pleasant lies


I began reading books when I was 9-10 ish. And I seem to be stuck in this genre for teens and young adults that involves adventure, mystery, magic and a touch of darkness. Some people have told me I should “graduate” from these “children’s books”, but I don’t really find it all that strange to still be reading these? it seems like an unnecessary pain to force myself to read anything that doesn’t come as a natural interest. Besides, a book series updates like, what? once a year? Of course I get older along with the book series, I can’t just quit just because I’m “too old” for it now? The adventure isn’t done or over yet!

And it is interesting to see how these stories has had an impact on my life, and the stories I make myself now \9u9/♥

Whoever wants to share the books they like and love!

Shakespeare quotes that remind me of Black Butler

Sebastian Michaelis: “For within the hollow crown, that rounds the mortal temples of a king, keeps Death his court.” — Richard II

Ciel Phantomhive: “Vows to the blackest devil, conscience and grace to the profoundest pit. I dare damnation: to this point I stand—both worlds I give to negligence. Let come what comes, only I’ll be avenged.” — Hamlet

Elizabeth Midford: “Love is not love which alters when it altercation finds…oh no, it is an ever-fixed mark that looks on tempests and is never shaken.” — Sonnet 116

Undertaker: “For in that sleep of death what dreams may come.” — Hamlet

Vincent Phantomhive: “Oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the instruments of darkness tell us truths; they win us with honest trifles to betray in deepest consequence.” — Macbeth

Grell Sutcliff: “Graze on my lips and if those hills be dry, stray lower to where the pleasant fountain lies.” — Venus and Adonis

Madam Red: “These violent delights have violent ends and in their triumph die, like fire and powder.” — Romeo and Juliet 


Request: will you do a band au kylo ren where he’s a super badass lead singer to this junk band and you stumble across them at a bar or something?

A/N: First of all, the gif above fits this one shot perfectly, so I decided to use it. Second of all, thank you anon for the request, I enjoyed writing it! Enjoy! [GIF NOT MINE]

Word Count: 2.9K+

Warning: Slight profanity.

Rubbing your forehead as you felt an awful migraine coming on, you decided to shut the chemistry text book, deciding trying to understand science wasn’t in your favor at the moment–let alone, at anytime. Leaning back in your chair as you let out a disgruntled groan, the door to your dorm instantly slammed open, you not even bothering to see who as you knew it was Rey. “Yes, Rey?”

“We need to get you out of here.” Walking over to you, she spun your chair around for you to face her. “You’ve been locked up in here for the past three days studying for this damn exam, give yourself a break!” She exclaimed, causing you to sigh. “Come on, Poe and Finn wanted to stop by this bar that most of the uni kids go to since apparently they have live music and yadda yadda and you know how Poe is about music,” She swatted a hand, causing you to huff.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

ive heard you say a few times that you didn't like s7 spuffy, what was it that bothered you rlly about it?

Well, number one, fandom was a hell pit at the time, (imagine having The Spike Discourse going on 24/7, on dozens of different forums and mailing lists) and I’m sure that taints my memory of the whole season.   The writers were so determined to play coy with what Buffy was feeling and why she was feeling it that every tiny nuance of SMG’s expressions got dissected and argued into the ground, every week.  I couldn’t enjoy the Spuffy moments we got, even though a lot of them are quite good in retrospect, because there was no real agreement at the time that they were Spuffy moments.

Number two, after a pretty promising start, the season arc fell apart after the first seven or eight episodes.  I don’t think they utilized the First Evil well at all.  If I could wave a magic wand over S7 and fix just one thing, I would absolutely choose to fix the season arc rather than change anything about Spuffy.

Number three, I was kind of disappointed that they gave Spike a soul.  I felt that they’d already done that story with Angel, and I was hoping they’d do something different with Spike.  But oh well, at least Spike chose to get it.

