To See Into The Soul Of Another, You Must First See Into Your Own.

My writing process

1. Make myself some coffee 2. Sit down at my desk to write 3. Look for music 4. Make a new playlist 5. Make a pinterest board for that playlist 6. Oh look it’s 3 am and my coffee’s cold. 7. Cry about not being productive 8. Repeat. :)

Fanfic writer.

I really do love being a fanfic writer; being able to create content for my favorite shows is an incredible gift that I’m greatful to have-

But it also means that I am cursed with truly horrible ideas at times..

we dont talk about bruno because hes not worth it | a bruno madrigal playlist

I hope you like the playlist and that the songs fit the character, lowkey kinda rushed it because I wanted to post it as fast as possible but bruno is such a...

A playlist that, once again, doesn’t belong to me beacause I relate a little too much to Bruno.

ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ

ᴅɪᴀʟᴏɢᴜᴇ ➼

"pull me closer..."

"coffee or tea?"

"get the blankets."

"I'm turning up the heat!"

"it's fine. you're here now."

"look at the moon..."

"my hands are cold." "is that a pickup line?"

"ugh, finally!"

"remember that time...?"

"do you want to sit?"

"have a coffee."

"let's share."

"oh, it's adorable!"

"shall I start the fire?"

"ugh, you make me dizzy."

"you're my happy place." "don't get cheesy on me."

"you smell nice."

"hold my hand. please."

"did you make that yourself?"

"that smells so. good."

"what film?"

"this is somewhere I feel safe."

"I'm going to fall asleep..."

"it's already twelve?"

"it's just how I remember..."

"look, look!"

ᴀᴄᴛɪᴏɴ ➼

draping a blanket over their sleeping body

knowing how / if they take their coffee

squeezing hands

splitting a cake in a small café

spinning around together until you get dizzy

crashing together on the couch after a long day

knowing each others' tells

watching the rainfall

jamming out to the radio at midnight

cooking for the sick friend even though they're bad at it

lighting candles

snuggling in a blanket in front of the tv

hiccuping tears into their shoulder

rocking back and forth in their arms

pulling out that favourite hoodie

/ the collection of stolen hoodies

staying up until midnight to talk

roasting burnt marshmallows

sneaking out to look at the stars

Atelophobia is a plague that attacks your mind and not only instils the fear of not being good enough in your mind, it is a package deal of insecurities and overworking. Atelophobia is working into the late hours of the night, writing and thinking for fear of failure; it is empty coffee cups and fighting insomnia to get just one last page of work done, or so you say. It’s feeling eyes watching you as you type until your fingers are sore, until you really can’t keep up your own eyelids, until your eyes are burning from the amount of hours you’ve forced them open.

It is worrying about the future, wondering if you really are taking on too much but forcing through it, all for the sake of not failing. But what is failing, if not the fear of never achieving perfection? Atelophobia at it’s core is the fear of losing a battle you had no chance of winning.

Dark academia ambience playlist for melancholic writers...

Today's ambience video is a dark academia playlist to study to. It includes pieces from some of my favourite composers including Bach, Beethoven, Debussy and...

Another playlist for all those searching for some calm music, or something aesthetic to chill, read, write, paint, or be amazing to.

Destiel

Coffee_Sigh.Rho. · Playlist · 54 songs

Here, have a Destiel playlist I made. Enjoy, mfs. THE ART IN THE COVER IS NOT MINE!!!! I FOUND IT ON PINTEREST, IF YOU KNOW THE ARTIST THAT’S GREAT CUZ I DON’T AND DO NOT INTEND TO STEAL THEIR ART. Thank ya.

People

They seem to talk so much, yet think so little.

You can love someone and still choose to say goodbye to them,

Tara Westover, Educated

Start of chapter five, Sins of the flesh

Link to Wattpad: https://www.wattpad.com/1274665060-sins-of-the-flesh-chapter-5-50s-throwback

Link to Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/38974686/chapters/105834339

----

“Good morning, father Winchester, how was your hiatus?” A young mother asked as Dean welcomed her into the church, her little daughter perched carefully on her hip.

“My hiatus?” Dean questioned, though tried to make it too obvious that he hadn’t any idea what she was talking about.

“Why, yes; your four-month hiatus, to strengthen your relationship with god. How was it?” She questioned once more, a hint of impatience creeping into her voice. “Oh; yes, it was wonderful, thank you,” Dean hummed, doing his absolute best to smile as he continued to greet the guests into the church.

Dean eventually carried on the service, as usual, standing in front of everyone; however, about three minutes into the service he began to struggle slightly. The braille pages beneath his fingers felt foreign after all this time, the words seemed almost caught in his throat but Dean had to push through it, the quiet shuffles and coughs of people in the building overwhelming him slightly.

Near the end of service, the man almost had to have Sam take over, but he was too stubborn to allow it and ushed on; it was a relief when it was finally over, Dean’s energy mostly depleted by the time lunch was served.

“So get this,” Sam announced as he sat down at the table for lunch after Sunday service, the newspaper resting in his lap as he ate. “Apparently, there’s a town in the next state that’s had an unusually high amount of mariticide; nearly a dozen wives in the past two months murdering their husbands, all from the same town,” Sam told them, though Dean was slightly distracted by the sheer amount of noise that the many guests were making.

The many chattering guests mixed with the sounds of his two associates chewing their food, along with whatever other bothers were coming from the forest, the eldest Winchester couldn’t help but be reminded of his time in hell. “That is very odd… do you think it may be worth travelling for?” Castiel asked as he took a bite of his burger, a bit of ketchup falling onto his plate.

Dean shrugged, stuffing a bite of food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in days. “I think it’d be worth looking around, I'm in need of a good fight,” The priest joked, straightening his posture and whipping his face with a napkin as he heard someone approaching. The person veered away, though, walking off towards some other table away from the priest, his brother and best friend.

“Alright, we’ll leave right after lunch clean-up, then,” Sam settled as the three finished their meals. Dean continued to struggle throughout the cleaning process, his ears beginning to ring and his blood pumping in his ears as he fought off what could only be called a panic attack, caused by overstimulation.