lavenderhedgie  asked:

4, 5, and 12 for Ereri :)

Thank you so much for your prompts, dear! 

4: “I can never tell if you’re hitting on me or not.”
5: Cleaning
12: Panicked/Accidental Confession

After writing 11k words of post-war angst, I thought some light crack would be more than appropriate for this. ;) I hope you like it and have as much fun with reading it as I had with writing! <3

Word Count: 2,1k
Rated F for Floof (and CCC for Cute Canonverse Crack)

(Read on AO3.)

Mischief, Mayhem, Soap, and Porridge

Eren despised the summer flu. And he absolutely positively hated this day.

Usually he loved cleaning days. They were fun. Today, however, was awful.

Looking back at it so far, Eren thought he should have gotten right back to sleep before he’d even left the bed. But he had left it and now he had to face the music. 

Which seemed to include having to witness Sasha sneaking up on Jean to carefully slip a wet bar of soap into the collar of his shirt, only to instantly flee into one of the shower cubicles.

“Arg!” Jean exclaimed, his hands shooting up his neck and his whole body jerking, his voice echoing through the bathroom and mingling with Sasha’s mischievous cackle. “What is this shit? Fuck!”

“Cleaning day, Jean!” Sasha jeered.

His face was red, but sadly not as much in agony as Eren would have hoped for. Jean had done his best to avoid cleaning anything all morning long and Eren didn’t have any hope that this would change any time soon.

Keep reading


This mornings workout was supposed to be back and biceps but I had to drop the back part. My back started aching something fierce during low rows. I don’t play around with back pain so I called it a day. Still had a productive workout and added a new exercise, cable reverse curls.Here I am man boobs and all getting curly with it .

Rules Of The Shance Betting Pool- by Founder, Pidge Holt.

(A companion thing to A Blue CatAstrophe.)
Rule #1. Any and all developments must be photographed to make the betting fair.
Rule #2. Lance and Shiro cannot under any circumstances learn about the Betting Pool. Lance is devious when it comes to revenge and I don’t want to deal with Shiro’s blubbering denial and Disappointed Disapproving Dad Face™.
Rule #3. Bets can only be changed either once a week or when proof of developing affection occurs.
Rule #4. You can influence them a little bit, but nobody can interfere with them getting together. As much as I hate to say this, they have to do it on their own. That means no shoving them into each other during training, Keith. (Keith whistles innocently)
Rule #5. IOU’s are not acceptable unless it’s a chore trade.
Rule #6. Nobody mentions anything about the SBP outside of the meeting room. I don’t want to risk them hearing something they shouldn’t.
Rule #7. Teasing is acceptable and will not be counted as influencing.
Rule #8. Do NOT get caught photographing evidence unless you can smoothly lie your way out!
Rule #9. Nobody says a WORD to Black or Blue about this. Black would tell Shiro in a heartbeat and Blue is overprotective enough, especially when it comes to Lance’s emotions. That goes for our Lions too.
Rule #10. All bets and changes are filed away in Coran’s tablet. So no liars or takebacks, all bets are final!

The first rule of the Brotherhood is, you do not harm the innocent.

Okayyyyy… I know I’m probably the only one who had “VICTORIAN FIGHT CLUB!!!” popping up in my head while watching the trailer for the first time. Regardless, this is not the first WTF crossover fan art I’ve done, and will certainly not be the last!

and what a way to go

Note: written for @jeonalis because i love my college girl <3 Based on THIS THING. Names of gadgets and widgets and places and things cheerfully borrowed from all the nerd stuff I used to love many years ago. Mostly Ratchet and Clank though. I think there was also an unintentional fight club reference, but i’ve never seen the movie and have no desire to do so either. Points if you spot all the random nerd stuff I put in there.

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Crack, Sci-Fi, Smut Lite (Diet Smut a.k.a. Lazy Smut)
Warnings: it’s crack. it’s (bad, lazy) porn. Ah, actually there’s some physical violence.
Word Count: 4225
Rating: BC, for bad crack.


