fast and far

The Party part 12/?

L: Oh yeah? I WILL enjoy the rest of the party!!!

L: ugh, stupid Keith, I run all over for like an hour looking for him and this is how he thanks me, Unbelievable 

L: that thing on his face look painful though, how the hell did he manage to get a burn like that? I hope he knows where the burn cream is….

L: Although, even if he did know where it was, it would be hard to bandage an injury like that on your own.

L: (don’t chase after him don’t chase after him don’t chase….)

L: dammit

L: The hell? How’d he manage to get that far, he must of bolted.

instagram

“What’s it like?”

“Depression?”

“Yeah,” he replied.

“It’s like having a nightmare, but being awake through it all. You know when the monsters start chasing you, and you try to run away, but you just can’t seem to run fast enough or far enough. Every direction you turn, a new monster appears.

Or like, when you’re having one of those dreams where you’re falling, terrified you’ll hit the ground, but then you wake up, and you’re fine.

Depression is a lot like that, except, I don’t wake up. I just keep running and falling. And one day, the monsters will take me or I’ll hit the ground.

There’s just no waking up from this.”

—  excerpt from a book I’ll never write.

anonymous asked:

10 and Clexa

Clarke wasn’t sure how it had come to this, how it got this far. When things shifted, began to crack and crumble instead of grow. When respect turned to resentment. When admiration turned to envy. When desire turned to dry indifference, to disappointment, to disdain. When love flew too fast, too far, too high; when it touched the sun and burned. Fell into the sea.

She could still feel the sinking, so heavy in her bones, so thick in her lungs. It punctuated every sentence, decorated every inch of space. It lived in the silences, in the short clips of response. In the lack of touch. In the boxes stacked in the kitchen by the garage door, each labeled in thick black marker. Lexa’s boxes. Lexa’s things. Lexa.

Their life together packed into thirteen boxes.

A few pieces of furniture piled in the garage.

“The movers will be here tomorrow morning, so please open the door for them.”

“What do you think?” Clarke stared at a naked spot on the wall as she curled into the arm of the couch, a steaming mug of coffee pressed under her nose. Her voice held no emotion, not a hint of care. It was dry, monotone. Dead. “That I’m going to refuse to let them take your stuff? You think I’m that petty?”

She couldn’t see Lexa by the garage door, but she could hear her keys jingle in her hand. Could hear her feet shuffle once in place. Could perfectly picture her green eyes cast toward the ceiling, arms crossed over her chest.

“I think, given recent months, yes,” Lexa said, voice even. As hollow as Clarke’s. “Yes, you certainly can be that petty.”

“Wow.”

“Clarke,” Lexa said. “Don’t start this. I am not in the mood.”

“You never are.”

The sigh that squeezed through Lexa’s lips, heavy and tired, made Clarke close her eyes. For the first time in so terribly long, she felt a spark in her chest at the sound. Painful. Burning. She hated it.

“I am leaving, Clarke. Can we not do this? It’s done. We are done. There is no sense in continuing to argue with one another. After today, you will never have to see me again.”

“Is that what you think I want?”

“That’s what I think is best,” Lexa said, walking around from the kitchen into the living room. She stood in front of the couch, and Clarke could feel her gaze boring into the top of her head. Still, she didn’t look up. “And yes, I think it’s what you want.”

“Because you know me so well?” Clarke rolled her eyes, clutched her coffee tighter to her chest.

“I’m leaving.”

“So go.”

“I will.”

Lexa huffed and then turned on her heel and walked toward the front door, and Clarke lifted her head just enough to watch her go. “I never wanted this, you know,” she said, and then with a deep breath, her shoulders caved. Dropped. Relaxed. Her body curled in and down, and she shook her head, her long hair falling down to curtain her face. “I never wanted us to hate one another.”

That spark ignited in Clarke’s chest again, and she felt her eyes begin to sting with tears. Suddenly, this was real. So real. Too real. It was happening, right this moment. Right now, and she felt it. She felt it. 

Licking her lips, she set her coffee on the table beside the couch. Slowly, she uncurled and sat up. Rubbing at her eyes, she said, “I don’t hate you, Lexa.”

Nothing but silence followed, one aching, stretched-out moment of silence that felt like hands pushing at the insides of Clarke’s chest. Stretching her ribs. Forcing space.

And then, “Your behavior says differently.” Lexa turned to lean her back against the door.

“You’re leaving.”

“I know.”

