cd stack

10 Gift Ideas for the Broke Person

Gift season approaches, and I’ve been struggling on how best to spend what little money I have on all the people in my life who I want to give holiday presents to. I’m sure I’m not the only one with this problem… so I thought I’d share some ideas.

1. Mix CDs - make your friends/family a mix CD with handmade cover artwork. If you can’t afford a stack of CDs, make a virtual CD and share the mp3s with them over Dropbox.

2. Homemade Cookies - Spending $7 on baking ingredients allows you to make a large batch of simple cookies. Divide them and use as gifts for multiple people. Throw on a handmade card and WHAM you got yourself a spiffy gift.

3. Cooking supplies - I’m not talking top of the line Kitchen Aid shit. Go to your local dollar store and buy things like wooden spoons, platters, funny mugs for under $5. Everyone needs at least some cooking supplies!

4. Cacti - Don’t go to a nursery, go to a grocery or department store with a plant section. Cacti are some of the cheapest and easiest to maintain plants, they only really need to be watered once or twice a week. And they look awesome. If the person you had in mind likes to cook, you might want to consider buying them some sort of herb like rosemary or thyme.

5. Bulk food - This might not work for everybody, but I’m sure your broke roommate wouldn’t object to a bulk package of ramen or mac and cheese. They sell 12 packs of ramen at my local dollar store for $1 each. ONE DOLLAR FOR TWELVE MEALS.

6. Unused Books - I’m betting that there’s a book in your apartment/dorm room that’s in perfect condition, but for whatever reason that you will never use again. Wrap it in some gift wrap and scrape off the price tag.

7. Spa Day - For those of you in relationships (or who feel safe touching your close friends/family in that way) make mock “spa coupons”. Offer services such as manicures/pedicures, hair stylings, massages, etc.

8. Use your talents - Are you an artist or musician of any sort? Make a piece of artwork or write a song. Buy a large piece of poster paper at Home Depot for $5 and make a funny collage full of inside jokes that only your friends will understand. Are you a knitter? Make mittens for people.

9. Weird clothing - Go to your local Salvation Army or Goodwill and spend a couple hours combing the shelves for weird items. Funny t-shirts, strange hats, etc. Don’t go to department stores looking for clothing, it’ll be too expensive.

10. “Fancy” Meal - Spend $20 and invite several friends/family members over for a fancy dinner. You don’t need to be a chef or to spend lots of money to make something “fancy”, just make the atmosphere “fancy”. Make pasta with some sort of red sauce and possibly meat. Insist that everyone dresses up, light candles, play jazz standards, take pictures- make a real night of it. 

ALSO! If you can’t afford gift wrap use newspaper. 

romeo and juliet: aesthetics
  • romeo: a disassembled jigsaw, bright pieces spread colourfully over a green blanket; lipstick marks from a good friend's mouth on one's cheek and brow; the heat of your own flushed cheeks; streaks of strawberry sauce in a banana milkshake, bright pink cutting through the yellow; a drop of sugar, sweet on the tongue and not yet dissolved into a sloppily made builder's tea; warm hands sliding under someone else's shirt; laughter heard on the wind, warm despite the chill of the breeze; the snag of his woollen scarf on her coat button in the midst of a kiss, followed by giggles and awkward shuffling; soft gasps in the dead of night; whimsical tales bound in high-brow black leather.
  • juliet: a white dress laid on a newly made bed; fresh-picked lavender and heather in a vase upon the sill, reflecting lilac against the windowpane; the warmth of a new fireplace; the scent of a summer breeze; a piano heard in the next room, fingers smooth against the clean keys; a series of cloth-bound books in every hue, clean of dust and shelved colourfully along the wall; drops of blue and pink dye into cake mix, showing swirls of colour in thick white with each shift of the spoon; baked biscuits, pressed flowers, the texture of parchment and the satisfying, smooth roll of a new pen over a blank page.
  • benvolio: the sensation of sliding into a hot bath after a long day; soft sighs into cups of steaming cocoa; shared smiles in the dark, laughter muffled by someone else's shoulder; the smell of old books and baking bread, clinging to a broad-shouldered jacket; a grip slightly too tight on your wrist, firm but not sadistic; a thick, red blanket laid over the back of a comfortable chair; gold braid in places gold braid doesn't need to be; a proffered piece of sweet chocolate that melts on the fingertips.
  • mercutio: glitter smeared on someone else's bedroom door; loud laughter heard just over a song's bass line; an affectionate hand sliding over a good friend's shoulders; freshly cooked lamb laid to rest on the kitchen side; bruises and scuffs that ache on the knees; a white shirt cut so low it might as well be an open vest; a stack of CDs and dog-eared books on a bedside table; an unmade bed with three people sleeping in a row, the cat laid over three feet and purring; a hot shower after coming in from the pouring rain; wide grins shared over good beer.
  • tybalt: the drag of eyeliner over sensitive skin; a bed made tightly with black shining sheets and a half-dozen pillows stacked neatly at its head; a bloody fingerprint on the spine of a well-loved book; the metallic hiss of a blade through the hair; dead flowers tied with ribbon in an antique vase; new shoes settled on a chair awaiting polish; a wardrobe full of crisply ironed, clean shirts; black hair, long and sleek and tied back at the neck; an empty photograph frame hung on a plain wall; a red ribbon curled around the stem of a champagne flute.
Not Another Teen Cliché (That Ended Up Being Totally Not Cliché At All)

Based somewhat off this.
Title based somewhat off this

The whole thing was malicious.

Chloe had been sitting at her lunch table with her friends enjoying one of the last high school meals they would have at that specific picnic table in Barden High’s courtyard.

“Look,” Alice Peterson sneered, pointing to one of their classmates sitting alone under a tree.

“It’s that Beca Mitchell girl,” one of Alice’s lackeys said with a grin.

