i still wish you could do this

I gave you ride or die and you gave me games
I know I’m crying ‘cause you just won’t change
I gave it all and you gave me shit I wish I could do exactly what you did
I wish I could hurt you back.Love, what would you do if you couldn’t get me back.You’re the one who’s gonna lose
Something so special, something so real
Tell me,how in the fuck would you feel?
If you couldn’t get me back.That’s what I wish that I could do to you.
You say sorry once and you think it’s enough
I got a lineup of girls and a lineup of guys
Begging for me just to give 'em a try
But I’m willing to stay
'Cause I’m sick for your love. I think the sickness spread too much because I’m still in love.

anonymous asked:

do you know of a fic where i think humans (or people like emissaries) are rly drugged up and stuff and werewolves can buy them and they can take care of stuff? i vaguely remember this in the fic: Laura and Derek have Peter (who i think is awake but kinda comatose?) and Laura gets Stiles to take care of the house and inthink Derek was intrigued by him? if you can't find it, that's alright! I just wanted to ask.

I do know that one. And love it and wish with all my little fanfictiony heart that it would get finished. But alas it looks like it might be abandoned. - Anastasia

Originally posted by vilijamsekspir

Don’t Wake Me Up by tylerfucklin (Zimothy)

(9/? I 31,730 I Teen I Sterek)

“Look at me,” Laura commanded. The druid remained still, but Derek could see the way his lip twitched and his heart beat picked up just the tiniest bit. Laura grabbed at his chin, forcing his head up. “Look at me.”

At first, there was no response, a split second of hesitation, and then the druid’s eyes came up, ghosting over Laura’s face for a moment and then focusing on some distant point past her ear.

“Good enough.” Laura muttered, letting go and turning to Derek. “Get this one,” she snapped.

anonymous asked:

There's a bunch of Transphobes in my school and I'm trans what do I do I don't wanna die yet

Well, first of all, be careful dear. Don’t get yourself into a big problem, be safe.

I suppose you can still be who you are, but keep it at a low level to not alert anyone.

I wish I could tell you more, but I’m not an expert in this. So sorry, dear!!!

Dear crush,

Is it silly of me to think if I keep talking to you that we may become friends and dare I say, (eventually) more than friends? 

You were clear from the beginning that you don’t know what you want from all of this and after our “date” you clarified saying you didn’t want a relationship because you need to get things sorted in your life.

Yes, I do have a little crush on you and I told you that you have been the first person I have actually fancied since my heart was shattered last year. Despite this, and all my drama, you still want to talk

For now, I don’t care if you don’t want a relationship but what about friendship? You’re great to hang out with and I wish we could do it more often. I’d quite like to make memories with you one way or the other and I don’t want you to be another boy I eventually stop talking to.

Life is hard and it makes me sad

sjokohama  asked:

Do you still have your essay about sporks??? I wanna read it!!!

I wish I could share it! Haha, thanks. XD Amazing to think that this essay is ten years old now. I probably do have digital and print copies of my eighth grade paper back at my parents’ house, but unfortunately I don’t have a copy here.

I do remember it being slightly tongue-in-cheek, but I was at the same time making compelling arguments for why the spork was an undervalued and underused utensil. It’s extraordinarily efficient: it provides both the grip of the fork and the volume of the spoon, thus allowing an eater to do all they need to without the hassle of switching utensils. I remember talking about things like that.

Needless to say, when Hunk first started discussing the value of the spork, I pumped my fists in the air. AGREE! AGREE! HE GETS IT!!!

What if we hadn’t met?

Do you think we would’ve been better off?


I’d probably be peacefully sleeping instead of constantly thinking about you. I wouldn’t be thinking about your smile and how I desperately wished I could see it one last time. I wouldn’t be reminiscing how good we were once upon a time. And I certainly wouldn’t be missing you. I’d be happy because I wouldn’t be burdened with the thoughts of you holding someone else in your arms, someone who isn’t me. If I hadn’t met you, I would possibly still have had thought I was good enough, that I deserved happiness and I would find someone who’d give it to me.


And you, well you wouldn’t be so bitter towards me for starters.  Maybe, you would’ve found someone who treated you the way you deserved to be treated from the start and you would’ve never wasted a year of your life on something so pointless. You would’ve always been happy.


