everything i touch or make it turns out to be ugly

anonymous asked:

*shyly whispers* do u think u could do another Greek Mythology story~

“Your tapestries are so fine,” the merchant says in wonder, “that you must be blessed by the goddess Athena.”

Arachne tosses her head, braided hair falling over her shoulder like an obsidian waterfall, “What’s Athena got to do with it? My hands wove these, not hers.”

The merchant blanches and looks to the sky, as if expecting Zeus himself to smite them for blasphemy. Personally, she thinks the king of the gods has better thing to do with his time. “Ah,” he says weakly, “I suppose.”

He pays her for her wares and she leaves, almost immediately bumping into a hunched old woman with grey eyes. “Do you not owe Athena thanks for your talent?” she croaks, gnarled hands curled over a cane.

Arachne is not stupid, but she is foolish. They will tell tales of it. She looks into those grey eyes and declares, “Athena should thank me, since my talents earn her so much praise.”

She pushes past her and keeps walking, ignoring the goddess in humans skin as she disappears into the crowd.

They will tell tales of her hubris. They will all be true.

~

The next day she bumps into the same old woman at the market. Everything goes downhill from there.

“Know your place, mortal,” Athena says, grey eyes narrowed. There is a crowd around them, and Arachne could save herself, could walk away unscathed, and all she has to do is say her weaving is inferior to that of a goddess.

She will not lie.

“I do,” she says coolly, “and in this matter, it is above you.”

She is not honest as a virtue, but as a vice.

Athena challengers her to a weaving contest. She accepts.

~

Gods are not so hard to find, if you know where to look.

“It’s a volcano,” the baker repeats, looking down at her coins, as if he feels guilty for taking money from someone who’s clearly not all there.

She grabs her bag of sweet breads and adds it to her pack before swinging it over her shoulders, “Yes, I know. Half a day’s walk, you said?”

“A volcano,” he insists, as if she did not hear him perfectly well the first dozen times.

“Thank you for your help,” she says. He’s shaking his head at her, but she knows what she’s doing.

She walks. She grows hungry, but does not touch the bread she paid for, and walks some more. The sun’s begun to set by the time she makes it to the base of the volcano. It’s tall, impossibly large, and for a moment the promise of defeat threatens to overwhelm her.

But Arachne does not believe in defeat, in loss. They will tell tales of her hubris. Those tales will be true.

She ties a scarf around her braids then hikes her skirt up and ties the material so it falls only to her thighs. She fits work roughened hands into the divots of cooled magma and begins her slow ascent.

~

The muscles in her legs and arms shake, and her hunger pains are almost as distracting. Her once white dress is dirt smeared and torn and sweat makes her itch as it covers her body and drips down her back.

“What are you doing?”

Arachne turns her head and bites back a scream, looking into one giant eye. The cyclops holds easily to the volcano’s edges, even though her hands are torn and bleeding. She swallows and says, “I heard you like honeyed bread. Is it true?”

The creature tilts his head to the side, baring his long fanged teeth at her. She thinks he might be smiling. “You’ve been climbing for hours. What do you want?”

“Is it true?” she repeats, refusing to flinch.

“Yes,” he says, looking at her the same way the baker had, “it’s true.”

“There’s some sweet bread in my pack, baked this morning,” she says, “it should still be soft.”

His hands are big enough and strong enough that it could probably squeeze her head like a grape. Instead he gently undoes her pack and reaches inside. The honey buns look comically small in his large hands, and he swallows half of them in one bite. He licks his fingers clean when he’s done, and his smile is just as terrifying the second time around. “I am Brontes. Why are you climbing my master’s volcano?”

“I’m the weaver Arachne,” she takes a deep breath, “I need your master’s help.”

~

They tell tales of Hephaestus’s ugliness.

They are not true.

He’s got a broad, angular face and short brown hair. His eyes are like amber set into his face, and his arms are huge, and he’s rippling muscle from the waist up. He has legs only to his knees. From there down his legs are bronze gears and golden wire, replacements for the legs destroyed when Hera threw him from Mount Olympus.

“Had your look, girl?” he asks, voice rough like he’s always a moment away from breaking into a coughing fit.

“Yes,” she says, and doesn’t turn away, keeps looking.

His lips quirk up at the corners, so it was the right move. The heat is even more oppressive inside the volcano, and all around him cyclopses work, forging oddly shaped metal that she can’t hope to understand. “You’ve gone to an awful lot of trouble to find me, girl. What do you want?”

She slides her pack off her shoulders and holds it out to the god, “I have a gift for your wife. I have woven her a cloak.”

He raises an eyebrow and doesn’t reach for the bag, “You believe something made with mortal hands could be worthy of the goddess of beauty?”

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“Yes.”

They will all be true.

With a gust of wind the oppressive heat of the volcano is swept away, leaving her chilled. In its place stands a woman – more than a woman. Aphrodite has skin like the copper of her husband’s machines and hair dark and thick and long. Her eyes are deepest, richest brown, piercing in their intelligence. People don’t tell tales of Aphrodite’s cleverness. That is because people are stupid.

“Let’s see it then,” she says, reaching inside the pack and pulling the cloak from its depths.

It unrolls beautifully. It’s made from the finest silks, and it shimmers in the light from the forges. The hem of the cloak is sea foam, speaking of Aphrodite’s beginning, and up along the cloak is intricate patterns it tells of her life, of her marriage and her worshippers and escapades, all with the detail of the most experienced artist and the reverence of her most devoted followers.

Her lips part in surprise and she slides it on, twirling like a child. “Gorgeous,” Hephaestus says, though Arachne knows he does not speak of the cloak. She doesn’t take offense.

The goddess smiles and Arachne’s heart pounds in her chest. She does her best to ignore it – Aphrodite is the goddess of love, after all. It is only expected. “Very well,” the goddess says, “you have my attention.”

Arachne swallows. Aphrodite’s attention is a heavy thing. “I have offended Athena,” she says, “She has challenged me to a weaving contest.”

Their faces somber. Hephaestus rubs the edge of a sleeve between his fingers and says, “Athena will lose such a contest, if judged fairly. She does not take loss well.”

“I know,” she says, “you are friendly with Hades, are you not?”

There are no tales of their friendship. But she’s staking her life on its existence, because why wouldn’t it exist – both of them even tempered, both shunned by Olympus, both happily married.

Gods hate being made to feel lesser. It is why they say Persephone was kidnapped, why they say Aphrodite cheats with Ares. It is why Athena will crush her when Arachne wins the weaving contest.

“Clever girl,” Hephaestus says, smiling.

Aphrodite stares at her reflection in a convenient piece of polished silver. Arachne assumes Hephaestus left if lying there for that express purpose. “Very well!” the goddess says, not looking at her, “when Athena sends you to the underworld, we will entrench upon our uncle for your release.” She turns on her heel and points a finger at her. Arachne blushes for no reason she can think of. “In return, you will weave me a gown, one equal to my own beauty.”

A gown as exquisite as the goddess of beauty. An impossible task.

They will tell tales of her hubris.

“I accept.”

They will all be true.

~

The contest goes as expected. Athena’s tapestry is lovely, but Arachne’s is lovelier.

The goddess’s face goes red in rage, and her grey eyes narrow. Arachne stands tall, ready to accept the death blow coming for her.

The blow comes.

Death does not.

~

She is an insect. Even if she can make it back to Hephaestus’s volcano, even if they can help her, they will not know it is her. She has no hope left, no course of action, she should just give up. But –

She doesn’t believe in defeat, in loss.

It was a terribly long journey on foot, that first time. It is even longer this time, although now she has eight legs instead of two. She makes it to the volcano, and creeps in between crevices, until she finds out a hollowed room, one with a sliver of sunlight and plenty of bugs to keep her fed.

Athena’s cruel joke of allowing her to weave will be her downfall. Her silk comes out a golden yellow color – it will look exquisite against Aphrodite’s copper skin.

~

It takes seven years for her to complete it. She hasn’t left this room in the volcano in all that time, and as soon as it’s done she scurries out back toward the village. She’s a large insect, but not that large.

She arrives just as the sun begins to rise, and leaves before the first rays have even touched the earth, her prize tied to her back with her own silk.

Arachne doesn’t return to her room. Instead she goes to the more popular parts of the volcano, hurries and runs around terrifying stomping feet until she finds who she’s looking for and scurries up his leg and onto his shoulder.

“Huh,” Brontes looks onto his shoulder and blinks. “What on earth are you?”

She cautiously skitters down his arm, waiting. He bends closer and lightly touches her back. “Is – is that a piece of a honey bun?”

She looks up at him, waiting. It’s her only chance, if he doesn’t remember, if he doesn’t understand –

His face slowly fills with a cautious kind of wonder. “Arachne?”  She jumps in place, being unable to nod, and Brontes cautiously cradles her in his massive hands, “We must find the Master immediately!”

She jumps down, landing in front of him and running forward. “Wait!” he calls, and she makes sure he’s running after her before skittering back to her corner of the cave. It’s almost too small for him to enter but he squeezes inside and breathes, “Oh.” He stares for several moments, and Arachne climbs her web and waits. Brontes shakes himself out of his reverie and uses his powerful wings to bellow, “MISTRESS APHRODITE!”

There’s that same breeze and she’s in the crevice with them, “What was so important, Brontes, that you had to yell?”

Arachne sees the exact moment that the goddess sees the gown, golden yellow and glimmering, made entirely of spider silk. “Beautiful,” she says, reaching out a hand to brush down the bodice. Her head then snaps up, “Brontes, where’s Arachne?”

She warms at that, that Aphrodite knew it was her weaving even though she hasn’t been seen in seven years.

They’ve told tales of her hubris.

They are all true.

Brontes points at the web, and Aphrodite steps over and holds out her hands. Arachne crawls onto the goddess’s palms. “Athena is more powerful than I am, I cannot undo her work,” she says, “but I know someone who can.”

Then they are in front of a river. A handsome young man stands there waiting with a boat. “Goddess Aphrodite,” he says, “we weren’t expecting you.”

“Thanatos,” she returns, “I need to see Persephone.”

The man’s face stays cool, and for a moment Arachne fears they will be refused and she will be stuck in this form forever. Then he smiles and says, “My lady is of course available for her favored niece.” He holds out a hand to help her onto the boat, “Please come with me.”

~

Arachne weaves a dress for Hades’s wife as a thank you, and returns to her volcano.

“I can take you somewhere else,” Aphrodite says, “you don’t have to hide here.”

Arachne pauses at her loom. She has lived in this volcano for seven years. It’s her home. “Would you like me to leave?” she asks instead.

Aphrodite scoffs, “Of course not! How could I dress myself without you here?” She’s wearing the spider silk dress Arachne spun for her, and she’s working on another for the goddess now. Aphrodite runs a gentle finger down Arachne’s cheek and for a moment she forgets to breathe. “You are the finest weaver to ever exist.”

