in every single form

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Watch: In a powerful Congresional speech, Sandra Bland’s mother called people who think they’re woke “the walking dead” because of how little we still know

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an earth moon’s heart is full, but she is hard like a forest floor. yet, every single day, new things grow in the forest, and form treetops and flora. it gives a home to forest animals and humans that dare to adventure into it. it’s alive and thriving, and so are earth moons.

an air moon’s heart is empty, but only because she is up in the clouds, running, dreaming, flying. she’s breathing in new experiences and emotions that don’t even exist yet. she’s found peter and she’s on her way to neverland as we speak, she doesn’t ever want to come down.

a fire moon’s heart is overflowing, you cannot keep her contained. she needs release, spirit, adventure. she’s sprinting through cities and setting everyone and everything in her way ablaze with stories, emotions and life. she’s reaching for the clouds and burning the planet to it’s core. she’s everywhere, everything and more.

a water moon’s heart is waiting at the bottom of the ocean. she’s seen everything the world has to offer and she’s not done yet. she’s catapulting into space. she’s created the oceans. she’s filled herself to the brim and she’s filling others too. she has so much to offer that her own tiny body cannot contain it all.

Theres a lot of these “remember these ancient tumblr trends??” posts but somehow none of them mention the Hannibal fandom.

Like Hannibal was?? huge on tumblr?? to the point that some Superwholockians were mad about Hannibal trying to become the fourth installment. The actors wore actual flowercrowns to con because tumblr wouldnt stop putting them in photo edits. Every single cannibal pun showed up on tumblr in photoset form. headcanon names for Will’s 1000 dogs.

Hannibal was huge on tumblr and then its last season was some kinda abstract art piece and then it vanished and I…don’t totally know what happened.

At Least Three Sizes Too Large - On Dean and John's Old Leather Jacket

I know I’ve been writing about this topic a handful of times before, but it simply remains a topic I am interested in and that happens to cause a tidal wave of emotions every single time as - whether consciously chosen by the creator of “Supernatural” at the time or not - this piece of clothing serves as such a fitting symbol and metaphor for Dean’s life from age 4 onwards. So what am I talking about - I guess the title of this post gave it away, didn’t it? ;) But yes, it’s John’s old leather jacket. The huge, beat up, faded, bulky leather jacket that Dean used to wear up until S5.

Now this may be a very unpopular opinion, but I always despised that jacket. And for more reasons than the obvious: that it didn’t fit Dean at all. Though that aspect is a vital and integral part of why this clothing item serves as such a massive symbol for a multitude of things connected to Dean’s story and his place in the narrative as well.

Because you see, the first thing that catches ones attention when looking at Dean in the early seasons when wearing that jacket is that it simply looks at least three sizes too big for Dean. The shoulders of the jacket don’t sit on Dean’s shoulders, it reaches far below his hips and just overall it looks as if Dean’s getting swallowed in all the material. Essentially that jacket not only makes Dean disappear almost, he looks lost in it. And he does so for good reason. His father was taller, had broader shoulders, was a very different built than Dean, he filled out that jacket. None of that can be said about Dean when looking at S1 for example where the fact that this jacket was not meant for Dean or rather that Dean didn’t buy it himself (unlike the purgatory jacket, but more on that later) is most striking.

Now the following is total headcanon, but I like to think that John passed down the jacket to Dean as a form of “recognition” or “act of pride” (I can’t quite find the right for word in English), basically a gift for Dean doing a great job with something, something like a sign that for Dean was connected with being valued, accepted and “a man” maybe to say it very broadly. Essentially I think to Dean that moment of receiving that jacket may have fallen together with a moment of pride and a sign of “love” and “attention” and “recognition” from his father that he craved.

Keeping this headcanon in mind, Dean wearing that old jacket, turns tragic rather fast - but then again, that may be just me as I am simply someone tending to focus on the drama/tragedy/more serious aspects of the narrative. Because while the jacket may have been meant as an honest gift out of the wish to show pride to his son, in the end to me this jacket symbolizes and highlights in such intricate fashion that Dean from the age 4 - and as he verbalized latest in 12x22 “Who We Are” - had to be so much more than any kid should ever have to be.

Because the way I see it, the fact that Dean is swallowed by that jacket and disappears in it almost is so telling and fitting to how Dean was forced to fill a role and walking in shoes two sizes too big - or rather a leather jacket at least three sizes too large - that he never could have. Yes that jacket to me symbolizes and captures the much too big responsibilty that was placed on Dean’s shoulder when he was a kid and was asked to serve as mom, dad and brother when he wasn’t even double digits - something any person would be overwhelmed by at any age but especially so when you are a child yourself.

