i think i need my therapist to talk to her about my anxiety

anonymous asked:

Yo could you share some of your headcanons for the deh kiddos :O ?! I'm really curious!!

*cracks knuckles* HEADCANONS UNDER THE CUT (these are generally feel-good and going off of a Connor Lived And Everything Gets Better AU set of ten [+ one extra] headcanons for the kids where they’re all friends)

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I have been ranting with my lovely friend about tree bros and I thought of this and now I’m emotional and need to think out a beginning, middle and end.

so this is loosely based o the chatroom portion of ‘a cinderella story’

TW: suicidal thoughts and almost actions?



-Connor and Evan met through an online forum for teens suffering from mental health issues such as anxiety and depression. usernames had to be anonymous so they both went for names relating to why they were using the site. Evan lovingly going by ‘anxious-tree-lover’ and Connor going for the angsty early 2000s usernames, xXdarklikemysoulXx. 
-they first start talking because Evan posted something about the kids at school being mean and shoving him against lockers, and Connor popped up in my private inbox, saying how he knew what it was like to be a target, despite the fact that he mostly got verbal abuse for being a freak. 
-they spoke about unrequited crushes, Evan on Zoe (and Connor) murphy, but only referring to them as the girl and the boy. Connor on ‘some adorable quiet kid’ aka Evan.
-once they started to get to know each other more, they started talking about family, Evan telling how it’s just his mum and him, his dad left when he was younger, Connor in return telling about his rocky relationship with his parents. 
-”I love my parents but each day’s another fight. maybe if I stop smoking pot then everything will be alright.” 
-Evan, being the tree nerd he is, obviously says “take deep breaths and go on walks. I’m sending pictures of the most amazing trees.” “wow you nerd”
-bonus if Evan replied “you’ll be obsessed with all my forest expertise ;)” and Connor gets weirdly flustered when receiving that message
-Evan shares with Connor that his therapist has said for him to start writing letters to himself. Connor told him that as weird as that sounds, he thinks it’ll really help him if he keeps at it and doesn’t give up. 
-eventually, they both learn that they go to the same school, but both were terrified that if they found out who the other was, it would ruin what they have. on Evan's side, it’s also to do with the fact he has started getting butterflies with every message he receives and is really scared that if xXdarklikemysoulXx found out who he really was, he wouldn’t like what he sees. despite the fact that he had already seen the worst of him.
-when at school, Evan kept an eye out for his mysterious messenger, not quite trying to figure out who he is, but more to theorise about who it could be, making up cute scenarios in his head. but, one day, at the start of senior year, a couple of months after he started talking to xXdarklikemysoulXx, Evan came into contact with Connor murphy properly for the first time since elementary. after a rather bad encounter with him when Jared made a badly timed joke, he was in the computer lab with him, Connor asked to sign his cast. he then asked how he broke it, and when Evan told him that he had fallen out of a tree, he told him that was possibly the saddest thing he had ever heard, chuckling. 
-as he was about to leave, Connor told him he found something at the printer written ‘dear Evan Hansen’, so being a good soul he decided to give it to him. until Connor saw something about his sister. he flipped out, running out of the room, Evan desperately trying to get his letter back, as later in the letter there was a lot of gushing about xXdarklikemysoulXx which he did not want Connor seeing and making fun of him for. 
-when he got home, he messaged xXdarklikemysoulXx, who normally replied almost immediately, five minutes after at most. it was almost an hour later that he kept sending him messages hoping to get a reply. yet nothing came through. 
-it was like that for three days, and it didn’t help that for those three days, Connor wasn’t at school either. probably plotting how to kill him with that beautiful head of his. 
-on the third day (he didn’t get called into the principal’s office by Connor’s parents because Connor is still alive), when he got home, he opened his computer to a message. from xXdarklikemysoulXx. saying “the park, by the huge oak tree. 4.30pm.” Evan looked at the clock to find it 4, so he practically sprinted out the house, shouting to his mum that he was going to Jared’s. 
-as he got to the park, he saw a figure sitting by the tree, it wasn’t until he got closer that he realised it was Connor murphy. with his letter. did he hack into xXdarklikemysoulXx to get him here? was he xXdarklikemysoulXx? He wasn’t sure which was better at this particular moment. as he approached the tree, Connor didn’t acknowledge him, simply held up the letter in front of him and started to read aloud. “all of my hope is pinned on Zoe. well, to be completely honest, that’s a lie. I thought I had been in love with her for years until I started speaking to xXdarklikemysoulXx. I have no idea who he is, but he is probably the most important part of my life other than my mum.” Connor let out a dry chuckle before folding up the letter and putting it in his pocket. “while I was signing your cast, all I could think is that I would go home, message anxious_tree_lover and tell him all about how I signed the cute, quiet boy’s cast, and maybe I would start an unlikely friendship, get over my weird pining thing and fully dedicate myself to finding anxious_tree_lover’s identity” the air was sucked from his lungs. Connor stood up, taking several steps toward Evan, hands in his pockets. he looked Evan straight in the eye. “I should have guessed it was you, from both the fact that you fell out a tree, and that you wrote a letter to yourself. dear Evan Hansen, today wasn’t a good day, because why would it be?” 
-Evan was frozen still, the only thing he could get out was a stuttered ‘i-i’m s-sorry.” Connor let the edge of his mouth turn up slightly, before his eyes darted between Evan’s eyes and lips, and back up to his eyes to look for a sign of ‘ew no’, and when he found none, he leant down placing his lips upon Evan’s. when he pulled away, he ran a hand through his hair before motioning for Evan to sit next to him at the bottom of the tree. after sitting there a while, Evan tentatively laid his head on Connor’s shoulder, Evan wrapping an arm around his shoulders. 

on the may 15th fansign, mental health, darkness, and hope

on May 15, 2015, during 화양연화 Pt. 1 I went to BTS’ fansign at Sinchon and had a conversation with Namjoon that I, at the time, chose not to reveal for personal reasons. at that time, because of that decision, there were a lot of people who criticized me—people accused me of saying something mean to him, accused me of hiding some secret relationship between us, called me a slut, etc. I didn’t say anything about it at the time because it seemed pointless, but now that 화양연화 has come to an end for real, and following the release of YOU NEVER WALK ALONE—plus, the upcoming 2 year anniversary of this extremely fateful conversation (lol)—I have decided to write about it, if only to explain a little of why I feel such a connection to the concept and so people will understand why I kept it private for so long.

I just want to go ahead and give people some warning: it’s not only a post about BTS. it’s a post about my life, and it contains a lot of sensitive material, like self-harm, suicidal ideation, and drug use. please bear that in mind if you decide to read it, I don’t want anyone to be upset by that content.

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anonymous asked:

How come mister doesn't have a little ? 😮 He's da perfect dadda!!


I get this question like every day…. so I will put things plain.

I am a lot to deal with.

Personal issues

I have agoraphobia. (look it up) combined with anxiety and paranoia disorders. this causes me to be extremely guarded, especially when it comes to most personal details about myself. It gives me great anxiety to reveal things… because I always think people are going to turn on me, come to get me, or otherwise take me from my safety.

My safety circle is a small radius that encompasses about a 3 mile ring around my house. I chose this house for specific reasons. its in the middle of nowhere, but close enough to everything I need that I can go out when appropriate to get it.

I have my groceries delivered. The guy delivers pizza and for 20 bucks he picks up my order and brings it to my house. He leaves it on the porch. No one but my brother and therapist have been in my house in several years outside of a few excruciatingly difficult events.

These problems are coupled with the fact that I am incredibly private.

most cant handle them and give up.  

(I wasnt always like this,… and I dont always expect to be. I am working hard on it every day.)


At the same time, I am also very dominant… very intimidating.. and very critical. The one who captures my heart, has to deal with a lot.  My Dom side often spills over into things… causing me to be cold, causing me to be stressful. I can be very selfish and such. I have high expectations.

I can be mean… I can be vicious even. And my irish blood doesnt take well to being crossed.

“Tumblr Famous”

most cant handle my status…. including my “internet fame”…. I get propositioned, daily. I obviously get a lot of attention from lost littles. 

jealousy is not something that can exist in the heart of the one who seeks to submit to me. But at the same time, once I am locked down.. I am very loyal. but.,.. most cant see the forest for the trees. So they make assumptions, pigeon hole me… turn me into a cliche’… and ultimately drive me away with their own self sabotage.

And thats a tremendous turn off.

I dont do jealousy. I dont do those who give me grief about things I cannot control. I cant control the actions, thoughts and emotions of other people. I am certainly not going to sit back and be blamed for them. I will run my blog as I see fit according to how it flows and moves me. At the end of the day, its still going to be there… no matter what. 


I can be reserved… quiet… and pensive a lot of the time. I am a deep thinker and meditate. People often mistake this as disinterest. I am naturally in defense mode expecting that everyone has an ulterior motive (because usually they do)… and these thoughts, coupled with my paranoia… dont do well. 

I’m not one to reveal much about my personal self, and thats something that you work for if you really care and want to know. How old are you Mister? Where do you live Mister? Whats your name Mister?


I’m not your traditional fly by night Daddy dom. 

I have years of experience, mentor ship and education that I can credit myself to… and anyone whose been around here for more than 5 minutes is going to tell you exactly that I know what I’m talking about and I do it well. Some would consider me an ALPHA in the game, maybe even THEE ALPHA, and along with that status I expect a certain level of thought be put into how I am seen and perceived. 

