crumple this page

She flung her soul from arms to hearts
to poems spilled on crumpled pages -
Who knew she could perform the parts 
in her journal as she did on stages?
—  Diary of Lies // Grazia Curcuru
February: The fall starts easy. I took baby aspirin, and a rusty spoon to my head, and smoked the stale weed my brother left in a broken vase before he left for college. Night comes fast, and tells the creation story. I ignore her this time. I don’t give a fuck about how I was made anymore tell me how I fall apart.

March: Nobody can ever find the raw spot on their leg until they start itching. I remember 6th grade when the mosquito bit my calf. Larvae and laps on the soccer field in early spring. He is oozing into my shoes with the mud.

April: My mother buried my rusty spoon, and took my brown hands. the clothesline was dripping carbonated orange soda sun, the wind was soft, the mice were sleeping warm beneath the floorboards; she spread my tarot on the floor with the forever broken and gnarled thumb she stuck in a blender when she was 5. That spring I walked home alone some nights, the heatwaves followed me like the labored breath of drunk men who don’t take no for an answer, I turned over The Devil and someone dropped a wine glass next door, she gasped, white eyes, the mice began to scrape and scream, the heatwave killed their children like it split my shoulders open and ate the youth inside.

May: The month of falling out of trees, junior high was gonna shipwreck any day now. There is a fast food place where the milkshakes taste like cough syrup and the skater kids cheat death on 3 feet of concrete stairs. There is a crack in the sidewalk in front of it, and he kick flips on it to break the back of the mother who left him at 13, he breeds violence between his fraying vans and then something in his ankle snaps, my oxygen goes tar black. He bleeds, he. Makes this sound. Like a dog when you step on its foot. I want to hold him, put a butterfly on his cheek, give him a band aid, something, God, something. He looks like he’s in pain. I want to. I don’t know. Help.

I walk away trembling and put my head between my knees behind a dumpster full of shitty milkshakes.

June: The neighbors fuck like rabbits while I’m trying to cry to joy division. I pray for a lightning strike. This type of poetry is for pretty girls, anyway.

July: my birthday flies into the glass of my bedroom window and breaks its neck. mom said the only things you can grow in summer that won’t die are grapefruit and hair, and I made a garden, I cut my chest open for Demeter each full moon. These locks were watered with gulf stream sea spray. I fed them bludgeoned daydreams. I threw my head against church doors trying to send Jesus some red flowers for his funeral, or maybe his birthday, doesn’t really matter, we celebrate both.

August: I got kicked out of high school knocking myself out on my desk. People carved hearts into the enamel, I carved my heart out of my chest and turned it in for my midterm. I slam dunked my skull into the bleachers on game day, and when the bleachers fell, into my history textbook, and when the book was mushy with blood, into the track field. I’m grinning ugly, dancing to the 80’s synth in an empty gym after homecoming, with a nosebleed dripping love songs down my yellow teeth, like words on old gravestones: here lies a moontoothed lover who will never rest in peace, every night she claws her grave and hears the call of western waves.

September: I’m high on concussion flavored car races in a stolen low rider, bluebirds fly in circles around my head after we crash, I wrote a song on a 5 dollar bill called blunt force trauma and it is about skater boys with broken noses, snarls of shaggy Jew fro his friends make fun of, and hands. that graze los angeles highways while he rides asphalt waves, slam his locker, and give the finger to the education system he keeps tripping over like untied shoelaces. he pricks those hands sewing together the lackluster parties private school kids throw. he puts his dewy rose bud lips to the jack daniels bottle, and kicks the drum kit over, gives it mouth to mouth, pump his fists into someone’s chest, gives it a pulse again. hands big enough to steal grapefruit with, the size of my swollen heart. I didn’t know it could get that big but he bumped into me, buzzing like a light saber, sky walking out of the grocery store with a grapefruit. with my heart.

October: do you have a girl do you? have a lover? Jupiter is orbiting around whatever this emotion is called, the rollercoaster one. when you look at me. We spend Halloween turning into werewolves at the library, you were moshing in the kids section, bleaching your hair in punk rock, I was banging my bruised and knuckleheaded love poems into a paperback copy of Romeo and Juliet, brushing my hair with broken glass. That was the first day the blood on our hands was not our own, she shushed us and we laughed. High on Shakespeare and Jupiter gas, we dug our fangs into the dewy decimal system. You ask me my name, I tell you, you smile. We had matching bruises and I floated home.

