i need to hear myself speaking

Affirmations
  • Aries: My spirit is not overbearing and intimidating, it is inspiring, magical, pioneering, and rapture
  • Taurus: Its ok to satisfy my need to touch and feel. But I can hold my own body, and relish in my own curves
  • Gemini: Every phonetic that I must speak is valid and the world is meant to hear my words
  • Cancer: Home is a place within that I can go, all the company I need is within
  • Leo: My theatrics are a grand display of God's creative genius, I am the human form in colourful showcase
  • Virgo: My ideals come from my spectacular imagination. It's ok if sometimes I can't live up to these
  • Libra: I listen to everyone else's opinion except when it comes to myself, next time they tell me I'm beautiful I will believe it!
  • Scorpio: I am way too profound and advanced for this shit
  • Sagittarius: My joy brings great delight to others. My smile is what sets me apart from the crowd
  • Capricorn: These high expectations are coming from me. I will not have to answer to anyone if things don't go to plan
  • Aquarius: I must be alone if I am to comprehend ideas that are beyond human
  • Pisces: I am not losing my soul because I am still worried there is one to lose at all
  • -Cherry
Hide and Seek

Alpha!Werewolf!Sam x Omega!Werewolf!Reader -A/B/O

Summary:  You’re a bonded Omega who left your human family when you were turned. Now, a year later, your mother and father have hired an interventionist to extract you from what they assume is a cult. 

A/N: What are a/b/o dynamics

Words: 5300+

Beta: @just-another-busy-fangirl

Warnings: Pregnancy, kidnapping, dominance, violence. References to: claiming, choking, oral sex, unprotected sex (obvi), biting, rough sex, some dom/sub overtones.

Your name: submit What is this?


It’s not that you didn’t love your family, in fact it’s quite the opposite, love is the reason you disappeared. Being bitten by a werewolf meant that life as you knew it was over. You had nightmares of killing your mother under a full moon, unable to control your base instincts: ripping out your father’s heart and eating it raw under the night sky.

Telling them the truth wasn’t an option; your father’s a physiologist, your mother a nurse. They’re level headed people who at the first mention of lycanthropy would have had you committed.

You couldn’t stay. You couldn’t see a way out, so you ran.

You wrote a note. Most of it was lies, but you wanted it to seem plausible. It wasn’t in your character to just abandon the people you loved, so you had to make it seem real. You had to hurt them so they would let you go. You wrote about meeting someone you wanted to start a life with, about how they’d suffocated you for twenty five years and you just couldn’t take anymore. You told them they drove you to leave.

You cried as you set the note on the kitchen table early one brisk autumn morning, then walked out the door falsely assuming you’d never seem them again.

Keep reading

THE MBTI TYPES FROM AN INFJ’s PERSPECTIVE

- This is all from my personal experience, everybody is different- yada yada yada.

- I love you all

INFP:

- You make me laugh so much

- No sense of space or direction, basically don’t send us to get something together because we will fail. 

- Good counselor

- Sometimes you don’t see what other people are implying because you are very genuine and trusting. 

- Nice stash of memes

ISFP:

- Why the HELL, why the absolutely HECKING HELL, do you SIT IN THE RAIN WHEN YOU HAVE A COLD? I understand you are a child of nature, but WHY? You will get an even worse cold!??? 

- I love you

- You’re emo sometimes 

- A lot of ISFP weebs

ISFJ:

- Why the hell haven’t you ever made me cookies like the stereotype says, huh?

- ISFJ’s will listen to you whine

- Good solid advice

- You are nit picky perfectionists at heart.

- You are very anxious and small and I love you. 

- Will cry if you insult their favourite characters

INFJ:

- I don’t understand the unique unicorn thing, you are all massive nerds and know it.

- Secret memelords

- Terrible at social interaction on the inside, but you aren’t as bad as you think from an outsiders perspective.

- Gets overwhelmed at parties. 

INTP:

- I love you

- Best type

- I’m joking

- I’m not

- Big nerd for video games

- I’ll be there at 3pm. (aka 5pm)

- Not actually good at maths

INTJ:

- When we first start talking I always think you hate me and then you secretly liked me all along?

- Hilarious

- Blunt in a good and bad way

- Your ideas amaze me

- Make very good artists

ISTJ:

- So, so, sarcastic

- A+ grade student 18 years in a row

- Speaks a lot but not to you

- Obsessed with young adult fiction 

- Has a crush on every actor

- Doesn’t like my memes?

ISTP:

- Understated humor that gets me every time

- Whenever i need anything fixed, after i try to fix it myself, you are there for me.

- Bad at social interaction until they get older.. and then, still….

- Leather jacket

ESTJ:

- Bad experiences, good experiences…

- That tertiary Ne gets me giggling 

- You listen to my opinions and accept them, even if you disagree with them- sometimes you even change yours once you hear mine. I admire this a lot and appreciate it.

- In the grip or looping ESTJ’s have been the most annoyingly patronizing people I have ever met, HOWEVER, healthy ESTJ’s are cool cats and I like you lots. 

ESTP:

- Honestly, dominant Se scares the hell out of me and I don’t know how you survive. 

- Bluntly honest, smart, caring- good good good.

- Always willing to help you

- Very eager to learn 

- Charming and hilarious

ESFP:

- Met two kinds of ESFP’s- shy and standoffish but sweethearts, and GO GO GO GO GOGO GOGOOG.

- Okay so once my ESFP friend slid down a 20 metre long railing with rocks beneath it and I almost died because YOU COULD HAVE DIED

- “I’m looking for a girl that will encourage me to slide down railings.”

- So much love to give, so many hugs.

- Please stop shaking it’s like a big chihuahua

ENFP:

- I can’t keep up with you but it’s so good

- I’m smiling at you in admiration 90% of the time

- Cute 

- Gets everything done somehow and has fun doing it?

- Doesn’t like emotions but is simultaneously the most emotive person ever.

ENTP:

- Everything, I love everything.

- Devils Advocate TM

- Very concerned and caring

- The memes are revolutionary

- Has a joke for every situation

- Cool nerd TM

- Stares at people lovingly when you don’t think I can see you doing it.

ESFJ:

- STOP. WORRYING.

- Takes responsibility for everything

- Actually hilarious

- Loves all boys

- Hates all boys

- Doesn’t give themselves enough credit

ENFJ:

- So much Disney

- So. much.

- Loves INTP’s too much

- Incredibly strong people

- Once they have a vision they go at it full throttle 

- Want’s everyone to be happy

- Hates conflict

ENTJ:

- The grand master

- I am terrified of you but i love you

- Gets it done

- Visionary’s

- Can get caught up sometimes and needs a friend to talk to

- Makes a lot of enemies accidentally, and a lot of the time on purpose

- Get’s annoyed when I make jokes about things that are unrealistic 

-but I keep doing it because I know it annoys you and I’m sorry

soundcloud.com
Memorial

memorial

you may have forgotten me by now,
but here’s the truth.
i hate to watch you smile from a distance.
we never hung out much but i still find myself reminiscing about the moment we met and how, instantly, we connected.
my hurt will never not mention you.
my best poems are still full of gloom
my hands.. never too full for you,
if ever you wonder.
my heart. still empty.
my mind knows better.
so instead of writing you,
i’ll leave it here.
whenever i get high i still think of you.
i think about the way you laugh.
i think about the way you sing.
i think about all those nights we laid together,
no kissing, no touching.
just vibes. just energy.
the truth is,
i wish you cared more about my wellbeing.
the truth is,
i wish i knew more about yours.

why you act like you don’t know me?
you used to know me better than i knew myself.
you used to love the way i love
how you forget the way i love?
since when do i have to remind you who this is?
you don’t remember me?
you don’t remember my heart?
you don’t remember falling apart
every time i’d leave?
you don’t remember the artsy things?
like a love after a love after a love
worth writing about?
you don’t remember our song?
you don’t remember writing it?
you don’t remember singing to me?
remember saying you missed me?
remember needing to speak to me?
to hear from me?
remember me?
remember us?
remember..
anything?

anonymous asked:

Do you have any writing or dos/donts tips for new fanfiction writers??


I’m just gonna start this out by saying i’m so honored that you asked me this especially since i’ve only been writing for less than a year whoops but anyway… Buckle up.

