Me Daily

Just wanted to spread a sprinkle of love and say I really enjoy your blog and your story on ao3 is amazing ❤️

A major shocked thank you! I dont even know how you found me with a slightly different blog name lol. The highest of fives to you.

Im so glad you enjoy my fic. The sprinkle of love is totally necessary and will fuel the writing for tonight! Thank you again!

Nice! Got any boys you have your eyes on? :3

For now kiss me on clover hills chihiro, I'm waiting for ichthys, and I'm dying for tennojis new york story and finally rui. Who do you have your eyes on?

BLESS THIS IDEA.

Bit of a rambly rant, but I have so many thoughts!

I hope that white BLM allies don’t stop at reblogging articles, or even at going to protests. This doubly so for people outside of the US - where people might think the situation isn’t as bad. (not that reblogging articles isn’t a good thing, spreadig the message and showing your support is great!)

READ and LEARN about your history. Try and get different sources, and look for sources from the black community or other minorities. Only if WE as white people change our views, behaviours and demands, will there be change. This is NOT for the black community to solve! They are pointing out the problem, AGAIN, and WE need to fix this, because WE as white people have made it so in the first place. WE need to vote and demand change from our governments.

Call people out on their racism - be constructive. But more importantly: CALL YOURSELF OUT. We all have racist thoughts. You have to face this simple fact. I do. You do. We need to work to catch ourselves at it. It’s not because we don’t WANT to be racist, that we AREN’T. 

I think one of the key things is to understand what has lead to this situation. The racism in the US has come about slightly different than that in Europe or other places. So learn about your history.

I have a book on the Black Panther Party on my reading list atm, and I’m also going to read more about the colonial past of my own country (I feel like my history teacher glossed over it, and I really need to educate myself on this). 

I’m sure I’ve seen reading lists already, but if you have reading tips for me and others, please leave a reply!

This is a great fic of Mc and sieg! I love how the Mc is ♡

☺️☺️☺️😊

You were innocently sitting there when the big man came over and talked to you. You didn’t want to be mean but you couldn’t just ignore him, so you kindly smiled back and him and laughed at what he was saying. What you didn’t know was that Sieg was watching from afar. Not watching, glaring. He was glaring at you from afar while he took a sip of his drink. From his view, you sure looked like you were having fun. He knew that you didn’t want to be here today at the party but he made you come anyways. It wasn’t like he didn’t know the big guy, they were acquaintances and met at a couple of meetings but he didn’t like what he was seeing now. What if you left him? You guys were official and it’s been only a couple weeks but he couldn’t think about not having you in his life. He couldn’t take it anymore and slammed down his cup on the table before exiting through the door, his drink spilling on the table. You heard the commotion and looked up from the guy talking to see that Sieg had left in a huff. You cocked your head to the side before you excused yourself and followed Sieg into the hallway. “Sieg! Hey Sieg!” You called after him but he didn’t stop. You stopped mid-way and fell down clutching your ankle.! “Ow.” You said as you continued to clutch your ankle. Sieg stopped and turned around as he heard you cry in pain. He saw that you were on the ground and he felt his heart drop. He ran over to where she was. “Are you okay?” He asked as he tried to see where she was hurt so he could help. ” I told you those heels were too high, why did you wear them?” He asked, his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to figured out what was wrong. You watched with amusement as concerned crossed his face. “Move your hand and let me see.” He said. You smiled and stuck out your tongue at him. “Just kidding.” You said as you stood up. “I’m okay.” You said as you gave a twirl to provide it. He watched you turn with your usual smile and he let out a sigh of relief as he stood up, his poker face on. You could tell that something was bothering him as you watched him. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You asked him but he didn’t give you an answer. “Hey.” You said as you gave him a poke. “Tell me what’s wrong,” “Nothing.” You stared at him pointedly, “Don’t lie to me. Just tell me.” But still he was quiet, looking to the side and not at you. “Where’s that cocky attitude now huh?” You asked him. ” I told you, it’s nothing.” He said.”It was getting too hot in there, I just wanted a change of scenery.” You nod your head, but you knew it was a lie. “What are you doing here?” He asked you, still not looking at you though. “Shouldn’t you be inside with that guy?” A smile curved on your face, finally getting why he was upset. You tip toed on your toes and leaned back and forth, nudging him with your elbow. “I’m not going anywhere. I rather be with you.” You said as you gave him a smile, Upon hearing this, he smirked. Finally he turned to look at you. “Are you sure? He’s on the up and running.” You shrugged your shoulders and nodded your head, ” Yup,” you said as you turned your body to face his. “I’m sure.” He smiled and pulled you closer by the waist. You looked up into his eyes and you could see all the love he had for you, and you were practically melting in his arms. He leaned down and gave you a kiss on the lips, that left you breathless and made your knees weak. He pulled away a little, and said, ” Lets get out of here.” Still trying to catch your breath, you could just nod your head as he pulled you by the arm, and you guys had your own little party in his room for the rest of the evening. 😉😉