November: You make me. Feel. You make me feel like I can speak to snakes. You make me feel like my hips have a purpose besides balancing bins of laundry, and bowls of fruit. You make 17 stop feeling like a suicide note no one will read. you make me banshee scream and lick like fire against young pines, when you. dance. when you. kiss her, let her ride your double dutch hips, and your skateboard. She is a new coin, tangy on his numb tongue, and he tucks her in his pocket, his lucky penny. I’m the bubblegum he scrapes off his sneakers and throws into a storm drain.

December: I still cower into my pillow and smile a crooked smile, and go red at the cheeks, you. You put the red in my cheeks. I’m here, I’m exploding, why can’t you see me? Just put the bottle down, take your hand from your eyes, I won’t ask you what happened to your face, or how you got that scar, I will just like you and like you. we can buy angels wings in Hollywood, make an apartment out of crumpled homework pages at the bottoms of our dirty backpacks, we can drop out of high school, I will like you and dissect your sadness like frogs in freshman biology I am used to the rotting smell in your ribcage, I reek of it too. I will like you. until I know how to love you.

January: I switch schools, I cut my hair, bleach what little is left. It makes my mother unhappy, she thinks my spirit world is severing ties, she thinks my planets are discordant. I ask somebody back home about him, she says he dropped out and started working on cars.

I come down. Softly.

February (again, again, again): He was born to a rabbi and a beauty queen. I was born to a chemist, and a witch. Ammonia, bleach. Don’t mix them unless you want someone to die. Blood, adolescence, summer saltwater. Don’t mix them unless you want to make somebody wish they were dead.

—  2. a crush. and nothing more.
The Thing That Kept Him Safe

Pairings/Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Steve Rogers

Warnings: TWS Bucky, Violence, blood

Summary: No one knew how they used to control The Winter Soldier back in the day but Steve thinks he has finally found it.

Word Count: 2613

A/N: I missed writing so I finished this and I hope it’s alrightttt! Thank you for being patient as fuck while I’m on my hiatus and HOLY FUCK THANK YOU FOR 700+ READERS!!!!!! Thank you so much to @stevette60​ for requesting this awesome fic!

Originally posted by rohgers

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anonymous asked:

Have you read any Harry Potter not to sound like a needy fangirl just curious~

i’ve read the first book but haven’t had time to move onto the second one!!!!!!!! thanks for reminding me to pick it up again omg

anonymous asked:

Makkachin runs away and Yuuri just happens to be the person who finds him

The rain pounds.

Yuuri bows his head and pulls his hood farther up to try and protect himself, but it’s to no avail. The ink on the pages that he is holding streams down the paper and, realizing that he’d been too caught up in covering himself to cover his precious cargo, he shoves the pages inside his jacket and zips it up. They’re covered in images of a poodle with the words “FOUND POODLE” written in bold, black lettering, but as the water blurs the letters, they become less and less legible.

There goes all of the money he’d spent printing the posters.

He finds shelter underneath an awning outside of a cafe. He’s not far from home, but it feels like a failure to go home with a soaking wet jacket and posters and no progress having been made to find the lost poodle’s home.

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anonymous asked:

child au boys reaction when their new "mom" pats their head and praises them for the first time?

Admin Mawile: (。・ω・。)ノ♡ Awwww~


-For all the hours he’s spent endlessly working and studying, the amount of praise he’s received for those efforts is very low. He doesn’t understand why you want to praise him when he hasn’t done anything to deserve it, but the attention is so nice he’s not going to bring that up. 


-His eyes get very, very wide, and his hands clench so tightly on the book he’s holding that the pages crumple and tear. He brushes off the praise with a callous remark, but you can see how his hands are shaking, and how he can’t quite focus on the words in front of him. 


-He’s so shocked he actually freezes up for a moment. Some empty boast about what he’d accomplished dying in his throat from the surprise. Once he recovers, all you’ve done is encourage him, and now he’ll be convinced that whatever he did is the way to get your affection. 


-Any affection is likely to end in him glued to your waist, practically pleading for more, and praise is just as effective. He’s so starved for attention that even the most off-handed compliment feels like the greatest honor in the world, and you won’t be leaving without him in your arms. 


-He’s a little more used to attention, but the genuine praise still affects him more than he’d like to let on. It’s not smart to let adults know how he really feels, but he can’t help the tiny, natural smile forcing its way onto his lips, nor the look of real joy that escapes for a moment. 


