*mywriting

I stumbled across an old picture of us, and I thought I would text you to remind you how happy I am that we never worked out. But instead, I find myself sending messages with thirteen attachments in honor of ‘remembering the old days’. I have tried to write you out of my story so many times, but somehow you always end up back on the first page. I left my innocence in your hands all those years ago, and I don’t think I’ve ever stopped loving you.
—  first love never dies | S.B.

Uh, just quickly…

‪#‎BellLetsTalk‬ more about the institutional hardships that people with mental health struggles have to endure rather than only grazing the surface of these issues once a year…

#BellLetsTalk about how these types of hashtag activisms become a pinnacle for political leaders to hijack while they’re simultaneously cutting funding to actual institutions and shoving people in jail for their neuroatypicality/neurodiversism

#BellLetsTalk about the discourse surrounding the ‘stigma’ of mental illness as one that is rarely ever considered as an institutional phenomenon. (Actual socioeconomic disparities between people who experience mental health issues and neurotypicals is planned and calculated)

#BellLetsTalk about how it is often depression and anxiety disorders that are put at the forefront of these types of campaigns, and other disorders such as BPD, schizophrenia, OCD are delegitimized/sensationalized and left out of the discourse completely

#BellLetsTalk about how there needs to be better INSTITUTIONS that address the INTERSECTIONALITY of mental illness..(Honestly I am so over platforms that facilitate pseudo dialogue with limited goals in mind that are inherently exclusive and problematic)

#BellLetsTalk about NEUROTYPICALS leading and capitalizing on campaigns and discourse

#BellLetsTalk about how ‪#‎RobinWilliams‬ mental struggle was ‘tragic’ but Amanda Bynes’ was ‘funny’

#BellLetsTalk about how the same people who talk about ‘ending the stigma’ once a year fail to even ATTEMPT to remove albleism from their language and everyday lives

#BellLetsTalk about how rhetoric like “ending the stigma (around mental illness)” can often be coded language that implies this stigma is only between the individual and mental illness rather than the State and mental illness…

#BellLetsTalk about police brutality and how being neuroatypical/neurodiverse means youre more likely to be killed by the police…

anonymous asked:

Rin notices a cutie sitting by the window of a coffee shop while taking a break from running. He runs a couple of laps and stops at the same spot every time to get a glimpse of Ai

Rin brushed his bangs out of his face, grimacing at the sweaty strands. 

He always went for a run in the mornings, usually taking a break near the popular cafe. Today was just like any other day. After running for about twenty minutes, he slowed down and loitered in front of the shop.

Rin watched people come and go, the door jingling with each person.

"I wonder why this place is so popular," he mumbled, skimming the inside.

It was small, but decorated nicely with bright colors that surely put a smile on the average person’s face. Rin had never been a fan of bright colors however so maybe that accounted for his disinterest in the place.

Just as he shrugged his shoulders, loosening his joints, readying himself for another run, someone unexpectedly caught his eye. No matter how quick the initial glimpse was, it was too obvious how beautiful the person was.

Rin glanced back, cracking a small smile. Damn.

Keep reading

Reunion~ Chapter 418 oneshot

The first month went by quickly. With the guild gone, Lucy’s first priority was money. Luckily Erza had took control and set up a temporary job board in front of Fairy Hills. The “no males” ban was lifted, and the gang would spent time together in the common room, pondering the future of Fairy Tail and where the Master was. They didn’t mention the other two missing from their circle.

Lucy focused on smaller jobs, occasionally teaming up with Gray or Juvia, but she found she preferred to work alone, putting herself through her own training. It still wasn’t enough to meet the rent, so she applied to be a writer for the Sorcerer Weekly, and to her surprise, they offered her a column. 

So for the first month, Lucy was so busy she didn’t even have time to think about the gaping hole in her life. There would be moments: when she saw a flame, or fish, or a fight break out, but she had developed tactics to deal with grief. Just as when her mother died. Just like when she left her father’s home. When she had to break Aquarius’ key.

During the second month, she was injured during a joint mission with Gray and Erza. The enemy was strong, and had targeted Lucy as the weakest link. She broke her arm (luckily not her writer’s arm) and torn a few muscles. When she opened her eyes in hospital, she expected him to be there.
He wasn’t. 

By the third month, Lucy was struggling. Others were careful not to mention his name around her, but occasionally they would talk about better times, and Fairy Tail during her prime. It was painful- more painful than having her arm broken. She went by their house, but had to leave quickly. It was too much.

By the sixth month mark, Lucy felt better. She had been training with Loke to build up her strength and her combat fighting. She was being requested for missions, especially regarding books, and she and Levy often went out on these missions with great success.

