share as much as you can

Someone hit the ground running...

You know that actor you like that appears in one 2 hour film ever year if you’re lucky? Or the band that releases an album once every 2 years? Or that TV star that shares 40 mins of screen time once a week? The ones you tweet at and get nothing back?

Jack just got back from 2 tours, hit us with 1.5 hours of content on his first day back and a twitter spree. Then 3.5 hours the next day with chat interaction and a tumblr spree.

It still staggers me that this is a thing I can enjoy. Every single day. SO much content and interaction.  Don’t ever let me take this for granted.

I love how even if I’m trying to make a serious point, some of you all look for a single thing to emphasize and you completely miss my point. You can interpret that point I made about Tom however you wish, but the point that a few of you seemed to come to wasn’t accurate and completely missed the point I was TRYING to make.


And when someone has worked pretty much all summer on a project like that, and has put so much of their heart and soul and then dares to ask people to give it a look, here’s a tip; be constructive, not destructive. I was brave enough to share my ideas and, you know what? I think it’s a great fanfic. I think it’s pretty awesome. It’s the first one I’ve completed.


I really thought this fandom would be a bit more supportive of people’s ideas. Like I said before, we should be building each other up, not tearing each other down. Because tearing someone down doesn’t benefit anyone.

anonymous asked:

Maybe an obvious one, but top five Eleanor/Chidi moments?

Aaahhhh bless you anon 
Ok, in no particular order (because I honestly can’t pick a favorite):

1. Chidi storming into Michael’s office to save Eleanor (+the little mouthed “thank you” in 1.08 when Eleanor gets off the train (+the hand holding afterwards)
2. “Looks like someone learned something” “Well, that’s because someone else is a really good teacher (+that look) in 1.03
3. Eleanor coming clean about everything because she can’t handle seeing Chidi in so much pain in 1.07
    (as a bonus; “Do you know who killed Janet?” “Yes.” “Will you tell me?” “No.” from 1.08)
4. “I used to never want to a part of any group. But I’m a different person now. Because of the person who helped me.” (the looook they share) from 1.09
5. It’s a tie between the boat scene in 1.05 and “You were my flashlight” from 1.13

OK I LIED 
I’m doing 5 for each season I’m sorry anon I’m too into them:

1. THE TAPE 
2. Nearly all of their interactions in 2.01/2.02 (”I’ve never seen you before in my life, but…I think, somehow, that we know each other” soulmates)
3. “How many times, in all the reboots, did I ask Chidi for help and he said no?” “Never. He always helped you.” soulmates
4. “We’re not friends man; I don’t owe you anything.” becoming “We should help [Michael]. Because that’s what Chidi would do.”
5. Chidi’s refusal to slice Eleanor up to save 5 people, coupled with Eleanor’s refusal to laugh with Michael about Chidi behind his back (reading it out, Chidi’s seems like a bigger deal, but refusing to make fun of someone is big for Eleanor)
     (+Eleanor’s anger every time she realized Michael was enjoying the trolley experiments too much at Chidi’s expense)

sherlokid7  asked:

Omg I can't decide so pick the one that calls to you. # 9,13 or 37. With sherlolly ship please

9. meeting online au


“It’s not working, Tom,” Molly said from her position on what was formerly their shared bed, hugging her knees to her chest, “we both know that. We’re just delaying the inevitable.”

Tom ignored her, continuing to throw his things into his bag, not that he had much – some spare clothes, a toothbrush, maybe a comb? He had grown to love his girlfriend’s home more than his own, even if her cat didn’t share his enthusiasm. He packed slowly, determined to drag this out for as long as he could, until she changed her mind. This wasn’t her mind, he was sure of it. Her friends had gotten into her head, talked her out of it.

“Tom?”

He smiled triumphantly; he nearly always turned out to be correct.

“Can I have the key back?”

Tom dug the key from his pocket and, in a moment of outrage, threw it against the wall which caused Toby to flee in panic. He zipped up his bag and stormed out, vowing to never waste another moment thinking about her. Molly waited for the front door to slam behind her ex before breathing a sigh of relief and throwing away her covers, reaching for the laptop beside her. She flipped the lid, her fingers speedily opening her messenger icon. A new message awaited her and Molly settled comfortably against her pillows.

Consulting_DetectiveSH

How did it go?

Molly breathed deeply, pondering her words carefully; oh, her internet chum knew all about her relationship troubles and had been reluctantly dishing out advice ever since they’d accidentally met in a chatroom some four months ago. He’d been looking for someone to help with work, she to vent; between them, they’d come to an odd sort of friendship. Not many people would be very accepting of others who wanted to share crime scene photos and autopsy reports. Molly later learned to her amusement he’d asked at least five other people before finding her, resulting in his suspension from other sites.

Molly flexed her fingers, choosing to be honest with him.

MHooper💕

About as well as you can expect. He left, which is something.

Molly watched the screen, noticing the ‘offline’ display beside his handle; she debated closing her laptop and returning to the conversation later. Only seconds later, offline switched to online and a new message followed.

Consulting_DetectiveSH

I suppose I’m wasting my time telling you you’re better off without him.

Molly smiled sadly, already typing her reply.

MHooper💕

It doesn’t really matter. I always do this. I ruin every relationship I ever have. Just you wait.

Molly stared at the last three words, chewing her lip as she argued whether or not to send the message. She didn’t want him to take it the wrong way, scare him off.

Incoming Skype call…

Keep reading

I love everyone so much but I’m going to take a few days break from this drama. I hate how things are leaking when we promised Taylor we wouldn’t say anything and I hate how people are being petty and superiors if they have the slightest of info and are sharing to even things even tho it’s making the situation worse. Lastly I’m taking a break because I can’t imagine what Taylor is thinking. She must be very hurt and I can’t deal with knowing that. Taylor deserves our trust and our kindness and right now that’s not showing in the fandom.

@taylorswift I love you so so much and I’ll be on and off throughout this week but on less

siancore  asked:

The Teacher's Pet Round Robin is great! I just wanted all of the talented Richonne writers who are participating in it to know that they are appreciated. I also wanted to thank them for their time and for sharing their talents with us. They've come up with such an amazing story. Well done! And thanks to the Admins of this amazing blog for organising it.

