tree hill is that place for me :')

The days just get longer, the weeks drag out, then the months feel faster, and the years speed by. How many days has it been since the last time we’ve talked? How many times have my fingers hovered over the call button on your contact? 

Maybe I just hope that you still think of me. That when she falls asleep next to you, your mind wanders off to me. I wonder if you wander off to the places we used to go. Climb the trees outside the school, laughing while we skip science class. Run down the hill outside the church when everyone else was praying. Steal your parents’ vodka and climb to your neighbor’s treehouse. Singing and slow dancing in the pouring rain, not scared of the thunderstorm.
I remember so many things, things we did, things we ran from, things we sang, things we danced to, things we rebelled, things we sinned.

Where did we go? The old us evaporated into the atmosphere.

—  melancholycupofcoffee, aaliyah mara brycelynne hope elizabeth esperanza isabel
secret | jughead jones x reader

Originally posted by jughead-thethird

request

written by: gaby

edited by: @jugheadxreaderinyourhead

prompt: 100- “no one needs to know”

chapter song: drugs & candy / all time low

“jughead, are you sure we shouldn’t tell the others?” y/n wondered, wrapping her arms around his neck gently.

he put a finger over her lips, “no one needs to know.”

he moved closer to her and placed his arms around her waist.

she sighs in pure satisfaction with the moment. the wind blows, making the trees around them wave.

they had planned an outing for their 1st year anniversary but wanted it really simple so they went out to a little hill.

“i can’t believe your part of the serpents,” she looks out at the starry sky, “that’s so cool.”

he hums in response, “will you miss me?”

she pretend to thinks for a second, placing her index and thumb on her chin, “probably not.”

“i am deeply offended, how dare you!” jughead exclaims, putting on a false offended expression.

she laughs it off and moves closer to him to nuzzle her head into his neck.

“it means we won’t be able to see each other as much.” y/n sadly chuckles, swaying to ‘drugs & candy’.

“hey, look at me,” she obeys him, “we’re going to meet no matter what, okay?”

she nods continuing to look at the amazing view.

“are you doubting me?” jughead whispered in her ear.

“i’m not,” she looks up at the stars to stop her tears from falling down, “i’ll just miss you.”

“i told you you’ll miss me.” he jokingly states, “let’s just spend today with no problem.”

the couple stood there under the stars, enjoying each others’ company.

with y/n humming to the tune of the music playing, jug starts teasing her.

“y/n, did you know you have a really pretty voice?” he smirks, pressing his forehead against her’s.

she mumbles a ‘shut up’ and an ‘i hate you’ whilst blushing, looking down at the grassy ground.

“last time i checked, you love me.” he sings, cupping her face.

he pecks her lips and y/n pulls away, putting an imitation of a disgusted expression.

“ew, cooties!” she exclaims, trying her hardest not to laugh.

“what are you? in the second grade?” he laughs, pushing her face away.

“last time i checked, i was human thank you very much.” she states, mocking him and taking a seat on the ground.

he lays down beside her, placing his hands on his stomach as he closes his eyes.

she takes this as a chance to grab his crown-shaped beanie.

he snaps his eyes open, reaching for his beanie from behind y/n’s back.

“give it back.” he begs, throwing his head back.

she completely ignores and sniffs the beloved hat of mr. jughead jones, “gosh, do you even shower?”

“first of all, rude and second, give me!” he whines, trying to snatch it from her hands.

she stretches her hands over her head, making the beanie higher than jughead’s slouching figure.

he reaches out to grab it but y/n leans back due to jughead’s heavier built leaning onto her, making them fall on each other.

“don’t suffocate me!” y/n complains, pushing his back off of her.

“give back the beanie, y/l/n.” jughead says, trying to negotiate.

she groans in defeat and throws it on his lap, “let me breathe please.”

he gets up, bending to get his hat.

jug offers his hand for y/n to get up, meaning it was time to go.

“already?” y/n pouts, accepting his hand.

“sorry, it’s already 1 and archie’s probably worried.” he explains, putting an arm over her shoulders.

they stand for one last moment, sharing their last kiss of the day.

“i love you, jug.”

“i love you too, y/n. so much.”

tag list: @hauntedcherryblossombanana-blog @sadbreakfastclb @jugandbettsdetectiveagency @kindfloweroflove @fragilefrances @mydelightfulcollectiontyphoon @onceuponagladerhead @natalieroseg @sardonic-jug @hiimalyssawriter

I’m back from Murica! Had an amazing time, our van which we’ve dubbed The Blue Ruin, only broke down twice and I had an excellent time goofing around with Matt and all our lovely friends we were able to visit along the way. Matt is still getting his rolls of film developed but he snapped this one of me at awe inspiring Monument Valley on one of the only days during summer where it rains in the desert. The storm created a moody and almost eerie atmosphere in the valley. (If you look closely you can see the road and cars ahead of me for scale.) America’s national parks really are incredible places, ran by amazing and dedicated staff. We were lucky enough to hit Yellowstone, Arches, Monument Valley, Yosemite, Zion (my favourite), Olympic, Mesa Verde, Mojave, Painted Hills, Craters Of The Moon, Joshua Tree and even explore an unfinished nuclear power plant that was abandoned after the company went $30 billion over budget in the 80s. Whaaaaaat.

One of the highlights of the trip had to be finally visiting the famous Madonna Inn. We couldn’t stay the night as it was booked out, but we did share a meal at their mindf*ck of a restaurant. It was beautiful, crazy and a sensory overload. I can confidently say it was the fanciest meal I’ve ever had while simultaneously being the most dirty I’ve ever been (Showers were few and far between as were laundromats haha) We even got up to have a little dance to the full swing band, surrounded by gorgeously dressed couples in their best attire and us in our dirty jeans and ripped tshirts- it was a hoot.

Although I’m really missing being out on the road (After 5 weeks of living in our van and camping, it’s quite the adjustment!) I’m excited to get back into creative work. I’m moving house and should be able to finally rent myself some studio space. This is something I’ve ALWAYS wanted to do but never been able to afford. *Excitement*

After working our asses off all summer and hustling hard to raise funds for the van and our trip, it was worth every cent. If you’re thinking about heading out in a van and would like some tips or have any questions, I’d be happy to share what I can! But you should absolutely do it if you have the opportunity. x

8

Going to the Salem Witch Trials Memorial is something I will never forget.  

In my younger years as a witch, I never really wanted to see that part of Salem–Honestly, I am not sure if it is because I just wasn’t interested as a young practitioner or I didn’t quite grasp the weight that the Salem Witch Trials and mass hysteria had on our world.  Only as I have gotten older have I become more and more passionate about the historical events aligned with witchcraft.

In 1692, nearly two hundred people in the Salem area were accused of witchcraft, then considered a crime.  This episode is one of Colonial America’s most notorious cases of mass hysteria. It has been used in political rhetoric and popular literature as a vivid cautionary tale about the dangers of isolationism, religious extremism, false accusations, and lapses in due process.  Twenty of the accused were tried and executed–victims of fear, superstition, and a court system that failed to protect them.  

The abuses of the Salem witch trials contributed to changes in U.S. court procedures, playing a role in the advent of the guarantee of the right to legal representation, the right to cross-examine one’s accuser, and the presumption of innocence rather than of guilt.  A memorial was created to honor the memory of these twenty victims and to remind us of the enduring lessons of human rights learned from the tragedy of the witch trials.  The memorial was designed by architect Jim Cutler and artist Maggie Smith, and was dedicated in 1992 by Elie Wiesel.

