lieing awake

- i went to target in the middle of the day in the suburbs on a sunday and ruined my own life, AMA

- why is there always some Yoga Becky doing something fucking obnoxious and stupid to block any escape route like unfurling an entire 8x10 rug she has no intention of buying before stuffing it, still unrolled, into some crevice where it does not belong as she shouts into her otterbox, conclusion: death penalty

- i think i’m honest to god at my breaking point after being woken up, a g a i n, at 2:30 in the morning by screaming drunk after slamming car door after yodeling bro after shriek-laughing white girl, to lie there fully awake with fumes of white-hot hatred oozing out of every pore in my body and I HAD EARPLUGS IN. I WAS PREPARED. i can’t do this anymore, i cannot be around people, someone or something please lay waste to all of this, it was a horrible horrible mistake, we should never have evolved past the point of flicking shit clumps at each other in caves, tower of babel this nightmare already i am begging you

- i smashed my finger against a sharp chunk of metal jutting out of the door coming back into my building and got an instant blood blister, and i don’t know exactly how, but i know it’s the fault of the football field’s worth of yelling sticky toddlers i had to wade through for the privilege of obtaining only two (2) of the products i went there for because target doesn’t really understand like, keeping things in stock at all, and Pilates Patty had to drag her sweaty baseball cap Cargo Dad husband in with her along with the whole deafening brood instead of leaving him home to watch them and do his fucking JOOOOOBBBBBBBB

i think this is the foul mood that might actually kill me

we were the stars
that burn those bitter nights we lie awake
and we had our fingers too,
greedily calling out to the other,
as love stutters
trying to lock this phantasm into life,
that gentle heat of yours was what made
this almost heart rise after thousands
of shattery blows 
but I’m truly glad they made our stay
look a lot like heaven
—  a.

My dash is pretty empty and I need more people to follow so reblog if

  • You can also hear the consistent, B-flat humming of the moon every night and you understand what it’s trying to convey.
  • You met an angel in the parking lot of Burger King who gave you a soda and a meaningful look before dissolving into flames.
  • You have distinct memories of watching The Video on the internet that you can determine, through the shared experiences of other, undoubtedly existed, yet not even a mention of it can be found anymore.
  • Bill Murray has appeared in your house, took all of the legs off of your chairs without saying a word or breaking eye contact, and left. You’re not sure how he got in or out. All of your doors were locked.
  • You have reached the edges of the Program where you could see the earth dissolve into pixels and strings of binary, momentarily before They re-calibrated it and a simple street materialized in front of you.
  • You lie awake at night unable to sleep because your mind is full, wondering what horrors might exist in the vast jaws of space that your mind has not evolved to comprehending yet.
  • Poppy has c
  • You heard a conversation occurring in your house knowing you were the only person home. When you investigate your animals lock eyes with you, sitting still and scared like wide eyed statues until you leave.
  • You haven’t found the heart to tell your mother that her boyfriend of 4 years is really just a sack of potatoes in a child sized tuxedo. She is happy for the first time in years, you think you will just keep it to yourself.
  • No one believes you about the small red cow that seems to live on your nightstand. The cow mocks you about this fact. That is the only thing the cow does. The nightstand emits a loud noise when you attempt to remove it.
  • Wherever you go you always here the faintest loop of 99 Red Balloons by Nena that seems to play in the distance. It never sounds any closer or farther, though some days it is in German.

Anyway this is all I can think of for now lol. If anything here applies to you I’ll probably give you a follow.

Drarry AU

My brain keeps returning to this idea – what if, in POA (movie universe), Harry never realizes that the crane Malfoy sent him was a note (because I mean, who would)?  Like he just stares at it, confused, then goes “okay” sets it down on his desk and goes back to ignoring Snape

I mean, Draco would be furious because how dare you not appreciate my bullying Potter and the next class they have together, he grabs another piece of paper, writes something along the lines of “You suck Potter”, folds another crane and blows it over – only for it to be left sitting on Harry’s desk again after the lesson, and Harry didn’t even look inside, he didn’t do anything with this damn crane, and Draco is absolutely seething from this lack of attention

So he does it again.  And again.  And again.  

