endless ear


(1) “From the inside he could see it all.. But could do nothing against the evil which controlled his body. There were just tears and mute screams against nothing than darkness and the noise of endless buzzing in his ears.”
(2) “… And the wolf looked through the window, but he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear him cry. Still he knew that something was not like it seems to be.“
“The boy in him has cried and begged not to touch the young wolf, but who was he to tell him No to such tempting prey. Derek never even had a chance…"
“Never would Peter had thought that the beautiful eyes of this boy would be able one day to terrified him as much as the fire that burned his family alive.“ 
(3) “He would die. He knew it. He could see it already.

(4) “It was the first time after many years, that he felt tears rolling down his cheek. There was no other way. A sacrifice has to be made.”
“The wolves were frozen, pale and shudder with fear as they had to watch what happened to the boy, as they heard and felt his pain. But there was nothing they could do…”
“The fight was over, the sacrifice performed. But was it really enough?“
(5) “…and everything started to fade, like it was nothing more than a dream. 

Stiles woke up with a gasp, eyes wide open and his heart frantic beating in his chest.

Was it really just a dream? It has felt to real.”
“It is not the end, it’s the beginning. The cycle starts anew, again and again and again…

Until the day it will be broken and he can escape this neverending nightmare.”

Like asked, all five pages together.. with all those little sentences to the different parts of the pages and the story. 

Other WIPs of this works.

WinterIron AU, in which Bucky hears Tony’s voice in his head. Inspired by a prompt from @writemesomewords

-adjust the parameters, let’s say, what, two point five percent? Or not, no. No, no, no, absolutely not. JARVIS, recalculate the maximum weight the metal could…yeah, just like that… Possibly have to exchange the caliumcarbonate-

A voice, talking way too fast on not enough breath, is the first thing the Asset becomes aware of.

It’s familiar, the voice. The Asset can not identify its source nor its purpose. The voice does not share relevant information nor does it provide assistance during his missions. It’s just there, a quiet murmur in the Asset’s ears. An endless conversation that does not require the Asset to participate.

The voice is with the Asset. Always. The Asset does not know where it comes from or if it’s always been there. The Asset does not know the voice’s purpose but it does not hinder the Asset’s efficiency as long as the Asset does not allow itself to be distracted, so the Asset does not question it.

The voice keeps talking.


The Asset lies motionless, pressed to the ground, carefully outside the view of the scheduled guards. The mission requires stealth and patience and an impossible shot, things the Asset is used to provide.

The Asset adjusts the scope on the sniper riffle. Slows its breathing in concentration. Listens to the soft hum of conversation in its ears.

-what do you think you’re- No. No, DUM-E, lift the plate, not find the lift! Will you stop-

Pulls the trigger. Hits.


The Asset- He is confused.

His mission is wrong and he’s not sure why. The blonde he’s been hunting is strange is familiar has started hunting him and that’s never happened before. The Asset doesn’t know what to do, finish the mission, who is this Bucky, why does he look at me like that?

It doesn’t make sense. Nothing makes sense anymore.

Being an obnoxious idiot must make it hard for the little bit of common sense you’ve got left to penetrate that thick skull of yours-

The Asset He runs. The voice keeps talking.


The mission’s man’s name is Steve Rogers. His name is Bucky Barnes.

The As He is Bucky Barnes.

He knows that now. But he doesn’t remember what that means, doesn’t remember what it means to be Bucky Barnes, so he keeps running. Keeps listening.

-what do you mean, it’s almost like I purposefully provoked him? There was no ‘almost’ about it! I’m not gonna apologise, did you even hear what- I’m not being unreasonable!

There’s always something to listen to.


He Bucky keeps running. Rogers Steve keeps following.

He Bucky remembers. Something. Sometimes.

Remembers HYDRA. Remembers missions. Remembers faces. Remembers death.

-order pizza, you know what I like-

He Bucky keeps running. Rogers Steve keeps following.

He Bucky dreams. Dreams of tears and begging and crying. Dreams of a trigger he always pulls. Dreams of missions and success and the taste of blood on his tongue.

The nights are too long, always sometimes. The memories hurt and shock and don’t change anything at all. They terrify him because they’re new and old at the same time, things he only just remembers yet somehow knew all along.

-is only my forth coffee today, honest, I swear, why are you looking at me like that?

He Bucky keeps running. Rogers Steve keeps following. 

The voice keeps talking.

He Bucky wonders if it’s always been like this. He doesn’t know though, doesn’t remember.

So he Bucky runs. He Bucky listens.

The voice keeps talking.


Steve—Stevie, small, frail, sick—finds him eventually.

Bucky—protect, save, hold—lets himself be found.

-Hammer technology, it doesn’t have to do anything! That it exists is an inexcusable offence on its own and you can quote me on that!

Steve isn’t the same anymore and it’s both, good and bad, because Bucky isn’t the same either. It’s scary and worrisome and just plain wrong. Feels like he’s falling sometimes, the ground beneath his feet crumbling, just when he thinks he’s finally regained his footing.

The voice keeps talking.


Bucky is getting better, he knows he is. He hasn’t tried to kill Steve in almost two months, hasn’t lost his composure in public in weeks. Bucky’s getting better, even Sam says so.

