Be the one who nurtures and builds. Be the one who has an understanding and a forgiving heart one who looks for the best in people. Leave people better than you found them.
Marvin J. Ashton (via the-heart-of-the-lion)
“She’d always thought that a broken heart sounded rather romantic. But in truth it was physical. Her whole chest ached, as if she’d been struck with a knife. With all her witless calculations about how to make a man desire her, she’d never realized that the most important thing was to make him like her. Or even love her. What a fool she was.”
― Eloisa James, Kiss Me, Annabel
I’m not sure if I’m depressed. I mean, I’m not exactly sad. But I’m not exactly happy either. I can laugh and joke and smile during the day, But sometimes when I’m alone at night I forget how to feel.
John Green (via bee-d)
IM SO PISSED OFF THAT WE DONT HAVE BALLS ANY MORE
I WANT TO WEAR A HUGE DRESS AND BE COURTED AND DANCE AROUND AND HAVE MY GOWN SWEEP THE FLOOR AND BE ALL ELEGANT AND GRACEFUL WITH GLOVES AND SHIT
BUT NO WE HAVE DUMB HOUSE PARTIES WITH CHEAP BEER AND RED CUPS AND HORNY TEENAGE BOYS WHO PUT THEIR HANDS UP MY SHIRT
for a second there i thought you were talking about testicles omg
A strong man can handle a strong woman. A weak man will say she has an attitude.
One of my favorite quotes.
if you cover me with a blanket while im laying down i will fall in love with u
when you wake up from a particularly disturbing dream and just stare at the ceiling for a while like what crevice of my mind did that even seep from
I NEVER USE ANY STICKERS I GET BECAUSE ITS LIKE OH GOD I CAN ONLY USE THIS STICKER ON ONE THING BEFORE THE STICKINESS IS LOST FOREVER WHAT DO I PUT THIS ON OH NO FUCK LIKE OH MY GOD STICKERS ARE JUST WAY TOO MUCH RESPONSIBILITY FOR ME
darain39 asked: hi sorry but i tagged you on the url you posted on ure original post when u wrote this for my prompt... ok??? really not trying to steal credit for your wonderful piece..
hey, no worries :) Just got surprised seeing it XD
Can we just talk about this?
THEY ALREADY MAKE BEAUTIFUL MUSIC TOGETHER….
And now this…
I WANT STEREK KARAOKE»»»»>
Make this happen!
[yes, let’s talk about this.]
"Fuck, when will it end?" These thoughts. He never felt so alone. His mind an endless stream of voices of those he lost.
Weary bones and screaming muscles brought him to his underground hideout. He’ll have to clear out of this place soon. Too many memories here of trying to build his own makeshift family only to have it torn apart.
Can’t do anything right. Can’t keep anyone safe.
Dead. Gone. Everyone leaves.
He sank into the first seat that he came across, a beat up piano bench. He saved it from being dumped along with its piano partner. He thought of restoring it but then had decided it was fine as is. It may be beaten and worn but it still had all its parts. It was still beautiful.
He closed his eyes and gently laid his fingers atop the keys. His mother used to make him take piano lessons when he was younger. Oh, how he hated it. He didn’t see the point of it. Music. Music wasn’t going to keep my family safe, he remembered thinking.
He pressed his fingers down. Random notes startled him from his thoughts as if he wasn’t expecting for sound to be the result of him striking keys. He let the sounds carry down the tunnel he was in., echoing until it faded into the distance before he lifted his fingers away from the keys.
Minutes passed before he moved again. This time he brushed his fingers across, careful not to press anything until he arranged his fingers over the white keys like he was taught so many years ago.
How does it go again?
Without a second thought, he allowed his fingers to think for him. Moving across keys. Pressing and lifting. Letting the music fill his ears until he wasn’t hearing anything at all.
It wasn’t until he opened his eyes that he realized that his fingers stopped moving. Only they were shaking now. He curled his hands into fists to force them to stop.
Did he forget how to play? How could he not remember his mother’s favorite song? He growled in frustration.
"Play it again."
He stood up, animal instincts kicking in. Almost instantly. Almost. Fangs were out. A growl ready at his throat until he realized who it was.
"Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you," the intruder said.
"You didn’t." He hated how his voice sounded defeated. He was defeated. He sat back down at the piano, facing away from the teen who managed to sneak up on him. Kill me now, he wanted say. He felt so powerless.
"What’s so funny?"
He didn’t even realize that he was laughing until the kid who wasn’t a kid pointed it out to him. “Nothing.” But it was something, he was laughing at the joke he turned into. A joke of a man, a werewolf who couldn’t even be bothered to protect himself anymore. “You did,” he heard himself saying. “You did scare me.”
"That song you were playing, ‘Imagine,’ could you play it again?"
He was grateful, but tormented over the change of subject. “Why are you here, Stiles?” Saying his name gutted him even more. How dare he come here and hear me play. How dare he come to see me. And for what? What good am I to him? How dare he make me think these thoughts and make them real. How dare he…
Stiles cleared his throat, the sound cutting and biting, almost as loud as his out of tune piano made moments earlier.
"Go home Stiles. It’s not… It’s not safe here."
He waited and waited to hear the boy turn and walk away. After time passed in silence, he thought maybe that Stiles did leave. He imagined him leaving, he wanted for him to leave and almost fooled himself into thinking that he did because why would he stay? But no, the sound of his heart persisted. It pounded in his ears. “I don’t remember how to play.”
"You were playing it just fine earlier."
He let out an uneasy breath. “Did I—did you hear me play till the end earlier? I wasn’t paying attention. I might have forgotten.” He couldn’t believe that he was asking at all. But he needed to know now. For some reason being able to finish the song was important to him.
"You stopped playing at the last bit."
He could feel Stiles at his back now.
"I could—You know, I could help you with the rest of it if you want. I’m better playing the guitar but…"
Stiles didn’t finish what he was saying but in the corner of his eye he saw that he made his way onto the bench. His fingers brushing over the keys. Pressing and testing it at first before playing a few other notes.
And then silence.
Derek could feel Stiles’ heavy gaze on him and it took him a solid minute before meeting the younger man’s eyes. And then just like that his thoughts disappeared. And his fingers found its place on the keys once more.
And then with Stiles playing one hand and he, the other, music began to fill the empty space.
Imagine there’s no heaven
It’s easy if you try
No hell below us
Above us only sky
Imagine all the people
Living for today…
(tbc? sorry, don’t mind me. i just saw this post and thought, why not go with it? with all the drama going on, i thought i might retreat to the world that is in my head. and then this thing wrote itself.)
P.S. I know, the pic/prompt called for Stiles playing the guitar but in this particular scene, I was thinking that Stiles wouldn’t have thought to bring his guitar along. Maybe next time…
Whoa, whoa! I wrote this XD Why am I not being sourced? [x] Fixed it.
Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the same book.
lmao people mock fanfiction but when u think about it some people manage to create novel-length stories that are extremely well written without getting paid and they do it on top of school and work and everything else in their lives just because they love to write and they love the original story or the people they write about like im pretty sure that’s more productive than being the person who is just sat there laughing at it all