yeah a lot of words

Sirius was bitter and cold and at times incredibly cruel. Sirius was not the friend who rooted for James and Lily to get together, the one who smiled whenever he saw them holding hands by the fire, quite the opposite in fact. Sirius would sabotage every attempt James made of impressing Lily. When they finally started dating, Sirius would pick fights with Lilly and would consistently make James pick between them. One night James went out on a walk with Lily instead of playing exploding snap with Sirius, and for three days after Sirius gave James the silent treatment all while scoffing whenever Lily opened her mouth. 

It ended with a huge fight where James demanded that Sirius give Lily some ‘bloody respect because, honestly mate, I have never been this happy before, and if you actually gave a shit about me, you would understand that.’ Sirius looked at James and saw the look in his eye–a look he had ever seen directed at Snape. His heart clenched, and he swallowed hard before giving a half-hearted apology, knowing that if he didn’t that the damage to their friendship would be irreversible. 

Sirius was impulsive. When he told Snape about the Whomping Willow, he wasn’t thinking about the implications. He just imagined Snape’s expression being face to face with a werewolf, and that Snape would never try anything with them ever again. Sirius was thinking about the time Snivellus sent that sectumsempra curse at James, and how him being ripped apart by one of them would be perfect justice. 

When Sirius found out Lily was pregnant, he went on a rampage. He broke two of his chairs and smashed all of his plates, causing his muggle neighbors downstairs to call the cops for a domestic. He turned into Padfoot before anyone showed up though, and he stayed in dog form for a week. During that week he was feral; he wanted control and he did so by hunting anything that he could find. He snarled at smiling children that approached him, reminding him that his best friend, his brother, was abandoning him. Tossing him to the side like he was nothing, all for what? A screaming infant that he could have prevented had he not mucked up the contraceptive curse? 

With each rabbit he tore apart, the more thoughts flashed in his head. James would never go on another mission for the Order. He had lost his only family for a drooling brat who would only further isolate James away from him. James would soon forget about him as he turned into this bumbling ‘family man’ who refused to take risks and sat around all day reading the paper and smoking a pipe. 

It took days for Sirius to get the blood out of his hair, charms and all. 

Sirius was reckless and chased adrenaline. Once in awhile, particularly if something happened with Regulus, he would suggest this outlandish prank that not only endangered his life, but others as well. There was one night in fifth year that Sirius dragged James out of bed to watch the stars atop the Astronomy Tower. Once they got there, Sirius just turned to give James this empty smile as he ran towards the edge and jumped off. 

James pulled out his wand and within milliseconds had levitated Sirius back on his feet. Which only lasted for a moment before James pounced on him, pinning him to the cold marble ground. Sirius still had that smile on his face as James growled, demanding what in Merlin’s name he was on about. 

Sirius just shook his head and told him that his Mum had written him. He was officially out of the will. ‘Not yet blown off the wall, but close enough.’ Without thinking James wrapped his arms around him, and held Sirius as tightly as possible as Sirius sobbed for what seemed like hours against his shoulder. 

Sirius could be vicious, calculating and incredibly aggressive. But Sirius knew this about himself, and he would sit at night at the edge of his bed and think about these impulses and the fire brewing inside of him. He believed that this was simply genetic. He was a Black, and he was slowly morphing into his destiny. This anger and callousness, this was everything he knew. How could he be any different? 

James always had a way of sensing these thoughts, and would silently get out his bed and sit next to his best friend. No words needed to be said, because James’ presence alone reminded Sirius what he already knew: I’m a Potter by choice, and choices are what make you who you really are. 

ok listen, captain flint/james mcgraw was john silver’s backstory. he is the person that made him who he is. he says he was no one because he believes that to be true. he believes that he was ‘nothing’ before flint. his past wasn’t important, it wasnt what defined him. silver didn’t have a cause before he met him. until flint gave it to him, he had no story. in the same way flint had no story before thomas. no story worth telling, no story worth fighting for. so cant you see it? silver not telling flint his past wasn’t because he didn’t trust him. not because he didn’t love him. it was because flint was his beginning. he was where his war began. and how do you tell someone that? how would james tell thomas that he is the reason for all of it. how would silver tell flint that not only is he fighting for madi, but he is also fighting for him.

