always a question; never an answer

anonymous asked:

Word prompt: cas would've done..

“Hey buddy,” Dean says, scratching an old, missed blood spot from his knife. He looks at Cas. “Coming?”

Cas has been with them months, now. They’ve been taking larger cases. Bigger problems finding them. They’d bested the apocalypse. Faced God himself, and found themselves coming through it. And, as it turns out, the other side consists of Cas sleeping with a blade under his pillow, a gun under Dean’s and clothes Dean lets him borrow that never seem to be fully free of blood stains no matter how much they wash them.

“Coming?” Dean asks again. It’s the same question. Always. Cas has answered it a hundred times, and yet Dean finds himself saying the words the same way, still, like a ritual. Cas smiles. He knows his lines, too:

“Always,” Cas says, and Dean’s shoulders relax, if only a little. But there’s another part of him that feels betrayed. Like Cas would’ve done anything for Dean, even if he wasn’t happy.

The night ends in sweat and blood, bandaging each other. Dean can feel the way his eyes are lit with a glaze of adrenaline. He looks away when Cas catches it.

The bathroom is too small for three men as they get ready for bed, shouldering past each other while they brush their teeth. The room is too small, too. Three beds hard to come by. Some nights Dean finds himself on the hard floor. Sometimes it’s Cas or Sam.

Sleep is sparing, even less when Sam starts to snore.

Tonight Cas on the floor, Dean in the bed above, listening to the sound of Sammy to his left, Cas’s breaths on the floor next to him too shallow to be asleep. Dean swallows.

“Do you miss it?” he whispers.

“Heaven?” Cas asks, quietly. “No.”

Sam snores again, rolling to his side, the sounds getting smaller.

“I just mean. Are you happy here? Are we enough?” Dean gestures in the dark, even if he knows no one can see it. “Is this life enough for you?”

Cas sits up. He makes his way to the side of the bed, sitting on the edge of it. Even though it’s dark, Dean can see hesitation in his face.

“No,” he says, quietly.

Dean’s face falls. His chest hurts as he grips the blankets, sitting up.

“This life,” he says. “I know it’s not for everyone. It’s what I want, but you don’t have to want this. You don’t have to…” his voice cracks.

He swallows. He knows what he needs to say next, but it hurts. It’s painful trying to think of his life without half his wardrobe stolen, or the sight of Cas’s cheek smashed against the window through the rearview mirror while he drools in his sleep.

He blinks back tears, grateful it’s dark. He thinks of all the times he’s asked Cas if he’s coming, feeling his chest swell with the words “always.” He knows if he asks now, the answer would be the same. Which only makes it that much harder to say what he does next.

“You don’t have to stay.”

Hearing the words come from his own mouth makes his tears fall more freely now, and he suddenly thinks it’s not dark enough with the glare of the neon signs outside seeping through the thin curtains.

Then, there are hands, wiping away his cheeks. Cas crawls into bed next to him, wrapping his arms around Dean. It’s new and unexpected, but Cas is breaking a barrier between them as he grabs one of Dean’s hands, bringing it to his lips to just hold it there.

“I don’t want to leave you,” Cas says, when Dean is finally calm.

“There’s no white picket ending here for you,” Dean whispers, feeling his heart beat faster as he feels Cas’s warm breaths close. “You said it yourself, it’s not enough.”

Cas pulls Dean in closer, kissing him on the forehead.

“I don’t need a lot. But I do need you,” Cas says. And, suddenly, Dean understands.

“I’m in love with you,” Cas finishes.

He needs more, Dean acknowledges. And Dean finally realizes that he does, too.

“I love you, too,” he whispers back, leaning in and kissing Cas for the first time. It’s slow. Gentle. Melting away Dean’s fears as he realizes that maybe Cas can be happy here. With him.

When they pull away, Cas is smiling. His eyes bright.

“Ask me if you’re enough,” he whispers, pulling them closer together.

Dean smiles, too. It’s awkward, but he asks it quietly: “Is this enough for you, Cas? Am I enough?”

Cas pulls him in, kissing his forehead reverently.

“Always,” he says.

This is it, TMNT fans

There are only hours left till the end of the show. Today we will all see the final arc…the FUTURE arc. Maan… A lot of questions will be answered, and surely some will not. Right now I really don’t know what to expect, because most of the time all of my theories never came true. Perhaps the end will be so unpredictible that will shock us. It’s weird how much I want to see the finale, but in the same time I don’t wana say goodbye to the show.

I REALLY wasn’t expecting myself to like TMNT 2k12 THAT much. I accidentally saw a few minutes of the episode from season 2, and…

Like, that was the moment I felt in love with that ship. No other words are needed))

All chatacters were so unique and well written. The animation has improved so far *-* It was a fresh look at the TMNT and the writers did a great job!

I mean

Just

Look at

Those

Dorks

Being badass

And a sweet family

This show is awesome! And I’m happy that I get a chance to be a part of this fandom)

anonymous asked:

hello do u wanna read a cute percabeth proposal fic in which percy is a total dork (as usual)

gosh, do I want to read a cute percabeth proposal fic? I think the real question is “When do I don’t want to read a cute percabeth fic?” and the answer is never. I always want to read my babies.

anonymous asked:

Do you think it is wrong (anti-revolutionary, or immoral) for a bi woman, who has the choice to love other women, to love men? If a woman could choose to only prioritize other women, why wouldn't she? I'm not talking about situations when a woman is coerced to be with a man. Some bi women actually love individual men. Should they?

It is not wrong, anti-revolutionary, or immoral for individual bi women to pursue happy and healthy relationships with people regardless of their gender. The burden of being constantly Radical ™ or Revolutionary ™ is unrealistic and, frankly, dehumanizing. Prioritizing women as a woman can take many different forms, obviously including romantic and sexual but not merely romantic or sexual. If a bi woman loves a man individually, she is not less bi for it or immoral or impure. Certainly it’s worth examining why some bi women may consistently date men - because of compulsory heterosexuality and other societal pressures - but scrutinizing the interpersonal choices bi women make is not revolutionary in the slightest. There are multiple circumstances surrounding all women, including bi women, and their “feminist” card or, if they’re LGBT, they’re “LGBT” card, should not be “revoked” on the basis of genuine human connections. 

You should examine why you’re asking this question specifically about bi women. Hint: it’s because you don’t view bi women as actual human beings capable of manifesting complex desires, and rather you view them as failed heterosexuals or failed sapphic women who are tied to men no matter what they say or do. The fact that you and other biphobes only discuss bi women in this context but never straight women in this context reveals that bi women are always reduced to men and thus stripped of their autonomy. In that way, biphobic rhetoric is misogynistic, and people who perpetrate it (like you) are hypocritical and cruel. 

3

Usernames and anonymous words are still people with lives, a house, hobbies, passions, problems, dreams, all that behind the screen. Never forget that.


I’m always doubting about doing these types of posts, but I thought maybe I could speak up every once in a while lmao. I apologize if I don’t word my thoughts correctly. What I’m trying to say is, I know it’s sometimes hard not to snap at inconsiderate/angering questions and sentences coming from young people who probably didn’t think about looking for answers or connecting their brain together. I know some of us can find works or reactions from young people “cringy” or “overdone”. I know it’s infuriating to see kids reposting, tracing or recoloring art because they still don’t know how important it is to respect the artists: the thing is, I believe we all had these parts inside of us when we were younger, too. We had things we liked that we find insufferable now, we had a younger self we’d like to punch in the face. There are things we regret. But thinking back at it, although unfortunate events in my life had made my childhood a personally hard time to go through and I expressed myself through childish actions, I’m glad I did go through these steps. It made me grow into who I am today: a person who’s willing to keep growing. I’m thankful I went through many experiences that now put me in the position to guide young people who perhaps need that guidance, one way or another. Let’s be firm, but compassionate. Don’t sugarcoat kids either, you’re allowed and SHOULD speak up when you feel like you’re suffocating. But always take a step back, and try to think for both sides. These “cringy” kids maybe ARE future mature creating geniuses!
We are tomorrow’s inspirations, models, and constructors!

Let’s be nice and understanding to youth and distance ourselves from online problems so we can focus on making it better instead. :)

She’s Just Not That Into You » Part I (A Harry Styles Miniseries)

First and foremost, I need to dedicate this miniseries to @stylesunchained​. If it weren’t for B, this idea would’ve never come to fruition. It’s been so lovely to torture you with snippets of this story, and now it’s finally here! And yes, the whole damn thing is dedicated to you, my beautiful friend.

Secondly, I need to take the time to thank @cuddlemusclestyles​ for her knowledge of England and always answering my questions about it. I would be lost without you, for you are my own personal Google.

And, of course, thank you all for the interest you’ve expressed for this miniseries. It’s always that much more enjoyable to write when you know you’ve got people rooting for you. I hope I don’t disappoint you.

Let me know what you think! Happy reading.

Originally posted by chillhopdotcom

Keep reading

All Our Secrets Laid Bare (Part One)

Pairing: Peter Parker x reader

Prompt: The reader’s nosy (and quite rude) relatives are coming over for an unexpected family dinner. Long story short, they expect the reader to have a boyfriend, which the reader most definitely does not have. Luckily, they do have a best friend by the name of Peter Parker. One small favor wouldn’t be too much to ask, right?

