there's a snake in my boot

I've always liked writing and have been an active user on Wattpad for over two years.
I'm officially a published author now, and my book The Kissing Booth is being published by Random House. You can find all links related to that on the page below.

This is my personal blog, but if you're interested in my writer's blog, find the link below! On that blog, I have writing advice and tips.

xx

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Wicked: A Summary

velmakilly:

Act I

[wickeding]

image

Act II

[WICKEDING INTENSIFIES]

image

seselapod:

I THINK MY FAVORITE THING IS WHEN PEOPLE GET REALLY MAD OR FRUSTRATED OR SAD IN THEIR TAGS AND YELL ABOUT HOW UPSET THEY ARE IN ALL CAPS AND THEYRE ONE OF THOSE PEOPLE THAT TAG REGULARLY SO IT’S JUST ALL THIS SCREAMING AND THEN LIKE fandom title in lowercase

bemusedlybespectacled:

do you ever think about the judges for the triwizard tournament trying to figure out who to kidnap for the second task

like they’re all just sitting in dumbledore’s office and karkaroff goes “well word on the street says that krum has a crush on that granger girl”

"damn," says dumbledore, "I wanted harry to rescue her. well, what about the delightful miss chang?"

"no," says bagman, "we’ve got her down for diggory"

"stop sinking my ships," says dumbledore

Tagged: #hp

alice-curious-labyrinth13:

Disney Characters eating with bad behaviour.

mariethelibrarian:

mariethelibrarian:

Hello hello all followers! And welcome to this giveaway-post!

This is my first giveaway! YAY! Thank you for following me! *hugs*

Prize: One book of free choice (hardback or paperback you choose) from BookDepository of maximum 20 $(USD) AND a HANDMADE crocheted(?) bookmark made by me(shown above but the winner will choose colors and which one you want(I can also make a bunny, a santa or a ghost or witch))!

The giveaway will be International! Or at least BookDepository must ship to your country, check here.

Rules:

  • Must be following me(I will check)
  • Reblog/like this post once (you will only get these two entries) to enter
  • Your inbox/ask MUST BE OPEN
  • You must be comfortable with giving me your adress, how will you get your book if you do not?
  • No giveaway blogs please
  • THIS GIVEAWAY ENDS AUGUST 20th

I will contact the winner and the winner will have 48 hours to respond(because of timezones and not everyone being on tumblr all day). If not there will be another winner! The winner will be chosen through random.org.

OH. ONE MORE THING. If you wanna reblog this to a secondary blog, that’s ok, just message me saying that it’s really you and that you follow me!

Feel free to ask me anything!

Good luck everyone and THANK YOU!

Giveaway reminder! Almost a month left!

owlmylove:

shslequius:

"Maybe if you go to bed you’ll feel better in the morning" is literally just the human version of "Have you tried turning it off and back on again?"

what have you done

“I have an ache in my bones
that only subsides when you press your lips against mine
And I no longer feel like I’m going to collapse on the ground
But when your arms are wrapped around my waist
I can feel that I’m sturdier
And like I can stand on my own two feet without the wind blowing me over
And when you slip your hand into mine
I feel like I can carry the weight of the world,
When before it felt the like a rain drop could crush me into a million pieces
And most of all,
When you sigh the words ‘I love you’
into my mouth
I feel like nothing in my past can hurt me
And that I’m no longer afraid of the space around me
I know I shouldn’t use you as medicine
But I’ve never felt this powerful”

(via artizam-forme)

Tagged: #j

weaknudes:

waking up cold: alright I need more blankies

waking up hot: covers thrown everywhere. sweat behind the kneecaps. 3 dead. the pillow is the sun. critical condition.

Tagged: #divergent

bleep0bleep:

devildoll:

"Stiles, wait. Don’t leave. Just let me—Stiles, please don’t leave.”

