five times i had to change the coloring

Maggie Stiefvater talks 'All the Crooked Saints,' and here's a first look at the cover

Maggie Stiefvater may have concluded the Raven Cycle just last year, but the author already has a new stand-alone YA novel hitting shelves later this year.

The book, titled All the Crooked Saints, takes place in the 1960s in Bicho Raro, Colorado and follows the lives of three members of the Soria family-each of whom is searching for their own miracle. There’s Beatriz, who appears to lack feelings but wants to study her mind; Daniel, the “Saint” of Bicho Raro, a miracle worker for everyone but himself; and Joaquin (a.k.a. Diablo Diablo), who runs a pirate radio station at night.

Adding to the mystery (and magic) of the book is the book’s intriguing cover-which EW is pleased to reveal exclusively below.

“There are owls in the book because owls are a very scientific creature that gets credited with a lot of magical superstitions,” Stiefvater tells EW. “There are roses in the book because roses are a very magical flower that take a lot of science to truly understand. Put that together and well - as the kids say, that’s it. That’s the book.”

With Stiefvater’s latest novel set to hit stores on Oct. 10, EW caught up with the bestselling author to find out more about what’s in store for readers, her process, and of course, her upcoming Ronan Lynch trilogy.

ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: All three of your characters are looking for a miracle. What do miracles, or the idea of miracles mean to them?
MAGGIE STIEFVATER: Miracles! Miracles! Miracles! This book is full of them. I was taught by nuns for the first dozen years of my life, and so I was raised with a pantheon of peculiar saints: decapitated saints who carried their own severed head through the streets of cities, saints who exorcised demons from the bottoms of milk pails, saints who flew unexpectedly.

The Soria family are saints as well, and the miracle they perform for pilgrims to Bicho Raro is as strange as most miracles are: They can make the darkness inside you visible. Once the pilgrims see their inner darkness face to face, it’s up to them to perform another miracle on themselves: banishing the darkness for good. It can be a tricky business to vanquish your inner demons, even once you know what they are, but the Sorias are forbidden to help with this part. They’ve all been told that if a Soria interferes with the second miracle, it will bring out their own darkness, and a saint’s darkness, so the story goes, is a most potent and dangerous thing.

The three cousins in the story all have their own relationship with the family miracles: Daniel, the current acting Saint of Bicho Raro, wants to help the pilgrims overcome their darkness through holiness and empathy. Beatriz, on the other hand, would prefer if the Sorias approached the miracle from a more logical and scientific place. And Joaquin is less interested in miracles and more interested in broadcasting rock & roll from a pirate radio station in the back of a battered box truck.

How did you come up with the name “Bicho Raro”?
I’d just finished writing the rather heavy final installment of the Raven Cycle, and I thought it would be nice to switch things up with something playful and - dare I say it? “Feel good”? Does that sound like a Stiefvater novel to you?

So I tried to be as playful in my language as I could. I figured if my words were frolicking, readers might too. “Bicho raro” (“rare bug”) is just a little way to speak fondly about odd people, like “strange bird” or “odd duck.” It’s less about the Soria family themselves and more about the varied pilgrims who come to Bicho Raro.

What inspired the novel’s setting?
Three years ago, I convinced Scholastic that instead of flying to all of my tour events for Sinner, the companion book to the Shiver trilogy, I would instead drive my 1973 Camaro to them. Seven thousand miles, coast to coast, just an American girl in a muscle car, seeing the breadbasket of our fine country while hawking a novel about burned-out werewolves - nothing could go wrong.

Spoiler: Everything went wrong. I spent my time evenly divided between meeting readers and repairing the Camaro by the side of the road.

At one point, the brakes went out (for the second time), and I coasted into an auto repair shop in Del Norte, Colorado. The sun was white, the air was dust, and the mountains were sharp as hell all around. While I waited for the mechanic to take a look at my brake lines, the receptionist told me tall tales and ghost stories about straight-arrow desert roads and demons dancing in the dust and strangers appearing in the night.

I thought to myself: This is where my next novel takes place.

What made you decide to set All the Crooked Saints in the 60s? Is there something in the history of Colorado at that time that speaks to you?
Music! Music! Music! When I was growing up in the 80s, my father always had the radio set to the Golden Oldies - I didn’t realize, in fact, that it wasn’t contemporary music. I thought Del Shannon and Patsy Cline and the Byrds were everyone’s current groove. Even after I discovered differently, it didn’t matter; that music had become the sound of my childhood. There’s something about 60s music and the 60s in general that I think pairs perfectly with a novel about the teen experience - 60s America was going through an adolescence in a lot of ways, and it was a time of mystical joy, innocence lost, increasingly uncomfortable self-awareness of the limitations of tradition, and colorful agitation for change, all of it emotional and urgent. If that’s not a description of being a teen, I don’t know what is.

I’ve been dying to write a novel steeped with the music of that time for about five years now, and for this one, it made sense. I had an incredibly grand and self-indulgent time listening to the music Joaquin and Beatriz spin in their covert broadcasts.

Your work has always been infused with aspects of magical realism. What would you say are some of your influences?
Magic! Magic! Magic! For this book in particular, Isabel Allende, Gabriel Garca Mrquez, Erick Setiawan, Ali Shaw, and maybe even John Irving - I have read a lot of wonderful magic realism and wry, intimate family stories over the last decade, and Saints is my affectionate nod to them. It was also informed by movies, though - I really wanted to capture the mood of films like Big Fish, Chocolat, and Amlie. That whimsy and magic and nostalgia. These are strange, hard times that we’re living in, and I wanted to write about magic - I always do - but I also felt like I wanted to leave readers with something that made them happy, hopeful, and excited about all the odd miracles that exist in the world and in themselves.

Of course, I have to ask one question about the upcoming Ronan trilogy. Is there anything you could tease about it?
Insert, Stiefvater said, an enigmatic smile here.

All the Crooked Saints will be available for purchase on Oct. 10.

This article was originally published on

anonymous asked:

Can u do 2 on the prompt list where tom is A and reader is B

I’ll be honest, I’ve never flirted before, so I had to look up ways to flirt with somebody for this, because I’m just that inexperienced. xD I hope I did good, and I hope you enjoy, beautiful. 

“Darling,” Tom called out to you, reaching across the bed to pull you against his chest. 

A comfortable breeze blew around the room, brushing against your skin as you turned over to nuzzle your head against his chest, the palms of your hand resting upon his bare abdomen. 