Warnings: Some angst towards the end.

Word Count: 3,524

A/N: The reader doesn’t know Peter is Spider-Man in this imagine.
Also, I’m sorry if there are any grammatical errors. My usual beta reader wasn’t available and I really wanted to get this imagine posted.
Enjoy!

Part Two / Part Three

Originally posted by hardyness

“You’re my boyfriend now.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?” Peter stammered back through the phone.

This was not how you planned this day to go.

“It’s a long story. Nosy relatives coming over for dinner, may have lied and said I had a boyfriend just to get them to shut up, don’t actually have a boyfriend, typical family stuff, you know?” you tried to explain.

There was a slight pause as Peter digested all of the information you just threw at him.

“Okay, so basically, you broke under pressure and lied about have a boyfriend, and now you need me to be your boyfriend to protect you from your nosy relatives?” repeated Peter.

You rolled your eyes, perfectly aware that Peter couldn’t see them through the phone call, but positive that he felt the frustration anyway, “I didn’t break under pressure, I just… improvised.”

“Oh yeah, totally,” said Peter, voice dripping with playful sarcasm. “So do you need me to be your boyfriend or not?”

Keep reading

Mirror, Mirror (Tom Holland Smut)

request: nah i woke up and this concept popped into my head bc i’m 4ever alone + occasionally sexually frustrated bc of thomas stanley holland

short summary: tom makes sure u know how to take care of yourself while he’s away if u get my drift ;)

length: 1.8k words

warnings: this is smut. lol. slight daddy kink. a bit of choking.

A/N: this is my first time writing smut let’s hope all the times i’ve read smut have prepared me for this moment. amen. lol i half proof read this don’t come at me (also just got a new macbook yesterday so i’m christening it by writing smut LOL)


“I don’t want you to leave Tom,” you pouted. He would be leaving for Montreal in the morning to start shooting for Chaos Walking. Even though you were a major fan of the books and their author, Patrick Ness, you weren’t ecstatic at the prospect of your boyfriend leaving you for such a long period of time. 

“You know I have to,” he replied with a sigh as he cuddled you tighter. The two of you had opted to spend the night in watching movies and soaking up each other’s presence for one more night. “But we don’t have to worry about that until the morning.” You simply hummed against his chest in response. 

“But what am I going to do without you? Who will take care of me?” you mumbled with a frown. You knew you sounded clingy, but at the same time you didn’t really care. You wanted him to stay. Tom pulled away from you slightly so he could look you straight in the eye.

“I’ll always take care of you, darling. You know that,” he said with a serious expression. Of course you knew that mentally, but physically he couldn’t if he was all the way in Canada. He didn’t seem to understand, so you decided to show him.

Getting up and straddling Tom’s sitting form, it was your turn to look him straight in the eye. His hands instinctively went to hold your hips. Slowly grinding yourself down on him, your boyfriend’s eyes began to darken slightly with lust.

“You can’t take care of me like this, though, babe,” you whispered next to his ear as you dragged your hips excruciatingly slowly over his growing erection. Starting to leave a line of light kisses down his jawline, he stops you.

“Then why don’t I show you what to do while I’m gone, then?” he challenged, lightly stroking your slightly arched back.

“Alright then Holland, show me how it’s done,” you replied with a smirk. The second the word “done” left you lips, he threw you over his shoulder, taking you from the living room into the bedroom. Instead of dropping your body on the bed like you expected, he set you down in front of the full length mirror next to your closet. Oh.

Sitting behind you, Tom situated you so you were sat in between his legs. Taking a look into the mirror, you almost laughed at your appearance. You were clad in one of his t-shirts, a random pair of blue panties, and your favorite green fuzzy socks. Tom was sporting a pair of gray sweats and nothing else. Wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you closer, he rested his chin on your head.

“Don’t worry princess, daddy will make sure you’re all taken care of,” he purred softly. You shivered in anticipation as he moved his chin from your head to your shoulder, looking at each of your reflections in the mirror. “Does that sound good?” you merely nodded your head, but he gave you a brief slap on the thigh.

“Use your words, darling,” Tom reprimanded with a shake of his head. 

“Yes, daddy,” you whimpered. He smiled and softly stroked the area of your thigh he’d smacked.

“Why don’t we get this off then, hm? Don’t take your eyes off of the mirror,” he requested, tugging on the shirt adorning your body. You slowly lifted your arms, and Tom tugged it off of you, both of you watching his actions in the mirror with eager, lustful expressions. 

“My beautiful girl,” Tom said breathlessly as he drank in your appearance. You’d forgotten that you ditched your bra earlier in the day and instinctively raised your arms to cover your breasts.

Tom frowned and halted your actions. “You truly are the most beautiful angel, you know?” he then gave u a brief kiss on the cheek as you blushed.

His hands started to travel south at an agonizingly slow pace starting at your chest as every sense in your body seemed to sharpen and electrify. The fact that he was making you watch seemed to awaken something inside of you. You could feel your panties dampening and he hadn’t even reached down there yet. A small whimper made its way out of your throat.

“Please, baby,” you whispered. Tom merely shushed you.

“All in due time, princess, all in due time.” Moments later, he had one hand between your legs, with his opposite arm wrapped around your waist protectively. 

“Do you ever touch yourself, thinking of me, while I’m gone?” he questioned, the hand in between your legs stroking you inches away from where you needed him most.

“No, daddy,” you replied honestly. You always thought about trying it, but never felt it would be as satisfactory as when your boyfriend was there to do it for you. 

“Hmm, while that’s the answer I love to hear, we’re going to have to change that aren’t we? I don’t want you to suffer too much while I’m away.” He started to leave a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your throat while still avoiding plunging his glorious fingers into your pussy.

Just as you were about to beg, his pushed aside your panties, too impatient to take them off, and began to viciously pump a finger, in and out. You couldn’t help the moan that pierced the air from your throat.

“More, Tom, I need more,” you moaned as your hips kept squirming and bucking up. His arm kept you from moving too far.

“I can’t give you more unless you keep still, darling,” he said with a slight laugh. It took everything in you to keep yourself from thrashing wildly to do as he said. You could feel his thumb resting on your clit and you desperately wanted him to do something, anything, to add to the pleasure you were feeling.

“Wrap your hand around my throat,” you said suddenly, surprising both him and yourself. Unsure of where that idea had come from, you strangely didn’t regret it. The more and more you thought about it, the more and more you wanted Tom do it. He, on the other hand, seemed unsure.

“Are you sure?” he said hesitantly, seeming to break out of the trance he was in. He stopped all movements to look at you directly through the mirror. But you nodded.

“Like…nothing crazy, but yeah. I really want you to.” you replied confidently. “I’ll just scratch your arm or something if it’s too much.”

After a few more seconds of deliberation, he removed the arm he had wrapped around your waist, raised it, and carefully wrapped his hand around your throat. 

“Like this?” he asked, slightly weary. But you were just fine.

“Actually…just a little tighter,” you said quietly. He did as you asked, taking care not to completely block your airways. And you loved it.

“Perfect,” you sighed in content. He plunged back into your pussy, this time adding a second finger. With the added pleasure of him slightly choking you mixed with the delicious sounds of his fingers entering your pussy at a rapid pace, you felt yourself clenching.

After a few short minutes of bliss, Tom promptly removed his fingers, sneaking them to his mouth for a quick taste. You whined in protest, but he grabbed one of your hands, taking a two fingers and sliding them where his hands used to occupy. Guiding your movements, he began to help you get yourself off.

“Just like this,” he rasped as he guided your two fingers in and out. As soon as he helped you set a rhythm, he guided your thumb to rest on your clit, rubbing gentle circles. He then removed his own hand from the equation, instead fondling your breasts as you fingered yourself.

You spared a moment to glance in the mirror. Your cheeks were red and your eyes looked to be glazed over in pleasure. You watched as Tom squeezed and pinched at your nipples, his other hand still wrapped securely around your throat, letting out a borderline pornographic moan at the multitude of events occurring.

“See, darling, it’s not so hard. You know you love it,” he said with a smirk, trailing a line of kisses from the back of your neck to your shoulder blades. It was all too much, you felt like everything was too much. But you didn’t want any of it to stop, quite the contrary you wished it would never end.

“T-Tom, I-I’m really close,” you barely got out. “Can I cum? Please?” you always had to ask him before you came, one of his rules.

“I don’t know darling,” he said as he gave you a once over. He could see you were on the verge of truly being wrecked. He smiled, loving the fact that you could bring yourself to unravel like this. 

Not being able to deny you for much longer, he finally gave the permission you craved. “Go ahead princess, cum all over your pretty fingers for me. Watch yourself come undone by your own fingers,” he commanded as he forced your head upwards to look in the mirror.

The sight of yourself and your boyfriend behind you brought you to your orgasm, one of the deepest and most intense ones you’ve felt in a while. You couldn’t manage to keep your eyes open the whole time, but you kept working your fingers and rubbing furiously at your clit as Tom nipped at your skin.

The world seemed to come crashing down as your legs shook almost violently. Moans of Tom’s name and a colorful variety of curse words fell from your lips until your throat ached for air and a deep rest.