Chloe shifted uncomfortably on her wooden bench spot. She glanced across at Aubrey who was silent throughout the conversation, despite her obvious discontent with the conversation and the girl in it.

“Shame,” Alice shook her head rhetorically, “some girls just can’t be as attractive as we can.”

It was conversations like those that made Chloe question why she ate lunch with those girls three of her four years of high school. Why she was friends with them and why she even put up with them a little bit.

“Bet even you can’t make her pretty,” a lackey noted, nodding at the girl across the way.

Alice sat and contemplated for a moment. “No,” she scoffs for a moment, “but I bet I know who could.”

All eyes turned to the redhead.

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Baby Dunbar pt 4

So I’m thinking of making this like nine parts… maybe XD

I also made you Stiles’ sister. #noregrets

Kind of a filler chapter.

Word Count: 1116

You grabbed your purse and double checked to make sure you had everything.

“Okay, so, I’m going to grab some stuff because your werewolf stuff decides to devour everything in sight.” Derek winks at you. You blush and continue. “Then, I’m going to have lunch with the boys. I might bring them back so they can play with Liam. I guess you can train him or something, but be careful. He’s not a teenager anymore, he’s a child.”

Derek nodded and turned to Liam who was watching the TV, glazed eyes, binky in mouth. You nodded at him and walked out the door and to the motorcycle you had bought a while back.

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anonymous asked:

WAIT YOU TAKE WRITING REQUESTS ? if so could you do a kacchako married life with kids or pregnant ochako like i want a heartwarming katsuki fanfic pleaseeeee i would love it so much especially if you are the one who will write it really thank you so much for everything you do for this fandom , love you and looking forward for your respond have a nice day

Note: Hint of bakumomo brotp (thanks to blamedorange I can’t get it out of my head). Also comedic LOL You flatter me, anon! Your ask made me really happy. Enjoy the fic!! 

In which Bakugou gives her a surprise

               Her eyes skimmed over his credit card statement scrutinizing every letter and every number. While guiding with her finger, her brows scrunched together looking like she was solving the biggest puzzle of the century. What the heck did he buy at Future Electronics?

               “Katsuki,” Her eyes were still glued to the sheet, “Could you come over?”

               Bakugou grumbled a short ‘mm’ and slowly traipsed over. Watching as she lowered herself against the velvet cushion, her arms made way to rub her stomach in a round motion. She was due in 3 months and they both couldn’t be happier. The journey through motherhood was a difficult one; every morning she’d feel extra tired and she would have horrendous mood swings. Par for the course of being pregnant.

Fortunately, Bakugou was always there early from work. Given his amazing performance, his boss had no problems with him taking time off once in a while to take care of his wife. Yaoyorozu would visit a lot too and would constantly offer to buy baby clothes or any needed equipment that came to their mind. Bakugou once asked her to just create the items but Yaoyorozu, being righteous beyond words, would shake her head to refuse.

Appeasing Uraraka’s eye level, Bakugou knelt down beside her, a hand slowly stroking her voluminous hair.

“Why did you spend $120 dollars at Future Electronics?” She thrusted her lower lip forward looking as though she was expecting an elusive answer, “I don’t see any new electronics in the house.”

His lips curved into a small smile; toying with a brown tuff of hair on her head that was clearly out of place, he said “I got a baby monitor for the crib. The electric dolt was the one who recommended it ‘cas he’s using the same one with earphone tentacles.”

“Please call them by their actual names,” Uraraka commented. She’d been making progress trying to get Bakugou to act more civilized but seemed like Yaoyorozu was the only one who could give him etiquette lessons that he wouldn’t dare forget.

She turned her head over acutely; just enough to see his slightly pointed teeth. A blush grew on her unblemished cheeks as she recalled Ashido asking her if she ever found it hard to kiss him because of his badass demeanor. “Quite the contrary”, she remembered answering.

Shaking her head to pull herself away from her reverie, she found herself an inch away from his face.

“Jirou told me before her baby monitor was only 40 bucks,” she said, suspicious and she saw him dart his gaze away purposefully with a sigh.

“Fine, gimme a second.” He didn’t sound too compliant but he knew he couldn’t keep the surprise much longer. Standing up, he stuffed his hands in his pockets, head tilted high as he trekked up the stairs. Barely a minute after, he walked back down, head peering over the top of the cardboard box that he had enfolded in his muscular arms. The box he was holding sounded as if rocks were inside, rattling side by side.

With the heel of her palm, Uraraka pushed herself up but ceased halfway, halted by her husband.

“Don’t get up,” he called out, “I’ll bring it over. I was planning to surprise you.” He gave a pause, analyzing the wrinkles that appeared out of her confusion. True, he wasn’t the type to give surprises, usually. But marriage changes most people, right?

“I was reading an article in a magazine when I was waiting for your doctor the other day. About music and babies.”

He gradually lowered the box in front of the couch that was pretty much exclusive for her for the past half a year, “So apparently classical music makes babies smarter.”

He stuck his arm inside and retrieved a stack of CDs squeezed between his calloused fingers, “So hell with it, I got one of each CD on the shelf. You shoulda seen Kaminari’s face, he thought I was possessed.”

As he looked through the back description of each CD case one by one, Uraraka’s gaze fell on his gentle expression. If she were to tell people she wasn’t worried about being a mother, she would be outright lying. The thought of waking up every morning, caring for a new member of her family, let alone her own baby, was awfully daunting. Sometimes, when she was alone in the house after her husband left for work, she would curl up in an edge of a room and just sob, letting out all her stress. Whether it was purely out of nerves, or maybe the fluctuation of her hormones, she had yet to tell.

“I’m so happy,” she extended her arm over to squeeze his forearm, stopping him from studying the CDs, “You’re going to be a great dad.”

He knelt down again, “And you’re going to be a great mom.”