  • Proper grammar is very important
    • While it might be easier to type how you text and message people, basic sentence structure is important in a. Making your writing legible and b. Making it flow well
    • Use commas, just be careful how you use them
      • If what your saying can be said as an aside, chances are you’re going to use a comma or a hyphen
      • COMMAS ARE NOT USED SIMILAR TO THE PAUSE POINTS WHEN YOU SPEAK GET THAT OUT OF YOUR HEAD RIGHT NOW
      • Yes sometimes, commas and speaking pause points line up, but it’s not always
    • Use sentence length to set the mood
      • Longer sentences slow the reader down, so using FANBOYS or semicolons can really help to create a calm mood
      • Shorter sentences make the reader read faster, so you can use it to show anxiety or fast paced thoughts or actions
  • Make grammar your bitch
    • Proper grammar is important, but misusing grammar can be extremely helpful in setting the mood
    • For example: run on sentences, bad grammar, but if you use them, it shows that the character is having one long, trailing thought and possible anxiety depending on how the run on is structured
    • Also, not everyone talks properly. Not everyone says “I’m going to go read.” In fact, most native English speakers say “I’m gonna go read.” Learn how the character speaks, and use that.
  • If you’re going to use google docs (cause lbr not everyone can afford Word) get the grammarly extension on chrome, it’s like your own personal beta
  • PLAN
    • Know where you want your fic to go and make notes
    • If it’s a longer fic, write out a timeline, get your thoughts down and in order, it’ll save time as you write it out as well as prevent forgetting any plot points
    • Write down what the characters are like at the start of the fic and then at the end of the fic. Longer fics should have some sort of change and growth
    • However, if you’re going to write a shorter fic, this doesn’t always apply. Some shorter fics are specifically written just to show one point in a character’s life or characters lives and therefore there might not be much growth
  • Stay open to ideas
    • Sometimes your writing is going to take you in a different direction than planned. That’s okay.
    • If you don’t like where it’s going, DON’T DELETE THE SECTION, instead, move it somewhere else, i.e. a new doc, and start from where it started to veer off it’s path
  • DON’T COMPARE YOURSELF TO OTHER WRITERS; THIS WILL BE YOUR DOWNFALL
    • First, everyone has their own way of writing, don’t try and mimic it, or your writing won’t feel genuine to you or your reader
    • Second, there is always going to be someone better than you. Always. The more you compare yourself, the harsher you’ll get on yourself, and the less you’ll like writing
    • Third, everyone has to start somewhere. You will post bad fic. I have. Everyone has. It’s how you start, and it’s how you get feedback and grow. Don’t be ashamed of it
    • Fourth, you are never done growing. You will always be learning new ways to write, new ways to better express feelings and thoughts
  • Body language
    • Body language is a solid 60% of conversations, whether you notice it or not
    • People can actively hid something in their voice from you, but it’s harder to do so with their body, as so much of what we do is subconscious
    • Learn what your character’s tells are: when they’re lying, annoyed, happy, frustrated, upset, etc. Also, using general tells are pretty good, too. Quite a few people tend to look to the left when they lie, or cross their arms when they’re being defensive.
  • Showing is better than telling
    • Through body language, thoughts, and actions, you can show a character’s feelings a whole lot better than outrightly saying it.
    • This doesn’t mean never tell, but when you do it all the time, the story gets kinda boring
  • Find your audience
    • You want to hit moms in their forties? Write like a realistic, romance author
    • Wanna hit teens? Write about more fantasy and science fiction, hitting romance while still developing characters as they grow and age
  • Reach out to others in the fandom
    • talk with people, make friends, come up with headcanons together
    • encourage them and they will encourage you
    • having people to talk to about things is honestly so important and the entire reason i’ve been able to keep writing as well as the reason why i stopped for months before i started writing for voltron
  • Find how you relate to characters. Don’t make them you, but use how you understand yourself to write them. It’s how I write anxiety, depression, adhd, and anger disorders
  • Have fun when you write
    • Talk with friends who enjoy what you’re writing about, share little snippets, get people excited or make them cry
    • Get yourself excited about making people squeal because of tooth-rotting fluff, or have their heart melt with heavy angst
  • Read other’s works
    • Learn what you like and what you don’t, what others like and what they don’t
    • See what works when it comes to imagery and what’s better to just say
    • But oh my god, don’t ever steal. You’re writing should always be your own. You can take inspiration from other people, but when you steal their work it’s unbelievably rude and is extremely upsetting to the author, plus it’s against literally every sites rules and copyrights, and don’t copy their writing style, it just doesn’t work
  • One thing I do, that I honestly wish I didn’t, but is at least helpful for me
    • I always get in the mindset of the character, i.e. if Keith’s upset, I get myself upset and then write, or if Lance is super enthused, I get myself really happy
    • This can be really exhausting and taxing at times, so do this at your own risk
  • Music can completely change how you write
    • Find or make a playlist that has the mood for how you want to write something
    • Be aware of how the song is affecting your writing, and change it if you need to
  • When the characters are talking, try to hear their voices in your head and channel that when you write
    • If you listen to the character’s speaking what you want them to say, it becomes easier for the reader to hear that as well
    • It makes the characters a lot more believable
  • Relationships aren’t black and white
    • there’s cutesy little things, fights/arguments, sex (if you write that) and so much more
    • think about how you interact with your friends. how you sometimes get frustrated with them and just need to be alone, or how easy it can be to talk with them and spend time with them and how sometimes it can be a mix of the two. it’s a lot like that just with romance and kisses
    • no two relationships are the same. keith and lance don’t have the same dynamic as shiro and allura. hunk and lance don’t have the same dynamic as hunk and keith. everything and everyone is different and compliment each other in different ways. 

I think this is it and i’m sorry with how long this is, but this is everything that i’ve learned/have helped me over the past 10 months. I hope they help you too!!!

An Essay about LGBTQ+ representation and art, tied up with a bit of a tribute to Stephanie Rice.

I haven’t written something like this in quite a while. But I’ve been thinking a lot this past month about stories (even more than usual). So please be patient with all the caffeinated rambling I have to do here. 

Needing to tell stories is something I have always known. There’s not a point in my life that I can look back on and not find in my younger self the intense will to put words and worlds, experiences and characters on paper. I’m sure this is a thing many artists and storytellers would say about their own lives. It’s the heart hammering, hand shaking need to find an outlet for experiences, passion, compassion and emotion that answers every “how did you know you wanted to do this” question with a “because I had to.”

Being gay is something that I haven’t always known. And yes, I can look back on my life and point to moments and insecurities and road bumps that came from having always been gay. But I haven’t always known. Knowing came later. Knowing came with combined fear and confidence and the ability to eventually shatter the brick walls I’d built to hold my shoulders upright, in order to look at myself more clearly. And then I knew, and now it’s as though I always have.

I spend a lot of time thinking about my experience coming out and the experiences of other LGBT people around me, and young kids who have come out and are coming out every day, either in quiet moments to themselves, or in one big fight with their families, or again and again each day to that Uber driver or that woman next to you on the plane, or your hair dresser who always asks who you’re dating. I spend a lot of time thinking about how that experience can be made easier, how kids can be received with more love, how we can better learn who we are before the years of self doubt. And no matter how much I think about anything, I am almost always brought back to the same two ways to fix anything. 1. Through giving and compassion and 2. Through art and stories. 

With each generation in the LGBTQ community, the groundwork is laid for the ones that follow. From fighting for our right to live and be seen, to demonstrating that we’re just like everyone else, the generations before mine have laid a foundation that I am fortunate and humbled to stand on. In that light, I really and truly believe that it will be my generation that brings us alive, as a community, through art, that tells stories and writes songs so that generations after us can see themselves a little sooner, can look up to more than just a handful of queer artists, can grow up knowing and with families who know that there is no one normal, no cookie cutter sexuality, no right experience. 

I have few memories of experiencing media that was specifically gay, growing up. But one of the clearest I do have is watching Pretty Little Liars with my mom. I grew up in liberal Massachusetts, outside Boston with loving, accepting parents. Even still, I can vividly remember a time when Emily, a then high school student on the show kissed her girlfriend and my mother explained that she just “didn’t like to see it” that it was fine and she had “nothing against it” but “she’s just a little girl” and she didn’t want to think about it. I’m sure my mom’s response wasn’t different from many others. So often, the world is okay with kids being queer but not okay with showing them a world of experiences like theirs beforehand. My mom is one of the most loving people I know and I tell this story with a fondness. She’s always been accepting of who I am. I’ve always been safe and supported. There’s a chance she doesn’t even remember this moment because she loves me for who I am. But when all is said and done those moments happen all the time and they pile up and they mean something. They mean something because there are young kids, across the country, across the world, in less loving houses, with less accepting parents, who don’t have the word for what they feel for years and years, who are sheltered from seeing Emily Fields kiss girls on TV, who watch their parents turn off movies if two boys are in love. Those kids hear song after song on the radio where girls sing about boys and boys sing about girls. They’re raised on fairytales and animated films about Princesses who marry Princes or don’t marry at all. They flounder, they search, they look for themselves here and there and everywhere and they come up empty handed. They come up with one song by a niche band that no one else listens to, or one sad lifetime movie about a woman’s dead gay son, or one lesbian on a TV show who inevitably ends up dead. 

