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Mary Elizabeth Winstead photographed by Riley Stearns

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The way you slam your body into mine reminds me I’m alive, but monsters are always hungry, darling, and they’re only a few steps behind you.

Richard Siken

Snow and Dirty Rain

(via jaimelannister)

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so i love you because i know no other way than this; where i do not exist, nor you, [x]

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love me.

Margery was fond of him before she had the courage to spread her emotions out between them. “I’m quite fond of you,” she used to say it when he wasn’t expecting the words, or after he touches her cheek when they’ve touched lips. He could see the words on her face, could have reached down into her chest and pulled them up through her throat if he wanted. Margery took her time, waited until she felt like she was being smothered.

  Love replaces fondness, and in the dimming light of a fireplace she says it. “Cecil,” she starts, testing his name in her mouth. His long fingers stop trailing down her arm and he looks back to her. Nothing else comes. She doesn’t smile because she hardly ever does and it feels out of place. Her young nerves take over her wrists and she feels them quaking. Cecil doesn’t notice a thing; he keeps watching her and searching for the something she wants to say. He hangs on her silence and she can see the rising of his eyebrows when her lips tremble.

  “Yes?” He fills the moment she takes waiting and makes it home. He’s good at that, and Margery is grateful that he can take her empty parentheses and fill them with something beautiful. She falters here when she never does, and she wills and wills the words to come.

  “I love you,” she overflows, couldn’t stop the deluge with any word her eloquent mind knows. Youth has her looking away from him so he can’t read her, but it’s too late. He’s silent, tilting his head to look at her through the curtain of her red hair, and instead of saying what she thinks he will, he takes her hand. His bright eyes smile, fingers etch more than feeling into her skin, and the tenderness of the soft hum he gives are more reassuring than if he had give her the stars, the moon, the cosmos.

  They fall silent again.

  She doesn’t think she feels his hand move away from hers the rest of the night.

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nurse me.

 “Would it be too soon if I said I wanted to kiss you? How soon is that?”

“Not soon enough.”

  “You make me feel absolutely fucking awful, Rhys.”

  He hadn’t meant it. Not then, not when he thought they could have gotten to something different. He could have taken away the push and pull that keeps them apart for just one moment, but he’s fucked it up, and he’s not surprised. He still wants to, but his lips are poison and he could kill him. There’s a breaking point (where what’s breaking is their spines, their hands, their voices when all Oliver wants to say is something that doesn’t sound like complete bullshit and when he imagines Rhys to want to say the same thing), but they haven’t reached it yet. He hates to think that they’re stuck. He’s telling lies to himself.

  Oliver finds him alone, cigarette in his mouth and smoke curling above his head. He approaches slowly, gauging how upset he may be for what he said just hours earlier. Sitting himself down on the curb next to him, Oliver keeps quiet. He lets the tension fester between them because that’s what he’s good at. A pang hits his chest as Rhys shifts, takes the cigarette out of his mouth, and lets it fall to the ground between his boots.

  ( Oliver must have hurt him when they were lying buzzed on the hotel bed, when his lips were loose and he hadn’t meant to say it. Wrapped up in the covers for protection, the only thing he’s more concerned about other than himself is the bottle of bourbon he’s clinging to his chest.

  “Rhys.”

  “Hm.”

  “I fucking love you.”

  And it doesn’t matter if he actually meant it then, or if he’ll mean it tomorrow morning still. He doesn’t get words back. Oliver takes what he gets, and he finds that he’s digging his fingers into Rhys’ side too hard. )

  “Wait,” Oliver jumps to speak when Rhys puts his hand on the curb, and the look he receives makes his heart fall to the pit of his stomach. He reaches out with eager fingers and tugs on his jacket. His lungs hurt. They strain under him not taking enough breaths, holding it in to keep everything inside, but Oliver moves and kisses him anyway. The gentleness is only matched by his hand on Rhys’ wrist.

  Any more than that and he risks ruining everything.

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here is my hand, my heart, my throat, my wrist.

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Writing advice i've found useful from Chuck Palahniuk

In the words of the man himself, writing advice for all writers (particularly of fiction) that I found useful from Chuck Palahniuk.

“In six seconds, you’ll hate me.
 But in six months, you’ll be a better writer.

From this point forward—at least for the next half year—you may not 
use “thought” verbs. These include: Thinks, Knows, Understands,
Realizes, Believes, Wants, Remembers, Imagines, Desires, and a hundred
 others you love to use.

The list should also include: Loves and Hates.
And it should include: Is and Has, but we’ll get to those later.

Until some time around Christmas, you can’t write: Kenny wondered if Monica didn’t like him going out at night…”

Instead, you’ll have to Un-pack that to something like: “The
 mornings after Kenny had stayed out, beyond the last bus, until he’d
had to bum a ride or pay for a cab and got home to find Monica faking
 sleep, faking because she never slept that quiet, those mornings, she’d
 only put her own cup of coffee in the microwave. Never his.”

Instead of characters knowing anything, you must now present
 the details that allow the reader to know them. Instead of a character 
wanting something, you must now describe the thing so that the reader
 wants it.

