nothing, passing by, twirling his racquet is enough to get neil's attention (the rest of the foxes smirk)

“You’re all zoned out,” Matt says in her ear. Dan tips him immediately backwards with a hand to the chest.

“Shush,” she tells him, gritted through the straw she’s worrying between her teeth. She ran out of the watered-down pepsi they’re serving in battered plastic jugs a half hour ago.

“Dan.”

“Shush,” she insists, pressing two fingers to his mouth. She’s watching Neil trying to fill his water cup over at the far side of the banquet hall. He’s hovering in that way he does, like a shark who hasn’t figured out if something’s food yet.

There’s this sweet brown-eyed boy trying to talk to him, possibly the only male cheerleader in the room, certainly the least in the loop about Exy gossip. Dan watches him touch Neil’s arm and Neil jerks backwards into the table, toppling an entire icy water jug so it slops onto the floor and seeps through the tablecloth to the dark wood underneath.

Heads pop up, the boy falls all over himself to pour Neil a new glass, and Neil wanders off, bored.

Dan has noticed that people really want Neil to have a heart of gold. They like the news stories and they want them for themselves. They want the seams showing on his face and the tragedy in his back pocket, and they want to show everyone how accepting they are for finding his scars sexy. 

All they really want is his trim waist and his pretty eyes and his vice-cap badge and the way he shoves cameras away and has more history than any twenty-year-old has any business having.

Dan’s seen it all before. The way people like the character you’re playing so much that they want to take you home and open you up and see how deep it goes.

Neil’s worse at knowing when it’s happening. Dan’s a professional. She can see the way their eyes follow him because at least a dozen are always following her too, especially in places like this banquet. They look at Neil, or Dan, and a little part of them expects a show.

She watches Neil walk towards them with his eyes pouring over the room like liquid and finding every crevice, every exit. She looks at Matt.

“He’s doing that thing where he’s making a spectacle but he thinks he’s being very subtle.”

“That’s his whole shtick. I’m fond of it, now.” Matt grins.

“Do you think he actually noticed he was being hit on?”

Matt hums, watching Neil wind through the tables back to the fox—trojan extravaganza at theirs. “I doubt he knows anything about that boy other than the fact that he was in front of him for a bit.”

Keep reading

I Want All of You

(A 12/23 Coda.)


After he got the phone call, Dean couldn’t have driven back to the Kelly’s house fast enough.  

Some part of him was sure that it was just some cruel, cosmic joke, that Cas couldn’t possibly actually be there, alive and waiting for him.  

They’d watched him die, watched the grace flash out of his eyes, seen the wings emblazoned on the ground.  Hell, they’d buried him.

Sure, they’d lost Cas before, but this seemed so final.  Dean had spent three days in depression, drinking his sorrows, thinking about how he’d never again get the chance to hear Castiel’s voice, wake up to those blue eyes looking down on him.

Thinking how he’d died without ever really knowing how Dean felt about him.  

But then, the phone rang, and Dean, predictably, ignored it.  

It rang three times before Dean bothered to pick up, grunting a tired, “Yeah, what?” into the receiver.

There was a brief pause before a deep, gravelly voice Dean never thought he’d hear again said, “Hello, Dean.”    



Dean found Cas asleep on the sofa, curled up like a shrimp.  Some generic reality show buzzed softly on the television set, illuminating the darkened room.

For a long moment, Dean just stared at him.  Only his bare feet and shock of dark hair protruded from the thin blanket he was wrapped in, his soft snore permeating throughout the otherwise quiet room.  

It couldn’t really be him.  It just couldn’t.

Gently, Dean reached out and let his fingers brush his shoulder, so gently that Cas didn’t even stir.  Beneath the blanket, the flesh was toned and warm, and distinctly human.  

Dean tentatively touched him again, this time more firmly, letting his hand rest there a moment.  

“Cas,” he whispered, shaking him gently.  “Hey, Cas.”

Cas awakened with a soft, startled snort, sitting up and rubbing his eyes in a way that reminded Dean of a sleepy kitten.  

Dean watched him in sheer awe, unable to believe this wasn’t a dream:  this was, most definitely, Cas.  His Cas. 

He blinked at him, squinting dazedly.  “…Dean?”  he inquired, voice still slurred from sleep.

Dean swallowed wetly.  “Yeah, it’s me, buddy.”  

The blanket pooled around Cas’s waist, and only then did Dean register Cas wasn’t wearing anything except for his boxers.  

Cas followed his eyes, then gathered the blankets up around him, abashedly.  “Apologies,” he murmured.  It was difficult to tell in the dim light, but he seemed to be blushing.  “My clothes are in the wash.  They have been…persistently dirty.”

Dean chuckled, but decided against telling Cas that a suit like that would be dry-clean only.  “No worries, man.  I’m just happy to see you.” 

Well, that was the understatement of the twenty-first century.  Dean realized belatedly his hands were on Castiel’s forearms, though whether they were trying to steady himself or Cas he really didn’t know.  He made no effort to remove them.

“So, you’re uh.  Sleeping,” Dean remarked, stupidly.  “Does that mean you’re low on grace, or…?”

Cas shook his head.  “No,” he said gravely.  “I’m human.  Completely, it would seem.  My grace was extinguished when Lucifer stabbed me.”

Dean blinked.  This couldn’t possibly be real, could it?  Cas was human, and it seemed to be permanent.  There’d be no more vanishing off to heaven, no more long, lonely nights wondering where he was.  Cas would be soft and warm and tangible now, possibly forever.  

It was a dream come true.  Dean was about to say something along the lines of “that’s amazing,” when he realized belatedly Cas was crying, his chest heaving in quiet, painful sobs.     

Dean scooted to sit beside him, never taking his hands off Castiel’s arms, afraid he’d disappear if he stopped touching him for one instant.  

“Cas, buddy, what’s the matter?”  he murmured, tipping his head to get a better view of his face.  “You’re alive, man.  We can finally go home.”

“But I’m a human again, Dean,”  he whispered.  “I’ll never be anything more than a burden to you now!”

Dean opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again, instead just wrapping the shaking form up in his arms.  God, it felt so good to be able to touch him again, to hold him again, soft and warm and alive. 

