medical bottle

Medication is often stigmatized and that really bothers me. I’ve taken meds on and off for years to supplement my focus and combat my anxiety. I’ve adapted because of prescriptions. None of us are weak for this, we’re simply helping our brains get the chemicals they need to function better.

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© Megan Fabbri 2017

Witch Tip: For Witches With Medications!

If your medications come to you in a bottle, save it! You can use them for holding small items, act as a small spell jar, use them for holding different types of water, all kinds of things!

Make sure to clean them out as necessary before re-purposing them.

I myself am a closeted witch, and I’m using one right now to hold water to be charged under the moonlight. I plan to use my moon water to add a little to my baths, or my tea! Or even pour it into my water bottle. I don’t need a whole lot for these, so a small medication bottle is perfectly sized.

To remove any stickers that are on the bottles:

Try your best to take them off by hand first. Then you can use a warm rag, and soak the stickers. This will make them easier to peel off! Then you can put your own labels, or anything you like on them if you wish.

A lot of medication bottles are orange, so they could be useful for spells and such that would benefit from that color!

Hope this was helpful.

self care for a love witch 💕

💕 enchant your lip gloss and blow kisses, even to yourself in the mirror

💕 nurture existing relationships with small gestures of kindness, a mundane act wrapped in a bit of magic if they allow it.

💕 sprinkle rose petals by your front door to invite love into your home

💕 sleep with a loved one’s shirt to connect with them in the astral

💕 practice consent with the little things, whether a hug or touching hands. 

💕 charge your medication bottles with rose quartz for added caring affect

anonymous asked:

prompt: alicia almost leaves bob after jacks overdose

[prompted by @eskildit, who now knows better than to send anons when she has great prompt idea <3  tw: overdose, homophobia]

The night before her son turns 13, Alicia Zimmermann pulls her husband aside and says, “Promise me you’ll let him choose for himself. If he wants to play hockey, if he wants to dance, if he wants to be a waiter, we’ll be okay with it.

Bob promises her, with all the devotion she’s come to expect, but not minutes later reminds her the NHL waits for no man, and Jack will need to start preparing for the future as soon as possible.

It was a sign of things to come, and she didn’t heed the warnings.


Jack is 14 when they diagnose him with an anxiety disorder Alicia’s never heard of. The specialist recommends reducing the level of stress in his life, maybe cutting back on unnecessary extracurriculars. He knows the family. He knows Bob. He’s being gentle.

They don’t change anything because hockey is life. Jack’s happy on the ice, unhappy off, so they take the medication instead. Just another step to Jack’s already offensively complicated routine.

“See?” Bob smiles when Jack is chosen to play for Rimouski Oceanic. “He’s going to be fine. Not like you and I didn’t need a little extra help in the beginning.”

He’s talking about Alicia’s drinking nearly twenty years prior. His own cocaine problem in the early 80s. But Jack’s not twenty and whole-hog into a career, he’s a teenager. 

She wants to protest on principle, but this isn’t her life. Bob knows this world better than she ever will, and if Jack still wants to play professionally (and he does), she needs to defer to her husband.

If this is what Jack wants, they’ll make it work.


Jack’s energetic, he’s happy, he has a friend he won’t be seen without, and Alicia watches how close Kent’s fingers are to Jack’s when they walk together. It’s not what she expected, but she’s happy he has someone. 

She’s not the only one that notices how close the boys are, and Bob turns to her in bed one night, brow furrowed, and says, “Kent Parson.”

“Mmm-hmm.”

“Are he and Jack…?”

She doesn’t say anything, just lifts a brow and gives him a considering look. 

Bob’s lips go white with how hard he’s pressing them together. “That’s not going to be easy, for either of them.”

“If it makes him happy,” she argues, and Bob hums in agreement. That should have been the end of it. But something happens, and she’s not there to stop it. 


The night before Jack overdoses and his career goes up in flames, the Zimmermann household is in ruins for an entirely different reason.

“Jesus Christ, Robert, I’m supposed to be a goddamn activist, if this gets out —”

“I don’t have a problem with gay people —”

“Don’t lie to me!” Alicia slams her hand on the table, nearly shaking with anger. “You told him to hide.”

“I told him to be discreet. Do you think I’m doing this for me? I’m getting calls day and night from teams wanting to know if the rumors are true. I was trying to be proactive! He can’t be–”

“What? Gay? That’s what you’re worried about? Maybe we can engrave that on the back of my GLAAD award: ‘For excellence in telling your child to hide their sexuality until they retire’. So everyone can know how fucking supportive we are. Does he think I feel the same way you do?”