Tom replaced your fingers with his own as you came down from your high. Finally taking a moment to close your eyes and lean your head back into his shoulder to rest, you almost felt a bit embarrassed. You had like that a lot, and hadn’t known that you could make yourself feel that good. But you didn’t know if Tom was into choking like that.

When your breathing returned to normal and your orgasm was spent, he slowly removed his fingers from your pussy. Bringing them up to your mouth, he tapped your lips.

“Want a taste, princess?” he asked innocently. You nodded, opening your mouth, sucking his fingers dry while looking him dead in the eye. You could feel his throbbing erection against your back and smirked, releasing his fingers from your mouth with an audible pop. He groaned loudly.

Picking yourself up from the carpet and readjusting your panties, you bent over in front of his face to pick up your previously discarded shirt. Through the mirror you could see him ogling your ass, just as you anticipated. He was putty in your hands.

“Well I think I need a shower,” you said with a mischievous smile. “Would you care to join me?” Tom stumbled to his feet, his erection clearly showing in his sweats.

“You don’t have to ask me twice,” he said quickly as he practically dragged to the shower and fucked you senseless.


please give me feedback was this good was this shitty how can i improve i would love to know! my first smut attempt so…sorry LOL. but hopefully will improve as i write more. also if y’all have any requests lmk :)

Downstream - ~1k, post 12.23 / pre s13, angst

The ocean is a flat plane of glass, and the boat doesn’t cause a single ripple as it glides along the surface. Dean has no idea how they managed to drift out so far, but somehow they’ve completely lost sight of the shoreline. The only indication of the horizon is the thinnest, faintest line; a stray hair caught in a watercolour canvas.

It’s light out, the air around him a diffusion of pink and gold and reflected back in the water’s mirror surface, but he can’t find the sun. Perhaps it’s nearing dawn.

Dean’s leaning back against the bow, hands behind his head. The gunwales are kind of digging into his shoulders, but he’s smiling.

His companion is silent and placid where he sits near the stern. The light is catching the tips of his hair, setting off the dark with glints of gold. Clasped hands hang between splayed knees.

Dean inhales thick, salt air and lets his eyes drift closed. “This was a good idea. We needed a vacation.”

“You deserve it.”

Dean hums, contented. “You too. Hell, we’ve all been through the ringer lately.”

Cas nods. “I suppose we have.”

Their voices float easily through the air, but in the space all around them it’s perfectly quiet, save the occasional soft, gentle slap of water against the boat.

“Seriously, we shoulda done this years ago.”

“When?” Cas asks, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “After the apocalypse, but before the leviathan? Maybe between the Mark of Cain and Amara?”

“Anybody ever tell you you’re kind of a downer, Cas?” Dean replies peaceably.

“Once or twice.”

Another long and companionable silence stretches out between them. They’ve been out here a while now and the sun probably should’ve risen, but it’s hardly a concern: the glow of light around them is warm enough. In fact, Dean could probably afford to take off his jacket, were he not far too comfortable to move.

“Dean. How long do you plan to stay out here?”

Dean cracks one eye. “What, you got somewhere to be?”

Cas’ answering smile is fond, and only slightly tinged with sadness. “No.”

“That’s what I thought.” Dean drops his eyelid.

“It’s just, there are things you need to do.”

Both Dean’s eyes open now, and he leans all the way up to sit on the hard, wooden seat. The boat rocks and sways. “Yeah, Cas, there’s always something. But you are cutting into our hard-earned relaxation time, man. You keep this up, you can kiss that second date goodbye.”

“This is a date?”

Dean gives him a look. “You take a lot of platonic pre-dawn rowboat rides?”

“I suppose not,” Cas says, and he casts his eyes out to the water. “I’m just a little surprised.”

“But not disappointed.”

There’s a faint blush dusting Cas’ cheeks. Maybe it’s just the light. “No.”

“Because you love me.” Cas’ eyebrows rocket up to his hairline, and Dean shrugs defensively. “Hey, you said it, not me.”

“Well, that’s certainly true.”

Dean’s gotta give him that one. “Touché.”

Cas is looking at him patiently, waiting.

Feeling rather like a third-grader forced to answer a question he wasn’t listening to in the first place, Dean casts his eyes down, suddenly intensely interested in the rough woodgrain below his feet. The fact that the boat has no oars is a mild curiosity.

“I dunno,” Dean shrugs. “Probably shoulda said it then. Guess I just figured you knew.”

“Because you’re always so open and honest with your feelings.”

That’s two points to Cas.

Dean plays for time a while longer, scraping his boots through the coarse, black sand he tracked in from the beach. “Alright, well, there it is. Better late than never, right?”

This time Cas doesn’t bother trying to hide the heartache in his smile.

They sit in silence again, for minutes or maybe hours. Eventually Cas looks left to the non-existent sun. “It’s probably time to go back,” he says quietly.

Dean shakes his head. “Nah. Little longer.”

“You have responsibilities, Dean.”

Dean scoffs. “What, you mean Rosemary’s baby?”

“He didn’t ask to be what he is.”

“He’s the literal antichrist, Cas.”

Whatever he is,” Cas says firmly, “good or evil, he needs someone. He needs guidance.”

“He needs a bullet in the neck.”

Cas shakes his head. “You don’t mean that. He’s an innocent, Dean. And he needs you and Sam, now that I can’t be there for him anymore.”

Something flickers in Dean’s chest, like a moth beating against his heart. He frowns, confused, and finds Cas’ eyes.

The intent expression on Cas’ face gradually shifts to one of resignation. He sighs softly. “You forgot again, didn’t you?”

Dean jolts awake to a blaring car horn.

Sam is driving, the hideous sodium streetlights casting harsh lines of shadow across his face when he turns to the passenger seat. “You were talking again.”

Dean doesn’t answer as he reacquaints himself with the deep, aching chasm in his chest.

Sam swallows visibly, shadows of raindrops on the windshield like pockmarks on his skin. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Dean grits his teeth. “Yeah, Sam. There were these clowns. Like thirty of ‘em, and they all kept piling out of this Volkswagon.” The lie slides easy off his tongue.

Sam throws up a hand in surrender. “Okay.”

Anger is easier. Anger is always easier.

Dean closes his eyes tight and tries to chase the soft, pink-gold light of the ocean. He inhales Baby’s familiar leather scent, desperate for a whiff of salt air.

He tries to forget.


(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5)

Really Very Important Advice for Knitters

1. FAQ: What can you use instead of a yarn bowl? Literally anything. Cups. Bowls. Cookie jars. Your little sisters. The skulls of your enemies.

The floor. The floor makes a fantastic place to put yarn.

Unless it’s the floor of your balcony. Because then the yarn will inevitably fall through the slats and the neighbors get kind of peeved about falling yarn cakes and also, you will absolutely have to throw the rest of your knitting after and then go downstairs and fetch it. Or so I’m told. By other people. Who are not me.

2. Whoever told you DPNs are hard and circular needles are where it’s at is a lying liar who is lying with their pants on fire. DPNs are not hard. Stitches do not slip off. There are no funny gaps. You do not poke yourself all the time. Circular needles on the other hand, exist solely because the devil once had a slow day and thought, “How do you think I could ruin people’s lives in the subtlest way?”

3. No. You never have enough yarn.

4. FAQ: How many projects are too many projects to have going at once? This is a trick question. Do not answer. Demand a lawyer. Or more yarn. Or both. Actually, make sure there is always a lawyer in your knitting circle. As a precaution.

5. All lost needles will be in the sofa. Only people who are not you will be able to find them. With their butts. Call it free acupuntcure, laugh, and offer them enough alcohol to not notice when you apply sutures.

6. You still don’t have enough yarn. Your kids, on the other hand, don’t really need that much lunch money. Or do they, the greedy little bastards?

7. You will never feel as in control of your goddamn mess of a life as when you make a gauge swatch. It is a heady feeling, best experienced sparingly so try not to make one more than once a year.

8. People who say knitting involves math obviously don’t understand you at all and really, if you’d wanted that fucking vest to fit, you would have bought it in a goddamn store and not invested a hundred and twenty bucks, seventy-five work hours, a broken marriage and traumatized children in it, so shut the fuck up and admire it, you asshole!!! ADMIRE IT!

9. Maybe get that yarn bowl after all. And that yarn. They match! You’re practically obligated to buy it now. In fact, buy seven skeins. At least.

10. Look. Patterns are really just society’s way of stifling your creative and free spirit, okay? Burn them. Burn them all.

11. Just take the fucking yarn already! Who cares if you can’t afford it. It’s not like the cops will ever -

Doomed — Min Yoongi

Words: 5390

Warnings: demon!Yoongi + angst + filthy smut + fluff

Description: Arent people supposed to be scared when they find out that a demon has been stalking them?

This amazing moodboard was created by @candys-and-moons so everyone go follow them right now!!! They’re amazing :)

[01] [02] [03] [04] [05] [06]

Let me know if I should make a part two to this :)

~

Everyone gets that feeling when they feel that someone is watching them. Monitoring everything they do. Stalking them.

That’s how you felt almost everyday. It was as if someone was actually watching you. Or spying on you.

You began to think like this since you were little. About 10 years old. Whenever you were somewhere, you felt a presence, even when you were alone. It was like someone was always there with you. It started off simple, but got worse and creepier as you grew older.

