only five dollars off but still

convos pt. 3

>> chris
<< yeah?
>> i saved up for that dress
>> but the urban decay palatte i want is on sale at sephora

>> what do i do
<< go get the dress. i got you
>> chris..
<< 😉
>> CHRIS
>> CHRIS YOU ARE NOT

<< yeah i am absolutely not lol that shit is expensive

Supermen

From this request: Could you write a song fic on the song waiting for superman by daughtry… the reader is Sam & Deans kid sister and its basically all the times the boys play ‘superman’ (like save her life- like if she gets tortured or severely injured on a hunt)

Here’s the song

______________________________________________________________

When you’re little, everything seems so… big. That’s why the smallest accomplishments make you feel like you’re invincible. But it’s also why the smallest upsets seem like the end of the world.

John had told Dean to take you and Sammy to the park, to burn off some of your excess energy and to give John some time to go talk to some witnesses. Dean watched from a bench as you and Sammy played—he was too old for that kiddie shit.

Sammy was pumping away on the swings, laughing. You were climbing the steps to the slide.

“De!” you called. “Look! I’m as tall as you!”

Dean couldn’t help but smile.

You slid down the metal sheet, laughing, arms up in the air as though you were on a rollercoaster. You waved to Dean as you sat on the end, legs dangling. You started to scoot yourself to the edge, your feet nearing the ground little by little.

And then the other kid came crashing down behind you.

You sprawled out on the ground while the other kid ran off, paying no mind to you.

“Hey!” Dean yelled, running toward you. “Get back here you little jerk!”

Dean would have chased after the kid but he heard you sniffling. He turned and saw you sitting on the ground, tears streaking your face.

“Hey, it’s okay, Y/N,” Dean said, crouching next to you.

You let out a small sob as you looked at your scraped palms and knees. Sam ran over, slightly out of breath.

“What happened?” he asked, even the concerned-elder-brother at this young age.

“Nothing,” Dean said. He could see blood trying to seep through your torn skin and he didn’t need Sammy making a ruckus about it; it would only serve to work you up even more.

Dean reached into his pocket and pulled out a crumpled five dollar bill. “Here. Go over to the ice cream truck and get you and Y/N something.”

Sam looked as if he wanted to argue, but he took the money and jogged away.

“All right, come on, Y/N.” Dean carefully slid his arms under you and carried you off to the bench he’d previously been on. He sat you down and crouched once more, looking into your eyes.

“I’m going to check you out, okay? I promise it won’t hurt.”

You sniffed, the tears still in your eyes, but you nodded. You trusted Dean with your life.

Dean examined your palms and knees; the skin wasn’t torn too badly. It would heal in a few days. He blew on it, trying to get the excess dirt off. You winced slightly but didn’t cry.

Dean poured a little of the water from the bottle he’d brought onto your wound, which made you whine. “I know,” he said. “Almost done.” He carefully patted your skin with the shirttail of his flannel. Then he pulled a couple Band-Aids from his wallet and stuck them on. “There. Good as new.”

Sammy stepped up at that moment, two popsicles in his hand. “Here, Y/N.”

You smiled as you took the treat, carefully sucking on the tip. You checked out Dean’s handiwork, your tears nearly dry. “Thank you, De.”

Dean smiled. “You’re welcome, Y/N.”

“You were like Superman,” Sam said in awe.

Dean laughed. “I’m no superhero, Sam. But it’s our job to always be there for Y/N, you got that?”

Sam nodded, eyes wide. You smiled and held your popsicle out to Dean, which he gladly took a bite of.

______________________________________________________________

Sam shifted slightly. He was unused to wearing a suit, but John wouldn’t let you go to the school dance by yourself and he needed Dean to help him with the hunt.

Sam looked around. He hadn’t seen you in a while. He walked the perimeter of the gym; you weren’t by the punch table, you weren’t on the dancefloor. He finally spotted you sitting by yourself on the bleachers, head in your hands.

Sam bounded up the steps and carefully sat next to you. “Y/N?”

“Go away, Sam.”

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Sam knew that was a lie. He slowly reached forward and started poking your arm, once, twice, three times, four times, five times…

After about twenty times you looked over at him. “Will you stop?”

“Will you tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s nothing. It’s… I was stupid.”

“Why?”

You sniffed. “I thought….”

“What?”

“I thought Josh wanted me to come to the dance so he could ask me out.”

“And?”

“Turns out, he just asked me here because he wanted all the popular kids to make fun of my thrift-store dress.”

Sam’s blood began to boil. He scanned the floor, finally finding Josh and the rest of the popular crowd in the corner. “Come on, Y/N.”

“Where are we going?”

“Back home. But there’s something I have to do first.” Sam slipped his hand around your elbow and pulled you up. You followed him down the bleachers, wondering what was going on.

Once you reached the floor, Sam gave you a gentle shove. “Go outside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

“Sam?”

But Sam had disappeared into the crowd. You climbed back up the bleachers, looking in the direction he’d gone. You spotted him just as he reached Josh. It looked like Sam was saying something to him and Josh laughed him off.

Then Sam punched Josh in the nose.

You quickly got down from the bleachers, meeting Sam on the floor. “What the hell was that?”

“I thought I told you to go outside.”

“You just punched Josh in the nose!”

“I know,” Sam said, looping his hand around your elbow and leading you toward the door. “And now we’re leaving.”

Sam led you out to the car, glancing behind him for security guards.

“Sam,” you said. “You really didn’t have to do that.”

“Of course I did. He hurt you.”

You smiled to yourself, watching as Sam dug in his pocket for the keys. You bounced up on your toes, wrapping your arms around him. “You’re my hero.”

______________________________________________________________

“Y/N!”

