i read this today and the quote just reminded me of them

How I study in Uni: workspace, note making & what’s in my files.

 Assalamualaikum lovelies! 

Alhamdullilah midterm exams are over and I’m also happy with the results (but not too happy). The foundation year students are having a week break and my mum is coming from Malaysia in 2 days! (: A week of not having to think of what to cook, because mum is here to save me. 

Anyway, inshaAllah today I’ll share to all of you on how I study here. This post has been highly requested! I’ll try my best to not let any of you down!

Before that, I would share my personal thoughts about having an organized workspace.

Here’s mine! I put a lot of effort in it MashaAllah. Most of my things are from K-mart, The Warehouse and Typo because they have the best range of fashioneries (fashion stationeries!). I’m sure most of you know how obsessed I am with owning the best stationaries. Hehe. I purchased the two Anatomy posters from a bookstore just to inspire myself and to because I have to remind myself every day that this is the last term to study maths because next term if God wills, I’ll never see Maths again for the rest of my life lol. Also, another idea is to have a world map poster, especially if you love traveling. I got my fairy lights from Kmart but I also got some from Kaison in Malaysia which is pretty cheap. The light just brightens up the mood.  You don’t need to put unnecessary items on your workspace because you might be overwhelmed by it. Keep your pens and markers in your drawers. Also, a wire memo board or a cork board are the best ones to hang motivational quotes or important notes.

Okay, so let’s start with note making!

I usually have lectures in the mornings from 9 AM. I’m not sure with other foundation year students, but Otago FY students get workbooks for every subject we take. In the workbooks, there are compilations of lecture notes and also tutorial questions. 

I usually read through the lecture notes and highlight the main points of the lecture on the night before. It’s a good idea to familiarize yourself with the lecture notes than showing up to the lecture with 0% idea of what the learning is about. I read a post from a studyblr about surviving university and it said that it is more important to note what the lecturer says than what is written on the slides (if you can view them online). Usually, lecturers will give out details on how to answer exams questions and the main points that you need to know for the lecture.

I use 3 different colours of highlighters. Purple for large topics, blue for small topics and pink for the explanation. For visual learners like me, it’s important to differentiate the notes (:

So, after lectures, we’ll have tutorial classes. If you’re not a University student yet, tutorial classes are small classes where students are able to interact with the lecturer. Usually, we’ll be doing tutorial questions and discuss. 

It’s so important to do exercises, regardless of how well you think you’ve mastered the lecture. I’ll always add extra notes in the lecture book after doing the tutorial questions. 

At home, I’ll make my own lecture notes as a summary of the lecture. I printed these pages online from a studyblog, but I don’t remember from who! :( But if any of you are interested with study templates, you can just google ‘studyblr printables’ and print them off from the internet :) I made lecture notes after doing tutorial questions so that I’m most sure of it. During exam week, I’ll only be reading these notes! But before that, please make sure you don’t miss out writing any important details from the lecture into the page.

Lastly, I’ll make notes that are more visual. I don’t make notes for all the lectures, just for those parts I know I need help to memorize. I’ll flip through this notebook every night to remember (:

Oh! One of the things SESERI has taught me is to have a file for every subject. Apparently, that habit has been stuck with me to University, which is good! 

I have 5 files for the 5 subjects I’m taking this term which are: Biology, Physics, Chemistry, Academic English & Mathematics for Science. 

In the files, I’ll keep in the exam questions, exam revision questions, and also the lecture notes I made. I also keep in printables like the grade tracker (this is so important so that you know where you need to work on to achieve the GPA you want!), topic understandings checklist and definition list. I glued on one of my favorite quotes too. I leave these files at home and use them to store my notes. Near exams, I’ll review them (: It’s so important for us to keep the study materials we get from classes because it just might be useful for the future. Organizing your file is so important so that things don’t get all messed up, especially when it’s near exam week. 

Remember that doing extra work for your studies is for your own good sake regardless whether people are doing it too or not. I’m sure everyone wants the best for themselves, therefore there is no harm in trying to work harder. In the end, it’s all about how much you’ve achieved to get closer to your goals. If something inspires you, go for it. If it motivates you to do better, go for it. You also need to learn to say ‘no’ to the negative things in life. If you feel like your circle of friends are bringing you down in your studies, it’s okay to isolate yourself sometimes just to get back on track. It’s better to feel left out that feeling regret the rest of your life for not trying your ultimate best. With determination, discipline, and positivity, inshaAllah we’ll get to the destination we want!

I hope I helped one or two of you with this post! Do share your thoughts about it with me personally or anonymously (through the ask box) because I want to improve myself too! Also, please tell me what you want to read in my next post because I’m kinda out of ideas.

Insha Allah, till next time when I write again. Assalamualaikum. 

“Study. Remind yourself: I’m doing this for me.”

•A JOURNAL ENTRY: WHAT IS IT REALLY LIKE TO LIVE WITH DEPRESSION?•

i wouldn’t exactly call it living. more like surviving… i look at the environment surrounding me, memories lie tattered in my brain. a life i want to believe was once so full and fruitful has become unthinkably dull. my own eyes were once baby blue but have since faded to an iridescently eerie gray. im hurting. it hurts. im not lying.

i would tell you that you don;t understand- but i;ve begin to notice that everything can only be interpreted in relation to other things or feelings. and this is the only thing ive come to recall feeling. this ethereal delicate coldness within my core, shaking and rattling my bones, consuming my every feeling of functionality. im clearly broken beyond repair- yet i aimlessly crave fixture.

i am light with awful lightness. my blood is mud and my bones are brittle. my thoughts freely cascade within my mind, setting fire to all of my precious sensibilities . any meager ration of purpose and hope is replaced by these fucking reminders that i am truly and entirely 113% alone in this.

at one point, i wanted help. i went to therapy once a week- on bad weeks i went twice. i convinced myself that the glass was half full. i made the most out of everything- and in the process, i made a fool of myself.

i spoke out. i cried for help. i wrote it in books, on forums, i would have carved the words “help me” into my damn skin on my damn forehead if i thought for one minute that anybody was listening.

and i know you’re listening if you’re reading this. but are you really reading this? are you reading me? can you feel the pain in the tips of my fingers, in the ends of my hair, in the blood in my veins, in the staggering cry of my voice at 2 in the morning- an ugly face soaked in the tears resulting from years of utter and complete destruction and then desertion of every little thing i feel?

can you feel my pain?

can you imagine trying to fall asleep when there are actual fucking faceless voices in between your ears jabbering an unimaginably taunting cry? whispering demented nonsense into your ears nonstop after you beg and plead with yourself to quit hearing those damn voices. your mind races like it’s been training all its life and this is the moment it has all led up to: the olympic event of self destruction. and it’s taking home the gold.

i close my eyes and i am so unbelievably tired. staying alive is a fight and today it has beat
me to a pulp. my eyes have bags as big as my regrets and my face is tired from
pretending to light up with joy all day.

jesus christ, it’s my junior year and i’m graduating in less than a year. surely there is one thing to even half way grin about. no, you are wrong. because for every good little thing that happens- every time it seems like it’s getting better, every false sense of hope, for every good thing, there is depression.

my false sense of hope has found its home. depression is a polite host to every single good
feeling in my body. depression feeds me, it cleans me, it loves me, it speaks to me, it knows me.

depression wants to stay forever. it houses in my bones, it feeds on my fears, it gets high on my anxiety, it exchanges hope for hopelessness, it thrives on my insecurities, and depressions favorite thing to do is to keep me up on nights like tonight, where i’m at my worst.

i’m scared, truly. i used to be obsessed with the seasons- more importantly, the transition of one season to anther. perhaps i used to be so fond of change because change was actually a possibility at that point in my life.

winter turning into spring was my favorite. i would lay on the dead, crunchy, brown remnants of the grass, the air around me crisp and cold, stabbing my lungs with every swift,
sharp breath. my nose rosy and cold, sniffling along every chill within my body. bare branches of tall oak trees
stretched into the white winter sky, seemingly reaching for the sunlight the tree craved and needed, as my pale, cold, minuscule hands clutched at the dry, barren earth beneath me- fumbling for more meaning of the world around me. why must seasons change, but my heart always feels the same?

you see, i resonate so very deeply with the winter months. gardens and patches of land that were once beaming with flora and fauna, life and expounding sunlight and warmth, now lay isolated, empty, sterile- similar to the child in me that once was jubilant and lively, but now turned into some thing so cold and ugly. the innocence has beend lost and the happiness within me has since been destroyed by the monster within me, which claims not only me as a victim, but those around me who love and care about me

i only know that i am loved and cared for because i’m continuously and perpetually told this upon a daily basis. it has become very prevalent to me that people feel much better about me when i validate that i know that they are here to talk and that i am loved. yes, i know this. but i cannot feel it. the love that you have for me is, in the least offensive way possible, absolutely irrelevant to my entire being.

you could listen to me rant for days upon weeks, you could read this bible that i’m typing. but i can never seem to make the people around me realize that i am never going to truly accept the love they offer me.

i often wonder if it is true love that inspires people to be there for those with depression- or if those surrounding me simply feel compelled to profess their love and support to me because they see my approval and wellbeing as a direct reflection of their credibility as a friend or family member.