“The Salem Witch Trials Tercentenary Memorial attempts to give form to concepts of injustice…The designers approached the idea of injustice through four words: Silence, Deafness, Persecution and Memory. To represent silence, they graded and organized the site to emphasize the surrounding tombstones as mute watchers looking into the memorial. For deafness, they inscribed the historical protests of innocence on the entry threshold and had them slide under the stone wall in mid-sentence. For persecution, they planted black locust trees, from which the accused believed to have been hanged. For memory, they inscribed the names, dates, and manners of death on stone slabs, which were then cantilevered from the stone wall as benches.”

When we first got into Salem and stood outside the Witch House, the architecture struck me as odd and the color choice was so stark in contrast to the lively summer green of plant life in the front garden.  My friends and I took the usual tourist-y pictures and then began crossing the road to walk to our next destination.  That’s when I heard it: my name, whispered up against my right ear.  I stopped in the middle of the street, thinking it had been my friend’s husband.  I spun on my heels only to find him hand-in-hand with her, just to the left of where I had been crossing.  I asked, “Did you hear that?”  He shook his head and kept walking.

Something kept tugging at my insides.  The more historical sites we came across, the more insistent this feeling became.  The whole city hummed with it, this magic–both kitschy and real–and that warm energy propelled us visitors further and further in.  It wasn’t until we drove up a very unassuming alleyway that I realized where the epicenter of this powerful pull brought us.  There, at the top of a small incline, was the Salem Witch Trials Memorial.

There is a stillness to the air when you stand before it and just beyond its entrance are towering, ancient trees; sentinels protecting the names of those who died without justice.  There are inscriptions on the ground at your feet and they read of the last words uttered by the accused witches of Salem.  One in particular caught my attention:

I am wholly innocent of such wickedness…

Twenty benches protrude from stone walls, suspended and slowly being weathered by the elements.  Names are carved into them; the description of their execution marr the faces of stone and the date of their deaths resonate from the masonry.  People walk in silence, quietly reading and leaving flowers for those that died during the witch hunt.  It is a place of very heavy spiritual energy–whether or not it comes from the living who visit or the departed resting in the nearby cemetery is to be determined.  The short amount of time I spent there can only be described as surreal.  

The first few names I came across were the last ones to be executed before logic and law intervened.  These victims died on my birthday, September 22nd.  The very thought caused me to shudder, but still I moved forward and observed a moment for each person at their bench.  Around I walked, counting down from twenty to one, and there before me was the memorial to the unusual and outspoken Bridget Bishop.  The red flowers at this small monument were fitting of her, as I had read previously that she often was seen wearing a crimson cloak about town.  People had misjudged her; she died because she was different.  

The truth of the matter is this: none of these men and women were witches and yet they died because people feared what I am lucky enough to practice today.  And that bothered me.  It still does.  It stuck with me the entire way home as we road-tripped sixteen more hours.  I dreamed of the memorial, of Salem and its daunting trees and the fading headstones at the top of that hill.  On Monday, when I returned to work, I began researching and I came across something that just absolutely stunned me: Bridget Bishop died on June 10th, 1692.  I stood in front of her memorial on June 10th, 2017.  The weekend we visited–down to the day–was the anniversary of the first execution of the Salem Witch Trials that took place 325 years ago.

Fate and coincidence are two things that I struggle with on a day-to-day basis, but like my experience so many years ago at the ocean, I cannot help but feel that I was in the right place, at the right time.  I am just not quite sure what I am supposed to take away from this yet.  Am I supposed to research and write about it?  Am I supposed to share the stories of these victims?  Is this more of a reaffirmation that the rights I fight for are valid and important?  Is it that I just needed to see it on that day?  Or perhaps it was something so very simple: that I was called so that I could learn to evoke the spirit and strength of those people who chose to die rather than compromise their personal truths.

Escape

A Bughead one-shot (aprx. 1.4K words)

Listen to: Disappear by Parachute


Are you awake?

Betty hit send and stared at her phone screen, longing for the reply bubble to appear. When no response came she tossed her phone to the side, turning her headphones up to maximum volume. As hard as she tried, she couldn’t seem to drown out the screaming that rang out from across the hall.

Her parents had been arguing for weeks now, the product of unresolved tensions that had existed ever since her father moved back in. It was almost always regarding something insignificant - an overflowing trash bag, dishes left in the sink - any minor inconvenience sending them into a spiral.

Tonight, they were arguing about a dinner party. Her mother felt they were obligated to attend, but her father had stubbornly refused. Betty sighed as the yelling continued, frustrated with the knowledge that her mother had told her earlier in the evening how unenthusiastic she was about attending the event. 

She was beyond the point of tears, too numb to the experience to have such a reaction. Emotion had given way to emptiness, a deep-set hollowness settling at her core. She curled up beneath her blankets, wrapping her arms around her stuffed cat Caramel for comfort and checking her phone one more time. 

No response.

Betty began browsing through Netflix, finding herself too disheartened to actually select anything. It seemed like she had watched everything in the past few weeks, in constant need of an escape. Giving up, she opened her music library and hit play.

There was nothing she could do. She’d tried intervening during the first few arguments, each time finding no success in dissolving the tension. No one ever got physical, the only real damage being done verbally, and both her parents were equally as venomous. While it always placed a heavy weight on Betty’s heart, she had learned that the fights passed faster when she simply stayed in her room, doing her best to remain unnoticed. So staying in her room was exactly what she planned to do. 

Letting the soft acoustic of the guitar wash over her, Betty closed her eyes and did her best to pretend she couldn’t hear the dresser drawers slamming or her mother’s irrational cries.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed. Betty quickly reached for it, praying she had finally received her reply.

Look outside

Betty’s eyes quickly darted to her window, but the familiar face was nowhere to be seen. Pulling herself out of her bed, she walked over to the window and slid it open. 

Looking down, Betty smiled as she spotted Jughead, wearing his trademark jean jacket and beanie, standing on the ground and waving up at her.

“Come down!” He whisper-yelled, pointing to the ladder he had already propped up against her house.

Betty’s eyes widened at the suggestion. Sneaking out was not something she was accustomed to, the rule-breaking still feeling scandalous even after all the drama the town had been through. She hesitated, but another shout from her father was all the push she needed to shimmy through the window and down the ladder. 

“Hi.” Jughead said as he gently assisted her off the ladder, placing his hands on her waist to stabilize her.

“Hi.” Betty echoed back, pulling closer and giving him a hello kiss, happy for a moment of relief.

“I got your text.” Jughead’s eyes were soft with concern. “Are your parents fighting again?”

“Yeah…” Betty’s eyes dropped to the ground, watching as her toes dug into the dirt beneath them. “It was just some stupid dinner party drama.”

“I’m sorry Bets.” Jughead sighed, running his hand down her arm until it connected with hers, “It will get better. Give it time.”

A half-hearted smile crossed Betty’s face, watching as he pulled her hand up to his lips and placed a gentle kiss on her fingertips. She sighed, looking up at him with tired eyes. “Just get me out of here.”

“Of course.” Jughead smiled, giving her hand a squeeze and pulling her away from the house.

Jughead led her to the street and opened the side door to FP’s truck, gesturing for her to get in. Betty didn’t need any persuasion to jump into the passenger seat.

They drove for about twenty minutes, windows rolled all the way down and soft music playing on the radio. They didn’t speak a word the entire way there, their only communication being Jughead’s hand intertwined in hers as she leaned back on the headrest and stared out at the trees that passed by.

