oozing out

- i went to target in the middle of the day in the suburbs on a sunday and ruined my own life, AMA

- why is there always some Yoga Becky doing something fucking obnoxious and stupid to block any escape route like unfurling an entire 8x10 rug she has no intention of buying before stuffing it, still unrolled, into some crevice where it does not belong as she shouts into her otterbox, conclusion: death penalty

- i think i’m honest to god at my breaking point after being woken up, a g a i n, at 2:30 in the morning by screaming drunk after slamming car door after yodeling bro after shriek-laughing white girl, to lie there fully awake with fumes of white-hot hatred oozing out of every pore in my body and I HAD EARPLUGS IN. I WAS PREPARED. i can’t do this anymore, i cannot be around people, someone or something please lay waste to all of this, it was a horrible horrible mistake, we should never have evolved past the point of flicking shit clumps at each other in caves, tower of babel this nightmare already i am begging you

- i smashed my finger against a sharp chunk of metal jutting out of the door coming back into my building and got an instant blood blister, and i don’t know exactly how, but i know it’s the fault of the football field’s worth of yelling sticky toddlers i had to wade through for the privilege of obtaining only two (2) of the products i went there for because target doesn’t really understand like, keeping things in stock at all, and Pilates Patty had to drag her sweaty baseball cap Cargo Dad husband in with her along with the whole deafening brood instead of leaving him home to watch them and do his fucking JOOOOOBBBBBBBB

i think this is the foul mood that might actually kill me

Rising sign Vibrations

Every rising sign has a reason to celebrate. Each of you has a distinct look that is beautiful in the eyes of another. Inspired by an anon on @disneystrologie account who mentioned that “the risings aren’t really appearance. It’s more so the vibe that you give out that enhances your genes”. I think, whoever you are, that was a very sagacious observation on your part. Hope you don’t mind me elaborating some more.

Aries | Loud and proud, you won’t miss these individuals in a room. They ooze life out of them as if the next big race is about to begin. When you look at them you see someone who knows where they are trying to go. Direction and drive is thrilling to watch. It’s beautiful to be a part of so there’s no shortage of individuals clamoring for an Aries rising’s attention.

Taurus | Old school beauty in a new package. What is old school depends on your heritage. Taurus rising’s know where they’ve come from and have the willpower to expand on the comforts of their past. You see it in how they carry themselves. It’s as if royalty from all walks of life have graced you with their presence. Make sure not to hit your head as you bow down.

Gemini | Lively individuals with a fairy like disposition. Lithe, young movements. It’s like watching your childhood crush race you to the river. It’s like watching your brother’s older friend tease you mercilessly. Gemini rising have a youthful beauty that makes you think anything is possible. 

Cancer | The watery vibe of cancer risings is like a siren call. Coy is what you think of when you see a cancer rising. There is something beneath the surface with them. The changeable nature of a cancer rising lends itself well to human nature’s constantly fluctuating desires.

Leo | It’s hard to deal with the voluptuous quality of a Leo rising, but thankfully we all manage. Something about them is bigger and better. Each Leo rising works that quality like there’s no tomorrow. They are larger than life. A cinema masterpiece you are willing to watch over and over.

Virgo | Where Gemini rising is youthful and lively, Virgo risings are youthful and somber. There is an energy about them that is contradictory. You know they are calm, yet a restless spirit hides within them. A knowing smirk is a common characteristic for these rising signs and they wear it so well. It could make the most hardened minds curious as to what they know.

Libra | So charming, it’s honestly hard to be around them. You feel like you would do anything for them. In fact you truly want them to like you! If a beautiful creature such as this likes you, surely you’ve done something right. Lovely, full features.

Scorpio | It doesn’t matter if you consider them cute, sexy, beautiful. Hell you could actually think they might be ugly, but the enticing nature of a Scorpio rising is hard to miss. Their actual genetics are enhance by pluto’s glow and penetrating stare. You really can’t help but look at them. You won’t ever want to look away once they are done with you.

Sagittarius |  Nothing can go wrong with these individuals around. Didn’t you know that Jupiter watches out for his own? They are brass and loud and so much fun from a single glance. You know that you’re in for a good time when you encounter a Sagittarius rising.  Do it big or go home and that includes their appearances. They take up space with their shining light

Capricorn | Sharp or strong features are common with this rising.  Even without the features they are known for, there’s something commanding in the way that they move. Something about that screams power to those around them. Power is beauty in the eyes of many.

Aquarius | Trendsetters who know no bounds. Aren’t we lucky we have them? There’s something about them that’s different. Different is good because who else would we base our art off of? Who else would inspire us. An Aquarius rising knows and understands this. Even if they aren’t conventional, they certainly have a way of making us fall for them.

Pisces| A soothing wave over your soul, you’ll feel like you’re drowing in the touch of a Pisces. It is hard to get them out of your head. Their energy is elusive, yet endearing. We as humans want to figure out what makes other works which is why Pisces risings cause so much obsession. What is going on with that beautiful vibe?