-You can’t really mean it. You have to just be pretending to get something from him. He never does anything that good, not good enough to deserve this. He’s shaking a bit, and won’t look you in the eye, delighted, but sick with the worry that there’s going to be some cost. 


-The memory of his parents doing the same thing hits him sudden and hard, and he’s sinking to his knees and sobbing before he can think. The memories feel fresher than they have in ages, raw and aching with the reminder of what he’s lost, only helped by the kindness he has now. 


-When your hand first reaches out to him, he flinches, jerking back like he fully expects you to hit him. Some coaxing later, he lets you pat his head, still shivering a bit and acting like he wants to lean up into your hand but can’t quite find the courage to do it. 


-It sort of feels like someone has done this before, but the memory won’t quite match up… The attention is still nice, though, and he can’t help but squirm and flush under the praise. He’s noticeably happier for a while, still floating on the joy of his most important person being pleased. 


-He instantly leans up into the touch, eyes wide and almost sparkling. Any time you pay the slightest bit of attention to him is wonderful, and the praise makes him feel almost dizzy, light-headed with joy and slowly pressing up against your chest so you can’t let go. 


-Outwardly, you hardly see a reaction beyond a very slight widening of his eyes. Inside, he falling apart a little over what may very well be the first genuine praise he’s received. His father wasn’t one for giving compliments, and actual affection is a sadly new concept. 


-Of course you’re praising him. The arrogant line he gives sounds a little shakier than it should, though, and you catch him eyeing your hands like he hopes you’ll do it again. He’d never admit to being so needy and pathetic, but he can’t help but hope for more praise. 

I tell myself everything is fine until
I see a lifeless bird on the road
Causing the bruised sky to split open and sob
Silver raindrops ooze out like blood from swollen clouds
Soaking the broken bundle of feathers
Cracked and shattered on ashen concrete
So this is what life is
A series of strikes on innocent hearts
A collection of dusty gusts to blacken eyes caked with tears
A whirlwind of rose thorns and glass

I’m looking in a mirror
I see myself
The small, flightless creature is me
Crumpled like the page of an old book tossed aside
The wind threatening to wisp away my mangled flesh
Twisted like ancient roots in an abandoned tree
Kicked and beaten
I am not what I am
My years remain carefully hidden
Tucked behind my eyes and inky clouds
A shy moon not daring to peek behind a damp horizon
Where do I go?
I long to run to the bird and breathe new life into it
To smooth out the wrinkles in its paper wings
I can hear the ghost of desperate chirping
A song echoing in my ears like parched leaves crunching beneath complacent feet on a crisp autumn day
I want to see it take flight
But I never will
This bird is gone
So used to being walked by
Looked over
Can’t anyone hear me?
I still hope though that maybe
Just maybe
A kiss from the sun
Will be enough to bring me back to life
A warm embrace from unfiltered rays of brightness
Will mend my splintered limbs
A loving touch
Will send me to the sky
So I can fly again
So I can be alive

—  I will mend, I will rise, I will see the sun once more

aknightofagoodking  asked:

"I stabbed my last twelve brothers. Why should you be different?" With Damian and Dick, because once in a while, Baby Brats gets a little too annoyed with his oldest brother's smothering. :)

Thank you for this! I was so excited to write this one,these two are my absolute favorite to write together.

I hope you don’t mind, but since I did this prompt with Damian and Steph already I took a little liberty with the quote, and toned it down to ‘brothers’ instead. It still holds the same feeling. 


Dick found Damian in his room, surrounded by a stack of open books. They boy’s laptop rested on the ground in front of him, Damian’s attention a frown at it. He was so focused on the screen that he didn’t seem to notice Dick’s approach, so like any proper big brother Dick decided to take advantage of the situation.

He went in for a side hug so Damian wouldn’t catch his reflection in the screen, scooping his brother up in a swoop. Damian’s surprise came out in the form of a startled yelp followed by furious pushing against his arms.

“Put me down, Grayson!”

Dick pulled him close. “But I just found you.”

“And you are ruining all my hard work. Stop stepping on my books.”

Damian managed to wiggle his way out of Dick’s grasp, landing roughly back in the same spot he’d been sitting, except one of his feet landed on the pages of an open book and slipped. He lost his balance and fell forward, his descent into his computer stopped by Dick hooking an arm around his waist and hoisting him back into place.