Of course he doesn’t know about the voice in Bucky’s head, the one that’s remained unchanged even after all of HYDRA’s programs have been erased. Bucky has no plans to inform Sam of its existence, hasn’t even dared to ask Steve about it, the only person alive who could tell him for sure whether this voice is a result from his years in HYDRA’s merciless hands or not.

Because deep down Bucky knows the answer, knows the truth and he doesn’t can’t allow himself to care. Not when it might mean losing the voice.

I miss it. I miss them. But that doesn’t really change anything, does it?

The voice keeps talking.

Bucky keeps listening.


It’s quiet.

The tower is tall, with too much metal and too many windows, cold and impersonal in a way Bucky has come to associate with modern architecture, but he had been fine. 

Steve has been sure that he could do this. Sam hasn’t stopped insisting he was ready for the past month now and frankly Bucky has been willing to go along with whatever crackpot scheme the other man could think of, if only it would shut him the fuck up.

Bucky still doesn’t understand why Steve beamed when he said as much earlier this day. Not that it matters anymore because even as the elevator doors open Bucky knows he was wrong. They were wrong.

It’s quiet.

Bucky didn’t know that he hates silence, despises it, loathes it. He’s never had the chance to find out, until now.

“-can be somewhat, well, abrasive and even crass at times but he’s a good man, Buck, even though he tries his hardest to convince people otherwise-”

Steve is still talking but Bucky isn’t listening anymore, can barely remember how to breathe when his chest feels so tight and his hands are cold, so cold and-

It’s quiet. 

The voice is gone.

“Woah, let the poor guy get through the door before you hand him my psych eval, will you, Cap?”

An amused sharp voice speaks interrupts Steve’s ramblings and Bucky’s head snaps around so fast he can feel the pull in his muscles, not that he cares. Not when he recognises that voice, gets to hear it again after fifty-two seconds an eternity of agonising silence.

Bucky is staring at the other male, he knows, but he can’t bear looking away from warm, brown eyes that are familiar in a way even Steve’s haven’t been in far too long.

“So, you’re the second part of the two for one special deal on super soldiers, huh?” the stranger the voice Tony Stark says as he crosses the distance between them. He spreads his hands, a wide, mocking smirk painted on his lips that reeks of challenge and antagonism and settles something in Bucky’s chest he hasn’t noticed had been knocked loose until now.

And for the first time since he fell from a train almost seventy years ago, the Asset, He, Bucky breathes.

There is no room for silence around Tony Stark.


How Usakumya was named

“Deep in the forest of a faraway land, there lived a stylish little bear. On a sunny afternoon, the little bear happened upon a very long-eared bunny. In that moment, his heart was stolen by those lovely ears. The little bear wanted nothing more than a pair of long ears for himself. Thinking he too could have long ears, the little bear sat in front of the mirror and pulled on his round ears until they turned red. The little bear cried and cried every day because his ears remained the same.

Then, one day, the little bear saw a lovely girl wearing BABY’s clothing. She listened to his story from beginning to end, and decided to grant the little bear’s wish! As if by magic, the girl presented the little bear with an exquisite bunny-eared bonnet. The little bear placed the bonnet on his head, and looked at himself in the mirror. All of a sudden, the tears stopped. The little bear looked just like a little bunny with red eyes from endless crying and long ears atop his head.

The girl exclaimed, ‘So cute! Where I am from, we call bears 'Kumya.’ From now on, you will be known as 'Usakumya-chan.” The little bear was so happy, he traveled to Candyland, where the girl resides. Everyone in Candyland wears BABY’s clothing, and everything there is cute and sweet. Usakumya-chan and the magical girl spent many fun-filled days in Candyland.“

Creepypasta #1186: Drive Thru

Length: Medium

I was about hour into my drive home, with another two hours to go. Cruising interstate I-80 towards my destination I suddenly felt the slightest of hunger pangs begin to make their presence known. Having just witnessed the latest Star Wars movie, accompanied by my two brothers and some of their work buddies, I was the only one that had moved a distance away from our childhood home with my own family, and was watching in the rear view mirror as I once again left it behind me.

I decided to turn off at the next exit somewhere around 10pm and pick up some grub to hold me over until I had reached home. As I got off the next sign sent me right onto a very lightly lit street with about a mile until my destination. Finally, after what seemed like driving for much more than a single mile, I saw the golden arches beckoning me and I swear my mouth began to water instantly in anticipation.

The building and parking lot were brightly lit as they normally would’ve been as I pulled into the drive thru. There were a few cars ahead of me, so I put on the radio and tried to find something to listen to as I waited. Oddly enough I could find nothing but static on every station. Even the talk radio stations that I thought for sure would work were nothing but endless hissing in my ears. Slightly agitated, I let out a sigh and gave up, figuring it was because I was just in the middle of nowhere and would have to suffer without it for a few minutes until I got back to the interstate.

Now I can tell you I am a very patient person and it takes a lot to get me mad. I’m well known for being very even keeled, but after sitting there for a little while I looked down at the clock on the display and realized 10 minutes had passed already. Then 5 more minutes and still nothing, not even the slightest movement from any cars ahead of me. I threw my hands into the air at this point and had become extremely pissed off.

Thankfully no one had pulled up behind me so I backed up and parked in the nearest space. I wanted to know what the hell was going on and figured the people eating inside had better luck than the fools sitting in their static filled vehicles. As I got out of my car and approached the door, the strangest sense of being watched from a far came over me, but I just shrugged it off to it being late and to me being tired from driving.