So I just found out that Voltron season 1 had vietnamese sub. Needless to say I was ecstastic

In episode 6, Keith’s Iconic line was executed perfectly and ten times cuter than the original line. The meaning is still the same, tho, but cuter

One of the cutest things the translators did is that they change the pronouns of Keith while talking to Lance. Normally, they use” tôi (I)” and “cậu (you)” for common situation. They are formal, could use for both gender (mostly man, tho), for friend, acquaintane, someone you just met, etc,etc..(but only use it if both user were in a same age , dont use it with someone older, VNese has a lot of pronouns, follow a set of stange rules involves age and social rank, pretty confusing ) We dont use this quite often in real life tho, because they give off a cold vibe and create a distance between the speaker and the listener

This kind of pronounssuits Keith, as he’s pretty close-off and not really on a same level of friendship and closeness to the Garrison trio. But in that “I cradles you in my arm” line, Keith used “ Tớ”(I) to talk about him , which are more commonly used among people in a same age range, also sounds softer, cuter and sweeter, indicating a close level of friendship between two users. Using this type of pronouns make the user seems friendlier and easy to talk to

Also, they translated the world “cradled” to “nâng niu” which was hilarious cause that word is use for holding, cradling, protecting something small, fragile and absoloutely precious to the speaker. Can you feel the gay oozing out of KeithXD

The sub made Keith desperately want Lance to acknowledge their bonding moment and offer an olive brand for a new friendship that he changed his way of speaking to somewhat friendly and soft. Also he refer Lance as someone precious to him and in need of protecting.  Someone give this dork a pat please he pines so hard

The Klance game is so fucking strong I cant help but laughing like an idiot

You Who... [M] (ft. Jeongguk)

Drabble Game Prompt 96. “Here, let me.” with badboy/jock!jeongguk

→ badboy football jk (warning: overstimulation, cumplay, fluff, and fuckingjeonjungkook)
→ 1.4k words prequel part 01 | 02

A/N: i have no idea where this came from, my hand sort of slipped, jfc what have i done 

UPDATE: added the highly-requested prequel as a thank you for 1k+ notes :) make sure to check out Give and Take! It’s a similar AU to this one! 


“There you go, yes, you can do it babe,” Jeongguk encourages, as you bite down on your lip.  

He grins up at you as you move your hips slowly against his, finding the way you squeeze your eyes shut tightly the cutest thing ever. 

“J-jeongguk I-I can’t–” you stutter, arms clutching at his bare shoulders as your movements stutter and begin to slow down. But you whimper instead at the loss of friction between your legs and begin to cry tears of frustration as you don’t know whether to continue grinding against him and chase after another orgasm or to stop completely. 

He just laughs huskily from beneath you, and wipes a tear from your cheek and presses a quick peck to your chin as you make up your mind and your movements continue. His head dips down to press open-mouthed kisses against your collarbone, painting the skin there in blossoms of red and pink. “Shh,” he grates against your neck, a gentle hand coming up to stroke down your spine and settling on the curve of your hip to firmly help guide you up and down his cock. “you got this.” 

He’s in awe as he watches you desperately move against him, your soft breasts and nipples brushing up against his hard chest and melting him on the spot. It’s been years since he’s met you and only a few months since the both of you finally started having sex, but he’s secretly delighted at how sensitive you are and how desperate you are to pleasure the both of you. He wants to spread you out and fuck you with his fingers and tongue and make you cum over and over until you’re screaming hoarsely or tie you down onto the bed and tease you for hours until you’re begging for him, but he smiles as he relishes in actually convincing you to top him for once. 

Cause this time he’s being a little selfish and pushing the boundaries on how far he can take you because he’s currently coaxing your through your third orgasm and is harder than he’s ever been in his life as he watches you in tears because you’re desperate to reach the peak once again. 

You muffle your cries in in his neck and thread your fingers in his hair as you feel the wave approaching again. “Jeongguk, ‘m gonna come,” you murmur breathlessly, making his dick clench at how fucking submissive you sound to him right now. He whispers sooth encouragements into your ear and moves his hips up to meet yours just right and grazes the spot inside of you that has you cringing and sighing into his neck as he grunts when you clamp down on him and bite gently into his shoulder to muffle your cries. 

The orgasm is stronger than the last two he brought you to with his fingers and his mouth, respectively, as the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips and the sheer rawness of his length brushing your walls makes you clamp down on his girth harder than you’ve ever come before. You cry out and clench your teeth and you’re going through your third intense wave of your orgasm when suddenly he flips the both of you over and pins your hips to his bed and begins to pound into you desperately.

His voice is strained and his hairline slick with sweat as he props himself up above you and glares determinedly into your face thats scrunched up in pleasure, moving his hips against you until he reaches his own peak. You feel his dick twitch once before he’s letting out a loud groan and a strangled cry of your name before his chest pulses for a moment and then he slumps down onto you. 

The both of you are spent and you’re still crying from the overwhelming feeling of being coaxed through three orgasms, with the third being the most intense you’ve ever felt in your life, and your chest heaves from the effort it took. Jeongguk is no better, as he pulls out of you with a groan and kneels between your legs. 

Taking advantage of your slumped and exhausted state, he pushes up a thigh and leans down a bit to see how his cum leaks out of your slit and grasps his cock that hasn’t softened yet with a groan. He gently holds the base of his sensitive member and collects the cum that’s already oozed out onto your thigh with his tip before pushing it back into you. 

You let out a strangled cry, a hand coming up to your mouth so you can muffle your cries, and another desperately clutching onto the wrist holding onto your thigh. He pauses, glancing up at your expression and waiting for you to push him away, but a slight movement of your wrist draws your thigh higher up and his hips a bit closer to you. Grinning, he grasps his softening cock once again and drags his tip from your upper thigh back into your slit, massaging his own cum into your center. 

