but everything is insane now

Standing By Your Bedroom Door

A/N: I was kinda in a Sam mood and this is what came out! Loosely based off the song ‘I Should (Have Kissed You Goodnight) by Gloriana’ 

Warnings: Swearing

Sam x Reader, Dean 

Word Count: 1500+

Sam had never felt more frustrated with himself than he did at this very moment. You had just said goodnight, shutting the door to your room and he was still outside it, beating himself up for not having a few seconds of bravery.

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RenéeEliseGoldsberry ‏@reneeelisegolds

Delaware rest stop! #turnup @HamiltonMusical @himynameisemmy @ArianaDeBose @Lin_Manuel @LacketyLac @morgankei

Of Books and Dirty Cash pt 17

Librarian/gangster!Au

Yoongi x Reader

Before you moved to live on campus for college, you had never heard of a librarian who had a reputation for yelling. But not only does Min Yoongi yell, he’s also dangerous, and part of something much, much darker. When curiosity gets the better of you, you end up involved in much more than you bargained for.

You can also read part 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

Warning: This chapter has guns and violence, if you are concerned that it might bother you, please message me! I’d be happy to give you more details or a summary of what happens <3 


You could hear sirens outside. The florescent lights were blinding in the building, especially after being outside. A police officer walked over to you, kneeling down so he was level to where you sat. He was young, a little unsure. He was also the first person to take you seriously. 

“My name’s Jay.” He said. “I just looked over the form you handed in. It says you have hard evidence?”

You nodded. When you walked in, you had tried to talk to the lady sitting behind the counter, and she had handed you a piece of paper to fill out.

“Fill it out and bring it back up. We’ll take it from there.” 

You had tried to tell her it was important, and she had given you a blank stare until you took the clipboard. 

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?” Jay looked sympathetic, and you nodded again. “Look, I’m going to take you into the back and ask you some questions–”

“I want full immunity.” You interrupted, and Jay gave you a small smile.

“You’re not in any trouble. Reporting a crime isn’t committing one.”

You shrugged. “Some of the things I tell you might be incriminating, I don’t know. I want full immunity.”

Jay sighed. “Okay. Wait here, I have to talk to my supervisor.”

It wasn’t long before you found yourself in a room with a one-way mirror, sitting at a table across from Jay and another officer. The women looked bored as she looked at you, the files you brought in with you sitting in the middle of the table.

“I’m sure you understand, we need a recording of what you tell us for the court—“ Jay started, and the women rolled her eyes.

“Quiet, new kid.” She snapped at Jay. “Now you,” She said, looking you dead in the eyes. “You better have a good reason to be here. It’s a felony to report a false crime.”

You fidgeted nervously, hands clasping and unclasping. “Before you look at the files, I want to explain myself.”

“That’s fine.” Jay said, giving you an encouraging smile as he ignored the glare his supervisor gave him.

“I never meant to get involved with any of this. Not gangs, or mafias, or whatever it is that I’ve recently found myself in the middle of.”

“Get to the point.”

You cleared your throat. “I wouldn’t have done this if I thought there was any way around it, so I’m hoping you won’t make me regret that decision. This should count as probable cause to arrest them.” You pushed the files towards the two officers. “I just want to be left alone. I want to know that the people I care about aren’t in danger because of me.” Your thoughts were going a mile a minute, and the silence of the room felt deafening. Would Yoongi forgive you for this? Would he understand that you didn’t have a choice? No, probably not.

Jay opened the file on top and his eyes widened. “How did you get all of this?” He asked. His supervisor finally looked mildly interested and took the paper from him.

“It’s a long story, but I don’t think you need to know that to arrest them.”

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Bradley Will Simpson is a human

He’s living somewhere
He’s breathing air right now

I’m on my own on my bed
breathing air as well

we are doing the same thing

except that he is living a life where I’m not on it
and I am living a life where he is actually the whole part of it

Unexpected Encounter

Pairing: Theo x Reader

Summary: Y/N tries her best to avoid Theo after they encounter last night. However she didn’t expect to run into him in the school gym, and things get slightly heated between them once again.

Originally posted by anexar

Side Note: This is my first every proper imagine, it might not be the best but I’m still learning so don’t judge to harshly ahaha. Anyway I hope you enjoy reading, and feedback is always welcome :)


You were dreading to return to school the next day. Your little encounter with Theo was one you wanted to forget, and you just knew if you saw him he wouldn’t let you forget about the events that took place last night.