Hi @siancore

Thank you, thank you, thank you, so much for the sweet words.

We love Richonne and we love this fandom. Without our amazing writers, and the fabulous staff who helped put this together, Teacher’s Pet, wouldn’t have been possible and nor nearly as successful. We appreciate everyone who stuck by us for these last 10 weeks. Everyone who reblogged or liked each our posts, as well as everyone who commented. Words can’t express what it truly meant to us.

Now let’s all give one final round of applause to the brilliant group of storytellers who helped make this possibility into a reality: @birdandmouse, @cranesinthe-sky@reciprocityfic, @dirtiebirdie17, @queencoles, @lovedmoviesb, @iminyjo, @pastelogramm, @constablemichonnes

Originally posted by my-harry-potter-generation

And here’s to more Rick and Michonne goodness coming our way in season 8!

Originally posted by itadakimasu-letmeeat

Music Series: Can I Have This Dance by Vanessa Hudgens & Zac Efron

Forever ever? xo

I appreciate the likes, comments, reblogs, and follows! You all mean so much to me, you don’t even know. If you like what you read, I hope you will share it with your followers and help me get to my next thousand followers! I’m still about 300 away, but I know that the reason this happens is just as much about all of you as it is my writing, so thank you, thank you, thank you!

Being completely honest with you about this song…this was a challenge for me, and that’s why I decided to write it. I LOVE a good challenge. The song is cute, but not being a huge HSM fan (I promise I’m not completely old and decrepit), I am not won over by it.

But…I like the feelings behind the lyrics, so I accept the challenge. Thank you, Anon, for requesting. I hope you like it as much as I love how it turned out (I love Dad Harry)!

This is “Can I Have This Dance” by Vanessa Hudgens and Zac Efron from High School Musical. You can listen to this song HERE on Spotify, and on my Harry Styles imagines playlist. xo

Shelli

******************

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Did you ever consider sharing more of the down phases ?

I think I probably share a lot more of the ~behind the scenes~ than most/many other bloggers do. I don’t want anyone to only see the pretty sides of what I share and think everything is amazing all the time.

Right now, I’m having a tough time. I can’t and won’t give more details for safety reasons, but pretty much I’ve been going through something incredibly serious and scary and awful for almost 5 years now and it recently got a lot scarier - part of the reason I came back to America so suddenly. This is, by far, the hardest thing I have ever dealt with in my life, and I only really came to terms with that about a week ago when I let myself be honest about it all and how much I’ve actually been impacted.

I haven’t been really processing this enough because over time you get ‘used to’ things, and you also don’t want to confront them emotionally. I think that situation, as well as a couple of other things, are weighing on my mind.

Today has been a really hard day. I have been absolutely riddled with anxiety - something my life is usually free from since the pendulum in my brain has a tendency to swing the other way instead. I poured the nervous energy into work and finished a video that I’d been editing for weeks, went for a night run along the river, and am forcing myself to have a solo dance party now to try and get some more endorphins pumping. I may need a good cry (maybe with my friends if they’ll join me when they get home) or a good talk or a good journal, but I will give myself permission to take care and practice self love in whatever way is necessary.

I just always want to be as authentic, genuine and open as possible on here, because I’m inundated with messages from people who think my life is or I personally am perfect - and I need people to know that it simply isn’t true.

If you are struggling yourself with anything at all, look inward. Ask yourself what you need and don’t be afraid to give that to yourself. Relax, take a break, be kind to your body, mind and soul.

Sending out so much love.

anonymous asked:

all messages about shinee contract making me nervous i dont know to do if some dont renew ㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠㅠ (sorry for bad english)

hey for the start don’t worry. when you read the messages I got before you see that there are a lot shawols who are positively minded about that and who belive in 5HINee. Also, think about the strong bond they share. They talk about them being a family and how much they like each other so often and you don’t leave someone behind that easily if you talk like that.
If something happens you can be sure I and a lot of others will be here for you to talk and share thoughts and feelings and get through this together. It would be hard and a tough time but there is always light on the horizon, ok? If someone leaves they /only/ leave the group but not this world. Yes, it would still be very difficult to accept for me too, but for now, it does not seem like someone didn’t renew his contract, right? enjoy the present as much as you can and come back if you feel heavy hearted again. Btw, your English is great :)

anonymous asked:

so Believer by Imagine dragons works for the IPRE crew, with each verse focused on a specific character and the chorus for all of them. First verse Lucretia, then Davenport, second verse Taako. Fourth verse Merle, fifth Magnus and the last verse barry and lup. I hope this makes sense I just really like making lyricstucks in my head and this blog is amazing and lets me kind of share the things i'd never have the skills to actually make otherwise

I’m not going to quote any lyrics; I’m just going to link them, so our followers can see them all & realize how much of a genius you are. :D  

anonymous asked:

Omg please don't apologize for being invited to a session or going somewhere that made you so genuinely happy! You've honestly been pretty chill about it I wish you shared more of your experience b/c i love reading ppls stories of how they found out, how they got there, etc but I understand. You've always been gracious about other ppls feelings. Don't feel bad.

thank you so much this is so nice! i am going to type up my story, maybe later today or tomorrow, but i’ve just been trying to catch up on life and let it sink in a little first so i can put it into words. promise i’ll tell the whole tale soon! 

Terrible Things

Now most of the time we’d have too much to drink and we’d laugh at the stars and we’d share everything. Too young to notice and too dumb to care, love was a story that couldn’t compare. I said ‘girl can I tell you a wonderful thing? I made you a present of paper and string. Open with care now, I’m asking you please, you know that \i love you, will you marry me?’’”

- Terrible Things, Mayday Parade

….

He could remember the first moment he saw her. He knew every man said that about the woman they loved, every groom said that about their bride, but he was one of the few he’d believed actually meant it. He could remember the first time he saw her like a flash went off in time and took a freeze frame for him. For him to smile at every single time he retold the story in conversation, or to just think about on those long, quiet nights during the ten years she was gone from this world. His world. Their world.

