the worst thing about trying to decide to read a fic:
-the summary is good but the story is written in a different language or is badly written.
-opening it to find no spaces between the paragraphs.
-both your otp and notp is tagged and you have no clue if you want to take a risk or not.
-tagged major character death and you start sweating.
-hasn’t been updated in 80 years but the summary is on point and their the best fucking writer ever.
-you start reading only to find that the person updates every ten years and you just happened to catch them on a day they finally updated.
-you find a writer and check them out, only to find out they mostly write about your notp - and of course they always update, have perfect writing and have stories that are epic.
-stories with so many fucking tags, you just shake your head and move on.
-the “i suck at summaries please check it out still” and you just, pause because it has your otp and you debate whether or not to take the risk.
-you find a pairing you never considered before and think holy shit, that could be hot and spend all day hunting through the tag.
-you ship a pairing so fucking hard, only to find like two fics and you start weeping.
-when you find a perfect story only to check the tags and see some weird shit that disgusts you and you scream why.
-a fic with good writing and summary but it’s so short or is only fan-art.
-a crossover fic where you have both of your fandoms but don’t have both of otps, just one.
-one shots that are so good you wish they were longer.
-when your notp is tagged but it’s labeled as a past relationship or says your otp is endgame, and you have to go through the notp’s awkward breakup in order for your otp to happen.
-when someone doesn’t tag properly and a plot twist hits you and you want to cry.
-you finally find a great fic that has been updated and the last update says writes block, personal issues- can’t do this, asks for co-writer, discontinues it or says lol i hate how this is turning out, deleting.
-when a writer as twenty stories to update and you cry because you like all of them and you have to wait.
-when you remember a story from like five years ago and you search for it, only to find it’s been deleted or can’t seem to find it anywhere.
-when a writer gives you an update schedule and you’re excited because they follow it but then they start missing it and you just…
-when a writer deletes a story and rewrites the same story but you like the original better.
-when your reading a story about a rare pairing that interests and your otp hate each other or just friends and it’s just so weird to read.
-when one half of your otp is in another relationship and the other half shows up with someone else and then you remember, right i’m not reading a story about my otp so i can’t get mad.
-when your otp is popular but it’s not as popular as another ship in the fandom and you hate how the other ship as so much more stories than your ship.
-when you try to read an ot3 relationship because it has two characters you love but the other character is usually from your notp and you hate when your notp share moments.
-when you beg an author (usually one where they aren’t in the fandom really) to write more stories about your otp and they say maybe and it never happens.
-when the writer literally shits on your favorite character and you can’t go through it anymore.
-when your otp isn’t the main pairing and you don’t really care about the other pairings in the story and skip to your otp parts.
-when a story has a million words and it’s so good and you know that you will spend all day and night reading it until your eyes hurt.
-when a story have 200 parts to it and you lose all hope after a while because the story is dragging.
-when your otp is going through something and so many stories are filled with angst, fluff and hurt that it makes you cry because yup, i need to read about my pain for my otp.
-when the writer refuses to write the smut you been waiting for and your otp is stuck in unresolved tension mode forever.
-when the writer unexpected changes the story’s events and you are disappointed by the direction.
-when you find a great au and the characters are so out of character… it makes you sad.
-when you open a fic only to find you hate the point of view and you scream.
-when you request a prompt and the author writes it but you are disappointed and just smile through the pain.
-when you have such a good idea in your head and you try to write it but it’s so bad that you delete it and cry, hoping someone else writes the brilliant idea that you had.
-when you don’t ship something anymore but see a great plot and you click the story and take a deep breath - because shit is about to go down.
-when you reading a great story but get distracted and skip some parts, shit goes down in between and then you think fuck, and have to start over.
-when it’s tagged “slow burn” and you say i can do this and it’s chapter 30 and my ship still hate each other like what.
-when the author says this is their first time writing smut and you think on god they better do this right - only to find out they writing eight pages on your otp making love. like yes.
-when the smut is so rushed or improper you feel cheated and log off because done. like so done.
-when it’s tagged “everyone lives” and your eyes water because that’s all you ever wanted in life.
-when the author leaves a cliffhanger and says in the author’s note “lol sorry about the cliffhanger, i’ll update soon”. you ain’t sorry, stop lying.
-when you see that the story is complete and do a happy dance, only to realize that it ended badly or the sequel/series hasn’t been updated.
