nine fifteen

anonymous asked:

you antifa guys are actually more hateful and violent than any neo nazi group in the 21st century. its fucking disgusting and you should be branded as terrorists just as much as the KKK

We’d usually just block you, Anon, but we’re going to use your message as a reminder of where the violence is coming from in 2017.  Off the top of our heads, here’s what the year has looked like so far:

January 20, 2017: A right-wing extremist shoots a protestor at a Milo Yiannopoulos event at the University of Washington. 

January 29, 2017
: Alexandre Bissonnette walks into a mosque in Canada during evening prayers and opens fire, shooting 17 people and killing six of them.

January 2017: Over 40 Jewish centers in the U.S. receive bomb threats.

 February 22, 2017:  Adam Purinton tells two men from India to “get out of my country” then shoots both plus a bystander, killing one.

February 28, 2017: a mosque in Toronto is set on fire by arsonists.

March 12, 2017: a mosque in Ypsilanti, MI. is set on fire by arsonists.

March 20, 2017: James Jackson arrives in Manhattan with a sword and stabs the first black man he sees to death.  He later tells authorities he “intended to kill as many black men as he could.”

March 24, 2017: Yelling “I hate Muslims!” a man in Minneapolis stabbed a Somali man in an attempt to kill him.  

March 26, 2017: A racist mob attacks a 15-year-old Polish boy in Gloucestershire and, when a local Asian shopkeeper tries to intervene, attack him as well with crowbars and baseball bats, then attempt to run him over with a car.

March 31, 2017: A 17-year-old Iranian/Kurdish boy is nearly beaten to death by a mob of eight people in Croydon after he revealed to them that he was a refugee.

April 6, 2017: A Charlotte store is set on fire by an arsonist who leaves a warning message for the shop owner that he “did not want any refugee business owners and that they would torture the owner if they did not leave and go back to where they came from,” according to police.  It was signed “White America.”


April 30, 2017: A  white man storms a pool party in San Diego and shoots four black women, two black men, and one Latino man while allowing white attendees to leave.  One victim dies while the other six sustain critical injuries.


May 5, 2017: A man walking his dog on South Beach in Miami is confronted by two men who call him a “fucking faggot,” then attack him, beating him unconscious.  At one point in the attack, one of the attackers shouts  “all faggots need to die and we’re going to make sure they do!”


May 14, 2017: Vandals spray-paint hate graffiti on the home of a black family in upstate New York before attempting to set the house on fire while the family slept.  Although the family escaped unscathed, their garage burnt to the ground and their house suffered some damage.

May 17, 2017: A homophobic mob break into the home of a gay couple and shoot and stab both men to death.  


May 20, 2017: University of Maryland student and member of the “alt-Reich” facebook group Sean Urbanski walks up to 22-year-old Richard Collins III, who is black and who Urbanski does not know, and stabs him to death in an unprovoked attack. 


May 24, 2017: A barrage of doxxing, rape threats, and death threats received by trans comic book artist Sophie Labelle forces her to cancel an appearance and event at a Halifax book store, which also received bomb threats and threats of attacking the event.  Labelle is forced into hiding.

May 26, 2017: Three men intervene on a MAX train in Portland when they witness another man verbally abusing two Muslim women with an Islamophobic tirade.  The Islamophobe responds by pulling out a knife and stabs the three interveners, killing two of them.  


May 27, 2017: A white man drives his pickup truck through a campsite, targeting the Native Americans camping there while yelling racial slurs at them.  He intentionally drives over two Native American men, killing one and injuring the other.


March 3, 2017: A Sikh man is shot and injured in front of his Seattle house by a white man waring a mask, who yells at him to “go back to your country!”

May 27, 2017: A 34-year-old Anthony Hammond lets loose with a flurry of racial slurs directed at a black man in a parking lot, then pulls out a machete and stabs the man before barricading himself in his apartment for several hours, until finally surrendering to police.


January 1, 2017: 19-year-old Nathan Richardson encounters 67-year-old jogger Wenqing Xu and beats him to death in an unprovoked, random attack.  After committing the murder, Richardson texted his friends that he “fucked sum chink up. Bodied him. I think pure crime scene – his head’s gone,”


June 18, 2017: two men armed with baseball bats attack a group of Muslim teenagers, kidnapping a 17-year-old girl, who they beat to death, dumping her body in a pond.

June 1, 2017: A Princeton professor and racialized woman is forced to cancel a three-city lecture tour to promote her book about the Black Lives Matter movement after receiving over 50 death threats.

June 19, 2017: Shouting “I’m going to kill all Muslims!” 47-year-old Darren Osborne drives a courier van through a crowd of Muslims leaving a Finsbury mosque, killing one person and injuring ten others.


January 28, 2017: a First Nations woman walking with her sister is struck by a trailer hitch hurled from a passing vehicle.  After struggling in hospital for several months, she succumbs to her injuries.  

June 21, 2017:  an Islamophobe approaches a Muslim man and woman sitting in a car stopped at a traffic light and knocks on the window.  When the driver rolls down the window, the Islamophobe sprays the driver and passenger with acid, severely burning both.  


February 21, 2017: a 24-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Chicago, IL. 

February 26, 2017: a transgender woman is shot and killed in New Orleans, LA.

March 1, 2017: a transgender woman is stabbed to death in New Orleans, LA. 

March 22, 2017: a 38-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Baltimore, MD.

April 21, 2017: a 28-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Miami, FL. 

May 17, 2017: a 34-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Fresno, CA.

July 2, 2017:  a 28-year-old transgender woman is shot and killed in Lynchburg, VA. 


June 3, 2017: 38-year-old white supremacist Phillip Wade racially abuses a 57-year-old black man on an Oakley, CA. bus, then pulls a knife and stabs the man to death while the man is walking away from the confrontation.  The victim is the third racialized person Wade has stabbed in the past six years and the second person he’s murdered.  

July 16, 2017: A man attempts to pull the hijab off of a Muslim woman waiting for the tube in London, then hits her when she resists.  He then pins her friend to the wall and spits in her face before leaving.  

July 16, 2017: Arsonists set a mosque in Manchester ablaze. 

July 18, 2017: A NASA researcher of South Asian descent has her car windshield shattered by a rock thrown through it by an assailant screaming “go back to your country!”  She’s injured in the attack.

In case you have trouble counting, Anon, that’s three four five six seven eight nine ten eleven twelve shootings, three four five arsons, two three four seven eight nine ten stabbings, two three four mob beatings, over 40 41 bomb threats and an acid attack by bigots, Islamophobes, nazis and racists so far this year.  Eight Nine Eleven Twelve Fourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Twenty twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty-four twenty-five twenty-six Twenty-seven people are dead because of these bigoted attacks and fifteen twenty-one twenty-two twenty-three twenty-five thirty-five thirty-seven were severely injured.  

But it’s anti-fascists that people should be worried about, right?

“you should be branded as terrorists just as much as the KKK“ 

Really, now?  Anti-fascists are as much terrorists as the KKK, a terrorist organization which murdered over 3000 people in lynchings, arsons, bombings, etc. over its 150-year history, are we? 

Maybe it’s time you learned about the logical fallacy of false equivalence, Anon!



Fifteen, Twelve

It takes nine minutes for you to realise that this is a date.

Dean is dressed in his favourite flannel and his nicest pair of jeans - the ones with the fewest grease stains.