Lucy had stopped crossing off days on the calendar, because it just made life drag on. She found the best way was to keep busy, but not keep track of time. She took on a month long mission at one of the biggest libraries in the land, helping to track down books that had been stolen from their rare section. She traveled all over, met new friends and enemies, gained a few scars and some new skills.

Although she had enjoyed the adventure (and the handsome reward, enough to pay for three month’s rent) Lucy was glad to be back in her little apartment. She was too tired to bathe or eat- too tired to even turn the lights on. The celestial mage dumped her luggage and wearily felt her way into her bedroom. She opened her set of drawers and took out a clean, baggy t-shirt, and stripped off quickly, excited for a decent sleep in her cosy bed.

"Ahhh…" Lucy said happily, rolling into her bed. "This is the best!"

As she snuggled in, Lucy couldn’t help but notice the bed was warm. Too warm for a bed that had been unslept in for a month.

"What the…?" Lucy pulled back the covers, revealing a sleeping, half naked body.

"Arghhhh!" Lucy screamed, scrambling out the bed and falling over. There was a pervert in her bed!

"Hmm?" a husky voice could be heard. "Is that you, Lucy? Okaeri…"

"N-Natsu?" Lucy stammered, unable to believe her ears. She got back on her feet, and saw the dragon slayer rubbing his eyes.

"What took you so long?" he asked sleepily. "Me and Happy got back last week!"

Lucy opened her mouth, but she was too shocked to respond. All the things she had kept bottled up over the last year seemed to evaporate upon seeing her nakama back in her bed, like nothing had happened.

"I just came back from a job…" was her weak response.

"Oh?’ Natsu said. "You must be tired. Let’s sleep, we can talk later."

Lucy was stunned at his words, but she found she didn’t have the energy to protest. She lay back down, feeling numb, but soon thawed out by how warm the bed was.

"I missed you, Lucy," Natsu whispered, wrapping his arms around the celestial mage.

"I missed you too, you idiot!" Lucy gasped, and the dam broke as tears poured from her eyes. 


Yeah, so I imagine the reunion is gonna to totally anti-climatic, but might just be me!
May do another oneshot about Lucy writing for Sorcerer’s Weekly!

I know you’re not meant for me, as much as I want to deny it, but I was hoping to be meant for you.
— 

we’ll never be meant for each other, just one for another.

e.m. // @ohexpressions on ig

This isn’t me crying ‘uncle’.
This isn’t me being rude or selfish or a tight ass.
This is me telling you how I feel.
This is me saying that I don’t like it when you talk about me with others when I am not around.
I don’t like thinking of how many bad things you have said.
Sure I should probably grow up.
Others opinions shouldn’t bother me.
Except when I was younger others thought it was their god given right to tell me when people were talking badly about me.
Sometimes those people just told me to my face.
One time a girl was talking to me about a boy who was making fun of this sorry excuse for a girl. And it turns out that she had no idea who I was because that sorry excuse was me.
And yes it was in the past, but these things still haunt me to this day.
These things are the ones that come creeping up at 3am threatening to choke me.
They remind me that there was a time no one wanted me.
And I’m afraid of that coming back.
And I know I can survive having no one.
But please don’t think poorly of me because that will destroy me.
—  s.r., insight to my insecurity

Do you see what I have done
to escape the lust of men?
I have become solid, with an armor of rock, 
the cracks in my skin are pooling

Goddess of prophetic dreams,
yet I did not dream my fate,
the stars did not show feathers, nor sand, 
only sisters birthing twins with my aid

I carry the weight of my island 
like a ball and chain, 
my escape, my punishment, my earthly tether,
trapped in the sea, drowning

Do you see what I have done
to deny the God of the Sky,
and the God of the Sea?
death is more desirable than these stars

I am Asteria, 
Titaness,
Mother,

I am Delos,
Ortygia,
Quail

I am many things,
but I did not
fall prey to him

no, never,
no, never,
no, never

—  Asteria // SN

“we are dolls of society
they play with our emotions, body, clothing, and everything
you can keep trying to change yourself, but honestly, it’s never
enough, so stop trying. i know we all end up with our heads
between our knees, with tears falling from cheek to ground, saying oh
god oh god please help me, because we thought that being in our
own skin would be the safe place to be.
but silence is the only sound you hear.
we were taught to hate our skin that we’re trapped inside in
by a society that shames our confidence and feeds us our flaws
that we already know and lies that have been going on and
on, it never dies
labels, labels, and more labels, around you, on your tummy, on
your face, it’s everywhere
gay ugly fat horrible depressed lost
broken worthless whore crazy loser
not good enough, not good enough, it’s never enough
but you are only human, you bleed, you break, you fall and
that’s okay because you are no doll.
they tell you to get over it and that there are other problems to worry
when will society realize that everyday, the youth kills themselves
day by day trying to fit themselves into their goddamn standards
why do you do that? why do you do that? why?
you can see our next generation teaching the next generation the 1st words
skinny pretty skinny beautiful girl
boy muscles soft quiet skinny handsome
we wasted our youth, trying to be what society wants
instead of being happy with what we got”

