this became longer than i meant

Transmatsu headcanon: Karamatsu disappears for a long time and none of the brothers notice. But one day, they find a girl who looks a hell of a lot like them in their house.

It’s Karamatsu. Karamatsu completely transitioned without any of her brothers noticing.

At first, none of them believe it, so they tease and bully her saying it’s just Karamatsu crossdressing as a ploy to get attention. But then Karamatsu starts crying, breaking down and bawling and the rest are just “fuck, we messed u p.” Matsumama comes in and yells at all of them while consoling her daughter (which she and Matsupapa are so happy about because they always wanted a girl) and now the brothers feel just awful.

Karamatsu leaves first to fix her makeup and visit Chibita at his oden stand (to cheer herself up) and Matsumama just hisses at her sons “you better fix this.”

Chibita nearly has a heart attack because while Karamatsu confided in him from time to time about transitioning in passing, he never fully registered what it would mean until seeing Karamatsu now. Chibita is so flustered he barely knows what to do, but Karamatsu starts sobbing about how jerky her brothers are and Chibita gives her everything on the house while telling her she doesn’t need her good-for-nothing brothers anyway.

Cue the good-for-nothing brothers showing up. Jyuushimatsu literally picks Karamatsu up, while Osomatsu downs the rest of her beer and Ichimatsu finishes her leftover oden, and they take her back to the house. In the living room, Jyuushi puts Karamatsu down so she can see that there’s an assortment of food and a cake. Karamatsu is confused an she turns to her brothers as they all bow and say “sorry for being assholes.”

They’re all on good terms now, but Karamatsu is officially 100% impossible to ignore by any of the brothers. Every time she goes out, one or more of them insists on accompanying her (eventually they develop a rotation system to escort her, but Ichimatsu somehow always ends up going with her the most); the only exception being when Karamatsu goes out shopping with Totoko (Ososmatsu will still try to weasel his way into joining them, but Totoko gut punches him and that the end of that).

Choromatsu spoils her the most, mostly because he doesn’t now how to deal with women and showering them with gifts is all he knows to do, picking up random things Karamatsu likes when he goes shopping.

The brothers start getting real suspicious of Karamatsu going off to Chibita’s stand alone, and one day Karamatsu comes home with a bouquet of flowers and the brothers are like “where did you get that??” Karamatsu has this cute pink blush on her face and says “Chibita found some flowers on the roadside and he gave them to me!” All the brothers know that those flowers are too good to have been found on the road and they’re wrapped all nicely too, so they face-palm and curse that Kara has and always will be gullible. (They totally storm Chibita’s oden stand later and threaten him not to mess with their sister, Todomatsu is unsurprisingly the scariest)

Iyami had no idea Karamatsu had transitioned, so when he first sees her, he hits on her like nobody’s business. Too bad she happened to be out with Jyuushimatsu, and he proceeds to beat Iyami within an inch of his life with a bat.

Karamatsu is still painful as always, posing dramatically to fall into men’s arms and dressing up like a “cool” yankii to hit on girls, spouting awful lines that make everyone cringe.


Just, please, someone, anyone, give me this au…give me trans Kara in all the cute dresses and outfits they deserve, receiving all the love they can get from everybody…. ;~;

The History & Creation of Witch Bottles

Witchcraft and the history thereof echoes the needs of humanity, and for humans and most other species the most primal instinct we have is that of survival. Thus, it should be of no surprise that some of the oldest and most enduring magic is apotropaic magic. That is, magic intended to ward off or deflect evil, especially someone else’s evil magic. Modern circles may also call this abjuration magic.

To this day, one of the most common requests I get is to create a witch bottle, either to protect a home from malicious magic, or to break a curse. The witch bottle became widespread in Tudor England, and especially prevalent in the Elizabethan era. The original witch bottles of this time are usually ceramic, and usually called Bellarmine, after an Inquisitor named Robert Bellarmire, who is now a saint in the Catholic church, some even bore his likeness.

At it’s core, a witch bottle is the refinement of a practise which has been going on longer than we know. People have been walling up, burying or concealing objects meant to ward evil from their homes for millennia. While it has fallen out of favour or been actively sanitised in modern times, I find a traditional witch bottle to be much stronger, thus that is the recipe I am sharing.

Witch Bottle:
1 Ceramic or glass bottle or jar, with lid or stopper
A combination of nails, pins, needles, and sharp bits of metal from around the property.
1 pnh. of earth from the property
1 tsp. of sulfur or rue
1 tbsp. salt
If the bottle is being made to break an active curse,  urine from the afflicted to the bottle
 If the bottle is being made to protect a home, then several drops of blood from the head of house, or the oldest inhabitant

Begin preparing the bottle by ensuring that it is clean and dry. Add the sulfur or rue first, followed by the salt. The assortment of metal comes next. I like to enchant each piece with protective rhymes as I add it to the bottle, but this is time consuming, and many prefer to skip this step. Ensure that the bottle is at least half-full with your chosen pieces. Next, add whatever bodily ingredients you are utilizing, ensure to be as clean as possible. Seal the bottle well.

To break a active curse: Bury the bottle on the far east of the property and leave it for at least one full sunset and sunrise, or carefully throw it into a safe fire.

To protect a home: You may bury the bottle on one of the boundaries of the property (east preferred) as deep as you can, while marking the spot so you do not lose it, place it in the foundation of a home, or under the hearthstones. Apartment dwellers can also take the somewhat less optimal option of burying their bottle in a potted plant, but be aware that the spell will not hold of residences are changed and a new bottle will have to be crafted.
Roman x Reader - I’m Leaving.

Request: “having a fight with Roman because you don’t want to be a trophy anymore, but in fact he loves you a lot.”

First of my request posts, I really enjoyed writing this one and I’m definitely going to complete the others I have waiting in my inbox. Remember if you’ve sent one, I am getting to it. I really enjoyed this and I have another one coming later on that I completed tonight as well. If you have a request, feel free to send it in and then just stay tuned!

Happy reading! Feedback is truly appreciated, that way I know to bother writing more. 





Since the beginning, I always had my concerns about how I would be treated within my relationship with Roman. Of course though, time and time again he reassured me that I would be treated like gold, because that’s what I deserved. But as time has gone on, and Roman has become more comfortable around the likeliness of me leaving, he has begun to compromise the way he treats me. When I realised that Roman seemed to care much less about my feelings and the impact his actions and words had on them, I was distraught. Before the first few times he began to hurt me mentally and emotionally, everything was perfect. I was so sure he was going to follow through with his claims at the beginning of our relationship, so trusting in his promises and commitments that it stopped occurring to me that some day, this might change.

Now I find myself sitting alone in our large bedroom, with my back against the door, crying my eyes out over yet another harsh blow of nasty comments and accusations against me, from none other than Roman. I felt heartbroken, completely and utterly lonely, with no way out and no one to blame but myself. Why did I trust him in the first place, I knew better than to believe a word he said once upon a time, if only I hadn’t given in. He seemed so sincere, but then again it wasn’t unlike Roman to lie in order to get what he wanted and this was not an unknown fact.

For weeks, Roman had been distant. Cold and unlike the Roman I knew, within our relationship anyway. I knew what he was capable of, but I was shocked nonetheless because I never thought he was capable of it with me. He had been telling me I meant nothing to him, telling me he didn’t need me anymore and that I was just a distraction. Reminding me that he could have anyone he wanted and making it obvious that I wasn’t good enough. All of these things would be traumatic for anyone to hear, but I loved Roman, I loved him with all of my heart and soul and I truly thought that this was the person I was going to spend the rest of my life with, which made it all the more painful to watch everything come crashing down.

By my door I stayed, having my very own pitty party; my eyes were red and sore, cheeks tear stained and puffy. I was exhausted, both emotionally and physically. I got up, locked the door and made my way in to the bath, hoping that a soak amongst some bubbles and a glass of my favourite red would ease my nerves. I sunk into the hot water and allowed myself to float away, thinking of all the reasons I should stay, but mostly all of the reasons I should go.

My bath was soon interrupted by an obnoxiously aggressive knock on the bedroom door. Deciding not to reply, or even acknowledge the existence of whoever was on the other side of the door, I sunk further in to the bath with my ears under the water, enjoying the sound of nothing but my heartbeat.

Before I knew it I was being pulled out of the water and my daydream by a pair of rough hands, that grabbed at my face and called for my attention. “Y/N! Baby?” a very distressed voice shook me to reality, opening my eyes and looking in to Roman’s concerned eyes, I frowned. “What?” I asked coldly, wondering what the hell he was so worried about, I was only having a bath.

“You weren’t answering me, I came in to apologise and you weren’t responding, you look so pale, what’s wrong?” His face was clouded with worry, as he tilted his head at me and awaited an answer. Don’t get me wrong, Roman truly cared about me usually, but more often than not lately, he certainly wasn’t showing it. I had cried so many tears and lost so much sleep over it all, I had become numb to it, careless even. Losing all concern for my own wellbeing, drifting in to a void of depression and isolation. I stared at him blankly, registering his features, admiring his beautiful face. His lips were parted, his eyes scanning mine for anything that told him what was going on, unsuccessfully, so he asked me once again, “you’re scaring me, please tell me what’s happening? I know you’ve been crying, I can see it in your face, you’re not yourself..” he trailed off, growing more worried as I sat in the bath, his hands still wrapped firmly around my shoulders, keeping me above the water as I sat there, a shell of myself, mulling over in my mind what to say.