Imagine. What if the day you saw something in me in that room, I wasn’t there for something to be seen? And the day you decided to message me, I didn’t reply for us to talk for countless of hours? And after all those days of you telling me you loved me, I never ever said it back? Wouldn’t we have saved each other from all this pain? 

What if we had never met?

—  But we did.
youtube.com
Heavy Rain

Hey guys! I’m in the process of re uploading about 500 or so videos from my old channel. When I remade my channel, unfortunately I didn’t take the time to re upload all of my past videos. Now I wish you guys could see where the channel started, so I’m doing it now! Still not done uploading all of the past videos, but here is one of my first series I ever did: Heavy Rain

mobbed - boyfriend!tom

Summary: You comfort an upset Tom after he’s mobbed at the airport.


He’d only been gone for three days, but you still smiled happily to yourself when you heard your boyfriend close the door to your apartment from where you were sitting in your bed reading. You looked up when the sound of his footsteps alerted you to his presence in the doorway of the bedroom. Your face fell a bit when you saw the tired, upset look on his face.

“Hey,” you said gingerly, unsure of what was wrong.

“Hey,” he responded, giving you a half-hearted smile as he dropped his duffle bag to the floor.

You put down your book and watched tentatively as he took off the suit jacket and pants he’d flown in, throwing on a still-warm freshly washed t-shirt out of the laundry basket on your floor and climbing into bed next to you under the covers in his boxers. He scooched over to your side of the bed and lay half on top of you, his head resting near your right collarbone. He let out a big exhale as his hand slid under the big sweatshirt of his you were wearing to grasp at your hip, his thumb rubbing your left side gently.

Not wanting to pry, you just let him lay with you. You ran your left hand slowly up and down his forearm strewn across you. The fingertips of your right hand brushed along the ridges of his ear before sliding into his hair and rubbing his head soothingly.

A couple minutes later, just as you thought to yourself that he may have fallen asleep, he muttered, “I had a bad day.”

“What happened?” you coaxed.

“At the airport this morning…there were so many people asking me to sign stuff when we were going in. I was so tired, and they kept shoving cameras in my face and things to sign and it put me in a bad mood, and I was trying to be accommodating but I couldn’t get to them all. I knew people were going to think I was being an ass if I started ignoring them, but…I just didn’t want to be there anymore. I just wanted to be by myself and no one would leave me alone.” A deep sigh. “And now I feel guilty and I’m mad that these people can make me feel guilty when they’re the ones intruding on my life.”

You sighed. “I’m sorry, baby.”

“S’okay. Just makes me feel shitty.”

It was far from the first time something like this had happened. It made you sad to see how much it affected him each time, but there was no changing it - people would always do as they pleased, and this was his life.

“I wish there was something I could do to help you,” you said softly, your fingers still massaging his head and roaming his arm and shoulder.

“You’re doing it,” he murmured simply, and turned his head to press his lips to your skin.

You were glad your presence could comfort him in some small way, and also baffled by how the simplest of words from him still managed to give you butterflies.You squeezed his bicep in acknowledgement and sunk down a bit farther in the bed, and he re-nuzzled himself against you, all cozy.

Several minutes later you were still caressing his hair and staring at the ceiling when Tom rolled to the side off you a tiny bit, just enough so he had room to prop up his elbow and rest his head on his fist, looking at you.

“You look really pretty today,” he said, twirling a stray strand of your hair around his index finger. “I meant to tell you that when I walked in.”

You laughed softly. “Thanks.”

He let the hair strand fall and put his hand back on your side, sighing. “Coming home to you…..I’m just really grateful to be able to do that.”

You reached your hand to his cheek and rubbed your thumb over his cheekbone. “I feel pretty lucky every time you do.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

so we feel bad about the ordeal this morning for Tom’s sake but it provided some solid writing inspo sooooo

xoxo, L & A

3

     “You know, if you weren’t so violent you wouldn’t suffer any punching injuries.”

     “And if you weren’t so aggravating I wouldn’t need to do any punching!”

     Your voice was swallowed up by the bunker’s cavernous rooms, shouting after Dean as he made his way to the kitchen to get ice and leaving you with your hand begrudgingly cradled against your chest. The thought of accepting help from him made you twist in your seat, because what could be more embarrassing than an injury sustained while trying to deck someone else? Especially if that someone was Dean Winchester. You cringed at the thought.

