this is what happens when you listen to the same song on repeat and do caps

Something Unspoken

Peter x Reader

Hey, I know it’s been a while but I recently saw Guardians Vol 2 and was inspired, so I hope you like it!

Edit: Also, would anyone like a sequel to this? Let me know if u do!

Words: 2,306

Something Unspoken

Traveling with the Guardians is not an easy feat what-so-ever, but in all honesty, as much as I complain, I wouldn’t give it up for the world. Before I spent my time roaming through the galaxy with my new team, I was head nurse for Tony Stark, and when Peter and the rest of his team had met up with the Avengers, I volunteered to go back with them. They had no kind of medical expert on board, and I craved a new sort of adventure. Cap had tried to talk me out of it, said it was too dangerous, to which I told him how much of a stupid hang up that was, seeing as he was a super solider who had fought off aliens himself. He soon realized how silly his initial argument was.

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Requested by @bellasett

Steve Rogers x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 680

Warnings: nope

     Summary:  Reader is Tony’s new assistant and Buck flirts with her and Steve gets jealous and kisses her in front of everyone


You worked for Tony, and that was basically all you did in the Stark tower but that didn’t stop you from making a bunch of friends in the form of the Avengers. “Y/N” Tony calls and that was all it took for you to be at his side “Yes sir” You hum, only in a slightly higher tone than normal “Can you take this file to to James?” he asks and you nod, noting how Tony refused to call Bucky by his nickname like the rest of you.

It took you a bit of searching but eventually you found Bucky in the gym, his shirt soaked in sweat and his muscles on full display. “Hey Buck” you greet, smiling as the man pulled his new earbuds from his ears, as soon as he discovered an iPod he was never to far from it. It was hilarious because he listened to a bunch of jazz tunes from the fifties on repeat “What’s up Dollface?” he asks, stopping his endless reps to give you his full attention “Tony asked me to give this to you” you say, handing him the envelope, with his name crudely scribbled on the front in blue ball point pen “Thanks Darling” he smiles, setting down his weights to look into the envelope.

You and Bucky kind of had this flirty thing going that honestly was just something fun to do, but you knew it would most likely never go anywhere. Obviously you missed the look on Steve’s face whenever you lightly grazed the skin on Bucky’s flesh arm or giggled at his jokes in a conversation. And even now as Steve watched you skip from the gym, with a dreamy smile on your face, he could feel every cell in his body ignite, itching under his skin like fire.

It didn’t become a super obvious occurrence until dinner that night, since you lived in the Stark tower with the rest of them, of course you would be invited. You hummed along to some babydoll song from the 40s that Bucky had introduced you two as you helped serve the plates of whatever stew or soup Happy had brought back from the super market. “Need some help there Y/N?” Steve asks and you shake your head “That’s okay Stevie, I think we’ve got this” You smile, handing him a bowl in turn.

He hated that little name, Stevie, it was something you would call your dog, or worse, your baby brother. He didn’t want you to see him like that, he wanted you to feel the same way for him as he felt for you, he wanted you to love him. But he didn’t understand modern sarcasm led alone how to flirt with someone like you.  

He was at a loss, he could defend his country against Nazi’s and survive seventy years in the ice but there was no way he could talk to you, or ask you on a date. “So, did you have a good day today?” you ask, and Tony rolls his eyes, he had never been the biggest fan of your pleasantries “It was a joyous day Lady Y/N” Thor booms and you smile at his enthusiasm “What about you Buck?” You ask and the man smirks “It was a great day doll, especially since I got to see you” he winks and you blush a bit at his comment.

The rest of the Avengers waved off your little flirtation but Steve had had enough. “That’s it” He says and before even he can register what’s happening, he’s in front of you with his lips on yours. “Nice job Cap” Tony laughs, clapping his hands a bit in an odd form of reassurance “Wow Stevie” You breath, the second he pulled away from you, and for the first time, when you called him that…he smiled.

Embers Still Glow

A/N: So if this story is a continuation of this story ( @paradoxicalintheory ) which is a continuation of this story (yours truly :3) that was inspired by THIS imagine ( @tyranttortoise ) … THEN WHO’S FLYING THE PLANE???!!!

But on a more serious note, I’m just a little overwhelmed at how much people liked my story and my writing. So many thanks to you guys and I hope I can still deliver with this third part!

Characters: Swap Grillby, Swap Muffet, Reader, OC (kinda, again)

Some things can be quite noticeable. For instance, when one of your cheerful customers seems to have a storm brewing over his skull with bioluminescent tear drops raining down on his cheekbones. Or when a certain spider monster asks for your liquor instead of her usual preferred tea which you certainly should not refuse when seeing how there is obviously that same storm brewing over her with the slight risk of verbal lightning striking you.

It becomes clear that something is wrong.

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elusive, or the one where cas is a birder

The only time Dean can get outside of his head these days is when he’s running. Alone. Nothing but the sound of his own footsteps. He doesn’t want to drown out the endless noise of humanity – he has to escape it. He feels like a character in a Joshua Ferris novel. The only one Dean has actually read.

Dean has read all the books that have ever been written about walking or running or escaping.

Every day he drives for one hour and seven minutes, one way, to get something he can’t get in a city, quaint as this particular one may seem. The silence makes the air heavy but at the same time lifts weight from his shoulders so he can relax again.

Charlie says he’s crazy, because he runs and runs and runs and runs until he can’t anymore, until he hits his knees in the dirt – she will joke, later, about what he’s been doing to get his knees bruised like that (and sometimes scraped bloody or worse). He drags himself against a tree and eats an energy bar or something, rehydrates. And then he runs some more.

He’s been running since the day after the last time he wrote. He’s not sure how he knew the words were gone so soon after they left, but he knew, just like he knew he had to pay penance to get them back.

