(what am i even talking about)


I am new to the Drarry Squad and to Tumblr and I can’t even express how much fun I have had interacting with you all and being embraced as part of this spectacular fandom! To celebrate this first milestone, here is an excerpt of a longer fic that I am working on…well, working on when I can drag myself away from Tumblr…

Draco settled into his desk and started prepping the files he would need to complete the paperwork from his last mission. Thankfully the Weasel was out of the office today training and Draco reveled in the quiet environment.

Just as he pulled out the appropriate form and set to writing, the office door loudly swung open and Potter entered. Of course he hadn’t bothered to knock, and of course he didn’t say anything as he trudged to the couch in the office and heavily sat down.

Draco had yet to get used to the brutish “manners” Potter exhibited. Potter and the Weasel both had no sense of propriety and it irritated Draco to no end.

Potter grunted and pointed toward Ron’s desk with a quizzical look.

“Honestly Potter, are words too much to ask for? Weasley is doing his training today.” At Harry’s confused look, Draco pointedly rolled his eyes “He won’t be in the office…” Harry’s blank look didn’t clear “I was planning to quietly work on paperwork” the dismissal was heavy in the air, but of course Potter didn’t pick up on it. Instead, he sighed and laid his head back on the couch, closing his eyes.

Draco was perturbed that Potter hadn’t made a move to leave, but yet found himself staring at his exposed throat, slightly lighter than the surrounding skin, he noticed. He traced Potter’s strong jaw with his eyes and tried very hard to pretend he didn’t want to trace it with his tongue. Merlin, Potter was good looking. Internally shaking himself Draco bitingly said “Don’t you ever go home, Potter?”

Harry opened his eyes and trained a weary glance at Draco. They had been in the habit of verbally sparing with each other and though he wanted to say something smart back, he was simply too exhausted – so instead, the truth came out “Not if I can help it, no” he said in a weak puff of air.

Draco startled a little at the truthful admission. Quickly, he covered it with another quip “Oh, no one to pester at home, then?” Harry continued to look at him with weary eyes and he became uncomfortably aware that he was likely closer to the truth than he intended.  

Harry’s eyes closed once more and very much against his will, Draco softened. Quietly, he said “You look tired, was it a rough night at St. Mungo’s?”

Harry swallowed and once again trained his eyes on Draco “Yes. A torture case. He didn’t make it.”

Draco didn’t have to ask to know how hard this was on Harry. It was written in the painful crease of his eyes, the bone-weary set of his shoulders, and the fact that he still hadn’t moved, despite knowing that Ron wouldn’t be coming. Draco stood up and swept out of the office. When he returned moments later, Harry hadn’t moved an inch.

Draco gently settled on the opposite end of the sofa and quietly cleared his throat. Harry slid his eyes open a crack to glance at Draco, and then startled, he opened them wide. Draco pushed a mug of tea toward Harry and he gratefully accepted it. His eyes quickly shot to Draco once more as he realized his tea was prepared exactly as he liked it – strong, with a splash of milk. Harry opened his mouth, but before he could say anything Draco drawled “You’re here nearly every day, I am capable of picking up on some things” and walked quickly back to his desk.

Draco, in what he hoped was a nonchalant voice asked “Are you planning on staying here a bit then?”

Harry looked over at Draco and was struck at how clear and bright his grey eyes were, even as a slight frown lit his face. “I suppose I could head home, Merlin knows I need sleep, but…”

The unspoken words hung in the air. Draco had once heard the Weasel and the Weaslette talking quietly in the office, when they thought he wasn’t paying attention, about Harry’s nightmares that never went away after the war and were always made worse by cases he couldn’t help, even though he was the best healer at St. Mungo’s. Draco knew about nightmares. He had them more often than was decent. The only times he didn’t reliably have nightmares were when he couldn’t take it anymore and took a Dreamless Sleep potion.

Draco cleared his thoughts with an imperceptible shake of his head “Like I said, I was planning on a quiet day of paperwork…you’re welcome to rest on the couch until you feel well enough to go home, if you want.”