He was a medical student, a stress case at best, stuck in an existential crisis and suicidal ideated at worst. He was always tired, with harsh lines against the puffiness under his eyes perpetually aging him, sleepless nights and even longer days forcing him to live his life like it were nothing more than going through the motions with immobile limbs. It was hell. Hell on earth.

She was a medical student too. Like him. She wore her hair down, auburn waves looking as though she’d just come from a beach somewhere, despite the fact that they were right in the middle of a frigid Seattle winter. Her makeup was minimal, though there had to have been something she was using, because dark circles didn’t plague the underpart of her eyes like they did his, and the physicality of exhaustion wasn’t her keeper; it wasn’t embedded into her daintily angled features, a soft sharpness to her cheekbones that made her beauty demure rather than striking.

They were coming out of the same ten hour surgery they’d just merely observed, and even though he hadn’t done anything – they hadn’t – he’d felt as though he’d been put through the ringer. He was so tired from being up all night that he felt physically sick, and he was starving at the same time. He’d hadn’t eaten since god knows when, since he drank a large black coffee eleven or so hours before, using it to wash down a pathetic excuse for a blueberry muffin. Because it had been such a long day, he’d decided not to eat, or to sleep, but instead, felt the need to complain.

“How do they do this? I didn’t even operate and I’m spent. I’m starving. And exhausted.”

“Then eat something. Or find an on-call room. Sleep.”

That voice sounded distinctly girlish, yet he knew better not to argue with it. It sounded as though it has never once put up with any bullshit excuses, because it doesn’t tolerate them. It sounded bored with him. It was her. She was bored with him.

“Just stop whining. This is the real deal. Not every med student gets to see something like this. The fact that you’re squandering your opportunity because you’re complaining, because you’re tired, makes me want to hit you. Hard.

“Hit me, huh?” he’d laughed, smirking at her. “Okay. You’re best shot. Go.”

Rolling her eyes, she shook her head, eyebrows raising in what he hoped was intrigue but was probably only disbelief. Most women looked at him that way, then would sleep with him at some point, but this girl, he could already tell, likely wouldn’t touch him with a ten foot pole.

“I’m not going to hit you, moron. What you said makes me want to hit you. Doesn’t mean I’m going to act on it. I’m not a toddler.”

She’d told him, that she wasn’t going to hit him, and she’d kept to her word, then. When they’d began dating a few months later, play fighting with him would become her favorite activity. There were days when her intent was more authentic than others, although most times he’d had enough sense to run screaming depending on where they were. (Okay, he didn’t actually scream, but there were times her little fists would make him legitimately afraid for his life).

“Oh, well then, you could at least tell me your name.”

There was a pause and he’d been wondering if she was ever going to tell him, or if she were thinking up a fake name to give him instead of her real one, like he’d ever know the difference if she had.

“It’s Megan. Megan Hunt.”

He grinned, offering her his hand.

“Megan,” he repeated, letting her name pass through his own lips like it did a second ago from hers.

She didn’t suit any other name, he’d decided, chuckling as he noticed the flush of her cheeks despite the air conditioning throughout the hospital. He’d have her eventually. When he did, halfway through their second year, it actually surprised him. Nothing ever surprised him.

She’d put up a good fight, never letting them lock gazes for more than a few seconds, never letting him walk too close to her, never saying much to him unless it was for the purpose of academia or the good of medicine, but he’d broke her down.

He bought her lunch one day, and she’d actually accepted it, letting him sit with her and occasionally pick at her fries, while they talked about something other than medical school, and she’d laughed and he’d smiled at her, but not once, throughout this whole thing did she let him physically come onto her.

He was forced to try not to stare at the gentle swell of her chest accentuated by the shirt she wore, or the tautness of her thighs and calves, that were obvious even through the jeans she was wearing, with a swirly design on the left back pocket that teased him endlessly.

He finally broke as she was getting up from her seat to throw away her empty water bottle. He watched her walk to the garbage and back, the slender curve of her ass taunting him, making him wish that he could just slip his hand casually in the back pocket of her jeans, while they were talking to their classmates like it was no big deal. She would laugh and pretend to pull away, but really she’d lean into his touch, secretly wanting him to squeeze a little bit, too. He wouldn’t though; instead, he would tune into the conversation again when she started talking about this new study done on something or other, passion in her eyes and ambition in her soul. That was when he realized it. He didn’t just want to shack up with her, he wanted to be her boyfriend too.

He hadn’t been anybody’s boyfriend, or anybody’s anything, since the eleventh grade. Samantha Lawrence. After realizing that he wasn’t going to get any, and that this girl actually annoyed him to no end, he broke up with her. It lasted six months. Six months of his life he’d never get back, and so, he’d decided that he wouldn’t date. He’d only been interested in one thing, and as he got a bit older, that one thing could be gotten as easy as candy from a baby, if you were somebody like him. So, he never had a reason to actually date a girl. Until her.

“I’m Nathan. Nathan Riggs.”

She’d shook his hand and then immediately gestured to an on-call room, and he’d bet that it was only an excuse to turn her head away from him before she did something sexy and telling, like bite her lip or blush an even deeper shade of red. When she’d actually said that she was going to crash, but not that he should too, he was taken aback. She’d started to walk away from him before he could say another word, and he would’ve found it incredibly rude and obnoxious had she not been so incredibly attractive. And she wasn’t even dolled up. Imagine that. He hadn’t known such a woman existed. She’d actually look nice the morning after.

“Before you even ask, you are not coming with me.”

It was like she could read his mind. Sure, he was a man with perverted intentions not all that hard to figure out, but all this time he’d thought he was playing it cool.

“Yeah, don’t play dumb little boy, I could see you checking out my boobs, and I am not that kind of girl.”

“Duly noted,” he called after her, his eyes not leaving her as she walked the opposite direction with another girl in their class, a brunette with petite shoulders and skinnier arms that did surprisingly well in the chest department.

He couldn’t remember her name, but he did remember that she wore a matching black bra and panty set that sent his world spinning. (About four months later, he’d laughed when he and Megan were in the bathroom stall at some rag tag bar, and she was standing in front of him in her navy bra and red panties. It was patriotic – he just couldn’t help it. She’d scowled and proceeded to kiss that smirk right off his face with her tongue).