“So, I didn’t want to feel that. I don’t want to feel that,” Clarke said, allowing herself to be vulnerable in this one moment. “I don’t even want to think about it, and I know, I know, that this isn’t your fault. It’s both of us. We … we haven’t been good to each other, haven’t been good for one another, in a long time. But I never thought it would end like … I never–”

“Neither did I.”

Clarke looked up, caught Lexa’s gaze for the first time in what felt like years. “It hurts.”

Licking her lips, Lexa blinked, eyes visibly wet in the low light of the living room. She gave one swift nod, swiped a hand over her cheek, and then tucked her arms over her chest again. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said, shaking her head. “For everything.”

“So am I.”

“For everything.” Clarke wiped at her eyes, pressed her hand to her throbbing forehead. “But mostly for not treating you the way I should have. For making you fall out of love with me.”

A shaky, frustrated, worn sigh crawled up from Lexa’s throat and out, and she turned back toward the door. Put her back to Clarke. Put her hand on the doorknob. “I never fell out of love with you, Clarke,” she said, pressing her forehead to the edge of the door. “I love you so much I feel like I’m tearing in two.” 

Clarke’s head snapped up at those words, her heart surging in her chest. “Lexa.”

“But this,” Lexa said, voice cracking around the words. “Us.” She shook her head and pulled the door open, the orange light of sunset spilling in. “We don’t deserve each other anymore. We deserve better.”

She stepped out the door, and Clarke jolted. Panic ripped through her chest, and she was on her feet before she could talk herself out of it. Before she could even process it at all. Hands curled into fists, she cried, “Wait! Lexa, wait!”

The door stalled, Lexa hovering just outside it, her back still turned to Clarke.

“I–” Clarke’s voice croaked through, died, and then flourished again. “I don’t want … Lexa, please.” When Lexa turned just enough to look at her, Clarke swallowed down the lump in her throat. Swallowed down her pride. Swallowed down months of ache and awful and said, “Don’t leave me alone.”

Testosterone, week 10

Wow, ten weeks already.  That went fast.  Observations so far:

- You get used to needles.  I haven’t gotten to liking them, but once the physical sensation becomes familiar and predictable, it gets a lot less frightening.

- It’s hard to observe emotional changes in yourself.  I don’t know if there are any huge ones?  The stereotypical changes with T are being horny and angry, but… did you ever meet me before?

- My voice is changing!!!  Somewhat.  It’s still within the range you could read as “female,” it’s just deeper than it used to be.  As is true at any pitch, a lot depends on how I use it.  I find that speaking in the flat, grumbly tones of a surly teenage boy is the most consistently “male” sounding, but also kind of makes me sad, so.  I’ll file it away as a skill that may be useful at some times, but that I don’t want to make the New Me.

- There is no New Me.  That’s one of the things I intellectually knew, but am facing for real now.  I’m changing, but there is no point in this process in which my old physicality evaporates and is replaced with some sort of prototypical male.  It’s a little frustrating, a little comforting.

- I don’t have much acne.  There was a little bit of a zitsplosion when I first started T, but it wasn’t bad and it’s already calming down.  My two biggest fears about going on T (okay, third and fourth biggest, after “hate crimes” and “suddenly and inexplicably realizing I wanted to be a woman all along”) were acne and vaginal atrophy, and both of those seem to not be happening.

- I still have almost zero facial and body hair.  I wonder if that won’t change. I was always pretty low on body hair, and maybe I just don’t have the genes for it.  I’m okay with that.

- My face is changing!  It’s hard to say exactly how.  It’s a very subtle gradation, not a WHAM, but it’s changing.  I look just a tiny bit different in the mirror.  And that’s maybe the most frightening and exciting thing of all.  This is not imaginary.  This is not a game a girl is playing.  I am real and these changes are real and this is awesome.

- Wow does my sweat smell bad.

Waste Not Want Not

Working for a fast food establishment was far from the kind of job Kevin wanted after he graduated college.  His parents always told him he needed to be more serious about his studies or he’d end up flipping burgers, and now here he was.  But having to watch even his more accomplished friends finds jobs served as a constant reminder that it certainly beat unemployment.  That kept him from getting too down about the rude customers, the heat behind the counter, the low pay, and his supervisor, Hank.

Hank and Kevin worked together during the closing shifts.  He looked to be in his late twenties, but having worked there part-time during his own college years gave him the clout the have moved into management about a year before Kevin started.  He wasn’t precisely an unkind supervisor, and Kevin had worked for worse.  He was hard on Kevin, but Kevin chalked that up to him being the new kid, as Hank didn’t seem to be so strict on the other employees.