He stepped around Damian’s books, noting that he may have pushed some out of the way, but he had not stepped on them like someone, with a grin. Damian shot him a glare before plopping back down on the ground, his legs crossed and attention back on his computer. He fussed with it as Dick frowned down at him.

His little brother might protest his hugs, but when he hadn’t seen him for a while he usually indulged Dick. Today something seemed a little off.

“What’s so interesting that you don’t have time for me?” he asked as he leaned over to look at Damian’s screen.

Damian snapped the laptop closed. “Nothing.” He grumbled. “You’ve done your duty and said hello. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”

Dick straightened and blinked at his brother, what had gotten into him? Had Dick done something wrong? Had he forgotten a promised meeting or call with Damian? Maybe he’d missed a night of patrol they were supposed to work together on?

Whatever he’d done, it was nothing a little hugging couldn’t fix. At least that’s what he hoped. He squatted next to Damian and pushed his shoulder against his brother’s. “Nothing and you have work to do? What’s up, Dami? Did I do something?”

Damian didn’t answer him and Dick nudged his brother again before pulling him into a side hug. Damian ducked under his arm, and spun on him.

“I said I was busy, Grayson. I’ve stabbed my other brothers, what makes you think you should be any different?”

“You haven’t stabbed Cass.” Dick pointed out.

Damian blinked at him. “What does that have to do with it?”

Dick grinned at him. “She’s one of your favorites, so am I. You haven’t stabbed her, and you won’t stab me.”

“Right now, you are nearing Drake’s status.” Damian said before picking up the book he’d slipped on. He smoothed out the crumpled page he’d slipped on and closed it.

“Ouch, Little D. That hurts.” Dick said attempting to sound fake hurt, it was hard when Damian’s words had actually hurt. It wasn’t that he’d been compared to Tim, that had happened before, what hurt was how Damian was brushing him off instead of sharing what was bothering him.

He glanced at the cover of Damian’s book, it was a guide on caring for Great Danes. He cast a brief glance at the other books around them as Damian busied himself with setting aside the book. All the pages around him were filled with health information for dogs. Damian knew all there was to know about taking care of Titus. Dick knew this because the boy would talk his ear off about it when asked. Why then would he have all these books? Dick was sure the computer was pulled up with the same information.

“Damian.” He said, keeping his voice gentle. This probably set his brother’s worry alarms off, but he didn’t care. “Where’s Titus?”

Damian’s whole body went ramrod straight. His jaw clenched, and Dick noted his knuckles had gone white around the edges of the book.  

The boy sat like that for a full minute, unmoving before his bottom lip started to quiver. Dick felt a jolt of panic in his chest for both the dog and his brother. He squashed it as he reasoned that if Titus had died then Damian wouldn’t have dog care books around him.

“Alfred has taken him to the vet.” Damian’s voice was quieter than it had been, not a whisper, but it no longer held the confidence it had earlier.

Dick let himself drop from his crouch to a seat beside his brother. “What did Alfred think was wrong?”

“He believes it’s a cold.” Damian answered.

The worry in Dick’s chest eased further. “Then you don’t have much to be worried about.”

Damian shook his head. “He could be wrong.” Damian lifted the still open book so Dick could see it, and stabbed at a page with his finger. “Titus symptoms could be a host of other things.”

Dick took the book from Damian and set it aside. This was about more than Titus being sick. Damian could handle sick, he’d proved as much whenever Dick himself was sick. He took his brother’s shoulders and turned him to face him. “What’s this really about, kiddo?”

The quiver in Damian’s lip seemed to intensify. “This is my fault.” He said, and Dick felt his heart break a little bit. It was just like Damian to assume the blame for something out of his control. He could follow his brother’s logic like a straight puzzle, Damian was Titus’s owner and responsible for his health, if something were wrong it made sense Damian would blame himself.

“Dami—” Dick broke off as Damian shook his head violently.

“Don’t. I don’t deserve it.” His voice cracked and he pulled away from Dick’s hold, his eyes unable to hold Dick’s.

“It is my fault. I should have cared for him better. If only I had kept a better eye on what he was eating. Where he was going. What his status was.” Damian’s shoulders were shaking now, with what Dick wasn’t sure. It might have been anger, but he was tempted to think the cause was unshed tears.

Dick reached out and tilted his brother’s chin up so he was looking back at him. “This is not your fault.” He said. “Sometimes things happen, Dames. We can’t control everything.”

Damian bit his lip to stop the quivering. “I should have been able to.”