You heard the chorus of voices above you and it was the most wonderful sound you’d ever heard. You watched (through the eye that wasn’t swollen shut) as one of the demons headed upstairs.

“Don’t think you’re getting out of here, just because your loser brothers show up,” the other demon said.

A screech was heard above. The second demon growled and headed upstairs; a second screech was soon heard.

And then you heard two sets of pounding footsteps heading toward you.

“Y/N!”

Dean and Sam burst in. Dean immediately checked the rest of the basement while Sam stepped over and began to untie you.

“You okay, kiddo?” Dean asked, helping Sam pull you from the chair.

“Never better,” you said, leaning against your brothers.

“Sorry we didn’t get here sooner,” Sam said. “We thought they were keeping you at the other safe-house.”

“It’s okay. I knew my Supermen would come.”

Misunderstandings Pt. 3


Genre: Angst (SFW for now)

Pairing: Jumin Han x MC/Reader/You

a/n: Here’s part 1, part 2part 4, part 5, part 6.


With each step you took, your heart broke a bit more. 

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we've never met but, can we have a coffee or something?

The fic from the stream! A nice yullen for the books. It feels like it’s been a while since I’ve written them, but I doubt it…

I honestly didn’t notice until afterwards, but the title of one of the songs I was listening to was this, so I thought ‘why not?’

Read on AO3

‘Your handwriting is shit.’

Allen Walker walks into class to find this note on his desk, but on top of homework, devilish professors and an jerk haunting his workplace, he really doesn’t have the time to be exchanging notes with some stranger. Common sense doesn’t seem to be stopping him, though.

'And you’re an asshole.’

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Here in my garage, just bought this new Lamborghini here. It’s fun to drive up here in the Hollywood hills. But you know what I like more than materialistic things? Knowledge. In fact, I’m a lot more proud of these seven new bookshelves that I had to get installed to hold two thousand new books that I bought. It’s like the billionaire Warren Buffett says, “the more you learn, the more you earn.”

Now maybe you’ve seen my TEDx talk where I talk about how I read a book a day. You know, I read a book a day not to show off it’s again about the knowledge. In fact, the real reason I keep this Lamborghini here is that it’s a reminder. A reminder that dreams are still possible, because it wasn’t that long ago that I was in a little town across the country sleeping on a couch in a mobile home with only forty seven dollars in my bank account. I didn’t have a college degree, I had no opportunities.

But you know what? Something happened that changed my life. I bumped into a mentor. And another mentor. And a few more mentors. I found five mentors. And they showed me what they did to become multimillionaires. Again, it’s not just about money, it’s about the good life; health, wealth, love and happiness. And so I record a little video, it’s actually on my website, you can click here on this video and it’ll take you to my website where I share three things that they taught me. Three things that you can implement today no matter where you are.

Now, this isn’t a “get rich quick” scheme. You know, like they say if things sound too good to be true they are too good to be true. I’m not promising you that tomorrow you’re gonna be able to go out and buy a Lamborghini. But what I am telling you is that it can happen faster than you think if you know the proven steps. So, I record a little two minute video on my website. Like I said, now it’s not the most professional I just shot it here with my iPhone, but it’s real. Nobody can argue, this is my true story. And I’m going to give you the three most important things you can do today. So click the link, go there it’s completely free to watch it it’s just a couple minutes. Invest in yourself. Always be curious. Don’t be a cynic. Okay, people see videos like this and they say “Ah that’s not real that’s for somebody else.”

Don’t listen, don’t listen. Be an optimist. Like, Conrad Hilton, the man who started Hilton Hotel, he said that he was only fifteen years old when he read a book by Helen Keller, and that book changed his life. Books can change your life. And in that book, Helen Keller said “optimism” so if you’re a cynic, if you’re a pessimist you don’t need to click here. Don’t worry about it, I don’t need to talk to everybody. But if you’re somebody who knows that there’s something better, cause the dream is possible, you know, for some of you watching it’s not necessarily a Lamborghini, maybe it’s a new job, a new opportunity, starting your own company.

It only just occurred to me how important Dipper must have been to Stan’s recovery of his memories. 

There must have been a point where Stan’s memories were coming back and he felt a disconnect between the person he remembered being and the person his family was describing to him. 

Ford isn’t willing to talk about the unhappy memories they share, so he sticks to rose-colored recollections of their childhoods and praise for how brave Stan was to sacrifice himself for everyone.

Soos has only positive things to say about him. Listening to that guy you’d think Stan was the smartest, bravest, strongest human being whose feet ever touched the ground.

Mabels’ descriptions are a little better–her scrapbook holds memories of Stan playing games with the kids and being attacked by a family of raccoons with equal affection. But she still talks about him in fairly rosy terms.

Dipper is the only one who tells him “yeah, you run this creepy tourist trap called The Mystery Shack. I’ve never met anyone in my life who knew so many ways to rip people off. Once I saw you chase down and tackle a five-year-old over a dollar. A Canadian dollar.”

Dipper’s like Stan in a lot of ways, he’s snide and sarcastic. And he’s insecure and very self-reflecting. I think on some level he’d understand why Stan wants to hear the bad with the good. 

Dipper would be the one making remarks about how grumpy Stan is, about how he made him glue dog hair to his legs and dance for tourists, how he got into a fight with a mechanical badger and lost. 

Don’t get me wrong, he’d also be telling Stan about how he helped him sort through his feelings about Wendy, how he built him back up after being rejected by the Manotaurs, how the three of them spent a rainy afternoon watching scary movies and how Stan and Dipper laughed at the chintzy looking monsters together. 

(Mabel couldn’t see the monsters with her sweater pulled up over her face, but she assured them she was still having fun.) 

But hearing the bad with the good would reassure Stan that his family knew who he was. That he wasn’t an impostor who’d conned them into thinking he was a good person. That they wouldn’t leave him if they knew what he was really like. All because Dipper’s a snarky little shit like his Grunkle.

