That’s something I loved about the game too, mainly because I can’t refrain myself from wondering “Why did that happen? Did I do something wrong? Did I deserve that to happen to me?”. But you’ve gotta try and move on, just like all the main characters of the game did, whether it was moving to a new place or accepting that something bad happened in life that beat them down on the ground. 

(from “THE HOLE AT THE CENTER OF EVERYTHING | Night In The Woods - Part 7 (END)”)

.mornings like any other

first encounter drabble series: 01

genre: fluff

pairings: jungkook x reader

The sun shines down relentlessly, beating the concrete covered expanse of the city with a frightening ferocity. It’s still early in the day, only a few minutes shy nine. You stand at the bus stop, awaiting the arrival of your transport. There’s nothing remarkable which stands out, this Wednesday morning remaining as ordinary as any other. You and your fellow commuters seek shade under the overarching bus stand, a flock of sweaty bodies and tired sighs huddled together in the small space. You tune out as the world continues to hum the melodies of routine and familiarity-  the rustling of newspapers, the broken and muffled sounds of bass drums leaking out of headphones, the screeching of tires as vehicles trapped in the rush hour come to a halt infuriatingly often. And yet, despite the bustling nature of the city, you find yourself wrapped up in your own peaceful little bubble, your mind riddled with no thoughts in particular. Afterall, it was just a morning like any other.

He takes a tentative sip from the cup of piping hot liquid he holds in his hand. Its bitterness sends a jolt of displeasure through his senses and he wrinkles his nose in disgust. A string of profanities form on his tongue, threatening to pour out of his lips, but he bites them back in defeat. There’s nothing remarkable which stands out about this Wednesday morning. In his bleary eyes the city appears grim and lifeless, as if every surface had been doused in palettes of smoke and ash. To him, even the golden beams of the glorious sun lose their splendour as they fall upon the charcoal asphalt of the roads. Huddled up in a crowd, he stands under the bus stand waiting for his bus to arrive. He tries to ignore the little boy nestled in his mother’s arms who finds game in kicking his back or the portly middle aged man with a balding head who’s far too interested in picking his nose. Instead, he zones out on his surroundings and his mind swirls with abstract thoughts and yet his focus lies on nothing in particular. Afterall, it’s just a morning like any other.

You’re violently ripped out of your peaceful reverie when the woman standing to your left, showered in an unpleasant excess of cheap perfume and dressed in clothes visibly too tight for comfort, yells a greeting into the receiver of her phone. You try shrinking back into your own silent world, however sadly, you’re forced to listen to her pointlessly dramatic conversation and the condescending tone of her voice which sounds much like nails screeching down a chalkboard. It hits your final nerve when she bursts into a fit of laughter loud enough to be tagged as a health hazard and your body unconsciously jerks away from hers.

You’re met with a slight ‘oof’ as you bump into a sort of soft wall to your right. Your mind flashes a warning sign when something warm pours onto your forearm, however, before you can begin to register any of it to your coherence, your clumsy feet lose all footing on the ground. Your arms flail around as you desperately try grappling onto anything, anyone, in an attempt break your fall. With the grace similar to that of an intoxicated crab, you successfully latch onto the shirt of the person closest to you and yet, events only seem to unfold for the worse.

Air is knocked out of his lungs as a delicate frame collides onto his from the side, and his eyebrows shoot up in surprise as the cup of coffee is tossed out of his grip. The muddy brown pours onto his pristine shirt but before he can mourn the demise of his favourite white outfit or reprimand the bloody culprit a desperate hand slams onto his chest- hard, finding purchase on the very fabric of his ruined shirt. He stumbles precariously and having been caught off guard he collapses onto the ground with an ominous thud.

He groans in discomfort, his butt throbbing uncomfortably as it seems to have taken the entire impact of the fall. It takes him a moment to realize that he holds something soft and heavy in his arms. It doesn’t take him long to identify the person as the one and only despicable culprit themself. Annoyance bubbles in his blood, as he shoves aside the person lying atop him to pull himself into a sitting position. Raking his hand through his hair he refuses to look up knowing all too well of the countless stares which had fixated onto the two sprawled across the scorching ground. 

