over this ache

Let’s face it: I’m scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess I’m afraid for myself… the old primitive urge for survival. It’s getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity. It all flowed over me with a screaming ache of pain… remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted. When you feel that this may be good-bye, the last time, it hits you harder.
—  The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath

I think that the moment Stiles realized Lydia loves him too was when she said “I’m not leaving you” because, in that moment, he heard himself in her words. He remembered all the times he wouldn’t leave Lydia, or didn’t want to leave Lydia (in the Eichen house, at the animal clinic with young Derek, before heading to Mexico for Scott, etc.). He remembered what he felt for her in those times. He remembered the inner, powerful feeling that compelled him to never want to leave her side- especially in times of danger. What Stiles feels- what keeps him at Lydia’s side despite the threat to his life- is what Lydia feels as well. Stiles could hear it in her words and see it in her eyes. Lydia’s “I’m not leaving you” was all the confirmation he needed, and he acted beautifully after finding that out. He didn’t pry the words out of her. He didn’t even hint at needing or wanting to hear her say it. Instead, he was content with the revelation he had on his own and made sure the last thing Lydia heard from him was that SHE was loved. His last request- what he wants Lydia to remember in the wake of his realizing she loves him- is that Lydia remember she’s loved, and that is a divine thing. God bless Stiles’ heart.

anonymous asked:

Ok can we just talk about the fact that YOOSUNG has a goddamn Mercedes? Those go for $40,000 minimum

I’m so proud of Yoosung when I read that munchkin like Yoosung is my goals, like he started from the bottom of being an insecure mess using video games as a distraction and then a beautiful amazing woman helped him build up. I’m so glad in my “ Jumin putting down Elizabeth” that I was right that he works in a hospital not a little area. Yoosung is my goals in life he is fucking amazing and he deserves so much love. I’m so proud of Yoosung for owning a Mercedes. He came so far in life.

Too Right To Be Wrong [Chapter 7]

mood board by the talented @memoiresofaneternaldreamer

Chapter 7 of Too Right To Be Wrong

Prologue  Prologue 2  Prologue 3  Prologue 4  Ch1  Ch2  Ch3  Ch4  Ch5  Ch6

Series Genre: Smut/Angst/Fluff

You let out a loud gasp as he tugged your panties off swiftly.

“Fuck!” you said under your breath. Never ever had anything made you so aroused in your life.

Mark teased you as his mouth ghosted over your aching core, his hot breath making you want to come undone right there.

Keep reading

Let’s face it: I’m scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess I’m afraid for myself… the old primitive urge for survival. It’s getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity. It all flowed over me with a screaming ache of pain… remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted. When you feel that this may be good-bye, the last time, it hits you harder.
—  Sylvia Plath
Let’s face it: I’m scared, scared and frozen. First, I guess I’m afraid for myself… the old primitive urge for survival. It’s getting so I live every moment with terrible intensity. It all flowed over me with a screaming ache of pain… remember, remember, this is now, and now, and now. Live it, feel it, cling to it. I want to become acutely aware of all I’ve taken for granted. When you feel that this may be good-bye, the last time, it hits you harder.
—  Sylvia Plath

This hurts less than it should,
and maybe I should stop trying to scrape the dirt from under my fingernails, after all you’re never gonna get it out like that, I know, I’ve tried.

Sometimes, I wish it burned more,
To feel that all over,
to feel that ache throbbing and swelling against my skin so intensely I’ll refuse to wear sleeveless tops for a month and a half,
to feel that everywhere behind the tender back of my knees and the scared strain in my eyes,
to ride that out.
The pain comes in waves, they say, and all you can do is ride it out. And then it stops.

So tell me why I’m frothing at the mouth not from rage, but from biting down on store-brand bars of soap,
Why I couldn’t even feel such pain at the beginning, couldn’t register anything, just that my skin wasn’t sticky from tears but from sweat and salt and someone else’s spit, a vigorous attempt of reconciliation, the only thing coming in waves the thick slabs of heat shooting down on exposed shoulder blades.

