what the hell is this even called

do people not realize how hard it is to share your personal thoughts and feelings regarding your own mental illness ,,, even to the people closest to you… like the major reason you keep that shit locked up inside is so that you don’t hurt other people with it ,,, or maybe you’re just genuinely not okay with letting the whole world know about the darkest parts of yourself??

like fuck i’ve done some pretty fucked up shit because of my mental illness that i know i would be judged the hell out of for or called crazy or what have you, and no one close to me knows about any of it because 1 i don’t want to hurt them more than i already have and 2 its in the past and i would like to keep it there and 3 theres such a stigma in society about mentally ill people anyways that even if you as much as mention you suffer from an illness people are already looking at you differently, so just imagine how people would react if they knew literally every last little detail???

maybe that’s why i’m so pressed about of all of the hate posts about even but his manic episode was quite literally broadcasted to his entire school and i can’t even imagine how hard that must have been for him having to deal with all of the shit from everyone else afterwards on top of already going through managing his disorder like ,,, i get chills just thinking about it and it makes me physically ache for how much pain he must have been in

so no i don’t blame even for not wanting to discuss his past with isak because i’m sure he’s absolutely terrified that once isak learns everything he’s going to see him differently because its happened to him many times before and he doesn’t want to lose everything he has now, besides the fact that he doesn’t want to hurt isak, that’s the last thing he would ever want to do

I’ve been seeing a man in my backyard for the past two nights

Story by reddit user Opinionson

To start I need to give some background:

I am a male who lives in relatively nice neighborhood

It’s your average small town run of the mill suburbs area with not a lot of people.

I am a college kid who’s home on break while my parents have gone away which doesn’t help at all.

I have a two story house

I do not have gun nor do I have any real weapons other than kitchen knives

I am not on any medication and I have no record of schizophrenia or any other mental illnesses

I barely have any relationships with my neighbors most of whom are elderly and the rest I have minimal contact with

I do not have any people in my neighborhood (that I know of) who have reasons to attack or harm me

Now, let’s get into what has been happening. About two nights ago I woke up very late in the night and I went to the bathroom to go take a shit. Now, my second story bathroom has a window that can see the entirety of my backyard. Directly behind it is a cul de sac which you can see directly into. There is a group of trees and pile of rocks and mulch that divides it. Usually I can see everything in my backroom without turning on my because lights from my neighbor’s house dimly lights the room.

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OKAY SUPERCORP/KARAMEL RANT

**Please read** This all really needs to be said. However, before I go further I want you all to understand that this isn’t meant to be a hate paragraph or to purposefully put those who like Mon-El and/or Karamel down. At this point, all the disagreeing and fighting will do nothing. So I’m asking kindly that if you’re going to add something to this post- that it is filled with positive intent. 

 Anyhow, to my point:

I do watch Supergirl by the way, but I truly believe this concerns a wide variety of people. Whether you’re a fan of The 100, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, The Walking Dead, or just a person living your life… All I hope is that we all try to grasp the reality of what is truly going on. Now I will centralize this long rant towards Supergirl however. For those of you who don’t know what is going on there is a conflict between fans who ship this character, Mon-El, together with Supergirl/Kara and fans who ship Lena Luthor with Supergirl/Kara. Now, in my humble opinion, the big issue isn’t about straight v.s lgbt people and I will go on about that later… but the fact that she is with someone like Mon-El. Now what do I mean by ‘someone like Mon-El’… before certain people get mad I want to emphasize that I’m simply pointing out what happened in the show. 

This is long as hell just fyi.

1) The way Mon-El reacts to most things is through violence. In fact, the moment he wakes up he chokes Kara. And there’s this: 

(his words in white)

And the scene where Mon-El robs Brian; using his powers for selfish reasons.

He even calls her names. And notice how he does this the moment Kara disagrees with him. A reaction that does more harm than good. On the other hand, when Kara and Lena disagree on something (in ep. 2x03) they simply talk it out. They ask questions, explain, clarify, and come to an understanding.

Now, I’m not here to say that I have NEVER agreed with anything Mon-El has said, actually I applaud him for accepting Maggie and Alex’s relationship the way he did, but that’s just the thing. The opinions/beliefs he has don’t come from himself. Most of what he thinks is based off of what he’s seen on Daxam. He really isn’t at all mature. He isn’t by any means and it’s simply the truth. Now hear me out-

This is what I mean by he isn’t mature: How many times has Kara asked him politely and specifically not to do something but without hesitation still does it? And how many times has he had to beg for forgiveness? 

In addition, he doesn’t have knowledge of what respect truly means. What’s interesting though about this scene in particular- is how it’s supposed to be a ‘funny’ scene. Mon-El’s character is written in as ‘funny’ and ‘aloof’… but it sends a poisonous message- that Kara’s feelings aren’t to be taken seriously. And this show is literally supposed to be about her. Not a guy who thinks it’s his duty to ‘defend her honor’ and then complains about it.

