Nox: When I First Met You, I Thought You Were Weird And Annoying. Chase: And? Nox: And You Are.

writing isn’t just writing. writing is researching topics for hours because you’re trying to write a character who’s smarter than you. writing is reading books in the genre you write as much as possible. writing is daydreaming of plot lines in your free time so that when you sit down to write you actually know what you want to say. writing is journals of scribbles of ideas you don’t want to forget. writing is deleting scenes that you love but don’t fit the story. writing is so much more than just a word count.

how do people make a blog here? or is this my blog?

my blog’s just messed up not. there’s no order, no pattern. nothing. just chaos. not even organised chaos

Draco: Alright, and what do we do if we see a trouble?

Everyone: We drag Harry in the opposite direction.

Draco: Good.

Harry: Hey!

This relates to me on a spiritual level (though I can’t write at all)

Writing lets your imagination run free and you’re mind feel free

what people think writing is: worldbuilding, churning out entire chapters in one sitting, metaphors, character building, finishing novels, flawless plotlines

what writing actually is: random 1 am thoughts, zoning out into fictional worlds, associating songs with characters, writer’s block for six weeks at a time, coming up with plot twists at the most inconvenient times

I'm really curious about Buddy's reaction to Alastor's Dakimakura as well as a bunch of posters

perhaps the reaction will be like this:

and then like this:

It's past midnight I need sleep

Ten stared up at his brother who was gliding through the clouds with practised ease, “Get down here, Gwen! Not everyone has wings like you!”

When Gwen’s tinkling laughter rang out from above, Ten felt a stab of jealousy and suddenly his patched shirt was too small for him. He could feel the shrivelled up remains of his own wings brush the coarse fabric of the hand-me-down shirt and wanted to cut the useless limbs off. He was never going to fly, not with his wings dead and never having neared maturity to even support one fraction of his weight.

Gwen slowly returned to the ground, but not before flying through several heavy looking clouds and ending slightly damp. He shook the water droplets out of his sandy hair and grinned at Ten. Ten mirrored the grin, but not feeling any warmth from the gesture.

“Come on, we’d better head back before a storm breaks out.” Gwen picked up his bag from the ground, flexing his back muscles as he did so, and started making his way over to the little cabin they shared together.

Ten followed, eyes going over his twin brother’s good features. Sand coloured hair with eyes as blue as the ocean that slwol chipped away at the cliffs below them. Gwen was tall and well tones, muscles all in the right places and proportions. Gwen would make a right living out in the city, Ten thought.

(I can edit posts?!)

I don’t ship Drarry but with that being said, I will accept no other Drarry prompt than them stubbornly competing to outdo the other for the sheer drama.

It starts off when they’re still enemies in the Goblet of Fire. Draco makes a taunt about who Harry’s going to ask to the Yule Ball and how they must be from the worst of the worst lot and Harry rolls his eyes and says, “Well, fitting you say that, Malfoy, because I was going to ask you.” A perfect zing, Harry. 10/10.

But now the ball’s in Draco’s court and obviously he’s not going to pass up on the chance to humiliate the scarhead so he takes the most logical route of humiliation and calls out his bluff: “Fine, Potter, I reckon we’re going.”

But do you think Harry James Potter is just going to back down? That stubborn teenager is going to stare Draco down and say, “Reckon we are.”

Ron’s confused and Hermione’s confused and literally the entire castle is confused but Harry’s satisfied because he called out a bluffer’s counterbluff with a bluff of his own. And they just keep it up.

“I suppose you don’t even know how to dance, Potter?”

The furious teenager who spent years having to watch soapbox dramas with Mrs. Figg just glares at him in his stupid dress robes. “I know some things.”

“Prove it.”

“Fine.”

It’s like that for days until Draco makes the ultimate power move by inviting Harry to the Malfoy’s Annual New Years Eve Ball, taking out a Daily Prophet ad no less, because oh, oh, he’s got Potter now. He’ll never accept and he’ll be humiliated in front of the entire wizarding world. And do you think Harry’s just going to go down without a fight? God, no, he’s going to win whatever the hell this is because he’s Harry Potter, Draco better be worried, oh boy.

They’re still going at it six months later.

“Err—Malfoy?” Crabbe says. “Potter just sent you a dozen roses?”

“That son of a bitch! Send a box of chocolates. That’ll show him.”

“Um, Draco—?”

“I WILL NOT BE OUTDONE, PARKINSON!”

Writing hurt/comfort: this is the most cringeworthy thing to ever be put into words and I’ll need at least a 3 hour break to ponder how much my family, friends and future employers will make fun of me when they inevitably find it

Reading hurt/comfort: hee hee tough man cry hee hee hoo hee hoo