I had my lifetime with her but she had ten years on that

Day One Hundred and Ten

-On my way into the store, I found a motorized cart abandoned on the curb. My throne awaited me, and I am never one to pass on a stylish entrance. Not a single person noticed me, but my mood skyrocketed in preparation for my shift.

-A man clad entirely in black, arms wrapped in smoky tattoos of the Grim Reaper and other equally sordid icons, came through my lane. In a low growl, he asked me if we sold ouija boards. I replied that I did not know. He told me that he was with the Disciples of the Ram. As I handed him his receipt and change, he hissed loudly and threw his arms up, intending to strike fear into the hearts of onlookers, not intending to launch his change across the floor.

-A woman purchased six tubs of Ben & Jerry’s Peanut Butter World ice cream, clearly preparing to make my life’s dream a reality.

-I found at the top of my till a five dollar bill with the name Brandon and a phone number scrawled across ol’ Babraham’s face. Unfortunately, I had not been paying enough attention to know whether Brandon himself had attempted to slide me his number, or whether an unwilling recipient was trying to rid themselves of evidence of the encounter. Nonetheless, I copied down the number for when next a nefarious mood strikes.

-A woman in her forties cackled maniacally as she purchased a book with a flatulence soundboard, proclaiming over and over the wonders of a book about farts that actually farts at you. I have finally found her. She is the target audience my lifetime of comedy has been meant for.

-A three year-old pointed at the six year-old in the cart behind them and asked, “Baby?” The mother explained to their child that, no, that was not a baby, and she was in fact older than them. While the mother remained entirely oblivious to the reality of the situation, I did not. That child was fully aware that the girl was not a baby. Their pickup game is simply well beyond their years.

-A young girl asked me for a bandaid. I had none, so I instead offered her a strip of stickers. This seemed to do the trick, as she began counting them off and giggling in joy, giving each the smallest of kisses. A young boy pulls up in a cart behind her. The girl stands up, extends the strip of stickers, announces, “I have all the stickers! Look at them! I got all of them!” and sits back down, proud of her work. After a brief look from her mother, she peeled one off and handed it to the boy. Too emotional for words, the toddler accepted the sticker, silently committing to this contract of eternal friendship.

7

Sterek AU: After the death of Claudia magic becomes a taboo in the Stilinski house hold. Everytime Stiles wants to show his dad his magic, to help his dad with his magic John lashes out. Not knowing what to do with the gift that he got from his mother, Stiles represses his magic - doing nearly unrepairable damage to himself.

Years later Derek returns to Beacon Hills to find that the Alpha that killed his sister is far from the most dangerous thing in town.

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terpsikeraunos  asked:

Your Roman history posts are so great! I'm going to ask - why do you like Tiberius?

LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT THE EMPEROR TIBERIUS. 

This is going to be long. All the references are off the top of my head (as in, I remembered the Latin phrase so I could ctrl+f to find it) so I haven’t included some but I hope this will do, if there’s anything anyone would really like me to prove then let me know and I’ll find it XD

  • Tiberius did not want to be emperor
  • Tacitus described Tiberius (Annals 1.80) as ‘talented and intelligent, but paralysed by lack of confidence’ (that is a loose translation of a single phrase, based on Tacitus’ overall portrayal)
  • Tiberius was emotionally abused by his family all his life. He spoke slowly, and walked quite strangely, and dressed quite unusually; Suetonius records that Augustus, ‘as if to excuse Tiberius but really to mock him’ said in the senate, ‘They’re not vices of personality, they’re defects he was born with.’ (Suetonius, Tiberius 68)
  • Augustus forced Tiberius to divorce his wife Vipsania, whom he truly loved and who was pregnant with their second child, and marry Augustus’ own daughter Julia to keep things in the family and present a pair of power couples [i.e. Augustus & Livia, Tiberius & Julia] to the gossip-loving Roman people (Velleius, Roman History 2.96; Suetonius, Tiberius 7; Dio, Roman History 54.31; Tacitus, Annals 1.12). Vipsania miscarried their child. When Tiberius next saw her, he broke down in the street and ran after her in hysterics. (I don’t think I can overstate how public emotion, especially public demonstration of love for one’s wife, was Not a Roman Thing to Do.) Augustus had Vipsania married to one of his (Augustus’) aides and took measures to ensure Tiberius never set eyes on her again.
  • Two years after Tiberius’ divorce from Vipsania, Tiberius’ beloved younger brother Drusus was mortally wounded and Tiberius journeyed from Rome to Germany in two days and one night to be at his side when he died, and then walked the body all the way back to Rome. In Lament for Drusus, attributed to Ovid, the speaker describes the funeral at which the people ‘beheld [Tiberius] utterly unlike himself — dazed and sobbing, his face ashen with grief’.
  • Another two years later Augustus tried to make Tiberius his co-ruler. Tiberius suddenly asked to retire to study in Rhodes. Augustus refused. Tiberius attempted suicide (Suetonius, Tiberius 7). (I put this in bold because scholars have spent years arguing over why Tiberius asked to go to Rhodes. I don’t understand what the issue is. Suetonius, for once, spells it out.)
  • Tacitus, Annals 3.56 writes ‘Augustus was confident in power because he knew he was great, and he knew that Tiberius wouldn’t abuse the power of the emperor either, because Tiberius had a low opinion of himself.’
  • When Augustus died, Tiberius, while reading his will in the senate, broke down in the middle of it and said he wished he was dead (Suetonius, Tiberius 23).
  • The senate tried to make Tiberius accept sole power. Tiberius tried to get out of it, begging for help and saying that he lacked the self-confidence and the mental strength, but the senate pretended to think he just wanted their approval. Tacitus says (Annals 1.11), ‘The senate’s greatest fear was that they should seem to understand his meaning.’

So Tiberius did become emperor, and then what? According to the conventional picture of Tiberius (exemplified in I, Claudius), he went off the rails and turned into a bloodthirsty, sexually depraved monster because of all the above trauma. Is that what happened? NO.

  • As soon as he became emperor he immediately abolished Augustus’ private council and insisted that all proposals be taken to the senate. Sallustius Crispus (son of the historian Sallust), who had been Augustus’ legal advisor, had already told Livia ‘not to let Tiberius dismantle the foundations of monarchy by letting the senate decide everything’ (Tacitus, Annals 1.6).
  • He intervened on several occasions to stop an execution ordered by the senate, and when the senate executed someone while he was away, he introduced a statutory ten-day delay between sentencing and execution to allow for appeals.
  • He instituted one of the ONLY sensible financial policies in Rome’s economic history since Mithridates of Pontus fucked up all Rome’s shit in the 80s BC. (I don’t know jack shit about economics but source)
  • He personally remunerated all the victims of any natural disaster that happened during his reign (earthquakes, fires, etc).
  • He dedicated only a few buildings (dedicating buildings was something rich Romans did to assert their power over the populace and make themselves look good) and one was a public museum (which was still quite a new thing) dedicated to marital and family solidarity, on the site where the ancestor of Julia’s chief lover was murdered, inscribed with his own name and the name of his brother who had been dead for 20 years… (Dio 55.27)
  • …but he undertook more building works than the record tells us, because he restored several public buildings but left them in the name of the original dedicator (i.e. he declined to take prestige away from other families).
  • He went out of his way to promote senators of non-traditional backgrounds, even though he was from a privileged family himself (unlike Augustus, who was from an obscure family but promoted people from privileged families)… (Tacitus, Annals 13.21)
  • …and he told senators of traditional backgrounds to fuck off if they spent all their money on parties and expected to get it back from the public treasury just because their family was famous. (Tacitus, Annals 2.38)
  • After his divorce from Julia he never remarried. He supported the careers of the sons that his first wife, Vipsania, had with her new husband (even though the new husband liked to taunt Tiberius about their marriage, which even Tacitus admits was cruel), and when Vipsania died he had her buried in the imperial mausoleum.
  • Despite public insinuations, Tiberius actually had a very good relationship with his heir Germanicus, who was the son of Tiberius’ brother Drusus. Tiberius wrote Greek poems and Germanicus translated them into Latin. Tiberius trained Germanicus as a soldier. When Germanicus died, Tiberius wrote a verse elegy for him and ordered that he be honoured on the same level as the adopted sons of Augustus who had died young also. He didn’t appear in public (which led to the populace saying he had Germanicus murdered…) but he insisted on going to the senate, and the senate published a decree (the SCPP) which basically said that seeing him in such an awful state was embarrassing them.
  • Tiberius fired provincial governors who tried to exploit their subjects or didn’t respect the local customs, and he arranged the administration of the provinces to make life better for the people who lived there (which pissed off the senators back home who thought all non-Romans were second-class citizens). (You can read about how great the provincials thought he was in Philo’s Embassy to Gaius)
  • He refused to engage in offensive wars, and any wars that were going on before Augustus died, he ended them by diplomacy. (I can’t remember where but Tacitus says that Tiberius was very proud of his record for diplomacy)
  • He refused (unlike… oh, every other emperor ever) to be worshipped as a god. He said, ‘No one is allowed to set up a cult in my name unless I give permission. I won’t give it.’ (Dio 57.9) He also said, ‘[I don’t want a temple, that shit is pointless because] only monuments in the heart last forever.’ (*melts*) (Tacitus, Annals 4.38)
  • He said to his (biological) son Drusus, ‘You will never break the laws or commit violence against anybody while I’m alive, and if you try it, you won’t do it when I’m dead, either.’
  • He was constantly subject to extremely cruel insults from his stepdaughter Agrippina (daughter of Julia) who even wrote a pamphlet about how awful he was, but most of the time he just listened to her in silence and then walked away. On one occasion she screamed after him, ‘Who do you think you are? Don’t you know I’m related to the divine Augustus?’ Tiberius said bitterly, ‘Do you think you are wronged because you don’t rule, child?’ (Suetonius, Tiberius 53; Tacitus records this somewhere too)
  • He was offered an ovation (celebratory pageant) when he took a tour of the local area, and he responded, ‘Do you think I need to be congratulated for that? Do you know how many wars I won when I was younger?’ *cracks knuckles*
  • He spoke Greek so well that sometimes he wrote Latin according to Greek grammar rules and once he issued a public apology because he’d accidentally put a Greek word in an official edict because he couldn’t think of the Latin equivalent, and he got a group of senators to consult a bunch of dictionaries to find one (Suetonius, Tiberius 71).
  • He, alone of all the Julio-Claudian emperors, was never accused of using his position to blackmail women into sleeping with him. In fact there is only one credible sexual allegation made against Tiberius: that he enjoyed performing oral sex on women (Suetonius, Tiberius 45 although it’s quite difficult to work out what is meant here, I read it in a book on Roman sexuality).
  • He refused to introduce anti-freedom-of-speech or blasphemy laws; he said ‘insults to the gods are the gods’ concern’ (Tacitus, Annals 1.73; incidentally, he was the emperor during the lifetime of Jesus, who said more or less the same thing).
  • He blocked an attempt by the senate to punish people who accused senators who were later acquitted, in case fear of punishment made real victims too scared to come forward.
  • He refused to let crimes against his family be treated differently from crimes against anyone else, and if anyone tried to prosecute someone for insulting him, he dismissed the case.
  • (He tried to listen to petitions with a blank expression so he remained impartial, but once after a particularly long day, someone tried to prosecute a citizen for putting up a second-hand statue of him, and he suddenly got up and screamed ‘ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS’, which scared the shit out of everyone and gave him a reputation as a tyrant) (Tacitus, Annals 1.74)
  • He attended the courts and ‘his presence meant that justice increased but the senators’ prerogatives were restricted’, grumbles Tacitus, a senator (Tac. Ann. 1.75). (If a senator prosecuted someone and won, the senator got that person’s property.)
  • He was bombarded with whiny messages from senators and his response (Tac. Ann. 6.6 and Suet. Tib. 67) started ‘I am surrounded by idiots’ in such elaborate and obscure language that it took 2000 years for anyone to understand what he meant.
  • He stopped public gladiator shows because he disliked gratuitous violence. His idea of a good time was holding dinner parties for his friends (soldiers and Greeks, people that most rich people scorned) and asking them really obscure questions about his favourite books (Suetonius, Tiberius 70).
  • Again when his son Drusus died, Tiberius continued to attend the senate, and the senators tried to make him go home because they were embarrassed, but he said, ‘I just can’t stand to see people crying all the time. I find solace by burying myself in work.’ (Tacitus, Annals 4.8)

I haven’t actually answered the question: why do I like Tiberius? Because he gave up everything he ever wanted so that his talents could be used for the good of Rome. Because he could not stand the abuse of power. Because he used his power to help deserving people of lower birth who could not succeed because they lacked connexions. 