She looks up at the goddess, “Then as the god of crafts and goddess of beautiful things, where else would I belong besides with you and Hephaestus?”

To declare your company equal to that of gods is the height of arrogance and blasphemy.

They tell tales of her hubris.

“An excellent point,” Aphrodite murmurs, and tucks a stray braid behind Arachne’s ear.

They are all true.

gods and monsters series part iii

Aries —
oh, my sweet, sweet child, what has the world done to you? you were a bright promise,
the tomorrow we had hoped for, holding flowers in your mouth without crushing them
and trusting blindly in those around you. and then came the blood; and now your fire
is a quiet thing, a crackling murmur hidden in the shadows. you’ve curled into yourself
like a newborn babe, held your heart tightly to your chest and began the tedious healing.
and all the salt in your tears made the deep wounds sting; was it this what kept you pure?
I wonder, oh, I wonder. before you, I had never seen an anathema so full of innocence.
(the world tried to cast you down from paradise; and it succeeded. but the fall couldn’t
maim you, for fire cannot kill fire – it simply shrunk you, much like a mimosa bloom.
I hope one day you’ll feel safe enough to flower, for there is so much beauty in you.)


Taurus —
I wish I could wrap my hands around your shoulders and hold you close for a while,
because oh, what sad things they are, your bones. I am so sorry, beloved; so very sorry.
and I am well aware these apologies cannot change anything, but I want you to know
that there is someone who sees you as you are – even when all the others see is your
superfluous frivolity and your desire for riches, I see the thoughtful mind, the gentle
gestures, each and every of your heartbeats. the song of you is imprinted into my memory
as the change in seasons is; you are unforgettable, something so precious and so very dear.
(don’t let them shame you for your greed – those who try to do so cannot wrap their
all too little minds around the fact that sin is not necessarily negative. your love for gold
has root in the same place as your love for others; you only want it so you may share it.)


Gemini —
it’s lonely, isn’t it? not being the way all others are. they tell you you’re a forgery, that your
smile is a mask and your composure an act, simply because they cannot accept the idea
that people are supposed to be multidimensional. on and on they go, pinning their ignorance
to you under the name of blame, seeing in you only that which they wish to see. sometimes,
you wish you were like them. I know you do. you shouldn’t. it might be lonely where you are,
but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing; lonely doesn’t mean secluded. there are others like you,
with minds like diamonds. others like you, who are only habitual in their tendency for change.
(you will find someone who can make sense out of you, one day, you know. they’ll know you
better than you yourself do – every single aspect of you, every single frantic facet and feeling.
and when you do, the wait will be more than worth it. I promise you won’t die nor live alone.)


Cancer —
you poor, poor, poor thing. it’s been a thousand years since you’ve curled into yourself, hid
your heart deep in the cradle of your ribs and let yourself sleep; then the time came for you
to awaken, and you found the world unchanged – it was as if everything had stood still.
reality swept into you like saltwater into gaping wounds, and every fiber of your soul wept.
fearful, you took the broken glass road still, walked it fully aware of what laid in waiting;
like a bride the night she is wed to a stranger, you swallowed your terror and saw it through.
often, those ignorant make you out to be such a bumbling coward. you’re not. you just aren’t.
(in fact, you’re on of the bravest people I know; it takes so much courage to let the world
see you weep – and it takes even more of it to wipe your tears and keep moving forward.
above all, it takes immense courage to allow yourself to love even when you know it’ll hurt.)


Leo —
the size of your heart puts to shame both Jupiter and your own pride and ego; to this day,
I am not sure if you would have been better off with one much smaller, but I know for sure
the world would have been emptier by far. you see, your touch is one of gold; whomever
you decide to invest your time and love into grows the size of Atlas, and so, without you
as you are now there would have been much less in the world. that is your downfall, isn’t it?
always has been. the way you’ve always put others first, giving them all of you, never asking
for anything to be given to you in return. you are a gardener, dearest, and people are your roses.
(it breaks my heart that all your selfless effort was almost always repaid in hurt and sorrow;
know that you are not to be blamed for any of it. you have done nothing wrong – sometimes,
things simply fall apart. don’t shut your heart. I’d hate to see your love rot and turn to hatred.)


Virgo —
you have endured well the contempt of others, my dear; you have taken every blow with open arms.
they have called you frigid and prude and arrogant and everything in between, but you knew better.
tell me then: if you can endure so well the slander of others, if you don’t care what they make of you,
why do you worry so? why do you see only blemishes when you look at yourself in the mirror?
your hesitance to trust others stems in your fear that if you let them in they’ll see your ugliness, all
the imagined imperfections you see in your reflection. you can’t trust others because you don’t trust
yourself; and I wish so badly that you would have a little more faith in who you are, in your beauty.
(being unable to forgive, jealousy and lust do not make you terrible. hate is human nature as much
as love is; emotions, be they bad or good, are intrinsic to mankind. you are such a passionate being,
despite your outward delicacy, and that, my dear, is simply stunning. please try to love yourself.)


Libra —
darling child, didn’t the gods tell you the mob sees dancers as something of the devil, especially
when their preferred stage is the sharp edge of a sword? few in this world love truth, and fewer still
are fond of things like righteousness and justice. your ability to remain indiscriminate in the face
of contradictory realities and deny none of them is both a blessing and a curse. your mind, I fear,
is the Pandora fate has crafted specifically for you; a beautiful gift that hides such doom and sorrow.
and you are aware of all of this – how you were meant for greater things, with your noble mind
and your true heart, yet on you dance, fighting against the windmills of adversity. how brave you are.
(know that your effort will not go without reward. know that you won’t be forever unloved, nor
will you be forever misunderstood. there will be those whom, like you, have the makings of just men,
and they will understand. keep your eyes open and search the crowd; that is what you do best.)


Scorpio —
I look at you and my heart grows small; there is so much sadness in you, from the flower
of your eyes to the slouching arch of your shoulders. you have been misjudged
and falsely accused for so long: whore, they said; monster, perverter, sickness of the soul –
and all of it because you like sex, as if somehow they are the virgin mary reborn,
the goddamn hypocrites. this, too, is something they have misunderstood; it is not sex
that you crave or are interested in. it is intimacy: it is the vulnerability that comes with having
your soul completely bared and lain before another; you crave love, in its’ purest of forms.
(and I know they have convinced you that someone of your kind is not “worthy”; fuck that.
your love is priceless, and one day someone will call your battle scars a masterpiece.
one day someone will love you as wholly as you deserve to be loved. they will love all of you.)


Sagittarius —
there is such wanderlust in you – you’ve made a home out of the long, long roads,
walked the earth to its’ ends and bathed in the oceans of the horizon; the sky was
your sole companion, its’ stars your map, the wind a spellsong to ward off the passing
sadness and melancholia that threatened to dim the flame of your heart. oh, my child;
how very wonderful you are, a barefoot nomad forever in awe of the world. the feeble
minded call you rootless; how wrong they are. having a voyager heart does not make you
afraid of commitment. it simply means your roots lie elsewhere, splat across the world.
(do not let their malice plant doubts into your mind’s garden; your gypsy heart is worth more
than all their empty ones combined. keep daring the world, sate your thirst for journeying;
only exploration can ever lead to discovery, so let your feet and head both walk the world.)


Capricorn —
good god, you’re so tired. life has worn you down to the marrow of your bones,
took everything from you until you were bare-handed; and yet.
and yet you’re still here, standing before me, your spine hardened to titanium,
a delicate thing that can withstand even the most apocalyptic of sieges;
you still find it in you to smile, bitter-bloody-all-teeth and still happy, somehow.
know that I am proud of you; of your bravery, of your resilience,
of how you’ve clung to life by the skin of your teeth. I am proud of you.
(and know that you deserve happiness – you may feel like you don’t, you may feel
that it is above the likes of you, but you deserve it; you have earned it.
know that one of these days, the sun will shine down on your lane, too.)


Aquarius —
there’s so much of you inside your skin I am often surprised it has yet to come apart at the seams;
there’s so much of everything inside your skull I am left in awe of your bones – often I wonder,
how are they strong enough to contain the exploding universe inside? my god, this world of ours
has seven wonders and you are all of them. the fortitude of your bright mind ceaselessly
surprises me; I know what to expect, and yet I am still thrown off by your ingenuity and your
ability to remain rational in your abstract ways. nobody but you is open enough to accept it all;
nobody but you can see through the prism of all eyes and walk away with their sanity intact.
(I know they call you “cold”, an ice queen of the Siberian tundra. let them be. those who cannot
see your white-hot warmth are not worthy of your brilliance. you are the brightest star, my dear,
someone accepting and embracing of it all. do not settle for anyone that is blind to your light.)


Pisces —
and how terrible it must be for you, who lives always halfway, to be stuck in a world
that demands certainties which you will never have to give. it is not to say you don’t want
to be resolute – you simply cannot. your world does not have truth, nor does it have falsity;
all that your world has are colors, swirling, forever mingling anew like the clouds in the sky.
one day you are overflowing with everything that blooms inside of you, and lilies
are spilling out of your ribs; the next, you’re empty, and you can’t for the life of you
find something that is all-encompassing enough to fill the growing abyss south of your sternum.
(know that it is okay. the most humane thing you can be is full of contradictions;
as maddening as it can be, each paradox gets you closer to the entity your peers call god.
it was never the devil that built his home on the crossroads, you know. embrace your nature.)

