im sorry im running out of ideas

i’m just drawing things out of boredom at this point?? still love these boys tho

You’re dating and they discover you’ve started self-harming again.

Tony: Self hatred was something that Tony was all too familiar with.  Not a day went by that he didn’t hate himself for one reason or another.  Today, he hated himself because he hadn’t noticed.  He had been completely oblivious to the way that you had secluded yourself more and more in the recent weeks.  He hadn’t noticed the fresh cut marks on your arms.  He had let you down.

He’d caught you coming out of the shower; meaning to be cheeky about it and hopefully coax you back into the shower with him.  Clad in nothing but a towel your new scars were all too visible against the cream towel.  Surprised, you pulled the towel closer to your body, twisting your arms in such a way that your scars were hidden, pressed against your chest.  “Tony.”  Before you could continue he had left the bathroom, silently stalking away to leave you to scramble to get dressed.

Changing quickly you came out of the bathroom to find Tony sitting on the bed, back leaning against the headboard with a pillow in his lap.  His fingers twirled and twirled around a stray thread of the pillowcase, eyes focused somewhere just over your shoulder.  Quietly you neared the bed; crawling onto the mattress and sitting shoulder to shoulder with Tony.

“It’s my fault.”  He began, meticulously wrapping the thread around his pointer finger to cut off the blood before slowly unwinding it again.  “Is it because I’m too caught up with work all the time?  Because I can spend less time in the lab.  We can take a week off.  A month off.  Hell, let’s travel for a year.  We’ll go wherever you want.  No work.  No distractions.  Just you and me.”

“Tony.”  You cut him off quietly.  “It’s not your fault.”  The tears in his eyes when he finally looked at you caused tears of your own to well in your eyes.

“How do I help you?  I thought we were on the right path.  I thought we were figuring it out.  Why didn’t you come to me?”

Sighing you wedged your arm between Tony’s own arm and his chest, curling against his side enough to lay your head against his shoulder.  “I’m sorry.”

His other hand came up to cradle your face as he turned his head and pressed his lips against the top of your head.  He hovered there for a long time, thumb brushing against your cheek as he held your face.  “I love you.  So much that it hurts.”

“I love you too.”

Steve: With a loud ‘oomf’ your back hit the floor pad once again, head cracking against the relatively soft padding as Steve wins the sparring match.  A big triumphant smile had him showing off all of his perfect teeth as he reached an arm down to help you back onto your feet.  Without thinking, you accept his offered hand, the sleeve of your hoodie riding up to expose the fresh scars lining your wrists.  The moment you were on your feet again you were pulling your sleeve back down, hoping that Steve hadn’t noticed.

He had, of course.  Almost nothing escaped Steve’s notice.  With a deep frown he kept your hand trapped in his own, keeping you anchored to him.  With his free hand he pulled up your sleeve enough to reveal the first of the line of scrrs before you violently pulled your sleeve back down.  “What do you think you’re doing.”


“I don’t want to talk about it.”  You caught him off guard by yanking your arm away from him hard.  Turning on your heel you stepped quickly.  “I’m going to shower off.”


You had hoped that by the time you were done showering Steve would have left the gym.  Purposely packing your gym clothes away slowly you hoisted the bag over your shoulder and slowly opened the door back into the gym.  Of course, Steve was seated on a bench close to the door.  Waiting for you.

“Ready to talk about it?”  He asked, rising to his feet as you started walking quickly out of the gym.  Easily he matched your pace, making sure to keep step with you no matter how fast or how slow you tried to move.

“No.”  You snapped.  “It’s not a big deal.”  Steve remained silent, hands stuffed in his pockets as you walked the halls quietly.  Reaching the room to your dorm, you sighed and glanced over at him.  “You’re not going away are you?”

“Not a chance.”

Huffing loudly you kicked open the door to your room and let your bag drop to the floor.  “Fine.  Let’s talk about it.”

Thor: “Y/N?”  Thor’s voice boomed from the bathroom.  Rolling over in bed, sleep still in your eyes, you let out a loud hum as answer.  Light from the bathroom interrupted the darkness of your bedroom when Thor opened the door, gingerly holding something between his thumb and pointer finger.  “What is this?”  Blinking to focus your eyes, the small razor became noticeable in Thor’s grasp.

“Where’d you find that?”  Sitting up now your heart began to beat a little faster, nervous kicking in.  Thor stepped forward to near the bed, holding the razor out like he thought you couldn’t see it properly.

“On the countertop.  Beside the sink.”  Mentally you cursed yourself for forgetting to put it away.  Holding out your hand Thor gently placed the razor in your palm.