Now I know that this was how people on Daxam acted and their way of life was for the most part, sexist, racist, etc. But that still doesn’t give him an excuse to act the way he does. 

2) Lena herself comes from a family with twisted values as well. She is adopted into the Luthor family and has had close to no friends most of her life. And yet she’s still capable of being a perfectly decent person. 

She does save the alien population not once, but twice. So not only is Lena proved time and time again that she’s a good person, but her relationship with Kara (btw I call it a ‘relationship’ just like the writers do)… is not even close to toxic, detrimental, or abusive. It’s the complete opposite.

Protect yourself”

“I can take care of myself”

3) Being in a healthy relationship is about the effort between two willing people… at the same time, knowing your boundaries whilst encouraging one another.

4) Kara deserves someone who fully acknowledges her efforts and is grateful for them



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Top 10 Btvs Quotes

Buffy the Vampire Slayer is without question the defining piece of media of my life. I watched it as it aired all throughout my adolescence and it profoundly shaped my life and self in so many ways from big to small (hell, even the way I talk and randomly slap together prefixes and suffixes as a phrase called for can be traced back to Buffy).

While it has its issues, the show taught me to believe in myself, to keep going, to treasure my weirdness and the strange and awkward things that don’t fit are the best things about me and what makes me me. It showed me that superheroes come in all shapes and sizes, with and without capes, in and out of the spotlight. It defined the kind of person I wanted to be and I know there’s a whole generation of people that feel the same.

In honor of the 20th anniversary here’s a list of my personal top ten most meaningful Buffy quotes. There are a billion and fifty amazing, quotable moments and these aren’t even necessarily my favorite. These are the ones that meant the most to me, the ones that stuck with me and I think of when I need them.

“No weapons, no friends, no hope. Take all that away and what’s left?”
“Me”


“I’m the thing the monsters have nightmares about.”


"Seize the moment, ‘cause tomorrow you might be dead.”


“To forgive is an act of compassion, Buffy. It’s-it’s… it’s not done because people deserve it. It’s done because they need it.”


“I made it up. I’m making it all up. So what kind of hero does that make me?”


Originally posted by i-want-to-b-found

“No guy is worth your life, not ever”


“When I say ‘I love you,’ it’s not because I want you or because I can’t have you. It has nothing to do with me. I love what you are, what you do, how you try. I’ve seen your kindness and your strength. I’ve seen the best and worst of you. And I understand with perfect clarity exactly what you are. You’re a hell of a woman.”


“I guess I just realized how amazingly screwed up they all are. I mean, really, really screwed up, in a monumental fashion. And they have no purpose that unites them so they just drift around, blundering through life until they die… which they… they know is coming, yet every single one of them is surprised when it happens to them. They’re incapable of thinking about what they want beyond the moment. They kill each other, which is clearly insane. And yet, here’s the thing – when it’s something that really matters, they fight. I mean, they’re lame morons for fighting, but they do. They never… never quit. So I guess I will keep fighting too.”


“They’ll never know how tough it is, Dawnie. To be the one who isn’t chosen. To live so near the spotlight and never step in it. But I know. I see more than anybody realizes because nobody’s watching me. I saw you last night. I see you working here today. You’re not special. You’re extraordinary.”


Originally posted by amythegloriouspond

“The hardest thing in this world is to live in it. Be brave. Live. For me.”

anonymous asked:

dark rc would you please consider writing about how victor (and the rest of the Russian skate team) had a feud with the Russian hockey team bc of their constant flirting and attentions towards yuuri (who was completely oblivious at the war waging for his heart)??

This has been sitting in my inbox for over a month and I apologize for that, nonny! I wanted to try my hand at breaking through this writer’s block and this prompt was ripe for the taking. It’s not my best work by any stretch, but it’s something at least! I hope you enjoy.

+

There are few things that give Yuri pleasure—the taste of accomplishment like cinnamon sugar on the back of his tongue after landing a quad; having a comeback so cutting that he practically draws blood; that soft murrf a cat makes when it decides it trusts him; the little green screenshot arrow appearing next to Otabek’s name in Snapchat—but they all pale in comparison to whenever the Russian hockey team visits the rink.

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Things Happen

Summary: You wake up next to a man you don’t know, in a place you have never been in, not remembering what has happened the night before. What ensues after is hard to believe.

Word Count: 2,256

Warnings: Mentions of drinking and vomit.

A/N: Thank you to @whothehellisbella for her help, you are amazing, Bella! <3 I hope you all enjoy this one :D 

Originally posted by bucky-papichulo


The buzzing in your head was constant and obnoxious. You knew you had been stupid enough last night to drink yourself to stupor. Groaning, you reached for your pillow and instead your fingers threaded through long hair. Some part of you knew that you shouldn’t, but you still gripped tightly and pulled.