      When Dean returned he was carrying a bowl full of ice water, which you lowered your hand into with a wince but made no sound. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. Then after a few minutes in the freezing cold Dean finally spoke.

     “Alright, come here,” he said, holding his hand out for yours.

     You simply glared at him. “And if I don’t feel like it?”

     “Well, you can try punching me with the other hand if want, but I doubt that would do you much good.”

     You frowned and pulled out of the ice water, wordlessly putting your hand in his.

     “Okay, try to open your hand,” he said, causing a slight surge of panic to run through you. But you managed, slow and steady, to unfurl your fingers and splay them out against his palm. It was an effort not to think about the contact. “And close it.” You did. “Does that hurt?”

     “Enough to make me want to hit you again,” you muttered.

     Dean chuckled at that and only earned himself another glare. “I think you’d better hold off on that for now.”

     Once Dean had made you turn your hand up and down and in a circle, did what seemed to be a temperature comparison between your left hand and you right, and made you squeeze his fingers in a gesture far too similar to the “pull my finger” trick for comfort, he finally seemed satisfied. “No immediate bruising, no sunken knuckles,” he muttered, still poking your hand for good measure. “I think you’re okay. A bruised knuckle, fracture at the most. Just try not to move your hand much for the next few days.”

     And to that, you didn’t know what to say.

     Thank you for looking at my hand? Sorry for punching you in the face? You totally deserved to be punched and I wish I could do it again?

     You thought better of the latter and settled on a quiet, “Thanks,” eyes darting down to the floor.

     Dean smiled, the beginnings of a bruise forming on his jaw, and said, “You’re welcome,” as he turned to leave. But then he stopped, smirking back and you. “And when that hand’s healed, I’ll teach you how to throw a real punch. Then next time I mouth off you can knock me out instead of just on my ass.”

     You couldn’t help but smile.


*These gifs are not mine, both the gifs are from Google Images*

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A War Inside My Head

ao3 | ff.net

Thanks to @tantalum-cobalt and @chimaerakitten for looking this over. I didn’t change much but the things you pointed out, so thanks for taking the time to beta! I really appreciate it!


“What if I poke him?” someone murmurs.

“If you do that, he’s going to hit you,” someone else says.

“He wouldn’t hit me. It’s Dick.” The first voice pauses. “And besides, he’d totally poke me, too.”

“No, I’d do it to you. Or Damian, or Steph. But not Dick.”

“Yes, Todd,” a new voice chimes in, though it sounds reluctant. “Grayson would most likely dote on the sight of you drooling on your pillow.”

Someone snickers. “Oh my God. Now I can’t stop picturing it.”

“Shut it if you know what’s good for you, Damian. You, too, Tim.”

The voices are invading his dreams, Dick realizes. He can’t match voices to names or faces, but they sound familiar enough that Dick figures he’s not in any danger. And honestly, Dick’s tired enough to sleep for days.

He just wishes the voices would get the memo.

Someone tuts. “Like you could take me down.”

“I will shoot you.”

“Leave him alone, Jay.”

“And what’s up with that? Since when are you on the Demon Brat’s side?”

“Since he stopped Bruce from throwing out all of my coffee.”

“What—do I even want to know?”

“I thought it might be a fruitful investment. I turned out to be correct.”

Dick forces his eyes open, and he blinks blearily up at the trio standing in the middle of the living room, just inches away from the couch Dick had collapsed on when he’d gotten back to the Manor earlier. None of them are looking at him, and while they’re all being relatively quiet, it isn’t quiet enough for Dick. He’s tired, and as much as he’d normally love for his little brothers to be in the same room and talking and not killing each other, now is kind of a bad time.

He just wants to sleep, preferably without any little brothers interrupting his first rest in over 48 hours.

Keep reading

“Being dead is terribly boring,” said the woman. She was staring up at the ceiling of the Underworld, or what would be the ceiling if something like that existed in an infinite realm like this. Nevertheless, a reflection of the earthen moon shone over her head, and Hades sat with her when he couldn’t bear the crescent curve of her mouth anymore.


“I cannot bring you back,” he told her as gently as he could.