“Yes, Tommy?” You mumbled over the low buzz of the tv that stood five feet away from the bed that you shared with Tom. 

It was currently two in the morning, both of your efforts to fall asleep failing miserably. You figured Tom would fall asleep quickly, due to the jetlag from his flight from London to New York City, but he hadn’t. He wanted to stay up with you as long as he could, possibly thinking he could make some time up for his absence these past four months. The both of you cherished each other’s presence, Tom trying his hardest to pull you as close to him as possible. 

You watched as he lightly smiled down at you, his eyes lighting up through the darkness of the room. The rays of light from your TV cascaded past the side of his face, his skin looking almost milky white under the pigments. His thick brown curls were brushed neatly over his head, excluding the single curl that twisted and swayed against the skin of his forehead. He looked angelic, to say the least, and you couldn’t have been any more happy that he was finally with you after so long. 

“Have I told you how beautiful you look?” Immediately, Tom watched through the small rays of light beaming out of the screen that stood five feet away from where you rest as your cheeks began to change color, the pigments of pale skin turning a light shade of pink. 

“Only a hundred times, Tom.” You grumbled, resisting the urge to smile as your face began to heat up. 

Slowly, Tom rubbed the tips of his fingers down your spine, the feather-like touches causing shivers to flow throughout your body. Tom felt the effects his fingers had on you and smiled wider, his eyes drooping open and closed lazily as he stared into yours. 

“How did I get so lucky, Y/N?” 

You could see the side of his mouth curl up into a smirk, his hands still softly running down your spine. Your face already felt as if it were on fire as you twisted your head up to look him in the eyes. 

“You didn’t get lucky. You got screwed.” 

Suddenly, a jovial laugh blew past his lips, a smile plastered onto his face, his arms squeezing your waist tightly. 

“I did get lucky. I am the luckiest man alive, darling, and you better believe that I will never let such a brave, kind, and intelligent woman like you slip from my grasp.” 

Your face was now cherry red, the television long forgotten. It was now just you and Tom, his warm embrace applying a sense of security and love through your veins. Tom grinned triumphantly, watching as you tried to cover your face with your hands. He grumbled under his breath, reaching up to drag your hands away. 

“Don’t shield yourself from me, love. You’re too perfect for that, no need to be modest.” A massive, toothy grin made its way upon his face when heard you giggle, a laugh escaping his lips when you slapped him on the chest. 

“Stop it!” You laughed, your cheeks now crimson red under his gaze. 

“Y/N?” Tom smiled softly, his eyes now falling shut, exhaustion lacing his features. 

“Hmm?” You mumbled, bringing your hand up to lightly thumb at his cheek. 

You spotted his lazy smile from a mile away. 

“I love you.”

Youth // Jung Hoseok


the prompt: could you make a Prince Hoseok fanfic? It’d be nice if it were fluffy (Hobie’s been getting all up in my feels as of late) but I have nothing specific in mind. the au i based this scenario off of: i’m in an arranged marriage but i’m in love with the sibling help

words: 3056

category: fluff + minimal angst

author note: hobi is always in my feels ngl. he’s just so happy and handsome and can we talk about the fact that hobi is the definition of husband material? my sister and i talk about that a lot. anyway, enjoy!

- destinee

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i really like posts about childhood games so heres one of mine:

back in late 1999 me and my sibling had a shitty little windows 95 in The Backroom (a weird room attached to both of our bedrooms) and every day at whatever o clock we’d watch the one hour of pokemon that would air on our shitty little tv while we sat on our shitty little couch with a stain on it from that time i wasted a dozen eggs trying to hatch one by sitting on it and during WHO’S THAT POKEMON we’d guess (K would guess the pokemon and I would try to replicate the sound we were very good at it)

and then when it was over we would “play pokemon” on the computer. that is, we would pretend to be pokemon and launch our entire bodies at each other and then K would type some stuff in a notepad file and decide who won the battle. this notepad file was like…. horrifically detailed. it had stats and math and how those stats applied to each pokemon and how they changed as it leveled and i was off to the left, five years old shouting “LETS FIGHT SOME MORE” while my ten year old sibling was busy manually calculating a pokemon game because we didn’t have the actual games

then christmas rolled around and i got blue version and the ATOMIC PURPLE gameboy color and K got red version and a yellow gameboy color and we traded with a link cable and we never played computer pokemon ever again the end


We’ve been talking about equal pay for women since they had the right to vote, for God’s sake, and why hasn’t that changed? Why don’t people of color get the recognition they deserve? I grew up in a society here in Los Angeles, you know, and at times, couldn’t understand why I wasn’t playing the roles that were afforded to everybody else. Was I too ethnic or not ethnic enough? I think it speaks highly that a show like Mr. Robot has allowed a guy like me to be a male lead, or considered for one, which I don’t think would have happened five years ago.

Phan fluff: Cinema

Soooo I wrote this fic in honor of me hitting 10k on tumblr today! (Yayyyyy) so thank you to all of y'all that follow me and I hope you like and appreciate this :)

 Dan stood timidly outside outside Phil’s door, he had been for about ten minutes now, contemplating whether or not to knock. You see, earlier that day Phil had promised him that they could go out on a cinema date this evening, right after he’d finished up some work he was doing. 

The only problem was that it was getting rather late and Dan was worried that he’d forgotten. He worried quite a lot to be frank, it was just the way he was, he was always panicking about being late to events or worrying that Phil didn’t really care about him (which of course wasn’t true). 

‘Come on… come on… I can do it, he’s just working it’s not like I’m intruding on anything’ Dan mumbled to himself as he tried to psych himself up 'Just do it Dan, knock on the goddamn door!’ He took a deep breathe 'Okay' 

Knock knock. 'Philll?' 

He knocked again after hesitating. 'Phil can I come in?' 

He decided then that it wasn’t worth standing outside the door again for another ten minutes so he took the silence as a yes. 

As soon as he walked into the room he sighed at the sight he was greeted with. So much for Phil being 'hard at work’, well actually he did look very much like he had been hard at work but he was currently collapsed from exhaustion and snoring on his desk. Dan rolled his eyes affectionately at the sight as he walked towards it. He’d always thought to himself that Phil looked cute when he was asleep, his fringe messy and his lips slightly parted. 

'No, this is no time to be creepily admiring your boyfriend when you want to go on a date Dan’ he said, internally chastising himself. 

