i can't get to sleep;

this journal is now closed.

2012-08-16T23:47:30Z

Find me at finchlings, my writing site.

You can also find me on tumblr, under the url we-are-not-soldiers. Hope to see you there!

My public entries will remain open, but there will be no new entries unless, for some reason, I decide to come back. It's been fun!

meme's the word (writerverse)

2012-06-17T20:30:02Z

interview meme, finchley james wainwright (Pass it On)

1. What do you consider your greatest achievement?

Graduating high school.

2. What is your idea of perfect happiness?

Being somewhere far away from everyone else but Alex that has wifi connection.

3. What is your current state of mind?

Uncommonly peaceful. I blame summer vacation for my distinct lack of insanity.

4. What is your favorite occupation?

Astrologist.

5. What is your most treasured possession?

My iPad. Also, Alex.

6. What or who is the greatest love of your life?

What: my iPad. Who: Alex.

7. What is your favorite journey?

The one from the front door to my bed.

8. What is your most marked characteristic?

Sarcasm. Also, intelligence.

9. When and where were you the happiest?

12 December 2011. Alex's house. He kissed me (accidentally).

10. What is it that you most dislike?

Homework.

11. What is your greatest fear?

The dark. Deep water. Small spaces.

12. What is your greatest extravagance?

My iPad.

13. Which living person do you most despise?

Callum Ewan Wainwright.

14. What is your greatest regret?

Sending my dad a drunk text three weeks ago.

15. Which talent would you most like to have?

The ability to multitask.

16. Where would you like to live?

San Francisco, CA.

17. What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?

What even is this question.

18. What is the quality you most like in a man?

The ability to see through layers of bullshit. Also, abs.

19. What is the quality you most like in a woman?

I don't like women.

20. What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?

My inability to focus. And my clinginess. I am very clingy.

21. What is the trait you most deplore in others?

Unintelligence.

22. What do you most value in your friends?

The ability to keep up with my brilliant ideas.

23. Who is your favorite hero of fiction?

Sherlock Holmes.

24. Whose are your heroes in real life?

You phrased the question incorrectly. It should be "Who is your hero in real life?", and the answer to that would be John Barrowman.

25. Which living person do you most admire?

Alex.

26. What do you consider the most overrated virtue?

Kindness.

27. On what occasions do you lie?

Every occasion.

28. Which words or phrases do you most overuse?

"Idiot.", "If you say so.", "I do what I want.", and "I don't want to." come to mind.

29. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?

Didn't I answer this, already? Or something similar? My fascination with the mating rituals of whales would be one thing.

30. What are your favorite names?

Thomas. Alexander. Morgan.

31. How would you like to die?

Falling off a cliff.

32. If you were to die and come back as a person or thing, what do you think it would be?

A whale.

33. What is your motto?

I do what I want.

blame armourlet for this one.

2012-06-14T01:31:05Z

i need to stop

2012-06-06T03:44:11Z

because i get depressingly unoriginal when i can't think of things to write, and because armourlet is good at things:

Tell me about a story you wish I would write (or that you wish would exist).

the proper formula for this sort of thing should include "if you were to write me a story fitted to my needs, it would include (insert character) and (insert secondary character), (insert trope/situation), (insert secondary trope/situation), and end with (insert satisfactory ending).

or you can just send me random requests. that works, too.

it's that time, again!

2012-06-05T21:06:10Z

This is the part where I strongly encourage you to join up for phase/round/whatever 3 of writerverse. And by strongly encourage, I do actually mean it. It was a lot of fun for me last round/phase/thinger, and I actually ended up writing quite a bit!

I'm in Team Poetry (death to Team Prose), so if you wanna be on the same team, request Team Poetry when you sign up! ~~this team is the best team~~

Plus! If anyone on my f-list signs up and drops me a comment here, I'll write you a fic/story of your request or make you some banners & icons. Either or. Or both, really.

shh just join

easterly @ 2012-05-25T08:29:00

2012-05-25T12:29:44Z

here @ vaguelyunpoetic

there's always a first

2012-05-22T16:20:54Z

original fiction (Pass it On), Finchley & Alex, "Gilligan's Island.", writerverse

there's always a first

Finchley “accidentally” strands them off an island not far away from Pigeon Point two days after Alex admits that he’d very much like to date Finchley, if Finchley were so inclined. And Finchley is very, very much inclined.

They fall together like pick-up-sticks, messy and completely all over the place. Alex's hands are clawing at Finchley's shoulders, dragging his loose Henley up to his shoulders in a motion that he probably had meant to be more fluid than it actually was. He's impeded in his quest only briefly by Finchley's arms, which are currently wrapped around his neck, his chapped lips brushing too-softly against his jaw, and then Finchley is half-naked and still under him. He tosses the shirt aside, lifting his legs to straddle Finchley, and Finchley rests his hands on Alex’s hips.

