'are you flexing right now bro

  • Jungkook: *watching Jimin hanging around with someone else*I'm chill, I'm the chillest man on earth right now
  • Jungkook: *hears Jimin laughing* I'm cool as a cucumber *clenches fists*
  • Jungkook: I'm the national beacon of calm and serenity in South Korea like I'm- *sees them hug Jimin*
  • Jungkook: *does the tongue thing and flexes arms* fuck it, they about to catch these hands!!!
  • Teahyung: bro you lasted a full minute, that's a new record

If you had one word - just one word - to describe yourself, what word would you use?

Man, that’s a tough one, bro, I dunno.  I guess alot of my friends would say I’m a typical bro, you know, I like all the bro things that bros do, I kinda bro out alot, especially since I met him, yknow?  Even though it don’t really feel like it’s only since I met him, it’s more like it’s been happening in slow motion for my whole life, if that makes any sense, you know?  Like a sleeper thing, like it was asleep in me, and just like, woke up, sorta, when I met my bro.  So I guess I’d say bro, that’d be a good word to describe me, cuz it doesn’t only describe me but it describes my bro too.  Two halfs, one whole.  You dig?

Okay, sure.  I’m not really sure I - exactly follow your train of thought, but okay.  Next question.  With whom in your life would you say you are closest?  It could be a roommate, or a –

That’s a easy one!  Totally my bro.  We do fuckin everything together.  We even share clothes.  Work out together, climb shit together, go hiking, play ball - football, baseball, basketball.  He says he’s gonna teach me how to skate, too, so we can even play hockey together.  How fuckin sweet is that?  We’re gettin big together, like crazy.  Already pretty ripped.  Been takin these awesome supps that my bro gave me.  You outta try em, bro.  You work out?

I, sure, yeah.  Go to the gym.  Not real regular, but I work out some.  But this isn’t about me, it’s about you.

Oh yeah.  I forgot again.  Just sayin, bro, you could probly use some of these awesome supps.  You look like you could be pretty big.  If you wanted to, yknow.

Have you always been such a workout junkie?

Huhuhuhuh workout junkie.  That’s a funny way to put it, bro.  Dya mind if I call you bro, bro?  I guess I just kinda call everyone bro now.  Huhuh, even chicks.  It’s cool though. 

So …

Uh, sorry bro.   What was the question again?

Have you always been such a … uh - did you always, yknow.  Uh, workout.  Alot.  I mean, your guns are fuckin huge.

Fuck yeah, right?  Look even better when I flex.  Been workin the bis extra hard lately with bro.  See?

Wow.  Fuck.  That’s, uh, yeah.  Fuck.

Yeah bro!  Uh, you sportin a little wood there, bro, huhuh, you like what you see?  Yeah, it’s cool, bro.  You wanna just kinda stick your hand in your shorts and mess around a bit, that’s cool, bro.  How ya feelin?

Uhhhh … fuck … good, bro … real fuckin good …

Fuck yeah bro!  Maybe you can come workout with me an my bro sometime, shape up your guns.  Hey, so what’d you say you were interviewin me for anyway?

Uh, the school … paper.  Fuck.  Fuuuuck.  Your friends, they wanted to know … fuck …. where you’d gone …

Yeah, bro.  Uh, what friends?  What paper? 

Yeah … what friends.  What paper.

Yeah bro!  Hey, I got a hat for you.  It’s just like the one my bro gave me when I met my bro.  It’s cool, right?

Fuck yeah …

Says “REBORN.”

Reborn, bro.

Fuck yeah!   

You don’t believe me, huh bro? Let me teach you how it’s done.

First you wear nice tight jeans and a tight t shirt.  Then you slouch down in the chair and get a nice “man spread” going. Proceed to raise your flexed ,muscled arm.  And of course you look away with a cocky look on your superior, alpha face.

And before you know it  BOOM!  the faggots by you are dropping to their knees begging to serve and worship you.  Look, I got 3 of them crawling to me right now.  One fag will get the degradation of licking up the coke I spilled on the floor. One faggot will have the extreme pleasure of licking my filthy shoes clean. The third faggot will be humiliated by me forcing him to sniff and lick the sweat from my pits.  And yes bro, all 3 faggots will have to pay me for the honor of putting them in their place. They are now my cash fags in my ever growing stable of faggot slaves.

What’s that bro???  You’re right, I forgot about my crotch sniffing faggot.  Well look at you getting down on your knees bro! Crawl over here to Master with your wallet open and welcome to Master’s crotch.  you learned your lesson well faggot!

anonymous asked:

tbh i aspire to be like you and Eat Languages For Breakfast like.... i'm learning mandarin chinese right now in school and i really wanna learn hawaiian and maybe russian too

bro gopher it its way cooler and more fun to have a vast basic understanding of many types of languages so that you can understand fairly well without actually bein fluent or anything, like u pick out words u know and words u recognize from other languages that share a root, and u go “oh and htat sentence structure would mean it’s something about this being this” or “something is not going .. somewhere.. this place..” and then bam u figure it out

and ur brain FLEXES its SIX PACK 

talking is the hard part tho lmao its embarrassing but at the same time if u know the basics and ur charismatic enough native speakers will understand u just fine and thats all u need????? u could spend 5 years learnin to say “hello gentleman, pardon my intrusion. which subway station might i take to get to the Yamanote line?” or u could spend a 2wks to know how to say “Yamanote line, where? which station?”

its not about memorizin dictionaries its about solving different means of communication like fuckin, using a different computer software. it all does the same stuff u just gotta figure out how this one works and looks and feels like

The PPSSM preview reminded me that I was working on this, which I’m sticking up here because sometimes publicly shaming myself works as motivation. Starring Yuuhy and I’s Stormcast theory that the apartment pictured in PPSSM 2 that they say is Peter’s apartment is, well, Peter’s apartment, but Johnny’s been living in it. (He had a key, and I know Peter Parker can’t keep plants alive.) Set post-the recent Amazing Spider-Man #31.

Peter showed up on Johnny’s doorstep disheveled, tired, and belligerent. It was only two days after the fallout from Darkforce bubble finally dropping and Johnny was still bleary with much needed sleep, so of course he almost slammed the door in face as soon as Peter opened his mouth.

“I need to crash here for a couple of days,” Peter said, steely with determination.

“Oh, absolutely not,” Johnny said, as if Peter could be moved. “I’ve watched the news. I don’t need the most hated man in the tech world in my apartment.”

“Well, tough, because it’s my apartment, actually,” Peter said.

It was, actually, Peter’s apartment. His old apartment, from before he’d bought the Baxter Building. He’d never given up the lease, or moved out any of his furniture or anything. And it had just been sitting there, perfectly livable and not even infested with anything, which was more than Johnny could have said about the place he’d tried to rent after Medusa broke up with him and also left the planet, because there was a way to make a guy feel okay about the end of a relationship.

