the study of slam

They say nobody reads anymore,

so they’ve hammered wooden boards into library windows

and they’ve built each book a coffin from the outside,

but the inside is a body,

with infinite hearts and infinite souls

more intelligent than we could hope to become,

it’s walls lined with knowledge

with verse and prose that a child could once recite,

balancing on tiptoes

she skimmed a delicate hand over every unexplored title

and vowed to stay up past bedtime,

the words illuminated by torch light, the best way she knew how.

But centuries of dipping a quill into ink by candlelight

all turned to dust- nobody reads anymore.

It was a rite of passage,

obeying a vow of silence, filled with the voice of a story-

words from a page surrounded her,

from head to toe immersed, on page one

for the minute it takes for her to decide to give this world a chance,

again and again,

she placed a certain faith in every author

until she couldn’t see over the pile she shouldered.

But, nobody reads anymore

and in her lifetime they’ve diluted education and killed creativity,

they’ve told us the world is black and white

so they’ve boarded up the library windows

and refused to let us colour it in.

- the death of the reader

Analyses: Transgender Slam Poetry

As well as written poetry, it is important to look at spoken word, or slam poetry, because it allows trans authors to convey their poetry in an even more tangible way. Having an audience present works to reify the ideals of community and solidarity. Underlining unity is powerful, both within the trans community and for the purpose of coalition building, moving toward support that goes beyond the art world.

In the introduction to the Transgender Studies Reader, “(De)Subjugated Knowledges,” Susan Stryker discusses the language of gender and the ways in which material determinism permeates Western culture. She states, “The relationship between bodily sex, gender role, and subjective gender identity are imagined to be strictly, mechanically, mimetic – a real thing and its reflections” (Stryker 9). Transgender studies challenges this idea, focusing on social construction through language and cultural narratives.

All three of these poems interact with this idea of sex, gender roles, and gender as it is experienced being lumped together. Such a fabrication leads to the assumption of other individuals’ gender identities, as the person doing the assuming attempts to make sense of an expression that does not fit their binary philosophy.

“How to Love Your Body in 10 Easy Steps” by Ollie Schminkey

It is immediately clear in the first few lines that this poem grapples with mental health, as Schminkey’s first step involves unhealthy eating habits: “eating less will make you feel as if you have control.” They also talk about binding in unhealthy ways in order to “trick yourself into feeling complete.” Without societal acceptance and the supposed stability of the gender binary, the search for control of the self and self-image can manifest in potentially dangerous ways.

Schminkey describes the impact of rejection, “Man, woman, whatever./You are the whatever.” Outside of the binary, people are essentially dehumanized and labeled deviant. This creates a hostile environment where dysphoria may take its root. The poem continues, “Do not call it what it is/do not call it transgender/do not say dysphoria/just say depression, no qualifier” (Schminkey). Calling it dysphoria is to recognize a problem stemming from society and normative standards of gender expression, beauty, and so on. With this poem, however, Schminkey calls attention both to the condition of dysphoria and to its silencing.

“Ritual” by Muggs Fogarty

Fogarty talks about material determinism extensively in this poem. “What parts of you are heavy with fluid?/which direction do your shirt buttons button?/where do your glands swell?” These lines refer to the ways society writes gender on bodies without asking, only concerned with fitting physical appearance into socially constructed category. They use repetition to signify the numerous instances they have been asked for their name assigned at birth, as if the listener hears their poetry and continues to ask, looking for “gender lies,” some trace of inauthentic expression (Fogarty).

When referring to binding their breasts, Fogarty declares, “I was so afraid others would notice their absence, especially if they had never noticed mine.” This makes more powerful the message the poet is delivering, that bodies are more valued than the minds, expressions, and identities that they hold. Especially in reference to the commodification and objectification of women, this poem is relevant to trans studies in its critique of society’s attention to the presence or absence of certain anatomical characteristics in determining gender judgments.

“A Letter to the Girl I Used to Be” by Ethan Smith

In this poem, Smith reconciles the memory of himself and his dreams growing up with the reality of his current life and the ways in which those dreams have shifted. He begins by addressing his former self – using his name given at birth. This serves as a way to separate himself wholly from the person he was before transitioning. He speaks of memories told to him by his father which he does not remember, but moves on to discuss family, which complicates the narrative of the poem. As he describes beginning hormone therapy, Smith expresses, “I thought about your children, how I wanted them too.” His desire for children is separate from his gender expression, yet the way that bodies are looked upon by society produces a dissonance, dysphoria. In order for his body to fit within norms for his experienced gender, he no longer retains the ability to produce life, something that had been precious to him. In saying this, Smith removes trans bodies from a pathologized and objectified space and focuses on a future oriented one, where trans-identified people express the desire for new families of their own. He validates that struggle and represents narratives different from the fight for recognition in one’s current family, which is usually the only family related issue discussed in such a context.

At the end of the poem, after telling of his former struggles with mental health – “In therapy you said you wouldn’t make it to twenty-one. You were right” – and coming to terms with his gender expression, Smith provides an optimistic viewpoint. He affirms there was and still is a place for the memory of himself growing up, ending with “P.S. I never hated you” (Smith).


Fogarty, Muggs. “Ritual.” YouTube. Button Poetry, 18 Nov. 2015. Web. 03 Apr.

Schminkey, Ollie. “How to Love Your Body in 10 Easy Steps.” YouTube. Button
       Poetry, 21 July 2014. Web. 03 Apr. 2017.

Smith, Ethan. “A Letter to the Girl I Used to Be.” YouTube. Button Poetry, 16
       May 2014. Web.  03 Apr. 2017.

Stryker, Susan. “(De)Subjugated Knowledges: An Introduction to Transgender
       Studies.”The Transgender Studies Reader. New York: Routledge, 2006.

Do You Remember?

Pairing: Stiles x Reader

Requested: Yes by @oh–well-whatever–nevermind

A/N: I loved writing this <3

Stiles: There’s a party tonight at Lydia’s, you want to come with me?

You stared at the text from your best friend, sighing in defeat as you quickly typed a reply, “No.” You knew what would happen if you went to the party with him, he’d spend the first ten minutes joking and laughing with you, then he’d see Malia at the other side of the room, shuffle nervously on his feet as he glanced from you to her and that’d make you roll yours eyes and tell him to ‘go on over to her’. He’d smile, pat you on the back and wander off for the rest of the night; leaving you by yourself.

