clean trousers

anonymous asked:

hot mess/troublemaker nct would honestly kill me! but whatever group you do i'm sure it'll be amazing!! i always check up on your blog cos i love your writing so much it's my absolute favourite!! have a lovely day! 💌

soooo,,,,i got into a mood where i really wanted to do troublemaker!you and good boy!taeyong,,,,so here you all go,,,,,,,,,,,

  • taeyong,,,,is the most polite student on campus,,,who is always kind of quiet but is that student that holds the door open for 30423 other people and who (when pestered by johnny enough) will give up his notes in exchange for nothing at all,,,,,
  • likes to show up to class exactly 5 minutes early and keeps his pens color coded and organized,,,,,
  • but also has the face and body of a model so no one understands how he’s such a ???? soft boy ???? how is he not always staring at his reflection because what??? the higher powers really spent their time with him????
  • but yeah,,,,taeyong has never even shown an inkling of understanding to how hot the student body of this college finds him and he’s more inclined to get super duper red and shy if you as much as compliment him on his shirt
  • you on the other hand,,,,,,,,,,,let’s just say you’re nowhere as tidy and as diligent as taeyong neither are you as meek LOL
  • most of the time you’re kicking up your legs on the desk in class, texting on your phone,,,,,,even chewing gum loud enough that the teacher can even hear it
  • and you’re never one to let gossip about you go,,,,so you’ve been in a couple of arguments with a couple of people on campus and let’s just say,,,,,,,,you’re not trying hard to sell the ‘good college student image’ to anyone 
  • and taeyong’s freshly pressed shirts, clean sneakers, and pleated trousers are a stark contrast against your,,,,,,,,,,messier choices
  • and taeyong,,,,of course knows who you are,,,,,but out of everyone in all your class he’s never even bothered to entertain any of the rumors about you. he’s also,,,,never bothered you with (what you deem) to be useless, almost offensive questions
  • and you don’t know what it is about him,,,,,,,but you secretly agree,,,,,,,he is ,,,,,a handsome boy,,,,
  • and you friends will bring him up and call him the goody two-shoes,,,teachers pet,,,,,,,blah blah blah,,,,,but you,,,,,you always go along with it but inside,,,,you’re kinda like why the HELL do i want to hold that losers hand,,,,,,,,
  • but it bothers you,,,,because,,,,,,taeyong doesn’t really pay attention to anything but his books so one day you walk over to his table,,,,give one glance to boy sitting beside him and that boy scurries off 
  • and as you sit yourself down beside him taeyong doesn’t even look up and you’re like UGH,,,,,,,,,,so you’re like hey, you
  • and taeyong is looking around and then looks at you,,,,,lowering his eyes and stuttering out ‘m-me?’ and you’re like YEAH WHO ELSE,,,,,,,,wait ok sorry for that,,,,,,but yeah you can i see your book? i never bought the book for this class
  • and taeyong’s wide eyes get even,,,,,wider because he’s like,,,,,,we’re almost halfway through the sem- and you’re like yeah yeah boy i know let me see your book
  • and this is your first time,,,,,,,talking to taeyong and,,,,even though for the next three weeks you sit beside him he literally doesn’t try to initiate conversation and you’re convinced he hates you,,,,maybe he heard about that rumor about you,,,,or maybe he just finds you annoying
  • and it simultaneously pisses you off but also makes you embarrassed and it’s driving you nuts,,,,,,,,
  • but on the day where you got into a big mix up with this one person in the campus cafeteria and had basically come out of it unscathed,,,,just a slight cut across your hand and some minor scartches,,,,,as you’re coming into class
  • plopping down beside taeyong you’re shocked when you hear his voice again after so long and it asks,,,,,,,if you’re ok
  • and you look at him and taeyong like immediately apologizes because he thinks you’re pissed lmao but you’re like,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,im fine,,,,,,,,,
  • and he’s like oh! good! sorry,,,,,,,
  • and that’s the last straw who the heck does he think he is being this freaking fine,,,,,and then????? actually so sweet?? and you get up and you’re like TAEYONG
  • and he almost drops out of his damn seat and he’s like y-y—yEs,,,,and you’re like “outside, i need to talk to you” and the class is like RIP BUDDY
  • but as taeyong follows you into a corner in the hallway he’s surprised when he sees that you’re not,,,,,,,going to end his life,,,,,but instead you’re completely red in the face
  • and he’s like oh no i don’t think you’re ok - and you’re like IM NOT and he’s like IM SORRY and you’re like NO ITS BECAUSE OF YOU OH MY GOD JUST HOLD MY HAND OK?
  •  and taeyong is like OK YES GIVE ME YOUR HAND and without realizing you do and you’re standing there,,,,,,,,,,,,
  • and taeyong is literally Shaking,,,,,he’s holding your hand,,,,,,of all people
  • and you’re like also shaking inside not on the outside because he?????Agreed to hold your hand????? out of fear???????/ what???//
  • but taeyong suddenly squeezes your hand and faintly you hear him go,,,,,,,it’s smaller than mine,,,,,,,,and you’re like GFHODGEFS
  • and taeyong is like SHOULD I LET GO,,,,and you’re like suddenly he has such a loud voice holy shit is he as nervous as me
  • and you’re like NO I LIKE IT OK DONT YOU DARE LET GO
  • and taeyong is like OK I WONT IM SORRy
  • and you guys stand there,,,,,,,,for what seems like twenty damn minutes and finally you let go and taeyong is like,,,,,,,,,,,i-is there anything else you want from me??? and you’re like i kinda wanna kiss you too but,,,,i think we need to build up to that stage,,,,,
  • and taeyong swallows and you’re like,,,,,BUT if you don’t want to just tell me i won’t be mad - i promise i wont do anything
  • but taeyong is fiddling with the cuffs of his shirt but he’s like n o,, n,,,,,o i ,,,,,,,,,,,want,,,,,,,to,,,,,,,you’re,,,,can i say this?
  • and you’re like??????// sure
  • and he’s like “you’re,,,,,,,,,cute,,,,,i think so,,,,,,,im sorry was that out of line,,,,,,,” and you’re like blushing because no one has ever called you cute ???? before??????/ no on has ever had the guts but here taeyong is,,,,,, not the meek boy you thought he was 
  • but you grin and you’re like No,,,,,,i like it call me cute more often and you pat his back and suddenly you’re not as embarrassed because hehe taeyong,,,,,,the good boy likes you,,,,,,,,
  • but taeyong is like ?!?$#@LT:59ujgfds ?@??#$? in his heart because is it true - is this a dream - do you really like him - did he just hold your hand - he’s going into sensory overload - oh my god you guys skipped the first half hour of claSS,,,,,,,,but oh my god his significant other is the most feared person in school oh my god,,,,,,,,,,but also you’re the cutest person in school ,,,,to him,,,,,,,should he say that outloud again???????

kitsunesongs  asked:

Obi-Wan is the chosen one of light, as Anakin is the chosen on of balance, and palpatine is the chosen one of darkness - it results in every darksider being obsessed with him. Everyone. They're all trying to capture and turn him, or just keep him, not kill him...every darksider ever/Obi-Wan + Very Over protective of HIS Master!getting close to the darkside!Anakin/Obi-Wan.

I could have made this sad. I could have. And yet.


Their door ringer chimes, but by the time Anakin answers it there’s nobody there. Only a red box in the shape of a Sith holocron with a pretty bow on the side.

Anakin sighed, and picked up the box.

“You got another one!” He shouted over his shoulder.

Obi-Wan’s voice drifted in from the fresher as Anakin walked back in and placed the box on the kitchen counter. “Whose it from this time?”

