i don't know in what time this is located or anything

i. domesticity

I drink milk every day because my doctor says I need it to grow. Kind of like I need this calcium rush in order to make my bones stronger so I stop cracking them so easily. Preventing them from ever reverting to the weak, knobbly knees of last summer when a boy I had a crush on. Had a crush on, crushed me. Like a pulp. Into grains. Like a spoon grinding up soggy cereal swimming at the bottom of a bowl. I wake up in the middle of the night, remembering I didn’t drink 3 glasses today, and run to the refrigerator in my socks and chug it straight from the gallon, barbaric and yearning like a schoolgirl hitching her skirt up too high, and picture the white flowing through my veins. Softening me. Rounding me out. Giving me curves. I get a brain freeze instead and pray I’ll stop crying over spills and that I can sleep with this cold lurching in my stomach.

ii. vicinity

Maybe one day my hair will stop being so limp in the heat, but I don’t think that kind of thing can be anticipated, so I just have to wait. Girls like me live in the back of an un-air-conditioned convenience store, ratty sweatpants, tight tank tops, and crawl out with week-old receipts bursting from their pockets. Like glued ribcage kind of girls, like elastic hair tie, red marks around the wrist kind of girls. The cashier doesn’t mind when I snag a magazine from the rack and browse through it without paying because no matter how hard I try, I end up looking pre-pubescent anyway. And they let things slide. For a girl like me, at least. I’m saying, lopsided bun, wide eyes, a mouthful of crooked teeth, stars pulling them into their places, I was always too scared to get braces. The cover has some headline about how to enlarge your breasts naturally, which I think might be useful, and another about how to communicate effectively with others without saying hurtful things, which makes me laugh. I flip to the back to check my horoscope and eat that prophetic, adolescent shit catered to the teenage soul up like Eucharist laid under the tongue. Swallow down a spoonful of March’s: “Prepare to face some stress this month, but that’s okay! You’ll be able to get through it and find time to relax.” I want to rip out the page and shove it into my bra, like keeping these soft, meaningless words close to my chest will make them seep into my heart and change me. Stop making me think so much, fill my brain up with Arizona tea and static instead. But I’m cheap, and I shove the magazine back. I think my chest will stay flat forever.

iii. mobilization

I seek healing. Mending. I’m fingernails deep, sitting in the back of a subway at 3 a.m., pressing crescent moons into the leather seat, trying to dig up salvation. You can’t find that here, you can’t find that in the cracks between the tiles, you can’t find comfort in the ground up cigarette butt stamped into the floor. I’m wishing against this fogged up glass I could say anything, anything that would make sense for once, so someone could help me. Like please, my mind is bending in backwards, like please, I don’t think this underdeveloped chest can take any more of this resentment or it’s going to explode through my ribcage, out of my flesh, like please, I don’t want to hurt anymore. And it’s not my fault that I launch myself around like I’m in some sick little competition, pretending I don’t care, like I’m having the time of my life. Of course I’m not, of course I’m not, I don’t think having your hands shake and your brain go fuzzy whenever you think a little too much is fun, something to be documented for the world to see. I guess I’m different from other people that way, I’d rather people think I’m having a good time than actually have one without anyone knowing. I wish I knew how to sew, so I could stitch up my fibrillating heart, no matter how sloppy and crooked, but the needle jabs my finger as the subway lurches left, and I bleed, I bleed, I bleed.

iv. unearthliness

My mom told me not to walk naked in front of the altar. Disrespectful, she called it, and even though I agree, sometimes I test my divinity and emerge from the bathroom, the steam from the shower wafting off smoke like the incense in its pot. Young god, skin tinted green from fake gold. Young god, empty stomach, fruit scooped out of its rind, leaving me seedless. This hatred has roots, and I don’t know whether I want to dig out my insides with my hands or fill myself up until I’m close to bursting. I let people think the scratches on my knees are from a night of alcohol and a boy tugging my hair. Of course, it’s that and not child worship on a scratchy rug, not begging for forgiveness, not praying for glamour and glory, not hoping for. Of course it’s not hoping for something better.

—  this pain lasts in every location

somethingofavoid  asked:

could you point me in the direction of the evidence that alexander the great was a bottom? I absolutely don't doubt it's true but I've never seen anyone say otherwise so I figure there's some proof of some sort I'm missing, but couldn't find anything myself

you didn’t find anything because there is no proof, and in fact, the sources tell us the precise opposite. so why did i say he bottomed in my joke post? let’s get into it.

A (SIMPLIFIED) PRIMER: in ancient old mediterranean times it didn’t matter if you were a man who boned men or women – you should probs do both – but what mattered VERY much was whether you topped or bottomed. are you old enough to have a beard? now you’re too old to bottom. pederasty was the name of the game in the south (think athens) especially. if macedon followed these same sexual mores, we can’t be sure, tho they were likely similar. 

now that you know this, take note that hephaestion was actually older than alexander, taller, and more masculine and impressive-looking. according to the above – that’s called the dover model – it should be a given that hephaestion topped, right? or that they didn’t have a relationship at all, considering they were so close in age, and the dover model mandates a big age difference. then why do i have in my pocket two handy examples of hephaestion being identified not only as the bottom but as younger than alexander? observe:

• justin refers to hephaestion as “puer” (”boy” but with connotations in this context of “young pretty bottom boy”) 
• arrian refers to hephaestion as alexander’s “ἐρώμενος” (i.e. alexander’s beardless younger bottom) 

weird, right? we could take this at face value, discounting all that we factually know about hephaestion, or we could take a look at how romans of the late republic/early principate – when these biographies were penned – viewed sexuality in their own society, and how that may have influenced the way they interpreted alexander and hephaestion.

late republic/early principate sexual mores were a bit different from classical greek mores in that, simplified version, the socially superior partner had to top, and the supremely socially inferior – like a slave or a woman – was to bottom. hephaestion was second man in the empire with a massive presence in court; importantly, he was free-born. if alexander and hephaestion had a sexual relationship, which the roman biographers were fairly certain they did, that meant to the romans that hephaestion was either sleeping his way to the top (a common late republic sentiment – cicero used it against antony, like, hourly) which is very not befitting for, you know, the top general in the empire, or – worse – that alexander was a tyrant who was raping his second in command, and hephaestion wasn’t man enough to fight back against it. yikes. even worse option than that to the romans? alexander, king of kings, was taking the d from someone below his status. no matter what the evidence said – like hephaestion’s age and physicality and what we know about alexander’s personality, which i’ll get to in a minute – that was literally unthinkable. 

so the principate biographers lied. yep. in order to better mould hephaestion to their worldview, some bent the history so that hephaestion was younger and prettier (justin), or just plain unimportant enough that being alexander’s ἐρώμενος was socially acceptable (arrian). some laid into the nepotism angle even if they didn’t explicitly state fucking as the cause of it (plutarch). 

take-home message? history is malleable: like a memory, it never remains whole and accurate. the more often we pull it from the shelf, the more often it gets rewritten. 

idk, oprah. proof isn’t a thing that really exists for this period. but now that we know the roman histories are sometimes fake news, here’s some stuff supporting alexander bottoming: 

good evidence: historiography & the dover model

• what the romans had to say about hephaestion and alexander’s relationship is lowkey lies, so even tho we can’t definitively say hephaestion topped, we know that pretty much all evidence that hephaestion bottomed is not legitimate. that means the opposite could be true.

• alexander was younger than hephaestion, infamously remained beardless, and was physically smaller, which means that if macedonians followed southern sexual mores, and if alexander and hephaestion in particular even cared about bringing social politics into the bedroom (see how many variables?) then alexander would’ve bottomed 

pretty okay evidence: character extrapolation 

• i’ve had a prof bring up in class the fact that alexander was too soft for his parents, who worried he was effeminate, which we can safely interpret as “worried he was a bottom” – playing the lyre, not wanting to get it on with anyone in a way befitting a red-blooded macedonian guy, sleeping with the iliad under his pillow, other assorted twink activities. from his annoying high-pitched voice to the fact that he started dressing persian – seen as effeminate to macedonians – it’s pretty much accepted that he was an effeminate dude in his day. not conclusive, definitely problematic as being indicative of sexual position preference, but it is an argument i have seen.

not-really evidence but a component relevant to our discussion of the insidious crawl of unintentional historiography: 

• mary renault ran amok with the bottom/top thing in her books and made alexander finally topping and becoming a “man” into a whole arc in the persian boy, and it’s a fairly pervasive narrative in historical fiction that he’s a somewhat effeminate bottom. this isn’t historical evidence, but it shows how the narrative shifts – this interpretation, so widely distributed in fiction, is now undeniably present in our shared consciousness. (my joke post, which was geared toward an audience of like literally one person, was more about this.)

a final note is that people are just people, and we tend to forget that when we get so caught up in how fun it is to study ancient cultures. but at the end of the day, no matter the mores of their location and period, people are gonna fuck how they want, where they want, who they want, and when they want. like any other pair of young guys getting it on, i’d bet you ten bucks, realistically, that they switched. 

(source 1)
(source 2

anonymous asked:

I don't think it gets any more personal and privacy invading than this, but how do you think your and draco's sex life would be like? I'm in Slytherin.

Oh honey, honey…. this should be interesting. Here’s some alphabet headcanons.

A = Aftercare
(What they’re like after sex)

- Okay so, I firmly believe that Draco is an extremely attentive partner after sex; always looking to hold you, showering you compliments on your most insecure areas, staring lovingly as you doze off to sleep, all the fluff. However, I also like to think that he’s a bit self conscious given that he’s a perfectionist, so he tends to sneak in a few questions and comments that require validation on his performance. “That was amazing, darling…hopefully not just for me though, I can do it differently next time if you-” and you have no choice but to cut him off with kisses and reassuring praise.  

B = Body part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

- No doubt Draco is traditional in many respects, so he’s definitely attracted to your most feminine attributes. Your collarbones, the cupid’s bow of your lips, the small of your waist, and of course your ass. He’s forever looking for the opportunity to hold you from behind or clutch your bum in the corridors. He’s proud of his broad shoulders and muscular triceps, though you’re a fan of his toned torso and prominent hipbones.

C = Cum (Anything to do with cum basically… I’m a disgusting person)

- He’s got a love-hate relationship with it. Nothing makes him feel more empowered or proud of his ownership than when his princess has a mouthful of his reward for her or coating her chest, but he’s definitely not one to let it linger on the sheets overnight. When he’s feeling particularly jealous or needy, he’ll cum inside of you - desperate to claim what’s his completely.

D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

- Draco is secretly obsessed with the idea of potentially being caught, so he’s constantly pulling you into broom closets and abandoned classrooms to have his way with you. He makes no efforts to muffle your moans by covering your mouth and nothing gets him more excited than the threat of other people overhearing the two of you or better…catching a glimpse.

E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

- Despite his need for assurance after-the-fact, Draco is confident and skilled whilst performing. He has never shy’d from keeping it interesting, nor is he intimidated by the thought of what your exes may have brought to the bedroom. He knows what he’s doing and he’s always eager to please no matter what it takes. His stamina and enthusiasm often make for ample sweat, orgasms and exhaustion. My boy knows how to lay it down, okay? Don’t you dare doubt it.

F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying. Will probably include a visual)

- Missionary, which shouldn’t come as a surprise. He thrives on your pleasure, so being able to watch your every eye roll, lip bite, and labored breath really drives him mad. He loves having access to your neck as he’s a biter, always leaving you with swollen lips and lovebites. When he’s on top of you is when he feels most in control and having you at his mercy is what he craves above all else.

G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc)

- Draco would be offended if you were to laugh during sex, refusing to believe that perhaps you were just a bit distracted or uncomfortable, he’d be sure to have a fit of anxiety thinking it was something to do with him.