I want you to hit me as hard as you can,” you tell Jungkook.

“Excuse me?” he splutters.

“You heard the woman,” Jimin eggs him on.

“Hit me,” you dare.


Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Is it realistic to have a bladed weapon that operates sort of like a double ended light saber? As in you press a button or lever in the center of the hilt and blades come out of either end? Furthermore, could you see a bladed weapon fight club as something that may exist (it doesn't have to be legal and definitely probably wouldn't be)

On the first part? Not really.

You’ll see collapsing knives that are designed for push button deployment, out the front of the grip. But, for a full sword? No, or at least not with modern technology. Wear and abuse from normal use would quickly wreck the mechanical components. To say nothing of the blood and gore getting forced into the mechanism when you collapsed it after use.

So, again, limited to modern technology, it would be theoretically possible, but they’d have an incredibly short lifespan (maybe only single use), and be extremely annoying to clean and care for (if not outright impossible).

If you’re talking about some kind of hypothetical future tech, then, it will probably be an option some day. Self cleaning tolerances, and a mechanical stability that can’t be achieved with modern materials may make this viable. Though, at that point, this would probably be more of a novelty than a practical combat tool.

Double bladed weapons do exist. Well, I should say, double bladed knives exist, I have one somewhere. It’s awkward, difficult to hold, and I’ve still got a scar on my index finger from the first time I picked it up. These are a novelty. You buy one because you think it looks cool, not because you intend to use it.

There are a few examples of weapons that are designed to be double ended, mostly polearms, which would sometimes include functional spikes on the reverse end. It’s also not unheard of for a sword to have a sharpened, spiked pommel. That said, mounting an entire reverse blade onto a sword is something you’d usually only seriously consider if you’re either a Sith or Klingon.

On the second part, about fight clubs, “No, never; except they did.”

The basic idea of a fight club where people who don’t know what they’re doing wander in and start beating the ever living snot out of one another? Yeah, that can happen. I’ve actually been out on a farm in the middle of the night, dueling friends with plastic bokken because it seemed like fun at the time. It’s not exactly what you’ve got in mind, but that’s possible.

Thing is, there’s a huge difference between dueling with a high impact plastic katana, where screwing up means you’ve got new bruise on your knuckles, and screwing around with a live blade, where a mistake means critical injuries and death.

Organized, underground dueling also has some real world history. The only examples I’ve run across came out of 19th century military academies. I assume the reasoning is roughly the same as why I was on that Indiana farmyard in the middle of the night, it seemed like fun at the time.

Of course, in the case of military academies, we’re talking about students who’d actually been trained to use their blades, so it’s not exactly a fight club. Still stupid and dangerous, but they (kind of) knew what they were doing.

So, my first impulse on this subject is wrong. I’d say, “no one can possibly be that stupid,” except of course, I have been exactly that stupid. I also knew a couple idiots that decided to fight each other with a fire axe and cheap katana in their living room, without ever considering that, maybe, this was a horrifically bad idea. Tragically, they both survived unharmed.

As for a full on fight club? Not so much. When you have people who don’t know what they’re doing throwing punches, the potential risk of injury is, somewhat, limited. Untrained combatants are not a huge threat to one another. They can get some good shots in, and can make it hurt, but actually messing someone else up requires concepts like power generation and a vague idea of where to connect. Without them, it’s just guys flailing impotently at each other.

Blades are inherently dangerous. You don’t need to know how to put together an effective defense, or understand how to generate force, driving four pounds of steel into some poor schmuck doesn’t require training. Training does help; it teaches you how to put up a defense, and how to circumvent your opponent’s, but it’s not necessary for accidental death and dismemberment.

The fundamental problem with a bladed fight club is that the participants need to survive. They need to be in a condition where they can fight again next week. Getting carved up by a stray blow will put a damper on that. To say nothing of a stray death.