When you were 13, you couldn’t stand being home alone, because you always felt that someone was going to come for you. You would hear strange noises such as people talking when you were home alone, cabinets closing on their own, footsteps when no one else was home.

By age 15, you watched a lot of horror movies, and deemed your experiences as “being haunted.” You were sure that you were being haunted by a ghost, or something like a ghost. There were no other explanations for the things that’s been happening to you.

You told your friends and your parents, but no one believed you. Everyone thought you were either joking, or just crazy.

When you were 16, you asked your parents to get paranormal experts to come to your house and see what was going on. Your parents were reluctant at first, telling you that maybe a therapist should come to the house instead. But you kept asking them, telling them that you were so scared that something might happen to you. And then they finally called the experts.

When they came, the concluded that there was nothing paranormal going on inside of your house, giving your parents another reason not believe anything you said.

Even though the “experts” said that there was nothing, you knew there was something. You always knew that there was something going on. You weren’t crazy, no matter how much people tell you that you are.

You will never forget about when you were 18. You were almost finished with school. You remember sitting in an empty classroom one day during your free period. You studied for a huge test that you had to take.

The room was quiet at first, but then you heard a quiet tap on the window. You didn’t think much of it, thinking that it was probably just a tree branch or something.

Then it happened again. And again. And again. This continued for about two minutes before it started upsetting you. You groaned and tried to concentrate on studying. Once you groaned, the sound stopped. It was probably just a coincidence.

It didn’t stop there. You heard something fall down. It was a light sound, but you still heard it. You looked around the room to see what it was. There was a piece of chalk rolling towards you.

You raised and eyebrow. How did the chalk fall if nothing was touching it?

You stood up, picking up the piece of chalk that had fallen. You walked to the chalk board and placed the piece of chalk onto the teacher’s desk.

You turned around, dusted your hands off and started walking back to your seat.

And that’s when you heard it. The sound of the chalk falling again. You thought nothing of it. The teachers desk was probably just slanted, which is why the chalk keeps falling off. But why didn’t anything else on the desk fall off?

You turned around, bending down to pick up the chalk once again. You stood up, holding the piece of white chalk and as you looked up, you saw something strange.

The chalkboard had something written on it.

“Specto tu. Protinus te videre, XXI.”

Those words were not on the board before. How did it get there? Who wrote it? What the hell did it even say?

You thanked god for modern technology as you took out your cellphone and took a picture of the words written on the chalkboard. You put the picture into a translator website and waited for it to do its magic.

As the page loaded, you read what the words had translated to.

“I’m watching you. See you soon, 21.”

If you weren’t already creeped out before, you were ten times more creeped out now.

Without even thinking about it, you packed up your books and left the room, not looking back.

Who wrote that? Who’s watching you?

The answers to you questions went unanswered for years after that. You were always so curious.

You were 20 years old when you moved out of your parents house and into your own apartment.

The strange things never stopped. On multiple occasions when you would walk into your apartment, you would see lights that were turned on (and you were sure that you had turned them off), cabinets were open, loose papers were scattered all over your desk. You were a very clean and organized person, so you knew that it couldn’t have been you.

Getting a surveillance camera installed in your house didn’t help, as much as you really wanted it to. It just gave you more reason to believe your 15 year old self when you said that something paranormal was going on.

When you got home from work, you would check your camera, seeing if anything happened.

Of course something happened.

The cabinets opened—by themselves. The drawers in your desk opened and papers flew out of them, creating a big mess. The light switched flicked on, on their own.

You were terrified. Something was haunting you and you wanted to know why.

Today was your 21st birthday.

You spent the day shopping with your friends. You weren’t really a party girl, so you decided to do something less wild and more fun. Shopping is always fun.

“This would look really nice on you, y/n!” One of your friends smiled, giving you a cute pink dress that she had picked up.

It was cute, but it wasn’t really your style, so you put it back as you friend walked to go look at other clothes. After returning the dress to the rack that it had previously been on, you turned around, only to bump into someone.

“I’m so sorry.” You apologized. It was a man. He had jet black hair and dark brown eyes. He was quite handsome.

“Don’t be sorry. It was my fault.” He says, patting his clothes as he stood in front of you.

You two stood there, just looking at each other for a couple of seconds. He stared into your eyes. It was like he could see right through your soul. You couldn’t look away. It was like you were dazed.

“Y/n, come on. Let’s go to another shop.” Your friend calls. You blinked a few times, snapping out of your daze.

You walked away from the man, following as your friends walked out of the shop.

He seemed so familiar, but you were sure you hadn’t seen him before. You’d never seen him in real life, or even pictures, so why did he seem familiar?


You closed the door of your apartment and took your shoes off, placing them beside the door.

You and your friends had a good time out, shopping, eating and gossiping. It was like you were in high school all over again. You missed hanging out with them all the time.

You plopped down on the couch, grabbing the tv remote and pressing the button to turn it on.

You pressed the button, but nothing happened. You pressed it over and over again, but nothing. Maybe the batteries were out?

Just then, you felt something brush past your leg. Without thinking, you yelped and placed your feet on the couch, looking down at what had touched you.

It was a cat.

What was a cat doing in your apartment?

The cat looked up at you. It had black fur and brown eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” You asked the cat, as if it would talk back. You stood up, still looking down at the cat.

“I should get you out of here. Your owner is probably looking for you.” You say, putting your arms out, but then retracting them, not knowing if you should touch the cat.

Suddenly, something happened. You weren’t sure what it was exactly, but all you saw was a flash of white and then something stood in front of you. It wasn’t the cat.

It was a man.

You screamed and ran into your bedroom, scared for your life. You didn’t bother to look at the man, you were too terrified.

You closed your bedroom door as you entered, locking it.

What the hell just happened?

“Y/n.” You heard a voice say. The voice was kind of deep. You were too scared to reply. How did he even know your name?

“Y/n, I hope you know that locking the door isn’t going to stop me from coming in.” The man says.

You stayed silent. You didn’t know what to say. What were you supposed to say?

You heard no more noise on the other side of the door, but you were still scared.

Then, you felt a tap on your shoulder. You didn’t want to turn around, but your feet had it’s own plans.

You turned around, coming face to face with—

The man from earlier. The one from the shop. The one that you bumped into.

Your eyes widened.

You backed up, hoping that you could run away, but for every step you took back, he took a step towards you.

“Why are you here? Why were you a cat? How were you a cat? Who are you? What are you?” You asked. You had so many questions and they all came out at the same time.

“I’d rather not show you my actual form, for your sake. And do you know how much strength it takes to shift into a cat? You should be praising me. I’m so tired right now.” The man complained.

What was his “actual form”?

“What are you?” You repeated your question.

“A demon.” He said. “Yeah, right.” You say, not believing him. The man chuckled before closing his eyes. What was he doing?

As he opened his eyes, his dark brown eye color was no longer there. Now his pupils were a fiery red color.

You yelled and tried to run away, but he held your arms, not letting you move.

“Let go of me!” You yelled.

“Y/n, calm down.” He says, his eyes going back to their original color. “How am I supposed to calm down? You—you just—I can't—” you stuttered, not knowing what to say.

He stared into your eyes and you felt yourself calming down. It was like he casted a spell on you or something.

“Did you just cast a spell on me? Are you a witch too?” You ask, not able to take your eyes off of his.

He chuckled. “I’m not a witch. I’m a demon. A handsome one.”

You wish you could roll your eyes at his comment. “Who are you?” You ask. “And why do you seem so familiar? I’m almost one-hundred percent sure that we’ve never met.”

“Y/n, I’ve been with you since you were young. Don’t you remember me? Haven’t you got my little notes and messages?” He asks you.

“What messages?”

“Specto tu. Protinus te videre, XXI.” He spoke.

Your eyes widened. That’s what was written on the chalkboard that day you were in school! “You wrote that? How? Why? Why couldn’t I see you?”

“Being a demon surprisingly has its many perks. One of them being invisibility. And it was a reminder. Didn’t you translate it?” He asked you.

“It said I’m watching you. And see you soon. Then it said twenty one.” You say.

“I was watching you. I’ve always been watching you. And it was a reminder because I’d see you on your twenty-first birthday, which is today.” He explains, letting go of your hands. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”

It was him. He was the thing that was always with you. The thing that creeped you out. The thing that you always knew was watching you.

You brought your hand up to his face and slapped him, anger filling you.

His eyes widened and he held his cheek in pain. “What was that for?” He asks.

“You! You’re the reason that I spent almost eleven years of my life scared to death! I was always so scared, and it was because of you! You messed me up, man.” You explained.

“I’m sorry?” He said, but it sounded more like a question.

You slapped him again.

“What was that one for?” He asks.

“That’s for messing up my house when I’m not home. You always leave my lights on. And you leave my cabinets open. And all of my papers are always all over my desk.” You say.

“I’m sorry. I get bored sometimes when you’re not home.” He admits.

“Who are you?” You ask.

“I’m Yoongi. Min Yoongi. You’re y/n y/l/n.” He finally introduces himself.

“Well, Min Yoongi. You’ve been stalking me for eleven years, why?” You question.

People supposed to be scared when they find out that a demon has been stalking them for so long, so, why didn’t you feel scared?