H = Hair (How well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

- He keeps himself trimmed but expects you to be bare in your intimate areas. He likes a clean visual and being that oral is his preferred form of foreplay, he doesn’t want anything getting in the way.

I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect…)

- Draco is passionate til the very end. Eye contact, sensual whispers, little things like tucking your hair behind your ear as he’s inside of you so he can kiss your forehead. He’s never quite gentle, but he still prefers to make love instead of just an impersonal fuck. He goes above and beyond to set the mood when he has the time or the incentive (anniversaries, birthdays, special occasions) and doesn’t miss a detail, down to the thread count of the sheets.

J = Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

- He doesn’t believe in masturbation and expects you to withhold from doing it, too. That’s what you have each other for, afterall. He doesn’t mind mutual masturbation for the sake of a good show, but he’d much rather pleasure and be pleasured than have you waste an orgasm on your fingers that he could have caught with his tongue.

K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

- There’s a reason he calls Lucius ‘Father’, okay? The more endearing term was ruined for him because Draco has a Daddy Kink and likes to be yours. He’s dominant and possessive but also loves the aspect of pampering and spoiling his princess both in and out of the bedroom. He has a strict set of rules you’re expected to abide by but he rewards you accordingly. When you’re a brat, he has no issue with bending you over his knee and correcting your behavior. He derives his pleasure from having total ownership of you, but he’s aware of how sacred the trust and respect that goes into a dd/lg relationship is and whenever possible, he showers you with affection and gifts and displays of his appreciation.  

L = Location (Favourite places to do the do)

- The Astronomy Tower, the sofas in the Common Room, and the Rose Garden behind the Manor. Always at odd hours of the night when there isn’t much else but the two of you and the stars out.

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

- It really doesn’t take much, if I’m honest. A minor wardrobe malfunction, an innocent laugh that was just a little too breathy, a snog that lasted a tad too long - he’s ready. He likes to celebrate his Quidditch victory’s with sexual favors from you as winning seems to inflate both his ego and his libido. Sometimes an argument with enough heat and tension will result in rough, spontaneous sex and other times, the waiting game and inability to have you at that very moment because you’re in classes or whatever is enough to drive him mental all morning.

N = NO (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

- Draco does not like sharing, let alone the love of his life, so threesomes are most certainly not to be considered. He likes things to be cleanly as I’ve said, so anything involving any bodily fluids that aren’t cum or saliva are a definite no-no. He doesn’t like hardcore bondage and he will never support any form of roleplay because ‘Who I am, as I am, should be enough.’

O = Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc)

- This is his favorite, even moreso than doing the deed itself. When you’re in full submission and at the will of his mouth is when he’s happiest, but having you take him in your throat puts him in a whole other element.

P = Pace (Are they fats and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

- Draco is forceful, but his pace is dependent on the mood of it all. Sometimes it’s slow and each thrust is with a passionate, powerful intent. Sometimes it’s sloppy and erratic but still strong.

Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

- He always says that he refuses to start anything he can’t finish, so he doesn’t mind having time restrictions so long as the both of you leave satisfied. Most of your quickies are between classes or just before Quidditch practice. Sometimes, if he really can’t help himself, they happen during dinner whilst everyone else is occupied in the Great Hall and he knows he can have you almost anywhere else in the castle.

R = Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

- Being that the trust the both of you have established is so unwavering, there isn’t much he wouldn’t try with you. He’s patient and invested when the two of you do decide to experiment but you’re so content with your sex life as it is that the time to switch things up dramatically doesn’t often arise.

S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

- Quickies for Draco are about 15 minutes, and that’s after a significant amount of teasing and foreplay. When you have the time to really delve into it, it can take anywhere from 40 minutes to an hour for a round. Multiple rounds are common but sometimes you’re just too tired and sore to go a second time.

T = Toy (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

- As with Masturbation, Draco prefers that all of your pleasure comes from he alone.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

- Literally constantly. Every minute he’s with you there’s a hand on your thigh or sliding up your skirt, a nibble on your earlobe, a kiss on your neck, a squeeze of your bum - you find it annoying, really. He especially likes teasing in front of his friends or busied areas which makes it all the more difficult.

V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

- He’s vocal; talking to you and giving orders. Calling you sweet names and not bothering to hide his grunts and groans of pleasure. He works hard to make sure the most satisfied, guttural moans and screams leave your lips. When you have no choice but to be quiet, he makes sure to stay close enough to catch your whimpers and soft cries for more.

W = Wild Card (Get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

- My Random Headcanon is that he goes for girls who are seemingly very modest and composed. I think Draco likes to ‘pollute’ the women he dates, he likes knowing they’re only naughty for him alone. He doesn’t want a girl who’s got a reputation for being anything other than a prude because he likes being your one weakness. He also values public image so highly that to have a girl that other’s view as respectable and unassuming is perfect for him. People are always shocked when they do manage to be within earshot of your sexcapades and that’s how he likes it.

X = X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants, picture or words)

- Most likely around 8 or 9 inches with some girth to it.

Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

- Draco is insatiable. Obviously.

Z = ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

- He tends to sleep within a half hour of the two of you reaching your highs but if he has other obligations to get on with then he has no problem forcing himself out of bed and tending to it. He’s relaxed after sex, not so much sleepy.

flearaleflet  asked:

Hi, I just wanted to say I really like your blog and that it makes me happy that you are around. Also, I were thinking about what would happen if MC decides to prank the RFA when they first meet and hires an actor or a really old actress to act like her for a while. I know it's a little strange, but I thought it would be fun. Just giving ideas here, don't feel pressured do it only if you want to. I hope you have a great day :D

Thanks so much! This was a funny idea. Hope you like it~


Zen:

  • You hire an older woman to meet Zen because you thought it would be hilarious
  • You watch nearby the whole time
  • You can tell he’s initially mortified
  • After all, he flirted with you a lot in the chatroom
  • This is the time where he had the broken ankle, so the woman comes in his house and starts cooking for him
  • You’re listening through a wire on her, and you’re laughing because she’s scolding him because of all the beer in his fridge
  • It’s funny to hear his nervous replies like he has a mom or something
  • It’s nearing the end of the night, and you decide to finally put him out of his misery and reveal yourself
  • He’s stunned a little when you’re at the door, and he initially thinks you’re a prank from Seven that came a little late
  • You have to explain the whole thing, and you can see the relief flood his features
  • He smiles and says he’s glad you don’t actually smell like old lady perfume
  • Unfortunately he forgot that the woman you hired was still in the back
  • She starts hitting him with her shoe
  • The prank was more rewarding than you had initially planned

.

Yoosung:

  • Since you knew Yoosung but never met him, you wanted to prank him on your  first meeting
  • You have a little cousin who lives nearby who would do anything for money, so you give him a good amount of money to play as you for the day
  • You text Yoosung in the chat about your meeting place and send your cousin out
  • You’re constantly a few feet away to observe
  • Yoosung goes up to the kid and asks if he’s lost after they are both there for a long time
  • Your cousin grins, “Are you Yoosung?”
  • “Yes?..No…MC?”
  • You can see him grow increasingly red, more so since he had flowers in his hand
  • He tries to hide it behind his back, but your cousin already saw it
  • “I like candy…but thanks. I guess these compliment my eyes.”
  • Yoosung takes him for some ice cream and a movie
  • They actually bond, although you think it might slip up when Yoosung mentions a few inside jokes from the chat
  • When you finally come out to reveal yourself, he’s mad at you
  • “You know what…your cousin and I are actually going to the arcade next week. Guess what? You’re not invited.”
  • He’s salty for a few weeks, but you can’t help find it funny

Jaehee:

  • Tall, dark, and handsome
  • That’s the guy you sent over to meet Jaehee instead of you
  • As expected, she was taken aback, especially when he mentioned the outing was to grab some coffee
  • You stay nearby to overhear the conversation, but the prank gets increasingly less funny
  • She’s actually enjoying it…and so is he?
  • You even caught her taking a few pics when he wasn’t looking
  • You interrupt…because they were having way too much fun
  • She figured it out halfway through, but she still wanted to prank you back a little
  • “Actually…I like the MC you sent better.”
  • “Jaehee, no!”
  • When you part ways, she starts walking after the guy until you call for her
  • You’re never pranking her again

Jumin:

  • You send an actor…that looks like he could be Jumin’s twin
  • You even tell the actor a bunch about Jumin so he could act just like him too
  • Jumin looks sooo uncomfortable when it comes to meeting the actor
  • He was originally planning to invite you inside, but seeing the guy…he suddenly switched the location to some small diner
  • It made your job of spying easier
  • You watch as Jumin get’s more and more creeped out as he and “you” have a lot more in common than he originally though
  • “So…do you have any pets?”
  • The actor pulls out his phone and starts showing pictures of his white dog “Liza the 4th”
  • The amount of commonalities gets way too weird for him, and he eventually deduces it’s a prank
  • He calls the actor out on it subtly, and that’s when you reveal yourself
  • He just looks so relieved, but at the same time, he just shakes his head
  • “Liza the 4th, MC? Really?”

Seven:

  • You had obviously forgotten he’s done a background check on you
  • So, when you decide to play a prank, you’re talking with the actress in the hall
  • You had obviously also forgotten the CCTV
  • He saw all this and knew exactly what you were doing
  • So, what does he do? Hires an actor of his own
  • You guys send your respective “selves” to the meeting place, and the poor actors are so confused
  • “Um…you don’t match the description I was given…”
  • You’re watching from the sidelines so confused as his actor asks yours out on a date and they both disappear
  • Meanwhile, Seven was waiting behind you and gives you the jumpscare of your life
  • He gestures to the actors, “Hey…they have a pretty good idea. So, what do you say? A date?”
  • Now you’re the flustered one

Check out our other headcanons~ Masterlist

Waterside Jealousy

“Hiiii can you write someone where Shawn and his girlfriend are at the beach? Just kissing swimming laying around some guys watch her and Shawn realizes getting jealous watching the sunset just a little bit of everything 😩🔥😊”

A/N: finally an actual request yay. I tried to stay as close to what was requested, but i lowkey got carried away oOPs. thanks to the person who requested this u da real mvp, also thanks for 300+ notes on keep quiet???? that makes me feel more confident oh my god????
Rating: whatever is the opposite of PG bc this some fluff y'all
Requested? yeah

Word Count: 1K+


Summer was coming too close to an end and I don’t think my heart was taking it well. Although I favored autumn more, I was still enjoying soaking up the sunlight and sand between my toes every time I walked the beach. It was the reason I found myself sprawled out over a mandala wall mural that doubled as a beach blanket.

We’d been here since 11 AM, when the sun was high as ever, shining its happiness over every passerby on the land. It was 4:30PM now. I’d swam, basking in the salty waters, almost all damn day. I’d look like a raisin had I swam any longer. Shawn on the other hand, was having the time of his life. Him, Brian, and Ian were a few yards down, tossing a frisbee around and screaming like, well, exactly what they were, a bunch of boys. It was nice to watch him relax and just spend a little time to enjoy. Taking the time to observe him, I felt comfortable, at peace.

“You came to the beach…to read?” Shawn drawls, laying himself on the other half of my towel, resting his head on his hand. He turns on his side to meet my shielded eyes and raised eyebrows.

“What happened to somethin’ about never judging my decisions?” I barely paid him mind as I flipped over to the next chapter of my book.

Shawn chuckles, drawing delicate lines and shapes across my lower back. “Not judging, just…observing.”