Eventually Jughead pulled off to the side of the road and shut off the engine. Betty looked around, confused. 

“Jug, where are we?” She furled her eyebrows “I thought we were going to go to Pop’s or something. There’s nothing around here.”

“Just trust me.” Jughead winked at her. He reached into the backseat, grabbed a blanket, and hopped out of the truck without another word.

Betty cautiously followed behind him, allowing herself to be led through the forest and up a small hill. After a minute or so, the trees gave way to a clearing, and Betty stopped short. 

“Juggie,” her voice came out quiet and breathy, in awe of the field before her, “How did you know this was here?”

“You’re not the only one who has needed an escape before.” He admitted as he placed the blanket on the ground. He laid down on the blanket, signaling for her to do the same. She joined him, nestling into the crook of his elbow, his arm wrapping around her shoulder. They sat in silence for a bit, listening to the distant sound of crickets and staring up at the stars. 

“I just don’t get it.” Betty’s voice came out small, almost imperceptible as it dissolved into the vast expanse of the night sky.

“Get what?” Jughead asked.

“Why they keep fighting. Why they’re still together.” Betty confessed, her tone laced with resentment and frustration. “Can’t they just choose already? Either be together and be happy or be apart.”

“Is that what you want?” Jughead’s voice was soft with surprise, and he turned his head to look at her. “For your parents to be apart?”

“Anything would be better than this. It’s just this constant argument.” Betty sighed heavily, biting her lip and looking back up at the sky. “I just don’t understand,” she said quietly, “how two people who used to love each other so much could fall apart so badly.”

Jughead didn’t respond, knowing that her words were no longer directed at him, but rather being thrown into the sky, a question meant for the universe. Instead, he simply tightened his grip on her shoulder, slowly rubbing his thumb against her skin as a small act of reassurance.

“Juggie?” Betty whispered, turning toward him, her doe-eyes wide with concern.

“Yeah Bets?”

“What if…” Betty paused, unsure of herself, “What if that happens to us?”

“Betty,” He reached up to cup her cheek with his palm, every ounce of his body radiating sincerity. “That will never happen. I won’t let it. I would never be able to forgive myself if it did.” He moved his thumb to wipe an escaped tear from her cheek, her face flushing with heat. “You and me? We’re in it for the long haul.” 

“Promise?” She whispered, the shakiness of her tone revealing her insecurities.

“I promise.” Jughead leaned in, kissing the tip of her nose and wiping away the wild tears that streamed down her face with relief. Her pulled her close, leaving butterfly kisses on her forehead and tracing his fingers along her jawline. “I love you Betty Cooper. And that’s never going to change.”

Betty nodded, her throat too tight with emotion to respond. She curled into Jughead’s chest, letting him to wrap her up in his warm embrace. Her ran his fingers through her hair and cooed soft affections in her ear, allowing her to leave tear stains on his chest. 

Slowly but surely her breathing steadied, and Betty unfurled herself from his arms, looking at him with red-rimmed eyes.

“I love you Jughead Jones. Please never forget it.” 

“Never.” He vowed, eyes shining with devotion. Betty leaned in and kissed him, all of her cares lifting from her chest and floating off into the night sky and disappearing beyond the stars.

Open Your Eyes - Stiles (part 2)

Stiles x Reader 

(Y/N) is the new student at Beacon Hills High School and she has a secret. Being born blind, she was never able to see a thing, until she was attacked by a wild animal. To this day she has never told anyone about it. So will she do it now?

Word count: 2593 

(A/N) 
I wanted to finish and post this way sooner, but school was literally killing me, so I had no time what so ever. Hope you enjoy this xxx

Other parts: part 1  - part 3 

Originally posted by beautifullxlover

The drive home was quiet. My mom barely spoke and I just stared in front of me. This was another thing about being blind: you don’t have a phone. Because, how would you use it, if you’re not able to see the screen. That also meant that I had zero contact with any of my friends…not that I had many to start with.

“So,” my mom finally spoke up after five minutes, “who was that girl I saw you talking to?”

“Her name is Kira. I have some classes with her,” I explained. “So you made some friends today?”

“Yeah. I guess so,” I sighed. Mom didn’t say anything after that. She was always like that. Trying to make a conversation, but at the end of the day, we both knew she was only doing it because she feels bad for me. She thinks that if she forces herself to talk to me everyday, we would maybe someday start to bond. Like a normal mother and daughter. But I don’t think so.

I do not like my parents.

We arrived at our house and I stepped out and started walking to the door with my cane stretched out in front. Tick Tick Tick, on the stone path. I could finally stop with the ticking a few feet away from the door. My mom got her keys out and started searching for the right one. It took her some time until she got it, but when she finally did, she fortunately opened the door very quickly.

“Your father will be coming home a bit later.” she said before she sat down.

“Where is he? I thought he wouldn’t start working until his knee got better.” I asked.

Before we moved to Beacon Hills, my dad got into a small accidence and injured his knee. So he had to take some time off for rehabilitation. In that time, the police station of the city we previously lived in, had some problems and had to cut some people off and xhose my father will be one of those people. Fortunately, they realised it was cruel to do that to an injured man, so they gave him a job in a different city. In the end, it turned out for the better, because the paychecks are better here (as I heard from my parents) and it will finally be permanent. Before this he was kind of someone police stations send around to each other if they needed more officers.

“That is right. But he already went to the station today to meet the sheriff.”

“Oh, that is..nice.” I said and walked to my room. I lay face down on my bed when my mom suddenly walked in.

“I forgot to mention,” she smiled fakely, “the sheriff invited us for dinner. I understand if-”

“No, I’ll go.”

“Great. I actually bought you a new dress this morning. We wanna make a good impression now, don’t we?”

“Yes we do, mom.” My mom put the dress on the chair next to the door and walked away without another word. I walked to the door and closed it. The dress was nice. It was black with some lace on the skirt. Once I would put it on, it would probably reach my knee or something.

I put the dress on and not soon after I heard the front door open. My dad came home. I walked to the living room to say hello.

“How was your first day at school,” he asked after I said hi. “It was okay,” I shrugged, “I met some people. They seem nice.”

“Well, that is great.”

“Yeah, and they are all very helpful,” I smiled, thinking about Stiles. There he was again, in my head. What is it about him that I liked so much?

My dad tried to keep the conversation going, but just like my mom in the car, he failed miserably.

“Oh look at the time, I think it will be better if we go.” My dad handed me my jacket and my cane that was on the table. I thanked him and we were off. Just like before, this car ride was uncomfortable too. I don’t know how my parents to it, but they can make every situation awkward. I absolutely hate it.

It would probably be less if I wasn’t blind. I am very well known with the fact that my parents hate it that I am… different. It is a torture for them to see me struggle with my disability every day. That was why I doubted a bit about telling them that I had gotten my sight back.  Ut how could I possibly explain that?

“Here we are,” my father said as he pulled into the sheriff’s driveway. There already stood two cars. A normal grey car (I could see the attachable siren in the backseat) and a blue jeep next to it. Especially the jeep looked familiar. I must have seen it somewhere before.

“(Y/N), don’t just stand there, c’mon.” my mom tugged on my sleeve and pulled my to walk on. We got to the door and she rang the doorbell. Not even a few seconds later, we heard a loud bang inside and someone mumbling that “they were fine.” I had to giggle slightly, until the door opened and I saw him: Stiles.

“Welcome to our humble home,” he welcomed us and motioned us to walk inside. Only when I stepped inside he realised who I was.