—  poetry for the signs: the “you’ve done well” edition, L. Schreiber
being jeon jungkook’s girlfriend;

Originally posted by yourpinkpill

bts; bulletpoints

rated; m (lightly)

  • him taking forever to confess and ask you out
  • by the time he does, you already know he likes you cus his hyungs tease him relentlessly
  • and taetae might have accidentally let it slip his tongue while you were hanging out
  • him being very shy and giggly in the beginning
  • taking you to the movies for the first date, to keep it classic
  • but doesn’t take too long to warm up to you bcus as soon as you’re dating, you hang out 24/7
  • his hyungs whining that they can’t hang out with you anymore cus he’s keeping you all to himself
  • him teasing you every chance he gets, about everything he can
  • if you’re short like me, you’re doomed
  • first kiss is the cutest most innocent thing ever
  • probably just a peck bcus both of you start giggling
  • once you two start with the kissing, he will never stop
  • except for when the guys are around, he’d be too shy
  • so if you want to make him flustered, kiss him while the others are there
  • the first time you make out, it would be super giggly and playful
  • but with time, it would get less innocent
  • him pinning you down against the couch, or you straddling his thighs
  • prepare for when the guys intentionally interrupt a make out session just to tease you two
  • except for jin who accidentally walks in on you and covers his eyes, scolding the both of you (mostly jungkook)
  • him forcing you to play video games with him, whether you like it or not
  • get ready to lose constantly, bcus just cus you’re his girlfriend, doesn’t mean he’ll let you win
  • if you do end up beating him, he’ll pretend like he actually did let you
  • he’d never admit defeat
  • eating together = junk food
  • cup noodles are a go-to
  • the two of you watching weird meme videos on youtube until 4 am while stuffing yourselves with snacks
  • he makes you cuddle with him every time he wants to take a nap, wherever it is
  • “but, jungkook, I need to-”
  • “shh, babe, shh,”
  • *tightens hold*
  • gets incredibly jealous whenever the other guys make you laugh or hang out with you
  • like, he gets too jealous for nothing
  • overprotective
  • but he’s embarrassed about it so he’ll never tell you
  • he will just pretend to be indifferent and not kiss you for awhile
  • but he kisses you anyway cus he can’t refuse
  • on the other hand, he loves the fact that the guys like you as well
  • he values his hyungs’ opinions very much and is a proud boyfriend to you
  • backhugs
  • just a shit ton of backhugs
  • he’ll even give you backhugs in front of everyone else because he fucking loves giving you backhugs
  • the kind where his arms are wrapped over yours, head leaned on your shoulder
  • hates it when you don’t pay attention to him
  • starts poking you or playing with your hair so you’ll do something with him instead
  • you cave in bcus this boy just doesn’t give up
  • him grinning whenever you do
  • him making you do crazy shit
  • like if you’re at an amusement park, he’ll force you onto the craziest rides
  • laughing when you scream
  • makes you eat so many sweets with him
  • if you’re easily jumpscared like me, prepare to have heart attacks on the daily
  • like I said, constant teasing
  • supports you in everything you decide to do
  • cus he firmly believes in following one’s dreams
  • cries more than you whenever you’re sad, cus he hates seeing you like that
  • whatever you feel, he feels
  • that’s why he makes sure to always keep you happy
  • he just feels so much for you
  • but the few times you fight, he can often get angrier than he should
  • which also makes you angrier than you should be
  • he’s probably very depressed afterwards
  • idek who would apologize first
  • but he would swallow his pride and do it first for you
  • is extra cuddly and clingy when you make up
  • makes sure you can’t even hate him if you wanted to
  • preferably the big spoon, it makes him feel manly
  • you probably wake up before him in the mornings
  • he’s a heavy sleeper
  • you have to kiss him to wake him up
  • he’s actually awake but pretends to be sleeping just so you’ll kiss him
  • bcus when he’s not actually awake it’ll take more than a kiss to get him up
  • but when he wakes up before you, he likes to just watch you sleep for a while
  • you’re just so cute
  • wakes you up by tickling you cus he’s a little shit
  • sometimes you get revenge by waking him up by touching his nipples
  • he glares at you and rolls over to pin you down onto the mattress for fucking with him
  • cue playful morning make out
  • possibly more, if he’s feeling horny that morning
  • about sex;
  • takes quite some time to get your relationship to that stage
  • it’s not that he doesn’t want to
  • he definitely wants to, boi, he fucking wants to
  • he’s just a shy little cutie pie and doesn’t know how to approach the situation
  • honestly, it could go on forever that you guys don’t start getting sexually active
  • it would most likely have to be you who mentions it casually at some point
  • like you just casually ask him what he thinks about it and if he’s comfortable with it
  • prepare for a red-faced kookie
  • it will just casually be brought up and then things will be just like normal again
  • until it finally happens
  • once he knows you’re comfortable with it, you don’t have to be the one to initiate it
  • it can kinda be both of you
  • like with everything else, the first time will be very playful and cute
  • but then you will start to discover each other more in depth
  • like each other’s kinks and stuff
  • he definitely prefers being more dominant, but could switch
  • doesn’t necessarily like being too rough
  • he doesn’t want to hurt you in any sense of the word
  • gets turned on by giving you pleasure
  • knowing that you feel good because of something he’s doing is definitely something he likes
  • gets horny often cus he’s still basically a teenager
  • boners from like really odd things that you do
  • like things that aren’t meant to be sexy but he thinks they are
  • like if he’s tired and sleepy and you’re in bed and he subconsciously pushes you away and turns around
  • but then you groan and scoot over and hug him tightly again
  • for some reason that makes him horny because you take charge
  • ik, he’s weird XD
  • but so are you
  • he fucking loves showing off in front of you
  • and always teases that “look what I can do, and you can’t”
  • likes intentionally getting you turned on in public by doing different things discreetly
  • but gets turned on himself cus you’re turned on and instantly regrets it
  • greets you by hugging you and lifting you off the ground
  • jin jokingly flirting with you to make kook jealous
  • the other boys treating you two like babies
  • but are reminded that you are not babies anymore when they wake up to loud noises in the middle of the night
  • acts like he hates when you steal and wear his clothes
  • “baby, you know I don’t like sharing clothes”
  • secretly loves it tho
  • but only uses that as an excuse to get them off of you so you can have some fun no clothes needed
  • constantly sends you memes and ugly pictures of his hyungs saying “you’re lucky to be dating the only hot one in bts, babe”
  • pretends to be a bad boy but is actually a tiny bunny
  • loves you with all his heart, like literally
  • you definitely don’t have to get jealous of other girl idols
  • he doesn’t value looks the most
  • besides, he already thinks you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever witnessed
  • be prepared for an adventurous and fluffy relationship with this boy
  • good luck surviving it

Inspired by THIS POST about gay Disney Princesses. 


When the old beggar comes to the door, Addy knows better than to let her in. She doesn’t look at the rose or the woman too long; she shuts the door.

Some will call her arrogant or selfish, but what is she to do? No guards, parents in the capital (not, here, not here), and the knowledge that she is the damsel in all those fairy tales weighs heavily on her mind. Oh, little princess, far from home and alone, so alone.

The Enchantress (for they do not call her witch) makes sure that she stays that way.

Alone except for her wilting rose.

(She did not want it, would not take it, so she was bound to it. Such is the way of Princesses.)

———————————-

Addy used to have frightful bursts of temper. Her face would turn red, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, mouth screwed into an upside down kidney bean. Anything could set her off; a too tight corset, a walk ended too quickly, another toy sword taken away. She’d wail and scream, kick her feet and punch the air, tear and rend anything within arm’s reach.

The first time she has a fit in her new form, it’s after Mrs. Potts reads the King and Queen’s decision on her…condition. She’s to stay here, on the outskirts of their kingdom, until a Prince comes to release her from her spell. Alone until a different sort of bond is forced on her, until she is made to change from princess to beast to bride.

Addy know why they refuse to save her. It’s because she’s always been too big, too strong, too ill-tempered, too–

In her rage, Addy upends the tea tray, forgetting, forgetting, forgetting.

She is reminded when fine china falls to the hard ground, when it rattles, when it shatters, when it screams.

“No!” Addy falls to her knees next to her dishes– no, her friends and frantically rights them, apologies tumbling from her lips, eyes brimming with tears.

“Temper,” Mrs. Potts murmurs, more out of reflex than anything, looking obviously terrified. She hops from her side to her base, better able to control her new body than any other castle resident. Her lid is sitting askew and her eyes are wide (so wide) as they dart from one cup to another. “Daniel? Daniel!”

Addy cuts herself on broken porcelain and flinches. She–she’d killed him, she’d been so thoughtless, how could she? “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry–”

“I’m okay,” a little voice says. “I’m okay, Mom!”

 Addy sobs as she locates him under the silver platter, on his side, trapped. She throws the platter too hard, lodging it in the wall, and takes Daniel in her paws.  

“It’s okay, Princess Addy,” Daniel chirps at her. He’s a little older than her, just a few years, and he’s always trying to be strong. His eyes are wide (too wide), but he offers her a tremulous smile. “I’m okay.”

“Thank goodness,” Mrs. Potts says and her china clinks as she hops forward. 

Addy’s eyes lock on the horrible, huge chip in his rim. 

I did that.

She’s across the room before being aware of setting Daniel down, of standing, of leaping away.

“Princess,” Mrs. Potts says from her low, low position on the floor. “What–”

“Don’t call me that,” Addy grits out. Her huge body leans heavily against the door, making it groan, as she desperately tries to wrap her paw around the handle. She can’t stop looking at the chip, the proof of harm, the proof that something much worse can happen so easily. “Don’t call me– I’m not–I’m not the Princess. I’m the Beast.”

The door crashes open and she disappears.

————————————————

It’s weeks before the servants realize that she’s never going to answer to her name again. She no longer sleeps in her princess bed or attempts to wear her princess clothes. She wears pants scavenged from the servants’ quarters, tunics from her father’s closet, ties her mane back with twine instead of ornaments.

“Addy!” they call. “Princess Addy!”

The Beast doesn’t even know who that is.

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Writing is Hard, pt 9: Sexting

Summary: You send Dean some dirty pictures.

Read Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8

Warning: Smut, taking pictures during sex

Word Count: 2600ish

A/N: This is all written with love for fan fic. I’m teasing, not putting it down in any way. Hope you enjoy! (Sorry, tag list is closed!) XOXO


You hold up the phone, then almost instantly put it down.

This is stupid.

No. This isn’t stupid. This will be hot. Just do it.

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Mistake

Vegas | Tease | Oops | D | Game | Mistake

Series: Vegas

Note: The moment you all have been waiting for… Hold onto your caps, people, because this one is a roller coaster.

Word Count: 3586

Warnings: Language, angst…no smut in this one, guys. 😳

Tagging:  @gwash4prez @jazy2015 @alexanderhamllton @this-ally-loves-you @duckoffury @hamrevolution @curiositykilledthecompanion @thegirlonhamilton @shinymarbles @legattoassassino @nadialinett14 @an-abundance-of-hannahs @someonesblogger @the-ashy-phoenix @hamiltrashinn @texasprincess3 @patchesthed00t @teenage-band-loser @hetafairyaot @hmltntrsh51 @kkoolaid1 @londonbridgefalling @ashthewinchestergirl @aquamarrineee @pearltheartist @bluesnowyangel @sitdownjohn-youfatmotherfucker @edge-oftonight @vishuddhakid @kink-george @loopietoopie @hamil-scribbles @iamgrayfox @zaire-is-worth-it @hamiltonwasbienough @butter-times @lilybutterworthstuff @velvetsirius @fandom-nerdness7 @snoozing-hippogriffs-23 @agent-fangirl @traash-canz @meand-mybrain @jadee-ee @oshlow @me—lancholy @ridiculousn3ssfangirl @pearltheartist @bluesnowyangel @finnydraws @secretary-thomas-jefferson @completehamiltrash @clamilton @for-god-sake-john-sit-down @manateegrl @meavenel @hamilsquadsrighthandman @seungcheoljpg @hell-yes-puns-and-ships @i-am-trash1828 @helplessly-hamiltrash @haletotheking24 @bootybiersack @thoughtfulbearpanda @5vibesofsummer @completehamiltrash @canadianfruitpunch @faatlouie @accidentally-impeccable @ask-sherlock-221b @missgallaxy @nonxstop @emilysyrup @erinlikestrains @basheverythingyesterday @yukiyoru @duckslier3 @sweetestjensener @pearltheartist

You knew you’d fucked up.

