hello everyb. it me, doctor elly, cat doctor ph.d (Ph.luffy Doctor).
so many people sufferin so much lately. in world, and also on small human scale. human roommnt Rave Sahnsyed and me hear from especial many of yu in this week. some of u lost somebyyd or somthin important, or anticipting loss. som of u feel so lonely n isolated. some of u have get in truble for mistake & torn between fel guilty bad (for mistake) & resent (for unfair reaction). other ppl feel guilt for have problem in face of global scary tension. some of u just very scared for no reason, or all reason.
im dont mean 2 minimize all individ problem by combinin response this way. but i am nonly one small cat & carnt even read. so, its hard 2 answer all of this. especial hard for me 2 answer questions no one can answer, like, what happen if we cannot stop unraveling of global systm? jeez, i donnt no. im domb as hell.i mean yestrday i got trap again between glass tabletop n table.
so look, i say this only. i make recomend:take some time 2 NOT BE ON INTERNET. i know this sim like denial – STOP ABSORBING INFORMATION! – but internet IN PARTICULAR is machine for collapsing of experience. is no way 2 make emotional distinction betwen things Happenin to U and things Happenin to World that matter and things Happnin to U And World that dont matter, on itnernet. its all comes at u all time and it only make so tired.
so this is why im ask u to unplug for couple hours or days if u can. ok? try maybe only tomor saturday. read book from paper, newspaper from paper. go outdise if u can, see how flowers comin in on trees. perhaps go to tax march tomor if u feel like u must engage with World. listen to new kendrick album!! (doctor lely luv kendric.) enjoy sensual, concrete pleasure and pains. try 2 spend time living consciously in those sensations, good n bad.
adapt this recomnednatin to yur personal situat and limits. i cant atully go outside bc will die of panic attack if bird or squril gets 2 close. so im just stick my butt out window in the sun. this give me perspectiv and warm.
will this solv world problem? of course not. but mayb will give u strength & distance from feeling of crushing overwhelm, deep breath from which yu can re-enter heartbreaking lovely pointless important garbage endeavor of being alive. im tellin yu, those flower are gud.
I have a friend who goes to UC Davis, and apparently the students there get like roughly 250 pages of printer paper to use over the quarter. Apparently, his neighbors hadn’t used much of their paper, so they thought to might as well use them now since they won’t roll over onto next quarter…. …AND THIS IS WHAT THEY DID
Hello! Could I ask for reaction where you are studying and working and the same time and it become too much so you end up being exhausted all the time and one day they find you sleeping on your desk with coffee in hand while studying? Thank you!💖
A/N: So I found this lonely request at the bottom of my inbox and I feel so bad rn it’s so dusty. Anon please forgive me and take care of yourself :)
His heart would shatter in two, like when you press tumblr’s unlike button. Seokjin would pull you away and talk you in bed but he won’t bring it up until late next morning, no matter how disapproving he is.
On one hand I see him hating it but only dropping a couple or so comments on it as he doesn’t want to tell you off about something he is also doing. On the other I see him getting fed up and arguing about it till he can convince you.
“please don’t do this to yourself” Hoseok will whisper in your ears after having won the battle of “just a few more minutes”. He is going to nag you about it non stop whenever he can because seeing you in pain causes him to feel the same.
He isn’t going to be nice. Like when other members try to coax you into leaving your books and taking a break he will just come over and pull you like that’s it go to bed. Namjoon will take strict measures after that night as he has been turning a blind eye to your situation for too long.
His methods would be so cute and considerate. He knows that you can’t stop and while he offered to help you and you refused jimin found that the best way to tame the situation was by joining you. It all started with that one night, when he saw you practically drooling in your sleep over your papers. “Baby, how about we go to sleep and we’ll wake up tomorrow together to get finished.” He would be constantly checking on you to make sure you aren’t overworking yourself alone.