Because he found it hard to get out of bed in the morning and yet he fought and fought and fought to make Rome a better place for ordinary people. He never wallowed in self-pity or made it about himself, he just kept going. He was not comfortable in social situations (the clearest occasion is when someone approached him suddenly and he panicked so badly that he fell over) and on several occasions he had minor breakdowns in public and yet he kept going. On several occasions he tried to tell the senate he wasn’t well enough to rule on his own, and the senate just mocked him and said he was being an attention-seeking hypocrite (e.g. Tacitus, Annals 4.8-9). I just can’t imagine what it must have been like to go through that when everyone in the city was looking at you. He showed immense bravery and dignity in the face of a callous and uncomprehending senate. He was too good for them.

Because he said (repeatedly and in many different ways: see e.g. Tac. Ann. 4.38; Suet. Tib. 59; Velleius 2.115), ‘I don’t care what people think of me as long as I know I’ve done the right thing.’ 

Because he never wanted honour for himself; ‘I ask the gods to give me peace of mind, and when I am gone, I ask my peers to think of me with a smile.’ The latter I can do.

the last five years lyrics sentence starters.

  • ❝  i’m still hurting.  ❞
  • ❝  ____ is probably feeling just fine.  ❞
  • ❝  what about lies? what about things that you swore to be true?  ❞
  • ❝  run away, like it’s simple, like it’s right.  ❞
  • ❝  maybe i’d see how you could be so certain that we had no chance at all.  ❞
  • ❝  i’m breaking my mother’s heart. the longer i stand looking at you the more i hear it splinter and crack from ninety miles away.  ❞
  • ❝  i’ve been waiting for someone like you.  ❞
  • ❝  the minute i first met you i could barely catch my breath.  ❞
  • ❝  well yeah, nobody’s perfect! it’s tragic but it’s true.  ❞
  • ❝  you are the story i should write.  ❞
  • ❝  i think that i could be in love with someone like you.  ❞
  • ❝  i guess i can’t believe you really came.  ❞
  • ❝  see, i’m smiling. that means i’m happy that you’re here.  ❞
  • ❝  i mean we’ll have to try a little harder, to make this love as special as it was five years ago.  ❞
  • ❝  and you’re mine.  ❞
  • ❝  with all we’ve had to go through we’ll end up twice as strong.  ❞
  • ❝  you know what makes me crazy? i’m sorry, can i say this? you know what makes me nuts?  ❞
  • ❝  you could be here with me or be there with them — as usual, guess which you pick!  ❞
  • ❝  and i know in your soul it must drive you crazy that you won’t get to play with your little girlfriends!  ❞
  • ❝  i swear to god i’ll never understand how you can stand there straight and tall and see i’m crying and not do anything at all.  ❞
  • ❝  i’ve got a singular impression things are moving too fast.  ❞
  • ❝  maybe i can’t follow through — but oh, what else am i supposed to do?  ❞
  • ❝  i’m a part of that.  ❞
  • ❝  and it’s true i tend to follow in his stride. instead of side by side, i take his cue.  ❞
  • ❝  i said i’d stick it out and follow through.  ❞
  • ❝  and then he smiles, and nothing else makes sense.  ❞
  • ❝  first, a story.  ❞
  • ❝  then the clock upon the wall began to glow…  ❞
  • ❝  i’ve got to make due with the time i’ve got.  ❞
  • ❝  don’t you think now’s a good time to be the ambitious freak you are?  ❞
  • ❝  have i mentioned today how lucky i am to be in love with you?  ❞
  • ❝  he wants me, he wants me, but he ain’t gonna get me!  ❞
  • ❝  i’ve found my guiding light, i tell the stars each night.  ❞
  • ❝  son of a bitch, i guess i’m doing something right!  ❞
  • ❝  so hurry up schmuck, get unstuck and get on the scene!  ❞
  • ❝  have you been inside the museum? we should go meet the dinosaurs.  ❞
  • ❝  will you share your life with me for the next ten minutes?  ❞
  • ❝  there are so many lives i want to share with you. i will never be complete until i do.  ❞
  • ❝  i don’t know how anybody survives in this life without someone like you.  ❞
  • ❝  i want to die knowing i had a long, full life in your arms.  ❞
  • ❝  will you share your life with me for the next ten lifetimes?  ❞
  • ❝  i do.  ❞
  • ❝  you can not touch them. in fact, you can’t even look at them!  ❞
  • ❝  but it’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine — i mean, i’m happy!  ❞
  • ❝  it’s not a problem, just a challenge. it’s a challenge! to resist temptation.  ❞
  • ❝  i shouldn’t care what she thinks since i can’t fuck her anyways!  ❞
  • ❝  when you come home to me i’ll wear a sweeter smile and hope that for a while you’ll stay.  ❞
  • ❝  i am a good person. i’m an attractive person. i am a talented person.  ❞
  • ❝  jesus christ, i suck, i suck, i suck!  ❞
  • ❝  i will not be the girl who gets asked how it feels to be trotting along at the genius’ heels!  ❞
  • ❝  can we please, for a minute, stop blaming and say what you feel?  ❞
  • ❝  if i didn’t believe in you, we’d never have gotten this far.  ❞
  • ❝  if i didn’t believe in you, we wouldn’t be having this fight.  ❞
  • ❝  don’t we get to be happy?  ❞
  • ❝  no one can give you courage. no one can thicken your skin.  ❞
  • ❝  if i didn’t believe in you, i couldn’t have stood before all of our friends and said ‘this is the life i choose. this is the thing i can’t bear to lose.’  ❞
  • ❝  this is the life i choose. this is the thing i can’t bear to lose.  ❞
  • ❝  if i didn’t believe in you, i wouldn’t have loved you at all.  ❞
  • ❝  i thought, i can do better than that.  ❞
  • ❝  you don’t have to change a thing, just stay with me.  ❞
  • ❝  i want you, you, and nothing but you. miles and piles of you.  ❞
  • ❝  say you’ll move in with me.  ❞
  • ❝  nobody needs to know.  ❞
  • ❝  hold on, don’t cry yet.  ❞
  • ❝  since i need to be in love with someone, maybe i could be in love with someone like you.  ❞
  • ❝  don’t kiss me goodbye again.  ❞
  • ❝  you want the last word, you want me to laugh, but leave it for now.  ❞
  • ❝  goodbye until tomorrow. goodbye until the next time you call.  ❞
  • ❝  i have been waiting for you.  ❞
  • ❝  it’s not about another shrink. it’s not about another compromise.  ❞
  • ❝  i’m not the only one who’s hurting here.  ❞
  • ❝  i could never rescue you, no matter how i tried.  ❞
  • ❝  all i could do was love you hard and let you go.  ❞
  • ❝  god, i loved you so.  ❞
  • ❝  so we could fight, or we could wait, or i could go.  ❞
Southern Motherf*cking Democratic Republicans (Jefferson x Madison x Burr x Reader)

Words: 1600+

Request: psst hey soulmate au with one of southern motherfucking democratic republicans? 😉

Warnings: Nope

A/N: Hope ya like it anon! (and everyone else!) I apologize for taking so long, college’s been a b*tch


The universe was unfair.

It was said that everyone would meet their soulmate at 18. And for the most part, it was true. The distinct tattoo that everyone had would glow red and hurt whenever they bumped into the love of their lives, and happily ever after. Of course, the ones that did not, their tattoos would fade. It was usually due to their soulmate dying or their soulmate giving up on love. It was not common, but it did happen. Those were all the cases that you heard, so you wondered why it was so different for you.

You were 27, and it’s been almost ten years since you were supposed to meet them. Ten years of wondering when your tattoo would fade, ten years of hoping that you would just bump into them while walking into the bathroom or buying groceries.

Ten years of anticipation.

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And Then You

Word Count: 2,461

Warnings: idk, a little angst

A/N: Listen I know it’s a little rushed and I love him, but Tony is hard, okay? Not my gif.


Some people had just one word, others had entire paragraphs. And then, very rarely, some people had nothing at all.

Tony Stark was just one of those people who was born with nothing scrawled across his wrist.

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Shower

It was late when Draco came home from his St. Mungo’s evening shift. The large clock in the hallway had a picture for each number. Their one month anniversary, two months three… They were thinking of replacing them with annual anniversary pictures now that they’d been together for nearly three years but for now the big and small arrow both pointed towards their twelve month anniversary. A hiking trip in Yellowstone park.

Draco walked past it with a tired smile on his face. They were so happy together. So ridiculously happy that today during one of his breaks he’d accidentally spent fifteen minutes telling a patient how wonderfully green Harry’s eyes were before he realised what he was doing.

Luckily the old woman hadn’t minded in the slightest and he’d even had to promise her that he would marry Harry as soon as it became legal. Draco needn’t be told, but he still swore it. He’d love nothing more than spent a lifetime together with Harry, except maybe two lifetimes, but he had to stay realistic.

Keep reading

Troian’s essay on mental illness

We were swimming our second lap in the lake when I lost the feeling in my toes. When you first jump in water this cold you scream, gasp for air, but immediately laugh because it makes you feel extra-alive. You learn, after a few jumps, you don’t have to fear the cold. If you move around, it fades away. Soon, it’s as if you’re inside a house looking out at a snow flurry as it lightly taps the windows. You know there is cold, all around you, but it can’t hurt you.

For a while, this kind of numb makes me feel invincible.

But now, after maybe a half-hour in the water, the cold has returned, and not just outside the window, it’s in my skin. Beneath the surface, I probably looked like a chicken breast sitting under plastic in a refrigerator of a grocery store, pale and goose-pimpled. Then it’s in my joints, making it difficult to move. Soon, it’s in my bones, so much that even though I knew I was kicking my legs, I couldn’t tell you where they ended and the water began. I wasn’t even sure if I had toes anymore.

Suddenly, I’m in very familiar territory. I know I should get out of the water before I hurt myself or make myself sick, but I just don’t. I keep swimming.

Here I am, 31 years old, and I’m still denying my body the one thing it is asking me to do: take care of it.

***

When I shot the pilot of Pretty Little Liars, it was December in Vancouver, and I was 24 years old. We were shooting a summer scene (the exterior of the funeral for Alison, the Queen Bee of Rosewood), and even though I don’t remember exactly how cold it was outside, I can tell you it was too cold to snow. The girls and I were dressed in skimpy black dresses with kitten heels and ballet flats. Later, in editing, they could push the saturation, add a golden filter, and BAM, it would look like we were sweating in July. But while we were shooting, well, it was December in Canada.