“Please, I just want to be alone.” I held eye contact, remaining cold and rigid, immune to all feeling in that moment, completely out of tears and heartache, my body too exhausted to respond like I usually would. “Baby… please.” He trailed off, eyes glazing over, worry stricken features contorting at me, becoming so concerned he could barely cope, never having seen me like this before. I sighed, having only asked once but already losing my patience, more so at the situation as a whole. “Y/N, I’m not leaving this fucking bathroom until you tell me what’s happening here.” A tear fell from his eye, out of stress more than anything else, fear as well, probably. It was a common misconception that Roman was completely exempt from feeling, anything at all for that matter. This was un-true, being with him in the way that I have, I learned quickly that this man was no monster, one just lived inside of him. He loved me, I knew that he did, but his ways of showing it had grown weary and I couldn’t cope with the mental abuse any longer, I just would not and could not survive it, plain and simple.

“Roman..” I began, choosing my words carefully as to not repeat myself, “you and I both know that lately you’ve been treating me horribly. Like a possession, a trophy you’ve won through a game I no longer want to play, that I never wanted to play.” I removed his hands from my shoulders, standing and stepping out of the bath and in to my favourite fluffy white bathrobe. “You have made me mentally and emotionally so exhausted, that I feel it physically. In these past few weeks, months even, I have cried myself to sleep constantly, and that’s if I’m lucky. I truly,” I stopped, choking on sobs as I tried my hardest to remain strong, confident and sure of what I was saying. Although truth be told I’m not sure I was, I was scared to say what I know I needed to, and it was because I knew I needed to that I continued through it. “I truly don’t think, that I can go on like this..” His body went rigid, defensive, as he realised the seriousness of my words. “What are you trying to say Y/N.” He grew angry, I guess because it was one of the only ways he knew to react to something he didn’t like.

“I’m saying that I think I need to leave, you’re poisoning me and I’m so tired, I’m tired Roman, you promised me! You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me, and do you wanna know the kicker? I fucking believed you.” My voice became louder as my anger grew, realising that I tolerated this so much longer than I should have. “Please don’t do this Y/N, please don’t leave me.” He fell back on the bed, losing his balance and sitting with his head in his hands, eyes wide with realisation, knowing exactly what I meant with my words, knowing exactly what he had done. “Baby please, I’m sorry. I should never have treated you the way I have been, I’ve lost myself and all of my progress. All of those things I promised you, I meant them, give me a chance to make it up to you, I swear I’ll never mess up again.”

“How could I trust you now? You have no idea the toll this has taken on me, the things you’ve made me feel..” I cried silently, struggling to keep my voice steady and my eyes clear of tears.

He turned and pulled something from his bedside table, walking to me and dropping to his knees in complete defeat, opening a small velvet box to reveal the most beautiful diamond ring I ever had seen. I covered my mouth in disbelief, more tears than I knew I was capable of creating spilling out over my eyes as I watched the man I loved, completely over come with grief at the thought of me leaving, when he clearly had permanent plans to make me a very big part of his life, for the rest of his life.

“I planned on giving this to you next week, I was still planning how to do it.” He sniffed, wiping his eyes and looking up at me, still on his knee, displaying this ring that was intended for me. “I promise to never make you cry for the wrong reasons again, only ever happy tears or none at all. I promise to treat you like you’re meant to be treated, I promise to uphold what I swore to you before you agreed to be with me. I promise to be yours completely, and you mine. I promise to love you every single second of every day, for the rest of my life, and longer.” He had silent tears leaving his eyes, looking up at me with so much sorrow in them that I couldn’t bear but smile softly at him, hearing his words and feeling my heart grow warm for the first time in what felt like forever. I grabbed his hands and pulled him gently to his feet, securing myself against his chest with my arms around his neck.

He pulled me close, his hands on the bottom of my back, our foreheads against one another’s, enjoying the silence. “I promise to love you, every single second of every day, for the rest of my life, and longer.” I said back, smiling against his lips, kissing them passionately.

“I love you so much Y/N, I’m sorry baby.”
“It’s okay, I’m sorry too. Please just be the person I know you truly are, I love that person and I know you do too.”

He placed the ring on my finger, where it would stay, for the rest of our lives, and longer.  

withoutfandomsiamnothing  asked:

Prompt The Traits have their own sides maybe Like anxiety literally meets his own anxiety who's just terrible and the others and Thomas are terrified.

Ok guys in the end this got really dark so…

Quick warnings: mentions of blood, claustrophobia, giant spiders, drowning and angst

__________

What none of them knew was that each one of Thomas’ sides had their own sides.

Yes, it was confusing, but it was real, and none of them knew. Not for a very long time. But months after Thomas started to have a deeper contact with his sides, they found out that they also had sides themselves, but they were… A little different.

For being sides of sides, they could not have physical form. They were more like differently coloured shadows. Morality was yellow, Logic was blue, Prince was red and Anxiety was black. And because they were sides of sides, it meant that they were the core of each one of them. They had no personality. They were the deepest and most intense meanings of each one of the sides.

So the day where Anxiety’s Anxiety came up, it was out of nowhere, and it was intense.

They were recording with Thomas, but Anxiety had been fighting a panic attack for longer than ten minutes now. He tried to focus, on Logic or Prince or Morality or even Thomas, but soon the whole idea became too much, even making Thomas bothered.

“I don’t feel well” Thomas said, closing his eyes, and anxiety sat down on the stairs, covering his face with his hands, trying to focus on anything but the fear, fear, fear. Fear of what, he didn’t know. Sometimes, things just came up and he felt too much.

“I’m sorry” Anxiety muttered, curling up on himself while Thomas sat down on the couch, forgetting about the camera recording everything. Morality rushed to Thomas, worried, while Prince and Logic went to Anxiety.

Not even one minute later, the walls started to get black around Anxiety, and even Thomas, who was trying to even his breathing out, had to look up. Prince and Logic did the same, stepping back scared, and Anxiety lifted his head up, eyes filled with tears, confused, when he noticed the shadow around him. The attack gave place to a scared yelp, and he jumped up, rushing between Prince and Logic as the shadow grew and grew on the wall, taking the form of a man with red eyes.

“Ann, why did you stop?” The shadow said, the voice coming from everywhere and nowhere exactly, making the five men in the room move backwards.

“W-who are you?” Prince asked, stepping forward to stay between the other four and the shadow figure. The shadow let out a dark laugh, slowly moving away from the wall and becoming a three dimensional being.

“Hello Roman. Long time no see” it said, voice dark as he approached the royal. It had no feet, it’s for so going down all the way and making a circle on the ground of darkness. “I can’t believe you forgot about me. After all those times we fought…”

“You…” He said, confused, frowning. “Who are you?”

“I am Ann’s anxiety” the shadow said, wondering around the five and making them move closer to each other, Anxiety and Thomas in the middle of the circle. “You can call me… Nightmare”

“Nightmare?” Prince asked, taking his sword out and watching the shadow as it circled them. “I didn’t know you could take physical form”

“Please make it stop” Anxiety whispered between them all, whimpering in fear, before being held by Thomas, pressing his face against his host’s chest. The shadow laughed loudly, jumping over them and making a curtain of darkness surround the five of them.

“Come on Ann. Don’t be afraid. All of them have me” it said, and then let out an evil laugh. “You’re not the only one that is afraid of something…”

“Let us out!” Prince yelled, waving his sword only to realise that the curtain was now an open, entirely dark room. The room laughed again, red eyes appearing around thirty meters away from them. The royal then growled, seeing and feeling how scared the others were, and used his rage to run to the pair of eyes in the darkness, sword up ready for an attack.

“Roman!” Morality called out, but before he could hold him back he was off. In the middle of the way, however, Prince tripped, falling on his face and letting his sword go. When he opened his eyes, he was in a cell, and as he looked back, there were metal bars holding him apart from the others.

“O-oh no” Anxiety mumbled, lifting his head just enough to see a dark hand over the block of concrete that held Prince hostage.

“Everything is becoming so small Roman” the room said, the hand closing around the block, and Prince gasped, falling on the floor as the walls got smaller and smaller, making him panic, curling up into himself as he tried to ignore the feeling of the walls getting small enough to crush him slowly and painfully until he was a pool of broken bones and blood.

“Roman” Thomas breathed out, scared, his voice coming at least one octave higher than usual, his arms tightening around Anxiety to comfort himself. Morality’s eyes were wide, scared, and he rushed to the cell, pulling on the dark fingers.