You’re just wearing what you had been when he asked if you wanted to get a drink.

The conversation is stilted and he’s watching you carefully, studying you as if he’s looking for cues.

It’s when you smile and he lets out a breath of relief that you figure it out.

“This isn’t just a casual drink, is it?” you ask, swirling your beer around in the bottle.

He clears his throat, looking down at his hands before smiling shyly across at you.

“I’m not good at this,” he admits, and you smile, taking his hand over the table.

“You’re fine,” you assure him, “But I would’ve dressed up if I knew this was a date.”

Dean runs his tongue over his lower lip as he shakes his head.

“You look great,” he tells you. “I fell for you like this.”

You feel yourself start to blush, looking down bashfully.

You clear your throat, trying to get your smile under control as he tells you what you’ve waited so long to hear.

It takes nine seconds for you to compose yourself.

100 Kisses

Summary: You decide to give Bucky 100 kisses for his 100th birthday.

Word Count: 2,845

Warning: cursing

A/N: I’m sure in parts of the world Bucky’s birthday is long over, but it’s still March 10th where I live! Happy Birthday, Bucky Barnes!

9:15 am

Steve Rogers stared at you with wide blue eyes as you attempted to wolf down a bowl of cereal. There were many things out of place in this picture—for one thing, he couldn’t quite fathom how a person could so wildly eat cheerios, your spoon constantly clanging against the sides of the bowl.

For another thing, it was rare that you were up this early on a Friday, even if it was a special occasion. He glanced at the clock opposite him, noting that it was only fifteen past nine in the morning.

The super soldier opened his mouth to say something, but he stopped short at the abrupt sound of your chair scraping its legs against the floor. You shot out of your seat to drop your wares in the sink before floating across the table, depositing yourself in Bucky Barnes’ lap.

Bucky eyed you with a smirk, still chewing his breakfast while you placed your hands around his neck. You stared at him with doe eyes, batting your lashes heavily. “You need somethin’ darlin?” he questioned you, the tips of his lips curving into a smile despite the pointed look he was trying to give.

“Uhhhhh hurry up!” You bounced impatiently on his thigh, squirming around as you started to slip. “I’m only at twenty-seven!”

“Twenty-seven what?” For a quick moment, everything you could have possibly meant flashed into Steve’s mind, some of them not exactly what he wanted to think about over his first meal. With a quirked eyebrow he looked at the close couple, searching their faces for an explanation.

“I’m trying to mmm-” Your voice was cut off when your boyfriend shoved toast into your mouth, the jam smearing across your lips and making it sticky. Smugly, Bucky returned his attention to Steve, who watched on with a bewildered expression.

“She’s attempting to give me one hundred kisses today.” His voice was laced with mirth, a silly smile plastered onto his lips that juxtaposed his usual expression. Steve laughed, understanding your restless behavior.

“Did she give you ninety-nine last year?” Steve asked, very amused by the challenge, but also grateful. While your idea was strange, he found it sweet and affectionate; just the type of love Bucky needed after years of solitude.

“He hid his birthday from me last year, and now he has to pay for it!” you accused, poking your finger into his chest. “Besides, one hundred is a special milestone! Much more so than ninety-nine.”

“Most people don’t make it to ninety-nine,” Bucky pointed out, prodding your cheek with the end of his fork. You could see him fighting the urge to cave into your demands, hiding his grin with a cup of coffee. His eyes seemed to shimmer, much like they did when Steve brought him to the tower for the first time.

It felt like so many years ago that you’d met Bucky, a cautious, broken thing with eyes like glass. You didn’t think you’d ever get to see him so comfortable, so relaxed, so human. It made your heart swell, more so than the kisses ever could.

“Well then, even less people make it to one hundred. I’m glad you’re one of them,” your smile softened as you placed a kiss to his temple, his eyes closing in reverence. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder, placing his head against yours.

“I’m glad you’re here with me. You too, punk,” the brunette’s eyes picked up to Steve’s, narrowing playfully. “I see you over there.”

With a grin, Steve held up his hands in a placating gesture. “Who me? I’m not doing a thing. Just watching my best friend be totally disgusting with his girlfriend.” He was shaking now, wiping a tear away from his eye as his laughter continued.

“I guess there’s some things one hundred years can’t change”

1:34 pm

“Fifty three…fifty four…fifty five…fifty six,” You were on a roll, having placing your lips back and forth against Bucky’s for a few solid minutes. You were getting fast, knowing that at some point he would grow impatient of sitting on the couch for such small pecks.

He hadn’t complained yet, a satisfied smile growing even wider as the other occupants of the room stared in horror while you repeatedly kissed Bucky, counting in between. Sam mimicked retching, his acting turning into an actual couching fit.

“Jesus Y/N, aren’t you tired? And I don’t just mean from having to look at Barnes in the first place.” His voice made you stop, turning to face the man with a weak glare. Wariness showed on your face, emphasized by your off-guard expression and swollen lips.

“Could you please be nice to him for like, one day out of the year? Actually two; Christmas is a good time to lay off him too.”

“Could you two maybe get a room? We’re trying to watch quality entertainment, not whatever gross thing you guys are doing,” Clint groaned, eyes still glued to the television. Tony and Sam agreed with a round of complaints, the entire room beginning to get rowdy.

“Why are we even watching this? It’s March Madness, turn on ESPN!”

“Um, the Joffrey Ballet is performing Romeo and Juliet and I’m missing it.”

“Would you guys mind if we put on Star Trek?”

“Fuck Next Generation, Brucey. Someone hand me the remote or put on How I Met Your Mother.”

All of a sudden the T.V went blank, the remote clanging to floor as you dropped it with your powers. The room was suddenly silent, no one daring to make a move as your eyes returned to normal.

“I was here first, and I say you’re all watching T.V. in another room,” Your voice became dangerously low, scarring the others to scamper out of their seats without any complaints. There were small apologies being thrown at you, mostly muttered from Clint and Tony. (“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, please don’t use your powers!”)

You smiled until a pair of lips were pressed firmly to yours, a much longer, heated kiss that stole your breath and your thoughts. Bucky had grabbed your waist, pulling you to straddle his lap once again.

“Sixty,” he reminded you, voice low as though he was sharing a secret. You blinked, forgetting what the numbers were for in the first place. He had that effect on you.

He smiled, a little embarrassed, but hugged you closer all the same. “I wanted to give you one. That was pretty hot.”  

6:28 pm

“What number are you guys on now?”

Natasha lazily swirled her spoon in her tea, head propped on her fist as she sent a smirk towards you and Bucky. By some miracle you weren’t completely smothering him, the two of you eating like normal people at the dinner table.

“Eighty-six. I’ve been spreading them out, he likes it better that way.” You beamed at him, unaware of his blushing state. Nat, however, noticed this right away, wiggling her brows to gain his attention.

“I’m sure that’s not the only thing he likes spread out,” she winked, and immediately after Bucky placed his head in his hands. A chorus of feminine cackles erupted, making his face even hotter.

“Bucky, please,” you wheezed out, holding a hand to your stomach. You gave his back a little rub, coaxing him out of his flushed state. “What are you acting all shy about, baby?” you teased him, the two of you calling him “ladies man” and “lover boy”, harping back to the stories Steve used to tell about him.