The second those words flew out of your mouth, your eyes shot open and your breath caught in your throat. You were quickly shaken from the spell Daveed had placed you under, and as reality settled in, you began to panic.

Without delay, you pushed Daveed off you and clambered off the bed. He was silent and you didn’t know if it was because he was in shock or because he was still coming down from his high, but either way, you knew you had to get out of there before he started speaking.

You were pulling your jeans on hastily when you finally spoke up. “I uh…I-I gotta go.” You said, trying to hide the fact that you were on the verge of tears. “It’s really late and I think I forgot to do something back home.”

“Y/N…” Daveed breathed softly, pushing himself up on his elbows to look at you.

Keep reading

Find You (Part 1)

Summary: Bucky has moved into a new apartment, not knowing that its previous tenant thinks they still live there. And he’s the only one that can see them. 

Word Count: 1,673

Warnings: Talk of a car accident. Coma.

A/N: This fic has been in my documents, outlined, for the past year and a half. I hope you all enjoy it. It’s one of my favorite plot-lines EVER.

Originally posted by rohgers


The white-washed walls are the only barriers to muffle the woman’s sobs. She folds herself over the body of a young woman, barely in her early twenties and already battling to keep herself alive. The only sign of life in her is the ventilator, pumping artificial breath into her lungs, and the stable beeping of the heart monitor. The doctors hold hope in that she’ll wake up, there seems to be no brain damage, nothing seems to be halting her from waking up. Yet she does not. And the wails continue day in and day out.

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Mister Hockey and the boy crying in the kitchen


Here’s the first part of a fic- AU where Bitty and Jack meet for the first time at the EpicKegster. 

Note that the second part of this is not written yet, and I’m crushed under my to-do list, so don’t expect it soon and please don’t ask when the next part will come, I don’t know. But I wanted to share this with y’all, so I hope you enjoy. 

I apologise for errors, typos or weird sentence structure, all my editing power is and will be concentrated on my own novel, so ha. 

pairings and warnings: pretty much what you get from the canon





Jack went down the stairs with a huff of annoyance. The first floor of the Haus was packed from wall to wall. Loud thumping music, laughter and yells that were barely tolerable from his room now seemed almost tangible, crushing him from all sides. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache.

He pushed his way through and managed to reach the kitchen unscathed. Only three guys were sitting at the table, loudly debating Plato’s cavern versus the Matrix, and another was leaning on the counter near the stove, muttering to himself.

Jack opened a cupboard, swore under his breath when he saw that it was empty of their usual mugs, glasses and bottles. He took a new red solo cup from the enormous pack available to all, and filled it with tap water, trying to ignore the guys at the table.

‘…aren’t you the most precious thing, baby…’

Jack turned around. The guy next to the oven was muttering endearments with a southern drawl- but there was no one next to him. He wasn’t even holding his phone.

Jack had a doubt. Was the guy talking to him?

‘Yes, you are lovely, a bit old, but I would love you, and take care of you, and create glorious things with you, oh sweetheart, if only…’

The guy was not talking to Jack. He was talking to the oven.

He was also, apparently, completely drunk.

‘… better things than pizza rolls, you can be sure of that, you sexy thing…’

Jack was a moment away from heading back to his room when he heard a sob.

‘… but it’s not to be, pretty thing, you and I will have to go our own separate ways and- sniffle- get with our own lonely lives and - oh lord, I’m being ridiculous-’

‘Huh-’ started Jack. ‘Are you okay?’

The guy turned around. He looked older than Jack expected. At least, he seemed to be over eighteen. Jack only had an impression of eyes and blond before he got the drunkest and fakest smile he ever saw in his life.

‘HI!’ said the boy. ‘Gosh, you’re big.’

‘… are you okay?’ repeated Jack.

‘Why, yes, of course! I’m peachy!’

‘You’re crying.’

The guy seemed surprised by this fact. He dried his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie and made a dismissive gesture with his other hand.

‘Don’t mind me, sweetheart, I’m being silly.’

‘…You were crying,’ insisted Jack. ‘And talking to the oven.’

‘Well, no one else seemed to give her love, so I figured-’

He stopped himself and looked at Jack.

‘You’re the Captain of the hockey team,’ he realised. ‘This is your house. This is your oven.’

‘…Yes? In a manner of speaking?’

‘What’s her name?’

‘Whose name?’

‘The OVEN,’ insisted the guy.

‘She- it doesn’t have a name?’

‘Blasphemy. If I had the chance to own such a lovely baby, I would name her something adorable! Like Daisy, or Betsy, and I would bake everyday, I would make pies and cookies and biscuits and-’

He burst into tears.

Jack threw a look around. The guys at the table were staring at them.

‘Dude, what’d’you do to him?’

‘Nothing!’

‘D’you break up with him or something?’

‘No! We just met! He was talking about the oven- and then- and then-’

He made a helpless motion towards the crying boy.

‘Maybe you should do something about it?’ suggested one of them.

‘Like what?’

‘Dunno. Something. To make him stop crying.’

Jack hesitated. He thought about retreating to the safety of his room, where the music didn’t hurt his ears and blonde strangers didn’t burst into tears at the sight of a kitchen appliance.

Awkwardly, he lifted a hand and patted the guy’s shoulder.

‘…there, there,’ he muttered, feeling like the most ridiculous man on Earth.

He got several thumbs ups from the table residents. Which didn’t help his predicament at all. The boy was still crying.

‘Hey, hey, shh, don’t cry, everything is going to be okay…’

‘You don’t know that!’ wailed the blonde boy.

‘Okay, you’re right. Maybe, huh, what could make it right?’

‘I want to BAAAAAAAAAKE!’

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Mean Astrology: The Venus Signs

Aries: You fall too hard and are reckless and unthinking. You’re aggressive with what you want and all you do is build yourself up until the other persons annoyed and has no choice but to tear you down. You corner people so they have no moves besides committing or running, and all the while; you probably have people on the side loyal and good who YOU will never do shit for! You need constant attention and reassurance and you’re not half the shit you brag about being. Sometimes you just have to listen and you can’t expect everyone to fall in love with you, or no ones going to.

Taurus: You can’t tailor people into being what you want, people aren’t the clothes you wear to impress the town. People are people and you don’t get to choose how they are and who they are. You’re wrong on this. Wrong. You’re hurting people trying to love you because you treat them like they’ll never compare to your ideal.

Gemini: You say so much but communicate so little. You’re constantly in a state of making up your mind, talking to everyone but the person who needs to hear it. You forget they can’t read your mind, only sharing how you feel when it’s too late for them to help fix what’s wrong. And I think subconsciously you do it all on purpose, just because it’s easier to have it all end than fix it, and then you cry that it’s over. Afterwards you always have other people at your disposal, but it’ll never be enough, will it.

Cancer: You babies hope and wish and never do a damn thing! You create yourself into the perfect little doormat and cry about the dirt you get in return. You’ll do all this emotional labor and reject any in return. And once you can’t stand it any longer, you cut like no other. You turn off all of this babying for a reason apparent to no one, maybe not even you. You have to stop the dramatics and realize love isn’t supposed to be a painful and you need to stop forcing it to be that way.

Leo: You children have to realize you’re adults and you can’t just love the idea of love and expect it all to happen. It’s not grand gestures and then you’re done. The real work is hard, and putting people on pedestals set people up to fall. You’re too jealous without any valid reason! You destroy trust with jealousy, and that’s difficult for anyone to recover from. You can’t expect everyone to match your loyalty, not everyone wants the same things as you so you have to learn to get the hell over it and be an adult.

Virgo: NOBODY IS PERFECT and neither are you! You’re not this beacon of perfection that gets to judge the people who have the “audacity” to try to get close to you with a razor sharp tongue. You need to be open-minded and realize everyone is special, you have to get in touch with how you feel and accept that it’s okay to feel and for others to express themselves passionately sometimes. You’re not a puppet-master, you’re a regular person and need to treat other people kindly, not with judgment.

Libra: You’re fair-weather, as soon as it gets hard, you’re gone. Words mean nothing to you, you’ll act like you’re in love from the start with those pretty white lies but it’s just talk and you take it all back without a second thought. And you don’t care, you’ll do it again. No matter what anyone else says, because you don’t understand the words unless they’re what you want to hear.

Scorpio: You’re suffocating. People aren’t your property, not everyone is trying to be owned. You’re loyal but to the point where we don’t want your loyalty, until it becomes ugly and wrapped up with yourself and what you think you deserve. People aren’t prizes made just for you. Suck it up.

Sagittarius: Everything has to be new new new, you have no patience for actually connecting with people because as soon as it gets tough, you’re gone. You want something on the other side of the fence as soon as you find something new. You can be irritable with people as soon as they’re not taking you on adventures or acting wild and reckless, but that’s not real connection. Sure it’s fun but you hurt people with false promises and misleading intentions. Think about what your affect on people, they aren’t experiences.

Capricorn: You pride yourself on being so fiercely independent but you can’t face the fact that you’re dependent. You always have a new love up next in your orderly rolodex, rarely waiting very long inbetween. Always serious, always turning into something that stresses you out. You’re allowed to have a break in your romantic resume. You need to water your own roots. Don’t dry up other people’s wells and get upset when they’re empty.

Aquarius: You have to perform emotional labor in a relationship, it’s a huge part of the deal, sorry. You can’t just not help people you care about just because it’s hard for you to understand, lots of things are hard; just try. That’s usually enough. That’s it. Don’t be selfish. You can’t take all the benefits of receiving emotional labor and not reciprocate it’s unfair, and you of all people should be able to understand the concept of equality.

Pisces: Stop giving so much to people who don’t want it or deserve it and cry when they don’t reciprocate; it’s not a movie, it’s not going to be perfect and magical and, more than likely, they’ve probably made it clear they’re not interested and it’s your own damn fault you got hurt. You put yourselves into uneven relationships then manipulate to even the odds, and this is so so unhealthy and destructive to everyone around. Get a thicker skin and listen to unpleasant things and, sometimes, yes; you have to fight and have confrontations to move forward, you can’t just wish it away.

punsbulletsandpointythings  asked:

Your myth retellings are gorgeous. Would you tell another please? Maybe something with Hermes?

Pandora is made from earth, shaped by the hands of Hephaestus and made in the image of his beloved wife. Aphrodite gifts her with grace and charisma. Athena teaches her to weave and bestows cleverness upon her.

She stands in front of Hermes, and the god frowns and touches her with a single fingertip on her chin, moving her head one way than the other. “They’ll eat you alive,” he says, and she doesn’t understand.