And maybe Peter had caught Johnny naked in his luxurious shower back at the Baxter Building, trying wash battle grit out of his hair when his place’s horrible water pressure wouldn’t do, and maybe there had been a lot of screaming from both parties and maybe Johnny had set a bottle of Peter’s combination shampoo-conditioner on fire.

Then after, when everyone had dressed and their tempers were mildly cooler, and Peter got the truth about his new digs out of Johnny, he’d offered up this place.

“Why not?” he’d said, shrugging. “Not like anyone’s living there at the moment. Just don’t trash the place, rock star.”

And now Peter was the messy-haired, plane-rumpled disaster who had, manic gleam in his eye, burned one of the biggest tech companies in the world to the ground, on live broadcast.

“Peter,” he whined. “I just got done fighting monsters in pitch darkness and thinking I was never going to be able to fly in foreign hair products again.”

“I’ll foreign hair product you,” Peter said, shoulder meeting the doorjamb with a thump. “Johnny, please. I am so tired. A pedestrian threw a Webware at me. A tween saw my face and started crying.”

Ugh,” Johnny said, moving back. “Fine. Get inside before my neighbors see you.”

“My neighbors,” Peter muttered under his breath.

“Yeah, and do you know what I’ve learned living here? They all hate you,” Johnny said, slamming the door. He folded his arms as Peter dropped his briefcase and tugged off his tie, shoulders dropping like he’d let go of some immense weight.

“Right back at ‘em,” Peter muttered, shucking his jacket. Johnny averted his eyes as his shoulderblades flexed under the crisp white fabric of his shirt, which was just a smidge too small. Peter never could buy clothes. “Buncha TV Guide stealers.”

“Pete,” Johnny whined, both plaintive and pointless. “Spidey. Bro.”

“What?” Peter said, stretching his arms high above his head. “What, what?”

“Just…” Johnny said, giving up. “Don’t kill my fish, okay.”

“Your what now?” Peter said. He turned and spotted the tank by the couch. “You bought fish?”

“I told you I bought fish! I was on the phone with you in the PetCo!”

“How would I even kill your fish?” Peter asked, crouching down to get a better look.

“Staring at them too hard?” Johnny said. “Breathing on them? Catty ex-girlfriend dropping in? Don’t tap on the glass!”

Peter froze, hand held halfway up. Johnny glared at him. Peter huffed, and dramatically laid himself down on the couch, balling up his jacket and shoving it under his head.

“Whatever,” he said, closing his eyes. “I’m exhausted. Don’t wake me when it’s time for the Bachelorette or whatever.”

“I tell you one thing –” Johnny started, but Peter was already out and snoring. Typical.

Johnny just watched Peter sleep for a long moment, passive aggressively feeding his fish because they’d need their strength with Peter around. Peter’s hair was greasy, and his shirt was rumpled. He looked like he’d had the layover from hell. His mouth hung open in sleep.

Johnny wanted so unfairly for him to wake up and declare his eternal love. Instead, Peter didn’t even stir when Johnny threw a blanket over him.

“I hate you,” he told him, but quietly, so Peter could sleep. He grabbed his keys and headed out.

Johnny went stress shopping, because that was what he did when Peter Parker showed up out of nowhere to throw his life into a shambles, and also when he was bored. He went gourmet grocery shopping, specifically, because he didn’t need Peter waking up and discovering that Johnny only had pizza rolls in his fridge. Pizza rolls he’d been heating up himself, with his hands, or, occasionally, when he was feeling both depressed and lazy, simply popped them frozen into his mouth and let his powers do the rest of the work 

(One time he’d just laid them in a line down his naked chest but that had been the anniversary of when Ben had fucked off to space, and Johnny thought he could have probably been forgiven for that in light of the circumstances.)

So yeah, he wasn’t in the mood for Peter to find out about any of that. He wanted to be Peter’s Johnny Storm again, affluent and carefree and more interested in his own hair than anything else, the crushing weight lifted off his shoulders for long enough to coax a really good argument out of him, something to laugh about and hold like a candle flame in the center of his chest.

Also, he wanted to buy soft shell crab.

Enjoying the View--Imagine #1

She was beautiful. Gorgeous y/ec eyes always shining bright in the sunlight. I awed at the way her y/hc hair spun around her when she moved, the way the sunlight hit it, turning it into a glowing halo enveloping her head. I wouldn’t doubt her being an angel. I had never seen someone who made my insides melt, but froze my tongue and feet. That’s how I leaned against the tree on the grounds around the school where everyone hung out during school when the weather was nice.

I had never met her. Not officially. She seemed to glide past me, effortlessly, every time I tried to introduce myself. We had three classes together, and I wasn’t exactly a nobody, In fact, I had a large group of friends so some considered me popular. But despite that, y/n didn’t notice me, except for the few times our eyes would meet and I had a fleeting hope that she would come and talk to me, only to be disappointed. She stuck close to her best friend and never intermingled with different cliques. She was a bit of a loner, but she seemed content. Especially as I watched her now, biting into an apple as the fall breeze swept her flowing hair out of her beautiful face. My eyes were stuck on her, everything falling away. And then her eyes met mine.


“Brooo! Yo, man! Where you been?” I tore my gaze from y/n who had quirked an eyebrow at me making my insides twist, to one of my idiot friends, c/f1/n. 

“Dude, he’s still staring at that chick he’s been obsessing over,” c/f2/n said smirking at me. 

“Nah, I was just enjoying the weather,” I lied, gesturing to the leaves that were falling around me. 

“BullllSHIT!” c/f2/n said, making his voice rise comically on the last bit. “You’re whipped, man. I mean, I don’t blame you, she’s a hottie, but she also never really talks to anyone except for her weird best friend.”

The way he talked nonchalantly about y/n rubbed me the wrong way. 

“She’s a lot more than a hottie. She’s really intelligent and have you heard any of her jokes? She’s hilarious. It’s especially cute when she laughs at her own jokes and her eyes crinkle up at the sides and, god, don’t even start me on her voice, I could listen to her all da–What?” I stopped my rambling noticing my friends staring at me in disbelief. 

C/f1/n turned to c/f2/n, exchanging glances that I couldn’t read. 

“You better date her soon because I don’t think I can take your lovesick ass much longer,” C/f1/n laughed at me good-naturedly, patting me on the shoulder. 

“How? I mean she’s her and I’m me and–”

“Exactly! Dude, you’re one of the more popular guys here, just ask her. You overthink way too much. Just flex a little, show her what she’s missing out on if she hesitates,” C/f1/n replied.

“She barely notices me. Popularity doesn’t matter to her. I’m as noticeable as a fly,” I felt my shoulders slouching.

