Peel-Apart

the princess stayed in the tower and read books about better girls, where their hands learned how to hold swords, where they rode in on horses. i gave her books as often as i could. she devoured them.

her princes saw her and pretended to be scared off by dragons. got too lost in the thicket. didn’t want to handle it.

“tell me what it’s like, out there,” she whispers to me for the millionth time. i take her from The Throne into her bed, tucking her in and making sure her feet are covered. 

“boring without you” i say as always, “but i did bring back a great story.”

i tell her about how the stars change beyond the equator. how there are places it looks like there are twin suns. how the desert crawls into you but so does snow. i talk about the taste of fruit and promise to bring her back some. she falls asleep while i murmur about rivers, and then in the morning i bring her from bed to Throne, even though she can do it on her own. sometimes she likes help, is all, and i’m happy to give it. 

she doesn’t want help getting dressed. the men come for me, blindfold masters i have almost befriended. the path we take away from her is always different, carefully manufactured so i don’t know exactly where she’s located. after all, a lady might get ideas about things.

they let me go in the queen’s room. i report findings, ask for fruit in the next week’s supplies, am told not to spoil the princess, that she must be kind and waifish and wanting when the prince comes. i spend an hour suggesting that fruit might turn the blood sweeter and am allowed six oranges.

in the next week, she marvels over them. turns them in her calloused hands. smells them. holds them until she can’t control her curiosity, devours them. i bring her books about rivers. i bring her books about deserts. 

“when is our birthday?” she asks me tonight. i’m knitting her a scarf for it.

“soon,” i tell her, “i’ll come by.”

she rolls onto one side, looks up at me in the dimming light. “I’m glad they chose you to be mine,” she says, and i drop a stitch. my heart sings against the inside of my wrists. i blow out a candle so she can’t see the blush and i can’t see her lips. i know what she means, i say. i know what she means.

it’s twenty-three for both of us. i bring her a cake we both eat, her on her throne and me on the floor. i am in the middle of laughing when she falls silent in the still night. “nobody else ever comes for me,” she whispers. i say nothing.

we have more cake, we go to sleep. i don’t know if she knows i’m awake, but i hear her crying.

the men come, the men take me. the one that smells like cedar always laughs at my jokes. the queen half-hates me because i remind her of “that nasty thing” they forced on their daughter. 

“the left wheel needs oil,” i mention, “she’s having trouble turning again.”

the queen’s nose goes up. she never reacts when i mention her daughter’s wheelchair by name - doesn’t find it funny we call it a throne, thinks it’s well enough to leave alone.

“well, she’ll have a prince in this next month coming for her,” says the queen, “i’ve arranged it all,” says the queen, “he’s … had the situation explained to him first this time. i thought it would be best,” says the queen. “we’re paying him…. quite a lot for his effort,” says the queen.

situation. she means that her daughter can’t walk very far. she means the situation of towers. i excuse myself. i find my girl books about turning down marriage. i’m not sure why. it’s all she’s ever wanted.

they blindfold me and take me. cedar laughs at my jokes. the sawdust one is here this time, even he chuckles at a few. we ride horses through places i’ll never see clearly. 

“so according to the queen this is the last time i’m needed, huh?” i ask them as they walk me blindly up too many stairs for my girl to make it down, “i’m sorry i never made your acquaintance.”

cedar laughs. he takes off my blindfold and for a second, lets me see his face. “it’s been an honor,” he says, shaking my hand, “you’ve been a perfect lady.”

i spend the day with my princess pretending i am not peeling apart from my bones. i just want her to be happy. to get to come home. 

it’s late. “do you think in a past life i was a mermaid?” she asks.

“almost definitely,” i tell her. 

it’s quiet for a while after. “what if,” she whispers, “i don’t want to leave?”

i sit up and look at her from across the room. 

“it’s just,” she says, “i have you here and all the books i need and nobody makes me walk too long and i don’t feel like… like i’m wrong here.”

i want to tell her she’s never been wrong. that she’s always fit into my heart like a puzzle piece. that, more importantly, the leadership i see in her glows like a fire - that, no matter her body, she’s always been kind and gentle and smart and sweet. a princess that could bring a nation to her feet and do so lovingly.