“Well, yes I did. Now stop observing me, it’s weird.” I hum, pressing my bookmark in between the pages and shutting it.
“It’s not weird, it should be a compliment. Isn’t that the type of thing girls usually like? Guys noticing the little things?”
“Yes, but that’s-Oh my god, Shawn-That’s not what we mean.” I laughed, leaving a quick kiss on his lips, feeling the curve of a smile make a short appearance.

“Come enjoy the water, eat some ice cream, hug a dolphin; Do something entertaining,Y/N..” I flick a bit sand towards him, watching him nearly fall onto his back attempting to avoid it. I try and stifle a laugh but fail drastically.

“I love you.” He sighs contently, pressing a kiss to my forehead as I scoot into his side. His arms hangs over my shoulders like the sun in sky, giving me a sense of warmth and contentment. “I love you more.” Moments like these were the important ones.
There’s 24 hours in a day. 24 hours to take the long way home, beat world records, get a new dog, learn a new recipe. The possibilities given to us in just a single day, is amazing. It’s a time to go on adventures and live every moment like it’s the last, or spend it the way you like best, no matter how simple that is.

Sitting here, in Shawn’s arms, listening to the waves crash into the shoreline, hearing the joyful laughter of kids running along the beach, a random song on the radio blasting all over the form of nature was one of my favorite ways to spend it. The location didn’t matter as much as who I was with. As long as he was at my side, I could have a good time no matter what.

I glance up, finding Shawn’s gaze solid as rock and set on something behind me. His jaw locked tight, chest heaving, fists clenched, told me that his anger was anything but tameable as of now. “What’s going on, babe?” A voice whistles behind me and I have to hold back the vomit I feel resting in my throat.
“Nothing with you, clearly.” I snap, pulling my sunglasses up into my hair.
“Wow, you’re even hotter without glasses on.” He snickered, crouching down to be eye level with me.God, this guy was sickening.
“It’s apparent that regardless of whether you wore them or not, you’d still be unappealing.”
“Ooh, fiesty.”
“Judging by your lack of respect, you must get turned down often, huh?” Shawn sneers beside me. I press my hand into his chest, knowing he’ll crack and break this guy’s skull at any given moment if he keeps pushing.
“Don’t talk about yourself like that, Lover Boy.”
“Says the guy who can’t ever get a girl. I’m sure you on the ones who’re evidently taken and far too out of your league.”
“It’s kind of obvious, he doesn’t have to go searching for women ‘cause he has the best one, isn’t it?” A slight smile rested itself on my lips. I think I loved when Shawn got sassy more than any other part. It was an amusing occurrence. It became even better when we did it together.

“So if you don’t mind, my girlfriend and I have something to do. Why don’t you go find your fucking mom and let her teach you how to approach a woman, yeah?”
“She’s not even all that anyways.” He huffs, standing back on his feet.
“But you were just trying to get me. Don’t be an emasculate asshole.” I didn’t bother resisting my urge to laugh as the guy stomped off bruised ego and all. His foot was completely emerged in sand with every step he took. He nearly slipped twice and it made it even funnier watching him faceplant the ground after the third time.
“I could’ve punched his goddamn face in.” He mumbles, his fingertips dancing along my backside. I press my finger against his cheek, taking his gaze off the douchebag that now walked out of view. His lips meet my own and a hum of appreciation from Shawn is swallowed between my lips.
“He’s not worth it, babe. Don’t even waste the time being upset. He’s not you so I don’t care.” In seconds, that breathtaking smile of his was plastered right back where it belongs.“Did I tell you how much I love you?”
“You may have mentioned it once or twice?” I grin, laying my head across his lap.
“Alright, clearly I’m doing a bad job at something.”

anonymous asked:

yo i haven't seen pd2 in like YEARS but yuuri and victor in your little drabble had me weak and i don't even know what kinda factor they play in the movie or if there's anything else you can give us but i'd love to see more of them because. yes @ them being all over each other in front of everyone when people have shit to do, i.e. important ruling a kingdom stuff

well, the dynamic between the queen and joe in the movies (can’t say much about the books bc it’s been years since i read one of them lmao) is that they’ve got a will they won’t they tension going on and literally the entire damn country ships them (the friggin bishop or…. whatever religious leader officiating the wedding was like “finally” when they did get married in pd2 lolol) and yea that’s probably what i’d be going for. but with a couple tweaks since a lot of details have been shifted around in this au to make it work better with the yoi cast lol


Viktor’s never seen anyone as stoic as Mr Katsuki before in his life. He runs a tight ship, getting all the other security officers into line and smartly suited up. He obsessively goes over every possible breach or flaw at every venue, even drawing up blueprints and maps of the buildings Viktor sets foot in just so he knows the weaknesses of each wall, the locations of each ventilation shaft. He knows the precise details of Viktor’s schedule down to the minute, coordinating with Lilia, his chief advisor and assistant, until everything around the King seems to flow like clockwork, the well-oiled cogs of a machine designed to protect his every step.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks Mr Katsuki once, a couple months into his tenure as chief of security, and Mr Katsuki only smiles a tight, brittle smile that doesn’t reach his calculating yet sparkling eyes.

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if you were hurt, Your Majesty,” he replies.

Viktor laughs at just how earnestly serious the man looks. “My life is in your hands already, Mr Katsuki. You might as well call me Viktor.”

There’s a little chink in Mr Katsuki’s armour at that when his cheeks flush visibly pink. “I don’t know if I could, Your Majesty,” he says, his voice quiet, soft, and Viktor immediately realises he’d do anything to see this sort of expression on the man’s face again.

Mr Katsuki is a reassuring shadow at his side, watchful yet protective. Viktor values his work and dedication. Admires his bravery and honour.

But he doesn’t fall in love, though, until one fateful afternoon when he’s leaving his motorcade and a gunman opens fire, and Mr Katsuki is on him in an instant, tackling him onto the asphalt and shielding him with his body. As his heartbeat rings loudly in his ears, Viktor looks up into the wide-eyed expression on his chief of security’s face, and realises that the man is genuinely terrified of losing him.

“Yuuri,” he breathes, reaching up for him. The light haloes Mr Katsuki, making him almost angelic. The noise and commotion fade away with each blink of Mr Katsuki’s long lashes, and then the world fades to white.

When Viktor wakes up, he is in a hospital bed, and Mr Katsuki – Yuuri – has fallen asleep with his fingers inches from Viktor’s own. 

Keep reading

Frankly, Tim was having a terrible day. He’d broken his wrist a week ago, which meant no patrol, and he’d finished all the work he could do from home. He was going stir-crazy— wandering aimlessly around his apartment, checking and rechecking his equipment. In the end he’d driven to the manor, hoping for something to do, but the house had been empty all night. He’d clicked through Netflix episodes until the early hours of the morning, fallen asleep on the couch, and woken up exhausted.

At least Dick wasn’t doing any better. He called to check in while Tim was headed downstairs, complaining about a streak of murders in his neighborhood that he hadn’t been able to solve. Tim put him on speaker when he hit the kitchen, set his phone on the counter, and nodded to Damian, who was already at the table. Damian didn’t look up from his newspaper.

“Drake. You look half-dead.”

“You’ve looked worse.” Tim pulled the pancake mix from the shelf and turned around in time to see Damian slowly lower his paper, clearly scandalized. Tim decided he was too tired to care.

“We need to work on your sense of self preservation,” sighed Dick. “Hey, Damian. Try not to stab anyone.”

“No promises.” Damian glared pointedly in Tim’s direction and went back to his paper.

“Anyway, Tim, listen— I have to go. I’ve been awake for forty hours, and this isn’t getting any easier.”

“Have you considered taking a break?”

“This was my break.” Dick stifled a yawn. “I’ll be fine.”

Tim figured he probably would be, until he saw Damian’s eyes narrow. Uh oh. As Dick clicked off the line, Damian folded up his newspaper and made for the door. Tim followed him into the hallway, grinning. He was pretty sure he knew what was about to happen.

“So what are you going to do to him?”

“Go away, Drake.”

“Slip him sleep meds? Break into his apartment and badger him into submission?”

“Leave.”

“You’re not going to physically fight him, are you?”

“No.” Damian swept inside his bedroom, slamming the door in Tim’s face. “Mind your own business.”

“Damian, c’mon, I just want to know if I have enough time to make popcorn.” No answer. Tim leaned against the doorframe, listening to Damian clatter around inside. “If this is about what I said in the kitchen, I’m sorry about the dead joke.”

Damian’s voice came out muffled behind the wood. “No you’re not.”

Okay, fine. He wasn’t. “Seriously, tell me what you’re planning to do.”

“I’m going to ask him politely to go to sleep.”

“That’s it?” Tim pulled away from the wall, disappointed— and maybe a little irritated. He knew from personal experience that if he went that long without sleeping, Damian started pulling out sedatives. As tired as he was of Damian’s over the top interventions, Tim had always assumed they were over the top because that’s how Damian did things. From the right angle, he was almost being nice. But if he wasn’t going to do it to Dick…

“How come you don’t—” Tim cut himself off as Damian’s door swung open. 

“Because Grayson values my opinion and me as a person, so if I ask him to take care of himself, he will. Because Grayson listens to to me.” Damian swung his laptop bag over his shoulder, shot Tim a look that said (very clearly) unlike some people, and marched back up the hall. 

“That’s not…” Tim stood for a few seconds, arms crossed, then hurried after Damian. “Okay, that’s not fair. I listen to you. Or at least I would if you ever asked me for anything.”

“I do,” said Damian. “You don’t.”

“Since when?” Tim couldn’t remember ignoring any requests— Damian didn’t talk to him that often, and most of what he did say was insulting. Tim could remember a few comments about his life habits, sure, but no questions. Damian never asked.

Alright, maybe that was Damian’s version of asking. 

“Fine.” Tim caught up with Damian at the front door, while he was fishing for his keys. “I’ll pay more attention next time.” 

Damian rolled his eyes. “I’m thrilled. Can you drive me to Grayson’s apartment?”

“Yeah. Sure.” Finally, something to do. He’d been lying around for days, and he was starting to feel like dead weight. Useless. Anyway, Tim wanted to see how this played out— Dick was stubborn, and Tim wasn’t sure that he would cooperate as easily as Damian predicted. He was as much of a workaholic as any of them.

“I’ll get my keys.” 

Keep reading

Don't Let Me Go

Request; Can you write an imagine where Spencer and the reader get in a fight before a case and the whole time Spencer is being passive aggressive with her until she ends up seriously hurt and he thinks she’s going to die before they got to make up? I LOOOOVE YOUR WRITING BTW ❤❤❤❤❤

Warnings; angst, gore, violence

A/N

This is kind of saaaaaad. Thank you for the request!



——-

“You never hang out with me anymore!” You yell as Spencer tries pushing past you to leave the house.

 "Y/N, I hang out with you all the time,“ he says calmly as you stare up at him accusingly.

"No, you don’t,” you frown. “We come home and you either read or sleep.”

“Oh my god, Y/N, move!” Spencer tries getting past again but you push him forward. 

“Are you cheating?” You accuse angrily. “Tell me the truth, right now." 

"I’m not cheating!” He replies incredulously. “Why would you even think that?" 

"Because you’ve been leaving every day and not coming home until late,” You reply, saddened. “I mean, it’s not like you have friends or anything.” The words left your mouth accidentally, and you regretted letting them free. Spencer’s calm demeanor had changed from calm to hurt and angry.

“I don’t have friends?” He asks with an eyebrow raised.

“Spence, I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that.” You tried to fix your mistake, but the damage was already done. Spencer was staring at you like you had just killed someone, and that someone being him.

“Then what did you mean, Y/N?” He questions with disappointment. “You know, out of all the people who could have said that to me, I never thought it would be you. I’ve heard it before, trust me. I guess bullies never mature.”