“I mean, flies are pretty noticeable, they’re annoying as fu–,” C/f2/n noticed the death glare I was giving him. “OK, you think she doesn’t stare at you, but she’s sneaky and I’ve seen her doing it, she’s just better at hiding it. She’s doing it right now, bro.”

Sure enough, when I looked across the field she was staring, her eyes seemingly pleading me to come over and talk to her, her perfect lips parted slightly, My stomach tied itself into intricate knots and I felt heat rising to my face. 

“Fuck it,” I huffed under my breath

I charged over to her, watching how her mouth and eyes widened in shock. 

My face was on fire. What was I doing? What. Was. I. DOING?!

“Hi there,” she practically whispered, and hearing her beautiful voice quieted my fears. 

She looked up at me, her eyes soft, trusting. This gaze only encouraged my insanity. I knelt down slightly in front of her and the fall breeze carried her sweet scent of vanilla perfume along with something I could only identify as her natural scent over to me. 

“Hey,” my voice came out steady. So far so good, I thought to myself.

“I like your shirt,” I cringed the moment the words left my lips. Aaand there goes me being smooth.

“Yeah? Was that what you were staring at earlier?” She quirked an eyebrow, moving in closer. Her fingers brushed mine in the dying grass. My stomach lurched. “Or was there something else besides my shirt that you enjoyed about the view.”

Her face was so close. Yet, so far. But I took this time to study her features. The curvature of her upper lip’s cupid’s bow, the perfect wrinkles on her nose that were formed by how she always wrinkled her nose when laughing, the way her eyes had specks of lighter and darker shades of the same color.

“Hmm,” I hummed, losing my insecurities and hesitance in her beauty, her intoxicating scent and presence. 

I traced my fingertip over her one raised eyebrow.

“Your eyebrows.”

My finger ghosted ever so lightly over her eyelids, down under her eye, brushing her eyelashes. She blinked, making them flutter over my skin. The sensation felt strangely good. 

“Your eyes. Your gorgeous, breathtaking y/ec eyes.”

My finger trailed down the bridge of her nose.

“Your cute nose.” My voice dropped to a whisper as my fingertip filled the space between the end of her nose and the beginning of her lips. “But you know what I tend to stare at most?”

“What?” She breathed and I felt her hot breath fan over my hand. Her eyes looked up from my own lips, filled with waves of emotion I could drown in. 

“Your,” I traced my finger over the outline of her lips,”sinfully beautiful…” I replaced where my finger had been over her bottom lip with my lips.My lips were barely touching hers, but still energy and excitement and peace shot through my veins. It felt so right. 


And as my lips formed the ending of the word, I molded them with her insanely soft ones. She let out a soft breath through her nose, that tickled my face and made me smile into the kiss. I was overwhelmed with the fact that I was finally kissing the girl I had liked for so long. I brushed back her hair and gently placed my hand at her neck, pulling her closer. She raked her hands through my own hair, roughing it up. She tasted like the tart apple she bit into before and every dream I ever dared to hope for. 

A/N: This is my first imagine. I know there’s not a lot of talking. That’s not how it’ll always be. I decided to do it from the crush’s POV because thinking of how someone might admire you like you admire them is satisfying, SEND ME REQUESTS PLEASE! :) ~Logan~

& it’s just so hot lately.  The humidity seeps, coats, invades.   Soon your shirt is sticking to your chest and back.  Sweat drips at odd intervals, and you only feel a ghost of it, suddenly, down the edge of your torso.  You spend more time outside, even if it’s just on the porch, reading, but you can’t seem to keep your attention on the page.   You catch yourself staring off into the distance, across the street, or maybe to the left or right, and you’ve already been doing this for some time.  Not really thinking about anything.  It’s too hot to think of anything.  The heat gets inside your skull and expands.  It’s a semi-delirium, the heat.  Muggy, foggy, hot.  And the noises of summer are rising; the oscillating crescendo of the cicadas, rising, then falling, rising, then falling.  This constant burr of noise in your ears.  The weight of the sun on your bare arms and chest.  You’ve taken your shirt off, and you’ve had it off for some time.  When did that happen?  You probably just got too hot to have a shirt on.  It’s always a little too hot to have a shirt on when it’s this comfortable to be shirtless.  Rising, then falling.  Your muscles are bunched inside of their sheaths, they are coiled, demanding animals that are whining, scraping at their cages, to be used.  You can recall fondly the last time you worked out.  The pleasant buzz and hum of endorphins singing in your brainblood.  The ache of torn muscle tissue.  That was just a few hours ago, wasn’t it?  Hard to recall.  It happens so often.  You almost always seem to be in a daze lately, either a post-workout daze, or a post-fuel daze, or a heat daze - seems like everything you do is about your body, whether it’s cooling down or fueling up or working out.   There just isn’t that much time to focus on much else, and you just don’t have the effort to do anything other than workout, fuel up, and cool down.  It’s just too hot.  

Someone is walking by.  Maybe a neighbor, or something.  It’s one of the bros from the frat house down the street.  You can see the big Greek letters on his gray tanktop.  


He has his cap on backwards, and he’s probably heading to the store for a beer run.  “Sup, bro,” he says to you as he walks by.

“Sup, bro,” you say back.  “Fuckin hot out.”

“Fuck yeah.  Gym later?”

“Fuck yeah, bro.”


“Later, bro.”

The cicadas, again, their rise, their fall.  God, it’s like everything in nature is ganging up on you, and you’re just so heavy and relaxed.  The fan is going back and forth.  It hums and whirs as it passes, there in the background, this whole time.  You don’t remember when you got so friendly with the bros in the house down the street, or even how you met them.  You laugh as you remember the noise complaint you filed with the cops as a prank.  They were all good bros at Sigma Nu, though it didn’t really seem like they actually went to college, just worked out and fueled up and chilled out.  One or two of them even work at the gym you go to.  You’ve seen a notice on the door lately, NOW HIRING.  You’ve caught yourself considering it, but just once, maybe twice.  For some time now.  Just as a joke, a little one, inside your own head, maybe imagining it, you in the gym’s t-shirt, behind the counter.  It sure would be a whole lot easier than uh, your day job.  

The same bro is walking by, back from the store, a glistening, shiny six-pack of tallboys in his hand.  The sun glints off of the cans, off of his shiny watch, off of the black mirror of his sunglasses.  “Yo,” he says, clearly.  Catches your attention.  He flexes, right there, grunting cartoonishly as he does.  

You catch yourself standing up, flexing back, holding the pose.  He’s been gone for a long time now, and you’ve already been doing this for some time.

Jealousy: Frat Ashton Irwin Smut

gif cred to owner

not requested

word count: 3.7K

pairing: ashton x reader

rating: R

note: this is a ((jEalOus)) frAT AsHtoN smUT LiKE WhaTS nOt tO lOve AbOut tHAT??? (ps i havent written smut in a long time, so if this is utter shit, then i’m rlly sorry im a wimp)

“I’ll be back with more drinks,” Ashton yells above the music. You almost opened your mouth to respond, but your voice is not as loud as the pounding speakers. Instead, you nod your head and smile. Before leaving, he pecks your lips quickly then gets lost in the mass of drunk, dancing bodies.