In Fight Club, the titular club was an expression of violent catharsis. For random guys who’ve never experienced real violence, it was an escape that presented the illusion of danger, without putting the participants in actual jeopardy. This kept the attrition rate fairly low, and allowed the group to grow. For something like this, that is absolutely critical.

If you start arming the participants, it would only take watching one guy getting opened up, and spraying blood all over the place before you might think, “maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.” When you start hemorrhaging members like this, it becomes impossible to keep the numbers up, and the club would die off quickly; figuratively or literally.


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A Beautiful Mind

Request: Could you write one in a college setting where the reader is really insecure and Derek is this new popular guy in college and he instantly falls in love with the reader? I’m rambling but you could develop itt. Thank youuu

Word count: 2774

Author’s note: It’s finally here!! Now I got the time to finish it up and add the final touches to it, haha. (I got a tad emotional at the ending, though – I blame the music I was listening to while typing it up.) I hope this is what You wanted to read when you sent in this request for me and I didn’t let you down with this fic! I tried really hard to give you what you need, darling, and now I’m just so insecure and nervous what you will say! Love you, and remember, you are beautiful and a truly fascinating person. ❤

Warnings: a bit of swearing

Your name: submit What is this?

“You saw the new film yesterday?”

“Seriously, who hasn’t seen Blast?”

I’m standing awkwardly next to the wall with a cup in hand. I hate parties, for they being too loud, buzzing and chaotic for my taste. Also, I don’t know anyone, but this is the beginning of the first semester, and my friend told me she’d be here. I look around to search for Allison in the crowd, but I can’t see her anywhere – what if she’s not here at all?

I glance back at the group of boys chatting near me, only to notice that someone else has joined them – tall, tanned skin, dark hair, gorgeous smile, mesmerizing eyes, beer in hand and black leather jacket gleaming in the colourful lights roaming all around.

I nearly choke on air as soon as my eyes land on him. I immediately avert my gaze and look down at the ground, shy. I can feel my cheeks heating up and heart switching to an erratic rhythm, beating away wildly in my gullet.

As I hear one of them say, “Remember the explosion scene, though? A self-igniting Molotov Cocktail is bullshit.” I bite my lip, contemplating whether I should point out his mistake or not. Damn it, I hate it when someone believes a hoax!

Before I know it, I realize I’ve already approached them and I’m talking, earning all their attention.

“Self-igniting Molotov Cocktail exists.”

The conversation dies out at my comment, and I’m sure that by now the tips of my ears have gone red, too.

“How do you know?” asks one of them. When I glance up from behind my lashes, I notice that guy staring at me. Oh God, I’m sure he’s thinking something similar to, ‘What the Hell did this little girl think when she came to us?’

“Um,” I stutter, fingers involuntarily flexing around the plastic cup. “I’m a Chemistry major.”

“You?” comes from another guy. His voice sounds mocking, disbelieving. He points at me, moving his drink along. “You look like a Liter –”

“How do you make one? A self-igniting Molotov Cocktail, I mean,” asks suddenly a deep voice. When my head perks up to see who spoke to me, I notice pale green eyes boring into mine intensely.

“Well,” I start. I have to swallow in order to get rid of the lump in my throat. “You need sulphur, potassium, and sugar.”

“Sugar my ass,” calls out one of them, but the green eyed guy chides him, “I’m pretty sure she’s more of an expert in Chemistry than you are.”

“No, it’s –” I hedge, but he interrupts me.

“Can I ask you something else?” he asks. I shrug and answer in a small voice, “Sure.”

For some reason, a grin appears on his face that could even put the Cheshire Cat to shame. “Is it true that explosives can be made out of soaps?”

I don’t even have to think about that one. I nod, “Yes.”

“So Fight Club was actually true?” asks the one who was sceptical of self-igniting Molotov Cocktails.