Mostly… Spike being mired in self-loathing and Buffy being his reluctant sponsor is just not a character dynamic that appeals to me.  There are a lot of fans who eat damaged, self-hating characters up with a spoon; I’m just not one of them.  There was a ton of meta written at the time comparing Spike to a chaste knight worshipping Buffy the (metaphorically) virginal queen, and stuff like that, and I just… don’t dig it.  I preferred them when they were both confident enough to challenge each other – it was great that they could be gentle with each other now, but I loved the spark and the fire, too.  And that was gone.  I hated that in putting Buffy through the depression of S6 and then the attempted rape and giving Spike a soul, the writers had utterly destroyed any chance that we would ever see either of them happy, much less happy together.  We’d never see them bantering or teasing each other, or just having a good healthy argument.  

Fandom kept talking about how mature Spike was now, when to me he just seemed suicidally depressed, and talking about how Buffy was obviously in love with him, when to me it seemed equally likely that she was just helping him out of obligation and guilt, because He Has A Soul Now.  And while I massively disagree with the people who argue that Spike getting a soul was a terrible selfish thing to do because it “forced” Buffy to forgive him, I do think that the fact that Buffy is determined to see souled Spike (and Angel) as completely different people is not all that great for her emotional health, because all the anger and betrayal she feels for what their unsouled selves did never gets resolved.  She just stuffs it down inside and never deals with it (until S10, thank you C. Gage.)

Also I kind of hate the false dichotomy of physical love = bad and dirty/spiritual love good and pure – Joss may not have meant that, but S6 and 7 taken together kinda promote it.   And while I think the final scene where Spike’s burning up is full of dramatic irony and stuff, on a personal level, I hate that TV Spuffy ends with Buffy finally baring her heart, and Spike basically telling her she doesn’t know what she’s talking about.  (I don’t buy that either of them was lying to the other.  I think Spike THOUGHT Buffy was lying to him, but he does her an enormous disservice in thinking so, because Buffy doesn’t tell pleasant lies.)  

I’m glad S7 works for so many people, it’s just always going to be a severely mixed bag for me, particularly if you consider it as the end game. The writers were so afraid of coming off anti-feminist (and rightly so) that S7 Spuffy fails for me as a romance, and comes off as a tragedy of two people who may care for one another, but who ultimately fail to connect.   If you take the comic seasons into account, then S7 becomes just one stage, and a necessary one, in a longer-term relationship, and I’m fine with that.  It’s just when people promote it as the be-all and end-all best of all possible Spuffy worlds, I’m like shoot me now.

Three sentence KilluGons

Sort of like this


“Lets go on adventure”

He should say no, he has a life now, he has family, he can’t just leave.



They kiss in the moonlight, with more stars than Killua’s ever seen above them.

He dies in jungle, more overgrown and choked with life than Killua’d thought possible.

They part at the door step to all Gon’s ever wanted, speaking pleasant lies as they turn from the person they love most.


He half expects to never see him again.

The plan was just to put it off until they both died.

But here he was, breathless and flushed.


Killua cries.

He tried not to, but he can’t help it.

He thought he was gone.

The end.

It’s not entirely happy.

It’s not entirely sad.

They spend it with each other.

The worst of Megatron’s dreams isn’t a nightmare.

It isn’t a dream of Vos. It isn’t a dream of flames rising ever higher as the towers snap and topple and burn. It isn’t a dream Megatron wakes from with the smell of smoke pricking his olfactory receptors.

It isn’t a dream of Kaon overrun. It isn’t a dream of his city choked by its own smoke, the statue of Megatron at the city gates pulled down by mechs with the Autobot brand welded to their shoulders and chests.

It isn’t even a dream of the Council ascendant, of Megatron and his people battered and beaten and hauled off to the smelters, a failed insurrection crushed as a warning to any mech with dreams of rising above his station.

His worst dream is quiet and pleasant.

He lies on his berth, exhausted from a long day of battle. A young mech, red and blue plating scorched and scratched from the day’s fighting, nestles against him, optics bright.

He wakes still feeling the other’s warmth. He stirs and it fades, leaving him cold.

