pathetic wailing

Random 5am thought I had instead of sleeping last night…er, morning. I’ve been in this fandom 2 years and somehow this never occurred to me:

Did anyone ever think about the logistics of having that many puppies in one room when they keep the recruits in the same dorm? They are tiny puppies. A bunch of tiny puppies who haven’t been trained yet. Was part of Kingsman training seeing how they survive sleep deprivation? Did the recruits take shifts to try and get at least some sleep, leaving someone awake to deal with tiny puppy bladders and accidents and any other assorted chaos at 4am?

I’m now imagining a bunch of crying and sleep deprived recruits in the dorm just begging the puppies to let them sleep. Just one hour, please for the love of god.

The puppies just blink up at them with their big innocent eyes. The puppies are the real test to see who the strongest are.

Perfect Strangers (M)

Moodboard : Sex in black and white x Stranger Jackson

Title : Perfect Strangers

Words : 1561 

Author : Myself

Genre : Smut, MATURE

Warning : Cursing, Oral sex, explicit.

Summary : Boring parties lead to not so boring encounters. You end up spending the night with a stranger you met there, and it’s anything but dull.

AN : It’s pretty random, I don’t even know why I wrote this lol don’t judge me. Also, I dedicate this to all the thirsty Jackson stans out there. 


It’s crazy. You’re not somebody who likes doing this, and even more since you’re sober.

But this guy is incredible.

This post-exam party had been boring from the beginning. Your best friend had let you alone to hook up with some fuckboy and it had been not so exciting from there. You were alone and except from the weird creeps trying to flirt with you, nothing was coming your way.

But him. This cute guy who was looking for his friend only found you in the huge house, and you spoke for hours before you both decided you needed more than casual talks and cheap alcohol.

So you had invited him to your place, which was close to the party, and after a lot of foreplay -which was absolutely awesome- you were now completely naked on your bed, while he was showing you how deep his desire towards you was.

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The Deadliest Weapon

@portentous-offerings reblogged that post about tampon stories and boys’ reactions, and it annoyed me (while also entertaining me). When I’m annoyed (and entertained), I write. So here, have an ML fic about tampons. 

“It’ll be funny!” Alya defended, continuing to rummage around in her bag. And while Marinette agreed with the sentiment, she still wasn’t sure if she was willing to put so many emotionally stunted teenage boys through such trauma.

“I don’t know that they’ll be able to handle it,” she reasoned, frowning a bit as she did.

“C'mon, girl,” Alya persisted. “Think of Juleka.”

That was true, the memory stoking the low burn of anger that had been simmering in Marinette’s gut all morning. Poor Juleka had been suffering as so many girls did and had required only a necessary trip to the bathroom. It’d been before school had started, all the students loitering around the campus until class. Which meant that when Juleka accidentally dropped her tampon, more than one eye caught the “scandal.” Which drew in only more attention. Until a gaggle of stupid boys were dancing around the scene, poking fun like female biology was something to be ashamed of.

Juleka had not faired well, the ridicule leaving her locked in the bathroom until Rose and Marinette had managed to get her cheered up (not like they needed another akuma out of the situation).

“Okay, okay,” Marinette agreed, pulling her own bag up and searching through it. “I only have three tampons though. And two pads.” She pulled the assorted items up as Alya finally found her own.

“That’s hardly enough for a full scale attack,” she mused, frowning.

“Here, take mine too.” Turning, the two watched Mylene pull six pads out of her own bag, Ivan—who stood at her shoulder—chuckling and shaking his head.

“Nice! Help me open everything.” Alya dictated the whole situation, Marinette assisting in tearing the outer plastic off before they unfolded the pads. They left the sheets that protected the adhesive side, but otherwise they were exposed to the world.

“Are you guys doing what I think you’re doing?” Alix cut in, crouching down on the steps beside them. There was a manic grin on her face as she eyed the large group of boys just off the corner of the steps.

“Probably,” Alya replied simply.

“Well, here,” Alix continued, reaching into her own bag and pulling out an entire box of tampons. “I bought these earlier, but I’d rather they went to a good cause.” After all, nearly every single girl had been disgusted by the treatment Juleka had suffered through earlier that day.

“Nice!” Alya did a celebratory wiggle, ripping the seal to the box and dumping the tampons, along with all the others they’d procured, onto the giant sweatshirt Ivan had been decent enough to lend them.

“This is a pretty good hoard,” Marinette agreed. “But I wish we had more pads.”

“Actually…” Alya tapped her chin thoughtfully. “I have a better idea.” Reaching down, she removed all the pads and handed them to Marinette. “For later,” she said vaguely, offering only a wink as explanation before she turned to Alix. “Ready?”

“Oh yeah!” Together, the two grabbed the sweatshirt on either side, cradling the pile of tampons in the fabric as they stood and skipped their way down the stairs. Behind them, Marinette stacked the pads into a neat pile before turning her attention to what would inevitably become a scene.

She mourned some that Adrien was among the large group of boys that were to be hit, but supposed some sacrifices had to be made.

At the base of the stairs, Alix and Alya were swinging the sweatshirt back and forth, readying to let it loose. The gaggle of boys—there were at least ten of them—had no idea, their backs turned to the onslaught. Many of them had participated in the jeering Juleka had gone through (Marinette was thankful both Adrien and Nino had not taken part) and so deserved what was coming to them.

Finding herself at the base of the stairs, Marinette watched alongside Mylene as Alya and Alix finally opened the sweatshirt. On the upswing, they thrust the shirt forward, hurling its contents into the air. A flurry of active grenades, the tampons were flung across the clearing, scattering through the air before they, inevitably, showered down on the heads of the boys.

Initially, the attack was met with startled surprise, the boys flinching back as they were hit before looking around in confusion. And then, as if they could see their deaths upon them, a grave silence overcame the group. They brushed the weapons from their hair and shoulders, unknowing what debris they were handling until the plastic devices—their strings hanging out dangerous—went clattering to the sidewalk.

The seconds of realization were almost stifling.