You can feel your knees graze the asphalt below but the worst of the fall never comes. Your eyes are screwed tight and by the time you regain your senses you find your face buried in the crook of someone’s neck and your body engulfed in a tight hold. You listen to the thumping of your own escalated heartbeat, finding yourself at a loss of both words and actions as you lie on the ground entangled in an embrace. A few moments pass before you’re roughly pushed to the side by your saviour.

When he finally does look over his shoulder at the culprit ready to snap, he loses his train of thought as his narrowed gaze meets those of a shell shocked girl staring at him with wide eyes brimming with apology and embarrassment.

When he turns to look at you, a scowl’s etched onto his incredibly handsome features and you  stammer out an apology as you feel blood rush to your face as both mortification and guilt overcome you. You dare yourself to meet his eyes, surprised when your teary ones meet his own softened gaze.

Anger dissipates from his system the same way a trail of smoke vanishes in air. A funny sense of warmth swirls in his chest while his stomach clenches in a manner pleasant and unpleasant at the same time. His eyes drink up her features, and he etches every little detail onto his mind- her eyes, her, nose, her lips, the glorious mess of her unruly hair. Colour once again seeps into his vision, as she shines with the very same intensity the sun itself had failed to shine with in his world. The monochrome of his world bursts with blossoms of vivid colour, the same way spring brings with itself the buzz of life following a cold, dark winter.

His voice sounds strangled as he tells you not to worry but the smirk on his face causes an airy laugh to escape your own lips.

He pulls himself back onto his feet, turning around to extend you a hand which you gladly take. Neither of your smiles falter- his is a bit teasing while yours is a little shy and neither of you say it out loud, but it’s no surprise how both of your minds silently muse if miracles always happened on mornings just like any other.


On the real though, the gaslighting and manipulation in this fandom is so awful. These people know things like contractual romances exist, they know that nothing about pap walks are authentic, they know nothing about El*unor is authentic, but they consistently try to beat everyone down and make them doubt everything, and that’s not cool. It’s exhausting and honestly, kind of mean. We’re smart, analytical people so it doesn’t work, but the continuous efforts put into making us doubt ourselves is just so crappy. This fandom feels like needing to do psychological training before logging on everyday and it’s such a mess. I wish it were better. And that’s the reason I don’t blame ex larries or anyone for leaving because I too, have times, where I would like nothing more than to shut off my mind and let the nonsense and inconsistencies take me. But. I just…can’t… do that. hshdjkdhdwk

To Sam Winchester

When the sun beats down and warms my face, I recall your weathered hands caressing my cheek, pulling me into a kiss.

When the sun begins its assent into the roguish blues, hellish blacks, the iron yellows, break the chains you once had wrapped around my heart, like the first time you cornered me with an I Love You.

When the sun disregards the moon on its way to rest, I’m reminded that I am the only one for you.

When the sun rises and is hidden from my eyes, I search for you, grope with hands in front of my body, longing for warmth. You then roll back over and cradle me in your arms.

As the sun rises in the East and seeks refuge in the West, I rise and fall with you, moans and longing, and settle down in your bones to await the next time.