“Let him go! You’re hurting him!” He yelled, but the hand only moved beyond the father’s reach, and darkness surrounded him as well, making him turn around, dizzy. Suddenly, he felt something sticky surrounding his feet, and then legs, up his waist, and when he looked up, he was upside down, being held up by his feet right under a giant spider web with a giant spider turning him around, surrounding him with her black sticky web. He didn’t even have time to speak, his mouth and head being covered by the giant insect while he squirmed and waved around, screams coming muffled as he tried to save himself desperately.

“Dad…” Anxiety let out, his voice nothing more then a scared breath, both him and Thomas too frozen and afraid to even speak, while Logic did his best to surround his host and his friend away from the invisible threat.

However, his act of protector lasted for no longer than a few seconds, before a dark rope wrapped itself around his feet, pulling him hard to the ground and making him scream as he was dragged away from the other two, Thomas trying to reach out before Logic was pulled into a tank filled with water and tied to the ground, surrounded by the most horrendous sea monsters without any chance to breathe. He squirmed, using his free hands to reach the air above him but without rope enough to reach it himself and breathe. However, as this was Nightmare, the water would never really kill him, but the feeling of drowning would be ever present until he could find a way of getting out.

“Small places, spiders, water” the darkness whispered as Thomas and Anxiety watched the other three struggling to get out of their nightmares, both with their eyes wide and filled with tears. They were trembling from their feet to their heads, unable to move, barely able to breathe. “What is your fear Ann? What are you afraid of?”

“Anxiety!” Thomas screamed as darkness moved through the small spaces that they weren’t touching, and suddenly Anxiety was alone.

Alone.

In a dark room.

No sounds.

No Thomas.

No nightmare.

He was alone.

“Alone” he whispered, a sob coming up as he fell to his knees, hands over his face. “Alone…”

He was alone.

But he didn’t want to be alone.

And suddenly, in the darkness, three pairs of colourful eyes appeared.

“Ann” a whisper. He looked up, scared, and jumped backwards when he saw the other three pair of eyes in front of him: a blue one, a yellow one and a red one.

“We can help you” another voice, slightly different, said, and the eyes came closer, slowly taking form of colourful shadows.

“Come” a third voice whispered, and slowly they surrounded him, brightness surrounding him and making his eyes close.

“I don’t want to be alone!” Anxiety said, loudly, and suddenly the brightness shone, a loud sound coming to Anxiety’s ears, the darkness disappearing.

When he opened his eyes again, he was met with Thomas’ living room, with the host looking terrified next to the couch.

“Anxiety?” He muttered, voice shaking so much that it didn’t even sound like he had called the persona. Anxiety looked around, seeing no sign of the others. “Where…”

“I’m sorry Thomas” he said, also shaken, before moving closer to him and hugging him gently. “I need to find the others. Lay down” he said, helping the man sit on the couch before he sank in to Thomas’ mindset.

The situation in there was… Chaotic.

Never in his life Anxiety had felt worst.

Because he had never seen the other three curled up, together, with all of them crying copiously against the other’s shoulder, coughing and almost throwing up from crying so much, clearly feeling worst than anything else before.

He gave one step towards them and froze, the three looking at him scared and still crying. After a moment of silence, interrupted only by sniffles and hiccups, Anxiety felt his own tears filling up his eyes and he rushed to the group, saying ‘sorry’ millions of times as he was hugged and brought into the family hug.

And just like a nightmare, they comforted each other, and everything came back to normal, with a few conditions: Morality ever had to remove any bug from the house again, Prince was allowed to open any door or window at any time, even if it was raining or snowing, no one could have a bath while Logic was at home, and Anxiety would never, ever be let alone again, unless he really insisted on it.

anonymous asked:

harry & coming out at kingsman

Harry was never ashamed of his sexuality (except for those brief and confusing teen years, but really, who wasn’t ashamed of themselves at age fourteen?), but knew that being in Kingsman, he needed to be discreet. With Chester King as head of the organization, Harry knew that one misstep could lead to him being terminated as an agent, and that was something he absolutely did not want to happen. So he kept himself hidden. The only person in Kingsman who knew was Merlin, of course. They’ve been best friends since their Cambridge days, after all (not to mention he lost his virginity to him, but that’s a whole other story), and it wasn’t as though the man would ever use that information against him.

It wasn’t until his first male honeypot mission when someone other than Merlin learned that he was gay. Morgana (chief of medical at Kingsman) was doing a check-up on him before he left for his assignment. The AIDS epidemic seemed to not care about sexual orientation, and Morgana was not about to risk an agent’s health for the sake of ignorance.

Because she had no idea about Harry’s romantic leanings, Morgana began giving Harry what is usually deemed “The Talk.” She was only speaking for possibly two minutes when Harry hurriedly blurted out he already knew what to do and the safety precautions he had to take. Morgana’s eyes widened, but then smiled understandingly and placed a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. She promised that his secret was safe with her, and from them on, Harry felt a special connection with Kingsman’s finest doctor.

One year later when he and Merlin finally decided to pursue a romantic relationship, Harry came to Morgana, excited about the shared love between himself and Merlin, but also terrified of what might happen should they decide to go public at work. Morgana simply hugged him, told him she was happy for them, and then proceeded to say not to worry about anyone harassing them or losing their jobs.

When Harry and Merlin made themselves known to the rest of their colleagues, they were surprisingly met with (mostly) supportive and genuinely happy smiles. Chester had a pinched look about him but never said anything to either himself or Merlin. When Harry asked Morgana about it, there was a mischievous gleam in her eye, but merely said, “I told you not to worry.”

Now, Brian and Justin realized something. Brian knew that if they got married Justin was going to give up a future that he might have in New York where he could be a successful artist and he didn’t want him to sacrifice that opportunity and give that up and Justin also came to a realization that the man he fell in love with was a lion and not a house cat and by expecting Brian to make major changes, he said that wasn’t fair. Are we sacrificing too much? That in no way ever meant in our minds that they no longer loved each other. It didn’t mean that they were never going to see each other again. I looked online, in fact, a few days ago to see how long it takes to fly from Pittsburgh to New York City and it’s 53 minutes. In LA, I have to tell you, it takes longer than that to drive to work and home. So of course they’re going to see each other again. We had said, “Well, do you think maybe they bought a house in Provence? Justin became very successful?“ They bought this lovely house in Provence where they spend every summer and Christmas and New Years and they go to London and Paris. They see each other on the weekends.
—  Ron Cowen, ATX Television Festival Reunion Panel, June 5, 2015 [x]

anonymous asked:

A bit late and possibly more than you want to deal with, but I suppose I just want to get it out of my head: Barring my therapist, no. I don't have anyone telling me I deserve love, and even if I did, I wouldn't believe them. I'm still struggling with the concept that I deserve *life.* Love's a bit much.

Hey anon, first, I don’t know where your head is right now, but if you’re anywhere near that point, please call a suicide prevention line (here: https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/talk-to-someone-now/) or if you need it, an LGBT centered one (here: https://www.ostem.org/crisis-hotlines).

It is okay to take baby steps with your mental health. It’s okay to start by convincing yourself that you deserve to live, and then moving on to bigger things. I don’t know where you are, but I can promise you that staying alive helps, a lot.

I don’t know who you are or anything about you, but as a statistical matter, I am almost certain to be older than you are–I see people calling themselves “tumblr olds” who are dozens of years younger than I am–and while that certainly doesn’t make me any smarter, it does mean that I have a little more perspective.

I have always had cyclical, deep depression–starting from the time I was about ten–which left me so dark that it scared me sometimes. When I was younger, I didn’t know why I was such a bad person, and why I had those thoughts. (It didn’t help that my parents raised me in a very conservative religion and I was absolutely queer.) I was utterly miserable, and for the most part, I never told anyone how bad it was–I didn’t start talking about this thing I didn’t understand until I was 19 or 20.

I remember telling a friend that I felt like I was in an elliptical orbit around hell, that every time I thought I was getting farther away, I got pulled back in. I didn’t think it was possible to get away. And my friend–who was, like me, an incredible dork–responded that I needed to remember that if you want to achieve escape velocity from an elliptical orbit, I needed to accelerate when I was going down.

For years, that was the thing I pushed for: escape velocity. I was going to reach escape velocity. One day, I was going to push hard enough, and do the right thing, and I would escape this thing that kept coming back to me and clouding my mind. When times were bad, I worried about the opposite: that this time, I would come crashing down. It would be irretrievable. I wouldn’t make it.

(At the time, I didn’t have a name for this thing; nobody I was around talked about mental health, and it never occurred to me that I had a real issue.)

So I pushed. I tried hard. I tried everything I could. And there were times when all I could try was to just keep living another day, so I did that. I had about fifteen years of my life where all I could think was that maybe next time I wouldn’t get out.

But here’s the thing. Every time I went down, I learned something new. I didn’t know I was learning it, but I was. I learned coping skills. I learned how to least fuck over other people when I dropped the basket containing all the eggs. I learned how to take care of myself. I learned how to exist as myself, and not anyone else.