That’s what it is like now a days, you left alone whilst he ran around with the werecoyote that rudely interrupted your five year plan. You made a plan when you were thirteen, a plan that would make Stiles Stilinski, your best friend, fall in love with you and it was working; god, it was working great until she entered his life. Maybe it was meant to be, maybe you were only meant to be best friends forever.

Keep reading

Do you think you can put me in a category?
That just because I am a girl,
I want to break hearts?
Oh, no-
I want to learn to decode the languages you don’t understand,
to create art that lives for decades and
achieve and learn and thrive.
I do not want to be viewed on the basis of a boy,
who would rather pull me than push me to dream,
I want to create my own rules and break them,
to dress all in pink one day and black the next.
I want to thrill and excite,
and bleach my hair or cut it off,
an unpredictable enigma.
You put me in a box and
limit my opportunities,
Do you want me to break hearts one day?
Why don’t I break barriers first?
Push open doors and slide open windows
and never look back.
—  break
Bruce's Will

The batkids find Bruce’s will one day and read it to see what they’re going to get when he dies. Dick is all “Cool, I get to be Batman again!” Tim is pleased to get the entire Wayne Enterprises corporation. Jason is psyched about getting the entire Justice League, Barbara gets leadership of Batman Incorporated, Cass gets all his trophies and the batcopter, and Damian gets the rest, which would be the manor, any of the other properties Bruce owns, most of his money, etc. And then Stephanie eagerly scans the will for her name, excited to see how much money she’s going to get, when…  

“BRUUUUUUCE!!!” She stomps angrily upstairs into Bruce’s study, screaming at the top of her lungs. She marches into the study and slams the door open loudly, Tim at her heels. “I’M NOT IN YOUR WILL????”

Bruce looks up, surprised. “Excuse me?" 

Stephanie stomps over, shoving the will in his face and screaming, "I THOUGHT I WAS YOUR HONORARY CHILD!!! I THOUGHT WE WERE FAMILY, AND YOU GO AHEAD AND DISGRACE ME LIKE THIS???" 

Tim tries to calm her down. "Stephanie, sweetie, I think you’re overreacting-" 


Bruce crosses his legs calmly, ignoring Tim’s frantic hand motions behind Steph’s back. "Stephanie, you do realize I’m not your actual father, right?" 


Bruce sighs and massages his temples. "Fine fine fine, I’ll put you in the will you little banshee." 

”…Wait, seriously? Well that was easy. Okay, I want the Batcave.“ 

"That goes to Dick." 

"Oh. Fine then, I want Alfred." 

"He’s a person??" 

*huffs* "Well, what can I have then?" 

Bruce looks around the study until his eyes land on a lamp in the corner. "Uh… I can give you this lamp, I guess?" 

There’s a beat of silence as Steph stares at the lamp before finally grinning and shaking Bruce’s hand. "I’ll take it!" 

She happily skips out of the study with Tim in tow, leaving a starstruck Bruce behind them. "And that, Timmy my dear, is how you negotiate. Can’t wait until that old bastard dies and that lamp is mine!" 

"Um, Steph, you do know that’s just a dusty $20 lamp he bought on sale from Walmart, right?" 

"It’s the symbolism that counts, honey." 

The Ultra-Scientific Study of Winchester Wall Slams (& More) – Seasons 1 – 12

aka - A Comparison of (Randomly Chosen) Violence Against Dean and Sam


Once upon a time, I just wanted to get a firm count of how many times Dean got slammed into a wall (or  the ground, or other things). @obsessionisaperfume suggested I also track Sam getting choked or getting hit on the head – which was a good suggestion, since those are things that Sam is known for. I eventually decided to track everything for both brothers, and that’s when things got… interesting.

The charts below are the culmination of months of work (which was me watching the show and making ticky marks in a notebook, which I then entered into a spreadsheet). I am attempting to keep my commentary to a minimum, instead allowing all of you draw your own conclusions from the results. (However, there are a few places where I can’t help making a comment because I’m chatty.)

There are several different ways I can present this data, so there is a slight chance that this may be part 1 of 2. 

I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy Dean getting slammed into walls.

We begin with the Wall Slam, which, as many of you know, is my favorite of all types of randomly chosen violence. 

Wall Slam Criteria: A brother must be thrown or pushed into a wall by an outside force (such as a physical shove, telekinesis, etc). For this purpose, a ‘wall’ is defined as a wall or something relatively flat that is resting directly against a wall (such as a mirror or a bookshelf). A bookshelf that is in the middle of the room is not considered a wall, though - those are classified separately, as ‘other.’ Closed doors also count as walls, regardless of whether or not a brother is thrown through the door. (Glass is certainly a popular material for doors. Rich people, man.)

For most of the series, Dean was the reigning Wall Slam champion, clocking 11 straight seasons of winning the non-existent Wall Slam competition. In season 12, however, Dark Horse Dabb certainly made a statement in his first season as show runner: Sam, for the first time in series history, was thrown into more walls than Dean. 

* The reason for the 0.5 slam for Dean is due to a half-wall/half-ground slam that occurred in episode 12x10.

When a wall is not available, the ground will suffice.

Ground Slam Criteria: A brother must be thrown or pushed into the ground by an outside force (such as a physical shove, telekinesis, etc). ‘Ground’ is defined as the ground or a floor.

Despite Sam taking the Wall Slam crown from Dean in season 12, Dean continued his winning record when it comes to the ground. Dean has been slammed into the ground more than Sam, winning 9 seasons to Sam’s 3. 

Other Slam Criteria: A brother must be thrown or pushed into anything other than a wall or the ground by an outside force (such as a physical shove, telekinesis, etc). This is including (but not limited to) fences, people, tables, and piles of trash.

Season 1 is the outlier, being the only season where Sam was thrown into things other than the wall or the ground more times than Dean; Dean has an 11-season streak going since season 2. If there’s a thing, Dean will likely be thrown into it. 

Choked Criteria - A brother must have something (usually hands, but may also be rope or cord) wrapped around their neck or they must have otherwise lost the ability to breathe. This includes when dick angels take away a brother’s lungs, or when a demon pretends they’re Darth Vader and force chokes a brother. 

I am now convinced that the reason Sam has such a reputation for being choked is largely due to the 1st season, where he was choked several times and Dean wasn’t choked at all. Dean has actually been choked more times than Sam throughout the series, winning 7 seasons to Sam’s 5. 