You managed to avoid him successful for most of the day, however it was typically the one moment you let your guard down you ran into Theo. You thought going to the school gym to reveal some stress would be the best way to end the day, however what you didn’t anticipate was Theo…standing there, completely and utterly shirtless. You were torn between staying and taking in his muscular body or leaving, whichever you choose you were bond to regret both. But before you could make up your own mind, Theo lifted his head and you swore you saw him with a cocky smirk on his face. “Are you just going to stand there, or are you going to come in?” He asked you, “ I was actually leaving, thank you very much”,“ Oh come on Y/N don’t be like that, I promise I won’t get in your way” he said with a sly smile.

You pondered the thought and even though your mind was basically screaming to walk out the door, your body on the other hand was pushing you towards Theo. So you eventually closed the door and began to take off your jacket, revealing a simple sports bra underneath. The whole time you felt Theo’s eyes on you, and it took everything you had to not punch that smirk right off his face.“Do you mind not staring, it’s rude”, you glared at Theo. “I can’t help that a beautiful girl is standing right in front of me”,“ No! Don’t do that, you have no right to flirt with me…not after everything!” You yelled at him, Theo walked over to you and towered over you with his height “I have no right?!” You could tell that you were making him angry, and you knew that Theo angry was never a good sign. “I think you got that backwards babygirl, or don’t you remember last night?”. And there it was, there was the thing you’ve been avoiding the entire day. If he was going to play this game, you were going to show him that you played better.

Without a second thought you pushed Theo against the door, you could see in his eyes that you caught him way off guard. “Alright listen here Raeken”, you demanded “What happened last night was a big mistake, and I’ll never let it happen again”. You were angry and he could see that, after a minute of silence and long heavy eye contact between each other, Theo grabbed you and now you were the one against the door he ignored that surprised look on your face and said “ Say what you want Y/N but we both know that you’ll be back in my arms. You can’t resist me and truth be told I can’t stay away from you, you drive me insane with everything that you do babygirl”. Now it was your turn to be surprised, before you could reply Theo started talking again, “The good girl falls for the bad boy, it’s a classic story don’t you think? Stop trying to run away from this, you and I both know that we’re better together”.

And just like that Theo grabbed his jacket and left you standing there absolutely speechless, and the only thing that was running through your head was the feeling of wanting Theo’s lips on your skin, and his body so close to yours again. He was right you couldn’t resist him, and you hated yourself for that.

anonymous asked:

Did Mina kiss on Jeongyeon's lip?

Still not sure, it sure as hell looks like it but possible they just came close

{I’m very sorry I’ve been insanely busy working a major assignment, everything should be good now though. But anyway here’s all the asks from yesterday and this morning}

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Avenging Angel: Part 9

Summary: You’ve spent the last five years on a dangerous mission to solve the crime that wrongly imprisoned your father. When the Winchesters find you half-frozen on the side of a mountain, they make it their own mission to save your life and make sure you stay alive. But after five years of uncovering horribly dark secrets, you’ve learned not to trust anyone. Especially people who seem like they have good intentions.

Word Count: 1591

Warnings: None

A/N: Guys, I am so exhausted today. We got so much snow over the last few days that it took my roommate and I two hours, a trip to three stores to find a shovel, a snowplow, and her mechanic grandpa to dig our cars out of the snow. We were both late for work and we were both icicles. But hey! Now I have a better idea of how cold the reader was in the beginning!!

Part 1Part 2Part 3Part 4 Part 5Part 6Part 7 – Part 8


Quentin walked in and you tossed the rag you were using to wipe down tables at Kallista. “Taking my fifteen.”

After grabbing the order that Quentin had texted you a few minutes ago, you led him to a booth. It had been a month since you started working here, and despite your agenda, Quentin and you had actually become friends.

“I went on a date last night,” you started while he took a bite of his sandwich.

“Oh yeah? How’d it go?”

“He didn’t even know who Cyndi Lauper is. How can I be friends with someone, much less say yes to a second date if they don’t know that girls just want to have fun?”

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Alone (2)

prologue; part one; part two; part three; part four; part five; part six; part seven; part eight; part nine; part ten; part eleven; part twelve; part thirteen; part fourteen; part fifteen; part sixteen; part seventeen; part eighteen; epilogue.

As soon as you opened the door to your tiny apartment, you dropped everything and headed straight for your bedroom, not bothering to wash up or find pyjamas to put on. Instead you just stripped down to your underwear and climbed under the inviting sheets, letting your head find the pillows with ease. You pulled the sheets up to your chin and closed your eyes, feeling the pull of sleep already.