It’s my understanding that art is never meaningless. That culture and stories are what shape who we are, our worldview, our communities. It’s my understanding that when we diversify those stories we begin to change the world, stone by stone, kid by kid. 

Often, I hear other LGBTQ people talk about not wanting to be defined by being gay or bi or trans. But the more I grapple with it and the more I exist in this world, living in LA, working in television, fighting for my chance to tell stories, the more I want to scream it. I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay. I’m gay. Because maybe if I yell it loud enough some kid will hear it and say “hey me too.” Because maybe if I pour that pride and pain and passion into my art it will reach their television some day, their home, their couch, and even if it doesn’t change their dad’s mind, it might make them feel less alone or give them the right words for the pain and passion that they feel. 

I never watched The Voice before last year. I turned on season 11, at random, because I wanted to watch Alicia Keys be a coach. At some point, I stopped. It was fun but these aren’t the kind of shows that feel like they’re for me. They feel like they’re for corn fed, middle America, fighting over this pleasant looking man or that palatable country singer. And while I’m a creative who appreciates the rise and fall and hopes and dreams of other creatives as stories, these weren’t ones I was ever invested in. This year, I again turned the show on to watch season 12. Only to watch the auditions because those are fun and I get one more season with Alicia Keys. I remember the moment the show played Stephanie Rice’s backstory. I was watching it with one of my good friends. I remember we both perked up a little more when we saw her holding hands with her fiancée. I remember watching in an odd, baited breath silence as Stephanie began to tell her story and finding myself choking up just a little. For me, that emotional choked up feeling came from hearing things that I recognized, from watching her talk about the fear of disappointing her little sisters and knowing that exact same fear, to the same hands shaking, heart in your throat need to prove it’s alright, to make your way, to have your voice heard. Even as a person who has been out for years, an adult who is comfortable and confident in my sexuality, that feeling is still there. And as I watched it and watched her speak her truth and kiss another girl back stage I was reminded again that some kid, somewhere on a couch was going to see this, and feel that reliability, and feel seen and understood and not alone. I was driven again to keep fighting to tell my own stories.

There is something significant about pain and diversity and art that isn’t discussed enough. Art is universal and can be interpreted and understood and seen and heard and felt by anyone. But there is a rare and often overlooked feeling that comes when art feels like it understands you. When someone says words or shows an emotion that you can put your finger on and say you’ve felt. I stuck with the Voice after that. I watched specifically to follow Stephanie’s journey. For one, because she’s an incredibly talented artist, and for two, because I have a distinct understanding of how much harder that fight to make your way is.

Just a few nights ago I was driving, after my last day at my job in the Shannara Season 2 Writers Room, at about midnight down the freeway, and I was loudly singing along to Stevie Nicks with my windows down. On my reverse alphabetical order by artist itunes library, Stephanie Rice’s cover of White Flag comes right after Stevie Nicks’s Edge of Seventeen. So I’m driving and I’m singing and I know every damn word to Dido’s White Flag because I’ve heard it a hundred thousand times before and it was never even a song I cared about or liked. But I hadn’t heard this version that many times. Here I am, twenty-six years old, yelling at top volume in my car feeling my head get sort of swallowed and overcome and numbed by emotion as I do. Because when another gay woman sang that song, it changed. Because when another person fighting and dying to get their pain and emotion out of their chest sang that song, it changed. Because the emotion she sang with is emotion I know. Because suddenly yelling that I wouldn’t put my hands up and surrender became about something different. I can’t tell you what someone else meant by their song or their voice or their story. But I can tell you how it touched me personally. And I grinned like a damn idiot in my car because I felt a little stronger and a little prouder. 

I’m in the process of writing a feature/novel package with the brilliant Dawson Schachter. It’s a romance between two women. And as we work on it we keep having to remind ourselves of the reality that these stories don’t get told often, that the market for them is smaller, that they have to be palatable to the big wigs that will look at them. And that is infuriating and compromising and fucks with every better angel and creative demon you have, let me tell you. That’s the ugly part people don’t talk about. That’s the reality of being an LGBTQ creator. Being too gay or too different or not gay enough, not sensational enough, being martyred to your community when you would love just a little less pressure today, knowing the pressure is the only way, being brave because anything else has never even been an option you were given, feeling like failure means letting down that kid who needs this story, feeling like it means letting down the kid in you who needed this story and now just needs to get it out. But I also know how inspiring all those feelings can be and how it can feel like singing along at brain numbing volume to White Flag with your windows down going 90 on a freeway at midnight in Los Angeles far away from your home and your family. 

To Stephanie Rice, thank you. With as much weight as I can put in those two words, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for so bravely sharing your story and your art with America. Your vulnerability and light brought a story to televisions across this country that people need. And despite that particular journey wrapping up last night, I have no doubts that you will go on to keep sharing your soul through your music. As a fellow woman, as a fellow storyteller, you reminded me why I’m doing what I’m doing and I am so grateful to have gotten to hear your truth. You have a friend and supporter in Los Angeles if ever you need one. I look forward to hearing everything else you have to tell the world. 

To anyone else reading this, my friends, young LGBTQ followers, fellow writers, coworkers, strangers consider this very long ramble a plea for you to continue to back and support LGBTQ artists and youth. Continue to lend them platforms and elevate their voices. Continue to diversify the stories you tell, paint televisions and movies and the radio with kids that look like them, that sound like them, that feel like them. And please, also consider this very long ramble, another in a pile of promises I’ve already made to you, that I will never stop doing everything I can to illuminate your hearts and your souls and your stories. If I have to scream them or deliver them from the ground with bloody knuckles, I will make them heard. I hope that together, we can continue to build a foundation for generations after us, through art where exposure has opened hearts and minds, where stories have saved lives, and art has changed the world. We fight, as we always have, for a better, louder, prouder, safer, and more inclusive future. 

la douleur exquise (8)

Originally posted by veriloquentmind

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 9 | Part 10

Masterlist


I wasn’t myself. After that day on the rooftop with Sehun, my behaviour towards everything and everybody had changed. At the beginning I brushed it off, but the longer I ignored it, the bigger the gnawing feeling on my insides got until I couldn’t ignore it anymore. 

Jay and Baekhyun had both noticed my change in demeanor and there was nothing I could do. Each day felt as if it was a struggle and it’s all my fault. 

The second I accepted this job I had told myself that I would remain professional and just do what was expected of me and go home. That was my plan, which now was slowly falling to pieces. I let Sehun get to me again and this was the result. 

Keep reading

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Hey, white women, can we talk for a second? Yep, you too. Everybody in a huddle real quick. 

Originally posted by uswntinmotion

Everybody here? Okay good. 

I voted for Clinton, but I am just as responsible for what is going on in our country right now as those voted for Trump. I am upset and devastated that the majority of white women who voted voted for Trump. I understand why and the systems in place that made women think they should vote for him, but I also need to remind you of a few things. 

Just because you borrow a white man’s privilege by being married to one or being surrounded by them doesn’t mean that privilege is really yours. It means that you only get it for a time. When a man decides he is no longer interested in you, that is when you discover the power was never actually yours. Don’t rely on white men to understand and protect you. They don’t understand because they simply are not taught to do so. 

There is a fucked up system in place of being a person who is oppressed and oppressing others. We see this all the time. We know why bullies bully. It’s because they feel insecure and unsafe in other parts of their lives. But you need to keep in mind that just because you aren’t on the bottom of the pile, doesn’t mean you aren’t being crushed in that pile. You are not on top. Why are you voting to keep others beneath you, rather than voting to climb out of the pile entirely?

There is a photo of Trump and his wife voting that I think everyone saw. In it Trump is attempting to see how she is voting. (There is one of his son doing the same thing, only in even more blatant fashion.)

I think that is a good summation of what a lot of white women subconsciously are aware of: that the men in their lives are expecting them to vote a certain way and to think a certain way. I know it sounds very 1950s, the whole good little wife waiting on her husband hand and foot, but it still echoes in our culture and has its roots deep in western culture prioritizing men’s beliefs and thoughts over that of women. Every white woman has a spectre of a white man hovering over her shoulder. That’s why we are taught to be peacemakers and to worry about making everyone happy. Even I fall into this trap, but as I said before, voting to oppress other people isn’t going to get rid of your own oppression. It isn’t going to lessen it. It only makes you an accomplice in the oppression. 

None of the above absolves you. It doesn’t absolve me. Just because I understand the system of oppression involved in being a woman in this country doesn’t make it okay that so many of us voted for someone who is so blatantly racist and angry. He is encouraging other people to act out. You may say, “I don’t agree with everything he does.” I understand that, but ultimately you voted for someone who is okay with that. By doing so, you sent a message to everyone that even if you don’t consider yourself a racist or a bigot, you will stand silently by while someone else is. 