He’d wondered if she’d told Megan that they’d had sex, twice, in the research lab after hours, and what her reaction was, presuming they were friends. Did she know him before she’d met him? Did she have her own torrid fantasies about being in that girl’s place? About being held down her by her wrists or having her hair pulled, just like in the movies?

He couldn’t help but wonder. In fact, that night, thoughts about it kept him awake, and he cursed her in his head over and over, because he had an exam the next morning. Fucking Megan. Fuck, Megan. Fuck Megan…

The next morning, he was late for his exam. He was late because he had to shower, whether he liked it or not. And to top it off, she was in his class. Fucking glorious.

When Nathan thought about this day now – he totally bombed that exam - and the one before it, when they first met, he couldn’t help but smile against the tears that threatened to screw with his sanity. He couldn’t lose it, not right now. He had to come through for her. If anyone should be losing it right now, it was her.

She’d been the one kept in captivity for ten years. Ten goddamned years. Christ. He couldn’t do anything to remedy that time in her life for her, and that was like a punch to the gut. He needed to apologize to her. The only thing that he could do right now for her was to apologize for being such a fucking dick to her, telling her to just get on that helicopter, basically saying that he didn’t give a shit about what she did because he was too embarrassed about having been caught. The cheating hadn’t been going on long, but still had was going on, and honestly he didn’t regret it when it was happening, but dear god, did he regret it when he’d been caught.

He could hear the tears through the phone, the pitch of her voice betraying her pseudo composure, like she wanted to yell at him. Wanted to scream at him. And she did. Oh, she did. Loudly. He let her though, because dammit did he deserve it.

He let her call him a fucking disgraceful asshole and a pigheaded dick who couldn’t keep it in his pants, because she was upset, and berating him seemed almost cathartic, he could tell, but when she abruptly hung up on him, her words still caught in her throat, he knew that there might be no coming back from this.

That right now, right fucking now, she was leaving him to get on a chopper in a risky attempt to save a boy’s life, and she might never come back to him. Of course, he had thought it in the sense that she would never forgive him on an emotional level, but never in his worst nightmares did he think that she would never physically be there again. That the chopper would never make it, and that she wouldn’t be found when they found it, and her patient, who was dead.

He’d thought she was dead too. He wasn’t led to believe otherwise after years spent looking and nothing had come of it. He couldn’t be. There was just no way she was alive. That was what he’d thought. Now she was here, at Grey Sloan Memorial, and he was here, and he didn’t know what to do, what to say…he would never know what the perfect thing was. He would never know the things that she needed to hear right now, because the Megan he’d been with for their two and a half remaining years of medical school and all those years after they graduated until that day, may very well be a totally different Megan now. With totally different needs.

He still had that stupidly cheesy picture under his bed of them on graduation day, wearing their caps tilted just a little to the left, like the pretentious med school graduate douche bags they were probably quickly to become, with her arms wrapped tightly around his waist and a pouty smile on her lips.  Always with that pouty smile. It was something he loved most about her, although there were others, too. With her, he couldn’t just love one thing the most. There were at least three other things that came to him now, and he couldn’t help but wonder if they were still her things.

The way the skin at the sides of her eyes crinkled when she laughed; the way she would try and make him laugh whenever he was in a crabby mood – or so she’d call it – and she’d make these ridiculous puns which would, admittedly, make him laugh, mostly at the hopeful expression on her face when she’d deliver them; her bedroom eyes (enough said) and the way her hair was mussed in the morning, curls sprouting from her head like those little Cabbage Patch dolls Zola was always playing with.

Zola. Dammit. How could he be thinking about Meredith right now, when the love of his life that he hasn’t seen for ten years was in that room not two feet away? He was thinking about her now because Megan gave him a conscience. Why did she have to give him a conscience?  

Nathan took a deep breath and tried to stop his hands from shaking. They hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d gotten here half an hour ago, anxiously awaiting her arrival at the hospital and waiting to receive word on when she’d gotten situated. He’d received said word via Owen ten minutes ago now, five of which were spent in the bathroom splashing cold water on his face and trying not to pass out from the shock. She was here. She was alive. The other two were spent running here and he’d ran only to stop outside the door and lean against the adjacent wall. There goes the other three minutes. He had to go in. Enough was enough.

When he peeked around the corner, he could finally hear her voice. He could spend another minute on wondering how he could have missed hearing it in the last five that he stood outside her room but he didn’t, because he couldn’t. All that mattered was that he was hearing it now; there was a noticeable absence of heavy sobs and the scratchiness that came with them. She sounded lighthearted and to a fault because how could someone be so calm about this happening to them?

It was so horrific to him, that imagining even the less severe things that could have happened to her over there, made him want to vomit. She could have been shot at, she could have been beaten, she could have been raped, hell, she probably was, many, many, times. It took all he had inside of him not to punch a hole through the wall. No. His little maggot couldn’t have been raped, because the thought of her being sexually abused like that, taken advantage of, made him want to die.

At first, all he could see was half a head of auburn hair, that same auburn hair he’d used to repeatedly card his hands through, his reasons for doing so varying; some were tawdry, some were not, he was sometimes gentle, other times he was not, and it made his breath catch again. She was really here. This was real. And then they locked eyes. He didn’t think he would ever see those eyes again, see them imploring into his own like he was an anatomy textbook to be studied, or something else, something more vulgar, to be seduced. Right now, she was looking at him like she wasn’t at all surprised to see him standing there, which was good, because he remembered that she absolutely hated surprises.

So, she wasn’t surprised, and it was almost as if she wanted to laugh, sitting up in that hospital bed, with the impish grin she’d usually have reserved for two occasions. (One was Christmas morning, as she’d sit with her knees tucked under her legs, watching him open his gift from her; the other was definitely more smutty and he couldn’t help feeling a little guilty for thinking about it right now: during their foreplay, when she would always suggest doing a little something to ‘get him going.’ Dear god, did he love it when she would say those words, say those words with that smile, before it would disappear and she’d follow through on her suggestion, without saying anything else).