Little distractions. Let’s have a snack or let’s watch this episode. Look at what happened today or let’s take a shower. He knows he can’t pull you from work for too long and that night, when you clutched the half finished mug of coffee with a sleepy fist, he knew that from that day forth, you’re sleeping in his arms. On special days, when he is miraculously free, Taehyung might as well drop by your work or drive you himself home for a crazy round of cuddles.
Irritated and angry. How could his precious one be in so much pain and he just has to sit and watch? Jungkook just stood at the doorway fighting tears back and choking on your name. His solution would involve taking you out on every opportunity he got. Grocery shopping or dinner at a restraunt. And whenever you stuck by your no he would just sit around you, careful for any signs of tiredness.
A/N: This is a song lyric inspired fiction… type thing?? I’m not good with fiction terminology, if that’s even a thing haha oops. It’s based off ‘When I Look At You.’ By Miley Cyrus. Anyways I love this so much actually :D If any of you want to send me requests I would love to take them, and I’d love to know what you think of my writing! Part 4 of Jealousy will be out soon btw! Much love <3
Everybody needs inspiration
Everybody needs a song
A beautiful melody,
For when the nights are long.
'Cause there’s no guarantee
That this life is easy.
You sat in the diner by yourself, staring down at your laptop. It was midnight, and although you weren’t exactly supposed to be there, you needed to get out of the hell hole that was your house. It had just been constant fighting between your mom and dad. Although they were divorced, they were still forced to live with eachother until your mom got back on her feet. Their constant yelling and screaming at eachother were bad, but not as bad as your depression and anxiety that had been acting up lately. It was bad, and there seemed to be nothing anyone could do about it. So here you sat, trying to write some stupid paper about 'how far would you be willing to go to find the truth’ but nothing was coming to mind except the shit show that was your life. You had no inspiration, no motivation, and honestly you just wanted to cry. Just as you decided it was time to give up, a familiar pair of arms wrapped around your waist. You turned to face Jughead, and he gave you a small smile, and you attempted to return it, but he could tell something was off.
“What’s wrong?” he lightly questioned, and you leaned into him, enjoying the feeling of peace while it lasted.
"Nothing anymore.“ you whispered, only wanting him to hear you, not that there was anyone else in the diner. He nuzzled his head into the crook of your neck.
"Bullshit. Please tell me what’s up.” he mumbled against your skin. You grabbed one of his hands that held tight on your waist and he rubbed small circles on it.
“I’m stressed because of my parents, I feel like absolute depressed and anxious garbage, and I don’t know what to write for my damn essay. But none of that matters now, you’re here.” he squeezed you tighter with one arm, he and used the other one to open your laptop.
“We can deal with everything else later, because I can’t allow that. But first, Let’s see what we’re working with…” he said, opening word. “How far would you be willing to go to find the truth..” You stared at the screen, just looking at the blank page made you want to scream and throw your laptop in a blender. “Write about Jason Blossom and his death.” Jughead suggested, and you perked up, an idea forming in your head. Jughead was on the search for truth, and he so far had gone to great lengths for it.
“Or even better, I could write about you trying to find the truth about his murder.” you said, quickly typing. Jughead watched as words flew across the digital page. He took in every detail of you in this moment, your fingers as they typed, how you bit your lip in concentration, even how your hair fell down across your face and you didn’t even bother moving it because you were so in the zone. He wondered if this is what you felt like when you watched him write. You turned your head and kissed him.
“My inspiration.” You mumbled against his lips.
Yeah when my world is falling apart
When there’s no light to break up the dark
That’s when I look at you.
When the waves are flooding the shore
And I can’t find my way home anymore,
That’s when I look at you.
“I can’t do this anymore Jughead!” you yelled, collapsing onto the ground. It was becoming harder to breathe, and your vision was blacking out. Everything around you was blurry, the tears in your eyes distorting everything you looked at.
“ Y/N please listen to me, everything is going to be okay!” he said tenderly, trying to not let his worry show. He grabbed your shoulders and he looked you in the eyes, his heart breaking as he saw the tears flow out of them. “Listen, I want you to breathe.”
“I can’t!” you cried, shaking your head.
