I’m fifteen years old and learning for the too many-eth time
how easily our lives can unravel at their seams.
My mother’s footsteps echo down our hallway,
pause at the front door and flutter into a distance
we do not have the lung power to travel.

After she leaves, my father
sits in front of the television for two hours

and then the next six months.
He shouts himself to sleep, screams
to pierce the silence radiating
like a jinn
from her empty chair at the dinner table,
clenches his fork so tight,
clenches my wrist so tight
when he tells me how much I look like her.
And I’m learning how easy it shouldn’t be
to apologise for the things you cannot change.

I cannot change that you left.
That you let the poison shout down your throat,
caress your veins until they opened their doors
and you collapsed on your bedroom floor
like a house of cards held by all the wrong hands.

It feels as though I cannot change 
that even after these scorching weeks,
your voice still whispers up my neck,
settles in my mouth
in the shape of your name until every word sounds like
I miss you.

I miss you, my angel.

I miss you doubled over in bed laughing so hard
it took your breath away
as your eyes crinkled and lit up like the star you were named after.
I miss you stealing my looks
and going to dodgy places to get pierced
just to say that we did that once.

How did we get here?
Do you feel like one of those stars we gazed up at?
Can you hear me?

Sometimes, I swear you’re still here.

Sometimes, it hurts so much everything

feels like the opposite of God.

God, I forgive you.

And I know now not to apologise for the things I cannot change
But if there is any chance-

I am so sorry.

I am so sorry.

There are so many distances we don’t have the lung power to travel.
So many skies people can up and disappear into.
When I close my eyes I see you
blowing out the candles with me on my birthday cake
holding me as my home crumbled to its bones
laughing, laughing, laughing

into light.

—  one day it will be just me and you and things might feel like heaven // vulgarme

that creeping, infinite quiet

next on things to rant about this week        

don’t underestimate characters 2k15
don’t underestimate characters 2k15


and just because they are friends, do not !!!!
assume they have The Soft Spot for your muse.
assume your muse is the
One Exception.

chances are? yeah. they aren’t. 


I can’t decide if it’s amazing or pathetic that I wake up most mornings and think: “Today, I want to be someone Misha Collins would be proud of.”


I know that feel Greg, I know that feel. 


@drstanakatic: #Castle BTS 24:
These are my men. Before I go radio silent, I want to single out these two: Rob Bowman & Andrew Marlowe… What an incredible creative collaboration!
I will go anywhere with these two. Their commitment to great storytelling, their incredible work ethic & their talent made them a dynamic pairing.
@drstanakatic: #Castle BTS 23:
So much of the Castle story came from these two. I remember shooting the pilot with Terri Edda Miller & Andrew Marlowe in NYC. We were all so new to TV then. So green. We’ve learned a lot these years. What you’ve watched & the characters you’ve fallen in love with never would’ve happened if not for Castle’s creator Andrew Marlowe.
Andrew & Terri wrote the finale. One of my favorite Beckett moments ever is in this ep. Thank you, Andrew. Thank you, Terri… For giving me a capable, complex, loving & formidable woman to play. Castle wouldn’t be what
it is without you.

You know you cast / a long shadow / on the ground

Wait. We have to wait how long for Season Three?

Luke Song Preference: “Small Bump” by Ed Sheeran

Author: Rhine


You’re just a small bump, in four months you’ll be brought to life
You might be left with my hair, but you’ll have your mother’s eyes

He can’t stop thinking about it.

The second heart that was beginning to beat in your stomach, the small footprints that were beginning to protrude slightly with every kick, your growing stomach that marked the countdown until the day.

Luke couldn’t stop thinking about it, about your baby.

You’ve created a life with him – more than just moving in together and sharing space in the washroom and redecorating the empty walls and making it home, more than having your clothes permanently mixed with his, more than waking up every single morning and falling asleep every single night with the guarantee that you’d be in his arms – no, this was more. This was more than having a life together. This was creating a life with him.

You were bringing someone into the world, someone that would be the product of you and him, the product of your love and your teachings and your happiness and god, how do you even begin to describe what a child is to a parent?

