all the mornings in the world

Spicy morning take: the faux sentimentality and backwards justification for WWI centered around the centenary is disgusting, and if you preface your “lest we forget” with “They fought for good/freedom/us,” you’ve missed the point. World War I was a tragedy on a continental scale, a pointless slaughterhouse. There is nothing to thank the dead for. There is only to mourn.

anonymous asked:

Do you have any stony fics which also shows the Avengers team as a family? Or group dynamics if that makes any sense lol sorry for my english

That makes total sense!  Here are some great family Avengers fics that I think you might enjoy.


The Hawk’s View by Raliena: Clint knows several facts to be true:
1. He will always look out for those who are his.
2. Steve loves Tony.
3. Tony loves Steve.
4. Tony is a civilian.
5. Iron Man is a villain.But just because something is true does not mean it is the whole truth, the complete truth and nothing but the truth.
He doesn’t know that yet.

Everyone’s a Little Scarred by nhasablog: “No.” Tony shook his head. “You can’t. Just- just let me cling. That’s the only thing that seems to be helping.”“Okay. I’ll let you cling, but the moment I feel like you’re losing your grip-”“That won’t happen. I’ll hold on for dear life.”Because that’s what was essentially on the line.(Or, Tony’s not okay, but he’s somehow even less okay in his own bed.)

Hallmark Doesn’t Quite Make a Card to Cover This by @brandnewfashion: The Avengers have been a team for over five years.Sometimes, Tony still has trouble believing he’s a part of it.

More Than Blood and Bone by MountainRose, szzzt: He turned his head, getting his nose right up in the scrap of cloth draped over his chin and shoulder and inhaling the scents of team. Mostly Steve; this was the handkerchief he carried in an inner pocket, reeking of his exhausted sweat but not of pain, reassuring Tony that he was basically whole and uninjured. There were traces of the rest of the team too, that the medic would have collected on their rounds before tucking the cloth into the gurney with Tony. Tony inhaled again and felt himself relaxing. Everyone was okay, battered adrenaline-sharp and weary after battle but okay. So much better than waking up in the suit smelling nothing but his own pain.A tough battle leaves Iron Man injured and grounded. Luckily the Avengers are a strong pack, even with half their lead pair down, and pulling them tighter will help their omega recover; it’s a virtuous cycle Tony never thought he’d be lucky enough to be part of.

In Sickness and In Health by Crematosis:  When Tony is sick on his birthday, the whole team comes together to fuss over him. He’s not exactly thrilled about it.

The Avengers Team Building Shenanigans by idioticfangirl:  Tony has a crush, Steve is oblivious, Bucky is confused, the whole team is endless snark, and they all end with ridiculous haircuts. What more could you want?
Or, the one in which the Avengers decide on a team outing to the hairdressers, with ridiculous consequences.

Whatever Sorrow Shakes From Your Heart by @blossomsinthemist:  Steve gets hurt, and the team bands together to make him feel better. Set in the early classic days of 616 canon, not long after Steve joined the Avengers

Rainy Thursday Morning by sororexitium: It hit Tony one rainy, Thursday morning.His team was no longer simply his team.

It’s Not Cosmetic by withasideofangst: After Afghanistan and Iron Man, SHIELD gave Tony a choice. He could out himself as Iron Man, or claim it was a bodyguard, and hide his face from the world.Agent Agent never said anything, but Tony had hacked SHIELD’s servers and knew they wanted him to go the bodyguard route. Yes to Iron Man and no to Tony Stark, and all that.That, as well as keeping Pepper safe, made him go with the bodyguard cover, and flimsy as he thought it was, no one questioned it.Of course, why would they? Tony Stark was no superhero.—Although, it’s less easy to keep a secret identity with a bunch of superheroes and spies living in your house.

The (Not Really) Secret Origins of Movie Night by nightwalker:  Somewhere along the line the Avengers have become a pretty good team. But Tony’s still the odd man out, and Steve’s determined to change that.

many names in history, none of them are ours by aubkae: Steve’s not sure if he’ll ever understand Tony Stark, but it’s good, living here. If he still wakes up sometimes convinced this was all a dream, well, it’s better than it was before, and that’s something, isn’t it?The Avengers live in a world that both glorifies and fears them, but they know each other now behind the scenes.

Labels by annanndstann:  Clint moves into the tower and notices that Tony really likes labels.

Hashtag Finally by @wordsplat:  Tony doesn’t ever actually ask the Avengers to move into his house, steal his wifi, eat all his food, and become the best family he’s ever known. They do it anyway.

Early Morning Happenings by infinite_wonders:  The Avengers forge an unbreakable bond every single morning as they eat breakfast, deal with each other, and reinforce the memories that will last them until the next one.

Tony Stark Advises the Avengers by @copperbadge:  Somehow, Tony Stark ended up Team Dad.

Show Me What I’m Looking For by capsicleironman:  Steve was finally beginning to prove his capability and independence in the 21st century when an attack on the city leaves him blinded. Now, back at square one, he’ll have to learn about more than just the future; he must learn to re-navigate his whole life. The other Avengers are all endlessly supportive, always there to lend a helping hand, but it’s Tony’s no-nonsense, do-it-yourself approach that might just get Steve back on his feet for good.

Love in Every Word You Say by AkikoFumi:  Steve makes a very precious discovery: Tony blushes at almost everything he does or says to him.

Kisses and Projectiles (Are a Good Mix) by @pensversusswords: In which Steve and Tony gaze lovingly at each other across the table and it results in projectile weapons being fired in the middle of dinner.All in all, just another day with the team.

Think Before You Speak by @itsallavengers: Tony talks to himself. Regularly. When you grow up alone for pretty much your whole life, live in a huge tower with no one but yourself and a disembodied voice for company and lock yourself up in your workshop for weeks on end, who else is there to talk to but yourself? What he thinks, he’ll say. It helps him keep track of all the shit going on in his ever-moving train of thought.It doesn’t help, however, when five other superheroes make themselves welcome in your home- then it just becomes a big fucking problem.

Don’t Call Me Mom (Unless You’re Family) (series) by @xtaticpearl:  Rhodey is away for almost six months now and comes to meet Tony after the mission. He doesn’t understand the domesticity of the whole Tower and unknowingly sets off a whole truck of insecurities which make Tony crawl back into being a Stark instead of just Tony. The team is not at all happy and Rhodey joins them in trying to figure out a way to help their resident genius feel better in his skin.

patchwork people by @itsallavengers: It was a pretty well-known fact that Tony Stark had control issues.It was far less well-known why, though.

The Bucky Barnes Guide on How To Deal With Crazy Superheroes by 27dragons, sara_holmes:  Ever since Bucky arrived at Avengers’ Tower, Steve has been insiting that he do things, apparently for his own good. Bucky’s pretty sure Steve is crazy, and that this latest idea is his stupidest one yet.

Lighthouse Cove: The Disappearance (Bill Skarsgård)


She did not want to wake the next morning. She welcomed sleep and it’s ability to erase her troubles, all of the terrible thoughts and memories that constantly ran through her mind when she was awake. Nothing seemed more appealing than being lost in utter darkness, unconscious to all the bad things the world could throw upon her. She wanted normality or nothing at all.

