I Love That Sirius Black Escapes Azkaban And His First 2 Instincts Are:

Imagine being Vanya, no memory of anything at all and stuck in 1963, seduces a farmers wife, gets chased by 3 swedish dudes shooting at her, discovers she has powers and uses them on said swedish dudes, hides in the corn field all night alone, then suddenly some little feral school boy comes out of nowhere and is like ;3 hi vanya, i’m ur brother my name is literally just a number missed u xx

why you should keep writing your story

because it’s a puzzle no one else will ever arrange the same way as you.

because there are ideas that simply won’t come to you until you write down the wrong words.

because all the bad scenes are the bones of the wonderful scenes.

because someone will love it: someone will read it once, and twice, and thrice; someone will ramble to you about the complexity of it; someone will doodle your characters out of love; someone will find it in exactly what they were looking for with or without knowing it.

because they have things to say, your characters. they’ve told you all those secrets and they have more to tell you, if you will listen.

because you love it even when you don’t; even when it drives you mad or when it accidentally turns into apathy; even when you think you’re doing it all wrong; you love it, and it loves you back.

because you can get a treasure even from things that go wrong; because if a story crumbles down you can build a shinier one on the same spot; because you won’t know where it will take you until it takes you there.

TW Don’t kill yourself today

Don’t kill yourself today

Because your Netflix trial still has a week left

Don’t kill yourself today

Because no one else will finish off the chicken in the fridge

Don’t kill yourself today

Because I know for a fact that Starbucks is releasing a new Frappuccino sometime next month

Yes, your mother will miss you

Yes your bully will make a sappy Facebook post about how what a a wonderful person you were

And yes

Suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem

You know that

You’ve known that

Everyone and anyone has been shoving that down your throat since they first learned what the word suicide meant

So don’t kill yourself

Until you finish your shampoo and conditioner at the same time

Don’t kill yourself

Until Doctor Who is finally cancelled

Don’t kill yourself

Until you tell someone your best pasta recipe 

Don’t kill yourself 

Because I will keep coming up with reasons for you not to

And I need you

To hear all of them

Don’t kill yourself

I love you

You’re important

It’s a bad day

Not a bad life

There is more to this

The world will keep spinning on its axis without you

But

Think of all the sunrises you’d miss

I know this sounds pointless

But when you’re sitting in front of everything deadly you own

Revising your goodbyes

There will be too much darkness 

To see anything else

But this is not about seeing anything else

This is about turning off the lights

This is about finding the bed instead of the noose

This is about giving yourself one more day

Even if it takes ten thousand of those

One more morning’s

Until

“I can’t wait for tomorrow”

This is about staying alive

Because there’s gonna be a new Marvel movie

No one should miss that

This is about staying alive

Because the future is coming 

And it’s ready for you

I don’ t need you to see it

I just need you to believe you can make it 

Until then

- Hannah Dains

i knew i was going to die when i saw you for the first time in twenty-seven years. 

your voice, first—oh, that voice—and then i turned and saw you, across the room, across the great divide—and i swallowed hard because i knew. i was going to die for you because i would always die for you. remember? all those times i ran for you, jumped off the quarry for you, drove your truck fast down the highway because you liked when i got reckless—all that stupid shit i did for you, no question (a little pushback, maybe). i would die for you, simple. and i knew when i looked to you and you looked back to me that i was going to.

but i didn’t want to. i fought it every step of the way. i could see—if i just made it through the dinner, if i just made it through the pharmacy, if i just made it through the ritual, if i just made it through the sewers—there was a life with you, waiting patiently.

i wanted to make it.

we have lived a life of should-haves. all of us—and it goes back further than that summer: we should have turned left on jackson instead of right when we were just kids and maybe we never would have found ourselves in it’s path. and i should have told you, so many times. i had every chance. i should have followed you, gone wherever you wanted, driven west in that car i saved up for and forgotten all about new york, forgotten all about anything that wasn’t you. but we never really got it right.

when the claw went through my chest, it didn’t hurt. when i said your name and my mouth filled with blood, it didn’t hurt. when you laid me against the rock and pressed your hand to my stomach, it didn’t hurt. 

but it hurt when i laughed and it hurt when you smiled that split-second smile. (that’s when i knew i would not last much longer). it hurt when your smile fell. it hurt when you walked away from me. it hurt knowing i could not get up and follow you. and it hurt knowing that when you came back to me, you would have to find me dead and i could not hold you—i would never be able to make the pain go away anymore and i would be the cause of it.