PILLOWS (ROOMMATE!CAL + MUSICIAN!Y/N AU) - PART ONE

+masterlist +mobile masterlist +pillows masterpost

parts; (two)



summary: you’re a struggling musician who dropped out of college. when your parents stop paying for your apartment, you end up getting evicted. luckily, you find someone who’s looking for a roommate through a mutual friend: calum.

word count: 1,249

warnings: swearing, mention of cheating

author’s note: track the tag pillows ft calum for updates!! 


It’d been a year since you put up that ‘roommate wanted’ ad on Craigslist and only three people wanted in. A pedophile (He was 63 and wanted to room with a 19-year-old. What the fuck were you supposed to think?), a tooth collector you immediately thought was creepy, and an asshole. You would’ve chosen the asshole, but he irritated you to no end. You couldn’t even stand in the same room without him sending some snarky comment about your posture and about you in general. If he came with stitches in his mouth, you’d be glad to room with him. But he didn’t.

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Why Can't Someone Hear Me? Part 1

Pairing: Phan

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Rape, Depression, Mental Issues, Cursing

Words: 1,840

Summary: Dan and Phil have a healthy, happy relationship that has been on going for five years and one day when they get into a fight, Dan wonders off to a bar to be hit on by a stranger.

(If that summary made no sense to you, just know that Phil isn’t the one doing the rape. I don’t think I would actually be able to write Phan rape. I would cry and wanna die because I’m not THAT good with angst because I’m a happy ending kind of person.)

A/N: This is my first angst fic, and it’s multi-chaptered! ermahgerd this is a lot of pressure since I’m sure probably no one will read this. I’m usually a fluffy/smutty oneshot kind of person so this is deff. stepping out of my comfort zone and I hope that a lot one person enjoys this. Thanks you guys ily ily ily ily k lemme stop rambling so you can actually read this.

(Suggestions for other fics are always appreciated.)

Part 2  Part 3

_________________________________________________

  Shouting was the only thing to be heard coming from Dan and Phil’s suddenly chilled flat. Stupid, useless fighting. It was bound to happen sometime, though, Phil supposed. They rarely ever fought. Maybe about twice a year, if even. The only downside to not a lot of arguing was that when it did come, it came strong. All the pent up emotions and thoughts that they left bottled up came pouring out. It’s not that they kept secrets from each other, however. It’s just that if the other said or did something that bothered the other, they decided to let it slide because they were truly in love and shouldn’t let things bother them. But now, standing in the middle of their kitchen, hateful and disgusting words spewed from their mouths as they cried.

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psychic: *reads my mind*

my mind: Here in my garage, just bought this new Lamborghini here. It’s fun to drive up here in the Hollywood hills. But you know what I like more than materialistic things? Knowledge. In fact, I’m a lot more proud of these seven new bookshelves that I had to get installed to hold two thousand new books that I bought. It’s like the billionaire Warren Buffett says, “the more you learn, the more you earn.” Now maybe you’ve seen my TEDx talk where I talk about how I read a book a day. You know, I read a book a day not to show off it’s again about the knowledge. In fact, the real reason I keep this Lamborghini here is that it’s a reminder. A reminder that dreams are still possible, because it wasn’t that long ago that I was in a little town across the country sleeping on a couch in a mobile home with only forty seven dollars in my bank account. I didn’t have a college degree, I had no opportunities. But you know what? Something happened that changed my life. I bumped into a mentor. And another mentor. And a few more mentors. I found five mentors. And they showed me what they did to become multimillionaires. Again, it’s not just about money, it’s about the good life; health, wealth, love and happiness. And so I record a little video, it’s actually on my website, you can click here on this video and it’ll take you to my website where I share three things that they taught me. Three things that you can implement today no matter where you are. Now, this isn’t a “get rich quick” scheme. You know, like they say if things sound too good to be true they are too good to be true. I’m not promising you that tomorrow you’re gonna be able to go out and buy a Lamborghini. But what I am telling you is that it can happen faster than you think if you know the proven steps. So, I record a little two minute video on my website. Like I said, now it’s not the most professional I just shot it here with my iPhone, but it’s real. Nobody can argue, this is my true story. And I’m going to give you the three most important things you can do today. So click the link, go there it’s completely free to watch it it’s just a couple minutes. Invest in yourself. Always be curious. Don’t be a cynic. Okay, people see videos like this and they say “Ah that’s not real that’s for somebody else.” Don’t listen, don’t listen. Be an optimist. Like, Conrad Hilton, the man who started Hilton Hotel, he said that he was only fifteen years old when he read a book by Helen Keller, and that book changed his life. Books can change your life. And in that book, Helen Keller said “optimism” so if you’re a cynic, if you’re a pessimist you don’t need to click here. Don’t worry about it, I don’t need to talk to everybody. But if you’re somebody who knows that there’s something better, cause the dream is possible, you know, for some of you watching it’s not necessarily a Lamborghini, maybe it’s a new job, a new opportunity, starting your own company. Maybe it’s a new lifestyle without so much stress, traveling the world, doing those things you know you’re destined to do. You can do those unless you understand finances. Money, I don’t call it money anymore, I call it fuel units. You must have enough fuel units to live out your dream and to live out your destiny. So, I’ll see you on my website, it’s a quick video and you’ll see there absolutely free. So just click this video and you’ll be taken there in a second, and uh, I’m excited to share this amazing stuff. You’ll see, not because of anything of me but because I’ve been fortunate enough to learn from mentors many years ahead of me. Not just in books like these, although I love books but also real in-person mentors. So let me share with you these three tips that have made all the difference in my life. They’re practical, you can do them today, you can start on them today. All right? See you there on my site.

psychic: what the fuck

A Music Affair - Chapter 11

Here it is, guys! The last chapter of this fic. I’m really sad to say goodbye to it, but I’m also happy that you all seem to like it. Thank you so, so much for giving me your amazing feedback and asking for more chapters, it really inspired me. Also, thanks a lot to @jia911 for proof reading this fic and to @jordan202 for helping me with my writing. You two are the best and I couldn’t have done this without you. Anyway, I hope you all like this final chapter :)

Link to Chapter 10

Owen was so confused by Amelia suddenly talking to him that he just stood there for a few seconds, looking at her. Moving to one side, he finally let her enter and watched as she quickly sat on his bed, hiding her shaky hands.
He didn’t know what to think. Owen had never seen anyone like that and, although he was still mad at Amelia, seeing her in that state made him really upset.