'Philll’ he said just as he had before but in a whisper. There was no reply, not even a movement. 'Philllllll’ Dan tried again, speaking up this time. Still nothing. 'Phillllip Micheal Lesterrr, the most angelic being to ever roam this earth… wake upppp!’ Dan chuckled to himself and then jumped as he unexpectedly got the response he was actually after. 

'Hmmm’ a sleepy yawning Phil mumbled 'Dan?’ He got up with a stretch and looked up at Dan.

'You fell asleep while working again’ Dan exclaimed. 

'I did?' 

'Mhmm’ Dan smirked 'shame you had to wake up really, you look pretty adorable when you were sleeping' 

'Hey!’ Phil yelled, punching Dan playfully now that he was fully awake. 

'Now, I’d say you have about… hmm 5 minutes to get ready?’ Said Dan as he walked out of the room without elaborating. 

'Wait! For what?' 

'The date, stupid’ Dan shouted down the hallway. Crap, how did Phil forget about the date? 

Believe it or not both boys were actually ready in record time a few minutes later. After much stumbling around the apartment in a hasty rush to get changed they met up in the hallway five minutes before they had to leave. 

'Nice shirt Howell, I wonder where you got it from’ Phil asked, a knowing glint in his eye. 

'Oh I don’t know I’m pretty sure it’s mine’ Dan teased, playing along. It was one of Phil’s brightly colored plaid shirts he was wearing, having found it on his boyfriends clean washing pile. Phil rolled his eyes at this response 

'Come on then you lying thief, let’s go or we’ll miss the film’ he exclaimed as he took Dan’s hand and led him out the door. 

They took their seats in the cinema about half an hour later, after a short taxi ride and a considerably longer cue. They were sat almost right in the middle of the room, in the perfect spot, thanks to Dan booking the tickets a week in advance and for once being actually prepared. He really wanted to see this film (as Phil was well aware), he’d been rambling on about it for months. 

Phil on the other hand couldn’t really care less. He hated romance movies to be quite honest, though he never voiced that opinion due to how much he know Dan loved them. He knew the basic premises of the film from Dan’s explanation but he couldn’t say that he actually had any reason for going other than to please him. 

'Psst Dan, can we go get snacks?’ Phil said, nudging his partner a whole 30 seconds after they’d sat down. 

'Hmm? Oh, uh you can’ Dan replied, he was already captivated by the adverts, eyes glued to the screen. 

'But Phil’ he actually turned to face the other boy now 'don’t get lost okay?’ Phil snorted. 

'Hey I’m not five you know! Anyway I’ll be right back' 

Now when Phil said he’d be right back Dan knew that he would, he wasn’t dating some freak who ran away half way through a date after all, but what he wasn’t expecting was what Phil came back with. As it turned out he came back with his arms adorned with what looked like half the shop. He had two buckets of popcorn, two giant drinks of soda, various chocolate bars and a whole tub of ice cream. 

'Phil!’ Dan yelled looking slightly gobsmacked. 'Why did you buy so many snacks?!' 

Phil would’ve looked guiltier if he wasn’t currently trying to balance the snacks while trying to haphazardly place them down. 

'I er… wanted to make sure we had enough food and drink to last the whole movie’ He explained like this was a perfectly normal thing to do. Dan sighed. How he had grown so used to Phil’s embarrassing quirks? 

'Just sit down you dolt' 

The film was about half way through now (the snacks definitely weren’t though) and Dan was definitely fully captivated by the screen. Even Phil dared to admit that he found the film somewhat interesting, not quite as bad as the normal crap Dan made him sit through. 

Phil was definitely still way more interested in the sight beside him rather than the one in front of him though. With every moment he got he took advantage of the fact that Dan’s eyes were on the screen and gazed at him with what was probably a rather longing, sappy expression. He couldn’t help it, he just found the man so captivating. The way his hair fell perfectly in messy curls, the way his pale lips glistened in the dim light. 

From what Phil could hear the movie was just getting to the cliche part where the two characters confess their undying love for each other. Although, he still wasn’t looking at the screen, instead gazing at the light that reflected from it in his boyfriend’s eyes. 

He’d still assumed that Dan was fully immersed in the film at this point. So it really caught him by surprise when the boy turned and caught Phil staring at him for the first time. 

Those eyes had been intense enough from a side glance, but know he had them in full view and fully focused on him, he really didn’t know what to do. 

It came to him though, a moment later when he heard the quiet exchange of 'I love you’ coming from the film. He turned to face the screen for a second to see that the two characters were kissing. 

Then without thinking he turned back and kissed the boy sitting next to him, imitating the couple on the screen. Dan’s lips against his felt incredible as he felt them kiss him back. The feeling made him feel all warm and tingly inside and he felt a rush of adrenaline course through him. He knew that the people all around them were probably staring, maybe even a little disgusted by their public affection but Phil really couldn’t care less as he continued to kiss Dan. The boys wrapped their arms around each other in a warm embrace, neither ever wanting to let go. 

Did Phil ever mention how much he loved romance movies?

Alternate Ending for "Breaking"

(Sorry if there is any misspellings! ❤️)


The number of years after I realized I loved you. You forced yourself to keep going.


The number of baby’s breath you gave me on our night in the garden. You thought you could see them.


The number of times I had to betray you. You stumbled a bit but kept running.


The years that we’ve been together. You could see him, he raised his gun in the air. You saw a flick of color out of the corner of your eye, but you ignored it, focused on your love.


The amount of flowers that were in my hair when you first kissed me and told me you loved me. You saw them marching away from each other, you changed your direction slightly left.


The number of Hamilton children who love me. You were only a few feet away from him, he saw you. But before you could run in front of him, before you had the chance to block him from the incoming bullet, someone else appeared.


Your eyes widened, seeing Angie run in front of you. She looked determined, giving you a glance out the corner of her eye. She winked.


The bullet echoed through the air. Philip was pushed out of the way, Angie taking the shot instead of him. You could hear her screams in the back of your head as you stumbled towards her.

“Angelica!” Philip yelled, turning his back towards George. His arms wrapped around his sister, as she squeezed her eyes shut in agony.

What have you done?What have you done?What have you done?
What have you done?What have you done?What have you done?
What have you done?What have you done?What have you done?

“Oh no, Angie…” You finally made it to their sides, falling onto the ground next to them. Blood stained her left hip, pouring on to the annoying bright, green grass. You looked at her, touching her cheek.

“No…no, please no…” Philip mumbled, kissing her forehead. He was breathing heavily, looking at every inch of his sister.

Your heart was beating quickly. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Angie was not supposed to be here, she want supposed to know.

