My favorite place to be is literally, figuratively at the bottom of a swimming pool. One time when I was tripping LSD, oh yeah that’s illegal

So hypothetically if I were to do some hallucinogenics I’d jump into some kind of blueish, greenish maybe kind of purpleish water and let myself float down like a feather, sway side to side and watch the water above me ripple in reverse like upside down and slow motion like maybe I flipped over the world. And then hypothetically when my back touches the filthy, grimey, slime of the bottom and my brain starts to choke I’ll think about how I should come up for air, but I’ll feel too much like a wet piece of paper. Far too soggy to let anyone fill me up and write me back to life. Touch me and I’ll tear. I am somewhere almost dead, but not quite and I like that. I am weightless and weighed down and it kind of feels like either I don’t exist or this is the only place where I can fill enough empty space to satisfy how much I want to exist.

Eventually (1/2)

Nightcrawler x Reader

Summary: Fanfic where reader is (unhappily) forced to have a fuzzy blue mutant as her assigned seat partner


Without meaning to, you could feel your face scrunch up in discomfort at the sight of your new science partner. The boy was blue, dressed in blindingly bright red, and - to top it all off, covered from head to toe in fur. When he reached out to shake your hand, it was awkward, and you couldn’t quite figure out how to fit your hand into his.

 “Kurt Wagner.” The boy beamed, revealing rows of pearly white teeth and two little fangs that poked out from his upper lip.

 “Er, nice to meet you.” Forcing a smile, you took the seat besides him. “My name’s (y/n).”

 That was the sole interaction between the two of you for the next half year. Luckily, he got the hint that you weren’t much of a people person, and all work was done in silence.

 Well, mostly silence.

 Despite his best attempts not to, he had the uncanny habit of always muttering his work aloud under his breath. So I carry the 4, and divide it by x … this is so hard!

 The first time you heard it, it was impossibly annoying. It didn’t stop. It lasted all throughout the hour long class, soft little ramblings and the occasional cuss.

 By the 30th time you heard it, you were more accustomed to the sound of his voice than you were to the actual teacher’s. Not to mention, he always read his answers out loud, and it helped out in more than one occasion.

 By the 60th, you were actually heartened to hear the familiar murmurs, the cheery little ahh when he found the answer.

 In fact, you were completely accustomed to the slight brush of arms, completely at ease with the warmth of his fingers as you shared an eraser.

 He had, without realizing it, gotten used to your presence as well. To the scent of your shampoo and the way you bit your lip when focusing on a particularly difficult question.

 Maybe it was because of this that he forgot to control himself during a particularly enlightening moment. He’d been struggling on the same paper for the past hour, and he was on the verge of tears when a sudden block in his mind just lifted and “I got it!” In a swift lurch of his hand, the pencil flew upwards in excitement, skidding sharply across her shoulder.

 “Ow!”

 “Mein Gott, I’m so sorry!” Kurt’s eyes widened in alarm as he looked at you, arms frozen in shock. “I didn’t mean to - I’m sorry!’

 Your eyebrow twitched in amusement, the sting of your flesh forgotten. Trying not to laugh, you smiled. “It’s okay. It was just a scratch.”

 Body deflating with relief, he tried to match your smile. “Ja, okay. I am sorry.” He turned unsurely back to his paper, and then back to you. “Are you - are you certain it’s okay? I don’t want you to get lead poisoning.”

 At this, a small giggle burst from your lips. “It’s not real lead, Kurt, you know that right? It’s - it’s just graphite?”

 His cheeks blushed a dark blue. “Right. Sorry.”

 “It’s fine, seriously.” You leaned against the palm of your hand, facing him. It was the first time you had ever really noticed him, and you were surprised to find that he was actually kind of cute.   His amber eyes, though bright, were clouded with edges of worry. “You know how you could make it up to me, though?”

 “How?”

 “Explaining this problem. I’ve been stuck on it for a whole hour now and I still get nothing.” Gesturing to your blank question paper, you frown. “See?”

 Glowing with the chance to impress, and he took up a pencil, pointing at the different numbers and trying to explain it. Almost immediately, however, he was cut off by the sharp shriek of the bell.

 “All right, class. That’ll be it for today.”

 In a loud collision of noise, chairs squeaked against the tile and students began to clamber for the doorway.

 Kurt turned for his own bag, but something - call it a gut instinct - forced you to stop him. “Uh, hey, wait. You wanna go study together? I mean, if you’re free.”

 He eyed you with confusion - almost suspicion - before his tail perks up and he smiles shyly. “Of course! I’ll meet you in my room at 4?”

 “Sounds like a date.”

 And before either can read much into it, he’s gone in a puff of dazed, happy smoke.

