there was something wrong with the previous one

Tips for Dealing with Rejection

1. First, recognise that not everyone is like you. We have different likes and dislikes, we want different things, and we all see people and the world in different ways. Hence, it is natural that sometimes people will be upset, offended, or react differently from what we expected. It’s not necessarily personal – it’s more a reflection of the fact that we are different.

2. Try and leave your emotions aside and objective analyse the situation. Ask yourself: “Is this person’s reaction triggering something me?” It could be that you are over-reacting to a perceived rejection because of previous hurts, put downs and rejections. Alternatively, the other person’s reaction could be more related to what is going on in their life at the time (rather than being a personal rejection of you.)

3. Be alert to over-generalising and over-personalising. For example, look out for the tendency to think things like that “That means I’m a terrible person, and no-one likes me” or “I never do anything right. I always say and do the wrong thing. I’m always going to get it wrong and be rejected by everyone.”

4. Look for friendships and affirmation in other places. It’s wise to have a wide range of friends and acquaintance so that our self-image and self-esteem aren’t tied into how a few key people treat us, or react towards us.

5. Accept that snubs and rejections are part of life. We can’t please all of the people all of the time – we can only please some of the people some of the time. And while it’s wise to check to see if we display certain habits, traits or behaviors that often annoy others (and it is wise to work on changing those), at the end of the day we have to be ourselves. We can’t spend our lives walking on egg shells, or trying to be someone we were never meant to be.

Proposal for an Alternate Grading System

As my profession is that of being a teacher, one of my concerns has always been the efficiency of assessing student’s knowledge. Some ideas (standardized tests) simply do not work. However, as a fellow mod has pointed out, the grading system itself is not an efficient measure to a student’s knowledge of application of any particular subject.

The main problem with the grading system (to be defined as the system that gives grades like A’s and B’s) is that it creates a caste system for students. You get the students that receive A’s, those who generally get B’s, and so forth. The A students are then touted around as being geniuses with hope for the future, while the F and D students are treated as failures by the faculty, which in turn leads their fellow students to treat them as such as well. Further, this grading system is nonsensical when you stop and think about it: there’s a distinction between an A(100%-90%) and a B(89%-80%), but why not a distinction between an A that scored 91% and one that scored 98%?

I propose abolishing this system and replacing it with one that is much simpler; one with a mere 3 grades. I call it the PNI System. There are only three grades total: P for Pass (received a score between 100-75%) and N for No Pass (lower than 75%). The third and final grade, I, stands for Incomplete (speaks for itself). Those who receive a P are allowed to move on to the next lesson/grade as normal, while those who get an N are either given tutorial sessions and a make-up exam (if the N was for an exam) or made to repeat the class (if the student does not pass a sufficient number of exams). Those who get an I are allowed a chance to defend their reasons for not being able to complete their exam/class, which will then be reviewed by the faculty. In cases of physical conditions that prevent the student from finishing the lesson or class, the faculty shall negotiate with the student a manageable and convenient schedule that will allow their to finish the class or retake the exams.

The former system is not only inefficient, it sends the student the wrong message regarding education. An ‘A’ typically stands for excellent work, while a B means above average. This can (and has) lead to various students who typically receive A’s to suddenly have panic attacks when they get their first B. Getting a B isn’t bad, we’re often told, but many parents refuse to accept that their straight A student got a B, and so they increase their work load. A C is an “average,” meaning that there is nothing inherently wrong with the grade. But a C student is seen as an underachiever, someone with no hope of being anything more than “just another face in the multitude.” Getting D’s and F’s are seen as signs of failure. It shouldn’t be like this!

The system I propose is much softer on students. Getting a P means you Pass, you’re ready to keep on going. Getting an N doesn’t mean you fail, it means you are not yet ready for the next lesson, try again. There’s something you did wrong or something you didn’t understand, find out what that is so you can Pass next time. The I merely indicates the student is not yet done with the lesson and needs an accommodation. The previous system teaches kids that they only get one shot at success in life; mine teaches that you can get back up if you ever fall down.

Which system sounds better to you?

10

NarutoWeek2017 day three + four: Favorite fight + arc

↳ Team 7 vs. Haku and Zabuza (Land of Waves arc)

When a person has something important they want to protect.. that’s when they can become truly strong.

Train Rides: Young!James Potter x Reader *Smut*

A/N: Okay, so, this wasn’t suppose to go out until after ‘Wait For Me’ part two, but I’m like, physically and mentally not able to write that right now, and I don’t know why, so I just decided to finish this. Oh and also, I decided to post this tonight instead of tomorrow cause it was basically done, ops. 

If you didn’t read the title, this is a smut, this is also my first attempt at writing smut so, it may not be fantastic. I apologize if it doesn’t go into great detail or anything, like I said, I’m new to writing smut so this was really awkward for me to write, but I had to start somewhere, soz.

As smuts go, please do not read this if you’re uncomfortable with sexual situations, it’s tots fine to skip out on this one, my dude. 

Anyway, Enjoy! ♥

Word Count: 1504

Warnings: Mild Smut, Fluff(ish)

Keep reading

What Ardyn did wrong... and why everything was wrong with Noctis’ fate

Ardyn is the most interesting character in FFXV, indeed. Mysterious man of no consequences. Despite his horrible actions, a lot of people being sympathetic to him, because Trash Jesus is very charismatic person with aura of tragic, misunderstood hero, who was punished by terrible Gods for nothing.

But people simply ignore a big elephant in the room.

Ardyn didn’t cure Starscourge. 

He didn’t fullfill God’s task, he absorbed Starscourge within himself, but didn’t destroy the plague properly. 

But why? Why didn’t he sacrifice himself like Noctis? Why did once selfless and kind man choose the path of Accursed?

There is popular fanon that Ardyn was both - Chosen King and Oracle, but I doubt it. There is no evidence for it, aside once dropped “healer” during Ardyn’s speech. But nature of Ardyn’s “healing” was different from actual healing.

One more reason why I didn’t support Oracle!Ardyn fanon - Oracle bloodline has already existed 2000 years ago.

In the distant past, Bahamut, the Draconian, descended to the mortal realm and graced the people of Tenebrae. From among them, he handpicked a pious maiden and bestowed upon her the power of the Stars and his trident. Using these gifts for the good of all, she became the first Oracle—she who joins heaven and earth.

In Cosmogony books Chosen King always portrayed with the First Oracle behind his back.

The Crystal and Ring of the Lucii were delivered to the king of Lucis by the astrals before they entered a deep sleep.

Ancient King had Crystal and Ring. Covenants with Gods were forged. But something went wrong. But something stopped him. 

Okay, here is my theory. 

Ardyn didn’t want his Oracle to die.

[If you don’t like the idea of another forced lovestory and idea of straight Ardyn at all, you can replace Ardyn x Oracle with Ardyn x someone significant to Ardyn, who’s death was required to fullfill the Prophecy. I went with Ardyn x Oracle as example, because it helps to cover massive amount of plotholes in noctluna storyline. I included another variants under the cut.]*

[you can also said that Ardyn x Oracle or “Ardyn wished to save his s/o” wasn’t mentioned in game. But Ardyn’s backstory is very vague and almost nonexistant in game. More information about Ardyn spread across different media (Ultimania, guidebook, interviews). E.g. only recent DLC revealed that first Chosen King had his own Shield and Ardyn has his own Sword of Father]

Just like Noctis he fell in love with her and just like Ravus he wanted to find a way to save her from her destiny.

Why I think so?

Usually we tried to find answers in the past, but due to “glorius” FFXV storytelling I would pay attention to the present, specifically to Noctis x Luna plotline.

Since the first day of release I had wondered why Luna didn’t join Noctis and bros after Insomnia’s fall. She loved him, she wanted to hear his voice once again… but she went her own way. The pursuit of Imperial army wasn’t a big problem, because her brother was in charge of Nifflheim military. But for some reason she avoided Noctis’ company.

It doesn’t make sense at the first sight.

It makes sense if we assume that 2000 years ago happened incident when certain Chosen King failed his job, because he wanted to save Eos, but without Oracle’s* sacrifice.

The earliest accounts of covenants are found in ancient times dating back to the time of the Cosmogony, some two millennia ago. According to such tomes, the rites are a means by which the Oracle summoned forth the gods, that she might make the will of mortals known to the divine.