Kim was the first one to release a high-pitched scream, which sent all the boys into a panic. Unable to avoid stepping on the bombs, they stumbled back clumsily, tripping over themselves in their efforts to escape the outbreak. It was like watching a heard of wild animals startled by an abrupt predator, though their scrambling was perhaps lacking in animal grace.

Their screaming and yelling, and “what the fucks,” naturally drew in the attention of other groups of students, the boys who’d been far enough to avoid being assaulted gaping and shying back in alarm and disgust, while their female counterparts looked on in straight-faced confusion—if only because they hadn’t been briefed on the situation.

Once the ruckus had cleared—once all the boys were safely cowering to the sides, holding one another and breathing hard as they observed the scene from a safe distance—only one victim was left standing, his best friend shifting a meter or so behind him in uncertainty.

Looking around in surprise, Adrien stood among the ruins, feet bordered in tampons while Nino—hands out as though bracing himself—waited for another assault. He stood by his clueless friend courageously, though clearly uneasy.

Brave soul that he was, Adrien ended up bending down and actually picking up one of the bombs, much to the gasping dismay of many of the boys on the sidelines.

“Guys…” he started a second later, holding his find up for observation. “They’re just tampons.”

The word, that word, had them all shrinking back again, as if the mere sound of those letters put together was enough to shake them to their very cores.

While Adrien, still perplexed by the reaction, glanced down to the tampon in his hand. “They’re not even used,” he muttered. “What the hell is wrong with-”

“Foolish!” Alya announced abruptly, Adrien whipping around in surprise. “They’ve left one behind!” Dramatically, she grabbed one of the pads from Marinette’s waiting hands, holding it above her head as she tore the plastic sheet from the adhesive. “Get him!”

By that time, Rose and Juleka had joined their group as well. Alix followed Alya’s example and armed herself with a pad, Mylene laughing and doing the same. Until there was a whole hoard of girls rushing Adrien, much to his wide-eyed shock.

Not that he wasn’t used to girls rushing him. But normally they weren’t armed with pads and yelling battle cries at the same time.

Marinette joined in as well, laughing, which inspired Juleka and Rose to do the same.

Pads in hand, they tore the plastic away from each one, much to Adrien’s twitching puzzlement. They didn’t body-slam him or anything, but they crowded around nonetheless and made a great scene of sticking the pads all over his shirt and arms. They hung off of him heavily, more disgusted gasps echoing from the boys watching.

“What- What is happening right now?” Adrien hissed at them, shaking his arm and failing to remove the sticky pad that was suctioned to his skin.

“Silence!” Alix shouted, pointing a threating finger up at him. “You’re supposed to be dying!”


“Your manly ego,” Alya corrected. “We’ve assaulted you with feminine products, the greatest fear of all men, and so it’s inevitable that you fall beneath our power.”

“Oh…” He furrowed his eyebrows, before realization splashed over his face. “Oh!”

He’d been there when Juleka had been harassed and been one of the few boys that had tried to stop it. He knew exactly what they were doing.

“Oh god!” he yelled abruptly, reaching up and slamming his hands over the pad that was stuck to his shirt. “The patriarchy, I can see it crumbling before me! There is no greater ill than the unused cotton and plastic of feminine products! We stand no chance!

"Help, help!” he called, falling dramatically to his knees. “I’m not gonna make it!”

“Don’t worry, bro!” Nino yelled from the sidelines. “I’ll go get some red meat and a GPS you can throw out the window! Hold on!”

“It’s too late!” Adrien garbled, holding his throat as he fell back on his butt, before toppling to his back. “I’m not- I’m not gonna make it! Oh Nino, it burns! The realization that women’s bodies do things mine doesn’t! The horror!”

“Just breathe, bro!” Nino begged.

“Ugh, I’m dying!” Flailing his arms out to the sides, Adrien scattered the tampons, his legs shoving them out of the way as he sprawled through the debris.

“Somebody do something!” Nino fell to his knees as well, looking frantically around the clearing. “Get some beard hair! Start a fight! Give him a hammer! Anything to save my bro!”

“It’s too late now,” Adrien whispered. “I’m dead.” Head tipping to the side, he fell still, tongue lolling out as he released a final “bleh,” clearly symbolizing his demise.

“Bro! Bro!” Nino wailed pathetically.

“Victory!” Alix called, raising her arms to all the eyes watching. “Let this be a warning to all who oppose us!”

“We will not hesitate to use the deadliest of weapons!” Alya continued, Marinette holding up the final pad before she got down on her knees at Adrien’s head. In a final testament to their victory, she stuck it over his eyes, smoothing it out evenly.

“We will hang his bland yet understated button-up at the entrance to our woman-cave!” Alya continued. “You’ve all been warned!”

“What is going on out here?” It was Ms. Bustier who interrupted their reveling, all the girls turning to look at her. As did the boys, most of them either completely disgusted by the show or still horror-stricken.

“Their female empowerment has killed my bro!” Nino lamented. “Oh the equality!”

The girls stared at Ms. Bustier, saying nothing as she surveyed the situation.

Marinette, meanwhile, glanced down at Adrien, who was smirking and doing his best not to laugh.

“You’re supposed to be dead!” she hissed.

“Oh, sorry.” He went appropriately still.

“I’m not… I’m not going to get involved in this,” Ms. Bustier finally decided, smiling a bit as she looked at the scene. “Just… make sure you clean up when you’re done.” Shaking her head, she turned and went back into the school.

“Victory!” Alix yelled again, pumping her fist in the air.

All the girls chanted in response. “Victory!”

“Think of the children, please.”

She had told them so many times.

“The children. I beg you, all of you. Think of the children.”

They had ignored her, and now James kind of wished they hadn’t.

Their torches light up the cave’s walls, barely pushing back the darkness, just enough for Catherine to read and half-whispering translate the ancient symbols scrawled all over them. James is by her side, one arm around the woman’s neck, and goddamn it, the old hag is still whimpering about children and won’t anyone think of them, please. 

“Shut your mouth,” James growls at her, squeezes a bit. The old woman croaks. She goes still then. Her eyes are fixed on a point over James’ head, going wide and huge and he’s got enough of that. “What is it now, huh? You already insane with fear?”