That should’ve been the first warning sign to go up had I not been so oblivious.

I pushed through the door to get in and briefly looked to my right towards where the bathrooms were located and observed some other random people sitting down, diving into their meals as I would be soon too. I came up behind the one person ahead of me in line with an instant thought: Great, I hope this line moves faster than the drive thru did.

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(1)“From the inside he could see it all.. But could do nothing against the evil which controlled his body. There were just tears and mute screams against nothing than darkness and the noise of endless buzzing in his ears.”

(2)“… And the wolf looked through the window, but he couldn’t see, couldn’t hear him cry. Still he knew that something was not like it seems to be.“

More WIP photos, ha. Started with the second paper.
(Funny thing is: I have the suspicion that i will need a third paper too.)

anonymous asked:

scenario that our four tomatoes(saeyoung, saeran, and let's assume they had twin tomatoes)(during saeyoungs route)what if something bad happened to Mc,maybe she got taken by seven's old agency,she experiences a lot of bad things while there(she has anxiety as well), Honestly all I can picture is these four tomatoes comforting mc & trying to rescue her. Sorry this is to specific,Btw your writing is beautiful love those long head canons you write,I may or may not have cried from them. Thank you ^^

I’m actually super self conscious about how long I make my headcanons, because I tend to just go on and on so it’s actually super nice to hear you like them so much!!! my goal may or may not be to make all my followers sob in their sheets I love specific requests, especially when I’m writing late at night haha. Thank u for the kind words and this great request, I had lots of fun writing it! also it’s super long haha what are the chances  -Green💚

WARNING: mentions of torture and major violence, beware of triggers!

Saeyoung + the three tomatoes! 

-it happened late at night, like kidnappings do 

-you had managed to put Saeyoung bed early, but it really wasn’t that hard anymore after using so much energy on the kids

-who knew all you needed to get his sleeping in order was to have twins

-you were rocking the babies in their crib, and really they had fallen asleep awhile ago but you couldn’t help but stare at them

-you’re babies were so cute and lovely. sure, they were a little hard to handle sometimes, especially when you were really the mother of two sets of twins. 

-but it was so so worth it. You loved all four of your little tomatoes. they made you more happy than you thought you could ever be. they helped you overcome many personal challenges. 

-you were so focused on your little babies, you didn’t hear the door to the nursery open and close. 

-you didn’t really know anything was happening until a rag was placed under your nose and you passed out into some strangers arms, and dragged out the window without even so much as a scream. 


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ZoSan Egyptian AU: Baby Borky Butt Drabble

“Teach him his native tongue, they said. It will be fun, they said. Little shit hasn’t stopped barking FOR WEEKS.” ~Mihawk, probably

Being a god was easy compared to this.

Mihawk had spent countless eons as the God of Death, watching over the scales and the underworld with only minor incident. He’d created a home out of the dark nightmare known as the underworld and he was fine to spend his free time lounging in his obsidian temple that overlooked the lake of fire.

It was a good life; a simple life and one that Mihawk highly enjoyed. Yet, he felt something was missing and he couldn’t quite figure out what it was. It had taken some time to finally pinpoint the exact thing Mihawk was looking to fill the void with, but eventually he figured it out.

Wrapped up in a tattered blanket, Mihawk almost walked passed the bundle until he heard a small whimpering. He’d never once thought of himself as a parent, but the first time he had laid eyes on his son, Mihawk knew that had been what was missing. Zoro, as Mihawk would come to decide his name should be, was one of the smallest beings he’d ever seen. He was a chubby little thing, blinking bleary and clouded eyes up at Mihawk as he waved fisted hands in the air.

Mihawk had never known such great joy and vowed to keep the young child safe from harm. Cradling Zoro in his arms, Mihawk had first gone to the stables, picking out a sleek red jackal pup to stay by his son’s side as he grew. It was Mihawk’s hope that Zoro and the jackal would bond and spend the rest of their lives together, much like the several that Mihawk had himself.

He’d never regretted making a decision as much as he had that one.

Rubbing at his ears, he flattened them back against his head in an attempt to lower the volume of noise that bounced around the room. It was tiring and endless, hurting his ears and giving him a headache. Yet, he had to constantly remind himself, he loved his son, even if all he seemed to do was yell as of late.

Zoro had grown quickly, but was still very young, toddling around the throne room while Mihawk looked on, keeping a watchful eye on him, as well as the rest of his undying kingdom. “Teach him his native tongue,” Mihawk muttered under his breath as another chorus of Bork Bork Bork filled the air, accompanied by the high pitched yips of the jackal pup. “It will be a way for you two to bond.”

Mihawk was going to kill Thoth, he was sure of it.

“Bork bork Bork!” Inhaling sharply, Mihawk bit his tongue before he snapped at his son. He knew what Zoro was trying to say, but the fact that he couldn’t pronounce the single word, even after all the time, and all the attempts Mihawk had tried to correct him, was frustrating.

Things were quiet for a moment before Zoro gave a high pitched squeal, something close to a giggle and Mihawk dropped the scroll he was reading to his lap as his ears shot forward in alarm. The pup, who Mihawk was calling “Demon” until Zoro was old enough to name him, was growling, all four feet planted as he tugged at the clothing Zoro was wearing. There was a loud ripping sound and another squeal of joy as Demon ran off with Zoro’s shendyt between his teeth.