The woman nodded. The long dark curls on her head trembled with the motion, and Hades thought that he could have loved her in another lifetime. “I know. I am not asking you to do the impossible. But I still wish I could see the world again, just - just once.”


Maybe he did love her, in a way. Like a brother, maybe, even if he couldn’t be one of the sisters she had been taken from. The moon wove silver waves over her honey-warm skin. When the woman moved, her head drowned out the moon and a halo of light ringed her wild, terribly breathtaking hair.


Yes, Hades thought. “I cannot offer you much,” he said out loud, watching her mouth tilt upwards with pleasure singing in his bloodless soul. “Maybe once every few decades. And only from far away, you may see them, and they will look up at you and the darkness you bring.”


The woman looked at him. The sliver of light reappeared by her lips, drowning them in jewels. “Will they be afraid?”


“Always. It is who you are.”


“But they will look? They will see and so will I?”


Hades stood. He offered her a wisp of smoke, fingers igniting red when she touched her palm to it. “I promise,” he told her, and he wanted to reach and touch and let her know that one day she would be as loved as she was feared. But her eyes were hard as onyx, and he did not dare disturb the hope shining underneath. “They won’t recognise you, and you will be as rare and miraculously terrible as a god to them, and your name will be Eclipse from now on.”


The woman rose, and she bowed her wild, wonderful head to him. “I am forever grateful to you.”


“I will await your return, my dearest Medusa.”

I never got the chance to meet Ace… I’ve heard of so many stories about the kinds of adventures he’s been in and based on those stories… I really wish I could have met him.

In fact, a big part of me actually looks up to him.  Nobody knows what happened, but one day..

He just disappeared.

And that brings us to where we are today.

 Ace, if there’s even a chance you can hear me right now…

I hope I’m doing your legacy justice.

Is it strange that a small part of me, still believes you’re out there somewhere?

Maybe it is, but I’d like to hold onto it and meet you one day.

The Passive Observer

I am but a passive observer. I do not interfere, I find joy just from watching people.

You moved into this house I dwell in about over a year ago. You came in, professional movers following behind you, eyes bright and cheeks high in a smile. You seemed like you were ready to wrestle a bear and win. You started barking orders to the movers where to put your furniture and which decoration goes where. I watched from the shadows, despite having the ability to appear invisible to human eyes (hiding in the shadows uses less energy for me), and studied all the new stuff you brought in with you. What they were made of, estimating their age, and how much heart was put into making said object, I saw them all.

It would appear that you moved alone, for I saw no one else moving in with you. Your first house, congratulations. I am glad that you chose this old little house; I tried to keep it well-maintained while no one was living in it. You started your early days in this house with a lot of vigor and passion, you were so ready to make a future that you will be proud of, I heard you talk to yourself about your future plans and in silence, I wished you the best of luck.

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4

I will love you when you are a still day. I will love you when you are a hurricane.
— Clementine von Radics

my mleditorappreciationweek secret santa for @ladyofacat!

thank you anita for being one of my first ladrien friends ever and for helping me gain confidence as a blogger in general ❤️ like ladybug, you are a hurricane.

starsinursa  asked:

Word prompt: Sunflower 🌻

Ever since Cas came back it was hard to keep track of him. As an angel, he’d been absent. As a human, he was surprisingly more so. Absent and distant.

Dean tried to be patient when he heard the door to the bunker open and close in the middle of the night, or when he walked in to Cas’s room only to find it empty. Again. 

When Dean asked where Cas was going, he’d simply say “out.” 

He didn’t look angry or frustrated when he left. Just sad. Which was probably worse.

Dean sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose when he saw Cas making his way to Dean’s closet to borrow a jacket. 

He used to like the sight of Cas in his clothes, but this had become the habit before he left again, and Dean found the sight always came with a bitter aftertaste because of the fact. 

He didn’t bother asking where Cas was going as he leaned on the doorframe to watch as Cas flipped the skewed collar down with his thumbs as he leaned his chin down. 

“It’s going to rain,” Dean said, instead. “Hard. Maybe you should wait until the storm subsides before you go… wherever it is you’re going.”

Cas didn’t stop, though, as he picked up a pair of shoes, swiftly pulling them on his feet and knelt down to tie them one at a time. 