Yes I am completely narcissistic. I wont try to hide it.
Yes I am selfish at times.
….. I’m a Dom. duh.

I have a lot of power that I could easily abuse…. but I also have this rare thing called standards and morals. Imagine that… hard to believe it actually still exists in our world, but it does. I’m not easy… and I dont think with my dick.

So figure that one out.

 I am also one who has been around the block his fair share, I have owned subs and littles, I have been part of my local community, I have physically taught and trained many, I have studied this lifestyle at a collegiate level, and I have painstakingly crafted a blog in order to pass that wisdom and experience on to others in hopes that they might learn and succeed themselves.

I’m not one of these guys who sits around looking up the ddlg tag, getting my idea of it from porn, and then setting out to claim and conquer every girl I can in the process of trying to get mine and leaving them in the dust.

I have a genuine passion and caring for those in my community, daddy and little, and a great desire to improve the lives of each and every one I come in contact with.,

And if one little messages me telling me that they benefited even in the slightest way from what I do, that makes it worth it for me.

and I dont need a little to do that.

yes it would be nice, and maybe some day I will…

but the one who holds that title, who gives me her great gift of submission, is going to have to be extremely patient, hold no judgments or jealousy, and really take some time to figure me out and realize exactly the kind of opportunity she has sitting in front her… because the one who does that, is the one who is going to beat out all the others.

Everyone gets a shovel….

….. its what you do with that shovel that gets you to the goal.

Its just a shame that most end up using it to dig their own graves.

And What About Joe?

As soon as he heard Y/N’s tone of voice, Joe knew that it was not a conversation meant to be heard by anyone else.

He went to back up and away from the room, wanting to give her privacy, when he heard his name.

“And what about Joe?” The voice was unfamiliar, and he knew that there was no one else here, so he figured she must have been on the phone.

“What about him?” Came Y/N’s hesitant reply, and Joe felt himself lean forward, needing to know more.

“You know what I’m asking, Y/N. Don’t avoid the question.”

“I’m not avoiding it, I just…” She sighed, “What if it destroys my relationship with him? I can’t have him not be in my life, I need him in my life.”

This was surprising for Joe to hear. He and Y/N were close friends, it was why he was able to waltz into her flat like he did today, but he didn’t realize how strongly he felt for him. But why was she talking to this person about him?

“You have him in your life, and I honestly don’t think he’s going anywhere, not with what you’ve told me.”

“Probably because he doesn’t know the truth.”

“Then you need to tell him.”

“So I can watch him run away?”

Now he was getting concerned, what was she hiding?

“People don’t run from people with anxiety, Y/N. We’ve talked about this. You don’t have some disgusting disease—”

“It feels like it.”

“You just handle situations differently from others,” The voice continued, speaking in a soothing tone. “I know who Joe is, and who is sister is, I don’t think he’s new to people with anxiety.”

“Zoe is different. That’s his sister. Being with someone who has anxiety is different.”

“He loves his sister, and he loves you—”

What? Joe thought, How does she know?!

“You don’t know that!” Y/N said quickly, “He just loves me as a best friend.”

“From what I’ve heard, there’s potential for more. Which is what you want, is it not?”

“Yes.” Came a mumbled response, and Joe felt his heart stop for a moment. Y/N had feelings for him as well?

“If you want a relationship with him, one that is more than just friendship, then you need to tell him of your anxiety, my dear. I’m sure he’d be more than willing to help you. Does Joe not help you already?”

“Yes, he does, but—”

“No. There is no ‘but’ in this instance. I’ve heard it in all our past sessions, and today’s only further proves it. It’s time you tell someone besides me about your anxiety. I’ve been encouraging it from the start, and now I truly think you need too. Not just so you can get yourself a boyfriend,” The person pauses to laugh lightly, “But because it will help you further control your anxiety. Is that not your end goal?”

“I hate when you’re right.” Y/N muttered, and Joe smiled at that, she was always stubborn in losing, it was one of the things he loved about her.

“Part of being a therapist, Y/N. We have to be right. Now, by our session next week, I want you to have told someone about your anxiety. I don’t care if it’s Joe, a family member, or a random stranger. You need to tell someone.”


“Are you going to be okay?”

“Yeah, Joe is coming over in a bit.”

“I’m glad. It sounds like you could use some of his company after the past few days you’ve had.”

“It should be fun,” Joe could hear the smile in Y/N’s voice, “Thank you Dr. Anderson. I’ll talk to you next week.”

“Goodbye, Y/N.”

Joe pulled himself away from the door, guilt flooding him. He shouldn’t have been listening to that. It was a private conversation.

He turned, making his way down the hallway towards the front door. He should be able to slip out for a bit, then come back as if nothing had happened.

“Joe?” He froze, his hand resting on the doorknob to the front door. He could hear the fear in that one word, and he spun around to look at Y/N, who was staring over at him in shock.

“Uhm, hi.”

“How long have you been here?”

“Not long.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

“Since you started talking about me.” He admitted, stepping towards her.

“You listened?!”

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know, I shouldn’t have. I have no excuse.”

But she didn’t look mad, more scared, and that hurt Joe. Because he loved her, and he honestly didn’t care that she had anxiety, it didn’t change how he felt about her.

“And what,” Y/N paused, wetting her lips, “And what do you think of what you heard?”

Smiling, he moved closer, “You don’t have to tell me yet. I can pretend I never heard anything, but I do need to tell you one thing.”

“What would that be?”

‘I love you, Y/N. Anxiety or not, I love you.”

“But what if—”

“No,” Joe cut her off, shaking his head. “No what if’s. I know you’re worried about destroying the relationship, but see, I won’t let you. Because I want you in my life too much, so I’m going to stick to you no matter what. You’re going to be sick of me.” He smiled as she giggled softly. “When you’re ready, we’ll sit down, and you can tell me everything. But right now, I just really want to kiss you, because I just found out you like me, and I’ve liked you for so long.”

“You have?”

Instead of answering though, he leaned in, kissing her softly. He meant it, he really wanted to kiss her.

“For far too long, love.” Joe muttered as they pulled apart, watching Y/N’s eyes flutter open.

“We really need to learn how to communicate better.”

“We can work on that later.”


And then he pulled her closer so he could kiss her again, but it sounded like a good way to communicate.

anonymous asked:

Zen and Jumin having a little sister who is depressed and have anxiety but hides it behind her smiles, jokes and corny puns. I'm sorry if this disturbs you, I'm just really having a bad life. You don't have to do this if you're uncomfortable with it. Thank you.

Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry it took so long for me to answer you, I was just following the order of the requests, I hope you’re feeling better by now. If you feel like it, come by and talk to me a little, okay? I really want to know if you’re feeling better…

I also wish I had something better for your request, but that’s all I could think of.

(I’m not sure if it is necessary, but):

TW: Mentionings of depression and anxiety


  • It’s been a while since they haven’t seen each other, things been weird ever since he left to pursue his acting career
  • She missed him more than she though she would. Most of the time they were fighting, anyway.
  • But as soon as she saw him, she couldn’t hold back this huge smile and all those bad puns about his hair turning grey at such a young age
  • He smiled softly, yeah, he missed this, he missed the teasing, he missed all the good and bad things only her sister could pull it off
  • He seemed fine! Great, actually… he talked about the roles he was managing to get, and with so much enthusiasm!
  • “Yeah, I could use some of your joy now, bro.” you said, more to yourself than to him, but he listened.
  • “Okay, what did mom do right now?”he let out a deep sigh and asked.
  • “Nothing! I swear, it’s just… it’s hard, you know? Having this illness and people don’t really seeing as a disease… I’m kinda of done right now, I guess.”
  • “I see… well, you know I’m not a therapist, so I don’t really know what to tell you…” “Just you not saying that I should just smile and try not to feel sad is really useful, bro, believe me.”
  • “Well, I do. I… always believe in you, sis, even when you don’t believe in yourself, you know? And… I’m sorry if I’ve been a little distant, but you know I’ll always be there for you, right?” “Yeah, I know…” she rests her head on his shoulder briefly.
  • “And, you know, if things get too tough, you can always move in with me!”. She scoffed: “We as roomies? That would never work, Hyun!”
  • “Why not?” “Because you would freak out everytime I brought someone to stay over. What would be our code? A tie in the knob?”
  • “I… don’t think we should be discusing this. And you should never bring a man to your place!” “So I should go to his place?”
  • “NO! THAT’S EVEN WORSE! Just… focus on your studies for now, okay? You’re smart, just finish. When you do, I’ll help you get a decent job. We’ve got each other’s backs, don’t we?” “Yes, of couse we do!”
  • “Good, so stop talking about men and focus on your studies.” “That coming from school dropout himself…”
  • “Well, I’m not as smart as you. But don’t waste your talent! You probably disagree with me, but you’re smart, talented, amazing and will make through everything, I swear.”
  • “Okay, granie, I’ll… I’ll consider evrything you said… and YOU! Don’t get away of my sight like this again, okay?”
  • He didn’t answer her, at least not with words, he just hugged her tightly. Well, that was the right answer after all.