And liberal white women, this message is for you, too, so don’t sit back and pat yourself on the back for voting for Clinton. There is a history within the suffrage movement and within feminism of white, supposedly liberal women always putting themselves first. We need stop doing that. We need to be better. We need to fight for every last single woman. We need to stop letting down every last person of color in this country. We need to stop being ableist and transphobic. We either stand for all women or none at all. Too many of us quietly went to the polls and voted for Clinton and never once said a thing to convince other people to not vote for Trump. And way, way, way too many of us are now telling marginalized people to make peace with the people who voted for Trump. Stop it. You are speaking from a position of privilege again. They are entitled to their fear and anger and no, they shouldn’t have to hug and place nice with people who told them that they are less than human through their voting. If you are really liberal, you need to act like it and you need to be ready to hear what marginalized women have to say and not get upset when they tell you you are wrong. 

This is a reminder for myself that I need to be better. Always. And a reminder that we as a group, every last white woman, regardless of how you voted, have a lot of work to do. We benefit from our whiteness, even if we don’t benefit from being women. Stop the thought pattern that says, “We are okay because he doesn’t mean us. He means those other women.” Those other women need your protection and support, because no one else is giving it. 

Huddle break over. Go prove that you are better than this. 

Reggie Mantle x Reader: Cliché

Request:

I don’t have a specific story line to request but I really really really need Reggie x reader angst that ends in fluff. If you can’t do this without a specific plot it’s fine!

A/N: I was writing another fic then this spilled out and I didn’t fit the other fic that well, so I decided to turn it into this and hopefully you guys like it. I don’t know if this angsty enough though. Enjoy and I’ll update my masterlist later. Sorry for the delay in posting I have been sick and finals have arrived. Have a lovely day you beautiful majestic creatures/humans/witches/wizards whatever you want to be. If you’re following me and I haven’t followed you back slide in my ask or inbox and tell me please. 😍 I was supposed to post this yesterday but apparently there is a limit to how much a person can post within a day (blame Tumblr not me).

Words: 2500

Summary: You and Reggie have been friends since as long as you can remember. You both like each other but won’t admit it until Chuck messes with you.

Spoilers: Like one swear word I think. Reggie being protective af.

“So you guys have been inseparable since your childhood and never dated, or even thought of it” Veronica continued as you sighed at the reference that was always directed at you.

You’ve been best friends with Reggie Mantle for as long as you could remember.

That phrase always directed towards you both and it made you groan annoyingly at the person who directed it to you. You couldn’t understand why people couldn’t see that a guy and a girl could totally have a platonic relationship.

You loved Reggie as a friend, and you were pretty sure he felt that too. Sure you had a flirty way of communication towards each other, but you had always been like that.

“Were just friends. Best friends for that matter, can we just drop that” you spoke hating when people expected you to be a bigger cliché.

You couldn’t stand clichés you already were one, the sweet girl that kept to herself and tried to get along with everyone; although you always had Reggie who stood up for you if anything ever happened. That being the biggest cliché, being somewhat popular having a jock best friends who made sure you were always protected.

Growing up though Reggie got handsome and you contemplated your feelings, but pushed them aside because you couldn’t stand being so ordinary and becoming a bigger cliché.

“So, he’s available” the raven haired girl hinted at you.

“From what I know, yes” you answered you took a sip of water.

“So can I have his number?” Veronica continued giving you her phone as you placed in Reggie’s number.

The bell rang indicating that lunch was over and you all made your ways to class.

You were going to be late to class since you forgot your notebook at your locker. The hallway being empty because everyone was now in class, or so you thought.

You soon became startled by a hand brushing against your behind as you turned shocked as to what just happened.

“WHAT THE HELL CHUCK!” you exclaimed as he smiled all you wanted to do now was go home and put on some pants instead of the flowy dress that was on you.

“Pipe down (Y/N), it was an accident” he lied as you saw from the side of your eye that the rest of the football team leaving the locker room after their meeting.

“Just leave me alone, and don’t you ever come near me again” you hissed at him not wanting to make a scene.

“What’s going on (Y/N)?” Reggie made his way to you with worry and anger flooding his eyes.

“Nothing Reg, it’s fine, I’m fine” you reassured him not wanting him to get in a fight with his fellow teammate.

“Yeah I handled things pretty well” Chuck spoke with a devilish smirk on his face not even sorry about what he did and that made you feel more violated than ever.

“How dare you?! You asshole!” you continued at him while slapping his face and Reggie pulled you away.

“Chuck what did you do?” Reggie questioned his teammate.

“Oh, C’mon Reggie she was asking for it” Reggie’s blood boiling not knowing to what he was referring but nobody spoke about you that way not with him around, not ever “don’t act innocent ever since the day she started developing your eyes linger longer than ever too” Chuck continued as Reggie threw the first punch.

It almost was a full on fight until the coach Clayton emerged and broke it up protecting his kid.

“Don’t come near her again I swear your dad won’t be able to save you every time” Reggie hissed as you two were dismissed from school.

__

You both walked to your house quietly, until he finally broke the silence.

“(Y/N) I’m sorry, I just, I hate how I wasn’t there to protect you. (Y/N) you have to tell me what he did” he spoke with worry in his eyes you stayed quiet “(Y/N/N) I know you hate it when I fight, but I hate it when people mess with the things I care about.”

“I- h- he-, I just want to go home and put some pants on” you ignored the question not wanting him to go crazy as you opened the door to your house.

“I’m going to go change, be right down” you proclaimed.

You changed and made your way to the kitchen as Reggie was making himself a sandwich.

“(Y/N), you have to tell me what he did, please, I’m your best friend” this time he ordered and you sighed in defeat.

“You can’t go fuming mad man on him Reggie, or I swear I won’t ever trust you again” you lied knowing you had to tell him before anyone tried to mix up the story as he nodded.

“He- uh- he touched my ass” you spoke softly looking into his eyes hurt in them for what had happened to you.

Reggie grabbed you by the waist pulling you into a hug, and you thought that maybe he wouldn’t go hulk on Chuck although you kind of wish he would because he deserved it.

“I’m sorry (Y/N)” Reggie whispered to you as he ran out of your home and you couldn’t catch up to him.

__

An hour later you heard the doorbell ring as you opened the door to reveal Reggie with blood in his knuckles and a small scratch on his forehead. You smiled internally because you knew Chuck got the worse of it, but worry is what showed in your eyes as you pulled him in to the kitchen as you looked for the first-aid kit.

“Dammit Reggie, what did you do?” you asked knowing the answer, as you climbed the counter to reach the kit and you missed a step and he caught you.

“You don’t deserve being treated like that (Y/N/N)” he pointed out still holding on to you.

He finally settled you down as you cleaned up his wounds.

“Look you have to keep quiet about this, we both got in trouble at school for going against Chuck” you pronounced soon to be cut off by him.

“No (Y/N), I can’t do that, you’re my girl, nobody messes with us” he raged.

“No Reg, I know what he did was wrong, but this, if the school finds out. They will call my mom, look I don’t want any more trouble. If my mom finds out I- I- Reggie, please you’re my guy too, you know that. I just want to forget about this.” you pleaded as you heard your mom pull up in the driveway.

“(Y/N) what is this about you slapping Chuck Clayton at school today, and why did I have to find out from a call from the principal and not you” Your mom interrupted you and Reggie as she stepped in the house.

“Shit” you mumbled under your breath and stayed quiet.

“Well are you going to tell her?” Reggie added with anger in his voice not wanting you to keep quiet about this whole ensemble.

“Reggie shut up!” you ordered.

“He touched your ass (Y/N), that’s harassment!” Reggie stated harshly and your mother stood there with wide eyes.

“Look mom I didn’t want to tell you because I- its embarrassing okay! I- Don’t you hear what they say about the girls that this happens to. They get slut-shamed even if they’re like me and never have gone out with anyone. It’s so degrading and I can’t stand it, but I hate getting myself or even other people in trouble. Yes even if it’s Chuck and he wasn’t sorry because I hate conflict” you finished tears finally leaving your eyes.

“Oh honey, you’re not a slut. You are not anything they will try to say about you.” your mom pulled you into a hug “but we all need to speak to the principal about what really happened that boy needs to learn there will be consequences to his actions.”

“No mom Reggie is going to get more in trouble if we do, he just went on a punching spree on Chuck” you added as your mom pulled away from the hug and gave a small hug to Reggie.

“Did you get him good?” your mom encouraged.

“MOM!” you chuckled at her comment.

“Well, I need to know that if he’s going to get in trouble it’s going to be worth it” she explained.

“So worth it” Reggie gushed as he brought you both in for a small hug.

__

Later Reggie “left.” It really just means your mom kicks him out of the house because it gets too late, but he always climbs through your window into your room.

As Reggie was climbing your window he accidently hit his cut on the forehead.