It was about nine in the morning, she predicted by sky that shone into the master bedroom, and Charlotte was bound to wake soon. She knew she should begin making breakfast for the family, but she had no desire to leave the warmth of the bed sheets that were pulled up to her neck. Secondly, getting up would mean she had to see the marks that were surely left on her body from the previous night, blotches of darkness on her wrists and the leftover fingerprints coating her throat. The thought sickened her; she did not want to be reminded of the previous night in any form, but it seemed to be inevitable, for she would have to wake eventually.

Turning over in the bed, she saw that Bill was not beside her. Her brows furrowed for a moment, wondering where he could be, but she decided that he was probably downstairs reading. On the occasion - a very rare occasion - her husband woke before her, she would find him sprawled out on one of the living room sofas when she finally wandered downstairs. With that comforting thought, she tried to push the unease from her mind; Bill would be waiting for her with a smile when she made it down.

Slowly, she peeled the woollen blankets back, revealing her naked, battered body. A gasp escaped her lips when she saw the blemishes on her smooth skin and the swelling that had recently begun. She realized - although she already had a strong suspicion - that last night was real, it hadn’t just been a terrible nightmare; the marks that marred her body proved that.

She slipped her legs off the mattress and placed her feet down on the cool, wood floor. With her hands, she braced herself on the bed, each one gripping an edge of the mattress to steady herself. Tears welled in her eyes and she stared forward as her arms shook beneath her.

Charlotte. Charlotte will want breakfast soon,” she thought to herself, wet eyes staring at the dark wall before her. “Pull yourself together and go downstairs.”

She did, rising from the bed, then ambling over to her and Bill’s shared dresser. She pulled the drawers open and searched for some simple clothes for the day. The previous day, Charlotte told her mother she wanted to go to the shore to play and see the broken ice close-up, in which case, the woman knew it was a day to dress warmly. She decided on a cream coloured, turtleneck knit sweater to hide the bruises on her neck and a pair of medium-wash jeans that reached her ankles.

After tugging on the clothing, she moved to stand in front of the medium-sized, slightly cloudy mirror that allowed her to see her head to hips in the reflection. She stared into her own eyes for a few moments before noticing how sunken they looked. Their usually shine was now void of all emotion, appearing lifeless, and her jeans, usually snug, felt looser on her hips. She had thought she was getting enough to eat at the lighthouse, but her reflection proved otherwise, showing that she had lost a fair amount of weight. Her brows creased, wondering how that had happened while eating three solid meals a day for the past few months. It was now more obvious than ever, she knew she wasn’t imagining things - something terrible was happening to her. The only saving grace was that the darkness had not reached Bill or her daughter, something she thanked God for.

With one last look into the hazy mirror, speckled with charred grey dots, she checked to make sure her whole neck and wrists were covered, desperate to hide the colours that marked her. They were.

She walked to the bedroom door and opened the old wood before heading down the stone steps of the lighthouse, making her way to the kitchen. Despite everything, she tried to remain as composed as possible for Charlotte’s sake.

Her efforts would go unnoticed.

It was nine thirty and her daughter still hadn’t made an appearance.

She sat at the kitchen table, a mug of tea cupped in her hands and a bowl of now-lukewarm porridge on the table where Charlotte always sat, waiting for her family. Bill’s coffee dripped every now and then into the pot placed underneath the maker, growing cold as well.

The woman fidgeted, tapping her right foot against the wooden boards that lined the floor and drummed her fingers against her mug, wondering why her daughter was sleeping-in so late. Charlotte was what one would call “an early bird,” never interested in sleeping in for hours on end, and eight-thirty in the morning was her usual wake-up time. Today’s behaviour was far from her daughter’s usual.

She could see Bill from the window above the kitchen sink, chopping away at thick logs near the woodshed past the boardwalk. This struck her as odd, knowing that Bill would always wait until after breakfast to cut wood with Charlotte. What was different about today? She came to the conclusion that their daughter must have told Bill to go without her this time. Perhaps, Charlotte was exhausted from their hike, maybe she was bored of watching him do the same thing every morning, or it was just too cold for her liking on this particular day. However, none of the options seemed likely as watching her father chop up wood always peaked her interest. Little Charlotte would beg Bill to race her down the catwalk on mornings where it wasn’t icy and make him carry her on his shoulders the mornings it was.

The woman took a tentative sip of tea before glancing up at the kitchen clock; it was nine forty.

Suddenly, a horrific thought came to the woman’s mind: He has her.

That speculation alone was enough for her eyes to widen with fear and her hands go numb without warning. The porcelain mug fell from her grip and crashed onto the floor, shattering into numerous pieces, as she pushed her chair back and quickly rose to her feet.

She ran out of the kitchen as fast as she could, through the living room and to the bottom of the stone stairwell. She bounded up the pale grey steps, holding onto the off-white railing tightly as she used it to haul herself up faster.

She felt horrible; what kind of mother would leave their child alone with a psychopath on the loose? No mother she knew of. Only one image motivated her: having Charlotte safely back in her arms. She knew she should have pressed the subject harder to Bill. He kept denying the existence of the man - as most people would, it seemed ludicrous - but what if she pushed it so far he finally believed her? What if she showed him the bruises that covered her body? He’d believe her then… Nonetheless, the image of her daughter was her prime focus and she rushed up the stairs even faster to find her.

Not her. Please, not her.

What was the stranger doing with Charlotte? Was he hurting her? The thought of that filthy man touching her child was absolutely revolting. No, she would save her; little Charlotte would not be harmed.

Her bare feet slapped loudly on the rough stone, echoing throughout the whole lighthouse, but she hardly noticed. She thought only about her beautiful daughter and how she would kill the stranger the next time she saw him. Not twice would she think about grabbing the nearest blunt object and smashing it against his skull or slamming her fists against his solid body. She would end him.

The woman was a heaving, breathy mess when she reached the top of the stairs. Yet, she went on, running across the small landing to her daughter’s room.

“Charlotte!” she cried, closing the gap between herself and the bedroom.

She took a hold of the rusting metal knob and twisted it. The heavy door swung open easily with her strong yank. Wasting no time, she rushed into the room, ready to save her daughter from the man who had haunted her for months.

Except… there was no child to save.

She lost it right there.

Screams and cries of utter horror left her mouth when she looked at the empty room, so bare it was sinister. She felt so vile, like her whole body was heavy and full of something sick. There were no words to truly describe how the woman felt, only pure, raw emotion that escaped her body in sobs.

Charlotte’s room was bare, only a prepared twin-sized bed sat in the far corner of the room, everything else was gone. However, more importantly, her daughter was not where to be seen.

“Charlotte? Charlotte!” the mother screamed, tears cascading down her cheeks.

Hearing no reply, she rushed over to the small bed, fell to her knees, then pulled the bed sheets up before peering under the bed. Only the wooden floor greeted her, dusty and deserted.

“Charlotte! Where are you?” she cried, rising back to her full height and striding to the doorframe.

Both of her hands clutched the rough wood so tightly, the grains imprinted a faint pattern into her skin. From her spot in the door, she looked around the small landing. There were two doors, one Charlotte’s bathroom and the other a storage closet. She rocked forwards and backwards, her mind racing with concern for her daughter; she had to find her.

