you mean everything to nothing

I’m not tragic these days, I don’t weep, but I feel alone, bewildered, far from you, far from everything — nothing has any meaning.
—  Simone de Beauvoir, from letters to Sartre
Where does love go when it goes?
Explain it to me… because I don’t understand. How can I be the same person I’ve always been – the same person you fell in love with… but suddenly there’s no love there anymore?
If I didn’t do anything wrong, if there’s nothing ‘wrong’ with me then why did you stop loving me? There’s never an answer for it… there’s no explanation… no reasoning… just ‘everything’ one day and ‘nothing’ the next. Don’t you know that’s what hurts so much…. to be someone’s everything and suddenly mean nothing to them… To feel like you have everything one moment; love, happiness, purpose… and then have nothing left in what feels like the blink of an eye.
Where did your love go?
If something exists it can’t just disappear – so where did it go? Where can I find it?
…And how can I get it back?
aquiver | 01 (m)

aquiver (adj.) [uh-kwiv-er] in a state of trepidation or vibrant agitation; trembling; quivering

pairing: min yoongi x reader
genre/warnings: mature themes, talk of masturbation, smut, language
words: 10,110
summary: Yoongi can’t remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’, and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to provide hand jobs for a living…
note. inspired by the novella ‘The Grownup’ by Gillian Flynn, literally just the main character’s past occupation haha

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I would walk through fire just to be with you, there’s nothing in the world that I wouldn’t do.
—  (via electricaldreams)

There’s nothing in this world that I wouldn’t do for you. You’re all I got. And I do intend on keeping you smiling. I’ve been afraid of love for a long time now, but meeting you has caused me to face my fears. Matter of fact, I crave your love. I crave you in the most beautiful ways. I don’t see myself living this life without you.

A lot has happened between us, and it wasn’t all for nothing. You mean absolutely everything to me. Meeting you was fate, I know it. Everything you do leaves me fascinated. When your smile forms, I feel the wings of the butterflies in my stomach. And it’s always makes me feel comfortable. You make me happy. Happier than I have ever been in a very long time.

Please don’t ever doubt my love for you. I’m in this until you make a decision that you no longer want or need my love. That you no longer want me. So please, please don’t ever forget how much I love you. Because somehow the universe has brought us together, and my main priority is keeping you here next to me, and showering you in my eternal love. Your love took away my sentimentality and now I’m the happiest I have ever been. And for that, I’m forever grateful.
—  S.V//@Sempiternal.poet on Instagram

bluebelladon  asked:

So i had an Idea but I can't think of anything past the concept (+ yr writing for this kinda thing is like 200% better than mine) but what if the Lads founded the Fake AH crew and recruited the gents?

Ooh that’s fun – i’ve seen versions where they were two little gangs who combined into the FAHC but the idea of the actual Fake’s starting as the Lads is definitely interesting.

There were a lot of names tossed around at the start; it’s the part of forming a crew no one really talks about, the vaguely embarrassing period of building an image, choosing a name, defining yourselves. Like band names there is a lot of bad before the good. Like band names ‘good’ is wildly subjective, particularly when determined by a pack of teenage boys. The humour behind ‘Fake Crew’ isn’t particularly high brow and not a single soul outside the original four Lads, including and especially their future members, have any idea at all what the AH could possibly stand for. Most think its mysterious, assume something clever or at least meaningful, but the shifty looks the boys shoot each other when pressed tell a different story.

Still, they’ve made something of a name for themselves in Los Santos – the FAHC, who pull off unbelievable stunts, who lack any semblance of respect, dangerous in the way of feral animals, of wildfire. In the foolhardy way of children, who care far more about making sure you hurt than they do about protecting themselves. It’s enough to keep other gangs wary, to buy themselves a little breathing room with reckless gestures and bared teeth, but not exactly the glory they are looking for. Not quite the trembling respect they’ve dreamed of.

For that, it seems, they’re going to have to think bigger, smarter. Be clever not just in the tricks they play and jobs they pull but in the way they twist their image, they way they recruit, build their crew. Just being more won’t do it, added thugs for the sake of numbers; it would take an astonishing amount to really match the size of some of their rivals and the Lads don’t exactly play nice with strangers. No, they have to be strategic, have to select a few choice additions who can help them rise, and after much discussion they settle on three names they’d like to pull in; Ramsey, Patillo and the Vagabond. Lofty goals to be sure, but then, delusions of grandeur or not, the Fake’s have always considered themselves to be rather magnificent.