“I don’t know, I don’t remember,”

My God, I can’t even look at you right now. You’re going to fix this. I don’t know how, but you’re going to make this right.”


Of course, then they find Jack unresponsive on the floor with a half empty bottle of medication and they don’t immediately know it was an accident. 

For about twelve hours, while Jack’s condition is still unstable, Alicia very seriously considers killing her husband. 

They’re red-eyed and exhausted in the waiting room when the doctor on call says they need to pray for a miracle. She stares at a stain on the carpet for a long moment, hands clasped, but she’s not praying. Bob makes some kind of sound, a hitching breath that isn’t quite crying, and she turns her head to watch him fidget. 

“Robert, look at me,” she says softly, deceptively kind, and when she has his attention, and with more hatred than she ever thought she could possibly feel, she says, “You did this. And I swear to you, if my son dies tonight, I’ll leave.”

She doesn’t wait for him to answer, doesn’t even wait to see the expression on his face. She collects her purse and stands, stretching her legs and heads to the vending machines.

She buys a Dr. Pepper and a bag of Tropical Skittles.



Jack lives. 

Alicia stays.

But she moves her GLAAD award to the trophy room. Settles it right beside Bob’s Hall of Fame plaque. 

Because she will never let him forget.

Weird/Fun Places for Sigils✨

Sigils are so much fun, man, and there are thousands of uses and places to put them. Personally, I’m a big fan of ones that are a bit more hidden, just because it gets tiring to have to explain to everyone what it is, and sometimes they relate to personal things. 

Here are some suggestions for places to put sigils and their possible meanings!

  1. Under your study/work desk to enhance motivation and to promote calmness
  2. On your keychain! Use the little name tags that you always seem to randomly have, and charge it to protect your home when you use the keys on the keychain :)
  3. Makeup bottles/containers, to help with glamours and self-confidence
  4. Nametags–some dorms have nametags on the doors. Try writing a protection sigil on the backside of it, so whoever enters your room means you no harm (and so you don’t get robbed, which has been happening a lot in my dorm lmao yikes)
  5. Textbooks! Sigils for letting everything you read fully sink into your brain!
  6. Notebooks, either for school or for other things! For when you’re reviewing for a test, or to make sure that your notes are organized and easy to understand.
  7. On your water bottle
  8. SNAPCHAT YOUR SIGILS!! I know this isn’t necessarily a place, but snapchatting to your coven/friends is an easy and efficient way of getting sigils to them fast. Screenshotting them is a possible way to charge them, too.
  9. If you’re feeling particularly crafty, some mechanical pencils have enough space that you can slip a piece of paper into them! Create your sigil, slip it into your pencil, and charge it or feel its effects as you write
  10. Another crafty place, if you’re so inclined, is the inside of your jackets/sweaters. You can sew a sigil into the inner layer of your jacket, hidden from view but still on your person :)
  11. More sewing! If you’re feeling EVEN MORE adventurous and artsy, make a quilt/blanket and imbue it with peaceful sigils
  12. Under your cups/on drink coasters (Like how Rylee does with this tea recipe)
  13. Backpaaaacks. To help make sure you never forget an assignment or lose anything
  14. Slip a sigil into your pillowcase for good dreams and fitful sleep, or even under your roommate’s bed to try to encourage them to have a restful sleep so they don’t wake you up (can you tell I’m a bit bitter)
  15. You can put them behind posters, too, for when you want a sigil to affect the room but don’t want people to keep asking questions about it.
  16. On your medication bottles, or those little weekly planning things for your medicine, so you don’t forget to take them and remember to refill them before you run out!
  17. On the corners of flashcards, to help you remember what you’re studying
  18. In the front of your book of shadows! To keep away nosy people, to ensure your spells/rituals will retain their powers when redone, or to help you remember what that darn shorthand you used means
  19. When I’m feeling nervous on the bus or any other public place, I draw out sigils just with my finger on any surface, focusing on not letting anyone bother me or get too close
  20. In the glove compartment of your car!
  21. On your laptop, so it may never crash and have you lose hours’ worth of work :’)))

I could honestly go on and on, and there would still be things I’m forgetting. Feel free to add more ideas!! It’s always so fun seeing where people put their sigils :)

-Em

✨ Well-being in a Pill Bottle Spell ✨

💊 sage (cleansing) [normal kitchen sage encouraged, mine is white sage because it was a gift given to me]

💊 star anise (luck and warding off nightmares)

💊 juniper berries (protection from negative energies)

💊 rose hips (love and peace)

This spell is meant to go in an empty medication bottle that held a med you take daily. It’s to help boost your life around the meds you need. Add incantation as desired along with other additions such as stones, candles, and other energies.