Lunfreaya is Oracle. She knew about Prophecy, her and Noctis’ fate, Ardyn’s identify and many other important things. I’m pretty sure that she also knew why previous Chosen King was a mistake didn’t comply his mission to cure Starscourge.

[don’t forget that she was trained by Shiva in disguise]

Luna’s illness is weird thing, which seems unnecessary on first sight. Why should we care about it, when she is already dead? What’s the point of this ass-pulled revelation?

Now imagine if Noctis was aware about her illness. Imagine if Luna joined chocobros after events of Kingsglaive. Imagine her travelling with them, making covenants with Gods, helping Noctis with trials… and slowly dying.

What would Noctis do if he learned “price of the covenant”?

I think we know the answer.

Until Luna’s death Noctis didn’t see himself as Chosen King. He wanted to save Luna and nothing else. He fought against Empire, he wanted to beat the shit out of Ravus, because he thought that Ravus hunted Lunafreya, he would have done everything for her, but he didn’t know what actually killed Luna. He was misguided by Luna herself.

[and then Lunafreya… told Noctis about Prophecy again]

It also explains why Gentiana didn’t help to save Luna in Altissia. Luna should’ve died. Her own precense kept Noctis from fulfillment his duty as Chosen King.

Almost everyone, who knew about Prophecy, tried to hide from Noctis horrible truth about his fate and, which is more important, Luna’s illness. Gentiana, Regis, Luna, Ardyn (just how fucked up is plot of this game if “good guys” used exactly the same methods to manipulate Noctis as main villain) deprived him of any chance to change something. Looks like they were afraid that Noctis can choose another path, isn’t it?

I put Luna’s illness over Noctis’ future sacrifice, because Noctis was ready to die young. It was revealed in Ignis Brotherhood Episode, when Noctis realized that like his dad he will spend his life sources to hold the Wall around Insomnia. Ofc, he didn’t expect to die like in this one cutscene, but he was ready to die anyway. Luna is whole different thing. Her death was last straw for him.

Although, there was a moment, when Noctis had a chance to learn the truth from another character, who was also informed about Prophecy and constantly tried to mess up with it.

Back to chapter Five, when Noctis met Ravus first time. There is a common misconception about this scene, a lot of people thought that Ravus wanted to kill Noctis and Ardyn saved him.** But I think that real reason why Ardyn interrupted them was this particular line:

Ravus told Noctis about trials and consequences, but Noctis didn’t mind about it… and you know what happened later. 

Congratulations, Noctis, you fooled yourself.

[now there is another big question - why Luna didn’t write Noctis about Ravus’ true position?]

After this event Ardyn took Ravus on leash. Ravus himself wasn’t dangerous for Noctis, but Ravus’ knowledges and intentions were dangerous for future sacrificial lamb. Remember: Noctis shouldn’t have a choice.

People compare FFXV with FFX and FFXIII a lot. These games are opposite to each other. In FFX and FFXIII characters didn’t accept their fate so easy as characters in FFXV, they fought for their lifes and lifes of their beloved (Lightning and Snow wanted to save Sera, Sazh wanted to save his son, Tidus wanted to save Yuna), they fought against destiny, broke the rules and won. 

It always bothered me that chocobros never demonstrated any serious resistance. But, well, they simply didn’t know what’s going on. They were desinformed from the beginning. 

[That one character in FFXV who just wanted to save his sister was labeled as villain and turned into monster. Just think about it]

Now back to Ardyn and his possible past. Imagine him travelling in company of his King’s Shield, Oracle and may be his own versions of Prompto and Ignis. Imagine them fightning daemons, camping, making covenants with Gods…

But something went wrong. Oracle is dying. Ardyn wanted to save the world, but not for this price. He tried to find a loophole… and he was tricked or made a deal with Ifrit. From perspective of mortal man it was perfect deal - he can save everyone by healing absorbing Starscourge into his own body without sacrifices. But from Astrals’ point of view it was nothing. It was temporary solution.*

I never liked Noctis that much***,but I think that his situation was horrible. People that are most dear to him treatened Noctis like possible failure aka Ardyn 2.0. They were afraid that if he finds out the truth, he will get out of control. They did everything to prevent Noctis’ possible resistance to his fate.

All these people prioritized Prophecy over Noctis’ life, happiness and free will.

Just like Ardyn.

It wasn’t even “kill one to save many”.

Everything is wrong with Final Fantasy XV story.

Keep reading

Protips from your local fanfic author: 

  • If you don’t like something, you are perfectly entitled to stop reading it at any time, without consequence. You do not have to finish everything you started. No-one’s going to know. Just close the tab. Back out onto the previous page. Don’t force yourself through something you don’t want to read or don’t like. 
  • If you don’t like something, acknowledge that your tastes may be different to other people’s. This does not make either of you wrong, it just means that people are different. And that’s okay! For every fic you can’t stand the plot of and want to get rid of, there’s probably one that you’ll LOVE and think about long after the fic is done with. Go find that other one. 
  • Fic authors are people. If you wouldn’t want it said to you, then have a serious think about why you’re saying it to someone else. Basic manners should not leave you just because you’re talking to a fic author. 
  • There’s no need to go anonymous and tell someone they’re pathetic or their writing sucks. Maybe it DOES suck, but there are constructive ways to help them instead of just flaming. Suggest they get a beta reader. Suggest to beta for them! Point out inconsistencies so they can fix them. Help them with their grammar if they’re a non-native speaker of the language their fic is in. People are not perfect and they make mistakes. 
  • We do this shit for free. All of it. For free. 
  • We do it for free because we love it. 
  • We do this shit, for free, because we love it, in our spare time. Many of us are students, or have careers, or family, sometimes more than one of those things at the same time. You do not get to dictate to us what we write, how we write it, when we write it or how much time we spend writing it. Unless you’re someone close to us, our beta reader or our doctor, you are likely not special or important enough to demand our creative process work the way you want it to. 

Be good to your fic authors. If you aren’t, then there won’t be all that many left. 

riverdalewritings  asked:

Number 44 with Jughead and reader!

FOOTBALL GAME? IS that the one where they hit the big, orange ball with the bat?” Your boyfriend is a mass of sharp angles and jutting bones atop your floral-patterned bedding. From the outsider’s vantage, one would say he emanates an air of discomfort—beanie still crowning his head, ragged leather jacket blanketing his shoulders, even his feet remain tucked inside his worn boots—but, to your knowledge, this is his highest state of relaxation. Iron rods have materialized from a decade and a half of misery, guarding his gelid heart, and shielding him from curious outsiders. He says there’s something special about you; you think that’s how you managed to slip through the gates.

“You’re funny.”

“You’re cute.” The reflection of a boy in your vanity mirror winks. Involuntarily do your lips ascend into a pillowy crescent. “But seriously, it’s not my scene.” And then aforementioned lips descend.

Steely optics seek out his tangible form, goading you into pivoting on the balls of your feet. “What does that mean?”

His brows graze his hairline in a terse, first meeting. “It’s not my scene? It’s not my thing? I don’t do school events?” The questionable lilt that punctuates every last statement plucks on your frangible nerves. Of course Jughead doesn’t like school events, one glimpse of him is all the confirmation necessary, but he does like you, and you like school events—a message you attempt to convey with your facial ticks.

He isn’t comprehending.

“O-kay? And I don’t do Nancy Drew and The Hardy Boys, but do I not sit with you at Pop’s every night, going through evidence I don’t give a damn about to help you write your novel?” Baby pink nails cut into a curling palm, and—

—Oh, he’s getting it now.

Jughead tucks pallid digits underneath his cap, massaging the skin usually hidden underneath. “That’s different, Y/N.”

“How so?” you persist.

“Uh, I dunno, ‘cause my shit actually has a purpose?”

It’s not raining, but the cold seeps into your uniform and laces through your bones.

“As opposed to cheerleading, right? That’s what you’re trying to say? The River Vixens’ only purpose is to raise tents in pants?”

“Well, I wouldn’t call that a purpose since it’s a considerably easy feat,” he murmurs through clenched teeth and stiffened jaw. Your spine straightens—an aftershock of, well, shock. You’d find it comedic how his gaze enlarges, his sardonic bite and exactly who was being subjected to it dawning on his cognition, if anger wasn’t coiling around the mass of your stomach. Jughead displays both palms in a bid of surrender. “That came out wrong.”