we need to be looking out for girls more than we need to be defending pop punk

soft like roses?
no, fade not into this.
for rose petals clenched in cold fists 
will wither and wilt away in their docility.
and although they may swell
into a sweeter scent,
the fleeting beauty collapses in 
the radiance of sunlit souls
—  keep your thorns / for eve🌹
The first and last words of each song on 1989.
  • Welcome To New York: walking through york
  • Blank Space: nice name
  • Style: midnight style
  • Out of the Woods: looking good
  • All You Had to Do Was Stay: people stay
  • Shake It Off: I shake
  • I Wish You Would: it's back around
  • Bad Blood: 'cause hey
  • Wildest Dreams: he said pretend
  • How You Get the Girl: stand the girl
  • This Love: clear to me
  • I Know Places: you stand with me
  • Clean: the drought was clean
  • Wonderland: flashing in wonderland
  • You Are In Love: one love
  • New Romantics: we're free

For operation-keepgavinalive, hope you like it! 

I was feeling bad about not writing a lot recently when I realized that @smergrl3495​ and I have pretty much been trading ficlets over chat so I’m going to post a few of them to make myself feel better

this appears almost exactly as I had written it in chat, with a few minor additions and better grammar lol


Summary: Jesse takes care of Gabe during a panic attack.


fucking hell I just thought about Gabe having a panic attack

fuck like

fuck ok just

Gabe’s having a hell of a week, he’s got too much fucking shit to do and he’s been awake too fucking long and he needs to sit down and eat a fucking vegetable like holy christ and he’s got it, he’s got it under control, he can do this he’s just gotta keep doing it, just gotta keep going, one foot infront of the other, buckle down, pull up by your bootstraps kinda work. He does it all the damn time, he’s got this.

So he’s got his list of shit to do, he’s going through it in his mind, the steps to getting everything done, if things just go exactly right he can go to sleep at an reasonable hour that night even if he’s gotta get up at an unreasonable hour the next morning to start this shit all over again and he runs into a minor hiccup, some little thing which requires his immediate attention. No problem. Adjust the list. He’s got this he can do this. He fantasizes about the sleep he’s going to have.

He buckles down after that, nose the the grindstone, he’s got this he can do it. He gets a call from an angry diplomat, a call Jack was supposed to field, not him, and deals with it as judiciously as he can, as quickly as he can.

It does not go well.

Keep reading

I get it, okay?

You’re bitter. You’re hurting, you’re raging, you’re scared.

I get it, but I’m only human
and my skin is butterfly wing thin, just like yours,
so the claw marks you leave with your words
are wounds I will carry for a lifetime or more.

I get it. You’re breaking before my eyes
and I can’t catch your pieces
because I’m too busy holding my own,
see, you broke me before your first cracks showed.

I get it. This path you are on is heavy with hate
and you hold it for everyone you meet.
You loathe like you love,
boundless and bold you tear through hearts
and beat them like they are drums
but we are not instruments
for you to play until your palms bleed.
You’re burning bridges faster than I can build.

I get it, I wish I didn’t but I do
so listen to my words because I wrote them for you.
Just because I understand doesn’t mean I condone,
just because you’re hurting doesn’t mean you’re alone. 


BURNED BRIDGES ONLY LIGHT THE NIGHT FOR SO LONG // l.s.

2

You trash.

anonymous asked:

ASL someone throws a beehive to find out where their enemies are hiding. Bonus points if its the Whitebeards before Ace joins.

Ace peers around the tree he’s been hiding behind for the last twenty minutes, catching sight of Luffy and Sabo slipping back from where they had spotted the enemy camp.

“How bad?” He whispers.

“A crew of pirates. Looks like most of them stayed on the ship,” Sabo answers just as quietly, hand on Luffy’s mouth. “A blond guy with weird hair is in-charge. Healed almost instantly from one of those plants.”

“So dangerous. The others?”

“Normal,” Sabo answers. “One of them was scratched by a bear.”

“What’s the plan?”

“Gramps is coming back soon!” Luffy escapes Sabo’s hand for a moment. “He is!”