When he’s completely limp and cringing himself from the overstimulation of pushing himself back into your pussy, he drops your thigh and climbs back up, whispering sweet things into your ear. 

“Baby, you were so good,” he coos, smoothing back your hair and wiping leftover tears. “You deserved that, you were so hot. Here, let me,” he gets a warm towel from the restroom and wipes down your thighs and core before dressing you in his t-shirt (a sight which he’ll never admit he absolutely loves) and pulling on a pair of boxers before climbing into bed with you and pulling you into his chest.

“I loved it.” 

You hiccup, breath short from the sensitivity but also from your tears. “You did?” 

And he thinks its the damned cutest thing ever, how even if you were an innocent girl he’d never thought he’d date, you suddenly turned into a sex starved shyer version of yourself because of him, and then returned back to the sweet blushing one he’d fallen in love with even after hours of rough sex and the dirtiest things. It absolutely fucking thrills him and makes his dick so hard whenever he brings you to too many orgasms, when you reach the point where you dont know whether to stop or continue, or to cry or kiss him. He’s had his fair share of flings and sexcapades, but he knows that the only girl who’s ever made him so whipped, the only girl who’s gotten Jeon Jeongguk wrapped around her tiny little finger, is you. 

You who he began to tease and flirt with as a joke, but ended up falling so damn hard for you after just a partner project where you ended up sympathizing with him and treating him like a real fucking human being, and not the football athlete that everyone worshipped and expected so much out of. You who always looked at him, past his body and face and extracurriculars, and into his soul and really truly understood who he was at the core. You who drunkenly kissed him one night underneath the stars and you who’s cheeks went furiously red when he kissed you again in front of the entire school. You who weren’t afraid of telling him when he was being too cocky or just a dick, and made sure to keep him in check, to the point that his teammates were commenting on what a kind softie he was becoming. 

And finally, you who he found himself hopelessly irrevocably in love with. 

And he looks down at you, with your bare face that’s not really anything special. Eyes, nose, and lips that are average, hair that’s common, and a body that others will say they’ve seen better. But its the way you look at him with your eyes that makes him love you. The way you press your nose against his neck when you cuddle with him and the way you shyly move your soft lips against him when you kiss him goodbye. It’s the way your hair feels like absolute silk underneath his fingers when he runs his hands through them when you’re asleep, and the way your entire body literally lights up and bends at his will and his only

Those are the things, amongst many, that made the high and mighty bad boy Jeon Jeongguk fall in love with you. 

So he cups your face and smiles as he pecks against your lips, peppering your face with them until you giggle and shriek against his attack. Laughing, he draws you close. 

“I did, because I fucking love you.”


Prequel: 01 & 02 [fin], Give and Take[M]

Venus in the Houses

In the 1st: The Knight

You wear your heart on your sleeve not in sensitivity, but with bravery. You come as you are; always ready to fight for what you love.

In the 2nd: Dionysus

The melody in your heart oozes out of you as a siren song, taking pleasure in all you feel in your heart. You let the richness take over your very being.

In the 3rd: The Hummingbird

Ever-flitting, ever-flying; so envied and admired. You move impossibly fast, it takes focus to see your wings oh but we hear the beautiful music they make as you pass us by with your jeweled feathers.

In the 4th: The Envelope

Your lover is your letter, you the envelope. You carry them safely to their destination, recognizing precious words and beauty as the truth. Oh but how easily battered you can be, please bubble-wrap your loving heart.

In the 5th: The Leather Jacket

You wear your heart as a coat, whether worn or new or real or fake. You exist as a symbol of yourself you create out of your own fabric. Expression is your savior, savor it.

In the 6th: The Furrowed Brow

The worrier, the servant, the loyal. You do not let it all show, you stand poised and sure but that one little crease, that only little wrinkle expresses it all. You do not have to stand impossibly tall, sit down. It’s okay.

In the 7th: The Nymph

Either fairy or seductress, you walk lightly and nervously about. You are sweet, whispered nothings in the sunset fields; whether they mean something or not…

In the 8th: The Taxidermist

You sculpt around you in stillness and a resistance to trust and to allowing the world to move around you. Your taboo necromancy is intense and even scary, but if they looked beneath they’d see that you simply create out of what is before you.

In the 9th: The Wanderer

The free spirit full of self-destructive flightiness, unwilling to fully let go for what else is out there? You feel yourself on the precipice, not sure whether to let go and fall down down down into the wind or continue to resist.

In the 10th: The Willow

The wise beauty of movement and stillness wrapped together in harmony with all around you. That surprising snap and wit lurking in your calming vines, it haunts and provides all at once.

In the 11th: The Amphibian

Master of water and land, you can go in and out with ease, but can’t quite seem to choose which you truly want. Perhaps the company around you is enough, but maybe if you dive down deeper or climb up higher you’ll find something better than you recognize.

In the 12th: The Saved

They fall into the hot spring in the middle of the night with you, sipping wine and sharing kisses and admissions of vulnerability that drift into the night. But don’t let them drown, for they so easily can if they are not wary.

the spy au that @philosophium ordered !!


Andrew slips through a slit in the crowd, brushing through the sleek trains of expensive gowns, rich wool suits jackets catching on his own. He’s on his second flute of champagne, and the tartness keeps him focused. His attention is on the flavour and the rim of the glass and the warp of faces through it. His earpiece crackles and whispers.