Charlie is now a Medical Assistance Doggo!

So, becuase I keep forgetting to make an about page, I’ve got a few comorbid mental disorders (depression, bipolar, PTSD and ADHD), which can make my life unnecessarily difficult sometimes.  Fortunately, I have a secret weapon:

This Dork.

I’ve had Charlie since august, and he’s been doing a great job keeping me alive and operational.  I’ve trained him personally to suit my particular needs, and yesterday he saw my therapist and psychologist to verify he is helping.

So far he does the following:

  • Wakes me up every morning at 9AM and harasses me until I actually get up, preventing 20-hour depression naps.
  • Will fetch for me, by name: my Phone, water bottle, medication and bag of chips.  I have a frequent problem with low blood sugar and forgetting to take my meds.  Hard to forget when I get woken up by him throwing the pill bottle at me.
  • We’re working on shoes.
  • comes to check on me every 90 minutes, and demands I get up and walk him every three hours, keeping me from Not Eating and an a regular exercise schedule.
  • Keeping on a regular daily schedule is helpful for both my memory problems and preventing mood swings.
  • Also, hard to feel suicidal when i;m responsible for his welfare.
  • Sits ON me during panic attacks, which is very grounding.
  • Not precisely trained but: tends to be very reactive to small noises or flashing lights, so I use him as a verification system to see if I’m hallucinating or not.

So, charlie now has  a piece of paper certifying that he helps keep me alive, so i effectively have a prescription for Dog.  This means I am not charged Pet Rent, no can I be excluded from housing for having him under the ADA.  It DOES NOT mean I can take him into grocery stores or other places dogs are not normally allowed, but I don’t really need him there anyway.

All in all, Charlie is a Good Boy.

Warmth in the Winter - Daryl Dixon Smut

gather y’alls holy water because y’all will need it after this.

dedicated to the amazing human bean that requested kinky daryl. ya done got my fucked up.

REQUESTS ARE OPEN - I WRITE FOR TWENTY ONE PILOTS AND TWD.

Pairing: Daryl x Reader

Type: ANGSTY SMUT

Setting: Alexandria era

Warnings: angry daryl, carol, winter, sex, sex, SEX, kinky daryl, restraints, choking, blood, edging/withholding orgasm, dirty talk, i think thats it?

enjoy, my sinners.

Originally posted by fifty-shades-of-mara

Your legs were propped up on the fireplace of your house in Alexandria and your back rested against the sofa chair behind you. The warmth from the fire radiated from the ashes to your feet and you wrapped the blanket draped around your shoulders tighter to your body to trap in the heat. As you took in a breath, you exhaled by wheezing from your scratchy throat. You sniffled and nuzzled your face closer into your book as you heard the front door open and cold air gush in. 

It was an unusually cold day in Alexandria and if there was one thing you hated more than talking to people, it was the cold. It made your lips chapped, made you sick as all get out, and it was so much work to get back warmth. However, the cold gave you an excuse to sit inside and not have to face people. Ever since the group with the leader named Rick joined, things in Alexandria finally began to slightly look up. You had been in Alexandria since the very beginning, so you never really had to fight unless times called for desperate measures. You were very nervous around their group, as they all seemed very placid and standoff-ish. After they had finally settled into their separate houses, you had gone to the couple, you assumed, named Abraham and Rosita, living next to you and offered to have dinner with them. Rosita slammed the door in your face and that was how you had first met her. You took it as a lesson and only spoke to them if you needed. After all, you were practically invisible in this community. You live alone in your house and offer your services to guard the gate. There was one person in the group that had didn’t seem too guarded and her name was Carol. She was the one person you talked to the most. She would come over to your house or you would go to hers and you two would exchange various recipes. After a few times of going to her house, though, you preferred for her to visit yours. The man she lived with, Daryl, would make rude, snide comments every time you were around and you felt extremely uncomfortably under his heavy stare. If you weren’t so timid, you would’ve slapped him by now.