So yeah, the fact that the jacket literally didn’t fit Dean and was passed down to him by his father (which is headcanon yes but bear with me) can be read as a direct pass down of “role” as well, a role not meant for Dean to play and fill, but that he tried to take up anyway, because that’s what Dean did and what he still does (though not as much as he used to, now it’s more that people try and manipulate him back into being what they want him to be because it’s easier for them, see Dean’s treatment by his loved ones such as Mary over the course of S12): trying his best no matter the circumstance and how unfair for him.

So the sheer size, the fact that Dean couldn’t fill his father’s jacket captures all of the above perfectly imo, furthermore however the fact that Dean practically swims in that jacket, as I said - seems to disappear in it - also describes rather disturbingly what happened to Dean after his mom died and his grieving father was unable to provide the love and nurture a growing kid like Dean after such a traumatic loss would have needed: Because with Mary’s death and what was asked of Dean and of what he needed to be and become, Dean the child (“Hunters are never kids, I never was”), Dean himself, the person he truly is or would have grown to become without the tragedy that followed his family ever since he was born, disappeared, was swallowed up and hidden like Dean’s body was swallowed by John’s jacket.

I know many people mourn the departure of that jacket (I actually secretly thank the person who stole it from set lol), but to me it couldn’t come soon enough. Because even though Dean is no longer wearing that jacket, it’s ghost still lingers on - even as far as into S12.

It’s also noteworthy how Dean used that leather jacket aside from simply wearing it - which was as a blanket. To me it almost carries a notion of “armor” in that regard, something like a “safety blanket” - which is especially an interesting aspect to ponder when keeping in mind that we see Dean sleeping fully clothed after Hell (the implications and conclusions drawn from that aspect alone are freaking devastating, I tell you) and often times using the jacket as his blanket. One may analyze that as a wish for (fatherly) protection that Dean didn’t receive and I won’t even go into how this whole topic gets all the more complex when taking into account how Dean later learns that his father did not break, when Dean did and what that does to Dean’s psyche and already more than fragile sense of self and self worth.

Tbh I actually was happy when Dean packed up John’s jacket when he decided to say yes to Michael (though you can draw a hell of a lot of very sad conclusions here too about how Dean sees himself and how important he deems himself opposed to his father or Sam), as one could have read it as him rejecting a persona and role he was forced to fill - BUT the reason why and how it happens is so tragic because essentially saying yes accounts to suicide for Dean, meaning he gives up playing his father’s role to literally give up his body to an archangel and giving up himself completely. There is nothing not absolutely tragic and sad and enraging about this, because Dean gives himself up again and again within SPN (that’s why he’s the true christ figure and will always be). Needless to say the jacket is right back in 5x22 “Swan Song” (if I remember correctly, I can’t check as I’m siting on the train - if he isn’t wearing the jacket there just scratch all of this paragraph) when he goes and tries to get through to Sam and protects his brother and stands with him, tries to keep him safe right until the end - the one thing both of his parents always failed at: keeping Sam and Dean safe. And once more in that moment as the whole episode with Chuck’s monologue fro the off and the story of the Impala replays the Winchesters’ story alongside the Impala’s and engraved into that is also the story of Dean, a young boy, who tried to be mother and father when all he should have had to be was himself, because just that, being Dean would have been more than enough.

So yeah, I was happy when that jacket was gone, even if Dean wasn’t freed and still isn’t from it’s symbolic power. That is why I loved it so much to see the next leather jacket he wore after he abandoned his father’s (even if maybe only because it was lost BTS) was in S7. You know, that gorgeous reddish-brown one that sadly didn’t survive purgatory (and even that you could analyze outside of the fact that the creators didn’t like the look of it on screen - idiots they are - with Dean being stripped off everything in purgatory). But the fact remains: Dean at some point during S7 went out to buy himself a leather jacket, a conscious decision. A leather jacket just for him. A leather jacket that fit. That he wasn’t swallowed by but that he owned, a leather jacket that highlighted just one simple thing: that it was Dean’s. Because being Dean is all Dean should ever have had to be.

Dean is aging every day and Castiel can see it in the fine lines when he smiles, the way his eyes crinkle. Every day there’s another line forming and Castiel can see it. Every single one of them. He sees the first small gray hair that starts at the root of Dean’s hair. He doesn’t think Dean can see it, at first, but after a week Dean begins parting his hair differently. Castiel cannot see the single gray strand anymore, until there is a small bundle of them.

