my heart in my throat

i have spent so long bracing myself for the collision
that i have forgotten what softness felt like.
forgotten that love doesn’t have to be 3am speeding
with the windows down and my ribs in my throat
and my heart between your fingertips. i have forgotten
how to kiss without tasting blood, without drawing it too.
it’s just that holding your hand feels like tying myself
to a shipwreck and i’ve lost too much fighting to breathe
to risk going under the waves again. it’s just that
at this point i’m more scar tissue than girl,
more ashes than flame. it’s just that i’ve spent
so long falling, i’ve forgotten what it means to fly.
—  collision theory | a.c. | check out my poetry chapbook unmythologize!
And I believe that if I - a couple of decades ahead -
found myself in a room with all the people I have ever loved,
you would still be the one that makes me feel slightly uncomfortable in my own skin, causing a lump to appear in my throat and making my heart pump blood a little off beat.
You’d still be the one that I am somehow hyper aware of, like all of the atoms my body is made of are attracted to you, as if you were the vanishing point that all lines in the room realign for.
—  // there is something about you and yet, I haven’t figured out whether it it positive or rather negative

You know what I was SO SURE Helen would notice Ryan’s cologne when he leaned in hella close with a gun to her back, like c'mon. Since Tony wore it I thought next scene would definitely be Helen figuring it out or at least become suspicious of the murderous dirtbag who kinda confessed to being a stalker and having an obsession with “"young”“ women already, instead she bonds with him and keeps reporting everything to him aND I’M JUST SO STRESSED OUT

when i think of you my heart always climbs into my throat

for caroline and lucie, because i love them both

James, I say, tell me something good. We are lying on the floor of your bedroom. The ceiling looks like it’s cloaked in stars and I can hear you breathing next to me. I am scared. I am scared because this morning Remus dropped his spoon while he was reading the Prophet because three more people have disappeared. I am scared because you are next to me in the darkness and your hand is inches from mine. I am scared because my heart is missing in this mess and I think you may have stolen it. Well, you say, I am lying in the dark with a pretty girl, and I roll over and punch you.

How did this happen to me? I wonder. You are making me laugh in Transfiguration and I am doodling in the margin of your textbook. I used to dream about your blood being in my mouth but I haven’t slept in a month because I keep tracing your name in the darkness. I remember every single time you’ve touched me, last week in the Great Hall, yesterday at Hogsmeade, today, your knee is touching mine under the table. Your fingerprints are written all over me like ink, and I want to feel your stained hands on my paper-thin skin. I’m always looking for excuses to be close to you.

You’re doing that thing again where you stretch in class and your shirt rides up your torso. I have to tear my gaze away from your lower abdomen and your back muscles that are feathering with corded veins. Something bothering you, Evans? you ask me, and I want to say yes, yes, James, you’re bothering me. But I don’t say anything, smirking into the back of my hand as I scribble down an answer to Flitwick’s question. Remus nudges my side and Sirius is grinning at me, but I ignore them. The glint in your eyes is distracting me, anyway. The wiring in my head is similar to blown fuses. I’m overrun and overwired and I can never concentrate when I’m around you anymore.

Come with me, you say, dragging me down through the corridors. Everything is bleak and uninviting until I hold your hand. The sky is blanketed in grey and the only light in the world are the watery flames of candles and the light laced in your smile. Potter, I ask you, where are we going? Your fingers are looped messily through mine, like string tied around my knuckles. We screech as we run down over the grass, and you slam me up against a pine tree. For a second I think you are going to kiss me, wild eyes and unsteady breathing and beating hearts. But then you say, wait here, and I sit down on the bank of the lake while you pace over rocks, whispering incantations into the skies. Then we’re side by side in the tree line, and the sky breaks open. You got rid of the clouds for me. It feels like we’re stepping into the sun.

My satchel is laden with books as I trudge back from the library. Something sits, waiting, seething. Five Slytherins step in front of me and they are all taller than I am. There is a charge running along my shoulder blades and my hand twists my wand in my pocket. I am not scared, I tell myself. But I am. I am very scared, because Avery is looking at me like he wants to break open my skull and pick apart the contents. Shouldn’t you be in bed by now, Evans? he jeers, snarling. Shouldn’t you be in Azkaban? I retort. He smiles. My hand is shaking. Someone grabs me from behind and I am drowning. I can hear laughing and there are fissures cracking along my spine. My wrist feels shattered where curses break from it. There are five of them. I feel like I am dying. And then someone is wrenching an immovable weight off my heart and flinging Avery into a wall and dragging me into his side. Four of them fall into the ground. I cannot calm down. The light from my wand is static where it hits Rosier in the chest. There is blood running down my face. I can taste it. Lily, you takes my face in your hands, Lily, Lily, Lily, oh my God, are you OK? I think on this for a moment. No, I say, and pass out in your arms.