I do not want to be beautiful. I want to be contagious and radiant. I want to leave a mark on not only on the world but on souls. I want to have something to offer; something more than the superficial idea that my beauty is all that I have to give.
—  I have so much more.

of course they don’t understand, baby - 


how could they?


they have not seen
the elation in your eyes
when you greet me
with inexplicable
adoration;


i do not believe
there is a sight safer
than you 
looking at me.


they have not heard
the softness of your voice
when your lips
part in a
gentle whisper of
three beautiful words;


i do not doubt
the truthfulness
of them.


they have not listened
to your stories,
or uncovered
the fragments of you
i’m not sure
sunlight has seen;


i will never tire
of listening
to the rhythmic way
you speak.


most of all
they have not experienced
the way you love:


the
fiery
passionate
beautiful 
way you love


and if they had,
they would have never questioned
how i could love you

—  “inexplicable” by chloe roberts

if I knew an easier way to exist, I would choose that.
people say ‘this is making you stronger’  like I wanted another
reason to stay awake at night. like I wanted another ruler
to measure my survival by.

someone who loves me asks what’s wrong
and if I were braver, I would say this:
I am scared you will leave if I tell you how much hurt I’m carrying-
there are softer people to love. I am afraid of the day you figure this out.

—  Fortesa Latifi - 10:14 P.M.

1. Dye your hair a different color. If you’re scared, do it with chalk or non-permanent dye.

2. Make a cup of tea or coffee and watch it steep.

3. Count up to 1,000. Once you reach that, count up to 2,000.

4. Do a large, inciting, and fascinating puzzle or mind game.

5. Watch passersby. Give them a name, an occupation, or associate a color to them. Make ridiculous appointments they have to attend.

6. Try to play an instrument. If you fail, learn to play it correctly and get better each day.

7. Watch your favorite movie and quote every line, or watch your favorite musical and sing every song.

8. Paint your nails or color on your nails.

9. Organize your sock drawer, your junk drawer, or a kitchen drawer.

10. Play with play doh, origami, putty, knitting, or fidget toys to occupy your hands.

11. Play ball with a friend.

12. Take a walk. Unwind.

13. Make a dance routine to a funky song you enjoy listening to.

14. Color all over a big poster board, do an art project, or make a DIY project.

—  14 Things to do when you feel like you’re going to relapse, Kelsey Austere

One day, Lance hurts his finger and whines about it because the pain is quite a bit. Keith tells him to stop being such a baby but Lance says he’ll only stop if Keith kisses the pain away. Keith is not surprised because honestly, it’s Lance.

But he goes over to Lance, whose holding out his finger with a playful grin, before taking his finger and pressing a soft kiss to it. Keith draws back with a roll of his eyes before he grumbles, “There. You happy?”

Lance simply smiles fondly before leaning in and kissing Keith’s cheek who smiles in return. 

“Obviously. Kisses always make it better.”

Allura is watching this with wide, curious eyes and takes it in with a firm nod. 

So the next time Shiro gets hurts and his wounds are covered, Allura plants a gentle kiss on the wound. With Shiro’s surprised and questioning gaze, Allura smiles before saying, 

“Kisses always make it better.”

And it soon becomes a thing. 

You broke my heart in September when all leaves were dying, and I think a piece of me died too. I’ve felt cold all winter, even when I should have felt warm. My only birthday wish, was one from you. The only thing I wanted for Christmas, was you back. My only New Years resolution was to find a way to make myself better so you’d regret leaving. There were times it felt like the snow was suffocating me, and all I could do was scream for autumn because it was easier to say than your name. Soon everything will start melting, the grass will start growing, and trees will start healing- so will I.
—  It’s been a long winter, h.v.
you will always be one of the wildest
and most beautiful times of my life.
so what if we couldn’t bare it?
somewhere, I’m still holding
that wild between my teeth.
somewhere, we are staring
straight into the light of it.
somewhere, I am loving you
with all I have
and I am not being punished
for it.
—  Fortesa Latifi - the knife of it all
It’s been 16 years, and finally, one random night at 3am I realize that if you always treat people how you want to be treated, you’ll never be treated how you want. You’ll always be taken for granted. No matter how much purity you try to show, eventually the world will rip it away. I’ll be damned if I constantly treat someone better than they treat me. I’ve spent my whole life trying to make everyone happy, but when was the last time someone genuinely tried making me happy?
—  A.W.//3.6.16, not once.
im sorry if this isn’t beautiful
I. I hate dreaming about you.  the next day, I am all shaking hands.  yes, still.  in my dreams, I either forgive you or scream. either way, I wake up tired.

 

  II. I will always lie about the worst things -  the text I wasn’t supposed to see but did/ how I still let you sleep in my bed afterwards/ how the next day, it rained and rained and we thought it was for us.

 

  III. we loved each other until we didn’t. there is no way to turn this into poetry.
—  Fortesa Latifi