words of one syllable

continental drift

(#21 off the Super Sappy Prompts list: “I’m better when I’m with you.”)

It’s an experiment based on a hypothesis based on a coincidence. They’re sharing a room on a roadie, and Nursey has been stuck in a dry spell for a week and a half now. The words just haven’t been coming the way he wants them to, and he’s starting to feel dried out, like all the creative juices have been wrung out of him by school stress and lack of sleep. Maybe it’ll never come back. Maybe he’s just done. All washed up by the tender age of twenty.

He’s not even trying to write as he watches Dex from across the room, tracking his fidgets and expressions as he sits hunched over his laptop frowning at the screen. It’s been a while since he and Dex have been in the same room for an extended period of time – a fortnight, about. Dex has been on a project, and Nursey started isolating himself about when the drought hit. But it was nice to sit with him on the bus today, and it’s nice to dump his bag near the bed and just relax, hands behind his head, and drink in his presence. It feels like something he’s been missing for far too long.

Nursey’s not sure what it is that makes the words start coming back, but it’s like a cloudburst on a hot day – a few lines, scattered drops against a parched sidewalk, then all at once he’s drowning.

He writes for four hours that night. His poems are full of microchips and anger, all about the gray morality of man against the rigidity of binary code, and by one a.m., when he should really be getting his beauty rest for tomorrow’s game, he’s starting to formulate a theory.

The theory is that maybe being in Dex’s proximity jumpstarts his creativity. In a phrase, Dex inspires him.

So Nursey resolves to test it.

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Seriously, this is the tiniest thing.

Like, a very small concern. A minuscule nitpick.

But folks, it’s Len, not Leo.

Here’s why:

Bones is a man of the deep south. I grew up in Arkansas. I can say it. People with southern accents are lazy speakers.

Put down the pitchforks, and hear me out.

We don’t like to enunciate. We don’t like syllables. 

I’ll give you an example.


Ladies and gentlemen, when I was first exposed to the term, “y’all’d’ve,” I did not understand. 

In fact, I’m not ashamed. I had to google it.

I immediately laughed so hard.

Because where I’m from, we don’t say, “Y’all’d’ve.”

It’s, “Y’all’da.”

As in, “Y’all woulda.”

There’s no V sound. 

In fact, the idea of a V sound at the end of “you all would have” was so foreign to me that I did not even recognize it was a thing. 

Which brings me back to “Len.”

Ask anybody south of the Mason Dixon to say, “Leonard.”

I’d bet good money that, phonetically, what comes out is “Len-ard.” 


Leonard is two syllables (as I pronounce it - I’m sure some will disagree). Leo is two syllables. Len is the phonetic diminutive of Leonard (as the McCoy family likely pronounces it). Len is only one syllable. 

Lazy speakers, remember? 

In other words, what’s the point of a nickname that’s not any easier to spit out?

For the record, I absolutely love the name Leo. I think it’s adorable. It’s quirky and masculine. It’s a great name, and a great nickname. It’s just not Leonard McCoy’s.

I’ll admit, I have a little bit (little bit) easier time imagining Leo as a nickname for AOS Bones. That’s probably because I find it impossible to divorce De from the image of the quintessential “southern boy.” Not sure if it’s the cadence of his speech, or the way he says nuclear as “nucular,” or if it’s just because he’s the original, but De is Bones, Bones is Len

Like I said, it’s the tiniest of nitpicks. I love a Leo fic as much as I love a Len fic. 

But to me, he’s Len. 


Scenario: The temp agency sent you to a new job that was supposed to be something simple that came along with easy money: lots of easy money. But simple is far from what you get when you realize, being the secretary for Jeon Jungkook, comes with his own form of demands.

A/N: this is part one of the obsession series. I blame Jungkook with his stupid sultry looks and how damn good he’s looked in suits the whole BS&T era. I ended up writing this last night sitting in my car for almost two hours.This is honestly going to be dirty and kinky and I’m not gonna apologize. I hope you all enjoy!

Genre: Jungkook x Reader

Words: 3100

Disclaimer: As always, any gifs used are not mine and belong to their rightful owners!!

Warnings: Smut, oral, and slight rough play

“I am a professional. I. Am. A. Professional. I’M A GODDAMN PROFESSIONAL!”

