it plagues me every day

Waiting for Nothing

This is my entry for Day 3 of @fyeahpharmercy​‘s Pharmercy Appreciation Week, “Flowers.”

Synopsis: Angela writes a letter to Fareeha when they can not be together on their anniversary.

If you are concerned about emotional triggers, click this image link and see if any might apply to you. I do this so that the story may not be spoiled ahead of time for people who are okay with most emotional literary themes and topics. If you would like to enter the story blind I highly suggest not opening the image above.


Dear Fareeha, meine geliebte Frau,

 Not a day goes by that I do not long for your return, to come back into my arms warm and safe. For every day that you are away is another day in which I must confront the daily struggles of life alone, without your soothing presence to ease my anxiety and lift my spirits. Sometimes the only thing that gets me through the day is listening to your voice-mails I keep saved on my phone. I’m sorry I never told you, but I was always just so embarrassed. Every night I have Athena play one from random; sometimes it will be short and to the point, you calling to requesting a simple file or better yet, just to make small talk. Many times, it’s you after a long day out in the field, exhausted, speaking into the receiver about all the frustrations and hassles that plagued your day. In some you are calling just to say “I love you.” I like those the most.

 Many of the nights I spend are curled up in our bed, with your favourite jacket wrapped around me as I sleep. It’s the only way I can feel like you’re still right next to me, even if the only thing remaining is your waning scent.

 Oh, and I got you your favourite flowers too. The Daffodils look so pretty this year. I visited Ana to gather a handful from her garden, and she was nice enough to give me some seeds to hopefully begin our own garden. You know I’ve always found it funny that you of all people would love Daffodils, especially when you know their meaning. Narcissus. Though, I suppose it does partially apply; you were and always will be the most beautiful woman I have ever set my eyes upon, and yet you remained so selfless and humble. It’s almost unfair that all the good and beauty in the world could be concentrated into one person, and doubly so that it can be stripped away in an instant. It is unfair that someone so pure and so just can be taken from this world when there is so much evil and darkness that is allowed to remain.

 Every day the dagger lodged within my heart twists. You were the light in my life, and I’m now surrounded by the shadows cast by the dim glow around me. Every day my mind is plagued with what-ifs, unanswerable questions that only seek to possess the mind and shroud it in darkness. Even knowing that, I still cannot help but think of all the possible ways things could have been different, how you could still return to spend the rest of our days together.

 But I cannot change the past. I cannot change what we shared. I cannot change the aching I will feel to the day I die, and I would not change a moment.

 If there is any evidence of the afterlife, our love would be it, for not even death can separate us. I will find you in the afterlife.

     - Dein Ein und Alles

Angela clumsily folded the piece of paper along the creases, her hands shaking as she shoved the letter back in her pocket. In her other hand she holds a bouquet of pale white flowers, tied in a lavender silk knot, the stray ribbon flowing back and forth in the cool morning wind. A seldom few petals were lined with small droplets, not from the overcast sky above, but rather from the grief-stricken woman clutching their stems.

Goosebumps lined the extent of her arm, her body giving a small shiver, yet feeling nothing. Angela had grown numb to it all, she no longer found interest in her work, in her hobbies, in the friends she had made since the reformation of Overwatch. The research she did now was out of obligation, to which she mainly kept to herself, shutting herself away for hours on end without exiting her room. Ever since the newly appointed Strike Commander deemed her psychologically unfit for the battlefield, she saw no reason to do anything else but remain in her dormitory to feign a sense of purpose.

Another gust of wind came rushing across the horizon, sending her golden locks across her face. She slowly collapsed down to her knees, pressing into the soft layer of grass and dirt. She outstretched her hand to the sturdy headstone in front of her, tracing the lines imprinted.

Fareeha Amari

2044 - 2093

Friend to Many

Protector of All

“I’m so sorry I could not be there for you when you needed me most, meine Liebe.” Angela choked out through bated breath. She held out the flowers in front of her, and slowly released them before the headstone. A fragile hand crept along her back and rested on her shoulder; Angela took hold and rested her cheek against it. “She loved you more than life itself, habibti,” a withered and broken voice softly spoke. That was the final crack in the dam necessary. Angela burst into tears, water freely flowing down her cheeks down to the grass below, her hand latching onto Ana’s like a vice. “Shh, it’s okay habibti, it’s okay. Let it out.”

And there they stayed, without a single thought to the passage of time around them. Ana gave the grieving widow as long as she needed. As the time between huffs of breath drew longer and the tears gently subsided, Angela gradually returned to the realm of reality. She slowly turned her head to Ana and nodded, in an affirmation she was prepared to go.