  • They’re half brother and sister. She is the daughter of some of his father’s ex wife
  • Not that it matters, because somehow he always found himself… liking you and… caring for her, like he generally never cared or liked any of his stepmothers.
  • Maybe because she’s nothing like her mother? Or just because she was the only one who doesn’t bother him with annoying questions about girlfriends and such?
  • Even with her weird sense of humor and all, he always felt a little more comfortable around her than with the rest of the world. Even when his father and her mother weren’t together anymore.
  • It’s been a while since they don’t see each other, she was tudying abroad and got back recently. Okay, not really an excuse hen you have Skype or FaceTime, but still… they both have been busy, let’s put it that way.
  • “So, are you really in line for being CEO?” “I suppose is a little early to discus this, my father is very healthy and he probably will stay as CEO for a few more years… what about you? Preparing yourself to take over your family business?”
  • She let out a sigh: “Don’t even get me started on this, bro. I… forget it.” “Go ahead, tell me.”
  • “I… I wasn’t studying abroad. I… I was at this clinic…” he doesn’r really understand how this answers his previous question. “Clinic?”
  • “It was a mental insitution, I… have been struggling again…” oh, now he gets it, yes, he remembers their brief conversations about depression and anxiety, how she was scared of starting to take those meds…
  • “Are you feeling better now?” “That’s a very relative and subjective question. It’s not like you to make this kind of question…”
  • “Yes, I appologize…” “Don’t be so formal, bro. I was just messing with you. But… to answer you, I… it’s a journey, you know what I mean? Some days I feel like I’m at the top of the world, ready to conquer and divide, but there are those other days… and I just… want to disappear, forever, if possible.”
  • “Make sure to contact me when these days come, then. I’m… not good at comforting and I don’t think I can possibly relate to your problems, but you can come here and just… vent. Walk in my garden, pet Elizabeth the 3rd.” You scoff “I read somewhere animals are a great therapy, please consider my offer. She won’t judge you, and if you’re wondering, neither will I.”
  • If she wasn’t paying fully attention on this, she would never notice how kind his words were, because his tone was so stoic and monotone, but he has always been like this: kind in a unnusual way.
  • “Actually, maybe we can manage to help each other. I… I may be in need for some advice from a… female perspective.” ohohoho, was Jumin Han in love? She wanted to tease him, but nah, she would never do this, she knew how uncomfortable this was for him.
  • “Sure, anything you need. We’ve got each other’s back. ” she patted his hand quickly and smiled.
  • “Yes, we always had.” he tried to pat her shoulder, but this felt out of place for both of them.
  • Actually, she was always more comfotable knowing she could always count on his reliable words, this was more important than hugs and pats.

You might know what your program is supposed to do, but if you don’t run the proper command, you will not get the result you’re looking for.

Which I think is a great analogy for dealing with emotional problems. You might logically know how to solve whatever problem you need to deal with. It might make perfect sense to you. But when it doesn’t work, sometimes there’s a seemingly minor yet specific way to go about the problem that you haven’t done. Such as taking a moment to reframe the situation in your mind.

For example, today I was talking with my therapist about how I ended up solving a problem I asked her for advice on in the last session. In hindsight, it seemed like a really simple problem to solve, logically. Something I could have logically thought of on my own. But I didn’t because I was clouded with anxiety. So she said, “Sometimes you just have to sit there and realize, ‘Right now I am anxious about this thing,’ and that’s all you need to get out of the cycle you’re stuck in.”

Break the recursive loop by adding another command. Got it.

━ prologue ; bounded

author: wydobrien

word count: 5,031

requested tags: @writing-obrien @thelittlestkitsune @stilinski-jpeg

WARNING: mention of drug-use (responsibly; sleeping medication)

also, a thanks for @stilinski-jpeg for checking it out and giving me some insight. i hope you all enjoy this series as much as me!

                   ━ prologue.

“It won’t be when he finds out.”

                Everything was quiet. It wasn’t that soothing quiet that put you to sleep, nor the unsettling quiet that causes a chill to climb your spine. It was the bleak, awkward quiet. And, for some reason, I liked it. I liked not being pestered after just being bombarded with personal questions and evaluated as if my mentality was an algebra problem to be solved. Expressionless and emotionless did I sit there, in my aunt’s car, content in this quiet, until a familiar strained voice disrupted the hovering silence.

                “So, how did it go?” I pondered over that. I thought of it as a weird question to ask someone, especially after a therapy session. I was distasteful for any question of any kind, and I believed that she would’ve been aware of that. Instead of retorting back, I gulped a nonexistent lump from my throat while my eyes cautiously wandered over to her. My aunt was a beautiful, yet haggard appearing, woman who I never thought to be currently raised by. Layla, my aunt, was a woman who looked like she belonged in some prestigious reality television show, a woman who looked like she would be adorned in the dressing fit for a celebrity with roses decorating her hair and face relaxed and eased. However, here she was beside me, wearing a plain, loose and grey tee-shirt, matching grey flats, pale blue mom jeans, and her hair clipped-up that made her look like she just returned from a long nap. But, her features were stressed and drained, which contrasted her casual appearance prominently. You would’ve thought that maybe she just had a busy day, but I had never seen a day pass by without her features looking constricted and exhausted. I always desired to ask what troubled her so much, but I was fearful of the answer.

                A shrug lazily cascaded off my shoulders, as my eyes trailed off of Layla and out to the frontal window. The light grey and dull atmosphere eased me, but it tempted no words to leave my mouth. I could feel Layla being eager for a verbal answer, and so I obliged to her unspoken want, hesitantly and quickly, as if I was embarrassed to speak about it. “Not much to talk about.” I vaguely replied, as my right leg bounced in impatience for our conversation to be over. “The usual.” This was a problem of mine: talking. It was a silly thing if you think about it; it was like every word spoken out of my mouth to someone continuously made me shrivel up in discomfort. I only had two people who I could recall reaching a full-on conversation with, and one of them went to college to professionally get a license for it. My words to Layla were blunt and vague, as if every time I told her something about me, there was always something left unsaid. A deleted scene from a film, an unfinished ending to a book, a puzzle piece missing that prevented it from being complete. Usually I could sense that our talks left her unsatisfied, while in contrast I was happy that I kept myself bottled and my thoughts sealed from my lips. I was happy with the incomplete, she was not.

                The small car moves with a little jolt, and I press myself firmer against the leather seat, thinking back to what my therapist had told me. We were discussing the benefits of talking itself, and I told her about how picky I was with the people I involved myself with. Most of the time I felt like I had no choice – it’s not like someone like Lydia Martin would ever waltz up to me and offer to compare pajamas at her house. So, I never tried. I was always in the background, and I kept myself in it, too scared to see what would happen if I stepped up. My self-esteem defined my limits, and my barren contact list demonstrated that clearly. “It’ll get better if you just let it, you know.” My aunt’s sudden words took me off my pedestal of musing thought for a moment, my eyes widening while I glanced at her like she had just said something insane. I heard her breathe out a defeated, lightly frustrated sigh. “I want you to be better. And I know you do too.” We made it on the highway in the direction straight to home. “Next week marks three years, Hannah. Your therapist has suggested Eichen House at this point.” My body immediately stiffened at the two words; my breath hitched in my throat, the small neck hairs stood tall, while my heart struggled to find a steady beat. I tried to pace my breathing, and Layla seemed to notice, and I felt the regret coursing through her veins. “I made your uncle promise me to not send you back, however. Sending you there when you were just thirteen was a terrible idea. So, you know how I feel towards that place. But you also know I’d do anything just to help you get better too, right?” I shot her a look of fear, and she visibly tensed. “It’s not up for discussion, Hannah. I already turned down her suggestion.”

                My heart quickly slowed down as a blossoming feeling of relief washed over my chest, causing me to puff out a string of air. My leg ceased its bouncing as I simply slouched into the seat like a lump on a stump, my head leaning against the cold window in my passenger seat’s door. The rest of the car-ride was silent, and the quietness from before is diminished, left only with anxiety-inducing quiet that left me frozen, but uncomfortable, in my seat. I tried not to think about it. I refused to think about it. I hated that place. I hated it with a burning passion. I would never go back.

                   I am never going back. And with that statement tattooed in my brain, I nodded just the slightest to myself.

                   Amid my discomfort, a vibrating buzzing coming from my back pocket shoved me out of my entrancement. I cringed, a single hand rubbing over my ears as I reached from behind me to see what notification I had received. Judging from even the shortest glance at the contact’s name, my heart skid. The message itself was a bit odd, but I didn’t care – because it came from him, the person who sent it.

S: Eight o’clock sharp. My house.

                A cool rush of excitement layered itself over my bones, while an equal amount of confusion wrote itself across my features. Unlocking my phone, the screen blew up the conversation from the night before and the new text message he sent. I re-read the message a thousand times, trying to knit out what he could possibly want me so urgently for. Guessing it was from Stiles Stilinski, there wasn’t much to expect. My thumbs carefully crafted a text message back. And I send it in with no confidence whatsoever.

H: what for ?

                My heart jumped when the immediate blinking ellipses appeared on the screen, indicating of his speedy response back. I sat up straighter in the car seat, eyes flickering up to the road-ahead from time-to-time. Beacon Hills was a small town, so it usually didn’t take long to get home, but I was always instinctively curious to see how far away we were from home. My body jumped a little at the vibration from his text back.

S: Duty calls.

                Eyebrows crunching together, I huffed out a stressful breath out my nose. Stiles doesn’t hesitate to send another text underneath his previous one.