“it will be okay,” i say, “there’s more fruit to discover.”

she doesn’t say anything. i think i’ve ruined something by accident, but i don’t know what. i don’t really sleep. i don’t say anything when the men come take me.

the world outside without her is boring. no mermaids. i put my hand in a river once a day, just thinking about her. 

two weeks later i am awoken by my name, and a voice i recognize perfectly. cedar stands above me in the darkness. “i know two things in this world,” he says to me, “and one of them is about love.”

this time we make the trip without blindfolds. i see the squalor they keep her in. i see the waste surrounding her castle, the terrible place she’s in. rage fuels my footsteps even when they start flagging. 

the prince is already there. he has dropped her twice, cedar tells me. i am already running up the stairs even though i can barely breathe. i hear her crying through the door and i don’t need to get ready - the fire that starts in me burns so brightly.

i roar inside. turn dragon and beat back prince with girl made rage. the bruises on her body turn me into giant snake. i eat the man alive, or at least i chase him from the place, never to be seen again. later i will hear a rumor about a demon that stole the princess from him.

she cries into my arms. i take her down every single stair. i hear her murmur her thanks into my hair and then i kiss her, because i can’t handle it, because i have places to show her and she has my heart to lead.

my house isn’t much but it’s near a river. she likes putting her hands into it. i take her places when she is able, and otherwise i bring the places back. we read books together. cedar no longer works for the queen, but he’d rather live with the man of sawdust making tiny wooden figurines.

i lie in bed next to her, stroking her soft hair. “do you think i was a centaur in a past life?” she asks.

“definitely,” i tell her, and kiss her, gently. she holds my face and pulls herself closer to me.

“will i be a good queen? i mean, in this life?”

“i’m certain of it,” i reply. i can hear the truth ring in it. the bone-deep certainty.

she’s quiet for a moment. “you saved me,” she whispers, “and usually we’d end up married. but…”

i don’t know how to answer that. i feel ice down my spine suddenly.

“i’m not demanding, is all,” her voice shakes, “i’m asking this time. for you to choose me. for me to be yours, i mean. and for you to be mine. permanently.”

the next birthday we celebrate, we are both queens.

like real people do | jungkook

summary: the feelings for your friends with benefits are changing. months pass, and you feel your gut telling you that you want more. you’re just not sure if he feels the same. 

piece 1, piece 2, piece 3

college student!reader, friends with benefits!jungkook

based off hozier’s song ‘like real people do’

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Ok ok so I feel like its more commonly assumed that Phichit was probably pining for Yuuri for a while first before he had to be blatantly obvious that he had a big ole crush on Yuuri, but what if it was the other way around? Imagine if Phichit was the first person Yuuri found that he was really attracted to, and when he realized that, it hit him like a ton of bricks. 

He would try to play it cool and act normal, but start freaking out more than usual. Phichit is a naturally touchy person, even in the most platonic ways, but now every time he’s touched Yuuri jumps like he’s received an electric shock. When they’d have movie nights, they used to share a blanket and when Phichit offers, Yuuri scoots his ass as far away as he can on the couch. 

And Phichit’s like “What the hell man you’ve been acting weird all week…Yuuri did I do something wrong?”

“Nonono it’s not you I promise.”

“Well then what is it? And don’t say nothing because I can tell when something is bugging you.”

Yuuri clutches his elbows and doesn’t meet Phichit’s eyes.

“Yuuuuri~”

“Nnnnnn”

“Yuuri, don’t make me make you tell me,” he says with a devilish smirk. Phichit crawls towards Yuuri and pounces on him, tickling his sides. They crash to the ground with Yuuri laughing and gasping for air. 

They end up with Phichit sitting on top of Yuuri and pinning him to the floor. He bends down to whisper in Yuuri’s ear. “I’ll stop when you tell mee~.” Before he can lean back, Yuuri turns his head and captures Phichit’s lips in a quick kiss. 

Yuuri slaps a hand over his mouth as his face reddens. “I-I’m so sorry I didn’t mean-” He covers his entire face with both arms.

He feels Phichit’s fingers gently trying to peel his arms apart. “Yuuri,” he says softly, “Yuuri please come out..” He mumbles out a no, that he’s staying like this for forever, before feeling the soft press of lips to the skin of his forearm.

He peeks through the crack of his arms to find the worried gaze of Phichit above him, a little crease forming between his eyebrows. “Is this why you were acting odd? You… like me?” Yuuri manages a little nod. 

“Well, that kiss was a little sloppy. If you come out of there, we can try again, if you want.”

Yuuri slowly lets his arms fall to the side and pushes himself up on his elbows so his nose is a few inches from Phichit’s. “You… aren’t mad?”

Phichit lets out a breathy chuckle. “Oh Yuuri, why would I be mad? Especially when you look so cute like this?”

Yuuri felt his cheeks flush again, and leaned forward to kiss Phichit once more.

002: She is of Crimson Petals

pairing: taehyung x reader

genre: angst, gore / vampire, hanahaki au

warnings: mentions of blood, death, and murder

word count: 1,559

description: The Hanahaki Disease is an illness where the patient throws up and coughs of flower petals when they suffer from one-sided love. + “It reminded me of you.”

request: hanahaki au from taehyung’s pov 


Taehyung had seen enough red in his lifetime to fill the Mississippi, the bloody current carrying the endless stream of bodies down the river of his past. They drifted in mangled pieces of splintered limbs and tattered flesh, the water unable to submerge the vast quantity of his indiscretions. His years of ripping and raging proved to be too much for the great river, even in the metaphorical confinements of his head it seemed. They littered the washed up crevices of his mind, tainting the cerulean memories that reminded him of the few good moments of his last two-hundred and eighty-seven years.