All he could do was stare. His bottom lip began to tremble like a little boy’s and even though he wanted to be pissed at himself for wanting to cry, he just couldn’t be. Those lustful thoughts disappeared as quickly as they’d came and were replaced by an overwhelming sense of gratefulness and something else so strong that it threatened to knock the wind out of him.

“Hey stranger.”

Then he did cry. He held onto her body, pressed his head into her stomach, and cried. He could feel the rise and fall of her chest against his eardrum and awaken every sense that his body ever had and could possibly ever have; she was breathing. She was breathing, which meant she was alive. It was as if that would never cease to amaze him.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, maggot,” he whispered, but he was so quiet, his voice so soft, muffled even more by her hospital gown, that he wasn’t sure if she’d even heard him.

Maybe he didn’t want her to hear. Maybe he was scared. He was scared that she wouldn’t respond to the nickname how she did before, that maybe she’d be disconcerted by it, unnerved by the sudden intimacy he’d given the two of them, together, in this moment. They’d shared plenty of moments as a couple and strictly as friends, both so long ago now that it made his heart physically ache; ache for the days when it was easy and fun and even more for the days that weren’t so much of either, because those meant that they really cared about each other, that they cared enough to fight for something that was worth saving.

Sh, It’s okay,” she’d began, but then her voice broke as she gasped. “It’s okay. I’m okay, I’m – she stopped to grimace. “Okay, ow. You’re going to have to – ow.”

“What? What’s wrong?” he asked her, lifting his head only slightly from her chest. The beating of her heart was still ringing in his ears; that thump-thump of blood circulating was an addiction quite like nothing he’s ever experienced. Not even a couple shots of whisky could match the crazy euphoria he felt each time he could hear her heart, beating once, twice, seventy-two times each minute. There was nothing like it to him, nothing like it in this world.

“There was a bombing six months ago. I took some shrapnel. There were post-op complications, it didn’t heal so well.”

When he saw that wound, that open, gaping wound, he didn’t know what to do. She’d been living with that for six months? Really though, was he all that surprised? The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he shouldn’t be. This was his girl. His girl, who did a hernia repair on a cadaver with a broken pinky. A flawless hernia repair, actually. It was third year. Harvard Medical School.

Sure, she was attractive to him the day they met, and every day after that, but when she became something else to him, something other than just another hot girl, something more than his girlfriend, his arousal nearly combusted. She became his competition. Quickly. Their profession was cut-throat, and he wasn’t going to mess around. She got that. And neither was she, apparently.

Her face was fresh from the shower, red from the cold, her hair still damp down her shoulders. She was wearing a wool coat that day, some sort of sexy thing that went down to her thighs, and on her hands were gloves but when she took them off, the splint on her finger was a hard thing to miss.

“Uh, babe? I’m not sure if you’re aware, but you have a splint on your pinky finger.”

He knew better than to ask what she did, or how she did it. Megan was a klutz. In the nights he’s stayed over, he’s seen her drop frying pans, burn herself while making cookies, with oven mitts on (while also mocking the mundanities of stay-at-home moms, or housewives, somewhat ironically), and trip up the stairs (she’d claim she was drunk for this one, but he didn’t buy it).

Once, he’d asked her how she’d broken her ankle in the eighth grade, because in her class photo she sported a full blown cast, with crutches that were too small, and she’d become very irritated that he was asking her what he thought was an honest question. After taking a deep breath as he laughed at her reaction, she begrudgingly told him that she tripped on the incline of a ramp, not expecting the hill to be there. She ended up rolling her ankle as she fell and was alone. That, he found out later, also happened to be the moment she knew that she wanted to be a doctor. Not the profound moment he’d been expecting, and he told her that too, only to be socked in the shoulder, not once, but twice.

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“And you know we’re doing hernia repairs today, right?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

She smiled in response, the type of smile somebody would get if they were correctly predicting how fate would happen. This fate, he’d realized once the lab was over, was that she would kick his ass when it came to precision, with a broken finger.

“Yep.”

“Okay.”

He resisted the urge to laugh, turning his attention to his cadaver as she sat beside down beside him and touched her lips to the corner of his mouth.

“Good luck, Nate,” she whispered, her breath warm despite the temperature everywhere else.

“You too, Meg,” he responded somewhat distractedly, noticing just how close her tongue was to the inside of his mouth. He’d only have to move his head a few inches to the left…

Then, she abruptly moved away so that there was a respectable, professional, space between them and he cursed multiple times under his breath.

“You need it more than I do,” she said to him, just as their instructor told them to begin and he was forced into silence, forced to do absolutely nothing about those pursed lips of hers and repair that hernia.

Looking at her now, looking at that wound, of course he was worried about her. For her. He needed her to be okay. There was no other way around it. Selfishly, she needed to be okay for him. He couldn’t lose her, not again. Not ever again. He bent down and kissed the top of her head, leaving his lips there for a moment and feeling the warmth of her. Her warmth. She wasn’t cold, she wasn’t lifeless, and she wasn’t dead.

And she wasn’t his girl anymore, either. He realized this with a sinking feeling, that ten years had kept them so far apart, that what they had seemed lost. The thought made him want to cry some more, but he didn’t because he was a man, and because the way she was staring at him made him believe that maybe, just maybe, what they had could be found again.

Kissing her forehead this time, if only to feel an even greater warmth, to feel her skin again, to feel her skin against his skin, it felt natural. It felt as if he were rectifying some old physical feeling, lost and never to be found in the depths of warping time, and now here she was, with him, close to him; that was something he’d counted on never feeling again, but to feel it right now, was like he’d never felt it before. In the best way.

“We’ll fix you,” he said, leaning back from her in hopes to lessen her pain a little. “I promise, maggot.”

“Thank you,” she whispered to him with a smile, then her eyes cut towards her brother and his wife. He could tell that she wanted them to leave, to leave the two of them be, alone, but it became a question of whether or not she had the heart to actually say it.

Knowing Owen, he’d want to be by his sister’s side twenty-four seven, and knowing Megan, she knew that too, and wouldn’t really want it. She loved her older brother, he could see that but it was just a matter of protectiveness; she’d always told him that she sometimes felt completely smothered by him, as if Owen weren’t just her brother, but her father, too. Putting a hand on her shoulder, he readied himself to say what she so clearly wanted to on her behalf, before she beat him to it.