With each waking day, Dean’s hands begin to ache in the places that strains when he holds his gun. He pretends not to care, but Castiel knows. He can read Dean like a book he’s read a million times.

Castiel stays the same. Humanity caught up with his vessel in the short while he had no grace, yet now he seems to have stopped aging once again. He stays young while Dean’s knees ache. Small touches let Castiel ease the pain, and Dean catches on to what he is doing. He says thank you with his eyes, that still sparkle a beautiful sage color. The love Castiel has for Dean never dulls, but only deepens the more Dean let’s him heal.

It seems, eventually Dean wants to skip out on hunts. His bones throb too badly, or he’s catching yet another cold. Sam notices, too, but says nothing. It’s inevitable. Dean is much older than Sam is, and not as nimble anymore. Castiel always stays with Dean. Just in case.

Sometimes Dean will let Castiel sit with him while he watches the latest game on television. Usually Dean will fall asleep by halftime, never able to sleep well at night. His head always ends up on Castiel’s shoulder, beer slipping through his fingers that once held it tightly. Castiel puts the beer on the coffee table, and maneuvers to lean back enough for Dean’s head to rest comfortably on his chest. Castiel has no heartbeat for Dean to listen to, but placing a firm hand on Dean’s shoulder lets him pulse power through Dean’s veins, easing any ache or pain. Dean always sleeps better this way. It seems to give him a little bit more life that way.

Dean does not like it when Castiel heals him of his aches. “They let me know I’m still human, Cas. Just let me ache. That’s why they invented Advil.” Dean will say, giving Castiel a glare. But Dean always comes to Castiel at night, or comes to get him when the Advil won’t help his restless leg syndrome, or ease the throb of his nerves enough to get a few un-solid hours. Castiel is always more than willing to place that firm hand on Dean, watching him sleep peacefully like he deserves after a lifetime of restless nights.

“Let me heal you, Dean.” Castiel demands, watching the man he loves practically decay on the sofa. Dean had insisted on going to a hunt with Sam, and had sprained a few bones. They were not healing, and it had been over a week. “Please.” Castiel begs.

“No, Cas.” Dean repeats over and over. Castiel doesn’t care. Dean isn’t quick enough to dodge Castiel’s hand as if clamps around his ankle. It’s healed within seconds, and Dean is angry at him once more. “Damnit Cas!” Dean jerks his leg away, and glares red hot towards Castiel.

“I don’t understand, Dean!” Castiel barks back at him, “You can go on hunts all you want if you just let me heal you when you come back.”

“That’s not how life is supposed to work, Cas. I go on a hunt and I get hurt, if I die from it then that’s how it needs to be! No more loopholes, Cas. I’m gettin’ old, I know it, you know it, Sam knows it. Shit happens, and nature takes its course. It can’t do that if you keep interrupting it!”

“It sounds as though you want to die,” Castiel says dully, and blunt.

“Maybe I do.” Dean says quietly, hardly shocking Castiel. “I’ve lived a long life, saved a lot of people and then some. I’m alright with it.”

Castiel can’t cry, but if he could then he would be sobbing. He can feel it inside, how sad he is. “Dean, I’m not alright with it. My whole purpose of being is because of you. Every day before you, I simply waited for the day. And every day after, I was living for you and fighting for you. There was never a moment I was doing something that wasn’t for you in some way. If you’re gone, what am I supposed to live for?”

“Live for Sammy, Cas. He needs someone, too, you know.”

“Dean, as soon as you’re gone Sam is going to go back to a normal life. And you know that.”

Dean shakes his head, “I don’t want you to interfere anymore, Cas.”

Castiel nods a final nod, and says nothing the nights he still eases Dean’s pains when Dean calls for him. The days go by quickly, as do the seasons. He is worse in the winter, and soon he hardly moves from his worn spot on the sofa.

Castiel leaves Sam with him a single day, saying they need him briefly in Heaven. Dean smiles at him and says he’s happy Cas is off doing angelic things for once. Castiel smiles back and Sam nods. He knows Castiel’s plan.

Castiel comes back over a day later, and Dean is asleep in his bed. When Castiel enters, Dean stirs and reaches for him. He must be hurting again. Castiel gets down to his briefs and slides in bed with Dean, the single brush of skin easing all of Dean’s pains. He relaxes entirely against Castiel. Dean feels very hot, and clammy.