The woman hurried across the landing until she came to the first door, Charlotte’s washroom. She hauled the door open, only to find the the cement floor and sinks perfectly untouched. The bathroom looked orderly and untouched, certainly not inhabited by the insane man.

However, as an extra bout of caution, she tore the shower curtain across the silver rod, exposing the immaculate, white porcelain tub and wall.

Still no Charlotte.

She turned on her heel and ran out of the room, heading towards the closet.

“Charlotte - sweetie -this isn’t funny! Please come out!” she breathlessly pleaded, a fresh wave of tears forming in her eyes.

There was no answer.

When she opened the closet door, she found it was filled with ropes and axes, not the blankets she remembered. The steel that made the heads of the axes was a shining silver, not like the dark and dull ones in the basement due to decades of use, proving them recently bought. Thick and thin ropes, beige and firetruck-red, were messily thrown in between the weapons. Her brows creased but she quickly moved on, desperate to find her missing child.


She barreled up another flight of stairs, climbing so fast her breaths were short and her chest heaved harder than ever before - even when she gave birth.

Nothing else mattered anymore, not if she lived or died, not even if Bill did either. Everything boiled down to her daughter, her beautiful daughter that meant the absolute world to her. She would rather spend everyday of the rest of her life with the stranger than see her daughter in his cruel hands. If she could, she would take her daughter’s place in a heartbeat.

“Charlotte, please!” she called, arriving at the very top of the stairwell.

She moved into her and Bill’s bedroom, making sure to check both the master bath and storage closet.

There was no sign of her little girl.

She ran out of the master bedroom and swiftly descended the steps to the ground floor. After checking the living room, coat closet and revisiting the kitchen, she moved onto the basement, looking in every hiding place she could think of. She was enclosed in a different kind of darkness, not the stranger’s, but the atmosphere’s - no sunlight peaked into the basement, allowing the browns to grow deeper and the lights to shine dimmer.

The woman had cleared the basement in ten minutes. She had looked under tables, behind generators and in the small closet holding Bill’s tools.

Charlotte had vanished into thin air.

Despite winter only having two months left, a fine layer of snow coated the catwalk from the light snowfall that occurred the previous night. The fairly flat hills that lead to the forest were patchy with snow, however, the green still showed through.The frozen lake had just began its thawing process, large chunks of ice having broken off from the main source and now floating all by their lonesome. Winter was slowly leaving, bringing signs of spring to Lighthouse Cove.

Bill had nearly finished chopping up a couple days worth of wood, a few more logs and his work would be done for the day. After discarding the logs inside, he planned on spending the rest of the day with his wife, reading together on the couch and making love in front of the crackling fireplace.

He buried the head of the axe into a thick chunk of wood, creating a deep crack, then yanking it out. After two more tries, he sent the final blow to the wood, effectively slicing it in half. The block fell open, both sides limply falling back onto the frozen grass.

The woman threw the main door to the lighthouse open, allowing the nippy air to attack her exposed skin, then barrelled down three stone steps to reach the long wooden catwalk, wearing nothing more than a knit sweater and jeans. She had no shoes or socks on.

The boardwalk was built forty metres above the water - ice in the winter - and it stretched a hundred metres long, connecting the lighthouse and land. Typically, one would hear the loud crashing of the waves at they met the cement bottom of the lighthouse. However, on this day, there was no sound, only an eerie silence as sprinkles of snow fell from the bleak sky.

She could see her husband in the distance; he standing near the woodshed about twenty metres from the end of the seemingly endless boardwalk.

“Bill!” she called, wasting not even a second before taking off down the bridge.

Her naked feet slammed against the wood, creating imprints of her tracks in the snow behind her. The cold gnawed at her feet, but she didn’t notice, even when they began to sting from the bitter temperature.

Bill had not seen her yet, had not heard her desperate calls.

Maybe Charlotte’s sitting in the woodshed. She never has but… there’s a first time for everything.

Soon, she would learn that her last hope was nothing but a fantasy.

She reached the end of the boardwalk and began onto the grass, cold, hard and covered with small patches of snow. “Bill!” she screamed again.

Her husband’s head whipped back at the sound of his name being so desperately called. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw how fast his wife was running towards him, knowing that something awful had happened. He noticed how wide and full of sheer terror her eyes were.

Fuck. Please no, please,” he thought.

She knew her daughter wasn’t in the shed; Charlotte would have come out by now. Yet, she couldn’t help but picture her daughter rushing out with tears in her green eyes, asking her mother what was wrong. The sight of her daughter upset would have broken her heart before, but now… she would selfishly be overjoyed just to see her daughter, sad or happy.


He slammed the head of the axe into the wood pile and turned back around just as she approached him, her pace only slowing when she nearly smashed into him.

“What is it?” he asked, taking a hold of her shoulders with his large hands and meeting her wide eyes.

“He has her, Bill. He has her,” she said urgently, not wasting a moment to catch her breath. Her words came out in pants as her heart pounded and chest heaved wildly. The tears that were kept in by the whipping of the wind as she ran, now rolled down her cheeks freely.

“What are you talking about?” he asked sharply.

She started to sob, “That man! I told you someone was here - I told you all along! Now he has her, Bill. He has our daughter! My daughter, Bill… oh, God.”

He watched as she completely broke down, hot tears streaming uncontrollably down her cheeks to jaw then neck. It was this downward motion that spurred Bill’s eyes to drop as well, eventually coming to his first realization.

“Shit. Sweetheart… you’re not wearing a jacket. You’re going to freeze out here,” he chided, yet not enough to be angry with her. Instead, he held onto her shoulders even tighter and his eyes begged for hers to meet his again.

She ignored him, continuing to speak hysterically as tears continued to roll down her skin. “My baby, my baby, my baby, my baby…”

He noticed her feet and sighed. “You’re not wearing boots either. Please… let me take you inside,” he begged, unable to stand seeing his wife in such a state.

How uninterested he seemed in his daughter’s disappearance irked her deeply. “Bill, you’re not listening!” she yelled, ripping his hands off her shoulders, “He has our baby. This man has our daughter! I don’t know where he’s taken her but she’s gone, Bill. I can’t find her anywhere!”

He took a small step forward, calmly, so she would see him as comforting, but she took one step back.

She was livid, depressed and desperate all at once. Bill had always loved his daughter, he’d ruin anyone who dared touch her; read to her whenever she asked, making sure to change the pitch and sound to his voice to fit the different characters; and allowed her to tug at his hair, even when it hurt more than he’d like to admit. She couldn’t understand this: If Bill loved his daughter, why would he not be concerned for her safety? Why would he not listen to his wife telling him there is an insane man lurking around their lighthouse?

He shut his eyes, hating what he was going to say. “Sweetheart…” he began softly, “We don’t have a daughter.”

She swore she stopped breathing.

His eyes pleaded with her, begging for her to listen to him. “No one is here but me and you, okay? I know there is nothing more in the whole world you’d want than a child, me too, but sweetheart… it will take time. We’ll have a baby soon enough,” he spoke gently, reaching a hand out to her yet again.

She became riddled with an anger she had never felt towards her husband before. “Don’t you fuck around with me, Bill,” she retorted, jabbing a finger at finger in his direction.


“NO!” she yelled, “Bill, he has our baby somewhere and I don’t know what he’s going to do to her!”