i feel as if i am a burden to those around me, simply harshening the seemingly good mood that literally everyone else but me is capable of partaking in. i want to run with wild horses, frolic among wild flowers, hear the laughter of a child, hold hands with someone i love, and entertain deeply fulfilling and life changing relationships- but you see, the way my life is set up- i am actually emotionally incapable of doing so!

i am most aware of my unfortunate illness and incapability to be happy in the most unexpected and irrational times. take birthday parties, for instance. celebration and good vibes fill the air around me, seeping into my black, pitiful lungs. everyone around me smiles and sings, drowning in their jubilation, as i sit and watch. i want to have fun. please believe me. i want to sing happy birthday. i want to watch you open your gifts. i want to be as happy as you. i want to feel the warmth in my cheeks as i have the time of my life with my friends. but some thing within me compresses each and every slither of joy i am capable of feeling. i am suffocated by the downfall of my emotions and i am blinded by the reminder that depression doesn’t take breaks, not even at birthday parties. depression is strongest whenever you are faced with situations that expose you to the reality that you’re the odd one out- you’re sticking out like a sore thumb. you’re moping and you’re constantly staring out into space. what are you even looking at? what do you have to think about? you have nothing to live for, so anything beyond what’s right in front of you has no relevance in this whole scheme of life. so take it or leave it. you should be enjoying this birthday party. all the other kids are happy. you should be too. you’re lucky you even left the house today. so lucky. had you stayed home, you would have been 100% alone with your thoughts, rather than 97% along with your thoughts, due to the constant interruption of your moping and resentment by peers and parents and teachers asking “is everything okay?”

habitually, you nod. yes. everything is fine. i’m doing well, thank you. but what is the meaning of life? why do i feel like there’s a big fat man sitting on my chest and stomach and heart all the time? why do i always feel like i’m the only one in the room holding back tears trying not to cry? why are the other kids so happy? am i missing out on some thing? why do i feel so sad? why is it that every time i’m surrounded by people who say they love and care for me, i feel as if i’ve never been more alone before in my life? why? do you pity me? it’s just who i am. is that weird?

and oh my god i was always so desperate to be different. perhaps it was just the way my personality was set up. and i was always fairly extroverted. but it was presumably a persona that i put on. hey world, look at me. i’m silly and creative and ill say things that nobody else would say. pay attention to me, look at me.

because i needed them to watch. i hope you never feel so out of control of your body as me, to where you feel as if the only way that you can be saved is if other people figure out that you’re dying on their own. you don’t know how to come straight out and tell them, “hey, i really would rather not be alive at this given moment. i have visions of ending my own life. i use self isolation as a coping mechanism at times in order to feel like less of a burden on those who love me. i haven’t felt genuinely loved in a really long time. i’m so lonely. i could really use a friend right now.”

you can’t just say that. and i became depressed at 9 years old. how would a 9 year old even possibly articulate these complex and life threatening emotions that severely alter the way that every one of their peers perceives them. those middle years are crucial for making friends. it’s at that age that you have to find a group of 3 to 8 people who accept at least half of your given characteristics and occasionally invite you to partake in shit that kids do.

i wouldn’t know. i was a fleeting spirit. appearing and disappearing from cliques like it was clock work. there was more than one willow. there was the catty, witty willow- that found self-approval and approval from others by teasing and belittling others in order to build her own confidence up. then there was the sweet, flower child willow that sold daisy chains on the playground at recess at the price of one hug. there was the willow that stayed near the teachers at times because it was obvious that the other kids wanted nothing to do with her.

and as time progresses, the newer evolution of willow became prevalent. the willow that kept to herself most of the time, spending recess in the class room alone, drawing on the pages of her books, talking to herself, worrying her life away. everyone wondered - what was wrong with willow? or perhaps nobody noticed at all. maybe i was so insignificant even at such a young age- that the only time people considered me was in my dreams.

depression changes a person. some times, the change isn’t even tangible or noticeable to those surrounding the victim. some times, it is a slow discourse of the destruction of the spirit. it can slowly creep into your ear one ungodly night, and forever more whisper its awful lies into the victims ear, as it infects their whole body, their heart, their mind, their spirit, their hands, their eyes. everything. it slowly progresses into the uncontrollable loss of feelings and motivation to even maintain basic proper hygiene. it makes everything feel pointless. things are no longer worth the effort because you’re going to die no matter what, and that can’t come soon enough.

yes, depression can be slow and progressive. but that’s not the worst. the worst depression is the kind that sneaks up on you out of nowhere in the dead of night and immediately stiffens every hair on your body and turns your blood cold, making your mouth dry and your tongue numb. this depression hits you like a fucking train. it hits you in your most vulnerable state- comfort and normalcy. from that point on, you will never know normalcy again.

depression has a way of deceiving you into believing things that are crazy and untrue. but these things become so real to you as the depression progresses into a lifestyle that you come to know nothing else but the lies that depression will fill you with- so nobody can really tell you anything. it will call you names. it will tell you that you’re better off dead. it will be your only comfort- feeling nothing- during the night, whenever anxiety holds you until you pass out from exhaustion. you will never be cold at night as long as anxiety and depression have you snuggled up in between them.

oh how depression loves to kick you around and belittle you. oh how it renders your fantasies pointless. it loves to keep you hostage- to the point where any time you get an idea that doesn’t include moping around in your own sorrow, it immediately renders that idea impossible and reminds you that you are depressions bitch. you eat when depression finishes telling you how fat and disgusting you are. you sleep all day, so depression can take a dip in your nightmares. you wake up, and realize that life with depression is the true nightmare after all.

you pray for the day that you are relieved from this blinding madness and this subliminal torture. you feel as if you are not only a burden to your own self, but a burden to the people who love you and care for you

the only times when depression allows you relief from questioning the ulterior motives of those around you who claim to love you and care for you is when depression instead allows you to feel ashamed of your affliction. when you’re depressed, people notice. they may pretend not to and they may ignore it. but they know. they just don’t know what to say.

what would they say anyways?

hey. i’m sorry your brains are figuratively dripping out of your ears and i’m sorry that you have convinced yourself that i only care about you because i feel guilty, and i’m also sorry that you don’t even have the motivation to take a shower. i’m also sorry that you don’t
remember the last time that someone made you feel special. i’m sorry that you can’t find a reason to smile. i’m sorry that out of all the millionaires, the talented ones, the ones who fall in love, and the ones with nice asses- you were the one to end up hating yourself and everything around you.

ask yourself…. what do you say? what do you say to someone who is depressed?

know that i understand that you don’t know what to say. because yes this sucks. and i don’t expect you to understand what it’s like to wish you were dead. and i am so jealous of you for that. but please treat me the same as everyone else. please love me. make
me laugh. invite me to go shopping with you. get shit faced with me. help me fill the gaping hole in my soul with pointless memories of laughter and small talk. talk about life with me. listen to what i have to say. let me love you.

yes, i have depression. trust me, i will never forget! but please, help me feel normal. i don’t want to feel different than you. i want to be your peer, not your charity case.

i am dying to make friends. i am dying to spend less time in this bed writing shit like this. i am tired of letting this god damn disease walk all over me like i’m a fucking patch of dead grass.

life sucks. but please remind me that winter fades to spring. please remind me that some flowers are seasonal, and not every flower spends its whole life in bloom. remind me that you have to spend time in the dark to understand just how beautiful life in the sunlight is. remind me that there’s no cure for a bad day like a strawberry daiquiri and deep, controversial conversations with complete strangers.

remind me that my car has a sunroof and that it’s okay to open it up and let my hair get a little messy. remind me that music is better when it’s too loud to really interpret what the artist is saying- but you don’t have to understand to feel some thing.

remind me that i don’t have to lose this fight.

i am fucking hurting. but for the love of god, i’m begging you to help me fix me. because i forget that there’s good in the world. i forget that depression isn’t the boss of me. i forget that i have the whole world in my hands. i forget that there’s life after high school and that it’s okay to be alone some times, but it’s never okay to be lonely.

i will never forget what it is like to have my heart ripped out by a disease that i can’t even lay my hands on. perhaps i can touch the blisters under my eyes from
crying so much. perhaps i can run my hands along the holes i’ve punched in the walls from being so angry with myself. and yes i can feel how my bed is sinking in towards the ground because i spend so much time laying here trying to feel some thing besides utter destruction and loneliness. i can never forget what this disease has done to me. there will always be a piece of my heart that this depression has stolen from
me.

but with loving other people, i can aimlessly work to mend that hole. i can’t do it alone. i need a friend. i need you here with me.

i am so tired of being alone.
i will push you away at first. i may come off as helpless and a bitch. but please, that is the depression talking. it’s not willow.

willow loves the color pink
willow loves wild flowers
willow loves the smell of green onions
willow loves the feeling of sand under her feet
willow loves hearing about your childhood and how you had a speech impediment and a cat named angel
willow loves the smell of rain when it hits a hot sidewalk
willow loves to go barefooted
willow loves establishing connections with animals
willow loves willow, some times she just can’t see it

i need a gentle reminder of what it’s like to be a real normal teenage girl

this shit is hard. and being misunderstood makes it harder.