Bullies?” You scoff, taken aback. “Spencer, it was an honest mistake. It’s just that you never go out and the people who are your friends don’t go out like this.”

“Just save it,” Spencer cuts you off and shakes his head. “I have to go.”

You watch as Spencer leaves the house once again like he did every day. His satchel and coat in hand as he left without saying a goodbye. No kiss, no hug, no ‘I love you’, just silence. You didn’t want to believe he was cheating, but it was the only logical explanation. This was so unusual for him, and at first, you suspected he had fallen back into taking dilaudid, but you would recognize the signs and he wasn’t showing them.

You let out an exasperated sigh as you plopped down onto the couch and looked out the window to see Spencer driving down the street and then disappearing when he turned the corner. Your phone sitting on the end table beside you began to vibrate, you figured it was Spencer, but when JJ’s name flashed on the screen, you knew it would be too good to be true.

“Hello?” You answer as you press the phone to your ear.

“Hey Y/N, sorry to be bothering you and Spencer on a Saturday, but we really need your guys’ help on this case.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” you brushed off the little sting in your heart at the mention of Spencer’s name. “I’ll be right there.” And with that, you hung up.

When you arrived at the BAU a little later than everyone, you hastily apologized for being late and quickly slipped into one of the chairs on the round table. Your gaze lands on Spencer, he’s facing towards the screen where Penelope is showing the murders and paying no attention to you.

“Damn, Y/L/N, did you miss the bus or something?” Morgan teases and you roll your eyes.

“Actually yeah,” you purse your lips and glance over at Spencer, “second vehicle that took off without me.”

Everyone diverted their attention Penelope as she explained the case, and you did too. You wanted to focus on every detail and let your mind focus on that instead of on Spencer. If he could ignore you so easily, you hoped you could do the same.

“You know, the unsub’s victimology looks a lot like Y/N,” Emily points out and everyone turns to look at you.

“You’re right, long/short h/c hair, e/c eyes, light/tan/dark skin,” Rossi observes all your features and nods. “You’re a match.”

“Well, we could use that to our advantage,” Hotch adds. “Only in extreme circumstances, though. I don’t want one of my agents getting hurt while getting used as bait.”

“I could do that,” you agreed, peering up at Spencer to see if he would interject, but he never did. His eyes were fixated on the files in front of him, scanning every word on the page.

“Alright, wheels up in 30,” Hotch announces and everyone gathers their stuff to leave the room.

You waited until everyone left and you hurried towards Spencer.

“Hey,” you greet, but his eyes didn’t meet yours. “Spence, I’m sorry. Can we stop fighting?”

“I have to finish reading the case,” Spencer says nonchalantly as he walks out of the office with his face still buried in the file. You frown and head outside to meet everyone in the jet, completely frustrated with Spencer.

Once you landed in the unsub’s territory and reported to the local P.D., you couldn’t help but look back at the plane ride to here. Spencer ignored you like he had in the meeting room, and he talked to everyone but you. Usually, he would sit by you and the two of you would either talk or read something, but he avoided you like the black plague. You tried meeting up with him when he was getting coffee, but he poured it at the speed of light just so he could avoid speaking to you.

“Y/L/N, are you feeling okay?” Hotch asks you silently after he assigned everyone to different locations. “You seem out of it.”

“Yeah, just the case has me feeling uneasy,” you lie, but he takes it.

“Alright then, you and Morgan better get to the coroner’s then,” he nods towards the car and you agree. You slip into the passenger’s seat and wait impatiently for Derek to get into the car.

“Come on, Derek,” you call for him outside the window. “I’m not getting any younger here.”

“Alright, alright, princess,” he puts his hands out in defense as he steps out of the sheriff’s department. “No rush.”

“Yes rush,” you scoff. “People are dying.”

“What’s got you so mad anyway?” Morgan asks as he starts the car. “Trouble in paradise?”

“What makes you think that?” You question curiously as you look out the window.

“Your usual bubbly self is quiet and irritated, you got here late and without Reid. Plus, the kid’s not giving you the time of day.”

“That obvious?”

“You guys aren’t slick,” Morgan chuckles.

While the two of you are at a stoplight, a car pulls up beside you. A large, rusted white pickup truck. You feel an uneasy feeling in your stomach and you gulp as the man driving the car looks at you with such wonder and lust in his eyes.

“Morgan, the vehicle beside me matches the unsub’s,” you explain quietly.

“What?” Morgan looks to your side, but the car was gone. “Y/N, you sure you’re alright?”

Seconds after the question rolls off his lips, a car slams into the rear end of the car, sending both you and Morgan flying forward toward the dashboard with the seatbelts still holding you back. Morgan regains his composure quickly and tries driving off, but in the seconds that the two of you were off guard, the unsub had driven to face your side.

“Morgan, go!” You yell. Morgan had tried speeding away, but the unsub was quicker. The unsub smashed into your side, causing the whole car to turn over. Pieces of glass were digging into your skin and you could feel the blood trickling down your head as the car lied on its side.

“Y/N!” Morgan calls as the two of you absorb the third hit, flipping the car completely upside down. You began to cough violently, the world was spinning and you could barely focus. The street intersection was a ghost town except for the rusty truck parked beside the totaled squad car. A pair of boots hit the pavement beside you, causing all your blood to run cold. You attempted to unbuckle your seatbelt, but you noticed a huge piece of glass sticking out of your side. You peer over at Derek to find him unconscious with little to no scratches.

As you were reaching over to the control center to call for help, you hear the door beside you open and you’re met with the same black boots from earlier.


A/N

There is going to be a part 2 to this!! It would have been way too long to be one imagine so I am going to split it! Sorry for any mistakes ;’)))

anonymous asked:

I don't know how anyone can get high and play video games. When I get high I don't want to do anything more intense than alternating the location of my hand from my face to the inside of a box of lucky charms.

this is poetry. honestly splatoon when im stoned is amazing because its fucking hilarious; everything is so colorful and easy to understand and yet i can get so fucking confused. my brain just defaults to the muscle memory of “cover this shit in my color” but beyond that im like lost in another world.

one time i thought “oh shit this guy must have a new special weapon where its power is to permanently switch specials with its target… so he has my weapon now? does it stay this way after the match too? did he just permanently fuck up my main weapon? splatoon is so fucked up .. why would they do that” but it turns out it was just the icon on my screen for someone on my team using their special, combined with me forgetting what my special weapon was. so i just thought he took it. forever. and gave me his. like a curse. 

Don't Test Me

Murphy X Reader

Request? Yes:

Can you do some kind of mild Murphy x reader dom thing where hes kind of like “this is mine” and “this is mine” and really showcase just his overall Murphy attitude in it??? If you get me


It’s sweltering and your body aches with exhaustion. You spent the entire day scouting the area surrounding camp with Finn, hiking up hills, dragging yourself through water, and tripping over protruding roots. It’s a relief to be seated, fresh food in your stomach. When you finish eating, it’s all you can do not to pass out right there.

“Hungry much?” Murphy sits down beside you, glancing at the clean bones beside you. You groan and kick them off to the side, laying back on the ground. Your thighs scream at you with every movement.

“Not right now,” you mumble, lifting your arms to cover your face. You’re quite sure you can fall asleep just like this.

“What?” The word is sharp. It has a tone to it, almost challenging. Maybe you’re just hearing things.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

But- where is Camp Campbell?! California or New York?! The one in California feels like the real one, I can't say much for the NY one cause we don't know the activities! Then who's David Campbell?! I'm starting to lean towards NY now cause of the sleepy hollow thing. I'm so confused.

Welp, I’m not sure why I’m being asked this but,
I’m confused myself but, I have some theories [NOTE:  I might have put a little too much thought into this, today I had a LOTTTT of time on my hands.  Even did some crazy research for this, watched some eps again.  I LEGIT HAVE NOTHING TO DO TODAY OTHERWISE, THIS RESPONSE WOULDN’T HAVE MUCH TO IT] In order to make these theories work we must forget some logic for a second and expand our imaginations.  [Like this loser, a.k.a mod did.] Or not, all up to you:

David Campbell

We all know how awful Cameron Campbell is:
From using Space Kid as a shield

Doing anything for a buck (even if it involves the fate of the camp and campers)

He almost murdered a camper to protect his ass:

HECK!  Even using David to cover things up for him, and David’s been loyal

My thoughts on this are:

  • He is secretly betraying David.  Or at a point he did.  He might have put his own information and maybe some of David’s description wise or maybe David’s address, only changed his first name to David.  So he would be safe and David would be going to jail if David were to somehow run into the Feds.  Making it look like they had the wrong person all along.  OR this could have been done BEFORE the feds figured out what Cameron looked like and evidence that Cameron is indeed the man they’re looking for.  Then ‘David Campbell’ is now nothing more than an imaginary person.

Or if we’re going with the so-called “real and logical”  *mutters* totally boring and fake…. *end muttering*   Just a guy, I have no clue who he is.  That happens to live in New York!  David Campbell if you see this, I’m sorry for saying where you live state wise.  You randomly popped up on google when I was searching for Camp Campbell with that wide open.  :P


Now, the second question:
The Truth a.k.a Where is Camp Campbell REALLY Located?!

1:  Why it might be in New York:

  • As stated before:  The Camp Campbell located in New York is located on Sleepy Hollow Lake.

    Sleepy Hollow
    Sleepy Peak.

  • David.  Freaking.  Campbell.
    From NEW YORK!
    Look at first theory at top for my logic on that, cause I won’t explain again!  [and maybe David could be from NY too?  D:]

  • The platypus isn’t native to California.  They’re not even native to North America.  However, some people have claimed to see some in the northeast.  They are most likely people’s pets that got loose or were let it free.  He could have got some eggs imported into the US since he mentioned at the end of season 2 episode 5 that they’re going to incubate platypus eggs.  It is illegal to own a platypus as a pet in the U.S.
     
  • This is stereotyping but, from some lists Ive seen that have ‘most popular sleepaway camps’ [note: I could be wrong since I’m basing it a lot of INTERNET findings but on what’s most common. A lot of these lists could very well be bias]  a lot of popular sleep away camps that are deep in the woods that have the traditional summer camp experience:  Nature hikes, surrvival skills, campfires, just strictly natureish or all that along the lines of that.  Are located in Northern states.  Northeast in particular.  [most of them are located in New Hampshire but, most of the other camps from NY seem to pop up second or thrid on a lot of these lists, when you weed out the specialty camps.]
  • Yes, Camp Campbell might be very diverse now but, not only is it implied from Season 1, Episode 1:  Escape from Camp Campbell that it wasn’t the same years back. As Cameron said:

    “Kids, I’m going be blunt and honest with you.  When I opened Camp Campbell all those years ago, I had one goal, and one goal only. To create the most popular and successful summer camp in the world!  But times have changed.   Things like the internet, video games, and the Affordable Care Act are ruining this great country of ours- and the children of today aren’t interested in a traditional summer camp.  But America isn’t a traditional country!  So why settle for anything less!”

    It implies that he changed it to adapt. [and get more money of course].  There is also proof of it being a ‘traditional summer camp’ in the flashback in Season 2 Episode 5: Jasper Dies At the end, when David was telling his story on how he fell in love with Camp Campbell.