Harry’s brows knit together as he finished the last of the tea and levitated the cup to Ron’s desk. He looked back at Draco, his eyes searching for Merlin-knows-what. Draco had to work harder than he would admit to keep his face impassive as he fought down an annoying spike of caring for the handsome brute in his office. Harry sighed and murmured a thanks as he shifted further down into the couch and promptly fell asleep.

anonymous asked:

FINALLY AN AMAZING AMERICAN INTERVIEW!!! Their interview with ZachSang show is absolutely amazing. The interviewer talked about their lyrics, even going as far as knowing exactly what some of their songs talk about. He also mentioned unicef!!!! You could tell the boys were so happy and rm was so surprised. It’s sad that out of like a million interviews in US, only one has actually done research on the boys but I am so happy about it!! JUST WANTED TO SHARE THIS WITH YOU

god if this isn’t me summed up into one ask ksdjngsg omg I know, trust me;;;;; I KNOW

Welcome to the 99

oh hey it’s the YA/B99 crossover that I was up til 1 AM talking about with @jewishsuperfam. I want to Write this but also feel like if I post it on here I will Trick my brain into thinking it’s not a real fic.

Which it isn’t since I can’t promise updates or a hard and fast timeline just know that I have Too Many Ideas about it

this is dedicated to Stephanie Beatriz who dressed up as America Chavez for Halloween, what a Gift

this takes place in like….idkkkkk season two????

It’a a Monday morning briefing which means that the only person even remotely paying attention is Santiago.

Captain Holt saying the phrase “pilot program” perks up a few ears and the word “Avengers” has everyone straightening in their seats, even Rosa, who goes from her typical relaxed feet-on-the-table position to feet-flat-on-the-floor-let’s-get-ready-to-fight in a matter of seconds. It might be noteworthy except for the fact that Captain Holt is saying that they’re going to get to work with freakin’ Avengers

Oh my god,” Jake hisses to Boyle. “I think Rosa was an Avenger. Look how freaked out she got.”

“Peralta,” Holt says in the tone he reserves solely for Jake. “Is there something you’d like to add?”

“Uh. No sir. Just that I’m suuuuper excited!”

Holt gives him a Look before turning to the rest of the detectives. “As I said, this is a pilot program, spearheaded by Captain Steve Rogers to try and foster feelings of safety and trust between civilians and the superpowered community. The group we will be working with isn’t as high profile as the Avengers, nor will they be here all the time–though I believe Detective Boyle and Sergeant Jeffords have worked with at least one of their number on occasion–ah, here they are!”

They are a handful of people who all appear to be in their mid to late twenties. Three of them are still wearing their sunglasses inside and they honestly look more like a group of people who partied too hard over the weekend and are still hungover.

“Coffee,” the woman at the front of the pack croaks. “I need coffee.”

She looks familiar but Jake can’t place her. She is elbowed by a guy with dark floppy hair that is equally familiar and unplaceable.

She clears her throat and strides to the front of the room, hand outstretched. “You must be Captain Holt. It’s nice to finally meet you.” Now that she isn’t croaking for coffee like some sort of hungover monster, she sounds a lot like…a hungover monster who needs coffee. “Sorry we’re late. We just got off of a flight from–” Dark FloppyHair elbows her in the back and she continues with “destinations unknown. It was a red eye.” She looks like she’s thinking very hard about taking off her sunglasses before deciding against it. “We were called in to…engage a hostile…and this individual had a sonic weapon.”

This gets her a lot of blank stares.

“Look, it was a weird weapon and a lot of us look like we got hit by trucks. That had arms. That held baseball bats, that they then used to beat us with.”

She pulls off her sunglasses with what looks like a lot of effort, prompting a disgusted, pained “ew” from the collective 99. 

Hit by a car that had arms that beat you isn’t how I would have described anything but somehow, it is a perfect description,” Jake admits once she puts on her sunglasses again. “Hit by a bloodshot machine would have worked too, I think.”

“Oh nice!” 

Holt clears his throat. “Ah. Yes. Why don’t you introduce yourselves?”