And he remembers everything.


If you're never sorry
Then you can't be forgiven
If you're not forgiven
Then you can't be forgotten
If you're not forgotten
Then you can live forever
If you live forever
Then you'll begin to dream (x)

blueherobh reblogged your post: I honestly have a complicated relationship with…

comparing cultural nostalgia to whitewashing American history fucking lmao why are you running this blog

Hey, bro, thanks for shitting all over an actually fairly personal reflection of mine. That’s real fucking neat-o.

Look, nostalgia is deceiving. Inherently.  

It is a fundamentally deceiving emotion. You look back, and things in the past seem better than they actually were. That is the definition of the feeling.

Rose-colored glasses.

Pleasant lies.

Lies that you like to indulge in. Lies that feel good to inhabit.

A longing for this image in your head of an idealized version of the past.

This is the cornerstone of regressive politics – this collective, selfish, ignorant longing for a safety that was never really there, a past that never actually existed. The glory days.

The golden days.

The good old days.

Back when life was safe and kind and good and simple, so vote for me, and I’ll bring those good old days back. I’ll make life good again. I’ll make America great again.

A regressive politician’s best friend and most powerful weapon is the unquestioned assumption that of course the past was better.

The idea that we’re living in a dwindling age.

That the past was good and wholesome and decent and whole, and that the only way to move forward and survive is to recapture what we lost.

Nostalgia is the marketing machine killers use to sell you lies and, ultimately, death. Nostalgia is just one half of fearmongering.

You idealize the past.

Make the present sound worse.

Tell people, “Violent crime rates are higher now than they’ve ever been!” because you know they’ll believe it, even though it’s not remotely true.

Then start deporting anyone with a skin color you don’t like to “fix the violent crime problem.”

This is how it goes.

Even if you don’t want to carry it that far out, how many times have you seen fawning conversations about, like, G1 Transformers turn into conversations about how the ‘80s were ~so much better~ than now?

- Mod A.

I’ll Come Back

Request: Can you do a story of stevexreader where they are together and she gets kidnapped brainwashed by hydra. She’s so powerful and attacks Steve n the avengers when they try to stop her. After much fight she snaps out of it. And realises that she has hurt the avengers especially Steve so she runs away to a farmhouse. Nat n Wanda visits her ask her to come back. After much thinking she comes back on Christmas where stark has a party with everyone and Gets back with Steve.Tons of feels pls.Thx.

Warnings: Angst

Word Count: 3450 

A/N: This was a lot of fun to write, I hope I did your request justice! Let me know if there are any errors or awkward sentences ^3^ (also I’m so sorry about that ending)

The mission sounded easy enough; kill a resented diplomat in front of millions of people and get out before you were caught. It would have gone smoothly if someone only informed you of the eight bodyguards said diplomat had.

They were hardly a match for you in your determined fury, especially since they seemed to hesitate just before their punches landed. The man within the red and gold suit might’ve taken you out with a good blast from him palm, but instead he raised his mask and stared incredulously as you picked bits of rubble off your black clothing. His brown eyes clouded with sympathy and it looked as if his heart had cracked. After that, the so called Avengers practically handed themselves over. The silver haired man tried talking to you, pleading for you to “snap out of it”. Then a woman with brown hair and killer lipstick pulled off her red jacket and started messing with your head. She sent snip-its of her team with you, except it wasn’t you. This person looked just like you, except she laughed and she was free. You didn’t have any of that, you weren’t allowed free will.

Wanda - which was the name you gathered from the fake memories - was giving you pause. From the looks of it, you had take down her brother, her closest friend, and a man she seemed to both loathe and respect at the same time. Now she was looking at you like you were her biggest regret.

“Do you remember?” She asked carefully, hope burning past her brown irises.

“Remember what?” You spit, trying to hide the growing doubt in your voice. That couldn’t have been you, surely if you had that life, you wouldn’t be working for Hydra. You would still be in that endless skyscraper with this ragtag family. But if that were the case, why did it feel so familiar? It had made you swell with warmth, something you couldn’t remember ever feeling before.