Of course, Taehyung had never been one for remorse in these types of situations. Once he was turned, his conscious took a backseat, so much so that he couldn’t even remember the disposition he’d wielded as a human. He imagined that he must’ve been the same cold-hearted, apathetic, monster that he was today. To him body count was a number on a similar wavelength to temperature, throw-away information that was constantly changing, just in Taehyung’s case it was only moving in the upward direction. His killings may have slowed since that first century or so thanks to a certain friend, but relapses were inevitable. Every couple of decades he found himself once again being consumed by the insatiable lust of his instincts, the water dragging him down the river, his bodies in tow.

That was just who Taehyung was; a killer.

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There is a garden and we are still digging it up.

We peel apart the veins of flora just to get a closer look at what makes everything hurt so goddamn much. We press our fingers down sharp on every bruise and call it love and art and poetry and the processing of emotion as it lends itself to healing.

And I say, it’s tender but isn’t it done? And you say, it’s tender but isn’t it over? And then we still write soliloquies about softening in each other’s mouths. I still ask you to put your hands on me without washing off any of the dirt.

And you say, baby. And you say, honey. And you say, don’t you love the way the trees sing when the cicadas are out? 

And I am in the garden. And all the trees are humming.
—  AFTER CRUELTY by Trista Mateer
Knuckles : Boxer!Ashton (Part 8)

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight

- Knuckles Playlist


Finals week is undoubtedly one of the worst parts about being a college student. Stress levels are at an all time high as young adults try to balance studying for exams and finishing papers they’ve procrastinated on with other responsibilities such as work, getting enough sleep, and keeping their social life decently afloat. It’s a time that’s scary, challenging, and nearly impossible to escape without seriously considering the option to drop out, but what’s just as bad–if not sometimes worse–is the week that follows finals week, when professors put their red pens down after scoring their last student’s test, and begin plugging in new percentages to overall grades.

To those who are already more than passing their classes or feel confident in their study techniques, this week might not faze them at all. They don’t have to endure the dreadful anticipation that comes with the process of logging into their accounts and waiting impatiently for page after page to load until they’re met with either good or bad news; they know that they’ll be fine, that their GPA won’t suffer. You were actually one of those students back when you were easily making straight As with your knack for school and impressive self discipline, but you know all too well that this last semester has gone quite differently than any before.

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anonymous asked:

Porny prompt kinda: Hannibal is NOT into daddykink but Will is. Hannibal will put up with anything for Will. Hannibal has to research daddykink. Hannibal is a missionary vanilla kinda guy, he doesnt even really like binding your wrists in silk, he has no idea what Wills getting out of this but it isnt a turn OFF and he doesnt have to do it ALL the time. I like Hannibal to be long-suffering. tired Potato murder-dad is my kink

Hi! It’s hard for me to imagine Hannibal not into it, at least in the whys and hows of Will’s sexuality, especially from a performance sake. ;) But I gave it my best shot and this is first time writing this particular kink! Hope you like. 

xXx

The first time it happened was a mistake.

Hannibal was fucking him. Pounding him into their bed rough and hard– just the way Will needed – the way he begged for. He might’ve been crying. He tasted salt, his face was hot and sticky. His dick was trapped underneath him, rubbing against the mattress and he knew he could come like this, without even being touched.

Hannibal breathed warm against the nape of his neck.

“Will,” he said. “Will.”

“Please– fuck– daddy.”

The word slipped out before he could stop it. Hannibal paused, for a fraction of a second. Will tensed but then Hannibal’s hands were sliding over his belly, his scar. He pulled Will close, anchoring him to his own body.

There was no space between them, just an impossible fullness that felt like breaking. Hannibal fucked Will so deep, stars burst behind his eyelids. Will sobbed, choking the word out again and again as he came, “daddy – daddy.”  

xXx

After they peeled apart, sweaty and out of breath, Will buried his head in the pillow. His skin felt two sizes too small for the shame he carried. Everything in him was straining and tight.

“You don’t have to talk about it if you’d prefer not to,” Hannibal said gently. “We could never talk about it at all if you wish.”

“That wouldn’t be very fair to you,” Will said, muffled into the pillow. Then, he laughed, because he actually cared about being fair to Hannibal, even after all the blood and bodies that had come between them.

There was nothing to be done about that now. The story spilled out of him. He had never told anyone.

“When I was 18, I came home from college to visit my dad. It was Christmas break but he wasn’t there. Turns out he got a call to fix a house boat up north. Big money.”

“I am sorry you were alone,” Hannibal said.

“It was okay. I was used to it. My dad, he sent one of his friends over with a six-pack. We just started drinking. I got really drunk. And Mike–that was his name– he fucked me. First time I had sex. Bent over the old leather couch in our living room.”