Bucky slowly lifted his head, hands still covering his face. “You know, I thought today was going to be more embarrassing for you than for me. How could I be so wrong?”

You rolled your eyes as his antics, prying his hands away. “C’mon Buckaroo,” you joked, trying to use as many dumb nickname as you could to calm him down. “We’re only teasing.”

“Relentlessly,” he added, and you scoffed, placing your hands on your hips.

“You’re one to talk about relentless! Do you want a list of all the times you’ve taunted me! You did that to me this morning!” Bucky peeked at you through his fingers, catching the frown etched on your face. “It’s only fair!”

“Sorry, don’t recall,” he muttered, getting up from his seat and walking away from you. You sputtered, standing quickly and bumping your thighs against the table.

“Hey!” he was starting to run now, even with very limited space. His back was retreating faster down the elevator corridor, and you picked up speed, getting a running start off the ground before you flew towards him.

“I can fly faster than you can run, Barnes!” you called after him, eyes glowing as you shot forward. Bucky suddenly turned, arms wide open, ready to catch you with a solid stance. You tried to slow down, but you were hurdling toward him like a comet. The force of your collision sent him skidding backwards, his feet tripping over themselves to regain a sense of balance.

You ended up twirling like a top, his arms wrapped around you as you spun into the elevator. Your giggles turned into a hiccups, only to be silenced by a kiss. A deep and slow one, melding your mouths together and ultimately grounding you. Any dizziness that persisted afterwards was not from being spun, but rather from the kiss that had you seeing stars.

“Eighty-seven,” you counted proudly, without a single hiccup.

10:04 pm

Ten o’ clock wasn’t late by any means, but it had been a long day.

There had been something of a party in the common room since seven; a small gathering that consisted of the Avengers, and a few other agents Bucky knew well. Tony had promised it wouldn’t be anything he wasn’t comfortable with, and that if he wanted the celebration over, he could have it.

Tony kept his word. Even though Bucky had been having fun, he realized that while he was busy catching up with Thor and Scott Lang, Y/N had hardly been by his side. Perhaps it was the suddenness of it all, but he felt immensely detached, gazing at her from across the room with longing looks.

You were quite adept at deciphering Bucky’s looks, even from far away. He’d given you this long stare, his baby blue hues so cloudy and dull, reason enough to saunter over to him and press a quick kiss to his lips.

“You okay?” you asked him, concerned that he wasn’t having fun. He didn’t seem to suggest the idea, but you could tell that something was bothering him. The first two times you did it, he shook his head and granted you a small smile.

The third time was different. By the third kiss you felt his restless energy, his hands cupping both your cheeks, seeking some sort of outlet. You held his hands, looking straight into his eyes.

“Bucky,” you paused, making sure he was hearing you. “Bucky are you alright?”

He was beginning to nod, his hair falling into his eyes as he bowed his head, but his chin never came back up. “I’m fine, I just,” he sounded strained, his voice thick with some emotion you couldn’t quite place. “How many left?”

“Ten,” you told him, rubbing the pads of your thumbs over his hands. “Just ten more.”

He licked his lips, grabbing onto your wrist loosely and pulling you away. “I want to go.” He was using short sentences, his speech rushed and shoulders tense.  Today had been long, and social events tended to tire him out quicker than anything else.

“Okay baby, you stay right there, I’ll tell Tony.” You gave him a smile that was forced, the façade vanishing when you turned away from it. You nearly jogged to reach Tony, explaining the situation as best you could, despite not understanding it yourself.

He was good about it. Tony didn’t make a scene, he just waved graciously with a small smile. Bucky returned it, and suddenly the whole room was raising a glass in his leave.

“Happy Birthday, Buck! Hope you had fun.” Steve’s strong voice was wistful, but his smile was not at all sad. Bucky gave a salute, relief seeping back into him as you two looped arms, turning your backs to the avengers.

“You sure you’re okay?” It was simply precautionary, your worry fading when he gave a genuine smile.

“I’m fine, doll face. Just wanted to cash in those last ten kisses in private.”

 11:15 pm

He was smooth, in almost everything he did. It was scary, sometimes, how he could surprise you like that. Bucky appeared so sharp, so bent and twisted sometimes that you were always taken aback by how careful and soft he treated you.

His hands slowly went up your side, bunching the soft cotton of your pajamas impatiently. When he detached himself, his burning blue eyes looked straight at you, lips parted but unmoving, the question unspoken between you two.

“Ninety-eight,” you replied, breathing heavily against his lips, your foreheads touching. He’d been playing this game since he’d gotten you alone, taking charge of the gift you were supposed to give him. He rolled his hips under yours, nails digging into your sides almost painfully as he angled his mouth down for another go.

Suddenly his pursed lips met the pads of your fingers. He blinked, watching as you sat back on your knees, taking his wrists into your hands.

“This is my gift. You can’t take control of it, that makes it yours.” You felt like you were pouting, crossing your arms to convey your annoyance, even it if was acute.

Bucky laughed until he realized you were serious. “What? Darling, come on,” he persuaded, lifting up your chin. “It is for me.”

“Yeah, but it’s, I’m,” you struggled to form your thought into a coherent statement, one that would make sense. “I’m giving you one hundred kisses, in my time. You can’t cash them all in like a rain check.”

That seemed to do the trick, your boyfriend leaning back on his elbows, looking at you with raised brows. “Well when you put it like that,” he drawled, and you used your strength to push him down onto his back.

“When I put it like that,” you mocked him, landing on your side next to him. You grazed your finger across his jaw, tracing the outline down his neck and collarbone. His skin was hot to the touch, but shivers wracked his spine when your nails scratched under his chin. He was eager, hands twitching to touch you. You laughed at his restraint, cupping your hands to his cheeks and giving him a soft, tender kiss that lasted but a minute.

You didn’t need to say it out loud; you both understand that this was the last of them, the final kiss to mark his birthday. He smiled as he shifted to mirror your body, arms snaking around your neck. He wanted so desperately to say something, but before he could even think about it, your lips placed a small peck to his.

“One hundred! Happy Birthday, Bucky!” you grinned sneakily, and he grabbed you, pulling you onto his lap. You laughed at his expression, the fleeting anger that bubbling under his shock.

“What? That so does not count!” he yelled, feeling cheated. He pulled your wrists to bring your closer, so close that your chests touched and your eyes were solely focused on each other. You still stifled some giggles back, and Bucky finally sighed, resigned to the fact that, no matter how devious it was, you’d kept your promise.

“You’re forgetting something,” your chirpy voice reminded him, and he grumbled a quick response before you placed your hands on his chest. You captured his attention a mere moment before you captured his lips, this time in a kiss that mattered.

It started slow and hesitant, as though you were testing unsteady waters. Soon it became deeper, those hovering hands now fully immersed in his hair, tugging at the roots with just enough pull to spur him on further.

Bucky placed his hands on your hips, slowly sitting himself up, never breaking contact. He placed you back down onto the bed, his weight pressing against yours. Your resolve broke, that earlier statement off the table as Bucky guided you onto your back, trapping you between his arms. Your head pressed into the mattress, your body sinking as your breath was stolen from you, Bucky’s chest flush against you.

When the need for air became too hard to ignore, Bucky pulled back, a questioning glance on his face. “Pretty sure I’m not one hundred and one,” he inquired, and you smiled.