She was confusing you, and you didn’t like being confused. There was no room in your head for questions regarding Hydra, and if you showed up with even the slightest suspicion in them, they wouldn’t hesitate in putting you on lockdown again. You couldn’t have that, so you pushed past her pleasant lies and threw her against a wall. She wasn’t dead, but she wouldn’t be getting up any time soon.

Your mission was to kill the diplomat, not any of these protectors. Daringly, you stepped over the litter of unconscious bodies you had laid out and continued to your target.

That was until your path was blocked yet again. This one was different though, you looked over him and your heart stuttered. You could see it in him too, you took his breath away.

You knew this man, didn’t you? Those very same determined blue eyes haunted you, not just in your dreams but lingering behind your own (E/C) eyes and judging every move you had made for the last year. You were sure you had seen his -frankly - perfect jawline before. Then your eyes met and something sparked in him. Your ears were ringing with the memory of a painfully familiar laugh.

There was you and then there was this ghost that had haunted you from the beginning, and somehow without even knowing who this man was, you knew it was his laugh. And the feeling that stirred within you was damning.

“(Y/N)?” He asked breathlessly. You could see something close to regret and grief swirling across his face and for some reason it broke your heart.

It was the way he said your name that really got to you. Vaguely, you remembered that (Y/N) was in fact your name, and the way it rolled off his tongue made your heart swell. It sounded so right, like listening to a song that used to mean the world to you. It was nostalgic and sweet, but left a prickle of sadness behind.

“S-steve,” You muttered, before you really knew what you were saying. Steve. Steve Rogers. You knew him; your ghost, your boyfriend.

Then like a flood everything came back to you.

Steve’s hands tracing your own, tangling his fingers with yours and kissing the knuckles while you waited for your tea to steep.

Steve’s lips, carefully meeting yours for the sweetest kiss of your life, fingers raising your jaw, breath hot on your cheeks.

Steve’s arms pulling you close and holding you like a teddy bear. Warmth pressing past your clothes and a smell like home drifting through your senses.  

How could you have forgotten?

You knew the answer was Hydra. They may have wiped the memories of the life you had, but you’d always remember who you worked for; who you breathed for. Your life had stopped being your own after they attacked your team in the dead of night.

“Promise me you’ll be safe out there.” Steve whispered softly, arms encasing you in a hug.

“I will, don’t worry.” You laugh, but it’s just to keep the edge out of your voice. You know this’ll be the most dangerous mission you’ve been on, and it would be a complete lie to say you weren’t a little nervous about it.

Steve took one last moment to soak you in; the way you smelled, how your fingers played with the hem of his shirt, how your eyes shone with nervous excitement because finally, SHIELD was putting you to use. Then with a grin and a small kiss to his nose, you turned around and got into the quinjet. This Hydra base wouldn’t be so bad, you could definitely make it back before April Fools. Then you could pull pranks with Pietro all day and annoy the living daylights out of Bucky and Steve. Maybe you’d even be able to one up Tony this year.

That dream never came true, sadly. You hadn’t handled all of the Hydra agents before April 1st, and once they invaded your camp you never returned.

They crept into the camp like shadows while most of your team was asleep. Anyone lucky enough to be awake was taken by surprise, knocked out, and abducted. The sleeping agents never woke up while the captured ones opened their eyes to cold metal walls and tightly tied restraints. You weren’t sure if you should count yourself fortunate for being captured, but you knew one thing very clearly. When you got out of those itchy ropes, Hydra would be very very sorry.

But then it had been a month and your hope of escaping was slimming exponentially. Every day was the same, and you had soon learned to dread the heavy footsteps as they approached your cell. They tortured you, experimented on you, played with your memories. For a while you held onto the thoughts of The Avengers, your crazy friends. Tony’s dumb jokes and extravagant parties, Bruce’s small and bordering nervous chuckles, Clint’s witty comebacks. Natasha’s right hook, which was a very weird thing to recall, but since it was just that good how could you let yourself forget? Then, of course, Pietro’s not-so-steady climb to cockiness after joining the Team, and Bucky’s rare but sweet smiles when he was feeling like Bucky again.