He puts his phone on silent so he doesn’t have to listen to it counting out the miles, but a marathon on blacktop would be a stroll in the park. His doctor keeps warning that he’s going to do irreparable damage to his left knee if he keeps it up. His body went from a little soft to pretty good for his age to best shape he’s ever been in to wired together with nothing but muscle over the last year.

But still, he runs.

Mile eight. He’s on a new trail, but can guess the distance pretty well from the way his body feels.

One foot in front of the other.

Over and over again.

It was maybe in a Scott Jurek book that he read, Not all pain is significant.

It’s so strange to see another person – here, in his place, among his juniper and oak, cacti and wildflowers – that he doesn’t even comprehend it at first.

An apparition, he thinks. Like an oasis in the desert. And fuck, a good-looking apparition at that. Dean congratulates his subconscious for having great taste. This thought seems like something he would’ve joked to himself about before, not now.

The lovely mirage raises his hand, just a little bit, a slow “stop.” As Dean slows, then stops all forward momentum all together, just trotting in place to keep the potassium from settling in his calves, he realizes that this guy in the middle of his little forest is standing here with his eyes closed.

“Are you… ok?” Dean asks.

“Keep your voice down.”

Dean feels like an idiot but stage whispers all the same, “What are you doing?”


“Your eyes are closed.”

“Stop moving your feet and listen.”

“It’s the middle of nowhere, dude. There’s nothing to hear.”

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ryeregular  asked:

Prompt; Sportacus is claustrophobic?

(I know this is super late, but here ya go! I hope you don’t mind; people wanted me to try writing a sportaglanni thing a while back, so lemme just…kill two birds with one stone here

This is a LONG one, and I hope you boobs enjoy) 

“…So-” Robbie set down the can of soda he was drinking. “Let me get this straight- after I fixed your airship for you a week ago, you’ve managed to screw something else up-” 

“Uh, not exactly.” Sportacus rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s…the same problem as last time-” 

“What?! Already?” Robbie groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose before he shot the elf a look. “Again?!” 

The hero blushed slightly, a bit embarrassed about inconveniencing the villain with the same problem twice. He nodded. “…I’m… sorry?” he tried sheepishly. 

But Robbie only groaned louder at him, rolling his eyes as he stood up from his fuzzy orange chair. “Alright, fine. I’ll help you fix the airship up again- just- be more careful next time so you won’t have to ask me about this again. You know, Sportacareless, you’re really lucky that I’m put my job as an engineer before my job as a villain- I could easily destroy the airship if I want, but I choose not to because I take my job seriously-” 

“I know, I know I’m lucky- I’m really sorry if I’m inconveniencing you with this, Robbie.” 

“Yeah yeah, sure.” Robbie waved him off. “But I’ll only be able to help just a little bit today; my cousin Glanni  from Iceland is supposed to be coming to visit today at any time now. It’s been a  really long time since I’ve last seen him, and I sort of plan to you know, spend some time with him while he’s here.” 

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I Won’t Say I Love You (Part 1)

Characters: Steve x Reader, Bucky x Reader
Summary: Oh I guess we had an expiration date. So I won’t say I love you, it’s too late. Very much inspired by Nervous (The Ooh Song) by Gavin James
Genres: angst
Word Count: ~1000
A/N: There’s going to be another part to this!

Masterlist here | Part 1 | Part 2

You had not been expecting this. It was supposed to be an easy mission. Nat was watching from above and Steve was covering you. But the sudden rush of Hydra agents told you they had been expecting you. You grimaced as you ducked, just as gunfire ricocheted off the wall where you had been standing moments before.

“We’ve been compromised. Everyone head back to the roof. Pickup in five.” Natasha’s voice rang through the coms.

You looked around for an exit, and noticed that Steve still hadn’t responded.

“Cap?” You called.

There was silence.


“Just go, I’ll be behind you,” came his muffled voice into your earpiece, interrupted by the sound of fighting.

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Love me or leave me - Taehyung

Request : Hi omg i loved your blog since i stumbled upon it when u started writing Meant To Be 😁 If you are still taking scenario reqs can I ask u to do a Taehyung x reader one based on Little Mix’s Secret Love Song Pt 2 (the one without derulo)

Aww thanks hun ! I’m glad you like our blog c: ♥

Genre : angst, fluffy ending

Word count : 859

Summary : You knew that dating an idol wasn’t an easy task, you knew it too well since you were one yourself, but you still wanted to give it a shot, because you loved him. (I suck at summaries omggg)

Okay, so I don’t know what this is worth but hey I just love writing while listening to music that’s why I really wanted to make this, I recommend you to listen to Secret Love Song pt 2 and Love me or Leave me Here to be fully immersed like I was lol, but you don’t have to if you don’t want to ! 

Also, as usual, Feedback is always appreciated ♥

I apologize for every grammar or spelling mistake, keep in mind that English isn’t my first language ♥

Today, day for day, it has been a year, a year of her dating him secretly because of their ‘idol’ status. During a whole year, they had to be discreet, not showing any suspect looks or acts when they were on a show together, but the worst for her was their “dates” What he called dates. Late at night, both of us wearing a cap or a beanie, with a mask and sunglasses, and not being able to even hold hands… Those things that’ll never be enough.

She never really understood where the problem was, if the fans really loved them, both of them separately, why wouldn’t they if they are together ? Every once in a while they would have a conversation about this, his answer never changed : “It’s to protect you Y/N, I don’t want crazy people to hate on you or hurt you because of me”

This answer always broke her heart, just the thought of not being able the show how much she loves him was killing her a little more everyday, that’s for this exact reason that tonight, during their “special anniversary date” she will make things clear, even if it’s hard to hear.

