drunken tirade

anonymous asked:

Saeran tending an injury Mc got (this Mc is a big cry baby when it comes to pain) also may I just say your writing is amazing and I just haven't read a one shots like your in along time and just reading them wow, keep up the great work! I'm so glad I found your blog!

A/N: Aww, you’re so sweet anon! :) Thank you!! Hope you like this one!




Tears prick your eyes, threatening to slip out from the corners to mix with the perspiration trickling down the sides of your face. You bite down on your lip and hold your breath as you try to ignore the sweltering heat and the painful sting of the angry red abrasion stamped on your knee.

It’s hard to ignore, however. You’ve never had a decent tolerance for pain. Injuries and scrapes like these have been one of your greatest fears growing up till now, and you shudder at the thought of having to bathe later. You absolutely abhor the idea of having anything come into contact with your raw, bleeding wound. Just the thought alone is enough to make you wince, and maybe it’s purely psychological, but you swear the sting on your knee worsens a little.

“It’s just a small scrape,” you hear Saeran comment. He’s squatting next to you, head hovering above your knee as he examines your fresh injury with a blank face. It’s nothing to him, and you’re not that surprised. Considering the ordeals he had been through in the past, this is far too trivial, and your state of panic laughable and pathetic, at best.

Still, you can’t help the quickening of your pulse when you feel tiny droplets of his perspiration drip onto your leg, perilously close to your wound. You want to tell him to move away, or to wipe his sweat off first, but you daren’t release your teeth from your lower lip for fear of losing control over your tear ducts at this point.

He clicks his tongue, and then removes his bag pack, opening it and sieving through its contents. “We’ll need to wash this before it gets infected,” he remarks.

The sight of him pulling his large water bottle out of his bag is enough to make your blood run cold.

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Hotel Revenge.

Last Thursday was quite the doozy of a shift.

Right off the bat, I came in to a shady-looking couple hassling the new girl. The moment I came in, she said “There’s my supervisor he can help you.” Which I couldnt. They were trying to use someone else’s card with no ID or way for the person on the card to come in and sign. Not even a means to contact them. So all the fraud red flags went, and I refuse to rent to them.

The two leave in a huff. Soon as she leaves, I get slammed with a 20 room wedding block, and a few walk-in road crews checking in at the same time. The crews were guys we’d been housing for months now, so they had everything ready. And the wedding block was easy enough as well.

But then came The ex-cops.. Suffice to say I should have put them on the Do Not Rent List.

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Gift: Drunk Men Don't Lie

For @alyseb630 because she’s a big cutie pie and Tumblr mums must spoil their children

“Princess I love you.” The mostly-empty wine bottle swung precariously from his fingertips, the contents sloshing loudly, demanding to be drunk.

Marinette rolled her eyes and reached for the bottle. “Yes I know that’s the fifth time you’ve said that in the past half hour.” He snatched the bottle out of her reach and rasied it to his lips, taking such a large mouthful that it would have been frowned upon at a dinner party. “Give me that Chat.”

Chat’s eyes bugged out of his head for a moment before he started giggling uncontrollably, his uncontrollable (at least in his drunken state) tail twitching. “That Chat.” He wheezed. “That’s funny.”

Marinette groaned and reached for the bottle again. “You’ve had enough.”

Chat clutched his prize to his chest. “No.” He whispered. “I need it.”

Marinette slapped his thigh and ignored his giggles of ‘ooh kinky’. “You don’t need it. Give it to me or I won’t give you any croissants next time you visit.”

“No croissants?” He breathed horrified. His ears flattened against his skull and his expression turned pitiful, as he pondered his new punishment. “Cookies?” He asked hopefully, ears pricking up.

“No.” Marinette said firmly, folding her arms across her chest.

“No cookies?” He whined, voice edging up a few octaves at the word ‘cookies.’ His ears drooped and his tail flopped onto the chaise with a thump.

Marinette swallowed the thump in her throat at the sight of her partner’s sorrowful expression. She tightened her crossed arms and deepened her frown so she wouldn’t give in. For a few seconds it was a silent battle of willpower before Chat lost. He held out the bottle in defeat, head bowed, one hand grasping the neck, the other supporting the base; like a sommelier might offer wine to a patron.

Marinette took it gingerly and slipped off the chaise so she could go pour it into her flowers on the terrace. When the bottle was empty she placed it as close to the wall as possible. Hopefully she could get rid of it later without her parents noticing. She took a deep breath and dropped back into her room, snapping the hatch closed behind her. She narrowed her eyes in the dark, Chat was missing and the hatch leading to downstairs was open. Marinette cursed, raced over to the hatch and stuck her head down the hole.

“Chat.” She hissed, panic setting in. Her parents weren’t exactly aware of the stray cat she’d adopted over the past few months.“Get up here.” After a moment of silence he wandered up the stairs and butted his head against hers.

“Princess! What are you doing here?” He wore his signature Cheshire grin and his voice was entirely too loud.

