the things that weight me down

i am ready to kick ass

i woke up today to a new lowest weight. two pounds lighter than yesterday! 

after i weighed myself, i checked my email and holy shit…. i got approved for the neuroscience seminar this year. and i got offered a LIFE scholarship day after last, i can’t remember if i posted about that on this specific blog or not. but –

FUUUUUUUUCCCCCCKKKKK YEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSS. 

i didn’t think it was possible. i am a fucking machine. 

seriously, the only thing that makes me go “wow. fuck, i love myself and i am just so GOOD” is when i’m academically successful. i was feeling down about it all last night, but waking up to this email (and low weight) just invigorated me. 

rosiee-x  asked:

he says he loves me but all he talks about it how hot i am, i want to love him but i feel like i shouldn't. all i have to offer is my up and down emotions and the weight of feeling that how i look might be the only good thing about me. Caretaker i feel i mean nothing but he means everything, please tell me how to take care of myself x

BE HONEST AND INDULGE

anonymous asked:

I was wondering if you could help me. I need reasons to recover, seen as I've mentally completely given up. I'm terrified to gain weight and to eat. I don't want to anymore. I don't deserve a good happy life or anything nice in my life if the only things I do is bring people pain and misery. If I'm a painful burden for the people around me, why would I deserve to be happy and deserve to live? I don't want to anymore. Not gain weight, not hurt people, not eat, nothing... I'm sorry

hello there!!!! *”I-cannot-breathe”-type-of-hug* 

Listen. I hope you deep down know this but Im gonna say it in case you’re missing out: you do deserve a good happy life- and you definately do deserve recovery. No ‘buts’, you do. period. Oh, and unless you’re some sort of declared disney villain or something, I highly doubt you were brought to existance to bring pain and misery??? in fact, I bet you bring people so many good stuff you may not even be noticing, bae. And you may feel like you’re a burden but you’re not????? (let me stress this out: YOU ARE NOT) they’re probably worry about you, okay?? from experience, I have been on the other side of trying to help people with mental illnesses and its hard(er than I ever thought it could be)!!! if they sometimes ignore your messages or look tired or disappointed or angry… its probably because they see you suffering and they are mad at themselves because let’s face it: the only person who can save you, is you!! they can be there and support you and buy you cookies and give you hugs but at the end of the day, they cannot love your illness away. and that’s so goddamn frustrating, trust me. if they could like press a bottom that would guarantee you happiness and health and self love they’d push it so hard and fast they’d probably break their finger, I promise. 

now, about the fear of gaining weight and eating. sadly, you cannot skip that step but recovery > your illness. you > your fears. let’s get this straight: you will gain. whether you need to restore or not, you’ll have to learn to eat again, and allow yourself all the food you have been depriving yourself of. you’ll need to let go of whatever arbitrary crazy rules you may have created for yourself and it’s gonna feel like a complete leap of faith, like, shooting in the dark???? ITS GONNA BE HELLA SCARY, I KNOW!!!! but so are roller coasters, and once you’re off of one you get enough perspective to see that it was a hell of a ride and that you were tough after all. you also realize you are not dead, but more alive than ever. that’s what we are striving here with recovery. you’ll see things differently. its a process, of course, and you’ll discover a lot of things (about you, but also about your surroundings), things you couldnt appreciate or notice before because you’ve been sucked into the mental-illness-country. you’re gonna have to work your cute ass off. you are gonna cry a lot and throw many tantrums and if you’re anythign like me, you’d experience this weird regression and act like a 5 year old at the doctor’s office when he/she asks what’s wrong and you immediately look at your mom??? you’ll crave constant reassurance as if it were candy, because you have trained your poor malnourished brain into thinking you need permission to eat (whether you’re hungry or not, you wont dare yourself to ‘just eat’ at first). and it makes sense, since you’ve convinced yourself you “dont need food”, you “dont deserve to eat” and that you “have to burn all the calories” and/or “punish yourself” for you know, trying to stay alive??????? do basic human activities such as have ice cream with your friends???? omg what a sinner, right???? but the thing is: you can do it. oh, and I can give you a billion reasons why you should recover (and if that’s what you really want, message me on or off anon and I’ll do it gladly) but the motivation to recover must come from within. I know its in you. you have to find your own reasons, and I bet you have plenty. but allow yourself to do a deep search. allow yourself to express your feelings, to feel those feelings, to ask for help, to verbalize your fears and worries and conflicts rather than using your ED to let others know you’re struggling. 

I am rooting for you, and I hope you are, too. 

Drowned in moonlight, strangled by her own bra.

The thing that is getting to me the most about news of Carrie Fisher’s autopsy report is not the results themselves, but the way the media is handling it. Like it’s a Gotcha moment—like somehow we were tricked into thinking she was a better person than she actually was.

And that is profoundly bullshit.

Carrie was open about being an addict. Her opening line from her iconic stand up show (and book by the same name) “Wishful Drinking” was quite literally, “Hi, I’m Carrie Fisher, and I’m an alcoholic.”

She talked at length and in often brutal depth about her problems with substance abuse, her compulsive self destructive tendencies, and her dependencies to both illegal and prescription drugs. She wrote about it in her books, she talked about it on talk shows. She made an entire comedic stand up performance out of it, detailing the lengths she went to in order to try and regain some semblance of safety and normalcy in her life. 

She was brutally honest that every single day was a struggle for sanity after years and years of attempting to self medicate a mental illness that for most of her life was mistaken for feckless lack of self control. 

You know how they way “Religion is the opiate of the masses?” Well I took masses of opiates religiously! -Wishful Drinking

She was bright, and beautiful and bold about it. And she didn’t have to be.

Carrie Fisher didn’t have to stand there and take the shitstorm of criticism people launched at her for decades, let alone turn it into humor. She didn’t. She didn’t owe anyone outwith her immediate family an explanation for her erratic behavior over the years, nor the flack she caught for it. (Think of all the male actors in Hollywood who are in and out of rehab centers so quickly they could harness the revolving doors as a wind turbine. Then tell me the media press about her life and now her death are fair.)