Everyone who’s anyone knows about the Vagabond; none of them will admit it (Ray will admit it, Ray doesn’t give a fuck) but the Lads all have hearts in their eyes every time the Vagabond slinks around, all follow every rumour, gossip over every job. Something between hero worship and healthy respect, without any of the fear normal self-respecting individuals feel, is the perfect cocktail to have the four of them plotting outlandish ways to pull in the mercenary. Patillo has an incredibly solid reputation for someone with no real ties, invariably thought to be smart, dependable, one of the best drivers in the country and definitely not a woman to be trifled with. That she and Ramsey seem to have some kind of relationship, worked together back in the day and while going their separate ways don’t appear to have had any kind of blow up, will hopefully work in the Lads favour. Last, but certainly not least, there’s Geoff Ramsey; the rouge Rooster who’s been traversing the country, constantly on the move and pulling all kinds of jobs from hilariously wacky to darkly perverse. Maybe the Lads are looking a bit outside their paid grade but with Ramsey reportedly looking to build his own crew they can’t not try, not after realising that their crew is unfortunately in need of a proper leader.

Because none of the Lads are leaders, not really, especially not back then. They aren’t incapable, are clearly wildly talented and loyal enough to one another to defer a certain kind of leadership to whomever has the best idea or the most experience with whatever task they’re facing, but no one individual is capable of being the permanent boss. No one individual actually wants that role, not really, they’re all too young, too impulsive, too eager to abandon necessary goals at the drop of a hat.  

Ray, who has arguably the least interest in being the boss of all, is less leader than lone wolf; when he’s taking point a lot of his orders tend to involve stealth, hanging back while he picks off targets, only charging in when long-distance is no longer an option. Necessary for particular jobs, and it’s certainly not an easy task keeping the other three in line until it’s their turn to burst into action, but it’s not a method that works for every task.

Michael makes a magnificent leader, fierce and fearless and unwaveringly loyal, protective of his crew until the bitter end. He is, unfortunately, utterly devoid of tact, of the patience to put up with any kind of shenanigans from anyone he doesn’t personally like, the ability to create and maintain necessary relations with anyone outside his crew. Michael himself knows he makes a far better Lieutenant, busy with duties he actually cares about, walking the line between following orders with absolute obedience and unapologetically calling out anything he disagrees with, reliable and relentless in equal measure.

Jeremy is meticulous, when he’s in charge he plots and plans and double checks, the very image of the perfect boss except for one flaw; more often than not he’s easily swayed. Will put together the perfect stealth plan only to agree when Michael makes a convincing argument for the importance of rocket launchers, conduct an ideal heist until Gavin begs to go after something shiny or Ray inquires about abandoning the sensible get away car for hilarious motorised scooters.

When Gavin is on his game he is fucking glorious, a flashbang of reckless laughter and terrible ideas none of them can resist, the promise that come hell or hand-grenades they will all be going home with a story. When Gavin plays leader he needs a lot of faith, needs the others to trust in things that don’t seem remotely feasible, but the payoff is always worth it. Except for the days when his words are too sharp, his eyes too cold, when he wants nothing more than to pick a fight with the most dangerous crook in the room, to swagger around the LSPD’s station unmasked, jump from a plane without checking his parachute; dancing with death just to see if he can. If they’re not careful on those days, if they missed the clues, the rest of the Lads would follow him down, unable discern between Gavin’s usual absurd genius and those streaks of genuinely aimless apathy until they’re all careening towards destruction.

So, as grating as it seems, there is an undeniable argument for a permanent leader, someone to keep them all on course, to take the responsibilities they don’t want, someone who can captain their ship without trying to push them all overboard. Still, you can’t just walk up to one of these infamous criminals and hand them an invitation; selling yourself – your dream, your crew, your city – takes time, takes planning, so in the end the FAHC’s first recruitment isn’t even one of those big three.

