Dang It Peggy… #Hamilton #HamiltonTheMusical #schuylersisters #dangitpeggy

Your Grave

I put off visiting your grave for a long time, honestly. Partly because of the money it would cost to travel to where they buried you. And partly because I thought I was okay without.

But now that I have the money, and now that I’m here. I can’t do this. I can’t look at your grave and remember all the times we could have had, or all the times we did have. I can’t handle knowing that you’re dead, and that box that’s buried in the ground with a urn in it, I can handle that it’s you they’re holding.

I can’t handle that I’m never going to see you again, never see you smile, never hear you laugh. I can’t handle that you’re dead. I just can’t. And most of the time I can hide that- I can bury that feeling that suffocates me.

This is your grave. Your final resting place. You should have lived. That cancer should not have gotten that far. If your stupid family hadn’t said no to your radiation, maybe you would be here right now. Maybe you’d be visiting the old friend you’re buried next to, and maybe it wouldn’t be me mourning the lost loved one.

I was fine- I was excited to see your grave, honestly. I wasn’t excited about your death- no, not at all. But I was excited to finally see your grave simply for the fact that I could stop worrying about the fact that I hadn’t visited. That I hadn’t gotten to your memorial.

And I could stop hurting about the fact that the only memorial of yours that I’ve seen is the obituary online. Or the old stuff of yours that’s laying around my house.

But as I got to your grave, and as I saw it- it hit me hard, it hit me like a truck. I’d been bottling it up for so long and when I finally saw your grave- I just shattered.

All of those tiny little pieces of my walls I’d struggled to put up and mend daily just broke. Your grave to a hammer to them and knocked them down.

I couldn’t handle it. I left almost as soon as I arrived. I’m never going to be able to handle it, I think. It’s just one of those things that I’ll bury until moments like this where I’m writing about it and sob in silently to myself.

Because I miss you. I miss you so fucking much. And I’m never going to see you again. And with that I realise how many photos of you I actually have. And that’s like ten.

I ignored you too much, I was a teen, always busy. Never had the time to hug you when I saw you, or to really say hi, or bye. I never really cherished the moments I spent with you because the thought of you dying- a person filled with such life and happiness- just the thought of you dying is so foreign. It feels wrong.

And when you were in the hospital on and off, it still didn’t really hit me. Only in the one moment we shared together it did.

I said, “I don’t want you to die.”

And you just smiled softly, a reassuring thing, I’m sure, but through my tears I was not reassured, not in the slightest. And you said, “Everyone has their time. Everyone dies. And this is mine.”

What is a young teenager supposed to do with that? I wasn’t going to take it to heart. And I didn’t. I didn’t when my mom woke me at 2:30 in the morning to tell me that they’d called to tell us you’d died. I didn’t, not until I’d seen your grave.

Sure, in passing moments I did, and I cried. But the full force really hit when I walked up to your snow covered grave, the snow crunching under my feet, that, that is when it hit me. I couldn’t hold back the tears.

It shouldn’t have been your time. You should still be here at Christmas, Thanksgiving, my birthday, all of those moments. You should still be there to laugh and make everyone else just as happy as you were.

I miss you so much. I miss you so so much.

I Don’t Like Him {Void!Stiles} // hard smut

*so this was actually kind of hot i guess let me just say how amazing im finaly have requests lol anyway hope you enjoy* 

request; “void stiles smut. rough w/ clit overstim. au where reader had a crush on stiles and void knew. she tries to denying it but he punishes her rough” - anon

warning; lots of cursing, oral, SMUT, and SMUT

request here

masterlist

part 2

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Here’s to everyone fighting their own battles.

Here’s to every brave warrior.

Here’s to you.

Here’s to me.

Happy Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈

a show of trust - steter

for @detektywpikachu who asked for steter plus stiles gets a haircut from peter                            

–

The first time it happens it’s a case of a necessary evil. Not even a “cut a lock of hair for a spell” scenario though. Oh no. It’s more of a “cut all the hair off before the gunk sinks into Stiles’ skin and melts his brain” kind of situation.