A child is a molecular mix of two people that were a fraction of a chance in a seven-billion world; two strangers who were destined for more than a second, who found something tangible beneath the air that everything breathed in and out without a second thought. A child is the combination of these two strangers who would shape the world – their world – into one that would be built for the both of them instead of two individuals wandering alone; a fusion of these two entirely separate by-chance people that found something more, that made something more and –

A child is a blend of two strangers that would become the thread showed that two completely different lives can come together and mix in the most perfect way to become one.

And Luke can’t stop thinking of that, of how he found the impossible with you, that now he can bring something so completely new into the world that was a mix of him and you; that he was going to be raising a living, breathing, human being that would be the byproduct of your love and that they were going to think in a beautifully unique way and have a mind that will be so intricate and that he can be there to see it grow, to gently mould it with his hands.

How can you express that? The process of becoming a parent?

Of creating something as valuable and unknown as a whole life – a person who will touch lives and perhaps scar every now and then, a person who will succeed and make mistakes and make a new path and wander off of it on occasion – how do you begin to explain the feeling of taking something as physically intangible as love and creating it into something you can hold in your hands and calling it a life?

Someone to breathe in the cool airs of mountains unexplored. Someone to see the sunset in a thousand different hues and touch the soils of the earth that have been there since the beginning of time. Someone to feel raindrops on their fingers and smudge mud on their cheeks; someone to create a history of their own; creating a future.

Luke still can’t believe it, that he’s a creator for something as precious as that – but your growing stomach with every month confirms it, the excitement and happiness growing inside him while the life in yours did.

And he can’t help thinking of the baby every night – whether they’ll have your beautiful eyes or his dimpled grin, if they’ll crinkle your nose like him or bite their lip like you; if they’ll have your talents or his or manifest one of their own, if, if, if.

There are hundreds upon thousands upon millions of possible combinations of you and him and nature and nurture with the life that steadily grows in your stomach and it’s impossible for Luke to pinpoint one that he wants, one that he’s certain of.

He might not know how the baby will look like or who they’ll grow up to be, but god, he already knows in his bones that he’ll love them with every fibre of his being, with every breath he’ll ever take and even after that.

Because it’s you and it’s him and it’s a life you’ve created together and Luke can’t ask for anything more than that.

It’ll be perfect.


I’ll hold you tightly, I’ll give you nothing but truth
If you’re not inside me, I’ll put my future in you

He’s already dreaming of tomorrow.

Of the future, of the future with you and him and the baby.

Of the playful arguments over what the first word will be and the teetering first steps that will send his heart ricocheting into space; of the bike rides that he’ll have to let go of and the first day of school where he’ll have to see them leave without him. Of the graduations and the first date preparations and prom and certifications and marriages and –

Luke’s carried away with the future he can already see down the line, though the faces and the names and the places are still so blurry.

It doesn’t matter though. He can feel it, and that’s enough for him to fall asleep with a smile on his lips.

The joy in receiving the first picture they’ll draw of your family. The loneliness he’ll have when he has to tour. The frustration in the closed doors and miscommunication of emotions. The elation of an acceptance and the peace of silent company.

When they ask for math help for a question they can’t solve. When they bring friends over and blow out multiple candles with a single breath. Finding the perfect present just to see the delight on their face on Christmas day. Hell, Luke even dreams about the frustration of seeing them on their phone all the time or finding them hungover on a friend’s couch or the bad report cards or the silent treatments or the choice in clothing and words and friends.

Luke just wants it all – the ups and the downs of life, of a life he’s created with you.

He wants the future of your family.


And eyelids closed, soon to be open wide
A small bump, in four months you’ll open your eyes

He can’t wait for the day.

The day where you’ll be screaming for him to drive faster and he’ll be a nervous wreck of what am I supposed to do what can I do oh my god oh my god and Luke already knows he’s going to do something stupid like trip over his own two feet or take the wrong turn and you’ll yell at him out of hormones and frustration and he’ll stutter his apologies and everything will be high tension and high anxiety for hours upon hours but it’ll be a story he’ll be telling even when he’s old and grey, words barely coherent.

And then Luke can hold the baby in his arms, never minding the bloody mess; he’ll cradle the baby in his arms, this small little human being that he had a hand in creating, that he’ll call his own for the rest of his life and for the rest of eternity even when he’s nothing but dirt and stone.

He’ll leave behind something, and he’ll leave behind this little, beautiful, precious life and there’s nothing else he’d rather have.