“You’re getting too big for my window, I’m going to have to find a bigger one, although that will make my mom figure out our arrangement” you chuckled as he sat next you in bed.

“Yeah, she’s going to ruin our sleepovers”

Ding!

1 new message:

Unknown-

Hey Reggie hope you don’t mind (Y/N) gave me your number. 😉

-Ronnie xx

“Now why did you do that?” Reggie asked you as he showed you his phone.

“She asked for it, she asked if you were available; I thought you were” he looked down “so who’s the girl then? I’m sure if I tell Ron she will understand that it was misunderstanding” you gave him a puzzled look.

“No girl, not important I’m just not interested” Reggie fidgeted as he typed down a message letting her down easy.

“Oh c’mon you’d never turn down a girl like Ronnie, who has you like this” you grinned but at the same time sad that there just might be another girl that was going to take up Reggie’s time.

“I think we should just drop it” he ignored the topic “So how are you holding up?”

“I wish it was me that punched Chuck” you said softly laying your head on his shoulder.

“I’d like to see that” Reggie chuckled.

“I’m still mad at you, you know; but I can’t stay mad at you forever because I don’t know what I’d do without you Mantle” you commented looking to his bruised fists.

“I had to he disrespected my girl” Reggie retorted placing his arm around you “I’m just happy I saw you slap him, I never thought I’d see the day you hit someone” he laughed as you playfully punched him “ow, I’m injured, how dare you” he continued.

“That’s not my fault” you defended.

“Oh but it is (Y/N/N), I punched the hell out of him for you” he looked directly at your eyes.

The atmosphere changed within the second you both laid eyes on each other, Reggie looked vulnerable like he wanted to say something, but was scared of the outcome that could come after if he spilled his feelings.

“How are we still friends?” you broke your gaze as he squeezed you tighter to his side.

“What do you mean? We’ve always be friends” Reggie declared but it hurt. Reggie had grown fond of you the moment he realized you were the only one who was ever there for him. In the absence of his family you were there, the coach pinned him against Archie you were there, when he lost his friend Jason you were there.

He knew how you felt about clichés, but all he wanted was to be part of a different cliché with you. He wanted to be the jock that got the sweet girl. The guy best friend who got to date his best friend because he knew that you were his soulmate.

There you both sat knowing your feelings for each other, but afraid to speak of them. He was afraid of rejection and you your excuse was a cliché which you came up with in middle school because you were tired of everyone and their assumptions about you and Reggie. Most importantly because you fell in love with your best friend and you had to make everyone think otherwise.

“I know, but I mean were both a bit different in most stories we were supposed to fall apart and forget each other. You with your popularity and me the shy quiet one” confirmed.

“Are you hinting something?” Reggie gave you a sad smile.

“No, I’m just glad we’ve actually stuck to each other” you smiled back.

“Good, different is good, I like our story” Reggie added and you blushed.

You both laid down in your bed and fell asleep to wake up to your alarm ringing a bit earlier as it always did when Reggie would sleep over so he had time to back to his house to get ready, he lived next door anyways.

You opened your eyes as you were cuddled to Reggie, your head resting on his chest and his arms around your waist.

“Reggie it’s morning” you spoke as he held you tighter not wanting to get up.

“Just five more minutes, please” he wouldn’t let go.

“Mantle the magnificent, I hope you realize my mom doesn’t knock and were supposed to go with her to school today about you know who” you started poking him to get up even though what you wanted was to keep cuddling with him.

“Fine” he let go as you both stood up.

You had a very nervous expression about the whole situation, you wanted justice but Chuck always seemed to get away with it and you two were alone in the hallway when he touched you, there was no witnesses and it all just dawned at you and Reggie saw your expression as he was about to climb out.

“Hey” he grabbed you by the shoulders “It’s all going to be okay, your mom is going to be there and so am I” he grabbed one of your hands as he intertwined his with yours which sent butterflies in your stomach.

“But that didn’t stop him before, I mean no one saw, I have no witnesses.” You freaked as he let his hand go from your shoulder and placed in your chin.

“(Y/N)?” he looked you straight in the eyes.

“Yeah” you said a little short of breath.

“No one messes with what’s mine” he commented as he placed his lips on yours and it shocked you at first but you kissed back.

“You don’t know how long I’ve wanted to do that for” he confessed as he rested his forehead on yours.

“Probably not as long as I have wanted that to happen” you spilled as he gave you a wide smile.

“So can you tell Ronnie I’m taken now” he beamed.

“As long your there with me” you approved.

“So you don’t mind being a cliché with me?” he questioned you.

“I’ll be your cliché” you announced as you placed one last kiss on his lips so you both could get ready for school.

Tag:

@sgarrett49 @casual-ellipsoidal @isis278

@forsythependletonjonestheiii @oharchiekinz 

Love and First Sight: Chapter One

Vice Principal Larry Johnston extends his hand.

To clarify: I don’t see this. I hear the swish of his shirtsleeve.

“Nice to meet you, William.”

The fabric sound plays again&emdash;the hand retracting.

“I’m sorry, I guess you can’t do that now, can you? You probably want to feel my face?”

He grabs my arm and smacks my palm against his cheek, knocking me off balance so I have to step into the musk of his aftershave.

“Where do you normally start? Eyes? Nose? Mouth?”

He shifts my fingers across the front of his face with each suggestion. His skin is rough and pockmarked, like the outside of an orange.

“No, actually, I don’t do that,” I say, pulling my hand away. “I identify people based on their voices.”

“And…also…” I add. I can’t resist. “Yes?” he asks, all eager to please.

“Well, I don’t usually touch faces, but I am gifted with a heightened sense of smell that allows me to recognize a person’s pheromones, which are concentrated just below the ear, so if you wouldn’t mind … ?”

I touch my pointer finger to my nose.

His excitement drops. “Oh…you want to…smell… my ear?”

Keep reading

The lion and the wolf

Originally posted by ladysarah94


request: none

warnings: language 

a/n: I love the thought of protective and daddy Robb Stark


“Traitor!”
“Lannister swine!”
“Baratheon bitch!”

I held my head high and bit my lip to hold back tears as I neared my tent. I had never, and will never, give them the satisfaction of letting them see me shed a tear. It was much harder to contain my tears as I was already a hormonal mess as is. I pulled the flap of the tent back as another man yelled,
Bloody whore!”

I stepped in and let the tent flap fall behind me as I let out a shaky breath. I walked over to the bed and sat down. I let the tears begin to fall down my face and I began to heave.

Keep reading

Kai scenario - My Lady

non-requested

genre: angst, DRAMATIC ENDING, smut, royalty-present, virgin

Summary: Falling for someone can always be difficult, but when he is betrothed to someone else, everything is difficult.

A/N this can be either present or olden time royals. your choice. I kept the language kind of broad between both eras.

wordcount: 2,200+

Keep reading

Noise (Part 7)

Summary: (Chris Evans x Reader / Sebastian Stan x Reader) you’re moving into an apartment on your own, ready to start fresh in someplace new. However, your new neighbor upstairs seemingly isn’t the quietest person in the world.
Warnings: slight angst, fluff
Word count: 1297
A/N: The people have spoken and this is what most of you wanted — I’m hoping you’re happy with the outcome!

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6

Originally posted by chriisevanss


Keep reading

Morgan Rielly - Part Twenty-One

This is getting really really fun

My mind goes numb the father down I go. When the elevator stops at the elevator, it feels as if my stomach and heart and everything else vital to my very being continues the descend. I barely feel my legs moving as I somehow make it out the revolving doors and into the cool night.

Mason’s jacket does little to keep me warm, I’m sure it has to do with the fact that I’m wearing very little beneath it but I don’t mind, I don’t even feel the cold. I wonder vaguely what is going on upstairs right now and then a sudden thought sends panic through my veins.

What if Nick comes downstairs to find me?

I don’t know if he would actually try right now, but he had tried to get into my elevator. My surroundings come more into focus and I look back the throng of people to the street in search of a taxi, if there even are any. I’ve never hailed a cab before, only ever using my Lyft or Uber app to get rides but I’ve seen shows and movies, those are the same as real life right?

Stepping on the curb, I raise a hand and watch as vehicles whiz past and then I spot one. It’s not what I would have expected a taxi to look like, no obnoxious yellow with black lettering, instead it’s a simple white car with a taxi fare sign on the top. The driver pulls to the curb and I clamber into the backseat.

After giving the driver, a pleasant woman who must be in her early forties, my destination I slump back into my seat and cover my face with my hands. Tears hadn’t come yet and I willed them to keep at bay until I return to my hotel room. But behind the blackness of my closed eyes all I see is Nick, his mouth and hands running over some other woman’s body.

Disgust pools in my stomach and I think I might throw up. I had shook that woman’s hand before, I’d talked to her children before, one of whom was just four years younger than Nick and myself. How long had I been so blind to the signs? This distance between us, both physically and emotionally, his need to control me even more hundreds of miles away; the list in endless.