She grabbed his collar and hauled him through the hatch. “I live here.” She grunted as he sprawled on top of her giggling. “With my parents -”

“I love your parents.” He mumbled into her hair, still giggling. “Your fluffy and kind and nice maman and your funny papa. ”

Marinette rolled her eyes and tried to push him off her. “That’s nice. They are also parents who could catch you here without permission. Remember?” He had forgotten apparently, his giggles slowed and he pulled himself up onto his elbows so he was hovering over her, one of his clawed hands tangled in her hair, the other at the side of her face. He squinted at her and Marinette could feel her face burning under his intense scrutiny.

What?“ She demanded defensively.

“You’re very pretty.” He slurred.

To hide her embrassment Marinette laughed. “Oh really?”

He nodded sagely. “I always thought so.” He lifted a hand and trailed it down the side of her face, his body lowering to meet hers. “Ever since I first saw you.I thought you were beautiful.”

“You’re such a liar.” Marinette snorted, but her words had the wrong effect. Instead of him laughing and rolling away, he dipped his face down and brushed his nose against hers.

“Drunk men don’t lie.”

He was close. Too close. She could feel heat rolling off his body and smell the wine thick on his breath. She lifted her head to and suddenly she she could taste it. A tart flavour exploded in her mouth as he swept his tongue against hers. Marinette shoved embarrassment aside as she responded to him in a way she didn’t know she was capable of. She moved her hands to his shoulders as her head titled for better access. He was warm and steady, his torso touching hers as he supported himself above her. She was shaking, she could feel it, it felt so right so natural, but as he drew back for breath, all she could think of was Adrien and of how drunk Chat was and of how he was not really in control right now. She didn’t push him away, and so he moved in again, slower this time. He was barely a millimetre away from her lips when she found her voice.

“No.”

She felt his body freeze instantly and his eyes snapped open, full of an emotion she couldn’t name. In a fraction of a second, he’d pulled her up into a less vulnerable position and scrambled as far away from her as he could, his back pressed against the wall, muttering “Sorry, I’m so sorry,” His voice thick and sad, still marred by the alcohol.

“Chat?” She crawled forward and reached out to touch him but he flinched away immediately.

He mumbled a long string of words that didn’t make much sense but Marinette caught “no means no” and “taking advantage of you.”

“Chat?” She touched his shoulder causing him to glance up. His eyebrows were furrowed as though they were desperately trying to meet and his mouth was pulled down at the corners in an uncharacteristic frown.

“Sorry Marinette.” He said again, her name instead of his usual endearment sounding funny on his tongue. The wine slurred his words but it couldn’t hide the sincerity. “You don’t want- I get it… I’m not-” He pressed a hand to his forehead half in embarrassment and half due to the pounding headache that had already started. “’m very drunk. That’s no excuse… You didn’t want me to-”

“No, no, no. It’s not like that.” Marinette said, creeping closer. And suddenly it wasn’t about Adrien or her being Ladybug. It was just about them. “I just… You’re really drunk.”

Chat’s ears perked up. “It’s just because of…” He struggled to finish his sentence. “Wine?”

Marinette scratched the back of her head. “I guess?”

He placed his hand on her shoulders, a wide, silly grin suddenly painted lopsidedly on his face. “Will you kiss me when I’m sober?”

Marinette jerked back in surprise and he released her immediately. “What?”

“When I’m sober, can I kiss you again?”

“Uhm. Sure?”

The grin widened and he held out his little finger. “Pinky swear Princess!” He sung.

They locked fingers and he stood, staggering towards her bed. It wasn’t until he reached the hatch that she realized he was trying to leave. She raced over and pulled him down onto the bed and away from the hatch and the dangerous rooftops. “Where are you going?” She demanded.

“Uh…” He shrugged and rolled over, amazingly managing to roll over the top of the railing and landing on the hard floor. Marinette jumped down beside him, but he didn’t seem phased by falling. “To my house.” He managed before standing up and trying to climb the ladder again.

Marinette pulled him off the ladder and directed him to the chaise. “No way kitten-” At the nickname he flung his arms around her neck and nuzzled into her neck, giggling again. Marinette rolled her eyes and walked him over to her lounge, her eyes landing on her phone. “You have to stay here. I won’t have you stumbling around like an idiot, what would Ladybug think?”

He hummed in thought before stepping back and releasing her. “I gotta go.” His words slurred again as though he was weaving in and out of his drunken state. Marinette pushed him onto the couch, a soft breathy grunt escaping him before she pressed ‘record’ on her phone.

“You have to stay here.” She told him, leveling the phone with his face. He either didn’t notice or was too far gone to care.

“But Princesss,” He said, desperately trying to make his voice sound matter-of-fact but failing miserably. “I gotta go.“

“Like pee?” She asked. He nodded.

After the expedition to the bathroom, which involved much pushing and giggling and an instance where Chat asked if she wanted to ‘disrobe him,’ they were back in the bedroom, Chat still trying to leave and Marinette still recording.