Hit on Head Criteria: A brother must have been hit on the head by an object other than a fist (because if I had tried to keep track of them getting punched in the head I would have run out of paper).

Hit on Head Criteria Exception: I counted a hit to the head by a fist when the fist hit resulted in unconsciousness.

This was especially interesting because there is an apparent pattern with the changes in show runners. Kripke was showrunner from seasons 1-5, where Sam was reigning champion of the head hit until they finally tied in season 5. Seasons 6-7 were run by Gamble, and Sam still reigned supreme. When Carver took over for seasons 8-11, and then Dabb in season 12, Dean was then consistently smacked on the head more than Sam. 

Now let’s add all Wall Slams, Ground Slams, (Other) Slams, Chokings, and Head Hits together. 

There is one firm conclusion I can draw from this: Sam was beaten up more in season 1, and then Dean became the favored punching bag for all show runners. 

I’d like to also present the exact same data with a different visualization:

What are your predictions for season 13?

‘how perfect?’ (derek hale drabble)

it’s almost a week later and here tf i am with these damn vday drabbles. enjoy this hunk!

(gifs aren’t mine!!)

“I can’t stop thinking about you… I can’t.” ft Derek Hale

You and Derek dated secretly for a little over five months. You thought things were going well when Derek walked up to you two days ago. You thought he was finally okay with telling the pack. You were, of course, wrong. He grabbed you by the arm during the middle of a pack meeting and pulled you into his study, slamming the door behind him. He kept pacing back and forth, eyes never meeting yours as he slowly explained to you that he no longer wanted to date you. He wanted nothing to do with you, personally or professionally. His outburst surprised you, but you walked out with your head held high. The rest of the pack didn’t know what was going on or why you wouldn’t show up to the meetings, but you managed to give them viable excuse after viable excuse.

Today is probably the most annoying day of all after your fall out with Derek. Today is Valentine’s day, a national holiday to remind you of both your loneliness and your rotten luck. The rest of the pack had gone out on a couple’s dinner sort of thing, and Lydia made a point to invite you every day, but you couldn’t go. Not because of Derek’s sorry ass but because you didn’t wanna be the seventh or ninth wheel.

So instead, you’re at home. You’re dressed in a comfy crop top and baggy sweats, a bowl of ice cream in one hand and a bag of hot chips in the other. You set your snacks down on the table and before your ass can hit the sofa, you hear rapid knocking on your door.

“I’m coming! Jesus,” you grumble, walking to the door as the knocking becomes more incessant.

Your mind immediately jumps to the worst conclusion as you twist open the locks of your door. What if your friends were hurt? What if “couples dinner” was code for attack??? You quickly unlock the door only to find Derek on the other end. He looked like a complete wreck, and the terrible feeling rushed through you again.

“Derek, what is it?” You whisper, keeping yourself together as you let Derek in, closing the door behind him. He stands in the small hallway, not moving. “Derek please tell me what’s wrong? Is someone hurt? Did something happen? What–?”

“I can’t stop thinking about you… I can’t,” Derek repeats the words, almost as though apologizing to you.

Originally posted by trevanterhodes

“W-what?” You hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder and he looks up at you, his tired sea green eyes meeting your gentle ones.

“I’m so sorry. But I can’t stop thinking about you. I go to sleep every night, picturing you next to me. I wake up every damn morning wishing I could kiss your forehead one last time. I can’t sleep, I can’t focus, you’re clouding my every thought, Y/N,” Derek’s voice breaks as he falls to his knees in front of you.

“Derek,” you whisper, gently running your fingers through his hair as he buries his face in your stomach.

“I don’t want you to get hurt, Y/N. I don’t know what I’d do if you got hurt,” he wraps his arms around your legs and let’s it all out.

You lower yourself so you’re face to face with him as he tells you about a new threat, a vampire coven. The pack had never dealt with a coven before, but they’d heard rumours about how ruthless they could be. They’d take the pack’s weakest link and tear them to bits. Derek didn’t trust himself around you, he didn’t want to risk your life so he broke things off and pushed you away.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N,” Derek whispers, gently cupping your face. You lean into his touch and close your eyes.

“It’s okay, Der. I feel better now… at least it’s not my fault,” you look up and meet his loving eyes.

“Is that what you thought?” His eyes search yours before leaning forward and placing light kisses all over your face. “It’s not at all your fault. You’re perfect.”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far, but I am pretty damn great, huh?” You smirk as Derek chuckles, shaking his head.

“You’re perfect, I swear.”

“How perfect?” You whisper, biting your lip as Derek stills in front of you, eyes landing on your lips.

“Let me show you.”

Study Session Part 2

pairing : billy hargrove x reader

warnings : more smut, dirty talking, swearing, somewhat public smut ??

requests : none

a/n : i got this idea so hope you enjoy REQUESTS ARE OPEN SEND ME STUFF PLEASE

“So, how was your date with Billy?” Jessica asked eyeing me suspiciously.

“It wasn’t a date, we studied.” I pressed at her and rolled my eyes.

“Hey,” someone slammed into the locker next to me and I turned to see Billy smirking.

“Guess who got a C+ on their chemistry test.” Billy grinned to me as he rested his head against the metal locker.

“Is that supposed to be good?” I asked cockily to him.

“Better than what I normally get, but if only I could get it up to a B.” Billy frowned and I rolled my eyes still smiling.

“Are you asking for my help?” I asked as I️ leaned against the locker, mocking his movements.

“Today, after school.” Billy practically ordered and I nodded smiling slyly.

“Whatever it takes to help you get a good grade.” I shrugged before walking off to class.

Billy pushed me into the back seat of he car as he roughly kiss down my body.

“Billy won’t someone see us?” I asked and Billy chuckled.

“The population of this place is 15 people and I parked somewhere secluded anyways. Besides, don’t you like living on the edge princess?” Billy asked lowly and I pulled him down, roughly kissing him as a way to answer him.

“You’re so fucking hot,” Billy praised as he unbuttoned my blouse. I threw my head back against the door of the car as Billy took his time to trail kisses all over my body. I moaned out at the feeling and bucked my hips when his kisses went further down my stomach.

“You know, you look really good when you’re defenseless. What do you want from me princess? You want me to fuck that tight little pussy until you can’t walk?” Billy growled and I let out a whimper at his words.

“Yes, please Billy please. Fuck me please.” I cried making him chuckle.