Mihawk groaned and rubbed at his temples, knowing he didn’t have the energy to chase after the little red jackal. Shaking his head, he looked back to Zoro, who had his arms out, teetering on one foot as he tried to walk across the floor toward Mihawk.

Sitting up straight in his throne, Mihawk held his breath as he watched his son take his first real steps. Zoro had been crawling around for weeks and was able to stand against things, but he’d never seen the young god actually walk. Three steps in and Zoro faltered, dropping to his hands with his butt in the air as he wagged his tail. “Great job, Zoro,” Mihawk found himself saying, his own tail thumping against the back of his throne as pride swelled in his chest.

Zoro’s ears swiveled toward Mihawk as he picked up his head, the tip of one still drooping down as Zoro gained the strength to hold it up properly. He grinned up at Mihawk, eyes bright as he sputtered, drool trailing down his chin to drop to the polished floor. “Bork Bork Bork!” Childish glee bubbled up Zoro’s throat as he bounced on his hands with each word that left his throat.

Zoro kept bouncing on his hands, the single word repeated each time his hands hit the floor and soon enough he was actually jumping, his entire chubby little body leaping off the floor with each loud Bork that came from his mouth. Mihawk sighed, rubbing at his temples. Of course it would be his son that thought himself an actual jackal, jumping around as crazily as a playing pup, instead of trying to learn to walk.

There was a scrabble of nails of stone and Demon was flying back into the room, barking and yipping as he jumped around with Zoro on the floor. Each time Zoro would screech out the single word— “BORK!” —and the jackal would yip back, as they jumped around the room, their combined high pitched voices only making Mihawk’s headache worse.

He wasn’t going to get any work done, Mihawk was sure of it. Closing his eyes, he sighed heavily, resigning his afternoon to listening to his son pronounce his name wrong over and over again, while his pup played along with him. Resting his chin in his hand, Mihawk leaned his elbow on the arm of his throne and sorta dozed on and off. He was aware of the commotion around him, however, perking up when the noise suddenly stopped.

Thinking something was wrong, he sat up straight, looking around the room and only finding Demon sprawled on the floor, all four feet in the air as he slept. Tipping his head to the side, Mihawk perked his ears forward, wondering where his son could have gotten off to, when he felt a tug on his shendyt. Looking down, Zoro was looking back up at him, his golden eyes bright as he grinned up at Mihawk, small canines poking out of his otherwise toothless gums.

“Bahk,” Zoro questioned, his mouth forming awkwardly as he actually said the word correctly, tugging on Mihawk’s clothing as he did.

“That’s right.” Reaching down, Mihawk picked his son up, placing a still naked Zoro in his lap as he twisted his head to look at him. “Bahk; father in our native tongue.”

Zoro squealed again, the sound much louder with him being so close. On the floor, Demon twitched his sleep, rolling over and groggily sitting up at the sound of Zoro’s voice. “Bork,” the young god screeched and Mihawk sighed heavily. At least now he knew for sure, Zoro knew how to actually pronounce the word, even if he never seemed to use it.

(story by @cyriusli, art by @mossybrows-draws)

One Loop Portrait a Week - #26

When Menno Kluin has too many good ideas, his ears get a life of their own

This was also created to promote the 12th Art Directors Club of New York City Young Guns competition of which Menno and I are committee members.
If you are a creative mind under 30 and you think your art rules, enter here


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Wishes 6

Genre: Angst/Tragedy/Fantasy
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Summary: Waking up in an unfamiliar room, a girl found herself living a completely different life.

Part: 12 3 4 5 6 (tbc)

Originally posted by kookieluvcookies

“So what do you guys actually do?” You asked, casually, as you set the pasta down the table before settling in between Jungkook and Namjoon. Without being able to find a way home, you figured you might as well help them out for the time being, and as thanks for the (unavoidable) free lodging.

“What? You’ve been here for so long yet you don’t have a clue?” Namjoon smirked mockingly. He had been trying to poke fun at you at every turn (not quite successfully, however, for as much as he liked to think he was smarter than you, it turned out you had read the same things he read, had known the same things he knew, and sometimes more - and you had to admit, winning against such a spiteful guy felt pretty good).

“Of course I have an idea, dumbass. You guys leave things everywhere around here,” you turned to Namjoon nonchalantly, “even your favourite Harry Potter underwear, for example.”

“Pfft!” Someone had choked on water from behind you, before breaking out into a string of endless giggles. Namjoon’s ears, to your satisfaction, turned noticeably red. Yeah, suck on that. You thought triumphantly.

“How dare y…”

“We’re in a band.”

Before his ironically rough high-pitched voice could spat out another word, a calmer one interrupted. Yoongi.

“It’s called BTS.” He continued plainly.

“BTS?” You looked at him quizzically.

“It stands for Bulletproof Boy Scouts.”

What? You couldn’t resist a laugh. “Bulletproof Boy Scouts? You’re a boy band alright. Oh my god!” You slapped Namjoon’s shoulder, laughing like a maniac.

“Y/N, that’s mean.” Jimin pouted in your direction.