It got better. It got familiar. I discovered that the thing I had had a name, and that I wasn’t just an incredibly bad, stupid, lazy person. I tried every last thing I could find on a list that had been clinically proven to alleviate the symptoms of depression, and my list of coping skills got even longer. I learned to be nice to myself (a little), to give myself a wide margin, and to trust that even though I would never achieve escape velocity from my depression, the cyclical nature of my orbit meant that it would ebb and flow. The patterns became familiar, and I learned to trust myself to navigate through them.

My depression has never gotten better, but I have. I am not stronger than my depression, but I know how to work with it, how to carve out a space that is me and recognize my right to exist and be happy in a framework that is hostile to my existence.

Sometime in the last five years or so, I’ve came to another realization. I have friends who are neurotypical, ones that I went to college or grad school or whatever with. They’ve all been working stable jobs doing adult things for their entire life, and I… uh, I have not been able to hold down a so-called adult job for more than three years at a time. 

(It’s okay, it’s still possible to make money and not be an adult.)

I spent the last weekend at a reunion for one of the groups I was with–highly intelligent, highly successful people who have pretty much universally reached the pinnacle of acclaim. And then there is me.

I sat with friends I knew twelve years ago when I was starting over after another devastating bout of failure, and they were fresh-faced and new. They’re all hitting their midlife crisis. The one where they realize they’ve been working at this thing forever and they’re making money and they have a big home and a garden and blah blah blah and what the hell is all of this for, anyway?

I try to talk them, gently, through my coping skills. Have you considered switching jobs? Have you considered working just part time? What about learning something new just for the hell of it? What if you took two weeks off and just slept? What if you binge-watched a brand new show? I highly recommend Yuri on Ice, you should watch it, do!

To a person, my friends look at me in bafflement and say, “I can’t do that, how could I do that? I think I just have to shrug and keep going.”

I’ve spent most of my life learning how to exist, how to be happy, in crises mode. They have never, ever had to figure that out. I have had to be flexible my entire life; they’ve become brittle to the point of being unable to bend. I used to ask myself, “What could I be if I wasn’t depressed?”

I pretty much know now. If I wasn’t depressed, I wouldn’t be happy. Not the way I am. My happiness is my most important coping skill. Before I do anything, I have to ask, “Is this going to make me miserable?” I’ve learned through experience that I cannot handle any degree of misery, not for any length of time. 

I have been forced through the crucible of my depression to seek delight. When I was younger, I thought I would never, ever be happy. I kept going, and I kept believing it was possible, and even though right now, I am on the gentle upswing of one of the worst depressions I have experienced in a decade, I am, deep down, happy.

And I was surrounded by people this last weekend who were subtly jealous of me.

I wouldn’t wish my depression on anyone. I wouldn’t. Depression is terrible and impossible.

But I promise you, that if you keep going, you will learn coping skills. You will gradually discover things that help. You will build up an arsenal of self-protection. 

And thirty years from now, you’ll be talking to the friends you envy now for their ability to function in a normal way, and they’ll all tell you that they wish they could do what you do, but it’s just not possible, it’s just not possible.

And you? You’ll have been living with the impossible all your life. To you, the impossible will be easy.

I don’t know if this will be helpful at all. I’m not a counselor. I don’t know how to help someone in crises.

All I can say is that I have lived in crises all my life and it gets better. I wouldn’t wish my depression on anyone, but I’ve reached the point in my life where I am delighted to be myself. Every decade of my life is better than the last.

You deserve love. You deserve happiness. You deserve life. Even though I don’t know you, I know these things are true. I’m here from the other end to tell you to please stick it out, because even if you don’t believe these things now, one day, you will.

You Can’t Fix What Ain’t Broke part 1

A/N: This is my first ever public writing. Don’t hate me (  *^_^)// I am extremely rusty as I haven’t written in yeaaaaaarrrrrrrssss. This was originally meant to be a one-shot but it kind of became longer than i anticipated. 

You Can’t Fix What Ain’t Broke part 1

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word count: 1,206 (oops so much for a one-shot)

Warnings: none?  its fluff and a tiny bit of angst (in the next part)

Bold Italics implies that’s the readers thoughts.

Originally posted by srogersxbbarnes

Tony had found you by chance when he took his motorcycle into your small specialized auto shop. He hated to admit it, but he couldn’t figure out why his prized British Vintage Black wasn’t running. He was Tony Stark after all; he had his name on top of the line tech anywhere and everywhere. It would be an embarrassment if anyone knew that he couldn’t fix a bike. 

“It’s not that I can’t fix it” he bluffed “I just have a lot on my plate, what with you know running a billion dollar enterprise and saving the world half the time.” 

“Don’t worry” you assured him with a smile “I won’t tell anyone you came to me.” 

After watching you work, and countless visits to fix things he didn’t “have time for” Tony decided that he would persuade you to join the weapons and tech division. “It’d just be a lot easier to just have you on site” he argued. You looked at Tony and laughed “And you wouldn’t have to worry about people finding out that you go to my shop to fix your…” “That’s beside the point Y/N,” he interrupted “the point is…I know talent when I see it. And I am not leaving this shop until you agree to come work with us.”

It had been about a year since you started officially working at the Avengers base. At first it was overwhelming, the worlds best tech at fingertips reach, things you couldn’t even fathom in your wildest dreams to exist. Not to mention, working up close and personal with the Avengers themselves. (Bruce Banner for goodness sake was working right across the table with you.) You took your new environment quickly, and everyone on the team took to you just as fast. Everyone that is, except for…Bucky Barnes.

You’d heard things about the Winter Soldier. A man who could single handedly changed the course of history. He came to the facility about 3 months ago straight from Wakanda where they had repaired and reattached his arm and taken him out of cryo-sleep. 

First day at the base, Steve had brought him around for a tour. You were hard at work with modifications for Sam’s jetpack when they walked into the lab. “And this is Y/N, she helps out with our equipment.” You looked up from your work at a visibly nervous Steve. Bucky looked anxiously around the lab and then at you. He couldn’t keep eye contact for more than 10 seconds, but in those 10 seconds you didn’t see a mindless killing machine in those stormy blue-gray eyes. You saw a man who was afraid of what he could do, what he’s done. Someone who was barely holding on as it was. 

“Hi, I’m Y/N, I look forward to working with you!” You smiled and reached out your hand to greet him but he shifted back. It dawned on you that not everyone was too keen on shaking the hand of someone with a metal arm. You withdrew your hand and put them both into your lab coat pockets, worried that you may have over stepped your boundaries. “Well if you ever need anything, please feel free to come to me. Maybe I can even help you modify your arm.” You laughed nervously.  Idiot you thought to yourself. You just met the man and you’re already offering to redo one of his limbs? Smooth, real smooth. “Thanks Y/N” Steve chuckled. “We’ll see you around, I’m gonna show Bucky around a little more.” “Oh okay! Well it was nice meeting you Bucky! I’m gonna get back to the ol’ grind…” The ol’ Grind??? Really Y/N? Really??? Steve and Bucky turned to walk out of the lab, you stared at the ceiling stupid stupid stupid. You face palmed. “It was nice meeting you” You peeked through your fingers and saw Bucky in front of you with his hand reached out to you. You smiled at him and took his hand for a firm handshake. “Same here” you beamed.  Bucky smiled softly before turning back to walk out with his friend.

3 months, 3 months since your first awkward encounter. Since then, Bucky would come in once a week in order to start working on his arm’s modifications. As much as you hated Hydra, you had to admit. His arm was a work of genius. A little outdated, but then again for something that was first created in the 40s, it was pretty technically advanced for its time. You would work very closely with Bucky, scanning, examining, and figuring out what made it (and him) tick. 

Working so closely with Bucky, you couldn’t help but begin to develop a crush on him. One day you found yourself inches away from his face while examining the line where his flesh and the metal connect. You could’ve sworn you heard him chuckle when you let a sound of awe escape from your lips. 

Conversations with him barely made it past a couple sentences, some days he would out right ignore you. But remembering that broken man you saw in front of you that first day, you made it your mission to help Bucky any way that you could. Some days he would slowly open up a little bit more, telling you about how he used to save Steve from getting pummeled every day or how some days he missed going dancing. His icy exterior was slowly beginning to melt away and you found yourself admiring him even more.

One day he came to the lab for his weekly check in, you were in the lab by yourself listening to some old school swing music. Bucky walked in to see you slow dancing with a new bow that you were working on for Clint. You didn’t even hear the doors slide close while you were swaying away with the new weapon until Bucky cleared his throat. You jumped out of your trance and accidentally swung the bow and broke a series of empty beakers you had lying on the table. You stared at the mess and then stared at Bucky with wide eyes. “Uhm…don’t tell Tony.” Bucky laughed to himself “Don’t worry Doll, I won’t tell anyone. Though I must say, the bow was quite graceful.” You laughed nervously, quickly going to get the broom and dustpan to clean up the mess you made. Could you BE any more of a dork Y/N? Jesus, this is why Bucky is never going to like you back, because you are an idiot. 