The rest of the group laughs. Their silver daggers catch the torches’ light, reflect it into the dark.

“James,” Catherine says. “James, be quiet.”

“You know, this is why I’m a hunter.” He pulls the old woman close, frowning when her jaw falls open in silent horror. “Hey, listen when you’re talked to. Unbelievable. But seriously, you people are pathetic. Can’t even take care of a few bloodsuckers by yourself. Aren’t you angry? Huh? They took your children, forchrissake.”

“James.” A gloved hand touches his arm. Catherine’s face is pale like death in the torchlight. “We have to go.”

Something shuffles behind him. James throws a look over his shoulder, the others shifting their torches into his field of vision, but nothing’s there. The old woman lets out a pathetic wail. He shakes her off.

“Crazy old hag. You’re all cowards, your entire damn village. If it had been my kids, I would’ve marched here on my own, killed them all at once - hey!”

The woman is at his feet, digging her clawy hands into his legs where she grips them. “Now you’ve done it,” she whispers. “The children. I told you to think of the children.”

“James,” Catherine says, and then a white hands reaches around her neck and pulls her into the dark. 

“What the fuck - Cat!” 

A torch drops. James whirls around just in time to watch the fire sizzle out on the wet cave floor. For a second, the light illuminates the ground in brilliant, terrifying red.

“Oh God.” He can’t breathe. The torches go out, one by one, each falling when another hand claws into a neck and another man or woman is pulled into the dark.

Then, the old woman is in front of him. Blood pours from her thin lips. James stares, a scream stuck in his throat, as a claw wounds its way through her neck. The last torch blows out.

But the cave doesn’t plunge into darkness.

“The children,” a choir of hundred voices hums. Two hundred eyelids slip open with a wet, sucking squelch. Two hundred small, round circles awaken on the walls of the cave that has never been one but a nest instead, and the scratch of hundreds upon hundreds of stinking nails over rotting stone sway the choir’s soft song into a rhythm: 

“The children, the children, how could you forget the children?”

i wrote more baby promptis

So apart from the whole ‘saving the world from eternal darkness’ thing, Noctis is pretty sure he’s not a good king. He kinda wishes he’d paid more attention to his dad’s advice, or to Ignis’s lecturing, years back, when they were trying to prepare him for the role. He’d been more interested in playing video games at the arcade with Prompto, though. And things have come full circle, yeah, in the sense that now he’s more interested in lounging around in bed with Prompto all day. But he’s the king, and there’s meetings to attend. There are diplomats to meet with, treaties to forge with the remnants of other nations. Altissia held out surprisingly well, and their government remained intact through the ten years, and they’re still kinda holding a bit of a grudge about the time Noctis let a god wreak havoc on their city, imagine that.

Noctis is pretty sure that the fact that he saved the world from eternal darkness is the only thing that’s making people overlook the fact that he’s an incompetent fool. Prompto is always quick to point out that Noct’s not doing a half-bad job. Ignis is quick to point out that as dumb as Noctis might be, he is more than capable of covering up the king’s messes.

Noctis, King of Lucis, is currently trying to take an afternoon nap. Trying, being the key word. He’s got a miraculous break in his schedule. He’d spent all morning hashing out a trade agreement with Altissia. The one good thing about a city being in ruins and inhabited by a mad immortal king and a boatload of daemons is that the royal coffers are still full. The downside is that money is less important than commodity goods. It’s giving him a headache.

He has three hours until he has to be back to work, and he shows up to royal quarters in a mess, toys strewn across the living room, Prompto’s breakfast half-eaten on the coffee table, the television droning in the background, and a panicked husband pacing back and forth with a screaming baby.

“He won’t stop crying,” Prompto says, in a voice that suggests he’s thirty seconds from an emotional breakdown, “all morning, Noctis, I’ve tried everything…

Noctis is not getting his nap.

“Give him here,” he sighs, and Prompto passes their screaming son over. Usually, the magical connection is soothing. Right now, though, it does nothing. The baby is still screeching his lungs out. His soft black curls are matted against his forehead. His little freckled cheeks are splotchy and wet with tears. His face is scrunched up into a pathetic wail.

“Ignis says he’s probably teething,” Prompto runs a hand through his hair, and he collapses onto the couch the moment he’s not holding the screaming baby anymore. “He said to give him something cold to chew on but it’s not helping, Noct, I’m sorry, I know you’re busy but I didn’t sleep last night and I’m so goddamn tired and he’s hurting and—“

“Calm down,” Noct sighs. He’s good at the king voice. He knows it cuts through the panic and the fear that still grips Prompto at times, when he’s feeling particularly helpless or useless or upset, and right now, it’s sorely needed.

Prompto falls silent. The baby’s still crying, though the sobs have died down a little, are at least no longer shattering their eardrums. His little fists are clenched into his shirt, and Noct’s pretty sure he’s got snot stains all over the fine, satiny fabric. Fantastic.

“I’ve got a thing later,” Noctis says, his voice softening a touch. “But I’m free till then. I’ll take him, you should sleep.”

“I can’t sleep while he’s in pain,” Prompto whines, and as if in response to that, the baby breaks into another wail, loud and miserable. Noctis groans, and Prompto buries his face under a pillow.

“Hate to break it to you, but I don’t think we can do much,” Noctis understands, though. His heart’s breaking in a way he hadn’t quite expected, seeing those tear-filled, bright blue eyes – Prompto’s eyes – staring at him. Pathetically. Asking him to make it better, in the only way he can. Fuck.

“Just gotta grin and bear it, little guy,” Noctis says softly, cradling the baby up against his chest, chin propped against his shoulder, one hand gently smoothing over the back of the baby’s sweat-covered tonberry onesie.

“Parenting sucks sometimes,” Prompto grumbles. “Why did nobody tell us it was gonna be hard?”

“You expect anything in our lives to be easy?” Noctis laughs a little, and the baby wails again, in response. “Hey, it’s okay, shh, I know, I’m talking in a big scary voice, huh…?”

Prompto slowly lifts his head, and sits up. His eyes are red with exhaustion, maybe a few tears of his own shining wet across freckled cheeks. “You’re way better with him than I am,” he admits, frowning, chewing his lip. “Totally not fair, Noct.”