“If you go I’ll kick your butt.” Marinette snapped. She had to snap because the only other option was to start laughing at him-and he did look silly, his misbehaving tail wrapped around his legs, preventing any kind of progress-but laughterwould only encourage him.

“But you forget Princess.” He smirked, once again trying to maintain his matter-of-fact tone so he would win the argument. “I’m a superhero.” He pointed at himself before raising his palm to her. “So,” here he glanced at his hand as if it belonged to someone else before using his other hand to put down all his fingers bar his index, leaving his hand in an “ah-ha” gesture. “I could kick your butt.” He grinned, seemingly satisfied with his declaration, still apparently oblivious to the phone in his face.

“But I’m a girl. And a Princess.” Marinette pointed out. “Would you still hit me then?”

Chat frowned and pouted. “I would never hit My Princess.” He said seriously, seeming to have a sober moment before slipping back into his drunken tirade. “But I can still kick your butt.” He smirked and crossed his arms.

“How?” Marinette challenged.

He smirked and reached for her, pulling her into his lap and running his clawed hands carefully up her sides, prodding at her tummy as he tickled her, pouting when she didn’t even squirm. “You’re not trickling… tickling… ticklish.” He corrected himself before finding the right word.

“Are you done yet? I want to sleep you know.” Chat threw his baton at the light switch, plunging the room into darkness again before burying his face in her hair.

“I am sleeping.” He promised, breathing against her hair.

“Sure you are.” She reached back and ruffled his hair before switching off her phone and trying to get up off the chaise so she too, could get some sleep, but Chat’s arms were unrelenting.

“Cuddle with me?” He whined softly.

“Ugh. Fine.“ She rolled onto her side, adjusting beside him until she was comfortable.“You’re such a cat.”

“Marinette.”

She grunted, giving him permission to speak.

“You promised to kiss me when I’m sober.” Marinette could hear the grin in his voice.

She didn’t open her eyes. “I did.”

“So… Good Morning kisses?” He asked hopefully.

Marinette snorted. “We’ll see kitten.”

Ok, so here is Bungou Stray Dogs Wan! the “Mafia goes to public bath” episode. I will typeset the other 3 pages later, but for now this is page 2. See you… OR IS IT?

When researching for the mackerel thing Chuuya said above (the actual is something like blue mackerel) I came across a section of the Dazai Osamu Novel. AFAIK it’s a sort of commentary on his life from the point of view of Kazuo Dan, one of his friends and colleagues. I still can’t find a full version anywhere, but here’s the thing: in December 1934, Dazai, Kazuo and a few more writers came together to publish a literary magazine called Aoi Hana. It did set back his suicide attempts for like a year (the magazine was discontinued after one issue) but that was when Dazai Osamu first met Nakahara Chuuya, and boy is it a pickle. 

This is long so I’ll put it under a read more, and note that I will refer to IRL Nakahara Chuuya as Nakahara and BSD Nakahara Chuuya (if any) as Chuuya. I don’t think you’ll need any distinction between RL and BSD Dazai. 

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“Delete that. Now.”

James thought that the dinner party had gone fairly well. He hadn’t done anything to embarrass himself, or at least he didn’t do anything outstanding to draw attention to himself. Perhaps that was because Hamilton was ranting about a proposal for a new bill after just a few drinks. Washington had asked him to leave early, his wife had apologized for her husband’s drunken tirade before having to drag him away. The remainder of the dinner party was calm after his exit.

James had even managed to talk with other big politicians without stumbling over his words. Perhaps it was because Thomas was by his side, and he always felt unnaturally calm in his presence. James couldn’t recall a previous time when he had been so confident and so intelligent sounding. He was feeling rather chipper, his favorite music quietly playing over the car’s radio while Thomas slept in the passenger seat, having a little bit too much to drink but not as much as Hamilton.

James hummed to the current song that was playing, a pop tune he was too embarrassed to admit that he liked. But with Thomas passed out from the alcohol, he felt comfortable enough to sing rather than quietly mumble the lyrics. Thomas had only heard him singing in the shower once when he thought that the man had already left for work, teasing him about it to no end and asking if he’d ever sing for him. James promptly refused and avoided singing in his presence, or the presence of anyone for that matter.

But right now he felt that he was alone and safe. Plus, the joyous adrenaline coursing through him made him want to belt out at least one song. He turned up the radio slightly, just enough that he could actually hear the music. As the next verse started, he sang softly, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. He didn’t bother to check whether or not Thomas had woken up. He was a heavy sleeper, especially when he was drunk.

He should have been more cautious.

The sound of a video recording made him tense and he whipped his head over. Thomas had his phone out, facing James with a lazy grin on his face. James’ face began to burn. “Thomas-”

“Eyes on the road, babe,” Thomas said as the car began to drift into the shoulder. James snapped his head back forward, his hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly that his knuckles were white. Thomas slipped his phone in the pocket of his shirt. “You should really sing more. You have a beautiful voice,” Thomas insisted with a lazy wave of his hand. He leaned his seat back so he was almost laying down completely, hoping that the position would stop his head from throbbing.