“I could get off watching you right now,” He smirked and snaked off his jacket and shirt. I ran my hand down his abs until my hand reached his pants.

I looked up at him seductively while I unbuttoned his jeans and Billy gave me a lop sided grin.

“That’s right princess, undress me you little slut.” Billy raised his eyebrows and began to unbutton my jeans as well. We squirmed around until we were both completely naked.

Billy plunged himself into me and I moaned out loudly at the feeling. Billy began thrusting quickly and my hands dug into his back roughly causing him to groan. I bucked my hips into him and grinded harshly against him, supplying even more friction. Billy concealed his moan by sucking roughly on my chest making me arch my back into his chest.

“I️ know you’re close princess, come for me.” He cooed in my ear and as he wished I came down like the oceans wave crashing onto the shore. When I finished riding out my violent high, I sunk back into the seat as Billy leaned over me, propping himself up with one of his elbows.

“You know I should really take you on a date soon.” Billy suggested almost as if he was talking to himself.

“You want to take me on a date?” I inquired.

“Well I mean, there’s no one else here who’s has hot as you when we fuck, so I mean why not,” for once I saw Billy smile. It was cocky or coy, it was genuine and warm.

“I’d love to go on a date with you.” I smiled and Billy chuckled.

“Good, cause I also plan on fucking you again soon.”

Originally posted by cxhragrove

Lydia Says Stiles’ **** Is Big

Originally posted by blacksimmerr

Lydia x Reader x Stiles

Warnings: sex, 18+ gif under cut

“Yeah you owe me a massage after this, new boots too.” Lydia sighed as she followed you and Stiles through the mud and met with Scott.

“Well I’ll give you both when we get back to mine… well the boots I can get on the way back from dropping this little button off.” Stiles poked your nose as you scowled at him and jogged after Malia.

“I thought we were going to talk about running around after the wolves she’s going to get hurt.” Lydia sighed fondly, rolling her eyes when Stiles tapped his bat on the floor.

Keep reading

Seven Stages


What a stupid question, Richie thinks. How are you? How do you think? On average Richie gets three hours of sleep a night. He can’t sleep unless my best friend is in his bed with him to begin with. He leave this hell hole to go to his own personal hell hole, where his living parent emulates death at the hand of whiskey. In the nights where Eddie doesn’t sleep with him, he sits in silence. But it’s not silent, because in his ears ring the gun shot he heard a month ago from the study. Over and over, he hears it, and sometimes he even feels it. A gaping hole forms in his chest, and he’s not even sure what caused it. Like everyone, including himself, always said: His father was shit. Garbage with a sharp backhand. Why was there a hole in his chest?

TW; Abuse, Suicide, Alcoholism, Grief/Loss, Minor Homophobia

Pairing; Reddie

Word Count; 8710 (Oh geez)

Read it in parts on AO3

A/N; A fic about Richie losing his father, and learning to grieve and cope with the support of Eddie.

Shock & Denial

Today is a day like any other. There is nothing wrong with today. Not even the fact that it’s raining. He woke up this morning, he got dressed, and kept with his usual morning routine: Grab a poptart, put on his mismatched socks, tie his shoes and leave. No, there is nothing wrong with today.

That’s what Richie tells himself as he strides into Derry high school. He did as he usually would, not a change in his routine. It wasn’t uncommon for him to not see any of his friends until lunch, he didn’t have classes with any of them, considering he was the only one in AP classes.

The first hiccup in his day: Focusing proves rather difficult as he sits in pre-calc. Everything his teacher says goes in one ear and out the other. His focus keeps falling away from the lesson, and his gaze falls to look out the window. He zones out there, losing track of time until the bell signaling the end of the period goes off.

It’s time for lunch, which is when the second hiccup occurs. Richie’s friends all know today is not like any other day. All of them know things are bad right now, and none of them can figure out why Richie sits down for lunch and acts as though nothing is wrong.

Things are very wrong.

But no one says anything, because Richie won’t say anything. They’re all hyper aware of the fact that less than two days ago, Richie’s father had taken his own life in his study. No one will mention it. How do you mention it? They all share looks between one another while Richie nonchalantly eats his lunch.

Keep reading

127 during exam season
  • taeil: studied well but panics the last few minutes before an exam, slamming a textbook to the side of his head chanting random formulae
  • johnny: "remember everyone, happiness isn't determined by academic grades" he says every exam before they enter the hall. fails every single one of them
  • taeyong: doesn't sleep the night before bc of stress. walks to school robotically chanting his notes ("osmosis...process by which molecules tend to pass through a semipermeable...")and with life sucked out of his eyes
  • yuta: doesn't even turn up to the exam bc he forgot there was even one on
  • doyoung: prepared for everything since day 1. gets 100% on almost all papers except one where he got 102% bc he corrected one of the questions
  • jaehyun: "lol yeah me too i didn't study" tries to look cool but obviously has dark circles and lost 30% of his hair
  • winwin: that annoying kid that actually didn't study. finishes with 1 hour to spare and makes everyone anxious. still gets straight As
  • mark: calm, collected, super fine. perfect. --is what everyone thinks. his blond hair conceals all the accumulated grey hairs
  • haechan: "studying is for nerds" and actually has notes all over his arms. cheats his way through and he's almost successful. in the final few minutes of the exam he raises his arm to go to the toilet and gets caught

Words: 5,136
Cas x Reader
Requested by: anonymous
A/N: I hope this gives you all the best kinds of feelings.

Your name: submit What is this?

”Dean?” Cas arrived just inside the motel door to find the room dark except for a dim floor lamp off in a corner. Glancing around at first the room seemed empty, but he noticed on further inspection that there was a huddled silhouette collapsed on the table at the far end of the room. “Sam?” he ventured again.

Cas took a few hesitant steps farther in and quickly realized it was neither Sam nor Dean hunched over the piles of papers and books on the table.

Keep reading

what we do is stretch our brains
as if they’re made of elastic
and still we fail
so we tell ourselves to stop trying
count the angry veins in our eyes
and recall a time without a migraine,
if we take a wrong turn
and let blood soak up alcohol,
if we laugh too much
then we forget what we’re capable of.
what we do is build a dream
to immerse ourselves within
and we bleed for it
agony in ante-meridiem hours
absorbing books and
covering pages in shorthand scrawl
but still we lose.
—  escape of the brain

“Lance, 3:00,” Shiro barked. The sharpshooter turned his head so that he could see the armed Galra soldier around his migraine aura. 