On the brink of dreamland, your mind echoed the drunk man’s voice again. “I’ve found you,” your mind replayed over and over again in his low gentle voice. No matter how hard you fought, you just couldn’t get Park Chanyeol out of your head. When you closed your eyes, he was there – his face a perfect image behind your eyelids. Instead of hearing the early morning noise outside your window, his voice was all you heard. Your fingers still tingled with sensation from when they had touched his hand.

Even as sleep consumed you, Park Chanyeol was there in your dreams. Sometimes it was just his voice echoing out from the shadows. Other times it was his face in front of you, close enough for you to see every feature of his face and yet you still couldn’t reach it no matter how hard you tried. Every time you got close, you’d wake up in hot sweats with the worst headache.

After hours of wrestling between being asleep and awake, you finally gave up on trying to sleep and kicked the sheets off your body. “Why can’t I sleep?” you exclaimed in annoyance, clambering out of bed and grabbing your short silk robe off the back of your door.

You felt absolutely terrible, not just exhausted from the lack of sleep but your whole body hurt. Your head felt like it was cracked open with the worst headache and your limbs ached, all the way from the joints in your wrists to the muscles in your legs. You didn’t feel this bad when you left work earlier: why did you suddenly feel horrible?

Even your hands were shaking. It was as if you were going through caffeine withdrawal again.

Heading into your little kitchen, you filled up the kettle and started getting everything ready for a hot chocolate. Your movements were slow and sluggish but you were hoping a hot chocolate would make you feel better. While you waited for the water to boil, you leaned across the counter with your head on your arms.

I need to find her,” the drunk stranger’s voice reverberated in your head, this time sounding desperate.

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Gust of Wind - Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Originally posted by wintersoulja

Words: 1019
Pairing: Pietro Maximoff x Reader
Featuring: Wanda
Warnings: swearing, fighting, fluff
Requested by @maximoffweasley via messages
Maybe like the reader is a normal civilian and she is organizing books at the bookstore and it’s about to be attacked by hydra and Pietro goes in to save her but she is stubborn because she has to finish her job and after he saved her, she’s very grateful. And of course he’s a flirty cocky shit about it xD
Authors Note: i honestly dont have much to say but ive been really busy lately and i should probably get some more sleep. I love Pietro.

Masterlist


“We get a lot of weird people in here,” Your boss told you on the first day you started your new job, “Don’t listen to a word they say. They’re usually trying to get you out of the store so they can either take stuff from in here, or take stuff from you. You’re safe in here, just don’t listen to some people.” She told you.

“Okay?” You replied. It’s a bookstore, how bad can it be? “I’ll be sure to take care of that?”

Every time someone new entered the store, you tended to remember the conversation from with your boss. You now worked there for a few months, and nothing strange happened. Sure, there was an occasional drunk trying to buy a book, but that could happen anywhere. No one ever came up to you and tried to get you out of the store, unlike your boss said.

Usually, the store had a few people in it at a time. But today, it seemed like a ghost town; not many people were even outside. Was something going on?

Opposite to your thoughts, you started to take inventory of the store and stock the books that needed to be placed on display or re-located. Over the months you had been at the bookstore, you grew to love it more than you thought you could. It became one of your favorite places to be, even if your boss was a little whacky.

You usually kept to your side of town, not venturing too far into the city. You never went near Stark Tower or anything related to the Avengers, as you actually didn’t believe in many of them. Sometimes, it all looked too much like a popularity and false hope stunt; it was hard to believe it was real. A god, a super soldier, enhanced people? It was all too strange for you.

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Brilliantly Mad or Madly Brilliant? (Probably Neither)

Pre Content Note: Once upon a time, I wrote every day… for hours. Writing was the only thing that brought me emotional relief. Thanks to my struggles with addiction and co-dependency, I stopped writing for years. This is the first time I have written my thoughts and put them into the great unknown of the interwebs in over ten years. Please bear with me as I re-adjust to self expression. 

Brilliantly Mad or Madly Brilliant?

(Probably Neither)

Content Note (it seems like everything has a content note now): I use the word crazy, mad, insane, etc. a lot in here. I can use those words, because I wear them with a badge of honor now. YOU cannot call me those words because most likely I will revert to old behaviors and kick you with my steel toed boot. There are a few people who CAN call me those words, because they’re my crazy-soul sisters, and well, apparently the pot CAN call the kettle black. It’s like the word bitch, but we’ll save that for another time.