Everything is sweet and heady and too much for me. I can’t be in the same room as you anymore. I also can’t be away from you for more than five minutes. Sirius makes a sign that spells sexual tension in big block letters and starts holding it up whenever we look at each other. I think I may have to kill him. Remus and I hide his record player in Greenhouse 1. He goes ballistic when he finds out. You’re a fuckface, Evans, he tells me. Don’t be such a sore loser, Black, I say. You are laughing. I want you to stop, because it feels like I’m going to implode. I want you to stop, because I know that I’d bathe in the sound if I could.

You’re shoving my arm when we’re walking down the hallway. Did I just see you smile, Evans? you ask me. Not a chance, I lie, because you’ve made me smile every day for the past year. There’s probably a burn on my bicep where you touched me. You need to stop touching me. There’s no guarantee that I won’t drag you into the broom closet on the Fifth Floor if you don’t. Lily, you say. I turn to look at you. The stone wall is crumbling and dank where I brush past it. There’s something wild swimming in your irises. James? my voice is tentative. It doesn’t sound like my own. You aren’t talking. James, I say again. You’ve backed me into a corner. Suddenly there’s a reel playing in my head of every single point that’s led to this. Your fingers looping messily around my wrist. Your hands either side of my head. Your hips framing mine. Oh, no, I think, this is now. Because your lips are on mine and your eyelashes are tickling my cheek and my heart is falling out of my mouth. I can barely breathe because your teeth are digging into my lower lip and you taste like mint chapstick. I may have said the last bit out loud. You taste like sunshine, you counter. How do you know? I whisper. You smile at me. Because I do.

i think there are parts of me that will always think i love you, no matter how much i tell them that i don’t. my heart will still crawl its way up my throat when someone mentions your name next to hers.

maybe crawl isn’t the right word.

when i am pretending to be happy for you, my heart grows limbs and grips the top of my windpipe to pull itself up. i choke on the muscle expanding and contracting rapidly in my throat. it takes everything in me not to cough up blood.

—  i’ve gotten used to the taste of copper in my mouth | sept. 4, 2016

“jesus christ, hyung!”

seokjin just chuckles, doesn’t even look down at the hand clutching his thigh. yoongi is sitting straight beside him on his bed, eyes wide with worry. they’re watching the preview of the second episode of law of the jungle where, just seconds ago, seokjin wowed the rest of cast with a spinning jump into the ocean.

“you could’ve slipped and hit your head,” yoongi mutters darkly, removing his hand from seokjin’s thigh and placing it on his chest.

“but i didn’t, did i? and besides, i looked cool, so relax.” seokjin pulls him back to his chest, arms enveloping yoongi’s tiny frame. “i’m not some damsel in distress, you know.”

yoongi pouts but leans his head back on his roommate’s shoulders anyway. looking up at seokjin, he complains, “if you’re going to pull any more shit like that, i’m not gonna watch it. you’re going to give me a heart attack.”

seokjin turns to him with a glint in his eye. “hey, if anything even remotely scary is going to happen, i’ll distract you, okay?” he assures yoongi, lips ghosting the shell of yoongi’s ear. yoongi visibly shudders. he’s facing the television again, where seokjin is screaming while one of the cast wrangles a snake, and he frowns.

“the rest of the episode looks dangerous.” he’s trying very hard to focus on the show and not on the light, feathery kisses peppering his neck. “what, are you going to distract me the whole time?”

yoongi can feel the smile forming on seokjin’s lips as seokjin moves from his neck to his jaw. 



Best friends 

 Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7

Where are you?” His voice was something I missed incredibly. It made my eyes water and my bottom lip quiver. I gripped my thigh to try to ground myself, to stop shaking, but realization dawned on me that he knows. 

I wanted to sink in my misery. 

(Y/n)… breathe, don’t cry okay? I’ll be there as soon as you tell me where you are.” I only sobbed incoherent words into the speaker, my head dizzy and my heart caught in my throat. 