Instead of saying: “Adam knew Gwen liked him.” You’ll have 
to say: “Between classes, Gwen had always leaned on his locker when he’d
 go to open it. She’s roll her eyes and shove off with one foot, 
leaving a black-heel mark on the painted metal, but she also left the
 smell of her perfume. The combination lock would still be warm from her
 butt. And the next break, Gwen would be leaned there, again.”

In short, no more short-cuts. Only specific sensory detail: action, smell, taste, sound, and feeling.

Typically,
 writers use these “thought” verbs at the beginning of a paragraph (In 
this form, you can call them “Thesis Statements” and I’ll rail against
 those, later). In a way, they state the intention of the paragraph. And
what follows, illustrates them.

For example:
“Brenda knew she’d never make the deadline. Traffic
 was backed up from the bridge, past the first eight or nine exits. Her
 cell phone battery was dead. At home, the dogs would need to go out, or
 there would be a mess to clean up. Plus, she’d promised to water the 
plants for her neighbor…”

Do you see how the opening “thesis statement” steals the thunder of what follows? Don’t do it.

If nothing else, cut the opening sentence and place it after all the others. Better yet, transplant it and change it to: Brenda would never make the deadline.

Thinking is abstract. Knowing and believing are intangible. Your
 story will always be stronger if you just show the physical actions
 and details of your characters and allow your reader to do the thinking
 and knowing. And loving and hating.

Don’t tell your reader: “Lisa hated Tom.”

Instead, make your case like a lawyer in court, detail by detail.

Present each piece of evidence. For example:
“During roll call,
in the breath after the teacher said Tom’s name, in that moment before
 he could answer, right then, Lisa would whisper-shout ‘Butt Wipe,’ just
 as Tom was saying, ‘Here’.”

One of the most-common mistakes that beginning writers make is leaving their characters alone. Writing, 
you may be alone. Reading, your audience may be alone. But your
 character should spend very, very little time alone. Because a solitary 
character starts thinking or worrying or wondering.

For example: Waiting for the bus, Mark started to worry about how long the trip would take…”

A better break-down might be: “The schedule said the bus would come
by at noon, but Mark’s watch said it was already 11:57. You could see
all the way down the road, as far as the Mall, and not see a bus. No
 doubt, the driver was parked at the turn-around, the far end of the
 line, taking a nap. The driver was kicked back, asleep, and Mark was
 going to be late. Or worse, the driver was drinking, and he’d pull up
drunk and charge Mark seventy-five cents for death in a fiery traffic
 accident…”

A character alone must lapse into fantasy or memory, but even then
 you can’t use “thought” verbs or any of their abstract relatives.

Oh, and you can just forget about using the verbs forget and remember.

No more transitions such as: “Wanda remembered how Nelson used to brush her hair.”

Instead: “Back in their sophomore year, Nelson used to brush her hair with smooth, long strokes of his hand.”

Again, Un-pack. Don’t take short-cuts.

Better yet, get your character with another character, fast. 
Get them together and get the action started. Let their actions and
words show their thoughts. You—stay out of their heads.

And while you’re avoiding “thought” verbs, be very wary about using the bland verbs “is” and “have.”

For example:
“Ann’s eyes are blue.”

“Ann has blue eyes.”

Versus:

“Ann coughed and waved one hand past her face, clearing the cigarette smoke from her eyes, blue eyes, before she smiled…”

Instead of bland “is” and “has” statements, try burying your details
of what a character has or is, in actions or gestures. At its most
basic, this is showing your story instead of telling it.

And forever after, once you’ve learned to Un-pack your characters,
you’ll hate the lazy writer who settles for: “Jim sat beside the
telephone, wondering why Amanda didn’t call.”

Please. For now, hate me all you want, but don’t use thought verbs. After Christmas, go crazy, but I’d bet money you won’t.

(…)

For this month’s homework, pick through your writing and circle every “thought” verb. Then, find some way to eliminate it. Kill it by Un-packing it.

Then, pick through some published fiction and do the same thing. Be ruthless.

“Marty imagined fish, jumping in the moonlight…”

“Nancy recalled the way the wine tasted…”

“Larry knew he was a dead man…”

Find them. After that, find a way to re-write them. Make them stronger.”

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"you're the only one i trust."

"i know."

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myles helder

thirty-two, agent, government

there might have been a time when he was considered one of the brightest agents the government had. and there's no reason why he shouldn't have been, giving the schooling he's had since he was a boy and the training he's received are a testament to that. somewhere between the formation of the iis and london's coronation as it's own country, he's grown suspicious of what he's really doing within the government. the assignments don't make sense anymore. the corruption is getting harder to not notice, and at this point he's convinced things aren't right and he wants to know exactly what. the line between being the model agent for the government and his own suspicions interfering with his work is getting thin, and there's one that will overtake the other. he knows which it'll be.

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while waiting for a ray of light

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Some Writing Prompt Generators

Serendipity (names, places, mapbuilding, etc.) Quick Story Idea Full Story Idea Writing Challenges General Character Quick Character really just all of Seventh Sanctum RPGesque generators Writing Prompts Inspiration Finder Story Arc Fantasy Story Situaton Adventure Chaotic Shiny is just really good in general Random Plot