palms nails

“Captain, the sail!”

Victor snapped around and swore when he saw it. The edge of the storm sail thrashed viciously, the line tethering it snapped. “Hold her steady!” The sky raged above, near black with the swirling of hurricane clouds.

Wood strained beneath his feet. Victor clutched onto the starboard railing as he staggered his way down the deck, keeping low as the ship lurched forward. The icy spray of the sea showered over him, stinging at his eyes and biting his skin.

As the ship dropped with crash of the wave beneath, Victor leapt across, seizing onto the rope whipping in the harsh storm winds. The muscles in his arms screamed as he fought the power of the elements, rope burning his palms as he heaved himself up, quickly rethreading the sail. A moment later and one of the deckhands slammed against his side, yelling as he grabbed at the rope to help secure it.

The swell of the waves rose over the height of their masts, but the wind caught the storm sail, sending them over before it crested.

All around them, the ocean stormed, rain cutting like daggers across his skin. Behind the helm, Victor could see Georgi attempting to keep the ship steady, driving them over the top of the waves. They climbed slow and dropped fast, at the mercy of the sea’s violent temper.

Victor heard the thunder before he could attempt to maneuver back to the wheel. The dark sky was void of the flash of lightening, but the thunder kept sounding, booming over the bow of the ship. It struck straight through his chest, the vibrations clamoring through his ribcage and Victor knew what it was before he saw them.


His warning was mute against roar of the storm, the thunder of their wings. The wind filling the sails went still, the ship’s momentum ceasing. A wave crashed against them the same moment that they descended, piercing through the black of the storm clouds. A murder of harpies, circling the ship like the swirl of the hurricane.

Their screeches flooded the ship, ear-splitting. Half-human, half-birds, and unlike the allure born by sirens, they were repulsive. Legs of a vulture, arms absent for wings. The stench of their feathers fouled the air, warning of the death they brought with them.

The first struck his shoulder and sent him reeling, falling fast to the deck. Victor rolled before it could grab him, its claws smashing into the wood beside his head. His pistol was drawn and fired into its chest without aim, harpy’s harsh shriek exploding with a spray of feathers and blood.

The second seized onto his arm, bared teeth flashing in his eyes in the moment before he ducked his head. The knife strapped on the inside of his boot was in his palm as its nails sunk into his flesh, the sea-soaked fabric of his clothing staining red. Victor yelled as he sliced through its claw, pitching forward to slam the creature against mast rigging, sword driven through its heart.

At the helm, he glimpsed Georgi firing on more, one arm attempting to keep the ship steady from the pounding of the waves. At the stern, a harpy hurled one of his crewmen off the side of the ship, body limp like a rag and lost to the sea. Victor shouted, the second pistol off his sash useless as the shot missed, hardly clipping a bloodied wing.

The harpy’s angry screech ripped at his ears, its force making him stumble. Another wave sent him off balance, tripping into the grip of the harpy swooping in.

Victor threw up his arms to protect himself, but he never collided with it. Right before his eyes, the harpy’s face twisted with a scream, spine arching as Yuuri tore the wings off its back. The siren’s eyes were as red as the splash of blood coating his claws, dripping as he tossed the harpy aside.

Yuuri’s wings were full and bold, spread grand in battle. His skin was stained near completely black, feathers bristling from his arms and legs.

Three more harpies fell to his hands as easily as if they had been gulls, others fleeing when they glimpsed the siren. Yuuri’s wings cut through the air, through the harpies still spiraling above the ship, before his voice pierced through the deafening roar of the storm.

Time itself seemed to stand still, the wind dead, waves calmed until the moment in which Yuuri’s cry disbursed. Fierce faces contoured, the harpies’ eyes settled on the siren as the thunderous beat of the wings bore down.

Yuuri spoke no command, spreading his wingspan over the center of the ship. The harpies scattered.

Then the sea slammed against the ship and Yuuri’s arm wrapped around Victor before he could be thrown into it, holding him tight to the siren’s side as he flew. Victor buried himself into Yuuri and the silk of feathers all around him.

Yuuri set Victor back behind the helm, wings encircling him in a brief embrace. Victor did not miss the brush of Yuuri’s hand through his hair, lips catching against the side of his face. The siren was gone again in the second that followed, leaving Victor to fight the fading of the storm with two words whispered sweet to his captain.

“Safe stay.”

Bruise [ IX ]

Genre [Rating] : Angst [M]

Length: 6k

Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader

Summary: He wasn’t yours, and you weren’t his, but that couldn’t stop your heart from believing otherwise.