But she did it anyway, because she knew it was important. And she took those bright lights of Hollywood shining down on her like a ruthless, malevolent child holding a magnifying glass under the sun—and she turned that merciless heat and pointed it at things that mattered, often at the expense of herself, opening herself up to ridicule and the severe cruelty of others who lambasted her for everything, ranging from her weight, her mental illness or her audacity to simply grow old.

Is it tragic that her addiction likely cost her her life? Yes, of course it is. Does it invalidate any of her achievements? The strength and vibrancy with which she lived her life and touched the lives of millions around her for the better? 

“I call people sometimes hoping not only that they’ll verify the fact that I’m alive but that they’ll also, however indirectly, convince me that being alive is an appropriate state for me to be in. Because sometimes I don’t think it’s such a bright idea. Is it worth the trouble it takes trying to live life so that someday you get something worthwhile out of it, instead of it almost always taking worthwhile things out of you?” 

-The Princess Diarist

Carrie Fisher mattered, her voice mattered. The things that she said and did, mattered. They still matter. And they are no less true and poignant in the light of these revelations.

Addiction is a disease. It’s a dysfunction of the brain’s reward system which requires constant management and care and often goes hand in hand with other mental health disorders. It is not simply a question of willpower or the perceived lack thereof. And while sobriety is to be praised and encouraged—of course it is, of course it absolutely unquestionably is—you cannot possibly know what may cause a person to slip or to feel like they can’t cope without that crutch. And shame on anyone who says it was therefore deserved. 

Shame and my heartfelt wishes that you never go through the things that can lead to serious addiction. Or that you are ever abandoned, derided and regarded as less than human because of it and your death turned into a smear campaign against your memory for the sake of a sensationalist headline.

Yes. Carrie Fisher was an addict, she had drug dependency problems related to her mental health. There was a time she kept it hidden, but after she made the decision to come out about it, she stuck by that decision and became a champion, for herself and everyone like her who struggles. Because she never wanted anyone to suffer like she did in order to get help. And she did it with as much grace and humility as she could manage—and a whole lot more indignity, immodesty, crass humor and love as well. Because that’s who she was and she cared. 

And that’s a hell of a lot more than can be said for those crowing over her death like it’s just deserts.

Fuck you.

People do not exist to stand up to your demands of a perfect ideal of humanity. You do not get to place that burden on the shoulders of someone then tear them apart when they fall under that weight—famous or otherwise.

Fuck you and your whole pretense at moral piety and the horse you rode in on.

Carrie Fisher was not your unproblematic fave. She was in fact extremely problematic, and no one knew that better than she did. 

“I heard someone say once that many of us only seem able to find heaven by backing away from hell. And while the place that I’ve arrived at in my life may not precisely be everyone’s idea of heaven, I could swear sometimes—if I’m quiet enough—I can hear the angels sing. Either that or I fucked up my medication again.” 

-Carrie Fisher, Wishful Drinking.

I think the most frustrating thing about not losing weight or not reaching my goal weight is that it’s nobodies fault but my own.

Nobody sits down and forces me to cram food in my face.

Nobody holds me down and stops me from exercising.

I am well aware of my habits and how I could stop them.

Yet I don’t.

Every day, I allow myself to continue this cycle.

Being skinny is all I’ve ever really wanted, and I have no one to blame but myself for not being there yet.

“I have… died before, Dean.”

“And that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Dean stared back at him. They had gotten back to the bunker in two cars, Mary having diverted to meet with another hunter friend. Castiel’s car remained back where they left it because Dean didn’t want him to drive. It was too soon since he had nearly watched Castiel die right in front of him…  Sam could sense Dean’s unease the minute they made their way to the Impala and Dean tossed Sam the keys, opting instead to sit in the backseat with Cas.

“Dean…” Castiel shifted his weight at the base of the stairs in the war room, looking anywhere but the hunter in front of him. Sam went to return the weapons they had brought on them for the hunt. If Dean was gonna say his piece the last thing he could use was an audience.

“Don’t ‘Dean’ me, Cas!” Dean moved to grab Castiel’s attention, his wall starting to crumble. Cas was gonna die. He was gonna flatline right in front of Dean and there was nothing Dean could’ve done before Crowley snapped the lance. I can’t watch you die, Cas.

Castiel saw Dean’s expression change then, the layers unfurling. This was him breaking down. He took a step forward to help steady Dean’s weight as it shifted, both hands on Dean’s shoulders. 

“… There was black goo coming out of your mouth. It smelled like acid, man.” Dean knew he was rambling, shaking, but right now he really didn’t care. “I’ve been through shit. We’ve been through shit, but the last four hours of my life… were the worst I’ve ever had.” He moved to put one of his hands over Castiel’s on his shoulder, this time looking at Castiel head on. “I’ve made ‘I’m gonna die’ speeches, but never once did I say the one thing that I wanted… that I needed you to know. And just,” his voice broke then. Castiel felt Dean’s hand push against his own, grounding himself. “Hearing you say that part made me realize I never said it to you.”

Castiel said nothing, letting Dean have a moment to collect his thoughts. His body was fine, but his mind would need a few days to recover, he knew. Seeing Dean like this, seeing him so broken by the very idea; it was more than Cas could bare. Slowly, he closed the space between them until they were chest to chest, Dean’s face buried in Castiel’s neck as his other arm came around Castiel’s back.

“I’m alive, Dean,” Castiel spoke slowly against Dean’s hair as the other man’s grip tightened. “We’re alive, and what I said was still true.” 

“I can’t lose you, Cas. I refuse to. You’re family. You’re more than that,” Dean raised his head, his eyes red and his lip quivering. “I need to say it. I need you to know,” Dean swallowed hard.  “I love you, Cas. I can’t lose you.”

Castiel gave him a small smile. These were words he never thought he would hear and had come to terms with that, but the tide was changing. “You won’t lose me. Not ever.”