A loud yelp pierced through the air before a masculine voice began to curse. There was a sharp sting to the back of your hand and you hissed, pulling it back and cradling it to your chest.

Your eyes fluttering opened, you gave it a few seconds to fully focus on the person before you and you realized that you did not know him.

“Who are you?” you blurted out.

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lmao i can’t believe 13 reasons why actually used to mean something to me and now people are kinda just ruining it?? by romanticizing??? everything??? like i hate to break it to you but:

  • Justin’s a rape sympathist not a ‘precious bby child’
  • Jessica SLAPPED hannah and didn’t even bother to hear her side of the story
  • Alex made the Hot or Not list??? like why does everyone keep forgetting that? Jessica wouldn’t have sex with him so HE FUCKING MADE A HOT OR NOT LIST. 
  • Tyler Down was really creepy (actually the fandom hates him enough as it is so nvmnd lol)
  • Courtney’s also hated enough by the fandom… at least that part got to them. 
  • Marcus isn’t talked about a lot tbh but he’s like the most typical asshole ever. Just fuck Marcus.
  • ZACH IS NOT A CINNAMON ROLL. He stole those notes, and while he is one of the better characters, you can’t just steal other people’s notes! I’m not saying he’s a bad person, but he sure as hell isn’t a fucking cinnamon roll.
  • Ryan Shaver you goddamn arrogant prick
  • Sheri should’ve called the cops. 
  • Ok. Even Hannah forgave Clay… but honestly… he’s done some pretty questionable stuff. Fighting everyone.. believing Justin (”sometimes waiting is better”?? really clay?) I mean he’s a good kid… but he could’ve been way better too. 
  • Bryce is completely irredeemable and should fucking rot in hell. And jail. Fucking rot in hell’s jail. 
  • Mr. Porter… what the fuck? is? your? problem? you absolute ignorant FUCK. 
  • and as always: JEFF ATKINS DID NOTHING WRONG (honestly though. I’ve rewatched his segments and literally? nothing? wrong?) 

my point here is STOP ROMANTICIZING THESE CHARACTERS. STOP SAYING WHAT THEY DID IS FINE. STOP. Someday someone’s gonna have a situation with someone similar to one of those characters and they’ll see others romanticizing them and just… fuck. I don’t even know what else to say. Just please. Stop. Romanticizing 13 reasons why. It makes it seem like suicide is okay. It makes it seem like suicide is ‘fashionable’. Please stop. Honestly. 

Watch Me Babygirl [pt.9]

Summary: Jungkook is your brother’s annoying best friend. You can’t stand him but he just can’t resist teasing you. How far will he actually go?

Warnings: language, light smut

[pt.1] [pt.2] [pt.3] [pt.4] [pt.5] [pt.6] [pt.7] [previous part]


“My mom wants me to become more involved at the school,” you sighed, walking with Taehyung to P.E.

The last few days your mom had been hinting that she wanted you to become involved, “like your brother”. You’d done your best to act clueless in order to get her to drop the subject, but she’d finally confronted you and outright told you that she wanted you to become more involved.

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Business and Pleasure - Part 15

Summary:  Bucky AU. After a major deal falls through, your father’s business almost falls apart. In a desperate attempt to save his livelihood, he seeks the help of his oldest friend, George Barnes, who happens to be the CEO of one of the most influential businesses in New York. He agrees, but on one condition. You have to marry his son.

Word Count: 1,833

Warnings: Swearing, angst


Originally posted by ohevansmycaptain


By the time you arrived back in New York, you were pretty sure that you had cried out all the tears your body could possibly produce. Your eyes were dry and bloodshot, and you couldn’t stop the constant shivering that had started sometime during the flight back. You spent the entirety of the flight trying not to cry. You hugged your knees to your chest as best as you could in the cramped plane and stared out the window. Thankfully, you had plenty of music on your phone, so you simply plugged in your headphones and tuned out the rest of the world.


Once you landed and collected your baggage, you realized just how late it was. The sun had set during the flight, and it was now well past midnight. You could have easily called a taxi, but you weren’t sure that you could handle being stuck in the back of a taxi for the ride back home. You didn’t want to have to make awkward small talk. All you wanted was to curl up in bed and sleep. 

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The Morning After

Request: I would love a Bucky smut where him and reader have to go undercover as a married couple.

Summary: You were supposed to go on a undercover mission with Steve, not the man you despised- James Buchanan Barnes.

Warnings: smut, sexual tension, fluff

A/N: I have another draft of this written up but it was all over the place and I didn’t like it so I switched to this one.


