YOU CAN FEEL THE ELATION

Jimin: [comes home crying]

Jin: Oh my god, what happened to you?

Jimin: [wiping tears from his eyes] A little girl came up to me at the grocery store. You know what she said?

Jin: [with slight alarm in his eyes] What?

Jimin: She said “Someday I’m gonna be tall like you”.

Jungkook: What the fuck

MET A GIRL {part 2 of GOD AMONGST MEN}

Who met a girl? Jimin walked into the room and Yoongi rolled his eyes. The son of Eros, or as most would know him as Cupid, Jimin always felt like he needed to approve of the girls that came into the house. Jimin gave Yoongi a quirked brow as he looked him up and down. I can sense that there is a feeling of elation, you just met her. Jimin said, honing into his love skills, which Yoongi just rolled his eyes at once more.

What’s it to you? Yoongi asked, his voice in a growling tone because he knew that Jimin would try his best to intervene. Jimin giggled and shrugged.

I’m not going to do anything. Yoongi sighed in relief, only to have Jimin giggle once more. Yet. He murmured and Yoongi glared. The room became cold as Jimin stared at the older roommate with wide eyes. Yah! Hyung! No freezing things! Jimin started to yell when a loud crash was heard from above.

FUCK! Namjoon voice rang in the house as Jin rolled his eyes.

What happened this time? Jin called upstairs as the tall demigod came barreling down the stairs like a man on a mission. Namjoon was the son of Eris, the goddess of discord and destruction, but he also studied under Apollo, so he had an expansive knowledge of literature and art. The only issue is that because of his destructive nature, Namjoon wasn’t allowed to touch any piece of art unless people wanted it given back to them in dust.

It’s not that bad. Namjoon stated, like a rehearsed melody. Just another lamp. Namjoon shrugged and Jin pursed his lips.

That’s the 5th lamp this month! He exclaimed and Namjoon laughed.

Maybe, you should stop getting breakable lamps. He shrugged and the electricity began to flicker as frustration graced Jin’s features.

YAH! Jimin shrieked as the cold from Yoongi’s anger started to nip at his feet. Jin looked over and smacked Yoongi’s head.

Don’t, Jimin won’t do anything. Jin said in a commanding tone and Yoongi stared at Jimin with anger.

He better not or his arrow will be Cerberus’s new toy. Yoongi said as he mentioned the three-headed dog that his father had given him as a pet when he was little. Jimin gave him one more wide-eyed look, before holding up his hands in surrender.

Jungkook walked back into the room from the kitchen, as the son of Aphrodite, it was easy for girls to fall for a guy like him. To be completely honest, most guys were attracted to him too, but he had his preferences. Jungkook walked over to Yoongi with a wink.

Want me to help you bag her? He asked and Yoongi’s anger shot up once more. The floor became cold and Jungkook’s face went pale. It was like being surrounded by a blizzard in the middle of summer. Yoongi’s ability to call upon the Underworld was uncanny and Jungkook had just crossed his line of vision. Hyung, I was just kidding! He shrieked as the cold nipped at his skin, causing goosebumps to erode all over his arms and legs. Yoongi honed in the cold and quirked a brow.

If you can’t handle the cold, why don’t I give you some heat! He said, as the room began to boil. Hades had taught Yoongi to call upon the cold and heat, it helped the souls of the dead to stay within the Underworld, but Yoongi liked to call upon them as a way to scare those around him. As each of the guys began to sweat from the room’s rising temperature, Hobi walked into the room like it was nothing. His father Helios was the protector of the Sun. When Hobi was young, he would accompany his father on chariot rides as he rose the sun, so these sorts of temperatures were nostalgic for Hobi.

Hyung, keep up the good work! Hobi smiled brightly at Yoongi, which just made the older roommate laugh and the room immediately cooled, much to Hobi’s dismay. So what are we talking about? He asked and everyone began recounting their versions of what was going on. It wasn’t until there was steps being heard coming down the stairs. Taehyung walked into the room and everyone sighed.

Taehyung was the son of Tyche, the goddess of good fortune and wealth, and he showed it. His expensive clothing and constant positive view of the world seemed to spill over into the room. The Gucci shoes could be heard as they padded the floor.

Hey, hyung, I heard you met a girl in your Greek myth class. Tae said with a large rectangular smile. Yoongi chuckled as he looked at the demigod, his eyes hidden behind gold wired frames, gleaming in the rather chaotic room.

Yea, and I think she’s different. Yoongi murmured and all of the guys stopped and looked at the son of the Underworld. Usually, Yoongi would have no interest in a love life, he would find every way of getting out of a relationship, but there was something about this girl that was making Yoongi have a different perspective. Tae’s jolly laugh filled the room as he smiled widely.

Well, tell us about her! He exclaimed and Yoongi looked at the group of disheveled demigods. They all had their powers, they all had their problems, but they all showed a genuine interest. Their curiosity made Yoongi shake his head and laugh before he stopped and nodded.

Alright. But I want something to eat. Yoongi shrugged off the eager demigods as they followed him closely.

All of them looked at each other as they watched the son of Hades leave the room.

You think she could be the one? Namjoon asked as he looked over at Jimin, who simply shrugged. You know what the myth says. Namjoon continued and everyone nodded.

You think he’ll want to go mortal for a girl from a class though? Jungkook asked, his godly good looks had shown him a fair share of girls falling in love with him, but he never felt any of them were worth his immortality. Jin shrugged, knowing Yoongi the best, Jin had never seen Yoongi get this impassioned about a girl before.

Maybe, maybe not. Jin said in a cryptic tone before turning his attention back to the doorway to the kitchen. They all awaited for Yoongi to walk back, all wondering in their own minds on whether he would be a demigod for much longer.

Obviously break-ups are very complex. And, for me, I found that it wasn’t this year of mourning followed by a year of light. I think you can feel a rushing freedom and be elated by that, and then that same day have this sadness hit you and for two hours feel the worst you’ve ever felt. It was a marbled experience.
—  Lorde

anonymous asked:

Any hcs for Tsuyu teaching her crush how to swim?

Asui Tsuyu

  • Tsuyu is actually pretty happy that you asked her to teach you how to swim, because it showed you were thinking about her and that you appreciated her fine swimming skills. If it means she gets to spend more time with you she’s more than happy to oblige. 
  • She tries to think of different methods that might fit along with your learning method, because she was a complete natural and in all honesty doesn’t know how great a teacher she could be (she’s better than she gives herself credit for, but she was just being paranoid about your safety). 
  • She holds the lessons just about any day that you can come over or you can find a pool to swim in. She feels elated during the lessons and promises to keep a close eye on you so you don’t drown or anything drastic like that. 

anonymous asked:

Main three plus pitchit proposing to their s/o?

Oh my goodness, I love this request ;-; I simply love imagining these boys being sweet and romantic to someone they love; they’re all so precious :3 I’m glad I was able to finish these in time for engagement season. I hope you like these! Thank you for the request! ((I apologize for the wait; I had a bit of trouble getting inspired!))