You remembered holding onto your memories of Steve the hardest. Your captors still got them eventually, pulling each image away one by one like rotten teeth at the dentist. Steve went from being your boyfriend, warm and kind and goofy and loved, to a vague picture of blonde hair and blue eyes. Someone you saw in the corner of your eye but never thought to look for in a crowd.

You never imagined you’d see him again, or ever remember him, and yet here he was, and there you were. It suddenly occurred to you how much damage you had caused. Wanda, Pietro, Tony, even Natasha was knocked out, and you were the source of it all. You looked down at your hands, dirty and caked in blood, it was hard to believe they could do so much damage. This was what you had become, what you let Hydra make you, and you couldn’t bare to see the disappointed and heartbroken look Steve was undoubtably looking down at you with.

You knew he would take you back, but this time you weren’t sure you deserved it. You had caused so much pain that it just didn’t feel right to allow yourself something good. That’s why you ran. So far and so fast that you were utterly lost by the time you looked up from the cracking sidewalk.

“I’m so sorry Stevie.” You whispered over your shoulder. He wouldn’t be able to hear you but it gave you comfort saying it anyways. Maybe one day you’d be able to face those cobalt eyes and feel worthy of their trust, but that day wouldn’t be coming any time soon.


It had been months since your last encounter with the Avengers. Every now and again a few Hydra agents would show up and try to coax you back to their base, but you fought better than all of them. You were able to take down half of the strongest people on Earth, with all of your latest training you were not a force to be reckoned with.

That didn’t stop either side from trying though. When you ran you were running from Natasha and Wanda. When you fought it was against Hydra agents determined to bring you back, conscious or not. Both teams were surprisingly adamant in having you on their side, though you knew each had different motivations.

You hadn’t run fast enough or far enough this time, your old friends had you cornered in the very street all your memories returned to you in. The irony was enough to make you huff in amusement.

“(Y/N) please, we just want to help.” Wanda coaxed, stepping further into the alleyway. To say you were anxious was an understatement; recently you had been able to control yourself so much better, but you remembered all the things you had done to Wanda and Nat last time you had met, and the nightmares of drowning in their pain never let you forget. How could they trust you after you threw them into a wall? You could have killed them so easily but they kept coming back.

“How? Everything I’ve done to this city, to you, to Steve, there’s no going back. I did this to myself, and now I’m paying for it.”

“This wasn’t you (Y/N). This was never on you.” Natasha reached out to place a hand on your shoulder. You almost let her, almost let them convince you to come back.

But you flinched away.

“But it was me. I’m responsible, I remember all their voices, every single scream or cry, I watched the life die out of them all. Every time I look at my hands all I can see is blood. Your blood, everything I once protected and I just need to fix it. On my own.” You choked on a sob, they had no idea how badly you wanted to believe them. They looked at you with such pure sadness that it seemed to dim the sun. As a last ditch effort, they brought up the one thing they knew you didn’t want to hear.

“Steve isn’t taking it well.” Natasha said with cold eyes and a slight frown. It was easy to see she didn’t like being caught in the middle of this - having to hurt one friend in order to help the other.

There was a tense silence filling the space between you and the women you had once known. The steady rift that had broken out between you seemed impossible to fix, and you wondered if coming back would help Steve at all. He had already been through so much with Bucky and Peggy, were you really worth all of this?

“Then stop trying to save me and help him.” The words stung even as they left your mouth. You didn’t want to think you were beyond saving, and you didn’t want to give up this last fragmented connection between your old life, but Steve was the one who needed his friends now. Steve was the one who deserved his friends.

Wanda had taken to pursing her lips and giving you a look of pity. She probably wanted to tell you that no, you deserved help as much as any of them, but she knew how much you hated her reading your thoughts.