Summary: After an overall bad day, you call your best friend to rant and to vent. But when you accidentally misdial, you end up talking to a complete stranger. What you don’t know is that this stranger may not be a stranger at all. He may even be the world’s first superhero. (Drabble Series)
Author’s Note: Hey guys. I’m back from my hiatus. I’ve miss you guys so much. I hope to continue writing for a while now that midterms are over and done with. I hope you guys enjoy this series and thank you for everything! Also, special thanks to Combat Anon for the idea of this series!
I thank (and blame) @pixletta for this. This is based on a short story they gave me and I just-
Au where your world is black and white until you kiss your soulmate
Jeremy had always thought of his life as simple. For years he only had to focus on three things: his music loving best friend, his obnoxious teenage bully and the love of his life - the main ingredients for a teenage boy. He had grown used to the black and white surroundings he had grown up in. However this all changed when he got the Squip.
The little computer in his head was adamant on him becoming more than his nerdy persona. He insulted him, manipulated him into getting what he wanted and soon Jeremy found himself rising above his ranks. He was talking to the popular kids, he was wearing more fashionable clothing and his once teenage bully was not practically his best friend. All he wanted now was her - his soulmate.
But apparently, that was too much to ask.
"What do you mean it might not be Christine?“ Jeremy questioned his Squip out loud in his bedroom where no one else could hear. His dad had gone out to get groceries (thankfully with pants) so the house was his for the time being.
"I’m saying,” the CPU stated, taking his physical form over to the end of the bed, “that soulmates are not the result of science, therefore I am unable to calculate who the particular human will be, given that there are roughly 7,500,000,000 people roaming the Earth at this given moment. It is very unlikely that your soulmate is Christine."
"But it has to be!” Jeremy interjected. “Soulmates have a bond, and I can feel that bond between us."
"You don’t even know her Jeremy.”
"I don’t need to! When I close my eyes, I can picture us together, and we’re happy. Whenever I see her, I just want to kiss her and tell her how much I love her. I want her to tell me how much she needs me… I want to know that I’m her favourite person.“
Jeremy was soon lost in his own daydream and failed to notice that the Squip had suddenly taken interest.
Summary: AU. Reader is given the task of running a
popular love advice internet show when her coworker is fired. Her
cynical attitude toward love makes her offer some harsh advice, and more
than a few hearts are caught in the aftermath. Will hers be one of them?
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader
Word Count: 2,873
language, fluff, angst, sarcasm, hot firemen
A/N: So many of you were right on. But what’s the fallout now? PS - I had a lot of writer’s block, so I don’t know how I feel about this, but I had to push forward with the story or I’d end up abandoning it.
Summary: (College!AU) In which Bucky takes you by surprise while you’re walking home from class.
Pairing: Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 1,289
A/N: Well here it is! The first deleted scene from “A Lesson in Love”. I imagine this happening some time between “The Unintentional Run-In” and “The Little Things (Part One)”. I hope you babes enjoy it!
@avengerstories - thank you, as always, for editing this like the beautiful queen you are.
The sun is nowhere to be found when you finally get out of class. In your eyes, this is the sole downfall that comes with winter - day turns into night while you’re stuck in a room with a professor who really loves the sound of his own voice.
Instead of thinking about the excessive amount of homework Professor Loki had assigned at the end of class, you tilt your head back and look up at the stars decorating the night sky. Tonight, they’re the only things keeping you company on your way back to your dorm. As soon as this thought crosses your mind, your slow stroll becomes a speed walk. You’ve attended enough of Natasha’s self-defense classes to know that being a female and walking alone at night is the worst combination imaginable. You’ve also heard more than your fair share of horror stories to know that this has a high possibility of ending badly.
I have this theory that Seungri became really interested in business because he accepted that he'll never have success as an artist like the other members. Now I see him drifting farther and farther away from Big Bang and focusing more on his business ventures rather than his role in the group and as an artist. What do you think? I used to think it was unimaginable for Seungri to leave Big Bang but now I think he has the financial security to do so.
I’m going with yes and no because of the many factors. This is gonna get lengthy so I’m gonna put it under a read more.
May i request for RFA and the Minor trio with MC getting beaten by her ex and hospitalized? Thank you!! :*
Hey hey! More angst!
How could this have happened?