“Are you sick again?” Castiel asks worriedly.

“Yeah,” Dean grunts. “I went out for a drive and got caught in the rain. I think it’s the flu,” Dean grumbles. Castiel brushes a soft hand over his forehead and dulls the fever. “Thanks,” Dean says softly. Castiel is thrown off by the acceptance but says nothing. Dean begins talking. He’s somewhere between sleep, stuck in a limbo. “I am gettin’ scared, every day.” He admits in the quiet air of the bedroom. “Once my light goes out, that’s it. No more chances like I’m used to.”

Castiel interrupts softly. “I could give you another, Dean. We can age together, this next time. If you let me.” There’s a pleading tone in Castiel’s voice that Dean can recognize.

“No, Cas. I need to be a man about this.” Dean grumbles, head rolling to rest on Castiel’s pale chest. “I’m just scared of where I’m going. I always thought death would be easy, that I’d die out on a hunt. It’d be quick, maybe not painless, but I thought it would happen so fast the fear wouldn’t set in. But dying of old age? Slow like this? Every day, man. I can feel it. I’m gettin’ closer. Every time I’m sick it’s like death is just looming, beggin’ me to go to sleep so it can take me. It gives me time to think about it, and the fear gets bad. I hate bein’ scared. I’m scared I’m goin’ to hell, or purgatory again. Or get stuck in the void like Kevin did. I wanna go to Heaven, and be with Bobby and Ellen and Jo.” Castiel faintly realizes Dean is crying silently, tears pooling beneath Dean’s cheek.

“In Heaven,” Castiel begins. “I talked to some of my superiors.” Dean ‘mm-hmms’, quietly. “They would not take my grace, so my age would catch up. But I reserved you a spot, right where you want to be. And I will escort you myself. Not a reaper, or a demon. Me, and I will hide nothing from you. I will hold your hand the whole way.” The love Castiel has for this man is swelling hugely in his vacant chest, and if Castiel could cry he would cry for love.

Dean’s fingers skim past Castiel’s chest to grab his hand. The hold is limp, and weak. Castiel’s worry is at its highest, and he feels the desperate need to go yell for Sam.

Somehow, Sam senses Castiel’s desperation. He barges into the room, eyes wide with worry. Castiel and Sam’s eyes meet and the words don’t need to be spoken.

“Dean?” Sam asks, walking to his brother. Dean let’s out a small moan of acknowledgement, and faintly tells Sam he loves him. The grip on Castiel’s hand is slightly stronger when Dean finds the energy to kiss Castiel’s chest, the words unspoken but there. Castiel wraps fingers through Dean’s damp hair and holds him close.

Sam is crying silent tears and holds back a sob by biting his fist.

Dean goes quietly, in his sleep. Castiel slips from underneath him and makes sure to tuck him in as he goes to console Sam, who has aged as well, but is still young and healthy. Death won’t take him as quickly if he begins to settle down. Castiel makes sure to tell him this.

Castiel explains his plan to Sam over once more. He’s going to lead Dean to Heaven himself. He’s going to be with Bobby and Ellen and Jo. Just like he wanted. Castiel will be there, too, and he will be down whenever Sam prays to him. And if Sam wants, Castiel will walk him through the veil, too.

Castiel’s conversation is interrupted by Dean. A Dean Sam cannot see, but yet the same Dean he knows. Dean has a worried look in his eye, watching Sam cry silent tears. Castiel tells Sam it’s time, and gives him a large hug goodbye. He pleads for Sam to go find a woman, and settle down and have kids. Go back to Stanford. It’s possible. Sam promises he will try, and that he will pray often.

Castiel takes Dean’s hand and vanishes. The veil is shadows and daylight mixing together, like oil and water. Mixing but never becoming one. Dean holds Castiel’s hand tightly, fingers laced. Castiel steps through a very certain strand of daylight. Dean covers his eyes when it becomes too bright.

They’re at Bobby’s. It takes Dean a single moment to blink and look around. Ellen comes from the kitchen, stirring something in a pot.

“Heya, boys. Just in time for supper.”

That night, Castiel holds Dean close. Dean let’s him. After all, they’re stuck in a piece of Heaven where no one dies, aches, or bleeds. Despite Dean’s healthy bones, Castiel still caresses Dean’s body just like before.

5

Malcolm, off the top of your head, can you recite anything you have written in needlework form in your house that can explain every single thing that has happened in UK politics since the EU referendum?