He can see his mark on the opposite side of the room, surrounded by servers and liars and pretty things. One of them is all three, Andrew can tell: a waiter’s vest, a seam of over-applied foundation, and bright blue eyes.

He’s distracting, flighty, a rubber band pulled all the way back. He looks like the memory of a case file, and a name occurs to Andrew one second before Kevin hisses it into his ear.

“It’s fuckin’ Charlie Pilot. Don’t engage, Minyard, we’re not here for him.”

Andrew doesn’t make any effort to reply, just takes another pull of champagne. He’s not really watching the troupes of entertainers or the clockwork security or the velvet and silk blooming under bowing chandeliers. He’s not even watching the man he’s either going to rob or kill, who’s laughing and weedy, red in the face from the alcohol. He’s stuck on Pilot –  next to his target, holding a heavily stocked tray of appetizers, his expression pleasant and empty.

He’ll be an irritant to what should be a straightforward plan, if he keeps hovering. Andrew takes a loaded step forward and the voice in his ear complains.

“Don’t even think about moving in until Pilot leaves. He’s probably doing reconnaissance for Matt. I bet he doesn’t even know about the file.”

Andrew watches Pilot’s face tick, the way he blinks like he’s on a timer, the way he’s worrying the inside of his cheek with his teeth.

“I bet he does,” Andrew murmurs, and he drains the last of the champagne. He plucks his tie pin away from the fabric and drops it in the empty glass, leaving it on a passing tray.

“What— what the fuck Minyard, we’ve lost visuals. Do you hear me? Andrew? Andrew?”

Andrew weaves through the rest of the golden crowd, ignoring the buzz of Kevin’s reprimands in his ear. He finds a new spot on the outskirts of the crowd where Pilot has installed himself.

“Do you know how fucking expensive those cameras are? You’re such a piece of shit operative,” Kevin says. “When you inevitably come back without the intelligence and without our equipment, it’s costing us to keep you around, do you realize that?”

Andrew’s more focused on the way Pilot’s shoulders are turning to face him, the slim line of his tailored pants, that eyelash-thick smudge of un-blended make up.

“Shrimp?” Pilot offers, swaying the tray in his direction.

“No,” Andrew says, but he stays uncomfortably near, feeling along the edges of his boundaries without finding any seams. Pilot’s composure is still and reserved as a frost-ravaged garden.

“Have a good evening then,” Pilot says graciously, turning back towards the host that Andrew should be sizing up but hasn’t even looked at. He glances at him for a sliver of a moment, finds himself uninterested, and looks back at Pilot.

Andrew catches him suddenly by the arm, but relaxes his grip just as quickly, caught off guard by his own impulsivity. His own disguise is just an invitation and sun bleached hair; he isn’t playing a character like Pilot is. He’s neutral for a living, but Pilot is a new weight on his scale, unbalancing him so that he can’t quite settle at zero.

When their eyes meet, the polite, curious waiter snips out of existence. Charlie Pilot stares at Andrew, with eyes like the bluest part of a fire.

“There’s a conflict of interest,” he tells Andrew calmly. “And your interest will lose.”

“I’m not interested in anything,” Andrew says broadly.

“Hm,” Pilot says, unconvinced. “You’re lying.”

“I don’t lie,” Andrew says. He’s always saying it; it’s a novelty that employers enjoy and enemies challenge, amused.

Pilot raises his jaw, mouth twitching. “No, you wouldn’t, would you.” His eyes flicker to the side of Andrew’s face, where Kevin is breathing furiously through his earpiece, then down to the grip he still has on his forearm. He lowers his tray down until the rough edge is pressed to the root of Andrew’s hand threateningly. “You’ll want to let me go, Andrew, or you’re going to end up needing a longer armband.”

Andrew feels genuine surprise squeeze his fingers around Pilot’s wrist. He hadn’t noticed the black fabric extending a whiff beyond his crisp white sleeve. He lets go, and Pilot tucks his shoulders back, satisfied. His hair is too dark to match his freckles, Andrew notes quietly. It is, perhaps, what the make up was meant to cover up.

“You are not going to win, Charlie,” Andrew says. “We’re the more capable team.”

Pilot smiles indulgently. “‘Charlie’,” he repeats, mouth curling around the name. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been Charlie Pilot.” He jostles his tray from one hand to another, and loosens his collar with his freed hand. “And I don’t think you understand how much farther ahead we are than you. If you’re looking for information, we already have it. If you’re trying to find the connections this place has to the Yakuza, we’re the ones undoing them.”

“Who’s we? I don’t remember seeing anything about loyalty in your case file. You’re just a runner.”

Pilot looks briefly bothered by this, and he juts his chin again. “I’m loyal to whoever’s doing the work that needs to be done.”

“That doesn’t answer my question. Who are you?”

He looks down, at Andrew’s empty hands, at the hip where he’s hiding his gun. His expression is warped and sad when he looks up, like the real filling in his strange costume is finally oozing out.

“You can call me Neil,” he says, and drops the whole tray of food so that it clatters and rolls into the host’s feet. There are gasps and yelps, partygoers dodging and stooping to catch the runaway platter. Andrew looks impulsively down to track its progress, and when he looks sharply back up into the knot of activity, Neil is gone. Of course he is.

He doesn’t have time to think about where he might have disappeared to, just steps neatly into the opportunity that’s been afforded to him. He uses the distraction as a doorway directly into the offices behind the coddled host.

