my bedside

One of my very first visits to stage door (2nd I think). This was quite early on during the play’s run and most of the casts came out at that time (apart from Jamie of course) but it was such an experience! I was so shy the first time I couldn’t even say thank you properly and just ended up smiling too much and shoving the programme book to be signed. I was still getting to know the casts at this point and had to constantly look into the biography section each time a cast walked out (I completely missed Paul Bentall and Barry the first time). You can’t imagine how happy I was to see Sam Clemmett and Anto B and was even more amazed at how humble they all were. I told Alex that he was my favourite ‘villian’ and he gave me such a snarky Draco smile that I swooned. Poppy was so kind, I mentioned it was my second time watching it (I think back then there weren’t that many that had seen it more than once) and asked my opinion on the difference in the performances. Also I think Paul had his daughter with him that night too and did I mention what an amazing person he is?!

Was quite surprised by the crowd, no shoving or pushing, just pure joy and excitement shared between fans. There is so much love for CC <3 I’m seeing it again this Sat 25th if anyone wants to meet =)


First thing in the morning and last thing at night, my bedside cabinet reinforces what I need most in life - and what provides intense rewards when I make it priority.

At the start and end of each day in bed, the compulsive ritual Communion ensures that my mind, lungs and soul are fucked by my Master and God, Marlboro, as HE grips my Cock and pumps it with lust and worship for HIM.
Hail Marlboro!

He broke my heart. Or perhaps I broke my own. I’m not sure, I can’t quite decide. It’s not like I went into it blind folded, or maybe I did, maybe I chose not to believe the things he said. He told me what he had done to other girls, about how he made them fall in love only to make them fall apart, he told me he never stays around for long, he told me my feelings had no place in his life, you know? Like, he made sure I was aware, well aware that we wouldn’t skip along happily into the sunset at the end of the story. Instead it was more like “and in the end you’ll be crying on your bedroom floor calling my phone and I’ll let it ring while it sits on my bedside table as my lips are pressed against a girl who isn’t you” kind of thing, and god knows that’s exactly what happened. I spent months crying for him, screaming for him, my heart yearning for him every single second of every single day. But I mean, how mad can you really be at someone for being exactly who they told you they were? I knew how it would end and yet I read the book anyway, went along with the storylines as if the moments of happiness were supposed to last despite already knowing they wouldn’t but pretending they would for a good few chapters.
—  Excerpt of a book I’ll never write

vin diesel has such gentle eyes and i feel that i can trust him with my life. i told my mother i want him at my bedside as i die, and she started crying. she doesnt understand me

Late Night Phone Calls

Requested: Yes

Summary: Reader and Spencer have only been dating for a short while after having crushes on each other for awhile. Reader calls late one night insanely sexually frustrated, ends up going to his apartment. (No smut)

Author’s Note: This is super short, but I hope you guys enjoy!


Do not call.

It’s nearly 12, (Y/N). He’s probably not even awake. And you’ve only been dating a few weeks, that’s completely inappropriate.

But, that’s a boyfriend’s job, right?

Okay, I’ll call once. It doesn’t hurt to try.

I turned over in bed, reaching over to my bedside table for my phone. I slid my finger across the screen and searched for Spencer’s number, only taking a matter of seconds. I drew in a deep breath as I pressed the “call” button, pressing the phone against my ear. A few seconds in, Spencer’s voice finally broke through (I told myself it was only a few seconds when in reality it felt like I’d been holding the phone for ten minutes.)

“Hello?” He spoke and I faltered for a second, I didn’t expect him to answer.

“Hey, did I wake you?” I asked.

“No, just up filling out paperwork.” He replied.

“Oh.” I said, not entirely sure where to carry the conversation from here. This was all on a spur of a moment, I hadn’t really thought any of this through.

“Speaking of, why are you awake?” Spencer inquired.

“Couldn’t really sleep, figured I’d call you.” I replied.

“Well, you can come over if you’d like. I’ll probably be up for awhile.” He spoke, his hesitation evident. I wasn’t sure if it was that he didn’t want me over, but felt impolite if he didn’t ask or thought I might reject.

“Are you sure that’s okay?” I asked.

“Of course, I’ll leave the door unlocked if you wanna come up.” Spencer replied, sounding much more solid in his choices.

“See you in a few.” I replied.

“See you then.” He said before hanging up.