[Viktor Nikiforov]

  • He has a plan, but he would make a huge effort to surprising you
  • As he is a bit of an attention whore seeker, he would do it in front of a lot of people
  • So, of course, he’s going to do it at the Grand Prix Final banquet
  • and after he’s won that gold medal hehe typical Vitya
  • During the dinner, he has a shit-eating grin smirk on his face the entire time, which you pay no mind to
  • “Are you ready for a surprise, (Y/N)?”
  • “Viktor idfk you’re talking about-“
  • He stands up from his seat and smiles even bigger than before, but you’re just confused at his extra spontaneous behavior
  • you just assume he’s going to toast to everyone’s efforts to get to this point and to congratulate the skaters but honey you’re wro n g
  • Viktor raises his glass and taps his knife against it, and the room falls silent to bring their attention to the sound
  • He grabs your hands and lifts you from your chair so you’re standing next to him, and he smirks at you with a glint in his eyes
  • “Everyone, as you know, (Y/N) and I have been sharing many victories together for quite a long time. It’s been wonderful, but I think it’s time for us to move on; to share even bigger victories together.”
  • He gets down on one knee, but doesn’t let go of your hands
  • You feel your face go hot and your hands start to shake, but Viktor squeezes them and sends you a heartwarming smile
  • And then he pulls out the most beautiful and expensive looking ring you’ve ever laid eyes on
  • Viktor continues his speech, telling you how much you mean to him, how much he loves you, and how much fun he’s had with you over the course of your relationship
  • “(Y/N), will you give me the pleasure of marrying you and spending the rest of my life with you?”
  • of course you say yes I mean how can you not omg
  • Phichit would leak the news of your engagement to the internet via an Instagram post of Viktor proposing to you
  • You and Viktor would use the banquet as your engagement party, and would spend the evening ballroom dancing and holding each other close~

[Yuri Katsuki]

  • He is the one to plan his proposal out very meticulously and would get frustrated when something doesn’t go his way
  • Yuri brings you out a fancy-ass and expensive restaurant for a meal
  • He pays the string quartet ahead of time to play a certain song at a certain time so he can propose to you with it playing in the background
  • he would be a sweaty and shaky nervous mess like jfc Yuri could you be more obvious that you’re up to something ????
  • During the meal, he’s downing glass after glass of wine in an attempt to settle his nerves
  • he knows it is not a good idea but he’s desperate to calm down and feeling drunk helps a ton ugh save this boy
  • He’s finally starting to relax, and he keeps complimenting your outfit and looking at you like you’re an angel with his face all flushed from the alcohol
  • The string quartet in the restaurant starts playing a song that sounds familiar to you, and Yuri starts panicking a bit when he realizes he’s not ready
  • ps it’s the song that he slow danced with you to for the first time ever like aw he would totally remember something like that amirite ??!
  • “NO! I’m not ready yet wait omg shit shit shit shit shit SH I T
  • “Yuri wtf not ready for what are you on crack ???”
  • He scrambles to fish that little velvet box out of his pocket, and he drops his silverware and spills his glass of wine in the process
  • You sit in your seat, flustered at your boyfriend’s actions with your face buried in your hands
  • “ugh yuri why are you like this when you’re drunk omfg what are you doing”
  • He pulls out the box and gets down on one knee, wobbling a bit, but he steadies himself and takes a deep breath
  • You feel yourself smile at your boyfriend when you come to the realization that his odd behavior and impulsive drinking was out of his anxiety of proposing to you
  • The sight of your beautiful smile sobers Yuri right up, and it gives him the confidence to deliver the sweetest love confession speech he’s capable of giving
  • “(Y/N), can you do me a favor and just marry me already?”
  • You tackle him on the ground in a hug, and he falls over from his slightly-drunken lack of balance
  • The proposal didn’t quite go as planned, but being engaged to you couldn’t be more perfect to him

[Yuri Plisetsky]

  • He is one to purchase a ring for you, but would keep in a secret place until the time comes
  • He knows you’re the one, but he is waiting for the perfect moment to ask you
  • That moment comes at the Grand Prix Final, after his short program performance
  • Yuri sits with you in the kiss and cry while he receives his score, and he’s broken the world record that he set for the short program
  • damn what a try hard smh (jk tho good job bby)
  • You throw your arms around him with the biggest smile on your face, peppering kisses on Yuri’s face anywhere your lips can reach
  • The elated feeling he gets when you embrace him makes his heart flutter, and he knows that the time has come for him to ask you the big question
  • “(Y/N), come with me,” he says and he grabs your hands before leading you away from the kiss and cry
  • You allow him to drag you along, since you’re a bit stunned at his sudden seriousness and lack of celebration for his victory
  • He ignores the crowds of press that are trying to get interviews and pushes through to the locker room, bringing you with him inside
  • “Yuri! Slow down! you’re going to rip off my arm jesus fucking chri-
  • He sits you down on a bench and finds his duffel bag, rummaging through it while you stare at him quizzically
  • You keep asking him if he’s feeling okay, but he just keeps shushing you
  • “I’m fine (Y/N) jfc I’ve been waiting for this moment and now it’s here do not ruin i t”
  • He pulls out a velvet box and stares at it, and you shut up immediately; you know what’s going on and you feel your face go hot with a blush
  • He rubs his back of his neck sheepishly and opens the box for you to see the ring he bought; it’s simple, but so beautiful
  • “I, uh, like having you here to support me all the time. I love it, actually. I know I’m not vey fond of my fan base, but I know that I want to spend the rest of my life with my biggest fan. Do you wanna get married or what?”
  • Your reaction is similar to hearing his score at the kiss and cry earlier, and Yuri embraces you and holds you close while you kiss his face
  • You two sit on the bench in the locker room alone, admiring the ring on your finger and celebrating your engagement with a tranquil moment

[Phichit Chulanont]

  • His proposal is so spontaneous and would have no plan behind it whatsoever
  • You two are abroad for one of his skating competitions
  • You’re just spending the evening at your hotel, relaxing after the first day of competition when he gets the idea
  • Phichit startles you when he suddenly grabs you in a bone-crushing hug while you’re watching television
  • “Hey, (Y/N), let’s get married!”
  • “hell yes bitch”
  • It doesn’t take much convincing for you to say yes, thankfully
  • Phichit ends up dragging you out of the hotel room and to the nearest jewelry store to let you pick out a ring
  • Any ring you want, he doesn’t care about the price
  • what a sweet bab amirite
  • Once that ring is placed snug around your finger, Phichit takes you to a drugstore to buy one of those cheap bottles of champagne
  • He pops it open right in the middle of the street, startling passersby and yourselves
  • You two spend the rest of the night holding hands and walking through the streets, taking turns drinking from the bottle until the early hours of the morning
  • Phichit tells nearly everyone who passes by about your engagement, and yanks your arm to show off the ring he bought for you
  • your arm starts to hurt but he’s so happy about it that you can’t say no
  • Phichit posts a selfie with you and your ring to make the engagement public, and his followers shower you in congratulations
  • Upon returning to the hotel, Phichit cuddles with you in bed and whispers somewhat drunkenly into your ears about how happy he is and how much he’s had to drink
aeor | corrode

Jeongguk is 380. You are 173.

Jeon Jeongguk, the monster alike your childhood nightmares from a past long forgotten in the pages of time, had managed to corrode your heart under the intensity of his chemical will, of his desperation for your kindness, adoration. He sought for your love, and although it was not such a thing that you were willing to let slip through your fingertips, especially to such an abomination as he – admittedly, you became malleable. But only under the direst of circumstances, on the complete and utter brink of death.

The pair of you, albeit flawed on the edges, rusty in your ways, are meticulous in your method of avoidance, escape. Murder is a fine art, and you are masters, years of practice tucked neatly beneath your belts, calculated in every move, threaded through the finer details of the kill. Messes are problematic and yet you always make them, though you have learned how to flee three cities away from a carcass within a single breath, long before you hear the distant tap of a steel-capped boot. Hunters, with the passing of over a century and a half and the growth of a vampiric generation, have become a race of humankind unlike no other, a population well known, greatly feared.