“I’m not better,” Noctis says – though he’s mindful of his voice now, keeping his tone gentle, low – pacing slow circles around the room. “You’re just as important. You’re just tired, you’ve been dealing with him all morning.”

“He’s not crying as much with you,” Prompto points out, “… not that it’s a bad thing. Just. Hard, y’know?”

Noctis frowns. He paces his way back around, to the couch, and crouches down, back aching, to pass the baby back over. “Luck, more than anything,” he says, and it’s still amazing, still goddamn perfect, the way Prompto’s eyes light up as he reaches out and cradles their son close to his chest.

The baby’s still crying, but his sobs die down a little more, hitching, and he offers up something close to a smile as Prompto settles him in his lap, a hand gently ruffling through the boy’s dark hair.  

“See? Think he just cried himself out,” Noctis mumbles, exhausted, and he settles down on the floor, right on his knees, leaning his head to rest on Prompto’s thigh, eyes drifting shut. Prompto’s foot nudges into his side, and they share a moment, quiet, exhausted, happy despite it all.

“You’re always right, y’know that?” Prompto’s voice is drifting, and they’ll only have a couple of moments  of blissful dozing before the baby starts screaming again, but it’s enough. “Stupid chosen king.”

Stupid chosen king, indeed.

Big Guy - oneshot

aka That Time I Drank A Bottle Of Champagne And Accidentally Wrote Smut

Where Finn and his (unnamed, vague OC) girlfriend have been together for a little bit and in the few months since they first were intimate, she’s yet to get him out of his pants and return the favor. Features one bad Machine Gun pun because I have some restraint, but not a lot.

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anonymous asked:

Sorry if it's sad, but the THB going back to Refuge and having to tell Ten about what happened to Noelle during the battle...? (I'm so sorry I'm a sucker for angst)

we just fucking made this ship and you’re already doing this to it???

“Oh my god, you’re–you’re Taako!” Ren says when she opens the door, already laughing at her own joke. It’s been a week now since the great battle and she learned the identity of her hero, and seeing him now is beyond surreal. He’s even better.

But Taako doesn’t return the laugh, only chuckling dryly with an out of place smile. It’s the first sign that something has gone wrong, and her smile falls. “Yeah, uh… it’s me, kid… look, I’m here because I have some bad news, and…”

“What bad news?” Ren asks. “You all–you already saved the entire world, the universe? What could possibly be wrong?”

His ears flatten against his head with a frown, and Ren’s ears do the same. Without another word, he reaches out for her hand and turns it palm up to place something in her hold, curling her fingers around it. “I’m sorry, Ren,” he whispers.

Heart fallen to her feet, Ren pulls her hand back to her chest and opens it to see what he’d given her–a small, distorted scrap of metal with red paint labeling a serial number for a robot. 3113. No.3113.

She follows her heart and falls to her knees at once, the implications of the piece in her hand forcing her down. They separated just a month ago. Noelle said she was needed by her friends, that she would be back soon.

“You better be servin’ fresh oil at the Davey Lamp when I get back, alright?”

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anonymous asked:

“I’ve seen the way you look at me when you think I don’t notice.” Everlark

Tipsy drabble #1 for the night. My apologies Anon. My mind went off the rails. I blame the 16% by volume wine. RATED M: For le smut. It’s brief, but it’s there. You’ve been warned. Bottoms up!

“I’ve seen the way you look at me,” Katniss hisses. “And it won’t work. You’re not getting in this bed.”

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Please Don't Go (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Being a superhero meant that getting hurt was inevitable. It also meant that watching people get hurt, including the ones you loved, was also inevitable. So when you saw him collapse, arms hanging loosely at his sides before the knife was wrenched from his gut, the whole world seemed to slow around you.

You could hear yourself screaming faintly in the background, before you were moving forward, rushing through the sea of people and debris in a vain attempt to reach your boyfriend before the inevitable occurred.

“Bucky!” You screamed, and he slowly turned to look at you, his face void of expression. How had this even happened-he was a super soldier! How had any of this happened? One minute you were buying coffee and the next there was debris surrounding you and a sea of people and-

He’s only human.

You were scrambling to get to him, but by the time you reached him he’d already fallen to his knees. “B-baby-” You started, pulling him into you and pressing a hand tightly against the wound. “Keep pressure on it, you have to keep pressure, please-”

“Baby,” He whispered, leaning against your chest before he chuckled breathily, a wince escaping him. “It’s kind of deep bunny.”

“N-no,” You choked, a sob threatening to escape you. “You’re a super soldier, you’re Bucky Barnes, you’re my baby. Steve will be here soon, and the others will help and we’ll get you to a hospital and-”

“I don’t think I’ll make it (Y/N),” He whispered, gaze flicking up to meet yours. Those usually vibrant blue eyes of his looked tired, and faded.

“Bucky please,” You wailed, sobbing as you clutched onto him. “You have to survive this. We’ve lived through so much worse-”

“I had gear on then baby,” He chuckled, a shaking hand reaching up to brush your cheek. You could feel his warm blood seeping through your fingers as you pressed on the wound. “A t-shirt doesn’t serve for much protection against hunting knives.”

Fear and panic and the idea of never seeing Bucky again had your heart thumping wildly, as if it were threatening to tear itself from the confines of your rib cage. “I can carry you, please Buck, we can make it,” You begged, hooking his arm over your shoulder but he let out a terrible shout, eyes squeezing shut.

“I’ll lose more blood if you-move me,” He gasped, struggling to slow his breathing. “And an ambulance can’t get to me through all of this debris.”

“Stop trying to give up on me!” You screamed, tears leaving hot trails down your cheeks. “Let me save you! You’re not a bad man Bucky, you deserve to live!”

He stared up at you then for what felt like a long time, his grip on your hand tightening temporarily. “Maybe this is what I deserve (Y/N). I took the lives of hundreds of people, maybe I deserve to die like this.”

Mouth agape, you stared at him, horrified. How could he give up on you like this? How could he leave you? “Why are you leaving me like this?” You sobbed, your head falling. “Why can’t you fight for me?”