"What, you want to explain?" Stiles laughs mirthlessly, grabbing the duffel bag and heading for the door. He isn’t even bothering with shoes, just wearing his underwear, on his way to angrily storming out of Derek’s life. "You don’t get to explain, okay, I get it. This wasn’t ever— anything, how could I have been so blind. The secretive phone calls, the late nights from work, you think I’m stupid, Derek?" 
"No, no I don’t," Derek says helplessly. His world is crumbling down around him, and it’s like his mind isn’t even working right now, all he can see is Stiles walking over the threshold of their shitty apartment that they share together, betrayal and hurt written all over his face. 
"A fucking second checking account, Derek, you asshole, with payments going out every month, no, I don’t think you can explain that away with ‘just trust me,’ anymore, can you, when we can’t even get our hot water fixed and you’re spending thousands and thousands on God-knows-what,” Stiles hisses vehemently. “And you can’t tell me what it is? I thought I was—” Stiles takes a deep breath, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s clutching the bag. “I thought I was everything to you,” he says in a small voice. 
Derek can’t even say anything, it would ruin everything— but how does that matter now, when Stiles says bitterly, “I guess I thought wrong,” and slams the door, footsteps echoing down the hallway. 
Fuck everything.
Derek jolts back to life somehow, darting to the bedroom, heaving the heavy frame aside. He feels along the cracks in the floor, popping the compartment open and grabbing the paperwork and the tiny blue velvet box, and rushes for the door. 
Stiles is halfway down the street, a sad sight in his boxer briefs, holding his duffel bag defiantly and cursing at some laughing onlookers. Derek runs like his life depends on it, concrete cold beneath his bare feet. He catches up to Stiles just as a taxi cab pulls up, and he’s heaving, catching his breath.
Stiles turns around and gives him a cold look. “No, whatever you’re going to say—” 
"Stiles, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it was going to be a surprise,” Derek says lamely, shoving the deed into Stiles’ hands, the small box quivering as it slides down the stack of papers. “Please don’t leave me,” Derek says.
"What the fuck is this?" Stiles says, flipping through the papers— contracts, reports— the deed. His eyes go wide when he sees the picture of one of the progress reports from the contractor— the farmhouse standing tall, bright red paint contrasting the green glade behind it. His voice wobbles when he repeats, "What is this?" but gone is the angry tone, it’s just disbelief now. "Derek, this is the house—"
"The house you told me about years ago, the one you said on our third date would be your dream house, I— I bought it, and I’ve been fixing it up the way you always told me you wanted it," Derek stammers. Stiles’ fingers hesitate on the lid of the box. "I was going to—" 
Stiles opens the box and there’s a gleaming ring inside. “Oh my God,” he says. 
"You two gonna get in the cab or what?" the driver snaps. 
"Go away, I’m trying to get proposed to here!" Stiles yells back at him, and the driver huffs and takes off. 
"So is that a—" Derek starts. 
"Yes, you idiot, yes!" Stiles flings his arms around Derek, hopping up in his excitement, legs wrapping around his waist and Derek swings him around a little giddily. "I can’t believe you let me think the worst of you," he says, kissing Derek soundly on the mouth.
"This wasn’t how the proposal was supposed to go," Derek says when they break for air. 
Stiles laughs brightly. “Tell me all about it, you romantic sap. You can even do it again, if you like. I’ll pretend to be surprised.”
Derek grins. “Well, there were going to be rosepetals all over the floor of the new house…” 

bleep0bleep:

devildoll:

"Stiles, wait. Don’t leave. Just let me—Stiles, please don’t leave.”

"What, you want to explain?" Stiles laughs mirthlessly, grabbing the duffel bag and heading for the door. He isn’t even bothering with shoes, just wearing his underwear, on his way to angrily storming out of Derek’s life. "You don’t get to explain, okay, I get it. This wasn’t ever— anything, how could I have been so blind. The secretive phone calls, the late nights from work, you think I’m stupid, Derek?" 

"No, no I don’t," Derek says helplessly. His world is crumbling down around him, and it’s like his mind isn’t even working right now, all he can see is Stiles walking over the threshold of their shitty apartment that they share together, betrayal and hurt written all over his face. 