Kevin is asking repeatedly for updates, and Andrew fishes the earpiece out and tucks it into his breast pocket. He likes to be alone for this part, when the most important door closes behind him and everything makes as much sense as a ticking clock.

He keeps thinking of Neil’s reaction to ‘runner’, of the vulnerability trussed up in his persona. He finds himself sick to his stomach wanting to know what his real hair colour is.

He tries every door in the polished row of them, finding all of them locked. He picks the lock on the door farthest from the burble of the ballroom behind him, and cracks into what looks like a room built for business arrangements and drinking. There’s a snifter next to a half dozen tumblers on a cart along the wall, and extensive cabinets under the desk.

He feels his way along the underside of the desk, and opens each drawer, idealistically left unlocked and unprotected. He finds useless information and shady information and heaps of anonymous, unlabeled tapes.

He finds the safe in the floor, facing up patiently under a wingback chair and a panel of floorboard. He stoops so that he’s face to face with it, shrugs his jacket off like a dead skin onto the floor, and puts the heart of a stethoscope to the face of the safe.

He’s sweating, spread out surreptitiously on the floor, but the safe is flimsy. It cracks in under an hour, the party wilting two rooms over, pressure taking him by the hair. Andrew flicks the door open impatiently, unwinding the stethoscope from around his neck.

It’s filled top to bottom with paper, and he reaches for the first file, carding his fingers through the spill of sheets.

Got you, it says. Over and over again, in unassuming little typescript. And on the next page, got you.

Andrew’s fingers flex. The next file is the same, and the next. A million taunting, twirling repetitions: got you. Got this. Got here first.

The safe was already cracked. The list of names was already stolen. Neil’s face winks and swarms when he closes his eyes, furious. If you’re looking for information, we already have it.

He roots around for the bud in his pocket and pops it back into his ear. He leans back, splayed away from the spill from the safe, the stacks of failure. He enunciates clearly into the microphone sewn into his collar.

“We have to find Neil.”

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Nosy Rosy Big Brother

Originally posted by oldbucksicle

Summary: Dean’s hit with a strong case of curiosity. Pure, uncontrollable curiosity that leads to him finding a treasure trove of nasty little things.
Paring: Sam/Reader, Dean/Reader (kinda), Implied Sam/Reader/Dean at the end
Word Count: ~2.5K
Warnings: FILTH. At this point it’d be easier to name what’s not in this fic, but I’ll name a few that are; smut (obvy), dirty text, nudey pics, sex videos of Sam/Reader, masturbation, anal play, anal sex, vaginal sex, dirty talk, copious amounts of semen, Sam’s a big fan of creampies (both of the butt and vag variety), more masturbation, voyeurism, NSFW gifs just to really mess y'all up :)
a/n: aight don’t judge me but I only have one fic to post today bc school’s got me fucked up and has literally sucked my soul from my body. I’m still working on some of the requests you guys have sent in and other WIP’s as the mood/will to do anything but cry in a corner hits me (lol but I’m fine tho I swear) I hope you guys enjoy my contribution for Smut Appreciation Day 2017!



The first time Dean “snoops"—it’s by total accident. 

Sam had lent him his phone after Dean’s had been compromised on the hunt that they had just finished. Long story short; phone in pocket plus getting pushed into pool by werewolf equals no bueno. Dean pulled up the messaging app to shoot the hunter that been helping them out a text to let him know that everything had been squared away, but when Dean went to tap compose message, his thumb took a sharp left and ended up pulling up the messages between you and Sam. 

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Bite

A quick little blurb about biting bum’s and scorching heat and whiplash that leaves you breathless. Hope you all enjoy it!

P.S.: DO NOT COPY AND REPOST THIS ANYWHERE.

Originally posted by bestharrypics

Hot.

It’s hot and you swear your brain has just about turned to mush with the sweltering heat that comes from the bright sun up in the Hawaiian sky.

Your skin is glowy from all the vitamin D but you feel hot and sticky and uncomfortable and desperate to get rid of the sweat and the suncream and the sand that cling to your body.

Your body drowns in immediate relief when, after waiting for your boyfriend to shower, you finally get your turn to slide under the almost cold spray. It’s refreshing and so satisfying to feel and watch everything that was making you feel sticky and gross slide away down the drain, your head immediately clearer once your head feels the fresh water soak up your hair.

You and Harry had been out all day long and now, when the sun had gone down a bit but enough to cool the room you both had booked, you two had decided a night inside was all you needed. Room service and Netflix and a good cuddle - three things you’ve been craving ever since he’d dragged you out early in the morning for a workout and then a day at the beach.

When you finish, renewed and smelling fresh, you stalk into the bedroom only to find Harry at the brink of consciousness. His hair is wet and flopping all over the place and his long legs are spread wide as he clutches the pillow on your side of the bed, his nose burrowed into it, eyes closed as he enjoys a peaceful nap.

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“Handy” - Byun Baekhyun

Small note: combining cock-warming requests + @ishysoamaze13′s request♡  Hope you like this is little gift I prepared for you @ananou59​ ;)  

Content: +6000 words of graphic smut, oral job, breast play, rough sex, prolonged sex, riding baekkie language warning, just overall playing with baek little peepee ;)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

The moment when Baekhyun needed some help….


“Do you really need to call me when you’re just in the other room, Baek?!” 

