Five Twenty Ten

Green Day, more commonly known in the zones as Nuclear Family, consists of three different ‘joys:

Saint Jimmy: The leader of Nuclear Family, Jimmy may be the only one in the crew to own a raygun, but he much prefers his trusty switchblade. In his younger years, it was told from crew to crew to never do anything to displease him, lest he decides you’re not worth his time and stab you. Now he’s mellowed out, but the threat still stands; Jimmy’s a man of honor, and a vigilante to boot, and he won’t let anything stand in his way.

Love Slave: Born in the zones and the wild card in the Nuclear Family, Slave is more acoustic than the other two - no rayguns, blades or bombs for him, the only thing he needs is his barbed-wire lined baseball bat called The Grouch. He spends most of his time in Hyper Thrust, so much so that Jimmy and Jesus have to often come down and have “extraction missions” to bring him back to their base. Slave’s practical and a bit polka dotty, but he’s good to have in a clap.

Jesus of Suburbia: Jesus is said to have grown up with Saint Jimmy in the Outskirts, coming with him when they ran from the City. Jesus is Jimmy’s right-hand man, closer to him than even Love Slave. Whenever Jimmy opts to wield the switchblade over the raygun, Jesus uses it for him, fighting alongside his best friend. He often times wears the “drunk bunny” head in the place of his mask, but just as often it gets stuck (he’ll sit there for five, ten, twenty minutes before Jimmy and Slave realize he needs help, again). Outside of a fight, he’s clumsy and dorky, but don’t underestimate him - he’ll just as quickly beat you down, even faster than both Saint Jimmy and Love Slave.

He loves to talk, but not all the time. He tells me that talking doesn’t mean anything unless it’s worth ruining perfect silence. Most people, he says, waste their breath on everything that means nothing. But he likes when I talk. About the people in the coffee shop, and old cities I wish I’d been to, and which constellations I like best. About anything, really. We talk until the sun rises, and then we sleep all day. And we sing loudly when our favorite songs come on the radio, and we let our hands drift out the window like soaring birds, and we live. God, we live. Like addicts, and nomads, and kids with wicked minds and screaming hearts. Half the time we don’t know what day it is, but we don’t care. Because his bed feels the same on Monday and Thursday and Saturday, too. And we eat when our stomachs grow too loud, and we press close when we can’t pay the electricity bill, and we learn that sometimes what is perfect and what is enough live oceans away from each other.
     But when enough becomes too little and we don’t even have our two pennies to rub together, he performs on the street with an upturned top hat at his feet. Old, bluesy songs about wild girls and townie boys. And even though his voice is only ok, with cracks in all the important parts, people see his long hair and his big smile, and they stop to watch with enormous eyes. Look, they point: a boy who never learned how to worry playing at maturity, his face bent over a guitar, long fingers threading the strings. They stand on the streets, a cigarette break from their white collar routine, and see in him some other life. Some different path. They see themselves, a little happier, a little louder, a little more carefree. The kind ones wish him well as dollar bills float from their hands. Fives and tens and twenties from those who would do everything differently if they had another shot. One man with a fading ring tan above his left knuckle gives him a crisp hundred dollar bill, his face lost in thoughts of what might have been. Transparent. He’s like that with people: prying them open without even trying. He sees through them, and you, and even me. Especially me. 
      We lay in bed that night surrounded by paper that will only pay a fraction of our bills, but we laugh like we’ve won the goddamn lottery. Laugh so hard we can barely breath. I laugh until I cry, and he holds me in his hands and tells me that when he has the money, he’ll buy me a ring and make this whole shindig official. My voice raw with tears, I tell him he better.
     And he has the warmest hands with callouses on all the fingertips, which I don’t think anyone else knows. Not like I know. Not like they feel them against their palm and cheek and thigh in the middle of the night. I like that I hold a million tiny fragments of him that no one else has even touched. Like he calls his sister twice a week to make sure she’s not using again, and he only watches scary movies because they make my blood flow faster, and he’s an all consuming, thousand-watt, stars in his eyes kind of person. The kind people want to be around without ever knowing why. The kind who tells you he loves you and really means it.
     He only says it sometimes. When it’s just us two and the perfect silence is worth being broken. And I trace road maps across the skin of his back, and I wonder. I wonder what I did to deserve all this. The affection, and the easy smiles, and the list of kid names we like tucked away in his desk drawer. Shuffled between coins and nicotine gum. And then his breath is heavy in my hair. I never fall asleep before him because I don’t know how to stop thinking. I wonder and I wonder and I wonder how I ever thought I’d be better off on my own. And he pulls me closer. Whispers my name like a promise. All the world stands still for just this moment. And I wonder how a person- one single, broken person- can come along and make so much sense.
—  I hope you find this kind of love, and I hope you never let it go.