Jeongguk does not understand the definition of such a word.

Such ignorance will wind you up dead someday, you had bluntly commented one early morning, stretches before the crushed pomegranate of dawn had seeped the ripe juice of a new day across the horizon. But you never thought the dismissive grunt that rumbled through his chest would be his first mistake, that not taking your word, for letting it catch in the four o’clock breeze and be dragged distantly across the desert plains from where you stood beneath an endless navy sky would wind you up in an alley far away, but not enough to be considered safe, watching his existence drain through a stake wedged just left of his heart. You never thought he was so reckless to the point that nine hunters were considered nothing, just heads to tick off on his fingertips once they were severed but no, no their experience was beyond his calculations, his competency.

You never thought you would feel your unstirring heart sink into the pit of your stomach at the sight of a hunter aiming for the kill at the sole being you despise most.

“H-Hey,” Jeongguk coughs now, black stains his lips, thumb grazing the under of your eye. You cannot reconcile how long you have been hidden in these shadows, crowded over him, swallowed by silence. “Why are you crying?”

“You can’t die,” You choke, the words taste bitter, swallowed razors regurgitated. “I can’t live like this alone. You can’t leave me.”

Jeongguk watches you absently, blinking slowly, palm still firm against the side of your face and it is cold, so, so cold. You have not felt the bite of ice in such a long stretch of existence, but now it resides in your bones like it belongs there, returning home. Meek tears drip from your eyes onto his pale cheeks, slipping down to his jaw as if they were his own. You are still unsure why you are crying for somebody you cannot care for.

“I’m glad you’re upset, that you need me,” He almost chuckles, if only the black ink of a monster was not filling his lungs. “Your heart is so human. It will wind you up dead some day.”

“You fucking disgust me,” You hiss through the rawness of your sobbing chest, clenching the front of his shirt tighter, the marrow of his existence staining your palms and you try not to laugh yourself at the irony of how the one thing you both thrive on, live for, is running rivers into the cracks of the bitumen. “Don’t use my words against me. I warned you, Jeongguk. You didn’t listen to me, you want me to love you but you never fucking listen. And now you’re leaving me like this, you’re dying and you still look like you couldn’t fucking care.

The pearl skin stretched over his cheekbone is starting to crack, splintering like smashed porcelain. You once thought that on the day the monster who made you was finally destroyed, the elation would overwhelm you – but all you can feel, taste, is dread, consuming you in suffocating volumes. This was it, this was it. Long live the King no more.

“You know how, Y/N,” His voice is barely forming, drifting lifeless in the stale, shivering air between you. “You know how to stop it. C’mon, stop crying. Let me drink from you. I promise I will listen.”

In that instant, all hesitation leaves you, escaping your taut joints, tense bones. It is something that you had repressed so deep within your memory, a matter that you had neglected from him since the very day you first breathed as an abomination, that you almost forgot it. Drinking from another vampire created a bond that entwined their existences, that brought them together in the most intimate of forms, an idea that Jeongguk had pressed upon you for years before reluctantly letting it slide. Now, it surfaces, breaching the seas of your thoughts and rushing to the shores, encouraging your fingers to hastily twitch by your neck, brushing away loose hairs, leaning down until you feel the cold outline of his lips pressing to the artery. 

When he gently kisses your skin, you close your eyes, feeling the tears you had so unsurely shed over him dry up as you spit out the final blade that cuts your tongue in two.

“Hurry.”

“I’m sorry,” He whispers, and it almost sounds genuine. But then he is sinking his fangs into your throat and you remember precisely why you are here, still breathing years beyond your lifetime, reborn a murderer, a monster. All because of him.

But you let him drink from your veins, because in a universe miles away, you are still questioning why you shoved him out of the way of a stake that would have set you free.

 Kelly and I were talking about how maddening this whole Ubisoft thing is and why representation matters. I told him about when I played portal for the first time. I was loving the game so much and everything about it was my kind of fun. There came a point in the game where I unknowingly did that thing where you create a portal and you can see yourself through the other side. I stopped dead in my tracks. I actually got butterflies of excitement. I yelled for Kelly to come into the room and shouted giddily, “It’s a girl! I’m playing a girl!” All that time I had assumed I was a guy just like every game I played. And as we were talking about this in retrospect, something else dawned on me, “Um wow, Kelly. I just realized that this is something I can’t really explain to you and have you fully understand. I mean intellectually you get it, but you’ll never truly be able to understand that feeling of being shocked and elated that you can see yourself in the game because you, and all men in general, will never be in a circumstance where that feeling could arise.”

when to listen to each track on 1989

  • WHEN: an hour before dinner, when you have plans to go out after. listen while applying lipstick, while elongating your eyelashes, while raising one foot and then the other in front of the mirror trying to pick a pair of boots. i don’t know how people who don’t do these things get dressed when they’re trying to keep their energy up and avoid texting their friends or dates or long-term boy/girl friends to be like, “jUST KIDDING I JUST REALIZED I HAVE THE FLU,” and climbing back into their beds to burrito up and watch 16 hours of netflix, but whatever it is, listen to this song while doing that.

  • WHY: welcome to new york is not a ~lyrics heavy~ jam. WELCOME TO NEW YORK is the kind of thing you shout out a taxi window in a movie, your hair fluttering behind you in the breeze because your future!!!! is so bright!!!! you don’t even know yet how subway cars smell, or that walking in high heels over grates is like an episode of american ninja warrior, or that grocery stores charge you $17.50 for a single bottle of diet coke, or that there are places that are STILL CASH ONLY. you don’t know these things yet, so you’re still hyped to Go Out And Live Like You’re Dying because maybe you’re one of those people who likes parties (???) or maybe you just… haven’t yet been told about netflix.

  • WHEN: just after your first morning coffee, at your desk when you’ve just realized that you’re 23 and maybe don't love your job, maybe aren't quite sure what you want to do with your life but HAVE come to the realization that running off to europe to “discover yourself and the world” isn’t really….a viable…. financial option, right now or probably ever, maybe when you’re 35, people are okay financially by 35 right??? haha? taylor? TAYLOR TELL ME THAT I WILL STOP FEELING LIKE I HAVE TO FIX MY LIPSTICK EVERY 15 SECONDS BY THE TIME I AM 35.

  • WHY: “blank space” is supposedly about how the media has depicted taylorswift as this empty husk of an overemotional man-eater, and while i am not saying that this is not a VALID reading of this song, taylor, THE AUTHOR IS DEAD, ETC., and this song is actually about how EVERYONE IS ALWAYS TRYING TO BE SOMETHING ALL THE GODDAMN TIME, and how you’re supposed to be one thing but you kind of feel like another, and you’re constantly being told that You Will Never Be Younger And More Alive Than You Are Right Now, which, what is THAT supposed to do for you???? REMEMBER remember r e m e m b e r that there is a little performativity in everything that you do, in everything that everybody does, life is fUNDAMENTALLY ABOUT PERFORMANCE ALWAYS and that doesn’t mean it’s never real or genuine or that it doesn’t mean anything but it is OKAY to get up and put on your war paint and feel stressed about whether the bus driver thinks you look like you have your life together. FAKE WHAT YOU WANT TO BE UNTIL IT COMES NATURALLY. 