Either way, Stiles doesn’t give a fuck about how or who or what with. He’d do it himself if he had eyes on the back of his head to make sure he doesn’t miss a spot.

He rocked a buzzcut for years and although he’ll miss the “artful bed-head” - as his dad started to call it, - it’s a small price to pay for his continued ability to live.

So he glares at where Lydia and Erica are fighting over the scissors and comb, then ends their squabbling with one sentence.

“Peter,” he calls, addressing the man who’s been observing the situation from his usual perch on the stairs,“ will you do the honors?”

Peter smiles at him, pleased and triumphant in the face of Lydia’s and Erica’s protests, and follows Stiles to the bathroom.

Somehow, when Peter’s done, and Stiles’ hair is cropped short again he looks better than he ever did sporting a buzzcut.

–

The next time it happens Stiles’ life isn’t under threat any more than on any other regular old Tuesday and it’s Peter who offers.

Granted, the main reason for it could be the fact that Stiles sprained his right wrist in a fight two weeks ago and his hair was getting out of hand.

He could go to a barber. He had every intention to do it, too. But.

He’s sprawled on Peter’s couch in the man’s apartment, taking advantage of Peter’s Disney+ subscription. They are friends, these days, and binge-watching the Mandalorian and hanging out is one of the things they do.

And so is snuggling, which they both attribute to Peter’s pack instincts while ignoring the elephant in the room that is the thing growing between them.  

As it is, Stiles must have shoved his hair one time too many into Peter’s face because Stiles finds himself being playfully pushed away by the application of hand to face until he finds himself half sprawled in Peter’s lap.

Before Stiles can question the sudden change in position, all done in a way that somehow avoided him landing on his injured writs, Peter tugs at his hair gently.

“I’m sorry to say this, sweetheart, but this birdnest on your head you call hair needs to be trimmed down into something more suitable for your pretty face.” Before Stiles could protest, squawk, or even agree, Peter continued, “I can do it for you right now, if you want?”

Which is how Stiles finds himself in Peter’s bathroom, perched on one of the stools from Peter’s kitchen, the brush of the comb and snipping of scissors making for the ambiance.

It’s… strangely intimate, more intimate than hugging or cuddling somehow and Stiles can’t explain why.

He’s been nose to chest with Peter before, they’ve been friends for years now, packmates. They train, they roughhouse, they sprawl over each other as they watched TV the same way Stiles does with Scott, Derek, Kira, Boyd and everyone else. Though he and Jackson don’t snuggle. Ever. There’s no proof.

But here and now, with Peter standing between Stiles’ legs as he cuts the hair at the front of Stiles’ head, his movements sure and precise because it’s just another thing he’s ridiculously good at–

There’s tension building up, and Stiles can’t be sure if Peter feels it too, how strange, how edge-teetering it is for them, suspended in limbo as they are between friendship and more and how to bridge the gap.

But maybe Peter feels it just as keenly in the silence that has befallen. Maybe he knows just as well as Stiles does that this could be the moment because he doesn’t protest when Stiles’ hands settle on his hips, holding him, squeezing gently. He doesn’t admonish Stiles to be careful when Stiles lifts his head to look at Peter, the scissors and comb having already been put away so Peter’s hands are free to cradle Stiles jaw.

Peter’s smile is soft, barely-there and so much more real for it and somehow it’s the easiest thing in the world for Stiles to tip his head a little higher and meet Peter halfway.

–

“Did you plan it?”

“I hoped.”

–

pls reblog

Touch

Character: Francis (Ajax) Freeman Summary: was kind of worried to write this dude cuz he’s an asshole and tortures people and fucked Wade’s life up but then again he’s kind of cute so… don’t judge me and don’t judge the chick/dude that requested this, without further adieu- this thing is essentially Francis spontaneously being able to feel thanks to the reader (idk how man, it’s a fan fiction, just roll with it) Words: 700