The team knew that they were working around a gaping hole in his vision. That had become apparent when Lance had tripped over a freaking chair, of all things, and given away their stealth advantage. 

Keep reading


The only other girl at the party
is ranting about feminism. The audience:
a sea of rape jokes and snapbacks
and styrofoam cups and me. They gawk
at her mouth like it is a drain
clogged with too many opinions.
I shoot her an empathetic glance
and say nothing. This house is for
wallpaper women. What good
is wallpaper that speaks?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
whose coffee table silence
will these boys rest their feet on?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if someone takes my spot?
I want to stand up, but if I do,
what if everyone notices I’ve been
sitting this whole time? I am guilty
of keeping my feminism in my pocket
until it is convenient not to, like at poetry
slams or my women’s studies class.
There are days I want people to like me
more than I want to change the world.
There are days I forget we had to invent
nail polish to change color in drugged
drinks and apps to virtually walk us home
at night and mace disguised as lipstick.
Once, I told a boy I was powerful
and he told me to mind my own business.
Once, a boy accused me of practicing
misandry. You think you can take
over the world?
And I said No,
I just want to see it.
I just need
to know it is there for someone.
Once, my dad informed me sexism
is dead and reminded me to always
carry pepper spray in the same breath.
We accept this state of constant fear
as just another part of being a girl.
We text each other when we get home
safe and it does not occur to us that our
guy friends do not have to do the same.
You could saw a woman in half
and it would be called a magic trick.
That’s why you invited us here,
isn’t it? Because there is no show
without a beautiful assistant?
We are surrounded by boys who hang up
our naked posters and fantasize
about choking us and watch movies
we get murdered in. We are the daughters
of men who warned us about the news
and the missing girls on the milk carton
and the sharp edge of the world.
They begged us to be careful. To be safe.
Then told our brothers to go out and play.
Crossing the Line - Peter Parker Imagine

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: mentions of blood

Summary: There’s a line between best friends and romance, and neither you nor your best friend wanted to cross it, but when something almost separates you and Peter forever, both of you have to consider the consequences of crossing that line.

Word Count: 2153

Notes: @niamhlincoln

Being in love sucked. You thought you knew love, but then you fell in love with your best friend. You didn’t know the exact moment you fell in love with him, but you remember when you realized it. Liz Allen, Peter Parker’s ultimate crush, had left to another city because of her father’s crimes. Your best friend was devastated.

“I miss her,” Peter had said as he bounced a ball against the wall again and again.

You laughed a little. “I’m sure she misses you, too, Peter, but, don’t you worry.” You held up two DVD cases. “Star Wars or Star Trek?”

Peter stared at the two cases with a pout.

You rolled your eyes. “Fine. Star Trek it is.”

“No!” Peter shouted. “(Y/n),” he whined, “you know me better than that.” He threw the bouncy ball on his desk and pulled up the blankets to his chin.

You smiled and put in Star Wars. You shook your head at Peter. “No room for me?”

Peter laughed. He threw off his blankets and pulled you into his arms just as the movie started to roll. You snuggled into his chest and pulled up the blankets. “Feel better now?”

“With you?” Peter smiled. “Of course.”

As his eyes sparkled with wonder at the famous beginning scroll, you couldn’t help but feel complete. Your heart swelled when Peter’s curled into a bright smile when the music played. You gazed at him in awe and wondered how someone could be so radiant on a Saturday night with slightly oily hair and old pajamas. You desperately wished to say in that moment, in Peter’s arms and a perfect view of his joy.

“Is there something on my face?”

You blushed and stared at the blanket. “No, sorry. Just daydreaming.” Technically, you weren’t lying.

For two years, you hid your newly discovered feelings. However, every day it became harder and harder. Not only were you falling in love with Peter, he seemed to be… different. Every day he would be farther and farther from you, skipping weekly movie nights and forgetting about your study sessions.

Sure, you were mad, but you were more worried. He seemed to be getting more and more bruises, aches, and scrapes he always struggled to explain. But, how could you help him when it seemed like he didn’t want to be near you?

“Ms. May?”

The woman smiled fondly at you. “You know you can stop calling me that. Peter’s not here, but I’m sure he’ll be home soon.”

You smiled sadly. “Of course, he is. Can I stay in his room?”

“Of course!”

You sat on Peter’s bed and dropped your backpack. If Peter was going to be late, you were going to study without him. You pulled out your textbook and looked over your notes. It was going to be a long night.

Hours passed. It wasn’t until May knocked on the door and told you that you had to go home that you realized you’d been at Peter’s for six hours. You smiled tiredly as you packed.

“I’m sure Peter was just held up at something.”

“Yeah,” you nodded solemnly. “I’m sure that’s it.”

You took a taxi home. “I’m home,” you shouted. Before anyone could ask you anything you explained, “Studied at Peter’s and finished all homework. Love you, night!” You slammed your door shut and leaned against the door. That was the last straw. You were going to talk to Peter.


You yelped and covered your mouth. “Wha- Peter?”

Your best friend was crumpled on the floor by your window. From the neck down, he was in a Spider-Man costume. Wait, no that material… was too similar. You shook your head. That wasn’t what mattered. You’d ask him about his suit, or exceptional cosplay, another day, because by your window was your best friend, bleeding from his side.

“Peter,” you gasped. You dropped all your things and crouched in front of him. You held his cheeks and tried to catch his empty eyes. “Peter, hey, stay with me, ok?” You scrambled to get your phone, but Peter flicked out his wrist. Webbing hit your phone and glued it against the wall. “No,” he whispered. “(Y/n), no hospital.” He breathed raggedly and held your hand. “Stark,” he whispered.

You nodded frantically. You found took our phone off the wall and called Stark Industries. “Hello!” you greeted. You squeezed Peter’s hand. “I have information about Spider-Man.”

“Mr. Stark is very busy, Miss. If you want to explain your-”

“No!” You patted Peter’s cheek. “Hey, look at me.” You gulped. “This is urgent. Spider-Man is hurt. He told me not to call the hospital.”

“If Spider-Man was injured, Mr. Stark would-”

“His suit is damaged severely!” you screamed. You brushed Peter’s hair out of his face and tried to smile. “Come on, Spider-Man. Come on.”