“(Y/N)! I didn’t know you were coming!”

“I didn’t know I was coming to you either.” I smiled. He took my and my parents’ jackets and jung them up on the rack. Then he showed my parents the way to the kitchen so they could talk to Stiles’ dad, who was apparently busy with the dinner.

“So,” Stiles said, he had his hands in his pockets and he looked a bit nervous. “How are you doing.”

“Fine. You.”

‘Great. Just not really looking forward to the dinner… Not that I don’t want you to be here, just my dad and-”

“It’s okay, to be honest I also didn’t want to come.” He showed me the way to the couch and our conversation was immediately much more easy once we were comfortably sitting there.

“How is it,” I asked, “being the sheriff’s son?”

“It’s great. I always get the information about the big cases. Just don’t tell anyone I told you.” he winked. I could see in his impression later that he realised it was pointless to wink to a blind girl. I wanted to laugh, but held it in. Then I felt my eyes sting a bit. Was I crying?

Well, was I trying to cry? I haven’t cried since the accident. The animal not only damaged my face and eyes, but also everything connected closely to my eyes. So I can not cry. Instead, it just stings.

But why was it stinging?

“Dinner is ready,” Stiles’ dad called out. Getting me out of my trance. I stood up and Stiles took my hand. I was a bit shocked, then quickly realised he was only helping me got to the table. Nothing more.

After the dinner Stiles and I got back to the couch while our parents stayed at the table. Nothing had really happened while we were eating. Except for that my dad kept on asking about the job and how big of a criminal city Beacon Hills is. I realised that that question made Stiles a bit nervous. but , why would it? He didn’t look like a criminal to me.

Mr. Stilinski had answered that there aren’t so many criminals around, but that the city did have a problem with animal attacks some time ago. I had almost choked on my food when I heard that. Animal attacks? Quick snippets of that night flashed before me. But more of the sounds. The crackling of the twigs. The hard wind rushing through the trees and the… howling. There was definitely something howling in the far background.

“(Y/N)? Are you okay,” Stiles whispered to me. I just told him that I was fine, but I already felt my eyes stinging again.

“Will you tell me what that was about?”

“What do you mean?” I asked in return.

“Well, you told me it was fine, but I could see it wasn’t.”

“PTSD, I guess.” Stiles looked at me in shock. Then, he looked in the direction of where our parents were and he stood up. A few second later, he threw me my jacket. I gave out a little scream.

“Oh, sorry. Put your coat on. We’re going for a walk.”

“Why?”

“Because I feel like you need to talk to someone,” he said and he couldn’t be more right. I hadn’t realised it, but once he mentioned it, I felt like I had to tell him everything… and with that I meant everything.

I was not sure what it was, but something about Stiles told me that he was different. He was normal, but still in a different way than others are. If that even makes sense.

I put my coat on and picked up my cane. Stiles stopped me: “You won’t need it.” I smiled and told him that I was just taking it, because otherwise I would lose it and folded it up so I could put in my pocket. I wasn’t sure, but from the corner of my eye, I thought I saw him give me a weird look. I decided to just ignore it.

We walked out of the house, holding eachothers hands. To be honest, I had really gotten used to this. Every time Stiles held my hand, or even touched it for a second, a spark shot through my body.

It was already dark outside. The street lamps were on, but didn’t do much. From time to time I glanced at the houses we passed. Most families were watching tv or still eating dinner. They all seemed so happy. It made me sick.

“Here we are.” Stiles stopped. I slightly bumped into his side. Not even because I was “blind”, but simply because I wasn’t paying attention. We were standing in front of a flat piece of grass which was surrounded by tall and big trees. “Well,” he continued, “not exactly. Just a minute or two.”

“Alright.” I gave him a nervous smile. We walked to one side where the trees were the biggest. Once we couldn’t see the grass field anymore he stopped again. This time, in front of the biggest trees I have (n)ever seen. At the top of it, there was a big tree house.

“Where are we?”

“The most private place in whole Beacon Hills,” Stiles told me. When he said it, I could feel him squeeze my hand very lightly.

“It’s my old tree house. I build it with my parents when I was younger.”

“And how am I supposed to get up there?” I laughed.

“Ha ha. Do not worry. I have a great solution.” he pulled my with him to the other side of the tree where there was a ladder and next to it a swing.

“Sit right there,” he helped me get to the swing, “and hold on tight. I’ll see you in a minute.” after that he started to climb up the ladder. I wanted to yell at him for leaving my here all alone, but instead I screamed because suddenly my feet left the ground. I was being pulled up.

“What the hell, Stiles!” I said once I was up in the tree house.

“Oh c’mon. Do not say that wasn’t fun.” I didn’t say anything. Stiles just smiled and pulled me into a giant bean bag chair with him. I fell straight onto him. Our faces were only a few inches apart. I rolled to the side and looked up. I was nicely greeted with the night sky. It was beautiful.

“So, let’s talk,” he finally spoke up.

“About what?”

“I don’t know. Anything you want to get out. Just say it.” I had to think for some time about what to say. I wanted to tell him about my secret so badly. But I can not just blurt it out at the beginning. The best thing was to slowly get to it.

“I hate my parents,” I sighed. It felt so good to finally say it out loud. “Like, don’t get me wrong. They are great parents. Just not for…”

“You?” he ended ym sentence.

“Exactly. You don’t want to know how often I overheard them talking about how they wished I wasn’t blind and how this,” I pointed at my face, “has ruined their chance at being the perfect family and stuff like that. It messes you up.” Stiles didn’t say anything. I wasn’t angry. What could he say?

“Then there is the fact that I don’t have any friends.”

“Do not say that.” Stiles almost seemed angry when he heard me say it.

“Or at least, not until now. Everyone always avoided me. And the fact that I don’t have a phone or any other form of contact possibilities doesn’t help either.” After that we stayed quiet for some time. I didn’t feel like talking anymore and Stiles probably had no idea what to say. After what felt like forever, he was the first one to break the silence.

“I was always wondering. How do you imagine the world?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you cannot see it, but you must have ideas, right? Like, for example, how do you think bacon looks like?”

“I never thought about it. But probably pink, whatever pink is”

“So what about the rest.”

“I always imagine that school is this gigantic fancy building, with golden walls and doors made from diamonds and other kinds of stones and that every popular girl just walks around in a trash bag or some other shitty outfit, just to make myself feel better.”

We both laughed at my imagination.

“And me?”

“What about you?”

“How do you think I look? You never really asked or like, you know…”

“Do that whole“I’m blind and the only way to know how you look like if to feel your face” thing. Not really my style.” I smiled. “Back to your question. I think you look just like a ken doll.”

“Excuse me? How do you even know how it looks like?” he laughed.

“I heard that it is the perfect definition of a guy, so…”

“STILES? (Y/N)? Are you up there?” suddenly the voice of mr. Stilinski disturbed our lovely silence. Stiles got up and poked his head out of the small window.

“Hi dad.” he waved downstairs.

“Get down here.” he simply ordered. Stiles walked back to me and guided me to the swing. I sat down and just before he started to pull me back down, I gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and said: “thank you.”

“For what?” Stiles seemed to be extremely confused by my actions.

“Everything.” and with that I started to get closer to the ground. There, I was welcomed by mr. Stilinski and my parents. None of them really seemed to be too happy with my actions.

My mom didn’t say anything, she just dragged me towards, I assumed, the car. I turned around and looked up to the treehouse where Stiles was still looking at me. I waved and he waved back, confusion still spread across his face.

