#chosen

[fromdarzaitoleeza]

{ Words by: Elizabeth Wurtzel, Prozac Nation //Susan Abulhawa, from Against the Loveless World: A Novel }

[thecaptainjacksparrow]

so i made a chosen family tree... according to me lmao

[satinsafefromreality]

[hipsternumbertwo]

Trivial Pursuit: Try Not To Laugh #10 (Chosen Edition Returns)

[fluffyspuffy]

For Spike, setting him on fire is an act of love

He knew Dawn still cared about him

And he definitely knew Buffy was serious when she said she loved him

[succulentsiren]

Stop waiting around to be picked and hoping for someone to validate you and your goals. Right now, you are already worthy and you don’t need to wait for others to recognize it. Most people only feel good enough when they are chosen by others. Never give anyone the power to determine your worth or tell you what you can or cannot do.

You must to believe in yourself even if no one recognizes it yet. Move as if you already attain your success. Embody that energy now.

Promote yourself. Love yourself. Motivate yourself. Believe in your it factor. You’ve always been that girl/guy. You’ve always had the talent. Stop waiting around for others to pick you. Choose yourself.

[sophsicle]

"You are not my son. I do not claim you. I want nothing to do with you."

Sirius laughs coldly, standing in front of his mother's portrait, the house around him dark. Empty.

"That's the problem though, isn't it?"

"Excuse me?"

Empty smile. "I will die your son," venom dripping from his lips, sharpening his teeth. "Your branch of the family tree will always end with me, charred or not, the history books will always place my name next to yours. If a hundred years from now someone digs up my bones they won't know my thoughts, or my heart, but they will know that my skeleton matches yours," shaking his head, voice echoing through the stairwell. "You see? No matter what we do, no matter how much pain it causes us both. I will die your son."

Just like Regulus, he doesn't say.

[eeerrrrewsd]

Worth the Risk

Jason Todd x Reader – Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn, a Little Cute

Jason Todd had learned to live with ghosts.

They followed him everywhere.

In the roar of his motorcycle’s engine.

In the smell of gunpowder clinging to his gloves.

In the cold weight of his helmet, pressing against his skull like a second skin.

They whispered to him in the silence.

In the alleyways.

In the spaces between shadows.

In the stillness of the nights where he sat alone, wondering why he even came back.

He had learned to live with them.

But then you came along.

And suddenly, Jason didn’t know how to live with you.

You weren’t supposed to stay.

Jason had made sure of that.

He had tried everything—brushing you off, keeping you at a distance, scowling at you until his face hurt. He even threw in a few “I’m no good for you” speeches, just to be safe.

But you didn’t care.

You stuck around.

You smiled at him like he wasn’t broken.

You laughed at his jokes like he was someone worth laughing with.

You treated him like he was Jason—not Red Hood, not Robin, not a cautionary tale—just him.

And Jason didn’t know what the hell to do with that.

So, he did what he always did.

He pushed you away.

And you, stubborn as ever, refused to go.

The first time Jason realized he couldn’t keep you at arm’s length forever was when you found him bleeding in his apartment.

He hadn’t meant for you to see him like that.

He had been careful.

The fight had been messy, but he had made it home, made it to his shitty excuse for a first-aid kit, and was fine.

Or, he would have been—if you hadn’t let yourself in with the spare key he forgot you had.

The moment your eyes landed on him—shirt torn, bruises darkening along his ribs, blood staining his gloves—you had frozen.

Then your expression shifted into something unreadable.

And Jason?

Jason panicked.

“Don’t,” he warned before you could say anything. “I’m fine.”

You didn’t listen.

You never listened.

“Fine?” you echoed, marching toward him. “Jason, you’re bleeding all over your couch.”

“It’s not that bad.”

Your glare could have set the whole damn apartment on fire. “You’re literally trying to hold yourself together with duct tape right now.”

“…It’s quality duct tape.”

Your hands landed on your hips. “Sit down.”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “I don’t take orders.”

“Then sit down or I’ll make you.”

For a second, he considered arguing.

But you looked mad.

And Jason had taken on Gotham’s worst criminals, but even he knew better than to mess with you when you were pissed.

So, with a dramatic sigh, he sat.

You wordlessly grabbed the first-aid kit, crouching in front of him.

Jason tensed. He hated being this close, being seen like this. But your hands were careful, gentle as you reached for his injured arm.

And then, so softly he almost didn’t catch it—

“You scared me.”

Jason blinked.

Your voice was quiet, but there was an edge to it.

Like you weren’t just mad.

Like you were hurt.

And Jason—Jason hated that.

“…Didn’t mean to,” he mumbled.

You sighed, dabbing antiseptic over his wound. “Then stop trying to die every other night, and maybe we’ll be even.”

Jason swallowed.

He had no idea what to say to that.

So, he sat there, letting you clean his wounds, letting your touch ease some of the ache in his body.

Letting himself wonder—just for a moment—why the hell you were still here.

Jason wasn’t an idiot.

He knew who he was.

He knew what he had done.

And he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he wasn’t someone people stayed for.

But you did.

And it terrified him.

Another night.

Another fight.

Another set of bruises Jason didn’t have the energy to deal with.

He sat on the fire escape outside your apartment, the cool night air stinging against his busted lip.

He hadn’t meant to come here.

But somehow, he had.

Because after a night like this—after feeling like he had nothing left to give, after Gotham had chewed him up and spit him back out—he didn’t want to be alone.

And when he saw your light flicker on, when you stepped outside and spotted him sitting there like some stray cat, you didn’t even hesitate.

You just sighed, held out your hand, and said—

“Come inside, dumbass.”

Jason almost laughed.

Almost.

Instead, he let you pull him inside, let you fuss over him, let you care.

And for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself stay.

Weeks passed.

Jason still didn’t get it.

Didn’t get you.

Didn’t get why you weren’t afraid of him, why you didn’t run the first time you saw how deep his scars really went.

He didn’t get why you smiled at him like he wasn’t some walking tragedy.

Didn’t get why, when he was with you, the ghosts in his head got quiet.

So, one night, after you had patched him up again, after you had fallen asleep with your head against his shoulder, he whispered—

“…Why me?”

You stirred but didn’t wake.

Jason exhaled, staring at the ceiling, at the way the city lights flickered through your window.

Of all people—why him?

Why would you care?

Why would you stay?

Then, as if you could hear his thoughts, you mumbled—

“Because you’re worth it.”

Jason went still.

His chest ached, something warm pressing behind his ribs, something he couldn’t name.

And for the first time in a long, long time—

He let himself believe it.

[yellowbugifs]

220/365 days of regina mills

[yieldfruit]

Therefore, as God's chosen people, holy and dearly loved, clothe yourselves with

compassion kindness, humility gentleness and patience.

Colossians 3:12

[coldones66]

They cooked

[flowerbarrel-art]

I MT eyebrows’d everybody.

And normal eyebrows for Dark and Cho.

[femmmie]

Impressive.

[bangelgifs]

Sometimes is something. 4.19 The Yoko Factor | 7.22 Chosen Requested by @oveliagirlhaditright

[fagnew]

I aspire for this type of relationship