“You could never be a burden, baby,”  Dean murmured, not even questioning where the endearment came from.  He breathed in the smell of his mussed-up hair, still slightly damp from the shower and smelling like shampoo.  “You never were.  And it’s not gonna be like last time, either:  I’m gonna take real good care of you, okay?  I promise.”

Cas stubbornly pushed him away, still sniffling slightly and refusing to meet his eyes.  “I don’t want you to have to take care of me, Dean.  You owe me nothing.”

Undeterred, Dean scooted closer to him on the couch, putting a tentative hand on his knee.  “Well, I want to,” he said with certainty.  “And for the record, yeah, I do:  I owe you a hell of a lot, Cas.  You pulled me out of hell, saved me in every sense of the word.  And I don’t think I can live without you anymore.  Or at least, I sure as hell don’t wanna.”

Cas started to cry again, and Dean didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around his bare shoulders, rubbing them gently, making soft, soothing sounds until the tears finally stopped.

Part of him was sad that he’d ever made Cas feel so useless, that he couldn’t convey the indescribable joy of just having him in his life.  But another part, the larger part, couldn’t stop being happy that he was here again.

And that was all he needed.



That night, they lay in bed together, Dean gently, soothingly, stroking his fingers through his hair.  He hadn’t stopped touching Cas since he’d gotten back, and he didn’t plan on it, either.

“Dean, I was thinking,” said Cas, thoughtfully.  “I don’t believe hunting is a good career for me.”

Dean’s fingers momentarily stilled.  “No?”

Cas shook his head.  “I’ll continue to live in the bunker, of course, and I’d still join you on the occasional hunt, but I don’t believe I want it to be my primary career.  I think I’d like to do something else.”

“Oh, yeah?  Like what?”  Dean asked, more at ease now that Cas had confirmed he was going to keep living in the bunker. 

Cas rolled to face him, looking slightly up at him through long eyelashes.  “I think,” he said thoughtfully.  “That I’d like to be a professor.”

“A professor?”  Dean repeated, a little surprised by the assertion.  

Cas nodded.  “I have vast stores of knowledge from my long lifespan, and could easily relay enormous shares of it on history, theology, mythology, mathematics, physics, and/or combat strategies.  I also retain fluency in over 150 human languages, and have a significantly higher than average IQ,” he added modestly.  “I believe you and Sam would be able to forge me the appropriate credentials?”

Dean took a moment to process it:  he thought of Cas coming home in a sweater vest and glasses, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, all nerdy-hot.  He liked the image immensely.

“Yeah, baby,”  Dean grinned.  “I think we can.”

Cas smiled softly, internally relieved at the thought of being useful at something.  At being more than just a burden to his human family.

Sensing he was retreating back into his self-deprecating thoughts, Dean brushed a gentle thumb over his cheekbone.  “Hey,” he said, tipping Castiel’s chin up to face him, meeting his eyes fully.  “We’re gonna have a great life together, you hear?  Not normal, I tried that and I think it’s safe to say it ain’t either of our cup of tea, but it will be a great one.  I wanna marry you, Cas:  I wanna propose, with a ring and everything, and then have a classic hunter wedding.  Then I wanna take you on a long-ass honeymoon, somewhere warm and sunny, where we can do it on the beach, and maybe someday, we’ll even have kids.  I wanna have it all with you, Cas.  And then, someday, we’ll both kick it, and God-willing, we’ll spend eternity together in heaven, doin’ it like bunny rabbits.”

Cas’s eyes grew wider with each passing second, expression unreadable.  Three days ago, he wouldn’t have even considered spilling his heart like this.  But that was more than enough time to get a taste of what a missed opportunity would feel like, of the hollowness of losing Cas without him knowing how Dean felt.

Dean was never going to let that happen again, consequences be damned.      

After a moment of silence, Dean smirked – trying to hide how vulnerable the confession had left him – and added, “That is, if a gorgeous babe like you is okay with spending eternity with my sorry ass.”

Cas blinked, then nodded mutely, expression vaguely stunned.  

“Yes,” he said finally, voice barely a whisper.  “Oh, God, yes.”   


… 


The next morning, Dean woke up next to Cas for the very first time.

Up close, in the daylight, he could see the delicate stubble of his jaw, full lips chapped and slack with sleep.  He could see the dark fan of his eyelashes, the little lines between his eyebrows where they drew together when he was confused. 

Dean couldn’t stop staring.  Which, under most circumstances, might be considered the slightest bit creepy, but he figured turnabout was only fair play.  And besides, if a man couldn’t watch his back-from-the-dead boyfriend sleep – or fiance, rather – what was the world coming to?

Warmth bloomed in Dean’s chest.  He wasn’t sure how this had happened, or why.  He didn’t know how he was going to explain this to Sam, and he didn’t care.

All he knew was that Dean Winchester was one lucky bastard, and wanted to wake up next to this for the rest of his life, snoring and all.  

After a while, Castiel blinked open his eyes, blue and beautiful as a pool in summer.  He smiled softly, and Dean hoped he was thinking something close to the same thing.  

“Hello, Dean.” 

thunder - zach dempsey

requested: yes

word count: 1.224

warnings: i swear once, besides that there are symptoms of anxiety in here

plot: zach helps you go through a storm, trying his best to make you feel comfortable and to be there for you

a/n: i can’t believe how much zach content i’m posting but i live for it. anyway i hope this is true to the request. also i listened to this & this while writing idk maybe it creates an ambiance for y’all


Zach was driving you home when the storm broke.

One minute the two of you were joking around as his music blasted from the speakers and wind blew messing up your hairstyles. Then, quick drops of water began falling from the sky, causing Zach to immediately put the convertible’s hardtop on.

You grew quiet as you took in the sight of the darkened sky and the raindrops hitting the windshield.

Zach took notice of your sudden mood change and turned the music volume down. “Everything okay?” He asked, shifting his gaze from the road for a few seconds to look at you.

Keep reading

A Little Help

Hi guys! I wrote this on my phone and I haven’t been to sleep in forever, so I’m pretty positive this is just some rambly words about Tom and the reader wanting to be in a relationship, but being too shy to actually tell the other. So, instead, they just do small things to help each other out. P. S., Harrison ships it. I hope you enjoy!