  • WHEN: on your way home from whatever your friday/saturday night plans were when your head is pressed up against the car/bus/taxi/metro window and the city/country/suburb is blurring by and you're sad for some reason, you had such a good time but it was the kind of good time that makes you sad when it ends, when you go back to your apartment, when you’re getting ready for bed and turning out the lights and you’re like: well, i guess everything ends.

  • WHY: because everything ends, even when it happens again, even when it’s not an Ending with a Capital E, and sometimes the fact that it’s part of a loop is the thing that makes you lean your forehead against the window because you’ve realized that this is what life is, this is literally what life is, good times and bad times and good times again, and now you’re in your bed and the lights are out and you can hear planes overhead and you feel so small and so elated and so so so so tired, from dancing or laughing or walking or talking or waiting for the train, and not even upbeat hum of tswift promising we never go out of style can keep you awake, even though she’s right.

  • WHEN: driving home, stuck in traffic, windows rolled down even though it’s cold because you’ve been in the car for basically the WHOLE OF HUMAN HISTORY and the DOUCHEBAG IN THE HONDA just cut you off for nO reason because it’s not like you’re in the fast lane. THERE IS NO FAST LANE, DOUCHEBAG IN THE HONDA. 

  • WHY: you know like that relationship you had where one day you were looking at that person and you thought, “holy shit idk that i would exactly call this love because that’s–well haha that’s a big… that’s a big word LOL let’s not….let’s not–but you’re…. like, the way you just turned the knob on that door knocks me the FUCK out which is pretty stupid,” and then you panicked and ran away and stopped returning their calls or, for EXAMPLE, sent a facebook message that was like “GOSH I THINK I SHOULD GO BACK TO AMERICA NOW,” and then put them in a box labeled “please don’t open me ever!!!!!” and put that box on a shelf in the back of a closet you have locked up in your brain??? well out of the woods is for when you want to open that box and turn over a polaroid of that person making you laugh so hard that milk came out of your nose.

  • WHEN: when you’ve gotten home and you’re making dinner and you suddenly wonder about that person who, FOR EXAMPLE, once sent you a facebook message that said, “GOSH I THINK I SHOULD GO BACK TO AMERICA NOW,” even though two nights before they had looked at you with literal wonder in their eyes when you opened some random fucking door, and when you made them laugh they shook so hard that milk came out of their nose and they reached for your hand, holding it so tightly that their knuckles went white. 

  • WHY: there are people who hurt other people and there are people who are hurt and sometimes those people are the same people, because we CAN’T ALL HOLD BABY BIRDS IN OUR HANDS, ALL RIGHT, sometimes someone puts their little baby bird hearts in our hands and we panic and think, “i can put this down or i can accidentally crush it but one of those options gives this little dude a fighting chance,” even though it means abandoning a baby bird. if you were that baby bird than this song is for you because guess what guess what guess what: you fucking did it, you got left behind and learned to fly anyway and it TURNS OUT that you didn’t need them to stay, anyway. it TURNS OUT you’re better off with your wings unclipped.

  • WHEN: late afternoon when you are FLAGGING and you have EXAMS coming up or you’ve already used your lunch break but there are still SO MANY HOURS left of work and you’re like oH GOD SOMETHING’S GOTTA GIVE WHY CAN’T I MOVIE MONTAGE MY WAY THROUGH LIFE, so you go into the bathroom and lock the stall door and put your headphones in and jam. JAM.

  • WHY: look i’m not saying you don’t have real problems but i AM saying that SOME of those problems have a lot to do with getting stuck in your head and putting all your doubts and fears and anxieties on a loop and the best thing you can possible to for yourself is just LET IT GO, even if just for 3 minutes and 40 seconds, roughly.

  • WHEN: just after you hear that one of your friends, or that the celebrity crush you were using to avoid actual, achievable romantic options, or your older sibling who was always kind of a weirdo and who you used to use to make yourself feel better about your romantic/sex life even though you felt bad about it, suddenly gets a New Beau and can no longer hang out 24/7 eating chips and watching bob’s burgers with you on your couch.

  • WHY: sometimes you don’t realize that you’ve dug your heels in and refused to move until the world moves around you, and you’re like that person who’s going forward at regular speeds while everyone else double times around you, and you think: it has to be me, right? because steps forward bring you into new territory and new territory can hurt, growing pains are called pains for a reason, and it’s safer, sometimes, to look back and look back and look back and think well what if that had lasted? instead of turning around to think well what if this new thing fits better? BECAUSE what if?? it doesn’t????

  • WHEN: IN YOUR ROOM WITH THE VOLUME ALL THE WAY UP IN YOUR UNDERWEAR WHILE YOU IGNORE THE DESPERATE PLEAS OF YOUR NEIGHBORS TO PLEASE TURN IT DOWN

  • WHY: because FUCK YOU, THAT’S WHY

  • WHEN: you’re getting ready for a blind date OR flicking through your messages on OKC OR tindering OR sitting at a café kind of idly hoping the cutie with the black coffee comes and talks to you OR idk, however else you kids try to find love in this crazy world.
     
  • WHY: LOOK, sometimes things just, sometimes they don’t. sometimes they just. don’t. and this song is like, “yeah girl, you look GREAT in that lipstick, yeah buddy you are kILLIN’ those dark-wash jeans and that button-up shirt, but JUST SO YOU KNOW sometimes you’re doing all those things and your date looks at you with STARS IN THEIR EYES but like, just so you’re prepared, IT’S OKAY TO FAIL SOMETIMES, because sometimes failure isn’t failure per se, it’s just … it’s like that time when you were little and you kept losing at scrabble and your dad was like, ‘the point of losing at scrabble now is that you’ll never ever ever forget how to spell ‘infinitesimal’ later,’ so get out the metaphorical romantic scrabble board and get ready to have your ass kicked. for love.“

  • WHEN: your morning commute.
  • WHY: go on, listen to this song and try not to like, see yourself as Mandy Moore in that music video about driving a VW bug and wearing various cute outfits in a diner. try not to see yourself as that scene in stupid crazy love where emma stone and ryan gosling try to do The Lift from dirty dancing. TRY NOT TO SEE YOURSELF AS BABY IN DIRTY DANCING. look, rom coms might TECHNICALLY just be dark magic used by hollywood to make us all kind of hate ourselves and our love lives but that DOESN’T MEAN that there aren’t moments in life that live up to them, okay, so just close your eyes and be like I’M IGNORING THE SAD PARTS OF THESE LYRICS AND ANY SECOND NOW, RYAN GOSLING IS GOING TO GENTLY REAR-END ME AND WHEN I GET OUT OF THE CAR HE’S GOING TO SAY, “HEY GIRL. SORRY ABOUT YOUR CAR. HOW CAN I MAKE IT UP TO YOU?”

  • WHEN: it has to be raining. listen to this song in the rain. listen to this song at noon on a saturday when you’re just like, not in the mood to do anything or talk to anyone and you just want to wrap yourself up in that faux-leopard throw blanket you have and listen to your saddest music all the way up and drink coffee and write and write and write and think about the things that hurt you and the things that didn’t, and how some of the things that didn’t hurt you then hurt you now, when you think about them, when you think about how precious they were, little baby birds you were holding in your hands.
  • WHY: it’s okay to be sad about things that made you happy. it’s okay to be sad about things that didn’t. it’s okay to be sad. it’s okay to be sad. it’s okay to be sad.