Soon enough, Taehyung was at her door, she waved goodbye briefly to her bandmates, before grabbing that black mask she hated so much and leaving her dorm.

They both walked, side to side, barely recognizable.

She silently tried to hold his hand, because she was craving for his touch, she wanted to kiss him, to hug him- but she suddenly froze when she felt him avoiding her gesture.

Her eyes were getting wet even though she really didn’t want to cry, she couldn’t help herself. She stopped in her tracks, pinching her lips together to conceal every evidence of sadness making him turn around and taking off his glasses.

“Why can’t I hold you in the street ?!” she started, throwing her glasses to the ground, breaking them. “Why can’t I kiss you wherever I want ?! WHY CANT I SAY THAT I LOVE YOU KIM TAEHYUNG !” she continued, tiring apart the mask from her face and taking her beanie off. “Why can’t we be like that ?” she asked, looking at his shocked face. “I don’t wanna live love this way… I don’t wanna hide us away anymore”

“Y/N…” he tried to replied, reaching for her hands, but she didn’t let him, she backed away from him and asked her question again :

“Why can’t we be like that?”

“Y/N, please calm down, put your mask back on, someone’s gonna see us..” he murmured quickly, clearly afraid to get caught, as if he was doing something wrong people will scold him for.

She nodded her head no, looking at his scared eyes. What she was about going to say was breaking her, she was scared this moment would come, during one year, she tried, she tried her best to live this way, but she couldn’t anymore. She inhaled and exhaled the fresh air of the spring night, before reaching fore his cheek.

“Stolen moments that we steal as the curtain falls, It’ll never be enough.” she paused a moment, gently taking his mask off. At this state, he knew what was about to happen, he apprehended this moment too, but he couldn’t do anything to avoid it. Yes he loved her, he loved her so much, he wish they could be like that, but he knew it wasn’t safe, and that his boss would not approve for the sake of Bangtan.

She noticed that sparkle in his eyes, telling her that he was about to cry just as much as she was, but she couldn’t stop now.

“Love me or leave me here Taehyung, I can’t take this anymore, everytime I see you, it hurts me so much not being able to hold you, I really want to tell the world what you mean to me, hell I could shout it from the rooftop, but I can’t be the only one doing something, so I repeat, Love me or leave me here”

It took him only a few seconds to threw his cap, mask and everything that was supposed to hide him to the ground, next to the broken glasses of his loved one, and he kissed her like he never did before. A kiss full of passion, full of needs, full of love. They stayed like this, in each other arms for a long time, savouring the feeling they oh so rarely feel.

“I will never leave you Y/N”. He grabbed her hands and led her to a crowded street, flashed her a wink, squeezed her hand a bit before letting it go.

What he did next, shocked her, but made her smile like she never did before.

He ran into the crowd and screamed at the top of is lungs “I AM IN LOVE WITH Y/N /Y/L/N ! Y/N I LOVE YOU” and she did the same, screaming how much she loved him, like she always wanted to.

Now she could finally start to be happy, because everyone know what they meant for each other.

Admin K

Madonna’s Full “Billboard Women In Music 2016″ Speech

I stand before you as a doormat.  Oh, I mean a female entertainer. Thank you for acknowledging my ability to continue my career for 34 years in the face of blatant misogyny, sexism, constant bullying, and relentless abuse.  When I started, there was no internet, so people had to say it to my face. There were very few people I had to ‘clap back’ at because life was simpler then. People were just dying of AIDS everywhere, Manhattan was under the siege of a plague, and it wasn’t safe to be gay.  It wasn’t cool to be associated with the gay community.  When I first moved to New York, I was a teenager, it was 1979, and New York was a very scary place.  In the first year, I was held up at gunpoint, raped on a rooftop with a knife digging into my throat, and I had my apartment broken into and robbed so many times I just stopped locking the door. In the years to follow, I lost almost every friend I had to AIDS, or drugs, or gunshot. As you can imagine, all these unexpected events not only helped me become the daring woman who stands before you, but it also reminded me that I am vulnerable, and in life there is no real safety except self-belief. And an understanding that I am not the owner of my talents. I’m not the owner of anything. Everything I have is a gift from God. And even the shitty, fucked up things that happened to me, that still happen to me, are also gifts to teach me lessons and make me stronger no matter how much I cry about it when I’m alone.  No matter how much I rant about the unfairness of it all to any friend who will listen. I’m not here so much because I care about awards. I’m here because I want to say 'thank you.’ I’m receiving an award for being 'Woman of the Year,’ so I ask myself 'What can I say about being a woman in the music business?  What can I say about being a woman?’ When I first started writing songs, I didn’t think in a gender specific way. I didn’t think about feminism. I just wanted to be an artist. I was, of course, inspired by Debbie Harry, and Chrissie Hynde, and Aretha Franklin.  But my real muse was David Bowie.  He embodied male and female spirit, and that suited me just fine.  He made me think there were no rules.  But I was wrong.  There are no rules… if you’re a boy.  If you’re a girl, you have to play the game.  What is that game? You are allowed to be pretty, and cute, and sexy.  But don’t act too smart.  Don’t have an opinion. Don’t have an opinion that is out of line with the status quo, at least.  You are allowed to be objectified by men, and dress like a slut.  But don’t own your sluttiness. And do not, I repeat, do not share your own sexual fantasies with the world. Be what men want you to be.  But more importantly, be what women feel comfortable with you being around other men. And finally, do not age.  Because to age is a sin. You will be criticized.  You will be vilified.  And you will definitely not be played on the radio.  