My wonderful fiance just got back from food shopping about an hour ago (he is someone I once would have avoided due to him seemingly being perfectly normal [and also not being a slightly emotionally abusive a-hole who makes my life worse rather than better]). Anyway, my seemingly normal, wonderful fiance went grocery shopping, paid for all the food he will end up cooking for us this week (because I once dated one of those above mentioned emotionally abusive a-holes who I cooked for constantly and he wouldn’t so much as make me toast. I now have a severe resistance to cooking for everyone, which has lead to a general distaste for cooking at all, including myself) and then went in the bathroom after lugging all the food into the kitchen. Being the “helpful” type (and mostly recognizing how little I actual fucking contribute to this household), I put my book down, went in the kitchen, and started to put the groceries away. I did that for about five minutes until I spied a bag of apples and immediately had a flash of frustration, leading to anger, leading to shame/guilt, which resulted in me screaming “FUCK” at the top of my lungs and prompting beginning to cry.

This seemingly innocent bag of apples, bought most likely because earlier in the day I mentioned wanting to try and eat healthier, sent me into a tailspin as we already have a bag of uneaten apples in the fridge and WHY THE FUCK WOULD YOU BUY A BAG OF APPLES WHEN WE ALREADY HAVE A BAG OF APPLES?! Mostly likely because when it falls on you to do all the food shopping and cooking, and your fiance mentioned wanting to eat healthier, you tried to provide something healthy for all, and nice for me, and didn’t have time to check to see if we already had apples because you dropped me off at home so I wouldn’t have to go food shopping.

So this bag of apples sends me into a spiral because I got frustrated and angry over already having apples when I suddenly realized I was being ungrateful (which translates in my mind to selfish, pathetic, lazy bitch). Focus on the mind translation. I pretty much tell myself everyday some sort of hateful put down, and in the moment of this put down, I became so overwhelmed that I ran into the bedroom to hide.

Well hey, at least I tried right? Well, no because trying in my mind is not good enough, but more on that at another time.

I have Bipolar II Disorder, Generalized Anxiety Disorder with panic, possibly ADD, and a few other diagnoses I’d rather keep to myself right now (because if I post this and my family reads it the shame bell will start tolling after me like a naked Cersei in Game of Thrones, and I’d rather not have human waste and, ironically, apples thrown at me, while I stroll down the back alleys of my mind naked). Things that are routine for most people can be extremely difficult for me. Things like putting the goddamned groceries away, or answering your phone when someone you love is on the line, or taking in the mail (although I assume most people don’t really go through their mail the day it comes anyway, SHAME!), or enjoying free time, or making the most out of free time, or… well you get the point.

Recently I finished reading the book Furiously Happy by Jenny Lawson (aka The Blogess) which my best friend sent me last year after a particularly difficult time that I won’t write about on here because again, family and that shame bell. Furiously Happy is basically a memoir about a woman with several mental health diagnoses telling funny stories about all the nonsensical things she has done. Cute, harmless nonsensical things, like having taxidermied racoons and other animals that she dresses up or uses to scare people. It’s a good book, funny and troubling at once, but I’m not here to review her book, you can do that through a simple Google search. I’m here to say WHY THE FUCK CAN’T I BE ONE OF THOSE BRILLIANTLY GIFTED MAD PEOPLE?! You know, the ones who are either as bat shit crazy as I am, or more so, but TALENTED (please don’t go proceed to tell me my talents, your attempts at making me feel better about myself only make me feel worse, plus I’m not looking for compliments or validation).

A running joke between my friend who bought me the book and I is a simple fact that we both have mental health struggles but don’t have any of the perks that some forms of mental illness can bring. Example: I have Bipolar II (which is a lesser form of Bipolar I that pretty much means I don’t get manic and start seeing or hearing things and might be a possible danger to myself or others) that is most likely caused by a chemical imbalance in my brain (along with some shit experiences growing up) that makes my mood cycle between depression and hypomania. Depression and hypomania are different for everyone. Some people have the type of hypomania where they can go to sleep later than usual and still feel refreshed in the morning, make a list of all the things they want to get done and then go do them, skip meals, skip coffee, and after doing all the things on their list clean the whole fucking house until it sparkles, and eventually tiredness kicks in. This can go on for days or weeks until the crash, when the depression starts. Or maybe if you’re lucky there will be a lull in the storm and you’ll have a few weeks or months of feeling balanced.

