things that no longer last

I woke up just to spiral in my rage at the flash. I no longer can support this show or WA, Iris deserves better than being placed in front of the murderer who wanted to kill her, thought he killed her, and then tried to kill her again, only to comfort him. Iris deserves better than a man who has not done one heroic thing this entire season, has watched his friends and family pay for his mistakes, only to show no guilt whatsoever over the shit he pulled (literally thinks he gets his happy ending until the speed force comes to drag his ass away). Iris (and Cisco, Wally, Caitlin) deserves better writers that don’t trash her entire life so Barry can make her problems about him.

I’ve seen DCTV pull some shit, but it doesn’t compare to this past season of garbage that has people believing that a white man saving his black fiancée is progressive. You know what’s progressive? Black woman gets to fight for her future. Black woman gets to call out her white fiancé. Black woman is the center of the storyline where she dies. Black woman gets to be rightfully angry, rightfully scared, rightfully hurt that there is a part of her fiancé that would happily kill her to save his own ass.

Iris West was reduced to a fucking racist, sexist trope and shell of a person who existed so the burnt rubber that is the hero could sleep at night knowing he hadn’t killed anyone (on purpose). Because at the end of the day, it’s better to preserve the morality of the white hero, and toss out “white hero does everything to save the black woman” that seemed sooo progressive in the first place. Iris West deserves FUCKING BETTER.

The thing you have to understand about deep sadness is – it’s a form of pain. It’s emotional pain and it is just as real and just as detrimental as physical pain, except that it’s harder to treat and it often lasts longer.
It’s one of those things that you can so easily fall into and never climb out of. It traps you, it isolates you… and people don’t understand it. They try… but they get frustrated or hurt when they don’t seem to make a difference after a while. For some reason physical pain is far more accepted by other people because there’s often evidence of it they can physically see like a wound or a scar, whereas emotional pain is looked upon as self-indulgent or just a plain old negative attitude.
I wish it was something people could see so they could understand it better… It would be so much easier if that heaviness you feel was a physical thing, like literal baggage you had to carry around with you instead of just the emotional kind… Because if it was something sizable that physically weighed you down, people could understand why it’s so hard to get out of bed in the morning.
It would be so much easier if sadness caused your face to dry out and go brittle… just so it would crack and bleed whenever you smiled. Perhaps then people would see how much it hurts when everyone else around you to laughs and smiles and you feel you have to as well so you can fit in.
Or perhaps if sadness caused your eyesight to darken and happiness was a blinding light that burnt your eyes if you suffered from it, people would understand why we so often look away or avoid happy people altogether.
But it’s one of those things nobody can see and you can never put into words for anybody else to understand but you – and that is precisely why it is so isolating. Sometimes the most helpful and understanding thing somebody can do for you is simply accept that you suffer from something they can’t understand, and not expect more than you’re capable of. I know that without physical evidence, deep sadness is difficult to understand… but acceptance is just as helpful. To know that how you’re feeling is accepted by somebody – even if they don’t understand it – takes away that constant pressure to pretend to be how you think people want you to be so you can focus your energy into healing at your own pace.

highfunctioningfangirl  asked:

Can you do one for INTJ ravenclaws please?

Thanks for the ask! Hope this is accurate <3

- Tons of house pride because they love being nerdy as hell

- Total smart aleck to talks back to professors (but only when they need to be corrected!!)

- Reads tons of books to be as knowledgeable as possible (and to sound smart)

- Amazing strategist who always thinks on their feet

- Wins wizarding chess every. single. time.

- Constantly questions social norms that make no logical sense to them:

- “Why do we still use quills in this school?? It’s the 21st century?? Buy some pens??” “But it’s tradition!” “Well the tradition is stupid”

- Butts heads with ambitious Slytherins for titles like Head Boy/Girl (but being Ravenclaw makes them way more creative and capable shhh)

- Can be a little arrogant and elitist when it comes to intelligence

- “I would definitely be the captain of the Quidditch team if I had any interest in sports.”