Originally posted by spiderholland

A Little Help

“You need help, let me grab that for you,” Tom said, reaching up to plunk the novel from the shelf. “Which one do you want?” Tom asked, bringing a hand to rest upon her waist to readjust her position to point out the book she’d been trying to obtain.

    She stood up on her tiptoes, eyes desperately seeking to survey the shelf clearer, “I actually don’t have one particular in mind, would it be a bother to just take everything by Pablo Neruda down?”

    “Course not,” Tom said and easily picked all the Neruda’s out for her. “Who is he?”

    Her eyes widened and she smiled, happy to tell Tom everything she knew about Pablo Neruda. “He’s a famous Chilean poet, I mean, he eventually went into the political field, but I mostly know him from his poetry. When I was in high school, my best friend and I were obsessed with a poem he wrote called, ‘My Ugly Love.’”

She was starting to ramble and she knew that Tom probably couldn’t give two shits about the ugly love spoken about in the poem, but she was so close to him and he smelled good, and his chest was firm when she leaned into him, so it would be a fair statement to say that she was beyond distracted. “It starts out-”

Tom didn’t remove his hand from her waist, figuring that if she didn’t like it, she’d step back from him. His gaze flickered from her lips, to the rosy flush gliding across her cheeks, and then up to her eyes. Tom drank in her words about Pablo Neruda, still not quite registering who he was, but still completely absorbed by her words.

As he listened to her, still holding an assortment of novels in his hands, he accidentally cut her off completely. “Wait, do you have it memorized?”

She was nearly positive that her entire body was tinged pink, “Yeah, I won’t bore you with the details, I just like the poem because it’s different.”

“No, no, tell me. I wanna hear about it. I just got,” Tom searched for an appropriate word. “Excited?” Truly, Tom had cut her off because she looked so endearing that he thought that he would physically blow up if he didn’t kiss her.

He loved it when she talked about stuff like this, he could tell it was one of the few times that she actually felt confident in voicing her opinions.

“My ugly love, you’re a messy chestnut.

My beauty, you are pretty as the wind.

Ugly: your mouth is big enough for two mouths.

Beauty: your kisses are fresh as new melons.

Ugly: where did you hide your breasts?

They’re meager, two little scoops of wheat.

I’d much rather see two moons across your chest,

two huge proud towers.

Ugly: not even the sea contains things like your toenails.

Beauty: flower by flower, star by star, wave by wave,

Love, I’ve made an inventory of your body.

My ugly one, I love you for your waist of gold.

my beauty, for the wrinkle on your forehead.

My Love: I love you for your clarity, your dark.”

She finished and looked up to him with a smile on her face.

“So, what do you think?” She asked him, reaching up to sift through the books that Tom had gotten down for her.

“How do you know the best of everything?” Tom muttered, eyes widened, because, as usual, she was right. The poem was supremely different from any of the traditionally romantic sonnets that he’d read.

She smiled and unwound herself from his grasp and wandered down the next aisle, in search for her friend and Harrison, who’d accompanied them to the bookstore.

Tom, still leaned up against the shelf was slow to notice Harrison’s approaching figure.

“Dude, you need to ask her out. It’s getting ridiculous. Everybody, even strangers, already think you’re together, so why not make it real? Not as if she’s going to say no.” Harrison urged.

Shrugging his shoulders and racking his brain for an adequate response, Tom eventually stuttered out, “you never know, she could just want to be friends, and then if I ask her out, then she won’t even wanna be that.”

Harrison rolled his eyes, “Well then, mate, better wipe that drool off your chin.”

The next morning, in a haste to open the door for her, Tom had accidentally whacked himself in the face with it. Now, he not only sported a bloody nose, but also a split lip. Still, he wasn’t complaining.

She’d freaked out when she saw the blood drip from his nose and the bruises already forming on his jaw and had rushed him home. She stood in between Tom’s legs, while he perched on her kitchen table, and held up towels to stop the bleeding.

“Tom, literally what the hell?” She murmured, gliding her soft palm across his lower lip.

“I told you, I saw a bee and I didn’t want it to sting you,” Tom lied. Obviously, there hadn’t been a bee, but he refused to tell her that he’d nearly broken his face purely to hold the door open for her.

“But I never saw it? I didn’t even hear one, and besides, it wasn’t like there were flowers around. Why would a bee wander over here?” She mused, walking to the fridge to grab a bag of frozen vegetables.

“No, no,” Tom whined, “Those will be too cold, I don’t wanna put that on my face.”

She pouted, “Too bad, let me help you! I don’t want you to be hurt.”

Tom hesitated, and then opened his arms and pulled her close to him, keeping a gentle hand on the small of her back. “Fine, fine. Just do it.”

She smiled and rocked up onto her tippy toes and pressed her make-shift icepack to his face. He didn’t even shiver when the frost-covered package touched his bare skin, because when she was this close to him, he could see the multitude of colors swirling in her eyes.

A week later, it was time for Tom and Harrison to, once again, travel for the press tour. Tom was gutted. He couldn’t imagine leaving her without explaining to her that he wanted to be with her so badly, that the mere thought of leaving her made him physically ill.

Little did he know, that she felt the same way. All he knew, was that he was going over to her apartment to give her one last goodbye hug while Harrison waited in the car.

From inside her apartment, she spritzed on Tom’s favorite perfume. Whenever she wore it, he always leaned into her more while they were in conversation, or fiddled with her hair more and didn’t pull away from her when they hugged.

She had done her best to conceal her nighttime tears with makeup and sheprayed that Tom wouldn’t notice them as she opened the door.

Tom stepped in quickly and before she even shut the door, Tom surged towards her. Bending down to her height, Tom threw his arms around her, ignoring that his phone had fallen to the floor.

“Are you alright Tom?” She questioned, hands stiff at her sides.

“Just gonna miss you loads and loads and loads.” His voice was muffled by her sweater.

Her arms wound around him, “You know I’ll miss you too.”

“I don’t want to leave you yet.” Tom pulled away and his gaze bore into her floor.