Based on what I saw at shinee world v I want to describe each member of shinee according to how I interpreted their actions while they were on stage during each of their talking segments.

Onew has such tender qualities. His approach whether he his speaking, acting, or simply doing whatever it may be he is always very gentle. He knows how to control his emotions, which tend to be on the more reserve side in regards to publicly expressing them, but even then he is easily able to convey his sentiments through his facial manners. He’s very considerate, and mindful of both the space and environment he is apart of.

Jonghyun is an extremely expressive individual not only because he’s already an established sentimental being, but also because he is able to convey himself through every single physical facial trait that he has. He is incredibly attentive when it comes to listening to what his fellow members have to say, and will process what they have said, so that he may remember and make reference to at a later time. He’s thorough, and direct with saying what he feels. The honesty he has instilled in him by default is a virtue.

Key is precise, candid, and immensely articulate with his form of self-expression. He lives every single moment thoroughly, and examines them in depth frame by frame, so that he can bring awareness to himself in regards to how he lived through them for future retrospection. He’s very open to both sharing and discussing his experiences regardless of what the account may entail. His insight is keen, and enables him to always be conscious of whatever circumstance may be at hand.

Minho is oblivious to the fact that he is an absolute sweetheart. He’s filled up with liveliness, and is driven by the charisma he produces. His spirit is overflowing with compassion, and all the energy of the world resides in him. For him there is no such thing as barriers, and even if there is he will gladly do what it takes to surpass them in order to get to where he needs to be.

Taemin is an observant individual. His bodily behavior shows that he is very much aware of his environment. He is able to easily absorb his surroundings, and adapt to them if mandatory, or necessary at time being. He is also one to improve, and seek improvement, so that he may engage in a multitude of activities whether it be present, or in the upcoming future.

Please, know that these interpretations are made based on what I saw, and in no way reflect how each member actually are on their own personal time.

All a stage (Reader x Yondu Udonta)

A/N: I’ve been looking for a way to use this song in any of my fics. It’s suuuuuch a good cover. I am a broken human being, btw. Warning: Spoilers ahead!

★★★★★

Originally posted by scorpling

I don’t want your number (no)
I don’t want to give you mine and (no)
I don’t want to meet you nowhere (no)
Don’t want none of your time and
No, I don’t want no scrub

Yondu Udonta liked to see your performances when he could. It wasn’t often, but every time he did appear, you were glad. It meant he was still alive and still safe. No one knew, but every time you saw that Centurian in the crowd, your performances would be particularly phenomenal that evening.

You liked to joke and tell him that he was your lucky charm and that he should visit more often, but the both of you knew it was just a half-hearted ploy for him to see you more because anytime he was at your side, he was safe. Anytime he was away was another chance for him to be gone forever.

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All Too Well | Pt. 2

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Summary: You and Yoongi shared a loving relationship with one another until you both agreed to end things and pursue your separate careers. But two years later, Yoongi is a member of the ever growing Bangtan Boys, and you are a new makeup artist for their upcoming tour.
Pairing: Yoongi | Reader
Genre: Fluff/Angst/Smut; Idol & Makeup Artist AU
Word Count: 6,357

.

( 2 YEARS LATER )

There’s always a certain rush Min Yoongi gets before, during, and after every performance, no matter how often he participates in them and no matter how exhausted he might be from practices and dieting in the days, weeks before. One would think that after two years of nothing but strict scheduling, traveling the world, meeting fans like clockwork, he would have grown tired of free moments being such a rarity, constantly being busy and never getting to just relax and have a proper night’s rest.

But to Yoongi, it’s something he’s grown to appreciate. Yes, the scheduling is busy and tiring and there are often days when he would be filled with pure frustration over a simple inability to get dance moves down or turn hazy thoughts into song lyrics—but it’s a life that he would not give up for anything.

Because at the end of the day, he gets to do what he loves. He gets to make music and he gets the opportunity to really share them with people he knows would listen to what he has to say. He gets to meet hundreds, if not thousands of fans every month who take time out of their own busy, hard life to see him, let him know that his music reached them, touched them, made them feel something. And when he sees the shy smiles of his fans, their bright eyes and beautiful voices reaching out to him as they sing back song lyrics during one of his many concerts, it makes all those previous irritations and frustrations fade away to the back of his mind. Min Yoongi loves what he does, he really does.