“What happened?” He asked her.

“First of all, I wanna apologize to you…” She looked at him, speaking honestly. “For the way I acted and how I rejected and cursed at you so many times. I’m really sorry. I would say it was the drugs talking, but it wasn’t. Not all of it. I was angry and I actually meant some of what I said. But now I see that I was totally wrong and I regret everything. I shouldn’t have done that to anyone, but mostly you.”

Owen nodded, accepting her apologies, but didn’t actually feel like he could trust her just yet.

She would sometimes look down and take deep and slow breaths. Owen didn’t know if the way she was physically was because of the drugs or the absence of it.

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The Blue-Eyed Boy

Description: Dan has never seen the color blue, that is until he met a gorgeous man named Phil.

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: n/a

_____________________________

Dan had never seen the color blue. He could see every shade of pink, green, yellow, red… But not blue. His friends had tried to describe to him what it looked like, saying it was this vibrant, calming color, but, he could never truly see it for himself. The sky was a blank, grey canvas. The ocean was a sloshing pit of black liquid. People pitied him, but this was the only world he had ever known.

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Explain

43.   “Give me 5 bucks, I’ll explain later.”

Dean x Reader

“I’ll see you in a minute. Don’t go too far.” You grin, kissing Dean’s lips one last time before splitting away and heading towards the drinks stand to join the back of the queue.

He, on the other hand, spots a games stand – one of those completely rigged ‘shoot-the-cans-down-and-win-a-prize’ events, but stood by it is a couple. They’re at least thirty feet away, and even above the commotion he can hear their conversation.

Win me a teddy, baby.

Anything for you, sugar.

He holds back the gag and a small surge of competitiveness rises in him as he begins walking over.

I want that big one, at the back!

Whatever you want.

He approaches the man behind the stall as the other guy begins shooting.

“How much?”

“A buck a shot.”

“Gimme five.” He says, thrusting the note into the man’s hand. He’s handed a shotgun and holds it up to his shoulder – every shot hits the cans, but they don’t go down, only wobbling the tiniest amount. Dean swears as the other guy harrumphs frustratedly – this isn’t about the teddy anymore – it’s a full on competition. Two more five dollar notes are pressed into the man’s hand and they both begin shooting. Dean doesn’t miss a single shot, but the weighted cans only shake under his barrage of shots.

When he goes to fine another note, however, he finds his wallet empty. He swears aloud, and points a finger at the man behind the stall.

“Don’t let anyone take this spot. I’ll be back.” He says firmly, and takes off running. He finds you still in the queue.

“I need five bucks.” He says hurriedly, grabbing your arm. Your eyes widen in surprise at his rush.

“Why?”

“Give me 5 bucks, I’ll explain later.” He says. You hand him the note and he thanks you with a quick kiss and runs back to the stall, almost throwing the note at the man.

This time, however, he shoots a glance at the man, who isn’t any further along than he is. Blind shooting isn’t working – Dean needs a weak spot. So, he studies the cans carefully before shooting.

The first shot fails, and so does the second. However, the third sends all six cans toppling to the ground. Dean whoops as the man begins a string of curses that makes surrounding people grimace and diver their paths. The huge teddy bear is passed to the elder Winchester and he pokes out his tongue at the man before flouncing off. You’ve just left the drinks cart and are heading towards him – he spots you and darts over, handing you the huge bear.

“I won you this.” He says triumphantly. You hand him his drink and grin.

“Thank you, babe. It’s so cute – not as cute as you, though.” You wink at him and he grins, leaning down and pressing a firm kiss to your lips, holding it long enough that he’s sure that the other guy saw. When he looks up, the man flips him the bird and struts off with his girlfriend, making Dean smirk like an idiot.

“What was that about?” You ask, sipping your coffee amusedly. Dean shrugs innocently.

“I’ll explain later. C’mon, let’s go have a go on the dodgems.”

Hey, look! Another silly bit of SoMa fluff I wrote!

On ff.net: [link]


Coffee# 1

Maka had always thought huge, big-name coffee chains were pretty ridiculous. Why pay five dollars for a coffee when she could make it herself in her new coffee pot for a fraction of the cost? Perhaps “new” wasn’t the right word to describe it, but the man at the yard sale had called it “old but reliable”, and when she bought it, his guarantee had been good enough for her…

“Old but reliable” my ass, Maka thought begrudgingly as she walked into the overpriced DeathBucks establishment down the street from her apartment one afternoon after sadly watching the coffee pot make a wheezing noise and begin to spark. Normally, she would just buy coffee from the machine at the university, but the whole reason she had bought the damn garage-sale-coffee pot in the first place was because the machine had been removed.

She waited impatiently in the annoyingly long line up in front of the counter. She was grumpy and tired from attending her early lecture (she had the good fortune of being saddled with all morning classes), and she knew if she didn’t get some caffeine in her she just might break down.