“Yes you can, please Y/N. Just try.” he was doing his best to stay calm, but seeing you like this tore him apart.
“What’s the point Jughead! I can’t do this anymore, I have no reason to!” you sobbed.
“Y/N you have me!” he yelled.
“You could do so much better, you’ll find so much better and you’ll leave and I’ll be completely alone!” you bitterly yelled. Y/N looked at him, and started to cry even harder.
“Juggie I’m so sorry, please don’t cry!” she sobbed. Jughead hadn’t even noticed that tears were rolling down his face, and Y/N had never really seen him cry before. Sure she saw a tear or two every once in a while, but never this many. Her chest got tight and her heart shattered. Jughead pulled her into his chest, and they held eachother.
“I could never do better than you.” he whispered, rubbing circles on her back. She held onto him tighter, wanting nothing more to make him stop crying. She could feel his tears fall onto her shoulder. “It’s you who could do so much better, I’m not good enough for you Y/N, I-”
“Forsythe don’t even say that! I love you more than anything in this world, you make me feel less broken and alone and I don’t know what I’d do without you.” she whispered.
“You do the same for me.” he said, kissing her forehead. You make me feel whole.“
"Juggie, I know now that my home isn’t a place, my home is you.” she smiled up at him. He leaned down and kissed her, cupping her face.
“You’re my home too, Y/N.” he leaned his forehead against hers, and smiled back down at her.
When I look at you,
I see forgiveness,
I see the truth.
You love me for who I am.
Like the stars hold the moon.
Right there where they belong,
And I know I’m not alone.
“I’m sorry.” Y/N whispered, standing by Jugheads locker at school. He crossed his arms and stared at her.
“You’re in my way.” he said coldly, although it killed him to talk to her like that. She stepped away from the locker, and he turned his back to her and opened it up. Rummaging through his backpack for his math notebook he did his best to ignore Y/N behind him, no matter how badly he wanted to kiss her and hold her.
“Juggie can we please talk about this?” she asked.
“Don’t call me that.” Y/N felt tears stinging in her eyes.
“Jughead please!” she begged, and Jugheads heart broke at the sound of her voice. He turned around and saw a tear roll down her face.
“Okay! We can talk if you stop crying.” he said, closing his locker and pulling her into the nearest janitor closet. The door closed behind him and he looked down at her.
“Jughead I’m sorry! I know that you feel like I’m lying because I have things to hide from you and that I’m distancing myself because you think I’m going to leave you but that’s not the case! Things at home are getting worse and… I was scared to tell you what was going on.” Jughead looked at her worryingly.
“What do you mean? What’s going on?” he asked, stepping towards her.
“They… they kicked me out Jughead.” she started to sob, and she wrapped his arms around her. “I’m homeless and I’m alone and maybe I deserve it. Maybe I don’t deserve a home and a family, I’m just a big problem!”
“No you aren’t.” he whispered, rubbing her back. “And you aren’t alone, you’ll never be alone. Come stay with me.” He said.
“What?” she asked, looking up at him.
“Come live with me.” he said again, smiling down at her.
“Where do you live?” she asked, a bit of excitement present in her voice.
“Don’t tell anyone, but I live at the Twilight Drive-In.” he whispered, and she stares up at him in shock. He laughed and pulled her towards him again.
“You wouldn’t want to live with me.” she said. “I dance around too much and sing off key, I eat way too much and I yell at the screen while I watch movies and tv even though they can’t hear me! I sleep all day or I lay in bed and watch YouTube and I talk in my sleep-”
“I already know, and I think it’s adorable.” he said, cutting her off. “You’re perfect to me Y/N, and if your parents don’t want you then I’ll sure as hell take you.”
“Oh Jughead…” Y/N fought back tears, but for a different reason this time. “Are you sure?”
“Absolutely.” Jughead said, grabbing her hand.
You appear just like a dream to me,
Just like kaleidoscope colours that cover me
All I need, every breath that I breathe
Don’t you know you’re beautiful?
“I swear Y/N, if you don’t give me back my beanie-”
“What are you going to do?” Y/N interrupted him, giving a smirk.