He loves it, even as he’s clamoring backstage after Bangtan Boys has just finished one of three performances for their latest music show appearance, the cheers of success and the usual excitement following the rest of the boys as they rush quickly to get dressed in their new costumes for their new set list. Much like all the other performances, the air is plagued with adrenaline as the boys quickly disregard their previous attire. The stylists are rushing to get shirts buttoned, freshly pressed jackets on. Hair is getting retouched, eye makeup and foundation sponges are pressed against Yoongi’s face. In spite of the cheeriness that usually follows the boys after a successful music show performance, there is still the underlying chaoticness to get everyone ready in time for their next set. Moments like these are always messy, happening so quickly right before Yoongi’s eyes that he can never really keep track of the process.

And yet, Yoongi always feels that urgency, that rush, all with the smile never slipping off his lips because it’s almost been 2 years since Bangtan Boys experienced their debut, and every single day of his life still feels like some strange, out-of-body sensation. It still feels like a dream.

Keep reading

Popcorn Date

Title: Popcorn Date

Paring: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: 1,689

Warning: Cavity level fluff that turns smutty

A/N: I’ve been having this dream for months, thought I should share. The humming I talk about you can see in this video, just go to 17:05 and watch them talk about it, it’s pretty great. He does the humming thing again later on and Jensen can’t stop laughing. Anywho, enjoy dorky cute smutty Jensen!!


“Dude, just go ask her!” Jared nudged Jensen so hard he stumbled a little, falling into the side of Baby.

“Shut up! Come on man!” Jensen looked over his shoulder only to whip back around. “Shit, dude she’s coming over!” Jared started laughing before falling into a coughing fit as he tried to hold it together.

“Uh, hey guys. Jared you dying or something?”

Jared just shook his head, trying to keep a straight face. Jensen’s eyes went wide as he slowly shook his head, silently wondering what the hell had gotten into Jared.

“You guys sure you’re good?” you looked between the two boys.

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Being Haitian

Out of all the West Indian countries Haiti is always looked down upon and slandered. They do not talk about Haiti the way they talk about Jamaica, Trinidad, or Bahamas etc. every other island is always associated with beauty & riches; while Haiti is associated with everything negative like Voodoo, poverty, & corruption. Every single island has their form voodoo yet no one talks about that, Jamaica can be pretty damn rough, I mean each island has their own problems..You can’t be beautiful & be Haitian bc apparently were ugly, & poor. Growing up I used to get bullied for being Haitian. I mean we’re constantly shit on but Lemme clear it up though, Haitian People ARE NOT symbols of poverty. We’re Fucking human beings. Hard working people. There is so much beauty, culture, & riches on that island. From the food, music, to the beaches…Haiti was the First & ONLY BLACK NATION to gain its independence from colonial oppression; Haiti Led a REVOLUTION That made the U.S & France hate on them. They’ve been through years of oppression, continuous hatred, devastating disasters & still hold true to their very words of “UNION FAIT LA FORCE”, But we’re the poorest country ?! Nah we been runnin shit Haitian, Black & Muthafuckin Proud of it ✊🏾

In Your Arms;Mark

Genre: fluff!

Request: I love Mark Lee too!!!! Can you do a cuddle session scenario with Mark or something along that line.. pweasee?!?? Thank you~♧

A/N: i hope this turns out well and that the ending isn’t too bad! my ‘in your arms’ scenarios are all pretty short so i hope you dont mind!

Word count: 643

——

Nothing gave you comfort more than being in his arms, the television playing in the background as the both of you were lost in each other’s eyes,

holding onto each other as if you were each others’ world, exchanging small giggles and laughter as your eyes met his.

The empty feeling of having him in your arms for the past few weeks was finally filled, with him beside you right now.

“You lost weight” you said softly, your hand roaming around his stomach, as your head lifted up to admire every feature of his.

His once frizzled and dry blondes were now a light shade of brown, his black roots struggling to stay hidden. His cheekbones were more defined than the last time you saw him, and his arms, slightly bigger than before, wrapping around your shoulders.

He must’ve been working out lately.

Apart from all that, he still had the same adorable and bright smile, the one which made you want to pull him closer to you and never let him go. His giggles rang through your ears like a lullaby, bringing comfort to yourself as you missed him, every single aspect of him.

His eyes slightly widened, his lips forming a pout, “Did I? Can’t help it, comeback’s coming”

You found yourself sighing, your head resting against his chest.

A look of concern shown on his face as Mark lifted your chin up, “Why my princess?”