And they don’t tell you about the way it feels to be so completely at a loss, of course they don’t tell you that for weeks you’ll be staring at your shaking hands and your limp hair in the mirror when you wake up at 3 p.m. and realize that God, he was so right to have chosen her instead.
She has normal skin type, mine’s always oily, and I want to ask her about her skin routine, how she got it to work for her.
And they don’t tell you that vanilla ice cream bars suddenly remind you of yourself smiling through a chocolate stained mouth in the backseat of your dad’s car, ignoring the way your front teeth have suddenly gone numb from the cold, yes, I know this song plays too much on the radio but I like it anyway.
They don’t tell you about the way his name still lingers in your mouth and it sounds right, righter than anything else, you’re making amends when you see something that makes your heart pump, the thigh-flattering jeans hanging clumsily in the back of the closet, the half-hearted, “He couldn’t handle me anyway,” over breakfast and eggs done over-easy.
They don’t tell you that you’ll find his build somehow in the petite, swarthy girl that plays water polo and in the basketball shorts of the boy that you bumped into accidentally on the streets, how at the end of your prayers, you throw him in there for good measure, haphazardly almost, not wishing for anything, not because you know it’s bad, but because you don’t know what to wish for, just this infatuation, this aspiration, this I could’ve, I would’ve, I should’ve till Kingdom come.

Your hips will hurt and your favorite Chapstick will melt and you will be discontinued because objects in the mirror are closer than they appear, and you’re going to be so scared, so, so scared that maybe forgetting isn’t better.

They don’t tell you this, of course. The pain comes in waves, they say. And then it stops, they say.

—  you’re pubescent and I’m incessant, I thought it’d work out okay
minha última carta para o meu primeiro amor

Não sei como começar lhe dizendo isso, mas não quero delongas e nem enrolação. Então, lá vai: acabou. É, acabou. It’s over. Talvez você me ache imatura e ingênua por estar terminando assim por uma carta, mas eu não sei se eu conseguiria te encarar de novo. Igual aquela vez que brigamos que você pisou na bola feio comigo e eu falei: eu não quero mais te ver. No outro dia chegou com um buquê de flores e uma caixa de chocolate, dizendo que me amava que não conseguia viver sem mim, e eu, ingênua, acreditei. Ou aquela outra vez, que você passou dois dias sem me responder, eu fui à sua casa e sua mãe falou pra mim que pensava que você tinha viajado comigo. E você chegou novamente com mil juras de amor, dizendo que me amava e que isso não se repetiria. E eu, ingênua, acreditei. E adivinha? Flashback!

Desculpa. Tal palavra que eu conheço muito bem. Desculpa, eu sei que errei. Desculpa isso não se repetirá. Desculpa, eu te amo. Desculpa. Quantos significados você consegue atribuir a essa palavra? Estou cheia de desculpas. Estou cheia de amar sozinha, estou cheia de esperar que você sinta o mesmo por mim como eu sinto por você. Enquanto você não sente nem 10%.

Eu já tomei muitas decisões na minha vida, mas esta é a mais difícil. Tens noção como é desistir de alguém? Acho que não. Meu bem, eu sempre gostei muito de ti, e você, tão lerdo como é, esqueceu-se de me gostar também. Eu fui tão boba, e tão sua, mas você nunca foi tão meu.

Por ti vivi os clichês de amor mais ridículos que podem existir. Chorei até não conseguir mais colocar lágrimas para fora. Passei madrugadas acordada esperando uma mensagem tua. Fingi não me importar para você se importar mais. Abri mão da minha felicidade pra te fazer feliz. Eu tentei ser sua calmaria em meio a tanto caos. Cortei laços com pessoas que só queriam o meu bem, para fazer meus laços com você. E conselho não faltou. Eu te avisei. Ouvi falar sobre nós em cada trecho de música que eu escutava. Ter a certeza que seu abraço era a melhor coisa do mundo. Me amei menos para poder te amar mais. Eu te dei amor, e em troca, você me deu migalhas. E sabe o que mais me dói? Ter a total certeza que foi tudo em vão. Tratei-te como primeira opção por enquanto você me tratava como segunda terceira ou até quarta. Alimentei-me de falsas esperanças que você ia perceber que não existe refúgio melhor que o meu abraço, não existia amor maior que o meu não existia pessoa mais compreensiva que eu. E você não percebeu.

Então dessa vez é diferente, dessa vez eu não quero saber. Eu não quero buquê de flores, eu não quero caixas de chocolates, eu não quero mil cartas de perdão, eu não quero mil ligações, eu não quero, eu não quero nada. Por que dessa vez, acabou. Não quero mais me sentir sozinha, não quero amar sozinha. Não vou mais insistir, eu sei que fiz muito bem o que eu poderia fazer quando você precisava de mim. Mas, meu rapaz, adivinha: eu que não preciso mais de você.