Angie smiled at the two of you, crimson staining her teeth, “It’s okay, I’m fine. A little bullet won’t sto-” She coughed, her face distorting into a pain expression.

Philip looked back, seeing the doctor standing there in shock. “What are you doing? Help her!” He quickly pulled himself out of his shock, appearing by Angie’s side.

You were speechless.

“This is very serious; we need to get her to a safer location. Is there anywhere close by we can take her?” The doctor questioned, looking at the two of you.

“Philip’s, Philip’s aunt’s house. We can take her in the carriage!” You yelled. Philip nodded, lifting Angie off the ground. The doctor, you, and Philip, ran to the carriage, you holding the door open. Once you entered and Philip yelled at the man to hurry, you looked back down at Angie. Her eyes were fluttering, barely able to keep them open.

Philip held her hand, touching her hair softly, “Don’t fall asleep, Angie. Keep your eyes open for me, don’t stop looking at me,” she struggled, her eyes flicking back and forth, “Don’t look at the doctor, just pay attention to me and Titania, okay?” She smiled, and the doctor began to remove the bullet from her side. She screamed in pain, her voice ringing through your ears.

She squeezed your hand, making it turn purple. But you didn’t care, you just wanted to make sure she was okay.

“I know, I know it hurts Angie! But it’s going to be okay! We’re going to go back to town and get you the gowns that you wanted, everything is going to be fine!” You said, looking at her. She was grinding her teeth, tears pouring down her face.

“You’re right, TT. But, why are you and Philip cry..crying?” She touched Philip’s cheek, her hand trembling.

The carriage stopped, and you opened the door, letting Philip jump through. He looked at you, panic in his face. One of the boys, Jamie, came in, asking questions. Philip was confused, too much commotion going on. You told him to get Alex and Eliza, and he ran out quickly to retrieve them.

Philip carried her into the next room. You quickly ran to push off the blankets and clothing piled on the bed, letting her rest there easily. As the doctor examined her, she was whispering, saying incoherent things.

The doctor began cleaning her wound, and she looked at you.

“TT…” She whispered, and you came to her side quickly, putting your hand in hers. She was blinking slowly, mumbling. She winced when the alcohol was poured on her side. The wound was still bleeding, as the doctor struggled to stop it from happening.

She, she was dying.

“TT, promise me you and Philip will be married. And, remember what you prom..promised?” She whispered, and you nodded, the tears falling from your eyes.

“Y-Yes, you would be the maid of honor.” Philip gave a weak smile to the two of you, and Angie nodded, turning her head to Philip. Anything to keep her from thinking about the wound on her side. The doctor looked at you, shaking his head slowly.

“Philip? Are we still going to the market? W-We, we didnt get my petticoats yet…”

He kissed her forehead, his hands shaking in hers, “Of course, Angelica. And we could get the blue one that you wanted.”

She smiled, “The one with the flowers?”

“That’s the one.”

She coughed, and began to cry, “I, I don’t want to die yet. I don’t want to leave any of you,” her eyes widened, “Rosemary, where is Rosemary? I have to, I-” She screamed as the doctor dug in her side.

Footsteps were heard in the background, and you turned, seeing the door slammed open. Alex, Eliza, AJ, Jamie, Lizzy, Willy and Johnny stood there, concern on all of their faces. Your family was there.

“Philip, Titania, what’s going on?” Alex asked, looking down at his daughter, he quickly strides over, next to Philip’s side.

He shook his head, “I did exactly as you said Pop…I held my head up high, but, but Angie just pushed me to the side before the count of ten…” Alex touched her face, his eyes looking over her body. He was crying, stroking her cheek.

Eliza ran over, and you moved out the way. She fell to her daughter’s side, Is she going to survive this? Who did this? Alexander did you know?“ Her words were becoming mushed together, unable to be understood. Angie eyes were closing, and Eliza squeezed her hand, "Please, stay with me honey. It’ll all be okay.”

“I, I want to say a lot to all of you, but I don’t have the time,” she was being brave, even after all of the pain she was going through, “I left a letter to all of you, it’s in my room, on my desk…” She took a deep breath, trying to talk through her pain.

“Honey, it’s okay, save your strength,” Alexander said, touching her hair. The other children ran over to you, wrapping their arms around your waist. You looked at the family, your heart beating fast.

She didn’t have much time left.

And you couldn’t do anything about it.

This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fault.
This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fault.
This is your fault. This is your fault. This is your fault.

“Mommy,” Angie whispered.

“Yes, dear?”

“Do, do you remember the day TT…the day TT warmed up with us?” Eliza nodded, biting her lip to hide her cries, “Can, can we all sing together? It…I would feel much better…” She groaned, biting her lip.

“Yes, anything for you.” Her voice cracked, looking at the rest of you, “Are you ready?” You all nodded, the children’s hold tightening on your side. Philip looked at you, his face distraught.

“Un, duex, trois, quatre, cinq…” Eliza started, the rest of you joining in. Alex tried to sing, but he could, placing his head next to Angie. Philip was crying, struggling to sing through his cries.

You whispered, “Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq, six, sept, huit, neuf…” You sand, and Angie looked at you.

“Good…” She mumbled, her eyes moving slower.

“Un, deux, trois, quatre, cinq…” She was smiling, her eyes closing.

“Angelica?” Alex asked, touching her face. She didn’t respond, the smile still on her face. Eliza screamed, pushing her face into her body. Philip dropped onto his knees, and the rest of the children screamed, looking at their now passed sister.

You ushered them out of the room.

You could not stop the tears from falling.

-I’m on the bus, trying not to cry oh no it’s NOT WORKING!!!!-
String (Soulmate!Yoongi)

Plot: Yoongi as your soulmate

Word Count: 651

A/N: so someone requested a red string of fate AU with Yoongi (and/or Jin so if you guys wanna see one for Jin, maybe I’ll write one up too!!) and I love that idea s o much so I decided to write it today !!! Also, this is a bit more of a drabble than a scenario !!

It started with a red string, simply tied around your smallest finger. It had been wrapped around your finger for as long as you could remember. Everyone was born with one tied around their finger, invisible to everyone else besides the two people the string tied together. Some people gave it no attention while others followed the string out of curiosity.