S: Batman is in need of his Robin. Be there. Please.

                My teeth bit down on my bottom lip, thumb circling over the replier while I thought of something to say back. I have zero idea of what he’s talking about, and I feel like I should know, but I can’t quite put my finger on a conversation where we discussed something critically significant. The car takes a turn to the right and into our neighborhood. My teeth releasing my lip, I ran my tongue over it instead, the bottom lip poking out while, dumbfounded, I sighed. Giving a trivial second of thought to it, I shook my head and texted back.

H: i’ll see if i can.

                The car comes to a smooth stop, tires squeaking a little in response. Peering upwards from my phone-screen, I heard Layla exit out of the car and go to the doorway without a second thought towards me. She was mangling with her keys, attempting to find the right one in a way that didn’t look like she was rushing. I leant back in my seat, and unbuckled myself. I swallowed a breath of air before I opened my mouth to call out for her. “Aunt Layla!” Her head pivoted around her shoulder, mouth slightly agape while her expression is off-guard and messy. She turned away from the door and jogged back to the car, opening the door as she plopped herself back down in the driver’s seat. Layla seemed a bit confused of what I wanted, or why I would call out for her so subtly, but she only had a look of honest and pure curiosity in her soft, dark brown eyes.

                Uncomfortably shifting in my seat, I raspberried before I cleared my throat. “S-Stiles wants me to come over to his house for a little while. Is that alright?” I watched as Layla looked down at the radio for a few seconds, then to her hands, and then back up at me. She pursed her lip, in evident thought, before rolling her bottom lip between her teeth, as she shook her head. My heart sunk a little, if I were to be honest, but I showed no alter in expression. I gripped onto my phone a little tighter, and she faltered.

                “It’s a school night.” Is all she says for a few seconds, and I felt like I should intervene with her decision if that was her reason. She had allowed Stiles to come over for a study night plenty of times during the school week, and even then, sometimes we would both fall asleep with heavy textbooks in our laps, my head-on Stiles shoulder or his on mine, and Layla would be okay with that. So, I was a bit confused on how this was any different. She reached into her own back pocket and pulled out a bottle of pills with my name sketched with sharpie on the cap. “You also need to get used to your new sleeping medicine.” I frowned, now looking at my lap to avoid eye-contact. I remembered the night before when we were talking about my sleeping medication, and how Melatonin wasn’t strong enough. So, she had promised me to get me something better to treat me. But, sometimes, I just didn’t like talking about it. I didn’t like talking about how my own issues burdened her to get me something new that probably choked her wallet. “But tomorrow would be perfectly fine. It would be nice to see you get out of the house on a Friday night every now and then, even if you’re just going to Stiles’s house.” I shrugged in response, and, as I looked at her wordlessly for a split second, I opened my car-side door and shivered a little in the lightly damp air. She got out too, and, without batting an eye towards me to see my reaction, headed over to the door, where she was a few minutes previously. I texted Stiles with an answer.

H: can’t do it tonight. tomorrow?

                And, as usual, Stiles texted back in the speed of light.

S: No. This is urgent! I need you!

                My phone proceeded to blow up with text messages, and, instead of reading them all, I turned off my phone and headed inside; Layla graciously had been standing there holding the door open for me. I appreciatively sent her the weakest of grins, and she seems to take upon it, since the next time I looked at her afterwards, she has a huge smile on her face. I gulped and treaded upstairs, not saying a word to that.

S: Stiles in need? Hello?

                I creaked my door open, while trudging to my bed.

S: Desperate Stiles requesting backup?

Hola? Por favor?

Do I even exist now? Earth to Milton!

                I rolled my eyes at my vibrating phone, slowly taking a seat on my bed. The plain baby blue covers cushioned me as I set my phone aside, rubbing my eyes as if I was tired.

S:  Stiles Stilinski is going to throw himself out a window if Hannah Milton doesn’t text him back this very moment.

                I moved onto my shoes. Dirty white Chuck Taylor’s that I wore only if I planned on going somewhere I dreaded. Why? They were comfy and didn’t pain my feet. And if I was going somewhere I didn’t want to that required walking or physically getting out of a car, I wanted to feel as comfortable as possible so my attitude wouldn’t sour. Usually nothing went well when my attitude took a trip down south. Untying the laces that were wrapped around my ankles and tied to the front, I opened the shoe so my foot could slide out with ease. I went to my other shoe, doing the same actions. My socks were the same ones I fell asleep in, that somehow didn’t disappear underneath the covers, and at this point I felt like they were strangling my feet. I peeled them off my feet and tossed them across the room, a breathy moan of delight from the cool touch of air onto my feet being released in response.

S: You’re paying my hospital bill.

                I groaned, snatching my phone from beside me and opening to numerous frantic messages from Stiles. I typed back frustratedly, annoyed at his childish spamming.

H: and you’re paying the phone bill if you keep harassing my phone with your texts. i can’t do it tonight stiles. i wish i could but i’m not allowed. skype ??

                I could practically hear the sigh of annoyance coming from Stiles. He texts back, but in parts.

S: I need you physically.

In the flesh.


Non-technology based.

                Before I could text him back to tell him to stop texting me, he texted again. I flattened my body on my bed, sprawling out my legs and letting my knees bend comfortably while an arm bent above my head.

S: What we’re going to be looking for requires fully-functioning eyeballs.

                I stared at that text for a minute or two, confused by what he was talking about. I didn’t need to know, seeing that it came from Stiles, it would either be extremely preposterous, inane or impossible.

H: you aren’t going sherlock again, are you?

                He immediately texted back.

S: No I am not going Sherlock. This is important.

                I scoffed.

H: yeah, that’s what you said in our expedition to find bigfoot. remember how that went down? you got lice after butting heads with scott and you didn’t want your dad freaking out so you gave yourself a buzz cut at scott’s house. good times, am i right? i wonder if bigfoot would approve.

S: Stop reminding me. Unless you want to wake up being buzz-cut buddies with me. Plus, this is real stuff!

                I squinted my eyes at that, as I ran my free hand through my hair self-consciously, pulling at them slightly. Stiles used to have this Bieber hair, long and swept across his face, until he had learnt how to gel it upwards, which exposed his forehead and kept his hair out of his face. I used to tease him about how long it was and called him Rapunzel. He would retort back and call my hair a rat’s fiesta, because usually my hair wasn’t the tidiest. I don’t think I had ever managed to keep it down with a straightener. I didn’t even have curls, or waves for all that matter, I just had difficult, thin hair. I had experimented with it, such as dyeing the ends various colors (one of them ended up being a navy-blue that faded to a gray; Stiles called me granny for two weeks after that happened), until I settled with a professionally-done ombré. I had this weird, dirty blonde/light brown hair, but the blonde contrasted it well, and quite frankly I was done turning the ends of my hair into a rainbow. My hair reached little ways past my chest, and it cascaded off my shoulders while often holding a soft texture. But my hair was truly high-maintenance and it bothered the hell out of me. Without sparing another useless thought to it, and I texted him back.

H: what kind of ‘real stuff’ can this possibly be ??

S: A body.

                My eyes widened. I sat up from the bed gingerly. Was he kidding? Was he actually kidding? A body? Really?

H: are you serious?

                Stiles didn’t seem too affected by my probing question.

S: As serious as serious can be.

H: a body.

S: Yes. I need you to help me find it.

                I shook my head, nervously running my tongue over my lips. I knew what to expect out of someone like Stiles – being heavily involved in his father’s cases when we shouldn’t be, getting in trouble for it, Stiles taking all the blame. It all ended up in the same ending, and all began with the same origin of curiosity; Stiles would get into his father’s files or on his computer without his permission, or even ask him about what he was doing, then he’d get Scott and I, and then Stiles would go crazy-Sherlock to find out an answer to the investigation. It only worked about three times in all the years all three of us went ‘treasure hunting’, as Scott and I referred to it nowadays, but Sheriff still got onto Stiles for it. We’d search all through the Preserve when we were little, trying to find a missing person or search for clues, and we’d play detectives so much I guess Stiles wanted to become one himself. I only started helping him because I was his friend and though I’d deny my aunt that I did it to just be around him, deep down I knew that was why I did it. Especially now. Oh well.

H: are you out of your damn mind, stilinski ?? you think we can actually find a body ??

                I sighed stressfully, yet my body argued with my mind as my stomach slightly churned in excitement. The more reckless side of me would go body-hunting in a heartbeat, mostly because I could find a body after just a few steps in the direction of it. It must be another reason why Stiles dragged me into things like this; he didn’t know how or why I was good with looking for things, but he wanted me to come anyways to help him out. I crinkled my nose at the thought of it, as I shook my head at my phone screen at his text back.

S: Well half a corpse shouldn’t be that difficult to find.

                “What the hell.” I whispered, my features contorted in conveyance of too many feelings to decipher towards his response. A body was one thing, but half of a body gave me the chills. Thinking of the person capable of it, too, set me off in ways I didn’t want it to. I had a bad feeling towards it, as if my instincts were compelling me not to go. Something was wrong with that, and I didn’t want to mess with it. Just something about it said that what did it wasn’t very humanly. Then again, a lot of things messed up people do can separate them from human.

H: oh my god

S: Please?

                I didn’t want to go.

H: no. i can’t. layla won’t let me out of the house tonight. we can do this tomorrow.