- Hates abused authority and rules that make no sense because why????

- If you’re friends with/dating them they will be analyzing your every move, 24/7. Watch ya back

- Somehow simultaneously rejects the idea of exams but really wants to ace them

- They claim to be above it all, but when exam season rolls around, they study and work harder than anyone 

- Cynic about eveRYTHING

- Darkest sense of humor and amazing wit, does not hold back

- Thinks parties are stupid and stays in their dorm practicing chess while everyone dances in the Ravenclaw common room

- But when they’re with a few friends, they’re not afraid to get DOWN

- Will tell you what they think no matter what, so go to them if you need honesty

- Probably runs an opinion blog about the goings-on of Hogwarts because their opinions must be correct 

- Don’t talk down to them, because they will come back at ya with FORCE

Send me an ask requesting headcanons/aesthetics!

Saeyoung and MC visited her parents’ house to find her mom’s scrapbook filled with her baby photos and all that cute embarrassing stuff. 

Saeyoung demanded (with the help of her mom, of course) that mc need to tell every story lies behind each of them ❤

Favorite Writing Things: Seven Year Pens

From time to time I wanted to share a few of my favorite writing-related products.  The top item on my list is, without a doubt, the Seven Year Pen from Seltzer Goods. 

I bought my first Seven Year Pen from a book store a little over three years ago with the promise that this pen is supposed to have 7 years worth of ink. I was skeptical. As someone who writes in a notebook every single day, I go through a lot of pens. I have seen favorite pens run dry more times than I can count. I’ve tried refilling some, but more often than not, it isn’t worth the effort. So buying this pen, I figured if it even lasts a year, it’s worth it. (Now, keep in mind, I was coming off a gel pen kick where I was going through a new pen every 3 days to a week. I’ve switched to ballpoint pens just because they last longer.)

Three years later, it’s my favorite pen and even more, it’s lasted three years. Over the past few years, I’ve collected more than a few of these pens, in part because I liked the first one so much and I’m in the habit of misplacing things regularly, but I can say, it’s lasted longer than any pen I’ve ever used and it writes so well. It’s durable, cute, and comfortable to grip. As far as writing with it, it works just about as nicely as any regular pen does. It just works for significantly longer, which is really fantastic. 

To date, I haven’t replaced the ink in the pen I bought three years ago. It’s the one pen I use most, and while it doesn’t look quite as bright and shiny as the day I bought it, it’s traveled with me across the country, out of the country, gotten thrown in purses, suitcases, backpacks. The design on it is a little faded, but it works like new and that’s all that’s mattered to me.

Now more often, I buy these pens as gifts (or really, something to throw on top of a gift or go with a nice journal). They’re cute, durable, and they last. No joke, this is my top recommendation for any writer. 

Pens shown above:  Unicorn Pen  |  Whale Pen  |   Lightning Bolt Pen  |   Note to Self Pen 

Overwatch fic: The catdads and that time they met up with McCree after the Fall.

Remember when I said I was writing this, a year and a day ago?  No warnings.  The cut is just for length.
Jesse’s clients showed him the documentation on his targets before he took the job, and it’s pretty clear he’s after a real pair of desperadoes.  These two have left a trail of bodies, theft, and occasional devastation in their wake from one hemisphere to the other, and he reckons it’s about time someone put a stop to it.

When they nail him in an ambush, he realizes that someone’ll have to be someone else.

His arms get pinned from behind by a grip that feels like a bear’s, claws and all.  The other one drops down in front of him from an awning three stories up and then uncoils from his crouch like he’s made of shock absorbers.  “Jesse McCree,” that one says in a low growl of a voice.  Grand, being recognized always goes so well for him. “You look like a werewolf, kid.”

The man holding him laughs.  It sounds beyond rough, almost inhuman, and kinda smug.  Jesse knows it well.  He’s heard that insult more than a few times, too.