so i’m saying it loud and clear. my name is willow and i have clinical depression and generalized anxiety. my life has been a series of almost laughably awful events, which have resulted in said mental illnesses. i have been misunderstood, bullied, neglected, and hurt. but my story does not end here. i may never completely overcome my depression, but i will overcome my failure to acknowledge my illness. i will work to educate people about those who suffer as i do. i will help those with depression. i will be the friend that i have never had, but always needed, to anyone who wants it. i will be a testament to the depression that has oppressed me for 8 years now.

depression is not who i am. depression does not define me. what defines me is the fact that i am staying alive even though it is proving to be the biggest struggle that i have ever encountered, and i am asking that you help me and people like me. because it’s not a one person job.

my name is willow. and i’m telling you that depression is a rude ass bitch. but i’m a bigger bitch, and unlike my illness, i have the power to make people feel loved and valid. and i will use that power to overcome my depression.

i would like to dedicate this journal entry to everyone reading it. i may go to school with you, you may be just a random tumblr user, you may suffer with depression, you may suffer with some other deeply oppressive situation, you may just be a happy son of a bitch.
it doesn’t matter who you are. let this. journal entry be a testament to your life.

there are people with depression. and there is no way that i can ever explain to you just how it feels via tumblr text post or even via socratic seminar complete with gardens of text books and instructional videos. all i can say is that in this life, you are responsible for being there for the people around you.

you never know what someone is going through. people with depression practically have licenses and 4 year degrees in the field of putting up facades of being okay and sucking it up and repressing those explosive emotions. they don’t expect you to give a shit about them, because as far as they’re concerned, nobody has given a shit,
nobody currently gives a shit, and nobody ever will give a shit about them. they make it hard to help. but it’s so important that you break down those walls. and some times, all you need to do is smile at someone or invite someone to eat after school or to go to a party. you can’t do much for someone with depression. like i said, they’re a whole world away. their concerns and struggles are immaculate, indescribable. however, it doesn’t take much to show someone that you care even a little bit. even if it’s just picking and giving them a random flower.

if you suffer from depression or know anyone with depression and you need someone to look to for advice/help/inspiration, my DM’s are open. oversharing is caring. i know what it’s like to want to take your own life, and i fought the urge to do so even while writing this journal entry.

i am here for you. you are not by yourself. please DM me if you ever need someone to send you pictures of a cute animal to cheer you up, or if you even need me to talk you out of suicide. i know both feelings.

if you’re reading this,
i challenge you to go out of your comfort zone. yes you. i challenge you to do this one easy thing at either work or school, or out in public or in your family

1. pick 3 flowers, they can be store bought or you can have picked them yourself

2. give one flower to someone who you worry might have depression

2. give one flower to a random person who you don’t know

3. give one flower to a person you would like to get to know better, you never know when someone desperately needs a friend


it’s just a flower, but you could save someone’s life. some times, all people need is a gentle reminder that good things still exist and that somebody is thinking about them.

don’t be the person that assumes too high of a role or makes an excuse to not be able to participate in this challenge or share this journal.

you never know when you can save someone’s life.

remember: no matter who you are, i love you. and i am willing to comfort you in times of need. i’ve been where you are. and i know how much ass depression sucks.

my DM’s are open, and so is your future.
don’t end your story this early.

—  Willow Scalisi 4/18/17 (dam i just realized sonic got half priced burgers today, turn up)
smile with me (you make me begin)

Originally posted by berry852

Pairing: Jeon Jungkook/Reader
Genre: Smut, Comedy, Angst, Fluff
Word Count: 30,587
Warnings: cursing/cussing, sexual content, exhibitionism, orgasm denial, unprotected sex, past bullying, past abusive relationship, mentions of drug usage, mentions of depression, anxiety attacks, self-harm

SUMMARY
First, there were hot tongues and meaningless moans, anger and grudges hidden behind sex. Then, there were laughter and inside jokes, fleeting kisses and warm gazes trapped in time.
Jungkook has never known love before, but if he has to define it, he’s sure that love is everything he feels for her.

AUTHOR’S NOTE
for the sake of the story, BTS’s ages are ambiguous. however, 95 line are still the same age, and jungkook/reader are the same age as well. jimin and taehyung will be in their third year of college, while jungkook and the reader in their first. hoseok and namjoon are also in their last year.
the reader/female character will always just be referred to as she/her/the girl. any other female character (the reader’s roommate) will be referred to using their name (or in this case, “her roommate”).
P.S. ALSO EXCUSE THE SMUT THX
P.P.S. if you’ve ever read the overwhelming light surrounding us, see if you can catch my little reference ;)
P.P.P.S. thanks @sydist for reading the whole thing and sorting out the plot with me, @thules for making sure the smut’s okay, and @trbld-writer for encouraging me to write this!


The winter air is colder today; Jungkook shoves his fingers into the pocket of his jeans. He quickly strides forward, breathing ragged as white mist dances before his lips; his camera slams against his chest as he breaks into a run.

He has always enjoyed winter. There’s something about the serenity of the season—a time littered with sprinkles of hope, joy, and laughter—that somehow always manages to warm his heart. His fondest memories are born during this time of year, images of a chocolate fondue, his smiling older brother, and giant Christmas presents tucked neatly into the corner of his mind.

His camera bounces as he halts abruptly, and he pushes through the doors of the coffee shop.

“Jungkookie! You’re back!”

Keep reading

Yes Sir Part 2

Yes Sir by evansrogerskitten

Part Two: You’re Mine 

Professor John Winchester x Reader

Read Part 1  Series Masterlist

Reader’s affair with Professor John Winchester develops. Emotions run hot and so does the smut.

A/N: This is for @roxy-davenport‘s Birthday Challenge. Happy Birthday dahling! My prompts: Jealous sex. Horror movie: Psycho. Quote: “You heard me. Take. It. Off. Now. ” This is also for @mrs-squirrel-chester‘s Album Fanfiction Challenge- “Lonely Star“ by the Weekend. Prompts and lyrics are bolded. Gifs aren’t mine. WC: 4977 | On AO3 

Warnings: NSFW, Explicit, Smut, Oral sex, Anal play, minor breathplay, language, alcohol, so much dirty talk, unprotected sex, fluff- so basically, my usual. Enjoy! xoxo


“C’mon, go out with us on Friday.”

“Yeah, we’re gonna hit up a friend’s birthday party and then the bars. Get in a little trouble maybe?”

I giggled at my two male classmates who were lounging on desks across from me. They were flirting, coaxing me to go out with them that weekend. I flirted back, smiling even though I knew I probably wouldn’t go. I’d known them all year and they were both cute. And a girl has to have a little fun, right?

Problem was I didn’t really want to go out with them. I already belonged to someone else.

I was having an affair with my college professor. Might call it foolish, perhaps even illegal. But the only trouble I wanted to get into was with Professor Winchester.

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Imagine #14 Charles Xavier (Request)

Requested by @kkkkkennedyyyyy: Hello! So I came across your blog and being the slut I am for Xmen would like to request an imagine. If it is not too much to ask can I request a Charles Xavier one where he is jealous of your relationship with another xmen (maybe Erik Lehnsherr, or Alex Summers) and then the ending can be all fluffy and stuff… Also can it be through the reader’s perspective? You are awesome. Thank you!

Originally posted by jmcavoy--fan

Not my gif

Words: 1934

Warnings: fem!reader, typos, swearing

A/N: So, I feel like I was half asleep writing this, I hope it’s readable! Enjoy! xoxo

„That’s it for today.“, you ended your lesson and then added: „And don’t forget your assignments, some of you can’t afford a bad score right now.“ Collective moaning accompanied the familiar sound of talking and laughing students gradually leaving your classroom to start their free afternoon. Some of them seemed to be in quite a hurry, you realized and grinned at Peter’s back that was just disappearing around the corner. He knew that you had referred to his grades before. And you knew that his essay wouldn’t be anywhere close to well done, probably not even close to ‘you tried’. Oh, what were you gonna do about that kid, you thought to yourself. Such a smart guy and so absolutely not interested in using his brain for anything else than pranks and music.

You were so lost in thoughts that you didn’t notice the figure sneaking up next to you and when you heard Erik’s voice, you almost jumped. And you might have let out a suppressed scream before turning to your best friend and hitting him with your notebook. “Jesus Christ!”, you hissed. “Just me.”, he replied and you rolled your eyes. “Your kid…”, you gestured vaguely towards the door, “is going to fail my class, if he doesn’t get off his ass soon. Tell him that. You can quote me.”

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When I said that you were my heart,

I meant the poetry wouldn’t write the same if you weren’t around. If my words ever loved me back, it will have been when you came into my life. If my poetry ever gave a solid fuck about my feelings, it will have been the day you started to call me your little brother. If I ever flatline and you still called me yours, I would like you to know, this journey has been worth every night when we couldn’t sleep. If I ever grew roses from my skull, I would like you to have them. If my voice doesn’t sound the same and you can no longer recognize it, I would ask the same questions and you’d recognize me right away. If I ever let you fall too far, don’t worry, darling, I’d become the haystack and you’ll be the needle. I’ll find you, don’t worry. And it’s been a trip, and it’s been a book, but you’ve never looked twice when it came to me. The many nights when you chose to talk to me among others and the many nights when the sky shared shades of red instead of pitch black will always be a reminder that even the sky bleeds at night. Even if we chose to break today, the words we have shared will live on forever and if I ever got another chance at fucking up everything in my life just to find you… You better believe it when I say that I’ll make every mistake just to find the one thing that I’ll never regret. I’ll fall down each time just to return to how it is now and I know it’s a long shot, but if it ever happened, I’m glad to have met you in this poetically burned life.