                I felt like shutting off my phone completely after sending that. I grew tired of this. Every time we went out to do something risky like this, and I had to use my own abilities to help, being barred from telling him how I did it, both disgusted and saddened me. I hated reminding myself of what I was, and my capabilities that came along with it. I wanted him to text me about something else for once. A Star Wars marathon. A normal sleepover like old times. A date. Just – anything – other than this. I wanted to scold him for it. I wanted to send him an essay-length of how dragging me into this forcefully made him a shitty friend. How I didn’t want him as a friend. But, like always, my mind got ahead of my actions, and the response bar remained empty.

S: No, we can’t! In the name of Sherlock and our friendship, I need your assistance tonight! We’re going to get Scott too.

                My eyes prickled.

H: i can’t. sorry. i have to go.

S: I swear to God, Hannah.

                I shut off my phone and set it aside. I glared at my ceiling at the pestering noise of countless vibrations coming from my phone, running my hands through my hair till they simply rested on my temples. I gasped a little in small fright when the familiar creak of my door opened, revealing a more relaxed appearing Layla to come into my view, holding something in her hand – though I knew what it was. I had forgotten my medication. I think it should be up to you whether it was intentional or not. I let my hands smack beside me on my bed, on the opposite side of the bed of Layla. A small sound of her setting a bottle down on my counter made my ears perk, but I still continued to ignore her presence. I heard no movement, and I could feel her eyes sternly staring into my slouched back. “What were you doing?” She asked in a gentle tone of voice. I turned my body hesitantly to face her, sucking in all the emotions I wanted to spill to her. I had never ranted to her, or for anyone for the matter. I had only ranted to Scott, but that was because he kept spraying himself in bug-repellant and it was hurting my nose, despite him being a couple feet away from me.

                “Talking to Stiles.” I mumbled. Layla goes to sit by me, but refrains after I shuffled a little in the opposite direction in fright of her doing so. I kept my distance, fearful if she got a good look of me, she’d see that I was on the verge of crying. And I didn’t want another therapy session.

                She, instead, sighed. “I would’ve let you go over there, Hannah. You know I have no problem with Stiles. Though your uncle begs to differ sometimes, I don’t ever mind it when you spend time with him with Scott, or even just him alone.” I tried to falter at her words, but, for some reason, I only stiffened more. I liked her words, I knew what she was telling me, and I knew better than to bite her back with a retort in response. “I just don’t want you to mess up your sleeping schedule again and make you unhealthy. I care about you, and even if you won’t accept that, I do anyways. Take two before you go to bed; there’s water downstairs if you need help downing them. Both your doctor and your therapist said I have to watch you take it. I know you aren’t a reckless kid, and I know you wouldn’t try to do anything you shouldn’t with drugs like this, but it’s just for your safety.” She acted as if I didn’t already know that. Sleeping medication could potentially be very addictive, and she didn’t want me overdosing. I only nodded my head, and she hooks her hands behind her back.

                “I understand.”

                Layla nodded herself and hesitantly placed her hand on my back. I cringed and moved a bit in discomfort, but her gentle kiss to my forehead eased me, even if I didn’t want to. I felt terrible for feeling this way about her, about her touch. I knew she meant no harm to me, she didn’t mean harm to anyone. So why did I distance myself from her as if she would? I didn’t want to ask my therapist for the answer, because I was terrified of the answer myself. I had gone through it once, I thought, maybe I’m just scared I’ll go through it again. My therapist had told me about fear. How it controlled you, pushed you around as if you were its puppet and it was holding the strings. Apparently I handed over the strings too often. “What do you want for dinner?” I shrugged in response, and she sighed once more, a forced smile making its way onto her lips. Without another second spared, she turned her body to face the door and walked straight out of it, not hovering over me with questions. She shut the door behind her, and I relaxed a little at the sound of it.

                Looking at my bedside table, I reached for the pill bottle. My thumb swiped over the smooth packaging, as my eyes skimmed over the label: Restoril. I shut my eyes, remembering the first time I was handed a pill bottle like this one. Melatonin wasn’t anything supposed to be serious, it was just something to treat someone with sleeping issues. I remembered my heart sinking when they handed it over to me, as if I was this mentally slanted psychopath for being handed something that would aid me. Maybe because of the reasons for it gave me ugly memories of the times I couldn’t go to sleep. The nights I slept on a basement floor rather than a bed. Not being able to sleep on a mattress that didn’t belong to me in a place I didn’t want to be in. I sniffled, my cheeks suddenly feeling damp. I snapped out of my entrancement and wiped at my cheeks annoyingly. I couldn’t cry over this. This was me. This is what I was going through. I needed to stop being so depressed by looking at something that helped me. But what would Stiles think of you when he finds out the real reason why you need this shit? How would your aunt and uncle react when you tell them that it isn’t just nightmares and insomnia that make you this way? How will you ever look at yourself and claim to be human when the pills you’re taking just takes you one step back from being normal? I shook my head a bit rigorously in response to my thoughts. You aren’t normal. You aren’t human. How many bottles will it take before you realize it? “Shut up.” He won’t ever look at you the way you look at him. You’re becoming hollow. Like your father.

                “Shut. Up. Shut up.” I pleaded through gritted teeth. The thoughts ceased, and I let out a breath. I slid off my bed, as I sunk down to my bottom while my legs lazily arched below my chest, my feet too sliding down the carpet of my bedroom floor. I faced the full-body mirror in front of me, my toes lightly brushing against the wooden frame of it. I tilted my head, looking at myself. What a mess. My oversized black sweatshirt hung off my curvy body, the slight crevice of my shoulder bones even popping out through the collar of it a little. My tapered skinny jeans hugged my legs, making my thighs round at the top. I shook my head for about the fiftieth time, but it wasn’t at another person or thing. It was at me. I looked over at the bedside table again, examining the pill bottle. I could read the side effects. Daytime drowsiness, amnesia or forgetfulness, muscle weakness or lack of balance, numbness or burning/tingly feelings, headache, blurred vision, depressed mood, feeling nervous or irritable… I stopped myself again. I licked over my lips, returning my eyes to my reflection. Shimmery-ness glistened on my cheeks and there’s redness around my face. Suddenly frustrated, I yanked at my cheeks and scrubbed, making my skin feel fiery and biting with irritation.

                I thought about the small conversation with Stiles. I pursed my lips, instinctively looking towards my still buzzing phone, and I straightened my posture. I shook off his desperateness. My head leant back on the soft side of my bed, shutting my eyes as I calmed down from my subtle high. I managed to somewhat calm down myself, soothing all the fighting emotions within me. A sad sigh breathed past my lips, my aunt’s words rehearsing themselves inside my head.

                   “It’ll get better.”

                I hit my head against the mattress, my hands went to ball into fists as I felt a tightening knot itself in my stomach. A burning anger, a relentless one, coursed through me, and it took an ounce of pure self-control to keep myself from lashing out. A softer, but deeper feeling surfaced through the inky blackness of my anger, one that made my eyes feel glossy again. I hated both. I bit back my lips almost painfully hard, and I tuned in my ears to listen to my surroundings, finding yet another anchor when I heard the vibrating notification of a text message come from the same spastic boy I had been in previous conflict with earlier. I gulped, pressing my head against my mattress.

              “It won’t be when he finds out.”

spooky scheming

Rating: PG 13 for language
Word Count: 1308

Summary: tfw only one of you is a long-term thinker
Chapter Warnings: death mention, residual destruction

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“This is great and all,” said Nino, voice tight with stress, “but do we have a plan? I’m freaking out a little and the moon is like, barely waning. Need some structure in my life, here.”

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bythunder  asked:

From the prompt list: INAPPROPRIATELY TIMED PROPOSALS or “can u help me sneak my cat (or dog, because Ghost and/ Lady) into my dorm” au. Please and thank you?

basically, I rewrote this three times because you deserve only the best & I hope you enjoy it love!

SAM: Remember that stunning red head who is watching your dog and you are not so secretly in love with?

JON: Are you talking about Sansa?

JON: Also, I am not secretly in love with her. I’m not in love with her at all.

SAM: Denial isn’t just a river in Egypt my friend. Remind me what your current phone background is?


SAM: He doth protest too much.

Jon tossed his phone onto his bed and pointedly ignored the second chime. He didn’t want to read whatever nonsense Sam had decided to send him. Sam wasn’t the only one who gave him a hard time about being in love with Sansa either.

Sometimes Jon felt like he was talking to a brick wall when various friends would make comments about their love. They hadn’t been close growing up, but their relationship had changed when he took on his RA role at the university. Originally Robb was supposed to watch Ghost, but he had decided to follow a girl and transfer to Riverlands University. He knew from Robb that Sansa had just come out of an awful relationship when she quietly offered to watch Ghost.

Jon had been unsure, but he was left with little to no options. He didn’t regret it now because he got daily updates of Ghost. Sansa made sure to spoil Ghost. He had never had so many photos or videos of his dog before.

Through their connection with Ghost they had tentatively branched out and talked about other things. Their talks had soon morphed into study sessions at the library and getting coffee from the quad. He could admit that he enjoyed spending time with her.

With the shift in their relationship his meddling RA friends had decided that he was in love with Sansa. Each of them made it their mission to remind him every day that he was in love with her. They would remind him about how well she took care of Ghost. At one point Sam told him to propose to her because no one was more perfect for him than Sansa.