She steadily rose to her feet, the flowers remaining as an offering to her beloved. Shoving her hands in her coat pockets, she stood in front of the stone, looking down into the engraved lettering. “Fareeha,” Angela croaked, her voice rough and grated, “Next time I will make sure to bring seeds, to begin our garden together.”

Angela stepped forward and ran her hand along the top of the headstone, a solemn goodbye.

“Auf wiedersehen, meine Liebe.”

Jekyll & Hyde: Only light can drive out darkness

Bucky x reader

Notes: smut, fluff, swearing, angst, probably some trigger warnings

Lots of Bucky’s POV!

Jekyll & Hyde: As darkness falls, so do I (1st half)

@jjlevin​​ @starstar1012​​ @stephvera​​ @styleswift1989​​@amf71010​​@heismyhunter​​  @a-small-independent-princess​​ @bxckytrxsh​​ @incadinkadoo @buckyismybbz@seabastian-barnes@number1fantrash@verycoolveryunique@snowwhiteslays@tesseractbucky​ @popsxerox@the-one-and-only-vampcake @fallingpanickedkilljoys @lostinspace33@buckyshattergirl@httpstainme @bellejeunefillesansmerci @lilacs-lavender@vickybhutcherson @debbiesarts @4theluvofall @samarah32 @annadier 


Bucky’s POV

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy my weekly encounters with Hyde. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel guilty every time I leave her. I never look her straight in the eyes when I’m with her; admittedly, I fear what’s behind them. For months I’ve been doing this, successfully keeping it secret from anyone else. Steve noticed a change in me, but I managed to get him off my back when I said I missed Y/N. He looked at me with such sympathy, such understanding; it broke me. My mind drifts off to Hyde’s words more often than I’d care to admit.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Basically you're the bestest thing in existence other than Star Trek and I need your art. I'm not a very emotional person but when I read your comics I laugh so hard my sides hurt. How do you finish your art without dying of laughter?? If you've posted any art today is a thought that plagues me every day. Don't stop being fantabulous and amazing and aUGH. I'm so glad you draw TOS because it doesn't have enough love. Please don't stop being you cuz you're perf. All I ask is more doodly-doodles?!?

THANK YOU!! But, alas, now that I’ve watched the entire original series…my crazy Star Trek fan art drawing phase is over. I don’t believe we shall see any more ST doodly-doodles from me. TOS is still getting plenty of love though! If you don’t believe me, check out these fantastic blogs:

http://captioningcrusader.tumblr.com/

http://spatscolombo.tumblr.com/

http://petimetrek.tumblr.com/

http://anaeolist.tumblr.com/

My ballet story

Lately I have been struggling to separate my love and passion for ballet from my insecurities about it, so I wanted to talk candidly about my relationship with ballet.

I started ballet at age 3. I did one year, performed once, and said “okay, I did that. I’m done now.”

I then did gymnastics for a year or two, and decided I hated that.

At age 7, I returned to ballet, to a different studio than the one where I began. I danced there for two years under a teacher who made me hate how my body was different from the other girls, a teacher who bullied me into stage fright.

I took about a year off from dancing.

At age 10, my mom told me that the Moscow Ballet was holding auditions in my city for the children’s roles in the Nutcracker. I went, and was cast as an angel. The rehearsals were hard, I didn’t make many friends, and I was jealous of other girls my age who got to be party girls and mini-variations. But the feeling I got being on the big stage with an orchestra supporting me was a feeling I had never felt before, and knew I couldn’t give up on.

At age 11, I auditioned again, and was again cast as an angel. This time, the rehearsals were hosted and taught by a local competition studio. I enrolled in a weekly ballet class there, as well as doing the nutcracker. I was happy, I loved it there.

Though I didn’t do the Moscow Nutcracker again, I continued to dance at that studio, as a recreational dancer, doing more styles than just ballet, until I graduated high school last spring.

However, at age 15 I decided what I really loved was ballet, and I wanted it more than once a week. I re-enrolled in my old school (the bully teacher was no longer there), and started going to ballet 5 days a week plus rehearsals for galas and shows (including Nutcracker!). I also started pointe at age 15, which is very late. Going back to this school made me realize that ballet was what I wanted to do with my life. I became obsessed- I still am! I can name more members of the Bolshoi’s corps than the US Congress. But I knew I was very late in finding this passion to the extent that o did. However, I never stopped dancing at that other studio. I still consider it the home base of my dance education. But I needed to branch out.