As usual, Ashton was invited to a party by one of his many frat friends, and he wanted you to tag along. He knows you’re not one for excessive partying, but when it comes to being Ashton’s girlfriend, you can’t ignore it. In fact, you and Ashton had met at a mutual friend’s party. She had pressured you to come, saying that it’s ‘more fun than you think!’ You were hesitant because that was your first proper party at university. Though it was one of the best parties you’ve been to, you still did leave with some regrets.

At the beginning of your relationship with Ashton, you had been able to avoid going to parties. Dumbly, you had used the ‘I have an exam in the morning. I need to study’ excuse one too many times, and he eventually caught on to it. He stopped falling for your excuses. With his constant pestering, you caved in and let him drag you to every party he could possibly attend. You’d thought that after a while of the same partying scene, you’d get sick of it. Surprisingly, however, it’s always a whole new set of memories associated with every party you’ve been to.

Tuning back into the obnoxious bass vibrating against the wall, you look around for your boyfriend, thinking he’d be back by now. You start getting nervous because you haven’t been able to pick out your friends in the massive crowd. Ashton and a few of his frat brothers were the only people you recognized. You didn’t dare go up to any of them because the last time you were with them, you were high.

Ashton snuck you up into his dorm that night. A few of his frat brothers were there too. The presence of weed was ridiculously obvious because Ashton was completely tripped out, along with his friends. They had casually handed you a blunt. At first, you denied it. You’d thought that because they were so high, you’d trick them into thinking you were already high.

Much to your dismay, they ignored your bantering and shoved the blunt in your face until you soon caved in. Having no experience with any kind of drug, you tried to take a long drag of it but ended up choking on the smoke cutting off your breathing supply. It took a few other attempts and suppressed giggles to successfully get a puff or two from the blunt.

But soon after, a puff or two turned into a blunt or two… or four. You barely remember much from that night, but what you can remember is Ashton. Amazingly, Ashton gets surprisingly vulnerable and needy when he’s high. All you can recollect is Ashton’s sloppy neck kisses. He’d acted like a giggly little kid seeking attention. He’d randomly attack you with kisses and when you tried to kiss him back, he’d explode into a fit of giggles and pull away. You had had enough of Ashton’s games, so you pinned him down. From there, you two recklessly started making out in front of his friends; since then, you’ve hoped and prayed they were too high to remember.

“Where the fuck is Ashton?” you groan out loud. You didn’t expect anyone to hear you, so it was a surprise to you when someone’s voice found it’s way to your ears.

“You here alone?” a voice from behind you whispers in your ear. With an uncomfortable dominance, the person’s large hands grab ahold of your hips and drag you closer to his body. His breath trickled down your neck, and you cringed at the smell of alcohol rolling off of his tongue. You gasp as a shock of fear sends shivers down your spine. Frantically, you pull away from the mysterious person and turn around to face the culprit.

“Dude, what the hell?” you shout. Recomposing yourself, you smooth down your shirt and struggle to see the tall figure properly in the blinding strobe lights.

“Calm down, sweetheart. Don’t you remember me?” he says. You scrunch your eyebrows and squint to get a better look at him. With the dark, wavy hair and the hideous point of his nose, it’s impossible not to recognize him.

“Ja… Jacob?” you stutter after a long moment of silence. As his name escaped your mouth, the repressed memory of you and him suddenly hit you on the head.

“The one and only.” Jacob smirks and walks closer to you, beer bottle held tightly in his hand. Yes, of course, he isn’t just an asshole… He’s a drunk asshole.

Jacob was one of your biggest mistakes in terms of university memories. You met him at the same exact party you met Ashton at. He was your biggest regret taken from that party. The way you introduced yourself to Jacob was not particularly how you introduced yourself to Ash. At the party, you met Ash before you were hammered out of your mind. You were presentable and your flirting was on point. After a dance or two, he slipped his number in your back pocket and walked away to get another beer without offering you one. Short and sweet.

However, you were still on the dance floor when Ashton left you; not to mention, one-too-many alcoholic beverages swirled through your system. Jacob had come up to you and grinded against you from behind; you didn’t complain. In fact, you encouraged it. Skip a couple hours and chug a few shots… Now you’re in the same bed as Jacob. You had hooked up with Jacob the night of that party, and Ashton’s number was still resting in your back pocket.

“Fuck off, Jacob. I didn’t come here to talk to you,” you spat. Jacob was a complete dick to you the week after you two had hooked up. You knew that he’d be nothing more than what happened in his bedroom that night, but he didn’t get that memo. If you were near him, he’d publically embarrass you in front of his friends, saying that you were the whore who came onto him first, or you were the most disappointing hook-up he’s ever experienced. Eventually, though, he learned his lesson when you ‘accidentally’ kneed him where the sun doesn’t shine.

“Well, I don’t see anyone else talking to you,” he retorts. He walked closer to you, the height difference becoming pathetically low.

“I’m just waiting for my boyfriend, so you can go along your merry way,” you stammar. Despite how wimpy Jacob is, he still intimidates you. This statement holds true when his hands grip your waist roughly and crush his body against yours. You try with all your strength to get out of his grasp, but he’s much stronger than you. With a permanent smirk plastered on his ugly features, he dips his head down to your neck slowly. Just as he was about to kiss your neck, however, Ashton comes to the rescue when he notices your struggling.

Ashton pulled you away from Jacob with a ridiculous amount of force and hugs you from behind. Desperate to feel something other than Jacobs grimy hands, your hands enclose around Ashton’s arms. Ash, as if it’s an automatic response, squeezes you closer to him. “What’s your business with my girl, huh?” Ashton snarls. You feel Ash’s muscles tense up, and that’s when it dawned on you just how angry Ashton is.

“She seemed easy,” was all Jacob responded with. At that, Ashton dropped his arms from around your waist and pushed you behind him. While watching the scene unfold before your eyes, you cringe at the thought of Jacob’s hands ever touching you again.

“Easy, huh? If you’re into ‘easy,’ buddy, my fists against your face seem like an easy possibility right now, doesn’t it?” Ashton growls. His hands squeeze into a tight fist, and his jaw clenches up. His arm muscles flex as his hands twitch with the eagerness to punch the alcohol right out of Jacob’s system. Mentally, you prayed Ashton doesn’t get into a fight with Jacob. In honesty, Jacob is no match for Ashton.

“Whatever,” Jacob dismisses. “By the way, bro… she’s pretty shitty in bed.” With that said, Jacob laughs and disappears into the crowd. Before Jacob left, though, you had to prevent Ashton from lunging at him. You pulled him back to you by his shirt and turned him around to face you.