When I said that you were my soul,

I meant the trees wouldn’t be the same color. The way the leaves shed themselves every fall through winter. The way Halloween makes us mask ourselves because the ugliness we hold within has finally found a place called home. The way December added to our pain. If I ever got away with murder, it will have been because I killed myself once too many in my poems and I finally forgave myself. I meant every word of the undying wish that I’ll always find a way to grow as long as you’re around. I meant every spilled drop when I ripped open my arms and let the veins spell your name. I meant the letters were for you and only you. I know the weather doesn’t always permit, but if it rains and you’re ever sad, I want you to know, that even flowers can live near volcanos. I want you to know that fire can provide water. I want you to know that anger can somehow and someday become refined happiness. I want you to know that your younger brother is slowly growing into his own and maybe I’ve never really needed to grow too much, maybe I just needed to find myself again. I want you to know that besides being a rose, you are the poetry that I couldn’t write, but rather… You are the poetry that I would love to read forever. That’s what I meant when I said that your tore my soul open and restitched it whole. That’s what I meant when I said that you always knew how to make me smile.

When I said that I loved you,

I meant if everyone decides to leave you. If everyone you have ever loved abandons you. If any stranger that has befriended you betrayed your trust. If anyone who has ever touched your heart and decided that it was too broken. If religion finally realized that you weren’t a complete angel. If the sand near your toes decided to return to the ocean. If your fingers can’t remember when they were last held. If you can’t sleep at night because you miss him, him, her, him, him, him and him. If you ever miss that seed that you never got around to grow because life wasn’t meant for the both of you. If the mistakes finally carved themselves into your wrist. If the memories slowly destroy your very being because you can’t forgive yourself for being a shitty human. If your smile is fading by the hour and the caretaker you once knew, when she was standing way taller than you… but now she won’t be able to even match your laughter. If your inner child finally feels your first cut. If your outer adult finally feels your first tears. If you finally crack and can’t go on. If you finally give up. I meant that I will always love you. Even if you break. Even if you bleed. Even if you’re sick. Even if you’re lonely. Even if you have no one. Even if they all leave. Even if you’re unsure. Even if you’re frustrated. Even if you’re angry. Even if you’re indecisive. Even if you’re insecure. Even if you’re crying. Even if you can’t think. I will always have your back because you’re my best friend and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

When I said that I will always love you,

I meant the noose will always be ready for my neck. I meant the bullet will always have a name. I meant the blood will always stain. I meant the pain you have gone through isn’t beautiful, it’s simply you. But anything about you, it is laced with beauty. And the sadness we still endure will always have a home, it will always have a home as long as I’m around. And the black magic we write together, it will be used to put out fires, it will be used to calm the ocean, and it will be used to slow self torment. I meant if love ever made its way into my arms, I will most likely find you alone on a bench and I’ll say “it has to.” Because it does and it will and I believe it.

When I said that I will always have your back,

I meant you won’t ever have to be uncertain. I meant you won’t ever have to think twice. I meant you won’t ever have to be afraid. I meant you can sleep with both eyes closed. I meant you can love and be free. I meant you won’t ever have to doubt. I meant you can be anxious. I meant you can be nervous. I meant you can be you without fear of rejection. I meant you can change and I’d still love you. I meant you won’t ever need to trust again.

When I check up on you everyday,

I meant hello. I meant hey. I meant I missed you. I miss you. I love you. I’m here. Hi. I meant how are you. I meant how is my sunshine. I meant how is your heart. I meant how is your smile. I meant how is your mother. I meant how is your poetry. I meant how is your trust coming along. I meant do you still trust me. I meant do you still feel hurt. I meant you can trust me with your woes. I meant I won’t pry, but I will low-key try to find out if you’re okay or not. I meant if you don’t talk about it, just know that I’d still love your ways even if it meant you took forever to open back up. I meant if you ever needed to trip, I’ll be the unlaced shoes. If meant if you ever needed to die, I will be your reason not to.

When I asked you “does it get better?”

I meant how are you real. If you exist, then what am I? If you’re more than a mirage, then am I just another small piece of sand in the desert? If you’re a dream, am I just a nightmare gone wrong? Am I the sweat pouring from your skin or am I the rainfall you’ll feel each year when the earth splits into something that feels like everything and nothing at the same time. I meant does this room have enough space for two poets. I meant does your heart have enough cracks for a garden of roses. I meant does your smile have enough happiness to fill your lungs. I meant when was the last time you woke up with a smile. I meant if you broke today and no one was around, would you tell me?

When I said that you were my darling,

I meant that it’s almost been a whole year since I’ve first talked to you. I feel more now, I feel the lightness of it all. I feel okay now, I feel my wrongs but I also feel hers. I meant the first time I read your poems, I felt inferior. I meant when I read them now, I feel like family. I meant your bluntness kinda reminded me of my cousin, but now you’re bluntness kinda has its own ring. You have your own number and your own phone company. You have your own sting and your own hive. You are a queen and you are the workers. You are the trees and some days, I’m all of the leaves and it’s spring forever.

When I said that your poetry was beautiful

I meant I could pick it out among a million other poets. I meant I could spot an imposter an inch away from your greatness. I meant I could smell the bullshit they try to string you up as. I meant the words can never leave our veins and if we happen to trip, and if we happen to bleed for too long. Hang me up in the sky and let the rain drizzle for a little longer, don’t worry each drop is a poem and each thing we grow with this soft memory of us will always be just another reason to believe that you’re everything beautiful and pure.

When I said that I can hear your smile,

I meant we were children growing up that found out about the crowds. I meant we were teenagers growing up that looked for something more. I meant we lived two different lifestyles, but ended up seeing eye to eye. I meant that a family doesn’t always end up as family sometimes, because the pain isn’t always seen and the fear isn’t always said and that scares me the most, doesn’t it for you? I meant that if I were to simply disappear, I would want you to know; that even if I didn’t see you smile in person, I will have known peace because the ring of it all, the way I can hear the birds flying away when your lips decided that being quiet was enough and this isn’t going anywhere unless you told the truth. I meant that even if I became a liar and I couldn’t see myself for who I really was, I’d always have someone like you around. We’re all just lost souls trying to find a home and darling, I know people make shitty homes, but you’ve always been my favorite and it has been some time and I’ve never thought about relocating to anywhere else but inside of your lungs and you may not be able to breathe… but it must be gorgeous being you.

When I said that I will always be here for you,

I meant the number is always here and you know where to call. I meant the poetry is always here, you just need to write. I meant my heart is on your sleeve, you just need to feel. I meant the stars are in your eyes, you just need to see. I meant freedom is in your words, you just need to speak. I meant literature runs down your spine, you just need to read. I meant the world may be going to shit, but as long as you’re around, there’s still hope and as long as I’m around, there’s a chance that I’ll always be here for you.

When I said that you need not worry,

I meant don’t. Don’t worry about me. Don’t be scared. Don’t add to the stress. Don’t add to the red of Fall. Don’t look back. Look forward. I’m not too far. I’m not in the past. I’m now. I’m always. I’m forever. I’m a promise you’ll never have to worry about being broken. I’m a morning with sunlight and clouds fighting to cover your skies. I’m a night with moonshine and stardust waiting to touch your eyes. I’m your favorite song on repeat. I’m the last thing you’ll hear before bed. I’m the person checking your closet and under your bed. If monsters are real and sure enough, they are, I’ll make sure they understand that even people need space. People need room to breathe. And if they want to live, they better get out of the dark and run into the light because it’s such a tragedy if they just stopped being. We live in such colors, we live in such grey. The world is such a dangerous place, but you’ve managed to make it feel safe. The world is so flawed, but you’ve managed to make it feel perfect. I meant everything about you and I hope one day, I’ll understand everything that you’ve been meaning to tell me about myself.

So when you said that you loved me too,

I finally understood all of the things
I’ve always meant to tell you.

—  I mean it.
thus, with a kiss

bughead fanfiction - unbeta’d - period piece au - something different that fit my mood today xoxo

 ▱◯♕

“We were nothing more
than star-crossed lovers,
tangled up in what could
have been.”
—Angela Marie Alfaro

She meets him on her eleventh birthday, her father’s Housekeeper, Geraldine, scolding him as he is caught stealing food from the kitchens. A stable boy, with scraggly hair and blue eyes she’s heard her sister read through thick texts of that would akin them to clear skies and rapid waters.

She hears his name is Forsythe, and her fingers curl around the thick wooden door to watch as his cheeks flush at the older woman’s stern voice. His stomach growls loudly, her own ears catching the rumbling from her hidden position at the doorway.