“One for good luck.” Your answer made him break out into a grin, one so contagious you nearly forgot about everything else. He slowly leaned down and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, a good and quick thing that conveyed everything it needed to.

“I don’t need luck when I’ve got you.”


“Choose Me” (ft. BTS’ Suga)

You sighed, your heart easily feeling heavy as you emptied out your resolve with that one text. You thought hard, the past three and a half months with Namjoon had been a dream, and now, more than ever, you felt like all you did was receive from him. In the countless random moments you had with him, you tried to look for a clue where he might be. 

Was he in that coffee shop that played the best music? Was he in the school cafeteria where he finally acknowledged that the lunch ladies can actually make decent food? Was he in the library where you first got to know him as your crash course Philosophy tutor? Or was he in between all of those moments, somehow still by your side while knowing that you saw through him and was looking for something that he did not have?

And in these questions, you found the answer. 

Your feet moved faster than you could comprehend as your frantic fingers pressed for his name. There was a short ring as you climbed the stairs. 

“Hello?” his deep voice will never fail to catch you off-guard.

“Namjoon, I know exactly where you are.” you declared, catching your breath at the last flight of stairs. “I want to see you, but I don’t think you’d want to see me.”

You heard him sigh, chuckling below his breath, laughing at how well you seem to know him. “You must know a lot about me, Y/N-ssi.”

The formality somehow made you sad as you traced your steps towards a familiar room.

Kim Namjoon was the vice president of the student council. He was VP Namjoon in your phone before he became Joonie, before he started to be someone you cared for. That was his identity before you and seeing him through the window from where you stood in the hallway, sitting on his desk in the student council room with the late afternoon sunlight washing over his melancholic face, made you realize how you seem to be going backwards. As if you were going back to where you started… before Namjoon and towards Yoongi and maybe, the past before that too.

It was a bittersweet feeling, but slowly, eventually, that moment became your eureka. If you really were going back to where all of these started, then you were going to do it right.

“We’re alike and lately, maybe too alike.” You smiled as you watched him fiddle with the hem of his jacket with his head hung low. “I’m sorry, Namjoon.” You choked out. Maybe he sensed it, maybe he heard you through the thin walls, but he began looking around for you and you had to fling yourself to the nearest wall to prevent him from seeing you. “Don’t… look up. Look out the window or something. I don’t think I can say what I want to say while looking in your eyes.”

You peeked from where you stood and saw that he had indeed turned his back and looked out of the window. With a hand in his pocket and the other holding the phone against his ear, he said with a stable voice, “Okay, I’m ready. Today is the day, huh.”

“I’m sorry.” You repeated weakly, stepping out to look at his back again. “We can’t choose the people that we fall in love with.”

He chuckled darkly, his next words laced with just the right hint of contempt. “You see, Y/N… I don’t believe that.” He declared with the tone of finality that everyone seem to acknowledge and even when there was no one else around, you were sure that people would have whispered their agreement. “People always say that. Not only in love or relationships, they say that they didn’t have a choice, but in reality everyone has a choice. Always.”

He took a short moment, maybe to recompose himself as his voice had gotten a decibel louder or maybe just to take a quick breath before he continued more calmly, “You could’ve turned me down, you could’ve stopped your feelings for Yoongi or you could’ve fought for him, but you didn’t. You were the one who gave up on him first. You always had a choice, Y/N. You will always have a choice, don’t forget that.”

You nodded silently even though he cannot see you. “I know that I can’t get mad at you, you know why? Because I chose you. I chose to play this game even though I knew that I would lose.”

“I’m sorry.” You could only repeat the words meekly because you couldn’t argue with Namjoon. He was always right.

He sighed and turned around again, startling you as he leaned on the windowsill. His eyes were trained on something in front of him, so you knew that he was deliberately not looking at you. “Are you apologizing for breaking my heart or are you apologizing for not accepting my heart at all?”

You took a second to think, but that second was enough for you to see the way the single teardrop from Namjoon’s eyes catch light and glisten in the darkening room.

“I’m sorry…” you hesitated, wondering if you should finally reveal yourself. “…because I made the great, Kim Namjoon cry.” At your words, his eyes immediately connected with yours. You were stunned, but you continued with your trembling voice, “…but I’ve thought about this so many times before actually deciding. No matter how I feel now, I still think it isn’t right for me to keep seeing you when I can’t give my whole heart to you. I don’t want to use the clichéd “it’s not you, it’s me” line, but really, it’s me. I need to take a step back from all of these and just find out if I want to be with anyone.”

He nodded and you didn’t know if he accepted such an explanation or simply understood you without further questions. “Y/N?” The way he said your name, without any suffix or formality, made you rethink everything. “Remember that favor you owed me?”

Immediately, you remembered the favor you owed him for his time as your tutor and how those days already felt like a million miles away. “What is it?”

“Don’t ask me to be friends with you.” Kim Namjoon was always warm, but now, he made you feel his chilling words down your spine as he looked at you with his unwavering gaze. “Let me decide if I want you to be in my life again.”

When you finally nodded in acceptance, you realized that you were also crying. His words definitely signified the end of something. “I understand.” You bit your lower lip, looking for all the words that you had wished to say but couldn’t, so you settled with, “…and if I change my mind?”

His smile, the one that spread on his lips and parted them to reveal his teeth and deepen the dimples on his cheek, might’ve been his parting gift to you. “Then you’ll have to wait in line. I’m highly eligible.”

You returned his smile and even though a wall, a window and a few paces separated you, this was the closest that you had ever gotten to each other’s hearts. You meet his eyes from where you stood for one last time. You wipe both of your tears and smile at each other before you finally ended the call.

You waved at him one last time, mouthing, ‘Thank you.’

Genre: Angst/Fluff/Drama/Romance/CollegeAU

Pairing: ReaderxYoongi/ReaderxNamjoon

Summary: It’s the number one rule: you should never fall in love with your best friend or worse, Min Yoongi. With love in the equation, it becomes much difficult to find the right answer. Is it really true that you can’t choose who you fall in love with?

One Two Three Four Five Six Seven Eight Nine Ten ElevenTwelve ThirteenFourteen Fifteen Sixteen Seventeen Eighteen Nineteen Nineteen Point Five Twenty Twenty One Twenty Two Twenty Three (END) Epilogue



Every morning between the hours of six and eight, Shawn gets himself ready and dressed to hit the gym, no excuses, no late sleep ins, nothing. The latest he leaves for the gym is eight. 

He likes his strict routine, for what reason, you do not know. 

You, for one, cannot keep to a strict routine when it comes to mornings and your time off. You much prefer to spend your early mornings cuddled in bed sleeping or lazing around. Shawn, however, loves getting himself to the gym and then lazing around and sleeping. 

It wasn’t unusual for you to wake up to an unoccupied bed, the sun peeking through the windows as you shuffle around in the bed, attempting to find a comfortable position to rest and fall back asleep in. But, you’re startled when you hear the front door open and closing, your hand immediately reaching for your phone, the brightness causing you to squint as you read the time, ‘nine-fifteen’ a time that is far too early for Shawn to be getting back from the gym. 

The moment he steps into the bedroom, he abandons his athletic bag to the floor, taking you by surprise as he collapses to the bed, resting his head on the pillow. 

“Hard work out?” You softly challenge, moving to rest your hand on his back, rubbing soothing circles. 

