god this one is so shitty compared to the last one

“You seem very put together and secure in one self so I’m going to ask you this, and I would prefer it wasn’t publicly posted. Even if you don’t respond, that’s okay, but at this point I feel like I would appreciate a wiser person’s perspective. My boyfriend and I broke up, which may sound petty, but the shitty way I feel is not. It was because he was too overwhelmed to put effort into it. What would you suggest is the best way to move on from said breakup? HOW DO YOU PURGE YOURSELF OF EMOTION”

I asked this reader for permission to pull her question out of my askbox and answer it publicly because it seemed like it might be useful to more than one person considering becoming an emotional robot.

Dear Unnamed Reader,

First: you’re not going to like my advice.

Second: you don’t have to take it. I’m really only adequately equipped to give advice on how to be more like me, and trust me, sources are widely divided on whether this is a good thing. 

Third: I don’t think your turmoil is petty. One thousand ships have been launched in the name of a bad break-up.

Fourth: You ask me how to purge yourself of emotion. I reckon this must mean I don’t look like a hot mess on the internet, which is good to know. But I assure you that when something pings my emotional radar, I feel all feelings at level 11. Example? This morning, I gave Lover a ride to an errand. We took my old Camaro. On the interstate ramp, I put the car through its paces and experienced the burst of joy that comes in third gear at 4400 rpm. Once the car had settled, I realized Lover was staring at me. “God,” he said, “can you be any more happy?” No. No, in fact, I couldn’t. Emotions are binary in Maggie Stiefvater. You should have seen me when I first heard Two Door Cinema Club’s “Sun.” I almost died from happiness. 

But that also means my negative emotions are dialed to 11. I don’t often get upset — I’ve just become so unreasonably plucky that I assume all woes are transient, so whatevs. Because of my outsized belief in my ability to problem-solve, I really only get upset when I feel powerless. 2015 turned out to be the year of powerlessness: terrible things happening to friends, to my family, in the world. I finally broke last weekend over a comparatively tiny thing —a news article printed stuff about me that was so hilariously not true that I thought no one would believe it, particularly as the truth was still perfectly findable. But they did. And I couldn’t do a thing about it without stirring things up more and getting yet more messages telling me how glad they were to see me shot down from my Raven Cycle induced high blah blah etc. A minuscule thing — but yet more powerlessness after a year of epic powerlessness. I proceeded to launch 1,000 emotional ships. Work ground to a halt. I listened to Kygo’s remix of Matt Corby’s “Brother” 62 times in a row without pause. I sat under my office desk, only emerging to give in to to my OCD, which demanded, among other things, 17 clothing changes in 8 hours because SEAMS GOD THE SEAMS WHY. I blew a deadline. I flew to Colorado. I exceeded the speed limit in a rental Nissan that was not meant to exceed the speed limit. I blew another deadline. I paced until I couldn’t feel my knees. I thought about how I’d ruled out self-harm as an option a decade ago. I returned home. I sat on the shower floor for a very long time. I failed to sleep. I could have pretended that I wasn’t hurting, but — 

Fifth: you cannot cut out the sad emotions without cutting out the happy ones. 

Sixth: I am a disgustingly happy person. I fucking love life. The number of things in life that please me daily continues to astonish me, considering how terrible the world is. But I’m a happy person because I’m also sometimes a wretchedly sad person or terribly angry person. If you want to live life turned up all the way, you have to be open to the possibility of both joy or despair. 

Seventh: which brings me to the advice you’re not going to like: being miserable right now is not a bad thing. What you’re feeling is a valid response to a situation that you feel powerless in. It’s horrible. But you feeling genuine pain now means that you can — and will — feel genuine happiness at some point. Agony and joy come from the same place: being emotionally invested in your own life. 

Eighth: The way back to happiness is getting out of the cycle of powerlessness — basically, finding a place you can have agency again. Your misery is going to want you to find a way to be powerful in your current miserable situation. If you’re anything like me, you’ve rehearsed a few thousand options in your head. Calling him and winning him back. Making him feel as sad as you. Sending ugly greeting cards to his mother. Anything that would make you feel like you’re not completely helpless. But you need to find something else that you can be the boss of. Remind yourself of the things that make you feel like a badass. It doesn’t matter how silly or stupid they are. It can be as difficult as a project that you think will change the world, or as easy as playing a song that always gets you high. Do that.

Ninth: Do not listen to Kygo’s remix of “Brother.” It will not cheer you up.

Tenth: There is no tenth, but I really wanted one. So eat more leafy green vegetables.




red lipstick

bughead fanfiction - oneshot 

huge thanks to @finnsxprincess for reading this over for me <33 xoxo


“You are my dearest friend,
my deepest love, you are
the best of me.”
—Nicholas Sparks

It’s somehow always been Archie.

Since they were kids, him watching Betty give her extra stick of gum to his red-headed best friend, to the doting gaze she started to develop well into their middle school and then high school years, Jughead had seen the movies, heard the stories and yet, here he was, witnessing the sad and pathetic view of unrequited love.

Betty loves Archie, Archie loves Veronica, and Veronica loves anything with shine or sparkle. And Jughead? He loves food.

Food is simple. Uncomplicated.

You eat it, you feel good. Simple.

What’s not simple? The feeling arising in his stomach after witnessing a teary-eyed Betty Cooper hiding behind the duper at Pop’s one breezy evening in July.

She’s wearing a white summer dress and her lips look darker today, like the cherries he loves to pluck off his milkshakes. But it’s her eyes that make him pause; they’re vibrant blue, like the crashing waves he feels rumbling around in his stomach right now.

Okay, sure. He likes Betty Cooper as well. But he knows the chances of her returning his feelings are leveled with that of him becoming a vegan. Slim to none.

See? Sad and pathetic unrequited love.

Keep reading

More Than Good | R.M.

imagine requested by @rxggie-mxntle

Summary: In which you, a student-athlete, believes that you are not good enough. Reggie Mantle thinks otherwise.

Keep reading

because i am a foreign-languages asshole: scenes and dialogue in the dragon age series that should have had approximately 300% more difficulty with communication

- broscas/aeducans/mahariels having tons of difficulty navigating surface-level andrastian human slang/idioms/vocabulary because they’re used to their own mishmash of the Common tongue & their mother language from back home

- conversely, amells/suranas/tabrises confusing the fuck out of others when trying to communicate in their own Common-tongue idiosyncrasies from their own extremely insular communities

- Leliana, Zevran, and Sten occasionally having those moments where you completely blank out on a word or phrase in another language and have to stand there coming up with awkward alternate definitions until the other person supplies it for you (Sten has one with “cookies,” more like that pls)

- wardens from aforementioned insular communities pleased to be “reunited” with their respective home environments to some degree because even if the circumstances of their leaving were less than stellar, at least they’re FINALLY around other people who understand their extremely specific family of Dust Town/Diamond Quarter/Kinloch Hold/Elvehn/Denerim Alienage dialect

- Hawkefam having to adapt to the Kirkwall flavor of the Marcher brand of Common after speaking nothing but Backwater Fereldan Redneck all their lives

- Isabela speaking like, any Rivaini whatsoever

- ditto for Sebastian speaking Lowland Scots

- Tevene!!!! Ander!!! Elvehn!!!

- (what im saying is that i wish there was more content of hawke’s LIs speaking to them/teaching them shit in their own languages besides the standard couple of phrases that get frequently tossed around)

- ya boy Fenris doing the blanking thing where you can think of a word in one foreign language but not the one you’re actually speaking at the time (LOOK AT MY NEAR-TRILINGUAL BABY LOOK AT HIM HE IS SO SMART)

- anything to do with the Arishok (im like 400% convinced varric wrote that entire pre-final-battle villainous monologue entirely from his imagination because it’s wayyyy too tropey and articulate in abstract concepts that a general would see no value in learning to have come wholesale from the guy’s actual mouth)


- Dalish Inquisitors being aggressively Dalish, Vashoth Inquisitors being aggressively Vashoth (“Oh Iron Bull thank god you’re here none of these tiny kabethari understand what the fuck im getting at pls help me”)

- like that one post mentioned, Leli and Josie (and probably also Cassandra) being gossipy little shits entirely in Orlesian

- Solas correcting a Lavellan’s grammar because hundreds of years down the line they’re more likely to have more of a slapdash, slang-heavy and very conjugationally irregular “theatrical cut” of Elvehn compared to what he actually remembers

- Viv and Dorian likely also being gossipy shits because being multilingual is a near-guaranteed skill for people participating in highborn political antics

- “Last Resort of Good Men” also taking place entirely in Tevene, and “Demands of the Qun” featuring a ton of Qunlat

- Blackwall’s ability to speak Orlesian getting out after his personal quest (plus Cole’s since he spent tons of time in the White Spire)

- “commoner” Tevene from Krem vs. “academic” Tevene from Dorian

- any Nevarran from Cass. any at all. pls bioware im so desperate for ur shitty fake languages

- Sentinelves from the Arbor Wilds temple being thoroughly confused at a Dalish Inquisitor’s rapid-fire contemporary slapdash approximation of Elvehn and responding only in the centuries-old “proper” equivalent


-tl;dr moar language shenanigans

jimin; sidewalk sugar (M)

you met your sugar daddy on the sidewalk? - jeon jungkook, 2k16
►9942 words // scenario, sugardaddy!jimin, rated m for very obvious reasons
© (photo credit)

There are days where you love life to the end of time. Everything seemed to be a domino effect of pleasant things going your way; planned itinerary finishing on time, unexpected good news, maybe even a raise in your salary but that’s highly doubtful but a person can hope, no? It’s all the possible good emotions bottled up into a day, the span of twenty-four hours oozing with nothing but smiles and giggles. Those days are what you aim for the most, or at least, try.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was really not one of those fucking days.