“Now, swab the floors in the barn at once before punishments are imposed on you, Forsythe.” Geraldine’s voice murmurs, her gray hair perched in a tight bun on her head. “If the job is done well, I shall save an extra roll of bread from my supper for you. Is this agreeable?”

“Yes, Miss Geraldine.” The boy with dirt covered cheeks replies, excitement in his tone at the prospect of more food being presented to him.

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REMUS LUPIN X READER (LOST PAGE)

Summary: you find a ripped page where someone wrote how madly they are in love with you and you try to find out who wrote it

Remember, you can always request imagines/preferences/headcanons!

word count: 1885

Originally posted by nellaey

As spring came more and more nearer, people started going out more, enjoying the warm sun and the soft grass, or the more often trips to Hogsmeade. However, you enjoyed the fact that the library was emptier than usual, much to your joy, and had more time to read, study or do homework in peace. Well, of course, excluding the fifth and seventh students, who, unfortunately had to study for O.W.L’s or N.E.W.T’s. You were a sixth year, which meant that you were relaxed for now, freshly escaped exams last year, and expecting more next year. But, right now, you were in the middle, so it was safe to say you were in the library all day, reading muggle books your mother sent you from home.

At the actual moment, you were in History of Magic, the only class you found extremely boring. You were a bookworm, favourite student of most teachers and you were very keen to learn and study, and don’t get me wrong, you loved history ー especially if they involved magic ー but Binns’ voice was just so boring, it made you think “One more lesson like that and I might just do a Weasley” (i know the weasley twins weren’t exactly born when remus was teenager but i just love this quote so much), so you always found ways to distract yourself from dying of boredom. Today, however, you were distracted by someone, not something.

“Y/N, stop staring at Remus. I know you like him, but I don’t think you want everyone else to know that,” Lily reminded you in a whisper, while you were resting your chin on your palm, looking at Remus Lupin, someone you fancied for quite a while, not that he knew. He didn’t need to know.

“Merlin, now I can’t even look at him?” you whisper back, rolling your eyes, but you knew she was right ー if anyone would ever find out, especially one of the Marauders, you wouldn’t be able to bare the embarrassment. Sighing, you turned your gaze from him, moving it on a stupid fly that was trying to get out of the room, but didn’t realise the window was closed.

°°°

While it was lunch, you entered in the library probably the fifteenth time this week, not feeling any hungry and wanting some time for yourself, and sit at the most hidden table; you didn’t want to be bothered. As you sat down, you notice how it was very untidy, books spread all over, closed and open, papers on and off the table. Scoffing at whoever had the nerve to leave this place so messy, you start to clean it up, because what else could you do? You wanted to sit at this table, so you had to take the consequences.

As you start closing the books and putting them in order, taking the papers off the ground and from the table, you notice something out of order ー a ripped, limp page with a very tidy writing, and you wouldn’t have given much attention to it, but you noticed it had your name somewhere in it, so you started reading the piece of paper.

Tuesday, 1st of March, 1972.

Have you ever felt like there is too much in your head? Too many thoughts, too much information to keep. You have to tell someone, you simply can’t contain it anymore.

Well, the same goes to the heart. Too much emotion, too many feelings, yet everyone seems to care only about the brain, as if the heart is a myth of the untold. You have too much emotion inside you and you have to give it to someone. To a certain someone. As if the other heart craves attention and your heart knows it, and wants to give it, but there is a wall between, called anxiety. Ego. Trust. Things that hold us back from love.

This is a letter to no one. For is why I trust to say everything I please here.

Y/N Y/L/N. What a beautiful name. What a beautiful name of a person to take so much attention from my heart, to keep me up at night, to keep me thinking about her when I shouldn’t. How foolish, to fall in love. To have your heart stolen away and never know if it’ll ever come back, or if it ever was there at all; you never know. But that’s the thing about love, isn’t it? It twists your mind into thinking that if there is something to be felt, there is something to be broken.

However, there is a little bit of comfort and relief when you know the one who stole your heart is worth stealing it. And trust me, she is. If you look at her smile for more than a second, you get carried away on a cloud that could pop and disappear at any second, but you know you’ll still be alive because look! She’s smiling. Her laugh is even more mystical, but I won’t get into too much detail. You can’t possibly know what I’m talking about until you’ve heard it. Her simple presence makes you feel overwhelmed and not because of her, because of yourself. Because it makes you feel too much at once and you feel like you could explode.

Someone who is simply beautiful just in their being.

You had your mouth open and your eyes wide. Was this… was this really about you? Could someone really feel this way about you? Was this real? Was this a joke? This was indeed written rry thoughtfully, so it couldn’t be a joke. It looked like it was lost and you shouldn’t be reading it. It was meant to be personal and for a few seconds you felt guilty about reading it, because obviously whoever wrote it didn’t mean to show it to anyone, especially you. But you had one thought in your head, and it was finding the person who wrote this.

You rushed into the Great Hall, hoping lunch wasn’t over yet and were very pleased when you saw it wasn’t, so you rushed over to Lily. You folded the ripped paper in two, hiding the part where it said your name.

“Oh, Y/N, you’re late, lunch is almost ove-”

“Do you recognise this writing?” you interrupt her, panting slightly only because you kind of ran from the libraru to the Great Hall.

She looked at it very intense and frowning. “Nope. It looks very familiar, I’m sure I’ve seen it somewhere, but I don’t know whose it is, I’m sorry. But can I ask why?”

“What? No, it’s just a lost essay I found and it doesn’t have a name on it. Someone is probably looking for it,” you lie, not really wanting to tell her that you found a love letter adressed to you. It would most likely give her a laugh. You stayed with her a little bit after that and you ate something quicklt before getting up and walking to your next (separate) classes, as she chose to take Divination, while you chose Arithmancy.

Halfway through the class, you were supposed to write something from the book, but your quill broke. You swore under your breath and looked beside you. Remus was the only one sitting next to you, and you couldn’t bother anyone else without being too loud, so you moved closer to him, a slight blush already covering your cheeks. “Hey, Remus,” you whisper, tapping him on the shoulder, distracting him from his work.

“Oh, Y/N, y-yes?” he says, looking surprised and rather flustered.

“Do you have, by any chance, an extra quill? Mine broke,“ you said, looking guilty for interrupting him.

“Yes, I do have, actually. Just, er, let me search it in my bag,” he said as he turned to seach. While he was looking for the quill, your eyes drift to his parchment out of boredom, but widen immediately as they land on it. It was… it was the same writing as the one on the ripped page in the library. It couldn’t ー it couldn’t be! It surely was similar, not at all the same. But… it was exactly the same… tidy, slightly inclined to the right, slender and long. You felt the shock spread even more; that meant… that Remus was in love with you? That he… shared the same feelings you did. How could that be even-

“Y/N? You okay?” you drift back to reality and look at Remus, who had a bewildered look on his face and his hand was hanging with a quill in it.

“Y-yeah…” you looked at him with wide eyes, still not taking the quill.

He blushed, realising you were staring at him. He blushed. Oh Merlin, he really liked you. You took the quill very quickly, thinking about how you really needed to talk to him after class.

The bell rang after what felt like a few minutes, as you were very deep lost in your thoughts and you saw Remus getting up first and you tried to put all your things together as you hurried after him. “Remus! Wait!” you yelled after him and he stopped in his tracks, turning back to look at you. “We need to talk,” you said seriously.

“Er, okay then.”

You searched for something in your bag, until you found it and handed it to him hesitantly. “I believe this belongs to you.”

He looked at the paper and then back to you, a really scared expression on his face, as he blushed madly. “Y-you weren’t supposed to read that,” he looks anywhere but in your eyes. “I-I’m sorry, I just, I ripped it and I was going to throw it in the trash, I must have lost it in the b-books or something,” he stuttered as he frowned, looking very anxious.

“Is it true? What you wrote in it?” you ask, a bit disappointed that he intended to throw it away.

“I-um, Y/N I really-”

“Because if it is, I feel exactly the same way and the way you wrote it explains very well how I feel about you,” you say and it was your turn to blush.

He blinked a couple of times before he answered: “You-what? I mean, you… you do?” he looked confused.

“Yeah,” you answer awkwardly as you look away, biting your lip.

“Well, that’s good, because I would have been another heartbroken writer,” he laughed. Silence fell between you two. You saw him take a few steps closer and one hand reached to your chin, while the other was holding books and leaned in, feeling his hot breath on your face. You closed your eyes and soon enough you felt his soft lips against yours, something that felt way better than you had imagined it would. Your hands moved to his torso and pulled him closer, deepening the kiss.

“You can keep it,” he says as you two pull away, but don’t break sort of hug you were holding on. “The page, as a reminder that I am hopelessly in love with you.”

“Well, Remus, I am hopelessly in love with you, too,” you grin at the beautiful half human in front of you.

More Than Words

Author: zepppie

Word Count: 706

Characters: Dean x Reader

Warnings: fluff

Inspiration: Stay close to people who feel like sunlight.

Originally posted by canonspngifs

Dean Winchester is a man of action rather than words.

Mess with the people he cares about, and he’ll shove his brown logger boots up your ass. Stop the tape while he’s belting out Zeppelin, and he’ll keep you in a headlock for the rest of the drive. Give Baby a bath—preferably in a white shirt that you get soaking wet—and he’ll turn you into a whimpering mess right there on her shiny, black hood.