My hypomania is different. I would LOVE to have the above type of hypomania where I make up for all my lost time being depressed: run a half marathon, start writing a book, join an activist group and fight for change, organize the apartment, and feel JUST SO FUCKING GREAT ABOUT MYSELF AND MY LIFE BEFORE THE DEPRESSION KICKS IN! Alas, no. My hypomania goes like this: my depression lifts (yay!), I feel fine for a while before anxiety kicks in (Shit, I say to myself because I know the hypomania is next), now here it is and I’m irritated, restless, can’t sleep but always tired, unable to concentrate, easily overwhelmed, crawling out of my skin feeling like my brain is going to explode until I end up crying to one of the few people who understand my kinda crazy or go hide in my bed, make myself meditate and hope I can take a nap (for you pesky mental health professionals out there reading this shaking your head saying “Sleeping during the day is avoidance,” you can just stop your tsk-tsking because most likely you don’t have a mental health struggle, or if you do it’s one that isn’t complex and is easily mended with a pill or two, exercise and a healthy diet [oh yeah, and fuck you because not all of us are that lucky]). When my hypomania kicks, it feels like the only thing that will save me from my brain and my thoughts is laying in bed not moving at all, forcing myself to listen to some bland YouTube meditation, and nap. But I digress, back to my main complaint:

Why is it that I can’t have that Beautiful Mind type of crazy? Or the Van Gough type of crazy (I’d give up an ear any day for his mad [no pun intended, but maybe it will give one of you a laugh] painting skills)? Or the Syd Barrett type of crazy where I start one of the best fucking bands of all time (but then get kicked out because I’m a little too crazy for my normiebandmates [sorry, Roger Waters, I love you but you’re also kind of a dick])? Or my favorite, the Dr. Marsha Linehan type of crazy who went on to develop a totally new type of therapy and is a world renowned psychologist?

Enough of the “why”, I’m starting to just sound whiny and complainy (which isn’t a word but whatever). My point is, there are many of us who don’t have that brilliantly gifted types of madness that we would do almost anything to possess. There’s the brilliantly mad, the mad, and then the space-ships-are-coming-to-eat-my-ear-wax mad. I’m just mad… and that makes me mad (and resentful and a slew of other emotions I won’t bother acknowledging because there’s no point in it). So many of us fall into that “high functioning mentally ill” label that no one has time for, cares about, or understands. You have to be on one end of the spectrum or the other for people to actually give a fuck about your experiences. Then their concern is either, “my, my, that one really should be looked after” or “my, my, that one is bonkers but he composes a damn good sonata”.

“High functioning mentally ill”. Well, fuck. The only ones who understand it are the ones who are labelled with it. We have our diagnoses, we see our therapists or psychiatrists, and we get to work and school on time because no one wants to hear “my depression is really bad right now and I can’t sleep very well except it the morning”. Because grit. Because we shouldn’t use our illness as an “excuse”. Because we need to “power through it”. Because we need to “look on the bright side, so many people have it worse than you” (reality is subjective, people! Do we still need to be saying this??). Look- work, school, and society all has its demands, some reasonable, some not, and most of us are expected to fulfill those demands (more on that too at another time), but what happens to us when that “high functioning mental illness” suddenly becomes semi-functioning? Or worse, the secret dread we all carry: low functioning.

American culture and society doesn’t have a place for that. Most people like to ignore the mad part of us and focus on the functioning part of us. Then when we aren’t functioning as they expect, we either aren’t trying hard enough, are deemed unfit to complete our job successfully (BOOM! FIRED!), or looked at as some kind of failure for not keeping our crazy under control. This only serves to make us feel more ashamed of our struggles, worsening our symptoms, becoming riddled with guilt for not being able to overcome these struggles (as if we broke a bone and failed to go to physical therapy and now can’t walk), and circles back to my original idea of wishing we could be brilliantly mad or madly brilliant. For me this ends up with isolating myself from embarrassment and increased anxiety, or trying to slap and smile on my face, work extra hard, and end up dizzy at the end of the day because I have no spoons left (if you haven’t heard of Spoon Theory, look it up). That’s followed by many a sleepless night (sorry, Bernie) until the sun comes up and I do it all over again. Eventually either of the two options leave me more depressed than ever and wishing it would all just go away (I can’t say wishing I would die because again.. SHAME!).

I don’t know what the point of writing any of this was. I don’t know if any of it makes sense. I may share it with a couple of the very few amount of people I trust who just intuitively get my kind of crazy. I might go ahead and post it somewhere. I might, may, possibly, keep writing about some of these themes, because, why not? Writing has saved my life in the past, and writing isn’t something I’ve felt inspired enough to do in a long time.

 

Things to write about next:

Beautiful Intelligent Tough Capable Human (aka BITCH)

HOW THE FUCK DID YOU SUDDENLY BECOME SO NORMAL?!