“I’m going to do….” Jughead trailed off, trying to think of a punishment for the (y/h/c) girl standing on the bed smiling down at him. “This.” he said, running towards the girl. He jumped up on the bed and tackled her, pinning her underneath him.
“Sucks to be you.” she said, grinning ear to ear. Jughead looked around for the beanie, but couldn’t see it anywhere . He looked down at Y/N and she giggled.
“Where is it?” he asked.
“That’s on a need to know basis, and I’m sorry, but you don’t need to know.” she said.
“Actually, I think I do. That’s my beanie.” he playfully argued.
“Actually, you don’t.” she laughed, trying to mimic his voice.
“Y/N, please!” He begged. Y/N attempted to sit up, but couldn’t. She fell back down on the bed, and Jughead gave his best puppy dog eyes and stuck out his bottom lip.
“Is Jughead Jones giving me puppy eyes right now?” Y/N laughed. Jughead rolled his eyes and sighed. He leaned down and fell onto Y/N, now laying on her. He buried his face in the crook of her neck, and she kissed him on the forehead.
“I think you’ll be okay without it for one day.” she said. Jughead groaned, and it tickled Y/ns neck.
“I won’t be though! I feel like I look like an idiot without it. Not that I look any better usually.” he said, raising his head so he was looking at her.
“Um, no.” she quickly sat up, pushing Jughead up too.
“No what?” he asked, confused by her sudden change in behavior. He sat on the edge of the bed, and pulled Y/N onto his lap.
“You never look like an idiot. You’re adorable.” Y/N said in a very serious tone.
“Not exa-” Jughead was cut off by a kiss. He pulled back, and looked up at the girl on his lap. “What was that?” he asked.
“What I’m not allowed to kiss my boyfriend?” Y/N teased an he chuckled.
“No, I mean-” again he was cut off with another kiss.
“You’re so handsome Jughead.” she mumbled against his lips. He pulled back again and stared at Y/N, and she admired his sweet smile plastered on his face. His hair was messed up, wild and free from his beanie, and the setting suns light shone through the window, lighting the room up beautifully. Y/N felt like she was in a dream, and if it was one she hoped she’d never wake up. He reached up and cupped her face, and she leaned into it.
“How did I ever get so lucky to have you?” Jughead asked softly.
“I could ask you the same thing.” she said, leaning down to kiss him again.
During a routine visit to the local bakery, you stumble upon an intriguing
business card and figure, what the hell. The business arrangement
becomes…mutually beneficial. Y’all know where this is going.
Imagine if a game-changing email from Taylor Swift went to spam. Little Big Town can, because the pop princess wrote one such message and sent it to Phillip Sweet, the quartet’s least reliable member when it comes to timely internet replies. “He’s a horrible responder,” says Karen Fairchild, 47, glancing fondly at Sweet, at 42 the baby of the band: “I love you, but you are.”
Fortunately, Sweet eventually did check his mail and saw the offer to record the Swift-penned break-up ballad “Better Man”; the song went on to become the group’s third chart-topping single. “It opened up a brand-new audience for us,” says 47-year-old Kimberly Schlapman. Over very potent fruity cocktails at Catch LA in West Hollywood, we asked the longtime friends and musical soul mates—who also include Jimi Westbrook, 46, Fairchild’s husband for more than a decade—to talk about their new album, The Breaker, their recent Grammys appearance, and being totally, ahem, synced up.
ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Which song do you think will be the crowd-pleaser?
SWEET: There’s one called “Happy People” that kicks off the record, about how you can’t [rely on] someone else to make you feel happy. It’s a hopeful song, and it’s really perfect for where the world is right now. It seems like we’re in a gigantic swirl of chaos.
ENTERTAINMENT WEEKLY: Sounds like you just got a little political there.
FAIRCHILD: It depends on what you mean by political. If tolerance and kindness and acceptance and love are political, then I guess we’re political.
SCHLAPMAN: “Better Man” is a crowd-pleaser. The audience has expanded for that because it’s from Taylor Swift—all of her fans want to know, “What? She wrote a song and a country band cut it?”