Keep reading


Description: You were just a girl consumed by wanderlust. Lin was just a boy determined not to lose you.

Word Count: 1108(short and shitty, just like me)

Note: I made this for a six-months-away-from-your-birthday birthday present for Taylor

Tags: @secretschuylersister

You were just a girl consumed by wanderlust.

You could never stay grounded or comfortable in one place. As you would settle in one, you would feel a calling in you, deep down in your stomach, that screamed out that there were new places; this time, places far away from anywhere you had been were screaming out for you. As if possessed by a wayward spirit, you left behind everything.

This time, you not only changed your location, you changed everything. You cut your hair, shearing it and letting your curls go wild and wind blown. You stopped wearing any makeup, and didn’t stay in one place for too long.

This time, you could never settle. You were always moving, and nothing was ever the same– well, one thing was.

You had been unable to change your phone number, too afraid to truly lose the love of your life. Lin was a constant, and you always updated him on where you were; postcards, letters, phone calls, texts. Anything and everything to make him feel less alone.

You had been in Australia for a while, spending time on the beaches, strolling through the Australia Zoo, and trying to get used to the differing hours when compared to the last place you’d been.

You were woken up at almost four in the morning, you phone ringing off the hook. You were considering not picking up and going back to sleep, until you saw Lin’s face pop up along with his number. You picked up instantly.

“Hello, love. How are you,” You said, trying to hide the exhaustion in your voice.

“Please come home,” he said almost immediately, barely giving you time to finish your greeting. “It’s just, Im miss you, and it ain’t home w-without you her.”

“Lin, are you drunk?” You sat up, prepared to call one of your friends in the city to watch him and make sure he stayed out of trouble.

“Yes,” he answered without hesitation, and you froze.

“Why are you drunk, love?” He almost never did this, never getting drunk and making phone calls like this without hesitation.

“Because it’s been a year,” he slurred, and ice spread slowly through your veins. Had it really been a year since you left? It felt like it had been only weeks, but you had truly spent a whole 365 days without getting held by and holding Lin in your arms.

“I’m sorry love, but-”

He cut you off, “I would offer to come to wherever you are, but I don’t know where you are right now. But if I did, we could watch The Shining mini-series together. We don’t even have to spoon! I-if we get comfortable, we can,” there was a long pause, “there are parts that are scary. But, we can-we can watch the miniseries.” He paused again, and you heard him audibly gulp, as if he was taking another drink of some sort of alcohol, “I’ll have the book, in hand. I have the old, first print edition,” he slurred out, and started to cry quietly.

“Don’t cry, love,” you whispered into the phone. You weren’t able to handle it. You were the reason he was drunk, the reason he was crying, the reason he sounded so heartbroken.

“I-I just miss you, so, so, so much.”

“I know, love,” you replied, trying to steel your nerves, “but I need you to call someone to pick you up, take you home, and watch you to make sure you’re alright.”

“I am home,” he spat, “and I’m on the phone with you.”

“You need someone to be with you in person. Call Oak, or Daveed. They can watch you.”

“Daveed, is off fucking some girl, and Oak is off trying to fuck some girl,” he replied, “and I just want to be with you.”

You closed your eyes, squeezing them shut, trying to keep tears from falling down your face. “I know, love, I know,” you took a deep breath, “just promise me that you’ll call someone. Try Anthony, or even Jasmine.”

“Anthony and Jasmine are-”

“Don’t say that they’re fucking each other,” you snapped. “Lin-Manuel, I don’t care who’s fucking who right now, I want you to call someone that isn’t me, and tell them you’re drunk. Or I will.”

“Fiiiiiine,” he drawled after a moment, “but, I still wanna see you.”

“I know, love.” You said your goodbyes, and hung up the phone. You collapsed back onto the pillows, burying your face in your hands. You stayed up the rest of the night, making a rock solid plan and booking flights.

When your plane touched down in New York, all the nervousness fluttered back into your mind like migrating butterflies, and you subconsciously bit at you lip, feeling it split open.

It was late, stars dotting the sky like pinholes in a black cloth, and you walked out of the airport alone, toting a bag. You hailed a taxi, jumping in, and feeling knotted up with apprehension, the butterflies refusing to leave you.

You knew Lin’s regular hangover routine, and by now he would be passed out all over again after a day of moping about and having a twelve hour headache.

You didn’t even bother knocking on the door to his apartment, choosing instead to grab the spare key from underneath of the mat and sneaking quietly into the apartment.

You were scared out of your skin when someone practically jumped you, pulling you into their arms and pressing you flush against their chest, murmuring into your hair that they couldn’t believe you were home.

“I’m here, love. I’m home,” you said, as Lin kissed your forehead after pulling away. “God, I missed you,” you breathed out, pulling him in for a kiss.

Soon enough, he had you pressed against the wall, his arms boxing you in, his mouth devouring yours. He was suddenly kissing you cheek, jaw, neck, shoulder. He pulled your shirt off, and you pulled off his, and you were being pulled into Lin’s bedroom, and everything was perfect.

“I missed you, so much,” he breathed out as he traced nonsense patterns along your bare side, kissing the top of your head.

“So did I.”

“Are you going to leave me again,” he asked, and you shook your head.

“If I ever feel like I need to, I’ll tote you along with me, or I’ll only be gone for a week. No more than that,” you promised, and Lin nodded.

“So,” you began, looking up at him, “do you wanna get to watching that miniseries you mentioned yesterday?”

“Absolutely,” he said, dropping a quick kiss on your forehead.

Bawson Soulmate AU

So… this was supposed to be just an AU idea for Bawson fic that someone could write but idk why I started writing it all out… Anyway …I know it must have certain plotholes but really, it’s no biggie. This was written for fun :D

Soulmate AU in which one can hear their soulmate’s thoughts (one sided).

Imagine Mike hearing some silly thoughts of a five-year-old girl or some inside jokes her little brain comes up with. And later, during games, him hearing some teenage girl’s voice in his head cheering him on, ‘You can do it, Mike!’. Or having breakfast and hearing ‘One day, Mike Lawson, I’m gonna marry you.’ or ‘Good night, Mike. You played well today.’ Or even random thoughts about dresses vs. baseball, his own stats, advice on how he could improve his play.

At first, it freaks him out - hearing her but not knowing her, feeling her joy and love? for him, this child-like fascination with Mike Lawson. It takes him some time but he gets used to it. The presence of her voice, her thoughts that pop every once in awhile in his head become oddly comforting so much so he learns to rely on them to help him sleep or focus before a game or even lift his spirits whenever the Padres lose because he can’t stand letting her down, this person who has become his constant companion, someone in whose musings he finds solace. It does wonders for his ego as well, he’s not gonna lie, being liked this much by someone.

Sometimes she’ll think of the most embarrassing things about him, how attractive he is, how good of a player he is, some cheesy jokes and he would laugh his ass off, thanking god this person exists because Mike thinks his life would be so dull without her curious and helpful insights.

*  *   *

She guards his rookie card like a dragon guards its treasure. Mike knows this because the girl’s scrambled thoughts let him know she got into a fight with someone who tried to play a joke on her and hid it. God, he wouldn’t want to find himself on her bad side seeing how she obliterates the person with her loud voice that manages to transfer into Mike’s brain - her rage is real.

*   *  *

Things change after he starts dating Rachel and the news goes public - the voice becomes somewhat sadder, possibly even angrier. Mike hopes it’s not because of him, that maybe there’s stuff happening in her life making her feel and think the way she does. Actually, he knows there’s something happening because she keeps thinking of her mom and someone named - Kevin? and there are random curses and swearing which sadden him. Mike wants to be able to comfort her the way she comforted him, but he can’t.

*   *   *

He hears her pray for his broken knees, pray for his recovery, pray that he’ll be able to play again as tiny sobs make their way into his mind as well. It’s her blind faith in him and that unconditional support she offers to a player she happens to like that push him to give his all on the field and now too, as he fights for his career, for the opportunity to play again. He makes it through, her ‘Go, Lawson!’ drawing a smile on his face long after he had forgotten how to smile. Rachel’s is there too of course, but… he can’t compare her and the girl. They both provide him with something he needs just in different ways. (Secretly though, Mike’s just too afraid to admit to himself her support means more, so much more than Rachel’s ever did.)

*   *   *

After a few years of dating, Rachel and he get married; it’s nothing too pompous though there are a few reporters that take their pictures. They appear a few hours later on one website and spread like wildfire all over the Internet.

That night is the last time he hears her. Her last thought he hears is ‘What did ya think, not like you’re going to marry him, you fool get over your stupid teenage crush’ but it’s more like her recollecting someone else’s words mocking her than her own disappointment with him.

*  *  *

The voice becomes silent after that, making him worry something had happened to its owner. However, there’s nothing he can do since he knows nothing about this person, this girl who has been his greatest cheerleader for years.