They didn’t separate for the rest of the night. 

a thought on Bellarke

Sometimes I think about how soft Bellamy and Clarke will never get to be. Their softness, their innocence, their youth has been stolen from, in an even crueler way than it was from the rest of delinquents. In that way where their edges had to be hardened for them to lead, in the way where the weight of responsibility presses down on you until you’re as hard and sharp as a diamond. 

In another world, Clarke would have allowed herself compassion- she would have cared for people as a doctor, brought beauty into the world as a artist. Clarke was always destined to make the hard calls, yes; but they would have been about rationing medicine or when to operate or an intense vote on the council on the ark. She wouldn’t have to cut her own heart out of the equation to cut out someone else’s. The blood on her latex-clad hands wouldn’t seep into her soul. She would have been free to love and be loved in return and she would have two parents and a whole unbroken heart. 

Bellamy’s life never would have been easy, but there would have been a way, one day, for him to have a life where his love for people could always be rewarded; a positive, healthy, giving kind of love and devotion that doesn’t twist in his gut, that doesn’t inevitably turn into rage or revenge. He could have led a unit of the guard, and formed his own found family and given inspirational speeches without also knowing the scalding heat of a machine gun pumping bullets into bodies. He could have taught a classroom of boisterous children, without a mountain full of dead ones awaiting him in nightmares. His rash choices would lead to mouthing off to a councilman or getting in a fight with a rude boy at school, not bear the consequences of dozens of lives. In another world, Bellamy could hug and touch and love and be held and loved in return- in another world his vulnerability wouldn’t have to be rationed, or hidden, or protected and locked away. 

 And that’s the thing that makes Bellarke both devastating and beautiful to me. They didn’t have a choice in the hand they were dealt, and it’s not an easy life, and it’s not a fair life. They have both been broken down as people: their worst traits drawn out, their best tested to the limits of endurance. As individuals, they feel the weight - the loss - of what they were, of what they could have been. And they didn’t have a choice. But. But at least, in this life, they will never be alone. In this life, they can chose to be together. And, together, they can be whole. 

Together they find those shades of softness they thought had been wrung out of them; together they bare vulnerabilities in defiance of their circumstances, a quiet show of resistance to world that has turned them into monsters. They offer understanding unconditionally, they offer forgiveness for the unforgivable. They make apologies on behalf of the world to each other. They trade the will to live, to love, to press onward between them, taking turns carrying each other to the finish line. If you’re on that list I’m on that list. 

And they didn’t just fall from the sky into each other’s hearts - their love, their trust, their bond - is earned. They fell in love with each other’s ideals before they even liked each other; as that one article said - in the most idealistic way possible.

Bellamy fell in love with the hope and idealism Clarke had about humanity; he wanted to be what she saw in him, wanted to live in the world as she imagined it. He fell in love with a girl who through sheer force of will could bend the world to how she wanted it. He fell in love with her belief that there was a better way, that humanity could and should be good, that goodness can and will prevail. He fell in love with what she saw in him - never is Bellamy more whole than when he is looking at himself through her eyes.

And Clarke… Clarke fell in love with Bellamy’s heart. With the idea that someone’s heart could be both their weakness and their strength, their resilience, their courage. She was inspired by the intensity of his love for his sister - a love like nothing she’d ever seen, a love that changed the way she thought about love. She fell in love with his ability to reach straight into the hearts of people, with just a look, with just a word. She fell in love with his humanity - and with his ability to inspire it in others. And when she’s afraid she’s lost her own humanity, when she feels it slipping, he’s there. He’s there for her but also as living proof: that love doesn’t have to run out, that it doesn’t have to burn you down like fire to a candle. He reminds her that her humanity isn’t destined to be lost.

So after all that has been forced on them, and all that they’ve suffered - there is a measure of innocence, of softness that they will never regain, that they can never have. But what’s extraordinary - what makes Bellarke extraordinary to me - is how jealously and defiantly they have held on to that last measure of softness, of vulnerability, of humanity. They cling to it and share it between them and somehow, through that choice, they turn it into something more. Because when they are with each other, they are not only at their most vulnerable - they are at their strongest. They turn each other’s softness to strength, their compassion into determination. That kind of love transcends desire or declaration, definition or dismissal. And it’s damn well worth celebrating.

anonymous asked:

So you've been somewhat quiet and vague about the enlarging bulge, with your weight gain taking center stage instead. Will details follow along with a comparison pic in the Diesel jock?

Eh, I’m still wary about putting too much of a spotlight on my silicone, for a number of weird reasons.

For one, I’m paranoid about glamorizing this stuff. I would be happy if my experiences became the catalyst for some guys to eventually do it themselves, but what I don’t want is to make it seem like this was something I did out of the blue. It took me years of research and planning and contemplation to get to the point where I felt ready to take the plunge, and I cannot stress enough how important I think that is. The last thing I want is for someone to do it impulsively.

For that reason, I am glad that there is a dearth of information out there about silicone. Hopefully it forces people to slow down and really consider if this is what they want to do. It’s a big, big decision.

Also, it’s odd but it feels wrong to be as proud of it as my weight gain. Weight lifting and gaining takes so much effort for me that these 10-pound milestones feel like a really big accomplishment. When I add silicone, it is an amazing experience but it isn’t the same sort of accomplishment—all I did was pay for it.

I dunno, I’m very new to being part of this world instead of an outsider looking in. Still figuring it all out.

Anyway, on a less serious note, here’s a brief update. I had 200cc added this past weekend, putting me at 1000cc total (300 in my shaft, 700 in my sack). I was still quite full from my last filling, so that’s all I could manage. I’m going to be waiting 2-3 months before the next go so it can be another big one.

As far as the Diesel jock, it’s straining but it’s still doing it’s job. Other pieces of clothing are not so lucky.