First it’s insults (because of course he hates Potter, they’re archenemies, never mind the actual murderer stalking Harry at this very moment) – “I hope you die Potter” “I wish I met Sirius Black I’d help him” “Your glasses are appalling why do you still have the same ones from first year your prescription can’t possibly be the same you moron” “Eat a bag of dicks Potter” – but a month goes by and he’s running out of things to say and Potter never reads the notes anyway so Draco just starts ranting about everything else he finds annoying


Soon the cranes are just a way of venting – talk about your day, fold a beautiful crane, send it to the person you definitely hate the most.  He still tries to snark and generally antagonize every time he sees Potter, because it’s practically my duty to take the Golden Boy down a peg, Goyle – but he can’t do it the same way anymore, so he takes a step back – in everything except the cranes.  

Every day, every class, and sometimes at breakfast, a crane will land next to Harry Potter’s elbow.  Without fail.  Harry will pick it up, stare at it, and set it back down.  Or maybe slip it into his bag, and Draco’s stomach flips the first time he does that.  

It’s almost like they’re friends.  By now, Draco’s told him things he never even voiced to his friends – that he’s actually terrified of the Dementors, that he keeps feeling like he’s not good enough, because no matter what he tries, there’s always somebody better than him at it – that he still can’t understand why Harry didn’t want to be his friend that time on the train, seriously Potter what did I do?  you didn’t even know me! – and Potter didn’t crumple any of the cranes, so maybe he doesn’t hate him so much anymore?..  Draco knows Potter never reads these notes, but he likes to pretend that Harry knows all these things about him.  And maybe even cares a little.  

It’s stupid, and he really shouldn’t be putting any of such personal details in writing (honestly Lucius would be so disappointed, these cranes are perfect blackmail material and what the hell are you thinking Draco yells Draco’s inner voice) – but he can’t stop.  It’s become a habit, and Potter stared at him for fifteen minutes at lunch today, so he can’t stop.  Draco keeps talking, and making Harry little doodles, and trying not to smile too obviously when another crane ends up in Harry’s pocket.



And meanwhile, Harry’s going nuts.  He just doesn’t understand what Malfoy wants from him, or why he doesn’t run into him so often anymore – and the cranes really seem to be just paper (Ron why does Malfoy know origami is this a general wizard thing or is it just him), and they’re delicate and elegant, and he feels bad about destroying them – so he just leaves them.  

Until, of course, he absentmindedly shoves one in his bag one day – and finds it that evening.  Sighs and sets it on his bedside table, because what else can he do?..  Even if he throws it out, he’ll just get a new one tomorrow.  Or three.  

He’s confused, because Malfoy isn’t even so loud or dramatic anymore, it’s almost as if he’s trying not to attract attention – beyond the cranes – but Harry’s eyes are glued to him anyway.  He knows that Malfoy has to be up to something, because of course he is – but he just can’t tell what, there’s no way to know, and holy shit Ron he just smiled at me what the hell is he planning – and all this time, the pile of cranes on his bedside table keeps growing

He doesn’t lie awake at night, thinking of Malfoy’s smile.  He doesn’t.  Really.  

The next day, when he gets his morning crane, he flashes Malfoy a brilliant smile, and laughs at his stunned expression like ha, two can play at this game!  Gotcha now!  and he’s still thinking that Malfoy’s messing with his mind – except he can’t help but think that it would be nice if Draco was really like that.  If he really just sent the cranes over to brighten Harry’s day.  If there wasn’t something else behind this, because he’s starting to like it.  


All this goes on until Hermione barges into their dormitory again, in the ungodly hours of the morning, like she usually does – and stops dead, staring at the pile of cranes, Ron may have been complaining but she never imagined the true extent of this new, yet age-old obsession.  And of course, Harry tries to protest, that it’s all for science, Hermione, I have to find out what he’s up to and this is the only source of information – but the excuses run dry when she quizzes him a bit and finds out that none of the cranes are cursed, or charmed to yell insults, or anything, really 

So she’s like “well have you tried to unfold one” and no he didn’t, who the heck writes notes inside a crane anyway, isn’t it an artwork??  But hey, that’s an idea, and that night the trio gets together, sitting on Harry’s bed with the crane he just got in Charms, bated breath and all, waiting for it to unleash something nasty (Harry finds himself really really hoping it won’t) 

All kinds of security measures done, and they unfold it 

Hermione’s like “oh.  Oohh,” and Ron’s eyebrows fly away to roam the world

Because inside

there’s a shitty little drawing of Harry and Draco holding hands, with little hearts all around 

Hufflepuffs are the ones who love. Who find beauty in fallen petals and drifting leaves. They are the ones who pull books from their shelves in a burst of nostalgia, only to to hold them in their hands and flip without thought through the pages. They smile as the rain falls down and laugh as their hair lifts in the breeze. They hang photos above their fireplaces and keep letters from their friends in battered boxes. They are the ones who know all of the words to their favorite songs. Who know what it takes to make another smile. They watch out their windows as sunsets turn over to dusk and wear sweaters so many times that the sleeves begin to fray. They cling to laughter and point to the stars as they peek out from behind the clouds. They are the ones who find beauty in life.