ML/PJO: The Sea and The Sun

Chapter 2—->

So I did the thing I definitely shouldn’t have done. I saw this post by @gittana and things spiraled out of control from there. It’s much too long and still I haven’t finished writing up to the point where my muse has stopped speaking to me.

Also because The Lightning Thief was written in the first person I decided to start writing in in the first person from Marinette’s P.O.V beginning at Chapter 1 however the prologue is still in 3rd person. Bear with me on this.


Prologue

Just a little farther!! I’m almost there! Please please, whoever’s up there, please let me make it! Marinette thought to herself as she dashed up the hillside where a large pine tree signified a place of safety.

“Come here child!” The woman behind her screeched sounding much closer now.

Marinette dared to glance over her shoulder where the creature was fast approaching. The top half of the monster was that of a woman with wild unblinking eyes and razor sharp teeth. The lower half of her body was that of a serpent. Her tail slithered up the hill as her arms propelled her forward in an unnatural way. Marinette’s lungs burned as she pushed herself to run faster up the hill. She swallowed hard, tasting blood. Hands clasped around her ankle sharp nails digging into her skin. Marinette screamed as she was pulled down to the grassy earth and was dragged backwards. Marinette grabbed fistfuls of the soft wet grass in an attempt to slow her pull towards certain death. She was pulled through the grass with fumbling hands searching for anything to catch hold of. A clumsy hand wrapped around a stick. A stick was hardly a weapon but Marinette was grateful for anything at this point. I’m going to go down fighting with a stick! This is so embarrassing, Marinette thought to herself tightening her hold on the only thing she had to protect herself. Clawed hands ripped as her back. She could feel hot breath blow against her neck. Now was her chance. Marinette whimpered as she turned beneath the monster’s grasp to come face to face with it. The serpentine woman smiled wickedly at the young girl showing all her pointy teeth.

“I’m sure you taste as sweet as you look child,” The monster cooed her breath smelling metallic, like blood. Marinette’s stomach churned uneasily.

The woman opened her mouth inhumanly wide preparing to take a bite of Marinette. With shaking hands Marinette swiftly plunged the stick into one of the woman’s unblinking eyes. The woman shrieked in pain releasing Marinette from her grasp. Marinette scrambled to her feet charging towards the hill. The monster quickly recovered, leaping towards Marinette. Marinette dove to the side barely missing the woman’s claws. The monster turned to face her with her one good eye, the other was missing leaving a bloodied black hole behind. Marinette grimaced as the creature hissed. She began to slowly back up towards the tree while keeping her eyes trained on the woman. The monster flicked her tail out knocking Marinette to the ground and letting the woman slither on top of her once move. Marinette struggled beneath her pushing her face away with her hands and trying her best not to let the nails burying themselves into the flesh of her arms bother her. In the scramble to avoid the creatures teeth and keep from losing a hand one of Marinette’s thumbs found it’s way to the creatures lone eye. Without any other weapon in her arsenal Marinette began to press against the eye’s slick surface with as much force as she could muster. The creature yowled in pain her head reeling back but where she went Marinette followed pressing harder into the woman’s eye. The creature’s claws raked down her arms. Marinette stifled a scream as she kept pressing down. Her stomach lurched when she finally heard that sickening pop. The woman’s body stilled a smile spreading across her features looking strangely out of place as she slumped to the ground with a contented sigh. Breathing heavy Marinette, hands slick with- well she didn’t really want to think about that- staggered up the hill. As her feet drug themselves past the borders of the pine tree Marinette fell to her knees a lump forming in her throat. Finally! After all this time she was safe. Marinette breathed a sigh of relief tears filing her eyes as she heard the startled shouts of campers. Safe. Exhaustion swept through her. Without the threat of death hanging over her head she could finally let herself rest. Slumping against the soft bed of grass beneath her she let the darkness overtake her.


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Jungkook Imagine (Angst)

Title: Clearing Conffesions

Genre: Angst

Pairing: Jungkook

Request: Can you write an imagine where you’re in love with Jungkook and he is your best friend but then he asks you to set him up with your coworker right when you’re about to confess so you lash out at him and he’s completely confused. Can it have a fluffy ending with him telling you he just wanted to date so he could get over you.

____________________________

Y/N POV

I walk over to the bench at the clearing over the hill; our spot. It’s been Jungkook’s and I’s meeting place since we were kids. We used to have picnics on the small patch of grass behind the mess of trees that concealed us, making us feel like we were in our own world.

I grip the piece of paper I hold in my hand tightly. I didn’t sleep a wink last night as I was writing it. My love letter.

I’ve loved my best friend Jeon Jungkook for the last seven years. I don’t even remember when I started developing feelings for him. It might have been when he stood up to a teacher for me in the sixth grade, or when he hugged me after I ran out of class crying about an embarrassing presentation. Neither of those memories would be memorable in a positive way had Jungkook not been there. He’s always been a kind and caring friend. He’s smart and funny and understanding and I’m not going to lie, super stubborn at times but I love that about him. I love that you really have to convince him to change his mind. Sometimes it’s upsetting to see him so defensive but when he begins to given in, he has this cute pout that I can never get over. I love his smile and his laugh and the way he says my name when he’s really tired or really excited. I just love him.

I decided yesterday that I didn’t want him to not know how I felt. I’ve shared every secret that I’ve ever had with him. Every single one except this one. I want him to know how much he means to me, even if he doesn’t feel the same way.

I was about to text him this morning to meet up but he ended up texting me first, saying that he needed to talk.

I start to feel nervous as I approach the clearing. I don’t want to jeopardize our friendship. I can’t lose him.

I stop for a second and breathe in and out. I open up my letter and read the first line. “Jeon Jungkook you are an absolute dork….. and I love you.”

I keep walking. I enter the clearing to see Jungkook sitting on our bench, his attention on his phone. Probably playing Crossy Road since I broke his high score. Did I mention he’s very competitive?

“Hey,” I say, sitting next to him.

“Hey,” he says lightly, not looking up from his phone. “One sec, I’m about to demolish your high score.”

I look over his shoulder. He’s approaching my score. I fight the urge to jerk into him and disrupt his focus.

He’s about to beat my score when he gets hit by an oncoming train.

“No!” He screams and I burst into a fit of laughter.

Jungkook just stares at me, trying to look upset but I can tell he really isn’t because he’s fighting a smile.

I lean in close and look him in the eye. “So tell me Kookie, how does it feel to lose I mean I wouldn’t know ‘cuz I always win.”

“Yeah, yeah” he says brushing me off, feigning irritation.

“I’ll beat you next time.”

He looks over at my hand and sees the letter.

“What’s that?”

I immediately feel my cheeks burn up and pull away.

“Umm.I-it’s umm..”

C'mon I practiced this!

“What did you want to tell me?” I ask, changing the subject.

Jungkook turns to face me and leans on the opposite side of the bench.

“Jimin wants me to go on a double date with him next week and I figured it would be the perfect opportunity to ask out Lisa. Your friends with her; could you set it up for me?”

I feel my heart clench in my chest.

“Lisa?” I try to keep my voice leveled.

“Yeah. I know you guys work together so I was hoping you could chat me up or at least tell her I like her.”

He likes her. Lisa is absolutely beautiful. She has the perfect body and has that perfect soundboard laugh whereas I am average weight and I laugh like a hyena. Of course he likes her. It makes sense. It hurts but to be honest Jungkook would be with someone like her.