“Well, damn,” he says faintly as the shock sets in.  

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SCOTT & MITCH are professional singers. 



They are trendsetters and tastemakers.

They are creators. Comedians. Writers. Producers.

They are artists in every way it means to be an artist.

Always inspired. Inspiring.


And yet sometimes exhausted.

Occasionally damaged.

Less occasionally, broken.


There are long flights. There is sickness.



A work day once lasted 8 hours.

It now lasts 8 weeks. It now spans 35 cities. In multiple countries.

On multiple continents.


Families. Friends. Lovers.

They are all far away.

Not always just one flight. Hardly ever just one day.

Birthdays are missed.

Thanksgivings and Christmases are compromised.

Relationships are compromised.


Relatives pass away.

Friends give birth.

Life goes on. Work goes on.




SCOTT & MITCH are award-winning singers and composers.

They are platinum-selling, globally recognized recording artists.

They write songs that they perform in front of many thousands of fans.



They create content in purposeful and impressive quantity and quality. It doesn’t only entertain.

It motivates.

It inspires.


There is laughter on long flights.

There is empathy through sickness.

A calming counterpart through anxiety.

Consolation and hope through depression.

There was once a notion that work was what you did between sleep and fun and now work is the thing you share with your best friend.

And a work day no longer lasts 8 hours.

Sometimes it lasts 8 weeks.

And spans 35 cities.

Occasionally in multiple countries.

On multiple continents.





They are all far away, but no one is ever closer than your best friend. Never more than one hotel room away.

One bunk on the tour bus.

One armrest on the airplane.

Birthdays are never spent alone.

Relationships end and they are mourned together.

Relatives pass away and you cry on your best friend’s shoulder.

You share photos of your friends’ children.

New nieces and nephews.





You are homesick together and together you always feel at home.

September, 1977

Racism Trigger Warning

@ask-the-deadman @baileytsample @milevenge @upside-nwod

To six-year-old Lucas Sinclair, a year was an eternity.  And that was more true than ever as he sat around the kitchen island, the smell of grilled cheese filling the room and Mike’s excited chattering overpowering the sizzle from the stovetop.

It had been only a year since he’d met his friend and he already knew Mike’s every secret and quirk.  The same went for Will, although it had taken a bit more time.  Will wasn’t like Mike- if he had a secret, he could hold onto it rather than watch it explode compulsively from his mouth.  The year the three of them had had together had to have been an eternity if Lucas was able to become so close to two people so different from himself.  To further prove his point, Lucas could not remember the specific months or weeks or days that made up that year.  It was all just a haze of play dates and their favorite corner of the kindergarten class and being so happy.  The only concrete memory that stuck out was the one of Will laughing so hard grape juice came out his nose, but Lucas knew he could live through a million eternities and remember that.  The issue now was that he had to go through an eternity of a year, but this time it was with-

“Alright, three grilled cheese sandwiches for the new first graders!  And Lucas, the tomato soup should be done in just a minute or two,”  Mrs. Wheeler, Mike’s mom, placed three steaming plates in front of them.  

“Thank you,”  Lucas remembered to say.  Even in his low state he felt a twinge of pride.  He was good at using his manners, even when he was upset.  He knew most other kids in his class couldn’t remember their manners even in the best of circumstances, so he was already several steps ahead.  Although today his manners had proved ineffective.  No one, not even the teacher, cared whether he could say ‘please’ or ‘thank you’.

“Do you boys like your teachers?”

Lucas suppressed a wince at Mrs. Wheeler’s question and nibbled around the crust of his sandwich while Mike launched into description of a teacher he loved (Lucas suspected he had a crush on said teacher, but he couldn’t bring himself to tease him.  Not then).  She was pretty.  She gave them a whole hour for reading.  She had already learned half of their names.  Lucas wanted to be happy about the great teacher his friends had ended up with but…

They had found out which classes they’d be in a week prior.  Lucas’s mom had driven out to look at the class list and whether or not Lucas fit in with Mike and Will, and she’d been filled with remorse over the results.  Lucas could feel his face growing hot as he remembered the crestfallen look on Mike’s face as he told him which teacher he had.