“Rolling!” yelled the assistant director, and wardrobe would rush in and apologetically remove the giant down coats from our shoulders. Everyone watched, hoping we could get the scene before our jaws locked or our shoulders unintentionally rose around our ears. Eventually, Leslie, our director, yelled “Cut!,"and the beautiful warm jackets reappeared.

Wanting to be the most professional I could be, I sniffed back the snot that was threatening to ruin every take and forced my shoulders to stay where they were, even though I could see my breath on the air. I looked around: Lucy, Ashley, and Shay all seemed cold but fine; they looked professional, powerful. Was I not cut out for this? I pushed that thought out of my mind. Suck it up, Bellisario, do your job.

There came a point when I mentioned offhand, "Huh, I can’t feel my feet.” “Stop!"a voice screamed, and an angel in the form of a crew member descended upon me and demanded I follow her inside the church we were shooting near.

She sat me down, removed my shoes, and began to rub my feet. She asked me to let her know when I had feeling in them again. "Don’t worry about my feet! They’re fine!"I tried to sweetly wiggle away from her, my eyes flitting to the crew that was waiting nearby. I was holding up production, a production that costs thousands of dollars per minute, all for my stupid comment about my stupid toes. I started to panic: Everyone is going to think I’m a diva, that I can’t hack it, that I’m a horrible actor, and they’ll never want to work with me again.

I am practiced at ignoring [my disease], for the most part, but it’s still there, finding new ways to undermine me.

But the angel remained resolute. She told me that she had worked with people who had lost toes to frostbite, and she wasn’t about to see me lose mine. Eventually, I announced (truthfully) that the feeling in my feet had returned, and she let me go.

I braced myself to be yelled at by someone, anyone, in a position of authority. How dare you hold up this massive production? How dare you be so weak? So demanding! But there was no punishment to be found, not even a sideways glance. Everyone just asked me if I felt better and felt ready to return to the scene.

Why did I need a complete stranger’s permission to take care of myself?

****

Seven years later (and wiser?), there I was, swimming in a lake for fun, and still I couldn’t do it. My friend and I had casually agreed to try for threetimes around the island in the lake. It was just a fun challenge when we jokingly announced it to the rest of the friends and family. But now, coming around the corner of lap two, I could feel my limbs shutting down. Just like in Vancouver, despite my body desperately needing something, I didn’t want to appear weak or let people down. Where was my angel to take care of me now?

So what? You might say. Don’t be crazy; you can get out of the water anytime. Who cares?Great question. I ask it of myself all the time. Who cares if I can’t swim that long in cold water? Who cares if I need to stop the scene to take care of my toes? Who cares?

I do, said a familiar voice inside my head. Oh, right. You.

My friend is a long-distance swimmer, and she seemed cold but ready to keep going.

"Troian, do you want to stop?”

That voice, that familiar voice in the back of my skull that tells me it cares. It cares if I demand things of a production, it cares if I quit early, if I fail. It is a voice I know intimately; it is my greatest and best of enemies. I know what that voice will say if I stop. I know the trouble I’ll be in.

“Nope,” I said, my teeth chattering with excitement. “I’m fine!” She wasn’t buying it, but matching my determinism, we went around again anyway. When we came in, who cheered for the cold and weary warriors? Who hoisted us up in honor and fed us warm drinks in celebration? No one, because this was a necessary challenge to no one but myself. There was no great competition, except between my body and my head.

***

As someone who struggles with a mental illness, my biggest challenge is that I don’t always know which voice inside me is speaking. My body voice, the one that says, Troian, I’m cold, get out of the lake, or my illness: You told everyone three times, so you can’t disappoint them. You are not enough. Who cares about the difference between two times around and three? I do.

There is a part of my brain that defies logic. Once, it completely convinced me I should live off 300 calories a day, and at some point, it told me even that was too much. That part of my brain is my disease, and there was a time when it had absolute authority over me. It almost killed me, and you can see that even though I have lived in recovery for ten years now, it still finds loads of fun, insidious ways to thwart me to this day. It was a difficult journey finding my way back to health. Through hard introspection, intense medical and mental care, a supportive family, friends, and a patient and loving partner, I survived, which is rare.

But I don’t want to just survive that part of my life. I want to create in rebellion. I want to stop looking at the clocks. I wanna get paint all over the floor and build a wall of feedback in the amp so loud that it starts a mosh pit as I scream back in the face of my disease: I AM ENOUGH!

It’s just not that easy. Sometimes I still find myself being pushed by an invisible taskmaster, working to the point of exhaustion, swimming with numb toes. The voice of my disease is with me every day. I am practiced at ignoring it, for the most part, but it’s still there, finding new ways to undermine me. That’s partially why I wrote Feed. I wanted to channel that voice into a story and out of myself. I wanted to create a character who also wondered how she could be enough.

Writing, producing, and acting in it helped me to get one more degree of separation from my disease in what I know will be a lifetime of work in recovery. It is my greatest hope that someone watching it, struggling with the same challenges I do, might think, What if I were enough too? So with all the courage I can muster, I give it to you, I give it to that one person, in hopes that it could make them feel enough.

Maybe by the time you see it, I will have gotten out of the cold water and be warming myself in the sun.

Dreams- Connor Murphy x Reader w/ smut

A/N: Hello everyone! This is a piece of writing I’m pretty proud of, but as always please give me feedback! I’m sorry I haven’t been posting as much, I’ve been going through some stuff but I feel a lot better. Love you all!-Ella
Requested: Yes, or at least some Connor smut was
Words: basically 4k
Warnings: Suicide talk, swearing, mild smut
Summary: Connor and reader meet at a treatment center and bond

Whatever the usual way of meeting somebody you love is, how you two met wasn’t it. Fluorescent lighting, and feet covered by thin socks is how you met with the tracking of every move. You ended up there in the usual way, and so did he, so maybe that’s the small bit of normal you two share.
“Greenway’s Premier Adolescent Treatment Center.” That’s where you met him. You were both in for swallowing a deadly, but obviously not deadly enough amount of pills. This is the place where you go after your 72 hour hold is up and your doctors won’t send you home. Saying it was any better than those 72 hours would be a bold faced lie, or really just for the first few days. Everything you did was tracked, or at least in the unit you were in, “The Intensive Watch Unit”.
The secluded residential treatment center housed and treated teens with a variety of problems, some even a year into their stay, while others left after a month. You were in the unit for those who weren’t trusted to be in the more stable units. Just like at the hospital your shoes were taken and replaced with rough socks, your body was scanned for any old or new marks, and you were asked any and every question imaginable.

Two weeks. That’s how long you’ve been on the now dubbed “suicide floor,” a floor for those who can’t go to the bathroom alone because you might kill yourself instead of peeing. The routine of it all slowly settled in for you. Wake up. Make bed. Eat. Meds. Shower. Group therapy. Art therapy and it goes on and on. You liked the routine that had come about for you; it was comforting to know that at 11am you would draw, and that the same nurses would help you with your worksheet from group. Your doctor even told you that he believed that in another week or two, if you kept on track you would move to the ‘not so suicidal floor’. Well, he called it the “The Learning Unit.” You wouldn’t admit it, but you were proud that soon you could move up a level after seeing people spend only two or three nights in the unit. On the other hand you didn’t admit much. You stuffed and stuffed everything you felt until, BAM, you were swallowing as many pills as you could find until you woke up in the hospital, sobbing how you were mad for not killing yourself better. Looking back you thought that sounded like an oxymoron. Perfectionist at its finest, or lowest depending on your point of view.

When somebody new enters the “death please come knocking unit,” you don’t meet them until lunch time. Everybody who arrives at the center is escorted by parents, or guardians, at 7am sharp. They are toured while everyone is in therapy and then meet one on one with a doctor while someone else talks to whoever brought them. Then at the end of lunch they are brought in and introduced with enough time to makes small talk before entering another group therapy session. New people usually arrived once a week and it usually excited people, but it didn’t for you. Why get excited that someone else is also kind of fucked up in some way?


The day he showed up was like every day you’d been at Greenway. Everyone sat at a round table together that was in the middle of the unit floor. Your whole unit was basically one giant room with doors to other rooms for therapy, staff, bunks, and some that were locked. You remembered from your tour that other floors had dining rooms, and was open, but where you were wasn’t that.


He was brought in by a nurse, and everyone turned to look. He was tall and sort of lanky, but seemed strong. His light brown hair was behind his ears, and the look on his face reminded you of a pug trying to seem like a wolf. He sat down a few seats away from you next to a boy, Shane, who had arrived two days earlier.


“So what’s your name?” girlssomeone asked taking a bite of a cookie.


“Connor,” he spoke. His voice was stronger than you imagined. The other person took a response to their question to allow them to go on and on about some TV show you had never watched.

After lunch came group therapy, again. Connor followed behind the ten people on the unit, including yourself, into a room with chairs in a circle and inspiring posters on the wall.
“Welcome to group everyone. For those who can’t remember, my name is Ms. Lowe and I run group therapy for all of you during the afternoon.”  Ms. Lowe was nice, but tough when she needed to be. Everyone meets her since she conducts the interview you go through before entering the unit.
“Y/n,” at the sound of your name your head snapped in the direction of Ms. Lowe, “Since you have been here longer than most, would you mind showing our new member, Connor, how we start every group?”
“Okay, well I’m y/n and I’m here for trying to kill myself. I have been on this unit for two and a half weeks, and my goal for today is to talk more openly.” For the rest of the group you allowed yourself to zone into a place of dreams. You imagined everything that life would be if you weren’t the way you were, and everything life could offer for someone like you if you were happier. At school you weren’t the popular person, but you were nice and people liked you. You had boyfriends, and first times of everything you would expect for someone in high school, but somehow you felt like you were dying.

Quiet time was an hour a day where you could nap, talk to people, play games, but everybody napped. It seemed like an unwritten rule that everybody would climb into their bed that felt like a rock and try to sleep. You usually followed that, but sometimes you would sit on the seats in the common area and read. The variety of books was depressing, which was ironic for the unit, so you had your parents bring you books from home. When you brought yourself to the seats you were painfully aware that you weren’t alone. Connor, the new guy was sitting on the couch. New people on the unit usually annoyed you. They were so closed off, even more than you, or they were played into the depression like a lifetime movie. You like honesty, or being blunt about it all, what was the point of trying to hide any of it?
“Hey,” the voice of Connor brought you from the rant that was playing in your mind.
“Oh, hey,” you said sitting down on the opposite end of the couch and letting the variety of books fall into the space between you. His eyes grew wide looking at all the books.
“I can move them if you want”
“It’s fine. How did you get all these? The books here are all shit,” he said pointing to the bookshelf. The declaration from Connor made you laugh. The noise was a surprise to both of you.
“What do you mean? You don’t like ‘How to stop sadness’? Come on, that’s a masterpiece.”
“Totally. That’s on my top ten favorite books of all time.” This time Connor let out a small chuckle.
“You can borrow one of my books. I have way too many. When I asked my parents to bring me enough books to last my time in ‘Suicide daycare’ I didn’t expect this many. I guess that shows how much they believe in me.”
“Suicide daycare?”
“You know, we’re on the unit where they make sure we don’t kill ourselves. Suicide daycare.”
“Honest. I like that.”
“Thanks, I’ll be here all week, or more, you never know.”