She tilts her head to the side and smiles a vacant smile. All of the cleverness in the world will do her no good without any context. “We are the same,” she says, pressing a hand to Hermes’s chest. She is made from earth and has the skin to mach. He is a celestial god, and his skin is the same rich shade of brown.

He did not ask to be born any more than his mother asked to bare him. His creation, just like hers, is at the whims of Zeus. All for some little lost fire, all because Prometheus wanted his people to be warm, and, well, he is the god of the thieves after all –

So he gifts her with deceit, with selfishness, with cunning. Her smile leaves her face all at once as she’s filled with self-awareness. “He’ll be angry with you,” she says, “I am not what you were supposed to make.”

“Gods have short memories,” he says, and doesn’t bother to hide the contempt in his voice. “Do not worry about me, gifted child. You have larger problems than my fate.”

He has turned her from something pure into – something more like him. Her face darkens even further as her perfectly crafted mind slots all the pieces together, and he can’t help but find her lovely. It’s how she was made, after all. “I can’t stop it, can I? Whatever they’re planning for me to do?”

“No,” Hermes says, “but now you might be able to survive it.”

“Will I want to?” she asks, and he doesn’t answer. She doesn’t expect him too.

~

She hides from everyone, lives in a cave at the edge of the city. The gods had called her the first woman, but that’s not true, she can see.

There are women. They smile and laugh have work roughened hands. She aches to join them, but she has the beauty of a goddess. They will know. If she joins them, they will know she is not of them, and it will set into motion whatever trap Zeus has planned.

She is not human, not in the same way, molded from clay by a god’s hands. But she is of humans, and not eager to bestow upon them the harm she’s destined to bring them. She bathes in streams where only nymphs reside, steals into the city in the cloak of night and pilfers from the baker’s trash.

“When they said they sent my brother a wife,” a low, amused voice says too close behind her one night, “I had not expected a begger.”

She whirls around, hard bread clenched tight in front of her, an incredibly inefficient shield. Her breath catches in her throat when she sees him, dark and tall and eyes like the night sky. He looks like Hermes. Like her. “Who are you?” she demands. They’re in an alley corner, and of her gifts flight is not among them. She’ll have to fight him to get away.

She’s not afraid of him. Maybe another mortal would be, cornered in the middle of the night by a man she doesn’t know. But she’s no normal mortal woman, and besides – he has something comforting about him, like the hearthfire attended by Hestia. Something warm.

“I am Prometheus,” says the man, and no wonder he reminds her of fire. “What do they call you?”

“You are meant to be in the deepest pits of Hades’s realm,” she snaps, and shifts her grip on the stale bread so that she can throw it at him. He’s the whole reason she’s here to begin with, him and his thievery.

He shrugs and walks closer to her, watching her like one would watch a wild animal. Good. Here, in this dark alley where no one would find a cooling body until morning, it is he that should be afraid. “Gods forget,” he says, “and Hades had grown cold in his place beneath the earth.”

She pauses, considers. “You stole fire for Hades?”

“No,” he corrects, “I stole fire for the people. But Hades benefited as well. Enough that he was willing to forget the terms of my punishment.”

“What do you want?” she asks for the second time. “Why are you here?”

He stops, too close to her, “The question is why are you here?”

She steps into his space now, following him as he backs away from her, “I am here because of you, fire-stealer, because gods may forget but they do not forgive, and I am the punishment they have unleashed upon the world.”

“What a punishment you are,” he says, looking at her lips, and she forgets to hate him only long enough to kiss him.

~

Hermes watches her, watches them. He doesn’t know Zeus’s plan, if this is part of it or not, but he watches her, and he worries. He thinks it is, he can see Aphrodite’s magic clinging to Pandora, but he doesn’t know why.

He would go to his mother, but she’s always difficult to find, Gaea preferring to live in streams and rivers rather than face the man she bore a son for. But his mother’s father, on the other hand, is always in the same place.

“Grandfather,” Hermes greets, touching lightly down onto the earth, “How are you?”

“How am I always, boy?” Atlas grunts out, legs and arms straining as he holds up the sky above the earth. “Tired.”

Hermes lips quirk up the corners. Some days, he thinks he’s more Atlas’s grandson than he’s Zeus’s son. “I need some advice, Grandfather.”

Atlas raises an eyebrow, “I’m listening.”

So Hermes tells him everything, from beginning to end, because he can’t figure out what his father’s plan is, but Atlas might. He’s known the man for longer, at least.

Atlas nods, slow, and says, “A bride of gods, a gifted child. I can think of only one reason to create such a child.” Hermes waits. Atlas sighs and says, “There is a jar, within Olympus, that becomes sealed when it leaves the realm of the gods. After that, only a being neither mortal nor celestial may open it.”

“What are they planning to put inside?” Hermes demands, heart spiking. What are they planning to unleash upon the unsuspecting earth?

His grandfather smirks, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is this – what are you going to put inside?”

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🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶 🎶

The funnest parts, to me at least, about being into Kpop while not(currently) speaking Korean, is looking up a song I really enjoy and finding out the lyrics and meaning the song was portraying. 
But one of the most interesting thing about Kpop, to me, is the ability to feel the emotions without even knowing what they’re saying. I can’t tell you how many times I end up crying over a song that is actually really up beat, then find out the lyrics were really saddening. So, here’s a list of my favorite songs(and some songs in general) that have insanely beautiful and/or meaningful lyrics. Enjoy.

2NE1- I AM THE BEST

Truly the ‘I am a boss ass bitch’ anthem in my mind. A a club-worthy beat, topped with lyrics screaming about self-worth and body confidence, 2NE1′s song is definitely one that makes you feel like a Queen, and damn ready to show the world your power.

I refuse to be compared
I’m telling you the truth
If we’re talking about my value
I’m a billion dollar baby

BLOCK B- TOY

Basically a 180 from 2NE1′s song, Toy touches on the feelings of being so low in your own thoughts and being nothing more than a toy for someone to play with until they’re bored of you, to be so consumed and desperate for love and affection, one doesn’t really care that it’s not truly love and affect their getting. 

When I’m no longer useful you would secretly throw me away
If only I can be remembered
Even just a little bit
Everything, I do it for you
I’m a toy, toy

TAEYEON- 11:11

(I believe, I read this once, but can’t find the article again)
The lyrics’ writer’s original meaning was towards her deceased father and wishing he was with her again, the song’s lyrics were altered a bit to fit into wishing for her former lover to be back again, and trying to overcome the breakup in a beautiful melody.

Everything finds its place and leaves
You took all of me and left
But like the two hands of the clock in my heart
I keep lingering in the same place

2NE1- I DON’T CARE | GO AWAY

Honestly 2NE1 are such a girl’s best friend when it comes to life. Both songs touch on being cheated on, and putting themselves first and not putting up with such an unforgivable act.

For that lipstick on your collar
I can’t ever forgive you
Every day, your phone’s always off
It doesn’t seem like you’re going to change oh oh

GOT7- JUST RIGHT

The first time I read the lyrics, it honestly made my heart flutter, it was so sweet. The lyrics are full of the positive message of loving oneself and not looking for flaws that don’t exist, or simply don’t matter and just because they’re there, doesn’t make us unattractive or ugly in the slightest.

No matter how much I take you apart
And look and look at you
I can’t find that part of yourself
That you think isn’t pretty

GAIN- FXXK U

Topped with a very explicit video, both MV and lyrics heavily express and talk about a frustrating relationship and unwanted sexual advances, something I found really enjoyable and brave for a song seeing as there’s so many songs that have such underlying assault lyrics that it concerns me.

Fxxk U, don’t want it now
I don’t wanna lay down next to you as if it’s natural
Fxxk U, you know, Fxxk U
I don’t wanna do it like this
This isn’t how I feel

EXO- SING FOR YOU

Theorized to be a goodbye song to past members, the ‘annual sad Christmas EXO song’ expresses fondness for an unseen/spoken for individual, singing words of love and adoration for someone long lost. 
Playing into the theory, the lyrics never indicate a significant other or female as most ‘love’ songs do, so I find myself agreeing with the song being a sad goodbye to memories made with the ex-exo members.

The way you cry, the way you smile
I wonder how much they mean to me
The words that I regretted when I looked back
I will apologize but just listen
I will sing for you, sing for you
Just act casually

NCT- BACK 2 U

Lyrics that portray their emotions and thoughts after a breakup, that seems to be built on material wants, the cash, the diamonds, the pearls you spend, it’s nice to see lyrics that recognize an unhealthy relationship and although feeling the emotions of this person clinging tightly and refusing to leave them be, they stand their own and refuse to fall back into the relationship.

I barely fell asleep late at night
The ringing sound wakes me up
But I turn around and close my eyes

LADIES’ CODE- I’LL SMILE EVEN IF IT HURTS

A beautiful tribute to RiSe and EunB, members of Ladies’ Code that were in a car accident and ultimately succumbed to their injuries, the song regardless of knowing the lyrics is full of such raw emotion from the mourning girls that you can’t help but cry either way. 

But I won’t cry, so you won’t feel bad
I’ll try living without you now
No matter how much it hurts, even if tears keep coming
I wanna smile, I wanna think of you and smile

BTS-SPRING DAY

I gotta be honest, I stopped watching BTS’ MVs because they make me crying instantly? I don’t know what that’s about…but never the less, lyrics of a relationship that has changed, the lose of a friend and longing for things to be remembered and erased.

Did you change?
Or did I change?
I hate even this moment that is passing
I guess we changed
I guess that’s how everything is

2NE1- UGLY

Though not as hard hitting in the upbeat live performance of said song, the lyrics punch you in the gut none the less. Spinning emotions of not being the idea beauty in the world of Kpop and South Korea, 2NE1′s song expresses one’s desires to be just like her, I wanna be pretty.

I think I’m ugly
And nobody wants to love me
Just like her I wanna be pretty
I wanna be pretty
Don’t lie to my face tellin’ me
I’m pretty

BIGBANG- LOSER

Lyrics that really punch you in the throat about how low people think of themselves, Loser spins an image of self-worth, or more or less the lack of confidence in yourself that I think everyone can relate to at some point or another.

Honestly, I’ve never fit in with the world
I was always alone
It’s been a long time since I’ve forgotten about love
I can’t listen to hopeful love songs anymore
You and me both
We’re just sad clowns, tamed, and scripted

Aries — 

 Oh, my sweet, sweet child, what has the world done to you? You were a bright promise, the tomorrow we had hoped for, holding flowers in your mouth without crushing them and trusting blindly in those around you. And then came the blood; and now your fire is a quiet thing, a crackling murmur hidden in the shadows. You’ve curled into yourself like a newborn babe, held your heart tightly to your chest and began the tedious healing. And all the salt in your tears made the deep wounds sting; was it this what kept you pure? I wonder, oh, I wonder. Before you, I had never seen an anathema so full of innocence. (The world tried to cast you down from paradise; and it succeeded. But the fall couldn’t maim you, for fire cannot kill fire – it simply shrunk you, much like a mimosa bloom. I hope one day you’ll feel safe enough to flower, for there is so much beauty in you.)