“You’re interesting.” He says, simply.

You rolled your eyes, finally out of his spell, or whatever it was.

After a moment of silence, Yoongi spoke up. “I’m not here to hurt you, so if you’re scared of me, you don’t have to be. Although, I’m not getting any scared vibes from you. You’re not scared of me?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe I am. I just think that I was more scared when I didn’t know who or what you were.” You admit.

“Really? Then maybe I should erase your memory.” He smirked.

“No. No way.” You say. “I was joking.” He chuckled. “Or was I?”

“Min Yoongi I swear to—” you started. “Don’t say it.” He warns you, eyes turning red.

“Sorry. Sorry.” You apologized, looking down at the floor so you wouldn’t have to look into his eyes.

Yoongi took a deep breath before speaking again. “You should go to bed. It’s late.”

“It’s 6 pm.” You tell him.

“So? It’s never too early to go to sleep.”

You shook your head before opening your bedroom door and walking out into your living room.

“What are you still doing here? Leave!” You hear Yoongi say. He wasn’t talking to you, so who was he talking to?

You turned around to look at him, but he was facing the kitchen. In the kitchen stood another man. He looked the same age as Yoongi, maybe younger. He had orangish/reddish hair. You noticed something. In front of him, on the counter was a cake. That wasn’t there before.

“Who is this?” You asked.

“I’m Hoseok.” The boy with the orange hair smiled at you, walking over to where you and Yoongi were standing. “I’m Yoongi’s friend.”

“Hi.” You said before looking at Yoongi. “So what? Is my house like a demon magnet now?”

“Hoseok, get out.” Yoongi said, not answering your question.

Hoseok sighed and looked at you. “It was nice to meet you. Bye.” He smiled before you saw a flash of white. He was gone.

You looked over to where the cake was. Yoongi saw where you were looking and spoke. “It’s yours.” He says.

“Is it?” You asked, walking over to the cake.

“I told Hoseok to bring it for you. It looks good, right?” He asks.

You saw what was written on the cake and smiled.

“Happy Birthday, y/n.”

“As long as you share it with me, I promise I won’t trash your house anymore.” He smiled.

Despite being a demon, Yoongi was a nice guy. Maybe you wouldn’t mind having him around.


“We need to have another girl’s day out.” Your friend says. She was sitting beside you on the couch in your apartment.

“Yeah. I want to hang out with you and the rest of the girls more.” You tell her.

“We should go to a club or something.” She suggested.

A club? “I don’t think so.” You say. You weren’t really a fan of going to the club. The club is just a place where random guys try to hit on you all night, and you didn’t want to go through that.

“Oh, come on, y/n. Don’t be such a party pooper. We could go out to the club and have fun. You could meet a guy there!” She persisted.

“Why would I want to meet a guy there?” You asked.

“Y/n, you haven’t gotten laid in like a year. You need to meet a guy so you two can hook up! You really need some d—” Your friend explained, but was cut off by someone else talking over her.

“What’s this talk about y/n needing to meet a guy?” The person asked. You recognized the voice and turned around to see Yoongi.

“Y/n, who is this?” Your friend asks.

“This is—” You started. “I’m Yoongi. Y/n’s boyfriend.” Yoongi finished for you.

Your boyfriend? Since when?

“Y/n! How could you not tell me that you have a boyfriend?” Your friend questions.

“I’m sorry, y/f/n.” You looked at your friend. “I wasn’t planned on letting you meet him. He promised me that he would stay in my bedroom while you came over.” You looked back at Yoongi.

“Sorry. I got bored in there.” He shrugs. “Y/f/n, would you mind coming back another time? I need to speak to y/n about something.”

“No problem. I’ll be on my way.” Y/f/n says, before getting up and walking to the door. She winked at you before leaving and closing the door behind her.

You turned around, only to see that Yoongi was closer to you than he was before. “You’re my boyfriend?” You asked. “Since when?”

“Since now.” He states. “Is it true?” He asked, not giving you time to respond to his statement.

“Is what true?”

“She said you haven’t been laid in a year. Is that true?”

“Does that matter to you?” You ask, raising your eyebrow. Why did he want to know?

“Just tell me.”

“What if it is true? Why do you need to know?”

Yoongi took two slow steps towards you so he was now standing on front of you with barely any space between you.

Would it be wrong to say he looked really hot right now?

While living with Yoongi, you can’t help but look at him sometimes. Like the times you two are just talking to each other and he smiles. You like his smile. A lot.

And the times he would come out of the bathroom only wearing boxers. His hair would be wet and he looks so good. You didn’t know if it was okay for you to think about him this way.

“You seriously went that long without getting laid? You went that long without letting someone touch you? Pleasure you?” He asks. As he spoke, you felt his warm breath on your lips. “It’s been about three months since I revealed myself to you. We spend like all day together, so why haven’t you told me?”

“Can we not talk about this? It’s embarrassing.” You say, turning around so you could walk away. When you turned around, Yoongi grabbed one of your arms and turned you back to face him.

“Yoongi, I—” You started, but Yoongi looked into your eyes and suddenly you couldn’t say anything. He was controlling you.

For about thirty seconds, he just stared into your eyes, and you were unable to say or do anything else.

Yoongi put his fingers on your chin and lifted your head up. He almost instantly lowered his head and attached his lips to your neck.

His actions made your eyes widen. “Y-Yoongi.” You stuttered, finally able to speak again.

He hummed in response and started kissing and sucking on your neck. It felt unbelievably good.

“Yoongi. Yoongi, wait.” You spoke, putting your hands on his shoulders and pushing him away. He looked at you and raised an eyebrow. “Why are you doing this?” You asked him.

“You don’t want me to do it?” He asks. “I-I didn’t say that. I just—” You started. “Then shut up and let me do what I need to do.” He speaks over you, pressing his lips against yours after he finished talking.

His lips felt so good against yours. You didn’t realize how much you liked his lips until this moment.

Yoongi held your waist with one hand, pulling you against him. You used one hand to run fingers through his hair and the other hand was still rested on his shoulder.

His tongue entered your mouth, exploring it and even meeting with your tongue.

You lightly tugged on his hair, causing him to groan into your mouth. Hearing him groan sent waves of pleasure down your body. You wanted more.

Yoongi pulled away from you, removing your shirt and his shirt before placing his lips back on yours.

You placed one of your hands on his neck, slowly trailing down to his chest, and then to the bulge that was evident in his pants.

You palmed him through the black sweatpants he wore and once again, he groaned into your mouth.

Yoongi placed his hand at the hem of your pants and pushed them down. You stopped out of them, now only left in your bra and underwear.

You pushed Yoongi’s sweatpants and boxers down and he stepped out of them before breaking away from you and sitting down on the couch.

“On your knees, baby girl.” He says to you. You did as told and got on your knees, coming face to face with his length. Yoongi leaned forward and removed your bra before speaking. “Be a good girl and suck.”

You nodded before putting one of your hands on his length, stroking it a couple of times before putting your lips around the tip. You decide to tease him by licking and sucking the tip, and only the tip.

“If you keep teasing me like that, you’re gonna be in big trouble, y/n.” Yoongi speaks in a stern voice. Trying to push his buttons, you continued to do what you were doing.

Yoongi got fed up and placed his hand on the back of your head. “It seems like you want trouble.” He says before pushing your head down onto his length. You took more of him in your mouth. He began thrusting his hips into your mouth, making you take in all of it.

The back of you throat stung, but you loved every second of it. “You love it when I do this, don’t you, y/n?” Yoongi asked, as if you could answer.

Suddenly, he pulled you off of him, standing up and picking you up. You wrapped your legs around his waist so you wouldn’t fall.

He walked to your bedroom, and while he walked, you felt his length brush against your core, which was still covered by your underwear. You sucked in a breath at the contact, causing Yoongi to laugh.

When he got you your room, Yoongi rested you on the bed, wasting no time before getting on top of you and attacking your lips with his.

Yoongi used this position as an advantage to grind down onto your clothed core, causing you to moan inside of his mouth. He chuckled before removing his lips from yours and putting them on one of your breasts. He used one of his hands to touch the breast that his lips weren’t on. He alternated between both breasts. You loved the feeling he was giving you.

Yoongi looked up at you, pressing his lips to yours as he slid your underwear off, both of you were both completely naked now.

“I’ve wanted to do this to you for so long, baby.” Yoongi admits before running his fingers up and down your folds. “You’re so wet for me. I love it, babe.”

You moaned as he stuck two fingers into you, not giving you time to adjust to them. Since you were so wet, his fingers glided in and out easily. He curled his fingers inside of you, touching the special spot that make you gasp.

“Yoongi.” You moaned. “What is it, baby girl?” He asks.

You just wanted him inside of you already.

You moaned again and since you didn’t answer his question, Yoongi spoke again. “Use your words, baby. Unless you’re not going to get what you want.” He smirked.

“You’re such a tease.” You say as his fingers kept going in and out of you. “I’m just getting started.” He says, pressing his fingers against your spot.

“Yoongi! Fuck!” You yelled, shutting your eyes tightly. “What do you want, baby girl?” He asks.

“I want you, inside of me.” You said. “I am inside of you.” He said.