“I know you were expecting to go on this mission with Steve, but we have a job to do.” Bucky threw a towel over his shoulder, heading toward the door of the hotel room.

“Well, once you took Steve’s place this mission just got exponentially harder.” You stepped out of the bathroom, towel and sunscreen in your hand.

“How so?” He smiled, cocking an eyebrow at you.

You jutted your hip out, rolling your eyes at him. Your bikini was nothing special; it had a pushup top that accentuated your breasts perfectly, but that was about it. The top and the bottom matched with blue and white stripes. You topped the outfit off with red sunglasses; the suit was meant to get a chuckle from Steve, not Bucky.

“Because now I have to pretend I’m head over heels in love with you, not Steve.” You flipped the light off. “Let’s just go check out the damn pool.”

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Heart on the Line (part 6)

Masterlist

You and Bucky had your differences in college, but now you need a place to stay and he needs a roommate, and in order to make ends meet, you two start a phone sex line together.  

“For a Good Time, Call…” AU


author: buckysbackpackbuckle
pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
word count: 1114

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The Only Exception (Part 4)

Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Word Count: 2,873

Warnings: language, fluff, angst, sarcasm, hot firemen

A/N: So many of you were right on. But what’s the fallout now? PS - I had a lot of writer’s block, so I don’t know how I feel about this, but I had to push forward with the story or I’d end up abandoning it.

Part - 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 -

Originally posted by upper-east-side-elite

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This Is War [7]

Summary: After being rejected by your best friend Bucky, Sam sets you up with one of his friends, on the condition that if the date doesn’t go well, you have to sign up for a dating app. The date doesn’t go well. As you begin to look for love in other places, Bucky starts to feel something he never felt before. Jealous.

Bucky Barnes X Reader

Word Count: 1178

Warnings: I think I swore once? 

A/N: Thank you for all of your comments on Part 6!! They made me happy :) Also Italics are flashbacks!

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Just imagine:

When Rosie is ten, they move to Sussex. It’s only a semi-retirement Sherlock will commute into London if the case is a 7 or higher, everything else he can pretty much do from the comfort of his own home.

Rosie is brilliant as she grows and when she’s fourteen, she announces she’s going to be a Forensic Psychologist, despite several conversations she doesn’t budge. It’s no surprise when she has her pick of universities in London even without Uncle Mycroft’s meddling.  Everyone is misty-eyed when she moves to London.

Sherlock worries immensely because he remembers his on uni days. After intense negotiations, John agrees it’s ‘reasonable’ to text her 3 times a day unprompted.  The rule doesn’t matter because she texts them constantly, telling them about her day and asking about the things at home.

Rosie being Rosie immediately involves herself in a ton of extracurricular stuff. One of her groups volunteers regularly at soup kitchens. The first couple of times she’s volunteering there are a few people who stare a bit too hard at her.  Finally, she snaps and asks one of the older women who have been staring for the past month what the hell their problem is.  The woman laughs and only says “No different than your father then.”

Rosie ends up involved in the homeless network, except she’s even more approachable than Sherlock because she’s 5′3″ and inherited John’s friendly face and some of his jumpers (she know they’re hideous but she wears them when she needs a boost of courage. It’s not uncommon for her to wander around in a hideous jumper and a cashmere scarf during exams.)

Rosie’s heart shatters when a batch of tainted drugs gets sold and several of the people she’s grown to call friends, die. Sherlock comes up and discovers the source, it turns out to be a case full of murder and intrigue but even if it hadn’t been he could never stand her tears and would have come anyway. 

Neither John nor Sherlock are really surprised when Rosie calls home one day and announces that after she finishes her Psychology degree she’s going to take a post-grad course in addiction studies.

Even though when she graduates it’s John who spends days gushing over how brilliant she is, it’s Sherlock’s quietly spoken “your heart would have been wasted on criminals” that lets her know she made the right decision.

1. Power Rangers was originally a Japanese Property called “Super Sentai” which is still an ongoing thing in Japan.  When they brought the property over to America they had a diverse cast much like the 2017 version has. They did not take it and have only white actors in the roles.


2. Pacific Rim is a movie that pays a lot of homage to Japanese properties and genre called “Mecha”.  Notice how the director has a diverse cast in it and not just white actors. Hell the giant monsters they fight are called “Kaiju” which is what Godzilla and other Giant monsters in Japanese properties are sometimes referred too.

3. Ghost In The Shell is a Japanese Property that was recently adapted into a live action Hollywood production and it is white- washed plain and simple. 

 They took a Japanese property, slapped a white person on it, then called it a day.  Hell one of the points in the movie has the character saying she use to be Japanese to try and justify the whitewashing which makes it even worse.  


There is a difference between respecting the source material and shitting on the source material.  