Your hands smacked down on the marble of the bathroom counter. The words you’d been muttering to your reflection over and over like a damn mantra somehow becoming less effective. You felt like you couldn’t breathe in the high-waisted pencil skirt, which wasn’t a ludicrous assumption since you could barely walk properly in it with, or without, the heels.

The reason behind your anxiety ridden pep talk: Jeon Jungkook.

One of the youngest high-ranking executives in the company, he was known for being incredibly smart; thinking outside the box to close deals and create new overseas partnerships, charming, and a decorated athlete. Before you’d been assigned to the company as his latest secretary, the only time you’d actually ever seen him was on the cover of magazines and photographed next to expensive people with beautiful faces to match. Jeon Jungkook held a life you envied.

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anonymous asked:

Can you please recommend me some really long fics? Thank you💕

Sure! Just in time for SCAWeek too :) I’ll list these by writer, and most of them will be Steter but a few will also be polyamory and I’ll specify those.


Make Your Own (Buns in the Oven)

Stiles opens his mouth a few times, but no words come out as he feels tears welling up again. He takes a deep, shaky breath, exhales slowly to calm himself enough to do this.

Peter waits, brows furrowed in worry as he watches Stiles.

“I think I’m pregnant,” he finally says, “And I don’t know what to do.”

Or the one where Stiles is a human incubator and Peter is not the baby daddy (until he is).

it’s not the color i came in

Stiles is a bit of an anomaly among the Omegas he knows, or everyone on the spectrum really.

For him, heats are about comfort and safety, and not at all about sex.


Bittersweet Creek

When Stiles finally steps off the westward trail to California, he’s the last of his pack. He starts building a den, but then he finds a dying man next to a burnt-down house and it turns out he’s not really much of a settler, after all.

The Time Travel Grammar Book

The story that was supposed to be about time-travel, but is really a stealth AU of the first two seasons where Talia’s a struggling single mom, Peter’s the eponymous teen wolf, and Stiles, Scott and Lydia…are time travelers (so that part’s not totally inaccurate).

The Sphinx of Beacon Hills (Stetopher)

Stiles is a sphinx, and he’s winging his way to visit his buddy Scott when a storm drops him in Beacon Hills, the craziest, crankiest, coldest place ever. And somehow, he ends up with a bunch of werewolves.

Dead Men Tell No Tales (Steterek)

Sociopathic mercenaries Stiles and Lydia pick up some Hales in the middle of killing Kate Argent. They’re not rescuers.

Movement in Alpha Major (Stetopher)

Peter Hale, thirty-four, shady but successful human lawyer, knocks on his nephew Derek’s door one night because he’s just been bitten by a werewolf. Somehow, this ends up being a lot more awkward than one would expect.


Set the Sun, Rise the Moon

Stiles wakes up a werewolf, with no memory of how it happened. Understandably, he panics.

“He wasn’t supposed to come home,” Stiles whispers. He knows Peter can hear him even with the shower running. “He woke me up and I remembered and I panicked…”

“Your father,” Peter says, and it’s not a question.


Sympathy for the Devil

Stiles gets a job as a hospital orderly and finds himself becoming strangely attached to the catatonic man on the long-term care ward, and finds out that there’s a lot more to Peter Hale than there seems…

Get Off (Me)

Stiles hates being left behind with Peter while the pack is fighting monsters, because he never knows exactly what Peter will get up to.

Devil of Mercy

Peter’s heard people talk about what it felt like when they saw their mate for the first time, from those who actually believe in the mystical bullshit. Like a magnet, like gravity. Peter just feels… sharply curious.

Call My Name

After moving to Beacon Hills, Stiles starts having recurring dreams of a man in some kind of prison, who needs his help. Things get so bad that he ends up in Eichen House, where he finds out that the man is real.


Save Me

Peter is the Alpha.
He’s nobody’s savior.
Not his pack’s. Not his town’s. And not that kid’s.
But sometimes salvation goes both ways.

Infinite Space

Stiles needs Peter’s expertise to help stop the latest threat to Beacon Hills.
And, as the pack falls apart around him, he might even need Peter for more than that.


The Hale Wolf Sanctuary isn’t just for wolves.

It turns out it’s for Stilinskis as well.


Baby Boy

What the heck is FetLife?

