Ha ha! Me as a pap waiting 24-7 for a week until a delivery guy turns up. Or me as a pap waiting until the arch enemy Louis Tomlinson receives the equivalent of a horse's head in the bed from his deadly rival...a Full Stop Management baseball cap in the post...which he has to pay for.
I mean are you telling me Louis arrived in la on Tuesday night and didn’t open his front door til Friday? And when there was a pap there they both went to the door?! Even though he was stood 20 foot away?! But it happened to be the day his archenemy released his single?!
You would survive a Dangan Ronpa situation because the real secret culprit instigating these deaths would not suspect a humble, sometimes severely self-deprecating artist to be the top priority of deadly rivals to eliminate right away. This leads to your surprise comeback in which they vastly underestimated your ability to be resilient since even a devious culprit can't compete with the harsh backstory you endured. Thus, you survive.
*is still deliriously re-watching season 9 and regrets never flailing publicly about 9x18*
It’s been a year, let’s rewatch the trainwreck that turned me into this shipper mess with some serious hindsight goggles. Fair warning I’m only watching at all because I’m ill and exhausted and it’s making me weird so as always the read more is optional when I’m like this, unless you expressly followed me because my delirious ramblings amused you. :P
I love your blog my three words Kai bulling you , happy ending , more than 3 XD lol sorry
Shot in the heart with the love bullet.
Member: Kai ft. EXO (mentioned)
Words: 2175 words
Genres: Drama, Romance, Mafia! AU, Angst
a.n.: HAPPY VALENTINE’S EVERYONE! EVEN THOUGH I’M LIKE TWO HOURS LATE.
kim jongin kills me inside, literally. this gif will be the death of me, WHAT ARE YOU DYING WITH THAT MOUTH OF YOURS. THAT SMIRK ADASDKF. -explodes-
anyway, i have one thing and only one thing to say. i just kept writing and writing this and didn’t stop once. literally, i can’t even- it’s like out of hand. haha. noonie, i’m pretty sure this isn’t what you wanted because when i think of bullying and happy ending i think of high school! au but i was in the mood for something darker so this is what happened. i have no regrets. lol.
i hope you enjoy it anyway~ and thank you so muchh i’m so happy you love my blog ;3;
Kim Jongin. Many knew him as the pretty boy, the skinny boy who loved to dance. He was always dancing his heart out along with his friends, and he was President of the Dance Club. It seemed both him on stage and off stage were the exact
same people. He overflowed with charisma, instantly creating fan girls (and
their little clubs) with a single glance. He was sexy, confident, and
tantalizing. He could have any girl he ever wanted, and he did. The whole school knew that. Jongin never stuck to a girl for long.
The chase was always short: the girl would give in immediately upon his
request. It was what he often did to entertain himself, you could say. He did
okay in school. His grades were satisfactory, nowhere near as excellent or
great as Joonmyun. That was a whole and completely different level.
Jongin had friends, strange and quirky ones that he wouldn’t lose for the
world. There was Yixing: daydreaming dancer, Sehun: tall and gangly limbs,
Kyungsoo: master chef, Joonmyun: doting mother of the group, Tao: martial
artist master who was really a softie on the inside, Jongdae: mischievous
cat-like troll, Chanyeol: the always happy boy (who seemed too much like a dog
eagerly waiting to be acknowledged?), Baekhyun: eyeliner-wearing diva, Minseok:
wise older brother, Yifan: leader (? Jongin wasn’t sure how to describe Yifan),
and Luhan: don’t-call-me-pretty-I’m-manly.
Jongin seemed like the normal student.
He had a
normal life, normal friends (if you could even call them normal), hobbies, habits…
Jongin was like an open book. There was nothing
people didn’t know about him.
they didn’t know was that Kim Jongin also went by the name of Kai: expert
assassin and marksman of the infamous mafia EXO.
Not a fan of “why do we need love triangles? they could all just be poly!”
- Not everyone wants to be/can be poly. Some people are monogamous or celibate and that’s okay. Even when it’s inconvenient, it’s okay.
- If two people are deadly jealous rivals, they’re probably not going to make great co-partners. More likely they’re going to have a lot of “I think you spend more time with her! what if she likes you more?!?” issues.
- I’ve seen people try to use poly as a “solution” to cheating or an inability to commit. It doesn’t end well. Poly is a relationship style unto itself, not a patch to fix your monogamy problems.