That seemed to wake Peter up from his daze. “(Y/n),” he breathed. He reached up to touch his bloody fingers to your cheek. “I-”

“Save your breath,” you instructed.

“This is Happy. Why do you demand-”

“Spider-Man needs help,” you explained.

“We would know if Spider-Man was-”

You looked to Peter. You silently asked if you could say his name. Peter nodded slightly. You whispered, “Spider-Man is Peter Benjamin Parker. Is that enough for you to help him?” When a few seconds passed and the only noise that filled your ears was Peter’s abnormal breathing, you begged, “Please, he needs help.”

“Help is on the way. Who are you?”

“(Y/n) (Y/l/n), I’m-”

“I know.” The man repeated, “Help should be arriving.”

You smiled. “Peter, you’re going to be fine.” You stroked his cheek and nodded as tears streamed down your cheeks. “You’re gonna be fine, ok?” You tried your best to think positive, that Iron Man or someone would help him in time, but who knows how long Peter had been bleeding in your room? You couldn’t lose him. You couldn’t lose the guy you… the guy you loved. How were you supposed to smile without his science puns and jokes? How were you going to pursue your dreams without his gentle voice supporting you and your dreams? How were you supposed to survive without him?

Your best friend mustered a small smile. He winced in pain again and whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“You have no need to be sorry right now, Peter.” You pushed against his wound. With the other hand, you opened your window wide open and smiled when you saw the familiar Iron Man suit coming towards you. Hope blossomed in your chest. “Mr. Stark’s coming, Peter.”

He nodded, and his eyes began to close.

“No!” You held his face in your hands. “Peter!”

~ - ~

Peter woke up in the Stark Tower. He knew because he had been there too many times before. In the chair right beside him was Mr. Stark. “Mr. Stark?”

The man smiled up at Peter. “Hey, sport.” He stood up and looked him up and down. “How you holding up?”

Peter pressed his palm against his forehead. “Better.” He took off the blanket and lifted up his hospital gown. His side was bandaged and stitched. His muscles still ached, but that wasn’t new. Then, Peter’s eyes widened. “(Y/n)? Where-”

“Outside.” Mr. Stark pointed at the door. “She refused to leave.” The superhero walked towards the door, but before he opened it, he turned around and advised, “You should ask her.”

“Ask her what?” Peter asked innocently.

Tony eyed Peter. “Fine. Don’t take my advice, but since you’ve been in here, she talked about you constantly. Like you do about her.”

Peter stared at his bed. How was he supposed to tell you that he cared for you so deeply he wanted to … be with you? You were his best friend. That was it. There was a line between best friends and romance. Peter was terrified of crossing that line.

“Just think about it, kid.” Tony left.

Before Peter could even think, the door burst open once more.

You flew into Peter’s room once Mr. Stark said that you could see him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief. You pulled away from him and stroked his cheeks. Seeing his bright eyes focused on you lifted the burden you had been holding for the past six hours. You gasped and beamed. “Are you ok? Do you feel better?”

Peter gulped. Your cheeks were stained with dried tears. You were still in pajamas, and your hair was oily and tousled. Yet, you still took his breath away. “F-Fine,” Peter squeaked. He breathed in deeply and slowly. However, that was so hard to do when you were so close to him.

You nodded. “Thank god.” You held his hand and pulled up a chair so you could sit at his bedside. “Is your arm ok?” you asked.

He blinked. “Um, yeah.”

“Good.” You punched his arm.


“You didn’t tell me you were Spider-Man, idiot!” You punched his arm again. “I thought you hated me or something!”

“Hate you?” Peter shook his head and sat up. “Why would you think that?”

Your shoulders slumped. “Missed movie nights, forgotten study session, and you’re barely in school anymore.” You bit your lip. “I thought you were avoiding me.”

“No!” He laughed a little. “I would never avoid you. I just… had stuff.”

You sighed. “Now, I know, but I don’t understand why you didn’t tell me. You can tell me anything.”

Silence settled over the two of you. As you said those words, your throat tightened and twisted, because you were being a hypocrite. You shared almost everything with Peter. Should he deserve to know? He had shown you his greatest secret. Shouldn’t you share yours?


“I love you.”

You blinked. Wait, were you going delusional? But you heard it. You heard those three words that propelled most of your actions in the past year. Those words were the stuff of dreams. You pinched yourself. When you didn’t wake up, you shook your head. “Sorry, I think I misheard you. I thought you said-”

“That I love you?” Peter gulped. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

Your hand fell limp in his, something you didn’t realize. Peter noticed, though. So, he pulled away from you. “I’m sorry. I know, it’s weird. You’re my best friend and everything, and I totally get why you wouldn’t want to see me ever again. You can-”

“I love you, too,” you blurted out. You laughed and stroked his cheek. “Peter, I’ve been in love with you for over a year. I-I thought you loved Liz and that you wouldn’t even look at me like-”

Suddenly, he silenced you with a chaste kiss. It was barely a press of your lips against his, but it was the best feeling. With just one short kiss, Peter Parker was able to leave you breathless. Your best friend gazed at you with admiration and awe filling his eyes, as if you were the most precious thing on the planet.

You didn’t trust your voice to tell him how much you wanted something like that moment. So, you leaned forward and kissed him again. You gripped his hair and pulled him closer to you, and it made your heart soar when Peter kissed you back. His hands wandered as he tried to figure out how to hold you without hurting himself. Finally, one of his hands cupped the back of your neck, while the other rubbed your shoulder affectionately.

Peter didn’t want to stop kissing you, but his lungs were tired and damaged. He tried his best to ignore it, but he couldn’t help instinct.

You felt Peter freeze against your lips for a second or two, pulling away only slightly to groan in pain before leaning forward once more. Just as his lips touched yours, you pulled away and laughed. “You’re hurt,” you said. You pressed your palms against his chest with intentions to make him lean back against his bed, but Peter wasn’t a superhero for nothing. He didn’t budge. “I don’t care,” he whispered all the while staring at you. His eyes were trying to find the best way to look at you, darting from your swollen lips to your bright eyes.  Peter put his hand on top of one of yours and giggled.

“What’s so funny?”

“I love you.” He repeated. He kissed your cheek. “I love you.” He kissed your other cheek and continued to kiss your face as he said over and over again. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

You giggled and pushed him away once more. “You have to rest, Peter.” You kissed his forehead. “And I love you, too.” You kissed his cheek. “I love you.” You held his face with both hands and kissed him shortly once more. “I love you so much, Peter Parker.”