Stiles is too curious for his own good, and he can’t help himself, so he joins a website advertising to be a good place for “kinksters.” He just wants to be nosy and see what total strangers are up to. Then he meets Peter, who wants to be called Daddy.

Could Stiles be his baby boy?

Pigments and Pentacles

“One–” He stabbed the needle right through skin and cartilage, pulling a loud squawk out of Stiles.

Stiles sucked in a few quick breaths then started to laugh. “You son of a bitch,” he snorted. “You said on three.”

“I lied,” Peter replied, smiling down at him.


All In A Spin

Stiles can’t really talk anymore but, with Peter, he realizes he doesn’t have to. Even if their spoken communication consists of one swear word and stuttered syllables, they understand each other. And that’s what counts.


If You Want to Sing Out, Sing Out

Commander Stilinski looked like he fell out of a propaganda video, his armor still smoking as he pulled off his helmet and handed it off to First Officer Argent. He had a few bruises down his neck but his smile was bright.

“Glad to see you safe and sound, Mr. Hale. I’d hate for Derek to lose a member of his family.”

“I told you,” Derek snapped at his superior, “he’s not worth this, Commander.”


Spark of Dark

After being abandoned by Scott, Stiles feels empty and tired. Sick of life. Until Peter re-enters his life and makes him want to live again.
All of a sudden he’s not so alone anymore…and neither is Peter.


Out Of The East, Never See The Sun Rise

In the beginning, there are three absolutes.

One. Stiles is a god, forged of starlight and collapsing galaxies and he is eternal.

Two. Peter is human, fragile bone and viscous blood and he is temporary.

Three. Stiles and Peter are in love; love that claws its way inside one’s heart like fish hooks; all encompassing love that is beautiful but dangerous.

Stiles is a god. Peter is human. They love each other.

Three absolutes.


You Had Me at Canapes

Stiles doesn’t mean to sneak into the Hale wedding, and he certainly doesn’t mean to have cliche coat-room sex with the bride’s uncle, but what had happened, happened, and it wasn’t like he could just leave. At least, not until he got to have some of that cake.


Naughty Hookers (Swathed in Wool)

Stiles is happy with his store, his hobbies, his friends. Peter’s just trying to figure out how to raise his nieces and nephew without fucking them up too badly.

Paths cross.


Runes and all kinds of things

Enough is enough. Stiles is tired of being always a last choice when he always tries to do his best for his precious people, so they better get their act together or face being left behind.


The things in the Argent’s basement get nearly fatal, the Sheriff finds about the supernatural, Allison can have a wicked, wicked mind and Peter Hale appears to be everywhere.

Oh, and Stiles can’t seem to stop breaking the laws of physics with his magic.


Worn Out Shoes

When the dead rise, and the world comes to an end, the McCall Pack must learn to live in this new world, or die in the attempt. This is the story of the end, and of the year that follows.

Proposing To Strangers

At the end of a strained relationship, crime novelist Stiles chooses to hide from the world inside a bar with far too many motorcycles outside it for comfort. Here he’ll meet the man of his dreams, eat food and propose marriage, all within the first five minutes.

Peter doesn’t know who this kid is, but he’s cute and looks like he could use a break. So he feeds him. He’s not expecting a marriage proposal, but with what comes after, he doesn’t really mind.

The Unexpected Marriage of Peter Hale

This is the story of how Peter gets married without technically dating anyone.

“You can bring your boyfriend with you,” Talia says.
Peter stops giving Henry more bits of dried fruit to stare at his sister “Boyfriend?”
“Of course!” Talia gestures at Stiles who looks around behind him with wide eyes. “I’m sure the whole family would be interested in meeting your young man.”


Do You Like to Hurt? (Then Hurt Me)

Stiles shows up at Peter’s apartment, drunk and horny. Peter almost does the right thing—before it all deteriorates into a voyeuristic power game and Stiles has a mind-shattering orgasm. Things snowball from there.

Whiskey is My Kind of Lullaby

Peter is a simple saloon owner on one of the outer planets between the Aaru Belt and the Olympus Galaxy. He’s done with trouble. Done with adventure. So fucking done with rustlers. That is, until a cute young outlaw named Stiles wanders into his bar. Peter has this problem where he can’t seem to resist charming narcissists (perhaps because they remind him of himself). And when said narcissists turn his life upside-down, the worst part is he’s not even that upset about it.