“Sorry, sorry! Just give me a second!” Trying to suppress the laughter that was still bubbling inside, you took a deep breath, and continued. “It’s just… very Backstreet Boys-like. I mean, I wouldn’t expect that from you guys. Well, maybe except Namjoon (cue deathly glare from the pink Death Eater). But seriously, what kind of music do you sing?”

“Hip-hop, mostly. But we’re trying to make something of our own.” Yoongi replied proudly.

“And we’re pretty popular too.” Namjoon butted in.

“Namjoon-hyung’s our leader.” Taehyung chirped excitedly.

“And his stage name is Rap Monster.” Jimin smirked.

The bubbles bursted. You threw your head back, filling the room with laughter. “Of course he would be. The Monster of Rap, Kim Namjoon!” You paused, pulling back to look at the poor guy. It wasn’t his day. “Wait, so does this mean you’re good or terrible? Could go either way.”

“Oh please, Y/N. Once you hear my rap, you’ll be my biggest fan.” The Monster of rhythmic words snapped back defiantly (but for all the back and forth exchanges between you guys, you still appreciated the fact that he never took anything to heart).

“Y/N, when they go low, we go high. Don’t sink down to his level.” Yoongi chimed in blankly, still fiddling with his food.

“Yeah! You could instead be blown away by Yoongi hyung’s tongue technology!” added Hoseok.

At the joke that you couldn’t quite get, the whole room exploded.

“I’m done.” Smooth voice abruptly distracted the cheery table, along with the rattling sound of utensils and of wood sliding against the marbled floor. Jungkook walked to the sink and dropped his plate, ignoring all the eyes that fell on him, and strode quickly into his room amidst the sudden silence.

“Is he okay?” Taehyung asked nervously.

You weren’t quite sure how to answer that. Nobody was. For his part, Jungkook wasn’t acting particularly upset - there was no door slamming, table banging or the sort. But even for the quiet person that he was, he had been unusually silent.


“Hey.” You called out softly, before spotting the slumping figure against the wall.

“Hey.” He looked up at you, expressionless, then quickly looking down again.

You climbed onto the bed and seated yourself next to him. He made no remarks of that, and you hoped it was a sign that you could continue.

“I’m sorry. My being here must not have been comfortable for you.”

Suddenly, you found wide eyes facing your own. “No! I want… I mean, I don’t mind having you here. And it’s not like you can help it anyway.” Cool voice rang at your ear. His voice was refreshing music, clearing, freeing your mind of troubles. It was different from Jiyong’s cheery bell-like voice, but somehow had the same effect. Maybe that was why you were comfortable with him most of all.

You smiled. “But it’s at least rather inconvenient, isn’t it? Some girl you didn’t know taking taking up space in your bed everyday. Personally I’d go crazy.”

He crackled softly. Once harderned features melted away for a relaxed, boyish grin. “Haha, as it should be. But you’re pretty alright, somehow.”

“Thank you.” You breathed out, relaxing against the wall. “So, this boy band thing, you’re a part of it?”

“Yeah. Why?” He cocked his head to the side.

“Ah, it’s just… you don’t seem like you like to stand out. So I’m just wondering.”

Soft laughs again. “I see. That’s my impression, huh? But sorry to disappoint, I’m in the band too.” He shrugged.

“I don’t mean it like that, you know?” you slapped his shoulder. “So what do you do there?”

“I sing.” He replied bashfully.

No doubt. With a voice like that I’d listen to you all day too.

“Ah, no doubt. With a voice like that I’d listen to you all day too.”

Wait. Did I just…? As the heat rose up your cheeks, you curse at yourself. And to make it worse, Jungkook was staring at your embarrassing state with eyes so wide, you could swear he wouldn’t even miss a speck of dust on your face. “I… I mean…”

“Ermm.. Thank you. I… really like that.” In your stammering mess, you didn’t notice that he had looked away.

Deep breath. Exhale. You tried your best to make it seem intentional. Be cool, Y/N. Be cool. “Don’t sweat it. It’s a really nice voice.”

Awkward silence. You looked up to the white ceiling of the apartment, as if it were the most interesting thing ever. As you were trying to turn those boorish cracks into a masterpiece, you felt the bed shifting slightly.

“So… Were you able to contact your family at all?” he asked. And you were glad the subject changed. Jungkook had been kind enough to lend you his phone the day you “arrived”.

“Yes, well, not family per se. I texted my boyfriend, but he’s overseas right now. That’s probably why he hasn’t replied yet.”


“Yeah. We’ve been living together.” You smiled at the image of Jiyong on the couch, head resting on your shoulder.

“Together?” His voice rang slightly higher. “What about your family?”

“They’re gone.” You paused, surprised at how once difficult words easily flowed out of your mouth. “There was an accident. A few years back. So he’s the only family for me now.”

“… I’m sorry.” Words were breathed out tenderly.

“It’s okay. That’s a common thing to ask.” You forced out a smile at him - it was nobody’s fault, really. “And I’m okay now. All grown up.” You paused and smile, for real this time. “Kind of.”

“That’s amazing.” He responded, still facing forwards. “My parents are always here for me, and the hyungs have been taking care of me since I was young. I can’t even imagine how I’d be if they were gone.”

You laughed. He doesn’t beat around the bush, does he? “You’ll be surprised at how strong you are,” you rested your head on his shoulder, “how strong you can be. But for me, I still have Jiyong. So I’m pretty lucky.”