When I first became famous, there were nude photos of me in Playboy and Penthouse magazine.  Photos that were taken from art schools that I posed for back in the day to make money.  They weren’t very sexy.  In fact I looked quite bored. (I was.)  But I was expected to feel ashamed when these photos came out.  And I was not, and this puzzled people. Eventually, I was left alone because I married Sean Penn.  And not only would he bust a cap in your ass, but I was taken off the market. So for awhile, I was not considered a threat.  Years later, divorced and single (Sorry Sean), I made my 'Erotica’ album, and my 'Sex’ book was released. I remember being the headline of every newspaper and magazine. And everything I read about myself was damning. I was called a 'whore’ and a 'witch.’ One headline compared me to Satan.  I said, 'Wait a minute? Isn’t Prince running around with fishnets and high heels and lipstick with his butt hanging out?’ Yes, he was. But, he was a man.  This was the first time I truly understood that women really did not have the same freedom as men.  I remember walking down the street in New York with Alek Keshishian, the director of 'Truth or Dare,’ on a freezing cold night. And I said to him, 'I feel like the most hated person on the planet.’
I remember feeling paralyzed. It took me awhile to pull myself together and get on with my creative life. To get on with my life. I took comfort in the poetry of Maya Angelou, and the writings of James Baldwin, and in the music of Nina Simone. I remember wishing that I had a female peer that I could look to for support.
Camille Paglia, the famous feminist writer, said that I set women back by objectifying myself sexually. 'Oh,“ I thought, 'So if you’re a feminist, you don’t have sexuality, you deny it.’ So, I said, 'Fuck it. I’m a different kind of feminist. I’m a bad feminist.’
A few years later, my daughter was born.  And this new life gave birth to my album 'Ray of Light,’ and an interest in universal laws, the concept of cause and effect, and the desire to have a spiritual life. I realized that I could not be a victim any longer. That everything happened for a reason. And my job was to learn from every shit storm I wandered into and to persevere. In 1984 (I know, I’m jumping backwards), I made my first big TV appearance on 'The Dick Clark Show,’ and I sang my song 'Holiday.’ At the end of the show, Dick shoved a microphone in my face and he asked me if I had any plans for the future and I said, 'Yeah! I wanna rule the world!’ I watch that footage, I look back at that moment, and I am stunned by my audacity. I had not planned to say that, it just fell out of my mouth, like most things.  However, my ego understood years later, that if you ask the universe for a lot, you’re gonna get a lot. It just won’t always be pleasant. So, once you embrace and accept this universal law, you just might survive not only the entertainment business, not only the music business, but you just might survive this crazy thing called life.
I said this last week in Miami at my fundraiser and I’ll say it again. People say that I’m so controversial, but I think the most controversial thing I have ever done is to stick around. Michael is gone. Tupac is gone. Prince is gone. Whitney is gone. Amy Winehouse is gone. David Bowie is gone. But, I’m still standing.
I’m one of the lucky ones and every day I count my blessings. There are so many other chapters I’d like to share with you, but they said I only had a few minutes and I’m pretty sure I went over that.  What I’d like to share with you as an artist is this: We live in a world now where we get information fast. But we don’t get knowledge. Knowledge needs to be earned.  There are no easy rides. Society perpetuates the idea of no process. Technology means we get what we want faster and easier. But are we happier? Are we more successful? Does it mean that we have achieved more? I think you know the answer to that. Put your focus on what you have to say to the world, not what the world has to say about you.  What I would like to say to all the women here today is this: Women have been so oppressed for so long they believe what men have to say about them. And they believe they have to back a man to get the job done. And there are some very good men worth backing, but not because they’re men, because they’re worthy. As women, we have to start appreciating our own worth, and each other’s worth. Seek out strong women to befriend, to align yourself with, to learn from, to be inspired by, to collaborate with, to support, to be enlightened by.  True solidarity amongst women is a power all in its own, and no opposing force stands a chance in the face of this solidarity. But women need to feel secure enough to trust themselves, to believe in themselves, and when we do, we will be unstoppable. As I said before, it’s not so much about receiving this award as it is having this opportunity to stand before you and really say 'thank you’ as a woman, as an artist, as a human. Not only to the people who have loved and supported me along the way, so many of you are sitting in front me right now, you have no idea how much your support means. But to the doubters, the naysayers, to everyone who gave me hell and said I could not, that I would not, that I must not, your resistance made me stronger, made me push harder, made me the fighter that I am today. Made me the woman that I am today. So, thank you.


Summary: You bump into Jungkook at the bakery.
Type: Fluff
Length: 2531 Words
Members: Jungkook x Reader, Other Members appearances

So I may have based some of the interactions off of what my crush and I do to each other uM JUST M A Y B E

- Admin Au(drey)

Originally posted by jengguks

The bakery greets you with an emporium of sweet scents that hint at fulfilling treats. Bells chime overhead as you let the door softly shut behind you and the girl standing at the counter lets out a cheery welcome. “Please take your time!” she says as she goes to attend to the next customer. You dip your head in agreement and pause in front of the glass cases, stomach growling at the sight of the slices of cakes, perfectly shaped mousse, and the tarts at the very bottom.

There isn’t a special occasion today, but as you were sitting in your living room with nothing in particular to do on the first day of your weekend,  you remembered that it was also the Bangtan Boys’ free-day. With that, you had dashed to your closet and picked out an outfit at random, counted out the dollars you had on you, then set out to where you were now. You had it in your mind that they deserved a treat, even if their manager insisted that they couldn’t consume anymore carbohydrates. Maybe I’ll get one for each of the team as well, then they can’t say no to anything! you think slyly, but sigh at imagining your wallet getting thin. But it’d be for a good purpose - after all, the seven young men are your extended family, the brothers that watched out for you, they definitely needed something sweet on their tongues besides the lyrics they sing.