Maybe Yaoyorozu’s lectures on etiquette are working, Uraraka thought. Had it been 2 years ago, Bakugou would’ve swore up a storm. Both of them paused for a short while to grasp the moment with Uraraka still in awe of his compliment.

Bakugou cleared his throat, revelation arising like a light in the end of a tunnel, “Hey we gotta find the right name for our little troublemaker. We haven’t done that yet.”

She groaned, “Don’t call her a troublemaker please. I don’t want to jinx anything, which is a high possibility since she might take up after you.”

He let out a light chuckle and clicked his tongue, “If she looks like you, we’ll call her ‘Angel’.”

She smiled brightly at the cute suggestion but that was clearly the calm before the storm. His red eyes flashed ominously. She had been with him for too long to not know that something ridiculous was currently worming through his mind.

“If she looks like me…” his voice trailed off and he raised his arms in emphasis, “we’ll call her ‘King’!”

Uraraka jaw-dropped. Feeling an annoying twitch of a vein on her forehead, she buried her face in her palms and let out a frustrated yelp.

“Katsuki, would it kill you to let me feel sentimental longer for once?!”

I’m Slurring on Purpose

Trimberly Songfic based on Bittersweet by P!@TD

Excerpt: “By the time the tests were finally taken and passed, all of them were ready to sleep through the entire break. That would come, but first, a celebration.”

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About Town Pt. 1


Hiiiiiiii guyyyyyys, sorry! I’m not convinced I’ve kicked my funk just yet, but this prompt from @i-dream-of-emus piqued my interest, and got me to sit down and write something! It’s not done, I’ve started part 2 and sketched out where I want it to go, but I really wanted to get something out there, and this seemed like a natural pause in the story while I gathered my thoughts.

PROMPT: Rae is well-known by the staff of Town Records, and when they don’t see their most loyal customer for a couple of weeks they get worried. Some how, they find out that she’s in the psychiatric ward, and want to do something nice for her during her time there.

So, each week, a member of staff visits her at the hospital with the latest NME and Melody Maker, and the week’s new releases. Rae borrows the CDs for a week, then buys what she can afford of the ones she likes most.

And guess who is Town’s grumpiest / best-looking part-timer?

I didn’t keep exactly to the brief, and some of this will show up in the second half, but it seemed to scratch the itch of “What if?” for me. (Well, half-scratch … still got a bit of an itch.)

Not tagging anyone, but I’ll stick it on this month’s Round-Up. Hope you like it!

* * * * * 

It often takes awhile to notice when something’s missing. Like one of those “Can you spot the differences between these pictures?” puzzles they put in to pad out the Sunday papers. At a casual glance, it all seems the same, but when you have a think and start to really look, you see what’s gone from the scene, what’s been changed.

Finn chewed his thumb nail as he restocked the magazine rack with the shipment of latest issues.

“Dave?” He shouted to be heard in the back room.

A muffled “Yeah?” floated out of the half-open door.

“Where d’ya want me to put the Melody Maker Souvenir Issue? They sent us extras!”

Dave stuck his head out from the stock area. “They probably printed too many, the wankers.” He nodded to the counter. “Stick some by the till. Maybe we can shift ‘em as an impulse purchase.”

Finn nodded, chewing on the inside of his lip, now that both hands were occupied.

After stacking a bunch neatly on the counter, he plucked a copy from the top of the pile. Dave always let him have a couple of mags a week at no charge. For no reason he could name, Finn glanced guiltily at the open door to the back and slipped a second copy into his knapsack, then sat down at the stool behind the till, humming along to Elastica playing on the in-store speakers.

Waking up and getting up has never been easy,

Oh, oh, I think you should know.

Oh, oh, I think you should go.

Make a cup of tea, and put a record on.

Saturday mornings were always slow, but Finn liked putting things right round the shop. He’d straightened out most of the sections, filled all the magazine racks, even tidied the notice board. He wasn’t the most personable employee at Town, and he knew Rob generally liked a late night of a Friday, so he didn’t mind volunteering to come in at half-eight on a Saturday, even if he ended up bored for the last hour or two of his shift.

It also meant he could visit his nan after. Normally, he’d stop over at her cottage, which was much closer to Town than his own house, but she’d had to go into hospital for some routine tests earlier in the week, and they’d kept her over, saying they wanted to monitor some levels or something. It didn’t sound good, but they kept telling her not to worry, which she in turn told Finn, but his nails looked even more of a state than usual.

He was gnawing on another cuticle when Rob rocked up through the front door, looking rough but resigned to a full day of work.

He nodded at Finn, who nodded back, and then shoved the door to the back wide open as he went to deposit his stuff in his locker.

Finn didn’t have a locker, as he only worked about ten hours a week. His eyes flitted to the clock, and he was surprised to note that Rob had come in early. It wasn’t yet noon, and Finn was supposed to leave at one. Usually, they were ships passing.

Finn looked down at the cover of the Melody Maker special, the Brothers Gallagher staring deadpan back at him. The song changed over on the stereo system, and he could hear the clock tick a few seconds in the silence before Morning Glory (ironically) started up.

There were no customers in the shop, hadn’t been for most of the morning, but suddenly and unaccountably, it made Finn feel nervous, restless. He’d felt it was quiet for the past few weeks, really. It was like he was living the same Saturday over and over each week, waiting for … something.

Rob came out and plopped down next to Finn behind the counter, sighing.

“Y’alright?” Finn asked.

“Good as can be expected.”

Finn nodded.

“You?” Rob asked back.

Finn shrugged.


Finn sighed now. Rob was a decent sort, and there wasn’t anyone else about. “Me nan’s ill. Well, maybe not, but she’s in the hospital for a bit, I guess to make sure she’s not? Anyway.”

“Hey, that’s shite. Sorry to hear it. Hope she’s okay, yeah?”