“It looks like a miniature sword.  But it’s oddly designed.”  His blatant oblivion to what the razor represented calmed your nerves minutely.  “What is it used for?”  The bed dipped as he sat beside you.

Weighing the razor in your hand for a moment you deposited it on the nightstand.  “It’s used for cutting things, like a sword would be.  People usually use it for cutting paper, or string or something like that when they’re sewing.”

“What have you used it for?”  His question shocked you into silence.  While he had meant it to be innocent, there was a weight behind his words that he couldn’t understand.  Not unless you told him.

Slowly you pulled back the sleeve of your pajama top, revealing the stained white bandage underneath.  Thor’s giant hand quickly enclosed your own, brow furrowing as he frowned at the covered injury.  “You hurt yourself?” He asked, casting a menacing glance at the razor.

“I haven’t in a long time.  This week just,”  You paused, searching for the right words.  “This week was just tough.”  Nodding in understanding Thor released your hand and grabbed the razor instead.  Crossing the room with wide strides he dropped the razor into the trash can before coming back to the bed.

“Now it cannot hurt you anymore.”  Once again taking hold of your hand he tugged your wrist up enough so that he could press an innocent kiss against the bandage.

Clint: “Let’s have a lazy morning.”  Clint grumbled as you turned off the ringing alarm clock.  To accentuate his statement his arm flexed around your waist, holding you down.  Not that you were fighting to get up and start your morning.

“Work will miss us.”  You tried to reason.  Clint laughed behind you, breathing hot air against the back of your neck.

“No they won’t.  Besides, you deserve to relax a little bit.  Take your mind off of everything.”  His hand reached down across your body to gently wrap around your wrist, tugging your hand up to press a kiss to the pulse point of your wrist.

“How long have you known for?”  You asked, twisting around in his grasp to face him.  Letting go of your hand to rest it against his face Clint hugged your waist once again.

“A while.  You’re not a good liar, you know.”  Embarrassed, you let your eyes drop away from Clints face.  “Play hooky with me today.  Maybe it will help.”  With two fingers he tilted your chin back up to force you to look at him.


Bruce: You hadn’t meant to cut as deeply as you had.  You’d tried to stifle it with towel after towel, and had finally managed to get it to slow enough to use a bandage, but that left a mess of blood stained towels across the bathroom floor and in the sink.  Knowing that Bruce was due home soon you did what you could to clean the blood, only managing to clean the sink before you heard the front door open.

Abandoning your cleaning venture, you slipped out of the bathroom and closed the door securely behind you.  Taking a deep breath you walked to the front hall, smiling softly when you saw Bruce hanging his jacket up by the door.  “Hi, honey.”  He smiles brightly, wrapping an arm around your waist and pecking you on the lips quickly.  As he went to move past you into the living room you grabbed onto the front of his shirt.

“I have to show you something.”  If you didn’t show him now, he’d find it later.  And while neither one was favorable, this was the best option.  Taking his hand you quietly lead him to the bathroom, opening the door to reveal the mess of towels still on the floor.  “I cut deeper than I meant to.  I couldn’t clean it up in time.”

Carefully detracting his hand from yours Bruce rolled up the sleeves to his button up shirt to his elbows.  Squeezing past you and the door frame he surveyed the bathroom with a weary look.  “Why don’t you go lay down on the couch and I’ll clean up here. Then we can have some tea.  Talk.”

“I didn’t mean to.”  You apologized.  Bruce smiled softly back at you before he began cleaning.

“I know.  But I don’t want you to worry about it right now.  Go relax.  I’ll be there soon.”

Kaze please……….


Working desk job means exactly this: apartment, tube, workplace, tube, apartment. It’s hard to find sunlight anymore, but he doesn’t think he minds: maybe he’s already used to this. It’s been longer than he cares to remember. 

He spends about two hours a day on the tube - not much compared to the amount of time he spends in his booth at work, but he doesn’t really register those eight hours. It’s like his mind switches itself off the moment he arrives to work and leaves him running on muscle memory alone. Time operates the same way when he’s at home, so by now maybe he’s only really conscious during the two hours on the tube. 


Sometimes he stays back on the tube past his stop. Sometimes until it reaches the end of the line. Sometimes he takes the tube with the intention of going somewhere specific, but then just sits there as his destination flies past him into the dark tunnel he’s just passed. Sometimes he goes down into the stop, just to hear the quiet again. 

Sometimes he sees maintenance doors somewhere in the tunnels, and for no reason he keeps their locations in mind. 