“We’re trying to help him by bringing you back! Stop trying to make yourself feel better by thinking this is better for everyone, we want you back (Y/N). It’s not the same without you.” It’s not home without you.

“I’m sorry. I’ll come back, but not until I’ve fixed this.” You watched their eyes turn into broken mugs, draining hope through the cracks; you knew they’d leave you alone. When you walked past them all they could do was watch your back get farther and farther away until you disappeared one last time.


It was late December, almost Christmas, and you were tired of running. You missed your family; the oddly-matched and conflict-prone group of heroes you had detached yourself from. None of them had given up on you, and you felt confident enough now to control yourself. Hydra had turned you into an animal, but you had worked hard to cage and train that beast. It felt like finally, you were ready to be okay again. After nearly a year apart, you could accept help from the Avengers.

That’s why you were standing in front of the excruciatingly (and very unnecessarily) tall Stark Towers in the nicest clothes you could get your hands on. Your raggedy runaway look wouldn’t very well match this new optimism you were feeding in your stomach.

With nerves bouncing in your head like shooting stars you stepped forward and pressed the intercom. Jarvis kindly answered your ringing by patching you straight to Tony.

“Yup?” His voice made your heart rise in comfort. You could only imagine what he was doing now, probably fiddling with his suit with his feet planted on his desk. You could tell he didn’t look up, because if he had, he would have recognized you.

“Hey Tony,” You said softly, quickly doubting whether this was a good idea or not. You might have thought he hadn’t heard you, but there was a loud clatter of metal hitting ground and then Tony was talking very seriously.

“(Y/N)? What are you doing here?”

“And here I thought you’d be happy to see me.” You could imagine that playboy smirk of his growing, and your endearing sarcasm must’ve convinced him you were really you and not whoever had tried to kill them months ago. With a click and a laugh from the receiver, you stepped into the building and rode the elevator until you reached Tony’s floor. The second the doors dinged open you were completely engorged in a hug. The sudden contact felt strange after being isolated for so long, but you quickly warmed up to the human leech and even laughed a little. One minute in this place you called home and you were already halfway back to normal.

Tony quickly got the rest of the gang onto his floor using Jarvis as an intermediary. The only one missing from the reunion was Steve, who didn’t know you were back and didn’t feel like leaving his room for anything. A fresh pang of guilt washed over you, but it didn’t last very long. You were back, and everything would be okay very very soon.

There was a lot of laughter and noise as you all got reacquainted. In the time since you had been gone Pietro got torn off his high horse, Clint had had his latest kid, Tony had made at least twenty new prototype suits, Bruce had come back from his little ocean vacation, and Bucky was slowly learning the ways of Facebook (because Tumblr would’ve been too much for him at this point).

Tony threw a huge party, which he was probably already planning on throwing, so that everyone knew you were back. Somehow, he even convinced Steve to get his patriotic ass over to the venue.

You tried - without any luck - to see Steve before the party was over. You would catch a glimpse of his hair or hear his voice over the constant buzz of Tony’s friends, but every time you got close someone would hoist you away and Steve would move farther into the crowd. After the party had died down a little you tried scouting again, but he must’ve slipped out earlier in the night because you couldn’t find him for the life of you.

“So much for that plan.” You muttered before thinking that in some ways, this might be better. You weren’t quite sure how Steve would react to seeing you again, and however he felt about it, he wouldn’t like that being public. You were sure you could set up a more intimate reunion, and a plan was quickly forming in your head.

“Tony, do you know where I could find a ribbon?”


And that’s how you wound up here, sitting under Steve’s huge Christmas tree with a bow on your head. It was Christmas morning and you really hoped he would appreciate his gift.

After ages you heard Steve getting out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen. There was a window between the kitchen and the living room where you sat, but you doubted Steve would notice you through it and you were feeling a little awkward and borderline stalkerish just watching his back as he made coffee. You cleared your throat loud enough for him to hear.