*   *   *

He misses it, her. Rachel notices but doesn’t ask. It’s for the best, anyway. Mike is not sure he would even be able to explain the hollowness he feels in his chest due to her absence. Sometimes he wonders if Rachel hears her own soulmate’s thoughts… They’ve never discussed it, never talked about the fact they are together but aren’t supposed to be. 

*   *   *

They make it work somehow and Mike is happy with Rachel - until he isn’t.

It starts with them bickering over his travelling all the time and not settling with her. Her job’s in LA and she will not move to San Diego just to  work on some shitty local network. He wants kids but Rachel’s not ready to be a parent. He’s ok with that at first, thinking now is not the time, but she will eventually be ready. Then he realises, she never will be.

*   *   *

The fights and yelling continue. Both of them are too tense, snapping at each other every chance they get so they decide it is for the best they take a break.

*   *   *

Mike isn’t even that surprised when Rachel tells him about the affair, about her meeting her soulmate and wanting to be with him. Elated, she tells him what it was like to see him for the first time and hear his voice outside her head. The smile doesn’t disappear off her face as Mike swallows down everything he wants to say. He doesn’t blame her (not too much), he wants to be with his soulmate too.

*   *   *

The divorce is bittersweet - after all, Mike got used to having Rachel around just like he got used to not hearing the girl’s voice. It takes him a few months to recover and his aching back and knees are no help whatsoever. His teammates keep commenting on his growing grumpiness but Mike shrugs them off since he can’t afford to focus on that. Not now when he has another rookie pitcher coming and all eyes are on him to make it work.

It’s a girl rookie, and so far, Mike hasn’t heard anything about her. He spends a few days watching her tapes, studying her play, posture, stats. She’s not bad but he needs to see her in action on field with him to get the real picture.

*   *   *

It’s her voice chanting his name that wakes him up in the middle of the night, ‘Mike Lawson, tomorrow. Mike Lawson, tomorrow’. 

Mike doesn’t know how he should feel. He’s ecstatic she’s back. Hearing her again after so long feels like winning World Series. At the same time, it’s scares him. Tomorrow? Is it some kind of warning? Is something going to happen?

He struggles but finally falls asleep again holding onto her voice.

*   *   *

He arrives at Petco and heads to the locker room, changes quickly and goes out into the field. He’s about to grab the bat when his head starts pounding, footsteps echoing in his ears and her 'I didn’t see Mike Lawson out there’.

 There where?

He shakes his head and sips some water to calm himself. What the hell?

*     *    *

Mike is talking to some of his teammates when her loud internal squeal breaks his concentration and assaults his ears. He shifts his gaze from his teammates to collect himself because this sound, it’s getting louder and louder.

And just then he notices a girl in Padres jacket standing at the dugout and he hears 'act cool, act cool, act cool, don’t freak out’ so loud he’s afraid his eardrums are going to burst.

What in the world?!

He moves towards her and his palms start sweating, his throat goes dry, and his legs feel like they’re made of lead.

She practically jumping on her feet, smiling brightly, dimples set deep on her face.

 It’ can’t be, right? Of course it’s not her, No way.

Mike internally chastises himself and adopts his usual persona, the carefree playboy catcher as he approaches her. This is just his new rookie.

‘Look what we got here Ginny Baker, in the flesh.’  He congratulates himself on managing to stay calm and say those words with ease he does not feel.

She stars to speak, 'I should tell you, I have your rookie card-’

And  knocks the fucking air out if his lungs.

*    *    *   *   *

She’s back home, in one of her rare visits since her dad died. She’s with her mom at the supermarket, the first time she hears him,

'What if she wants kids, just not with me? What if she’s still waiting for her-’

The thought is cut off which is good since Ginny is about to have a breakdown right there in the middle of the store. Her mom is looking at her like she’s grown a second head and it is then Ginny realises she had screamed. Her hands are shaking but she assures her mom it was nothing more but a nasty cramp.

Ginny dismisses the event as her brain being exhausted after the yelling match she had with Will that day. It was nothing really.

*   *   *

Only, the voice emerges again, and this time Ginny takes notice of the pain and despair it’s laced with that making her sad all of a sudden.

'I can’t do this anymore, I can’t.’

And it sounds eerily like Mike lawson’s voice. Which is insane. Completely and utterly insane. ‘Get over it, Ginny,’ she tells herself.

She doesn’t.

*   *   *

It continues happening, his voice popping up at the most inconvenient times - sometimes when she’s in the shower, sometimes in her sleep, sometimes during games which is especially dangerous since her connection to him, the owner of the voice, has become stronger and her feelings are all jumbled when it comes to him making it that much harder to focus on pitching.

But she got Mike Lawson’s voice stuck in her head, all the struggles he’s facing with his divorce and it pains her to know how deeply it affects him. More than anything, his hurt over a failed marriage, a failed family, makes her want to call him immediately and console him. Him thinking she’s a crazy stalker calling him in the middle of the night stops her from doing so.

*   *   *

She signs for Padres and her excitement is only ruined by his voice and doubt he displays in her abilities.

'A female pitcher? Yeah right.’

What the hell? Does he even know how good she is? And what’s with that snarky and dismissive attitude?

*  *  *

Ginny block out the voice in the weeks following the signing and moving to San Diego. She blocks out everything and everyone.

*   *  *

When she steps in the hallway leading to the locker-room, Amelia, Oscar and Al by her side, something inside of her stirs. She can’t pinpoint what it is exactly… maybe it’s just the overwhelming feeling of being at Petco, of making history, or even meeting her idol.

*   *   *

When she goes out to the field one of the first things, or rather persons, she notices is him, Mike Lawson. He looks so fine even from this distance and Ginny can’t contain her excitement.

He notices her and after exchanging a few words with his teammates he starts approaching her. Her  heart beats wild in her chest and she has to clench her fists and bite the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from screaming out his name.

 'Act cool, act cool, act cool, don’t freak out’, she chants.

Mike Lawson’s standing in front of her, hands on his hips and that smug smile she’s seen on far too many photos.

‘Look what we got here Ginny Baker, in the flesh.’

She rushes to speak to her idol, telling him 'I should tell you, I have your rookie card-“ before she registers his shocked expression.

‘It’s you!’ he exclaims, mouth agape.

Oh dear, she knows what he means.

‘Only now realising it, ha, old man? Well, I knew it was you all along.’

Keep Your Hands Off My Girl

A part of the drabble series When Two Worlds Collide for the 500 Followers Celebration. 

(gifs aren’t mine)

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader x Chris Evans

Summary: Feeling threatened by the presence of his doppelgänger, Steve decided to change in order to get your attention.  

A/N: This is the first installment of the drabble series I’ll be doing for the next 5 days. The series will take place in the same time and setting as Double Take. Also, this one is a tiiiiny bit long. 


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Originally posted by jeonify

Word count: 2.2k

Genre: Angst, Eventual Smut

Warnings: swearing, mentions of sex, loads and loads of angsty shit

A/N: Be Mean by DNCE made me do this, though its didn’t inspire the whole story lol but yes there will be something smutty in the later parts also wow @ the gif,,,,, also i feel like this is kind of a filler chapter lol also feel like i shouldn’t have ended it there but idk i cant continue also this was kinda short iDk SORRY

A lot of people deserve forgiveness, a lot of people deserve to forget but all they receive are reminders after reminders after reminders of the mistakes they’ve committed. 

First, it was a scandalous relationship with a girl. The newspaper article headlines with his secret connection with this nobody, including the explicit (but not too explicit, of course) details of his sadistic and masochistic sexual requests.
If that didn’t cause a whole bunch of ruckus, the next one did. Jeon Jungkook was sitting by his window ledge in his secret hiding place, a “temporal safe haven” as his manager puts it. His doe eyes glossy as the light from outside reflected. Though the ray did reveals his tears, his eyes still seemed dull as compared to before. Like a light, that had inhabit his vision before, had been torn away. It was drooping at the sides, so were the sides of his mouth. You could clearly see the toll that he had taken. Exposing his emotions, clearly plastered on his face, vulnerable as the sound of his empty house started to turn deafening. His pupils following the tiny amounts of snow that descended gracefully from the sky. His palm warm against the cold glass of the window, soon to transfer its heat, turning the heated hand into numbed flesh. 

The crestfallen boy knew he was going to have to face the public soon. He didn’t know what the fans thought, getting mixed responses as he read the tweets. He didn’t know what the conservative public of Korea thought of it, he didn’t know what his parents thought. He also didn’t know what the members thought or what you thought. Jungkook was desperately avoiding thinking about the latter, especially. The thoughts would harass him till he’s ruined.
His ringtone chiming interrupted his thoughts. The ringing got more violent as all the notifications flooded in.
“Jeon Jungkook Nude? BTS’ Golden Maknae Nude Video Leaked.”
#Jungkooknudes trending on twitter.

Moving before his eyes on the screen was two familiar figures. Jungkook’s memory of that special night was slowly tortured and decaying further by every embarrassing moan that blasted out of the speaker of the device. Or by every spank that could be heard in the audio, resounding in the room. Both bodies were moving at the same pace, before his manager pulled the phone away from his face. Now, he was sitting in an office with eight pairs of eyes all on him.
His manager had spoken. But the bunny-tooth boy paid no mind to the stressed man,it was probably something along the lines of,
“Do you know how much trouble we’re in? If you dare pull some more shit like this. You know what’s coming, kid. Watch out, alright?”, the last part had a hint of sympathy and care, not being as harsh as his few previous sentence. His manager knew that this isn’t what Jungkook wanted, he was human too. He obviously didn’t leaked it himself. But, it did put his job and the rest of their jobs at risk of being taken away, he needed the younger boy to know that his actions have consequence and to be careful with what he does.