“You know exactly why I don’t sing often,” James muttered, his body hunched over defensively. He shot a glance at his boyfriend before fixing his eyes back on the road. “I want you to delete that. Now.”

“I already posted it on my Snapchat,” Thomas claimed. His body jerked towards the door as James pulled the car over. He shifted the gears to park the car with such force that Thomas was sure he was going to break the lever. He looked at him with wide eyes. “Are you mad?” he asked, his voice soft.

James sighed, rubbing his face. “Just embarrassed,” he admitted. “Thomas, you know I hate my voice-”

“And you shouldn’t,” Thomas implored, sitting up and ignoring the heavy feeling in his head. “James, you’re amazing. You’re one of the smartest men I know, myself included-” He grinned when James rolled his eyes. “-and your speeches are absolutely incredible. You’re humble, yet you’re forceful. You-” He stopped abruptly when he realized that James was staring at his lips with half-lidded eyes. He smirked. “You’re not paying attention to a thing I’m saying, are you?”

“You’re probably giving me more credit than I deserve, as always,” James mumbled, wanting nothing more than to feel Thomas’ mouth move against his own. His lips curved into a small smile as Thomas tilted his chin up, placing a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose before moving to his lips. James hummed with satisfaction, leaning as far forward as his seatbelt would allow him. They pulled away, Thomas tenderly caressing his cheek. James sighed, resting his head on Thomas’ chest. “I want it off your story by the time we get home,” he stated with finality.

“Oh, come on, James-”

“I will not hesitate to sleep on the couch.”

Thomas sighed, pulling out his phone. “Fine.”

anonymous asked:

Nephi, when did you know that you really liked Krynna ??


“Do you mean ‘physical attraction’ or when did I, as the kids say, ‘catch feelings?’ For the former, of course I felt it right away!”

“With hips like Krynna’s it’s easy to let your faith be shaken to its very core! And her boldness was really quite charming, if a little brutish at first glance… 

 “But… months into tracking the Cult of the Dragon together, there was an incident during which I was wrongfully accused of murdering one of the cultists after weeks of having to live among them. A few of them went on a drunken, racist tirade, foolishly trying to challenge me to a sword fight, which was absolutely ridiculous because of course I would have destroyed them sober, but I wasn’t about to prove them right by killing a bunch of drunk idiots. Anyway, Krynna stepped in on my behalf, which was really quite sweet, and when things escalated further, she almost single-handedly took out all of the cultists herself! It was breathtaking. Not long after that moment, when we finally had a few days to ourselves, everything fell into place.”

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People defending Nancy’s drunken rant at Steve are no different from the people who say “oh he was drunk, he didn’t mean to call me a whore, bitch, cunt, slut. He was just drunk, and he was upset.”

Please don’t make excuses for someone’s horrible behaviour towards their partner because they were drunk.

Just because a person gets drunk when they’re not emotionally ok, doesn’t give them an excuse when they go on a drunken tirade at someone who doesn’t deserve it.

Yes, I entirely understand why she said what she said, why she was so angry, but that doesn’t make it better.

loosen up

oneshot? fluff
Amber x reader
word count: 1680
prompt: you’re the health-conscious med student and I’m the chain-smoking art student who’s also your barista bartender and you leave me notes on smoking and lung health on your napkins


It’s your birthday, so you’d decided to get absolutely smashed and try to forget the fact that you’ve gotten a year older and you have pretty much no life outside of med school and your only friend has abandoned you because she got a headache. Well, that last bit happened after you’d gotten most of the way from tipsy to drunk, but still. Damn her and her sensitive head. Maybe you should’ve stayed in after all. Rented a movie, had a sleepover, maybe invited some of your med school friends and gotten drunk in the comfort of your home?

Oh right, most of your friends worked the graveyard shift. And there was something about the anonymity and atmosphere of clubs and bars that you particularly enjoyed. It had absolutely nothing to do with the gorgeous bartender with the infectious smile and intricate tattoo sleeve and her perfect hair- not at all. Speaking of which, where did she go? You look over the crowd towards the door and see her leaving, lighter in hand, haloed by the neon lights.

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anonymous asked:

Do you think sometimes they run into eachother at a bar and then they just end up talking shit about everyone they see? Imagine it leading to Ironwood walking in on Winter in the middle of a drunken tirade about how much of a cotton headed ninny muggin he is.

They totally do
And i bet Qrow is so proud cause HE only would make Winter drink and talk shit about Ironwood ….. I. LOVE. THAT

Day 9 of Deity Devotion: Loki

Common mistakes about this deity

“God of Lies”

I think calling him the “God of Lies” is not only innaccurate, but incredibly boxing. Norse deities aren’t necessarily like other pantheons where their deities are aspects or elements personified and glorified into a divinity. Loki, if anything, speaks quite a lot of truths. He is a god of trickery and mischief, but lying isn’t something that he is particularly known for. Rather, he knows how to speak around a subject and his silver tongue is used for getting out of situations. 