SWEET: [When we got her email] I was thinking, “Please let it be good. Please let it be good.” [Everyone laughs.] We all fell in love with the melody.
SCHLAPMAN: It’s the first time she’s pitched a song to another artist.
WESTBROOK: We’ve known her since she was knee-high to a grasshopper.
FAIRCHILD: We used to hang out in the dressing room with her at the CMA Awards and play videogames.
SCHLAPMAN: She wrote her high school paper about us!
FAIRCHILD: It was a paper about perseverance, how to keep going. It was pretty cool.
I’M ALIVE! I promise. But I know, I’ve been gone for aaages, and there’s no excuse for me other than the worst writer’s block. Again, I’m sorry. I can’t promise that I’ll post every week like I used to, but I can say that I’m still on here, even when I’m not writing :) Hope you enjoy! x
Word Count: 1,775 (A lot shorter than my usual, I’m sorry.)
This is Dunkirk!Harry and inspired by this imagine. (Yes I read Bucky stories, don’t judge me. Sebastian is beautiful.) Feedback is greatly appreciated.
“Dance with me.” You utter, fingertips lacing with his. A breath escapes his lips as you tug him into the empty space of your living room, running small circles into the back of his hand.
The music plays further as your bodies connect like puzzle pieces. Your chest presses to his and you sigh, resting your head against his collarbones. You gently lay kisses onto the area as he squeezes your hands softly. Inhaling his scent, you lift your head and meet with his eyes. They pierce your own but remain sweet and full of admiration.
The record player is a few meters away from you, belting out the song though you can’t help but sing along.
“And with this feeling I’ll forget, I’m in love now.”
The words drip out with passion and Harry leans in to close the gap.
(This fic feels unfinished to me, but it’s the best I can do.)
Soulmate AU: Soulmates share their feelings… and, also, a journal.
The Doctor was disappointed, but not especially surprised, when no words appeared on the pages of his journal. It was only too common for Gallifreyan soulmates to be so far apart in age that one would be of age to own a journal while another would not. But what was surprising, and not to mention worrying, was that the Doctor couldn’t feel anything. He was well pushing four hundred years old, and if he couldn’t feel his soulmate at all, that simply meant that she hadn’t been born yet. At his age… well, it wasn’t unacceptable, but it was a little strange. The Doctor certainly didn’t like it. He had seen pairings with too much time between them, and the mismatch of experience always seemed to manifest itself unpleasantly. The younger mate was often either cowed and obedient or rebellious and aggressive. The elder was usually to fault for this, often attempting to control and be superior over their younger soulmate, being less like a mate and more like a parent, which caused all sorts of issues.
So, finally deciding that he refused, absolutely refused, to be like other Gallifreyans, the Doctor began applying himself to his journal. There would always be room left for you to reply when you were ready, but until that time came, the pages were his alone, and he filled them with stories of his adventures and his hopes for the future.
His hopes for you.
Who started the whole journal business, no one knew. How did people go about it, before paper was cheap? Was it magic? Was it a higher power, that somehow always provided a way for soulmates to communicate over such great distances even before paper was invented? It was a debate that wasn’t to be brought to a close, not until the end of time itself, but until then, people all over the universe and through all time accepted the use of journals. Well, nearly. There were Hitler’s journal burnings, an attempt to lessen the chances of soulmates finding each other so that it would be easier to promote selective breeding. The Ood, in their slavery, were forced to give up their journals, and the ones bred and born in captivity never had any journals at all. There was a cycle on Gallifrey on the matter, sometimes outlawing and sometimes promoting the use of journals, depending on the current political situation (it would flip-flop every few hundred years).
But with or without journals, soulmates could always feel each other, and they always, always, made themselves heard.
The Doctor woke up one night with a feeling of such incredible warmth and contentment that he almost drifted back to sleep. But he was shocked awake when he realized that those feelings were not his own.
“What? What is it?”
“She kicked me! Hard!”