Yoosung is with her through as much of her recovery as he can
She forces him to go to work, though, so he’s not taking care of her 24/7
Until she can come home, Yoosung spends every night at the hospital (he doesn’t go home unless he has to take care of Lisa or needs to change his clothes)
Once she’s out, he makes sure that everything is comfortable for her
He’s such a worrywart
Her recovery is slow, but she’s well taken care of, and when she’s comfortable, she returns to work
It’s not until the ex tracks her down again (this time at home) hoping to hurt her again because he wasn’t done with her and only stopped because someone called the cops
Except Yoosung is awake (playing LOLOL) when he breaks in, and goes a bit yandere
In that he grabs a knife from the kitchen and goes after the guy
He manages to cut the guy, call the police, and the guy is put in jail for breaking and entering, premeditated assault, and attempted assault
“She has multiple puncture wounds from being kicked with high heels. She’ll likely have scars for the rest of her life.”
Jaehee has to force back the tears
Especially when she sees MC
But Baehee stays strong for her
Jaehee brings tea and desserts to MC when the doctors allow
While MC is still in the hospital, the ex, who Jaehee has seen in pictures before, walks into the cafe with a large smile on her face
She’s gorgeous, unscathed, and Jaehee is furious
She refuses to serve the woman
When the woman starts throwing a fit about it, Jaehee pulls up a picture of MC at the hospital
“I have the right to refuse service to anyone. Especially the woman that put my girlfriend in the hospital!”
The woman begins laughing
“So that’s why? That means you’re Jaehee! You know, she called out for you when I kicked a hole in her stomach! So pathetic! And you’re not even very pretty! Guess she downgraded!”
Jaehee recorded everything, and there was a cop in the cafe that was a regular and usually showed up in uniform, but was in civvies today.
The woman is arrested on the spot for committing assault (possibly with a deadly weapon because heels) and confessing in front of a whole crowd and witnesses
Jaehee is able to tell MC all about it when she goes to the hospital that afternoon with a smile on her face
The moment he hears that she was beaten, he wants to hunt down whoever did this to her and return the favor
However, when he sees her, it’s another story
He sits with her, stays with her as much as he can, touches her when he’s allowed to be a source of comfort
Hell, he takes time off work to take care of her as much as possible
He’s super considerate and holds her whenever she gets scared
When they go back to work together, she’s still pretty banged up, and the people that Zen has worked with before that know her are super freaked out
Zen explains what happened, and honestly, some of them are just as eager to start a fight as Zen
When Zen is walking her out to the cab they’re taking home one night, they pass the guy that beat her, and she just about screams
Once he realizes who the guy is, Zen throws a punch
Nobody hurts MC and gets away with!!
Zen doesn’t beat the guy nearly as much as he hurt MC (he believes the guy needs to be hurt double what he did to her), but makes himself clear
“If you ever so much as look in MC’s direction ever again, I’m going destroy you! The only reason I’m not going to kill you is because I need to be there for her! So count yourself lucky!”
Jumin is furious
Where were her guards?!?!
How did this happen?!?!
The moment he saw her lying in the hospital bed, barely recognizable, he was furious
A few people were fired
Her finger was even too swollen to even wear her wedding ring
When MC is able to talk again, Jumin discovers that it was actually stolen by the man when she was attacked
Jumin has the man tracked down, arrested, gets MC’s ring back, and then goes to see the man in question
He informs the man he has fucked with the wrong person
You do not hospitalize the love of the CEO of C&R’s life without major consequences
A few well placed bribes land the man in the worst prison in the country and the man lives out the rest of his days in absolute misery
Jumin tells MC nothing more than, “you never have to worry about him hurting you ever again.”
He brings his laptop with him when he goes to be by MC’s hospital bed
The moment Saeyoung hears the name of the guy who hurt her, he begins hacking
He ruins the guy quickly, hacking his facebook and phone, posting a picture from the phone of MC horribly beaten
“Look what I did over the weekend! :D” the post says
He hacks the guys email and sends out nasty letters to his boss, sends dick pics to various female coworkers, etc
He ruins the guys financials by buying a shit ton of sardines (his most hated food) and sending it to his house
Which he is later kicked out of, when his landlord gets an anonymous email with video of the guy hitting on the landlords teenage daughter
707 ruins the guy in every way possible
Then he contacts the guy
“Congratulations! You have achieved ‘Hacker God’s Fury!’ Now, you can feel free to try to rebuild your life, but know, I’ll be watching. And if you ever hurt MC or anyone else like that again, you won’t have any possibility of rebuilding. I can and will turn you into a foreign spy committing high treason against the government and have you thrown into the type of camp you only see up North, if you catch my drift! ;)”
They were at an outdoor market together, browsing, enjoying each other’s company, etc
MC let go of his arm for a minute to go grab something from another stall, and suddenly she was gone
In the hustle and bustle of the market, he didn’t notice she had disappeared for a little while, but when he did, he started calling out to her
Mind you, he couldn’t see, but he still searched for her
When he hears the sirens, his heart drops
He rushes towards them, confirms it’s MC because she says his name when she hears his voice, and they go to the hospital
He’s in tears, blaming himself for this happening to her
She’s under a sedative because of the pain, so she can’t speak very well, but she manages to communicate to him not to blame himself
V doesn’t know the extent of the damage until a doctor tells him there was irreparable damage to both her eyes and no matter what they do, she will never see again
V decides to get the surgery because he knows his condition is treatable and hers isn’t, and when he asks her if it’s okay, to make she won’t resent him, she tells him, “Of course not.”