“Y/n?” Jungkook asks pulling me out of my thoughts. “Are you okay what’s wrong.”

I look down at hands trying to keep myself from crying and then I notice the letter in my lap. A furious fire builds up replacing the flood of sadness in my chest.

“Lisa wouldn’t be interested in you.” I say coldly.

Jungkook looks taken aback. I never really act like this with him.

“Why not?” He asks defensively,

“Because you’re you!” I exclaim, throwing my hand in the air as if I am pointing out the obvious. He looks hurt but I go on.

“Why would she go on a date with you. Lisa is basically perfect and you, you’re late for school every morning. You’re always on your phone playing stupid games. You snore in your sleep but not the weird gross obnoxious snore it’s more like heavy breathing with small snores every few minutes. And you are always doodling anime and sometimes you doodle on my arm and tell me that you want to see it on me the next day so I have to make sure I don’t scrub it off in the shower and you don’t even know how difficult that is but sometimes I don’t even care because I want to keep them too. You love to spoil shows. It’s like you don’t even mean to but you’re just so excited it comes out. And you are always taking other people’s sides when I talk about how terrible they are because you are just so kind you can never see someone as completely at fault. You- you, you are so completely oblivious to how I feel about you!. I love you!”

Jungkook’s mouth hangs agar.

"Y/n..” he breathes. “I-”

But I don’t let him finish. I’m already up, my letter tumbling to the ground.

Tears brim in my eyes but I look away so he doesn’t see me cry.

“No, you know what? I don’t think you’re oblivious. You just don’t feel the same way.”

I race out of the clearing as fast as I can. Away from Jungkook. Away from my best friend. Away from my first love.

___

A/N

Hey there!

Hope you like my first imagine. Let me know if you have any requests or want a part 2 or any other comments!

Thanks for reading ;)

~Armygirl

6

one tree hill - 1.01 pilot

“What do you want, man? I mean, other than my girlfriend and my spot in the lineup, huh? None of us want you on the team, man. I don’t want you. The guys don’t want you. My girlfriend sure as hell doesn’t want you. - but here’s the deal. You and me, one on one. You can name the time and place. If you win, I’ll quit the team. If I win, you crawl back in your little hole and you remember your place in all this. Time and place, baby. Time and place.”

Day 5
Latamarang to Dhukur Pokhari. 18.5km. 7 hours.
It was just going to be a short day.
A 3 hour hike to Chame, fix my shoes, get Erica some medicine, but the annapurnas had other plans.
Of course it was another beautiful trek. I probably don’t even have to mention it any more, we can all assume from now on every single day is the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. It was an easy trek to Chame, nice and sunny. It was too easy, it lulled us into a false sense of security.
We arrived at 12pm, my shoes were going to take an hour to fix so I wandered around town in a sexy socks and sandals combo. There was nothing to do but sit down and enjoy an afternoon of chai masala.
Sitting in a tiny indian take away shop with children running around everywhere, watching the owner cook tibetan bread crouching down in front of the fire. Before we knew it 2 hours had passed. We were all low on energy, Erica had her medicine but she was still sick, Tomas had a hectic cold setting in (which he later gave to me, bastard) so we thought ‘lets just cruise along to Bhratang, the next town, another 2 hours of walking and we can call it a day.
We set off just as the rain began.

We plodded along through pine forests, next to rivers, past locals huddled under overhanging rocks warming themselves by little camp fires. Staring at us as we trudged along in the cold rain. Berating ourselves for our decision to keep going. We saw more and more snowy peaks, our breath was frosting up. My fingers were getting colder and colder.
Today felt like we were hiking in the scottish highlands.
Finally the next town was in sight and a sigh of relief filled my soul. But as we got closer we saw Tomas and Marijn sitting and waiting for us. We’d lost them on the route so it was a double relief.
It didn’t last long.
They were shaking there heads.
“Don’t get your hopes up, there’s no rooms”
My back screamed in protest.
“The next town is 2 hours away”
I didn’t believe them. I can handle a long trek but not when I don’t expect it.
I’d mentally prepared myself for a 3 - 4 hour hike, and here I was 5 hours later preparing for another 2 hours.
My mind wasn’t ready. We were stopping in Bhratang. I still couldn’t comprehend that it wasn’t true.
Putting my pack back on will still remain one of the most demoralising things i’ve ever had to do.
We weren’t sure if there were rooms in the next town but we were hoping with everything we had. If there wasn’t rooms, it was another 2 hours to Upper Pisang.
I knew i could physically manage, but mentally?

As we trekked the snowy mountains got closer and closer, the clouds dropped lower and lower. I was so cold, i could hardly move my fingers and the thought of taking my pack off and getting my camera out was too much. But eventually there wasn’t anything I could do about it, I had to get it out, it was that epic.
Step by step I managed. I was so excited by the thought of the next town and putting my bag down, but I had no idea what was coming. After what felt like decades of trekking we crested the hill and suddenly there was the town. The first thing i noticed was the hotel signs. There were enough hotels around that I knew we’d have a place to sleep here. I could relax.
I dropped my bag and grabbed my camera and could now appreciate the view around me. I was dog tired but the view was so overwhelming, i didn’t know what to photograph first. Everywhere I looked snowy mountains, so close I could see the the wind blowing snow off the peak.
We were above the clouds, the trees were frosted over and the mist was roaming through.
I was standing on the rooftop of the hotel with my zoom lens on so overwhelmed I was close to tears. Energy was coursing through my veins. The cold crisp air was cleansing my body of its aches and pains and the view made me forget the hours of pain.

I’ve spent the last 5 days describing the trek, mountains after mountains, aches and pains, overwhelming views. I’m sure it’s getting boring now. So let me describe what life is like on the trek. It’s not all walking and pain.
I didn’t expect to enjoy every second of this trek so much, a lot of that is down to the people i was lucky enough to meet. But when you arrive in a new town first you feel the pure pleasure of being able to put your pack down. You check out your room, check the comfort of the bed. So far it’s been pretty good. You ask about a hot shower, every now and then you get lucky. (In this spot we were lucky, it was almost too hot.)
Then you head into the common area to order dinner. The only place that has any warmth. As soon as the place starts filling up they light the fire and everyone huddles around with there feet and hands next to the stove trying to return feeling to their extremities.
The warmth fills you up and you all wait for your food to arrive in anticipation.
Food has never tasted so good. You sip a hot tea and admire how glorious a simple lemon tea is.
There is usually another traveller or two in the guesthouse and you all bond around the fire, comparing trekking stories. Most of the time the other travellers have trekked far longer and quicker than us. It became an ongoing joke how slow we were. Not physically trekking, we’re fast walkers, we just didn’t push ourselves.
But why push, it’s the most beautiful place i’ve ever been, why rush through.

I remember this night specifically being quite enjoyable, such a tough day with such a sweet reward. Laying around the fire listening to music and discussing our different lives.
It was our first night above 3000 metres.
We were all starting to feel the altitude, a little bit heavy in the head, more tired than usual, the breathing just doesn’t come AS easy as it should.

Lovewrecked

Characters: Diana Prince (Wonder Woman), Original Character (OC).

Requested by: @nutmeg030

Synopsis: You were shipwrecked on Themyscira and while you want to go home, you have a reason stay.

Warnings: Kissing.

A/N: I hope you like it!!! I’m scared it isn’t very good.
I feel I made this a bit more sad than planned too but it is still happy.
FemxFem
Y/N =Your name
REQUESTS ARE OPEN
————————-

I gazed out onto the ocean. The sun reflected off the water, it sparkling white, green and blue. The sand contrasting to the water.