One version of the Walling of Asgard I have read was that it was initially Loki who made the bet and that the Aesir told him to “fix it” after finding out about it. The most common version is that it was all the Aesir who made the bet and regretted it, so they went to Loki and told him to fix it. And yet another version is that the Aesir made the bet, but by Loki encouraging them to do so. He does not lie in the story, but instead to fix things, he transforms into a mare to slow the process of the building. 

When Thor’s hammer is found lost, he takes Freyja’s cloak to become a hawk and look for it, and comes back to tell Thor it is being held by giants of which one desires to marry Freyja. While he himself could perfectly transform into some female entity, and thus I’m sure he could very well become some image of Freyja, he does not, and does not mention that he could do so, instead letting Thor, beard and all, become “Freyja” in a wedding dress. He didn’t outright lie more than he simply hid the truth. 

In Lokasenna, Loki goes on a drunken tirade and spills the truths of all the other Aesir at the party, revealing incest, adultery, and other such things while the gods all tell him to shut up and sit down. 

So, I do not find that Loki is the “God of Lies” as it seems to mostly stem from Marvel’s variation. 

‘Snakes & Spiders”

While I personally do associate him with snakes and spiders, there is no evidence to support either of these things. He does not tranorm into eitehr of these things, and he has no historical connection to them. The snakes idea came from the Urnes Snakes symbol, which otherwise has zero connection to Loki other than perhaps some jewelry shops claiming as much. The spiders came from the idea that “Locke” means “Spider” in Norwegian and eventually just caught on with the rest of the community. 

While there isn’t any real historical evidence of either of these associations, I do personally find them attached to Loki. 

“Norse Satan/Judas” 

Unless you’re syncretic or some form of Christo-Pagan, this concept has nothing to do with Norse deities. There is no real “Satan” among the gods save for maybe Fenrir or Surtr, and even that’s a stretch, because the concept is completely different. Judas was a betrayer whose betrayal got Jesus killed. Satan is the adversary of G-d. Loki is neither a betrayer in this sense nor true adversary. That’s not to say he is blameless for anything, but neither are any of the other gods, as they themselves have betrayed, murdered, raped, and so on. Even Tyr, who lost his hand to Fenrir, was the one who raise and fed him and offered his hand into the beast’s mouth when no one else would, and Odin’s paranoia from the Volva’s readings are what initially caused Fenrir to be fettered and the prophecy to realize anyway. So, the concept is a stretch. 

It’s mostly a concept within anti-Loki heathen communities who do not want anyone to venerate Loki or even refuse people at blots or other gatherings who venerate or desire to venerate Loki. He has been completely villified despite being Blood Brother to Odin, joining Thor on many adventures, being a part of Odin and Hoenr’s trio, and more. 

anonymous asked:

I don't know if you do these anymore, but can we have an appreciation post for Black Lizard? I feel like they deserve it. And thank you and your friends so much for translating the novel. It's been a hell of a ride and I enjoyed every minute of it!

yeah i do!!!!! i never realised how badly i was itching to do this because you know what i am

hope you’re ready because here’s why you should appreciate the black lizard

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A Slow Descent: Chapter Four

Summary: Falling in love with your best friend is a secret usually best left untold. Phil Lester, however, has never been good at keeping secrets.

A/N: Ahh a teenie tiny hint of smut appears!

Read Previous Chapter

Start From The Beginning

Chapter Four: I’d Burn The City Down To Show You The Light

Word Count: 2859

Genre: Fluff+Angst

Warnings: Swearing

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when your “friend” asks to borrow one your “super arabic” scarves to dress as “an arab” for Halloween.

1. Why do you think I would loan you one of my nice scarves so you can go make fun of me and my people and use it to fetishize me while drunk puking all over it?

2. I am a human being. Like I am an actual thing… not a grotesque monster or quirky character. My religion is not funny, it is not fodder for your drunken tirades.

3. Not all Arabs where scarves & not all Arabs are Muslim.

4. What the hell does “super arabic’ even mean? Like I buy my scarves at regular stores like anyone else. Also Arabic is a language and nothing else. Arabian is a horse and nothing else. Arab refers to people who speak Arabic. I am not a language … I am a person. A person who is no longer your friend.

anonymous asked:

Why do you hate cis and straight people

Well, gosh, I hate to be put on the spot like that, but if I had to guess:

  • 5+ years of being ostracized & regularly mocked for being Weird and failing to fit into my assigned gender role (also part of why I hate neurotypicals!)
  • hearing “gay” flung about as an insult and, as a child, just thinking about how much I cherished my lesbian aunt(s), and how disgusting it was that people would say shit like that without even briefly considering the very real people they were tainting by association
  • my father getting in an extremely uncomfortable conversation with me, unwilling to accept my sex-repulsion; my father essentially calling me a transtrender in a drunken tirade; my father “thoughtfully” giving me a magazine article on trans people, Helpfully circling all the information on how trans women are more likely than the general populace to die young/feel suicidal; and my father being a fucking creep about girls a third of his age
  • the personal financial difficulty of physically transitioning, in part because it may not be covered by whatever healthcare plan I end up having
  • the very real fact that if and when I do physically transition, my options are either “disguise this from the world at large” or “jeopardize my career/livelihood”
  • the handling of the AIDS crisis; the fact that “conversion therapy” and similar acts are still legal in many states; the fact that other trans and gay teens/young adults have been kicked out of their homes and left to fend for themselves; the defense of bigotry and discrimination in general in the name of “religious freedom”
  • damn near every friend I’ve ever had is either trans/nb/gender-nonconforming, non-straight, or a combination thereof, which suggests to me that there’s some je ne sais quoi about cis straight folks that I find offputting
  • almost no fictional representation of people like me exists unless it’s as the butt of a joke, a serial killer, or a gigantic throbbing penis which happens to have a woman attached to it For Sexy Purposes
  • and, last but not least, getting dumbass anons like this because I reblogged a post making a fairly harmless joke about how interacting with straight people can be Unfortunate

That’s all that comes to mind, sorry!!! :^(

dead like me - part three

title: dead like me
summary: AU. he has more life in him than all the boys she’s ever dated
pairing: sasusaku
listening to: birdy - terrible love
note: imma need you to check out this fantastic DLM fanart by the amazing temarisdeer. i’m still not over it. *^*

part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six

-x-

Sakura wakes to bright sunlight streaming into her eyes and the shrill sound of her phone crying out for a charger. The stained glass windows filter the light a bit so that she’s not blinded, but she’s still left disoriented as she tries to figure out where she is.

When she tries to move, her body screams out in stiffness and soreness, and she realizes that she’s freezing and sitting on a wet floor, the edges of her blanket soaked through. Rain must have leaked beneath the door, because her butt is wet too.

She struggles to a standing position, using the large marble slab she’d been sleeping against for support. A grimace crosses her face as her phone beeps again, signaling extremely low battery. Pulling it out of her pocket, she notices an alarming number of received text messages. A couple are from her roommate, asking where she is, and the rest–a whopping thirty-one–are from her ex-boyfriend.

Sakura groans. He is the last person she wants to talk to right now, and it appears that he went on an angry, drunken tirade when she didn’t answer. Choosing to ignore him for the moment, she looks around the room–a mausolem she remembers now–noting how beautiful it is in the morning light.

A shuffling noise behind her causes her to turn in alarm, but it’s only Sasuke. Breathing a sigh of relief, she smiles at him. His eyes widen almost imperceptibly and he nods in return.

“Good morning,” she sighs, stretching.

He hums in response. “Do you always make that noise?”

“Eh?” She pauses mid-stretch, confused. “Oh, you mean the beeping? Yeah, sorry, that was my phone.” Sheepishly, she pulls it out of her pocket and waves it around. Her brows furrow as she recalls the texts.

“Unfortunately, I need to go deal with some things. And change clothes.” Sakura looks down at her soaked pants, shivering from the cold.

Sasuke notices, frowning. “It’s because of me. You shouldn’t have stayed.”

Sakura scowls fiercely. “I stayed because I wanted to.”

She hobbles toward him, limping from her soreness, and pokes him in the chest. “Whether or not you were the reason, it was my choice to make,” she says softly. Her eyes are level with his chest, and she finds she can’t quite look up to meet his eyes. Too many feelings churn in her chest, sticking in her throat, and she finds herself reluctant to leave.

“Hn.”

He makes no move to move away either, finger tips rising to cup her forearms. Her skin tingles beneath her jacket where he touches her, and her eyes unfocus as every bit of her concentration lasers in on the points of contact between them. He takes a step toward her, dark bangs falling into his eyes.

“Sakura, I-”

Her phone takes that opportune moment to blast the obnoxious ringtone that signals an incoming call from her ex. Sakura growls angrily, mashing the power button to turn the phone off. She looks back up at Sasuke sheepishly.

“Sorry. I gotta go.”

She grabs her bag and turns back to give him one last long look before making her exit. Sasuke stares at the door for a long while after she’s gone, perhaps imagining that she’s still there.

When he finally turns back to the interior of the mausoleum, his eye catches something sparkling in a pool of sunlight on the floor.

-x-

Back at her apartment, Sakura manages to avoid an interrogation by her roommate, who is in class. Deciding to forsake her own classes for the day, she throws her wet clothes into the washing machine and plugs her phone in to charge while she indulges in a hot shower.

As the cold and the cobwebs wash away with the heated spray, Sakura leans her head against the shower wall and bites her lip, wondering what in the hell is going on with herself. She swears her lip still tingles where his thumb brushed across, and the memory sends a bolt of warmth straight through her. Her eyes close against the tide of conflicting feelings rising inside of her.

He’s dead above everything else, and yet the sadness and loneliness surrounding him is very much a trait of the living, and she can’t help but feel that he’s so much more than an emotionless reanimated husk. Nobody that dead could be so tender.

And even if he is dead, then why does he make her feel so alive?