"A fucking second checking account, Derek, you asshole, with payments going out every month, no, I don’t think you can explain that away with ‘just trust me,’ anymore, can you, when we can’t even get our hot water fixed and you’re spending thousands and thousands on God-knows-what,” Stiles hisses vehemently. “And you can’t tell me what it is? I thought I was—” Stiles takes a deep breath, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s clutching the bag. “I thought I was everything to you,” he says in a small voice. 

Derek can’t even say anything, it would ruin everything— but how does that matter now, when Stiles says bitterly, “I guess I thought wrong,” and slams the door, footsteps echoing down the hallway. 

Fuck everything.

Derek jolts back to life somehow, darting to the bedroom, heaving the heavy frame aside. He feels along the cracks in the floor, popping the compartment open and grabbing the paperwork and the tiny blue velvet box, and rushes for the door. 

Stiles is halfway down the street, a sad sight in his boxer briefs, holding his duffel bag defiantly and cursing at some laughing onlookers. Derek runs like his life depends on it, concrete cold beneath his bare feet. He catches up to Stiles just as a taxi cab pulls up, and he’s heaving, catching his breath.

Stiles turns around and gives him a cold look. “No, whatever you’re going to say—” 

"Stiles, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, it was going to be a surprise,” Derek says lamely, shoving the deed into Stiles’ hands, the small box quivering as it slides down the stack of papers. “Please don’t leave me,” Derek says.

"What the fuck is this?" Stiles says, flipping through the papers— contracts, reports— the deed. His eyes go wide when he sees the picture of one of the progress reports from the contractor— the farmhouse standing tall, bright red paint contrasting the green glade behind it. His voice wobbles when he repeats, "What is this?" but gone is the angry tone, it’s just disbelief now. "Derek, this is the house—"

"The house you told me about years ago, the one you said on our third date would be your dream house, I— I bought it, and I’ve been fixing it up the way you always told me you wanted it," Derek stammers. Stiles’ fingers hesitate on the lid of the box. "I was going to—" 

Stiles opens the box and there’s a gleaming ring inside. “Oh my God,” he says. 

"You two gonna get in the cab or what?" the driver snaps. 

"Go away, I’m trying to get proposed to here!" Stiles yells back at him, and the driver huffs and takes off. 

"So is that a—" Derek starts. 

"Yes, you idiot, yes!" Stiles flings his arms around Derek, hopping up in his excitement, legs wrapping around his waist and Derek swings him around a little giddily. "I can’t believe you let me think the worst of you," he says, kissing Derek soundly on the mouth.

"This wasn’t how the proposal was supposed to go," Derek says when they break for air. 

Stiles laughs brightly. “Tell me all about it, you romantic sap. You can even do it again, if you like. I’ll pretend to be surprised.”

Derek grins. “Well, there were going to be rosepetals all over the floor of the new house…” 

“See, Rowling largely operates Harry’s generation in a clear system of parallels to the previous generation, Marauders and all. Harry is his father—Quidditch star, a little pig-headed sometimes, an excellent leader. Ron is Sirius Black—snarky and fun, loyal to a fault, mired in self-doubts. Hermione is Remus Lupin—book smart and meticulous, always level-headed, unfailingly perceptive. Ginny is Lily Evans—a firecracker, clever and kind, unwilling to take excuses. Draco Malfoy is Severus Snape—a natural foil to Harry, pretentious, possessed of the frailest ego and also deeper sense of right and wrong when it counts. And guess what? Neville Longbottom is Peter Pettigrew.

Neville is a perfect example of how one single ingredient in the recipe can either ruin your casserole (or stew, or treacle tart, whatever you like), or utterly perfect your whole dish. Neville is the tide-turner, the shiny hinge. And all because he happens to be in the same position as Wormtail… but makes all the hard choices that Pettigrew refused the first time around. Other characters are in similar positions, but none of them go so far as Neville. None of them prove that the shaping of destiny is all on the individual the way he does.”

Emily Asher-Perren (via nathanielstuart)

Tagged: #huh #hp