Anakin lifted the box up and found an envelope taped to the bottom. He pried it off and turned it over.

TO KENOBI LOVE MAUL it said, in thin, spirally Aurebesh.

“It’s Maul again!” Anakin shouted, and he could hear Obi-Wan’s put upon sigh from the other room.

A few moments later, Obi-Wan emerged from the fresher in a clean tunic and trousers and his hair plastered on his neck. He picked up the card, squinted at it, and then set it aside and opened up the box.

All three sides flopped open to reveal a cake with black frosting, little grey flowers, and the words “Join the Dark Side?” written on the top with red icing.

Obi-Wan hummed low and ran his finger over the side of the cake. He brought the finger to his mouth and tasted the frosting.

“Wow, he’s gotten a lot better,” he said.

Anakin crossed his arms petulantly. “I think we should toss it out.”

“Nonsense. It’s a perfectly good cake. Go and grab some plates.”

With a groan, Anakin went into the kitchen and returned with plates, forks, and a knife. He cut himself a tiny sliver for Obi-Wan, who handed the plate back to him and slices a generous piece for himself. The inside of the cake is as bright red as the word icing.

As they sat and eat their pieces of cake, the door chimed again. Anakin rolled his eyes skyward, and went to answer it.

There was an actual person there this time. Commander Fox of the Coruscant guard.

“Sir!” Fox said with a salute, before handing Anakin an envelope of the finest black flimsiplast he’d ever touched. “That’s for General Kenobi. Have a good evening.” He sketched another salute, and walked off.

Anakin came back into the kitchen and dangled the letter in front of Obi-Wan. “You have another one.”

“Oh.” Obi-Wan said through a mouthful of cake. He set his fork down and tore open the letter (there was no name on the front).

Inside was expensive, thick paper, folded precisely and carefully. The words written on it were neat and small:

Dear Master Kenobi,

As you of course already know, I am the Supreme Chancellor, Sheev Palpatine. Your efforts in the war have been particularly admirable, so I have taken the liberty of awarding you the highest honor the Republic can bestow upon a Jedi High General in her army.

You’ll be accepting your gift over a private dinner between yourself and I. I’m sure the Council will understand and allow you the appropriate amount of time off.

I look forward to it, Obi-Wan.

Yours forever,

Supreme Chancellor Palpatine

Anakin shook his head as Obi-Wan folded the letter back up and set it down. “Do you think he knows that we know he’s a Sith Lord?”

Obi-Wan shrugged, and picked up his fork once more. “It’s more entertaining to assume that he doesn’t.”


It is no secret that I have proportions on the heavier side of the norm, and certainly a lot heavier than the ready-to-wear world would deem worthy of accomodating. I stand a not particularly tall 181cm, my weight fluctuates between 100 to 105 kilograms, and I am usually about a 46" chest on a 39" waist. I tend to be a tailors nightmare, as I have a broad chest and thick arms, but still with a large drop. Only one tailor I know has ever said that my proportions are good for tailoring - Yuhei Yamamoto of Caid Tailors. I suspect my heavy build conjures images of a 50’s New Yorker for him - well fed on a diet of burgers and pie, and as American as a Japanese Ivy League fanatic could imagine.

What I have learnt, however, is that for all the things the heavy set man cannot wear, from ankle choking jeans that afflict the early 20’s crowd lately to bermudas and tee shirts, there are some things that almost demand the extra weight to properly effect.

There are some garments that I think benefit from a larger frame to carry them, chief amongst them being the traditional 3 piece suit. With the full leg  and high waist of the trouser, the shorter and trim girdle of a waistcoat, and the soft roll of a draped chest coat. Properly tailored, and that is tantamount to the bigger gent, a three piece in a dark formal cloth can amplify the gravitas a bigger man will often possess.

The secret here, although it is no secret to anyone that has studied the likes of Jackie Gleason or James Robertson Justice later in their careers, is that drape and depth are an imperative. And while it is the coat that most men remark upon, and where the significant attention the novice bespoke client lies, a well cut trouser is to a bigger man of the greatest significance. A few tips I have found that have aided me in all my significant girth are as follows;

Depth of rise - The tendency for skimpy, hip riding trousers is an abomination that any man hoping to be viewed as such and not the opposite sex should avoid. This is never more true than in a man built properly through the hips and seat.

As the hips and seat fill out, they also tend to draw upwards. The slim man has hips that begin at the shelf of the hipbone, while the bigger man will find it extending upwards towards the natural waist. The hips grow in proportion and the waist shortens.

Those of us that have put any real thought and study into dressing well are aware that a man cannot look good without looking elegant, and he cannot be elegant unless he is comfortable. Hitching at a low slung trouser and fearing the exposure of a creased shirt tail every time you sit severely inhibits the chances of looking elegant.

The depth of rise should be sufficient that you can sit and stand without the trouser needing to be adjusted each time. If your shirt tails are billowing from the back of your waistband after sitting, you can afford a higher back rise.

Personally I have found that a fishtail trouser worn beneath a waistcoat is an elegant, if slightly archaic option. When I am in three pieces, however, the waistcoat stays on, so the exposure of my braces and fishtail back is unlikely.

Braces - On that point, the trouser is built to hang from the shoulder. I know the proportions of my waist, much like my thigh, tends to shift between sitting and standing, so a slightly looser waist - 2/3 of an inch while standing is usually a safe allowance - and braces to keep the trousers at the correct position makes for a far more comfortable experience.

The brace over belt argument is also supported by the back rise issue - a longer back rise needs to be anchored higher than a belt could usually allow. Hung from the shoulder, however, the trouser falls clean from waistband through the seat and thigh, and there is no unsightly roping to break the vertical line of the leg.

Stride - Seemingly a factor misunderstood by most ready to wear manufacturers is the principle of stride - the difference in volume of the thigh between standing straight to leg crooked. What tends to happen here is twofold - the distribution of weight in the leg shifts, and the back rise through to the knee lengthens as the leg bends. This causes the thigh to occupy all of the extra rise height we have offered in the back of the trouser, and shift forward and down in the front of the trouser leg. Here, without the extra allowance in volume at the thigh, the trouser grips the fronts of the legs, strains the back rise, and leaves a trouser with sharp creases splaying out from the inside leg.

Taper in a trouser is important, especially for a big man - we don’t want to look like we are in oxford bags - but taper it is. There must be enough room in the upper leg to justify the gradual narrowing to the cuff.

Pleats - Hand in hand with the above, and an unpopular choice for nearly all men of my generation, are pleated trousers. The perception of 80’s era chinos with pintuck like pleats cascading from a low riding waistband has poisoned the minds of many from common sense.

Pleats are for medium to high waisted trousers, not low. Pleats should have enough volume, and the waistband not be so tight, that the pleats can accordion open when needed, and fall closed again when standing straight.

The other need for pleats for us bigger men is the visual break it gives the expanse of lap that a full hip creates. Broken evenly with one or two pleats, the trouser fronts are seemingly quartered and diminished. The clean, flat front on a rounder lower torso and hip begins looking like a globe of the earth in its unbroken fullness.

Taper - The taper in the leg depends on two main measurements - that of the hip and of the shoe. None of us want to look like overgrown Oompa-Loompas, shortened to a pear shape with tiny feet beneath a massive waist. At least I hope none of my audience here wants that. Nor do we want to look like Daffy Duck with rail thin ankles and paddles of feet beneath, so the last of our shoe, its size, and how we taper the trouser is important.

I have big feet myself - about a 44 European, so I favour shorter, rounder toed shoes with narrow waists and slightly taller heels and thicker soles. It makes for a shoe that isn’t overly long on my already big feet, but has enough weight at the sole to carry my build, while the narrow waist keeps it looking elegant rather than clumsy.