You bent down and began to sweep up the broken glass when Bucky came over with the dustpan and squatted down next to you. “Here, I’ll do it” he insisted. “Oh! Nonono it’s my mess, my dumb dance moves that broke it…” “There’s a lot of broken glass here Y/N, I don’t want you to get cut.” Bucky protested. You turned to glance at Bucky as he looked intently at the shards of glass on the floor, picking  it up piece by piece with his metal hand. You could feel the heat rising to your cheeks. He was sweet; a complete gentleman. This is the man they called the Winter Soldier? You bit your bottom lip as you admired his strong jawline and imagined planting a kiss on his cheek when he got up to throw away the glass into the trash can, snapping you out of your daydream.

Maybe, just maybe….maybe he liked you too, you thought.

That was until his next weekly visit.


tagging writers that i love (i hope you don’t mind!)

@nenyakj @viollettes @thatawkwardtinyperson @of-fishnets-and-black-lace @softcorehippos @papi-chulo-bucky @softwintersoldier @fictionalmemoirs @plumfondler @avengerofyourheart

The Two-Person Pride Parade

(or, in honour of Pride Month, the West Wing fic I’m too lazy to properly write)

Okay this got wayyyyy longer than I meant it to be, but here it is, my not-quite-a-fic fic. I may write more if I feel like it? Warnings for allusions to period-typical homophobia (late 1990s-early 2000s)


From the minute Toby brings CJ onto the campaign, she and Josh are dancing around each other.

There’s just something sitting at the back of her mind. It’s not until she overhears Josh talking to his assistant Donna that she recognises it – it’s the same thing that drew her to Joanna Leed in ninth grade, the best friend who became the girlfriend; it’s the same thing that led her to a group of nerds at UC Berkeley, the nerds who became the first community she ever knew. She figures it out because Josh is talking about a date, and he never uses a single pronoun. She figures it out because she’s been doing it since she was sixteen.

At some point, gay rights come up in Governor Bartlet’s debate prep, and there’s a split second where she catches Josh’s eye. They exchange a look, and it’s all they need. CJ knows that, for however long this lasts, he’s the only person who can know, and the only person who needs to know.

Keep reading

Ok so like, since I want to have my own comprehensive timeline of SasuNaruSasu for the ending that is nOT 699 and 700 I’m throwing ideas out there.

So Sasuke comes back but like…he is still seen as a criminal. The council wants to give him a harsh verdict but Tsunade stops that right away. Gives him a year of house arrest with Naruto as a guard (I wrote a fanfic on that already). 

Afterwards Sasuke wants to leave. He asks Naruto to come with him and he does. They pack their bags and they are gone. They don’t even know when they’re getting back. All they say is that they’ll be in touch sending back letters with Sasuke’s hawks. But they want to really actually know the world and explore it. 

And they end up learning quite a bit. How many villages that are terribly affected by the system and how many stories people have. They pretty much start collecting these stories. And because of this they’re gone for quite a few years. They’d send back letters to Konoha, saying stuff they’ve done and shenanigans they’ve run into (Uh if you noticed a mountain disappeared that was us sorry!)

Then finally they feel like they’re ready to go back to Konoha. No one is surprised when they walk through the gates closer than usual. Or how their fond looks are so much more obvious. 

When they kiss, out of habit while catching up with their friends, Kiba hands Shikamaru money under the table.

But seriously when it’s found out they’re together no one is surprised. 

Also I don’t think after coming back they would become Co-Hokage’s right away. Tsunade is still on the seat and they both want to still make plants and talk about the changes they’re going to make.

And this became much longer than I meant for it to become but basically they end up becoming co-Hokage’s after a year of being back and they’re practically married at that point even without the rings and it’s beautiful. 

After All These Years (Drake x MC, Liam x MC)

So, @heartinecstasy asked for a Liam x Drake scene using “I never meant to hurt you” and “I just came to say goodbye.”  I thought that those prompts went well with what I wrote yesterday, so this is a follow up to When You Wish Upon A Star.  Also, this was slightly inspired by @joyfulchoices who wrote a really amazing piece a few weeks back about the confrontation between Drake and Liam over MC.  It got me thinking about what would happen if there were pictures of her and Drake, and that’s what got this fic rolling.

Summary: Now that Liam has chosen Madeline as his bride, Drake confronts his friend about what’s really going on.

Rating: M for language… look away, children!

           Drake slowly closed Riley’s door, careful to make sure that he didn’t make any noise as he slipped out into the hallway. After hours of sobbing, she’d finally fallen asleep and he wasn’t about to wake her, not when she had nothing but a nightmare scenario to wake up to.

           Sighing, he raked a hand through his hair and strode down the hallways of the palace.  It was quiet now, save for a few servants clearing glassware and spilled champagne. No one seemed to pay him any mind as he walked up to Liam’s room and knocked on the door.

           “Liam?  It’s me.”

           There was no response, but Drake tried the handle anyway, surprised to find it unlocked.  He stepped in and scanned the mostly darkened room.  Liam sat in a chair by the window, still wearing his tuxedo even though his bowtie was undone and hanging limply on his shirt front.  On the small round table beside him was a half-filled tumbler of clear liquid as well as a mostly empty bottle of some expensive, imported alcohol.

           “Liam,” he said, “what the hell have you done?”

           Liam whirled on him, his eyes red and bloodshot and his face surprisingly pale.  He looked dangerous and unhinged, like a wild animal caught in a trap who knew it was about to die.

           “What the hell have I done?” he hissed.

           He stood and picked up the crystal tumbler, throwing it at Drake’s head.  It crashed into the wall a few inches to the left, shattering as it made a small but noticeable dent in the plaster.  Drake flinched and raised his elbow up to block the splatter of the liquor and the glass shards as he thanked his lucky stars that for all his charm and other skills, Liam had always been shitty at sports.

           But just when he’d thought the assault was over, Liam picked up the bottle as well and hurled it with an anguished shout. It went wider this time, smashing into the door and soaking the expensive carpet.

“Have you lost your goddamn mind?” Drake asked, reaching up to cover his face as he moved towards Liam.  

Liam whirled around and reached for the last thing on the table, a thick, manila folder.  He flung it towards Drake, but it only made it a few feet before it opened and its contents flew into the air, falling like snow as it covered the room in black and white.  Drake caught one and turned it around, his brow furrowing as he realized it was a picture of him.  The photograph was grainy and obviously done at night, but there was no doubting what it showed.  It was him, leaving Riley’s room as he adjusted his shirt that night that Tariq had tried accosted her.  Crumpling the photo, Drake looked down at the other images on the floor.  There was another of him sitting on Riley’s bed, shirt off as she ran her hands over his ribs and back, and even another of her standing at the edge of her bed as she faced him, clad in nothing but her underwear.

           When he spoke, Liam’s voice was equally sad and furious.  “After everything we’ve been through—“

           Drake kicked at the photos, fury exploding though his entire body.  “Exactly! After everything we’ve been through, why didn’t you come to me and ask me for an explanation?

           “There was no time,” Liam muttered, turning to look for his drink before he remembered he’d thrown it.  “Besides, the pictures are quite self-explanatory.”

           “Horseshit,” Drake shouted, advancing on his friend.  “You want to know what happened?  Tariq accosted her in her room and I ran in to help her.  She gave me some ice for my ribs, and I left.”

           Liam swayed dangerously on his feet, then fell into his chair as he ran his hands over his face.  “I’m not stupid, Drake.  I’ve seen how you look at Riley, how you act around her.  Are you honestly going to deny that you love her?”

           Drake sighed.  “No.  I think I’ve been in love with her even longer than you have.  But she doesn’t feel the same way.  I asked her that night if she could have ever seen things being different between us…. But she told me no, Liam. She was only here for you. Everything she’s done, all the shit she’s endured, it’s all been for you.”

The two men waited in silence as they stared at one another like they were strangers instead of best friends.  When the silence became unbearable, Drake finally spoke.  “I never meant to hurt you.  And I know you didn’t mean to hurt her.  She’ll forgive you, I know, if you just go and tell her—“

           “It’s too late now.”

           Drake was incredulous.  “Too late?”

           Liam let his head fall back against the chair. “After Leo’s madness and everything this season… the royal family can’t withstand another scandal.  I can’t throw Madeline over.  What’s done is done and I’ll have to live with that.”

“Are you serious?” Drake asked, taking a step towards him. “You’re just going to let her walk away?”

Liam said nothing, but turned away from Drake to stare out the window.  Drake snarled, balling his hands into fists.  “You don’t fucking deserve her.”

           Liam frowned.  “Leave.”

“With pleasure,” Drake said, stopping at the door to look at his friend one last time. “I thought I came to talk you out of this insanity.  I guess I just came to say goodbye.”

He left Liam’s room, slamming the door. He rushed back to the guest wings, his heart breaking for her and for his best friend with every step he took.  He’d always known this terrible place would destroy her, he just hadn’t known that watching it happen would destroy everyone else he cared about as well.

Daisies (James Aubrey x Reader)

He knew it was over the second you stopped letting him hold you. When you stopped picking food off his plate because you knew that you were the only one he let do that. When you started to turned the radio all the way up and leaned your head against the window so you wouldn’t have to talk to him in the car.