“Why were you talking to him, babe?” Ashton interrogates. His hands unfold gently and cup your cheeks. His words were worrisome and angry, but his actions showed otherwise.

You shrug, unsure of how to answer. “I don’t know, baby. I tried to get him away from me.” Ashton wasn’t buying that though. He needed more than just an ‘I don’t know.’

“Who was he? Did you know him?” he questions further.

“His name’s Jacob. He was just a one time thing, I promise,” you say. You were nervous about getting Ashton even more riled up. You’ve never seen Ashton so ridiculously angry before, and you weren’t about to take any chances.

“One time thing? Are you sure, babe?” he asks. Behind the anger, you see a pang of hurt pierce through him as the question leaves his lips. His entire demeanor relaxes when he sees the reassuring smile on your face.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you promise. Standing on your toes, you give him one quick kiss. “Is Ashton Irwin, frat president, jealous?” You wanted to lighten the mood, but you have to admit, Ashton getting as jealous and angry as he did definitely is a turn on for you.

“Nah, I’m not jealous,” he says. You didn’t believe a single word from that sentence. “I just want everyone to know that you’re mine.” He handed you the beer he’d promised you earlier. After taking a much-needed drink, Ashton takes his snapback off of his head and puts it on yours. “You’re my girl.”

You two finish off what’s left of your beers, but you both needed more than just a few beers to get through the night. So many, many alcoholic drinks later, you find yourself being sucked into the growing mass of dancing drunks with Ashton. Deciding not to fight off the crowd you’d planned to avoid earlier, you move with them instead.

Swaying your hips to the beat, you wrap your arms around his neck and urge him closer to you. He laughs lowly and squeezes your hips. You two grind against each other to the pounding bass of the music. Time ticks by faster and faster, to the point where you began to lose track of it. Sweat starts glistening against your skin, and as you and Ashton focused on your dancing, you felt Ashton’s hot and heavy breath fan over your shoulder. You look up at Ashton and push away the curls that fell in front of his eyes. This catches his attention, giving you a chance to cup his cheeks. With no hesitation, you pull him down and smash his lips against yours. Wasting no time, you deepen the kiss. Surprised by your sudden dominance, he laughs against your lips.

Within a matter of minutes, you two had escaped from the party scene and stumbled along to his dorm. You’re both wasted out of your minds, so the journey to his dorm room was definitely a giggly mess. After fiddling with the keys and managing to unlock the door, Ashton grabs you by the wrist and pulls you into his dorm. He kicks the door closed and the noise rings in your ears.

With a smirk, Ashton backs you up against a wall and throws the snapback off of your head. He takes advantage of your vulnerability and kisses you with obvious urgency. His hands wander down your body, and when they skim over the curve of your hips, he bends his knees to reach around your thighs. He grips your thighs and helps you jump up to wrap your legs around his waist.

With you curled around him like a monkey, he pushed you against the wall and let go of your thighs, hoping you could support yourself. Quickly pulling away from the kiss, Ashton impatiently takes your shirt off and tosses it carelessly to the side. He resumes the kiss shortly after. His hands roam down to your bum and squeeze it gently. As expected, his groping and his kissing wasn’t enough for you. You wanted more, and you already knew that he wants the same thing.

Showing your disinterest, you pull away and sigh. He scrunches his eyebrows, the worry etched in his face suddenly crystal clear to you. Giving no response, you dip your head down to his neck and start leaving sweet kisses wherever you could. Ashton gave you no reaction, so your kisses became longer and more desperate. Your lips searched sloppily for any sign of pleasure from Ashton. Just about ready to give up, his muscles tensing up to your last kiss told you otherwise. Finally, you realized what you had done. You hit his sweet spot.

His large hands had tightened their grip around your waist as soon as your lips brushed over it. You smiled against his neck and slowly started to suck on his sweet spot. Ashton’s chest fell dramatically as planned breaths replaced his underexposed moans. At this discovery, a newfound energy filled you up with more lust than before. Ashton moaned softly, but you heard it catch in his throat just as quickly as the moan had escaped it. He was trying to hold back his moans, but his drunken mind couldn’t handle such a task. You blew cold air over the mark, and immediately, you felt Ashton push his body against yours. You got the exact reaction you had hoped for.

“Someone’s needy,” you whisper against his jawline. Not waiting for him to respond, you pepper tiny kisses along his jawline and eventually work your way back up to his lips. After leaving kisses on each corner of his lips, you hover over them. Ashton tried to kiss you, but you pulled away swiftly before he had a chance. Just as gracefully as Ashton had done, you tear his shirt off and drop it on the floor.“You know what we should do, Ashton?” Your fingertips trailed over his abs, leaving a burning road of pleasure over his skin.

“W- What?” he stutters.

“We should take this to the bedroom,” you mumble against his lips. Happily, he obliges. Eagerly gripping your thighs again, he leads you to his bedroom. Anticipation pricked at your skin and temptation got the best of you. As you inched closer to his door, you started kissing every possible available area on his face. Since the door was already open slightly, he just had to give it a little nudge. Once you two entered the bedroom, Ashton blindly walked forwards until his legs collided with the bed. Slowly, he leaned down and laid you on the bed, so he still ended up on top of you.

You tried to keep your legs snaked around his waist, but Ashton didn’t allow that. Moving down from your waist to the underside of your thigh, he forced your legs to unravel around him. Once Ashthon successfully completed that task, his warm hands plant themselves firmly around your hips, and he pulls away from your sloppy kisses.

With a smirk, his lips find their way down to where the underwire of your bra rests contently. He peacefully starts kissing down your stomach as his curly locks tickled the skin still tingling from what his lips had left behind. As his lips massaged a profound melody of pleasure on your body, his hands began to fiddle with the button of your jeans. Not even seconds later, your pants are thrown across the room, along with his shorts and your bra.

As soon as his lips reached the thin waistband of your underwear, he stopped his kisses. You squirm under his touch, knowing he’s doing this to tease you. “Ashton…” you whimper. “Please, baby… please.”

Ashton laughs against your skin, sending vibrations to pierce through you. Unable to form words, you automatically whimper in response. Much to your surprise, Ashton’s fingers hook through the waistband of your panties and slides them off with ease. He brings his head down in between your legs and leaves open-mouthed kisses all around your inner thighs. Ashton takes his time moving to your core. When he does, it’s as if he’s moving in slow motion.

Unable to wait much longer, your hands grip his hair and push him closer to your throbbing heat. Finally getting the reaction he wanted from you, his tongue works its way up your slit and back down. The more his tongue teased you, the slower his movements became. His tongue moved at a leisurely pace, but it was intentional. Ashton knows that he’s not giving you what you want - what he was offering you was not enough. “Ashton!” you unexpectedly yelled. “For fuck’s sake, just… please!” Your words came out slurred and incoherent. Nothing you were saying gave your actual feelings any justice. You tensed up, waiting for what Ashton had in store for you.