“Right! Well, I’m Hawkeye,” the woman says, gesturing with the cup of coffee Dark FloppyHair got her. “This is Wiccan–” (”Wiccan,” Jake scoffs to Charles. “His name is Dark FloppyHair.”) “–the guy with the white hair is Speed, like the drug–(”Thanks, Hawkeye, exactly what I wanted you to say in a room full of cops.”)–the big guy is Hulkling, no relation, and the tiny pocket person who is…sitting on that man’s shoulder…is Stature,” she finishes with a sigh.

“You can’t call me a pocket person, I’m not even wearing the suit!” Stature takes offense, even though she is a super teeny blonde lady who has somehow seated herself on the Sarge’s shoulder, Gina looking on with envy.

Hawkeye decides to ignore this remark. “This isn’t all of us, it’s like…half of us? But we won’t all be working with you at the same time, and this is the group that will probably be here the most.”

Her red-rimmed eyes are invisible behind her mirrored purple sunglasses but Jake thinks she’s staring at Rosa, who shifts in her chair. Almost like she’s nervous which is impossible because Rosa doesn’t get nervous. Rosa doesn’t even sweat.

“Thank you…Hawkeye,” Holt nods and gestures towards a chair. She sits and leans back, putting her feet up on the table just like Rosa does.

Jake smacks Charles in the arm. “Look!”

“As I said, I am Captain Holt. The man Stature is sitting on is Sergeant Terry Jeffords. Detectives Scully and Hitchcock are….nevermind. And we have Detectives Amy Santiago, Charles Boyle, Jake Peralta, and Rosa Diaz.”

Hawkeye and Rosa are definitely having a stare-off. 

“Detective Diaz?” Hawkeye finally says. 

“Yes, do you know her?” Holt asks.

“Never met her.” 

anonymous asked:

my boyfriend and i broke up after 2 years. it was mutual but i am still sad and i dont really know what to do with myself now. and i dont know who to talk to.

Go get yourself something nice to eat and watch something on YT or play a video game. Break ups are rough dude it feels bad now but it will get better later. I’m really sorry. See if you have friends or family around you can talk to. If not maybe a team game online? Even if you aren’t taking about the break up sometimes just talking to someone helps.

anonymous asked:

(Tw dysphoria/ internalized transohobia) ive been going through some really rough dysphoria recently but i feel kind of stupid for it, ive been on t for 10+ months and i pass 99.9% of the time but recently I've been looking into dating and as a gay trans man i feel very, strange about it. Like somehow even though i pass and am pretty open with prospective datemates about being trans i feel like im just some sort of freak since im not a cis man and my body just, isnt mine still... any advice?

Hey there. That’s something that happens to a lot of people from what I hear. However, I havnt personally dealt with it so of any followers have advice I encourage them to send it in or reply with it! Try keeping the self talk positive and remind yourself that You’re enough and see where that takes you


saldkjasldksjal @harukant i don’t even know what to DO with this. i had a mini heart attack from sheer joy???

i am just – thank you. sincerely and utterly, thank you. it is so nice to know that you feel so positively about my writing, enough that you’d buy a book i published! 

i am currently in the process of planning out a YA novel, but i don’t think i’ll be able to talk about it much on here. because i am pretty Problematique™️ in the things i write about (trash) and the things i ship (also trash). i think that would probably come back to bite me in the ass if there was a huge link between my fandom activities and anything YA-oriented. 😓

BUT – it is so outstandingly nice/good/heartwarming/dsladkjalkjdlas to hear that you would read a book from me. that means a hell of a lot, considering that is something i want to do in the near(ish) future. i am honored??

<3 thank you. thank you so much! please accept this love and adoration!

If by chance you see this...

I still care tremendously about you. We may have jumped into things way too fast when we both were not ready. We may have had different needs and wants in a relationship. We may have brought out the worst in each other. BUT you still hold a special spot in my heart. Being with you taught me many valuable lessons. I can’t and won’t talk down about you because being with you may have only been temporary, but it was exactly what I needed at that point in my life. We did not end on good terms, and even after trying to smooth things over and make up for my mistakes, there are some things that just can’t be forced, and our friendship is one of them. I’m sorry things had to end the way they did. But it is for the best. I am sorry for everything. I am sorry you had to see the side of me that I am ashamed of. I am sorry I wasn’t on the same page as you. I am sorry you think that I only think down upon you, because that is far from the truth. I am sorry for all the heartache I caused you and for all the tears you shed because of me. I am sorry. I am sorry I tried so hard to make things work. I am sorry for being a drunk. I am sorry. I am sorry for being such a negative part of your life. You say you have forgiven me and are over it. Well, I am not. I can’t forgive myself. And for that I am sorry. I am sorry for existing. I am sorry. 