Jungkook just sat there silently, staring lifelessly at the table. Nobody could really disclose what he’s thinking about, not the boys as they sat in the room with him, not his manager, no one. They all just stared at him as he was to the table. The dispirited boy had his fringe covering a little of his vision as he stared into the matte black that covered the table, still trying his best to avoid the thoughts of you from popping up in his mind.
Nobody had foreseen that the youngest of BTS would’ve been so, well to put it simply, problematic. Nobody thought he would’ve been so sexually promiscuous, everyone speculated that he was the innocent little boy that everyone assumed and portrayed him to be. Some made up rumours that he wanted to get rid of this image, thus causing all this commotion. Others said it was for publicity, quote “These celebrities will do anything to get their face onto the cover of a magazine, be it bad or good news. Absolutely pathetic.

Amidst all the chaos, nobody asked Jungkook how he felt about this whole situation. Of course, he felt pretty damn shitty. After all his privacy was being pried into. That little minute dust of freedom he had, that he had the right to have, was blown away in a violent wind straight from his bare hands. No amount physical work could have snatched it back as it scatters all over the place. It was out there for the world to look at, the uncensored image of his naked body and the girl he loved on display for the whole world to see. His sultry words, that was supposedly only for his lover to hear, was now heard by millions.
Jungkook also felt irritation amongst all his emotions. Why did he have to apologise when he never did anything wrong? What kind of goddamn social contract was it to apologise for his own leaked nudes? It was his privacy being violated here. The person who leaked the nudes and everyone who watched that god-fucking-damned video should be sending their apologies to him instead.
Jungkook also felt a tiny sense of happiness lingering at the back of his mind, however he was confused by this emotion. He almost caused 8 other people to lose their jobs, a girl to lose her dignity and pride and not able to face the public. He allowed the familiar elderly couple to be tortured by the hushed whispers spouting more and more rumours about them and him, especially about their relation and how he was badly brought up and nurtured by the couple. He jeopardised a company’s reputation and his own. How could he have felt happy in a moment like this? 

Next thing Jungkook knew, he was, back in the house, lying in the silence and on the extremely huge and empty kingsized bed. The loose string of the smooth silk bedsheets caught in the crooked cut of his nails on his finger as he thought about some of the people he did owe an apology to. Jungkook knew he had to make some amends. He apologised to the members, all of them forgiving and accepting his apology quite easily. They understood what he did wasn’t on purpose and that they all had their own things to hide. He apologised to his parents, his parents also being very forgiving. He was exceedingly thankful for all grace shown by his members, the company and his parents.

Now, it was time for the harder part. He walked through the dark cold street, step after step to the familiar address. His hands pushed into the pocket of his coat, in great need of warmth. The air conditioner in the house broke before this, he’s been living without heat for about 12 hours. He couldn’t escape the house either as he was suppose to be in hiding. Just his luck, he also forgot to wear gloves tonight.

He knocked against the wooden door, a crack in the door causing a splinter to prick the skin of his knuckle. He knocked again and waited. After 15 minutes, still not a single soul.

“Hey, I know you’re in there.” His voice sounded rough. As he hasn’t spoken much in the past few days, Jungkook was surprised by his own voice.

The door then opened with a creak, his large eyes engulfed into the small lifeless ones that stood before him. Despite being lifeless at first sight, he saw fear and sadness swimming around in them too.

“What do you want?” The soft, but hoarse voice ruptured in the quiet night. The air so chilled that her hot breath condensed in the contrasting temperature. Silence stood all around them for a moment before Jungkook sighed.

“I just wanted to apologise.” He said quietly, almost a whisper. Feeling guilty and for the first time, he felt small in front of the petite woman.

“Sorry doesn’t fucking cut it.” For someone so small, the girl spoke with so much hatred, Jungkook couldn’t believe that much hostility could occupy one being. Booming, so sharp that it cut the silence straight into half. The boy was shocked, expecting an easy and smooth forgiveness. But, his naive mind never ran over the possibilities of what was going to happen. Alas, he was, now, confronted and the infamous feline has really grabbed his tongue, this time. Maybe, even tied it into a knot as it felt like he couldn’t talk.

“I’m a girl. You’ll never understand what it’s like for me. For you, it’s a bump in your life, its a mistake that’ll soon be forgotten by many. For me, however, I’ll live with it forever. Instead of people telling me that it was just a mistake, they blame me for this. My reputation forever tarnished by you. I’ll always just be known as the girl that had that sex scandal with that idol. People at my workplace talk about me, I’ve been forced to resign to protect the company’s reputation. People at the convenient store talk about me, I see the censored thumbnails of that stupid fucking video on the covers of magazines while walking in the goddamn supermarket. People are making violating comments about my body, right in front of me. All thanks to you, the whole world knows what I look like when I’m fucking you, completely naked.” Her voice once again, firm and loud enough for Jungkook to understand the emotions she was projecting, but not loud enough to wake the neighbours. Jisoo wouldn’t risk that, there was enough talk going around town.
Jungkook, then, realised the double standards that was still alive. He’ll be able to move on and build his career again and soon, everyone would forget. But, a female body. The female anatomy wasn’t easily forgotten especially by people who sexualise it so much. Even, Jungkook could still remember what his first love looked like. But, not her face first, if you asked him in this way. He remembered the curves in her body and the way she moulded so perfectly with him. The sole reason why he remember her face was because well she's his first love.

“You said you’d always protect me. Why didn’t you keep your promise?” She whispered, her voice broken. Though, she was quick to compose herself again, blinking the tears away. Refusing for the, though downhearted too, boy to see her so broken. She knew how it’d affect him, because through everything she still does love Jungkook.

“I know, Jisoo. B-but this is different, I-I couldn’t-“ Jungkook stammered, not being able to say what he wanted properly. Shoving his tears to the back of his eye socket, clearing his throat so he could properly discuss this. 

“I think we should breakup. If that wasn’t obvious enough.” Jisoo interrupted coldly. 

“No. Please.” Jungkook whispered as he begged. The only words he could muster up. 

“Please never look for me again.” She said almost reluctantly.

“Jisoo, we can talk it out. Please, just stay.” Jungkook had a tear running down his face at this point. Jisoo wiped at the tear with a small smile, her’s also threatening to fall.

“Goodbye Jungkook.” With a kiss on the cheek, slowly Jungkook felt her hands slip away and she retracted back into the house. 

This love died too early, Jungkook did love her but the unhappy boy’s eyes weren’t as glossy as he thought it would be. He was hurt, he did feel the sour squeezing in his nose and the closing of his throat. Yet, it didn’t hurt as bad as he expected. Above all, his mind, contrarily, hasn’t occupied by Jisoo at all. These few days, it had been set on avoiding thinking about you. Although, the boy was trying to circumvent, eschewing these thoughts seemed to make them worse. Avoidance wasn’t going to make him feel any better, he had to come to grips with it.

Everyone advised him that it was a mistake to leave. But, Jungkook didn’t care. He’s been in their restraints for too long, as much as he liked being restrained. He didn’t like it this way. As the male sat in his gigantic kingsized bed, once again. He thought all was right in the world again, like the stars had aligned in the world, except that it’s not. He felt he was missing something as his eyebrow scrunched together, then your image popped up in his mind. His eyes widened in realisation as his stared into the white ceiling. His raised eyelids start to falter as he thought about what to do. There was a shit load he had to do, he was muddled as to where to start. 

He had to find you. Jungkook stared at the map, the leather seat beneath him getting warm. As he drew on the map, the red ink smudging on the glossy paper, he narrowed down his options to you two’s hometown first. His lean legs reached for the gas pedal, his ink stained hands found the steering wheel and sped down the roads. He went out to venture, close to a pilgrim, on a journey to search for you. Your name is his permanent safe word, you are is his permanent safe house.

apartment wars

Clexa Week Day 1 - Enemies To Lovers

Summary: When Lexa ends up snatching the apartment that Clarke wants from right under her nose, she becomes Clarke’s sworn archenemy. Not that Lexa is actually aware of this, but Clarke’s decided that things have to be that way. The last thing that Clarke expects is the series of events that lead up to her being asked to move into that very same apartment months later.

Read on AO3.

The news that Clarke gets upon arrival at the real estate office, while probably not as disastrously tragic as she makes it out to be, feels like she’s just had her heart ripped out from her chest by the clawed hand of Satan himself.

“We lost the apartment,” Clarke announces to Raven mournfully, as if Raven hadn’t been standing right beside her when the real estate agent gave them the bad news. “Some other bitch signed it earlier today.”

Raven’s eyes flicker up briefly, giving Clarke a look, then her gaze returns to the phone in her hands, her thumbs dancing with effortless ease across the screen as she taps out a message.

“There are other apartments,” Raven replies indifferently.

“But this was my dream apartment,” whines Clarke.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Omg, number 24 for the bellarke prompts please!!!!

gosh, the twenties are quite popular aren’t they :) thank you so much for sending in this request it makes me so happy !!!