  • WHEN: while you’re making dinner and you’ve had a terrible day, or you had a great day and then you got in a fight with your mom on the drive home, or your day was kind of whatever but it was a whatever day on top of a whole deck of whatever days and you’re like: EVERYONE KEEPS TELLING ME THIS IS AS GOOD AS IT GETS BUT THIS IS NOT. AS GOOD. AS IT GETS.
  • WHY: the world is STUPID, the world is EBOLA and INJUSTICE and INTERNET TROLLS and DOUCHEBAGS IN HONDAS and sometimes the only thing you can do is get mad about it and refUSE to accept it. refuse!!!!! you are going to carve out your own little world and your own little happiness, you’re going to love something, you’re going to hold a little joy to the sunlight if you have to fucking steal it with your bare hands. you will crawl through air vents, you will dig with your fingernails, you will jump through glass but you’ll find something and guard it and grow it and keep it somewhere safe, safe.

  • WHEN: in the shower.
  • WHY: the shower is a metaphor. it is also not a metaphor. get clean. try again. try again. try again.

This is a photograph capturing a person in the middle of her doing what she loves, feeling happiness poured into her body, doing what she’s born to do, a person who I adore and a person who inspires me. It’s taken by me doing exactly the same; what I love and feeling happiness poured into my body. I witnessed the most stunning concert of my life in front row yesterday and it always amazes me how much clarity a concert can give you, how much alive you can feel like you have no issues in life. “Euphoria; elation, dreamland, a state of happiness and self-confidence”. To be able to feel nothing but on the same time feel everything, like it’s the beyonde compared supreme drug for the mind and soul, which when it’s over leaves you empy and breathless for a while, anxious for more. I’ve been to many concerts in my life, because that’s who I am. I love the sound of music, I wanna feel the vibrations of the speakers all the way through my bones, to be able to feel without being pained, to forget reality for a moment. This was special, she brought me more than I expected. It was more than a passionate beautiful artist who made me feel free. She was humane, she was real. She has the heart in the right place, she made sure that we knew that we matters to her and no matter how much we feel the need to glue our broken self together we are a masterpiece, thank you Halsey, sincerely me.

mzk1000  asked:

Hello. My students and I love your prompts. Are you still updating and adding new ones them as you used to?

I’ve been asked this question or some variation of it more than a few times in the last few weeks.

I’ll make you a deal and tell you a quick story.

Here’s the quick story …

I’d love to keep updating this site, but I’m really, really busy. Some of that busyness can be attributed to being so-close-I-can-taste-it to the end of a doctorate. I have a draft of the dissertation finished and one last class to take. The other night I estimated that I’ve written close to 2000 pages over the last three years, so you can probably imagine this tingly sense of elation I’m feeling at being so close to finishing. Maybe I’ll get back to this once I’m totally done with that endeavor. Maybe.

Some of it can also be attributed to starting a new job. For the first time in over a decade, I didn’t get a summer break, since I now work for my school district in an educational technology role. The job is a blast, but it also means that I have a massive To Do list that just won’t quit.

Meanwhile, I’ve been keeping track of prompts I’d like to make. I have a text file with over a thousand ideas in it. So, it’s not that I’ve run out of ideas. I’ve just run out of time to make them, at least for the time being.

So, here’s the deal. Even though I’m not in the classroom, I’d like to do my part to support students learning to love reading (this is actually what my dissertation is about). With that in mind, I’ve officially adopted three classrooms in my school district, and put a wish list of books together for them. This is the deal: for every book that gets donated to one of these classrooms, I’ll put a new prompt on the site. And if you have a specific request for a prompt that isn’t too crazy, let me know and I’ll make it happen (luke [dot] neff at gmail or @lukeneff on twitter).

As long as I’m here and writing things, I’ll add a few more thoughts.

I recently hired a company to go back through all the prompts and type them up in plain text. If you’d like to check out that spreadsheet, you can see it here. It’s probably not as fun as the site itself, since there are no pictures, but it might be worth your time. My next big project is to go through that list and tag each prompt as elementary, middle, or high, and with the Common Core standards it covers. Anyone want to help?

I’ve been getting some questions about how to get around the whole issue of Tumblr being blocked at different schools. I don’t have a great solution (and I understand why Tumblr is blocked… let’s be honest, there’s quite the range of available content on Tumblr). Maybe that spreadsheet will help. I also have a set of 300 of my favorite prompts in a PDF for sale, if that helps.

I’d also like to point out that John Spencer has really taken up the gauntlet on the fun writing prompts front. His Visual Writing Ideas are pretty great.

Also, apparently this link isn’t prominent anymore, so I should mention that writingprompts.tumblr.com/archive is a quick way to look at what’s on this site.

Where Paths Diverge (11B/11)

This is a Captain Swan: Choose Your Own Adventure story where you choose the plot (details here). It’s part of my Follower Appreciation (thanks guys!)

When Regina seeks revenge for Cora’s death and a happy ending with Henry something goes horribly wrong. A canon divergence fic from 2x20 “The Evil Queen” where Regina’s failsafe isn’t an auto-destruct. Now back in the Enchanted Forest Emma and Killian are forced to pretend to be married while they figure out what happened.

Beta by @belovedcreation  Banner by @wingedlioness

Part 1| Part 2| Part 3 | Part 4A| Part 4B | Part 5| Part 6| Part 7| Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11A

FF.net | AO3

~5.5K | Rated C for complete!

“Seriously?” Emma can’t help the frustration and disbelief in her voice; just when she thought things couldn’t get any stranger it turns out magic truth ice cream exists.

Surprisingly the woman–Sarah is it?–laughs: a soft almost creepy sound. “Always such a way with words.”

Emma doesn’t like the note of familiarity in her voice but doesn’t want to risk antagonizing her. She shares a look with Killian and though his sword is still drawn he looks as resigned as she is to putting up with the Dairy Queen’s shenanigans. She gives him a nod and he sheathes his sword.

The woman grins. “Excellent choice. Now which one of you will be answering my questions?” Emma’s eyes dart towards her and the outstretched cone (rocky road, her favorite) and her stomach twists. She knows it’s going to be her. Henry isn’t an option and Emma can’t imagine a pirate wanting to put himself in such a vulnerable position. Before she can reach out her hand Killian is stepping forward.

“I believe the honor falls to me.”

Emma almost protests but she doesn’t really want to eat the ice cream cone so she bites her lip instead.

The sorceress turns and looks at Killian then purses her lips and gives her head a small shake. “I think not.”  

She takes a step toward Emma and stretches out her hand. Emma grits her teeth.

“Look, Dairy Queen, if you wanted me to eat it why didn’t you just say so?”

She gives an enigmatic smile. “My name is Ingrid.”

Emma sighs. “Okay, Ingrid. Let’s just get this over with.” She yanks the cone from her hand and without stopping to think gives it a lick. Immediately she feels a tingle on her tongue and she pulls the cone away. It doesn’t hurt but Emma can feel the magic trickling through her.

Keep reading

Bipolar & Other Mental Illnesses

So, I went back and forth on if I should write this or not, but after perusing the Skam tag, I decided I would.

So first off, let me introduce myself just a bit. I am a licensed social worker (and some may know I’m also an editor for publishers – unfortunately, social work doesn’t exactly pay a lot). My experience is mostly in substance use and trauma, along with military and some work with children. I am a more new-school social worker. I focus a lot on person in environment and helping people empower themselves despite whatever they may face (and sometimes in spite of it).