That year at the more classical studio was amazing. I learned a massive amount, got muscle, lost weight, and I was thrilled to be en pointe. It inspired me to branch out even more: that summer I was 16, I went to a 5-week ballet summer intensive a few hours away from home.

I learned a TON there, but it broke my confidence. I was dancing with girls and boys 4, 5 years younger than me. Though I was friends with the upper-level kids my age, I never felt like their equal and I don’t think they saw me as such either- I don’t blame them, and I still like them very much! It was an inevitable imbalance. I am extremely grateful for that experience and I do believe it helped me to be a better dancer, but it also made me question myself.

The next year, my senior year of high school, I knew I needed to step it up even more. Still dancing at that original home studio, I dropped the second one and enrolled in a strict classical ballet school, a feeder school for my city’s professional ballet company. Once again, I danced with some much younger kids, though I had a few classmates my age and older. This school kicked. my. ass. and I am so grateful for that. But I never felt truly appreciated or paid much attention there. I was unhappy again. I supplemented with adult open classes, taught by a few members of the company. They were wonderful, but I was feeling more and more lost as the year went on. The insecurities hit me full force: I don’t have the ideal body type for ballet, I can’t put my leg behind my head, I can barely manage triple pirouettes and still struggle with doubles sometimes, my pointe work is of a much lower quality than someone my age would usually have, I’m wasting my parents’ money on a pipe dream…

That summer after I graduated, I went back to the old classical studio. I had a wonderful summer of dancing, and even got to perform. I was happy again.

Now, I go to one of the nation’s top 10 colleges for theatre and dance. I’m a dual major in dance and English, and I’m still pursuing interests besides ballet. I just finished my first semester there and I am very optimistic for what the future holds for me there.

I guess what I’m saying is, I took the road less-traveled. I don’t do competitions, I didn’t go to ballet boarding school to dance 7 hours a day 6 days a week, I wasn’t hustled by my parents (who have been nothing but supportive). If that IS you, congrats! I mean no disrespect; we took different paths.

I’m 18 years old and I’m not dancing with a company, and that’s okay. I’m still a ballet dancer. Those insecurities still plague me on my darker days. But every day that I dance, I’m getting better, and getting happier. If I don’t become a professional dancer, my other passions will sustain me. But I’m not going to use that as an excuse to stop trying. I’m 18 years old, and I’m not at that pre-professional level, and that’s okay. If it takes me until I’m 30 to get “good enough,” then dammit, I will find a company to hire me at age 30. I will wave a big flower in the back row of a corps in a regional theatre, I don’t care. I just want to dance ballet. but if it never happens, I won’t stop loving it! I won’t stop watching it and taking class and crying over Svetlana’s feet. It will always be in my heart no matter what the future holds- but I happen to hope the future is bright, despite all I have working against me. I found my passion late in life, and that. is. okay.

I remember the last time I saw you,
you were with another girl and it already
hurt me enough that you replaced me
so easily but when I passed by and heard
you whisper something about baggage,
I swear what was left of my heart
swelled until it burst and bled
red and blue because I wasn’t even
worth being a decent memory to you;
I was just another inconvenient mess
to clean up so you could move on and
everywhere you go I was just a reminder
of something you couldn’t get rid of but
you know what?

It really fucking sucks that you feel like I am
less than human and that you can condense
me into materials that you hide away
in a briefcase but we all know mistakes
can’t be covered up so let me tell you that
I hope I plague your mind every day because
I meant something to you once and as much
as you deny it, you can’t refuse to acknowledge
the fact that if I was so easy to forget about
you wouldn’t be pulling on your luggage
while you’re holding on to another girl’s hand.
—  I hope they charge you overweight baggage fees because you can’t let go of me
having major depressive disorder

every night, I go to sleep to escape, to go wherever the world of dreams has in store for me. I sleep to escape the reality of life that plagues me every waking moment of every day. how foolish it is to run from your problems with sleep, but I do it anyways. but fuck, I can’t even sleep without taking a sleeping pill. I am a prisoner of my medications. and in the morning when I wake, I realize that I am, again, utterly sad

completely hopeless,

and completely helpless.