“No. You shouldn’t have. Do you blame yourself when I get sick? Or when Alfred does?”

Damian shook his head and Dick nodded. “Exactly. So why are you blaming yourself for this?”

“He’s mine to care for. Father trusted me with him.”

“And you’ve done an excellent job taking care of him.” Dick told him. “All this worry is proof of it. Bruce would be proud to see all the work you’ve done to make sure Titus is ok when he comes home.”

His brother nodded and took in a deep breath. “You think so?”

Dick smiled at him. “I know so. Now, let me give you a proper hug and we’ll call Alfred for an update.”

He didn’t give Damian time to reconsider or start blaming himself again. He reached forward and tugged his little brother into his arms. There was no hesitation on Damian’s part as he melted into Dick’s hug.

“Thank you, Grayson.” He said into his chest.

“Your welcome, Little D.” Dick smiled. Then after a moment he added. “Does this mean I’m back above Tim on your favorites list?”

Damian snuggled closer to him. “You never dipped below him.”

I’ll Find You

Request: Hello! I can say without a doubt that I love your writings!❤ I also was wondering if you could do a newt x reader where she goes missing and when it gets too long everybody loses their hope except for Newt. Later on he finds her being tortured, saves her and it’s a grand and really fluffy reunion?:) Sorry, I just crave for angst and fluff😂 

Warning: Allusion to torture

Word Count: 3,095

Pairing: Newt x Reader

Requested by Anonymous

Requests are currently open! Feel free to send one in

Pickett crawls from the pocket of Newt’s discarded vest, top leaves drooping from exhaustion. Stumbling forward, the tiny creature pulls itself up by the bed’s legs and hops onto the mattress. Gripping the headboard’s bars, Pickett inches past the pillows and avoids Newt’s hand when it jerks forward.

Once he’s in range, the bowtruckle reaches forward and tickles Newt’s nose. He jumps back, slipping off the mattress and swinging wildly when Newt smacks at his face.

Pickett’s still swaying off the bed when Newt jolts up, rubbing his forehead with one hand and reaching for you with the other. “I had the worst nightmare, love. Love?”

His terror peaks for the third night in a row this month when his hand only hits empty sheets and a cold half of the bed. He opens his mouth to shout for you before he remembers: you’re gone.

He takes in two shaky breaths before he hears Pickett’s squeals. “Pickett, what are you doing up here? You should be asleep.” He lifts the bowtruckle from the front of the mattress and slips out of bed, carrying him to a tree. “Yes, I know you don’t want to be here, but this is where you’re staying. Do you want to stay in that tree? I didn’t think so.”

He peels Pickett from his hand and places him on the tree before turning back into the bedroom and closing the door.

Careful to step over the clothes, crumpled up pages, and overturned pots of feed, Newt crosses the room and slides out the desk’s chair.

The two of you had decided to place a small bedroom in the case for any situations where you needed to be ready to respond to a creature at any moment. For the most part, it had been used when one was about to give birth, but more and more often, you and Newt had been spending nights down there after long hours of work studying a new creature.

Newt drops his head in his hands as he stares at the pages scattered in front of him. Notes that mean nothing at 3 in the morning fill the papers, but Newt still rifles through them, furious with the tears dripping down his cheeks. He has no time to cry. He has to find you.

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“you’re destroying yourself,” he told her. she didn’t reply. “you can’t live for just your mind and nothing else. you’re human, for god’s sake. you need love, affection, you need all the things that all of us need. please. you’re destroying yourself.”

she didn’t look at him. her fingers turned the page. her eyes read. her lashes flickered shut, just a second, before she drank the words on the paper. more information. more data. all the connections and causes the world had to offer.

he reached for her, touched her shoulder. “please,” now he was begging, “you’re not a machine.”

“but I wish I was.”

“you can’t be.” he spoke gently now, hope rising up. maybe he could reach her. “you don’t have to be. it’s okay not to know things. sometimes there are no answers, or a problem that even you can’t solve. there are things bigger than any of us, and you can’t do anything to understand them.”

she froze under his touch. 

he let go. he took a breath. “it will be okay. you’ll get used to it. come on.”

“no,” she said.

he opened his mouth. she turned to him, and the shine of her eyes spoke not of life as it used to, not of curiosity nor the yearning for knowledge that had made her the most brilliant creature he’d ever seen.

