#and writes things

[justme--emily]

You are such an talented and very creative writer you blow me away every time you post. I was wondering if you could do a rec with penny coughing up blood that sounds weird as hell but🤷‍♀️

Thank you so much!  I love writing so I’m glad you enjoy my stories :)  

A rec?  Like…recommend a fic like that?  Honestly, I can’t think of any.  I don’t know of a lot of ‘female Peter Parker’ fics…I’m sorry!  (Or do you want me to write one?  I’m old and dumb lol) 

[ellieaaen]

Tuesday February 3rd 2015 Stuart made his first appearance in the #threeBroomsticks household. Claire, Caspian and I are sat at the kitchen table, probably listening to Shia LaBeouf for the five thousandth time that day, when suddenly this tiny little creature sprints across the floor. Claire and I are both quite excited to have a new friend, Claire wants to name him Stuart. Caspian is not convinced. “Claire,” she says in her most calm, teacher-y voice, “we can’t have a mouse in the house.” Claire, the actual trained teacher who works with actual five year olds every day, has inexplicably turned into one herself. "Pet mooouse! STUART LITTLE STUART LITTLE!" she shouts. 

Jon definitely does not want a pet mouse roaming freely around the house. We buy traps (humane ones mind, no blood and death thanks). 

Stuart doesn't seem to care much about our clever traps though. Weeks go by, we don’t see him often. There’s no other sign of him around the house either. No half-nibbled food, no mouse droppings. Sometimes we think maybe he’s actually gone and died on his own somewhere. Maybe the neighbour’s cat ate him. But then, there he is again, sprinting across the floor. 

Caspian and Jon still wanted him gone, but after a while I just saw him as an amusing addition to the already quite strange household.

I could tell you a hundred stories about the tiny mouse affectionately named Stuart. About how incredibly small, but also how mindbogglingly fast he was. About the time he was in my room when I got home from work, and he got so confused by the door, that he just stopped mid-sprint to stare at it. I have this theory that he might’ve been an animagus. But I won’t go into that just now. 

Stuart, you had a good run little man. And you ended your speedy journey through life in your favourite spot; behind the kitchen door. 

[winchestersandwordprocessors]

I wrote 4 lengthy fanfics in six days

[squiddlesandsopor]

[brielleroux-archive-blog]

Alls Well [I]

Keerava was waiting for her. No doubt the Argonian was now huffing and tapping her foot, hissing a complaint or two to Talen-Jei, and watching the door with a deadly glare. It was an easy picture for Brielle to paint in her mind. Why, she could almost hear Keerava’s scolds. But she did not open the door and race inside.

Her hand slid down the wood until it finally came to rest at her side, and she turned her body and squinted through the heavy rainfall. A figure in the market captured all of her attention. A familiar figure, and one that made the Breton frown. It is her, she thought with a purse of the lips. By the Eight, why is she still out in this weather? Wasn’t she catching a chill? She had to be soaking wet - the womer was wearing nothing but rags. In the past the clothes might have been lovely, but from where she stood the ripped sleeves, tears here and there, and dirt permanently stained on the fabric said otherwise. And where in Oblivion are her shoes?

That’s it. She had to say something, had to do something, because if she didn’t the image of a wet and shivering Dunmer would haunt her for the rest of the night.

Tugging her hood down to better protect her face and head from the rain, she approached. Out of habit she formed a smile on her face, but when she was an arm’s length away from the womer that smile fell. The clothes were even worse up close. “... Why are you sitting here?”

“Resting,” was the womer’s reply. No other answer was given, and she didn’t even glance at the Breton standing at her side.

“Aren’t you cold? I know that the Rift is warmer than the other holds, but there is a cold wind today and this rain…” She trailed off. Fingers then began to work on the fastenings of her cloak, but a puzzled look from the womer caused her to pause. “You need something to cover up with. I’ll be fine without my cloak, and you’ll--”

Laughter silenced the Breton. “I need no cloak, child. The rain is pleasant.” As if to prove her point the womer leaned back on the bench and released a content sigh. “In fact, this is probably the best way to bathe.” The Breton’s wrinkled nose brought on another fit of laughter. “Look at the canals. The muck in that water doesn’t exactly make you want to dive in and scrub yourself.”

“What about going for a swim in the lake? Or using a rag and a bucket?”

“Fish can bite and the bucket sounds so troublesome.”

“... You are a very strange womer.” She laughed. How refreshing to speak to someone like this. So different from the usual bunch that came into the Bee and Barb. So much more enjoyable than them as well. She held out hand. “My name is Brielle.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Brielle,” the womer said, gripping the Breton’s hand. “My name is Nephyne.”

[lesedacondyvidi]

I just accidentally played through a series of symbolic events.

Like wow.

I sat in my old wheely chair at my desk in the kitchen. The september evening seeped through the ancient walls of my house, chilling me as I procrastinated over Tumblr and a live stream. 

I glanced at my homework, half completed. 

"I need to be working." 

I looked around on the desk, trying to locate the mechanical pencil I was supposed to be using. After that failed, I stood and looked around the kitchen, as if glancing uselessly would help me somehow.

I took a step and a half to the other side of the table in the center of the room. 

I half-heartedly eyeballed the surface, hoping I could find my misplaced writing utensil. It's clutter gave no hint of my missing pencil, and I stood there in the kitchen, eyes mindlessly scanning.

"I'm lost." I said with slight hopelessness. 

I looked up from the table, my expression amused,

"Well that was rather symbolic."

I breathed a chuckle.

Briefly distracted from my problem, I stuck my hand in a pocket. I felt plastic inside. Immediately struck with realization, I pulled the pencil from my pocket as if I wasn't sure.  

My eyes met it half way.

"It was in my pocket the entire time!" I exclaimed to no one.

"Oh my god, that's even more symbolic!" I said with amusement, and a tinge of exasperation.

  ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

I know that it's not incredibly clear what the pencil is symbolic of, it requires a little deductive reasoning, or background knowledge not many would have. 

So case you were curious, it was self expression. Or creativity.

Or identity.

Books belong to their readers, you decide.

[danytargaryenz]

I find it intriguing that we spend our entire childhoods growing up being encouraged to dream big and set amazing goals for ourselves. We're brought up to believe we can be pop stars, astronauts, or even the President if that's what we want. Never is a child told to get a college degree because that's what society expects of you, or to settle for the first job that comes along just to pay the rent.

I hate living in a world where we're thrust from one little box to another unless we're incredibly poor or incredibly rich. I'm making my own choices, but sometimes I feel like I'm forced into all of them. I don't like that society is built around people going through university to get a degree they more than likely bullshitted their way toward, and coming out of school only to probably end up with another run of the mill 9 to 5 job.

I wish people never outgrew the expectations and sense of wonder they had when they were five. I think the world would be a much happier place if we had the chance to live out our dreams instead of settling out of necessity. 

I don't want to enter my twenties only to enter this societal machine as just another identical gear that keeps turning until better technology comes along. I don't want to live my life working some average pay job just because I like words more than I like math and science. I don't want to live so monotonously because that's what society forces us to do.

I wanna be happy, but sometimes that seems much more difficult than it did when I was five.