i knew i was going to die for you a long time ago. i had just forgotten for a while. i didn’t know it would be like this—i thought maybe you’d hold me a little longer, maybe i’d tell you then.

i don’t know what i said while i died. i wanted to say, i wish you wouldn’t go. i wanted to tell you i was sorry i would not keep my promise to hold on. i hope you know i wanted to. i remember the blurry and fragmented image of you, walking away after slipping your pinky from mine. most of all, i wanted to tell you that tomorrow, we should get up early and go back home to our place, how about it my love?

but the last thing i remember is you, behind me on the cliff at the quarry on a summer day, reaching out to take my hand before we jumped, your voice shouting my name. and then—

would it be a nice day tomorrow? would the sun be shining on you, the way i always liked? 

i wonder. 

I’ve been a fool! 

How often is Stan sad, for whatever reason, and he’s a sulker. Always looking worriedly into the distance, sighing heavily, hiding his head on his knees… and Richie sidles up next to him and like, pokes him and is like “Staaaaaan…”

And Stan mumbles “Stop it Richie,” and Richie spends the next indeterminate period of time making bad jokes and doing lame impressions and Stan’s like “You’re not funny Richie,” but Richie is like “Then why are you smiling?”

And Stan’s like “I’m not smiling!” Only because of that he has to start fighting back a smile. And pretty soon Richie cracks his worst joke yet and Stan full on grins and Richie’s like “Holy shit we’re witnessing a miracle!” and he does another terrible impression and Stan pushes Richie away like “I mean it Richie,” only it’s too late.

Because Stan is full on giggling now, and then Richie goes in for the kill: Stan is ticklish. Only Richie has access to this arcane and powerful knowledge. Stan basically made Richie swear not to tell anyone else, and as collateral he has a polaroid of Richie dressed up as Sailor Moon.

It’s too effective, and soon Stan is crying laughing and he forgot what he was even moping about. And Richie sing songs his refrain of “Smile for me Stanley!”

Because Richie wants everyone around him to be happy. If Richie can’t be happy, he tries his hardest to make everyone else happy. Poor Richie. Good thing Stan is a perceptive bitch! Because when Richie is down he always brings him little gifts. Home baked cookies, the latest comic book Richie was eyeing at the store after he blew his allowance on ice cream, maybe a pressed wildflower?? 

I want to write but I never know how to start something. Any tip?

As silly as it sounds Darling, I suggest you just start writing. You don’t have to have a concrete plan, or even a hint of a plan, just start writing and let the story take you for a ride. You don’t even have to start at the beginning.

As an example, even if you have no idea what to write, just come up with a key word or the beginning of a sentence.

“grandmother” can turn into “You’ve always looked up to your grandmother”

From there you just keep writing, ask yourself why the character looks up to their grandmother, what reasons could there be, both mundane and fanciful. Just like that you keep on building, and eventually you have something to run with.

It sounds silly enough, but I’ve found that no matter how hard I’m struggling to come up with something, if I just start writing, something’s going to happen eventually.

Hope that helps you a little Darling. I have more advice under the advice tag, some of which is more in depth than this, if you decide you want more.

look…………….. write as much shitty fic as you want. nobody can stop you. you’re learning constantly and it’s better to write hackneyed implausible ridiculousness than it is to not write at all out of fear of fucking up. you’re good

Yellowjackets Girl Loser Standoff

Can't add polls to reblogs, but @mercedesrollinballer was talking of one to settle this matter. (@mistysnat started it all)

Yellowjackets! Alive, but failing at every instance. Who's doing it the worst? Your pick! Arguments for each are under the Read, but if you are sure of your losing dog, then vote here!

PROPAGANDA UNDER THE CUT

Taissa Turner

Teen Eats dirt and is not aware of her shadow-self to an embarassing degree. Sets up an expedition to get to civilization with only a bit of rations and a compass, and nearly gets her gf killed (they don't find help btw). Her rushed funeral for clown Jackie indirectly causes the cannibalism. "You ate her face, Tai" and she didn't even remember it.

Adult Hires a vague hitman to spy on her surviving teammates because what are social skills? Has a Gorgeous wife and stable home and then chooses politics. Leaves her wife in a coma and her son with his gran to hitchhike to her ex because yea her evil double said so and that is definitely legit. Claims to be a skeptic about rituals until she is in the clear and can participate on the safe side lol. Marries a rock?? Is not getting that re-election.