Taking him by the hand, she pulled him to sit down on her sofa. “I made you something to help.”

Tom curled an arm around her frame as she sat a heavy box down in front of him, “Darling, what is it? You shouldn’t have gotten me anything, I didn’t know-”

She cut him off by pressing a hand over his lips. “Promise to look at it on the plane?”

She looked to cute and eager and shy that Tom had agreed, and now, after finally boarding the plane, Tom opened the box.

Inside were all the Pablo Neruda books that she’d bought the day she read him ‘My Ugly Love,’ and a note.

The note read,

Hi Tom,

I’m just going to assume that you followed my directions and now you’re flying safely through the air, but if you’re not, and I find out, may Mother Earth save your soul.

All of these books were mine before yours because I wanted to give you something that would remind you of me. I wrote you little notes on all the pages, so it’ll be like we’re talking about them. I highlighted my favorite ones for you in pink.

Please don’t forget about me.

Tom scoffed, as if he could ever forget her. He opened the first book and quickly spotted the swirls of her delicate handwriting on the bottom corner of the page. It read,

Don’t freak out, some of the poems are in Spanish, but I made sure to help translate them for you in the margins.

Tom smiled and began to leaf through the poems, blown away by not only the words of Pablo Neruda, but also by her tiny love poems for him written so softly in the captivity of the margins that he could barely tell that they were there.

When he landed, he would make sure to send her some of his own.

Remember when painful emotions like fear, anger, and hate were seen as natural and as the appropriate reactions to bad things? Yeah, me neither. Because apparently at some point in cultural history there came along some Yoda-people, who started to shame these emotions as sins, and on the other hand you got Sith-people, who instrumentalised them as weapons to corrupt people. 
No one ever tells you “I hope you’re very angry, because this is outrageous.” You get told to be strong, to see the positive, to be brave. They shove “light and love” down your throat and no one ever even acknowledges that maybe your negative reaction is healthy and sane.
So you start feeling guilty and ashamed for natural things, for being human; you repress them, until they eat you up alive. And the best thing is that when you’ve turned into a monster, they’ll say: “Oh, there wasn’t enough love and light in them.
—  INFP thoughts
too many

there’s a coffee shop i like to go to. i tell myself, ‘i never go here enough,’ but really I go atleast twice a week now. i don’t often sit inside, but today I felt compelled to take a seat at an outside table.
I felt sweat in the folds of my knees, and allowed my legs to stretch out into the side walk, taking in the shade created by the factory across the street.
i let my purse drop to the ground next to me, and thought, ‘these are truly the vacations I pain for.’
My back to the door, a man walked behind me, and I heard him finishing up on a phone call before going inside to order. It sounded like he was trying to speak japanese, and his slow and careful pronunciations lead me to believe that it wasn’t his first language, or even one he spoke often. A long sip of my ice coffee, and I cursed myself for barely understanding my own language. 
He continued on, and I felt my body turn to take in just one look of the man I had been carelessly eavesdropping on. 
I didn’t expect to see a man in a mechanic’s jumpsuit, but my neighborhood stopped surprising me awhile ago, so i turned back around, and felt nosey for even taking in a glance.
Another couple of sips of my coffee, and I was happily back to my sidewalk oasis, bobbing my foot up and down, and smoothing my skirt flat against my thigh. 
The man came back outside and took the table next to me. He was drinking hot coffee without a lid, which would have gone unnoticed if it wasn’t such a particularly hot day. 
My foot kept bouncing, in rhythm with the alley breeze, when the man turned around to take a look at me.
Fair enough,’ I thought, and keep my eyes focused on papers and pens, and bits of rocks at my feet.
He brought his chin up to speak, grabbing my attention all at once,
“Don’t you think that’s too many tattoos?”
It’s funny how the charm could leave someone so quickly. 
I leaned back in my chair, and exhaled what felt like an invisible drag of a cigarette,
“Everyday I think that.”
it felt like i was telling him something i was proud of. 
“So what are you going to do now?”
as if an answer so complex was ready at the tip of my tongue at any moment of passing conversation, 
“There’s nothing I can do.”
“For myself?” he gestured to his chest, with no apparent undershirt under his jumpsuit, “There’s not one thing I can think of that I would get a tattoo of.”
“Yeah,” my ice coffee was empty, “You’re better off just buying the tshirt.”
He didn’t laugh, which was the response I expected, but rather listened to my words, and felt for his phone somewhere in his pocket. 
“Do you come here a lot?”
“I try to.”
extending his phone to me, I thought, he’s kidding right?
“Would you want to get together sometime?”
Now standing over me, he was tall, scuffed up, and clearly out of touch with what is appropriate to say to a stranger. However, I wasn’t particularly offended by our exchange. 
but i also wasn’t put on earth to bottle feed every asshole who just wants to see me naked and has no idea why.
“You’ll see me around here again i’m sure.” 
“Okay.” He put his napkin in his drink and started off down the street.
‘god-fucking-damnit,’ i dragged my heel,
and let him get completely out of my eye line before I stood up to walk home.
shaking my empty cup I thought, 
‘that’s what I get for turning my head.’

zethany  asked:

I am so, so, SO very sorry if this has already been asked before. I did some digging through your tags and I couldn't find answers for my particular question... So I apologize in advance if I just didn't do enough digging. I've had a lot of issues with dialogue sequences that go back and forth between two or more characters. I find myself repeating the same phrases such as, "he snickered" and "she cried." Eventually, I just end up using very convoluted word play. Do you have any suggestions?

What you’re asking about here are dialogue tags. There are two schools of thought: Vary the verbs, or don’t fret the “saids.” This is one case where the best practice probably lies somewhere in between. How far you go with different verbs vs. said is up to you as the writer.

There’s another way to break up dialogue, too. It’s my own personal preference, and that’s the use of descriptive beats, sometimes called dialogue beats, narrative beats, etc… This article here describes the two in more depth, but essentially:

Dialogue tag: “You don’t know what I want,” he shouted.

Descriptive beat: “You don’t know what I want.” He slammed the book on the table, knocking over Gena’s wine. 