Hastily, he took his wife into his chest, his long arms trapping her in his hold. Although she struggled and fought him, he was ultimately stronger. Her attempts were feeble and she soon realized this, slumping her head against his chest and dropping her hands, which were curled into fists, to her sides. She wept into his chest.

“I love you. I love you so much. I love you,” he heartily whispered into her ear, attempting to soothe her hysteria.

She only cried harder. “I don’t know what’s happening, Bill. I’m so scared,” she sobbed.

He pulled her deeper into him and began to stroke her back. “I know. I know, sweetheart,” he cooed into her ear, his frigid lips touching her hot skin.

She sputtered and gasped for air, trying to - unskillfully - collect her breath.

After a few more moments of heavy breathing, she calmed down enough to speak. “I need to tell you something,” she said, voice still wobbling.

Both of his hands went to her head, smoothing down her hair while he gazed into her eyes, the eyes he had fallen in love with many years ago. Right now, she looked the most composed he had seen her all morning, so he nodded and let her go. She took a shaky step back.

He looked at her calmly, ready to hear what she had to say now that she appeared to be levelheaded.

She fiddled with her fingers and looked down. “He… he fucked me,” she said deeply, emotion filling her final three words.

Bill’s eyes hardened, “That’s impossible. Sweetheart, there’s nobody here but you and-”

“HE FUCKED ME!” she cried, tears threatening to spill from her eyes again.

“Nobody touched you. I promise,” he assured her, his eyes pleading.

She crossed her arms under her breasts. “He came into our room last night after you left. He tied me up… choked me… raped me,” she confessed, her voice quavering.

He didn’t know what to say, it seemed that nothing he did could change her mind and that scared the life out of him.

She sniffled, trying to regain her breath, then pulled down the fabric of her sweater, exposing her bruised neck. The dark marks shone even brighter in the daylight.

She couldn’t bear to look at him. “See?” she pressed, her neck feeling strained as she dipped her head to the side so he could get a better look.

There was no more denying it, the marks were visible.

Bill examined her skin. “There’s nothing there,” he said softly, barely audible.

Her eyes flew to his: what did he mean about there being ‘nothing there?’

“You’re exhausted and cold. Please, let me take you inside,” he spoke, collectedly as possible.

“But how can you not-”

“Please,” he begged, causing her eyes to meet his. He looked so sad.

She shut her mouth and slowly nodded, feeling utterly defeated; her husband did not believe her. Her hand slipped from it’s hold on the cream fabric, falling limply by her side. Bill swept her feet from underneath her and pulled her up to his chest. Her head lolled onto his shoulder.

“He fucked me, Bill. Hard and mercilessly and I begged him to stop. He’s nothing like you, Bill… Why won’t you believe me?” she whispered as he began walking to the boardwalk.

“Shh,” her husband soothed. “It’s alright. It’s just me and you here. Me and you… remember that.”

Her eyes shut.

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anonymous asked:

33 sounds cute!! Love your writing xx

on a post it note

Aaron’s long gone, by time Robert wakes up. He’s got an early scrap run in Birmingham, and however much Robert loves his husband, he didn’t much fancy a four am wakeup call to say goodbye. He has a fuzzy memory of Aaron pressing a kiss to his forehead, before he left, but he might have dreamt that.

Sometimes life with Aaron did feel like a dream - not because they were a perfect, fairytale sort of couple, far from it really, they still fought like cats and dogs. No, it felt like a dream because there had been a time where Robert had been so sure he’d ruined it all, that their marriage was beyond repair.

It had taken time, time both of them had been willing to give, and they were good now, the kind of stable and happy they had wanted when they’d gotten married the first time around.

Robert stretched out, fingertips brushing against the top of their headboard as he kicked their duvet off. He didn’t much feel like rushing to get ready for work, if he was honest, despite the clock ticking over to eight-thirty.

Jimmy and the damp portacabin could wait.

Shrugging on one of Aaron’s discarded hoodies (he was going to kill him for leaving clothes all over their bedroom floor), Robert padded downstairs, the house unusually quiet. Liv was with her mum in Ireland, for half term, so the cause of about ninety percent of their household noise was gone, and he missed it.

He didn’t miss the mess, but he did miss Liv. It was funny, really, how used to the noise, the chaos you could get. Robert wasn’t sure how the two of them would cope when Liv left for good, a place at university in Scotland with her name on it.

Still, that was a few months away.

Robert made his way across the downstairs, a pink post-it-note catching his attention as he reached to flick the kettle on, the paper stuck to a familiar mug, the replacement of the worlds best husband mug Robert had smashed, all those years ago now.

I’m the best husband for having your mug out and ready to go. See you tonight - I love you Mr Dingle x

Robert couldn’t help the delighted grin that escaped his mouth as he read the note, the mug sitting, waiting with a teabag inside. It was always the little things, that meant the most, and his heart felt like it could burst, as Robert realised Aaron had taken a second to think of him, even at four in the morning when he was most likely catatonic.

Quickly making his tea, Robert rooted for his phone, snapping a selfie of himself with the mug, sending it to Aaron.

Best cup of tea I’ve had all week. Love you, Mr Sugden x

send me a prompt

the mother, the son, and the hollow ghost// vignette// for @babybluecas //written  for @celebratingdean //week: divinity //ao3

Oh, weren’t you, Dean, a head on a silver plate, served for the birds to eat, the meat around your spine meant for beasts to chew on? Weren’t your ribs destined to make home for grief, for the ungrateful, all-taking ones? Wasn’t your heart built to carry the crosses of the worlds your mind was not supposed to fathom? Weren’t you supposed to contain power that would never be your own? Weren’t you designed to swallow yourself until you were no more? Weren’t you conceived and kept just to utter a single word to end the morning star then wilt away like dusk? Weren’t you put in place, stone by stone, to become the temple that would have to burn in the name of all the absent gods? Weren’t you planned to be a breathing sheath? Wasn’t it written for you to only hold?

Yet you spat the Word on the earth from which you rose. You’ve found strength in all that was meant to make you weak. You molded stones into your bones. You learned to own the skin that you were given. You swallowed the power and the plan, all larger than life, and made it yours. You became the sword of your own. You went to war with the empire of maggots as your flag. You’ve betrayed your makers.

And you’ve won.

You were a Saint, time after time. You kept healing when no one healed you.

Your heart was full of carnage, full of splinters from the crosses you carried, full of wounds from all the lives you’ve given.

But you can’t hear anyone singing hosannas.

The only prayers you get are demands.

Your “no” keeps getting ripped away from your bible.

You will put it back there every single time.

Until dust covers all the days.

Until it remains.

Mood : Crying over undergraduate thesis at 2 in the morning then considering just to give up but then remembering that Kim to the fucking Seokjin has a bachelor degree and currently enrolled in graduate school. All of this while busy juggling world tour concerts and maintaining his worldwide handsome tittle. A boring ass good for nothing human being like me needs to slap myself, get a grip, and stop complaining.