“Hey, bub?” she asked, stopping Owen in the middle of his sentence. Not with the utmost tact, but it didn’t look like Owen seemed to mind. He’d actually stopped talking altogether, rather quickly, thwarted in the least bit by the physical act of her interruption and more so by what Megan had said. Hey bub.

Nathan could remember that sweet little girl with freckles messily dotting her nose and cheeks, with mousy hair and an exhaustive personality. He remembered her well. Little Meg was insane, with this loud, crazy giggle and the biggest toothy grin. She looked up to her brother like he was God and believed in every word he said and ever would say. When she was just learning how to talk, it was apparent more than ever that she craved his attention, those bright, optimistic, hazel eyes glancing up at him from underneath willowy lashes. “Bub, look! Birds! Look! See?”

The Hunt’s collection of home movies spanned over eight years of Megan’s life, twelve years of Owen’s, and he remembered on one holiday break -  it was probably Thanksgiving, because the house smelled heavily of rosemary and sage, he and Megan curled up on the couch that entire weekend, and watched every one.

He was lucky enough to see Megan be born (although that was one thing he would rather not see again, even as she seemed not at all phased by the whole ordeal), see her take her first steps to her Daddy and ride her first bike. He got to see her seventh birthday party at a bowling alley, which Owen had crashed and was trying to guess some of her presents by shaking them, which earned an exasperated - “come on, bub, really? It’s my party” - and the championship softball game two years later, in which the catcher got some serious outs.

Right at this moment, Owen looked just like he did at that bowling alley on that grainy video, except his curls were a little less raggedy and his face was a little less smooth, lined now with papery wrinkles that he knew his own skin couldn’t escape from. He looked dejected, but still, nonetheless, like he understood. That man always understood.

“Yeah, okay. And Megs? Call me if you need anything okay? Anything at all. Promise?”

She laughed, shaking her head and put her hand on top of his that was holding the bed rail.

“I promise. Now please,” she gestured between the two of them, and Nathan couldn’t help but smile.

He was finally going to get to be alone with her for the first time since she got here. Alone with her since the first time he saw her. The first time he saw her again after ten years. After ten years of thinking she was dead.

Once Owen left with Amelia in tow, but not before leaving a kiss on her head in a bid of sweet goodbye, he cleared his throat. It came out a bit more broken than he’d anticipated, and he felt his face go warm.

“Nathan I – “

“Can I talk first? Please?”

He asked this of her hurriedly, afraid that she might say no, and that he’d never get to explain himself. To say his side. The lines drawn may have faded after ten years, for her maybe, but not for him. If anything, they got sharper. They got deeper. They swallowed him whole.

“No.”

And then she kissed him. The kiss was slow, but not in a sexy way; it was slow in a way that made him feel like she was running her tongue over the smooth skin of his lips ten times over, like she wasn’t sloppy with her aim, but cautious, and a little too gentle; her mouth stayed moulded to his, not once did her top lip glide across his philtrum like it would usually. Would have, he recognized a moment too late when she separated from him.

“Woah.”

In the ten years that they’d missed together, that she’d missed with him, and he’d missed with her, she would have been kissing him that way. She hadn’t though.

“Yeah,” she breathed, puffing out her cheeks and letting out a deep breath.

Because she was kept captive. Because she was taken from them. Taken from everybody that had been in this room, her own brother, Amelia, who hadn’t even gotten a chance to meet her as her brother’s freaking wife, and him. She’d been taken from him, and that was still a feeling of pain so brutal, so deeply embedded in his every move during his life on this earth, that sometimes, especially during the early days, it would take all he had, and more that he didn’t have, to raise his head off of the pillow and open his eyes.

“I didn’t deserve that. Why did you do that?”

During those first few months, he wanted to die too. Oh god, did he want to. He’d felt so guilty, so lost, so suffocated by his mourning and piteous grief, that he didn’t talk to anyone. Not her brother, who hated his guts, not her mother, who would look at him with this insurmountable disappointment and the effort it took not to blame him -  not to blame him for practically making her get on that helicopter, that he couldn’t bear to speak to her, either.  For him, her love had once and for years been his vice. His vice of choice. When she was gone, too far gone to love him, or even to hate him, too far gone to feel anything at all for him, whisky took her place.

It didn’t help him heal. It never did. Not even at his lowest, most drunken moment. It only helped him suffer a little bit less. So, he stopped, before it got to be a problem. He’d remembered that Megan hadn’t fallen in love with an alcoholic; she had fallen in love with a sober, dominate man, half of his class an ostensible facade because of his accent (the very same one he allowed her to think was English, for six months, before awkwardly correcting her at dinner with her family).

“You didn’t deserve that?” He could see that, like his, her brain and her body were still reeling from that kiss. It was a hell of a kiss. “Why not?”

He shook his head in response, running his hand through his hair as he sighed. He was careful not to move any closer to her, but didn’t really want to move further away, either. So he stayed where he was, in a chair touching her bedside. The shift in their feelings was hard to place, but he knew that there was one, and didn’t want to disturb whatever it was and so he stayed silent for a few extra seconds.

“Why did you kiss me? You don’t…you don’t hate me?”

He hated how emasculate he sounded, his voice too quiet, too soft, too fearful as he awaited her answer. He really thought that she’d hate him. To be totally honest, he hated himself most of the time.

Then, she laughed. She laughed. It was subdued, but it was there. She laughed, and he was reminded of the corny jokes he would tell, only to her, and the pity she would give to them, with an earthy, mellifluous laugh. “Meg, why don’t oysters give to charity?” “I don’t know, why?” “Because they’re shellfish.”

“Nathan, I don’t hate you. I did, for a few weeks there, want to cut your balls off with a Swiss army knife, but I never hated you.”

He raised an eyebrow, rubbing little circles around her IV incision with his thumb.

“Maggot, don’t you lie to me,” he told her, looking down just as she looked more inquisitively at his face, at his paled skin and his shining eyes as they were filling with tears.

Stupid tears. He was a man for Christ sake. He’d been in the war. He’d been shot at. Targeted. He could take a woman staring at him. Just not her. Like that.