Both convey anger. Both can be “the right way,” depending on your characters, your style or the needs of the scene.

I tend to write my dialogue either without any tags or just minimal tags when I get started. Often, it literally looks like this:

A: “You’re a jerk!”

B: “Yeah, but I’m your jerk.”

A: “Can’t you stop being a jerk then?”

B: “Are you saying you want to dump me?”

Then, I try to block the scene (much like blocking a stage play) so that I know what the characters are doing, where they’re standing, or other cues that can help with the descriptions. Where no description is needed, I start with said, or asked and replied if appropriate. 

Dialogue beats also help convey something I see a lot of new writers and fanfic writers shying away from, and that’s inner monologue. Your Point of View character can have thoughts during a conversation that can add insight or seamlessly add exposition to avoid infodumping. You’ll find more than a few experienced writers whose dialogue scenes have a lot more inner monologue than external dialogue. You probably just don’t realize it. [Hint: That’s a good thing.]

Favoring descriptive beats over tags means you need to make sure your readers can follow. It’s the one thing I work on the most during editing, too. Again, don’t let fretting over saids and tags and beats ruin your creative flow on your first draft. 

Here’s another good summary of the process. 

Also, make sure you punctuate your tags correctly. Not doing so can be one of those distracting mistakes that can turn readers off and I guarantee will bug the crap out of an editor. 

Now, go. Experiment. Have fun. Enjoy your characters and let them enjoy their dialogue!

– mod Aliya

anonymous asked:

13 and 15 with Suga

Boy Next Door (Yoongi x Reader Fluff)

Prompt request: “Are you hurt?” + “Is there a reason you’re crawling through my window?”

Summary: Your new neighbour is developing a habit of crawling through your bedroom window when he’s bored. You know you should stop him, but you can’t bring yourself to do it. 

Word count: 1.6k words

Originally posted by dreamyoongi

You were excited when you’re parents told you a new family was moving next door. You were even more excited when you heard a boy who was your age would be your neighbour. In the middle of summer with nothing to do, you couldn’t help but fantasize about the perfect boy next door. It was every teenager’s dream, wasn’t it?

One early Friday morning, you were roused by loud noises coming from outside. Drowsily, you stumbled to your feet and peered out your bedroom window. It was pointless, of course, because the houses on your street were too close together, so all you could see was the vacant house’s bedroom window.

Only, the house wasn’t so vacant anymore.

A boy was standing in front of the window, brushing his teeth while looking half asleep. From what you could see, he had dark hair, pale skin, and some really nice hands. Then, his sharp eyes flicked to yours, and you soon discovered that your neighbour’s gaze was piercing.

Squeaking, you dropped to the ground–out of sight. You felt your cheeks heating up, totally embarrassed that you had been caught spying. Repressing the urge to scream, you crawled out of your bedroom and into the hall, where the noises from outside grew louder.

Now, you knew it was because your new neighbours were finally moving in. And you also knew that the boy next door was as cute as you had hoped. But of course he had to see you rumpled with sleep and invading his privacy.

Shaking your head, you got back to your feet and thudded down the stairs. In the kitchen, your mom was sipping a cup of coffee as she peered out the window, evidently spying on your new neighbours as well.

“Why didn’t you tell me they were moving in today?” you whined, throwing yourself onto a kitchen chair and slumping over the small table in front of you.

“I didn’t want to wake you up so early,” your mom replied, turning around to look at you. “Why, did something happen?”

“The boy is in the bedroom across mine,” you explained hesitantly. “He may or may not have seen me spying.”

“I heard his name’s Yoongi. He’s pretty cute, no?” your mom cackled. “Let’s just hope he finds the spying endearing, not creepy.”


Later in the afternoon, the August heat became unbearable. In your small room, there was little ventilation, so you were sweating buckets. Pushing away from your desk, you walked across the room to the window. You hoped your neighbour wouldn’t be able to see you. With a grunt, you pulled the large window open, feeling a gentle breeze billow through the opening. It wasn’t much, but it made the heat a little less painful.

Returning to your desk, you became so engrossed in watching anime that you didn’t process the sound of the window across yours clicking open. You didn’t hear the sound of someone struggling to stand on their window frame. You didn’t hear the sound of them leaping through the air.

But you did hear the loud crash of something colliding with your bedroom floor.

“Oh my god!” you squealed, spinning around in your chair. In front of you, Yoongi was sprawled on your hardwood floors, facedown and unmoving. “Uh, are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Yoongi grunted, his voice muffled since he had yet to lift his head. Eventually, he pushed himself upright, opting to sit cross-legged facing you. When he didn’t elaborate on the situation, you crossed your arms.

“Is there a reason you’re crawling through my window?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“I wouldn’t call it crawling, it was more of a leap,” Yoongi replied, not answering your question. “For a second, I thought I wouldn’t make it. Luckily the drop isn’t that big.”

“You shouldn’t be jumping through windows. That’s dangerous,” you scolded. “But still, that doesn’t explain anything.”

“I’m just bored,” Yoongi said, shrugging his shoulders. “I’ve been unpacking for hours, and I need a break. Our WiFi isn’t set up yet either, so that really sucks.”

You nodded at that, feeling a little sympathy for Yoongi’s situation. “You could have just knocked on the door like a normal person,” you pointed out.

“Yeah, but this was faster. Plus, I’m already here,” Yoongi responded. He jerked his head in the direction of your laptop. “What are you watching?”

“One Punch Man,” you answered slowly, a little embarrassed. But Yoongi’s lips twitched into a little smile, and you thought it was adorable.

“Sweet,” he said, turning to look at the laptop expectantly. “I’m Yoongi, by the way. You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yep, that’s me,” you replied. You picked up your laptop and sat on the floor beside Yoongi, setting the laptop in front of your crossed legs. “I just finished this episode.”

So you and Yoongi spent the rest of the afternoon watching One Punch Man on your laptop. It was a really odd situation, but it was surprisingly comfortable. Little conversations popped up here and there, and you took a surprising liking to your new neighbour. And luckily, he didn’t bring up the spying incident from earlier that day.