Espero que você sobreviva bem se mim, e eu, espero sobreviver bem sem você. Não penses que te desejo mal, pois eu sempre quis seu bem. Tudo tem seu limite , e você, foi o meu. Não penses que eu te gostei pouco por não ter aguentado mais. Eu aguentei muito, eu te amei muito. E pra falar a verdade, ainda te amo, eu só não gosto mais de você. Eu comecei a gostar de mim. 

“Let me tell you a little secret,” she drunkenly slurred her words as he looked down at her with amusement twinkling in his sober ones. His lips twitched into a smirk as he nodded for her to continue, “for awhile, it hurt. It took me months to recover, to be able to look at you without tears streaming down my face, to be able to smile at you without it being forced, to be able to say your name without choking on my words. It took me awhile before I can finally close my eyes to find that you don’t haunt my dreams anymore, to find that you are not occupying my mind anymore, to find that you are not a part of my thoughts anymore.”

She gave a nervous giggle before she stumbled over her feet, “it took me awhile. But I got there. I don’t know exactly how, but I did. Now, I don’t look at you the same anymore, I no longer put you on a pedestal, and when you are mentioned, I don’t cringe the way I used to.”

Her eyes traveled down his body before she bit her lip, “you have become a stranger to me and I don’t know whether or not to take that as a bad thing. Yet, here you are, helping me out of a bar because I can’t take a step without puking and all I can think about is how I don’t want you to touch me. I don’t want your help, I don’t want your pity, I don’t want your sympathy, I don’t even want you to look at me. You hurt me, you realize that, don’t you? You tore apart my heart and you threw the shredded pieces into the river so they can never be put back together. You ripped my heart out of my chest before slowly eating away at my soul. You fucked me up. You really fucked me up and I am trying to convince myself that it wasn’t that bad, that I am better now, that I can finally sleep at night. But I cannot even convince myself; nonetheless, you.”

—  JB💘 // My voice cracked when I told him that I was over it and I fucking hate that not even my body can lie to him

My heart aches over the fact that Draco Malfoy will have to live the entirety of his life with that awful, painful reminder of the dark days tattooed on his skin. That he won’t be able to roll his sleeves up in public and his son will ask about that terrible tattoo and his grandchildren will ask and he will be forced to look at it every single day. Whether or not you’re particularly fond of Draco Malfoy, or if you truly hate him, you have to admit that he did not deserve that fate. 

He was just a boy.

Malec drabble

The air in Magnus’ apartment was thick and heavy as Alec walked through the front door. He could hear the faint sound of Magnus talking to a client in his study and so he went through to the bedroom, kicking his heavy boots off and with them leaving the day behind. He slowly, methodically, took his clothes off after turning the shower on to heat up. When he stepped into the shower he felt the warmth of running water fall over his aching body, but he still felt cold. Running his hand across his face with closed eyes, he could see his seraph blade dicing through the demon’s grotesque body. He and Jace had led a mission today that went wrong, two shadowhunters had been injured and he and his parabati had been left to take care of the rest of the demons. He was shuddering under the water when he felt strong arms wrap around his body. He leaned back into Magnus’ embrace and allowed himself to feel completely vulnerable to the flashbacks from the day. “It just got to me today,” Alec said, his voice thick and gravely, “I don’t know why, but it got to me.” Magnus turned alec around and pulled him into a hug. His broad figure holding Alec up as he let his weight fall into Magnus, trusting that he would keep him intact. “By the angel, I’m a shadowhunter, killing demons isn’t meant to make me feel like this,” Alec said, sounding frustrated but also resigned. “No,” said Magnus, “but sometimes, things just affect us for unknown reasons.” His hand brushed against Alec’s cheekbones, water still falling over both of them in the humid bathroom. A faint smile crept onto Magnus’ lips when he saw Alec stifle a yawn. He led them both out of the shower and wrapped a towel around alecs waist. After they’d both dried off, he lied down on his bed, wrapping his arms around Alec. “I forgot to ask how your day was,” Alec mumbled, sleep catching up to him faster than he anticipated. “It was long and difficult,” Magnus stated matter of factly. “I’ll tell you about it tomorrow, but for now, I think its time for you to sleep.” Alec nodded as if speaking was just too much effort. He allowed tiredness to take him as he closed his eyes, knowing that in the morning he would be able to hear about Magnus’ life as the high Warlock of Brooklyn, and what a privilege that was.