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anonymous asked:

I think Bella abandoned her style of last year.. I think she had a identity but now she's somewhere between Kendal and Gigi even her hair color lol

Her hair change up is weird, she’s dyed it like four or five different colours this year and has cut it like 5 times, too. And her style has totally been lost, it looks like E has just taken the reigns full time lately or something because everything is super matchy/matchy and there’s so much white. Like for a girl whose reputation is edgy and a self-proclaimed “punk kid” who wears all black she literally dresses nothing like that.

We’ve been talking about equal pay for women since they had the right to vote, for God’s sake, and why hasn’t that changed? Why don’t people of color get the recognition they deserve?
I grew up in a society here in Los Angeles, you know, and at times, couldn’t understand why I wasn’t playing the roles that were afforded to everybody else. Was I too ethnic or not ethnic enough?
I think it speaks highly that a show like Mr. Robot has allowed a guy like me to be a male lead, or considered for one, which I don’t think would have happened five years ago.
—  Rami Malek in an interview for TIME [x]
why i did dis

got tagged by @haepaliui-wangja

•Favorite nickname: my name, liam, i’m in no need of nicknames i’m too cool kiddin no one loves me enough )));;; sad boys

•Favorite color: oh man, purple - at the moment, i think, it’ll change tomorrow  

•Height: 1,66 m 

•Age: 17 ));

•Story behind a scar: i have a big scar on my head, i jumped off the couch and bumped my head on a table 

i had stitches

all five of them

•Dream superpower: teleportation 

•Most relatable animal: kitties

•Favorite animal: all of them ))’’: don’t want anyone to feel left out

•Bad habit: wasting all my time online

•Aesthetics: beautiful people like troye, black n white contrast, paintings - if i could screw them i would, great hand writing??

•Eye color: bluegreen ish

•Dream eye color: super red like voldemorts

•Happy things: painting, friends,eating lol, sleeping, anime, animals, trees, flowers and clouds

•Last thing that made you laugh: don’t remember imao

•Favorite tv show: hannibal

•A random fact: today i learnt that birch is bouleau in french

i’m tagging @superbnutdeer @triester

sildae  asked:

#18, brotp. Fives and Rex.

18. “This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

Captain Rex sat at his office desk on Coruscant, a broken-down communicator in front of him and two needle nose electric rods in his hands. Impossibly thin wires crisscrossed the tiny circuit board to make even an electrician mildly frustrated. And Rex was no electrician.

Fives walked in, helmet under his arm, just as another wrong touch of the poker shocked Rex through his gloves. He gave a short hiss and shook his hand free of pain.

“Here’s my report from my mission with the 311th,” Fives announced, smiling and plunking down a datapad onto the desktop. “Anytime they need an ARC for a special mission, I volunteer. Look– I even got a tan out there.” He tugged the neck of his undersuit down to reveal no visible color change on his skin.

Rex nodded stiffly, his eyes on the device in front of him. “That’s great. I’ll look it over when I have a moment.” His silence would’ve dismissed anyone else.

But Fives just stood there for the longest time before asking, “Adding slicing to your skillsets? We get those issued, y’know. Just ask for a new one.” 

“Modifying it. I plan on giving it to Ahsoka.” 

Fives froze. He heard all about Ahsoka’s arrest and trial from others in Torrent company as it all had taken place while he was off world, attached to a different brigade. And he’d come back to a commander-less 501st. 

“You know where she is?”

Rex’s jaw clenched. “Not exactly. But I plan on finding her.”


“I expect she’ll try to track down her lightsabers. I’ll start looking where she dropped them and go from there.”

Fives at least kept his laughter contained to a halfway-stifled chuckle. He’d already heard the account of the disasterous operation to capture Ahsoka– how it spanned sectors of Coruscant and landed more than a few soldiers in the infirmary. Fives didn’t know Commander Wolffe personally, but still noticed the man had a couple very new, very prominent facial bruises. 

“This is without a doubt the stupidest plan you’ve ever had. Of course I’m in.”

“I didn’t invite you,” the captain said tersely.

“I volunteer for this special mission. You’ll need an ARC. I mean, last time I wasn’t here, you lost our second-in-command.” 

“How about an indefinite special mission as a Kamino janitor?” Rex grumbled, eyes dangerously narrow.

Fives cleared his throat. “Right.”

Despite Rex’s nonexistent plan, Fives tagged along to the industrial sector near the Republic base only for them to waste an hour walking in silence along giant, neverending pipes. Fives wasn’t sure if Rex was searching more for Ahsoka or for Ahsoka’s lightsaber the way his gaze tended to skid along the ground most of the time.

When they spent nearly as long at an old warehouse wandering its many levels, Fives finally gave in to his burning cynicism. “Rex, it’s late. If I were a teenager… which, technically, I am, I’d be out having fun.”

“Ahsoka’s a lot smarter than you, though.”

“Granted. But she loves clones. Personally, I’d stop in at someplace like the 79s. We could check it out, grab a drink, ask around…”

“Are you trying to use this plan to bar hop?” Rex finally broke from his terrain investigation to angle his visor in Fives’ direction. The weight of his displeased gaze was becoming a familiar feeling lately.

“If it just so happens that that’s how it works out, I’m not averse.”

The exhale venting from Rex’s helmet sounded almost feral. “Here’s the new plan: we split up; you go check wherever you suppose she’ll be, and I’ll continue with what I’m doing.”

Fives nodded stiffly. Rex’s temper seemed to grow shorter and shorter the longer he stayed on Coruscant. In fact, Fives couldn’t remember his humor being nonexistent like this since Umbara.

Fives left the captain in the dark warehouse and set out for a higher level where the neon lights congregated almost as densely as the people drawn to bright things. It was surprising to think that only fifteen minute prior he’d been one of two people searching a rundown building on a level that hadn’t seen the sun in centuries. 

Fives took to asking himself, “If I was Ahsoka, where would I be?” It didn’t help that the majority of shops and bars lining the way so appealed to him that they nearly sidetracked him at least twice.

One salon he passed catering to lekkued sentients, brightly advertising a discounted manicure with a lekku buff, made Fives smile. Two steps later, he fought against the flow of foot traffic to return and stare into the wide front windows. There at the counter, her back to him, was a Togruta with blue-and-white striped montrals. 

It couldn’t be that easy.

There was no karkin’ way. 

She turned toward the door and Fives’ jaw almost dropped to see that it was undeniably Ahsoka, wearing dark civilian clothes much more suited to the lower levels of Coruscant. She exited the shop without noticing him, slipping easily into the stream of people plodding along the walkway. Fives tore his helmet off and only with the second attempt at calling her name did he put enough force behind it to break through the din of thousands of sentients.