“Hey! Where are you at?” Carol’s voice chimed through your living room. You pushed yourself up and set the book and the blanket down on the chair behind you.

“I’m here,” You responded, coughing up a lung in the process.

“Oh God, it’s this weather that’s made you sick isn’t it,” she sighed, grabbing a pot from under your stove.

“I can’t seem to make out why it all of a sudden has just gotten so cold,” you rubbed your hands over your dry skin.

She looked through your cabinets, looking for whatever recipe she was going to show you today.

“Damn, you don’t have any broth,” she said, shutting the cabinet and putting back the pot.

“What were you going to make?” you asked.

“Well, I was going to make you some homemade chicken noodle soup, but it appears you don’t have the ingredients,” she paused, grabbing your hand and leading you to the door. “I will just have to make it at my house.”

“Carol, no, you know I can’t stand Daryl,” you whined.

“Look,” she said, leading you out the front door into the frigid air. “You need some soup and possibly some medicine. If he says anything I will just slap him or something. He listens to me, I promise.”

You groaned as you walked through the cold air, wind cutting into the skin on your face, wrapping the worn jacket tighter over your body. Carol lead you up the stairs to her house and you entered, warmth engulfing your body again. You shed your jacket, hanging it onto the coatrack, and you headed into her kitchen. You saw Daryl lounging on the sofa, cleaning his arrows. At the sight of you entering and looking at him, he looked into your eyes, and for just one slight moment you thought he wouldn’t say anything. But you were wrong.

“What the hell you lookin’ at?” he asked. You averted your eyes to the ground and he went back to cleaning his arrows. You shook your head and headed the the island that sat in the kitchen. Carol was already preparing the stove when you asked, “Are you gonna show me the recipe?”

“Maybe some other time,” she said as Daryl got up, walking into the kitchen and stood right next to you, as if intentionally winding you up. You stiffened as you felt his eyes land on you, then down your body. “But for now you just need to get well. Daryl,” she addressed and he tore his eyes from you to meet hers. “Can you please get her the medicine from Denise?”

“I ain’t getting nothin’ for her,” he said, starting to walk back to the couch.

“Daryl,” she said more stern, as if reprimanding a child. 

“The hell’s she ever done for me?” he asked. You focused on the bubbling broth on the stove. Daryl sighed and muttered something under his breath before grabbing his crossbow and heading out the door, making sure to slam it.

“What have I ever done to him? You asked, anger bubbling in your chest.

“Don’t worry about it, he’s just Daryl,” she said resuming her recipe.

“Shit,” she cursed, slamming the cabinet door. “I should’ve told him to grab me some carrots.”

She walked to the door and threw on her jacket, talking to you in the process.

“Sorry about this, I will be right back. If Daryl returns, just don’t egg him on. Watch over the broth for me.”

You didn’t even have a chance to argue before she shut the door, leaving you in silence. You rose from your seat, looking into the pot where canned chicken broth bubbled. You clutched onto the wooden spoon, stirring it ever so softly.

The front door opens and closes again after a few minutes and you look up to see the dark eyes of Daryl. He carries the bottle of medication in his large hand and gruffly sets it down on the counter next to you. 

“Thanks,” you mumble, eyes locked on the soup. He scoffs in response.

“Yeah, whatever, you should be thankful.”

Something deep inside you snaps and maybe it’s because of the sickness you had or the raging sexual tension you endured when around him, but you don’t hold back as you throw the spoon back into the pot.

“What the fuck is your problem?” You roar.

“Woah, see that? You can fuckin’ talk,” He rolls his eyes. You storm from around to the island to right under his nose.

“What the fuck did i do to you? I’ve barely spoken to you and you are always fucking commenting on me or staring at me! Either stop fucking talking to me all together or tell me what the fuck I’ve done wrong!” you shout. Daryl pauses for a moment, and you see something in his eyes that you’ve seen too many times. But this time he acts on it. He grabs you by your shoulders and shoves you against the nearest wall and boxes you in with his arms.

“Wanna know what the fuck you did wrong?” He mutters, anger dripping from his voice. “I’ll tell you. Ever since I first saw you, I can’t stand it. You’re always parading around with that perfect fuckin’ body of yours and all I want to do when I see you is pin you down to my damn bed and fuck you so hard you can’t see straight and you’re screaming my name and squirting all over my cock. And that’s what I’m gonna do,”

You look up at him, eyes wide, a nervous lust coursing through your body with Daryl’s words. “B- But I’m sick, you’ll get sick.”