Eventually, when dinnertime came, Yoongi announced his departure and disappeared through the window he entered by. You peered after him curiously, but he had already faded into the darkness of his bedroom, completely out of sight. Smiling, you turned away from the window. You figured you should close it, but something compelled you to keep it open.


The next evening, while you were blasting music through your speakers, Yoongi came tumbling through your window again. You shrieked, dropping the nail polish you were holding onto your floor. Cursing, you reached blindly for some tissues to wipe up the spilled liquid.

Yoongi watched you clean expressionlessly, although you couldn’t help but feel his blank gaze was judgemental.

“This stuff is expensive, okay? Plus it stains,” you said defensively, tossing the crumpled tissues covered in black nail polish into the garbage. “Give me some warning next time.”

“What, am I supposed to yell through the window?” Yoongi snorted. “I feel like that wouldn’t make much of a difference.”

“I dunno, just text me or something,” you suggested. Yoongi raised his eyebrow at you, and you stared at him blankly before you realized you hadn’t exchanged numbers yet. “Oh, give me your phone. I’ll put in my number.”

“I left it inside,” Yoongi shrugged.

“Ugh, whatever,” you groaned. You plopped onto your bed and looked at Yoongi suspiciously. “So, why are you here?”

“Bored,” Yoongi replied simply. “Plus, you’re blasting some pretty shit music. I had to come turn it off.”

“Excuse me?” you balk. You pointed a finger at Yoongi. “You trespass into my room and then insult my music? Who do you think you are?”

“I’m just telling you the truth,” Yoongi smirked. You wanted to punch him in the face, but you also wanted to kiss him because damn that was hot. Wait, kiss?

Yoongi got to his feet and walked over to your laptop, sitting on your desk chair. “Let me show you some real music,” Yoongi said, typing something into your computer. Eventually, a new song started playing.

It was just a drum beat at first, but soon powerful rapping began to play. It was fast, and the rapper had a raspy, emotive voice. And their voice sounded strangely familiar.

“Wait, is this your mixtape?” you asked, your jaw dropping.

“And if it is?” Yoongi said, spinning in the chair to give you a look.

“What a shameless plug!” you exclaimed, clutching your stomach as you laughed. Yoongi gave you an offended look, and you brushed tears out of your eyes. “But this is really good. I didn’t know you rapped. That’s so cool.”

“Thanks,” Yoongi said, glancing away. You weren’t sure, but it looked like he was blushing. “But you have no taste in music, so it doesn’t mean much.”

“Hey!” you shouted, launching a pillow at Yoongi’s head. It bounced off rather harmlessly, but the look Yoongi gave you was murderous. He stood and approached you silently, and you backed up instinctively.

Then, Yoongi’s hands shot out, grabbing your waist and squeezing. You burst into laughter, trying to wiggle away, but Yoongi only tickled you harder. Tears streamed down your face as you laughed silently, your stomach clenching.

“I’m gonna pee,” you wheezed out, trying to push Yoongi’s hands away.

He made a face at that and backed off quickly. “That’s gross,” Yoongi said, his nose crinkling.

“It’s natural,” you sniffed. “You’re lucky I didn’t. That’s what you get if you tickle me.”

“Duly noted,” Yoongi laughed. He glanced out your window at the darkening sky. “I should get back now. I’ll see you soon?”

“Yeah,” you smiled, feeling more fond than you thought was appropriate. “See you soon.”

With that, Yoongi jumped onto your window frame, crouching precariously between your room and a two-storey fall. Then, with confidence, he pushed himself forward, leaping through the air and through his window. Yoongi crashed to the ground of his own bedroom, his muttered curses travelling through the quiet night.

You felt a bit lonely, even though he had just left. But at least you had tomorrow to look forward to. Grinning, you turned back to your computer and flopped onto the chair. You realized Yoongi had still left his mixtape up. Turning the volume on your speakers way down, you played his music, realizing that you may be developing a little crush.

Oh well.

- Girl in Luv

Ok so I was going to write I Got You On My Mind tonight, but I don’t have the time nor the energy for 2k+ part right now. I know I suck, but I want to be able to put out good content and sometimes I just can’t force a story. Plus, this one looked like a lot of fun, which it was. So I’m sorry for everyone who’s waiting, and I promise it’ll be out soon! I hope you enjoyed this imagine, stay tuned for more 💛

When We Collide (Part 10)

Pairing: Assistant!Y/N/CEO!Luke

Rating: NC-17

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9

Summary: He is the definition of high class smart ass, swimming in Dom Pierre Pérignon champagne and has never seen the shadow of poverty. She is underprivileged, lives in a messy dorm room on sale and struggles working as an assistant after being thrown out of college. But how will they collide when Luke makes Y/N pregnant after a drunkenly one night stand?

When We Collide on Wattpad

”Morning everyone. I hope you’ve all had a good night of sleep because this is gonna be a long day.” Luke announced once one of the coworkers opened the door to the theater studio, grabbing everyone’s attention in the room including yours.

“Oh my god…” You mumbled under your breath when seeing Holly come from his behind with a huge smile on her face as if it wasn’t 7 A.M, she looked like someone who had been awake since the sun had raised just to get ready for today.

Keep reading

INFP gothic
  • Oh, were you talking to me? Sorry I wasn’t listening
  • *hungover* Please don’t touch me. Don’t talk to me, don’t look at me. Just leave me alone to die.
  • *in a bad mood* Life is just as meaningless as death tbh I don’t give a shit anyway.
  • *in a good mood* I love literally every single person ever. Everyone deserves to be happy! But mostly cats
  • Okay here’s a thought/Imagine that/What if
  • Oh my god this is the ugliest little creature I’ve ever seen. Look at it. It’s so miserable. I love it with all my heart.
  • *actually cries when laughing too hard*
  • What was that? Yeah I stopped listening again sry
  • I’m so sleepy and tired, I’ll go to bed at like 9 p.m. *is 3 a.m.* Fml
  • Alternatively - *sleeps some full 10 hours* *wakes up even more dead inside*
  • I don’t think this is appropriate. Please don’t do it, don’t- Ah I guess I’ll just pretend I don’t know you
  • I actually don’t care about my looks at all~ *spends at least an hour picking outfits/putting make-up every day*
  • I’m just gonna ignore the person I like until they notice I like them. Works every time.
  • *secretly into bdsm or at least very kinky* I’m 100% pure and I’m shaming all of you sinners
  • Listen - I don’t want to offend you, I’m SORRY in advance, okay here goes. Again I hope you don’t take this personally I’m rly rly regretful that it has come to this situation. Okay yeah I’ll spit it out - I don’t think purple is your color.
  • *Has an existential mid-life crisis at 21* Everything is sunshine and rainbows!11!!!
Dan and Phil Buy A House: A Script

D: “Hello internet!”
P: “Hey guys!”