Got another one out before my classes start! Hope you guys like it! I promise when things are a little less hectic, I’ll go back to my requests. Thanks, guys! 

Catboy Kang Daniel

Member: Kang Daniel // Wanna One

Genre: Fluff, Catboy AU

Plot: What happens when you encounter a strange boy in an alleyway?

Word count: 2354

Originally posted by kangj00n

“Dismissed.” The professor’s drawl set off a collection of books and laptops slamming shut as studies rushed out of lecture hall. Students were itching to enjoy the last of the warm rays of sunlight before winter would set in, with the boys already excitedly taking out their soccer balls and girls collecting in herds to go out for trips. You packed a little more slowly, mind wandering on what to do with your evening. Your best friend had been hospitalized recently from food poisoning, but the last time you tried to visit, Chungha’s boyfriend had been all over her and it was uncomfortable to sit there and even act remotely interested as he fussed over if her bed angle was at 45 degrees or not.

I’ll just go home, you decide, and you sling your bag over your shoulder and walk out of the hall, waving to a few of the students you were friendly with. The leaves had turned from a crisp orange and red to a dull brown, and they were rattling as they seemed ready to shed for the winter. You shivered at the thought of how chilly your apartment would get. Perhaps you should have invested in a thick and furry throw for the bed after all.

You were alert on the walk home. Your apartment was off campus, and quite honestly there were some sketchy alleyways you had convinced yourself to be trouble to you one day or another. You would always run past the opening, unable to figure out why they were so dreadfully frightening to you. As you prepared yourself mentally for the run, a thundering clang of metal startled you. You tensed at the sound. It was vaguely familiar, and you wracked your brain to think of what it was. Metal? Alleyways… A trashcan? You were almost certain it was a knocked over trash can, and slowly took one cautious step forward. And then another. There was no way in heaven that you would just run past this time– what if whatever it was caught you? Finally you peeked past the corner as stealthy as possible, and saw a boy who could not have been much older than you with brown hair poking out from under his blue beanie, sniffing at the knocked over contents. You watched in utter fascination as he picked up a browned apple core, before sticking his tongue out. Surely he wouldn’t…

“No!” You shout, waving your hands as he flinched and dropped the apple with a yelp of surprise. “Don’t eat that! That’s old and nasty!” He jumped away, his teeth bared. His canines were unusually sharp, and you felt uneasy. Otherwise he looked like a relatively normal boy; sure his clothes were a bit old and tattered, and he looked like he needed a good meal and warm shower, but otherwise he was quite normal. And cute.

“Don’t come any closer.” He hissed. It sounded distinctly inhuman, but you tried to push back the unease. Instead, you held your hand out cautiously. He was obviously tired, and you had nothing else to do. Plus, your mother had always taught you to have a soft heart for those in danger or unable to take care of themselves.

“Hey, I’ll help you.” You lower your tone, meeting his sharp gaze with as confident of a smile as you could muster. He cautiously took a step forward, his eyes flitting around to check the situation as well as he could. Then he looked at your hand, which was only a few centimeters away, and rubbed his cheek against it, purring loudly. You froze. Holy cow, what was this guy?

“Are you-”

“I’m actually starving. I would appreciate a meal, and maybe a place to nap a bit.” He said matter-of- factly, and you sigh. You were curious, perhaps a bit frightened, of who this boy was. Still, you could tell the only way to win his trust was through caring for him to some degree.

“Let’s go to my apartment. I’ll take you in for a bit.” He brightened considerably at this. “Do you have a name?”

“Kang Daniel. And you?”

“____.” He gives a childish grin at this, and runs circles around you in what you would assume to be excitement, his eyes gleaming in the light.

“Well, ___. Let’s get walking!” He ran ahead blindly, and you rolled your eyes at how hyperactive this guy was. Eventually he broke into a leisurely stroll, and kept blabbering about random stuff. Apparently he liked climbing into boxes and small spaces for shelter, and had a roommate but was forced out recently. He could not recall his family, but he was cheerfully certain that they were around somewhere.

“What about your age?” You ask as you pull the key from your necklace and unlock your front door. He thought for a moment, before shrugging.

“I was born somewhere in 96. I think.” That was a year earlier than you. This weird man- cat- child was actually older than you.

“I see.” He sprang into your house, looking at the clean interior with mischief in his eyes. You could already see the havoc he was going to induce. “Before anything, how about you wash up?” He nodded, before sticking his tongue out towards his wrist. You grabbed his hand, pulling it away before he could make contact.

“I meant a shower.” He frowned at this.

“You’re trying to make me touch water?” He asked incredulously, and you sighed.

“Do you not know what a shower is?” He shrugged. This was going to be a long day. You made him sit down on the dining table chair, and ran off to your room. There was a box of clothes tucked away in your closet, full of what your ex- boyfriend had left at your apartment after trips. Shirts, pants, and finally you reached and fished out a pair of swimming trunks. You came back out, praying it would fit him.

“Daniel.” You said seriously, and he looked up from the bird he had been intently staring at that was on the windowsill. “Go into the bathroom, and put this on. I need you to take off your clothes and put this on where your pants are, okay?” He nodded, before bounding off towards the door your finger was pointing at. It was going to be tough. The bathroom was tiny, and if the boy had no idea what he was going to do, then there was no point in you leaving him there alone.

“I did it!” He yowled triumphantly, and ran out. You sighed when you saw the beanie still on his head, but almost did a double take at how perfect his abs were. No lingering, you chided to yourself.

“Uh. Good job.” You fumbled with the words, before leading him away towards the bathroom once more. You locked the door, rolling up your sleeves and determined to get him clean. You turned on the shower, making sure the water was not too warm. “Get in the tub.” He flinched at the sight of the water, but your iron grip on him forced him into water. The hair poking out from under his beanie rose slightly at the contact, and you pulled it off with a quick yank.

He let out a yelp of surprise, and you felt your lower jaw slacken and fall open in shock. Poking out from his brown hair were cat ears. It suddenly made sense why his hair was so long and covered the spot where your ears would be proportionally on him. He shrunk into the corner of the tub as much as possible, and you forced yourself to breath calmly. He was a friendly creature. He would not harm you. You try to smile, hoping it did not come out as a grimace of confusion.