Sometimes the tube takes a turn that he doesn’t recognize, and he feels his heart beating faster all of a sudden. He would stare at the railway through the window pane, counting the seconds, until the tube runs past a corner he knows, or until he reaches his destination. Those moments still happen to him after two years of taking the tube to go… anywhere, really. He thinks he has the whole map learned by heart by now, but the underground keeps proving him wrong. 


There’s a community online for tube dwellers. He doesn’t know any of the dozen of members, online or offline, but he has come by some of them on other forums before. They don’t seem to be of any particular profile: there are men, there are women, ranged from 20 to maybe older than 50. The posts are few and far between, but some of them detail everything reachable by the tube. There are things even he doesn’t know. 

He screenshots some of the posts and keeps the photos in a separate folder, for no particular reason. 

The community hasn’t had a new activity for about three months by now. The members call themselves Rats. He checks through some of their personal pages on that site; the ones he checks have all been abandoned. 

Maybe they’re tired of the lack of sunlight in the tube, he thinks on the way to work. The tube sways and trembles quietly, its hum fills the air. Humans aren’t made for the underground afterall. 

concept of something vaguely formed in my head. I call it Rats of Spice City. 


honestly idk what im doing with colors and shit but enjoy this shitty comics 


12 // 20

“I still won’t let you go. Because with this face, all they can do is curse it, anyway.”

for  @oldblogwheniwassixteen 

bst japanese version has me dying so i punched this out in ten minutes bc im desperate despite being killed by rl hahakjfdlsjd sugakookie PLEASE ;_; will do tags and asks and messages later i promise im running late as it is but i NEEDED to write something its just OTL im a goner…


i love you in ways i thought were impossible; i love you.

it goes like this: a boy falls in love. a boy falls in love with another boy, makes a home in the heart of six and they are happy.

for a while.


in jungkook’s hair: the cold warm grip of yoongi’s fingers. in jungkook’s eyes: the secret laughter of yoongi’s joy. in jungkook’s mouth: a kiss a kiss a kiss that sets him dreaming all the time.


a piano that sings for both of them is safe enough, dangerous enough. jungkook remembers a piano from childhood, how he wanted to destroy it because it stopped speaking to him. and it’s not that yoongi is the answer to all his mistakes, but sometimes when yoongi’s elbow invades his personal space at the bench, it feels like he’s the answer to some of them. lights burst and jungkook throws his head back, his throat a sharp line of trust in the on and off dark. he feels yoongi smile the same as he feels their friends cluster in around them: the tide incoming.


it goes like this: a boy cannot save himself but he tries to save other people.


yoongi shouldn’t taste like blood and jungkook tells him so. yoongi laughs red but it sounds like crying when he mumbles, “look who’s talking.”


when yoongi isn’t home, he goes to the same motel, the same room, the same far-down place in his heart. jungkook finds him because of course he finds him.

reaching him is another matter.


sometimes jungkook lies down on the bed and waits to be noticed and sometimes waiting is all that happens.


it feels out of order; they feel out of order. on the ground: glass that is glass but is also a mirror, water and blood, and roses grave with longing.

if red roses are for destined love, they say blue is just as true.

just not quite as fortunate.


what hurts jungkook the most: yoongi’s trembling hands pushing through jungkook’s hair, yoongi’s trembling mouth against his split lip murmuring how sorry he is, asking jungkook to do the one thing jungkook fears the most.


it’s not that he doesn’t see the car.

* * *

in yoongi’s dreams, jungkook lies in the grass at his side. namjoon is near. they are all together with their individual problems. maybe this is true in yoongi’s waking world as well.

if only he could be sure.


say jungkook followed him like a love story like a ladder missing so many rungs the reach became almost too far. say something like that.

then yoongi follows jungkook like a ghost like a love story that remembers losing and wants to know if the other thing is still possible.

city to city they all look the same; motel after motel.

every time yoongi passes blue roses it rains.


sometimes yoongi hears a whistle and wonders who’s calling him. he hurries through the storm slicked streets, and does what makes sense: breaks into the nearest piano.

tries to connect.


he has this memory (and he’s even fairly sure it’s real) of kissing jungkook shadow light across his bruises, has this memory of jungkook’s lips on his fingertips like some kind of worship, has this memory of laughing together as the lights went bright brighter brightest and then…



every bed is incomplete, but that is to be expected.


under his grip, jungkook is not jungkook though yoongi doesn’t know why. he pulls him back by the neck of his jacket, pleads, rasps loud whispers, and yells even though he tried to promise that he’d never yell at him again.

when he holds jungkook fully from behind, he remembers jungkook’s hands gripping the back of his jacket days weeks months years ago.



