leisure match

Choose Life.

Aries:  Choose your future. 
Taurus: Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home.
Gemini: Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning.
Cancer:  Choose a family. 
Leo:  Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers.
VirgoChoose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance.
Libra: Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics.
Scorpio:  Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself.
Sagittarius:  Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth.
Capricorn:  Choose a job. Choose a career.
Aquarius:  Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage.
Pisces:  I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else.

where i want to be (jane/kurt fanfic)

summary: jane and kurt spend their first night together

rating: M

A/N: I started writing this totally intending it to be something else but it turned into mostly just Jeller sexytimes with a tiny bit of plot/fluff. If that’s not your thing, feel free to skip this one, I should be back with some more innocent fluff soon-ish. Hoping married!Jeller has cured my writer’s block.

where i want to be


“Yes, ma’am…understood.”

The low rumble of his voice stirred her awake. She opened one eye and saw him sitting on the edge of his bed with his back to her, holding his phone up to his ear. She reached out and touched her fingers to his naked spine, smiling as he glanced over his shoulder to look at her.

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8

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

Choose Life

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family, choose a fucking big television. Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing, spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life . . . But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you've got heroin?

sterek ficlet: derek and stiles go on a not-so-great first date.

*

“Here?” Stiles asks, scrunching his nose as he looks around. When his eyes fall on Derek, he catches a glimpse of a look of disappointment, and perhaps even hurt, before Derek quickly covers it up. Stiles mentally kicks himself. Fucking mouth. “I mean, this place is great.”

 Derek rolls his eyes. “Right.” He turns his back to Stiles and follows the hostess further into the restaurant. Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his hair, forgetting about the half hour he spent getting it to look just right. This was not the way he wanted their first date to go.

 The thing is, this doesn’t feel like a date. Derek had picked Stiles up at his apartment, like he had a hundred times before, and then brought him to the same sushi place they ate at with the Pack probably once a month.

 Stiles flinches when he sees Derek sitting at the table, back and shoulders rigid, that little crease between his eyes which Stiles knows means he’s unhappy. Great, he thinks, I went and ruined our first date. And probably screwed everything up.

 “Look, dude, I’m sorry,” Stiles blurts as he slides into the chair across from Derek. “I just…didn’t expect to come here?”

 The crease deepens as Derek’s ears burn pink. Stiles really just wants to start this entire night over again.

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Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a big fucking television, choose washing machines, compact disc players and electical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a 3 piece on hire suit in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind numbing, spirit crushing game shows, stuffing your fucking face with junk food. Choose rotting away at the end of it all pissing your last in a miserable nursing home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the fucked up spoiled brats you spawned to replace yourself with. Choose your future. Choose life But why would I want to do a thing like that. I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

10

FAVOURITE EVERYTHING → Trainspotting

“Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?”

Merry Christmas, bistiles-bilinski!

Happy holidays, dear! I hope you enjoy your ficlet and it brings you some holiday cheer :D <3

*

“Here?” Stiles asks, scrunching his nose as he looks around. When his eyes fall on Derek, he catches a glimpse of a look of disappointment, and perhaps even hurt, before Derek quickly covers it up. Stiles mentally kicks himself. Fucking mouth. “I mean, this place is great.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “Right.” He turns his back to Stiles and follows the hostess further into the restaurant. Stiles sighs and runs a hand through his hair, forgetting about the half hour he spent getting it to look just right. This was not the way he wanted their first date to go.

The thing is, this doesn’t feel like a date. Derek had picked Stiles up at his apartment, like he had a hundred times before, and then brought him to the same sushi place they ate at with the Pack probably once a month.

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Of Monsters and Men sneak-peek

So, I’ve fallen into the wonderful fandom of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them. And I was content to just lurk and ooh and ahh over the works of others. And then @fanfic-shiz made an Percival/Reader where the Reader is a no-maj/muggle. I realllyyyyy loved that idea. So I was inspired to make my something of my own. A itty bitty drabble thing.

THIS FIC IS NOW 20K WORDS AND I JUST GOT TO THE START OF THE CORE PLOT DAMN IT.

I didn’t want to post anything until I was sure I had everything the way I wanted it. But I have no impulse control, and I wanted to share one o my favorite scenes.

So, enjoy.

Title: Of Monsters and Men
Chapter: Sneak Peek
Pairing: Percival Graves x No-Maj!Reader
Warnings: None
Rating: Innocent

***
A yowl pierced the night time silence, waking you an instant. Surely, you thought, surely that was just some stray cat and not….