A dry sob escapes my mouth, still muffled by my hands but loud enough for the driver to hear me.

“Are you alright, honey?” She asks and I’m surprised at the southern accent to her words.

I try to throw the words “I’m fine” out but they just won’t go. I know if I open my mouth to speak everything in me will break and I won’t be able to stop the flood of tears drowning the inside of me already. Instead I just shake my head, it takes more energy to lie rather than tell, or nod, the truth.

“Cheating boyfriend.” It’s not another question, it’s a statement.

I lower my hands from my face and blink several times for the woman to come in focus, her eyes are not on the mirror looking back at me, she’s staring at the road. I swallow several times and take even more deep breaths.

“How did you know?” I ask, my voice raspy and betraying me with the sadness behind it.

“Honey, I’ve worn that very look several times in my life. I even have the wedding rings to prove it,” she laughs dryly, “it never gets any easier to begin with. First boyfriend?” The last part is a question.

“First serious,” I correct and she nods again.

“That’ll be the worst,” she says and I scowl. No shit. “I take it you’re not from here as well since I’m bringing you to a hotel. Long distance relationship?”

Again I nod and somehow she knows though she never looks at me.

“Every odd stacked against you,” she says and I don’t have a response. Her dark eyes follow the line of traffic, never once darting my direction. I look at her hands, and once when we pass under a street light, I see the glint of something shiny decorating her even darker skin.

“Looks like the odds finally went in your favor,” I say and this time her eyes finally meet mine, a smile breaking across her skin.

“Yes, but this time it was I leaving the wrong man and finding the right woman,” she practically glows and I can’t help the small feeling of resentment that muscles its way up. She looks so happy and she stares down at her ring in a way that I would kill to have someone look at me. I’m jealous.

“But it took me thirty-seven years to find her, and another five to get her to marry me. You have time, and despite what people might say, time heals you,” she says, finally meeting my eyes in the mirror. “Don’t think for a second that what that boy did to you was your own fault. If I know man, and I think I do, he will berate you and blame you in a way that makes you want to fall apart inside,” she speaks with such intensity that I can’t even bring myself to blink as she swivels in her seat to face me.

“You must not let him. Because as much as I can see in your eyes your entire world falling to pieces, it’s still forming. Don’t hide your heart, sweetheart. People always preach to be kind to everyone, to never hurt anyone but that’s not realistic now is it? You can be the kindest person on earth and still have moments where you want to hurt someone, rather it be on the outside or inside.

Now, before you get out of my cab, I have one more strong word of advice if you would like to hear it,” she pauses to wait for me to answer.

I nod.

She leans forward towards me and drops her voice down. She’s even prettier than I had initially thought.

“Hurt them before they hurt you. And if someone hurts you first, buckle down and knock them to the ground twice as hard. There’s no reason in this world to be walked over, and don’t ever let any man or woman, ever make you feel like you’re not good enough,” she finishes with a severity in her tone that brings something in me to the surface, something in me that screams revenge.

“Now, off you go,” she says, shooing me with her hands. “That’s enough deep talk with one stranger for the night.”

“But I need to pay you,” I say, reaching for me purse.

“Nonsense, I’ve been off the clock for the last half hour. I drive down the busy streets to pick up and man or woman who looks like they need help. You keep your money,” she scolds.

I frown at her, needing to repay her in some way. When she goes to face forward in her car again I reach out, putting my hand over hers where it lies on the center console. “Thank you,” I whisper, meaning it with every fiber of my mind and body.

“You’re welcome,” she says placing her other hand atop of mine for a brief moment and I look down in time to see two tattoos on her ring finger, opposite of the hand that currently wears a ring. Two long bands circle the flesh and two dates on each line stare back at me. Marriage and divorce. Memories.

-

I throw open my hotel room door and stalk inside. Every broken fragment in my body that I had felt in that elevator downtown is suddenly repaired and dying to be released. I toss my purse down onto the bed and remove my jacket. The weight of my phone in one of the pockets reminds me of the people I left behind at the hotel. Morgan’s face, crinkled with worry and anger, two of his outstretched pale hands pushing back on Nick’s chest run through my mind and I worry about what he might have done.

I tap the screen and cringe at the missed notifications.

Six missed calls from Nick

Four voicemails from Nick

Two messages from Jake

Three missed calls from Morgan

Fourteen messages from Nick

Six messages from Morgan

Three messages from Mason

One message from William Nylander

One missed call from Mom

The latter of the list dated from three hours ago so I don’t worry about that one. I scroll through the messages from Morgan first.

Where are you?

Y/N?

Answer me please

Pick up your fucking phone

Y/N

Y/N

The ones from William, Mason and Jake are much the same, the ones from Nick tell a much different story.

Please answer my call

Fuck Y/N, please!

Please hear me out

Y/N!

I love you

Baby

Please

I want to explain

Don’t leave me

Please don’t leave me

I love you

I’m so sorry

You’re my entire world. I fucked up, please please please call me

Baby please

I stare at the screen with a blank face. I don’t care what he has to say. I don’t want to hear him out. I don’t want anything to do with him and at the same time I want him to hurt. I erase the voice mails left by Nick without listening to them and clear my missed calls list.

Deciding that Morgan and the other three boys did nothing wrong, I text them all individually that I was back at the hotel and just wanted to be left alone for now. It hasn’t even been three seconds that I sent the message to Morgan that he’s calling me.

“I’m okay Morgan,” I say into the receiver, my voice eerily calm.

I hear Morgan’s sigh of relief from the other end and my heart softens just a little. “I promise I’m okay, you stay there and eat with your boys. I want some time to think. Alone.”

Morgan is quiet for a moment and I frown.

“Morgan, what did you do?” I ask slowly.

“I didn’t do anything! I wish I had, Mas kinda beat me to it,” he says and for about the fifth time tonight, my stomach drops.

“Mason? What did Mason do?”

“He may have broken a finger or two in his efforts to what I believe was kill Nick,” he says slowly.

“And how did he do?” I ask after a second of hesitation.

“Knocked him flat on his ass and then the bouncer was there between them, though I don’t think it was needed, Nick was pretty out of it,” he says and I can almost hear the pride in his voice.

I shake my head in surprise, I had never thought of Mason as one to defend me. Or even think of me worth being defended. “Where are you now?” I ask.

“On our way back to the hotel, just me, Mason and Jake that is. A few others wanted to come back with us but we told them to stay. No need to take Mas to the hospital, our trainer can patch him up pretty good himself. But if you want us to keep our distance then we will,” he adds the last part with a little bit of resentment but I ignore it.

“Are you… are you such you’re okay?” Morgan asks.

“I’m not okay, but I will be. I should have seen it coming, I was stupid to not see it when so many of you seemed to,” I sigh. “But I want my thoughts to be all my own, I’ll see you in the morning okay?”

Morgan sighs heavily. “Alright, but you call me for whatever reason.”

“Who else would I call?”

Silence.

“Goodnight, Morgan,” I say gently.

“Goodnight,” he whispers.

-

Morgan POV

“Can you please just sit down?” Mason snaps at me from the second bed in my hotel room, “You’re making me anxious.”

“Forgive me but your feelings are not at the top of priorities right now,” I snap right back, turning on my heel and walking back towards the door.

I couldn’t stop. Every time I tried to sit or lay down all I would do is get right back up again. Her expression when she turned away from that pathetic excuse of a human about did me in. There was no sadness on her face, just hurt in her eyes and defeat on her body. The way her shoulders had slumped and her footsteps had faltered as she steadied herself against the wall of the elevator, frantically trying to get the doors to close before Nick got to her.

When my hands had laid on his shoulders, fury that I had never experienced before swelled inside me. I wanted this man to hurt, I wanted him to see what he had caused, what I knew he would cause that first night Y/N had come to my apartment. I had seen the look in her eyes when she saw his name on her phone. The same exhaustion and emptiness had been in her eyes every time I was with her and he was mentioned.

He had looked at me like I was crazy, then realization must have crossed his face. A cocky, ego-infused face stared back at me, his mouth curled up in a sneer.

“Well look who it is, Morgan right? Y/N talked a lot about you,” he had said, his voice vibrating with anger. “So much so that I thought there was no doubt she was fucking you.”

Blood had rushed to my face and he took it as a triumph.

“But then last night, when she was on her back beneath me,” he said slowly, knowing exactly what he was doing. “She had felt so good, just like the last time and I knew she was still mine. I knew no one else had touched her the way I touched her,” his voice was so low that Mason was the only other person who could hear. “That’s why I put a ring on her, to make sure that you knew.”

It felt like a freight train to my stomach. The way he was talking about her, as if she was just a piece of property. That was when my hand formed a fist.