Can you hand your phone to someone?” I looked at the bartender who was looking at me with tender eyes while cleaning a glass. 

“C-can you?” I stuttered, shoving my phone out towards him. He took the phone from me easily, like he’s done this about a million times. His mouth moved but I couldn’t hear any sounds. The only thing I could hear was a ringing in my ears as I kept replaying over and over what had just happened. 

He knows. 

Keep reading


Summary: You have some very important news to tell Shawn, but you’re not quite sure how he’s gonna take it.

Requested: Sort Of

I ran a hand through my hair as I paced around Shawn’s empty dressing room. I found out some news a few days ago and I’m not sure how he’s gonna take it. I could feel my heart beating in my throat. I have to tell him though. He deserves to know. It would be cruel of me not to tell him. I let out a frustrated growl as I sat on the couch. What’s the worst that can happen?”

With that, I forced myself off the couch and made my way to the stage where Shawn is doing soundcheck. I tucked my hands in my pocket, trying not to talk myself out of this. I walked out to the isles of seats and stood in the middle of the walkway.

Shawn was playing his guitar and smiling at the crew as the made up silly lyrics. He busted into laughter and high fives a guy after the track was over. He looks so carefree. This is what he loves and who am I to rip this away from him. I feel my heart plummet to my stomach as Shawn turns around and spots me, sending me the biggest smile I’ve seen in a long time. I turned around and started toward the arena door, trying to conceal my tears from Shawn’s view.

“I’ll be right back.” I hear him say. Crap. I speed up my walking and make it out the double doors just as Shawn is grabbing my arm, turning me around. His face drops as he takes hold of my face, wiping the tears away. “Hey hey hey, What’s wrong? What happened?”

“I have something to tell you and I don’t know how you’re going to take it.” I explain. Shawn suddenly stood up straight and examined my face. He looked down and bit the inside of his cheek.

“Who is he?” He asked through clenched teeth, catching me off guard.


“Who is he and how long has it been going on? I swear, Y/n, if you say it’s Cameron, I will-“

“You think I’m cheating on you? You think I would do that to you with your best friend?” I asked hurt clear in my voice.

“Why else would you be so nervous to tell me something, Y/n?”

“Because I’m pregnant!” I say raising my voice a little bit. Shawn freezes.

“What?” He says, the color drained from his face. A few minutes pass and Shawn is still standing there, speechless.

“Forget it. I shouldn’t have said anything.” I said, tears starting to well up in my eyes again. I start to walk away when Shawn grabs my arm again.

“Wait, I’m sorry. I just… it’s a lot.” He says placing his hands on my waist. I lean into him and rest my head on his chest. “How long have you known?”

“2 days.” I feel Shawn stiffen under me.  

“How far are you?” I take a deep breath.

“If I got my math right, the last time we had sex was when you were frustrated about your tour work so… 2 months tomorrow.” I slowly break away from Shawn and look at Shawn who seems to be deep bin thought. “I should go.” |

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I don’t belong here anymore Shawn.”

“Why does it sound like you saying goodbye?” He asks. I closed my eyes and try to hold back my tears.

“Because I am.” I reply. Shawn shakes his head.

“No.” He replies with a stern voice. I know he’s not going to let me go easily, but I have too. I open my mouth to say something, but the door behind us opens.

“Sorry to interrupt but, Shawn if you want the show to start on time you need to get dressed.” Someone from the crew notifies him. Shawn nods.

“I’ll be a second.” With that the person leaves and I cross my arms around my torso.

“Have fun at your show. I know your gonna kill it.” I said. Shawn rubbed his eyes.

“Why do you keep saying goodbye?” I could hear the hurt in his voice.

“Because I don’t want to hold you back! I don’t want to be the reason you can’t go out and live like an 18 year old pop star should! I don’t want you to miss amazing opportunities all because you have a pregnant girlfriend at home, Shawn! I don’t want that for you! I don’t want you to look back years from now and start to resent me because you couldn’t do what you love to do!” I cried. Shawn gathered me in his arms.

“Baby, I will never see you that way. Believe it or not you’re giving me a gift. Yes, it might be a little early, but there’s nothing that I want more than to start a family with you.”  

“You’re not angry?” I asked into his chest. Shawn chuckled.

“No, I’m not angry.” He said.

“What about the hormones?” Shawn laughed.

“I think I can handle them.” He said taking my face in his hands and kissing my forehead.

“And the cravings and mood swings?”