“You know what, I wish I gave a damn,” he moans, getting closer to your face.

You take his sentence in and your breath hitches, looking into his eyes. With your newfound, lust-powered confidence, you pull him close to you, almost kissing him and whisper, “Then fucking kiss me already.”

The second the words leave your lips, you pull Daryl’s face to yours, roughly dragging your lips over his. He sloppily kisses you and throws his hands around yours and shoves them against the wall above you, locking your arms above your head. You gasp as his hands tighten over your fragile wrists.

“You’re so damn quiet all the time, who knew you could be so dirty,” he groans. Keeping one of his hands locked around your wrists, he drags his hands down your body and feels for the button of your jeans. His lips harshly suck on the skin of your neck as his hands delve into your pants, coming in contact with your panties. His fingers start to rub your clit and you moan out loudly. He pulls his hand back and you whimper at the loss of contact, but suck in a breath when his fingers dive into your panties. He runs a finger up your already-slick folds, collecting the wetness on his fingers. He pulls his hand back again and holds the finger up to your face.

“Such a fuckin’ dirty slut. Lick my fingers,” he commands and you are far too aroused to argue. You run your tongue up his finger, tasting your salty-sweetness. You wrap your lips around his fingers, as if teasing him. In the midst of your acts, you hear Carol’s voice outside talking to whoever was accompanying her. Daryl whispers in your ear, “To be continued.” 

You button your pants and shakily walk back to the stove, smoothing your hair over your neck where there was undoubtedly love bites. Daryl goes to lounge on the couch, then Carol enters, hanging her coat back up. You reach for the medicine and get a pill out and Carol takes a closer look at your face.

“Your cheeks are flushed,” she points out. You reach for your cheeks. “Do you feel worse?”

“I’m okay, I think it’s just a bit… hot in here,” you shrug, looking at the ground and slipping the pill in your mouth and sitting at the island while she continued to make you soup.


It’s late that same night and you are just getting out of the shower. The towel was wrapped around your body and you turned to look in the mirror at your reflection. You pull your hair back and gaze at the single bruise that stayed planted on your neck. Your eyes were glowing with excitement and you wondered if he was going to show up at your house that night. You don’t know what had happened to you, but you had no problem with it. You dry the rest of your body off and slip a shirt over your bare breasts and slip a pair of pajama pants on on top of some black panties. Like clockwork, your front doorbell rings. You walk out of your room and into the foyer of your house. You reach for the door and open it. Daryl rushes in, almost as if he was going to be late, and slams the door behind him. He grabs your face and connects his lips to yours, not an ounce of gentleness in him.

“Lead me to your room right now,” he gruffly mumbles. You comply, walking quickly to your room with him in tow. You turn to face him, back to the bed and you fall back, arms open and legs sprawled out. He moans slightly, but crawls on top of you, shedding his shirt in the process. He grabs the thin shirt you’re wearing and nearly tears it off of you. He groans again when he sees you’re not wearing a bra. He presses his hands to your breasts, tweaking your nipples as his mouth comes in contact with the left nipple. He licks around it and gently bites it, doing the same to the other. He massages them together and kisses in the valley between, his lips sloppily making wet kisses all the way down to the elastic of your pants. He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your pants and panties, dragging them down your legs. 

“God, I’ve been thinking about this cunt ever since our encounter earlier,” he says, his mouth inching closer to your center. However, when your hands tangle themselves in his long hair, he shoots himself up. He turns to your closet, yanking it open. He sees a flannel and yanks it off the hanger, turning back to you. He crawls on top of you.

“Put your hands up,” he commands. You gladly put your hands above your head, smirking at him. He ties your hands together in a tight knot.

“Listen here,” he whispers, his hands reaching up to wrap around your neck, constricting your airways. You moan. “You like this don’t you, you dirty girl. But one thing, you moan, you get punished. Got it?”

You nod, gasping for air when he lets go. He scoots down back to your core and settles his head between your legs. He lightly blows on your core and you’re already biting your lip, fighting moans threatening to tear from your chest. He finally licks a stripe all the way up your core, and your breathe in hard. He continues licking until one of his fingers dives into you suddenly. Your hips jolt at the contact, and you fight the feeling to moan. You feel your climax approaching fast and furiously, and you clench as tight as you can around his fingers. However, when his tongue comes in contact with your clit as his fingers ruthlessly dive into you, you let out a yelp, forgetting the rules. All at once, his actions stop. You pick your head up, gazing at him. He sits back, unbuckling his pants. He slides them down his legs and steps out of them.