congratulations to shinee on finishing up their fifth japanese arena tour, shinee world 2017, today! with twenty five concerts in ten cities the tour is speculated to have brought in 340-345k attendees, making it their most attended arena tour so far. (this is when not taking in account the 534k attendees that shinee world 2016 accumulated with the addition of their dome concert numbers.) here’s to more successful concerts in japan in the future, and the potential of either more dome concerts or a dome tour within the next year!

It’s a date


This is my @carryonsecretsanta gift for @eroticgropefest Also, inspired by the @carryon-countdown prompt: Date Night. Hope you like this, Katie! It’s been so fun being your SS  ♡ ♡


Five times Baz has to bite his lips in order to refrain himself and one time he doesn’t.


Five times Simon doesn’t mean it and one time he does.

Word count: ~2k

Rating: T

Tags: Best Friends, Friends to Lovers, Fluff, Pining, 5 +1 Things

Also on AO3

The first time he does it, it’s completely unconscious.

It’s summer and they’ve been moving furniture from the Pitch Mansion to Baz’s new apartment with Fiona. Snow is in a tank top, all covered in sweat and his cheeks flushed red from exhaustion.

Baz hands him a bottle of water, his fingers resting a moment longer than necessary on Simon’s skin, and the world is suddenly too hot and his pants too tight.

Baz blames the tank top.

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Quick Fic inspired by the golf overrun 😂


She shifts against him, legs tangled with his as they lay beneath the soft, leopard print blanket that Deeks inexplicably had conveniently folded on the back of his couch. It feels like home, she thinks - the warmth between their bodies, the way her head fits tucked neatly under his chin, the way his heart beats steady as a drum beneath her palm. She splays her fingers, letting each of them take in the smoothness of his chest, his toned muscles strong and masculine, yet quivering beneath her touch.

(Wait, when had her hand snaked its way under the fabric of his shirt?

…Not important. She likes it there and he’s not complaining.)

He says her name again, a low rumble that sifts through her hair just as easily as his fingers. “Kens…”

She yawns; God, it feels so good, her body against his like this, just the two of them. In that moment, there’s no one else in the world. Phones off and in the other room, they’re entirely unplugged.

Except for the tv. And it seems that’s what’s causing Deeks’ confusion. “Do we like golf?”

It’s a good question, Kensi thinks - after all, the movie they’d been watching (well, the movie they’d mostly missed because their mouths kept finding each other, stolen kisses on a lazy Sunday afternoon. “I … I’ve never really thought about it?” She murmurs, furrowing her brow.

“Because we’re watching golf, and I don’t know how long we’ve been watching golf,” he replies. Kensi’s sleepy mind can’t find an answer in the comfortable fog she’s lost within before her fiancé continues. “And have you ever noticed how many sports are really just grown men playing with balls?”

It’s such a Deeks question that Kensi can’t help but snort. “You grown men do like playing with your balls, don’t you?” She smirks.

Deeks grins. “Touché, Kensalina. Touché.”

It’s another five, ten, twenty minutes, hell maybe it’s an hour before the question resurfaces, this time from Kensi’s lips. “So…do we actually like golf?”

“I really don’t think so…”

Kensi hums, as if it makes the most sense in the world. “So why are we watching it?”

Pure Deeks. “Because the remote is all the way over there,” he says, pointing arbitrarily. “And you’re trapping me with your body.”

She can hear the grin in his words and she stops herself just before whispering that there’s a part of him she’d like to trap somewhere. It’s clever and very much worth a touché, but it would also make him far too cocky.

Instead, she says nothing just yet. Maybe he’s not willing to move, but she is. A devilish sparkle in her eyes, she shifts atop him, rising to straddle him. The look in his eyes as she meets his gaze is momentarily surprised, but it’s quickly overtaken by desire, desire that quickly pools in the part of him between her toned thighs.

She smirks down at him, touching first her forehead to his, then bumping his nose with hers. “Just because the remote is all the way over there doesn’t mean we have to watch golf…”

God, he loves the way her mind works as she covers his mouth with hers, a slow, seductive kiss that steadily stokes the fire, heating him from the inside out as her hands begin to roam.