Gamer Trash

Neither of them is aware of it, but Peter and Stiles play the same MMORPG. After Stiles moves away from Beacon Hills and goes to college, he and Peter start raiding together by accident.

Heatstroke (The Strongest Thing I Ever Felt Was Feelings For You)

“Dear god,” Peter snorts. “Alphas and their obsession with bodily fluids. Do you really find the narration of biological processes arousing?”
“You mean you’re not into the idea of smelling like me for days after this?” Stiles grins.
“I don’t know about days. I’m sure the birth control hormones will flush it out after about twenty-four hours.”
“You—what—I thought it suppresses your heats how are you—?”
“I like sex. So I take the pill that gives me shorter pseudo-heats. I’m still infertile. You gonna cry about it?”

(Or the one where Peter is a strong, independent Omega who don’t need no Alpha, but maybe he starts to like having Stiles around anyway).

anonymous asked:

hi!!! omg please, please continue the accidental love confessions drabble you wrote!!!!!! i am dying aaahhhhh what happened after omg pls

Here’s a short continuation of this just for you, lovely anon. <3

EDIT: cleaned up and both parts posted in one fic on ao3 right here

Tony can feel his heart in his throat and his pulse ricocheting through his body in an uneven rhythm. He drums his fingers against the rim of his arc reactor, the tap-tapping jagged and uneven over the thunderous beating of his heart. 

He clears his throat. “So,” he begins with forced nonchalance, “you wanna tell me what that was about?”

Steve is turned away from him, looking out the window, arms crossed over his chest. Tony can’t decide if it’s better or worse that he can’t see Steve’s face. 

When he gets no response after a long few seconds, Tony clears his throat pointedly.

Heaving a great sigh, Steve slowly turns around to begrudgingly face Tony. 

“You drive me crazy, Tony,” Steve says, his brow furrowed and his voice tight and weary all at the same time. 

“Yeah, I got that part,” Tony answers, waving his hand. “You tell me that all the time. I’m talking about the part where you randomly said ‘I love you’ in the middle of a debriefing.”

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More Than Friends

Request: Im tempted to ask for a Kihyun one AGAIN, but can I request a Yoongi fic with prompt number 3 & 6? Thank you lovee <3

3) “You should learn to lie better.”

6) “I never realized how much of a coward you are.”

Member: BTS Suga x Y/N

Type: Angst

The argument started out as simply as most did with Yoongi. He had awoken from what seemed like a day’s worth of sleep and you had mentioned grabbing a bite to eat. You understood his crazy schedules and advocated for him to get as much rest as possible, so you had offered to pick food up. You were his best friend and therefore wanted the best for him. That was until he found his feelings and quickly jumped within them. 

“Do you think I’m not capable of getting my own food?” he grumbled moodily from the depths of his blankets. 

You readjusted your stance against the door frame and rolled your eyes. “If it’s an argument you’re looking for…”

“Not looking for an argument,” he muttered. “I’m looking for a burrito. Possibly a lamb skewer.”

“There’s a place around the corner,” you nodded. “I can-”

“Why do you insist on treating me like a child?” Yoongi groaned, sliding his feet from his bed and rubbing a tired hand through his hair. “You aren’t my mother.”

“I wasn’t aware that the only person who genuinely cared about your well being was your mother,” you mumbled. “Not the worst comparison.”

“No, you nag,” he sighed, looking up at you. “It’s not like we’re dating or something. Why do you care so much?”

You closed your eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. You tried to give your friend the benefit of the doubt, assuming he knew when to stop himself.

“I’m just trying -” you began again, looking over to him, but were instantly cut off. 

“You let people walk over you and then offer to do more for them,” Yoongi clucked, standing and shuffling to his dresser. “Even after they break your heart.”

Your breath caught as the words came from Yoongi’s mouth. You both didn’t have the best track records with each other, but in general knew of the lines that you couldn’t cross. You were aware of each other’s boundaries and knew when enough was enough. Yoongi had just chosen to break down the barrier you had both painstakingly built with one short sentence. 

You and Yoongi had never begun as friends. You had started out as acquaintances as you were close with members of his group, but quickly fell for his cold ways. He had a strange tactic for flirting that captured your interests immediately. You fell hard and fast, confessing only a month after meeting. He had turned you down, settling for being your friend rather than anything more. 