24 - “you’re the only one i trust to do this.”

It was nine thirty-five on a Monday morning when Bellamy Blake got a call from Clarke Griffin.

He was greeted by a cough, sniffle and “I’m sick!”

“Well I would offer to look up your symptoms on WebMD but it seems all that knowledge from the half of your pre-med course you actually did take have helped you work it out yourself,” he said, smiling cockily, he was pretty proud of that little burn.

“Ha, ha!” she coughed out in a dull, unamused monotone. “Well I’m sure that brilliant fully completed history degree you got there will really come in handy when I get all the good articles and you end up writing, yet again, about Mrs. Smith across the road’s terrible disdain for modern technology. I’d love to see you put yet another spin on that one,” she grumbled back.

Being sick may have made her sniffly but it in no way deminished her ability to completely and utterly destroy him.

“Ouch, did you call for any reason other than to make me feel bad about all my life decisions up until this point?” he asked, tapping his pen on the desk.

“Not all, I did like that one decision you made last week when you got me a coffee on Thursday morning, that one was nice,” she said in joking contemplativeness.

“It was buy one get one free, Clarke.”

“Okay, well whatever. I’m calling because I kind of need you to cover my Person of Interest interview for me today?” she asked reluctantly. He could practically see her wincing on the other end.

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anonymous asked:

Hey, could you maybe make an imagine to where Josh has been missing for quite sometime (like a few months or so) and everyone is worried sick and stuff. But then Tyler gets a call that he has been found? Also can the reader be his gf please?


Twenty eight hours.  

That’s how long it had been since anyone had heard from Josh.  

Twenty eight hours since you’d seen his name flash across your screen.

Twenty eight hours since you’d heard his voice.

Twenty eight hours since you’d seen his smile.

Twenty eight hours.  

A cancelled show.  

And a bajillion missed calls.

You were sleeping over at Tyler and Jenna’s, too anxious and scared to stay alone.  

It was an understatement to say you were a wreck, constantly alternating between ugly sobbing and vacant staring.  Tonight was a staring night.  Tonight was a night where your mind wandered into all the dark nooks and crannies you spent so much of you life trying to avoid.  

You barely felt Jenna’s arm around you.  And you could barely hear Tyler pacing in the dimly-lit hallway, leaving voicemail after voicemail on Josh’s phone.  All going unanswered.  

You’d shut your own phone off.  You’d become obsessed with checking it.  Constantly hopeful that Josh would return your calls.  Tell you he’s alive.  It was eating you from the inside out.  

Twenty eight hours.

Twenty eight excruciating hours.

It wasn’t a police case.  Josh had taken his wallet, his phone, his charger.  All the essentials.  No fowl play suspected.  No suspicious accidents.  He just vanished.  

“He’ll be back,” Tyler reassured you.  He was crouched on the floor in front of you, lightly touching your knee.  “I know he’ll be back.”  You nod, not believing a single word he said.  

“You need rest,” Jenna whispers, giving your shoulder a light rub.  

She’s probably right.  The bags under your eyes have become something out of a horror flick.  You think your insides are too squirmy to sleep, but you lay down, letting Jenna tuck you in like a child.  

Their guest bed is soft.  Like clouds.  

You find your mind wandering.  You start to think of some of the tweets you’d read through about the cancelled show.  Different theories and assumptions.  That the band actually broke up.  That someone died.

You wonder what Josh would say if he was here.  You imagine him kissing the tip of your nose and playing with your hair.  He’d probably tell you to stop thinking about it.  To think of something good instead.  

So you try.  You think of the purest and brightest thing in your life.  You think of it laughing, how it’s eyes get all crinkly when it smiles too big.  You think of how it smells and the rise and fall of it’s chest when it’s sleeping beside you at night.  You drift off, finally feeling at peace.

You’re being shaken awake in the middle of the night.  Dazed, confused and still half asleep, you sit up.  Tyler’s lanky silhouette is standing above you.  

“I’m gonna flip on the light,” he says.  

His warning doesn’t prepare you for the blinding flash that erupts.  

You immediately cover your eyes with your forearm, trying to adjust while still looking up at Tyler.  He has a large hoodie on, the bags under his eyes just as prominent as yours.

“He called,” he says, voice cracking.

Your arm falls immediately as you forget completely about the light.  

You’re already flinging the covers and swinging out of bed.  

“What?”  you stammer, still unsure if you believe Tyler or not.

“He called about fifteen minutes ago,” he pauses, “he’s safe.”

Your hand covers your heart, a weight being lifted.  “Thank goodness,” you exhale.

When Tyler doesn’t respond, you ask, “Where is he?”

He sighs, shoving his hands in his pocket.  “I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know? You just talked to him!”

“He didn’t say.  Said he needs some time,” Tyler exhales sharply, “doesn’t want to be found.”

“Doesn’t want to be found?” you repeat, “what the hell does that even mean?”  You’re becoming frantic.  You quickly rush to the dresser drawer in the corner of the room and turn your cellphone on.  Josh didn’t want to be found by Tyler.  

That didn’t mean he hadn’t tried to get in touch with you.  He’d probably been trying to reach you all day.  God, why did you turn your phone off? So, so stupid.  

You cradle your phone, watching as it boots up.  You stare at the home screen, waiting and waiting, but no texts come through.  No voicemails.  Nothing.  Josh hadn’t tried to reach you at all.  

You look up at Tyler, your face barely peaking out from your hair.  

“Did he say anything about me?”

Tyler pierces his lips, his eyes drooping sadly and shakes his head.

You choke out a sloppy sob, putting your hand over your mouth and hunching over.  Everything inside of you hurts.  You’re angry.  You’re terrified.  You’re confused.

Tyler hesitates.  Jenna had been the one comforting you all week so he wasn’t quite sure what you needed.  He awkwardly shuffles over and puts an arm around you.  You gratefully lean into his shoulder and ugly cry, wishing for this all to be over.  

“Why would he do this?” you whisper.  

“I wish I knew,” Tyler says.

Two more days go by and you start to ponder with the idea of Josh leaving you.  As much terror and anguish you felt the first day of Josh’s disappearance was nothing compared to how you felt now.  Josh chose this.  He chose to leave.  He chose to ignore your voicemails and texts.  

You wanted to respect whatever decision Josh made, even if you didn’t understand it.  So you’d stopped calling.  You’d stopped texting.  A small piece inside of you thought that maybe your silence would make him realize how much he missed you.  But it was eating you alive.  

Apparently you needed Josh way more than he needed you.  

Tonight you were back in your apartment for the first night since he left.  The silence was horrible, unsettling.  You sat on the edge of Josh and your bed, feeling the throw blanket underneath your fingertips.  The room was eerily clean, all the pillows perfectly placed on the bed, every dresser drawer shut tight.  It really showed that no one had lived in the space for over a week.  You pinched the fabric between your thumb and pointer finger.

You stood up, suddenly too overcome with emotions to sit still.  You walk to Josh’s side of the room, the side usually masked with chaos and disorder.  You pulled open his drawer.  His T-shirts laying neatly, folded just how you left them.  You sigh, pulling one out.  You wish it was unwashed, just pulled off his body.  You wished it smelled like him.  Instead all you could smell was lavender fabric softener.  

Something in your chest cracks as you fail to remember what Josh smells like.  It takes less than a second for you to break down.  You clutch his shirt in your fist and start to sob uncontrollably.  Your insides feel like they’re being ripped apart.  You can feel each stitch pull apart, as your heart tears further and further.  You wrap your arms around yourself, desperate to hold at least some of it together.  

You wonder what you did to make Josh run away.  You thought back to your last night together, and tried to pinpoint any signs that Josh was so unhappy.  You didn’t notice.  Whatever was going on in his head, you didn’t notice.  What kind of girlfriend did that make you?  

What kind of person did that make you?

You pulled your phone out of your pocket then, desperate and hysteric and unsure of what else to do.  

You briefly contemplated calling Tyler or Jenna.  But you knew only one person could make you feel better when you were frantic like this.  So you dialed the only number you still knew by heart.

The line rang.

And rang.

And rang.

Your throat felt tight when Josh speaks to you.  You must’ve heard his voicemail a thousand times, but nevertheless, hearing his voice soothed you.

“Hey, this is Josh, I’m obviously not around to pick up, but I’ll call ya back.”  Bullshit, you thought.

“But leave a message if you want!”


You freeze.  Realizing that you had nothing planned to say.  Nothing remarkable or clever or monumental.  

“Hey,” you whisper, trying to keep your voice as steady as possible.  “Um, it’s me.”

“I know you don’t wanna hear from me,” you begin.

Your nose starts to burn and you feel the tears starting to surface again, you try to hold them back.

“But uh-“ your voice grows thicker, “uh- I-”

You breathe shakily into the line, “I’m just at the apartment and it’s really quiet and I don’t think I’ll really be able to sleep,” you pause.  “And I’m just having a bad night, and I uh- I didn’t really know who else to call,” you wipe your wet cheek before continuing, “Tyler said you’re okay.  Which is good.  I’m glad you’re safe.

I just missed hearing your voice,” you say letting out a shaky sigh.  “And I’m sorry.  If I hurt you- I’m really sorry,” you sob heavily.  An ugly, heart wrenching cry.  “I just wanted to say that the keys under the mat and I’ll leave the light on incase you want to come home.”

