in ear buds

You are allowed to say “No”, okay?

You are allowed and encouraged to say “This feels bad to me for [x] and [y] reason. I would like to do [z thing] instead if you are comfortable with it!”

I will never, ever, ever, punish you for saying “No” to me. I will never be angry at you for expressing your discomfort.

You never have to feel guilty for denying a request of mine. Whether it is “No, I would not like to share my headphone ear bud with you.” or “No, I do not want a hug from you right now.” or “I do not feel comfortable committing to this life decision.”

You do not owe me, or anyone, emotional or physical services. You do not have any obligation to do anything in return for anyone.

Everyone who matters will still love you even if you aren’t “convenient” for their use.

jalapeno--business  asked:

So whenever I read trc, I'm always overwhelmed by this almost pathological desire to experience the same feelings of wonder and beauty and magic that you describe in the series. Yes, I understand that there is no sentient, magical forest to discover, and no sleeping king that I can search for, but I still have this urge to have similar feelings and experiences in my life. So how do you experience a similar kind of magic and wonder that you describe in your books, in everyday life?

Dear jalapeno–business,

Are you listening closely?

As an author, I travel a lot. At one point, I was on the road one day out of every three — planes, hotels, rental cars. There’s a rhythm to it, like running up a very long flight of stairs. You figure out how many stairs you can take in a jump, and how to breathe-in-breathe-out to keep from wasting your lungs, and you learn how to tell when you have to stop to rest your knees or you just won’t make it to the top. 

The airports and the planes and the people can all start to seem the same after awhile, if you’re looking at them wrong. If you let them. Anything in life can sound ordinary if that’s all you’re listening for.

Back in 2014, I was in a Texas airport. The night had that glittering senseless jitter to it that happens when you’re tired but going home, finally going home. I was early for my flight and sitting several gates away from my real gate, listening to music. A young man sat down two seats away. Ordinarily, tired and occupied with the peculiar every-day magic of the music in my headphones, I wouldn’t have noticed him, but a moment later, a phone rang. He asked if it was mine; it wasn’t. Someone had forgotten it on the seat between us. 

We both looked at it.

It rang again for someone who didn’t know to pick up, and then he took it away to one of the United desks for them to give it to someone who would listen. He didn’t return.

Two hours later, I went to my real gate to board. Full flight. Everyone was checking and double-checking their seat assignments as they defended their right to aisles and windows. When my seatmate settled himself next to me, I looked up, and it was the guy from the waiting area. He had a tilt to his chin that telegraphed that he thought he was hot shit and a grin that said he recognized me. 

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

We laughed ruefully and applied our headphones — we both knew the routine of polite air travel. But the agreeable tingle of the coincidence still ate at me, and I could tell it ate at him, too, because after a few moments, he offered me a truffle from his bag. I told him I couldn’t take it because of my allergies, but the headphones came off. We started to talk.

And he was a big talker. He was cocky. A surgical resident. He told me how he loved the hell out of taking internal organs out of people. He described how he listened to sixty-minute epic soundtracks in his ear buds while he removed appendixes and gallbladders, kidneys and stones. He told me of watching Dateline by himself at the end of seventy and eighty hour work weeks, and he told me about his Hyundai, which I made fun of. Confidentially, he whispered to me about a surgeon he knew who had the goal of removing every gallbladder in Texas. Two hours into the flight, the conversation tilted toward spirituality. He’s hot shit, he confessed, and works hard, but he sometimes wonders if he’s allowed to want to be successful, or if that makes him a bad person. Because he’s working a lot of hours in a week, and he’s tired, but he’s pretty sure that he’s hot shit, but maybe that’s not allowed.

I was watching him fumble his fingers over each other. He was scratching a hole in his own palm.

And all at once there was a phone in my head, and it was ringing just for me. 

“One of your parents has obsessive-compulsive disorder,” I told him. “Maybe both.”

The shimmering grin slipped. “How did you know? How could you know that?” 

I asked him if he was getting treatment for it.

He said, “No, no, I’m over it. How could you know that?”

Because in a foggy way, that phone was still ringing between us, and now, I recognized the number.

I said, “Don’t kill yourself.”

He replied, “No way,” and then he started to cry. 