“I done told you to not speak a word,” he mutters.

“I… I just…” you whimper as he slowly crawls over you again. 

“Look’s like you need to be taught a fuckin’ lesson,” he shrugs. Suddenly, he flips you onto your stomach and grabs fistfulls of your backside as you rise on all fours. Your arms are twisted against the bedpost, but that was the last thing on your mind. Without any warning at all, he shoves himself inside of you, already setting a pace.

“Speak,” he moans. “Tell me how good it feels.”

You immediately yelp out, “Shit, Daryl, you feel so good!”

He continues to relentlessly thrust into you, making the bed rock violently underneath you. Each time he thrusts, the bed hits the wall and your sure your neighbors can hear you moaning. Daryl reaches down to the flannel shirt and rips it untied, reaching down to wrap his hands around your throat again. He pulls your neck upwards, your body sitting straight up against his chest on your knees. With your new freedom from the restraints, you reach behind you, grasping at his hair and pulling it with the pleasure pulsating through you. He thrusts into you at the same pace and you moan out as his fingers leave bruises on your neck.

“Please, Daryl,” you gasp.

“Please, what? Use that quiet mouth of yours.”

“Fuck me harder,” you say.

A scream tears from your throat as he thrusts up into you even faster now. He finally realizes he hit the spot he’s been looking for when you throw your head back against his shoulder, not holding back moans as his other hand works on your clit on vigorous circles.

“Oh… oh shit,” you curse as you feel yourself approaching the edge, clenching around him.

“You better not cum until I say,” he says through gritted teeth, giving your throat one last squeeze before he throws you back down on all fours. He continues his thrusts and your hands are squeezing the sheets tightly and your teeth have sunk into your bottom lip, droplets of blood seeping into your mouth. When Daryl pulls out, you’re shocked at the sudden loss of contact, but he flips you on your back again and pushes your knees up to where your legs were going over his shoulders. He thrusts into you again, showing no mercy as he pushed your legs farther up. You screamed for him, nails running down his back so hard you’re sure you drew blood. 

“Not yet,” he muttered, voice breaking as his own end was approaching. You screamed again, the pleasure too much for you to handle. You felt like a dam about to burst.

“Okay, baby. Cum for me,” he says. The second the first word left his mouth, you came with a shout, twitching and moaning repetitions of his name, the sound of skin slapping skin, moans, and the bed hitting the wall shaking the house. You kissed him through your climax, the passion and pleasure spreading through your body like a wildfire. You twitch beneath him as you finish your high. He still thrusts into you, but pulls out after a few final sloppy thrusts and starts to finish himself off over you. You move shakily, still surfing the aftershocks of your own high, so that you can help finish him off. You quickly wrap your hand around his slick shaft and pump, tongue teasing his head. He finally moans your name one final time before his load shoots out and coats your hand. His breath evens out and he sits back.

“Didn’t know you was a squirter.”

You chuckle slightly, “Neither did I.”

After you clean yourselves up you convince Daryl to stay the night and sleep with you, and he finally reluctantly agreed, crawling under the sheets with you.

“You’re gonna get sick, you know,” you say, sleep making your voice groggy. He shrugs.

“That’s honestly the least of my worries right now.”

“Why is that?” you inquire.

“Normally, I never woulda done something like… ya know, that. But this whole zombie apocalypse thing has made me think, why not take some risks ‘cause who knows what could happen tomorrow,” he says, thinking hard about his words, as if he was a child trying to put a sentence together.

“I can relate to that wholeheartedly,” you softly smile and pull him in for one last kiss before turning over and letting your heavy lids down and your soul slip into a sleep.

requests are open - i write for twenty one pilots and twd.

Donut’s probably dead.

Hope you feel better soon, friend~

[submission by @mercuryblacksleg]

sc  rRE A MS!!!!! OH MY GOD THIS IS SO CUTE THANK YOU MY ENTIRE BODY IS CLEANSED & CURED!!!!

Come As You Are

A/N: Part 2 to Smells Like Teen Spirit. I am weak for bad boy Shawn and am turning this into a series. Hope you enjoy. xx

Title is again a Nirvana song and I feel it could be the soundtrack to this. 