Originally posted by flyngdream

Originally posted by sugarjared

Alabama Gothic
  • The sun beats down on the land. The land screams in agony. You can’t sleep. You sweat and sweat and sweat. Night cannot help you. Rain evaporates before it falls. The land won’t stop screaming. Or maybe it’s you.
  • GO TO CHURCH OR THE DEVIL WILL GET YOU. Which church? The sign does not say. The painted-on Devil smiles at you. Its scythe glints in the light. You don’t see any churches. You see many churches. They’re all locked with signs proclaiming you welcome. The Devil breathes down your neck and laughs.
  • The line for Cracker Barrel wraps around the building. Everyone just came from church. They’re singing hymns and wearing florals and khakis. You’re wearing florals and khakis. You don’t remember wearing florals and khakis. You don’t remember leaving church. The line never moves. You’re hungry. You’re all hungry. So very hungry.
  • “Bless your heart” they say. You do not know them. You cannot see them. Who are they? The words fill you with dread. Why do you need blessings? What is it that awaits you?
  • A giant peach looms over Clanton, waiting. Knowing. What does it know? What does it want?
  • Everything is deep-fried. They burn your mouth. You wait for it to cool, but your hand moves of its own accord. Or the accord of the food. You keep burning your mouth. You’re full. You’re growing lethargic. You keep eating.
  • You can smell Talladega National Forest burning. The Southern pines reproduce with the underbrush burning away. Their parents sacrifice themselves to the flames. The fire has been placated. But it will be back. It always comes back.
  • You’re walking through a cotton field. How did you get here? How do you leave? “You don’t” they whisper. You’re here forever. You’ve always been here forever.

Heidi: It had all been perfect until I found out I was pregnant. I knew I couldn’t possibly strap him down, drag him into the craziness of our family. He was too creative, held too much promise…Too much to just be beat down by Dad, groomed into the perfect son-in-law. And so, I broke up with him…I didn’t tell him about the pregnancy…I just…left.

???: Heidi, babe, don’t you think that maybe…its time I met your parents?

Heidi: Keaton…we’ve been over this. I just…I don’t think its a good idea.

Keaton: Why not? 

Heidi: Because…they’re difficult. My family is difficult. 

Keaton: That’s okay. I like difficult.

Heidi: Keaton, believe me…

anonymous asked:

Try to understand why some Sanvers shippers aren't happy with Katie McGrath being promoted to a series regular. Sanvers gets less than 5 minutes of screentime per episode. 2-3 minutes on average. More characters means more focus on those characters and even less screentime for Sanvers. Some people don't like Lena Luthor as a character. Most don't like the fact that she'll take screentime away from a LGBT couple when LGBT representation is already so scarce and with limited screentime.

Literally stfu. Your fave Flopriana Lime is a rape apologist who stole a role from a poc. Forgive me if I don’t want her ugly face on my screen.

And you don’t have to beat down another woman just because you’re threatened and jealous of Katie. Take this misguided hate and put it towards being angry about how Mon-El and his abusive ass is taking over the lesbians’ screen time.

Oh, and I definitely “understand” about LGBT+ rep. If you actually scrolled through my blog, you’d know that. But I also care about racism and sexual assault. Don’t try to lecture me.


To me, it feels like ‘The Doctor’ has to have a long coat, and that’s something imprinted on me from childhood, because he always did. And there’s something heroic in a flapping coat, but at the same time, I need to get rid of it sometimes and just be a scrawny guy in a suit that doesn’t quite fit. - David Tennant


w h i p p e d ♡


They never went on a spontaneous road trip again

I love how determined both Lance and Keith are to do something that validates who they are as a person.

Like here, not even once did Lance take his eyes off of the target that he was aiming at, he wanted to prove his worth as the Sharpshooter and not the seventh wheel and he really did.

Then here when Keith was fighting in the Blade of Marmora episode, he was being beat down so badly, but he still never quit because he needed to find out about his past and understand who he was/where he came from.

Not to mention that when they do overcome their obstacles, they both just look so proud (and really smug) of themselves LOL

I personally think that those traits alone could really make them the cool space ranger partners that Jeremy was talking about too. 

Shout out to the verbally abused kids who are told it doesn’t count because there are no bruises.
Shout out to the abused kids who aren’t taken seriously because they were acting up/asking for it/there are no marks to ‘prove’ it.
Shout out to the manipulated kids whose parents guilt them into thinking they deserve those shitty words and actions they get.
Shout out to everyone and anyone who is abused or has been abused.
You are strong and wonderful and I hope that one day you can get away and be happy and have the life you want.
No one deserves that kind of treatment. I love you.