He was suddenly wide awake, back rigid and mug slammed against the counter. You were glad he hadn’t found you, because he probably would’ve dropped his coffee and you’d probably be the one cleaning it up.

Steve turned around slowly until his eyes met yours. The ice in his melted in an instant and he took a couple careful steps into the living room.

“Merry Christmas Steve.” You smiled lightly, hoping his silence was a good kind of speechless.

“You’re back.” He said more than airily. His bright blue eyes skimmed over you in an attempt to make sure you were real.

“I am.” You were getting more and more worried that his reaction would be to kick you out. Carefully, you took the bow off your head and played with it in your hands. The shiny red ribbon seemed like a much better place to look than Steve’s wistful eyes.

“You’re back.” He said it lighter this time, almost in a laugh, and then ran right up to you and hugged you. He was squeezing the life out of you, twirling you around because he was so excited to have you back. By the time he put you down you were both laughing and tearing up.

“I missed you so much.” Steve whispered. You were now sitting on the couch, well, Steve was. He had pulled you onto his lap so that both his arms could wrap around your waist and his head could fall on your shoulder. He missed this, the smell of your shampoo and the heat of your skin pressed up against his.

“I missed you too. Thank you for waiting.” You smiled and pressed a kiss to his temple, which was the only part of his you could really reach. His nose was nuzzled against your neck and you never realized how comforting and sweet that gesture was until right this second.

“Just don’t go doing it again.” He looked up at you with pleading eyes and you couldn’t say no, not that you would have in the first place.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You half laughed, earning yourself a lopsided grin from Steve. If there was one thing you missed more than anything, it was that smile.

“Thank god.” He joked, raising a hand off your hip and placing it on your cheek. His thumb softly traced your cheekbone before bringing you down for a kiss. It was soft and warm and loving, and it reminded you of how perfect your lips fit against his.

Steve was sure that this was the best Christmas present he had ever gotten, and unlike all the other stuff over the years, he wasn’t willing to give you up.

He was never gonna let you go,
Never gonna run around and desert you.
Although he absolutely hate that you got this song stuck in his head.

You Had Me At Loki: Chapter 33

I ran out into the rain. 

I could not see where I was going, the tears blurring my vision as the rain came down upon me hard and fast.  They were like pellets, hitting me and sliding down my skin, soaking my clothes till they weighed down on my body, clinging to me as my legs carried me.  The path downhill was slippery and wet and I could tell by the lack of friction between the soles of my sandals and the grass.

Keep reading

Gelgar realized quickly that he had a penchant for thinking too much. It was a recently-developed habit, he was sure; he had spent his childhood not thinking at all, and most of his teenage and young adult years thinking only when necessary (though once joining the military, he’d found that thinking too much about certain things could be detrimental, anyway). Now, though, he thought too much when he had spare time and nobody was around to talk to.

With one exception, of course: if Rene was around, he’d still think. A lot. Too much. He’d talk to her and he’d think about her at the same time. In fact, she was almost all he thought about, when he did think, and by virtue of Rene being the subject, Gelgar felt sure that thinking about her at all in the way he was considering her…was thinking too much.

He really needed to cut it out.

But it was difficult, because they’d gotten close, and she was around a lot, and she enjoyed things like reading to him almost as much as he enjoyed letting her read to him. So they always ended up together doing things, and he couldn’t really figure out how to ease out of it, even though he knew he needed to.

He needed to back off because he was thinking about her. Thinking too much about her. It wasn’t as if his thoughts extended to wondering about general things concerning Rene, either: he thought about her ‘cuz he missed her, and he missed her anytime she wasn’t within sight, sometimes.

He found himself just idly thinking about her—about just being with her, touching her shoulder, kissing her—and he dreamed about her, too. Sometimes his dreams were perfectly innocent and sometimes they weren’t; he found it hard to look her in the face after the latter dreams, not because they had been particularly detailed or anything (because Rene’s face was always shadowy, though his dreams had more than memorized the way she felt when he held), but because he felt guilty for having them.