“God, so Durden was a genius after all! Holy fucking shit,” exclaims the second.

“What?” I ask, confused. How is fighting in any way related to soap?

“Have you not seen Fight Club?” asks the one in leather jacket. I shake my head. “It’s on, then; you’re watching it with me.”

“What the Hale, man,” mocks his friend playfully. “Girl’s a total nerd, and there’s Patricia from the cheerleaders who’s completely gone on you. Check something out with her, not,” he looks at me. “her.”

He shoves his friend away, only partially playfully, for his comment on me, then I turn and walk away with a tiny smile playing at the corner of my mouth. I know this is fake – he’s just acting nice. And I know I will not see him ever again, not even for his offer for watching the film together.

But that’s all right – we are way out of each others’ leagues anyway.

Derek POV

Since the party, I haven’t seen her, and it has nearly been a week. Today is a Friday, and I can’t seem to get her out of my mind, not even with everything I have to study. It’s already past six, but I still have classes. The next lecture I’m going to is something I chose to take out of mere curiosity – it has nothing to do with my major.

When I enter the lecture hall, I see that it’s mostly empty, save for a handful of people sitting haphazardly here and there. I proceed to take a seat somewhere in the middle, but then I notice a familiar shape in the back. I squint a bit to be able to make out her face better, to make sure that this is really her – as soon as I realize that it’s not just my imagination making me see things I want, I take off towards her without further consideration.

She doesn’t notice me until I’m directly next to her, dropping down on the seat on her right. She turns her face to look at whoever joined her, only for her expression to morph into one of genuine surprise.

“You…” she starts, awed. “From the party?”

I grin at her as I greet her, “Hey.” I hold my hand out for her to shake. “I never got the chance to introduce myself. I’m Derek.”

She accepts my hand a tad warily, hardly squeezing it back. “(Y/N).”

“Are you open for that film?” I ask, ducking my head a little to be able to maintain eye contact with her – she’s a lot shier than anyone I have ever met, but for some reason this just makes me think she’s more adorable than anything else. “You disappeared from the party pretty fast. I couldn’t find you anywhere.”

She perks up at my confession – maybe she didn’t expect I would be searching for her?

“You looked for me?” she asks. I smile at her gently as I nod.

“Of course. I wanted to talk to you some more, but you vanished.” Her cheeks go red, waking the urge in me to kiss that rosy colour. “I want to hear more of Durden’s chemistry from you.”

“Really?” Apparently she couldn’t help the smile that blossoms to her face. “No one has ever been so invested in what I have to say about these things.”

“How come? It’s more interesting than celebrity gossip,” I point out honestly. She shrugs.

“People just don’t find sciences as fascinating as I do, I guess.”

“That’s an implied hint that your curiosity branches from chemistry to other fields, too?” I ask playfully, making her giggle softly.

“Pretty much.”

“Oh? What else do you read about?”

“Mostly core science, such as astrophysics, quantum physics, human anatomy and organic chemistry. They are my favourite,” she says. I can’t hide my amusement. This girl is freaking incredible, why is she so shy then? If she had just a tad more aggression in her, she could be like a carnivore, what with her gargantuan knowledge about the world. She has everything to literally just shatter other people’s self-esteem in two sentences, yet she’s so humble she wouldn’t even think about doing such a thing. Warmness starts spreading in my chest at this fact.

I don’t think anyone has ever gained my respect in as short a while as her.

“So this,” I nod towards the rest of the lecture hall that’s ahead of us. “Is just an additional bonus to your knowledge? Or why did you choose to take graphology lessons?”

She hums thoughtfully before answering, “I have this drive in me to accumulate knowledge about anything. I’ve been interested in many things ever since I was a child.”

“Can you tell me an interesting fact?”

“About what?” she asks, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, eyes sparkling now as she locks gazes with me. For a second, my breath hitches in my throat and I find myself staring back into her amazing eyes, my mouth open a little bit. I click it shut.

