so the last one I posted was really sad, and in my RP R just got a kitten named Squeaks
so this happened
also for Sam because Wisdom Teeth suck
Squeaks was a happy, well behaved, menace.
this fic is 50 shades of sideways awful
but I’m not doing too well in my mind-place either, and I write to feel better.
R in a bad mindplace, that should be enough
if not: Alcoholism, Verbal Abuse, Drug Abuse, Self-harm and Suicidal thoughts are all discussed below the cut
Grantaire was full of self – destructive tendencies and volatile emotions. It was from years of emotional abuse at his father’s hand, while his mother just watched silently. There was nothing he could do; he was a child when he first was taught he was useless, and a teen when he was taught he was a fuck-up. Being an adult didn’t do much to chance the lessons, to bandage the scars and fix the cracks.
so today is the ERE shipping festival yes?
well today is also the day I happen to be moving out of the dorms
so since I have a second, I’ll link to my past ERE and I’ll try to get some new things out before midnight -crosses fingers-
so tomorrow for the ere shipping festival I want to write THINGS
so any requests for that? Because I’m so excited for this i don’t think you understand
no higher compliment can ever be bestowed upon me. Bless you. Nonny you made my day!
I seriously. I just. I love R so damn much. I see so much of him in myself and so much of me in him and I try really hard to do him justice. And he just comes so easily to me. and. Really, there is no higher compliment that you could give me than saying you like my R. I just
I want to hug you
and give you cookies. Or something else. and face smooches. Or just cookies or something. something. <333
So I have two requests here and 4 requests on my main blog, and I have them. I see them.
This week, however, is finals. Which means the past month has been final prep. The things I’ve posted I’ve had time and inspiration to write them, but I will get those prompts to you (and if your promp has mont it will take a little longer because hoo shit do I write a bad mont. And not as in bad boy but as in THE WRITING OF HIM JUST SUCKS because I suck so)
thank you, again, for following me through all of this. You’re all the best <3
because their friendship is legendary
also I’m really fucking proud of this one sooooo
connected to this one, if you’ve read it you’ll get how
The coffee shop on main was a haven for the artistic and strange. Obscure or local paintings hung on the walls, crooked in a way that was in itself artistic, each piece of furniture obviously coming from a different second-hand store or thrift shop and the front door was painted bright orange. Anyone who cared what they looked like avoided it like the plague, making it Grantaire’s favorite place to haunt when he didn’t want to go home.
I want Grantaire as a Dancer to be a thing
help me make it a thing
also: I know very little about the blocking of dancing, i don’t even know if they call it blocking, but that’s about the only place i fail in my knowledge of dancing
This was just not acceptable.
I blame Dee completely and totally because she’s a dirty enabler. And also part of this was blatantly ripped off something she wrote me I hope she doesn’t mind SOBBU
I love them
and I’ll write something more… in depth about how this scene went down when I can find the power to do so
smut is so hard whine also Anxiety/Panic discussed
The ironic thing was he wasn’t perfect.
His leg had twitched 17 times in the past 5 minutes, his fist had clenched 32 times in a fashion that if he had been Bahorel he would have caused a fist fight, and his grip on her wrist had only tightened since he had taken hold of it. She was hyper aware of his every motion, had been since Enjolras had taken hold of her – she had been picking at the sleeve of her dress and apparently it was driving him crazy.
It wasn’t the only thing, obviously, but it was something he could stop.
This dinner wasn’t supposed to be political, but things can only stay ‘formal’ for so long when the host is the President and everyone wants to impress upon him their agenda. Enjolras took it all with a pleasant smile; Eponine knew that the only people in the room who understood the rage coursing through him were those on either side of him – herself and Combeferre, who was so stoic that people gave up a while ago trying to speak politics with him – and it was almost comical.
But it was typical, far too typical.
Eponine shifted, crossing her legs and sighing rather loudly. The man talking stopped, a look resembling shock on his face at her reaction. She leaned on the arm of her chair toward Enjolras, raising an eyebrow at the man in question.
“Sir, your opinions on all of this is so… fascinating I assure you, but absolutely primitive.” Eponine cooed. “To speak of women’s right in such a base way in front of a man who is very resolute about such things, whose Secretary of State is a Woman.” She shifted again, switching the way her legs were crossed. “And, possibly the worse of your sins, saying all these dastardly things in front of his wife. It’s almost comical how little tact you show.”
The room had grown quiet during this time, all except the chuckle she heard from the doorway. Enjolras’ hand had left her wrist and slipped into hers, and Combeferre was smirking. She leveled the man with a stare – who had grown quite pale - a small smirk playing at her lips.
“Now, my good sir, I do believe it’s time for you to leave my house.”
-leaves this here and rolls away to make hats-