I think a big part of how I see the world is that -

In college I was sick. In particular I was anorexic, and I nearly starved myself to death. I never accomplished anything, made commitments I couldn’t keep, lost track of time, and struggled with the most basic life tasks. I was anxious (mostly because I correctly knew that everything was going horribly) and lazy (because I could not possibly do enough things to matter, and doing things was hard and hurt) and unreliable and terrible. I ended up owing people a lot of money (I have since paid them all back) and failing at things that were really important to me and to other people.

And now I am in a good environment for me. I live with people who I can be reasonably assured don’t hate me and will tell me when they need me to do things differently, and I am no longer anxious. My work has clear expectations and is bite-sized and doesn’t pile up on me, and I reliably deliver it and do a good job. I have enough money I don’t have to deal with the mental overhead of deciding whether to buy the food I want, and I spend that mental overhead on better things. I am still messy and I am still bad at getting places on time, but I’m never late on rent. I am mostly a productive, honest, trustworthy, reliable person and I’m getting better at those things. I have friends and kiss girls (and the occasional boy) and I make a positive difference in peoples’ lives.

Some of the difference was immaturity and lack of skills; much of the difference is that I had starved my brain until it stopped functioning; much of the difference was that I was in an environment that was not shaped to my strengths. But living through it gave me this powerful sense that the difference between a “lazy” person and a “successful” person, between a reliable person and an unreliable person, between a “good” person and a “bad” person, is a lot about whether they are in an environment shaped to their strengths. That almost everybody will be great in the right environment and really really struggle in a bad one. And some people have never ever encountered a bad one and think they’re just inherently great; and some people have never encountered a good one, and think they’re just inherently miserable and hard to get along with and unreliable and untrustworthy.

I absolutely think people are still accountable for the things they do in bad environments. I’ve worked really hard to fix the things I fucked up at when I was sick, and I don’t mean “it’s all the environment” to mean “it’s not you”. Just - the same you who was miserable and did bad things will be happy and do good things, in better circumstances, and lots of the human project is building those circumstances. 

I don’t know how to give everyone an environment in which they’ll thrive. It’s probably absurdly hard, in lots of cases it is, in practical terms, impossible. But I basically always feel like it’s the point, and that anything else is missing the point. There are people whose brains are permanently-given-our-current-capabilities stuck functioning the way my brain functioned when I was very sick. And I encounter, sometimes, “individual responsibility” people who say “lazy, unproductive, unreliable people who choose not to work choose their circumstances; if they go to bed hungry then, yes, they deserve to be hungry; what else could ‘deserve’ possibly mean?” They don’t think they’re talking to me; I have a six-figure tech job and do it well and save for retirement and pay my bills, just like them. But I did not deserve to be hungry when I was sick, either, and I would not deserve to be hungry if I’d never gotten better.

What else could ‘deserve’ possibly mean? When I use it, I am pointing at the ‘give everyone an environment in which they’ll thrive’ thing. People with terminal cancer deserve a cure even though right now we don’t have one; deserving isn’t a claim about what we have, but about what we would want to give out if we had it. And so, to me, horrible people who abuse others all the time deserve an environment in which they would thrive and not be able to abuse others, even if we can’t provide one and don’t even have any idea what it would look like and sensibly are prioritizing other people who don’t abuse others. If you have experiences, you deserve good experiences; if you have feelings, you deserve happy feelings; if you want to be loved, you are worthy of love. You flourishing is a moral good; everybody flourishing is in fact the only moral good, the entire thing morality is for. Your actions should have consequences, sure, and we should figure out how to build a world where those consequences are ones that you can handle, and where you can amend the things that you do wrong. When you hurt people, that can change what “you thriving” looks like, because part of thriving is fixing, and growing from, things you have done wrong; but nothing you do can change that it is good for you to thrive.