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Someone

Inspired by this post, a small fic on Bad Bob just trying to be the best dad he can be. Could also be seen as a companion to Coach. Also on AO3…  

Bob had grown up in locker rooms. The majority of his life was spent surrounded by the sweaty stink of post-game adrenaline, the raucous laughter, the camaraderie. And he loved it… for the most part.

There was the part of it, however, he didn’t like, didn’t particularly care to join in on. Prejudice of any kind had no place in Bob Zimmermann’s heart. When a distasteful joke was made, he retreated into himself. Excused himself to go shower or meet his parents – and later, Alicia.

Alicia was quite vocal many times saying, “If you had been a stereotypical jock I would never have given you the time of day.”

Bob nodded, and didn’t think he was being or not being anything in particular. He just preferred to judge people by their actions and their heart – and nothing else.

Alicia loved his gentle nature, which was a stark contrast to the person he was on the ice. While he was Bad Bob Zimmermann on the ice, off the ice Bob opened doors for little old ladies, he stopped to pet random dogs on the street, he called his parents every Sunday, made corny jokes, and enjoyed cooking for the people he loved.

When Jack came along one hot August morning, Bob held his newborn son as tears flowed freely down his face.

“He’s perfect, Alicia,” Bob murmured as he pressed a kiss onto the baby’s head.

Alicia hummed and closed her eyes, full of exhaustion and bliss.

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Uncharted Waters | R.M.

PAIRING: [Reggie Mantle x River Vixen!Reader]


Like just about any other problem that happened over the summer, yours was an extremely shallow issue compared to what happened to Jason Blossom on the fourth of July. The closest person you might have possibly heard the story about the star quarterback came from an unlikely source—from the arrogant douche himself, Reggie Mantle.

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anonymous asked:

what about when the realize how brutal humans can be? like we don't always go for the physical attacks sometimes we attack them mentally with verbal attacks...

Hmm…that will most definitely happen.

Hope you enjoy this little blurb.

Also, some stronger language will be used here, just so ya’ know. And mention of alcohol abuse and suicide. If you are sensitive of that, don’t read it. It’s not directly said, but it is implied.


The tight bonds that held Xylion tentacles behind his back were really starting to hurt. Not only that, but the gloves he used to stop his mucus from affecting anything were still on, making it almost impossible for him to wriggle out. He was peeved, to say the least.

Captain Zellnor was next to him, his long face hung. His red eyes were closed, almost as if he was sleeping. Well, seeing that he had been injected with a sleep inducer, it made sense. Xylion, however, was wide awake, forced to sit in an uncomfortable silence next to his unconscious boss.

The rest of the crew was somewhere on the ship, tied up as well. At least, so the pirate guarding him said.

He was of the Roachon species. He had mandibles and antennae, and six arms. The species was known for it’s ability to survive many different physical attacks from anything. Not to mention they had extremely powerful weapons too. Their species loved to steal. Instead of making their own, they’d much rather steal ships and weapons, and then improve them. No one wanted to be captured by them. They were practically invincible.

Xylion looked up at the pirate, trying to see if there was anyway to escape. The Roachonian didn’t look particularly weak, so there was no way for him to overpower him. Of course, even if he could overpower him, he was still tied up, and the powerhouse Captain was passed out, unable to help.

He hung his head, sadness filling him. There was no way he’d be able to get free. He was screwed. Xylion sighed.

The only thing he could think of was his family, and how sad they’d be when they saw he was no longer amongst the living. How they’d cry. What if they even got depressed? Or was that merely a human thing? He had no idea.

Xylion felt his eyes begin to burn. He knew what this meant. He was going to start leaking mucus out of his eyes.

Wonderful.

Before he could begin to curse his retched fate, the sound of a radio turning on was heard. Xylion looked up at see the Roachonian holding one up. He put the radio up to his head. “What? Is sometin’ goin’ on?”

The sound of muffled screaming was heard. The Roachonian scowled before turning towards Xylion. “What are ye’ doin’? I know it sometin’!”

Xylion shook his head. “I swear, I am not doing anything, sir. I am tied up, and about to be covered in mucus because I’m so nervous.”

The Roachonian grimaced. “Gross.”

“No kidding.”

Suddenly, the door was thrown open. Human Fredrick stood there, a gun in his hand and blood pouring out of multiple wounds. The Roachonian pointed his gun at him and fired, hitting him in the shoulder. Human Fredrick backed up.

Xylion watched as Human Fredrick was shot in the chest, and went flying against the wall. He cried out, trying to break his bonds, but to no avail.

But before the pirate could shoot human Fredrick again, the sound of a voice came booming all around them. “If you dare shoot that gun once more, than you will die.”

The pirate stopped, his gun still pointed at Human Fredrick’s limp body. Xylion looked around, trying to pinpoint Human Mason, but he was not in the room.

“Who are ya’? Where are ya’?” The pirate cried out, backing up slightly.

“Look at you, a weak, insolent insect. How dare you come aboard this ship and think you and your gang of roaches can take us down?”

The pirate pointed his gun up to Xylion. “Shut up or I’ll shoot him!”

“If you shoot him, then we will be forced to shoot you dead.”

Xylion watched as hundred of little red dots seemed to appear all over the pirate’s body. His eyes widened and his grip on the gun loosened.

“You- you can’t stop us! We gone find ya’ and kill ya’!”

“As if a creature that doesn’t even belong in the asshole of hell can take our ship? You must have a superiority complex, you fuck-head.”

Whatever hell was, Xylion didn’t want to know. It sounded bad if a Roachonian couldn’t belong there.