He’s sad he’ll never be able to see her eyes outside of pictures, but once they’ve both recovered, he’s able to take her home
He goes back to taking photographs to help build up some good money for the two of them so that they’ll always be financially secure
V’s first collection after she’s gone blind actually has all his photos 3D printed, so she can feel the shape of the images
The guy is arrested a few weeks after V takes her home
When he is, MC willingly testifies against the man, and V is able to do everything in his power to protect her
Saeran deletes everything about this guy
He becomes a ghost
He has no credit, no identity, no drivers license
Saeran then tracks him down, which isn’t very hard
Saeran kidnaps the guy, holds him captive, and tortures him
When the guy is on the verge of being broken, Saeran stops and releases him alone in the mountains
got this package in the mail from my dad: brown paper wrapping, large
but flat, with the word “FRAGILE” written on it in black ink. When I
unwrapped it, it was this big, acrylic painting, framed in some sort of
The painting itself was of this long hallway full of doors, kind of
like you’d see in a fancy hotel. The walls had edging about halfway up,
the upper part was painted sort of an off white while the lower half was
a crimson red that blended into the carpeting. Between each door was an
up-turned light, as well as on the far wall at the end, where the
corridor seemed to connect to another hallway running perpendicular to
it, disappearing around a corner.
It was really amazing detail, though I wouldn’t call it life-like by
any means. Just the sheer amount of intricate pieces to each aspect of
the scene showed that the artist really paid attention to every little
thing, like somewhere in the world was this hallway, and you could stand
in it and hold the painting up in front of you and if it weren’t for
the border and the clearly stylized art, you wouldn’t be able to tell
where the canvas ended and the real world began.
I called him up and thanked him immediately.
“But where’d you find this?”
“I got it at an auction.”
I kinda figured as much.
So I hung up the painting in my office, just behind my desk, which I
realized later wasn’t the best place for it because in order to actually
look at it, I had to swivel completely around, but there wasn’t
anywhere better really, and once I’d gotten it hung up, I felt less
willing to take it back down, so I just left it there. It kind of hung
out over my shoulder and watched me work, and every now and then I’d
turn around and stare at it and get entranced by it, feeling like I
could get up and put my hands in the frame and climb into the painting
as if the frame were a window.
Of course, I wouldn’t be writing this if something weird didn’t happen as a result of the painting.
We had a couple friends over, Marc and Sabina, and Marc and I went
into my office when the women-folk started talking about knitting, which
has become my wife’s new favorite hobby. I went and sat down at my
laptop to find a video I had been telling Marc about, and Marc wandered
over and started admiring the painting.
“Where’d you get that?”
“My dad bought it at an auction and gave it to me.”
“It’s not that creepy. It’s kind of… I don’t know.”
I turned around to look at it with him while the video loaded. He got
up close and was running his finger over the canvas, feeling the raised
acrylic, and I just let my gaze wander over all the details again.
“Huh, I didn’t notice that before.”
“At the end of the hall, there’s some sort of light coming from around the corner, and it’s casting a shadow on the floor.”
I got up and looked closer, because I really hadn’t spent a lot of
time studying the far end of the hallway. There was definitely some
yellow and some darker colors making what looked like the shadow of a
person coming from around the corner. I even reached out and touched it
to make sure it wasn’t some trick of the light in the study making it
just look like there was this shadow in the painting, but I felt the
paint and sure enough it was actually there in the painting.
“See what I mean?” Marc said, “Creepy.”
I genuinely felt weirded out by it. It was one of those moments where you start thinking, Why didn’t I notice this earlier? Was it there to notice?
A couple days later, I was working on a project in my study, and it
was like 9:30 at night, and I just couldn’t focus, so I spun around in
my chair to look at the painting and I felt this sudden vertigo effect,
like the ground wasn’t there and I had to grab my chair to keep from
tumbling into emptiness.