“But it’s okay!” Mike rebounded.  “Me and Will can still see you at recess and you can come over to my house every day if you want to.  It’ll be okay.”
Lucas wasn’t sure if Mike had said it for Lucas’s sake or his own, but as soon as Mike had said it, his chin began to tremble.  It would be just as awful to be without Lucas as it would be for Lucas to be without Mike.  

Mrs. Wheeler brought Lucas out of the memory by handing him a bowl of freshly heated tomato soup.  In his book, a grilled cheese was never complete without the soup as a side.  Mike and Will thought it was gross, which only fueled his love for the combo, and Mrs. Wheeler made sure to have tomato soup on hand for whenever Lucas came over.  And Mike was calling this after-first-day-of-school snack at his house a new tradition, so Lucas suspected the Wheeler family would be going through lots of tomato soup before they were finished with him.

“Thank you,” he remembered to say.

“You’re welcome,”  Mrs. Wheeler answered.  “And how are you liking Mrs. Penshaw?  Nancy never had her as a teacher, so I don’t know much about her,”

“Oh,”  Lucas frantically racked his brain for something good to say about Mrs. Penshaw.  She wore tall black shoes, kind of like the ones his mom wore?  She had very neat handwriting?  She smiled at most of the kids?

But not you.

“Mrs. Penshaw is nice.”  It was a lie, but Lucas knew lying was sometimes necessary.  Mike and Will were happy with their teacher.  Lucas had a different teacher.  But it was nothing to make a fuss over.

“Did you talk at recess?”

Mike and Will answered this question together, clamoring over each other’s sentences to tell her about the only part of the day Lucas had enjoyed.  They’d gone on an intricate journey around the playground in search of the perfect dragon lair (because every playground needed one of those) and both boys had lots to say on the matter.  But Lucas could only think of what had happened in the hours between recess.

He’d walked in with more confidence than he had in kindergarten.  Of course he knew Mike and Will would not be at his side, and that hurt, but he also knew that he was smart, friendly, and a great candidate for a friend.  He would find a friend, and while it may not be Mike or Will, he’d still have someone to get him through the school day.  He’d be fine.

Mrs. Penshaw greeted every kid with a smile- that is, every kid but Lucas.  When he walked in the door and offered a polite “good morning”, he was met with a strangely cold look before being pointed to his seat.  From his chair he could see as every other kid got a smile.  Every kid but him.

But that was okay.  Even adults forgot their manners at times, and even with his superior skill set of manners, he was in no position to make judgments.
Class continued as usual, with the introductions and the class rules.  Lucas listened politely.  He missed having someone to talk to, but he could handle it for one day.

But then came snack time.  Lucas pulled out his cheese and crackers and looked to the rest of his table group, trying to decide which one to befriend.  Troy, Jess, and Hannah.  He didn’t love the fact that he had to share the table with a girl but he could look past that.  As long as everyone was friendly he could-

“I heard my mom say that God hates black people,”  This came from Hannah, who was talking to Jess but staring directly at Lucas.

“What?”  Jess was face-deep in his box of raisins.  “Why?”

Hannah shrugged.  “When God hates someone he makes them black.  Like with dark skin.  So that everyone else can all know.”

All at once, Lucas could feel his legs turning to rubber under the table and his heart thudding slow and heavy.  “I don’t think that’s true,”  Don’t think?  “That’s not true!”

Jess finally pulled himself from his raisin box.  “You’re black,”

No, duh.  Lucas had to suppress that little outburst.  Jess obviously wasn’t the brightest of the bunch.  But stupidity he could handle.