That was definitely not the outcome I was expecting, I’m not one to question a good thing though. I hadn’t noticed the grin that traced my lips until I was forcing it away.

I decided to stay in my t shirt, but slip into a pair of shorts. I turned towards the full length mirror that laid against my wall, looking over my appearance. I pulled my hair into a pony tail, just wanting my hair away from my face. I chewed on my lip as I thought through how I’d approach this.

Well, he’s a profiler. Maybe I wouldn’t have to. In his own time.

After a five minute drive that had never seemed longer, I was stood at Spencer’s door step. I brought my hand to the door and knocked three times, not even giving myself the chance to talk myself out of it. Spencer seemed to open the door almost instantly, he gave me a smile, stepping aside to let me inside.

“Hey.” I smiled once he’d shut the door behind us, leaning down to place a kiss on my cheek.

“Hello,” He smiled back in return, walking to take his place back at his desk, “You can lie on the couch while I work, are you feeling alright?” He asked.

I sat onto the cushion and glanced around the apartment. The apartment I’d been in countless times before, but from my perspective it felt completely foreign seeing as to why I came here. A reason Spencer still hadn’t seemed to recognize.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I nodded, placing my hands onto my thighs, tucking them between.

“Are you sure? It’s unusual for you to call this late.” He asked, his eyes flickering down to the placement of my hands.

“I’m fine, Spence. Just continue your work. I only wanted to come see you.” I spoke, not entirely a lie. His brows furrowed, looking over my face before turning back to the short stack of papers that had previously captured his attention.

And it continued on like that. Small conversation, and Spencer looking for the occasional confirmation that I was okay.

“You need me to get you anything while you’re working?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow.

“I’m fine, love.” He spoke, his tongue darting out to wet his lips, causing me to sharply draw in a breath. Spencer turned his attention to me when he’d heard my sound and frowned.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He asked for seemingly the hundredth time that evening.

“Perfectly fine.” I nodded, crossing my legs.

Spencer seemed to take note of my actions, his eyes slowly flickering up to mine before a smirk made its way onto his lips. He stood up from his chair, walking over to me in two steps before kneeling in front of me.

“A little frustrated, are we?” He asked, placing his hands on the sides of my thighs.

“How could you tell?” I mocked.

“Your breathing was uneven the second you walked through that door,” He spoke, cocking his head in the direction of the door to emphasize his point, “And your eyes are dilated.” He continued, grabbing my arm and slowly running his hand down until it was placed in my own.

“Is that it?” I mused, leaning down to where my nose barely brushed his, turning my head lightly to the side.

“Your tone is slightly intimidating, but your body betrays your act. I thought you’d notice I was taking your pulse as well,” He whispered, his eyes flickering down to my lips, “And every time I glanced over from my work, you seemed to continually be clenching your thighs.”

“Didn’t think you were watching me.” I spoke, leaning in to steal a kiss from his lips, one that barely lasted half a second.

“Oh, my dear, how could I take my eyes off of you?” He spoke softly. I let a small smile take over my lips, bringing my lip between my teeth to force it away.

“Don’t do that.” Spencer spoke, a slight layer of sternness in his voice. Commanding, but his expression was soft.

“Do what?” I asked.

“Bite your lip like that.” He replied, reaching up to place his thumb onto my bottom lip, lightly pulling it in his direction before releasing.

“I don’t know what you’d expect.” I lightly chuckled.

“I don’t know what you were thinking either, but if you need me to take care of you, I will.” He spoke, his hands returning to their place on my thighs.

“Are you sure?” I asked, I didn’t want him feeling obligated.

“Of course. After all, you are mine. Anything I can do to provide for you, whether it’s emotionally, financially, physically, I will do.” He spoke.

“Then please do.” I smiled, letting out a small yelp as Spencer lifted me up, wrapping my legs around his waist in reflex.

“Can’t risk letting you get away.” He whispered, his nose brushing against mine.

I gave him a small smile, nudging my nose against his before replying,

“Good luck with that ever happening.”

anonymous asked:

Hey Ship, have you seen the post by Thinlezzies talking about how you finding that particular photo of Shel Silverstein scary is antisemitic? It's been going around jumblr and I think you might be getting another wave of angry anons/asks soon. So um brace yourself bb

I haven’t seen that one yet, but I got a few angry asks earlier while I was with at my dying grandmother’s bedside and decided that, ya know, now just isn’t the time for discourse.