Taurus — 

 I wish I could wrap my hands around your shoulders and hold you close for a while, because oh, what sad things they are, your bones. I am so sorry, beloved; so very sorry. And I am well aware these apologies cannot change anything, but I want you to know that there is someone who sees you as you are – even when all the others see is your superfluous frivolity and your desire for riches, I see the thoughtful mind, the gentle gestures, each and every of your heartbeats. The song of you is imprinted into my memory
as the change in seasons is; you are unforgettable, something so precious and so very dear. (Don’t let them shame you for your greed – those who try to do so cannot wrap their all too little minds around the fact that sin is not necessarily negative. Your love for gold has root in the same place as your love for others; you only want it so you may share it.)

Gemini — 

 It’s lonely, isn’t it? not being the way all others are. They tell you you’re a forgery, that your smile is a mask and your composure an act, simply because they cannot accept the idea that people are supposed to be multidimensional. On and on they go, pinning their ignorance to you under the name of blame, seeing in you only that which they wish to see. Sometimes, you wish you were like them. I know you do. You shouldn’t. It might be lonely where you are, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing; lonely doesn’t mean secluded. There are others like you, with minds like diamonds. Others like you, who are only habitual in their tendency for change. (You will find someone who can make sense out of you, one day, you know. They’ll know you better than you yourself do – every single aspect of you, every single frantic facet and feeling. And when you do, the wait will be more than worth it. I promise you won’t die nor live alone.)

Cancer — 

 You poor, poor, poor thing. It’s been a thousand years since you’ve curled into yourself, hid your heart deep in the cradle of your ribs and let yourself sleep; then the time came for you to awaken, and you found the world unchanged – it was as if everything had stood still. Reality swept into you like saltwater into gaping wounds, and every fiber of your soul wept. fearful, you took the broken glass road still, walked it fully aware of what laid in waiting; like a bride the night she is wed to a stranger, you swallowed your terror and saw it through. Often, those ignorant make you out to be such a bumbling coward. You’re not. You just aren’t. (In fact, you’re one of the bravest people I know; it takes so much courage to let the world see you weep – and it takes even more of it to wipe your tears and keep moving forward. Above all, it takes immense courage to allow yourself to love even when you know it’ll hurt.)

Leo — 

 The size of your heart puts to shame both Jupiter and your own pride and ego; to this day, I am not sure if you would have been better off with one much smaller, but I know for sure the world would have been emptier by far. You see, your touch is one of gold; whomever you decide to invest your time and love into grows the size of Atlas, and so, without you as you are now there would have been much less in the world. That is your downfall, isn’t it? Always has been. The way you’ve always put others first, giving them all of you, never asking for anything to be given to you in return. You are a gardener, dearest, and people are your roses. (It breaks my heart that all your selfless effort was almost always repaid in hurt and sorrow; know that you are not to be blamed for any of it. You have done nothing wrong – sometimes, things simply fall apart. Don’t shut your heart. I’d hate to see your love rot and turn to hatred.)

Virgo — 

 You have endured well the contempt of others, my dear; you have taken every blow with open arms. They have called you frigid and prude and arrogant and everything in between, but you knew better. Tell me then: if you can endure so well the slander of others, if you don’t care what they make of you, why do you worry so? Why do you see only blemishes when you look at yourself in the mirror? Your hesitance to trust others stems in your fear that if you let them in they’ll see your ugliness, all the imagined imperfections you see in your reflection. You can’t trust others because you don’t trust yourself; and I wish so badly that you would have a little more faith in who you are, in your beauty. (Being unable to forgive, jealousy and lust do not make you terrible. Hate is human nature as much as love is; emotions, be they bad or good, are intrinsic to mankind. You are such a passionate being, despite your outward delicacy, and that, my dear, is simply stunning. Please try to love yourself.)

Libra — 

 Darling child, didn’t the gods tell you the mob sees dancers as something of the devil, especially when their preferred stage is the sharp edge of a sword? Few in this world love truth, and fewer still are fond of things like righteousness and justice. Your ability to remain indiscriminate in the face of contradictory realities and deny none of them is both a blessing and a curse. Your mind, I fear, is the Pandora fate has crafted specifically for you; a beautiful gift that hides such doom and sorrow. And you are aware of all of this – how you were meant for greater things, with your noble mind and your true heart, yet on you dance, fighting against the windmills of adversity. How brave you are. (Know that your effort will not go without reward. Know that you won’t be forever unloved, nor will you be forever misunderstood. There will be those whom, like you, have the makings of just men, and they will understand. Keep your eyes open and search the crowd; that is what you do best.)

Scorpio — 

 I look at you and my heart grows small; there is so much sadness in you, from the flower of your eyes to the slouching arch of your shoulders. You have been misjudged and falsely accused for so long: Whore, they said; monster, perverter, sickness of the soul – and all of it because you like sex, as if somehow they are the Virgin Mary reborn, the goddamn hypocrites. This, too, is something they have misunderstood; it is not sex that you crave or are interested in. It is intimacy: it is the vulnerability that comes with having your soul completely bared and lain before another; you crave love, in its’ purest of forms. (And I know they have convinced you that someone of your kind is not “worthy”; fuck that. Your love is priceless, and one day someone will call your battle scars a masterpiece. One day someone will love you as wholly as you deserve to be loved. They will love all of you.)

Sagittarius — 

 There is such wanderlust in you – you’ve made a home out of the long, long roads, walked the earth to its’ ends and bathed in the oceans of the horizon; the sky was your sole companion, its’ stars your map, the wind a spellsong to ward off the passing sadness and melancholia that threatened to dim the flame of your heart. Oh, my child; how very wonderful you are, a barefoot nomad forever in awe of the world. The feeble minded call you rootless; how wrong they are. Having a voyager heart does not make you afraid of commitment. It simply means your roots lie elsewhere, splat across the world. (Do not let their malice plant doubts into your mind’s garden; your gypsy heart is worth more than all their empty ones combined. Keep daring the world, sate your thirst for journeying; only exploration can ever lead to discovery, so let your feet and head both walk the world.)

Capricorn — 

 Good god, you’re so tired. Life has worn you down to the marrow of your bones, took everything from you until you were bare-handed; and yet you’re still here, standing before me, your spine hardened to titanium, a delicate thing that can withstand even the most apocalyptic of sieges; you still find it in you to smile, bitter-bloody-all-teeth and still happy, somehow. Know that I am proud of you; of your bravery, of your resilience, of how you’ve clung to life by the skin of your teeth. I am proud of you. (And know that you deserve happiness – you may feel like you don’t, you may feel that it is above the likes of you, but you deserve it; you have earned it. Know that one of these days, the sun will shine down on your lane, too.)

Aquarius — 

 There’s so much of you inside your skin I am often surprised it has yet to come apart at the seams; there’s so much of everything inside your skull I am left in awe of your bones – often I wonder, how are they strong enough to contain the exploding universe inside? My god, this world of ours has seven wonders and you are all of them. The fortitude of your bright mind ceaselessly surprises me; I know what to expect, and yet I am still thrown off by your ingenuity and your ability to remain rational in your abstract ways. Nobody but you is open enough to accept it all; nobody but you can see through the prism of all eyes and walk away with their sanity intact. (I know they call you “cold”, an ice queen of the Siberian tundra. Let them be. Those who cannot see your white-hot warmth are not worthy of your brilliance. You are the brightest star, my dear, someone accepting and embracing of it all. Do not settle for anyone that is blind to your light.)

Pisces — 

 And how terrible it must be for you, who lives always halfway, to be stuck in a world that demands certainties which you will never have to give. It is not to say you don’t want to be resolute – you simply cannot. Your world does not have truth, nor does it have falsity; all that your world has are colors, swirling, forever mingling anew like the clouds in the sky. One day you are overflowing with everything that blooms inside of you, and lilies are spilling out of your ribs; the next, you’re empty, and you can’t for the life of you find something that is all-encompassing enough to fill the growing abyss south of your sternum. (Kknow that it is okay. The most humane thing you can be is full of contradictions;  as maddening as it can be, each paradox gets you closer to the entity your peers call God. It was never the Devil that built his home on the crossroads, you know. Embrace your nature.)

— Poetry for the Signs: The “You’ve Done Well” Edition, by L. Schreiber.

What He Sees

Characters: Jensen x Reader

Warnings: angst, self doubt and self loathing, fan hate, fluff, mild smut

Word Count: 2.3k

A/N: This is the SECOND fic for my 6k celebration and one year fic-i-versary. The line requested was, “You should be able to see that I’m 90% crap..” It will be highlighted in the fic. This is written for Steph, @torn-and-frayed Hope you like it, dear. Thanks for celebrating with me.

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Feedback welcome and appreciated

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DUFF (CHAPTER 4)

Originally posted by yourpinkpill

Chapter 4

╳ Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

╳ Genre: fluff, smut, angst 

╳ Summary: Being the Duff has really changed you.”“Excuse me, the Duff?” I asked, my voice rising a little at the end.“You know, the Designated. Ugly. Fat. Friend.”




It only takes 10 minutes to get to my house but it’s feeling like 10 hours. First of all, being in Yoongi’s car is enough to make me nauseous. Second, the fact that Yoongi was right here next to me made me almost pass out.

 The drive has been completely quiet, the only noise coming from the radio and even that could barely be heard. I wanted to say something, anything, but I couldn’t bring myself to speak. 

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Top Five Reasons Why History Is The Best Major

1. Class is basically story time. Do you want to hear riveting tales of cross-dressing slaves that escaped in a daring journey across the U.S. or how about an apocalyptic bad Byzantine battle where half the army switch sides and the other half ran away?  or what about that time a women became king of Nigeria? Yeah I get to go to class everyday and be endless entertained by these awesome stories and even better? Its all true. 

2. It makes you a more empathetic person. Its really easy to look at people in the past and make a snap judgement about them, that they are so stupid, bad, sexist, uncultured. ect ect… But as historians we have to walk a mile in their shoes and not judge them by the standards we have today. For instance important idea that we take today like umm. universal individual rights  or personally property or not having to work everyday for our physical survival hadn’t even been invented till pretty recently. History forces you to understand why people make certain decision and why they held certain views without judging them, a skill I am happy to carry into my day to day life. 

3. It is the best study of people. There are a lot of majors that study people: physiology, sociology, gender studies but those all focus on theory. History studies what real people do when faced with real situations. And it is indeed history that sparks social scientist to do their work. The reason behind the famous Milgram Experiment was trying to figure out why good people followed Hitler during WW2. History is the ultimate social experiment and gives us the best data on why people are the way they are and do what they do 

4. You get to touch the old things. You stand around in museum. See some boring rocks and some ugly paintings but when you are a history major, all the sudden its “HOLY S#&%* THESE WEIRD LITTLE BONES CHUNKS WAS TOUCHED MOTHERF@#$*$@# SHANG DYNASTY EMPEROR!!!” All the sudden the world is a magically place where everything even mundane, ugly, old things become special and amazing because there is history there! 