The pirate’s gun began to slip out of it’s grip. “You can’t stop us! We are the future! We gone find ya’, kid.”

“Shit, man!” Human Isaac was no speaking. “This little cockroach thinks he can get us by just shooting us? I mean, Fred is down there with him!”

The pirate let out a sick laugh. “That fool? I took care of ‘I’m wit mah gun!”

Xylion heard the sound of a gun cocking. He looked behind the pirate to see Human Fredrick with his gun pointed at the pirate. Blood was oozing out of all his wounds. His chest, arms, torso, forehead, and his left leg was covered in the crimson liquid. Not to mention that his left eye was swollen shut. Xylion felt sick just looking at him. Human Fredrick let out a sick chuckle. “We don’t go down easy, bitch.”

The pirate backed up, his dark, beady eyes wider than plates. That’s when a sick grin spread over his face. “I’m invincible! Ya’ can’t kill whah can’t be killed!”

Human Fredrick looked up, baring his teeth. Xylion saw the red blood in his mouth too. How was he standing? “So maybe we can’t kill you, but we can break you.”

“And what is that suppose ta mean?”

Xylion was confused also, but then he heard Human Jenny speaking. “Do you have any family members?”

The pirate scowled. “What do tha-”

“Imagine if they saw you doing this? Would they approve of you killing innocent people just so you could get a spaceship you clearly don’t need?”

“I-”

“Imagine your mother, seeing you standing over Freddie, dead and covered in blood. You did this to him. You did. You killed him, and your mother will no longer see you as a son. She will see you as a murderer. A murderer who kills for fun just so he can have more things that he so obviously doesn’t need. How does that feel, huh? Or your father, even! The boy he helped grow and teach is a murderer! He kills people all because he wants a new spaceship. How would that affect him? Maybe the taste of wine would help drown it out.”

“But-”

“Or what about your spouse? The person you love more than anyone else? How would they feel seeing the person they made a promise with to stay with forever standing above the broken corpse of something that once was living, but now no longer breathes, no longer moves unless moved by an outside force? How could they still love you, knowing you pulled the trigger that ended that being’s life?”

“No-”

“Or, or, what about a child? A son, maybe. He aspires to be you, be like his father, but now- now, he hears his father kills people just so that he could have another vehicle to drive in. He killed an innocent human just because he wanted to take their ship. Or maybe you have a daughter. She hears about the blood oozing from the creature’s wounds, wounds you inflicted upon him! You sent this being to their death, their eternal rest, and now she can only imagine you with a sick twisted grin on your face as you hold the gun to their head and end their life!”

“Wait-”

“What about your siblings? You brother, ready to see you once more, only to hear that you ended up killing a man. A man who had a family, maybe even children. You ended his life without knowing a damn thing about him, and all because you wanted an upgrade? Or what about your sister? All she can see is her brother, someone she grew up with, now coated with blood. The phantom smell haunts her, and she feels like she can hear the cries of the dying man as you pulled the trigger. It haunts her for the rest of her days, even though they aren’t as long anymore.”

“You-”

“And your grandparents! Your grandmother quaking in fear whenever she hears you name! All she can remember is that her adorable grandson she took care of while your parents were out of town. She’d watch you run around, chasing the pet and cuddling it once you caught it. And your grandfather, who first taught you how to shoot a gun will regret it for the rest of his days. He will end up dying with the knowledge he helped teach you how to end someone’s life.”

The pirate suddenly fell to his knees, his dark eyes blank. The gun fell out of his hands. Human Fredrick fell to his knees as well, but he took this as the chance to grab the gun.

Xylion was in shock over what he just heard. How could Human Jenny say such things?

“I- I surrender. Just please, stop!” The pirate said, throwing his body on the floor. “I beg of you! Please! No more!”

Xylion was amazed. They got the pirate to surrender just by saying those things. Human Fredrick suddenly stood up, strapping the guns to his back. He walked towards Captain Zellnor and Xylion and began to cut the bonds.

“Human Fredrick-”

“I’ll be fine for now, Xylion.” Human Fredrick said, his voice raspy. “I still have some adrenaline running through me.”

Whatever adrenaline was, Xylion made sure to note how powerful it was and what it did to humans. He’d have to find more of it.

When Xylion went out to check everything else, he saw the other Roachonians on the ground, either crying or just unmoving. They were broken.

He felt a wave of fear settle within him. If the humans could do this with just speaking, what more could they do?

How easily could they break him if they needed to?


Well. That was a doozy.

I feel like I got carried away with what Jenny said…did I?

Oh well.

I hope you liked that! I had to think of a scenario to write. Originally I was going to do a fight that Xylion tried to break up, but I feel this turned out much better.

If you have anything else you want me to write, don’t hesitate to ask! If it is within my writing capability, then I will do it! If it isn’t, then I apologize.

Wings of Butterflies

A/N: Adele believes in trilogies, I believe in pentalogies. This is the fifth and final installment to Rotation (I mean it this time). 

// Another Man’s Treasure // Mind on a Mission // Take the Lead // Worth the Pain //


Who knew the South of France could be boring?

Neither the wine nor the men, either the beaches or the crystal clear water could interest you. Your family knew something was up with you, your brother even attempting a heart-to-heart one night to pry deep into the corners of your mind to understand why you weren’t your happy, bubbly self. Even Harry’s family had taken notice, his sister struggling to get more than three word answers from you, either via text or in person, over the last few months.