D: “So you may notice our background looks a little bit different than usual-”
P: “Yeah!”
D: “-and I’m sure you’re all wondering, ‘Dan and Phil, where could you possibly be filming?’”
P: “Where on Earth could they be?”
D: “…let’s be real, you not thinking that, you’ve all been talking about this for months…”

D+P: “We bought a house!”

P: “Yeah, y'know, we’d been living in our old flat for about 5 years and there were a couple of issues with it that we just could not handle anymore.”
D: “Like the, constant, incessant, mind-numbing sirens that always seemed to go by in the middle of filming a video.”
P: “Or the drilling! What can somebody even be drilling in their house for 5 YEARS?!”
D: “I dunno…”
P: “Maybe they were secretly bank robbers and they were building a false floor to hide all their stolen money under?”
D: “Yeah, Phil, I’m pretty sure that if they were bank robbers, they wouldn’t still be living in an apartment in London…”
P: “Oh yeah…”
D: “Right, how about the fact that we had NO storage?”
P: “I know! Every time I bought a new shirt I had to compress my closet into an even more solid block of cotton. And don’t even get me started on the office!”
D: “Yes, Phil and I have acquired so many video games, systems, and random nerd merchandise that we had to actually buy an entirely new house to accommodate it all.”
P: “It’s a little out of hand to be honest…”
D: “It’s a part of our branding, Phil. We can’t be DanAndPhilGAMES without an obscene amount of video games and appropriate memorabilia.”
P: “Anyway, we thought we’d give you guys a tour of our new house straight away because it’s been so hard to keep this a secret from all of you and we know you’ll all just be requesting it for the next 6 months if we don’t anyways.”
D: “Yeah, it hasn’t really BEEN a secret, Phil, I think they knew we were moving before we did.”
P: “Yeah, tumblr really is good at figuring things out, aren’t they?”
D: “Yep. You creepy stalkers really took that one video I made to heart didn’t you….*sigh*”
P: “So without further ado, this is DanAndPhilCRIBS!
D: “Di-did you just actually…we are not keeping that in!”
P: “Aw, c'mon, I think it’s 'totes swaggy’…”
D: “Whatever, I should know not to question you by now, LET’S START THE TOUR!”

*and so ensues the tour of Dan and Phil’s new home, including beautiful kitchen, gorgeous lounge with brand new matching furniture sets, completely equipped editing room, fully teched out gaming room, bathroom that isn’t the size of a broom closet, minimal stairs, backyard and garden so Phil can have more plants than just cacti, and the entire phandom is crying/dead at this point*

D: “So there you have it, our new house.”
P: “We really hope you’ve enjoyed the tour, you can click on my face to subscribe to my channel or on Dan’s face to subscribe to him, you can also click here and here to see our last videos, and if you haven’t subscribed to our gaming channel yet you can do that by clicking here.”
D: “Gee, I wonder what the next video is gonna be, Phil?”

*dog barks in background*
*d+P both start laughing*

D: “That could not have been better timed.”

D+P: “BYE!!!!”

I’ve Got No Plans For Tomorrow Night ;)

Words: 391
Bucky Barnes X Reader
Request:  I broke my leg yesterday :(( Now I’m really really bored at the Hospital :/ God bless my stupidness.. would you maybe write me something with fluffy Bucky where he Wakes up naked next to you after your first night together and he watches you sleep a bit before he starts stroking your hair, kissing you and stuff ? Just doing cute things to Show you that he wants you to be with him forever. Later then you spend the whole day in bed cuddling and not letting go of each other ? :) Thank you honey bun Anon


Bucky woke up one morning to a heavy weight on his right arm. He opened his eyes to your naked body curled up against his own naked form. You were smiling in your sleep, it was somehow both sexy and adorable. He watched your chest rhythmically rise and fall as you slept with your hands tucked under your head. God, did he love you.

You pretended to be a sleep for much longer than you should have. You had been woken as soon as he’d tried to tug his arm out from under your head, but it was your first morning after spending the night in his apartment. You wanted to play pretend for a little while and see what happened. He reached out and cupped your chin with his metal hand. His thumb rub back and forth and you could hear him chuckle.

“How did I ever get so luck as to end up with you, Doll?” He whispered. You felt him shift in the bed and then his lips were pressed against yours. You decided to use this as your opportunity to “Wake up.”

“Good morning, Beautiful.” He smiled at you.

“Good morning yourself.” You smiled back. You brushed a curtain of his hair away from his eyes and tucked it behind his ear. You snuggled up closer to him. “So last night was…wow.” You giggled.

Keep reading

kevystel  asked:

extra scenes from how to raise a tiger, and/or six months in the future!

i’m going to be super efficient and call this a belated birthday gift for @kevystel and also an on-time birthday gift for @sonatine

(and lots of inspiration drawn from this lovely fanart)

“I want a unicorn frapp,” Yuri demands as Viktor smoothly pulls up to a Starbucks drive-thru in his Tesla. He finishes rattling off his order (a quad grande iced caramel macchiato with extra caramel drizzle on top) and peers at Yuri over his Gucci sunglasses as the voice on the speaker crackles, “Will that be all for you, sir?”

Yuri scowls at him from the passenger seat. “Unicorn frapp,” he hisses.

Viktor taps his chin thoughtfully. “I don’t know about that, Yura,” he says. “Those things are supposed to have terrifying amounts of calories. As a responsible adult, I’m not sure I should be encouraging this sort of behavior.”