He knew it was over when you started working later so you wouldn’t have to see him. When you began to fall asleep on the couch instead of in his arms in the bed you were supposed to share. He couldn’t deny the way that his heart stung every time you brushed his hand off you. He couldn’t stop the way that the world seemed to spin when you stopped saying I love you back.

The Squints and everyone else at the Jeffersonian could tell that the relationship between you and Aubrey had changed. You had joined the team as an intern for Angela just a few months before Aubrey came around. You had known him already for a few years; he had bought a painting from you when you first started selling your work. During the year leading up to your employment at the Jeffersonian, your relationship had shifted. Neither of you put a label on it, but the soft kisses and whispers of sweet nothings became a big part of your time together. The team grew invested in your budding romance with him, and they couldn’t help but to become even more invested when it seemed that your relationship was falling apart.

“Hey, Aubrey, can we talk?” Hodgins asked one day when he found the young agent walking away from your workspace with a dejected look. Aubrey nodded and followed Hodgins back into his lab, carefully closing the door behind them. “What’s with the face? You look like a kicked puppy.”

“I’m fine,” Aubrey said, casting his eyes to the floor as he scratched the back of his neck.

“No, you’re not,” Hodgins argued, crossing his arms over his chest. “Listen, I don’t usually like to butt in on personal stuff, but is something going on between you and Y/N?”

“Why do you think there’s something wrong?”

“C'mon, don’t do that. I’ve been around both of you enough to know that something isn’t right. Angie said that Y/N is acting different.”

“I’m glad I’m not the only one who has noticed,” Aubrey mumbled, his dark eyes meeting Hodgins’.

“What’s happening with you guys?”

“I don’t… I don’t know,” he admitted with a sad grimace. “She won’t talk to me, Hodgins. Heck, she barely even looks at me anymore.”

“You’ve gotta talk to her.”

“You think I haven’t tried that?” Aubrey exclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “It’s like I’m not her person anymore.”

“Then find someone who will talk to her. You two are too good together to just fall apart like this.”

Aubrey nodded and no more words were exchanged. He glanced longingly over to where you were talking to Cam, and then he left.

It wasn’t until you were practically cornered by Angela and Cam later that day when you realized just how invested the team was with your love life.

“Sweetie, we just want you to talk to us,” Angie told you with warm eyes. “I’ve never seen anyone look as lost as you two.”

“I shouldn’t… I can’t…” You trailed off quietly, squeezing your eyes shut as you ran a hand over your face. You felt a hand grasp onto yours and opened your eyes to see Cam giving you a soft smile.

“You can tell us anything,” she reassured you. You nodded and took a deep breath before beginning to speak.

“I found… I found this beautiful ring in a velvet box,” you admitted. Angie and Cam gasped, eyes filling with awe.

“Y/N, that’s fantastic news!” Cam cheered.

“It should be, shouldn’t it?” You chuckled humorlessly. Both of their faces immediately filled with confusion.

“Do you not think it is?” Angie asked.

“I don’t know what to think.”

“Well, do you love him?” Cam questioned as she pulled her hand back and watched you closely.

“Of course I do!” You rushed out. Angie had to bite back a smile; she had always known that your love for him was a force that should never be reckoned with. “James is the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

“Then what’s so bad about the ring?”

“I don’t think I’m the best thing that could ever happen to him,” you whispered lowly. “I knew the moment that he bought my painting that I would love him with everything in me, but I also knew that he was too good- no, too perfect for me. I pale in comparison to him.”

“Sweetie, Aubrey loves you,” Angie began, eyebrows furrowing with concern. Your eyes had become glassy and your face reddened as you tried to prevent yourself from bursting into tears.

“But I’m not sure if I’ll be a good wife!” You sniffled as you brought the back of your hand up to wipe at your nose. “Marriage is a giant step. It means forever.”

“A forever that he wants to spend with you,” Cam reminded you. “And he hasn’t proposed yet, so the least you can do-”

“Is tell him I’m not ready.”

“I was going to say that you should give it time and talk to the poor guy. He looked like he was in tears when he left earlier.”

“I really made a mess of things, didn’t I?”

“Of course not,” Angie stated softly. “You just got a little freaked out; it happens to the best of us, and if anyone is going to understand, it’s Aubrey.”

That’s what you told yourself the whole way back to your shared flat with Aubrey. It was getting late, almost midnight, when you had finally realized that you had nothing to be scared of. A ring meant a promise, but it didn’t mean that you had to get married right away. Besides, you couldn’t think of anyone else you would ever want to marry.

The apartment was silent when you finally stumbled in. The light over the dining room table was on the lowest setting, and you were fairly certain that you could see two plates of food, both untouched, and candles that had burnt out hours ago. Your heart ached as you took note of the messy state of the kitchen; he had worked so hard and you never showed up.

“I made us dinner,” his voice called out from the living room. You kicked off your shoes and set down your bag before heading to him. His face was splotchy and red, his eyes watery and hands trembling as he raised a bottle of beer to his quaking lips.

“James, I’m so sorry,” you apologized hurriedly. “I was doing reconstructions and database things and-”

You were cut off as he slammed the bottle onto the coffee table and buried his face in his hands. His breathing was sharp as he sat there, and you let him calm down before moving to place a comforting hand on his back.

“Don’t you dare do that,” he seethed, moving his hands away from his face so that he could look at you with furious eyes. He shot up from the couch and moved to stand behind it. “You don’t get to act like everything is fine after months of never being here!”

“I am here as often as I can be!” You argued.

“Really? Then why do I feel like this? Why do I feel so alone whenever you’re around?” He cried out, voice breaking off at the end as his emotions became too much.

“I never meant to make you feel like this,” you swore to him with a heavy heart.

“Then what the hell am I supposed to feel?” He hissed out. “Why don’t you love me anymore?”

It was then that the consequences of your actions hit you head on. In trying to understand how someone as amazing as Aubrey could love you, you made him think that you stopped loving him.

Aubrey felt his breath catch in his lungs as your eyes looked into his for longer than they had in months. He couldn’t help the cries that began to escape him, because he realized that this was the end. There he was, laying his heart out on a silver platter for you, and all you could do was stare at him. He wanted so badly for you to just love him like you used to; to love him like he loved you.

“You need to calm your breathing,” you instructed him, moving across the room and leading him back over to sit on the couch. He fought you at first, trying to pull out of your grasp, but he finally collapsed into your arms. “James, you will hyperventilate if you don’t calm down.” He didn’t respond, his breathing still fast as he sobbed into your neck. He clung to you as you sat beside him, and you couldn’t help the tears that began to fall down your cheeks. “Baby, come back to me. I’m sorry I’ve been gone, but I’m here now. I’m so sorry.”

Your soft voice whispering in his ear seemed to begin to calm him down. He felt your fingers begin to run through his hair (something that he had always loved), and it only took a few more minutes for his sobs to turn into the occasional hiccup.

“I-I don’t know what that was,” he croaked out when he could finally speak again.

“I think I do,” you whispered, placing a feather light kiss to the top of his head. “You just had a panic attack. And don’t overthink it or you’ll have another one. Booth told me that you’ve been stressing yourself out at work, and I certainly haven’t helped. I’m sorry, James.”

“No, don’t apologize,” he told you, pulling himself out of your arms and wiping at his face with his shaking hands. He refused to look you in the eye, and you couldn’t understand until he spoke his next few words. “I should understand that people can fall out of l-love, and-”

“I love you more than you could ever possibly imagine,” you cut him off. Aubrey turned to face you, eyes clouded with confusion.

“N-No, you don’t,” he insisted. “You’ve been acting so different and-”

“I got scared,” you confessed quickly in order to stop him from thinking you were going to leave. “I found the ring and I got scared. I just never thought that you could love someone as imperfect as me, because you’re so perfect. Hell, I don’t know how you’ve put up with me for so long, and thinking of trapping you in a forever with me just seems insane.”

“You don’t think we could do it?” He breathed out defeatedly. He felt so tired. Tired of not knowing and tired of feeling like he was losing you.

“I know we could do it. I just got so scared that sometime down the line you would find someone else, someone who would make a better wi-”

His lips pressed against yours, and you couldn’t help but to immediately melt into the kiss. One of his hands reached up and cupped your face before he pulled away and rested his forehead on yours.

“I wouldn’t have gotten the ring if I couldn’t see a forever with you, dummy,” he joked lightly. And just like that, the carefree and loving Aubrey you knew was back; all it took was a confession and passionate kiss to get him back.

“I’m so sorry for making you feel unloved,” you whispered before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. His mouth chased yours as you pulled away, and you couldn’t help but smile.

“Well, I know a way to make it okay again,” he began, moving so that he could pull something out of his pocket. It was then that you knew that the special dinner and candles was so that he could do what he had wanted to for months. He had wanted you to love him again, or to at least feel loved.

“Aubrey, no,” you immediately stated as he went to get onto one knee. His bright expression instantly fell and it was as if you had ripped his heart out of his chest.