“There’s a right way for something like that to come out?”

“Y/N.”

Now, you lift a hand. Your boyfriend’s focal point snags on the half-moon indents that desecrate your palm. “No. No.” The wear and tear of six months spent with a boy who isn’t as immersed in your interests as you his finally laps over you. He can’t attend one game, not one for you. “I’m good at cheer. I’m really good.”

The raven-locked boy lopes long legs over the edge of the bed, sitting from his previous lackadaisical position. “I know that.”

“How could you? From mandatory pep rallies? You bring your laptop to those, Jughead.”

He doesn’t disregard this fact, opting to offer a soft “I stop typing when you perform.” He thinks it’s a compromise; you think it’s a cop out.

You swing (literally, swing) into action and your bedroom’s threshold is the end-goal. Jughead tosses himself off the mattress, thrusting himself in front of your mobile form and nearly skittering into the doorframe. Dexterous digits curl around your shoulders, though you think the gesture’s done more for his balance than to immobilize you.

“I’m shit with words,” he begins.

“No, you’re great with words.” Thin lips quirk, and you wish he wasn’t so damn cute. “You’re just a shit boyfriend.” You utilize the loosening of his grip to your advantage, shrugging his hands and his touch and him away from you. “Look, I don’t wanna look like a fool anymore than you do. So here’s your chance, Jug, tell me. Tell me you’re not interested in me anymore. Tell me the reason why I’m giving you my all and you’re giving me half is because you’re sick of me. Tell me, Jughead. Be honest with yourself, be honest with me!”

A beat of silence.

And then two.

“Not interested in you anymore?” he half-echoes, half-sputters. Incredulity paints his sharp features. From knitted brows above cerulean irises down to slightly agape pink pout, Jughead’s disbelief is like a grass stain on white shorts. Unbelievably stubborn and not going anywhere. “Y/N, I am so interested in you it’s sickening. Literally. You make my stomach hurt.” (You hate that a chuckle rumbles from your chest. Jughead grins.) “Honestly, I thought you were into the whole Jason Blossom mystery thing. You love Criminal Minds.”

“It’s not scary when it’s on TV.”

He visibly softens at this, back winding into its comfortable slouch. “No, it’s not. And I’m sorry I never asked you how you felt.”

So you’re not sick of me?

Your gaze follows the swing of his head. “I am the farthest thing from sick of you. You make me sick” —Jughead catches your hand before it could make playful contact with his shoulder “—but I’m not sick of you, no.” He swipes his thumb across the skin pulled taunt against your knuckles. “If anything, I’m a little in love with you.”

This confession, subtle but heavy, sinks its claws into your disposition, altering your expression sans consent. You aren’t aware you’re wearing your perturbation as well as you are your uniform until Jughead says:

“Gee, baby, I hope that’s your ‘I love you, too’ face.”

So he did say the l-word.

“No. No, of course, I just–I never thought you would say it first. Is that–? That’s the first time you’ve said I love you.”

“Yeah, and it doesn’t mean shit unless I start showing you. So from now on whatever you’re into, I’m into. You like cheer, I like cheer. You like watching bad Netflix movies at 2 in the morning, so do I. You like Reggie Mantle, I–well, I don’t have to like everything you like, do I?” The tip of his nose crinkles in jocular distaste. Your own laugh of euphoria rings in your ears.

“Juggie, you mushball.”

There’s an undeniable crime problem in Los Santos, an affluent city rife with thieves and bandits of all pedigrees, which isn’t in itself all that strange. What’s odd is the incredibly high number of unsolved crimes, of acts no one claims, ones that the LSPD can’t even begin to lay blame for. Even when committed in broad daylight, even when the police arrive on the scene in the middle of a heist, no one manages to catch more than unclear glimpses of the culprits, no bullets hit their marks, and when all is said and done there is somehow never any reliable evidence. No camera ever manages to catch a thing, no trap is ever successful, and never has a single witness managed a coherent report, like somehow none of them ever pay enough attention. Like somehow what they’ve seen can never be put into words.

Throw a stone and you’ll hit a crook in Los Santos, from thugs to conmen to masked killers they all call the city home, all know their place, yet somehow the balance of powers never really makes sense. Like something is missing, like everyone’s fighting to be second best while the title of top dog goes empty. Not that the reluctance to take charge is all that surprising, considering the way any crew which starts to grow big enough to extend their hold over the city is cut down. Driven out or found murdered, often laying in the remains of what was clearly a vicious shoot-out, though the killers are never found. Like vigilantes, only not nearly so altruistic; the spoils belonging to the defeated gangs are always taken, and only reappear at the scene of yet another unclaimed crime.



There’s a crew in Los Santos, so ingrained in the essence of the city itself no one seems to remember how things were before they arrived. The Fake AH Crew; legends in some circles, monsters in others, both consummate enigmas and borderline celebrities, the crew with the world at their feet. The main six players of the inner circle aren’t odd, exactly, each criminals of great renown but still holding pretty standard goals, greedy and bloodthirsty and perhaps more loyal than most but still acting well within their given standard of normalcy. They aren’t unusual, really, but these days they do have their little quirks.

As the leader Geoff has always had to present himself as reasonably level-headed, controlled outside the occasional snaps of frightful anger, a little overbearing in his need to dictate every plan maybe, but what criminal kingpin isn’t? What’s odd is the new fear kept behind closed doors, Geoff second-guessing his own ideas to a degree that is wholly out of character, running over plans again and again, pulling them apart and looking for flaws, debriefing even after successful missions when everyone else just wants to celebrate, unconsciously pressing his hand to his heart like reassurance that it’s still beating.

Jack drives like she’s made a deal with the devil, like every vehicle is just an extension of her being, inherent ability paired with unmatchable knowledge of every backroad and alley in the city. What’s odd is the nightmarish daydreams she gets sometimes, when she looks back at her latest baby and sees flickers of crunched metal and shattered glass, the phantom scent of spilled gasoline and the unmissable click-whoosh of catching flame.

For all his quick temper and flippant attitude Michael can be utterly pedantic about checking and rechecking the timers on bombs, which honestly isn’t an awful trait in the resident explosives guy. What’s odd is the way Michael gets angry about it sometimes, storms about the penthouse yanking out every last alarm clock, the way he swears he can still hear something ticking with furious intention, like the last seconds of a countdown.

He may be happier in a no-holds-barred fist-fight but nobody could say Jeremy isn’t good with a gun, an excellent shot with just about any weapon he can get his hands on. What’s odd is the little burst of panic he gets right after firefights, patting down his own chest, checking again and again like he can’t quite believe he wasn’t hit.

Ryan isn’t wracked by guilt, doesn’t regret what he does the way some might; he’s a killer and he owns it, he chose it, and it truly doesn’t bother him. What’s odd is the way he still can’t sleep, can’t close his eyes some nights when the darkness squeezes close and he feels so cold, like the depths of the ocean are pressing down on him, stealing the air from his lungs.

In terms of his own safety Gavin is as reckless as they come, all slapdash impulses and delighted disregard, chasing amusement at any cost when it’s only his own neck on the line. What’s odd is that sometimes Gavin walks around with a parachute strapped to his back and no intention of flying that day, utterly overzealous precaution without any real explanation as to why, like some part of him is always terrified that he’s going to fall.

Maybe the Fake’s know, on their worst days, that something isn’t quite right, something about them has gone awry, but the concern never lingers in the face of their unmatched success. Because a crew’s a crew, right? Maybe they’re a little luckier than most, maybe they’ve been unstoppable for so long it feels like no one else is really trying, like they are the merciless gods of their city. Maybe they catch themselves drifting sometimes, losing time or memories or thoughts or scars. Maybe they all know something is not quite right, a distant siren in the back of their minds begging them to pay attention, but surely it doesn’t mean anything.

You can romanticise it all you want, call them the scariest, the most dangerous, devastatingly talented in all the worst ways, but at the end of the day all humans are flawed and all crews will fall. Whether or not falling is enough to shake them from their throne is, however, a completely different issue. If a crew dies in the woods (the city, the sky, the sea), and nobody is brave enough to tell them, did it even happen? 