I’ve seen a lot of people struggling with mental illnesses, and I mean a lot. So here’s what I want you to know:

Any disorder can present differently in any person. Sure, we have a set guideline for diagnoses, but the idea of diagnoses in of itself can be seen as problematic. We as a society decide what is normal and then label people from that solid branch. You differ from me? Here’s how you’re not normal. 

I’ve seen a lot of speculation about Even “being” bipolar, and I can say from a clinical standpoint, there isn’t enough to even actually diagnose that. Am I saying I don’t see where people are coming from? Gosh no. I do. (Side note: you aren’t bipolar or schizophrenic, you have those things, but they aren’t you. They don’t define you. It’s a hard concept to grasp, but an important one.)

Bipolar itself is a complex illness, not to mention when you get into the types. So I urge you not to do a google diagnosis of yourself or anyone else. Seriously, don’t do it. We could all fit into a lot of categories.

Should any person or character be diagnosed as having bipolar or any other illness, it is certainly not a death wish. Many people are able to live happy, healthy lives and have meaningful relationships. It’s hard with or without the added aspect of a mental illness, but they can do it. You’ve probably walked past dozens of people who deal with mental illness and never even noticed. People are powerful; they have the ability to surpass a simple label.

Another thing I think is very important is to not look for markers of a particular illness in someone. It’s so easy to say “I think so and so has bipolar/IED/depression/schizophrenia” and then pick apart their behaviors as a reflection of that (I’m guilty of this in the past… and with some relatives! It’s normal, but we have to stop ourselves from doing that). It strips that person of having the ability to be happy or sad or simply feel separate from that label. You can be happy, elated, and weird, and have it have nothing to do with what you were diagnosed with once upon a time.

So for those who are at the point of tl;dr, here’s my summary: people are complex and important. They are more than a label. They can overcome.

And for the fandom aspect of it: So say Even has bipolar or something else. Okay. So they deal with it. That’s life. If a show is depicting reality, that’s what it should do. Show someone dealing with it and continuing to move forward. That representation in of itself is priceless.

You can never replicate the feelings of a first love.. The passion, the elation, the sorrow, the pain. When it’s the first time, everything is so much more magnified. You feel like it’s the end of the world when you’re not together. A second love is more subdued. It’s more careful, more cautious. But it’s still love and when it comes with respect and admiration and friendship, it trumps passion and elation any time.
—  Christine Brae, The Light in the Wound

when to listen to every track on taylor swift’s 1989style

  • WHEN: on your way home from whatever your friday/saturday night plans were when your head is pressed up against the car/bus/taxi/metro window and the city/country/suburb is blurring by and you’re sad for some reason, you had such a good time but it was the kind of good time that makes you sad when it’s over, when you go back to your apartment, when you’re getting ready for bed and turning out the lights and you’re like: well, i guess everything ends.

  • WHY: because everything ends, even when it happens again, even when it’s not an Ending with a Capital E, and sometimes the fact that it’s part of a loop is the thing that makes you lean your forehead against the window because you’ve realized that this is what life is, this is literally what life is, good times and bad times and good times again, and now you’re in your bed and the lights are out and you can hear planes overhead and you feel so small and so elated and so so so so tired, from dancing or laughing or walking or talking or waiting for the train, and not even upbeat hum of tswift promising we never go out of style can keep you awake, even though she’s right.

anonymous asked:

Would a 17 and 22 combo for Nux and Capable be too much to ask for...? Thanks!

Oh well I can try, I suppose!


“Looks like we’ll be trapped here for a while.” | “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”


Nux is a month into his new job - his dream job, really - when he realizes that he has a hopeless crush on his boss’ receptionist. She’s got wavy hair that is so vividly red that it’s almost jarring to the eyes at first, a knowing smile that glows whenever it crosses her face, and kindness in her eyes that he cannot believe when he gets chewed out the first time for being two minutes late. His boss is a woman that is not to be crossed.

At first, he’s just thankful that there’s at least someone at this place that seems genuinely pleasant.Capable stops by his office whenever she’s off to do some errand for the boss lady, always willing to chit chat about this or that, and she seems actually interested in looking at some of the designs for new cars that he’s come up with. Once in a while she’ll even bring him coffee, though she does that for pretty much anyone on this floor if they ask. It’s only that he rarely asks, but she seems to know just when he’s been forced to pull an all-nighter.

It’s hard to catch himself from staring at her through the glass walls of his office. Her desk is situated almost directly across from where he sits, so she’s right in his line of view. Sometimes, when he’s dazing off or thinking, he’ll realize that he’s looking right at her. Maybe not at her, so much as in her direction. She never seems to notice, which is great, seeing as how he always spends the next fifteen minutes blushing like an idiot behind whatever he can hide.

It’s only that… Well, she isn’t just beautiful. She’s a good person. And his life hasn’t been one filled with good people. He forgets every now and then that they exist, but she’s one hell of a reminder.

Everything is fine and all, besides his tortured and unspoken crush on a girl that surely gets asked out a dozen times a day, until he steps into an elevator after one difficult day and she slides in after him right before the doors shut. That’s when he realizes that while they’ve spoken one on one, they’ve actually never been alone before, just the two of them, where no one else can see them.

His heart starts thumping so loudly in his chest; it’s a miracle she can’t hear it over the typical elevator music.

Right when he thinks, yes, he can talk to her - she’s so chill - the elevator jolts and both of them stumble back against the wall. She grabs onto the railing; he grabs his bag filled with designs. He figures out quickly enough that the elevator isn’t moving any longer.

“Um…” Nux presses one of the communicator buttons. At least he hopes it’s one. He’s only seen people stuck in elevators in movies and television shows. “Hello? Can anyone hear me? The elevator isn’t moving. Um…”

“We hear you,” the voice on the other end calls. “Just hang in there.”

Nux scratches the back of his head and leans against the wall. He thinks about asking what’s going on, but he’d rather not know, to be honest. All he can do is grin apologetically at Capable, even though it’s not like he rigged the elevator to jam so that he could spend some alone time with her. That would be creepy.

“Looks like we’re going to be here for a while,” he sighs.

Capable shrugs her shoulders. “I didn’t have any plans tonight,” she says, not a hint of complaint in her voice. She settles down on the ground cross-legged, folding out her long skirt. Nux slowly follows, a little more awkward and hesitant, but it would’ve felt weird standing when she was sitting. This seems…casual. “Besides, there are worse people I could be stuck in here with.” She nudges him with a fist and then laughs lightly.

Yes, worse people than him. His grin turns even weaker. My god, why is he acting like such an idiot? He tugs at his collar, loosening his tie. “I didn’t have any plans either.” Well, that was dumb. Now he just sounds boring.

Silence settles in between them. They’ve talked to each other plenty of times with such ease, but for some reason, he can’t think of a single thing to say to her now. It’s ridiculous. There are so many things they could talk about and yet he just keeps drawing a blank. Instead, he looks at everything in the bland elevator except for her, willing to thing to start again and then hoping it doesn’t because then he’ll miss out on this chance.

When Capable finally speaks up however, he really wishes that she didn’t say anything at all. “I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.”

God, he didn’t care how many floors they were up. If there was a hole in the bottom of this elevator, he’d crawl right out of it and drop to the first floor.

Despite himself, Nux blushes and shoots her something of a panicked look, which is an even worse decision because Capable is looking at him so intently that it’s like she can see right into his brain. It’s like she’s remembering every time that he looked at her from his office and thought about asking her out. She gives him that smile she always does and he practically groans. It’s like she knows everything.