He pulled your face down so that your forehead could rest against his before he shakily leaned up to kiss you. “You know that I love you (Y/N),” He murmured, voice sounding faint. “But you need to learn to give up when necessary. Baby girl,” He looked up at you, his blue eyes filled with remorse. “I’m going to die.”

“No!” You sobbed, tears freely flowing down your cheeks as you buried your face into his neck. “Please Bucky!” You wailed pathetically, clutching onto him desperately. “Help will be here soon, please just stand up for a minute so I can carry you-”

“Your knee was hurt in the initial explosion,” He spoke, voice sounding hoarse. “You can’t carry me on a good day doll, please don’t make yourself worse.”

“The adrenaline will help,” You pressed, pulling back so you could force him to press his own hands against the growing spot of blood on his thin grey shirt. “I can do this Bucky, please-”

“(Y/N)!” He shouted, voice stern and you froze. “I am going to die, whether you try to carry me or not.” He spoke with authority this time and you noticed just how exhausted he looked. “Please darling, just-just hold me.”

You stared down at him for a few more moments, your mind a whirl of ideas and thoughts as you struggled to find a way to ensure your boyfriend’s survival. “But what if I-”

“Darling please,” He choked out and a tear slid down his cheek. “Just hold me.”

And so you did, arms wrapped tightly around Bucky’s lean body, his face pressed tightly into your neck. You struggled immensely, desperate to choke down your sobs so that you could hold one last conversation with the man you loved, but the fear that held your chest in a vice like grip kept you whimpering above him as he struggled to soothe you.
You would never see Bucky again. No more phone calls, no more laughing about the bills together, no more waking up to his wonderfully sleepy voice, no more late night sex or long talks during the stake outs on missions. No more Bucky. All you had left was a funeral and these last few moments.

“Bucky,” You sobbed, clutching him even tighter to your chest. “I’m so scared, and I just love you so much-” You choked. “Oh God Bucky I just love you so much.”

“I know doll,” He breathed against your neck, his voice weak. “I know.”

He didn’t answer you again after that. It was only after a few minutes of you rocking him against you did you realize that Bucky had stopped breathing.

It was nearly a half hour later that Steve found you there, kneeling on the pavement while you screamed, your face turned up at the sky. His face a mask of horror and disbelief, he dropped to his knees in front of you, staring at the body of the man he cared like a brother for encased in your arms.

You continued to scream, wailing in disbelief and horror until his body was pried from your arms, and even then, Steve with his heart broken, had to carry you home.


Okay SO… in a sleep deprived stupor after a week of doing mission in the middle of nowhere, Tennessee, I came to perhaps the greatest revelation of my life.

So y’all remember this tweet, of course.

And we all though ‘oh, it’s just Jaden being weird and meta again and we laughed, but I’m the type of person who has to analyze everything and this has been swimming around in my head for two years and it always bugged me that I couldn’t even think of what he was trying to say. 

And so my sleepless, burned out brain was thinking about it because our mission group had stopped in a hotel on the way home and it was the first time I had felt a real bed and not an air mattress on the floor in a week and I was thinking about random shit.


When he was saying “Real” he didn’t mean as in existing he meant as in HONEST (as in like “I’m gonna be real with you, that’s a bad haircut”)

SO if you real it THAT way it makes perfect sense “How Can Mirrors Be HONEST If Our Eyes Aren’t HONEST

Like, if our eyes don’t tell the truth about us, then we’re going to look at the way we perceive ourselves when we look in the mirror, not the way we really are.

Needless to say, when I figured this out I screamed (as best I could as I had completely lost my voice at this point) rolled over in bed and banged on the wall which separated me from my friend I was rooming with who was in the bathroom, screaming something along the lines of: “JADEN SMITH… MIRRORS, REAL, FIGURED IT OUT!” in a pathetic, hoarse wail. I then commenced crying for about a solid minute followed by manic laughing as though i had just cracked the fucking Kennedy Assassination.

I feel as though everyone needs to know this.

So all in all it was a pretty good trip.

TL;DR Jaden Smith isn’t as crazy as we thought he was, but apparently I am.

bulletproof boys (ch.7)

Bulletproof Boys: a BTS ‘Grand Theft Auto’ AU based on this post

Genre: drama, humor, angst, (eventual romance)

Word count: 4840

Warnings: mature content, graphic violence, non-graphic sexual content, strong language, drug/alcohol usage

Summary: Min Yoongi owns this city, and he’s never taken too kindly to death threats on his gang members. Especially not death threats on Jeon Jungkook.

Chapter: Prologue / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8

Read on AO3 // Read on Tumblr

Originally posted by jiminiemini

Wait. Patience. Always strike at the exact moment that you need to. Don’t rush it.

Approach from behind. Knock out the victim’s knees. Gently catch the head, follow with a sharp stab through the neck. Sever the jugular. Sever the vocal cords.

Jin slid a sizable knife from the holster wrapped tightly around his thigh, careful to avoid making any noise. His legs shook slightly from the crouched position he had been holding for over an hour now. The victim’s overpriced villa had been hard to find, and even more difficult to infiltrate. Thankfully, there seemed to be minimal guards and security measures in place. Finally Jin had managed to sneak in while the victim was having a drink. Footsteps came down the hall, a light flicked on around the corner.

Wait. Wait. Wait…


Keep reading

Complicated Simplicity.

May or may not have been going through @seiyakanie’s “gift fic” tag and realized that:
1: like 90% of it is from me (hahaha oops sorry not sorry)
2: I haven’t written anything really fluffy for Veralyn in a while.
So here’s a little reward (づ ̄ ³ ̄)づ

The evening was quiet and comfortable. The television droned on, displaying a generic cop show. Volume turned down almost all the way, the noise was a soft background ambience.

The thrilling car chase went unnoticed by the two teenagers, laid sprawled on the couch, as quiet and comfortable as the night was.

Vera had her back to a couch arm, long legs spread either side of Alyn who was resting his head against her stomach, fingers absentmindedly toying with his hoodie strings.

She combed her fingers through his unruly hair, letting out a yawn as she glanced at the clock.