(First story, so pls be nice to me🙈🙈 I’m sorry if he seems to be out of character, but when I thought of this, his face popped up through the whole thing… So.. lol probably going to take it down…)

Just like him to mark his territory.

Just shut up and watch

“Here’s my life. My husband and I get up each morning at 7 o’clock and he showers while I make coffee. By the time he’s dressed I’m already sitting at my desk writing. He kisses me goodbye then leaves for the job where he makes good money, draws excellent benefits and gets many perks, such as travel, catered lunches and full reimbursement for the gym where I attend yoga midday. His career has allowed me to work only sporadically, as a consultant, in a field I enjoy. All that disclosure is crass, I know. I’m sorry. Because in this world where women will sit around discussing the various topiary shapes of their bikini waxes, the conversation about money (or privilege) is the one we never have. Why? I think it’s the Marie Antoinette syndrome: Those with privilege and luck don’t want the riffraff knowing the details. After all, if “those people” understood the differences in our lives, they might revolt. Or, God forbid, not see us as somehow more special, talented and/or deserving than them. There’s a special version of this masquerade that we writers put on. Two examples: I attended a packed reading (I’m talking 300+ people) about a year and a half ago. The author was very well-known, a magnificent nonfictionist who has, deservedly, won several big awards. He also happens to be the heir to a mammoth fortune. Mega-millions. In other words he’s a man who has never had to work one job, much less two. He has several children; I know, because they were at the reading with him, all lined up. I heard someone say they were all traveling with him, plus two nannies, on his worldwide tour. None of this takes away from his brilliance. Yet, when an audience member — young, wide-eyed, clearly not clued in — rose to ask him how he’d managed to spend 10 years writing his current masterpiece — What had he done to sustain himself and his family during that time? — he told her in a serious tone that it had been tough but he’d written a number of magazine articles to get by. I heard a titter pass through the half of the audience that knew the truth. But the author, impassive, moved on and left this woman thinking he’d supported his Manhattan life for a decade with a handful of pieces in the Nation and Salon. Example two. A reading in a different city, featuring a 30-ish woman whose debut novel had just appeared on the front page of the New York Times Book Review. I didn’t love the book (a coming-of-age story set among wealthy teenagers) but many people I respect thought it was great, so I defer. The author had herself attended one of the big, East Coast prep schools, while her parents were busy growing their careers on the New York literary scene. These were people — her parents — who traded Christmas cards with William Maxwell and had the Styrons over for dinner. She, the author, was their only beloved child. After prep school, she’d earned two creative writing degrees (Iowa plus an Ivy). Her first book was being heralded by editors and reviewers all over the country, many of whom had watched her grow up. It was a phenomenon even before it hit bookshelves. She was an immediate star. When (again) an audience member, clearly an undergrad, rose to ask this glamorous writer to what she attributed her success, the woman paused, then said that she had worked very, very hard and she’d had some good training, but she thought in looking back it was her decision never to have children that had allowed her to become a true artist. If you have kids, she explained to the group of desperate nubile writers, you have to choose between them and your writing. Keep it pure. Don’t let yourself be distracted by a baby’s cry. I was dumbfounded. I wanted to leap to my feet and shout. “Hello? Alice Munro! Doris Lessing! Joan Didion!” Of course, there are thousands of other extraordinary writers who managed to produce art despite motherhood. But the essential point was that, the quality of her book notwithstanding, this author’s chief advantage had nothing to do with her reproductive decisions. It was about connections. Straight up. She’d had them since birth. In my opinion, we do an enormous “let them eat cake” disservice to our community when we obfuscate the circumstances that help us write, publish and in some way succeed. I can’t claim the wealth of the first author (not even close); nor do I have the connections of the second. I don’t have their fame either. But I do have a huge advantage over the writer who is living paycheck to paycheck, or lonely and isolated, or dealing with a medical condition, or working a full-time job. How can I be so sure? Because I used to be poor, overworked and overwhelmed. And I produced zero books during that time. Throughout my 20s, I was married to an addict who tried valiantly (but failed, over and over) to stay straight. We had three children, one with autism, and lived in poverty for a long, wretched time. In my 30s I divorced the man because it was the only way out of constant crisis. For the next 10 years, I worked two jobs and raised my three kids alone, without child support or the involvement of their dad. I published my first novel at 39, but only after a teaching stint where I met some influential writers and three months living with my parents while I completed the first draft. After turning in that manuscript, I landed a pretty cushy magazine editor’s job. A year later, I met my second husband. For the first time I had a true partner, someone I could rely on who was there in every way for me and our kids. Life got easier. I produced a nonfiction book, a second novel and about 30 essays within a relatively short time. Today, I am essentially “sponsored” by this very loving man who shows up at the end of the day, asks me how the writing went, pours me a glass of wine, then takes me out to eat. He accompanies me when I travel 500 miles to do a 75-minute reading, manages my finances, and never complains that my dark, heady little books have resulted in low advances and rather modest sales. I completed my third novel in eight months flat. I started the book while on a lovely vacation. Then I wrote happily and relatively quickly because I had the time and the funding, as well as help from my husband, my agent and a very talented editor friend. Without all those advantages, I might be on page 52. OK, there’s mine. Now show me yours.”