“She’ll come back to me, she always does,” he sneered and before I could do so much as take another step towards him, he was on his back.

I stared in amazement as Mason stood above him, a trickle of Nick’s blood running down his hand. He had stooped down over the withering mess on the ground.

“If you ever so much as look at her again, I’ll rip your throat out,” he had snarled.

And suddenly I was back on the plane to our second pre-season game of the year. A pretty girl had just boarded the plane in front of another social media advisor, Mason had told me about her but he had failed to mention just how beautiful she was. She kept her eyes low on her way down the plane and then back to her seat.

I had watched her exchange with Mason, the aggressiveness to her tone and the way her eyes glinted like at any moment she would leap across the table and rip out Mason’s throat, the exact way Mason was staring at Nick right now. “You can rip each other’s throats out later.” Steve had said, and at the time we had all laughed, thinking it was a joke. Then I’m brought back to when she had first met my eyes on that same night, contrary to what she had looked like talking to Mason, her eyes were soft and timid. Kind.

“Mason,” I had said, putting a hand on his shoulder. “No more. For now,” I added as Nick glared up at the two of us and then the bouncer had been there, telling us to leave which had surprised me.

“You don’t need us to stay?” I asked, looking around for any security guards.

“No. I saw what he did to the girl, he deserved it, if not more,” he had said, getting the staggering football player to his feet. The older woman he had been there with came rushing to his side, trying to look at the mark on his face but he had brushed her off, looking at the descending elevator, and what I had thought were tears from getting hit in the nose suddenly looked like tears of loss.

“Morgan, I’m telling you one last time,” Mason said, waking me from my thoughts. “If I know Y/N, and I do, I know she’s not upstairs crying in her hotel room. She’s thinking, and she’s planning. I wasn’t lying when I said she took anger management classes. Y/N can handle herself, even against him.”

We met each other’s eyes for a long moment, me ready to run out the door and to Y/N’s side, Mason content to go right to bed.

I sigh and he relaxes. “Fine, but if you’re sleeping in here I’ll suffocate you if you snore even once,” I say and he grins.

“You’ve been hanging out with Y/N a lot haven’t you?”

I’ve learned that whenever I apologize for my enthusiasm, what I’m really doing is apologizing for simply existing. There is no separating me from my passion. It’s almost as if every sentence I speak ends in exclamation points. Whenever I write an email, I go back over it and edit out my excitement before pressing send. Admitting to myself that I’m too much. Lately, I’ve become so aware of this part of myself. I delay text messages, telling myself that nobody needs to hear me rant about a passage from a book at 7 AM. Editing. Backspacing. Minimizing how I truly feel. There is so much inside of me & although it never feels overwhelming in my own head, it immediately feels that way when I release it into the world.

Mad - Evgeni Malkin (PT Diaries, Episode 5)

Requested by anon: Saludations!! I was thinking about the PT Diaries series and I was wondering if we could make requests/give ideas for future chapters because I would really like to read a chapters in which the Pens are playing against Minnesota and after an ugly hit, (y/n) has to treat urgently Zach Parise and after that he is flirty and Geno and the team are having it. Tbh I just hope you continue it soon! Have a good weekend beautiful

A/N: I’m so so so so sorry, I suck at being consistent and I know you requested this a hundred years ago. I hope you like it though. I know, big cliff hanger, sorry not sorry. 

And thank you so much for all the support I’ve been getting, it’s amazing and I love you!

Word count: 1359

Warnings: none (actually yes. A swear word).

Episode 1  Episode 2  Episode 3  Episode 4

Master list

Originally posted by puckducky

I’m standing on the hall that connects the bench and the ice, looking at the game. The Pens were playing the Minnesota Wild and the game has been tough to say the least; there have been three fights in the first period and it doesn’t seem like the second is going to be softer for the players.

I take my eyes off the eyes for a second and when I turn my head the only thing I can see is a huge fight going on and a player dressed in green is laying on the ice, not moving. The refs have a hard time putting distance between the players and I’m jump on the ice the second I’m allowed to, running between hockey players. I kneel next where Zach Parise, the man lying on the ice, is.

“Hi, Zach? Can you hear me?” I say, leaning in close to his head so I can hear his answer.

He doesn’t speak, but nods and I feel myself let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Are you hurting?” I ask.

“My leg.” His answer is short and I can tell that he is in a lot of pain; the hit must have been nasty. He needs to be taken out of the ice.

“What about your neck or back? Do they hurt? Do you feel both your arms and legs?” I wonder, trying to figure out if he is going to need a stretcher or not.

“It is just my thigh.” He says, prompting himself up on his elbows.

“Alright, let’s go and get it checked out.” I stand up and a couple guys from his team help him up and out of the ice, straight to the therapy room.

I’m quick to get everything ready but the time they come in. The room is extremely warm compared with the ice, so I rip my coat off my body and throw it on the floor. The boys leave Zack lying on the massage table and go right back to the ice.

“Let’s take your equipment off.” I say, standing next to where he is lying and starting to unlace his skates, taking them off. “Can you sit?”

“Yeah, of course.” He answers, sitting down slowly, grunting.

I take his helmet off and grab the hem of his jersey, tugging it a little to ask for permission. He just lifts his arms with a smile and I take his jersey off; thanks God, he is wearing a sports shirt under his pads. I take those off next, and then his hockey socks and leg protections. His pants are left and I help him up so he can take them off as well. He hops back on the table, wearing the shirt, compression boxers and socks.

“If I knew that a pretty lady was going to undress me today I’d have put more conditioner on, maybe a little more cologne as well.” He jokes and I smile, checking on his thigh.

It was bruising, badly, his thigh colored in a nasty shade of purple and black and green. I touch the area softly and he hisses, but doesn’t jerk away. It looks like a muscle injury, but it doesn’t seem like his bones are broken.

“I’m sure that you are going to be sore, but it is just a bruise.” I tell him, walking towards the freezer and grabbing an ice pack and walking back to him. “A huge nasty one, but just a bruise nonetheless.”

“Thanks…”

“(y/n).” I answer his unsaid question and he smiles. His smile fades when I press the icepack over his muscle.

“That’s a pretty name for a even prettier lady.” He compliments me and I laugh.

“That was sooooo cliché, Parise.” I say. “Hold this.”

He does what I say and I start picking up all his clothes and equipment and folding them nicely on a chair. He stares at me while I’m doing it, but he doesn’t say a word.

When I’m done, I grab an anti-inflammatory ointment from one of the cabinets and walk back to the table, where Zach is sitting holding the icepack.

“Can I?” I ask and he nods, putting the ice down.

The bruise is even bigger and blacker. I chew on my bottom lip while massaging the cream on his leg. He hisses again, his skin being too sensitive under my touch.

“Sorry.” I apologize and he shakes his head.

“Not your fault…” He just says, casually. “It was a dirty ass hit by Malkin.”

I raise my brows when he says that, but I don’t say anything back. I know Geno and I don’t think that he would ever do something to hurt someone on purpose; but I guess that he is not the same person on the ice that he is while I’m sticking needles on his knees.

I’m about to tell him that he can go to the locker room when the horn that indicates the end of the second period goes off.

“I should go.” He says, hopping off the table and walking towards his stuff.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll send someone to get it for you.” I say, walking him to the door.

The therapy room is located on the hall that goes to the Penguins locker room so when we walk out the players dressed in black are walking down the hallway.

“Hi, (y/n).” Conor Sheary waves at me and I smile.

“I better get going.” Zach says, leaning on the doorframe. “Thank you, beautiful.”

“Anytime.” I say and he takes off after leaning in and kissing my cheek.

I can feel myself blushing and I can’t help it but to smile. I’m about to get back inside when I see Geno standing there, looking at me. We stare at each other for what it seems like forever before he breaks eye contact and walks away.

-

Geno is going on a rampage, spending fifteen of the twenty minutes of the third period in the penalty box. Coach isn’t happy about it. Assistants are not happy about it. Flower isn’t happy about it. Even Sidney, who always defends Geno, is not happy about it. Hell, I’m even pissed at him.

The Penguins lose three to one and the main reason is because they have been in the power kill for most of the third period. I walk towards the hall and stand with the rest of the stuff, as we always do. The players walk down the hall, straight to the locker room, handing over sticks and gloves to the guys on the door. Only Sid and Geno are left when we hear a broken sound. Geno has broken his stick, hitting it against the wall. I roll my eyes and walk back into my office.

I’m about to leave when there is a knock on my door.

“Come in.” I say, leaving my coat back on the hook.

The door opens and Sidney comes in, pulling Geno with him. Sidney looks concerned and Geno looks pissed.

“What can I do for you, guys?” I ask politely, sitting back on my chair.

“Talk to this goon.” Sidney pushes Geno down on the chair in front on my desk and leaves the room without saying a word.