“What?”

“I mean, shit, not no like that,” you blurted out as soon as you saw how sad he had become. “I mean no, I want you to do it when the time is really right.”

“Oh, so you mean not after pouring our hearts out?”

“I mean, I want you to do it like you planned, not because you feel like you have to.”

“Trust me, Y/N, now is the perfect time,” he reassured you. He popped open the box and lowered himself onto one knee. The ring was stunning, a simple diamond cut in a circle. You had never been one for anything over the top, and it seemed that Aubrey knew you well. “Y/N Y/L/N, I-”

“Yes!” You blurted out, throwing yourself into his arms as you wrapped your own around the back of his neck. He let out a loud laugh and circled his arms around you before placing a soft kiss to the side of your neck.

“I didn’t even get to the good part, babe.”

“It was the perfect proposal, James.”

anonymous asked:

Geo!!!! listen, if all Nadia's memories of Lucio have been wiped out (I mean years and years of her life are missing) then what to say about mc who remembers absolutely nothing of their life prior to the count's death? Not to debunk your childehood theory but consider, it is Lucio who knew mc longer than anyone else

excuse me while i pull out my tweed jacket and tin foil hat

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Walk The Line Pt. III

(Donald Pierce/Mutant!Reader)

Part I, Part II, Part IV, Part V, Part VI

Warnings: Smut, a little bit of swearing
Words: ~3,7k


A day went by and you moved to your new location, a few towns over. Another old, abandoned house.

Jake was now very careful again, not letting you out of his sight and it bothered you.

Soon you felt trapped once more, with an urge to leave.

But you could never leave him.

He needed you and you needed him.


But the days were long and mostly boring and you started to get antsy.


All of that wasn’t the worst thing though, the worst thing was, that even now you were still thinking about the encounter with Pierce.
About what you did, about how he made you feel and about how much you wanted it, even though it was so wrong.

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Creepypasta #1059: I Don’t Think I’m Allowed To Leave

Length: Long

I’ve been a penny pincher all my life. Never gambled, never splurged. I’m a real tightwad, to be honest with you. The type of guy that glares at a girl on a date with when she asks for dessert and I’m paying. As you can imagine, this hardly made me the most popular of guys, but it’s out of my control. It stopped being mere frugality and became a sort of neurosis.

I eat rice and beans every night, when I could afford steak. I drive a 1999 Pontiac, when I could be driving… well, I don’t really know anything about cars, but you get the drift.

Anyway, my end goal was always a house. I figured that with all the investments I’d made while living in my parent’s house rent free for years longer than was socially acceptable, I could cover insurance, property taxes, all that nonsense, buy a cheap house outright, and retire young. To me, “young” usually meant 50. Against my wishes, but at my father’s demand, at 29 I finally moved into a cheap one-room apartment.

I was shocked, then when at age 30, the opportunity arose. I was surfing Zillow one night, just poking around out of boredom. I turned the settings to only show me houses under $150,000, and was thus surprised when the house I clicked on still popped up for only fifty thousand.

20 acres. Wooded. Three bathrooms, four bedrooms. I scoffed. Things like this happened sometimes, programming errors. This was easily an 800-900,000 dollar house, more than likely over a million. Still, curious and bored, I clicked on the listing

The house was beautiful, and older looking estate built of heavy, grey stone, combined with large logs that gave it a sort of hunting lodge appearance. I double-checked the price: yup, still fifty grand. “Fifty grand my ass,” I thought, but still I checked out the contact info.

The realtor was listed as a Clarence Helms, and a phone number was given. No address was listed. Again, odd, but it clearly popped up on the map at the center of a pretty rural area. I had thought that land was national park property, honestly, but what do I know?

Still thinking this was all some joke, but desperately looking for something to do, I gave the number a call. It picked up after one ring, as if somebody had been waiting.

“Hello?” I asked, yawning.

Silence.

“Hello?” I repeated.

Silence.

“Is somebody there?”

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nytimes.com
America Made Me a Feminist
In Sweden, women were powerful. In France, they were dangerous. And here?
By Paulina Porizkova

I used to think the word “feminist” reeked of insecurity. A woman who needed to state that she was equal to a man might as well be shouting that she was smart or brave. If you were, you wouldn’t need to say it. I thought this because back then, I was a Swedish woman.

I was 9 when I first stepped into a Swedish school. Freshly arrived from Czechoslovakia, I was bullied by a boy for being an immigrant. My one friend, a tiny little girl, punched him in the face. I was impressed. In my former country, a bullied girl would tattle or cry. I looked around to see what my new classmates thought of my friend’s feat, but no one seemed to have noticed. It didn’t take long to understand that in Sweden, my power was suddenly equal to a boy’s.

In Czechoslovakia, women came home from a long day of work to cook, clean and serve their husbands. In return, those women were cajoled, ignored and occasionally abused, much like domestic animals. But they were mentally unstable domestic animals, like milk cows that could go berserk you if you didn’t know exactly how to handle them.

In Sweden, the housekeeping tasks were equally divided. Soon my own father was cleaning and cooking as well. Why? He had divorced my mother and married a Swedish woman.

Paulina Porizkova, Milan, 2010. Credit Vittorio Zunino Celotto/Getty Images
As high school approached, the boys wanted to kiss us and touch us, and the girls became a group of benevolent queens dispensing favors. The more the boys wanted us, the more powerful we became. When a girl chose to bestow her favors, the lucky boy was envied and celebrated. Slut shaming? What’s a slut?

Condoms were provided by the school nurse without question. Sex education taught us the dangers of venereal diseases and unwanted pregnancy, but it also focused on fun stuff like masturbation. For a girl to own her sexuality meant she owned her body, she owned herself. Women could do anything men did, but they could also — when they chose to — bear children. And that made us more powerful than men. The word “feminist” felt antiquated; there was no longer a use for it.

When I moved to Paris at 15 to work as a model, the first thing that struck me was how differently the men behaved. They opened doors for me, they wanted to pay for my dinner. They seemed to think I was too delicate, or too stupid, to take care of myself.

Instead of feeling celebrated, I felt patronized. I claimed my power the way I had learned in Sweden: by being sexuality assertive. But Frenchmen don’t work this way. In discos, I’d set my eye on an attractive stranger, and then dance my way over to let him know he was a chosen one. More often than not, he fled. And when he didn’t run, he asked how much I charged.

In France, women did have power, but a secret one, like a hidden stiletto knife. It was all about manipulation: the sexy vixen luring the man to do her bidding. It wasn’t until I reached the United States, at 18, and fell in love with an American man that I truly had to rearrange my cultural notions.

It turned out most of America didn’t think of sex as a healthy habit or a bargaining tool. Instead, it was something secret. If I mentioned masturbation, ears went red. Orgasms? Men made smutty remarks, while women went silent. There was a fine line between the private and the shameful. A former gynecologist spoke of the weather when doing a pelvic exam, as if I were a Victorian maiden who’d rather not know where all my bits were.

In America, a woman’s body seemed to belong to everybody but herself. Her sexuality belonged to her husband, her opinion of herself belonged to her social circles, and her uterus belonged to the government. She was supposed to be a mother and a lover and a career woman (at a fraction of the pay) while remaining perpetually youthful and slim. In America, important men were desirable. Important women had to be desirable. That got to me.

In the Czech Republic, the nicknames for women, whether sweet or bitter, fall into the animal category: little bug, kitten, old cow, swine. In Sweden, women are rulers of the universe. In France, women are dangerous objects to treasure and fear. For better or worse, in those countries, a woman knows her place.

But the American woman is told she can do anything and then is knocked down the moment she proves it. In adapting myself to my new country, my Swedish woman power began to wilt. I joined the women around me who were struggling to do it all and failing miserably. I now have no choice but to pull the word “feminist” out of the dusty drawer and polish it up.

My name is Paulina Porizkova, and I am a feminist.

Paulina Porizkova, a former supermodel, is the author of the novel “A Model Summer.”

Coming Out Story

Yeah, story time!

It has occurred to me that I’ve never really openly expressed how I felt after “coming out.” I’m not the type of person that would write “Bisexual” on all my social media profiles, but I just want to let this out my system.

It hasn’t been 2 years yet since I’ve been “out” but to be honest, it’s more of I’m just sticking my leg out the closet. But first, here’s a little story on how I’ve come to know my sexuality.

Also, for a little background: The Philippines isn’t an LGBT-friendly country despite the claim. We are predominantly Catholic, with strict teachings on heterosexual relationships and a society that makes fun of you if you are openly gay.

As a kid, I wasn’t very feminine. I preferred wearing t-shirts and shorts, I liked to play with cars and robots, and coupled with my short hair– I was very tomboyish. My parents never scolded me for preferring guy toys over Barbie dolls, and my mom never stopped buying me t-shirts rather than filling my closet with dresses. Of course, the concept of attraction was foreign to me at that time until I was in 2nd grade. That was when I discovered my “natural” attraction towards guys (I was still very tomboyish though). I’ve had maybe a dozen crushes throughout my grade school years, with one guy I’m particularly very loyal to. I was in a Catholic school mind you, so naturally we were taught man is for woman, which was unfortunately ingrained in me (but this was after I had developed crushes on guys). I was unconsciously homophobic and my old elementary drawings were evidence (I liked to draw queerbaiting comics with m/m pairings, always so openly disgusted of f/f, etc).