You wouldn’t have noticed it if you hadn’t looked at the painting a
hundred times like I had. The hallway was long, with exactly six doors. I
remember, because I counted them the first day. three on the left,
three on the right, each with a little shiny, metal doorknob.
Only now there were seven doors. Three on the left, four on
the right. It didn’t make sense. Everything looked proportionally
exactly the same, and the far end of the corridor was just as far away,
and yet there was a fourth door in the right side of the hallway, with
its little metal doorknob. I don’t even know which door was the fourth
door, that’s how well it blended in, I just know that there were four
doors where once there were three.
“What the hell is going on?”
I turned away in my chair and back to check several times and make
sure my eyes weren’t playing tricks on me, but the number of doors
I called my dad again and I asked him, “Is this a trick painting you sent me?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean it keeps changing. I can see it changing.”
“Not as far I know. It was just one in a bunch I picked up all at the same auction.”
After I got off the phone I took the painting down and checked the
back for some some of mechanical or digital hocus pocus, but it was all
soft canvas so I left it on the floor behind my office chair with the
painting facing the wall because the thought of it was freaking me out.
The next day I pulled my wife into my office and held the painting up
so she could see it because she hadn’t had a chance to before.
“How many doors are there?” I asked.
She looked it over for a moment. “Seven.”
“When I first got this, there were six.”
She just looked at me like I was being a goofball. “Okay, so which one wasn’t there before?”
“I have no idea.”
“You don’t know which door magically appeared?” and she laughed and gave me a kiss and went back into the other room.
It gets worse.
The next time I chatted with Marc, I told him about the extra door in the painting.
“Are you sure there weren’t seven doors to begin with?”
“Well, I would swear I counted six.”
“Well, if another one shows up, at least Melissa counted seven, and
can confirm it then. You know what you should do? You should take a
photo of the painting so you can prove it if anything else changes.”
What a great idea, so I got my phone and took a photo of the painting.
Two days went by. Nothing.
On the third day, I walked into my office and there was a man staring
at me. Well, I mean… it wasn’t… I can’t say that it was a man or a
woman. Hell, I can’t say that it was human. There was a shape
at the end of the hallway in my painting. It was oddly lacking in the
detail that the rest of the painting had, like someone had hurriedly
painted it on. I even ran my hand over it to make sure it wasn’t fresh,
that someone hadn’t actually come in and painted over my painting to
drive me crazy.
It was really there.
And the look of it scared me more than anything else, changing
painting included. I wish I could do it justice with words, but the best
I can describe it is that it was human-ish, with legs and
arms, but it seemed squat, or hunched, and lopsided, like someone had
slapped a blurry Quasimodo onto an otherwise beautiful painting. You
couldn’t see the details of its face, but you could see shading on it,
defining really warped features. I was almost glad that there wasn’t
more detail to it, except that it left just enough to the imagination to
give one nightmares.
But I had proof! Here was proof that the painting was changing. So I
brought up the file on my laptop to show my wife for comparison, only
when I did, the figure was in the photo I took too!
At no point did I start questioning my sanity about all this.
Something unnatural and terrifying was going on, so I took the painting
out of the house and set it on the curb where we put our trash for
pickup. I was so done with that painting.
Or so I thought.
The next evening, when I got home from work, it was gone from the
curb. I figured someone had seen it and taken it home, and I waved my
hands and said, “Good, now it’s someone else’s problem.” I went in,
played with daughter, had dinner, put them to bed, and after watching a
show with my wife, went into my office to check my email.
No, the painting wasn’t back on the wall. I made sure of that the moment I walked in the door.
But I got a message from Marc, asking if the painting had changed
anymore, and I told him about the creepy new addition and also how I had
gotten rid of the painting.
“Oh man, that sounds cool. I wish I’d gotten a chance to see it.”
“Well, I can send you the photo I took of it.”
So I opened the image file.
The thing in the painting had raised its arms.
Before, you could only barely make out the arms hanging at its sides,
but now both arms were raised up over its head, and its fingers were
spread apart like it was waving hello at me. I think it was waving hello at me.
I zoomed in, as best as I could without pixelating the image, and the shaded contours of the face seemed stretched into a grin.
Oh Jesus, Mary and Joseph.
I sent Marc the file, but the connection kept fucking up, so I put it
in a folder on my dropbox account and gave him access to it.
“The file’s corrupted.” He texted me.
I tried to open it as well, but he was right. Every time I copied the image file, somehow it got corrupted.
“It must be the spooky magic.” Marc joked.
“This is no joke. I’m freaking out here.”