  • I’m from New York State [this one is looking too deeply into this] but Max said in the first episode that the bus comes in from ‘The city.’ to pick up campers.  Sure it can mean ANY city but, it’s not specified which city.  In New York, or most places in New York state.  If people say ‘the city’ not saying any name, just ‘the city’ they mean New York City.  [especially if they’re not in the city]

  • I’ve seen some head canons floating around lately [from a lot of people] about a few of the characters living in New York [not just the city] and claiming to have seen moments that in the show that back this up. [don’t ask me about it for, I never really looked to see where everyone is from. But, totally open to all these ideas.]  The most common characters mentioned are:

    1. Max.  [I’ve also read quite a few fanfictions that focus on Max outside of camp and even some AUs and a common thing that pops up is he lives somewhere in New York.  Some say city, some say some places a little farther up ]
    2. Preston being from New York City.
    3. Gwen might have lived in NYC at some point but, this was foiled for most when Season 2 Episode 8: Gwen Gets A Job, came along.
    4.  Neil [no specific area this one seems to be fairly new and popped up after Parent’s Day came out]
    5.  Harrison is from somewhere in New York State as well.

    To be honest, the only character that makes sense to me right now being from New York is Preston.
    Sure, we all know that’s fanon.  and it’s only five of the characters.  Plus, at summer camp people come from all over the place, not just the state the camp is in. [People have been saying David might be from Canada.  Which, is a pretty good head canon]  But seeing this ‘trend’ pop up, it might lead to something.

2.  Why it might be in California:

  • When you look at the lists of great sleep away camps, [once again, weed out all the specialty camps] there are quite a few in California. [More are still in NY and other places in the Northeast though] 

  • I’ve been looking up history for that camp.  It may have been around since 1884, BUT it had quite a few owners and went through MANY different name changes.  Cameron might have bought it at a point to see if he could make a quick buck out of it then obviously, named it after himself.

  • And I agree with you anon.  The one in California is pretty close to Camp Campbell in the series, since it seems to offer almost everything.  Even WEDDINGS!  And camps for all ages.  Seems like the ultimate camp to me!  And we know squat about the one in New York.
  • Nikki and Neil are two of the main characters:

    -Nikki signed up for Adventure Camp
    -Neil signed up for Science Camp

    According to most of the reviews [real ones, not the joke ones on google] and some videos the camp itself put up; Adventure Camp and Science Camp are two of the most popular camps they offer.

  • A review of a kid that signed up for science camp said they did archery there.  Camp Campbell in the series overlaps on activities.  You sign up for one, you end up doing them all.


And last but not least,
My third and final theory…
Cameron own/ed more than one camp. 
BOTH CAMPS ARE CAMP CAMPBELL!

Why?  Let’s look at the evidence that my mind might have seen too much:

1. Cameron’s rich.  How the heck did he get rich?  It’s obviously not from Camp Campbell alone [or the one the campers are in]  or even being a con artist. 

  • ONE of his camps might be doing better than the other one.  Due to how popular it was, he was somehow able to get more people willing to work there and with more people, it’s easier to keep it clean and prevent it from falling apart.

  • He saves money by not bothering to repair the other camp that’s falling apart, which somehow happens to be the first camp he opened  [though to get money out of it, he added on different camps to be on point with the other one]

2.  He’s gone most of the time:

  • trying to hide from the feds
  • While on the run, he might be visiting his other summer camp.  But, he visits it, just as much as he visits the other camp.  Very rare.
  • He stopped caring about the other camp that was becoming less popular

3.  This one does tie into the reason he’s rich.  He was losing money, and by how cheap he is, felt it was expensive to keep both camps and wanted to avoid some rules and regulations.  Someone offered him a lot of money for one of them so, he took it.  But, that camp decided to keep the name.


And that, is my theory.  It’s long, put too much thought into it but… Here you go!   : )

Edited:  I made a mistake on where Roosterteeth is located, I got a bit confused,

anonymous asked:

Prompto with a really insecure fem!S/o? Like they really don't like how they look and are always asking him if he really loves her and thinking what does he see in her?

A small drabble for rubyreddemise because she had a nightmare and asked for a little Prompto fluff. It’s a little bit of hurt/comfort, but Prompto is just too sweet and wHY CAN’T WE HAVE TEN

“Do you really love me?”

The words completely broke his heart. Prompto gaped at you, unable to come up with a reply to what you were saying. His tongue felt dry, and he couldn’t seem to locate his voice.

You glanced at him from your spot on his couch, silent tears blurring your vision. “I just don’t know what you see in me, Prom. I’m not beautiful. I’m not a super model. I’m not…I’m not anything.”

Prompto violently shook his head and grasped your hands. Your eyes met his and you saw a whole mess of emotions—anger, hurt, disbelief—welling up inside.

“How could you say that?” he asked, a little louder than he intended. When you shrank back, he bit his lip. Quieter this time, he said, “You are the most incredible person I have ever known. When I met you, do you know the first thing I thought?”

You shook your head.

“I thought that you were the most beautiful girl I had ever laid my eyes on. I figured you were out of my league. And then when I spoke to you for the first time, I knew I was right,” he chuckled distantly, tucking your hair behind your ears. “Of course I love you. I’ve always loved you. How could I not?”

You laughed too, but it was derisive. You shook your head, bringing your knees to hug against your chest. “I’m just being stupid.”

“No,” he stated. “You’re not. Look, babe, I know what it’s like to not be happy with how you look.” He hesitated a moment, and then seemed to decide something in his mind. “Wait here.”

Prompto got up and went into his room. You heard him shuffling around, unsure of what was going on. He returned with a handful of photographs, most of them looked to be about five or six years old.

“Look,” he handed them to you with shaking fingers. You took them curiously, and examined them. They were all of him—but a younger Prompto, shorter and much chubbier, looking into a mirror with a camera flashing in the reflection. You flipped through them and saw as he progressively got thinner and thinner, until you saw a thinner, teenage version of the man who was sitting in front of you.

You looked back up at him, at a loss for words.

“I hated myself,” he said quietly. “Thought I wasn’t good enough to be Noct’s friend because of my weight. So I starved myself, made myself run every day just so that when I finally felt like I was ready, I could go talk to him. The thing is,” Prompto took the photos back, looking at the chubby, younger version of himself. “I don’t think Noct cared either way.”

“Prompto…”

“What I’m saying is,” he sighed, putting the photos down and taking your hands in his. “I love you for who you are. All your imperfections. All the things that make you, you. Look,” He lifted his shirt, showing the streak lines on his belly from where he’d lost the most weight. “I even have stretch marks too.”

He poked at his belly with a goofy little grin and you couldn’t help but laugh. You quieted down though, giving his hands a squeeze.

“I’m sorry, Prom,” you said. “I just can’t help it sometimes, you know? You’re just…I just see you as this perfect guy, always so happy and so thoughtful, and I don’t know if I can ever measure up to you.”

“That’s the first time anyone’s ever said that about me,” he joked before settling on a more serious tone. “But I just want you to know that I’m not perfect, either. But if you love me the way that I love you, whatever imperfections I have don’t bother you. Just like how your imperfections are part of why I love you so much. You’re human. And there’s nothing wrong with that.”

You let a tear roll down your cheek, and Prompto was quick to wipe it away.

“You’re allowed to feel sad and insecure. Hell, I feel that way all the time. Have you seen Gladio’s arms?”

You couldn’t help but laugh again. He grinned.

“I don’t want you to be perfect,” he murmured as he pulled you into his arms. “I just want you. All of you, all the time.”

You looked up at him through your lashes, and saw how he looked down at you. His eyes were so warm, so devoted. You leaned up and kissed him, feeling all of his love pour into you. He pulled you into his lap and held you close, your lips never parting from his. When you finally came up for air, you tucked your head under his chin and he rocked you against his chest.

“Be patient with me,” you mumbled into the fabric of his shirt, your breath still a little uneven from crying earlier. “Please?”

Prompto kissed the top of your head, gently running his hands up and down your back. “Babe, you and I have got all the time in the world.”

dorki-dorki-universe  asked:

You're such a great artist, it always brings a smile to my face to see you've posted something! I was also kind of wondering if you'd have any tips for drawing clothes? It's amazing how you manage to put in those... what's the word... wrinkles? I don't know. But like there's always just enouph of them, not too many but not too few, you know? And it makes it so much more real! It helps the picture pop out, like I could really touch it! How do you do that? Thanks for the help and have a nice day<3

oh yeah, one more thing (if it isn’t too much of a bother) how do you draw skele hands/feet? I remember seeing a post somewhere about it but I can’t find it again, and you said something along the lines how your style technically isn’t accurate, thy’re more like dolls or something? But I like yours better then actual skele hands/feet because it’s not stupidly over complicated to draw XD They’re simple and easy(er) and still look super cute. Thanks again and have a wonderful day <3             

thank you so much!

i’m afraid i’m not really very good at giving tips or anything, i’ve just been drawing for a very long time so i’ve had a lot of time to, uh, hone my cloth-drawing skills - i don’t really put any thought into it anymore, it just comes sort of naturally. all i can really say is to observe (both cloth in real life as well as artists whose way of drawing fabric you like) and practice! and try to keep these things in mind when drawing clothing: the fabric’s material (is it thick and heavy or thin and light? different materials behave in different ways, a thin material has more and thinner folds than a thick material), gravity and movement (gravity is always pulling cloth down, but it depends on the fabric’s type how strongly it’s affected, and that goes for movement as well: heavier objects are less strongly affected by things like wind and movement) and the fabric’s original shape (even a stretchy fabric doesn’t change its shape too much). it also helps to have some kind of an idea of how a piece of clothing is constructed: the shape of its pieces and the locations of seams, stuff like that.
as for knowing when to quit…i honestly don’t know, i just learned that with practice. i’ve definitely been guilty of going waaaaayyyyy overboard with folds, and sometimes still am! finding that balance just takes time and practice, i guess?

as for the skele hands and feet, i don’t know if i’ve ever really drawn like a reference pic or anything of them? or at least not one i have posted anywhere. but i drew them pretty much like this (papyrus’s hands and feet are longer and thinner, but otherwise the same):

nowhere near anatomically correct, but nice and easy to draw and - at least in my personal opinion - they go well with the general non-realism of sans and papyrus while still (hopefully?) having a skeletal look. (i call them doll hands because i had the jointed hands of ball-jointed dolls in mind when trying to figure out how to draw them)

thank you again, and sorry that i’m not very good at explaining things! i hope i was of even a little of help bit regardless :’)

Fanfiction - A Lifetime of Her (Part III)

Part III – “You don’t know how lovely you are”

Twenty-four

The night was unusually dark, even for the end of September – the scarce light of public illumination swallowed by scraps of mist, like cold long fingers, stretching to capture an unwary victim. But the lack of visible stars caused me more dismay – the feeling of infinity I usually felt gazing above my head, of endless life beyond the flapping of butterflies’ wings of human existence, veiled beyond my reach. I felt small and locked outside of a mystery that made my life more meaningful.

I was walking fast across Princes Street, my hands buried on the pockets of my overcoat, thinking about the job interview I had endured that day – a promising position as a Math teacher for a local high school, very surprising considering my lack of experience and the fact that I was fresh out of college. The headmistress had seemed pleasant and competent, interested in knowing things about my personal life as well as my academic course – inevitably she had asked why I had took almost an entire year off school, four years ago. I had answered truthfully, reassuring her about my full recovery.

To my right I could see the Gardens and the outline of the Scottish National Gallery, one of my favourite places in Edinburgh to relax and spend some free time. Without a second thought, I decided to make a shortcut across the park, which would lead me straight to the neighbourhood where I had rented a small, yet cosy, apartment.

I saw her before I could even hear her – she was standing alone, talking on the phone, close to the museum entrance. She was wearing a long black dress with sleeves, which fitted perfectly her mesmerizing body, kissing her curves with fabric lips – her hair pinned up in a simple but elegant knot. She sounded distressed and – I thought – angry enough to make me want to run in the other direction. I recognized her instantly, even in such different circumstances than those of our last encounter – Claire.