Stress Responses

Aries: racing thoughts, increased agitation to normal events. they can get the red eyes and they find it hard to sleep even with extreme tiredness and exhaustion. there can be headaches, migraines, or clumsiness and they can see their short comings in crystal clear black and white  

Taurus: heaviness and the feeling of carry extra body weight. appetite changes and an increased reliance on personal pleasure to the extent it becomes routine but there isn’t real satisfaction in anything. the voice is shaky, caffeine intake can increase 

Gemini: quietened into silence by the consistent loud banging of thoughts. less focused and animated during conversation and socialisation, they can become more argumentative and defensive. quickly diverts the subject off themselves. if they smoke it increases. it may be hard to maintain dietary intake, they can become easily panicked and impossible to follow

Cancer: reacts overtly and excessively to emotional provocation. everybody in the house knows they are ‘in a mood’. the appetite can change, increase in sugar cravings, its easy to gain weight, regressive patterns can re-emerge 

Leo: physical symptoms of exhaustion including heart palpitations, hot flashes, and sore muscles in the chest and lower back. stress can increase energy to untameable levels so they can become more frantic, more sacrificial, more of a people pleaser, more in need of recognition  

Virgo: a person running around in a frantic pace doing 20 different things at the same time, feeling unrealistic time constraints, looking ultra productive and constructive but is running around in directionless circles. the rituals can get out of hand, digestive discomfort, appetite changes 

Libra: they can care too much about the image people have of them to expose their concerns and worries. they can wait for close friends to pick up on this by some form of telepathy and feel disheartened and betrayed when they don’t. they can get a nervous or sensitive bladder and feel like everybody is personally agitated or ignoring them 

Scorpio: Becomes self-reclusive and shuts off from everybody. They can become very hostile or reactive to attempted intrusions into their inner space and get ‘those eyes’ everyone close to them knows well. Sexual desire can fluctuate  

Sagittarius: The pace of everything increases to uncontrollable rapid speed in the mind and body there can be unusual headaches, nerves, the feeling of breathing stale air, back pain, and restless legs. They can feel happy, but they overthink, doubt, and wonder how long it will last.  

Capricorn: Can become itchy and suffer jaw tension. Everything needs to remain the same and completely normal so they keep everything inside so that nobody changes their behaviour around them. they self seclude and spend a lot of time thinking, cataloguing stressors and working through them one at a time, purposefully and painfully on their own

Aquarius: the will to make a difference flatlines, there is little inspiration and a lot of frustration in a world they can’t seem to fit into. their thoughts become very sharp and cut them deeply, they can detach from everyone and everything

Pisces: They can become their own worst enemy, worries can inflate into disproportioned fears and they can actively live these out, like if they have an early alarm and frantically try to get sleep and agonise about tomorrow’s tiredness and keep themselves awake all night by playing out imaginative scenarios until the morning 


i just.. . can’t get over sign of the times. there is so much feeling in it - hope, desperation, strength, vulnerability, pain, love, bravery - and all of it is so palpable, i feel like i can taste it in the air while the song’s playing. he pulls you in at the very first note and tangles you into his soul with every note after that. the energy in his voice just. it washes over you, wave after wave, like an ocean of electricity and emotion. 

This is just fluff!!! Inspired by 13.06.

The first time Castiel nudged Dean awake in a motel in Boise, he quickly found himself staring down the barrel of a gun with the silhouette of Dean’s ridiculous bedhead behind it. “Dean?” he raised both hands, mostly out of imitation since bullets meant nothing. He watched as Dean stared back and blinked the sleep from his eyes before groaning, “Shit. Sorry, Cas” and lowered his gun.

He’d already known that Dean had lightning-fast instincts, instincts he’d honed since he was a child and had to protect Sam all by himself. Later that morning, after his coffee, Dean looked a little sheepish and pink around the edges. Cas could only assure him that it was okay, filling Dean’s mug and kissing his cheek.

Cas eventually learned that Dean didn’t startle when they woke together, their limbs loosely tangled. That Dean just snuffled and pulled him closer, muttering, “Five more minutes” while Cas softly laughed. “Who’s making me coffee?” he always asked, already on his way to the kitchenette. It was rhetorical and Cas would merely huff, taking in his fill of Dean in his boxers.

Dean slept especially well when they turned in early to watch a movie, propped against the pillows. Dean used to talk a big game about drinking at bars - and Castiel knew that had once been his life - but these days, with their base at the bunker, Dean preferred to stay in unless they were on the road. He liked to rest his cheek on Cas’ shoulder, gesturing excitedly at the screen. He knew his trivia cold when it came to westerns and made Cas watch his favorites whenever he could. He didn’t mind persuading Cas with smiles and kisses, and Cas certainly didn’t mind being persuaded. Though that never stopped him from occasionally sighing and grumbling at the guns and tuberculosis.

He remembered passing through a town with a touristy gift shop, their route more leisurely after a hunt. He saw Dean linger at a rack of hats and asked Sam to distract him while he purchased two. The sound Dean made when Cas wore one that night was a memory he logged away with incredible smugness. It was worth Sam glaring at them the next morning, made worse by Dean’s innuendos about riding cowboys. Cas knew better than to step into the middle of it, but kept his hand on Dean’s knee underneath their table.

He knew what it meant to indulge Dean like this, to be so well-acquainted with someone and allow his entire world to revolve around him. He knew what Dean was like in the morning, at night, in between, and could sometimes predict the words he’d say before he said them. They would bicker and kiss and let their spaces overlap and Cas was all too happy to keep it that way.

So, now, when Jack turns to him and says, “He… really likes cowboys,” he just replies, “Yes, he does” while they both watch Dean examine the hotel room like a kid in the candy store. He wears the cowboy hat Dean hands him later and calls it “absurd” though he goes along with it, because if this is something that’ll make Dean smile, then that’s what truly matters. It’s been that way for years.

At one point, back at the hotel, Dean still in his getup - bolo tie and all - Cas is crowded gently against the wooden paneling with an armful of cowboy and playful green eyes. “Hey, there, handsome,” Dean quirks his lips, and Cas fights the laughter bubbling from his chest. “I’m a hunter and it’s ‘you’ season.”

Castiel laughs for real then. “Then catch me, cowboy.”

Imagine the morning after Alec and Magnus had their first date. Alec stayed the night, even though he believed that it might be a bad idea. It is too early after all to stay a whole night at Magnus’. It all goes too fast. But he can’t help himself. So they are lying in bed. Magnus is still sleeping peacefully. He is lying on his stomach, half of his head buried in a pile of pillows, face towards Alec. Alec is wide awake. His head resting on his hand while he simply stares dreamily at Magnus. Magnus doesn’t wear any make-up and he is snoring a little. Alec smiles. A tiny smile at first. But it gets broader, he just can’t stop it. He can’t believe that he is in Magnus’ loft, lying next to Magnus, the most beautiful man he ever layed eyes on. Alec knows that he must look like a fool but he doesn’t care at all. He lifts his right hand and brushes through Magnus’ thick black hair. He is surprised how soft it is when it is not spiked up. Alec’s fingertips are wandering carefully along Magnus’ jawline, he doesn’t want to wake Magnus up. His thumb brushes over Magnus’ cheek. Magnus still doesn’t wake up under Alec’s gentle touches. And Alec? He is just smiling while the sun comes up and the first ray of light lightens up the bedroom. He closes his eyes for a second, his hand lingering over Magnus’ cheek. When he opens his eyes again, he notices that Magnus is awake. He looks bleary and it is so adorable that Alec has a lump in his throat. But the thing that shocks him the most are Magnus’ eyes. His cat eyes are showing and they are so beautiful that they instantly take Alec’s breath away. He swallows. It takes Magnus a bit to understand what is happening. He wants to turn away from Alec, ashamed. He needs to glamour his eyes again since it looks like they shocked Alec so much. He just hopes he is not that much disgusted by them. Or him. Alec grabs Magnus’ shoulder, silenty shaking his head. Magnus furrows his brows. Until Alec leans towards him, cupping Magnus’ face with both hands. Magnus closes his eyes, he can’t look at Alec any longer. It’s too much. He silently curses himself that he forgot about his warlock mark. But Alec just doesn’t care at all. He presses a featherlight kiss on Magnus’ left eyelid. He hears how Magnus inhales sharply. Then he kisses the right eyelid. It’s so soft and tender, Magnus feels like crying. It takes all of him to fight against the tears building behind his lids. When Alec presses another soft kiss against his forehead, Magnus opens his eyes. “Don’t hide your true self from me, Magnus. Ever. You’re beautiful. All of you.” And that is the moment when Magnus Bane falls even more in love with Alexander Gideon Lightwood. Not that Magnus will tell him about his feelings yet. It’s too early. Magnus knows that. But one day soon…