Moments after your plead, Ashton’s tongue flicked against your clit. This sent you into an ocean of pleasure instantly. You were too caught up in that moment to realize that one of his fingers had also eased into you. Agonizingly awaiting your high, you breathe heavily and let a few of your moans escape your mouth and twirl around in the air. At the sound of your moans, he interpreted it as a sign to take this one step further.

With your breathing getting louder and heavier, and your orgasm quickly approaching, his teeth begin to nip gently at your clit and his finger pumped at a steady pace. Your high was building up faster and faster; at this moment, you’re fragile. Anything could break you. When Ashton added another finger inside you, it sends you into a frenzy. Unable to hold your orgasm in, you arch your back as a melody of moans and whimpers twist through the thick atmosphere. Your heart rate struggled to slow down as Ashton cautiously licked up what he had missed when you released.

When your breathing eventually calmed down to it’s greatest extent, Ashton weaved a trail of kisses up your body that left your skin boiling with lust. By the time Ashton reached the valley between your breasts, your stomach was in knots and your burning desire to love Ashton was getting undeniably noticeable. Within a matter of time, Ashton’s lips were hovering above yours. With you craving more of Ashton, you wasted no time pleading for something you should’ve gotten a long time ago.

“Ashton, I need you,” you breathe onto his lips. “I need you inside of me.” Ashton smirked as you pinched the waistband of his boxers, indicating just what you wanted. Ashton doesn’t reply to your begs, so you decide to take initiative. You attempt to aid Ashton with taking his boxers off, but your hands were shaking with too much anticipation to be much of a help.

Placing an extended kiss on your lips, Ashton reaches over to his bedside table and grabs a condom. Refusing your help, he puts it on and smirks as you watch his every move. Seconds later, Ashton’s dominance proves itself to exist as he positions himself directly above you once again.

By the sound of your pleads, he eases himself into you and cautiously paces himself. Mid-kiss, his moans vibrate against your lips, sending chills down your entire body. Ashton’s large hands rest on your waist and rub small circles in your tingling skin. One hand, though, traveled down your body and, soon enough, danced lightly over your clit. At this rate, your orgasm picks up it’s pace rapidly.

Suddenly getting sloppy with his thrusts, Ashton kisses down to your neck and starts speeding up, indicating his high was nearing. Your hips try to move gracefully to the rhythm Ashton has created by himself as he nips at the skin of your neck. His fingers rub your clit with no designated speed, yet affected you all the same. To distract from the undeniable pleasure his fingers offered you, you tilt your head to allow his lips more access; he appreciatively trails open-mouthed kisses against your fragile skin.

Both of you were now approaching your highs. Your syncopated moans were the only things filling up the room, and hearing Ashton’s low groans of pleasure against your skin was just enough to throw you over the edge. Because of your previous orgasm, you built up to this one much faster than Ashton. The quicker Ashton thrusted into you, the louder your moans became. The faster his fingers worked against your clit, the more your vulnerability stuck out.

Soon enough, your back arched once more as your body geared itself up into overdrive. Your moans turned into one last scream when you finally released. As your heart pounded against your chest, you dig your nails into Ashton’s shoulders to release some of the extra pleasure your body couldn’t handle alone.

Shortly after, Ashton’s hands push you down on the bed. Just as you relaxed yourself out of your euphoria, Ashton quickly approached his orgasm. His body shook as an overwhelming shock of anticipation escaped his body in one quick motion. His back bent in hopes of stretching the time of the orgasm. You two easily rode out your highs to get your breathing back to normal. Just when you thought Ashton would collapse on top of you, he leaves a lingering kiss on your lips before standing up.

Ashton discards the condom and in devastating silence, you two got dressed quickly. Unable to wait, you grab Ashton’s wrist, causing him to drop the tee-shirt in his hand. His skin is glistening with sweat, but that doesn’t bother you. He turns to face you, and instead of giving him the explanation he expected, you kiss his lips graciously.

“Tomorrow, Ashton, you won’t be so dominant,” you whisper after pulling away. With a sway of your hips, you leave his dorm, letting Ashton recover from the daze you inflicted on him.

Sorry ‘bout breaking your shades, dude—Wasn’t watching my step. I was just playing catch with my football bros and it got a bit outta hand, you know? I can give you money for new ones but my only cash is in the team’s locker room. Why don’t you follow me there?

Bro, I see you wrinkling your nose at the smell of this place, but I love it. All the sweat, the grass stains, and the wet gear get me pumped up. Well here’s the money. And why don’t you try these eye black stickers? I know it’s hella sunny right now, so you can wear these until you get your new shades. Here, lemme put them on for you… Man, you look so bad ass. Just like us football players. See?

Stop flexing, bro. Coach says we need to recruit more walk-ons. Let’s go to the quad and play catch. I’ll bring the drugged eye blacks.

“Do you ever think it’s fucked up that we still call each other North and South, even after all these years? Instead of our names?”

The sounds of her reassembling her gun die away next to him, until the walls of the tiny hotel room seem to close in. The silence stifles the breath in his chest, pulls taut until he has to break it (before it snaps).

“I don’t even remember the last time you called me–”

“That’s who we are now,” she interrupts.She avoids his eyes when he brings himself to look up at her, her gaze sharp on her hands as they flex around the metal. “Can’t just undo it all.”

She snaps the last piece together, holds the pistol up. It gleams in the lamp light.

“Can’t go back now,” she says. “Bro.”

A Revenge Fantasy

You feel your mouth flicker into a snarl, your fists balling at your sides.  You see your muscles twitching under your skin.  You aren’t looking in his eyes - you know what happened the last time you did that.  Well, you sort of do.  It’s like a story you tell yourself, half-remembered, just the basics, and only sort of how it ends.  First, the slow creeping numbness over your brain, like fog over the river on a cold morning.  The humming, the buzzing, that rises in the same manner.  You know that if you let your eyes close, just a little bit, just a fraction, they might slam shut.  You might wake up somewhere else again.

The way his words slide in and out of your consciousness.  It’s like trying to hold onto a slippery rope, coated in oil.  Your hands just keep sliding, even as you fight to hold on.  To concentrate on the words he is saying, not just the sounds they make, the way they piece together.  It’s so important to fight, to fight it with all your might.  It is important because if you don’t, you might slip, slip just a little, lose your footing.  Every single one of your muscles is wrought iron, is corded steel.  You are not superhuman.  You cannot keep this up forever. 