I walked – levitated, really – towards her, without any notion of why I was doing it. Perhaps I meant to thank her for what she had done in the past. Maybe I was fascinated by the idea that, for once, I could be her saviour. She was clearly dressed for an elegant party – as I approached the building, I noticed several people in similar clothing, probably heading for some sort of gala inside.

I could hear her talking more clearly, her voice quick and deadly, like the stab of a dagger. “Fine!” She snapped, suddenly finishing her conversation. Claire looked at her phone with aversion, like she was considering the idea of throwing it to the nearby bushes.

I was near enough for her to notice my presence – without recognizing me, she quickly composed her expression and looked at her phone with pretended interest, fearing any unwanted advances from a strange man in the night.

“Claire?” I called her, as I reached the circle of light streamed through the museum’s doors. Her eyes jumped to mine and softened, as she promptly identified me.

“Jamie!” She greeted me, smiling – her lips were a soft pink with the touch of discrete lipstick. “How are you?”

“Good.” I grinned back – a gesture that almost entirely faded away as I noticed the ring on her finger. It was a sizable diamond, shining like a beacon made of crystal, outrageously dominant on her slender finger. An engagement ring.  “I couldna resist, coming to say hello.”

“It’s so good to see you!” Claire seemed honestly happy and warm – a million miles away from the cold glacier of moments before. “Are you coming to the charity gala too?”

“Ach, nae.” I gave her a lopsided smile and raised my brow. “Is that why ye’re here?”

“Yes.” She shrugged, sliding her phone inside her black satin clutch. “I was waiting for my fiancé but it seems he is…rather busy at the moment. He won’t be coming.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I said softly, trying to abstract myself of how magnificent she looked – dark as the night, but with millions of stars inside her. “I’m sure ye’ll have a lovely time, nonetheless.”

“I doubt that.” She replied, somewhat conspiratorially. “This night was organized by a friend of my uncle – he was kind enough to invite me in honour of his memory. Actually, I don’t know a living soul inside those doors.” Claire’s eyes darkened, sadness creeping in. “Maybe I’ll just go home and send him my apologies afterwards.”

“No!” I instantly rejected the idea. “Perhaps I could go with ye?” I suggested in a cool tone, praying that I wasn’t about to blush. I pointed to my black attire, matched with a grey tie. “I’m wearing a suit after all.”

“That you are.” She smiled, with a hint of mischief in her eyes. “Do you really don’t mind?” Claire asked, nervously adjusting a stubborn curl that had fled her hairdo. “We could just pretend you’re my fiancé. No one really knows Frank, either way.”

“Of course, lass.” I mockingly offered her my arm for her to hold. “Shall we?”

We entered the party, quickly mingling with the crowd – an assorted array of wealthy men and women, with a taste for art and philanthropy - or for ostentation. Soon enough we had located the canapé and champagne flutes, launching ourselves in a conversation about the artistry on display – or lack of it.

“So, are you fully recovered?” Claire eventually asked me over the live jazz music, that a small band was playing in the corner, a saxophone crying about the loss of an imperfect lover.

“Aye.” I nodded, offering her one of my owlish winks. “I’m so verra thankful for what ye did for me – I…”

“Don’t be silly!” She dismissed emphatically, waving her hand. “I should be the one to thank you!” And seeing my puzzled look, she leaned over and talked closer to my ear. “After what you told me, I went ahead and applied to medical school. I work some shifts as a nurse to pay my bills, but I’m a proud med student!”

“That is wonderful!” I congratulated her, squeezing her hand – soft and capable, warm under my fingers as a pulsing heart. “I’m so glad!”

I convinced her to dance, afterwards. She conceded with an amused smile. We swayed together, amongst other couples – I wasn’t an eager dancer and had no memory of a time when the idea of dancing had seemed appealing to me. But with Claire everything was natural and effortless – every move and word had the magical quality of destiny, of a life finally fulfilled. I tried very hard to overlook the shackles symbolized by her ring, the deafening warning of a tragedy I was powerless to avoid. She had wilfully surrender to the dragon – I couldn’t be her saving knight.

“So what happened to yer fiancé?” I asked tentatively, my hand struggling not to caress her lower back. God, it seemed so easy to touch her, to hold her against me. “Ye seemed distraught.”

“He had a meeting with another faculty assistant.” She pursed her lips in discontent, her eyes avoiding his – hiding her pain and shame. “Something about a spectacular discovery in his newest research.”

“Oh.” I babbled, trying to sound charitable. “Have ye been engaged for a long time?”

“A couple of months.” Claire sighed, her fingers accidentally brushing the back of my neck and making me shiver, preparing to confess her secrets under the protection of the music around us. “Actually, he has been invited to go to America to teach – and asked me to go with him.”

“And will ye?” I asked, almost breathless – pushing down the sudden feeling of panic, like a dark wave that threatened to swallow the skyscrapers of my soul. “Go with him?”

“I honestly don’t know.” She admitted slowly, wincing a little. “But I accepted his proposal so…I should want to go with him, shouldn’t I?”

“I dinna ken much about serious relationships.” I said in a hoarse voice. “But I dinna understand how a man can leave a woman like ye, alone, in such a night. I dinna ken how anything can be more important than being with ye.”

“It’s complicated!” She tried to argue, but her voice lacked the vigour of certainty. “He has to work a lot to get recognized. Sometimes he has to let go of superfluous things, as much as I –“

“Dinna say that!” My voice was a deep rumble, suddenly stripped of all civility. “Ye should be the priority in his life, lass. Ye are a wonderful woman.” I gulped. “Any man deserving of being with ye, should give ye the place ye deserve in his life. Never settle for less, Claire.”

She nodded, looking away to hide the sudden threat of tears. Eventually, her body relaxed and her cheek came to rest in the lapel of my blazer, silently thanking me for my support. I could feel the small movements of her lashes, the hot breath of her life so close to my heart – I never felt more alive, nor more defeated.

We talked and danced the night away – I made her twirl and laugh, until her face was less pale, more like the lively girl in the graveyard, so alive amongst my ghosts.

At the end of the night, I escorted her to a taxi – not daring to offer her my company to her doorway. I feared what the intoxicating mixture of her and the champagne might conjure up.

She smiled – skilfully tucking something inside the pocket of my overcoat – and stood on her toes to kiss my cheek in a tender goodbye. Later, feeling less overwhelmed by the lack of stars, I read her note – “In case you need it. XO”. She had added a phone number underneath the short sentence and a funny smiley face, with abundant curly hair.

I kept her note under my pillow for the next few weeks – a silent dare, urging me to take a leap of faith. I was convinced that my path was fundamentally entwined with Claire’s – it had to be a reason for the insistency of life to place her in my way. She lured me in – fascinated me.

I must have grabbed the phone, adamant on calling her, half a dozen times. Started to dial her phone number – by then carved on my brain with luminescent red ink of desire – at least a dozen more. I mentally prepared our conversation – tried different variations of casualness, honesty and tenderness. I laid awake at night, gazing at the phone, ominous and teasing.

Iffrin!” I desperately reprehended myself one night, almost a month after the gala. I clenched my teeth, breathed deeply several times, and made the call – prepared to invite her for innocent coffee.

“The number you are trying to reach has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” – said the mechanical and metallic voice that took me back to a place with no stars.

ame505  asked:

if you don't mind could you do angsty headcanons for Logan, like when he's angry or whatever

a/n: i kinda changed this up a bit to when you guys are fighting bc it’s kinda similar :)) and gosh i live for the angst


LOGAN HOWLETT HEADCANONS WHEN YOU TWO FIGHT: 

  • When Logan is angry, he has the tendency to push people away, especially those that are the closest to him. The one who will be pushed the farthest away is the one closest the him, being you. 
  • He tends to isolate himself, meaning that he spends more time training or alone in his room. 
  • Logan also needs an outlet for his anger, so most likely if you were looking for him, you would find him in the training area. 
  • Definitely he is a force to be reckoned with, so most of the younger mutants and even the more experienced ones, know to stay out of his way. He is usually blinded by his anger, and will not hesitate to push anyone who gets in his way. 
  • With his anger, comes lots of sadness and feelings of worthlessness. Especially if he’s dating someone, he wouldn’t understand why someone like you would wanna be dating someone like him. 
  • Most of your arguments stem from his anger, whether he takes it out on a younger mutant or he ends up distancing himself too much from you. 
  • It always starts with a simple conversation, but esculates into a full blown screaming match between the two of you. 
  • He usually ends up ignoring you for weeks at a time, and if you two share a room, he ends up coming to bed really late or not coming at all.
  • When you manage to confront him about his behavior, he attempts to brush you off, stating that there is nothing wrong with the way he’s acting. 
  • As you attempt to get him to open up, he ends up lashing out at you, saying you couldn’t possibly understand what he’s going through and you didn’t understand anything about him. 
  • Of course this hurts, but you don’t let it deter you. Instead, you pursue him, which only frustrates him more. So much so, he once unleashed his claws and held them up to your neck. 
  • In one swift move he could have killed you, and you would be lying if you didn’t fear for your life in that moment. Once he saw you whimper away, him immediately withdrew and disappeared. 
  • You searched for hours, trying to locate him, but it was as if he vanished into thin air. Finally, after enlisting the help of Jean, you found him spending hours upon hours at the punching bags—nearly ripping all of them to shreds. 
  • He wouldn’t talk to you, nor even glance in your direction. You could see the fear in his eyes, as he was so afraid of hurting you. For weeks after he would make sure he stayed a good few feet away from you and wouldn’t let himself touch you, nor would he let you touch him.
  •  It took some time for him to touch you again, most of them being as light as feathers. But still, you were sure something had changed within your relationship. 
  • Even then, you knew your relationship would never be the same ever again. 
I don't remember | Jughead x Reader | Part 3

*PART 1* | *PART 2*

Summary: You wake up after the big party, definitely not in your bed, and you don’t remember how you got here. To be honest, you don’t remember anything that happened last night. Why are you not wearing your dress? Why you do you have a big bruise on your arm? Why are you in Jughead Jones’ apartment? What does all this have to do with Reggie? And why you don’t remember anything, even getting drunk?

Words: 1757 (you had waited so long so extra 400 words for you) 

Warnings: MISTERY, cursing, sexual content (not even “some”), presumptions of rape, suppositions about a date rape drug, violence, wounds, mention of abuse in the family, not-very-graphic rape. You are reading at your own risk. Sorry.

A/N(IMPORTANT): As you see I’m back! Thank you again for almost 1000 followers! Check out my “I’m back” post. I hope you will like this part. According to your requests, I created the tag list, so if you want to be on it let me know. Now the important part: I have dyslexia so forgive me for my grammar, because I’m trying to write correctly, but it does not always work. So I’m sorry again.

Feel free to send my any requests, asks etc.
As always the thoughts are write in italic.

Originally posted by dailyjugheadjones

“What are you not telling me, Jughead?” I asked.

He didn’t answer. 


I looked at his face. His eyes were concerned on my arm. He was looking at the big bruise. Not thinking what I am doing I touched the purple mark.

“Fuck” I mumbled when the sharp pain run through my arm.

“Did you picked me up from the party?” I asked, and his eyes move to my face.

“No” he took a pause “I found you at near to the Drive-In”
Near to?

****

I stumble again, but the strong hand caught me again.

“Maybe you take off your shoes” I couldn’t locate the source of the words. Maybe they were from my head. I looked at my feet, and I realised that they were bare. Where did my shoes go? I looked around. The Reggie’s house was just a little dot of light in the distance. How long was I walking?

“Everything is fine” the voice, or maybe just a whisper in my head repeat itself. Fine. F i n e. F i n e.

“Yeah, it is” I tried to say, but my mouth didn’t move.