- From an outside-the-fourth-wall perspective: it can be objectifying. Especially when it’s a man and two women forming the triangle, it can have implications less of “I love you both” and more of “I won both prizes, and hey fellas, threesomes!” I think a writer in a mainstream setting would have to do a lot of effort to avoid this implication.
I do think it would be cool to see poly groups in the media. I just don’t want them to be presented as handy-dandy “why choose?” solutions.
Prompt: Sherlock refuses to ever leave Molly's presence without a kiss, even if it may not be appropriate in some situations.
“Sherlock, stop,” Molly blushed, twisting her head away from him, a gentle grin curving her lips upward.
“Why?” Unable to reach her lips, he pecked her cheek, then her eyelids, finally prying her chin toward him and landing a kiss on her rosy, slightly swollen lips.
“You two are horrendous,” John commented from behind the newspaper, loudly crinkling the material and making a big deal of turning the page. “It’s been a year. Shouldn’t you be past this?"
"The production of oxytocin has miraculous-"
John crinkled his paper loudly again, signaling that he wasn’t interested.
Sherlock stared at him for a second, feeling vaguely affronted, then grabbed his Belstaff off the chair, quickly tying his scarf around his neck.
"Fine. Come on then,” he said stiffly.
“Not until you’re good and ready,” John’s voice floated up.
Sherlock rolled his eyes, striding quickly over to Molly, who had taken up residence in his chair with a book, and tilted her chin up so she was looking into his bright blue-green eyes. He waited for the words she would say every time he left, the words he came to view (despite his condescension toward the idea of superstition as a whole) as a necessary good luck charm.
He lost himself in the warm brown of her eyes.
“Be safe,” she said.
He leaned down, ignoring John’s protests (Goddamnit, Sherlock, have some common decency. You don’t see me and Mary going at it like rabbits, do you?), kissed her soundly until they were both panting.
“Come along, John.” He strode out of their flat, leaving John sighing in resignation.
“Oy, you bastard! Time to go!” Lestrade cursed and swiftly turned around upon entering the morgue. Sherlock had pressed Molly against the metal table, until she was practically laying on top of it, him on top of her. “Cool it, will you two?"
While Molly blushed and murmured an apology, trying to push Sherlock off of her, he continued nuzzling her neck, pressing gentle expressions of affection against her soft skin.
She pushed on him harder, trying to ignore Lestrade’s look of amusement.
"One more before I go,” Sherlock growled into her ear, his hand blindly reaching toward the chair to grab his coat. Molly sighed, but ceded to his wishes, pressing a lingering kiss to his lips.
"William Sherlock Scott Holmes!” Mycroft exploded, tapping his umbrella angrily on the floor. “Stop that now. You are in the presence of her majesty, and you will respect her."
The old lady sitting in Sherlock’s chair giggled, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"I don’t mind, Mycroft. Young love is precious. We can wait a minute while they say goodbye."
Mycroft nodded reluctantly. Ever since Molly had moved into 221B, Sherlock couldn’t be bothered to go anywhere without at least 30 minutes advanced notice. It was really getting quite bothersome. And Sherlock really had lost all sense of decorum, completely ignoring Molly’s furious attempts at pinching him into being respectful in front of the Queen.
"I’m so sorry, your majesty,” she stuttered, apologizing for Sherlock. “He’s just…” She didn’t know how to continue.
“What’s the big hurry?"
Mycroft’s face slowly turned red, verging on purple, and his hand tightly clenched the umbrella handle, putting it under severe strain.
"There is a matter of national importance, as I have told you several times before, yet you sit here snogging your pathologist while the free world is in danger. Sherlock Holmes, what do you have to say for yourself?”
Sherlock blinked once. Then again.
"Her lips are quite lovely."
Molly imagined herself crawling into a hole, while Queen Elizabeth chortled.
"Don’t worry, dear,” she said to Molly, “Philip and I are like that too sometimes still.” She got up from the chair, making her way to the door.
“Sherlock dear, just come when you’re ready. I’ll be in the car.” She was followed out by Mycroft, who leveled his brother with a glare deadly enough to rival a basilisk’s.
Molly quickly pulled Sherlock down by his tie (which she had hastily tied onto him upon knowing of the Queen’s imminent arrival) and pecked his lips lightly.
“Be safe,” she said quickly, pushing him out the door.
He looked back at her, flipped his coat collar up, and grinned.