And you both quietly agreed to never speak of it again. For your dignity’s sake.

Until now. 

Yoongi turned around, narrowing his eyes as you attempted to regain your composure. “I…”

“I think you’ve said enough,” you said quietly, biting your lip. You closed your eyes in an attempt to trap the tears from falling onto your cheeks. “Thanks, I get it.”

“Y/N…” he whispered, turning to face you and lean against the dresser. He moved as if it physically pained him to look at you, and you made note of it.

You backed up slowly and gripped the door handle as you exited the room, pulling it as quickly as you could manage. You flinched as the door to the bedroom slammed, a perturbed Yoongi on the opposite side. You hung your head, quietly whispering to yourself a confirmation that things would be alright, even if they seemed like they would never be again. 

Yoongi should have known better, but so should you. Maybe he had a point. Maybe after your initial rejection, you should’ve let go instead of insisting of holding on. 

You shook your head, shuffling down the hallway and out of the door, thankful that none of the other members were around to witness your hurt feelings. Almost as soon as you had the front door of the dorm closed, it was yanked open from your palm by a gasping Yoongi. 

“Do you love me?” his voice rasped, barely higher than a breath. You blinked slowly, trying to fathom how he could have the audacity to ask such a question.

“No,” you said, your voice cracking with only one syllable. The words stung as they left your lips, a fallacy you had fooled yourself with for years. 

“You should learn to lie better,” he hissed, stepping outside into the hallway as well. He let out a deep breath and leaned against the door. 

“You should learn to respect unspoken promises,” you muttered, glaring at him. 

“What do you mean?” he asked, tilting his head. 

“You know exactly what I mean Yoongi,” you groaned. “I confessed to you years ago and when you said no, it was you who wanted to continue our friendship. When you saw I legitimately cared, you had no problem throwing it back in my face. Why? Why are you still friends with me?”

Yoongi cleared his throat and looked away. “Because I love you.”

You furrowed your brows, your jaw springing ajar. “Like…as a friend though?”

“Like…more than a friend,” he groaned, looking anywhere but directly at you. 

“How could you…what do you even?” you stuttered, looking around wildly. A moment ago Yoongi was busy resurrecting the heart he had already broken to break it again, and now he was trying to show he had really cared all along? 

“When you first confessed…our careers were only beginning,” he sighed, running a hand through his bangs. “I’m fundamentally selfish, I’ll admit…so I didn’t want to lose you completely. I was hoping somehow I could keep you here and wait for-”

Your smack was swift and hard against Yoongi’s cheek. You hardly recognized your own hand as you pulled it away. 

“Alright,” he nodded. “I deserved that.”

Yoongi looked toward you, his eyes meeting yours for the first time since the entire argument had begun. “I was afraid to lose you…so I thought…maybe if we became friends.”

You shook your head, biting back the years worth of dejection. “I never realized how much of a coward you are.”

“Y/N,” Yoongi said with a wince. He pushed himself off of the door slowly and crossed the small space separating you both. You continued to shake your head, distancing yourself from him until your back hit the opposite wall. “Please.”

“No,” you choked. “I’m not doing this to myself Yoongi. You said it, I let people walk all over me and then offer to do more for them. You’ve lied to me…for years…just so you would keep me around for when you were ready. Maybe I’m not ready anymore?”

You let a sob rip through your chest. The constant contact with Yoongi had kept the wound fresh all of this time. What you had attempted to cover up with bandaids really needed stitches. You realized you would have never been able to move on while he was still such a permanent fixture in your life. 

“Y/N,” he repeated. His hands hovered in midair, frozen with indecision. He finally swallowed an audible gulp and grabbed your arms, attempting to pull you into his chest. 

“No,” you groaned, smacking him with closed fists. What first began as an attack to push him away slowly cascaded into a futile attempt of weak punches and crying. 

“Shhh,” he cooed, pulling your face toward his sweater. You hiccuped as your ear pressed against him, his heartbeat sounding so foreign. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” 

“Yeah,” you whimpered, your emotions numb. “Me too.” 