“Coffee. Black,” Maka said before she’d even stepped right up to the counter. She hadn’t bothered hiding the disgust in her voice or covering the scowl on her face, but her bitterness faltered she looked up at the barista. The very unique looking, very hot young man behind the counter raised a pale eyebrow.

“Bad day?” he asked.

Her words tumbled out of her before she could even think. “Well, yes, as a matter of fact. My coffee machine broke, so until I can buy a new one I have to get my coffee from a money guzzling store where the lines are way too long and… Are you the only one back there?” she asked in disbelief, peering around the cappuccino machine. “That’s unbelievable! I have work to do!” She hadn’t noticed how her volume had steadily been rising until she was all but screeching in the man’s face.

“I’m sorry, Pigtails. I know the world normally revolves around you, but as the guy who has to work this shift by himself, I gotta say it’s pretty damn uncool to yell at me over things I can’t do anything about,” he said coldly, his red eyes bearing into her like a drill. Maka gawked at him, severely taken aback. Sure, maybe she shouldn’t have directed her anger at him, but he was still being an ass about it.

She slapped down five dollars on the counter, snatched her change from him, and stomped off to wait for her order, cracking open her book for some reading on genetic anomalies. A minute later, the young man’s deep voice called out loudly “Pigtails. Your coffee.”

Coffee #2

There were fewer people in line next day, but still, only the, white haired, annoyingly gorgeous guy was working.

“Pigtails,” he regarded her dryly.

“I could get you fired, you know,” she told him bitterly. “Black coffee.”

He wrote “Pigtails” on her cup.

Coffee #4

“What are you always reading?” he asked, leaning across the counter.

“Books.”

“What kind of books?”

She noticed his name tag for the first time, partially because since that first day, she hadn’t let herself look right at him for too long. Soul. Odd name.

“Books for school,” she responded.

“What are you studying?” he asked.

Maka looked at him and pursed her lips. “Why are you so interested?” He shrugged. “Shouldn’t you be filling orders?” Maka asked him.

“Kilik’s got it,” he said, gesturing to the other worker behind him. For the first time that she had been at the cafe, there was another person working behind the counter. He had greeted Maka with a good-natured “Hi, may I take your order?”, which was a huge leap from Soul calling her Pigtails, and passed the order off to Soul, who was on drink duty. Maybe they realized he’s too insociable to work the cash, Maka thought coldly, though she didn’t entirely mean it.

Coffee #5

Maka opened her mouth to place her usual order, but Soul had already punched it into the register.

“Normally, I don’t trust guys to order for me,” Maka said. He smiled. He had sharp teeth, but Maka barely noticed them; she was too busy looking at his eyes. Although his lips were drawn back in an almost crude smirk, his eyes crinkled at the corners and filled with life. She paid, retrieved the steaming hot drink from Kilik, and sat down in her usual spot.

The red chair and small circular table she had claimed as her workspace was right beside a keyboard that sat untouched in the corner of the warm cafe and gave her a clear view of Soul as he moved around behind the counter.

Coffee #8

“Pigtails,” he regarded her, nodding his head slightly. All traces of any negativity surrounding the name had vanished.

“Soul,” she said, nodding back and fishing her money out of her wallet. Maka hoped she would still be able to afford her daily fix before the next week was over.

“What’s your name?” he asked suddenly. She looked up at him, confused, then realized that, thanks to his nickname for her, he’d never bothered to actually learn her name. She contemplated whether or not she should tell him.

“Maka,” she said after a beat. He smiled. Maka turned away, hoping he hadn’t seen the blush that had risen to her cheeks.

Coffee#13

In addition to her change, Soul handed Maka a red, plastic card with the DeathBucks logo on it and the words “Welove our loyal friends” written in gold cursive letters.

“What’s this?” she asked, turning the card over in her hands.

“Rewards card. Employees can give them out to frequent customers,” Soul responded. He was blushing, and so was Maka, but neither of them noticed the redness on the other’s cheeks.

“Thanks, Soul.”

“Hey, I work here too!” Liz, the other worker besides Kilik who seemed to share Soul’s shift protested. Maka rolled her eyes slightly and thanked her, too.

Coffee #15

Maka was having trouble focusing. Her work load hadn’t been too heavy lately, so she felt disinclined to power through it. Not to mention, she found herself constantly being distracted by the way’s Soul’s fingers drummed methodically on the counter as he took orders. She noticed how he would rake a hand through his hair when he was trying to figure out how to spell a customer’s name, and how the scowl that rested on his face dropped for a split second when they made eye contact across the room.

When there was no line up, Maka pushed herself up from her chair and walked over to where Soul was leaning on the counter, looking bored as hell.

“Why do you always work this shift?” Maka asked. He blinked a few times, as if he couldn’t fully register the question.

“Cause I’m always available this shift,” he shrugged. “Why do you always come here during my shift?”

“Touché,” Maka said approvingly.

They talked for a long time, only taking pauses whenever a new customer came in to order something until Maka left to meet Tsu.

Coffee #17

Maka had spoken too soon about having a light workload. Not three days had passed and she had been hit with three upcoming tests and a quiz, all scheduled over the same two days. She was so engulfed in her studying from the moment she sat down, Soul had to actually come out from behind the counter to set her coffee down on her table, causing her to look up at him.

“It was getting cold,” he told her, peering at the papers and books that were crammed onto the small table in front of her. She noticed for the first time how tall he was.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling gratefully. He shrugged and returned to his post.

Coffee#18

“How’d the first test go?” Soul asked.

“Ok, I think. I’ll let you know when we get the marks back,” Maka responded, holding out her money to him.

“I’m sure you did well. You were studying like crazy yesterday,” he said assuringly. Maka’s stomach did a flip-flop at his smiling eyes.