You shook your head, then sighed once more, “Does this mean i won’t be able to see you for a few more months again? God i’ll miss you so much”

3 whole weeks of waiting for him and he’d be gone again soon.

But Mark was happy doing his job and performing, so you couldn’t ask for more.

His gaze softened, frowning lightly as his hands rubbed your arms, “I’ll have time soon babe, the company promised to let me rest after this comeback.”

He gave a comforting smile when you didn’t reply, “You can watch me on the television hm?”

You smiled at his words, burying your face in his chest now, the familiar and comforting sweet scent of his hitting you strongly.

“But… It’s different”

Mark raised her eyebrows at your words, both eyes lighting up.

“I… won’t be able to have you in my arms, your hold.. just like now”

His cheeks formed a light shade of pink, as his arms encircled tighter around your waist. He couldn’t help but smile at your words, but deep inside he felt guilty for having to leave you alone for so many days.

He loved performing and being an idol, but he loved you equally as much.

He wanted to be there for you like any other couple was, but he couldn’t

and it made him sad sometimes.

His forehead touched yours as he leaned his head slightly towards your face. You saw the sparkle in his eyes as you stared deeply into the brown orbs, leaning your head closer,

a peck on his lips.

“I’m sorry, but i promise, i’ll try my best to message you when i can” Mark said softly, tone of sadness in his as he spoke.

You nodded your head lightly.

Mark leaned closer, as his warm lips touched yours lightly again.

He let out a small chuckle, then rested his head on top of yours, closing his eyes as he took in the fresh vanilla scent from your hair.

“I love you” he said out to you, as his hands tapped your back lightly.

“I love you too”

You knew that no matter how busy Mark was, he’d always try to find time to spend with you. Yet the most favourite thing you both loved to do was lying in each others’ arms, catching up with one another as it gave you both comfort and love, all by Mark.

I submitted this about a week ago without any explanation, just the image. I thought just putting it out there would somewhat cleanse me of how it makes me feel when I look at it, but I keep scrolling back down and seeing so many reblogs and misconceptions of what this message actually meant. So I want to tell the story. 

The boy who sent me this message was my first love. I met him in my science class at school when I was about fourteen. He had chubby cheeks and brown eyes and he smoked weed and hung out at the skatepark late enough every night to worry his mum on purpose. He was friends with about three other boys who used to skateboard every day and blaze all the time and they were all really loud and really rude and they wore them ugly clunky DC trainers (I think only British people will understand the significance lol). I made friends with all of his friends before I met him because, being completely honest I had made a purposeful move to start hanging around with him and his friends because they were ‘cool’…Looking back and looking at how it all impacted my life, he was not ‘cool’ and he is the decision I regret more than anything but at the same time he made me the person I was supposed to be and I am so much stronger for it. 

I was trapped between being confused about who I was and which crowd I wanted to hang with and what direction my life should head in, and then I met him and he made the decision for me. I fell HARD, stupidly hard. I honestly look back and think it was so deep that if he told me to jump I would jump, bark I would bark. It was maaad. 

I started mixing myself up in a load of stupid shit. I was hardly at school and we always used to meet at a hole in the bottom of the huge school park and fight through the brambles and weeds to get to an abandoned mental home and sit down there for hours just laughing and play fighting and smoking. I remember we ran away from our last day before summer break and sat in the graveyard with a homeless man for the whole day, and he was telling up stories bout the hippy days when he was a kid and how he used to live in South London and take refuge in mosques when the police were after him. I could sit and tell stories forever but the point was, I kept running away from home to be with him and I basically lived at his house and we wouldn’t go to school and we used to go camping for days at a time and just get real fucked up. I was so in love that I didn’t care about anything but him, we lived about 10 miles away from each other at one point and he used to walk the journey regularly to come see me. 

This went on for about two years until he started getting into drugs reaaal bad and hanging out more with riskier people than harmless stoners he used to be with. Despite pretending I was so grown up and making lots of decisions when I was with him that a sixteen year old girl wasn’t really old enough to make, I couldn’t quite hack it. He started getting drug therapy after getting taken into the station and strip searched, they found nothing but were suspicious and admitted him to our schools addictions therapy. I was made to go to therapy sessions on his behalf after he became cold towards his therapist and the man basically told me that I was his only hope because his parents were essentially useless (he walked all over them) and his friends were pretty sketchy. I can’t tell you how many times I remember trying to nurse him back to some kind of sanity so I could take him home to his mother. 