Will could still remember the couch creaking with their weight, the faded leather rubbing against his knees. Mike told him he was perfect.

Hannibal traced a foreign shape on Will’s back.

Will peeped up at him from the pillow.

“It was pretty awkward really. I was so shy. And embarrassed. But he was – nice to me. He made me feel good. He – even tucked me into bed after.”

“Did your relationship continue?”

“No,” Will said. “Never happened again. Guess he was embarrassed, too.”

“It’s not unusual to fantasize about this sort of encounter,” Hannibal said. “We can explore it sometime. If you like.”

“Would you like it?”

“I would like to please you.”

Will rolled his eyes. “That’s not what I was asking and you know it.”

“For years I imagined our relationship as platonic. I thought some boundaries would never be breached.”

“And then I asked to fuck you.”

“There is nothing I am not willing to try with you.”

Will buried his head back into the pillow. “I don’t know.”

Yet something in him had given a traitorous lurch at Hannibal’s offer. He knew he wouldn’t deny himself.

Not with Hannibal.

Not anymore.

xXx

Hannibal made them dinner. Will sat out on the balcony – watching the throngs of people below buying zucchinis and tomatoes across Eleftherias Square.

When Hannibal called him inside to set the table, Will had to rub his eyes. He blinked several times. The pot on the stove was filled with risotto. There was no meat in it.  

“A vegetarian meal. Never thought I would see the day.”

Hannibal smiled at him. Will was suddenly struck by how normal he looked, still dapper and refined in his linen suit but less – less intense than Will had ever seen before. Hannibal was comfortable, Will realized.

“There’s lamb broth in the risotto,” Hannibal said, raising one eyebrow. “Maria wouldn’t let me walk away without buying some.”

Will laughed at that. “Of course she wouldn’t.”

They sat down to eat together. The risotto was delicious, it practically melted on Will’s tongue. It didn’t help his distraction.  

He had felt better after telling Hannibal about what happened to him when he was 18. He didn’t realize how much it would help him and now he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Will pushed his food around aimlessly with the tips of his fork.

“The thing we talked about the other day,” Will said. He didn’t look up from his plate. “I’d like to try it. For real.”

“We should discuss your limits then,” Hannibal said, frustratingly nonchalant.

“You’ve researched this. Since we’ve talked.”

“I wanted to be prepared.”

“How Boy Scouts of you.”

“If you don’t behave, shall I punish you?”

Will blinked, then swallowed. “Yes.”

“Do you prefer ageplay?” Hannibal continued. “Or to be treated as you are?”

Will looked at Hannibal from under the dark sweep of his lashes, strangely nervous.

“Younger.”

“Shall we begin tonight?”

Will’s heart fluttered. “Yes. Please.”

“My beautiful boy,” Hannibal said. The praise made his voice soft, as smooth as a caress on Will’s cheek. “Finish eating. Then I will take you to bed.”

Will closed his eyes for a long moment. “Thank you.”

anonymous asked:

If smol!Shiro had a nightmare, who's room would he be most likely to go to? <3

Honestly, it depends on whose room little Shiro finds first.


Keith is already awake.

Maybe it’s the sound of his door swishing open that wakes him. Maybe it’s the patter of little feet, quick-step panicked in the hall outside. Maybe it’s the hitched breath from the room next door, caught in a terrified throat. Maybe it’s a noise cut off before Keith even fully hears it.

Whatever the reason, Keith’s already awake. He sleeps facing the door, so he doesn’t shift more than a blink, asleep one second and fully awake the next.

“Shiro?” Keith asks.

The little figure in the doorway sniffles. Shiro’s clutching the blanket from his room in his one hand, tiny fingers worrying the fabric close to his mouth and muffling his words so badly Keith almost can’t make them out.

“‘cn I sleep with you?” is what Shiro whispers. The panel of lights around Keith’s bunk just illuminate the wet tear tracks on Shiro’s little cheeks.

“Of course you can,” Keith says, softly, and rolls over to make room.


The barest whisper of “Lance?” from the doorway wakes Lance immediately. It takes a second for the shadow in his room to clarify through a sleep-fogged brain: Shiro, blanket gripped in his hand and to his mouth like it’s a lifeline. Easily three-quarters of the enormous blanket drag on the floor behind him. Like Shiro’s pajamas, it’s too big.

Shiro hiccups, stuttering. He’s shaking, little shadow quivering against the floor. “I - I’m - ”

“Come sit with me, chico,” Lance offers gently, and peels back his own blankets so Shiro can clamber in.


“Bad dream?” is what Hunk asks when Shiro finally wakes him, tugging again and again on his pajama sleeve until Hunk snores himself awake. Hunk’s a little harder to wake than the other Paladins, maybe: a fact he’s aware of, and something that’s never truly bothered him until just now.