Ahsoka jolted when she saw him, and for a moment Fives wondered if she was about to escape. But she neared him, crying, “How did you find me?!”

“Your guess is as good as mine,” he said with a shrug. He saw her trained gaze sweep their surroundings, the same way she had on countless missions with him when scanning for threats. 

“I can guess why you’re here, though,” she said. “Please don’t tell any of the guys you ran into me. I need some time for now; I’ll get in contact with Rex when I’m ready.” She fidgeted where she stood, glancing at her avenue of escape. 

Apparently no one was in the mood to talk to him today. “Take care of yourself, ‘Soka,” Fives said sincerely before the onset of a playful smile. “How about a kiss to send you off?”

He was already leaning down toward her level.

Ahsoka’s mouth twisted into a grin. “How about no?” She bid him goodbye and with just a couple of steps merged in with the perpetual crowds of Coruscant, leaving Fives with a dying smile.

Rex found Fives leaning on the bar at the 79s halfway through Fives’ second drink.

“What a surprise you’re here,” Rex said, plunking down his helmet and the modified communicator next to the ARC. “Did you look around at all?”

Fives smiled. “Hey, this was your plan. I’m an excellent investigator. I can’t help that no one I’ve asked has seen her.” He gestured to the the nearby patrons– mostly clones– who clearly hadn’t been sober in hours.

“Karkin’ ay. I’m ready to be off this kriffing planet,” Rex grumbled. He ordered himself a boring drink that came in a small glass and clinked it against Fives’ proffered tumbler. 

“You and me both, brother.”


Trigger Warnings: self harm, bullying, mild verbal abuse

An unfortunate life was an understatement. If life was a gift, then what was yours? It seemed like nothing. You were constantly faced with the simple question: why? 

Why did your mother have to be in that accident that cost her life? Why did your father have to cope by drinking his sorrows away? Why did you have to get bullied in middle school? 

Middle school was the low point in a lot of people, but you honestly thought it couldn’t get lower that what you went through. You never considered yourself having an awkward phase, just a shy one. 

You didn’t have any friends in middle school, a sort of incentive for the other students to bully you. One you knew to despise more than the rest. 

One that after him moving away to the states, you thought you’d never have to see him again. One you never thought would come back. 

Yet, your unfortunate life thought differently. By fate, cruel fate, you were thrown back into your bully’s life, as he was in yours. Except, not in the way you thought. 

Not the return of the bully in high school like some other people experienced. The your-single-father-married-his-single-mother way. The way that made him your stepbrother by law. 

To you though, he wasn’t your stepbrother. He was still the Oh Sehun that you were terrified of, that made you as insecure as you were today. He took your room, made you make dinner when it was his turn and then didn’t help out afterwards, and sometimes stole your homework to copy. 

Your stepmother was just like your father, moping over the husband that left her. She was good at hiding it, Sehun probably didn’t notice, but living with how your father was, it was easier for you to see. 

Though it was Sehun’s turn to make dinner, you found yourself over the frying pan. You heard your ‘parents’ fighting in the other room. They had only been married for three years, but it seemed like that happened more often than not. 

Sehun didn’t seemed bothered by it, he didn’t seem bothered by a lot of things. He was ignoring the yelling, almost like he was hovering over you. It was uncomfortable that you could feel his eyes on your back, watching your every move. 

The sound of glass shattering resonated through the house, causing you to flinch while still holding the pan. A large amount of oil spilled out of the pan and underneath it, catching on fire. 

You immediately brought your hands to cover your face as the flame erupted high, ending you screaming out in pain. You were immediately pulled back and fell to the ground, on the brink of tears from your scorched arm. 

The next minute was a blur, the fire was put out and your stepmother came running to you and inspected your arm, bringing you out of shock. 

Your own father was just standing there looking at the fire, but his face was still red from all of the screaming. He then looked at you with the most hateful look he had ever given you, his own daughter. 

“Can’t you do anything right? You’re just as useless as your mother.” 

Your mouth hung open, pulling out of your stepmother’s grasp. He wasn’t talking about her; he was talking about your birth mother. He had never expressed any sort of resentment toward your mother, but the truth always comes out when people are at their absolute worst. 

Everyone was staring at your father, processing the words he had just said, yet the man didn’t even look the slightest guilty of what he said. You quietly got up, moving past him and out of the kitchen. 

You slammed the front door shut and ran out of the house, away from everything. You didn’t know how long you had been walking for, or even where you were. 

You knew your arm needed treatment, but it wasn’t like there wasn’t damage on it already. You found an empty park, since it was getting dark, and you sat down on a swing, looking down at the ground. 

Your body was telling you to just cry, but your mind was so exhausted from all of the emotional traumas that had happened in your life, your eyes were dry and blank. You wanted so badly to just give up on everything. 

You had no idea that he was following you the whole time. You didn’t think anyone would care to go after you, but he did. A plastic bag was placed in your lap, as another person sat down in the swing next to you. In the bag was burn gel and a wrap for your arm, but you just sat there. 

“Fix your arm.” Sehun said, slowly swinging back and forth next to you. 

When you didn’t say anything, he shifted so he was kneeling in front of you and he grabbed underneath your forearm where it wasn’t burned and took out the burn gel. 

You hissed and pulled your arm back when the cool gel hit your arm, but Sehun pulled your arm back and continued to distribute the gel. It was sloppily dripping down your arm, but either way the wheels were turning in your head that he was actually tending to you. 

He was about to wrap the gauze around your arm, when his thumb brushed against something you wish it hadn’t. He furrowed his eyebrows and gently turned your arm over to the side he thought wasn’t hurt. 

Three years of living with him, more years of actually knowing him, and he had never noticed the scars covering your arms. You tried pulling back once you realized what he was looking at, but he was much stronger. 

His intense gaze on your ruined arms shifted up to you, as if he was asking how you could do that to yourself. He looked back down on your arms, his grip slightly tightening. 

“When did you do this?” His voice sounded so broken, was this really the Sehun you knew kneeling in front of you? 

“Back in middle school.” You answered, fully aware that you basically said he was at fault for your arms. 

His head hung low, keeping his hand on your arm, when you felt something drip down. Sehun choked back a heavy sob, a serious sob. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

He brought your hand up to his forehead, hanging on for dear life. He kept whispering apology after apology. He didn’t want this for you. He didn’t want you to do that to yourself. 

He was a stupid kid in middle school who didn’t know how to act around girls. He wanted your attention. He wanted you. You pulled your hand violently out of his grasp, a fresh feeling of tears at the brim of your eyes. 