The thought occurs, unbidden, a little suggestive, flicking in and out, stiletto-quick: is this part of it?  What are the words he is saying right now?  Maintain!  Focus!  Concentrate!  So many imperatives, so hard to -

A wave of dizziness crashes into you, and you are faltering, teetering, there in the darkness behind your closed eyes.  Wait - when did you close your - are you become desperate?  Where are you on the slippery rope?  Your breath is so measured.  So even.   Wait, stop.  Breathe.  In, and out.  Relax.  You have this.  You can do this.  You are assured, you are confident.  Your mind is iron, just like your muscles.  You feel your muscles twitching under your skin.  Muscles are what is important.  They are how you maintain the fight against him.  You relax.  You grin.  There’s no way he beats you.  Not again.  Not with muscles like these.  This is what you are good for.  Muscles.  What’s he saying now?  It doesn’t matter that you don’t know.  You let the slippery rope slide.  You are confident.  You are laughing on the inside.  You let the tension drain out of you.  There’s no need to hold all that energy in your muscles, the best part of you.  All that electricity, all that fight.  You know he can’t best you, not with your muscles, not with muscles like yours.  You flex, just to show him who’s boss.

“Well, you got me,” he says, and you open your eyes, swimming to the surface through what seems like an eternity of shifting colors, black to twilight to gray to blinding white - he is sitting there in front of you, smiling, arms crossed over his chest.  “You can’t be hypnotized.”

“Yeah,” you say, uncomfortably rolling your shoulders.  “Can’t be hypnotized, bro.”  He grin widens.

“And there’s no way I can get you to change your mind.”

“Naw, can’t change my mind, bro.”  The words are out of your mouth before you can think to stop them.  Thinking to stop them seems like kind of a waste of time.  Who thinks before they speak?  What’s that even mean?  There’s a sort of fogginess.  You feel yourself frowning, just a little.

“Aw, what’s the matter?  A little confused?”

“Uhhh,” you start to get out, but it’s like your mouth’s filled up with cotton, or is it your head, or is it both?  It’s like having water in your ears after dunking your head underwater.  Try again.  “Uhhh…”

“Wow, it really works.”  A new voice.  You turn your head to one side, surprised at how much effort it takes.  Someone standing next to him.  Staring at you, with a weird look on their face.  Something a little like surprise, but mostly like they just won something.  “And he’s gonna stay like this?”

“He might relapse, but you just have to say his trigger phrase to get him to, ah, recharge, as it were.”

“Or drain his batteries, haha.”  They share a high-five and then stare at you again. 

What the fuck.  This isn’t right.  Something’s gone terribly wrong - you fought this!  You didn’t get hypnotized, you were strong, your muscles were flexed.  You start to stand up, and they’re staring at you.  “What’s a matter, bro?  Feel a little funny?”

“Uhhh … yah,” you try to explain yourself.  I feel dizzy.  Faint.  Confused.  But the words just exist now as themes, as big feelings, in your head, and you don’t have the tools to describe them.  You make motions with your hands and arms.  You raise one arm from your side and clench your fist.  Your bicep engages, your tricep engages.  Parts of your lats and delt engage.  Your body is a machine which has been turned on, and this clears some of the fog.

“Holy shit, he’s posing!”  The new dude is looking at the other dude.  They’re both skinny like twigs.  Glasses.  Smirky.  Fuckin nerds.  “This is nuts.”

Your mouth opens.  “This isn’t me!  I’m not this way!  I flex, I flex, I - “

They stare at you, for a long, unbroken moment, and then burst out into laughter, laughter that goes for so long that you raise your other arms and flex that one too.  That makes sense.  Flexing shows you’re strong.  Shows that you’re not weak.  Can’t be beat.  Can’t be hypnotized.  Can’t be made dumb.  You’re strong in the brains.  “I’m strong,” you say, but the brain part doesn’t make it out.  “I’m strong,” you try again, and then flex again.  God, it feels good.  You don’t want to stop.  You never will stop.

“What about his classes?”

“Taking care of that now.”  You hear typing.  He’s on your computer.

“I flex!”  You protest.

“Yeah, dummy.  You flex.  You just keep on flexing, and I’ll just keep on editing your life for you.  You won’t have to worry about being smart anymore.”

What the fuck?  What is happening?  Your mind is spiralling into panic.  You are smart.  You are in the top level of your classes.  You are getting all As.  You tutor people!  You - “I flex!”

“Looks like he’s trying to fight it,” the second nerd observes, pushing his glasses up on his nose.  “Man, his muscles are getting big … how long have you been doing this?”

“The whole semester,” he says.  He looks at you square in the eyes.  “Mostly while he was sleeping.  I doubt he even remembers when he started going to the gym.  Work’s really paid off, though, hasn’t it.  Big muscles.”  He walks up to you.  He touches a finger to your forehead, presses.  “Little, tiny brain.”  He laughs.  “You’re right.  He is trying to fight it.  Let’s just fix that while his add/drops are processing.”  He turns back to you.  “Bet you’re sorry you ever fucked with me, dumbbell.”

Don’t look at him in the eyes.  Don’t look at him in the eyes.  Don’t listen to his words.  Don’t let him -

“Bet you’re sorry you ever called me dumbbell, dumbbell.”

Don’t - no -

His smirk.  His brief, short laugh.  His gray, gray eyes.

“Go to sleep, dumbbell.”

The tail of the slippery rope, vanishing into the darkness. 

Power (Part Two)

That’s me in the mirror.  This is what I looked like on the day I realized that I had power.  Power and strength.  Caught the other guy lookin too.  Now he can’t look away.  Just like you can’t look away.  It wasn’t until this moment, looking up from my last rep of skullcrushers, after two years of hard fuckin training, that I realized.  I was the guy that the other guys in the gym looked at.  Couldn’t look away from.  They wanted to see me flex, and I wanted to flex.  Call it a win-win.

And I can make you do anything I want, because I can see you looking.  And it gives you maybe a thrill to realize that I’m realizing.  I can see you realizing, too, we’re both in the same space, realizing, and I’m turning around to look at you and I’m grinning to beat the devil and your quickening sense of alarm is growing like a tsunami inside of you.  But there’s something riding that wave, too, and it’s twins - it’s jealousy, and it’s excitement.  You know you can’t stop looking at me because you haven’t yet.  You want to be me, but you’ll settle for being near me.  Maybe I’ll rub off on you, you think.  Maybe I can rub one off in front of you.  Hah!