Ace and Sabo tackle him, hearts beating like rabbits in their chests as they listen to the roaring silence for a long minute.

“We have to get rid of them before Gramps gets home,” Ace mutters. “We can’t have all these people on the island.”

“Got it.”

~

Marco knows there are at least three other people in the forest. There’s enough footprints and he can sense them easily enough. He isn’t expecting them to throw a damn bees nest in the middle of the camp.

Three of the men fall down, allergic, Marco remembers, already snapping for the medic to get them covered.

He catches one of their attackers, a dark haired brat with a glare that will scare the hell out of a marine given a few more years, “What were you thinking?”

The brat spits in his face, trying to kick him, “Let me go!”

“Kid.”

He gets a pipe to the back of his knee, dropping the kid as a second pops out of the ground. It heals but not before he’s lost them both and the medic declares that they have to go back to the ship to make sure the three make it through the sting.

~

The glare really could scare the hell out of a marine, Marco grins watching one of the newer men flinch away from their soon to be new brother. The little brat.

I don’t want to die

Sherlock x reader

Note: So I wrote this on the night right after the airing of the episode, almost a month ago, then I felt my end wasn’t good enough, so on @prettyxlittlexwriter​‘s suggestion, I tried to lenghten it a bit. And that’s how it got from a 4 pages and 1521 words to 8 pages and 2723 words. So yeah… And I worked a lot on it, that’s also why it took me so long to post it, but now here we are! As usual, thanks to @prettyxlittlexwriter​ for beta-reading it, otherwise it would be exploding with basic mistakes I keep making for some reasons and she helped me A) to find where to lead it when I lengthened it and B) to find how to end it correctly (if none of you have guessed by now, I suck at finding the right way to en something x( )

Anyway, I’ve got to say Spoiler alert for the two first episodes of season four (The six Tatchers and The lying detective) especially for the second one, so don’t read if you want to avoid any spoilers.

Now, time to enjoy!


“Tell me how you feel.”

“I… feel scared.” his voice was barely above a whisper.

The other man scoffed, taking off his right cufflink, slowly rolling up his sleeve, clearly enjoying the moment.

“Be more specific, you only get to do this thing once.” he chuckled softly, a sadistic smile creeping to his lips.

“I’m… scared of dying…” answered his victim, furrowing his eyebrows, seemingly confused.

His killer took of the left cufflink, rolling up his second sleeve. The tension was almost tangible in the air.


“STOP IT!” his friend violently pushed him against the wall. “STOP! IT! NOW!” anger filled his voice. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING? WAKE UP!” he slapped him across his face, earning a surprised groan from him.

Without even waiting for his answer, he punched him so hard the man fell on the ground, nose bloodied, probably broken. And he punched again, and again and again, unleashing his rage, stress and all the other toxic emotions he had bottled up lately against his friend, who only looked at him with surprise, groaning in pain with each new hit.

Another punch and then he kicked him and kicked him before the staff of the hospital entered hurriedly in the room, alerted by the screams of horror Smith’s daughter had let out a bit earlier; and stopped him, grabbing him by his shoulders and pulling him away.


“You wanted this, uh?” he asked.

“I have… reasons…” answered the other man, in a husky voice, blue-grays fixed on the wall in front of him.


“Let him do what he want, he’s entitled. I killed his wife.” the injured man muttered sadly, his stormy eyes full of pain.

“Yes you did.” he answered harshly.

And without any more words, he left the room, his once best friend still on the ground, a hurt look on his face.


“But, you don’t actually want to die.”

The sadistic pleasure the man gained from the moment showed in his tone.

“No.” answered the murdered, without any hesitation.


He just arrived on the crime scene when she showed up with governmental accreditation, passing through the tape directly to the body laying on the ground. He glanced back at her as she leaned on the opposite side.

“You?” he exclaimed, slightly surprised by her presence. “I’d thought your recent near-death experience at the hands of a serial killer would have scared you away from crime scenes for the rest of your life.”

“And I thought I’d catch him for good but I didn’t and yet here I am, quibbling around a dead body with a weirdo.”


He blinked, trying to chase away this ghost from his past.

“Good.” chuckled the first one, still rolling his sleeve, a big smile on his lips. “Say that for me. Say it.”