And his are not motionless; with a quick motion, he’s got her out of her shirt (well, his, really), naked from the waist up. “God, I love you,” he murmurs against her lips as they reclaim his.

It’s not long before nothing separates them; the blanket covers them loosely as her hips grind with his; his hands gather her hair, skimming through, tousling it as she kisses him, shifting her core just exactly where it needs to be, but not quite there yet. Deeks moans softly, the heat of her against him making him throb, desperate to slip inside of her.

And then she lifts her hips, hovering but for a moment before slowly sliding him home, where she needs him most. “I think you just scored a hole-in-one,” she teases, shivering as he reaches the deepest parts of her.

He can barely laugh; God, it’s so terrible yet so clever at the same time. “Touché, baby. Touché.”

It Was that Laugh

This was absolutely not planned, but I had this idea and @fullmetalflame dared me to write it and I DID.

I surely hope you’re all in for some RoyEd fluff because that’s all you’re going to get from this.

“Are, like - are you serious?”

 Edward stared at the scene unfolding before him, his eyes blinking slowly as realisation/disbelief hit him like a high-five in the face with a chair, and brought his hands to his head to try and massage the headache away - it wasn’t there yet, but he could feel it forming. 

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Yet more of the Sheith soulmates AU

Part 1

Part 2

Voltron fic-in-progress, likely T-rating when all is said and done, and Sheith without monkeying with their ages. Concrit and feedback and title inspirations are welcome.


When the press conference happened, Keith watched from Shiro’s couch. He leaned forward intently, waiting for the spokesperson to wade through all the things that the Garrison residents would know but that the general population needed for context. Then the spokesperson got to the heart of the matter.

“It is with the deepest sadness and regret that we must share that the Kerberos mission was a failure. The ship appears to have crashed on the moon. We presume at this point that it was due to pilot error, some mistake by Captain Shirogane—”

“WHAT?” Keith shouted in disbelief.

“—and all crew members are missing, presumed dead.”

“YOU LIARS!” He threw the remote hard enough to leave a dent in the wall next to the viewscreen before charging out of Shiro’s apartment.

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tonight i felt like the only person in the entire world
i heard cars drive down my street
and at one point i heard my brother go to the bathroom
but i felt completely alone
so i just sat
and i felt my fingers ache because i hadn’t moved them for five or ten or twenty minutes

i cried
sobs escaping from my stomach up through my mouth and vanishing into the air
nothing can ever compare to what i felt
nothing can compare to the pain i felt in in my jaw after i screamed
every ounce of life i had into my pillow
in hopes to kill all that was left of me
and everything i had left behind

it’s okay now
i’m still alive

neon-ryan-moved  asked:

could you write a lil connor/evan/jared drabble based on all of our headcanons about connor's hoodies please? i love our hcs so much omg



Connor was confused. He could have sworn he hung up his new black hoodie in his closet a few days ago. But as it turned out, he didn’t? It wasn’t in his closet? Or his dresser? It was nowhere to be found. Connor knew he had about five sweaters. But he could only find a simple grey one.

“Mom!” Connor yelled out his door. “Have you seen my hoodies?” Connor patiently awaited an answer. “Honey you told me you were out last week! I bought you some more yesterday! They are in a bag in your closet!” Cynthia answered. Connor shook his head, he couldn’t be out of hoodies, he knew he had some.

Grabbing the bag Connor pulled out four hoodies, two black, two grey. He hung them up, slung on a black hoodie and headed out the door. He was going over to Evan’s. He, Jared and Evan all made plans to hang out there for the day and he was not about to pass up a day with his boyfriends. 

Making his way to Evan’s house, he just let himself in, much like he would do at Jared’s. Connor made his way into the living room and saw his boyfriend on the couch, in one of Connor’s very own sweaters. “Is that my hoodie?” Connor questioned his boyfriend. Evan nodded as he beckoned Connor to sit with him.

Connor couldn’t believe it, one his missing sweaters were right here in Evan’s house, he could cross one hoodie off of the missing list. “Yeah my mom just bought me a bunch of new one’s cause I can’t find any,” Connor laughed and shook his head. Evan seemed to just let out an uncomfortable laugh as Jared made his way into the house, also wearing one of Connor’s sweaters. “Hey is that my hoodie?” Connor questioned his other boyfriend. Jared simply nodded and took a seat beside Evan, so that was two hoodies he owned stolen by his boyfriends.