      When it came to love, you never understood what all the fuss was about, truly, you didn’t. Not until you met Steve Harrington, that is, and the whole world just started making sense.


The first privilege came in arguably the most affectionate show of love – a kiss placed on your lips so early in the morning you never quite know whether you’re dreaming or awake. And it is the absolute sweetest because you are the first thing on Steve’s mind when he opens his eyes and the last one before he closes them.

Early birds chirp their cheery tunes at dawn and the sun slowly rises; bright rays peak through the closed curtains of your room and burn the side of your cheek in almost a loving way. Steve is the first to stir – naturally, he is much more sensitive to sudden changes in lighting and temperature – and once he pries one hazy sleep ridden eye open all he can make out is a blurry image of your white ceiling. He blinks a few times, inhales a few breaths that taste like your perfume before his senses finally flow back into him and he tilts his head to the side. His hair sticks to his face and he shoves it out his eyes; he sees you still deep in sleep and most likely dreaming. And he wastes no time to lay his hand on your waist, feel your hot skin burn his fingertips as a lazy smile blooms on his lips. This peace lasts a moment, or possibly much longer, after all it’s hard to tell time when most of the world is still sleeping. He leans in and captures your lips in a soft kiss – a kiss he gives you every morning because true to the fairytale of Sleeping Beauty, you can only be awoken by a true loves kiss. He tried other methods. Tickling. Calling your name. A dozen alarm clocks. Nothing got a reaction, except this one thing and he did not use it sparingly.

The vast skies of dreams cloud with reality as slowly you feel yourself sucked into a stuffy, hot room, with dewy sweat coating your skin and batches of hair tickling your cheeks. The senses alert  in one deep inhale and you grin immediately once you realize that Steve’s lips still rest on yours; a raspy giggle escapes you as you playfully smack his arm and he gradually, with one last peck on your cheek and a sweet and hoarse ‘Good morning…’ moves back to his pillow. Your hand finds his under the sheets, your fingers squeezing his as you hum.

Babe…” You whisper.


Not morning…”

“Morning. School.”



Hawkins Movie Theatre is your favorite spot to hang out and of course Steve knows this. After all, he took you here on your first date. So each time you stepped through those double doors felt like the first time holding his hand all over again.

Midnight séance. A horror movie with flashy imagery and more nudity than you expected plays on screen as teenagers that are legal and not sit in couples and whisper amongst themselves. You sink into the plush red seat and inhale the scent of popcorn, cola, and something frying. The sounds are loud and unpleasant and you have to refrain from cringing when the volume jumps just a bit too loud. Your eyes stay glued to the screen despite the urge to ogle your boyfriend – you know that once you glance at him you will be unable to look away.

His hand rests on your thigh. Naturally, shoulder hugs are only for starting lovebirds, but you still remember how he pulled the old ‘yawn-wrap-my-arm-around-your-shoulders-don’t-freak-out-please’ shtick on you and how you absolutely swooned. Suddenly memories appear more interesting than the movie and you drift away. Oh, what a rainy day it had been when he had asked you out, not all that smug and cool. Not like the rumors painted him to be at all. He caught you after school, after basketball practice, as you were leaving your club with a stack of books and flyers occupying the space in your hands. He had offered to carry some heavier books and you had smiled sweetly at him for it. Then, once you reached your locker, and as you put the clutter away he had asked you if you wanted to ‘Catch a movie sometime?’. Your first reaction was to raise a brow in confusion and mild amusement. When you saw that he was serious, and despite himself nervous, your cheeks bloomed red and a shaky ‘Yeah…I’d like that’ fell from your lips before you could even think about it.

Steve’s hand squeezes your thigh and you perk up. Meeting eyes with him you try to bite down the smile. Seems he got bored of the movie, too.


Your house had been turned upside down as you, in great anger, tried to explain what the hell had happened to one of your friends. And how no one was supposed to know about it.

Steve sat on your bed with a book in his hand – English literature, can’t say it’s his favorite – as you pace around the small space of your room with your hands up in the air repeating the same wild gestures as you fight to control the volume of your voice. With blushed cheeks and a permanent frown on your face, you suddenly halt and stare at him, “Can you believe it?!”

“No.” He says, turning a page, “How could she?” His voice tatters on the edge of genuine interest. Frankly, he doesn’t think it’s that big of a deal, but if you want to vent he isn’t going to stop you.

“I know, right!?” You release a frustrated sigh and run a shaky hand through your hair; a moment of absolute silence passes and worried Steve glances up at you. Wide eyed, you state, “I don’t think I can be friends with her after this.”

You want his opinion. Dear God, you want his opinion. His advice is debatable in quality (Dustin, after all, didn’t get the girl despite Steve’s 100% proven technique) and to toss in his two cents in the beef that you have with your friend? This may potentially ruin your and hers friendship, or at the very least what’s left of it. Silently, he puts the book aside and motions for you to come closer. Sadly you walk over, and gently grasping your hand he pulls you into his lap. His head comes to rest on your shoulder as his arms wrap around your waist and you find a comfortable position to rest. A heavy sigh escapes your lips and he can’t help but frown. He doesn’t want to see you like this.

Hey…” He calls softly, his fingers hooking some loose strands of (color) hair over your ear, “Don’t be sad. I mean, I’m really not the best person to discuss girl troubles with, but like you said…She’s a bitch.”

You nod, “I know, but…But she’s my bitch, Steve.”

He thinks, “…Yeah. She’s your bitch.”

“I should call her.”

“Yep. You go do that.”


You love looking at pictures. Especially on rainy days when there is nothing better to do and the need for social interaction is on an all-time low. You suppose you like them so much because they are proof. Proof that something magical had happened.

Oh my God!” Your mother cries, her hands grasping the Polaroid camera as if her life depends on it, “Oh my God, (F/Name)! (F/Name) come here! Our little baby’s all grown up now!” Her voice cracks at the end and you can’t help but release an amused smile.

You share a look with Steve. He gives a shrug. The two of you stand together, his arm around your waist. Graduation. You wear your best dress, finest hairdo, and perfect smile. You are positive Steve put an extra hours’ worth of work into his hair today, and you have the sudden urge to run your finger through it, though the amount of self-control you have surprises even you.