"You know that if you don't want to-"

"Don't even - just shut up. I'm working up to it, you pushy bastard. Take your jacket off." Alex leans back onto his knees, balanced on either side Finchley's thighs, and starts unzipping his jacket. Finchley watches him, cataloguing every detail so that Alex is going to be hearing about this again (either making fun of his technique or to get him a wreck in public; he's not sure which, quite yet). "Get on with it, then. You're being awfully slow about this."

Alex narrows his eyes at him, tugging off his jacket and dropping it off to side. Finchley's long hands immediately slide under his undershirt, fingers splaying wide on his hips. A shiver rips its way up Alex's spine at the cool touch, and Finchley gives him a smirk. "Shut up." Alex growls, hooking his fingers under the hem and shucking that, as well. Finchley's eyes follow the motion, gaze settling on Alex's as the older boy tosses that shirt away as well.

Alex is stockily built, broad shoulders and a solid waist; his hips have a soft give to them (which Finchley finds rather delightful to squeeze), a contrast to the flat flex of his stomach. He's quite tan, despite his desperate love of zip hoodies, a light dusting of dark blond hair trailing from his chest to under where his jeans are riding low on his hips, and his nipples are a dusky brown that Finchley wonders at. Alex fidgets under his scrutiny - as if Finchley hasn't seen him stark naked before - a dark blush fighting its way across his cheeks. He's really not that bad-looking (actually, he’s rather good-looking), something Finchley, who hasn't really taken note of his best friend's physique, is surprised to note.

"See something you like?" Alex raises an eyebrow at him, giving Finchley a much more fleeting once-over. Finchley nods, hands tightening their grip on him, and pulls Alex down for a kiss.

This kiss is in no way chaste, unlike their first. Alex leans into him, hands braced on either side of his head, hips rolling down to press against Finchley's. Finchley gasps into his mouth, hot tongue sliding slickly inside. It's wetter than Finchley had expected, lips and tongues sliding together while they jerked against one another. Finchley's erection is finally making itself known, his cock a hot bulge against Alex's hip. "Nnn- Alex, Alex now, touch me now." Finchley manages to choke out between sloppy kisses, nails biting into Alex's skin.

Alex fumbles with the zip on Finchley's jeans, then tugs them down to palm Finchley through his boxers. His hand is sure, hot and steady against him, and Finchley groans. He jerks up against him, and Alex sinks his teeth into his shoulder. He rocks down against Finchley, rutting against his thigh while his fingers slip under the waistband of Finchley's boxers; Finchley moans against his neck.

"Like that?"

"Y-yeah, little tighter," Finchley thrusts shallowly into his hand, gasping brokenly when Alex tightens his grip. "Like that, yeah, c'mon-" Alex strokes him, hand dragging dryly on Finchley's hard flesh, and Finchley moans again. Finchley's not going to last much longer, his breath hitching when Alex rolls down against him. "Oh, fuck."

"Not quite." Alex teases, "Look at me." Finchley watches Alex slide a hand into his own jeans, stroking himself in time to Finchley’s erratic jerking. God, he's so close - can practically taste it coming.

Finchley cups Alex’s cheek, his right hand smoothing down Alex’s chest to tweak one of his dusky nipples. Alex cries out, hand tightening on Finchley, and he slumps forward, panting hotly against Finchley’s shoulder.

A few moments of lazy pulling later, and Finchley arches up into him, a strangled groan working out of his clenched teeth. The sudden warm wetness surprises Alex, and he jerks his hand away from Finchley's quickly-softening cock before he's completely covered. "Ohhh..." Finchley jerks up against him once, twice, before crumpling down on the deck. Alex follows him down, nosing at the corner of his jaw, lazy with contentment, and Finchley drapes an arm over his waist. "That was..."

"Not bad?" Alex offers, after a moment of silence, and Finchley nods. No, it hadn't been bad, not at all. And, aside from the semen drying on his hands and in his boxers, it hadn't been terribly awkward, either. Worth repeating, really.

Worth repeating often. In different positions, in different places. Perhaps even repeated more than once a day. Even if it does leave him feeling like overworked cookie dough.

"Oh, God, I've created a sex maniac." Finchley had, apparently, been saying all that aloud. Well, at least Alex wouldn't be surprised when Finchley jumped him regularly. "You're not "jumping" me. Not at home, not at school."

"Don't be silly."

"And not on the beach, either. I'll not be arrested for public indecency because you've decided to be insatiable."

"Insatiable has such a negative connotation, though. And we are on the beach." And he doubts that he'll be insatiable. Just demanding. Alex can deal with demanding. He’s already dealt with it so well.

"It's meant to be negative, you idiot. And it doesn’t count, we’re on a boat. On an island. Alone." But Alex is grinning at him, with his favorite crinkly-eyed, nose-wrinkled grin, and Finchley knows that Alex won't be denying him anything, if he really wants it. It's almost frightening. "Besides, that wasn't even proper sex, y'know."

Proper enough for them to both get off. "We'll work on it." Probably after they get off this island. He’s not exactly sure how they’re going to manage that, yet; he’d dropped anchor too close to the beach for them to actually back out of the surf without capsizing. Maybe Alex won’t say anything and Finchley can figure this out after a nap or six.