Nux buries his face into his hands. “You must think I’m such a creeper. But your desk is right in my line of sight and I tend to drift off and just look straight ahead and–”

“I think it’s cute actually,” Capable interrupts.

“–really, I’m not–” Nux cuts himself short, pulling his face out of his hands to look at her. The smile is still on her face, but her eyes are soft. There’s even a pink tinge to her cheeks, one that wasn’t there before. “You think it’s cute?”

“Yeah, I mean…” Capable sighs. “You’re cute.”

“I…” He honestly doesn’t know what to say. Of all the scenarios he’d come up with, this hadn’t been one of them. She thought he was cute? Some guys might scrunch their nose up at that, disgruntled, but he can only feel elated. “Would you…would you want to go out of for a drink?”

“After we get the hell out of this elevator,” Capable says with a laugh, “sure, I’d love to, Nux.”

He was never going to take the stairs again, not after this blessed and broken elevator conspired for this to happen.

When you like someone your whole world stops. Every thought becomes about them, every moment you want to be with them. And when everything comes naturally, you know this person is going to be special. Because you want to share every part of yourself with them, you want to get to know their inner soul. These people don’t come along very often, so when you find that, you need to hold on to it for as long as you can.
—  Me (beautyfrompain-4)
Welcome Home:(hello---darlin Request)

Keep sending in those requests ! I’m working on them right now !! ___ The fan blows a light breeze, swaying the white curtains through the shadows of the black room. You lie nearly lost in your dreams, hair messily sprawled around your face and limbs tangled with the duvet as if you couldn’t decide whether it is too hot or cold.

The house is dark, nearly opaque with only traces of the moonlight. If it weren’t for his many midnight visits Harry wouldn’t have been able to navigate to your room, but this is a route he is too familiar with. Even more so than his own home.

He doesn’t pause or hesitate when he sees you a mess with the sheets, only drops his heavy duffle bag on the wooden floor and creeps his way under the blanket. You stir against his back, falling away from your remnant peace, as he lets his arms swallow you into his chest. You mumble incoherently, scrunching your eyes in distress but know the feeling of his warmth even in a half-state of awareness. It’s a dangerous place to be, especially for your heart that calls out to him.

“Shh, it’s only me.” He whispers into your neck, gently caressing your rib against the mattress in order to placate you.

“Why are you here?” You ask, voice rasped with sleep.

“Yes, I had a lovely time on tour, (y/n). Missed you too.” He responds monotonously, and you know he is on the line of sleep deprivation by the laziness in his talk.

“You know I missed you Harry, but why come here and not home? It has been six months.” You reword your blatant question. Harry groans into your neck, pulling you closer to him in a way that quickens the rate of your steady heart.

“Tired, sleep.” He demands, essentially stopping the conversation with the two synonyms. You sigh, exasperated and in resignation. It wasn’t of complaint however, only confusion. Things had always seemed to be that way between the two of you. Harry would come back from months of tour, and then he would creep into bed with you and sleep until noon the next day. You wouldn’t complain or say anything usually, just allow him to hold you tightly and relish in the complacency of being where your heart resides. With him.

He of course thought nothing more of it than just the pleasure of catching up on missed time with a close friend, and you knew this. It pains you deeply, but of course you couldn’t tell him. Telling him could mean loosing it all; the midnight returns, late breakfasts, days of laughs that would follow until it was time for him to go off again. Your feelings were strong, you were so in love with him that keeping it a secret physically hurt and each time he left and returned it became more difficult to cope, but it couldn’t hurt as much as actually knowing he didn’t feel the same way. So you let yourself lie there, fit with him as if you were made to, and listened to his steady deep breaths until they lull you into sleep.

The next morning you wake to the white noise of the fan rotating above, and white curtains dancing through the air timidly. You feel hot, a light sweat on your skin, but the warmth is welcomed. Harry is encasing you, your bodies tangled in a way that is extraordinarily familiar. He is still fast asleep, his lush pink lips pouted and his Adonis face relaxed with the peace of dreams. You marvel over his beauty, letting your fingers gently caress his heat-tinged cheek until he begins to stir above you. A meek smile presents itself on your lips, and you press it lightly over his forehead. You try to pull his arms from around your waist, the task proving to be unkindly difficult as he stubbornly grips them tighter.

“Harry,” You groan, continuing your struggle. “You’re hot.”

You feel him smirk against your neck. “Thank you,” he murmurs in a low and deep voice.

You laugh to yourself softly. “That isn’t what I meant.” You finally get yourself free and sit up quickly to escape his grabby hands, only to be pulled back down in only seconds and more tied and tangled than you were before. “Sure you didn’t sweetheart.”

You sigh, exasperated. “I’m ready to get up.”

Harry shakes his head against your stomach. “No. Tired, sleep.” He repeats.

“Some of us have already caught up.”

“Some of us have been on tour for six months, and plan to sleep for the next.” He retaliates. You roll your eyes.

“Maybe you should go home and do that so I can be productive.” You suggest, betraying your stance and letting your fingers run through his luscious curls that have gotten much longer since the last time you saw him in person.

“Are you mad at me for coming over? I always come over.” He turns his head to look at you, green eyes intense and confused.

“I’m not mad at you for coming over.” You say, half-finishing the sentence. I’m mad at myself for loving something I can’t have.

“Then what?”

“Nothing, I just have things to do.” You shrug lamely. Harry narrows his cutting viridescents at you, calling you out. “Bullshit.”

“Harry,” you sigh, your head falling back against the pillow. Harry unravels his arms from around you, sitting up. “Fine, I’ll go home then.” He murmurs, not with haste or anger but almost sadness. Secretly Harry does not like going home, he likes the complacent feeling of holding you. He likes knowing that when he returns from tour you will be in this very bed asleep and warm and familiar. The house in which he lives does not feel like a home to him, his bed does not feel as relishing and warm. With you is where he feels at home, and that is why time and time again he returns here instead of “home”.

You watch him walk out of your room, your heart on the floor as his unpaced footsteps harshly mope down the hall until the front door shuts. Without him this does not feel like home either. It feels empty, and hollow. Right now it feels like a fresh wound, throbbing and stinging with bickers of pain. You’d never told him to go home, and you know that now that you have he won’t return.

Days have passed, and now the wound you once felt fresh is bandaged and numb as you sit on the couch with a textbook in your lap and a notebook leaning on one of your knees. College has proven to be very time consuming, and all of the work isn’t really helping your procrastinating tendencies or lack of organization.

The door bell rings. Your whole body perks up and you set your studying aside then grab some money out of your wallet, adding a little extra for your obvious surprise. You only ordered pizza ten minutes ago, and whoever has delivered deserves a tip for their speediness.

“I didn’t think you would be here-” you pause once setting eyes on the person at your door. “-so quick,” you finish after seconds of delay, much slower and shocked. Harry stands before you, his shoulder length curls a mess across his head but still looking as alluring as ever. His eyes look red, in desperate need of sleep and heavily burdened.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him, suddenly worried from his state. Harry looks at you, timidly almost, but once his eyes lock with yours it seems his weariness dissolves.

“Can I come in?” He asks in a deep voice.

“Of course,” you nod, letting him pass you and enter your apartment. It feels natural, relaxed for him to be sitting on your couch; your books now moved to the coffee table to make room. It’s oddly satisfying, and whole.

“Harry, what’s wrong? You look terrible.” You comment, concerned. He chuckles humorlessly, his dimples making an appearance.

“Thanks (y/nickname),”

“It’s true.” You shrug. You were known for you blatant honesty, and Harry of course knew this. But he also loved it about you. Your opinions where whole and always earnest, even if they were bad.