you are one and only, you don’t have to fit in and be the same as everyone else because you cannot spell beautiful without “u” in it.
your laugh is like a melodic song and
the way how you smile can shine up in someone’s eyes
you don’t need all that makeup or cream to hide your passion
or diet pills to thin out kindness, you don’t have to hide anymore
you are worth more than stars, you are more than society
and it’s time you realize that.

credit to Savannah Brown xx

"You don’t," Dean starts to say, but the words clog up in his throat before he can get the rest of them out. He stops, and suddenly he can feel every breath going into his lungs, every twitch of muscle as his fingers curl listlessly at his sides. If he listens hard enough, maybe he can even feel the blood rushing to his head and his heart pound against his eardrums. And if he bothers, maybe he can even hear every instinct rattling through his bones and screaming no.

Cas stands there before him, ratty sweatshirt—where did he even get that, what happened to the trench coat—zipped up and his hands buried in the pockets and Dean’s never seen Cas look so small, curled in on himself and trying so badly to mask how hurt he is. This is the expression that accompanied the devastation of Heaven, the decimation of angels, tearing apart the cosmos and Purgatory—this is the expression of Dean telling him to leave. This is his response to Dean rejecting him.

And yet, Cas stands there before him and waits for him to finish.

Keep reading

I. He told me I could be the one, and I was too young to think he could be lying. He was afraid to go ice skating with me. He bought me a $100 necklace and then two weeks later, he dumped me. He told me I was too much. I still believe it to this day.

II. He said we should keep us a secret. I think I liked the goosebumps I got every time he touched me. He walked me to class every morning and I guess I thought it meant something. I don’t think “I only see you as a friend” has ever hit me so hard.

III. He did everything he was supposed to do. But I broke his heart anyway.

IV. He has more of me than he probably should. I was obsessed with his green eyes and the way midnight made him want me. He kept seeing other people and I was shocked when it broke me. I cried into his shoulder. I still don’t think he cared.

V. He had lips that tasted like cigarette smoke and I only wanted him because I felt alone.

VI. He was my best friend and I guess I fell for him. He found excuses to call me pretty and he didn’t kiss me without asking first. He has a beautiful soul. I didn’t believe in paths crossing at the wrong time until I met him. He made me believe that there is good in this world.

—  six people who changed me

Sammy’s first word is a garbled sound; a bubble of spit that borders on a whine.

Dean grins, baby teeth and something like radiance and “Dad,” It’s always Dad, never Daddy anymore. “Dad did you hear that? Dad, he said my name!”

Dean doesn’t gloat, not really. He just breaks into this big grin every time Sammy squeals something that sounds like “De” every opportunity he has (of which there are many) and waves his arms in his brother’s direction. So what if it’s not really Dean’s name. It’s close enough and no one’s going to take this away from them.

John tries not to be too bothered that it takes Sammy much longer to grasp the concept of at least saying “dada,” but he’s still pretty damn proud when he does. And happy. Mostly happy.

He’s happy but hurt, because Mary’s not there next to him, baby boy squirming on her lap with her eldest wrapped around her leg and her smiling, saying, John, John did you hear him?

Sammy gives his family one of those silly little grins of his again and Dean laughs in the way five-year-olds are supposed to and John’s heart breaks just a little bit more.

It takes him even longer to learn what “mama” means.

If you are suffering, remember this:

You don’t have to tell yourself it’s going to get better. In fact, I don’t expect you to do that, because when you’re in such a dark place, it’s pretty much impossible to tell yourself anything positive. What you need to know is that it’s okay to be sad, or empty, or scared of the future. It’s okay to feel. It’s okay that right now you’re not okay. What matters is that you’ve survived this far, and that means that somewhere deep inside you, you have the strength to continue. Acknowledge the pain. Carry it with you. It’s going to be a weight on your shoulders, but it’s not going to crush you. You should be damn proud of yourself for making it this far, and it’s okay that things aren’t perfect now. Hold on. Please.

—  Anti-Suicidal Thoughts