“So, how’re we getting home?”

Goddamnit.

pimp: vaguelyunpoetic

2012-05-20T01:13:10Z

☛ vaguelyunpoetic; graphics by easterly ☚

[071] we are not soldiers

2012-05-15T15:31:37Z

♫ here at vaguelyunpoetic

the avengers:

2012-05-05T23:14:34Z

[ x ]

[070] i got a mind full of questions

2012-04-29T22:49:26Z

i need a place to hide away, to get some peace tonight.

separation anxiety

2012-04-28T01:53:46Z

original fiction (Airports and Hipsters), Embry & Callum, "texts from last night", writerverse

separation anxiety

(727):
I'm at the airport and there's a guy here wearing all camouflage to go hunting … Should I bump in to him and say “whoa sorry didn't see you there”?

Embry knows that when he gets this text that his day isn’t just going to be tedious. It’s going to be long. His day is going to be long and tedious, and it’s entirely Callum’s fault. Entirely. Callum’s. Fault. It’s not enough that the jackass has the gall to assign him a10,000 word re-write in one weekend; he has to do it on a weekend when he’s not around for Embry to bitch at him about having to delete vital parts of his novel to better suit Callum’s ridiculous standards.

Callum is currently en route to a meeting with a few other editors in regards to the works they’ll be submitting to the publishing house. Embry’s story has already been submitted; this meeting is all about other writers and what those other writers are writing. And, even though it’s Callum’s job to edit for other writers and to get them published, too, Embry still doesn’t like sharing.

Not that Callum likes sharing, either. One of his associates (a pretty girl named Morgan, whom Embry suspected had a bit of a crush on him) had offered to check over Embry’s work for the weekend – like he was some teenager doing high school homework, Jesus Christ – and Callum had responded with a firm and non-negotiable “No.” And it’s the same story for whenever someone else offers to check over Embry’s writing; Callum’s overly possessive, unreasonable, unexplained rejections.

Embry doesn’t actually mind, because Callum’s the only one he actually likes getting critique from when it comes to editors from this particular agency, but he doesn’t appreciate the double standard.

Almost as much as he doesn’t appreciate the stupid texts Callum’s been sending him for the past half hour. He was working. Now he’s distracted.

(1-727):
I know you’re at the airport. Trying to work.
- E

He’s actually already done 5,000 words, but he doesn’t want to seem like an overachiever, because that’ll mean more work shoved on him in the future. Re-writing is the worst part of writing.

Which is a damn shame, really, because it’s all he’s been doing for the past three months.

(727):
Aw, babe, don’t be short with me. Be back before you even really notice I’m gone.

Embry scowls at his phone, typing in a curt reply before just chucking the thing across the room and into the futon pressed against the far wall. He’s not in the mood for Callum. And he’s not in the mood to write, either.

He’s really just not in the mood for anything. He retrieves his phone, collapsing on the futon with an exaggerated sigh that no one’s around to hear. It’s not really all that satisfying.
Embry decides to contemplate the value of nothingness.

(727):
Em babe are you mad at me

At least Callum appreciates the severity of what’s going on. He only usually abandons the rules of grammar while texting when he’s aroused or concerned. And Embry really hopes that his boyfriend isn’t aroused in the middle of an airport without him. Call him selfish, but he really would like to be able to torment him in person.

(727):
if u dont reply im calling u

Embry won’t answer. He won't.

The phone vibrates in his hand, quiet chords of Skinny Love filtering tinnily through the speakers. He’s set ringtones to nearly every single one of his contacts; the Jaws theme for the people at the bank who want his money, We Are Family for his mother, various One Direction songs for the people at the publishing house, and Skinny Love for Callum. Even though Callum’s not really all that skinny. He’s more built than he is skinny.

He answers.

“Em, if you didn’t want to do the re-writes, you could’ve just told me on Friday.” Callum sounds amused, the bastard. There’s nothing to be amused about. Life sucks.

“I think that we’ve reached that dangerously co-dependent part of our relationship. Come back, I can’t focus. See? I’m not even stuttering.” He usually stutters all over the place, when he has to talk on the phone. But he’s too agitated to. Which isn’t good. He’s never gotten so agitated, before.

“Oh, babe, you know I would. But I’ve gotta go to that meeting. It’s only for two days.” He still sounds amused. Doesn’t he get it? If Embry can’t write, he can’t finish his novel. If he can’t finish his novel, it won’t get published. And if he doesn’t get published, he’ll have no money and die on the streets as a gay prostitute rentboy with a million STDs.
Jesus Christ, he needs something. Not a cigarette. The last time he’d tried those, he’d been coughing for days.

“I need something.” But he doesn’t know what. His fingers drum against his thigh, an unsteady, staccato beat. “Don’t know what.” He wriggles, trying to dispel some of the tension in his shoulders, and bites his lip. This is the worst; needing, but not knowing what. It’s eating away at him.

“Are you hungry?” Callum doesn’t question him, thank God. He’s probably far too used to all this, actually. It’s not the first time Embry has suddenly been terribly antsy and hasn’t known why.