But you stayed mum. You hadn’t much to say anyway. You’d done a lot of growing, a lot of thinking, since Harry had left you all alone.

If life were divided into chapters, the night he came round and the morning he left made for a very distinct Ending and Beginning.

Harry hadn’t been able to ignore you for much longer than a week. Not because of your persistence—no, you hadn’t reached out to him again since the day he all but vanished from your bed—but because guilt kept gnawing at his conscious every time he looked at his phone. He’d read all the texts—and saved them, too—stared at the missed call notifications, but he hadn’t brought himself to listen to the voicemail you’d left late that evening. He hadn’t mustered up the courage, and he was disgusted with himself for it.

So, with a deep breath, he listened to the message. Better a week late than never, right?

You were crying; well, sobbing was more accurate. You didn’t say anything at first, probably not realizing the recording had clicked on as you choked in search of air. Once you settled down, you laid into him with a few choice words—all of which he agreed with—but it wasn’t the name calling that stuck with him or the way you hoped to never see him again that plagued him with regret. It was your final word, your final question, that haunted him.

Why?

Because there were a million reasons why and none of them excused him for being such a dickhead. And that made him angry, very angry, because there weren’t many situations he found himself completely lost in, unable to navigate the waters, yet here he was drowning in your tears without a buoy or damn life preserver in sight.

So he called.

And, despite being in the library studying for an exam, you answered. You hesitated at first, the stitches holding together your heart pulling at the seams with the sight of his name and his face across your screen, but answered nonetheless.

“Hello?”

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Happy birthday @amorverus

“With that magnitude and scale of destruction, it can only be caused by a prince of hell,” Jace said, his voice loud in the war room.

The other shadowhunters nodded and murmured in agreement and Magnus’ eyes flickered to Alec who stood a couple of meters away from Jace and was staring intently at the news report on Mauna Kea’s eruption and the unending rain of soot, ash and fire, that was slowly turning Hawaii into a wasteland. He stood tall with his arms crossed behind his back, the very picture of the perfect soldier. The only thing that gave away his agitation: his furrowed brow and the way he shifted, almost imperceptibly from one foot to the other.

“The question then is, which prince of hell is it,” Lindsay, the dark-haired, glasses-wearing shadowhunter that always shifted just out of the way every time he showed up at the institute said. Her eyes met his and had everyone else turning to look at Magnus. “Which one of them would you say it is?”

Magnus shook his head. “None of them.”

“What,” Jace asked and finally looked up at Magnus.

Magnus shrugged. “If a prince of hell was walking on earth, the death toll will be way more than the fifty-seven people that the reports say have died. Why expend so much energy if the kill would end up being so low? Especially if they go through this much to flaunt their power?”

“And what would you know about the princes of hell warlock,” he heard one of the shadowhunters sneer.

Alec’s head snapped up. Before Magnus could reach out to calm him, a voice spoke up.

“Clearly more than you. A prince of hell indeed. Stupid nephilim.”

Magnus spun around. That voice. He knew that voice. Hoped to everything that was good and pure that he would never have to hear it again. Clearly the heavens paid no mind to the children of Lilith because sitting right on a chair at the corner of the room was a slender man, dressed in a deep blue, almost black tailored suit. Shoes that were so polished, Magnus was sure he would have been able to see his reflection in them. He’d replaced his preferred diamond cufflinks with ones of black opal, a blue garnet tiepin kept his tie in place. His hair was combed back, and kept in place by the barbed wire crown he wore. Cat eyes eerily similar to his when he dropped his glamour stared back at him and Asmodeus’ lips curved into a mocking smile.

“Hello Magnus. It’s been a while.”

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MBTI as Night Vale Proverbs

ESTJ: “I’m all business,” I say, peeling off my skin strip by strip, showing you what oozes out. “Business to my core.”

ISTJ: Be careful what you wish for. Because it probably won’t come true, and life is about expectations management.

ESFJ: Knock knock. Who’s there? Orange. Orange who? Orange you glad I didn’t say your mother’s in the hospital. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do? Listen. I’ll drive you over there. We’ll leave right now. Grab a coat; it’s a little cold out. I’m so sorry.

ISFJ: Eating meat is a difficult moral decision, because it’s stolen, that meat. You should apologise.

ESTP: Pain is just weakness leaving the body, and then being replaced by pain. Lots of pain.

ISTP: “There’s no harm in trying” really depends on what you’re trying. Either way, give it a go - it’s probably fine.

ESFP: I let my haters be my motivators. Mostly they tell me I suck, and then I get sad. This was a terrible idea.

ISFP: Say what you will about dance, but language is a limited form of expression.

ENFJ: If you love someone, set them free. Set them free now. This is the police, and we have you surrounded.

INFJ: If I said you had a beautiful body, would it even matter because we are so insignificant in this vast incomprehensible universe?

ENFP: Ask your doctor just who he thinks he is. Say it just like that. Say, “Who do you think you are?” See if he starts crying. I know I would.

INFP: Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never quite describe the pain.

ENTJ:  Remember that all sentences must have a noun, a verb, and the phrase “foolish mortals”.

INTJ: Listen. I’m not a hero. The real heroes are the people that point out to us when protesters have smartphones, thus invalidating all concerns.

ENTP: Lost? Confused? Lacking direction? Need to find a purpose in your life?

INTP: Look to the sky. You will not find answers there, but you will certainly see what everyone is screaming about.

~Nero & Nike