2

in sunlight i was born; a playlist for all the sunny days

i. greek tragedy / the wombats ii. roses / the chainsmokers feat. rozes iii. gravel to tempo / hayley kiyoko iv. atlantis / bridgit mendler feat. kaiydo v. cardiac arrest / bad suns vi. happy pills / weathers vii. kamikaze / mø viii. la love / transviolet ix. hymn for the weekend / coldplay x. first / cold war kids xi. hold me down / halsey xii. tennis court / lorde xiii. weight of living, pt. one / bastille xiv. cleopatra / the lumineers xv. wild / troye sivan feat. alessia cara xvi. la devotee / panic! at the disco xvii. got love / tove lo xviii. young volcanoes / fall out boy xix. wild things / alessia cara xx. search party / sam bruno xxi. the city / the 1975 xxii. heaven / amber run xxiii. into the storm / banners xxiv. cosmic love / florence + the machine xxv. castle on the hill / ed sheeran xxvi. born / onerepublic xxvii. crystals / of monsters and men xxviii. all in white / the vaccines

8tracks - spotify

Discipline 101

So you have the ambition. You have all the answers. All you lack is the discipline.

Unsurprisingly, this is a problem most people have, so don’t worry, you’re not alone.

Tell me, do you have a concrete goal? Or is it something vague like, “Rule the world”, or “get rich” or “become famous”?

Usually those who lack discipline have a habit of getting ahead of themselves and they end up having all these fantastic goals without any knowledge of how to achieve them. They have big ambitions, but no clear plans, no visible steps, and no foundation to start their life on. It’s the equivalent of standing on one side of the river and being able to see the other side, but having no method of making it across.

It’s good to have a starting point, and know what you want in the end. But the path to earning what you desire isn’t pre-made for you. It’s up to you to lay every brick and measure everything out. In your life, you’re the architect, you’re the engineer, you’re the investor, you’re everything.

So the how do you get some discipline?  It’s simple: You need to know how you’re going to do something, before you set out to do it.

Step 1: Get Motivated

Make a list. And make sure you handwrite it. Two columns. Think about everything you have a problem with, all your interests and passions, and everything you have ever wanted in one column. In the other column, spend as much time as you need to come up with solutions to each issue/goal. Don’t write one side, without the other.

Spend a couple days looking at that list. Make it into a poster, use it as your phone background, it doesn’t matter as long as you make sure you see it every day until you feel something. I’m saying that incredibly vaguely because people are fueled by different emotions. For me, it was rage.

Every morning, I stared at that list of everything I’d ever wanted, every little problem that made my life miserable and I got furious. To see what my life revolved around so callously written on paper, and feeling so close yet so far, that drove me insane. My anger made my passion double, and nothing fuels discipline more than passion.

Step 2: Plan

Once you’ve gotten yourself suitably motivated to take charge of your life, don’t waste any time. Start by creating a plan. Now that you know what you want to do, figure out how to do it.

Create a timeline for the next year and then a looser version for the next ten years. It can sound daunting, but when you fall off track at some point (and I can guarantee, you will) you’re going to need something to point you in the right direction.

For your detailed, one year plan, make sure your goals are distributed into two categories: Short term and Long term.  

For your short term goals, list everything you want to achieve in that year and how exactly you’re going to do it.

For example,  if you want to lose weight, I don’t just want to see you write down “lose weight”. Tell me how. Tell me how much. Tell me by when. “Lose five pounds by October by going to the gym 4 days a week”, or “Cut down on eating X food so I can lose 5 pounds by October”, etc. Be specific.

For your long term goals, pick 3 things you want in general. The first thing should be something you can achieve in that year, and it should be the focus of your entire year. The second thing is something you don’t necessarily need, but it makes you happy anyways (like spending more time on a hobby, or saving money for a new designer bag, etc.). The third thing should be something that stays fairly consistent in every single ‘year-plan’ you have. Ultimately, it’s either your most important desire, or very close to it.

These long term goals will help you put together your 10 year plan, and create a better sense of direction in your life.

Step 3: Prioritize

Learn to prioritize these tasks and goals. Don’t go to sleep until you’ve felt like you’ve completed all your tasks for the day. Don’t give in to distractions and the illusion of “well-deserved fun”. Sure, going clubbing may seem fun on  Saturday, but it won’t be fun on Sunday night when you’re frantically writing a paper that’s due in two hours. There’s always time for fun later, there’s always another concert and another football game and another party. But some things have a greater impact on your life than just one night of “fun”.

I’m not saying become some kind of a workaholic. There’s always a time and a place for everything. If you try to follow your plan without any distractions or any fun, you’re going to get bored and then you’re start to hate your plan and your life and then it gets messy. Avoid all that by knowing when you’ve earned a break. It’s very important to discern when you can afford to step away from work to have fun with your friends and when going out is just going to distract you from an important deadline. 

Step 4: Act

Now, don’t just write these goals down and shove them in a dusty file on your desk. Keep them within arms reach. Look at them frequently. What I like to do is every morning, I write down a short term goal I have for that week/day/month and one of my long-term goals in my planner. It’s just a little reminder and keeps me focused throughout the day. I don’t feel like my day is complete or productive until I’ve had some progress on either the long term or short term goal.

Also, keep in mind that while planning is a great thing to do, don’t expect yourself to stick to every single detail of the plan. Life happens, and there are certain things you cannot control (although it wouldn’t hurt to try). Don’t be too hard on yourself if you find yourself unable to complete one of your goals for the day/week/month. It happens to everyone, we’re all human. What you need to focus on is the big picture and move on. Don’t waste precious time wallowing in past mistakes. Time doesn’t wait for anyone, least of all for you.

Step 5: Commit

Discipline doesn’t come from just being motivated or having a plan. It comes from consistency. Form productive habits, start efficient routines, and stick to them. For example, if you want to become a writer, make sure you write something, however small it is, everyday. One sentence, one paragraph, one page, the amount doesn’t matter. It’s important to understand that something, however small, is better than nothing. This constant dedication to your work will help you move one step closer to your goals.