Shiro nods, sniffling. He’s trembling, mostly visible in his shoulders and in the blanket clung tightly to his chest, covering his little mouth. Even so he’s absolutely dwarfed by all the fabric; how he got all the way from his room to here without tripping over the comforter is nothing short of a minor miracle.

“C’mhere,” Hunk says, quietly, and sits all the way up to pull Shiro right into his arms, blanket and all. “You can stay with me tonight.”


Consider, though: if this is a time where Shiro still doesn’t know where everything in the Castle is, a time when he’s awake and alone and too scared to try new doors. His little feet might carry him somewhere he’s already been, somewhere he does know, padding out into the hall with the blanket his only witness as it trails behind.

Pidge is sound asleep at her workstation, glasses askew, computer blinking coded text. Shiro doesn’t care about what the computer’s saying, or the project peeled apart on her desk. He just drags his massive blanket up into her lap and curls up with her. The blanket tumbles down over their feet, bulky and warm. Pidge mumbles something, maybe, and curls around him just as easily. She doesn’t wake. Shiro snuggles in, too, and slowly but surely calms down.

Coran finds them there the next morning.


All of this, of course, is assuming none of them hear Shiro and his nightmare first.

Love-Hate (Yugyeom)

request:  Hi can i please have a smut scenario for yugyeom of got7, where you both don’t like eachother and you visit their dorm room and things escalate (cuz I mean them thighs how can you not.) and the other members hear and tease afterwards…. I know this is wordy sorry 😅

genre: smut

author’s note: i suck at posting i know :(((( hopefully this yugyeom smut will be good for you pervy people ;) i hope you all like it

**nsfw under the cut! also, i got a bit carried away and made it super long??

warnings: dry humping, multiple orgasms, oral (female receiving), more stuff i’m leaving out

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Princess

Request: no

Warnings: smut, sugar daddy! Au

Summary: After leaving the grim of hunting, you deserve to be treated like a princess 

Tags: @sassysupernaturalsweetheart @lightthischickup @mishaohmygod @arian5a  

A/N: this was shit

Originally posted by stylesinthewild

 The motel was shit-complete, utter shit-but years on the road had molded you into gratitude for just having a mattress and a shower. Despite the used condom in the trash can and odd stain that was surely biological on the sheets, you felt clean. Metaphorically bathed and psychologically fucked, you were clean, free of the life that so few escaped. 

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it splinters softly. not a supernova, you could’ve handled an explosion. just this: shifting eyes, shifting hearts. you never pay attention in geography but you know about continental drift, and this is it. countries falling away, peeling apart.
 
when the silence weighs too heavy in your bones, you find him and search his eyes like a map that once led to you. you want to say ‘is this what pangaea felt like?’ but what comes out instead is ‘did you know the moon moves away from the earth at 3.78 centimeters per year?’ you’re not sure what you expect, maybe 'so who am i, earth or moon’, and you’d say 'earth, of course, i’m moving but i can’t ever break away from you’, but he looks at you like he’s forgotten the past ten years.
 
later, he apologizes, a string of platitudes that aren’t enough and never will be. your hands are still empty, your heart even emptier. as you walk away, you think about continental drift and how the countries still stand, even separated. you wonder if europe and africa were ever best friends and that’s what they felt, like ripping out their lungs from their ribcages and still trying to breathe.
—  victims of continental drift | a.c. | check out my chapbook unmythologize!
[Don’t Wanna Cry Series] Joshua ver. (G)

Prompt: Don’t wanna cry - Joshua 
Genre: Angst
Word count: 666
Warnings: None

A/N: Hi guys! So i got inspired by their MV to write a Don’t Wanna Cry Series. It’s gonna be just really short drabbles and it’s also gonna be emo but I hope you guys enjoy it! Here is Joshua’s drabble! Oh! And I will be putting in lyrics from the song at the end of the drabble! Also posted this on Seventeen’s 2nd anniversary, HAPPY ANNIVERSARY BOYS! 💕

-jihooned 😶

[DWC SERIES]

S.Coups | Jeonghan | Joshua | Jun | Hoshi | Wonwoo | Woozi | DK | Mingyu | The8 | Seungkwan | Vernon | Dino |

Originally posted by visual-17


“Why didn’t you say anything? That man was clearly in the wrong!”

“I’m sorry, (y/n), it’s just that I thought it was okay to let the matter go.”

“Oh my gosh this isn’t the first time, seriously you got to be more vocal and stand up for yourself.”

Joshua sighed, it was very unlike you to blow up.

“Joshua, if you’re going to be this quiet, people will take advantage of you. I care for you and I wouldn’t want that to happen.”

“Hey (y/n), I really didn’t mean to, you know how shy I can be.”

“You know what, if I can’t make you a better person, then find someone else who can. I’ve had enough of always having to stand up on your behalf.”