There was another cry, urging you out of bed and turning the lamp on. You could see a very familiar cat sitting on the fire escape outside your window, green-gold eyes flickering in the light. “You have got to be kidding me.” You growled, rubbing at your eyes. It had been two weeks since Mr. Cat, or Nahuel as Graves called him, had led you to his owner’s home. Two weeks equated to six times the cat appeared out of nowhere, yowling until you walked him home. Six times you nervously knocked on Graves door, because as nice as he had been about the odd visits, you were worried he would be as annoyed with you as you were growing to feel towards his cat.

There was a third yowl, as if the cat was growing impatient. You marched over to the window and opened it up, glaring at the unblinking cat. “No, Nahuel! It’s the middle of the night. You’ll just have to wait for morning. It ain’t decent for a young woman to be out by herself, and I for sure ain’t gonna wake up Mr. Graves.”

The tawny cat blinked before letting out another yowl, loud enough to probably wake most of the building. Part of you winced as you shook a finger at the cat. “I said no and I mean it! I ain’t gonna be bossed around by no furball!”

Another yowl pierced the night, and this time there was a bang at your door to answer his cry, Mrs. Shapiro screeching your name. “I’ve told you before! No pets!” she yelled through the door. “Get rid of that damn cat!”

“He isn’t mine! He belongs to a friend!” you defended before you turned back to the cat. “Go. Home. Nahuel.”

There was a glare in his his eyes before he yowled again, earning a screech from Mrs. Shapiro and complaints from the other girls. “If you don’t shut that cat up, I will!” the small woman threatened, and not for the first time. You groaned, there was no way you were going to explain to Mr. Graves your landlady had killed his cat because it was being annoying.

“Fine! I give up! I’m going! I’m coming,” you hissed at the cat, worked into a state as you grabbed the easiest dress to don and changed quickly. You didn’t bother with shoes or a coat, not knowing when Nahuel would break his silence and start crying again. There was a definite pleased air about the cat as you climbed out onto the fire escape, taking the stairs as he quickly jumped down.

Damn cat.

Oddly, Graves looked wide awake as he opened the door, the confusion and maybe slight annoyance on his expression evaporating shortly after he opened the door. As if your night hadn’t been bad enough, the skies had decided to try and cheer you up during your late-night walk, putting on a rather stunning thunderstorm that you would have loved to watch…had you not been out in the middle of it.

As he tooked in your soaked appearance along with the drenched housecat, you couldn’t help but take note of his. Still dressed in his suit and tie-though he had forgone his overcoat, you wondered if he himself just got home. There were notable dark circles beneath his eyes to match the tension between his brow, his hair ruffled slightly.

When the stress relaxed just slightly out of his shoulders, a ghost of a smile appearing on his lips, you almost forgave the cat for the midnight walk. Almost.

“Next time Mrs. Shapiro threatens to shoot him, I may let her,” you answered testily as the soaked cat slinked into the apartment. The warmth radiating from the open door felt amazing, causing you to be envious of the tawny cat and also dread the cold wet walk home even more.

“Where’s your coat?” Mr. Graves asked instead, relaxing against the door. Things between you had progressed from the simple, ‘sorry about Nahuel, thank you for your patience miss,’ to an almost friendly short conversation.

“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t cold or raining when I left.” You sighed, running a hand through your hair and regretting it as more cold drops fell from your hair onto your neck. “Speaking of which, I need to head back. Hopefully I can dry off before work.” Which was unlikely, and today was going to really be bad after being woke up several hours too early for a walk around New York.

“I’m sorry,” Graves answered, though he didn’t look completely apologetic with a slight smile still twitching at his lips. Too tired and grouchy to be as respectful as you usually were, you gave him a short glare. Oddly it seemed to amuse him more before he held up a finger. “Here, give me a moment.”

Confused, you waited as he closed the door for a brief moment, missing the warmth until the door opened again, fully this time as he stepped out with an umbrella and an extra black coat.

“I couldn’t possibly…” you weakly tried to protest before he artfully threw the coat over your shoulders. You instantly sunk into the soft velvet liner, eyes fluttering close as you pulled it tightly around you, the warmth radiating quickly into your cold bones. “Oh, that feels heavenly.”

“It’s the least I could do,” Mr. Graves spoke, drawing you out of the momentarily bliss. “Especially after everything Nahuel’s put you through.”