“Thanks.” Finn shifted on his stool, still restless. “This place has been dead. Deader’n usual, even.”

“I know. Haven’t even seen that girl, you know the one, is it Mae?, come in recently. Have you seen her?” Rob asked offhand.

Finn froze. “Rae,” he whispered. That was it.

He’d kept having these weird half-thoughts, just glimpses flitting across his mind, of a figure with long dark hair, moving around the shop. But they’d been so fleeting, so transitory, he hadn’t been able to put his finger on it.

She rarely spoke to anyone, just sort of appeared, usually around noon of a Saturday, this sort of time. Sometimes he’d see her in the late afternoon during one of his mid-week post-college shifts, but she’d been a fixture on Saturdays until recently.

He furrowed his brow. “Yeah … I mean, no. It’s been a few weeks, at least. Wonder what’s happened to her.” As soon as he said it, he realized he hoped nothing had happened to her. That she just decided to spend her Saturdays somewhere else, or was out of town, even moved. Though, he didn’t really hope that last one.


She didn’t buy much, but when she did, it was something good. Something he could tell she’d thought long and hard about, having saved and researched and listened to as many tracks as she could before committing to it.

He distinctly remembered her being near the front of the queue for the new Oasis on release day back in October, though. He’d asked his dad if he could bunk off and work, so he could get his hands on his copy first thing in the morning, before the shop opened to the public.

“Remember when that last Status Quo album come out?” he asked, eyes pleading his case. “You moved your morning meeting so’s you could get it first thing.”

His dad had rolled his eyes but relented, as long as Finn promised to take the bins out for a month without his usual whinging.

And when he turned up at the shop, there was actually a line down to the chemist’s a few doors away. He’d felt special, being able to walk past the crowd and wave to Dave inside, who came over to let him in early. “Not your usual release day, eh?”

Dave grunted. “I noticed you pre-ordered one, too. You can have your pick of the discs, as long as you’re quick about it. I’ll have to let this lot in soon, or risk the wrath of Mr. Singh next door. They’re blocking his entrance.”

Finn ducked his head behind the counter and saw nearly a hundred CDs in neat stacks. Logically, he knew they were all the same, but he wanted the best one. He randomly picked the third one from the top of the second pile, inspecting the case for damage, the wrapper for tampering. It looked good–pristine, even. He slipped it in one of the paper bags by the till and put it in his own bag, in a pocket all by itself.

Even now, months later, he could remember that feeling of satisfaction after so much anticipation. Before he’d even listened to anything but the two songs released for the radio, simply possessing it—the mere possibility of how much he might like it–had been tantalizing.

He wasn’t precisely sure why his brain was hashing over that day on this day, until the memory expanded to seeing her, Rae, come in with her eyes shining and cheeks flushed from waiting in the morning chill for more than an hour. He remembered noticing her uniform, which he’d never seen her in before. She looked like she felt uncomfortable in it, but possibly a little less uncomfortable than normal, since she was getting to pick up this album.

Dave was running the till; Finn was bagging the CDs. It only took them about half an hour to get through the line, but the moment when Rae was at the counter seemed … well, memorable. After all, here he was, remembering it.

“Yours was the third name on my list for this, love,” Dave chided Rae as he took her bills and made change.

“Yeah?” she asked, “Who was ahead of me, then?” She was in a good mood, all smiles. Finn couldn’t remember ever seeing her smile that big.

“Just this one,” he hoiked a thumb in Finn’s direction, “And Rob, of course.”

Rae turned to look at Finn, probably reflexively, and their eyes met. “Felt like today’d never come, eh? Been waiting for this for months.”

That might have been the first time she’d spoken to Finn without him speaking first. And the only time he’d initiated conversation was likely to be part of a transaction.

Finn nodded. “I know! It seems like I’ve been waiting forever, but their first album only came out last August.”

Her lips closed over her teeth, but she was still smiling. Then she said, “Hard to believe—feels like I’ve had those songs in me head for years.”

It was his turn to smile. How was it he could remember this moment so clearly?

That was when the moment ended, however. The man behind Rae cleared his throat in irritation. “Could you two hurry it up?”

The smile fell from Rae’s mouth; Finn handed her the bag with her new music and, as she turned, he said, “Hey, lemme know what you think of it, yeah?”

The corners of her mouth lifted a fraction and he would have sworn she nodded as she turned to leave.


He’d known something was missing; how could he have not realized?

He supposed she had always just been there, in the background of the shop, quietly … existing. He was intrigued by her, sure, but she seemed pretty private, and he wasn’t one to press anyone. He was more of a hang back and let them come to him sort of bloke. She seemed cool, and he liked to idly speculate about her, but that had been good enough.

Rob sighed. “It is bloody dead in here, isn’t it?”

Finn nodded, feeling a little disoriented. It was, but he was wrapped up in wondering.

“You can leave early, if you want. I’m here now, and there’s no reason for the both of us to be bored senseless.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, escape while you can. Go see your nan.”

“Thanks, Rob. Have a good one—hope business picks up.”

Rob smiled. “Usually does.”

Finn shrugged on his jacket and slung his bag across his chest, then waved to Rob as he headed out.

His walk to the hospital was fairly short, and he was so distracted by thoughts that it seemed like he arrived in less than a minute. 

He started to walk down the hall to the nurses’ station to check in, when he saw a flash of long dark hair down the corridor off to his right. His head turned instinctively, and there she was, like he’d conjured her with his jumbled thoughts. She was standing next to a younger girl, head bent down to listen to the girl whisper in her ear.

When the girl was done, Rae straightened up, flipping her hair over her shoulder as she did. The hallway was dim, but for the spot they were standing in, an open door let the light from the courtyard windows in, and the light played across the sweep of her hair.