I reject that I ever deserved to starve, and so I reject that anyone, ever, deserves to starve. I reject that I ever deserved to suffer, and so I reject that anyone, ever, deserves to suffer. Happiness is good. Your happiness is good. And without a single exception anywhere I want you to thrive.

Tumblr interaction and entitlement

Recently, I didn’t reply to someone who had messaged me on Tumblr and this person reacted by blocking me, so that when I found time to answer the message, I had typed up my reply, and, obviously, couldn’t send it. I thought, well, that’s kind of a petty response to someone not answering right away (never mind that it would be sometimes days or weeks before I answer people’s messages on other forums, and they would be cool with it). I thought about this, and I thought about mentioning it, and the reason I’ve decided to talk about it is because it goes back to perceptions about interaction with others that we all need to be mindful of.

If someone sends me a message that I don’t answer right away or don’t answer at all it’s because:

  • I’m busy - I have a life that’s not Tumblr and that takes precedence.
  • I’m thinking of what to say - I sometimes need to do that. Thoughts aren’t always completely formed in my head, and I don’t write without thinking.
  • I’m not emotionally capable of responding - I’m upset about the thing you’re asking me about or I’m processing, so I can’t talk right now.
  • I don’t want to talk - everyone should be allowed to be silent if they feel like it.
  • I don’t have any more to say - if all I’m going to do is repeat myself, or if the conversation has come to a natural end, then I’m not going to say any more.
  • Tumblr got hungry and ate your message - which means I didn’t get it, which means I obviously couldn’t reply.

But, what all this really comes down to is this: no one is entitled to my attention. Message me by all means, but no one has an automatic right to my time or my emotional reassurance, even if I’ve provided it before. I’m a nice person: I like to talk to people and be reassuring and positive, but I am not a bottomless well of understanding and reassurance. I’m someone who needs time to process my own feelings and replenish my own stock of positivity, particularly when I’m upset about something. We are all entitled to make ourselves available to anyone or no one as we see fit.

So, anyone who feels like they’re entitled to my time or yours, and who gets petty or upset when they don’t get it, is not someone I or you need in our lives anyway. Respect yourself and your emotions and your time, and forget about anyone who can’t accept that.


Tweek: What??

Craig: Where - is - my - super - suit?

Tweek: I, uh, put it away.

Craig: *Where*?

Tweek: *Why* do you *need* to know?

Craig:  I need it!

Tweek: Uh-uh! Don’t you think about running off doing no derring-do. We’ve been planning this dinner for two months!


Tweek: My EVENING in danger!

Craig: You tell me where my suit is, man! We are talking about the greater good! 




“This time round it struck me that Studio Ghibli had the world’s best studio in terms of potential. You can say that in terms of cinematography, computer graphics, sound recording, personal connections and sincerity toward the work … in every aspect really. But having said that, we’re just a group of average people with poor skills.” (- Hayao Miyazaki) (Open images in new tab!!)


Summary: You’re on pain meds, and won’t stop running your mouth.

Word Count: 876

Warnings: swearing, talk of drugs, implied smut, mentions of leg fracture

A/N: Just a small drabble-ish piece that’s been sitting in my drafts for a while :) It’s been hard for me to write part 3 of Fading because I haven’t been in the mood to write angst lately :/

“What the hell is wrong with her?” Sam gestures to you with a nod of his head, referring to your current state. You rest your chin on your hand, propping your elbow up on the table as you stare directly at a water bottle, facing the living room.

Keep reading


He who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.

Because I’ve been so excited about the recent Person of Interest season finale, I decided to revisit my older paintings of Reese and Finch - they are among, if not actually, my favorite portraits I’ve ever done, and deserved some touchup and refinement. This show has come so far and raises such interesting questions - it’s a privilege to paint these characters (and hopefully I’ll do more this year during the hiatus!)

You can buy prints and products of “He Who Fights Monsters” and “The Abyss Gazes Back” at my Society6 shop!


In which Genos is easily impressed by everything Saitama does p.2 ???

Egg n’ Toaster  ♥︎ ♥︎ ♥︎


Nap Date, send me your thoughts on this one.
Find other parts Here!

“Shawn!” She calls out. She waits a second for him to respond but hears nothing. “Shawn!” She calls louder. 