The more you force yourself to stay in line when faced with temptation, the easier it will be every other time you are faced with the same challenge further down the line. Everyone forms habits. Just make sure they’re the right ones and you’d be shocked at how much your life could change.

Everything you need to become disciplined is inside of you. Everyone has the willpower and motivation. It’s just some people know what to do with it.

Just remember: Get motivated. Plan. Prioritize. Act. Commit

And the world is yours.

JK :
The first person he talk to when he almost give up as a Singer because he fall in love with dancing is JM
begin lyrics “ u make me again ”
The person that give him a strength is JM
The person that he feel warm when his with him is JM
The person support him behind his back when he fell down
JK : he make smile when I’m not in a good mood
The only person that he give him a present for his birthday
JM :
The first person he go to when he lost his weight
JM TO JK : I lost my weight
The first Person that he went to him when he comeback to the dorm
Japanese fan meeting : what the first things JM do when he come back to the dorm?
V :he take off his clothes and threw it to JK and said I’m home
The person that make him smile & laugh
“ the person that make me happy is JK”
JK “he just doesnt stop getting in my life for no reason.” When I feel stress I don’t know how to relieved it yet, I just simply pile them or saty unitl something funny happend when I stay calm JK come to me and he makes me laughing by doing stupid cute act if he didn’t do that I will stay calm
The only person that he take him out to buy a present that what he want
JK : jungkook what do u want for your birthday?
“I went with jungkook to the mall and we celebrate his birthday the two of us together & I told him to buy what ever he want ”
“Tell me anything u want for your graduation
I will buy it for ”
If that not a relationship goals then what is it?

keep quiet (m)

Originally posted by nnochu

pairings: jungkook x reader

genre: smut and ceo!au

word count: 3,473

a/n: im back after like a 4 month break lolol !! this is for @jinxkook​ idk how i wrote this and yeah lemme cry for a bit. (ignore this part if you wanna but here’s a lil disclaimer)

Keep reading

8

Friendships → Harry and Luna

They looked at each other. Luna was smiling slightly. Harry did not know what to say, or to think. Luna believed so many extraordinary things … yet he had been sure he had heard voices behind the veil too …

Are you sure you don’t want me to help you look for your stuff?” he said. 

Oh no,” said Luna. “No, I think I’ll just go down and have some pudding and wait for it all to turn up … It always does in the end. Well, have a nice holiday, Harry.” 

Yeah … yeah, you too.” 

She walked away from him and, as he watched her go, he found that the terrible weight in his stomach seemed to have lessened slightly. 

nature made me a freak, man made me a weapon and god made it last too long | a fanmix inspired by Logan (2017) {available on spotify and playmoss}

1. johnny cash - hurt; 2. jamie n commons - lead me home; 3. the national - i should live in salt; 4. the civil wars - kingdom come; 5. editors - no sound but the wind; 6. bob dylan - knockin on heaven’s door; 7. the secret sisters - tomorrow will be kinder; 8. johnny cash - redemption day; 9. the national - fireproof; 10. dan van rorke/oscar isaac - hang me, oh hang me; 11. pink floyd - wish you were here; 12. whiskey shivers - graves; 13. shawn james - through the valley; 14. johnny cash - god’s gonna cut you down; 15. gustavo santaolalla - the last of us (main theme); 16. unkle - when things explode; 17. lera lynn - my least favorite life; 18. editors - the weight of the world; 19. edward sharpe and the magnetic zeros - this life; 20. dead man’s bones - flowers grow out of my grave; 21. the civil wars - barton hollow; 22. nick cave and the bad seeds - o children; 23. johnny cash - the man comes around

Marry Me

Originally posted by gleefinn

Summary: Witch’s spells aren’t always a bad thing

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,500

Warnings: implied smut, maybe language because I can’t help it, otherwise straight fluff

A/N: this is for the lovely @jpadjackles double birthday challenge! I loved all the songs you chose for us, but this one will forever be one of my favorites! Hope you like what I did with it, and thank you for hosting!

A/N/N: Huge enormous thank you to my twin @deanssweetheart23 for listening to me whine, reading everything over and basically being the best damn support system a writer could ask for. Love ya, twin.

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I looked from my laptop up as my sister Angie came into my room.

“Hey Zack, what’s up?” she said

“Hey sis. I just heard from Stephanie. She has too much work to do this weekend, and she can’t make it back.” Our older sister was in college and had been planning to come back for the three day weekend that now stretched out before us.

“That sucks. So are mom and dad at that conference?”

“No, they are out for tonight, back in the morning. Then they leave for it tomorrow morning, and will be gone until Monday night.”

“So, more or less, the house to ourselves for the entire weekend?”

“Yep.” I said with a grin. The two of us had always been really close, and we were looking forward to a relaxing weekend with just each other. My little sister returned my grin and her eyes lit up. She was two years younger than me, but was always more mischievous than I.

“Dinner?” she asked

“Leftovers”

She shrugged and left my room. It was early still, and I returned to finishing my homework on my laptop. It was Friday and I wanted to be done for the weekend.

***

Later that night, having finished dinner, Angie and I were sitting on the couch, watching a movie. She was curled up against me, with my arm draped over her. As the movie ended, I switched the TV and looked and my baby sister. Her face was furrowed and she looked like she was considering something serious.

“What’s up sis?” I asked. She looked up at me.

“Can I talk to you about something?”

“Anything”

“It’s kind of awkward and personal”

“Anything you ever want to talk about, I will be here for you Angie” I said. I squeezed her tighter with one arm and planted a kiss on her forehead.

“Thanks Zack, I know. Are you a virgin?”

I flushed a bit, but answered truthfully

“Yes. And I assume you are as well” I knew my sister well enough that she would tell me why she asked without prompting.

“Yes, I am. Do you think I’m pretty?” she asked as a blush rose to her cheeks and she turned away.