“I think I can handle those too. Just… stay. Please.” Shawn said, placing his forehead on mine.

“Fine.” I whispered. With that, Shawn smiled and placed a kiss on my lips, pulling me closer to him. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled him as close as possible. Suddenly the door behind us opened.

“Sorry to break this up, but you need to get ready, Mendes. Now.” His stylist said, practically dragging him through the doors. I took a deep breath and smiled to myself. That went better than expected. Now here comes the hard part:

Telling everyone else.

Stay Close to Me

Yuri on Ice poem by Satomi-iko
Translation from polish by me

I hear it
Blade cutting through ice in between the sounds
Distinctive fling
The moment I fill my lungs with oxygen
With uncertainty and fear
And your perfect landing
I scream and breath out

I see it
Crystals of ice shimmering in the air
Forming a mist falling on a smooth surface
Your quiet sigh drowning out in the sound of a roaring crowd

I feel it with my whole self,  your suffering
From loneliness
It seems like, through the sound of music you’re telling a story
Of someone,
Of something
Feeling so distant yet so wistful
Your hands
Your legs
Picturing it, dancing
The beating of your heart
So similar to my own
Something’s grasping my throat
Suffocating, like I’m about to cry
Do you feel it as well?

It was few years ago, yet the feeling stayed the same
I look at you through these moments
It’s time to take the ice to repeat the history
But with a different ending
I squeeze your hand and mindlessly gaze into your eyes
They are not lonely anymore

 We are together
 Now I’m ready 

I’m just throwing this out there: I’m genuinely terrified for tomorrow. I’ve already voted by mail, so I’m done and set, but my heart has entered my throat and I don’t think it’s going to be gone for the next two days. 

I’m white. But I’m also female, and bisexual. If Donald Trump wins, I can say goodbye to possibly marrying a woman. I can say goodbye to any abortions I might need that are safe and legal. I can say hello to justified catcalling and harassment in the streets. 

I have black friends and family, I have Muslim friends, I have friends who live in this country legally that are from Spanish speaking countries who could be deported. I have transgender friends and lesbian and gay friends and Jewish friends. And I’ve never been so scared for any of them before now. 

i’m terrified. If Trump wins, I could lose people I care about. I could be hurt myself. Racism and homophobia and Islamophobia could become more normalized than it already is. I’m not ready for that kind of America. 

Please, if you’re thinking of staying home tomorrow because “no way Trump will win,” please just take a second to sit down and think about what could happen if he DOES. Think about your mothers or your sisters or your nieces or your female friends. Think about your friends of color, your friends and family who identify somewhere on the LGBTQIA+ spectrum. Take into consideration what Trump winning would do to them. And if you can, if you have the ability to, please vote. 

Because I don’t want people to realize what an evil person this man when it’s too late to change it. 

DId anyone else think when Sam called Mary away from Cas he was doing so to give Dean and Cas a moment alone? My heart was in my throat then it was just both boys conferring with Mary and it felt like the Impala scene from 9x06 where Dean stops Cas from getting out of the car (and nearly gives me a heart attack) only to help him… uh… undress. They are killing me with the almost Destiel. 

Fresh Blood

There’s blood layering every surface of my living room; it sends my body into a frenzy because it means I have to have everything washed or thrown out.

My desire to have someone’s heart in my hand and their blood seeping down my throat like strong alcohol has grown too strong, it’s creeping and crawling into my days instead of staying settled in my nights like it should do. This wouldn’t have happened if I had it all under control. The mere thought of not having a firm grip on the situation makes it slip out of my reach even more.

White seems like such a good colour for the interior of my house until it comes to slitting a person’s throat; the blood is never going to come out of the couch.

Huffing, I make my way into the kitchen; I keep rolls upon rolls of bags for this kind of situation and now my mind is screaming at me to use them. I almost slip when my foot touches the hardwood floor but I quickly regain my balance.

Now that the man’s guts are decorating my living room and his blood has settled into my stomach quite nicely - it’s making me feel full, bloated even, which means I won’t have to eat tonight - I’m feeling on edge and frustrated with myself due to not thinking to put anything down to stop the red substance staining everything. I almost wish I could revive the dead man so I can relive the feeling of his skin opening at my hands.

Despite my reluctance, I have to start throwing anything that can’t be bleached or washed into the bags. Everything I own costed a heavy amount when I purchased it so a lot of it is destined for the bag, except a few things I can’t bare to see go; those things I promise to still make good use with, and place them by the stairs.