5. You become very ok with change. History is the study of change over time and over all history has made me a much more chill person. Its like you see that bad stuff happens and life moves on and its ok. Empires fall, major world views shift, rulers come and go but everything turns out ok in the end and life goes on. Nothing is the end of the world. 

Business and Pleasure - Part 10

Summary:  Bucky AU. After a major deal falls through, your father’s business almost falls apart. In a desperate attempt to save his livelihood, he seeks the help of his oldest friend, George Barnes, who happens to be the CEO of one of the most influential businesses in New York. He agrees, but on one condition. You have to marry his son.

Word Count: 2,201

Warnings: Swearing


Originally posted by little--batman


The two of you had fallen into silence, both seemingly lost in thought. The appetizers were delicious, but you couldn’t do more than pick at them. You were too distracted by your thoughts to focus on eating.

So much had happened in so little time. Sure, it seemed like you had your best friend back, but who knew how long that would last. He seemed sincere earlier, but there was no way to guarantee that the two of you wouldn’t get into another stupid argument and find yourselves right back where you started.

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This is fine

‘Hmm’ 

Draco rolled on his sheets, his skin warm because of the covers and the soft light shining through his bedside window.

It was good, those new sheets, that new bedroom. The purple curtains weren’t something he would’ve picked himself but being an eighth year came with its advantages and disadvantages.

He turned again, his eyes still closed. Having his own room at Hogwarts was something he would never have thought could be so great. The silence, the privacy, being able to come and go whenever he wanted. Well, not that he could wander around past curfew but even if he did no one would know.

Draco finally opened his eyes, the sunlight strangely bright for that time of-

‘Fuck’

Draco launched himself off the covers, his legs still tangled in the sheets making him tumble straight to the floor. He cursed again, louder this time, but who cares. He was alone in his room, no one to wake up and, oh well, no one to wake him up either.

So he was late, even though he was sure he’d set up his wand to wake him up.

Great, now his morning had everything to be even shinier than normal. He hated getting up late and had managed just fine to arrive to classes in time until now. He hated it because being late meant receiving unwanted attention from professors who already despised him and classmates who wanted him dead. Potter was usually the one to burst into classes after it’d already begun but all he always got for that were welcoming smiles and good mornings.

Draco grabbed the first pair of black trousers he spotted near his nightstand, putting them on while searching for his belt. He wrapped his green and silver tie loosely around his neck, his black shirt still completely unbuttoned. Draco cast a quick cleaning spell on his mouth, hurriedly heading for the door with shoes in one hand and bag in the other. The common room was most definitely empty so he would just finish getting ready-

Ouch!

A loud thud caught Draco’s attention, wand instantly in hand as an instinct. He should have expected, should have exhaled, turned on his heel and darted out of there because he knew he was just going to be even later now.

But how in Merlin’s name could he turn around on a Potter still in his boxers, black boxers and a Gryffindor tie hanging around his neck like the bloody corridor was an extension of his room. Potter looked up, his cheeks red and an apologetic smile on his face, something that only contributed to unbalance Draco more.

The blond was gaping, his own blood rushing to his cheeks because his eyes couldn’t stay on Potter’s ugly glasses, they had to aknowledge his shoulders, covered in tiny brown freckles; scan his chest and his stomach- fuck, Potter had abs, and his hips, Draco’s eyes could trace his V line…

He froze, closing his eyes like that was the only way he knew how to stop unashamedly maping the Gryffindor’s body.

He opened them when his breathing had evened out to find Potter doing the exact same thing he’d done.

'I- I’m late’ Draco blurted out, startling Potter who seemed to be unaware of what he was doing.

'Yeah, me too’ His green eyes fixed on something above Draco’s head.

'You’re always late, this isn’t- ’

'What happened to your hair?’ Potter took a step towards him, his shame of being half naked completely forgotten. Draco’s wand remained firmly secured in his hand, though he doubted he’d have the will to point it at Potter even if he had to.

Merlin, he was… hot. That was the word, there was no way he could lie about that. Draco was eighteen and gay and Potter was eighteen and hot and- and so Potter. He should turn around and run the fuck away from there, that corridor was too small for two people to stand at a safe distance and Potter didn’t seem to even want to stand at a safe distance.

He was still looking at Draco’s hair like it was made of gold.

'I didn’t have time to comb it’

Draco looked at Potter’s head, wondering for a second if the Gryffindor had ever brushed his hair.

The dark brown locks curled chaotically around the edges, falling on his forehead and almost covering the scar. His hair was longer than Draco had ever seen it, probably longer than when they were fourteen and Draco first experienced how it was like to develop a crush on someone.

When Potter lowered his eyes Draco could see only thin rings of green around dilated pupils.

'Why would you comb it?’

There, he knew Potter had never brushed his hair. That was be the best opportunity to mock him about it, Draco just needed to open his mouth and-

Warm fingers pushed Draco’s locks away from his eyes, his mouth already open but his mind suddenly blank. Potter was so close Draco had to tip his head slightly down to look at him. His fingers ran through the strands, pressing lightly against his scalp. Draco’s breathing became shallow, his whole body tingling with the sudden proximity.

'I- I need to go’ Draco’s hand reached for his bag as fast as he could. He darted past a surprised Potter on his way to the stairs, Potter’s fingers that were tangled in Draco’s hair falling to his pale neck, touching it lightly for a second.

He wanted to stay, fuck, all he wanted to do was stay. That was the main reason he should go immediately because if he felt Potter’s warmth against his skin for another minute he wouldn’t be able to hold back.

When Draco turned around to catch a last glimpse of Potter, green eyes met grey. He gulped, turning on his heel and heading towards their common room.

Despite being so late Draco decided to keep a slow pace. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to keep in his memory the feeling of Harry’s fingers against his neck.

***

Draco opened his eyes the next morning to find, fortunately, that he was on time.

He sighed, images of the previous day flashing through his mind. He got up, shaking that weird feeling away, and set out for his trunk.

This time Draco decided to go with his best green silk shirt and some tight black trousers - he was in a good mood after all - paired with a silver tie. He was about to grab his bag when Draco remembered he hadn’t combed his hair again, darting his eyes to the mirror hanging on his door.

It looked… messy, but maybe not in a bad way. He ran his fingers through it, pushing the strands back and watching as a few fell on his forehead. Okay, he could try that. His father would totally reprimand him if he knew but Draco decided to go for it anyway.

He closed the door behind him, his eyes already searching for that door opposite his. Potter’s room.

It was locked and no movement could be heard from outside.

Late again, he thought to himself, lingering on the first step of the circular stair. He looked back again, waiting for something he didn’t quite know. No sound, nothing.

He’s definitely going to be late.

Fuck, Draco looked at his pocket watch, confirming that if he turned around now he’d get exactly on time for his first class of the day.

He could knock, a small voice that sounded a lot like his mother’s resonated inside his head.

Draco looked around, checking if he was in fact alone before darting towards Potter’s door, knocking twice. He waited a bit, knocked again. No response.

Maybe he’s not in there, he thought.

Maybe he’s not feeling well, his other inner voice said.

Draco didn’t care, he should just go. But his hand was already on the door knob, twisting it. It clicked, easily letting Draco in despite a red alarm screaming inside his head.

'Potter?’ His voice was low but in the quiet room it sounded much louder to his ears.

The curtains of the only bed in the room were closed, but Draco could immediately tell Potter was there. His deep breathing told Draco that the Gryffindor was sound asleep, the sunrays making his silhouette distinguishable through the curtains.

The alarms were louder now but Draco couldn’t walk away anymore.

He pulled the curtains slowly.

'Potter, you’re- ’

Fuck.

Potter was on his back, a soft blanket covering one of his legs and his waist in a way Draco could see he had nothing beneath it. He was naked, completely naked under that thin layer of cotton.

Draco’s fingertips were tingling, his throat suddenly dry. He wanted to touch, but Merlin he couldn’t even afford to think that.

'Potter, wake up’ he spoke louder this time and Potter all but groaned in his sleep. Draco felt something boiling inside him, anger and lust mixed together.

'Potter, wake up!’ His hand reached for Potter’s shoulder, shaking him before he could stop himself.

A strong grip in his hand pulled him forward and before Draco knew what was happening he found shimself underneath Potter who had his wand pointed at Draco’s throat, a dangerous look on his face.

'Malfoy, what… Fuck, what are you doing here?’

Potter lowered his wand without a second thought, placing it on the nightstand, his expression turning into one of confusion.

Draco stood frozen, his mouth hanging open because the second Potter recognized him all the bastard did was relax, sitting on top of Draco’s thighs like that was the most obvious thing to do when you find your enemy inside your room.

And Draco could feel it. Feel it against his stomach even though the blanket was preventing him from actually seeing it. He darted his eyes up the moment he realized he was staring at it to find Potter already looking at him. He was blushing, green eyes wide open like he’d just realized the strange position they were in.

The thing was, Potter didn’t move, not off Draco at least.

'We’re late,’ Draco’s voice was hoarse when he spoke.

Potter rolled his eyes to what he judged useless information.

'Are those the only words you know?’

That ungrateful git. Draco tried to push him away, shifting his thighs in a way that forced Potter to grab onto something to avoid falling off his own bed. He obviously chose to grab onto Draco’s shirt, tearing up two buttons with the force of his grip. Draco gasped, anger boiling deep inside him. That was his abosolutely favorite shirt and now it was ruined. He was about to punch Potter when something poked him hard on his inner thigh, right beside his own crotch.

Something. Not only something, it seemed.

Draco’s eyes found Harry’s.

'Potter?’ His voice came weaker than he intended.

So Potter had an erection. He was hard, rocking hard right on top of Draco. And naked too. For Merlin’s sake, that wasn’t even the problem.

'Ah… Malfoy?’ Potter looked down and back up at Draco. He smirked, shifting again.

The problem was Draco was hard too.

Draco was hard with a very naked ass sitting on top of him to feel it.

Draco’s cheeks were on fire, his hands griping the sheets so hard his knuckles were white already.

This time he had no way out. Potter had that smirk all over his face and kept moving on top of him, like- like he was adjusting himself… Oh God, Potter’s cock was right there, heavy and hot against his stomach.

'Potter, I… we need to- Oh fuck’ Draco’s head hit the matress, his eyes shutting close as Potter thrust his hips forward.

'Do you really want to leave?’ He was panting, each thrust causing the blanket to slid even lower on his hips. Draco could see hair right below his navel now. Draco’s hands must have left the sheets at some point because now they were grabbing Potter’s thighs with the same intensity.

