Dont you tell me you wish you could see forbidden love.

Dont you tell me you know what its like
Because your a little straight girl
Who has a boyfriend your parents Dont like.

Dont fucking tell me you feel like me
Dont you fucking tell me you understand.

I know forbidden love.
I know.
I cant hold my girlfriends hand.
I cant kiss her cheek.

I know forbidden love.
I have forbidden love.

I cant show her affection
Because her parents might find out.
You Dont fucking know forbidden love
Until people like you get shot for being that way.

You Dont fucking know forbidden love until you can hold your significant others hand in fear of her being kicked out.

Dont you tell me you know it
Like the back of your hand
Because I know
You Dont.

death2thevirgin  asked:

OH Me! Can get Dean and Haunted House!!! Congrats on the follows!

As you zipped up a cosmetics bag full of makeup supplies and turned to pack it away, you caught Dean trying to peek into your tote bag.

“Don’t even think about it, Winchester,” you laughed, playfully pushing him away.

Dean groaned. “How am I supposed to know who you are in this haunted house thing if you don’t tell me?”

“Maybe it’s a surprise,” you shot back. “Have you seen my keys?”

Dean held the keys up between his thumb and forefinger. “You can have them back when you tell me what part you’re playing at the haunted house.”

“If you don’t give me those keys and I’m late, it may be a moot point.” You snatched the keys from his hand and kissed his cheek. “See you there.”

A minute later, you and your tote bag were out the door and on your way to the haunted house. It wasn’t usually Dean’s scene, but far be it from him not to go on his girlfriend’s opening night. The truth was, there was probably no harm in telling him what he wanted to know but it would take away from the surprise.

A couple of hours later, you were scaring the shit out of people in your ghoulish makeup and tattered dress. You were showing far more skin than you normally would in a public setting, but it was too much fun putting the outfit together.

You had just about given a heart attack to a group of teenage girls before slinking back to the closet that was serving as your hiding place for the time being. It wasn’t entirely spacious, but it would serve its purpose. One of your co-workers radioed you that Dean was headed your way and, fortunately, was hanging towards the back of his group.

On cue, you jumped out from your spot, screeching and hissing at the people who jumped back or yelled at your appearance. You saw recognition sparkle in Dean’s eyes, and, when no one was looking, you grabbed for his arm and pulled him back into that closet with you.

Dean raised his brow. “You had this planned?”

You giggled. “Perhaps. Is this what you expected?”

“No,” Dean said before kissing you roughly, smearing your makeup. “It’s better.”

As his calloused hand traveled up your thigh and under that tattered dress, you decided that he was right - this was better than you expected, too.

Sometimes, early in the morning when I’m up with my kid and the world is quiet because he’s gone back to sleep, but I’m too awake to do anything but sit and watch him breathe. I cry my stupid fucking eyes out because he will never know how much I love him. He’ll never ever be able to understand how much I love his little hands and his little ears, and his little double chin, and he won’t know that my heart feels like it’s about to just stop every time he yells at the ceiling fan. He doesn’t fucking know. He doesn’t know that I hear him waking up and babble to himself in the dark and that I can’t, just can’t, lose the ability to can, when his little hands grab at me. He grabs the collar of my shirt, he puts his hand on my cheek, wraps his tiny arms around my neck without knowing what a hug is.
This kid is my dream. I knew I wanted to have a baby but I had no idea that he’s actually all I want, ever. I didn’t know he would be everything, the whole world. Every dumb, corny, and disgustingly sentimental thing anyone has ever told you about having a kid - it’s all true. And every day it gets worse, and I worry about myself 3 years from now. I don’t know how I’m gonna do it. How am i going to love anyone or anything that much and get anything done. How am I going to love him, and his brother or sister, how am I going to love them and not just fucking die. It’s beyond me how people just casually do it every day. It is literally just fucking beyond me.

pleasantlynervousengineer  asked:

bleeding heart and peony

bleeding heart: what makes you heart go mushy?

oh god. big, manly hands. corded forearms. bACK MUSCLES. boys unbuckling their belts. leather jackets. nice hair. subtle touches, not-so-subtle touches. hugs. like. really longs hugs. when guys hold your face in their hands, gently touch ur cheek, etc. if someone i like gets really close to me. girls’ waistlines. when girls apply lipgloss. when a cute girl walks past and i get a hit of her perfume. ppl interlacing their fingers with someone else’s like goddamn. guys who play guitar. anyone who can make me laugh. flowers. fields of flowers. the english countryside. coffee dates. bookstores. when people take you to bookstores. tea and scones. girls. girls. when a girl tells me i look hot. everyone. when guys lean against walls. when you catch a guy lookign at you and he looks away smirking like damn this hasn’t happened to me often but fUCK ME SIDEWAYS. i could go on

peony answered here!!

cute botanical asks!!

lovefilledcherryblossoms  asked:

A sleepy Masami makes her way to her dear friend. She's looking a way more exhausted than she usually, but still, he's greeted with a smile and a pair of warm, gentle, hands make contact with his cheeks before one is drawn back before coming back with with and force and audible crack that one could only describe as a lightning strike. She's finished her business. She will take her leave now. Good bye.

   There you go, you all are invited to Ren’s funeral. 


just a fun little character game. fill in the below categories with 3-5 things that your character can be identified by.
repost & tag away !

tagged by: @burnedsister, @sanctitudinis i think?? @archfiendish probably?? @defiantcharms idk i’ve been tagged a handful of times XD
tagging: i lost track of who’s done it, so anyone who wants! say i tagged you ♥


  • 001. Devotion
  • 002. Wrath
  • 003. Loneliness
  • 004. Longing
  • 005. Emptiness


  • 001. A heavy, level gaze, unblinking, unphased, unimpressed, undisturbed. He looks at most of the world this way.
  • 002. A smile that does not reach his lips but that lights his eyes. A secret from across the room that he loves the person who walked in the door.
  • 003. A gentle brush of a hand across skin, a warm cheek, the back of a neck, the wrist exposed at the end of a sleeve. Gentle murmurings and softer kisses, reserved for only two.
  • 004. The flash of a knife and the light of a curse. The greeting is the same as a goodbye.