Conversely, someone with a small foot relative to their height might choose a longer, chiseled last that helps extend the length of foot below the trouser cuff. Or a heavy, gunboat style that will overall add visual weight to the foot.

The taper of the trouser needs to follow the same rules - we neither want to look unbalanced by an extreme taper, nor missing our feet by trousers that flap around too full and long. A good rule of thumb for the bigger gent is that the trouser should fall to the shoe with the gentlest of breaks in the front, and cover the top two or three eyelets of the shoe. A cuff of some depth will help keep the trouser stationed on the foot, and provide the visual weight to balance our, ahem, generous waists.

Much can be said about pattern and colour, their visual weights and how they affect the appearance of a bigger man, but for every rule there is someone whose style and panache is able to squash said rules entirely. I try to remind myself that I am accentuating the vertical as much as possible, especially in the lower body, and setting elegance as the marker of success.

There are some other points that Us bigger folk can carry that a more diminutive build cannot - lapels that look generous on a bigger man can come across as overwhelming on a smaller man. The classical full overlap of a double breasted suit that can look straight jacket like on a small man is entirely appropriate over a fuller girth. And the softer, longer extension of shoulder that is loved by the Northern tailors often balances a larger waist and creates the appearance of a drop from chest to waist, while the smaller man can end up looking like a scarecrow in it.

The soft drape of chest that was the hallmark of the Scholte cut gives a louche elegance to the bigger man, and adds the feel of generosity and ease that elegance demands.

And that brings us back to the original tenet of this piece - Gravitas. Picture Babe Ruth in his bigger years wearing a vested suit with all the softness and comfort as he did his baseball uniform. And in it he commanded respect by his very physicality. He had a gravitas to take something severe and humble it.

But the best example of a bigger man that could put to shame any more regularly proportioned clotheshorse is Jackie Gleason. His portrayal as Minnesota Fats in the 1961 classic “The Hustler”, he epitomizes elegance and gravitas, next to a fidgeting, sweaty and disheveled Paul Newman.

Gleason, a renowned clotheshorse in his personal life, spends the film in a three piece suit with a carnation in his buttonhole. With every shot he takes, his 270 pound figure looks as graceful as sometimes only a big man can be.

Love you more.

The third part of Don’t feel like flirting’ where Bellamy gets sick too after all. Requested by secretxlittlexdarling on ao3. A/o to @asavelveteen for beta’ing my fic again. Thanks girl <3

Original prompt: Clarke catches a cold or the flu while she is pregnant. (And Bellamy loses his shit). [Part 2]

It’s a two days later that Clarke walk into their room to find a sick Bellamy in their bed.

“Bell?” She whispers and makes her way to the bed, sitting next to Bellamy. He’s curled onto his side, knees folded into his chest with one hand under his head while the other rests between his legs. Clarke leans down and presses her lips to his forehead. His… sweaty forehead. He’s definitely hot.

“God, Bellamy. How long have you been like this?” She says, standing up and reaching for their second blanket.

“About an hour or so.” He murmurs, welcoming the extra warmth of the second blanket on top of the first one. Clarke sits next to him again, one hand stroking his side on top of the two blankets. “I think I’m sick.” He whispers then.

Clarke tilts her head to the side. “You don’t say.” She teases and gives him a smile. “Now I’ve gotta take care of you.”

“Welcome to my world.” He says and gives Clarke a smile, although it quickly fades. “I know you’re probably dead-tired from working all day, but could you go to medical and bring me some medicine?” He asks her. “I feel so tried right now, I can barely keep my eyes open.”

Clarke’s smile fades too, and is replaced with a concerned look. “No, I’ll let your fever burn you to death.” She jokes, regardless off her worry. “Can I have your shirts after you pass?”

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1. Footballers in high school. Won the final match. The big match. They drink beer in Draco’s car. Harry blabbers about Draco’s hands in his drunk state. He says his lips are the best in the whole world. 

‘You don’t know that yet.‘ Draco says softly.

That night, Harry found out he was right. His lips were the best.

2. Harry is a bartender. Draco is a regular customer.Harry knows he always wants one strong whiskey, and then slows down to lighter, more expensive drinks. They always acknowledge each other by a nod.

 He seems down from the past few days. weeks maybe. ‘You alright, mate?’ Harry asks, when Draco is still sitting with his head low, even after everyone has gone.

Draco politely tells him he’s alright.

But when he staggers and falls down by the lamp post, Harry knows he isn’t.

He takes him to his cramped apartment full of paintings and books and a drum set. he keeps on apologizing for the mess. 

He makes Draco lie down.Draco confesses that his boyfriend cheated on him. ‘You’re much better without him’ Harry says.He tends to him. 

three days later, Draco turns up at his apartment in a clean shirt and black trousers, which his long hair all over his forehead. He brings Harry a cake.

They go on a date the next day.

They go up to Harry’s apartment. They kiss by his window, sitting on the couch, with just a lamp burning.

Harry tastes like beer and honey and lemons.

Draco tastes like wine, chocolate and berries.

They love it.


I’ll add more. Y’all add too!!!

school sucks btw 

He left. He cried. - Carl Grimes Imagine AU

The sun had fallen asleep. The last rays dissolved into a thick blanket of black, spreading from the skyline and making stars glint. It was a peaceful time in the small town, a calm and still night. Everyone waited with clenched hearts for the train to arrive at the station. A train which would take away loved ones, and make souls suffer with bitterness and smeared tears.

She stared intently as he was making his dell suitcase. Pairs of trousers, six clean T-shirts and a coat were crammed within the space of the gaping bag. He could feel her acid eyes, tearing the skin of his back apart as she looked with wonder. He said nothing. He pulled the zip of his suitcase, neatly closing the patterned edges. She could feel her eyes begging to ache and her nostrils flare. The clamp of her throat was evident, pushing out her nude collarbones and raising her back from the stained wallpaper. He really was leaving. But how could he? How could he leave and forget about her, as if nothing never happened? Indeed, he could.

“You really are leaving.” She voiced steadily, forcing down her shaky breaths. She closed her eyes, swallowing back the emotion trying to spill from within them. “I never thought you would.”

Carl turned his head, his rosy lips parted as he took in her form. He looked at her. She was standing right there, as brave and strong as ever. He tried to speak, words were not an option. He could hear her warm voice smoothly echo against his ears again.

“I understand. It is your dream, after all.” She forced a smile, devouring her distress. “That’s why I won’t stop you. If it means you are happy out there, then so be it. Even if it means I won’t see you again, I won’t keep you back.”

The young man gave a look, one of confused desperation. The corners of his lips descended, and so did his heart. Did she really not mind? I didn’t seem to be it at all. She was sad, there was no doubt. Carl could feel her heart, beating within his own veins.


“You want to leave,” She continued, passionlessly glaring at her shoes. “Then leave. I’m not gonna stop you. I’m not gonna hold you back from your dream. I’m not going to cling on you and cry for you to stay. I’m not going to call you selfish because you wish to go away. Nor am I going to call you ungrateful, because you’re just leaving, after all we’ve been through. After all we have seen together. I won’t. Because I am your friend.” Y/n gave a little smile, the water now quivering within her squinted eyes. She held herself back from lunging forward, and engulfing him in a shaky embrace. Her innards were contorting painfully, her body drowning within her feelings.

“Aren’t we supposed to let go of the things we love?” Her voice was a pained whisper, breaking just like her confident smile. Her heart feebly protested, hollering wildly, begging her to keep him close. Pleading to fold her arms around him and swathe him within her hold, until she gave her last breath. “And that’s what I’m going to do.”