Leave? He couldn’t leave.

'I hate you’ Draco thrust back, the blanket finally sliding to the floor.

Potter moaned, his smirk turning into a grin. Merlin, he was so hot.

Potter’s hands slid from Draco’s torso to his biceps, forcing his arms above his head. He hold them there, something possessive shining in his eyes.

'Are you sure?’

One of his hands reached his wand and before Draco could even worry about it his clothes were gone. He moaned and Potter moaned, loud, needy.

Because the side of Draco’s cock was pressed against Harry’s ass, rubbing against his hole. It was too much, too suddenly.

'Potter… Fuck this is- ’

Draco flipped them, all his control gone. He stared Potter down, taking in all of it, from his swollen cock to his even messier than normal hair, his green eyes filled with lust and fixed on Draco, his hands, warm and strong roaming all over him.

'How did this happen?’ Potter whispered and Draco froze. Really, how did that happen? They were enemies, they hated each other. He was almost sure that Potter wasn’t gay and now they were there-

Potter smashed their mouths together, kissing hungrily like Draco had never been kissed before. They backed away for air, Draco resting his forehead on Potter’s.

'You don’t really hate me’ Potter said, still trying to control his breathing.

'I do’ Draco bit his shoulder, leaving a red mark there.

'You don’t’ Potter’s grip on his jaw was strong, forcing their eyes to meet again. Everything seemed to change, the atmosphere, the tension between them.

'You’re a nightmare’ Draco whispered against his lips.

'You’re a wet dream’ Harry said back, smirking.

Draco didn’t hate him. He had realized that only after the war but now he knew he probably had never hated Harry Potter.

When he bent down to press their lips together, it wasn’t rushed. They kissed slowly, tasting one another. It was sensual, deeper than before. Potter’s hands were on his hair, his fingers threading through the strands and pulling Draco towards him. They parted again but Potter kept placing soft kisses on Draco’s lips, again and again.

'Why do you do this?’ Draco’s eyes were still closed, his mouth brushing Potter’s as he spoke. Every nerve on his body was aware of it’s surroundings. Draco wanted to scream, stop the time because Potter made him feel like he was eleven all over again, powerless but a lot braver than he was now at eighteen.

Potter moved so he could speak into his ear, hands still on his hair.

'Draco, this is fine’ his words were softer than the ones ringing inside Draco’s head that sounded so much like his father’s. 'Scared, Malfoy?’

There it was, Malfoy and Potter, always Malfoy and Potter. Except Draco wanted this new thing now, because Potter was right. If he didn’t give a shit for the past Draco wouldn’t either.

'I don’t hate you’ he whispered, afraid the words would get stuck in his throat.

It was like an immense weight he didn’t know he was carrying was lifted from his shoulders.

'I don’t hate you, Harry’ he said it again, louder. They kissed one more time. 'Harry’ and again. 'I want to- ah, I want to fuck you, Harry’ the way the name rolled on his tongue was addictive. And everytime he said it, Harry Harry Harry, the boy beneath him would shudder, moan, kiss him again.

'Draco’ his fingers running through his hair. 'Draco’.

Draco backed away, turned Harry on his stomach and kissed his nape.

He kissed his shoulder blades, Draco kissed his spine.

Open mouthed kisses all the way down to his lower back, Harry arched to his touch.

His hands ran on Harry’s sides, one of them reaching Harry’s neck and holding him there possessively.

'You can… you can just…’ Harry turned his head to the side, his hands pushing Draco’s thighs towards him desperately.

'I need to- ’

'I did it yesterday’ Harry’s voice was hoarse and the words came out rushed. 'After we met, I…’

'You were thinking of me…’ Draco kissed the shell of his ear, his hips trembling with need.

'I want you inside, Draco’ Harry fingers dig in his thighs and Draco shuddered, a moan escaping his lips.

Draco reached for his wand, a quick spell smearing his fingers with lube. He found Harry’s hole, tried one finger and found it in fact loose already. Harry bucked against it underneath him. Fuck, he wanted to eat him up, take him hard. He smeared his swollen cock with the lube, aligning himself.

Harry arched his back again when Draco buried himself inside him, his hips hitting Harry’s ass.

'Draco- fuck, please… Draco please

It was so tight, fuck, so hot inside him and the sounds. Harry kept moaning, bucking against him, begging.

'You’re so… Harry, Harry fuck’ Harry was shaking beneath him, his head turning from side to side, eyes closed and mouth open. Draco pounded hard inside him, as fast as he could.

It was desperate, intense, too much. They were Malfoy and Potter and Draco and Harry. And Draco wanted all that, he needed Harry Potter to remember what it was like to feel that fire inside him.

Harry came with his ass up and face pressed against the pillow that muffled his scream. He came with Draco’s cum filling him up, Draco digging his nails on his sides and screaming his name.

When he let his body crash beside Harry, Draco felt different.

'Do you hate me?’ Harry’s playful tone was gone.

'No’

'Are you s-’

Draco pressed his hand on Harry’s mouth, shutting him up immediately.

'You’re a Gryffindor, an arrogant prick with a hero complex. You’re loud and impulsive. Still, I don’t hate you, okay?’

When Draco removed his hand Harry had a frown on his face.

'What does that even mean?’

Draco rolled his eyes, reaching out for Harry’s arm. He ran his fingers there, tracing invisible patterns as he spoke. He liked to touch Harry, he liked it quite a lot.

'It means this is fine, doesn’t it?’

Harry closed his eyes, a small smile playing on his lips.

'Draco’

There, that was why he felt different. Harry made his name sound like something… special.

'Yeah?’

'Will you wake me up tomorrow too?’

He snorted, hitting Harry with the pillow square in the face.

'No’

'What, why not?’ Harry gave him an indignant look that only made Draco laugh even harder.

'I can’t miss another class because of you’

Harry gave him a peck on the lips, startling him. It was so sweet he couldn’t help the blushing creeping up his face.

'Then I’ll wake up before you, Malfoy’ he gave him another peck, the well known challenging look in his eyes.

Draco smiled, realizing Malfoy and Potter could be as nice as Draco and Harry if he got to have him by his side.

Ao3

BTS Single Parent AU

kookies-and-myrok asked: Hello, sweets! I love your writing and I’m not just saying that Lol i always get excited when you post smt, anyways do you write parent au’s? If you do can I get a BTS reaction about what they would be like as a single parent? If not then its okay! Keep up the great work 💜

This doesn’t necessarily work as a reaction, but I can do a little like… bullet drabble or whatever on this. Either way, very doable. - Admin Dayna


Seokjin

There’s like… this anime called Amaama to Inazuma (a.k.a. Sweetness and Lightning) which is basically about a single father who raises his daughter to the best of his abilities but he can’t cook as well as his wife (who passed away). I see Single Parent!Jin being like that… except in Jin’s case he can actually throw down in a kitchen

  • Lots of love and affection
  • Smothers his baby girl with kisses before dropping her off to daycare and after picking her up
  • The daycare moms thirst after him bOI
  • His cookies sold out the fastest at the school bakery
  • Partially because Daycare Moms are trying to give him the succ
  • Mainly because his cookies are bomb asf
  • He got hoes
  • Reads/sings his daughter to sleep at night religiously
  • Chocolate covered Strawberries while they watch cartoons together
  • Shed a single tear in the beginning of Finding Nemo evRYTIM
  • Was literally floating on air for like a month because his daughter told him he was the “handsomest appa”
  • Tries really hard to scold his baby girl
  • Can’t look her in the face when he does it because she’s too damn cute
  • Puppy Dog Eyes work every once in a while tbh
  • Will cAUSE A FUCKING SCENE IF HE EVER HEARD SOMEONE WAS BULLYING HIS CHILD
  • Dad jokes, fucking duh.

Originally posted by meganhyunhee

Yoongi

Picture this: Yoongi is chilling, right? Lounging on the sofa, watching some psychological mystery film or whatever emo shit he watches. His face is pretty indifferent. He’s unbothered asf. His right arm is covered in scribbles and squiggles. His 7 year old son is currently surrounded by markers, casually doodling on his dad’s arm.

  • Lets his son choose whatever toys he wants
  • If his baby boy wants a nerf gun, he’ll get a nerf gun.
  • If his baby boy wants a fucking bubblegum pink barbie jeep atv, he’s getting a fucking bubblegum pink barbie jeep atv.
  • Also lets his kid wear whatever he wants
  • Supports the creative and imaginative endeavors of his child
  • Does not support coloRING ON THE WALL YOU LIL DEMON BABY
  • Sometimes stares at his child and thinks “whose mans is this?”
  • Also looks at his child and thinks “that’s the love of my life”.
  • One time considered redecorating his closet just so that he can hang a bunch of mirrors on the wall so that whenever his child does something stupid, he can sit him in that closet and close the door so that he can look at his reflection and reevaluate his 7 years long life.
  • All in all he’s a super supportive daddio.
  • He’s not like the other dads.
  • He’s a Cool Dad™

Originally posted by exoticmaknae

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EVAK FANFICTION RECS / PART 11

Hi loves! So 2 weeks passed and I’m back with another part of my long-ass Evak fanfiction recs series, hooray! I never know what else to write here, so I’ll just shut up for now. All the fics can be found under the cut. Happy reading!

As always, the list is divided into oneshots and chaptered fics.
My personal favorites are tagged with a “ ★ ”.
Completed chaptered fics are tagged with a “ ✓ ”

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Punk (Chap. 5)


Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.

Word count: 2942

Warnings: Same as always

A/N:  FYI on Chap. 4 I had to go back and make a minor change bc of a continuity error.  Bucky’s hair is short (think TJ Hammond style) in this fic and i slipped up an put in a man-bun note (it’s my weakness). Sorry!  Now, back to the story….



Abandoning Wanda in your closet to hunt through the mass of new clothes you’d unceremoniously shoved in there earlier, you raced down the floor towards Nat’s room, ready to call the whole night off after that disaster of a dinner.  You rounded the corner and attempted to stop short but your socks had no grip and you crashed into a wall of muscle.  “Sorry, Sam,” you mumbled.  “You okay?” Sam laughed and steadied you back on your feet.

You heard Bucky snort from behind and winced. Great, he’d just seen you stuff your face full of Chow Mein and apple pie and now he caught you hurdling down the hallway like the giant boulder from Indiana Jones.  “He’s fine,” Bucky clapped him on the back.  “Not even you could crack this thick skull.”  

And with that he pulled Sam’s sweatshirt hood over his eyes and gave him a noogie before guffawing like a doofus and racing past you with Sam hot on his heels.

“Ay yo!  What the hell’s that mean?!” he hollered.  “And don’t touch my hair, man!”  Sam’s voice carried down the hallway as he chased your best friend.  A loud thud and muffled ‘ooof’ confirmed that he’d caught up to him and apparently rugby tackled him in the living room.

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