—

Ann Bauer, ““Sponsored” by my husband: Why it’s a problem that writers never talk about where their money comes from”, http://www.salon.com/2015/01/25/sponsored_by_my_husband_why_its_a_problem_that_writers_never_talk_about_where_their_money_comes_from/ (via angrygirlcomics)

This is so important, especially for people like me, who are always hearing the radio station that plays “but you’re 26 and you are ~*~gifted~*~ and you can write, WHERE IS YOUR NOVEL” on constant loop.

It’s so important because I see younger people who can write going “oh yes, I can write, therefore I will be an English major, and write my book and live on that yes?? then I don’t have to do other jobs yes??” and you’re like “oh, no, honey, at least try to add another string to your bow, please believe that it will not happen quite like that” 

It’s so important not to be overly impressed by Walden because Thoreau’s mother continued to cook him food and wash his laundry while he was doing his self-sufficient wilderness-experiment “sit in a cabin and write” thing.

It’s so important because when you’re impressed by Lord of the Rings, remember that Tolkien had servants, a wife, university scouts and various underlings to do his admin, cook his meals, chase after him, and generally set up his life so that the only thing he had to do was wander around being vague and clever. In fact, the man could barely stand to show up at his own day job.

It’s important when you look at published fiction to remember that it is a non-random sample, and that it’s usually produced by the leisure class, so that most of what you study and consume is essentially wolves in captivity - not wolves in the wild - and does not reflect the experiences of all wolves.

Yeah. Important. Like that.

(via elodieunderglass)

every person can feel freddie’s presence in their souls when they sing MAMAAAAAA UUHHHH, I DONT WANNA DIE, I SOMETIMES I WISH I’VE NEVER BEEN BORN AT ALL with all the air in their lungs i’m not joking

Whoever made this deserves an award.