It was early when he showed up to Scotland Yard, this time, with a case he had resolved within the night, but someone else was there before him.

“You, again. How?” he asked furrowing his brows.

“I might not be as keen on deduction as you but I’m far from stupid and I’ve got my way around in the darkside of London.” she replied.

He scoffed.

“I’m surprised you didn’t got actually murdered this time.


“I don’t want to die.” the victim answered firmly, eyes fixed on his tormentor.


“Well you’ve just killed a man.”

“Yes.” cut him his new flatmate.

An awkward silence fell for a few seconds.

“That’s true isn’t it?” added he, looking around the street, hoping no one had heard them. “But he wasn’t a very nice man.” he justified himself.

“No, no he wasn’t, was he?”  nodded the detective.

“Frankly a bloody awful cabbie.” answered the doctor.

The other one chuckled, eyes glistening with sincere joy.

“That’s true, he was a bad cabbie. You should’ve seen the route he took us to get there.” he jokingly added, as they crossed the police tape.

“Stop it!” giggled his new found friend. “It’s a crime scene we can’t giggle! Stop it.”


“Again.” asked the entrepreneur.

“I don’t… want to die…” reiterated the dying detective, eyes tearing up.


“So how long have you known her?”

They were sitting at a table in a small bistro, waiting. For what, they weren’t sure why themselves but still waiting nonetheless, chitchatting, simply enjoying the moment

“Ten years, more or less.” he answered, pausing before he explained. “I saved her life and she decided to become the bane of mine ever since.” he told his friend. “She’s annoying, but smart when she wants to, so my brother hired her to follow me around-”

“Keep an eye on you, actually. Make sure you don’t make too much of a mess around London.” she cut him off, appearing from nowhere and sitting beside his companion.

“Like a babysitter.” giggled John.

His friend simply chose to ignore his comment, blue-grays full of irritation as she laughed softly.

“Like a babysitter” she agreed, slightly smirking.


Again. He was haunted by them, memories of better times. He tried to focus his attention onto the man trying to kill him.


She stormed out of the house, angrier than ever before.

“Sherlock Holmes what have you done this time?!”

“Drugged the punch.” bluntly replied the man as she reached him.

“You did what?! Oh you bastar-”

She didn’t even had time to reply, falling weakly to the ground as he caught her in his arms before she hit the it and carried her inside his parent’s house.

“I swear I will kill you…” she muttered sleepily, cradled in his arms.

“Sure Y/N, sure…” he smiled to himself.


One more. Always her. Why did she had to torment him? Why couldn’t she let him be for once?

“Once more, for luck.” whispered the serial killer, enjoying the feeling of power filling him as the detective’s eyes filled with remorse and tears.


“I SWEAR TO GOD IF YOU DON’T STOP IT NOW I’LL LEAVE YOU HERE!” yelled the woman he loved, eyes full of anger.

“YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND Y/N!” Sherlock roared. “AND YOU WON’T, BECAUSE YOU DON’T KNOW HOW IT IS TO NEVER BE ABLE TO STOP, TO NEVER HAVE A MOMENT OF PEACE IN YOUR MIND, TO BE TRYING EVERYTHING YOU CAN TO HELP PEOPLE AROUND AND STILL GET REJECTED BY THEM, TO FEEL POWERLESS AS YOU WATCH YOUR LOVED ONE DYING AND SUFFERING FOR YOU. YOU DON’T KNOW THIS AND YOU’LL NEVER DO!” he motioned angrily towards the syringe. “AND THIS IS MY ONLY WAY OUT OF THIS!”

She looked at him for a second, shocked by his sudden outburst.


He fixed his gaze on the ceiling.


“You’re right. I don’t.” her voice was now calmer than ever before. “But I can’t just stand here and watch you destroy yourself…” She walked to the door of his flat and turned to Billy. “ I can’t believe you’re letting him do that, I thought…  I thought…Well anyway I was wrong!” She turned back to Sherlock. “And you, don’t come to me unless you’re done for good with that.”

And with those harsh words, she left, slamming the door behind her.


“I don’t want to die…” his voice broke at mid-sentence, a single tear escaping his eyes, full of regrets.