Bullshit and lies,” Yuri spits out, “you went through three family-sized bags of shrimp chips when you thought Yuuri was hooking up with an ex-boyfriend that didn’t even fucking exist.”

Viktor can’t argue with that. His Yurochka has really come so far along, he thinks fondly, being able to piece together such well-formulated arguments with only a few words of profanity scattered along the way. “Tell you what,” he says, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel as he informs the voice on the speaker that that will be all for now, thank you, “if you can drive us home and back again without getting pulled over, I’ll make it a venti.”

Keep reading

Girls / Girls / Boys

Word count: 3.8K

[A/N] Four months since my last update but I can assure you that I am alive and well


Dan Howell could proudly say that he had never missed a school Football game.

From the moment he’d entered the school freshman year, he’d started going to the football games on Friday nights, sitting in that same spot on the bleachers with some of his friends each time. It wasn’t so much school spirit that kept him there, it was more about the incredible sights. By which he meant the cheerleaders, of course. Watching pretty girls dance around in short skirts all night, what more could a pubescent boy want?

Keep reading

Sexualization Of Trans Women (Story)

So as you guys know, my beautiful perfect adorable girlfriend is in fact trans. Well sometime around 2 months ago, I was talking to my friend. He asked me how my girlfriend was, except he didn’t know (he hadn’t talked to her in a year or two) that she was trans. I calmly said that her name was not the one he was using anymore and that she was transitioning to female. He was cool with that, obviously, because I’m a trans guy and have been open to my close friends about that for several years. But here’s what got me. I showed him pictures of her and I that we had taken the weekend before… and he just got really creepy. He started talking about how he “has always been turned on my girls with dicks” (mind you he knew we were together at the time) and that he “has always wanted to f**k her anyways”. I laughed it off because I thought he was maybe joking, but then went on to gush about the photos and talk about if she owned butt plugs (I know, what the heck?). At this point I started getting visibly upset, telling him to please stop talking about her in this context and that she was my girlfriend. He told me “sorry, I’m just into traps” which made it even worse because she’s not a “trap” shes a beautiful kind funny girl and I was just incredibly uncomfortable at this point. Now you’d think he’d stop? I did too. Later that day I find out that he’s been messaging her (because she told me he was being weird), and the same guy starts talking about “do you own buttplugs” and “you’re so gorgeous” and “we should be friends with benefits”. So she comes back to me, let’s name her for the sake of ease, Alice. Alice comes to me and tells me about this, so I go back and tell the guy to stop, and some other stuff along the lines “I told you we were dating so why are you flirting with her? I thought we were friends.” and this guy starts crying and just dude you have no reason to feel bad you litterally just tried to coax my girlfriend into having sex with you. And he’s like “I hope we can be friends” but yeah no that’s not happening.

Basically what I’m trying to say- this guy didn’t see her as my “girlfriend” or even a “girl” at all. He saw Alice as a fetish or a “trap” and didn’t understand that it wasn’t appropriate to treat her or I like that. It just made me realize how gross a lot of people are. Again transwomen are godesses. How do you guys do it.

causing trouble | alfie solomons

i got a couple anons who wanted a reader who was deaf and i kinda combined them?

Tommy furrowed his brow and lifted his head as he realised the sound he heard coming down the corridor was laughter. As he was led closer to the door the laughter got louder, and he couldn’t help but crack a little smile at the sound. Whoever they were they were truly enjoying themselves.

The housekeeper knocked lightly on the door as she pushed it open, leading Tommy in behind her. Alfie was sat at his chair, a woman on his lap, with her back to him. He was moving his hands around, face dancing as he spoke, and at one especially animated point the woman burst out laughing again, snorting as she dropped her head to his shoulder.

Alfie smiled, tucking his hand in to her hair and turning to kiss her ear. He sniffed as he turned back and leant forward, bringing his hand down her spine as he lifted them to sitting. She leant back as well, and with a nod from Alfie turned. There was a little gasp before she threw herself up, fixing her skirt as she grabbed at the bottle on the desk and tucked it away in a drawer. She slammed it back with her hip, crossing her arms over her chest and desperately avoiding Alfie’s stare.

He was smiling softly, watching her every move and she shook her head at him, still refusing to meet his eyes. After a few seconds she closed her eyes, tucked her lips between her teeth, as though she was trying to hold in the laughter, and then she broke down. Her fingers came to cover her mouth, trailing over her chin as she tucked her tongue into her cheek and coughed to contain herself.

Keep reading

Ok so context of why I thought this deck was so appropriate:

I have associated colors for every sign and Gemini is sky blue, silver and ‘holographic’ yeah it’s not a color but it’s like a visual thing I associate with the sign.

This deck was completely that color scheme AND very airy and the artwork is both minimalist and contemplative yet soft airy and watercolory. It reminds me of visual impressions your thoughts put together while thinking/brainstorming/day dreaming. It’s very Gemini-y. I also love how reflective and modern (very geometric) it is. It was very helpful in the few readings I asked it. I’d recommend the fountain to people who are very cerebral and that like philosophy and analyzing like it has strong mercury vibes.

(I also associate mercury with those colors too! But more silvery chrome than blue though still a little bit of silver blue lol).

anonymous asked:

writing prompt: shiro fainting because he stood up too fast

The briefing had been going on forever.

That was understandable. Necessary, even. This mission had been complex, with more moving parts than Shiro had been comfortable relying on. Somehow, they’d managed to pull it off without too many problems. The Red Lion was going to need some downtime to repair and Hunk was probably going to have a real shiner tomorrow, but it had gone well. For once.

Pidge explained her part as quickly as she could, which wasn’t all that quick. There had been hacking, infiltrating, information gathering, spying - all the stuff she enjoyed doing on missions, but right now she didn’t want to talk about it, for once. She wanted to go face plant on the nearest flat surface. And she wasn’t the only one. They were all visibly flagging, and even Shiro’s attention was wavering.

Finally, Allura nodded to them all. “I think that’s all we need to know for now. Coran and I will get to work on plotting our next course. You’re free to go.”

Lance let out a thankful groan and flopped forward, head on the table. “Good. I think I’ve been seeing double since the firefight. My eyes will never uncross.”

Keep reading