Connor wasn’t as bad as you thought, hell he was probably your favorite out of the other patients. He was actually nice and didn’t try to dig into you to find everything wrong with you. Instead you started reading next to each other and would partner up during projects. For Sunday’s group you all had to find a partner and talk about your hopes and dreams. Seems simple enough, right? You and Connor partnered and sat in the corner of the room on the floor facing each other. You had partially been checked out of groups for a while since tomorrow you got to move to the level up. Finally you would get to have some freedom and would get to shower in privacy.
“So y/n what are your hopes and dreams,” Connor said smirking. Connor would also get to move up a level. He had actually been going along with the program well and had an undeniable strength.
“Ha-ha Connor,” you spoke with sarcasm dripping from your voice, “You first if you want to know all my innermost hopes and dreams.”
“Real talk, or not?” he said. This had become something between you.
“Let’s go with real talk for once.”
“I want to make it out of here soon and graduate. I have no fucking idea what I’ll do after that, but leaving here and making it through high school seems like a good place to start.” These words didn’t surprise you; Connor had something pushing him inside. In group once he said that he was going to try to live for his mom. She had sat by his hospital bed and begged him to try, saying if he died part of her would. Maybe she started him on this, but you thought somewhere inside he wanted to live, even if it was almost nothing, part of him did.
“Your turn y/n,” Connor said.
“I don’t know if I have any. I don’t mean that in the way of I can’t picture a future, because I can, but it doesn’t seem like something to dream of. Why jinx the fact that for the moment I can picture life. Now that’s a miracle, so I’ll just sit with the fact that I’m okay with living.”
“How do you manage to even make that seem dark?”
“I learned from the best. I mean you taught me so why not put it to use.”
“Hey! I didn’t teach you that, if anything you just speak like Edgar fucking Allen Poe.”
“I didn’t know fucking part of his name,” you said smiling.  A grin spread across Connor’s face, something that might have seemed unnatural at first, but now it fit perfectly.

Moving day. Well you were moving from ‘If you kill yourself here your parents will be so pissed’, to ‘Okay so they aren’t as depressed unit’. This unit wasn’t just one giant room with smaller rooms, but two floors, with 20 teens. There was a cafeteria, a school room, and all the nurses and doctors didn’t watch you as intensely. You would be on these floors for the rest of your stay, but you could move up levels, and earn rewards. When you arrived you were handed a schedule. Damn this place did know you. You only had two hours of school a day, then a bunch of therapy, and free time where you could join in on activities that were optional, or just hang out. Still you weren’t allowed to have shoes yet. You would have to move up a level. Connor on the other hand was allowed to have shoes. That made you annoyed and made Connor laugh.

With all of this new free time you and Connor got to hang out more. You spent your afternoons reading and talking. Sometimes he would read to you short stories that he wrote and you would draw for him. When there was group family therapy you heard stories about how he was horribly mean, but he seemed so different than that. Of course medicine and the right therapy will do that, but sometimes he would get mad. He would yell when he didn’t feel heard, but it didn’t freak you out. Better yelling than pushing it all down inside of you like you had done. The more time you spent with him the more you felt. He saw you and you saw him.
Friday night is when the nurses would put on a movie in the large common room. Almost everyone would gather around and would eat popcorn. Sometimes they would play multiple movies and everyone would get candy. You and Connor had always enjoyed those nights, but that days therapy had been intense for him so he retreated to his room. There was a strict rule that you couldn’t enter someone else’s room, but Connor seemed to need somebody. The movie was playing and everyone was concentrated on that so you made your way to the boy’s wing. You knocked on the door quietly.
“I told you I’m fine Nurse Roman. I just need some alone time. I promise I’ll come down for the second movie,” Connor said, exasperation coming through.
“Actually it’s me, y/n,” there was silence and then the door opened.
“What are you doing here? You aren’t allowed to be in this wing,” he said looking around the hallway.
“It seemed like you needed someone, so I’m here. Besides, when have you ever been one to shy away from breaking the rules?” A slight smile broke through his furrowed brows.
“What the hell, come in.” With that you walked into the room. The room held three beds and looked just like the girl’s wing.
“So are you doing okay?”
“I don’t know how I’ll do when I’m out of here. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready. Maybe I should just make it very clear to them that I can’t go home anytime soon.”
“Don’t say that. You’ll do amazing whenever they say you can go home.”
“I know, but I don’t think I should go now.”
“They haven’t offered it yet and at least you’ll get to chill with me for a while if you want to stay after they do,” you spoke nervously laughing.
“You’ll go home soon.”
“I don’t think so. I haven’t ever truly talked emotions with them. That’s step one.”
“We’ll be depressed buddies,” he said.
“Buddies?”
“Or not,” he huffed he lips turning into a frown.
“Don’t frown Connor, it makes you look emo.” This comment got a laugh from him. His eyes filled with something you could only call happiness as he let himself laugh.
“I guess we aren’t really buddies,” he said, now causing a frown to form on your face. Seeing this he spoke up.
“What I mean is we’re too close to be buddies. We’re not friends or some shit, we’re just more.” You watched him say this and he seemed to truly mean it. He looked like what he said was the truth, like he cared for you.
You thought this while you both stood in the middle of the room. He was watching you, having no idea what was going on in your mind. You took a step closer to him. Confusion was now clearly evident on his face.
“More,” you whispered. You were sure he didn’t mean it like that, but he was there, and he cared for you and you cared for him. He was better than he could realize and he felt like home when your hands accidently brushed against each other, so you brought your lips to his. It could either be a disaster or it could make something more than you could hope or dream for. Your hands reached for his neck as you let yourself feel his warmth.
“More,” he whispered back breaking your lips apart. His eyes seemed to search for what brought this, but he didn’t care in the moment. Swiftly he pulled you close again. Your lips slowly melded together, your mouths open and burning, your bodies pressed against one another. Your hands found his hair and his arms firmly pulled your waist as close as possible. There was no space between you with your hips against him. Where you were and everything that had ever happened seemed irrelevant. All you knew is that you needed every part of him, and for him to know that every part of him was magnificent. The feeling overwhelmed you and the clothes that covered each of you felt to be keeping you apart. You tore at your shirt and Connor yanked his own off. His lips attached to your neck and down to your collarbone where he nipped at the skin.
“More,” you managed to say as you pushed him onto his bed. Connor reached to unclasp your bra, but struggled against the clasps.
“What the hell kind of bra is that?” you laughed heartily at his annoyance as you moved to unclasp it yourself. Connor immediately pulled you back to him as you stumbled over your feet and landed on the bed. Connor took this as an opportunity to climb over you. His lips once again went to your body. His lips traveled to your breasts and he placed wet sloppy kisses along the sides. You pulled him up to your face as you then started unbuttoning his pants. A groan escaped from Connor’s lips as you finally pulled them off of him along with his boxers. Your jeans and underwear were soon being pulled off of your body as Connor entered you. The feeling of his body on top of yours and him moving within you outweighed any fear of the future in the moment. In those moments you were one with every rushed movement of hips, whippers, and digging nails.

You stayed in each other’s arms, a layer of sweat on each of you, until you each got up, giggling trying to put your clothes back on. You walked to the common room together and sat on the couch next to one another, fingers intertwined in the dark as you watched the movie. Your fingers brushed over your lips where not long ago Connor was. You slept that night hoping for an ending with him that would make even a Disney princess blush.

The next morning you went on with class, which you and Connor didn’t have together, and individual therapy. You couldn’t help but let your mind wander to the night before, and when you did you felt your face flush thinking of the feeling of him. You brought your lunch to the small library where you and Connor ate. Of course you didn’t know how things would  be between you, but you had trust that it would be okay.
“Hey,” Connor said as he entered the almost empty room. His face was bright and beaming, more than you had ever seen. You could feel your stomach turn.
“Hey,” you said smiling.
“I have the best fucking news,” he spoke quickly, sitting next to you.
“You are going to meet the Rock? Because I could support that,” you teased. Connor rolled his eyes, but the smile didn’t falter.
“No you dipshit! I get to go home!” the words that tumbled out of his mouth with that bright smile stopped you. The smile on your face frozen, your heart stopping.
“What?” you said, the strain in your voice evident, but Connor was so excited he went right past it.
“You know how I was all freaked out?” you nodded, your face going from strained smile to blank.
“Well that’s because they told me I could go home in a few days and I was scared. They said I’m expressing myself, I’m not suicidal, I’ve been moving up on levels, I’m better with my family, and I think I agree now.”
“Wait, you knew yesterday?” you interrupted.
“Yes, but that’s not the point. After we-you know- I figured that if I can do that, or at least talk to you about my feelings and shit, I can make it out there.”
“You knew yesterday?”
“I already said that y/n. Isn’t this great?” Connor said smiling at you with those eyes that made you want him in the first place.
“You knew, didn’t tell me and then slept with me,” you a little louder.
“Come on y/n. It wasn’t like that-”
“No, it’s exactly like that. Was it a joke to you?”
“Now you’re being fucking stupid y/n”
“Stupid!” you fumed. The look on Connor’s face went from happy to angry. Why weren’t you being supportive and happy for him?
“Come on y/n! I didn’t mean it like that. Why aren’t you happy for me? Isn’t this what we talked about. This was one of my dreams! I’m doing it, my dream!”
“Happy for you? I’m not happy, I’m angry! How could you fuck me knowing you were going to be leaving?”
“Everyone leaves here y/n! This place isn’t a future, you know that!”
“You could have told me last night before we slept together! You should have told me before I made you my dream!” You were crying now, but you were wiping the tears away as fast as they came.
“Your dream? Now that’s fucking stupid. I won’t be your dream. We slept together. It was amazing, but we both know that we can’t build a future off of each other. We have to build a future off of ourselves.” Connor’s anger was apparent, but he looked at the tears on your face and all he wanted to do was hold you. Of course he wished that you could be something together, but you can’t when you need to take of yourself.
“What if I can’t do it? What if I can’t make a future?” you said, almost to silent to hear. Of course you were mad, but not at him. You put all of your hopes and dreams on others, but all they could do was let you down even if they didn’t mean to.
“You can do it,” he said softly, walking closer to you.
“How do you know?”
“If I tell you, you’ll never know that you can do it yourself.” You were now close enough to kiss him, but instead you just looked at him.
“You’ll do great out there in the real world,” you said
“I know.”
“We shouldn’t talk once you and I get out.”
“I know.”
“It would be too tempting and then I wouldn’t be able to focus on me.”
“I know.”
“Wherever you are when you’re out of here, think of me sometimes.”
“I will.”

That was the last conversation you had with him before he left. Of course you thought of him, and you were allowed to, but you didn’t let it consume you. You thought of him a lot at first, but then you spent your time thinking of how to get better.

You spent another two months at the center. It was hell there for a long time, but then it wasn’t. When you went home the house felt different, it was the home of a girl who viewed herself as already gone. When you entered you viewed yourself as a girl who had come back.

Now you were in your second year of college and were transferring. It didn’t feel scary, but felt amazing.

Three weeks into the new semester and you felt like you belonged. You sat in one of the courtyards eating lunch and reading a book when you were pulled from your thoughts by a voice from behind you.

“Y/n, looks like my dreams are coming true,” you could hear the smile in the voice you knew so well.

“Connor?”

anonymous asked:

Coffee shits anon here to say I may actually have an intolerance to coffee and its making me feel really really sick so i was wondering if i could get some sweet byler fluff of either Mike or Will getting like a cold and the other having to care for them ?!

hey anon i hope you’re feeling better by now!!! i had already gone to bed when you sent this message last night, i’m so sorry! but i worked on this in my spare time today, just for you!!! it’s only a little piece of meaningless fluff, but i hope you enjoy it. :’)

“I can’t believe your mom finally let me into your quarantine zone,” Will says as he enters Mike’s room. He closes the door gently behind him even though the space already feels a bit stuffy.