He could not handle Troy, who chomped off hard on the end of a carrot before saying in an almost sensible tone: “Black people shouldn’t be allowed at this table.  I don’t want to go to hell because he’s here.”

His stomach clenched, twisting and dropping in one horribly nauseous wave.  How could Troy say something like that?  He hadn’t said anything like that to him in Kindergarten, although he’d never been nice to Mike or Will, which meant he was mean to him by extension.  But how could anyone let him say something like that?  In Kindergarten everyone was taught about the importance of inclusion.  And this was the opposite!  This was exclusion.  And all because of his skin?  

Still reeling from disbelief, Lucas wondered if they’d actually make him switch tables or if it was just a not-so-friendly suggestion.  He glanced around the room.  All the seats seemed full anyway.  And would anyone want to sit with him if they all thought God hated him?

His gaze caught Mrs. Penshaw, sitting quietly at her desk.

A few months prior, Mike had invited Will and Lucas over for a start-of-summer sleepover.  The prospect of having a sleepover, which was something only his older siblings ever got to have, was exhilarating and Lucas would’ve skipped the whole way to Mike’s house had he not been carrying a duffel bag dwarfing his whole body.  They were in Mike’s room and Lucas was declaring himself the king of the room from the top bunk when his foot slipped on the top ladder rung and he landed full on his back.  For a moment he lay there, too stunned to cry.  He could only inhale and exhale in deep, rattling breaths until the air worked its way back into his body.  Mike and Will hung over him, talking to him and trying to get him to stand again, but in those first few minutes he was stuck gasping through his shock on the ground.

That was how he felt now, seeing that Mrs. Penshaw was staring right at their table, knowing that Mrs. Penshaw was close enough to hear every word, and realizing that Mrs. Penshaw was going to let them say whatever they wanted to him.

Hannah, Jess and Troy regarded Lucas with a certain coldness until he stopped talking to them.  The class continued and Lucas could only watch as the teacher asked questions he knew the answer to but was too afraid to raise his hand for.  He had been so ready to go into first grade, knowing he was one of the smartest, knowing he could be the teacher’s favorite, knowing he was the type of boy that could make lots of friends.  But now he was here, knowing that his brain, his manners, and his loyalty meant nothing to anyone in this classroom.  Not even the teacher.

Sitting before his untouched bowl of tomato soup, Lucas could feel tears gathering up in his eyes.  He placed his sandwich down on the plate and tried to wipe his tears away, only to find that his hands were greasy from the sandwich and he was making a big mess all over his face.

Stop crying!  Stop crying!

Lucas had always considered himself good at controlling his emotions, but this was pain and betrayal he could not handle.  A pathetic sob escaped him and he found himself crying helplessly in front of everyone.

He felt Mike wrap his arms instinctively around him and heard Will’s chair scraping against the floor as he jumped up to do the same.  Mrs. Wheeler was in front of him with tissues, trying to calm him down.  But he didn’t think he’d be able to get the words out.  They were too awful to be spoken out loud.

Mike shook his arm.  “Lucas, what’s wrong?”

Through his tears, Lucas looked up and found himself staring into the wide, sincere eyes of his best friend.  All at once he remembered the first day of Kindergarten when he watched Mike’s face crumble in front of a wide-eyed class of judgmental jerks.  Lucas was his friend when no one else would be, and now Lucas knew that Mike would never, ever forget that.

And so all at once, Lucas let the words out.  The whole story unraveled and Mike’s eyes narrowed while Will’s tiny fists clenched and Mrs. Wheeler put a hand over her mouth as if she was horrified by the whole thing.  When it was finished, Lucas felt too tired to cry or do much of anything else.  Mike and Will still clung to each of his arms, each of their grips tightening with fury as he hung his head in shame.