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Didn’t See That Coming? (Part 3)

Background: You and Peter have known each other since middle school, but your mutant abilities soon take you and Peter far away from the places you grew up in. (post-DOFP)

Rating: M (*cap appears* LANGUAGE)

Warnings: I guess she gets a bit panicky? crying, peter is also there so just beware

Words: 1,572 words (I KNOW RIGHT WHAT THE SHIT this is a long chapter *not too long though*)

Part 1

Part 2

If you weren’t so insanely happy right now, you could’ve slapped him. 

“Told you so,” Peter repeated, speeding to your other side, “Told you so.”

“I got accepted, Peter,” you quietly spoke to yourself, smiling at the shining floor as you walked from Professor Xavier’s office, “Nothing you can do or say could make me unhappy right now.”

“I bet I could.” Peter said, finally ceasing to speed around you and maintaining a semi-normal speed.

“Wouldn’t doubt it, roadrunner.”

Suddenly, Peter stopped walking altogether. Realizing this, you turned around to find the boy twitching slightly on the floor, with a bit of blood coming from his mouth. Your heart dropped at the sight as your rushed to his side.

“Peter, peter, peter, you’re gonna be okay, I’m gonna go get the Professor and you’re gonna be just fine, you hear me?” you whispered to him, probably more for your own sake than Peter’s. You quickly stood up and began to step over him and ran halfway up the hall before you were grabbed from behind. Whoever had grabbed you was laughing, and you could recognize that laugh anywhere.

“PETER DJANGO MAXIMOFF, YOU ASSHOLE, I HATE YOU!” you yelled at him while grinning a bit, half-heartedly pushing his shoulder. Meanwhile, Peter was laughing his ass off, gasping for air and tearing up.

“Oh-h, calm down, (Y/N/N),” he managed to get out between bouts of laughter, “It’s just a- a joke.”

“Where did the blood come from?!” you worriedly half-whispered, becoming aware of how close you still were to the Professor’s office.

Peter sheepishly looked at his feet before smirking mischievously, “I sorta stole a few pens from the professor…and one of them sorta happened to have red ink…”

You shoved him again, and you were laughing with Peter until you heard the squeak of a wheel. Looking back, you saw Professor Xavier heading towards you with Hank.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud, it’s just Peter was-” you managed to quickly attempt to explain before the headmaster cut you off.

“I understand. I just need to speak to Peter right now, regarding his schooling, if you wouldn’t mind, Miss (Y/L/N).”

“Oh,” you mumbled, looking towards Peter and seeing the same reluctance to separate in his expression as well. You turned back to the Professor, “Um, yeah, sure.”

“Okay, good. Come along, Peter.”

You watched a bit helplessly as they began to walk away, prior to Professor Xavier quickly turning back to you.

“Oh, I almost forgot. Here is your schedule and your room number. We aren’t as big a school as we seem, so you will be having a roommate. Miss Grey, I believe.”

“Okay,” you mutter, a little disappointed that Peter wouldn’t be with you, “Thank you.” 

Peter will be fine. I think you will like it here.” he reassured you, as if he could hear your thoughts. You didn’t respond really, because you were too dumbfounded that he knew and you were wondering if it was really that obvious. Then you remembered he had not even moved his lips when he had talked to you, and began to wonder how powerful this soft-spoken man was.

After seeing the three men off, including Hank, who had not engaged in conversation but you still found gazing at you not-so discreetly, you went off in search of your room. Whenever you saw anyone, you would try to duck behind a column or hide behind the clipboard holding your papers. At one time, you saw a blue boy with carvings adorning his skin doing the same and chuckled, thinking of the fact that he was actually scared of talking to you. Soon, you find your room with the door ajar and music pouring out, which you had soon recognized as the opening chords of Seals and Crofts’ ‘Summer Breeze’

Walking through the door, you saw a ginger girl folding a few shirts and singing the lyrics of the song quietly to herself. She hadn’t seen you yet, and you brainstormed for a way to introduce yourself without scaring her or being awkward. Before you could think of something, she turned around and squealed a bit at the sight of you.

Turning off her music, she sighed, “You scared the crap out of me.”

“Sorry,” you said a bit guiltily, “I’m not the best at first impressions.”

She chuckled before looking up at me with intense green eyes to match her wispy, red hair, sticking out her hand, “My name is Jean, Jean Grey. What’s yours?”

“My name’s (Y/N) (Y/L/N),” you smiled and took her hand, briefly shaking it, “I like your music. You don’t need to turn it off. Feel free to sing as well, doesn’t bother me.”

“Oh, thanks, but I was just using the music to occupy my mind while I unpack,” Jean said, offering a small smile, “Now, I can get to know you instead.”

“What powers do you have? I have telepathy and I’m going to be tested for telekinesis soon.”

“I can control motion,” you began, opening your suitcase, “I can accelerate things, I can stop things, but only if I’m really focused on the things I’m controlling.”

“Wait, really?” Jean replied, looking back in awe, “That’s probably the coolest power I’ve found out about so far.”

As you unpacked, you found out various other things about Jean, such as that it’s her first year here as well, even though she’s known Professor Xavier a long time, and that she is from New York. You spent the entire day either talking to Jean, walking around the grounds with her, or listening to music with her. By the end of the day, you caught her eyes drooping a bit and decided to bring her back to her room to sleep. 

You had tried to sleep also, but to no avail. You couldn’t stop thinking about classes tomorrow. You hadn’t seen Peter around either, and you had checked around for him quite a bit. What if he had left you there? What if he wasn’t accepted? Or worse, what if he had already found new friends and completely forgot about you? Your head ached with all the hypotheticals and soon it was too much for you to handle. You elected to find someplace quiet, maybe so you could cry, or calm down, or both.