Mike smiles from where he’s cocooned in his blankets. He struggles, but manages to sit up against the wall behind his bed with all but his head covered by the thick comforter, and Will feels the sweet, familiar warmth wash over him at the sight of Mike’s face. God, he’s missed him.

On the floor beside the bed is a trashcan overflowing with used tissues. A half empty bottle of cold medicine is tipped over on his bedside table (the grape kind - Will’s not sure how Mike has managed to choke so much of that down over the past three days).

“I think I convinced her that if you don’t come up to show me what I missed in calculus the past three days, I’ll definitely fail out of eleventh grade and have no choice but to become a rodeo clown traveling aimlessly across the midwest.”

The flu that’s been plaguing Mike since Monday has yet to leave his head and all of his “v”s come out like “b”s, and he sniffles after every other word. Will finds that it only endears him more to Mike - red nose, messy hair, and all.

He laughs as he sets his notebooks down on the corner of Mike’s desk and walks toward the bed, carefully avoiding stepping on any tissues that haven’t quite made their way into the waste bin thanks to Mike’s less-than-stellar aim.

Mike hums out a happy noise and unfurls himself from his blanket cave, reaching out with long, spider-like arms to yank Will close to him and pull him into a hug. The soft press of his feverish face against Will’s flannel shirt feels warm even through the thick layer of fabric, and Will’s mouth twists down into a frown.

“You’re burning up,” he says.

A soft, careful hand finds its way to Mike’s forehead. He ignores the mumbles of protest as he forces himself backward, out of Mike’s grip, so he can push the hair back from his face and make note of the glassiness of his eyes and the red-pink flush to his skin.

“I’m fine,” Mike insists with a shake of his head.

He grabs Will’s hand between his own and pulls hard, sending Will stumbling and falling face-first onto the bed.

“You’re a nuisance,” he bites out, but there’s laughter in his voice as he finds a way to situate himself among the various blankets and pillows tossed along the mattress.

Mike sighs in satisfaction, curling up to lie down with his head resting in Will’s lap, his low whisper of I missed you nearly lost among the rustling of the sheets as he tries to get comfortable.

“Mike,” Will says softly. “You shouldn’t let me disturb your sleep. I only came by to drop off your homework.”

It hurts him a little just to say it, because the truth is he’d rather be locked up here with Mike in his sick-den than anywhere else in the world. But he also doesn’t want to impede the process of him feeling better by keeping him awake when he should be sleeping.

Mike pouts and opens his eyes to focus on Will.

“Please stay. Just for a little while. I bet it’ll make me feel better.”

His voice is a little raw from the sore throat and a lot emotional from the three days of illness that has separated him from Will, thanks to Karen’s very careful regulation of her sick child. The most contact they’ve had was a ten minute phone conversation the night before, during which Mike blew his nose thirty times and then fell asleep on the line before Will could properly say goodbye.

Will’s heart pulls itself into a bind and he reaches down to run his fingers through the curly mess of Mike’s hair. He should definitely go, his rational brain tells him - he’s likely to get sick himself if he stays much longer - but he finds the too-warm sheets of Mike’s bed and the pleasant weight of Mike resting against him is making him feel lethargic and complacent right where he is.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles out, and Mike brightens a bit before furrowing his brow and opening his mouth to speak again.

“I can’t believe she kept you away from me for so long.”

Maybe it’s silly, that three days has felt like so long, but Will has been showing up to the Wheeler house every afternoon with Mike’s missed assignments in tow only to be stopped short by Karen at the front door, all calm mom-smile and friendly-stern voice. It’s taken them far too much time for Will’s taste to convince her that he really does need to see Mike; and Will has felt each and every hour of those three days somewhere deep inside his chest. In the lag of his pulse. Like someone has reached inside him and formed a fist around his heart, squeezing just this side of too tight.

“To be fair, you’ve been pretty sick,” Will reasons, because he likes Mrs. Wheeler and he can’t really blame her for wanting Mike to get better.

Mike coughs on a laugh and reaches up to run his fingertips over Will’s face, lingering on the mole above his lip and settling finally at the hollow of his throat where he catches the humming buzz of Will’s pulse with his ice cold hand.

“Yeah, but you’re my boyfriend,” he says. “You’re supposed to be here when I’m sick. To take care of me or whatever.”

Will blushes, a pleasant carnation pink blossoming over his cheeks, and swallows hard.

Boyfriend. He lets the word sit at the front of his mind, wants to repeat it out loud just to feel the tender weight of it against his tongue, to hear the timid way it will leave his mouth - embarrassed and shy, yet somehow entirely certain at the same time. It’s not a word they let themselves use often, because in Hawkins it’s better not to risk the wrong person overhearing it, the name for this secret, erroneously forbidden thing between them.

And so to hear Mike say it out loud - so casually, like it’s common knowledge half the world over - it makes a slow warmth unwrap itself and settle like a new coat of paint into every crack in Will’s heart. He takes a deep breath and catches Mike’s hand with his own, intertwines their fingers.

“It’s not like she knows that,” he says. Then, softer: “She can’t know it.”

The words come out a bit more melancholy than he’d intended but it’s hard to hide it sometimes, how much it hurts to pretend Mike means nothing more to him than any of his other friends. To pretend he doesn’t daydream about the whisper of Mike’s hand against his own beneath the table in chemistry class. To act as though his breath doesn’t tangle itself into an unmanageable knot and wrap itself around his lungs with expert precision whenever he catches Mike’s eye from across the hallway. To pretend he doesn’t look at Mike and see his whole damn heart projected back at him, doesn’t taste the promise of some kind of future with every fleeting kiss they manage to steal.

Sometimes it just gets a little hard, pretending.

“I wish she could.”

Mike’s voice is soft as he says it, wistful as he opens his eyes and presses their intertwined hands to his warm face to place a kiss against Will’s knuckles.

“I wish everyone could know how much I love you.”

Will’s heart does a stutter-stop in his chest and he thinks for a moment that it must be the fever talking. Either that or the cold medicine, because he and Mike…they haven’t said that word yet.

Sure, Will’s thought it hundreds of times: certainly every day over the last nine months they’ve been together; probably ever since his return from the upside down and his multiple brushes with death and also with the soft weight of Mike’s hand against his own; possibly since the first time Mike placed an arm around him in first grade when Will had fallen off his bike and skinned his knee so badly that the blood had run down into his sock and gone all tacky against his foot as he’d limped home. He’s thought it for years. An entire lifetime, maybe. But they haven’t said it.

He looks down at Mike and expects to see that same feverish glaze, a faraway look on his face like his brain is certainly somewhere else, lost in the haze of illness. Instead all he sees is soft, quiet confidence and the kind of sure and steady gaze that Mike is so expert at - like he’s daring Will to challenge him on this. But this isn’t something Will is going to challenge him on. Not today. Not ever.

“I love you too,” he says, and the words feel big but taste pleasant and it’s okay right now, that no one else can hear it. That no one else can know.

They don’t deserve to know, Will thinks to himself as Mike nuzzles against him with his lips pulled up into a sleepy smile.

“You know, I think I’m starting to feel a little better already,” Mike says, his tone playful and sweet. “Looks like I was right. You’re healing me after all, Byers.”

Will rolls his eyes but he can’t keep the fond look off of his face as he whispers dork and pulls the blankets further up around Mike’s shoulders. It doesn’t take long for Mike to begin nodding off with his head still pillowed in Will’s lap, his breath coming out in soft, whistling snores that make Will giggle silently in the evening-dark of the room.

“Will you still be here when I wake up?” Mike forces his eyes open long enough to ask, wrapping his arms around Will like he’s trying to ensure he can’t get away even if he wants to.

Will hums out softly, rubs his hand over Mike’s back.

“Yeah, Mike. I’ll be here.”

Mike’s asleep before he can hear his response, but it’s okay. He already knew the answer before he’d ever asked the question. And it’s okay, when he wakes up an hour later bleary eyed and pouty as Will insists he needs to get home before his mom begins to worry.

“Are you gonna let me kiss you goodbye, at least?”

He looks so pathetic, with his frowning lips and his stuffy nose and his hair standing up in every direction, and Will is tempted to say no because they have midterms coming up and he really can’t afford to be sick.

But instead he just laughs and half-protests that it’s gross as Mike presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth with warm, chapped lips. (It’s not gross and he missed it and he loves it and he loves Mike, god he loves him.)

And even when Will is lying in bed the next week, coughing and sniffling and downing cold medicine every few hours as Mike spends his afternoons apologizing and bringing Will homemade soup from his mom in a bright red thermos - he still can’t help but think that it was very much worth it.

Mother Knows Best, LMM/Reader

Prompt: The Oscars’ luncheon breeds a new relationship for Lin.

Words: 2,450 (Good LORD)

Author’s Note: I’ve been looking for some smaller things to write as I gear up for the write-a-thon, and Lin was tweeting about the Oscars’ Luncheon. Got a bit of an inspiration. (Y/M/N) = Your Mother’s Name. I know that some people don’t have mothers but this prompt required a parental figure. Feel free to change it to anyone you want!

Warnings: General lack of knowledge as to what happens at an Oscar Luncheon.

Askbox | Masterlist


“I’ve never even heard of this.” You sigh into your phone, your publicist trying to maintain an even and calm tone with you. “I mean, yeah, any day I get to stand in the same room as Meryl Streep you can count me in.”

“Amazing! I’ll get in touch with your stylist-” You allowed the eccentric woman to go off about a list of her duties as you boarded your subway, weaving through bodies to find an empty spot next to the handrail.

“Nothing too insane. This is a luncheon, I’m not meeting the queen.”

“This is the Oscars, Y/N! No one will be in a sweatshirt and Levis!”

You certainly wish you could be.

The past year has been a bit of a whirlwind for you - interviews and movie offers and an Oscar nomination. Everything was still very new to you - you had never even gone on a talk show until just a few months ago. A year ago you were struggling to pay rent and scraping together money to be able to feed both you and your dog.

Then a once in a lifetime chance came your way and you jumped on it before you could blink.

Keep reading

Ladies Night

Summary: You and Lance have a ladies night.

Pairing: Lance x Reader

Warnings: nothin’ but fluff here

A/N: Just trying to shake off my writers block. I hope you guys like this!

“I’ll be at the bar down the road if you need me.” your boyfriend of 3 years says after you just got done telling him what you were going to be doing tonight.

“What? Why? Stay home with me!” you exclaim adding a pout to your lips.

Lance scoffed. “Y/N, I’m not gonna stay home with you and watch you have a ‘ladies night’. That shit sounds boring.”

“Who said you were just gonna watch me? You can join in too.” you smile but Lance still holds a blank face.

“Yeah… no.”

You frown. “Why?”

Lance sighs and runs his fingers through his non-gelled hair. “Because, Y/N. That’s girl shit and I’m a manly man and manly men don’t do girl shit like that.” he says. “I’ll be at the bar, see you when I get home.”


“What’s next?”

You smile and start rummaging through the bag that was next to you. “Well I got these face masks from Target earlier and I was gonna try them out.”

You hold out the different types of face masks to Lance and he scans them over. “I want whichever one you’re gonna do.”

“Hmm.. this one is a cucumber one and it says it’s soothing and calming for the skin and this one is a charcoal paper mask. It says it detoxifies and cleans pores. Oh and-”

“That one, I want that one.” Lance cuts you off as he snatches the little red and black pouch from your hands. “Gotta clean my pores.”

You stifle a laugh at your ‘manly man’ of a boyfriend who was reading the ingredients of the pouch, the skin between his eyebrows creasing as he murmured the words.