While the rug that was previously sat in the centre of my living room (and once complimented the colour scheme I had going on, but now ruins it completely with the blotches of blood) is being thrown into the second bag to begin to fill to the top, I can hear my phone ringing from the kitchen. I don’t bother to run and answer it.

It screams at me to answer it four more times before whoever is calling seems to give up. The house falls into an easy silence after that, much to my appreciation.

Around half an hour later - when guts are sat in a messy pile in the corner and the only blood is that smeared across the wall (due to my victim struggling for his life) - there’s a noise I don’t expect, and one I haven’t heard in so long; the sound of the front door opening.

It’s become so unknown to me that when the noise first sets into my ear, I don’t recognise it. Although, when there’s a gasp - a noise I <i>do</I> know, and adore very much - following it, I know that what’s about to happen cannot look good for me.
My head snaps in the direction of the door and stood looking shocked, confused and scared all at once, is [Y/N]. She’s wearing one of the numerous sweaters of mine that she likes to keep at her house.

“J-Justin?” she stutters and I don’t dare to move a muscle in my body.

“Happy Halloween,” I ask rather than state. My voice is laced with panic and I wouldn’t have to have someone tell me to be able to detect it.

“It’s January,” she says and my fingers clench around the bag that starts to have the ability to slip between them. I can feel my forehead becoming hot, as well as the rest of my body.

“Ah, shit- looks like I’m too late. Well, there’s always next year. You wanna go get some coffee?” I speak frantically, hoping something else will capture her attention and throw her off the image of her boyfriend stood in front of a white wall painted with blood.

“What’s going on?” she squeaks and I find her very attractive when she’s scared. I try hard to keep my mind and my vision straight.

“Isn’t it obvious, babygirl?”

“Why have you painted your walls red?” she asks and I laugh.

“That’s easy: it’s not paint,” I grin and feel my body begin to relax.

This is it. It’s going to happen right now. This could either end with us being partners in crime; killing together and having our own late night murderous rendezvous whenever we want, the idea of it makes me shift uncomfortably in my trousers, or it’s going to end with her trying to leave and me having to duct tape her to my bed. I don’t see a realistic option between the two.

“Then, what.. is it?” she frowns and her round face looks sadder than I’ve ever had to see her. I don’t know whether to be happy or sad.

“Well, it’s blood.” I don’t think she’s noticed the guts in the corner.

“I thought it was cranberry juice.” She doesn’t convince me; cranberry juice doesn’t take so long to make its way down the wall.

“Nope, it’s blood,” I state clearly.

She’s quiet. Her eyes are on fire and they’re moving between me and the wall. I’m uncertain as to what she’s thinking so I don’t say anything, I simply wait; the bag in my hand is starting to irritate my skin.

“Is this one of your little jokes? I can never tell. You’re scaring me.”

I sigh and drop the bag, my hand appreciates it when the air is able to lick at my skin. I move closer to her and the worried expression sets deeper onto her face. I can see her bright eyes glance down to where the blood had splattered all over me. I could feel a sense of pride at my work.

“What’s going on?”

“Your life’s about to change a helluva lot, sweetheart. You’ve just walked into something you shouldn’t have,” I mutter as I move closer to her. I can see her fingers trembling and threatening to detach from her hands. “I’m not joking when I say this is blood, just like I wasn’t joking about the bodies in my closet, and the head in my fridge. It’s all true.”

She wavers for a second longer; I can almost see her brain clicking behind her skull as it tries to calculate whether I’m simply making another one of my jokes or if my jokes are becoming too advanced for her to understand.

“What do you think? Impressive, right?” There’s a grin that’s threatening to make it’s way onto my lips that I’m sure are coated in a small layer of blood, if I haven’t managed to swipe it off with my tongue yet.

“Stop it.”

“Stop what?”

“I don’t find this funny anymore.”

There’s definite worry in her tone of voice and I can feel myself moving closer to her. She makes a pathetic attempt to force her body backwards, although it does nothing but make the desire I have to move closer to her even more powerful.

“Are you scared? You don’t have to be, babygirl. I’m not going to hurt you, I’d never lay a finger on you.”

Even as the words leave my lips I know I’m telling a cruel lie; my lust for her and for her blood has grown stronger since I accidentally bumped into her two years ago. I managed to avoid putting any kind of pain onto her for reasons I’m not too sure of, but now, it’s all I can think about. Of course, I have to try and make sure she never finds out.