After pulling on your shoes and a leather jacket, you peeked out from your door. Seeing nothing potentially dangerous, you cautiously stepped out from your room and started walking. After walking for a bit, you found yourself near a kitchen. Peering around the corner, you saw Peter talking to a girl with brown eyes and black hair in pigtails. He laughed a little, probably at something she said, and then heard your quiet breaths from the hallway. Peter turned around, realizing you were there, and smiled, beginning to move towards you 

Blinking back tears, you froze him, and the girl. You quickly made your way down the stairs and out into the cold, midnight air. Not enough distance, you thought to yourself, as you began to wipe away the saltwater that the wind was threatening to release from your eyes. You kept walking and thought more about Peter and how he blew you off on your first day so that he could talk to someone else. He was your best friend, but apparently that didn’t mean much. Eventually, you found yourself deep in the woods and collapsed under the weight of what you had seen. Clenching the mossy earth between your fingers, you choked out a whimper and lost focus completely, inhaling desperately for air between sobs.

After a minute, a flash of silver caught your eye. Lifting your head, you saw Peter standing there. He looked like he was on the verge of tears from worry, but not quite crying yet. His silver hair flew in all directions as he rushed to your side and moved you to sit against a nearby oak tree. 

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Peter whispered, stroking your hair and putting his silver jacket over your own leather jacket. 

“You-” you stuttered between gasps for air, “You left me alone.”

“Hey, (Y/N), I’m right here,” He muttered, “I’ll always be here to annoy you, you know that.”

“W-where w-were you, today?” you managed to ask him.

“The professor told me it was best to let you settle in, try to meet my new roommate, and unpack before classes tomorrow. I did check on you though. You were with the redhead. Looked like you two were getting along well,” Peter explained too quick for anyone but you to understand, “but back on topic, I just thought it would be best to let you alone. I was only in the kitchen with Jubilee because we were both looking for food. You don’t know how long it took to find you, I searched the entire school and almost the entire woods before finding you here. I’m glad I did though.”

Before Peter could say anything else, you reached around his neck and nestled yourself there, closing your eyes in content. Unknown to you, he reddened a bit before mouthing ‘nice’ and putting his arm around you as well. You could sit there leaning against that tree for ages, watching empires rise and fall like the sun in the sky, but for now, just laying there against his shoulder was enough. 

Just Like Old Times

a/n: requested

If the numerous empty bottles of water were anything to go by you’d been at it for a while. When you peeked at the time you confirmed that you’d been sitting at your desk for the last four hours and so far you didn’t have much to show for it. The blank document seemed to be mocking you.

“Dammit,” you muttered as you backspaced yet another line.

You’d been trying in vain to write an essay. You had yet to get a solid introductory line written. Nothing thus far seemed good enough to keep.

Midway through another attempt to start there was a loud tapping against your window.

You whipped around, feeling your heartbeat in your throat. It was almost midnight on a Wednesday. Your parents were sound asleep and your only company during the last couple of hours had been the ticking of the clock above your desk.

You stood and tentatively stepped towards your window, slowly parting the curtain to peer outside.

Relief flooded you at the sight. You quickly lifted the panel and stepped aside to allow him in.

“Hey babygirl,” he greeted with a grin.

“How did you get up here with all that?” you wondered aloud as you eyed two paper bags clutched in his hands.

Your bedroom was on the second floor and though you’d seen him climb the tree beside your window many times, you’d never seen him do so while carrying parcels of food.

“Hello to you too,” he avoided your question, setting the bags on your bed.

Though the tell-tale scent of your favourite food wafted through the air you kept your attention on him.

“And since when do you sneak into my room anymore. What are we, twelve?” you teased, unable to hide your smile.

“This is the greeting I get after nearly breaking my neck trying to surprise your ass with Mr. Chow’s? Hm, maybe I should go,” he moved to retrieve the bags, but you swatted his hand away.

“No! Thank you. You’re the best,” you admitted, already pulling out the containers.

“I know.”

“Shut up and eat with me,” you rolled your eyes as you settled on the rug.

“I want one of your egg rolls,” he stated, tossing his car keys somewhere on your bed before joining you on the floor.

You narrowed your eyes at him, a forkful of food already halfway to your mouth, “Why don’t you just order you own?”

He shrugged, pulling out his own container, “Cause I didn’t want a whole order. Just wanna taste one.”

“Boy please, you know exactly what they taste like because you’re always eating mine. Get your own,” you reprimanded.

Despite it, you stabbed a roll with your fork and transferred it to his container. Without further prompting he leaned forward to scoop some of his shrimp into your box.

This bartering of food was an unspoken tradition. No matter how many times you’d scolded each other for not ordering what the other had you still proceeded to ‘taste test’ and share meals.

“How far did you reach?” he asked after he’d devoured the remnants of his meal, a few minutes later.

You glanced up, almost forgetting that you still had a pending assignment awaiting your attention. Your shoulders sagged at the thought.

“Not far,” you pouted as you scooped the last of your food into your mouth.

Grabbing the supersized cup of slushy before you could reach for it he stood and walked over to your laptop. (You never questioned why he always insisted on getting one large drink instead of two normal sized ones) He peered at the screen for a moment before turning to you.

“The hell?” he chuckled, “You haven’t even started.”

“It’s harder than I thought it would be,” you complained, rising to your feet, only to plop down on your bed.

“It’s been four hours. When I called you said you were halfway through. There’s like five words on this page,” he pointed out.

“Well I was, but I read it over and it wasn’t making sense so I had to erase everything and start o- stop laughing!”

“I’m sorry, but really, how hard can this be? It’s just an essay.” his words were slightly distorted as he chewed on the straw.

“I’d like to see you write five thousand words on the evolution of the economy in Caribbean history. You wouldn’t know your ass from your elbow, so shut up.”