The Arrangement (Part 12)

Originally posted by supernaturalfreewill

Summary (story spoilers): someone delivers some unexpected and unpleasant news, sending you running. Sam and Benny confront Dean, and the three of them go looking for you.

Pairing: AU!Dean x Reader

Word Count: 2,500

Warnings (again, spoilers): lots of language, angst, cheating, feelings of betrayal and worthlessness

A/N: Thank you guys for all your patience! My show this weekend went really well! I came in 3rd out of 17 and qualified for Nationals in early May! Hope you enjoy this installment, though I think I’ll have a few upset messages…

Want to catch up? Check out the series masterlist!

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When somebody asks me how life is going, I always have the same answers: It’s okay, it’s fine.

What I really want to say is that my mother’s growing old and I’m scared. The wrinkles that form her face when she frowns have gotten deeper and her finger nails that she used to keep colored a dark shade of red are bare.

My little sister is learning to become a number at school. She received her first report card with all straight 90’s, but the girl who sits behind her had all straight 95’s. She clearly didn’t try hard enough, she believes.

My brother just entered high school, but he’s already stressed about what he’s going to do after college.

My father’s footsteps sound heavier on the wooden stairs of our house when he comes home from work now and his body looks tired.

My friends go to bed feeling empty and twist and turn in their sheets before they fall asleep from complete exhaustion and wake up restless.

I operate like a robot and have absolutely no control over time. It seems to be slipping from my fingers like the wind and I can’t trail behind it.

That is the way it is for most people.
We live in a constant cycle that repeats every day and the color of our lives becomes duller as we grow.

One day we’ll wake up being seventy and think, “Where did my life go?”

It went a little like this:

When you were born, you were born with curiosity burning in your veins. The sound of it was heard loud and clear when you giggled as a toddler and it slowly became inaudible when you became a teenager. In fact, the fire nearly burned out completely when you reached adulthood.

But it’s not out yet.
It doesn’t blow out until your heart stops working.
As long as your lungs expand and deflate, stardust production continues in your blood.

You can’t change the past.
You can’t correct the errors you made or pretend they’ve never occurred.

You can never find true happiness if you are always looking for it.

Live now.
Live in this very minute.
Damn it, don’t think about what happens next. What happened before.
If somebody broke your heart, tell them.
Kiss the hell out of the one that makes you happy.
Call up that relative you swore you hated but haven’t heard from in a while and ask them how they are.
Take out that shirt from your closet that you bought because it was pretty and wear it, even if you think it doesn’t look great on you.
Drink more water in the day even if you don’t feel thirsty.
Put down your phone and step outside for a few minutes and just breathe.
Stare at the moon, the stars, the clouds as they drift onwards.
Watch the sunrise and the sunset by yourself and listen to soft music when you do it.
Take long showers and touch yourself gently.
Stop believing that a low grade defines your intelligence and learn to appreciate your hard work when you’ve put it in.
Make sure to give yourself a break when you need it.
Hug your friends for a minute longer and remind them that you love them.
Change your vocabulary from “I can’t” to “I can”.
Be open to pain and letting go of it.
Scream at the top of your lungs when the world is sitting on your shoulders.
Set fire to the dreams you couldn’t achieve and with the ashes form a new path.

Make your life one that is worth being proud of.
That you can feel satisfied with once you are taking your last breaths.

You have always been making choices on your own—It is up to you to make the best ones.

—  LIVE LIKE YOU ARE GOING TO DIE TOMORROW 
Have You Seen This Painting of A Hallway?

I got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of bronze-gilded plaster.

The painting itself was of this long hallway full of doors, kind of like you’d see in a fancy hotel. The walls had edging about halfway up, the upper part was painted sort of an off white while the lower half was a crimson red that blended into the carpeting. Between each door was an up-turned light, as well as on the far wall at the end, where the corridor seemed to connect to another hallway running perpendicular to it, disappearing around a corner.

It was really amazing detail, though I wouldn’t call it life-like by any means. Just the sheer amount of intricate pieces to each aspect of the scene showed that the artist really paid attention to every little thing, like somewhere in the world was this hallway, and you could stand in it and hold the painting up in front of you and if it weren’t for the border and the clearly stylized art, you wouldn’t be able to tell where the canvas ended and the real world began.

I called him up and thanked him immediately.

“But where’d you find this?”

“I got it at an auction.”

I kinda figured as much.

So I hung up the painting in my office, just behind my desk, which I realized later wasn’t the best place for it because in order to actually look at it, I had to swivel completely around, but there wasn’t anywhere better really, and once I’d gotten it hung up, I felt less willing to take it back down, so I just left it there. It kind of hung out over my shoulder and watched me work, and every now and then I’d turn around and stare at it and get entranced by it, feeling like I could get up and put my hands in the frame and climb into the painting as if the frame were a window.