The music on goes softer and she thinks that he’s heard her. But then nothing.

“Shawn.” She says one more time, out of patience. 

“Give me a few minutes.” He says, yelling from his studio.

“No.” She says, fed up, “I need you now.” 

She’s standing on the counter, trying to get the china down. His parents were coming over for dinner, and she wants to impress Karen. So she’s making a big meal of Pasta with a side salad and garlic bread. 

“Hold on.” He calls back. 

“Shawn.” She says, the plates she’s holding getting heavier. 

“WAIT!” He growls, startling her. He’s been distant and moody lately but he hasn’t been that aggressive. 

The plates are getting heavier, her fingers are slipping. She can’t help it, her fingers give out and she drops the stack of plates to the ground. They crash to the floor causing a huge boom and sound of shattering ceramic. She yelps as a piece bounces off the side of the counter cutting her foot. 

Shawn comes tumbling out of his studio, running towards the sound she had just made. He looks scared, eyes wide searching for her.

He wants to know what just happened, and more importantly that she’s okay.

She stand’s there, on the counter, looking at her foot that is now bleeding. 

“What the fuck?” He asks breathless.

“Thanks for the help.” She sneers at him.

“This is my fault?” He asks, confused.

“I was calling you for a fucking reason Shawn, not to just see your annoying ass face.” 

“Hey.” He says, gaze softening. A little hurt at what she just said. 

“And now all our China, fucking ruined.” She groans looking at the floor. 

He stares at her, she never curses as much as she is right now. But she has completely lost her patience with him. He is always in the fucking studio, and never is around when she needs him. He’s more at home when he’s on tour. 

“What the fuck am I going to serve our dinner on? You mom is coming for dinner, she got us the fucking China.” She wipes her face, so stressed out. 

The idea of Karen finding out that the super expensive China she had specially picked out and paid for is now a shattered mess on the floor is giving her anxiety. 

“We’ll just get some more.” He shrugs.

“She’ll know Shawn, she’ll fucking know.” She hisses at him.

“Why are you angry with me?”

“Because you’re never fucking here!” She screams at him.

“What are you talking about, I’m right here.”

“Yeah? Then why is our China a fucking shattered mess on the fucking floor? Why? Oh yeah because you were here to grab it from me when I called for you four fucking times. Or when I asked you to pick up the groceries but you ‘forgot, sorry was at the studio babe’,” She mocks him. “Making me have to leave work early so I could go get the groceries.” 

“I’m sorry.” He shrugs.

“But you’re not.” She sighs, getting even more pissed off that he doesn’t seem to care. “And then I ask you to help me make dinner because, well your mom’s coming and I wanted your help so I didn’t fuck it up myself, But it was ‘Gonna finish this song, but you got it.’ so here we are. I haven’t even started on the food, our dishes are a fucking mess on our floor and your family is gonna be here in less than twenty minutes.” 

“Y/n.” He says looking up at her, she’s still standing on the counter, foot still bleeding. 

“Can you help me down, my foot is fucking killing me.” She says, eyes fierce.

“Christ Babe, you’re bleeding.” He says finally looking down at her foot. He walks over, shoes still on, walking over the dishes on the floor. He picks her up bridal style taking her to the bathroom so she doesn’t bleed on the carpet. He starts to tend to her foot but she is still pissed.

“Don’t fucking touch me.” She hisses. 

“You’re bleeding.” He says like that fixes everything. Like is magically makes her anger go away. 

“I need you to get the fuck out of this bathroom.” She says staring up at him, he looks at her with concern in his eyes. “I need you to figure out dinner, I honestly don’t care anymore. Your mom can think I’m the biggest fuck up of a wife, that’s cool. I just need five minutes.” 

“You are not a fuck up of a wife.” He immediately says with hurt eyes.

“Well it feels like it, can you please just leave me alone.”

“No way am I leaving you alone, Babe what did you say?” 

“Shawn.” She says growing frustrated again. “We need to at least have food for your family. We don’t have time for you to sit here and try to make me feel better because that’s not gonna fucking work. If you don’t get food then at least clean up the kitchen.” 