Of course he didn’t wanted to, not without apologizing to them one last time, not without holding her in his arms for a last moment.

His killer pressed a button on one of the machines beside his hospital bed.

“I don’t…”


She smiled at him, her eyes glistening of joy. He held her against him in a tight embrace, chin resting upon her head, her scent filling the air, her presence awaking all his senses.


“…don’t want to die” begged the broken man, nearly sobbing.


“I love you Holmes.”


Smith leaned over him, enjoying his despair.”Awfully…” he whispered.

All this time she had been his anchor, the only person who could calm him with a simple look, the only real constant in his life for the last fifteen years. And now that panic filled his stomach, he wished with all his heart she could have been there. If he was to die, he would rather have it in her comforting presence than alone with a serial killer.



She held him in her arms, whispering to him in a soft and appeasing voice, getting through him in a way that only she knew how, as he kept groaning in intense pain.


He looked beside him, almost wishing he was still high enough to hallucinate her, sitting on the chair, holding his hand in a calming gesture.

But he wasn’t, and she wasn’t there either.

“… here it comes.” warned the other man, rising up and increasing the dosage to a lethal dose.


“Save John Watson, Sherlock.” pleaded his now dead friend, eyes locked with his own through the screen. “Save him.”


He didn’t wanted to die but he had to. For the sake of his friend. For the sake of those he loved.


“You can’t save John because he won’t let you. He won’t allow himself. The only way to save John, is to make him save you.”


“So tell me, why are we doing this? To what do I hold the pleasure?” asked Smith, walking to the opposite side of the bed.

“I wanted to hear your confession. I needed to know I was right.” answered Sherlock, in an hoarse voice.

“Why do you need to die?” further enquired the other one.

“The mortuary. Your favorite room.” The detective paused for a second. “You talk to the death, you make your confessions to them.”

Culverton Smith sniffed and turned to the wooden chair at the end of the bed, shaking his head as he sat there.

“Why do you do it?” asked the other one.

“Why do I kill?” repeated Smith, asking the question to himself. “It’s not about hatred or revenge, I’m not a dark person. Killing human beings…” he stopped at mid-sentence, uncontrollably laughing,  “It just makes me… incredibly happy.”

The man rose from his seat, still laughing, and slowly walked to the head of the hospital bed, taking his time, explaining his reasons.

“You know how you feel when you see a dead people? Pretending to be dead and it’s just… a look that people like to have.” he shook his head slightly, voice barely above a whisper, each of the men with his eyes fixed in the other one’s.


A body layed in a pool of blood, he was one of the first on the crime scene, Scotland Yard barely arriving. He kneeled beside the dead. Woman, blond, emerald eyes locked to the ceiling, empty of any spark of life. Tiny marks on her wristband, she was wearing a bracelet, probably stolen by her assaulter. Knife wound on her torso, clothes bestially torn apart, laceration on her pale skin, probably made by fingernails. Young.

Really young.


“That’s not what dead people look like. Dead people look like things. I like to make people into things, then you can own them.” he explained, eyes glistening with excitation as he rose up.

He marked a pause.

“You know what, I’m getting a little impatient.”

He pressed a button on the hospital bed, lowering its angle and stared at his victim with anticipation for an instant. He then proceeded to slowly walk to the right side of the bed, as Sherlock trailed him with his grey eyes, getting more and more tired by each passing second, the poisonous saline’s dosage filling his veins.

The killer adjusted his plastic gloves and leaned a bit, towering above the man.


She sank like a rock. She had always been scared of deep water, she had never learnt how to swim and now, it was going to kill her. He heard John screaming his name as he hit the surface rather hardly. The freezing temperature of Thames river in this winter night piercing his skin as he reached to her and grab her arm, pulling her up to him. Holding her tightly, he swam to the surface, his lungs screaming for fresh air.

Reaching it, he dragged her unconscious body to the shore, praying he had caught her in time, checking for a sign, any sign, she was still breathing.

“Come on Y/N…” he mumbled, trying to revive her. “Please… Breath Don’t do this to me… Please!”

The time seemed completely stopped until she finally cough, gasping loudly for air, coughing the polluted water out of her lungs.