It’s pure luck when Michael meets Lindsay; finds her twirling a nail-studded bat in the wreckage of a bar, sipping a cocktail like she hadn’t just caved a man’s head in, and really nothing on earth could have stopped Michael from offering her a place in the crew. From talking them up in a way he’d never really bother with normally, because honestly how could he not. It doesn’t take much to get the other three onboard, Lindsay was a perfect fit, a seamless addition, and with her the FAHC is unquestionably more efficient.

Strangely the Vagabond is actually far easier to get on board than any had anticipated. After they start actively seeking his attention Ryan can’t help but watch the Lads. Not because their jobs are impressive (they are, actually, but Ryan’s in high demand, so very many crews out there are impressive enough) but because they are endearing eager; nothing like the pathetic begging of so many others, no attempt to convince Ryan he should be desperate to work with them, just genuine enthusiasm to prove themselves worthy of his time. They’re funny, something akin to a pack of reckless puppies; certainly capable of outrageous damage but equally likely to trip over their own oversized paws in their excitement, and in this business Ryan really shouldn’t find it as charming as he does. They take to leaving him all kinds of gifts; generally intriguing , often amusing and near always utterly gruesome, and after a month or so of hanging around the city toying with them they manage to get a former Rooster onside to run the show and Ryan’s run out of reasons to say no.

Gavin’s the one they sent after Geoff, when the Lads decide they’re ready to try to bring the notoriously creative, fortuitously crew-seeking man into the FAHC. Gavin’s first approach, full of deferential respect playing to Ramsey’s ego, is a complete bust; Geoff thought he was sweet, called him kid, laughed in his face and sent him out the door with a crack about coming back when he was old enough to drive. The second approach involves pulling a full blown job on Ramsey, one that starts with the man unknowingly buying Gavin a supercar and ends with the priceless tailored suit he’s wearing being pinned to the wall with a nail gun, Gavin grinning away like a particularly bloodthirsty shark, and all of a sudden Geoff can’t say he isn’t tempted. Deigns to finally listen to the recruitment spiel, as though he’s got any other choice right now, and despite himself is quickly sold on the whole crew.

Jeremy goes out one day and comes back with a handful of people, some they’d been discussing as a group, some the others hadn’t heard of, but all perfectly capable of holding their own agains the Lad’s disgruntled dissent. Steffie, who takes a look at their set up, rolls her eyes, then pulls out her phone and starts making a list, talking dealers and bases and possible new hires. Trevor who immediately sets to soothing ruffled feathers, sidling up to Gavin and gushing about some ridiculous theft, questioning Michael about his preference in heavy weaponry, ignoring the way Ray is skulking around behind him. Matt they’d all agreed on, welcoming the chance to push off all computering nonsense onto someone else, and Mica assures them all that she’s got no interest in sticking around, will work contracts as requested but isn’t about the stationary crew life. In the end no blood is spilt, no tempers flare too badly, and Jeremy is reasonably sure he isn’t going to wake up with a gun to his temple, so all in all it goes pretty well.

The last missing piece, Jack, is actually tracked down by Ray in the end; he wanders off one day and comes back with a very amused woman in tow, decked out in a hideous Hawaiian shirt and driving an obscenely nice Lamborghini. Apparently after finding her, not particularly difficult considering she wasn’t trying to hide, Ray simply told Jack all about Geoff’s fumbling attempts to simultaneously familiarise himself with the mess that is Los Santos, integrate himself into, and begin to take control of, an already close-knit, functioning crew, and do it all while pretending he’s not at all rattled by the Lad’s unwavering fascination with the horrifically notorious assassin who insists on sticking a straw through his mask to pound down a truly irresponsible number of diet cokes. It took a while for her utterly joyous, completely uncontrollable laughter to die down, but when she finally calmed Jack immediately started packing.

nothing like us

Originally posted by nunkocchi

genre: angst/slight fluff; drabble

pairing: jungkook x reader

length: 2.0k

summary: the one thing worse than dating someone you’re not in love with is seeing the love of your life in the arms of another man because you took too long to confess, and unfortunately, jungkook comes to realize that one month too late.

prompts:
“that’s not what i meant and you know it!”
“you’re putting words in my mouth!” 
“please don’t shut me out.”

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In regard of the last platonic post i reblogged tbh i want a Platonic Week for the ML fandom

Patriotic Enjolras: “I love France for she is France………..but I’m still going to die trying to change her because I believe that’s what is best for the country I love and I don’t agree with the current governing parties.”