What made Hank so unpleasant to work for was the comments he made towards the heavier customers.  Sometimes he’d comment on how much they ordered, sometimes he’d insinuate how much they’d already eaten, and sometimes he’d just tell them to enjoy their food a little too sneeringly.  He managed to get away with it by just skirting the line of where it became inappropriate, so most customers just brushed it off.

Even Kevin had been on the receiving end of some of Hank’s comments, not exactly being the skinniest guy around.  Kevin’s college years had led to him putting on more of a freshman 50 than 15, now that he was no longer subject to his parents dictating his eating habits.  It had gone all over his frame, unlike the beer bellies many of his cohorts sported, perhaps due to his weight gain stemming more from bad eating habits than nights spent drinking at the fraternities.  He had a round face and burly arms and chest to show for it.  His stomach, though not particularly protruding, was round and squishy enough to match the rest of him.

Keep reading

so, my girlfriend and i are coming back from a google maps misadventure turned lovely date. we got out of the store and we’re finally headed back to my house. i live in the country. my nearest neighbor is a cornfield/soy field depending on the year, the country ass road that leads to my house has a speed limit of 55mph and i’m going about 60mph. well, it’s an unusually warm night for november and the windshield was fogging up. 

my girlfriend, lovely and kind, decided to look down and turn the vents on to get the windshield cleared up. what she didn’t know was that as she had looked down, a fully grown doe began to scamper across the road. i immediately took my foot off the gas because when i’m in a panic i try to escape as quickly as possible. within a second i knew we wouldn’t hit the deer, she was running fast enough and we were far enough back that we weren’t in danger. 

all of this transpired in my head in silence. i didn’t even so much as utter the word “deer” in warning to my beautiful girlfriend, who was still looking down at the a/c and heat controls. 

so. she looks back up. and the sees the deer. in the middle of the road, right in front of the car. 

imagine, if you will, that a pubescent orc has just been kicked in his recently-descended testicles. a hoarse, high-pitched shriek of surprise. 

this is the sound my girlfriend made. not just because there was a deer within a few feet of her car as we’re travelling down a dark ass country road at night, but because she didn’t see this doe actually run onto the road. she looked up when it was already directly in front of us, so all she could see what the brown-grey shape of some monstrous hell creature cryptid backwood nightmare that was about to wreck her g6

and thus, she shrieked

8

I’ve killed so many people I’ve lost count. I can never come back from this. I’m a monster. I can feel the anger inside me. But somewhere inside me, I’m still more than that. Better than that…

4

I have concluded that they are all defective …but I am no better. I failed my mission and now I’m working with the enemy, and I can’t even get that right. I have apparently hurt Amethyst’s feelings, which was not my intent. If I damaged my standing with the best Gem here, then I’ve made a serious mistake. I’m still learning. I hope you understand. I want to understand. I’m sorry.

Newts, Fleas, and Occamies

Newt Scamander & sister!reader
Warnings: feelings of depression, self deprecation, internal strife, external strife
Specific Prompt: Could you probably do a one shot where the reader is Newt’s younger sister, she craves for his attention but he is always worrying about his beasts. So she loses hope but one day her brother helps her in the most unexpected situation? & Could you please write an imagine where the reader is Newt’s younger sister who gets expelled from Hogwarts?
Requested by @reflectingquill & anonymous

