open rp.. i guess

anonymous asked:

-anonymously stuck a sticky note onto Jin's back without him noticing with words "this belongs to Lass" with an arrow pointing downward.-

Jin fails to realize the sticky note behind them. The arrow pointed right at his ass as it was captioned with ‘this belongs to Lass’ and the redhead still haven’t realize the embarrassing message behind him.

Someone tell him about this and save him from more embarassement

open to f/m/nb !

       ✥ —- By no means is Kise insecure, or would ever perceive himself as less than perfect. He surpassed any reasonable amount of arrogance, but that didn’t mean he possessed a lack of desire to be showered in attention and flattery. Kise’s need to be placed upon a pedestal was a motivator in all his actions, the prime reason why he was trying so hard to catch the other’s attention. You’re not paying any attention to me. Are you being this cruel on purpose ? Don’t do this, it’s sadistic and pathetic, The only thing capable of being named ‘pathetic’ was Kise’s neediness and whining. How he was so willing to endure extreme gestures to draw their attention away from that damned phone. Look at me ! His whine was accompanied by obnoxious banging on the restaurant table, until it died down into something sheepish and apologetic.  …please

HIGH MAINTENANCE || (SUGAR DADDIES, TOPS, VERSE)

warnings; mpreg, optional ot3

Being a model meant Evan was high maintenance enough as it was- but it’d been about four months since he’d found out he was pregnant, and the added hormones his ballooning stomach had caused to pump through his system only made him needier than usual. The casual sex he’d had with his Daddy had evolved since the announcement, Evan having moved into one of the guest bedrooms in the man’s mansion, and now they were in some sort of relationship- an odd one, given his Daddy’s spouse, but the significant other knew about him, so they made it work… somehow. But that didn’t stop Evan’s sour attitude from coming out every so often- he was a spoiled brat, and sometimes those things happened. “Why do you insist on doing that?” he asked, rolling his eyes. He was cranky and he wanted a warm Smuckers Uncrustables sandwich, but he couldn’t find any in the freezer, so he’d be in a bad mood until someone in the huge house brought him what the child in his stomach was making him crave.

        “ what do you mean you’ve never done it in a park ?? “ this was, of course, not an unreasonable thing to never have done, but tracer was always looking for a little excitement. “ no one will see anyway, all the street lights are broken here. c’mon, the worst that’ll happen is a homeless guy walks past or something, “

open to f/nb :: connections include friends with benefits, sibling/step-sibling, babysitter of younger sister, best friend etc.

Dactyl: Be deeply unimpressed.

It’s not fair to say society has completely let you down, but that doesn’t mean it hasn’t tried its damnedest. Another lonely night, moving between rooftops, scoping out surroundings, troll-watching, devouring the occasional squeakbeast… The usual, really. And now, crouching, perched above an apartment complex like a gargoyle, you get a great view of the surroundings.

In short, it’s fucking atrocious.

Crumbling buildings line up as far as you can see, and crisscrossing between them, roads that are more gravel than asphalt. Even the trolls walking through them look worn-down. Reds, oranges, the occasional yellow, all of them huddled in on themselves as they trudge slowly to wherever they’re going. This is the hemospectrum, this is everything you’re missing out on by not having a place in ‘society’.

Not that you could fit in even if you wanted to, productive members of the community are generally expected to be able to speak.

Still, the rodents on the roofs are learning to avoid you, so you’re gonna have to go down there if you want any kind of real dinner. Maybe if you’re really lucky, you’ll get a whole rat. …hopefully one that doesn’t have rabies this time.

You drop from the roof, catching yourself between walls and fire escapes until you hit the ground with no more noise than the quiet ‘thrump’ of shoes hitting pavement. No one’s around but a feral outsider, standing in a dead-end alley, in a dead-end city, on a dead-end world. There’s some kind of metaphor in there somewhere, if you could be bothered to think about it.

Eh, whatever. You’ve gotten by just fine this long without thinking about politics, no reason to start overcomplicating things now. Besides, you’re hungry, and you think you heard something scurry behind the dumpster, scampering away from its obvious doom to hide and pretend its whole world isn’t approaching an imminent end.

Metaphors are dumb.