A crash in the living room startles her out of her thoughts. It’s too early for her roommate to be back yet, so it could only be an intruder or her ex (though there’s not much difference between the two). Sakura steps out of the shower, leaving the water running so that the intruder will think she’s still in it. Wrapping herself in her large, fluffy purple bathrobe, she arms herself with a heavy hair dryer as a weapon and steps out into the hall.

She tries to keep her breathing and her footsteps as quiet as possible as she moves toward the living room, a quiet panic rising inside of her as the sounds of the intruder rummaging around become more evident. Sakura rounds the corner, hair dryer raised and ready to attack, when she spots the intruder groaning and picking himself up off the floor.

“Don’t move!” she yells shrilly.

But he continues to rise, and all of the breath wooshes out of her in recognition as he turns to face her. She nearly drops the hair dryer in surprise.

“Sasuke? What are you doing here? How did you even-”

She slumps down onto the couch, the situation fast becoming too surreal for her. Sasuke–dead Sasuke–is standing in her living room when he shouldn’t be seen in daylight or even know where she lives, and the thought is just as alarming as a living burglar.

He stiffly hobbles over to her, holding out something in his hand. She opens her palms, and he drops something shiny and silver into them. It’s the keychain from her dufflebag, which had been a present from her best friend.

She looks up at him, confused. She doesn’t know whether to be grateful or deeply disturbed. But he looks at her with those sad, sad eyes and her fear melts away.

“Thank you,” she whispers, wrapping her fingers around the keychain.

He nods, seemingly relieved that she’s not screaming. But she’s still frowning.

“I followed you,” he tries to explain.

Sakura wraps her arms around herself, still not convinced. “You followed my car? No offense, Sasuke, but you’re not exactly the fastest power walker.”

He glances around the apartment, taking in everything that is Sakura’s life. “It’s hard to explain. Since I met you, I…know where you are.”

She stares at him blankly. “What? Like you can sense me or something?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s never happened before. But when you leave, I can feel where you go, like there’s a string pulled tight between us.”

As she struggles to absorb this revelation, a loud booming knock on the front door interrupts them. Only one person she knows assaults the door like that, and she looks up at Sasuke in panic.

“You have to hide,” she hisses, keeping her voice low.

She doesn’t give him the chance to object as she drags him down the hall to her bedroom, signaling him to keep quiet as she shoves him into her closet.

“I’ll be as quiet as the grave,” he promises dryly. She glares at him as she shuts the door in his face.

-x-

This is the worst possible situation, she frets as she quickly throws on an oversized t-shirt and shorts. There’s nothing to be done with her tangled wet hair, so she marches to the front door with as much dignity as she can muster.

Taking a deep breath and ignoring the frantic pounding of her heart, she opens the door to the irritated face that she doesn’t know how she ever loved. He scowls as he steps inside, eyes doing a sweep of the apartment. For what, Sakura has no idea.

“What do you want?” she asks stiffy.

His expression softens into that butter-melting puppy-face that she remembers so well, and where once it made her heart do backflips, now she only feels disgusted.

“Come on, babe, don’t be like that.”

As he moves toward her, she backs away glaring at him. The twitch at the corner of his mouth is the only break in his facade, the one revealing tell of the anger issues simmering beneath his angel face.

“You haven’t been answering my messages or my calls. I thought you might be up to something,” he says, circling her disheveled coffee table; the one Sasuke tripped over.

Sakura bristles angrily. “It wouldn’t be any of your business if I were. We’re done and you have no business being here, so I’d appreciate it if you’d-”

She moves to open the door to show him out, but he is bigger and faster and reeks of alcohol. He traps her beneath he wall and his body, hovering over her menacingly.

“Maybe I don’t feel like leaving. Maybe I’ve got unfinished business with you,” he says softly, gripping her chin in his fingers.

“Don’t touch me!” she hisses, struggling against him. But his grip on her is like iron, and the gleam in his eyes turns her insides to ice. His free hand begins roaming her body, and she tries unsuccessfully to knee him in the groin.

“Silly Sakura,” he whispers in her ear as she cringes.

“GET. OFF. OF. ME,” she screams, throwing her body weight against him. But he only succeeds in pinning both her hands against the wall and his knee between her thighs.

Just as his mouth descends, glass shatters against the back of his head, and Sakura recognizes it as a vase she made in a glass-blowing class. Dazed, her ex falls away from her, clutching his bleeding head in pain.

“What the fuck,” he growls, turning to face his attacker. He freezes.

Behind him is Sasuke, crimson eyes flaring brightly with an unholy fury. The black spots that Sakura had noticed in them yesterday are now spinning rapidly around his irises.

“Jesus fuck, what the hell are you?!”

But Sasuke pays no attention to his words, grabbing him by the neck and slamming him against the wall, his fury granting him an inhuman strength.

“If you ever touch her again, I will bury you so deep that they won’t find you for three centuries. And you will be alive when I do it.”

The threat alone would probably not have deterred him, Sakura thinks, if not for Sasuke’s terrifying undead appearance and the hoarse raspiness of his voice. Terrified, he nods as Sasuke drops him to the floor.

“Now get out.”