“No. Ate some cookies. The ones you left? They were good. But no, not hungry.” He’s eaten all forty-eight of the cookies. Not healthy, but not unsatisfying.

“I’d intended for those to be one every hour. Y’know. For each hour I’m gone. It was romantic.”

“Don’t listen to what Morgan tells you is romantic. I ate them all. And now I have no chocolate to eat for two days.” It’s a nice sentiment, though, and Embry has to smile, even though Callum won't see it.

“That explains it, then. You’re on a sugar high. Please tell me that you at least had the sense to stay home.” He’s been on a sugar high exactly three times in his life – once in high school, once in the university while he was still studying in London, and one after eating an entire chocolate cheesecake with Callum over Christmas on a dare – and the experience has never proven really all that pleasant. He has a tendency towards the shakes already.

“Nnnn. Just. Give me something to do.” He doesn't like being antsy. In fact, he enjoys being antsy about as much as he enjoys being alone with nothing to do but re-write scenes he's already re-written at least three times.

"And you don't want to take a break?"

"No. There's nothing to do. Why did you leave me in this house with nothing to do?" Callum has read the list of "How to Properly Care for Embry and Things to Have Him Do" from his mother. He should know better than this, especially by now. "I showered twice. Twice."

"I hope you don't plan on doing this every day that I'm gone. I can't afford to pay for all that hot water." Callum totally can. He could probably buy himself a second house back home, if he really wanted to, and pay for Embry to take two showers a day over there, too. "Have you considered taking up yoga?"

"I'm not getting more flexible so you can just abuse me." Embry's bendy enough, thanks. He actually can't even touch his own toes, but that's more a fault of his lanky legs than a lack of flexibility (or so he claims). He's not cut out for physical activity, anyways. It makes him even more irritable than usual.

Much like he is now, actually. "Come home." He knows that Callum can't. But that doesn't mean he isn't going to whine like a five-year-old at every given opportunity. It's who he is.

"I will. In three days."

He's going to kill Callum, one of these days.

pottermore & other things

2012-04-17T14:27:49Z

My username is WolfWing20302, so if you're on Pottermore, add me! I was sorted into Ravenclaw (yes), and I need more people to duel against. Except that I'm completely pants at casting spells (think Neville Longbottom; I may suck now, but I'll be coming for you soon enough). Leave a comment with your username so I know who's who.

Also! Much like armourlet, I've decided to get an OFFICIAL BLAWG, mainly so I can link my lit mag submissions to it without the fear of fandom showing up. I've only got, like, two posts on there, but I'll be posting more soon. I'm hoping that it'll be more of a "real life and writing around it" sort of blog. I LIED AND DELETED IT BLOGGING SUCKS

AND GUESS WHAT. I got both Wreck this Journal and This is Not a Book by Keri Smith yesterday! I also got How to Be an Explorer of the World, but my mom thought it was cool, so I let her have it. That one is more collecting things and making observations than it is writing, so I wasn't too sad to see it go. If anyone has a Wreck this Journal, you should definitely share some pictures of it. I'm going to be keeping track of it's destruction with the tag what: wreck this journal, with pictures/descriptions every week. I'm hoping that this will get me more into the swing of writing and/or inspire me to write more.

And, finally: I've discovered the plot for Pass it On! As of now, it's just mainly been pieces of Finchley and Alex interacting and character development. But, thanks to Frozen Planet on the Discovery Channel and the movie The Last Song (don't judge me, I got a year of STARS and ENCORE to watch), I've figured out where I want to go with it.

A dead gray whale washes up on the beach where Finchley and Alex usually bum around. The whale is caught up in fishing netting, and caught with it is the body of an elderly fisherman that Finchley has talked with on the warf. All signs point to that the man was setting down drift nets (illegal), and caught the whale (even more illegal). Finchley, however, doubts that the man did it (he was of the decent sort). So begins an ongoing investigation as to who set down the nets, how the fisherman died, who killed him, and how they're going to catch whoever did it. And, because armourlet agrees with me, and I personally think it's a great idea, I'm smashing together Pass it On and Airports and Hipsters into one giant story. It'll alternate between Finchley & Alex and Callum & Embry, and it'll run all parallel and stuff. Embry and Callum will end up coming to visit Callum's dad and they end up getting caught up in the SUDDEN PLOTLINE, too.

It's going to require quite a bit of research, so if anyone knows anything about Gray Whales or Humpback Whales, please don't be afraid to share your wisdom The story takes place in a little town about an hour outside of San Francisco called Half Moon Bay. I visited there over winter break earlier this year, and it was just. Perfect. There's a lighthouse at Pigeon Point, a place for big-wave surfing (Mavericks), Pillar Point Harbor, and it's all grey water and whales and sea lions. Whales. I love whales.