Even if he admitted he was in love with Sansa it wouldn’t matter. He could never tell her especially after everything Joffrey had done to her. If he admitted to his friends that they would try and give him some sort of pep talk he didn’t need or want.

His thoughts were broken when his phone chimed again and there was soft knocking at his door.

He threw open his door and was shocked to see Sansa standing there with Ghost.

“What are you doing here San? How’d you get Ghost up here?”  Jon asked because he knew there was no way Sam would let Sansa sneak Ghost up to his dorm despite how much he wanted them to date.

“Didn’t you get my text about my surprise?” Sansa looked a little disappointed in his confusion. Ghost seemed to pick up on how tense Sansa was and nudged into her side. Jon felt his heart leap up to his throat at the smile Sansa was giving his dog.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t really reading my texts” Jon apologized and moved so that both Ghost and Sansa could fully come into his dorm room.

“Oh, that makes sense. I wasn’t interrupting anything, right?” Sansa asked as she sat on his bed. Ghost stuck close to Sansa, but he could see the dogs tail wagging exuberantly.

“Not really, but even if I was I am much more curious how you managed to sneak Ghost into here? Not even Robb could pull that off” Jon asked. Though, if he were being honest he was grateful that she had Ghost there distracting him because he could focus on that instead of the way her blue sundress seemed to accentuate her curves and showcase her long legs.

“Well remember how we discussed that I don’t like leaving Ghost at home” Sansa paused she scratch Ghost’s ears, “I guess after the incident with Joffrey my therapist suggested a service animal to help with my anxiety and panic attacks. I know Ghost is your dog, but the vet said he was the perfect candidate to get certified.”

Jon hated the hesitation on Sansa’s face. He hated even more how she summed up the terror she survived with Joffrey as just some incident. More than ever Jon wished he could see the Lannister and make him pay for what he had done to the sweetest girl ever.

“Now that he is certified anytime you want to see him I can get a visitor pass and bring him up and I know after your RA position is up you will take Ghost back. I didn’t certify him to keep him from you.” She looked terrified as the words came out of her mouth. “Oh, god please don’t think I’m trying to take him from you. That wasn’t my intention, I just fell in love with him. He’s a lot like you.”

Ghost seemed to hone in on Sansa’s anxiety and placed his head fully in her lap and licked her hands. In that moment, Jon, could hear the speeches Gilly and Sam usually gave about the type of person he would fall in love with. They teased whoever could win the affection and loyalty of his dog would surely find their way into his heart. This was so much more than that.

There wasn’t much thought when he surged forward and kissed her. It was sloppy and more than once their teeth clacked against each other. Despite the sloppy nature of the kiss Jon was sure he had never felt more from any kiss. There was just a feeling that something right, that something wonderful, was just beginning.

Looking at Sansa’s dazed face he knew he would have to say something, but her swollen lips were distracting him. For a moment, it looked like Sansa might apologize to him with a hoarse whisper he told her “Don’t. Don’t you dare apologize to me. If you don’t want to kiss or go any further that’s okay, but never apologize to me for that kiss or for taking care of Ghost.”

“And if I want to go further?” Sansa shyly asked.

“Gods just marry me now then” Jon told her before kissing her again. This was slower and less sloppy than their first kiss. He could run his hands through her hair and feel her grabbing his shoulders and pulling him closer. She made a soft moan when his hands softly tugged on her hair.

As much as Jon wanted to make her repeat the noise again and again, but Ghost wasn’t having any of it. He barked at Jon and Sansa couldn’t help the laugh that escaped her in that moment.

“Do you still want to marry me when I have such a fierce protector?” Sansa smiled as she gestured to Ghost who looked content once he knew Sansa was all right and happy.

“You deserve the fiercest protectors. But I suppose I owe Gilly and Same some kind of thank you gift” Jon told her honestly.

“Thank you gifts? Why” Sansa seemed genuinely puzzled at the statement.

“Because they’ve been telling me to tell you I how much I love you. And they were right that the girl I would fall in love would be the girl that won the affection and loyalty of Ghost” Jon told her quietly.

Kissing her was different than admitting he was in love with her, but he felt better once the words were out. He never wanted to take them back either.

“So, you’re telling me all it takes are puppacinos to win your love? Who knew Jon Snow was so easy?” Sansa teased. Jon couldn’t help the snort that came out when Ghost perked up at puppacino.

“You know it was more than that” Jon held her gaze. He wanted, no he needed Sansa to see that she was more than that. That truthfully they had been treading towards this for a while.

“I know and I think I am in love with you too” Sansa confided quietly.

Jon kissed her again and this time Ghost chose not to interrupt. He just hopped onto the bed and wagged his tail endlessly as he watched.

SAM: Gilly said she saw Sansa & you holding hands as you got your beast one of those silly dog drinks from the café.

JON: I’m surprised she missed the kissing.


SAM: Also, Gilly and I found a tie the same shade as Sansa’s eyes. We’ll save that for your wedding.

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Rebecca Bunch vs. Internalized Misogyny, Heteronormativity, and Fear of Rejection: An Essay by Someone in Way Too Deep

“I can’t find anybody to love me. Like, real love. Like, boy-girl love. I mean, that’s okay, that’s gender-normative. But you get what I’m saying, right?” Rebecca laments to her dream-ghost in “Josh has No Idea Where I Am!”. Rebecca understands heteronormativity in theory but she can’t apply it to her own life. She views “boy-girl love” and romantic love as one-in-the-same because she’s been taught that heterosexual love is the holy grail of fulfillment. Pre-series her relationships with women were always defined by competition and anxiety and so, Rebecca sticks to the heterosexual mold, unable to understand her latent attraction to women.  

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Bad Bob drops his gloves and takes on the press Part 3: Jack

Hi all, it’s been a little while! I honestly wasn’t expecting this little series to get the attention it did, but hey, I’m not complaining. I just closed a play, so I have my life back until spring when the next one comes along. The life of a Musical Theater major.

If you haven’t yet, and you’re interested, here is part one and part two!

Alright, now that the parents, teams, and other loved ones have spoken out, it’s time for Jack to tell his story.

(please be mindful of the trigger warnings in the tags.)

  • It takes a little bit for him to get to that point. His dad’s interview, while incredibly cathartic, was a lot to take in.
  • Like he knew going it it wouldn’t be easy. And he handled it pretty well, considering. He needed to hear it. He needed to hear his father’s anger and know it was not directed at him.
  • (It still does drive him crazy that Bob blames himself because Jack doesn’t blame him. A few years ago that would not have been the truth, but they’ve both come a long way.)
  • But he wasn’t very prepared to hear his father talk about how he nearly died in his arms. It was something he knew, and he’d definitely thought about it, but hearing it come from his father’s mouth was….
  • (Needless to say, Bob hops on a plane as soon as the interview is over, because he fucking Knows and he isn’t in the door for three seconds before he’s holding Jack and they’re both apologizing while Bitty leaves them alone and bakes them a few pies)

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The Angsty One

Anonymous asked: I need pure rami angst. Idk something where he’s slowly neglecting his wife and she just kinda lets it happen and one day she’s begging him to pay attention to her and he snaps, they get in a fight, and then rami threatens to divorce her. You can make it a happy or sad ending, Idc, but I need it chalked FULL of angst. Like makes me wanna cry while reading angst.

A/N: I posted this before but I’m reposting because my app extension meant my actual name was included last time LMAO if you see my name in any of my fics can you please let me know ty <3

‘This is bullshit!’ The room stifled as an angry voice penetrated it.

‘Rami please be quiet whilst Y/N is speaking.’ Your therapist chided as she crossed and uncrossed her legs nervously.

‘No you might as well let him say it. Otherwise he’ll wait till we get home.’ You sighed as Rami gave you an angry glance.

‘See this is what I’m talking about! It’s manipulation.’

‘Y/N merely voiced her feelings about you being away from home. That’s what the point of this is.’

‘She knew what she was signing up for!’ Rami slapped the top of his thighs in frustration and you flinched slightly at the noise.

‘Y/N would you like to respond to that?’ You knew your therapist was grasping at straws now as she glanced between the two of you. You almost felt bad for her having to see this but then again she got paid for it.

‘I have – I have always been very accommodating to your lifestyle Rami, I don’t think it’s asking much to give something back.’ You hated the waver in your voice as you spoke. You wished you could stand up for yourself. You wished you could tell him he was a selfish bastard because he was.

‘We’re just going around in fucking circles. I’m done.’ Rami stood up suddenly and was out the door before either you or the therapist had chance to react. This of course was a common end to your sessions. The sound of your therapist’s desk clock suddenly became obnoxiously loud.

‘Maybe next week we could try-‘

‘Just don’t.’ You cut your therapist off and you knew it was rude but you couldn’t bear to listen anymore. After a few moments you gathered yourself and stood up to leave. You could see her eyes flicking between you and the clock.

‘Don’t worry I’ll pay for the full hour.’ Your voice came out in monotone now as you shuffled out of the office.

On your way home you prepared yourself for the storm that was no doubt brewing. Your anxieties were confirmed as you entered the house. Rami was leant back in his arm chair, his tie discarded on the floor and his shirt partially unbuttoned as he balanced a glass of SoCo in his hand looking idly around the room and not at you.

You walked straight past him heading towards the bedroom when you heard him mumbling.


You froze, nerves whirring around your stomach as you turned towards him.


‘I think we’re done.’