You click the end button, letting the line go dead.  You clutch your phone to your chest, hanging your head and continuing to cry.

Sleep evades you for days.  You walk around, a lifeless, empty shell.  You do things.  You make the bed and fold the laundry.  But you don’t really feel any of it.  

Tyler and Jenna stop by one afternoon.  

Tyler looks shitty, too.  He’s skinny and his cheek bones are so prominent, like he hasn’t eaten in days.  Come to think of it, neither had you.  

“This is ridiculous,” Jenna says, all but slamming her fists down on your kitchen counter.  You look up sharply, startled by her sudden outburst.

“We have to go find him,” she says, “he can’t just runaway.  And we can’t just let him.”

“Jenna-“ Tyler interjects.

“No,” she says harshly.  “I can’t sit here and watch you, and you,” she says looking over towards where you were seated, “disappear with him.  You’re both fading away.  He can’t do this to us.”

You look up at Jenna, eyes swollen from so much crying, too tired to register all of what she was saying.  

“How can he do this?” she says in frustration, her voice cracking.  She starts to cry, standing in the middle of your kitchen.  Tyler hurries over, cupping her cheek and cradling her into his arms.  They sway, engulfed in each other’s arms.  

You feel sick.

You quietly push out of your chair and walk upstairs.  This was all becoming too much.  

You stop answering calls.  Jenna texts you constantly, trying to check up.  You don’t even open them.  Tyler calls, leaves messages.  Asks how you’re holding up.

About as good as could be expected.  

You feel utterly pathetic.  But you don’t want to function without Josh around.  Everything looks two shades duller and your chest constantly feels like it’s being compressed.  It’s hard enough just getting the energy to breathe.  You don’t want to talk to Tyler or Jenna.

They come by one afternoon, knocking and yelling your name through the door.  You’re in bed, hugging Josh’s pillow.  You’re biting your lips.  Your teeth sink so hard into the skin, you feel a crack and then taste blood.  

They eventually go away.  And you’re left in silence.  

By the forth day, you gave in and answered the door.

You pretend Tyler and Jenna’s presence is a bother, but you’re relieved to have some distractions  from your thoughts.

You’d been starting to wonder if Josh had runway with someone else.  It made perfect sense.  Josh met a girl at a show, didn’t stop at home, took off.  Didn’t want to be found.  Didn’t want to be bothered.  Called Tyler, not you.

Tyler tells you that he thinks the idea was ridiculous.  But you see Jenna biting her lip in the corner of the room, contemplating your theory.  She obviously doesn’t think it’s so crazy.

Your stomach hurt just thinking about it.  

Tyler and Jenna start sleeping at your place.  You get the feeling that they don’t trust you after ignoring them for three days.  You don’t mind so much though.  You sleep better knowing they’re just two doors down.  

The phone call comes that night.  

And Tyler is (once again) shaking you awake in the wee hours of the morning.

“Come on,” he’s whispering, tugging on your bare shoulder.

You’re grunting, unsure about what’s going on.

“Y/N, let’s go,” is all he says.  You groggily get out of bed, taking the sweatshirt Tyler has out for you.

“What’re you doing Ty?” you ask, disoriented.

“Josh’s mom called,” he says quickly, that catches your attention.  “He’s home.”

You wake up immediately.  Forgetting about being exhausted and half asleep.  

You pile into the car with Tyler and Jenna, nerves and anxiety building up inside of you.

“What’d she say?” you finally ask once the three of you were on the road.  

“Just that he showed up on her doorstep, thought we should come quickly.”

“What if he doesn’t want us there, Ty?” you whisper softly.  You weren’t sure what to expect when you finally saw Josh.  Relief?  Anger?  You were terrified of the unexpected.  He could’ve been anywhere these last few days.  You were afraid he didn’t want you.  You were afraid he’d reject you once he saw you.  

“Too bad for him,” Tyler said through gritted teeth.  

Josh’s childhood house sat back on the grass.  It was the only house with lights on in the entire cul de sac.  Tyler and Jenna got out of the car as soon as it pulled to a stop.  But you remained, staring forward and twisting your thumbs between your fingers.  You couldn’t do this.

Tyler realized you weren’t moving.

He opened your door for you, leaning down so that he was eye level.

“I’m scared too,” Tyler whispered, “but Josh is worth it.” He holds out his hand for you to take.  You look up at him.  His sincere eyes were warm and soothing.  You take his hand and get out of the car.  

Josh is worth it, you say over and over again in your head.  

You don’t even hear Tyler ring the doorbell.

In fact, you don’t snap back into the moment until Josh’s mom is opening the door, staring back at the three of you.

She gasps, holding her hand over her mouth.  “Thank God you’re here,” she says, holding her arms out, embracing Tyler in a giant hug.  

She moves on to you next, squeezing you tightly.

“He’s inside,” she says, leading the way.

You have to fight back the tears when you lay your eyes on a sleeping Josh.  He looks so peaceful, sprawled out on the couch, his head resting on a pillow etched with the words “home is where the heart is”.  

“What did he say?” Tyler asks softly.

“Not much,” Laura said, “I thought he was drunk at first,” she explained.  “I was going to be furious.  But then he just broke down, started to actually cry right on the doorstep.  I didn’t push,” she says, “I just led him to the couch to lay down.”  

Tyler shakes his head then and starts to walk over towards Josh.  No one stops him.  

He kneels in front of the couch, and ever so gently, shakes Josh awake.  You stay back, too terrified to go any closer.

Josh is confused at first, looking at Tyler like he’s a dream.  

But before anyone can say anything, Tyler leans in and hugs Josh.  It takes him a minute before Josh reciprocates the action.  But once he realizes this isn’t a dream, he’s hugging back.

“Tyler-“ he chokes out, “I’m sorry,” his voice is hoarse and filled with anguish.  He’s sobbing into Tyler’s shoulder.  His cried echo throughout the living room, filling the air.

You start to cry.  Hugging yourself around the middle again, fearful of splitting in two.  Seeing Josh in so much pain is worse than you could ever imagine.  You feel utterly helpless.

Tyler is gripping him so tightly.  “Don’t be sorry,” is all he says back.  

It’s all too much for you.  You shake your head anxiously and back away from the scene.  Slow at first, you eventually rush to the bathroom, shutting and latching the door.  That’s when you let out an uncontrollable sob, stemming from all the pain in your chest.  

You weren’t strong enough for any of this, you thought as you stared at your tear-stricken, blotchy face in the mirror.  You were exhausted and confused.  You were relieved and angry.  You were terrified.  You didn’t know how to process any of it.  Josh was unharmed.  Not, in fact, dead in a ditch somewhere.  He was right in front of you, fine in some ways.  So, so broken in others.  

There was nothing you could do.

He didn’t need you right now.  You’d just get in the way.  

You had to get out.  

You unlatched the door.  

As you made your way to the front entrance though, Tyler waited for you.  

“You can’t leave,” he says, standing in your way.

“Tyler,” you choke, “I can’t be here-“

“He needs you,” Tyler says, matter of factly.

“No,” you sigh, “he needs his friend and his mom.  That’s who he reached out to.  That’s who he needs.  He didn’t call me,” you say, the anger flaring up inside you, “he didn’t call me, he didn’t text me.  He didn’t show up at my door.  He doesn’t need me.”

Tyler’s shaking his head.

“Stop,” he says harshly, “don’t make this about you.”

You squint your eyes at Tyler, “Excuse me?”

“This isn’t about you,” he says.  “This is about Josh.  And Josh’s pain.  He is broken and fighting a battle inside his head.  He needs you here.  If you leave now, that’ll be the most selfish thing you’ve ever done.  He is scared and he’s fragile and he needs you here.”

Your face softens and you break eye contact from Tyler, your eyes wondering to the floor instead.  

You sigh.  “Is he sleeping again?”

Tyler nods.  “Yeah, but I think he’d like it if you went and sat with him.”

You bite your lip anxiously.  “Okay,” you agree.

You’re still unsure.  You don’t believe Tyler’s words.  But you try.  

Josh has his mouth open slightly, his head tilted back.  Your heart immediately flutters at the sight.  There’s a chair next to the couch, presumably where Laura had been before you all arrived.  You pull it up close to Josh, as quiet as you can, and you gently take his hand in both of yours.  His skin is calloused and rough, but familiar.  You hold tightly, cupping his skin and bringing it to your lips, softly kissing each knuckle.  

Your heart ached.

You missed Josh so much.  

You never wanted to have to live without him again.  

Eventually you fell asleep hunched over, resting your head on your arms, which were on the edge of the couch.  You weren’t sure how long you sat there, but it was long enough that by the time someone was saying your name to wake you, you had a kink in your neck that just might never go away.

Josh’s voice saying your name had never sounded so good.

You sit up, instantly alert.

“Hm?” you respond, brushing a strand of hair out from your mouth.

Josh’s golden eyes were staring into yours, warm and honest.  You smiled instinctively.  

“Hey,” you whisper.

“Hey,” he says back.  “You’re here.”

“Course, I’m here,” you say.  “I’ll always be here.”

You hope he knows that.  

He nods, his face growing somber.  “I’m sorry,” he whispers softly.