There’s an empty penthouse in Los Santos, one that cannot be sold, one no one likes to talk about, not really. What has been said is that the door sticks sometimes, cannot be opened no matter how much force is applied. What has been said is that things move around all on their own, new stains reveal themselves and furniture appears and disappears like someone’s been squatting, but the dust is too thick for anyone to have visited. What’s been said makes shivers run down spines, hair stand on edge, gives rise to furtive glances and shared discomfort, an unspoken agreement never to return.

Maybe this alone wouldn’t be such a problem, maybe owning the most prestigious penthouse in a city overrun by wealth would be enough to attract some sceptic, but there is of course the matter of the previous owners. The most despicable, untouchable, indelible criminal gang the city had ever seen. Has ever seen, even this long after their passing. They died, at some point. No one quite remembers when, or how, no one really seems to talk about them anymore, not beyond wild stories of their antics, amazing heists and unspeakable terrors fading off into silence, like they did in the end. How bizarre it is that the crime levels didn’t actually drop even after they were gone.



There’s something deeply wrong in Los Santos, something strange and unsettling, like a catastrophic event has knocked the whole city just slightly out of sync with the rest of the world. It’s in the way the LSPD have cabinet upon cabinet of unsolved crimes that never manage to make their way into reports, years of unacceptably unpunished offences that would bring the might of a federal investigation if only they were disclosed. In the way a startling amount of those offences resemble crimes from days long past, copycat plans following acts of a crew long buried, new targets hit with the same old flare, methods and motives impressively in-character down to the smallest details.

There are secrets in Los Santos. Things no one knows, things everyone knows, an awful, impossible, inescapable reality they’ve all been trapped within. It’s in the way unease builds and dissipates without cresting, citizens never quite recognising their own discomfort, never fully acknowledging the oddity of acting without reason, of crossing the street or averting their eyes, of taking the long way home simply because that one corner just didn’t feel right. In the way the city is beset by sudden inexplicable explosions, the way gunfire rattles without a source, the way empty streets echo with chilling laughter like the ghost of a memory, the phantom chill of a nightmare, the ceaseless loop of those who will not be laid to rest.

Stranger Boy - Montgomery de la Cruz x Reader

Request - “What about an imagine where the reader finds him really upset that he can’t control himself and admits he might need some help?? Love your writing!“

A/N: so i don’t know where this came from but it just happened as soon as I got that request??? And idk how I feel about it???

The halls were usually pretty quiet at this time of day. Most people had gone home, only last minute crammers and those who didn’t wish to go home, like you, remained. You’d just finished up at the library, pretending you were trying to fit any kind of information into your long term memory, but really reading whatever YA crap you could find on the shelves. Each of your feet plopped in front of the other matter-of-factly, moving as leisurely as possible. Despite hearing cleaners already at the school, you still slugged about. A distant sob-like noise from a nearby classroom alerted you. So, you being you, you decided to investigate.

The problem was, once you were there, it was already too late. In the corner of the classroom, slumped on the floor, was a crumpled looking figure, shaking with its hands held out in front. Really, you could leave. But you knew deep down that you couldn’t leave this poor person clearly in turmoil. As you edged closer you noticed the hands were bloodied. The shaking seemed to intensify the further into the room you moved. A stray floorboard creaked, and the head snapped up. The boy looked haggard, exhausted, but his youthful features lay beneath. The pretty green eyes which were now boring into you, glistened from tears that had been shed earlier on, and straight, neat eyebrows furrowed over at your presence. Despite you knowing this was probably what he looked like on a bad day, the boy was attractive. He wasn’t just ‘hot’, there was something about him which instantly drew you to him, and you just knew that you had to help him. Maybe it was fate.

Starting with a calm smile, you knelt near him, but not too close, giving him personal space.

"Hi. This is probably the most stupid question I could ask right now, but, are you okay?” You kept your voice low and gentle, despite the mental cringe at how stupid you sounded.

The boy scoffed, fuelling a pretty violent shake.
“You’re right. That’s fucking stupid.” His hands dripped a little, indicating to you that the blood must be fairly fresh.

You pulled your bag in front of you, and took out the first aid kit that you were mentally thanking your mother for making you carry.

“Do you have any allergies?” You asked, taking some antiseptic wipes. He simply shook his head, and his eyes told you that he was as grateful for the first aid kit as you were. You took one of his hands into your own, and began to gently clean it with the wipes. The boy winced at the sharp sensation and tensed underneath you, but eventually relaxed at your touch. With all the blood removed, you noticed the wounds were not as bad as they may have looked before.

“Punch a mirror or something?” You joked. He let out a short snicker, but shook his head.

“A person. And then that wall over there, a few times.” He glanced his eyes to the front of the classroom, where upon turning to face it you noticed the cracked paint and marks of blood. In the area was also a desk which had been knocked over. His jaw clenched tightly as you turned back to face him.

His silence wasn’t awkward, in fact, it was oddly comforting, and made your efforts at being a nice person a lot easier, since the human interaction was low.

After both hands were clean, you moved in with some soft bandage. You noticed him shut his eyes as you applied the bandage over his damaged knuckles.

“Looks like you throw a mean punch.” You joked again.

“Guess so.” He exhaled, head still rested on the wall behind him. The shaking you’d noticed when you’d first entered had slowed somewhat, it was still there, but much milder than previously.

“Why are you still at school?” He stayed in the same position, but he spoke almost as though he was trying to make you stay.

“Home sucks. The library here is well stocked - what can I say? What about you? Why you still here?” You edged a little closer to him, checking that your bandaging was secure.

His jaw clenched in response again. “I felt like hitting someone.” There was clear regret in his voice, and his rough words dripped with malice. You took the time while his eyes were shut to study his face more intensely. He had light freckles all over his face, clumping over his nose and under his eyes. His lashes were fairly long, and stuck together from previous tears.

The boy noticed that you had stopped and opened his eyes. Unlike ordinarily, you didn’t immediately defer your glance, but instead studied the shades and contours of his apple-green eyes. He did not avert his gaze either, studying your own eyes.

“I need help.” He stated.

“That’s why I bandaged-”

“No, serious help. There’s-” he threw his head into one hand, gripping at his forehead. You winced at how he was probably stretching his fresh wound. “There’s something really wrong with me.”

“There’s nothing *wrong* with you. It’s just a difference, and there’s nothing bad about getting support for that difference. Tell me what it is.”

“I don’t know what the fuck it is, but for some reason I trust you.” He nodded into your eyes. “It’s my temper. It blows at the smallest fuse and I end up hurting a lot of people.” He breathed.

“And walls, apparently.” You chuckled.

He snorted.

“Why am I telling you everything? Why didn’t I tell you to fuck off the minute you entered?” He wasn’t angry though, just confused.

“I’m not sure, but I’m glad you didn’t.” You risked taking his hand and gently smoothing his knuckles.

“And, even though we don’t know each other, I’m more than happy to help you find what you need to stop yourself feeling this way.”

You noticed that the shaking had completely stopped now. His eyes told yours thank you.

“I’m starting to think maybe you’re some kind of illusion here to put me on the right track.” His eyebrows furrowed again.

“Definitely real.” You squeezed his hand lightly. He squeezed back.

“You’d really help me get help? Even though we know nothing about each other?” Although you both knew the fact, the moment you had shared on this entirely random June day meant so much more to both of you.

“Help a stranger a day keeps the heartless away.”

“What’s your name?” He left his hand in yours and kept his eyes on you.

“Y/N L/N. It surprises me that I’ve never run into you before, but it is a pretty big school I guess.”

“I like your name.” He grunted as he shifted slightly.

“Thank you.” You grinned warmly.

“And I can’t thank you enough for being here and being the angel on my shoulder, letting me vent and decide what I need to do. It was something I needed to do by myself, but having you as some kind of visual representation of talking to myself was just what I needed.” He flashed a small smile, seeming to think deeply.

You smiled. “Any time.”

“My names Montgomery. Montgomery de la Cruz. But a lot of people call me Monty.”

Stupid Feelings (Part 3)

Originally posted by farous

Part one here    Part two here

Anon requests: Omggggg I looooooved stupid feelings!!! Will wait for part 3!!! Love your writiiing!!!