Luke can’t wait for the day the rest of that life begins and he’s marking down the days and asking you questions to make sure you really don’t need to go to the hospital now –

Are you sure?

Luke, there’s four months left. Relax. It’ll be here before you know it.

- but he simply can’t wait for everything that will come after; the baby names and the awkward fumbles that he’ll eventually get right – right? – and his son or his daughter and god, just being able to say he has a child

He’s agitated from thinking of the possibilities, of the moments to come – the wails that bounce off the hospital’s walls and the slowly batting eyelids and the wet tufts of hair and the smooth skin and the tiny, tiny fingers that barely fit around his –

Just four more months.

Four more months until the dreams stop becoming dreams and start becoming reality.

Start becoming the life he so wanted.


Oh, you are my one and only
You can wrap your fingers around my thumb and hold me tight
And you’ll be alright

He swears he’ll do it right.

Luke swears that he’ll be the best father he can be; someone that his child can look up to, someone that they can say with pride that’s my dad.

Someone that they can say with confidence that they loved him, someone that they’ll want to go to when things are rough and when things are good.

He wants to be that support, he wants to be that shield, he wants to be there.

And Luke wants his child to need him as a father – more than just the duties of changing diapers and math problems – he wants to be someone that his child will need for guidance and support and just his presence. He wants his child to know that he’s there, that he loves them, even when he’s not present.

Luke wants to be integrated into this little life in more than just genetics; he wants to be woven into the happy memories and he wants to be there to shield them from the sad; he wants to be the name that’s spoken with tender care and fondness and the recollection of someone that did good on their lives.

And perhaps – perhaps Luke needs this child too.

He needs the feeling of being needed; of someone saying I love you daddy and the look of awe and reverence of a child to a role model; he needs the small hands to hold and guide as he forages ahead; he needs the basic simplicity of a child’s mind to teach him that bedsheets are kingdoms and clouds are portals to another universe.

He needs it.

And Luke promises himself that even if he makes mistakes he’ll learn and he’ll cherish and he’ll do what he can and he’ll know what he can’t; he’ll love to the best of his ability and protect what’s his and he’ll hold on and let go when the time’s right.

He’ll be that support. That protector. That caretaker.

That father.


‘Cause you were just a small bump unborn for four months then torn from life
Maybe you were needed up there but we’re still unaware as why

He doesn’t know why.

Why everything – everything he’s been dreaming of for the past few months can just be dashed away in a fraction of a moment, in a single report said with a sorry that doesn’t do anything to numb the pain.

Because the memories and the happiness and the ups and the downs and the very family Luke had planned for, that he had hoped for –


Just like that.

Months of waiting, of planning, and you were there you were there and you were so, so close to having it, just so, so close.

But close isn’t enough. Because close is only enough for the wisps of imagination that he clings onto, but close is not enough to have that life cradled in his arms.

And Luke doesn’t know how; how he could have failed before he even began.

Failed himself. Failed you. Failed the baby.

How he failed to protect everyone that mattered; too busy chasing dreams to make sure he could see through to it outside of his head.

And now, now it’s too late it’s too late and he can’t get it back, he can’t put your tears back and his pain back and he can’t bring the baby back and he can’t bring that life back he can’t.

He just can’t.

And there’s nothing Luke can do to get the things he’s lost, the things he never quite had just yet.

He can’t get back the brilliant, sparkling life in your stomach; he can’t get back the beautifully unique mix of you and him again; he can’t get back the memories he never had and the life that never existed.

And things are a little emptier now.

The hollows of your body that was meant for two and the space in his heart that he had reserved for someone that was long gone; the earth that would never feel their touch and the smile that would never see the sun, the lives that would never be affected and the memories that would never be made.

There’s nothing but destruction in a place that was meant for growth and Luke stands in the middle of it all.

Surrounded by the what-if’s that used to lull him to sleep that now haunt him into the night; in the wreckage of the paradise he so carefully constructed.

He was just someone who was on the verge of having everything

But left standing with nothing.

He didn’t know the emptiness could hurt so much.


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Obviously she has feelings for Clarke, perhaps is falling in love with Clarke, and yet, to save her people she sold her soul. She sold her love down the river.” - Jason Rothenberg on Lexa’s choice.