“It’s getting late.” She commented.

“Mhmm.” Alyn hummed in response, making no move to rise from his comfortable position.

“Did you eat today?”

He cracked one eye open, tilting his head slightly so he could see her face. “Maybe.”

She snorted. “That means no.”

He shrugged slightly and nestled back down against her. Hand resting against her calf. “I’ll eat tomorrow.”

Lightly smacking his head, she muttered under her breath. “Idiot. What would you do if I wasn’t here to remind you to do basic things to survive?”

“Starve probably.”

She rolled her eyes. “Honestly, what was your life like before meeting me?”


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I don’t even know… This was a bet with a friend, okay? I don’t even do humor. Probably will even erase it in a couple of days. Probably will offend someone with this too. I really, really don’t know.

Just…don’t lynch me, please

Chapter 499 rewrite: How it should have gone

Invel felt like the proudest and most conniving son of a bitch who ever swaggered. His plan was flawless, his brain was flawless and his fucking ponytail was flawless. The only thing that wouldn’t be flawless anymore was his robe, and only because soon enough it would be splattered in blood and guts of the two losers before him. But, oh well, what was a bit of blood when he had to hurry to His Majesty the Awesome and Hot™’s side before that ghostly loli managed to seduce him for a second time.

“Now you two will fight until one dies,” drawled Invel. “My chains are fucking flawless, you shits, so don’t think you can escape this. Your minds are mine, your bodies are mine—”

“Sexual harassment!” Juvia gasped. “Juvia’s body is for Gray-sama only!

“—and even your magics are mine,” he finished, sneering, because, holy fuck, ever wanting a woman’s body. Him! The absolute horror. “Now, kill each other and create unnecessary drama while I enjoy this like a sadistic prick.”

Gray and Juvia glanced at each other and then at Invel skeptically. These fuckers evidently didn’t believe his plan to be as flawless as it really was, the absolute idiots. The unbelievers would burn in hell, he could even call that son of a bitch Bloodman to make sure of it.

“So… are we supposed to fist each other to death or what?” asked Gray. “Because that’ll take time.”

“Fuck that. I’m not here to parent you while you gutter each other through hours,” Invel snarled. “You do even know how tight competition is among the Spriggan? I can’t leave His Majesty the Awesome and Hot™ alone for too long if I don’t want other bitches like Eileen or Serena to snag him away.”

“Why are you telling this as if we cared?” said Gray, scornfully. “Like, all enemies do this. I don’t understand why. I don’t care about your fucking sob stories or how your powers work or shit; they’re lame anyway. Just answer the question with a yes or no.”

Invel blanched. Did this wretched fool tarnish the name of His Majesty the Awesome and Hot™ by implying he was lame? The insolence! If there was anything worth speaking of for all eternity His Majesty was it. He would have to up the tragedy a notch and make this simpleton shrivel at his feet, Invel thought, by maybe making him read the trilogy 50 Shades of Magic. Or something.

He had time to ponder about this while they mauled each other’s eyes out.

“Does that mean,” the girl began, daring to interrupt his fantasy, “Juvia’s allowed to use her magic then?”

Invel sighed at the personal tragedy that was his life for having to deal with idiots after idiots.

“Yes,” he gritted.

She gazed him flatly.


Her whole body transformed into water and the ice chains fell to the ground.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Keep reading

In Dark and In Light

Pairing: Gruvia

Rating: T (a little language and some angst)

Words: 2166

Synopsis: She knows that Gray needs healing, but sometimes Juvia’s surprised to find that’s she’s the one who is broken. 

Notes: haha I haven’t really written anything since September, but this kind of forced its way through my writer’s block. So here is this kind of angsty/comfort, kind of sweet one-shot I wrote because  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

There are nights that are bad for her too.

They’re fewer, farther between Gray’s bad days, but they still manage to somehow creep past her defenses. Explosive, unpredictable little bouts.

She’s grateful to have Gray around. They practically live together (again, she almost adds, but catches herself before that thought is ever complete.); Juvia stays over at Gray’s apartment more than her own.

At first, it happened upon her insistence. She was convinced that Gray needed her when things got bad for him, when his walls would inevitably start to crumble under the pressure of his mind, but really it must have been the opposite.

Yes, Gray needs healing, but Juvia’s surprised to find that she’s the one who is broken.

Sometimes, it happens in the dead of night. Flashes of death burn the back of her eyelids, taunts echo in her ears, buzzing dully in her mind until she’s left crying and ready to pull her hair out. Other times, it happens while she’s busy, whether she’s pouring a cup of tea or flicking through some late-night television. She’ll feel a prod in her chest, the clenching of her heart, and suddenly the walls are closing in on her, the shadows growing darker, and she’s alone. All alone.

And then Gray is there. He’s there, his hands over hers as he untangles them from her blue locks and holds her in his arms, whispering sweet reassurances in her ear until the only thing she can hear is his voice.

He’s there, rubbing circles on her back before scooping her from the couch and carrying her to her room while she ruins one of his only good shirts with her tears.

He’s there, mopping spilled tea from the kitchen floor, apologizing for the invisible scars he left her with when he wasn’t there, picking up the shattered pieces of the mug, picking up shattered pieces of her.

Gray’s always there.

Except one time when he’s not.

Keep reading

“Cutoff culture”, “the friendzone”: these are just neologisms used by men to mask or soften the reality that they have been – and have the right to be – rejected by women. They’re attitudes stemming from the assumption that men are owed something by women. Guys in the friendzone should be expecting sex for their kindness; otherwise what’s the point of hanging out with girls? Men whose exes broke up with them and then cut them off deserve explanations as to why, as detailed as they want, for as long as they want them – regardless of the fact that their frightening post-breakup behavior should be explanation enough. And when they’re not busy making up new words to describe their interactions with women, men with these hangups are giving existing words new meaning: “stalking” becomes “tenacity”; “pathetic public wailing” becomes a “romantic gesture”; the intense desire to not be rejected is actually the intense feeling of love.
Late Night Care




I groan as I roll onto my side to find my phone. In the darkness, I wince as I look at my illuminated screen. The time? 3:12 in the damn morning. The caller? Luhan.