Carl stared quietly, his brows furrowed over his intense gaze. He glanced down and hesitated. He wanted to hold her hands. Feel the rough skin of her digits, the gentle touch of the tips of her fingers. Feel her lips on his skin, guiding him, teaching him in the ways of love. Oh, how lovely would it be to graze every scar on her flesh. To kiss and fondle each and every one of them.

Y/n’s eyes flinched once they locked with the clock’s hands. He had to leave so soon. Would this be the last time she looked at him? The final time she would hear his voice and feel his presence beside here?

Carl was coming closer. His chest was tight against her own, his body hot and flustered before hers. His thin fingers cascaded up her forearm, his lips parted slightly with wonder. He was going in for a kiss. His heart fluttered like a feather in the wind once they almost touched lips, their love glowing and alight. Yet the sweet contact refused to come. The young man’s eye opened, his actions ceased by the hand pressed against his chest like steel. He gazed at iron eyes, a pair which was sad and melting with emotion.

“You will lose your train.” Were her final words.

And when he withdrew, he knew there was no turning back. His fist clenched around the handle of his suitcase, and so did the sensitive heart within his chest.


Carl gazed about at the train station, watching as people fumbled about, cried, hugged, kissed and said their goodbyes. His head lowered slightly once he realized he was all on his own. He felt cold once he realized, he had just lost a life-saving company, a good friend…and maybe something more than that. Hell, would he even seen her again in his life? But it was too late now.

The train’s arrival was grand. The enormous vehicle screeched as it stopped, opening its gates and welcoming people inside. It was dark and cold, and the light coming from within wasn’t at all comforting. It would take him away.

Carl glanced about with desperation written all over his glowing face. He hoped to see her, standing amongst the people around him. But she was now long gone, and had forgotten about him. She would never leave, now.

He got inside the train, with a low head and numb expression. This wasn’t what it was supposed to be like. They had made plans when they were younger, naive and at the verge of death. They would leave this place one day, and they would do so together, hand in hand. But Carl’s hand was cold as he sat. His tired gaze lazed outside of the window, his breathing coming in small breaths.

Out of nostalgia, he craned his neck and peered outside the window, sadly gazing at the small town which once was his home. His heart almost stopped when he saw the last thing he expected near the train station. There she was, her girlish silhouette standing droopily and looking longingly at the train. She did come.

Carl’s breath hitched at the back of his throat, his eye collecting tears once he saw it; she was waving at him, and was slightly shaking. She was crying.

Not thinking clearly he stuck his hand out and waved at her as well, a small cry escaping the back of his throat. It hurt as a tear rolled down his milky cheek, cutting his skin as sharp as a blazing razor.

I love you.

Baseball!Jungkookie AU (Ch. 1)

Originally posted by theking-or-thekid

Chapter 1 (1/3)

Genre: Angst, fluff, Badboy!jungkook

Warnings: maybe a curse word or two

When your dad got hired to coach the nation’s top high school baseball team,  moving to the upper east side of Seoul wasn’t as easy as you thought it would be. Getting used to your new high school and your new position as the team’s manager was the easy part - getting used to the team’s quiet, badboy pitcher was a different story.

ch.2 ch.3

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The Surprises of Retirement


Dr Watson remained true to his word and paid me another visit just a few days later.

In his absence, the weather had altered between glorious sunshine and thunderous downpours that had transformed my chamber from a steam room to an ice box. I exaggerate, of course, but it was rather tiresome to drag oneself out of bed to fling the windows open or shut them again based on the whims of the weather. But I digress.

Dr Watson found me on a day that had been largely marked by heavy rainfall. I had not expected him but took great precautions as to my appearance when the knock on the door reverberated through the silence in the cottage.

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runway-slut  asked:

Hi, I'm fairly new to the radfem idea. I'm just trying to figure out what it means, its implications and connotations. Why are many libfems against it? How does radfem view trans people? What is an ideal radfem world and how does it include or exclude trans people? Why are many anons on your blog saying "nazi" or "fascist"? Which radfem principles tend to alienate POC, if they do? Why are anons saying if a POC is radfem, then she deserves to be subject to racism? Genuinely curious, thanks!

For future reference, try to stick to 1 or 2 specific questions at a time, instead of 6 all at once. I don’t want to write an extremely long response every time I receive an ask. It takes a lot of time and energy on my end. I understand you can’t just google “what does a rad fem world look like” without getting hundreds of biased answers that skew the truth, but holy shit dude.

Here is a link to 17 free rad fem books in pdf form

And 75 sex industry documentaries

I used to have a lot more resources but this blog is only 2 or 3 months old.
I saw a link to a PDF version of The Second Sex a couple days ago but now I can’t find it again :/ and honestly that things like 800 pages, I’d recommend just buying a physical copy. I bought a used copy from amazon years ago.

I don’t think lib books? All I remember from my lib fem days was being told what not to read, without any alternative suggestions.
So from my experience, the entire ideology is based on personal text posts from tumblr/twitter and random articles like “the penis is really just a huge clit!” and “10 reasons why periods are disgusting and you shouldn’t talk about them!” so yeah, ive never seen them recommend any books besides harry potter.

Anyways, I’m gonna try to keep this as short and simple as I possibly can because otherwise this response could quite literally become a novel.

Why are many libfems against it?
{its important to note that a lot of radfems started off as lib fems}

If you ask a lib fem what feminism is about, they’ll say “gender equality”. If you ask a rad fem, she’ll say “female liberation”.

The simplest way to put it is, Liberal feminism prioritizes males and radical feminism prioritizes females.
What I mean by that is Lib fems are very pro performing femininity as a feminist action, which men created to keep us looking pretty but silent and submissive aka objectification. They cater to males sexual desires no matter how oppressive, by being pro porn/prostitution, and supporting extremely harmful kinks(race play, age play, bdsm etc.) aka putting men’s orgasms over women’s lives. They prioritize transwomen over female people(female = cis women and transmen) by denying that women’s oppression is based on our biology and instead they believe we are oppressed because we present as feminine. They also believe the age old sexist myth of “the lady brain,” which has actually been disproved. Basically a lib fem understands that women as a class are disadvantaged, but can’t tell you why.

Three more examples would be; in reproductive rights, freezing sperm is now more important than abortion access. Another would be, They’re against “pussy grabs back” because they think it excludes transwomen. They think inclusion of people not affected by “grab her by the pussy” are more important than protesting our presidents comments about sexually assaulting and harassing female born women (the president of the United States not wanting to rape you is the complete opposite of oppression)
And, my least favorite, the cotton ceiling, which stands for lesbians panties. lib fems are constantly trying to find new ways to coerce lesbian females into having sex with pre op transwomen. They don’t care that it supports rape culture, they think it’s more important that a female who is completely disgusted and uncomfortable with a penis should still allow a person to fuck her with one to prove she’s not transphobic.

To be clear, liberal feminism does not accept transmen. They do not believe in male or female socialization so they don’t have a very good grasp on male privilege. They genuinely believe that transmen have male privilege and oppress cis & trans women, they also don’t think transmen need access to planned parenthood or gynecologists for some reason..
They will back up any and all transwomen solely on the basis of being trans no matter how oppressive their behavior. I.e. Cherno Biko who raped a transman and attempted to impregnate them without their knowledge, is hailed as a feminist icon to them (You can google this)
They want to be seen as the most inclusive and open minded, they are not concerned with the actual safety of female people at all I.e. Allowing transwomen into women’s shelters and women’s prisons, despite the fact that they physically and sexually assault female people at the same rate as cis men.

lib fems use their blind support of every transwoman as an excuse to perpetuate misogyny and sexism. I.e. “don’t ever talk about your period because transwomen don’t menstruate, which means periods are disgusting and should be shamed.” “Don’t ever celebrate your vulva because the majority of transwomen are pre op which means your vagina is dirty and smells like fish, you should be ashamed!” “Don’t create any feminist art of female biology because transwomen don’t have a uterus, that’s disgusting now!”
On a more serious note they try to snuff out any attempt of a female person speaking up about being sexually assaulted by a transwoman and have a bigger issue with people using the wrong pronouns when discussing a transwoman who has murdered someone or raped someone or committed an act of pedophelia. And I don’t say any of this to be mean or invalidating, the truth is transwomen are socialized as male(unless of course they were transitioned in early childhood and were raised/treated as female) and it should not be ignored. The world at large raises the two sexes differently.
Liberal feminism does not require critical thinking at all. Every choice a woman makes, no matter how oppressive, is feminist now. They rely heavily on feelings and appearences over reality.