Of course, I wouldn’t be writing this if something weird didn’t happen as a result of the painting.

We had a couple friends over, Marc and Sabina, and Marc and I went into my office when the women-folk started talking about knitting, which has become my wife’s new favorite hobby. I went and sat down at my laptop to find a video I had been telling Marc about, and Marc wandered over and started admiring the painting.

“Where’d you get that?”

“My dad bought it at an auction and gave it to me.”

“It’s creepy.”

“It’s not that creepy. It’s kind of… I don’t know.”

“Hypnotic?”

“Yeah.”

I turned around to look at it with him while the video loaded. He got up close and was running his finger over the canvas, feeling the raised acrylic, and I just let my gaze wander over all the details again.

“Huh, I didn’t notice that before.”

“What?”

“At the end of the hall, there’s some sort of light coming from around the corner, and it’s casting a shadow on the floor.”

I got up and looked closer, because I really hadn’t spent a lot of time studying the far end of the hallway. There was definitely some yellow and some darker colors making what looked like the shadow of a person coming from around the corner. I even reached out and touched it to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the light in the study making it just look like there was this shadow in the painting, but I felt the paint and sure enough it was actually there in the painting.

“See what I mean?” Marc said, “Creepy.”

I genuinely felt weirded out by it. It was one of those moments where you start thinking, Why didn’t I notice this earlier? Was it there to notice?

A couple days later, I was working on a project in my study, and it was like 9:30 at night, and I just couldn’t focus, so I spun around in my chair to look at the painting and I felt this sudden vertigo effect, like the ground wasn’t there and I had to grab my chair to keep from tumbling into emptiness.

You wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t looked at the painting a hundred times like I had. The hallway was long, with exactly six doors. I remember, because I counted them the first day. three on the left, three on the right, each with a little shiny, metal doorknob.

Only now there were seven doors. Three on the left, four on the right. It didn’t make sense. Everything looked proportionally exactly the same, and the far end of the corridor was just as far away, and yet there was a fourth door in the right side of the hallway, with its little metal doorknob. I don’t even know which door was the fourth door, that’s how well it blended in, I just know that there were four doors where once there were three.

“What the hell is going on?”

I turned away in my chair and back to check several times and make sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, but the number of doors remained constant.

I called my dad again and I asked him, “Is this a trick painting you sent me?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean it keeps changing. I can see it changing.”

“Not as far I know. It was just one in a bunch I picked up all at the same auction.”

After I got off the phone I took the painting down and checked the back for some some of mechanical or digital hocus pocus, but it was all soft canvas so I left it on the floor behind my office chair with the painting facing the wall because the thought of it was freaking me out.

The next day I pulled my wife into my office and held the painting up so she could see it because she hadn’t had a chance to before.

“How many doors are there?” I asked.

She looked it over for a moment. “Seven.”

“When I first got this, there were six.”

She just looked at me like I was being a goofball. “Okay, so which one wasn’t there before?”

“I have no idea.”

“You don’t know which door magically appeared?” and she laughed and gave me a kiss and went back into the other room.

It gets worse.

The next time I chatted with Marc, I told him about the extra door in the painting.

“Are you sure there weren’t seven doors to begin with?”

“Well, I would swear I counted six.”

“Well, if another one shows up, at least Melissa counted seven, and can confirm it then. You know what you should do? You should take a photo of the painting so you can prove it if anything else changes.”

What a great idea, so I got my phone and took a photo of the painting.

Two days went by. Nothing.

On the third day, I walked into my office and there was a man staring at me. Well, I mean… it wasn’t… I can’t say that it was a man or a woman. Hell, I can’t say that it was human. There was a shape at the end of the hallway in my painting. It was oddly lacking in the detail that the rest of the painting had, like someone had hurriedly painted it on. I even ran my hand over it to make sure it wasn’t fresh, that someone hadn’t actually come in and painted over my painting to drive me crazy.

It was really there.

And the look of it scared me more than anything else, changing painting included. I wish I could do it justice with words, but the best I can describe it is that it was human-ish, with legs and arms, but it seemed squat, or hunched, and lopsided, like someone had slapped a blurry Quasimodo onto an otherwise beautiful painting. You couldn’t see the details of its face, but you could see shading on it, defining really warped features. I was almost glad that there wasn’t more detail to it, except that it left just enough to the imagination to give one nightmares.

But I had proof! Here was proof that the painting was changing. So I brought up the file on my laptop to show my wife for comparison, only when I did, the figure was in the photo I took too!

At no point did I start questioning my sanity about all this. Something unnatural and terrifying was going on, so I took the painting out of the house and set it on the curb where we put our trash for pickup. I was so done with that painting.

Or so I thought.