Originally posted by yoonggi

jimin; sidewalk sugar (M)

you met your sugar daddy on the sidewalk? - jeon jungkook, 2k16
►9942 words // scenario, sugardaddy!jimin, rated m for very obvious reasons
© (photo credit)

There are days where you love life to the end of time. Everything seemed to be a domino effect of pleasant things going your way; planned itinerary finishing on time, unexpected good news, maybe even a raise in your salary but that’s highly doubtful but a person can hope, no? It’s all the possible good emotions bottled up into a day, the span of twenty-four hours oozing with nothing but smiles and giggles. Those days are what you aim for the most, or at least, try.

Today was not one of those days.

Today was really not one of those fucking days.

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Imagine: James van Riemsdyk - Good Luck

Requested: Yes | No

  • carey-pricemas asked: Omg I love your writing!!! Can I put in a request? Some JVR love??? Maybe a guy that won’t take a hint? Whatever you decide!!!

Word Count: 825

Summary: Some guy is making friendly conversation, right in front of James…

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Why Finnish is beautiful

My previous post was titled “Finnish is not a Germanic language. It is more beautiful than that.” I would like to explain why I think my mother tongue is so special.

Take a look at the simple words in that table. The Germanic words consist predominantly of single syllables of varying length, which makes the rhythm irregular. Many of the words have harsh sounds, like Stift (pronounced Schtifft), which stop the flow of air through the mouth.

In contrast, the Finnish words consist mostly of two or more short syllables, of regular length, with an even distribution of vowels and consonants. Finnish flows smoothly and rhythmically through the mouth.

Take the word snow for example. Is it one or two syllables long? Can you pronounce the sn gracefully? The Finnish word for snow is lumi, lu-mi, pronounced as in illumination. Would you prefer snow or lumi in metered verse?

Or take the word for horror in German: Schreck. It sounds like grandpa coughing up a blot of tar from his lungs. The Finnish word is kauhu, pronounced cow-who with a short who. It sounds ghastly in a poetic way, like the name of a forest spirit.

Even the ugliest Finnish words don’t sound so ugly. The word for snot is räkä, which is ugly only in the sense that it sounds like the croaking of magpies.

J. R. R. Tolkien invented the Elvish language Quenya to sound refined, and:

Tolkien took an interest in the Finnish mythology of the Kalevala, then became acquainted with the Finnish language, which he found to provide an aesthetically pleasing inspiration for his High-elven language. Many years later, he wrote: “It was like discovering a complete wine-cellar filled with bottles of an amazing wine of a kind and flavour never tasted before. It quite intoxicated me.”

You may think that Finnish culture and language means getting drunk and shouting obscenities at a hockey game. There is some truth to that. But even the crudest obscenities flow rhythmically and would lend themselves to metered verse, and sound like they told about survival in arctic climate, of man’s perseverance under the rule and majesty of nature… because that is what it means to be Finnish. That is where the obscenities come from.

Meeting Kentucky (LAX to SDF)

the plane strips power, I sit passive
dutiful, click my belt, tepidly
smile at the man beside me

he ducks his head to fit in our capsule,
speaks and green grass pops up on chairs
prismatic tulips bloom in backseat sleeves

the slightest lilt of syllables,
slight slow down of words coming out
no one else hears it, warm and thick
like burnt orange clay souses floors

no one raises arms at clouds filling
his slight bow like distant thunder
no one giddy at deferential smiles
like lightning crackling far away
like humidity fuzzing hair,
my smile back is everywhere
home pours down, flooding over me


Tiny fic inspired by every time Bernie says Serena's name

This is what Bernie says: I see you, I’ve got you. I claim you (but only if you want me to, only if you’re quite sure it’s completely alright?) I see you. I won’t let you fall.

This is how she says it: Serena.

One word, three syllables. She says it with bravado at first, with hope. Later, with recognition; I know, I know you. She says it with warmth, reassuring, teasing, shoulder to shoulder in the hospital corridors. Says it like she’s making a wish (she is).


She croaks it out, her mouth silently forming other, impossible words, when what she means threatens to close over her. Stops saying it altogether – wills herself to stop even thinking it for weeks, months. Fails.

When she’s earned it back again – when she’s sure she has – she says it like a secret code, can only hope the listener understands. Murmurs it in the dark, lips brushing collarbone.

She repeats it over and over, when the storm comes. Uses it to anchor them together; I’ve got you, I’m here, I – Serena.