The shit-eating grin had vanished. He told me how he’d made up his mind that he didn’t want to make it to 35. He’d researched all the ways to make sure he didn’t. Over the next hour, I told him about my OCD, and how I thought his uncertainty over wanting to be successful but also wanting to be humble was a function of his OCD’s spiritual obsession. That he wasn’t over OCD, that you never were, but that his agony didn’t have to be a real thing. He could be both humble and successful. It wasn’t against the rules of goodness to be proud of what you’d done, as long as you were doing things for the right reasons. I told him how once I bought a race car, but I’d given it away to someone who could use the money, because I realized I was only racing to look sexy in a car, and not because it was really making me happy. 

I told him he didn’t have to worry about looking sexy in a Hyundai, though, and he replied that he would look sexy in anything, and then he cried a little more. 

Everyone else in the plane was asleep, but we were wide awake.

When we got off the plane in Virginia, the surgical resident gave me an awkward side-hug, and he wiped his face. Then he dug in his bag for the wrapper from his truffle. As the other travelers shuffled past us sleepily, he pressed it into my hand. He didn’t want to give me his name, he said, but he wanted something for me to remember so that when we ran into each other again in 15 years, I’d know who he was.

After we’d parted ways, I turned my phone off airplane mode, and a text came in that had been sent while I was in the air. It was from the person I’d given the race car to. I hadn’t heard from him in nearly six months. The text said only: thank u maggie i have such a hppy life bc of u

Magic.

You have to be listening closely. Phones are ringing all over the world, and sometimes they look like magical forests, and sometimes they look like race cars, and sometimes they look like surgical residents.

urs,

Stiefvater

Character Quirks

 Peter Maximoff

-Can’t sit still

-Constantly has ear buds in, even when there isn’t music playing

-Cracks his knuckles all the time

-Laughs at his own jokes

-Humming, all the time

Originally posted by walxx

Kurt Wagner

-Doesn’t understand personal space

-Over salts/seasons his food

-Loves holding hands

-Is jumpy and anxious 

-Talks through movies

Originally posted by protectbuckybarnesatallcosts

Hank Mccoy

-Yawns loudly 

-Squints a lot

-Looses important things, like his glasses

-Gets excited about everything

-Calls rather than texts

-Always matches his socks

Originally posted by markinganx

Peter Parker (Tom Holland)

-Talks in his sleep

-Over shares everything that happens to him

-Needs reassurance

-Is horrible at naming movies, places, people, ect. refers to them generally and expects you to know what he’s talking about

-Is a horrible liar 

-Refuses to hurt any animal, even insects

Originally posted by peterparkerimagine

Bucky Barnes

-Is somehow never cold, AKA you always get his jacket

-Hands often clenched in fists without him realizing it

-Walks with long strides

-Reads every night

-Doesn’t understand Slang

Originally posted by bovaria

Barry Allen

-Always smiling

-Never takes anything too seriously 

-Talks too quickly

-Licks his lips a lot

-Buys you flowers to make up for every mistake

Originally posted by gurdyroots

Steve Rogers

-Stands with his hands behind his back

-Rarely curses

-Doodles a lot

-Gets excited about references to old things

-Always knows how to get places

Originally posted by james-nat

Erik Lehnsherr

-Sometimes speaks in broken german 

-Uses his eyebrows when speaking (raising them, furrowing them, ect.)

-Never sleeps in, meaning breakfast in bed for you

-Prefers listening 

-Is great at card games

Charles Xavier 

-Has an impressive vocabulary 

-Answers his own questions 

-Knows a lot of useless facts

-Constantly quotes things 

-Loves bad jokes and always laughs at them

Originally posted by pr0paganda

I’m yelling my ear buds broke so I can only hear the instrumental of songs and so I was listening to agust d and its just silence for while and then you hear him yelling random words at you like “CONCERT” and “FIRST CLASS” lmao and after he yelled “MY ASS” he kept saying “ass ass ass ass” in the background omg can you imagine him recording this bye

Jewel In The Crown (M)

florist!kihyun, 15.1k, he knows what beautiful is but he’s also a bit jealous and has shitty friends

warning: smut (kihyun is a virgin, his first time, oral for both, slightly dom!kihyun i guess??)

“You look really nice by the way…Ignore that. You look beautiful. You’re the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”

Originally posted by wonhontology

Keep reading

College Boy

Pairing: Y/N and Harry

Word Count: 1311

Prompt: Harry wants a shot at a normal life so he attends Northeastern University, but it’s harder than he thinks. The friends he made just want fame, and the other hardly look at him. But then he meets her, Y/N, and she wants nothing to do with the a-list celebrity.