“Anything. What’s the first thing that comes to your mind?”

She chuckles, her voice like velvet smoothing over my nerves. “A lot of things have come crashing in, but…” she looks to the side, contemplating which one to share with me. As her tongue darts out to wet her lips, I involuntarily glance down. “Okay, how about this one; if you hit someone hard enough on their neck somewhere around here,” she says, tapping said spot with two of her fingertips, “they will automatically die of a heart attack.”

“Why? The artery is closed, or what?” I ask, puzzled. I can’t think of another reasonable explanation, but she shakes her head.

“The X. cranial nerve, also known as the nervus vagus, is connected directly to your aorta and heart. If it endures strong trauma, it will instantly stop the heart.” The only thing I can do is blink in surprise and ask myself why people would find this girl boring? She’s the most intriguing person I’ve ever met. “This is also the reason why girls start sneezing while tweezing their eyebrows, or why one could stop their hiccup by rubbing the area between their eyebrows.”

“I’m definitely trying that the next time I start hiccuping,” I respond, earning a modest giggle from her. The sound lifts my spirits, and all I know is that I just want to chase that out of her more, to hear it as many times as possible. I don’t want to see this girl sad and unsure of herself ever again – I want her to know what she’s worth. If anyone, she should definitely be confident, because she has a real reason to be.

I’m about to say something else, but the professor enters the hall and the lecture begins. On their own accord, my eyes inevitably travel over to (Y/N)’s notes whenever the professor shares a new information about what handwriting can give away about a person’s character. I find myself wanting to solve her personality to understand her.

To understand someone with such a beautiful mind.

. o O o .

When the class ends, we both pack our things and leave together. I want to take her hand in mine to show everyone we’re together, to show that I have such a wonderful person as a parter – I want to be with this fascinating girl.

“Want me to give you a ride home?” I ask, fingers flexing around the strap of my backpack nervously. I need to stay close to her to protect her, for I feel like she’s too kind and it makes her fragile against the world. “Or watch Fight Club with me tonight?”

She bites her lip while thinking about my offer. We leave the institute, darkness enveloping us. The outline of her shape is glowing as it’s enlightened from the back by the lamps in the university. She almost looks like an angel.

“Okay,” she says in the end, making me grin like a little kid who’s been given candy. I nod towards the car park.

“This way, then,” I say, leading her over to my Camaro. I open the passenger door for her, “Ma’am,” I smile at her, which she reciprocates with one of her own, chuckling at my playfulness.

I hop in on the other side, and start driving to my flat. There, I let us in and instruct her to the living-room. For the time being, I prepare some snacks and drinks for us in the kitchen before joining her on the couch. I set everything down on the coffee table and start the film. During the opening score, I smile at her cheekily, “You can tell me everything about the chemistry of Fight Club. I wonder if they got it right.”

“Okay,” she nods, the corners of her mouth curling upwards.

When the scene starts where Tyler makes the soaps, I look over at (Y/N), who’s just watching the screen without a word. However, when Tyler says that the upper layer of glycerine is to be skimmed, she snorts.

“What?” I ask. She shakes her head.

“He’s just ruined the bomb,” she says. “Glycerine needs to be left or even mixed with the solution. Then you add nitric acid to form nitroglycerine. But the twist is that the glycerine must be added to the cold nitric acid and sulfuric acid of the similar temperature. As for what Tyler did, if he did that in reality, the entire place would be burnt down by now because he added the nitric acid and the sulfuric acid to the glycerine tallowed from the mixture. This results in explosion due to overheating, which is, understandably, undesirable for explosives.

“According to Tyler, after adding sodium nitrate and sawdust, the dynamite is ready – but in reality, while the sodium nitrate part is correct, sawdust isn’t used in dynamite making. Instead, kieselguhr, also known as diatomite, is added to stabilize the compound and prevent unwanted explosion.”