[069] be still, and know that i'm with you

2012-04-14T01:04:31Z

icons x28
banners x8

preview:

( if terror falls upon your bed, and sleep no longer comes, remember all the words i said; be still, be still, and know. )

the internet is a distracting place

2012-04-12T16:01:10Z

I always find that brainstorming for a story - getting down all my ideas, characters, etc - is hard to do on my laptop. Writing, just in general, is nearly impossible for me on a computer. The draw of the internet, and its various distractions, is too tempting to resist for very long. I'll just be a few minutes, I promise myself, but I always end up on some site for hours (literally), and I'll have forgotten everything - the brilliant ideas, the gorgeous characters, the plotline - that I wanted to write.

How do you avoid getting distracted when the very thing that you're using to write is practically throwing distraction after distraction at you? At this very second, I've got a GoogleDocs tab open of a few half-remembered ideas, a tab for my email, a tab for WordPress, and a tab for tumblr open. Be Still by The Fray is filtering through my headphones, and a bookmark that says "Game of Thrones" for the HBO link is staring me in the face. It would be so easy to just navigate away and watch a satisfying hour or two of people hacking one another to bits over dominion of the Seven Kingdoms. And I want to, so badly. But I told myself that I'd write at least 1,000 words today before 5 pm, and I'm gonna do it.

Disconnecting the internet is always an option. I've got Microsoft Word, and Itunes doesn't require an internet connection to play my music (unlike Spotify). But that's not going to help me, because I could just as easily click on the shortcut that will take me to Minecraft, where I will lose myself for a few hours in building a few more houses for my villagers (you should see them, there's at least thirty now).

Writing on paper is, at best, tedious. I only ever write in pen (it's smoother and faster than pencil, and doesn't smear), and my spelling is somewhat awful. Most of the things I write on paper end up shoved in a notebook or binder for days before I find it again, and by then the desire to write that idea has abated. Writing on paper is like walking to Taco Bell. Why would I walk if I could drive?

Writing applications like Write or Die are pretty useful, but only to the extent that you're getting words down. Most of the things I end up writing on apps like that end up being complete rubbish, because the time limit doesn't let you stop typing to contemplate anything. Pause for too long, and an annoying chiming starts up. Continue to ponder, and the noise continues to get louder. I often end up getting too irritated to write by the time I get the stupid alarm to stop.

So what am I supposed to do? Tough it out on paper? Write completely crap nonsense on a writing app until something good finally turns up?

I found my answer in a kind of unexpected place: an Android tablet. I'd originally gotten the thing because I wanted a bigger screen to work with than what I've got with my nookColor (10.1 inches vs 7), and because I wanted to be able to surf the internet without bringing my laptop downstairs with me (I have recurring nightmares of dropping my baby down the stairs one day and not being able to fix it). My Acer Iconia Tab a500 runs Honeycomb, the tablet edition of Android's mobile OS, and runs pretty smoothly. The stock keyboard and browser have a bit of a lag, but it's not noticeable most of the time. The screen is far more touch-responsive than my nookColor, and has the benefit of not having Barnes & Noble's edited Android, which locks out most of the main features. The GooglePlay market is significantly smaller than the Apple app market, but I still managed to find a gem of a writing app: JotterPadHD. The app costs a modest $3.99, or has a free version (albeit without some of the features of the paid app), and lets you export your writing as a .txt or PDF. The simple layout of the app doesn't allow for much text customization (I don't think it has an italicize button), but the simplicity of it, in my opinion, is what makes it so easy to work with. I have access to the internet on my tablet, of course, but the website that I waste the majority of my time on's mobile layout is a pain to work with. So I don't go on it. Even though the virtual keyboard can sometimes be a pain, it's easy enough to work with after a short time of getting used to it. I don't use it for longer things (the most I've typed on my tablet is ~ 2,000 words), but for brainstorming? It's perfect. Here's some screenshots (click for a larger view):

(credit: 2ndclasscitizen.com)

original characters list

2012-04-04T23:27:20Z

Here's an unofficial list of my original characters, which will be under construction as I add more and more to the list.

Code nicked from bloodtoblush.

Embry Thomas Connolley "I didn't mean to. Y'know. Hit you." Embry is probably the most evenly-rounded of my characters. Embry is the main character of my ongoing story Airports and Hipsters, where he is an exchange student studying in London who is moving back to Chicago (he had issues with a professor). He's also an aspiring author.
		notes— • main character Painfully shy, remarkably intelligent. Has some degree of an anxiety disorder; often stutters. Mildly attractive, with short, dark brown hair and light brown eyes, slim-waisted and broad-shouldered. Often gets lost in his own world, especially when left alone for any large amount of time. Enjoys deep-dish pizza, British television shows, large dogs, blue eyes, and blogging. Spends a lot of time at the local Barnes & Noble in Chicago (so much so that the workers know his Starbucks order), and steals wifi from his neighbors whenever possible, because his own is so spotty. Keeps a futon in his office in case he falls asleep while writing, and sometimes falls asleep in the backyard.