Nationalist Enjolras: “I love France for she is France. She has done nothing wrong, ever. Fuck the English.”

You, You’re Everything

A coda for 12x10 which needs no coda as it is perfect. Here’s this anyway. You can also find it on Ao3 Here


“So you were in a female vessel before?” Dean looked at Cas as he tipped back the last bit of beer. Dean had gone through a few bottles and felt the little heady buzz of it. Sam gave up and went off to bed. He gave Cas a pat as he passed, a moment of brotherly affection passed between them in a glance. 

Dean waited for Cas to explain. The room felt smaller somehow, now that Sam had left it. “I was, and she was a truly kind, devoted woman. I am grateful that she did not suffer for having been my vessel.”

“There’s a story behind that.” Dean stretched out long and lean in the chair beside the table. He considered popping another cap off a beer, but didn’t. He felt good enough as he was. Cas’ voice, was low and gentle in the quiet.

“When I came to Jimmy, it was always going to be temporary. I never intended for any harm to come to him. I never wanted for him to suffer. I have regrets there, where he’s concerned. He deserved more of my concern, more compassion. I gave it only too late.” Cas stared off into the distance and Dean reached out to him across the table, settling a hand on his arm. He gave him a little squeeze.

“You did a lot for his family and for the world in general.” Dean knew that Cas was making a protracted argument in his head for all the reasons why Dean was wrong, but he didn’t speak the words aloud. Dean could see it though, painted in the way his mouth curved down a little, and his eyes looked like they held tears.

“It was different with Constance.”

“Constance was your vessel?” Dean already pieced that together, but he wanted to help Cas along, show he was invested in the story.

“Yes, she was. She’d lost her whole family in a tragic fire. She devoted herself to her faith, believing that God must have had a plan for her. She had money, but as a woman, no means of inheriting it outright. She ended up moving into a small convent on the east coast. She prayed beautifully, and I heard her prayers.” Cas got up from the table and paced about a bit.

Dean worried that he’d stop the story. “So she said yes and you did the mission with Ishim. What happened afterwards?”

Cas sighed, “I knew her thoughts, her life, her fears. Her mind was open to me. She told me that she didn’t want me to go.” 

“Well, it was 1901, not exactly a time of equal rights and such,” Dean said.

“I decided not to leave right away; though, I feared that I was connecting with her too much. Ishim had said that humans were dangerous creatures, best avoided or held at a distance.”

“Yeah, well he had a flawed perspective.” Dean got up then and walked over to Cas as if to point out that proximity wasn’t hurting either of them. Personal space be damned.

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Inheritance | Pt. 3

Pairing: Yoongi x reader
Genre:
hybrid!au, fluff (later), smut (later later), ANGST-ish
Words:
2.2k+
Warnings:
some swears, mean family, MC cryin again
Notes:
You’re getting a lot of spam today kids, oooo boy. I already had most of this written, which is why it’s out so quick. I’m still writing the next part tho so that will be out a lot later. ❤

After your grandmother passed she left everything to you. Her house, her fortune, and apparently… her cat? The grumpy male hybrid you encounter at her house is anything but the tame housecat you’d expected to find. Fulfilling your grandmother’s last request to look after him becomes a lot harder when he seems to be avoiding you, and your dissatisfied relatives start stirring up trouble.

Originally posted by nevermindmyg

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I Don’t Wanna Live Forever

Chris Evans x Reader

Summary: There is only a little hope that is still providing for your survival, but somehow he manages to break even the smallest pieces of your remnants.

Word Count: +1.8k | Rating: G [angst]

Warnings: poorly EDITED!! if there are tones of grammar mistakes (ik there are), then i’m truly sorry, i’ll come back and edit it later when i get the time!

A/N: this fic is based on the song I Don’t Wanna Live Forever by ZAYN and Taylor Swift. also this is my first ever RPF and even though i don’t write real person very often, this fic is for this big sweater wearing dumb dork’s birthday! feedback is always appreciated! lol love me please

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(*gif is not mine!)

Been sitting eyes wide open behind these four walls, hoping you’d call
It’s just a cruel existence like there’s no point hoping at all

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