COLORS: { based off this scheme }

  • 001. Slate Grey.
  • 002. Dark Red.
  • 003. Black.
  • 004. White Smoke.


  • 001. The dust of library books.
  • 002. Rosin and wood polish.
  • 003. The acrid sting of blood.
  • 004. Iron and flame when combined.
  • 005. The air of a dark winter night.


  • 001. Black. Everything is black with the occasional splash of gray or dark blue. He loathes wearing color.
  • 002. Fitted jackets his brother insisted on having tailored to perfection.
  • 003. Shoes with worn out laces and soft soles that never make a sound when he steps.
  • 004. Long sleeves to conceal his secrets, weapons and drugs and a mark of darkness etched in to his skin.


  • 001. A knife that’s seen more bloodshed than his wand that twirls between his fingers when he cannot sit still.
  • 002. A ring to match his brother’s, worn down on the side of the band where his thumb has rubbed the metal down.
  • 003.A violin with worn wood and new strings.
  • 004. Another ring to parallel the first, because he cannot have a place on Bastan’s hand without her having one as well.
  • 005. A solemn row of bottles and pills, straight in a line and never full for long.


  • 001. Murder. The joy he finds in watching the light leave someone else’s eyes.
  • 002. Drugs to stop the pain, to stop his heart, that he cannot take in excess but always seems to anyway.
  • 003. Silence. Silence when he should speak, to confide or ask for help. Silence when the truth is asked of him and he cannot lie any more than he can give it.
  • 004. Watching the suffering of others with nonchalance and a soft, endeared smile.
  • 005. Latching on to the very people it might have served him best to let go.


  • 001. Straightened back and shoulders, head held high. Downcast eyes that seek out the corners of rooms away from others.
  • 002.  Hands stuffed in his pockets where they cannot brush against his companions by mistake.
  • 003. Shoulders hunch, rolling forward ever so slightly when people get too close. Hands clench around weapons others cannot see or fidget til drugs again pass his lips, nicotine or something stronger. Self protection at its finest.
  • 004. Tense shoulders and tenser jaw when he is displeased, narrowed eyes and flashing, dangerous looks when it turns deadly.
  • 005. Easy and relaxed, unconcerned with the placement of himself or those around them with those two, those precious two.


  • 001. Early morning light streaming in a window with a fragile curtain, warmth spreading across naked skin. Soft sighs shared in sleep and limbs tangled up together, sprawled out across one another under blankets that feel too heavy with the weight of beautiful, heavy emotion pressing in on every side. Gentle, tired kisses, faces buried in necks. It is an escape, a brief moment of peace in the eye of a raging, eternal storm.
  • 002. Fingers crack and bleed pressed too long and hard to strings. Notes that echo off of empty walls and in empty corridors that fill a dark house with something soft. Sunlight illuminating swirls of dust til they almost look beautiful instead of neglectful. Ghosting whispers of harsh words and frightened screams sink in to the old wooden walls but no one can hear them over the sound of the music.
  • 003. Hands clasped tightly enough that none of the three of them dare to let go, heads bowed, shoulders pressed together. Candles flicker at the edges of a dark room. Vows are murmured like prayers to gods who are not listening, a vigil for a secret and dark religion that so precious few adhere to. A binding of souls behind locked doors.
  • 004. The drop in your stomach when you take the plunge, frightened and exhilarated with the rush of adrenaline. Heart pounding in your ears, wind rushing loudly past your face til it feels like heaven is kissing your fragile skin. It’ll hurt when you reach the end, there is nothing there to catch you but that isn’t why you jumped. You wanted to know what it was like to fly even knowing it would kill you.
  • 005. Broken bones and shattered screams with split lips and bloody walls. Creaking wooden floors with menacing footsteps coming ever closer. Nails claw but there is no dragging yourself away. Faster faster faster beats your heart, it has to get in every beat before it stops. Laughter that is anything but warm and inviting. The sound of steel being drawn from a sheath. Whispered promises of anguish before the end. Soft whimpers of fear met only with twisted, terrifying, fantastically wicked smiles.


  • 001. Heathens —  Please don’t make any sudden moves. You don’t know the half of the abuse. All my friends are heathens, take it slow
  • 002. Emperor’s New ClothesSycophants on velvet sofas. Lavish mansions, vintage wine. I am so much more than royal. Snatch your chain and mace your eyes
  • 003. Coming Down —  I’ve got a lover. A love like religion. I’m such a fool for sacrifice
  • 004. Gasoline  — Low on self esteem, so you run on gasoline. I think there’s a flaw in my code. These voices won’t leave me alone.
  • 005. Concerto in D Minor for Two Violinsbecause he plays his music beautifully but he cannot play it alone.

Wanting a little adventure, she was glancing around the place, wanting to see if anybody around her wasn’t too busy to keep her busy. She didn’t have anything in mind on what to do, but that didn’t mean she was going to sit and do nothing when her feet was itching to go places. Placing a hand on her cheek, she gave the nearest person a smile before asking, “I’m sorry to bother you, but how do you feel about keeping a girl some company?”

My textbook is being painfully accurate here. They even got his tendency to wear tight clothes and v-necked shirts right ;)


06.15.2015 - 1988 share a sweet little moment after winning the Cup