Hunched over her textbooks and notes, Liz is massaging her temples, trying to study for an upcoming exam. She has been trying to get the very attractive curly haired guy from the bell tower out of her mind but it has been harder than she has thought. And when he had actually appeared in class this morning – twenty minutes late but still – he had given her a little smirk and she did forget about the class, unable to focus. He had asked her if he could borrow a pen and she gave him her favorite one. A black Montblanc fountain pen her dad gave her for her 18th birthday.

He didn’t return the pen. Of course not. From the vibe he was giving her he had probably broken it already. 

Or lost it.

Keep reading

Sick Day

Taehyung x Reader

Genre: Angst/Fluff

Summary: Taehyung was stressed with work and you did everything you could to help even if it meant putting your own health on the backburner. 

Word Count: 2480

Warning: like one use of the f word

Originally posted by jeonskookie

The cup of tea you had set down on the desk for him had gotten cold. It was untouched, not a drop had left the cup. He didn’t even lift a finger or tilt his head in acknowledgment when you entered the room. He was too engrossed in memorizing lines for a drama he was recently cast in. 

“Taehyung-ah. You have to eat something.” You came up behind him and place a hand on his shoulder. It seemed like the only part of his body moving right now were his eyes which danced left and right reading the lines in the script. This drama was pretty important to him. He’d moved up from supporting to second male lead, and he wanted his performance to be perfect. 

You sigh and take the cup of tea from its place on the table. Taehyung’s been sitting there at his desk ever since he came home from dance practice, and that was hours ago. For hours, he’s been sitting there repeatedly scanning each and every page trying to memorize each and every line. 

This was routine for the past few weeks. He’d leave early to go to the studio to either record or dance, come home late into the evening and sit at his desk memorizing the lines. You’d have to force him to go to bed and even then he’d only ever get a good three, maybe four, hours of sleep every night. It was unhealthy for him, and you knew it. 

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2

In the early morning hours of 7 December, 1990, teenage couple, 16-year-old Amy Lee Black and 19-year-old Jeff Abrahamson, met 34-year-old Dave VanBogelen in a restaurant in Muskegon Heights. Dave had earlier been out with a group of friends from work and decided he would stop to get a bite to eat before heading home to his wife and 7-year-old daughter and 12-year-old son. This fateful meeting would prove to be deadly. Dave was quite inebriated when he met the young couple and the young couple decided they were going to take advantage of that. As the piled the father of two with more alcohol, they planned to lure him back to their nearby apartment where they would rob him. However, when the trio were back at the apartment and Dave still wasn’t unconscious, Amy took it on herself to make him unconscious by smashing him over the head with a whiskey bottle. The medical examiner would later conclude that this head trauma alone would have killed Dave if left untreated but the young couple weren’t finished just yet. Amy and Jeff then took the cash he had in his pocket which just so happened to be $1,500.00. Dave had just cashed his pay check for a full month’s work at the local foundry.

When Dave’s pockets were empty, they forced him into his truck and drove out into the country. Amy later claimed she believed they were going to just dump him out of the truck in the middle of nowhere before making off in his truck. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the case. When they pulled along a lonely dirt road and pushed Dave out, Jeff produced a knife and stabbed him to death. His body was found the following day and it wouldn’t be long until Amy and Jeff were apprehended and brought in for questioning. Jeff wanted Amy to take the blame, quipping that because she was a juvenile, she couldn’t be held responsible. How wrong he was. The duo were both found guilty and sentenced to life imprisonment. After her arrest, Amy said to police: “I always wanted to know if you could just kill somebody and the cops not know that it was you. I did. I always wondered that." 

Following her sentencing, Amy would attribute her actions that night to her unhappy home life. The habitual runaway claimed that men had sexually abused her throughout her life in her mother’s home. Due to the sexual abuse, she turned to a life of drugs which earned her a stint in a treatment centre. During her incarceration at the now-closed Robert Scott Correctional Facility, Amy was raped by a correctional officer. She later received damages in the 2009 settlement of a civil-rights lawsuit by several inmates who were sexually abused by guards.

The One With The STD Part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Nat

Word count: 1,266

Warnings: Swearing, Cheating, STD, angst 18+

A/N: This series is inspired by @amarvelouswritings series Every Other Weekend, just so you’re warned. The magnificient @fandommaniacx betad this for me. Let me know if you wanna be tagged in this! xx

Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5

Originally posted by caps-bucky

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