Ravenclaws are the ones who question. Who point at birds and ask why they can fly and humans can’t. They are the ones who pull up flowers to study the roots. Who would follow lines of ants when they were children. They are the ones who strike up conversation and point to the cobwebs on the ceiling. They listen to music for the instruments, not the words, and when they write, they end only because they have run out of parchment, not because they are short on things to say. They are the ones who try to teach themselves to knit. Who leave notes in the margins of books that drive librarians mad. They listen to conversation with rapt attention, gratefully jumping in whenever pause allows. They are the ones who lie awake at night, wondering about the universe and the depths of the ocean. They are the ones who find wonder in life.

Gryffindors are the ones who discover. Who plunge into the woods with nothing but the clothes on their backs. They are the ones who explore dust-ridden attics. Who fall into streams, only to find that the water is perfect temperature for swimming. They live for the sun beating against their cheeks and an untrodden path before them. They travel to places others have never heard of and return with thrilling tales and exciting stories. They are the ones who try new foods. Who watch foreign movies and dance alone in the early morning. They’ll pick a direction and drive for miles, stopping only when sleep decides to claim them. They push past flowers without fear of the thorns, cupping the small blossoms in their hands as they pass. They are the ones who find excitement in life.

Slytherins are the ones who dream. Who paint even though they never learned how. They are the ones who keep journals and write poetry. Who ask others to tell them a story. They stare at the clouds and watch them form shapes, unmindful of the grass prickling against their elbows. They are the ones who stay awake long after everyone else has fallen asleep. Who read books, and newspapers, and anything they can get their hands on. They wish on stars, eyelashes, and birthday candles, and their eyes gleam whenever someone mentions one of their passions. They are the ones who like to watch trees grow: from saplings to guardians of the forest. Who will study maps for hours on end. They close their eyes when they listen to music, and their thoughts are full of color. They are the ones who find hope in life.

people: zayn you’re a racist piece of shit

zayn: i have glass bones and paper skin. every morning i break my legs, and every afternoon i break my arms. at night, i lie awake in agony until my heart attacks put me to sleep

“Sometimes I lie awake at night and I ask, “Is life a multiple choice test or is it a true or false test?” …Then a voice comes to me out of the dark and says, “We hate to tell you this but life is a thousand word essay.”
—  Charles M. Schulz , Charlie Brown 
i. I’m trying to let you go, but every day it feels like an old record on repeat; a beautiful start with the same ending 
ii. I’m trying to do things I wouldn’t usually do, like write songs instead of poems and paint instead of drawing but every curve of my pencil still ends up spelling your name 
iii. I’m trying to sleep earlier and read more often but no matter how hard I try I still lie awake at 4 am missing you and wishing you were missing me too
iv. I’m trying to open my eyes to new perspectives, see the world differently and find peace in everything but no matter what I do I can’t help but see the colour of your eyes and the shape of your smile in every fucking piece of nature 
v. I’m trying to open up more, come to terms with what happened and realise it’s permanent but I can’t help but get a jolt in my stomach every time my phone vibrates hoping it’ll be you, coming back 
vi. And I’m trying. God I am fucking trying. But this pain seems endless and the thought of you is starting to make me feel sick. I miss you more each day and I don’t know how much more of can take of this but god 
vii. I’m trying
—  dissociatingx, try a little harder
How Drarry Came To Be
  • Draco: *on one of his Potter rants*
  • Blaise: Oh no
  • Draco: What
  • Blaise: You're in love with him
  • Draco: Ugh, as if! He's so annoying and his hair is always a mess and he always acts like he doesn't care and-
  • Draco: Well it's not like I lie awake at night thinking about him.
  • -Later that night-
  • Draco, lying wide awake in bed: Oh no

anonymous asked:

The Pine Brothers™.. aka Keith and Shiro pining over Lance and Allura

THIS REQUEST MADE ME SO HAPPY GOD BLESS

“it’s not like i lie awake at night thinking about him……….….”

“… uh oh.”