I used to be enthusiastic about life. I had ambitions. I had dreams to be a criminal psychologist, but those dreams were broken and shattered, dashed and divided, because how can you be a criminal psychologist if you’re a criminal yourself?

you get to the point where the only thing the medication does is keep you emotions under control, it keeps extreme outbursts of anger or endless spells of crying so hard that your throat is sore the next morning somewhat contained. but I was still so fucking depressed.

and that’s where the drugs came in.

 they were the only thing that made me happy, at least for a little while, but then I came falling down, like a bottle of beer carelessly thrown out of a two story window. I felt free when I was falling, but when I hit the concrete, I was shattered into a thousand pieces.

and he picked me up.

he picked every single piece of glass and held it in his hands, but the problem with glass is, it cuts you. I cut him, and when I did, he let me go. love was like a drug to me, but like everything else on this earth, it eventually faded away. and I was left broken, on the concrete,

shattered more than I ever was.

and I’m scared for someone else to pick up my broken pieces, because I’m afraid I’ll cut them too.

it sucks when you’re so hurt you end up hurting other people, hurting the ones that love you the most…

I didn’t used to self harm, in all honesty I thought it was stupid, until I thought I needed it. until I got so sad that I became numb. I was just an empty body, and empty shell. I felt absolutely nothing. I didn’t like feeling that way. and I cut my wrist because the pain reminded me that I was human. the drops of blood made me realize I was still alive, that my blood was still surging through my veins, and my heart was still gently and beautifully beating, even if I didn’t want it to.

it’s hard to explain my disorder simply with words. you have to feel it, experience it, to truly understand what it’s like, although I wouldn’t even wish it on my worst enemy. but I have it for a reason, and even though I relapse, and cry, and wonder why I’m still here, I will not let it destroy me.

although, that is easier said than done

5

I really can’t describe how UTTERLY excited I am to be seeing Taylor Swift live in just a FEW SHORT DAYS. (Ajdjfmdldnfiwnsk!!!!!!) It honestly doesn’t feel real, and I haven’t been thinking about it much, because every time I do, my eyes just fill with tears.

SO WHO’S WITH ME???? METLIFE STADIUM JULY 11TH!!!!!! Section 124, Row 32, SEATS 29-31!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

AHGJAXKMFLDNCIDNDKDNZ I AM SO EXCIRSD I DOC D EKXNRJDNDND WHAT ARE THEAE FEELLS KH G MY GOOODSSSS

OKAY BUT ON A SERIOUS NOTE…

One day I really hope I have a chance to tell Taylor how much her music has helped me through the years. From her first single to her latest album, I loved the girl with wild curls just like mine, and I loved the woman she grew up to be. We grew up together. While she performed on stages I slammed chords on my acoustic guitar and sang along with every verse, every word, every rhyme.

Taylor Swift saved my life. I have battled depression and borderline personality disorder all my life. I have constantly struggled with my romantic heart, artistic soul and wanting the kind of love that burns red. Too many nights I found myself crying until my eyes felt sore. Too many nights I drafted suicide letters, wondering if there was an easier way to stop my mind from working overtime. To me, there has never been a light at the end of the tunnel. There is only me. There is only my mental illness, which still plagues me to this day.

But there’s Taylor. Every year that I had a breakdown on the horizon, Taylor released a new album. It was like clockwork. Red allowed me to stare at my ceiling and cry, but it allowed me to ring in my 22nd birthday with hope in my heart and glitter in my veins. 1989 taught me how to shake it off. It taught me that my tears were not meant to bring me pain. They were storms I walked through, and I came out on the other end… clean.

I’m not even trying to be dramatic. I mean it when I say this music changed my life. I have struggled for over ten years with self harm, but instead of giving into that sad, sick urge, I could scream sing along to Should’ve Said No or Last Kiss or Forever and Always and I would feel whole again. I still do.

Hearing songs that have saved my life LIVE is going to be WAY TOO OVERWHELMING!!!!!!! But I’m so excited to cry HAPPY tears and I really just hope and pray that one day I can tell Taylor, face to face, that she saved my life. I can’t wait to thank her for simply being herself. Because thank you, Taylor. With you I have grown from a little girl in a dress to a woman, finally clean. Thank you.

taylorswift heheh

Dear future girlfriend,

It’s one of those nights where I can’t seem to stop thinking about life, destiny, and the future. Why do things happen at the times that they do? Why do certain people enter our lives when others exit? Why must we get hurt only to get better and then to repeat the process over again; it’s a vicious cycle. Why haven’t I met you yet…or have I and I just don’t know it yet? These are the questions that plague me tonight. Every day I grow stronger and more mature, and today proved just that. I want to be the girl that takes your breath away when I kiss you and the one that sets fire to your skin with just a touch. I want to walk into a room and see your eyes light up at the sight of me and your beautiful smile spread across your face. Call me selfish, but I want to be the reason that you can’t stop laughing, the reason you feel safe, the reason you go to sleep just so that you can visit me in your dreams as well. Maybe your heart wasn’t broken in the past, but baby if it was then I promise you that I’ll mend every crack and fault that keeps it from beating steadily. You have my word.
- Your future girlfriend