“Isn’t it a bit early to be kicking?”
“Well, not according to her. Ow.”
“Hey, now, listen here, young lady, stop kicking your mother’s insides. She needs ‘em.”
The Doctor laughed hysterically in his bed when he felt the instant startled feedback. His own surprise at feeling his soulmate had scared his soulmate. Oh, you were… your feelings were so simple and yet so full and all-encompassing. You had to be just a wee, bitty-little thing. Still in the womb.
Relief flooded the Doctor, and subsequently you, easing your simple, pure distress.
“I’ll have to be careful of that,” the Doctor whispered into the darkness of his room. And he would be careful, too. You were still… so very small.
It was a requirement in many cultures, including yours, that one had to reach a certain level of emotional maturity before they were allowed to have their journals. You, thanks to your soulmates influence, matured very, very quickly, surpassing your peers all throughout school. Your body grew no faster than it should have, but your heart and mind did. It’s not to be said, though, that emotional maturity suggests and stiffness of character. No, you didn’t become still at all. Your soulmate had sparked within you a sense of wonder and fun that had made itself very much a part of you.
It was that part of you that had you sending your soulmate teasing feelings of promise as you practiced your handwriting. He couldn’t know, of course, that you would be receiving your journal soon, much sooner that most others your age, but you liked to tease him and let him know that something good was happening. He needed some good feeling, you thought, and that was a sentiment you felt quite often, mostly because… well, because he was, more often than was normal, so incredibly sad.
You wondered if it was because he was missing you, but you didn’t like to flatter yourself that way, especially if you were wrong. You missed him too, and quite often, but being able to feel him kept that ache of pain at bay. For him, on the other hand, it seemed that there was a nearly-constant undercurrent of sadness. The emotional maturity that he had provided you with kept you safe from falling into depression, but you were still completely aware of the pain he felt. There were times when it was nearly overwhelming, to the point that you had a hard time functioning. But despite how bad it felt to you, you were sure that it felt much worse for him, and that he was somehow protecting you from the brunt of it.
When they finally gave you your journal, you could smell a faint whiff of ink from it before you even opened it. He had already written to you.
When you had finally found some time to be alone, you opened the journal and discovered that he had written you enough to fill books. Books and books. On the outside, the journal was thin, easy to slip into a bag and carry. On the inside, it was thick and overflowing with pages, which were themselves overflowing with stories.
Bigger on the inside, you would later call it.
You made yourself comfortable when you were sure that you would have privacy, and you began to read of the lives of the man who called himself the Doctor.
The Time War was a real pain in the arse.
The Doctor had, for the most part, broken himself of the habit of checking his journal every day for an entry. For the duration of the Time War, that is. Now the war was over and everyone was gone and he still only checked his journal once every three days or so now. It wasn’t that he wasn’t eager for you to write to him, of course, but only disappointing himself once every three days hurt less than a disappointment multiple times a day.
He hadn’t stopped writing, though, and when he started catching your smug snaps of mischievousness curling along the bond, he decided it was well time to catch up on his writing.
The Doctor plopped himself down on the floor of the console room, tucked comfortably against the TARDIS console (someplace that, while it might not appear comfortable, was familiar and comforting to him). Pen in hand, he rifled through the pages, looking for where he had left off. When he found it, it was not as he had left it.
No, that… that wasn’t his handwriting, not one bit. And it was written in red ink, but he always wrote in blue, and why would he write…?
But he hadn’t.
The Doctor took a strained gasp of air, feeling his chest constrict. Oh. Oh, it was… it was you. You had finally written to him, after hundreds of years.
His hands shook when he put pen to paper.
I’ve been waiting for a very long time to hear from you.
It took less than a minute for a reply to scrawl itself out:
Will you come find me?
The Doctor laughed in a broken frenzy, clutching his pen until he heard it crack. He couldn’t believe the question. After everything that had happened, after centuries of waiting for you, after fighting tooth and claw through the Time War with no hope other than that he might get to meet you when it was over, how could you think, for even a millisecond, that he wouldn’t come for you?