I blink repeatedly, not really getting what’s going on. Geno is looking to his hands on his lap and he doesn’t seem to have anything to say.

“Well… how can I help you, Evgeni?” I ask and he is quick to lift his head and look straight at my eyes.

“Evgeni? Why?” He sounds almost hurt.

“It’s your name, isn’t it?” I say, trying to keep my voice as neutral as possible.

“Why?” He doesn’t seem to understand.

“Why did you decide that it was a good day to practice boxing?” I wonder and he drops his head again.

“I is… mad.” He struggles with his English, but I’m not having it.

“Why?” I keep pushing him.

“Because… because…” He struggles again. “Der’mo*.”

“Evgeni… I want to lea…” He cuts me off before I can finish my sentence.

“Because you can’t like other players.” He pretty much yells.

* - Shit

2

Auld Lang Syne

43

One night of uninterrupted slumber had somehow managed to cleanse my mind of the horror that greeted both of us when Harry’s dreams took control.
The night we’d been drinking, of course our sleep had been peaceful, and lovely, but one more day had passed, a day without even a drop of alcohol passing his lips, and his nightmare had returned with vengeance.

“YOU WAKE THE FUCK UP!” I screamed, tears streaming down my face as pounded my weak fist against his chest, straddling his hips. “HARRY PLEASE WAKE UP! PLEASE!”

Keep reading

Only Us (Part Three)

Originally posted by katmcnamara

Pairing: Peter Parker (Tom Holland) x Reader

Summary:  What happens when the reader saves Spiderman…while he’s saving you? (things have changed but fuck it I’m still using this summary cuz idk)

Word Count: 1550

Warning(s): Swearing

Additional Notes: If you would like to be tagged for every part of this series let me know by commenting or something else idk

Part 1  Part 2 


Can’t afford that, can’t afford that. I thought my fingers brushing the soft fabric on the shirts. I stare at the one shirt that caught my eye. $25.99. Fat chance. I pushed it away pulling my purse closer to me.

“Can I help you with anything?” A girl smiled at me obviously a worker at the store.

“No thank you. I’m just looking.” I smiled before a crash sounded outside the store somewhere in the mall. “What was that?” My gaze shot to the shop worker who held a confused look in her eyes.

“I’m not sure.” She replied as I took a step forward determined to walk out of the store. “I really don’t think you should go out there.” I shook my head taking another step.

“I’ll be fine.” I told her walking into the mall that had groan quiet. I paused for a moment before walking down the hall looking into the shops desperate to see anyone. It was late at night the mall was almost closed so not a lot of people where here in the first place. A hand caught my arm pulling into their chest.

“Don’t move.” I heard a growl and I swallowed as I felt a blade press against my throat. Really? Again? I thought. A figure came walking toward me.

Keep reading

J/C - Ficlet

Just a…sorta, follow-up to Jamie’s the other day. All my stories, including that one (Pernicious Bliss) can be found here: http://archiveofourown.org/users/WanderingSummerBreeze

Once again, I am a shipper. If you don’t want anything to do with that, have a lovely day, and enjoy your journey through Tumblr-land.

I promise, this isn’t as heart-breaking as Jamie’s story. That was a…bad…day, for me.


I Saw You Today


I saw you today. Before I even knew. I felt a heat spread throughout my body. A growing feeling of love and sadness. It had been so long, I almost forgot. Your daughter was having a tantrum; upset that she was not allowed to play outside in her dress. I looked up to see her eyes like pins, her red hair, like fire under the warm Boston sun, matching her temper. And her lips purse, then open just the smallest amount, before closing again.

I remember when you looked at me like that. Not often, for we didn’t argue often. But when we did, oh, my dearest, Jamie…do you remember? We went for the throat.

Your daughter is the same. She argues with intellect far exceeding her six years, and a strong voice. Not loud. Strong. She’s a stubborn Scot, just like you.

Her constant battle with me, and she does, Jamie, she’s always fighting with me, should make me angry. But it doesn’t. She is as much you, when her temper is at its boiling point, as when she lies her head upon her pillow at night, a smile always present, as if she dreams the same things as you.

I’m speaking of her so harshly, but I think that is just my memory of seeing you. It always has the same, strange, course. I’m happy, overjoyed, overwhelmed, all the things you can think of when you first see your true love, again. But then the fog floats away, and my bloody mind is free to let reality in again. Then, when my eyes look upon the world I live in, a world you are no longer a part of, I shatter. I shatter like a crystal chandelier, dropping to the floor, the glass spilling in all directions. And Jamie, in that moment, my love, I cannot bear another moment without you. I cannot bear to look upon your daughter’s face, your reflection staring back at me in torment, her smile, turning into some sinister jack-o-lantern, the burning candles inside, consuming me.

My anger and pain turn to tears. I lock myself away, at work or on walks. I mourn you as if it was the first day; your loss, two-hundred years and only two minutes’ past. Eventually though, you break through my tears, your hand held out for me, and I take it with such urgency, grateful to let it all fall away, just to be with you again.

I hear the click of the front door, Frank finally making his way home after one of his “late nights at work”.  He ascends the stairs with care, hoping to not wake the house, and I turn my back to the door.

Leave me in peace, please. Just shower, before I smell another one of your women on you.

I open my eyes at the closing of a door and listen for the soothing sounds of water hitting the tile, thanking all the angel’s in heaven, and devil’s in hell, for the brief reprieve.

I rarely speak your name aloud, it’s presence upon my lips, leaving a sting that pierces my flesh to the very marrow of my bone. But there are times I need to hear it. Times I need to remind myself, you existed. Not only existed. You laughed. You lived. You loved.

My God! Did you love…

“Whadaya think, Sassenach, have I pleased you properly?”

I grabbed his shirt and pushed him away, his feet stumbling, dropping him backward into the hay-pile. I laughed, falling back against the barn door, pushing my skirts down.

“James Fraser, we’re supposed to be working. Anyone could have walked in on us.”

“Well then,” he made no move to rise from the hay, “they woulda seen a most educational show.”

I crossed my arms, feigning annoyance, “Educational?”

Jamie slid to the ground, crawling toward me, his knees scraping against the harsh stone, his kilt having been ripped off in the throes of passion. “Aye. Educational. For a man must ken how to make his woman pleasured.” He knelt below me, his hands, moving my skirts, to rest on my ankles, slowly moving upward to my calves.

“Must he?”

“Aye. When your woman is satisfied, ye have her under yer thumb. She’ll do whatever ye ask of her, all the while, thinkin it was her idea in the first place.”

“Hmpf. I think you have that turned around,” I said turning my eyes away, “Anyway,” I sharply turned back, “I thought a woman was supposed to do whatever her husband asked, regardless.”

Jamie hands pushed under my shift, his roving fingers, tickling the insides of my thighs. I clamped my thighs tight, imprisoning him. He chuckled softy.

“She is. But she is so much more,” he pushed my legs apart, his thumb pressing against my clit, “pliable? When pleased.”

I smacked his head, while simultaneously pressing into his thumb, my legs going slack against the wall.

Jamie lifted my skirts, his head ducking underneath, as the scented fabric from our sex, draped across his back. I held him through my skirts, keeping him in place, as he tasted our joint union from minutes before. I could hear Ian call for Jenny outside, but begged for his voice to die away.

Jamie always knew the perfect combination of teasing and pleasing. For every tickle and nibble, he would push and bite. We learned the workings of my body, together. He was never shy with me. Never held-back his desires to have me wholly, and I, to have him, the same.

“Jamie. Inside me. Now.”

I begged for his fullness, and he did not disappoint. He withdrew his fingers, and ceased his tongue from my lower lips, pulling free of my skirts, before bending against the stall door, hiking my skirts around my waist, and plunging his cock deep inside my body.

“It would seem, Sassenach,” he spoke in grunts and whispers, “that you’re a wee bit more…pliable, now, would it not?”

I ignored his words, choosing to pull my arm back, my hand feeling for the skin of his thrusting buttocks.

With every drive of his cock, his tongue would lick and kiss the salt off my neck. My name would spill from his lips, over and over. His love for me, declared with his words, his body and his mind, would keep me warm forever…

Forever.

Oh, Jamie…

You were the most beautiful creature to ever set foot on this Earth.

The shower shut off, and the light from the bathroom, flickered before growing dark. I closed my eyes, feigning sleep, whispering your name softly, begging you to come to me in my dreams. The white sheet I clung to, bore the desires of my mind in my grasp, as I pulled it tighter around my body. I would find you, Jamie. Each night I searched in my dreams, and each night I failed. But I would find you. Even if it was in my final sleep, I would find you.

I felt the bed lower, a weight dragging it down, drowning me. I searched for your soul, with my never-ending chant to you:

We’re alright, Jamie. We’re alright. Safe. Me, and our child.