The next evening, when I got home from work, it was gone from the curb. I figured someone had seen it and taken it home, and I waved my hands and said, “Good, now it’s someone else’s problem.” I went in, played with daughter, had dinner, put them to bed, and after watching a show with my wife, went into my office to check my email.

No, the painting wasn’t back on the wall. I made sure of that the moment I walked in the door.

But I got a message from Marc, asking if the painting had changed anymore, and I told him about the creepy new addition and also how I had gotten rid of the painting.

“Oh man, that sounds cool. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see it.”

“Well, I can send you the photo I took of it.”

“Cool.”

So I opened the image file.

The thing in the painting had raised its arms.

Before, you could only barely make out the arms hanging at its sides, but now both arms were raised up over its head, and its fingers were spread apart like it was waving hello at me. I think it was waving hello at me.

I zoomed in, as best as I could without pixelating the image, and the shaded contours of the face seemed stretched into a grin.

Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

I sent Marc the file, but the connection kept fucking up, so I put it in a folder on my dropbox account and gave him access to it.

“The file’s corrupted.” He texted me.

I tried to open it as well, but he was right. Every time I copied the image file, somehow it got corrupted.

“It must be the spooky magic.” Marc joked.

“This is no joke. I’m freaking out here.”

“Delete the file if it’s scaring you so bad.”

So I deleted the file.

But it gnawed at me, you know? The painting was still changing, in horrible, terrifying ways, seemingly acknowledging my observation of it, and now it was gone. But if it was gone, why should it matter? If something unholy happens, it’s the problem of whoever has the painting now, right? And they’ll see it changing too, won’t they?

“Oh shit.”

It was two days later, and I was organizing a folder of documents and had accidentally deleted a couple I hadn’t meant to. I went into the Windows recycling bin and –you guessed it– there was the image file along with the documents.

I had to look. I was trembling with dread at the thought of it, but when something so surreal happens to you, you have to witness it and see it through to the end.

I recovered the file and opened it.

The walls of the hallway seemed to be melting. The partition separating the red from the off-white was lower than it had been before, and drooped in places. The ridge on the lights looked like they were peeling off. The carpet seemed less crimson and more reddish brown.

And the figure had taken several steps down the corridor toward the viewer’s perspective. More details had become defined: hair hanging off its head, long and black like it had been painted with a fine-tipped brush, the eyes were little more than dull black points under the shading of the brow. The grin came with teeth, uneven and fat, like those of a child more than an adult. Its arms were extended out on either side of it, touching both walls. One foot was ahead of the other, as if I had caught it mid-step in a game of red light/green light.

I realized I was panting and shaking as I looked at it. It was really hard to breathe, an anxiety attack. The painting was going to make me pass out, just from looking at a digital photo of it.

Quickly, I closed the image to calm myself down, but that suddenly brought forth the thought, What if it progresses every time I look away? The only way to stop it is to keep looking! and I opened the file again.

No change. Oh– no, wait, that wasn’t a new change, I had noticed it before, but it hadn’t dawned on me. One of the doors was open. There was a dim blue light coming from the room inside, moonlight I thought. And just outside the threshold of the door, there was an object lying on the floor.

I zoomed in for better detail.

It was a little, yellow, stuffed lion with a scraggly, orange mane. A child’s toy. Of all the details, the melting hallway, the grinning fiend with arms wide open, the blue light from the open doorway, it was the innocent nature of that little toy lion that filled me with the most dread.

My wife came into the office.

“Come kiss Gabby goodnight.”

I went into her darkened room, where she was wrapped up in blankets in her bed, hugging a half dozen stuffed animals and looking cute as could be. My little darling. I love her so much.

I kissed my daughter goodnight. She kissed me back and hugged her little pillowpet with the built in night light. It glowed through a variety of colors.

“I love you, baby.” I told her.

“Can you get my Simba?”

I looked around. “Where’d you leave it?”

“Over there.” She pointed to the closet. The door was open, and her toy lay on the floor just inside.

Simba, her little, yellow, stuffed lion with the scraggly, orange mane.

Seeing it lying there, just past the threshold of the closet door, while the dim glow of my daughter’s night light faded from red to purple to blue, I felt my heart rise up in my chest. The closet was just a closet. I could see it was just a closet. There were clothes on hangers and bags with toys and blocks in them. They were right there. And yet, as I looked at the stuffed lion lying on the floor, waiting for me, I felt as if I could see carpeting on the floor inside the closet, even though there was none. Carpeting, not in my vision, but in my imagination. And maybe if I went in and shut the door, I’d find that the walls beyond those clothes had a wooden partition, red below, off-white above.

And maybe there was something hunched and terrible shambling its way toward us even as I stood there staring at that toy.

I walked, briskly, trying not to look half as frightened as I was, snatched up Simba and shut the closet door. My breathing was heavy, like I’d just run a mile, and I struggled to avoid gasping for breath as I tried to calm myself down.