******

“What? What, the hell, I would be doing in the Drive-In? What the hell were you doing in the Drive-In in the middle of the night!” Suddenly I felt that I started crying. I wanted the answer, but at the same time, I didn’t want to hear it. Near. I wasn’t prepared to hear it.

I stood up, took the clothes out of his hands and run into the bathroom closing the door when I stepped over the doorsill.

******

My eyelids felt soo heavy. I wanted to sleep. Now. I stopped and tried to sit on the ground but I couldn’t. Something was stopping me.

“Not here” the low voice, somewhere, from someone. Where is it coming from?

Cold air on my face. The stand of my hair in my eyes, when I was shaking my head. The world turned into one colourful stain. It is beautiful. The sudden pain run through my cheek. All of my thoughts stopped. I touched my face. My cheek was burning.

*****

I looked into the face in the mirror. It can’t be me. The (Y/H/C) tangled hair was covered in the dirt and dried blood. The big bruise on my left cheek was reaching my eyebrow and eye. I lightly touched it with my fingertips, but I quickly moved my hand back when I felt the pain. My face was covered with lots of small cuts. My hands were shaking when I pulled Jughead’s T-shirt off over my head. I closed my eyes.

I couldn’t control my breath. I sat on the cold floor. I covered my head with my hands. The tears started to flow.
I heard the quiet knocking to the door.

*****

The ground moved. Or maybe I moved. The ground was growing apart from me. Am I flying? Yes, I am definitely flying. Something was touching my right cheek; I touched it with the free hand. Where is my other hand? It was hair? Yes! Beautiful hair. Soft, soft hair. I rubbed the strain around my finger. So beautiful. I smiled. I am not flying someone is carrying me. Is it my dad? I remember that my dad used to carry me like that. I pulled the strain of hair harder. I want it. Some weird noise. Is it a word? I felt that something pulled my hand from that hair. Pain in my arm. I closed my eyes. Soo beautiful.

********

“(Y/N)” Jughead’s voice was more like a whisper. The doors move slightly but he didn’t press the handle. Probably he leant against the door. I moved closer to the door. But I didn’t answer. I cried and cried. He didn’t say anything else, but his present made me feel safe. Knowing that someone is near was good. Finally, I calmed down.

“Did you dress this… my… wounds” my voice was hoarse.

“Yes,” I was grateful that he didn’t try to talk sooner, that he was just sitting there. Suddenly I realised that I am embarrassed. He saw me like that when even I couldn’t look at myself. He was seeing me all that time when I woke up and when he was talking to me in the morning and he didn’t even twitch. I covered my face with my hands, but I felt the pain.

“I need to know what happened” I felt that the tears appeared on my face again.

“Okay,” his voice made me calmer.

I needed to shower. I probably needed to change the dressing.
“I think first I need to take a shower.”

“Okay” he repeated

I closed my eyes. I peeled all the dressings. And I stepped into the shower. The water started to flow. I ignored the pain when water touched my wounds. It felt good. I stand under the shower till water falling on the tiles wasn’t red anymore. Then I turned off the water.

I saw big white towel near to sink. I dried myself and looked in the mirror. The long cut on my back, small cuts under my ribs, a lot of bruises all over my body. I couldn’t look at myself.

******

I felt that we suddenly turned left. I opened my eyes. The light for the streets was becoming more and more distant. The smell of the woods. I loved that smell. I smiled, when I was little, we use to go to a picnic with my parents. We are going to picnic. My dad is carrying me. Is it my mum. Yeah, she is walking right after us. But why she stopped. “Mum!” I wanted to shout but now words fell from my mouth. I tried again but I only opened and closed my mouth. Where is she now? Archie, Archie were is Archie? Is he carrying me? The branches were cutting my face. The woods, woods were good. The woods meant safe.

*****

I wrapped the towel around my body when two bruises on my collarbone caught my attention. They were medium-sized, almost round. It’s just like… I felt sick. I managed to reach the toilet before I thrown up. I heard that the doors opened and I felt that Jughead hold my hair. He put his hand on my back, but he quickly moved it away when I cringed.

“Sorry.”

“Thank you.”

“I will bring you a glass of water.”

I sat on the floor and tried to calm my breath.

*****

Suddenly I felt that I was falling. Or maybe flying. Maybe both or neither. My feets touched the ground. Cold dirt, small branches, leafs. Suddenly soft lips crashed hard on my lips. Big hands on my back. Unknown lips separated from mine. I looked how they moved. They were saying some. I didn’t hear the words. Any words. “Zipper”? “Facking zipper”? That’s it! I smiled. I guessed the words. I felt the cold on my back and then the sound of tearing material or maybe first there was a sound. I wasn’t sure…

******

After couple minutes Jughead was back with the glass of water and the first-aid kit. I took the glass, and I drank it.

“You should probably dress this wound on your back because the blood already seeped through the towel.”

“Fuck. Jughead I am so sorry!  I ruined your towel. I will buy you new one”

“Calm down. It’s okay.”

“But your towel?”

“It wasn’t expensive or something”  he smiled. And put the first-aid kit on the sink. And stood up. I bit my lip. Fuck.

“I will probably need help with my back” I felt that I started to blush.

“Okay,” he said, and  I saw that he is also blushing. He took the first-aid kit and stood there not knowing what to do. It is equally awkward for the two of us.
I stood up, brushed my hair aside and slid down the towel, so the wound was visible.

I hissed when he wiped the wound with disinfectant.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

Jughead has really warm hands. He quickly finished. I was really impressed.

“You are good at it,” I said when I looked at the mirror.

“Yeah, sometimes there are things you just need to learn” he mumbled.

“Sorry.”

He didn’t answer, and he walked out.

*****

Lips on my lips. Lips on my neck. Hands on my back. Lover and lover. Why am I soo cold? Why is the room cold? The sound of breaking branches I have to turn the heater. But where is the heater? I tried to take a step back, but I couldn’t locate my legs. Do I have legs? Now I was sure that I was falling. Sharp pain in my back, even worse in my head. My eyes are soo heavy.

*****

I put on Jughead’s clothes and brushed my hair. Using someone’s brush was weird, but in this situation, I couldn’t care less. I looked into to mirror and signed. I walked out of the bathroom. The smell of grilled cheese directed me to the kitchen.

“I guess I should make pancakes, but my cooking skills aren’t so significant,” Jughead said when I walked into the kitchen.

“Don’t be ridiculous, sandwiches with grilled cheese are perfect,” I said and smiled

“Do you want coffee or orange juice?”

“Juice is fine.”

“It’s in the fridge. Glasses are here,” he said and pointed the cabinet behind Jughead.

The kitchen was very very small. I took one glass

“Do you want juice too?”

“Why would I say glasses in plural if I wouldn’t?”

I rolled my eyes. I took another glass and opened the fridge. It was almost empty. What am I talking about it was completely empty! The only thing inside was the carton of orange juice and bottle of ketchup. I looked at Jughead who was putting the sandwiches on the plates. I realised that I didn’t know anything about this guy. This morning we had the first conversation. Well, probably yesterday was our first. I felt that shiver run through my body. I didn’t want to think about it when we were eating. But how is it possible that I felt so comfortable next to the stranger.

How did I end in his bed? Did I sleep with him? What happened yesterday? “Are my guesses real?” I took the carton and closed the fridge.

*****

Tag-list:

@tommys-girl1980 @miraisnotavailable

Let me know if you want to be tagged

The Weight of the World

Okay, this is the very first request I got (iconic), I hope you like it!

REQ: ‘Hello, I was wondering if I could send in a request for a Jughead x Reader where the reader is going through a hard time at home (maybe at school too) and she meets Jughead at Pop’s bc there is no other seats and he can tell by the look on her face and how dark her under eyes are that something’s up and asks her about it even tho he barely knows her?’

Pairing: Jughead x reader

Warnings: I don't think there’s any???

Word count: 1789


My relationship with my parents was never really an overly loving one. It seemed as soon as I was old enough to think for myself their voices would breakthrough and say things like “Y/N are you doing your homework? Have you enrolled in enough extracurricular activities? Don’t even think of going to bed until you’ve studied for every subject”. And yes, maybe this wouldn’t be so bad if I had a healthy social life to balance this out, but my parents wouldn’t even allow me that, I’d have to come home from school straight away every day and get right into my studies, anything else was just unacceptable.

For most of my high school life, this was the way it was and I kind of just accepted it. That was until this year when it struck me that I literally had no friends because of this and I was absolutely miserable. I was so afraid of failure that even with my extra amounts of study, I’d stay up until ridiculous hours at night just to make sure I would definitely get an A on a stupid project or essay.

After weeks of deliberation, I decided that I needed to confront my parents and tell them I needed a normal teenage life, complete with friends and maybe even a boyfriend. The fact that this idea seemed so far-fetched made me want to cry. Today was finally going to be the day I’d face them.

 I mustered up all my courage on a particularly cold Friday after school and decided it was now or never. After I eventually reached my house, I carefully walked through the front door making sure to wipe my feet on the dull brown doormat that read ‘home sweet home’ as I’d been told to do so many times before. Instead of my usual pattern of going straight up to my room, I went to find my mother in the kitchen.  

 Just my luck my dad was there too, freshly home from work. “Hey, guys can I talk to you?” I started, barely noticing that my hands were shaking. I told them about where my head was at and I calmly explained that I needed more balance in my life. I guess I wasn’t that surprised when I was met with immediate retaliation. Spitting words at me like venom, they made it seem as though I was proposing something absolutely absurd, I could feel the weight of the world crashing down on me, suffocating me.

 When my mother said, “Y/N if you don’t fully commit yourself, you’ll never end up like us, you’ll be worthless and a burden on society”. That one statement made something click inside my brain, I looked up at her with tears stinging my eyes and said, “Mother, I never EVER want to end up like you and dad, I’d rather be dead than end up like you!” A look of shock flashed upon my parent’s faces and maybe a hint of remorse? I didn’t give myself time to analyse their expressions or wait for a reply, I quickly ran to the front door to get out of the house. I needed to get away, go somewhere, anywhere.

 The cool late afternoon breeze hit my face as I quickly walked down the street, drying my tears. There was really only one place that could make me feel better right now and I noticed myself walking there almost as if I was on auto-pilot.

 Ahhhh Pop’s, my place of solitude, and in my opinion Riverdale’s most iconic location. I walked up to the door and stepped inside. There was something about the retro vibe of Pop’s choc-lit-shoppe that made the atmosphere incredibly soothing for me.  I quickly made my way to the counter, ordering a chocolate milkshake, which was always my personal favourite. Pop handed me my milkshake with a big grin “Thanks, Pop, you’re the best,” I said with a weak smile. I turned on my heel to scan the rest of the area out for a free booth. To my disappointment, all the booths were occupied, mainly by happy looking families, which made my heart feel heavy.

 I started to make my way towards the very back of the choc-lit-Shoppe when my eyes landed on a raven-haired boy in a beanie viciously typing away on his laptop. I knew him to be Jughead Jones, we had advanced English together and he also happened to be my very first crush when I was 6 years old, I smiled to myself, thinking of how happy and innocent life was back then. 

He stared so intently at his screen and seemed so immersed in what it was he was doing, I thought he surely wouldn’t care if I came and sat down. At this point, I didn’t even really care myself I just needed to release my frustrations on this chocolate milkshake. So I stealthily slid down into the seat opposite him, placing my milkshake gently on the table in front of me.

 It seemed Jughead had the reflexes of a fox as he immediately lowered his laptop screen and looked at me with a furrowed brow and a blank expression “Um can I help you?” he asked in a questioning tone. I sighed, “Hey uh sorry, there was just nowhere else to sit and I just needed to sit a chill out for a bit, if it bothers you I can leave” I managed to blurt out. He looked at me for a second taking in my withered and sleep-deprived appearance, a look he himself knew all too well “No, uh its fine you can stay”. 