Example: makeup
Lib fems: People treat me better when I’m in a full face of makeup, that makes me feel better about myself until I wash it off at the end of the day. Makeup makes us pretty, no makeup = ugly. I don’t wanna be ugly so makeup is good and feminist. My worth is in my appearance. Dior told me that makeup is feminist, that means I should buy more!

Rad fems: who benefits from my makeup consumption? Who owns the majority of makeup companies? How much time and money do I spend on makeup? Why do I feel bad about myself when I’m barefaced in public? Why do people treat me differently when I have a full face of makeup on? Why am I more likely to get a job if I wear makeup to an interview? Why does society want older women to look younger and darker skinned women to look whiter? Why are women with wider noses being told to contour to give the illusion of a thinner European nose? Who is working to create makeup products? What are the working conditions of those people? Is Dior using feminism as a marketing tool to coerce me into giving them more of my money? Is wearing makeup really my choice or have I been socialized to feel like I need it.
(For the record I do wear makeup)

Lib fems say that wearing makeup is a choice and that they support women who wear it or not, but they very actively attack women for being gender nonconforming(not wearing makeup) They’ll call you ugly, stupid, broke, and unfeminist. They’ll say if you don’t perform or praise femininity, then you don’t support your “sisters” who do.

How does rad fem view trans people?
Ok so i wish this question was a bit more specific.

Do radical feminists hate trans people? No.Do radical feminists advocate for the “genocide” of trans people? No. Do radical feminists believe trans people deserve respect and basic human rights? yes. Its absolutely possible to care about trans people and cis women at the same time.

Rad fems believe in order to be transgender, you have to have sex dysphoria.
Lib fems disagree. Lib fems are very pro gender and pro trans, what I mean by “pro trans” is, when a little girl shows interest in football or cars, they want to automatically call her a transboy and give her puberty blockers, Instead of just accepting her as kid with interests outside of the ~pink girly gender box~ society has tried to trap her in.
That’s why rad fems are gender critical. What is gender but stereotypes based on sex.
Example: Women are quiet, submissive and wear dresses. Men are loud, dominant and wear trousers. Cleaning house is a woman’s job, paying bills is the mans job.

The patriarchy uses gender to disproportionately hurt women, that’s why instead of creating more and more genders, rad fems think it should be abolished all together. Why try to squeeze yourself inside a gendered box when you can be free to express yourself any way you want?

What is an ideal rad fem world, and how does it include or exclude trans people?
I won’t cover every little thing here because again this would be another novel.

The end of male supremacy! The sex industry would be abolished, which would lead to the end of rape culture. Female centered healthcare is free and accessible to all, as well as education, housing, food & water. Males actually receive jail time for their crimes against us, especially sexual based crimes, because females are now believed. What would be even better is if they stopped committing those crimes all together.
Female only spaces as well as transwomen only spaces exist (shelters, bathrooms, prisons etc) an end to European beauty standards, makeup & diet culture, basically capitalism. An end to menstruation stigma, FGM, child brides, dowries, religious oppression of women, as well as religious persecution, acid attracts, women being punished for rejecting men, traditional family values, homophobia, sexism, misogyny, racism, xenophobia, classism, ableism, ageism, and gender. Obviously all the oppressive systems working against female people, radical feminism is intersectional in contrast to popular belief.

Why are many anons on your blog saying Nazi or fascist?
First of all, the way you worded this question is extremely unfair because it seems like I actually did something wrong and was called a Nazi in response, which I wasn’t.

Those anons were a product of a little spat(1, 2) I had with a white transwoman who told me they believed WoC deserved racism as a punishment for being involved in radical feminism, and didnt think that made them racist at all. This was after I defended WoC rad fems against a post calling rad fems white supremacists because a white pride lesbian blog, who said they weren’t affiliated with us, described themselves as “gender critical”.

Only one anon has ever called me a fascist, not “many,” and I honestly don’t even think they know what that word means..

Nazism was mentioned in this anon because they were telling me about a “softcore” Nazi, from reddit, who hates rad fems and is accusing us of being controlled by a more “hardcore” Nazi, which makes no sense because shes obviously an anti feminist and no one in this community has any contact with her.

Which radfem principles tend to alienate POC, if they do?
They don’t. On the other hand, liberal feminism is completely centered on the western world.
Ideologically speaking, radical feminism is not inherently racist. On an individual level, there are rad fems who are racist, just like with any movement or group. anywhere there’s white people, there’s gonna be racists. It’s inconvenient but it’s true. 

Why are anons saying if a POC is radfem, then she deserves to be subject to racism?
Because they’re racist lol it’s that simple. A racist will find any excuse to openly support racism.
Rad fems receive a lot of death and rape threats, it’s not surprising that the same people supporting that, are in support of racism being used against the women they don’t agree with.

If any rad fems would like to add anything that would be greatly appreciated because I obviously didnt cover everything for the sake of time.

percyyoulittleshit  asked:

"Do you believe me now Perseus?" Annabeth asked him. "Actually, i prefer Percy"

She grit her teeth and jammed her knife further up into the bandit’s ribs, twisting, watching the life fade from his eyes. The body fell by the side of the forest trail they’d been travelling, and she pulled her blade free and wiped it clean on her trousers before looking up to see Prince Perseus–Percy, and wasn’t that strange, calling the now-estranged Prince of the entire kingdom by a such a nickname–especially when he was looking at her like that, face just alight from the sun pressing through the trees–looking at her like she was his savior.

Terrible example, really. She had just saved his life, after all.

“Percy,” she managed, flipping her knife and handing it to him hilt-first. “You want this now?”

He nodded. Took the knife. Watched as she drew her spare, hid the bandit’s body, and made her way off the road and into the woods. “And yes,” he said. “I believe you.”

“Good. Now stay close.”

She heard his hushed laughter, the curse he muttered as he tripped–loudly, for all the possible bandits nearby to hear–and despite her hesitance, she couldn’t repress her smile. Stupid prince. Gods, was she ever in trouble volunteering to watch over him.

Sirius Black was the sane one. It is an odd thought to have and even more ludicrous to accept, but Sirius was the sane one, today.  It was the war that brought him this burden of maturity which usually is reserved for old age and only comes after many mistakes, and yet his burden came from the constant fear of making them, of falling apart and being a pawn in the demise of those he loved. But, Sirius Black would not fall apart; he made a vow to be brave and useful till the very end no matter the anguish he would face, he would save his friends.

Marlene had always found people most peculiar, especially in war. Something about torn flesh, rolling eyes, and strangled screams always astounded her. It wasn’t a fascination with the gruesomeness of death, but rather on the state of our humanity – how can one person do this to another? How can a person live with that forever? What stubbornness? What love? What belief makes someone so blind and set in their ways that they do not fear ripping someone’s soul away? But, then again, she thought, aren’t we doing the same thing to them?