If I slip ya a twenty do you think you could make stupid feelings pt 3 but with a little bit happier twist ;) P.s. you don’t have to if you don’t want to, I’ll respect anything you do because you’re a wonderful writer

please do a part three of stupid feelings it’s so angsty it fuels my soul

Pairing: Jughead x Reader

Description: Based off of Taylor Swift’s “Clean”, (Y/N) goes through the healing process of losing a best friend.

Warnings: a lil angst

Word count: 934

A/N: This is the last part. sorry if you guys don’t get enough closure with this, but so far all of my other imagines / series have had happy endings, and although this isn’t exactly a sad ending, it’s not happily ever after and i’m very satisfied with it.  i hope you guys like it, enjoy!


The drought was the very worst

When the flowers that we’d grown together died of thirst

It was months, and months of back and forth

You’re still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can’t wear anymore

It had been months since I talked to Jughead. Although avoiding him was brutal, I knew that this was good for me.

The most painful part was not avoiding Jughead, but rather the sudden lack of his presence.  Over the course of a few months, we had formed a close bond, and then it was suddenly ripped apart.  It was like having a drought right after a heavy rainstorm.

Hung my head as I lost the war, and the sky turned black like a perfect storm

Rain came pouring down when I was drowning

That’s when I could finally breathe

And by morning gone was any trace of you,

I think I am finally clean

Healing is a process.  Every day I spent without Jughead was agonizing, but I kept repeating to myself that healing is a process.  I cannot heal if I return to the pain.

Did it hurt that I constantly saw Jughead with Betty?  Yes.  Was it painful to see them smiling and happy at Pop’s together?  Yes.  

There was nothing left to do

When the butterflies turned to dust that covered my whole room

So I punched a hole in the roof

Let the flood carry away all my pictures of you

Cheryl was scrolling through my camera roll on my phone when she suddenly stopped and sent me a distasteful look.

“Really, (Y/N)?” she asked, rolling her eyes as she showed me a picture on my phone. It was a selfie Jughead and I had taken together when we used to talk to each other.  “I thought you were getting over him?”

“I am,” I responded, snatching my phone out of her perfectly-manicured hand.  “I just wanted to keep this.  It’s my last picture of him.  The rest are deleted.”  She shook her head in disapproval.

“Delete it, honey,” she advised.  “It’s for the best.”

The water filled my lungs, I screamed so loud but no one heard a thing

Rain came pouring down when I was drowning

That’s when I could finally breathe

And by morning, gone was any trace of you,

I think I am finally clean

I think I am finally clean

Said I think I am finally clean

It was a rainy night, and I was locked in my room.  Tears would not stop rolling down my cheeks.

“This is pathetic,” I whispered to myself, gripping my blankets.  “Pull yourself together.”  Clenching my eyes closed, I tried to calm myself down.  “I’m over it, I’m over him.”

The next morning, I woke up with puffy eyes.  I examined my appearance in the mirror, rubbing my face in a helpless attempt to make it look like I wasn’t crying.

“Healing,” I muttered.  “I’m healing.”

 10 months sober, I must admit

Just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it

10 months older, I won’t give in

Now that I’m clean I’m never gonna risk it

Ten months. It had been ten months since I had spoken to Jughead.  I spotted him with Betty less and less.  Part of me wondered if something happened between the two of them, but then I also realized that maybe I just don’t care anymore.  Maybe I’ve finally moved on.

It was freeing, being healed.  I could walk down the hallways and look all his friends in the eyes.  I could talk to Veronica without sadness pressing down on my chest, I could wave at Archie in the hallways.

But I still could not return to Jughead.

He was still my source of pain, and even though I knew that my heart had healed, the pain would come rushing back if I started talking to Jughead again.

 The drought was the very worst

When the flowers that we’d grown together died of thirst

 Rain came pouring down when I was drowning

That’s when I could finally breathe

And by morning gone was any trace of you,

I think I am finally clean

Veronica and I became close friends, and soon I found myself being welcomed by her whole friend group.  She was aware of what happened between me and Jughead the previous year, so she made sure to keep him in the dark about our blossoming friendship.

I sat with her, Kevin, and Betty at lunch one day.  Betty had become my friend, and I found myself able to enjoy being in her presence without thinking about Jughead.  We were laughing about something when Archie approached us, Jughead following.  He stopped at our table, and we fell silent.  Jughead and I immediately locked eyes, and I knew I could not avoid this any longer.

Maybe I had it wrong.  Maybe avoiding Jughead wasn’t the best way for me to cope.  As I stared into his eyes, I realized that I was not fully healed until I could talk to him again.  Until I could look my once best friend into the eyes and greet him, I was not completely okay.  The corners of his lips tentatively twitched upwards, hesitant about whether or not it was okay to speak to me.  Before he could utter a greeting, I beat him to it.

“Hi, Jughead.”

 Rain came pouring down when I was drowning

That’s when I could finally breathe

And by morning gone was any trace of you

I think I am finally clean

Finally clean

Think I’m finally clean

Think I’m finally clean

anonymous asked:

Do you have any at-home workout routines to get in shape? I have limited time and energy but im also too weak to win in a fight against a nazi and id like to change that

1) Like we’ve said before, the overwhelming majority of antifascist work is not about getting into punchups with nazis; it’s about doing a thousand other things to protect communities targeted by bigots; it’s about building an authentic anti-fascist/anti-racist youth culture; and it’s about doing everything possible to fuck up fascists’ plans as much as we can.  So your physical condition should not be preventing you from doing 95% of the things that antifascists do day in/day out.

2) On the other hand, there’s nothing wrong with getting into shape and improving your physical condition.  Getting stronger and faster has myriad benefits for you, and not just in an antifa context!  See our previous post about getting into shape for some ideas about how to accomplish this.  But if you’re specifically looking for something to do at home,  try googling or searching on youtube for “home bodyweight workout beginners” and you’ll get a ton of results.  Here’s one example.  They’re all going to include some form of push-ups, squats, lunges, planks, and other exercises you can do at home with just yourself or maybe a few common household items.

You should aim to workout about every other day when you’re starting out.  Probably 45 minutes - an hour per session.  When you are starting with any program, focus in the beginning at getting your form right.  Proper form keeps you from hurting yourself and allows you to max out.  Write down what you do every time you workout, so you can track your progress.  The idea is to do a few more reps every time.

Being strong is great but don’t neglect cardio, either.  Put in some road work once or twice a week @ minimum.  As antifa found out in DC this weekend, nazis like Richard Spencer can run fast and for a long time when they’re being chased by the likes of us!

Get lots of sleep, drink lots of water, and make sure you’re getting enough protein (min. 1 gram per kg of body weight).  Maybe try to make small tweaks to your diet so you’re eating better generally while you’re at it.  Keep this up for just eight weeks and you’ll notice improvements, we promise!

Eventually, you might want to get a set of dumbbells for home use or start going to a gym.  If you go the dumbbell route, there are lots of dumbbell-based workouts on the intertubes you can do at home that will help you level up strength-wise.  If you can find a gym with strength training classes, ask to try out a class to see if you like the instructors and the class before signing up.

3) If you’re specifically trying to get in better shape so you are more physically able to defend yourself & others against nazis, we’d highly recommend taking a martial arts class regularly!  See our previous post about the kinds of martial arts training we think are most street-effective.  Most of these styles have the bonus effect of improving your cardio and getting you in better overall physical shape as well.  

Night talks

Peter Maximoff x Reader

Summary: Just one more sleepless night for two teenagers in a school full of mutants

Word count: 1,186

Warnings: None

A/N: Surprise surprise, it’s not a ski jumping imagine! It’s also the first one about Peter I wrote so I hope it went good.

For those who don’t know my blog – I hope you’ll like this imagine, and if you do, please leave a note, it means a lot. Really, a lot. Also sorry for the mistakes, English is not my native language.

For those who know it already – I never planned to write only about ski jumpers, but it doesn’t mean I’ll stop writing about them. Feel free to request anything and I’ll try to do my best!

Originally posted by imaginecabin

Jean’s clock, almost unable to be heard during the day, now was resounding loudly in your shared room. It wasn’t, of course, disturbing her, she was sleeping for a few hours already. But it was annoying you more and more with every single tick and tock.