“Sherlock…” she cried, shivering the cold air, clutching to him as if he was her lifeline in the middle of her panic attack, struggling to breath.

“It’s alright Y/N, I’m here…” he said, in a soothing voice, holding her against him, in an attempt to calm and warm her up, as John ran to them from the bridge. “Shh… it’s okay, everything will be fine…”

“Take a deep breath… it’s over now.”


“Take a deep breath if you want.” whispered the cold blooded killer, before he placed his right hand on the man’s mouth, pinching his nose with the left one, successfully blocking any access to oxygen.

He gasped panic filling his eyes, hands weakly gripping his killer’s, in hope of freeing himself.

“Murder is a very difficult addiction to manage. People don’t realize how much work goes into it.” explained Smith, a smile plastered on his face, painfully choking him. “You have to be careful, maybe if you’re rich or famous… and loved… it’s amazing what people are prepared to ignore!”


“John!”

Their panicked screams filled the air as they rushed to the huge bonfire. The crowd stared at them, completely shocked, while they kept screaming his name, trying to free him from the fire.

“Help!” his called echoed through them, barely audible with the crackling sound of burning wood and the horrified screams from the crowd.

“John!”

They kept throwing away the burning planks and branches, burning the skin of their hands, crying his name until their voices broke, coughing in the smoke. He was in panic, his best friend was going to burn alive in front of his eyes because of him.

“John!”

The fire was bigger and bigger as they dug deeper into the burning pile, heart racing, praying to reach him in time.

After a long and agonizing minute, they finally pulled him out of the bonfire, breathless, right before it collapsed on itself. If they had be there one mere second later, he would have been killed.


The injured was trying to free himself but to no avail, everything around him getting blurrier, his head spinning with the lack of oxygen. He wanted to scream, call for help, do something but he simply couldn’t, the saline in his veins weakening and killing him.

“There’s always someone desperate who’s about to know my sins. But there’s no one to suspect it when I do it here, it’s easier to suspect something else. I just have to ration myself to select the right. Heart. To stop.”

Sherlock slowly stopped fighting, powerless, the world darkening around him, he could hear the soft and insidious whispers of death calling to him. His eyes were closing themselves as he was resigning himself, giving up in the fight. But the entrepreneur didn’t wanted the fun to be over so soon.

“Maintain eye contact! Maintain eye contact!” he ordered him, whispering.

The constant beeping of the machines beside him was now erratic, faster than before, his heart struggling to beat without the needed oxygen while his killer repeated his mantra again and again.

“Maintain eye contact.”

Beep.

“Maintain eye contact.”

Beep.

“Maintain eye contact.”

Beep.

“Maintain.”

Beep.

“Eye.”

Beep.

“Contact.”

Everything was blurry, his voice distant, the beeping faster, but barely audible, his heart now the only thing left to hear, its beating covering everything else. Smith kept muttering to the dying man, who was now deaf to the world. Sherlock wanted to scream, call for help, but his forces were leaving him for good.

“Y/N.”

Beep.

“John”

Beep.

“Mary…”

Beep.

“I’m sorry.”

Beep.

“I failed you.”

He couldn’t fight anymore. He was dying. The game was over… And in his last instants, his thought were focussed on them.

His friends.

Beep.

His family.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeep.

BANG

There was shouting and commotion, but none of it mattered now. They had come for him, and he was alive.

The Amazing Tour Is Not On Fire: “The Internet is here.”

I was poking around reviews for Night in the Woods because I was curious what other people thought/theorized about the ending and after wading through the inevitable “indie bullshit” reviews, I came across a few people who seemed upset that the story was dark. More than one even went as far as the blend the two and complain about how indie games nowadays all follow the mold of “depressing and dark”

And… I dunno. If you wanna go that route - video games in general have been trending towards darker nowadays definitely, but imo there’s a clear difference between the “dark and gritty” of AAA titles, and the “dark and depressing” of more indie games. And I think a lot of the difference lies in what the creator(s) has experienced. Especially where mental illness is concerned.

