"when writing a novel, a writer should create living people; people not characters. a character is a caricature."
-- ernest hemingway

 

rowan. twenty. this blog is an ode to all the other people living in my head.

home ask people ships my family writing inspiration about
black-star vision.

WELL HIYA! i reached my first hundred a few weeks ago but i’m lazy so this post is happening now!!! more than anything, i wanted to essentially write a love letter to everyone i follow because i appreciate you guys so much and i never expected to have so many people know about my dumb character blog BUT AYYYYYY. you guys are the reason why i write and the reason why i work so hard on rps or plots or characters. i don’t reblog resources on this blog or do anything even remotely useful so the fact that you all follow me is honestly so flattering???

my favourite assholes.

okay not all of you are assholes but the vast majority are. you guys are the best friends i have and i would be utterly lost without you. thanks for always picking me up when i’m down.

curious-wolves ♡ forgottenwars  imabaldwin  ornamentalegos  skinnysoull ♡ victimlessvictors  zefuckinglo

idiot brigade.

omfg i said this was a love letter and then i just keep saying rood things BUT I LOVE ALL OF YOU, MOST OF YOU ARE PRACTICALLY MY CHILDREN (BC IM OLD)

achilleswrites ayleeeats  britt-writes ♡ cozy-posey  dirtydangerdanrps  freesiateas g-uillermodeltoro  hamrps inventingourlives  julierps ♡ linzrpsshit monstresvalse  motjustes  myriamrps ofstronghearts  thepaperwork withoutavillain

lovable angels.

i’ve known all of you for over a year and even if we don’t talk everyday i’m never gonna give you up.

archie-rps flowerqueenofrp gabi-rps  khaleesiroleplays randa1x1  slytherclaw-writes  wizardrps  xanxie

targets acquired.

um it’s likely that i stalk you jk but we talk like never or maybe literally never but i admire you from afar. the majority of you are friends of cass or chels im sorry that they led me to you bc I GUESS I’M NEVER LEAVING U NOW.

charwritesdeaspei imliterallyanass  jemmarps  labyriinths lyonwrites nuclearromanov  pickleswrites quietjodierps  sammierps willahollandrps


 hauntees  asked:
 ✴ and REARDEDIAH PLS

He’s not really sure how he’s supposed to feel. “Strange” doesn’t quite seem to properly describe what he’s seeing. Like, who cares if you happen to catch your best mate making out with some guy at a party? Was he…jealous? Because he wasn’t also making out with a random guy?? That might be a bit closer to the truth.

Somehow he doesn’t think that grabbing the nearest guy he can find and planting one on him will make him feel any better. Not that he feels bad, he just…Maybe he’s sick, or something. Some sort of flu has been going around school, perhaps it finally caught up to him.

He should go, he wants to go. But he came with Zeb and wouldn’t it be rude to leave without him? Or would it be nice? With Rearden out of the picture, he’d be free to do…whatever with the guy currently attached to his face, no annoying little pest around to burden him.

His mind is pretty much made up until he turns back to Zeb and catches his eye. The older boy smiles, but his lips are swollen and his hair is now a mess and he just looks wrong. But Rearden knows he can’t leave now, dammit. Not when Zeb looks at him like that.



britnosaur:

Riptide || Vance Joy

There’s this movie that I think you’ll like
This guy decides to quit his job and heads to New York City
This cowboy’s running from himself
And she’s been living on the highest shelf


"You are tired,
(I think)
Of the always puzzle of living and doing;
And so am I."
 E.E. Cummings, You are Tired (I Think)

"It’s strange. I felt less lonely when I didn’t know you."
The Flies (Jean Paul Sartre)

 hauntees  asked:
 ✴ alaahahahahahaha bratie

it’s been almost a month lol so friendly reminder that these messages are for this prompt!!!

———

He didn’t care.

Why couldn’t he look away?

He didn’t care.

To say that he felt his stomach plummet to his feet and his vision cloud with denial and frustration would be a lie. That he felt jealous — that, too, would be a lie. Of course. He didn’t give a fuck what Artie did, he just didn’t want him…kissing other guys while Brady was around to see it. Maybe he was a little possessive. He could admit that much, could live with the idea that sharing wasn’t his strong suit.

And so what if he thought Artie was his? That didn’t have to be emotional, deep, complicated, real. Brady wanted what he wanted and he liked to make sure he got what he wanted. Right now, Artie was the one he usually wanted to talk to at 3am and kiss for endless minutes and cut class with. It was a selfish kind of longing, but Brady had never cared about being selfish before and he wasn’t about to start now.

But…the idea that the only mouth he ever wanted on Artie’s was his and that the only hands to ever press into the other boy’s sides should be Brady’s own and that the only person to lie next to him in bed should be Brady because of something other than surface level mutual attraction and lust? No, he couldn’t accept that.

Denying how he felt, now, that was his strong suit.


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