“who are you?” he whispered it, stumbling, terror in his voice. she was brilliant still, and it had made her - 

“i am my mind.” she didn’t blink anymore. her fingers were curled around the book, a page crumpled up under her palm. “i was nothing before i could think like this. before i knew. before i could connect all the information, make nets and theories and new ways. don’t you see?” her smile spread over her lips, hesitating then, shying away from her wide black pupils. 

he pressed his back to the wall. his body trembled. “you are more than this.”

“no!” she hissed. her fist crashed into the book, tears springing to her eyes. “you don’t understand, stupid, stupid! my mind could be perfect! it could be brilliant, better than anyone, it could make me special. it could make me more than just another…”

“human?” her swallowed. moved. came closer, just a step. “you don’t want to be human?”

“no. yes. I want…” 

“it’s okay. you don’t have to be extraordinary, you know? it’s alright to be enough-”

“I want to be more.”

he took all the courage he had and went back to her. when he stood in front of her, silent, she touched her fingers to his chest.

“if you’re not brilliant, you’ll be forgotten.”

her fingers curled into a fist.

“I’d rather be remembered than human.”

For better or for worse

Request: None it’s just a “Decoy Bride” au- aka Lin just wants to get married but when his wife-to-be disappears, his friends need to find a temporary stand-in while they look for her (I like this trashy romcom too much to not write an au)

Pairing: Lin-Manuel Miranda x reader 

Warnings: fake relationships, slow burn, paparazzi, initial dislike

Word count: 4,511 (I got carried away?)

A/N: Apologies to anyone waiting for a fic but I’ve had major writers block :/ Feedback is welcomed with enthusiasm ^-^ Thanks to @fragmentofmymind for proofreading!


The boat bumped against the rock as her owner tied her to the roughly-hewn wooden post that served as a docking point. You looked out of the rain-spattered porthole windows and over the seemingly endless soggy fields. At your side, your suitcase seemed too small too be carrying everything you owned.

You were coming home.

Ever since you and your mother had moved to the tiny island off the Scottish coast, you had wanted to escape. You had dreams to follow and you sure as hell weren’t going to achieve them on an island where you knew the whole population by name.

You had tried countless times to leave- to go to university, to live with your boyfriend, to work a job that had promised you connections. But you always ended up on the ferry back, your suitcase getting more battered every time, packed to move back into the Bed and Breakfast your mother owned- the only accommodation with rooms to rent on the island.

“There you go, lass,” the grey-haired captain leant you a hand as you stepped off the boat and onto the muddy path. You thanked him as he passed you your case and stepped off the boat after you. It was raining hard and you had forgotten your umbrella.

Tugging your case through the wet mud and then gravel was hard work, and the walk to your home gave you more than enough time to second guess yourself. You had left your boyfriend- an abusive dickhead if there ever was one- and run. But you had left your dreams behind- again- in New York when you had taken the first flight to Edinburgh and with every step they felt farther away.

You opened the door and walked in, hoping to have a moment to compose yourself. But your mother was standing in the hallway, ironing. “Oh!” she gasped, then looked abruptly serious, “What happened?”

“I’m fine,” you said bravely, but at the sight of her concerned expression everything seemed to crash back down onto you all over again and you let out a hiccoughing sob. “Fine.”

Your mother looked you up and down and set down her iron, rushing to pull you into a tight hug. “Come on,” she said quietly, “let’s have a cup of tea and warm you up, shall we?”

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Snow Days - Part 2

Genre: fluff/angst, highschool!au

Pairing: reader/jungkook

Length: 3.5k

Summary: Although you’d been warned about the snowstorm that would affect your area, you decided to go to school anyway. Several hours later, you were trapped in the library, the weather too severe to go outside. Fortunately, you had your headphones so you could listen to your favourite artist: a boy who went by the name JK. Unfortunately, you were stuck with the new transfer student, Jungkook, who was a right pain in the ass.

A/N: this is the third time I’ve rewritten this i’m so sorry

the snow day joke was so lame I took it out…. I wrote the joke at work and I was laughing at myself for about 5 minutes because I thought I was so hilarious
reading it again, I realised it wasn’t even funny

01 02 03 04 05 06 07

As the storm had struck your area earlier than predicted, everyone settled back down in the library with ease, only expecting to be stuck for a couple more hours at most, as the logical thinking was that the storm would end earlier, too. There weren’t many students, as everyone else had headed home straightaway and not lingered at the school, unlike the twenty odd students who were locked in the library that early evening.