He was staring at her, mouth open, when she spotted him. He watched as she went from noticing him as a presence, then as a person, to the second she recognized him. Her shoulders hunched up, and she looked down immediately, as if not looking at him could make him not see her.

She didn’t last long before glancing up to make sure. He held up a hand in greeting, and she nodded. Her little friend looked up at her, her expression bordering on incredulous, before shoving Rae in the small of her back to propel her towards him.

Rae shot the girl a dirty look before dragging her feet down the hall.

As she approached, he began to smile. He was glad to see her, see she was … well, she might not be okay, as she was in hospital, and he could see her tag despite her long sleeves. But she was here.

“Hiya!” he said, brightly, his usually mumble gone for once. “Funny running into you, we were just wondering about you at the shop.”

Her eyes flew to meet his. “What? Why?”

“Well, we just … hadn’t seen you in a while. Sort of got used to you coming in every week. Saturday mornings are pretty boring without you.”

The expression on her face was impressive, but still hard to read. “Really?”

“Well … yeah. Sometimes you were the only customer I’d see before noon.”

She scoffed under her breath, and half smiled to herself. Then, suddenly, asked, “What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, visiting me nan. She’s … they’re observing her. For, like, levels, or summat.”

Rae nodded, like she understood. “Sorry to hear it. I won’t keep you. Nice to … I mean, thanks, or … whatever.”

She turned to walk away, and Finn found himself protesting. Out loud. “You’re not keeping me. I’m early this week. It were so dead, Rob said I could leave before one. I—“  

Rae pivoted cautiously to look at him while he floundered.

It was then he remembered the extra copy of Melody Maker. “Oh, hey! Do you, I mean, is it alright if I …” He fumbled with the clasps on the front of his bag. “I just happen to have an extra of this week’s …” He held it out to her, hopeful. “If you want it, that is. It’s a special edition, that’s why I grabbed an extra.”

Her eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion for a split second. “You sure? It’s not for someone else?”

“No!” Why had he practically shouted that? “No, sorry. I just … grabbed two instead of one. I can always get another; they sent us loads.”

She turned to fully face him, but snuck a glance over her shoulder at her little friend, who was grinning down the hall at them.

“Well, thanks, then. I’ve been starved for news of these two for weeks now.” She gestured to the brothers on the cover.

Finn grinned. “They’re still the same old arseholes, far as I know.”

“Arseholes who can make some bloody great music.” Rae smiled back, holding the magazine close to her chest, like it was something precious.

“It’s good to see you, Rae,” Finn said. “Hope we’ll see you at the shop soon.”

Her eyes softened at that, and she nodded faintly. “Yeah, hopefully.”

He wanted to ask her why she was there, what was going on, but he had no right, and from the little he knew her, he knew she wouldn’t want him to pry.

He waved again; this time in farewell.

When he got to his nan’s room, he still had a smile lingering on his lips.

“You’re happy about something,” his nan teased, before he even saw her.

He dipped his head, shaking it in denial, but said, “Well, yeah, happy to see you!”

She gave him a knowing look, but didn’t question him, just held her thin arms out for a hug.


Clay is haunted by the bloodied sight of Jeff. (HE WHO LIVES) His worried mother brought back his medication just in case he needed it. Clay was adamant about taking it again and he went off to blow some steam to his childhood friend, reader’s and his safe haven. Angst and Fluff ensues. Watch me add Jeff in everything jk

Everyday, I think about how traumatizing and devastating it is for Clay for being the one to find one of his close friends dead and then barely a month after the girl he loves is well you know. But enough with that! In this fic no one is dead. 

Warnings: mention of the accident 

A/N: This fic is based on Demi Lovato’s Nightingale, hence, the title. I hope you guys like it. Excuse my terrible attempt at writing a kissing scene.

Originally posted by lilpieceofmyworld

“Clay, honey, dinner is ready!” Hearing his name being called, he grudgingly sat up knowing that if he don’t move he won’t hear the end of it from his mom. He stood in front of a full length mirror checking if something was amiss before running down the stairs when he heard his name being called the second time.He sat in front of his mom while his dad sat beside him. Both of them looking at each other then to Clay who sent them both a questioning look. His mother placed an orange cylindrical bottle in front of him, looking him dead in the eye.

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“Realization” - Requested Oneshot

“Realization” - Requested Oneshot

My Masterlist - Here

Victor Zsasz x Reader

Word Count: 1,260

Key: Y/N = Your Name, L/N = Your Last Name, H/C = Your Hair Color, E/C = Your Eye Color

Warnings: Violence, Cursing, Cuteness

Summary: @dontphunkwithmylove

Author’s Note: This is my first time writing from not the reader’s point of view. So I hope I did okay. Also, I apologize to everyone who has requested prompts to me. Things have been more difficult than I thought recently and caused me to have a delay in all of my writing.

If you would like to be tagged in any of my future pieces (All Works, Specific Fandoms, or Specific Multi-Parts), please let me know! And as always, feedback is greatly appreciated!


- DreaSaurusREX

Victor’s P.o.V

I never intended to be in this position, but I’m not necessarily upset by it. For once, I saved someone.

I was watching a target from a fire escape. He was some low life that Don Falcone had a bone to pick with. I didn’t question it. If Don wanted him dead, he was going to be dead within the hour. Nothing about this guy seemed to be dangerous or aggravating until she came by.

An attractive woman was heading through the alleyway to probably get home quicker. But this scumbag saw her and took his chance. I watched him walk up to her. They were talking and she obviously didn’t want anything to do with him. He pinned her against the wall and got too close to her; his hand traveling up her thigh while the other pushed her hip against the brick of the building. She screamed for help, and I pulled the trigger without hesitation.

Usually things don’t bother me in Gotham. But if a woman gets harmed or objectified in any way, I interject with no questions asked.