Callum Ewan Wainwright "No need to assault me with your laundry; I can take a hint." My least-developed character. He's in both Airports and Hipsters and Pass it On, which is both sad and self-serving. Callum is an ex-army pacifist (makes sense), who takes up publishing after being discharged. He ends up working for the same publishing house that his father published a book through, and as a result, ends up working with Embry on his novel.
		notes— • secondary character Outgoing, dashing, witty, and somewhat overbearing. Callum is both handsome and unbearably pretentious, and unrepentantly flirty. He has long, curly red hair and bright blue eyes, as well as a face full of freckles and dimples; he's annoyingly tall and somewhat buff. He likes cute boys, shy boys, and boys in general. He also has an annoying(ly awesome) younger brother who lives in California with his estranged father. Callum loves to read, and he also loves people who write. He owns a small house outside of Chicago, as well as a flat on the other side of town that he'd converted into a large office space for when he needs to work away from home.

Finchley James Wainwright “It’s Finchley. But you’re going to call me Finch.” The most favorite of all of my characters, and the most developed. He's in Pass it On, and is my baby.
		notes— • main character There aren't enough words in the world to define exactly what Finchley is like. Impulsive, irritable, indelicate, invasive, and a lot of other in- words do well enough. Finchley is a genius wrapped in the guise of a lazy-ass loser, and cares little for anything outside of his own little world. He's unfriendly and manipulative, but also fiercely protective of those he does care about. He's attractive in an abstract sort of way, without any of his brother's charm; shaggy, curly brown hair, sparse freckles, dark brown eyes, and a lanky frame make him more weedy than his brother. He has a creeper van that's been painted TARDIS blue, is vaguely asexual, keeps a blog, likes science, hates modern literature, and loves the beach like he doesn't love anything else.

Alexander Charles Clemens “You’re not even listening to me, are you?” The unfortunate best friend of Finchley Wainwright, Alex is everything Finchley is not. He's my second-favorite character, and is also in Pass it On. He's somewhat less-developed than Finchley, mainly because there's less of him that needs developing.
		notes— • main character Alex is patient, mildly intelligent, and otherwise very, very dull (by Finchley's standards). He likes modern YA dystopian novels (such as the one Finchley's father authored), hates sand, loves sad movies, cries during the sad parts of books, and is generally overly studious when it comes to grades. He's breathtakingly normal, with short blond hair and light blue eyes and broad shoulders that would be perfect for sitting upon, if he'd had younger siblings. Alex has a unique way of dealing with Finchley that makes it impossible for Finchley to hate him, and often accompanies him on his various adventures "for science".

The code I nabbed can be found here.

Or, alternatively, here:

easterly @ 2012-04-01T23:08:00

2012-04-02T03:08:46Z

here @ vaguelyunpoetic

nondisjunction

2012-03-30T19:02:06Z

original fiction (Airports and Hipsters), Embry & Callum, "naked breakfast." & "back to work", writerverse

nondisjunction

Embry drifts awake to find himself alone, and while that's not an uncommon occurrance, it still sends a jolt of worry through his sleep-fuzzy mind. There are faint sounds of life coming from the kitchen, though, and the curtains on the window have been pulled back to let in the late-March sunlight, so he figures that nothing has gone terribly wrong. He stretches, face buried in his pillow, and groans when his back pops.

He could get used to this.

"It's past eleven, y'know. You're supposed to be at work." A voice reminds him from the doorway, and he waves a hand dismissively in response. Callum chuckles, and the bed dips when he perches on it at his feet. "You owe me at least ten thousand words."

The worst part about dating your publisher, Embry muses, is that you can't seem to escape your word count when they're around. He grumbles unintelligibly into his pillow, and Callum grabs his right foot, pulling it into his lap, fingers ghosting lightly over the heel. "I could tickle you until you wake up," Comes the warning, and Embry jerks away.

"G'way."

"Come to breakfast, then, lazybones. I'm making pancakes." Callum rolls him over, hands lingering on his bare hips while Embry blinks up at him owlishly. "Where're your glasses?"

Probably under the bed. Again. "I'll find 'em. Give us a kiss, then." Embry grumbles, attempting to wriggle out of the tangled sheets. They're wrapped like a straight jacket around his chest, keeping his arms pressed firmly to his sides, which isn't helping with the whole getting up and going to breakfast. Callum presses a kiss to his forehead and flounces off to the kitchen, with a wide grin that says that he knows why Embry is scowling and that he's certainly not going to help.

Bastard.

He ends up falling off the bed because he writhes too much and slides off the side, and it's entirely Callum's fault.

"Took you long enough." Callum flips a pancake with annoying ease - Embry has never managed to get the hang of making pancakes, despite his aborted two years of culinary school - glancing over his shoulder to smirk at him.

"Shut up. Where're my pancakes, slave-driver?" Embry plops into his seat at the worn, chipped, dull blue Formica table, grabbing at Callum's cup of orange juice.

"Are you going to get dressed, if I give them to you?" Callum offers him a slice of bacon, which Embry snatches and pops into his mouth immediately. "You have to go into the office at some point today."

"Will you stay naked? And is this turkey bacon, because ugh." He gags on the traitorous not-bacon, which tastes bland and not in the faintest like delicious fried pork, spitting it into a napkin. Callum sighs, pitching the napkin into the trash, and Embry gulps down the cup of orange juice.