“Water… aloe vera… leaf juice? What the fuck?” he scoffed and shook his head before continuing. “Charcoal powder, green tea… witch hazel?” he looks up at you. “Umm… I dunno about you but I’ve seen The Blair Witch Project, number one and two and I don’t fuck with witches so…”

“Not that kind of witch, babe.” you giggle. “In this case, it’s used to treat blemishes.”

Lance sighs. “Dunno what you’re talking about, this face has no blemishes.” he pats his cheeks with a smirk and you roll your eyes.

“Anyways…” you hum, reading the directions. “gently unfold mask and apply to clean skin.” you pause and look over at Lance. “You got clean skin?”

“Yup. Do you?”

“Mhm.” you go back to the directions. “Adjust around eyes, nose and mouth, smoothing to fit the curves of your gorgeous face.”

“See, even the face mask pouch thinks my face is gorgeous.” he beams.

You let out a little laugh and shake your head once again. “Close eyes and relax for ten minutes. Remove mask. Tingling? Yes, it’s working.”

Lance’s eyes shoot up to meet yours. “Tingling?”

You nod. “That’s what it says.”

“Like… it’s gonna burn my face or something?”

“I don’t think that-”

“Sweetheart, I love you and all but I don’t think I can do this. You see, what attracted you to me was my looks and-”

You interrupt him. “It wasn’t your looks, Lance.”

You see the gymnasts mouth curve into a smirk. “Oh yeah, that’s right. It was my huge-”

“Personality!” you exclaim before he could finish his sentence. “It was your personality, jeez.”

Lance lets out a loud laugh, rolling onto his side on the floor and you roll your eyes again. This man would be the death of you.

“Alright, alright, stop laughing and let’s put these on.”


“Did she really?” Lance questioned as you painted his nails with a clear coat.

“Yup.” you pop the ‘p’, also nodding.

“Wow…” he muttered. “I can’t believe Janice fucked a married man who had kids.”

“Mmm!” you hum, sipping your drink. “And get this; she’s married with kids too!”

Lance gasped. “No fucking way, are you serious?”

“Mhm.” you nod.

Janice was the ‘new’ girl who you worked with you and recently you had found out that she was screwing another one of your coworkers who was supposedly happily married with children. 4 to be exact.

“How’d you find all this out?” he questioned as he leaned over to the little coffee table you had in the living room to take a sip of his drink.

“The coworker she was screwing - David – his wife came in and flipped her shit. She was like ‘I can’t fucking believe what a pig you are, screwing your coworker, blah blah blah’ and he was like ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about honey, please let’s just go outside’ and he went to grab her hand but she did this matrix move and was like ‘you don’t know what I’m talking about? Really? You’re gonna play fucking dumb? Who the fuck is Janice, David? Hmm? Where is she?’ and everyone else was just watching. We were all giving each other looks like holy shit this is some good stuff. I think Marcos videotaped the whole thing.”

“Oh my god.” Lance’s eyes were wide and you finish up his right hand, now moving to his left. “And where was Janice? Did she get fucked up?”

“Oh honey,” you say. “the bitch got lucky because it was her day off. But when she comes to work on Monday she’s gonna get the ass whooping of a lifetime because David’s wife said she was gonna come again.”

Your boyfriend raised his eyebrows and let out a puff of air. “Jesus, the people you work with are crazy. All I work with is teens and the only drama I hear is ‘oh my god, Jennifer totally bought the same exact top as me, I can’t believe she’d do that’.” he says the last part in a high pitched voice, causing you to laugh. “Please keep me in the loop. I wanna know if Janice gets fucked up by David’s wife. She sounds like a boss ass bitch.”

“She is.” you agree. “And don’t worry, I will.”

You go back to focusing on painting Lance’s nails when the front door opens and in comes Hope. “Hey, I saw Lance ‘The Fucker’ Tucker was home but I decided to come in anyways and-” she stops dead in her tracks when she looks up and sees you painting Lance’s nails while Lance is drinking his alcoholic beverage. “What the fuck?”

“Hey Hope.” you hum.

“Hey sugar tits.” Lance smiles at your best friend.

You look over at her. “You do have some sugary tits.”

“I… you… what the fuck is going on?” she stutters, eyes going from you to Lance.

“Ladies night, don’t fucking ruin it.” he says.

Hope looks at you and you shrug. “You heard him. Don’t fucking ruin it.”

“Ew. You guys are weird.” her nose scrunches. “I’m just gonna go.”

“Okay.” you nod. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah, see you tomorrow… lemme just…” she pulls her phone out and aims it at the two of you.

“Are you taking a picture?” Lance asks.

“Yup.”

He quickly poses, head tilting to the side as he smiles and you laugh. Hope takes the picture and looks at it. “Ben’s not gonna believe this.”

“Send me that picture!” Lance calls out just before Hope shuts the door. You and Lance look at each other before going back to what you were doing previously. “Anyhow, let me tell you about this girl I threw up on at a frat party in college.”

“Lance, that was me.”

“Oh yeah…” he hummed. “So anyways…”


A/N: Tell me what ya think! Also I’ll edit laterrrrr, gonna eat some tacos :)

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Essays in Existentialism: Royalty

Two princesses who can’t be together but secretly love each other.

Inside the palace, the evening roared. The ballroom filled and ebbed as the doors were thrust open and the inhabitants flowed out into the garden. Like a chamber of the heart, it pulsated, keeping beat with the band that played while the platelet-like people in gowns and tuxedos all swirled about, dizzy on wine and champagne and the evening. 

Keep reading

“I hate you.” (Joji)

Anon Request: an imagine where you and joji absolutely hate each other but because you’re both friends with the other boys you’re forced to hang out together but one night, somehow, things get really heated and smutty? xx


Y/N’s POV

I groaned dramatically, trying to catch the attention of at least Max, or Ian…mostly Ian. I wanted to desperately leave this dreaded apartment and one of those two idiots was my ticket out of here considering that I didn’t have a ride. Well, Ian was my ride, but he was too busy up George’s ass to even notice me. I hated coming over here to this apartment, I hated this atmosphere, and most of all: I hated George. Yeah, ‘hate’ is a strong word and all, but that’s just how I felt. It was with such animosity that I could barely look at him without having the urge to deck him right in the face. He was sat on the couch across from me, scrolling through his phone as he smiled and spoke to Max and Ian about something stupid. The three of them laughed, and I felt like they were mocking me…I was the only one sitting there and pouting as if I was a five year old that had their favorite toy taken away from them.

“Y/N, you need to see this.” Ian laughed as he patted the empty space next to him.

I glared at him and then Max, both of them on either sides of George. I rolled my eyes and scoffed. My bitterness towards George stemmed from a deeper issue. It wasn’t just me being hostile for no reason.

“I’d rather choke then go over there.” I muttered.

We had been out the whole attending to every need George had, doing everything George waned to do. I was excluded from everything purposely. They shot a few things for videos on all of their channels, and when Max or Ian called me over, George would instead take my place and fill in. It was always some kind of competition when it came to Ian and Max, as if he didn’t spend enough time with them already. For some reason, it always had to revolve around George. Ever since the first day I met him, it was as though the attention was always on him, and he distracted them from me.

“Have it your way.” George mumbled as he continued laughing with the guys.

That night, we had stayed over at George’s apartment being that we had nowhere else to stay because Ian didn’t want to drive downtown and get a hotel. Luckily for me, Ian was with me in the guest room where he and Max were going to be rooming.

“I have to step out real quick with Max to go pick up a few things that we ordered from that camera company I was telling you about. Remember that lens I ordered? Well, I have to go to the company and get it myself with Max since he had ordered some sort of case from the same place. Its an hour and a half drive.” Ian told me as he folded some of his clothes as he sat on the bed.

“You’re going to leave me here with him.” I gasped, “Take me with you, please. Come on, I promise I won’t say a single word the whole ride there and the ride back.”

“Y/N, just stay here. Plus, look. Joji needs some help cleaning up a little…just be civil until we get back.” he told me.

I didn’t want those two cunts leaving me with George. Max talked me into staying behind unfortunately, saying that I’d get bored with the trip. Ian even suggested talking to him and maybe squashing the beef between the both of us.which I doubt would ever occur in this lifetime… I walked into the hallway, leaving the guest room, and I came to a stop when I heard George speaking.

“Guys, you’re seriously not leaving me with Y/N, right? What the hell?! You guys know I can’t stand her…let me go with you, she won’t mind being alone. She’s always alone anyways, being that she hasn’t been in a relationship for a long ass time.” he belittled, “She’s so fucking annoying…dude, all she does is take up space…”

I knew I abhorred him completely before with every poison filled bone in my body, wanting nothing to do with him…but now I felt it with such distaste. George was repulsive to me.

“Look, she doesn’t like it either, but we’ll be back quick.” Ian explained, “You won’t even notice we’re gone.”

They said their goodbyes and after hearing the front door shut, I abandoned the hallway, retreating back into the guest room. I was occupying the bed for about ten minutes, lying there and taking up space, like how George said I did. I couldn’t deny that what he said didn’t at least hurt me in some sense. Like, I guess it did but I was so used to ignoring his existence it really didn’t have an affect on me. I heard a soft knock on the door followed by the twist of the doorknob. I found it rude how he just let himself in that way, but at the same time, it his apartment. I continued staring at the ceiling, not wanting to look at him.

“Do you want popcorn or something?” he asked bluntly.

“No.” I spat.

“Starve and die then.” he muttered.

“Gladly.” I told him.

All I felt was the room become empty and I heard the door slam shut. It startled me a little, making me jump as I remained on my back, staring at the blank ceiling. Someone’s grumpy, I thought to myself. Like, alright yeah, I get it. I suck, I’m annoying, and he probably rather die than be stuck in the same vicinity as me because that’s exactly how I feel about being here with him, but are you really going to slam doors in your apartment to emphasize how much I get under your skin? I sat up feeling thirsty. Five minutes into a battle with myself about getting up or not, I decided to get up and be a big girl and go get myself a glass of water. I was hesitant, not wanting George to say anything to me. He sat on the couch with an unopened beer in his hand as I lightly creeped past him and went not the kitchen. I poured myself some water and as I gulped it down, I thought about leaving tomorrow since Ian had said we’d leave first thing in the morning. I wanted to be far away from George, I never liked coming to New York because we only came here to see him.

“You could’ve asked me for a glass instead of snooping around my kitchen.” his voice startled me, making the cup slip out of my hand and crash onto the floor into pieces.

I gasped, scared that he’d start his bitching.

“See what you do?!” he shouted at me, stretching out his arms.

“Me?! You’re the one that came up behind me like some kind of spy. Wear a damn bell next time, maybe that way we’d all be able to hear you.” I shouted back.

“Oh, shut up! You’re the reason why I have to sneak around, so you’re annoying ass doesn’t see me and automatically say something about you wanting to leave and doing something better or coming at me with your bullshit.” he seethed.

“This is exactly why-“ I started.

“You what?” he tested me.

“I hate you.” I disputed.

I wasn’t going to just let him walk all over me the way he normally did. Like, it’s pretty evident you dislike me, no need to make it more known by being mean and rude. He crouched on the floor and began to pick up the jagged pieces of the broken glass. I began to help him as well and he grabbed my wrist unexpectedly in a rough manner, “Stop. What? Are you trying to have a shard slice your hand open?!” he scolded.

“Oh, look at that. You do have a heart.” I rolled my eyes, “I’m a big girl, George. I can clean up my own mess by myself. I don’t need you being a big ass baby and telling Ian or Max I smashed one of your stupid fucking cups.”

“Why don’t you ever call me Joji? And you’re fighting with me over picking up shards of fucking glass. Just get out of the damn way, Y/N.” he argued.