Rather than respond immediately, with the obvious ‘yes’ I looked as my little sister as a woman, not a girl, taking in her features. She was tall, about 5’10” and thin. She had an incredibly toned and trimmed body from the years and years of gymnastics that she was so found of. Rich chocolate brown hair that cascaded midway down her back. Small breasts, no larger than an A cup, but they sat perfectly on her petite frame that any larger would have looked absurd.

“I think you are beautiful” I replied, and I genuinely meant it. Angie’s eyes lit up, and she could tell my compliment was honest. I pulled her closer to me and planted a kiss on her forehead. She returned my embrace and beamed up at me. Then the smile faded into a look of unease. I could tell she was trying to work her way around to telling me why she asked about my history with women.

“I asked because I figured … well … we know each other really well … and we love each other a lot … and … we are both virgins … and alone … and well…” Her face flushed and she turned away from me, embarrassed.

I looked at my little sister, my mind jumbled, my body fighting for the blood my brain needed to make decisions. A squeezed her closer and brought my left hand around to her chin. I forced her face to turn back to mine, and saw tears of embarrassment shining in her eyes. I planted a kiss full on her lips, the first time I had kissed a girl in all my years. After the longest thirty seconds of my life, we broke apart and caught our breath. We looked into each other’s eyes, and I asked her,

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

“Absolutely. Do you, Zack?”

“Yes, Angie, I really do.”

“I love you, big brother.”

“I love you, little sister.”

Our lips locked again, and I could see many of my emotions reflected in my baby sister’s eyes. Lust warred with love, each seeking to blot out the other. Our lips parted and my tongue slipped into her mouth, as hers slipped into mine.

I rolled her over, and sat my sister on my lap. Our lips met again, and my hands wandered over her tight back. I pulled her closer to me, out chests meeting and our kiss never breaking. She started to shift her hips back and forth in my lap. Her small breasts rubbed against my chest and my cock started to harden with the constant motion. I shifted one hand down, to grip her tight ass, and the other up to her chest to cup one of her lovely tits. Her hands wandered over my chest and out tongues stilled warred in each other’s mouths.

Our kiss broke, and Angie shifted back slightly on my lap. We were both breathless, and for a moment, the only noise in the room was our breathing.

“That was my first kiss, sis” I said, and she giggled at me.

“Mine too” she said still smiling. There was a long pause before she asked, “Do you want to go further?”

In answer I grabbed her and she squealed with delight as I pulled her back to my lips. Her hands found my chest again, and then started to go lower. She found the hem of my shirt, and began to pull it up. I felt a tingle as the cool air rushed over my warm skin. She pulled the shirt higher and higher, and finally we were forced to break off our kiss as the shirt passed over my head. As soon as it was on the floor, we kissed again.

Then slowly, my hands came around to her firm hips. I grabbed the shirt and raised it up slowly. Our kiss broke again, and I pulled off her shirt and threw it on the floor. I looked at my sister, sitting on my lap, our skin touching. Her skin was pale, as was mine, and against that white background, the rainbow striped bra on her chest looked even more vibrant. It was about a 32-34 A, and seemed to delight in cling to such nubile curves. We resumed our passionate kissing, and she resumed grinding her crotch into mine.

After a few more minutes of this, I stopped her and pried my sister off of me. She looked confused for a moment, but when she saw the grin of desire on my face, lust overtook her. I stood her up in front of me, and reached for the belt around her waist. I unfastened it, and reached for the button on her jeans. I undid it, and drew down the zipper, the hooked my fingers under the waist band of her pants. In one fluid motion, I dropped the pants to the ground, and as she stepped out of them, I looked at her sky blue panties. Under my gaze, she squirmed a bit, and flushed embarrassed.

“Stand up, bro. It’s not fair that you’re wearing pants.” She whined playfully.

I stood, and her hands were at my waist, undoing my belt, as her lips found mine again. She reached for the zipper on my pants, and the next thing I knew, my pants were around my ankles. I stepped out of them, and fell back onto the couch, grabbing Angie as I went. She sat, straddling me, as we kissed again. We looked at one another, and nervous laughter rose in our throats. She resumed grinding our crotches together, but this time, but with only her sky blue panties and my red boxers on, the feeling was much more intense. My cock was rock hard at this point, and only the weight of my baby sister was holding it down. She was also getting into it, I realized, as I saw a damp spot growing on her panties. I kissed her again and again, one hand around the tight muscles of her ass, and the other around her back, snaking up to the back of her head, holding her close to me.

I looked down, breaking off our kiss, and looked at our bodies. Angie had on only her sky blue panties and rainbow striped bra, and I with only red boxers. Our flesh gleamed with sweat and her body, sculpted from almost a decade of gymnastics, was taut and perfect. She started pushing our bodies together faster and harder, and my cock started rubbing against her pussy.

At the same time, completely independent of each other, our hands started to reach towards our lap. Mine trailed down her chest, her taut stomach, and came to rest just on the elastic band that held her underwear up. Her hand did the same thing to my body. She raised her hips, and I slowly inched my fingers down on to her sweat mound, feeling the fabric under my touch, and beneath that, my sister’s warm wetness. Her hand traced its way over my boxers to the base of my straining erection.

She began to stroke my cock through my boxers, as I began to run my hand over her pussy. The friction of her hand and my boxers on my dick sent a wave of pleasure through my body. I rubbed her faster and faster, and in response she stroked me faster still. Our hips ground together, our hands rubbed at the others genitals and we saw bliss reflected in each other’s eyes. Her wet spot grew larger and she began to moan, softly at first, then louder as I groaned at my need for release.

Angie’s breathing got faster and faster and I could feel her trembling. I could also feel my own orgasm getting closer. All at once, we both stiffened and moaned. We both orgasmed in our underwear and collapsed on to the couch. We lay there for the span of several long, shuttering breaths, my sister’s lithe body draped over my larger one, her face pressed against my shoulder. Finally reality reasserted itself, and I looked over at her.

“Well…” Angie said, before we both burst into laughter. We laughed long and loud, uncontrollably, until we were both gasping for air. We were not laughing at anything, but we could not stop.