“Is there anything else I should know?” You say in a surprisingly calm tone. He gives a troubled stare, the water that was bothering him initially no longer fazing him. Slowly he reaches behind him, and pulls something out from behind of his trunks. A tail. He has a brown tail.

“I’ll… leave.” He got up, but you block him with your arms spread out. You were not a fan of cats, but clearly he was clueless on what the outside world was like.

“No! I’m cool with you. It’ll take a bit of adjusting, but it’s too cold for you to go out and I promise I won’t do anything that makes you uncomfortable so please…” Your voice trailed off uncertainly. He sat back down again, looking defeated.

“I didn’t want to scare you. I just wanted a friend, somewhere safe.” He mumbled, and your heart shattered. You offered him the shampoo, showing him how wit bubbled. He fixated on the bubbles, cheering instantly as he would dart his hands out to pop the few that would float out of his hair as you did your best to wash it. You hadn’t a clue how to wash the ears, but you were certain the suds should not be entering it. He purred when you rubbed his hair to lather, and you tried to not laugh as he became somber once more when you had to wash it out with the shower head. You let him figure out how to use the body wash.

“I’ll be back with a towel. I’ll leave it on the sink over there, and I’ll make you some food.” You excuse yourself. You exit the bathroom, only realizing then how you were soaked completely from the waist upward. You changed into your pajamas, before throwing a towel onto the counter and exited for the kitchen. You had no idea what he would eat. Did he have eating restrictions? Did cats have eating restrictions? Was he more human or cat? You settled on giving up your last salmon fillet for him, and made it with as minimal ingredients as possible. You would search online later how to satisfy a cat’s dietary needs.

He came out, still in the swimming trunks, and you cursed mentally at how you had forgotten to give him a change of clothes. They were tracking water into your dining area as he followed you curiously to figure out what the aromas were.

“Stay there!” You ran back to pick out some sort of clothes for him. Sweatpants. Crewneck. Thick socks. You came back with them, handing it to him. He took them gratefully, before giving you a quick lick on the cheek and walking off to the bathroom once more. You blushed. Was that his equivalent of a peck or was it just regular cat behavior? You sighed, trying to fight the inward squeamishness you had. In reality, you had a fear of cats. Your aunt’s cat had clawed you when you were seven, shredding the skin of your forearm into a bloody mess. There were still scars there, faint lines that seemed to tingle every time you saw a cat after that day. Even now, you were forcing yourself to see Daniel more as a human than a cat. But how does he exist?

He came back out, looking satisfied, before hurtling towards the table where you had set up his food. You watched in silent shock as he used no utensils or his hands, and instead took quite and precise bites of the fillet, which vanished in a matter of seconds. He let out a content burp, before looking around.

You took his plate, and he followed you into the kitchen, waiting patiently as you put the plate into the sink and turned on the faucet. Then, he ducked his head under, lapping at the water.

“Daniel! No!” You prod him out of the way, before glaring at him. “That’s not how you drink water!”

“It’s fine, calm down.” He said, but still accepted the water bottle you threw at him with startling accuracy. “I could use a nap though.” He glanced around a bit more, before finally settling down in the sunny spot of your sofa.

You sighed, before getting your old knitted blanket and handing it to him. He took it gratefully, before pulling you down beside him. You stiffened as he curled up closer to you than you would have liked, before letting out a rattling purr.

“This was the best day of my life.” He murmured as sleepiness overtook him. The words lodged into your mind, and you softened. Help those who are in need, especially the young and clueless. “I don’t think I can even remember that much, but I’m just thankful for you.” He let out a soft snore, his head on your lap. You realized you couldn’t move without waking him, but you strangely did not want to move either. You were enchanted at how his furry ears twitched periodically, how his tail flickered ever so slightly. His dark lashes were long, and a few times you thought they were about to flutter open. What did he dream of? Did he chase butterflies and mice, or did he dream of the same nonsense humans had?

You lifted a hand slowly, before reaching down to stroke his hair. You could not help it. It was astonishing how soft and fluffy his hair was, already perfectly in place after his shower and meal. He was still shockingly handsome, even as he was knocked out in dreamland, and for the first time in a while, you could feel your heart opening up just a little for this boy. A warm hand wrapped around the one that was petting him, and you were startled from your thoughts as you saw him smiling up at you.

“After I finish this nap, I’m going to teach you how to climb trees and catch mice and hide in small spaces so we can do it all together.” He said with a content sigh. He sat up momentarily, before hugging you tightly and knocking both of you over onto the couch, his tail wrapping around your side protectively. “But for now, let’s nap.”

Highschool AU
  • andrey: went to france for a student exchange program. also in a long-distance relationship with natasha <br>
  • natasha: dating andrey but has a crush on anatole, helene, and pierre. probably on the cheer squad. also cheating on andrey with anatole oops. is a freshman but hangs out with the older kids<br>
  • sonya: natasha’s cousin and best pal. didn’t make the cheer squad. also a freshman. doesn’t use social media.<br>
  • marya: the mom friend. done with natasha’s bs. a senior. yells a lot.<br>
  • anatole: is only a sophomore but thinks he’s mature. “you can’t have your nudes leaked if you post them yourself”. stole a beer from his parents once and thinks he’s an alcoholic. owns a fidget spinner.<br>
  • dolokhov: has too many parties. anatole’s wingman. will fight you in a denny’s parking lot. carries around a kitchen knife “for protection” even though he lives in a friendly neighbourhood.<br>
  • helene: dating pierre. cheating on pierre with dolokhov. probably in drama club. sneaks out of the house every night. makeup is always bomb af.<br>
  • mary: rich. always tired. just wants to graduate and leave. unpopular. just passing all of her classes. never kissed a boy (her dad won’t let her). strict parents.<br>
  • bolkonsky: mary’s dad.<br>
  • balaga: just got his driver’s license. always drunk. has only shown up to school 4 times this semester. friends with everyone.</p>
  • Pierre: dating Helene but has a crush on natasha. Does slam poetry at open mic every week. Studies too much. Seriously just get some sleep. Also a senior.
Wait For Me (Grayson Dolan x Reader)

Summary: Soulmate AU in which everyone is born with heterochromia iridum until they meet their soulmate.

Warnings: There’s like one swear word.

Word Count: 1,735.

A/N: I haven’t seen any soulmate AUs in this fandom yet, so I thought it’d be cool to write one (I could be wrong, though, so please tell me if you’ve written one). Enjoy!

(not my gif)

Keep reading