Here comes the awful, hormone-filled angsty high school phase. I was going through a lot of emotional rollercoasters in HS, one of them was my developing attraction towards some of my female classmates (I was more touchy with the girls, I never felt jealous when they looked pretty rather I was into them more etc) and it felt so wrong at that time. Again, it’s due to societal pressure so I did my best to shut down my homosexual feelings. I actually tried to be feminine, mostly to assure myself I was a girl. I still had my natural attraction towards guys, having several crushes and even having a boyfriend, but I still couldn’t shake off my attraction towards some of my female peers.

I had a falling out with the group of friends I frequented with back then, so to spare myself more drama I kept quiet about my sexuality (I was sure they would label me an attention whore if I confided it to them). While I eventually did allow my feelings to do as it pleases, I didn’t act on it till I was in college.

The state university I got into mostly had a female population and our batch in particular had the lowest number of males (and of those males, most of them are gay). Eventually, I’ve found a family in a small circle of mostly female friends AND had a relentless crush on one of them. I still refused to openly label myself as Bi, likely because I didn’t want any awkwardness between us while I “flirted” with her. I was marginally more intimate with her compared to the others (I was always a hugger type of friend), I almost always go out of my way for her, I treat her to free meals more often (but not more than what’s considered a friendly gesture), I liked holding her hand a lot and there was that one time that I just wanted to kiss her out of the blue. Of course, I’ve never had the courage to confess to her how I felt nor come out to my close friends even though they were open-minded and accepting people.

When I transferred to a university in a different city where I’m far from my hometown and my parents, that’s when I’ve finally come to fully accept my sexuality. My current uni was a hodgepodge of colorful people (of different cultures, sexuality, and had literally colorful hair) and while there was that assurance that I would be accepted by my peers at least, I still feared for how my parents would react so I kept quiet still. I eventually had a relationship with a girl which lasted longer than when I had a boyfriend so I felt the need to inform some of my closest friends. My gf then wanted me to tell my parents about us and I couldn’t because that meant I had to come out and I wasn’t ready yet. For reasons unrelated to coming out and whatnot, she broke up with me and that became a catalyst to my accidental coming out. I had a night out with friends and got horribly drunk that I had my father come fetch me from the bar. When we got home, my drunk ass self kept babbling about how much I still loved my ex and I drunkenly proclaimed I was Bisexual. I’ll be honest, I never felt the need to come out since I was no longer in that secret homosexual relationship, as I could just “pass myself as straight” again.

The next morning, having remembered everything I said while intoxicated I formally came out to my mom. She didn’t really understand the whole “I’m attracted to both guys and girls” thing but I just thought she needed time and I was grateful she was being open-minded about this. It was honestly relieving because finally I was being true to myself out loud; it was more comfortable expressing my sexual attraction towards girls just as I am with guys in a casual conversation with friends.

To my parents however… we never really talked about my sexuality again up until just recently so it didn’t feel like I was really out. Hell, my relatives don’t know, I couldn’t make gay jokes during my 21st bday (which I jokingly referred to as my coming out party) and whenever I posted f/f art on my facebook my mom would be fussy about it. In those almost two years that I was half-out, my queer expression remained subtle out of respect for my traditional parents that still found it uncomfortable. And when we had that recent talk, she mislabeled me a lesbian and fervently expressed that I should not become like Jake Zyrus (a Filipino trans celebrity). Now, I’m not really mad about being confused as lesbian (because a part of me is gay) but it’s just frustrating to see upfront a manifestation of my country’s internalized homophobia. She could have reacted far worse like disown me maybe, but it still hurts me nonetheless to be aware that my parents are merely tolerating me– treating this as merely “a phase.”

It’s probably why I’m more on the queer spectrum of my Bisexuality right now just to piss off my mom. It’s also probably quite a surprise to my non-close friends that I’m being aggressively gay in my social medias lol

Anyway, this obviously doesn’t compare to others’ coming out experience but I just really wanted let this out. This has been emotionally draining and it’s just the beginning ;A; Thanks for listening though if you made it at the bottom of this paragraph~

Natural Instinct - Chapter 2 (Poe Dameron/Reader Fic)

SUMMARY: Reader has been captured by the First Order, along with pilot Poe Dameron. You don’t know what they intend to do with you, until you are brought along to Poe’s interrogation, and once again face Kylo Ren.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: Some strong language, mentions of torture and physical descriptions of such torture.

PAIRING: Poe Dameron/Reader (a bit of a slow burn)

A/N: Chapter 2!! Thank you to everyone who liked and reblogged chapter 1. I have about 80% of this fic already written, and so rest assured it will be completed. We get some extra Kylo in this chapter because as much as I love Poe, Ren is still my favorite. I could write novels on his character. And, of course, I intend to write fics… Enjoy!

Originally posted by poezdameron


CHAPTER 2 - TORTURE

Poe returned twice in what I assumed was the same day, although time in space was a highly unreadable thing. The first time he was thrown back in, his upper lip was slit and his nose was crooked. I couldn’t bring myself to move until the door sealed itself.

“What did they do?” I asked, kneeling beside him.

He rolled onto his back, placing a hand on his forehead. “Threw me into the middle of a stormtrooper rabble. Their boots are heavier than they look.”

“Where do you hurt? What can I do?”

Poe looked up at me and there it was again: that unbreakable grin. “Do you have experience resetting noses?”

I didn’t. I didn’t have experience doing anything along those lines besides compressing twisted ankles and spreading antiseptic cream on a cut.

“I don’t, do you?”

“I know a bit. We can give it a shot. My voice takes me back to when I was going through puberty.”

I giggled, and it surprised the both of us.

“What do I do?”

He directed my fingers with his own, placing two at the bridge where I felt the separation, and another two at the bottom so that I nearly plugged his right nostril. I felt dried blood stick to the pads of my fingers, mingled with drying sweat and the grain of sands brought from Jakku. I instinctively leaned to brace my strength into my hands, and smelt his tang. Both of us counted from three. I swallowed my nerves and pressed my fingers toward one another with as much force as I dared, and with a gruesome crack, Poe’s nose realigned. I couldn’t believe that it only took one try.

Poe leaned up onto the palms of his hands, sniffing. “Not bad, not bad at all.”

I was dabbing at the cut on his lip with the bottom of my vest soaked in toilet water when he was once again drug away to interrogation. That time I didn’t wait patiently. I paced, my mind a cacophony of worry and doubt and fear. What were they doing to him now? What would they do to me? And why for force sakes was I being ignored? The longer I waited for a duo of troopers to come for me, the more nervous I became. Part of me was willing to trade in my sadistic thoughts for some actual torture, if it meant I could just stop wondering.

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me-ladie  asked:

Barisi soulmates 😘

So this became way longer than a drabble. Also, I’m sorry that it’s kind of dark. I can’t not do angst apparently. I hope you like it and thanks for sending the prompt!


Rafael had always hated his scar. It was an ugly thing, a raised white S above his heart that shone in stark contrast to his tan skin.  And when he was 12 years old and his mother gave him “the talk” explaining what it meant, he hated it even more.

“So I have a soulmate? And their name starts with S?” He sat at the kitchen table doing his homework while his mother cooked something that smelled delicious, just like always. It sounded like a bunch of nonsense to him, something out of a bad Disney movie.

“Si, mijo.” Lucia replied.

Rafael scrunched up his face. “What if I don’t want to be with this S person?”

“You have no choice. It’s what fate has decided for you.”

He didn’t like this answer.

“Is Papi your soulmate?” While most kids would like the idea of their parents being destined for one another, the thought made his stomach hurt.

Lucia looked away from him, turning her attention to using a wooden spoon to stir the contents of a pot that simmered on the stove. “Yes, Papi is my soulmate.”

So that explained it, Rafael thought. That was why no matter how many nights he came home drunk, no matter how many times he yelled at them so loudly that the neighbors would bang on the wall, rattling picture frames holding photos that made them look like a happy family, no matter how many bruises he gave them, his mother wouldn’t leave. It was that she couldn’t leave.

He supposed it should make him feel better. She wasn’t choosing to stay, wasn’t choosing to let herself and her son walk on eggshells, always afraid of saying or doing something that might set him off. No, she had no choice at all. But it didn’t make him feel better. How could fate be so cruel? Why would it put his mother in this position with no way out?

It was then that he decided that he didn’t care what the so-called rules were. He’d never allow fate to dictate his life.

And from that day on he’d braced himself every time he met someone new, terrified of meeting his soulmate, but so far he’d had nothing to worry about. Over thirty years of Stephanies, Scotts, Suzannes, and Seths, and the scar remained dormant on his chest.

That was until Olivia’s new, gangly detective with the hideous moustache showed up.

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