Our merriment finally subsided and we looked back at each other. I could feel a contented smile on my face, and it was reflected on my baby sister’s.

“That felt amazing, Zack.” She sighed, contentedly.

“You too, Angie.” I replied, giving her a squeeze. She giggled and writhed on my lap, rubbing our sodden underwear together. We both looked down and laughed again.

“Shower?” I asked.

“Together.” She responded. “Just let me get my breath back.”

We sat there for another few minutes, until Angie rolled off of me, and we stood up. We gathered our clothes, and I chased her up stairs to the bathroom we shared. We turned the water on, and as it heated up, started kissing again. Our mouths joined together, and we embraced tightly.

My hands roamed across her back, and found the hooks of her rainbow bra. I unclasped them, and peeled off the garment. Then I got my first real look at my sister’s naked breasts. They were small, but perky and sat perfectly on her slight body. I let my hands wander lower and lower until I felt her small tight ass. I slipped two fingers under the elastic band of her sky blue panties and slid them around to her hips. All at once, I jerked my hands down, carrying her underwear with them. I beheld her virgin pussy for the first time in my life. She was unshaven, and the coarse brown hair stood out in contrast to her perfectly smooth legs.

She blushed and turned away from me, allowing me a perfect view of her perfect, tiny ass. I drew her close to me and planted a kiss on the top of her head. I could see her smile and feel her relax and she turned back around and reached down. Her hands gripped the waistband of my boxers and eased them down. My erection was now back in full swing, and popped out. I was also unshaven. It was the first time I had ever been exposed to someone in a sexual manner. We stepped out of the clothes around our ankles, and kissed again.

My sister and I drew back the shower curtain and slipped inside. The warm water and close confines made me feel as though my head was in a fog. We started washing each other all over. My hands, lathered with soapy water, found their way around her back and came to rest on her petite breasts. I savored the experience, my first real skin to skin sexual contact with her, as I began to massage her boobs. Angie started to whimper slightly, and then as I tweaked her tiny nipples, she let out a moan.

I left off and snaked my hands down lower and lower. I ran my hands over her tight legs, higher and higher. Her lean calves, her firm thighs, and then above that, the golden territory, all covered with soap and water. A thought crossed my mind and I rested my hand on her bush, and asked

“Why shave your legs, and not up here?”

“Because,” her response was bashful, “I was afraid it would hurt if I slipped.”

“Do you want me to help you?”

“Yes. But not right now. You got me wound up, and I need release.”

I grinned and slid my right hand over her mound as my left worked its way back to her tits. There was wetness there that had nothing to do with the shower. I began to stroke my middle finger up and down her slit, and my index and ring finger along the outside of her pussy. My left hand was massaging her breast and my right spread her lips wide open. She moaned her desire and I plunged my middle finger deep into my baby sister’s pussy. The gasped and shudder at the sudden intrusion, and cried out three words

“Oh God Yes!”

I started to work the top of her pussy with my thumb, and began to thrust my middle finger in and out of her sweat confines. She was incredibly warm, tight, and wet. It felt like my finger was being sucked in on every pump. Angie moaned louder and louder, and I thrust faster and faster. Her arms wrapped around my right arm, and her hand went down to cover mine, forcing me deeper into her. I tweaked her nipple and thrust deep into her. All at once, she seized up and froze completely, her muscles locking, and I would have sworn she even stopped breathing for a second.

My sister would have collapsed onto the floor if my arms had not been wrapped around her. She hung like a rag doll in my arms for several minutes, getting her breath back, her ass still pressed to my straining erection. She finally turned to me and, planting a kiss on my lips, moaned,

“Thank you. That was amazing.”

I grinned at her, and she tiredly returned the expression. We continued washing for a few minutes, until I found myself facing the showerhead, Angie behind me. She unexpectedly grabbed me in an embrace, and whispered in my ear,

“Your turn big bro.”

Her breasts were pressed to my back and her arms were around my chest. Her soapy hands slid down to my cock and delicately traced over my pubic hair.

“I like you like this. Don’t shave it.” I could hear the grin in her voice. I grinned back and shook my head.

“Anything for you, little sis.”

She kissed my neck and grasped my dick with her warm, wet, slippery hand. She slid her hand up and down my shaft, while sliding her other hand over my chest. Her small hands pumped me again and again, until I was right on the verge. Then she slid her other hand down and grabbed my balls. It was too much for me, and I came all over the front of the shower.

I turned around and kissed my sister again and again, each kiss deeper and more passionate than the last. We finished up in the shower and stepped out. Looking at the clock, we realized with a start that our parents would be home soon. We quickly went into Angie’s room and she bent over to rummage through her dresser for something to ware. I did not help the process by taking that opportunity to grab and start massaging her firm ass. She playfully slapped my hands away and threw on some pajamas. We went to my room and repeated the process, but in reverse.

“So, I am looking forward to a fun weekend.” She said.

“Me too.” I grinned “Just the two of us from Saturday afternoon to Monday night.”

“I think we are going to have a lot of fun.”

“Me too.”

“I love you, Zack.”

“I love you, Angie.”

Angry Words

Pairings: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: Fighting, nasty name calling, swearing, angst - It has a super fluffy ending though !!

Word Count: 1930

Summary: You’re mad, Chris is mad, but he doesn’t want to go to bed angry.

A/N: Enjoy!! 


“Can you stop being so immature about this?!” Chris explodes from behind you, reaching out his hand to catch the door you just tried slamming in his face, his blue eyes flashing with frustration.

You scoff, storming further into the house as you reef your jacket off your shoulders, flinging it onto the couch as you pass. It hangs haphazardly off the edge, half on the floor but you can’t be bothered fixing it up.
“Oh I’m sorry,” You snap instead. “Should I be more understanding about running into your ex girlfriend at your Mother’s birthday party?”