That day, she hung around longer than usual. A lot longer. Soul nearly spilt three different orders because he was so distracted by the adorable way Pigtails frowned when she had to double back and check something in her notes.

When his shift ended, Soul said good-bye to Liz, who had picked up a double shift for that day, and entered to the door marked “EMPLOYEES ONLY” to stow his red apron in his employee-issued-locker and grab his sweater and phone before his second job started up.

Maka was still there when sat down at the piano. He didn’t notice her at first, and he was almost thankful for that, because he didn’t think he could start playing with those gorgeous green eyes watching him.

When he finished playing his first song, and the music released its hold on him, he noticed her watching him. She had a dreamy, far away look on her face. When she realized he was looking back, she reddened and looked down at her books again. Why did she have to sit so close to the piano? More importantly, why did she have to be sogoddamned distracting?

Coffee #19

“You play really well,” Maka blurted out. Soul looked up at her, seeming somewhat dazed for a moment, then smiled a little.

“Thanks,” he said, sliding her cup across the counter at her.

“Do you play every day?” she asked. She started shaking as she tried to fit the cap so it clicked softly on the lip of the cup.

“No,” he said. “Just Monday, Thursday, and Saturday.” He must have noticed her fidgety hands. “You okay, Pigtails? You look… kind of nervous,” he remarked. She nodded and bit her lip.

“So, you get off at four normally, then?” she asked. He nodded, red eyes looking slightly unsure. Maka took a deep breath.

Just ask him, she thought. Now, do it now. Don’t just stand their with your mouth open. Say something!

“Bye!” she squeaked out, then rushed out of the store entirely.

Coffee#20

After three days of avoiding every DeathBucks in the city and building up her courage, Maka walked into her usual cafe and slammed her hands down on the counter, making Soul look up in alarm.

“Uh, hey,” he said, eyes wide. “Coffee?” He turned to pour the hot drink into one of the cardboard cups. Maka dropped her money on the counter. As she waited for her drink, hands busying themselves with the ends of her sleeves, she faintly heard Soul humming to himself. He pulled the cap off his sharpie and glanced back at Maka, his cheeks holding a pink tinge, then scribbled something down on the cup. When he turned back around and placed the coffee on the counter, Maka burst.

“Date. Today. You and me.” Her words came out harsh and demanding. Her entire face was burning red. Soul stared at her and said nothing. After a few moments of silence, she deflated and stepped back. “Okay. Guess not. Sorry.” No matter how hard she tried she couldn’t string together a full sentence. “Bye.”

She was halfway down the block when she heard a familiar voice calling down the street.

“HEY, MAKA!” she turned around to see Soul jogging after her, a cup in his hand. He reached her, a huge grin on his face, and held out the cup directly in front of her face. “You forgot your coffee.” Maka stared at him for a moment, then looked at the cup. Written in thick black Sharpie was the word “Pigtails” with an arrow towards the opposite side of the cup. Hesitantly, Maka took the cup from him and turned it around to read “Date?”

i am a keeper of lies.

i have been a liar long before the Silver-tongued God smiled down on me. i knew the taste of truth then and i know it now when i lick the messages dripping off His lips (honey falsities and truths preserved in amber).

see: lying is grown into my bones. it comes in the ridges of my vertebrae, fashioned after the summits and valleys of Appalachia. my family has owned and been owned, hundreds of acres and peak after peak: the mountains remember what you have taken and will take in return. my family, we are scattered in unmarked graves across valleys returned to the deer. every graveyard i pass for fifty miles has one of my ancestors sleeping there, and i wave hello to the headstones haphazard between cow pastures.

we are a family of moonshiners and alcoholics and murderers and victims and farmers and soldiers. we owned the mountains and the mountains own us. there are stills hidden in the hollers, deer trails, coyote haunts, only we know.

there are deaths only we know.

the courthouse burned down and now there is no record of our past - just the legends. i have listened to our history told by old women with purpling hair who were children in the Great Depression: family friends who pass down our own secrets to us.

i exist through storytelling. i am built on myths and truths too hot to touch.

but i have my own lies, the repeated necessity of deception and perfect smiles. i am a keeper of lies; i have been doing so since i knew how they can protect. since i was a child.

i hide the plants. an ancestor hides the moonshine. history echoes.

i am sick in the head. an ancestor drinks moonshine until he dies. trauma echoes.

(ask me where home is and i will tell you any place i have ever lived, and some i have never seen. my God is masterios, pompaios, psychopompos: i wander with my restless dead in search of questions.)

half-truths come like frostbite, quiet until the shattering. a collection of these waits beneath my tongue; two dollars or five minutes can change a story just enough to keep pursuers off your tracks.

timing - this is what the Quick-fingered God gives me. smooths the edges of my grin. keeps my eyes straight and my hands steady.

but my ancestors - they gave me a liar’s skeleton. they were exiles and immigrants, and then they were coal miners and moonshiners, and they murdered and stole and loved and died and wrote their stories into the mountains. then they burned everything to the ground (homes and courthouses and cars and stills), and left me with only the echoes.

see: i hold the lies of both the living and the dead just beneath my skin, i grin deception and pluck falsehood from my teeth, because below the fiction i can safeguard our truths.

pheletes, clepsiphron, mechaniotes, polytropus: the name of my God is Liar, and these are my words of grace.

— 

moonshine devotee (antlering)

for my Appalachian ancestors, and for Hermes Archus Pheleteon who led us with gleaming teeth through the hungry mountains.

Hello Tumblr!

So here’s the skinny - I’m trying to save up money for a car/a studio apartment to share a friend of mine. Not only for my own independence, but for when my dad’s drinking/emotional abuse gets out of hand and my mom and brother might need a place to spend the night. I work all the hours I can, but it’s still minimum wage. With me shelling out hundreds of dollars a month in student loans, paying off my macbook, and a fun new speeding ticket (doh!), I really need to make some more sales in art.  