 And the only thing Joshua was left with was the bracelet he bought for your two year anniversary and the image of you walking away engraved in his mind.


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Like Canned Peaches- (NSFW Meihem)

“Brrrr! I get cold just lookin’ at ya!”

He’d waited hopefully for a response to his attempt at casual conversation, brows lifted as he stared intently at the irritated woman in the fluffy parka who was clearly doing her best not to pay any attention to him. He’d even offered his most winning smile, the kind with slightly less teeth, before she fully turned towards him and sternly pushed her glasses up with one gloved finger. Her adorable little lips had pursed as she lifted her nose in the air and finally, finally spoke directly to him.

“Then you should look somewhere else!”

That had been their first real interaction. Mei turned him down flat.

But then again, that had hardly been the first time Junkrat had been turned down flat by the object of his attentions. In fact, he was turned down flat most of the time, and knew the only solution was to keep trying. He’d made several attempts after that one, each just as unsuccessful as the last, and took increasingly desperate measures to make her look his way, maybe give him another irked scowl, or fling more of her mild insults at him. The accusations of being a horrible, no-good bully didn’t really bother him. He’d been called much worse than that over the years, with much more colorful junker vernacular. But he couldn’t help but notice that he was the only one in the entire group to earn that particular brand of ire. So, he figured that in his own strange way, he must have been special to her. And he liked that idea very much, being special to her.

She was everything unknown to him; she was quiet where he was loud, she was soft and curvy where he was gaunt skin and bones, she used ice just as he used fire, and she was softspoken and polite where he was raucous and blunt. She had little apple-cheeks that dimpled when she smiled, even if it was never at him, and her little giggles sounded like tinkling bells that could grab his attention even through the constant ringing in both his ears. She even smelled nice, from what he’d been able to whiff of her before her giant Russian brick shithouse of a friend had grabbed his head and thrown him in the opposite direction, like vanilla extract that came in those little bottles that smelled wonderful but didn’t taste so wonderful, or flowers he didn’t know the name of.

He’d never really seen a woman like her in person before. The women in the Outback were much like the men of the Outback; their brains just as baked as their half-starved bodies, with vicious demeanors, loud voices, leathery tits, and cunts that felt like being in the inside of a baseball glove. The sheilas on the covers of the magazines (at least the human ones, any pictures of omnic women were promptly destroyed with prejudice) were always almost as scrawny as the women in the Outback, always had their eyes closed or looked vacantly confused, and usually were half covered with text about the ten most beneficial yogurts or other things that women seemed to worry about in the outside world. Occasionally he’d get his grimy claws on the good kind of magazine, the ones where they arched their backs and got their tits out and bit their fingers and looked at him real seductive-like, but he usually spent more time trying peel the sticky pages apart without ripping the good bits, and trying not to imagine the previous owner as he did so.

And then there was Mei, who was different from everyone in the best possible way he could think of, and he wished she didn’t hate him so much.

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Black Out (Part 1)

Eric X Reader 

Request: @divergent–fandom : Reader is an Erudite transfer, who has done well in initiation so far. They have a crush on Eric, one of Dauntless’ leaders. One night, the two get black out drunk, hook up, and must face the realities in the morning.

Warnings: Swearing, drinking

Tags: @everydayrandomlife, @brandinicole911, @guiltyissues, @mogaruke




I was always smart; I mean you kind of have to be when Erudite forces you to study almost constantly. But even with my nose in a book, I always made time to watch the Dauntless jump off the train in the morning, wondering what it must be like to have the wind rustle your hair as you launch yourself out of a moving vehicle. The thrill is what convinced me to hold my hand over the dauntless bowl, and hear the coals sizzle as my blood drips onto them.


We are halfway through initiation, and I’m doing well if I don’t say so myself. I’m ranked third, and kicking ass every day. The only thing that has me hung up is the strong, brave and honestly kind of scary leader, Eric. I remember seeing him in Erudite when I was a kid. He was always silent and kind of broody, but that never deterred me from having a crush on him. Now that I’m here, seeing him again, my crush has come back tenfold.

Four and Eric put us through the ringer every single day; but today, they seemed to be extra harsh, so when Four announced there was a party we were allowed attend, I couldn’t have been more excited.


The roar of the chasm wasn’t loud enough to drown out the voices and the music of the evening. Empty drink in hand, I make my way over to the bar. “Hi, can ummm, have another please?” The bartender looks at me incredulously.

“I think you’ve had enough.” He laughs, turning around to serve the next person. Angrily I grab a random bottle from behind the counter and turn to run.

Keeping my eyes on the bartender to make sure he didn’t see me, I ram right into someone, sending the bottle to the floor. Lifting my heavy head, my eyes meet the striking blue ones I know so well. “sorrrryy.” I slur with a giggle on the ending.