“Can’t,” he said, casually. “The storm is why I’m going.”

The sound of thunder cracked through the walls of the bunker, and suddenly, Dean had had enough. 

“Damn it, Cas,” he pushed past Cas, knocking against his shoulder, then grabbed a thicker coat from the closet. He threw it hard at Cas’s chest with a scowl. 

Cas barely caught it awkwardly before it fell, looking surprised. 

“If you need to get away from us so friggin’ badly you’re willing to go out in this crazy ass storm, then at least take a jacket with you that has a hood, ” Dean snapped. 

He tried to leave the room when a hand grabbed his arm. 

Cas looked at him for what felt like the first time in weeks, and Dean had forgotten how much he missed the color blue. 

“It’s not to get away from you,” Cas said calmly. He looked warmly at the coat as if it were the nicest gesture Dean could have given him and not an old piece of fabric chucked in his face. 

Cas started to put the jacket on over the one he already had. The two awkward coats looked ridiculous and somehow amazing on him. Dean fought the tiny smile that tempted him when he spied it. 

Cas grabbed the keys to his car on the dresser. “Come with me,” he said, flipping the hood up and zipping the outer coat. “I want to show you something.”

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anonymous asked:

I have the hardest time ending my stories. Beginnings are fine and middles are managable...but when it comes to ending....I never seem to know when or how. Part of me just never wants it to end till I get bored and suddenly want it to end with no idea how or a good place or maybe not end it till everyone is dead and there is absolutely nothing left to possibly tell because the world is gone...but that's no good. Advice for ending and how and when?

Thanks for your question, darling!  I totally understand the pressure of crafting an ending.  A novel’s conclusion forces the reader to assess the whole story from top to bottom – the themes, the message, and the resolution of all the plots and subplots.  And the more you love your story, the more difficult it is to let go.

It’s hard to tell you where to end your story without knowing anything about your story, but I can tell you a few things your ending will need.  This should help you narrow down your options :)

Traits of a Strong Ending

  • Reward – Whether your ending is happy or sad, it should give the reader some sort of reward for their patience and dedication to the story.  The reward should be based on the journey of the story: for instance, a story built on character development shouldn’t end with all the characters’ deaths.  However, reward does not always mean success.  A good example is School of Rock, which doesn’t end in the stereotypical “victory,” but still rewards the reader through the character development and relationships cultivated.
  • Character Change – A strong ending will not only include, but showcase the development of the main character/s, bringing it to a resolution or at least giving hope for more development to come.  If your character has spent the whole story learning to be brave, the ending should show how far they’ve come – a display of bravery.  If your character’s journey involves their mortality, or their dedication to a cause, or their love for someone, a death or self-sacrifice ending may be more appropriate.
  • A Question – Endings should provide plenty of answers, of course, but they should also prompt the reader to question something.  If your story is big on politics, morality, or beliefs, it should leave the reader questioning their own politics, morality, or beliefs.  If your story revolves around a character or a place or a mystery, the reader should have something to wonder about that character, place, or mystery.  This is key to making sure your story sticks with readers long after it’s finished.
  • Familiarity – If your characters spend the whole story in a few key settings or activities, this should be tied into the ending.  A story that takes place in Washington D.C. for twenty-four chapters shouldn’t end in Honolulu; a story that revolves around drama and humor shouldn’t end in a grotesque horror scene.  Never do I stan for strict genre-keeping, but the ending should resemble the rest of the story in some way.  Otherwise, it will feel disconnected and surreal, leaving readers feeling hungover.
  • Finality – The ending of your story needs to be clearly the ending, even if nothing strictly “The End”-like happens.  This is one reason why Friends and Parks and Recreation, both character-centric comedies, score very differently on their endings.  Friends had a definitive ending that gave viewers closure, while Parks had a painfully open ending with no landmarks – nothing you could point toward and say, “This is what happened in the last episode.  This is how it ended.”  Whatever you do, however you end this story, end it.  Don’t let it feel uncertain.

That’s all I’ve got, but if you still need help, you can send us another ask with more information :)  Until then, I wish you good luck and a happy ending!  Or a sad ending.  Or a bittersweet ending, but you know what I mean.

– Mod Joanna ♥️


If you need advice on general writing or fanfiction, you should maybe ask us!