“No. I want your cock inside of me. Right now, Yoongi.” You finally say. “You want my cock? Beg for it, baby.” He responds.

“Please, Yoongi.  I can’t wait anymore. I need to fuck me right now. I’m so wet for you. Please.” You begged. “Well, since you asked so nicely.” He smiled, taking his fingers out of you.

He kissed your lips before aligning his length with your entrance. He gave you no time to prepare, or get used to it as he slid inside of you and began to thrust in and out of you at a fast pace.

He used one hand to prop himself up and placed the other hand on your thigh, gripping it as he easily pushed and pulled himself in and out of you.

He angled his hips a certain way and his length repeatedly pressed against your special spot as he went inside of you. “Oh my—yoongi!” You yelled, enjoying the pleasure that was being given to you.

“You like that? You like when I fuck you like this, y/n?” He asks before placing his lips on your neck.

He continued to thrust in and out of you at a fast pace. You were basically shaking from pleasure underneath him.

“Yoongi, I’m so close.” You informed him, feeling your orgasm reach closer and closer.

“I’m not letting you cum that easily. Beg me if you want to cum.” He tells you, looking at you.

You shook your head, teasing him.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, shocked that you refused to obey him in a situation like this.

“Beg me.” He repeats himself.

You closed your eyes and bit your lip, holding back any sounds that would come from your mouth.

Yoongi suddenly pulled himself out of you completely before turning you so that you were laying with your stomach against the bed.

“On your hands and knees.” He instructs. You listened and did as told, having your ass on full display for him.

“I can’t believe you were being such a bad girl just then.” Yoongi says, rubbing both of your ass cheeks with his hands. “Do you know what bad girls get?” He asks.

You shook your head. “Bad girls get punished.” He tells you, just as you felt a sharp pain on your butt cheek.

“Never.” *spank* “Disobey.” *spank* “Me.” *spank* “Again.” *spank*

He spanked you a couple more times and surprisingly, the pain felt good to you. You loved it.

You laid there, taking the hits. A few tears escaped your eyes, but it didn’t matter to you. You loved everything that was happening.

When Yoongi was finished, he caressed your cheeks, running his hands over all the spots he hit.

He flipped you back around without warning, almost immediately slamming his length back into you, causing you to scream out his name.

“I know you want to cum, so you better beg me.” He said into your ear. It sounded more like a growl, which turned you on even more. Your orgasm was so close.

“Please let me cum, Yoongi. It’s so close. You make me feel so good, baby. I need you to let me cum.” You begged, tired of waiting.

Yoongi smirked pressed a quick kiss against your lips before looking at you.

“You can cum, princess. Cum all over me, baby.” He spoke while thrusting in and out of you, again at a fast pace. “Just make sure you look at me while you cum, okay? Keep your eyes open for me, baby.”

You moaned, feeling your orgasm come closer and closer until you felt the tight knot in your stomach finally unravel. Your orgasm washed over you, taking you into a state of pure bliss.

You looked into Yoongi’s eyes as you came, obeying what he said before. You had the urge to close your eyes, but Yoongi stared into yours, not letting you close them.

“Fuck, Yoongi.” You breathed. “I’m close, y/n.” Yoongi tells you as he continued thrusting.

You began to tremble from overstimulation, but you loved every second of it.

Yoongi let out a string of curse words as you finally felt him release inside of you. His warm liquid filled you up.

He thrusted slowly, a few more times before pulling out of you and laying down beside you.

The room was filled with nothing more than the sound of the two of you trying to catch your breaths.

“That was amazing.” You admit, turning your head to look at the man beside you. As you looked at him, you saw that he was already looking at you.

“You can say that again.” He smiles at you.

“That was amaz—” You started again. “Don’t actually say it again.” Yoongi says, playfully rolling his eyes.

You giggled as he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him. You rested your head on his chest.

“Yoongi,” you started, looking up at him. “Yes, baby girl?” He asked.

“I know you’re a demon and everything, but can demons have relationships? Or is that like, against the demon code or something?” You asked him.

“You want a relationship?” He asked you. “Do you?” You ask.

Yoongi nodded and you smiled. “Then yes.” You spoke, biting your lip.

“Y/n, do you want to be my girlfriend?” He asks.

“Yes.” You nodded and Yoongi smiled at you.

Without telling you what he was doing, Yoongi brought one of his wrists up to his mouth and bit down, hard.

You raised an eyebrow, confused, but deciding not to ask any questions yet.

When he pulled away from his wrist, you saw the blood leaking from his arm.

He placed his bleeding wrist in front of your mouth. “Drink.” He instructs.

“Okay, you’ve asked me to do a lot of stuff today. This is the weirdest one.” You admit.

“Just do it. If you don’t hurry up, blood is going to get all over your sheets and I’m not washing them.” He tells you.

You rolled your eyes before opening your mouth. Yoongi pushed his wrist to your mouth and you licked the blood off of it, swallowing it.

When he pulled his wrist away, it wasn’t bleeding anymore. He smiled and looked at you, putting his index finger and thumb on your chin. He brought your mouth up to his and kissed you.

“So what am I now?” You asked as you pulled away from his lips. “Am I demon now? Or am I a vampire or something? I think I saw something like this on the Vampire Diaries one time.” You tell him.

“You’re still human.” Yoongi chuckled.

“What?” You ask. “So I drank your blood for no reason?” You pouted.

“It was for a reason. Your mine now, and if anything or anyone who’s supernatural gets close to you, they’ll know that you’re mine.” He explains.

“So you marked me?” You asked and he nodded.

“This is cool. Who would’ve thought that the thing that was haunting me for eleven years was actually a really cute demon who I like very much.” You say.

Yoongi playfully rolled his eyes.

“Go to sleep, loser.”

God is good when your heart hurts; when the questions are heavy; when you don’t understand; when the answer feels like it’s never going to come. His goodness is not based on your circumstances but on the unchanging character of who He is. you can lean on His steadfast love and care for you. know that even when your world is seemingly spinning out of control, you can rest in this unchanging truth: God is good, and He is still good even when life is not. He is bigger than all things, He is holding every moment of your life in His hands, and He will always glorify His Name in your circumstance.

Sure-Fire Signs an INFP Really, Really Likes You.

To probably all of INFP’s friends, it’s obvious they like someone. Maybe it’s the way they slip Crush into conversations, or maybe it’s the way their face lights up when someone else mentions their name. Although every INFP is different, there are a few things that most of us do that are definite signs you are the fancy of our eye. 

1. Talking. Talking. Talking.

As an INFP myself, I always find excuses to talk to you. Sometimes, I “accidentally” send you a message that was intended for someone else. Other times, I walk up and randomly ask you your middle name despite never having properly introduced myself before. I want to get inside your brain. I don’t just want to get my feet wet. I want to completely submerge myself into your thought processes, your feelings, and how your beautiful mind works.

2. So much staring. So much. 

I can’t help it. INFPs can’t help it. We’re not very sensory people, so when we see something that we like, it’s hard not to stare. It almost feels like a shock–something brand new that I’ve never felt before. Even if we don’t talk to you a lot, we’re always watching. 

3. Questions about you. And then answering about me. 

Asking a lot of questions lets me do two things. One, I can see your answers. Two, I can see how you react to certain questions varying in degrees of weirdness. I can see how much of me you can handle. Questions ranging from, “What’s your favorite color?” to, “Wouldn’t it be so beautifully tragic if the sun and moon actually were lovers?” We just kind of spout whatever is on our mind. Taking this a step further, when we answer those questions, we’re slowly opening our guarded hearts for you. We’re trying to let you inside, and also trying to see if that’s something that excites you. 

4. SHARING POETRY/SONGS/WRITINGS

I CANNOT STRESS THIS ENOUGH. IF AN INFP SHARES SOME OF THEIR POETRY (IF IT’S LOVE POETRY, JUST MARRY THEM)… THEY LIKE YOU. IT’S SO OBVIOUS. HUMOR THEM A LITTLE AND COMPLIMENT HOW AMAZING THEY ARE AT WRITING, AND THEN WRITE THEM A POEM. 

5. Acting a little clingy, but never in person. Only via text. 

The whole realm of online is a strange place. INFPs have carefully maneuvered their way through it. If they can’t see you every day (at school or something), chances are they just really, really, really want to talk to you. So they spam your phone with a bunch of very random statements and then regret it later because how dare they make it so obvious that they like you. 

CAMERA || Oh Sehun

Gif taken from this source. 

Note: Cam!girl (noun) a model who performs through live webcam footage and do sexual things based on viewers request.

Content: 9k graphic smut, exhibitionism, body worship, lots of smutty things things.

CHAPTER TWO

Sehun cares about you more than you thought he would…


You have been sitting in front of your laptop to check at your bank account for a long time, but no matter how long you stayed there the amount of your money stored didn’t change at all. 