(Obviously, this is about my own experiences/views on video games. Just keep that in mind going into this post)

Bigger name titles kind of have one mode when it comes to sadness and darkness. Everything is sad. People die. War happens. Kill your girlfriend or your whole hometown. Here’s some dirt. Also a gun probably. Once in a while they strike an emotional note, but a lot of the time it feels forced or almost manipulative. It feels much more like a movie, I guess? You need to feel sad because the narrative says so. And if mental illness is included you KNOW its either going to be related to the supernatural or the villain somehow.

But going back to Night in the Woods, I don’t think I’ve had a game resonate with me the way that game did. And what really stayed with me was the realistic and respectful portrayal of multiple kinds of mental illness. The characters were dealing with their own problems in their own ways, but no matter what happened the illness didn’t just… go away because they had a romantic partner (Gregg and Angus) or because they removed a source of stress or had a good day once in a while (Mae). It felt like a real conversation about illness and not tacked on for some cheap emotion that was immediately forgotten.

And yeah it was upsetting, and yeah it was sad - I cried more than once while playing it. But I’d never seen that kind of thing in a game before! Its not gonna be fun to talk about mental illness sometimes! It’s not all wink wink nudge nudge in-jokes about how much we want to die. Sometimes mental illness has a real, tangible effect on our lives and relationships and its really nice to see a game that not only talks about that but seems to even focus on it.

I guess what I’m getting at is a lot of indie games touch on this stuff in a way that nobody else will. Its another way creators are taking “if you don’t like it, make your own” and running with it. And I’ll take a million smaller creators making sad games about mental illness and general younger adult angst over another cookie-cutter shooter where a child or a dog or grizzled protag’s bff dies in the first hour.

Teenage Dreams & Bachelorettes (Trixya) - Djoodi

AN: So, hi, I’m Djoodi! I’m from Brazil, and this is the first fan fiction I wrote in another language >.< So, if I made any mistakes (and I’m pretty sure I did) I’m so sorry! Also, this is the first smut I ever wrote >.< So yeah, newbie in the area ^–^
It has a lot of words (6K+) and I worked A LOT to write it, so I hope that you guys read it lol Trixie and Katya (and all the other girls mentioned) are cis-females here, and I’m pretty sure I’ll do two more parts (and MAYBE a spin-off chapter), so please say something if you would like that! :)
This fic was based on a request! So, yeah, hope you guys enjoy it!

Keep reading

Ode to the real girl (yes i wrote an "ode" don't judge)

Too much caramel
Two electrons moving closer
Almost touching
Too close to touch but when they do,
Collide
Strike
Sparkle
Crack
And i am too weak
To say anything but dancing
Around and around with our eyes
The sky was yellow
Orange sun
What i wouldn’t give to be
Back there
One half a year ago
On the day like the smoke
Sweet, and bubbly cool
Of course it was okay,
Alright, completely fine
Because I’m still reminded of you
Every time it rains
The sky turns yellow …
And i love to listen,
To her voice, (it sounds like jazz);
Her eyelids look like Arkansas sunsets
But what makes me lose belief
Is how you drink
tea
But i drink
coffee
And you like the dentist
(Which is completely crazy)
And we both don’t drink enough water
Cause
“sleep is for the weak”
And I could never be as real
As you,
Oh dear,
You’re stronger than honeycomb.

quickie

word count: 661

a/n: another quick drabble || this is loosely based on a friend’s experience / based on a true story ;D

|| light smut ! 

MASTERLIST

Originally posted by sugutie

It had been a slow night at the restaurant – the job of hostess becoming more like the job of standing around. Y/N propped her head in her hand, her phone in the other. Thoughts raced to last week’s event: Jimin’s lips crashing onto hers, fervently tasting her mouth as his hands gripped her waist, pressing his body against hers.

“Y/N, are you okay?” her co-worker tapped on her shoulder, snapping her out of her thoughts. Shaking her thoughts away, Y/N sheepishly smiled, brushing a lock of her hair out of her face.

“Yeah, just a lot on my mind…” her co-worker nodded at her words, a look of concern plastered on their face. Leaning forward and dropping their voice to just above a whisper, Y/N’s co-worker scanned the area as they spoke, afraid of any eavesdroppers.