He knew it was probably stupid, because he’d dreamed of her before they’d grown close, and had never felt even remotely guilty for it—just a twinge of embarrassment, perhaps—but things were different, things had changed, and he felt sure that he knew her better than he had ever expected to know her.

Not to mention that now there were feelings there that hadn’t been there before. Feelings intermixing into his dreams was something he found extremely hard to deal with. He was used to nightmares—and almost preferred them to the sort of soft, almost romantic dreams he seemed to be having, lately. No matter what the dream involved exactly, it always had that soft kind of feeling to it. Hell, even when he dreamed about tying her up, it felt that way to him. Like they were two lovers doing something they thought would be fun. Soft and pleasant yet still half in shadow, and when he woke up from these dreams, he personally felt, more than anything, distressed.

Because he could control a lot of things in his life: how he acted, even around Rene, even when he wanted to do nothing more than kiss her…but he couldn’t control his dreams. And they were pleasant, but they were lies.

She liked him well enough, definitely. But she didn’t feel the same way toward him that he felt toward her—and he was trying to respect that, trying to keep his own stupid feelings from ever being an issue. But it was hard when his dreams cast her in that kind of light, because he did want it—that kind of relationship with her.

And looking at her after that shit was horrible, because she trusted him, and dreams like that were a betrayal of that trust. He was afraid, sometimes, that she could almost see it—like she almost knew.

At least Henning left him alone—didn’t ask questions, didn’t laugh at him, didn’t even offer to talk about it. That was a relief. And it was also a relief that he didn’t dream of her every night…but it was often enough that he felt it was a problem.

It was one such morning that he avoided even going to breakfast and only showed up at lunch, when he’d successfully pushed the dream out of his head and felt like he could face her without feeling like a piece of shit traitor. The mess hall during lunch was always unpredictable; during nicer days, sometimes people would go outside no matter how cold it was, and the sun was shining, so the tables closest to the windows were full. He found Rene at the table the squad usually sat at—and it was kind of nice because it sat, at the moment, anyway, in a patch of sunlight.

So he joined her and expressed relief at it being a Saturday, which meant no early drills (and also meant he’d been able to put off facing her); they talked for a little while, and he ignored the mail call, because naturally he never got mail—and wouldn’t be getting any ever again, probably.

It still hurt—that thought—but not like it had. There wasn’t anything he could do about it, anyway.

But then he heard his name, and when he raised his hand, a letter was given to him.

Since Rene was the only squad member sitting with him, he decided it wouldn’t hurt to see who it was from.

The handwriting didn’t look familiar at all, and the seal on the back was—

He almost dropped the letter on his plate, but caught it at the last second.

“…Hah,” he said, feeling suddenly stressed as he held up the wax seal on the back for Rene’s inspection. “What—did your mother write me to tell me off or somethin’?”

Title:  My Lies, Your Worth
Part:  6

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In the past, Kise was always able to find comfort beneath a torrent of hot water.  Each drop that would pinprick his skin and leave it pink with sensitivity soothed him.  It was the only way Kise could get clean.  Scalding his skin and hurting washed away the filth and misery of surviving another day through acts of moral and ethical injustice.  Bathing gave Kise time to not think and act and fight—it was a time where Kise could be left to himself, by himself.

Unless, of course, he had company.  Those times were never pleasant (lies; they were only ever moments of pleasure), but Kise would gladly take the company of those fools to these scums.

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transmethyst-blog  asked:

My little cousin literally just sat next to me and asked me 'Is Canada real?' What do I tell him?

Tell him the truth.

There are many lies we feed to our young people, such as the existence of Santa Claus, fairies, and boogeymen. 

Some of these lies are pleasant ones, but ultimately we only build the young people of society up for disappointment and disillusionment.

It is better to open their eyes when they are young. This way, when these children become older, they do not suffer the bitter resentment of seeing the fictional world of their childhood crumbling down around them.