“Y/n.” He lingers, she can tell that he’s not sure what to do. He hates when she feels bad about herself, and does whatever he can to make her feel better, but she’s telling him to leave. He just looks so lost. 

“GO Shawn!” She says pointing at the door. He takes a little bit but walks out of the bathroom. She sighs and hangs her head, really wanting to cry. 

She almost let yourself cry, she almost let a tear fall. She doesn’t cry though. She knows that if she starts crying she’ll be seen as weak and not strong enough for him. 

She tries to attempt to stop the bleeding from her foot, wrapping it with bandages. She can hear the Mendes clan walk into the house, asking about her.

She stands to go greet them but when she does she starts to feel faint. She leans against the door, taking in deep breaths, trying to get the black that’s crowding her vision to go away. 

“Y/n?” Aaliyah asks, trying to find her. She doesn’t have enough energy to call out to her. But she finds Y/n anyway. “Y/n?” She asks, more worried now. She rushes to Y/n’s side.

 “Liyah.” She choke out, her head now pounding.

“What’s wrong? Why is there blood on the floor?” 

“Liyah I don’t feel good.” She’s nauseous now. 

“Y/n?” Aaliyah asks. She can feel yourself slipping. The grip on reality starting to fade away. She starts leaning into Liyah, not being able to support herself anymore.

“Shawn!” Aaliyah calls out, as she stumbles with Y/n to the ground. She’s moving the hair out of Y/n’s face, fanning her. “SHAWN!” She screams, as Y/n closes her eyes, suddenly super tired.

“What? What’s wrong? Y/n?” He asks. He rushes to her side. “What the fuck happened?”

“I don’t know, I walked in and she was like barely standing and then told me she wasn’t feeling good. Shawn why is there blood on the floor?”

“Jesus, we need to go to the hospital. Tell dad to start my jeep.” He says barking orders. “Baby, I’m here. I’m here now.” He says to her. She can feel him start to pick her up, holding her to his chest. He’s whispering that she’s okay, but she can’t tell if its for her or for him. 

“Shawn? What’s going on? Oh my god Y/n” She can hear Karen. She clutches Shawn’s shirt, trying to stay awake. 

“I’ve got you Baby. I’ve got you.” He says, now in the backseat of a car, stroking her hair. “Y/n? Can you look at me?” He whispers. She pries her eyes open to look into his brown ones. 

“I’m tired.” She whines.

“Just keep looking at me Baby.” He says, eyes so scared and worried. 


When she wakes Shawn is not by her side, Karen is. She smiles when she sees that Y/n has opened her eyes.

“Hey.” She whispers looking over at Shawn, who’s asleep on another chair in the corner of the room. 

“Let him sleep.” Y/n says softly.

“He’s been up all night watching you.” 

“I’m sorry for such the scare.”

“You’re okay, we’re glad you’re okay.” 

“I don’t even really know what happened?”

“You were bleeding out.”


“Can I talk to you for a quick second?”

“Yeah.” She nods, sitting up. Karen takes her hand.

“Honey, I am not going to think you are a fuck up of a wife. I don’t care if you serve me dinner on paper plates. I don’t care if we have take out pizza. I just want you to be happy.”

“Karen.” She sighs.

“Shawn told me how stressed out you were, and you don’t need to be.” 

“Thanks.” She smiles, squeezing her hand. 

She was about to tell Karen about the small depressed state she has been in but Shawn interrupts.

“Hey, you’re up.” Shawn says sitting up. 

“I’ll give you a second.” Karen says getting up and walking out. Shawn gets up and takes the seat next to the bed. 

“How are you feeling?”

“Good, better.” She nods. “You didn’t have to tell your mom that I was stressed out.”

“I’m sorry, I just needed to get the thoughts out of my head. I’ve been sort of freaking out.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know this was going to happen.” 

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not, but thanks for lying.” 

“Can you talk to me about how you’re feeling?”

“I said was good.”

“Not about that, why do you think you’re a fuck up of a wife?” 

“I don’t know, you’re never home and I had just broken all of our China.”

“What do you mean I’m never home?” 

“I mean, you’re physically in the house, but you’re never with me.” 

“I’m still confused.”