“I’d probably be able to write more than five words,” he teased.

He was too caught up in making fun of you to see the pillow come flying his way. So when it smacked him straight in his face and knocked the cap off his head you felt triumph swell within you.

“Don’t you have a song to write or an interview to do or something?” you quipped.

Instead of responding he kicked off his shoes and dived onto your bed, careful not to spill his drink. Nevertheless, you narrowed your eyes at him. He knew you hated when he ate or drank anything on your bed, but did it anyway.

“This counts for thirty percent of my final grade. I need to get at least a B plus.”

“You’ll figure it out. Don’t stress,” he offered from behind you as he lounged against your pillows.

“Easy for you to say. We can’t all be 21 year old, multi-millionaire superstars for a living, can we?” you muttered sourly.

With the quiet that followed you knew your tone was too harsh to shrug off. When you turned to face him you regretted your words. He’d come over with every intention of helping you relax and this was the way you repay him? He’d even bought you your favourite food. You instantly felt like the worst friend ever.

“I’m sorry. I’m stressed and taking it out on you, I’m sorry,” you repeated.

He placed the drink on your nightstand before patting the bed beside him. You scooted back until you were sitting beside him. He draped his arm around your middle and pulled you back till you were lying side by side then proceeded to nuzzle his cheek against your chest.

“You need to take a break. You’ve been working yourself like crazy ever since this semester started.”

“I just wanna do well,” you murmured, barely noticing when your fingers began raking through his hair out of habit.

“And you will, but you gotta go easy on yourself. All work and no play makes Y/N a dull girl.”

You laughed, despite yourself.

“When was the last time we hung out?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “You’re always busy.”

“Nah babygirl, you know I’d always make time for you. You’re the one that’s been busy.”

You couldn’t argue that because he was right. The many times he’d messaged in attempt to see you, you’d been the one to shut it down because you were busy with school.

Guilt began to eat at you as you thought about it. You’d been slacking in your best friend duties.

“You’re right. I’ve been a shitty best friend.”

He shifted then, replacing his cheek with his chin so he could look at you, “You’d only be a shitty best friend if you don’t come over for lunch this Saturday.”

At your hesitation he quickly added, “C’mon, Jazzy and Jaxon really miss you.”

“Aw, alright,” you conceded at the mention of his siblings.

He sat up, supported by his arm as he peered down at you, brows deeply wrinkled, “Wait, you’ll only hang out with me if my little brother and sister are there?”

“What can I say? They’re too cute to refuse,” you laughed at his incredulous stare.

“I climb through your window, with food, at midnight, begging you to hang out with me, but all Jazmyn and Jaxon have to do is bat their eyelashes and you’re ready to drop everything to see them?”

“You know they’re my babies,” you giggled when he rolled his eyes and fell back on the bed beside you.

You turned to your side to face him, snuggling up under the arm he left stretched out for you.

“Why did you come through my window? You could have called, I would have come down to open the door for you,” you wondered aloud.

“Where’s the fun in that?” he grinned as his eyes traced the lines in your ceiling.

“Not breaking your neck, maybe?” you used his earlier words against him.

He breathed a short amused sigh before you felt him shrug, “Just wanted to relive old times, I guess.”

You reminisced on the years when he’d scale the tree in your front yard some nights to get to your room. You’d lay in bed like you were now and talk about anything and everything. You’d listen as he spoke of things that happened on tours, people he’d met and secrets he’d confided in no one else but you.  You’d laughed and cried as you recapped the bits of each other’s lives you’d missed.

Again, the tiniest bit of guilt clawed at you when you realized it had been months since the last time you’d spent time with Justin and it wasn’t for lack of trying on his part.

The words of a conversation you’d had three years ago in this very position played clearly in your mind. You had voiced your fears of losing him as your best friend as he went out and explored the world. He had promised that wouldn’t happen.

“You’re still my favourite,” he murmured, interrupting the quiet that had settled.

It was as if he’d read your mind. Or maybe he was thinking of the same night. Either way, he’d murmured the same words he’d used to appease your fears all those years ago.

He’d vowed that no matter how many countries he’d visited, people he’d met or friends he’d made, you were and always would be his favourite person.

You scooted closer and craned your neck till your lips were close enough to kiss the bottom of his jaw.

“So are you,” you murmured as you tucked your head into his neck, relishing in his warmth.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to drift into sleep. The essay that had been plaguing you all night now barely an afterthought.

Songs To Slit Your Wrists To: The Music of Mathew Lee Cothran

It is the eve of my 25th birthday. The list of my accomplishments is sadly sparse: 

  1. I escaped the small town in Michigan where I grew up. The circumstances of my departure are the most troubling part of my history, but I believe that if I had not gotten out I would be dead or worse. 
  2. I have a degree from a somewhat prestigious university. Whether or not my BA in Cinema Studies will ever be useful to me, professionally or otherwise, still remains to be seen. 
  3. I have a job that I mostly like. It’s not what I expected to be doing at this point in my life, but it pays the rent and doesn’t make me want to shoot myself in the head rather than getting out of bed in the morning. It even leaves me with an occasional feeling of satisfaction, and I’ve come to realize that this is all that most people can ask for. 
  4. I guess I’ve written a few things that aren’t totally terrible. [This might not be an actual accomplishment.] 

I have one all consuming musical obsession, which reflects my state of mind as I pass a quarter century [and perhaps the state of mind of the nation]– the numerous musical projects of a native of South Carolina [a place where I have also lived, but try to forget] named Mat Lee Cothran. Cothran creates music under several names: Coma Cinema, Elvis Depressedly, Gremlins, and occasionally under his given name. Each project has it’s own distinct qualities, but it all has the same overall style, the same lo-fi noisy sound. 