Cole and Dylan Sprouse did it, Emma Watson, Amy Pohler, they all went to college, and Harry wanted to as well. He wanted the experience of something normal for once, he wanted to be able to say he graduated, he wanted his family to come to a graduation. When the news broke out everyone went crazy trying to figure out where he was going, and Harry got accepted everywhere. But he wanted to succeed he wanted to go to a school he knew was right from him, which was far from Harvard, but it also wasn’t community college. He wanted a roommate, he wanted to live in a dorm, attend the dreadful eight ams, and have RA’s. So he picked Northeastern University, still the top best, but no Harvard.

Harry was thankful for his roommate, Nick. Nick didn’t care at all about who Harry was. Nick spent most of his time in the library or in the room studying, he hardly spoke to Harry. Nick had a plan, two years at Northeastern and then Harvard. Nick made it clear that he didn’t want parties or girls coming in and out every night and Harry promised he would be as normal as possible, but Nick just scoffed.

It wasn’t easy for Harry and he wondered how everyone else did it. Students watched him, took pictures, videos, whispered, they just kept following him around, and Harry hated it. He found it difficult to make friends, the ones he did make wanted fame, and the other kept away. He couldn’t seem to find someone who wanted to actually sit and talk with him.

Nick had been holding a study group in their room so Harry grabbed his bag and made his way to the library. It was quiet and as soon as he walked in he saw a couple phones point his way. He huffed and made his way to the back where there were small cubicles. He pulled a chair back and pulled out his laptop. Texts from Jeff and Nick quickly popped up.

Nick: How’s the college life, join a frat yet?

Jeff: Do you miss the studio yet?

Nick: I love you but this is just insane why are you doing this?

Keep reading

Dean surprises everyone when he hands Cas the iPhone, brand new in its pristine white box. The angel is overwhelmed; he knew his flip phone was outdated but this…

“And wait,” Dean smiles, grabbing another package from the bag. “I haven’t even shown you the best part yet.”

They’re headphones, large ones in a big box and a little plastic container of smaller ear buds. They both have the label Shure on the side, a fact that has Sam’s hazel eyes wide and Castiel blushing under the lavishness of the gifts. “Dean, I don’t need–”

“I know,” Dean says. His smile, though hesitant and shy, is beautiful. “I, uh, I wanted to. ‘Sides, can’t have you listening to shitty tunes on shitty headphones, y'know?”

The phone has already been set up, a fact Castiel is eternally grateful for. The angel watches as Dean explains how the device works, tapping at the screen and plugging in the huge headphones and carefully placing them over Cas’s ears. Castiel flinches in response: “Sorry.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Dean replies. His smile is brave and fake, and Cas hates it. He wishes he could relax. He wishes he could stop being anxious and sad. But ever since he expelled Lucifer and killed Amara, things have been—different. Loud noises make him jump, unexpected touches make him cringe and flinch, and he often loses himself in his own thoughts.

“Hey, here, I wanna show you something.” This time, Dean warns him before touching him, his calloused fingers smoothing over his arm as his other hand hovers over the phone. “I’m gonna press play, okay? You’ll like it, I promise.”

With the knowledge that the song will be a surprise, Castiel tenses up, his shoulders almost touching his ears. He nods and bites his lip, almost to the point of blood.

Dean’s green eyes become dull and worried in response, and the hunter gives a little nod of his own. He presses play. Cas flinches pre-emptively.

And then it’s just… alright. Good, even.

In the place of music, the sound of rain filters through his headphones. It’s a little bit of a shock at first, he has to turn the volume down because the bouts of thunder make him jump, but after a while, it becomes—relaxing. The sound is repetitive, soft, the thunder is low and grumbly, and it soothes Cas until he’s comfortable enough to slump in his seat. Dean, who at some point has sat down beside him, easily takes Castiel’s weight against his shoulder. When he wraps an arm around the angel, Cas doesn’t even flinch.

Soon after, the rain changes to the hum of a washing machine, but instead of another ten minutes of blissful white noise, the sound is soon interrupted by something sharper. It’s still a low sound, though, and with how relaxed Castiel is, the angel doesn’t startle.

It’s Dean.

So, uh, hey Cas, it’s me. Ah… Dean.

A smile begins to creep across Cas’s lips.

Shit. Fuck, of course it’s me—um, yep. So, it’s Dean. And I just. I just wanted to talk, I guess. I know it’s been kinda, uh, tough since you got back, and I know we don’t talk about it, but I’m… I’m worried, Cas. And I know I’m a coward. And I know I’m probably bein’ selfish right now, but it’s killin’ me to watch you waste away to nothing, man. I, ah, I love you too much for that. Like, I love you a lot, a-and—fuck. I’m not… doin’ this right.