You’re not new to the occasional hard workouts where he pushes himself too far and he ends up just wanting to sleep the rest of the day. In fact, at least once a month he pushes himself excessively far and spends a whole day resting. 

He responds with an inaudible grumble, nestling further into the comfort of the bed, 

“In English please, Shawn,” you chuckle, continuing to rub your hand in small circular motions on his back, keeping him content. 

“Fuckin’ kicked my ass… My legs are done for,” Shawn mumbles, opening one eye to look at you, sighing heavily the moment the wailing of your little girl sounds through the house. “She still not sleeping more than two hours?” He sighs, “I put her back to sleep before I left,” he pouts and you lean over and kiss his cheek, forcing yourself up to get off the warm bed. 

“Nope, did you think you going to the gym would suddenly change that?” You chuckle, pulling one of his sweaters over your body as you look over at him, his body sprawled out on the bed, 

“Kinda hoped so, she’s killing me with this," 

"Mhm, if you had of stayed home you would have been able to sleep and you wouldn’t be sore,” you poke fun at him for his strict schedule that involves going to the gym at the same time each morning. 

You make your way down the warm hallway and enter the neutral coloured walls of your little girl’s room. You peer over her crib, leaning down and picking the three-month-old up, her little body instantly clutching to your body and nestling into you. “Hey there my little darling, did you hear Daddy and want to wake up? Hmm.” You hum, draping her white blanket over her back before you bounce her a few times to get her to completely stop whining. She settles into you and you carefully walk out of her room, wandering back down the hallway to the master bedroom. 

You smile as Shawn is now on his back, his arm covering his eyes as he continues to rest. “Daddy wants some cuddles, I think he needs some,” you whisper to your little girl as she yawns, her little hand pressing to your shoulder.

You gingerly get on the bed and Shawn uncovers his eyes, focusing them on his pride and joy, “Good morning, did you decide you wanted to wake up, again?” Shawn coos, taking her from your hold, settling her to rest on his stomach, his hand resting on her back to keep her sitting up. She crinkles her nose before she stares down at him with her blue eyes, giving him a small gummy smile. “You’re so cute, wanna tell Daddy why you won’t sleep?” … “Is it because you want to sleep with us? I think we should let you and see, but Mummy over here says it is a bad idea.” Shawn mumbles to his little girl, getting no response but random baby noises and a few hands being thrown around. 

“If she sleeps with us, we will never get her back in the crib, Shawn.” You remind Shawn of the reason why you are against bringing her to sleep in the bed with the two of you. She will end up sleeping on yours or Shawn’s chest and will get far to use to it and never want to sleep in her own crib. 

You view as Shawn smiles at his little girl, his eyes illuminating with such love and awe, you have never seen him look at anything with as much love as he does with his little one.
She is everything to him, his pride and joy, his love, his life. 

At just three months old, she has him wrapped around her little finger, there is no doubt in your mind that she will be a Daddy’s girl.

 From the day she was born and placed in his arms, there was no separating them for too long. 

“Ah, bless you, uh and bless you again,” Shawn coos as the little one cutely sneezes, “she is so damn adorable, how did we create someone so cute, look at her.” Shawn smiles at his little girl, positioning himself to sit up a bit more, pressing a sweet kiss to her cheek, “You are a cutie, yes, yes you are, you definitely take after your Mummy,” Shawn continues to talk in a charming voice, keeping your daughter occupied while you take the time to get dressed. 

Since she has been born, you haven’t really had much time to yourself, usually getting dressed is accompanied by her watching or whining, giving you exactly two minutes to get yourself together. 

Her little baby mumbles turn to a few whines and you flick your eyes over to Shawn, “Shh, my darling..” He whispers, resting her on his chest and rubbing her back his soft voice beginning to hum softly. 

He has this nonchalant power over her; Shawn can calm her down with just the sound of his soft hums and the tender touch of his hand. You, on the other hand, you don’t have the power of being able to hum in order for her to calm back down. 

You smile at the two of them, Shawn calming her down and getting her to fall asleep on him rather promptly. 

“Hon, what am I going to do when I go on tour? I don’t want to leave her.” Shawn whispers, keeping his down on his little girl, his hand rubbing her little back as her breaths rise and fall softly. 

“I don’t know, we will figure it out… For now, just enjoy time with her," 

 "She looks so much like you and that isn’t fair.” Shawn sighs, giving you his pouty flushed lips, “I have two beautiful women in my life, I got so lucky… You are both so gorgeous, she is flawless, truly. You did an amazing job.” He smiles over at you with glistening coffee-colored eyes,

“I couldn’t have done it without you. You helped create her," 

"Yeah, but you did the hard work, you carried her for nine months, I don’t know if I told you, but you are so damn amazing, I am so thankful that you helped give me such a perfect little girl," 

"Well, you helped a lot,” you assure him, “We created a perfect little girl, one that has your eyes and your long ass legs, God how those long legs were painful,” you chuckle, gesturing towards her sleeping body, “Have you noticed how she sleeps like you?” You question, curious as to whether Shawn has noticed how she prefers to sleep the exact same way he does, on his tummy with his legs spread apart. 

Shawn chuckles, “I did notice that, have you noticed how she has one lazy eye? She got that one from me.” … 

“Yeah, it is so cute… She is very picky, like you. Which reminds me, she won’t eat that baby food you got the other day,” you familiarise Shawn, 

“Ha, funny thing.. I tried to feed it to her yesterday and she spat it out, so I tasted it…. It was gross." 

"Shawn,” you sigh, “Stop giving our child bad habits." 

"I can’t help it, she has picky tastes.” Shawn shrugs, defending himself as he carefully lifts himself off the bed, “I’m going to put her down, want me to make breakfast?” Shawn proposes with a smirk, “I know you love my waffles, with some strawberries.” Shawn beams over at you, stepping outside the bedroom, 

“Mhmm, sounds great.” You smile over at him before he disappears from your view.


Have I watched this eight or nine or ten or fifteen times already?

You bet your Lasso of Truth I have.

Jason Todd/Red Hood X Reader- I’m Getting a Sword

Warning: Swearing

Groaning, you moved your head so the sunlight wouldn’t shine into your eyes, pulling your blanket over your head.  Rubbing your eyes, you gave up on trying to fall back asleep and threw the blanket off from your body.  Stretching, you stood up and walked to the kitchen, hoping that there was a drink that would wake you up.  Grabbing a mug, you scratched your head and opened the fridge.

“Do we have anything good to eat?” Jason asked, walking into the kitchen and wrapped his arms around your waist.

“Leftover takeout or microwaveable burritos?” you asked, laughing as he blew a raspberry into your neck.

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Timed to De-Stress {Christian Yu} ~Happy One Month!!~

Originally posted by jaerins

Prompt: Can I request a Christian Yu smut where you give him a blowjob and ride his thigh because he’s so stressed. With dirty talk, please

Pairing: Christian x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

Warning: smut,

|| Requests Open || Smut Game 1 || Smut Game 2 || BTS Masterlist || GOT7 Masterlist ||

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My Lover Smells Like Fish (4)

Part 1Part 2Part 3

Matthew’s looking between the two of them like a peeved parent.

“I don’t mind being a designated driver,” Alfred’s brother tells them, “but I don’t see the point when you’re already home.”