You’ve come to expect these things from him.

But every now and then, Dean does something different. Something extra special. 

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100+ Reasons To Love Castiel Project For Misha’s 100th episode on SPN 12x19 !!!

Hello Guys !!!!!! Please I really hope you would All participate to this it means a lot to me as a castiel stan to have something showing appreciation for him out there and it would be so awesome for us to make it into a collective work, share ideas and our love for cas because he (and misha as an actor) really really really deserve it and way more.

So the general rules are

-This will be posted in three platforms, Youtube (here) Twitter (@NOriginalAddict in THIS Tweet) and Tumblr (castieldeservesappreciation.tumblr.com) if you can comment on YT it’s better, if not you can Send us your reasons in our ask box HERE ) :D that way there’s no reason not to participate *wink* :p

- BE SPECIFIC IN YOUR REASONS TO LOVE CAS, bring up a scene, a quote, badass, heartfelt or funny/sassy scene mention which episode …. do as you wish ….

for example : instead of saying : Cas is badass
say something like : I loved how smart and strategic cas was in 5x18 when he fought the angels and carved the sigil in his own chest and banished them all

or instead of “cas has awesome fighting skills” bring up the specific ep or scene like “that moment in 6x3 that angel had both angel blades but still couldn’t get to cas and kill him and cas outsmarted him by throwing both of them through the window”

or even something as simple as “the way he flips his angel blade” or “his smile” “how enthusiastic he is” “the way he hugs people” free your imagination

and instead of : cas is loyal to the winchesters
say : that time when cas chose to save sam’s life when anna was out to kill him, even if it could’ve stopped the apocalypse altogether but he valued his life and did all he could to save the world including sam….

- Add your Youtube name, or twitter or tumblr (depending on where you comment) so that i could give you credit for your idea (if you want)

- Read The List (That I’ll keep updated in this post) before commenting so that there won’t be repetition

- Throw as many ideas as they come to your mind, our goal is 100 but it could be fun to see how much we can come up with ;)

- It would be extremely nice and helpful if you could share this with your friends so that as much people could be included as possible, remember this is not for me as a vidder but more like a gift for misha and show of appreciation for cas as a character

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.: how to catch a nerd 3 :.

omg is this really an update 😱😱😱

it is ♡

previous: http://hey-underoos.tumblr.com/post/161218230841/how-to-catch-a-nerd-2

[how to catch a nerd taglist]: @parker-barnes-af , @preciousnewt , @samanthassmileys , @lostinthemazewithhallows , @1022bridgetp , @literature-loving-girl , @fashionlive15 , @raksh-thedemonlady , @tiny-friggin-human , @clean-and-claire , @imsecretlyromanburki , @devan-d , @legendarydazekitten , @fxcking-meatball

don’t repost/plagiarize this series

——

After what seemed like an eternity, class was finally dismissed for the day. You look down at your notebook and was a little upset to find that your notes were suddenly lacking near the last half of the lecture due to how distracted you were.

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anonymous asked:

Holy shit. Need your post about roma's revelation

Who saw that coming? Here I was thinking she’d get one-shotted! The thing about the Clowns is they all love playing with other people like puppets too much to really function as a cohesive organisation, and the wiser the prey the more enjoyable the hunt. We’d already seen some of this with Furuta, who tries to play the Clowns like everyone else, but I doubt even he has any idea that he, too, is being played by Roma. I thought for sure Donato was the true brains behind the Clowns, but from a group as chaotic as they, we can expect one twist after another.

Potentially a meta-jab from Roma/Ishida. Yes, I’m spending my day reading manga and yes, I did spend way too much on TG merch. You can’t peddle the poison then blame me for getting sick, sensei ;-;

Loved the quote from Juvenal - goes to show Roma’s literary interest, the mark of a meta-character, as well as explaining the Circus imagery behind her organisation. For some context, the satirical poet Juvenal mocks how the Roman people no longer care about politics and only for food (bread) and entertainment (circuses). The Clowns are all about Satire, so the quote is fitting, especially as how the rest of Ghoul-kind view people solely as their bread. It’s the latter part that the Clowns focus on. The Ghouls provide the food, while the Clowns provide the entertainment.

Roma’s alias speaks to the heart of her character - a homeless wanderer. Roma has no place in the world, so she created an organisation that stands apart from it.

The first panel reminds me very much of Uta’s comment back in 116:

All the Clowns seems to have led horribly lonely lives that led them to become who they were. We know Furuta experienced this as well. That kind of experience lends itself well to the individualist and isolationist philosophy of the Clowns. Without any connections, they can treat the world as a story separate from themselves. Their existence is also a metafictional comment on our own; fandom, and our consuming fascination with stories, more often than not arises from our own prior loneliness. The Clowns are fans and writers just like we are - only, they do so for their own world, not someone else’s.

Because the world has given them such great tragedy, and because they have no Hide or Anteiku of their own to ground them, they cannot cope with it; so they convert it into comedy - something they can take pleasure in rather than pain.

And so they contribute to the greater tragedy and willingly become its thralls. 


And here Roma makes the link between her depression and her depravity very clear. Her grand games serve simply as a distraction from her existential torment - and Roma’s view is that the grand games of everyone else serve much the same purpose, too. The hunt of the Doves and the rebellion of the Ghouls are, to her, unified battles against ‘boredom’, or, more accurately, ennui from living in a tragic world - and given what she knows about both Kaneki and Furuta, she may have a point. Very Toads Revisited.

So, when Furuta talks about ‘Super Peace’, he’s really talking about constant violence - the only kind of peace there is in the war against ‘boredom’. So following that train of logic, in the panel below, there’s no contradiction at all between what he’s thinking and what he’s saying.

This is how the Clowns have been able to work with V thus far. V also encourages ‘Peace’ through a state of constant war. Very 1984 - and fascist in general, for that matter; Hitler’s ideal world outlined in Mein Kampf was a state of constant war to keep the ‘master race’ in their fighting prime.

Of course, the difference is that V uses this war to foster order, while the Clowns use it to foster chaos - and they aren’t afraid to collude with the enemy to achieve that. Something which will surely be a thorn in their relationship in the chapters to come…

Roma speaks to both Furuta and Kaneki here. She doesn’t give a fig who wins, so long as the parade continues. Thus why Nico helped Goat find a cure for Akira; just to keep the ride running.

And finally we reach the “Oh shit boi” panel of the chapter - Roma’s suitably hideous Pierrot-Meets-Mothra-Meets-Victreebel kakuja. Her alias here refers to her status as Mother of the Clowns, and ‘dodgy’ - well, Roma’s not exactly a reliable and trustworthy person. But what’s most interesting here is Roma’s throwaway comment - and what it might have to do with her thoughts before her transformation.

The former One-Eyed King was active, in Nishiki’s words, when your “gramps and grammies were kids like you”, and he stated that humanity was vulnerable to the King because “they were still exhausted from the war”. A seven-year old today would be born in 2010 (assuming the series is roughly parallel to our timeline), have a parent born around 1985, and a grandparent around 1965, so we can assume the insurgence happened in the 70s. The war comment might warrant it being placed earlier, but the effects of WW2 were still felt that late on. Roma is 51 years old, and so would be born in 1966 - the right age to wreak havoc as a child during the insurgency period just like Eto did.

So my question is: Did Roma rebel with the original OEK, for the biggest circus in town? Is he the ‘Demon Tsune’ she refers to? It sounds like a nickname for ‘Demon Kitsune’, a kind of Japanese fox spirit with nine tails. We’ve already seen the naagas, which I believe to be his kagune; perhaps nine of these once sprouted from his back? [Edit: Been informed that ‘Demon Tsune’ was the nickname for Tsuneyoshi Washuu, who Roma presumably lost to, so ignore most of that] As we all know, the OEK lost, which explains why Roma says it won’t go like it did back then as well as how she became interned in Cochlea in the first place. Some food for thought.

I’ll be following Roma’s movements much more carefully from now on. She is the literary Jack-In-The-Box; you know a Clown’s going to pop out, but it’s a lot scarier than you anticipated.

10 Things I Hate About You [b.b au] [1/10]

Master Post

Series Title: 10 Things I Hate About You (AU)
Fandom: MCU
Characters: Bucky Barnes x Stratford!reader, Clint Barton x Stratford!Natasha, Wanda Maximoff, Vision, Sharon Carter, mentions of Steve Rogers, mentions of Tony Stark
Warnings: Alternate Universe, mild swearing
Word Count: 1,797
Requested: No
Description: Y/N and Natasha Straford’s house rules say that Nat can’t date until Y/N has a boyfriend, so strings are pulled to set the dour damsel up for a romance. Soon Y/N crosses paths with handsome Bucky Barnes. Will Y/N let her guard down enough to fall for the effortlessly charming Bucky?

Disclaimer: not my gif

[Y/N] = your first name


Growing up in an upper-middle-class home in California was something that Y/N Stratford had always been thankful for. Being subjected to those assholes that people at her school called boys, however, was not something that she appreciated very much. None of the boys at Y/N’s high school were worth any of her time, in her opinion, and some of the girls there were pretty awful too. Y/N’s sister, on the other hand, totally disagreed. After their mother passed away, Y/N and Nat had started falling out more than ever, and they barely even spoke to one another anymore.