He says nothing as he grabs my upper arm and drags me across the room to a hallway off the main room. The hallway is dark and deserted. He lets go of my arm, and I lean against the cool stone wall. “What do you think you’re doing?” He demands. His large arms cross, causing his forearm muscles to look even bigger and stronger. His presence intoxicates me even more.

“Havin’ a drink, lettin’ loose.” I shrug, trying to show him how unaffected I am by him.

“Is that so (Y/N)?” he places his hands on both sides of my head, while leaning down to whisper in my ear. His hot breath tickles my neck, as the smell of his cologne mix with the whisky on his breath, sends shivers down my spine.

“Ye… yes” I stutter, completely overwhelmed by him.

“You know, I could show you a really good time.” Eric smirks as he begins kissing my neck.

Lost in the overwhelming sensation of his burning lips on my neck, I moan. Eric’s hand covers my mouth, as he whispers in my ear. “Shhh, love. We wouldn’t want someone to find us, now would we?” I shake my head my no, silently begging him to continue.  

His hand snakes down my throat, curving around my body, it finds its way to my hand. With a gentle tug, he leads me to what I assume is his apartment. He fumbles as he unlocks his door. I look around the hall of apartments, impressed by how much better it looks than where the initiates are staying.


The pitch-black apartment becomes dimly light as Eric switches on a lamp. He wastes no time by giving me a tour as he begins to unbutton my shirt. With his mouth on my neck, my shirt is soon on the floor. hastily he takes of his, followed by his pants.

Suddenly his large arms lift me off the ground, and he tosses me over his shoulder. His hand comes down sharply on my ass, causing me to squeal. I brace myself as he tosses me onto his bed. Expecting a firm mattress, I am surprised as I feel as though I’ve landed on a cloud.



My head is pounding as my eyes slowly peel apart. Wincing at the onslaught of light, I move to roll over, only to find strong arms holding me in place. Very slowly, I move to see a slumbering Eric next to me. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, is all I think as I carefully climb out from under his embrace.

I put on my clothing piece by piece as I follow the trail they make from the bed to the door. I feel like throwing up as I look around Eric’s apartment. It’s very minimal, only the essentials, you would almost think no one lives here if it weren’t for the one mug in the sink.

Turning the cold metal nob, I wince as the door creaks. I slip out, not hearing Eric get up. Jogging down the hall, out of sight of his door. I take a second to breath. Letting my back hit the cool concrete wall, I slide down, head in my hands. What have I done?  


***Masterlist***

Do Not Attend GoDaikocon

Please please please do not give this con your money. They ran a total shitshow this year.
They had almost no panelists, forcing the maids to run the panels for no additional compensation.
They promised 3 meals a day, but the maids were NOT being fed properly, being denied even the extra snacks kept on hand for staff? We’re talking like 2 small slices of pizza A DAY.
They told the artists different things, I think one artist was told to expect between 500-2,000 attendees? They had a turnout of maybe 120.
The website advertised an open alley so the artists were expecting to be able to vend at their own hours. They then put us and the vendors into an area that was badged and also out of the way of natural foot traffic.
Artists were charged different amounts for the same table. The registration info said that the base table ($125) comes with one badge, and that each additional badge was $25. The pseudo-conchair told us at the con that our tables came with as many helper badges as we wanted, and then changed his mind and only gave $25 back to those who paid $175.
Some artists were told that they could just pay cash for their table upon arrival. I know that some Artists did this, and then were told that they weren’t on the list. The artists were given these tables only after much grief.
There was a radio silence from ALL department emails before the con. We were not given loadout information. Artists who emailed requesting confirmation did not get any replies. It turns out that the entire staff got into an argument a few days before the con…which lead to most of them quitting…
They worked with the Edward Village Dearborn. For those of you not in Michigan, this venue is blacklisted by every reputable convention head. They forced Youmacon’s sister convention, Midwest Media Expo, to cancel by demanding full payment for the venue up front THE WEEK OF THE CON. This occurred about 3 months before GoDaiko, which means that the conchairs SHOULD have had the time to react and rebook another venue.
The badges were the lowest quality I have ever seen. I’ve seen better made badges at an annual anime picnic, guys. These things were cheaply laminated and shoddily cut. Half of the artists didn’t even have vendors badges. Most of them were peeling apart by Saturday.
On Saturday, they made one of the maids pass out shot glasses to the artists. I think this was their equivalent of an extra hour in the ball pit?
They had no set layout for the artists. It was literally first-come, first-serve BUT NOBODY KNEW THIS BECAUSE THERE WAS NO LOADOUT INFO. Because of this, everyone who came on Friday for setup got stuck in the back.
Almost none of the artists broke even. And they weren’t failing due to mediocrity. The artist lineup in the hall was diverse. There was almost no competing art for the same fandoms. They were failing because they were stuck trying to reach a goal of $125-$500 (for those with commute and hotel) with a total turnout of about 120 people. Several artists had to leave on Saturday night because they couldn’t afford to stay another night at their hotel.

anonymous asked:

Newsies Christmas please? Race gives up cigars and gambling for a bit so he can afford to get the reader a present? But he doesn't tell anyone why he's doing it. Thanks!