“I swear to god, if I die wearing this I’m going to come back and haunt everyone’s arses!” she called out, struggling against the metal chains that bit into her bruised skin, the cool steel table digging into her spine as warm blood trickled down her face and arms. There was no answer from the damp grey room, just the consistent dripping of water in the corner and the scurrying of rats underneath her. Her hair stood on end as a breeze brushed against her from the vent in the roof, the metallic taste of blood and the scent of urine and sterile medical equipment choking her slightly. Everything ached and she could hardly move, tears of frustration pricked at the back of her wide eyes, but she refused to let them fall. They could torture her all they wanted, but she refused to cry. The burning of her wounds only added to the angry fire pooling in her stomach; how dare they do this to her, to any of them. She hadn’t even been one of the idiots that agreed to this, they’d taken her from her apartment (while she’d been on tumblr in her pink unicorn onesie no less). A flush spread across her cheeks as her jaw worked, scowl marring her pretty face.

“Now now sweetheart, no one said anythin’ about dyin’, well…unless the tests don’t work that is,” a smug British accent sounded from her right and she whipped her head over, wincing as her ears rang.

The mans face morphed into surprise for a mere second before schooling back into a smug smirk.

She supposed he would’ve been attractive; he had those pretty pale blue eyes that shone like glass, killer cheekbones, and was at least 6 foot 2. He would’ve been attractive, if he hadn’t been holding a giant scalpel and if he hadn’t been responsible for putting her in that hell hole.

“You’re really laying it on thick you know,” she wheezed and one of his eyebrows shot up. “Abandoned warehouse, blood stained lab coat, god you’re even British! Why are all the bad guys English?”

His smirk twitched into a smile for a second, before he paced towards her, shoes clicking loudly on the cement floor. “Let me guess, you’ve got some tragic backstory to go along with it too? Some shitty reason for you turning evil?”

He chuckled, before nodding lightly and leaning against the metal bed that creaked under his weight. “I suppose you could say that. Got my mutant genes activated, unfortunately for me, that fried the fuck out of my nerve endings. Can’t feel a thing anymore.”

“Wow. Sex must suck, or well…not suck I suppose, no point in sucking anym-OW! Hey, what was that for?” he dragged the scalpel down her arm, blood welling up around it and staining the tips of his fingers, which lightly brushed against her skin until-

“What the fuck,” he breathed out, hand snapping towards his chest as he cradled it, staring at her with wide eyes.

Everything was still for a moment, even the scurrying rats stopped moving. With a shaking arm he reached towards her face, palm cupping her cheek and she heard him take in a sharp breath, swearing quietly. “I-I can feel you.”

His fingers were rough and calloused, but his palm was warm and comforting in an odd way. Having been locked away for what must have been a week had really deprived her of human contact, she supposed, if she was enjoying the touch of some crazy guy.

“Does this mean you’re not gonna kill me or…?” The chains on her bed were ripped off instantly and she was flung into a warm, hard muscled chest as his arms wrapped around her, face pressing into the crook of her neck. His hot breath caused a rush of goose bumps to erupt and she silently prayed that he couldn’t feel that, his ego evidently did not need another boost.

“Sure, won’t kill you, just…can you hug me for a second?”

She had to bite back a grin.

“The bad guy likes hugs? Who would’ve known,” her hair ruffled as he huffed out a laugh, squeezing her tightly.

Wounded

Request: Hiya! Can you do a Reader x Emmet where they get into an argument and he throws up his arms/steps forward or something and Reader flinches as if she thought he would hit her and it breaks his heart?

Warnings: Angst 

Pairing: Emmett x reader

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A man unwilling to fight for what he wants....., deserves what he gets.

Friend: Are you reading that 'fan fiction' stuff again?

Me: that is literally the stupidest question I have ever been asked. I feel attacked. How dare you. Why do you hate me so?

Friend: *chokes* wait, so you aren't?

Me: *laughs hysterically* of course I am

Language

Steve x Young!Reader

Requested by Anon

Warnings: Young!Reader using strong language

“So, you are (Y/N) but you are not Mr Stark?” The headteacher asked as he looked from you to Steve.

“No, he had to go to a meeting.” He explained awkwardly, wishing you’d be a little politer as he pushed your feet off the man’s desk.

“May I ask… have you thought of perhaps… private education?” The man asked as you looked at him like a bored cat and rolled your eyes.

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