I ignored him and continued picking up the shards. I didn’t want to call him ‘Joji’ because that’s what his close friends called him and I am no friend of his. If I was anything to him, I was probably an enemy.

“Your friends call you ‘Joji’…I’m not your friend.” I said as I held a few pieces of glass in my hands and dumped them in the trash can.

“You’re right. We’re not friends.” he muttered as he pushed past me to go into the kitchen. I followed him, wanting to know what the hell his problem with me was. I stood in the center of the room and he glared at me bitterly, clenching his jaw and sitting down on the couch.

“What is your issue with me? You already know what mine is with you, but for some reason you’re always such a dick towards me…” I announced.

He stood up and sighed, rolling his eyes, “You’re kidding, right? I never have time with my friends because of you. You stick to them like some sort of leech, sucking the fun out of everything we do. You walk around like you’re some sort of goddess, as if you control shit and run shit…” he inched closer to me, becoming more sour with every word that left his mouth, “And you don’t run anything…you-you waltz around in the shortest dresses and the tightest tights catching attention from pervs and distracting my other friends. I know you hate me…”

George backed me up into the chilled wall, goosebumps took over my body as I watched his lips attentively.

“So?” I asked with a slight attitude as I crossed my arms over my chest.

He let out a laugh, his eyes went from the floor to my face as he closed the space in between us. George stared at my lips and said, “You think I hate you, huh?”

I nodded slowly, not having any words for what was happening. I didn’t want it to stop…even if I claimed I hated him. He was rude, repulsive, alluring, and a dick… but that didn’t mean I didn’t want his…

“I’m gonna show you just how much I hate you.” he whispered as he leaned in.

George’s lips met mine aggressively as his hands intertwined in my hair. I didn’t protest nor did I reject him. I wanted him. Not knowing how much time we had left alone made us become very hasty. He led me straight to his room, where he shut the door and quickly attended to me while I plopped down onto his bed. My eyes scrutinized his room, I’ve never even taken a glimpse of it. George was surprisingly neat and organized, I’d imagined he was a slob but he proved me wrong. I was startled when I felt his cold fingers trace the bare skin on my stomach as he hooked my pants with his fingers. He made his way in between my clothed legs and unbuttoned my pants. While he was lowering my zipper, I jerked my pants off and began to work on his button and zipper. I was impatient and anxious. My issue with George was pushed in the back of my brain. I did not want to think about it anymore, I just wanted to think about how good he would make me feel and make it up to me. Removing his pants, he sucked on my neck, nibbling a little bit. His hand made his way into my underwear making me sharply draw in a breath.

“You wanna know something?” he whispered in a low voice as he entered a finger in me.

I moaned in response.

“I’ve always wanted to fuck you.” he lightly chuckled, placing another finger inside of me and working his fingers faster, “The first time I met you and opened that pretty little mouth of yours I knew you were someone I wanted. You hate me? Let me fuck that hate out of you, baby.”

My hand clasped his wrist as his actions sped up, not knowing what to grab and where to my hands. I was a mess under him, moaning and whimpering as he continued leaving marks on my neck and collarbones. He stopped before I was able to cum, my head hit his pillow as I laid there gasping, trying to catch my breath.

“I’m not done with you yet.” he snickered taking off my underwear and then instantaneously got rid of his.

We made out as he teased my opening with his hard erection, without a warning, he surprisingly thrusted into me. He was slow at first, but none the lead, it made all the difference in length. I gripped the blankets in my palms, biting my bottom lip as I shut my eyes. His thumb rubbed circles on my clit. After some time passed, he flipped me over so that I was on my knees. He gripped my hair in his hands and got close to my ear, “Let me show you how much  I hate you.”

He grabbed my hip with his left hand as his right continued holding my hair tenderly while he pulled out and teased me awfully slowly. I et out a small whimper, earning a light chuckle from him.

“Stop with the teasing, Joji.” I whispered.

Joji gave in and his actions became rugged with each slow stroke. I lowered the upper half of my body into the mattress, muffling my moans as he got faster and his motions rougher. I slid my arm below me and let my fingers rub my clit, I was close to my high and Joji’s motions made me near my climax faster than I had expected. My thighs burned as my legs shook, cumming onto his cock as he continued with his pace, pounding me as rough as he could. Moaning into the sheets to keep from making noise was no help, I was loud regardless. Joji’s moans were low growls, they became intense as his thrusts got clumsier. Joji pulled out, immediately spurting onto my ass, his grunts declined and instead turned into sighs of pleasure. Helping me clean up, Joji also aided me in getting dressed. He stared at me as we stood by his room’s door, “What?” I asked, confused.

“Wanna hate each other more often?” he smirked.

“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I smiled.

Just as we exited the room and walked into the living room, the front door swung open. Ian smiled at us and said, “Hey! Did you guys work things out?”

Joji looked at me, giving me a wink, I couldn’t help but smile discreetly as I turned to Ian and Max. My smile disappeared and I cleared my throat, attempting to act cool, “Something like that.”

I sat on the couch, crossing my arms over my chest, continuing the act as Joji sat on the the other couch, eyeing me with a grin. All I could hope for was the next time Joji and I were left alone…maybe this wouldn’t be so bad.

Escape - Chapter Nine

SPN FanFic

~Y/N and Dean are abducted after a night at the bar and thrown into a maze of horrors. Can Sam track down his brother and girlfriend in time? Can they even hold on that long?~

Dean, Reader; Sam

2,392 Words

Series Warnings: Angst. Show level violence. Graphic gore and blood. Extreme situations that may cause anxiety and fear. Character injury and trauma. (Extra Warnings in the tags)

~Feedback is the crack that keeps the Writing coming back~

ESCAPE Masterlist ~  My Masterlist  

Chapter Nine: Burn in Hell -

Sam was losing his mind.

As the hours ticked away, he forged ahead but got few breaks. It seemed like every step forward was followed by two in reverse, and his head was aching. He knew he had imbibed more coffee in the last twenty-four hours than was probably healthy, but he had to keep going.

One big break came when Sam was able to capture a license plate number off of the video surveillance and track a black, six-passenger van to a house outside of town. The van had been at the right place at the right time, and all signs pointed to it being the vehicle that stole away Y/N and Dean. It had seemed promising, like everything was falling into place, but after kicking in the door, gun at the ready, he’d been once again sent back to the starting line. The house was empty and falling apart; the van abandoned in the woods nearby. Diving into the registration later, he learned that the van was in fact still under the name of Clark Bishop; one of the very first people to go missing a few years ago. The house was his as well, and Sam had hopes that perhaps he was alive and involved somehow with the kidnappings, but the clues led him nowhere.  

The local sheriff was still being a total dick, and despite Sam threatening him with the full wrath of the Federal Government, he was once again turned away empty handed. Hell was a small town, with barely any crime; they had a handful of businesses on the main road, and the state of Michigan didn’t even recognize it as a real town. So a few tourists went missing every year, what could you do?

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So since Teen wolf is ending i decide to put my top CLASSIC STEREK FANFIC REC

This is fanfics that i always loved, and go way back I think all of then are from 2012-2013? i dont remember the name of all my favs, because i didnt have an ao3 account and was terrible with names, but here it is:

Gravity’s Got Nothing on You

“Three weeks,” Derek says.

“Still don’t want to,” Stiles says.

“I’ll pay you,” Derek says, and that… that has Stiles interested. Alf’s Antique’s may be a great job, but it’s not a high-paying job, and half of Stiles’s tuition is coming from financial aid, so…

“How much,” Stiles asks, “are we talking here? Because I know your family, dude. And it’ll be kind of awkward after.“

“My family thinks you’re some sort of fucking gift to the world,” Derek seethes, like he’s jealous, “they’ll probably be pissed at me when we break it off, so don’t worry about that. Five hundred bucks.”

“A thousand,” Stiles says, because screw ethics. Also, the Hale family is loaded. Derek can deal.

- This one was my first long fanfic that i enjeyd, it is so worth it, and fake pretend relantionship

There is a Brotherhood   

So far, college has taught Stiles three things:

1) Eight am classes are cruel and unusual and should be avoided at all costs, even if it means having to enroll in something truly hideous instead, like Econ 101.

2) Dorm security is just as tight as Stiles’ orientation leader had promised it would be, and the dude guarding Scott’s dorm in particular does not respond well to bribes.

3) Mrs. McCall clearly had no clue what she was talking about when she’d insisted that Scott and Stiles needed to branch out and room with strangers, so it’s all her fault that Scott ended up with a total dick of a roommate and Stiles got stuck all the way across campus with some guy who has a girlfriend two towns over and is thus never around.

Or, the one where pledge brothers Stiles and Scott start a prank war with Derek Hale’s fraternity.

- This is just one of the funnist fanfics i ever read

Just Act Normal

If someone had told Stiles back in high school that he would be an Oscar winning actor by the time he turned 25, he would’ve probably told Scott to punch them. The thing is, though…they would’ve been right.

Which makes returning to Beacon Hills, center of all that is supernatural and better left avoided, all the more awkward.

- This one i toke some time to read, because i didnt see stiles was an actor but it always showed up in rec lists and i give up and read and OMG it is so great, actor!stiles totally became a headcanon

Fly a Little Faster  

Everyone knows when you go back in time, you shouldn’t step on an ant, just in case you accidentally kill your own grandparent or something. But what happens when you go back in time and, uh, accidentally interrupt the one event that apparently made the Grumpiest Alpha in Town into a ball of mindless manpain?

Well, if Marty McFly can do it, so can Stiles Stilinski. All he has to do is get Derek and Paige to fall in love before he gets pulled back to his own time. And before he makes anything worse. That’s easy as pie, right? Right?

-This fits canon so well that it is amazing, and the speed that mirrorkill took to post this alway amazed me

Permanent Fixture

Derek is Scott’s older brother. Stiles is Scott’s best friend. Derek is falling in love with Stiles. This is a bit of a problem. 

- This is another one that took me a while to read, because scott and derek brothers wtf? BUT I LOVE IT, and those who like doctor who it is mandatory ;)

Cupboard Love

He’s carefully balancing the sandwiches and the two biggest tupperware containers he could find that both had functioning lids when the front door opens and he almost drops everything right there in front of the stupid fountain.

If that’s Derek Hale, he’s definitely not a mountain man.

- Cute and adorable, what more can I say

Fireman Derek’s Crazy Pie [Cheeseburger Baby]

“He can’t blame me for the fact that I live in a building full of people united in the singular effort to ogle Hot Fireman as often as humanly possible.“

Laura laughs, loud and echoing in the empty restaurant.

"Hot firemen can make a girl do crazy things,” she agrees, nodding towards her brother’s name on the menu. “Derek won’t let me date anyone from his company, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the eye candy.”

“Send them my way,” Stiles suggests, finally loading up a forkful of pie. “Apparently I’m incompetent enough that I need to be babysat at all times, because it would be cheaper than dispatching a truck every time I try to use a kitchen appliance.”

- This one is super funny and adorable

Sourwolf Candy    

When the Sourwolf Candy franchise offers a $10,000 annual scholarship to the school of the winner’s choice, Stiles jumps at the chance to enter. It doesn’t matter that the other prizes are a day with one of the Hales and a lifetime supply of Sourwolf Candy. The sacrifices are worth it, because if there’s one thing that Stiles hates more than Sourwolf Candy, it’s Derek Hale.

So of course he has to spend a day with the guy who made the catchphrase ‘Don’t be such a Sourwolf’ popular: Sourfaced Derek Hale himself.  If he doesn’t, he doesn’t get his scholarship money.