“Shawn, I feel as if the music is more,”

“Don’t even finish that sentence.” He cuts her off. “You are so much more important than the music. You know that.” 

“Do I?” 

“I would hope so.”

“It hasn’t seemed like it lately.”

“Wow okay, I’m sorry. It’s me being the fuck up.” 

“Shawn.” She sighs.

“No, I’ve fucked up, majorly. But not anymore. You always come first, always. I talked to Andrew, I’m on break.”

“Shawn, don’t do that.”

“It’s already taken care of.”

“No Shawn, the album is more important than my insecure feelings.”

“No it isn’t. If your feeling insecure it’s my job to help you through it. You don’t have any reason to be insecure. And you are not a fuck up of a wife. You are the best fucking wife, I can’t picture my life without you. Don’t ever think that you are not important to me, you are the most important thing in my life.”

“I love you.” She cries holding his hand.

“I love you so much.” He says, standing to kiss her on her head. “I was so fucking scared. You were so pale, and you’re eyes were not the same. The beautiful life in your eyes, it was gone. You could barely keep your eyes open, and I was so scared I was going to lose you. You were so out of it when we got here, and I couldn’t stop the thoughts in my head. I was freaking the fuck out.” 

“I’m right here.” She says taking his face into her hands.

“And I’m so happy that you are.” 

“I’m happy that you’re here.”

“But Aaliyah is really freaked out because she was the one to find you, so can I got get her?”

“Can I just be with you for a second?” She asks as he sits down.

“Yeah Baby, I’m right here.”

“I know, I just need a few minutes.” 

“I’ve got you.” He says resting his on the bed, forehead touching hers. “I’ve always got you.”

The thing I’m looking for the most in a relationship is not love but rather understanding. I just want someone who can basically stand being with me I guess. Someone who can accept the fact that there are days in my life that I won’t be able to get out of bed because I find no reason to live. Someone who can learn that loving me won’t be pretty because I detach from reality sometimes and it’s just hard to feel connected in times like that. I just want someone who can be aware of all of my defects and still love me not despite of them but because of them.

I just want to know that if one day I lose my mind we’d still be together no matter what. And we go to the beach together because that’s where I feel safe the most, and she tells me that everything’s going to be okay and that it’s okay to smile despite everything that’s going on in my head. And then she says my name, and it sounds different in her mouth, and I feel safe there. And then I tell her something that I’m terrified to tell her because I’m terrified that it will make her stop loving me but when I do it just makes her love me more.

Or I tell her something very dark and honest like wanting to kill myself, and she doesn’t panic, and we just talk about the things that have been bothering me, and she tells me that she believes in me because she believes that I am a very strong person despite being so fragile and vulnerable. She tells me that no matter what she’ll always understand. She tells me that no matter what she’ll always be there for me even in times when I need space. She tells me that her love for me would always be there waiting whenever I am ready.

—  Juansen Dizon, Understanding 

I’m at an exo fansiging. I’m finally getting the chance to meet the men that changed my life. As I reach the table I’m filled with anxiety because I can see that Chanyeol the first one seated…I was filled with anxiety not only because I was going to be seeing him in the flesh but because I can’t get all of the things I’ve said about him on my blog…furry, shrimpy, weak stroke, you name it…I said it but I wouldn’t think he would know about all these things because I’m just a mere blog with only two followers (I lost my third one recently). The girl in front of me finally steps up and I feel my legs go weak she’s handed Chanyeol a fucking car…how is that even possible? I dig into my pocket only to take out some air…that should be enough. Now I’m faced with Park Chanyeol himself…I’m in awe. “Wow I lo-“ Chanyeol cuts me off with a chuckle, “so we finally meet…” I’m confused now everyone is looking at us because I’m not moving and he’s just laughing, “what are you talking about?” I ask, Chanyeol only laughs louder “you’re funny…you didn’t think I would know? Who you are?” I blink, “wait are you speaking English or am I speaking Korean im confused…”. Then Chanyeol pulls out a bucket of shrimp “eat it.” He says, I can’t eat shrimp because I can’t stand the smell of sea food, but I have anxiety and I want to get this line moving so I start to eat the shrimp and I died…but I’m here to tell my story…never talk bad about Park Chanyeol