Now, breathless from running, hoarse from calling, her voice echoing in the stairwell, Serena, please, she does the only thing she can. She whispers the only other words left. The truth. Three new syllables.

This is what Bernie says: I love you.


Game Night Switch-Liam Dunbar

Valentine’s Collection:#11 

Teen Wolf Imagine:#110

Word Count: 1,149

Warnings: None that I can think of?

Summary: Y/N and Liam have a game night with their best friends, Mason and Corey.

A/n: Just a cute and fun imagine that I had a lot of fun writing. Not super romantic but it does feature two of my little dumplings Mason and Corey!

Originally posted by adventuresofjulia

Originally posted by isakvalteresn


Coming Soon

Last Imagine

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10 Ways to Get Smarter By Keeping an Art Journal

These journal prompts are designed to help you employ common memory devices to learn new things and keep track of information. Most of these techniques are taken from the books “Moonwalking With Einstein” by Joshua Foer, and “How to Develop, Train, and Use Memory” by William Walter Atkinson. These prompts emphasize the value of making connections, visualizing information, and decontextualizing key details to improve memory recall. 

1. Plan your learning:  Brainstorm a list of topics you want to learn about. When you feel left out of a conversation because you don’t know anything about the topic, take a note and add it to the list. 

2. Take Non-School Related Notes : Pick one of your listed topics and search for a simplified explanation of it on Youtube. Dedicate a page in your journal to take notes on that video. Define key terms, write in point form, and connect what you learn to things you already know by circling the point and writing in what it reminds you of. 

3. Learn About Current Events: Cut an interesting article out of a newspaper or magazine and paste it in your journal. Highlight key passages and take notes on the implications of the part you’ve highlighted. Beside the article, write your thoughts, opinions, and concerns regarding the article. 

4. Mix School with Your Personal Life: Dedicate at least a two page spread to taking notes on something related to school. If you’re not in school, take notes on something you remember learning but have forgotten all about. Use lines to connect your point form notes with elements from your personal life that are relevant to the topic. Example: If you’re learning about water pollution, you might connect a bit of information to your own experiences swimming in polluted water. Connecting school to your personal life helps makes studying seem like something you want to do, not something you have to do. 

5. Recall Insignificant Details: Cut the title page out of the book you are currently reading (optional, as I know a lot of people have a visceral objection to cutting books). Give a point form summary of everything that has happened in the book so far, without going back to remind yourself. Forcing yourself to recall small details will strengthen your ability to remember details in the future. 

6. Answer Your Own Questions: Draw a line down the page to divide it into two columns. In one column, brainstorm questions that you don’t know the whole answer to. Example: how does photosynthesis work? What is nuclear fusion? What trees grow in my area? Google each question and write the answers in the second column. If you find an answer that is particularly interesting, take detailed notes on the opposite page. 

7. Learn to Use Mnemonic Devices: If you are studying difficult vocabulary or something else that requires wrote-memorization, keep an ongoing list in your journal of terms and concepts you need to remember. For each one, break the word down into syllables and assign a picture or word that the syllable reminds you of. Then, put those words/pictures together in a way that is relevant to the word’s definition.  Example: the word “Zooxanthellae” (a kind of algae) can be broken into ‘zoo’ ‘zan’ ‘tell’ ‘eh’. You could think of an algae hiding in a zoo, telling a woman named Suzan about Canada, eh. Describe this situation in your journal. This is a highly effective memorization tool called a ‘mnemonic’. 

8. Kill Boredom With Memory Recall: Brainstorm lists of the books you’ve read in the past year, the things you bought at the grocery store last, the things you’ve eaten in the past two days, the characters in your old favourite tv shows, and anything else that requires detailed, accurate memory recall. Fill a page in your journal with these lists. 

9. Record Your Life: Write at least a small point-form journal entry every day describing what you did, who you saw, what you bought, and what you ate. Recalling these details strengthens your memory of them, and recording them creates memory-bridges that can be used to retrieve your memories of each day, even after you’ve completely forgotten them. In a few years, re-read your journal entries: you’ll likely be able to recall something from almost every day you took the time to record. 