Alfred knows his brother well and he can see pretty clearly, despite the alcohol in his system, that Matthew’s obviously upset that they’re drunk at all. It’s going on seven now, so there are clear implications about when they started

“Sweetheart, you gotta help us,” Gilbert says, taking Matthew’s hand, seemingly not caring if this makes a scene in the parking lot. “We have to save Arthur’s balls—you don’t wanna see a good guy lose his nuts, do you?”

Matthew’s expression is one of perplexed disgust and he’s openly not buying into the needy ramblings of a man who reeks of beer.

“C'mon, honey, it’s important—,”

And then there’s some stuff Alfred doesn’t want to see, so he averts his eyes and just waits until they finish their negotiations. Looking into the back of the truck, he notes that it’s pretty filthy and coated with wood chippings.

“Get in, loser, we’re going shopping!” Gilbert hollers at him, now half-hanging out of the truck.

Alfred follows after him, pulling himself up and in on the passenger’s side. “Shopping?”

“We’re gonna get us a fish, dude,” he informs him.

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Return - Part 5 - Jim Kirk

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4

Summary: series following the events of loot– takes place during events of star trek beyond. in this chapter, you run into a very frightening portion of your past and things are revealed.

Warnings: language, violence (but it’s canon)

A/N: i’m still tagging those i used to tag for loot, tell me if you want to be removed. SHIT’S CONTINUING TO GO DOWN. this chapter and the next 2 are probably my favorites

You continued to hear loud blasts that shook the bridge. Gasps rang through the halls and the deafening crashes silenced them all. The alarm siren had slowly turned into comfortable, predictable white noise amongst all the uncertainty and the blinding red lights now reminded you of where you were, that this was reality and not some sick nightmare.

You exchanged a look with Uhura, conveying your suspicions to her without even having to say a word aloud.

She nodded in understanding, glancing at the woman beside you.

That woman, Kalara, who claimed to have lost her ship in the uncharted depths of this volatile nebula, continued to shift nervously.

It wasn’t a nervousness that resembled the one keeping your knees from buckling and the one keeping Jim glued to his captain’s chair, but rather an anticipatory nervousness. You thought she might have been waiting for something— something much bigger.

“Sir, I have hull breaches in levels twelve to fifteen, six, nine, thirty-one and twenty-one, sir,” Chekov stated in a trembling voice, turning to face Jim as if the captain could impart some sort of confidence everyone else was depleted of.

Scotty’s voice rang in from the communication receiver, “Captain! There’s a chance I can reroute the energy reserves from the warp core to the impulse engines.”

“If we get back into the nebula, maybe we could lose them,” Jim said, his grip on the armrests of his chair visibly growing tighter as his knuckles turned a ghostly white. “Do whatever you have to, Scotty.”

Chekov and Sulu offered one another skeptical glances.

Jim rose from his chair, as if tearing his body from its clutches, and combed his fingers through his hair. He looked at you. “Nothing?”

“Nothing,” you sounded defeated— you felt defeated.


Jim’s attention was caught and he leaned over the communication receiver. “Go, Spock.”

“I have identified the individual who appears to be leading the attack party,” you could hear the motion in his voice, the quick blasts of phasers ringing through the line. “He infiltrated the archive vault and removed the artifact from our mission on Teenax.”

Sulu, Chekov, and Jim turned to look at you simultaneously.

Your mouth fell open and you felt your stomach flip and jerk enough to inspire a heavy wave of nausea. You almost lost your balance.

Jim was the first to look forward again. “Hold your distance until—”

A loud phaser blast echoed through the line and it went dead instantly.

“Spock?” Jim called. “Spock!”

He sighed heavily, motioning to the officers behind you. His voice had a distinct rasp as he stated, “You two with me. Sulu, you have the conn.”

As Jim removed a phaser and passed it to Sulu, you let go of Kalara’s arm. “I’m coming with you.”

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276! = 2 788 080 104 957 639 191 680 903 001 314 480 365 358 208 808 594 579 728 293 284 812 921 096 767 321 237 014 975 648 559 809 402 832 080 216 720 845 635 210 496 880 141 845 495 936 417 355 321 351 495 199 230 301 718 310 340 364 607 456 251 452 629 551 945 091 569 444 362 117 400 247 244 754 510 080 815 710 039 408 642 004 413 313 259 312 731 475 441 990 221 075 975 772 090 870 168 192 957 569 821 358 384 057 572 518 460 332 424 123 112 546 009 218 539 458 350 498 795 914 485 125 737 116 013 596 593 452 093 236 702 874 134 234 197 830 946 061 763 324 118 761 731 635 414 950 062 979 415 154 163 942 499 193 567 649 728 095 700 240 303 338 291 200 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000 000
Name: Two quattuoroctogintacentillion, seven hundred eighty-eight treoctogintacentillion, eighty duooctogintacentillion, one hundred four unoctogintacentillion, nine hundred fifty-seven octogintacentillion, six hundred thirty-nine novenseptu

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2999 = 5 357 543 035 931 336 604 742 125 245 300 009 052 807 024 058 527 668 037 218 751 941 851 755 255 624 680 612 465 991 894 078 479 290 637 973 364 587 765 734 125 935 726 428 461 570 217 992 288 787 349 287 401 967 283 887 412 115 492 710 537 302 531 185 570 938 977 091 076 523 237 491 790 970 633 699 383 779 582 771 973 038 531 457 285 598 238 843 271 083 830 214 915 826 312 193 418 602 834 034 688 — five novemnonagintillion, three hundred fifty-seven octononagintillion, five hundred forty-three septennonagintillion, thirty-five sexnonagintillion, nine hundred thirty-one quinnonagintillion, three hundred thirty-six quattuornonagintillion, six hundred four trenonagintillion, seven hundred forty-two duononagintillion, one hundred twenty-five unnonagintillion, two hundred forty-five nonagintillion, three hundred novemoctogintillion, nine octooctogintillion, fifty-two septenoctogintillion, eight hundred seven sexoctogintillion, twenty-four quinoctogintillion, fifty-eight quattuoroctogintillion, five hundred twenty-seven treoctogintillion, six hundred sixty-eight duooctogintillion, thirty-seven unoctogintillion, two hundred eighteen octogintillion, seven hundred fifty-one novemseptuagintillion, nine hundred forty-one octoseptuagintillion, eight hundred fifty-one septenseptuagintillion, seven hundred fifty-five sexseptuagintillion, two hundred fifty-five quinseptuagintillion, six hundred twenty-four quattuorseptuagintillion, six hundred eighty treseptuagintillion, six hundred twelve duoseptuagintillion, four hundred sixty-five unseptuagintillion, nine hundred ninety-one septuagintillion, eight hundred ninety-four novemsexagintillion, seventy-eight octosexagintillion, four hundred seventy-nine septensexagintillion, two hundred ninety sexsexagintillion, six hundred thirty-seven quinsexagintillion, nine hundred seventy-three quattuorsexagintillion, three hundred sixty-four tresexagintillion, five hundred eighty-seven duosexagintillion, seven hundred sixty-five unsexagintillion, seven hundred thirty-four sexagintillion, one hundred twenty-five novemquinquagintillion, nine hundred thirty-five octoquinquagintillion, seven hundred twenty-six septenquinquagintillion, four hundred twenty-eight sexquinquagintillion, four hundred sixty-one quinquinquagintillion, five hundred seventy quattuorquinquagintillion, two hundred seventeen trequinquagintillion, nine hundred ninety-two duoquinquagintillion, two hundred eighty-eight unquinquagintillion, seven hundred eighty-seven quinquagintillion, three hundred forty-nine novemquadragintillion, two hundred eighty-seven octoquadragintillion, four hundred one septenquadragintillion, nine hundred sixty-seven sexquadragintillion, two hundred eighty-three quinquadragintillion, eight hundred eighty-seven quattuorquadragintillion, four hundred twelve trequadragintillion, one hundred fifteen duoquadragintillion, four hundred ninety-two unquadragintillion, seven hundred ten quadragintillion, five hundred thirty-seven novemtrigintillion, three hundred two octotrigintillion, five hundred thirty-one septentrigintillion, one hundred eighty-five sextrigintillion, five hundred seventy quintrigintillion, nine hundred thirty-eight quattuortrigintillion, nine hundred seventy-seven tretrigintillion, ninety-one duotrigintillion, seventy-six untrigintillion, five hundred twenty-three trigintillion, two hundred thirty-seven novemvigintillion, four hundred ninety-one octovigintillion, seven hundred ninety septenvigintillion, nine hundred seventy sexvigintillion, six hundred thirty-three quinvigintillion, six hundred ninety-nine quattuorvigintillion, three hundred eighty-three trevigintillion, seven hundred seventy-nine duovigintillion, five hundred eighty-two unvigintillion, seven hundred seventy-one vigintillion, nine hundred seventy-three novemdecillion, thirty-eight octodecillion, five hundred thirty-one septendecillion, four hundred fifty-seven sexdecillion, two hundred eighty-five quindecillion, five hundred ninety-eight quattuordecillion, two hundred thirty-eight tredecillion, eight hundred forty-three duodecillion, two hundred seventy-one undecillion, eighty-three decillion, eight hundred thirty nonillion, two hundred fourteen octillion, nine hundred fifteen septillion, eight hundred twenty-six sextillion, three hundred twelve quintillion, one hundred ninety-three quadrillion, four hundred eighteen trillion, six hundred two billion, eight hundred thirty-four million, thirty-four thousand, six hundred eighty-eight (301 digits, 4100 characters)