“That’s your boyfriend?”

“Yeah, Jiyong. He was there for me when I had everything, and when I had nothing.”

“What if he was gone? How would you feel?”

“What do you mean?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Well, you said people can be really strong. Would you have been able to handle it without him?”

Your first instinct was, Am I on a People magazine interview? But he was serious - you didn’t look at his face, his voice was saying all it needed to say. And this was not something you had never thought about.

“Yes. And no. If he weren’t here, I would still live. I’ll recover, but maybe not as fast, and not as I am now. And I like the me now. But one thing I can say for sure is that I’d be devastated if I don’t have him now.”

“Lucky man.”

“I’m not so sure.” A pause. Then you both looked at each other and laughed. You never thought you would be able to talk so openly about this to someone, and somehow still have a laugh afterwards. 

“Hey, can I ask something of you?” Jungkook cleared his throat, breaking your train of thoughts.

“What is it?”

“Tonight, sleep with me.”

Becoming More Brown Among the White Canvas

You become so much more proud
unapologetically brown
so aware of your mother tongue
so aware of the path you crawled
to open these university doors

Because you come from vecinos
that can’t retell a story
of attending higher ed
a familia with zero history
of enrollment.

Bills and food were priority.
Not the need to study.

You come from ninos
who don’t have teachers
and doctors that look like them.
An absence of graduates.

You come from the bets
your familia placed on you
like a new card in la loteria –
el estudiante – a first generation dream
crossing borders
of low funded schools
to search for yourself
in curriculum
that doesn’t reflect you.

You are the product
of a familia who left
their entire vidas
on the other side of la frontera.
Now they work like machines
to give you a shot at a dream.

So for the first time ever
you walk through halls and classrooms
like an endangered species
surrounded by students and professors
that don’t look like you.
Surrounded in students
who don’t understand you.
Surrounded in the feeling
that you don’t belong.

You carry your mother’s esperanza
in your palms and it feels like a brush
you will use to color
the endless white canvas
that surrounds you.

And you will paint it with the taste
of overcoming a tangled tongue,
of being the first in your familia to balance
el trabajo y el estudio. You will paint
the strangeness of being the chisme
of la vecindad, with all its assumptions
and expectations.
With all of its pressures.

Can you feel
your tios and tias look to you?
Can you feel your primas and primos
look up to you?
Can you feel your papa look
for you?

And so you turn
much more brown,
with all its beauty
and burden,
when you realize how
only your voice
in this class
carries the story
of what it means
to be a prodigy
of your people.

With the pen cradled
in your palm
you listen to the voices
whisper the endless prayer
in your ears…
hechale ganas
para que tu, como yo,
no te quebres la espalda
mi hija, mi hijo.

—  Eric Eztli (frommyblood.tumblr.com) 

anonymous asked:

Prompts eh? Here's an idea I never used: on the way to Weisshaupt Hawke skirts too close to the Tevinter border and is captured by slavers. They don't know or care what this Champion of Kirkwall is, but one of them suddenly recalls hearing he's the lover of "the wolf". They all panic about how screwed they are and on cue Fenris shows up to slaughter them all and be very cross with Hawke. I know it's different from your canon but as an AU?

The gladiators the Venatori brought with them reminded him of Fenris.

They were humans, mostly – large and powerfully built, dressed in little. Their armor served the purpose more of broadcasting their carefully sculpted bodies than actually protecting anything. They wore heavy collars that their masters locked their helmets to when it came time to fight, and they were not released from their helms either for food or for water unless their performance on the battlefield impressed. Their eyes, when they were free, were blank.

There was a sameness to them, a lack of individuality that had been drilled out by spells and abuse. They stood out for their fighting prowess, not for any personality or distinguishing talent.

They looked nothing like Fenris. They were bigger, harder, they lacked his spark of humor and wit. Their postures were strong and proud, unlike the furtive fleeing fugitive he had met so long ago.

But when Hawke looked at them, he could see how clearly how Fenris might have fit into their place.

His vision softened, blurred, then snapped back, a little darker than it had been a moment before. He clung on by sheer force of will.

Fenris – for a moment Hawke had almost thought he saw him.

The sun beat down, merciless and unrelenting. His mouth was dry and parched, lips painfully sunburnt. He had tried his bonds earlier, when he had still had a little strength – struggled and fought even as they cut him. The black marble slab under his back burned like a furnace.

Hawke’s eyes stung with the smoke of their candles and their incense. The venatoris’ chanting filled his ears, endless, annoying.

Hawke’s life dripped, red, into their inscribed collection bowls, and he imagined he saw his lover’s face, frowning and fierce beneath one of their hoods. His lips cracked when he smiled.

He missed most of the fight. He wasn’t sure there was a fight – wasn’t sure he wasn’t hallucinating the burn of blue lyrium, the screams of the dying that replaced the chants – not until his bonds were cut, and he was hauled, naked and weak, from the altar.

Fenris tied up his wounds. He fumbled, desperately, for the healing draughts on his belt.