You tapped your wand on your leg tiredly, swirls of grey and blue emitting from the end of it. The train was chugging along, going far too fast and far too slow at the same time. Christmas holidays were over, and you half wished that you spent them at Hogwarts. You loved your brother, Newt, dearly, but you felt as if you had spent all of five minutes with him during the holiday. He always, always was with his creatures, leaving no time for you. You were also considerably younger than him, leading him to mistrust you with his creatures- because of this, the only time he was with you was when he was out of his suitcase, which was hardly ever. You sunk down into your seat, the feeling of depression settling in your stomach.
A knock on the glass of the compartment startled you out of your stupor. Your friend, Fleamont Potter, was crying tears of laughter at your expression.
“You should’ve seen your face!” he shrieked, stumbling onto a seat.
“Yes, I’m sure I was hilarious,” you deadpanned. You loved Flea with all of your heart, but your weren’t in the mood for his particular brand of humour at the moment.
“Oh, Y/N. What happened this year?” Flea sighed, sobering up for your benefit.
“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just Newt spending more time with his creatures than me, Newt not letting me see or help his creatures, and Newt not realizing that I quit Quidditch last year. He got me Keeper’s gloves, and I couldn’t say anything because he’s always so occupied with his creatures that he can’t find time for anyone else,” you burst out, furiously blinking all the while to keep from crying. Flea patted you on the back.
“There, there. I’m sure… I’m sure we can find a way to get his attention!” he exclaimed, a little too loud and a little too close to your ear.
You flinched away, “What in Merlin’s name are you talking about, Potter?” You always called him that if he was being mysterious, irritating, or good at potions.
“Hear me out, Y/N! Do something at school- I don’t know, ride a Hippogriff or something!” Flea grinned, punching your shoulder. You gave him a skeptical look.
“Flea, Newt would only be disappointed, and we both know that,” you pointed out, then- seeing his defeated expression- you smirked mischievously. “If I’m going to get Newt’s attention, I’m going to have to do something that helps the animals.”
***
“Are you sure about this?” Flea asked nervously. You nodded sharply, “This is the only way. Now, take the invisibility cloak and go! It has to be me.”
“Alright,” he grimaced, taking the cloak from you. “Be safe.” And with that, he disappeared. You were alone. Taking a deep breath, you almost reconsidered, but when you looked at the cage again, your heart broke for them.
Lifting your wand, you whispered, “Alohamora,” and set the occamies loose in the grounds. However, what you weren’t counting on was them growing. The spark of your rebellion went out as soon as they became bigger than you, and you had realized what you’d done. You were surrounded and started to panic. You couldn’t see or think straight, and the only thing that made it past the crashed train of thought was a man screaming your name.
“Y/N! Y/N!” a flash of light, then you collapsed.
***
The bright lights of the hospital wing stung your eyes.
“Y/N? Y/N are you awake?”
“Newt?” you struggled out, your vision not yet cleared.
“Hey, there,” and then you saw him. Coat absent, jacket absent, and bowtie undone- he was practically naked, as far as you were concerned.
“What… happened?” you groaned, sitting up. You winced and Newt’s face dropped.
“You were crushed by the occamies. What were you thinking? You know that they grow to fill their living space,” Newt scolded you, rising and moving to the end of your bed.
“I didn’t know that,” you said shamefully.
“You helped me take care of them! Of course you knew that!” he exclaimed. Now you were angry.
“You never let me in the suitcase, Newt! I don’t have a bloody clue about magical creatures because they don’t teach us anything and you talked to me four times throughout the holidays!” you only refrained from screaming because of your pounding head. Newt looked at you blankly, then swiftly sat down next to you again.
“Y/N, I-” he started, but then the doors to the hospital wing flung open. Headmaster Dippet and Deputy Headmaster Dumbledore came striding in, grim expressions on their faces.
“Mr Scamander, Ms Scamander, I regret to inform you, but between Professor Dumbledore and I, we have decided that Ms Scamander discontinue her education here,” Headmaster Dippet said shortly upon arriving at your bedside. Your heart dropped out of your chest.
“This can’t be happening,” you muttered, panic-stricken.
“Professor Dippet, I must object. She didn’t know what was going to happen, she had no idea-” once again, Newt was cut off by the Headmaster.
“Mr Scamander, you are familiar with getting expelled. Your sister’s things have already been collected and the staff has been informed. An escort will take you to Hogsmeade, where a Portkey will be waiting to take you to Diagon Alley. Good day and farewell, Ms and Mr Scamander,” Headmaster Dippet said curtly, before striding out.
“I suggest,” Professor Dumbledore said, startling you and your brother, “You do as he says. I tried to convince him otherwise, but Headmaster Dippet is quite adamant about expelling Scamander’s. He was angry enough, learning that Mr Scamander was on the grounds prior to the occamy incident, but then-”
“Wait, what? What were you doing here?” you interrupted Dumbledore, not really giving a damn. Newt shuffled a bit, seemingly reluctant to answer.
“I… saw that you were in trouble. Your hand was pointing to “mortal peril” and I couldn’t very well leave you in it. I apparated to Hogsmeade, then cast a patronus to find you. I ran until I saw the occamies,” Newt explained quietly. You stared at him, dumbfounded.
“I’ll be waiting for the two of you in the Entrance Hall with Ms Scamander’s belongings. Take your time,” Dumbledore said, exiting quietly. You stared at your brother and he stared at the floor.
Inhaling deeply, you mustered the courage to speak, “Newt?” His head snapped up and you could see the tears forming in his eyes. “Can I have a hug?” Biting his lip to keep from crying, he wrapped his arms around you.
“I love you, Y/N. You’re the best sister anyone could hope for,” Newt said from being buried in your shoulder.
“Thank you for saving me,” you whispered hoarsely, tears slipping out and staining his shirt.
“I’ll always be here for you, Y/N. We’re family, and that means we stick together.”