“Tell me what’s going on. Is this some kind of joke that I don’t understand?”

“I’ve already told you; this isn’t a joke.” My jaw clenches and I’m uncertain as to why, although I’m sure I know when I feel myself becoming impatient with the girl in front of me. “This is real, all of it.”

Next, she does something I hadn’t anticipated - she laughs. Her head falls back and I can see everything working in the front of her throat. It makes me think about all the sharp objects I could slice it with. The laugh, however, is far from genuine; it’s hesitant and sharp. It doesn’t last for very long, either.

“Right, that’s funny. You’re a serial killer, hilarious. I get it now,” she chuckles and it’s fake. I’m watching her closely because I’m confused by her behaviour and have no idea where the conversation is going to lead; my two previous assumptions as to where the conversation could go have seemingly taken flight and headed for the nearest window. I’m not left clueless.

“Don’t kid yourself, [Y/N],” I mange to let escape between my lips.

It’s a strange sensation to me, to have somebody’s guts in the same room as my girlfriend; there’s been so many things that I’ve done, most things don’t surprise me but this, this is new.

“So, what? I’m supposed to believe that my boyfriend kills people? Stop joking, Justin, it’s just not funny anymore.” Her voice has now adjusted and taken on a shaky quality that I find quite amusing. “I’m leaving. You’re inhuman,” she says and I think she’s going to start crying.

“I’m very in touch with humanity, okay?” I frown deeply and correct her quickly, now following her as she strides for the door. “You can’t leave.”

“And why the fuck not, Justin? You’re clearly going through some thing right now and I don’t like it. You’re making me panic.” She turns to look at me for a split second; it’s a look I’m unfamiliar with but I’m sure it’s supposed to signal to me that she’s hoping I’m going to stop her and tell her it’s all a joke. It’s a shame that I can do no such thing.

“It’s going to be okay, baby. You’re gonna go and clear your head and I’m not going to stop you because I know you’re going to come back to me, isn’t that right?”

“You’re serious.. aren’t you?” she says, sounding as though all of her worst nightmares have suddenly become true.

“Very much so.” The evil smirk is back onto my lips, I cannot help but show my affection for my satanic hobbies. “I’ve told you over and over again but you just don’t believe me, do you?”

She’s trying to edge away but I’m moving closer. She moves slowly as though she’s created a plan in her mind; if she moves ever so slightly, I won’t notice. Little does she know, I notice everything. I notice how she moves away just like I notice my victims trying to edge their way towards the door. It’s evident that [Y/N] doesn’t know just how much practice I’ve had in this field.

“I-I have to go.”


She doesn’t give me an answer. It happens in a matter of seconds. She’s out of the door and she’s running towards her car that’s parked patiently next to mine. The sun is setting; disappearing behind the hills and she’s getting away. A plan is already taking shape in the folds of my brain while I watch her drive away; anger seeping into every inch of my body.

I caught her in the end. I knew I would. I said at the beginning I was too selfish to ever let her leave me, and even if it means watching her every second of every day, I’ll always have her. Of course, I’ve had to make sure she doesn’t utter a word to anyone, it took some bribery and manipulation but I’m certain no one else will ever know of my secrets.

[Y/N] is upset, of course she is. One second I was the charming boyfriend who gave her all the happiness in the world and suddenly, I’m the psychotic, inhuman monster who happens to enjoy stapling human limbs together for fun. Even I can sympathise.

I’ve noticed that there’s still a hint of love in the colours that swirl around the outside of [Y/N]’s pupils; it pleases me to know she’s still so invested in me, even after I sat and admitted almost everything - apart from the murdering of her cousin; I don’t want her entire family banging on my door.

I’m insane and I’m feeling more and more on the verge of frenzy every day. What was once an itch has mutated into a burn that sits under my skin and claws away until my needs are satisfied.

So, the next time you’re walking through the busy streets of whatever city you’re in; whether it’s London, Paris, New York, Milan, Amsterdam - anywhere, remember me. I’m everywhere - I’m the dead eyes of the old man striding past you, I’m the grimace of the lady sitting on the bench across the street, I’m even the shrill shrieks of the baby in the stroller. Every disgusting sight, every pungent smell, every irritating sound is what I’m made up of. Notice me. After all, I’m looking for fresh blood wherever I go; while showing no signs of being filled to the brim with insanity, and ready to overflow.