Marlene watched the members of the Order from the living room. Her eyes glued on the faces of young men and women who she might never see after today, of the soft smiles, and amused eyes, of the valor in their hearts - to die for this cause would be the most noblest of acts.

Keep reading

reginae-noctis  asked:

“Why are you covered in blood?!”

Blood’ sentence starters


He smirked at her gaily, still not moving from the marble of the fountain, getting another sweet lungful of the forest air. There was another trickle of blood that failed to endure his movement and ran from his bare chest and stomach, framed with the open sides of his shirt, down, but like any other previous crimson drop, it was picked up promptly with his well-stained hand somewhere in the middle of its way to his clean trousers. Serene and delighted, he raised his head high, the marks of fresh water shining in the lights of the lanterns on his face. Tonight he killed another rabbit with his wolfish jaws. “I’ve hunted.”

A delayed tale

Here is something that happened a bit ago now. I deliberately left it until a while after the event, for a few reasons. I was at a conference where I realised that the speakers, their presentations, and even pictures and profiles of them were available on the internet. I was a speaker, so if I posted shortly after the event, even if I didn’t say where it took place, it could still result in people potentially finding out my personal info. I don’t like the way this conference did this, others aren’t as public as this. For this reason, I waited until now to tell about it, so details of the event couldn’t be found easily.

It was an event that happened between last summer and last week. Sorry to be so general about it. It was somewhere in Europe (this includes the UK). I was staying in a hotel for a few days during this conference, and I was speaking on the last day.

So on with the story. I don’t know if it was something I ate, or nerves, or even both! But I got the runs pretty badly on the evening of the second day, during dinner. It was at the end of the night, and I ended up going back to my hotel room. During the night, I had to get up to go to the toilet, as it was pretty urgent diarrhea. So I was a little worried about my speech.

The next day, I went to the conference hall. I was really hungry so I thought this was a good sign that I was better. 

During my talk, which went fine, I felt the need to go again. The need to fart was coming on in the build up to my speech, but I ignored it as I was sitting right next to some important people in my field, and I didn’t want to let off a smelly diarrhea fart or fill my pants next to these people.

After the talk, I definitely needed the toilet. Shortly after it, the talks were over, and I was returning to my hotel to change before the final dinner. On the street, it was raining, and I was walking quickly. I had the opportunity to go to the toilet before I left, but I wanted to see about the possibility of messing myself on the way back to my room. I was wearing dark, firm fitting suit trousers and white underwear, by the way. As the trousers were kind of tight around my bottom, I specifically bought a few pairs of white, seamless underwear so that VPL would not be as obvious. How effective they were, I don’t know. It was the last day I needed to wear these trousers, as I was wearing a dress that evening, and jeans on the return trip home.

I got to my hotel and I was now so, so desperate! All the food within me from that morning was now urgently wanting out, and it felt like more diarrhea. In the hotel, there were toilets on the ground floor but I ignored them and went for the elevator.

There were 2 girls standing at the elevator. One was about 11 or 12, and the other looked 15 or 16. They were both blonde and very pretty. The doors opened and I entered, and as I stepped onto the elevator, the girls followed me and I pushed the button for my floor. As I reached over to push the button, I let out a rush of diarrhea.

My underwear ballooned out immediately and the smell was terrible. It was only a small amount but wow the smell travelled fast. I was a bit worried because I wasn’t sure who else would get on the elevator, but I didn’t know anyone anyway, and I left before anyone else from the conference would arrive. They were all chatting together when I snuck away (I travelled with a few people from my university).

So here I was in this elevator with these two girls. I let out more diarrhea, and felt my legs get wet. There was an audible wet fart, then I just released the entire load. I did this as the fart pretty much revealed what was happening, and all subtlety was now gone. I stood and let it run out of me. It was going down my legs.

The two girls didn’t say a thing. They watched me. I didn’t say a word to them. 

My floor arrived and I stepped out, without looking back, without looking down.Everywhere below my waist felt wet and slimy, I was a walking mess. I made it to my room, quickly glanced at the floor behind me and saw there was no stains on the floor. Phew, that was my biggest worry.

In the room, I stepped into the bathroom and pulled my trousers down, and the mess started dripping onto the floor. I made a silly mistake here and didn’t take my shoes off first, so my shoes were pretty much ruined. It was all over the floor, and my trousers were soaked through at the back. I was seriously impressed with this load. I looked at it in the mirror, and it was hard to tell I was even wearing white underwear, as everywhere was brown. I pushed the load slightly at the back and it started flowing out down my legs so I jumped into the bath!

So after a long and enjoyable shower, in which I squirted out a bit more diarrhea down my legs and peed, I had one hell of a clean up. My shoes, trousers and underwear, after they had been thoroughly rinsed, went in a plastic bag, and I stuffed them into my case.

Dinner that night went well, I had to go to the toilet to have more diarrhea during it but it wasn’t very much. The next day I returned home, with danger farts but no more runs.

So that was a recent(ish) story about me messing myself in a hotel elevator next to two shocked girls. I was ready to mess in this elevator regardless of who was there, as I was so desperate, and it just happened to be two young girls. I’d love to hear them discussing it later, but I never saw them again. I was worried the next day about seeing them at breakfast but they weren’t there.

I managed to wash clean the shoes and trousers, but the underwear was ruined. Even after the wash, it was still visibly stained. So I binned them. I did have some ugly skid marks when travelling home the next day but those washed clean.

Later on I tested the no VPL thing with my flatmates. They said they could still see the lines of my underwear, but not too obviously. So it wasn’t too bad. I don’t normally like no VPL underwear as it doesn’t feel quite as firm and comforting as regular underwear, they can feel a bit loose and my sanitary pads don’t fit in them so well. VPL usually doesn’t bother me but at these kind of conferences, some women have horrific VPL and it’s really distracting!


Newt, Thomas and Minho all hated you – but that was only because they all loved you. All three of them had been head-over-heels in love with you since you first climbed out of the box – and they each boy knew how the other two felt. You drove each of them crazy with longing, however they had made a deal that none of them would try anything with you, because they didn’t want you to come between their friendship. None of them would flirt with you, or lead you on, they would only be like a brother to you.

That was the theory anyway. In practice it was a complete failure, because there was a bonfire that night, and each boy had a plan to try and win your attention.

Just before the bonfire began, there was a knock on the medjacks’ hut door. You spun round, Thomas stood there.

“Finished work for the day?” He asked.

“Yeah, just tidying up before the bonfire tonight.” You said while packing the last on the bandages in their box. “Although no doubt that Gally will get too drunk tonight and I’ll be unpacking this box again.” You laughed.

“Well I’ll promise you that I won’t be the one who punches him tonight – unless he starts on me again… or you.” Thomas replied.

“Awh, my knight in shining armour. Who ever said chivalry was dead?” You grinned.

“May I escort you to the bonfire?” He asked, holding out his arm like a gentleman.

You felt the smile spread across your face. “Why of course sir.” You said while doing a mock curtsey before taking his arm. “One would be delighted by thy company.”

“Spiffing.” He laughed and the two of you went outside together, chatting and laughing. He led you to the middle of the glade, where the fire was already roaring.

Newt and Minho saw you together from the other side of the glade.

“Is he flirting with her?” Newt asked. “We agreed not to!”

“That shank is going to regret that move.” Minho growled. (Of course both Newt and Minho had plans to break the deal tonight, but neither of them told the other.) “I say that we sabotage him.”

Meanwhile you and Thomas were still laughing and playing your little ‘lord and lady’ game. Thomas lifted you off the ground to carry you bridal style.

“Thomas put me down!” You shrieked. In truth, you liked the way that he was holding you.