Shauna Shipman

Teen Thinks screwing her bestie's beard is what will solve things. Related: is pregnant while stuck in the woods. Related: did not raise the baby to hunt down Jeff like she said she would. Verbal communication? We bottle up our emotions and then write them down on paper for everyone to read. Did a silly voice while playing around as the vessel for hunter guy in the seance. EVERY SECOND OF HER IN THE SHED WITH POPSICLE JACKIE. Throws a fit over not being crowned cannibal queen.

Adult Totally living her dream life. Thinks a posh british accent is sexy in her furniture store roleplay. Got in a fender bender with some guy, cheated with him, then murdered him and hid his body. Still hallucinates her bestie hanging around. Can only seem to find some joy in her life through Violence (maybe skip the sex-therapist and go looking for one that deals with anger issues). Thought that she Had to murder a baby goat when nobody said a word about that. Got hunted lol.

Misty Quigley

Teen Unhinged from the start. No social skills. Has the hots for her gay coach. Destroys the flight recorder because "uwu then people will need me" and not think about the consequences. People ditch her for the most part after first-aid isn't needed anymore (happy now, Misty?). Throws psychedelics in the stew (banned from kitchen). Snitches on Jackie not taking part in the saying thanks, which sparks the fight with Shauna, which gets Jackie dead, despite Jackie being one of the few (maybe only?) people to be nice to her. Speaking of, gets a new bestie and has her falling off the shit cliff. Cannot read the room during a baby shower. Theater kid. Has no cast-appointed middle name, but the fic-appointed one is "fucking" Adult Works in elderly care so she can munchausen someone in case she need a mood boost. Forces herself in Natalie's life. Is on true-crime reddit. Her only friend is a parrot. Has a murder basement that she doesn't actually use for murder. Reads trashy romance novels. Overshares on a first date. Hangs out with a dude and lets him reduce her talents to a shrivel. Infiltrates a cult for shits and giggles. "Misty, you actually killed somebody" KILLS HER FRIEND. SHE ACCIDENTALLY KILLS HER FRIEND

I want to love myself more this new year. I want to feel daisies growing in my bones. I want to clean the sadness inside the ocean in my head, and I want to breathe without hesitating. I want to think about the future more instead of suffocating in the past. I want to think about good things, not the bad things that can happen. I tend to drown myself in a million scenarios that could rip my skin apart, but I want to be more confident and think that I’m deserving of some never-ending glory. I want to love myself more this new year because I’m the only person who can truly make me the happiest, I just need to realize it.

- Alexa Evangelista, the book I’ll never finish writing

There was an order that relationships were supposed to go in—a pacing—a calculated number of breaths before certain conversations could happen. Eddie knew this. But he also knew that he and Richie’s relationship didn’t fit the same mold, and so he really shouldn’t have been surprised when Richie brought up marriage. He shouldn’t have been, but he was.

“Yeah, Eddie. I want to marry you.” Richie leaned into Eddie’s space on the couch, nearly on top of him, and pushed his hair back with delicate fingers. “I want to spend an absurd amount of money on a ring you won’t even wear half the time because you’re worried about your blood circulation and I want to take you somewhere nostalgic and propose. I want to have a ceremony with suits and vows and cake and a ridiculous speech from Bill that’ll make us both cry.”

“Oh is that all?” Eddie laughed nervously, something pleasant and curious twisting in his gut. Richie shook his head.

“I want to buy a house with you. I want to get a bed that we spend the whole day fighting over trying to put together. I want to leave little... little sticky notes on our fridge reminding you of things I know you won’t forget anyway. I want to have kids with you—“

“Kids?!” Eddie squeaked, pulling back from Richie’s gentle touches. “You want kids?”

Richie frowned at that, and there was a hint of alarm on his face, though Eddie wasn’t sure if it was at his own words or Eddie’s reaction to them. He sat up a bit on the couch, thoughtful.

“I mean,” he started, unsure. “I don’t know, I never really got to think about it before. But I think maybe, I might.” He looked up at Eddie questioningly. “Would—I mean. Do you want kids?”

“I...” Eddie trailed off, his answer a wordless half-thought. He tried to picture it, but then not too hard.

Because the truth was that Richie Tozier made Eddie feel like he could do things that, in any other place, he wouldn’t dream of doing. And the idea of raising kids with someone who made him feel like that sounded pretty fucking decent.

“Yeah,” he said finally on an exhale. “Yeah, I want that. With you.”

There was a breath—just one—and then Richie was leaning into him again, cupping the back of his neck and kissing him. Eddie re-situated himself on the couch, laying back against the arm rest to accommodate Richie’s weight over him, and kissed him back.

“I love you,” he murmured against his lips between kisses. He wondered absently if he’d ever actually said that to Richie before. But then he figured it didn’t really matter.