"I thought it'd be worth trying. No?" Callum frowns at the pan of still-frying not-bacon. Embry shakes his head. "Shame." He sets a plate of syrup-soaked pancakes in front of Embry, taking the seat opposite him with his own.

"Never skimp on bacon, Cal. That was awful," Embry takes a huge bite of the golden-brown pancakes, syrup dribbling stickily down his chin. "These're good, though."

Callum smiles at him, eyes doing that crinkling thing where he looks absolutely adorable, and Embry nearly chokes on his pancakes. "I'm glad. I haven't ever made them before."

They eat in silence after that, Embry happily devouring his pancakes - and getting syrup all over his face - while Callum takes a more refined approach. It's comfortable and overly domestic-feeling, and Embry kind of loves it. The sunlight blaring in from the open window over the sink puts Callum's red hair and pale shoulders into sharp relief, his dark eyes glinting in the harsh light, and Embry can feel himself falling just a bit more in love with him.

"Now, go get dressed. You owe me words, and I have to do dishes." And the moment is ruined by Callum opening his giant mouth.

Typical. But the smile Callum gives him when he gets up and puts his plate in the sink brings a grin to his own face in return, and Embry figures that getting back to work won't be all that bad.

Especially if it means having pancakes naked at eleven-thirty in the morning with Callum.

meteorites and the not-doing-of-homework

2012-03-28T16:15:51Z

original fiction (Pass it On), Alex & Finchley, "A dark object fell from the sky.", writerverse.

meteorites and the not-doing-of-homework

Alex is nearly packed up to go home (thank God) when Finchley comes crashing into the classroom. His hair is messier than usual, one of his shoes is missing, and his clothes are soaking wet. "Alex! Alex, you have to come, there's a thing, you need to see it, come on!" the taller boy says, grabbing him by the sleeve with a wet hand. "It's important."

According to Finchley, anything that interests him is of vital importance. Alex is far from convinced.

"... What is it?" Alex sets aside his binder to shove his laptop into his bookbag with unnecessary violence, tugging his arm out of Finchley's grasp. "I have homework to do, you know. Not all of us are fatalistic slackers."

"Forget homework, this is better than that. Well, anything's better than homework. But. Come see." It really is no use trying to dissuade Finchley when he gets excited (an unfortunately common event), so Alex forfeits his bookbag with another heavy sigh. "Excellent. C'mon." Finchley flounces away, glancing back at the door to gesture him along.

This isn't going to turn out well. Alex knows these things.

"Why are you all wet, anyway?" He follows Finchley down the hall and out into the sports yard, casting apologetic smiles at every student Finchley banged past. "You didn't fall in the pool again, did you?"

"Naw, I jumped in."

"With all your clothes on?" He's starting to sound more and more like his mother, and it should really be more worrying than it is. But a disapproving tone comes standard with dealing with Finchley. "One of these days, you're going to drown. And I'm not going to save you, because you'll have it coming."

"Don't be stupid, I know how to swim. Now. Look." Alex rolls his eyes as Finchley seizes him by the arm (again), and pulls him over, into the longer grass.

What he sees doesn't seem all that impressive, let alone important.

"You dragged me out here to look at a rock?" It's not even a pretty rock. Actually, it's quite ugly, all pitted and shiny in random places. "Finchley."

"It's not a rock." Finchley gives him an overly-scandalized look, gesticulating at the rock (because that's what it is, a rock) with his free hand. "It's a meteorite. From space."

"Then where's the crater?" It's just barely embedded in the dirt, the oddly-shiny surface covered with a light film of dust.

"It's small. Plus, it's an igneous rock. We live in Half Moon Bay, Alex. No volcanoes. Meteroite." Finchley stoops to pick it up, fingers running ponderously across the pitted surface. "It's not hot or anything."

"You're probably gonna get some kind of weird space disease from touching it." It's infantile of him, but he really just wants to go home. "Bring it with you, if it's so damn important. We're going home."

"It's gone through the atmosphere. There's prob'ly nothing alive on it." Finchley mutters, releasing him to turn the rock over in his hands. It glints rather ominously in the sunlight, and Alex huffs. "Yeah, I'll have my dad look at it. But when I get a million billion dollars for finding the first meteorite from, like, Neptune, I'm not going to share any of it with you. Actually, I'm going to hire someone to come to your house every day at this time and remind you that you're a big jerk who doesn't believe his brilliant friend when said friend is, in fact, a genius who found a meteorite from Neptune."

"Mhm."

The next morning (Alex still hadn't gotten his homework done), three federal officers from the Department of Whatever-It-Was come and take Finchley's rock. Alex tries to ignore how smug his friend is, but ultimately fails. But it's not like Finchley actually got a million billion dollars.

"They promised that they'd call it Meteorite Finchley." Even if the damn rock is named after him.

calling all writers!