“It’s not that much of a trouble,” you assured despite your earlier feelings. He seemed to see right through the white lie, and raised a brow. “It’s not that bad, I really don’t mind the walk…except when it’s in the middle of the night…and in the rain.”

“I really don’t know what’s he’s thinking,” Graves continued as you followed him down the stairs. “Usually he prefers to hiss at people, not bring them home.”

“Well, the cats I had back home always seemed to have a mind of their own. Granted, they were barn cats…you know you don’t need to walk with me, Mr. Graves,” you paused when you reached the lobby. “I mean, I walked here just fine. I swear I’ll bring back your coat, even if Nahuel decides he’s done pestering me.”

He only gave you a look before opening the black umbrella. “I would be a poor excuse of a gentlemen if I didn’t walk you home, miss…”

You flushed as you offered your name, tucking a wet strand behind your ear, especially as he repeated it back, the words easily rolling off his tongue. “Thank you, Mr. Graves.”

“Percival, please,” he corrected as he offered his arm to you. If you weren’t red before, you were now as you accepted the offer. He easily flicked the umbrella open, protecting both of you from the cold rain as you stepped out.

“So, Percival,” you started, feeling that nervous tick of rambling trying to set in as you matched his leisurely pace As if walking a stranger home at three in the morning was an everyday occurrence. “You seem awfully awake for it being three in the morning.”

There was a faint snort as he glanced down towards you. “Unfortunately. No rest for the wicked, or those who hunt them.”

***
Tada! Okay, I need sleep. I just finished two doubles this weekend with five hours of sleep between.-.-

5

Trainspotting (1996)

Renton, deeply immersed in the Edinburgh drug scene, tries to clean up and get out, despite the allure of the drugs and influence of friends.

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?

To Remain a Beast

(The question the Beast must ask every night is: Will you marry me?)

***

            “Beast, you know this is an old story,” Beauty says, looking up through the profusion of new spring leaves as they walk together in the forest just outside the castle walls.

            “Yes, I know,” he replies, and she smiles at the comforting low rumble of his voice.

            “And so, knowing this, we both know what would happen if I said yes to the question you ask me every night.”

            “Yes.”

            “Yet you no longer become angry or sorrowful when I say no,” Beauty turns to look at him. “Why is that?”

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6

“The Deathless were born from immortality’s vast indifference to mortality. Angel, demon, were, fae, gods–they were guilty of exploiting and abusing humanity at their leisure. To match their might, we gave up feeling and sensation, hope and happiness and rage and sorrow, our Life and out Death–the very things that made us human–all so we could protect humans. We proved ourselves when we slaughtered the pagan gods of old and earn the, if begrudging, respect of the immortals. What is more terrifying than a solider who cannot feel pain? A soldier that cannot fear death? A soldier that has no home or family to regret leaving. All we have is our duty and that makes us dangerous. I’ve wondered, sometimes, how Morevna picks us. When the demons were driven back into hell and the influx of volunteers ebbed she began to make deals. Found those of us who needed something–to protect loved ones, to escape the clammy grip of death, to seek vengeance across the years–and I’ve wondered if she purposefully only took the most desperate of us. Desperate is it’s own kind of strength. I suppose it doesn’t matter. Morevna has disappeared, and all that remains is to fulfill the duty she left behind.”

the most well-known deathless agents

THE DEATHLESS
a novel in progress 

Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons. Who needs reasons when you’ve got heroin?
—  Trainspotting
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed- interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing sprit- crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing you last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life… But why would I want to do a thing like that?
—  Trainspotting
Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pissing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that?
—  Renton - Trainspotting, Irvine Welsh

“Choose life. Choose a job. Choose a career. Choose a family. Choose a fucking big television, Choose washing machines, cars, compact disc players, and electrical tin can openers. Choose good health, low cholesterol and dental insurance. Choose fixed-interest mortgage repayments. Choose a starter home. Choose your friends. Choose leisure wear and matching luggage. Choose a three piece suite on hire purchase in a range of fucking fabrics. Choose DIY and wondering who the fuck you are on a Sunday morning. Choose sitting on that couch watching mind-numbing spirit-crushing game shows, stuffing fucking junk food into your mouth. Choose rotting away at the end of it all, pishing your last in a miserable home, nothing more than an embarrassment to the selfish, fucked-up brats you have spawned to replace yourself. Choose your future. Choose life … But why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose not to choose life: I chose something else. And the reasons? There are no reasons…”