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@lovebuglester
Hey. I've been reading your fics and quite honestly I think you should write a book. It doesn't really matter what it is about, but you're crazy talented and I think you could probably go somewhere with it :)
omg that’s so nice, thank you so much!!!!
Hey. I just wanted to tell you that I loved your 'Scripts and Stars' story. It was written really well and I would love to read more by you :)
AW THANKS!
In the peace of an hour in which I know nobody will reach me, I finally take a breath and open the stiff window lock. Cold shocks of air spill into the uncomfortable warmth of my leisurely apathy and crinkled sheets. Tendrils of air swing open and shut my bedroom door at a gentle rhythm. Everything peaceful and calm about these forgotten hours wash over me again and again with every heartbeat of the demanding wind. Every freezing gust and patch of exposed skin are soft against the harsh cushion of a suffocating night in bed. So I feel the need to write and the realisation of that need washes over me like a memory; silver and haunting in the echo of an old love. Keys tap to the rhythm of late footsteps outside, rushing home with one gaze in five cast carefully over one shoulder then another. Each sentence drowns me and pulls me with unbreakable force to particular times that have passed since my last meeting with the forgotten hours. I can’t help but think of the loud noise in my head, the smooth symphony of something so real in the mind filled up with fanciful embellishments and overactive ‘what-ifs’. It is the softness of something that feels so real that there should be no question about it. No two ways to interpret the hands in my hair and the mouth on mine. It is a sweet welcome to one so entrenched in their own mind, I wonder whether he bears me any thought in his busy mind. I am foolish to my friends who assure me it is ordinary and I know if anything is as it should be then he would lose interest and find it wholly uncomfortable that I should ever record the events at all. But I still hold hope in my hands so small I dane not expose it to the rough winds of casual conversation. Doubt on the tip of my tongue and hope in the shadows of the words that are hung there. It was real in a way that nothing else is real and since then I have craved that reality more than anything. Soft lips pressed hard in good feeling and pleasure, teeth graze lips and hands move us helplessly closer. The sentiment of being right or good was lost and suddenly this was all I’d ever known. The closeness of the hands in my hair and my arms slung around his neck, barely conscious of anything or anyone but the little space between us, though only to wish it gone.
n.h.m, the forgotten hours
Sunrise over Towers of Paine
Patagonia, Chile
Frances Kwok
How do you return to something that was once your reason to wake up in the morning? How do you grow out of something over to fall further than you’ve ever fallen before and find yourself back where you started, only this time with an insatiable desire to live and achieve? With skinned knees you get up every day and you start to feel again. This time it isn’t just despair. Your hands hover on the keyboard and your heart beats in your throat for the first time in so long you want to cry. There is nothing quite like despair that finally lifts, the white tendrils around your brain loosen slightly, almost instantly you start to forget quite how paralysing it was. So you creep forward. Two steps forward, one back. You feel like you’re born again for fleeting moments and others feel like the last few months were some terrible dream. More than ever you start to realise just how directly actions impact your life and just how capable humans are to conquer the world that we’ve built ourselves. Nothing hits you more than the love for anything and everything that you poured yourself into when nothing else would stick in your broken brain. Family, friends, books, films, medicine, therapy. You start to realise, when the storm begins to pass, that the waves will always come and go.
recovery is hard but very very possible
So this isn't really a question but, I just wanted to say I love your fanfics, especially SAS. (The Epilogue had me in tears, ngl) I'm hoping to write as well as you in the future :D
omg thank you that’s so sweet!
THIS PANEL IS SO WILD
THE PERSON WHO YELLED ‘IS THIS A THING’ IS LITERALLY ME
#Danzell
THAT WOMAN IS THE DEATH OF ME
‘How is that possible ? I"m so big!“ ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
The masterpost links for "scripts and stars" works okay, but the links on the chapters don't work. Thought you should know.
ok well i can’t fix them right now but thanks for telling me
Pretty sure the link for chapter two Scripts and Stars is not working.
http://lovebuglester.tumblr.com/scriptsandstars works for me....
The next chapter for scripts and stars is not working.
what do you mean?? you’ll have to be more specific about which chapter
that ending and that reference to youtubers no oh my god i think i died that was so good omg i wish i could write like you can you're so amazing jeez
BLESS YOU this is so nice thank you thank you
yes ok im trash for your stories ngl nearly finished with scripts and stars and then im on to the next one guess whos not sleeping tonight
thank you so so much omg
you should seriously consider a career in writing like fuck im reading scripts and stars just on a whim and im dying ive read like half in the last hour and its midnight and if you can hook someone like me then you've got talent holy shit
omg bless you thank you so much honestly
could you recomend some bands/ song that you love?
i have the most eclectic taste ever but mostly listen to musicals (hairspray, wicked, etc) and instrumental/calming stuff sorry if that’s not massively helpful
Each moment, madness seems more plausible and much less tangible. I realise that I am so afraid of time and clarity escaping me. My thoughts are hurricanes and brushstrokes, never made by the clock and only in the sweetness of ignorance for the ticking and the lists going on and on for an arbitrary goal and a life one hundred others could live. The wim and moment calls like rocks in high tide, begging to my ruin and promising only a precarious visage of contentment. Looking out I see that time does pass and other people do jump. Because, as I forget, this is not my private choice but a very public affair. It is typed out in books that curious hands will wander to find in time, in their time. Whilst I watch mine drip sweetly down, melting into obscurity and the ruin of my clarity. Every other person likes to think they can be great and that they could change the world, I’d like that to be true. But- time ticks and you fade. Those two brilliantly inescapable things will push me off that cliff, because God what could be worse than this.
n.h.m (via raconteur-nm)
Each moment, madness seems more plausible and much less tangible. I realise that I am so afraid of time and clarity escaping me. My thoughts are hurricanes and brushstrokes, never made by the clock and only in the sweetness of ignorance for the ticking and the lists going on and on for an arbitrary goal and a life one hundred others could live. The wim and moment calls like rocks in high tide, begging to my ruin and promising only a precarious visage of contentment. Looking out I see that time does pass and other people do jump. Because, as I forget, this is not my private choice but a very public affair. It is typed out in books that curious hands will wander to find in time, in their time. Whilst I watch mine drip sweetly down, melting into obscurity and the ruin of my clarity. Every other person likes to think they can be great and that they could change the world, I’d like that to be true. But- time ticks and you fade. Those two brilliantly inescapable things will push me off that cliff, because God what could be worse than this.
n.h.m
You're so pretty. Your eyeliner is amazing. You have such nice lips. You're hair goals. You are goals tbh
omg this is so nice thank you so much