“Delete the file if it’s scaring you so bad.”
So I deleted the file.
But it gnawed at me, you know? The painting was still changing, in
horrible, terrifying ways, seemingly acknowledging my observation of it,
and now it was gone. But if it was gone, why should it matter? If
something unholy happens, it’s the problem of whoever has the painting
now, right? And they’ll see it changing too, won’t they?
It was two days later, and I was organizing a folder of documents and
had accidentally deleted a couple I hadn’t meant to. I went into the
Windows recycling bin and –you guessed it– there was the image file
along with the documents.
I had to look. I was trembling with dread at the thought of it, but
when something so surreal happens to you, you have to witness it and see
it through to the end.
I recovered the file and opened it.
The walls of the hallway seemed to be melting. The partition
separating the red from the off-white was lower than it had been before,
and drooped in places. The ridge on the lights looked like they were
peeling off. The carpet seemed less crimson and more reddish brown.
And the figure had taken several steps down the corridor toward the
viewer’s perspective. More details had become defined: hair hanging off
its head, long and black like it had been painted with a fine-tipped
brush, the eyes were little more than dull black points under the
shading of the brow. The grin came with teeth, uneven and fat, like
those of a child more than an adult. Its arms were extended out on
either side of it, touching both walls. One foot was ahead of the other,
as if I had caught it mid-step in a game of red light/green light.
I realized I was panting and shaking as I looked at it. It was really
hard to breathe, an anxiety attack. The painting was going to make me
pass out, just from looking at a digital photo of it.
Quickly, I closed the image to calm myself down, but that suddenly brought forth the thought, What if it progresses every time I look away? The only way to stop it is to keep looking! and I opened the file again.
No change. Oh– no, wait, that wasn’t a new change, I had noticed it
before, but it hadn’t dawned on me. One of the doors was open. There was
a dim blue light coming from the room inside, moonlight I thought. And
just outside the threshold of the door, there was an object lying on the
I zoomed in for better detail.
It was a little, yellow, stuffed lion with a scraggly, orange mane. A
child’s toy. Of all the details, the melting hallway, the grinning
fiend with arms wide open, the blue light from the open doorway, it was
the innocent nature of that little toy lion that filled me with the most
My wife came into the office.
“Come kiss Gabby goodnight.”
I went into her darkened room, where she was wrapped up in blankets
in her bed, hugging a half dozen stuffed animals and looking cute as
could be. My little darling. I love her so much.
I kissed my daughter goodnight. She kissed me back and hugged her
little pillowpet with the built in night light. It glowed through a
variety of colors.
“I love you, baby.” I told her.
“Can you get my Simba?”
I looked around. “Where’d you leave it?”
“Over there.” She pointed to the closet. The door was open, and her toy lay on the floor just inside.
Simba, her little, yellow, stuffed lion with the scraggly, orange mane.
Seeing it lying there, just past the threshold of the closet door,
while the dim glow of my daughter’s night light faded from red to purple
to blue, I felt my heart rise up in my chest. The closet was just a
closet. I could see it was just a closet. There were clothes on
hangers and bags with toys and blocks in them. They were right there.
And yet, as I looked at the stuffed lion lying on the floor, waiting for
me, I felt as if I could see carpeting on the floor inside the closet,
even though there was none. Carpeting, not in my vision, but in my
imagination. And maybe if I went in and shut the door, I’d find that the
walls beyond those clothes had a wooden partition, red below, off-white
And maybe there was something hunched and terrible shambling its way toward us even as I stood there staring at that toy.
I walked, briskly, trying not to look half as frightened as I was,
snatched up Simba and shut the closet door. My breathing was heavy, like
I’d just run a mile, and I struggled to avoid gasping for breath as I
tried to calm myself down.
“Hey, did that poster fall down?” I asked nobody in particular, then
pretended I was trying to adjust a cat poster that had been on the floor
by her dresser for months, and shoved the heavy dresser over so that it
partially blocked the closet door.
“Here’s Simba, sweety.” I handed the lion to Gabby, gave her a quick
hug and kiss, and wished her goodnight before rushing back to my office.
The painting had changed, as I knew it would. The open door was
closed, the toy gone from the floor, the hallway was dimly lit with
yellow light from the melting lights again. But the thing, that
not-quite-human fiend, was standing right outside the now shut door, its
body turned to face it with both hands pressed up against the door
itself like it was running its hands down it, caressing it, and its head
turned toward me, still grinning that awful, frightening grin full of
gnashed, crooked teeth.