“What are you doing?”

Race looks up from his second slice of bread, frowning at the frown on Romeo’s face. “What do you mean ‘what am I doing?’ I’m eatin’ my lunch, Rome. Which is somethin’ you should be doin’ too.”

Romeo rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his bread. “Why don’t you got a cigar today?”

The older boy freezes for only a second before continuing to eat and and pretending nothing happened. “Just didn’t feel like it today.”

Romeo snorts disbelievingly. “You always feel like a cigar.”

“Shut up and eat your lunch.”
____________________________________________________________________

Race’s fingers are beginning to freeze. It’s the week before Christmas, and his gloves could practically be fingerless after being worn down over the past three winters of working outdoors everyday. And his thin, brown jacket isn’t much help either.

But the small box cradles in his hands is worth it all.

He has been courting you, his beautiful (y/n), for almost two years now, and last year he wasn’t able to afford a Christmas present for you, or for your birthday. But this Christmas, he was determined.

Race hadn’t had one cigar since the middle of September.

All of the boys are suspicious, he knows that, but there’s no way he’d tell them it’s for a girl. He’s too stubborn for that. And he can’t wait to give you the gift he was able to buy with the money got from his own blood, sweat, tears, and love.

What he won’t tell you about are the sleepless nights and the shaking hands, itching for a cigar or just a cigarette to smoke. But he knows it’ll all be worth it to see that gorgeous smile on your face.

At that, he knocks on the front door of your quaint Queens house.

You open it within ten seconds, giving him a smile when you see it’s Race. “Hi, Race,” you start, “what are you doing here? Come on in.”

Race follows you inside, shuddering at the change of temper from bitter cold to homey warm. Your mother gives him a smile from the kitchen before retreating to your younger sibling’s room, obviously to give you both some privacy. He takes your hand and stops you before you can lead him to the living area.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t stay long. I gotta get back to da boys before it gets too cold.”

You nod. “I understand.” Race smiles at you, at your kindness and beauty, and you smile back. A long, but comfortable silence passes between the both of you, and you clear your throat, smoothing your hair down. “So, what are you doing here?”

“Oh.” Race steps back, laughing nervously and rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, I, uh…I got ya somethin.’ For Christmas.”

“Race, you didn’t have to-”

He cuts you off with a wave of his hand. “I know, I know, but I wanted ta. We’ve been together for nearly two years now, and I still haven’t been able to get ya anythin.’”

You blush and squeeze his hand. “You don’t have to get me anything.”

Race rolls his eyes. “I know, and that’s one of the reasons I love ya so much. But I should be able ta pamper my girl. So I got you something.” He takes the small box out from behind his back and holds it out to you with a grin.

Your blue eyes squint at the box curiously before taking it, untying the golden ribbon with one simple pull. Then you peel apart the adorable badly wrapped box to see a small, thin white box with a white lid. Swallowing nervously, you open the top carefully and gasp.

Inside lays a simple silver chain with beautiful silver heart hanging on it. You look up at Race with wide blue eyes, and he looks down at his worn boots.

“I know it’s not much, and you deserve-”

“No, Race,” you take his hand and pull him forward to kiss his cheek softly, “it’s beautiful. I love it.”

He smiles. “You do?”

You nod, giggling at his excitement. “Yeah, I do.”

“Ah, good.” This time he leans forward and kisses your cheek. “Alright, I gotta go. Merry Christmas if I don’t see you, and,” he looks pointedly at your little (brother/sister)’s room, “tell your mom I said merry Christmas.”

You smile. “I will.” Then leaning forward, you take his cheek in one hand and kiss him on the lips softly. When you pull away, Race grins at you, and you blush. “Tell the boys merry Christmas from me too.”

Ghost Guardian (1/?)

pairing: connor murphy x reader

wc: 7126 (whoops)

tw: cursing, panicking, supernatural occurrences, blood, suicidal thoughts. 

a/n: this was supposed to be the first fic in my week of fics… but…. nope. i’ll be posting a fic a week though or every couple days (depending on the demand tbh) because school is starting and I wont have much time for writing so it’s good i hoarded fics??? i start so soon??? also… i shouldnt ask but… feedback is encouraged :o 

masterlist


It was sad.

That was the only way you could describe it. The house, the lawn, the rooms, the windows, the tone, the mood. Everything about it screamed that something went wrong on this property, and that was maybe why the previous owners were willing to settle on it so fast. It felt like two days ago you got the news you were moving to a new state - to be closer to college and better job opportunities. Now, you were here, lugging in your stuff from the U-HAUL truck and up the big staircase to the bedroom at the end of the hall that smelled like too much Febreze and regret.

On the plus side, though, you had your own private bathroom.

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