Mrs. Wheeler was the first to speak after he’d finished.  “Well, Lucas, I’m not keeping you in that class and I think your mom would agree with me,”

Briskly she grabbed the phone and dialed, pressing the receiver to her ear with one hand and placing the other on her hip.  “Hello?  Yes, hello, this is Karen Wheeler.  I need to switch one of my students out of Mrs. Penshaw’s class and into Ms. Erland’s class.  Yes.  Thank you.  His name is Lucas Sinclair and-”

Lucas didn’t care to hear the rest.  Slowly, he wiped away the last of his tears and took a bite of his sandwich.  There was another eternity of a year ahead, but at least this time he’d be with his friends.  

May 6

I’m sorta lost again. At 24, I’m still lost. I don’t think it’s love. No. Not this time. It’s a self thing. How many of your thoughts do you actually own? My lungs are bought by Marlboro. Smoking doesn’t make me feel any better. My body doesn’t feel like mine. I can no longer recognize the person standing in front of this mirror. And you know… I’m not as sad anymore, but how come I’m not happy? Baby, I’m sorta lost again. I just want to call and hear your voice. It’s not a love thing. It’s not about depression. It’s not about us. It’s not about anything in particular. I just remember feelings. You know how crying in the shower feels safe? Nobody hears you. It’s just you and man made rain. I’m just out of place. I know that we don’t speak anymore, I know. I guess I’m still a sucker for you. And it’s not a love thing. It’s a home thing. I miss you being by the phone thing. Shit. I’m sorry. It might be a love thing. Running you out of my head again. Writing you out of my heart again. I shouldn’t post this, but I will. You shouldn’t read this, but you will. I know you will. So I guess… it’s still a love thing even if it’s no longer our thing. No one’s going to understand this last bit, but you. [s2]


just when i was ready to get into the swing of working on art again, my tablet stops working. I keep trying the wireless and it’s not connecting, even though the tablet is fully charged, the usb is just a dud at this point. I won’t be able to draw till I get this going. I WOULD ask if people could request me for commissions so that I can get a new tablet and get on them as soon as i do, but I don’t really feel like I deserve to ask for commissions?????? Is that weird? 

Valentine’s tomorrow for me so some quick tythan valentines HCs

-Tyler’s the kind of guy who buys those giant bear plushes for Ethan 

-Most of the gifts they give each other don’t concern food or chocolate because of Ethan’s allergies but sometime’s its nicer that way because the things last longer?

-Ethan loves making his own Valentines Day cards and he’ll have glitter all over him, he also always adds in those comic sans card things (you know what im talking about) but at the end he always writes a really sweet paragraph about how thankful he is for Tyler and how much he means to him

-Tyler buys his blueberry flowers because traditions right and he does all this research on what the flowers actually mean so that it can send the sweetest message

-Tyler does one of his twitter things to talk about how much he loves Ethan and there’s inspirational stuff everywhere and it’s so cute

-They actually go to a formal restaurant for dinner (candles and all that fancy shit) and they get all dressed up for each other and technically Ethan’s not allowed to drink alcohol yet but shh it’s okay he has that adult supervision

-Ethan forces Tyler to watch sappy romance movies with him

-tythan and amyplier having sort of a day-long contest to see who can be the cutest couple

baby girl mendes

request: You and him can’t decide on a baby name😊


requests are closed!

a/n i know i said i was gonna use those 3 kids for all imagines with kids but i changed my mind. also this is hella short just bc it’s fluffly i’m so sorry.

“Why is this so hard for us?” Shawn sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“We just want it to be absolutely perfect, that’s all,” you say, rubbing his arm and leaning in to place a kiss on his shoulder.

You were very pregnant, your due date was in just a few weeks, and you and your husband still hadn’t decided on a baby name. You’d brushed on just about everything on this point. You tried to just find a name you loved, tried to find a name with a meaning, tried to find the middle name first, but nothing was working. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t settle on anything.

“Well what about Delilah, I liked Delilah,” Shawn says to you, looking up from the list you had attempted to make.

“Like, ‘Hey There Delilah’?” you ask. “I don’t know, babe, it just seems a little too predictable.”