Crazies Prefer Cats

Professional Crazies Helping Other Crazies and Why We Kick Ass at Doing it

“I’d rather have a bottle in front of me than a frontal lobotomy” and Other Frowned Upon Coping Skills

YOU’RE NOT HELPING BY SAYING THAT!

Why My Bar is so High and Yours is so Low (aka FUCK OFF)

You’ll Be Safe

Request

hi would you write an imagine where y/n gets an anxiety attack while michael is on stage but the backstage people don’t tell him because he’s in the middle of a show but when he sees her after and she tells him why her makeup is smeared and she’s sad he gets pissed and it’s all fluff??? sorry this is so so long! ily

Michael x Reader

Triggers; anxiety, heartbreak

Please read at your own risk about things as serious as anxiety attacks and feelings of depression. I frequently have panic attacks and so this writing about them is coming personally from me. If you have triggers, then I have other stories if you’d like to read them. Remember, you all are shining lights in this world, and if you’re in pain, I’m always here to talk. Ok, on to the story.


Watching Michael on stage was always the highlight of me visiting him on tour. The way his hands moved flawlessly on his guitar, the way the veins in his neck protruded when he sang higher and more powerful notes, and the way he always put his sweat, blood, and tears into every show. Lately the fans have been cheering on the guys to the point where they all cry, and I’ve seen a few tears slip Mikey’s eyes since. It’s an honor to stand here while a legend is going out on stage every night doing what he loves and making people happy about it. And I’m proud to say that legend is now mine.

However, I’m not the only one here for Michael. His ex fling Crystal is still here on tour with them. For a reason that I don’t know, but she sticks around the guys all the time and won’t go back home, but will stay here and follow them around. Even when I go back home, she stays, making sure to try and move in on Michael. I trust him though, and I know that what they had is done, because well, he met me. She often sends me death stares from the backstage couch while the show is going on, and will whisper something in Arzaylea’s ear, both of them looking at me, and proceed to laugh very obnoxiously. It makes me nervous, and it makes my heart beat faster and my skin start to burn up. I could feel my face heating and the feeling of vomit building up in my throat. Quite often I get anxiety attacks. Not just because of her and Arzaylea, but because she triggers feelings inside of me that I tried to suppress when I was in high school. I was bullied everyday, from the timeI walked into the school by the time my car was out of the perimeter. Girls would spit in my face and laugh at me down the hall, one girl even beat me up in the bathroom and it ended with me lying on the tile floor with a bloody nose and busted lip. Boys would often call me ugly, weird, and fat. And sometimes even push up against the lockers or dump their food and drink on me. They hurt me so bad that I ended up dropping out of high school my senior year and did it online, which in my opinion was the best decision I had ever made for myself.

When I met Michael, all those feelings of isolation and being unloved went away. He made me feel like I was a part of something, that I was needed, and that someone finally cared about me and stuck with me despite what others said about me, and the mistakes I’ve made. He accepted me, and then, fell in love with me. As I smiled at him on stage singing his heart and lungs out as ‘Jet Black Heart’ started, I felt another presence behind me. A tap on my shoulder, and I turned around to be faced with my worst enemy.

“You know he still loves me right?” She tried caressing my hair but I smacked her hand away, with a disgusted face and turned back to watching Michael. I heard her chuckle, but my actions didn’t stop her, and she proceeded to talk in my ear.

“He only got with you because he felt sorry for you, because he knew about your whole high school drama that went down, and the reason why all the kids hated you.” I felt the fimilar feeling of burning in my skin start again, and my vision and hearing began to fade slowly, remembering the terrible memories.

“I know all about it too you know. How you slept with some guy you barely even knew at a party, and he ended up getting you pregnant. So you decided to abort it, and that’s why everybody bullied you so bad. Because you’re a slut, because you’re a sleep around, and you’re unsafe and gross. Michael knows it too, he’s just waiting until you’re better again. So why don’t you get out of here while you still can, and stop embarassing yourself. Your baby is probably up there right now seeing how big of a whore her mother is-“ and with that I shoved her, so hard she hit the ground and bashing her head into the floor. I felt my food I had eaten earlier start to come back up again, and I ran straight for the bathroom. In Michael’s dressing room bathroom, I began puking profusely, missing the toilet a couple times because it kept coming out. It was almsot as if the emotions I had hidden deep within myself was now coming back out all at once and it was a lot. My face was burning red, while my eyes cried out enough water to fill a swimming pool. My forehead pounded on all sides, making me begin to vomit more. As I held onto the toilet, I thought about the moment I found out that fuckboy of a jock roofied me, had sex with me, and didn’t even have the decency to wrap himself up. Nobody believed me when I told them that, and the next day when I threw up in the middle of class, everybody knew that I was pregnant. I was called every bad name in the book, and that’s when it all started.