Natasha Statford was the incarnation of all the things that people at Stark High School wanted to be: pretty and popular. That was the extent of it. And not only was Nat shallow and a little bit of an airhead, but she was awful to her older sister, Y/N, and had taken advantage of their dad’s love for his daughters when their mother passed away. Nat wanted to do what everyone else her age did: date a cute boy with a high social rank at their school. Perhaps that was what made Nat the favoured Statford sister. Y/N was just as beautiful as Nat, and even more smart. But she had an antisocial, often abrasive attitude and wanted nothing to do with the losers at their school.

Nat’s best friend, Sharon Carter, was smart enough to befriend Nat in order to climb her way through the social system of their high school, not that Nat would ever realise, and had always had her eye on Steve Rogers; a self-absorbed high school senior and aspiring model. Steve’s affluent best friend Tony was the grandson of the man who founded the high school they all attended, and it only made the two of them even more unbearable. 

At least Y/N had one friend that was worth having: Wanda Maximoff. Wanda was considered to be even more odd than Y/N at Stark, and that was saying something. She wore dark clothing and loved Shakespeare more than anything. People gave her nicknames such as witch, but Wanda only ignored them. One more year of school and Wanda and Y/N would be gone from that hell hole anyway. 

In the morning, Nat and Y/N got to school separately. Nat rode the bus with Sharon in the mornings and Y/N took her old car that she had bought with the money she saved from all of her part-time jobs. Y/N – unlike Natasha – wanted to be responsible for herself and was sure that she would only use her inheritance for paying for college and nothing else. Natasha was already coaxing her father into buying her Prada backpacks and who knows what else. So once Y/N and Nat were out the door, it was almost like they didn’t even know each other.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

You called it right on BS3. It was already in the can when desperatedan 'warned' us he was gonna to do it. But I just dont get it. What was the point of making louis do that or the print interview kind of blaming harry and saying we ruined their friendship and all the same simon shit? We're kjoking its like 2013 again but it actually really is, down to the fan wars and bullying stoked by 1dhq. But why do that again now theyre solo? I just dont get it.

I dont get it either anon. Do any of us get it? Its pretty much impossible to understand, because we’re hit by blizzards of spin and lies and apparently counterintuitive tactics and we only get to see glimpses of clues whizzing by as to what’s really going on. That feels even truer since the hiatus and their solo stuff. I’m reassessing my view of things all the time as I see what may be another flash of a possible clue but Im aware that its just as likely we’re being manipulated with these glimpses too, so… One thing that is clear to me is that a vast amount of money and potential earning power is at stake and large corporations will literally stop at nothing to secure that. The people who built and ran 1D have been manipulating the emotions and beliefs of 1D fandom from pretty much the point they realised how wealthy the band could make them, and how powerful the fanbase is.  That’s not a conspiracy theory. That’s really how it works. 

So I’m afraid don’t have any brilliant insights, just sticking together pieces that really dont seem to fit, to make a whole that’s not coherent. One thing though that struck me yesterday and made me begin to possibly re-evaluate a few things, was the realisation that each one of the guys solo is displaying the exact PR image/character given to them in the band, as broadcast to us helpfully over the years by Dan Wooton. Harry and Louis especially, in their solo campaigns, have confirmed the exact ‘revealed exclusively by DW’ 1D images we railed at for years as OTT and unbelievable. I find that… interesting. 

That said, it works. I realised reading around today that as far as I could see, while Larries dont believe that DW article yesterday ‘quoting’ Louis on Larry and Harry breaking the band, almost everyone else does (thus blaming Harry) or blames Louis for ‘saying it’. It really is incredibly easy to get an idea fixed in this fandom if you haven’t already seen the holes. I took in the ‘Harry forced the hiatus on the others’  myself, until that particular article made me wonder. Thats because it seems to me that ‘Louis’ sort-of-confirmation that Harry broke the band must have been explicitly put out there with Sony endorsement.  

For me Dan’s involvement is the smoking gun. Other people can print it and you can question where its coming from, but Dan is a Sony HQ PR/Syco PR press release. DWs role really is notable because he’s not just some Rita Skeeter narcissistic monster, he’s Sony-Syco’s monster. The ‘scoops’ he got for years about all the boys, are now being 'shown to be true’ by the guys solo careers & lives. That’s been “proved” to the fandom and GP because “they’re all independent now” and “making their own choices”.  I suspect when he’s fed the odd bit of dud info about the guys, (possibly with his full knowledge and collusion), it’s always to fulfil the longer term aims of Syco HQ-Sony and he knows they’ll give him something juicy to make up for momentary embarrassment. Dan needs the trust and goodwill of Sony-Syco. They feed him 'scandals’, smears, PR narratives they want out there without being questioned; he gets the glory of endless 'scoops’ which built his career. To me there’s no way Dan would write anything damaging about Harry that Sony HQ don’t want out there for their own purpose. 

Syco-Sony’s1D publicity tactics admittedly always went with the ‘bad publicity is always good publicity’ mantra Cowell loves, but even so Im now wondering what Sony are trying to do to Harry’s image and how free of old ties he actually is.  Then there’s yesterdays DW exclusive that Simon is 'determined’ to get 1D reformed as a Stones type supergroup, even as they up the Harry v/s Louis drama and ‘Harry is the one stopping a reunion’.  Yesterday I saw a reminder that Kelly Clarkson was trapped in a Syco contract for 15 years. And another that 1D are still on Syco’s website as their act. 

Do they want the’ engagement’ of fan wars between Harrys core fanbase and the others, especially Louis’? And the clumsy attack by Sony/Syco through Dan (who clearly has a personal vendetta too) on Larries in the knowledge it could have seriously damaged Louis launch?  Why do that when they could have left Larry to wither and die? Especially since Louis’ filmed 'denial’ was so underwhelming, and unconvincing to anyone not already convinced. Obviously. 

Basically, the reasoning behind what’s happening is far too complex to work out from the outside because there are too many pieces missing. So after all that, the simple answer is 🤷‍♂️. Shit this was long. You wish you hadn’t asked now don’t you?

Dancing (Peter Parker x Reader) Hogwarts AU

Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

Part four of the Improper series

*Please don’t plagiarize my work, thank you :3*

Warnings: Swearing, attempted assault, Peter being a little bitch… Yeah I know I didn’t add any warning to the previous chapters but the coming chapters are going to get really heavy on the content, so I feel I must. 


What is this rubbish?

You peered over the paper Abigail was reading, eyeing the bold Daily Prophet title wearily. She rolled the newspaper shut and thrust in in your hands, tapping her foot under the table rapidly. You flipped through pages until she gave another growl, signalling this page was the one. Scanning the article became harder and harder with each word that you read, every paragraph more unbearable than the last.

“Followers of the Dark Arts and believers in blood purification may have found their way into Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,” You read aloud, that sentence alone grabbing Erin and Keira’s attention. “‘The Ministry suspects that they are the children of Voldemort’s old followers, influenced by their wicked parents’ says Teah Craffmann, senior undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. ‘They were most likely chosen to be in the same house as their parents, further influencing them to become the next generation of renegade witches and wizards.’

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

♡ Shance/Shunk/Sheith, your pick which?

accidentally falling asleep together | shance/shunk/sheith 

Shiro smiles when he hears footsteps behind him. They’re quiet, but they fill the room nonetheless, and a second later, Lance sits down next to him, crossing his long legs over each other. The emptiness — loneliness — recedes. 

“This is weird,” is the first thing that comes out of Lance’s mouth. Shiro turns to him, propping his chin on his hand and raising an eyebrow. Lance flushes.

“Usually it’s the other way around,” he explains, gesturing between them. Shiro glances around and realizes that he’s right. More often than not, Shiro is the one finding Lance sitting amongst the stars, searching, waiting, wanting. 

“True,” Shiro agrees. He unfolds himself, stretching out his limbs. Lance runs his fingers over Shiro’s shoulder, and some of the tension in it releases. He hums.

“Couldn’t sleep?”

Shiro’s mouth twists. He almost doesn’t answer, almost says no, but—

“…yeah.”

Lance considers him for a moment. The stars gleam in his eyes, a thousand reflected lights that make them look more like a galaxy than an ocean— though he always gets lost, no matter what they look like. 

“Here,” he says, patting his thigh. 

It takes him a second to understand. “Lance—”

Immediately, Lance starts pouting. He kind of hates it when Lance does it, because it’s really cute, and he always seems so genuinely disappointed that Shiro has to give in. 

“Lance,” he says again, but his resolve is weakening. 

“Shiro,” is whined back at him. “Am I not a good pillow?”

They look at each other for a moment, facing off, before Shiro sighs. Lance’s expression clears; he brightens up visibly. 

“You’re bony,” Shiro grumbles, poking him in the side and eliciting a yelp. He really isn’t, though; Lance just grins back at him in response. 

A moment later, his head is pillowed in Lance’s lap. Shiro reaches for Lance’s hand, taking it in his own and running his fingers over knuckles and ridges and scars, memorizing it like he would a map. 