You shake your head sharply, “No, no, Josh,” you aren’t sure how to continue.  You aren’t sure what to say.  Your instinct want to tell him it’s okay.  That everything is fine.  But the bags under Josh’s eyes tell you everything is not okay.  And the dead look in his eye tells you that everything is not fine.  “You can talk to me,” you say instead.

He nods.  “I don’t even know what to say.”

“That’s okay, too,” you say, grabbing his hand in yours.  You squeeze it tightly.  “But when you do know what to say, you can talk to me.  Until then, I’ll still be here.”

“I got your voicemails,” he says.

You nod slowly, remembering the pleads and sobbing over the phone.  

“I can’t really explain why I didn’t call back.  I couldn’t, I guess,” he says, still pondering, “I just couldn’t do it.  I was ready to go on stage Thursday night, I had all my stuff and I was going through the routine and I just had this voice in my mind telling me I couldn’t do it.  That I should just turn and run.  It’s the same voice that’s always saying I’m not good enough.  I don’t know, I guess it just took over.  So I left.  I ran.”

You squeezed his hand harder, wanting to emphasize that you were still there.

“You called.  And Tyler called.  And I just couldn’t face either of you.  I felt embarrassed and ashamed and worthless,” he spits the last part, “It’s so overwhelming,” his voice starts to break, “all of this, I just wake up sometimes and I feel like I can’t handle any of it.  But I don’t want to disappoint you, or Ty.  I just want to be good.”

You cup Josh’s face in your hands.  He has creases in his skin, evidence of agony and pain.  You squeeze your eyes shut and press your forehead to his.

“You’re good,” you say.

He starts shaking his head, but you hold it firmly between your hands.

“You’re good.”

“I wanted to call, but I thought you’d be disgusted by me.  I couldn’t come out of this hole, this dark, dark hole.”

“I love you,” you whisper.  “I love you, all of you.  The good you, the creative, funny, gentle, warm-hearted you.  But I love the insecure you.  The you with all the demons and dark skeletons in the closet.  I love you.”

Josh’s nose squishes up and he squeezes his eyes shut, fighting back tears.

“Please,” you plead, “don’t ever run away like that again.  I was so scared, Josh.  And I know there’s nothing I can say to make the voices go away, but you don’t have to listen to them alone.  I’ll always be here.  I’ll listen to them too.  I’ll remind you how wrong they are.  Just please, don’t leave.”

Josh slowly nods, forehead still touching yours.  

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.  “I’m sorry I scared you.”

The two of you sit like that for a while.  Entranced in each other.

Josh finally pulls back asking, “Can I come home now?”

You smile lightly, “Of course, I told you I’d always leave the light on for you.”

The Queen’s Assassin (Rowaelin/Sam Oneshot)


I can’t stop myself from crying the second I hear his voice. Tears fall down my cheeks, down my neck, through my parted lips. I will not turn around. I will not give into whatever monster has stolen his voice to lure me in.

I have missed that voice. It is a voice of kindness. Encouragement. Goodness. Love.

A voice of my past.

“Celaena? I can see you,” he laughs, softly. Gods, his laugh. “Are you okay? You’re shaking.”

I nod, unable to control the natural reaction. I close my eyes. I beg him, silently, not to come closer. I call on my magic. It is a trap. It must be a trap. This is not real. He is dead. Dead.


A warm hand rests on my arm, and long, tanned fingers brush my skin lightly, gently.

I beg my eyes not to, but they find him in a moment of weakness. It is not a monster, nor a demon, but him, in the flesh. He’s watching me, confused, concerned.

“What’s wrong?” he frowns, his eyebrows coming together. “Has someone hurt you? Gods, if someone has hurt you, I swear- I mean, I know you can take care of yourself, but-“

“Sam.” His name comes out in a whisper, sounding foreign on my lips. “Sam, it’s you. You’re here.”

He rolls his eyes. “Of course, it’s me.”

I feel myself begin to panic. I have seen too much in my short life, lived too many lives within just one lifetime, but nothing compares to seeing him again. Alive. Unharmed. Images of him lying on that beat-up table in Arobynn’s basement flash through my mind. The last time I saw him….I can’t. I can’t relive it. Not again.

His hand finds my cheek and brushes away the tears. I push him away. I mean for my voice to come out civilly, but it does not. “You’re dead! What is this? If this is meant to be a joke, to-“

I break off when he smiles, feeling the fire inside me begging to break free.

“Sorry, sorry,” he says, suppressing his laughter. “I do not mean to laugh, but I have imagined this moment many times, and this is not how I thought it to go. Although, I have missed you temper.”

I take a deep breath, trying to process what stands before me. “You are dead.”

“Yes,” he replies, calmly. “I am. And, you are not.”

I meet his dark, brown eyes. The eyes I woke up to day after day, safe and sound. The eyes that watched me with love and lust less than a decade ago. “How can you be here, then?”

“You’re dreaming,” he shrugs. “It took me a while to figure it out, but it seems that I have finally managed to find you. I needed to talk to you. Make sure you’re okay. You don’t know how many times I’ve wished you could hear me over the years.”

Dreaming. Of course. I remember climbing into bed, Rowan wrapping his arms around my body, falling asleep to the sound of his heartbeat against my cheek.

I run into the arms of the boy I once loved, the boy from an entirely different lifetime. There’s so much I want to tell him, so much I wish I could say. But, we stand there, holding tightly to one another in silence.

I take a step back and breathe him in. His brown hair is still the same length as it was when he was seventeen, and his black pants and turquoise tunic were familiar to me. He looks at ease, completely relaxed. He looks….peaceful.

“Are you happy?” I ask him.

He smiles at me again, and I take it all in, memorizing his every movement. “Yes. Yes, I’m happy. Are you happy, Aelin?”

I pause. “You know.”

He laughs, loudly, genuinely, a giddy roar that he only allows few people to hear. “Of course I do. I watch over you. Always. You didn’t think that I would leave you even after I was gone, did you?”

There’s so much that I want, need, to tell him, but I don’t know how to put any of it into words. Everything I’m longing to say to him seems unworthy, or like it would be wasting time.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt out, feeling overwhelmed by words, by emotions, “that I wasn’t there for you. That you died the way you did. That I yelled at you, that we fought. I-“

“Don’t waste your breath,” his smile softens as he pushes my hair out of my eyes. “I know that you loved me. I know how you loved me. Besides, we knew what we were getting into with Arobynn. I was not surprised. Do not let those things haunt you, Aelin Galathynius. My death made you stronger. It was another stepping stone in finding who you are again. I regret nothing, and neither should you. Look at all you have done. You saved your kingdom, Aelin. After everything you have done, and all the shitty things you have overcome, you wake up every morning to a loving husband, friends who would die for you, and a land full of people who rejoice that their lost Queen has come home to save them. If my death has led you to that life, I would not be sorry. I am not sorry. I never have been.”

I don’t know what to say, how to put my emotions into words, so I laugh. “I missed you and your pep-talks.”

He smirks. “I know. I missed you, too.”

He begins to blur and I rush towards him, reaching out for his ghostly form. “Sam?”

“You’re waking up.” His smile widens, but tears fill his eyes. “I’m proud of you, Aelin.”

“Will I see you again?” I ask, hurriedly. There is more I need to say. I need more time.

He does not answer. “Tell Lysandra an old friend says hello.”


“Aelin!” another voice is calling my name, another voice I love. “Fireheart.”

When I open my eyes, Rowan is hovering over me. His green eyes are searching my own, his hands against my clammy skin.

When my breathing slows, he relaxes, but only for a second. “Another bad dream?”

“I dreamt of him,” I shake my head.

The Fae’s eyes harden as he sits up in our bed, tossing the blankets to the side in a rush. “Who.”

“Sam,” I whisper, remembering, trying not to lose the image of his smile. “I dreamt of Sam. He was the same as I remember.”

All the tension in Rowan’s body fades, and his hand finds mine. He strokes my palm with his thumb, gently, slowly.

“It was not a nightmare like it usually is. I didn’t see his dead body. He was there, Rowan, and he was alive. He was talking to me like I’m talking to you now. I….think he wanted me to find closure. To forget about him, almost.”

“You should never forget him, Fireheart.”

Rowan’s soft voice makes my voice crack when I reply, “I won’t. I can’t.”

I see his lips quirk to the side by the light of the moon pouring through our window.

“There was so much I wanted to say to him. So much that I need him to know,” I go on, “but he disappeared before I could.”

“He knows,” Rowan confirms without hesitation, pulling me into his lap. “He knows, Aelin. Trust me.”

“I always trust you,” I lean into him, breathing in his scent. “To whatever end.”

He runs his hands down my bare back, his fingers dancing silently over my scars in a gentle embrace. My mind is awake, adrenaline rushing through my veins. I know I won’t be able to force myself back to sleep, although the moon is still at its peak in the clear Terrasen sky.

“Go back to sleep,” I kiss his forehead and climb out of bundle of blankets and pillows.

“Getting prepared for tomorrow?” he asks, lying back down in the middle of the bed, obeying my commands.

“I think I’ll go see if Lysandra is awake,” I say, tying my robe around my waist. “There’s something I need to tell her. Also, I need her help picking out my dress for the coronation.”

“I thought you’ve already chosen,” he laughs a laugh that makes me tempted to climb back in bed with him. “Multiple times. Nervous, are we?”