I had been shipwrecked on Themyscira 5 months ago after the cruise ship I’d been travelling on sunk, as far as I  am aware, I am the sole survivor.
I long to return home but, I’ve become lovewrecked, by the one and only Princess Diana of Themyscira, or simply, Diana Prince, the Wonder Woman. She truly lives up to the name.

Diana has been on a Justice League mission for 3 weeks, and I have been waiting for any sign of her return here.

That’s when I see it, the shadow in the distance, someone is coming.
I jump off the ground where I sat and bounded down the hill, running through the branches of trees and jumping over rocks and boulders.
My Diana is home.

“Diana!” I shout at the top of my lungs as I burst through the nature to the opening to the beach.
“Y/N!” She opens her arms wide and I return the gesture, moving at lightning speed into her embrace. She picks me up and twirls. “Oh, I have missed you dearly!” She places me on the ground and attacks my lips in a desperate kiss.
It has been so long since I felt her soft, plump lips on mine, I forgot how they make me melt, like ice-cream on a hot day, I have to force my knees to hold me up.

The sun illuminates Diana’s hair, giving her an angelic appearance. She wears her Wonder Woman uniform and weapons on her.

“Did you miss me?” She asks as we walk along the hot sand.
“So much, you have no idea.” I blushed.
“Not more than I missed you I’m sure.”
“Doubt it.”
“I’m certain that I missed you more.”
“We are not to going to argue over something so cheesy.” I entwine my fingers with hers, and study her face. She stares straight ahead and I see the grin, proving she is aware I am looking at her. “But I still think I missed you more.”
“Oh really?” She makes eye contact with me. She goes to reach for my hips but I squeal and dodge the attempt. She tries again and I move again. Next thing I know she is chasing me around the beach, imagine that, daring to be chased by Wonder Woman.  We are both giggling like school girls. The moment her hands come in contact with my hips, I trip, landing on my back, Diana on top of me.

We both laugh weakly.
She gazes into my eyes with her sparkling ones, so much emotion and care glossing them over.
I lift my head and she meets me halfway, allowing our mouths to connect. One of her hands slips under my neck, supporting it to deepen the kiss.
We kiss until we need to breath, though kissing the woman I love would not be a bad way to go.

Diana climbs off of me and lays down next to me in the sand, her arm across my torso and her other lifting her head as she looks at me.
I could see there was something she wanted to tell me.
“Out with it.” I stated.
“Out with what?”
I removed her arm and sat up, leaning on my hands. “There is something bothering you. I can see it in your eyes.”
She sighed and positioned herself cross-legged. “The mission…” tears welled up. “A woman died, and she reminded me of you.” She choked out and covered her face with her palm. “She reminded me of you so much, and it pained me. I kept imagining if she was you, I don’t know how I’d react.”
I’d never seen Diana cry in the time I’d known her, and my heart was shattering.
“Hey,” I said softly, prying her hand away from her face and wiping her tears delicately with a finger, “but it wasn’t, and it won’t ever be.”
“That can’t be guaranteed.” She snapped, tears still flowing.
“My word. You wouldn’t let me get in a situation like that anyway, you’d wrap me up in, like, 10 blankets and still would take me miles away from any danger.” I felt tears building up in me too, a lump in my throat and a knot in my stomach.
She managed a laugh. “Damn right.” She said and met my gaze, smiling. “I love you Y/N.”
“I love you too.” I cupped her face and kissed her again, this time gently, like she was a china doll.

Princess Diana of Themyscira was mine. I cared about her and she cared about me. Nothing could change that.

———————————-
Wrote another Halloween thing for my writing class...

I think my Professor is going to start thinking there is something seriously wrong with me from all these witing exersises deticated to Halloween. 

I thought I would share this new one:


“The October Country. A mythical place where Autumn is forever. Where every tree is decked with gold, red, burning orange, and vivid yellow. The mist always creeps and clings low to long pale stalks of grass, and coils around the old, cracked trunks of ancient trees. The moon is always full. A ghostly galleon on the floating, sinister clouds that paint the sky and shroud the stars.

           Graveyards are plentiful here, and they sprawl out over hills like disease. The tombstones pock the ground like strange shaped boulders. Ghosts are seen floating, there macabre wails join the whispers on the wind to form a song to the dead and lost. What homes there are and decayed things, mere skeletons of their former Victorian glory. Rusted iron, weather-beaten, splintered wood. Decrepit staircases that no longer lead to anywhere, and the ghosts haunt these places, too.

           Black cats, bats, and spiders and seen creeping through this world with sinister eyes that seem to see right through your skin and down to your bones.  Monsters reside here as well. Dark, disfigured creatures from every black corner of your deepest, most horror-filled nightmares.They await you behind doors, corners, and places where the light never touches. Jack O’ Lanterns provide the only comfort with their orange, welcoming glow. Their ghastly grinning faces beckoning you to come closer, grip them tight, and cling to their light. Ancient watchers and soul protectors. They are your only friend in this fiendish world. Keeping all the terrors at bay.

           This creepy land where every day is Halloween. Where every hour is the witching hour. Where the Hessian soldier gallops headless atop his deep black steed. A darksome country that only those who live and breathe Samhain could ever love and find joy in. This is the October Country, and it is not for the faint of heart.”

Originally posted by theworldisworthagif

Love Me Louder [VxREADER]

 V request completed for @nekomas-heart

Mystic Messenger V route aftermath if he survived and began a relationship with MC.

     Nothing really prepares us for the paths fate has laid out. You could try and fight destiny, but it was a losing battle. In your younger years you’d never given any of this much thought. Why would you? Your life had been relatively easy. School, work, chatty family dinners, meeting friends for lunch, none of this lent much room to existential thoughts. But the person you were now was vastly different. As you sat in this trim and tidy apartment looking over old photos, you let the thoughts cloak over you like a security blanket. It was comforting to relinquish control to fate. If fate called all the shots, it would be pointless to hold on to anger over all of the fucked up shit that happens in this world. There would be nothing you could do to prevent it. There was no skirting around the obvious, your boyfriend was visually impaired. This warm, loving, creative man-was blind. And damn it, you needed to believe it was for a reason.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

sexual tension and love and all is good but olicity needs a lot more to reconcile. what are your thoughts on that?

Oh you’re right, anon. 

Felicity told Oliver when she left him that he tended to revert back to his island way of going alone when things got rough. Oliver had been full of guilt and Felicity had been full of pain, and though they’d talked, they hadn’t talked. 

They haven’t had catharsis. They need that. We need that.

I need them to fight the fuck out. (I’m going to go One Tree Hill on your ass, so bear with me). It would be like this (in my head):

Oliver would be

And Felicity would take a deep breath and crack a joke and change the topic. For once though, Oliver would persist. Because they need to hash it out. The conundrum they’re in is not healthy for either of them, swinging between a rock and a hard place. 

Oliver would push and push and then Felicity would snap. Oh, she’d snap gloriously, laying it all out on the line completely, bare to him

They would hash it all out, completely and yell or whisper or just plain shake each other but they would LAY IT OUT

(I swear i got chills when i saw this scene for the first time)

That was the crux of the matter. Oliver didn’t share with Felicity. Oliver didn’t let her in. And he’s trying. Trying harder. 

He tells her that. He tells her.

It’s raw. It’s unrefined. It’s real

But she isn’t ready for the risk, not again, not so soon. Her heart is bruised and she isn’t ready.