“Hey, did that poster fall down?” I asked nobody in particular, then pretended I was trying to adjust a cat poster that had been on the floor by her dresser for months, and shoved the heavy dresser over so that it partially blocked the closet door.

“Here’s Simba, sweety.” I handed the lion to Gabby, gave her a quick hug and kiss, and wished her goodnight before rushing back to my office.

The painting had changed, as I knew it would. The open door was closed, the toy gone from the floor, the hallway was dimly lit with yellow light from the melting lights again. But the thing, that not-quite-human fiend, was standing right outside the now shut door, its body turned to face it with both hands pressed up against the door itself like it was running its hands down it, caressing it, and its head turned toward me, still grinning that awful, frightening grin full of gnashed, crooked teeth.

Oh God how close had it been? No, it’s just a closet! The hallway is not there. It’s not real. None of this is real.

I’ve put up signs around the neighborhood, knocked on doors, asked everyone I know and many I don’t if they know who took the painting. I need to find it and get it back. I want to tear it, shred it in my hands, throw it in a fire and watch it burn to ashes. Jesus God in Heaven, I hope it didn’t end up in some landfill.

I’ve learned the awful truth… All Doors Lead To The Hallway

Work Together

Bucky Barnes One-Shot

Summary: You and Bucky hate eachother and the negativity that you two are bringing the team isn’t that uplifting. Steve wants you two to get along because you need to learn to work together, so he places you in a situation where you two need to work together to escape. But when real trouble comes and it’s not part of the plan, you and Bucky have to get bring your heads together, and a find a way to make it out alive.

A/N: Not my gif :) Credit goes to the owner ♥

Word Count: 2,495

Warning: None


Steve wraps his arms around you and holds you close, protecting you with his shield. You could hear the bullets hitting against the metal as you covered your head with your hands. Bucky shoots the men who were shooting at you.

‘’Go with Bucky and he’ll lead the way out! Now go!’’ steve demands, shoving you towards Bucky.

You run right into Bucky’s chest, he wraps his arm around you and you pull away immediately.

‘’What are you doing Y/N?!’’ bucky screams in confusion.

‘’I can find my way around the building! I don’t need you to show me where to go!’’ you scream.

Bucky reached out for your hand but missed you by a clear second, you sprinted your way in the opposite direction. There were gunshots still being shot at you, but from all the training that The Avengers taught you, you dodged them all swiftly.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Hi! I love your fic recs so much! I was wondering, do you have any amortentia fic recommendations? Thankyou xx

BLESS YOUR SOUL!1!!!1 It honestly means so much to me when people say that they love my recs so much!

Anyway.

AMORTENTIA FICS YESSSSS!! There’s seriusly not enough fics out there that heavily feature the use of amortentia to get our two boys together. Like, I think the trope is more popular on tumblr through the use of drabbles and stuff - that’s why I’ve split this fic rec into fanfics and drabbles.

Fanfictions

  • Deserving - by Cassis Luna (2k)
    From the prompt: “What if everyone was brewing Amortentia and Harry walks in, asking why the room smells like Malfoy’s cologne”
    (This was the first ever amortentia fic I read which got me into the trope.For a one-shot, it’s packed with heaps of Drarry pining and fluff!

  • deScent - by catratbatsnake (4k)
    Draco is so far gone and doesn’t know it; Hermione is on the warpath.
    (Hermione, jealous of Ron and Lavender’s relationship, decides to use a perfume that has the same effects as amortentia. When Draco and Harry get a whiff of her perfume, they smell each other and everything else is history. So much fluff and humour - a must read!)

  • The Four Times Harry’s Hair Made Draco Jealous (and the one time it didn’t) - by Annesterling (2k)
    Basically, Draco is permanently jealous because Harry can’t control his hair.
    (A story where Draco is pining after Harry, and everyone knows about it except Harry himself)

  • Coffee, parchment and ink - by invisible_slytherin (1k)
    But here they were and Malfoy smelled like coffee and parchment and ink and, somehow, Harry knew that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else, with anyone else, if given the choice.
    (Amortentia smells like coffee, parchment and ink to Harry, and he’s not going to rest until he finds the person who smells like that)

Drabbles

  • “Hey Malfoy,” Harry calls, “this potion smells as bad as you do.” Malfoy gapes at him. The class is silent. - can be found here

  • “Why the hell does it reek of Potter’s cologne in here, it smells awful.” Draco Malfoy complained loudly as he entered Potions late.” - can be found here

  • “You smell what you love when you brew it…” Harry trailed off. Draco grew even redder, if even possible. “So, I’m a little curious as to why you smelled-”

    “Don’t fucking say it,” Draco snapped.

    “You smelled me.”
    - can be found here

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