“Yes!” Chris replies angrily, taking off his jacket also, but hanging it neatly on the hooks by the door. “I told you a hundred times already that I didn’t know she was going to be there, It isn’t my fault she was invited!”
“No,” You agree with a huff, reaching down to pull off your heels, keeping them in your hand in case you need to use it as a makeshift weapon. “But letting her hang all over you is very much your fault!”

“She wasn’t hanging all over me y/n,” Chris exclaims, running his fingers back up into his hair. “We were just catching up that’s all!”
You throw your hands up by your sides, turning back to face him. “So she wasn’t practically sitting in your lap while you caught up?

The image of Chris’ hands on his ex’s hips while she drapes her arms around his neck is imprinted into your mind, cruelly reminding you of how much he loved this woman at one point in his life. There is no escaping the painful, gut wrenching feeling of seeing them together; Scott having let it slip that before their breakup Chris was thinking of asking her to marry him, going so far as to already having the ring. Try as you might you couldn’t forget something like that.

“It wasn’t like I invited her to sit there!” The veins in the side of Chris’ neck are becoming more prominent the longer this fight goes on, his hands balled into fists by his side and his face flushed. He was getting more and more frustrated over the fact you just wouldn’t let this go.
“You should have pushed her off! Or at least told her you were with someone.”
“I tried to!”
“That isn’t good enough Chris!”
“No, of course it isn’t!” Chris laughs humorlessly, letting his hands fall flat to his side. “Nothing’s ever good enough for you.”

His response catches you off guard, your shoes falling from your hands, clattering noisily on the wood floor as you stare at him, all anger temporarily subsiding.
“Excuse me?” You finally manage to stutter out. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”
“It means,” He starts stalking towards you, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt as he does so. “You’re a goddamn bitch y/n, who expects our relationship to be exactly what you want all the time and when I god forbid do something you don’t like you throw a temper tantrum like a child!”

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Anonymous said: A jeffxreader where she sits with the jocks at their lunch table bc she recently broke her arm and they are rlly protective of her especially jeff bc he likes her and just include silly banter amongst all of them and maybe later jeff finally gets the courage to ask her out and she happily agrees and fluff thnx <3

Author’s Note: Dear requester, I had to switch arm to ankle because I royally screwed up. Sorry!

Originally posted by janevillanuevas

JEFF X READER

“Seriously, Jeff, you don’t have to keep driving me to school,” you chuckle. “I’m plenty capable of doing things on my own still.”

Shaking his head in refusal, Jeff parks in the student parking lot of the high school before turning towards you. "If it wasn’t for me goading you, you wouldn’t have been playing flag football with us, Y/N. I sometimes forget just how rowdy those idiots can get.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“It kind of is.”

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Sex with Shawn would include...

Anonymous said:

Bp of sex life shawn? Hihi


  • Foreplay starting way before the bedroom
  • Shawn leaving cheeky little post-it note messages on the bathroom mirror
  • And sending dirty texts while you’re in the middle of class
  • Being greeted in the foyer of your apartment by an eager Shawn who’s kissing you hard as he unbuttons your jeans
  • “I wanna hear about your day, I swear I do, but I think I need to be inside you first…”
  • The two of you stumbling to the bedroom and losing your clothes on the way
  • Shawn staring at your body in awe as he lays you on the bed; as if he hasn’t seen you naked at least a hundred times
  • Him saying the sweetest things as he pulls down your panties
  • Things like, “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to this.”
  • And “You’re the prettiest girl in the whole wide world…”
  • Always getting two orgasms before he’s ever even inside of you
  • One by his fingers
  • The other by his tongue
  • Shawn asking for permission
  • Every. Single Time.
  • Usually it’s “Ready for me?” or, sometimes it’s, “Can I?”
  • And you groaning “please” as you pull him down on you
  • Having such a thick, muscular body hovering between your legs
  • And feeling the weight of his cock against your belly or the inside of your thighs
  • Him wanting to spend hours just making out
  • And you literally having to “take matters into your own hands”; lining him up to your entrance so he can feel just how ready you really are
  • “God, you’re so wet.”
  • “How am I supposed to last?”
  • And then, “Okay, okay, relax now. Come on, let me inside…”
  • A lifetime of those moment when he thrusts in for the first time
  • And the feeling of being filled
  • Completely
  • To the brim
  • Being made love to so gently that you just want to cry
  • Digging your nails into his back
  • And marking him with little crescent moon-shaped scratches in his skin
  • Having his nails digging into your ass as he pulls your hips up off of the bed
  • And knowing that when it’s all over, you’ll be sliding your panties up over little markings of your own
  • The bed creaking a little as he starts to lose control
  • And feeling his hardness fucking in and out of you as he moans the filthiest things into your neck
  • Things like: “My fuckin’ cunt. All. Fuckin’. Mine.”
  • And: “Hell yeah, baby. Keep squeezin’ my cock. Just… like… that…” 
  • Shawn touching you all over while you fuck
  • Plucking your nipples
  • Grabbing at your thighs
  • And especially - especially - stroking your clit
  • Feeling your pussy pulse around him
  • And making him cum unexpectedly sometimes
  • Getting to hear that shocked little whimpering sound he makes as his eyes clamp shut, his jaw sets hard, and every muscle in his body stiffens
  • Oh fuck, I’m cumming, I’m cumming…
  • And “goddamnyoufeelssogood...”
  • Him wanting to go all night long at other times
  • And making you doubt whether or not you can keep up
  • Having so many orgasms that you lose count
  • And not being sure whether you can push past the numbness and the sensitivity
  • “Shawn, baby, I don’t think I can take anymore…”
  • And Shawn encouraging you to your limits with praises
  • Because, “I think you can, gorgeous. Come on.”
  • And “Keep your legs open. Just lemme give you one more.
  • Cumming so hard that you swear you see stars
  • No strike that - you see galaxies - right there on the bedroom walls
  • Being held until you come down from your high
  • And having kisses sprinkled across your collarbones as you shudder
  • Barely hearing him whispering “thank you” over and over against your skin
  • Then telling each other how much you love each other as you lay on top of the sheets, still naked in each other’s arms ;-)