After a few more minutes, you slid your legs out of bed and put on your trainers. You got up quietly and reached for the hoodie hanging on the chair. Then you opened the door and walked out of the room, trying not to wake your friend up. You slowly started to walk through the corridor. During the day, X-mansion was always full of life. A building full of teenagers with amazing powers couldn’t be calm. There was always something happening, even the lessons weren’t boring. You liked this school. It was the first place you didn’t feel different in. In your previous schools you were always the weird one. People were afraid of you, you were actually afraid of yourself as well. You didn’t understand your powers or how to control them, so you tried to hide them. You thought you will never find a place to feel good in, until you’ve met Xavier. He told you that there was nothing wrong with you and brought you to his school. And from the first day, you felt that it really was your home. Mainly because of all the people you’ve met here. Jean, Scott, Jubilee, Kurt… Peter. Yeah, you could say that Peter was one of the main reasons. Since the moment you’ve met him, you knew that you’ll fall for him. Really, really hard. There were no butterflies, fireworks or anything that time. It was on your first day here, you were walking with Jean and she was showing you the school, when you saw a boy with silver hair at the end of the corridor. He was smiling and waving to you enthusiastically, and a second later you felt a blast of air next to you. It was really unexpected, and you would fell on your back if he hadn’t caught your hand, helping you to catch the balance again.

“Peter, you can’t just suddenly show up next to people like that, you’ll hurt someone one day” Jean rolled her eyes.

“Yeah, whatever” silver boy smiled and shook your hand, which he was still holding in his. “Peter Maximoff, also known as the Amazing, Wonderful and Unique Quicksilver. You are the new one, right?” he asked. And that was pretty much how it started.

You smiled to yourself when you thought about that moment. You and Peter got really close to each other since then, but you still didn’t know if he liked you back. And you were afraid to ask, so you didn’t.

You raised your head up. You were walking around the corridors without paying attention to where you were, so it took you a few seconds to recognize the place. You were next to a kind-of-living room, a room with a couch and some armchairs, where the students could rest after the lessons. You entered the room and walked to the armchair next to the window, the one you were always sitting in. From the window you could see a beautiful view of the park outside the school, and it was always helping you to focus and calm down.

“Y/N?” you heard suddenly and jumped, turning around scared.

“Oh my god, Peter” you sighed, placing your hand on your chest, feeling your heart beating fast. “You scared me”

“Yeah, sorry” he said, but without his usual smirk. He wasn’t generally looking as usual. More… calmly. Without his goggles on, sitting on the couch quietly. You sat next to him and two of you just looked out of the window, without saying anything for a while.

“Why aren’t you sleeping?” he broke the silence after a few minutes.

“I can’t. Insomnia or something. Nights like this just happen sometimes” you answered and he nodded his head.

“It sucks”

“Yeah, it does. Same with you?” Peter ran through his hair with his hand and sighed.

“Not really. It’s not like I can’t sleep. I just… don’t want to” you frowned, not really understanding what he was saying.

“Why?” he shrugged his arms.

“Nightmares, I guess?”

“Oh. I am not really good at comforting people, but… do you want to talk about it or something?” you asked, turning your sight at him. You couldn’t tell why, but it was something so miserable in him. Maybe that was this unusual thing that you noticed at the beginning. His hair seemed more gray than silver, and eyes lost their happy sparkles. You felt a need to hug him really tight, but you didn’t know if that was what he needed, so you stopped yourself. “You know, I am not just talking about now. I mean in general, if you ever need to talk with someone, you can come to me. Even when there is nothing I can do, even if I am useless, I am here”.

“You’re not useless” he said. “You are actually very important, even when you don’t notice this” you felt a warm feeling inside. So he appreciated you. “Really, sometimes I feel like you are the only permanent thing in this whole mess that I call my life. And I am sorry that I don’t tell you that as many times as you deserve it” you were a little surprised by these honest words. They were so much different from the words you’ve usually heard Peter say. From the jokes, sarcastic comments or singing. But yeah, it was honest. You felt that.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for” you answered. Peter didn’t say anything and the two of you just sat there in silence. But it wasn’t awkward. There was just nothing more to add. It was the first time you saw Peter so quiet and calm, and you were glad that you did. He was always so happy, running everywhere, talking to everyone, laughing all the time. Seeing him like this made a huge difference, but you also felt kind of… relieved? You didn’t know how much that happy side of Peter was worrying you until now. He never seemed serious about anything, it was even strange. And the way he looked and behaved now… It was heartbreaking to see him this way, but it also made him look more like a real person to you.

A clock on the wall showed 3:43 in the morning, when Peter slowly placed his head on your arm. It made you turn your eyes from the point on the wall you were staring at for probably past half an hour. You looked at his face. He still seemed calm, but not in a worried way like before. No, now he looked just peaceful.

“You said that it is nothing, but you being here is pretty much all I need” he whispered with a sleepy voice. “So if you could just stay…”

“I will” you answered, gently running through his hair with your fingers. “I am here, Peter”.

Listen.

I start my new job today March 27th, 2017 after wrongful termination from my previous job March 1st, 2017. I went through something very traumatic, I had never lost a job before. Not only that, I had never had to make sure I could pay my bills and slip by on skipping out on meals or so. Never before. I struggled night and day trying to find a profession. I had numerous interviews, I had no luck in call backs that were good news. I was defeated and disappointed because now I needed a job, instead of just wanting one for my own income. I have bills to manage and keep up with. I didn’t have a choice to be lazy. Thankfully I am not out on my own, my parents kept telling me to take it easy but me being myself, that wasn’t happening.
I kept that job on my resume to prove I had experience in jobs I was applying for and despite the wrongful termination, I allowed those jobs to contact for proof of work experience. This was a life lesson for me; anything at any point can happen. Your parents and teachers inform you of that throughout your entire life, but they don’t discuss how realistic it is in adulthood when you not only can “expect the unexpected” but you can damn well sure to be terrified when the “unexpected” could very well send you into mental breakdowns. On my resume I had certification for the jobs I was applying for, hours I put into making damn sure I could use those later in life for these purposes. I was rejected. Because Susan was fifty with twenty years of experience while I was twenty with four years of experience. Of course with odds like that you’re going to lose. And that breaks your heart, how could you lose like that? So once again, I was defeated. Then I ran across this post that @kimreesesdaughter posted about how to finesse an interview and how to “bone up” on your resume. It was a blessing because I took the advice. On that same post @dickprintbandit commented telling people she could finesse resumes and fix them up for you. I decided that I needed some help, so I called to her. She not only fixed my resume for me, she gave me life tips and pointers for even if you have all the experience in the world, an employer will still doubt your abilities. I didn’t lose hope thanks to her. She fixed my resume, made it more than just professional and presentable, she made it my own and it is heart warming to inform people of this, of how she helped me land the best job I get to start today. My dream job.
If you’re struggling with a resume or how to finesse an interview I highly recommend @dickprintbandit because she was more than a blessing for me, she became a long time friend. She will make your resume the experience they are looking for and will boost your confidence with it too. She does them for no cost, although I say give her a follow and a shoutout once she turns your life around for you. My resume helped land me a job before the month ended, meaning I can continue my career without a break in cycle. I can pay my bills and also have fun at my new job and my world is coming back together again thanks to her help. I cannot say thank you enough to her.
She’s also a great listener and has wonderful advice. Please consider her if you need help, she’s quite a joy.

The New Princess - chapter 11

Pairing: Dean x reader, modern prince!Dean AU

Summary: You look exactly like the princess of Genieve who is promised to marry the prince of your country, Prince Dean. But what happens if the princess doesn’t want to marry him and meets you, her look-a-like?

Words: 4100ish… This got out of hand, but I did have something to make up for.

Warnings: nada

A/N: Hiya friends! The series is back and I hope this time without a 3 month break. In this time I reached 1300 followers (like what? You guys are insane!) so consider this extra long chapter as a celebration and as an apology for my awful timing skills. I hope you enjoy this one and make sure to leave a like and a comment if you liked this chapter! Love y’all!

Previous chapter    |    The New Princess Masterlist


Originally posted by green-circles


The double doors creaked as Jo pushed against the wood, tiptoeing into Ellie’s bedroom, followed closely by Charlie. You hadn’t answered either of their calls, their attempts to wake you up being met by silence. Both of them were getting worried something was wrong. Maybe you had left, tired of this whole circus. What they didn’t expect was the sight before them. There you were, sprawled out across the mattress, fast asleep, still fully clothed.