As I’m about to say yes, I stop myself. I have conquered death too many times to be nervous about making an appearance in front of my kingdom. “No. I am Aelin Ashryver Galathanyius, and I will not be afraid.”  

ginnyweaslcy  asked:

Blaise x Theo + #4 or #15 (whichever you'd prefer to write ^-^)

haha it’s thlaise so,, both but i did choose and whoops did it turn angsty
word count: 2717 // ao3
send me a prompt!!

No one had noticed that anything was wrong. Not that he would want them to, but the point still stood. None of them had bothered to notice his anger or his hurt or any of his feelings for all eight years they had been together, so he didn’t know why he expected them to do so now. Even though Vincent was now gone, Gregory and Draco were still in their own little world, and Blaise was, as always, a blundering idiot.

Keep reading

Got a message from @yes-everhopeful this morning, and I hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to respond to it here, because I feel like there’s a general vibe in our lil fam right now that makes me want to hold all of you and say “shhhh, it’s gonna be okay”.

Do I feel like we’re being robbed this season? 

Short answer: absolutely not.

It’s shitty that they’ve been apart for so long, yes. Absolutely. Trust me, fam, I’m down in the bottom of that well of withdrawal with the rest of you, scraping for whatever I can get. 

But do I feel like they’re being mistreated by the writers? No. In fact, I feel like they’re finally being given the respect they deserve, both as individual characters and as a couple. 

Keep reading

Coffee Pt 2 - the Highschool Jeffmads + Lams fic no one asked for and no one wanted

Grinning, Alex allowed himself to be dragged along the overly-shiny floor. John marched ahead of him, gripping his long, ink-stained hand in his own. He flung open the school’s front door with complete disregard for the loud crash it produced.
“Woah there, slow down John,” Alex laughed. He hadn’t caught the gist yet, which only further aggravated John. The boys emerged into the street, the sun casting a warm haze over the street as it began to set. After a moment of silence, John snatched his hand away from Alex’s grasp and whirled round to face him. He looked extraordinarily beautiful in this light, his freckles almost glowing as much as the sky. It usually would have been something Alexander pointed out - but this time he shut his mouth. “What the fuck was that Alex?” John snapped, eyes ablaze.
“Wait, w-what?” Alex frowned. Was…was John…angry?
“Are you serious? What? Alex why the fuck did you say that to James?”
“Say what?”
“Jesus fucking Christ, Al. Why did you mention his breakdown? Last term? The one after which he was off school for ages? Yeah that was a real dick move, Alex,” John was practically shouting now, and Alex was in partial shock. He had thought John was the epitome of chill. Why had this set him off?
“It was just a joke, I didn’t me-” He began.
“A joke? For fucks sake did you see him laughing? Did you see anyone laughing except you? Do you even know how to think of anyone else except your fucking self?”
Alex wasn’t grinning anymore. His face felt hot and his heart felt heavy with guilt. John was right, really..
“Of course I do..” Alex mumbled quietly. He couldn’t meet John’s eye anymore.
“Really? I’m not so sure. I don’t know what this shitty little thing you have between you and Thomas is but James is a good guy. Leave him out of this shit, ok? And leave me out too,” John had calmed down a little, but not softened. Stray curls, having escaped his band, hung in front of his eyes and swept across his freckled forehead.
God, he was beautiful.
As he began to turn away, Alex caught his arm.
“Well, well if James didn’t want people bringing him into things, he shouldn’t have been there. Thomas would have done the same to you, you know.” He argued.
John gave him a look which turned Alex’s guts to ice. “My god, Al. Are actually justifying it by comparing yourself to…to Thomas? You can be a proper asshole, you know that?” John studied him for a second, before slowly shaking his head and turning, marching towards his beaten up old Ford. The slam of it’s door was inevitable, but it still made Alex start. He stood, alone, looking out onto the empty street, feeling just as empty inside.

Thanks to the incident with Thomas, Alex missed the bus. He walked home alone for the first time in a month and a half, in silence, replaying the argument over and over in his head. Of course, John was right. But he wasn’t going to admit it. That wasn’t him. He pulled his hood over his thick, long hair despite the heat and continued walking, only stopping to get a coffee from Starbucks which he didn’t drink - it turned cold. Despite how ridiculous it sounded, Alex had half expected John to be standing behind the counter, grinning with his arms out and his green apron draped out his tall figure. Of course, he wasn’t, and Alex hadn’t been in the mood for the Barista’s chattiness, marching out as gloomy as he had marched in. By the time he reached home he realised he was crying. He hadn’t even realised he was sad, really. No one was home, so Alex kicked his bag into the living room. Usually, Alex would have spent at least three hours doing homework, however all he could focus on was that icy look John had gave him. John had never looked at him that way. It was like he’d been stabbed, and as far as Alex was concerned he was still bleeding. Running his hand through his unruly, dark locks, he sulked upstairs and through into his tiny room. He peeled the sheets off his bed and crawled beneath them, fully clothed as his head swam and his thoughts conflicted and his tears soaked into his pillow. Checked his phone. Nothing. No texts, no calls, no apologies - John was waiting this out. For a hot second, Alex considered messaging him, but tears blurred his sight and instead he threw his phone across his bed - he could wait things out too - and closed his eyes.

He didn’t sleep for a very long time.

— Ok that was terrible. No more I promise, the suffering is over. Also idrk what direction this blog is going in..i really need sone input from you guys to keep this working, Ily all ❤️

i know everyone just heard ‘adam birkholtz has sisters’ and ran with the little sister headcanons and i love them all but also what if adam birkholtz was the baby of the family???? hmmm???

(thanks @kantperson and @tictacbergerac for letting me rant abt this on twitter)

LEAH, age 32, surgical resident

  • bc she’s so much older than holster she’s like a really weird sister/aunt/mom hybrid and adam LOVES HER. 
    • simultaneously So Cool and A Giant Nerd
    • saw holster’s snaps of getting high watching the golden girls and was like “ADAM >:(”
  • their parents are real :/// because leah never really dated and she ~should be thinking of settling down~ and then the other birkholtz children will be like: “hey ur kid is literally a brain surgeon could u maybe not??”
    • (leah is gay? maybe? but she’s focusing on her career and can’t really be fucked abt it tbh)
  • (leah’s siblings watch A LOT of grey’s anatomy. they call her mcdreamy and she HATES it and they will NEVER KNOW that christina yang made her decide to go to med school)
  • leah hears adam’s stories about ‘his bro ransom’ and just kind of sideeyes her phone.
    • “adam. adam honey. that’s gay”
    • “YOU’RE GAY”
    • “uh.”
    • “my friend shitty says i gotta let u come out at your own pace but is there somethin u wanna tell me?”

DELIA, age 29, resident nurse

  • she and leah are best fucking friends ever
    • (delia is the only one who knows abt leah’s monster crush on christina yang and she knows this bc they watched her last episode together and cried)
    • they work at the same hospital. the patients love them but they get REALLY CONFUSED bc someone will tell them “dr. birkholtz” is gonna treat them and they’ll be like “wait u mean delia? she was just in here she brought me this afghan?”
  • delia crochets like a motherfucking boss. she makes sweaters appear the way bitty cranks out pies. eric bittle, from GEORGIA, thanks god every day for delia’s blankets that are just everywhere in the haus
    • holster just casually gives people his scarf/hat and will be like “keep it dude. i have five more at home and i’m expecting a care package next month”
  • delia has been dating the same guy since high school and they’re engaged. holster gave this dude the shovel speech ten years ago. he still had fucking braces and delia can’t wait for leah to tell the story at the wedding.
  • holster and delia aren’t actually that close but they have an unspoken ‘i would absolutely die for you’ bond.
    • when holster’s home, they watch bad sitcoms together. specifically, ones cancelled in their first or second seasons. they compare notes re: whether or not they deserved to be canceled and how they might have been saved

MURIEL, age 26, personal trainer and professional hockey

  • muriel and holster are tight. it’s 50% a being-the-closest-in-age thing and 50% a diehard bond of hockey love.
  • the family joke is that it’s a good thing holster’s a boy bc obviously their parents were scraping the bottom of the barrel of girls’ names
    • (insert trans holster hc here)
  • muriel took ice skating lessons from ages 4-6, and when holster turned 4 and started learning baby hockey basics, muriel defected
    • muriel is a goalie. muriel is six feet tall and 190 pounds. muriel could end your life and you would thank her.
  • she left for college the same year holster left home to play in juniors. it was fucking awful and she transferred her sophomore year to be closer to his billet family.
  • she may or may not be a Jack Zimmermann Puck Bunny tm
    • (when holster told her abt samwell, she was like !!!!!!!. holster was NOT HAPPY.)
    • she helped him move into the haus and met jack for the first time and her entire brain stopped working.
    • literally she was carrying a giant tub of holster’s whey protein and she just. stood there staring at jack. like a NERD.
    • holster and shitty were there. a smh tradition was born.
    • her teammates call her murray because they love her
    • shitty has season tickets. he skypes holster from every single game. they cry a lot.
  • after she won the isobel cup she brought it down to samwell and was like ‘,:) are u intimidated gentlemen?
    • (she immediately became a fucking nerd again bc jack was there and asked for her autograph)
    • “ADAM STFU”
    • “PLSEAS??? I’LL SHAVE!!!!!”
    • “ADAM I H9 U”

ADAM, age 24, econ student

  • has really fucking awesome sisters
  • is the undisputed spoiled brat baby of the family