my imagination lied to me

the day you called me lazy
was the day i knew
you didn’t understand

you have dreamed me up
it gets worse by the day
fictionalized me to extremes

so how should i dream you my love
how should i imagine your character
what part shall i write for you

i can’t be bothered
obviously
because i’m way too lazy

Photography pick-up lines that Max has or would totally use on Chloe

 As a photographer, I can picture me and you together.

Are you a camera? Because every time I look at you, I smile.

Let’s get together for a horizontal composition.

Come back to my place and I’ll let you pop my flash.

I have to check if my camera is on auto focus because you are making everything else out-of-focus.

Was your daddy Ansel Adams? Because you’re a natural beauty

They say a picture’s worth a thousand words but there are no words for a picture as beautiful as you.

Since I don’t think I’ll finish this proper, I figured I could put up the sketch. 

Zhurrick Childhood AU tho.

Drusilla sired me…But you made me a monster.
— 

Spike (to Angel), Destiny. 

I think about this quote a lot.

The way Spike sees it- though his word is far from gospel- while Dru is responsible for him becoming a vampire, Angel and Angel alone is the reason he became so brutal and twisted. If it wasn’t for his corrupting influence, Spike would never have become Spike. He would have just been William in lieu of empathy or inhibitions, much like the newly risen, somewhat softer Spike we see in Lies My Parents Told Me and at the start of Destiny.

Let’s assume Spike is right in thinking this. Let’s assume that Angel isn’t just a convenient scapegoat for him to deflect his guilt over the monster he became. Let’s assume that blaming Angel for everything isn’t but a coping mechanism to avoid taking responsibility for his own actions.

That means there’s an alternate universe where Dru sired him and Angelus wasn’t there. Angelus was staked and Darla was dusted.

Does that mean we’d have Drusilla and that evil but also dorky, awkward, sappy Spike together forever? Imagine how different that would be.

Imagine Spike and Drusilla slaughtering half a city before cuddling up in each other’s arms and reading passages from their favorite books. Spike enjoyed reciting his poetry anthology to her, but things quite literally got too heated when she shoved a Bible into his hands and asked him to read Revelations to her. His hands were scorched for a week, but he forgave her in a heartbeat he no longer had.

Imagine Spike and Drusilla attending the theatre together, thinking of it as dinner and a show (the actors being dinner). They were going to make Romeo and Juliet their main course, but their performances were so moving that Spike started crying and decided that true art is worth snacking on the understudies for.

Imagine Spike writing poetry for Dru, unworried about an older, stronger vampire taking his art and affection as weakness. 

Just imagine Spike and Dru as they were in Lies My Parents Told Me only for a hundred years.

Imagine lying to Coach Finstock about something and Stiles being proud of you.

“You learned from the best liar, (y/n). I’m proud.”

*Not my gif

4

As we approach what used to be the grand entrance, Gale points out something and the whole party slows down. I don’t know what the problem is at first and then I see the ground strewn with fresh pink and red roses. “Don’t touch them!” I yell. “They’re for me!”

The sickeningly sweet smell hits my nose, and my heart begins to hammer against my chest. So I didn’t imagine it. The rose on my dresser. Before me lies Snow’s second delivery. Long-stemmed pink and red beauties, the very flowers that decorated the set where Peeta and I performed our post-victory interview. Flowers not meant for one, but for a pair of lovers.

I explain to the others as best I can. Upon inspection, they appear to be harmless, if genetically enhanced, flowers. Two dozen roses. Slightly wilted. Most likely dropped after the last bombing. A crew in special suits collects them and carts them away. I feel certain they will find nothing extraordinary in them, though. Snow knows exactly what he’s doing to me. It’s like having Cinna beaten to a pulp while I watch from my tribute tube. Designed to unhinge me.

No one will fully understand — how it’s not just a flower, not even just President Snow’s flower, but a promise of revenge — because no one else sat in the study with him when he threatened me before the Victory Tour. Positioned on my dresser, that white-as-snow rose is a personal message to me. It speaks of unfinished business. It whispers, “I can find you. I can read you. Perhaps I am watching you now.”

But imagine baby! Scott trying to help baby! Stiles when his mom gets sick. Imagine Scott telling Stiles “It’s okay, Stiles, my mama is going to fix it; my mama can fix anything” because that’s what Scott truly believes and Stiles believes him because Scott’s his best friend and Scott would never lie to him. Imagine Scott staring at Stiles’ face of devastation and Scott being confused because he was sure, he was so so so sure, that everything was going to be okay, that Stiles’ mom was going to be okay. Imagine Stiles taking his anger out on Scott because “you said she was going to be okay! You promised, Scott! You’re supposed to be my best friend and you lied to me!” Imagine Scott yelling at his mom with tears in his eyes because he doesn’t understand why Stiles’ mom had to die, he just can’t understand. Imagine Melissa getting eye level with Scott, holding both of his hands, and explaining that death happens and sometimes it happens to really good people and you just can’t save them. Imagine Scott picturing the devastated look on his best friend’s face and declaring with more resolve than an 8 year old should have “No, no that’s not gonna happen anymore. I’m gonna save everyone. No one else dies.”

3

“As we approach what used to be the grand entrance, Gale points out something and the whole party slows down. I don’t know what the problem is at first and then I see the ground strewn with fresh pink and red roses.

"Don’t touch them!” I yell. “They’re for me!”

The sickeningly sweet smell hits my nose, and my heart begins to hammer against my chest. So I didn't imagine it. The rose on my dresser. Before me lies Snow’s second delivery. Long-stemmed pink and red beauties, the very flowers that decorated the set where Peeta and I performed our post-victory interview. Flowers not meant for one, but for a pair of lovers.

4

John Belushi + cats

The Second Tree

Under my tongue lies the meaning of you. It will never get out. Under my tongue lies the grating, the grafting, the ingratiating I would need to do with a god neither of us has seen. Under my tongue lies your imagining of me, lies the reality, both more brittle and more benign. Under my tongue lies the inbetween. The gentle accent of your English tangles with inflections my different selves let me express. Under my tongue lies a bite out of your name.

Your fingers are in my mouth. Your words trip, dripping with my need to be held back from speaking. This black earth ripped now yields the fig grove of your want. My whole life has taught me to walk where I should not go, to breathe what I should not eat, to lift what I should not touch. I am unsafe here, where I like it best. You’ve carved your path far too deep now to stop. The floor is filmed in ice and the trees go up in flames. The sky is a flower sticky with poison.

Your heart beats in my lower spine. My truthful lullaby, I tarnish you with smudges of lust. In your blanched armour, you will turn to stardust and spread through the heavens before you are judged. And yet. This desire for temptation, this need to open the eyes of innocence, it’s what the monsters gave me. It’s what I drank the obsidian river for. We are only human. Let twisted tongues betray us if they must. We are in Eden, tantalised by eternal life, and oh love, our blurred vision could be so clear.