This was how my body reacted to that, it put itself in anxious mode, and tried to physically let it all out, ergo the vomitting, crying, etc. Everyone, including Arz and Crystal, know of my anxiety attacks, and so I’m guessing this is Crystal’s way of making me leave the tour. She might just get her wish.

For what seemed like hours I sat with my back against the bathroom door, huffing and puffing trying to control my breathe, while my hands and legs shook making it hard to sit still. I kept crying, even when I told myself to stop I just couldn’t. I kept checking the time making sure I would look okay when Michael came off stage so he wouldn’t worry about me. He tends to get a little upset when I get like this, definitely not because of my anxiety attacks alone, but because he’s upset with himelf for not being there enough to stop them. I could never blame him for not being able to calm me down fast enough, anxiety is not easy to kill.

I heard harsh banging coming from the door about a half hour later, my breathing and crying still going on. I quickly got up on my shaking legs to open the door, and saw my beautiful man with fear in his eyes ready to pull me into him. My legs immediately gave out, and he caught me into his chest, rubbing my back. I continued to cry into his sweat stained muscle tank.

“Baby, baby what’s going on. Is this another anxiety attack?” He asked frantically, but my only response was a nod, too choked up to say anything.

“Hey, hey hey it’s going to be okay, you just need to tell me what happened ok.” He sat me back down on the floor, and pulled me into his lap. He brought his shirt up my face to wipe the flowing tears, and I swallowed down the vomit still wanting to come back up.

“C-Crystal…mentioned m-my preg…pregnancy…my abor-abortion…I couldn’t, I couldn’t take it Michael!” It was so hard for me to speak, my breathe not even coming out anymore, but only sharp short breathes. Michael punched the wall behind us, leaving me on the ground huddled into myself.

“That’s it, I’m kicking her off the tour. She has no right you were drugged! And that guy didn’t even have the mentality to put a condom on knowing damn well he’d get you pregnant!” He began walking out of the room, before I grabbed his arm to stop him. Still on shakey knees, I stood up.

“Just, take me to the bus first. I need to get out of here.”

Michael laid me down in his bunk, with more blankets and pillows to keep me comfortable. He also brought me a pad and pencil, knowing I like to draw to keep my mind occupied after an attack. He was currently making tea for me as well.

“I’m going to kick her off. She isn’t even a friend to me or the guys anymore, only to Arzaylea, but that’s not enough for me to want her here. You’ll be safe ok. Just draw and wait for me here to get back. Text me if you need anything.” And he kissed my forehead before disappearing off the bus. Hearing the sound of the bus being packed, and feeling the smoke rise out of the tea, I began drawing mindlessly. I was still feeling insanely sick, but for now, everything was dying down and I was starting to feel something I haven’t in a long time. Good.

Unfinished Business Part 19

BTS Gang AU
 

Genre: action, fluff, angst, strong language, +18 content, gang material,

Read to find out who the reader will end up with. There will be several chapters of this so I hope you’re ready to die and anticipate many things. <3 love youuuu (don’t hate me)

Word count:2089

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Shitty Business

Jack Zimmermann, Eric Bittle, Shitty Knight

Jack and Bitty deal with the aftermath of the kegster, in their individual ways.

Jack pulled into a gas station a couple of miles from the Haus, but didn’t get out immediately when he stopped at the pump.  Instead, he groaned, leaning back in his seat and running his hands over his face wearily. It was bizarre to think that twenty minutes ago, he’d been in Bittle’s room, his arms full of sweet boy, and now…

Now he felt like six kinds of shit.

I don’t have a girlfriend.

It hadn’t been a lie, not really.  At least, not once he’d amended it.  He didn’t have a girlfriend.  What he had was an amazing boyfriend…that he couldn’t tell anyone about.

Maybe he should have told Shitty.  Told Mister “I’m gonna double major in gender issues because I’m a secret enlightened genius”.  But while he loved Shitty, absolutely, Shitty was easily his best friend, Shitty was also a fucking loud mouthed prick, especially when he was drunk.  Tonight had only been more evidence of that.  He meant well, but all Jack needed was for him to say the wrong thing at the wrong time, around the wrong people, and his whole future could be in the toilet, again.