“The fair maiden shouldn’t get mud on her shoes!” Thomas grinned. His eyes were lost in your face. He was so focused on you that he didn’t see Minho approach and stick his leg out, this caused Thomas –and you– to go tumbling to the ground. Minho quickly fled the scene.

“OW!” You cried, climbing to your feet. “I told you to put me down! Not throw me! God Thomas why are you so clumsy? I’ll never get these trousers clean.” You groaned.

Thomas got to his feet. “Someone tripped me.”

“Who?” You asked looking around, no one was close enough to have tripped him. Minho and Newt were the closest, but they were still several metres away.

Thomas looked at where Minho and Newt sat, they had their backs to him, but it seemed like they were laughing. Had they sabotaged him because they knew that he was breaking their deal?

“I’m sorry y/n.” Thomas said, getting to his feet. “Let’s go and get some drinks.”

After that you and Thomas went and sat opposite each other on a log and drank moonshine. You were still annoyed at him, but decided to give him a second chance.

Newt and Minho sat watching from a far. “They’re getting close again. How can we sabotage this moment?” Minho asked.

“Watch and learn.” Newt grinned.

Newt walked up behind Thomas and patted him hard on the shoulder, causing his arm to jerk out and spill all his drink over you.

“THOMAS!” You cried, standing up. You were sopping wet.

“That was Newt’s fault!” He complained.

“No it wasn’t, I didn’t hit you that bloody hard, you must have not been holding the drink properly.” Newt replied.

“You’ve been really clumsy tonight Thomas. I mean look at my cardigan! It is drenched.” You said.

“Here, come with me love. I’ll help you dry it and warm up.” Newt smiled.

You took his offer and followed him, leaving Thomas behind. Newt led you a quieter part of the bonfire. “Take off your cardigan, I’ll dangle it over the fire to dry it.” Newt said.

You took off your cardigan and he attached it to a stick and held it over the flames.

“Thanks Newt.” You grinned.

“I’m only sorry that you had to sit with Tommy for so long. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I like the shank, but only in small doses.” Newt said.

“Actually we were having an alright time – but I guess that he messed that up.” You sighed looking at your muddy trousers and soaked cardigan.

“You can do better than that slinthead.” Newt replied.

You looked up at Newt, the fire lit up his features beautifully. You found yourself smiling.

Meanwhile Thomas had slinked off to join Minho. Minho had seen you go off with Newt and realised that Newt had double crossed him. Looks like this is a war, Minho thought.

“Hey Thomas, don’t know if you noticed, but Newt totally just sabotaged your little moment with y/n. He tripped you and made you spill your drink on her so that she’d go off with him.” Minho said cunningly.

“That klunk head. I knew it, I think that I would have had a chance with her if he hadn’t blew it.” Thomas groaned, before adding; “Not that I was trying to break our deal bu-”

“Forget it Thomas, looks like Newt is doing the same right now.” Minho said, pointing to where you and Newt sat chatting closely.

“Well if sabotaged me – I’m going to do the same to him.” Thomas said with a malicious grin.

Minho watched as Thomas crept behind Newt and picked up a large stone. Thomas then threw it with perfect accuracy into the back of Newt’s shoulder of the arm which held your cardigan above the fire. The impact caused Newt to drop the stick that he was holding, which made your cardigan fall into the flames.

“NEWT!” You cried. “That was my only cardigan!”

Newt spun around to see who had threw the stone, but Thomas had long since scarpered. “I’m so sorry y/n, someone threw something at my arm.”

“Let me guess, it was the same ghost that tripped Thomas?!” You asked, looking around and seeing no one who looked like they had thrown anything in your direction.

There was a moment’s silence while you both watched your cardigan go up in flames. “I’ll make it up to you.” Newt said, “I’ll go and get you another drink.”

Newt disappeared off to the table of moonshine. When Minho saw this he instantly came up with an evil plan to ensure that Newt’s plans of wooing you would fail.

“Oi Thomas, go and distract Newt for a second – make sure that he has his back on the table.” Minho said with a wicked glint in his eyes.

Thomas walked up to Newt. “Whatever happened to our deal?” He asked, which as he wanted, caused Newt to spin around and put his back to the table.

“Me? Tommy you broke it first, I’m just picking up your pieces.”

Meanwhile Minho grabbed a jar of moonshine and discreetly pissed in it, before putting it down at the front of the table. Minho nodded at Thomas before moving away.

Thomas, who had seen what Minho had done had a hard time keeping a straight face. “Well good luck with her.” Thomas sneered, before following Minho.

Newt turned around and picked up the drink at the front of the table and carried it back to you.

“Thanks Newt.” You grinned, taking the drink from him.

“Anything for you beautiful.”

You knew that something was different the second that it touched your lips. You spat it out instantly.


“What? No!” Newt looked shocked and alarmed.

You sniffed the drink, and you knew exactly what that smell was.

“You are vile Newt!” You threw the drink and stormed off across the glade. You headed towards the showers, but there was a problem, because there was only one shower block, so you had to shower at night when everyone was asleep so that none of the boys walked in on you. And since many boys were drunk you didn’t feel comfortable having your shower now. But you needed to wash away the disasters of tonight away.

Minho saw his chance and took it. He caught up with you.

“Hey y/n.” He said.

“Leave me alone, I don’t need anything else to go wrong tonight.” You growled.

He wasn’t put off. “You want a shower?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I could stand guard on the door if you want?” He suggested.

Suddenly a lot of your anger dissipated. “Would you Minho? Oh I’d love you forever if you would.”

Minho grinned. “Yeah sure.”

Two minutes later and you were relaxing in the shower, washing away all the stress of being dropped, having a drink split on you, having your cardigan burnt and drinking piss. Minho stood outside stopping the boys from entering, and you trusted him to do a good job.

Minho kept his eyes peeled for Newt and Thomas, because he knew that the two of them would try and sabotage his chances with you, like he’d done to them. But neither of them appeared before you came out of the shower.

“Feel better?” Minho asked you.

“Much.” You grinned, “And thanks for standing watch, but I guess that you probably want to return to the bonfire now?”

“Not one bit.” Minho grinned, he steps closer to you and put his hands round your waist.

His touch was unexpected but welcomed. “I was actually planning on going back to my room now.” You said.

“Well I’ll walk you there.” He smiled.

He walked you to your room. There was only your hammock and large wardrobe in the room, but to you it was home. You thought that he would leave you at the door but he walked all the way into your room. You raised an eyebrow.

“What? You weren’t actually planning to go to sleep were you? I thought that we could chat for a bit.” He smiled.

You laughed. “Sure.”

You walked over to sit on your hammock, but the second that you transferred your weight to it, the whole thing fell to the floor, taking you down with it. You hit the floor with a thump. “OW!” You yelped.

“Shit, y/n are you okay?” Minho asked helping you up.

“Yeah.” You said, although you weren’t really. Nothing had gone right tonight, and it was all getting to you.

Minho helped you to your feet and then inspected the hammock. “Someone loosened these ties.” He paused for a second before turning to your wardrobe and opening the doors. Thomas and Newt sat inside.

“Busted.” Thomas muttered.

“Right that is it!” You shouted. “WHAT THE HELL HAS BEEN GOING ON TONIGHT?! Are you guys deliberately trying to ruin my night?”

“What? No.” Newt said, climbing out of your wardrobe.

“Bullshit Newt, you and Thomas have clearly just untied my hammock so you must have wanted me to hurt myself, and-”

“No, we didn’t want to hurt you. Only to ruin Minho’s attempts at flirting with you.” Thomas said.

“What?!” You said.

“Look, y/n, the three of us have all had a massive crush on you since forever, but we agreed not to try anything because we didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but then we all tried to break that deal tonight. So we have been trying to sabotage each other…” Minho admitted.