2012-03-28T01:22:14Z

What inspires you?

writerverse is a landcomm by writers for writers. If you love to write, work well with deadlines (or need them!), like prompts to work with, enjoy teamwork, and find satisfaction in beating the metaphorical (or physical) crap out of the other team, what are you waiting for?

The writerverse is currently in the middle of a phase, but we're always looking for new members! Members of writerverse can write anything that suits them, from poetry to fanfiction, in order to win points for their team. Members are expected to post at least once every two weeks (motivation!), and right now there are open challenges going on, so anyone can hop in and join in on the fun!

I'm on Team Poetry* (and I don't even write poetry), so I encourage you to join up with me! That is, unless you like losing. ;D

Also, tell them that easterly sent you, it means points for ~~your future~~ Team Poetry!

* teams are in name only - you don't have to write poetry to be on Team Poetry, and nor do you have to write prose for Team Prose. But you're not joining Team Prose. You're joining Team Poetry, amirite?

spring cleaning

2012-03-26T02:16:02Z

My journal has gone from 253 entries (varying from fanfiction to ill-conceived late-night posts) to now just 50, including this entry. That took a long time. As of now, you'll find no fanfiction on this journal. If I so choose to write it, it will be friends-locked and remain that way. I've decided to be a bit more professional with this, mainly because I don't need a potential employer finding something that I don't want people to see. Most of my entries from here on out will be either personal posts, original fiction work, graphics posts, and things vaguely relating to fandom.

That being said, there are probably more than a few of you on my f-list that I haven't spoken to in literally months. This right here is your out - feel free to unfriend me! You don't need to give me a reason or anything, just go ahead. I'll be doing a friends-cut sometime next week to finish this whole spring cleaning deal off.

For those of you who will be sticking around: I will be posting more often! I'm going to make it my mission to chronicle every bit of interesting things that happen to me, along with posting a few book/movie reviews here and there with my original works. And thank you for sticking with me for all this time! ♥

real quick update

2012-03-06T12:23:10Z

distantfridays → easterly

A big thank you to glass, who gave me the LJ tokens to change my account name! :D Hugs and kisses (and icons/banners) are yours forever!

[066] make me beg for more

2012-03-04T22:48:50Z

requested icons x34
stock icons x21
banners x28

preview:

here @ vaguelyunpoetic

[065] it's not over until i say it is

2012-02-16T02:02:41Z

icons (stock) x28
banners (stock) x16
banners (bbc's sherlock) x1

( and i never want it to end )

003. bleu & 004. ANGEL

2011-12-13T23:29:02Z

I've made two profile layouts instead of paying attention in class! Are you proud of me? :D

003.

004.

title. textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere textheretextheretextheretexthere	☼ link ☼ link ☼ css ☼ code

title.

textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere
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☼ link ☼ link ☼ css ☼ code

photo preview

code:

<center><table width="300" cellspacing="0" cellpadding="5" border="0">
<tr><td height="200" valign="top"><p align="right"><font face="century gothic" color="#99ccff" size="8">title.</font></p>
<img src="http://i42.tinypic.com/2mcastv.png" width="300">
<p align="justify"><font face="garamond" size="4" color="#99ccff">
textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere
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textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere
textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere
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textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere
textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere
textheretextheretextheretexthere</font></p></td>
<th colspan="2"><font face="garamond" color="#6699cc" size="0"><center>☼ <a href="linkhere">link</a>  ☼ <a href="linkhere">link</a>  ☼ <a href="linkhere">css</a>  ☼ <a href="http://distantfridays.livejournal.com">code</font></a></center></th>
</tr>
</table></center>

TITLE

texthere.

textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere

♫ link. ♪ link ♫ css. ♪ profile.

photo preview

code:

<div align="center"><table border="0" width="300"><tr><td><img src="http://i1096.photobucket.com/albums/g327/exit-sign/060/winged.png" width="300"></tr></table></div><div align="center"><table border="0" width="300"><tr><td>
<font face="helvetica" size="10" color="#666666">TITLE</font><br />
<font face="helvetica" size="2" color="#999999"><i>texthere</i>.<br />
textheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretextheretexthere</tr></font></table></div><div><div align="center"><table border="0" width="200"><tr><td><font face="helvetica" size="0" color="#333333"><b>♫</b> <a href="linkhere">link.</a>  <b>♪</b> <a href="linkhere">link</a>  <b>♫</b> <a href="linkhere">css.</a>  <b>♪</b> <a href="http://distantfridays.livejournal.com">profile.<a/></font></tr>
</table></div>

For variations on bleu, I've made some alternate banners (replace the img url with the url of the banners). You can also change the text color by finding

font face="century gothic" color="#99ccff"

and replacing "#99ccff" with the corresponding codes:

(#ccffdd)

(#ff99a7)

(same #)

The banner size for ANGEL is 300x200; you can find more banners of that size here, here, and here that I've made. Or you can make your own!

♔ Don't hotlink! (Upload images to your own sever)

♔ Do credit! That means don't remove the credit line! (easterly)

♔ Don't edit/claim as your own!

♔ Do comment! (♥)