“I brought a book,” says Lance, reaching behind him with his other hand and showing him a thin Altean tablet— the equivalent of a space e-reader, he supposes. Lance has somehow managed to procure stickers that are plastered over the back; there’s one of Blue, unsurprisingly, and some waves, a scribbled quote from an old book series Shiro’s sure he’s read. 

“Same one as before?” Shiro asks. “The one that’s like a swashbuckling space opera?”

Lance laughs. It’s a nice sound. 

“Are you describing a book or our life?”

Shiro chuckles. “I don’t know if we’re swashbuckling—”

Lance grins at it, the one that he saves for when he’s flirting. A little crooked, the peek of white teeth, his lips lifted at the edges— it makes Shiro want to kiss him. Instead, he feels his face heat up just a bit and the air lodge in his throat. 

“Don’t you think I’m daring?” he says. “Or adventurous, or charming, or, uh, I dunno, heroic?”

Shiro laughs. He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. 

“Sure, Lance,” he teases, but the smile softens a little. “You’re all of those.”

Lance goes red for a minute before he clears his throat and turns the tablet on. He has to take his hand back, which makes Shiro incredibly disappointed. 

“What story will you read today?” Shiro asks, then adds on an afterthought. “Not that I’ll understand it, anyway. You can translate later.”

Both Lance and Pidge have entered a friendly competition to learn Altean. Pidge is, for some reason, still using the Castle’s program to learn, though Shiro’s confided that he a) doesn’t think it’s very effective and b) that it’s kind of dangerous. Not that she would’ve listened to him. 

Lance is doing marginally better by his method of reading and watching old, cheesy Altean movies. He tells Shiro that Altean is definitely a lot different from Spanish, but he seems to be doing alright, well enough to converse with Coran a bit. 

“Just some Altean folk tales,” Lance says lightly. “I asked Coran for some recommendations. I want to— I dunno…”

He goes quiet for a bit, mulling over his thoughts, and Shiro waits for him, ever-patient. 

“I guess I thought it’d be nice,” Lance says. “Like, I mean, there’s not much I can do for myself, but I’m not, like, the only one missing home. So I thought Coran and Allura would appreciate if we… spoke Altean, sometimes.”

“Lance,” Shiro says, because his name is the only thing he can seem to say. His heart warms and swells. It’s such a Lance thing to do.

“You’ll pick it up sooner or later,” Lance continues matter-of-factly, pursing his lips. “You’re bound to if I’m reading to you all the time. Instead of just knowing your ‘essential words’—”

“Hey, they’re pretty important,” Shiro says. “I know how to say be quiet—”

“—more like shut up—”

Ab akekeosa,” he says in response, and Lance lets out a startled laugh. 

“So now you’re telling me to shut up, huh?”

“And I know hello and mood and relatable—”

“Oh, ab akekeosa,” Lance grumbles, but there’s a smile on his lips. 

They settle back into a comfortable quiet again. Shiro turns his eyes to the stars, tracing lines between them. They’re in all the wrong places, but he looks for the constellations he knows anyway and tries to remember their stories: Cassiopeia, Aquarius, Pegasus. 

Lance starts reading. His voice is low and smooth, water over the rocks. There’s a strange lilt to his words, beautiful, and Shiro is reminded of his mother’s voice, soothing as she used to read him old Japanese tales. They all have stories, all have legends they carry in their hearts, tales that echo across the stars. 

(Or maybe, he thinks, the tale of Orihime and Hikoboshi is real, and the time they spend apart is when they make their ways into other legends, far, far from Earth.) 

He doesn’t understand a word. Lance reads, and reads, and reads — he pauses often, hesitating over a new word or stumbling through a sentence, but it’s calming. Shiro finds himself content. Happy. 

He falls asleep to words steeped in ancient history, lulled into dreams by Lance’s voice. When he wakes again, it’s quiet; there’s a jacket that isn’t his draped over his shoulders. Lance is somehow curled into him, his knees close to Shiro’s chest; Shiro tucks his face into Lance’s shoulder and smiles. 

A hand finds his shoulder. Lance taps him blindly, and Shiro finds the sense to twine their fingers together in his muddled state.

“Sleep,” comes Lance’s voice, thick and soft. 

Shiro hums and does just that. 

pick one of the following and send me a pairing! (non-sexual acts of intimacy)

Zelda’s Log #6.5: Domesticity

A/N: I love to call this ‘Sugar-induced Domestic Porn’. I quoted @gathoscorner strip on a scene because cake for breakfast is GLORIOUS. You seriously feel like royalty.

Happy reading!

_____

Days like this start more or less the same:

A good morning kiss (or two, or more, or something more, depending on the mood); a drowsy ‘can we stay in bed a little longer? It’s still early in the morning’.

We’re so cozy and comfortable, I just answer 'Sure, why not?’

Later, a good, abundant breakfast, although a certain Princess would rather eat cake all day.

'This is how freedom tastes like!’, she says delighted, savoring her piece of cake. I only indulge her because the kisses I get later taste of raspberries and cane sugar. I am not a guy with a sweet tooth, but this is a treat I can’t pass up.

We divide the chores: I go gather food, wood, and water, cook for lunch, and wash the dishes. Zelda takes care of the horses, makes the bed, cleans up if needed, and lays the table. She also takes care of the yard (now filled with a patch of Silent Princesses).

Have I mentioned she looks so cute with her apron? I love when her nose wrinkles a little when she sees a rebel stain on the window.

I thought she would dislike domestic chores, but she enjoys it.

'I love taking care of our house!’, she says in a singsong voice when she finishes, and the words of the Great Deku Tree echo in my head.

Her smile is brighter the summer sun.

'Don’t you get bored with this?’, I ask her during lunchtime. She is savoring the curry I made.

Her head tilts to the side. 'Absolutely not. Why do you ask?’, and she sips her glass of water.

‘It came to my mind you might miss castle life’, I commented.

'No way!’, she chuckled, waving her hands. ‘You, and this place, have given me the freedom to be myself’. She took a deep breath. 'See this dress?’, Zelda stood up.

A flowy, simple, cream-colored dress with ribbon trim at the hem. She looks pretty.

‘I would have never been allowed to wear something like this, because it’s not how a Princess looks like’, she pointed out, balancing her weight from one leg to another, the dress flowing softly with her moves, 'no petticoats or corsets, and thin, plain fabric - scandalous!’ - she made a over-dramatic shocked face.

We both laughed hard at her observations, because, a hundred years ago, they would have been absolutely true.

Goddesses, that dress truly shows all the contours of her body when she steps against the light… Link, save those thoughts for later.

After lunch, she reads a little, and goes to the Lab to chat sciency things with Purah. I rather stay home and keep doing chores, for those two and Symin talk a language I just don’t understand, although I am always more than willing to help her in all her research - only Goddesses know on how many of her experiments I’ll be the test subject. I remember being it in the past, running away from her, avoiding to getting a hot-footed frog stuffed on my mouth.

Once all clothes are clean and hung (Bolson made a very practical clothes line behind the house), I take a nap under the front yard tree.

The snap of a Sheikah slate awakes me.

'You will get a sunburn if you stay like that’.

I only see the outline of her body against the afternoon sun. Dang. Then my eyes go upwards to meet hers, full of mirth.

'You’ve been there for quite a while, your cheeks are so red!’.

It’s not the sun, you know? It’s just you, and your gorgeous body.

Once in the house, she narrates Purah’s shenanigans with tea and more cake, and the idea of dismantling the remaining guardians.

'Castletown is full of them’, I remind her, 'maybe we should go there, and check the castle…’

Her sunshine smile gets clouded by a bitter rictus at my idea.

‘I…’- she paused- 'don’t think I’m ready to go back there yet’. And she sips her tea in silence.

She is so reluctant on returning to the ruins that were her home. Whenever I’ve tried to put up the issue, she either dodged it or made the same upset expression. Zelda needs closure on that matter. Although she has made peace with herself, and working on closure about her failures, there is only one thing she is avoiding - I suspect her absolute silence is related to it:

Her father.

I guess I’ll have to wait until she chooses to.

The sunset puts her back in her usual mood, all smiley and carefree, after some alone time studying.

We have a light supper, and after some table talk, she makes the most interesting proposal of the day.

‘Do you want to take a bath with me?’

The small room attached to the house is a full bathroom, with a latrine, and a tub big enough for two, with a boiler to heat the water - those rupees were so worth it - I just wish we had an inner door for it. Maybe I’ll ask Bolson to make some changes later.

Once in the warm water, the sweat, grime, and the ache in the muscles vanish, and I melt in the hands of the naked woman washing my hair - I become as docile as the pooches from the stables.

'I never stopped before to think about the little ways you have changed’, Zelda’s right index poked between my shoulder blades once she rinsed my hair. 'Your body is more muscular, and your voice has changed. It used to have a higher pitch, and cracked a lot’.

'I guess it wasn’t too noticeable’, I affirmed.

I did notice’, she hugged me from behind. 'Just as I have been noticing other things about you… like how you were checking me out in my dress today’.

I turn to face her, eyes full of the same lusty gleam she had in the forest the other day, on our way to Gerudo Town.

I cannot think of a better way to end the day.

I love days like this.