 The darkness and disgust that I create is something that will always be there, no matter where you go; it’s something you can’t escape, just like I can’t seem to escape the deep desires for human pain within the pit of my stomach and the thirst for their blood trickling down my throat.

anonymous asked:

I was a little angry at Mary, but then he said "my boys" including Cas and I forgave her ❤ 12x12 has me with my heart in my throat

I think there are a lot of mixed feelings about Mary after this episode. I still love her, and the portrayal of her in the show, because I totally understand what the writers are trying to do with her character. I have decided to use your ask to voice my opinion on the current “Mary debate”. Hope you don’t mind. 12x12 also had me choking on my own heart nonny! I am with you there.

Before this season Mary has always been this fantasy figure of motherly perfection to the boys - specifically Dean. They put her high on a pedestal as a symbol of the life they were robbed of. Not to mention the fact that she was framed as “Mother Mary” the holy mother of Christ prior to this season. She was always this perfect “ideal mother” who could do no wrong. Yes we learned of her back story as a Hunter and how she met John but ultimately the “young Mary” story is still separate from the Mary of the pilot and the Mary in the photograph that pulled Dean back from the brink among other things. She was always framed from Dean’s POV as the perfect mother figure. 

So to bring her back to life, to give a life and story and personality to the original fridged woman who has been sat on a pedestal all these years? Its fucking amazing is what it is. You NEED to tear down that “holier than thou” image of her. Of course she isn’t gonna be what her sons expect. Of course she is gonna struggle to adjust. Of course she is gonna make dodgy choices (because she wouldn’t be a Winchester if she didn’t).  She is FINALLY being portrayed a a real person with flaws and problems and I am lapping it up. Women aren’t fucking perfect. They can be a million different things but never perfect. Perfect is boring. If you’re character is perfect, then they aren’t really a character at all. 

If I was writing the show, I would write her pretty much exactly how they are writing her. I would write her struggle to accept that her babies are grown up, that they are still hunters, that her perfect life that she desired from a young age was robbed from her by the same demon that killed her parents. The only thing that pisses me off about the shows version of Mary isn’t even Mary’s fault, its the stupid fucking format of having to make side characters disappear every couple of episodes because for some reason having them pottering around in the Bunker whilst Sam and Dean work a generic MOTW case isn’t a good enough excuse. 

At the same time I get that she has turned back to hunting for a distraction to her pain. Because she is still a woman mourning the loss of her children. She missed them grow up, she doesn’t get to hold baby Sammy in her arms and kiss Dean on the forehead goodnight anymore. (My mum tells me she misses me all the goddamn time. She misses her little girl like she is mourning me because I am a 30 year old woman living away from home and see her every couple of weeks. My mum still hasn’t quite accepted that I have grown up. But at least she got to experience it.) Mary has been robbed of that. Hell, Sammy was only just 6 months old. She was probably still breast feeding him when she died. Imagine having that ripped away from you?

I wish they explored her pain in more depth, but I get where they are going with it. She has turned to the BMOL because they have given her a promise, to rid the world of the monsters that stole her life from her. They have given her focus, because clearly the shoving your problems down and ignoring them and throwing yourself into work is a genetic Winchester/Campbell Gene. Could she have done more to save Cas? Yes. She could have given up the Colt if it would have saved Cas’s life. It was their only shot, and she chose wrong. I don’t quite forgive her for that but I wanna see where they take her story. She is traumatised by what has happened to her, and not thinking clearly. She is our season 6 Cas parallel as well lets not forget, and in her mind she is doing the right thing. That doesn’t excuse her, but then Cas actively put Sam’s life in danger too… and a lot of people hated him for it at the time (and still do sadly).

Mary did indeed call Cas one of her boys at the end there. I think perhaps by that point the whole situation had sunken in more. She knows how much her sons care for him, how they view him as a brother (and spouse) and after recent events I think she has realised just how important Cas is. She connected with Cas, and also there is probably some residual guilt there from not handing over the Colt at the time.

We just need to see where her story goes. Honestly I see it going the way of 6x20 and beyond. But then again this is supposed to be a re-write of season 6 rather than just a hard copy with different characters. I expect Mary to come to her senses and do what Cas never did in season 6, because I expect that Dean (and Sam) would have learned from that mistake and make an effort to resolve the situation. Communication is a key theme this season so hopefully this will come into play in later episodes. We can only wait and see.