“I’m not,” she said, taking her other hand and lifting his chin up. “Babe, I never hated you. How could I when love is such an opposite feeling? I loved you, Nathan Riggs. And I still love you.”

Now it was his turn to laugh. He couldn’t help himself. “You do? Really?”

She nodded. “Ten years is a long time to get over something, Nate. I was too busy fearing for my life to care about what you said or did, or didn’t do or didn’t say, but once I could breathe again, I thought about it.

“Actually, do you have any idea what it was like for me to not know why you did what you did? To not know if you loved me enough not to do it again, or to not know if you even loved me enough in the first place and that’s why you – “

“Oh Megan…” he practically cooed, pressing their foreheads together with a sigh. Dammit. He really wanted to kiss her again, but that was off the table, now. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

He saw the look in her eyes. She knew why he was sorry. He didn’t have to say why. He didn’t have to relive it. Although, he would, for the rest of his life, if it meant that she would have the relief from it that she wanted. That she needed.

There was an empathy there, as if she could feel his guilt, feel it weighing her down like it weighed down his physical soul every, single, damn day. There was also a silvery glint cutting across the hazel of her eyes, and it was either a reflection of the transparency in the mid-afternoon sun, or something that said ‘you have every right to hurt, you bastard.’ If he were to gamble, he would say that it was a bit of both, and he’d be damned if he didn’t swallow his pride and take it like a man.

“I was scared, okay? I was – “

“Megan?”

That voice stopped them both, although neither of them actually moved from their position, foreheads still touching. She moved back first, relaxing again into her pillow and gesturing for the person to come in. He moved back too, settling into the chair as that voice spoke again and he turned to look.

“It’s time for you to go in now. Are you ready?”

Meredith was the perfect picture of composed, as she always was, never to let her professionalism waver in front of a patient; even if said patient happened to be her – he didn’t know what they were exactly, even less so now, but still, even if this patient happened to be his fiancée that had been presumed dead. Well, she wasn’t really his fiancée anymore. She wasn’t a lot of things to him, anymore, was she?

From on the bed, he heard her laugh. That laugh wasn’t just any laugh though. That was her nervous laugh. After ten years, he could remember how it sounded. He remembered it better than a lot of other things. Other, less important things, like, sometimes, what his own name was. It was a pitchy, disingenuous sound; it was almost like she was actually afraid to laugh, instead of its causal fear. Hearing it again made him want to hug her and whisper that it would all be okay. Like he did during their intern testing.

When they dropped hands at all that morning it was only to go into the classroom. He could tell their resident was a bit annoyed with the two of them but he didn’t particularly care. She needed him. He could tell. Even though she kept trying to tell him the opposite, because that’s just who she was. He wanted her to need him because that’s just who he was. So, she let him.

All morning, they would test each other when given the chance (in between calm-down make out sessions in the locker room) and they were prepared as they were ever going to be come exam time.
“You’ve got this. I know you do. So go in there and kick some intern exam’s ass.”

She laughed as she kissed him, her breath warm against his mouth, and then told him the same thing.

“I love you,” she added as an afterthought, with that laugh bubbling up again.

“Whatever happens in there, I’ll still love you. If you fail out and never become a surgeon, I’ll still love you. If I fail out, would you still love me?”

“Of course, Meg.”

She tilted her head, unconvinced, but there was a semblance of a smile.

“Even if I become a veterinarian and spend my days removing quarters from stomach after stomach of dog after dog because I wasn’t good enough to work on humans?”

He chuckled. “Even if. Now shut up. You’re going to be great.”

“So are you.”

Those were her last words to him before they went in to that room. Before they were handed their exam booklets and were told to begin, before he got to question 34, and was abruptly interrupted half way through reading, by the sound of muted laughter.

It stopped as quickly as it started, but began again a few minutes later. He knew that laugh. Crap.

He caught her eye very discreetly, just as she covered her mouth with the sleeve of her shirt, after biting her lip.

‘Crap’ she mouthed, as she pressed her lips together, but as a hum emanated, a stifled laugh, she opened her mouth again to smirk at him. Why was she smirking!?

“I can’t stop,” she whispered from her seat in front of his, her body turned so she was still facing him like she was before. “Help me.”

He looked up at the clock. They had just over two hours left.  Before reaching out his hand for her to grab, he made sure that the invigilators were somewhat distracted. Risky move, but she needed him.

“Hey, Megan, stop. Okay?  Look at me.”

She stared at his hand for a second as her laughing subsided and then took it in her own.

“Now what?”

He squeezed her palm. “Don’t be nervous. I’m not. Not for you. You know this stuff like the back of your hand. Like you know your own name. What’s your name?”

She was staring at him like he was crazy and he noticed for the first time that day that her hair was back in a ponytail, so that he could see that little dark mole on the side of her neck that he kept begging her to get checked.

“Just tell me your name.”

She sighed. “Megan. What does this – “

“Your full name, Meg.”

She sighed again and he kept her focus by squeezing her hand again, until she answered him.

“Megan Lauren Hunt. Now why – “

“Alright, Megan Lauren Hunt, what is the optimal medication used to treat hypercalcemia? On the example case we studied.”

“Prednisone, obviously.”

“See?” he grinned at her. “You know it. You know it well. Now finish your exam and then we’ll go out to celebrate, because I’m that confident in you. Okay?”

“Okay,” she sighed with a small, pathetic smile, then repeated herself as she turned away from him. “Okay.”

After that, there was no more laughing. Not until later that night, when she was three drinks deep and he was mauling her neck with kisses at the bar.

“She’s ready, Dr. Grey,” he told Meredith, who was looking at Megan with compassion, but he wasn’t sure if it was because of her nerves, or if it was because of her entire circumstance.

“No, Dr. Grey. Don’t listen to him. Listen to me. Your patient. Who’s not ready, okay?”

He turned to look at her. “Meg, why? You’ve been hyped up about it ever since you talked it through. If anyone should be nervous, it should be me.”

“Are you?” she asked, her eyebrow raised. “Because if you are, that makes me feel better.”

He chuckled, kissing her forehead. “You’re Satan.”