My discovery of Cothran’s music was typical: a friend recently told me to listen to the album Holo Pleasures by Elvis Depressedly– it hooked me instantly in that way that so magically and rarely happens with music [or any kind of art]. The album feels intimate, like it’s speaking directly to me. 

It’s unlike anything that I’ve heard before, but without undermining the originality of it, a comparison to Elliott Smith comes immediately to mind, especially his early solo recordings like Roman Candle which much like Holo Pleasures were recorded not in a studio, but in a home. Elliott Smith’s vocals on Roman Candle have this whispery quality, which make the listener feel like he’s speaking directly into their ear, like he’s right next to you sharing a secret. Holo Pleasures has a similar quality, as does all of Cothran’s music, especially what he’s recorded under the name Elvis Depressedly,  

Cothran’s music has a gritty torn-up beauty like the kind that can be found in street art collage, decaying buildings covered in ivy, and pretty girls with resourceful and creative thrift store fashion sense. It’s the kind of beauty that is enhanced by a lack of resources and a touch of ugliness. Depression and the destructive power of drugs are [perhaps predictably] the most frequent themes in the music that Cothran makes under the moniker of Elvis Depressedly. This music simply gushes with pain, so much so that it often seems to parody sadness [the name Elvis Depressedly itself is parodic in it’s ridiculousness], one of the finest examples of this is on the 2012 LP “Mickey’s Dead” specifically the song, “Roadside Memorial (repeat)”, the entire album is, “dedicated to jessica oliver, page chilton, my mother, my father, and the ill will of the world.”:

drying blood between my teeth 
soul on fire fever speaks 
hotter water endless thoughts 
getting sick and weak and getting off 
all these so called friends 
who sell me out 
to meet their ends 
yr pathetic, judge yrself 
i don’t want or need yr fucking help 

dying as the summer leaks 
drown myself in the kitchen sink 
i can’t sleep cause the shakes won’t quit 
a self portrait painted in vomit 
burn my wrists with cigarettes 
wash the blood out of my dress 
feeling cheap feeling dull 
burn a road side memorial 

The first few times I heard this song I laughed out loud, I thought it was so over the top that it verged on hilarity. It’s the line “a self portrait painted in vomit” that really gets me, it just sounds so mockingly self-effacing. 

Yet despite the self-mocking tone that Cothran’s lyrics often take, at other times they are almost transcendent. On the same LP, there’s a song called “Warm Wolves” that begins with the verse:

warm wolves milking mary 
in the skull of a girl made of flowers 
my angels gone crazy 
as her heart is being devoured  There are a lot of lyrics like this in Cothran’s oeuvre, words that are basically nonsensical but which take on their own meaning within the song, and come out being beautiful. Cothran’s lyrics often verge on being poetic, and because of that quality, I reject certain statement’s that he has made on his personal blog that he doesn’t care about lyrics in music, that he is not concerned with lyrics at all, even his own–because if this were true then why create music with lyrics at all? I would argue that Cothran’s music would be severely lacking without the lyrics, and that even though most of his lyrics do not have overtly profound meaning, they take on new meaning within a musical context. After months of obsessing about Elvis Depressedly and the rest of Cothran’s music, I finally had the opportunity to see him live a couple weeks ago at Shea Stadium in Brooklyn. It was an Orchid Tapes showcase [the label that has released much of Cothran’s work], and all of the acts that played that night, including Ricky Eat Acid and R.L. Kelly were very tight. It was one of the more crowded shows that I’ve been to at that venue and I felt old [if not in actual years, than in exhaustion]. It seemed like I was surrounded by kids who had come in for the show from Long Island or NYU and SVA dorm rooms in Manhattan. The Girl standing in front of me for a good amount of the show had a large backpack with not one, but three bottles of hand sanitizer attached to it. For some reason I found this profoundly annoying. Her and her friends all had cameras [35mm] and were attempting to take photos of the performers, but it was hard to get good shots through the crowd. I was slightly drunk and so at an opportune moment when everyone was good and engulfed by music I unscrewed the caps of all of her bottles of hand sanitizer and took them so that they would leak out.  

Elvis Depressedly played last [or at least that’s the way I remember it]. Ultimately Cothran’s live performance wasn’t quite as compelling as his recorded material, I could probably blame the poor quality of the sound equipment at Shea Stadium, but I think it’s more likely that Cothran’s home recordings simply contain an intimacy that can’t quite be replicated live. Regardless of how the living thing matched up to the electronic version, hearing the song “Weird Honey” live and singing along to it with an entire audience of other people, who were obviously obsessing about the same music as me, was fucking priceless. The show provided the sense of connection that I look for in music, a connection with other fans and the performers themselves that transcends our earthly differences. 

Infatuation (Jimin x OC) Part 4

A/N: I honestly do not know what I was thinking as I wrote this. I don’t know know what to think about when it comes to this part. I don’t know, you guys be the judge! But as I promised, I have finally finished part 4! Here it is, I hope you like it!

(By the way, I did choose a song that is perfect for the next parts of Infatuation. I advise you to listen to this, because it surely made me tear up a bit. But, anyway, you can continue reading!)

Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 (Sneak Peak) | 3 | 4 (Sneak Peak) | 4 | Part 5 Sneak Peak | 5 | 6 Sneak Peak | 6 | Epilogue

infatuation pt. 4

“Meet Park Jimin, he will be your new co-worker in the company.”

Eunji’s palms grew sweaty, and she pinched herself just to make sure that she wasn’t dreaming again. But no, it was real. He was real.

Jimin completely abandoned his man candy appearance. He was wearing his glasses again, wearing the same baggy office pants with a somewhat tight polo. His hair was dyed brown, completely neglecting his red hair.

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