‘And how many times have you said that?’

‘I mean it this time.’

‘You’ve been drinking.’

‘I want a divorce.’

The space between those words and your reaction seemed to span out for an eternity. Your mouth felt dry and your palms prickled with heat as you tried to process what he was saying. You’d said so many meaningless things before – arguing, but it was never quantified like this.

‘I love you.’

‘I don’t think I love you anymore.’ You heard his voice crack at the end of the sentence and you knew already that that was the part that would haunt you. In a twisted way it felt like relief – a confirmation, or an answer for all the fighting the two of you had done.

You left that night and it was the last time the two of you spoke without the presence of another person – whether it be a family member or a solicitor. Your divorce was painfully easily, your differences were irreconcilable and it was easy to slowly untangle yourselves from one another’s lives – granted that you didn’t think too much. You soon learnt that thinking about him was dangerous. You’d immortalised the old Rami in your head. The Rami that used to come home and plant a kiss on every single knuckle. The Rami that whispered ‘mine’ nearly every night in the early hours with his huge hand planted on your stomach. The one that begged and begged and begged for you to have a baby but you weren’t ready-


You pressed your shaking hands against your eyelids and counted to twenty as you tried to calm down. It had been three years since the night you two had parted and honestly you’d felt fine. Until you found out he was in the new film you were writing for.

You had decided to get it over with and attend a cast meeting as undoubtedly you’d be seeing a lot of him. You’d even thought about quitting the job all together but had concluded that it was ridiculous to run away from him. After all you’d shared a life together.

‘Y/N?’ The voice alone sent your head spinning as you slowly looked up. Rami was the most tentative you’d ever seen him, his large eyes wide as he tilted his head slightly to study you.

‘Hey.’ You were relieved at the warmth in your own voice and offered him a small smile. To your surprise he flushed.

‘I only just found out that you were…’ Rami trailed off and gestured at the laptop in front of you.

‘Yeah they don’t always communicate too well around here. How’s life being a big shot?’ You fabricated the teasing tone in your voice, keeping your eyes steadily on him as you spoke.

Rami looked down at the floor, guilt lacing his features. ‘It’s good it’s just…’ He took a few moments to compose himself and you watched the slow rising and falling of his chest as he took deep breaths.

‘Let’s get started!’ Fuck. The director had arrived. You were never going to hear what he had to say now.

Rami gave you a pained look. ‘Later?’ His voice sounded strained. All you could do was nod in response, frightened to open your mouth for the nerves that might spill out.

You were a wreck for the rest of the day. It was ridiculous that he could still have this sort of effect on you – the man who’d told you he no longer loved you. But when those eyes bored into yours it was your undoing.

Rami was pacing back and forth outside the door of your hotel room as you approached. You had no idea how he knew which room you were staying in but he’d always gone to great lengths to seek you out. You remembered all the times he’d sneak off to find you after doing press, the shape of his silhouette feeling to find your shape in the dark of the various hotels you were escorted to.

‘Hello.’ You said awkwardly when he didn’t notice your presence.

‘Y/N.’ He sounded startled and the sound of your own name made your stomach flutter with nerves.

‘We should probably…’ You gestured to the door and Rami nodded in agreement as you let the two of you inside. You kept noticing his hand nervously sweeping across the short shaved sides of his head. You wondered if he was self-conscious.

You sat down on the bed whereas Rami hovered near the bathroom door like a disobedient child. It was such a juxtaposition to what had happened before you probably would have laughed if you hadn’t felt so nervous.

‘So is there something you want to say?’ You focussed on keeping your voice strong ready for anything he was about to throw at you.

‘Yes.’ Rami took a deep breath. ‘Obviously it’s far too little too late and I’m astonished that you’re even willing to breath the same air as me right now after everything but – I just wanted to say that I’m sorry. I did a terrible thing. It was a lie, to me and to you.’ The shaky sound of Rami’s voice seemed to be linked directly to your tear ducts which were burning as you blinked rapidly.

‘I didn’t say anything until now because I was a complete fucking mess. I knew you deserved better so despite how much it hurt I just let it happen, I let us break up.’ His voice cracked painfully at the end and you could just about see his eyes swimming with tears as he stared down at the floor.

You were silent for several moments while you considered his words.

‘I have moved on…’ You began, watching Rami hold back a quiet sob as you tried to keep your voice steady. ‘But that doesn’t mean I couldn’t start again. Forget everything about before.’

Rami’s head snapped up, his eyes bright under the cheap fluorescent lights of the hotel room as he stared at you.

‘Do you really mean that?’

‘I can’t promise anything but I suppose-‘

You were cut off by the tight circle of Rami’s arms around you. It was that motion alone that caused everything inside you that you’d been bottling to pour out. You pushed him back gently, rubbing your eyes as you spoke.

‘Don’t think things will be as they were before. You were a mess? How do you think I felt? You hurt me so much. In fact, you were a complete bastard – there I said it. I think we just can’t physically be without one another.’ You shook your head as you spoke, in disbelief at him and yourself as you crossed your arms.

‘I know, I know I’m going to do everything I can. Please Y/N. I can’t be away from you.’ The desperate look on Rami’s face made your heart ache.

‘Like I said, I’m going try to.’ You mumbled, uncrossing your arms. ‘Just don’t jump on me like that…yet.’

You heard Rami’s breath catch in his throat like the ghost of a laugh. ‘Yeah sorry it’s been a while since I’ve been anywhere near you I was overwhelmed…’ The two of you shared a glance and you knew you were done for there and then – unable to walk away even if you wanted to.

As the two of you departed the hotel room (not willing to stoke the rest of the staff’s suspicions any further) you gently brushed the edge of your hand against Rami’s and he gently keened into your touch.



Gifs not mine.

Part One

Part Two

thestrawberryblondehobbitbatch  asked:

Just read the second part to my request it was amaizing. Can’t wait for the 3rd part. Oh please let her live xx

A/N: This should be the final part so I tried to give it a somewhat happy ending. Thank you for enjoying my writing. xxx

Life after the kidnapping was not easy. It was understandable that it may be hard to adapt to your surroundings without fear of being abducted. Although you were only taken for two days, the psychological effects would last a last time. You were in hospital for a while because you were unconscious for a few days before waking up. They also had to help aid your broken bones and heal your scars from your lashings before they became infected. You thanked John and Sherlock for rescuing you but other than that, you didn’t speak much in the hospital. You didn’t even cry. You just stared out of the window to your room and looked empty. You had lovely flowers around you room as many people had bought you some after hearing of the event. It was their way of showing their sympathy. There was always someone sat with you. It was mainly Mrs Hudson because she adored you. She loved having some female company at 221B. She needed a break from the two boys. It broke her heart when she heard what had happened but was very relieved when you were returned. John would have liked to be there more often but he had his job and a baby to look after. Sometimes he brought little Rosie to you which cheered you up a tiny bit but your happiness soon ended. Molly and Lestrade had visited you (Molly more often than Lestrade). Your family had come and seen you also. Even Mycroft had sent his sympathies. He probably wasn’t too sympathetic considering he didn’t care much however he was probably just trying to be polite. Then that just leaves Sherlock Holmes. He was there quite often. He made a vow that he’d find Moriarty and punish him for harming you. When he was sat with you, he didn’t speak much but then again neither did you. It was nice to know that he cared.



The first time you cried over the matter was when you returned back to your lodgings in Baker Street. You broke down as soon as you entered the flat. You had missed the warmth and cosiness of your home. Sherlock was with you when you cried. He had no idea what to do when a woman was reduced to tears so he pulled you into a hug and patted your back awkwardly.



You couldn’t leave the flat for a month because you didn’t feel safe. Even when you did leave, paranoia took hold of you. It took three attempts for you to leave for the first time and that was just to visit John. You constantly looked around in case there was anyone suspicious. You developed very severe anxiety and had panic attacks frequently. Everyone tried to help you but it was very hard. You had sleepless nights and would often stare out of windows blankly. Every time you had come out of a shower or a bath, you could not take your eyes off the ugly scars that had formed across your body, especially on your back. You’d got yourself a therapist because you wanted to get yourself out of this hellhole. The therapist didn’t help very much.



Tonight you had decided that you’d try to sleep again. It was a mistake. Visions of the criminal flooded your mind. The images were as clear as day. His voice wouldn’t go away. You awoke sweating and panting. You needed water. You walked from your bedroom to the kitchen.

“Y/N?” A voice said from the living room.

You flinched but then processed that it was Sherlock who spoke. You turned around. “I just needed a drink.”

“No need to explain yourself.” He analysed you. “You tried to sleep tonight.”

You nodded. “I couldn’t.” You sighed. “I don’t think I ever will again if I’m honest.” You turned around and continued to fill a glass.

“Talk to me,” Sherlock commanded but not in a harsh way. You turned back around again and saw him gesturing to the armchair that was John’s before he moved out. You abandoned the glass of water and sat down opposite Sherlock.

“What about?” You responded.

He paused. “I may not be very good when it comes to feelings, except when it comes to the chemistry of each emotion, and it would be wise that I should not take up the profession as a therapist. However, when someone I care about is in such a state that their mental health is deteriorating, I feel like I must act on the situation even if it is something as simple as talking to them. I know socialising is not my forte but I may as well try.”

“You care about me? I thought that-”

“That caring is a disadvantage but there can be a few exceptions.”