Sooooo COMMISSIONS ARE OPEN! But for A LIMITED TIME!

There are TEN spots for sketches and inks, and FIVE spots for full color pieces. Once those spots are filled, I won’t be taking any more commissions until I’ve finished with those fifteen. After all those are done, I will open spots again and so on! :)

Please take note of my style, and the subject matter I usually draw. I will draw anything from:

-Existing fictional characters from your favorite movies, shows, cartoons, video games ect (if I’m unfamiliar with a character - or characters - please send photo references!)

-Caricatures of your favorite celebs, musicians, you and your friends, your pets!

-Cartoony things!

-Your original characters!

I’m NOT going to draw porn or fetish art for these commissions. Everything else is fair game though!


HOW TO CONTACT ME:
Send an email to specktoons@mail.com and title the subject “Commission”.
Messages are ok too, but email is preferred.

Make sure you send me a DETAILED description of what you want. Include photo reference if it is an original character of yours or a photo of someone. Kinda hard for me to draw something if I don’t know what it looks like! Also if you just tell me “do whatever you want” be warned I WILL do WHATEVER I WANT mwahaha >:)

HOW TO PAY:

PAYPAL! Send the money to specktoons@mail.com

Thank you EVERYONE for your support! :3

anonymous asked:

My brain instantly inserted Gabriel and Sam into pants!Anon's story and I really hope they made it out BUT CONSIDER Gabriel standing frozen in the middle of a huge shopping centre with torn pants and Sam coming to his rescue and giving him his jacket

Gabriel’s life is over.  Clearly, he’s died and is now in hell, where he will spend the rest of eternity in an enormous grocery store, with a gaping hole in his pants and a really cute stranger at the other end of the aisle.

He stands very still and prays for deliverance but none is immediately forthcoming.  He’s not even sure how this happened.  His fault for buying pants that only cost five dollars, he supposes.  But one minute he’s bending to pick up a bag of chips off the floor and the next there’s a sickening riiiiip noise and… a breeze.  Where there should absolutely not be a breeze.  Of course he’s commando today.  Of course.

Gabriel presses himself back against the shelf and considers his options.  They are, as he sees them: sinking into the floor, dying of embarrassment, or possibly setting off an explosion as a diversion by which to escape.

Just as he’s trying desperately to remember his high school chemistry lessons and how to make a bomb out of common household ingredients, the man at the end of the aisle shrugs out of his jacket and strides toward him, holding it out.

Gabriel blinks up at him and the man makes an impatient noise and shakes the jacket.

“Tie it around your waist,” he says.

Gabriel snaps out of his paralysis and obeys, fumbling the jacket into place—it’s huge, it nearly wraps around him twice—before looking up and meeting the stranger’s eyes.

The other man smiles.  “It suits you.  Keep it.”  And he’s gone before Gabriel can even thank him.

It’s not until Gabriel gets home and changes and then collapses on his bed that he finds a note in the pocket of the jacket.

“I’m Sam. If you want to return this, call me. You can pay me back by going to dinner with me.”

Gabriel rolls onto his back and smiles up at the ceiling as he pulls out his phone.

All About Us, Chapter One!

Hey, Maksyl fam!

This is the first chapter to my new AU fic entitled ‘All About Us.’

I really hope you guys enjoy this one; I know I’m loving writing it so far!

Thank you SO MUCH for your amazing feedback; your comments really keep me writing! I love you all so much.