But he can wait. He will wait for eternity if there was even a glimmer of possibility for them because for him, she is it.

And then, after that whole cathartic talk, would they be on the road back to each other. That doesn’t mean they’ll reconcile suddenly. It’s a long road, and it should take its own sweet time when the destination is forever. 

But this is how they get on the path. 

Because after all,

I don’t care if they take thirty minutes or five. I don’t care if they yell or whisper, scream or murmur. I don’t care if they cry like lovers or joke like friends. 

I just need them to talk the fuck out of this conversation.

lthyl  asked:

You'll either love me or hate for this one ahaha: first time stargazing together, by accident, while two strangers find themselves together in a park and "why are your brows so damn furrowed boy?" (or "why are your eyes so glassy?" as you prefer). Your choice for the member (but damn if I know you you'll go for Yoongs or Jeon girl). Hope this help ;) love ya <3<3

The poet that fell in love with the moon.

“Firsts” Drabble Game

↠Genre: I wish I knew.

↠Member: Yoongi

↠Words: 2.056

Note: Conny, I don’t know what this is, but I like it. It probably makes no sense, but I had so much fun.


There is something about woods that brings me peace. I don’t know if it’s their golden leafiness in autumn; or the earthy scents that come from the ground in a mixture of rain, and dirt, and rotting leaves. I don’t know if it’s the gravel paths, that lead nowhere, or the oak on the hill and its vast boughs, spreading towards the skies, loaded with leaves that will never fall, even when the rest of its companions must face the wintry weather bare from their other time luxuriant greenness.

There is something about this place that allows me to breathe, to dream, to escape the chaotic streets, swarmed with millions of people that would never look at me, not even once. Amidst the trees, and under the starry sky I’m still one of many, but somehow it does not matter if I go unnoticed to the world. I still exist, and I matter. My steps feel real, solid, against the fallen leaves. I feel real, solid, as I walk through the night, leaving behind with each step the worries that will wait outside the ancient iron fence that encloses the park.

I know every turn of the path, and I have named every stream that crosses this land and every tree that, like an old friend, waits for my return. There are many secrets hidden in the park, places no one has trodden in years, for they belong to the darkness of the woods and are inhabited by night creatures, that lay in wait amidst the undergrowth.

There, past a sea of emerald, wet waves, that will never perish against a desert shore; down a path that disappeared between tall trees of robust trunks that would defy the elephantine columns of the Coliseum, and illuminated solely by a masked moon, that played hide and seek with the midnight haze, there and only there is where I go.  

It is but a fair meadow, secreted behind many trees. For anyone who does not know what waits past them, they cannot look far. They cannot look deep, not enough to glimpse the paradise past its branches.

The weather is clear tonight. It has rained earlier, when the lone aster still shone high in the firmament, so there are no more clouds in the sky. Rain has cleared the air—for me, I would like to think—and now the stars are brought out bright, titillating, like fireflies dancing in the skies.

There is an owl somewhere near. I can hear it as I advance, slowly, only guided by the moon and the confidence of those who know the way. I caught the colour of the meadow, even in the darkness, the amber leaves that cover the soil in a luxuriant mantle, whose every queen and king ever crowned would have envied, although they wore far more precious metals over their regal heads.

Nature is exquisite even when there is no one looking. She is a pompous child, showing off her many attributes when there are no poets, no painters around to capture with the loquacity of their verses, and the delicacy of their brushes, the deep tonalities, and the heady scents, and that ethereal light that seems to filter through the crowns of the trees, illuminating with fair resplendence the clearing, where a single, solitary bench waited for me.

If only it was not already taken.

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Imagine being kidnapped and Alec finds you- meeting him for the first time

Originally posted by true-lexaddict

Originally posted by professionalfangirlvevo

Originally posted by my-only-world-secrets

You shuddered to see your captor so tense.
He was looking around to your left.
All you saw was trees but it was evident he saw much more. He growled but quickly changed to startled. He took off running full speed for a boy to be in his place. 
The red eyed boy looked you up and down. “Now that’s just disgustingly embarrassing. He’s keeping you alive? A walking blood bank…A captive? That’s just tasteless.”
“Where…Where is he?”
“Fleeing for the hills, I’m guessing. I’m not one to mess around with.” The boy looked smug. “Can you tell me what’s going on?” You asked meekly.
The boy sighed. “No…I can’t.”
“But you know?”
He nodded in confirmation.
“Why can’t you tell me?”
“For so many reasons.” Suddenly the boy was in front of you. 

A shuddered cry left your throat from his tight grip on your arms and with a quick motion. You were gone. 

Your lifeless body dropped to the ground before Alec dragged your body to discard.

So I know that a ton of fics with Dex in it are set in Portland, Maine. I get why, it’s a cute little city with a lot of history and the most gorgeous rocky beaches. But, to be completely honest… I always pictured him in Camden, Maine. It’s insanely close to Portland and Acadia but it has more of a little town vibe. Everyone there is usually friendly and the port downtown near Mount Battie is gorgeous. The closer you get to the hills and mountains, the less condensed it gets and you see some old farmhouses hidden by trees. Downtown has that small town 1950′s vibe with kitschy little ice cream shops, Mariner’s restaurants and Mom and Pop shops.

Don’t get me wrong, Portland is one of the most beautiful places you’ll ever see in Maine. But I always thought Dex had more of a country background (Read: he’s a good country boy with a beaten up old truck) and Portland has more of a city vibe. It’s very dense in Portland and that doesn’t lend much to the headcanon that Dex has a big family living in a big single family home. This is just a headcanon, but I can’t shake the feeling he’d be here.

anonymous asked:

#7 Shimada brothers' Ohaka-mairi with Mercy, Mcree, and Zenyatta joining them

I’m just gonna double these up because this was probably gonna be a Shimada pairing anyway. 

I title this ficlet: Tfw your feelings toward your criminal empire family are super complicated but you’re still trying to be chill and grow as a person.

The Shimada family plot had a decent view of the city, and even of Shimada castle, where the trees in the courtyard were in full bloom. The Shimada plot itself was shaded by an ume tree whose own petals littered the ground and still drifted down on Hanzo’s shoulders even as he and Genji weeded around the gravesite, sponged dirt and moss off the gravestone, then ladled water over the grave. It was Genji who set the flowers out, tweaking the bouquets slightly so that the flowers weren’t crushing each other and stood out prettily in their vase. Hanzo lit incense and both paid their respects, first Hanzo, then Genji. Once Genji rose to his feet they stood in silence for a long time, and Hanzo found himself frequently glancing over at his brother. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for every time he glanced over. Genji had drawn his visor up and removed his faceplate, yet somehow his face was just as expressionless as if he had left both on.

“Are you ready to rejoin the others?” Hanzo said, glancing over.

“You can go on ahead,” said Genji. Hanzo tilted his head slightly in some confusion. Genji gave a soft huff and itched at one of his scars. “I have… uh…I just need to talk to them.”

Hanzo’s brow furrowed slightly. “Talk to them?”

“The first time I visited here with my Master, it helped greatly,” said Genji.

“Do you want me to leave?” said Hanzo.

 “I do not mind your presence,” he said, “You can speak to them too, if you wish.”

Hanzo folded his arms. “Just… do as you see fit. Proceed as if I am not here.”

Something almost like a smile tugged at Genji’s scars and he faced the grave. “Did you hear that, Father? Hanzo’s finally given me his blessing to do something.”

Hanzo scoffed. 

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