Oh God how close had it been? No, it’s just a closet! The hallway is not there. It’s not real. None of this is real.
I’ve put up signs around the neighborhood, knocked on doors, asked
everyone I know and many I don’t if they know who took the painting. I
need to find it and get it back. I want to tear it, shred it in my
hands, throw it in a fire and watch it burn to ashes. Jesus God in
Heaven, I hope it didn’t end up in some landfill.
I’ve learned the awful truth… All Doors Lead To The Hallway
I don’t believe in call out posts. I think they’re unnecessary and usually create a tidal wave of drama over a misunderstanding or an issue that might have been resolved with a simple click of ‘unfollow’ or block’.
This is one of those instances where it is necessary. Where the actions of one person are genuinely harmful and quite likely malicious and it’s actually impossible to know the extent of everything they have done.
Before I proceed, I want to make it clear that I do not condone sending this person hateful asks-or, indeed, any- asks about their behaviour. If you wish to unfollow or block them-or not- then that is your business. But I did not make this post to encourage spiteful behaviour.
I want to thank everyone who contributed to this post, whether it was sending me data, good vibes, proofing or just cheering up my cranky butt at varying points between now and April. Without further ado:-
This is a callout post for user Vallanoble, for actions spanning back to February of this year.
Jensen opens his eyes and immediately closes them again. His head is pounding, it’s too bright in the hotel room, his entire body aches.
After a couple minutes of stretching and groaning and adjusting his eyes to the sunlight, he fumbles for his phone on the nightstand and ends up with a piece of notebook paper in his hand instead. In terrible handwriting, there are a few random words on the paper like “breakfast,” “crepe options,” and “hamburger meat with onions.” He bunches the paper up and tosses it aside before grabbing his phone and lying back down against the bed.
For some reason his email app is open, and a drafted email is waiting to be sent. It’s addressed to Jim Michaels, with the subject line “Get fuckd.”
In the body of the email is written, “I think I want to quit the show and open a food truck. I have a lot of great ideas for a food truck, and I’m writing up a menu right—”
Jensen deletes the drafted email and scrambles through his sent messages to make sure he didn’t actually email anyone. Thankfully, he didn’t.
He checks his text messages next and finds that the only person he texted yesterday was his wife. Thank fucking god.
I’m wearing the underwear you bought me!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The pair I said I’d never wear in a million years!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I’m wearing it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Jensen’s eyes widen and his face heats up as he stares at his phone, the words blurring together. He tears the covers away from his lap and looks down at himself. The only thing he’s wearing is a pair of peach-colored boxer briefs that are too big on him.
Emma Swan has not owned a decent set of lingerie in far too long. It’s not as if she’s had anyone to wear it around, has had any need for it. The thought of needing an upgrade to her sexy wardrobe isn’t something her friends have needled her about in a while and therefore, hasn’t crossed her mind.
She’s just gotten her income tax money and seeing as she’s finally in a financially stable enough place in her life to not need to spend the money on bills, she takes a slightly reluctant but much-needed trip to the nearest mall. Too many unstylishly ripped jeans and torn t-shirts have been piling up in her wardrobe and, really, her lack of anything that ranges outside the bounds of leather and simple cotton is kind of sad.
She’s made a decent dent in her wallet—a couple of sheer shirts (who knew sheer was so in), a floral dress, a little black dress Ruby will whole-heartedly approve of, a nice green jacket that is decidedly not leather, and even a pencil skirt—when she passes the Victoria’s Secret.
lana is beautiful and so is this fic. i think my tag for it was just a bunch of exclamation points which basically means that i’ll be in love with it forever and never be able to properly use words when talking about it.
Clarke gets dirt stuck under her nails, Bellamy always keeps books at hand, they are both a mess but somewhere between throwing tomatoes at each other and hiding, they fall in love.
Or: Bellarke in the countryside.
Prompt: Imagine Bellarke in Modern AU. With Sunday brunches on the back porch and whispered I love yous when no one else is listening.
with the possibility of coming across as too much, let me just say that there are few people who have stolen my heart in the degree that Sara has. That being said, even if I didn’t love her to the moon and back, I would still be able to see beautiful talent, and that is definitely something that my dear friend has. So here’s the short summary of my latest obsession of hers:
It’s been two years since the spaceship Aphelion mysteriously disappeared, its crew branded by the ARK as traitors to be shot on sight. Jake Griffin was on that ship, and with him, a dangerous secret that could change civilized space forever.