“Jesus, Y/N, what happened?” the blonde shrieked when she came to a halt at the foot of the kingsize bed.

At her outburst you woke up, only now registering their presence in the room. “Shut up,” you grumbled into your pillow. Your new friends kept whispering back and forward rather loudly, prompting you to throw a cushion in their general direction.

“That was uncalled for,” Charlie replied and she catapulted the object right back at you. An irritated sigh left your lips as you sat up straight. The bright light of the early morning blinded you and you blinked a couple of times, your vision clearing up. You felt disoriented, the gears in your head spinning, searching for memories of yesterday evening and how you had gotten into bed.

That’s when your gaze landed on your body, clothes still on. “Why am I still in my clothes?” Charlie snickered at the frown forming on your face. “Ugh, and what’s that smell?” you questioned until it clicked in your head. “Oh wait, that’s me.” Both of your friends burst out laughing at the disgust written in your features, their shoulders shaking uncontrollably.

Keep reading

;))))

An unamused look crossed Jensen’s face as he stood on stage doing his solo panel. He was acting as if he was in a playful, grumpy mood; however you knew better. Jay had been off most of the weekend, his mind was with Jared back in Austin.

You didn’t blame him, you were worried about Jared too. When he had first told you and Jensen that he was canceling his appearance at jibcon you both had offered to stay behind with him. Jared wouldn’t let you though, he insisted that you two go and make sure that the fans had a good time. You and Jensen reluctantly agreed but the entire weekend felt off. This was the first convention that you and Jensen were doing without Jared and it just felt wrong.

Jensen was trying his hardest to be present with the fans but occasionally his mind would wander or you could tell when something that normally wouldn’t bother him began to get on his nerves.

He had told you the previous night that he might need you to come “crash” his panel so you were standing around backstage just in case he needed you. About fifteen minutes into the panel you decided the time was right and that you would rather interrupt the panel then let Jensen struggle to keep his panel fun like he normally did.

Looking at the screen one last time you took the unhappy look on Jensen’s face as he ran his tongue over his teeth as the sign to hop on stage. Grabbing a mic from one of the convention planners you opened the curtain before you jumped onto the stage shouting “Jensen!”

Jensen jumped at your sudden appearance and shouting but a fond smile crossed his lips as you realized you were there to help him get through the panel.

“What’re you doing here?” He asked in mock anger as he crossed his arms and walked towards you.

Shrugging your shoulders you smirked at him, “I was bored and figured I’d come make your panel even better by gracing it with my presence. Hope you guys don’t mind.” You asked the audience.

As the audience cheered back at you Jensen threw his arm over your shoulder, “Fine, I guess you can stay.” He spoke into the mic. The audience cheered once more at his words as Jensen let out a laugh before giving you a full hug, “Thanks kiddo.” He whispered in your ear.

You squeezed him as you heard his words and whispered back to him, “It’s what I’m here for.”

“And Then She Ran” Daryl Dixon

Words: 2,023

Summary: After Daryl’s daughter dies, he finds her diary and learns more about her than he wanted.

Warnings: This is dark. Death, some swear words, angst

A/N lol I cried writing this

Link to part 2 here!

-

Daryl can still remember his daughter’s death like it was yesterday.

It was her on her eighteenth birthday. Daryl, not one to show his emotions, had gone out of his comfort zone that day to make sure it was a special one. He’d had Carol over to cook her favorite breakfast (at least, her favorite out of the few options they had), and while on a previous run, he found her a beautiful diamond necklace in a house that was still in good shape. He managed to find some paper to cover it with. He had everything ready to go. It was not often that she got to feel like she was special.

They had a fight that day. This was not just any normal fight, not like the ones that they usually had. And they had fights often. This fight was different.

Everyone had noticed that she had been acting differently lately. Nobody brought it up with her, but everyone knew something was wrong. Daryl was the last one to catch on, and when he finally convinced her to tell him what was going on… It turned into the worst fight they’d ever had.

She had run off after that fight, but Daryl didn’t pay any mind to that. She had a habit of “running away” for a few hours. The first few times she did that, Daryl freaked out. He looked for her up and down until the minute she came home. Usually she came home drunk, which would just piss Daryl off more, but at least she was ok. So after a few times of her pulling that act, Daryl stopped worrying.

“She’ll be back soon.” Daryl told himself that day, not bothering to run after her.

She didn’t come back. As a matter of fact, she never came back. A few days after her disappearance, Rick, Daryl, and Glenn went out looking for her. In her place, they saw something they wish they never saw.

She was dead. She was a walker.

Daryl broke down after that, crying harder than he had in his entire life. He just lost his little girl. When he got back to their house later that night, he grabbed the necklace and threw it out the window, sobbing.

It took Daryl a while to be okay after that. In reality, he knew he’d never be okay, but he was okay enough to move on. It took almost a year before he could even go into her room again. It smelled like her; he could almost feel her presence in there. That was comforting for the first few days, until he realized he was never getting her back. She was gone.

-

This was the first time he’d been in your room since that night. Daryl took in the surroundings- it was a mess in here.

‘She was definitely not a tidy person.” Daryl thought to himself, laughing softly. He sat on the bed, taking a deep breath.

“I shouldn’t be in here.” He said out loud to himself, getting up to leave. But something stopped him. He noticed a notebook nudged in between the mattress and the floor. Hesitating, he picked it up and opened it to the first page.

‘I’d been caught with Carl more times than you could imagine.

At first it wasn’t anyone important catching us, only people like Maggie or Glenn who I knew wouldn’t say anything. Then, Rick found out. Rick was pissed, and told Carl to stay away from me.   “She’s too much trouble, Carl. Don’t get involved with her.” Rick had told him. I know he doesn’t like me. He only tolerates me because I’m his best friend’s daughter. I know he’d kick me out of the group if he could. So when he promised me that he wouldn’t tell my dad if we stopped while we were ahead, I agreed. I cried, and told him I’d keep it friendly between the two of us.

Carl didn’t listen. I didn’t either. I just played it up so he wouldn’t tell my dad. We just found other places to sneak around to and have sex.

But, oh boy. The look on my dad’s face that day when he saw me on top of Carl, clothes scattered everywhere. I hadn’t seen him scream that loud at anyone in his life. Daryl Dixon is not a man to piss off. I don’t know how often I’ll be able to write in this but I’ll try to as much as possible. Don’t exactly get too much free time around here.’

Daryl knew he shouldn’t be reading his daughter’s diary, but he couldn’t stop himself. Despite the conditions of the world forcing them to be together all the time, he knew absolutely nothing about his daughter except that she and Carl were together and that she was good with a gun.

A part of him knew it didn’t matter anymore. She was dead.

He turned to the next entry.

My dad is keeping me on a leash now. He’s mad at me. I don’t care. Carl’s the only person that genuinely makes me happy. My dad doesn’t make me happy. He just wants to control me.

I know this put a damper in his friendship with Rick. Rick’s saying it’s all my fault because I’m a bad influence. My dad stood up for me, but I know deep down he agrees. I’m a “problem child.” I have attitude. I’m dramatic. I like to venture out on my own and go explore, sometimes bringing Carl with me so we can have alone time.

I know my dad wishes he had a better daughter. Sometimes I wish I was. Sometimes I wish I wasn’t born, and that my mom gave birth to a different kid. A kid that wasn’t me. I bet my dad would love that. He hates me.

My 18th birthday is in two weeks. I don’t know if legalities matter anymore in this world, but I’ll be an adult. I want to be treated like one. I want off this leash. I want to be allowed to be with Carl without being told no.

I won’t stop seeing him.’

The more Daryl read that, the more his heart broke. He never knew that she thought he didn’t care. Tears starting forming in his eyes, but he wiped them away quickly. He refuses to cry about anything anymore.

‘I’m sick. I can’t stop throwing up everywhere. It’s odd, because I feel fine other than when it just hits me out of nowhere, and no one else is sick beside me.

I refuse to even think about the other option. I’m sick, that’s all.

I got to kill a lot of walkers today. I haven’t got to do that in a while. It felt nice to hold a gun again. Carl is sweet with me. He’s always making sure I’m okay, being protective and all. He loves me, he told me that today. I think I love him too.’

Daryl didn’t know Carl and her were that serious. He thought they were just hormonal teenagers, doing things that teenagers done. He didn’t know there was feelings there. That was an odd thing for Daryl to imagine, love. He hadn’t ever felt it for a girl that wasn’t family.