In retrospect I get why people are saying that and I shouldn’t have said anything at all about him. I never meant to suggest that his facial features themselves were scary - just the fact that he was a big muscley soldier who worked for Playboy and styled himself like a nightclub bouncer, who seemed to enjoy tailoring a persona of “alarming weird guy” by intentionally striking creepy poses and bizarre expressions in cover photos a la Salvador Dali, despite being best known for being the author of the books your teacher read aloud in third grade. I genuinely like him as a person and don’t find his features ugly or alarming - I talked so freely because he looks a lot like my dad and even kind of acts like him.

I’m sorry if that wasn’t clear, and sorrier still if that clarity doesn’t matter. I just got the impression that he cultivated a macho persona on purpose and that his photos were meant to be humorous. The ‘he looks like he could kill me’ comments were meant to be affectionate, in the same vein as ‘wow she looks like she could break my spine over her knee’ comments on muscular character designs.

Dear ex-lover,

It doesn’t kill me anymore to be “just friends” with you , and that makes me think I’m over you, over us. Maybe I am, maybe not, there’s no way to tell. But here is a list of things I’ll never admit to you:

i. In my bedside drawer, I still have the old bottle of deodorant that I used to wear when we had our summer romance because it reminds me of the beautiful beginning of our wild but innocent love. And once in a while, I like to inhale it all in and that puts a smile on my face, just like you used to.

ii. After you stopped teaching me your mother tongue, I fell in love with it. Even though you stopped recommending good movies, I continued on my own because I still craved to learn the language. I’m in love with those movies and the actors and the songs, and you’d be surprised if you knew how better I got at comprehending the language.

iii. I have never ever wished anything bad to happen to you, and even now, I want you to be really happy in life. I’m genuinely happy whenever our mutual best friend tells us you’re doing good, and I still rave about your achievements to everyone I know.

iv. Even though your mom hates me enough to tell you not to talk to me, the respect I have for her is beyond words. She’s one of the strongest people I know of to have survived everything life threw her way with her head held high, and bringing up an amazing person like you, simultaneously.

v. Just sometimes I still hug my pillow tight imagining it’s you as my eyes are closing because that gives me the feeling of safety and security and it reminds me of a time I felt intoxicated in love. It warms my heart.

vi. I haven’t heard your voice in more than three months but I remember the way your voice felt like silk saying my name, and the butterflies I felt in my stomach. I remember a lot of things you said that came straight out of your heart, and I feel lucky to have had that kind of young love.

Love fades and love stories are buried but the things you learnt from them and the feeling they gave you are for life.

Thank you for teaching me everything you did. I hope I too taught you something to remember me by.

Your ex-lover.

Do you ever get blown away by how gay you are?

I’m sitting on my bed researching lesbians in the military for my APUSH paper and listening to a wlw playlist on 8tracks. I’m wearing a baseball tee that says “I got 99 problems and society’s attitude towards sexual orientation and gender identity covers like 98 of them.” I have a pride flag covering one of my windows and pride bead curtains over the other two. The only lights on in my room are rainbow Christmas lights around the edge of my walls. I have two rainbow laptop stickers and there are rainbow streamers from homecoming on my closet door (heh). I have an entire bookshelf of queer literature and a David Levithan novel on my bedside table. Spread out across my floor are about 15 books on homosexuals in the military. I’ve got an article in front of me called “Uncle Sam’s Lesbians.”

TL; DR: My life has become so aggressively homosexual and I don’t know what to do with myself.

There are four pizza boxes on my bedside floor.

I have sixteen missed calls.

I haven’t watered the plants since Sunday and today is Wednesday. Or Thursday…. I think. And I’m having a hard time coping up with life, and I wish I didn’t break up with you.

Hopefully, I’ll be okay by Sunday. Or Monday just in case today is Thursday.

Sigh…. like that fucking matters.

—  Juansen Dizon // Love Hangover 

((also awh, i’m sorry to hear that. here’s a little message from the boys to hopefully help u out  a bit!! i hope you get that all sorted out anon! :>))

inktober | 10 | never let me go

“I know you’re busy but…can we just stay here a little while longer? I need you all to myself…”


He just wanted his 25 minutes. Why doesn’t he ever get his 25 minutes. Kana don’t worry, they’re just hugging, I promise.