Hawke felt the liquid at his lips just moments before he lost consciousness.

yes but can you imagine bts going to disneyworld i am not ok right now from just imagining it
    • in front of cinderella’s castle and all the iconic park structures
    • with disney characters
    • with disney prINCESSES
  • bts cutely speaking broken english to disney characters
  • rapmon cutely conversating in english to disney characters
  • bts cutely taking selcas with dISNEY CHARACTERS
  • bts trying to navigate the park
  • bts trying to navigate the park by fighting over the map
  • rapmon taking aesthetic pictures around the paRk
  • taehyung playing around with kids in the parK
  • bts chatting while waiting on line for rides while wearing hats and sunglasses
  • bts talking to random people while on line
  • “you know kpop? you know hip hop??”
  • bts freestyling in/abOUT disneY
  • making some sort of bet/game w loser punishmENT
  • yoongi taking pictures
  • maknae line buying disney balloons and bringing them around
  • jimin being nervous about rides but everyone comforting him
  • bts riding splash mountain agAIN to take a funnier group picturE
  • bts buying cute little disney souvenirs
  • group picture of bts wearing matCHING DISNEY CLOTHES
  • group pictures of bts wearing diSNEY EAR HATS
  • jin taking polaroid pictures everywhere
  • bts eating at disney restauraNTs
  • bts taking a break in the shade from all the walking
  • bts eating ice cream together while taking a rest
  • bts fEEDING EACH OTHER ICE CREAM While they take a rest
  • bts riding it’s a small world
  • jihope riding the haunted mansion ride togetheR
  • and last but not least
  • bts watching the fiREWORKS SHOW TOGETHER
  • bts buying those light up toys for the fireworks show and playing with thEM
  • videos and selfcAMS
  • videos and selfcams and video lOGS after going to the parKS
  • bts exhausted and sleeping in the car after enjoying their day at the paRK while holding all the souvenirs they bougHT
Adventure Awaits Part Six

Originally posted by dailywizardwheezes

A/N: I know I said that I would be posting this later…But I couldn’t help it!

Chapter Six features Eliza, the independent yeti that doesn’t need a man! She’s back! Sort of…

Still have to iron down some of part seven, but I hope to have that chapter up soon!

Thank you all for your wonderful compliments!

-Admin K

Tags: @naanbread16 @faal-dovah @jackdawsonsgrl @flyingllamasinspaceandtime @cutedictionary @basicwhiskeyprincesss @alltheamazingbeasts @eleanorjordan @angel-hunter-winchester @imperfectly-uniqu3 @allyadarth @cabdriversacerealkiller @barbarachern @agentlaufeyson13 @blahdiblahdiblah1987 @megs2853 @fangirlwithasweettooth @elizabethisadork

The compartment door slams open to reveal the man from the train station.

“It’s about time that you-”

“Petrificus Totalus!” you shouted.

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Love Makes You do the Darndest Thing (Phillip x Reader)

Length: 572+ words

Genre: Angst

TW: Death

A/N: I can’t write Phillip without writing angst ahaha. So this is based on the song Darndest Thing by Trevor Wesley. I have a bunch of fics inspired by his album ‘Chivalry is Dead’! 

Internal bleeding…

Too much brain damage…

Too late…

A few days left…

You couldn’t process everything the doctor was saying to you, your heart stopped when you took one look at your fiance’s face. Phillip had been complaining about a headache for the past two days, and you thought nothing about it until you remembered the bar fight from a week ago. Some douchebag named George kept harassing you, so of course Phillip had to make sure he knew his place about harassing women. You took him to the hospital, thinking that it was just a minor concussion, they would give him a couple of pain killers, and let the two of you to go your merry way, and plan your upcoming wedding. This wasn’t something you could even imagine in your worst nightmares.   

You nodded, and the doctor left you standing outside Phillip’s room. You slowly went back in, seeing his face lit up when you walked in. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, not able to meet his eyes. It hurt too much.   

“Why are you sorry?” he asked, grabbing your hand to pull you closer to him.   

You finally raised your gaze to his, seeing such adoration in his eyes, and knowing that he knew. “If you hadn’t fought George, we wouldn’t be here right now!” You sobbed out the words that had been weighing your heart. “I’m sorry. This was my fault." 

"Hey, hey.” He pulled you to his figure, running his hand through your hair. “It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare think that! It’s okay, baby."   

He let you cry, whispering comforting words.   

"We were suppose to think of where we want to go for our honeymoon,” you mumbled, snuggling closer to his side. Phillip said nothing for a while, just letting his hand run through your hair.   

“We can somewhere exotic,” he started. “On a plane or on a ship, I guess it doesn’t matter, but definitely somewhere we’ve never been."   

You raised your eyebrow at your love, giggling at his antics.   

"Champagne in the sky, maybe? You can wear that fedora you bought last year in the coast of Santorini."   

You giggled, knowing how much he loved to tease you about that fedora, saying how you would never find the occasion to wear it.   

He smiled at your laugh, leaning beside your ear. "Make endless love in Bali." 

"Phillip!” you exclaimed, blushing, and lightly slapping his chest.   

“And have a toast in Fiji!” he ended cheerfully. The two of you burst into laughters, you were shaking your head at the endless amount of optimism Phillip had- it was one of the many things you loved about this man.   

“I love you,” you whispered, wiping a stray tear from your eyes, and smiling up at him.   

"I love you too.” His smile fell a little, but you knew he was trying to stay strong for the both of you. “Let’s get married right now.” 


“We’re about to get married in a few months, why not make it tomorrow?” 