Derek just wants a little sugar.  Or a lot of sugar, as the case may be.

A whole case of sugar.

(He stress-eats sugar, ok?)

- Stiles has the biggest crush of the universe, really babe

Hello, Heartbreaker

It’s a popular joke among Alphas: fuck an Omega, get heartbreak on your hands. Omegas are fragile little emotional things, needy and whiny. Stiles refuses to become that, or to believe that he’s anything like that.

Stiles and Derek have been fuckbuddies for a while when Derek loses his memories of the past three years - and them - in an accident. (Also - everyone’s a werewolf, and everyone’s alive.)

- First fanfic i ever heard about Mpreg, it is just mentioned, but it was a shock hahah

hope is the thing with feathers

Stiles is ten when he saves the Hales from their burning home and Derek from a wolfsbane bullet, and this establishes a pattern that seem to continue indefinitely.

“Then he’s facing a burning home, and he wraps the hood of his sweatshirt around his mouth before he pushes the door open and steps inside. There’s Mr. Hale asleep - he hopes asleep - on the couch, next to - Stiles thinks that’s his brother but there are so many Hales, who can keep track. He rushes over and starts shaking him, can see the rise and fall of the man’s chest so he knows he’s alive, but he’s not waking up.
He shoves away his hood so he can shout, "Mr. Hale! You have to get up, there’s a fire! Mr. Hale, get up!” Nothing, he’s not even twitching, both of them taking in deep even breaths like they’re having the most peaceful of rests, and Stiles is going to cry. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!”
There’s a moment, where all Stiles can hear is the blood rushing in his ears and not the roar of the flames or the creak of wood, then with a violent, silent pop it’s all back and both of the men are gasping awake, eyes open and jumping to their feet. “

- Dorks, these two are dorks

Honorable mentioned:

You Belong With Me  

Ever since the new neighbors moved in, Stiles and Derek had been best friends for as long as they could remember. Over the years, Stiles fell in love with the boy next door and watched as his best friend dated, wishing to be the lucky person who got to say that 'Derek Hale is my boyfriend’. Alas, he was overlooked and settled for being the best friend and pined from afar. 

- Dorks pinning, but this one is from 2015, so not that old, or is it? hahaha anyway this is really funny and cute

anonymous asked:

31 with taehyung please ^-^

thank you for requesting! i hope you like it! 

31. “I’m trying to flirt with you.” 

WORD COUNT: 1,776

Originally posted by ladynwh

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“Prompt: Maggie says no.” from the hard-hitting (and I effing love it) @foreverblueraven and @goodslothnoodle “Please fix the proposal   That one kind of sucked” and @laurarasmith “ Also sanvers rationally talking about getting married cause like ok. They can be engaged. Sure. But can we plz get the logistics conversation” and @ahhveee “I’m really conflicted about the proposal…but like post-proposal Maggie saying yes but also her getting assurance from Alex that this isn’t only a reaction to everything that happened and it’s really something Alex wants” and @sanvers-cuddles “In anyway you see it but like could there be more of a build up to the proposal”

Other proposal fic here: https://queercapwriting.tumblr.com/post/160971754574/we-need-a-continuation-of-that-proposal-more


There was a time when she would stiffen and grab her gun and body slam anyone who came up behind her and touched her like that.

But Maggie has asked – “May I?”, she’ll always say, always softly, never expectantly – so many times that Alex has just told her, please, please, please, I love when you hold me like this, you don’t have to ask.

So there was a time when she could have literally killed someone for doing just what Maggie does.

But now? Now, Alex sinks back into her touch, her warmth, her comfort, her love, her support, immediately. She revels in the feeling of Maggie’s chin on her shoulder, Maggie’s body solid and strong behind hers.

“She’ll be okay,” Maggie tells her, and Alex tries to believe her.

“I hope so,” her voice trembles slightly, because a week ago, Kara almost lost her.

Yesterday, Kara almost lost Lena. Today, Kara lost a piece of her past. Today, Kara watched her city exploding around her, and Alex knows – because Alex feels it too – that Kara is blaming herself.

She feels Maggie staring at her, and she thinks about her promise to Kara.

To never let Maggie go.

The tears in Kara’s eyes, the lilt in her voice.

How far she’d come with Maggie, how much she tried.

How much Alex’s almost dying – almost, almost, almost, she reminds herself – had brought her sister and her girlfriend together.

But she doesn’t want Maggie to just be her girlfriend.

Not anymore.

“Hey,” Maggie is saying, pulling back slightly and taking Alex’s hands into hers. “I know the Danvers girls, you don’t break easy – “

Her voice is soft and it’s smooth and it’s the most soothing thing Alex has ever heard, and Alex has always been impulsive, but Kara had basically given her blessing, and she needs her, god, she needs her, because what if she lands in the hospital during the next war – and there will always be a next war – and Alex can’t get to her without being her wife, her wife, god, Maggie Sawyer’s wife.

It’s never appealed to her before. She’s never understood it.

But this woman, this woman with the calloused heart and soft hands, with the tender soul and sharp wit? This woman, comforting Alex about the Danvers girls, her Danvers girls –

“Marry me.”

Her eyes search Maggie’s face and she watches as the slight smile, the affirmation, on Maggie’s face melts into terror. Melts into incomprehension. Melts into disbelief.

Because she’s always been worthless, and she’s always been disposable.

And when she hasn’t been, she hasn’t trusted it. She’s blown it up in her own face. Like she deserves.

But Alex Danvers? Alex Danvers, with the wide eyes and the desperate voice?

Alex Danvers who has almost died more times than Maggie can count in the last few weeks alone, Alex Danvers who has held on for her and is holding on to her hands and is saying… What the hell is she saying?

“Excuse me?”

And Alex nods before she speaks, like she understands Maggie’s disbelief, like she understands Maggie’s shock. Like she’s feeling it too, but god, god, god, Alex took her by the forearm and pulled her into their first kiss in the bar, and she’s doing it again, now, because we should marry the girls we want to marry, and she wants to…

“Seriously? Marry me. Please?”

She breathes the last word and Maggie doesn’t know when Alex’s hands went to her shoulders, and she doesn’t know when her heart started flying out of her chest and her ears started buzzing, but she knows her mouth is smiling, her eyes are smiling, because god, god, god, she loves this woman.

She loves this woman, loves her like she’s never loved anything, and she’s never been wanted like this, wanted like…

Wanted like Alex nearly died, and Alex nearly blew up her own sister, and Alex nearly cost planet Earth its existence, and Alex nearly lost everything.

“Yes,” Maggie whispers in tandem with her eyes. 

“Yeah?” Alex breathes, and Maggie nods, but then she shakes her head, because yes, yes, yes, but also no, no, no.

“Yes, one day, Alex. One day, I want to marry you.” She stops smiling and she steps back, and she hates herself – hates herself like she hated herself the night Alex first kissed her – and she shifts Alex’s hands from her shoulders to her own hands.

“One day,” Alex repeats like she was just punched in the gut, and Maggie brings Alex’s limp knuckles to her lips.

“Yeah. Yeah. Yes. But Alex, I don’t… I don’t even know what marriage means to you. What it would change for you. For us. We don’t live together yet, not really, and finances, and our dog – when do you want to get a dog? – I just… I want a lifetime of firsts with you, Alex, and I want marriage to be in there. Once, to be clear. Just once. To you. But not… Alex, you almost died, and then the Daxamites, and then – “

“What, you think I haven’t thought this through?” Her eyes are wide and her eyes are pain, and Maggie steps back closer to her and thanks the goddesses when Alex doesn’t shrink away from her touch.

“I’d be lying if I said I haven’t been thinking about it, Alex. With all that’s been happening… hell, even before that. But we haven’t figured out… what does it mean to you? To get married?”

“Till death do us part and all that. Seems pretty relevant nowadays, huh?” Her eyes are wet and so is her voice, and Maggie gives a dry chuckle.

“But that’s exactly my point, Alex. I don’t want you to… I’m ride or die for you, Danvers, you know I am, but we don’t have to rush, we don’t have to – “

“But what’s the difference? Between you saying you want a lifetime of firsts with me and me saying I want to marry you?”

“Babe, getting married… that lifetime of firsts suddenly includes a lot of joint housing and financial decisions, and a lot of… it’s forever, Alex. And I want forever with you. But it’s miles from where we are: we just started this thing, you and me. And I want to treasure every bit of it. I want to treasure the conversations we have to have about dogs, and kids, or no kids, and careers and apartments and bank accounts and life goals and compatibilities and where we want to be in five years, ten, forty. I want to treasure the conversations we have to have about my parents and your extended family and planning mutual proposals with Adrian. I want to treasure talking about what kind of rings we want and designing wedding dresses or suits with Winn – do you want to get married in a dress? – and I want to treasure figuring out retirement funds and taxes and last name changes and illness and health care and all of it. I want to treasure all of it, Alex. I don’t want to do it while we’re mourning and grieving and recovering.”

“But we’ll always be mourning and grieving and recovering.” Alex’s voice is small, and it breaks Maggie’s heart in as many ways as a heart can possibly be broken. And more.

She pulls her down for a soft kiss, and Alex parts her lips, kissing her back eagerly.

“Yeah. But not like we are today, babe,” Maggie tells her when they press their foreheads together, and Alex nods.

Nods because the taste of water still burns in her lungs and the taste of Daxamite ash still chars her nose.

“So you’re not saying yes, but you’re not saying no.”

“I’m saying, not right now. But ask me again sometime,” Maggie smiles, and lets Alex draw her close into her body somewhat warmly, somewhat possessively.

“You love me?” Alex asks, because the logical part of her brain hears Maggie, understands her. Agrees with her, even. But every single other part of her is trembling with fear.

That she’s said too much, that she’s offered too much, that she’s demanded too much. 

That Maggie will leave because she’s failed. Again.

“I love you through and beyond, Alex Danvers,” Maggie whispers against her lips, and that?

That is good enough for Alex.

A Prelude to Love

She was a pale, slender girl, clothed in an almost sheer white gown that flowed as she walked.  But she stepped so lightly, it was as if her feet barely touched the ground at all.  Like a ghost had wandered into my mother’s rose garden.

I called out to her and she turned in surprise.  But instead of fading away, she patted me kindly and kissed my forehead.

Shouldn’t you be in bed, little boy?”

Endymion woke with a start, nearly tumbling out of bed.  He knew that voice, didn’t he?  Slightly embarrassed and still rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Endymion began untangling himself from the sheets. It had been awhile since he’d had such a restless dream.

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Burn

Pairing: Finn Balor x Reader

Request: “A Finn Balor where he wants to label their relationship and she wants to keep things the same. She isn’t dating anyone else but hates the pressure. a little angst-y turned sensual? loved the Seth Rollins - Relapse tone you did!”

A/N: Smut on a Sunday? I’d literally have it no other way. 

Warnings: Smut, Angst, Language

Word Count: 6,266

“Yes, and try to ignore all this blood on the floor. It’s just this heart on my sleeve that’s bleeding”

Cold as the winter morning were the tiny fingertips he felt trailing along the side of his neck. In the dry heat of the Houston sun, it was almost therapeutic to feel her press softly against the blossoming bruise she had left on the skin above his heart. 

He knew she loved doing this; waking up before him and tracing over all the little bites and licks she’d left across his pale skin from the night before. She was a painter and his skin was always her favorite canvas; at work and in the bedroom. 

The low hum that emits from his throat as her lips leave feather-light kisses down his stomach lets her know that he’s starting to wake. She pauses once she hears him, lips hovering over his smooth skin, and giggling quietly before continuing her venture. 

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