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piraticalheir‌:

“So - “ Palms press against the flat of the counter as he hoists himself up, black boots resting atop one of the chairs as a careless hand waves away the yells of the proprietor - crazy old bat, anyhow. Head cocks to the side as he takes the other one in, blue eyes traveling from feet upwards until they rest on the other man’s face - lips curving into a slow grin. 

Fingertips make the careful dance to the plate beside him, stealing the piece of strawberry pie with nary a thought to whom it might belong - a pirate is a pirate, even if the attempts at civilization argue otherwise. Words are a dry lilt, tone laced with sarcasm and a faux respect that the boy doesn’t quite feel. “ - What do I call ya? Da?”

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The whole situation had been, quite literally, a shit show, one that left the former knight with a splitting headache and a decided lack of patience for the upstart’s attitude problem. Killian’s son or no, the degree of disrespect and disdain being shown to him and the other residents of Storybrooke warranted a confrontation, one that Guy was fairly certain would be best accomplished in a less public environment for the good of all involved.

“Do I look like your father?” His upper lip tugged up in a faint sneer, one brow arching as the cool, assessing gaze was returned to the boy before him. The demeanor was obviously a defense mechanism, antagonism as a shield against the hurts this world had thrown at him...

...but it still wasn’t going to fly.

“Any son of mine would have been raised with manners,” Guy drawled, sneer becoming a knowing smirk as he shook his head in dismissal., one hand flickering out to snatch the plate of pie away from the boy. “That rules you out.”

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Sir Guy of Gisborne (Robin Hood BBC, 1.11)

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[ Spine Kisses, though. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ Especially those lingering, open-mouthed kisses pressed at the very base, and send the deepest shudders of the utmost pleasure rolling lazily all the way up; lovingly caressing every nerve ending and vertebrae in a manner that leaves one absolutely helpless to do anything but moan their appreciation, l o u d l y. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ ]

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Writing is not always writing.

Writing is being on the train and mentally seeing your OCs stumble into other people, or flinching away from the germ-ridden handrails, or sleeping on each others’ shoulders.

Writing is hearing a song on the radio and watching one of your scenes play out to the lyrics.

Writing is laying on your floor or sitting by your computer and spending hours collaging newspaper clippings or pictures or people or plants together and making something that is completely, uniquely, your story.

Writing is drawing your characters in your notebooks, and making tea only your one, picky character would drink, and writing an open letter to all your characters just to remind them you love them.

Writing is moodboards, and playlists, and crafts, and asks, and prompts, and pictures, and memories, and you.

So never think that just because you’re not putting words on a page, you’re not a real writer. Writing is something that follows you everywhere, beyond the word document, and beyond the screen.

Because writing isn’t something you do. It’s something you are.

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