anonymous asked:

we all know that Peter and Cora didn't really answered Stiles questions about their age, which implied that they are older than they should (which would fit with werewolf-healing etc). I think Peter got this new hellhound in Eichen bc he was soo clingy has boyfriend.

Ha! I would love that. Like this new hellhound is terrifying and everybody is freaking out, and he strides down the hallway with all the flames behind him, and then–

Peter: “Didn’t we say eight? At Olive Garden?” 

Halwyn: “We said seven.” 

Peter: “Excellent. If we’re out of there by nine, I can be fucking you senseless in the back of my car by nine fifteen.” 

Halwyn (to the others): You heard the man. We’re on a schedule here. Get out of the fucking way! 


Intro Note: So something very exciting happened over on my ACOTAR blog (@acourtofdreamsandstarlight) tonight…I hit 1,000 followers! ONE. THOUSAND. Like, my brain can hardly even comprehend it. I am so, so thankful for each and every one of you, and I’m glad that you like my silly little obsessive blog! To say thanks, I wrote a short continuation of my earlier Feysand pregnancy drabble, which you can read here. This drabble is also dedicated to @feysand17, who has been waiting for me for ages to write a continuation (and don’t worry–I haven’t forgotten your other prompt request either!) and the lovely ladies of the Skype Court for their support. :) Hope you enjoy!

Prompt: “Can you help me up? Your child is pretty heavy.”

Feyre Archeron, Cursebreaker, Defender of the Rainbow, and High Lady of the Night Court, had had just about enough of this pregnancy business. At nine months, two days, fifteen hours, and give or take seven minutes—not that she was counting––she was more than ready to have this baby.

Heaving a long sigh, the High Lady of the Night Court chucked aside the book she’d been reading—well, trying to read. She doubted she’d made it any further than a few pages in the past hour, and if pressed, she wouldn’t have been able to describe any of the events that had transpired in the normally riveting tale about a fearless assassin queen. It was rather hard to concentrate on the problems of imaginary people when a very real, very tiny person kept demanding her attention with insistent kicks inside her belly every few minutes.

Feyre ran a hand in soothing circles over her bulging stomach. “Believe me, baby, I’m just as impatient for you to be out of there as you are,” she said. As if in agreement, there came another kick, this one a bit more forceful than the last, and Feyre winced.

It was her eighth day of bed rest, which had been ordered by the Night Court’s most experienced healer and midwife, Arin. Feyre felt that if she did not have this baby soon, she was truly going to go out of her mind.

As she shifted to find a more comfortable position, which, admittedly, was next to impossible, she was hit with an urgent pressure on her bladder. She pushed herself up onto her elbows with a groan and called down the bond to her husband. Less than a second later, Rhysand was at the edge of the bed.

“Is my lady in need of assistance?” he asked with a crooked smile and a low bow. Seeing the frown on her face, Rhysand straightened, and his tone immediately went from one of mild teasing to sober urgency. “Feyre, what is it? Are you in pain? Is something wrong? Should I fetch Arin?”

Feyre rolled her eyes at his fussing. “I’m all right, you big Illyrian baby. I just need to get to the bathing room is all. Can you help me up? Your child is pretty heavy.”

“Oh,” Rhys said, his shoulders relaxing. “Of course.” He leaned over the bed, one arm sliding behind her back while the other slipped under her knees. In one fluid motion, he lifted her from the bed.

“I’m perfectly capable of walking,” Feyre huffed. “It’s just the getting-on-my-feet part that’s a little tricky.”

Rhys clicked his tongue. “Ah-ah, you remember what Arin said. No walking or standing until after the baby’s arrived.”

Feyre let out a low growl. “Damn what Arin says. What exactly is she afraid is going to happen if I stand and walk? That I’ll go into labor? Because at this point I’m thinking of doing just that if it will speed things along.”

Rhys chuckled at her irritable retort. “Don’t shoot the messenger, Feyre. I’m just following orders.” He hugged her tighter to his chest. “And truth be told, I’m rather enjoying it.”

“Yes, well, don’t expect to be carrying me around again for a very long time.”

Rhys had just stepped into the bathing room when suddenly a dampness soaked Feyre’s nightdress. She gasped in horror, thinking for a moment she’d lost control of her bladder and wet herself. She looked up at Rhys, who was staring down at the damp fabric with some surprise, and felt her cheeks color. Quite against her will, tears of embarrassment sprang to her eyes. Cauldron damn my infernal hormones, she cursed silently.

“Rhys, I’m so sorry, I don’t know what—“

But she hesitated in her apology as she saw a smile spread across her husband’s face.

“What in the name of the Mother could you possibly be smiling at?” she demanded, her face burning as she thought he might be about to laugh at her.

“Feyre, darling,” he said, his violet eyes sparkling with excitement. “Your waters just broke. Are you ready to meet our baby?”