“That is insane,” I blurt, awed. (Y/N) chuckles.

“It’s just basic chemistry,” she hedges.

“Not for me,” I protest, but proceed to keep watching the film.

Sometime later, when Tyler wets his lips, (Y/N) asks, “Is he going to burn the other guy’s hand?” I look at her in confusion, not even bothered to hit the pause button.

“How did you know?”

“Well,” she starts, only to be interrupted by the painful shout coming from Norton’s character as Tyler pours the lye on his hand. “They’re using sodium hydroxide in the process, and it was to be expected in this film; one of the main concept the plot revolves around is pain after all.”

“Would the lye burn if someone poured it on their dry skin?”

“No. Sodium hydroxide dissolved in water will cause a chemical burn,” she nods towards the screen where Jack is writhing in pain. “That’s why Tyler said, ‘You can run water over it and make it worse, or use vinegar to neutralize the burn.’ There is no such thing as ‘dry’ sodium hydroxide. It will pick up water from the air and form a solution eventually.”

“But,” I start, eyebrows furrowing. “That would mean if people start sweating due to the pain, it would –”

“Yeah, it would get worse and worse,” she nods, then smiles at me. “I’m glad you were able to keep track of my thread.”

I chuckle, “Others can’t catch up to you?” She shakes her head. “No wonder why.”

She cocks her head to the side like a curious cat, “Why?”

“You’re extremely smart,” I explain. “It’s safe to say that other people are way below your level, so don’t expect them to be able to follow you word by word when you’re beyond them by thousands of miles.”

She blushes at my words, making me smile meekly. Driven by a sudden surge of bold confidence, I reach over to her with my arm laying over the back of the couch, brushing her stray strands of hair out of her face, my eyes skimming over her features.

“You are an incredible person,” I tell her genuinely. “Even I noticed in such a short while, and, what? We met merely twice?” Her gaze is still locked with mine, cheeks tinted rosy. “Believe me when I tell you that people are either jealous or afraid of your intelligence. You make them feel inferior, and generally speaking, people don’t like that.”

“But you do?” she asks, voice so quiet I can hardly catch what she said.

I nod, “Of course I do. I’ve always been drawn to those with brains than who only have the looks to show off with. I like those who I can look up to, and I can definitely respect you.”

“Thank you,” she says, tears slowly welling up in her eyes.

“No need to thank me – I was just stating facts,” I respond, voice hardly above a whisper as though I was afraid that if I’m too loud, I will destroy the bubble that has formed around us.

When one of the tears escapes and flows down on her cheek, I lean in to kiss it away. I can feel her hands balling up fistfuls of my shirt, and I allow her to pull me closer. I close her into my embrace, then sit back and move her so that she’s resting against my chest, wrapped up in my arms, where I want her to be. I push my lips to her forehead, my eyes falling shut at the serene contentment that engulfs me.

forestvssl  asked:

Hi! I read this fic a while ago that was really long (maybe like 50-100k words) where Phil had just moved into a small town and he met Dan on a hill where he burned books and he references fight club a lot. I think it might have been deleted but I'm not sure. I can't remember the name of it and its killing me. Thanks!

The Wanting Comes in Waves - After moving to the tiny Welsh coastal village of Rhagfyr, Phil struggles to find a new way of living, what with his new school and the decision of his future still on the table. Dan is a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma, but perhaps there’s beauty inside destruction.


This fic seems to have been deleted completely, sorry about that :(

- Tori

Combining a dull terrorism investigation with leaden comedy, faux spirituality and an ill-advised honky-tonk dance sequence, Monday’s fifth episode of “The X-Files” reboot is arguably one of the most misguided entries in the series’ history. Not since Kathy Griffin guest-starred in the notoriously unfunny seventh season episode “Fight Club” has the show missed the mark this far in terms of tone and style.
—  “The X-Files” Episode 5 Recap: Babylon Falls, Variety