So he’d always just…made the same appearances with Shitty that he had with everyone else–the team, the media, hell, himself half the time.  Let them believe in the projection when he went to Winter Screw with Camilla, when he said he didn’t have time for girls.  And since he hadn’t been looking for anything anyway, had no reason to think it’d be worth the risk, that had been easier than the truth.  Even the shit he took for it didn’t matter, the demands for “deets” that didn’t exist after every date, because it’s not like there was anything to hide, because he just…didn’t have anything going on.

Then Bittle happened. Bits, with his smile and support, his pies, his humor and sweetness, his…well, he was hot, too.  That didn’t hurt.  And he’d tried to avoid it, because he’d…been down that road, and it hadn’t ended well.  He still wasn’t completely rid of that mess, if that kegster last year was any indication.  But then it had, and it…didn’t hurt.  Not when they were together.  All the nights in his apartment–in bed, on his couch, watching Bitty move around his kitchen, looking so…right–were more than he’d…ever thought he’d have. Bitty–that small, skinny forward, who’d brought a pie to first skate and fainted if he thought he’d get hit–was so much more than Jack ever thought he’d have in a partner.

He could breathe with Bitty, easier than he ever remembered being able to before.  Bitty made everything that had been so hard was just…not, anymore.

And because of that, everything that had been easy was suddenly fucking impossible.  Because Shitty cornering him like that wasn’t new, he always pulled shit like that, and he’d back off eventually when Jack made it clear there wasn’t…anything to dig up.  But now there was, and that was Bitty, the boy who made everything easy, who’d looked like his world had crumpled when Jack said he wasn’t dating.

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anonymous asked:

When I look for book 3 on ibooks it says August 2017, but amazon says January 2018? 😊

because it was originally going to be out in august but now it has changed to january 2018 because everything’s a bit insane at my publisher right now lol

“I’m so OCD over…” “OCD is like the best mental illness” “Just stop doing it and it won’t be a problem.”

No.

Obsessive compulsive disorder is not an adjective, it’s not at all desired, not everyone is a “little OCD”, and if it was as simple to just stop I promise nobody would be suffering like they do.

Let me just tell you something. OCD sucks more than you could ever imagine. There is nothing pleasant or quirky about this mental illness. It is so far from just being organized and if you ever think or say those things above please realize you’re a part of the greater problem of those uneducated on and glorying mental illnesses. 

As far back as I can remember my life has been personally affected by this disorder. I remember when I was very young I loved stuffed animals. Whenever I would go to the store and pick out a new one which ever one I first picked up I had to get, no matter if there was a hole in it or something else wrong with it. In my head at that young age it I thought to myself that the toys somehow had feelings and something bad would happen if I didn’t pick the first one I laid eyes on. This is such an innocent repercussion but as I aged so did the backing thoughts.

Another compulsion I had at a young age, which I still suffer from a slight aversion, that is when in stores if I thought about touching something I had to touch it. Often with both hands or which ever way felt “right.” I would go around touching clothes, clothes racks, displays - really anything my mind told me I had to. This is when my parents became aware of what was going on. Before finding out it was in fact OCD I remember my mom once telling me to “stop doing that, people are going to think something is wrong with you.” That’s how noticeable it was. 

As I got older intrusive thoughts intensified. Compulsions changed and as did the ideas behind them. They became much more serious. Now, if I don’t preform a task I’m not worried about hurting a toys feelings, but more along the lines of closest my family and friends dying in a violent car crash or whatever my mind conjures up. 

Now please tell my how cute and quirky a girl who has to push in all the chairs, measure the length or her doors cracked open before bed and turn the door knobs in a certain pattern, click the home button on her phone a certain amount of times and closing her eyes until the screen locks, pray for twenty minutes making sure nothing is missed, connect all the letters when writing anything, lining up things with the cracks on school desks, turning light switches on and off, check locks 12 times, and doing whatever her mind tells her she has to is. It’s not. At all. Nobody loves someone who has to do all that. Nobody. It would be annoying as hell to deal with, I know. But imagine what’s going on inside her mind and now she has to do her best to conceal everything but in this world today she is insane. 

Now intrusive thoughts can make a person feel completely dehumanized. It’s like your brain speaking for its self and you can’t control it. It takes far to long for those suffering with OCD that it is not their fault their brain is picturing horrible images and telling you to kill yourself, kill others, jump off that bridge, do something. Do something to satisfy the thoughts so distant from who you are.

There’s so much more to be said but I don’t even know where to start.

So yeah, next time you say you’re so OCD over something remember that there are people living through the hell that is this mental illness. You are mocking the fact that this illness is simply being organized or clean when in fact it’s debilitating, incredibly hard to live with, and even harder to overcome. With that being said it is possible.  

If you learn anything from this post OCD is not a fucking adjective.