Look, what I, I guess what I’m tryin’ to say is that… I don’t care why you did it. I don’t. I care about you, Cas. And if you don’t love me back, that’s cool, and if you do, well… A shaky breath. Well, then, we move at your pace. But you’re all I care about. You gotta believe that.

Kay, um, well, I love you.

Okay.

Uh, bye.

Cas doesn’t know he’s crying until Dean is wiping at his cheeks, freckled skin drowning in ruby red warmth as the hunter coos and hushes him. Castiel grasps Dean’s wrists tightly and carefully leans in, his breath shaky and laboured and nervous before he presses the sweetest of chaste kisses upon the other’s lips. Immediately after, Cas buries his face in Dean’s neck and hugs his hunter tightly. “Thank you,” he breathes.

Dean’s small, relieved smile presses against the top of Castiel’s head. “Yeah, god, anytime, Cas,” he breathes. “L-love you.”

It takes a handful of seconds before Cas can gather up the air to answer—before he’s absolutely certain this is real. Fingers twisting in the material of Dean’s shirt, the angel nods, throat clicking with his swallow. His lips part.

“Love you.”

i like to think Rabbit Ears can pull all sorts of horrors into whatever reality he exists in and that he does it all the time just for funsies. it usually goes about as well as you’d expect

Pink Floyd

Originally posted by riverdaleselite

A/N: I’M BACK… and so soon as well. Enjoy, beautiful (yes, I’m talking to you).

Request:  Hi honey ! <3 I was wondering if you could write an imagine, where Jughead always sees a little girl in Pop’s, she eats ice cream or drink milkshakes after school, and she is really talkatvive, annoys him a lot, but she reminds him so much of Jellybean so he never was mean to her, only in playful way, and when he find out, that she has a cute older sister at his age (reader) he likes her even more ? ^^

Word Count: 1,913

Warnings: None

Keep reading

707 not liking MC's music taste but not wanting to tell her
  • MC: This is so weird...
  • 707: Huh? What is it?
  • MC: Whenever I plug the aux cord into my phone it doesn't work but it works fine on literally anyone else's phone
  • 707: *sweating* uHh maybe your phone's just broken
  • MC: Hmm... my ear buds work though
  • 707: uM wEIRD
  • MC: wait, you didn't-
  • 707: I LOVE YOU
  • MC: DID Y-
  • 707: MARRYME
  • MC: YOU CAN'T PROPOSE TO ME TO DISTRACT ME F-
  • 707: I'm pREGNANT MC PLS DON'T YELL IT'Ll UPSET THE CHILD
  • MC: I'll just play the music from my phone *winks*

I have a hc that Otabek and Yuri love to share new music with each other. And they love listening to each other’s recommendations. So this is way in the future (and our precious dorks have been dating for a while), but one day, Otabek tells Yuri he has a surprise for him.

He blindfolds him and takes him to the place where he took Yuri when he rescued him from the Angels all those years ago, and Yuri is not having it. He hates surprises. So to shut him up, when he gets to the spot, Otabek gives his Yura some ear buds. Yuri knows what this means, so he smiles, puts them in, and waits for Otabek to play the song. Otabek presses play, and some cheesy song like “Marry You” begins to play quietly in Yuri’s ears.

Otabek is super nervous, but gets down on one knee, and pulls a tiny box out of his pocket. Shakily, he finally tells Yuri he can take his blindfold off. Yuri does so slowly, slightly in shock at the situation. He looks down, and there’s Beka on one knee, looking so terrified and so in love.

“Yura, I know this is a terrible song, but there was no other way I could say this. I think I want to marry you.”

Yuri smiles slowly and laughs, and Otabek becomes more and more scared.

“What do you think?” Otabek presses.

“Yes, you’re right, this is a terrible song.”

“And..?”

“Yes, I want to marry you.”

Lmao, so this got way more detailed than I first intended 😂

2

he had been standing next to the treadmill for a minute or two before you acknowledged him. “yes Eric?”

“you run like a girl.” he stated.

“if you ran faster, you could too.” you said, putting your ear buds back in. the next morning when you got to the treadmills Eric was waiting for you. “what are you doing here?” you asked.

“learning to run like a girl.”

***************

requested by (x)