Without further adieu, here’s Chapter One!
~~~~~~
Maks stood behind the counter, hunched over one of many coffee machines, twiddling a straw in his left hand.

He didn’t know why he even bothered showing up for work that day. Nothing interesting ever happened at the coffee shop, and his pay wasn’t especially great either.

All this job was to him was extra funding for his dance studio.

(Admittedly, the studio was still a work in progress. It’d take him a massive amount of work to achieve, but it was well worth it. Maks had always desired to open up a studio of his own.)

See, he’d always had a passion for dance.

The story every movement told.
The emotion written in every step.
The way that the very act of dancing could speak louder than words ever could.

Okay, maybe dance wasn’t the most masculine sport he could have developed a passion for, but Maks didn’t give a damn.

He loved what he loved and that was that.

Yes, dance completely fascinated him, and it was his lifelong–seemingly unattainable–dream to open up a dance studio of his own.

Which was why he was standing behind the mahogany countertop, taking order after freaking order, forcing himself to make one more skinny mocha latte.

God, the things I do as a result of my devotion.

Ugh.

He felt a small flicker of hope each time the front door opened, though, that maybe customer number eight-billion-and-whatever would be the slightest bit more interesting to him. Y'know, maybe they could make his job a little more fun.

Maybe the person would have one eye, or a giant scar across their face, or something they’d love to tell him a story about while he made their coffee for them.

He wanted someone to come in and make his workday a little less hellish.

But the flickers of hope were extinguished every time the icy winter air flooded through the coffee shop’s entrance. Normal people doing normal things with average responses to his questions wandered inside constantly.

Maks was deciding whether or not to just jam the straw into his eye socket when a man walked into the shop dressed up in a penguin tuxedo.

This one should be interesting enough.

But the man only asked for a cappuccino, asked if Maks could speed up the process somehow because he was late to a very important meeting somewhere.

On top of being disappointed at the lackluster explanation, Maks found himself pissed at the customer’s attitude.

Insulting me before I even start making your coffee, I see… The only reason I won’t take a century to make your damn cappuccino is because I don’t want you in my space any longer than you have to be.

Maks handed the man his coffee within a record time of two minutes and bid him a good day. Silently, however, he couldn’t help but invert the wish.
I hope your day’s as long and boring as mine is, freaking jerk.

The Tux Man, even after everything Maks had done for him, left the shop as fast as he could without so much as a ‘thank you,’ or even a ‘you too.’

Oh, no. My family did not leave the Ukraine for that kind of treatment. Freaking ingrate.

He had half a mind to call it a day right there, to just fake illness and leave.

But then she walked in.

And when she entered, ducking her head to clear the door, he stood up a little straighter.

Call it a gut feeling, maybe, but this girl seemed unique enough to him.

Or perhaps it was just his overly-depraved sex drive telling him that she was hotter than hell and hey, maybe she’d have low enough standards to go for the part-time Starbucks barista.

He’d probably figure out which it really was when she opened her mouth.

“Hello, miss. Welcome to Starbucks. What are you having?” He delivered his usual spiel with a bit more enthusiasm than normal.

Mystery Woman’s eyes flickered across the menu, then back to his face.

“Just a tall cup of black coffee, please,” her voice was sweet, yet clear. Polite, yet definitive. There were no ‘um’-s or special requests to speak of in her order. She didn’t even have any qualms about the type of milk he used.

He was half in love already.

“And your name?” He questioned, motioning with a Sharpie in his hand like he was going to write her name on her cup.

Excuses. I just want to know her name.

The dark-haired woman gave him a coy little smile, like she knew what he was really up to.

“Lisa. Mona Lisa,” she deadpanned.

He blinked, temporarily stunned at her outright sarcasm.

Not that he minded it in the slightest.

He decided to play along with the joke.

“I mean, I don’t usually write last names on the cups, but–” he shrugged, teasing her.

That made the mystery woman laugh out loud.

Holy crap, I made this goddess laugh? Score.

She quirked an amused eyebrow at him.

“Hey, if I’m going to be honest about what my name is, you have to be honest about why you want it. I figure,” she defended, glancing around the empty coffee shop, “that you asked for my name because you personally wanted to know. I mean, there isn’t anyone else in here, and it’s only protocol to ask for customers’ names when there’s more than one order, right?”

She grinned at him like she’d figured out all the universe’s secrets and he just stared back at her, flabbergasted.

Alright, Maks. Make a recovery.

“Okay, Miss Know-It-All. You must be a detective, since you’ve got no problems figuring out that the part-time barista at your local Starbucks is flirting with you,” he smirked, secretly hoping the bold admission was enough to make her stumble for her words.

But this intriguing woman even had a reply for that.

“Actually, ‘Barista Man,’ I’m an established criminal defense attorney. It’s my job to present my case accurately and use the information I’ve got to make my point. That’s how I can also tell that you just used the phrase ‘your local Starbucks’ to find out if I’m from around here,” she effortlessly delivered her comeback, smiling at him.

“Touché,” he acknowledged, finally handing her the cup of coffee he’d been holding the past minute and a half in order to keep their banter going.

She plucked the coffee cup from his hands, letting out another lighthearted laugh at the ‘Mona Lisa’ he’d scribbled onto the cup.

“Well, this is good service if I’ve ever seen it,” she praised, still chuckling at her ‘name.’

“Yeah? Maybe you should come back sometime,” he challenged, some part in the back of his head praying that she seriously would.

“Maybe I will,” she countered, shooting him one last flirtatious grin before placing a rolled up five-dollar bill into his tip jar.

He could only hope she would return.

As she sauntered out the exit towards her car, he unscrewed the lid off his tip jar.

He was about to stick the $5 into his pocket when he noticed a corner of white paper stuck out at him from inside the dollar bill.

He unrolled the crisp, green parchment and found himself grinning at what he saw.

There, rolled up inside the tip she’d left, was a business card she had (no doubt intentionally) left for him.

Meryl Davis, Attorney at Law. The card proclaimed in bold lettering.

Underneath was a work number for prospective clients to call.

“Meryl,” he rolled the name around a bit in his mouth, testing out the way it sounded.

He liked it.

As he was repeating her name for the umpteenth time, another customer walked in the store and placed an order.

Another one followed and did the same.

Still another did the same after that one.

But, despite the slew of customers that trailed inside the entire day, all Maks could think about was getting home to call one Meryl Davis.

“I will never understand why stars are to be criticized for owning a pricey, luxury car. Stars don’t have to put all the money in their bank account and live only by collecting interest. I’m not saying stars have to boast off their wealth, but they have a right to enjoy lifestyle that is commensurate with their names.”

Kim Jaejoong (NYLON - March 2014)

Every time I see someone say some bs about JYJ owning expensive cars and how “distasteful” it is, my eyes roll so far back my head might as well fall off. Yeah, no one needs a Lamborghini or Aston Martin, but let me tell you I would switch out my boring Corolla for a Ferrari F12berlinetta in five seconds if my net worth suddenly allowed it. I like nice things and I buy nice things when I can afford them. And I am certainly not the only one.

You don’t get cookies because you presume that if you had millions of dollars to your name you’d still live a budget lifestyle. Good for you if that makes you happy and fulfilled, but if you’re just going to spend all your not-shopping time walking around with a sense of moral superiority, save us all the trouble and gtfo right now.

I Wanna Be Famous (Dylan O'Brien/Reader)

Time was ticking by in the blink of an eye and I knew it. The flashing red on the alarm clock was simply irrelevant. It didn’t matter what they were telling me and that it was slowly slipping into the morning of the next day. They were just numbers now.

It was 1AM when I realized I was fucked. My tired eyes rolling, annoyed that I had just agreed to do this. Knowing fully well that my OCD wouldn’t let my body rest until I had done the best I could do. It’s not like I had anything to do the next day. But I had been working for a majority of the day and my work started pretty early usually. My ass has been firmly planted in the soft mattress in the center of my safe haven; the bedroom I shared with my partner since I got home around 6pm.

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