She laughed too. “And you love me.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He did, of course he did, and he always would, but with Meredith right there, it seemed tactless to say it. And he wasn’t, at least he thought he wasn’t, that kind of guy. So instead, he just hummed without contention as he kissed her cheek.

He and Megan had never been an overtly affectionate couple, at least, never a lot in public. His opinion was that the reactions of other people, those they knew or didn’t really know, cheapened the action somehow, whether it be verbal or physical. As far as he knew, she shared the same view, but now it seemed as though the amount of affection they could pour over each other was infinite, and the place or the time didn’t stop them from showing it. Not anymore. They’d taken unbelievable advantage of it before; every kiss and every ‘I love you’ was said and done without any looks ahead, as if either of them could predict the future.

“Okay,” Meredith stated after a minute of silence that they must have all acknowledged but just let pass. “Are you ready now?”

She held her gaze on his face for a minute, he could feel it, and when he actually looked at her, and away from Meredith, she smiled. “Yeah.”

….

So that was the first part! Italics were flashbacks, FYI :) Let me know what you think and if I should write more! :)

anonymous asked:

I thought Brooklyn was a gross name but Everly?? Then you can’t forget Kaci Lynn shares a name with a porn star 😂 then Lexi Mae sounds like a stripper... ok I’m done ranting about the Bates kids’ names lol.

Controversial Opinion Here: I like Everly? It’s whimsical and unique. I like it much better than Kaci Lynn and Lexi Mae!!!! 

(fully prepared for everyone to tell me my opinion is wrong though! 😂 ) 

-Admin T 

itss-lyss  asked:

So I've been wanting to change myself lately. Like majorly, I feel like I need to. Like cut my hair, tan, exfloiate, grow my nails, new piercings,etc. Basically feel pretty. I have a lot of toxic realtionships in my life (friends, family, couch) and I just need something new. I tried working out, but I feel so ugly and don't even want to get up in the morning anymore. Even when I shave I don't feel cute like all girls are suppose to. Sorry for the over-sharing can anyone help me feel better?

Oh babe, I know this feeling well. I’ve actually found that when I’m in that state, big changes end up setting me back. Do something little each day. Paint your nails, take a bath, do 10 minutes of stretching. Slowly build up your selfcare over time. If you do too much too fast, you might get a little lost in yourself.

jonab24  asked:

so i wrote a story on wattpad a long time ago about dazai x reader any tips on being motivated and updating more

I love Dazai x Readers omg!! Be sure to link me to it later >:0

I’m writing a novel in my spare time, so I definitely know the “want to write, can’t,” feel big time @_@ but I have figured out ways around it!

Well you could google some TED Talks or help articles as to how to motivate yourself, there’s some really neat stuff out there! But also sometimes you just gotta ignore the fact you don’t have motivation and w r i t e - it’s hard at first but once you get into the swing of it you won’t be able to stop!

You could also write together with friends - my friends and I have writing sprints where we write as much as we can in fifteen minutes or another set time, then compare word counts and share what we’ve written for praise and compliments! If your friends are unavailable, sprint with yourself, compete your word count from the last with a newer, bigger one!

If all else fails, use Write or Die. It punishes you if you don’t write, trust me!

Or if punishment isn’t your thing, reward yourself! Tell yourself you’ll eat a candy bar or watch ten minutes of a show if you reach a certain set goal.

Above all, try to make it a habit! If you write every day it becomes easier, words flow more naturally, and you get more done if you write a little every day instead of a lot and then nothing for a long time!

If nothing works, then just visit me again <3 I’ll gladly cheer you on and offer you the motivation and praise you need!!

tswiftbecky  asked:

AKHILA WHAT THE HECK MY BABY I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU YOU DESERVE THIS SO MUCH. I LOVE YOU AND I CANT WAIT FOR YOU TO TELL US EVERYTHING❤️❤️❤️❤️

ahh maria, you are so sweet!! sorry i am just seeing this now but i’ve been working on my experience story for the past couple of days and i can’t wait to share as soon as it’s done!!!

I know im probaby sharing too much info here but its hard lvl 999 having feelings for someone who’s bad for you and someone you can’t have because the people you consider as friends can no longer tolerate it and would just say the exact same thing like, he’s not worth it, you deserve so much better than that i mean, do you srsly think i dont know that already? Like I dont need advice. I just need someone to be here with me and just listen and know that they dont necessarily need to say something and would understand the fact that i cant just turn off my feelings like a switch, because if can, i wouldve done that ages ago. And im mad at the world because i thought i have real friends already but didnt and at him for making me feel this way. For approaching me first. I was happy and contented with my life 3 months ago. Why do you have to ruin everything? I know, its my fault too but you knew youd never risk a fucking dime for me and that you would never, ever in your fucking existence, would give me a second thought if you were to choose between me and them? then why do you have to fucking do and say all those things knowing the fact that i might fall for it? Did you really just do all that to get into my pants? Maybe i was right. Maybe you are nothing but the most selfish and manipulative person ever. Oh my god. Like holy mother of shit. Why did it took me this fucking long to realize it? Hahaha. So stupid and naive of me right? Tangina. Tangina lang talaga. How funny i must have looked believing all the things you said. Too funny i guess. Cant blame myself though. You were so good at it. Those sorry eyes, that sencere voice, you couldve win an oscar for that you know.

I want to wish a very happy birthday to the daddiest Daddy of them all, miss @violeblanche 😍😍😍😍 I know you’re gonna hate me for calling you daddy publicly but 1) (yes, read this as a “punto uno”) you don’t have to be ashamed of who you are, Deb. As a boy we might know used to say, embrace! 2) (“punto due”) even if you might hate me now, I wanna state how much I love you and how glad I am we met. I love your comments, I love sharing our unpopular opinions, I love fangirling with you, I love talking about makeup and I just really love you as a person. I don’t always love your audio messages cause they tend to be more like audiobooks, but that’s another story.

You’re smart, you’re clever, you’re opinionated, you’re funny, you manage to get through the day even with 3 hours of sleep which is an amazing skill, and I can’t wait to meet you in person. Buon compleanno bimba 💖🍾🌈🎂

Originally posted by gayspaceagenda