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And it’s funny how we tiptoe around what’s important, and we accept that half of what we want to say remains unspoken because we convince ourselves it’s better this way. Easier. Safer. Because if we took the next step, things would likely crash and burn and we’re so scared of seeing everything we’ve fought for go up in flames. And whenever I see you, your eyes are filled with questions that threaten to spill over the edge, and I know mine must look the same to you. You may wonder why one of us should take the risk and just say what’s been on our minds - if both of us are constantly looking for the answer. Why one of us should make a promise we can’t keep. But let me tell you one thing: if we don’t start being braver soon, we will stay who we are and what we are - always walking next to each other, but never hand in hand. Two parallel lines that will never ever meet. Two loose ends that are never tied up. And I can’t take the thought of standing still when it comes to you.
—  stagnation / n.j.

this is my @aftgexchange gift for @sirandking i’m not sure if this is quite what u were hoping for n it’s messy but idk i kinda like it 

tw for mentions of alcohol as a coping mechanism, as well as super brief blink-and-you-miss-it mentions of riko, drugs and self-harm

ao3 link


“That sweater is new,” Kevin comments as he seats himself in the beanbag next to Andrew’s, passing over a mug of coffee as he does so. It’s a small, meaningless comment - the kind of small talk they both collectively despise - but it’s something, and since the death of Riko, Kevin’s found that there are not really any other threads connecting the two of them. Silence has panned out between them for weeks. He tells himself he’s irritated by it because it’s bad for the team’s dynamics - a rapport with your teammates is essential for a successful team. He won’t admit that Andrew is probably the closest thing to a friend Kevin has around here, except for maybe Neil.

He doesn’t expect his comment to be dignified with a response; he knows Andrew well enough to know to expect perhaps a nod of acknowledgement, or a stony look his way, questioning and judging his observation. Nevertheless, the silence makes him ever-so-slightly self-conscious, so as his eyes catch the way the sleeves fall over Andrew’s hands, he tacks on a lousy “–and too big for you.”

Andrew Minyard has always been best at defying expectations.

“It’s not mine,” he responds coolly, devoid of emotion or even acknowledgment, eyes still trained on the contents of his mug as he mutters, as though talking to no one.

It’s an easy enough admittance, casual and shameless, yet it still manages to leave Kevin embarrassingly taken aback. He knows, realistically, that he probably has the best insight into the relationship between Andrew and Neil than any other outsider, however he’s still never quite got it. The logical part of his brain tells him it shouldn’t work - two people both so shattered and fiery, like shards of broken glass, in such close proximity can only end in further shattering, as far as he’s aware. And flames. It’s concerning, something with so much power, with so many sparks - just one wrong move could become a savage wildfire that burns his team down to nothing more than ashes. It’s risky and dangerous and stupid and he hates it, is terrified of it, but this admittance that comes so easily changes something in him.

Because something about the idea of Andrew Minyard curled into a beanbag with a cup of coffee and his boyfriend ’s (and isn’t that in itself another unexpected and ever-so-slightly strange thing to wrap his head around) sweater on feels less like untamed sparks and more like a candle light. And that’s much more soothing than terrifying, even if it is still a little strange to him.  

Perhaps trying to understand this would be a good idea, he concludes. So he asks “When did all this start for you anyway?” waving a hand conspiratorially to punctuate the question. And this time he’s almost convinced he’ll be ignored, or delivered a vague, meaningless answer as a result of the unspecific question, but the furrow of Andrew’s brow as he lifts his gaze up to Kevin’s tells him otherwise. It’s a strange, uncharted territory.

“February.”

“You liked him before then,” Kevin suddenly finds himself accusing before he can stop himself, still processing this new information, whilst considering every sign he could remember, the most poignant being the way Andrew did things for nobody but Neil. Could only have his arm twisted by Neil. Had always drifted towards Neil, had never raised a knife to Neil, had always been straight with admittances to Neil; Neil, Neil, Neil was the exception to every rule of the Andrew Minyard handbook, the one Kevin had studied meticulously and still never found a loophole in. He finds himself itching to know more.

“I hate him.” Andrew deadpans, a reflex at this point, and if Kevin was anyone else, he’d have furrowed his brow, wrinkled up his nose, frowned and found himself reprimanding Andrew, but he’s not anyone else, so he smirks instead, because he thinks he’s finally starting to understand how Andrew works, and this kind of understanding is as scintillating as it is spine-chilling, like watching a horror film, driving past a car crash or finding a spider in your room - the kind of fear that keeps you captivated, unable to tear your eyes away from it even when you know it’s awful, and you shouldn’t, and if this is what Andrew feels around Neil, no wonder he hates him. Andrew has never enjoyed feeling, as far as Kevin knows, and something so intense and contradictory, something that can’t be calculated and analysed can only be devastating.

The words “I know,” feel foreign and awkward on his tongue, his body tense as they slip out and it all multiplies when Andrew’s blank stare shifts from the mug he warms his hands on to Kevin’s face. “Why him?” he eggs on, trying to coax something out of Andrew, whether it be more answers and information, something to help him understand, or just a reaction, something to put the world back in order and dissolve the itchy curiosity and mere residue of fear that has settled on his skin.

Andrew ignores it entirely. “You’ve reached your daily quota of questions you can ask me for free.” He pauses, as though considering something for a moment, before finally deciding against whatever it is and dismissing Kevin with a curt “You can go now.”

Kevin goes.


The next time Kevin sees Andrew, it’s because he’s paused the exy game on his laptop and emerged from his room for the first time in hours after smelling something divine. He is greeted with the sight of an unholy amount of Indian food scattered across the table, and isn’t sure whether he wants to kiss Andrew (if he was not in a relationship, if Andrew was not in a relationship, if either of them were in any way attracted to each other and if he had a death wish - none of which are even remotely true) or kill him, because really , this is not how future professional athletes should eat, but he can hear Jean’s voice in his head telling him to relax, to loosen the tight leash of control he has over his life in order for total success, thus he reluctantly picks up the spare fork left on the side and a tub of something orange, before sitting on the other end of

the sofa to Andrew.

“Nicky and Aaron will be here soon,” Andrew states at the exact same time that Kevin asks “Where’s Neil?”, changing his course of action to start Kevin down instead.

There’s a handful of new mottled bruises adorning his face from who knows where, and a nasty looking cut beneath his eye that he’s certain Aaron will fuss over later, much to Andrew’s dismay, and for a moment he considers asking if he’s okay,  before swiftly realising what a stupid idea that is and dismissing it completely as Andrew opens his mouth again.

“I’m not his keeper.”

“I know.” Again. Andrew sighs.

“Did I or did I not tell you that you have asked as many free questions as you are permitted to today?” This time, as Andrew snaps, Kevin hears it.

“Free?” he asks around a mouthful of rice, swallowing hastily before he continues. “So if I give you something, I can ask more?”

It’s a rhetorical question, but Andrew grants him a small nod anyway. “Neil and I have - had - a thing.” Kevin agonisingly anticipates his next words as Andrew scoops up another mouthful of food. Static silence stretches out between them until he swallows again. “Truth for truth. For everything you ask me, I ask you something.”

“Deal.”

“It’s my turn.” His gaze shoots skywards, face contorting in mock-thought. “Why are you so interested?”

“In?”

He rolls his eyes. “Do I have to spell it out?” is punctuated with a sigh. “Me and Neil.”

“I don’t understand it,” is all Kevin replies, because, really, he’s not all too sure.

“Understand what?”

“Any of it. It’s a lot to process.” Andrew nods as Kevin finishes, despite the answer being indisputably lame.

“It’s your turn.”

“Why him?” falls out of Kevin’s mouth again like a reflex. He watches as Andrew’s blank expression twitches and his eyes shut for a second in something akin to stoicism.

“He’s interesting.” Kevin knows how much that means from a perpetually bored man.

“He’s kind of messed up,” he replies hesitantly, though there’s really no “kind of,” - there’s not doubt that Neil’s messed up - and he isn’t sure whether his words are a challenge or a disagreement.

There’s something almost wistful in Andrew’s eyes. “Exactly.”

Kevin gets that, too. The reason things have always worked with Thea, even when others told him, told both of them , that they shouldn’t, is because she always got it. She knew what it was like to be a Raven, she knew the complicated relationship he had with Riko and the Moriyamas, she never judged, never told him his reactions were gratuitous or invalid, she just understood .

Understanding, true understanding, is unparalleled in rarity, and perhaps the most coveted trait of all.

“Why alcohol?” interrupts Kevin from his thoughts, and it takes him a moment longer than it should to process that it’s Andrew’s turn again.

“What?” Kevin asks, wrinkling up his face.

“You could have any coping mechanism you wanted: drugs, self-harm, running yourself to the bone, food addiction, therapy, adult colouring books…” he lists off, his eyes infinitesimally lighter than usual, and Kevin resists the urge to roll his eyes, because of course the only person who can amuse Andrew Minyard is Andrew Minyard. “Why alcohol?” he repeats.

“It’s the only thing that can make me forget.”

“There are drugs that could do that much easier,” Andrew replies, but there are lines in his forehead as he tacks on “probably.”

“After Seth and Aaron,” Kevin responds cautiously, “and you – cracker dust is the worst I swore I’d ever do. And that–” he pauses again, mind casting him back to nights at Eden, panic attacks in toilet stalls and the burn in his throat that leaves his brain null and void of all things Evermore. “–It’s not enough on its own.”

“It’s weak. And unhealthy.”