“I can’t sleep,” he admits.

“Why?”

“It’s not the same, it’s not home without you.” Your heart swells and throbs with pain, both at the same time. You shake your head, clutching your jaw together.

“I can’t do that anymore Harry, it’s too hard.” Your heart slowly starting to race in your chest.

“What’s too hard?” He looks at you curiously, hopefully. It’s a strange combination, but it instigates you to continue.

“Pretending Harry, pretending. It hurts so much.”

“What are you pretending?” Somehow Harry has gotten closer but your mind is twindling with the high of finally saying everything you’ve wanted to for so long.

“Pretending I don’t love you.” You whisper, near tears now.

“Why would you have to pretend you don’t love me?” Harry fires another question, stoking the burning in your heart. You look down, letting a single tear fall from your eyes but quickly wiping it away.

“Because I know you don’t love me back,” you waited, sat there tense and ready for him to pummel your heart with his rejection and set fire to your deep ache. But it never came, the only fire you felt was that of his skin touching yours, his hand on your cheek beckoning you to look at him. His started is intense, soft yet stern and so naked with emotion it causes you to gasp.

“I come back here instead of going home because you are my home, (y/n). It doesn’t feel the same without you-I don’t feel the same without you and I never will. Do you know why, (y/n)?” His words strike you with feel, each one more powerful than the first and by the end he has you on the edge of your seat.

“Why?” Your voice is weighed, a mere whisper.

“Because I love you, not as my friend but more. So much more. You make me feel–hell I don’t even know but it’s damn good what you make me feel.” He says with an earnest smile. There is not a word that can describe what you feel in that moment. Not elation, or bliss, or exhilarated, or beatitude. There isn’t a word of expression worthy enough. You can’t even think, let alone talk so you do the only thing you can think of doing. You pull him towards you and crash your lips to his, letting yourself drown in euphoric ecstacy. Your hands buried deep in his soft curls, his hands wondering over places he has wished to feel for so long now. Warmth radiates off of your bodies, an burning current tangling you effortlessly together.

His forehead rests on yours, both breathing deeply and huge grins on your swollen lips.

“Come on love, let’s go to bed.”

Your pizza long forgotten you follow him down the hall and into bed, where you fall into an effortless sleep in the place you were always meant to be. Home, with Harry.

when we talk about running

When I’m almost to the park, halfway up Vanderbilt, my headphones finally break.  I have my debit card in my sports bra so I take a few block detour to the Duane Reade on Flatbush and buy some new ones.  "Do you have any scissors?“ I ask the woman behind the counter and she asks her coworker who says, "No, they disappeared.  The night shift took them,” and I laugh because everywhere is the same and the scissors are always disappearing on other shifts.  I stand sweating, trying to pry the package open with my fingertips.  The guy behind the counter helps me, ruining a ballpoint pen in the process, me still sweating and laughing nervously and saying “thank you” and “sorry” and “thank you so much.”  He finally gets them open and I throw my old ones away in the trashcan on the street and start back towards Grand Army Plaza, “Obvious Child” clattering along in my ears.

I make myself go slowly, watching people move around me, enjoying the undeniable chill that’s been in the air the past few days.  Slow, I remind myself everytime I start to breathe harder.  About a mile into the park loop I start to think that at this pace, maybe I could do two loops.  I spend the next mile convincing myself.

About to move onto the bridle path next to the road, I see there are two runners running the opposite way and decide to wait until they pass.  But while I watch them I realize I recognize his easy greyhound bounding stride, forever the most familiar stride: one of them is Matt and I look away and don’t shout his name because I’m not terribly selfish.  But that’s not fair to take credit for because then I decide for sure to do another loop, wondering if I’ll see him again the next time around.  I know I won’t, it’s 10am by now, he’s had the same habits since high school, he’s probably been running since 7 or 8.  I hope anyways.  Everyone at work when they saw me back for the first time said, “You’ve lost weight,” and I hate it because I haven’t and I also don’t want to hear about it, but now while I run I imagine us stopping on the loop, “Hi,” “Hey,” him saying, “Have you lost weight?” and me saying, “Since the last time you saw me?” and us both laughing because we know it’s been so long since we saw each other and it feels so long but also no time at all and I want to tell him everything, I want to tell him, “I moved back to Portland for 9 months,” and, “I live across from a convent in Clinton Hill, isn’t that weird?” and “Are you still living with Tim?” and “What are you reading now?”

Anyhow I don’t see him again on the second loop.

Almost up the hill for the first time, I’m thinking how I’ll text Eleanor, “I did 2 loops!” but then I see her, running the other way.  We both see each other at the same time, take a split second to place each others’ faces out of context, both smile, both start to turn towards each other, both swerve back onto our path and wave and laugh, back to our trajectories and whatever private worlds we create while we run, like those virtual reality glasses, everybody’s got them on while they’re exercising and we can never really explain our little worlds to anybody else or even quite remember them ourselves once we’ve stopped exerting.

As I start the second loop I start to let my legs go a little bit–still not pushing, but not holding back either.  Just unhooking something and letting my warm muscles swing.  Halfway around–on the bridle path, this time, head down to watch the uneven ground, if I’d done this the first time around I would have literally run into him–I pass Eleanor again, she waves her arms to get my attention.

Up the hill I start to pick up the pace, I know this is the last big effort.  I start passing people.  You can feel triumph about passing people but you can’t be bothered by people passing you.  Enjoying running is full of rules like that. You can feel elated that you did 8 miles today but you can’t feel disappointed when you do 6 next week.  It’s a thought process of contradictions, but you get there.

I feel so strong.  I always pick up the pace uphill now and feel my legs equal to it.  Last week, I carried the 40 lbs. of books that I shipped here, carried them from my package place in Park Slope to my home in Clinton Hill.  I can do anything.  I’ve been wanting to write a really long email to my dad, just telling him what my life is like, how I feel like I’m entering my prime, like I can do anything, how I feel so strong.  I always say he doesn’t really know me, that we don’t talk about real things, but whose fault is that?  Well, maybe both of ours, well, maybe his more than mine he’s supposed to be the grown-er grown-up, but Caroline and I talked the other day about learning that we’d rather be happy than right sometimes.  Blame is a pretty heavy and useless thing to carry around, for the most part.

Outside the park, under the archway, by the fountain, I walk because the cobblestones here are small and uneven and I’ve twisted an ankle before.  Walking feels stiff and shaky and I can feel the sweat on my legs drying into salt.  Back down Vanderbilt I run again, a fast lope to get past the brunchers along the sidewalk.  I run all the way to the smoothie place on Fulton, I get the same smoothie I got last Saturday morning, but last Saturday I had it delivered after I vomited up the contents of my stomach, so I’ve already beaten last weekend.

From the smoothie place I walk the mile home, crossing to all the sunny sides of the streets, unable to stop smiling, feeling the lactic acid already start to fill my calves with that satisfying soreness.  I think of the email I’ll write to my dad, I think how I’ll tell him about seeing Matt in the park.  "I never told you about Matt,“ I’ll say, "but he was a guy I loved a long time ago.  You would have liked him because he loved me and he was good to me and he’s really smart and kind.”  I finish my 20 oz. purple smoothie and feel my salty sunburn and I think how I just ran 9 miles and I think how in my life I’ve been loved and I look down at my strong freckled thighs and I turn up the Beatles song in my headphones and I can’t stop smiling.