10. Record and Perfect Your Thoughts, Opinions, and Ideas: Write a list of topics that you either spend a lot of time thinking about or that you have strong opinions on. When you feel like writing for a while, review this list and dedicate a page to recording your thoughts about each item. I like to title these pages “Thought practice”. Recording your thoughts will help you sort out inconsistencies and develop thought-out ideas that you can express more clearly in conversation (since you’ve already written out what to say :P) Make sure to ask questions and point out flaws in your own writing. Keep track of areas where you might be missing information.

Bonus: There are many more useful memory tips and tricks that I haven’t written about in these prompts. I’ve included a few below, but be sure to check out the books I referenced at the top if you’re interested in learning more. Both books can be found as audiobooks on Youtube.   

-Sorting information using different coloured pens or different fonts/ writing styles forces your brain to concentrate just a little bit harder, making memory bridges just a little bit stronger.

-Connect new information to something emotional, funny, or sexual to make it stand out in your mind. 

-Practice creating mnemonic devices in your head when you have some time to kill (at the bus stop, in line at the store, etc.)

-Study the same information in many different places, especially standing or moving around. 

-Teach others about what you have learnt whenever possible. Teaching reinforces memories and will also help you express your knowledge in a logical, linear way. 


The snow had stopped outside, and the lightly white-blanketed city was greeted by soft rays of the winter sun.

It was cold. But there was a rare warmth in The Woman’s eyes, a small smile lifting a corner of her mouth slightly upwards as she took another sip of her café noisette.

Dismissing an uninvited thought from his mind (What would it be like, to lean forward and taste the coffee on those tantalising lips? Filed under Experiment Later, sub-directory Not That Much Later), Sherlock slowly continued his sentence, hoping the transitioning of their conversation was subtle enough to pass unremarked upon.

“I’ve been thinking. There’s a word..”

Because what other term was there? For the illogical sense of belonging and completeness knowing that she was somewhere misbehaving under the same vast sky, often 5 h behind as the Earth spun and sometimes 1 h ahead. For the indescribable force that would consistently send a flutter in his heart at the mere sight, sound, or scent of the one person who reigned over his mind. For the unreasonable fuming over too-friendly behaviour towards her and too-keen hands that weren’t his. For the unfounded panic whenever an element of danger might land in her path, and the unconditional decision that he would risk anything – his own life included – to protect her, should the situation arise.

What other string of letters could encompass all such manifestations and derivation?

Ordinary people had it simple. Ordinary people had a single word. More direct than ‘sentiment’, more intense than ‘caring’.

Something that had strengthened their instant affinity, the intellectual connection and mutual fascination, into an unbreakable bond. A word for the unique combination of adrenaline, dopamine, serotonin, and oxytocin, the destructive chemistry (undoubtedly destructive, yet evidently constructive) that he’d once considered so simple. The same word for the complexity of emotions she’d made him feel, emotions he’d learnt to treat with acceptance. For everything that had crystallised with time, unlikely to ever fade.

Back when they were naïve and ruthless he’d stated it was nothing but a dangerous disadvantage. Needless to say, that belief had long been relinquished. What had prompted him to revisit the topic, he wasn’t certain, but he knew it wasn’t just because of his near-teenage god-daughter’s recent innocent enquiry.

More and more he had indeed been thinking. Whilst flying over land and ocean, exhilarated to reach another reunion destination; as he lay contentedly in darkness and tranquillity, listening to the soft even breathing beside him and feeling rhythmic warm air on his cheek; and in London, in between cases, when he’d wander through Mind Palace halls to seek her company..

Perhaps, after all these years, he was finally ready to tell her. He looked straight into her eyes, gaze unwavering, and opened his mouth again.

“Irene, I do –” He was prepared to vocalise the next word, the tip of his tongue lightly touching his upper jaw. One syllable, four letters.

He felt a delicate index finger pressed to his lips, carrying with it the fragrance of her finely manicured hand.

“I know.” Her expression was like melting snow.


“Stay,” she pleaded. That was all she said. Stay; one word with a single syllable and everything we had ever been through played on my mind. You know those moments that would remind you of the life you used to be a part of, this was one of those moments and I wanted to stay, God knows I couldn’t leave but my body had had enough. All of everything and the significant nothing were pushed up against the four letters and when she spoke the word, it sounded like all the promises she had broken so how could I stay? Fuck. God damn this love. I wasn’t even in love with her anymore but she was all I ever had and now that I knew it was over I didnt know how to leave.
—  I didn’t want to stay