He sighs. “I guess you’re right.” He purses his lips and starts to chew at the inside of his cheek, a nervous habit he’d picked up since you found out you were pregnant.

“It’s okay, baby,” you say as you lay your head on his chest, “we’ll figure it out. Baby girl will have the most beautiful name in the world.” You rub your stomach and kiss his shoulder again. He smiles and places his hand on top of yours.

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Dating would include – Assassin's Creed Syndicate

Originally posted by hellomikky

Jacob Frye 

  • Well, the two of you usually can be found in the fight club 
  • Eventually you patch up Jacob after his last fight 
  • Or Evie has to take care of both of you 
  • It really depends on your mood 
  • “Yes, Evie. That guy deserved every punch." 
  • But to be honest you two are always up to cause mischief 
  •  ”[Y/N], Jacob, what have you done this time?!“ 
  • "We did nothing! … Oh, that. Yeah, we did that." 
  • Giving each other nicknames … all the time 
  • "Love” - “Angel” - “Dear” - “Could you two stop?!" 
  • Jacob is a big fan of public display of affection 
  • The people need to know you are his better half 
  • … and he would be lost without your kisses 
  • Seriously every kind of kiss 
  • "I want all of them, love." 
  • After a hard mission he needs you wrapped up in his arms 
  • Jacob’s mixed scent of smoke, beer and himself lures you in 
  • "Why do I smell beer on you, Jacob?" 
  • … "I think Evie calls me!" 
  • He makes sure you keep up your training 
  • Driven by his fear to lose you forever 
  • Even if he knows you can handle yourself just fine 
  • Him not being able to take his eyes off of you when you plan your mission 
  • The satisfied smirk on your lips makes his knees weak 
  • "Stop drooling, brother dearest." 
  • Randomly he wraps you up in his arms to get his daily dose of cuddles 
  • The two of you get comfortable on his favourite but little settee 
  • Resting your head on his chest, while his arms hold you close 
  • The closer the better 
  • His steady breathing making you sleepy 
  • "God, you are adorable, love." 
  • The two of you are barely fighting 
  • And if you do, it will be solved in the fight club later 
  • "I’m not going to hit you!" 
  • "Good, then it is going to be easier for me!" 
  • Don’t worry neither of you gets harmed, because you end up in a heated kiss 
  • "I don’t think you know how much you mean to me, [Y/N]." 
  • Evie approves your relationship without a doubt 
  • You are good for Jacob and vice versa 
  • And foremost you make each other happy 
  • Jacob could never think of someone else taking your place 
  • You are the only one he will ever love the way he does right now 
  • And occasionally the Assassin tells you his feelings in an unknown serious tone 
  • "I truly love you with every fibre of my body, love. You accept every flaw I have. You adore every insecurity I have -" 
  • "Shut up and kiss me, Jacob." 
  • Your wish is his command 

Originally posted by diospyros-05

Evie Frye

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mochiiswan  asked:

request: what if gaston and the reader are in love (but not a couple) but had to move to paris because of something? and they're like 14 and 15 so they're young and in love. so they make a promise to come back to each other in a few years. gaston goes to war and the reader goes to paris with her family - then seven years later she comes back to see if gaston is back and yep, he is!! fluff!! like, he was in love with belle (while the reader was gone) but completely forgot when you came back.

omg this is so cliche but i loVE IT ANYWAY OKAY LET’S GET THIS THING GOING

word count: 2847


“Promise me you’ll come back in one piece?” 

Gaston chuckled. “That I’m afraid, I cannot do.” Kissing your knuckles, the teen smiled sadly. “However, I shall try my best to do so, should you promise me one thing in return.” 

“And that is?” You inquire of your admirer, raising a brow. 

“Wait for me,” Gaston responded, keeping your hands in his as he looked into your eyes. “If you could do just this one thing, wait for me, I should be a happy man going to war.” 

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