Now, Clarke wants some answers - and revenge, if she can get it. Bellamy wants a bigger ship - specifically, Clarke’s. Wells wants to fix the system his father broke. Octavia wants a little fun. Miller wants everyone to stop making poor life choices. Harper wants to kiss the new girl. And Raven? Well, Raven just wants to blow shit up.
The universe won’t know what’s hit it. (Space pirates AU!)
Listen. I love social media aus, nerdy!Bellamy and thirsty!Clarke. Thankfully this fic has a little of all that. It also has adorable fanboy Jas and that’s also a plus for me. This one has stayed with me since the night i read it, so it’s def up there on my faves list.
Clarke is pretty sure Bellamy is the hottest lyft driver she’s ever had, and it certainly doesn’t hurt that he’s a pretty great conversationalist, too. When she finds out him and Raven used to work together, it feels natural to become friends. She just never thought they’d get along quite so well, or that their lives would come together so easily, or that she’d fall madly in love with him. But that’s life.
aka: a social media au incorporating text messages, snapchats, tweets, and instagrams that definitely no one asked for.
i love tierney more than i love most people on this god forsaken site. her writing is always like coming home which is way too cheesy even for me. so here. read this summary so i dont become a blubbering mess.
She finds Bellamy back on that floral couch. They’d moved it into the screened room for the winter, and then back out again once the days grew long and warm. It was becoming another tradition, apparently.
And so was this; him smoking on the sofa, her head on his shoulder, voices low in the early morning while everyone else was asleep and the world felt like it belonged to them, just for the moment.
“Someone had fun,” he teases, flicking at a spot on her neck. Clarke reaches up to feel the tender skin; Glass must have given her a hickey while they were getting carried away.
She flushes, but he’s looking back at the sunrise. “I always have fun,” she reminds him, and he groans.
“Yeah, I remember.”
“This is my favorite part, though,” Clarke says, curling up a little more against him so he’ll put his arm around her for warmth. She’s still kind of drunk, so she’s not sure if she’s making sense, but she trusts that he’ll get it. Bellamy always seems to understand what she means. “Just–us. It’s my favorite.”
Bellamy stubs out his cigarette and leans back against her. “Mine too.”
That’s all I have time for tonight, but I do have a longer one in my drafts that I plan on finishing and publishing soon.
I will also use this to shamelessly self promo - I’m taking requests for the next two weeks bc HOLIDAYS! no more teaching for me for two weeks and that is glorious.
so pls send in any and all prompts you want filled by yours truly
warnings: use of the word slut, swearing, fighting, blood mention
a/n: based off of ‘fight for me’ from the heathers musical!!! not my most polished fic and im kind of rushing to finish it and get it up before i go to bed but i hope its good nonetheless. enjoy!!!
It was never… too bad.
Correction: it had never
been too bad. It was never anything more than someone knocking your books
out of your hand, jostling your lunch tray so milk spilled on a patch of your
sweater, and, on the rarest of occasions, being called a ‘slut’. It had never been too bad.
You didn’t know what triggered it. No, in all honesty, it
just came out of nowhere – you were walking down the hallway one second, peacefully
and diplomatically minding your own business, when suddenly you were slammed
into a locker, your backpack being crushed against the brightly coloured metal
door. You could’ve sworn your breath left you, and as you panted to get it
back, she pressed you even harder against it.
“Think you can make googly-eyes at Georges, you stupid slut?”
the girl screamed in your face. Through the haze of tears in your eyes, you
recognized her. One of the girls in your gym class – vaguely, you recalled
accidentally tripped her in gym last week and maybe hearing somewhere later
that she snapped a nail off. You had no idea who Georges was, or why she was
trying to announce to everyone that you were making googly-eyes at him. With a frantic
shake of your head, you tried to squirm from her grip with no avail. “Think you
can win him over with your ugliness?”
Again, you shook your head. “Do you want to fuck him, is that it? Have you
never fucked anyone before?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you whispered to
She took a step away from you, glanced around, and laughed.
At first, it sounded like she was laughing to herself, but then you saw the
other kids in the hallway snickering. “Are you calling me a liar?” she
questioned, moving towards you again with blazing eyes. “Are you calling me a
liar? You bitch!”
“Says you,” said a voice. A disembodied voice somewhere to
your right. Her head snapped in that direction.
“Who said that?” the girl seethed through gritted teeth.
A boy stepped from the crowd. He was probably no older than
you, with curly dark hair, small, hooded eyes, and a splattering of freckles across
his cheeks. He shifted somewhat uncomfortably on his sneakers, but stuck his
chin out defiantly. “Me?”