“jungkook,” he holds him tighter. “jungkook—

—wake up.”


namjoon is here but he’s not the namjoon yoongi swears he knows. this namjoon takes care of jungkook, which fine is part of the namjoon that yoongi knows, but this namjoon also won’t help him escape.

“can’t,” he corrects.

yoongi, seated at the head of a long table across from him, adjusts jungkook in his arms: sleeping.

eyes falling to the empty glass, yoongi can’t tell if he wants to cry or disappear. neither seems especially useful.

“i don’t think he recognizes me,” he admits, though to argue, jungkook shifts in his hold, murmurs incoherently, and sighs.

when yoongi looks up, namjoon has a glass to his lips. yoongi watches the movement of his throat, the press of his mouth, the almost cat-like open close open of namjoon’s eyes. somehow when he speaks his voice fills the room, outfits it in some new feeling of being Elsewhere without going Anywhere, without raising it louder than a thought.

“that’s not true at all.”

outside the window, the flaring lights make yoongi feel dizzy. he cards his fingers through jungkook’s hair, watches namjoon’s profile and thinks a hundred runaway things.


in yoongi’s heart: a piano, a fight he never wins, a boy he always loves, a dream handled wrong on all ends.

yoongi asks him to wake up all the time, has flashes of memory that tell him in another moment jungkook asked the same of him.

walking into the room where jungkook stares at nothing in particular that yoongi can see, he kneels as he places his hands on him, thumbs his shoulders and upper arms, digs in a little deeper than the norm, waits. but jungkook doesn’t look at him, still enthralled with what is in front of him, or isn’t, and it’s only as yoongi drags him out, jungkook’s wrist sharp in his hold, that he notices the blue rose tucked behind jungkook’s ear.


what it amounts to: one dream fractured.


slowly quickly yoongi cannot find the motel. he runs down the same long road and bites through his own tears every time there’s blood on the highway.


he remembers: jungkook looking in the mirror sometimes, staring at his upper back like there was something he was missing.


“people don’t fly,” yoongi said to namjoon who shrugged, shrugged and said,

“and dreams don’t last forever.”


the whistling takes shape the same as the view out an airplane window: suddenly clear but no less tangible. he would have to be on the ground for that; he would have to be a sound for that.

when yoongi can no longer run, he walks, and when he can no longer walk he crawls.

so it goes.

for a time.


it’s not that he doesn’t see the car.

* * *

looking out at the water, jungkook jumps a little as yoongi collides into him, throws an arm around him…and smiles.

it seems the love thing to do, to smile back.

it also seems…familiar.


he wonders if everyone hears a piano when yoongi touches them, if everyone feels words that aren’t happening but are definitely there all the same, if everyone knows that yoongi’s dream happens but only in pieces.


when yoongi is sure jungkook has fallen asleep, he drags himself along the grass until he can press his mouth to jungkook’s crown, kiss him hello.


hello again.


the truth: the dream.

the someday: laughing at a piano in a sunlit room whose walls are blue but not sad.


on the couch of an abandoned warehouse, jungkook listens to the catch of yoongi’s fire and imagines he’s trying to tell him something.


in a street where jungkook lies collapsed against a building, yoongi is afraid to touch him and is trying to tell him something.


at the piano where they come closest: a song they both know without having learned.

this one quiet idea.


love is not over.


wake up.


please wake up.


on a pier yoongi slips his arm over jungkook’s shoulders, jungkook holds his hand up to the light –

– and dreams.


the ocean waves they would see, if they looked closer, are made of roses.

blue. unfurling.


waiting to come home.


The oh so powerful cured vampire - part 2

Here is the second part to ‘the oh so powerful cured vampire’. Im actually thinking about making this into a series because i have some good ideas for this plot so let me know if any of you would want that :) Also sorry this is so short, but im id it like that to end on a cliffhanger for the next part if people want it.

Part 1 here


“Klaus we need your help. I think someone has been following me the past few weeks and I have a feeling that it was a vampire that somehow found out about the cure still running though my veins. I need you to look after my child while I go and find out more and try to put a stop to it. I know we haven’t talked in so long but –

“It’s fine love, ill look after her for as long as possible. I still owe you for helping me to break my curse anyway.” Klaus interrupted me. I have never been so relived in all my life.  “First thing though, does she know about your history and that she’s a witch and all that stuff?” He asked me in a loud whisper, thinking Y/N wouldn’t be able to hear him.

“Yes I know and I can also her you. If I’m going to be living with you for a while, you might need to learn how to whisper properly” Y/N explained.