And this is what you want, this is what you crave.  You crave power.  Power and strength.  You crave it for yourself, but you’ll settle for being near it.  And you’re in a sort of awe right now, locked as we are in this moment, this moment of realization.  And you know, deep inside yourself, that all I have to do is flex for you, flex for me, right there, in front of everyone at the gym, and you know that you’ll be coming home with me.  You’ll be my new roommate, except for you’ll be more than that.  You’ll be my gym buddy, you’ll be my fuck buddy.  You’ll massage my fuckin muscles and you’ll say things like Jesus fuckin Christ, look how fucking BIG your arms are … did you gain another inch on those fuckin guns bro?  And I’ll allow it, because I won’t need to say anything, you’ll just do it because you can’t keep it inside.  And I’ll fuck you for a long time, I’ll be easing myself into you, I’ll be harder than I ever have been before, knowing that you are feeling my power.  My power, my strength.  You feel it as a white-hot iron rod in the middle of your self.  And when you cry out for more, I will acquiesce to you, I will give you more, I will show you more of my power, my strength.  I will fuck you until you are exhausted, and collapse on the bed.  And then I will roll you over and flex in front of your eyes.  I will flex my biceps, pose with my triceps, I will crunch my abs and watch your eyes slackening, confused, satisfied, hypnotized. 

Your devotion is clear to me, the moment you see my arms raising, my gaze driving into your eyes.  The barest hesitation of breath before I lift … and flex


At some point, it stops being admiration and turns into something else.  You know how you scroll through Tumblr every day, an endless scrolling of dudes, dudes with muscle, dudes at the gym, ripped dudes, shredded dudes, dudes in Nikes, dudes flexing, dudes.  And sometimes one catches your interest, like a fish on a hook, and you pause to really look at it.  You admire the dude, you examine his form, the gear he’s wearing - or not wearing - the cobblestones of his defined abdominals, the swell and push of his fucking huge biceps … but at some point, it turns into something else.  You realize you forget how long it’s been since you started ‘mirin that dude.  You’ve been staring at him for a long time, and dude, he’s staring back.

And his eyes are boring into you.  You have a hard time looking away, your thumb frozen over the screen.  You cannot scroll.  He knows that.  He is poised at the beginning of a smirk.  He could relax his pose at any time, but he won’t.  He has you trapped, and you can almost hear him, the coarse grain of his voice amused at your predicament.  You ‘mirin, bro?

Yeah, fuck yeah I’m ‘mirin.  And he called you bro.  That means you’re close to him, because that’s what ‘bro’ means, right? 

Why don’t you come over and touch it?  I can see you wanna.  It’s cool, bro.

You know, somewhere inside of you, that it’s all a fantasy.  The dude isn’t actually speaking to you, but you can imagine that he is.  You can hear him in your head, but you know that you’ve made the voice up yourself.  How you imagine he sounds.  Strong, confident.  A little playful.  Yeah, fuck yeah, I wanna touch it.

And you’re in the locker room with him, the muscle dude, the muscle bro, and he’s just worked out, back and bis, and he’s just showered, and he’s almost grinning at you, flexing, teasing.  C’mon bro.  Feel that flex.

That is why you work out, right?  To show off your muscles.  You want them to be seen.  You want to flex them.  You would laugh, but the chuckle would come out as an idiot sound.  It’s really hard to think of anything else right now.  Just muscle.  Just gains.  Just ‘mirin. 

Yeah, you wanna be like me, don’t you bro.  You wanna be just like your big bro.  C’mon, really press down hard on it.  Fuck, it’s as hard as a fuckin’ baseball. 

When you wake up, something about the world has changed.  It’s hard to put a finger on it, really.  You got this big, dumb grin on your face and you don’t know how it got there and you don’t know how to get it off.  You know how to get off, though, and you do that, and you do it with both hands, because you have to now.

Fuck yeah bro.  Jerk that fuckstick for me.

“Fuck yeah,” you said out loud, and you let that idiot sound, that moron laugh, burst out of you, that hur hur hur hur and you cum, you cum fucking everywhere, ropes of it, splattering all over your face and cobblestone abs and sheets and pillows. 

Fuck yeah bro.  Come meet me at the gym now.  You got work to do.

“Got fuckin work to do,” you say out loud in the stillness of your bedroom.  “Back and bis bro!”  And it sounds so weird, coming out of your mouth, but it feels so good, and you say it again, “Back and bis bro!”  And shit, there it is, there it is again, that idiot sound, that moron sound, that dumb-as-fuck scraping the bottom of the barrel laugh, that hur hur hur hur.

And later, after you get up and power through your shake and your pre-workout supp, after you shower and get your gear on, you catch yourself, like you do sometimes scrolling through Tumblr, endlessly scrolling, all those bros with muscle, ripped bros, shredded bros, and you flex at your own reflection, you flex helplessly, and you say to your own reflection…

“You ‘mirin, bro?”

A Year Every Minute Pt. 63

A story centered around the lives of Gaster, Sans, and Papyrus from beginning to end. Themes will be both happy and tragic.

With Flowey mostly out of the picture Sans started to return to a semi-normal life. There were still the occasional fights with the angry little plant when he must have felt compelled to try and beat him again, but the more time passed they became fewer and far between. Resets still happened once in awhile but Sans wasn’t sure why or how; whenever he checked on Asgore everything seemed to be alright. As long as he wasn’t trying to get the souls Sans didn’t care what Flowey was up to.

He was making regular trips to the locked door where the ruins began and talking to the woman on the other side. Sometimes they spent the day making jokes, other times talking about their daily habits. The woman apparently loved going hunting for bugs and baking pies; Sans on the other hand did little but talk about his brother and how great he was. Neither of them knew the name of who they were talking to, but that didn’t seem to matter.

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I just stayed up FAR TOO LATE finishing undertale in a pacifist run and I have to say…

This is it. This is game of the year. In fact, this is quite possibly the best game I have ever played. 

Undertale is an incredible synthesis of the best elements of NES/SNES era JRPGs. Aesthetically it is probably closest to Earthbound (and beyond). This is very much a homage to that gaming era. But despite that, the game does not just resort to just dropping overt references to other games! The homaging is subtle and allows you to stay immersed in the game while also remaining completely original! But it goes well beyond that! 

This is a game where no one has to die. You can play all the way to the very end without killing a soul. There is a great “Action” mechanic that is tailored to every encounter that allows you to socially defeat your enemies, and a “Mercy” mechanic that allows you to spare enemies you have passively defeated. And if that was all - if that was what this game brought to the table - that probably would have been enough to get me to really like this game. But it goes WELL beyond that!! 

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Tough Mudder

Title: Tough Mudder [ff.net] [ao3]

Rating: K

Word Count: ~500

Summary: “You realize that this isn’t a competition, right?” The Krew runs a Tough Mudder. [Korra Appreciation Week Day 2: Competition]

Author Note: I’ve been challenging myself to come up with the ideas and write them in a frame of 30 min. It has been fun!



Korra double-checked the tight tie on her trail running shoes one more time before stretching out her hamstrings one more time. Her short hair was pulled back in a mini-ponytail, and the rest of her hair was pulled back with an elastic hairband. Today was going to be messy. By the time the race was done, she would be covered in mud and sweat. It would be worth it in the end to claim her t-shirt, headband, and victory beer.

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