As the douchebag’s body fell, I made my way to her, holstering my gun and trying my best to look decent. She was obviously shaken, so I fully expected her to say no to my offer to walk her home. But she surprised me. Once she put together that I was the one that shot him, she actually felt safer walking with me.

She led the way and started conversation. Her name was (Y/N), a name that fit her perfectly. She told me about herself and how she was new to Gotham. I didn’t think I would talk much, but there was something about her that made me want to talk to her. I didn’t share too much, but I was myself.

I was myself and she wasn’t scared of me.

When we did finally get to her place, I did yet another thing that was new for me: I asked her out. I never thought I would even consider a female figure in my life. But I wanted her.

And that brings me to today.

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More Than That

Pairing: Yoongi X Reader
Genre: Smut, Fluff, a bit of angst and everything else
Word Count: 7,589K
Request: “Can I request some jealous Suga smut? Like you’re friends but he has a crush on you but doesn’t want to jeopardize the relationship until another guy starts being really interested in you? I’m excited to read more of your work! :)”

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As Long as You Love Me

This oneshot is 5358 words of pure love. I started this after my very first oneshot. I couldn’t figure out where I wanted to go with it. I love the Backstreet Boys and this song. I always thought it was perfect for Cory and Topanga and Rucas. I finally figured it out and I hope you enjoy.

As Long as You Love Me

It was Friday, two weeks before Homecoming at Abigail Adams High. Riley and her friends were so excited. They were sophomores now and had settled into the high school routine pretty well. They were all taking part in different clubs and activities and Homecoming was the highlight of football season. Homecoming was a time-honored tradition and Riley was eager to participate this year. Last year the triangle had just ended and they were all still adjusting to things.

Homecoming week was planned and each day would have a different theme. The gang probably wouldn’t participate in every activity but wanted to show their school spirit. Every day had a different theme with prizes going to the three people in each grade that best represented the day’s theme. All you had to do to participate was wear clothes from the different eras that were chosen for that day. Monday would be 60’s Day. Tuesday was 70’s Day. Wednesday was 80’s Day. Riley’s favorite day would be 90’s Day and Friday would be School Spirit Day. The whole week would end with a pep assembly and the football game on Friday night followed by the Homecoming Dance.

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night ramblings

Tim places his computer to the side, but keeps the documents he’s pulled up to the front because there’s some copying to be done. He opens his binder that’s thickened by papers, reports, newspaper clippings that he’s cut out for detective work. He gathers the papers and books and the sticky notes and the cds and stacks them. Not only by height, color and width, but also type, collection and organization of data inside and then refined by date added and modified. It’s delicate work and honestly, he’d rather not be interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps, Dick telling Damian goodnight, the jingle of Titus’s collar as he runs in and out of bedrooms nervously. 

Or the blur before his eyes because he’s so tired.

Or the light streaming into his room and the slow rumble of Bruce’s voice.

“Lights out, kiddo.”

Tim blinks. Yeah, it is 2:45 in the morning so it’s pretty insane to be up now for normal people. But. Work.

So he reaches out across his desk and switches off the desk lamp. “Yes, sir. Copy that, sir.”

Well, he said lights out.

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I Think I Like This Song

Title: I Think I Like This Song

An X-men fanfiction series

Pairing: Peter Maxomoff x reader (who is kind of a scene/alt/emo girl?)

Fandom: X-Men

Characters: Peter Maximoff x reader, Charles Xavier, Jean Grey

Warnings: Mentions self-harm (no graphic), depression, a little bit of swearing, FLUFF TO COME

Summary: One day the reader meets Peter at the CD store she works at, and he steals her Walkman, along with a CD in it. A few years later, something happens (which remains a mystery for the plot, because I like a good cliffhanger. Fight me.) and she is thrown in jail. Charles manages to get her out, but she falls into a depression. She won’t speak, so Charles is the only one she talks to, and very little. When school starts, Charles makes Jean her roommate since she’s a telepath.

Notes: Okay so I’m planning on this to turn out fluffy and really cute, so if you like that keep reading the next parts ;) (spoiler alert: Peter Maximoff fluff) The prologue happens before Apocalypse, and the Part 1 after it. The Prologue is not my favorite, but important for the plot, so bear with me. It takes a sudden dark turn in Part 1.

Originally posted by sassy-peter-maximoff


She stared out the big front window, watching the clouds break loose all hell from their hold. The rain pounded a rhythm above her, and the irregularity of it was both soothing and nerve-racking. She sat behind a counter, curled up on a swivel chair that hadn’t been changed since the stone age, bits and pieces of the padding inside hanging by a string. She fiddled with the chain hanging from her belt as she inspected the empty shop: rows of shelves, stacked CDs, even a few records in a box in the corner.  The shop was still stocked to the brim, like usual. Not many came through the door, just the occasional passing punk or the rare confused mother looking for a last- minute present for their son’s birthday.

A loud thunderclap cracked in the sky, illuminating her face in an eery glow, before fading back into the relentless downpour. She propped her elbow on the arms of the chair, resting her head on her gloved hand. Her black nails combed through her locks, dyed an autumn red, as she felt herself slip to daydream. She decided to get some music: she was no use anyways. Throwing her black boots on the floor, she paced down the aisle, her footsteps slightly loud against the muted patter. She ran her fingers over the CDs, not sure what she was looking for. She stopped on a mustard yellow one, the title in a typewriter font. She smirked: “Sweet Dreams are made of this”.  Backtracking, she jumped over the counter and slid into the chair again, propping her feet on the desk. She slipped it into the Walkman in front of her, plugging in her black earphones. Placing them in her ears, she laid back in her chair and let the music wash over her. She succumbed to the beat of the drums and the bass of the guitar: Synthpop wasn’t her favorite genre, but she would make do.