1177! = 1 185 224 119 565 992 993 526 459 115 236 696 559 809 304 896 339 252 024 348 813 709 251 351 302 149 835 488 785 491 716 717 744 764 292 327 664 298 206 738 918 918 993 771 328 019 043 713 385 020 803 297 648 264 666 240 597 970 161 898 856 492 181 405 633 181 889 002 317 509 252 768 218 962 978 320 009 352 269 669 352 171 016 090 492 733 555 248 392 959 922 019 142 653 925 837 446 181 612 690 594 501 449 378 411 196 191 959 996 195 550 842 198 111 560 503 797 812 160 042 203 595 817 778 528 389 535 281 802 070 541 558 604 673 827 559 059 551 255 586 652 940 817 584 089 868 583 353 558 206 794 249 580 520 945 147 087 032 792 079 706 810 797 445 527 109 508 510 542 165 296 316 079 873 924 531 467 423 430 287 405 868 063 847 938 861 104 009 557 024 569 061 908 896 944 428 458 308 972 624 723 515 361 766 739 852 362 453 308 795 782 745 646 089 545 167 103 845 225 460 265 951 582 261 658 831 691 816 419 521 340 964 718 324 164 199 420 789 928 277 285 006 418 343 094 845 142 075 436

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Full list of Satanic Sins and my additions/edits

The Nine Fifteen Satanic Sins

by Anton Szandor LaVey ©1987
With additions/edits by Alexander Antonin ©2012 and ©2015 (in italics)

1. Stupidity—The top of the list for Satanic Sins. The Cardinal Sin of Satanism. It’s too bad that stupidity isn’t painful. Ignorance is one thing, but our society thrives increasingly on stupidity. It depends on people going along with whatever they are told. The media promotes a cultivated stupidity as a posture that is not only acceptable but laudable. Satanists must learn to see through the tricks and cannot afford to be stupid.

2. Pretentiousness—Empty posturing can be most irritating and isn’t applying the cardinal rules of Lesser Magic. On equal footing with stupidity for what keeps the money in circulation these days. Everyone’s made to feel like a big shot, whether they can come up with the goods or not.

3. Solipsism Projection—Can be very dangerous for Satanists. Projecting your reactions, responses and sensibilities onto someone who is probably far less attuned than you are. It is the mistake of expecting people to give you the same consideration, courtesy and respect that you naturally give them. They won’t. Instead, Satanists must strive to apply the dictum of “Do unto others as they do unto you.” It’s work for most of us and requires constant vigilance lest you slip into a comfortable illusion of everyone being like you. As has been said, certain utopias would be ideal in a nation of philosophers, but unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, from a Machiavellian standpoint) we are far from that point.

4. Self-deceit—It’s in the “Nine Satanic Statements” but deserves to be repeated here. Another cardinal sin. We must not pay homage to any of the sacred cows presented to us, including the roles we are expected to play ourselves. The only time self-deceit should be entered into is when it’s fun, and with awareness. But then, it’s not self-deceit!

5. Herd Conformity—That’s obvious from a Satanic stance. It’s all right to conform to a person’s wishes, if it ultimately benefits you. But only fools follow along with the herd, letting an impersonal entity dictate to you. The key is to choose a master wisely instead of being enslaved by the whims of the many.

6. Lack of Perspective—Again, this one can lead to a lot of pain for a Satanist. You must never lose sight of who and what you are, and what a threat you can be, by your very existence. We are making history right now, every day. Always keep the wider historical and social picture in mind. That is an important key to both Lesser and Greater Magic. See the patterns and fit things together as you want the pieces to fall into place. Do not be swayed by herd constraints—know that you are working on another level entirely from the rest of the world.

7. Forgetfulness of Past Orthodoxies—Be aware that this is one of the keys to brainwashing people into accepting something new and different, when in reality it’s something that was once widely accepted but is now presented in a new package. We are expected to rave about the genius of the creator and forget the original. This makes for a disposable society.

8. Counterproductive Pride—That first word is important. Pride is great up to the point you begin to throw out the baby with the bathwater. The rule of Satanism is: if it works for you, great. When it stops working for you, when you’ve painted yourself into a corner and the only way out is to say, I’m sorry, I made a mistake, I wish we could compromise somehow, then do it.

9. Lack of Aesthetics—This is the physical application of the Balance Factor. Aesthetics is important in Lesser Magic and should be cultivated. It is obvious that no one can collect any money off classical standards of beauty and form most of the time so they are discouraged in a consumer society, but an eye for beauty, for balance, is an essential Satanic tool and must be applied for greatest magical effectiveness. It’s not what’s supposed to be pleasing—it’s what is. Aesthetics is a personal thing, reflective of one’s own nature, but there are universally pleasing and harmonious configurations that should not be denied.

10. SolipsismThe real world DOES exist. Granted, a large portion of the perceived world is invented by your brain, but that’s based on data from the real world. Anyone who thinks they’re the only person in the world, and that they create 100% of reality, is a delusional fool.

11. Ignorance of ignorance - It can be very dangerous to not be mindful of the ignorance of other people, especially children. This is related to “solipsism” and “projection,” but is different because not only might you be projecting your own abilities and knowledge onto someone who is differently abled and not as knowledgeable as you, but refusal to acknowledge your ignorance of someone’s ignorance can easily become stupidity. And trying to raise children while constantly expecting them to be as able and knowledgeable as you are is not only stupidity, but is often cruelty.

12. Neuotypical-centrism - Never assume that someone can do something you can just because “everyone” can. The brain is a self-programming computer prone to programming errors and hardware defects, neither of which can be fixed at this point in time. The mind is a function of the meat, and if something is wrong with the meat, something will be wrong with the mind. Mental disabilities are far more difficult to work around than physical ones. Have patience and compassion with people different from you, but also don’t treat them like idiot children, either.

13. Over-Lording/Cult-Leading - This is what I’m calling the opposite of herd conformity; it’s when you bring people in with your charisma and - either intentionally or not - start manipulating them into becoming your own little herd of sheep, with you as their shepherd.

14. Pointless Judgmentalism - Hating someone simply because they have a different belief or preference than you, on something inconsequential, is pointless and wasteful judgmentalism. What difference does it make what someone chooses to eat or not to eat?(1) What difference does it make if someone believes in God or not, as long as they aren’t forcing their beliefs on you or acting like a complete jackass to you about it? Why do you care that someone likes to take a cock up the arse, as long as they aren’t forcing you to watch or participate in something inappropriate? As the Wiccans say, “An ye harm none, do what ye will.”

15. Modeltheism - When you hold on so tightly to your beliefs, or to your model of the way the world works or should work, that you take on a mentality that all must convert to your way of thinking or else be killed or treated like the scum of the earth, that’s modeltheism. Anyone can fall victim to this parasitic notion, from hard-core Christians to atheists to Satanists, and can be applied to political stances or even taste preferences (LOTS of modeltheists in the music fandom). And because modeltheism tends to make its hosts close-minded, arrogant, and often times make them fall victim to the sin of stupidity, it is a sin to be very wary of indeed.

1 = Yes, I go off on certain kinds of people a lot, such as vegans, but my beef is not with vegans in general, rather with the 14th sin, Modeltheism. My ire in such cases is always directed at modeltheistic vegans/others.

2:24 am

Finally a Bokuaka oneshot that has not turned into a multi chapter fic. *shakes fists at the ones that have*

Enjoy some Bokuaka fluff while I go despair about our future. 

For @axoic because your art has once again inspired me to write. (it was also very calming to look at a couple nights ago) and @silvercistern because I read your headcanons often and I might have implicated some into here.

I also apologize if this is slightly out of character, I like to headcanon that Bokuto is way smarter then he acts and he can be very good at at getting things he wants as well as messing with Akaashi.

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