“Do you guys happen to know where my other hoodies are?” Connor asked as he stretched out, making himself at home in Evan’s house. Unknown to Connor, both Evan and Jared an almost guilty look. Evan cleared his throat and Connor sat up with a questioning look. “I-um may ha-have five hoodies, but it’s only because I love you!” Evan managed out. Connor was astounded, he had five hoodies? Here in Evan’s house? Five?

“Pffftt! Five wow Evan, I must love Connor waaay more,” Jared laughed. “I have thirteen plus this one,” Jared answered. Connor choked on his own spit, Jared had thirteen of his fucking hoodies? Thirteen?! Five…five..ten…twenty four…Did he have over thrity hoodies he didn’t know existed?! “Th-thirteen hoodies?” Connor gaped. Jared nodded as he dug his hands into the pocket of CONNOR’s hoodie. Connor just couldn’t believe he had over thirty hoodies in existence, he never knew he owned so many hoodies.

“Are you um mad?” Evan questioned. “I oo-only stole you-your hoodies because my bi-binder hurts my chest sometimes…and…” Connor cut Evan off quickly and the boy seemed to quiet fast. “I’m not angry, I’m just honestly shocked,” Connor laughed. Jared just shook his head, he was not planning on giving his thirteen hoodies back any time soon. Connor was still in shock, as Evan brought out a couple of hoodies that Connor owned. Hoodies…hoodies galore…he had so many hoodies and he hadn’t even realized. Today had been odd and things were probably going to get even weirder. 


anonymous asked:


LET’S GO I’ve had this one for a while and I talked to @lesmizteries about it yesterday while we talked about AUs we had but I’ve never posted it! so! 

  • So
  • If you know me, follow me, have scrolled through my blog for ten seconds you know
  • I
  • love
  • Spot Conlon
  • so much
  • but I also enjoy giving him (progressively more) tragic backstories in every au involving him
  • For example, the Kayla AU, which is my go to background/modern setting for any Spot related thing
    • i can’t find it to link it but it was sad anyway
  • this one is no exception to the “let’s hurt spot to see how it affects his character” rule i seem to have adopted
  • so let’s go!
  • read more ‘cause I already know this is gonna be long

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My hero, that’s who I chase. Now, when I was fifteen years old, I had a very important person in my life come to me and say “Who’s your hero?” And I said, “I don’t know, I gotta think about that. Give me a couple of weeks.” I come back two weeks later, this person comes up and says “Who’s your hero?”. I said “I thought about it, and you know who it is?” I said “It’s me in ten years”. So I turn twenty-five. Ten years later, that same person comes to me and goes “So are you a hero?” And I was like “Not even close! No, no, no.” They said, “Why?” I said, “Because my hero is me at thirty-five.” So you see, every day, every week, every month, and every year of my life, my hero’s always ten years away.

A guide to being a vocal citizen

For people wondering how to take action post-election of a racist demagogue (pulled from Twitter and cleaned up):

Make a spreadsheet or a file for your representatives with names, addresses to their offices, phone numbers, and contact forms. Put everyone there. Make a note in your calendar app to check in on issues once a month.

Pay attention to news. If you get angry, upset, or worried, seek support from friends but ALSO shoot these reps an email, too. Be courteous but firm and blunt. It’s a numbers game. Often we remain invisible because we don’t go to events and rallies and can’t be physically present. But we can attach our names to emails, we can write letters, we can be vocal. We don’t have to be invisible.

You can do this with your national reps, state reps, and local reps. If someone reps you anywhere, note them. Open a line and revisit it. It’s hard work and slow. One email at a time. One letter at a time. One call at a time. Emails are easy these days, so splurge every few months on a stamp and send a letter if you can. Put your humanity in front of these people. Flout it. Some won’t care, but others will. Change ONE mind and results can cascade.

Rural areas are bubbles full of bigotry and now it’s newly revealed. But we white people who live here have the clout and power! We can speak up when our reps say terrible things, and do terrible things, and vote terrible ways. We can go “I am disappointed in you.” It’s work, but as we’ve seen the last six months, it’s time for us to do that work. If someone goes “who are your reps” you gotta know. If you don’t know and you’re mad about this election, it’s time to create that file and keep it with you and use it.

The time for social media rants only is over. Or, do those, but maybe pull those threads out into a paragraph and send them to your reps. And don’t ONLY email or contact when things go badly. Also reach out when things go right. Even if they voted AGAINST something. Treat them like you would want to be treated if you were wrong or mistaken. But we’ve gotta reach out and let them know we’re here.

Anyway, I know this is hard work. If you need help collecting your reps, give me a ping via DM and I’ll help you get started.