The next 24 hours were hectic. I introduced Y/N to everyone and met a Mikaelson that we all though was dead, Freya. She was a witch so I kindly asked her to start teaching Y/N magic. I caught up with all the Mikaelson’s, met Klaus’ daughter, Hope, and saw the life that my old friends had made for themselves. Once 24 hours were over, I knew I had to leave so me and my daughter was able to go back to our lives. Even though I knew she would never want to leave after a few weeks with the Mikaelson’s.

Klaus’ POV:

Y/N was beautiful. Every day that Freya was teaching her magic, I would stay in the room to watch her become like her mother used to be when we were all young so long ago. Although I told Freya and Y/N I was in there to watch her perfect her magic, I couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was every day.

It had been a week now since Y/M/N left to go and find out more information and every day her daughter is growing stronger and stronger.

“I’ve got to admit, you’re a fast learner” I say as I slowly walk up to Y/N as she finishes her last session of the day.

“It’s interesting, and I do better with interesting things” she says and I can’t help but notice the way her lips move when she talks. I don’t even think I know what she said. I give a small laugh, hoping it wasn’t a question. “Can I ask you something?” she asks and I nod in response. “Why hasn’t my mother every said anything about you and your family if you were so close before?”

“After your mother took the cure, we all knew that if any vampire that wanted to become human would come for her and we had no idea what would happen if the cure left her body so one night, we all decided that it would be best for her to leave, start a new life and have a new identity. Everyone that knew her would think she was dead, apart from me and my siblings. It was the only way to keep her safe”

“That doesn’t answer why she didn’t tell me anything about you and your family, or about me being a witch or about her being over 1000 years old “ She slowly started to scream and I could tell by her heartbeat that she was panicking and she felt like it was too much for her.

“Hey, she did it to protect you and she told you last week also to protect you. She did everything for you. You are something that she has wanted ever since she was 9 years old and now over 1000 years later, she has you and she would do anything to keep you safe”

And then it happened, she hugged me while crying and in that moment, I knew. I had fallen in love with my best friends daughter.

Please consider part 6 Kakyoin

Imagine him avoiding Jotaro for years after Egypt, working different assignments for the SPW foundation, always wishing that he’d get to work with Jotaro, but at the same time, realizing Jotaro would be better off not knowing that he was alive.

Hearing that Jotaro had been trying to help his daughter get out of jail, and that he had been killed in the process; but that they had kept his body frozen, and that his daughter - who he now knew was named Jolyne - had vowed to save him.

Imagine Kakyoin going to see Jotaro while he was in a coma. Wondering if he should tell him that he was still alive If- when Jotaro woke up. Imagine him being there when he did.

Jotaro would have been upset - downright furious - that Kakyoin had avoided him for so many years, but he had made a promise anyways to come back alive, and he had hugged Kakyoin goodbye before running off to save the world once again. They would have a lot of catching up to do.

But the longer Kakyoin waited, the longer he would realize that Jotaro wasn’t coming back alive, Jolyne at his side, beat up, but still in one piece.

He should have known that the Joestar family’s luck would eventually run out for good.

anonymous asked:

you used to post actual jelix hcs but now you just do one thing or send them to a tag, u ok ;( disclaimer: this ain't hate bro

yeah i know i feel guilty about it too

i just dont have anything new to say honestly, people keep asking for the same hcs over and over, what am i supposed to do? 

im running out of ideas. 


edit: if people sent me more ideas i might be able to get back to writing more hcs and less linking hcs

i just dont want to be repetitive 

calum’s the type of boyfriend to just walk into your shared flat and without a word and come to lay his head in your lap. you’d naturally run your fingers through his hair and massage his neck and as soon as you hit the right spot, he’d let out a whimper and go “god i love you so much” and that little babe would just fall sweetly asleep knowing that you’re right there to make him happy   


Description: Phil rides Dan. A mixture of topping for the first time and his sensitivity sending Dan melting into a puddle of ecstasy.  

Tags: Topping Virginity (dan); riding, POWERBOTTOM!PHIL; 2009phan; phanweek 

A/N: written for @phanweek !!! Sorry i missed out the last two days I got sick :( but im here and ready for the next week (this is such an amazing idea! I love it!!)  THIS IS LATE I KNO IM SORRY I HAD TO HELP GET THE CHRISTMAS DECOR FROM THE BASEMENT R.I.P.

expert: Phil takes this into consideration, nodding absently. “Well I’m in a bottoming mood so-” 

“Oh, okay.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll guide you through it.” He kissed Dan’s cheek gently… 

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