“What the hell did you just say?” He looked up at you all teary eyed, broken just like you. 

He looked to the side. “I pushed you aside when our parents got married. I thought it would make it easier so I wouldn’t fall for you. It…It didn’t work. I know you don’t believe me. I never wanted you to hurt yourself.” 

You stood up off of your swing, shaking your head in refusal. “Don’t lie to me Sehun.” 

You started walking away, but Sehun grabbed you back and pulled you into his embrace, arms trembling around you. “I swear to God, I am not lying. Please don’t go.” 

For the first time in years, you felt warm. You felt care in his embrace, even though the last person you expected it from was Sehun. After all of the years of hurt he had put you through, you just couldn’t believe the reason was because of a crush. 

It didn’t matter to you that he was physically attractive, he ruined you and he was just now discovering that. You pushed him away from you, he letting go. It was a terrible reason, and you never considered it to be viable for anything but now. 

“You…you’re my brother. Even if I liked you, we still can’t…” He placed his hands on your shoulders and made you look at him. 

“They were fighting about a divorce, you know that right? If we weren’t siblings then I could still like you?” 

You shook your head. It just wasn’t possible. His shoulders depleted, you were shock. You, the victim of his bullying, had crushed him. You expected him to be right about the divorce, because exactly one month after that incident, the files were complete. 

In that month, Sehun tried his hardest to be different around you, to be much better at showing you his feelings. But it didn’t matter. 

After that month, Sehun was out of your life, his mother moving far away again. Just like when he left in middle school, only it seemed a lot emptier now that he was gone. 

You quietly admitted to yourself that Sehun living as your stepbrother made your life a little bit more interesting. You had just been accustomed to him being there to pester you, now that you thought about it, was kind of cute. 

A whole 5 years had gone by. Sometimes you forgot about him, sometimes you wondered if he still thought about you. You were well off, finishing high school and college, having a steady job in the city, your own apartment away from your father. 

You had a steady routine in the morning, but a work party left you a little more than hung over today. You were careless with your walking, focusing more on the coffee in one hand, and your phone in the other. 

Without paying attention, you starting walking into the street. 

“Hey, watch out!” 

You were pulled back right as a car passed by, that close to running you over. You jerked back, slamming coffee first into your savior. 

“Oh, my gosh, I’m so sorry!” You took your eyes off of the tall gentleman’s stained and dripping wet suit, up to his face. 

If time had ever decided to stop, it would have been that very moment. His eyes met yours, recognizing you in an instance. And in that moment, for the first time, you had seen something on him that you never thought he’d give to you. 

“It’s all right.” 

Five years can change a person, both mentally and phsyically. Instead of the colored hair he used to have, it was jet black, swept to the side. His physique was more sturdy instead of lanky. And what he had never given you before,but made sure to be the best he had? 

A smile.

Yep, not the happiest story in the world, but my bias needs all the love he can get

centurylived  asked:

five times kissed (platonic owo owo)

send me five times kissed for a drabble about five times our muses kissed || open!

The first time was a tease; a joke; a flicker of a hand on someone’s shoulder. A mistaken identity during the early stages of their friendship. You’d laugh, mimic your sister as well as you could, before landing a kiss to the other’s cheek. The change of color would extract another large laugh from you as you swept away from the scientist; blowing another for sheer teasings sake. Laughter would soon bubble up from the other as he realized the joke; his more nervous and awkward then your own. 

The second time was more genuine, though you’d never admit it. He had saved her, and you both were sitting there, nerves bundled upon nerves as she recovered. She slept comfortably beside you two, both of you pressed into each other’s side in attempt to make room on the bed. Your hand reached for his, lips brushing against knuckles as you shook. You mumbled your gratitude against it, grasping hard. You needed an anchor, and it seemed he did as well. 

The third time was a comfort; a time of peace in which you’d sit somewhere, complaining to him about something. He’d give his own take on the situation, and you’d sweep your hand and dismiss it. It was a comfortable routine. One night; he’d give his own problems to you, and you gave your take. A twist on the old formula. He’d smile; thank you for the advice, and you’d roll your eyes. A teasing nickname would be tagged to the end of a chaste statement. A simple ‘you should already know that about her’ uttered from your breath. You’d head to bed, pressing a kiss to the top of his head in an inaudible ‘goodnight’.

The fourth was quiet permission. You’d sit on the beach beside him, your hair still wet and hanging off your body from the waves you surfed along. A crush was soon realized, and you laughed, knowing full well that it wasn’t one-sided toward your sibling. That you’d catch the way her eyes drifted to the blue jeans wearer in front of you. You’d give your advice once again, encouraging him to go for it, to jump the gun on his own nervousness about the situation. You’d press lips against a cheek, and mutter a few more encouraging words before you headed out. You’d hope he’d speak up soon. Mutual crushes could get so annoying after twenty something years. 

The fifth was fear, forgetfulness, and grief. You’d desperately try to understand who he was talking about, memories emptying and flickering to a close in your mind. A figure growing static as he begged for something only you could give, that only you could take. A spell escaped your lips and hit him in the chest, and you could already see the life fading from his eyes. You’d crouch beside him, peck his forehead in an attempt to make the transition easier, and the grief in your chest lighter before you grew even more confused. A headache pierced your mind as you looked at the individual in your arms, and wondered why you were holding a stranger. 


Sherlock: Molly hurry up, we are already late for this boring dinner with John and Mary.

Molly: I know. Just give me some time!

Sherlock: You have been in there for 1 hour and 26 minutes. What are you doing? Sewing your own dress?

Molly: For god’s sake. Give me just five more minutes!

Sherlock: We both know that it’ll take you longer than just five minutes.

Molly: Don’t be so impatient. As if you really want to go to this dinner?

Sherlock: John is my friend and I…

Sherlock: -stops and looks at Molly who just came out of the bathroom-

Molly: Done. I am ready to go! -nods and looks to him, then tilts her head-

Sherlock: -stares at her with his lips parted - Actually…I don’t think we should go to the dinner.

Molly: What? But I thought John was your friend and you really wanted to go. I had to check my outfit twice, redo my hair for five times and change the color of my eye shadow about ten times. Now you tell me you don’t want to go. Than this was completely unnecessary.

Sherlock: Well I wouldn’t say that. -smirks and winks at her- 

Molly: Sherlock? 

Sherlock: -walks to the bedroom, still with that cheeky grin on his lips- Bedroom, five minutes. 