“Are you sure?” 

“Are you?” he asked earnestly, knowing that you were about to be a widow at such a young age. Your heart beat rapidly against your chest, and you nearly cried at his consideration. “Do you wanna marry me?” 

“Yes! Of course I do, Phillip!” you cried, engulfing him in a hug.   

He chuckled, rubbing your lower back.   

The two of you got married in the hospital chapel, only family and close friends attending. 

That night Phillip died in his sleep.  

while we have Ordo and Kom’rk in one corner, having a serious conversation and trying to navigate new realizations with brevity, in the other corner we have Prudii coming to Mereel to try to suss out the dulled panic that’s risen from a hum he could ignore to an endless siren behind his ears (and burying under … illicit means of self medication) and they both come to the conclusion that, really, the only way to navigate this is to go bar cantina hopping and “figure it out.”

that Prudii is Mereel’s go-to party partner, or vice-versa, isn’t really brought up, and neither is Prudii’s attempts to navigate attraction.

Gender he talks around, because he’ll be damned if Kal’s constant endless drilling and droning of normalcy and compacting his sons into narrow boxes wasn’t seriously internalized to an extreme and painful degree for him. 

Does he ever figure it out? Maybe. Maybe not. He doesn’t get there without support—but it’s not the kind any of his other brothers can give, not really. Mereel is the only one so secure in himself that that security bleeds into him, and helps him try to find it in himself.


Mikhail Vrubel

Head of the Demon

Demon and Tamara

Dance Tamara

1890-91, black watercolour and whitewash on paper. The Kiev State Museum of Russian Art, Ukraine and The State Tretyakov Gallery, Russia. 

illustrations for Mikhail Lermontov’s poem The Demon:

“…Legions of slaves, thy smile their sole reward,
Shall bow and tremble at thy feet.
Shining battalions ever be thy guard,
Obedient fairies form thy suite.
From the vast treasures of the Morning Star,
A chaplet will I bear thee down.
And dewdrops, shaken from the flowers afar,
Shall shine like diamonds, round thy crown.
Undimm’d the sunset’s softest-colour’d ray
Shall, blushing, circle round thy waist.
Sweet balm and bergamot throughout the day
Shall fill the air with odours chaste.
Thine eye I’ll charm, with endless sights unknown
Thine ear with wondrous sounds I’ll please;
I’ll build thee sumptuous halls of precious stone,
I’ll bend before thee on my knees,
I’ll dive into the sea at thy behest.
I’ll range the Heavens at thy call -
Tamára, I will give thee all,
Oh! but love me!…”

Canto II, X, tr. Alexander Condie Stephen, London, 1875

I am still sending you newspaper clips: “help wanted” circled in red, and pretending you will take them up on it and start a new life here with me. I know better. You are hundreds of miles away and haven’t so much as looked towards the east in months. There is small talk, there are tearful admissions after too much whiskey, or there is radio silence. The white noise of you not thinking about me fills my head like twitching, buzzing flies, the back of my eyes itching from their fluttering wings, my head aching from this endless hum in my ears. I have never tried to stop loving someone this way.
—  What I Am Still Doing While I Try To Stop Loving You,jk15
Better With You By My Side

prompt: Dan and Phil are both sons of rich families and are sent to ballroom dancing lessons. Because there is a shortage of girls, Dan and Phil end up as partners. Phil really doesn’t want to be there and Dan doesn’t either, but is so frustrated by the fact Phil doesn’t want to dance with him he is determined to get him to.

a/n: ok well the regular updating thing’s coming along alright and by alright i mean i’m fucking embarrassed i meant to spend today revising for geography tomorrow and what do i do instead?? write a chapter nearing fucking 6k wordS i’m so sorry i hope this is alright im kinda wanting to just get on with the storyline now  sigh 




Dan wakes up surprisingly early the following morning after many failed attempts at getting back to sleep; for someone who usually tends to lay in until gone one o’clock in the afternoon, being up at half past ten is a strange novelty. He sighs, kicks his duvet off, and stares at the ceiling.

He wonders if Phil will actually show up today. He’s no stranger to ‘forgotten’ arrangements and empty porches so he certainly isn’t holding his breath, although it doesn’t stop him anxiously sweeping old socks, empty glasses and dirty plates under his bed in an attempt to make his room at least seem half-clean. Audrey will probably kill him when she finds out there’s more crockery in his bedroom than there is in the actual kitchen, but he doesn’t care. He knows she’s too preoccupied with other housework and he doesn’t want to labour her with the heavy task of his room today.

Besides, he’s not even sure Phil’s sleeping over so he’s not really sure how the effort of tidying his room up a little bit is going to pay off. It had taken constant reminding that this isn’t Ryan visiting, sleeping over without any proper night things isn’t exactly the norm in any other situation (although it’d got to the point where Ryan had a toothbrush of his own round Dan’s and most of his pyjamas fit Ryan better than they fit himself, so he didn’t exactly have to pack anything anyway).

He sighs, flopping back on his bed after cramming every crumpled item of clothing from his floor into the wardrobe until it looked as if it would only need one more sock to physically explode; covering every inch of his room in shards of wood, coat hangers and many, many hoodies.

He stares at the wardrobe doors, groaning with the pressure of staying shut. Maybe he’d be better off not taking Phil into his room at all.

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