“Nngh,” I answer as I lie back down.

Luhan sounds as groggy as I do. “Yah, Sehun is coming to see you.”


“Break up. Sad Sehun. Long story. Take. Him.”

“Lu…” I whine, but suddenly the phone goes dead. I groan in frustration, hating Exo with every fiber of my being. Stumbling, I unlock the door and pull the curtains open to let the moonlight in. My eyes can’t take artificial light right now. Crawling under the blanket on the couch, I lie down, waiting for my best friend to walk in.

“____-ah!” I jolt awake at my name being called so loudly from the other side of the door. Annoyed, I run a hand through my hair as I jerk the unlocked door open.

“Shut up dumbass,” I hiss as I tug him inside. Before I can scold him for most likely waking up my neighbours, I get a whiff of him as he passes. Accusingly, I squint at him. “Oh Sehun, are you drunk?”

He sloppily kicks his shoes off as he saunters to the living room. “Why is it so dark?” he asks loudly, looking around. “I think I’m blind, ____-ah.”

Covering my face with my hands, I curse Exo under my breath. Not only is it late, the kid is pissed drunk. How am I supposed to deal with this?

When I hear Sehun curse after bumping into something, I join him in the living room. The moon is creating enough light for me to see Sehun sprawled on the floor of my apartment, curled on the fluffy rug. He’d moved the coffee table to make room for himself. I toss the blanket over him and am about to head back to bed, but then he starts wailing.

“____-ah!” he cries.

I take a seat beside him, leaning back against the couch. “What’s wrong, Sehunnie?” I ask, my eyes closed.

“The girl I loved, ____-ah? She cheated on me. She. Cheated. On. Me.”

My eyes widen at this and I look down at him. His back is to me, so I can’t see his expression. It’s probably good that he can’t see me, because he would see an unimpressed, unsurprised face. I warned him. A million times. That girl, five years his senior, was bad news. When girls meet other girls, you immediately start sizing them up, right? When Sehun first introduced me to his ‘girlfriend’, I could tell she was trying to figure out whether Sehun and I were a thing on the side. She must have figured we were because she was not very nice to meet after that meeting.

“I’m sorry, Sehun-ah,” I mumble.

“Me too,” he whimpers. “Why did she do that?”

I sigh, leaning my head back on the couch. This is not what I bargained for tonight. “I’m going to get you some water and tea, okay? We need to sober you up before we can talk.”

He makes some affirmative noise in response before repositioning himself onto his back. His eyes are closed so I figure maybe he’ll fall asleep by the time I make the tea. However, while I’m in the process of making it in my very dark kitchen, Sehun appears behind me, resting his chin on my shoulder.

“God, you scared me,” I gasp. “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” he asks, leaning forward. He seems to forget that I’m in front of him, so he pushes me into the counter.

“Making you tea,” I remind him, pushing his chest. When I turn around, I find myself pressed into him. Thank God for the dark because my cheeks are on fire. “Why are you so close?”

“You were right,” he mutters. His arms fling around me and then he’s crying again. But it’s not the pathetic wailing like earlier. The only reason I know he’s crying this time is because I can feel my shoulder getting wet. “I knew you were right and I didn’t listen to you.” He inhales deeply. “And now you’re stuck taking care of me.”

I arch my eyebrows. At least he’s sobering up. So I can balance the tea and guide him back to the living room, I hand him the water. Once settled down again, we talk for a little longer. Well more, he rambles on, going back and forth about how she’s an awful human being but how perfect she is at the same time.

Sometime before sunrise, he quiets down and his head is resting in my lap. I’ve been leaning against the couch for so long that my bum is starting to go numb. So when I think he’s asleep, I carefully lay his head down on a pillow and start to stand.

I’m stopped midway when Sehun grabs my hand. “Wait,” he mumbles. He sounds as if he’s about to fall asleep. “Will you just stay with me? I need you. I don’t want anyone else right now.”

God, don’t open that door tonight, Sehun-ah. Please don’t. I close my eyes tight, trying to keep my own emotions in check.

“Please, ____-ah. Just until it stops hurting.”

I want to tell him no. I want to tell him no so badly.

“Lie with me, please,” he begs.

“Okay,” I breathe as I sit back down.

“No, right here.” He’s motioning in front of him. Swallowing, I do as he asks and crawl next to him. Stretched out on my floor, he doesn’t hug me or anything. There is a bit of space in between us actually. I turn my head to look at him. He’s on his back so I can see his side profile.

Why are you doing this to me? I forced that part away. Don’t make it hard, Sehun-ah.

And suddenly, I feel his fingers brush mine before they’re intertwined. Hesitantly, I start drawing tiny circles on the back of his hand with my thumb.

Not love. Won’t work. Not love. Won’t work. I continuously chant this as his grip slackens a bit as he falls asleep.

“Thank you for staying,” he murmurs. He mumbles something else, but I miss most of it.
… you.”

The Sehun feels are real guys. xoxo

anonymous asked:

Sooo I've heard you want some prompts, what about Kara treating MonEl some caramel or their sexy first time? Or maybe making each other jealous on purpose or drinkinh and goofing around? also sorry for my english, it's not my native language

Thanks nonnie! here’s a fic of drunken Karamel because they’re hilarious and it was fun to write.

Title: Alex Is So Done

Pairings: Karamel and Sanvers (bg).


Mon-El and Kara are drunk again. A bad idea forms between them and Alex is the designated drunk superhero babysister.

“My sister’s drunk. Again”, Alex sighed as she gazed across the bar to where Kara was straddling Mon-El in a booth as though they were in a strip club and she was giving him a lap dance.

“Nobody forced her to chug down two Tharrian ales”, J’onn pointed out as they watched the inebriated Supergirl giggle at something Mon-El said and lean in closer to him – if that was even possible.

They had come to the bar to unwind after National City was almost levelled by a CADMUS enhanced human. Plus they were all still dealing with things in their personal lives that earned them a drink or two. Alex and Maggie…J’onn and M’gann…Kara and all of the things that she had going on as Supergirl and at Catco. It didn’t help but she had two best friends in love with her and a complicated relationship with her new alien buddy.