Suddenly, she felt a gust of cold air wash over her face, sending chills up her spine. Slightly disconnected from the real world by the music, she jumped when she realized the door was swinging wide open, banging on the wall in the wind. She reluctantly paused her music and lifted herself of her bottom to battle the storm. Once the door had clicked, she halfheartedly turned the Open sign that had flipped over. Oh, how she wished it was closed already. But she still had two shifts left.

She whirled around to see, much to her surprise, a teenage boy sitting behind the desk. “What the f-” she stopped mid-sentence when she realized he didn’t hear her. He was listening to the music, wearing HER headphones. He was obviously “in the zone,” so she stomped up to the boy, yanked the headphones out of his ears, and proceeded to ask him, quite madly, “What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Much to her surprise, he wasn’t the least bit ruffled. He gave her a cocky smile, slapped a pair of steam punk goggles from over his eyes onto his silvery hair,  then, leaning on the desk between them, in a singsong mono toned voice, answered,

“Hello, miss, do you need help finding a particular band?” He batted his thick eyelashes and tilted his head sweetly, looking for a reaction. At this point, she was done: this man did not have the right to touch her personal possessions. She could barely contain herself. Walking up slowly, she slammed her hands on the old desk and leaned over it, until she was barely centimeters away from him. Looking him straight in the eyes, she lifted a provoking eyebrow. “I don’t know, you tell me.” She said vehemently, and he held her gaze without blinking. His lopsided grin widened and he sat back, setting his Nike’s on the desk on front of her face. “Come on,” he slid his hands behind his head, balancing the chair precariously, “I’m not doing anything wrong!” Her face was now set in a permanent scowl, but he remained unfazed. He brushed off some dust from his silver leather jacket, and as he did she couldn’t help but glance at the cash register: it would not have been the fist time she had to fight of a greedy hooligan. He followed her eyes and scoffed. “Please, I just wanted to get out of the rain.”

“In case you haven’t noticed, this is the cashier’s chair. And if memory serves, you don’t work here.” The sarcasm in her voice didn’t really surprise her: it happened so often she sometimes couldn’t make out if she was being sarcastic or not. Suddenly, another flash of lightning lit up the sky, blinding her for a split second. When she opened her eyes he was there, standing in front of her, so close she could feel his vanilla ice cream scented breath on her face, holding the earphones to his ears with  her Walkman in his hand. “Yeah, I’m never getting a job!” He chuckled, his dark eyes glinting. He looked somewhat childlike, and the light from the storm created a ghostly halo on top of his messy, blown back hair. “You know what?” He said, mimicking a pensive expression, “I think I like this song.”

It all happened in a blur: she felt the wind rush over her, her hair whipping her face. The loud boom of thunder covered up the sound of the door slamming, and posters went flying all over the room. Dumbfounded, she stared at the shop in shock. She hadn’t even seen him leave. It was like he had just disappeared, leaving a mess like a tornado hit. It was still raining, so she couldn’t imagine why he had sped off, not that it mattered to her, but even the reason why he had come in was a mystery. And she just couldn’t fathom how he got out so fast, dragging everything in the shop a few centimeters closer to the door with the pull. She headed back to pick up the posters, stacking them in a neat pile on the desk, pretty much ready to sit back and be bored out of her mind for the next couple of hours, cleaning the rows of CDs that had been shoved off the shelves.

And then, it dawned on her: he had left with her Walkman.

Part 1

Three years later, the incident happened. She was lost: she didn’t know what to do. All she remembered where the metal bar doors slamming hard in front of her nose, the cold damp stone against her palms as she was thrown on the floor. She still had her own clothes, but a black and white jumpsuit was folded on the cot beside her, like a vile rag. She curled up in a ball, her back against the wall, staring blindly at the seeping darkness in front of her, not daring to speak, lest to be in deeper trouble, as the lights slowly flickered off, leaving her in the dark.

The same was for her trial. She didn’t defend herself; just stared at the ground, while the lawyer slowly bashed her down, pushing her deeper into an abyss of self-hatred. Her parents didn’t want her anymore: she was a demon spawn. They had kicked her out of the house, and didn’t even show up to her trial. It wasn’t much trouble for the police to pick her up. She had stayed in for nearly a month; became used to people boring holes into her back as they stared, to the signs they made at her approach. She looked down at her chipped nails covered in grime as stray locks slipped from behind her her ears, refusing to speak. Her voice, her cursed voice, had started this. The cuffs at her wrists were dragging her down, and she knew it was hopeless: what she had done was too horrible. She remembered single tear threatening to slip past her defenses, but she repeated the words in her mind, the lyrics that had kept her going all this time.

Suddenly, the court doors flew open. She hadn’t turned around: it didn’t matter to her. Little did she know, it would change her life. A bald man rolled in on a wheelchair, and somehow, he got her out. To this day it remains a blur in her mind, but she was out.

He called himself Charles Xavier, Professor X. He brought her to his school, promising he could help, took her in. Charles Xavier’s school for Gifted Youngsters. It was summer at the time, and not many students or professors were around, except for Hank, but he spent his time in the lab. Charles attempted in vain to heal her, but the depression had taken over: she started wearing big bracelets to cover the cuts on her wrists, stopped eating, but Charles wouldn’t have it. He set things in her mind that made it impossible for her to pick up a razor with the intention to hurt herself, but she just tore her nails up on her sore skin. She stayed inside with the windows closed, the satin curtains pulled shut. No light touched her skin for days, weeks, and she grew pale. Her hair was longer now, the red dye only creeping up halfway up the length. Charles, on one mind-search, found she liked music. Thinking it harmless, he got her a stereo. She drank up the song like it was a drug. The lyrics went deeper than the thrum of her eardrums; it spoke to her soul, buried deep inside her closed-off heart. Charles only could speak to her, with his thoughts, and as much as she didn’t like it, I felt good. He came very often: tried to get her to talk, to get her to eat. But she wouldn’t.