He doesn’t even look back as he barrels through her front door, slamming it on its hinges. Sakura stands rooted to the floor, gazing through the open door as the cold fear continues to curl in her gut.

“Are you alright?” he asks softly, moving to her side.

She shakes her head, becoming aware of the fact that her body is shaking. “No, I…”

She turns and throws her arms around him, burying her face against his chest. It’s strange hearing no heartbeat and not feeling the rise and fall of his chest, but she clings to him all the same.

“Thank you.”

Awkwardly, he brings his arms around her, unsure of his actions. “I won’t let anybody hurt you,” he promises, his grip around her tightening.

She looks up at him then, face twisted in dread. “Once he tells somebody, they’re going to come looking for you.”

Panic sets into her then, and he holds her tight as her breathing escalates into near-hyperventilation. Gently, he runs his hand through her hair in a soothing gesture.

“What is he going to do? I’m already dead.”

She shakes her head against his chest. “It’s not him I’m worried about. If he tells somebody about what you are, and they believe him, they’ll take you away for testing and experiments and who knows what else, and you’ll be locked away for the rest of your existence or until they find a way to kill you for good.”

Hot tears drip onto his chest, and Sasuke finds himself feeling, for the first time in decades. He wants to protect this girl and stay by her side, for as long as she’ll let him. She’s the first one to see the humanity still left in him, to feel his pain when he can’t even feel it himself anymore, and there’s a mysterious pull between them that he can’t explain.

But when she’s around, he almost remembers what it feels like to be alive.

anonymous asked:

AU in which everything is the same but CHB is a school and the gods are the teachers

 Zeus is the mysterious headmaster that no one has ever really seen and they’re not completely convinced he’s real but they also know they never want to end up in his office 

Poseidon is the fun loving marine biology teacher but if you piss him off shit pops of pretty quick. He is the swim teach coach as well, and is always challenging the kids to race him. 

Hades teaches geology and economics! He’s pretty somber but really nice one on one. Rumor has it that him and Zeus got into it back when they first started the school which is why Hades gets stuck monitoring detention. 

Athena teaches world history and also ethics. She has extremely high standards for her classes and if you’re not prepared she will end you. 

Aphrodite teaches French and a literature class that focuses on poets from the Renaissance. She is always finding out which students have crushes on each other and seating them next to each other or pairing on group projects. It’s brutal. 

Apollo teaches philosophy and medicine of the ancient world. He’s a pretty goofy teacher and is always cracking jokes. Also highly regarded as the hottest teacher on campus, a title that he covets. 

Artemis teaches women’s studies and is the counselor for the archery club. Her classes are almost exclusively taken by girls because she notoriously has no patience for teen boys’ bullshit. 

Hera teaches home economics and is known for what some might call “traditional” views of marriage. She is also very tuned in to school gossip and if you ever cheat on your partner and she hears about it she will personally make your life a living hell, and you will absolutely no way to prove it. 

Hephaestus teaches wood shop and metal shop, and isn’t afraid to encourage kids to attend vocational schools instead of traditional colleges and universities. He also runs a school support group for kids with disabilities, as he has one himself, and knows that it can be lonely. Very popular with everyone for being such a nice guy. 

Ares is the football and wrestling coach, and is notorious for being a psychopath who will make you run suicides until you vomit. But the school is the state champ in both sports 10 years running, so administration and parents tend to overlook his questionable (though not technically illegal) methods

Demeter teaches botany and can pretty exclusively be found in the school’s greenhouse. With the help of her AP students she is able to make the school cafeteria self sustaining and runs a school program to create a community garden and is always providing meals for students who live in poverty. She just wants everyone to be well fed, and the students love her for it. 

Dionysus runs the theatre department. He was suspended for a year after going on a drunken tirade about how kids were ruining Hamlet and threatened to kill their families so they know real tragedy and can do the play some justice. He is now 8 years sober and while he still thinks the kids ruin his favorite plays, he manages to just angrily squeeze his diet coke can and grumble under his breath. 

Hermes is the athletics director and teaches world cultures.  

Hestia is the groundskeeper and no one is ever really sure who she is, though they always feel like they’ve seen her out of the corner of their eyes. She loves the school and makes sure it is always in tip top shape. 

group chat

“you accidentally added me to this group chat and i don’t know how to take myself off” AU

          When his computer let out its usual ‘ding’ notifying him that he’d gotten a message, Bellamy scrambled to mute it, ducking his head slightly to avoid the glares he was getting from all of the other unfortunate souls who’d found themselves in the library at 1 AM.

           He gave his paper a final glance before shaking his head and deciding that he deserved a break because really, he was over half way done and it wasn’t due for another 7 hours. He had lots of time. Totally.

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Got the idea from this post: XXX

I would be remiss if I did not thank the wonderful xyylence for helping with this.

Tomorrow, Gail Peck will blame it on the alcohol. Tomorrow, she will be just a victim of drinking too much. But tonight, the Division 15 officer did not feel anything, but the joy of getting absolutely drunk with her friends.

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