The librarians were busying about, setting up their emergency candles around the walls and handing out torches for those who continued to study. Due to the open plan, the warm glow of the candles created a dim light throughout the room, aided by the dirty white colours provided by the snowstorm outside. Soon, you were surrounded by little flames of light, all sending up ribbons of smoke into the high ceiling. You thought you’d see bright dots in your eyes for days. Luckily, Mrs Kang turned on the extractor fan so you didn’t die from the fumes of the smoke.

Those who still had battery left in their laptops continued to work, but you and Namjoon stood listlessly by the door, unsure as to what to do with your sudden free time. Jimin finished writing out a text to his parents, telling them that he wouldn’t be coming home before joining you again, looking just as lost as you felt. Jungkook was still loitering around you, waiting until you made eye contact with him so he could join in the conversation. You ignored him.

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The Good ANBU

Part Two of the “Ninja Dorks Flailing at Interpersonal Relations” series. Where the exposition is sparse, and canon doesn’t matter.  

I’ll be tagging everything in this series “ninja dorks” and linking them together.  Part One is Here

This idea is courtesy of a chat I had a few weeks ago from @fineillsignup   I think the idea she had in mind was meant to be sexy.  OH WELL!  

Story below the cut for you.  :D

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Waking Days Ch. 2 - Rift

A/N: Finally, after a two month hiatus! To be honest, this chapter was a lot more difficult to write, mostly because there’s been, ahem, other fandoms that’ve grabbed my attention as of late. Also the content. As you may have noticed, I’m a lot more into character interaction than any real plot. Plot just helps give more character interaction, in my opinion, so writing a chapter that’s mostly plot and little character development is hard. That’s it. That’s my excuse. 

hopefully though, this chapter would be worth the wait. As usual, I take any questions you guys wanna ask about the state of the fic, if anybody’s worried or confused or just wants to gush with me about fandom. 

AU by my pal @doodledrawsthings. Based on Flat Dreams by @pengychan.

Thirty years took a great toll on his memories, but Ford still remembered this place. Dimension 52 rested in the back of his mind, even as he fled from one universe to another, meeting hundreds of people, places, and searching frantically for a concrete way of stopping Bill. It was one of the few worlds he knew that truly meant him no harm, where his stay wasn’t stained with loss and terror and Bill’s chaos. Years of voyaging had left his memory of this place faded and washed out like a watercolor painting, and remembering little details grew harder and harder, but as Stanford set foot into the temple, it was like he hadn’t even left.

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Come Back Home [III]

Prologue - Part OnePart Two - Part Four

Plot: Crumpled, torn pages of Sehun’s journal reveal more than you thought they would.

Genre: Angst/Suspense - CanonAU

Pairing: Sehun x Reader

Word Count:  <1k

Sehun’s Journal

26 December 2014

I saw her again today. 

I was at a ramen shop in Osaka, eating before we started packing for our flight home. 

It was cold, and I was irritated when the door opened, letting the icy winter air inside. I turned, and there she was. She was walking in, laughing, tiny flakes from the fresh snowfall coating her hair.

She looked beautiful. 

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mkes  asked:

What's Steve's reaction to Tony selling Stark/Avengers Tower? Bittersweet? Just sad? Curious?

Pulling the cardboard flaps back, Steve reached into the box. Balled up newspaper was jammed into every corner. Packing tumbled to the floor. A headline caught his eye. Box forgotten, he stooped to pick up the crumpled paper. The front page had a big photo and a bigger headline. The tower was being sold. Avengers Tower. Stark Tower before that.


Steve dropped into a nearby chair. He didn’t read the article, just laid it flat, smoothing out the creases with his palm. A pop startled him. His gaze flickered over to the crackling fireplace. Focusing back on the paper, his eyes glazed over. Twice, he attempted to read the article, but the words didn’t sink in. The fire shifted and burned down. He needed to add a log. The pile near the flames was down to a log or two. Steve remained in his chair.

A loud thump came from outside. Footsteps clumped around on the porch, their sound muffled by the swirling snow outside his window. Steve stood as his door popped open, a crisp wind blowing in.

Taking a step, he slipped the page into the fire.

Bucky shook snow from his jacket as he wrestled the door closed while holding his armful of logs.

“You get that stuff unpacked yet?” Bucky asked, as he took in the mess on the table.

“No. I got distracted.” Steve said glancing over at the flames as the last of the page blackened, turning to ash.