“Damn, I didn’t know Kara could move like that”, Winn entered the conversation and drew their attention back to Kara who was now stood on the table and twerking to a Katy Perry song that was currently playing. Mon-El was watching her with riveted eyes as she thrust her bottom towards his face. Alex palmed her face and was tempted to get her phone out to start recording this for future blackmail material against her sister. Kara would probably just incinerate her phone with her eyes though so she thought better of it.

“Maybe someone should go get her down from there” the DEO tech expert suggested even as his eyes moved back onto the dancing drunk who was now doing a move that looked like she was being electrocuted. Her foot slipped as she went to move a little to the side and she face planted in Mon-El’s lap though Mon-El didn’t seem to mind. At all.

“Oops, I slipped!” Kara roared with laughter as though her fall was the funniest thing ever. Mon-El’s giggles matched hers in volume and enthusiasm. “But you caught me though!”

“I will always catch you, Krypton girl”, he slurred lifting her until she was perched on his lap with her arms wrapped around his waist.

“You are so sweet”, she cooed and Alex made a face of disgust at the display.

“Kara would be mortified if she could see herself right now”.

“She really likes him doesn’t she?” Winn asked as they watched her place a sloppy kiss on Mon-El’s cheek.

Alex was quiet for a moment as she watched her sister’s antics. “I have a feeling that’s something she doesn’t know herself yet so don’t confront her about it”.

“Mon-El, you are my favouritish Daxamite in the Cosmos”, Kara declared sprawling onto the bench of the booth next to him.

“And you are the greatest Kryptonian in the world. Forget Superman, Supergirl is MY hero”.

“Aw! Why did our people ever hate each other again? It makes no sense to me”.

“I have no idea but they’re gone now so they don’t get to tell us we can’t be friends!” Mon-El almost shouted gleefully. “And if we wanted we could mate and then bond and repopulate BOTH of our races!”

“A baby Daxtonian”, Kara howled as though this was the height of hysteria. “That would be so cool!”

Mon-El jumped out of his seat with excitement, completely drunk and full of bad ideas. “We should do it! We should mate and have a child together! That would be amazing!”

“You’re right! Let’s have a baby!” Kara exclaimed in intoxicated amazement. Then she looked around the room, made sure her sister wasn’t listening or watching them and hissed in a loud whisper: “But don’t tell Alex. She’ll just try and stop us and then there will be no Daxtonian”, Kara pouted.

Meanwhile Alex was in the middle of sipping her beer and playing a round of pool with J’onn when Maggie walked through the door, immediately catching her attention even if she didn’t want to look right at her. From the second that the cop walked towards her all her thoughts and concerns of her sister being drunk went right out of the window. All her attention was on the woman that she was falling for.

“We should get out of here right now before Alex sees us”, Kara suggested and Mon-El nodded so many times that he almost looked like a bobble head toy. The pair snuck out of the bar and flew in drunken zig zags across the sky and landing in Kara’s apartment.

“How should we do this?” Mon-El slurred, tripping over Kara’s coffee table.

Kara looked at him with confusion as though she didn’t know the answer to the question. “Take your clothes off…I think that’s how it works”.

“Yeah we can’t mate with clothes on”.

The two looked at each other for a moment before bursting out into loud drunk giggles (with a few hiccups from Kara thrown in for good measure).

Mon-El didn’t take too long to strip off his t-shirt and jeans but Kara was struggling with her sweater and dress, her movements were too clumsy thanks to the effects of alien ale.

“I can’t get this damn cardigan off!”

“Here, let me help you”.

Mon-El proceeded to use his super strength to rip not only her cardigan off her body but also her dress and bra. They both now stood in her apartment completely nude besides from their socks.  

“Now shall we proceed? I assume that you’re hymen has been broken by now” the Daxamite blurted out causing Kara to squeal with shock.

“You can’t just go around saying hymen!”

“I take it that this is a cultural taboo on this planet?”

“It wasn’t on Daxam?”

“Enough talking”.

Mon-El went to kiss her when the door to the apartment swung open and Alex stood in the doorway gaping at them, along with Winn who’d come along for who knows what reason and quickly turned to face away from the naked aliens.

“What the HELL do you two think you’re doing? Mon-El I expected this sort of behaviour from you but Kara?! Drunken sex really?”

“Hey it’s not drunken sex!” Kara yelled indignantly in an attempt to defend herself. “We’re making a baby here! We’re gonna give you a niece or nephew! A little baby Daxtonian”.

Winn choked on air and Alex looked as though someone had just announced to her that her father was actually Superman. “You are doing what?!”

“We both agreed that it would be an amazing idea if we mated and recreated our species together. Technically Daxamites and Kryptonians are the same species, just colonised on different planets, so we’d be perfectly compatible”.

Alex turned to look at Winn, completely lost for words.

Winn looked back at her and shrugged, completely helpless in this situation.

“You are NOT mating and you are definitely NOT making any babies here tonight. Winn please take Mon-El back to the DEO”.

“But Alex!” Kara wailed pathetically.

“But nothing. Mon-El out right now”.

“I guess we’ll have to do this some other time then Kara”, Mon-El sighed as he begun to throw his clothes back on that were thankfully not ruined unlike Kara’s dress and sweater.

“Yeah like in ten years maybe and only if you are in a committed relationship”, Alex huffed as she pushed him towards Winn, who grabbed him by his hand and began dragging him towards the door.

As soon as they were gone, Alex pulled Kara to her bedroom to put her into some pyjamas. “How did you even find us?! I thought you were distracted by Maggie!”

Her sister blushed and turned a stern look on her. “Not so distracted that I’d miss you flying off in a zig-zag with Mon-El”.



“Do you like Mon-El? Because I think I might like Mon-El just a little”. Kara pinched her fingers together to show how little she might just like him. Alex smirked against her will as she tucked her sister into bed after putting her into a night gown.

“Mon-El is better than I thought he was. And if you like him, that’s enough for me”.

“Even when we have little Daxtonian babies?”



“Yes Kara, even if you have little Daxtonian babies”.


“What, Kara?”

“I think I’m going to be sick”.