Molly: -blushes- O-Okay…

     “I taught for five years, and now I’m studying to be a principal. My time here has really opened my eyes to how much change is needed in the education system in the U.S. in terms of equity and diversity.
     “Even as a person of color, I grew up a bit more privileged. I grew up in a middle-class family, and my mom, a single mother, had a good job and made sure I had everything I needed. But not everybody has this opportunity, so that’s my mission—to go and be a school leader and help create opportunities for the students.”

Cambridge, MA

The greatest heist

Prompt - Can you do one where the reader is kinda a petty thief/villain and always ends up having a face off with Damian and then they somehow end up together? It’s kinda like Catwoman and batman relationship - for anon.

Tagging: @whovianayesha


You kicked your legs back and forth as you watched the idiots below you scramble about for evidence from the scene of your crime.

For some criminals they would tell you the thrill of the chase or the defining moment that they knew it was in their clutches was what pushed them. For you? It was watching these idiots scratch their heads while you watched the wheels turn in their tiny brains.

In some weird way it was more entertaining than just plain running. Running was fun, although if you waited just long enough…

“I see you’re back.” A voice came from behind you

“Yeah, California is nice and all but the birds there were boring.” You grinned turning to them.

There he was, your little bird standing magnificently behind you.

“Emeralds are your thing, not rubies.” Robin stated “So what, did you change your favourite color on your break?”

“No.” You said as you stood up and leaned against the ledge you were sitting on. “I was thinking New year, new me.”

“That’s only applicable after the clock strikes 12.” He said pointing at his watch.

*What’s five minutes? You took your time though.”

“And a “ new you” would be sitting at home right now, not out here stealing things y/n.”  he frowned at you, he had told you on many occasions how he disapproved of your night time activities but it only drove you to continue them more. Each time getting to know him a bit better than the last.

“It’s all about my resolutions you see.” You winked at him

“And what would those be?” He asked genuinely interested

“I’m planning a massive heist! It’s going to be bigger and more precious than anything in this universe.“ You grinned dragging your explanation out. “The greatest heist!”

“And you’re telling me about it?” He laughed at you “ You must have caught too much sun y/n.”

3 minutes to midnight

“Well it involves you, you see little bird.” You smiled as you saw his face turn red in anger and he finally exploded

“Firstly for the hundredth time, it’s Robin! Secondly you must be stupider than I give you credit for ever if you think for a second that I will ever help you commit crimes.”

You grinned as you approached him, you would have expected him to be used to your teasing by now.

1 minute to midnight

“And thirdly.” He continued “it astounds me that you even think you need this life y/n, I thought you were better than this! You are better than this! Petty crime is bad enou-.” You cut him off with a kiss as fireworks hit the sky.

His watch flashed midnight and you slipped the ruby into his hands. As you pulled your hands out and broke the kiss, he pulled you back in.

After you broke away you looked at him with a triumphant look in your eyes. “My greatest heist is completed. Stealing your heart little bird.”

“You mean you drew me out here, with a ruby, to do this?” he asked you with a confused look. “Then just to hand it back over?”

“That was last years me.” You smiled  and pushed his hand holding the ruby closer to him “and this is this year’s me.”

How much does it hurt to know we spoke? 

How much will it kill you to taste your burning tongue as you forget words you spilled into me? 

Maybe we have voices that are simply too loud to love, we cannot defuse these ignitions of flames with simple words

I am screaming at you from the other side of the tracks, steel and stone pass within inches of me and i so desperately want to jump and be carried away to somewhere else, where I don’t have to hear your tortured thoughts echoing in static and stasis.

But you are whispering from the other side of the cosmos, you simply drip your words into this star filled ocean and expect every ear to ring to your sound. 

We are pitches that will never match, voices too soft for one yet too coarse for two.

We cannot share this speech, one will overrule the other, it’s how love is designed to break down, hearts are not designed for forever. 

If I turn away I cannot see you, and that makes it easier, it means I don’t have to see how each intricate shadow of your bones peeks through your skin. 

I don’t have to see the drop in your smile, a place where light and life itself lived, a home I made on your lips with mine and no stranger was ever let in.

If I turn away, I think. 

I cannot stop my mind from replaying these trials we’ve shared; I am the black and white man in the full color screen, a lost one standing alone.

Alone amongst thousands of others, we reach out and share with invisible hands this concrete weight of uncertainty.

We forget, regret, remember all too much all at once. It’s our way of trying to find something to hold on to.

I don’t want to lose you. i don’t want to forget the times we stayed alongside the moon and never stopped for anyone.

I don’t want to forget the laughter the sun shined into you, how your eyes plummeted to new depths as the stalked their way through my very conscience.

You brought me to life over and over again, I hadn’t known days like it since, and I’ve never known nights so lonely from them.

I can find solace in darkness, in simple shadows falling across the land.

And it’s these shadows that start to rebuild me, to take my mind back to wherever it was before I knew of your ungodly smile, and how you pierced my veil without even saying a word.

I became uncovered, you turned me exposed and made me show what colors fuel my insides.

I became your perfect muse, I want nothing more than you.

You, and every single undefined detail that made you. I wanted your smile, your touch, your taste, your everlasting scent to churn and toil inside me.

I needed to know every hilltop curve of your skin, I wanted to feel it shatter as you became this other part of me, to never let me go or breathe again.

We had futures, we had these plans that we would take on the world with nothing but our hands to touch between us, and our hearts to beat out this rhythm of revolution.

But then, the day broke differently, and the sun shone three shades deeper and the night made you five times quieter.

You didn’t want to be me, you didn’t want to want me, and that was what cut me most.

I looked to you as someone who would change me, to turn me inside out and let my insides pour, a water to your soul’s color, and god how the would have mixed together perfectly.

But now I look to the stars, I struggle to see the constellations that made my heart flutter, and my eyes heavier.

I want back the nights where I feel asleep to nothing but the thought of you.

I want the days where the sun shone through me and into you to bring yourself to life.

I’m looking through you now while you search through my bones, sorting every femur and follicle I am constructed of.

What I am now is broken, I’m finding scraps of myself I never knew you tore from me, and showed me how much I withered away when you left.

I am paper thin with parchment veins, I will not last beyond the rains that fall from me, and I know that you will never drown underneath them too.

Life is such a dangerously unbalanced game of possibilities, and chancing your faith to throw you forward enough.

But all I want is someone to hold my hand.

I don’t want to fall off again.