“So, Thomas dropping me, spilling his drink on me, Newt burning my cardigan, that jar of piss, and now my hammock breaking was all part of some childish game to win my attention – well let me tell you this now, I have never been more likely to date anyone in my whole life. All you have done tonight is hurt me, which is something that you wouldn’t have done if you actually cared about me! So you three can keep the hell away from me.”

“y/n, we’re sorry we were such klunk heads. We honestly didn’t mean to hurt you, how can we make it up to you?” Newt asked.

You glared at him and were about to yell that there was nothing that they could do, but something else came out of your mouth instead: “Well you could each drink a cup of piss.”


(this was requested, so thanks to whoever asked for this, I really enjoyed writing this, I’m only sorry that it took so long! all my other requests will be written tomorrow)

Jim sat beside Spock as McCoy exposed the wound that desperately needed treating.

He couldn’t help wince when he saw it.

Spock had glossed over the severity of it when he’d been beamed onboard. Jim had seen the blood stain on his shirt, but Spock dismissed his worry, focusing on the missing crew and their next steps. It was only when Spock all but collapsed that Jim realised how how seriously he was hurt.

McCoy held the protoplaser over the wound which should stop Spock bleeding internally, according to McCoy. At least if it was the right piece of equipment. He didn’t seem too sure about it.

Kirk eyed the wound. It looked a mess.

Green blood stained the skin and the wound was mostly heat sealed to stop more blood being poured out. But Spock was still losing blood, it was just pooling inside him instead.
He was laying there dying and all Jim could do was sit beside him and hope that whatever McCoy was doing was helping. For all any of them knew, this ancient piece of medical kit might not even work any more. It looked like it was working, but they wouldn’t know unless Spock continued to deteriorate.

He couldn’t think like that.

“Is here anything we can do, Captain?” Chekov asked. His voice snapped Jim out of his less that optimistic thoughts and he turned way from Spock, suddenly all to aware of his First Officers vulnerability.

“We might need to get this ship mobile.”

“Right Captain. We shall see what we can work out.” Chekov said. He noticed Scotty take a few steps away and heard him follow.

He looked at the wound again and frowned.

“You can go help them, Jim.” Bones said, concentrating on his work. Jim looked at Spock, who wasn’t looking at anything, brow creased in pain.

“I’ll be back in a bit,” he promised as he stood up and left them too it.

He wandered through a few doors until he found where the other three were stood. Chekov and Scotty were talking quietly and stopped when they saw him. He stood there, distracted, unable to say anything.

“Are you okay, Jim?” Scotty asked.

“Yeah. I just don’t like to see any of my crew in trouble.” he said, shooting them a hollow smile.

“He’ll be fine, Jim. Vulcan’s are tough.” Scotty says, though he doesn’t sound convinced of his own words. Chekov just nods in support. They go back to discussing ways to get the ship mobile and Jim stays quiet. He doesn’t know how to do this without Spock. Didn’t even know if he’d want too.

“Come up with any genius plans yet?” Bones says, stepping into the room with the others.

“How’s Spock?” Jim asks straight away.

“Resting.” Bones says. He turned to Jaylah. “I don’t suppose you have a change of clothing? It’d be best if we could get him out of that stuff.

“I think so.” Jaylah says and heads off.

Scotty seems to sense the mood of the room and quickly adds “I’ll go give her a hand.”

“It might not be enough, Jim.” Bones said. “I should have had a kit on me,”

“Bones-” Jim starts

“I shall go check Commander Spock is well,” Chekov says, excusing himself.  

“He was fine until we crashed. I didn’t even think to check. I just… I assumed he’d have said something if he were hurt. That was a dumb idea. Stubborn Vulcan bastard.” He shook his head to clear away the thoughts.

“Bones if it hadn’t been you with him…”

“I know, it was lucky but…” He sighed. “Jim, he’s not out of danger yet.”

Jim nods, not wanting to think about it too much.

“He’s lost a hell of a lot of blood which I’ve only just been able to stop and that’s if that ancient piece of crap does it’s job properly. It might not be that stable and it hasn’t done a thing to help the pain or prevent infection. Cauterising a wound like that…” He had known the risk of infection was greatly increased but he’d had know other choice.

“What does he need?”

“We get him to a hospital and they can treat his wound properly. Can’t replace the blood though. He’s got such a rare blood type you can only get it three places- New Vulcan, Earth and on the Enterprise. If that has stopped the bleeding and he doesn’t lose any more blood…”

“Jim-” Spock says at the door way.

“What the hell are you doing up?” Bones says moving over and turning Spock around, heading back the way Spock had came directing him back to the chair. “I wish there was something to put you to sleep.” McCoy griped. He pushed the Vulcan back down into the seat

“I do not require sleep. The crew needs to be found, Captain.”

“I know that Spock, but you need to rest.”

“Resting will not find the crew.”

“Here. It looks like your size and it comes with no green.” Jaylah says holding out a clean uniform. Bones took the uniform, nodding a quick thanks to her. Scotty stood just behind her in the doorway.

“You should change and then we can think if a way to get our crew back.” Jim encouraged. “Come on,” he said, addressing the others. He needed Spock, injured or not. He thought better when his first officer was there to run ideas with him.

The others headed out before him and he paused at the doorway when he saw Bones wasn’t moving.

Sensing Jim’s presence still, he turned to him. “He can’t do this without some help. We’ll come through when we’re done.”

“I’ll get you some water,” Jim says and he heads out the door.

Bones thinks about how to assist Spock best. The idea of asking Spock to lift his arms up so he could pull the top up over his head seemed like a bad idea, considering the injury.

“Okay, bare with me here,” he said and he turned Spock away from him, so he was stood behind the Vulcan. He unzipped the fastening and Spock was about to grab the bottom of the shirt and raise it over his head. McCoy had visions of it ending with Spock passed out on the floor. “Hold it,” he said, gently placing one arm on Spock’s own arm to halt the movement.

McCoy grabbed the fabric, separated by the zip and with a firm grip on either side, he yanked the fabric, tearing it half way down. He repeated the action until it was torn all the way.

“A little easier that way,” McCoy said.

Spock removed the ruined top, folding it neatly despite the state it was in. Kirk returned with water and a cloth before leaving Bones to it. Dried blood was stained all down Spock’s side. He wanted to clean it all off but without being sure of the damage done and the effectiveness of the protoplasm, he opted to gently wipe off what he could and leave the rest for now.

“I could do this myself, Doctor,” Spock says as he watches absently.

“Just gives me a chance to take a good look at this thing. How’s it feeling?”

“Much the same as it did before.” Spock answers evenly.

“Once we rescue the crew and sort this mess out, we’ll get you to a hospital and you’ll feel much better.” Spock doesn’t answer. He helps Spock slip his arms in the old Franklin jacket and leaves Spock to fasten it while he removes Spock’s boots and trousers, quickly wipes away the blood that’s ran down Spock’s leg and pulls the clean trousers on. He works as quickly and effectively as he can, not wanting to make Spock feel uncomfortable with what’s happening.

“There, good as new,” McCoy says.

He doesn’t feel good as new. He hurts and is tired. His body urges him to go into a trance. He’d heal quickly, but there’s the crew that needs finding and now isn’t the time.

But it occurs to him that outwardly, despite the odd, outdated uniform, he looks good as new.
No one needs know that his change of uniform occurred due to injury.

If he acted as normal, no one would suspect otherwise.

But deep down, he knew that Jim needed him right now. He needed Spock to be beside him while they found the crew and he couldn’t let him down.

“Come Doctor, we still have a lot to do,” he says.