‘It’s confirmed. I’m pregnant. I did something to piss off my dad, so then it would start a fight, and I ran off without him trying to find me. If I ran off without a reason he’d be suspicious.

I found the tests in the town over. It wasn’t a long walk, but the coldness was getting to me. I ran home, and hid the box in my coat.

My dad didn’t even look at me as I walked past him.

I don’t know how I’m going to tell Carl. God, how am I going to tell anyone? My dad? Rick? I don’t understand how this happened. He pulled out every time. We didn’t use condoms, they’re not exactly easy for either of us to obtain, but I thought pulling out worked, too. I guess I was wrong.

I suppose I didn’t really have anyone to teach me this stuff.

I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing. I’m sitting here writing in a diary like a little girl for God’s sake.’

Tears spilling, Daryl slammed the diary shut. He couldn’t read anymore. He stormed off the bed, and punches the wall near him.

“Daryl?” Rick appeared. Daryl turned his body to face him, ready to break at any moment.

“She thought I hated her.” Daryl says slowly, trying to keep his voice from cracking.

“I doubt she thought you hated her. She knew you loved her. You wouldn’t have gotten so protective of her if you didn’t love her.”

“Rick, I foun’ her diary… I shouldn’t have read it, but I did. She said she wished she wasn’t born because she thought she wasn’t a good enough daughter for me.”

Rick could see the man in front of him, broken to pieces. He felt for him.

“I’m going to finish reading it, I think.” Daryl said after a few moments of silence. Rick took that a que that he wanted to be left alone, and made his way out of the room.

Daryl’s hands shook as he reached for the small, brown notebook once more. Turning it to the last entry she made, he took a deep breath and continued reading.

‘I told Carl.

He took it okay. We were in the middle of eating breakfast that Carol had made for the group when I pulled him outside to talk. He was mostly freaked out. I don’t know if he was more freaked out at the fact that he was going to be a father, or the fact that he would have to tell HIS father. But in the end, he knew his father would be supporting regardless. He gave me a real big kiss and told me we would get through this together.  

I told him I didn’t want to tell anyone until I told my dad first. I’m telling him today. It’s my birthday. I figured it’s as good of a day as any to tell him.

I found the necklace he got me. The paper he had it all wrapped in was torn and it was falling out. It was beautiful. I’ve never seen anything to beautiful in my life. I don’t think my dad’s ever gotten me a gift. It makes me happy. Not because its material, but because it’s meaningful. I don’t get attention from him like this. It makes me want to cry.

Stupid pregnancy. Makes me emotional.

I can’t wait for him to give it to me. I feel like maybe it’s his idea of trying to open up to me. If he’s willing, I’m willing.

I have this idea that if my baby turns out to be a girl, I want to give the necklace to her when she gets older. I want to keep it in the family. If we live long enough for that.

I love this baby so much already. I’d do anything for him or her, I can already feel it.

I’m going to tell him whenever he gets back from doing whatever he’s doing. I know he’s going to kill me. I’m getting anxiety about telling him. I considered just not telling him at all, letting him figure out on his own that he’s going to be a grandfather. But I need to tell him. I’ll write in this later and-“

It stops mid-sentence, not continuing. Daryl notices stains on the side of the paper, a puke-ish color, like she got sick while writing that and forgot about it.

He slowly closes the journal, mind numb. He knew the rest of the story.

-

He had home early from checking out a possible un-scavenged pharmacy with Glenn when he saw her sitting outside, deep in thought.

“How did it go?” She had asked him, attempting to build up a conversation with him before dropping the bomb.

“Overrun by walkers, but mostly un-touched. Rick’s sending in a team tomorrow to clear the place out.”

“Awesome,” She had said blankly.

“Look, I know we’re not the perfect example of a father daughter relationship, but if somethings wrong I need you to tell me.” Daryl told her, taking a seat next to her.

“Dad, I’m pregnant.”

Daryl looked over at her in shock. Her eyes were rimmed with tears, and her stomach felt nauseous, although she wasn’t sure if that was from more morning sickness or the anticipation of waiting for his response.

“You’re jokin’, right?” He looked at her dead in the eye. All she could do was stare at him.

“Fuck.” He cursed, getting up from next to her. “How could you do that? What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s not like we wanted this, dad!” She was angry.

“I’m gonna kill him. I’m gonna rip his head off.” Daryl was fuming.

“Dad, please-“

“God, I don’ understand, why couldn’t you have just been a good kid? Why do you gotta run around causin’ problems for everyone. I shouldn’t even be surprised.”

He had hit a nerve. She looked at him, no response. He looked at her one last time before storming into the house, slamming the door shut.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you.” She talked to her baby, rubbing her stomach. She was so angry that she forgot to grab her gun.

And then she ran.

They didn’t realize it at the time, but there were much more crucial parts of yourself than your dignity, bravery, fear. There was more a person could offer than sentimental trinkets, hours of memory, et cetera. They didn’t realize until it was already gone.

The Others often offered deals, shortcuts, for a price, and that’s how they found themselves at the entrance to the tunnels. They were shaking, trembling. When they spoke to the creature, their voice shook and wavered. No part of their body was still, a sharp contrast to the surrounding trees and silence of the woods. They had made a deal, they explained to it, a deal that they hadn’t intended. In exchange for what? They had wanted answers. They had wanted explanations, reasons for the rules and traditions of the school, like “why must we carry iron? why will salt keep you safe? what happened to my roommate last week, when she went missing for three days and came back changed?” They wanted answers, and they got them. In exchange, the Gentry had taken their eye.

In truth, it was a bit more complicated than that, but they were only a freshman, and had done stupid things (most freshmen do, especially at Elsewhere). Anyways, they explained all this to the creature in front of them, whose form warped and shifted the more they looked at it.

“Why, then, do you come to me?” The creature asked.

“I wish to have my sight back. I am an artist, and I must make art. My vision is a part of me I cannot live without, and so I beseech you, consider my offer.” They said. They were controlling their voice intently, but couldn’t mask the edge of desperation. To the creature, it tasted delicious.

Its antlers dipped slightly, then glitched out of existence. One of its cloven hooves left a gouge in the soft dirt. “And what are you offering in return?”

They took a deep breath, and told the creature.

The deal was sealed.

______________________________________________________________________________

They woke up the next morning in their dorm, their roommate looking at them with her too-wide eyes. They didn’t remember much about the previous night, only the desperation and fear and a dawning feeling of something going very, very wrong. Their roommate asked them where they had been. The lie stuck in their throat. They couldn’t choke it out. It tasted like iron.

“I made a deal,” they settled on. A truth, but one devoid of explanation.

“A deal?” she echoed, “what kind of deal?” They ignored her. Art classes started in thirty minutes, and they hoped to grab some food before arriving in the studio. Their roommate stared, then continued. “Don’t forget your iron. If you insist on being foolish, at least do it with the proper precautions. I know you didn’t have any in your bag last night.”

They reached out towards their small pile of assorted nails and gear and Victorian-style skeleton keys, intending to put them in their side pocket, but when their skin touched the metal, it burned. Hissing, they brought their fingertips to their mouth. Their roommate continued staring.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, they wanted to say, I don’t know what happened last night, I don’t know what deal I made, I don’t know what I offered in return.

“I just wanted my sight back.” they offered, as a way of explanation. True.

“I got what I wanted, I got my vision, everything happened the way I thought it would.” True.

I have everything under control. A lie.

How were they supposed to know that your humanity is something you could bargain away?

[x]

Jigsaw puzzles

Gif’s not mine!

Fandom: Marvel
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Genres: mild angst, romance, fluff
Words: 2.218
Summary: Reader finds Bucky in her flat one day. He asks her to let him stay and she agrees. The two of them help each other from that day on - requested by Anonymous

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2

Neha: So, no one is going to talk about the elephant in the room?

Random Guy: The random yellow glowing, right?

Neha: Well I was going to talk about you hat mask thing…. but glowing yellow is weird too now that you mention it… so what is that mask hat thing?

Random Guy: What mask hat thing? This is my face, I have nothing on it…. are you saying there’s something wrong with my face?

Neha: Oh no… I thought that metal things was… Well you see… I’ll just drink this drink instead. 


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