“Jimin’s had eyes on you tonight,” they whispered, their eyes locking with Y/N’s, “Heard he wants to walk you to your car after your shift.”

Colour rushed to Y/N’s cheeks as she gulped, waving the comment off and acting as if it were nothing.

“It’s okay,” she took a deep breath, “We’re just friends.”

Her co-worker narrowed their eyes slightly, an unsure okay escaping their lips as they walked back to the kitchen. Y/N exhaled, her eyes trying to catch a glimpse of the busser who had his eyes on her for the entire night – and there he was, his eyes locking with hers. Y/N’s cheeks only reddened even more, her head whirling back around.

It was going to be a long shift.

//

As Y/N grabbed her bag and her car keys, Jimin took hold of her wrist, making both of their heart beats pick up the pace.

“Let me walk you to your car,” Jimin started, “We haven’t really talked since… You know…”

Y/N’s lips pursed, her breathing becoming faster before she nodded, reluctantly allowing him to walk her out. After all, it was late at night and Y/N didn’t feel very safe walking around the parking lot in the dark.

Jimin’s lips tugged into a weak smile as his grip loosened on her wrist, his footsteps following her to her car. With each passing minute, Y/N’s heart beat a million times a minute, afraid of the confrontation about the incident. Her footsteps slowed as she approached her car, opening the driver’s door. Before placing her bag onto the seat, Y/N felt Jimin’s hands grab hold of her shoulders, spinning her around and pinning her to the side, his lips crashing on hers.

Swallowing her small whimpers, Jimin’s hands crawled under her shirt, his fingertips dancing along her skin and leaving a trail of goosebumps. Her lips moved in sync with his, wanting more of him. Jimin’s hands took hold on her bra, slipping under and propping Y/N on the seat on her car, her legs wrapping around his waist.

“Wait, my stuff…” Y/N breathed out, Jimin’s lips still pressed against hers. Sliding her shirt above her chest, Jimin’s mouth took hold of her breast, his tongue lapping her up as warmth pooled between Y/N’s legs. Just as her fingertips reached the hem of Jimin’s shirt, a loud alarm from the latter’s phone jolted the two of them apart, his hands scrambling in his pockets to answer.

“Hello?” Jimin’s voice was raspy and breathy, his lips swollen and red.

I’m here dude,” a short silence followed from the other end, “Uh, the investor of the restaurant is behind you guys…”

Jimin’s eyes darted to the car across the parking lot, spotting the man who witnessed their every move. Gulping, the boy’s hands raked through his hair as he hit the red button on his phone, turning to face Y/N.

“My ride’s here…”

Y/N bit her lip as she nodded, her eyes falling to the floor, “You should get going, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

With awkward goodbyes, Jimin ran to the car waiting for him, his head whirling around to catch one last glimpse of Y/N.


a/n: might make this a mini series? we’ll see if my friend has anymore encounters ;D

This is something I’ve been thinking about recently. But I don’t think Jessica would be particularly upset about Luke and Claire getting together when they run into each other again in The Defenders. I think she might be awkward around him and probably avoiding talking about anything serious with Luke, but she’s not going to be upset or jealous or anything. Jessica’s best case scenario for her life is that Luke, Trish, and Malcolm move on with their lives without her. Seeing Luke moving on and happy is exactly what she wanted.

death creeps in through your bedroom window
in the middle of the night when you’re all alone
and your mother has kissed your cheek
for the last time. death walks in slowly,
greeting you calmly, patiently, gently.
death takes you by the hand
and guides you into the soft breeze
promising you it will be better over there.
you don’t know where there is,
but you want it to be better.
death takes your hand and
you follow gladly, though reluctantly,
and when your brother finds you
on a cold november morning,
no one will know how it happened,
and that will make it all the more tragic.
“he died in his sleep,” they say,
and they’ll blame it on pills,
claim you must have invited death
into your home and begged for him
to take you away from here,
but we all know better.
you were always more than that.
death takes you because he wants you,
because he’s sick of waiting
for your smile to plant sunflowers
in the front garden and
tulips out back.

it doesn’t sink in until spring comes around
that flowers will never grow in these gardens
again without your laugh to water them.
—  i didn’t believe in angels until you became one || s.r.