Another flash lights up the room and flinch and squint your eyes to shield yourself from the sudden attack. This is possibly the sixteenth picture that had fallen to the floor with your mothers promise to ‘Pick it up later! Now pose!’. Not having the heart in you to refuse her, you straighten your back, smile to the camera, and pray that you don’t look half as uncomfortable as you feel. Steve leans in and you feel his breath brush your ear, “Do you think she’ll ever stop?”

“Smile and pretend like you’re having a good time, sweetie.”


The amount of records you have stocked up in your room makes Steve proud to call you his girl. The fact that the two of you share the same music taste is a huge plus, too.

…And your favorite song starts playing on the radio that goes in perfect tune with your laughing. Steve’s car suddenly turns into a dance floor – you squirm in your seat and do quick work to open the window to let the whole neighborhood hear your jam. The stars shape into fairy lights and street lamps flicker like at the disco on a Friday night. You close your eyes and inhale the scent of dewy grass as and wind and pollinated sleeping flowers. Summer is your favorite time of year, and no matter what hour you decide to sneak out the house you always find yourself in a permanent state of daze and awe. Last remnants of heat tickle your cheeks and you flash your eyes open, look at Steve and he shares your brilliant smile.

You hold your choice of beer up to his face, “Sippy!” You demand. He gives you a dismissive laugh, his hands firmly on the steering wheel as he continues to drive around.

“I can’t—“ But before he can finish you turn up the volume and demand again.


“I’ll have to park the car!” He warns. You shake your head, “We’ll have to walk a mile home!”

“Don’t care! Sippy!”

a/n: edited this at 3am lmao don’t @ me if u find mistakes orz

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Eight Months (part II).

You had been with Harry for two years when things started to go wrong. Like all normal couples, you had petty arguments and they usually ended with the both of you apologising profusely to each other and buying each other small gifts for forgiveness, but that was it. It never went any further than that, until the night you broke up.

You knew things had been wrong for a while, even though it hurt to admit it. Although you accepted Harry’s career, it was hard to be apart for months at a time. You both struggled to fit time around each other because of work and studying commitments, but you could both decided that you could and would handle anything life threw at you. Skype and FaceTime were your life savers and you used them whenever and wherever you could.

But in time, Harry became distant. He forgot little details about you; he forgot the smell of your perfume, he forgot about the little strands of hair that you could never tie back properly, and it was like he forgot how much he loved you. He soon started to forget about events that were taking place. Whilst you knew and understood that he couldn’t attend such events including your swimming gala and dancing competition because of the tour, he never bothered asking how they went. Instead, conversations that were once filled with passion and love, both interested and eager to learn about each other’s days, soon turned into silence down the phone, the occasional murmur here and there, before hanging up.


The clock ticked and the kitchen tap dripped and the rain pattered against the window. The tears rolling down your cheeks however, were silent, and the only noise your body could muster up was the occasional snuffle.

To say you were upset was an understatement. It was your birthday, and whilst it had never bothered you before dating Harry, you were now absolutely gutted that it coincided with London Fashion Week. Celebrities from all around the world had flown in and much to your dismay, that included Kendall, who attended with Harry.

When you had awoke that same morning, you thought maybe Harry was playing a trick on you, and that he was only pretending to have forgotten your birthday and would soon surprised you, but nothing. You had searched the apartment from top to bottom but to no avail, you found no hidden presents or anything that indicated a surprise for you. If you were honest, you didn’t really care for gifts or surprises; to spend the day with Harry was enough for you. But here you were, sat alone in the kitchen, whilst he was being paid to spend his precious time with another woman.


“It was a bit of a dick move, mate” Louis tells his best friend.

Harry sighs and shakes his head. “You think I don’t know that?!” he exclaims as he leaves the shop with the flowers he had placed on order as soon as he realised he’d fucked up. “These are alright, yeah? They’re all her favourites combined” he adds, gesturing to the beautiful bunch.

“H, I think it’s going to take more than a bunch of roses and lilies and whatever else is in there to make it up to her this time. She doesn’t expect a lot from you, you know that. She’s the least high maintenance chick I know. Hell, even Eleanor expects more from me than what (Y/N) does from you! I take El away for her birthday every year, we always do something nice. I wouldn’t dream of spending it with another woman” Louis tells his friend firmly.

“Fuck off!” Harry spits. “Management are the ones paying me, not you!”

“Whatever mate, but it’s your funeral. Didn’t you spend an evening with Cara a few weeks ago, when it was supposed to be a date night for you and (Y/N)? If you’re not careful, you’re going to lose her. Someone else will come along and treat her the way that you should be doing it now. Is that really what you want?” he asks.


“I don’t know how many more times I can apologise, baby” Harry begins, but you quickly hold up your hand in protest to stop him.

“Don’t!” you warn firmly.

Harry throws the flowers down on the table after your refusal to accept them. He shrugs his shoulders at your harsh tone. “What do you mean, ‘don’t’” he asks, quoting you.

You let out a sarcastic laugh. “Baby? You really think that by calling me pet names that I’m going to run into your arms and forgive you for forgetting my birthday, and worse, spending it with Kendall, of all people! How many other girls are you calling ‘baby?’”

“Oh don’t be so ridiculous, (Y/N)! I’m in a relationship with you, not anyone else!” Harry exclaims. “I’ve apologised, what more do you want me to do? Get on my knees and beg for your forgiveness?”

“There’s more than just us two in this relationship, Harry, and you know it. Me, you, management, Cara, Kendall. And that’s just to name a few! You’ve let me down so much the past couple of months. Do you even love me anymore?” you ask, dreading the answer as you softly chew your lip.

Harry scoffs. “Of course I fucking love you! I wouldn’t be standing here having this argument with you if I didn’t.” He closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “I don’t know what you want me to do or say, (Y/N).”

“It’s never going to change, Harry! Things will always be the same! You ‘forgot’ my birthday and you spent the day with Kendall. You ‘forgot’ our date night and you spent the evening with Cara. I know it’s what the media want and expect from you, and I know management want you to do this, but I think you want to as well” you sigh, the words you had held for so long in your mouth now finally spilling out.

“You’re joking, right? That was a joke? You seriously think I want to spend any spare time I have with Kendall or Cara over you? Management need me to do this, if I don’t, I can kiss goodbye to my pay cheque! Half the things I do in this job is for you! How the fuck else would you get the latest handbags and purses and shoes?! Who else is going to pay for your education? Because I don’t see you or your family offering to cough up!” he spits almost bitterly.

You gasp in shock at his words. He knew your financial situation at home and that your parent’s worked so bloody hard to provide for you, but it just wasn’t enough. Your future career depended on your qualifications, and those qualifications could only be acquired in higher education in which Harry had offered to pay for, before he knew anything about the money side of things.

“Really, Harry? That’s how you feel? You think I’m with you for the money? I don’t give a damn about the shoes or bags and purses or latest fashion trends. I love you because you’re my boyfriend and I see myself living the rest of my life with you. I don’t love you because you’re Harry Styles from One Direction!” you spit back, your words truthful.

“I’ve heard that one before” he tells you, his eyes averting to the floor.