“I know.” He replies, and there’s something cold and cumbersome building up at the pit of his stomach as the topic is stretched out like an elastic band, millimetres away from snapping or closing back in on itself, so he tries his hardest not to trip over words as they stumble out of his mouth. “It’s my turn again. How does it work - you and him - after everything? Your past. How do you–”

“No.” Andrew cuts him off, fists clenching tighter around the cutlery in his hands. “You don’t get to ask that. Something else.”

Kevin doesn’t say sorry, but his face does, even if there’s something about pulling a reaction out of Andrew that sets his nerves on fire. “What are you scared of?”

Andrew blinks at him once, empty composure regained. “Heights.”

Kevin’s face wrinkles up. How can a man who has spent so long mocking Kevin for his fears of the Moriyamas, of the Ravens, of death , be afraid of something so trivial, something that is a fear of death, in a way, in itself. “I thought you said you weren’t afraid of death.”

“I’m not.” Andrew replies, a hint of a sneer on his face as he adds “And I hate that word.”

“Afraid?” Kevin asks, shrugging when Andrew nods. “If you’re not afraid of death, what is it about heights that you’re scared of?”

“Falling.” Andrew replies hollowly, and Kevin’s about to ask more, about to ask about how he can go to a rooftop so often with Neil - does Neil know? - when the conversation is interrupted by the sound of a key in the lock, and the two boys shift around just in time to watch a drenched Neil, looking like he’s just taken a fully-clothed shower, stumble through the door, flanked by Dan and Allison, both also varying levels of waterlogged.

As the girls immediately make their way over to the excess of food lying on the table, eyes wide and begging Andrew and Kevin to let them have some, Neil slides effortlessly into the space between them and turns to Andrew, who tentatively reaches out towards him and ruffles a hand through his hair, watching as Neil slides his soiled jacket off and finally wiping his now wet hand on Neil’s shirt to dry it.

The sides of Neil’s mouth twitch and Kevin battles with the urge to turn away, to leave.

“There’s enough food there to feed a small army,” Neil mutters, low enough that the words were really meant only for Andrew, and softer than Kevin’s ever heard. It’s more than slightly disconcerting.

“You’re a small army,” Andrew retorts, only Neil must be hearing something else completely in that, because next thing he knows, Neil’s turned around to face the girls who are still fawning over the makeshift banquet.

“Invite the rest of the team and you can help yourselves,” he states, watching with eyes showing something reminiscent of fondness as Allison immediately pulls her phone out and Dan digs through their drawers for extra cutlery.

Neil turns back to Andrew, the ghost of a smile hanging from his mouth fading after a second, face wrinkling up.

“Isn’t that sweater mine?”

Kevin’s mind may say “Disgusting,” but he can feel the sides of his mouth quirk upwards as he finds Andrew’s face encrusted with crumbs of fear like he’s tumbling, freefalling, into an abyss.

Teaching Tip: Build Your Culture and Climate with Attendance Questions

Everyone knows that the social and emotional well-being of a child is just as important as their academic skills.  In fact, our district just put “Culture and Climate”  at the top of our teacher evaluations.  If a student doesn’t feel safe and loved in each classroom, they they aren’t going to learn. Period.

Sure, there many ways to build a positive culture in your classroom, such as standing outside your door while students are coming in, giving them opportunities to define the rules in your classroom, letting them choose their seats, going to their extra-curricular activities, giving them a survey, etc. However, one of the BEST ways (in my opinion), is to spend time really getting to know your students on Day 1 of the school year. That being said, you need to spend time getting to know them every. single. day. of. the. year!  

For the first five or ten minutes, my class never started with silent reading or a writing prompt; it started with an attendance question.  Each day, I would ask a question (you can see my list below of questions), and I would take attendance by having each student answer the question.  My students told me they love this part of the class because it gives their brain time to transition from one class or subject to the next.  They also explained that this was a great way to get to learn about each other…who has similar answers, funny answers, and/or were extremely creative each time.  In middle school, you never know what answers you are going to get.  One year, I had a group of boys that somehow worked in a Morgan Freeman answer every single time.  Last year, a boy answered with something about curry each day.  

So, what does this look like? Up in the front of my classroom, I have a podium with a “special stool,” and on that podium is my list of questions and a print out of student’s names.  For the first week, I tell the students my question, and I call on each student for their answer.  When everyone is done, I tell them my answer to the question.  (You’ll learn that if you give your answer first, you will have at least ten other students give that same answer.)  This is a great way to learn the names of students as well.  It is always my goal to learn every single name by the end of the week, even when I have 170 students.  There is no way I could do achieve this without doing the attendance question first.

At the end of the first week and for the rest of the year, I have a different student each day that does the attendance question.  Obviously, this would be more difficult if you teach students under third grade, but here is why I do it. The students LOVE sitting in the special chair up front with this responsibility (yes, even teenagers).  It also gives me time to sit at my desk for five minutes while I am doing the attendance on my computer at the same time (yay, a chance to sit down), or I am spending that time passing back papers and handling individual student needs.

Some of you may question whether you can give up those five or ten minutes of class.  My answer is yes!  When you build a positive culture and climate in your room, you are saving yourself time from discipline problems later on in the year. Maybe you have that one student that makes you want to poke your eye out, and then you learn that you both share a love of horses.  What better way than to connect with that student. I have also learned that the students start to feel like a family and become protective of each other, as long as you don’t allow negativity or snickering during the attendance questions.  I stress that there is never a wrong answer; every one gets to feel how they feel. Kids are vulnerable, and it’s important to set up that safe place for them. If you allow students to make fun of an answer, you are actually killing the positive culture in your room, and NOW you are wasting your time in the beginning of class.  Have you ever met a person who doesn’t like to share something about themselves? No, me neither.  

This year, remember that the social/emotional part of a child is just as important as the subject that you are teaching.  You may find that students never want to leave the room during the attendance question.  There is a reason for that. Create that classroom where kids may pause before wanting to leave the room.

Feel free to use my list of questions.  At the end of the list, I also have “Would You Rather Questions” that I use when I have less time and only want a one-word answer.  This list is always a work in progress, so if you have questions that you think would be great to add, please let me know.  I almost have you covered with enough questions for the whole year, though.

Here is the link to the questions: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1nEwWvnacTYUvlm7i3kqGmhY0BKuOjcKxFznZxPfTHOY/edit?usp=sharing

I mean there’s so much you could do with American High School AU Death Note: 

  • Light as the ultimate asshole prep-school Young Republican, claiming the Death Note as a right. 
  • L being L, and also still being black – having the additional challenge of working with police teams who are not always great about being shown up by a super genius black kid.   The question of whether his eccentricity is, at least in part, an act to seem “harmless” to racist cops is never fully answered. ‘
  • Misa as instagram model and social influencer who is both a true believer and using her position as an early Kira supporter to raise her profile.  Light doesn’t really respect, because he sees what she does as silly, but who is much more clever than Light thinks, because marketing herself (and Kira) is harder than it looks. 

But that would have required…. actual thought??? 

Can’t have that! 

She's Not You | TOM HOLLAND X READER

Description: In which the reader, in an effort to get over her crush on Tom, decides to set him up but for some reason none of the girls ever get a second date. Tom’s problem is that the one girl he wants to go out with seems to be hell bent on setting him up with someone else.

Author’s Note: I’m back hoes what’s good? I’m pretty proud of how this turned out and I hope you liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Inspiration for this fic came from something I read a while ago and last night it popped into my mind for some reason so yea now there’s this. Anyway, let me know what you think!

Word Count: 2219

FANFICTION MASTERLIST



“So?” I prodded Tom, dragging out the o’s as long as possible. We were in his dressing closet after a long day of filming as he took out his regular clothes at a snail’s pace. You’d think since he’s somewhat of an athlete he’s be a quick changer but unfortunately that wasn’t the case.

Tom took out a pair of jeans and threw them on a nearby chair. “So what?” he asked not looking at me.

I threw my head back with a groan, he knew exactly what I was going to ask him. It was the same question I always asked him every time I set him up with a new girl. Each week I’d find a girl who would go on a date with Tom, which wasn’t that much of a challenge, and each week he’d take the girl to dinner.

The only problem was that none of these girls ever got a second date. Not a single one and for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why.  I like to think I know Tom pretty well so I’m always surprised when the girls I think he’ll really like never get a second date.

“How was your date with Quinn?” I asked, eager to hear what he thought of her. This is the same question I’d ask every week with another girl’s name. I was hoping that Tom would say he liked her and that he would be taking her out again but-

“It was fine,” Tom answered pulling out a t shirt and shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly.

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What Lovers Do: Part 3

Fandom: Marvel

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: You have a friend with benefits relationship with the Winter Soldier himself: Bucky Barnes. You two have gotten the routine down: wake up, train, mission, come home, have sex, then act like nothing happened. It’s worked for you for a while now. But now that Bucky’s starting to see someone seriously, you don’t know what to do with yourself.

Warnings: angst

A/N: I heard “I Hate Myself for Loving You” by Joan Jett on the radio and this helped me write this chapter. 

Part 1 | Part 2

Originally posted by jlstreck


You avoided Bucky for weeks after the incident in the kitchen. Everyone noticed a change in you and no one, but Steve understood. They often questioned him about it, but he said it wasn’t right for him to tell. Bucky pleaded with Steve. Begged on his knees.

“Please, Steve. If she’s hurting, I want to help! Why won’t she let me help?!” 

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