Things started taking a turn for the worst and it is so strange because when I think about this period of my life I see it in a bleak grey in my head. It was such a dark time of my life. I want to go back and drag myself out of his house, out of his life. Ever since I was 14 I’d been sleeping with him and he had always been so rough with me and pushed my head into the pillow so I couldn’t breathe and he would slap me until I had burns all over my bum and he hurt my boobs so much they hurt for days. I literally think about being 14 years old and feeling bullied into sex like that and it makes me well up. I was once with my friend and I was watching TV with her and he had barged into her kitchen living area with two friends and started doing coke off the kitchen surface and literally dragged me out the house. It was all getting worse and worse. There was a pill going round my area a while back that really fucked you up and he took too many and I found him asleep in the abandoned mental house after about a day and a half looking for him. He was off his head one night and told me he was about to jump off a bridge near his house and I had to call his mum and send her down there because I was away with my mum at the other side of the country. The list of ridiculous stories continue… I got them coming out my ears honestly 

I still loved him so much and I sacrificed so much to look after him that I was so emotionally drained, I was always ill and weak and tired. He was manipulative and nasty but I didn’t realise until it was too late. He had said so many things to me over three years that I had drilled into my brain. He used to pin me up against walls and punch the wall next to my head until his hand bled. He was so emotionally manipulative that I was so terrified of breaking up with him because I genuinely believed I couldn’t live without him, and I had given up so much to be with him that it seemed like I had to stay by his side. He once cut open my palm in a drug induced rage and then his own and made me promise in a blood oath I would always love him. I still have the scar on my hand and it makes me cry. One day we’d had a massive fight because I told him I was sick of living like that and I wanted him to stop doing that to his life, he was so clever and kind when he wanted to be and I had faith that he could turn everything around. I’d seen the boy who he was before it all and I just hoped to tap into a different version of him.

The next week he had sex with a girl in my year that had always openly disliked me and been nasty to me. I rang him and cried down the phone, I literally just didn’t understand. He said he had 'moved on’ and that he 'loved her’. The only thing I ever received from him after that is the message I’ve submitted, he was high as fuck on some kinda drug and texted me that. Weird. 

Him and his friends tried their hardest to bully me under the orders of his new girlfriend. She turned all the girls I was friends with against me because (we were in a huge girl group of about 15 at the time and me and her really didn’t like each other and the rest of the girls were mutual friends, it wasn’t a real friendship group, they were all fake friends and when I look back it was so bitchy and toxic) But yes she turned them all against me, for the whole summer I had things screamed at me in the street and snapchat videos where the girls would say they were going to kill me and call me so many horrible names. I was sent videos of him and his new girlfriend kissing and hugging. I had a girl that I didn’t know come and try and fight me. It was hell. I watched the person who I loved more than anybody become the nightmare of my everyday. It was fucked up. FUCKED up 

It eventually all simmered down and I made new friends and rebuilt my life. I ended up getting good grades and managed to get into a good sixth form college. He failed every single exam and so did his girlfriend and his friends didn’t do very well at all, they went to a shitty college because they didn’t get into mine. !!!god sent miracle!!!! I do still love him, to be so honest with whoever (if anyone) has read this far. It has been two years and I still think about him everyday. I feel guilt saying that I love him because I know I deserve better and I am not doing myself justice by saying it. It is weird because I feel exactly how he did when he sent me this text two years ago. Life is a strange thing and it doesn’t owe you anything. I love him but I would never want him back. 

I rebuilt my life and I am such a strong soul now and I am so happy and I have such a beautiful life.  He fucked me up for such a long time but now I’m sharing this story because I’m at the light at the end of the tunnel. 

8

 People see me swinging around skyscrapers and they think I’m pretty special. But it’s not me. It’s her. It’s always been her.

Liza Soberano as Mary Jane Watson

Forget Me Not

A/N: You guys can’t believe how much this fanfic killed me. It’s probably one of the things that I am not so proud of. Tagging a few people because I want to thank them for the emotional support. Thanks for listenting to my whining. @bookthrills @slythrjns @stormy-thomas. Please, please tell me what you think and have fun reading this bullshit! Also I realize that the summary sounds better than the whole fanfic.

Do tell if you want to see a part two though! I am not quite sure yet.

Summary: Draco gets the mission to kill Dumbledore in his sixth year. And this year, would turn out to be a devastating year. Because Draco doesn’t kill Dumbledore. Instead he kills a part of himself. You.

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Reader

Word Count: 4782

Warnings: it’s not really angst. I’d say tragic plotline because I suck at writing angst.

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