“So now you’ve got trust issues with me? Other girls may have treated you like that in the past, but I’m not like other girls, Harry. Two years we’ve been together and you really think that of me? When you guys broke up as a band, and you didn’t know what was going to happen to your music career, who was the one sitting up with you every night holding you whilst you cried? Other girls would have run a mile because of the uncertainty of your future. I love you even if you have nothing!” you shout at him.

Harry shrugs his shoulders and bites his lip. “Look, it’s not even just this causing arguments. They’ve been going on for a while and maybe having Kendall and Cara as friends is something you can’t handle. But I can’t live my life like this anymore. I’m done arguing with you all the time” he tells you softly.

“You’re making it sound like I don’t want you having friends, which isn’t true. I want you to put me first, like you did at the start of our relationship. You would have done anything back then for me, Harry. I hate arguing with you too. Maybe if we arrange some sort of schedule and arrange dates in advance to see each other?” you suggest.

Harry shakes his head. “I think it’s too little too late, (Y/N).”

You frown, your bottom lip beginning to quiver as you ask the dreaded question. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Harry’s eyes avert to the floor once more and the silence between you both speaks more volumes than words ever could.


The first few months after the break up had been tough to say the least. You continued to work and study for the first couple, managing to get by. Once you finished work, you would go home and tuck yourself into bed and shut yourself away from the rest of the world. You neither needed or wanted any social interaction with anyone. You only wanted your own company, reminiscing over the fun times with Harry, overthinking each night what could have been done differently so as you wouldn’t be in this situation. Unfortunately, you could never answer that question. Nothing could have been done differently. You would have always ended up here.

A few months passed and life was getting a little easier, but the beauty of social media portrayed it to be a lot better than what it actually was. You were able to deceive your followers and the public that your life was good again because you were taking selfies at nightclubs and you were going out and having more fun. But you were still going back home to an empty bed with only a teddy bear to hold at night, whilst thoughts of Harry plagued your mind.

Within four months, you met someone new; Tom. You both met through mutual friends and instantly clicked. Whilst there was no original intention there, you quickly became friends. You took a few selfies, posting them onto social media sites, happier with your life. Tom was lovely; he was a young, handsome man, studying Law at the same university as you. He had ambition, as well as being fun, kind and caring, and within five months of the messy break up with Harry, you were officially dating Tom. Coffee dates, pumpkin picking, country walks, the typical couple dates that you would go on together, sharing your memories online.

You had plastered pictures of the two of you together all over social media by six months, but you weren’t portraying your life to be something it wasn’t. You were happy, genuinely happy, and whilst you weren’t in love with Tom, you loved him and could see yourself learning to be in love with him. The more time you spent with him, the more you learned about him, and the more you wanted to know him.

By the seventh month, things had changed. Tom had changed, and not for the better. You spent most of your time at his university flat with him, yet he still accused you of sneaking around behind his back, cheating on him. You would never cheat on anybody, it was against your principles and besides, you didn’t have the time to see anyone else between dating Tom, and going to work and studying. Small comments soon followed the accusations; he’d tell you that you needed to diet and join a gym, that you weren’t pretty enough or smart enough or good enough and that he could do better. Then he’d apologise and take you on a date and spoil you rotten. He would buy you flowers and gifts. “Please forgive me” he’d say. “I love you.” The next change was a push and shove here and there, moving you out of his way when he was angry. One night, he pushed you into a glass door. Your eyebrow split and you needed stitches. He vowed never to touch you like that again.

He lied.

Eight months into your relationship and Tom was putting his hands on you almost every night. No alcohol was involved, just his temper. Nothing warranted it, violence can never be condoned. Dinner wasn’t ready he got home? A slap across the face. His flat wasn’t tidy? A punch in the stomach. You went out with a friend? A black eye.

By this point, it was very difficult to maintain the lovely selfies you used to take. If you posted anything, it would be a cover up of how dreadful and controlled your life had become. You weren’t sure you could muster up the strength to even pretend that life was good anymore. Any bruises photographed would raise concerns and there would be unwanted comments posted on social media for the whole world to see, and you neither needed or wanted that. The less attention you drew to the situation, the better.

But tonight, nearing the end of eight months since breaking up with Harry, Tom had gone one step too far. The physical abuse was dreadful enough to experience and nothing condoned his disgusting behaviour, ever. Once your horrific ordeal was over, you ran. You refused to succumb to the darkness that had surrounded your limp body only moments ago. You ran as fast as your legs could carry you. You needed to get to a safe place. Somewhere close enough to get to, but safe all the same.


He was all that was on your mind. How could he see you like this? Would he even be at home?  What if he was with another girl? Would he let you stay the night until things were sorted? Would he judge you? Would he pity you?

Oh, Harry.

You needed him. You weren’t sure that you could ever bring yourself to trust any other man in the world again, but Harry, you trust him with your life. He’s the only man you could ever trust, and your heart shattered into millions of pieces because the one man you really can trust, was also the same man who broke your heart eight months ago.

You pant hard, your heart threatening to pound out of your chest, but the adrenaline pumps around your body harder when you see the apartment alight. So close, so fucking close. As soon as you reach the door, there’s no hesitation in knocking hard and repeatedly. When there is nothing, you bang harder, your fists pounding at the door as tears stream down your face.

“Alright, I’m coming!” you hear his voice yell from inside the building and you know he’s getting closer to the door and your heart pounds harder and faster than ever before. He sounds angry, probably because it’s late and he’s probably working tomorrow but you need a safe space and right now, he’s the only person who can provide that for you.

It seems to take a lifetime, but the door is swung open and Harry’s demeanour changes within an instant. He goes from seemingly pissed off to looking like he’s about to vomit at the sight in front of him, with anger and pity and fear and worry evident in his eyes, emotions taking over his body.

“(Y/N)” he gasps out, catching your petite frame as you collapse into him. Wrapping his arms around you and embracing you tightly, he takes in your features, swallowing the lump formed in his throat. He know’s what’s happened to you and you know that he knows, and he knows that you know he knows, but for one split second as he holds you, no dialogue is needed.

Aries: I often lose hours staring at my hands, wondering why you aren’t in them.
Taurus: I want to know the name of every flower, star, season, and river, just so I’ll have endless ways to talk about you forever.
Gemini: Sometimes the ones closest to your heart are the ones farthest from your touch, and though your eyes are the punctuation I’ve been mixing with my coffee, I always think I’m in love, but I never deserve it.
Cancer: Every time you smile, another star grows its wings, and just like the sun will never be able to touch the ocean floor, sometimes beauty is meant to live in darkness.
Leo: I only break the things I love.
Virgo: Waking up without you is getting old, and the space between not touching hurts, but you are still the only one I want to love.
Libra: Sometimes it can be easier to forgive the person that hurt you, than forgive yourself for letting it happen.
Scorpio: All this gravity in the world, and it always pulls me to you.
Sagittarius: He said he’d do anything to love me, so why did you do nothing to make me stay?
Capricorn: I’m always praying for the sun to not rise if it means I can stay with you longer, but morning is the kiss that doesn’t know the sound of your lips bruising the snow that covers September.
Aquarius: You’re not afraid of loneliness, just of being left alone by yourself.
Pisces: Ever since I met you, I have been unable to feel anyone else.