I gave him a weak smile and looked down at my shake expecting that to be the last of our conversation, thankfully I was wrong. “Aren’t you Y/N? We have advanced English together right? You wrote that tragically beautiful essay on Shakespeare, I remember” Jughead said closing his laptop fully, putting all his attention on me. “Yeah that’s me, and we most certainly do” I started, the corners of my mouth threatening a smile “I can’t believe the Jughead Jones is complimenting my writing ability” I chuckled, he looked at me with a puzzled expression so I continued “I’ve been reading the blue and gold and I’ve also heard you read a couple of your essays in class, you’re really amazing Jughead”.

 A small smile crept up on his face when I said this, which from what I’ve observed over the years was a thing Jughead never really wore. “Thanks”, his tone quickly changed and a more serious look had fallen back upon his face “hey do you mind if I ask what you’re doing here at this time? I mean usually every teenager in this godforsaken town is at home right now eating dinner with their parents or getting drunk with their friends, not hanging around Pop’s ordering chocolate milkshakes” He finished. 

A quick replay of the today’s past events flashed in my brain like a horror movie and the sting of it hit me all over again. The feelings inside must of translated onto my face because Jughead quickly said, “Look, I know it’s not my place but, if you need someone to talk to, I’m here, I know we barely know each other, but sometimes talking to someone you don’t really know about your problems, can be easier than talking to someone you’re close with” he had this look in his eyes that made me believe he was being genuine, so I decided to take him up on his offer.

 “Well, I won’t bore you with the details but my parents have just been putting me under crazy amounts of pressure at school lately, to the point where I have zero social life because every waking second of my free time is spent studying, so much so that I’m just emotionally and physically exhausted” I sighed, pausing for a second “So tonight I told them I was done trying to be their perfect child and I needed time for myself yano, to be myself and not some robot. This, of course, set them off and I pretty much got told I was going to end up on the streets doing drugs or getting pregnant and to not come crawling back to them when my life goes down the gutter, so I just left and decided to come to Pop’s for some chocolate therapy” I let a small breathy laugh at how ridiculous my parents must sound to Jughead.

 “Wow, your parents sound like a tough crowd Y/N” Jughead said looking right at me “Yeah, you’re telling me” I rolled my eyes. “So are you going to keep up your freedom campaign, when you get home?” He asked “Yes, I think I will, I need time to be an actual teenager and maybe make some actual friends” I lightly smiled. “Well, pass me your phone, I’ll put my number in it and you can call me whenever your parents are giving you a hard time or if you just want to talk, I’m usually the lone wolf type but us writers are a dying breed and need to stick together” He half smiled motioning for me to hand over my phone.

 I quickly obeyed his gesture “Thanks for listening to me Jug, you were completely right, it so much easier practically talking to a stranger, I feel like a small weight has been lifted” I replied with a goofy smile on my face. “Well technically we’re not strangers anymore Y/N, we’re connected on a deeper level” he said tying his number in and passing my phone back “Again, you’re definitely not wrong” I laughed “but now I think its only fair I get to know more about you mister Jones, you’re quite the mystery”. He paused for a second, icy blue eye peering into mine “Every great mystery becomes unravelled with time” was all he replied with a small smirk plastered on his face.

 We spent the next two hours talking about books and music, I felt surprisingly really comfortable with Jughead. And eventually as the night drew on I made my way home only to find myself not worrying about what my parents would think of me, but more so on my future and what a positive thing it would be. I also couldn’t help but smile at the thought of the new friend I had just made, my mysterious new friend who loved Pink Floyd and hamburgers. The self-described great mystery himself, Jughead Jones. He really was a mystery, one I was incredibly eager to solve and I had a feeling that in time I was going to do just that.

Okay, so I haven’t been able to get this post by @voltron-messenger out of my head for the past few days, so to get out of my writing slump, I wrote my own adaptation of it…

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Do you have any suggestions on how to take notes on books? I got assigned one for class and it's not the most interesting book but I don't want to forget what happened and earlier chapters

Hey! Here is what I’d do:

  • break up your reading into smaller, more manageable parts - if it is a really boring or complicated text, set yourself to go through just a couple of pages or chapters. Don’t expect to be getting through 100s of pages in a day!
  • read the passage twice - this goes for any annotating in my opinion. Go through the book/text once without doing any kind of highlighting or note-taking. Be slow, read each sentence, take it in. Then go back for a second time (or third, whatever works for you) and add in those minor annotations. It could be highlighting important words, annotating key quotes, noting down evidence, etc.
  • use a reading printable - because readings at university were getting more complicated and I was required to use them more and more, I decided to make a reading journal printable for myself. I’ve recently added it to my Etsy Shop, so you can check it out here! If you did want to purchase the pack, you can use ‘student10′ to get 10% off. Also, if you only wanted say 2 pages of the pack, send me a message via Etsy and I can organise that for you!
  • google it! - I do this all the time with more complicated readings. For the most part, I’ve managed to find either summaries or people paraphrasing the work I’m reading. It is awesome to read it in a simpler manner and see what other people thought or interpreted from the reading.
  • create a key to look out for - I did this when annotating novels in English. I’d pick colours for things like new characters, locations, key events, and then themes. Essays generally rely on talking about themes and how the author uses them through their work. For example, if you know the text talks a lot about betrayal, you can have that as a marker. Each time you find a quote or technique which supports that you can note it down. It makes putting paragraphs together much easier.
  • make a summary of each chapter - this is helpful for when you’re going back to revise and don’t want to read the whole thing. Write say 7-10 key plot points that happened on a post-it note and leave it at the chapters final page.
  • use post-it notes to mark important parts - create a colour code (for instance, on new characters, locations, key events, etc) and place them on the sides of the book so they stick out for easy access.
  • OR purchase page flags - if you don’t want to write on post-it notes or feel they aren’t big enough for the information, purchase ones like these. Then create a document with a corresponding table on your laptop (or a piece of paper). You can then place a page flag for a particular point, write #1 etc on it, then put the information which you would have written straight into the table. I’d include columns like page number, quote, technique, explanation. Add in anything thing else that you should be covering! This way you can expand much more without compromising space in the book and you aren’t writing in it!
  • know your literary devices - if you already know them, you’ll find it easier to pick them out. I have a post (+ printable) here that might help :-)

Hope this helps xx

The One Where He Comforts You - Zach Herron Imagine

Requested: Yes, by anon

Summary: After a crowd of fans triggers a panic attack, you resort to hiding out backstage. Zach tries to comfort you as you suffer through your anxiety.

Word count: 1082

A/N: Just a little disclaimer, I am in NO WAY trying to romanticise anxiety. I deal with a lot of anxiety myself and I know what it feels like when people can’t quite grasp the idea of it. It’s really frustrating trying to explain what it feels like to someone who just dismisses it as ‘being nervous’ or ‘just a phase’. To anyone reading this, just know that you’re not alone and that I am always here to talk to you about it if you need. I wrote this imagine from some of my experiences in the past but that doesn’t mean that it speaks for everyone who has dealt with it, or is dealing with it. Anxiety is different for everyone. With that said, I really hope you enjoy reading it, especially the anon that requested it! Xx

You tried to plaster a smile on your face as another fan came to greet you. You were currently hanging out with the fans at the meet and greet after-show, but it was seemed to be increasingly harder get through. Zach wasn’t standing too far from you and taking pictures with some fans, but at that moment, it felt as if there was an ocean between the two of you. Which, technically, there was. An ocean of fans. There were about twenty of them just crowded around you now, all trying to get your attention. Flashes of phones were going off, blinding you every time you stared directly at them. High-pitched laughs and chatter was all you could hear, enveloping you in a suffocating group of girls. Another fan tugged at your arm and called out your name while you posed for a picture with a young girl.

Your skin felt like it was on fire and the nauseous feeling clawed at the lining of your stomach. The room felt hot, too hot. You suddenly had the urge to remove the jumper you had on, feeling completely smothered and trapped in humidity. The air around you seemed to stand along with the noise that slowly turned into more of a buzzing sound in your ears. More flashes went off and you forced yourself to look down, unable to focus your eyes anymore. You rubbed your clammy hands at your sides, jittery at the proximity of everyone around you. Since when did the room become so small?

“Y/N! Can you take a photo with me?”

“Can you sign this for me?”

“Y/N, I love you!”

You tried to source each call but their voices just seemed to mix in with one another and become jumbled in your brain. The air felt like it had been completely drained from your lungs, denying you the breaths you urgently needed. Every muscle in your body tensed up and you couldn’t take it anymore, you knew a panic attack was coming. You had to get out of there before you started crying in front of the fans.

Before anyone else had a chance to say anything to you, you pushed through the crowd and rushed backstage. Your body was now shaking and you couldn’t stop the tears from falling down your face, you just needed to get away. You needed fresh air, you needed to be anywhere but here. As your eyes searched for an exit, they found a door at the end of the hall that was cracked open slightly. Through the slit you could see the dark night sky, bringing the slightest bit of relief to you. Your numb body pushed the door open and slumped you against the brick wall of the building.

Now that you were alone you allowed yourself to let the sobs rack through you as you sat on the cold, hard concrete of the parking lot that was located at the back of the venue that the boys played tonight. You brought your trembling knees to your chest and wrapped your arms around them, placing your head down. You tried to get your thoughts together while you counted each breath you took, with each one allowing more oxygen into your deprived lungs.

You hated this. You hated how your anxiety had taken control of you and your life. Every time this happened you promised yourself it was going to be the last time. They were nothing but empty promises though as you had no control over these panic attacks. These days you had no idea what could trigger them, they just happened. You weren’t crying because of the panic attack anymore, you were crying from the disappointment and emptiness you now felt. Anxiety had taken everything from you, even your own will.

The buzzing in your ears subsided and you could now hear the creak of a door and urgent footsteps coming towards you. Still, you couldn’t bring yourself to lift your head.

“Y/N?” Zach’s voice broke at the sight of you. “Are you okay? Please tell me you’re okay.”

Along with his voice, Zach’s heart broke too. He couldn’t bare to see you like this, completely shattered. He’d known about your anxiety for a long time now but still with every panic attack you suffered, Zach found himself suffering too. He hated watching you go through such pain.

Zach sat down next to you and brought his warm arms around you, picking you up slightly so that you were positioned on his lap, still curled up in a little ball. He peppered you in kisses and pulled you tighter to him as he let you cry. As much as it hurt him to see you like this, he knew that you needed to let it all out. Zach held you like this for a long time, just the two of you sitting out in the cold air of the night.

It felt like an eternity later when your body finally stopped trembling and your tears had ceased. You felt completely and utterly drained, exhausted and empty.

“I’m so sorry…” You croaked out, as you let your head rest against Zach’s chest. You felt so guilty for being such a burden to him. He deserved better.

“You have nothing to be sorry for, you hear me? I will always be here for you, always.” The pain in his voice was evident and you hated yourself even more for being the cause of that.

“I do, though! You shouldn’t have to deal with me. You should be inside with your fans, not your pathetic girlfriend.” You voice cracked, threatening more tears to spill down your face.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as Zach moved the hair in front of your eyes and tucked it behind you ear.

“I can’t take your pain away, I have no control over your anxiety, and it kills me. So please, just let me do the one thing I can actually do. Just let me love you, Y/N. Don’t push me away.” Zach eyes searched yours, trying to work out what’s going on in your head

Sometimes it felt like Zach was the only one who really understood you and it was times like these that reminded you how grateful you were to have someone like him in your life. Without him, you wouldn’t be able to cope with it all. How did you get so lucky?

“I love you, Zach, you know that?”