Bruise Masterlist

Originally posted by loverkoreanasian

Red was the color that painted your skin through the sleepless night alone. Your eyes grew red from the endless stream of frustrated tears that dripped down your temples. Your cheeks changed hue from rawness, the sleeves of your sweater scratching away at them until they near bled. Your phone battery drained to zero, red painting the icon when you stared at it, debating calling him so his voice could fade your consciousness. Your lips drew too much blood to the surface when you bit down on them to stop another sigh from slipping out, desperate for it to all stop. Desperate for everything to be a dream you could wake up from rather than something you had to deal with when the sun rose back up into the sky.

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I was so inspired by @boomnailsldn (as always) and I couldn’t help but recreate their gorgeous mani! It was inspired by the super talented @jobutcherart! Thanks for all of the inspiration ladies!
I used:
@shopncla’s Carrot and Call My Agent @sinfulcolors_official Hazard and Boogie Nights @sally_hansen Seasational
@smithandcult Fauntleroy White Noise!
@elliejmaui midi rings

Baby Sister

Summary: The reader is a year younger than her brother, Steve Harrington. She has been sneaking out to see Billy and Steve finds out. A little bit of Billy fluff as well….

Author’s Note: These boys I SWEAR. I’ve seen a request to do a part two, so let me know if that’s something you’d like. xxxx

Originally posted by hcrringrcve

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Tropical Palms!! I recreated a design I did from 2014 which I could only find a very tiny picture of on my Deviantart. I REALLY wanted to share it so I just did it again.

The polish colors I used are Kleancolor’s Neon Aqua, Fingerpaints 15min of Frame, and Salon Perfects Yowza Yellow. I also covered my gradient with ILNP My Private Rainbow (which is just a scattered holographic top coat) and as always the design is acrylic paint

I remember the first time I heard the word lesbian. I was 7. how another young girl whispered it like a dirty word and everyone giggled, but my laugh caught in my mouth and slid down my throat, sinking like a stone into the bottom of my stomach. it was a filthy word that tasted like stagnant water whenever I tried to wrap my mouth around it. it was spat out acridly by my peers and parents and even myself; only ever as an insult. to be one was to be ugly and undesirable and completely unlovable.

the first time I was called a dyke I was 14. the words were crudely etched into the wall by the back doors of the school with a key. I took notice due to the small group gathered around it, debating it’s truthfulness. they scattered when i approached, which meant it must be serious. I traced the words with my finger, letting the cruelty of the act seep into my body. it burned my eyes as tears threatened to escape and my palms where my nails cut little crescents into the soft skin and later my hip when I pulled the blade across it for the first time.

my first kiss was when I was 16. we said goodbye as we stood on my front porch, neither of us wanting her to go. illuminated by orange light and surrounded by the still air, she was beautiful, and I was nervous. my heart cracked my ribs and my hands shook. I was confetti. I don’t remember going back inside or how long it took for me to do it but I laid in bed that night and thought of her rose petal lips and how her laugh comes out in bursts and bubbles and I knew.

finally, at 21, I’m learning how to say lesbian and have it taste like
how she takes her coffee- sugary sweet and creamy. my mouth is slowly understanding the way it needs to move to hold the syllables with care. it will take time, but I will figure out how to exhale love love love and only love. I’m teaching myself to pack my wounds with flower petals so that when I heal I can maybe be as unyieldingly soft and gentle.


noun : a gambling game of chance.

he loves me, click, he loves me not, bang.

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
genre: a sprinkle of fluff if you squint, angst
type: assassin / mafia au
word count: 1,221 words
warnings: implied death
author’s note: writer’s block really sucks, so here’s another choppy fic for the time being. thank you to @spoopyscapes for voluntarily sacrificing her man for this lmao

The .357 magnum revolver lays on the table between you and Jungkook. It looks deceptively innocent as one bullet is hidden amongst the six chambers of the revolving cylinder. The warehouse with your rivaling members standing around the edges to watch this spectacle for their amusement and your punishment only adds onto the ominous atmosphere, air stilled for what’s about to come. Sitting on one side of the table, your eyes graze over the metal weapon before flitting over to meet the man’s in front of you, who is also mimicking your stance but in a much more rigid form. Your leader–Irene–stands behind him as his boss–Namjoon–holds his position behind you.

“Did you ever think it’d end this way?” he laughs humorlessly, his stare boring into you with such a burning feeling that you almost look away, but you force yourself not to.

“No.” Your eyes finally move away from his, and you stare at your hands, a simple, familiar circle of metal looped around your finger gleaming back at you. You quietly wrap your other hand around it inconspicuously, hiding it from the view of everyone else.

“So I guess you’re not really a computer analyst, and those late hours weren’t from crunching numbers, were they?”

“And you’re not really an IT guy, and your late hours weren’t from fixing computer viruses, were they?”

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