Soon, summer was over. The Professor forced her to go to class; he knew he wouldn’t be able to take care of her as much, so instead of leaving her in her misery he decided to entrust her to his teachers. This resulted in a heated mind- discussion, but she couldn’t argue: he had all the right reasons.

A week before school started, her roommate came. It was Charles’ idea: “she can help you”, he had said, “she’s a telepath, just like I am, and she’s been here for a while now.” It was no use fighting him; he only wanted to help. She was sitting on the floor in the dark when she came. Slowly, she pushed herself up and cracked open the door. She was greeted by a warm smile. Hello, a singsong voice echoed in her mind, my name is Jean. She didn’t say anything, just shoved her hands in the pocket of her worn hoodie. How are you? The older girl asked. She would continue to repeat that every time she saw her, despite the unchanging answer. I’m fine. She finally answered, looking down at her feet. Her shoulders were caved in, her eyes were down, Jean could see her self-esteem was somewhere deep. Jean couldn’t help it: she took her in her arms, silently prying at her thoughts. Yes, she had been through a lot. Jean saw some thoughts that scared her more than she would like to admit it, and she couldn’t stop the tear running down her cheek. She promised to herself she would help her, no matter the cost, and hugged her tighter. Rubbing her shoulders, she let go and headed to the window. Suddenly, the younger girl grabbed her arm. It’s okay, she reassured, then continued. She pulled back the curtains, the sunlight seeping in for the first time in a while. It played games on Jean’s head of red hair, made her gray eyes shine and sparkle. The other girl flinched slightly at the light; her eyes weren’t used to it anymore. Slowly, watching the girl’s thoughts, she opened the window. A gust of air ruffled through her hair, fresh and soothing. A thought came from the girl, about the height of the drop between the sill and the concrete underneath, that, quite to Jean’s surprise, she tried to stomp down with the lyrics of a song. Jean decided she would ask the Professor about what this meant, but for now she had to get her ready to meet new people, and she only had a week to do so. She faced her with a welcoming grin. Isn’t it beautiful? She gestured to the breathtaking view. The girl tentatively stepped closer, and Jean grabbed her by the shoulders comfortingly. What’s your name?She asked confidently. After a short moment, she heard a delicate reply: 


Tags: if you wish to be tagged on the next part just drop me a message!

Bookstore Shennanigans (Brendon Urie X Reader)

Had this on my evernote a while back. Bit crappy, but I guess you’d enjoy..?

If you don’t find me lame and you hope for more, send a request.

Dear Julianne and Martina, don’t laugh at me

Pairing: Brendon Urie and Reader

You paced the aisles of the music store that was conncted to the bookstore. Your headphones were connected to the iPad you had in your backpack, so you can listen to music. Well, Panic! At The Disco to be exact. Why you had an iPad with you? Your parents won’t let you buy an iPhone, let alone buy your own phone. You were stuck with the ones your sisters passed down, and it does nothing but send messages to friends who won’t message back during summer.

You browsed through each stack on CDs, hunting down the album you were listening to now. At this time, nobody’s really around in the store. With the song Camisado on, you started nodding your head to the beat.

“Can’t take the kid from the fight,
Take the fight from the kid,” you sang and started busting some moves, doing some punches.

“Sit back relax,
Sit back, relapse again- PA PA PA LOOO~” You stopped, slumped, then repeated your actions till you raised the roof.

You spinned on the heels of your feet, then walked forward. You walked straight straight into a tall man.

“Oh shit! Sorry,” You removed your headphones and moved backwards to look at the man.“NO SHIT ITS YOU!”

Brendon Urie laughed. “It’s fine! I saw you dancing to one of Panic’s songs. You were really good!”

You blushed, internally screaming and dying inside. “Huh? Oh that? I was messing around and I- OH MY GOD CAN I JUST HAVE A MOMENT? I JUST BUMPED STRAIGHT INTO BRENDON FUCKING URIE AND I AM HAVING A MELTDOWN. HOLY SMOKES.”

Brendon smiled, making you die even more.

“Can I hug you? To, um, make sure you’re real? Then have a picture or thousands to have my friends kill me?”  you laughed nervously. “Haha, but I’m already dead so..”

“Yea sure! Normally, fangirls would play it cool when they meet me or the band, but you- you’re really excited and shit.” Brendon said.

“Well, you make my entire life. I sing your songs every single day, practically annoying the hell out of my sisters. Heck, I run a tumblr blog about you!” You spilled.

You brought out the IPad, a picture of a derpy Brendon popping up as your lock screen. You stopped the album of A Fever You Can’t Sweat Out playing then turned on the camera. You and Brendon took pictures; smiling ones, funny ones, and scary looking ones. One of which, shocked you; he kissed your cheek. After placing back the iPad in your bag, you hugged Brendon tight.

“Thank you so much!” You squealed.

“Wait, I didn’t get the young lady’s name!”

“It’s Y/N L/N”

“Will I be seeing this lady at the concert tonight?” He asked.

“You will have to find me in the crowd then.” You giggled.

You walked around the store with Brendon, eventually going down to the bookstore,  mocking some book covers, telling him about your life. He told you stories about the tour, Dallon being an idiot sometimes. He gave you a backstage pass that he had with him and you stayed around till he had to go back to wherever the band practices.

“Fun meeting you, Y/N. Hopefully I will see you again tonight. I mean like, you’re fun to be with.”

You and Brendon said goodbye to each other and he left the bookstore. Goodness, you couldn’t wait till the concert.

anonymous asked:

omg please do a fic where Eric proposes or something along those lines pleeeeaaaseee

dylan never took eric as the romantic type. dylan’s always known eric as the crazy kid from school with the buzzed blond hair who wears army pants everyday and can beat all of doom on nightmare mode. and that’s all he’s ever been, really.

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