“So why can’t you sleep?”

“I thought that was fairly obvious. You don’t have to be a consulting detective to work it out.”

“I know why! I’m just trying to help.”

“Okay. Well I was kidnapped and I cannot sleep because of the torture I dealt with and just been snatched off of the street. All I see is him and his voice and…” You trailed off because if you continued, you knew you’d cry. A lump had formed in your throat. Sherlock was speechless. For once he did not know what to say as he did not want to make anything worse. If you were his client, he would have offended you by now. He reached across and took your hand. You looked up at him and then you hugged him. He took you into his arms like it was the most natural thing he had ever done. Although he was ‘heartless’, he did deeply care for you. You were sat on his knee and had your head resting in the crook of his neck.

“I’m here,” He told you. “I’ll always be here.”

“Thank you,” You replied. And in that night, you fell asleep without any troubles.

Juice Ortiz/OC

Imagine if Juice had someone outside of the club to be there for him. Would he still make the same decisions? Only time will tell. This will have multiple parts, updated weekly. Warning: Mentions of sexual assault, depression and drug abuse.

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Chapter 11: Love Means More Than Clean Sheets

Fic Summary: “Everyone had a link with their soulmates, some could hear some of their partners thoughts, some had a tattoo that would appear with their partners name; for me, I knew when they got sick.” For a while Phil has thought that his soulmate might have an eating disorder and doesn’t expect to meet him in the restaurant where he works.

Genre: a lot of fluff, recovery, really fucking domestic, waiter!Phil

Warnings: eating disorders, anorexia, bulimia, hospitals, panic attacks, references to past abuse, mentions of suicide, a lot of awkwardness, smut in this chapter. This is potentially triggering so for your own sake, please think twice about reading if anything this might affect you.

Disclaimer: I don’t have personal experience with eating disorders, but have done some research. If I have anything about them wrong, feel free to send me an ask and I’ll sort it out.

Word Count (for this part): 6.1k

[Uploads will be approximately every couple of weeks! (hopefully)]

A/N: Turns out doing school, college and having a job isn’t the best idea… I have like no time to write. Hopefully the next chapter won’t take me a whole month


<= Previous Chapter

The morning came, and with it, the requirement to get our stuff together so we could head home. Dan’s mum, Catherine had woken us up, which I was thankful for as both of us had forgotten to set an earlier alarm. She did walk in on us cuddling in our sleep, but it could’ve been worse. She would’ve just seen Dan’s face buried in my chest and my arms wrapped around him. I did sometimes question how he found that comfortable, but I wasn’t complaining.

We both got dressed and headed down the stairs for breakfast with the rest of the family. To both of our surprise, Adam was already sitting at the table and eating some cereal.

“Hey Adam,” Dan greeted him, “How’re you feeling?”

“Okay,” he replied, laying his spoon down to talk to Dan, “He’s feeling a bit better this morning. There’s less pain, but he’s still not great mentally.”

“How are you feeling mentally?” Dan asked, “Like I know yesterday you were a bit all over the place.”

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letters to an angel

Originally posted by saliechelon255

genre: college AU/angst

author’s note: I’ve written three jimin fluff drafts but at the end, unsurprisingly, it’s got to be an angst. Warning: this scenario does have mentions of depression, mental disorders, and death. Credit to @saliechelon255 for making the beautiful gif above ♥‿♥   hope yall will like my first scenario for our chimchim (。◕‿‿◕。) and thanks to the lovely anon who requested and had to wait quite long for it. oh, and remember to request!!!

pairing: jimin x reader | scenario

blurb: A bunch of scattered letters from a girl to a boy who stole her heart and took it beyond the stars and above.


Dear Jiminie,

My hands are shaking now as I’m writing this. It’s been a year and they still tremble whenever the pen begins to nearly bead onto the page. It’s a sight I’ve gotten used to every day. I guess, whenever I try to start this letter, it’s as if an upsurge of fear and all the anxiety that’s taken so long to stumble through appears in a cataclysm of waves. I close my eyes, hold my breath, and pray it doesn’t bury me.

I’ve written only seven lines and I can already feel it in my chest.

Shit. I’m crying.

Shit. Shit. Shit. I promised myself I could do this. I promised myself that I could write this letter. I promised so many promises it seems I only break them.

I miss you so much it scares me to the point of-

I can’t do this. I can’t stop crying and the paper’s all drenched from my tears and the ink’s blotched and everything is a mess.

I’m sorry.

I’ll try again tomorrow. I promise.

I’m so sorry.

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Don’t Say A Word

The title and some inspiration for this fic comes from this song: Don’t Say A Word- Ellie Goulding.

Thank you to the lovely anon who sent in this request, I really hope you like what I did with it. Please don’t be afraid to message me after you read it. Hope you enjoy x

Requests are open if you would like to request something and feedback is very much food for my soul so please do not be shy.

Request: This is weird and I understand if you can’t do it but, request where y/n suffers a trauma and stops speaking completely, and have it with Bucky? I trust you to take the story wherever you want. Absolutely no pressure and thank you! Love your work xx

Warnings: This is very different to anything I have written so far! So the main trauma that reader suffers is her own past as a puppet of Hydra thanks to her asshole father. I gave her powers quite similar to Wanda’s but hers are much more sensitive to emotions and other people’s emotions. 

Words: c. 3,162

Originally posted by sebastianstahp

When Bucky first arrived at the tower you had been an enigma to him, your gaze was direct, piercing, and there was something quite other worldly about you, as though you had lived for centuries, as though you were some Pagan priestess that had had been trapped in an existence of immortality, or a mythic figure trapped between two worlds.

When Steve had introduced you to Bucky, you didn’t stick your hand out awkwardly in an attempt to make him shake it, you didn’t look at him with mistrusting, or worst still, pitying eyes. Instead you offered the briefest nod of your head, gentle and graceful, and Bucky felt calmness flow through him.

He observed you over the next few days, you tended to keep to yourself, often he would find you alone in the library or you would go for long jogs by yourself, you seemed like the loneliest creature in the world and even though Steve was insistent upon Bucky healing and he fussed over him like he was some broken thing, Bucky sincerely thought Steve’s focus was entirely misguided and it was you he should be focusing on.

“She’s always been this way since she joined the team,” Steve had argued when Bucky broached the topic “Tony arranged for her to have sessions with a therapist, but the point of therapy is you have to talk. Can’t achieve much when you refuse to actually speak.”

“Refuse to speak?” Bucky had questioned and Steve shrugged his shoulders.

“She hasn’t spoken a word to anyone since she arrived here, and she wasn’t born mute, Tony did a quick medical background check and she’s psychologically cleared to work on the field so I don’t think it’s something we need to worry too much about. It can be quite unsettling at first but she’s actually sweet when you get to know her.”

“Yeah but people don’t just stop speaking for no reason Steve,” Bucky sighed.

Steve merely shrugged and continued eating but Bucky had lost his appetite.

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I Am Tenzin

The Importance of the Kataangs and the Breakdown of Childhood Idealization

The Legend of Korra is a bold and groundbreaking show. Korra, our muscular, queer, woman of color protagonist, led us through a powerful character arc that was subversive in a variety of ways. It was an arc of self-discovery, of healing, and of maturation that resonated so strongly with so many. This is unsurprising, as the general demographic of LOK viewers tended to be teens and individuals in their early 20s: ages during which the exploration of self-identity features strongly.

Yet another powerful theme runs throughout Legend of Korra: the destruction of the idealized family. From Tonraq and Korra, to the Beifongs, and most definitely to the Satos, each family presented to us in the series is colored by strife and difficulty. Even Mako and Bolin struggled to understand the other’s choices in Book 4. And all the tough familial dynamics touched upon something that is not often dealt with in our media: the awkward and complicated transition into adulthood, which implicitly requires the breakdown of set dynamics.

Sometimes this transition can be smooth, and certainly not everyone goes through something like Asami experienced. But it is often an incredibly messy and stressful stage for young adults. And what’s more important is that the choices we make as we seek to define ourselves outside of the context of our family are touched with moral ambiguity. Opal carried around guilt for wanting to leave her mother and train to be an airbender, while at the same time she chastised Baatar for “betraying Mom” to be with Kuvira. Both siblings likely had similar guiding motivations (world betterment), yet the path forward was never clear.

And that’s how it is in real life. The choices we make affect our family, yet we have to make the choices that are right by us. And in situations where the familial dynamics are particularly complicated, our choices become that much harder.

Bryke didn’t just show us this tension; they actively led us through it, using Tenzin as our guide. It’s almost poetic: the man who had anxieties and pressures that prevented him from becoming Korra’s spiritual guide served to lead the audience through a powerful and cathartic tale.

It wasn’t until I began recapping Book 2 that I understood this catharsis, however. My first time revisiting the material, I was harsh on Tenzin. I hated that he thought of himself as a martyr, while his brother and sister were so actively hurting. I even made light of his climatic moment, as a way of distancing myself from what I just saw. And yet it took me critically thinking about the Civil Wars episodes (ironically to find a way of making light of them) for me to understand why I had reacted that way: I am Tenzin.

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@longstorygame the “read more” is more for me than you guys, because it’s how i keep track of my headcanons, so feel free to ignore it? i don’t mind; it’s not a story and has little to do with the competition xD

please ignore misspellings if you do tho cuz i did this on mobile and i am small and very tired

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